As if to bid the streaky vapour fly:At once it seemed to yield to her command,
One drop of which she'll on her finger take,When soften'd by his love and faithfulness,
And now a maiden enter'd there,With swelling breast, and body fair;With footing firm she took her place,And moved with stately, noble grace;She did not walk in wanton mood,Nor look around with glances lewd.
'Tis full three miles.
'NEATH the shadow
Ravished by her splendour.Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red,
[Written just after the preceding one, on a mountain overlookingthe Lake of Zurich.]
Yet may ye never quench my inward fire!Within my bosom heaves a mighty force,
Sweet and silv'ry strains arise;While the turtle-dove is calling,
Wine's genial glow, the festal banquet gay,