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Telle est la Vie.

Seest thou yon bark? It left our bay
This morn on its adventurous way,
All glad and gaily bright;
And many a gale its impulse gave,
And many a gently-heaving wave

Nigh bore it out of sight.

But soon that glorious course was lost,
And treacherous was the deep;
Ne'er thought they there was peril most
When tempest seemed asleep.
Telle est la vie!

That flower, that fairest flower that
Aye cherished by the evening dew,
And cheered by opening day;
That flower, which I had spared to cull,
Because it was so beautiful,

And shone so fresh and gay;
Had all unseen a deathly shoot,

The germ of future sorrow; And there was canker at its root,

That nipped it ere the morrow.
Telle est la vie!


I've watched from yonder mountain's height The waxing and the waning light,

The world far, far below;

I've heard the thunder long and loud,
I've seen the sunshine and the cloud,
The tempest and the bow;

Caecae Lubrica Vitae.

En ratis ista iacet, nostris qvae nuper ab oris
Vela dedit celeri per mare laeta via,
Et faciles secuit zephyris adflantibus undas,
Gaudia non ullo solicitante metu.

At cito defecit cursu ratis ista superbo,

Scilicet aeqvoreis victima capta dolis;
Ibat enim dubio nimborum credula somno,
Nescia, dormiret dum maris ira, mali.
Talis et haec vita est, vario qvae iactat in aestu
Nos homines, istam ceu levis unda ratem.
Flosculus ille mihi qvem molli rore fovebat
Occiduus pariter vesper et orta dies,
Qvem modo nolueram patria decerpere terra,
Talis erat formae gratia, tale decus;
Ille, nefas, intus sibimet funesta fovebat
Germina, venturis insidiosa malis,
Radicesque fero teneras vitiante veneno,
Praefestinata morte iacebat humi.

Talis et haec vita est, qvae, flos velut iste tenellus, 'Mane viget, marcet vespere, nocte perit.' Vidi ego dissimiles casus ortusqve diei,

Qva face sol intret, qva face linqvat aqvas; Vidi ego mile oculis urbes subiectaqve rura

Eminus, aerii celsus in arce iugi;

Vidi ego densa brevi subcedere nubila luci,
Fulguraque adtonito prosiluisse polo,

Qvom modo sol imbrem, solem modo depulit imber,
Sceptraqve per varias gessit uterqve vices:


Now 'twas all sunshine glad and bright,
And now the storm was raging;
Methought I read in that frail light
And storm a warfare raging,
Telle est la vie!


Sah ein Knab' ein Röslein stehn,
Röslein auf der Heiden,
War so jung und morgenschön,
Lief er schnell es nah zu sehn,
Sah's mit vielen Freuden.
Röslein, Röslein, Röslein roth,
Röslein auf der Heiden.

Knabe sprach: Ich breche dich,
Röslein auf der Heiden!
Röslein sprach: Ich steche dich,
Daß du ewig denkst an mich,
Und ich will's nicht leiden.
Röslein, Röslein, Röslein roth,
Röslein auf der Heiden.

Und der wilde Knabe brah
's Röslein auf der Heiden;
Röslein wehrte sich und stach,
Half ihr doch kein Weh und Ach,
Mußt es eben leiden.
Röslein, Röslein, Röslein roth,
Röslein auf der Heiden.



At luctata tamen fragili cum luce procella
Litibus in mediis sic mihi visa loqvi:
Vita virum tales inter iactata tumultus
Fluctuat: impendens qvid ferat hora, latet.

Puer et Rosa.

Terminos extra puerum vagantem
Perculit florens rosa: risit aer,
Et puer risit, teneriqve floris
Arsit amore.

Rosa tenella, gemma amata,
Rosa propinqva sepe nata.

Te tuo vellam, rosa pulcra, ramo,
Clamat. Audaces, ait illa, palmas
Abstine, spinis lacerande nostris
Invide praedo.

Rosa tenella, gemma amata,
Rosa propinqva sepe nata.

Ille nil instat metuens pericli;
Illa luctatur gemituqve vano
Plorat infelix; ope destitutam
Subsecat hostis.

Rosa misella, gemma amata,
Rosa maligna luce nata.

G. B.


To the Nightingale.

O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes, that close the eye of day,

First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend success in love; oh, if Jove's will Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh;

As thou, from year to year, hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why:

Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

Am Flusse.

Verfliesset, vielgeliebte Lieder,
Zum Meere der Vergessenheit !
Kein Knabe singt entzückt euch wieder,
Kein Mädchen in der Blüthenzeit.

Ihr sanget nur von meiner Lieben;
Nun spricht sie meiner Treue Hohn.
Ihr wart in's Wasser eingeschrieben;
So fließt denn auch mit ihm davon.



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