I WISH I WAS BY THAT DIM LAKE.
I wish I was by that dim Lake, 6)
Where sinful souls their farewell take
Of this vain world, and half-way lie
In death's cold shadow, ere they die.
There, there, far from thee,
Deceitful world, my home should be;
Where, come what might of gloom and pain,
False hope should ne'er deceive again.
The lifeless sky, the mournful sound
Of unseen waters falling round;
The dry leaves, quiv'ring o'er my head,
Like man, unquiet ev'n when dead!
These, ay, these shall wean
My soul from life's deluding scene,
And turn each thought, o'ercharged with gloom. Like willows, downward tow'rds the tomb.
As they, who to their couch at night
Would win repose, first quench the light,
So must the hopes, that keep this breast
Awake, be quench'd, ere it can rest.
Cold, cold, this heart must grow,
Unmoved by either joy or woe,
Like freezing founts, where all that 's thrown Within their current turns to stone.
O! ruht' ich an dem dunkeln See.
O! ruht' ich an dem dunkeln See, 6)
Wo manches Herz, voll Schuld und Weh,
Entsagt der Welt, schon vor dem Tod
Vom Todesschatten kalt umdroht.
Dort, dort, fern von dir,
Wär', arge Welt, die Heimath_mir,
Wo träf' auch Leid mich, noch so schwer,
Kein Hoffen falsch mich täuschte mehr.
Die todte Luft, der dumpfe Schall
Von unsichtbarer Wasser Fall,
Das dürre Laub, das zitternd kreis't,
Wie ruheloser Todten Geist:
Dies, dies entwöhne bald
Mein Herz des Lebens-Truggestalt,
Das all mein Denken, grambeschwert,
Gleich Weiden, tief zur Gruft sich kehrt.
Wer Ruhe nach des Tags Gewicht
Im Schlummer sucht, löscht erst das Licht;
So muß mein Hoffen all in Nacht
Erst sinken, eh' mir Ruhe lacht.
Kalt, kalt werde, Herz!
Von Freuden ungerührt und Schmerz,
Gleich eis'gen Quellen, drin versteint,
Was ihren Wellen sich vereint.
She sung of Love, while o'er her lyre
The rosy rays of evening fell,
As if to feed with their soft fire
The soul within that trembling shell.
The same rich light hung o'er her cheek,
And play'd around those lips that sung
And spoke, as flowers would sing and speak,
If Love could lend their leaves a tongue.
But soon the West no longer burn'd,
Each rosy ray from heav'n withdrew;
And, when to gaze again I turn'd,
The minstrel's form seem'd fading too.
As if her light and heav'n's were one,
The glory all had left that frame;
And from her glimmering lips the tone,
As from a parting spirit, came.
Who ever loved, but had the thought
That he and all he loved must part?
Fill'd with this fear, I flew and caught
The fading image to my heart
And cried,,,Oh Love! is this thy doom?
,,Oh light of youth's resplendent day!
,,Must ye then lose your golden bloom,
,,And thus, like sunshine, die away ?"
Sie fang von Liebe.
Sie fang von Liebe; rosig fiel
Auf ihre Leyer Abendglühen,
Als wollt's ihr zitternd weiches Spiel
Mit seiner milden Gluth durchsprühen;
Die Strahlen kosten ihrer Wang'
Und spielten um des Mundes Rosen,
Von denen süßes Singen klang,
Wie tongeword'nes Blumenkosen.
Doch war der West verglommen bald,
Und mit des rosgen Lichts Entfärben
Schien auch der Sängerin Gestalt
Zu überschatten gleiches Sterben.
Als wär' ihr Licht und jenes eins,
War all der Glanz von ihr geschwunden;
Von ihren Lippen, blaffen Scheins,
Erklang's wie Gruß in Sterbestunden.
Wer hat geliebt und bangte nie,
Daß all sein Liebstes ihm entweiche ? Voll dieser Angst schnell zog ich fie
Fest an mein Herz, die Todtenbleiche, Und rief: „ Liebe! dies dein Loos?
Glanz von dem die Jugend trunken!
Müßt ihr vergehen strahlenlos,
Wie Sonnenschein in Nacht versunken?
ALONE IN CROWDS TO WANDER ON.
Alone in crowds to wander on,
And feel that all the charm is gone
Which voices dear and eyes beloved
Shed round us once, where'er we roved
This, this the doom must be
Of all who 've loved, and lived to see
The few bright things they thought would stay
For ever near them, die away.
Tho' fairer forms around us throng,
Their smiles to others all belong,
And want that charm which dwells alone
Round those the fond heart calls its own.
Where, where the sunny brow?
The long-known voice where are they now?
Thus ask I still, nor ask in vain,
The silence answers all too plain.
Oh, what is Fancy's magic worth,
If all her art can not call forth
One bliss like those we felt of old
From lips now mute, and eyes now cold?
No, no, her spell is vain,
As soon could she bring back again
Those eyes themselves from out the grave,
As wake again one bliss they gave.
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