adorns
herself in spring with a crown and a girdle of roses, fills her
quiver with arrows, and sends her horses to gallop for miles across
the smooth sky; the wind flies about, stopping for breath from time
to time; shakes its wings and withdraws into its house when it is
tired; the brook of Cedron sits, leaning on a bucket in a hollow,
combing his bulrush hair, his shoulders covered by grass and water;
he sings a cradle song to his little brooks, or drives them before
him, etc.

But the most gifted poet of the set, and the most doughty opponent of
Lohenstein's bombast, was the unhappy Christian Guenther.[4]

He vents his feelings in verse because he must. There is a foretaste
of Goethe in his lyrics, poured put to free the soul from a burden,
and melodious as if by accident. As we turn over the leaves of his
book of songs, we find deep feeling for Nature mingled with his love
and sorrows.[5]

Bethink you, flowers and trees and shades,
Of the sweet evenings here with Flavia!
'Twas here her head upon my shoulder pressed;
Conceal, ye limes, what else I dare not say.
'Twas here she clover threw and thyme at me,
And here I filled her lap with freshest flowers.
Ah! that was a good time!
I care more for moon and starlight than the pleasantest of days,
And with eyes and heart uplifted from my chamber often gaze
With an awe that grows apace till it scarcely findeth space.

To his lady-love he writes:

Here where I am writing now
'Tis lonely, shady, cool, and green;
And by the slender fig I hear
The gentle wind blow towards Schweidnitz.
And all the time most ardently
I give it thousand kisses for thee.

And at Schweidnitz:

A thousand greetings, bushes, fields, and trees,
You know him well whose many rhymes
And songs you've heard, whose kisses seen;
Remember the joy of those fine summer nights.

To Eleanora:

Spring is not far away. Walk in green solitude
Between your alder rows, and think ...
As in the oft-repeated lesson
The young birds' cry shall bear my longing;
And when the west wind plays with cheek and dress be sure
He tells me of thy longing, and kisses thee a thousand times for me.

In a time of despair, he wrote:

Storm, rage and tear! winds of misfortune, shew all your tyranny!
Twist and split bark and twig,
And break the tree of hope in two
Stem and leaves are struck by this hail and thunder,
The root remains till storm and rain ha