Happy his breast, with pureness bless’d,

And the dark eyes ’neath his eyebrows placed,

With full many a beauteous line are graced. 
Happy his breast, with pureness bless’d,
Soon as seen, thy love must be confess’d.

His mouth is red—­its power I dread,

On his lips morn’s fragrant incense lies,

Round his lips the cooling Zephyr sighs. 
His mouth is red—­its power I dread,
With one glance from him, all sorrow’s fled.

His blood is true, his heart bold too,

In his soft arms, strength, protection, dwells

And his face with noble pity swells. 
His blood is true, his heart bold too,
Blest the one whom those dear arms may woo!

1816..
-----
Sicilian song.

Ye black and roguish eyes,

If ye command. 
Each house in ruins lies,

No town can stand. 
And shall my bosom’s chain,—­

This plaster wall,Ä
To think one moment, deign,—­

Shall ii not fall?

1811.
-----
Swiss song,

Up in th’ mountain
I was a-sitting,
With the bird there
As my guest,
Blithely singing,
Blithely springing,
And building
His nest.

In the garden
I was a-standing,
And the bee there
Saw as well,
Buzzing, humming,
Going, coming,
And building
His cell.

O’er the meadow
I was a-going,
And there saw the
Butterflies,
Sipping, dancing,
Flying, glancing,
And charming
The eyes.

And then came my
Dear Hansel,
And I show’d them
With glee,
Sipping, quaffing,
And he, laughing,
Sweet kisses
Gave me.

1811.
-----
Finnish song.

If the loved one, the well-known one,
Should return as he departed,
On his lips would ring my kisses,
Though the wolf’s blood might have dyed them;
And a hearty grasp I’d give him,
Though his finger-ends were serpents.

Wind!  Oh, if thou hadst but reason,
Word for word in turns thou’dst carry,
E’en though some perchance might perish
’Tween two lovers so far distant.

All choice morsels I’d dispense with,
Table-flesh of priests neglect too,
Sooner than renounce my lover,
Whom, in Summer having vanquish’d,
I in Winter tamed still longer.

1810.
-----
Gipsy song.

In the drizzling mist, with the snow high-pil’d,
In the Winter night, in the forest wild,
I heard the wolves with their ravenous howl,
I heard the screaming note of the owl: 

Wille wau wau wau!

Wille wo wo wo!

Wito hu!

I shot, one day, a cat in a ditch—­
The dear black cat of Anna the witch;
Upon me, at night, seven were-wolves came down,
Seven women they were, from out of the town.

Wille wau wau wau!