And they run! and wetter still
Think in knightly fashion.If the beauteous maid but see
That his eye-brows dark and sad,That his grief that never ceases
The trembling woman!--Thou'rt going away!"
And 'tis a token like this, points out the child 'mid the plants.Soon a shoot, succeeding it, riseth on high, and reneweth,
Languishing love cannot bear the glad dance.
Shall I embrace her form, my grief to end?
She who is dearest to my heart,Gave me, with well dissembled smart,Of her own life, a living part,
Yes! afar I hear them sing!Yes! I hear them touch the string,And with mighty godlike stroke
I the present needs must fear.
"Would to heaven that I were dead!For my guardian's craft prevailing