Up, Then, Dance We To The Song
Up, then, dance we to the song,
Care, for ever be thou gone!
Firm at length shall be my step,
High again my spirit leap!
Excerpt From Dialogue With 'The World
Too well thy weakness have I proved;
Now would I leave thee; - it is time -
Good night! to thee, oh world, good night!
I haste me to my home.
Chill Penury And Winter's Power
Chill penury and winter's power
Upon my soul so hard have prest,
That I would fain have seen no more
The red flow'rs that the meadows drest:
Yet, truth! 'twere hard, if I were gone,
Upon the merry-making throng,
That loud with joy was wont to ring,
And o'er the green to dance and spring!
Address to Emperor Frederic II.
Fain (could it be) would I a home obtain,
And warm me by a hearth-side of my own.
Then, then, I'd sing about the sweet birds' strain,
And fields and flowers, as I have whilome done;
And paint in song the lily and the rose
That dwell upon her cheek who smiles on me.
But lone I stray -- no home its comfort shows:
Ah, luckless man! still doom'd a guest to be!
A Mournful One Am I
A mournful one am I, above whose head
A day of perfect bliss hath never past;
Whatever joys my soul have ravished,
Soon was the radiance of those joys o'ercast.
And none can show me that substantial pleasure
Which will not pass away like bloom from flowers;
Therefore, no more my heart such joys shall treasure,
Nor pine for fading sweets and fleeting hours.
Worthy Art Thou, Returning Home
Worthy art thou, returning home, the bell
For thee should ring, and crowds come gathering round
To gaze, how as a gladdening miracle
Thou com'st, of sin or shame all blameless found.
Man's praise and woman's love shall thus abound;
And this thy glorious welcome shall dispel
The slanderous words which some have breathed around,
That honour bade thee still at distance dwell.
I've Got My Fief
I've got my fief, you world! A fief at last!
I shall not fear the February blast,
and petty barons can be flattered less.
The noble king has handed me heart's-ease:
a cozy winter hearth, a summer breeze.
The neighbors won't act haughty any more
and make sour faces, as they did before.
I've scrounged, and had small cause for gratitude,
so full of grumbles that my breath was bad.
Now I can sing! The king has made me glad!
Address to Leopold VII.
To me is barr'd the door of joy and ease;
There stand I as an orphan, lone, forlorn,
And nothing boots me that I frequent knock.
Strange that on every hand the shower should fall,
And not one cheering drop should reach to me!
On all around the gen'rous Austrian's gifts,
Gladdening the land, like genial rain descend:
A fair and gay adorned mead is he
Whereon are gather'd oft the sweetest flowers:
Would that his rich and ever gen'rous hand
Might stoop to pluck one little leaf for me,
So might I fitly praise a scene so fair!
I Thought I'd Served Her Long Enough
I thought I'd served her long enough,
and sat dejected and confused
despairing of the lady's love,
when something gave my hopes a boost.
You'll laugh at me (it seems so small,
more of a consolation prize)
for taking comfort there at all;
but I could feel my fortunes rise.
What cheered me was a blade of grass:
I measured out a stalk I'd plucked
(as children do to learn their luck)
and it said she'd offer me her grace.
Listen and judge if you think she might:
'She will, she won't, she will, she won't, she will.'
As much as I've tried it, it's come out right,
but you have to trust in the grass's skill.
Ah! Where Are Hours Departed Fled? (excerpt)
Ah! where are hours departed fled?
Is life a dream, or true indeed?
Did all my heart hath fashioned
From fancy's visitings proceed?
Yes! I have slept; and now unknown
To me the things best known before:
The land, the people, once mine own,
Where are they? -- they are here no more:
My boyhood's friends, all aged, worn,
Despoil'd the woods, the fields, of home,
Only the stream flows on forlorn;
(Alas! that e'er such change should come!)
And he knew me once so well
Salutes me now as one estranged:
The very earth to me can tell
Of nought but things perverted, changed:
And when I muse on other days,
That pass'd me as the dashing oars
The surface of the ocean raise,
Ceaseless my heart its fate deplores;
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