With costly wines well stor'd; No more the glad maid with her pitcher Descends there to draw from the hoard. No longer the goblet she places Before the guests at the feast; The flask at the meal so hallow'd No longer she fills for the priest. No more for the eager squire The draught in the passage is pour'd; No more for the flying present Receives she the flying reward. For all the roof and the rafters, They all long since have been burn'd, And stairs and passage and chapel To rubbish and ruins are turn'd. Yet when with lute and with flagon, When day was smiling and bright, I've watch'd my mistress climbing To gain this perilous height, Then rapture joyous and radiant The silence so desolate brake, And all, as in days long vanish'd, Once more to enjoyment awoke; As if for guests of high station The largest rooms were prepared; As if from those times so precious A couple thither had fared; As if there stood in his chapel The priest in his sacred dress, And ask'd: "Would ye twain be united?" And we, with a smile, answer'd, "Yes!" And songs that breath'd a deep feeling, That touched the heart's innermost chord, The music-fraught mouth of sweet echo, Instead of the many, outpour'd. And when at eve all was hidden In silence unbroken and deep, The glowing sun then look'd upwards, And gazed on the summit so steep. And squire and maiden then glitter'd As bright and gay as a lord, She seized the time for her present, And he to give her reward. 1803.* ----- THE SPIRIT'S SALUTE. THE hero's noble shade stands high On yonder turret grey; And as the ship is sailing by, He speeds it on his way. "See with what strength these sinews thrill'd! This heart, how firm and wild! These bones, what knightly marrow fill'd! This cup, how bright it smil'd! "Half of my life I strove and fought, And half I calmly pass'd; And thou, oh ship with beings fraught, Sail safely to the last!" 1774. ----- TO A GOLDEN HEART THAT HE WORE ROUND HIS NECK. [Addressed, during the Swiss tour already mentioned, to a present Lily had given him, during the time of their happy connection, which was then about to be terminated for ever.] OH thou token loved of joys now perish'd That I still wear from my neck suspended, Art thou stronger than our spirit-bond so cherish'd? Or canst thou prolong love's days untimely ended? Lily, I fly from thee! I still am doom'd to range Thro' countries strange, Thro' distant vales and woods, link'd on to thee! Ah, Lily's heart could surely never fall So soon away from me! As when a bird bath broken from his thrall, And seeks the forest green, Proof of imprisonment he bears behind him, A morsel of the thread once used to bind him; The free-born bird of old no more is seen, For he another's prey bath been. 1775. ----- THE BLISS OF SORROW. NEVER dry, never dry,