FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE.
Know'st thou the land where the lemon-tree flowers;
The orange glows gold in the darkness of bowers,
Out of blue heaven a softer zephyr blows,
And still the myrtle, tall the laurel grows?
Know'st it indeed?
Thither, ah, me! ah, me!
Would I with thee, O my belovéd, flee.
Know'st thou the house? Columns support its beams,
Its long hall glitters and its gallery gleams;
And sculpture glows and asks, in marble mild,
"What have they done to thee, thou poor, poor child?"
Know'st it indeed?
Thither, ah, me! ah, me!
Would I with thee, O my protector, flee.
Know'st thou the mountain and its cloud-built bridge?
In mist the mule treads cautiously its ridge;
The dragon's ancient brood still haunts its caves;
Down the loud crag the plunging torrent raves.
Know'st it indeed?
Thither, ah, me! ah, me!
Our pathway leads! O father, let us flee!
