While on this sight our master gazed, His head was growing well-nigh crazed: What words for all could he e'er find, Could such a medley be combined? Could he continue with delight For evermore to sing and write? When lo, from out a cloud's dark bed In at the upper window sped The Muse, in all her majesty, As fair as our loved maids we see. With clearness she around him threw Her truth, that ever stronger grew. "I, to ordain thee come," she spake: "So prosper, and my blessing take! The holy fire that slumb'ring lies Within thee, in bright flames shall rise; Yet that thine ever-restless life May still with kindly strength be rife, I, for thine inward spirit's calm. Have granted nourishment and balm, That rapture may thy soul imbue, Like some fair blossom bathed in dew."-- Behind his house then secretly Outside the doorway pointed she, Where, in a shady garden-nook, A beauteous maid with downcast look Was sitting where a stream was flowing, With elder bushes near it growing, She sat beneath an apple tree, And nought around her seem'd to see. Her lap was full of roses fair, Which in a wreath she twined with care. And, with them, leaves and blossoms blended: For whom was that sweet wreath intended? Thus sat she, modest and retired, Her bosom throbb'd, with hope inspired; Such deep forebodings fill'd her mind, No room for wishing could she find, And with the thoughts that o'er it flew, Perchance a sigh was mingled too. "But why should sorrow cloud thy brow? That, dearest love, which fills thee now Is fraught with joy and ecstasy. Prepared in one alone for thee, That he within thine eye may find Solace when fortune proves unkind, And be newborn through many a kiss, That he receives with inward bliss; When'er he clasps thee to his breast. May he from all his toils find rest When he in thy dear arms shall sink, May he new life and vigour drink: Fresh joys of youth shalt thou obtain, In merry jest rejoice again. With raillery and roguish spite, Thou now shalt tease him, now delight. Thus Love will nevermore grow old, Thus will the minstrel ne'er be cold!" While he thus lives, in secret bless'd, Above him in the clouds doth rest An oak-wreath, verdant and sublime, Placed on his brow in after-time; While they are banish'd to the slough, Who their great master disavow. 1776. ----- SONNETS. ----- Lovingly I'll sing of love; Ever comes she from above. ----- THE FRIENDLY MEETING. IN spreading mantle to my chin conceald, I trod the rocky path, so steep and grey, Then to the wintry plain I bent my way Uneasily, to flight my bosom steel'd. But sudden was the newborn day reveal'd: A maiden came, in heavenly bright array, Like the fair creatures of the poet's lay In realms of song. My yearning heart was heal'd. Yet turn'd I thence, till she had onward pass'd, While closer still the folds to draw I tried, As though with heat self-kindled to grow warm; But follow'd her. She stood. The die was cast!