"High over the sails, high over the mast, Who shall gainsay these joys? When thy merry companions are still, at last, Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice. "Who neither may rest, nor listen may, I dart away, in the bright blue day, "Thus do I sing my weary song, And this same song, my whole life long, WHITHER? FROM THE GERMAN OF MÜLLER. I HEARD a brooklet gushing From its rocky fountain near, Down into the valley rushing, So fresh and wondrous clear. I know not what came o'er me, Nor who the counsel gave; But I must hasten downward, All with my pilgrim-stave; Downward, and ever farther, And ever the brook beside; And ever fresher murmured, And ever clearer, the tide. Is this the way I was going? Thou hast, with thy soft murmur, What do I say of a murmur? That can no murmur be; 'T is the water-nymphs, that are singing Their roundelays under me. Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur, And wander merrily near; The wheels of a mill are going BEWARE! FROM THE GERMAN. I KNOW a maiden fair to see, Take care! She can both false and friendly be, Beware! Beware! Trust her not, She is fooling thee! She has two eyes, so soft and brown, Take care! She gives a side-glance and looks down, And she has hair of a golden hue, Take care! And what she says, it is not true, Beware! Beware! Trust her not, She is fooling thee! She has a bosom as white as snow, Take care! She knows how much it is best to show, It is a fool's-cap for thee to wear, Beware! Beware! Trust her not, She is fooling thee! |