187
There do my loud sighs wed them to the wind,
And harps æolian in the grotto play;
Be present to my eyes—as to my mind—
Hither again—O hither bend thy way.
'Midst the dark foliage in the full-moon's light
Thou didst first fan the fire of holiest love;
There did my pure lips pledge their early plight,
While listening nightingales were group'd above.
Hear (saidst thou) hear my words than blue-bright heaven;
Hear them, thou moon! whom yon fair stars attend;
And if I leave thee—curs'd and unforgiven
Let poison with each breeze, each breathing blend.
O thou wilt see, bewitching, blinding maids,
Maids who o'er youth's fond dreams supremely reign;
And thou wilt then forget Bohemia's shades,
And thou wilt wear affection's foreign chain.
Those ringlet-tresses—those black, beaming eyes
I know they will intoxicate—I know
How they will dazzle—while thy Kraska flies
Fading and fading more—and dwells with woe.
