And thou shalt be what we are now.

Be taught by us, life's jocund guest,

The world to thee will soon prove cold:

Thou now mayst dance!".... The elders live,

Whilst he, in ripest bloom of youth,

Has, fading, perished ere his time.

Wild the feast, and loud the song-,

Although his voice is ever mute;

New friends now lill the vacant seat;

Seldom, seldom, when maidens chat,

And talk of love, his name is spoke;

Of all, whose hearts his words made flame,

It may be, one will shed a tear,

As memory recalls some scene

Of joy long buried in his grave -

And wherefore weep?

Bathed by a stream,

In calm array, the lines of tombs,

Each guarded by its wooden cross,

Lie hidden in the antique grove,

There, close beside the highroad's edge,

Where old beech-trees their branches wave,

His heart at peace and free from care,

Sleeps his last sleep the gentle youth.

In vain, the light of day pours down,

Or morn from mid-sky shines full bright,

Or, splashing round the senseless tomb,

The river purls, or forest wails;

In vain, at early morn, in quest

Of berries red, the village maid

Shall to the stream her basket bring,

And, frightened, dip her naked foot

Into the cold spring-waters fresh;