WAKEN not Amor from sleep! The beauteous urchin still slumbers; Go, and complete thou the task, that to the day is assign’d! Thus doth the prudent mother with care turn time to her profit,

[Another of the love-songs addressed to Frederica.] QUICK throbb’d my heart: to norse! haste, haste, And lo! ’twas done with speed of light; The evening soon the world embraced, And o’er the mountains hung

Go! obedient to my call, Turn to profit thy young days, Wiser make betimes thy breast In Fate’s balance as it sways, Seldom is the cock at rest; Thou must either mount, or fall,

I feel no small reluctance in venturing to give to the public a Work of the character of that indicated by the title-page to the Present volume; for, difficult as it must always be

LIGHT and silv’ry cloudlets hover In the air, as yet scarce warm; Mild, with glimmer soft tinged over, Peeps the sun through fragrant balm. Gently rolls and heaves the ocean As its waves the

[To the memory of an excellent and beautiful Girl of 17, belonging to the village of Brienen, who perished on The 13th of January, 1809, whilst giving help on the occasion of The breaking

THE bed of flowers Loosens amain, The beauteous snowdrops Droop o’er the plain. The crocus opens Its glowing bud, Like emeralds others, Others, like blood. With saucy gesture Primroses flare, And roguish violets, Hidden

THE hero’s noble shade stands high On yonder turret grey; And as the ship is sailing by, He speeds it on his way. “See with what strength these sinews thrill’d! This heart, how firm

To the grave one day from a house they bore A maiden; To the window the citizens went to explore; In splendour they lived, and with wealth as of yore Their banquets were laden.

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, Д To think one moment, deign, Shall ii not

LEOPOLD, DUKE OF BRUNSWICK. [Written on the occasion of the death, by drowning, Of the Prince.] THOU wert forcibly seized by the hoary lord of the river, Holding thee, ever he shares with thee

DELOS’ stately ruler, and Maia’s son, the adroit one, Warmly were striving, for both sought the great prize to obtain. Hermes the lyre demanded, the lyre was claim’d by Apollo, Yet were the hearts

in the wares before you spread, Types of all things may be read. ‘NEATH the shadow Of these bushes, On the meadow Where the cooling water gushes. Phoebus gave me, when a boy, All

“OH, would we were further! Oh, would we were home, The phantoms of night tow’rd us hastily come, The band of the Sorceress sisters. They hitherward speed, and on finding us here, They’ll drink,

OH, unhappy stars! your fate I mourn, Ye by whom the sea-toss’d sailor’s lighted, Who with radiant beams the heav’ns adorn, But by gods and men are unrequited: For ye love not, ne’er have

WHEN the vine again is blowing, Then the wine moves in the cask; When the rose again is glowing, Wherefore should I feel oppress’d? Down my cheeks run tears all-burning, If I do, or

IF men are never their thoughts to employ, Take care to provide them a life full of joy; But if to some profit and use thou wouldst bend them, Take care to shear them,

ALL my weary days I pass’d Sick at heart and poor in purse. Poverty’s the greatest curse, Riches are the highest good! And to end my woes at last, Treasure-seeking forth I sped. “Thou

WHAT pleasure to me A bridegroom would be! When married we are, They call us mamma. No need then to sew, To school we ne’er go; Command uncontroll’d, Have maids, whom to scold; Choose

My senses ofttimes are oppress’d, Oft stagnant is my blood; But when by Christel’s sight I’m blest, I feel my strength renew’d. I see her here, I see her there, And really cannot tell

MY trust in nothing now is placed, Hurrah! So in the world true joy I taste, Hurrah! Then he who would be a comrade of mine Must rattle his glass, and in chorus combine,

[I feel considerable hesitation in venturing To offer this version of a poem which Carlyle describes to be ‘a Beautiful piece (a very Hans Sacks beatified, both in character And style), which we wish

A BOY a pigeon once possess’d, In gay and brilliant plumage dress’d; He loved it well, and in boyish sport Its food to take from his mouth he taught, And in his pigeon he

THE soul of man Resembleth water: From heaven it cometh, To heaven it soareth. And then again To earth descendeth, Changing ever. Down from the lofty Rocky wall Streams the bright flood, Then spreadeth

[Goethe says of this ode, that it is the only One remaining out of several strange hymns and dithyrambs composed By him at a period of great unhappiness, when the love-affair between Him and

I FEEL that I’m possess’d of nought, Saving the free unfetterd thought Which from my bosom seeks to flow, And each propitious passing hour That suffers me in all its power A loving fate

THUS to be chain’d for ever, can I bear? A very torment that, in truth, would be. This very day my new resolve shall see. I’ll not go near the lately-worshipp’d Fair. Yet what

THE INDIFFERENT. COME to the dance with me, come with me, fair one! Dances a feast-day like this may well crown. If thou my sweetheart art not, thou canst be so, But if thou

AT first awhile sits he, With calm, unruffled brow; His features then I see, Distorted hideously, An owl’s they might be now. What is it, askest thou? Is’t love, or is’t ennui? ‘Tis both

My maiden she proved false to me; To hate all joys I soon began, Then to a flowing stream I ran, The stream ran past me hastily. There stood I fix’d, in mute despair;

I. A MASTER of a country school Jump’d up one day from off his stool, Inspired with firm resolve to try To gain the best society; So to the nearest baths he walk’d, And

LEAVE we the pedants to quarrel and strive, Rigid and cautious the teachers to be! All of the wisest men e’er seen alive Smile, nod, and join in the chorus with me: “Vain ’tis

[Composed for the merry party already mentioned, On the occasion of the departure for France of the hereditary prince, Who was one of the number, and who is especially alluded to in the 3rd

ONCE I held a well-carved brimming goblet, In my two hands tightly clasp’d I held it, Eagerly the sweet wine sipp’d I from it, Seeking there to drown all care and sorrow. Amor enter’d

[First published in Schiller’s Horen, in connection With a Friendly contest in the art of ballad-writing between the two Great poets, to which many of their finest works are owing.] ONCE a stranger youth

THE queen in the lofty hall takes her place, The tapers around her are flaming; She speaks to the page: “With a nimble pace Go, fetch me my purse for gaming. ‘Tis lying, I’ll

WHILE he is mark’d by vision clear Who fathoms Nature’s treasures, The man may follow, void of fear, Who her proportions measures. Though for one mortal, it is true, These trades may both be

How happens it that thou art sad, While happy all appear? Thine eye proclaims too well that thou Hast wept full many a tear. “If I have wept in solitude, None other shares my

[This little song describes the different members Of the party just spoken of.] WHY pacest thou, my neighbour fair, The garden all alone? If house and land thou seek’st to guard, I’d thee as

YOUTH. AWAY, thou swarthy witch! Go forth From out my house, I tell thee! Or else I needs must, in my wrath, Expel thee! What’s this thou singest so falsely, forsooth, Of love and

Two words there are, both short, of beauty rare, Whose sounds our lips so often love to frame, But which with clearness never can proclaim The things whose own peculiar stamp they bear. ‘Tis

AN INDIAN LEGEND. [This very fine Ballad was also first given in the Horen.] (MAHADEVA is one of the numerous names of Seeva, the destroyer, The great god of the Brahmins.) MAHADEVA,* Lord of

Artist, fashion! talk not long! Be a breath thine only song! THE DROPS OF NECTAR. WHEN Minerva, to give pleasure To Prometheus, her well-loved one, Brought a brimming bowl of nectar From the glorious

THE snow-flakes fall in showers, The time is absent still, When all Spring’s beauteous flowers, When all Spring’s beauteous flowers Our hearts with joy shall fill. With lustre false and fleeting The sun’s bright

OH prophetic bird so bright, Blossom-songster, cuckoo bight! In the fairest time of year, Dearest bird, oh! deign to hear What a youthful pair would pray, Do thou call, if hope they may: Thy

COULD this early bliss but rest Constant for one single hour! But e’en now the humid West Scatters many a vernal shower. Should the verdure give me joy? ‘Tis to it I owe the

TELL me, eyes, what ’tis ye’re seeking; For ye’re saying something sweet, Fit the ravish’d ear to greet, Eloquently, softly speaking. Yet I see now why ye’re roving; For behind those eyes so bright,

BUSH and vale thou fill’st again With thy misty ray, And my spirit’s heavy chain Castest far away. Thou dost o’er my fields extend Thy sweet soothing eye, Watching like a gentle friend, O’er

IN the drizzling mist, with the snow high-pil’d, In the Winter night, in the forest wild, I heard the wolves with their ravenous howl, I heard the screaming note of the owl: Wille wau

HE. CANST thou give, oh fair and matchless maiden, ‘Neath the shadow of the lindens yonder, Where I’d fain one moment cease to wander, Food and drink to one so heavy laden? SHE. Wouldst