ee past all telling--
Love gnaws my heart away?

But only in my chamber
I dare express my pain;
For always in thy presence
Quite silent I remain.

For there were evil angels
Who sealed my lips so close.
And oh! from evil angels
Sprang all my wretched woes.

XXXIII.

Ah, those pure white lily fingers,
Once again could I but kiss them,
Press them close against my heart,
Melt away in silent weeping!

Oh, those clearest eyes of violet
Hover day and night before me,
And I ponder o'er the meaning
Of those lovely blue enigmas.

XXXIV.

"Did she ne'er express compassion
For thy tender situation?
Could'st thou never in her glances
Read thy love's reciprocation?

"Could'st thou ne'er surprise the spirit
In her bright eyes unawares?
Yet thou surely art no donkey,
Dearest friend, in these affairs!"

XXXV.

They loved one another, but neither
Confessed a word thereof.
They met with coldest glances,
Though pining away with love.

At last they parted; their spirits
Met but in visions rare.
They are long since dead and buried,
Though scarcely themselves aware.

XXXVI.

And when I lamented my cruel lot,
You yawned in my face and you answered not.
But now that I set it in daintiest rhyme,
You flourish my trumpet all the time.

XXXVII.

I called the devil and he came,
His face with wonder I must scan;
He is not ugly, he is not lame,
He is a delightful, charming man.
A man in the prime of life, in fact,
Courteous, engaging and full of tact.
A diplomat, too, of wide research
Who cleverly talks about state and church.
A little pale, but that is _en regle_,
For now he is studying Sanscrit and Hegel.
His favorite poet is still Fouque;
With the brawls of the critics he meddles no more,
For all such things he has given o'er,
Unto his grandmother Hecate.
He praised my forensic works that he saw,
He had dabbled a little himself in law.
He said he was proud my acquaintance to make,
And should prize my friendship, and bowed as he spake.
And asked if we had not met before
At the house of the Spanish Ambassador?
Then I noted his features line by line,
And found him an old acquaintance of mine.

XXXVIII.

Mortal, sneer not at the devil;
Life's a short and narrow way,
And perdition everlasting
Is no error of the day.

Mortal