"High over the sails, high over the mast, Who shall gainsay these joys? When thy merry companions are still, at last, Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice. "Who neither may rest, nor listen may, I dart away, in the bright blue day, "Thus do I sing my weary song, And this same song, my whole life long, WHITHER? FROM THE GERMAN of müller. I HEARD a brooklet gushing From its rocky fountain near, Down into the valley rushing, So fresh and wondrous clear. I know not what came o'er me, Nor who the counsel gave; But I must hasten downward, All with mv pilgrim-stave ; Downward, and ever farther, And ever clearer, the tide. Is this the way I was going? Thou hast, with thy soft murmur, What do I say of a murmur? That can no murmur be; "T is the water-nymphs, that are singing Their roundelays under me. Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur, And wander merrily near; The wheels of a mill are going |