Peeps the sun through fragrant balm. Gently rolls and heaves the ocean As its waves the bank o'erflow. And with ever restless motion Moves the verdure to and fro, Mirror'd brightly far below. What is now the foliage moving? Air is still, and hush'd the breeze, Sultriness, this fullness loving, Through the thicket, from the trees. Now the eye at once gleams brightly, See! the infant band with mirth Moves and dances nimbly, lightly, As the morning gave it birth, Flutt'ring two and two o'er earth. * * * * 1816. ----- JUNE. SHE behind yon mountain lives, Who my love's sweet guerdon gives. Tell me, mount, how this can be! Very glass thou seem'st to me, And I seem to be close by, For I see her drawing nigh; Now, because I'm absent, sad, Now, because she sees me, glad! Soon between us rise to sight Valleys cool, with bushes light, Streams and meadows; next appear Mills and wheels, the surest token That a level spot is near, Plains far-stretching and unbroken. And so onwards, onwards roam, To my garden and my home! But how comes it then to pass? All this gives no joy, alas!-- I was ravish'd by her sight, By her eyes so fair and bright, By her footstep soft and light. How her peerless charms I praised, When from head to foot I gazed! I am here, she's far away,-- I am gone, with her to stay. If on rugged hills she wander, If she haste the vale along, Pinions seem to flutter yonder, And the air is fill'd with song; With the glow of youth still playing, Joyous vigour in each limb, One in silence is delaying, She alone 'tis blesses him. Love, thou art too fair, I ween! Fairer I have never seen! From the heart full easily Blooming flowers are cull'd by thee. If I think: "Oh, were it so," Bone and marrow seen to glow! If rewarded by her love, Can I greater rapture prove? And still fairer is the bride, When in me she will confide, When she speaks and lets me know All her tale of joy and woe. All her lifetime's history Now is fully known to me. Who in child or woman e'er Soul and body found so fair? 1815. ----- NEXT YEAR'S SPRING. THE bed of flowers Loosens amain, The beauteous snowdrops Droop o'er the plain. The crocus opens Its glowing bud, Like emeralds others, Others, like blood. With saucy gesture Primroses flare, And roguish violets, Hidden with care; And whatsoever There stirs and strives, The Spring's contented, If works and thrives. 'Mongst all the blossoms That fairest are, My sweetheart's sweetness Is sweetest far; Upon me ever Her glances light, My song they waken, My words make bright, An ever open And blooming mind, In sport, unsullied, In earnest, kind. Though roses and lilies By Summer are brought, Against my sweetheart Prevails he nought. 1816. ----- AT MIDNIGHT HOUR.