The Trumpeter of Sakkingen Part 28

Too well were all things going, Therefore it could not last; My cheeks my grief are showing, Misfortune came too fast.

The violet and clover, The flowers all are gone.

'Mid frost and snow, a rover I wander sad alone.

Good luck will never favour The man who nothing dares; But he who does not waver The smile of fortune shares.

II.

A lonely rock juts upward Just by the craggy strand; The angry foaming waters Have torn it from the land.

Now in green waves half sunken Defiantly it lies; The snow-white gulls are flying Around it with shrill cries.

There on the heaving billows Is dancing a light boat; The sounds of plaintive singing Up to the lone rock float:

"O that I to my country, And to my love were borne; O home in dear old Rhine-land, For thee my heart is torn!"

III.

Bewitched I am by the summer night, In silent thought I am riding; Bright glow-worms through the thicket fly Like happy dreams, which in times gone by My longing heart were delighting.

Bewitched I am by the summer night.

In silent thought I am riding; The golden stars shine so far and bright, In the water's fair bosom is mirrored their light, As, in Time's deep sea, love abiding.

Bewitched I am by the summer night, In silent thought I am riding; The nightingale sings from the myrtle tree, He warbles so meltingly, tenderly, As if Fate his heart had been blighting.

Bewitched I am by the summer night, In silent thought I am riding; The sea rises high, the waves do frown; Wherefore these useless tears which down The rider's wan cheeks are gliding?

IV.

'Neath the waves the sun is going, With bright hues the sky is glowing, Twilight o'er the earth is stealing, Far-off evening bells are pealing: Thee I think of, Margaretta.

On the rocky crag I'm lying, Stranger in a strange land sighing; Round my feet the waves are dancing, Through my soul float dreams entrancing: Thee I think of, Margaretta.

V.

Oh Roman girl, why lookest thou At me with burning glances?

Thine eye, though beautiful it be, The stranger ne'er entrances.

Beyond the Alps there is a grave, The Rhine watch o'er it keepeth; And three wild roses bloom thereon; Therein my love-dream sleepeth.

Oh Roman girl, why lookest thou At me with burning glances?

Thine eye, though beautiful it be, The stranger ne'er entrances.

VI.

Outside the gates when walking, I see of life no trace; There is the wide-spread graveyard Of the ancient Roman race.

They rest from love and hatred, From pleasure, strife, and guilt; There in the Appian Way are Their tombs of marble built

A tower greets me, gilded By the setting sun's last rays-- Caecilia Metella, At thy proud tomb I gaze.

My eyes are turning northward, As 'mid this pile I stand; My thoughts are swiftly flying Far from this southern land,

On to another tower, With stones of smaller size; By the shady vine-clad window I see my love's sweet eyes.

VII.

The world lies now encircled By the frosty winter night.

No use that by the hearth-stone I think of love's sad flight.

The logs will soon be burnt out, To ashes all will fall; The embers will cease glowing, That is the end of all.

It is the same old story, I think of nothing more But silence and forgetting-- Forget what I adore?

VIII.

The crowd it frolics, shouts and sings, Disturbs Rome's usual quiet; Mad folly high her banner swings, And thronging masks run riot.

Now up and down the Corso pace Gay coaches 'mid wild showers; The Carnival's great sport takes place, The fight with chalk and flowers.

Confetti and fair roses fly, Bouquets are thickly raining.

That hit--good luck! how glows her eye!

Thou art the victory gaining.