'Twas in no Augustan age,
'Neath no royal patronage,
That the German art was born,
Not on glory was it fed,
Nor its flower raised its head
Princely triumphs to adorn.

Frederick on his mighty throne,
Germany's most noble son,
Left it lone and unrevered.
Germans justly may proclaim
Theirs the credit, theirs the fame.
German glory to have reared.

Thus it is that German song
Rolls in boiling waves along,
Bursting from the inmost heart;
Surges to triumphant heights,
And in native grandeur slights
The despotic rules of art.

Many there are in the world who know,
And a little on everything say:—
Is this attractive? should that be so?—
They answer you, yea or nay.
On hearing them talk, you might think aside
That theirs, for sure, was the coveted bride.

But anon from the world they disappear;
Their life was an empty shell.
He who strives after a great career,
Burns to do something well,
The best of his powers with all their weight
On the smallest details must concentrate.

The tree may grow till it weathers the gale,
The branches may shelter the field,

Our German Klopstock, if he had his will,
Would bar us from the skirts of Pindus old.
No more the classic laurel should be prized,
But the rough leaflets of our native oak
Alone should glisten in the poet's hair;
Yet did himself, with spirit unreclaim'd
From first allegiance to those early Gods,
Lead up to Golgotha's most awful height
With more than epic pomp the new Crusade.
But let him range the bright angelic host
On either hill—no matter. By his grave
All gentle hearts should bow them down and weep.
For where a hero and a saint have died,

Within the chamber, far away
From the glad feast, sits Love in dread
Lest guests disturb, in wanton play,
The silence of the bridal bed.
His torch's pale flame serves to gild
The scene with mystic sacred glow;
The room with incense-clouds is fill'd,
That ye may perfect rapture know.

How beats thy heart, when thou dost hear
The chime that warns thy guests to fly!
How glow'st thou for those lips so dear,
That soon are mute, and nought deny!
With her into the holy place
Thou hast'nest then, to perfect all;

Father of all, with sparing eye,
This day's iniquity pass by:
My past offences I deplore.
Enable me to sin no more.
Thou know'st my heart averse to ill,
Though impotent to do thy will:
Thy saving light and grace impart,
To guide and purify my heart.
Gladly, myself, and all that's mine,
I to thy providence resign;
Ev'n to my pray'rs what's ill deny,
What's good, although unask'd, supply;
All wise art thou what's good to know,
All-gracious also to bestow.
Enable me to live, while here,
Devoted ever to thy fear;

Give me the earth, and I might heap
A mountain from the plain;
Give me the waters of the deep,
I might their strength restrain;
But here a secret of the sod
Betrays the daintier hand of God.

Say Stranger did you see my love
I prythee tell to me
I left her down in the beechen grove
While I sought the strawberry
& when wild strawberrys I did gain
The woody hills upon
I sought her in the Grove in vain
For the gentle maid was gone

Then prythee stranger kindly say
Did ye see the maid I seek
& tell me what she were I pray
Before that I can speak
O what shes like were hard to say
Kind stranger well I wot
Like the sun where she exists is day
& night where she is not
What cloaths then did this stranger wear

The simmering sap froths out at either end
From the green logs piled on to greet a friend
& warm the ale beside the christmass fire
& toast the cakes to sweeten each desire

The mist rauk is hanging
Over turnip fields green
The wood gate is banging
Where hunters are seen
The brown leaves are dancing
About on the green
The horses are prancing
Where the hounds hurry in

Where Lucy stands knocking
Her clogs at the gate
Bright shoes & white stocking
Are killing of late
Wi cotton or silk on
What man could forbear
Where Lucy sits milking
To kiss if he dare

The Maples turn yellow
Hazels crimson & brown
Oaks still keep their colour
Popples fade & fall down
When a milking goes Lucy

The faire[y]s heard her song & so much they loved the tune
That they brought a golden cage & took her to the moon
Where imprisoned she remains in the pallace of their queen
& at night I look up there & I think shes to be seen
I sing aloud then listen till I think she makes reply
& I beg the stars to steal adown & take me to the sky
Where I would fainly fly but I cannot get so far
& the clouds they would not bear me to perch on in the air
So here I must remain in the woods the summer long