The worst of worms: the dagger thoughts of doubt-- The worst of poisons: to mistrust one’s power-- These struggled my life’s marrow to devour; I was a shoot, whose props were rooted out. Thou pitiedst the poor shoot in that sad hour, And bad’st it climb thy kindly words about; To thee, great Master, owe I thanks devout, Should the weak shoot e’er blossom into flower. O still watch o’er it, as it grows apace, That as a tree the garden it may grace Of that fair fay, whose favourite child thou wert. My nurse used of that garden to assert That a strange ringing, wondrous sweet, there dwells, Each flower can speak, each tree with music swells. 2. TO THE SAME. Contented not with thine own property, The Rhine’s fair Nibelung-treasure thou didst steal, The wondrous gifts the Thames’ far banks conceal,-- The Tagus’ flowers were boldly pluck’d by thee, Thou mad’st the Tiber many a gem reveal, The Seine paid tribute to thine industry, Thou pierced’st e’en to Brama’s sanctuary, Pearls from the Ganges taking in thy zeal. Thou greedy man, I pray thee be content With that which seldom unto man is lent; Instead of adding more, to spend prepare! And with the treasures which thou with such ease From North and South accustom’d wert to seize, Enrich the scholar and the joyful heir. 3. TO COUNCILLOR GEORGE S----, OF GOTTINGEN. Though the demeanour be imperious, proud, Yet round the lips may gentleness play still; Though the eye gleam and every muscle thrill, Yet may the voice with calmness be endow’d. Thus art thou in the rostrum, when aloud Thou speak’st of governments and of the skill Of cabinets, and of the people’s will, Of Germany’s long strifes and ends avow’d. Ne’er be thine image blotted from my mind! In times of barbarous self-love like these, How doth an image of such greatness please! What thou, in fashion fatherly and kind, Spak’st to my heart, while hours flew swiftly by, Deep in my heart I still bear faithfully. 4. TO J. B. ROUSSEAU. Thy friendly greetings open wide my breast, And the dark chambers of my heart unbar; Home visions greet me like some radiant star, And magic pinions fan me into rest. Once more the Rhine flows by me, on its crest Of waters mount and castle mirror’d are; On vine-clad hills gold clusters gleam afar, Vine-dressers climb, while shoot the flow’rets blest. Could I but see thee, truest friend of all, Who still dost link thyself to me, as clings The ivy green around a crumbling wall! Could I but be with thee, and to thy song In silence listen, while the redbreast sings, And the Rhine’s waters softly flow along! 5.