The sun now set, and wand'ring hand in hand,
His last and blissful look we greeted then;
While spake our eyes, as they each other scann'd:
"From the far east, let's trust, he'll come again!"
At midnight!—the bright stars, in vision blest,
Guide to the threshold where she slumbers calm:
Oh be it mine, there too at length to rest,—
Yet howsoe'er this prove, life's full of charm!
1828. ——- SUCH, SUCH IS HE WHO PLEASETH ME.
FLY, dearest, fly! He is not nigh!
He who found thee one fair morn in Spring
In the wood where thou thy flight didst wing.
Fly, dearest, fly! He is not nigh!
Never rests the foot of evil spy.