1792.
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The garlands.

Klopstock would lead us away from Pindus; no longer for laurel
May we be eager—­the homely acorn alone must content us;
Yet he himself his more-than-epic crusade is conducting
High on Golgotha’s summit, that foreign gods he may honour! 
Yet, on what hill he prefers, let him gather the angels together,
Suffer deserted disciples to weep o’er the grave of the just one: 
There where a hero and saint hath died, where a bard breath’d his numbers,
Both for our life and our death an ensample of courage resplendent
And of the loftiest human worth to bequeath,—­ev’ry nation
There will joyously kneel in devotion ecstatic, revering
Thorn and laurel garland, and all its charms and its tortures.

1815.*
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The Swiss Alps.

Yesterday brown was still thy head, as the locks of my loved one,

Whose sweet image so dear silently beckons afar. 
Silver-grey is the early snow to-day on thy summit,

Through the tempestuous night streaming fast over thy brow. 
Youth, alas, throughout life as closely to age is united

As, in some changeable dream, yesterday blends with to-day.

Uri, October 7th, 1797.
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Distichs.

Chords are touch’d by Apollo,—­the death-laden bow, too, he bendeth;

While he the shepherdess charms, Python he lays in the dust.
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What is merciful censure?  To make thy faults appear smaller?

May be to veil them?  No, no!  O’er them to raise thee on high!
-----
Democratic food soon cloys on the multitude’s stomach;
But I’ll wager, ere long, other thou’lt give them instead.
-----
What in France has pass’d by, the Germans continue to practise,

For the proudest of men flatters the people and fawns.
-----
Who is the happiest of men?  He who values the merits of others,
And in their pleasure takes joy, even as though ’twere his own.
-----
Not in the morning alone, not only at mid-day he charmeth;

Even at setting, the sun is still the same glorious planet.
-----

Venetian epigrams. 
(Written in 1790.)
-----
Urn and sarcophagus erst were with life adorn’d by the heathen

Fauns are dancing around, while with the Bacchanal troop
Chequerd circles they trace; and the goat-footed, puffy-cheekd player

Wildly produceth hoarse tones out of the clamorous horn. 
Cymbals and drums resound; we see and we hear, too, the marble.

Fluttering bird! oh how sweet tastes the ripe fruit to thy bill! 
Noise there is none to disturb thee, still less to scare away Amor,

Who, in the midst of the throng, learns to delight in his torch. 
Thus doth fullness overcome death; and the ashes there cover’d

Seem, in that silent domain, still to be gladdend with life. 
Thus may the minstrel’s sarcophagus be hereafter surrounded