To the ranks of the faithful I'm true:Though ofttimes 'twas dark and though ofttimes 'twas drear,In the pressure of need, and when danger was near,
[Composed for a merry party that used to meet, in 1802, atGoethe's house.]
As a clasp-knife snaps the bait,With her snare she seized me fast,
In the Muses' silent groves.
The seven sleepers slept.
When at length return'd the spring-time,To the nightingales thus spake I:"Darling nightingales, oh, beat yeEarly, early at my window,--Wake me from the heavy slumberThat chains down the youth so strongly!"Yet the love-o'erflowing songstersTheir sweet melodies protractedThrough the night before my window,Kept awake my loving spirit,Rousing new and tender yearningsIn my newly-waken'd bosom.And the night thus fleeted o'er me,And Aurora found me sleeping,--Ay, the sun could scarce arouse me.
This one comes with joyous bearing
And if we're to sing all that further occurr'd,
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