Misery is my lot, Poverty and pain; Ill was I begot, Ill must I remain; Yet the wretched days One sweet comfort bring, When God whispering says, "Sing, O singer, sing!" ...
When, to despoil my native France, With flaming torch and cruel sword And boisterous drums her foeman comes, I curse him and his vandal horde! Yet, what avail accrues to her,...
Still serve me in my age, I pray, As in my youth, O faithful one; For years I've brushed thee every day-- Could Socrates have better done? What though the fates would wreak on thee...
When the moon is born in the east, And the white rooftops drift asleep Under the heaped-up light, People leave their shops and march forth in groups To meet the moon...
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, "This is my own, my native land!" Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned,...
Het vas Mijn Heer van Torenborg, Ride oud oopon de sand, Und vait to hear a paardeken; Coom tromplin from de land. He vaited vhen de boeren volk Vent oud oopon de plain,...
Der Breitmann mit his gompany Rode out in Marylandt. 'Dere's nix to trink in dis countrie; ine droat's as dry as sand. It's light canteen und haversack, It's hoonger mixed mit doorst;...
It was stiller, dimmer twilight amber toornin' into gold, Like young maidens' hairs get yellow und more dark as dey crow old; Und dere shtood a high ruine vhere de Donau rooshed along,...
Bright moon, that high in heaven art shining, All smiles, as if within thy bower to-night Thy own Endymion lay reclining, And thou wouldst wake him with a kiss of light!--...
Bright scenes must all depart as they've departed, Unshadowed years will fly as they have flown, And fairer visions leave us silent-hearted, Keen, lashing blasts must blow as they have blown. ...
There it lies broken, as a shard, What breathed sweet music yesterday; The source, all mute, has passed away With its masked meanings still unmarred. But melody will never cease!...
Not to the sober and staid, Leading a quiet life, But to men whose paths are laid Ever through storm and strife, Here is a song from me, Sent to the tragic West, Message of sympathy...
On sunny slope and beechen swell, The shadowed light of evening fell; And, where the maple's leaf was brown, With soft and silent lapse came down, The glory, that the wood receives,...
On sunny slope and beechen swell The shadowed light of evening fell: And, where the maple's leaf was brown, With soft and silent lapse came down The glory, that the wood receives,...