Round my beauty's slender girdle, Tenderly mine arm enwreathing, I can feel with blessed finger Her proud bosom's haughty breathing. But I hear an anxious whisper Through the linden-branches coming, And below, the somber mill-stream Murmurs dreams of evil omen. Ah, Senora, I foresee it! I shall be expelled forever, On the walls of Salamanca, We again shall wander never! LXXXIII. Next to me lives Don Henriquez, He whom folk "the beauty" call; Neighborly our rooms are parted Only by a single wall. Salamanca's ladies flutter When he strides along the street, Clinking spurs, mustachoes twirling, And with hounds about his feet. But in quiet hours of evening He will sit at home apart, His guitar between his fingers, And sweet dreams within his heart. Then he smites the chords with passion, All at once begins to strum. Ah, like squalling cats his scrapings, Toll-de-roll and toodle-dum! LXXXIV. We scarcely had met ere thy voice and thine eye Assured me, my darling, that thou wast mine own; And had not thy mother stood cruelly nigh, I think I should really have kissed thee anon. To-morrow again I depart from the town, And hasten forth on my weary track, From the window my yellow-haired lass peeps down, And the friendliest greetings I waft her back. LXXXV. Lo, on the mountains the sunbeams' first kiss! The bells of the herd ring afar on the plain, My darling, my lambkin, my sun and my bliss, Oh, fain would I see thee and greet thee again! I gaze on thy windows with curious eyes. Farewell, dearest child, I must vanish for thee, In vain! for the curtain moves not--there she lies, There slumbers she still--and dreams about me? LXXXVI. In Halle, near the market, There stand two mighty lions. Ah, lion-strength of Halle town, How art thou tamed and broken! In Halle, near the market, There stands a mighty giant, He holds a sword and he never moves, He is petrified with terror. In Halle, near the market, A stately church is standing, Where the _Burschenschaft_ and the _Landsmannschaft_ Have plenty of room to worship. LXXXVII. Dusky summer-eve declineth Over wood and verdant meadow, Golden moon in azure heavens, Wafting fragrance, softly shineth. By the brook-side chirps the cricket, Something stirs within the water, And the wanderer hears a rustling, Hears a breathing past the thicket. In the streamlet, white and slender, All alone the nymph is bathing, Beautiful her arms and shoulders Shimmer in the moonbeams' splendor. LXXXVIII. Night enfolds these foreign meadows, Sick heart, weary limbs caressing. Ah, thy light athwart the shadows, Moon, is like a quiet blessing! Gentle moon, thy mild beams banish Gloomy terrors where they hover. All my woes dissolve and vanish, And mine eyes with dew brim over.