Wine, Women, and Song Part 9

Ah, the trees, how fair they flower Birds are singing in the bower; Maidens feel of love the power.

O sweet love!

See the lilies, how they blow!

And the maidens row by row Praise the best of G.o.ds below.

O sweet love!

If I held my sweetheart now, In the wood beneath the bough, I would kiss her, lip and brow.

O sweet love!

He who now is reft of thee, Poor is he!

At another time he has clasped it, but he trembles lest it should escape him.

LOVE-DOUBTS.

No. 19.

With so sweet a promise given All my bosom burneth; Hope uplifts my heart to heaven, Yet the doubt returneth, Lest perchance that hope should be Crushed and shattered suddenly.

On one girl my fancy so, On one star, reposes; Her sweet lips with honey flow And the scent of roses: In her smile I laugh, and fire Fills me with her love's desire.

Love in measure over-much Strikes man's soul with anguish; Anxious love's too eager touch Makes man fret and languish: Thus in doubt and grief I pine; Pain more sure was none than mine.

Burning in love's fiery flood, Lo, my life is wasted!

Such the fever of my blood That I scarce have tasted Mortal bread and wine, but sup Like a G.o.d love's nectar-cup.

The village dance forms an important element in the pleasures of the season. Here is a pretty picture in two stanzas of a linden sheltering some Suabian meadow.

THE VILLAGE DANCE.

No. 20.

Wide the lime-tree to the air Spreads her boughs and foliage fair; Thyme beneath is growing On the verdant meadow-where Dancers' feet are going.

Through the gra.s.s a little spring Runs with jocund murmuring; All the place rejoices; Cooling zephyrs breathe and sing With their summer voices.

I have freely translated a second, which presents a more elaborate picture of a similar scene.

LOVE AMONG THE MAIDENS.

No. 21.

Yonder choir of virgins see Through the spring advancing, Where the sun's warmth, fair and free, From the green leaves glancing, Weaves a lattice of light gloom And soft sunbeams o'er us, 'Neath the linden-trees in bloom, For the Cyprian chorus.

In this vale where blossoms blow, Blooming, summer-scented, 'Mid the lilies row by row, Spreads a field flower-painted.

Here the blackbirds through the dale Each to each are singing, And the jocund nightingale Her fresh voice is flinging.

See the maidens crowned with rose Sauntering through the gra.s.ses!

Who could tell the mirth of those Laughing, singing la.s.ses?

Or with what a winning grace They their charms discover, Charms of form and blus.h.i.+ng face, To the gazing lover?

Down the flowery greenwood glade As I chanced to wander, From bright eyes a serving-maid Shot Love's arrows yonder; I for her, 'mid all the crew Of the girls of Venus, Wait and yearn until I view Love spring up between us.

Another lyric of complicated rhyming structure introduces a not dissimilar motive, with touches that seem, in like manner, to indicate its German origin. It may be remarked that the lover's emotion has here unusual depth, a strain of _sehnsucht_; and the picture of the mother followed by her daughter in the country-dance suggests the domesticity of Northern races.

AT THE VILLAGE DANCE.

No. 22.

Meadows bloom, in Winter's room Reign the Loves and Graces, With their gift of buds that lift Bright and laughing faces; 'Neath the ray of genial May, s.h.i.+ning, glowing, blus.h.i.+ng, growing, They the joys of spring are showing In their manifold array.

Song-birds sweet the season greet, Tune their merry voices; Sound the ways with hymns of praise, Every lane rejoices.

On the bough in greenwood now Flowers are springing, perfumes flinging, While young men and maids are clinging To the loves they scarce avow.

O'er the gra.s.s together pa.s.s Bands of lads love-laden: Row by row in bevies go Bride and blus.h.i.+ng maiden.

See with glee 'neath linden-tree, Where the dancing girls are glancing, How the matron is advancing!

At her side her daughter see!

She's my own, for whom alone, If fate wills, I'll tarry; Young May-moon, or late or soon, 'Tis with her I'd marry!

Now with sighs I watch her rise, She the purely loved, the surely Chosen, who my heart securely Turns from grief to Paradise.

In her sight with heaven's own light Like the G.o.ds I blossom; Care for nought till she be brought Yielding to my bosom.

Thirst divine my soul doth pine To behold her and enfold her, With clasped arms alone to hold her In Love's holy hidden shrine.

But the theme of the dance is worked up with even greater elaboration and a more studied ingenuity of rhyme and rhythm in the following characteristic song. This has the true accent of what may be called the _Musa Vagabundula_, and is one of the best lyrics of the series:--

INVITATION TO THE DANCE.

No. 23.