irmness trust and know.
I was first led to guess it by the sages,
The knaves convince me that 'tis really so.

APPENDIX OF POEMS ETC. IN SCHILLER'S DRAMATIC WORKS.

APPENDIX.

The following variations appear in the first two verses of Hector's
Farewell, as given in The Robbers, act ii. scene 2.

ANDROMACHE.
Wilt thou, Hector, leave me?--leave me weeping,
Where Achilles' murderous blade is heaping
Bloody offerings on Patroclus' grave?
Who, alas, will teach thine infant truly
Spears to hurl, the gods to honor duly,
When thou'rt buried 'neath dark Xanthus' wave?

HECTOR.
Dearest wife, go,--fetch my death-spear glancing,
Let me join the battle-dance entrancing,
For my shoulders bear the weight of Troy!
Heaven will be our Astyanax' protector!
Falling as his country's savior, Hector
Soon will greet thee in the realms of joy.

The following additional verse is found in Amalia's Song, as sung in The
Robbers, act iii. scene 1. It is introduced between the first and second
verses, as they appear in poems.

His embrace--what maddening rapture bound us!
Bosom throbbed 'gainst bosom with wild might;
Mouth and ear were chained--night reigned around us--
And the spirit winged toward heaven its flight.

From The Robbers, act iv. scene 5.

CHORUS OF ROBBERS.
What so good for banishing sorrow
As women, theft, and bloody affray?
We must dance in the air to-morrow,
Therefore let's be right merry to-day!

A free and jovial life we've led,
Ever since we began it.
Beneath the tree we make our bed,
We ply our task when the storm's o'erhead
And deem the moon our planet.
The fellow we swear by is Mercury,
A capital hand at our trade is he.

To-day we become the guests of a priest,
A rich farmer to-morrow must feed us;
And as for the future, we care not the least,
But leave it to heaven to heed us.

And when our throats with a vintage rare
We've long enough been supplying,
Fresh courage and strength we drink in there,
And with the evil one friendship swear,
Who down in hell is frying.

The groans o'er fathers reft of breath,
The sorrowing mothers' cry of death,
Deserted brides' sad sobs and tears.
Are sweetest music to our ears.

Ha! when under the axe each one quivering lies,
When they bellow like calves, and fall round us like flies,
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