Yet what excuse, my heart, can I prepare
In such a case, for not consulting thee?
But courage! while our sorrows utter we
In tones where love, grief, gladness have a share.
But see! the minstrel's bidding to obey,
Its melody pours forth the sounding lyre,
Yearning a sacrifice of love to bring.
Scarce would'st thou think it—ready is the lay;
Well, but what then? Methought in the first fire
We to her presence flew, that lay to sing.
THE MAIDEN SPEAKS.
How grave thou lookest, loved one! wherefore so?
Thy marble image seems a type of thee;
Like it, no sign of life thou givest me;
Compared with thee, the stone appears to glow.
Behind his shield in ambush lurks the foe,
The friend's brow all unruffled we should see.
I seek thee, but thou seekest away to flee;
Fixed as this sculptured figure, learn to grow!
Tell me, to which should I the preference pay?
Must I from both with coldness meet alone?
The one is lifeless, thou with life art blest.
In short, no longer to throw words away,
I'll fondly kiss and kiss and kiss this stone,
Till thou dost tear me hence with envious breast.
