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..
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