She makes the true one blest,

At the glad festal tide.
And ev'ry one makes haste

To join the dance with glee;
While thou with wreaths hast graced

The youngest children three.

To sound of flute and horn

The time appears renew'd,
When we, in love's young morn,

In the glad dance upstood;
And perfect bliss I know

Ere the year's course is run,
For to the font we go

With grandson and with son!

1803.*
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SONG OF FELLOWSHIP.

[Written and sung in honour of the birthday of the Pastor Ewald
at the time of Goethe's happy connection with Lily.]