THE MORNING WALK.
FROM THE DANISH.
To the beech-grove, with so sweet an air,
It beckoned me;
O Earth! that never the plowshare
Had furrowed thee!
In their dark shelter the flowerets grew,
Bright to the eye,
And smiled, at my feet, on the cloudless blue
Which decked the sky.
* * * * *
O lovely field, and forest fair,
And meads grass-clad!
Her bride-bed Freya everywhere
Enameled had;
The corn-flowers rose in azure bond
From earthly cell;
Naught else could I do but stop, and stand,
And greet them well.
“Welcome on earth’s green breast again,
Ye flowerets dear!
In Spring how charming, 'mid the grain,
Your heads ye rear!
Like stars 'midst lightning’s yellow ray
Ye shine red, blue:
O how your Summer aspect gay
Delights my view!”
“O poet, poet, silence keep,
God help thy case!
Our owner holds us sadly cheap,
And scorns our race;
Each time he sees he calls us scum,
Or worthless tares,
Hell-weeds, that but to vex him come
'Midst his corn-ears.”
“O wretched mortals! O wretched man!
O wretched crowd!
No pleasures ye pluck, no pleasures ye plan,
In life’s lone road—
Whose eyes are blind to the glories great
Of the works of God,
And dream that the mouth is the nearest gate
To joy’s abode!
“Come, flowers! for we to each other belong,
Come, graceful elf,
And around my lute in sympathy strong
Now wind thyself;
And quake as if moved by zephyr’s wing,
'Neath the clang of the chord;
And a morning song with glee we’ll sing
To our Maker and Lord.”
Anonymous Translation. Adam Gottlob Ochlenshlager, 1779.