In her hand the little lamp, and Mighty passion in her breast, Psyche creepeth to the couch where Her dear sleeper takes his rest. How she blushes, how she trembles, When his beauty she descries! He, the God of love, unveil’d thus, Soon awakes and quickly flies. Eighteen hundred years’ repentance! And the poor thing nearly died! Psyche fasts and whips herself still, For she Amor naked spied. 16. THE UNKNOWN ONE. Every day I have a meeting With my golden-tressèd beauty In the Tuileries’ fair garden Underneath the chesnuts’ shadow. Every day she goes to walk there With two old and ugly women-- Are they aunts? or else two soldiers Muffled up in women’s garments? Overawed by the mustachios Of her masculine attendants, And still farther overawed too By the feelings in my bosom, I ne’er ventured e’en one sighing Word to whisper as I pass’d her, And with looks I scarcely ventured Ever to proclaim my passion. For the first time I to-day have Learnt her name. Her name is Laura, Like the Provençal fair maiden Whom the famous poet loved so. Laura is her name! I’ve gone now Just as far as Master Petrarch, Who the fair one celebrated In canzonas and in sonnets. Laura is her name! like Petrarch I can now platonically Revel in this name euphonious-- He himself no further ventured. 17. THE CHANGE. With brunettes I now have finish’d, And this year am once more fond Of the eyes whose colour blue is, Of the hair whose colour’s blond. Mild the blond one, whom I love now, And in meekness quite a gem! She would be some blest saint’s image, Held her hand a lily stem. Slender limbs of wondrous beauty, Little flesh, much sympathy; All her soul is glowing but for Faith and hope and charity. She maintains she understands not German,--but it can’t be so; Hast ne’er read the heavenly poem Klopstock wrote some time ago? 18. FORTUNE. Madam Fortune, thou in vain Act’st the coy one! I can gain By my own exertions merely All thy favours prized so dearly. Thou art overcome by me, To the yoke I fasten thee; Thou art mine beyond escaping-- But my bleeding wounds are gaping. All my red blood gushes out, My life’s courage to the rout Soon is put; I’m vanquish’d lying, And in victory’s hour am dying. 19. LAMENTATION OF AN OLD-GERMAN YOUTH. The man on whom virtue smiles is blest, He is lost who neglects her instructions; Poor youth that I am, I am ruin’d By evil companions’ seductions. For cards and dice soon dispossess’d My pockets of all their money; At first the maidens consoled me With smiles as luscious as honey.