ght put an
end to his agony. On the night of the 16th of February, 1856, came the
long-craved release--and on the 20th of February without mass or
"Kaddish," according to his express wish, he was buried in the
cemetery of Montmartre.

EARLY POEMS.

SONNETS TO MY MOTHER, B. HEINE, _nee_ VON GELDERN.

I.

I have been wont to bear my forehead high--
My stubborn temper yields with no good grace.
The king himself might look me in the face,
And yet I would not downward cast mine eye.
But I confess, dear mother, openly,
However proud my haughty spirit swell,
When I within thy blessed presence dwell,
Oft am I smit with shy humility.
Is it thy soul, with secret influence,
Thy lofty soul piercing all shows of sense,
Which soareth, heaven-born, to heaven again?
Or springs it from sad memories that tell
How many a time I caused thy dear heart pain,
Thy gentle heart, that loveth me so well!

II.

In fond delusion once I left thy side;
Unto the wide world's end I fain would fare,
To see if I might find Love anywhere,
And lovingly embrace Love as a bride.
Love sought I in all paths, at every gate;
Oft and again outstretching suppliant palms,
I begged in vain of Love the slightest alms,
But the world laughed and offered me cold hate.
Forever I aspired towards Love, forever
Towards Love, and ne'ertheless I found Love never,--
And sick at heart, homeward my steps did move.
And lo! thou comest forth to welcome me;
And that which in thy swimming eyes I see,
That is the precious, the long-looked-for Love.

THE SPHINX.

This is the old enchanted wood,
Sweet lime trees scent the wind;
The glamor of the moon has cast
A spell upon my mind.

Onward I walk, and as I walk--
Hark to that high, soft strain!
That is the nightingale, she sings,
Of love and of love's pain.

She sings of love and of love's pain,
Of laughter and of tears.
So plaintive her carol, so joyous her sobs,
I dream of forgotten years.

Onward I walk, and as I walk,
There stands before mine eyes
A castle proud on an open lawn,
Whose gables high uprise.

With casements closed, and everywhere
Sad silence in court and halls,
It seemed as though mute death abode
Within those barren walls.

Before the doorway crouched a sphinx,
Half horror and half grace;
With a lion's body, a lion