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I greet thee, bonny boat! - Whither, or whence,
With thy fluttering golden band?
I haste from the narrow land.
Full and swollen is every sail;
I have trusted all to the sounding gale,
And wilt thou, little bird, go with us?
Thou mayest stand on the mainmast tall,
For full to sinking is my house
With merry companions all.
I need not and seek not company,
High over the sails, high over the mast,
When thy merry companions are still, at last,
Who neither may rest, nor listen may,
Thus do I sing my weary song,
And this same song, my whole life long,
FROM THE GERMAN OF MÜLLER.
I HEARD a brooklet gushing From its rocky fountain near, Down into the valley rushing, So fresh and wondrous clear.
I know not what came o'er me, Nor who the counsel gave; But I must hasten downward, All with my pilgrim-stave.
Downward, and ever farther,
And ever the brook beside; And ever fresher murmured, And ever clearer the tide.
Is this the way I was going?
What do I say of a murmur?
That can no murmur be;
'T is the water-nymphs, that are singing Their roundelays under me.
Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur,
The wheels of a mill are going