Art thinking of the friends whom yearning
Impell’d to fall upon thy breast?
Within the heart the thoughts were burning,
And yet the lips remain’d at rest.
Or of the sister and the mother
Art thinking, who approved thy suit?
Methinks within thy breast, good brother,
Wild passions fast are growing mute.
Of the fair garden art thou thinking,
Its birds and trees, where love’s young dream
Ofttimes sustain’d thy spirits sinking,
And hope shone forth with trembling beam?
’Tis late. The snow has fallen thickly,
Bright night illumes the humid mass;
I now must go, and hasten quickly
To dress for company,—Alas!
3.
Of my fair fatherland I once was proud;
Beside the stream
The oak soar’d high, the violets gently bow’d;
It was a dream.
German the kisses were, in German too
(Sweet then did seem
The sound) they spake the words: “Yes, I love you!”—
It was a dream.
12. TRAGEDY
1.
O fly with me, and be my wife,
And to my heart for comfort come!
Far, far away hence be my heart,
Thy fatherland and father’s home.