Yet what excuse, my heart, can I prepare
Thou'rt young and full of life.At years like thine, man's blest with strength.
Didst not thou the ape create,Aye, and even such as we?
And ever seeks to rise;But gentle sweethearts love full well
He by whom man's foolish will
Eternal beauty has its fruit to bear;The eye grows moist, in yearnings blest reveresThe godlike worth of music as of tears.
On thy neck which deserv'd ornaments worn but by queens.Loudly now rose the cry from the ship; then kindly thou spakest
Grow the steps and grows the hail.Lord and master hear me call!
To ease my heavy care.The truth I'll whisper in thine ear:Upon these rocky heights so drear,
Billow! thy beautiful blue seems to me dark as the night.All were now in movement; a boy to the house of my father
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