Over my bed ariseth a tree, There sings the youthful nightingale; She sings of love exulting, In dreams ’tis heard by me. 88. “Say, where is thy beauteous mistress, “Whom thou sangest in the hour “When thy heart was pierced so strangely “By the flames of magic power?” All those flames are now extinguish’d, And my heart is cold and weary, And this book’s the urn that holdeth My love’s ashes sad and dreary. 89. Full long have I my head tormented With ceaseless thinking, day and night; And yet thy darling eyes compel me To love thee, in my own despite. Now stand I, where thine eyes are gleaming, Charm’d by their sweet expressive light; That I should love again thus deeply I scarcely can believe aright. 90. When thou hast become my wedded wife Thy joy shall know no measure; Thou’lt live in happiness all thy life, In uninterrupted pleasure. And I will very patient be E’en ’neath thy reviling and curses; But we must part most certainly If thou abusest my verses. 91. Little by thee comprehended, Little knew I thee, good brother; When we in the mud descended Soon we understood each other. 92. Near me dwelleth Don Henriques, As the “handsome” known and fêted; Our apartments are adjoining, By a thin wall separated. Salamanca’s dames are blushing As he in the streets is walking Rattling spurs, mustachios twirling, With his dogs behind him stalking. But at evening’s silent hour he All alone at home is sitting, His guitar his fingers twanging, Sweet dreams through his fancy flitting. On the chords with vigour plays he, His wild phantasies beginning-- O it drives me mad to hear him Keeping up his wretched dinning. _THE HARTZ-JOURNEY._ 1824. PREFACE. In black coats and silken stockings, White and courtly frills they hide them, Gentle speeches and embraces-- Had they only hearts inside them! Hearts within the breast, and love, too, In the heart, yea, love all-burning; Ah! I’m sick of their false prating Of love’s sorrows and love’s yearning. I’ll ascend the distant mountains Where the peaceful huts are standing, Where the breezes free are blowing, And the bosom free’s expanding. I’ll ascend the distant mountains Where the dusky firs are springing, And the haughty clouds are roaming, Brooks are murmuring, birds are singing. Fare ye well, ye polish’d chambers, Polish’d lords and dames beguiling; To the mountains now ascending I’ll look down upon you, smiling. 1. On the mountain stands the cottage Of the aged mountaineer; There the dark-green fir is rustling, And the golden moon shines clear.