So, too, I send my glance
    On distant scenes to dwell;
  I see in torturing trance
    The night of our farewell.

  Blue eyes, a lake of bliss,
    Swim dark before my sight,
  Thy breath, I feel, thy kiss;
    I hear thy whispering light.

  My cheek upon thy breast
    The streaming tears bedew,
  Till, purple-black, is cast
    A veil across my view.

  The sun comes out; he glows,
    And straight my dreams depart,
  While from the cliffs he throws
    A chill across my heart.

* * * * *

  THE FORSAKEN MAIDEN[25] (1829)

  Early when cocks do crow
    Ere the stars dwindle,
  Down to the hearth I go,
    Fire must I kindle.

  Fair leap the flames on high,
    Sparks they whirl drunken;
  I watch them listlessly
    In sorrow sunken.

  Sudden it comes to me,
    Youth so fair seeming,
  That all the night of thee
    I have been dreaming.

  Tears then on tears do run
    For my false lover;
  Thus has the day begun—­
    Would it were over!

* * * * *

  WEYLA’S SONG[26] (1831)

  Thou art Orplede, my land
  Remotely gleaming;
  The mist arises from thy sun-bright strand
  To where the faces of the gods are beaming.

  Primeval rivers spring renewed
  Thy silver girdle weaving, child! 
  Before the godhead bow subdued
  Kings, thy worshipers and watchers mild.

* * * * *

  SECLUSION[27] (1832)

  Let, oh world, ah let me be! 
  Tempt me not with gifts of pleasure. 
  Leave alone this heart to treasure
  All its joy, its misery.

  What my grief I can not say,
  ’Tis a strange, a wistful sorrow;
  Yet through tears at every morrow
  I behold the light of day.

  When my weary soul finds rest
  Oft a beam of rapture brightens
  All the gloom of cloud, and lightens
  This oppression in my breast.

  Let, oh world, all, let me be! 
  Tempt me not with gifts of pleasure. 
  Leave alone this heart to treasure
  All its joy, its misery.

* * * * *

  THE SOLDIER’S BETROTHED[28] (1837)

  Oh dear, if the king only knew
  How brave is my sweetheart, how true! 
  He would give his heart’s blood for the king,
  But for me he would do the same thing.

  My love has no ribbon or star,
  No cross such as gentlemen wear,
  A gen’ral he’ll never become;
  If only they’d leave him at home!

  For stars there are three shining bright
  O’er the Church of St. Mary each night;
  We are bound by a rose-woven band,
  And a house-cross is always at hand.

* * * * *