Who, with skilful fingers fine,
Purpled o'er those wings of thine?
Was it some sylph whose tender care
Spangled thy robes so fine and fair,
And wove them of the morning air?
I feel thy little throbbing heart;
Thou fear'st e'en now death's bitter smart.
Fly, little spirit, fly away!
Be free and joyful thy short day!
Image thou dost seem to me
Of that which I may one day be,
When I shall drop this robe of earth,
And wake into a spirit's birth.
[TO NATURE.]
FROM THE GERMAN OF FREDERICK LEOPOLD, COUNT OF STALBERG.
Holy nature! fresh and free,
Let me ever follow thee;
By the hand, O, lead me still,
Like a child, at thy sweet will.
When with weariness oppressed,
I will on thy bosom rest,
Breathe in pleasure from above,
In thy mother-arms of love.
O, how well it is for me
Thee to love, with thee to be!
Holy nature! sweet and free,
Let me ever follow thee.