Mercury has cast aside The signs of intellectual pride, Freely offers thee the soul: Art thou noble to receive? Canst thou give or take the whole, Nobly promise, and believe? Then thou wholly human art, A spotless, radiant, ruby heart, And the golden chain of love Has bound thee to the realm above. If there be one small, mean doubt, One serpent thought that fled not out, Take instead the serpent-rod; Thou art neither man nor God. Guard thee from the powers of evil; Who cannot trust, vows to the devil. Walk thy slow and spell-bound way; Keep on thy mask, or shun the day-- Let go my hand upon the way. THE CONSOLERS. TRANSLATED FROM GOETHE. "Why wilt thou not thy griefs forget? Why must thine eyes with tears be wet? When all things round thee sweetly smile, Canst thou not, too, be glad a while?" "Hither I come to weep alone; The grief I feel is all mine own; Dearer than smiles these tears to me; Smile you--I ask no sympathy!" "Repel not thus affection's voice! While thou art sad, can we rejoice? To friendly hearts impart thy woe; Perhaps we may some healing know." "Too gay your hearts to feel like mine, Or such a sorrow to divine; Nought have I lost I e'er possessed; I mourn that I cannot be blessed." "What idle, morbid feelings these! Can you not win what prize you please? Youth, with a genius rich as yours, All bliss the world can give insures." "Ah, too high-placed is my desire! The star to which my hopes aspire Shines all too far--I sigh in vain, Yet cannot stoop to earth again." "Waste not so foolishly thy prime; If to the stars thou canst not climb, Their gentle beams thy loving eye Every clear night will gratify." "Do I not know it? Even now I wait the sun's departing glow, That I may watch them. Meanwhile ye Enjoy the day--'tis nought to me!" ABSENCE OF LOVE. Though many at my feet have bowed, And asked my love through pain and pleasure, Fate never yet the youth has showed Meet to receive so great a treasure. Although sometimes my heart, deceived, Would love because it sighed _to feel_, Yet soon I changed, and sometimes grieved Because my fancied wound would heal. MEDITATIONS. SUNDAY, _May 12, 1833_.