SCHERZO.
When, as a boy, I went To study in the Muses’ school, One of them came to me, and took Me by the hand, and all that day, She through the work-shop led me graciously, The mysteries of the craft to see. She guided me Through every part, And showed me all The instruments of art, And did their uses all rehearse, In works alike of prose and verse. I looked, and paused awhile, Then asked: “O Muse, where is the file?” “The file is out of order, friend, and we Now do without it,” answered she. “But, to repair it, then, have you no care?” “We should, indeed, but have no time to spare.”
FRAGMENTS.
I.
I round the threshold wandering here, Vainly the tempest and the rain invoke, That they may keep my lady prisoner.
And yet the wind was howling in the woods, The roving thunder bellowing in the clouds, Before the dawn had risen in the sky.
O ye dear clouds! O heaven! O earth! O trees! My lady goes! Have mercy, if on earth Unhappy lovers ever mercy find!
Awake, ye whirlwinds! storm-charged clouds, awake, O’erwhelm me with your floods, until the sun To other lands brings back the light of day!
Heaven opens; the wind falls; the grass, the leaves Are motionless, around; the dazzling sun In my tear-laden eyes remorseless shines.