The Woodville Republican. [volume] (Woodville, Miss.) 1847-1853, 1850-09-17
"R EQ QUIESCAT D."

IA lThe following StanZaS were translated from
the German of Freihgrath, by Mary Hewitt.
They will command the respect and secure the
homage of every lover of genuine poesy. We
do not know when we have before read so
beautiful poem.l l-Vicksburg Whig.
Whoe'er the pondrous hammer wields;
Whoe'er compels the earth to flourish;
Or reaps the golden havest fields,
A wife and little ones 10 nourish;
Whoever guides the laden bark;
Or, where the may wheels are turning,
Tolls at the loom till after dark,
Food for his white-haired children earning
TO him be honor and renown!
Honor to handicraft and tillage;
10 every sweat-drop falling down,
In crowded mills or lonesome village!
All honor to the plodding swain
Who holds the plough! Bet too awarded
To him who tolls with soul and brain,
And starves! Pass him not unregarded;
n Whether in chamber close and small,
mid musty tones he fancy smothers;
Or Of the trade the bandaged thrall,
He dramas writes and songs for others;
TOR whether he for wretched pay,
Translates the trash which he despises;
Or learning's serf puts day to day,
Dunce-corpS though classic exercises;
He, also, is a prey TO care;
To him, tits said, "Starve thou or borrow"
Grey grows betimes his raven hair,
And to the grave pursues him sorrow;
With hard compulsion and with need,
He, like the rest must strive untiring;
And his young children's cry for bread
Mains his free spirits glad aspiring
Ah! such one to me was known,
With heavenward aim his course ascending
Yet deep in dust and darkness prone,
Care, sordid care, his life attending.
An exile, and with bleeding breast
He groaned in his severest trial.
Want goaded him to long unrest
And scourged him to bitterest self-deiial
Thus, heart-sick, wrote he line on line,
n With hollow-cheek and eye of sadness;
Whilst hyacinth and leafy vine
Were luttering in the mornings gladness,
The throstle sung, and nightingale,
The soaring lark hymned joy unending,
Whilst thoughts dav-laborer, worn and pale,
Over his weary book was bending.
Yes though his heart sent forth a cry,
Still strove he for the great ideal;
For this" says he, lis poesy,
And human life this fiery ordeal"
And when his courage left him quite,
One thought kept his heart alive in;
Il have preserved my honor bright
~ And for my dear ones am striving"
AT length his spirit was subdued;
The power to combat and endeavor
Was gone, and his heroic mood
Came on 6tfnlly like a fever.
The Muses. kiss, sometimes at night,
would set his pulses wildly beating;
And his high soul scared towards the light,
When night from morning was retreating.
He long has lain the turf beneath,
The wild winds thro' the grass are sighing
NO stone is there, no mourning wreath,
To mark the spot where he is lying.
Their faces swoll'n with weeping, forth
His wife and children went--God save them
Young paupers heir to naught on earth,
Save the pure name their father gave them.
To toll, all honor and renown!
Honor to the handicraft and tilage;
TO every sweat-drop falling down
In crowded mills and lonely village
Allhonor to the plodding swain
That holds the plough! Be it too awarded
10 him who works with soul and brain,
And starves! Pass him not unregarded
# 1ne aspersions of hbelers may be cou
IM pared f,,ll -