Past the cliffs, o’er stock and stone,
One foot’s traces I pursued,

And the maiden was alone. 
Lips were silent, eyes downcast

As a clasp-knife snaps the bait,
With her snare she seized me fast,

And the boy was captured straight.

Heav’n knows who’s the happy swain

That she rambles with anew! 
I must dare the sea again,

Spite of wind and weather too. 
When the great and little fish

Wail and flounder in my net,
Straight returns my eager wish

In her arms to revel yet!

1815.
-----
March.

The snow-flakes fall in showers,

The time is absent still,
When all Spring’s beauteous flowers,
When all Spring’s beauteous flowers

Our hearts with joy shall fill.

With lustre false and fleeting

The sun’s bright rays are thrown;
The swallow’s self is cheating: 
The swallow’s self is cheating,

And why?  He comes alone!

Can I e’er feel delighted

Alone, though Spring is near? 
Yet when we are united,
Yet when we are united,

The Summer will be here.

1817.
-----
April.

Tell me, eyes, what ’tis ye’re seeking;

For ye’re saying something sweet,

Fit the ravish’d ear to greet,
Eloquently, softly speaking.

Yet I see now why ye’re roving;

For behind those eyes so bright,

To itself abandon’d quite,
Lies a bosom, truthful, loving,—­

One that it must fill with pleasure

’Mongst so many, dull and blind,

One true look at length to find,
That its worth can rightly treasure.

Whilst I’m lost in studying ever

To explain these cyphers duly,—­

To unravel my looks truly
In return be your endeavour!

1820.
-----
May.

Light and silv’ry cloudlets hover

In the air, as yet scarce warm;
Mild, with glimmer soft tinged over,

Peeps the sun through fragrant balm. 
Gently rolls and heaves the ocean

As its waves the bank o’erflow. 
And with ever restless motion

Moves the verdure to and fro,

Mirror’d brightly far below.

What is now the foliage moving?

Air is still, and hush’d the breeze,
Sultriness, this fullness loving,

Through the thicket, from the trees. 
Now the eye at once gleams brightly,

See! the infant band with mirth
Moves and dances nimbly, lightly,

As the morning gave it birth,

Flutt’ring two and two o’er earth.

* * * *

1816.
-----
June.

She behind yon mountain lives,
Who my love’s sweet guerdon gives. 
Tell me, mount, how this can be! 
Very glass thou seem’st to me,
And I seem to be close by,
For I see her drawing nigh;
Now, because I’m absent, sad,
Now, because she sees me, glad!