Gliding peacefully belowOh, the poplars on yon spot!
I have drunk; but have never thus relish'd the bowl!For wine makes us lords, and enlivens the soul,
All alike are radiant and serene;When thou tak'st one to thine heart with truth,
But the father was silent. Then suddenly rose the good pastor,And address'd him as follows:--" One single moment's decisiveBoth of the life of a man, and of the whole of his Future.After lengthen'd reflection, each resolution made by himIs but the work of a moment; the prudent alone seize the right one.Nothing more dangerous is, in making a choice, than revolvingFirst this point and then that, and so confusing the feelings.Pure is Hermann's mind; from his youth I have known him; he never,Even in boyhood, was wont to extend his hand hither and thither.What he desired, was suitable to him; he held to it firmly.Be not astonish'd and scared, because there appears on a suddenWhat you so long have desired. 'Tis true the appearance at presentBears not the shape of the wish, as you in your mind had conceived it.For our wishes conceal the thing that we wish for; our gifts tooCome from above upon us, each clad in its own proper figure.Do not now mistake the maiden who has succeededFirst in touching the heart of your good wise son, whom you love so.Happy is he who is able to clasp the hand of his first love,And whose dearest wish is not doom'd to pine in his bosom!Yes, I can see by his face, already his fate is decided;True affection converts the youth to a man in a moment.He little changeable is; I fear me, if this you deny him,All the fairest years of his life will be changed into sorrow."
For unto herHath he grantedAll the fancies which erstTo none allow'd heSaving himself;Now he takes his pleasureIn the mad one.
On me would gladly bestow half of the glory they earn'd,Could I but grant unto each one night on the couch where I'm lying;
Its twigs the maidenFain would twine inHer bridal-garland;Youths its fruit are seeking.
Hath my courage moved;In the land of melody
HAFIS, straight to equal thee,
Except the yearning!-----BOOK V., CHAP. X.
Which from my bosom seeks to flow,And each propitious passing hourThat suffers me in all its power
While he thus lives, in secret bless'd,Above him in the clouds doth restAn oak-wreath, verdant and sublime,Placed on his brow in after-time;While they are banish'd to the slough,Who their great master disavow.
And thine image alone, Dora, by hope is disclos'd.Oft have I seen thee go, with modesty clad, to the temple,
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