"On seven hills great Rome is built, The Tiber flows to the sea. And while in Rome I saw the Pope; He sent his love to thee. "Through Florence led my journey home, Through Milan, too, I passed; And glad at heart, through Switzerland I clambered back at last. "But as I went across the Alps, The snow began to fall; Below, the blue lakes smiled on me; I heard the eagles call. "When I upon St. Gothard stood, I heard the Germans snore; For softly slumbered there below Some thirty kings and more. "To Frankfort I on _Schobbas_ came, Where dumplings were my food. They have the best religion there: Goose-giblets, too, are good. "In Weimar, the widowed muse's seat, Midst general grief I arrive. The people are crying 'Goethe's dead, And Eckermann's still alive!'"[A] [A] There are eight more verses to this poem, which I take the liberty of omitting. E. L. IN THE UNDERWORLD. I. "O to be a bachelor!" Pluto now forever sighs. "In my marriage miseries, I perceive, without a wife Hell was not a hell before. "O to be a bachelor! Since my Proserpine is mine, Daily for my grave I pine, When she raileth I can hear Barking Cerberus no more. "My poor heart needs rest and ease, In the realm of shades I cry,-- No lost soul is sad as I. Sisyphus I envy now, And the fair Danaides." II. In the realm of shades, on a throne of gold, By the side of her royal spouse, behold Fair Proserpine, With gloomy mien, While deep sighs upheave her bosom. "The roses, the passionate song I miss Of the nightingale; yea, and the sun's warm kiss. Midst the Lemur's dread, And the ghostly dead, Now withers my life's young blossom. "I am fast in the yoke of marriage bound To this cursed rat-hole underground. Through my window at night, Peers each ghostly sprite, And the Styx murmurs lower and lower. "To-day I have Charon invited to dinner, He is bald, and his limbs they grow thinner and thinner, And the judges, beside, Of the dead, dismal-eyed, In such company I shall grow sour." III. Whilst their grievance each is venting In the underworld below, Ceres, on the earth lamenting, Wrathful wanders to and fro. With no hood in sloven fashion, Neither mantle o'er her gown, She declaims that lamentation Unto all of us well-known; "Is the blessed spring-tide here? Has the earth again grown young? Green the sunny hills appear, And the icy band is sprung. "Mirrored from the clear blue river. Zeus, unclouded, laugheth out, Softer zephyr's wings now quiver, Buds upon the fresh twig sprout." In the hedge a new refrain; Call the Oreads from the shore, "All thy flowers come again, But thy daughter comes no more."