What village dare
with mine compare?
Its hillocks green,
And meads between;
None else I meet
Are half so sweet —
A scene so rich,
Well might be witch
A Dietrich's taste —
Its rocks, how vast!
Its waving grains,
And grassy plains,
And forests blue,
To close the view!
Flocks calmly crop
Each sunny slope,
While I look down
Upon my own,
My lov'd retreat
Contentment's seat,
Where elm and vine,
Thick intertwine;
And all the day,
A hermit gay,
In vernal ease,
I catch the breeze.
Green garlands sweep
The craggy steep,
The poplar fair,
Shakes in blue air,
The limpid brook,
Now, in the nook,
With pebbled purl,
And eddying curl,
Would fain elude,
In coyest mood,
'Mong leafy sprays,
The wanderer's gaze;
Now, in its face,
Faithful pourtrays,
Hills, flocks, and trees,
With nature's ease;
While its still wave,
Fish smoothly cleave,
And sink and rise
In pictured skies.
Fair is the scene;
But yet, I wean,
Eliza's eyes
Are Paradise!
With rising sun,
Our joy begun,
Light robed and fair
She hies her there,
Where morning's Queen
The flowery green
With tears bedews,
Bright gleams diffuse,
From each wet blade,
With pearls down-weighed —
Buds open spread:
Each flower's head,
Glories to rise
In gorgeous dyes —
Yet — of all there,
She the most fair.
Now the sun high
Rides in the sky;
And in the pool,
I long to cool
My tired limbs, —
Where the brook skims,
Wooing the rock,
Sheltered I walk,
And take the path,
Which to the bath
Of shepherds leads;
And I must needs
This freshening take,
Calm as a lake,
The gelid stream
'Mid noon-day's steam
So circles round
Joy without bound;
Nor need I fly,
Satiety.
O happiness!
Were the risk less
Of marrings rude;
Could my fresh blood
Thy living charm
For ever warm,
Then should delight,
Lavished, alight
On all mankind —
I would unbind
Each jealous tie,
And, soaring high,
Attune my lays
To pleasure's praise
But this were vain —
For what than pain
On earth more sure!
What less secure
Than sensual joy!
Why then employ
Our being so
On casual show!
Pleasures decoy
But to destroy —
A higher hope
Must point the scope
Of man's emprize,
Who, when he dies,
Enters, in strife,
And endless life,
Where but one name,
Can found his claim —
One temper here,
Meeter to bear
The dazzling holiness
with mine compare?
Its hillocks green,
And meads between;
None else I meet
Are half so sweet —
A scene so rich,
Well might be witch
A Dietrich's taste —
Its rocks, how vast!
Its waving grains,
And grassy plains,
And forests blue,
To close the view!
Flocks calmly crop
Each sunny slope,
While I look down
Upon my own,
My lov'd retreat
Contentment's seat,
Where elm and vine,
Thick intertwine;
And all the day,
A hermit gay,
In vernal ease,
I catch the breeze.
Green garlands sweep
The craggy steep,
The poplar fair,
Shakes in blue air,
The limpid brook,
Now, in the nook,
With pebbled purl,
And eddying curl,
Would fain elude,
In coyest mood,
'Mong leafy sprays,
The wanderer's gaze;
Now, in its face,
Faithful pourtrays,
Hills, flocks, and trees,
With nature's ease;
While its still wave,
Fish smoothly cleave,
And sink and rise
In pictured skies.
Fair is the scene;
But yet, I wean,
Eliza's eyes
Are Paradise!
With rising sun,
Our joy begun,
Light robed and fair
She hies her there,
Where morning's Queen
The flowery green
With tears bedews,
Bright gleams diffuse,
From each wet blade,
With pearls down-weighed —
Buds open spread:
Each flower's head,
Glories to rise
In gorgeous dyes —
Yet — of all there,
She the most fair.
Now the sun high
Rides in the sky;
And in the pool,
I long to cool
My tired limbs, —
Where the brook skims,
Wooing the rock,
Sheltered I walk,
And take the path,
Which to the bath
Of shepherds leads;
And I must needs
This freshening take,
Calm as a lake,
The gelid stream
'Mid noon-day's steam
So circles round
Joy without bound;
Nor need I fly,
Satiety.
O happiness!
Were the risk less
Of marrings rude;
Could my fresh blood
Thy living charm
For ever warm,
Then should delight,
Lavished, alight
On all mankind —
I would unbind
Each jealous tie,
And, soaring high,
Attune my lays
To pleasure's praise
But this were vain —
For what than pain
On earth more sure!
What less secure
Than sensual joy!
Why then employ
Our being so
On casual show!
Pleasures decoy
But to destroy —
A higher hope
Must point the scope
Of man's emprize,
Who, when he dies,
Enters, in strife,
And endless life,
Where but one name,
Can found his claim —
One temper here,
Meeter to bear
The dazzling holiness