Thou gracious God! why, such a man
Was not within my fancy's utmost span!
I stand before him blushingly,
In all he says, I yes reply.
Yet am a poor untutored child;
Can't think what 'tis his fancy has beguiled.
Spirit sublime! thou gavest me, gavest me all —
All that I prayed for. Not in vain hast thou
Turned upon me thy countenance in fire.
Thou gavest me glorious nature for a realm,
With power to feel and to enjoy; not only
A cold bewildering converse didst thou grant,
But did vouchsafe me, in her deepest breast,
As in the bosom of a friend, to gaze.
The ranks of life thou marshallest before me,
And teachest me to recognise my brother
In the still thicket, in the air and water;
And when the tempest in the forest roars,
And creaks, and strikes down the gigantic pine
With crashing sway, rending the neighbouring boughs
And neighbouring trunks, and, at its fall, a dull
And sullen sound thunders along the hill,
Into safe caverns then thou leddest me: then
Didst shew me to myself, and of my breast
The wonders deep concealed revealed themselves.
And the pure moon rises before my eyes,
Shedding deep calm around; before me soar,
From walls of rock, and from the dewy thicket,
The silver phantoms of the past, to soothe
The craving of the soul for earnest thought.
Oh! now I feel that nothing e'er becomes
Perfect to man; for thou, to this delight,
That brings me near and nearer to the gods,
Didst add this comrade, whom I can no more
Dispense with, even though, ever cold and reckless,
He lowers me in my own esteem, and turns
Thy gifts to nothing with a single breath.
Ever at work, he kindles in my breast
A raging fire for that lovely form.
So reel I from desire to enjoyment,
And in enjoyment yet long for desire.*
* The cloyed will,
(That satiate yet unsatisfied desire,
That tub both filled and running) ravening first
The lamb, longs after for the garbage.
Well, with this life are you not satisfied?
For such a time, how can it pleasure you;
'Tis
very well that once it should be tried, Then, forward, ever on to something new.
I would that thou thyself couldst otherwise employ, Than thus to pester me the few days I enjoy.
Well, well, I'd gladly take myself away,
Though that in earnest you would scarcely say.
In a companion, rough, odd, and unkind;
Truly but little I to lose can find.
One has one's hands full all the livelong day,
And from his countenance can never say,
What pleases him, what must be left alone.
Ay, truly, that is just the proper tone;
He bores me, then expects my gratitude be shewn.
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