Free was my bosom from yearning; yet soon my languishing
glances
Turn'd themselves backward in haste, seeking the snow-
cover'd hills.
Treasures unnumber'd are southwards lying. Yet one to
the northwards
Draws me resistlessly back, like the strong magnet in
force.

SPACIOUS and fair is the world; yet oh! how I thank the kind
heavens
That I a garden possess, small though it be, yet mine
own.
One which enticeth me homewards; why should a gardener
wander?
Honour and pleasure he finds, when to his garden he
looks.

AH, my maiden is going! she mounts the vessel! My
monarch,
Æolus! potentate dread! keep ev'ry storm far away!
"Oh, thou fool!" cried the god: "ne'er fear the blustering
tempest;
When Love flutters his wings, then may'st thou dread the
soft breeze."

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