_Said_, "you to all men I prefer."




BALLAD

_From the German_

(_Spring, 1800. Text of 1818_)


The clouds are blackening, the storms threatening,
And ever the forest maketh a moan:
Billows are breaking, the damsel's heart aching,
Thus by herself she singeth alone,
Weeping right plenteously.

"The world is empty, the heart is dead surely,
In this world plainly all seemeth amiss:
To thy breast, holy one, take now thy little one,
I have had earnest of all earth's bliss,
Living right lovingly."




HYPOCHONDRIACUS

(_October, 1800. Text of 1818_)