A maiden blush oer every
feature straying,
The Muse her gentle harp now
lays down here,
And stands before thee, for thy
judgment praying,-
She waits with reverence,
but not with fear;
Her last farewell for his kind smile
delaying.
Whom splendor dazzles not
who holds truth dear.
The hand of him alone whose soaring
spirit
Worships the beautiful, can crown
her merit.
These simple lays are only heard
resounding,
While feeling hearts are gladdened
by their tone,
With brighter phantasies their path
surrounding,
To nobler aims their footsteps
guiding on.
Yet coming ages neer will
hear them sounding,
They live but for the present
hour alone;
The passing moment called them into
being,
And, as the hours dance on, they,
too, are fleeing.
The spring returns, and nature then
awaking,
Bursts into life across the
smiling plain;
Each shrub its perfume through the
air is shaking,
And heaven is filled with
one sweet choral strain;
While young and old, their secret
haunts forsaking,
With raptured eye and ear
rejoice again.
The spring then flies,-to
seed return the flowers.
And naught remains to mark the vanished
hours.
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