118 THE MORNING WALK. THE MORNING WALK. To the beech-grove with so sweet an air It beckoned me. O earth! that never the cruel ploughshare In their dark shelter the flowerets grew, Bright to the eye, And smiled by my foot on the cloudless blue O lovely field and forest fair, And meads grass-clad! Her bride-bed Freya everywhere Enamelled had. The corn-flowers rose in azure band From earthly cell; Nought else could I do, but stop and stand, "Welcome on earth's green breast again, Ye flowerets dear! In spring how charming 'mid the grain Your heads ye rear! THE MORNING WALK. 119 Like stars 'midst lightning's yellow ray Ye shine, red, blue: O how your summer aspect gay Our owner holds us sadly cheap, And scorns our race. Each time he sees, he calls us scum, Or worthless tares, Hell-weeds, that but to vex him come 'Midst his corn-ears.' “O wretched mörtals !---O wretched aan! 66 O wretched crowd! No pleasures ye pluck, no pleasures ye plan, Whose eyes are blind to the glories great And dream that the mouth is the nearest gate "Come, flowers! for we to each other belong; Come, graceful elf! 120 MAY SONG. And around my lute in sympathy strong Now wind thyself; And quake as if moved by Zephyr's wing, And a morning song with glee we'll sing To our Maker and Lord." OEHLENSCHLAGER MAY SONG. MAY, Sweet May, again is come, May, that frees the land from gloom; All her stores of jollity! On the laughing hedgerow's side She hath spread her treasures wide; She is in the greenwood shade, Where the nightingale hath made Every branch and every tree Ring with her sweet melody; Hill and dale are May's own treasures. Sing ye! join the chorus gay! SUMMER PLEASURES. Up, then, children! we will go We the bursting flowers will see: Therefore dancing will we go. Sing ye! join the chorus gay! Hail this merry, merry May! 121 CONRAD VON Kirchberg SUMMER PLEASURES. WHO would summer pleasures try, Let him to the meadows hie. O'er the mountain, in the vale Gladsome sounds and sights prevail : 16 122 SUMMER PLEASURES. In the fields fresh flowers are springing, In the boughs new chorals singing, There the birds new music ply. This is all thine own, sweet May! As thy softer breezes play, Old and young, come forth! for ye Up! ye shall not grieve again. Let him cast his cares away, And give the meed of thanks to May. From the heart's most deep recess, Hovering smiles, intent to bless, Gather on my lady's lips; Smiles, that other smiles eclipse; Smiles, more potent, care-dispelling, Than the bank with flowers sweet smelling, |