The stars we never long to clasp,
As the Count quits the gateway by stealth?O'er what is his mantle so hastily thrown?
Heathrose fair and tender!
Because his pangs e'en theirs exceed.
There rises a rainbow gay;But she from home hath departed
He by whom man's foolish will
Ay, upon the camp's high wall
But she, at his sight,
For of all thou takest heed.
Long buried yearnings in my breast arise,
To his goal, e'en when thus press'd, still faithful.But from out the damp grey distance rising,Softly now the storm proclaims its advent,Presseth down each bird upon the waters,Presseth down the throbbing hearts of mortals.And it cometh. At its stubborn fury,Wisely ev'ry sail the seaman striketh;With the anguish-laden ball are sportingWind and water.
THE warder looks down at the mid hour of night,
Roams through the world forlorn,And wanders on from east to west,
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