Part 482 (1/2)
THE YOUTH BY THE BROOK. [16]
Beside the brook the boy reclined And wove his flowery wreath, And to the waves the wreath consigned-- The waves that danced beneath.
”So fleet mine hours,” he sighed, ”away Like waves that restless flow: And so my flowers of youth decay Like those that float below.”
”Ask not why I, alone on earth, Am sad in life's young time; To all the rest are hope and mirth When spring renews its prime.
Alas! the music Nature makes, In thousand songs of gladness-- While charming all around me, wakes My heavy heart to sadness.”
”Ah! vain to me the joys that break From spring, voluptuous are; For only one 't is mine to seek-- The near, yet ever far!
I stretch my arms, that shadow-shape In fond embrace to hold; Still doth the shade the clasp escape-- The heart is unconsoled!”
”Come forth, fair friend, come forth below, And leave thy lofty hall, The fairest flowers the spring can know In thy dear lap shall fall!
Clear glides the brook in silver rolled, Sweet carols fill the air; The meanest hut hath s.p.a.ce to hold A happy loving pair!”
TO EMMA.
Far away, where darkness reigneth, All my dreams of bliss are flown; Yet with love my gaze remaineth Fixed on one fair star alone.
But, alas! that star so bright Sheds no l.u.s.tre save by night.
If in slumbers ending never, Gloomy death had sealed thine eyes, Thou hadst lived in memory ever-- Thou hadst lived still in my sighs; But, alas! in light thou livest-- To my love no answer givest!
Can the sweet hopes love once cherished Emma, can they transient prove?
What has pa.s.sed away and perished-- Emma, say, can that be love?
That bright flame of heavenly birth-- Can it die like things of earth?
THE FAVOR OF THE MOMENT.
Once more, then, we meet In the circles of yore; Let our song be as sweet In its wreaths as before, Who claims the first place In the tribute of song?
The G.o.d to whose grace All our pleasures belong.
Though Ceres may spread All her gifts on the shrine, Though the gla.s.s may be red With the blush of the vine, What boots--if the while Fall no spark on the hearth; If the heart do not smile With the instinct of mirth?-- From the clouds, from G.o.d's breast Must our happiness fall, 'Mid the blessed, most blest Is the moment of all!
Since creation began All that mortals have wrought, All that's G.o.dlike in man Comes--the flash of a thought!
For ages the stone In the quarry may lurk, An instant alone Can suffice to the work; An impulse give birth To the child of the soul, A glance stamp the worth And the fame of the whole. [17]
On the arch that she buildeth From sunbeams on high, As Iris just gildeth, And fleets from the sky, So s.h.i.+neth, so gloometh Each gift that is ours; The lightning illumeth-- The darkness devours! [18]
THE LAY OF THE MOUNTAIN.
[The scenery of Gotthardt is here personified.]
To the solemn abyss leads the terrible path, The life and death winding dizzy between; In thy desolate way, grim with menace and wrath, To daunt thee the spectres of giants are seen; That thou wake not the wild one [20], all silently tread-- Let thy lip breathe no breath in the pathway of dread!
High over the marge of the horrible deep Hangs and hovers a bridge with its phantom-like span, [21]
Not by man was it built, o'er the vastness to sweep; Such thought never came to the daring of man!
The stream roars beneath--late and early it raves-- But the bridge, which it threatens, is safe from the waves.