By man on earth’s face.  The hearts of the brave.

Though weal and woe The voice of the blest,

The future may hide, And of spirits on high

Unterrified Seems loudly to cry: 
We onward go “To do what is best,

In ne’er changing race.  Unceasing endeavour!

A veil of dread “In silence eterne

Hangs heavier still.  Here chaplets are twin’d,

Deep slumbers fill That each noble mind
The stars over-head, Its guerdon may earn.—­

And the foot-trodden grave.  Then hope ye for ever!”

1827.*
-----

Art.

-----
Artist, fashion! talk not long! 
Be a breath thine only song!
-----
The drops of nectar.

When Minerva, to give pleasure
To Prometheus, her well-loved one,
Brought a brimming bowl of nectar
From the glorious realms of heaven
As a blessing for his creatures,
And to pour into their bosoms
Impulses for arts ennobling,
She with rapid footstep hasten’d,
Fearing Jupiter might see her,
And the golden goblet trembled,
And there fell a few drops from it
On the verdant plain beneath her. 
Then the busy bees flew thither
Straightway, eagerly to drink them,
And the butterfly came quickly
That he, too, might find a drop there;
Even the misshapen spider
Thither crawl’d and suck’d with vigour.

To a happy end they tasted,
They, and other gentle insects! 
For with mortals now divide they
ArtÄthat noblest gift of all.

1789.*
-----
The wanderer.

[Published in the Gottingen Musen Almanach, having been written “to express his feelings and caprices” after his separation from Frederica.]

Wanderer.

Young woman, may God bless thee,
Thee, and the sucking infant
Upon thy breast! 
Let me, ’gainst this rocky wall,
Neath the elm-tree’s shadow,
Lay aside my burden,
Near thee take my rest.

Woman.

What vocation leads thee,
While the day is burning,
Up this dusty path? 
Bring’st thou goods from out the town
Round the country? 
Smil’st thou, stranger,
At my question?

Wanderer.

From the town no goods I bring. 
Cool is now the evening;
Show to me the fountain
’Whence thou drinkest,
Woman young and kind!

Woman.

Up the rocky pathway mount;
Go thou first!  Across the thicket
Leads the pathway tow’rd the cottage
That I live in,
To the fountain
Whence I drink.

Wanderer.

Signs of man’s arranging hand
See I ’mid the trees! 
Not by thee these stones were join’d,
Nature, who so freely scatterest!