In the drear void of a sad tortured breast;

Now on the well-knownthreshold Hope hath smil'd,
Herself appeareth in the sunlight mild.

Unto the peace of God, which, as we read,
Blesseth us more than reason e'er bath done,

Love's happy peace would I compare indeed,
When in the presence of the dearest one.

There rests the heart, and there that sweetest thought,
The thought of being hers, is check'd by nought.

In the pure bosom doth a yearning float,
Unto a holier, purer, unknown Being

Its gratefulaspiration to devote,
The Ever-Nameless then unriddled seeing;

We call it: piety!--such blest delight
I feel a share in, when before her sight.

Before her sight, as 'neath the sun's hot ray,
Before her breath, as 'neath the spring's soft wind,

In its deep wintrycavern melts away
Self-love, so long in icy chains confin'd;

No selfishness and no self-will are nigh,
For at her advent they were forced to fly.

It seems as though she said: "As hours pass by
They spread before us life with kindly plan;

Small knowledge did the yesterday supply,
To know the morrow is conceal'd from man;

And if the thought of evening made me start,
The sun at setting gladden'd straight my heart.

"Act, then, as I, and look, with joyous mind,
The moment in the face; nor linger thou!

Meet it with speed, so fraught with life, so kind
In action, and in love so radiant now;

Let all things be where thou art, childlike ever,
Thus thoult be all, thus, thou'lt be vanquish'd never."

Thou speakest well, methought, for as thy guide
The moment's favour did a god assign,

And each one feels himself when by thy side,
Fate's fav'rite in a moment so divine;

I tremble at thy look that bids me go,
Why should I care such wisdom vast to know?

Now am I far! And what would best befit
The present minute? I could scarcely tell;

Full many a rich possession offers it,
These but offend, and I would fain repel.

Yearnings unquenchable still drive me on,
All counsel, save unbounded tears, is gone.

Flow on, flow on in never-ceasing course,
Yet may ye never quench my inward fire!

Within my bosom heaves a mighty force,
Where death and life contend in combat dire.

Medicines may serve the body's pangs to still;
Nought but the spirit fails in strength of will,--

Fails in conception; wherefore fails it so?
A thousand times her image it portrays;

Enchanting now, and now compell'd to go,
Now indistinct, now clothed in purest rays!

How could the smallest comfort here be flowing?
The ebb and flood, the coming and the going!

* * * * * *
Leave me here now, my life's companions true!

Leave me alone on rock, in moor and heath;
But courage! open lies the world to you,

The glorious heavens above, the earth beneath;
Observe, investigate, with searching eyes,

And nature will disclose her mysteries.
To me is all, I to myself am lost,

Who the immortals' fav'rite erst was thought;
They, tempting, sent Pandoras to my cost,

So rich in wealth, with danger far more fraught;
They urged me to those lips, with rapture crown'd,

Deserted me, and hurl'd me to the ground.
1823.

III. ATONEMENT.
[Composed, when 74 years old, for a Polish lady, who excelled in

playing on the pianoforte.]
PASSION brings reason--who can pacify

An anguish'd heart whose loss hath been so great?
Where are the hours that fled so swiftly by?

In vain the fairest thou didst gain from fate;
Sad is the soul, confused the enterprise;

The glorious world, how on the sense it dies!
In million tones entwined for evermore,

Music with angel-pinions hovers there,
To pierce man's being to its inmost core,

Eternal beauty has its fruit to bear;
The eye grows moist, in yearnings blest reveres

The godlike worth of music as of tears.
And so the lighten'd heart soon learns to see

That it still lives, and beats, and ought to beat,
Off'ring itself with joy and willingly,

In gratefulpayment for a gift so sweet.
And then was felt,--oh may it constant prove!--

The twofold bliss of music and of love.
1823.

-----
THE remembrance of the Good

Keep us ever glad in mood.
The remembrance of the Fair

Makes a mortalrapture share.
The remembrance of one's Love

Blest Is, if it constant prove.
The remembrance of the One

Is the greatest joy that's known.
1828.

-----
[Written at the age of 77.]

WHEN I was still a youthful wight,
So full of enjoyment and merry,

The painters used to assert, in spite,
That my features were small--yes, very;

Yet then full many a beauteous child
With true affection upon me smil'd.

Now as a greybeard I sit here in state,
By street and by lane held in awe, sirs;

And may be seen, like old Frederick the Great,
On pipebowls, on cups, and on saucers.

Yet the beauteous maidens, they keep afar;
Oh vision of youth! Oh golden star!

1826.
-----

FOR EVER.
THE happiness that man, whilst prison'd here,

Is wont with heavenlyrapture to compare,--
The harmony of Truth, from wavering clear,--

Of Friendship that is free from doubting care,--
The light which in stray thoughts alone can cheer

The wise,--the bard alone in visions fair,--
In my best hours I found in her all this,