still;
O'er ruin'd wall and rafter
I clamber as I will.

A cellar with many a vintage
Once lay in yonder nook;
Where now are the cellarer's flagons,
And where is his jovial look?

No more he sets the beakers
For the guests at the wassail feast;
Nor fills a flask from the oldest cask
For the duties of the priest.

No more he gives on the staircase
The stoup to the thirsty squires,
And a hurried thanks for the hurried gift
Receives, nor more requires.

For burn'd are roof and rafter,
And they hang begrimed and black;
And stair, and hall, and chapel,
Are turn'd to dust and wrack.

Yet, as with song and cittern,
One day when the sun was bright,
I saw my love ascending
With me the rocky height;

From the hush and desolation
Sweet fancies did unfold,
And it seem'd as we were living
In the merry days of old.

As if the stateliest chambers
For noble guests were spread,
And out from the prime of that glorious time
A youth a maiden led.

And, standing in the chapel,
The good old priest did say,
"Will ye wed with one another?"
And we smiled and we answer'd "Yea!"

We sung, and our hearts they bounded
To the thrilling lays we sung,
And every note was doubled
By the echo's catching tongue.

And when, as eve descended,
We left the silence still,
And the setting sun look'd upward
On that great castled hill;

Then far and wide, like lord and bride,
In the radiant light we shone--
It sank; and again the ruins
Stood desolate and lone!

* * * * *

We shall now select, from the songs that are scattered throughout the
tale of Wilhelm Meister, one of the most genial and sweet. It is an
in-door picture of evening, and of those odorous flowers of life which
expand their petals only at the approach of Hesperus.

PHILINE'S SONG.

Sing not thus in notes of sadness
Of the loneliness of night;
No! 'tis made for social gladness,
Converse sweet, and love's delight.

As to rugged man his wife is,
As his fairest half decreed,
So dear night the half of life is,
And the fairest half indeed.

Canst thou in the day have pleasure,
Which but breaks on rapture in,
Scares us from our dreams of leisure