On table, on bench, and on stool;Then all who had joined in the festival gay
Sweet the things he said--Praised my flax-resembling hair,
I see Him in His victor-car,On fiery axles borne afar,
All their metal doors with mighty shock,And the forms of those we loved below
And the mother only watches late;She receives with courtesy the guest,
Then I looked upon the beauteous quietThat on her sweet eyelids was reposingOn her lips was silent truth depicted,On her cheeks had loveliness its dwelling,And the pureness of a heart unsulliedIn her bosom evermore was heaving.All her limbs were gracefully reclining,Set at rest by sweet and godlike balsam.Gladly sat I, and the contemplationHeld the strong desire I felt to wake herFirmer and firmer down, with mystic fetters.
But the lonely one veilWithin thy gold clouds!Surround with winter-green,Until the roses bloom again,The humid locks,Oh Love, of thy minstrel!
Appear again!How bright the sunbeams!
1775.-----THE BLISS OF SORROW.
Half my task is solved aright;Ev'ry star's to me a sun,
I pine in silent sadness;I've thrown away my only true bliss
My duty is fulfill'd to-day,
Hold we now our wedding feast alone!"
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