The poem
[Another of the love-songs addressed to Frederica.]
QUICK throbb'd my heart: to norse! haste, haste,
And lo! 'twas done with speed of light; The evening soon the world embraced,
And o'er the mountains hung the night. Soon stood, in robe of mist, the oak,
A tow'ring giant in his size, Where darkness through the thicket broke,
And glared with hundred gloomy eyes.
From out a hill of clouds the moon
With mournful gaze began to peer: The winds their soft wings flutter'd soon,
And murmur'd in mine awe-struck ear; The night a thousand monsters made,
Yet fresh and joyous was my mind; What fire within my veins then play'd!
What glow was in my bosom shrin'd!
I saw thee, and with tender pride
Felt thy sweet gaze pour joy on me; While all my heart was at thy side.
And every breath I breath'd for thee. The roseate hues that spring supplies
Were playing round thy features fair, And love for me--ye Deities!
I hoped it, I deserved it ne'er!
But, when the morning sun return'd,
Departure filled with grief my heart: Within thy kiss, what rapture burn'd!
But in thy look, what bitter smart! I went--thy gaze to earth first roved
Thou follow'dst me with tearful eye: And yet, what rapture to be loved!
And, Gods, to love--what ecstasy!
1771.