PALM Sunday at the Vatican
'Tis full three miles.
When the magistrate came to the garden and peep'd in, exclaimed he"Well do I know her, in truth; for when I told you the storyOf that noble deed which was done by the maiden I spoke of,How she seized on the sword, and defended herself, and the servants,She the heroine was! You can see how active her nature.But she's as good as she's strong; for her aged kinsman she tendedUntil the time of his death, for he died overwhelm'd by afflictionAt the distress of his town, and the danger his goods were exposed to.Also with mute resignation she bore the grievous afflictionOf her betroth'd's sad death, a noble young man who, incitedBy the first fire of noble thoughts to struggle for freedom,Went himself to Paris, and soon found a terrible death there.For, as at home, so there, he fought 'gainst intrigue and oppression."
For time moves on with measured foot.
Eternal beauty has its fruit to bear;The eye grows moist, in yearnings blest reveresThe godlike worth of music as of tears.
And the wishes overflowing,Forcibly they'll bear thee high.
Through the open door with silent tread.
He with this was not content,
Tell me, to which should I the preference pay?
Now can break and now delight!
That with a dull and mournful echo rings.And can it be that of our friend so dear
Thou sweetest, fairest, dearly-loved life!