Is in my mind portray’d;
Her garter I recall anon,—­

I gave it that dear maid.

Then to her lips the finest thread

Is by her hand convey’d. 
Were I there only in its stead,

How I would kiss the maid!

1808.
-----
Answers in A game of questions.

The lady.

In the small and great world too,

What most charms a woman’s heart? 
It is doubtless what is new,

For its blossoms joy impart;
Nobler far is what is true,

For fresh blossoms it can shoot

Even in the time of fruit.

The young Gentleman.

With the Nymphs in wood and cave

Paris was acquainted well,
Till Zeus sent, to make him rave,

Three of those in Heav’n who dwell;
And the choice more trouble gave

Than e’er fell to mortal lot,

Whether in old times or not.

The experienced.

Tenderly a woman view,

And thoult win her, take my word;
He who’s quick and saucy too,

Will of all men be preferr’d;
Who ne’er seems as if he knew

If he pleases, if he charms,—­

He ’tis injures, he ’tis harms.

The contented.

Manifold is human strife,

Human passion, human pain;
Many a blessing yet is rife,

Many pleasures still remain. 
Yet the greatest bliss in life,

And the richest prize we find,

Is a good, contented mind.

The merry counsel.

He by whom man’s foolish will

Is each day review’d and blamed,
Who, when others fools are still,

Is himself a fool proclaim’d,—­
Ne’er at mill was beast’s back press’d

With a heavier load than he. 
What I feel within my breast

That in truth’s the thing for me!

1789.
-----
Different emotions on the same spot.

The maiden.

I’ve seen him before me! 
What rapture steals o’er me!

Oh heavenly sight! 
He’s coming to meet me;
Perplex’d, I retreat me,

With shame take to flight. 
My mind seems to wander! 
Ye rocks and trees yonder,

Conceal ye my rapture.

Conceal my delight!

The youth.

’Tis here I must find her,
’Twas here she enshrined her,

Here vanish’d from sight. 
She came, as to meet me,
Then fearing to greet me,

With shame took to flight. 
Is’t hope?  Do I wander? 
Ye rocks and trees yonder,

Disclose ye the loved one,

Disclose my delight!

The languishing.

O’er my sad, fate I sorrow,
To each dewy morrow,