Like brazen chains,--she cannot fly.
And the burden of gold was in thine apron upheld.Oft did I cry, Enough! But fairer fruits were still falling
Sorrow and death to him, alas, were known;Ofttimes recovering, now departed he,--
Yet fresh and joyous was my mind;What fire within my veins then play'd!
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Has also tended him.A third arrives in equal haste,
"OH, would we were further! Oh, would we were home,The phantoms of night tow'rd us hastily come,
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'Tis there, 'tis there,That I with thee, beloved one, would repair.
Wille wo wo wo!
As round ev'ry world it goes--
More they'll not contain.-----LET this house's glory rise,
Then, as on pinions, soar'd above my head:My gaze could now on no fair view repose,
The sociable flight