Threefold is the march of time
While the future slow advances,
Like a dart the present glances,
Silent stands the past sublime.
'Twas not my nectar made thy strength divine,
But 'twas thy strength which made my nectar thine!
"Who would himself with shadows entertain,
Or gild his life with lights that shine in vain,
Or nurse false hopes that do but cheat the true?--
Though with my dream my heaven should be resigned--
A gentle was Fridolin,
And he his mistress dear,
Savern's fair Countess, honored in
All truth and godly fear.
Yes! even I was in Arcadia born,
And, in mine infant ears,
A vow of rapture was by Nature sworn;-
Beside the brook the boy reclined
And wove his flowery wreath,
And to the waves the wreath consigned--
The waves that danced beneath.