Are ye renew’d ?—­
Smile in the sunlight

Mountain and wood?

Streams richer laden

Flow through the dale,
Are these the meadows?

Is this the vale?

Coolness cerulean!

Heaven and height! 
Fish crowd the ocean,

Golden and bright.

Birds of gay plumage

Sport in the grove,
Heavenly numbers

Singing above.

Under the verdure’s

Vigorous bloom,
Bees, softly bumming,

Juices consume.

Gentle disturbance

Quivers in air,
Sleep-causing fragrance,

Motion so fair.

Soon with more power

Rises the breeze,
Then in a moment

Dies in the trees.

But to the bosom

Comes it again. 
Aid me, ye Muses,

Bliss to sustain!

Say what has happen’d

Since yester e’en? 
Oh, ye fair sisters,

Her I have seen!

1802.
-----
Autumn feelings.

Flourish greener, as ye clamber,
Oh ye leaves, to seek my chamber,

Up the trellis’d vine on high! 
May ye swell, twin-berries tender,
Juicier far,—­and with more splendour

Ripen, and more speedily! 
O’er ye broods the sun at even
As he sinks to rest, and heaven

Softly breathes into your ear
All its fertilising fullness,
While the moon’s refreshing coolness,

Magic-laden, hovers near;
And, alas! ye’re watered ever

By a stream of tears that rill
From mine eyes—­tears ceasing never,

Tears of love that nought can still!

1775.*
-----
Restless love.

Through rain, through snow,
Through tempest go! 
’Mongst streaming caves,
O’er misty waves,
On, on! still on! 
Peace, rest have flown!

Sooner through sadness

I’d wish to be slain,
Than all the gladness

Of life to sustain
All the fond yearning

That heart feels for heart,
Only seems burning

To make them both smart.

How shall I fly? 
Forestwards hie? 
Vain were all strife! 
Bright crown of life. 
Turbulent bliss,—­
Love, thou art this!

1789.
-----
The shepherd’s lament.

On yonder lofty mountain

A thousand times I stand,
And on my staff reclining,

Look down on the smiling land.

My grazing flocks then I follow,

My dog protecting them well;
I find myself in the valley,

But how, I scarcely can tell.

The whole of the meadow is cover’d

With flowers of beauty rare;
I pluck them, but pluck them unknowing

To whom the offering to bear.

In rain and storm and tempest,

I tarry beneath the tree,
But closed remaineth yon portal;