Where are the colours, the light, which thy creations once fill’d? 
Hast thou a mind again to form?  The school of the Grecians

Still remains open, my friend; years have not barr’d up its doors. 
I, the teacher, am ever young, and love all the youthful,

Love not the subtle and old; Mother, observe what I say! 
Still was new the Antique, when yonder blest ones were living;

Happily live,—­and, in thee, ages long vanish’d will live! 
Food for song, where hop’st thou to find it?  I only can give it,

And a more excellent style, love, and love only can teach.” 
Thus did the Sophist discourse.  What mortal, alas! could resist him?

And when a master commands, I have been train’d to obey. 
Now he deceitfully keeps his word, gives food for my numbers,

But, while he does so, alas! robs me of time, strength, and mind. 
Looks, and pressure of hands, and words of kindness, and kisses,

Syllables teeming with thought, by a fond pair are exchang’d. 
Then becomes whispering, talk,—­and stamm’ring, a language enchanting;

Free from all prosody’s rules, dies such a hymn on the ear. 
Thee, Aurora, I used to own as the friend of the Muses;

Hath, then, Amor the rogue cheated, Aurora, e’en thee? 
Thou dost appear to me now as his friend, and again dost awake me

Unto a day of delight, while at his altar I kneel. 
All her locks I find on my bosom, her head is reposing,

Pressing with softness the arm, which round her neck is entwin’d;
Oh! what a joyous awak’ning, ye hours so peaceful, succeeded,

Monument sweet of the bliss which had first rock’d us to sleep
In her slumber she moves, and sinks, while her face is averted,

Far on the breadth of the couch, leaving her hand still in mine
Heartfelt love unites us for ever, and yearnings unsullied,

And our cravings alone claim for themselves the exchange. 
One faint touch of the hand, and her eyes so heavenly see I

Once more open.  Ah, no! let me still look on that form!  Closed still remain!  Ye make me confused and drunken, ye rob me

Far too soon of the bliss pure contemplation affords.  Mighty, indeed, are these figures! these limbs, how gracefully rounded!

Theseus, could’st thou e’er fly, whilst Ariadne thus slept?  Only one single kiss on these lips!  Oh, Theseus, now leave us!

Gaze on her eyes! she awakes—­Firmly she holds thee embrac’d
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part ii.

Alexis and Dora.

[This beautiful poem was first published in Schiller’s Horen.]

Farther and farther away, alas! at each moment the vessel

Hastens, as onward it glides, cleaving the foam-cover’d flood!  Long is the track plough’d up by the keel where dolphins are sporting,

Following fast in its rear, while it seems flying pursuit.  All forebodes a prosperous voyage; the sailor with calmness