CITIZEN'S DAUGHTER.

Come, Agatha, come on

I'd not be seen

With the old witch in public; yet she showed me,
On last St. Andrew's night, in flesh and blood,
My future lover.

THE OTHER.

In the glass she showed

Me mine. The figure was a soldier's, and
With him a band of gay bold fellows.

Since,

I have been looking round, and seeking for him, But all in vain —'tis folly—he won't come.

SOLDIER.

Towns with turrets, walls, and fences,
Maidens with their haughty glances,
These the soldier seeks with ardour,
Say to conquer which is harder?
Death and danger he despises,
When he looks upon the prizes.
Danger is the soldier's duty,
And his prize is fame and beauty.

Rush we, at the trumpet's measure,
With blithe hearts to death and pleasure;

How the soldier's blood is warming

When we think of cities storming!

Fortress strong, and maiden tender,
Must alike to us surrender.

Danger is the soldier's duty,

But his prize is fame and beauty.

FAUSTUS.

River and rivulet are freed from ice

In Spring's affectionate inspiring smile -
Green are the fields with promise

far away

To the rough hills old Winter hath withdrawn
Strengthless but still at intervals will send

--

Light feeble frosts, with drops of diamond white
Mocking a little while the coming bloom-
Still soils with showers of sharp and bitter sleet,
In anger impotent, the earth's green robe;
But the sun suffers not the lingering snow
Every where life-every where vegetation -
All nature animate with glowing hues
Or, if one spot be touched not by the spirit
Of the sweet season, there, in colours rich
As trees or flowers, are sparkling human dresses!
Turn round, and from this height look back upon
The town from its black dungeon gate forth pours,
In thousand parties, the gay multitude,
All happy, all indulging in the sunshine!
All celebrating the Lord's resurrection,
And in themselves exhibiting as 'twere
A resurrection too so changed are they,

So raised above themselves. From chambers damp
Of poor mean houses- from consuming toil
Laborious - from the work-yard and the shop
From the imprisonment of walls and roofs,
And the oppression of confining streets,

And from the solemn twilight of dim churches-
All are abroad all happy in the sun.

Look, only look, with gaiety how active,

Thro' fields and gardens they disperse themselves!

How the wide water, far as we can see,

Is joyous with innumerable boats!

See, there, one almost sinking with its load
Parts from the shore; yonder the hill-top paths
Are sparkling in the distance with gay dresses!
And, hark! the sounds of joy from the far village!
Oh! happiness like this is real heaven!

The high, the low, in pleasure all uniting —
I feel that I too am a man !

Here may

WAGNER.

Doctor, to be with

you is creditable

Instructive too: but never would I loiter

Here by myself— I hate these coarse amusements:
Fiddlers, and clamorous throats, and kettle-drums,
Are to my mind things quite intolerable;
Men rave, as if possessed by evil spirits,

And call their madness joy and harmony!

(PEASANTS dancing and singing.)

The shepherd for the dance was drest
In ribands, wreath, and Sunday vest;
All were dancing full of glee,
Underneath the linden tree!

'Tis merry and merry -- heigh-ho, heigh-ho, Blithe goes the fiddle-bow!

Soon he runs to join the rest;

Up to a pretty girl he prest;

With elbow raised and pointed toe,

Bent to her with his best bow

Pressed her hand: with feigned surprise,
Up she raised her timid eyes!

""Tis strange that you should use me so,

All into the set advance,

Right they dance, and left they dance-
Gowns and ribands how they fling,

Flying with the flying ring;

They grew red, and faint, and warm,

And rested, sinking, arm in arm.

Slow, slow, heigh-ho,

Tired in elbow, foot, and toe!

"And do not make so free," she said;
"I fear that you may never wed;
Men are cruel "- and he prest
The maiden to his beating breast.
Hark! again, the sounds of glee
Swelling from the linden tree.

'Tis merry, 'tis merry - heigh-ho, heigh-ho,
Blithe goes the fiddle-bow !

OLD PEASANT.

This, doctor, is so kind of you,
A man of rank and learning too;

Who, but yourself, would condescend
Thus with the poor, the poor

man's friend,

To join our sports? In this brown cheer
Accept the pledge we tender here,

A draught of life may it become

And years on years, oh! may you reach,
As cheerful as these beads of foam,

As countless, too, a year for each!

FAUSTUS.

Blest be the draught restorative!

I pledge you happy may you live!

[The people collect in a circle round him.