I feel my strength renew’d. 
I see her here, I see her there,

And really cannot tell
The manner how, the when, the where,

The why I love her well.

If with the merest glance I view

Her black and roguish eyes,
And gaze on her black eyebrows too,

My spirit upward flies. 
Has any one a mouth so sweet,

Such love-round cheeks as she? 
Ah, when the eye her beauties meet,

It ne’er content can be.

And when in airy German dance

I clasp her form divine,
So quick we whirl, so quick advance,

What rapture then like mine! 
And when she’s giddy, and feels warm,

I cradle her, poor thing,
Upon my breast, and in mine arm,—­

I’m then a very king!

And when she looks with love on me,

Forgetting all but this,
When press’d against my bosom, she

Exchanges kiss for kiss,
All through my marrow runs a thrill,

Runs e’en my foot along! 
I feel so well, I feel so ill,

I feel so weak, so strong!

Would that such moments ne’er would end!

The day ne’er long I find;
Could I the night too with her spend,

E’en that I should not mind. 
If she were in mine arms but held,

To quench love’s thirst I’d try;
And could my torments not be quell’d,

Upon her breast would die.

1776.*
------
The coy one.

One Spring-morning bright and fair,

Roam’d a shepherdess and sang;
Young and beauteous, free from care,

Through the fields her clear notes rang: 
So, Ia, Ia! le ralla, &c.

Of his lambs some two or three

Thyrsis offer’d for a kiss;
First she eyed him roguishly,

Then for answer sang but this: 
So, Ia, Ia! le ralla, &c.

Ribbons did the next one offer,

And the third, his heart so true
But, as with the lambs, the scoffer

Laugh’d at heart and ribbons too,—­
Still ’twas Ia! le ralla, &c.

1791.
-----
The convert.

As at sunset I was straying

Silently the wood along,
Damon on his flute was playing,

And the rocks gave back the song,
So la, Ia! &c.

Softly tow’rds him then he drew me;

Sweet each kiss he gave me then! 
And I said, “Play once more to me!”

And he kindly play’d again,
So la, la! &c.

All my peace for aye has fleeted,

All my happiness has flown;
Yet my ears are ever greeted

With that olden, blissful tone,
So la, la! &c.

1791.
-----
Preservation.

My maiden she proved false to me;

To hate all joys I soon began,

Then to a flowing stream I ran,—­
The stream ran past me hastily.

There stood I fix’d, in mute despair;