Rapture and sadness,Sorrow now flies.Oh, how mysterious
Why to the window go?
Zephyr, bear it on the wing,
She feels the awful pangs inside her,Herself to slay endeavours she,
But the excellent maiden, by words of such irony wounded,(As she esteem'd them to be) and deeply distress'd in her spirit,Stood, while a passing flush from her cheeks as far as her neck wasSpreading, but she restrain'd herself, and collected her thoughts soon;Then to the old man she said, not fully concealing her sorrow"Truly I was not prepared by your son for such a reception,When he described his father's nature,--that excellent burgher,And I know I am standing before you, a person of culture,Who behaves himself wisely to all, in a suitable manner.But it would seem that you feel not pity enough for the poor thingWho has just cross'd your threshold, prepared to enter your serviceElse you would not seek to point out, with ridicule bitter,How far removed my lot from your son's and that of yourself is.True, with a little bundle, and poor, I have enter'd your dwelling,Which it is the owner's delight to furnish with all things.But I know myself well, and feel the whole situation.Is it generous thus to greet me with language so jeering,Which was well nigh expelled me the house, when just on the threshold?"
1819.*-----IX. SAKE NAME.
COULD this early bliss but rest
Him whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,Thou wilt place upon thy fleecy pinionWhen he sleepeth on the rock,--Thou wilt shelter with thy guardian wingIn the forest's midnight hour.
For the moments that enthrall'd us,With enjoyment freighted.
At midnight hour.
To see them both within one image shrin'd,
BOOK OF THE MINSTREL.
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