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 god 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.