The point of his arrows

He lights in the glow; They clasp him and kiss him

And fondle him so.

He e o! Pap!

FROM EGMONT.

ACT I.

CLARA winds a skein, and sings with Brackenburg.

THE drum gives the signal!

Loud rings the shrill fife!

My love leads his troops on

Full arm'd for the strife, While his hand grasps his lance As they proudly advance.

My bosom pants wildly!

My blood hotly flows!

Oh had I a doublet, A helmet, and hose!

Through the gate with bold footstep

I after him hied,-- Each province, each country

Explored by his side.

The coward foe trembled Then rattled our shot: What bliss e'er resembled

A soldier's glad lot!

ACT III.

CLARA sings.

Gladness

And sadness And pensiveness blending

Yearning

And burning In torment ne'er ending;

Sad unto death, Proudly soaring above;

Happy alone Is the soul that doth love!

FROM "WILHELM MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP."

BOOK II., CHAP. XIII.

WHO never eat with tears his bread,

Who never through night's heavy hours Sat weeping on his lonely bed,--

He knows you not, ye heavenly powers!

Through you the paths of life we gain,

Ye let poor mortals go astray, And then abandon them to pain,--

E'en here the penalty we pay, ----- WHO gives himself to solitude,

Soon lonely will remain; Each lives, each loves in joyous mood,

And leaves him to his pain.

Yes! leave me to my grief!

Were solitude's relief

E'er granted me,

Alone I should not be.

A lover steals, on footstep light,

To learn if his love's alone; Thus o'er me steals, by day and night,

Anguish before unknown, Thus o'er me steals deep grief.

Ah, when I find relief

Within the tomb so lonely,

Will rest be met with only!

----- BOOK IV., CHAP. XI.

My grief no mortals know,

Except the yearning!

Alone, a prey to woe,

All pleasure spurning, Up tow'rds the sky I throw

A gaze discerning.

He who my love can know