Longing

From The German of Schiller.

(�Ach, aus dieses Thales Gr�nden.�)

From the shadows of the valley
With the chilly mist opprest,
Might I only find the outlet
I should count myself as blest.
There uprise the sunny mountains
Green and young and fair to see,
Had I wings to lift me upward,
To the mountains I would flee.

Melodies are sweetly chiming,
I can catch the heavenly notes,
And a balmy flower fragrance
On the light breeze downward floats.
Golden fruits are shining, glowing,
Through the leafage, darkly green,
And the flowers that there are blowing
Winter�s snows have never seen.

Ah, how blissful must the life be
In that sunshine without night;
Ah, how soft and how refreshing
Is the air that crowns that height!
Yet the stormy river stays me
That between us roars of death;
And its ghastly waves are lifted
Till my spirit shuddereth.

There a bark all lonely tosses
Without steersman, on the tide;
Leap into it, bold, untrembling,
Sure some fate its sails will guide!
Thou must trust, and thou must venture,
For the gods will lend no hand;
Nothing but a wonder lifts thee
To thy golden Wonderland.