That life I should learn to hate,
And fly to deserts,
Because not all
My blossoming dreams grew ripe?

Here sit I, forming mortals
After my image;
A race resembling me,
To suffer, to weep,
To enjoy, to be glad,
And thee to scorn,
As I!


THE WANDERER'S NIGHT-SONG[8] (1776)

Thou who comest from on high,
Who all woes and sorrows stillest,
Who, for two-fold misery,
Hearts with twofold balsam fillest,
Would this constant strife would cease!
What avails the joy and pain?
Blissful Peace,
To my bosom come again!


THE SEA-VOYAGE[9] (1776)

Many a day and night my bark stood ready laden;
Waiting fav'ring winds, I sat with true friends round me,