With what anxious raptures
    Doth my bosom swell! 
  O had I but language
    What I feel to tell! 
  Come and hide thy face, love,
    Here upon my breast,
  In thine ear I’ll whisper
    Why I am so blest.

  Now the tears thou knowest
    Which my joy confessed,
  Thou shalt not behold them,
    Thou, my dearest, best;
  Linger on my bosom,
    Feel its throbbing tide;
  Let me press thee firmly,
    Firmly, to my side!

  Here may rest the cradle,
    Close my couch beside,
  Where it may in silence
    My sweet vision hide;
  Soon will come the morning,
    When my dream will wake,
  And thy smiling image
    Will to life awake.

  6

  Upon my heart, and upon my breast,
  Thou joy of all joys, my sweetest, best! 
  Bliss, thou art love; O love, thou art bliss—­
  I’ve said it, and seal it here with a kiss. 
  I thought no happiness mine could exceed,
  But now I am happy, O happy indeed! 
  She only, who to her bosom hath pressed
  The babe who drinketh life at her breast;
  ’Tis only a mother the joys can know
  Of love, and real happiness here below. 
  How I pity man, whose bosom reveals
  No joys like that which a mother feels! 
  Thou look’st on me, with a smile on thy brow,
  Thou dear, dear little angel, thou! 
  Upon my heart, and upon my breast,
  Thou joy of all joys, my sweetest, best!

  7

  Ah, thy first wound hast thou inflicted now! 
    But oh! how deep! 
  Hard-hearted, cruel man, now sleepest thou
    Death’s long, long sleep.

  I gaze upon the void in silent grief,
    The world is drear;
  I’ve lived and loved, but now the verdant leaf
    Of life is sere.

  I will retire within my soul’s recess,
    The veil shall fall;
  I’ll live with thee and my past happiness,
    O thou, my all!

[Illustration:  Permission Franz Hanfstaengl, New York MORITZ VON SCHWIND THE WEDDING JOURNEY]

* * * * *

  THE WOMEN OF WEINSBERG[40] (1831)

  It was the good King Konrad with all his army lay
  Before the town of Weinsberg full many a weary day;
  The Guelph at last was vanquished, but still the town held out;
  The bold and fearless burghers they fought with courage stout.

  But then came hunger, hunger!  That was a grievous guest;
  They went to ask for favor, but anger met their quest. 
  “Through you the dust hath bitten full many a worthy knight,
  And if your gates you open, the sword shall you requite!”

  Then came the women, praying:  “Let be as thou hast said,
  Yet give us women quarter, for we no blood have shed!”
  At sight of these poor wretches the hero’s anger failed,
  And soft compassion entered and in his heart prevailed.