EVENING.
[Written at night on the Kickelhahn, a hill in the forest of Ilmenau, on the walls of a little hermitage where Goethe composed the last act of his "Iphigenia."]
Peace breathes along the shade
Of every hill,
The tree-tops of the glade
Are hushed and still;
All woodland murmurs cease,
The birds to rest within the brake are gone.
Be patient, weary heart—anon,
Thou, too, shalt be at peace!
TO LINA.
Lina, rival of the linnet,
When these lays shall reach thy hand,
Please transfer them to the spinnet,
Where thy friend was wont to stand.
Set the diapason ringing,
Ponder not the words you see,
Give them utterance by thy singing,
Then each leaf belongs to thee.
With the life of music fill them;
Cold the written verses seem,
That, would Lina deign to trill them,
Might be trancing as a dream.
