soon my poverty would ended be,Could I the pencil use, and paint away,
The walls of castles proud and churches gay
Adorning with my pictures merrily!
How soon would wealth replace my penury,
Could I the fiddle, flute, and piano play.
And with such elegance perform each day,
That lords and ladies all applauded me!
But ah! in Mammon’s smiles I ne’er had part,
For I have follow’d thee alone, alas!
Thee, Poetry, most thankless, breadless art!
When others (how I’m blushing, now I’ve said it!)
Drink their champagne from out a brimming glass,
I needs must go without, or drink on credit!
BOOK OF SONGS.
PREFACE.
This is the olden fairy wood!
The linden blossoms smell sweetly,
The strange mysterious light of the moon
Enchants my senses completely.
I onward went, and as I went,
A voice above me was ringing;—
’Tis surely the nightingale’s notes that I hear
Of love and love’s sorrows she’s singing.
She sings of love and love’s sorrows as well,
She sings of smiling and aching,
She sadly exults, she joyfully sobs,
Forgotten visions awaking.
I onward went, and as I went,
I saw before me lying,
On open ground, a castle vast,
With gables in loftiness vying.
The windows were closed, and all things appear’d
To stillness and sadness converted;
It seem’d as though silent death had his home
Within those walls deserted.
A sphinx was lying before the door,
Part comical, part not human;
Its body and paws a lion’s were,
With the breasts and head of a woman.
A woman fair! her white eyes spoke
Of yearnings wild but tender;
Her lips, all mute, were closely arch’d,
And smiled a silent surrender.
The nightingale so sweetly sang,
I found it in vain to resist it—
I kiss’d the beauteous face, and, ah!
Was ruined as soon as I kissed it.
The marble figure with life was fill’d,
The stone began sighing and groaning;
She drank my kisses’ tremulous glow
With thirsty and eager moaning.
She well nigh drank my breath away,
And then, with sensual ardour,
Embraced me, while her lion’s paws press’d
My body harder and harder.
O blissful torment and rapturous woe!
The pain, like the pleasure, unbounded!
For while the mouth’s kisses filled me with joy,
The paws most fearfully wounded.
The nightingale sang: “O beauteous sphinx!
“O loved one, explain the reason
“Why all thy raptures with pains of death
“Are mingled, in cruel treason?
“O beauteous sphinx! explain to me
“The riddle so full of wonder!
“I over it many a thousand years
“Have never ceased to ponder.”
YOUTHFUL SORROWS. 1817–21.
Of love’s wild glow I dreamt in former days,
Of mignonette, fair locks, and myrtle twining,
Of lips so sweet, with bitter words combining,
Of mournful melodies of mournful lays.
The dreams have long been scatter’d far and banish’d,
My dearest vision fled for evermore,
And, save the burning glow I used to pour
Into my tender numbers, all is vanish’d.
Thou ling’rest still, deserted song! Now go,
And seek that long-lost vision; shouldst thou meet it,
On my behalf in loving fashion greet it—
An airy breath to that dim shade I blow.
2.
A dream both strange and sad to see
Once startled and delighted me;
The dismal vision haunts me still,
