If on rugged hills she wander,If she haste the vale along, Pinions seem to flutter yonder,And the air is fill'd with song;With the glow of youth still playing,Joyous vigour in each limb, One in silence is delaying,She alone 'tis blesses him.
Love, thou art too fair, I ween!
Fairer I have never seen!
From the heart full easily Blooming flowers are cull'd by thee.
If I think: "Oh, were it so,"
Bone and marrow seen to glow!
If rewarded by her love, Can I greater rapture prove?
And still fairer is the bride, When in me she will confide, When she speaks and lets me know All her tale of joy and woe.
All her lifetime's history Now is fully known to me.
Who in child or woman e'er Soul and body found so fair?
1815.
NEXT YEAR'S SPRING.
THE bed of flowersLoosens amain, The beauteous snowdropsDroop o'er the plain.
The crocus opensIts glowing bud, Like emeralds others,Others, like blood.
With saucy gesturePrimroses flare, And roguish violets,Hidden with care;And whatsoeverThere stirs and strives, The Spring's contented,If works and thrives.
'Mongst all the blossomsThat fairest are, My sweetheart's sweetnessIs sweetest far;Upon me everHer glances light, My song they waken,My words make bright, An ever openAnd blooming mind, In sport, unsullied,In earnest, kind.
Though roses and liliesBy Summer are brought, Against my sweetheartPrevails he nought.
1816.
AT MIDNIGHT HOUR.
[Goethe relates that a remarkable situation he was in one bright moonlight night led to the composition of this sweet song, which was "the dearer to him because he could not say whence it came and whither it would."]
AT midnight hour I went, not willingly,A little, little boy, yon churchyard past, To Father Vicar's house; the stars on highOn all around their beauteous radiance cast,At midnight hour.
And when, in journeying o'er the path of life,My love I follow'd, as she onward moved, With stars and northern lights o'er head in strife,Going and coming, perfect bliss I provedAt midnight hour.
Until at length the full moon, lustre-fraught,Burst thro' the gloom wherein she was enshrined;And then the willing, active, rapid thoughtAround the past, as round the future twined,At midnight hour.
1818.
TO THE RISING FULL MOON.
Dornburg, 25th August, 1828.
WILT thou suddenly enshroud thee,Who this moment wert so nigh?
Heavy rising masses cloud thee,Thou art hidden from mine eye.
Yet my sadness thou well knowest,Gleaming sweetly as a star!
That I'm loved, 'tis thou that showest,Though my loved one may be far.
Upward mount then! clearer, milder,Robed in splendour far more bright!
Though my heart with grief throbs wilder,Fraught with rapture is the night!
1828.
THE BRIDEGROOM.
(Not in the English sense of the word, but the German, where it has the meaning of betrothed.)I SLEPT,--'twas midnight,--in my bosom woke,As though 'twere day, my love-o'erflowing heart;To me it seemed like night, when day first broke;What is't to me, whate'er it may impart?
She was away; the world's unceasing strifeFor her alone I suffer'd through the heat Of sultry day; oh, what refreshing lifeAt cooling eve!--my guerdon was complete.
The sun now set, and wand'ring hand in hand,His last and blissful look we greeted then;While spake our eyes, as they each other scann'd:
"From the far east, let's trust, he'll come again!"At midnight!--the bright stars, in vision blest,Guide to the threshold where she slumbers calm:
Oh be it mine, there too at length to rest,--Yet howsoe'er this prove, life's full of charm!
1828.
SUCH, SUCH IS HE WHO PLEASETH ME.
FLY, dearest, fly! He is not nigh!
He who found thee one fair morn in SpringIn the wood where thou thy flight didst wing.
Fly, dearest, fly! He is not nigh!
Never rests the foot of evil spy.
Hark! flutes' sweet strains and love's refrainsReach the loved one, borne there by the wind,In the soft heart open doors they find.
Hark! flutes' sweet strains and love's refrains, Hark!--yet blissful love their echo pains.
Erect his head, and firm his tread,Raven hair around his smooth brow strays,On his cheeks a Spring eternal plays.
Erect his head, and firm his tread, And by grace his ev'ry step is led.
Happy his breast, with pureness bless'd,And the dark eyes 'neath his eyebrows placed,With full many a beauteous line are graced.
Happy his breast, with pureness bless'd, Soon as seen, thy love must be confess'd.
His mouth is red--its power I dread,On his lips morn's fragrant incense lies,Round his lips the cooling Zephyr sighs.
His mouth is red--its power I dread, With one glance from him, all sorrow's fled.
His blood is true, his heart bold too,In his soft arms, strength, protection, dwellsAnd his face with noble pity swells.
His blood is true, his heart bold too, Blest the one whom those dear arms may woo!
1816..
SICILIAN SONG.
YE black and roguish eyes,If ye command.
Each house in ruins lies,No town can stand.
And shall my bosom's chain,--This plaster wall,?
To think one moment, deign,--Shall ii not fall?
1811.
SWISS SONG,Up in th' mountain I was a-sitting, With the bird there As my guest, Blithely singing, Blithely springing, And building His nest.
In the garden I was a-standing, And the bee there Saw as well, Buzzing, humming, Going, coming, And building His cell.
O'er the meadow I was a-going, And there saw the Butterflies, Sipping, dancing, Flying, glancing, And charming The eyes.
And then came my Dear Hansel, And I show'd them With glee, Sipping, quaffing, And he, laughing, Sweet kisses Gave me.
1811.
FINNISH SONG.
IF the loved one, the well-known one, Should return as he departed, On his lips would ring my kisses, Though the wolf's blood might have dyed them;And a hearty grasp I'd give him, Though his finger-ends were serpents.
Wind! Oh, if thou hadst but reason, Word for word in turns thou'dst carry, E'en though some perchance might perish 'Tween two lovers so far distant.
