11 Abroad
1
From place to place thou’rt wandering still,
Thou scarcely knowest why;
A gentle word the wind doth fill,—
Thou look’st round wond’ringly.
My loved one, who was left behind,
Is calling softly now:
“Return, I love thee, O be kind,
My only joy art thou!”
But on, still on, no peace, no rest,
Thou never still mayst be;
What thou of yore didst love the best,
Thou ne’er again shalt see.
2
Thou art to-day of sadder seeming
Than thou hast been for long before;
Mute tears upon thy cheeks are gleaming,
Thy sighs wax louder more and more.
Of thy far home long vanish’d is it
That thou art thinking, full of pain?
Wouldst thou not joyfully revisit
Thy much-loved fatherland again?
Art thinking now of her who sweetly
With tiny rage enchanted thee?
Vex’d by her oft, ye soon completely
Were reconciled, and laugh’d with glee.
Art thinking of the friends whom yearning
Impell’d to fall upon thy breast?
Within the heart the thoughts were burning,
And yet the lips remain’d at rest.
Or of the sister and the mother
Art thinking, who approved thy suit?
Methinks within thy breast, good brother,
Wild passions fast are growing mute.
Of the fair garden art thou thinking,
Its birds and trees, where love’s young dream
Ofttimes sustain’d thy spirits sinking,
And hope shone forth with trembling beam?
’Tis late. The snow has fallen thickly,
Bright night illumes the humid mass;
I now must go, and hasten quickly
To dress for company,—Alas!
3
Of my fair fatherland I once was proud;
Beside the stream
The oak soar’d high, the violets gently bow’d;
It was a dream.
German the kisses were, in German too
(Sweet then did seem
The sound) they spake the words: “Yes, I love you!”—
It was a dream.