'Thou art mine!' he exclaims, 'while I live!''When thou know'st,' cries the old man, 'the treasure that'sthere,
[First published in Schiller's Horen, in connection with afriendly contest in the art of ballad-writing between the twogreat poets, to which many of their finest works are owing.]
On his cheeks a Spring eternal plays.Erect his head, and firm his tread,And by grace his ev'ry step is led.
Wille wau wau wau!
Wherewith her monster's raging thirst to slake;Then leaves me to myself, and flies at last,And I, unbound, yet prison'd fastBy magic, follow in her train,Seek for her, tremble, fly again.The hapless creature thus tormenteth she,
Gently come! feel no alarm,
Neath his flow'ry chaplet's load;
Dances a feast-day like this may well crown.If thou my sweetheart art not, thou canst be so,
THOU go'st! I murmur--Go! let me murmur.Oh, worthy man,Fly from this land!
Rocks the harvest in the field.
Him whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,Thou wilt raise above the mud-trackWith thy fiery pinions.He will wander,As, with flowery feet,Over Deucalion's dark flood,Python-slaying, light, glorious,Pythius Apollo.
Now that, Lord, this prayer is said,
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