WRITTEN IN GERMANY ON ONE OF THE COLDEST DAYS OF THE CENTURY 1799 1800 A bitter winter it was when these verses were composed by the side of my Sister, in our lodgings at a draper's house in the romantic imperial town of Goslar, on the edge of the Hartz Forest. In this town the German emperors of the Franconian line were accustomed to keep their court, and it retains vestiges of ancient splendour. So severe was the cold of this winter, that when we passed out of the parlour warmed by the stove, our cheeks were struck by the air as by cold iron. I slept in a room over a passage which was not ceiled. The people of the house used to say, rather unfeelingly, that they expected I should be frozen to death some night; but, with the protection of a pelisse lined with fur, and a dog's-skin bonnet, such as was worn by the peasants, I walked daily on the ramparts, or in a sort of public ground or garden, in which was a pond. Here, I had no companion but a kingfisher, a beautiful creature, that used to glance by me. I consequently became much attached to it. During these walks I composed the poem that follows. The Reader must be apprised, that the Stoves in NorthGermany generally have the impression of a galloping horse upon them, this being part of the Brunswick Arms. A PLAGUE on your languages, German and Norse! And the tongs and the poker, instead of that horse That gallops away with such fury and force See that Fly, a disconsolate creature! perhaps And, sorrow for him! the dull treacherous heat Alas! how he fumbles about the domains He cannot find out in what track he must crawl, Stock-still there he stands like a traveller bemazed: His feelers, methinks, I can see him put forth To the east and the west, to the south and the north; His spindles sink under him, foot, leg, and thigh! His eyesight and hearing are lost; Between life and death his blood freezes and thaws; Are glued to his sides by the frost. 1 No brother, no mate has he near him - while I As if green summer grass were the floor of my room, Yet, God is my witness, thou small helpless Thing! Till summer come up from the south, and with crowds Of thy brethren a march thou should'st sound through the clouds, And back to the forests again! "BLEAK SEASON WAS IT, TURBULENT AND WILD” 1800(?) 1851 BLEAK season was it, turbulent and wild, Through bursts of sunshine and through flying showers, For its keen breath, was aiding to our steps, Or like two birds, companions in mid-air, Stern was the face of Nature; we rejoiced In that stern countenance; for our souls thence drew A feeling of their strength. The naked trees, The icy brooks, as on we passed, appeared To question us, "Whence come ye, to what end?” "ON NATURE'S INVITATION DO I COME" 1800(?) 1851 ON Nature's invitation do I come, By Reason sanctioned. Can the choice mislead, My own; and not mine only, for with me The only daughter of my parents, dwells: Aye, think on that, my heart, and cease to stir; Oh, if such silence be not thanks to God For what hath been bestowed, then where, where then Shall gratitude find rest? Mine eyes did ne'er Fix on a lovely object, nor my mind Take pleasure in the midst of happy thought, |