Still weep’st thou, wanderer? Some fond mother’s glance
O’er thee, too, brooded in thine early years—
Think’st thou of her, whose gentle eye, perchance,
Bathed all thy faded hair with parting tears?
Speak, for thy tears disturb me!—what art thou?
Why dost thou hide thy face, yet weeping on?
Look up! Oh! is it—that wan cheek and brow!—
Is it—alas! yet joy!—my son, my son!
THEKLA’S SONG; OR, THE VOICE OF A SPIRIT.
FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER.