As at the door, on meeting lingerd she,And step by step my faithful ardour bless'd, For the last kiss herself entreated me,And on my lips the last last kiss impress'd,--Thus clearly traced, the lov'd one's form we view, With flames engraven on a heart so true,--A heart that, firm as some embattled tower,Itself for her, her in itself reveres, For her rejoices in its lasting power,Conscious alone, when she herself appears;Feels itself freer in so sweet a thrall, And only beats to give her thanks in all.
The power of loving, and all yearning sighsFor love responsive were effaced and drown'd;While longing hope for joyous enterpriseWas form'd, and rapid action straightway found;If love can e'er a loving one inspire, Most lovingly it gave me now its fire;And 'twas through her!--an inward sorrow layOn soul and body, heavily oppress'd;To mournful phantoms was my sight a prey,In the drear void of a sad tortured breast;Now on the well-known threshold Hope hath smil'd, Herself appeareth in the sunlight mild.
Unto the peace of God, which, as we read,Blesseth us more than reason e'er bath done, Love's happy peace would I compare indeed,When in the presence of the dearest one.
There rests the heart, and there that sweetest thought, The thought of being hers, is check'd by nought.
In the pure bosom doth a yearning float,Unto a holier, purer, unknown Being Its grateful aspiration to devote,The Ever-Nameless then unriddled seeing;We call it: piety!--such blest delight I feel a share in, when before her sight.
Before her sight, as 'neath the sun's hot ray,Before her breath, as 'neath the spring's soft wind, In its deep wintry cavern melts awaySelf-love, so long in icy chains confin'd;No selfishness and no self-will are nigh, For at her advent they were forced to fly.
It seems as though she said: "As hours pass byThey spread before us life with kindly plan;Small knowledge did the yesterday supply,To know the morrow is conceal'd from man;And if the thought of evening made me start, The sun at setting gladden'd straight my heart.
"Act, then, as I, and look, with joyous mind,The moment in the face; nor linger thou!
Meet it with speed, so fraught with life, so kindIn action, and in love so radiant now;Let all things be where thou art, childlike ever, Thus thoult be all, thus, thou'lt be vanquish'd never."Thou speakest well, methought, for as thy guideThe moment's favour did a god assign, And each one feels himself when by thy side,Fate's fav'rite in a moment so divine;I tremble at thy look that bids me go, Why should I care such wisdom vast to know?
Now am I far! And what would best befitThe present minute? I could scarcely tell;Full many a rich possession offers it,These but offend, and I would fain repel.
Yearnings unquenchable still drive me on, All counsel, save unbounded tears, is gone.
Flow on, flow on in never-ceasing course,Yet may ye never quench my inward fire!
Within my bosom heaves a mighty force,Where death and life contend in combat dire.
Medicines may serve the body's pangs to still;Nought but the spirit fails in strength of will,--Fails in conception; wherefore fails it so?
A thousand times her image it portrays;
Enchanting now, and now compell'd to go,Now indistinct, now clothed in purest rays!
How could the smallest comfort here be flowing?
The ebb and flood, the coming and the going!
* * * * * *
Leave me here now, my life's companions true!
Leave me alone on rock, in moor and heath;But courage! open lies the world to you,The glorious heavens above, the earth beneath;Observe, investigate, with searching eyes, And nature will disclose her mysteries.
To me is all, I to myself am lost,Who the immortals' fav'rite erst was thought;They, tempting, sent Pandoras to my cost,So rich in wealth, with danger far more fraught;They urged me to those lips, with rapture crown'd, Deserted me, and hurl'd me to the ground.
1823.
III. ATONEMENT.
[Composed, when 74 years old, for a Polish lady, who excelled in playing on the pianoforte.]
PASSION brings reason--who can pacifyAn anguish'd heart whose loss hath been so great?
Where are the hours that fled so swiftly by?
In vain the fairest thou didst gain from fate;Sad is the soul, confused the enterprise;The glorious world, how on the sense it dies!
In million tones entwined for evermore,Music with angel-pinions hovers there, To pierce man's being to its inmost core,Eternal beauty has its fruit to bear;The eye grows moist, in yearnings blest reveres The godlike worth of music as of tears.
And so the lighten'd heart soon learns to seeThat it still lives, and beats, and ought to beat, Off'ring itself with joy and willingly,In grateful payment for a gift so sweet.
And then was felt,--oh may it constant prove!--The twofold bliss of music and of love.
1823.
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