GETTA.

NEAR Heidelberg, that quaint old town,

Nestling on Neckar's winding bank,

Wolfsbrunnen flows, from whose clear tide

A crystal draught I often drank.

There Getta, with soft flaxen hair,

Was wont fair maidens' fates to tell,

Until a far-famed paladin

Threw round her heart love's magic spell.

Next morn the ardent cavalier

Sought his beloved with the lark,

But, victim of great Hertha's rage,

Lay the enchantress cold and stark.

In summer when from sky serene

The sun is shining brightly, there,

Soft mirrored in the placid spring,

Sleeps Getta of the flaxen hair.

A. L. H.