Offer my Muse a friendly hand,
For I can sing no other song.
Who feels no woe, nor flames at wrong,
Loves not his Fatherland.
DREAM.
I dreamt that, standing on a height,
I wished to plunge me in the sea,
When, lo! a spirit of peace and light,
This wondrous song sang unto me:
‘Await the spring! I’ll soon be here;’