The Sun.
London, England, 1856-07-04 00:00:00

love strains, take the following as marvellously ex-
pressive and characteristic :
" Lay thy check to my cheek.
Our tears together shall flow, love;
Press thy heart to my heart,
The flames together shall glow, love.
And when on the mighty flame shall flow
The stream that our tears shall make, love ;
And when in my arms I clasp thee fast,
My longing heart shall break, love."
Was that a recollection of Heine, in " Maud I"--
"The red rose cries, " She is near, she is near ;'
And the white rose weeps, She is late ;'
The larkspurs listens, I hear, I hear,'
And the lily whispers, I wait.' "
For did not Heine sing in the Intermezzo of his
" Book of Songs r
" The violets whisper and whisper,
And glza at the stars above ;
The roses all softly murmur
Their stories of fragant love."

In illustration of the ineffable sadness of some of
these love ditties, we give the subjoined :
" A dream has made me weep ;
I dreamed that thou wart dead !
And when I awoke, my cheeks
Were wet with the tears I'd shed.
A dream has made me weep ;
I dreamed that thou went gone !
And when I awoke from sleep,
I bittnly still wept on.
A dream has made me weep ;
I dreamed that thou wert true !
I woke and wept, and even now
My tears break forth anew."
As an all-sufficient reason for the utterance of his
heart's grief, sings the songster :
" Children in the dark and lonely
Always feel their spirits cowed.
And to chase away their terror,
Sing their simple songs aloud.
I, as mere a child as any,
In the dark am singing here ;
Though the tune be nowise pleasing,
Still it has dispell'd my fear."
Finally, as a most exquisite example of the pathos,
of the tenderness, of the touching and manly ge-
nius of Heinrich Heine, we transfer from his
" Book of Songs" the following delicious fragment
of pOetry—poetry, as we read it, brimming -t;()ars
into our eyes, and flooding Inn. heart with eine-
' tions only evoked by a sympathy for the true and
the beautiful :
" As once on a journey I happened
The friends of my love to meet;
Sister, and father, and mother
Caase joyfully forward to greet.
They asked me how had my health been
And added, with smiling grace,
That I was in no way altered,
Though rather pale in the face.
1 ask'd after uncles and cousins,
And many a tedious spark,
And after the little puppy,
Famed for his tiny bark.
Then after my married sweetheart
I ask'd, as was only kind ;
And quite in a friendly manner,
They said she was just confined.
I wished them joy sincerely, '
And lisp'd in the kindest way ;
I sent her a thousand good wishes,
Which they would, I hoped, convey.
The sister, interrupting,
Cried ont, that the little hound .
Had grown up wild and savage,
And in the Rhine been drowned.
The little one's like her sister,
And most when she laughs in glee;
Her eyes are the same precisely
As those that ruin'd me."
That, we take it is poetry, true poetry. And no
wonder Heine, who could write straight from the
core of his his own heart to the core of the hearts
of other men, could—without any coxcombry at
all—boast—

" I am a German poet,
Known in all German lands;
And when they name their greatest,
My name among them stands."
Peace to his shade ! His poor, lacerated, gentle,
toying heart is still at length for ever. " Where be
his gibes now ? his flashes of merriment that were
wont to set the table in a roar ? his gambols ? his
songs I" His Songs I—Here ! Here, in the origi-
nal collection of them from the Beisebilder. Here,
in Mr. Wallis's graceful and truthful English
Translation. As the writer of these Songs Hein-
rich Heine will henceforth be remembered—Hein-
rich Heine, whose effigy might be most aptly pour-
trayed (as Garrick's was in Reynolds' picture,
between Comedy and Tragedy) midway between
the weeping Heraclitus and the laughing Demo-
critus !