Slumber, little friend so wee;
        Joy thy joy is bringing. 
     Clipped from paper thou shalt see
        A sleigh, and horses springing;
     Then a house of cards so tall
     We will build and see it fall,
          And little songs be singing.

* * * * *

     AMARYLLIS

     Up, Amarylis!  Darling, awaken! 
        Through the still bracken
          Soft airs swell;
        Iris, all dightly,
        Vestured so brightly,
          Coloreth lightly
          Wood and dell.

Amaryllis, thy sweet name pronouncing,
Thee in Neptune’s cool embrace announcing. 
Slumber’s god the while his sway renouncing,
O’er your eyes sighs, and speech yields his spell.

Now comes the fishing!  The net we fasten;
This minute hasten! 
Follow me! 
Don your skirt and jacket
And veil, or you’ll lack it;
Pike and trout wait a racket;
Sails flap free. 
Waken, Amaryllis, darling, waken! 
Let me not by thy smile be forsaken: 
Then by dolphins and fair sirens overtaken,
In our gay boat we’ll sport in company.

Come now, your rods, lines, and nets with you taking! 
The day is breaking;
Hasten thee nigh! 
Sweet little treasure,
Think ill in no measure;
For thee ’twere no pleasure
Me to deny. 
Let us to the little shallows wander,
Or beside the inlet over yonder,
Where the pledge-knot made our fond love fonder,
O’er which Thyrsis erst was moved to sigh.

Step in the boat, then—­both of us singing,
Love his wand swinging
Over our fate. 
AEol is moving,
But though wild proving,
In your arms loving
Comfort doth wait. 
Blest, on angry waves of ocean riding,
By thee clasped, vain ’twere this dear thought hiding: 
Death shall find me in thy pathway biding. 
Sirens, sing ye, and my voice imitate!

ART AND POLITICS

“Good servant Mollberg, what’s happened to thee,
Whom without coat and hatless I see? 
Bloody thy mouth—­and thou’rt lacking a tooth! 
Where have you been, brother?—­tell me the truth.” 
“At Rostock, good sir,
Did the trouble occur. 
Over me and my harp
An argument sharp
Arose, touching my playing—­pling plingeli plang;
And a bow-legged cobbler coming along
Struck me in the mouth—­pling plingeli plang.

     “I sat there and played—­no carouse could one see—­
     The Polish Queen’s Polka—­G-major the key: 
     The best kind of people were gathered around,
     And each drank his schoppen ‘down to the ground.’ 
          I don’t know just how
          Began freshly the row,
          But some one from my head
          Knocked my hat, and thus said: 
     ’What is Poland to thee?’—­Pling plingeli plang—­
     ‘Play us no polka!’ Another one sang: 
     ’Now silent be!’—­Pling plingeli plang.