Along the openings echoing of the woods

Was playing I with fingers tender:

Both hymns solemn, god-inspired

And peaceful song of Phrygian shepherd.

From morn till night in oak's dumb shadow

To the strange maid's teaching intent I listened;

And with sparing reward me gladdening

Tossing back her curls from her forehead dear,

From my hands the flute herself she took.

Now filled the wood was with breath divine

And the heart with holy enchantment filled.

1823.

POEMS OF LOVE.

THE STORM-MAID.

HAST thou seen on the rock the maid,

In robe of white above the waves,

When seething in the storm dark

Played the sea with its shores, -

When the glare of lightning hourly

With rosy glimmer her lighted up,

And the wind beating and flapping

Struggled with her flying robe?

Beautiful's the sea in the storm dark,

Glorious is the sky even without its blue;

But trust me: on the rock the maid

Excels both wave, and sky, and storm.

1825.

THE BARD.

HAVE ye beard in the woods the nightly voice

Of the bard of love, of the bard of his grief?

When the fields in the morning hour were still,

The flute's sad sound and simple

Have ye heard?

Have ye met in the desert darkness of the forest

The bard of love, the bard of his grief?

Was it a track of tears, was it a smile,

Or a quiet glance filled with melancholy,