84
Poems.
HUNGARIAN SONG.
Thou art the tree and I the vine,Thou standest firm not needing me;But I, oh, darling, shrink and pineProne to the earth unheld by thee!
If o'er thy life I dare to twine,With clinging arms to clasp thee try,Thou yet must hold and call me thine,Thou art the tree, the vine am I.
THE DEVIL IN SALAMANCA.
There is a legend, which is very old, And many Christians good, believe thereon:The Devil, even when he is most bold, Is void of human cunning, and the oneWho quick and self-possessed can be,From all his deviltry remaineth free!All ye who doubt, just listen to this verse,Which, par example, I will here rehearse.Long years ago, in Salamanca, taught, Like other Doctors, his most learned self, the Devil;He had his books with magic art deep fraught, And all the dazzling imagery of evil.
