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78 SONGS. ETC.
THE ANGLER.
PROM THE GERMAN.
There was a gentle Angler
Who was angling in the sea, With heart as cool as any heart,
Untaught of love can be ; When suddenly the waters rushed,
And swelled, and up their sprung A humid maid of beauty's mould—
And thus to him she sung:
Why dost thou strive so artfully
To lure my brood away, And leave them to die beneath
The sun's all-scorching ray ? Could'st thou but tell how happy are
The fish that swim below, Thou would'st with me, and taste of joys
Which earth can never know.
Does not bright sol, Diana too,
More lovely far appear When they have dipped in ocean's wave
Their golden, silvery hair ? And is there no attraction
In this heaven-expance of blue, Nor in thine image mirrored
In this everlasting dew ? |
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