SERENADE TO NINON
Ninon, Ninon, what life canst thou be leading?
Swift glide its hours, and day succeeds to day;
How dost thou live, still deaf to Love's sweet pleading?
To-night's fair rose to-morrow fades away.
To-day the bloom of Spring, Ninon, to-morrow frost!
What! Thou canst starless sail, and fear not to be lost?
Canst travel without book? In silence march to strife?
What! thou hast not known love, and yet canst talk of life?
I for a little love would give my latest breath;
And, if deprived of love, would gladly welcome death!
What matter if the day be at its dusk or dawn,
If from another's life our own heart's life be drawn?
O youthful flowers, unfold! If blown o'er Death's cold stream,
This life is but a sleep, of which love is the dream;
And when the winds of Fate have wafted you above,
You will at least have lived, if you have tasted love!
(From the French of Alfred de Musset.)
THE RED TYROLEAN EAGLE
Eagle, Tyrolean eagle,
Why are thy plumes so red?
"In part because I rest
On Ortler's lordly crest;
There share I with the snow
The sunset's crimson glow."
Eagle, Tyrolean eagle,
Why are thy plumes so red?
"From drinking of the wine
Of Etschland's peerless vine;
Its juice so redly shines,
That it incarnadines."
Eagle, Tyrolean eagle,
Why are thy plumes so red?
"My plumage hath been dyed
In blood my foes supplied;
Oft on my breast hath lain
That deeply purple stain."
Eagle, Tyrolean eagle,
Why are thy plumes so red?
"From suns that fiercely shine,
From draughts of ruddy wine,
From blood my foes have shed,—
From these am I so red."
(From the German of Senn.)