HEINRICH HEINE. [1800-1856.] SONG. On the wings of my song, beloved, I'll bear thee the wide world o'er, To a spot of infinite beauty On the mystical Ganges' shore. A rose-red blossoming garden Lies calm in the moonlight fair; The lotus flowers are awaiting Their own little sister there. The violets merrily murmur, And gaze at the starlit sky, The roses whisper together Sweet magic of days gone by. Thither come softly to listen, The innocent, wise gazelles, And far through the night, the rushing Of the sacred river swells. There will we sink down together, 'Neath palm-trees beside the stream, And drink of love and of quiet, And dream a heavenly dream. THE LOTUS FLOWER. THE lotus flower feareth The sun's resplendent light, And, on her stem reclining, Awaits she, dreaming, the night. The moon is her gentle lover, He wakes her with radiance pale, And she for him will gladly Her flower-face unveil. She blooms and glows and brightens, And gazes mutely above; She sheddeth tears and perfume, With love and the passion of love. SONG. WHEN I look into thine eyes, All my woe and sorrow flies; But when I press my lips on thine, Youth and health once more are mine. When I lean upon thy breast, There steals o'er me a heav'nly rest; But when thou say'st, 'I love but thee!' Then must I weep, ah, bitterly! J. O. L. SONG. I. No wrath I bear, although my heart despair, Oh! love for ever lost! no wrath I bear! Howe'er thou shinest in thy diamond light, There falls no ray into thy spirit's night. I know it well. I saw thee erst in dreams, And saw the night wherein no sunshine gleams, And saw the serpent eating at thy heart, And saw how wholly wretched, love, thou art! II. Yes! thou art wretched, and no wrath I bear; 'Tis fated, love, we both shall wretched be, Till death shall end our love-sick hearts' despair; 'Tis fated, love, we both shall wretched be. I see the scorn upon thy lips close pressed, |