What warbling, what fragrance the sun’s light awakes! Like jewels the verdure is gleaming, His snowy-blossoming head soon shakes The sapling with joyous seeming.
The flowers peep forth from the earth to see, With longing in every feature, The lovely woman won by me, And me, the happy creature.
O transient bliss! Across the corn To-morrow will pass the sickle, The beauteous spring wither, and I all forlorn Be left by the woman fickle.
Lately dreamt I I was walking In the happy realms of heaven, Walking with thee, for without thee, Heaven itself would be a hell.
There I saw th’ Elect together, All the righteous and the godly, Who had for their souls’ salvation Mortified on earth their bodies.
Fathers of the Church, apostles, Capuchins and holy hermits, Strange old fellows, some strange young ones-- ’Twas the latter look’d the ugliest!
Very long and saintly faces, Ample bald pates, also grey beards (Various Jews were of the number) Pass’d us, looking stern and solemn.
Not one look upon thee throwing, Although thou, my pretty darling, On my arm wert hanging, toying, Toying, smiling, and coquetting.
One alone upon thee look’d, And he was the only handsome, Handsome man of all the number; And majestic were his features.
Round his lips was human kindness, In his eyes divine repose, And he mildly gazed upon thee As upon the Magdalene.
Ah! I know, he meant it kindly, None was e’er so pure and noble, But I, I was notwithstanding Moved as by an envious feeling;
And, I must confess, I found it Far from pleasant up in heaven-- May God pardon me! Our Saviour Jesus Christ I deem’d intrusive.
Each person to this feast enchanting His mistress takes, and with delight Roams in the blooming summer night. I wander alone, for my loved one is wanting.
Like some sick man, I wander all lonely, And far from the mirth and dancing go, The music sweet and the lamps’ bright glow My thoughts are away, and in England only.
I pluck the pinks and I pluck the roses, Distractedly and full of woe, And know not on whom the flow’rs to bestow; My heart soon withers along with the posies.
Long songless and oppress’d with sadness, I now compose again with yearning! Like tears that from us burst with madness My songs are suddenly returning.