“Thou’rt my favourite now, and thy likeness hangs
“At the head of my bed in due order;
“And see, a fresh laurel now surrounds
“The cherish’d portrait’s border.
“Yet thy attacks on my sons, I confess,
“Repeated by thee so often,
“Have sometimes caused me the greatest pain;
“Thy language thou must soften.
“I trust that time has cured thee now
“Of rudeness so cold-hearted,
“And somewhat greater tolerance
“For even the fools imparted.
“But say how thou camest to travel north
“At such an unclement season?
“The weather already is winterly quite,—
“I fain would know the reason.”
“O worthy goddess!” I said in reply,
“In the bosom’s inmost recesses
“Are slumbering thoughts which often awake
“At a time which rather distresses.
“Externally things went on pretty well,
“But within I was weigh’d down with anguish,
“Which every day grew worse and worse,—
“For home I ceased not to languish.
“The air of France, so usually light,
“Began to be oppressive;
“I long’d to breathe some German air,
“To relieve this burden excessive.
“I yearn’d for German tobacco-smoke,
“And the smell of German peat too;
“My foot impatiently quiver’d, the ground
“Of Germany to beat too.
“I sigh’d all night, and I long’d and long’d
“Yet once again to view her,
“The old woman who close to the Dammthor lives,
“And Lotte, who lives close to her.
“The thought of that old and worthy man
“Who always freely reproved me,
“And then his protection over me threw,
“To many a sigh now moved me.