Never sip at merely.Ne'er with eye alone give kisses,
Twine it round my loved one's dress;To her glass then let her spring,
And what shall we say of to-day as it flies?
WATER-FETCHING goes the nobleBrahmin's wife, so pure and lovely;He is honour'd, void of blemish.And of justice rigid, stern.Daily from the sacred riverBrings she back refreshments precious;--But where is the pail and pitcher?She of neither stands in need.For with pure heart, hands unsullied,She the water lifts, and rolls itTo a wondrous ball of crystalThis she bears with gladsome bosom,Modestly, with graceful motion,To her husband in the house.
And all around is so still;And over the fallen ruins
And ne'er again was seen.
CHORDS are touch'd by Apollo,--the death-laden bow, too, he bendeth;
A slender figure hovers in the air,--Thus didst thou see her joyously advance,The fairest of the fairest in the dance.
Thou smilest, friend, with fitting thoughts inspired;By a dread parting was thy fame acquired,Thy mournful destiny we sorrow'd o'er,For weal and woe thou left'st us evermore,And then again the passions' wavering forceDrew us along in labyrinthine course;And we, consumed by constant misery,At length must part--and parting is to die!How moving is it, when the minstrel sings,To 'scape the death that separation brings!Oh grant, some god, to one who suffers so,To tell, half-guilty, his sad tale of woe
Fled on every side away;Each on some far-distant trace,
VI. Book of Proverbs
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