tip
Of evening's breezy wing,
And teach my song with glee of youth to glow,
Sweet joy, like thee--with glee of shouting youths,
Or feeling Fanny's laugh.

Behind us far already Uto lay.
At whose feet Zurich in the quiet vale
Feeds her free sons: behind--
Receding vine-clad hills.
Uncloud'd beamed the top of silver Alps,
And warmer beat the heart of gazing youths,
And warmer to their fair
Companions spoke its glow.
And Haller's Doris sang, the pride of song;
And Hirzel's Daphne, dear to Kleist and Gleim;
And we youths sang and felt
As each were--Hagedorn.

Soon the green meadow took us to the cool
And shadowy forest, which becrowns the isle.
Then cam'st thou, Joy; thou cam'st
Down in full tide to us;
Yes, goddess Joy, thyself; we felt, we clasp'd,
Best sister of humanity, thyself,
With thy dear innocence
Accompanied, thyself.

Sweet thy inspiring breath, O cheerful Spring;
When the meads cradle thee, and their soft airs
Into the hearts of youths
And hearts of virgins glide,
Thou makest feeling conqueror. Ah! through thee
Fuller, more tremulous, heaves each blooming breast;
With lips spell-freed by thee
Young love unfaltering pleads.
Fair gleams the wine, when to the social change
Of thought, or heart-felt pleasure, it invites,
And the 'Socratic' cup
With dewy roses bound,
Sheds through the bosom bliss, and wakes resolves,
Such as the drunkard knows not--proud resolves
Emboldening to despair
Whate'er the sage disowns.

Delightful thrills against the panting heart
Fame's silver voice--and immortality
Is a great thought....
But sweeter, fairer, more delightful, 'tis
On a friend's arm to know oneself a friend....
O were ye here, who love me though afar ...
How would we build us huts of friendship, here
Together dwell for ever.

This is of Fredensborg on an August day:

Here, too, did Nature tarry, when her hand
Pour'd living beauty over dale and hill,
And to adorn this pleasant land
Long time she lingered and stood still....
The lake how tranquil! From its level brim
The shore swells gently, wooded o'er with green,
And buries in its verdure dim
The lustre of the summer e'en....

The inner and outer life are closely blended in _The Early Grave_:

Welcome, O silver moon,
Fair still companion of the night!
Friend of the pensive, flee not soon;
Thou stayest, and the clouds pass