AFTER these vernal rains

That we so warmly sought,
Dear wife, see how our plains

With blessings sweet are fraught!
We cast our distant gaze

Far in the misty blue;
Here gentle love still strays,

Here dwells still rapture true.

Thou seest whither go

Yon pair of pigeons white,
Where swelling violets blow

Round sunny foliage bright.
'Twas there we gather'd first

A nosegay as we roved;
There into flame first burst

The passion that we proved.

Yet when, with plighted troth,

The priest beheld us fare
Home from the altar both,

With many a youthful pair,--
Then other moons had birth,

And many a beauteous sun,
Then we had gain'd the earth

Whereon life's race to run.

A hundred thousand fold

The mighty bond was seal'd;
In woods, on mountains cold,

In bushes, in the field,
Within the wall, in caves,

And on the craggy height,
And love, e'en o'er the waves,

Bore in his tube the light.

Contented we remain'd,

We deem'd ourselves a pair;
'Twas otherwise ordain'd,

For, lo! a third was there;
A fourth, fifth, sixth appear'd,

And sat around our board;
And now the plants we've rear'd

High o'er our heads have soar'd!

How fair and pleasant looks,

On yonder beauteous spot,
Embraced by poplar-brooks,

The newly-finish'd cot!
Who is it there that sits

In that glad home above?
Is't not our darling Fritz

With his own darling love?

Beside yon precipice,

Whence pent-up waters steal,
And leaving the abyss,

Fall foaming through the wheel,
Though people often tell

Of millers' wives so fair,
Yet none can e'er excel

Our dearest daughter there!

Yet where the thick-set green

Stands round yon church and sad,
Where the old fir-tree's seen

Alone tow'rd heaven to nod,--
'Tis there the ashes lie

Of our untimely dead;
From earth our gaze on high

By their blest memory's led.

See how yon hill is bright

With billowy-waving arms!
The force returns, whose might

Has vanquished war's alarms.
Who proudly hastens here

With wreath-encircled brow?
'Tis like our child so dear

Thus Charles comes homeward now.

That dearest honour'd guest

Is welcom'd by the bride;
She makes the true one blest,

At the glad festal tide.
And ev'ry one makes haste

To join the dance with glee;
While thou with wreaths hast graced

The youngest children three.

To sound of flute and horn

The time appears renew'd,
When we, in love's young morn,

In the glad dance upstood;
And perfect bliss I know

Ere the year's course is run,
For to the font we go

With grandson and with son!