diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/52882-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/52882-0.txt | 32103 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 32103 deletions
diff --git a/old/52882-0.txt b/old/52882-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a8664e9..0000000 --- a/old/52882-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,32103 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The poems of Heine; Complete, by Heinrich Heine - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The poems of Heine; Complete - -Author: Heinrich Heine - -Translator: Edgar Alfred Bowring - -Release Date: August 23, 2016 [EBook #52882] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF HEINE; COMPLETE *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif, Bryan Ness and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - - BOHN’S STANDARD LIBRARY - - THE POEMS OF HEINE - - - GEORGE BELL AND SONS - - LONDON: PORTUGAL ST., LINCOLN’S INN. - CAMBRIDGE: DEIGHTON, BELL AND CO. - NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO. - BOMBAY: A. H. WHEELER AND CO. - - - - - THE POEMS OF HEINE - - COMPLETE - - TRANSLATED INTO THE ORIGINAL METRES - WITH A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE - - BY - - EDGAR ALFRED BOWRING, C.B. - - [Illustration: colophon] - - LONDON - - GEORGE BELL AND SONS - - 1908 - - [_Reprinted from Stereotype plates._] - - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - -PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION viii - -PREFACE ix - -MEMOIR OF HEINRICH HEINE xi - - -EARLY POEMS. - -SONGS OF LOVE - Love’s Salutation 1 - Love’s Lament 1 - Yearning 2 - The White Flower 3 - Presentiment 4 - -MISCELLANEOUS POEMS - GERMANY, 1815 6 - DREAM, 1816 9 - THE CONSECRATION 11 - THE MOOR’S SERENADE 12 - DREAM AND LIFE 13 - THE LESSON 14 - TO FRANCIS V. Z---- 14 - A PROLOGUE TO THE HARTZ-JOURNEY 15 - DEFEND NOT 15 - A PARODY 16 - WALKING FLOWERS AT BERLIN 16 - EVENING SONGS 16 - SONNETS - To Augustus William von Schlegel 17 - To the Same 17 - To Councillor George S----, of Göttingen 19 - To J. B. Rousseau 19 - The Night Watch on the Drachenfels. To Fritz von B---- 20 - In Fritz Steinmann’s Album 20 - To Her 21 - Goethe’s Monument at Frankfort-on-the-Main, 1821 21 - Dresden Poetry 21 - Beardless Art 22 - - -BOOK OF SONGS - -PREFACE 23 - -YOUTHFUL SORROWS (1817-1821) - VISIONS 24 - SONGS 39 - ROMANCES 43 - The Mournful One 43 - The Mountain Echo 43 - The Two Brothers 44 - Poor Peter 44 - The Prisoner’s Song 45 - The Grenadiers 46 - The Message 46 - Taking the Bride Home 46 - Don Ramiro 47 - Belshazzar 52 - The Minnesingers 53 - Looking from the Window 54 - The Wounded Knight 54 - The Sea Voyage 54 - The Song of Repentance 55 - To a Singer (on her singing an old romance) 56 - The Song of the Ducats 57 - Dialogue on Paderborn Heath 57 - Life’s Salutations (from an album) 59 - Quite True 59 - - SONNETS - To A. W. von Schlegel 59 - To my Mother, B. Heine, _née_ von Geldern 60 - To H. S. 61 - FRESCO SONNETS to Christian S---- 61 - -LYRICAL INTERLUDE (1822-23) - PROLOGUE 65 - LYRICS 66 - THE GOD’S TWILIGHT 89 - RATCLIFF 91 - DONNA CLARA 94 - ALAMANSOR 96 - THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR 100 - THE DREAM (from _Salon_) 102 - -NEW POEMS - SERAPHINA 102 - ANGELICA 107 - DIANA 112 - HORTENSE 113 - CLARISSA 115 - YOLANTE AND MARY 119 - EMMA 121 - FREDERICA 122 - CATHERINE 124 - SONGS OF CREATION 129 - ABROAD 131 - TRAGEDY 132 - THE TANNHÄUSER, A Legend 133 - - ROMANCES - A Woman 139 - Celebration of Spring 139 - Childe Harold 140 - The Exorcism 140 - Extract from a letter 141 - The Evil Star 142 - Anno 1829 142 - Anno 1839 143 - At Dawn 144 - Sir Olave 144 - The Water Nymphs 146 - Bertrand de Born 147 - Spring 147 - Ali Bey 148 - Psyche 149 - The Unknown One 149 - The Change 150 - Fortune 150 - Lamentation of an old German Youth 150 - Away! 151 - Madam Mette (from the Danish) 151 - The Meeting 153 - King Harold Harfagar 154 - The Lower World 155 - - MISCELLANIES - Muledom 158 - The Symbol of Madness 158 - Pride 160 - Away! 161 - Winter 161 - The Old Chimney-piece 162 - Longing 162 - Helena 163 - The Wise Stars 163 - The Angels 163 - - POEMS FOR THE TIMES - Sound Doctrine 164 - Adam the First 164 - Warning 165 - To a Quondam Follower of Goethe (1832) 165 - The Secret 166 - On the Watchman’s Arrival in Paris 166 - The Drum Major 167 - Degeneracy 169 - Henry 169 - Life’s Journey 170 - The New Jewish Hospital at Hamburg 170 - George Herwegh 171 - The Tendency 172 - The Child 173 - The Primrose 173 - The Changeling 174 - The Emperor of China 174 - Church-Counsellor Prometheus 175 - To the Watchman 176 - Consoling thoughts 176 - The World Turned Upside Down 177 - Enlightenment 178 - Wait Awhile! 179 - Night Thoughts 179 - -NEW SPRING - PROLOGUE 180 - LYRICS 180 - - -PICTURES OF TRAVEL - -THE RETURN HOME (1823-24) 195 - -THE HARTZ-JOURNEY (1821) 229 - -THE BALTIC (1825-26) - PART I. (1825) - Evening Twilight 237 - Sunset 237 - The Night on the Strand 239 - Poseidon 240 - Homage 242 - Declaration 242 - In the Cabin at Night 243 - The Storm 245 - Calm at Sea 246 - The Ocean-Spectre 247 - Purification 249 - Peace 249 - - PART II. (1826) - Sea Salutation 251 - Thunderstorm 253 - The Shiprecked One 253 - Sunset 254 - The Song of the Oceanides 256 - The Gods of Greece 258 - Questions 260 - The Phœnix 261 - Echo 261 - Sea-Sickness 262 - In Harbour 263 - Epilogue 265 - Monologue (from book Le Grand) 1826 266 - - -ATTA TROLL, a Summer Night’s Dream 267 - -GERMANY, a Winter Tale 326 - -ROMANCERO - BOOK I. HISTORIES - Rhampsenitus 380 - The White Elephant 382 - Knave of Bergen 387 - The Valkyres 388 - Hastings’ Battle-field 389 - Charles I. 392 - Marie Antoinette 393 - The Silesian Weavers 395 - Pomare 395 - The Apollo God 398 - Hymn to King Louis 401 - Two Knights 402 - Our Marine (_A Nautical Tale_) 404 - The Golden Calf 405 - King David 405 - King Richard 406 - The Asra 406 - The Nuns 407 - Palgravine Jutta 408 - The Moorish King 409 - Geoffrey Rudèl and Melisanda of Tripoli 411 - The Poet Ferdusi 412 - Voyage by Night 417 - The Prelude 418 - Vitzliputzli 420 - BOOK II. LAMENTATIONS - Wood Solitude 434 - Spanish Lyrics 438 - The Ex-living One 445 - The Ex-Watchman 446 - Mythology 449 - In Matilda’s Album 449 - To the Young 449 - The Unbeliever 450 - Whither Now? 450 - An Old Song 451 - Ready Money 452 - The Old Rose 452 - Auto-da-Fe 452 - LAZARUS - The Way of the World 453 - Retrospect 453 - Resurrection 454 - The Dying One 455 - Rascality 455 - Retrospect 456 - Imperfection 456 - Pious Warning 457 - The Cooled-down One 457 - Solomon 458 - Lost Wishes 458 - The Anniversary 459 - Meeting Again 460 - Mrs. Care 460 - To the Angels 461 - In October, 1849 461 - Evil Dreams 463 - It Goes Out 464 - The Will 464 - Enfant Perdu 465 - BOOK III. HEBREW MELODIES - Princess Sabbath 466 - Jehuda Ben Halevy 470 - Disputation 492 - -LATEST POEMS (1853-54) - MISCELLANEOUS - Peace Yearning 504 - In May 504 - Body and Soul 505 - Red Slippers 506 - Babylonian Sorrows 507 - The Slave Ship 508 - Affrontenburg 512 - Appendix to “Lazarus” 514 - The Dragon Fly 520 - Ascension 521 - The Affianced Ones 524 - The Philanthropist 525 - The Whims of the Amorous 527 - Mimi 529 - Good Advice 530 - Reminiscences of Hammonia 531 - The Robbers 533 - The Young Cats’ Club for Poetry-Music 533 - Hans Lack-Land 535 - Recollections from Krähwinkel’s Days of Terror 537 - The Audience (an old Fable) 538 - Kobes I. 539 - Epilogue - ADDENDA - The Song of Songs 545 - The Suttler’s Song (from the Thirty Years’ War) 546 - -POSTHUMOUS POEMS - Horse and Ass 548 - The Ass-Election 550 - Bertha 552 - In the Cathedral 552 - The Dragon-fly 553 - Old Scents 554 - Miserere 555 - To Matilda 556 - For the “Mouche” 556 - - - - -PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. - - -A new edition of this work having been called for, owing to the first -edition having been for some time out of print, I have taken advantage -of the opportunity to add translations of a remarkable collection of -Poems by Heine, published for the first time since the appearance of my -work in 1859. They consist of as many as twelve hundred lines, described -partly as “Early Poems,” which will be found at the beginning of the -volume, and partly as “Posthumous Poems,” which are placed at the end. -The metres of the original have been again retained throughout. - -Various errors discovered by me in the first edition have now been -corrected; and it only remains for me to express my thanks for the kind -manner in which the critical and the general public, both in England and -abroad, have received the work, and for the indulgence extended by them -to its many imperfections. - -E. A. B. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -It may perhaps be thought that I exhibit something of the -brazen-facedness of a hardened offender in venturing once more (but, I -hope, for the last time) to present myself to the public in the guise of -a translator,--and, what is more, a translator of a great poet. The -favourable reception, however, that my previous translations of the -Poems of Schiller and Goethe have met with at the hands of the public, -may possibly be admitted as some excuse for this new attempt to make -that public acquainted with the works of a third great German minstrel. -Comparatively little known and little appreciated in England, the name -of Heine is in Germany familiar as a household word; and while, on the -one hand, many of his charming minor poems have become dear to the -hearts of thousands and tens of thousands of his fellow-countrymen, and -are sung alike in the palace and the cottage, in the country and the -town, on the other his sterner works have done much to influence the -political and religious tendencies of the modern German school. - -Having prefixed to this Volume a brief memoir of Heine, accompanied by a -few observations on his various works and their distinguishing -characteristics, I will here confine myself to stating that I have -adhered with the utmost strictness to the principles laid down by me for -my guidance in the case of the previous translations attempted by -me,--those principles being (1) As close and literal an adherence to the -original as is consistent with good English and with poetry, and (2) the -preservation throughout the work of the original metres, of which Heine -presents an almost unprecedented variety. I have, on the occasion of my -former publications, fully explained my reasons for adopting this -course, and will not weary the reader with repeating them. I have -sufficient evidence before me of the approval of the public in this -respect to induce me to frame my translation of Heine’s Poems on the -same model. - -In addition to thus preserving both the language and the metre of the -original, I have in one other respect endeavoured to reproduce my author -precisely as I found him, and that is in the important particular of -_completeness_. There are doubtless many poems written by Heine that one -could wish had never been written, and that one would willingly refrain -from translating. But the omission of these would hide from the reader -some of Heine’s chief peculiarities, and would tend to give him an -incomplete if not incorrect notion of what the poet was. A translator no -more assumes the responsibility of his author’s words than a faithful -Editor does, and he goes beyond his province if he omits whatever does -not happen to agree with his own notions. - -In claiming for the present work (extending over more than 20,000 -verses) the abstract merits of literalness, completeness, and rigid -adherence to the metrical peculiarities of the original, it is very far -from my intention to claim any credit for the _manner_ in which I have -executed that difficult task, or to pretend that I have been successful -in it. That is a question for the reader alone to decide. The credit of -conscientiousness and close application in the matter is all that I -would venture to assert for myself. All beyond is left exclusively to -the candid, and, I would fain hope, generous, appreciation of those whom -I now voluntarily constitute my judges. - - - - -HEINRICH HEINE. - - -Although little more than three years have elapsed since Heinrich Heine -was first numbered amongst the dead, his name has long been enrolled in -the lists of fame. Even during his lifetime he had the good -fortune,--and, in a poet, the most unusual good fortune,--of being -generally accepted as a Representative Man, and of passing as the -National Bard of Young Germany. Although perhaps scarcely entitled to -rank with Goethe and Schiller in the very highest order of poets, the -name of Heine will assuredly always occupy a prominent place amongst the -minstrels not only of Germany, but of the world. - -It is only recently that his works have been for the first time -published in an absolutely complete form, the poetry extending over more -than two of the six volumes of which they consist. Universally known and -read in his native land, and highly popular in France, which was for so -many years his adopted country, the works of Heine are to the generality -of Englishmen (as stated in the Preface) almost entirely unknown. As the -present volume is, as far as I am aware, the only attempt that has been -made to bring the far-famed poems of Heine in their integrity before the -English reader,[1] it seems desirable to preface it by a brief sketch of -his life, so that in seeing _what_ Heine is as a poet, we may be able to -form some idea as to _who_ he was as a man. One who has been compared in -turns to Aristophanes, Rabelais, Burns, Cervantes, Sterne, Jean Paul, -Voltaire, Swift, Byron, and Béranger (and to all these has he been -likened), can be of no common stamp. The discrepancies both as to facts -and dates that occur between the various biographies of Heine are, -however, so numerous, that it has been no easy task to avoid error in -the following brief sketch of his life. - -Heinrich (or Henry) Heine was born in the Bolkerstrasse, at Dusseldorf, -on the 12th of December, 1799; but, singularly enough, the exact date of -his birth was, until recently, unknown to his biographers, who, on the -authority of a saying of his own, assigned it to the 1st of January, -1800, which he boasted made him “the first man of the century.” In -reply, however, to a specific inquiry addressed to him by a friend on -this subject a few years before his death, he stated that he was really -born on the day first mentioned, and that the date of 1800 usually given -by his biographers was the result of an error voluntarily committed by -his family in his favour at the time of the Prussian invasion, in order -to exempt him from the service of the king of Prussia. - -By birth he was a Jew, both of his parents having been of that -persuasion. He was the eldest of four children, and his two brothers are -(or were recently) still alive, the one being a physician in Russia, and -the other an officer in the Austrian service. The famous Solomon Heine, -the banker of Hamburg, whose wealth was only equalled by his -philanthropy, was his uncle. His father, however, was far from being in -opulent circumstances. When quite a child, he took delight in reading -Don Quixote, and used to cry with anger at seeing how ill the heroism of -that valiant knight was requited. He says somewhere, speaking of his -boyish days, “apple-tarts” were then my passion. Now it is love, truth, -freedom, and “crab-soup.” He received his earliest education at the -Franciscan convent in his native town, and while there had the -misfortune to be the innocent cause of the death by drowning of a -schoolfellow, an incident recorded in one of the poems in his -“Romancero.” He mentions the great effect produced upon him by the -sorrowful face of a large wooden Christ which was constantly before his -eyes in the Convent. Even at that early age the germs of what has been -called “his fantastic sensibility, the food for infinite irony,” seem -to have been developing themselves. A visit of the Emperor Napoleon to -Dusseldorf when he was a boy affected him in a singular manner, and had -probably much to do with the formation of those imperialist tendencies -which are often to be noticed in his character and writings. He was next -placed in the Lyceum of Dusseldorf, and in 1816 was sent to Hamburg to -study commerce, being intended for mercantile pursuits. In 1819 he was -removed to the University at Bonn which had been founded in the previous -year, and there he had the advantage of studying under Augustus -Schlegel. He seems, however, to have remained there only six months, and -to have then gone to the University of Göttingen, where, as he tells us, -he was rusticated soon after matriculation. He next took up his abode at -Berlin, where he applied himself to the study of philosophy, under the -direction of the great Hegel, whose influence, combined with that of the -works of Spinosa, undoubtedly had much to do with the formation of -Heine’s mind, and also determined his future career. From this time we -hear no more of his turning merchant; and it is from the date of his -residence at Berlin that we may date the rise of that spirit of -universal indifference and reckless daring that so strongly -characterizes the writings of Heine. Amongst his associates at this -period may be mentioned, in addition to Hegel, Chamisso, Varnhagen von -Ense and his well-known wife Rachel, Bopp the philologist, and Grabbe, -the eccentricities of whose works were only equalled by the -eccentricities of his life. - -Heine’s first volume of poetry, entitled “Gedichte” or Poems, was -published in 1822, the poems being those which, under the name of -“Youthful Sorrows,” now form the opening of his “Book of Songs.” -Notwithstanding the extraordinary success afterwards obtained by this -latter work, his first publication was very coldly received. Some of the -poems in it were written as far back as 1817,[2] and originally -appeared in the Hamburg periodical “Der Wachter” or “Watchman.” Offended -at this result, he left Berlin and returned to Göttingen in 1823, where -he took to studying law, and received the degree of Doctor in 1825. He -was baptized into the Lutheran Church in the same year, at -Heiligenstadt, near that place. He afterwards said jocularly that he -took this course to prevent M. de Rothschild treating him too -_fa-millionairely_. It is to be feared, however, from the tone of all -his works, that his nominal religious opinions sat very lightly upon him -through life. He writes as follows on this subject in 1852: “My -ancestors belonged to the Jewish religion, but I was never proud of this -descent; neither did I ever set store upon my quality of Lutheran, -although I belong to the evangelical confession quite as much as the -greatest devotees amongst my Berlin enemies, who always reproach me with -a want of religion. I rather felt humiliated at passing for a purely -human creature,--I whom the philosophy of Hegel led to suppose that I -was a god. How proud I then was of my divinity! What an idea I had of my -grandeur! Alas! that charming time has long passed away, and I cannot -think of it without sadness, now that I am lying stretched on my back, -whilst my disease is making terrible progress.” - -Previous to this date, and whilst living at Berlin, Heine published (in -1823) his only two plays, “Almanzor” and “Ratcliff,” which were equally -unsuccessful on the stage and in print, and which are certainly the -least worthy of all his works. Between these two plays he inserted a -collection of poetry entitled “Lyrical Interlude,” which attracted -little attention at the time. In the year 1827, however, he republished -this collection at Hamburg, in conjunction with his “Youthful Sorrows,” -giving to the whole the title of the “Book of Songs.” In proportion to -the indifference with which his poems had been received on their first -appearance, was the enthusiasm which they now excited. They were read -with avidity in every direction, especially in the various universities, -where their influence upon the minds of the students was very great. In -the year 1852, this work had reached the tenth edition. - -Heine’s next great work, his “Reisebilder,” or Pictures of Travel, -written partly in poetry and partly in prose, was published at Hamburg -at various intervals from 1826 to 1831, and, as its name implies, is -descriptive of his travels in different countries, especially in England -and Italy. The poetical portion of the “Reisebilder,” the whole of which -is translated in this volume, is divided into three parts,--“The Return -Home,” the “Hartz-Journey,” and “The Baltic,” written between 1823 and -1826. This work again met with an almost unprecedented success, and from -the date of its publication and that of the “Book of Songs,” may be -reckoned the commencement of a new era in German literature. These -remarkable poems exhibit the whole nature of Heine, free from all -disguise. The striking originality, the exuberance of fancy, and, above -all, the singular beauty and feeling of the versification that -characterize nearly the whole of them, stand out in as yet unheard-of -contrast to the intense and bitter irony that pervades them,--an irony -that spared nobody, that spared nothing, not even the most sacred -subjects being exempt from the poet’s mocking sarcasm. This -characteristic of Heine only increased as years passed on. In the later -years of his life, which were one long-continued agony, his bodily -sufferings offer some excuse, it may be, for what would otherwise have -been inexcusable in the writings of a great poet. There was doubtless -much affectation in the want of all religious and political faith that -is so signally apparent in the works of Heine, and yet they betray a -real bitterness of feeling that cannot be mistaken. At every page may be -traced the malicious pleasure felt by him in exciting the sympathy and -admiration of the reader to the highest pitch, and then with a few -words,--with the last line or the last verse of a long poem, it may -be,--rudely insulting them, and dashing them to the ground. No better -parody of this favourite amusement of Heine can be given than by citing -two well-known verses of Dr. Johnson: - - “Hermit old in mossy cell, - “Wearing out life’s evening gray, - “Strike thy pensive breast, and tell - “Where is bliss, and which the way?” - - Thus I spake, and frequent sigh’d, - Scarce repress’d the falling tear, - When the hoary sage replied: - “Come, my lad, and drink some beer.” - -The exuberance of Heine’s heart, as has been well said, was only -equalled by the dryness of his spirit; a real enthusiasm was blended -with an unquenchable love of satire; “his exquisite dilettanteism made -him adore the gods and goddesses of Greece at the expense even of -Christianity.” In short, qualities scarcely ever found in combination, -were combined in him; in one weak, suffering body two distinct and -opposite natures, each equally mighty, were united. Perhaps the best -name ever applied to him is that of the “Julian of poetry.” - -The French Revolution in 1830 determined Heine’s future life. He was -then living at Berlin again, after having resided at Hamburg and Munich. -He now turned politician and newspaper writer. His Essay on Nobility was -written at this time. He presently (in May 1831) went to live in Paris, -where he resided until his death, with the exception of making one or -two short visits to his native land. Though the fact is not exactly -stated, there can be no doubt that he received some very broad hints -from the authorities of Prussia to leave that country. From that time, -France became his adopted fatherland, and he himself was thenceforward -more of a Frenchman than a German. The Germans have indeed always -reproached him as being frivolous and French; he has often been called -the Voltaire of Germany; but Thiers perhaps described him the most -accurately when he spoke of him as being “the wittiest _Frenchman_ since -Voltaire.” He wrote French as fluently as German; and the translations -of his various works that were published in Paris in the _Revue des deux -Mondes_ and the _Bibliothèque Contemporaine_, or as separate works, were -either written by himself, or by his personal friends under his own -immediate superintendence. - -Some of his more important prose works were written soon after he took -up his abode in Paris. He wrote, in 1831, a series of articles for the -_Augsburg Gazette_ on the State of France, which he subsequently -collected and published both in French and German. In 1833 appeared his -well-known “History of Modern Literature in Germany,” republished -afterwards under the title of “The Romantic School,” and in French under -that of “L’Allemagne.” This may be looked upon as his most remarkable -prose work, and as the one that most exhibits his characteristic -peculiarities. The following lively description of it is from the pen of -an eminent French critic: “According to M. Heine, the whole of the -intellectual movement of Germany since Lessing and Kant has been a -death-struggle against Deism. This struggle he describes with passion, -and it may be said that he heads it in person. He ranges his army in -order of battle, he gives the signals, and marches the Titans against -heaven,--Kant, Fichte, Hegel, all those formidable spirits whose every -thought is a victory, whose every formula is a cosmogonic -_bouleversement_. Around them, in front or behind, are grouped a crowd -of writers, theologians and poets, romance writers and savans. If one of -the combatants stops short, like Schelling, the author overwhelms him -with invectives. If a timid and poetic band of dreamers, such as Tieck, -Novalis, Brentanc, and Arnim, try to bring back this feverish Germany to -the fresh poetry of the middle ages, he throws himself upon them and -disperses them, like those Cobolds in the ‘Book of Songs’ who overthrew -the angels of paradise. And when the philosophical conflict is over, he -predicts its consequences with a sort of savage delirium.... He compares -Kant to the bloodthirsty dictators of ’93, and proclaims the gospel of -pantheism. His theory of the intellectual history of the Germans is -altogether false, and should only be consulted as an illustration--alas, -too positive!--of the fever at once mystical and sensual of a certain -period of our age.” This book produced a perfect storm of fury in -Germany. “Denounced by Menzel and the pietists as an emissary of Modern -Babylon, cursed by the austere _teutomaniacs_ as a representative of -Parisian corruption, Heine was not the less suspected by the democrats, -who accused him of treason. To this was added official persecution.” - -Proceeding to his next work, the publication of his “Salon,” consisting -of an interesting series of essays, &c., commenced at Hamburg in 1834, -its fourth and last volume not appearing till 1840. A long essay on the -Women of Shakespeare appeared in 1839, and in 1840 a violent personal -attack on his old friend, the republican poet Börne, then only recently -dead,--a work which, with all its talent, did great injury to his -reputation. His remaining great prose work, entitled “Lutezia,” or -Paris, consists of a collection of valuable articles on French politics, -arts, and manners, written by him as the correspondent of the _Augsburg -Gazette_ between 1840 and 1844. The only other writings of his in prose -that need be specified, entitled respectively “Confessions,” “Dr. -Faust,” and the “Gods in Exile,” were written a few years before his -death. - -After the publication of the “Reisebilder,” Heine’s next poetical -production was the charming poem of “Atta Troll,” which appeared in -1841, written in a simple trochaic metre,--“four-footed solemn -trochees,” as he himself expresses it. This poem has been described as -the work of a German Ariosto, combining gaiety and poetry, irony and -imagination in perfect proportions. Much worldly wisdom is to be learnt -from the instructive history of Atta Troll, the dancing bear of the -Pyrenees. The striking interlude in it of the vision of Herodias amongst -the spirit huntsmen should not be overlooked. - -The marriage of Heine seems to have taken place at about this period. -His wife, who is often spoken of in his poems in terms of deep -affection, and whose name was Mathilde, was a Frenchwoman and a Roman -Catholic, and they were married according to the rites of that church. -With all his love for Madame Heine, however, he seems to have been very -jealous of her, and it is recorded that on one occasion he took it into -his head that she had run away from him. He was reassured by hearing the -voice of her favourite parrot “Cocotte,” which led him to say, that she -would never have gone off without taking “Cocotte” with her. In spite of -the bitterness of spirit that pervades all his writings, it is clear -that he possessed deep natural affections. His mother survived him; and -though almost entirely separated from her for the last twenty-five years -of his life, he often introduces her name in his works with expressions -of filial reverence. His last visit to Germany in the winter of 1843 -seems to have been for the special purpose of visiting her at Hamburg, -where she resided. His friends fancied that the “old woman at the -Dammthor” (one of the gates of Hamburg), of whom he used to speak, was a -myth, but she was no other than his mother. Nothing can be more charming -than the manner in which he speaks of both her and his wife in the -beautiful little poem called “Night Thoughts.” (See page 179.) - -In 1844 he published a fresh collection of poems under the title of “New -Poems,” to which was added as an appendix “Germany, a Winter Tale.” The -former of these was subsequently added by him to his “Book of Songs,” -and will be found in its place accordingly in the present volume, as -well as his “New Spring,” which formed a part of the same work. The -“Germany” is one of his most remarkable works, and contains an account -of his journey to Hamburg the previous winter to see his mother that has -just been referred to. None of his productions are more thoroughly -impregnated with the spirit of satire. Every stage of his journey, from -its commencement at the Prussian frontier, to its termination at -Hamburg, gives occasion for the display of his wit and sarcastic -raillery. It will be seen that many of the passages in the poem were -struck out of the original edition by the official Censors. Perhaps the -most amusing portions are the episode of the author’s adventures in the -Cavern of Kyffhauser with the famous Emperor Barbarossa (not omitting -their little conversation respecting the guillotine), and the rencontre -with the Goddess Hammonia in the streets of Hamburg, and his subsequent -tête-à-tête with her. The extravagance (slightly coarse it must be -confessed) of the latter scene is quite worthy of Rabelais, though the -poet takes care to tell us that it is intended to imitate Aristophanes. -The remonstrances to the King of Prussia, with which the poem concludes, -should also not he passed over. - -In the year 1848, after a premonitory attack in 1847 that passed away, -that terrible disease which eventually destroyed Heine’s life, first -assailed him in an aggravated form. Commencing with a paralysis of the -left eyelid, it extended presently to both eyes and finally terminated -in paralysis and atrophy of the legs. The last time he ever left his -house was in May, 1848. For eight long years he was confined to his -couch, to use his own expression, in a state of “death without its -repose, and without the privileges of the dead, who have no need to -spend money, and no letters or books to write.” But despite his bodily -sufferings, his good spirits never seemed to leave him, his love of -raillery did but increase, and little did that public whose interest he -continued to excite by the wonderful products of his genius know of his -distressing state. - -In the years 1850 and 1851, in the midst of his fearful malady, Heine -composed his last great poetical work entitled “Romancero.” This -singular volume is divided into three Books, called respectively -“Histories,” “Lamentations,” and “Hebrew Melodies.” The first of these -contains a large number of romantic ballads and poems of the most -dissimilar character, but all bearing the stamp of the author’s peculiar -genius; the second opens with several miscellaneous pieces, including -some literary satires, and concludes with twenty pieces bearing the -lively title of “Lazarus,” and comprising, as some one has observed, the -journal of his impressions as a sick man. The “Hebrew Melodies” are -subdivided into three, entitled by Heine “Princess Sabbath,” “Jehuda ben -Halevy,” a poem itself in three parts, and “Disputation.” The Jewish -descent and Jewish sympathies of the poet are plainly discernible in -these Melodies, the most interesting of which, and probably the best of -the whole collection contained in the “Romancero,” is that which sets -forth the life of Jehuda ben Halevy, the great Hebrew poet of the middle -ages. Some critics rank this poem amongst Heine’s very best productions. -The concluding piece, “Disputation,” is in Heine’s wildest style, and -seems written for the express purpose of destroying the pleasure excited -by the one that precedes it. In none of his works is his mocking spirit -more plainly discernible. “It is the most Voltairian scene ever imagined -by the sceptical demon of his mind.” No one can read this polemical poem -without seeing how little Heine himself cared for any received form of -religion,--for the Christian faith as professed by him, or the Jewish -faith into which he was born. The piece terminates in Heine’s favourite -manner, namely, with an unexpected joke in the last line. - -The collection entitled “Latest Poems” was written three years -afterwards. Its name shows that the end was now not far off. The hand of -a master is still visible in all these poems, the most interesting of -which is perhaps the “Slave Ship,” one of the most powerful productions -of Heine’s pen. In the year 1855, he published a French translation of -his “New Spring” in the _Revue des deux Mondes_. And now the end really -arrived. - -On the 17th February, 1856, Henry Heine was at length released from his -sufferings in his house in the Avenue Matignon, No. 3, as appears from -the obituary notice. The smallness of the attendance at his funeral -would seem to show that there was some truth in the saying that he had -many admirers but few friends. The only names of note that are recorded -as having been present on the occasion are Mignet, Gautier, and Dumas. -And this was the man who was recognized as the successor of Goethe in -the throne of poetry in Germany, and whose songs were already household -words in all parts of that country! His humour did not leave him till -the very last. A few days before his death Hector Berlioz called on him -just as a tiresome German professor was leaving the room after wearying -him with his uninteresting conversation. “I am afraid you will find me -very stupid, my dear fellow! The fact is, I have just been _exchanging -thoughts_ with Dr. ----” was his remark. Only a day or two before he -expired, he sent back to the printer the last proofs of a new edition of -the “Reisebilder.” - -Heine left a singular will behind him, in which he begged that all -religious solemnities should be dispensed with at his funeral, and that, -although he called himself a Lutheran, no Lutheran minister should -officiate on the occasion. He added that this was not a mere freak of a -freethinker, for that he had for the last four years dismissed all the -pride with which philosophy had filled him, and felt once more the power -of religious truth. He also begged for forgiveness for any offence -which, in his ignorance, he might have given to good manners and -morals. - -When the private papers of Louis Philippe fell into the hands of the -populace at the sack of the Tuileries in February, 1848, it was -discovered that Heine had for many years enjoyed a pension of some -200_l._ a year on the Civil List. This discovery gave an opening to the -republicans for violent attacks on him; but there does not appear to -have been anything in the circumstances of the case to make this -transaction discreditable to either the giver or the receiver of the -pension. - -Heine is described as having lived in the simplest manner, occupying -three small rooms on the third floor, the _ménage_ comprising, in -addition to his wife and himself, no one but an old negress as a -servant, and “Cocotte,” who has been already alluded to. - -Heine is beyond question the greatest poet that has appeared in Germany -since the death of Goethe. Enough has been said in the course of this -brief sketch of his life to show the singular, the unprecedented -character of his genius, and to illustrate that combination in his -person of two separate natures that we have stated to exist. What more -touching trait of character was ever heard of, than the simple fact that -although the last eight years of his life were spent in a state of -intolerable agony, he left his mother in ignorance of his sufferings to -the very last! Yes, when stricken with total blindness, and when dying -literally by inches, all his letters to the “old woman at the Dammthor” -were written in the most cheerful, happy tone, and he made her believe -that his only reason for employing an amanuensis instead of writing with -his own hand was that he had a slight affection in his eyes, which would -be cured with a little care! - -The following appreciation of the character of Heine, written while he -was still alive, but when the shades of darkness and death were slowly -gathering round him, may serve as a fitting termination to these few -pages:--“It may be said that Heine bears within him all the misery of a -mighty literature that has fallen from his ideal. Let this be his -excuse. But now his eyes are closing on this perishable world, whose -contradictions and wretchedness provoked his painful gaiety; another -world is opening on his mind. There, no more misery, no more irritating -contrasts, no more revolting disenchantments; there, all problems are -resolved, all struggles cease. If irony, in the case of a capricious and -ardent intelligence, could be the faithful mirror of things below, there -is no room save for confidence and respect in that spiritual world that -his soul’s looks are fast discovering. He sought for serenity in that -light raillery which enveloped the whole universe, and played his part -in it with grace; but this serenity was incomplete and false, and often -suffered his ill-cured sorrows to break forth. True serenity is a higher -thing; it is to be found in the intelligence and adoration of that ideal -which nothing can affect, that truth which no shadow can obscure.” And -so with these words of kindly sympathy, Heinrich Heine,--farewell! - - - - -EARLY POEMS. - - -_SONGS OF LOVE._ - - -1. LOVE’S SALUTATION. - - Darling maiden, who can be - Ever found to equal thee? - To thy service joyfully - Shall my life be pledged by me. - - Thy sweet eyes gleam tenderly, - Like soft moonbeams o’er the sea; - Lights of rosy harmony - O’er thy red cheeks wander free. - - From thy small mouth, full of glee, - Rows of pearls peep charmingly; - But thy bosom’s drapery - Veils thy fairest jewelry. - - Pure love only could it be - That so sweetly thrill’d through me, - When I whilome gazed on thee, - Darling maid, so fair to see. - - -2. LOVE’S LAMENT. - - On night’s secrecy relying, - Silently I breathe my woes; - From the haunts of mortals flying, - Where the cup of pleasure flows. - - Down my cheeks run tears all burning, - Silently, unceasingly; - But my bosom’s fiery yearning - Quench’ed by tears can never be. - - When a laughing urchin, gaily - Many a merry game I play’d; - In life’s sunshine basking daily, - Knowing nought of grief or shade. - - For a garden of enjoyment - Was the world I then lived in, - Tending flowers my sole employment, - Roses, violets, jessamine. - - By the brook’s side, on the meadow, - Sweetly mused I in those days; - Now I see a pale thin shadow, - When upon the brook I gaze. - - Pale and thin my grief hath made me, - Since mine eyes upon her fell; - Secret sorrows now pervade me, - Wonderful and hard to tell. - - Deep within my heart I cherish’d - Angel forms of peace and love, - Which have fled, their short joys perish’d, - To their starry home above. - - Ghastly shadows rise unbidden, - Black night round mine eyes is thrown; - In my trembling breast is hidden - A sad whisp’ring voice unknown. - - Unknown sorrows, unknown anguish - Toss me wildly to and fro, - And I pine away and languish, - Tortured by an unknown glow. - - But the cause why I am lying - Rack’d by fiery torments now,-- - Why from very grief I’m dying,-- - Love, behold!--The cause art thou! - - -3. YEARNING. - - With sweetheart on arm, all my comrades with joy - Beneath the linden trees move; - But I, alas, poor desolate boy, - In utter solitude rove - - Mine eye grows dim, my heart is oppress’d, - When happy lovers I see; - For a sweetheart by me is also possess’d, - But, alas, far distant is she. - - I have borne it for years, with a heart fit to break, - But no longer can bear with the pain; - So pack up my bundle, my pilgrim’s staff take, - And start on my travels again. - - And onward I go for hundreds of miles, - Till I come to a city renown’d; - A noble river beneath it smiles, - With three stately towers ’tis crown’d. - - And now my late sorrows no longer annoy, - Made happy at last is my love; - For there, with my sweetheart on arm, I with joy - Can beneath the sweet linden trees rove. - - -4. THE WHITE FLOWER - - In father’s garden there silently grows - A flow’ret mournful and pale; - The spring-time returns, the winter’s frost goes, - Pale flow’ret remaineth as pale. - The poor pale flower looks still - Like a young bride that’s ill. - - Pale flow’ret gently saith to me-- - “Dear brother, pluck me, I pray!” - I answer pale flow’ret--“That must not be, - I never will take thee away. - I seek with anxious care - A purple flow’ret fair.” - - Pale flow’ret saith--“Seek here, seek there, - Seek e’en till the day of thy death, - But still that purple flow’ret fair - Thou’lt seek in vain,” she saith. - “But, prythee, pluck me now, - I am as ill as thou.” - - Thus whispers pale flow’ret, beseeching me sore; - I tremblingly pluck her, and lo! - I find my heart suddenly bleeding no more, - Mine inward eye brightly doth glow. - Mute angel-rapture blest - Now fills my wounded breast. - - -5. PRESENTIMENT. - - Yonder, where the stars glow nightly, - We shall find those joys smile brightly - Which on earth seem far away. - Only in Death’s cold embraces - Life grows warm, and light replaces - Night’s dark gloom at dawn of day. - - -6. - - When I am with my sweetheart kind, - A happy youth am I; - So great the wealth within my mind, - I the whole world could buy. - - But when her swanlike arms I quit, - In that sad hour of pain, - Away my boasted wealth doth flit, - And I am poor again. - - -7. - - I would the songs I’m singing - Had little flow’rets been; - I’d send them to my sweetheart - For her to smell, I ween. - - I would the songs I’m singing - Were kisses all unseen; - I’d send them all in secret - Upon her cheeks to glean. - - I would the songs I’m singing - Were little peas so green; - I’d make some capital pea-soup - All in a soup-tureen! - - -8. - - Of peace, and happiness, and heart, - Thou, loved one, long time hast bereft me; - And of the gifts that thou hast left me - Not one of these doth form a part. - - For peace, heart, happiness, hast thou - To me a life-long sorrow given, - With bitter words commingled even,-- - O take _these_ back, my loved one, now. - - -9. - - Remember’st thou those fiery glances - In which his trust the novice plac’d? - That long-denied first kiss of passion - The ardent lover stole in haste? - - O glances, ye experienced fish-hooks, - On which the fish is captive brought! - O kiss, thou charming rod of honey, - With which the bird is limed and caught! - - -10. - - Thou spak’st and gav’st a lock to me - Of thy dear silken hair; - “Wear this, and I for ever thee - “Within my heart will wear.” - - Full oft have heart and hair been call’d - To act this loving part. - Now say: is not thy head yet bald? - And full thy little heart? - - -11. - - You, loved one, assured me so strongly, - I wellnigh fancied it true; - That you asserted it was so, - Was no sign of folly in you. - But that I almost believed it, - ’Tis this that I so rue. - - -12. - - I’ve seen full many a tragedy play’d, - Extracting my tears like magic; - But ’mongst them all, that touching scene - Had an end by far the most tragic, - - Wherein thou tookedst the principal part, - While I at thy feet was panting,-- - How well thou actedst the innocent one, - Thou actress most enchanting! - - -13. - - Ask not what I have, my loved one,-- - Ask me rather what I am; - For but little wealth I boast of, - But I’m gentle as a lamb. - - Do not ask me how I’m living, - But for what, that ask of me; - For I live in want, and lonely, - Yet I live alone for thee. - - Do not ask me of my pleasures, - Ask not of my bitter smart; - Pleasure ever flies his presence - Who doth own a broken heart. - - - - -MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. - - -GERMANY. 1815. - - Let me sing Germania’s glory! - Hearken to my noblest strains! - While my spirit tells the story, - Thrilling bliss runs through my veins. - - Time’s book is before me lying, - All things that have happened here, - Good with Evil ever vying-- - All before my gaze stands clear. - - From the Frenchman’s distant nation - Hell approach’d, with impious hand, - Bringing shame and desecration - On our much-loved German land. - - All our faith and virtue soiling, - All our heavenly yearnings fled, - All we deemed of worth, despoiling,-- - Giving sin and pain instead. - - German shame to gild refusing, - Dark the German sun soon grew, - And a mournful voice accusing - Pierced the German oak trees through. - - Now the sun once more is glancing, - And the oak trees roar with joy; - The avengers are advancing, - Shame and sorrow to destroy. - - And deceit’s proud altars hateful - Totter, fall with hideous sound; - Every German heart is grateful, - Free is German holy ground. - - See’st the glare yon mount illuming? - Say, what can that wild flame be? - Yes! that fire proclaims the blooming - Image pure of Germany. - - From the night of sin emerging - Germany uninjured stands; - Wildly is the spot still surging, - Where that fair form burst her bands. - - On the old oak’s stems in splendour - Glorious blossoms fast unfold; - Foreign blossoms fall, and tender - Breezes greet us as of old. - - All that’s virtuous is returning, - All that’s good appears once more - And the German, fondly yearning, - Is exulting as of yore. - - Ancient manners, ancient German - Virtues, and heroic deeds! - Valiantly each son of Hermann[3] - Waves his sword and proudly bleeds. - - Heroes never doves engender, - Lionlike is Hermann’s race; - Yet may love’s religion tender - Well near valour take its place. - - Germans through their sorrows lonely - Learnt Christ’s gentle word to prize; - Their land ’genders brethren only, - And humanity is wise. - - Once again returns the glorious - Noble love of minstrel’s song, - Well becoming the victorious - Breasts of German heroes strong, - - As they to the war are going - With the Frank to cross the sword, - To take signal vengeance glowing - For their perfidy abhorr’d. - - And at home, no labour heeding, - Woman plies her gentle hand, - Tends the sacred wounds all bleeding - In defence of fatherland. - - In her black dress robed, entrancing - Looks the beauteous German dame, - Deck’d with flow’rs and jewels glancing, - Diamond-girded, too, her frame. - - But a nobler, prouder feeling - Through me at her vision thrills, - When, beside the sick-bed kneeling, - Acts of mercy she fulfils. - - Heavenly angels she resembles - When the last draught she supplies - To the wounded man, who trembles, - Smiles his grateful thanks, and dies. - - He to whom to die ’tis given - On the battle-field, is blest; - But a foretaste ’tis of heaven, - Dying on a woman’s breast. - - Poor, poor sons of France! Fate ever - Unto you unkind has been; - On the Seine’s banks, beauty never - Save in search of gold is seen. - - German women! German women! - What a charm the words convey! - German women! German women! - Flourish on for many a day! - - All our daughters like Louisa, - All our sons like Frederick be! - Hear me in the grave, Louisa! - Ever flourish Germany! - - -DREAM. 1816. - - Son of folly, dream thou ever, - When thy thoughts within thee burn; - But in life thy visions never - To reality will turn. - - Once in happier days chance bore me - To a high mount on the Rhine; - Smiling lay the land before me, - Gloriously the sun did shine. - - Far below, the waves were singing - Wild and magic melodies; - In my inmost heart were ringing - Blissful strains in wondrous wise. - - Now, when gazing from that station - On the land--how sad its doom! - I but see a pigmy nation - Crawling on a giant’s tomb. - - So-call’d men wear silken raiment, - Deem themselves the nation’s flower; - Honours now are gain’d by payment, - Rogues possess both wealth and power. - - Of descent they boast, not merit, - ’Tis their dress that makes them men; - Old coats now alone the spirit - Of old times bring back again; - - When respect and virtue holy - Modestly went hand in hand; - When the youth with deference lowly - By the aged took his stand; - - When a hand-shake was more valid - Than an oath or written sheet; - When men, iron-clad, forth sallied, - And a heart inside them beat. - - Our fair garden borders nourish - Many a thousand flow’rets fair; - In the fostering soil they flourish, - While the sun smiles on them there. - - But the flower most fair, most golden, - In our gardens ne’er is known,-- - That one which, in days now olden, - On each rocky height was grown; - - Which, in cold hill-fortress dwelling, - Men endued with iron frame - Deem’d the flower all flowers excelling,-- - Hospitality its name. - - Weary wanderer, never clamber - To the mountain’s fort-crown’d brow; - ’Stead of warm and friendly chamber, - Cold, hard walls receive thee now. - - From the watch-tower blow no warders - Not a drawbridge is let fall; - For the castle’s lord and warders - In the cold tomb slumber all. - - In dark coffins, too, are sleeping - Those dear maids bards sang of old; - Shrines like these within them keeping - Greater wealth than pearls and gold. - - Strange soft whispers there are blended - Like sweet minnesinger’s lays; - To those dark vaults has descended - The fair love of olden days. - - True, I also prize our ladies, - For they blossom like the May; - And delightful, too, their trade is,-- - ’Tis to dance, stitch, paint all day. - - And they sing, in rhymes delicious, - Of old love and loyalty, - Feeling all the time suspicious - Whether such things e’er could be. - - In their simple minds, our mothers - Used to think in days of yore, - That the gem above all others - Fair, man in his bosom bore. - - Very different from this is - What their daughters wisdom call; - In the present day our misses - Love the jewels most of all. - - Lies, deceit, and superstition - Rule,--life’s charms are thrown aside, - Whilst Rome’s sordid base ambition - Jordan’s pearls has falsified. - - To your dark domain return you, - Visions of far happier days; - O’er a time which thus doth spurn you, - Vain laments no longer raise! - - -THE CONSECRATION. - - Lonely in the forest chapel, - At the image of the Virgin, - Lay a gentle, pallid stripling, - Bent in humble adoration. - - O Madonna! Let me ever - On the threshold here be kneeling; - Thou wilt never drive me from thee, - To the world so cold and sinful. - - O Madonna! Sunny radiance - Round thy head’s bright locks is gleaming, - And a mild sweet smile is playing - Round thy fair mouth’s holy roses. - - O Madonna! Thine eyes’ lustre - Lightens me like stars in heaven; - While life’s bark doth drift at random, - Stars lead on for ever surely. - - O Madonna! Without wavering - I have borne thy test of sorrow, - On kind love relying blindly, - In thy glow alone e’er glowing. - - O Madonna! This day hear me, - Full of mercy, rich in wonders! - Grant me then a sign of favour, - Just one little sign of favour. - - Then presently happen’d a marvellous wonder. - The forest and chapel were parted insunder; - The boy understood not the miracle strange, - For all around him did suddenly change. - - In a brilliant hall there sat the Madonna, - Her rays were gone, as he gazed upon her; - She bore the form of a lovely maid, - Around her lips a childlike smile play’d. - - And see! from her fair and flowing tresses - She steals a lock, as she thus addresses - In a heavenly tone, the raptured boy: - The sweetest reward on earth enjoy! - - What attests this consecration? - Saw’st thou not the rainbow shedding - Its sublime illumination, - O’er the wide horizon spreading? - - Angels up and down are moving, - Loudly do their pinions flutter; - Breathing music strange and loving, - Sweet the melodies they utter. - - Well the stripling knows the yearning - Through his frame that now doth quiver; - To that land his footsteps turning, - Where the myrtle blooms for ever. - - -THE MOOR’S SERENADE. - - To my sleeping dear Zuleima’s - Bosom run, ye tears all burning! - Then will her sweet heart for Abdul - ’Gin to beat with tender yearning. - - Round my sleeping dear Zuleima’s - Ear disport, ye tears of anguish! - Then will her fair head in vision - Sweet for Abdul’s love straight languish. - - O’er my sleeping dear Zuleima’s - Soft hand stream, my heart’s blood gushing! - Then will her sweet hand bear on it - Abdul’s heart’s blood, crimson flushing. - - Sorrow is, alas, born voiceless, - In its mouth no tongue is growing, - It hath only tears and sighing, - And blood from the heart’s wounds flowing. - - -DREAM AND LIFE. - - The day was glowing, my heart, too, glow’d, - In silence I bore my sorrow’s load; - When night arrived, I hastened then - To the blossoming rose in the silent glen. - - I softly approach’d, and mute as the grave, - While tears my cheeks did secretly lave, - I peep’d in the cup of the rose so fair, - And lo! a bright light was glimmering there. - - By the rose I joyfully fell asleep, - When a sweet mocking dream did over me creep; - The form of a rosy maid was reveal’d; - A rosy bodice her bosom conceal’d. - - She gave me soon a rich golden store, - To a golden cottage the prize I bore; - Strange goings-on in the cottage I found,-- - Small elves are dancing in graceful round. - - Twelve dancers are dancing, and taking no rest, - And closely their hands together are press’d; - And soon as a dance has come to a close, - Another begins, and each merrily goes. - - And the music they dance to thus sounds in my ear: - “The happiest of hours will ne’er reappear, - “The whole of thy life was only a dream, - “And this hour of pleasure a dream within dream.” - - The dream is over, the sun is up, - I eagerly peep in the rose’s cup. - Alas! in the place of the glimmering light, - A nasty insect meets my sight. - - -THE LESSON. - - Mother tells little bee, - Yonder wax taper flee; - But for his mother’s prayers - Little bee little cares. - - Round the light hovers he, - Humming all merrily; - Mother’s cry hears not he, - Little bee! Little bee! - - Youthful one! Foolish one! - Poor little simpleton! - In the flame rusheth he, - Little bee! Little bee! - - Now the flame flickers high, - In the flame he must die: - ’Ware of the maidens, then, - Sons of men! Sons of men! - - -TO FRANCIS V. Z----. - - I’m drawn to the North by a golden star; - Farewell, brother! forget me not when I am far; - To poetry ever faithful abide, - And never desert that charming bride. - As a priceless treasure preserve in thy breast - The German language so fair and blest; - And shouldst thou e’er come to the Northern strand - O listen awhile at that Northern strand; - And list till thou hearest a ringing remote - That over the silent waters doth float. - When this thou hearest, expect ere long - The sound of the well-known minstrel’s song. - Then strike thou in turn thine echoing chord, - And give me news that may pleasure afford; - How matters with thee, dear minstrel, go, - And with the others whom I loved so; - And how it fares with the lovely girl - Who set so many young hearts in a whirl, - And filled so many with yearnings divine-- - The blossoming rose on the blossoming Rhine. - And give me news of my fatherland too, - If still ’tis the land of affection true; - If still the old God in Germany lives, - And none to the Evil One homage now gives. - And when thy sweet song thus lovingly rings, - And joyous stories with it thus brings - Far over the waves to the distant strand, - The bard will rejoice in the far North land. - - -A PROLOGUE TO THE HARTZ-JOURNEY. - - All I saw and heard when travelling, - All that soul and heart found pleasing, - All that gave me food for cavilling, - All that tedious was or teasing; - - Solemn jostlings, wild excitement, - Both of simpletons and sages,-- - All shall swell the long indictment - Of my travels in these pages. - - Give not travels life twice over? - When at home one lives once only; - Wouldst thou nobler ends discover, - Thou must leave thy closet lonely. - - On the world’s wide stage, each player - Is a mimic or a puppet, - Rides his hobby his own way, or - Bids the others clamber up it. - - If we’re laughed at by our neighbour, - Riding in this curious fashion, - Let us him in turn belabour, - Jeering him without compassion. - - Read these travels in the manner - And the sense in which I’m writing; - Each one has his fav’rite banner - Under which he fancies fighting. - - -DEFEND NOT. - - Defend it not, defend it not, - This wretched world below; - Defend its gaping people not, - Who care for nought but pomp and show. - - The tedious ones, defend them not, - Who cause us such ennui; - The learned ones, defend them not, - In their o’erpow’ring pedantry. - - The women, too, defend them not, - Though good ones may be there; - The best amongst them scorneth not - The man she loves not, to ensnare. - - And then my friends--defend them not: - Count not thyself one now; - For thou those friends resemblest not,-- - No! firm, and good, and true art thou. - - -A PARODY. - - Indeed they have wearied me greatly, - And made me exceedingly sad, - One half with their prose so wretched, - The other with poetry bad. - - Their terrible discord has scatter’d - What little senses I had, - One half with their prose so wretched, - The other with poetry bad. - - But ’mongst the whole army of scribblers, - They most have stirr’d up my bile, - Who write in neither prosaic - Nor true poetical style. - - -WALKING FLOWERS AT BERLIN. - - Yes! under the lindens, my dear friend, - Thy yearnings may satisfied be; - The fairest of womankind here, friend, - All walking together, thou’lt see. - - How charming they look, how delicious, - In gay silken garments all dress’d! - A certain poet judicious - “Walking flowers” has named them in jest. - - How very charming each bonnet! - Each Turkish shawl, how it gleams! - Each cheek, what a bright glow upon it! - Each neck, how swanlike it seems! - - -EVENING SONGS. - -1. - - Without any aim, forth I sallied, - And roam’d by the pond o’er the lea; - The charming flowers look’d pallid, - And spectre-like gazed upon me. - - Upon me they gazed, and to chatter - And tell my dull tale I began; - They ask’d me, what was the matter - With me, poor sad-looking man. - - The truth, I valiantly said it, - No love in the world can I find; - And as I have lost all my credit, - With want of cash ’tis combin’d. - -2. - - And over the pond are sailing - Two swans all white as snow; - Sweet voices mysteriously wailing - Pierce through me as onward they go. - - They sail along, and a ringing - Sweet melody rises on high, - And when the swans begin singing, - They presently must die. - -3. - - When in sorrow, they dare not show it, - However mournful their mood, - For the swan, like the soul of the poet, - By the dull world is ill understood. - - And in their death-hour they waken - The air, and break into song; - And, unless my ears are mistaken, - They sing now, while sailing along. - -4. - - The cloudlets are lazily sailing - O’er the blue Atlantic sea; - And mid the twilight there hovers - A shadowy figure o’er me. - - Full deep in my soul it gazes, - With old-time-recalling eye, - Like a glimpse of joys long buried, - And happiness long gone by. - - Familiar the vision appeareth, - Methinks I know it full well; - ’Tis the much-loved shadow of Mary, - Who on earth no longer doth dwell. - - She beckons in friendly silence, - And clasps me with gentle despair; - But I seize hold of my glasses, - To have a better stare! - - - - -SONNETS. - - -1. TO AUGUSTUS WILLIAM VON SCHLEGEL. - - The worst of worms: the dagger thoughts of doubt-- - The worst of poisons: to mistrust one’s power-- - These struggled my life’s marrow to devour; - I was a shoot, whose props were rooted out. - Thou pitiedst the poor shoot in that sad hour, - And bad’st it climb thy kindly words about; - To thee, great Master, owe I thanks devout, - Should the weak shoot e’er blossom into flower. - O still watch o’er it, as it grows apace, - That as a tree the garden it may grace - Of that fair fay, whose favourite child thou wert. - My nurse used of that garden to assert - That a strange ringing, wondrous sweet, there dwells, - Each flower can speak, each tree with music swells. - - -2. TO THE SAME. - - Contented not with thine own property, - The Rhine’s fair Nibelung-treasure thou didst steal, - The wondrous gifts the Thames’ far banks conceal,-- - The Tagus’ flowers were boldly pluck’d by thee, - Thou mad’st the Tiber many a gem reveal, - The Seine paid tribute to thine industry, - Thou pierced’st e’en to Brama’s sanctuary, - Pearls from the Ganges taking in thy zeal. - Thou greedy man, I pray thee be content - With that which seldom unto man is lent; - Instead of adding more, to spend prepare! - And with the treasures which thou with such ease - From North and South accustom’d wert to seize, - Enrich the scholar and the joyful heir. - - -3. TO COUNCILLOR GEORGE S----, OF GOTTINGEN. - - Though the demeanour be imperious, proud, - Yet round the lips may gentleness play still; - Though the eye gleam and every muscle thrill, - Yet may the voice with calmness be endow’d. - Thus art thou in the rostrum, when aloud - Thou speak’st of governments and of the skill - Of cabinets, and of the people’s will, - Of Germany’s long strifes and ends avow’d. - Ne’er be thine image blotted from my mind! - In times of barbarous self-love like these, - How doth an image of such greatness please! - What thou, in fashion fatherly and kind, - Spak’st to my heart, while hours flew swiftly by, - Deep in my heart I still bear faithfully. - - -4. TO J. B. ROUSSEAU. - - Thy friendly greetings open wide my breast, - And the dark chambers of my heart unbar; - Home visions greet me like some radiant star, - And magic pinions fan me into rest. - Once more the Rhine flows by me, on its crest - Of waters mount and castle mirror’d are; - On vine-clad hills gold clusters gleam afar, - Vine-dressers climb, while shoot the flow’rets blest. - Could I but see thee, truest friend of all, - Who still dost link thyself to me, as clings - The ivy green around a crumbling wall! - Could I but be with thee, and to thy song - In silence listen, while the redbreast sings, - And the Rhine’s waters softly flow along! - - -5. - - A torture-chamber was the world to me, - Where I suspended by the feet did hang; - Hot pincers gave my body many a pang, - A vice of iron crush’d me fearfully. - I wildly cried in nameless agony, - From mouth and eyes the blood in torrents sprang,-- - A maid passed by, who a gold hammer swang, - And presently the coup-de-grace gave she. - My quivering limbs she scans with eager eye, - My tongue protruding, as death’s hour draws nigh, - From out my bleeding mouth,--a ghastly sight, - My heart’s wild pantings hears she with delight; - My last death-rattle music is the while - To her, who stands with cold and mocking smile. - - -6. THE NIGHT WATCH ON THE DRACHENFELS. TO FRITZ VON B----. - - ’Twas midnight as we scaled the mountain height, - The wood pile ’neath the walls the flames devour’d, - And as my joyous comrades round it cower’d, - They sang of Germany’s renown in fight. - Her health we drank from Rhine wine beakers bright, - The castle-spirit on the summit tower’d, - Dark forms of armèd knights around us lower’d, - And women’s misty shapes appear’d in sight. - And from the ruins there arose low moans, - Owls hooted, rattling sounds were heard, and groans; - A furious north wind bluster’d fitfully. - Such was the night, my friend, that I did pass - On the high Drachenfels,--but I, alas, - A wretched cold and cough took home with me! - - -7. IN FRITZ STEINMANN’S ALBUM. - - The bad victorious are, the good lie low; - The myrtles are replaced by poplars dry, - Through which the evening breezes loudly sigh, - Bright flashes take the place of silent glow.-- - In vain Parnassus’ heights you’ll plough and sow, - Image on image, flower on flower pile high, - In vain you’ll struggle till you’re like to die, - Unless, _before_ the egg is laid, you know - How to cluck-cluck; and, bulls’ horns putting on, - Learn to write sage critiques, both pro and con, - And your own trumpet blow with decent pride. - Write for the mob, not for posterity, - Let blustering noise your poems’ lever be,-- - You’ll then be by the public deified. - - -8. TO HER. - - The flow’rets red and white that I hold here, - Which blossom’d erst from out the heart’s deep wound, - Into a lovely nosegay I have bound, - And offer unto thee, my mistress dear. - By its acceptance be thy bard’s love crown’d! - I cannot from this earth’s scene disappear, - Till I have left a sign of love sincere. - Remember me when I my death have found. - Yet ne’er, O mistress, shalt thou pity me; - My life of grief was enviable e’en,-- - For in my heart I bore thee lovingly. - And greater bliss shall soon be mine, when I - Shall, as thy guardian spirit, watch unseen, - Thy heart with peaceful greetings satisfy. - - -9. GOETHE’S MONUMENT AT FRANKFORT-ON-THE MAIN. 1821. - - Good German men, maids, matrons, pray give ear, - Collect subscribers with the utmost speed, - The worthy folk of Frankfort have agreed - To build a monument to Goethe here. - “At fair time” (think they) “this will make it clear - “To foreign traders that we’re of his breed, - “That ’twas our soil that nurtured such fair seed, - “And then in trade they’ll trust us without fear.” - O touch the bard’s bright wreath of laurel never, - And keep your money in your pockets too; - ’Tis Goethe’s, his own monument to raise. - He dwelt amongst you in his infant days, - But half a world now severs him from you, - Whom a stream doth from Sachsenhausen[4] sever! - - -10. DRESDEN POETRY. - - At Dresden on the Elbe, that handsome city, - Where straw hats, verses, and cigars are made, - They’ve built (it well may make us feel afraid) - A music-club and music warehouse pretty. - There meet the gentlemen and ladies witty, - Herr Kuhn,[5] Miss Nostitz[5a]--adepts at the trade,-- - Spout verses, calling action to their aid. - How grand! Avaunt, ye critics!--more’s the pity! - Next day the paper tells us all the facts, - Bright’s[6] brightness flies, Child’s[6a] childishness is childlike, - The critic’s supplement is mean yet wildlike. - Arnoldi[5b] takes the cash, as salesman acts; - Then Böttiger[5c] appears, with noise infernal-- - ’Tis a true oracle, that Evening Journal! - - -11. BREADLESS ART. - - How soon my poverty would ended be, - Could I the pencil use, and paint away, - The walls of castles proud and churches gay - Adorning with my pictures merrily! - How soon would wealth replace my penury, - Could I the fiddle, flute, and piano play. - And with such elegance perform each day, - That lords and ladies all applauded me! - But ah! in Mammon’s smiles I ne’er had part, - For I have follow’d thee alone, alas! - Thee, Poetry, most thankless, breadless art! - When others (how I’m blushing, now I’ve said it!) - Drink their champagne from out a brimming glass, - I needs must go without, or drink on credit! - - - - -BOOK OF SONGS. - - - - -_PREFACE._ - - - This is the olden fairy wood! - The linden blossoms smell sweetly, - The strange mysterious light of the moon - Enchants my senses completely. - - I onward went, and as I went, - A voice above me was ringing;-- - ’Tis surely the nightingale’s notes that I hear - Of love and love’s sorrows she’s singing. - - She sings of love and love’s sorrows as well, - She sings of smiling and aching, - She sadly exults, she joyfully sobs, - Forgotten visions awaking. - - I onward went, and as I went, - I saw before me lying, - On open ground, a castle vast, - With gables in loftiness vying. - - The windows were closed, and all things appear’d - To stillness and sadness converted; - It seem’d as though silent death had his home - Within those walls deserted. - - A sphinx was lying before the door, - Part comical, part not human; - Its body and paws a lion’s were, - With the breasts and head of a woman. - - A woman fair! her white eyes spoke - Of yearnings wild but tender; - Her lips, all mute, were closely arch’d, - And smiled a silent surrender. - - The nightingale so sweetly sang, - I found it in vain to resist it-- - I kiss’d the beauteous face, and, ah! - Was ruined as soon as I kissed it. - - The marble figure with life was fill’d, - The stone began sighing and groaning; - She drank my kisses’ tremulous glow - With thirsty and eager moaning. - - She well nigh drank my breath away, - And then, with sensual ardour, - Embraced me, while her lion’s paws press’d - My body harder and harder. - - O blissful torment and rapturous woe! - The pain, like the pleasure, unbounded! - For while the mouth’s kisses filled me with joy, - The paws most fearfully wounded. - - The nightingale sang: “O beauteous sphinx! - “O loved one, explain the reason - “Why all thy raptures with pains of death - “Are mingled, in cruel treason? - - “O beauteous sphinx! explain to me - “The riddle so full of wonder! - “I over it many a thousand years - “Have never ceased to ponder.” - - - - -_YOUTHFUL SORROWS._ - -1817-21. - - - - -I. VISIONS. - - -1. - - Of love’s wild glow I dreamt in former days, - Of mignonette, fair locks, and myrtle twining, - Of lips so sweet, with bitter words combining, - Of mournful melodies of mournful lays. - - The dreams have long been scatter’d far and banish’d, - My dearest vision fled for evermore, - And, save the burning glow I used to pour - Into my tender numbers, all is vanish’d. - - Thou ling’rest still, deserted song! Now go, - And seek that long-lost vision; shouldst thou meet it, - On my behalf in loving fashion greet it,-- - An airy breath to that dim shade I blow. - - -2. - - A dream both strange and sad to see - Once startled and delighted me; - The dismal vision haunts me still, - And in my heart doth wildly thrill. - - There was a garden wondrous fair,-- - I fain would wander gladly there; - The beauteous flowers upon me gazed, - And high I found my rapture raised. - - The birds were twittering above - Their joyous melodies of love; - The sun was red with rays of gold, - The flowers all lovely to behold. - - Sweet fragrance all the herbs exhale, - And sweetly, softly blows the gale; - And all things glisten, all things smile, - And show their loveliness the while. - - Amid that bright and flowery land - A marble fountain was at hand, - And there I saw a maiden fair - Washing a garment white with care. - - Her cheeks were sweet, her eyes were mild, - Fair hair’d and saintly look’d the child, - And as I gazed, she seem’d to be - So strange, yet so well known to me. - - The beauteous girl, who made all speed, - A song was humming, strange indeed: - “Water, water, quickly run, - “Let the washing soon be done.” - - I went and stood then in her way, - And whisper’d gently: “Prythee say, - “Thou maiden sweet and wondrous fair, - “For whom dost thou this dress prepare?” - - Then spake she quickly: “Ready be! - “I’m washing thine own shroud for thee!”-- - Scarce had her lips these words let fall, - Like foam the vision vanish’d all. - - And still entranced, ere long I stood - Within a desert, gloomy wood: - To reach the skies the branches sought; - I stood amazed, and thought and thought. - - And hark! what hollow echoing sound - Like axe-strokes fills the air around - Through waste and wood I speed apace, - Until I reach an open place. - - In the green plain before me spread - A mighty oak tree rear’d its head; - And lo! the maiden, strange to see, - Was felling with an axe the tree. - - With blow on blow a song she sings - Unceasing, as the axe she swings: - “Iron glittering, iron bright, - “Hew the oaken chest aright.” - - I went and stood then in her way, - And whisper’d gently: “Prythee say, - “Thou sweet and wondrous maiden mine, - “For whom dost hew the oaken shrine?” - - Then spake she quickly: “Time is short, - “To hew thy coffin is my sport!”-- - Scarce had her lips these words let fall, - Like foam the vision vanish’d all. - - Bleak, dim was all above, beneath, - Around was barren, barren heath: - I felt in strange mysterious mood, - And shuddering inwardly I stood. - - And as I roam’d on silently, - A whitish streak soon caught mine eye; - I hasten’d tow’rd it, and when there, - Behold, I found the maiden fair! - - On wide heath stood the snowy maid, - Digging the ground with sexton’s spade; - Scarce dared I gaze on her aright, - So fair yet fearful was the sight. - - The beauteous girl, who made all speed, - A song was humming, strange indeed: - “Spade, O spade, so sharp and tried, - “Dig a pit both deep and wide.” - - I went, and stood then in her way, - And whisper’d gently: “Prythee say, - “Thou maiden sweet and wondrous fair, - “What means the pit that’s lying there?” - - Then spake she quickly: “Silent be! - “A cold, cold grave I dig for thee.” - And when the fair maid thus replied, - Its mouth the pit straight opened wide. - - And when the pit was full in view, - A chilling shudder pierced me through, - And in the grave so dark and deep - Headlong I fell, and--woke from sleep. - - -3. - - In midnight vision I myself have spied, - As for some festival, in ruffles dress’d, - In a black gala-coat and silken vest;-- - My sweet and trusting love with scorn I eyed; - And bow’d low down, and said “Art thou a bride?” - “I wish thee joy, dear Madam, I protest!” - And yet my lips reluctantly express’d - The words so cold and tauntingly applied. - And bitter tears then suddenly ’gan falling - From her dear eyes, and in a sea of weeping - Wellnigh dissolved her image so enthralling. - O lovely eyes, ye stars of love so kindly, - What though ye, when awake, and e’en when sleeping - Deceived me oft, I trust ye still as blindly! - - -4. - - In dream I saw a tiny manikin, - Who went on stilts, with steps a yard apart; - White was his linen, and his dress was smart, - But he was coarse and most unclean within. - Yes, worthless inwardly, and full of sin; - Worthy to seem outside was his great art, - Of courage he discoursed, as from his heart, - Defiant, stubborn, ’neath a veil but thin. - “And know’st thou who he is? Come here and see!” - So spake the dream-god, slily showing me - Within a mirror’s frame this vision then. - The manikin before an altar stood, - My love beside him, both said “Yes, they would,” - And thousand laughing devils cried “Amen!” - - -5. - - Why stirs and chafes my madden’d blood? - Why burns my heart in furious mood? - My blood fast boils, and foams and fumes, - And passion fierce my heart consumes. - - My mad blood boils in foaming stream, - Because I’ve dreamt an evil dream: - Night’s gloomy son appear’d one day, - And bore me in his arms away. - - To a bright house soon brought he me, - Where sounded harp and revelry, - And torches gleam’d and tapers shone-- - The hall I entered then alone. - - I saw a merry wedding feast, - The glad guests round the table press’d; - And when the bridal pair I spied, - O woe! my mistress was the bride. - - There was my love, and strange to say, - A stranger claim’d her hand to-day. - Then close behind her chair of honour - I silent stood and gazed upon her. - - The music sounded--still I stood; - Their joy but swell’d my mournful mood; - The bride she look’d so highly blest, - Her hand the while the bridegroom press’d. - - The bridegroom next fill’d full his cup, - And from it drank, then gave it up - Unto the bride; she smiled a thank; - O woe! my red blood ’twas she drank. - - The bride a rosy apple took, - And gave it him with smiling look; - He took his knife, and cut a part; - O woe! it was indeed my heart. - - They lovingly each other eyed, - The bridegroom boldly clasp’d the bride, - And kissed her on her cheeks so red; - O woe! cold death kiss’d me instead. - - Like lead my tongue within me lay, - Vainly I strove one word to say; - A noise was heard,--the dance began, - The bridal pair were in the van. - - Whilst I stood rooted to the ground, - The dancers nimbly whirl’d around; - The bridegroom spoke a whisper’d word,-- - She blush’d, well pleased with what she heard. - - -6. - - In blissful dream, in silent night, - There came to me, with magic might, - With magic might, my own sweet love, - Into my little room above. - - I gazed upon the darling child, - I gazed, and she all-gently smiled, - And smiled until my heart swell’d high, - When stormlike daring words breath’d I: - - “Take, take thou everything that’s mine, - “My All will I to thee resign, - “If I may be thy paramour - “From midnight till the morning hour.” - - Then on me gazed the beauteous maid, - With looks that inward strife betray’d, - So sweet, so sad, while thus she said: - “Give me thy hope of heaven instead!” - - “My life so sweet, my youthful blood, - “I’ll give with cheerful joyous mood, - “For thee, O maiden angel-fair,-- - “But hope of heaven hereafter--ne’er!” - - My daring speech flow’d readily, - Yet ever fairer blossom’d she, - And still the beauteous maiden said - “Give me thy hope of heaven instead!” - - These words fell on me heavily, - Then rush’d, like some fierce flowing sea, - Down to my spirit’s depth most deep,-- - I scarce had power my breath to keep. - - There came a band of angels white - Graced with a golden halo bright, - But wildly follow’d in their track - A grisly train of goblins black. - - They wrestled with the angels white, - And drove away those angels bright, - And then the gloomy squadron too - Melted like morning mist from view.-- - - Fain had I died of rapture there, - My arms upheld my maiden fair; - She nestled near me like a roe, - But also wept with bitter woe. - - Sweet maiden wept; well knew I why, - Her rosy mouth to peace kiss’d I: - “O still, sweet love, that tearful flood, - “Surrender to my loving mood! - - “Surrender to my loving mood!”-- - When sudden froze to ice my blood; - The earth beneath me groan’d and sigh’d, - A yawning chasm open’d wide. - - And from the chasm’s gloomy veil - Rose the black troop,--sweet love turn’d pale; - My arms were of sweet love bereft, - And I in solitude was left. - - The gloomy troop around me danced - In wondrous circle, then advanced, - And seized and bore me to the ground, - While scornful laughter rose around. - - And still the circle narrower grew, - And ever humm’d the fearful crew: - “Thy hope of heaven was pledg’d by thee, - “Thou’rt ours for all eternity!” - - -7. - - Thou now hast the money,--why longer delay? - Thou dark scowling fellow, why lingering stay? - I sit in my chamber, and patiently wait, - And midnight is near, but the bride is still late. - - From the churchyard the shuddering breezes arise;-- - Ye breezes, O say, has my bride met your eyes? - Pale demons come round me, and hard on me press, - Make curtsies with grinning, and nod their “O yes!” - - Quick, tell me the message you’re coming about, - Black villain, in liv’ry of fire trick’d out! - My mistress sends word that she soon will be here; - In a car drawn by dragons she’ll shortly appear. - - Dear grey little man, say, what would’st thou to-day? - Dead master of mine, what’s thy business, pray? - He gazes upon me with mute mournful mien, - Shakes his head, turns away, and no longer is seen. - - His tail wags the shaggy old dog, and he whines; - All brightly the eye of the black tom-cat shines; - The women are howling with long flowing hair,-- - Why sings my old nurse my old cradle-song there? - - Old nurse stops at home, to her song to attend, - The eiapopeia is long at an end; - To-day I am keeping my gay wedding feast; - Only watch the arrival of each gallant guest! - - Only watch them! Good sirs, how polite is your band! - Ye carry your heads, ’stead of hats, in your hand; - With your clattering bones, and like gallows-birds dress’d, - Why arrive here so late, when the wind is at rest? - - The old witch on her broomstick comes galloping on: - Ah, bless me, good mother, I’m really thy son. - The mouth in her pale face beginning to twitch, - “For ever, amen,” soon replies the old witch. - - Twelve wither’d musicians come creeping along, - The limping blind fiddler is seen in the throng - Jackpudding dress’d out in his motley array, - On the gravedigger’s back is grimacing away. - - With dancing twelve nuns from the convent advance, - The leering old procuress leading the dance; - Twelve merry young priests follow close in their train, - And sing their lewd songs in a church-going strain. - - Till you’re black in the face, good old clothesman, don’t yell, - Your fur-coat will nothing avail you in hell; - ’Tis heated for nought all the year with odd things,-- - ’Stead of wood, with the bones of dead beggars and kings. - - The girls with the flowers seem’d hunchback’d and bent, - Tumbling head over heels in the room as they went; - With your faces like owls, and a grasshopper’s leg, - That rattling of bones discontinue, I beg. - - The squadrons of hell all appear in their shrouds, - And bustle and hustle in fast-swelling crowds; - The waltz of damnation resounds in the ear,-- - Hush, hush! my sweet love is at length drawing near. - - Now, rabble, be quiet, or get you away! - I scarcely can hear e’en one word that I say; - Hark! Is’t not the sound of a chariot at hand? - Quick, open the door! Why thus loitering stand? - - Thou art welcome, my darling! how goes it, my sweet? - You’re welcome, good parson! stand up, I entreat! - Good parson, with hoof of a horse and with tail, - I’m your dutiful servant, and wish you all hail! - - Dear bride, wherefore stand’st thou so pale and so dumb? - The parson to join us together has come; - Full dear, dear as blood, is the fee I must pay, - And yet to possess thee is merely child’s play. - - Kneel down, my sweet bride, by my side prythee kneel - She kneels and she sinks,--O what rapture I feel!-- - She sinks on my heart, on my fast-heaving breast; - With shuddering pleasure I hold her close press’d. - - Like billows her golden locks circle the pair, - ’Gainst my heart beats the heart of the maiden so fair - They beat with a union of sorrow and love, - And soar to the regions of heaven above. - - While our hearts are thus floating in rapture’s wide sea, - In God’s holy realms, all untrammell’d and free, - On our heads, as a terrible sign and a brand, - Has hell in derision imposed her grim hand. - - _In propriâ personâ_ the dark son of night - As parson bestows the priest’s blessing to-night; - From a bloody book breathes he the formula terse, - Each prayer execration, each blessing a curse. - - A crashing and hissing and howling is heard, - Like rolling of thunder, like waves wildly stirr’d; - When sudden a bluish-tinged light brightly flames, - “For ever, amen!” the old mother exclaims. - - -8. - - I came from the house of my mistress dear, - And wander’d, half frenzied, in midnight fear, - And when o’er the churchyard I mournfully trod, - In solemn silence the graves seem’d to nod. - - The musician’s old tombstone seem’d nodding to be; - ’Tis the flickering light of the moon that I see. - There’s a whisper “Dear brother, I soon shall be here!” - Then a misty pale form from the tomb doth appear. - - The musician it was who arose in the gloom, - And perch’d himself high on the top of the tomb; - The chords of his lute he struck with good will, - And sang with a voice right hollow and shrill: - - “Ah, know ye still the olden song, - “That thrill’d the breast with passion strong, - “Ye chords so dull and unmoving? - “The angels they call it the joys of heaven, - “The devils they call it hell’s torments even, - “And mortals they call it--loving!” - - The last word’s sound had scarcely died, - When all the graves their mouths open’d wide; - Many airy figures step forward, and each - The musician draws near, while in chorus they screech: - - “Love, O love, thy wondrous might - “Brought us to this dreary plight, - “Closed our eyes in endless night,-- - “To disturb us why delight?” - - Thus howl they confusedly, hissing and groaning, - With roaring and sighing and crashing and moaning; - The mad troop the musician surround as before, - And the chords the musician strikes wildly once more - - “Bravo! bravo! How absurd! - “Welcome to ye! - “Plainly knew ye - “That I spake the magic word! - - “As we pass the livelong year - “Still as mice in prison drear, - “Let’s to-day be full of cheer! - “First, though, please - “See that no one else is here; - “Fools were we as long as living, - “To love’s maddening passion giving - “All our madden’d energies. - “Let, by way of recreation, - “Each one give a true narration - “Of his former history,-- - “How devour’d, - “How o’erpower’d - “In love’s frantic chase was he.” - - Then as light as the air from the circle there broke - A wizen’d thin being, who hummingly spoke: - - “A tailor was I by profession - “With needle and with shears; - “None made a better impression - “With needle and with shears. - - “Then came my master’s daughter - “With needle and with shears, - “And pierced my sorrowing bosom - “With needle and with shears.” - - In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed; - In solemn silence a second stepp’d aft: - - “Great Rinaldo Rinaldini, - “Schinderhanno, Orlandini, - “And Charles Moor especially, - “Were my patterns made by me. - - “Like those mighty heroes, I - “Fell in love, I’ll not deny, - “And the fairest woman most - “Haunted me like any ghost. - - “Sighing, cooing like a dove, - “I was driven mad with love, - “And my fingers, by ill-luck, - “In my neighbour’s pocket stuck. - - “But the constable abused me, - “And most cruelly ill-used me, - “And I sought to hide my grief - “In my neighbour’s handkerchief. - - “Then their arms policemen placed - “Quietly around my waist, - “And the bridewell then and there - “Took me ’neath its tender care. - - “There, with thoughts of love quite full, - “Long time sat I, spinning wool, - “Till Rinaldo’s ghost one day - “Came and took my soul away.” - - In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed; - A third, all-berouged and bedizen’d, stepp’d aft: - - “As monarch I ruled on the stage, - “The part of the lover played I, - “Oft bellowed ‘Ye Gods,’ in a rage, - “Breath’d many a heart-rending sigh. - - “I play’d Mortimer’s part best, methinks, - “Maria was always so fair; - “But despite the most natural winks, - “She never gave heed to my prayer. - - “Once when I, with desperate look, - “‘Maria, thou holy one!’ cried, - “The dagger I hastily took, - “And plunged it too deep in my side.” - - In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh’d; - A fourth in a white flowing garment stepp’d aft: - - “_Ex cathedrâ_ kept prating the learned professor, - “He prated, and I went to sleep all the while; - “Yet my pleasure had certainly not been the lesser, - “Had I revell’d instead in his daughter’s sweet smile. - - “From the window she oft to me tenderly beckon’d, - “That flower of flowers, my life’s only light; - “Yet that flower of flowers was pluck’d in a second - “By a stupid old blockhead, an opulent wight. - - “Then cursed I all women and rogues of high station, - “And mingled some poisonous herbs in my wine, - “And held with old Death a jollification, - “While he said: ‘Your good health! from this moment you’re mine!’” - - In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh’d; - A fifth, with a rope round his neck, next stepp’d aft: - - “There boasted and bragg’d a count, over his wine, - “Of his daughter so fair, and his jewels so fine. - “What care I, Sir Count, for thy jewels so fine? - “Far rather would I that thy daughter were mine! - - “’Tis true under bar, lock, and key they both lay, - “And the Count many servants retain’d in his pay - “What cared I for servants, for bar, lock, or key? - “Up the rungs of the ladder I mounted with glee. - - “To my mistress’s window I climb’d with good cheer, - “Where curses beneath me saluted my ear. - “‘Stop, stop, my fine fellow! I too must be there, - “I’m likewise in love with the jewels so fair.’ - - “Thus jested the Count, while he grappled me tight, - “His servants came round me with shouts of delight. - “‘Pooh, nonsense, you rascals! No robber am I, - “I but came for my mistress--’tis really no lie.’ - - “In vain was my talking, in vain what I said, - “They got ready the rope, threw it over my head, - “And the sun, when he rose, with amazement extreme - “Found me hanging, alas, from the gallows’ high beam!” - - “In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh’d; - “A sixth, with his head in his hand, next stepp’d aft; - - “Love’s torments made me seek the chace; - “Rifle in hand, I roam’d apace. - “Down from the tree, with hollow scoff, - “The raven cried: ‘head off! head off!’ - - “O, could I only see a dove, - “I’d take it home for my sweet love! - “Thus thought I, and midst bush and tree - “With sportsman’s eye sought carefully. - - “What billing’s that? What gentle cooing? - “It sounds like turtle doves’ soft wooing. - “I stole up slily, cock’d my gun, - “And, lo, my own sweet love was one! - - “It was indeed my dove, my bride; - “A stranger clasp’d her waist with pride. - “Old gun, now let thy aim be good!-- - “The stranger welter’d in his blood. - - “Soon through the wood I had to pass, - “With hangmen by my side, alas! - “Down from the tree, with bitter scoff, - “The raven cried: ‘head-off! head-off!’” - - In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed; - At length the musician in person stepp’d aft: - - “I’ve sung my own song, friends, demurely, - “That charming song’s at an end; - “When the heart is once broken, why surely - “The song may homeward wend!” - - Then began the wild laughter still louder to sound, - And the pale spectral troop in a circle swept round. - From the neighbouring church-tow’r the stroke of “One!” fell, - And the spirits rush’d back to their graves with a yell. - - -9. - - I was asleep, and calmly slept, - All pain and grief allay’d; - A wondrous vision o’er me crept, - There came a lovely maid. - - As pale as marble was her face, - And, O, so passing fair! - Her eyes they swam with pearl-like grace, - And strangely waved her hair. - - And softly, softly moved her foot - The pale-as-marble maid; - And on my heart herself she put, - The pale-as-marble maid. - - How shook and throbb’d, half sad, half blest, - My heart, which hotly burn’d! - But neither shook nor throbb’d her breast, - Which into ice seem’d turn’d. - - “It neither shakes nor throbs, my breast, - “And it is icy cold; - “And yet I know love’s yearning blest, - “Love’s mighty pow’r of old. - - “No colour’s on my lips and cheek, - “No blood my veins doth swell; - “But start not, thus to hear me speak, - “I love thee, love thee well!” - - And wilder still embraced she me, - And I was sore afraid; - Then crow’d the cock,--straight vanish’d she, - The pale-as-marble maid. - - -10. - - I oft have pale spectres before now - Conjured with magical might; - They refuse to return any more now - To their former dwelling of night. - - The word that commands their submission - I forgot in my terror and fear; - My own spirits now seek my perdition, - Within their prison-house drear. - - Dark demons, approach not a finger! - Away, nor to torment give birth! - Full many a joy still may linger - In the roseate light of this earth. - - I needs must be evermore striving - To reach the flower so fair; - O, what were the use of my living - If I may cherish her ne’er? - - To my glowing heart fain would I press her, - Would clasp her for once to my breast, - On her lips and her cheeks once caress her, - With sweetest of torments be blest. - - If once from her mouth I could hear it, - Could hear one fond whisper bestow’d, - I would follow thee, beckoning Spirit, - Yea, e’en to thy darksome abode. - - The spirits have heard, and draw nigh me, - And nod with terrific glee: - Sweet love, with an answer supply me,-- - Sweet love, O lovest thou me? - - - - -2. SONGS. - - -1. - - Every morning rise I, crying: - Comes my love to-day? - Then sink down at evening, sighing: - She is still away! - - Sleepless and oppress’d with sorrow, - All night long I lie - Dreaming, half asleep; the morrow - Sadly wander I. - - -2. - - I’m driven hither and thither along! - But yet a few hours, I shall see her again, - Herself, the most fair of the fair maiden-train;-- - True heart, what means thy throbbing so strong? - - The hours are only a slothful race! - Lazily they move each day, - And with yawning go their way;-- - Hasten on, ye slothful race! - - Wild-raging eagerness thrills me indeed; - Never in love have the hours delighted; - So, in a cruel bond strangely united, - Slily deride they the lovers’ wild speed. - - -3. - - By nought but sorrow attended, - I wander’d under the trees; - That olden vision descended, - And stole to my heart by degrees. - - Who taught you the word ye are singing, - Ye birds in the branches on high? - O hush! when my heart hears it ringing, - It makes it more mournfully sigh. - - “A fair young maiden ’twas taught it, - “Who came here, and sang like a bird; - “And so we birds easily caught it, - “That pretty, golden word.” - - No more shall this story deceive me, - Ye birds, so wondrously sly: - Of my sorrow ye fain would bereave me, - On your friendship I cannot rely. - - -4. - - Sweet love, lay thy hand on my heart, and tell - If thou hearest the knocks in that narrow cell? - There dwells there a carpenter, cunning is he, - And slily he’s hewing a coffin for me. - - He hammers and knocks by day and by night, - My slumber already has banish’d outright; - Oh, Master Carpenter, prythee make haste, - That I some slumber at length may taste. - - -5. - - Beauteous cradle of my sorrow, - Beauteous grave of all my peace, - Beauteous town, we part to-morrow, - Fare thee well, our ties must cease! - - Fare thee well, thou threshold holy, - Where my loved one sets her feet! - Fare thee well, thou spot so holy, - Where we chanced at first to meet! - - Would that we had been for ever - Strangers, queen of hearts so fair! - Then it would have happen’d never - That I’m driven to despair. - - Ne’er to stir thy bosom thought I, - For thy love I never pray’d; - Silently to live but sought I - Where thy breath its balm convey’d. - - Yet thou spurn’st me in my sadness, - Bitter words thy mouth doth speak, - In my senses riots madness, - And my heart is faint and weak - - And my limbs, in wanderings dreary, - Sadly drag I, full of gloom, - Till I lay my head all weary - In a chilly distant tomb. - - -6. - - Patience, surly pilot, shortly - To the port I’ll follow you; - From two maidens I’m departing, - From my love and Europe too. - - Blood-spring, from mine eyes ’gin running, - Blood-spring, from my body flow, - So that I then, with my hot blood, - May write down my tale of woe. - - Ah, my body, wherefore shudder - Thus to-day my blood to see? - Many years before thee standing - Pale, heart-bleeding, saw’st thou me! - - Know’st thou still the olden story - Of the snake in Paradise, - Who, a cursed apple giving, - Caused our parents endless sighs? - - Apples brought all evils on us, - Death through Eve by apples came; - Flames on Troy were brought by Eris,-- - Both thou broughtest, death and flame! - - -7. - - Hill and castle fair are glancing - O’er the clear and glassy Rhine, - And my bark is gaily dancing - In the sunlight all-divine. - - On the golden waters, breaking - Sportively, my calm eyes rest; - Gently are the feelings waking - That I nourish’d in my breast. - - With a fond and kindly greeting, - Lure me those deep waters bright, - Yet I know their smoothness cheating - Hides beneath it death and night. - - Joy above, below destruction,-- - Thou’rt my loved one’s image, stream - Blissful is her smile’s seduction, - Kind and gentle can she seem. - - -8. - - First methought in my affliction, - I can never stand the blow.-- - Yet I did--strange contradiction! - _How_ I did, ne’er seek to know. - - -9. - - With rose and cypress and tinsel gay, - I fain would adorn in a charming way - This book, as though a coffin it were, - And in it my olden songs inter. - - O, could I but bury love also there! - On love’s grave grows rest’s floweret fair; - ’Tis there ’tis pluck’d in its sweetest bloom,-- - For me ’twill not blossom till in my tomb. - - Here now are the songs that formerly rose, - As wild as the lava from Etna that flows, - From out the depths of my feelings true, - And glittering sparks around them threw! - - Like corpses now lie they, all silent and dumb, - And cold and pallid as mist they’ve become; - But the olden glow their revival will bring - When the spirit of love waves o’er them its wing. - - In my heart a presentiment loudly cries: - The spirit of love will over them rise: - This book will hereafter come to thy hand, - My sweetest love, in a distant land. - - Then the spell on my song at an end will be, - The pallid letters will gaze on thee, - Imploringly gaze on thy beauteous eyes, - And whisper with sadness and loving sighs. - - - - -3. ROMANCES. - - -1. THE MOURNFUL ONE. - - Every heart with pain is smitten - When they see the stripling pale, - Who upon his face bears written - Grief and sorrow’s mournful tale. - - Breezes with compassion lightly - Fan his burning brow the while, - And his bosom many a sprightly - Damsel fair would fain beguile. - - From the city’s ceaseless bustle - To the wood for peace he flies. - Merrily the leaves there rustle, - Merrier still the bird’s songs rise. - - But the merry song soon ceases, - Sadly rustle leaf and tree, - When he, while his grief increases, - Nears the forest mournfully. - - -2. THE MOUNTAIN ECHO. - - At sad slow pace across the vale - There rode a horseman brave: - “Ah! travel I now to my mistress’s arms, - Or but to the darksome grave?” - The echo answer gave: - “The darksome grave!” - - And farther rode the horseman on, - With sighs his thoughts express’d: - “If I thus early must go to my grave, - Yet in the grave is rest.” - The answering voice confess’d: - “The grave is rest!” - - Adown the horseman’s furrow’d cheek - A tear fell on his breast: - “If rest I can only find in the grave, - For me the grave is best.” - The hollow voice confess’d: - “The grave is best!” - - -3. THE TWO BROTHERS. - - On the mountain summit darkling - Lies the castle, veil’d in night; - Lights are in the valley sparkling, - Clashing swords are gleaming bright. - - Brothers ’tis, who in fierce duel - Fight, with wrath to fury fann’d; - Tell me why these brothers cruel - Strive thus madly, sword in hand? - - By the eyes of Countess Laura - Were they thus in strife array’d; - Both with glowing love adore her,-- - Her, the noble, beauteous maid. - - Unto which now of the brothers - Is her heart the most inclined? - She her secret feelings smothers,-- - Out, then, sword, the truth to find! - - And they fight with rage despairing, - Blows exchange with savage might; - Take good heed, ye gallants daring,-- - Mischief walks abroad by night. - - Woe, O woe, ye brothers cruel! - Woe, O woe, thou vale abhorr’d! - Both fall victims in the duel, - Falling on each other’s sword. - - Races are to dust converted, - Many centuries have flown, - And the castle, now deserted, - Sadly from the mount looks down. - - But at night-time in the valley - Wondrous forms appear again; - At the stroke of twelve, forth sally - To the fight the brothers twain. - - -4. POOR PETER. - - -I. - - While Hans and Grettel are dancing with glee, - And each of them loudly rejoices, - Poor Peter looks as pale as can be, - And perfectly mute his voice is. - - While Hans and Grettel are bridegroom and bride, - And glitter in smart ostentation, - Poor Peter must still in his working dress bide, - And bites his nails with vexation. - - Then softly Peter said to himself, - As he gazed on the couple sadly: - “Ah, had I not been such a sensible elf, - It had fared with my life but badly!” - - -II. - - “Within my breast there sits a woe - That seems my breast to sever; - Where’er I stand, where’er I go, - It drives me onward ever. - - “It makes me tow’rd my loved one fly, - As if she could restore me; - Yet when I gaze upon her eye, - My sorrows rise before me. - - “I clamber up the mountain now, - In lonely sorrow creeping, - And standing silent on its brow, - I cannot cease from weeping.” - - -III. - - Poor Peter slowly totters by, - Pale as a corpse, and stealthily; - The very people in the street - Stand still, when his sad form they meet. - - The maidens whisper’d as they pitied: - “The grave he has this moment quitted.” - Ah no, my dear young maidens fair, - He’s just about to lie down there! - - As he is of his love bereft, - The grave’s the best place that is left, - Where he his aching heart may lay, - And sleep until the Judgment Day. - - -5. THE PRISONER’S SONG. - - When my grandmother once had bewitch’d a poor girl, - The mob would have burnt her quite readily; - But though fiercely the judge his mustachios might twirl, - She refused to confess her crime steadily. - - And when in the caldron they held her fast, - She shouted and yell’d like a craven; - But when the black vapour arose, she at last - Flew up in the air as a raven. - - My black and feathery grandmother dear, - O visit me soon in this tower! - Quick, fly through the grating, and come to me here, - And bring me some cakes to devour! - - My black and feathery grandmother dear, - O prythee protect me from sorrow! - For my aunt will be picking my eyes out, I fear, - When I merrily soar hence to-morrow. - - -6. THE GRENADIERS - - Two grenadiers travell’d tow’rds France one day, - On leaving their prison in Russia, - And sadly they hung their heads in dismay - When they reach’d the frontiers of Prussia. - - For there they first heard the story of woe, - That France had utterly perish’d, - The grand army had met with an overthrow, - They had captured their Emperor cherish’d. - - Then both of the grenadiers wept full sore - At hearing the terrible story; - And one of them said: “Alas! once more - My wounds are bleeding and gory.” - - The other one said: “The game’s at an end, - With thee I would die right gladly, - But I’ve wife and child, whom at home I should tend, - For without me they’ll fare but badly. - - “What matters my child, what matters my wife? - A heavier care has arisen; - Let them beg, if they’re hungry, all their life,-- - My Emperor sighs in a prison! - - “Dear brother, pray grant me this one last prayer: - If my hours I now must number, - O take my corpse to my country fair, - That there it may peacefully slumber. - - “The legion of honour, with ribbon red, - Upon my bosom place thou, - And put in my hand my musket dread, - And my sword around me brace thou. - - “And so in my grave will I silently lie, - And watch like a guard o’er the forces, - Until the roaring of cannon hear I, - And the trampling of neighing horses. - - “My Emperor then will ride over my grave, - While the swords glitter brightly and rattle; - Then armed to the teeth will I rise from the grave, - For my Emperor hasting to battle!” - - -7. THE MESSAGE. - - Good servant! up, and saddle quick, - And leap upon thy steed, - And to King Duncan’s castle then - Through plain and forest speed. - - Into the stable creep, and wait, - ’Till by the helper spied; - Then say: “Of Duncan’s daughters, which - Has just become a bride?” - - And if he says: “The brown one ’tis,” - The news bring quickly home; - But if he says: “The fair one ’tis,” - More slowly thou mayst come. - - Then go to the ropemaker’s shop, - And buy a rope for me; - And riding slowly, bring it here, - And mute and silent be. - - -8. TAKING THE BRIDE HOME. - - I’ll go not alone, my sweetheart dear! - With me thou must go now - To the cheery, old, and cosy room - In the dreary cold abode of gloom, - Where at the door my mother keeps guard, - And for her son’s return looks hard. - - “Away from me, thou gloomy man! - Who bid thee come hither? - Thy hand’s like ice, thine eye glows bright, - Thy breath is burning, thy cheek is white;-- - But I would rather my time beguile - With smell of roses and sun’s sweet smile.” - - The roses may smell, and the sun may shine, - My darling sweetheart! - Throw thy spreading white veil thy figure around, - Make the chords of the echoing lyre resound, - And sing a wedding song to me; - The night-wind pipes the melody. - - -9. DON RAMIRO. - - “Donna Clara! Donna Clara! - Through long years the hotly-loved one - Thou hast will’d now my destruction, - Will’d it, too, without compassion. - - “Donna Clara! Donna Clara! - Very sweet the gift of life is! - But beneath us all is fearful, - In the tomb so dark and chilly. - - “Donna Clara, joy! to-morrow - Will Fernando at the altar - As his wedded bride salute thee,-- - Wilt thou ask me to the wedding?” - - “Don Ramiro! Don Ramiro! - Bitterly thy words are sounding, - Bitt’rer than you stars’ decree is, - Scoffing at my heart’s own wishes. - - “Don Ramiro! Don Ramiro! - Shake thy gloomy sadness from thee; - On the earth are many maidens, - But by God have we been parted. - - “Don Ramiro, who so bravely - Many Moors hast overpower’d, - Overpower now thyself too,-- - Come to-morrow to my wedding.” - - “Donna Clara! Donna Clara! - Yes, I swear it, yes, I’ll come there! - And the dance will lead off with thee;-- - So good night, I’ll come to-morrow.” - - “So good night!”--The window rattled; - Sighing stood below Ramiro, - Seeming turn’d to stone long stood he; - Then he vanish’d in the darkness. - - Lastly, after lengthen’d conflict, - Night to day in turn surrender’d; - Like a blooming flowery garden - Lies extended fair Toledo. - - Palaces and splendid buildings - Glitter in the radiant sunlight, - And the churches’ domes so lofty - Glisten proudly, as though gilded. - - Humming like a busy beehive, - Merrily the bells are sounding; - Sweetly rise the solemn psalm-tunes - From the God-devoted churches. - - But look yonder! but look yonder! - Where from out the market chapel, - Midst the heaving crowd and uproar, - Streams the throng in chequer’d masses. - - Glittering knights and stately ladies - In gay courtly dresses sparkle, - And the clear-toned bells are ringing, - And the organ peals between times. - - But with reverence saluted, - In the people’s midst are walking, - Nobly clad, the youthful couple, - Donna Clara, Don Fernando. - - To the bridegroom’s palace entrance - Slowly moves the gay procession; - There begin the ceremonies, - Stately, and in olden fashion. - - Knightly games and merry feasting - Interchange with loud rejoicing; - Swiftly fly the hours thus gladly - Till the shades of night have fallen. - - And the wedding-guests assemble - In the hall, to hold the dances, - And their chequer’d gala dresses - Midst the glittering lights are sparkling. - - On a high-exalted dais - Bride and bridegroom are reclining, - Donna Clara, Don Fernando, - Holding loving conversation. - - In the hall are gaily moving - All the festal crowd of people, - And the kettle-drums sound loudly, - And the trumpets, too, are crashing. - - “Wherefore, O my heart’s fair mistress. - Are thy glances so directed - Tow’rd the hall’s most distant corner?” - Thus the knight exclaim’d with wonder. - - “Seest thou not, then, Don Fernando, - Yonder man in dark cloak hidden?” - And the knight with smiling answered: - “Ah, ’tis nothing but a shadow.” - - But the shadow soon approach’d them, - And a man was in the mantle, - And Ramiro recognising, - Clara greeted him with blushes. - - And the dancing has begun now, - And the dancers whirl round gaily - In the waltz’s giddy mazes, - And the ground beneath them trembles. - - “Gladly will I, Don Ramiro, - In the dance become thy partner, - But thou didst not well to come here - In a black and nightlike mantle.” - - But with eyes all fix’d and piercing - Looks Ramiro on the fair one; - Clasping her, with gloom thus speaks he: - “At thy bidding have I come here!” - - And the pair of dancers vanish - In the dance’s giddy mazes, - And the kettle-drums sound loudly, - And the trumpets, too, are crashing. - - “Snow-white are thy cheeks, Ramiro,” - Clara speaks with secret trembling. - “At thy bidding have I come here!” - In a hollow voice replies he. - - In the hall the wax-lights glimmer - Through the ebbing, flowing masses, - And the kettle-drums sound loudly, - And the trumpets, too, are crashing. - - “Ice-cold are thy hands, Ramiro,” - Clara speaks with shudd’ring terror. - “At thy bidding have I come here!” - And within the whirl they vanish. - - “Leave me, leave me, Don Ramiro! - Ah, thy breath is like a corpse’s!” - Once again the dark words speaks he - “At thy bidding have I come here!” - - And the very ground seems glowing. - Fiddle, viol sound right merry; - Like a wondrous weft of magic - All within the hall is whirling. - - “Leave me, leave me, Don Ramiro!” - Sadly sounds amidst the tumult; - Don Ramiro ever answers: - “At thy bidding have I come here!” - - “In the name of God depart, then!” - Clara with a firm voice utters, - And the words she scarce had spoken - When Ramiro vanish’d from her. - - Clara, death in every feature, - Chilly, night-surrounded, stood there, - And a swoon her lightsome figure - To its darksome kingdom carries. - - But at last her misty slumber - Yields, at last her eyelids open, - But again, with deep amazement, - Would she fain have closed her fair eyes. - - For since they began the dancing, - From her seat had she not moved once, - And she still sits by the bridegroom, - And the anxious knight thus asks her - - “Say, why are thy cheeks so pallid? - Wherefore is thine eye so darksome?”-- - “And Ramiro?”--stammers Clara, - And her tongue is mute with horror. - - But with deep and solemn wrinkles - Is the bridegroom’s brow now furrow’d: - “Lady, bloody news why seek’st thou? - This day’s noontide died Ramiro.” - - -10. BELSHAZZAR. - - The midnight hour was coming on, - In deathlike calm lay Babylon. - - But in the monarch’s castle high - Held the monarch’s attendants gay revelry. - - And in the regal hall upstairs - A regal feast Belshazzar shares. - - The servants in glittering circles recline, - And empty the goblets of sparkling wine. - - The servants are shouting, the goblets ring, - Delighting the heart of the ruthless king. - - The king’s cheeks feel a ruddy glow, - The wine doth swell his ardour so. - - And blindly led on by his ardour’s wiles, - The Godhead with blasphemous words he reviles. - - And wildly he curses and raves aloud, - Approvingly bellow the serving crowd. - - The king commands with a look that burns, - The servant hastens and soon returns. - - Many golden vessels he bears on his head, - The spoils of Jehovah’s temple dread. - - And the monarch straight seized on a sacred cup - With impious hand, and fill’d it up. - - And down to the dregs he drains it fast, - And with foaming mouth exclaims at last: - - “Jehovah, thy power I here defy, - The King of Babylon am I.” - - But scarcely had sounded the fearful word, - When the heart of the king with terror was stirr’d. - - The yelling laughter is silenced all, - And deathlike silence fills the hall. - - And see! And see! On the wall so white - A human hand appears in sight. - - And letters of flame on the wall so white - It wrote, and wrote, and vanish’d from sight. - - The king the writing with wonderment sees, - As pale as death, and with trembling knees. - - The awestruck servants sat around, - And silent sat, and utter’d no sound. - - The magicians appear’d, but none ’mongst them all - Could rightly interpret the words on the wall. - - But Belshazzar the king the selfsame night - Was slain by his servants,--a ghastly sight. - - -11. THE MINNESINGERS. - - In the minstrels’ strife engaging - Pass the Minnesingers by; - Strange the war that they are waging, - Strange the tourney where they vie. - - Fancy, that for battle nerves him, - Is the Minnesinger’s steed; - Art as trusty buckler serves him, - And his word’s a sword indeed. - - Beauteous dames, with glances pleasant, - From the balcony look down; - But the right one is not present - With the proper laurel crown. - - Other combatants, when springing - To the lists, at least are sound; - Minnesingers must be bringing - To the fray a deadly wound. - - He from whom the most there draineth - Song’s blood from the inmost breast,-- - He is victor, and obtaineth - From fair lips the praise most blest, - - -12. LOOKING FROM THE WINDOW. - - Fair Hedwig lay at the window, to see - If pale Henry would chance to detect her; - She said half aloud: “Why goodness me! - The man is as pale as a spectre!” - - With yearning pale Henry look’d above - At her window, in hopes to detect her; - Fair Hedwig now felt the torments of love, - And she became pale as a spectre. - - Love-sick, now stood fair Hedwig all day - At her window, lest he should reject her; - But soon in pale Henry’s arms she lay - All night, at the time for a spectre. - - -13. THE WOUNDED KNIGHT. - - I know a story of anguish, - A tale of the times of old; - A knight with love doth languish, - His mistress is faithless and cold. - - As faithless must he esteem now - Her whom in his heart he adored; - His loving pangs must he deem now - Disgraceful and abhorr’d. - - In vain in the lists would he wander, - And challenge to battle each knight; - “Let him who my mistress dares slander - Make ready at once for the fight!” - - But all are silent, save only - His grief, that so fiercely doth burn; - His lance he against his own lonely - Accusing bosom must turn. - - -14. THE SEA-VOYAGE. - - I leaning stood against the mast, - And told each wave of ocean; - Farewell, my beauteous fatherland! - My bark, how swift thy motion! - - I pass’d my lovely mistress’ house, - The windows gleam’d all over; - But though I gazed and gazed and gazed, - No sign could I discover. - - Ye tears, obscure not thus mine eyes - On this too-painful morrow; - My love-sick heart, O do not break - With overweight of sorrow! - - -15. THE SONG OF REPENTANCE. - - Sir Ulrich rides in the forest so green, - The leaves with joy seem laden; - He sees, the trees’ thick branches between, - The form of a beauteous maiden. - - The youth then said: “Well know I thee, - So blooming and glowing thy face is; - Alluringly ever encircles it me, - In deserts or crowded places. - - “Those lips, by fresh loveliness ever stirr’d, - Appear a pair of roses; - Yet many a hateful bitter word - That roguish mouth discloses. - - “A pretty rosebush a mouth like this - Resembles very closely, - Where cunning poisonous serpents hiss - Amid the leaves morosely. - - “Within those beauteous cheeks there lies - A sweet and beauteous dimple; - That is the grave where I fell by surprise, - Lured on by a yearning simple. - - “There see I the beauteous locks of hair, - That once so lovingly pleased me; - That is the net so wondrous fair - Wherewith the Evil One seized me. - - “And that blue eye, that so sweetly fell, - As clear as the ocean even, - It proved to be the portal of hell, - Though I thought it the gateway of heaven.” - - In the wood still farther Sir Ulrich doth ride, - The leaves make a rustling dreary, - A second figure afar he spied, - That seem’d so sad and weary. - - The youth then said: “O mother dear, - Who lov’dst me to distraction, - But to whom in life I caused many a tear, - By evil word and action! - - “O would that to dry thine eyes could avail - My sorrow so fiercely glowing! - O could I but redden thy cheeks so pale - With the blood from my own heart flowing!” - - And farther rides Sir Ulrich there, - The night o’er the forest is falling; - Many singular voices fill the air, - The evening breezes are calling. - - The youth then hears his sorrowing words - Full often near him ringing; - ’Tis the notes of the mocking forest birds - All twittering loudly and singing: - - “Sir Ulrich sings a pretty song, - We call it the song of repentance: - And when he has reach’d the end of his song, - He’ll repeat it sentence by sentence.” - - -16. TO A SINGER, ON HER SINGING AN OLD ROMANCE. - - Still think I of the magic fair one, - How on her first my glances fell! - How her dear tones resounded sweetly, - How they my heart enthrall’d completely, - How down my cheeks the tears coursed fleetly - But how it chanced, I could not tell. - - There over me had crept a vision: - Methought I was again a child, - And in my mother’s chamber sitting - In silence, by the lamp-light flitting, - And reading fairy tales befitting, - Whilst outside roar’d the tempest wild. - - The tales began with life to glimmer, - The knights arise from out the grave; - By Roncesvall the battle rages, - Sir Roland in the fight engages, - And with him many a valiant page is,-- - And also Ganelon, the knave. - - By him is Roland ill entreated, - He swims in blood, fast ebbs his breath; - Scarce can his horn, at such far distance, - Call Charlemagne to his assistance: - So passed away the knight’s existence, - And, with him, sank my dream in death. - - It was a loud confusèd echo - That from my vision wakened me. - The legend that she sang was ended, - The people heartily commended, - And ofttimes shouted: “Bravo! splendid!” - Low bow’d the singer gracefully. - - -17. THE SONG OF THE DUCATS. - - O my golden ducats dear, - Tell me why ye are not here? - - Are ye with the golden fishes - Which within the stream so gaily - Leap and splash and wriggle daily? - - Are ye with the golden flow’rets - Which, o’er green fields scattered lightly, - In the morning dew gleam brightly? - - Are ye with the golden bird-kins - Which we see in happy chorus - In the blue skies hov’ring o’er us? - - Are ye with the golden planets - Which in radiant crowds each even - Smile in yonder distant heaven? - - Ye, alas, my golden ducats, - Swim not in the streamlet bright, - Sparkle not on meadow green, - Hover not in skies serene, - Smile not in the heavens by night.-- - Creditors, with greedy paws, - Hold you safely in their claws. - - -18. DIALOGUE ON PADERBORN HEATH. - - Hear’st thou not far music ringing, - As of double-bass and fiddle? - Many fair ones there are springing - Gaily up and down the middle. - - “You’re mistaken friend, in speaking - “Thus of fiddle and its brother; - “I but hear young porkers squeaking, - “And the grunting of their mother.” - - Hear’st thou not the forest bugle? - Hunters in the chase are straying; - Gentle lambs are feeding, frugal - Shepherds on their pipes are playing. - - “Ah, my friend, what you just now heard, - “Was not bugles, pipes, or hunters; - “I can only see the sow-herd - “Slowly driving home his grunters.” - - Hear’st thou not the distant voices - In sweet rivalry contending? - Many an angel blest rejoices - Strains like these to hear ascending. - - “Ah, that music sweetly ringing - “Is, my friend, no rival chorus; - “’Tis but youthful gooseherds, singing - “As they drive their geese before us.” - - Hear’st thou not the church-bells holy, - Sweet and clear, with deep emotion? - To the village-chapel slowly - Wend the people with devotion. - - “Ah, my friend, the bells ’tis only - “Of the cows and oxen also, - “Who, with sunken heads and lonely, - “Go back to their gloomy stalls so.” - - See’st thou not the veil just moving? - See’st thou not those soft advances? - There I see my mistress loving, - Humid sorrow in her glances. - - “She, my friend, who nods so much, is - “An old woman, Betsy namely; - “Pale and haggard, on her crutches - “O’er the meadow limps she lamely.” - - Overwhelm me with confusion - At my questions, friend, each minute; - Wilt thou deem a mere illusion - What my bosom holds within it? - - -19. LIFE’S SALUTATIONS. (From an Album.) - - This earth resembles a highway vast, - We men are the trav’llers along it; - On foot and on horseback we hurry on fast, - And as runners or couriers throng it. - - In passing each other, we nod and we greet - With our handkerchiefs waved from the coaches; - We fain would embrace, but our horses are fleet, - And speed on, despite all reproaches. - - Dear Prince Alexander, as onward we go, - We scarcely have met at a station, - When the signal to start the postilions blow, - Compelling our sad separation. - - -20. QUITE TRUE. - - When the spring returns with the sun’s sweet light, - The flowers then bud and blossom apace; - When the moon begins her radiant race, - Then the stars swim after her track so bright. - When the minstrel sees two beautiful eyes, - Then songs from his inmost bosom arise;-- - But songs and stars and flowerets gay, - And eyes and moonbeams and sun’s bright ray, - However delightful they are, - Don’t make up the world, friend, by far. - - - - -4. SONNETS. - -TO A. W. VON SCHLEGEL. - - - In dainty hoop, with flowers all-richly dight, - With beauty-patches on her painted face, - With pointed shoes all hung about with lace, - With tow’ring curls, and, wasp-like, fasten’d tight,-- - Thus was the spurious muse equipp’d that night - When first she offer’d thee her fond embrace; - But thou eludedst her and leftst the place, - Led by a mystic impulse from her sight: - A castle in the desert thou didst find, - Where, like a lovely marble image shrin’d, - Lay a fair maid, in magic slumber sunk; - But soon the spell was loosed,--when kiss’d by thee, - With smiles the lawful muse of Germany - Awoke, and sank within thine arms, love-drunk. - - - - -TO MY MOTHER, B. HEINE, _née_ VON GELDERN. - - -1. - - I have been wont to bear my head right high, - My temper too is somewhat stern and rough; - Even before a monarch’s cold rebuff - I would not timidly avert mine eye. - Yet, mother dear, I’ll tell it openly: - Much as my haughty pride may swell and puff, - I feel submissive and subdued enough, - When thy much-cherished, darling form is nigh. - Is it thy spirit that subdues me then, - Thy spirit, grasping all things in its ken, - And soaring to the light of heaven again? - By the sad recollection I’m oppress’d - That I have done so much that grieved thy breast, - Which loved me, more than all things else, the best. - - -2. - - With foolish fancy I deserted thee; - I fain would search the whole world through, to learn - If in it I perchance could love discern, - That I might love embrace right-lovingly. - I sought for love as far as eye could see, - My hands extending at each door in turn, - Begging them not my prayer for love to spurn-- - Cold hate alone they laughing gave to me. - And ever search’d I after love; yes, ever - Search’d after love, but love discover’d never, - And so I homeward went, with troubled thought; - But thou wert there to welcome me again, - And, ah, what in thy dear eye floated then - _That_ was the sweet love I so long had sought. - - - - -TO H. S. - - - When I thy book, friend, open hastily, - Full many a cherish’d picture meets my view, - And many a golden image that I knew - In boyish dreams and days of infancy. - Proudly tow’rd heaven upsoaring, then I see - The pious dome, rotted by religion true, - I bear the sound of bell and organ too, - Love’s sweet lament at times addressing me. - Well see I, too, how o’er the dome they skip, - The nimble dwarfs, and with malicious joy - The beauteous flow’r- and carvèd- work destroy. - But though the oak of foliage we may strip, - And rob it of its fair and verdant grace, - When spring returns, fresh leaves it dons apace. - - - - -FRESCO-SONNETS TO CHRISTIAN S--. - - -1. - - I take no notice of the blockheads tame - Who, seeming to be golden, are but sand; - I never offer to that rogue my hand - Who secretly would injure my good name; - I bow not to the harlots who proclaim - Boldly their infamy throughout the land; - And when in victor-cars the rabble band - Draw their vain idols, with them I ne’er came. - Well know I that the oak must fall indeed, - Whilst by the streamlet’s side the pliant reed - Stands in all winds and weathers, fearing not; - But say, what is the reed’s eventual lot? - What joy! As walking-stick it serves the dandy, - Or else for beating clothes they find it handy. - - -2. - - Give me a mask, I’ll join the masquerade - As country clown, so that the rabble rot - Who in their proud disguises strut about - May not suppose me one of their vile trade. - Give me low manners, words on purpose made - To show vulgarity beyond all doubt; - All sparks of spirit I’ll with care put out - Wherewith dull fools coquet in accents staid. - So will I dance then at the great mask’d ball, - By German knights, monks, kings surrounded too, - By Harlequin saluted, known to few. - With wooden swords they’ll strike me, one and all. - That is the joke. For if I show my face, - The rascals will be silenced in disgrace. - - -3. - - I laugh at all the fools who at me gape, - And whom with prying goat-like face I see; - I laugh at every fox who knavishly - And idly snuffs me like a very grape; - I laugh at every vain pretentious ape, - Who a proud judge of genius claims to be; - I laugh at all the knaves who threaten me - With poisonous weapons whence there’s no escape. - For when the charming fancies joy once gave - Are wrested from us by the hands of fate, - And at our feet in thousand atoms cast, - And when our very heart is torn at last, - All torn and cut and pierced and desolate, - A fine shrill laugh we still have power to save. - - -4. - - A strange and charming tale still haunts my mind, - Wherein a song the leading part assumes, - And in the song there lives and twines and blooms - A lovely specimen of womankind; - And in this maiden is a heart enshrined, - And yet no love that little heart illumes; - Her loveless frosty disposition dooms - Her life to suffer from her pride so blind. - Hear’st thou how in my head the tale comes back? - And how the song sounds solemnly and sad? - And how the maiden titters softly yet? - I only fear lest my poor head should crack. - Alas! it would indeed be far too bad, - If my unlucky reason were upset. - - -5. - - At evening’s silent, melancholy hour, - Long buried songs around me take their place, - And burning tears course swiftly down my face, - And my old heart-wounds bleed with greater power. - My love’s dear image like a beauteous flower - As in a magic glass again I trace; - In bodice red she sits and sews apace, - And silence reigns around her blissful bower. - But on a sudden springs she from her seat, - And cuts from her dear head a beauteous lock, - And gives it me--the very joy’s a shock. - The Evil One soon spoilt my rapture sweet: - The hair he twisted in a rope full strong, - And many a year has dragg’d me thus along. - - -6. - - “When I a year ago again met thee, - “No kiss thou gav’st me in that moment blest;”-- - Thus spake I, and my love a kiss impress’d - With rosy mouth upon my lips with glee. - With a sweet smile she from a myrtle tree - Hard by us pluck’d a twig, and said in jest: - “Take thou this twig, in fresh earth let it rest, - “And o’er it place a glass,”--then nodded she. - Twas long ago. The twig died in the pot. - ’Tis many a year since she hath cross’d my sight; - Yet in my head that kiss still burneth hot. - Lately returning home, I sought the place - Where dwells my love. Before her house all night - I stood, and left when morning show’d its face. - - -7. - - Of savage devils’-brats, my friend, beware, - But gentle angels’-brats more hearts will break; - Once such a one a sweet kiss bid me take, - But when I came, I felt sharp talons there. - Of black and ancient cats, my friend, take care, - But white young kittens are still more awake; - Once such a one my sweetheart did I make,-- - My heart my sweetheart savagely did tear. - O darling brat! O maiden passing sweet! - How could thy clear eye e’er deceive me so? - How could thy paw e’er give me such a blow? - O my dear kitten’s paw so soft and neat! - Could I but press thee to my glowing lip! - And could my life-blood meanwhile cease to drip! - - -8. - - Thou oft hast seen me boldly strive with those,-- - Both spectacled old fop and painted dame,-- - Who gladly would destroy my honest name, - And gladly see my last expiring throes. - Thou oft hast seen bow pedants round me close, - How fools with cap and bells my life defame, - How poisonous serpents gnaw my sinking frame, - Whilst from a thousand wounds my life-blood flows - But firm as any tower there stood thy form; - Thy head a lighthouse was amid the storm, - Thy faithful heart a haven was for me; - Though round that haven roars the raging main, - And few the ships the landing place that gain, - Once there, we slumber in security. - - -9. - - Fain would I weep, but, ah, I cannot weep; - Fain would I upwards full of vigour spring - But cannot; to the earth I needs must cling, - Spurn’d by the reptiles that around me creep. - Fain would I near my beauteous mistress keep, - Near my bright light of life be hovering, - And in her dear sweet breath be revelling, - But cannot; for my heart with sorrow deep - Is breaking; from my broken heart doth flow - My burning blood, my strength within me fades - And darker, darker grows the world to me. - With secret awe I yearn unceasingly - For yonder misty realm, where silent shades - Their gentle loving arms around me throw. - - - - -_LYRICAL INTERLUDE._ - -1822-23. - - - - -PROLOGUE. - - - There once lived a knight, who was mournful and bent, - His cheeks white as snow were, and hollow; - He totter’d and stagger’d wherever he went, - A vain vision attempting to follow. - He seem’d so clumsy and awkward and gauche, - That the flowers and girls, when they saw him approach, - Their merriment scarcely could swallow. - - From his room’s darkest corner he often ne’er stirr’d, - Esteeming the sight of men shocking, - And extended his arms, without speaking a word, - As though some vain phantom were mocking. - But scarce had the hour of midnight drawn near, - When a wonderful singing and noise met his ear, - And he heard at the door a strange knocking. - - His mistress then secretly enters the room, - In a dress made of foam of the ocean; - She glows like a rosebud, so sweet is her bloom, - Her jewell’d veil’s ever in motion; - Her golden locks play round her form slim and tall, - Their eyes meet with rapture, and straightway they fall - In each other’s arms with devotion. - - In his loving embraces the knight holds her fast, - The dullard with passion is glowing; - He reddens, the dreamer awakens at last, - And bolder and bolder he’s growing. - But she grows more saucy and mocking instead, - And gently and softly she covers his head, - Her white jewell’d veil o’er him throwing. - - To a watery palace of crystal bright - The knight on a sudden is taken; - His eyes are dazzled by radiant light, - By his wits he is well-nigh forsaken. - But the nymph holds him closely embraced by her side - The knight is the bridegroom, the nymph is the bride - While her maidens the lute’s notes awaken. - - So sweetly they play and so sweetly they sing, - In the dance they are moving so lightly, - That the knight before long finds his senses take wing, - He embraces his sweet one more tightly-- - When all of a sudden the lights disappear, - And the knight’s once more sitting in solitude drear - In his poet’s low garret unsightly. - - -1. - - ’Twas in the beauteous month of May, - When all the flowers were springing, - That first within my bosom - I heard love’s echo ringing. - - ’Twas in the beauteous month of May, - When all the birds were singing, - That first I to my sweetheart - My vows of love was bringing. - - -2. - - From out of my tears all burning - Many blooming flowerets break, - And all my sighs combining - A chorus of nightingales make. - - And if thou dost love me, my darling, - To thee shall the flowerets belong; - Before thy window shall echo - The nightingale’s tuneful song. - - -3. - - The rose and the lily, the dove and the sun, - I loved them all dearly once, every one; - I love them no longer, I love now alone - The small one, the neat one, the pure one, mine own. - Yes, she herself, the fount of all love, - Is the rose and the lily, the sun and the dove. - - -4. - - When gazing on thy beauteous eyes - All thought of sorrow straightway flies; - But when I kiss thy mouth so sweet, - My cure is perfect and complete. - - When leaning on thy darling breast, - I feel with heavenly rapture blest; - But when thou sayest: “I love thee!” - I begin weeping bitterly. - - -5. - - Thy face, so lovely and serene, - In vision I have lately seen; - So like an angel’s ’tis, and meek, - Though bitter grief has blanch’d thy cheek. - - Thy lips alone, they still are red; - Death soon will kiss them pale and dead; - The heavenly light will soon be o’er - That from thine eyes is wont to pour. - - -6. - - O lean thy beauteous cheek on mine, - That our tears together may mingle! - Against my bosom press thou thine, - That their flames may no longer be single - - And when with the flame is mingled at last - The stream of our tears all burning, - And mine arm is lovingly round thee cast,-- - I’ll die of my love’s sweet yearning. - - -7. - - I’ll dip my spirit discreetly - In the cup of the lily down here; - The lily shall sing to me sweetly - A song of my mistress dear. - - The song shall tremble and quiver, - Like that delicious kiss, - Of which her mouth was the giver - In a wondrous moment of bliss. - - -8. - - The stars in yonder heavens - Immovably have stood - For thousands of years, regarding - Each other in sad loving mood. - - They speak a mysterious language - That’s rich and sweet to the ear; - Yet no philologist living - Can make its meaning clear. - - But I’ve learnt it, and ne’er will forget it, - Whatever the time and place; - As my grammar I used for the purpose - My own dear mistress’s face. - - -9. - - On song’s exulting pinion - I’ll bear thee, my sweetheart fair, - Where Ganges holds his dominion,-- - The sweetest of spots know I there. - - There a red blooming garden is lying - In the moonlight silent and clear; - The lotos flowers are sighing - For their sister so pretty and dear - - The violets prattle and titter, - And gaze on the stars high above - The roses mysteriously twitter - Their fragrant stories of love. - - The gazelles so gentle and clever - Skip lightly in frolicsome mood - And in the distance roars ever - The holy river’s loud flood. - - And there, while joyously sinking - Beneath the palm by the stream, - And love and repose while drinking - Of blissful visions we’ll dream. - - -10. - - The lotos flower is troubled - At the sun’s resplendent light - With sunken head and sadly - She dreamily waits for the night. - - The moon appears as her wooer, - She wakes at his fond embrace; - For him she kindly uncovers - Her sweetly flowering face. - - She blooms and glows and glistens, - And mutely gazes above; - She weeps and exhales and trembles - With love and the sorrows of love. - - -11. - - In the Rhine, that beautiful river, - The sacred town of Cologne, - With its vast cathedral, is ever - Full clearly mirror’d and shown. - - A picture on golden leather - In that fair cathedral is seen; - On my life, so sad altogether, - It hath cast its rays serene. - - The flowers and angels hover - Round our dear Lady there; - Her eyes, lips, cheeks, all over - Resemble my mistress fair. - - -12. - - Thou lov’st me not, thou tellest me.-- - It troubles me but slightly; - But when thy beauteous face I see, - No king’s heart beats more lightly. - - Thou hatest me, thy red lips say - With well-pretended snarling; - But when sweet kisses they convey, - I’m comforted, my darling. - - -13. - - Full lovingly thou must embrace me, - My mistress beauteous and sweet! - With pliant form interlace me, - And with thine arms and thy feet. - - The fairest of snakes e’er created - With vigour encircles anon, - And clasps and twines round the elated - And happy Laocoon. - - -14. - - Swear not at all, but only kiss! - All woman’s oaths I hold amiss; - Thy word is sweet, but sweeter far - The kisses that my guerdon are. - These keep I, while thy words but seem - A passing cloud, or fragrant dream. - - * * * * * - - Now then, my loved one, swear away! - I’ll credit all that thou dost say; - And when I sink upon thy breast, - I’ll think that I am truly blest; - I’ll think that, love, eternally - And even longer, thou’lt love me. - - -15. - - Upon my mistress’s eyes so clear - I write the fairest cantatas; - Upon my mistress’s mouth sincere - I write the best of terzinas; - Upon my mistress’s cheeks so dear - I write the cleverest stanzas; - And had my mistress a heart, upon it - I soon would write a charming sonnet. - - -16. - - The world’s an ass, the world can’t see, - And grows more stupid daily: - It says, my darling child, of thee,-- - Thou livest far too gaily. - - The world’s an ass, the world can’t see, - Thy character not knowing; - It knows not how sweet thy kisses be, - How rapturously glowing. - - -17. - - Loved one--gladly would I know it,-- - Art thou but a vision fair, - Such as in his brain the poet - Loves in summer to prepare? - - No! such eyes of magic splendour, - Lips so rosy and so warm, - Such a child, so sweet and tender, - Never did the poet form. - - Basilisks and vampires gory, - Dragons, monsters of the earth, - Suchlike evil beasts of story - In the poet’s fire have birth. - - But thyself, thy wiles insidious, - And thy face, so sweet and staid, - And thy kindly looks perfidious,-- - These the poet never made. - - -18. - - Gleams my love in beauty’s splendour, - Like the child of ocean foam; - As his bride my mistress tender - Is a stranger taking home. - - Though ’tis treason, don’t abuse it, - Heart, thou much-enduring one! - Bear it, bear it, and excuse it, - What the beauteous fool hath done. - - -19. - - I’ll not be angry, though my heart should break, - Evermore lost one! no complaint I’ll make. - Though thou may’st sparkle ’neath thy diamonds bright, - No ray can pierce thy heart’s unceasing night. - - I’ve known it long. In vision saw I thee, - How night thy heart doth fill unceasingly, - And how the serpent at thy heart doth gnaw,-- - How wretched, love, thou art, too well I saw. - - -20. - - Thou’rt wretched, yes!--but no complaint I’ll make;-- - My love, we both, alas, must wretched be! - Till death our poor afflicted hearts doth break, - My love, we both, alas, must wretched be! - - I see the scorn that round thy mouth doth play, - I see thine eyes that glance so haughtily, - I see the pride that doth thy bosom sway,-- - Yet thou art wretched, wretched e’en as I. - - Grief lurks around thy mouth, unseen indeed, - With hidden tears thine eyes can scarcely see, - And secret wounds on thy proud bosom feed-- - My love, we both, alas, must wretched be! - - -21. - - The flutes and fiddles are sounding, - The trumpets ringing clear; - In the wedding dance is bounding - My heart’s own mistress dear. - - The shawms and kettle-drums vying - In noisy chorus I hear; - But meanwhile good angels are sighing - And weeping many a tear. - - -22. - - Thou scarcely could’st have forgotten it faster, - That I of thine heart so long was the master; - Thine heart so false, so small, and so sweet, - A sweeter and falser I never shall meet. - - Thou now hast forgotten the love and disaster - That made my heart throb all the faster; - I know not if love was the greatest, or woe; - That both were great, full well I know. - - -23. - - O if the tiny flowers - But knew of my wounded heart, - Their tears, like mine, in showers - Would fall, to cure the smart. - - If knew the nightingales only - That I’m so mournful and sad, - They would cheer my misery lonely - With their notes so tuneful and glad. - - If the golden stars high o’er us - But knew of my bitter woe, - They would speak words of comfort in chorus, - Descending hither below. - - Not one of these can allay it, - One only knows of my smart; - ’Tis she, I grieve to say it, - Who thus hath wounded my heart. - - -24. - - O why have the roses lost their hue, - Sweet love, O tell me why? - Why mutely thus do the violets blue - In the verdant meadows sigh? - - O why doth the lark up high in the air - With a voice so mournful sing? - O why doth each fragrant floweret fair - Exhale like a poisonous thing? - - O wherefore looks the sun to-day - On the fields, so full of gloom? - O why doth the earth appear so grey, - And dreary as a tomb? - - Why feel I myself so mournful and weak,-- - Sweet love, I put it to thee? - My own sweet darling, sweet love, O speak,-- - O wherefore leavest thou me? - - -25. - - For thine ear many tales they invented, - And loud complaints preferred; - But how my soul was tormented, - Of this they said not a word. - - They prated of mischief and evil, - And mournfully shook their head; - They liken’d poor me to the devil, - And thou didst believe what they said. - - But, O; the worst and the saddest, - Of this they nothing knew; - The saddest and the maddest - In my heart was hidden from view. - - -26. - - The linden blossom’d, the nightingale sung, - The sun was laughing with radiance bright; - Thou kissed’st me then, while thine arm round me clung, - To thy heaving bosom thou pressed’st me tight. - - The raven was screeching, the leaves fast fell, - The sun gazed cheerlessly down on the sight; - We coldly said to each other “Farewell!” - Thou politely didst make me a curtsey polite. - - -27. - - We have felt for each other emotions soft, - And yet our tempers always were matching, - At “man and wife” we have play’d full oft, - And yet ne’er took to fighting and scratching. - We have shouted together, together been gay, - And tenderly kiss’d and fondled away. - At last we play’d in forest and dell - At hide and seek, like sister and brother. - And managed to hide ourselves so well, - That never since then have we seen each other. - - -28. - - I’ve no belief in the heavens - Of which the parsons rave; - In thine eyes believe I only, - In their heavenly light I lave. - - I’ve no belief in the Maker - Of whom the parsons rave; - In thine heart believe I only, - No other God will I have. - - I’ve no belief in the devil, - In hell or the pains of hell; - In thine eyes believe I only, - And thine evil heart as well. - - -29. - - To me thou wert faithful and steady, - And madest for me supplication; - In my troubles and sad tribulation - Thy comfort always was ready. - - Food and drink thou gav’st me in payment, - And plenty of money didst lend me, - And also a passport didst send me, - As well as some changes of raiment. - - From heat and from coldness unpleasant - May heaven, my dear one, long guard thee, - And may it never reward thee - The kindness shown me at present! - - - -30. - - The earth had long been avaricious, - But May, when she came, gave with great prodigality, - And all things now smile with rapture delicious, - But I for laughter have no partiality. - - The blue bells are ringing, their beauty displaying, - The birds, as in fables, talk sentimentality; - I take no pleasure in all they are saying, - And I am quite wretched in sober reality. - - All men I detest, and now cannot meet one, - Not even my friend, with the least cordiality, - And this all because my amiable sweet one - They “madam” entitle, with chilling formality. - - -31. - - And when I so long, so long had delay’d, - In foreign lands had in reveries stay’d, - My loved one found it too long to wait, - And sew’d herself a wedding-dress straight, - And then embraced in her arms, willy-nilly, - As bridegroom, the youth in the world the most silly. - - My loved one is so beauteous and soft, - Before me still hovers her image oft; - Her rosy cheeks, her violet eyes - That all the year round glow bright as the skies. - That I could fly from such charming attractions - Was the silliest far of my silliest actions. - - -32. - - The lovely eyes of violet blue, - The beauteous cheeks of rosy hue, - The hands so like white lilies too,-- - All these still sweetly blossom and bloom, - The heart alone is cold as the tomb. - - -33. - - The earth is so fair, and the heavens so bright, - The breezes are breathing with soothing might - The blooming fields with flowers are dight, - In the morning dew all radiant with light, - All men are rejoicing that meet my sight-- - My bed in the grave I fain would be pressing, - The corpse of my mistress dear caressing. - - -34. - - When in the tomb, my mistress fair, - The chilly tomb, thou must hide thee. - I’ll soon descend to rejoin thee there, - And fondly nestle beside thee. - - I wildly will press thee, embrace thee, and kiss - My pale, cold, fearful-to-see love! - I’ll tremble, weep, shout with rapturous bliss, - And soon be a corpse like thee, love. - - The dead will arise, when midnight is nigh, - And dance in airy troops lightly; - But we in the tomb will quietly lie, - Thine arms embracing me tightly. - - The dead will arise, when the loud trump of doom - To bliss or to torment is calling; - But regardless of all, we’ll remain in the tomb, - Still clasp’d in embraces enthralling. - - -35. - - A lonely fir tree is standing - On a northern barren height; - It sleeps, and the ice and snow-drift - Cast round it a garment of white. - - It dreams of a slender palm-tree, - Which far in the Eastern land - Beside a precipice scorching - In silent sorrow doth stand. - - -36. - - Fair, bright, golden constellation, - Seek my love’s far habitation; - Tell her that I still am true, - Sick at heart and palefaced too. - - -37. - - (_The head speaks._) - - Ah, were I but the footstool e’en - On which my loved one’s foot doth rest, - I ne’er to grumble should be seen, - However hard I might be press’d. - - (_The heart speaks._) - - Ah, were I but the cushion soft - Wherein her pins she’s wont to stick, - And ’twere her will to prick me oft, - I should rejoice at every prick. - - (_The song speaks._) - - Ah, were I but the paper dear - Wherewith she’s wont her hair to curl, - I’d gently whisper in her ear - The thoughts that in me live and whirl. - - -38. - - Since my darling one has left me, - Power of laughing is bereft me; - Blockheads fain would raise a joke, - But no laughter can provoke. - - Since I’ve lost my darling one, - Power of weeping, too, is gone; - Though my heart with sorrow deep - Wellnigh breaks, I cannot weep. - - -39. - - My little songs do I utter - From out of my great, great sorrow; - Some tinkling pinions they borrow, - And tow’rd her bosom they flutter. - - They found it, and over it hover’d, - But soon return’d they, complaining, - And yet to tell me disdaining - What they in her bosom discover’d. - - -40. - - Sweet darling, beloved by me solely, - The thoughts in my memory dwell - That once I possess’d thee wholly, - Thy soul and body as well. - - Thy body, so young and tender, - I need, beyond all doubt; - Thy soul to the tomb I’ll surrender, - I’ve plenty of soul without. - - I’ll cut my soul in sunder, - And half of it breathe into thee, - And when I embrace thee,--O wonder!-- - One soul and body we’ll be. - - -41. - - The blockheads, their holidays keeping, - Are walking through forest and plain; - They shout, and like kittens are leaping, - And hail sweet Nature again. - - They gaze, with glances that glisten, - On each romantic thing; - With ears like asses they listen - To hear the sparrows sing. - - My chamber window to darken, - With black cloth I hang it by day; - To the signal my spirits straight hearken, - Day-visits they hasten to pay. - - My olden love also draws nigh me, - From the realms of the dead she appears; - She, weeping, sits gently close by me, - And softens my bosom to tears. - - -42. - - Many visions of times long vanish’d - Arise from out of their tomb, - And show me how once in thy presence - I lived in my life’s young bloom. - - All day I mournfully totter’d - Through the streets, as though in a dream - The people gazed on me with wonder, - So silent and sad did I seem. - - The night-time suited me better, - Deserted the streets were then, - And I and my shadow together - We wandered in silence again. - - With footsteps echoing loudly - I wander’d over the bridge; - The moon with solemn look hail’d me - As she burst through the cloudy ridge. - - I stood in front of thy dwelling, - And fondly gazed up on high; - I gazed up towards thy window, - My heart breathed many a sigh. - - Well know I that thou from the window - Full often hast gazed below, - And in the moonlight hast seen me - Stand fix’d, the image of woe. - - -43. - - A youth once loved a maiden, - Who loved another instead; - The other himself loved another, - And with the latter did wed. - The maiden, in scornful anger, - Straight married the first of the men - Who happened to come across her,-- - The youth was heart-broken then. - ’Tis only an old, old story, - And yet it ever seems new; - The heart of him whom it pictures - Will soon be broken in two. - - -44. - - Friendship, love, philosophers’ stone,-- - These three things men value alone. - I, too, valued and sought them ever, - But, alas, discovered them never. - - -45. - - On hearing the strains enthralling - That my loved one sang to me erst, - With torments fierce and appalling - My heart is ready to burst. - Impell’d by a gloomy yearning - I seek in the forest relief, - And there in tears hotly burning - I quench my anguish and grief. - - -46. - - The child of a king in dream have I seen; - How tear-stain’d and pallid her face is, - As we quietly sit ’neath the linden green, - Held fast in each other’s embraces! - - “Thy father’s throne is nothing to me, - Nor yet his sceptre all golden, - And diamond crown; for nothing but thee, - Sweet love, will I be beholden.” - - “That may not be,” the maiden replied, - For I in my grave am lying, - And only by night can I be by thy side, - To thy loving caresses replying.” - - -47. - - Sweet love, in fond converse together - In the light canoe sat we, - Still the night was, and calm was the weather, - As we skimm’d o’er the wide-spreading sea. - - The fair spirit-islands before us - In the glimmering moonlight lay; - Sweet tones came floating o’er us, - While the mists were dancing in play. - - On danced they with merrier motion, - And sweeter still sounded the song; - But over the boundless ocean - We mournfully floated along. - - -48. - - From older legends springing, - Appears a snow-white band - With joyous strains, and singing, - From some far magic-land, - - Where flowers in glowing splendour - Pine in the evening sun, - And bridal glances tender - Cast sweetly every one; - - Where all the trees, uniting - In chorus, shout below, - And bubbling brooks delighting - The ear, like music flow; - - And love-songs fierce and burning - Unheard of bliss impart, - Till sweet and wondrous yearning - Befools the throbbing heart. - - Ah, could I thither travel, - And ease my aching breast, - And all my grief unravel, - And there be free and blest! - - That land, whence care and trouble - Are banish’d, that in dreams - Oft see I, like a bubble - Dissolves, when morning beams. - - -49. - - I’ve loved thee long, and I love thee still - And e’en if the world were shatter’d, - My glowing love would glisten and thrill, - Though widely earth’s ruins were scatter’d. - - * * * * * - - And when I thus have loved thee so well - Till the hour of death has sounded, - I’ll take with me e’en to my tomb’s dark cell - My love-pangs fierce and unbounded. - - -50. - - In the glimmering summer morning - I pace the garden alone; - The flowers are whisp’ring and speaking, - But silently wander I on. - - The flowers are whisp’ring and speaking, - My form with compassion they scan: - O pray be kind to our sister, - Thou mournful and pale-faced man! - - -51. - - Her dark attire thus wearing - My love appears to my sight - Like a tale of sorrow despairing - That’s told in the long summer night: - - “In the magical garden there wander - “Two lovers mute and alone; - “Sweet sing the nightingales yonder, - “The moonbeams are over them thrown. - - “Like a statue the maiden stands mildly, - “At her feet the faithful knight lies; - “The forest giant comes wildly, - “The sorrowing maiden soon flies. - - “Soon the knight on the ground lies all gory, - “The giant goes home at his ease--” - And when I am buried, the story - Is ended as soon as you please. - - -52. - - They often have vex’d me sadly - And worried me early and late; - While some with their love have annoy’d me, - The others pursued me with hate. - - My bread they have utterly poison’d, - And poison’d my cup too of late; - While some with their love have annoy’d me, - The others pursued me with hate. - - But she who more than all others - Has vex’d me, and worried, and chafed, - She only with hate ne’er pursued me, - She only her love ne’er vouchsafed. - - -53. - - There lies the glow of summer - Upon thy cheek confess’d, - And in thine heart cold winter - Has made its place of rest. - - All this will soon be alter’d, - My dearest love and best, - The winter on thy cheek be, - The summer in thy breast! - - -54. - - When two fond lovers are parted, - They give each other the hand, - To weep and to sigh beginning, - And losing all self-command. - - But not one single tear wept we, - No Ah! or Alas! did we sigh; - Our tears and our sighs both together - Too surely came by-and-by. - - -55. - - They sat round the tea-table drinking - And speaking of love a great deal; - The men of æsthetics were thinking, - The ladies more prone were to feel. - - “All love ought to be but platonical” - The wither’d old counsellor said; - His wife by a smile quite ironical - Rejoin’d, and then sighed “Ah!” instead. - - Said the canon with visage dejected: - “Love ne’er should be suffered to go - “Too far, or the health is affected;” - The maiden then simper’d: “How so?” - - The Countess her sad feelings vented, - Said “Love is a passion, I’m sure,” - And then to the Baron presented - His cup with politeness demure. - - A place was still empty at table; - My darling, ’twas thou wert away; - Thou hadst been so especially able - The tale of thy love, sweet, to say. - - -56. - - My songs with poison are tainted, - But how could it otherwise be? - My blossoming life thou hast poison’d, - And made it hateful to me. - - My songs with poison are tainted, - But how could it otherwise be? - In my heart many serpents I carry, - And thee too, my dearest love, thee. - - -57. - - I dreamt once more the vision of yore: - The time was a fair May even, - We sat ’neath the linden, and there we swore - To be faithful, in presence of heaven. - - And once and again we plighted our troth, - And titter’d, caress’d, kiss’d so dearly; - And lest I should fail to remember my oath, - My hand thou then bittest severely. - - O sweetest love, with the eyes so bright, - O sweet one, so fair and so biteful! - The swearing was doubtless all proper and right - But the biting was rather too spiteful! - - -58. - - I stand on the brow of the mountain, - And sentimentally sigh. - “O were I only a bird now!” - I many a thousand times cry. - - O were I only a swallow, - My darling, to thee would I fly, - And soon a nest would I build me, - Thy lattice window hard by. - - O were I a nightingale only, - I would fly, my darling, to thee, - And sing my sweet songs by night-time - Perch’d high in the green linden tree. - - O were I only a bullfinch, - I would fly straight into thy heart; - To the bullfinch thou always wert kindly, - And healest the bullfinch’s smart.[7] - - -59. - - My carriage is traversing slowly - The greenwood merry and bright, - Through flowering valleys, like magic - Illumed by the sun’s glowing light. - - I’m sitting and thinking and dreaming, - And muse on my mistress dear; - When, nodding their heads at the window, - Three shadowy figures appear. - - They skip and they make wry grimaces, - So scoffing and yet so shy; - And twirling mist-like together, - They titter and haste swiftly by. - - -60. - - In vision I lately was weeping, - I dreamt thou wert laid in thy grave; - I awoke, and the tears unceasing - My cheeks continued to lave. - - In vision I lately was weeping, - I dreamt I was left, love, by thee; - I awoke, and weeping continued - Both long and bitterly. - - In vision I lately was weeping, - I dreamt thou wert kind as of yore; - I awoke, and my tears in torrents - Continued to flow as before. - - -61. - - All night in vision behold I thee, - And see thee greeting me kindly; - And loudly weeping then throw I me - Before thy sweet feet blindly. - - With sorrowing looks thou stand’st in my view, - Thy fair locks mournfully shaking; - While teardrops bright of pearly hue - From thy dear eyes are breaking. - - A gentle word thou dost secretly say, - And givest a cypress-wreath sweetly; - I awake, and the wreath has vanish’d away, - And the word is forgotten completely. - - -62. - - ’tis autumn, the night’s dark and gloomy - With rain and tempest above; - Where tarries,--O tell it unto me,-- - My poor and sorrowing love? - - By the window I see her reclining, - In her chamber lonely and drear, - And out in the night, sadly pining, - She looks with many a tear. - - -63. - - The trees in the autumn wind rustle, - The night is humid and cold; - I ride all alone in the forest, - And round me my grey cloak I fold. - - And as I am riding, before me - My thoughts unrestrainedly roam; - They lightly and airily bear me - To my own dear mistress’s home. - - The dogs are barking, the servants - With glittering torches appear; - I climb up the winding staircase, - My spurs ring loudly and clear. - - In her bright-lighted tapestry chamber, - So full of magical charms, - My own sweet darling awaits me, - I hasten into her arms. - - The wind in the leaves is sighing, - The oak thus whispers to me: - “What means, thou foolish young horseman, - “Thy foolish reverie?” - - -64. - - A glittering star is falling - From its shining home in the air; - The star of love ’tis surely - That I see falling there. - - The blossoms and leaves in plenty - From the apple tree fall each day; - The merry breezes approach them, - And with them merrily play. - - The swan in the pool is singing, - And up and down doth he steer, - And, singing gently ever, - Dips under the water clear. - - All now is silent and darksome, - The leaves and blossoms decay, - The star has crumbled and vanish’d, - The song of the swan died away. - - -65. - - The Dream-God brought me to a castle vast, - Where magic fragrance reign’d and lights were gleaming, - And through its mazy-winding chambers pass’d - A chequer’d throng, still onward, onward streaming. - The pale crowd seek the exit-portal fast, - Wringing their hands, and full of terror screaming, - And knights and maidens mingle in the throng, - And I myself am with them borne along. - - But suddenly I stand alone, for, lo, - The crowd hath vanish’d and from sight departed; - I wander on, and through the chambers go, - All strangely winding, silent and deserted; - My foot is leaden, and I scarcely know - How to escape, thus sadden’d and faint-hearted. - At length the farthest portal I descry, - And seek to pass--great heavens, what meets mine eye! - - It was my love, who at the door did stand, - Grief on her lips, her brow in tribulation. - I sought to fly,--she beckon’d with her hand, - Whether to warn me, or in indignation; - Yet gleam’d her eye like some sweet glowing brand, - Setting my heart and brain in conflagration. - And as she gazed with looks of passion deep, - Blended with sternness, I awoke from sleep. - - -66. - - The midnight was cold, in plaintive mood - I wander’d mournfully through the wood; - I shook the trees from out of their sleep, - They shook their heads with pity deep. - - -67. - - Beneath the crossway buried, - The suicide lies here, - Where grows a charming blue flow’ret, - The culprit-flower so dear. - - I stood by the crossway sighing, - The night was chilly and drear, - While slowly moved in the moonlight - The culprit-flower so dear. - - -68. - - Wheresoe’er I go, there darkles - Round me gloom and utter night, - Now that there no longer sparkles - On me, love, thine eyes’ sweet light. - - Quench’d are all the golden blisses - That love’s star upon me smil’d; - ’Neath my feet the dread abyss is,-- - Night primeval, take thy child! - - -69. - - Night lay upon mine eyelids, - Upon my mouth lay lead; - I in my grave was lying, - With frozen heart and head. - - How long it was I know not - That I in slumber lay; - I woke and heard a knocking - Upon my grave one day. - - “Wilt thou not rise up, Henry? - “The Judgment Day is this, - “The dead have all arisen, - “To taste of endless bliss.” - - I cannot rise, my darling, - For I have lost my sight; - Mine eyes, through very weeping, - Are veil’d in darkest night. - - “I’ll kiss away the darkness, - “My Henry, from thine eyes; - “The angels shalt thou see then, - “The glory of the skies.” - - I cannot rise, my darling, - The wound is bleeding yet, - Made by thee in my bosom - With one sharp word and threat. - - “My hand all gently, Henry, - “I’ll lay upon thy heart; - “It then will bleed no longer, - “And heal’d will be the smart.” - - I cannot rise, my darling, - My head still bleeds amain! - ’Twas there the bullet enter’d, - When thou wert from me ta’en. - - “With my long tresses, Henry, - “I’ll stanch the bleeding wound, - “And drive the blood-stream backwards, - “And make thy head thus sound.” - - So gently, sweetly pray’d she, - I could not spurn her prayer; - I sought to rise and hasten - To join my mistress fair. - - Then all my wounds ’gan bleeding, - Then, wildly rushing, broke - From head and breast the bloodstream, - And lo!--from sleep I woke. - - -70. - - The numbers old and evil, - The dreams so harrowing, - Let’s bury all together,-- - A mighty coffin bring! - - I’ll place there much, but say not - What ’tis, till all is done; - The coffin must be larger - Than Heidelberg’s vast tun. - - And also bring a death-bier, - Of boards full stout and sound; - They also must be longer - Than Mayence bridge renown’d. - - And also bring twelve giants - Whose strength of limb excels - Saint Christopher’s, whose shrine in - Cologne Cathedral dwells. - - The coffin they must carry, - And sink beneath the wave; - For such a mighty coffin - Must have a mighty grave. - - Why was the coffin, tell me, - So great and hard to move? - I in it placed my sorrows, - And in it placed my love. - - - - -THE GODS’ TWILIGHT. - - - Fair May has come with her bright golden radiance - And silken gales and fragrant spicy odours, - And kindly lures us with her snowy blossoms, - And from a thousand blue-eyed violets greets us, - And spreads abroad her flowery verdant carpet, - With morning dew and sunshine interwoven, - And summons all her favourite human children. - At her first call the bashful people come; - The men in haste put on their nankeen breeches, - And Sunday coats with golden glassy buttons; - The women don the white of innocence, - The youths take care to curl their spring-mustachios, - The maidens bid their bosoms softly heave; - The city poets cram into their pockets - Paper, lead-pencil, and lorgnette; and gaily - The eddying moving crowd draw near the gateway, - And lie at ease on the green turf beyond, - Amazed to see how much the trees have sprouted,-- - Play with the tender colour’d flowerets fair, - List to the song of merry birds above them, - And shout exulting tow’rds the vault of heaven. - - To me came also May, and three times knock’d she - Against my door and cried: “Behold sweet May! - “Thou palefaced dreamer, come, I fain would kiss thee!” - But I my door kept bolted, and I cried: - “In vain thou seek’st to tempt me, evil stranger. - “I long have seen thee through, I’ve seen through also - “The fabric of the world, and seen too much, - “And much too deep, and fled is all my pleasure, - “And endless torments quiver in my heart. - “I see through all the stony hard outsides - “Of human houses and of human bosoms, - “And see in both deceit and woe and falsehood. - “I’ve learnt to read the thoughts on every face,-- - “All evil! In the maiden’s shamefaced blushes - “I see the trembling of a secret lust; - “On the inspired and haughty head of youth - “I see the laughing chequer’d fool’s cap jingling; - “And caric’tures alone and sickly shadows - “I see upon this earth, and live in doubt - “Whether a madhouse ’tis, or hospital. - “The old earth’s crust I see through but too plainly - “As though it were of crystal,--see the horrors - “Which May is vainly striving to conceal - “With pleasing verdure. There I see the dead; - “They lie beneath, in their small coffins prison’d, - “With hands together folded, eyes wide open, - “White is their garment, white their face as well, - “And yellow worms from out their lips are crawling. - “I see the son with his loved mistress sitting - “And toying with her on his father’s grave. - “Derisive songs the nightingales are singing, - “The gentle meadow flow’rets laugh with malice, - “And the dead father moveth in his grave, - “While the old mother-earth with pain doth shudder.” - O thou poor earth, thy sorrows know I well! - I see the glow that in thy breast is heaving, - Thy thousand veins I see all bleeding freely, - And see thy gaping wounds all, all torn open, - While flames and smoke and blood stream wildly forth. - I see thy proud defiant giant-children, - Primeval monsters, from dark gulfs arising - And swinging ruddy torches in their hands. - Their iron scaling-ladders they advance, - And wildly rush to storm the forts of heaven, - And swarthy dwarfs climb after them; with crackling - Each golden star on high like dust is scatter’d. - With daring hand they tear the golden curtain - From God’s own tent; the blessèd troops of angels - Fall headlong down with howling at the sight. - The pale God sits upon his awful throne, - Tears from his head his crown, and tears his hair.-- - Still onward, onward press the savage crew, - The giants fiercely hurl their blazing torches - Into the realms of heaven, the dwarfs strike wildly - With flaming scourges on the angels’ backs, - Who twist and writhe in ecstasy of anguish, - And by the hair are seized and whirl’d away. - And my own angel likewise see I there, - With his blond locks, his sweet expressive features, - With everlasting love around his mouth, - And with beatitude in his blue eyes. - A fearful hideous swarthy goblin comes, - Tears him from off the ground, my poor pale angel, - Grins as he ogles his fair noble limbs, - And clasps him firmly in his soft embraces,-- - A yell re-echoes through the universe, - The pillars crash, and earth and heaven are hurl’d - Headlong together, and old night is lord. - - - - -RATCLIFF.[8] - - - The Dream-God brought me to a landscape fair - Where weeping willows nodded me a welcome - With their long verdant arms, and where the flowers - Gazed on me mutely with wise sisters’ eyes, - Where the birds’ twittering resounded sweetly, - Where the dogs’ barking seem’d to me familiar, - And voices kindly greeted me, and figures, - Like an old friend, and yet where everything - Appear’d so strange, beyond description strange. - Before a pretty country-house I stood, - My bosom in me moving, but my head - All peaceful, and the dust with calmness shook I - From off my travelling garments; shrilly sounded - The bell I rang, and then the door was open’d. - - Inside were men and women, many faces - To me well known. Still sorrow lay on all, - And secret fearful grief. With strange emotion, - Wellnigh with looks of pity, on me gazed they - Till my own soul with terror was pervaded, - As though foreboding some unknown misfortune. - Old Margaret I straightway recognized, - Gazed on her fixedly, but yet she spake not. - “Where is Maria?” ask’d I, yet she spake not, - But softly seized my hand, and led me on - Through many a long and brightly-lighted chamber, - Where splendour, pomp, and deathlike silence reign’d - And to a darksome room at length she brought me, - And, with her face averted from me, pointed - Toward the form that sat upon the sofa. - “Art thou Maria?” ask’d I. Inwardly - I was myself astounded at the firmness - With which I spoke. Like stone and hollow - Sounded a voice: “That is the name they call me.” - A piercing agony straight froze me through, - For that cold hollow tone, alas, was yet - The once enchanting voice of my Maria! - And yonder woman in pale lilac dress, - In negligent attire, with unveil’d bosom, - With glassy staring eyes, like leather seeming - The muscles of the cheeks of her white face,-- - Alas, that woman once was the most lovely, - The blooming, pleasing, sweet and kind Maria! - “Your travels have been long” she said aloud - In cold, unpleasing, but familiar accents,-- - “You look no longer languishing, my friend, - “You’re well in health, your loins and calves elastic. - “Show your solidity.” A silly smile - Play’d the while round her yellow, pallid mouth. - In my confusion utter’d I these accents: - “I’ve been inform’d that thou art married now?” - “Ah yes!” she carelessly replied with laughing: - “I have a stick of wood that’s cover’d over - “With leather, call’d a husband. Still, for all that, - “Wood is but wood!” And then she laugh’d perversely - Till chilling anguish through my spirit ran, - And doubt upon me seized:--are those the modest, - The flowery-modest lips of my Maria? - But presently she rose, took quickly up - From off the chair her cashmere shawl, and threw it - Around her neck, my arm took hold of then, - Drew me away, and through the open housedoor, - And led me on through thicket, field, and meadow. - - The sun’s red glowing disk already downward - Was hast’ning, and its purple rays were beaming - Over the trees and flowers, and o’er the river - That flow’d majestically in the distance. - “See’st thou the large and golden eye that’s floating - “In the blue water?” cried Maria quickly. - “Hush, thou poor creature!” said I, as I spied - In the dim twilight a strange wondrous motion. - Figures of mist arose from out the plain, - And with white tender arms embraced each other; - The violets eyed each other tenderly, - The lily cups with yearning bent together; - A loving glow in every rose was gleaming, - The pinks would fain in their own breath be kindled, - In blissful odours revell’d every flower, - And every one wept silent tears of rapture, - And all exulting shouted: Love! Love! Love! - The butterflies were fluttering, and the shining - Gold beetles humm’d their gentle fairy songs, - The winds of evening whisper’d, and the oaks - All rustled, and the nightingale sang sweetly; - And amid all the whispering, rustling, singing, - Prated away, with thin cold soundless voice, - The faded woman hanging on my arm: - “I know your nightly longing for the castle; - “Every long shadow is a simpleton, - “That nods and signs precisely as one wishes; - “The blue coat is an angel; but the red coat - “With his drawn sword, is very hostile to you.” - And many other things in this strange fashion - Continued she to say, till, tired at length, - She sat down with me on the mossy bank - That stands beneath the ancient noble oak-tree. - Together there we sat, both sad and silent, - And gazed upon each other, growing sadder. - The oak, as with a dying sigh, was murmuring; - Deep-grieving, sang the nightingale down on us. - But through the leaves a ruddy light was piercing, - And flicker’d round Maria’s pallid face, - And lured a glow from out her rigid eyes, - Until with her old darling voice thus spoke she: - “How knewest thou that I am so unhappy? - “I read it lately in thy strange wild numbers.” - - An ice-cold feeling pierced my breast, I shudder’d - At my own mad delirium, which the future - Saw through, my brain grew giddy with alarm, - And through sheer terror I awoke from sleep. - - - - -DONNA CLARA. - - - In the evening-shaded garden - Rambles the Alcalde’s daughter; - Kettle-drums and trumpets loudly - Echo from the lofty castle. - - “Wearisome I find the dances, - “And the honied words of flatt’ry, - “And the knights, who so gallantly - “Tell me I the sun resemble. - - “Everything is hateful to me - “Since I by the beaming moonlight - “Saw the Knight whose lute allured me - “To the window every evening. - - “As he stood, so slim, but daring, - “And his eyes shot lightning glances - “From his pale and noble features, - “Truly he Saint George resembled.” - - In this manner Donna Clara - Thought, and on the ground then looked she; - When she raised her eyes, the handsome - Unknown Knight was standing by her. - - Pressing hands with loving whispers - Wander they beneath the moonlight, - And the zephyr gently woos them, - Wondrously the roses greet them. - - Wondrously the roses greet them, - Like love’s messengers all glowing.-- - “But, my loved one, prythee tell me - “Why so suddenly thou redden’st?” - - “’Twas the flies that stung me, dearest, - “And the flies are, all the summer, - “Quite as much detested by me - “As the long-nosed Jewish fellows.” - - “Never mind the flies and Jews, dear,” - Said the Knight, with fond caresses. - From the almond-trees are falling - Thousand white and fleecy blossoms. - - Thousand white and fleecy blossoms - Their sweet fragrance shed around them. - “But, my loved one, prythee tell me - “Is thy heart devoted to me?” - - “Yes, I truly love thee, dearest, - “And I swear it by the Saviour - “Whom the God-detested Jews erst - “Wickedly and vilely murder’d.” - - “Never mind the Jews and Saviour,” - Said the Knight, with fond caresses. - In the distance snow-white lilies - Dreamily, light-bathed, are bending. - - Bathed in light the snow-white lilies - Gaze upon the stars above them: - “But, my loved one, prythee tell me - “Hast thou not a false oath taken?” - - “Falsehood is not in me, dearest, - “Since within my breast there flows not - “E’en one single drop of Moor’s blood, - “Or of dirty Jew’s blood either.” - - “Never mind the Moors and Jews, dear,” - Said the Knight, with fond caresses; - And he to a myrtle bower - Leads the fair Alcalde’s daughter. - - With the nets of love so tender, - He hath secretly enclosed her! - Short their words and long their kisses, - And their hearts are overflowing. - - Like a wedding-song all-melting - Sings the nightingale, the dear one; - Glowworms on the ground are moving, - As if in the torch-dance circling. - - Silence reigns within the bower, - Nought is heard except the stealthy - Whispers of the cunning myrtles, - And the breathing of the flowerets. - - But soon kettle-drums and trumpets - Echo from the lofty castle, - And, awakening, Clara quickly - From the Knight’s arm frees her person. - - “Hark, they’re calling me, my dearest, - Yet before we part, thou need’st must - Thy dear name to me discover - Which thou hast so long concealèd.” - - And the Knight, with radiant smiling, - Kiss’d the fingers of his Donna, - Kiss’d her lips and kiss’d her forehead, - And at last these words he uttered: - - “I, Señora, I, your loved one, - Am the son of the much honour’d - Great and learned scribe, the Rabbi - Israel of Saragossa.” - - - - -ALMANSOR. - - -1. - - In fair Cordova’s cathedral, - Stand the columns, thirteen hundred,-- - Thirteen hundred giant-columns - Bear the mighty dome in safety. - - And on dome and walls and columns - From the very top to bottom - The Koran’s Arabian proverbs - Twine in wise and flowery fashion. - - Moorish Kings erected whilome - This vast house to Allah’s glory, - Yet in many parts ’tis alter’d - In the darksome whirl of ages. - - On the turret where the watchman - Summon’d unto prayer the people, - Now the Christian bell is sounding - With its melancholy murmur. - - On the steps whereon the faithful - Used to sing the Prophet’s sayings, - Now baldpated priests exhibit - All the mass’s trivial wonders. - - How they twirl before the colour’d - Puppets, full of antic capers, - Midst the incense smoke and ringing, - While the senseless tapers sparkle! - - In fair Cordova’s cathedral - Stands Almansor ben Abdullah, - Viewing silently the columns, - And these words in silence murmuring: - - “O ye columns, strong, gigantic, - “Once adorn’d in Allah’s glory, - “Now must ye pay humble homage - “To this Christendom detested. - - “To the times have ye submitted, - “And ye bear the burden calmly; - “Still more reason for the weaker - “To be patient all the sooner.” - - And Almansor ben Abdullah - Bent his head with face unruffled - O’er the font so decorated - In fair Cordova’s cathedral. - - -2. - - The cathedral left he quickly, - On his wild steed speeding onward, - While his moist locks and the feathers - In his hat the wind is moving. - - On the road to Alcolea, - By the side of Guadalquivir, - Where the snowy almond blossoms, - And the fragrant golden orange, - - Thither bastes the merry rider, - Piping, singing, laughing gaily, - And the birds all swell the chorus, - And the torrent’s noisy waters. - - In the fort at Alcolea - Dwelleth Clara de Alvares; - In Navarre her sire is fighting, - And she revels in her freedom. - - And afar Almansor heareth - Sounds of kettle-drums and trumpets, - And the castle lights beholds he - Glittering through the trees’ dark shadows. - - In the fort at Alcolea - Dance twelve gaily trick’d-out ladies - With twelve knights attired as gaily, - But Almansor’s the best dancer. - - As if wing’d by merry fancies, - Round about the hall he flutters, - Knowing how to all the ladies - To address sweet flattering speeches. - - Isabella’s lovely hands he - Kisses quickly, and then leaves her, - And before Elvira stands he, - Looking in her face so archly. - - He in turns assures each lady - That he heartily adores her; - “On the true faith of a Christian” - Swears he thirty times that evening. - - -3. - - In the fort at Alcolea - Merriment and noise have ceased now - Knights and ladies all have vanish’d, - And the lights are all extinguish’d. - - Donna Clara and Almansor - In the hall above still linger, - And one single lamp is throwing - On them both its feeble lustre. - - On the seat the lady’s sitting, - And the knight upon the footstool, - And his head, by sleep o’erpower’d, - On her darling knees is resting. - - From a golden flask some rose-oil - Pours the lady, sadly musing, - On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,-- - From his inmost bosom sighs he. - - With her soft lips then the lady - Gives a sweet kiss, sadly musing, - On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,-- - And his brow is clouded over. - - From her light eyes tears in torrents - Weeps the lady, sadly musing, - On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,-- - And his lips begin to quiver. - - And he dreams he’s once more standing - With his head bent down and weeping - In fair Cordova’s cathedral, - Many gloomy voices hearing. - - All the lofty giant-columns - Hears he murmuring full of anger,-- - That no longer will they bear it, - And they totter and they tremble. - - And they wildly fall together, - Pale turn all the priests and people, - Crashing falls the dome upon them, - And the Christian gods wail loudly. - - - - -THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR - - -1. - - The mother stood by the window, - The son in bed lay he. - “Wilt thou not rise up, William, - “The fair procession to see?”-- - - “I am so ill, my mother, - “I neither see nor hear; - “I think of my poor dead Gretchen, - “My heart is breaking near.” - - “Arise, let’s go to Kevlaar, - “Take book and rosary too; - “The mother of God will heal thee, - “And cure thy sick heart anew.” - - In church-like tones they are singing, - The banners flutter on high; - At Cologne on the Rhine this happens, - The proud procession moves by. - - The crowd the mother follows, - Her son she leadeth now, - And both of them sing in chorus: - “O Mary, blessed be thou!” - - -2. - - The mother of God at Kevlaar - Her best dress wears to-day; - Full much hath she to accomplish, - So great the sick folks’ array. - - The sick folk with them are bringing, - As offerings fitting and meet, - Strange limbs of wax all fashion’d, - Yes, waxen hands and feet. - - And he who a wax hand offers, - Finds cured in his hand the wound, - And he who a wax foot proffers, - Straight finds his foot grow sound. - - To Kevlaar went many on crutches - Who now on the tight rope skip, - And many a palsied finger - O’er the viol doth merrily trip. - - The mother took a waxlight, - And out of it fashion’d a heart: - “My son, take that to God’s mother, - “And she will cure thy smart.” - - The son took sighing the wax-heart, - Went with sighs to the shrine so blest, - The tears burst forth from his eyelids, - The words burst forth from his breast: - - “Thou highly-favour’d blest one! - “Thou pure and godlike maid! - “Thou mighty queen of heaven, - “To thee my woes be display’d! - - “I with my mother was dwelling - “In yonder town of Cologne, - “The town that many a hundred - “Fair churches and chapels doth own. - - “And near us there dwelt my Gretchen, - “Who, alas! is dead to-day; - “O, Mary, I bring thee a wax-heart, - “My heart’s wounds cure, I pray. - - “My sick heart cure, O cure thou, - “And early and late my vow - “I’ll pay, and sing with devotion: - “‘O Mary, blessed be thou!’” - - -3. - - The poor sick son and his mother - In their little chamber slept, - The mother of God to their chamber - All lightly, lightly crept. - - She bent herself over the sick one, - Her hand with action light - Upon his heart placed softly, - Smiled sweetly and vanish’d from sight. - - The mother saw all in her vision, - Saw this and saw much more; - From out of her slumber woke she, - The hounds were baying full sore. - - Her son was lying before her, - And dead her son he lay, - While over his pale cheeks gently - The light of morning did play. - - Her hands the mother folded, - She felt she knew not how; - With meekness sang she and softly: - “O Mary, blessed be thou!” - - - - -THE DREAM. - -(From _Salon_.) - - - A vision I dreamt of a lovely child. - She wore her hair in tresses; - In the blue nights of summer so calm and mild - We sat in the greenwood’s recesses. - - In mutual rapture and torture we vied, - We loved and exchanged loving kisses; - The yellow stars in the heavens all sigh’d - And seem’d to envy our blisses. - - I now am awake, and around me gaze - In the darkness, alone and despairing; - The stars in the heavens are shedding their rays - In silence and all-uncaring. - - - - -_NEW POEMS._ - - - - -1. SERAPHINA. - - -1. - - When at evening in the forest, - In the dreamlike wood I rove, - Ever doth thy slender figure - Close beside me softly move. - - See I not thy gentle features? - Is it not thy veil that stirs? - Can it be the moonlight only - Breaking through the gloomy firs? - - Can it be mine own tears only - That I hear all-lightly flow? - Or my loved one, dost thou really - Close beside me weeping go? - - -2. - - O’er the silent strand of ocean - Night appears in gloomy splendour - From the clouds the moon is breaking, - As the waves these whispers send her - - “Yonder mortal, is he foolish, - “Or is he by love tormented, - “That he looks so sad, yet joyous, - “So distress’d, yet so contented?” - - But the moon, with smiles replying, - Loudly said: “Full well I know it; - “He is both in love and foolish, - “And moreover is a poet.” - - -3. - - ’Tis surely a snowwhite seamew - That I see fluttering there - Just over the darksome billows; - The moon stands high in the air. - - The shark and the ray snap fiercely - From out of the wave, and stare; - The seamew is rising and falling, - The moon stands high in the air. - - O dear and wandering spirit, - So sad and full of despair! - Too near art thou to the water, - The moon stands high in the air. - - -4. - - I knew that thou didst love me, - I knew it long, dear maid; - Yet when thou didst confess it - I felt full sore afraid. - - I clamber’d up the mountain - With loud exulting song, - At sunset rambled weeping - The ocean shore along. - - The sun my heart resembleth, - So flaming to the sight, - And in a loving ocean - It setteth, great and bright. - - -5. - - How curiously the seamew - Looks over at us, dear, - Because against thy lips I - So firmly press my ear! - - She maybe would discover - What from thy mouth did flow,-- - If words alone or kisses - Thou in my ear didst throw. - - O could I but decipher - What ’tis that fills my mind! - The words are with the kisses - So wondrously combined. - - -6. - - As timid as the roe she fled, - And with its fleetness vying; - She clamber’d on from crag to crag - Her hair behind her flying. - - Where to the sea the cliffs descend, - At length I caught the rover; - And gently there with gentle words - Her coy heart soon won over. - - High as the heavens we sat, both fill’d - With heavenly blest emotion; - Beneath us by degrees the sun - Sank in the dark deep ocean. - - In the dark sea beneath us far - The beauteous sun sank proudly; - The billows with impetuous joy - Were meanwhile roaring loudly. - - Weep not, the sun in yonder waves - Hath not for ever perish’d, - But lieth hidden in my heart, - Where all its glow is cherish’d. - - -7. - - Upon this rock we build the Church - Which (type of our to-morrow) - Proclaims the third New Testament, - And ended is our sorrow. - - The twofold nature that so long - Deceived us, is abolish’d; - Our olden fierce corporeal pangs - Are now at length demolish’d. - - Hear’st thou the God in yon dark sea? - He speaks with thousand voices; - See’st thou how overhead God’s sky - With thousand lights rejoices? - - Almighty God is in the light, - As in the dark abysses, - And everything there is, is God, - He is in all our kisses. - - -8. - - Gray night broodeth o’er the ocean, - And the tiny stars are sparkling; - Long protracted voices oft-times - Sound from out the billows darkling. - - There the aged north wind sporteth - With the glassy waves of ocean, - Which like organ pipes are skipping - With a never-ceasing motion. - - Partly heathenish, partly churchlike, - Strangely doth this music move us, - As it rises boldly upwards, - Gladdening e’en the stars above us. - - And the stars, still larger growing, - With a radiant joy are gleaming, - And at length around the heavens - Roam, with sunlike lustre beaming - - To far-reaching strains of music - They revolve in madden’d legions - Sunny nightingales are circling - In those fair and blissful regions. - - With a mighty roar and crashing, - Sea and heaven alike are singing, - And I feel a giant-rapture - Wildly through my bosom ringing - - -9. - - Shadowy love and shadowy kisses, - Shadowy life, how wondrous strange! - Fool, dost think, then, that all this is - Ever true and free from change? - - Like an empty dream hath vanish’d - All we loved with love so deep; - Memory from the heart is banish’d, - And the eyes are closed in sleep. - - -10. - - The maid stood by the ocean, - And long and deep sigh’d she - With heartfelt sad emotion, - The setting sun to see. - - Sweet maiden, why this fretting? - An olden trick is here; - Although before us setting, - He rises in our rear. - - -11. - - With sails all black my ship sails on - Far over the raging sea; - Thou know’st full well how sad am I, - And yet tormentest me. - - Thy heart is faithless as the wind, - And flutters ceaselessly; - With sails all black my ship sails on - Far over the raging sea. - - -12. - - Though shamefully thou didst entreat me, - To no man would I e’er unfold it, - But travell’d far over the billows, - And unto the fishes I told it. - - I’ve left thee thy good reputation - With earth and the beings upon her, - But every depth of the ocean - Knows fully thy tale of dishonour. - - -13. - - The roaring waves are dashing - High on the strand; - They’re swelling and they’re crashing - Over the sand. - - They come in noisy fashion - Unceasingly,-- - At length burst into passion,-- - But what care we? - - -14. - - The Runic stone ’mongst the waves stands high, - There sit I, with thoughts far roaming; - The wind pipes loudly, the seamews cry, - The billows are curling and foaming. - - I’ve loved full many a charming girl, - Loved many a comrade proudly-- - Where are they now? The billows curl - And foam, and the wind pipes loudly. - - -15. - - The sea appears all golden - Beneath the sunlit sky, - O let me there be buried, - My brethren, when I die. - - The sea I have always loved so, - It oft hath cool’d my breast - With its refreshing billows, - Each in the other’s love blest. - - - - -2. ANGELICA. - - -1. - - Now that heaven my wish hath granted, - Why be dumb, like mutes inglorious,-- - I who, when unhappy, chanted - Of my woe with noise uproarious, - - Till a thousand youths despairing - Sang like me with voices hollow, - And the song I sang uncaring - Made still greater mischief follow? - - O ye nightingale-like chorus, - That I bear within my spirit, - Let your song of joy rise o’er us - Merrily, that all may hear it. - - -2. - - Once more behind thee thou wert looking, - Swiftly as thou didst past me glide, - With open mouth, as if inquiring, - And in thy look a stormy pride. - - O that I ne’er had sought to grasp it, - That flowing robe of snowy white! - The little foot’s enchanting traces, - O that they ne’er had met my sight! - - Thy wildness now indeed hath vanish’d, - Like other women tame art thou, - And mild, and somewhat over-civil, - And, ah, thou even lov’st me now. - - -3. - - I’ll not credit, youthful beauty, - What thy bashful lips may say; - Eyes so black and large and rolling - Are not much in virtue’s way. - - Strip away this brown-striped falsehood-- - Well and truly love I thee; - Let thy white heart kiss me, dearest-- - White heart, understand’st thou me? - - -4. - - Upon her mouth I give a kiss, - And close her either eye; - She gives me now no peace for this, - But asks the reason why. - - From night to morn, because of this, - This is her constant cry: - “When on my mouth thou giv’st a kiss, - “Why close my either eye?” - - I tell her not the cause of this, - Nor know the reason why, - Yet on her mouth I give a kiss, - And close her either eye. - - -5. - - When I am made blest with kisses delicious, - And lie in thine arms, O in that happy season - Thou ne’er must discourse of Germany, dearest,-- - It spoils my digestion,--there’s plenty of reason. - - With Germany leave me in peace, I implore thee, - Thou must not torment me with question on question - Of home and relations and manner of living,-- - There’s plenty of reason,--it spoils my digestion. - - The oaks there are green, and blue are the dear eyes - Of German women; they sigh as they please on - The blisses of love and of hope and religion,-- - It spoils my digestion,--there’s plenty of reason. - - -6. - - Whilst I after other people - And their treasures have been prying, - And with ever-restless yearning, - At strange doors of love been spying, - - Probably those other people - Have been taking their own pleasure - Similarly, and been ogling - At my window my own treasure. - - This is human! God in heaven - In our every action guard us! - God in heaven give us blessings, - And with happiness reward us! - - -7. - - O yes, thou art my ideal forsooth, - I’ve often confirmed it till dizzy - With kisses and oaths unnumber’d in truth;-- - To-day I however am busy. - - Return to-morrow between two and three, - And then a fresh-kindled passion - Shall prove my love, and afterwards we - Will dine in a friendly fashion. - - And if I in time the tickets receive, - We’ll join in a merry revel, - And go to the Opera, where I believe - They’re playing Robert the Devil. - - A wondrous magic play is here, - With devils’ loves and curses; - The music is by Meyerbeer; - By Scribe the wretched verses. - - -8. - - Dismiss me not, although thy thirst - The pleasant draught has still’d; - Some three months longer keep me on, - Till I too have been fill’d. - - If thou my love canst not remain, - O be my friend, I pray; - For when one has outloved one’s love, - Friendship may have its way. - - -9. - - This wild carnival of loving, - This delirium of our bosoms - Comes unto an end, and now we - Soberly gape on each other! - - Drain’d the cup is to the bottom, - Brimming with intoxication, - Foaming, glowing to the margin; - Drain’d the cup is to the bottom. - - And the fiddles too are silent, - Which for dancing gave the signal, - Signal for the dance of passion; - Yes, the fiddles too are silent. - - And the lamps too are extinguish’d, - Which their wild light shed so brightly - On the masquerade exciting; - Yes, the lamps too are extinguish’d. - - And to-morrow comes Ash-Wednesday, - When I’ll sign upon thy forehead - With the cross of ashes, saying: - “Woman, that thou’rt dust, forget not.” - - -10. - - O how rapidly develop - From mere fugitive sensations - Passions that are fierce and boundless, - Tenderest associations! - - Tow’rds this lady grows the bias - Of my heart on each occasion, - And that I’m enamoured of her - Has become my firm persuasion. - - Beauteous is her spirit. Truly - Thus I learn to rise superior - To the overpowering beauty - Of her form and mere exterior. - - Ah, what hips! and, ah, what forehead! - Ah, what nose! Could aught serener - Be than this sweet smile she’s wearing? - And how noble her demeanour! - - -11. - - Ah, how fair art thou, whenever - Thou thy mind disclosest sweetly, - And thy language with the grandest - Sentiments o’erflows discreetly! - - When thou tell’st me how thou always - Worthily and nobly thoughtest; - How unto thy pride of heart thou - Greatest sacrifices broughtest! - - How with countless millions even - Men could woo and win thee never; - Sooner than be sold for money - Thou wouldst quit this world for ever. - - And I stand before thee, listening - To the end with due emotion; - Like an image mute of faith, I - Fold my hands with meek devotion. - - -12. - - Have no fear, dear soul, I pray thee, - Thou art safe here evermore; - Fear not lest they’ll take away thee, - For I’ll forthwith bar the door. - - Though the wind may roar around us, - It will do no mischief here; - That a fire may not confound us, - Let us put the light out, dear! - - Let me in mine arm, dear small one, - Thy enchanting neck enfold; - In the absence of a shawl, one - Gets so very quickly cold. - - - - -3. DIANA. - - -1. - - These fair limbs, of size so massive, - Of colossal womanhood, - Now are, in a yielding mood, - Under my embraces passive. - - Had I, with unbridled passion, - Trusting in my strength drawn near, - I had soon had cause for fear! - She had thrashed me in strange fashion. - - How her bosom, neck, throat charm me - (Higher I can scarcely see); - Ere alone I’d with her be, - Pray I that she may not harm me. - - -2. - - ’Twas in the Bay of Biscay - That she first saw the light; - Two kittens in the cradle - She squeezed to death outright. - - Across the Pyrenees she - With feet uncover’d ran; - Then for her size gigantic - Was shown at Perpignan. - - She’s now the grandest dame in - The Faubourg Saint-Denis, - Where unto small Sir William - Some thousand pounds costs she. - - -3. - - Often when I am with thee, - Much-beloved and noble lady, - The remembrance steals o’er me - Of Bologna’s market shady. - There a massive fount doth stand-- - ’Tis the Giants’ Fountain pretty-- - With a Neptune, by the hand - Of Giovanni of that city. - - - - -4. HORTENSE. - - -1. - - Once I thought each kiss a woman - Gives us, or receives instead, - By some influence superhuman - Was from old predestinèd. - - I both took and gave back willing - Kisses then as earnestly - As if I were but fulfilling - Actions of necessity. - - Kisses are superfluous,--this I - Have discover’d on life’s stage, - And with small concern now kiss I, - Heedless of the surplusage. - - -2. - - Beside the corner of the street - We stood in fond communion - For full an hour, and talked about - Our spirits’ loving union. - - We loved each other--this we said - A hundred times repeating; - Beside the corner of the street - We stood, and went on greeting. - - The Goddess of Occasion, brisk - As waiting maids, and sprightly, - Pass’d by that way and saw us stand - And smiled, and went on lightly. - - -3. - - In all my dreams by daytime, - In all my watchings nightly, - Thy sweet delicious laughter - Rings through my spirit lightly. - - Remember’st Montmorency, - Where, on the donkey riding, - Thou fell’st among the thistles, - From off the saddle gliding? - - The ass stood still, the thistles - Demurely looking after,-- - I never shall forget, love, - Thy sweet delicious laughter. - - -4. - -(_She speaks._) - - In the garden fair a tree stands, - And an apple hangeth there, - And around the trunk a serpent - Coils himself, and I can ne’er - From the serpent’s eyes enchanting - Turn away my troubled sight, - And he whispers words alluring, - And enthrals me with delight. - - (_The other one speaks._) - - ’Tis the fruit of life thou spyest,-- - Its delicious flavour taste, - That thy life until thou diest - May not be for ever waste! - Darling dove, sweet child, no sighing! - Quickly taste, and never fear; - Follow my advice, relying - On thy aunt’s sage counsel, dear. - -5. - - On my newly-tuned guitar I - Play new tunes that seem much fitter - Old the text is, for the words are - Solomon’s: A woman’s bitter. - - To her husband she is faithless, - And she treats her friend with malice; - Wormwood are the last remaining - Drops in love’s once-golden chalice. - - Tell me, is the ancient legend - Of the curse of sin no libel? - Did the serpent bring it on thee, - As recorded in the Bible? - - Creeping on the earth, the serpent - Lurks in every bush around thee, - Still, as formerly, caresses, - And her hisses still confound thee. - - Ah, how cold and dark ’tis growing! - Round the sun the ravens hover - Croakingly, and love and rapture - Now for evermore are over. - -6. - - The bliss that thou didst falsely pledge - For but a short time cheated; - Thine image, like a vision false, - Soon from my bosom fleeted. - - The morning came, the mist soon fled - Before the sun’s rays splendid; - And wellnigh ere it had commenced, - Our passing fondness ended. - - - - -5. CLARISSA. - - -1. - - All my charming loving offers - Thou art eagerly declining; - If I say: “Is this refusal?” - Thou at once beginnest whining. - - Seldom pray I, but now hear me, - Gracious God! O help this maiden! - Dry her sweet tears, and enlighten - Her poor brains so sorrow-laden! - - -2. - - Wheresoever thou mayst wander, - Thou dost every hour behold me, - And I love thee all the fonder, - When thou dost rebuke and scold me. - Charming malice will ensnare me, - While I hate a kindly action; - And the surest way to scare me, - Is to love me to distraction. - - -3. - - May the devil take thy mother - And thy father, for their cruel - Conduct at the play, in hiding - Thee from me, my precious jewel! - - There they sat, their spreading dresses - Leaving but few spaces only - Through the which to spy thee sitting - In the box’s rear, all lonely. - - There they sat, and saw two lovers - Both destroy’d, with eyes admiring; - And they clapp’d a loud approval - When they saw them both expiring. - - -4. - - Go not through the naughty quarters - Where the pretty eyes are living; - Ah, they fain would spare their lightnings - With a semblance of forgiving. - - From the high bow-window looking - In a loving way they greet thee, - Smiling kindly (death and devil!) - Sisterlike their glances meet thee. - - But thou’rt on thy way already, - And in vain is all thy striving; - Thou wilt have a very breastful - Of distress, when home arriving. - - -5. - - It comes too late, thy present smiling, - It comes too late, thy present sigh! - The feelings all long since have perish’d - That thou didst spurn so cruelly. - - Too late has come thy love responsive, - My heart thou vainly seek’st to stir - With burning looks of love, all falling - Like sunbeams on a sepulchre. - - * * * * * - - This would I learn: when life is ended, - O whither doth our spirit go? - Where is the flame when once extinguish’d? - The wind, when it hath ceased to blow? - - -6. - - Wounded, in distress, and sickly, - On a lovely summer’s morrow - Men I fly, and bury quickly - In the wood my bitter sorrow. - - As I move, in mute compassion - All the noisy birds are vying; - At my grief in wondrous fashion - Each dark linden-tree is sighing. - - In the vale I sadly sit on - Some green bank, sweet balm exhaling: - “Kitten! O my pretty kitten!” - And the hills repeat my wailing. - - Kitten! O my pretty kitten! - Why delightest thou to do ill? - Sadly is my poor heart smitten - By thy tiger-talons cruel. - - For my heart, grown stern and sadden’d, - Long had been to joy a stranger, - Till by new love I was gladden’d - At thy sight, and fear’d no danger. - - Thou in secret seem’dst to mew thus: - “Have no fear of being bitten; - “Prythee trust me when I sue thus, - “I’m a very gentle kitten.” - - * * * * * - - -7. - - Whilst sweet Philomel in airy - Woods at random sings and wildly, - Thou preferrest the canary - Doubtless, as it flutters mildly. - - In the cage I see thee feeding - This small bird, so tame and yellow, - And it picks thy fingers, pleading - For some sugar, pretty fellow! - - Charming is the scene and moving! - Angels must enjoy the notion! - I myself, with look approving, - Drop a tear of deep emotion. - - -8. - - With Wedding Gifts the Spring Has Arrived, - With music and exultation; - It brings the bridegroom and the bride - Its hearty congratulation. - - It brings its violets, rosebuds fair, - And jasmine and herbs sweet-scented, - And for the bride asparagus too,-- - The bridegroom’s with salad contented. - - -9. - - God protect thee from o’erheating, - And thy heart from palpitation, - Keep thee from excessive eating, - And excessive perspiration. - - As upon thy day of marriage - May thy love be ever blessèd! - Ne’er the bridal yoke disparage! - Be thy frame with health possessèd! - - -10. - - Pretty maid, if so inclined, - Thou mayst now thus think anent me - This man’s conduct is unkind, - For he’s seeking to torment me;-- - - Me, who never said a word - That could possibly offend him; - Who, when others’ blame I heard, - Did my utmost to befriend him. - - Me, who had resolved in fact - By-and-by to love him dearly, - Had he not begun to act - As if he were frantic nearly! - - -11. - - How thou snarlest, laughest, broodest. - How thou in ill humour twistest, - When thou, to all love a stranger, - Yet on jealousy existest! - - ’Tis not red and fragrant roses - Thou dost smell and love so dearly; - No, amongst the thorns thou sniffest, - Till they scratch thy nose severely. - - - - -6. YOLANTE AND MARY. - - -1. - - Both these ladies know by instinct - How a poet well to treat, - For they ask’d me and my genius - Luncheon with them once to eat. - - Ah! the soup was quite delicious, - And the wine was old and rare, - And the game was really heavenly, - And well-larded was the hare. - - They of poetry kept talking, - Till I had enough at last, - And I thank’d them for the honour - Of this very kind repast. - - -2. - - With which shall I become enamour’d, - Since both are loveable and mild? - The mother’s still a pretty woman, - The daughter is a pretty child. - - The white and inexperienced members - Are very pleasant to the view, - And yet the genial eyes that answer - Our tenderness are charming too. - - My heart the jackass grey resembles, - Who when twixt two hay bundles placed, - Eyes them with hesitation, doubting - Which of the two the best will taste. - - -3. - - The bottles are empty, the breakfast was good, - The ladies are gay and impassion’d; - They open their corsets in right merry mood, - Methinks they with point lace are fashion’d. - - Their bosoms how fair! Their shoulders how white! - My heart is soon trembling all over; - They presently jump on the bed with delight, - And hide themselves under the cover. - - The curtains around them before long they pull, - And snore away, free from intrusion; - I stand in the chamber alone, like a fool, - And stare at the bed in confusion. - - -4. - - Now that I’m fast growing older, - Youth’s by keener fire replaced, - And my arm, becoming bolder, - Circles many a loving waist. - - Though at first they were affrighted, - Yet they soon were reconcil’d; - Modest doubts and wrath united - Were o’ercome by flattery mild. - - Yet the best of all is wanting - When I taste my victory; - Can it be my youth’s enchanting - Bashful weak stupidity? - - -5. - - This tricolour’d flow’r now worn is - In my breast, to show I’m free, - Proving that my heart freeborn is, - And a foe to slavery. - - Sweet Queen Mary, who thy quarters - In my heart hast fix’d, pray list: - Many of earth’s fairest daughters - There have reign’d, then been dismiss’d. - - - - -7. EMMA. - - -1. - - He stands as firm as a tree stem, - In heat and tempest and frost; - His toes in the ground are planted, - His arms are heavenward toss’d. - - Thus long is Bagíratha tortured, - And Brama his torments would end; - He makes the mighty Ganges - Down from the heavens descend. - - But I, my loved one, am vainly - Tormented and stricken with woe; - From out of thine heavenly eyelids - No drops of pity e’er flow. - - -2. - - Four-and-twenty hours I still must - Wait, to see my bliss complete, - As her sidelong glances tell me, - Glances, O how dazzling sweet! - - Language is but inexpressive, - Words are awkward and in vain; - Soon as they are said, the pretty - Butterfly flies off again. - - But a look may last for ever, - And with joy may fill thy breast, - Making it like some wide heaven, - Full of starry rapture blest. - - -3. - - Not one solitary kiss - After months of loving passion, - So my mouth must still continue - Dry, in very wretched fashion. - - Happiness seem’d once at hand, - And her breath I e’en felt nigh me - But without my lips e’er touching, - She, alas! soon fleeted by me. - - -4. - - Emma, for my satisfaction - Say if I’m distracted driven, - By my love, or is love only - The result of my distraction? - - Ah! I’m tortured, charming Emma, - Not alone by my mad loving, - Not alone by loving madness, - But besides by this dilemma. - - -5. - - When I’m with thee, strife and need! - So I on my travels started; - Yet my life, when from thee parted, - Is no life, but death indeed. - - Pondering all the livelong night, - I ’twixt death and hell lay choosing-- - Ah, methinks this strife confusing - Now has driv’n me mad outright! - - -6. - - Fast is creeping on us dreary - Night with many a ghostly shape, - And our souls are growing weary, - And we at each other gape. - - Thou art old and I still older, - And our spring has ceased to bloom; - Thou art cold, and I still colder, - At th’ approach of winter’s gloom. - - At the end, how all is sadden’d! - After love’s sweet cares are past, - Cares draw nigh, by love ungladden’d, - After life comes death at last. - - - - -8. FREDERICA. - - -1. - - O leave Berlin, with its thick-lying sand, - Weak tea, and men who seem so much to know - That they both God, themselves, and all below - With Hegel’s reason only understand. - - O come to India, to the sunny land - Where flowers ambrosial their sweet fragrance throw - Where pilgrim troops on tow’rd the Ganges go - With reverence, in white robes, a festal band. - - There, where the palm-trees wave, the billows smile, - And on the sacred bank the lotos-tree - Soars up to Indra’s castle blue,--yes there, - - There will I kneel to thee in trusting style, - And press against thy foot, and say to thee: - “Madam, thou art the fairest of the fair!” - - -2. - - The Ganges roars; amid the foliage see - The sharp eyes of the antelope, who springs - Disdainfully along; their colour’d wings - The peacocks as they move, show haughtily. - - Deep from the bosom of the sunny lea - Rises a newborn race of flowers, sweet things; - With yearning-madden’d voice Cocila sings-- - Yes, thou art fair, no woman’s like to thee! - - God Cama[9] lurks in all thy features fair, - He dwells within thy bosom’s tents so white, - And breathes to thee the sweetest songs he knows. - - Upon thy lips Vassant[10] has made his lair, - I find within thine eyes new worlds of light, - In my own world no more I find repose. - - -3. - - The Ganges roars; the mighty Ganges swells, - The Himalaya glows in evening’s light, - And from the banyan-forest’s gloomy night - The elephantine herd breaks forth and yells. - - O for a type to show how she excels! - A typo of thee, so lovely to the sight, - Thee the incomparable, good and bright, - So that sweet rapture in my bosom dwells. - - In vain thou see’st me seek for types, and prate,-- - See’st me with feelings struggle, and with rhyme, - And, ah, thou smilest at my pangs of love! - - But smile! For when thou smil’st, Gandarvas straight - Seize on the sweet guitar, and all the time - Sing in the golden sunny halls above. - - - - -9. CATHERINE. - - -1. - - A beauteous star arises o’er my night, - A star which smiles down on me comfort bright, - And new life pledges to supply,-- - O do not lie! - - As leaps to the moon the sea with sullen roar, - So gladly, wildly, doth my spirit soar - Up to thy blissful light on high,-- - O do not lie! - - -2. - - “Will you not be presented to her?” - The duchess whisper’d once to me. - “On no account! for I to woo her - “Methinks have too much modesty.” - - How gracefully she stands before me! - I fancy, when I near her go, - A newborn life is stealing o’er me, - With newborn joy and newborn woe. - - I’m from her kept as though by anguish, - While yearning drives me to draw near; - Her eyes, as they so sweetly languish, - The wild stars of my fate appear. - - Her brow is clear, yet in the distance - The future lightning gathers there, - The storm which, spite of all resistance, - My spirit’s deepest seat will tear. - - Her mouth is lovely, but with terror - I see beneath the roses hiss - The serpents which will prove my error, - With honied scorn and treach’rous kiss. - - Impell’d by yearning, still more near I - Draw to the dear but dangerous place; - Her darling voice already hear I-- - Bright flames her every sentence grace. - - “Sir, what’s the name”--I hear her utter - These words--“Of her whose voice I heard?” - I only answer with a stutter: - “Madam, I did not hear one word!” - - -3. - - Yes, I now, a poor magician, - Like sage Merlin, am held fast - In my magic ring at last, - In disconsolate condition. - - At her feet imprison’d sweetly - I am lying all the while, - Gazing on her eyes’ sweet smile, - And the hours are passing fleetly. - - Thus, for hours, days, weeks behold me! - Like a vision time has fled, - Scarcely know I what I said, - And I know not what she told me. - - Just as if her lips were dearly - Press’d to mine, beyond control - I am stirr’d, till in my soul - I can trace the flames full clearly. - - -4. - - Thou lie’st in my arms so gladly. - So gladly thou lie’st on my heart! - I am thy one sole heaven, - My dearest star thou art. - - The foolish race of mortals - Is swarming far below; - They’re shouting and storming and scolding, - (And each one is right, I well know) - - Their cap and bells they jingle, - And quarrel without a cause, - And with their heavy club-sticks - They break each other’s jaws. - - How happy are we, my darling, - That we so far away are; - Thou hidest in thy heaven - Thy head, my dearest star! - - -5. - - I love such white and snowy members, - The thin veil of a spirit tender, - Wild and large eyes, a brow encompass’d - With flowing locks of swarthy splendour. - - Thou art indeed the very person - Whom I in every land have sought for, - While girls like thee a man of honour - Like me have always cared and thought for. - - The very man thou stand’st in need of - Is found in me. At first thou’lt pay me - Richly with sentiments and kisses, - And then, as usual, wilt betray me. - - -6. - - The spring’s already at the gate - With looks my care beguiling; - The country round appeareth straight - A flower-garden smiling. - - My darling sitteth by my side, - In carriage onward fleeting; - She looks on me with tender pride, - Her heart, I feel it beating. - - What warbling, what fragrance the sun’s light awakes! - Like jewels the verdure is gleaming, - His snowy-blossoming head soon shakes - The sapling with joyous seeming. - - The flowers peep forth from the earth to see, - With longing in every feature, - The lovely woman won by me, - And me, the happy creature. - - O transient bliss! Across the corn - To-morrow will pass the sickle, - The beauteous spring wither, and I all forlorn - Be left by the woman fickle. - - -7. - - Lately dreamt I I was walking - In the happy realms of heaven, - Walking with thee, for without thee, - Heaven itself would be a hell. - - There I saw th’ Elect together, - All the righteous and the godly, - Who had for their souls’ salvation - Mortified on earth their bodies. - - Fathers of the Church, apostles, - Capuchins and holy hermits, - Strange old fellows, some strange young ones-- - ’Twas the latter look’d the ugliest! - - Very long and saintly faces, - Ample bald pates, also grey beards - (Various Jews were of the number) - Pass’d us, looking stern and solemn. - - Not one look upon thee throwing, - Although thou, my pretty darling, - On my arm wert hanging, toying, - Toying, smiling, and coquetting. - - One alone upon thee look’d, - And he was the only handsome, - Handsome man of all the number; - And majestic were his features. - - Round his lips was human kindness, - In his eyes divine repose, - And he mildly gazed upon thee - As upon the Magdalene. - - Ah! I know, he meant it kindly, - None was e’er so pure and noble, - But I, I was notwithstanding - Moved as by an envious feeling; - - And, I must confess, I found it - Far from pleasant up in heaven-- - May God pardon me! Our Saviour - Jesus Christ I deem’d intrusive. - - -8. - - Each person to this feast enchanting - His mistress takes, and with delight - Roams in the blooming summer night. - I wander alone, for my loved one is wanting. - - Like some sick man, I wander all lonely, - And far from the mirth and dancing go, - The music sweet and the lamps’ bright glow - My thoughts are away, and in England only. - - I pluck the pinks and I pluck the roses, - Distractedly and full of woe, - And know not on whom the flow’rs to bestow; - My heart soon withers along with the posies. - - -9. - - Long songless and oppress’d with sadness, - I now compose again with yearning! - Like tears that from us burst with madness - My songs are suddenly returning. - - Again I chant, with voice melodious, - Of great love and still greater sorrow; - Of hearts which, to each other odious - To-day, when parted break to-morrow. - - I ofttimes think I feel the greeting - Of German oak trees waving o’er me, - With whispers of a glad re-meeting-- - A dream! they vanish from before me. - - I ofttimes think I hear the singing - Of German nightingales once cherish’d; - Sweetly their notes are round me clinging-- - A dream! the vision soon has perish’d. - - Where are the roses whose delicious - Perfume once bless’d me? Every blossom - Long since has died! With taint pernicious - Their ghostly scent still haunts my bosom. - - - - -10. SONGS OF CREATION. - - -1. - - God at first the sun created, - Then each nightly constellation; - From the sweat of his own forehead - Oxen were his next creation. - - Wild beasts he created later, - Lions with their paws so furious; - In the image of the lion - Made he kittens small and curious. - - Afterwards, the wilds to people, - Man to spring to being bade he, - And in man’s attractive image - Interesting monkeys made he. - - Satan saw it, full of laughter: - “Copies from himself he’s taking! - “In the image of his oxen - “Calves he finally is making.” - - -2. - - To the devil spake the Lord thus: - Copies of myself I’m taking; - After sun come constellations, - After oxen, calves I’m making. - - After lions with their furious - Paws, I’m making kittens curious, - After men come monkeys clever: - Thou canst nothing make, however. - - -3. - - I made for my glory and edification - Men, lions, and oxen, and sunlight splendid; - But calves, cats, monkeys, and each constellation - For nought but my own delight I intended. - - -4. - - With one short week of preparation - The whole of the world was made by me - And yet I work’d out the plan of creation - For thousands of years full thoughtfully. - - Creation itself is a mere act of motion - That’s easily done in a very short time; - And yet the plan, the primary notion,-- - ’Tis that that proves the artist sublime. - - Three hundred long years have I been taking - In solving the question by slow degrees - As to which was the proper manner of making - Both Doctors of Law and little fleas. - - -5. - - On the sixth day spake the Lord thus: - I have finish’d finally - All this vast and fair creation, - And that all is good, I see. - - How the sun’s rays, golden-roselike, - O’er the ocean brightly gleam! - Every tree is green and glittering, - And enamell’d all things seem. - - On the plain yon lambkins sporting - Are like alabaster white; - O how natural and perfect - Nature seemeth to the sight! - - Earth and heaven alike are teeming - With my glorious majesty, - And through long and endless ages - Man will praise and worship me. - - -6. - - The stuff out of which a poem is wrought - Is not to be suck’d from the finger; - No God created the world from nought - Any more than an earthly singer. - - ’Twas mud primeval that form’d the source - Whence the body of man I created, - And from the ribs of man in due course - Fair woman I separated. - - The heavens I form’d from out of the earth, - And angels from women completed; - The raw material first gets its worth - From being artist’cally treated. - - -7. - - The chiefest reason why I made - The earth, I will confess with gladness: - Within my soul, like fiery madness, - A burning call to do so play’d. - - Illness was the especial ground - Of my creative inclination; - I might recover by creation, - Creation made me once more sound. - - - - -11. ABROAD. - - -1. - - From place to place thou’rt wandering still, - Thou scarcely knowest why; - A gentle word the wind doth fill,-- - Thou look’st round wond’ringly. - - My loved one, who was left behind, - Is calling softly now: - “Return, I love thee, O be kind, - My only joy art thou!” - - But on, still on, no peace, no rest, - Thou never still mayst be; - What thou of yore didst love the best, - Thou ne’er again shalt see. - - -2. - - Thou art to-day of sadder seeming - Than thou hast been for long before; - Mute tears upon thy cheeks are gleaming, - Thy sighs wax louder more and more. - - Of thy far home long vanish’d is it - That thou art thinking, full of pain? - Wouldst thou not joyfully revisit - Thy much-loved fatherland again? - - Art thinking now of her who sweetly - With tiny rage enchanted thee? - Vex’d by her oft, ye soon completely - Were reconciled, and laugh’d with glee. - - Art thinking of the friends whom yearning - Impell’d to fall upon thy breast? - Within the heart the thoughts were burning, - And yet the lips remain’d at rest. - - Or of the sister and the mother - Art thinking, who approved thy suit? - Methinks within thy breast, good brother, - Wild passions fast are growing mute. - - Of the fair garden art thou thinking, - Its birds and trees, where love’s young dream - Ofttimes sustain’d thy spirits sinking, - And hope shone forth with trembling beam? - - ’Tis late. The snow has fallen thickly, - Bright night illumes the humid mass; - I now must go, and hasten quickly - To dress for company,--Alas! - - -3. - - Of my fair fatherland I once was proud; - Beside the stream - The oak soar’d high, the violets gently bow’d; - It was a dream. - - German the kisses were, in German too - (Sweet then did seem - The sound) they spake the words: “Yes, I love you!”-- - It was a dream. - - - - -12. TRAGEDY - - -1. - - O fly with me, and be my wife, - And to my heart for comfort come! - Far, far away hence be my heart, - Thy fatherland and father’s home. - - If thou’lt not go, I here will die, - And all alone abandon thee; - And if thou in thy father’s home - Dost stay, thou’lt seem abroad to be. - - -2. - -A genuine national song, heard by Heine on the Rhine. - - There fell a frost in a night of spring, - It fell on the tender flowerets blue, - They all soon wither’d and faded. - - A youth once loved a maiden full well, - They secretly fled away from the house, - Unknown to father and mother. - - They wander’d here and they wander’d there, - And neither joy nor star could they find, - And so they droop’d and they perish’d. - - -3. - - Upon her grave a linden is springing, - Where birds and the evening breeze are singing, - And on the green sward under it - The miller’s boy and his sweetheart sit. - - The winds are blowing so softly and fleetly, - The birds are singing so sadly and sweetly, - The prattling lovers are mute by-and-by, - They weep and they know not the reason why. - - - - -13. THE TANNHAUSER. - -A LEGEND. - -(Written in 1836.) - - -1. - - O all good Christians, be on your guard, - Lest Satan’s wiles ensnare you! - I’ll sing you the song of the Tannhauser bold, - That ye may duly beware you. - - The noble Tannhauser, a valiant knight, - For love and pleasure yearning, - To the Venus’ mount travell’d, and there he dwelt - Seven years without returning. - - “Dear Venus, lovely mistress, farewell! - “Though much thou mayst enchant me, - “No longer will I tarry with thee, - “Permission to leave now grant me.” - - “Tannhauser, dear and noble knight, - “To-day you have kept from kissing; - “So kiss me quickly and tell me true, - “What is there in me you find missing? - - “Have I each day the sweetest wine - “Not pour’d out for you gaily? - “And have I not always crown’d your head - “With fragrant roses daily?”-- - - “Dear Venus, lovely mistress, in truth - “My soul no longer finds pleasing - “These endless kisses and luscious wine,-- - “I long for something that’s teasing. - - “Too much have we jested, too much have we laugh’d, - “My heart for tears has long panted; - “Each rose on my head I fain would see - “By pointed thorns supplanted.”-- - - “Tannhauser, dear and noble knight, - “You fain would vex and grieve me; - “An oath you have sworn a thousand times - “That you would never leave me. - - “Come, let us into the chamber go, - “To taste of love’s rapture and gladness, - “And there my fair and lily-white form - “Shall drive away thy sadness.”-- - - “Dear Venus, lovely mistress, thy charms - “Will bloom for ever and ever; - “As many already have glow’d for thee, - “So men will forget thee never! - - “But when I think of the heroes and gods - “Who erst have taken their pleasure - “In clasping thy fair and lily-white form - “My anger knows no measure. - - “Thy fair and lily-white figure with dread - “Is filling me even this minute, - “When thinking how many in after times - “Will still take pleasure in it!”-- - - “Tannhauser, dear and noble knight, - “You should not utter such treason; - “’T’were better to beat me, as you have before - “Oft done for many a season. - - “’T’were better to beat me, than such harsh words - “Of insult thus to have spoken, - “Whereby, O Christian ungrateful and cold, - “The pride in my bosom is broken. - - “Because I love you so much, I forgive - “Your evil words, thankless mortal; - “Farewell, I grant you permission to leave, - “I’ll open myself the portal.” - - -2. - - In Rome, in the holy city of Rome, - With singing and ringing and blowing - A grand procession is moving on, - The Pope in the middle is going. - - The pious Pope Urban is his name, - The triple crown he is wearing, - He wears a red and purple robe, - And Barons his train are bearing. - - “O holy Father, Pope Urban, stay! - “I will not move from my station, - “Until thou hast saved my soul from hell, - “And heard my supplication!”-- - - The ghostly songs are suddenly mute, - The people fall backwards dumbly; - O who is the pilgrim pale and wild - Who bends to the Pope so humbly? - - “O holy Father, Pope Urban, to whom - “To bind and to loose not too much is, - “O save me from the pangs of hell, - “And out of the Evil One’s clutches! - - “By name, I’m the noble Tannhauser call’d; - “For love and pleasure yearning, - “To the Venus’ mount I travell’d and dwelt - “Seven years there without returning. - - “This Venus is a woman fair - “With charms of dazzling splendour; - Like light of sun and flowers’ sweet scent - “Her voice is gentle and tender. - - “As a butterfly flutters around a flower - “And from its calyx sips too, - So flutters my soul for evermore - “Around her rosy lips too. - - “Around her noble features entwine - “Her blooming black locks wildly; - Thy breath would be gone if once her great eyes - “Were fix’d upon thee mildly. - - “If her great eyes upon thee were fix’d - “They surely would harass thee greatly; - ’Twas with the greatest trouble that I - “Escaped from the mountain lately. - - “From out of the mountain I made my escape - “And yet for ever pursue me - “The looks of the beautiful woman, which seem - “To say ‘O hasten back to me!’ - - “A wretched spectre by day I’ve become, - “At night I vainly would hide me - “In sleep, for I dream that my mistress dear - “Is sitting and laughing beside me. - - “How clearly, how sweetly, how madly she laughs - “Her white teeth all the while showing! - “Whenever I think of that laugh, in streams - “The tears from my eyes begin flowing. - - “I love her indeed with a boundless love - “That scorches me up to a cinder; - “’Tis like a wild waterfall, whose fierce flood - “No barrier ever can hinder. - - “It nimbly leaps from rock to rock - “With noisy foaming and boiling; - “Its neck it may break a thousand times, - “Yet on, still on, it keeps toiling. - - “If all the expanse of the heavens were mine, - “To Venus the whole I’d surrender; - “I’d give her the sun, I’d give her the moon, - “I’d give her the stars in their splendour. - - “I love her indeed with a boundless love, - “Whose flame within me rages; - “O say can this be the fire of hell, - “The glow that will last through all ages? - - “O holy Father, Pope Urban, to whom - “To bind and to loose not too much is, - “O save me from the pangs of hell, - “And out of the Evil One’s clutches!--” - - His hands the Pope raised sadly on high, - And sigh’d till these words he had spoken: - “Tannhauser, most unhappy knight, - “The charm can never be broken. - - “The Devil whom they Venus call - “Is mighty for hurting and harming; - “I’m powerless quite to rescue thee - “From out of his talons so charming. - - “And so thy soul must expiate now - Thy fleshly lusts infernal; - Yes, thou art rejected, yes, thou art condemn’d - To suffer hell’s torments eternal.” - - -3. - - The knight Tannhauser roam’d on till his feet - Were sore with his wanderings dreary. - At midnight’s hour he came at length - To the Venus’ mountain, full weary. - - Fair Venus awoke from out of her sleep, - And out of her bed sprang lightly, - And clasp’d her fair and lily-white arms - Around her beloved one tightly. - - From out of her nose the blood fell fast, - The tears from her eyes descended; - She cover’d the face of her darling knight - With blood and tears closely blended. - - The knight lay quietly down in the bed, - And not one word has he spoken; - While Venus went to the kitchen, to make - Some soup, that his fast might be broken. - - She gave him soup, and she gave him bread, - She wash’d his wounded feet, too; - She comb’d his rough and matted hair, - And laugh’d with a laugh full sweet, too. - - “Tannhauser, dear and noble knight, - “Full long hast thou been wandering; - “O say in what lands hast thou thy time - “So far from hence been squandering?” - - “Dear Venus, lovely mistress, in truth - “In Italy I have been staying; - “I’ve had some bus’ness in Rome, and now - “Return without further delaying. - - “Rome stands on the Tiber, just at the spot - “Where seven hills are meeting; - “In Rome I also beheld the Pope,-- - “The Pope he sends thee his greeting. - - “And Florence I saw, when on my return, - “And then through Milan I hasted, - “And next through Switzerland scrambled fast, - “And not one moment wasted. - - “And when I travell’d over the Alps, - “The snow already was falling; - “The blue lakes sweetly on me smiled, - “The eagles were circling and calling. - - “And when on the Mount St. Gothard I stood, - “Below me snored Germany loudly; - “Beneath the mild sway of thirty-six kings - “It slumber’d calmly and proudly. - - “In Swabia I saw the poetical school - “Of dear little simpleton creatures; - “They sat together all ranged in a row, - “With very diminutive features. - - “In Dresden I saw a certain dog, - “A sprig of the aristocracy; - “His teeth he had lost, and bark’d and yell’d - “Like one of the vulgar democracy. - - “At Weimar, the Muses’ widow’d seat, - “I heard them their sentiments giving; - “They wept and lamented that Goethe was dead, - “And Eckermann still ’mongst the living! - - “At Potsdam I heard a very loud cry,-- - “I said in amaze: ‘What’s the matter?’-- - “’Tis Gans[11] at Berlin, who last century’s tale - “Is reading and making this clatter.’ - - “At Göttingen knowledge was blossoming still, - “But bringing no fruit to perfection; - “’Twas dark as pitch when I got there at night, - “No light was in any direction. - - “In the bridewell at Zell Hanoverians alone - “Were confined; at our next Reformation - “A national bridewell and one common lash - “We must have for the whole German nation. - - “At Hamburg, in that excellent town, - “Many terrible rascals dwell still; - “And when I wander’d about the Exchange, - “I fancied myself in Zell still! - - “At Hamburg I Altona saw; ’tis a spot - “In a charming situation; - “And all my adventures that there I met - “I’ll tell on another occasion.”[12] - - - - -14. ROMANCES. - - - - -1. A WOMAN. - - - They loved each other beyond belief, - The woman a rogue was, the man was a thief; - At each piece of knavery, daily - She fell on the bed, laughing gaily. - - In joy and pleasure they pass’d the day, - Upon his bosom all night she lay; - When they carried him off to Old Bailey, - At the window she stood, laughing gaily. - - He sent her this message: O come to me, - I yearn, my love, so greatly for thee; - I want thee, I pine, and look palely,-- - Her head she but shook, laughing gaily. - - At six in the morning they hang’d the knave, - At seven they laid him down in his grave; - At eight on her ears this fell stalely, - And a bumper she drank, laughing gaily. - - - - -2. CELEBRATION OF SPRING. - - - O list to this spring time’s terrible jest! - In savage troops the maidens fair - Are rushing along with fluttering hair, - And howls of anguish and naked breast:-- - Adonis! Adonis! - - The night falls fast. By torchlight clear - They sadly explore each forest track, - Which mournful answers is echoing back - Of laughter, sobs, sighs, and cries of fear:-- - Adonis! Adonis! - - That youthful figure, so wondrous fair, - Now lies on the ground all pale and dead; - His blood has dyed each floweret red, - And mournful sighs resound through the air:-- - Adonis! Adonis! - - - - -3. CHILDE HAROLD. - - - Slow and weary, moves a dreary - Stout black bark the stream along; - Visors wearing, all-uncaring, - Funeral mutes the benches throng. - - ’Mongst them dumbly, with his comely - Face upturn’d, the dead bard lies; - Living seeming, toward the beaming - Light of heaven still turn his eyes. - - From the water, like a daughter - Of the stream’s voice, comes a sigh, - And with wailing unavailing - ’Gainst the bark the waves dash high. - - - - -4. THE EXORCISM. - - - The young Franciscan friar sits - In his cloister silent and lonely; - He reads a magical book, which speaks - Of exorcisms only. - - And when the hour of midnight knell’d, - An impulse resistless came o’er him; - The underground spirits with pallid lips - He summon’d to rise up before him: - - “Ye spirits! Go, fetch me from out of the grave - The corpse of my mistress cherish’d; - For this one night restore her to life, - Rekindling joys long perish’d.” - - The fearful exorcising word - He breathes, and his wish is granted; - The poor dead beauty in grave-clothes white - Appears to his vision enchanted. - - Her look is mournful; her ice-cold breast - Her sighs of grief cannot smother; - The dead one sits herself down by the monk, - In silence they gaze on each other. - - - - -5. EXTRACT FROM A LETTER. - - - (_The Sun speaks._) - - What matter all my looks to thee? - It is the well-known right of the sun - To shed down his rays on ev’ry one; - I beam because ’tis proper for me. - - What matter all my looks to thee? - Thy duties bear in mind, poor elf; - Quick, marry, and get a son to thyself, - And so a German worthy be! - - I beam because ’tis proper for me. - I wander up and down in the sky, - From mere _ennui_ I peep from on high-- - What matter all my looks to thee? - - - (_The Poet speaks._) - - It is in truth my special merit - That I can bear thy radiant light, - Pledge of an endless youthful spirit, - Thou dazzling beauty, blest and bright. - - But now mine eyes are growing weary, - On my poor eyelids fast are falling, - Like a black covering, the dreary - Dark shades of night with gloom appalling. - - - (_Chorus of Monkeys._) - - We monkeys, we monkeys, - Like impudent flunkies, - Stare at the sun, - Who can’t prevent its being done. - - - (_Chorus of Frogs._) - - The water is better, - But also much wetter - Than ’tis in the air, - And merrily there - We love to gaze - On the sun’s bright rays. - - - (_Chorus of Moles._) - - How foolish people are to chatter - Of beams and sunny rays bewitching - With us, they but produce an itching - We scratch it and so end the matter. - - - (_A Glow-worm speaks._) - - How boastingly the sun displays - His very fleeting daily rays! - But I’m not so immodest quite, - And yet I’m an important light,-- - I mean by night, I mean by night! - - - - -6. THE EVIL STAR. - - - The star, after beaming so brightly, - From the sky fell, a vision unsightly, - What is the love by poets sung? - A star amid a heap of dung. - - Like a poor mangy dog, when he’s dying, - Beneath all this filth it is lying; - Shrill crows the cock, loud grunts the sow, - And wallows in the fearful slough. - - In the garden O had I descended, - By fair flowerets lovingly tended, - Where I oft yearn’d to find my doom, - A virgin death, a fragrant tomb! - - - - -7. ANNO 1829. - - - Give me a wide and noble field - Where I may perish decently! - O let me in this narrow world - Of shops be not condemned to die! - - They eat full well, they drink full well, - And revel in their mole-like bliss; - Their magnanimity’s as great - As any poor-box opening is. - - Cigars they carry in their mouths, - Their hands we in their breeches view, - And their digestive powers are great,-- - O could we but digest them too! - - They trade in every spice that grows - Upon the earth, yet we can trace, - Despite their spices, in the air - The odour of a grovelling race. - - Could I some great transgressions, yes, - Colossal bloody crimes but see,-- - Aught but this virtue flat and tame, - This solvent strict morality! - - Ye clouds on high, O bear me hence, - To some far spot without delay! - To Lapland or to Africa, - To Pomerania e’en--away! - - O bear me hence!--They hearken not-- - The clouds on high so prudent are! - They fly above this town, to seek - With trembling haste some region far. - - - - -8. ANNO 1839. - - - Dear distant Germany, how often - I weep when I remember thee! - Gay France my sorrow cannot soften, - Her merry race gives pain to me. - - In Paris, in this witty region, - ’Tis cold dry reason that now reigns; - O bells of folly and religion, - How sweetly sound at home your strains! - - Courteous the men! Their salutation - I yet return with feelings sad; - The rudeness shown in every station - In my own country made me glad! - - Smiling the women! but their clatter, - Like millwheels, never seems to cease; - The Germans (not to mince the matter) - Prefer I, who lie down in peace. - - And all things here with restless passion - Keep whirling, like some madden’d dream; - With us, they move in jog-trot fashion, - And well-nigh void of motion seem. - - Methinks I hear the distant ringing - Of the soft bugle’s notes serene; - The watchman’s songs I hear them singing, - With Philomel’s sweet strains between. - - At home the bard, a happy vagrant - In Schilda’s oak woods loved to rove; - From moonbeams fair and violets fragrant - My tender verses there I wove. - - - - -9. AT DAWN. - - - On the Faubourg Saint Marçeau - Lay the mist this very morning, - Mist of autumn, heavy, thick, - And a white-hued night resembling. - - Wandering through this white-hued night, - I beheld before me gliding - An enchanting female form - Which the moon’s sweet light resembled. - - Yes, she was, like moonlight sweet, - Lightly floating, tender, graceful; - Such a slender shape of limbs - I had here in France ne’er witness’d. - - Was it Luna’s self perchance, - Who with some young dear and handsome - Fond Endymion had to-day - In th’ Quartier Latin been ling’ring? - - On my way home thus I thought: - Wherefore fled she when she saw me? - Did the Goddess think that I - Was perchance the Sun-God Phœbus? - - - - -10. SIR OLAVE. - - -I. - - At the door of the cathedral - Stand two men, both wearing red coats, - And the first one is the monarch, - And the headsman is the other. - - To the headsman spake the monarch: - “By the priest’s song I can gather - “That the wedding is now finish’d-- - “Keep thy trusty hatchet ready!” - - To the sound of bells and organ - From the church the people issue - In a motley throng, and ’mongst them - Move the gay-dress’d bridal couple. - - Pale as death and sad and mournful - Looks the monarch’s lovely daughter; - Bold and joyous looks Sir Olave, - And his ruddy lips are smiling. - - And with smiling ruddy lips he - Thus the gloomy king addresses: - “Father of my wife, good morning! - “Forfeited to-day my head is. - - “I to-day must die,--O suffer, - “Suffer me to live till midnight, - “That I may with feast and torch-dance - “Celebrate my happy wedding! - - “Let me live, O let me live, sire, - “Till I’ve drain’d the final goblet, - “Till the final dance is finish’d-- - “Suffer me to live till midnight!” - - To the headsman spake the monarch: - “To our son-in-law a respite - “Of his life we grant till midnight-- - “Keep thy trusty hatchet ready!” - - -II. - - Sir Olave he sits at his wedding repast, - And every goblet is drained at last; - Upon his shoulder reclines - His wife and pines-- - At the door the headsman is standing. - - The dance begins, and Sir Olave takes hold - Of his youthful wife, and with haste uncontroll’d - They dance by the torches’ glow - Their last dance below-- - At the door the headsman is standing. - - The fiddles strike up, so merry and glad, - The flutes they sound so mournful and sad; - Whoever their dancing then saw - Was filled with awe-- - At the door the headsman is standing. - - And as they dance in the echoing hall, - To his wife speaks Sir Olave, unheard by them all: - “My love will be ne’er known to thee-- - “The grave yawns for me--” - At the door the headsman is standing. - - -III. - - Sir Olave, ’tis the midnight hour, - Thy days of life are number’d; - In a king’s daughter’s arms instead - Thou thoughtest to have slumber’d. - - The monks they mutter the prayers for the dead, - The man the red coat wearing - Already before the black block stands, - His polish’d hatchet bearing. - - Sir Olave descends to the court below, - Where the swords and the lights are gleaming; - The ruddy lips of the Knight they smile, - And he speaks with a countenance beaming: - - “I bless the sun, and I bless the moon, - “And the stars in the heavens before me; - “I bless too the little birds that sing - “In the air so merrily o’er me. - - “I bless the sea and I bless the land, - “And the flow’rs that the meadow’s life are; - “I bless the violets, which are as soft - “As the eyes of my own dear wife are. - - “Ye violet eyes of my own dear wife, - “My life for your sakes I surrender! - “I bless the elder-tree, under whose shade - “We plighted our vows of love tender.” - - - - -11. THE WATER NYMPHS. - - - The waves were plashing against the lone strand, - The moon had risen lately, - The knight was lying upon the white sand, - In vision musing greatly. - - The beauteous nymphs arose from the deep, - Their veils around them floated; - They softly approach’d, and fancied that sleep - The youth’s repose denoted. - - The plume of his helmet the first one felt, - To see if perchance it would harm her; - The second took hold of his shoulder belt, - And handled his heavy chain armour. - - The third one laugh’d, and her eyes gleam’d bright, - As the sword from the scabbard drew she; - On the bare sword leaning, she gazed on the knight, - And heartfelt pleasure knew she. - - The fourth one danced both here and there, - And breath’d from her inmost bosom: - “O would that I thy mistress were, - “Thou lovely mortal blossom!” - - The fifth her kisses with passionate strength - On the hand of the knight kept planting; - The sixth one tarried, and kissed at length - His lips and his cheeks enchanting. - - The knight was wise, and far too discreet - To open his eyes midst such blisses; - He let the fair nymphs in the moonlight sweet - Continue their loving kisses. - - - - -12. BERTRAND DE BORN. - - - A noble pride on every feature, - His forehead stamp’d with thought mature, - He could subdue each mortal creature, - Bertrand de Born, the troubadour. - - How wondrously his sweet notes caught her, - Plantagenet the Lion’s queen! - Both sons as well as lovely daughter - He sang into his net, I ween. - - The father too he fool’d discreetly! - Hush’d was the monarch’s wrath and scorn - On hearing him discourse so sweetly, - The troubadour, Bertrand de Born. - - - - -13. SPRING. - - - The waters glisten and merrily glide,-- - How lovely is love midst spring’s splendour! - The shepherdess sits by the streamlet’s side, - And twines her garlands so tender. - - All nature is budding with fragrant perfume, - How lovely is love midst spring’s splendour! - The shepherdess sighs from her heart: “O to whom - “Shall I my garlands surrender?” - - A horseman is riding beside the clear brook, - A kindly greeting he utters; - The shepherdess views him with sorrowful look, - The plume in his hat gaily flutters. - - She weeps and into the gliding waves flings - Her flowery garlands so tender; - Of kisses and love the nightingale sings-- - How lovely is love midst spring’s splendour! - - - - -14. ALI BEY. - - - Ali Bey, the true Faith’s hero, - Happy lies in maids’ embraces; - Allah granteth him a foretaste - Here on earth of heavenly rapture. - - Odalisques, as fair as houris, - Like gazelles in every motion-- - While the first his beard is curling, - See, the second smoothes his forehead. - - And the third the lute is playing, - Singing, dancing, and with laughter - Kissing him upon his bosom, - Where the flames of bliss are glowing. - - But the trumpets of a sudden - Sound outside, the swords are rattling, - Calls to arms, and shots of muskets-- - Lord, the Franks are marching on us! - - And the hero mounts his war-steed, - Joins the fight, but seems still dreaming; - For he fancies he is lying - As before in maids’ embraces. - - Whilst the heads of the invaders - He is cutting off by dozens, - He is smiling like a lover, - Yes, he softly smiles and gently. - - - - -15. PSYCHE. - - - In her hand the little lamp, and - Mighty passion in her breast, - Psyche creepeth to the couch where - Her dear sleeper takes his rest. - - How she blushes, how she trembles, - When his beauty she descries! - He, the God of love, unveil’d thus, - Soon awakes and quickly flies. - - Eighteen hundred years’ repentance! - And the poor thing nearly died! - Psyche fasts and whips herself still, - For she Amor naked spied. - - - - -16. THE UNKNOWN ONE. - - - Every day I have a meeting - With my golden-tressèd beauty - In the Tuileries’ fair garden - Underneath the chesnuts’ shadow. - - Every day she goes to walk there - With two old and ugly women-- - Are they aunts? or else two soldiers - Muffled up in women’s garments? - - Overawed by the mustachios - Of her masculine attendants, - And still farther overawed too - By the feelings in my bosom, - - I ne’er ventured e’en one sighing - Word to whisper as I pass’d her, - And with looks I scarcely ventured - Ever to proclaim my passion. - - For the first time I to-day have - Learnt her name. Her name is Laura, - Like the Provençal fair maiden - Whom the famous poet loved so. - - Laura is her name! I’ve gone now - Just as far as Master Petrarch, - Who the fair one celebrated - In canzonas and in sonnets. - - Laura is her name! like Petrarch - I can now platonically - Revel in this name euphonious-- - He himself no further ventured. - - - - -17. THE CHANGE. - - - With brunettes I now have finish’d, - And this year am once more fond - Of the eyes whose colour blue is, - Of the hair whose colour’s blond. - - Mild the blond one, whom I love now, - And in meekness quite a gem! - She would be some blest saint’s image, - Held her hand a lily stem. - - Slender limbs of wondrous beauty, - Little flesh, much sympathy; - All her soul is glowing but for - Faith and hope and charity. - - She maintains she understands not - German,--but it can’t be so; - Hast ne’er read the heavenly poem - Klopstock wrote some time ago? - - - - -18. FORTUNE. - - - Madam Fortune, thou in vain - Act’st the coy one! I can gain - By my own exertions merely - All thy favours prized so dearly. - - Thou art overcome by me, - To the yoke I fasten thee; - Thou art mine beyond escaping-- - But my bleeding wounds are gaping. - - All my red blood gushes out, - My life’s courage to the rout - Soon is put; I’m vanquish’d lying, - And in victory’s hour am dying. - - - - -19. LAMENTATION OF AN OLD-GERMAN YOUTH. - - - The man on whom virtue smiles is blest, - He is lost who neglects her instructions; - Poor youth that I am, I am ruin’d - By evil companions’ seductions. - - For cards and dice soon dispossess’d - My pockets of all their money; - At first the maidens consoled me - With smiles as luscious as honey. - - But when they had fuddled with wine their guest, - And torn my garments, straightway - (Poor youth that I am) they seized me, - And bundled me out at the gateway. - - On waking after a bad night’s rest,-- - Sad end to all my ambition!-- - Poor youth that I am, I was filling - At Cassel a sentry’s position. - - - - -20. AWAY! - - - The day’s enamour’d of the night, - The springtime loves the winter, - And life’s in love with death,-- - And thou, thou lovest me! - - Thou lov’st me--thou’rt already seized - By fear-inspiring shadows, - And all thy blossoms fade, - To death thy soul is bleeding. - - Away from me, and only love - The butterflies, gay triflers, - Who in the sunlight sport-- - Away from me and sorrow! - - - - -21. MADAM METTE. - -(From the Danish.) - - - Says Bender to Peter over their wine: - “I’ll wager (though doubtless you’re clever) - “That though your fine singing may conquer the world, - “My wife ’twill conquer never.” - - Then Peter replied: “I’ll wager my horse - “To your dog, or the devil is in it, - “I’ll sing Madam Mette into my house - “This evening, at twelve to a minute.” - - And when the hour of midnight drew near, - Friend Peter commenced his sweet singing; - Right over the forest, right over the flood - His charming notes were ringing. - - The fir-trees listen’d in silence deep, - The flood stood still and listen’d, - The pale moon trembled high up in the sky, - The wise stars joyously glisten’d. - - Madam Mette awoke from out of her sleep: - “What singing! How sweet the seduction!” - She put on her dress, and left the house-- - Alas, it proved her destruction! - - Right through the forest, right through the flood, - She speeded onward straightway; - While Peter, with the might of his song, - Allured her inside his own gateway. - - And when she at morning return’d back home, - At the door her husband caught her: - “Pray tell me, good wife, where you spent the night! - “Your garments are dripping with water.” - - “I spent the night at the water-nymphs’ stream, - “And heard the Future told by them; - “The mocking fairies wetted me through - “With their splashes, for going too nigh them.” - - “You have not been to the water-nymphs’ stream, - “The sand there could ne’er make you muddy; - “Your feet, good wife, are bleeding and torn, - “Your cheeks are also bloody.” - - “I spent the night in the elfin wood, - “To see the elfin dances; - “I wounded my feet and face with the thorns - “And fir-boughs cutting like lances.” - - “The elfins dance in the sweet month of May - “On flowery plains, but the chilly - “Bleak days of autumn now reign on the earth, - “The wind in the forests howls shrilly.” - - “At Peter Nielsen’s I spent the night, - “He sang so mightily to me, - “That through the forest, and through the flood - “He irresistibly drew me. - - “His song is mighty as death itself, - “To-night and perdition alluring; - “Its tuneful glow still burns in my heart, - “ A speedy death insuring.” - - The door of the church is hung with black, - The funeral bells are ringing, - Poor Madam Mette’s terrible death - To public notice bringing. - - Poor Bender sighs, as he stands at the bier,-- - ’Twas sad to hear him call so!-- - “I now have lost my beautiful wife, - “And lost my true dog also.” - - - - -22. THE MEETING. - - - The music under the linden-tree sounds, - The boys and the maidens dance lightly; - Amongst them two dance, whom nobody knows, - Of figures noble and sightly. - - They float about here, they float about there, - In a way that strange habits expresses; - They smile at each other, they shake their heads, - The maiden the youth thus addresses: - - “My handsome youth, upon thy hat - There nods a lily splendid, - That only grows in the depths of the sea,-- - From Adam thou art not descended. - - “The Kelpie art thou, who the fair village maids - Would’st allure with thy arts of seduction; - I knew thee at once, at the very first sight, - By thy teeth of fish-like construction.” - - They float about here, they float about there, - In a way that strange habits expresses; - They smile at each other, they shake their heads, - The youth the maid thus addresses: - - “My handsome maiden, tell me why - “Thy hand so icy cold is? - “And tell me why thy snow-white dress - “So moist in every fold is? - - “I knew thee at once, at the very first sight, - “By thy bantering salutation; - “Thou art no mortal child of man, - “But the water-nymph, my relation.” - - The fiddles are silent, and finish’d the dance, - They part like sister and brother, - They know each other only too well, - And shun now the sight of each other. - - - - -23. KING HAROLD HARFAGAR. - - - The great King Harold Harfagar - In ocean’s depths is sitting, - Beside his lovely water-fay; - The years are over him flitting. - - By water-sprite’s magical arts chain’d down, - He is neither living nor dead now, - And while in this state of baneful bliss - Two hundred years have sped now. - - The head of the king is laid on the lap - Of the beautiful woman, and ever - He yearningly gazes up tow’rd her eyes, - And looks away from her never. - - His golden hair is silver grey, - His cheekbones (of time’s march a token) - Project like a ghost’s from his yellow face, - His body is wither’d and broken. - - And many a time from his sweet dream of love - He suddenly is waking, - For over him wildly rages the flood, - The castle of glass rudely shaking. - - He oftentimes fancies he hears in the wind - The Northmen shouting out gladly; - He raises his arms with joyous haste, - Then lets them fall again sadly. - - He oftentimes fancies he hears far above - The seamen their voices raising, - The great King Harold Harfagar - In songs heroical praising. - - And then the king from the depth of his heart - Begins sobbing and wailing and sighing, - When quickly the water-fay over him bends, - With loving kisses replying. - - - - -24. THE LOWER WORLD. - - -I. - - Many a time poor Pluto sigh’d thus: - “Were I but a single man! - “Since my married life began, - “Hell, I’ve learnt, was not a hell - “Till I to a wife was tied thus! - - “Would that I remain’d still single! - “Since I Proserpine did wed, - “Each day wish I I was dead! - “With the bark of Cerberus - “Her loud scoldings ever mingle. - - “Each attempt I make is fruitless - “After peace. There’s not a ghost - “Half so sad in all my host, - “And I envy Sisyphus, - “And the Danaid’s labour bootless.” - - -II. - - On golden chair in the regions infernal, - Beside her spouse, the monarch eternal, - Queen Proserpine’s sitting - With mien ill befitting - Her station, and sadly she’s sighing: - - “For roses I yearn, and the rapturous blisses - “Of Philomel’s song, and the sun’s sweet kisses; - “And here ’mongst the pallid - “Lemures and squalid - “Dead bodies, my youth’s days are flying. - - “I’m firmly bound in the hard yoke of marriage - “In this hole, which I’m sure e’en a rat would disparage - “And the spectres unsightly - “Through my window peep nightly, - “Their wails with the Styx’s groans vying. - - “This very day I’ve invited to dinner - “Old Charon, the bald-pated spindle-shank’d sinner,-- - “And also the Judges, - “Those wearisome drudges-- - “Such company’s really too trying!” - - -III. - - Whilst these murmurs unavailing - In the lower world found vent, - Ceres on the earth was wailing, - And the crazy goddess went, - With no cap on, with no collar, - And with loose dishevell’d hair, - Uttering, in a voice of dolour, - That lament known everywhere:[13] - - “Is’t the beauteous spring I see? - “Hath the earth grown young again? - “Sunlit hills glow verdantly, - “Bursting through their icy chain. - “From the streamlet’s mirror blue - “Smiles the now-unclouded sky, - “Zephyr’s wings wave milder too, - “Youthful blossoms ope their eye. - “In the grove sweet songs resound, - “While the Oread thus doth speak: - “‘Once again thy flow’rs are found, - “Vain thy daughter ’tis to seek.’ - - “Ah, how long ’tis since I went - “First in search o’er earth’s wide face! - “Titan, all thy rays I sent, - “Seeking for the loved one’s trace! - “Of that form so dear, no ray - “Hath as yet brought news to me, - “And the all-discerning Day - “Cannot yet the lost one see. - “Hast thou, Zeus, her from me torn? - “Or to Orcus’ gloomy stream, - “Hath she been by Pluto borne, - “Smitten by her beauty’s beams? - - “Who will to yon dreary strand - “Be the herald of my woe? - “Ever leaves the bark the land, - “Yet but shadows in it go. - “To each blest eye evermore - “Closed those night-like fields remain; - “Styx no living form e’er bore, - “Since his stream first wash’d the plain. - “Thousand paths lead downward there, - “None lead up again to light; - “And her tears no witness e’er - “Brings to her sad mother’s sight.” - - -IV. - - “Ceres! my good wife’s relation! - “Prythee cease to weep and call so! - “I now grant your application-- - “I have suffer’d greatly also! - - “Comfort take! we’ll share your daughter’s - “Sweet society, and let her - “Have on earth six months her quarters - “Yearly, if you like it better. - - “She, when men in summer swelter, - “Can assist your rural labours, - “‘Neath a straw hat taking shelter, - “Flow’r-bedizen’d, like her neighbours’. - - “She can rant, when colours glowing - “Robe the evening sky in splendour, - “When beside the stream is blowing - “On his flute a bumpkin tender. - - “She’ll rejoice with lads and lasses - “At the harvest-home’s gay dances, - “And amongst the sheep and asses - “Be a lioness, the chance is. - - “I’ll recruit my spirits sinking - “Here in Orcus in a canter, - “Mingled punch and Lethe drinking, - “And forget my wife instanter!” - - -V. - - “Methinks at times thy brow is shaded - “With yearnings that in secret dwell; - “Thy hapless lot I know full well; - “Lost love, a life untimely faded! - - “Thou nodd’st a sad assent! I never - “Can give thee back thy youthful prime; - “Thy heart’s woes cannot heal with time: - “A faded life, love lost for ever!” - - - - -15. MISCELLANIES. - - -1. MULEDOM. - - Thy father, as is known to all, - A donkey was, beyond denial; - Thy mother on the other hand - A noble brood-mare proved on trial. - - Thy mulish nature, worthy friend, - Though little liked, a thing of course is; - Yet thou canst say, with perfect truth, - That thou belongest to the horses. - - Thou spring’st from proud Bucephalus; - Thy fathers were with the invaders - Who to the Holy Sepulchre - Of old time went, the famed Crusaders. - - Thou countest ’mongst thy relatives - The charger ridden by the glorious - Sir Godfrey of Bouillon the day - He took God’s town with arm victorious. - - Thou canst aver that Bayard’s steed - Thy cousin was, and say (andante) - Thine aunt the knight Don Quixote bore, - The most heroic Rosinante. - - But Sancho’s donkey thou’lt not own - As kin, he being much too lowly; - Thou’lt e’en disown the ass’s foal - That whilome bore the Saviour holy. - - And thou art not obliged to stick - A long-ear surely in thy scutcheon; - Of thine own value be the judge, - And thou wilt never lay too much on. - - - - -2. THE SYMBOL OF MADNESS. - - - We’ll now begin to sing the song - Of a Number of much reputation, - Known by the name of Number Three: - To joy succeeds vexation. - - Though sprung from an old Arabian stock, - In Christian estimation - Nothing in Europe higher stood - Than this Number of proud reputation. - - A very pattern of modesty, - How great was her indignation - At finding the man in bed with the maid! - She gave them a sound castigation. - - In summer her coffee at seven A.M. - She drank with much gratification, - In winter at nine, and slept all night - Without the least molestation. - - But now ’tis time to alter our rhyme, - To-day is changed to to-morrow, - And, sad to say, poor Number Three - Must suffer pain and sorrow. - - There came a cobbler who said: “The head - “Of Number Three at present - “Is like a small Seven that’s placed on the top - “Of the moon when she’s shaped like a crescent. - - “The Seven the mystical number is - “Of the ancient Pythagoreans; - “The crescent Diana’s worship denotes, - “And also recals the Sabeans. - - “The Three herself the famed Shibboleth is - “Of the senior bonze of Babel, - “Intriguing with whom she at length gave birth - “To the Holy Trinity’s fable.” - - A tailor came next, with a smile on his face; - Poor Number Three, he insisted, - Was nought but a name, and nowhere else - Except upon paper existed. - - When poor Three heard these cruel words, - Like a duck in a state of distraction - She waddled here and waddled there, - Lamenting with vehement action: - - “I’m just as old as the sea and the wold, - “As the stars that in heaven are blinking; - “I’ve seen kingdoms ascend, and presently end, - “And nations rising and sinking. - - “I’ve stood on the ceaselessly whirling loom - “Of time for many long ages; - “I’ve peep’d into Nature’s fashioning womb, - “Where everything rushes and rages. - - “And nevertheless I withstood all assaults - “Of darkness and sensuality, - “And safely preserved my virgin charms, - “Despite their cruel brutality. - - “What use is my virtue now? By the wise - “And the fools I am evil entreated; - “The world is wicked, and ne’er content - “Till every one is cheated. - - “But cheer up, my heart! thou still hast left - “Thy faith and hope and charity, - “With excellent coffee and glasses of rum - “Above the reach of vulgarity.” - - - - -3. PRIDE. - - - O Countess Gudel of Gudelfeld town, - Because you are wealthy, you’re held in renown - With not less than four horses contented, - At court you are duly presented; - In carriage of gold you go lightly - To the castle, where waxlights gleam brightly; - Up the marble stairs rustle - Your clothes with their bustle, - And then at the top, on the landing - The servants in gay dresses standing - Shout: Madame la Comtesse de Gudelfeld! - - Your fan in your hand, talking loudly, - Through the chamber you wander on proudly; - With diamonds gaily bedizen’d, - In pearls and Brussels lace prison’d, - Your snowy bosom with madness - Is heaving in uncontroll’d gladness. - What smiles, nods, polite interjections! - What curtsies and deep genuflexions! - The Duchess of Pavia - Calls you her _cara mia_; - The nobles and courtiers advancing - Invite you to join in the dancing; - And the heir to the crown (who’s thought witty) - Says loudly: How graceful and pretty - Are all the _stern_ movements of Gudelfeld! - - But if, poor creature, you money did lack, - The world would straightway show you its back; - The very lackeys with loathing - Would spit on your clothing; - ’Stead of bows and civility, - Nought but vulgar scurrility; - The Duchess would cross herself rudely, - And the Crown Prince take snuff, and say shrewdly: - She smells of garlic--this Gudelfeld! - - - - -4. AWAY! - - - If by one woman thou’rt jilted, love - Another, and so forget her; - To pack up thy knapsack, and straight remove - From the town will be still better. - - Thou’lt soon discover a blue lake fair, - By weeping willows surrounded; - Thy trifling grief thou’lt weep away there, - Thy pangs so little founded. - - Whilst climbing up the hillside fast, - Thou’lt pant and groan full loudly; - But when on the rocky summit at last, - Thou’lt hear the eagle scream proudly. - - An eagle thyself thou’lt seem to be, - New life the change will bestow thee; - Thou’lt feel thou hast lost, when thus set free, - Not much in the world below thee. - - - - -5. WINTER. - - - The cold may burn us sadly - Like fire, and mortals hurry - Amidst the snowdrift madly, - With still-increasing flurry. - - O winter stern and chilly, - When frozen are our noses, - And piano-strumming silly - Our ears so discomposes! - - I like the summer only - When in the wood I’m roving - With my own griefs all-lonely, - And scanning verses loving. - - - - -6. THE OLD CHIMNEYPIECE. - - - Outside fall the snowflakes lightly - Through the night, loud raves the storm - In my room the fire glows brightly, - And ’tis cosy, silent, warm. - - Musing sit I on the settle - By the firelight’s cheerful blaze, - Listening to the busy kettle - Humming long-forgotten lays. - - And beside me sits a kitten, - Warming at the blaze her feet; - Strangely are my senses smitten - As the flickering flames they meet. - - Many a dim long-buried story - O’er me soon begins to rise, - But with dead and faded glory, - And in strange and mask’d disguise. - - Lovely women with shrewd faces - Greet me with a secret smile, - Then the harlequins run races, - Laughing merrily the while. - - Distant marble-gods nod kindly, - Dreamily beside them grow - Fable-flow’rs, whose leaves wave blindly - In the moonlight to and fro. - - Magic castles, once resplendent, - Ruin’d now, in sight appear; - Knights in armour, squires attendant - Quickly follow in their rear. - - All these visions I discover - As with shadowy haste they pass,-- - Ah, the kettle’s boiling over, - And the kitten’s burnt, alas! - - - - -7. LONGING. - - - Thou beholdest in thy vision - Fable’s silent flow’rs before thee, - And a yearning wild steals o’er thee - At their fragrant scent elysian. - - But thou from those flow’rs art parted - By a gulf both deep and fearful; - Thou becomest sad and tearful, - And at last art broken-hearted. - - How they glitter! how they lure me! - Could I but the gulf pass over! - How the secret to discover, - And a bridge across procure me? - - - - -8. HELENA. - - - Thou hast call’d me forth from out of the grave - By means of thy magic will now, - And fill’d me full of love’s fierce glow-- - This glow thou never canst still now. - - O press thy mouth against my mouth, - Man’s breath with heaven is scented; - Thy very soul I’ll drain to the dregs, - The dead are never contented. - - - - -9. THE WISE STARS. - - - The flowerets sweet are crush’d by the feet - Full soon, and perish despairing; - One passes by, and they must die, - The modest as well as the daring. - - The pearls all sleep in the caves of the deep, - Where one finds them, despite wind and weather - A hole is soon bored and they’re strung on a cord, - And there fast yoked together. - - The stars are more wise, and keep in the skies, - And hold the earth at a distance; - They shed their light in the heavens so bright, - In safe and endless existence. - - - - -10. THE ANGELS. - - - Faithless as Saint Thomas, never - Could I in the heaven believe - Which both Jew and Priest endeavour - To compel men to receive. - - That the angels, though, are real - I have never held in doubt; - Spotless, and of grace ideal, - On this earth they move about. - - Still I doubt if such a being - Wing’d is, it must be confess’d; - I have recently been seeing - Wingless angels, I protest. - - With their dear and loving glances - With their loving hands so white - Men they guard, and all advances - Of misfortune put to flight. - - Every one can comfort borrow - From their favour and regard; - Most of all that child of sorrow - Whom the people call a bard. - - - - -16. POEMS FOR THE TIMES. - - - - -1. SOUND DOCTRINE. - - - Quick, beat the drum, and be not afraid, - The suttler-maiden lovingly kiss; - This is the whole of knowledge, in truth, - The deepest book-learning lies in this. - - Quick, drum the people out of their sleep, - And drum the réveille with the ardour of youth, - And as you march, continue to drum-- - This is the whole of knowledge, in truth. - - All Hegel’s philosophy here is found, - The deepest book-learning lies in this; - I’ve found it out, because I’m no fool, - And also because I drum not amiss. - - - - -2. ADAM THE FIRST. - - - Gendarmes of heaven with flaming swords - Thou sent’st in cruel fashion, - And drov’st me out of Paradise - Without the least compassion. - - In search of another country, I - And my wife from Eden hasted; - Thou canst not alter the fact that there - The tree of knowledge I tasted. - - Thou canst not alter the fact that I know - Thy weakness and many blunders, - However mighty thou seemest to be - When wielding death and thunders. - - O heavens, how pitiful is this - Consilium abeundi! - I call it a Magnificus - Of earth, a Lumen Mundi. - - I shall not miss the spacious realms - Of Paradise one minute. - It is no genuine Paradise - When trees forbidden are in it. - - I claim my full unfetter’d rights! - The slightest limitation - Changes my Paradise at once - To hell and desolation. - - - - -3. WARNING. - - - Worthy friend, ’twill be perdition - Books like this to think of printing! - Wouldst thou money earn or honour - Thou must bend in meek submission. - - Never in this manner flighty - Shouldest thou before the public - Thus have spoken of the parsons - And of monarchs high and mighty! - - Friend, thou’lt be by all forsaken! - Princes have long arms, the parsons - Have long tongues, and then the public - Have long ears, or I’m mistaken! - - - - -4. TO A QUONDAM FOLLOWER OF GOETHE. - -(1832.) - - Hast thou, then, superior risen - To the chilly dream of glory - Which great Weimar’s poet hoary - Wove around thee, like a prison? - - Are thy old friends bores now voted?-- - Clara, Gretchen,--names familiar,-- - Serlo’s chaste maid, and Ottilia - In the “Wahlverwandschaft” noted? - - Thou’rt with Germany enchanted, - Art become a Mignon-hater, - And thou seek’st for freedom greater - Than Philina ever granted. - - Like a Luneburgomaster, - Thou dost battle for the nation, - Holding up to execration - Kings, as causing all disaster. - - And I hear with pleasure hearty, - What a pitch thy praises grow to, - And how thou’rt a Mirabeau, too, - At each Luneburg tea-party! - - - - -5. THE SECRET. - - - We sigh not, and the eye’s not moisten’d, - We laugh at times, we often smile; - In not a look, in not a gesture - The secret comes to light the while. - - Deep in our bleeding spirit hidden, - It lies in silent misery; - If in our wild heart it finds language, - The mouth’s still closed convulsively. - - Ask of the suckling in the cradle, - Ask of the dead man in the grave; - They may perchance disclose the secret - To which I never utt’rance gave. - - - - -6. ON THE WATCHMAN’S ARRIVAL IN PARIS. - - - “Good watchman with face so sad and despairing, - “Why runnest thou hither with headlong speed? - “My dear fellow-countrymen, how are they faring? - “My fatherland, is it from tyranny freed?” - - All’s going on well, and liberty’s blessing - Is showering silently on us its stores, - And Germany, calmly and safely progressing, - Unfolds and develops herself within doors. - - Unlike France, superficial are none of her blossoms,-- - _There_ freedom but touches the outside of life; - ’Tis but in the depths of their innermost bosoms - That freedom with Germans is found to be rife. - - They’ll finish Cologne’s great cathedral, they tell us, - The Hohenzollerns[A] have brought this to pass; - A Hapsburg[A] has shown himself equally zealous, - A Wittelsbach[14] gives it some fine painted glass. - - That true Magna Charta, a free constitution, - They’ve promised, and surely their promise they’ll keep; - A king’s word’s a prize, without circumlocution,-- - Like the Nibelung stone in the Rhine it lies deep. - - The Brutus of rivers, the free Rhine, they surely - Can never remove him from out of his bed; - The Dutchman his feet have fasten’d securely, - The Switzers securely are holding his head. - - God will grant us a fleet, if we prove persevering; - Our patriotic exuberant strength - Will find a vent in sailing and steering, - The pain of imprisonment ending at length. - - The seeds cast their shells and the spring’s blooming sweetly, - We draw a free breath at this time of the year; - If permission to print is denied us completely, - The censorship will of itself disappear. - - - - -7. THE DRUM-MAJOR.[15] - - - The old drum-major it is that we see; - Poor fellow, he’s pull’d down sadly! - In the Emperor’s time a youngster was he, - And merrily lived and gladly. - - He used to balance his ponderous stick, - While a smile on his face play’d lightly; - The silver-lace on his tunic so thick - In the rays of the sun gleam’d brightly. - - Whene’er with a mighty roll of the drum - He enter’d a village or city, - He caused an echo responsive to come - In the heart of each girl, plain or pretty. - - He came and saw and conquer’d too - Each fair one welcomed him in; - His black moustache was wetted through - With tears of German women. - - Resistance was vain! In every land - That the foreign invaders came to, - The Emperor vanquished the gentlemen, and - The drum-major each maiden and dame too. - - Our sorrows full long we patiently bore - Like oaks, with no one to heed ’em, - Until the Authorities gave us once more - The signal to battle for freedom. - - Like buffaloes rushing on to the fray, - We toss’d our horns up proudly, - The yoke of France we cast away, - The songs of Körner sang loudly. - - O terrible verses! the tyrant’s ear - At their awful sound revolted; - The Emperor and the drum-major in fear - Precipitately bolted. - - They both of them reap’d the wages of sin, - And came to an end inglorious; - The Emperor Napoleon tumbled in - The hands of the Britons victorious. - - In Saint Helena his time he now pass’d - In martyrdom, banish’d from France, Sir, - And, after long suff’ring, died at last - Of that terrible ailment cancer. - - The poor drum-major, too, fell in disgrace, - And lost his situation; - In our hotel he took the place - Of boots,--what degradation! - - He warms the oven, he scours the pots, - And wood and water fetches; - His grey head wags as he wheezingly trots - Up the stairs, so weak the poor wretch is. - - When Fritz comes to see me, he finds himself - Inclined to jeer and rally - The comical lanky poor old elf - And his motions shilly-shally. - - O Fritz, a truce to raillery, please! - The sons of Germany never - Should fallen greatness love to tease, - Or to torment endeavour. - - Such people you ought to regard with pride - And filial piety rather; - Perchance upon the mother’s side - The old man is your father! - - - - -8. DEGENERACY. - - - Has Nature’s self been going backward, - And human faults assuming, then? - The very plants and beasts, I fancy, - Now lie as much as mortal men. - - I trust not in the lily’s chasteness; - The colour’d fop, the butterfly, - Toys with her, kisses, round her flutters, - Till lost is all her purity. - - The violet’s modesty moreover - I hold full cheap. The little flower - With the coquettish breezes trifles, - In secret pants for fame and power. - - I doubt if Philomel appreciates - The time she sings with pompous mien; - She overdoes it, sobs, and warbles - Methinks from nought but pure routine. - - Truth from the earth is fast departing, - The days of Faith are also o’er; - The dogs still wag their tails, smell bully - And yet are faithful now no more. - - - - -9. HENRY. - - - In Canossa’s castle courtyard - Stands the German Cæsar Henry, - Barefoot, clad in penitential - Shirt--the night is cold and rainy. - - From the window high above him - Peep two figures, and the moonlight - Gregory’s bald head illumines - And the bosom of Mathilda. - - Henry, with his lips all pallid, - Murmurs pious paternosters; - Yet in his imperial heart he - Secretly revolts and speaks thus: - - “In my distant German country - “Upward rise the sturdy mountains; - “In the mountain-pits in silence - “Grows the iron for the war-axe. - - “In my distant German country - “Upward rise the fine oak-forests; - “In the loftiest oak-stem ’mongst them - “Grows the handle for the war-axe. - - “Thou, my dear and faithful country, - “Wilt beget the hero also - “Who in time will crush the serpent - “Of my sorrows with his war-axe.” - - - - -10. LIFE’S JOURNEY. - - - What laughter and singing! The sun’s rays crossing - Each other gleam brightly; the billows are tossing - The joyous bark, and there I reclined - With friends beloved and lightsome mind. - - The bark was presently wreck’d and shatter’d, - My friends were poor swimmers, and soon were scatter’d, - And all were drown’d, in our fatherland; - _I_ was thrown by the storm on the Seine’s far strand. - - Another ship I now ascended, - My journey by new companions attended; - By strange waves toss’d and rock’d, I depart-- - How far my home! how heavy my heart! - - Once more arises that singing and laughter! - The wind pipes loud, the planks crack soon after-- - In heaven is quench’d the last last star-- - How heavy my heart! My home how far! - - - - -11. THE NEW JEWISH HOSPITAL AT HAMBURG. - - - A hospital for Jews who’re sick and needy, - For those unhappy threefold sons of sorrow, - Afflicted by the three most dire misfortunes - Of poverty, disease, and Judaism. - - The worst by far of all the three the last is, - That family misfortune, thousand years old, - That plague which had its birth in Nile’s far valley, - The old Egyptian and unsound religion. - - Incurable deep pain! ’gainst which avail not - Nor douche nor vapour-bath, the apparatus - Of surgery, nor all the means of healing - Which this house offers to its sickly inmates. - - Will Time, eternal goddess, e’er extinguish - This glowing ill, descending from the father - Upon the son,--and will the grandson ever - Be cured, and rational become and happy? - - I cannot tell! Yet in the meantime let us - Extol that heart which lovingly and wisely - Sought to alleviate pain as far as may be, - Into the wounds a timely balsam pouring. - - Dear worthy man! He here has built a refuge - For sorrows which by the physician’s science - (Or else by death’s!) are curable, providing - Cushions, refreshing drinks, and food, and nurses. - - A man of deeds, he did his very utmost, - Devoted to good works his hard-earned savings - In his life’s evening, kindly and humanely, - Recruiting from his toils by acts of mercy. - - He gave with open hand--but gifts still richer, - His tears, full often from his eyes were rolling, - Tears fair and precious, which he wept deploring - His brethren’s great, incurable misfortune. - - - - -12. GEORGE HERWEGH.[16] - - - When Germany first drank her fill, - You then were her obedient vassal, - Believing in each pipe-bowl still, - And in its black-red-golden tassel. - - But when the fond delirium ceased, - Good friend, how great your consternation! - The public seem’d a very beast, - After its sweet intoxication! - - Pelted by vile abusive swarms - With rotten apples, in disorder, - Under an escort of gendarmes - You reach’d at length the German border. - - There you stood still. A tear you wiped - Away, the well-known posts on spying - Which like the zebra’s back are striped, - With heavy heart as follows sighing:-- - - “Aranjuez, in lightsome mood - “Once stay’d I in thy halls so splendid, - “When I before King Philip stood, - “By all his proud grandees attended. - - “He gave me an approving smile - “When I the Marquis Posa acted; - “My prose he could not relish, while - “My verses his applause attracted.”[17] - - - - -13. THE TENDENCY. - - - German bard! extol our glorious - German freedom, that thy lay - May possess our souls, and fire us, - And to mighty deeds inspire us, - Like the Marseillaise notorious. - - Be no more, like Werther, tender, - Who for Lotte sigh’d all day; - Thou shouldst tell the people proudly - What the bells proclaim so loudly,-- - Speak of dirks, swords, no surrender. - - Gentle flutes no more resemble, - Be not so idyllic, pray! - Fire the mortars, beat to quarters, - Crash, kill, thunder, make them tremble. - - Crash, kill, thunder like a devil - Till the last foe flies away; - To this cause devote thy singing, - Thy poetic efforts bringing - To the common public’s level. - - - - -14. THE CHILD. - - - The good their gifts in dream enjoy, - How did it fare with thee? - Scarce feeling it, you’ve got a boy, - Poor virgin Germany! - - This boy an urchin frolicsome - Ere long shall we behold; - A first-rate archer he’ll become, - As Cupid was of old. - - He’ll pierce the soaring eagle through; - And, proudly though he fly, - The double-headed eagle too - Struck by his bolt, shall die. - - But that blind heathen God of love - Will he resemble not - In wearing neither clothes nor glove, - Nor be a sans-culotte. - - The seasons in our land combine - With morals and police - To make both old and young incline - To wear their clothes in peace. - - - - -15. THE PROMISE. - - - You no more shall barefoot crawl so - Through the dirt, poor German freedom! - Stockings (as you find you need ’em) - You shall have, and stout boots also. - - As respects your head, upon it - To protect your ears from freezin’ - In the chilly winter-season - You shall have a nice warm bonnet. - - You shall have, too, savoury messes-- - Grand the future that’s before you! - Let no Satyr, I implore you, - Lure you onward to excesses! - - Do not haste on fast and faster! - Render, as becomes inferiors, - Due respect to your superiors - And the worthy burgomaster. - - - - -16. THE CHANGELING. - - - A child with monstrous pumpkin head, - Grey pigtail, and moustache light red, - With lanky arms and yet stupendous, - No bowels, yet with maw tremendous,-- - A changeling which a Corporal - Into our cradle had let fall - On stealing from it our own baby-- - This monster, falsehood’s child, (or may be - ’Twas in reality the son - Of his own favourite dog alone)-- - What need to say how much we spurn it? - For heaven’s sake, drown it or else burn it! - - - - -17. THE EMPEROR OF CHINA.[18] - - - My father was a dreadful bore, - A good-for-nothing dandy; - But I’m a mighty Emperor, - And love a bumper of brandy. - - These glorious draughts all others surpass - In this, their magical power: - As soon as I have drain’d my glass, - All China bursts into flower. - - The Middle Kingdom bursts into life, - A blossoming meadow seeming; - A man I wellnigh become, and my wife - Soon gives me signs of teeming. - - On every side abundance reigns, - The sick no longer need potions; - Confucius, Court-philosopher, gains - Distinct and positive notions. - - The ryebread the soldiers used to eat - Of almond cakes is made now; - The very vagabonds in the street - In silk and satin parade now. - - The knightly Order of Mandarins, - Those weak old invalids, daily - Are gaining strength and filling their skins, - And shaking their pigtails gaily. - - The great pagoda, faith’s symbol prized, - Is ready for those who’re believing; - The last of the Jews are here baptized, - The Dragon’s order receiving. - - The noble Manchoos exclaim, when freed - From the presence of revolution: - “The bastinado is all that we need, - “We want no constitution!” - - The pupils of Æsculapius perhaps - May tell me that drink’s dissipation; - But I continue to drink my Schnaps, - To benefit the nation. - - And so in drinking I persevere; - It tastes like very manna! - My people are happy, and drink their beer - And join in shouting Hosanna! - - - - -18. CHURCH-COUNSELLOR PROMETHEUS. - - Good Sir Paulus,[19] noble robber, - All the gods are on thee gazing - With their brows in anger knitted, - Furious at the theft amazing - - Thou hast practised in Olympus— - Sorry for it they will make thee! - Fear the fate of poor Prometheus - If Jove’s bailiffs overtake thee! - - Worse indeed his theft, because he - Stole the light in heaven dwelling - To enlighten us weak mortals— - _Thou_ didst steal the works of Schelling, - - Just the opposite of light,—nay, - Darkness we can feel and handle - Like the old Egyptian darkness,— - Not one solitary candle! - - - - -19. TO THE WATCHMAN. - -(On a recent occasion.) - - - If heart and style remain still true, - I’ll not object, whatever you do. - My friend, I never will mistake you, - E’en though a Counsellor they make you. - - They now are raising a terrible din - Because you’ve been sworn as a Counsellor in; - From the Seine to the Elbe, regardless of reason, - For months they’ve declaim’d thus against your sad treason: - - His progress onward is changed of late - To progress backward; O, answer us straight-- - On Swabian crabs are you really riding? - Is’t only court-ladies you now take pride in? - - Perchance you are tired, and long for rest; - All night on your horn you’ve been blowing your best - And now on a nail you quietly stow it; - No longer for Germany’s hobby you’ll blow it. - - You lie down in bed, and straightway close - Your eyes, but vainly you seek for repose; - Before the window the mockers salute us: - Awake, Liberator! What! sleeping, Brutus? - - Ah, bawlers like these can never know why - The best of watchmen ceases to cry; - These young braggadocios cannot discover - Why man his exertions at length gives over. - - You ask me how matters are going on here? - No breeze is stirring, the atmosphere’s clear; - The weathercocks all are perplex’d, not discerning - The proper direction in which to be turning. - - - - -20. CONSOLING THOUGHTS. - - - We sleep as Brutus slept of yore,-- - And yet he awoke, and ventured to bore - In Cæsar’s bosom his chilly dagger! - The Romans their tyrants loved to stagger.-- - - No Romans are we, tobacco we smoke, - Each nation its favourite taste can invoke; - Each nation its special merit possesses-- - The finest dumplings Swabia dresses. - - But Germans are we, kindhearted and brave, - We sleep as soundly as though in the grave; - And when we awake, our thirst is excessive, - But not for the blood of tyrants oppressive. - - ’Tis our great pride to be as true - As heart of oak and linden too; - The land which oaks and lindens gives birth to - Can never produce a Brutus of worth too. - - And e’en if amongst us a Brutus were found, - No Cæsar exists in the country round; - Despite all his search, he would find him never,-- - We make good gingerbread however. - - We’ve six-and-thirty masters and lords, - (Not one too many!) who wear their swords - And stars on their regal breasts to protect them; - The Ides of March can never affect them. - - We call them Father, and Fatherland - We call the country they command - By right of descent, and love to call so-- - We love sour-crout and sausages also. - - And when our Father walks in the street - We take off our hats with reverence meet; - Our guileless Germany, injuring no man, - Is not a den of murderers Roman. - - - - -21. THE WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN. - - - The world is topsy-turvy turn’d, - We walk feet-upwards in it; - The woodcocks shoot the sportsmen down, - A dozen in a minute. - - The calves are seen to roast the cook, - On men are riding the horses; - On freedom of teaching and laws of light - The Catholic owl discourses. - - The herring is a sans-culotte, - The truth is told by Bettina, - And puss-in-boots brings Sophocles - On the stage, with learned demeanour. - - An ape for German heroes has built - A Pantheon, for glory zealous;[20] - And Massmann has lately been using a comb, - As German papers tell us. - - The German bears, I grieve to say, - Are atheists unbelieving, - And in their place the parrots of France - The Christian faith are receiving. - - The Moniteur of Uckermark - With equal frenzy seems smitten; - The dead have on the living there - The vilest epitaph written.[21] - - Then let us not swim against the stream, - Good friends! ’twould serve us but badly; - But let us ascend the Templehof hill,[22] - “Long life to the king!” shouting gladly. - - - - -22. ENLIGHTENMENT. - - - - Have the scales that dimm’d thy vision - Fallen, Michael? Canst thou see - How they’re stealing in derision - All the choicest food from thee? - - In return, divine enjoyment - Promise they in realms above, - Where the angels’ sole employment - Is to cook us fleshless love. - - Michael, hath thy faith grown weaker, - Or thy appetite more strong? - Thou dost grasp life’s sparkling beaker, - And thou sing’st a hero-song. - - Fear not, Michael! take thy pleasure - While on earth, and eat what’s good; - When thou’rt dead, thou’lt have full leisure - To digest in peace thy food. - - - - -23. WAIT AWHILE! - - - Because my lightnings are so striking, - You think that I can’t thunder too! - You’re wrong, for I’ve a special liking - For thunder, as I’ll prove to you. - - This will be seen with awful clearness - When the right moment is at hand; - You’ll hear my voice in startling nearness,-- - The word of thunder and command. - - The raging storm will surely shiver - Full many an oak upon that day; - Each palace to its base shall quiver, - And many a steeple proud give way. - - - - -24. NIGHT THOUGHTS. - - - When, Germany, I think of thee - At night, all slumber flies from me; - I cannot close mine eyes for yearning, - And down my cheeks run tears all burning. - - How swiftly speeds each rolling year! - Since I have seen my mother dear - Twelve years have pass’d away; the longer - I wait, my yearning grows the stronger. - - My yearning’s growing evermore; - That woman has bewitch’d me sore! - Dear, dear old woman! with what fervour - I think of her! may God preserve her! - - The dear old thing in me delights, - And in the letters that she writes - I see how much her hand is shaking,-- - Her mother’s heart, how nearly breaking! - - My mother’s ever in my mind; - Twelve long long years are left behind, - Twelve years have follow’d on each other - Since to my heart I clasp’d my mother. - - For ages Germany will stand; - Sound to the core is that dear land! - Its oaks and lindens I shall ever - Find just the same, they alter never. - - For Germany I less should care - If my dear mother were not there; - My fatherland will never perish - But _she_ may die, whom most I cherish. - - Since I my native land saw last, - Into the tomb have many pass’d - Whom I so loved--When of them thinking - How sadly bleeds my spirit sinking! - - I needs must count them,--as I count - My sorrows higher, higher mount; - I feel as though each corpse were lying - Upon my breast--Thank God, they’re flying! - - Thank God! for through the window-pane - France’s clear daylight breaks again; - My fair wife enters, sweetly smiling, - And all my German cares beguiling! - - - - -_NEW SPRING._ - - - - -PROLOGUE. - - - Sometimes when o’er pictures turning - You have seen the man perchance, - Who is for the battle yearning, - Well-equipp’d with shield and lance. - - Yet young loves are hov’ring round him, - Stealing lance and sword away; - They with flow’ry chains have bound him - Though he struggle in dismay. - - I, too, in such charming fetters, - Bind myself with sad delight, - And I leave it to my betters - In time’s mighty fight to fight. - - -1. - - ’Neath the white tree sitting sadly, - Thou dost hear the far winds wailing, - Seëst how the mute clouds o’er thee - Are their forms in mist fast veiling; - - See’st how all beneath seems perish’d, - Wood and plain, how shorn and dreary; - Round thee winter, in thee winter, - Frozen is thy heart and weary. - - Sudden downward fall upon thee - Flakes all white, and with vexation - Thou dost think the tree is show’ring - Snow-dust from that elevation. - - Soon with joyful start thou findest - ’Tis no snow-dust cold and freezing; - Fragrant blossoms ’tis of springtime - Cov’ring thee and fondly teasing. - - What a shudd’ring-sweet enchantment! - Into May is winter turning, - Snow hath changed itself to blossoms, - And thy heart with love is yearning. - - -2. - - In the wood, the verdure’s shooting, - Joy-oppress’d, like some fair maiden; - Yet the sun laughs sweetly downward: - “Welcome, young spring, rapture-laden!” - - Nightingale! I hear thee also, - Piping, blissful-sad and lonely, - Sobbing tones and long-protracted, - And thy song of love is only! - - -3. - - The beauteous eyes of the spring’s fair night - With comfort are downward gazing: - If love hath made thee so small in our sight, - Yet love hath the power of raising. - - Sweet Philomel sits on the linden green, - Her notes melodiously blending; - And as to my soul her song pierceth e’en, - My soul once more is distending. - - -4. - - Which flower I love, I cannot discover; - This grief doth impart. - In every calix I search like a lover, - And seek a heart. - - The flowers smell sweet in the sun’s setting splendour, - The nightingale sings. - I seek for a heart that like my heart is tender, - And like it springs. - - The nightingale sings; his sweet song, void of gladness, - Comes home to my breast; - We’re both so oppress’d and heavy with sadness, - So sad and oppress’d. - - -5. - - Sweet May hath come to love us, - Flowers, trees, their blossoms don; - And through the blue heavens above us - The rosy clouds move on. - - The nightingales are singing - On leafy perch aloft; - The snowy lambs are springing - In clover green and soft. - - I cannot be singing and springing, - Ill in the grass I lie; - I hear a distant ringing, - And dream of days gone by. - - -6. - - Softly through my spirit ring - Blissful tones loved dearly; - Sound, thou little song of spring, - Echoing far and clearly. - - Sound, till thou the home com’st nigh - Of the violet tender; - And when thou a rose dost spy, - Say, my love I send her. - - -7. - - With the rose the butterfly’s deep in love, - A thousand times hovering round; - But round himself, all tender like gold, - The sun’s sweet ray is hovering found. - - With whom is the rose herself in love? - An answer I’d fain receive. - Is it the singing nightingale? - Is it the silent star of eve? - - I know not with whom the rose is in love, - But every one love I: - The rose, the nightingale, sun’s sweet ray, - The star of eve and butterfly. - - -8. - - All the trees with joy are shouting, - All the birds are singing o’er us-- - Tell me, who can be the leader - In this green and forest chorus? - - Can it be the grey old plover, - Wise nods evermore renewing? - Or yon pedant, who is ever - In such measured time coo-coo-ing? - - Can it be yon stork, the grave one, - His director’s airs betraying, - And his long leg rattling loudly, - Whilst the music’s round him playing? - - No, the forest concert’s leader - In my own heart hath his station, - All the while he’s beating time there,-- - Amor is his appellation. - - -9. - - “The nightingale appear’d the first, - “And as her melody she sang, - “The apple into blossom burst, - “To life the grass and violets sprang. - - “She her own bosom then did bite, - “Her red blood flow’d, and from the blood - “A beauteous rose-tree came to light, - “To whom she sings in loving mood. - - “That blood atones for, to this day, - “Us birds within the forest here; - “Yet when the rose-song dies away, - “Will all the wood too disappear.” - - Thus to his youthful brood doth speak - The sparrow in his oaken nest; - His mate pips, while she trims her beak, - And proudly sits and looks her best. - - She is a homely wife and kind, - Broods well, and ne’er is seen to pout; - The father makes his children find - Pastime in studying things devout. - - -10. - - The warm and balmy spring-night’s air - Hath waken’d every flower, - And take I not the greatest care, - My heart must succumb to love’s power. - - But which of all the flowery throng - Is likely most to snare me? - The nightingales say, in their blissful song - Of the lily I ought to beware me. - - -11. - - I’m sore perplex’d, the bells are ringing, - And by my senses I feel forsaken; - The spring and two fair eyes together - Against my heart an oath have taken. - - The spring and two fair eyes together - Lure on my heart to a new illusion; - Methinks the nightingales and roses - Have much to do with all my confusion. - - -12. - - Ah! I yearn for tears all-burning, - Tears of love and gentle woe, - And I tremble lest this yearning - At the last should overflow. - - Ah! love’s pangs, that sweetly languish, - And love’s bitter joy, so blest, - Creep again, with heavenly anguish, - Into my scarce healèd breast. - - -13. - - The eyes of spring, so azure, - Are peeping from the ground; - They are the darling violets, - That I in nosegays bound. - - I pluck them, thinking deeply, - And all the thoughts so dear, - That in my heart are sighing, - The nightingale sings clear. - - Yes, all my thoughts she singeth - And warbleth, echoing far; - So that my tender secrets - Known to the whole wood are. - - -14. - - When thy dress doth gently touch me, - As thou pass’st before my face, - How my heart exults, how wildly - Follows it thy lovely trace! - - Then thou turnest round and gazest - With thy large bright eyes on me, - And my heart doth feel so startled, - That it scarce can follow thee. - - -15. - - The slender water-lily - Peeps dreamingly out of the lake; - The moon, oppress’d with love’s sorrow, - Looks tenderly down for her sake. - - With blushes she bends to the water - Once more her head so sweet-- - Then sees she the poor pale fellow - Lying before her feet. - - -16. - - If thou hast good eyes, and look’st - In my songs, when thou hast tried them, - Thou wilt see a fair young maiden - Wandering up and down inside them. - - If thou hast good ears as well, - Thou canst hear her voice quite clearly, - And her sighing, laughing, singing - Thy poor heart will madden nearly. - - For she will, with look and word, - Thee, like me, make wellnigh crazy: - An enamour’d springtime-dreamer - Thou wilt tread the forest mazy. - - -17. - - What drives thee on, in the spring’s clear night? - Thou hast driven the flowers all mad with fright, - The violets tremble and shiver; - The roses are all with shame so red, - The lilies are death-pale, and hang their head, - They mourn, and falter, and quiver. - - O darling moon, what an innocent race - Those sweet flowers are! They are right in this case, - I really have acted badly; - Yet how could I tell that in wait she would lie, - When I was addressing the stars on high, - With fierce love raving so madly? - - -18. - - Thou sweetly lookest on me - With eyes so blue and meek; - My senses feel all-dreamy, - And not a word can I speak. - - I everywhere am thinking - Of thy blue eyes’ sweet smile; - A sea of blue thoughts is spreading - Over my heart the while. - - -19. - - Once again my heart is vanquish’d, - And my rancour is subsiding; - Once again hath May breath’d on me - Feelings tender and confiding. - - Once more late and early haste I - Through the walks the most frequented, - Under every bonnet seek I - For my fair one’s face lamented. - - Once more at the verdant river - On the bridge I take my station; - Peradventure she will come there, - And will see my desolation. - - In the waterfall’s loud music - Hear I once again soft sighing, - And my gentle heart well knoweth - What the white waves are replying. - - Once again in mazy pathways - am lost in dreamy vision, - And the birds in every thicket - Hold the fond fool in derision. - - -20. - - The rose is fragrant--yet if she divineth - Her own sweet fragrance, if the nightingale - Herself feels what round man’s soul softly twineth, - When echoes her sweet song across the vale,-- - - I cannot tell. Yet man is with vexation - Oft fill’d by truth. If nightingale and rose - The feeling only feign’d, the fabrication - Would still be useful, we may well suppose. - - -21. - - Because I love thee, be not scornful, - If, flying, I avoid thy face; - How ill accords my visage mournful - With thine, so fair and full of grace! - - Because I love thee, every feature - Grows pale and thinner day by day; - Thou’lt find me but a hideous creature,-- - I’ll shun thee,--be not scornful, pray. - - -22. - - I wander ’mid the flowers, - And blossom with them too; - I wander as in vision, - And at each step totter anew. - - O hold me fast, my loved one, - Or at thy feet I’ll fall, - With love intoxicated, - In the garden, in presence of all! - - -23. - - As the moon’s fair image quaketh - In the raging waves of ocean, - Whilst she, in the vault of heaven, - Moves with silent peaceful motion, - Thus, beloved one, thou art moving, - Still and peaceful, and nought quaketh - In my heart save thy dear image, - While my own heart ’tis that shaketh. - - -24. - - The hearts of us two, my loved one, - A Holy Alliance have made; - They well understood each other, - When close together laid. - - Alas! the rose so youthful - That decks thy gentle breast, - Our poor ally and associate, - To death was wellnigh press’d. - - -25. - - Tell me who first taught clocks to chime, - Made minutes, hours, divisions of time? - It was a cold and sorrowful elf; - He sat in the winter-night, wrapp’d in himself, - And counted the mouse’s squeakings mysterious, - And the wood-worm’s regular tick so serious. - - Tell me who first did kisses suggest? - It was a mouth all glowing and blest; - It kiss’d and it thought of nothing beside. - The fair month of May was then in its pride, - The flowers were all from the earth fast springing, - The sun was laughing, the birds were singing. - - -26. - - How the pinks are breathing fragrance! - How the thronging stars so tender, - Golden bee like, sadly glimmer - ’Mid the heaven’s blue-violet splendour! - - Through the gloom of yonder chestnuts - Gleams the manse, so white and stately, - And I hear the glass door rattling - While the dear voice thrills me greatly. - - Sweet alarm and blissful tremor, - Soft embraces, terror-bringing-- - And the youthful rose is list’ning, - And the nightingales are singing. - - -27. - - Have I not the self-same vision - Dreamt before of all these blisses? - Were there not these same elysian - Looks of love, and flowers, and kisses? - - By the stream the moon was peeping - Through the foliage of our bower; - Marble-gods still watch were keeping - At the entrance in that hour. - - Ah! I know how soon is over - Every sweet and blissful vision, - How the snow’s cold dress doth cover - Heart and tree in sad derision. - - How e’en we are fast congealing, - Careless, and no love possessing, - We, who’re now so softly feeling, - Heart to heart so softly pressing! - - -28. - - Kisses that one steals in darkness, - And in darkness then returns-- - How such kisses fire the spirit, - If with honest love it burns! - - Pensive, and with fond remembrance, - Then the spirit loves to dwell - Much on days that long have vanish’d, - Much on future days as well. - - Yet methinks that too much thinking - Dang’rous is, if kiss we will;-- - Weep, then, rather, darling spirit, - For to weep is easier still. - - -29. - - There was an aged monarch, - His heart was sad, his head was grey; - This poor and aged monarch - A young wife married one day. - - There was a handsome page, too, - Fair was his hair, and light his mien; - The silken train he carried - Of the aforesaid young Queen. - - Dost know the ancient ballad? - It sounds so sweet, it sounds so sad - They both of them must perish, - For too much affection they had. - - -30. - - In my remembrance blossom - The images long forsaken-- - Within thy voice what is there - By which so deeply I’m shaken? - - Say not that thou dost love me! - I know that earth’s fairest treasure, - Sweet love and happy spring time, - ’Twould shame beyond all measure. - - Say not that thou dost love me! - A silent kiss I’ll bestow thee; - Then smile, when I to-morrow - The withered roses show thee. - - -31. - - “Linden blossoms drunk with moonlight - “Fly about in fragrant showers, - “And the nightingale’s sweet music - “Fills the air and leafy bowers. - - “Ah! how sweet it is, my loved one, - “‘Neath these lindens to be sitting, - “When the glimm’ring golden moonbeams - “Through the fragrant leaves are flitting. - - “If thou lookest on the lime-leaf, - “Thou a heart’s form wilt discover; - “Therefore are the lindens ever - “Chosen seats of each fond lover. - - “Yet thou smilest, as though buried - “In far distant visions yearning-- - “Speak, belovèd, all the wishes - “That in thy dear heart are burning.” - - Ah, my darling! I will tell thee - Whence my thoughts proceed, and whither: - Fain I’d see the chilly north-wind - Sudden bring white snowstorms hither. - - So that we, with furs well cover’d, - And in gaudy sledges riding, - Cracking whips, with bells loud ringing, - Might o’er stream and plain be gliding. - - -32. - - Through the forest, in the moonlight, - I the elves saw riding proudly; - And I heard their trumpets sounding, - And I hear their bells ring loudly. - - Their white horses had upon them - Golden staghorns, whilst proceeding - Swiftly on--like flights of wild swans - Through the air the train was speeding. - - Smilingly the queen bent tow’rds me, - Smiling, as the band rode by me; - Is’t a sign that new love’s coming, - Or a sign that death is nigh me? - - -33. - - In the morning send I violets, - Early in the wood discover’d, - And at evening bring I roses - Pluck’d while twilight’s hour still hover’d. - - Knowest thou the hidden language - By these lovely flowerets spoken? - Truth by day-time, love at night-time-- - ’Tis of this that they’re the token! - - -34. - - Thy letter, sent to prove me, - Inflicts no sense of wrong; - No longer wilt thou love me,-- - Thy letter, though, is long. - - Twelve sides, to tell thy views all! - A manuscript, in fact! - In giving a refusal - Far otherwise we act. - - -35. - - Care not, if my love I’m telling - Unto all the world around, - When my mouth, thy beauty praising, - Full of metaphor is found. - - Underneath a wood of flowers, - Lies in shelter safe below, - All that deep and glowing secret, - All that deep and secret glow. - - If suspicious sparks should issue - From the roses,--fearless be! - This dull world in flames believes not, - But believes them poetry. - - -36. - - Day and night alike the springtime - Makes with sounding life all-teeming; - Like a verdant echo can it - Enter even in my dreaming. - - Then the birds sing yet more sweetly - Than before, and softer breezes - Fill the air, the violet’s fragrance - With still wilder yearning pleases. - - E’en the roses blossom redder, - And a child-like golden glory - Bear they, like the heads of angels - In the pictures of old story. - - And myself I almost fancy - Some sweet nightingale, when singing - Of my love to those fair roses, - Wondrous songs my vision bringing-- - - Till I’m waken’d by the sunlight, - Or by that delicious bustle - Of the nightingales of springtime - That before my window rustle. - - -37. - - Stars with golden feet are wand’ring - Yonder, and they gently weep - That they cannot earth awaken, - Who in night’s arms is asleep. - - List’ning stand the silent forests, - Every leaf an ear doth seem! - How its shadowy arm the mountain - Stretcheth out, as though in dream. - - What call’d yonder? In my bosom - Rings the echo of the tone. - Was it my beloved one speaking, - Or the nightingale alone? - - -38. - - The spring is solemn, mournful only - Are all its dreams, each flower appears - Weigh’d down by grief, the song all-lonely - Of Philomel wakes secret tears. - - O smile thou not, my darling beauty, - O smile not, full of charming grace! - But weep, that it may be my duty - To kiss a tear from off thy face. - - -39. - - Once more from that fond heart I’m driven - Which I so dearly love, so madly; - Once more from that fond heart I’m driven-- - Beside it would I linger gladly. - - The chariot rolls, the bridge is quaking, - The stream beneath it flows so sadly; - Once more the joys am I forsaking - Of that fond heart I love so madly. - - In heav’n rush on the starry legions, - As though before my sorrow flying-- - Sweet one, farewell! in distant regions - My heart for thee will still be sighing. - - -40. - - My cherish’d wishes blossom, - And wither again at a breath, - And blossom again and wither, - And so on until death. - - This know I, and it saddens - All love and joy, once so blest; - My heart is so wise and witty, - And bleeds away in my breast. - - -41. - - Like an old man’s face confounded - Is the sky so broad and airy, - Red, one-eyed, and close surrounded - By the grey clouds’ locks all hairy - When upon the earth it gazes, - Flower and bud grow pale and sickly; - Love and song in all their phases - Fade away from men’s minds quickly. - - -42. - - With sullen thoughts in chilly bosom cherish’d, - I travel sullen through the world so cold; - The autumn’s end hath come, a humid mist doth hold - Deep veil’d from sight the country drear and perish’d. - - The winds are piping, hither, thither bending - The red-tinged leaves, that from the trees fall fast, - The bare plain steams, the wood sighs ’neath the blast, - The worst of all comes next--the rain’s descending! - - -43. - - Late autumnal mists all-dripping - Spread o’er hill and valley fair; - Storms the trees of leaves are stripping, - And they ghostly look, and bare. - - But one single sad tree only - Silent and unstripp’d is seen; - Moist with tears of woe, and lonely, - Shaketh he his head still green. - - Ah! this waste my heart displayeth, - And the tree, still full of life, - Summer-green, thy form portrayeth, - Much beloved and beauteous wife! - - -44. - - Grey’s the sky and every-day like, - And the town still looks afflicted; - Ever weak and castaway like, - In the Elbe its form’s depicted. - - Long each nose is, and its blowing - Tedious an affair as ever; - All with pride are overflowing, - Both at pomp and cringing clever. - - Beauteous South! O, how adore I - All thy gods, thy sky’s sweet blisses, - Since these human dregs once more I - See, and weather foul as this is! - - - - -PICTURES OF TRAVEL - - - - -_THE RETURN HOME._ - -1823-4. - - -1. - - On my life, a life of darkness, - Once a vision sweet shone bright; - Now that vision sweet hath faded, - And I’m veil’d in utter night. - - When in darkness children wander, - Soon their spirits die away, - And to overcome their terror, - Some loud song straight carol they. - - I, a foolish child, am singing - In the darkness spread around; - Though my song may give no pleasure, - Yet mine anguish it hath drown’d. - - -2. - - In vain would I seek to discover - Why sad and mournful am I; - My thoughts without ceasing brood over - A tale of the times gone by. - - The air is cool, and it darkleth, - And calmly flows the Rhine; - The peak of the mountain sparkleth, - While evening’s sun doth shine. - - Yon sits a wondrous maiden - On high, a maiden fair; - With bright golden jewels all-laden, - She combs her golden hair. - - She combs it with comb all-golden, - And sings the while a song; - How strange is that melody olden, - As loudly it echoes along! - - It fills with wild terror the sailor - At sea in his tiny skiff; - He looks but on high, and grows paler, - Nor sees the rock-girded cliff. - - The waves will the bark and its master - At length swallow up, then methought - ’Tis Lore-ley who this disaster - With her false singing hath wrought. - - -3. - - My heart, my heart is mournful, - Yet May is gleaming like gold; - I stand, ’gainst the linden reclining, - High over the bastion old. - - Beneath, the moat’s blue water - Flows peacefully along; - A boy his bark is steering, - And fishes, and pipes his song. - - Beyond, in pleasing confusion, - In distant and chequer’d array, - Are men, and villas, and gardens, - And cattle, woods, meadows so gay. - - The maidens are bleaching the linen, - And spring on the grass, like deer - The mill-wheel’s powd’ring diamonds, - Its distant murmur I hear. - - Beside the old grey tower - A sentry-box is set; - A red-accoutred fellow - Walks up and down there yet. - - He’s playing with his musket, - While gleameth the sun o’erhead; - He first presents and shoulders-- - I would that he’d shoot me dead! - - -4. - - With tears through the forest I wander, - The throstle’s sitting on high; - She, springing, sings softly yonder: - O wherefore dost thou sigh? - - “Sweet bird, thy sister the swallow - “Can tell thee the cause of my gloom; - “She dwells in a nest all hollow, - “Beside my sweetheart’s room.” - - -5. - - The night is damp and stormy, - No star is in the sky; - In the wood, ’neath the rustling branches - In silence wander I. - - A distant light is twinkling - From the hunter’s lonely cot; - But within, the scene is but saddening, - And the light can allure me not. - - The blind old grandmother’s sitting - In her leather elbow-chair, - All-gloomily fix’d like a statue, - Not a word escapeth her there. - - With curses to and fro paces - The forester’s red-headed son; - With fury and scorn he’s laughing, - As he throws ’gainst the wall his gun. - - The fair spinning-maiden’s weeping, - And moistens the flax with her tears; - The father’s terrier, whining, - Curl’d up at her feet appears. - - -6. - - When I, on my travels, by hazard, - My sweetheart’s family found, - Her sister and father and mother,-- - They gave me a welcome all round. - - When they for my health had inquired, - They added, all of a breath, - That they thought me quite unalter’d, - Though my face was pale as death. - - I ask’d for their aunts and their cousins, - And many a tiresome friend; - I ask’d for the little puppy - Whose soft bark knew no end. - - And then for my married sweetheart - I ask’d, as if just call’d to mind, - And they answer’d, in friendly fashion, - That she had but just been confin’d. - - I gave them my very best wishes, - And lovingly begg’d them apart - That they’d give her a thousand greetings - From the bottom of my heart. - - Then cried the little sister: - “The small and gentle hound - Grew to be big and savage, - And in the Rhine was drown’d.” - - That little one’s like my sweetheart, - _So_ like when she wears a smile! - Her eyes are the same as her sister’s - Which caus’d all my mis’ry the while. - - -7. - - We sat by the fisherman’s cottage, - O’er ocean cast our eye; - Then came the mists of evening, - And slowly rose on high. - - The lamps within the light-house - Were kindled, light by light, - And in the farthest distance - A ship was still in sight. - - We spoke of storm and shipwreck, - And of the sailor’s strange life, - ’Twixt sky and water, ’twixt terror - And joy in endless strife. - - We spoke of distant regions, - Of North and South spoke we, - The many strange races yonder, - And customs, strange to see. - - The air on the Ganges is balmy, - And giant-trees extend, - And fair and silent mortals - Before the lotos bend. - - In Lapland, the people are dirty, - Flat-headed, broad-mouthèd, and small; - They squat round the fire, bake fishes, - And squeak, and speak shrilly, and squall. - - The maidens earnestly listen’d, - At length not a word was said; - The ship from sight had vanish’d, - For darkness o’er all things was spread. - - -8. - - Thou pretty fisher-maiden, - Quick, push thy bark to land; - Come hither, and sit beside me, - And toy with me, hand in hand. - - Recline thy head on my bosom, - Nor be so fearful of me; - Thou trustest thyself, void of terror, - Each day to the raging sea. - - My heart is like the ocean, - Hath tempest, ebb, and flow, - And many pearls full precious - Lie in its depths below. - - -9. - - The moon hath softly risen, - And o’er the waves doth smile; - Mine arms hold my sweetheart in prison, - Our hearts both swelling the while. - - Blest in her sweet embraces - I calmly repose on the strand: - Hear’st thou aught in the wind as it races? - Why shrinks thy snow-white hand? - - “O, ’tis not the tempest’s commotion, - “’Tis the song of the mermaids below; - “’Tis the voice of my sisters, whom Ocean - “Swallow’d up in its depths long ago.” - - -10. - - On the clouds doth rest the moon, - Like a giant-orange gleaming; - Broad her streaks, with golden rays - O’er the dusky ocean beaming. - - Lonely roam I by the strand - While the billows white are breaking; - Many sweet words hear I there, - From the water’s depths awaking. - - Ah! the night is long, full long, - And my heart must break its slumbers; - Beauteous nymphs, come forth to light, - Dance! and sing your magic numbers! - - To your bosom take my head, - Soul and body I surrender! - Sing me dead, caress me dead, - Drain my life with kisses tender. - - -11. - - In their grey-hued clouds envelop’d, - Now the mighty gods are sleeping; - And I listen to their snoring, - Stormy weather o’er us creeping. - - Stormy weather! Raging tempests - On the poor ship bring disaster; - On these winds who’ll place a bridle,-- - On these waves that own no master? - - I the storm can never hinder, - Nor the mast and planks from creaking, - So I wrap me in my mantle, - Like the gods for slumber seeking. - - -12. - - The wind puts on its breeches again, - Its white and watery breeches; - It flogs each billow with might and main, - Till it howls and rushes and pitches. - - From the darksome height, with furious might - Pours the rain in wild commotion; - It seems as though the ancient Night - Would drown the ancient Ocean. - - To the ship’s high mast the sea-mew clings, - With hoarse and shrill shrieking and yelling; - In anxious-wise she flutters her wings, - Approaching disasters foretelling. - - -13. - - The storm strikes up for dancing, - It blusters, pipes, roars with delight; - Hurrah, how the bark is springing! - How merry and wild is the night! - - A living watery mountain - The raging sea builds tow’rd the sky; - A gloomy abyss here is gaping, - There, mounts a white tower on high. - - A vomiting, cursing, and praying - From the cabin bursts forth ’mid the roar; - I cling to the mast for protection, - And wish I was safely on shore. - - -14. - - ’Tis evening, darker ’tis getting, - Mist veils the sea from the eye; - The waves are mysteriously fretting, - White shadows are rising on high. - - From the billows the mermaid arises, - And sits herself near me on shore; - The veil which her figure disguises - Her snow-white bosom peeps o’er. - - She warmly doth caress me, - And takes my breath away: - Too closely dost thou press me, - Thou lovely water-fay! - - “My arms thus closely caress thee, - “I clasp thee with all my might; - “In hope of warmth do I press thee, - “For cold indeed is the night.” - - The moon from her dusky cloister - Of clouds, sheds a paler ray; - Thine eye grows sadder and moister - Thou lovely water-fay! - - “No sadder nor moister ’tis growing, - “Mine eye is moist and wet, - “For when from the wave I was going, - “A drop remain’d in it yet.” - - The sea-mew mourns shrilly, while ocean - Is growling and heaving its spray; - Thy heart throbs with raging emotion, - Thou lovely water-fay! - - “My heart throbs with raging emotion, - “Emotion raging and wild; - “For I love thee with speechless devotion, - “Thou darling human child!” - - -15. - - When I before thy dwelling - At morning happen to be, - I rejoice, my little sweet one, - When thee at thy window I see. - - With thy dark-brown eyes so piercing - My figure thou dost scan: - Who art thou, and what ails thee, - Thou strange and sickly man? - - “I am a German poet, - “Well known in the German land; - “When the best names in it are reckon’d, - “My name amongst them will stand. - - “My little one, that which ails me - “Ails crowds in the German land; - “When the fiercest sorrows are reckon’d, - “My sorrows amongst them will stand.” - - -16. - - The gleam o’er the ocean had faded not, - While the eve’s last rays were flitting; - We sat by the lonely fisherman’s cot, - Alone and in silence sitting. - - The waters swell’d, while the mist rose above, - The restless sea-mew was screaming; - From out thine eyes, so full of love, - The tears were quickly streaming. - - I saw them falling on thy fair hand, - And on my knees soon sank I, - And then from off thy snow-white hand - The tears with rapture drank I. - - Since that hour, my body hath fast decay’d, - My soul is dying with yearning; - I was poison’d, alas! by the hapless maid - With her falling tears so burning. - - -17. - - Up high on yonder mountain - Stands a stately castle alone, - Where dwell three beauteous maidens, - Whose love in turns I have known. - - On Saturday Harriet kiss’d me, - While Sunday was Julia’s right; - On Monday Cunigund follow’d, - Who well nigh stifled me quite. - - To hold a fête in the castle - On Tuesday my maidens agreed; - The neighbouring lords and ladies - All came with carriage or steed. - - But I was never invited, - To your great wonder, no doubt; - The whispering aunts and cousins - Observ’d it, and laugh’d right out. - - -18. - - On the dim and far horizon - Appeareth, misty and pale, - The city, with all its towers, - In evening twilight’s veil. - - A humid gust is ruffling - The path o’er the waters dark; - With mournful measure, the sailor - Is rowing my tiny bark. - - The sun once more ariseth, - And over the earth gleams he, - And shows me the spot out yonder - Where my loved one was lost to me. - - -19. - - All hail to thee, thou stately - Mysterious town, all hail, - Who erst within thy bosom - My loved one’s form didst veil! - - O say, ye towers and gateways, - O where can my loved one be? - To your keeping of yore was she trusted, - And ye must her bail be to me. - - The towers, in truth, are guiltless, - From their places they could not come down, - When she, with her trunks and boxes, - So hastily went from the town. - - The gates, however, they suffer’d - My darling to slip through them straight; - A gate is ever found willing - To let a fool “gang her ain gait.”[23] - - -20. - - Once more my steps through the olden path - And the well-known streets are taken, - Until I come to my loved one’s house, - So empty now and forsaken. - - How narrow and close the streets appear! - How nauseous the smell of the plaster! - The houses seem tumbling down on my head, - So I haste away, fearing disaster. - - -21. - - Once more through the halls I pass’d - Where her troth to me was plighted; - On the spot where her tears fell fast - A serpent’s brood had alighted. - - -22. - - The night is still, and the streets are deserted, - In this house my love had her dwelling of yore; - ’Tis long since she from the city departed, - Yet her house still stands on the spot as before. - - There stands, too, a man, who stares up at her casement, - And wrings his hands with the weight of his woes; - I look on his face with shudd’ring amazement,-- - The moon doth the form of myself disclose. - - Thou pallid fellow, thou worthless double! - Why dare to mimic my love’s hard lot, - Which many a night gave me grief and trouble - In former days, on this very spot? - - -23. - - How canst thou sleep in quiet, - And know that I’m still alive? - I burst the yoke that’s upon me, - When my olden wrath doth revive. - - Dost know the ancient ballad: - How of yore a dead stripling brave - At midnight came to his loved one, - And carried her down to his grave. - - Believe me, thou wondrous beauty, - Thou wondrously lovely maid, - I’m alive still, and feel far stronger - Than the whole of the dead’s brigade! - - -24. - - “The maiden’s asleep in her chamber, - “In peeps the quivering moon; - “Outside is a singing and jingling, - “As though to a waltz’s tune. - - “I needs must look through my window, - “To see who’s disturbing my rest; - “There stands a skeleton ghastly - “Who’s fiddling and singing his best: - - “Thy hand for the dance thou didst pledge me, - “And then thy promise didst break; - “To-night there’s a ball in the churchyard, - “Come with me, the dance to partake. - - “He forcibly seizes the maiden, - “And lures her from out her abode; - “She follows the skeleton wildly, - “Who fiddles and sings on the road. - - “He hops and he skips and he fiddles, - “His bones they rattle away; - “With his skull he keeps nidding and nodding, - “By the moonlight’s glimmering ray.” - - -25. - - I stood, while sadly mused I, - And her likeness closely did scan, - And her belovèd features - To glow with life began. - - Around her lips there gather’d - A sweet and wondrous smile, - And as through tears of sorrow - Her clear eyes shone the while. - - And then my tears responsive - Adown my cheeks did pour-- - And ah! I scarce can believe it, - That I’ve lost thee evermore. - - -26. - - Unhappy Atlas that I am! I’m doom’d - To bear a world, a very world of sorrows; - Unbearable’s the load I bear, and e’en - The heart within me’s breaking. - - O thou proud heart! thy doing ’twas indeed, - Thou wouldst be happy, utterly be happy, - Or utterly be wretched, O proud heart, - And now in truth thou’rt wretched! - - -27. - - The years are coming and going, - To the grave whole races descend, - And yet the love in my bosom - Shall never wax fainter or end. - - O could I but once more behold thee, - Before thee sink down on my knee, - And die, as these words I utter: - Dear Madam, I love but thee! - - -28. - - I dreamt: the quivering moon gleam’d above, - And the stars cast a mournful ray; - I was borne to the town where dwelleth my love, - Many hundred miles away - And when I arrived at her dwelling so blest, - I kiss’d the stones of the stair, - Which her little foot so often had press’d, - And the train of her garment fair. - - The night was long, the night was chill, - And cold were the stones that night; - Her pallid form from the window-sill - Look’d down in the moonbeam’s light. - - -29. - - What means this tear all-lonely - That troubles now my gaze? - Of olden times the offspring - Still in mine eye it stays. - - It had its shining sisters, - Who all have faded from sight, - With all my joys and sorrows, - Yea, faded in storm and night. - - Like clouds have also fleeted - The stars so blue and mild, - Which into my yearning bosom - Those joys and sorrows once smiled. - - Ah! even my love’s devotion - Like idle breath did decay; - Thou old, old tear all-lonely, - Do thou, too, pass away! - - -30. - - The pallid autumnal half-moon - Looks down from the clouds on high; - The parsonage, silent and lonely, - By the side of the churchyard doth lie. - - The mother is reading her Bible, - The son on the light turns his eyes, - All-sleepy, the elder daughter - Doth stretch, while the younger thus cries: - - “Good heavens, how dreadfully tedious - “The days are! I’m quite in despair! - “’Tis only when there’s a burial - “One sees aught of life, I declare! - - The mother then says, midst her reading: - “You’re mistaken, four only have died - “Since the time when they buried your father - “By the gate of the churchyard outside.” - - The elder daughter says gaping: - “I’ll starve no longer with you; - “I’ll go to the Count to-morrow, - “He’s rich and he loves me too.” - - The son bursts out into laughter: - “At the tavern drink huntsmen three; - “They’re making money, and gladly - “Would teach the secret to me.” - - The mother then throws her Bible - Full hard in his lanky face: - “Wouldst thou dare, thou accursed of heaven, - “As a robber thy friends to disgrace?” - - They hear a knock at the window, - And see a beckoning hand; - And behold, outside the dead father - In his black preaching-garment doth stand. - - -31. - - The weather is bad and stormy, - With rain and tempest and snow; - I sit at the window, gazing - On the gloomy darkness below. - - One single light I see glimm’ring - That slowly moves in the street; - ’Tis a woman holding a lantern, - And walking with tottering feet. - - I expect that she’s making a purchase - Of meal and butter and eggs; - ’Tis to bake a cake for her daughter - That she is out now on her legs. - - The daughter’s at home in the arm-chair - And sleepily looks at the light, - Her golden locks stray over - Her face so lovely and bright. - - -32. - - ’Tis thought that I am tormented, - By love’s bitter sorrow distress’d, - And at length I myself believe it - As well as all the rest. - - Thou great-eyed little maiden, - I ever have whisper’d apart: - I love thee beyond expression, - While love is gnawing my heart. - - ’Twas but in my lonely chamber - That I dared my love to proclaim, - And, ah! I have ever been silent, - When into thy presence I came. - - When there, the evil angels - Appear’d, and my lips they held; - And, ah! ’tis by evil angels - That my joy hath now been dispell’d. - - -33. - - O thy tender lily-fingers, - Could I once again but kiss them, - Press them softly to my heart, - And then die in silent weeping! - - O thy violet eyes so radiant - Hover near me day and night, - And I’m troubled: what forebodeth - All this sweet, this blue enigma? - - -34. - - “Hath she then no word e’er spoken - “Of thy passion, hapless lover? - “In her sweet eyes couldst thou never - “Signs of answering love discover? - - “Through her sweet eyes couldst thou never - “Reach her soul, and so get at her? - “Yet thou art not thought a blockhead, - “Worthy friend, in such a matter.” - - -35. - - They loved each other, but neither - Would be the first to confess; - Like foes, they gaz’d at each other, - And would die of their love’s distress. - - They parted at length, and thereafter, - Except in vision, ne’er met; - From life they long have departed, - And scarcely know of it yet. - - -36. - - And when I to you my grief did confide, - You only yawn’d, and nothing replied; - But when I reduced my sorrow to rhyme, - You praised me greatly, and call’d it sublime. - - -37. - - I call’d the devil, and he came, - And with wonder his form did I closely scan; - He is not ugly, and is not lame, - But really a handsome and charming man. - A man in the prime of life is the devil, - Obliging, a man of the world, and civil; - A diplomatist too, well skill’d in debate, - He talks right glibly of church and state. - He’s rather pale, but it’s really not strange, - For his studies through Sanskrit and Hegel range. - Fouqué is still his favourite poet; - But criticism he’ll touch no more, - But has handed that subject entirely o’er - To his grandmother Hecate, that she may know it. - My juridical works did he kindly praise, - His favourite hobby in former days. - He said that my friendship was not too dear, - And then he nodded, and look’d severe, - And afterwards asked if it wasn’t the case - We had met at the Spanish ambassador’s rout? - And when I look’d him full in the face - I saw him to be an old friend without doubt. - - -38. - - Man, revile not thou the devil, - For the path of life is short, - And damnation everlasting - Is too true, not mere report. - - Man, pay all the debts thou owest, - For the path of life is long, - And thou’lt often have to borrow - Just as usual, right or wrong. - - -39. - - The three holy kings from the Eastern land - Inquired in every city: - Where goeth the road to Bethlehem, - Ye boys and maidens pretty? - - The young and the old, they could not tell, - The kings went onward discreetly; - They follow’d the track of a golden star, - That sparkled brightly and sweetly. - - The star stood still over Joseph’s house, - And they enter’d the dwelling lowly; - The oxen bellow’d, the infant cried, - While sang the three kings holy. - - -40. - - My child, we once were children, - Two children, little and gay; - We crawl’d inside the henhouse, - And hid in the straw in play. - - We crow’d as the cocks are accustom’d, - And when the people came by, - “Cock-a-doodle-doo!”--and they fancied - ’Twas really the cock’s shrill cry. - - The chests within our courtyard - With paper we nicely lined, - And in them lived together, - In a dwelling quite to our mind. - - The aged cat of our neighbour - Came oft to visit us there; - We made her our bows and our curtsies, - And plenty of compliments fair. - - For her health we used to inquire - In language friendly and soft; - Since then we have ask’d the same question - Of many old cats full oft. - - We used to sit, while we wisely - Discoursed, in the way of old men, - And lamented that all was better - In the olden days than then; - - How love and truth and religion - From out of the world had fled, - How very dear was the coffee, - How scarce was the gold, we said. - - Those childish sports have vanish’d, - And all is fast rolling away; - The world, and the times, and religion, - And gold, love, and truth all decay. - - -41. - - My heart is sore oppress’d, with sighing - I think upon the days of yore; - The world was then in calmness lying, - And men were peaceful evermore. - - All now is changed, in mournful chorus - Want and confusion round us spread; - The Lord seems dead that erst rul’d o’er us - Beneath us, is the Devil dead. - - All now appears so drear and sadden’d, - Decay’d and cold, of joy bereft, - That, were we not by love still gladden’d, - No single resting-place were left. - - -42. - - As the gleaming moon is piercing - Through the darksome clouds above, - So from out time’s darksome mirror - Peeps a vision full of love. - - All upon the deck were sitting, - Proudly sailing down the Rhine, - And the shores, in summer verdure, - In the setting sun did shine. - - Thoughtfully was I reclining, - Bent before a lovely maid; - In her beauteous, pallid features - Lo, the golden sunlight play’d. - - Lutes were sounding, youths were singing, - Wondrous was our joy that day; - And the heavens became still bluer, - And our souls soar’d high away. - - Hills and castles, woods and meadows, - Like a vision fleeted by, - And I saw them all reflected - In the lovely maiden’s eye. - - -43. - - In vision saw I my loved one - A worn, sad woman one day; - Her once so-blooming figure - Had wither’d and fallen away. - - A child in her arms she carried, - By the hand another she led, - And grief and poverty plainly - In her walk, looks, and garments I read. - - Across the market she totter’d, - And then did I meet her eye; - She looked upon me, and gently - I spake to her thus, with a sigh: - - “Come with me to my dwelling, - “For thou art pale and ill, - “And food and drink I’ll earn thee - “By industry and skill. - - “I’ll also nourish and cherish - “The children that with thee I see; - “But, my child so poor and unhappy, - “I’ll care the most for thee. - - “I never will remind thee - “That I loved thee so dearly of yore, - “And when at length thou diest, - “I’ll weep at thy grave full sore.” - - -44. - - “Friend! why always thus endeavour - “To repeat the same old story? - “Wilt thou brooding sit for ever - “On love’s eggs grown old and hoary? - - “Ah! ’tis but the usual custom, - “Chickens from the shells are crawling; - “In a book thou seek’st to thrust ’em, - “While they’re fluttering and calling!” - - -45. - - Prythee, be not thou impatient - If there still are loudly ringing - Many of my old sad numbers - In the newest songs I’m singing. - - Wait awhile, and soon the echo - Will have died away of sorrow, - And a new-born song-spring softly - From the heal’d heart shoot to-morrow. - - -46. - - ’Tis now full time that my folly I drop, - And return to sober reason; - This comedy now ’twere better to stop - That we’ve played for so long a season. - - In a gay and highly romantic style - The gorgeous coulisses were painted; - My knight’s cloak glitter’d, while I was the while - With the finest sensations acquainted. - - And now that I, while more sober I grow, - Am against this toying inveighing, - I feel that I’m still as wretched as though - A comedy still I were playing. - - Alas! unconsciously and in jest - Of my feelings was I the narrator; - And I’ve play’d, with my own death in my breast, - The dying gladiator. - - -47. - - The monarch Wiswamitra, - Is restlessly striving now; - He must needs, by fighting and penance, - Obtain Wasischta’s cow. - - O monarch Wiswamitra, - O what an ox art thou, - To have all this fighting and penance, - And all for nought but a cow! - - -48. - - Let not grief, my heart, come o’er thee - Bear thy lot with faith unshaken, - For what winter may have taken - Will returning spring restore thee. - - And how much remaineth over! - And how fair the world is still! - And, my heart, if ’tis thy will, - Thou of All mayst be the lover! - - -49. - - A flow’ret thou resemblest, - So pure and fair and blest; - But when I view thee, sorrow - Straight creepeth to my breast. - - I feel as though inspired - My hands on thy head to lay, - And pray that God may keep thee - So blest, fair, pure, for aye. - - -50. - - Child! it would be thy perdition, - And the greatest pains I’ve taken - Ne’er within thy fond heart tow’rd me - Loving feelings to awaken. - - Now that I’ve so soon succeeded, - To my vow I’m wellnigh faithless, - And this thought steals o’er me often: - Would that thou could’st love me nathless. - - -51. - - When on my couch I’m lying - In night and pillows conceal’d, - A sweet and charming image - Before me stands reveal’d. - - As soon as silent slumber - Hath closed mine eyes in sleep, - Into my dream this image - Doth softly, gently creep. - - Yet with the dream of morning - It ne’er doth melt away, - For in mine inmost bosom - I bear it all the day. - - -52. - - Maiden with the mouth so rosy, - With the eyes so sweet and bright, - O my darling little maiden, - I of thee think day and night. - - Long is now the winter evening, - Fain would I disperse its gloom, - Sitting by thee, talking with thee - In thy trusty little room. - - To my lips I’d fain be pressing - Thy dear little snowy hand, - With my falling tears caressing - Thy dear little snowy hand. - - -53. - - Though outside snow-piles are forming, - Though ’tis hailing, though ’tis storming, - Rattling ’gainst the window-pane, - Nevermore will I complain, - For within my breast I bear - Spring-joys and love’s image fair. - - -54. - - Some make prayers to the Madonna, - Others unto Paul and Peter; - Thee alone, of suns the fairest, - Thee alone will I e’er honour. - - Let me be with kisses laden, - Be thou kindly, be thou gracious, - ’Mongst all maidens sun the fairest, - ’Neath the sun the fairest maiden! - - -55. - - Did not my pallid face betray - My loving woe unto thee? - And wilt thou that my haughty mouth - With begging words shall woo thee? - - Alas! this mouth is far too proud, - ’Twas made but for kissing and sighing; - Perchance it may speak a scornful word, - While I with sorrow am dying. - - -56. - - Worthy friend, thou’rt deep in love, - And beneath new pangs thou’rt fretting; - Darker grows it in thy head, - In thy heart ’tis lighter getting. - - Worthy friend, thou’rt deep in love, - And thou fain would’st hide thy yearning - Yet I see thy heart’s fierce glow - Through thy waistcoat hotly burning. - - -57. - - I fain would linger by thee, - And rest beside thee too; - Away thou needs must hie thee, - Thou hast so much to do. - - I said that I surrender’d - My very soul to thee; - An answering bow was tender’d, - Thou laughedst full of glee. - - Thou cruelly didst use me, - And treat my love amiss; - At last thou didst refuse me - The usual parting kiss. - - Don’t think that I deem it my duty - To shoot myself any the more; - For all of this, my beauty, - Has happen’d to me before. - - -58. - - A pair of sapphires are thine eyes, - So clear, so sweetly roving; - O three times happy is the man - Whom those fair eyes are loving. - - Thy heart, it is a diamond, - A sparkling radiance throwing; - O three times happy is the man - For whom with love ’tis glowing. - - Thy lips are very rubies bright, - One never can see fairer; - O three times happy is the man - Who of their love is sharer. - - O did I know the happy man! - O could I unattended - Within the green wood meet with him,-- - His luck would soon be ended! - - -59. - - While with loving words, but lying, - I have bound me to thy breast, - Now in my own fetters dying, - Into earnest turns my jest. - - When thou jestingly dost fly me, - By a rightful impulse led, - Then the powers of hell draw nigh me, - And I really shoot me dead. - - -60. - - Too fragmentary is World and Life; - I’ll go to the German professor, who’s rife - With schemes for putting Life’s pieces together, - Whereby a passable System’s unfurl’d; - Ragged nightcaps and dressing-gowns keep out the weather, - Stop the gaps in the edifice crack’d of the world. - - -61. - - This evening they’ve a party, - The house is fill’d with light; - By yonder shining window - A shadowy form’s in sight. - - Thou see’st me not, in darkness - I stand below and apart; - Still less canst thou see ever - Inside my darksome heart. - - My darksome heart doth love thee, - It loves thee and it breaks, - And breaks, and bleeds, and quivers, - But thou see’st not how it aches. - - -62. - - I would that my woes all their fulness - In one single word could convey; - To the merry winds straight would I give it, - Who would merrily bear it away. - - That word so teeming with sadness - They would carry, my loved one, to thee - Thou wouldst hear it at every moment, - Wouldst hear it where’er thou mightst be. - - As soon as thine eyelids at nighttime - Are peacefully closèd in sleep, - My word would straightway pursue thee - Far into thy visions most deep. - - -63. - - Thou hast pearls, thou hast diamonds also, - Hast all that mortals adore; - Thine eyes are among the fairest,-- - My loved one, what wouldst thou have more? - - Upon thine eyes so beauteous - I’ve written many a score - Of sweet immortal ballads,-- - My loved one, what wouldst thou have more? - - And with thine eyes so beauteous - Hast thou tormented me sore, - And brought me to utter perdition,-- - My loved one, what wouldst thou have more? - - -64. - - He who for the first time loveth, - Though ’tis hopeless, is a God; - But the man who hopeless loveth - For the second time’s--a fool. - - I, a fool like this, am loving - Once more, with no love responsive; - Sun and moon and stars are laughing, - I, too, join the laugh and--die. - - -65. - - Never match’d the timid coldness - Of thy spirit, from the first, - With my love’s untutor’d boldness, - Which through rocks delights to burst. - - Thou in love dost love the highway, - And I see thee walk through life - With thy husband taking thy way, - As an honest teeming wife! - - -66. - - Counsel they gave me, and good instruction, - Pour’d on me honours, by way of seduction - Said I had only to wait for a while, - And their protection upon me should smile. - - Spite the protection they bid me hold cherish’d, - I before long should of hunger have perish’d, - Had I not happen’d a good man to see, - Who took an interest kindly in me. - - Good man indeed! for he gives me my food; - Never can I forget conduct so good. - Pity I cannot with kisses reply, - For the good man is no other than--I! - - -67. - - This young man, so good and worthy, - Cannot be too much respected; - Oft he gives me wine and oysters, - Gives me liquors well selected. - - Coat and trousers fit him neatly, - His cravat is still more sightly; - And so comes he every morning - For my health to ask politely. - - Of my wide-spread glory speaks he, - Of my talents and my graces; - Eagerly at my disposal - All his services he places. - - And in company at evening, - With a face as if inspired - He declaims before the ladies - All my poems so admired. - - O it is indeed most pleasant - Such a young man to discover - In the present day, when surely - All things good will soon be over. - - -68. - - I dreamt that I was Lord of all, - And sat in heaven proudly; - The angels, ranged around my throne, - All praised my verses loudly. - - And cakes I ate, and comfits too, - In value many a florin; - And Cardinal I drank the while, - And had no need of scorin’. - - Plagued by ennui, I long’d to be - On earth, with all its evil; - And were I not the Lord of all, - I’d fain have been the devil. - - Thou long-legg’d Angel, Gabriel, go, - And hasten downward thither, - And find my worthy friend Eugene, - And bring him to me hither. - - Within the College seek him not, - But o’er a glass of brandy; - Seek for him not in Hedwig’s Church, - But at Miss Meyer’s so handy. - - The Angel then spread out his wings, - And with his whole soul in it - Flew down, and seized my worthy friend, - And brought him in a minute. - - Ay, youth, I am the Lord of all, - And rule o’er every nation; - I always told thee I should come - To power and reputation. - - Each day I work such miracles - As greatly would delight thee; - The town of A---- I’ll happy make - To-day, and so excite thee. - - The paving-stones upon the road - Shall all be now converted, - And, lo, an oyster, fresh and clear, - In each shall be inserted. - - A constant shower of lemon-juice - Like dew, shall serve as pickle, - And in the gutters of the streets - The finest wine shall trickle. - - How all the A--er’s straight rejoice, - And to the banquet hasten! - The judges from the gutter drink - As if it were a basin. - - And how at this divine repast - Rejoice the poets needy! - Lieutenants lick the streets quite dry, - And ensigns poor and greedy. - - The ensigns and lieutenants are - Wise in their generation; - They always think the present time - The weightiest in creation. - - -69. - - From beauteous lips compell’d to part, and carried - Away from beauteous arms fast clasp’d around me, - Yet one more day I gladly would have tarried, - When came the post-boy with his steeds, and found me. - - Child, this is very life, an endless wailing, - An endless farewell-taking, endless parting; - Is then thy heart to clasp mine unavailing? - Could not thine eye retain me, e’en at starting? - - -70. - - We travelled alone in the gloomy - Post-chaise the whole of the night; - Each lean’d on the other’s bosom, - And jested with hearts so light. - - When morning dawn’d upon us, - My child, how we did stare, - For the blind passenger,[24] Amor, - Was sitting between us there! - - -71. - - Heaven knows where the haughty hussy - May have will’d to pitch her tent; - Swearing, with the rain fast falling, - All the city through I went. - - From one tavern to another - Ran I swiftly in the rain, - And to every surly waiter - Did I turn myself in vain. - - Then I saw her at a window, - Nodding, tittering as well: - Could I tell that thou wouldst live in, - Maiden, such a grand hotel? - - -72. - - Like darkling visions the houses - Are standing all in a row; - Deep hidden in my mantle, - In silence I onward go. - - The high cathedral tower - The hour of twelve doth proclaim: - My love, with her charms and kisses, - Awaits me with rapturous flame. - - The moon is my attendant, - And kindly gleams in the sky, - And when I arrive at her dwelling, - I joyfully call up on high: - - I thank thee, my olden companion, - That thou hast thus lighted my way; - I now at length can release thee, - Light the rest of the world now, I pray - - And find’st thou some mortal enamour’d, - In solitude mourning his fate, - As me thou of old time didst comfort, - Him also O comfort thou straight! - - -73. - - O what falsehood lies in kisses! - In mere show what joy’s convey’d! - In betrayal, O what bliss is! - Sweeter still to be betray’d! - - Though thou mayst resist me, fairest, - Yet I know what thou allowest; - I’ll avow whate’er thou swearest, - I will swear what thou avowest. - - -74. - - Upon thy snowy bosom - My head all-softly I lay, - And secretly can listen - To what thy heart doth say. - - The blue hussars are blowing, - And riding in at the gate; - To-morrow my heart-beloved one - Will surely desert me straight. - - If thou wilt desert me to-morrow, - At least to-day thou art mine, - And in thine arms so beauteous - With twofold bliss I’ll recline. - - -75. - - The blue hussars are blowing, - And riding out at the gate; - I come then, my loved one, and bring thee - A nosegay of roses straight. - - Those were indeed wild doings, - Much folk and warlike display! - By far too many were quarter’d - Within thy bosom that day. - - -76. - - I in youthful years did languish, - Suffer’d many a bitter anguish - From love’s fiery glow. - Wood is now so dear, the fire - Will for lack of fuel expire-- - _Ma foi!_ ’tis better so. - - Think of this, O youthful fair one! - Chase away the tears that wear one, - And all foolish love’s alarms; - If thy life may not have perish’d, - O forget thy love once cherish’d-- - _Ma foi!_ within my arms. - - -77. - - The eunuchs controverted, - When I raised up my voice; - They grumbled and asserted - My singing was not choice. - - And then they all raised sweetly - Their voicelets petty and shrill; - They sang so finely and neatly, - Like crystal sounded their trill. - - They sang of love’s fierce yearning, - Of loving effusions and love, - To tears the ladies all turning, - With tunes so adapted to move. - - -78. - - I left you at first in July at the warmest, - In January now I find you once more; - In the midst of the heat you then were complaining, - And now you are cool’d, and cold to the core. - - I shall soon leave again, and when next I’m returning - Neither warm shall I find you, nor yet quite cold; - I shall walk o’er your grave with silent composure, - While my own heart within me is wretched and old. - - -79. - - Art thou then indeed so hostile, - Art thou tow’rds me changed so sadly? - I by all means shall lament it, - Thou hast treated me so badly. - - O ungrateful lips, how could ye - Speak with malice cruel-hearted - Of the man who ofttimes kiss’d you - Lovingly, in days departed? - - -80. - - Ah! once more the eyes are on me, - Which did greet me once with gladness, - And the lips once more address me, - Which once sweeten’d life’s long sadness. - - E’en the voice I hear, whose accents - Charm’d me, as they sweetly falter’d; - I alone am not the same one, - Having home return’d, all-alter’d. - - By those arms so white and beauteous - Lovingly embraced and closely, - To her heart I now am clinging, - Dull of feeling and morosely. - - -81. - - On the walls of Salamanca - Soft refreshing winds are playing; - There, with my belovèd Donna, - On a summer’s eve I’m straying. - - Round the fair one’s slender body - Doth my arm with rapture linger, - And her bosom’s haughty motion - Feel I with a loving finger. - - Yet a whisper fraught with sorrow - Through the linden trees is moving, - And, beneath, the dusky millstream - Murmurs sad dreams, disapproving. - - “Ah, Señora! a foreboding - “Tells me, I shall hence be driven - “On the walls of Salamanca - “Ne’er again to walk ’tis given.” - - -82. - - Thy voice and thine eye, when we first saw each other, - Convinced me thou saw’st me with heart not estranged; - And had it not been for thy tyrant mother, - I think that we kisses should straight have exchanged. - - To-morrow again I depart from the city, - And on, in my olden course, wander I; - At the window my fair one is lurking in pity, - And friendly greetings I throw up on high. - - -83. - - Over the mountains the sun mounts in splendour, - Afar sound the bells of the lambs as they stray; - My loved one, my lamb, my sun bright and tender, - How gladly once more would I see thee to-day! - - I gaze up on high, with looks fond and loving-- - My child, fare thee well, I must wander from thee; - In vain! for her curtain is still and unmoving-- - She slumbering lieth and dreameth of me. - - -84. - - At Halle, in the market - Two mighty lions are standing. - Thou lion-scorn of Halle, - Methinks they’ve tamed thee finely! - - At Halle, in the market, - A mighty giant’s standing. - He hath a sword, and moves not, - He’s turn’d to stone by terror. - - At Halle, in the market, - A mighty church is standing. - The students of each faction - Have there a place for praying. - - -85. - - Glimm’ring lies the summer even - Over wood and verdant meadows, - And the gold moon, fragrance shedding, - Gleameth from the azure heaven. - - Crickets at the brook with shrillness - Chirp; there’s motion in the water, - And the wand’rer hears a splashing, - And a breathing in the stillness. - - Yonder at the lone stream sparkling, - See, the beauteous elf is bathing; - Arm and neck, so white and lovely, - Glisten in the moonbeams darkling. - - -86. - - On the strange roads night is lying, - Heart is sick and limbs are weary; - But the moonbeams, softly vying, - Shed their light like blessings cheery. - - Ah, sweet moon! thy radiant splendour - Scares away each terror nightly; - All my woes dissolve, and tender - Dew o’erflows my eyelids lightly. - - -87. - - Death nothing is but cooling night, - And life is nought but sultry day; - Darkness draws nigh, I slumber - Wearied by day’s bright light. - - Over my bed ariseth a tree, - There sings the youthful nightingale; - She sings of love exulting, - In dreams ’tis heard by me. - - -88. - - “Say, where is thy beauteous mistress, - “Whom thou sangest in the hour - “When thy heart was pierced so strangely - “By the flames of magic power?” - - All those flames are now extinguish’d, - And my heart is cold and weary, - And this book’s the urn that holdeth - My love’s ashes sad and dreary. - - -89. - - Full long have I my head tormented - With ceaseless thinking, day and night; - And yet thy darling eyes compel me - To love thee, in my own despite. - - Now stand I, where thine eyes are gleaming, - Charm’d by their sweet expressive light; - That I should love again thus deeply - I scarcely can believe aright. - - -90. - - When thou hast become my wedded wife - Thy joy shall know no measure; - Thou’lt live in happiness all thy life, - In uninterrupted pleasure. - - And I will very patient be - E’en ’neath thy reviling and curses; - But we must part most certainly - If thou abusest my verses. - - -91. - - Little by thee comprehended, - Little knew I thee, good brother; - When we in the mud descended - Soon we understood each other. - - -92. - - Near me dwelleth Don Henriques, - As the “handsome” known and fêted; - Our apartments are adjoining, - By a thin wall separated. - - Salamanca’s dames are blushing - As he in the streets is walking - Rattling spurs, mustachios twirling, - With his dogs behind him stalking. - - But at evening’s silent hour he - All alone at home is sitting, - His guitar his fingers twanging, - Sweet dreams through his fancy flitting. - - On the chords with vigour plays he, - His wild phantasies beginning-- - O it drives me mad to hear him - Keeping up his wretched dinning. - - - - -_THE HARTZ-JOURNEY._ - -1824. - - -PREFACE. - - In black coats and silken stockings, - White and courtly frills they hide them, - Gentle speeches and embraces-- - Had they only hearts inside them! - - Hearts within the breast, and love, too, - In the heart, yea, love all-burning; - Ah! I’m sick of their false prating - Of love’s sorrows and love’s yearning. - - I’ll ascend the distant mountains - Where the peaceful huts are standing, - Where the breezes free are blowing, - And the bosom free’s expanding. - - I’ll ascend the distant mountains - Where the dusky firs are springing, - And the haughty clouds are roaming, - Brooks are murmuring, birds are singing. - - Fare ye well, ye polish’d chambers, - Polish’d lords and dames beguiling; - To the mountains now ascending - I’ll look down upon you, smiling. - - -1. - - On the mountain stands the cottage - Of the aged mountaineer; - There the dark-green fir is rustling, - And the golden moon shines clear. - - In the cottage stands an arm-chair, - Richly carved and wondrously; - He that on it sits is happy, - And the happy one am I! - - On the footstool sits the maiden, - On my knee her arms repose; - Eyes are like two stars all azure, - Mouth is like the purple rose. - - And the stars so sweet and azure, - Large as heaven, she on me throws, - And she puts her lily-finger - Mocking on the purple rose. - - No, we’re seen not by the mother, - For with industry she spins; - The guitar the father playing, - Some old melody begins. - - And the maiden whispers softly, - Softly, in a tone suppress’d; - Many a most important secret - She to me hath soon confess’d: - - “Since the death of aunt, however, - “We can’t go to see the sight - “Of the shooting-match at Goslar, - “Which was such a great delight. - - “Whereas here ’tis very lonely - “On the mountain-top, you know; - “All the winter we’re entirely - “As though buried in the snow. - - “And I am a timid maiden, - “And as fearful as a child - “Of the wicked mountain spirits, - “Who at night roam fierce and wild”-- - - Sudden is the sweet one silent, - Terrified by what she said, - And her little eyes she covers - With her little hands in dread. - - Louder roars outside the fir-tree, - And the spinning-wheel loud hums; - Meanwhile the guitar is tinkling, - And the olden tune it strums: - - “Fear thee not, my little darling, - “At the wicked spirits’ might; - “Angels keep, my little darling, - “Safe watch o’er thee, day and night.” - - -2. - - Fir-tree with green finger’s knocking - At the window small and low, - And the moon, the yellow list’ner, - Through it her sweet light doth throw. - - Father, mother, gently snoring, - In the neighbouring chamber sleep, - Yet we two are gaily talking, - So that wide awake we keep. - - “That thou’rt wont to pray too often, - “Is a thing I’ll credit ne’er, - “For thy lips’ convulsive quiv’ring - “Ill accords with thoughts of prayer. - - “Ay, that quiv’ring, cold and evil, - “Every time affrights me sore, - “Yet thine eyes’ mild lustre husheth - “Thy sad anguish evermore. - - “I, too, doubt if thou believest - “All that is the Christian’s boast; - “Dost believe in God the Father, - “In the Son and Holy Ghost?”-- - - Ah, my child! when yet an infant - Sitting on my mother’s knee, - I believed in God the Father, - Ruling all things wondrously; - - Who the beauteous earth created, - And the men that on it move; - Who to suns, moons, stars predestined - All their tracks wherein to rove. - - When, my child, I grew still bigger - Many more things I conceived, - And my reason wax’d yet stronger, - And I in the Son believed. - - In the Son beloved, who, loving, - Open’d to us love’s door wide, - And who in reward, as usual, - By the mob was crucified. - - Now that I am grown, have read much, - Wander’d over many a coast, - Doth my heart swell, and in earnest - I believe the Holy Ghost. - - He hath done the greatest marvels, - And still greater doeth he; - He hath burst the tyrants’ strongholds, - Servants from their yoke set free. - - Olden deadly wounds he healeth, - And renews the olden law: - All men equal are, and noble - From the earliest breath they draw. - - Every evil cloud he chaseth, - Drives the brain’s dark weft away, - That corrupteth love and pleasure, - Grinning at us night and day. - - Thousand knights well arm’d for battle - Hath the Holy Ghost ordain’d, - All his pleasure to accomplish, - All by mighty zeal sustain’d. - - See, their trusty swords are gleaming! - See, their noble banners wave! - Ah, my child! hast thou seen ever - Knights like this, so proud and brave? - - Now, my child, look on me boldly, - Kiss me, look upon me nigh! - Such a daring knight, my fair one, - Of the Holy Ghost am I! - - -3. - - Silently the moon is hiding - In the dark green fir-tree’s rear, - And our lamp within the chamber - Flickers faint, with glimmer drear. - - But my azure eyes are beaming - With a light that brighter plays, - And the purple rose is glowing, - And the darling maiden says: - - “Little elves and little people - “Pilfer all our bread and bacon; - “In the drawer at night they’re lying, - “But by morning all is taken. - - “Next our cream the little people - “From the milk are wont to sup, - “Leaving, too, the bowl uncover’d, - “And the cat the rest drinks up. - - “And the cat a witch indeed is, - “For she crawls, while night-storms lower, - “Up the spirit-mountain yonder - “To the ancient ruin’d tower. - - “There a castle erst was standing, - “Full of joy and glittering arms; - “Knights and squires, in merry torch-dance, - “Mingled with the ladies’ charms. - - “Then a wicked old enchantress - “Men and castle too bewitch’d; - “Nought remaineth but the ruins, - “Where the owls their nest have pitch’d. - - “Yet my late aunt used to tell us: - “If the proper word is said - “At the proper hour at nighttime - “At the proper place o’erhead, - - “Then the ruins will be changèd - “To a castle fair once more, - “Knights and squires and ladies gaily - “Will be dancing as of yore. - - “Him by whom that word is spoken - “Men and castle will obey; - “Drums and trumpets will proclaim him, - “Heralding his sov’reign sway.” - - Thus the charming legends issue - From the mouth so like a rose, - While an azure starry radiance - From her sweet eyes overflows. - - Round my hand the little maiden - Twines her golden hair with glee, - Calls by pretty names my fingers, - Kisses, laughs, then mute is she. - - All within that silent chamber - On me looks with trusting eye; - Table, cupboard,--I could fancy - I had seen them formerly. - - Like a friend the house-clock prattles, - The guitar scarce audibly - Of itself begins to tinkle, - And as in a dream sit I. - - Now’s the proper place discover’d, - Now the proper hour hath sounded; - If the proper word I utter’d, - Maiden, thou wouldst be astounded. - - If that word I straightway utter’d, - Midnight would grow dim and quake, - Fir and streamlet roar more loudly, - And the aged mountain wake. - - Lute’s soft strains and pigmy music - From the mountain’s clefts would burst, - And a flowering wood shoot from them - As in joyous spring-time erst. - - Flowers, all-hardy magic flowers, - Leaves of size so fabulous, - Fragrant, varied, hasty-quiv’ring, - As though passion stirr’d them thus. - - Roses, wild as flames all-glowing, - Dart from out the mass like gems; - Lilies, like to crystal arrows, - Upward shoot tow’rd heaven their stems. - - And the stars, like suns in greatness - Downward gaze with yearning glow; - In the lily’s giant-calix - They their gushing radiance throw. - - Yet ourselves, my darling maiden, - Alter’d more than all we seem; - Gold and silk and torches’ lustre - Joyously around us gleam. - - Thou, yea thou, becom’st a princess, - To a castle turns this cot; - Knights and squires and ladies gaily - Dance with rapture, tiring not. - - Thee and all, both men and castle, - I, yea I, have gain’d to-day; - Drums and trumpets loud proclaim me, - Heralding my sov’reign sway! - - -4. - - Shepherd boy’s a king,--on green hills - As a throne he sitteth down - O’er his head the sun all-radiant - Is his ever golden crown. - - At his feet the sheep are lying, - Gentle fawners, streak’d with red; - Calves as cavaliers attend him, - Proudly o’er the pastures spread. - - Kids are all his court-performers, - With the birds and cows as well, - And he has his chamber-music - To the sound of flute and bell. - - And it sounds and sings so sweetly, - And the time so sweetly keep - Waterfall and nodding fir-trees, - And the king then goes to sleep. - - In the meantime acts as ruler - His prime minister, the hound, - While his loud and surly barking - Echoes all the country round. - - Sleepily the young king murmurs: - “’Tis a heavy task to reign; - “Ah! right gladly would I find me - “With my queen at home again! - - “In my queen’s arms soft and tender - “Calmly rests my kingly head, - “And my vast and boundless kingdom - “In her dear eyes lies outspread.” - - -5. - - Brighter in the East ’tis growing - Through the sun’s soft glimm’ring motion; - Far and wide the mountain-summits - Float within the misty ocean. - - With the speed of wind I’d hasten, - If I seven-league boots had only, - Over yonder mountain-summits - To my darling’s dwelling lonely. - - Gently would I draw the curtain - From the bed wherein she’s lying, - Gently would I kiss her forehead, - And her mouth, with rubies vying, - - Still more gently would I whisper - In her lily-ear so tender: - “Think in dreams, we love each other, - “And our love will ne’er surrender.” - - -6. - - I Am the princess Ilse, - And dwell in Ilsenstein; - Come with me to my castle, - And there ’midst pleasures be mine. - - Thy head I’ll softly moisten - With my pellucid wave; - Thou shalt forget thine anguish, - Poor sorrow-stricken knave! - - Within my arms so snowy, - Upon my snowy breast, - Shalt thou repose, and dream there - Of olden legends blest. - - I’ll kiss thee and embrace thee, - As I embraced and kiss’d - The darling Kaiser Henry, - Who doth no longer exist. - - None live except the living, - The dead are dead and gone; - And I am fair and blooming, - My laughing heart beats on. - - And as my heart is beating, - My crystal castle doth ring; - The knights and maidens are dancing, - The squires all-joyfully spring. - - The silken trains are rustling, - The spurs of iron are worn, - The dwarfs beat drum and trumpet, - And fiddle and play the horn. - - But thee shall my arm hold warmly - As Kaiser Henry it held; - I held him fast imprison’d, - When loudly the trumpet’s note swell’d. - - - - -_THE BALTIC._ - -PART I. 1825. - - -1. EVENING TWILIGHT. - - By ocean’s pallid strand - Sat I, tormented in spirit and lonely. - The sun sank lower and lower, and threw - Red glowing streaks upon the water, - And the snowy, spreading billows, - By the flood hard-press’d, - Foam’d and roar’d still nearer and nearer-- - A wonderful sound, a whisp’ring and piping, - A laughing and murmuring, sighing and rushing, - Between times a lullaby-home-sounding singing,-- - Methinks I hear some olden tradition, - Primeval, favourite legend, - Which I erst as a stripling - Learnt from the neighbours’ children, - When we, on the summer evenings, - On the house-door’s steps all cower’d - Cosily for quiet talking, - With our little hearts all attentive, - And our eyes all wisely curious;-- - Whilst the bigger maidens, - Close by their fragrant flowerpots - Sat at the opposite window - Rosy their faces, - Smiling, illumed by the moon. - - -2. SUNSET. - - The glowing ruddy sun descends - Down to the far up-shuddering - Silvery-grey world-ocean; - Airy images, rosily breath’d upon, - After him roll, and over against him, - Out of the’ autumnal glimmering veil of clouds, - With face all mournful and pale as death, - Bursteth forth the moon, - And behind her, like sparks of light, - Misty-broad, glimmer the stars. - - Once in the heavens there glitter’d, - Join’d in fond union, - Luna the goddess and Sol the god, - And around them the stars all cluster’d, - Their little, innocent children. - - But evil tongues then whisper’d disunion, - And they parted in anger, - That glorious, radiant pair. - - Now, in the daytime, in splendour all lonely, - Wanders the Sun-god in realms on high,-- - On account of his majesty - Greatly sung-to and worshipp’d - By haughty, bliss-harden’d mortals. - But in the night-time, - In heaven wanders Luna, - Unhappy mother, - With all her orphan’d starry children, - And she gleams in silent sorrow, - And loving maidens and gentle poets - Devote to her tears and songs. - - The gentle Luna! womanly minded, - Still doth she love her beautiful spouse. - Towards the evening, trembling and pale, - Peeps she forth from the light clouds around, - And looks at the parting one mournfully, - And fain would cry in her anguish: “Come! - Come! the children all long for thee--” - But the disdainful Sun-god, - At the sight of his spouse, ’gins glowing - With still deeper purple, - In anger and grief, - And inflexibly hastens he - Down to his flood-chilly widow’d bed. - - * * * * * - - Evil and backbiting tongues - Thus brought grief and destruction - E’en ’mongst the godheads immortal. - And the poor godheads, yonder in heaven, - Wander in misery, - Comfortless over their endless tracks, - And death cannot reach them, - And with them they trail - Their bright desolation. - - But I, the mere man, - The lowly-planted, the blest-with-death one, - I sorrow no longer. - - -3. THE NIGHT ON THE STRAND. - - Starless and cold is the night, - The ocean boils; - And over the sea, flat on its belly, - Lies the misshapen Northwind; - With groaning and stifled mysterious voice, - A sullen grumbler, good-humour’d for once, - Prates he away to the waves, - Telling many a wild tradition, - Giant-legends, murderous-humorous, - Primeval Sagas from Norway, - And the while, far echoing, laughs he and howls he - Exorcists’ songs of the Edda, - Grey old Runic proverbs, - So darkly-daring, and magic-forcible, - That the white sons of Ocean - Spring up on high, all exulting, - In madden’d excitement. - - Meanwhile, along the flat shore, - Over the flood-moisten’d sand, - Paces a stranger, whose heart within him - Is wilder far than wind and waters; - There where he walks - Sparks fly out, and shells are crackling, - And he veils himself in his dark-grey mantle, - And quickly moves on through the blustering night;-- - Guided in safety by yon little light, - That sweetly, invitingly glimmers, - From the lone fisherman’s cottage. - - Father and brother are out on the sea, - And all all alone is staying - Within the hut the fisherman’s daughter, - The wondrously lovely fisherman’s daughter. - By the hearth she’s sitting, - And lists to the water-kettle’s - Homely, sweet foreboding humming, - And shakes in the fire the crackling brushwood - And on it blows, - So that the lights, all ruddy and flickering, - Magic-sweetly are reflected - On her fair blooming features, - On her tender, snowy shoulder, - Which, moving gently, peeps - From out her coarse grey smock, - And on her little, anxious hand, - Which fastens firmer her under-garment, - Over her graceful hip. - - But sudden, the door bursts open, - The nightly stranger entereth in; - Love-secure, his eye reposes - On the snowy, slender maiden, - Who, trembling, near him stands, - Like to a startled lily; - And he throws his mantle to earth, - And laughs and speaks: - - “See now, my child, I’ve kept my word, - “And I come, and with me hath come - “The olden time, when the gods from the heavens - “Came down to earth, to the daughters of mortals, - “And the daughters of mortals embraced they, - “And from them there issued - “Sceptre-bearing races of monarchs, - “And heroes, wonders of earth. - - “But start not, my child, any longer - “Because of my godhead, - “And I pray thee give me some tea mix’d with rum - “For ’tis cold out of doors, - “And amid such night breezes - “Freeze even we, we godheads immortal, - “And easily catch the divinest of colds, - “And a cough that proves quite eternal.” - - -4. POSEIDON. - - The sun’s bright rays were playing - Over the wide-rolling breadth of the sea; - Far in the roadstead glitter’d the ship - Destined to home to convey me. - But a propitious wind was yet wanting, - And I sat on the white downs all calmly - Hard by the lonely strand, - And I read the song of Odysseus, - The olden, ever-youthful song, - From out whose sea-beflutter’d leaves - Joyfully rose to meet me - The breath of the deities, - And the shining spring-time of mortals, - And the blooming heaven of Hellas. - - My generous heart accompanied truly - The son of Laërtes in wanderings and troubles, - Placed itself with him, spirit-tormented, - At guestly hearths, - Where beauteous queens were spinning their purple, - And help’d him to lie, and succeed in escaping - From giants’ caverns and nymphs’ embraces, - Follow’d him down to Cimmerian night, - And in tempest and shipwreck, - And with him endured unspeakable torments. - - Sighing spake I: “Thou wicked Poseidon, - “Thine anger is fearful; - “I myself am anxious - “As to my own return.” - - Scarce breath’d I these words, - When the sea foam’d on high, - And out of the snowy billows arose - The sedge-becrowned head of the seagod, - And scornfully cried he: - - “Fear not, little poet! - “I’ll not for one moment endanger - “Thy poor little vessel, - “And thy dear life shall not be tormented - “By any critical tossing. - “For thou, little poet, hast never annoy’d me, - “No single turret was injured by thee - “In Priam’s sacred fortress, - “No single hair didst thou e’er singe - “In the eye of my son Polyphemus, - “And thou hast ne’er been advised or protected - “By the goddess of wisdom, Pallas Athene!” - - Thus cried Poseidon, - And sank ’neath the ocean again; - And at the vulgar seaman’s wit - Laugh’d under the water - Amphitrite, the clumsy fishwoman, - And the silly daughters of Nereus. - - -5. HOMAGE. - - Ye songs! O my trusty numbers! - Up, up! and on with your arms - Bid the trumpet to blow, - And raise high on my shield - The youthful maiden, - Who’s now to rule my heart, - My undivided heart, as queen. - - Hail to thee, youthful queen! - - From the sun on high - Tear I his sparkling ruddy gold, - And of it weave a diadem - For thine anointed head. - From the fluttering blue-silken heaven’s veil, - Wherein night’s diamonds are gleaming, - Cut I a costly piece, - And hang, as coronation mantle, - Upon thy regal shoulders. - I give to thee, as courtiers, - Some well-bedizen’d sonnets, - Haughty terzinas and courtly stanzas; - My wit shall serve thee as footman, - And as court-fool my phantasy, - As herald, the laughing tears on my scutcheon, - My humour shall serve thee. - But I, O my queen, - Before thee kneel down, - In homage, on red velvet cushion, - And to thee hand over - The small bit of reason, - Which, out of compassion, was left me - By her who last govern’d thy kingdom. - - -6. DECLARATION. - - Onward glimmering came the evening, - Wilder tossèd the flood, - And I sat on the strand, regarding - The snowy dance of the billows, - And soon my bosom swell’d like the sea; - A deep home-sickness yearningly seized me - For thee, thou darling form, - Who everywhere surround’st me, - And everywhere call’st me, - Everywhere, everywhere, - In the moan of the wind, in the roar of the ocean, - In the sigh within my own breast. - - With brittle reed I wrote on the sand: - “Agnes, I love thee!” - But wicked billows soon pour’d themselves - Over the blissful confession, - Effacing it all. - - Ah too fragile reed, all fast-scatter’d sand, - Ah fugitive billows, I’ll trust you no more! - The heavens grow darker, my heart grows wilder - And with vigorous hand from the forests of Norway - Tear I the highest fir-tree, - And plunge it deep - In Etna’s glowing abyss, and thereafter - With fire-imbued giant-pen - I write on the dark veil of heaven: - “Agnes, I love thee!” - Every night gleams thenceforward - On high that eternal fiery writing, - And all generations of farthest descendants - Read gladly the heavenly sentence: - “Agnes, I love thee!” - - -7. IN THE CABIN AT NIGHT. - - The sea its pearls possesseth, - And heaven its stars containeth, - But, O my heart, my heart, - My heart its love hath also. - - Vast is the sea and the heavens, - Yet vaster is my heart, - And fairer than pearls or the stars - Glitt’reth and beameth my love. - - Thou little youthful maiden, - Come to my heart so vast; - My heart and the sea and the heavens - For very love are dying. - - * * * * * - - ’Gainst the azure veil of heaven, - Where the beauteous stars are twinkling, - Fain I’d press my lips with ardour, - Press them wildly, madly weeping. - - Yonder stars the very eyes are - Of my loved one, thousand-changing - Glimmer they and greet me kindly - From the azure veil of heaven. - - Tow’rd the azure veil of heaven, - Tow’rd the eyes of my beloved one, - Lift I up my arms in worship, - And I pray, and thus beseech them: - - Beauteous eyes, ye lights of mercy, - O make happy my poor spirit, - Let me die, and as my guerdon, - Win both you and all your heaven! - - * * * * * - - From those heavenly eyes above me - Light and trembling sparks are falling - Through the night, and then my spirit - Loving-wide and wider stretcheth. - - O ye heavenly eyes above me! - Weep yourselves into my spirit, - That my spirit may run over - With those tears so sweet and starry! - - * * * * * - - Cradled by the ocean billows, - And by thoughts that seem like visions, - Silent lie I in the cabin, - In the dark bed in the corner. - - Through the open hatchway see I - There on high the stars all-radiant, - Those sweet eyes so dearly cherish’d - Of my sweet and dearly loved one. - - Those sweet eyes so dearly cherish’d - Far above my head are watching, - And they tinkle and they beckon - From the azure veil of heaven. - - Tow’rd the azure veil of heaven - Gaze I many an hour with rapture, - Till a white and misty curtain - From me hides those eyes so cherish’d. - - ’Gainst the boarded side of the ship, - Where my dreaming head is lying, - Rave the billows, the furious billows. - They roar and they murmur - Thus soft in my ear: - - “O foolish young fellow! - “Thine arm is short, and the heavens are wide, - “And yonder stars are firmly nailed there; - “In vain is thy yearning, in vain is thy sighing, - “The best thou can’st do is to sleep!” - - * * * * * - - I dreamt, and dreaming saw a spacious heath, - Far overspread with white, with whitest snow, - And ’neath that white snow buried I was lying, - And slept the lonesome, chilly sleep of death. - - Yet from on high, from out the darkling heavens, - Look’d down upon my grave those eyes all-starry, - Those eyes so sweet! In triumph they were gleaming - In calm and radiant but excessive love. - - -8. STORM. - - The tempest is raging, - It floggeth the billows, - And the billows, fierce-foaming and rearing, - Rise up on high, and with life are all heaving - The snowy watery mountains, - And the small bark climbs o’er them, - Labouring hastily, - And suddenly plungeth it down - In the black, wide-gaping abyss of the flood.-- - - O sea! - Mother of beauty, the foam-arisen one! - Grandmother of love! O spare me! - Already flutters, corpse-scenting, - The snowy, spirit-like sea-mew, - And wetteth his beak ’gainst the mast, - And longs,--eager to taste,--for the heart - Which proclaimeth the fame of thy daughter, - And which thy grandson, the little rogue, - Chose for his plaything. - - In vain my entreaties and prayers! - My cry dies away in the blustering storm, - In the wind’s battle-shout; - It roars and pipes and crackles and howls, - Like a madhouse of noises! - And, between times, I audibly hear - Harp-strains alluring, - Songs all wild and yearning, - Spirit-melting and spirit-rending, - And the voice I remember! - - Far away, on the rock-coast of Scotland, - Where the old grey castle projecteth - Over the wild raging sea, - There at the lofty and archèd window, - Standeth a woman, beauteous but ill, - Softly-transparent and marble-pale, - And she’s playing her harp and she’s singing, - And the wind through her long locks forceth its way - And beareth her gloomy song - Over the wide and tempest-toss’d sea. - - -9. CALM AT SEA. - - Calm at sea! His beams all radiant - Throws the sun across the water, - And amid the heaving jewels, - Furrows green the ship is tracing. - - Near the steersman lies the boatswain - On his stomach, snoring gently; - Near the mast, the sails repairing, - Squats the cabin-boy, all-tarry. - - But behind his cheeks so dirty - Red blood springs, a mournful quiv’ring - Round his wide mouth plays, and sadly - Stare his eyes, so large and handsome. - - For the captain stands before him, - Raving, cursing, “thief” exclaiming: - “Thief! a herring you have stolen - “From the barrel, O you rascal!” - - Calm at sea! From out the waters - Lifts himself a clever fishkin; - In the sun his head he warmeth, - Splashing with his tail so gaily. - - But the sea-mew, soaring over, - Shooteth down upon the fishkin, - And his sudden prize fast holding - In his bill, again mounts upward. - - -10. THE OCEAN SPECTRE. - - But I upon the ship’s edge was lying, - And gazed with my eyes all dreamy - Down on the glassy pellucid water, - And gazed yet deeper and deeper-- - Till, deep in the ocean’s abysses, - At first like a glimmering mist, - Then, bit by bit, with hues more decided, - Domes of churches and towers appeared, - And at last, clear as sunlight, a city, - Antiquarian Netherlandish, - And swarming with life. - Reverent men, in garments of black, - With snowy frills and chains of honour, - And lengthy swords and lengthy faces, - Over the crowded market are pacing - Tow’rd the high-stair’d council-chamber, - Where Emperors’ stony images - Keep guard with sceptre and sword:-- - Hard by, in front of the long row of houses, - With mirror-like glistening windows, - Stand the lindens all trimm’d into pyramids, - And silken rustling maidens are wandering, - A golden band round their slender bodies, - Their blooming faces neatly surrounded - By head-dresses velvet and black, - From whence their abundant locks are escaping. - Gay young fellows, in Spanish costume, - Proudly are passing and nodding. - Aged women, - In garments all brown and strange-looking, - Psalm-book and rosary in hand, - Hasten with tripping step - Tow’rd the cathedral church, - Impell’d by the sound of the bells, - And the rushing notes of the organ. - - Mysterious awe seizeth me too, - Caused by the distant sound; - A ne’er-ending yearning and sadness deep - Steal o’er my heart, - My scarcely-heal’d heart; - It seems as though its bitter wounds - By dear lips were kiss’d open, - And once again were bleeding - With drops hot and ruddy, - Which long and slowly downward fall - Upon an ancient house below - In yon deep-ocean city, - Upon an ancient and high-gabled house, - Where sits in lonely melancholy - A maiden at the window, - Her head on her arm reclined, - Like to some poor, forgotten child, - And I know thee, thou poor, forgotten child. - - Thus deep, thus deep, then - Thou hidd’st thyself from me - In some childish conceit, - And couldst not reascend, - And sattest strange, among strange people, - Five hundred years, - And I meanwhile, with soul full of grief, - Sought thee over all the earth, - And ever sought thee, - Thou ever-beloved one, - Thou long-time-lost one, - Thou finally-found one,-- - I’ve found thee at last, and again behold - Thy countenance sweet, - Thine eyes so prudent and faithful, - Thy smile so dear-- - And never again will I leave thee, - And downward hasten I to thee, - And with wide-spreading arms - Throw myself down on thy heart. - - But just in time - I was seized by the foot by the Captain, - And torn from the side of the ship, - While he cried, laughing bitterly: - “Why, Doctor, are you mad?” - - -11. PURIFICATION. - - Remain thou in thy ocean-depths, - Delirious dream, - That erst so many a night - My heart with false joy hast tormented, - And now, an ocean-spectre, - E’en in bright daylight threaten’st me-- - Remain below, eternally, - And I’ll throw down to thee there - All my sins and my sorrows, - And folly’s cap and bells - That round my head so long have rattled, - And the cold and glistening serpent-skin - Of hypocrisy, - Which so long hath twined round my spirit, - My sickly spirit, - My God-denying, angel-denying - Unhappy spirit-- - Hoiho! hoiho! Here comes the wind! - Over the plain so destructive when smooth - Hastens the ship, - And my rescued spirit rejoices. - - -12. PEACE. - - High in the heavens there stood the sun - Cradled in snowy clouds, - The sea was still, - And musing I lay at the helm of the ship, - Dreamily musing,--and half in waking - And half in slumber, I gazed upon Christ, - The Saviour of man. - In streaming and snowy garment - He wander’d, giant-great, - Over land and sea; - His head reach’d high to the heavens, - His hands he stretch’d out in blessing - Over land and sea; - And as a heart in his bosom - Bore he the sun, - The sun all ruddy and flaming, - And the ruddy and flaming sunny-heart - Shed its beams of mercy - And its beauteous, bliss-giving light, - Lighting and warming - Over land and sea. - - Sounds of bells were solemnly drawing - Here and there, like swans were drawing - By rosy bands the gliding ship, - And drew it sportively tow’rd the green shore, - Where men were dwelling, in high and turreted - O’erhanging town. - O blessings of peace! how still the town! - Hush’d was the hollow sound - Of busy and sweltering trade, - And through the clean and echoing streets - Were passing men in white attire, - Palm-branches bearing, - And when two chanced to meet, - They view’d each other with inward intelligence, - And trembling, in love and sweet denial, - Kiss’d on the forehead each other, - And gazed up on high - At the Saviour’s sunny-heart, - Which, glad and atoningly - Beam’d down its ruddy blood, - And three times blest, thus spake they: - “Praisèd be Jesus Christ!” - - * * * * * - - Couldst thou this vision have only imagined, - What wouldst thou not give for it, - My dearest friend! - Thou who in head and loins art so weak, - And so strong in thy faith, - And the Trinity worship’st in Unity, - And the dog and the cross and the paw - Of thy lofty patroness daily kissest, - And hast work’d thy way upward by canting - As an Aulic Counsellor, Magistrate, - And at last as a Government Counsellor - In the pious town[25] - Where flourish both sand and religion, - And the patient water of sacred Spree - Washes souls and dilutes the tea-- - Couldst thou this vision have only imagined, - My dearest friend! - Thou hadst borne it up high, to the market-place, - Thy countenance pallid and blinking - Had been dissolved in devotion and lowliness, - And her Serene Highness, - Enchanted and trembling with rapture, - Had with thee sunk in prayer on the knee, - And her eyes, beaming brightly, - Had promised, by way of increase of salary, - A hundred Prussian dollars sterling, - And thou, with folded hands, wouldst have stammer’d: - “Praisèd be Jesus Christ!” - - - - - -PART II. 1826. - - - - -1. SEA SALUTATION. - - - Thalatta! Thalatta! - Hail to thee, O thou Ocean eterne! - Hail to thee ten thousand times - From hearts all exulting, - As formerly hail’d thee - Ten thousand Grecian hearts, - Misfortune-contending, homeward-aspiring, - World-renown’d Grecian hearts. - - The billows were heaving, - They heaved and they bluster’d, - The sun shed hastily downwards - His light so sportive and rosy-hued; - The sudden-startled flocks of sea-mews - Flutter’d along, loud screaming, - The horses were stamping, the bucklers were ringing, - And afar there resounded triumphantly: - Thalatta! Thalatta! - Hail to thee, O thou Ocean eterne! - Like voices of home thy waters are rushing, - Like visions of childhood saw I a glimmering - Over thy heaving billowy-realm, - And olden remembrance again tells me stories - Of all the darling, beautiful playthings, - Of all the glittering Christmas presents, - Of all the ruddy coral branches, - The gold fish, pearls and colour’d shells - Which thou mysteriously dost keep - Down yonder in bright crystal house. - - O how have I languish’d in drear foreign lands! - Like to a wither’d flower - In the tin case of a botanist, - Lay in my bosom my heart; - Methought whole winters long I sat - An invalid, in darksome sick-room, - And now I suddenly leave it, - And with dazzling rays am I greeted - By emerald springtime, the sunny-awaken’d, - And the snowy blossoming trees are all rustling, - And the youthful flowers upon me gaze - With eyes all chequer’d and fragrant; - There’s a perfume and humming and breathing and laughing, - And the birds in the azure heavens are singing-- - Thalatta! Thalatta! - - Thou valiant retreating heart! - How oft, how bitter-oft, wast thou - Hard press’d by the Northern barbarian women - From large victorious eyes - Shot they their burning arrows; - With words both crooked and polish’d - They threatened to cleave my breast, - With cuniform billets-doux harass’d they - My poor distracted brain-- - In vain I held my shield to resist them, - The arrows whizz’d and the blows crash’d heavily, - And by the Northern barbarian women - Back to the sea was I driven, - And freely breathing I hailèd the sea, - The darling life-saving sea, - Thalatta! Thalatta! - - - - -2. THUNDERSTORM. - - - Heavily lies on the ocean the storm, - And through the darksome wall of clouds - Quivers the forkèd lightning flash, - Suddenly gleaming and suddenly vanishing, - Like a thought from the head of Cronion. - Over the desert, far-heaving water - Afar the thunders are rolling, - The snowy billowy horses are springing, - Which Boreas’ self did engender - Out of the beautiful mares of Erichton, - And the seafowl are mournfully fluttering, - Like shadowy corpses by Styx, - By Charon repulsed from his desolate bark. - - Poor, but merry little ship, - Yonder dancing the strangest dance! - Æolus sends it his briskest attendants, - Who wildly strike up for the frolicsome dance; - The one is piping, another is blowing, - The third is beating the hollow double-bass-- - And the staggering sailor stands at the rudder, - And on the compass is steadily looking, - That trembling soul of the vessel, - And raises his hands in entreaty to heaven; - “O rescue me, Castor, thou hero gigantic, - And thou, knight of the ring, Polydeuces!” - - - - -3. THE SHIPWRECKED ONE. - - - Hope and love! All crumbled to atoms, - And I myself, like to a corpse - Thrown up by the growling sea, - Lie on the strand, - The dreary, naked strand. - Before me, the watery waste is heaving - Behind me lie but sorrow and misery, - And over me high are passing the clouds, - The formless grey-hued daughters of air, - Who out of the sea, in misty buckets, - Draw up the water, - And wearily drag it and drag it, - Then spill it again in the sea, - A mournful and tedious business, - And useless as e’en my own life. - The billows murmur, the sea-mews are screaming, - Olden remembrances over me drift, - Dreams long forgotten and images perish’d, - Painfully sweet come to light. - - In the North a woman is living, - A beauteous woman, royally fair. - Her slender figure, like a tall cypress, - By an alluring white robe is embraced; - Her dark and flowing tresses, - Like to a blissful night, are streaming - Down from her lofty, braid-crownèd head, - And dreamily-sweetly form ringlets - Over her sweet pale face; - And out of her sweet pale face, - Large and o’erpowering, beams an eye - Like a black sun in radiance. - - O thou black sun, how often, - Enchantingly often, I drank from thee - Wild flames of inspiration, - And stood and reel’d, all drunk with fire,-- - Then hover’d a mild and dovelike smile - Round the high-contracted haughty lips, - And the high-contracted haughty lips - Breath’d forth words as sweet as moonlight, - And tender as the rose’s fragrance-- - And then my spirit ascended, - And flew, like an eagle, straight up into heaven! - - Peace, ye billows and sea-mews! - All is now over, happiness, hope, - Hope, ay, and love! I lie on the shore, - A lonely and shipwreckèd man, - And press my countenance glowing - Deep in the humid sand. - - - - -4. SUNSET. - - - The beauteous sun - Hath calmly descended down to the sea; - The heaving waters already are dyed - By dusky night; - Nought but the evening’s red - With golden light still spreadeth o’er them, - And the rushing force of the flood - ’Gainst the shore presseth the snowy billows - Which merrily, hastily skip, - Like wool-cover’d flocks of lambkins - Whom the singing sheep-boy at even - Homeward doth drive. - - “How fair is the sun!”-- - So spake, after long silence, my friend, - Who with me wander’d along the strand, - And half in sport and half in sad earnest - Assured he me that the sun was only - A lovely woman,[26] whom the old sea-god - Out of convenience married; - All the day long she joyously wander’d - In the high heavens, deck’d out with purple, - And glitt’ring with diamonds, - And all-beloved and all-admired - By every mortal creature, - And every mortal creature rejoicing - With her sweet glances’ light and warmth; - But in the evening, impell’d all-disconsolate. - Once more returneth she home - To the moist house and desert arms - Of her grey-headed spouse. - - “Believe me”--here added my friend, - With laughter and sighing and laughter again: - “They’re living below in the tenderest union! - “Either they’re sleeping or quarrelling fiercely, - “So that up here e’en the ocean is roaring, - “And the fisherman hears in the rush of the waves - “How the old man’s abusing his wife: - “‘Thou round wench of the universe! - “Beaming coquettish one! - “‘All the day long thou art glowing for others, - “‘At night for me thou art frosty and tired.’ - “After this curtain lecture - “As a matter of course the proud sun - “Bursts into tears, lamenting her misery, - “And cries so sadly and long, that the sea-god - “Suddenly springs from his bed all distracted, - “And hastily swims to the surface of ocean, - “To recover his breath and his senses. - “I saw him myself, in the night just past, - “Rising out of the sea as high as his bosom; - “A jacket of yellow flannel he wore, - “And a lily-white nightcap, - “And a face all wither’d and dry.” - - - - -5. THE SONG OF THE OCEANIDES. - - - Shadows of evening o’er ocean are falling, - And lonely, with none but his lonely soul with him, - Sits there a man on the dreary strand, - And looks, with death-chilly look, up on high - Tow’rd the spacious, death-chilly vault of heaven, - And looks on the spacious billowy main, - And over the spacious billowy main - Like airy sailors, his signs are floating, - Returning again despondingly, - For they have found fast closèd the heart - Wherein they fain would anchor-- - And he groans so loud, that the snowy sea-mews, - Startled away from their sandy nests, - Flutter around him in flocks, - And he speaks unto them these laughing words: - - “Ye black-leggèd birds, - “With snowy pinions o’er the sea fluttering, - “With crooked beaks the sea-water sucking up, - “And train-oily seal’s flesh devouring, - “Your life is bitter as is your food! - “But I, the happy one, taste nought but sweetness! - “I taste the rose’s sweet exhalation, - “The moonlight-nourished bride of the nightingale; - “I taste, too, the sweetness of all things: - “Loving and being loved! - - “She loves me! she loves me! the beauteous maiden! - “Now stands she at home in her house’s high balcony, - “And looks in the twilight abroad, o’er the highway, - “And darkens, and for me doth yearn--I assure you! - “In vain she looketh around and she sigheth, - “And sighing descends she down to the garden, - “And wanders in fragrance and moonlight, - “And speaks to the flowers and telleth them - “How I, the beloved one, so precious am, - “So worthy of love--I assure you! - “And then in bed, in slumber, in dream, - “My darling form around her sports blissfully, - “And then at morning at breakfast - “Upon her glistening bread and butter - “Sees she my countenance smiling, - “And she eats it for love--I assure you!” - - Thus is he boasting and boasting, - And betweentimes the sea-mews are screaming, - Like old ironical chuckling; - The mists of twilight rise up on high; - Out of the violet clouds, all-gloomily, - Peepeth the grass-yellow moon; - High are roaring the billows of ocean, - And from the depths of the high-roaring sea, - Mournful as whispering gales of wind, - Soundeth the song of the Oceanides, - The beauteous compassionate sea-nymphs, - And loudest of all the voice so enthralling - Of Peleus’ spouse, the silvery-footed one, - And they’re sighing and singing: - - “O fool, thou fool! thou hectoring fool! - “Thou sorrow-tormented one! - “Cruelly murder’d are all thy bright hopes, - “Thy bosom’s frolicsome children, - “And ah! thy heart, thy Niobe-heart - “Through grief turn’d to stone! - “Within thy head ’tis now night, - “And through it are flashing the lightnings of frenzy - “And thou boastest of sorrow! - “O fool, thou fool! thou hectoring fool! - “Headstrong art thou as thy forefather, - “The lofty Titan, who heavenly fire - “Stole from the gods and gave unto mortals, - “And, vulture-tormented, chain’d to the rock, - “Defied e’en Olympus, defied, groaning loudly, - “So that in ocean’s far depths did we hear it, - “And to him came with a comforting song. - “O fool, thou fool! thou hectoring fool! - “But thou art more powerless even than he, - “And thou would’st do well to honour the deities, - “And patiently bear the burden of sorrow, - “And patiently bear with it, long, ay, full long, - “Till Atlas himself his patience hath lost, - “And the heavy world from his shoulders throws off - “Into eternal night.” - - Thus sounded the song of the Oceanides, - The beauteous compassionate water-nymphs, - Till still louder billows at last overpower’d it-- - Then went the moon in the rear of the clouds, - And night ’gan to yawn, - And long I sat in the darkness, with weeping. - - - - -6. THE GODS OF GREECE. - - - Full-blossoming moon! In thy fair light - Like liquid gold, the ocean gleams: - Like daylight’s clearness, yet charm’d into twilight, - Over the strand’s wide plain all is lying; - In the starless clear azure heavens - Hover the snowy clouds, - Like colossal figures of deities - Of glittering marble. - - No, ’tis not so, no clouds can they be! - ’Tis they themselves, the Gods of old Hellas, - Who once so joyously ruled o’er the world, - But now, tormented and perish’d, - Like monster spectres are moving along - Over the midnight heaven. - - Wond’ring and strangely blinded, observed I - The airy pantheon, - The solemnly mute and fearfully moving - Figures gigantic. - - He yonder’s Cronion, the monarch of heaven; - Snow-white are the locks of his head, - Locks so famous for shaking Olympus; - He holds in his hand his extinguishèd bolt, - And in his face lie misfortune and grief, - And yet without change his olden pride. - Those times indeed were better, O Zeus, - When thou didst take pleasure divinely - In youths and in nymphs and in hecatombs! - But even the Gods can reign not for ever, - The younger press hard on their elders, - As thou didst once on thy grey-headed father - And all thy Titan uncles hard press, - Jupiter Parricida! - Thee, too, I recognise, haughty Here! - Spite of all thy jealous anxiety, - Hath another thy sceptre obtain’d, - And thou art no longer the queen of the heavens, - And fixed is now thy beaming eye, - And powerless lie thy lily-white arms, - And never more thy vengeance can reach - The God-impregnated virgin, - And the wonder-working son of the deity. - Thee, too, I recognise, Pallas Athene! - With shield and wisdom couldest thou not - Avert the destruction of deities? - Thee, too, I recognise, thee, Aphrodite! - Erst the golden one! now the silver one! - True thou’rt still deck’d with the charms of thy girdle, - Yet I secretly tremble at thought of thy beauty, - And would I enjoy thy bountiful charms, - Like heroes before me, of fear I should die; - To me thou appearest the goddess of corpses, - Venus Libitina! - No longer with love is tow’rd thee looking, - Yonder, the terrible Ares; - And sadly is looking Phœbus Apollo, - The stripling. His lyre is silent - That sounded so joyous at feasts of the Gods. - Still sadder appeareth Hephaestus, - And truly, the lame one! no longer - Fills he the office of Hebe, - And busily pours, in the Gods’ congregation, - The nectar delicious--And long is extinguish’d - The inextinguishable laughter of deities. - - O ye Gods, I never could love you, - For ever distasteful I’ve found the Grecians, - And e’en the Romans I greatly hate. - Yet holy compassion and shuddering pity - Stream through my heart, - When I now behold you on high, - Godheads deserted, - Dead and night-wandering shadows, - Misty and weak, scared by the very wind-- - And when I bethink me how airy and cowardly - The godheads are, who overcame you, - The new, now-ruling, mournful godheads. - The mischievous ones in the sheepskin of meekness, - Then over me steals a glorious resentment, - And fain would I break the new-born temples, - And fight on your side, ye ancient deities, - For you, and your good ambrosial rights, - And before your lofty altars, - The once-more-restored, the sacrifice steaming, - Fain would I kneel down and pray, - And, praying, raise tow’rd you my arms.-- - - For evermore, ye ancient deities, - Have ye been wont, in the combats of mortals, - To join yourselves to the side of the victor, - And therefore is man more high-minded than ye, - And in combats of deities deem I it right - To take the part of the vanquish’d deities. - - * * * * * - - Thus did I speak, and visibly redden’d - Yon pale cloudy figures on high, - And on me they gazed like dying ones, - Sorrow-illumined, and suddenly vanish’d. - The moon, too, hid herself - Behind the clouds that darkly came over her; - High up roarèd the sea, - And then triumphantly stood in the heavens - The stars all-eternal. - - - - -7. QUESTIONS. - - - By the sea, by the desert night-cover’d sea - Standeth a youth, - His breast full of sadness, his head full of doubtings, - And with gloomy lips he asks of the billows: - - “O answer me life’s hidden riddle, - “The riddle primeval and painful, - “Over which many a head has been poring, - “Heads in hieroglyphical nightcaps, - “Heads in turbans and swarthy bonnets, - “Heads in perukes, and a thousand other - “Poor and perspiring heads of us mortals-- - “Tell me what signifies man? - “From whence doth he come? And where doth he go? - “Who dwelleth amongst the golden stars yonder?” - - The billows are murm’ring their murmur eternal, - The wind is blowing, the clouds are flying, - The stars are twinkling, all listless and cold, - And a fool is awaiting an answer. - - - - -8. THE PHŒNIX. - - - There comes a bird who hath flown from the westward, - He flies tow’rd the east, - Tow’rd the eastern garden-home, - Where the spices so fragrant are growing, - And palms are waving and wells are cooling-- - And, flying, the wondrous bird thus singeth - She loves him, she loves him! - His image she bears in her little bosom, - And bears it sweetly and secretly hidden, - Nor knows it herself! - But in her vision, before her he stands, - She prays, and she weeps, and she kisses his hands, - And calls on his name, - And calling awakes she and lieth all-startled, - And rubbeth her beauteous eyes in amazement-- - She loves him! she loves him! - - - - -9. ECHO. - - - ’Gainst the mast reclining, and high on the lofty deck - Stood I and heard I the song of the bird. - Like black-green steeds, with silvery manes, - The white and curling billows were springing; - Like flocks of swans were sailing past us, - With glittering sails, the men of Heligoland, - The nomads bold of the Baltic. - Over my head, in the azure eterne, - Snowy clouds were fluttering on, - While sparkled the sun everlasting, - The rose of the heavens, the fiery-blooming one, - Who joyfully mirror’d himself in the ocean; - And heaven and ocean and with them my heart - In echo resounded: - She loves him! She loves him! - - - - -10. SEA-SICKNESS. - - - The dark-grey clouds of the afternoon - Deeper are sinking fast over the sea, - Which darkly seemeth to rise to meet them, - And between them the ship drives on. - - Sea-sick sit I unmoved by the mast, - And make observations respecting myself, - Primeval, ash-grey observations, - Which Father Lot of old did make - When he had drunk too much of the grape, - And afterwards found himself amiss. - At times I bethink me of olden stories: - How cross-mark’d pilgrims of olden days - In stormy journeys the comforting image - Religiously kiss’d of the Holy Virgin; - How knights, when sick in such sea-misery, - The darling glove of their worshipp’d mistress - Press’d to their lips and then were comforted-- - But I am sitting, and chew with vexation - An ancient herring, the comforter salty - After hard drinking or indigestion! - - All this time the ship is fighting - With the furious, heaving flood; - Now like a rearing battle-steed stands it - On its hinder part, so that the rudder cracks; - Now it plunges headforward down again - In the howling abyss of the waters; - Again, as though carelessly love-faint, - Thinks it to lay itself down - On the black breast of the billow gigantic, - Who mightily onward roars, - And sudden, a desolate ocean-waterfall, - In snowy curlings plunges down headlong, - And covers me over with foam. - - All this swaying and hov’ring and tossing - Is quite unendurable! - In vain doth my eye keep watch and seek for - The German coast. But, alas, nought but water! - Evermore water, fast-moving water! - - As the winter-wanderer at evening - Longs for a comforting warm cup of tea, - So now doth long my heart for thee, - My German Fatherland! - For ever may thy sweet soil be cover’d - With whims and hussars and horrible verses, - And lukewarm slender treatises; - For ever may thy stately zebras - Feed upon roses instead of on thistles; - For ever may thy noble baboons - In idle adornment trick themselves out, - And think themselves better than all the other - Lowminded heavy and lumbering cattle; - For ever may thy assemblage of snails - Look on themselves as immortal, - Because they creep so slowly along, - And may they daily collect men’s opinions - Whether the cheesemite belongs to the cheese? - And hold for a long time grave consultations - How the Egyptian sheep to improve, - So that their wool may be better in quality, - And the shepherd may shear them like all other sheep, - Without a distinction-- - For evermore may folly and wrong - Cover thee, Germany, utterly! - Still am I yearning for thee, - For thou art _terra firma_ at least! - - - - -11. IN HARBOUR. - - - Happy the man who arrives safe in harbour, - And behind him hath left the ocean and tempests, - And now so warmly and quietly sits, - In the townhall-cellar of Bremen! - See how the world is truly and lovingly - In the bumper fully depicted, - And how the heaving microcosm - Sunnily flows to the thirsty heart! - All I discern in the glass, - Olden and new traditions of nations, - Turks and Greeks, and Hegel and Gans,[27] - Citron forests and watch-parades, - Berlin and Schilda and Tunis and Hamburg, - But most of all the form of my loved one, - That angel-head on the Rhenish wine’s gold ground. - - O, how fair, how fair art thou, loved one! - Thou art a very rose, - Not like the rose of fair Schiras, - The nightingale’s bride, of whom Hafis once sang; - Not like the rose of Sharon, - The sacred and red one, the prophet-honour’d one; - But thou’rt like the rose in the cellar at Bremen![28] - That is the rose of all roses, - The older she grows, the fairer she blossoms, - And her heavenly fragrance hath gladden’d my bosom, - Hath served to inspire me, served to enchant me. - And did the head of the cellar of Bremen - Not hold me fast, yes fast by my hair, - I surely had tumbled! - - The worthy man! we sat together, - And drank like brethren, - We spoke of lofty mysterious things, - We sigh’d and sank in the arms of each other, - And he did convert me to love’s religion, - I drank to the health of my bitterest enemies, - And every wretched poet I pardoned - As I myself for pardon would hope; - I wept with devotion, and lastly - The doors of the place were unto me open’d - Where the twelve apostles, the sacred tuns, - Silently preach, though understood plainly - By every nation. - - True men indeed! - In wooden coats, from without all-invisible, - Inwardly are they more radiant and fairer - Than all the haughty priests of the temple, - And Herod’s satellites cringing and courtiers, - All glitt’ring in gold and clothèd in purple; - Ever my wont is to say - Not amongst the mere common people, - No, in the best and politest society, - Constantly lived the monarch of heaven. - - Hallelujah! How sweetly wave round me - The palm-trees of Bethel! - How fragrant the myrrh is of Hebron! - How Jordan is roaring, and reeling with rapture, - While my immortal soul also is reeling, - And I reel with it, and whilst thus reeling, - I’m brought up the stairs and into the daylight - By the worthy head of the cellar of Bremen. - - Thou worthy head of the cellar of Bremen! - See where sit on the roofs of the houses - The angels, all well-drunken and singing; - The glowing sun high up in the heavens - Is nought but the red and drunken nose - Which the World-Spirit sticks out, - And round the World-Spirit’s red nose - Whirleth the whole of the drunken world. - - - - -12. EPILOGUE. - - - As on the plain shoot up the wheatstalks - So do the thoughts in the spirit of man - Grow up and waver; - But the gentle thoughts of the poet - Are as the red and blue-colour’d flowers - Merrily blooming between them. - - Red and blue-colour’d flowers! - The surly reaper rejects you as useless, - Wooden flails all-scornfully thresh you, - Even the needy traveller, - Whom your sight rejoices and quickens, - Shaketh his head, - And calleth you pretty weeds; - But the rustic virgin, - The twiner of garlands, - Doth honour and pluck you, - And with you decketh her beauteous locks, - And thus adorn’d, makes haste to the dance, - Where pipes and fiddles sweetly are sounding, - Or to the silent beech-tree, - Where the voice of the loved one still sweeter doth sound - Than pipes or than fiddles. - - - - -MONOLOGUE. - -(From Book “Le Grand.”) - - - In olden legends, golden castles stood - Where harps were sounding, beauteous maidens danced, - And spruce attendants flash’d, and jessamine - And rose and myrtle shed their fragrance round-- - And yet one single word of disenchantment - Made all this splendour in a moment vanish, - And nought remain’d behind but olden ruins - And croaking birds of night and drear morass. - So have I, too, with but one single word, - All Nature’s blooming glories disenchanted. - There lies she now, as lifeless, cold, and pale - As some bedizen’d regal corpse might be, - Whose cheekbones have been colour’d red by art, - And in whose hand a sceptre hath been placed. - His lips however wither’d look and yellow, - For they forgot to dye them red as well; - And mice are springing o’er his regal nose, - And ridicule the pond’rous golden sceptre. - - - - -ATTA TROLL, - -A SUMMER-NIGHT’S DREAM. - - -CAPUT I. - - Hemm’d close in by gloomy mountains - Proudly o’er each other rising, - Lull’d to sleep by wildly-dashing - Cataracts, like some fair vision, - - In the valley lies the charming - Cauterets. Its snow-white houses - All have balconies; upon them - Stand fair ladies, laughing loudly. - - Laughing loudly, downward look they - On the chequer’d noisy market, - Where there dance a male and female - Bear, to sound of bagpipe-music. - - Atta Troll and his dear wife ’tis - (Her they call the swarthy Mumma), - Who are dancing, and with wonder - The Biscayans are rejoicing. - - Stately, and with solemn grandeur, - Dances noble Atta Troll; - Yet his shaggy partner’s wanting - Both in dignity and manners. - - Yes, I have a shrewd suspicion - That she is too much accustom’d - To the vulgar shameless dances - At the Grand’-Chaumière at Paris. - - E’en the excellent bear-leader, - Who with chain conducts the couple - Seems the immorality - Of her dance to notice plainly. - - And he oft bestows upon her - With his whip fast-falling lashes, - And the swarthy Mumma howls then, - And awakes the mountain echoes. - - This bear-leader six Madonnas - Wears upon his pointed hat, - To protect his head from bullets - Or from lice perchance it may be. - - O’er his shoulder there is hanging, - Many-hued, an altar covering, - Doing office as a mantle; - Knife and pistol lurk beneath it. - - He had been a monk when younger, - Then became a robber-captain; - Then, to join the two vocations, - Took the service of Don Carlos. - - When Don Carlos had to scamper - With the knights of his round table, - And his paladins were driven - To pursue some honest calling, - - (Thus Schnapphahnski turn’d an author) - Then our knight became bear-leader, - And across the country travell’d - Leading Atta Troll and Mumma. - - And in sight of all the people, - In the market, they must dance now; - Atta Troll must in the market - Of this city dance in fetters! - - Atta, Troll, who once was dwelling - Like a haughty desert-monarch - On the airy mountain, dances - In a valley to the rabble! - - And for filthy lucre merely - He must dance, who formerly - In the majesty of terror - Felt himself so high exalted! - - When his younger days recalls he, - His lost lordship of the forest, - Then growl forth despairing noises - From the soul of Atta Troll. - - Gloomy looks he, like a swarthy - Moorish prince of Freiligrath;[29] - As the latter drums but badly, - So with rage he badly dances. - - But instead of pity, wakes he - Only laughter. Even Juliet - From the balcony laughs downward - At his leaps of desperation.-- - - Juliet has not in her bosom - Any feelings; French by nation, - Outwardly she lives; her outside - Is delightful and enchanting. - - Her sweet looks compose a blissful - Net of rays, within whose meshes - Is our heart fast held in prison, - Like a fish, and gently struggles. - - -CAPUT II. - - That a swarthy Freiligrathian - Moorish prince with anxious longing - On the big drum’s skin should rattle, - Till with violence ’tis broken, - - Is a very drum-affecting - And a drumskin-breaking matter-- - But just fancy the confusion - When a bear has burst his fetters! - - Both the music and the laughter - Straight are hush’d; with screams of terror - Rush the people from the market, - Pale as death turn all the ladies. - - Yes, from out his slavish fetters - Atta Troll has freed himself - Suddenly, and springing wildly, - Through the narrow streets he hastens-- - - (Each one civilly makes way), - Up the rocks he nimbly clambers, - Then looks down, as if in scorn,--then - Vanishes within the mountains. - - On the empty market stand now - Swarthy Mumma, and bear-leader - All alone. In angry fury - On the ground his hat he flingeth, - - Trampling on it,--the Madonnas - Trampling also, tears the covering - From his ugly naked body, - Swears at such ingratitude, - - Such black bear’s ingratitude! - For he constantly had treated - Atta Troll in friendly fashion, - And instructed him in dancing. - - All he had to him was owing, - E’en his very life. In vain they - Offer’d him a hundred dollars - For the skin of Atta Troll! - - Then upon the poor black Mumma, - Who, a form of silent sorrow, - On her hinder paws imploring, - Stood before the much enraged one, - - Fell the much enraged one’s fury - With redoubled strength. He beats her, - Calls her even Queen Christina, - Madame Muñoz and Putana.-- - - All this happen’d in a beauteous - Sultry summer afternoon, - And the night which then succeeded - To that day was quite superb. - - Almost half that night consumed I - On the house’s balcony; - Juliet was beside me standing, - Gazing on the stars above us. - - Sighing said she: “Ah, in Paris - “Fairest are the stars of all, - “When they on a winter evening - “In the street mud are reflected!” - - -CAPUT III. - - Summer-night’s dream! All-fantastic, - Aimless is my song. Yes, aimless - As our love and as our living, - As Creator and creation! - - His own will alone obeying, - Galloping along or flying, - Revels in the realms of fable - My belovèd Pegasus. - - He’s no serviceable, virtuous - Carthorse of the citizens, - Nor a battle-steed of party, - With pathetic neighs and stamping! - - Golden-mounted are the hoofs all - Of my white and wingèd charger, - Cords of pearls the guiding reins are, - And at will I let him wander. - - Bear me whereso’er thou wouldest! - Over steep and merry hill-paths, - Where cascades with mournful shrieking - Warn ’gainst madness’s abysses! - - Bear me on through silent valleys, - Where the solemn oaks are standing, - While primeval sweet traditions - From their knotted roots have birth! - - Let me drink there, while I moisten - My dim eyes,--ah, now I languish - For the sparkling wondrous water - That imparts both sight and knowledge! - - All my blindness goes! my gaze - Pierces to the deepest rock-cleft, - To the cave of Atta Troll, - And I understand his language! - - Strange ’tis how familiar to me - This bear-language now appeareth! - In my dear home have I never - Heard those sounds in earlier days? - - -CAPUT IV. - - Ronceval, thou noble valley! - Whensoe’er I hear thy name, - That blue flower so long departed - O’er my bosom sheds its fragrance! - - Then the glitt’ring dream-world rises - Which for thousand years had faded, - And the mighty spirit-eyes - Gaze upon me, till I’m awe-struck! - - Rattling sounds awake. There struggle - Saracen and Frankish knight; - As though bleeding and despairing - Ring Orlando’s bugle-notes - - In the vale of Ronceval, - Hard beside Orlando’s gap-- - Christen’d thus, because the hero, - Seeking how to force a passage, - - With his trusty sword Duranda - Struck with such death-dealing fury - On the wall of rock, that plainly - To this day are seen its traces-- - - There within a gloomy hollow, - Close surrounded by a thicket - Of wild fir-trees, safely hidden, - Lies the cave of Atta Troll. - - In the bosom of his fam’ly - Rests he after all the hardships - Of his flight and the distresses - Of his public show and travels. - - Sweet the meeting! all his young ones - Found he in that happy cavern - Where with Mumma he begot them,-- - Four his sons, and daughters two. - - Well-lick’d maidens were the latter, - Fair their hair, like parsons’ daughters - Brown the youths, the youngest only - With the single ear is black. - - Now this youngest was the darling - Of his mother, who when playing - Happen’d once to bite his ear off, - And for very love she ate it. - - He’s a very genial stripling, - At gymnastics very clever, - And he turns a somersault - Like the posture-master Massmann. - - Sprig of autochthonic humour, - He his mother-tongue loves only, - And has never learnt the jargon - Of the Grecian and the Roman. - - Fresh and free and good and merry, - Soap he holds in detestation, - (Luxury of modern washing,) - Like the posture-master Massmann. - - But our young friend is most genial - Where upon the tree he clambers, - Which along the steepest rock-side - From the deep abyss upriseth, - - And extendeth to the summit, - When the family at night-time - Gather all around their father, - Toying in the evening coolness. - - Then the old one loves to tell them - What he in the world has witness’d; - How he many men and cities - Had beheld, and greatly suffer’d, - - Like Laertes’ noble offspring, - But in one thing still unlike him,-- - Namely, that his wife went with him, - His dear black Penelope. - - Atta Troll then also tells them - Of the wondrous approbation - That he, by his skill in dancing, - Had acquired in ev’ry quarter. - - He assured them young and old - Had exultingly admired him, - When he danced upon the market - To the sweet notes of the bagpipe. - - In particular the ladies, - Those dear connoisseurs of all things, - Had with vehemence applauded, - And had ogled him with favour. - - O the vanity of Artists! - Our old dancing bear with simpers - Calls to mind the time when late he - To the public show’d his talent. - - Overcome by self laudation, - He would fain by act exhibit - That he’s no mere boaster only, - But a really first-rate dancer. - - From the ground then sudden springs he, - On his hinder paws upstanding, - And, as formerly, he dances - The gavotte, his favourite dance. - - Mute, with muzzles gaping open, - The young bears look on with wonder, - While their father in the moonlight - Capers here and there thus strangely. - - -CAPUT V. - - In the cavern, by his young ones, - Sick at heart, upon his back lies - Atta Troll, while thoughtful sucks he - At his paws, and sucks, and growls: - - “Mumma, Mumma, swarthy jewel, - “Whom I out of life’s wide ocean - “Once did fish, in life’s wide ocean - “Once again I now have lost thee! - - “Shall I ne’er again behold thee, - “Or beyond the grave p’rhaps only, - “Where, set free from earthly trammels, - “Thy dear soul is glorified? - - “Would that I, alas! could once more - “Lick thy well-belovèd muzzle, - “My dear Mumma, which so sweetly - “Stroked me over, as with honey! - - “Would that I again could snuffle - “That sweet smell, thy own peculiar, - “O my dear and swarthy Mumma, - “Charming as the scent of roses! - - “But, alas! my Mumma’s pining - “In the fetters of those rascals, - “Who, the name of men adopting, - “Deem themselves creation’s masters. - - “Death and hell! These men unworthy - “Aristocracy’s arch-emblems, - “Look down on the an’mal kingdom - “Proudly and disdainfully. - - “Take away our wives and children, - “Fetter us, ill-treat us, even - “Kill us, for the sake of selling - “Our poor hide and our poor carcass! - - “And they think themselves permitted - “Wicked deeds like this to practise - “‘Gainst us bears especially, - “And the rights of man they call it! - - “Rights of man indeed! Fine rights these. - “Tell me who bestow’d them on you? - “Nature certainly ne’er did so, - “For she’s not unnatural! - - “Rights of man indeed! Who gave you - “This great privilege, I wonder? - “Reason certainly ne’er did so, - “For she’s not unreasonable! - - “Men, pray are ye any better - “Than we others, just for eating - “All your dinners boil’d or roasted? - “In a raw state we eat ours, - - “Yet is the result the same - “To us both.--No, food can never - “Make one noble; he is noble - “Who both nobly feels and acteth. - - “Men, pray are ye any better - “Just because the arts and science - “With success ye follow? We now - “Never give ourselves the trouble. - - “Are there not such things as learnèd - “Dogs, and horses too, who reckon - “Just like councillors of Commerce? - “Do not hares the drum play finely? - - “Are not many beavers adepts - “In the art of hydrostatics? - “Were not clysters first invented - “By the cleverness of storks? - - “Write not asses criticisms? - “Are not apes all good comedians? - “Is there any greater mimic - “Than Batavia, long tail’d monkey? - - “Are not nightingales good singers? - “And is Freiligrath no poet, - “Who can sing of lions better - “Than his countryman the Camel? - - “I myself the art of dancing - “Have advanced as much as Raumer - “That of writing. Writes he better - “Than I dance,--yes, I the bear? - - “Men, why are ye any better - “Than we others? Upright hold ye, - “It is true, your heads, but in them - “Low-born thoughts are ever creeping. - - “Men, pray are ye any better - “Than are we, because your skin is - “Smooth and glist’ning? This advantage - “Ye but share with every serpent. - - “Human race, two leggèd serpents! - “Well I see the reason why ye - “Breeches wear; with foreign wool ye - “Hide your serpent-nakedness! - - “Children, guard yourselves against these - “Hairless and misshapen creatures! - “My dear daughters, never marry - “Any monster that wears breeches!” - - More than this I’ll not report now, - How the bear in his wild mania - For equality, kept reasoning - All about the human race. - - For, to say the truth, I also - Am a man, and never will I - Tell again such foolish libels, - Which are, after all, offensive. - - Yes, I am a man, and better - Than the other sucking creatures, - And the interests of the race - Ne’er will I renounce promoting. - - In the fight with other creatures - Faithfully I’ll ever struggle - For humanity,--the holy - Rights of man that he is born to. - - -CAPUT VI. - - Yet perchance ’tis beneficial - For us men, who form the higher - Kind of livestock, to discover - How they reason down below us. - - Yes, below us, in the gloomy - Mournful spheres of fellowship, - In the beasts’ inferior strata, - Brood resentment, misery, pride. - - That which natural hist’ry ever, - Equally with common custom, - Has for centuries admitted - Is denied with impious muzzle. - - That false doctrine by the aged - In the young ones’ ears is grumbled - Which assails both cultivation - And humanity on earth. - - “Children!” Atta Troll thus growl’d, - As he hither roll’d and thither - On his carpet-wanting couch: - “Unto us belongs the Future! - - “If each bear but thought as I do, - “If all beasts but thought so too, - “With united forces would we - “Take up arms against the tyrants. - - “Then the bear would form alliance - “With the horse, the elephant - “Twine his trunk in loving fashion - “Round the valiant ox’s horn. - - “Bear and wolf of every colour, - “Goat and monkey, e’en the hare - “For a time would work in common, - “And our triumph would be certain. - - “Union, union is the’ essential - “Requisite; alone, we’re conquer’d - “Easily, but join’d together - “We would overreach the tyrants. - - “Union! union! and we’ll triumph, - “And Monopoly’s vile sway - “Be o’erthrown, and we’ll establish - “A just kingdom for us beasts, - - “Full equality for all, then, - “Of God’s creatures, irrespective - “Of their faith, or skin, or odour, - “Be its fundamental maxim! - - “Strict equality! Each donkey - “Be entitled to high office; - “On the other hand, the lion - “Carry to the mill the sack. - - “As respects the dog, indeed he - “Is a very servile rascal, - “Since for centuries has man - “Like a dog ne’er ceased to treat him. - - “Yet in our free state we’ll give him - “Once again his olden rights, - “His prescriptive birthright, and he - “Soon again will be ennobled. - - “Yes, the Jews shall then enjoy too - “All the rights of citizens, - “And by law be made the equals - “Of all other sucking creatures. - - “Only dancing in the market - “For the Jew shall not be lawful; - “This amendment I insist on - “In the interest of my art. - - “For a sense of style, of rigid - “Plastic art in motion’s wanting - “To that race, who really ruin - “What there is of public taste.” - - -CAPUT VII. - - Gloomy, in his gloomy cavern, - Squats, in his belov’d home-circle, - Atta Troll, the misanthrope, - And he shows his teeth, and growls thus: - - “Men, the pert and vulgar fellows! - “Smile away! From all your smiling - “And from your offensive yoke too - “Shall the coming day release us! - - “I am always most offended - “By that sour-sweet kind of quiv’ring - “Round the mouth,--these smiles of man - “Find I really past all bearing! - - “When I in his pallid visage - “See display’d that fatal quiv’ring, - “All my entrails in my body - “Turn right round with indignation. - - “More impertinently even - “Than by words, a man lays open - “By his smile the deepest hidden - “Insolence of his vile spirit. - - “They are always smiling! Even - “When by decency is needed - “Real solemnity of feature,-- - “E’en in love’s most solemn moment! - - “They are always smiling! Even - “When they’re dancing. In this manner - “They degrade this noble science, - “Which should be a kind of worship. - - “Yes, the dance throughout all ages - “Was a pious act of faith; - “Solemnly around the altar - “Turn’d the priests in mystic circle. - - “Thus in olden time King David - “Danced before the ark of cov’nant; - “Dancing was an act of worship, - “Was a prayer upon the legs! - - “I have ever understood thus - “Dancing, when upon the market - “To the people I was dancing, - “Who with their applause repaid me. - - “This applause, I must confess it, - “Often made me feel quite happy; - “For extorting admiration - “From one’s foes is very sweet! - - “But in their enthusiasm - “Still they smile. The art of dancing - “Powerless is to make them better, - “And they frivolous remain.” - - -CAPUT VIII. - - Many a very virtuous burgher - Smells but badly, whilst the servants - Of a king with ambergris - Or else lavender are scented. - - Virgin spirits may be met with - Which of green soap bear the odour, - Whilst the criminal with rose-oil - May have wash’d himself demurely. - - Do not therefore turn your nose up, - Gentle reader, if the cave of - Atta Troll may not remind you - Of Arabia’s sweetest spices. - - Tarry in that reeking circle, - ’Mid those miserable stenches, - Where to his young son the hero - As from out a cloud thus speaks: - - “Child, my child, thou youngest offspring - “Of my loins, now place thy one ear - “Close beside thy father’s muzzle, - “And suck in my solemn words! - - “Guard against man’s ways of thinking, - “They destroy both soul and body; - “‘Mongst all men there’s no such thing as - “Any ordinary man. - - “E’en the Germans, once so noble, - “E’en the very sons of Tuisco, - “Our own primitive relations, - “They too have degenerated. - - “They’ve become now faithless, godless, - “Even preaching atheism-- - “Child, my child, be on thy guard, - “‘Gainst both Feuerbach and Bauer![30] - - “Never be an Atheist, - “Monster void of all respect for - “The Creator--a Creator - “’Twas who made this universe! - - “High above us, sun and moon - “And the stars too (both the tail-less - “And all those with tails provided) - “Are reflections of His power. - - “Down below us, land and sea - “Are the echo of His glory, - “And each living creature praises - “Evermore His excellencies. - - “E’en the smallest silver-louse that - “In the aged pilgrim’s beard - “In life’s pilgrimage is sharer, - “Sings the great Eternal’s praises! - - “In yon starry bright pavilion, - “On the golden seat of power, - “World-directing and majestic, - “Sits a mighty polar bear. - - “Free from spot and snow-white glitt’ring - “Is his skin; his head is cover’d - “With a crown of diamonds, - “Which illumines all the heavens. - - “In his face is harmony, - “And the silent deeds of thinking; - “If he signs but with his sceptre, - “All the spheres resound with singing. - - “At his feet bear-saints are sitting - “Piously, who meekly suffer’d - “While on earth, and in their paws they - “Hold the palms of martyrdom. - - “Ofttimes one amongst them rises, - “Then another,--by the Spirit - “Seeming mov’d, and straightway dance they - “Their most solemn sacred dance-- - - “Sacred dance, where mercy’s radiance - “Renders talent quite superfluous, - “And the soul for very rapture - “From the skin attempts to leap! - - “O shall I, unworthy Troll, - “E’er partake this great salvation? - “And from earth’s debasing sorrows - “To the realms of bliss soar upwards? - - “O shall I, all-drunk with heaven, - “In the stars’ pavilion yonder, - “With the palm and with the glory, - “Dance before the Master’s throne?” - - -CAPUT IX. - - Like the tongue as red as scarlet, - Which a swarthy Freiligrathian - Moorish prince with scornful fury - From his sullen mouth protruded, - - So the moon from out the gloomy - Clouds of heaven advanced. Afar off - Cataracts are roaring, sleepless - And morosely through the night. - - Atta Troll upon the summit - Of his fav’rite rock stands lonely, - Lonely, and to the abyss - Downward howls he in the nightwind: - - “Yes, I am a bear, I am so,-- - “Him ye christen shaggy bear, - “Growler, Isegrim, and Bruin, - “And heav’n knows how many others. - - “Yes, I am a bear, I am so, - “The uncouth and boorish creature, - “I’m the awkward dromedary - “Of your scorn and cruel laughter. - - “I’m the butt of all your wit, - “I’m the bugbear, with whose terrors - “Ye at night your children frighten, - “Human children, when they’re naughty. - - “I’m the joke of all your idle - “Nurs’ry stories, well I know it, - “And I now proclaim it loudly - “To man’s paltry world below. - - “Hear it, hear; a bear am I, - “My descent I’m not ashamed of, - “But am proud of it, as though I - “Sprang from Moses Mendelssohn!” - - -CAPUT X. - - Two dark figures, wild and surly, - And upon their all-fours gliding, - Force their way across the gloomy - Grove of firs at midnight’s hour. - - This is Atta Troll, the father, - And his son, young master one-ear. - Where the wood grows somewhat lighter - By the stone of blood they halted. - - “This old stone”--growl’d Atta Troll,-- - “Is the altar where the Druids - “In the days of superstition - “Human sacrifices offer’d. - - “O their cruelty accursèd! - “All the hair upon my back - “Bristles when I think upon it; - “Blood was pour’d out to God’s honour! - - “Now these men are more enlighten’d, - “And no longer kill each other - “Merely in excessive zeal - “For the interests of heaven. - - “’Tis no longer pious fancies, - “Madness, nor enthusiasm, - “But mere vanity and self-love - “Makes them now commit their murders. - - “On the good things of the earth - “Eagerly they’re ever seizing; - “’Tis an endless round of fighting, - “For himself each person stealeth! - - “Yes! the heritage of all - “Is the individual’s booty; - “Of the rights, then, of possession - “Speaks he, thinking of his own! - - “Of his own! Possession’s rights too! - “O, the cruel theft, the lying! - “None but man could have invented - “Such commingled fraud and madness. - - “Private property was never - “Made by Nature; pocketless, - “With no pockets in our skins, we - “Ev’ry one the world first entered. - - “Not a single one amongst us - “At his birth had such a pocket - “In his body’s outer skin, - “Where he might conceal his robb’ries. - - “Man alone, that smooth-skinn’d being, - “Who with foreign wool so nicely - “Clothes himself, had e’er the sharpness - “To provide himself with pockets. - - “Pockets! They’re as much ’gainst nature - “As is private property, - “As possession’s rights themselves are-- - “Men in fact are but pickpockets! - - “Fiercely hate I them! My hatred - “Unto thee, my son, bequeath I; - “Here upon this altar shalt thou - “Swear to man undying hatred! - - “Be implacably the death-foe - “Of those wicked vile oppressors - “To the very end of life,-- - “Swear it, swear it here, my son!” - - And the youngster swore, as once did - Hannibal. The moon, all yellow, - On the stone of blood look’d wildly, - And the pair of misanthropes. - - By-and-by we’ll tell the story - How the young bear ever faithful - To his oath remain’d. Our lyre shall - In another Epic praise him. - - As respects friend Atta Troll, - We will leave him for the present, - Presently to come across him, - All the surer, with a bullet. - - All thy stealthy machinations, - Traitor ’gainst man’s majesty, - Now at length are terminated, - And thy hour will sound to-morrow! - - -CAPUT XI. - - Like some drowsy bayaderes - Look the mountains, standing shiv’ring - In their snowy shirts of clouds, - Flutt’ring in the breeze of morning. - - Yet they soon become enliven’d - By the sun-god stripping from them - All the veil that’s hanging o’er them - Lighting up their naked beauty! - - Early in the morn I started - With Lascaro on our journey - Bound to hunt the bear. At noonday - We arrived at Pont d’Espagne. - - So they call the bridge which leadeth - Out of France and into Spain, - To the land of west barbarians, - Who’re a thousand years behind us,-- - - Yes, a thousand years behind us - In all modern civ’lisation; - My barbarians to the eastward - But a hundred years behind are. - - Slowly, almost trembling, left I - France’s sacred territory, - Blessèd fatherland of freedom - And the women that I love! - - On the middle of the bridge - A poor Spaniard sat. Deep mis’ry - Lurk’d behind his tatter’d mantle, - Misery in his eyes was lurking. - - An old crazy mandoline - With his wither’d fingers pinch’d he; - Shrill the discord which re-echoed - From the rocks, as in derision. - - Oftentimes his figure bent he - Downward tow’rd the’ abyss with laughter, - Tinkling harder then than ever, - While the following words he sang: - - “In the middle of my bosom - “Stands a little golden table; - “Round the little golden table - “Stand four little golden chairs. - - “On the golden chairs are sitting - “Little ladies, golden arrows - “In their hair,--at cards they’re playing, - “But ’tis only Clara wins. - - “As she wins, she laughs with slyness; - “Ah! within my bosom, Clara, - “Thou’lt be ev’ry time a winner, - “For thou holdest nought but trumps.” - - Wand’ring onward, to myself I - Spoke: “’Tis singular that madness - Sits and sings upon yon bridge, - That from France to Spain leads over. - - “Is this madman but the emblem - “Of the interchange ’mongst nations - “Of their thoughts? or his own country’s - “Wild and crazy title-page?” - - We arrived not until evening - At the wretched small posada, - Where an olla-podrida - In a dirty dish was smoking. - - There I swallow’d some garbanzos, - Heavy, large as musket-bullets, - Indigestible to Germans, - Though to dumplings they’re accustom’d. - - Fit companion to the cooking - Was the bed. With insects pepper’d - It appear’d. The bugs, alas! are - Far the greatest foes of man. - - Fiercer than the wrath of thousand - Elephants, I find the hatred - Of one tiny little bug, - When across my bed it crawleth. - - One must let them bite in quiet,-- - This is bad enough,--still more ’tis - If one crushes them. The stink then - Keeps one all night long in torment. - - Yes, the fiercest earthly trouble - Is the fight with noxious vermin, - Who a stench employ as weapons,-- - Is a duel with a bug! - - -CAPUT XII. - - How they rave, the race of poets, - E’en the tame ones, singing ever - And exclaiming: “Nature’s surely - “The Creator’s mighty temple-- - - “Is a temple all whose glories - “To our Maker’s fame bear witness, - “Sun and moon and stars all hanging - “In its cupola as lamps.” - - Well and good, my worthy people! - Yet confess that in this temple - Are the stairs uncomfortable, - Bad and inconvenient stairs! - - All this up-and-down-stairs going, - Mountain-climbing and this jumping - Over rocks is very tiring - To the legs as well as spirit. - - Close beside me walk’d Lascaro, - Pale and lanky, like a taper; - Never spoke he, never laugh’d he, - He, the dead son of the sorc’ress. - - Yes, ’tis said that he’s a dead man, - Dead long since, but yet his mother - Old Uraca’s magic science - Kept him living in appearance.-- - - That accursèd temple-staircase! - It exceeds my comprehension - How my neck escaped from breaking, - Stumbling o’er a precipice. - - How the cataracts were shrieking! - How the tempest flogg’d the fir-trees - Till they howl’d! The clouds began too - Crashing suddenly--bad weather! - - In a little fishing cottage - By the Lac-de-Gobe soon found we - Shelter and some trout for luncheon; - Most delicious were the latter. - - In an arm-chair was reclining, - Ill and grey, the ferryman; - On him his two pretty nieces, - Like a pair of angels, waited. - - Stoutish angels, rather Flemish, - Seeming from a frame descended - Of a Rubens; gold their tresses, - Full of health their eyes, and liquid. - - Their vermilion cheeks were dimpled, - With a secret slyness in them; - Strong their limbs were, and voluptuous, - Giving pleasure to the fancy. - - Dear, affectionate young creatures, - Keeping up a sweet discussion, - As to which drink would be relish’d - Most of all by their sick uncle. - - If the one the cup should bring him - Full of well-boil’d linden blossoms, - Then the other hastes to feed him - With an elder-flow’r decoction. - - “I’ll not drink of either of them,” - “Cried impatiently the old man; - “Fetch some wine, that I may offer - “To my guests some better drink!” - - Whether it was wine they gave me - At the Lac-de-Gobe, I really - Cannot say. Methinks in Brunswick - By the name of Mum they’d call it. - - Of the very best black goat-skin - Was the wine-skin, stinking foully; - Yet the old man drank with pleasure, - And he seem’d quite well and joyous. - - He recounted the achievements - Of the smugglers and banditti - Merrily and freely living - In the Pyrenean forests. - - Many old traditions also - Well he knew: amongst the others - Were the battles of the giants - With the bears in times primeval. - - Yes, the bears then and the giants - Struggled fiercely for the mast’ry - Of these mountains and these valleys, - Ere by man they were discover’d. - - But when man arrived, the giants - Fled away from out the country - Stupified, for little brains - Are contain’d in heads gigantic. - - And ’tis said the silly fellows, - On arriving at the ocean, - And observing how the heavens - In its azure depths were mirror’d, - - Cleverly supposed the ocean - To be heaven, and plunged down in it, - Full of godlike confidence, - And were drown’d, the whole together - - As respects the bears, however, - They are gradually being - Kill’d by man, their numbers yearly - In the mountain still decreasing. - - “Thus on earth” exclaim’d the old man, - “One gives place unto another, - “And when men are put an end to, - “Then the dwarfs will be the masters. - - “Yes, the clever little people, - “Who the mountain’s womb inhabit, - “‘Mongst the golden mines of riches - “Digging and collecting nimbly. - - “How they from their hiding-places - “With their small sly heads keep peeping! - “Oft I’ve seen them in the moonlight, - “And then trembled at the future; - - “At the power their gold will give them; - “Ah, I fear lest our descendants - “Fly for refuge, like the stupid - “Giants, to the watery heaven!” - - -CAPUT XIII. - - In the black and rocky caldron - Rest the waters deep of ocean; - Stars, all pale and melancholy, - Peep from heaven. Night reigns, and silence. - - Night and silence. Oars are moving. - Like a splashing wondrous secret - Floats the bark. The old man’s nieces - Play the part of ferrymen, - - Joyously and nimbly rowing; - Ofttimes glisten in the darkness - Their stout naked arms, illumined - By the stars,--their great blue eyes, too. - - By my side Lascaro sitting - Is as pale and mute as usual, - And the fearful thought shoots through me: - Is he but a very corpse then? - - I myself,--am I dead also, - And embarking on my journey - With my ghostly comrades by me - To the chilly realm of shadows? - - And this lake, can it be Styx’s - Gloomy flood? Has Proserpina, - In default of Charon’s presence, - Sent her waiting-maids to fetch me? - - No! I am not yet departed - And extinguish’d; in my spirit - Is the living flame of life still - Glowing, blazing and exulting. - - And these maidens, gaily pulling - At their oars, and o’er me splashing - With the water dripping from them, - Full of merriment and laughter,-- - - These two fresh and sprightly damsels - Are most certainly not ghostly - Chambermaids in hell residing, - Waiting-maids of Proserpina! - - That I might be fully certain - Of their upper-worldliness, - And by practical experience - Ascertain my own existence, - - Hastily my lips applied I - To their rosy cheeks’ soft dimples, - And then framed this syllogism: - Yes, I kiss, and so I’m living! - - When we reach’d the shore, again I - Kiss’d the pair of kindly maidens; - In this coin, and no other, - Would they take the passage-money. - - -CAPUT XIV. - - Violet-colour’d mountain summits - Smile from out the sunny gold-ground; - To the slope a village clingeth, - Seeming like a daring bird’s nest. - - When I climb’d up to it, found I - That the old ones all had flown, - And that none were now remaining - Save the young, who could not fly yet; - - Pretty boys, and little maidens, - Almost hidden in their scarlet - Or white woollen caps, whilst playing - At a marriage, in the market. - - Still they play’d regardless of me, - And I saw how the enamour’d - Mouse-prince knelt pathetically - To the fair cat-emperor’s daughter. - - Poor young prince! Alas! he’s married - To the beauty. She morosely - Wrangles, bites him, and then eats him; - When he’s dead, the game is over. - - Almost all the day I linger’d - With the children, and we chatted - Like old friends. They fain would ask me - Who I was, and what my business. - - “Dear young friends, my native country - “Is call’d Germany,” I told them: - “Bears are found there in abundance, - “And my business is bear-hunting. - - “There I’ve torn the skin from many - “Of their bearish ears, and sometimes - “Found myself full sorely handled - “By the paws of Master Bruin. - - “Yet with ill-lick’d doltards daily - “I was forced to keep on wrangling - “In my own dear home, and found it - “Get at length beyond all bearing. - - “And accordingly here came I, - “Some more noble prey desiring, - “And I fain would try my forces - “‘Gainst the mighty Atta Troll. - - “He’s a noble adversary, - “Worthy of me. Ah! I often - “Have in Germany been victor, - “When my victory ashamed me.” - - When I took my leave, around me - Danced the pretty little beings - In a rondo, whilst thus sang they: - “Girofflino, Girofflette!” - - Full of charming impudence - Stepp’d at last the youngest tow’rds me, - Bowing lowly twice, thrice, four times, - While with pleasing voice thus sang she: - - “When the king I chance to meet with, - “Then I make him two low curtsies; - “When the queen I chance to meet with, - “Then I make her curtsies three. - - “But whene’er the devil happens - “With his horns to come across me, - “Then I curtsey twice, thrice, four times-- - “Girofflino, Girofflette!” - - “Girofflino, Girofflette!” - Sang the chorus, and with bant’ring - Round my legs kept gaily whirling - With their circling dance and sing-song. - - Whilst descending to the valley - That sweet echo still pursued me - Evermore, like birds’ soft chirping: - “Girofflino, Girofflette!” - - -CAPUT XV. - - Rocky blocks, of size gigantic, - All-misshapen and distorted, - Gaze upon me like fierce monsters - Turn’d to stone, from times primeval. - - Strange the sight! Grey clouds are hov’ring - High above me, like their double; - They’re the pallid counterfeit - Of those wild and stony figures. - - In the distance roars the streamlet, - And the wind howls through the fir-trees; - ’Tis a noise inexorable, - And as wretched as despair. - - Solitude most terrible! - Troops of jackdaws black are sitting - On the batter’d crumbling fir-trees, - Fluttering with their lame wings strangely. - - Close beside me goes Lascaro, - Pale and silent,--I myself, too, - Looking like incarnate madness, - With grim death as my companion. - - Wild and wretched is the country; - Lies it ’neath a curse? Methinks I - On the roots of yonder stunted - Tree can marks of blood discover. - - It o’ershadoweth a cottage, - Which is modestly half-hidden - In the earth; with meek entreaty - Seems its thatch to gaze upon thee. - - They who this poor cot inhabit - Are _Cagots_,[31] surviving relics - Of a race that deep in darkness - Lives a sad despised existence. - - In the hearts of the Biscayans - Still is rooted fast the loathing - Of Cagots, dark heritage - From dark days of superstition. - - In Bagnères cathedral even - Is a narrow grated entrance; - This, the sacristan inform’d me, - Was the door Cagots went in at. - - Once to them all other ingress - To the church was interdicted, - And by stealth they had to enter - In God’s holy house, like felons. - - There, upon a lowly footstool, - Sat the poor Cagots, and pray’d there - All alone,--as though infected, - Sever’d from the congregation. - - But the consecrated tapers - Of this century flare brightly, - And their lustre scares the evil - Shadows of the middle ages! - - So outside remained Lascaro, - Whilst I the Cagot’s poor cottage - Enter’d, and my hand extended - Kindly to my suff’ring brother. - - And I also kiss’d his infant, - Who, close-clinging to the bosom - Of his wife, suck’d greedily, - Looking like a sickly spider. - - -CAPUT XVI. - - When thou see’st yon mountain summits - From a distance, they are gleaming - As though deck’d with gold and purple, - Proud and princely in the sunlight. - - But when close at hand, this splendour - Vanishes, and, as in other - Earthly loveliness and glory, - ’Tis the play of lights deceived thee. - - What to thee seem’d gold and purple - Is, alas! but common snow, - Common snow, which, pale and wretched, - Lives a weary life and lonely. - - Just above me heard I plainly - How the hapless snow was crackling, - To the heartless cold winds telling - All the tale of its white sorrows. - - “O, how slowly pass here,” sigh’d it, - “In the desert waste the hours! - “O these hours that seem quite endless, - “Like eternities hard frozen! - - “Hapless snow! O had I only, - “‘Stead of on these mountain summits, - “Fallen into yonder valley, - “Yonder vale, where flow’rs are blooming, - - “Then should I have softly melted, - “And become a brook, whilst fairest - “Village maidens in my waters - “Would have washed their smiling faces. - - “Yes, perchance I should have floated - “To the ocean, there becoming - “Some fair pearl, and so be destin’d - “To adorn a monarch’s crown!” - - When I heard this pretty language, - Said I: “Darling snow, I’m doubtful - “Whether such a brilliant future - “Would have met thee in the valley. - - “Comfort take! But few amongst you - “Turn to pearls; thou wouldst have fallen - “Probably in some small puddle, - “And become a piece of dirt!” - - Whilst I in this friendly fashion - With the snow held conversation, - Came a shot, and from above me - Fell to earth a tawny vulture. - - ’Twas a joke of friend Lascaro, - Sportsman’s joke; and yet his features - Still continued fix’d and solemn, - His gun-barrel only smoking. - - He in silence tore a feather - From the bird’s tail, and then stuck it - On the top of his peak’d felt-hat, - And then hasten’d on as usual. - - Wellnigh ghostly ’twas to see him, - As his shadow with the feather - On the white snow of the mountain, - Black and long, was onward moving. - - -CAPUT XVII. - - Like a street there runs a valley, - Known by name of Spirit-Hollow; - Rugged cliffs on either side of’t - Rise to giddy elevation. - - On the widest, steepest slope there, - Peers Uraca’s daring cottage - Like a watch-tow’r o’er the valley; - Thither follow’d I Lascaro. - - With his mother held he counsel - In mysterious signal-language, - As to how great Atta Troll - Might be best allur’d and vanquish’d. - - For we had explored his traces - Carefully, and he no longer - Could escape us. Now are number’d, - Atta Troll, thy days on earth! - - As to whether old Uraca - Was in truth a mighty witch - Of distinction, as the people - In the Pyrenees asserted, - - I’ll not venture to determine; - This much know I, her exterior - Was suspicious, and suspicious - Was her red eyes’ constant dripping. - - Evil was her look, and squinting, - And the poor cows (’tis reported) - Whom she look’d on, in their udders - Had the milk dried suddenly. - - It is even said that many - Fatted swine and strongest oxen - She had put to death, by merely - Stroking with her wither’d hands. - - She at times for such offences - Was exposed to accusations - To the justice. But the latter - Was a follower of Voltaire, - - Just a modern, shallow worldling, - Void of faith and penetration, - And the’ accusers sceptically - Were dismiss’d, wellnigh with insult. - - Publicly Uraca follow’d - Quite an honest occupation, - Namely, selling mountain-simples - And stuff’d birds to those who sought them. - - Full her cottage was of suchlike - Curiosities, and frightful - Was the smell of fungi in it, - Cuckoo-flow’rs and elderberries. - - There was quite a fine collection - Of the vulture tribe display’d there, - With their wings extended fully, - And their monstrous beaks projecting. - - Was’t the strange plants’ smell that mounted - To my head and stupified me? - Wondrous feelings stole across me, - As I gazed upon those birds. - - They’re perchance enchanted mortals, - Who, by magic art o’erpower’d, - To the wretched stuff’d condition - Of poor birds have been converted. - - Fixedly they gaze upon me, - Sadly, yet with much impatience; - Often they appear to throw - Tow’rd the witch shy glances also. - - But the latter, old Uraca, - Close beside her son Lascaro - Cowers in the chimney corner, - Melting lead and casting bullets,-- - - Bullets that by fate are destined - To destroy poor Atta Troll. - How the flames with hasty motion - Quiver o’er the witch’s features! - - She incessantly keeps moving - Her thin lips, but nothing says she; - Mutters she the witches’ blessing, - That the casting be successful? - - Oft she chuckles and oft nods she - To her son, but he continues - Earnestly his occupation, - And as silently as Death. - - Swelt’ring ’neath my awe-struck feelings, - To the window went I, seeking - For fresh air, and then look’d downward - O’er the valley far below me. - - What I saw on that occasion - ’Tween the hours of twelve and one, - I will faithfully and neatly - Tell you in the following chapters. - - -CAPUT XVIII. - - And it was the time of full moon - On St. John the Baptist’s evening, - When the wild hunt’s apparition - Rush’d along the Spirit-Hollow. - - From the window of Uraca’s - Witchlike hut I excellently - Could observe the spirit-army - As it sped along the valley. - - Capital the place I stood in - For observing what was passing; - I enjoy’d a full sight of the - Grave-arisen dead men’s pastime. - - Cracking whips, and shouts and halloing, - Yelping dogs and neighing horses, - Notes of hunting-horns and laughter, - How they joyously re-echoed! - - On in front by way of vanguard - Ran the wondrous game they hunted, - Stag and sow, in herds enormous, - With the pack of hounds behind them. - - Huntsmen out of every region - And of every age were gather’d; - Hard by Nimrod of Assyria, - For example, rode Charles X--. - - High upon their snowy horses - On they rush’d; on foot there follow’d - The piqueurs, the leashes holding, - And the pages with the torches. - - Many in the wild procession - Seem’d to me well-known. The horseman - In the golden glist’ning armour,-- - Was he not the great King Arthur? - - And Sir Ogier, he of Denmark, - Wore he not his green and glancing - Coat of ringèd mail, that gave him - All the’ appearance of a frog? - - In the long train also saw I - Many intellectual heroes; - There I recognized our Wolfgang, - By his eyes’ exceeding lustre. - - Being damn’d by Hengstenberg, - In his grave he cannot slumber, - But his earthly love for hunting - With the heathen throng continues. - - By his mouth’s sweet smile I also - Knew again the worthy William,[32] - Whom the Puritans had likewise - Cursed with bitterness; this sinner - - Needs must join at night that savage - Army, on a black steed mounted; - On an ass, and close beside him - Rode a man,--and, O good heavens, - - By his weary, praying gestures, - By his pious snow-white nightcap, - By his grief of soul, I straightway - Knew our old friend, Francis Horn! - - Just for writing commentaries - On the world-child Shakespear, must he - After death, poor fellow, with him - Ride amidst the wild hunt’s tumult! - - Ah! he now must ride, poor Francis, - Who to walk was well-nigh frighten’d; - Who ne’er moved, except when praying, - Or when chatting o’er the tea-tray! - - Would not all the aged maidens, - Long accustomed to caress him, - Shudder if they came to hear that - Francis was a savage huntsman! - - When he breaks into a gallop, - The great William with derision - Looks on his poor commentator - Who at donkey’s pace goes after, - - Helplessly and wildly clinging - To the pommel of his donkey, - Yet in death as well as lifetime - Following faithfully his author. - - Many ladies saw I also - In the spirits’ wild procession, - Many beauteous nymphs amongst them - With their slender, youthful figures. - - They astraddle sat their horses, - Mythologically naked; - Yet their long and curling tresses - Fell low down, like golden mantles. - - Garlands on their heads they carried, - And with saucy backward-bending - Supercilious wanton postures - Leafy wands kept ever swinging. - - Hard beside them saw I certain - Closely-button’d dames on horseback - On their ladies’ saddles sitting - With their falcons on their fists. - - As in parody behind them - On their knackers, lanky ponies, - Rode a troop of gay bedizen’d - Women, looking like comedians. - - Full of beauty were their features, - But perchance a little bold; - Madly were they shouting with their - Cheeks so full and wanton-painted. - - How they joyously re-echoed, - Notes of hunting-horns and laughter, - Yelping dogs and neighing horses, - Cracking whips and shouts and halloing. - - -CAPUT XIX. - - But, resembling beauty’s trefoil, - In the midst of the procession - Figures three I noticed; ne’er I - Can forget those lovely women. - - Easily the first one knew I - By the crescent on her forehead; - Like a statue pure, all-proudly - Onward rode the mighty goddess. - - High up-turn’d appear’d her tunic, - Half her breast and hip disclosing; - Torchlight, moonlight both were playing - Gaily round her snowy members. - - White as marble were her features, - Cold as marble too; and fearful - Was the numbness and the paleness - Of that face, so stern and noble. - - Yet within her black eye plainly - Terribly but sweetly sparkled - A mysterious, glowing fire, - Spirit-dazzling and consuming. - - O, how alter’d was Diana - Who, with haughty chastity, - To a stag once turn’d Acteon, - And as prey to dogs abandon’d! - - Does she expiate this crime now - Join’d to these gallant companions? - Like a wretched spectral creature - Nightly through the air she travels. - - Late, indeed, but all the stronger - She to thoughts of lust awakens, - And within her eyes ’tis burning, - Like a very brand of hell. - - All the lost time now laments she, - When mankind were far more handsome - And by quantity perchance she - Now makes up for quality. - - Close beside her rode a beauty - Whose fair features were not chisell’d - In such Grecian mould, yet glisten’d - With the Celtic race’s charms. - - This one was the fay Abunde, - Whom I easily distinguish’d - By the sweetness of her smile, - And her mad and hearty laughter! - - Hale and rosy were her features, - As though limn’d by Master Greuze; - Heart-shaped was her mouth, and open, - Showing teeth of dazzling whiteness. - - Night-dress blue and flutt’ring wore she, - That the wind to lift attempted; - Even in my brightest visions - Never saw I such fair shoulders! - - Scarcely could I keep from springing - Out of window to embrace them; - Ill should I have fared, however, - For my neck should I have broken. - - She, alas! would but have titter’d - If before her feet, all-bleeding, - In the deep abyss I tumbled,-- - Ah! a laugh like this well know I! - - And the third of those fair women, - Who so deeply stirr’d thy bosom,-- - Was she but a female devil - Like the other two first mention’d? - - Whether devil she or angel, - Know I not; in case of women - One knows never where the angel - Ceases, and the deuce commences. - - On her glowing sickly features - Lay an oriental charm, - And her costly robes reminded - Of Schehezerade’s sweet stories. - - Soft her lips, just like pomegranates, - And her nose a bending lily, - And her members cool and slender - As the palms in the oasis. - - On a snowy palfrey sat she, - Whose gold bridle by two negroes - Was conducted, who on foot - By the princess’ side were walking. - - And in truth she was a princess, - Was the queen of far Judæa, - Was the lovely wife of Herod, - Who the Baptist’s head demanded. - - For this deed of blood she also - Was accurs’d, and as a spectre - With the wild hunt must keep riding, - Even to the day of judgment. - - In her hands she evermore - Bears the charger with the Baptist’s - Head upon it, which she kisses,-- - Yes, the head she kisses wildly. - - For she once loved John the Baptist; - In the Bible ’tis not written, - Yet in popular tradition - Lives Herodias’ bloody love. - - Otherwise there’s no explaining - That strange fancy of the lady,-- - Would a woman ever ask for - That man’s head for whom she cared not? - - She was somewhat angry, may be, - With him,--had him, too, beheaded; - But when she upon the charger - Saw the much-loved head lie lifeless, - - Sore she wept, and lost her senses, - And she died of love’s delirium. - (Love’s delirium! Pleonasm! - Love must always be delirium!) - - Every night arising, bears she - As I’ve said, the bloody head - In her hand as she goes hunting, - Yet with foolish woman’s fancy - - She at times the head hurls from her - Through the air, with childish laughter, - And then catches it again - Very nimbly, like a plaything. - - And as she was riding by me, - On me look’d she, and she nodded - So coquettishly and fondly, - That my inmost heart was shaken. - - Three times up and downward moving - The procession pass’d, and three times - Did the lovely apparition - Greet me, as she rode before me. - - When the train at last had faded, - And the tumult was extinguish’d, - Still that loving salutation - Glow’d within my inmost brain. - - And throughout the livelong night - I my weary limbs kept tossing - On the straw (for feather beds - Were not in Uraca’s cottage), - - And methought: What meaning was there - In that strange, mysterious nodding? - Wherefore didst thou gaze upon me - With such tenderness, Herodias? - - -CAPUT XX. - - ’Twas the sunrise. Golden arrows - Shot against the white mist fiercely, - Which turn’d red, as though sore wounded, - And in light and glory melted. - - Finally the victory’s won, - And the day, the triumphator, - Stood, in full and beaming splendour, - On the summit of the mountain. - - All the birds in noisy chorus - Twitter’d in their secret nests, - And a smell of herbs arose too, - Like a concert of sweet odours. - - At the earliest dawn of morning - To the valley we descended, - And whilst friend Lascaro follow’d - On the traces of the bear, - - I the time to kill attempted - With my thoughts, and yet this thinking - Made me at the last quite weary, - And a little mournful even. - - Weary, then, and mournful sank I - On the soft moss-bank beside me. - Under yonder mighty ash-tree, - Where the little streamlet flow’d, - - Which, with its mysterious plashing - So mysteriously befool’d me, - That all thoughts and power of thinking - From my spirit pass’d away. - - And a raging yearning seized me - For a dream, for death, for madness, - For that woman-rider, whom I - In the spirit-march had seen. - - O ye lovely nightly faces, - Scared away by beams of morning, - Tell me, whither have ye fleeted? - Tell me, where ye dwell at daytime? - - Under olden temples’ ruins, - Far away in the Romagna - (So ’tis said) Diana refuge - Seeks by day from Christ’s dominion. - - Only in the midnight darkness - From her hiding place she ventures, - And rejoices in the chase - With her heathenish companions. - - And the beauteous fay Abunde - Of the Nazarenes is fearful, - And throughout the day she lingers - Safe within her Avalun. - - This fair island lies deep-hidden - Far off, in the silent ocean - Of romance, that none can reach save - On the fabled horse’s pinions. - - Never there casts care its anchor, - Never there appears a steamer, - Full of wonder-seeking blockheads, - With tobacco-pipes in mouth. - - Never reaches there the languid - Sound of bells, so dull and tedious,-- - That incessant bim-bom clatter - Which the fairies so detest. - - There, in never-troubled pleasure, - And in youth eternal blooming, - Still resides the joyous lady, - Our blond dame, the fay Abunde. - - Laughingly her walks there takes she - Under lofty heliotropes, - With her talking train beside her, - World-departed Paladins. - - Well, and thou, Herodias, prythee - Say where art thou? Ah, I know it, - Thou art dead, and liest buried - By the town Jerusalem! - - Stiffly sleeps by day thy body, - In its marble coffin prison’d; - Yet the cracking whips and halloing - Waken thee at midnight’s hour, - - And the wild array thou followest - With Diana and Abunde, - With thy merry hunting comrades, - Who hold cross and pain detested. - - O what sweet society! - Could I hunt with you by night-time - Through the forests! By thy side - Always would I ride, Herodias! - - For ’tis thee I love the dearest! - More than yonder Grecian goddess, - More than yonder Northern fairy, - Love I thee, thou Jewess dead! - - Yes, I love thee! Well I know it - By the trembling of my spirit; - Love thou me, and be my darling, - Sweet Herodias, beauteous woman. - - I’m the very knight thou wantest! - Little truly it concerns me - That thou’rt dead and damn’d already, - For I’m free from prejudices. - - My own happiness ’tis only - That concerns me, and at times I - Feel inclined to doubt if truly - To the living I belong! - - Take me as thy knight, I pray thee, - As thy Cavalier servente, - And thy mantle will I carry - And e’en all thy whims put up with. - - Every night I’ll ride beside thee, - With the army wild careering; - Merrily we’ll talk and laugh then - At my frenzied conversation. - - Thus the time I’ll shorten for thee - In the night; but yet by day-time - All our joy will fly, and weeping - On that grave I’ll take my seat. - - Yes, I’ll sit by day-time weeping - On the regal vault’s sad ruins, - On the grave of thee, my loved one, - By the town Jerusalem. - - Aged Jews, who chance to pass me, - Then will surely think I’m sorrowing - For the temple’s desolation, - And the town Jerusalem. - - -CAPUT XXI. - - Argonauts without a ship, - Who on foot the mountain visit, - And instead of golden fleeces - Aim at nothing but a bear’s skin,-- - - We’re, alas! poor devils only, - Heroes of a modern fashion, - And no classic poet ever - Will in song immortalize us. - - Yet we notwithstanding suffer’d - Serious hardships! O what rain - Fell upon us on the summit, - Where no tree or hackney-coach was! - - Fierce the storm, its bonds were broken, - And in buckets it descended; - Jason surely was at Colchis - Never drench’d in such a show’r-bath! - - “An umbrella! Gladly would I - “Give you six-and-thirty kings[33] - “For the loan of one umbrella!” - “Cried I,--and the water dripp’d still. - - Fagg’d to death, and out of temper, - We return’d, like half-drown’d puppies - Late at night, as best we could, - To the witch’s lofty cottage. - - There beside the glowing fire-place - Sat Uraca, busy combing - Her great fat and ugly pug-dog; - Quickly she dismiss’d the latter, - - To attend to us instead, - And my bed she soon got ready, - Loosening first my espardillas, - That uncomfortable foot-gear-- - - Help’d me to undress, my stockings - Pulling off; I found them sticking - To my legs, as close and faithful - As the friendship of a blockhead. - - “Quick! a dressing-gown! I’d give you - “Six-and-thirty kings for only - “One dry dressing-gown!” exclaim’d I, - As my wet shirt steam’d upon me. - - Freezing and with chattering teeth, I - Stood awhile upon the hearth; - By the fire then driven senseless - On the straw at length I sank. - - But I slept not. Blinking look’d I - On the witch, who by the chimney - Sat, and held the head and shoulders - Of her son upon her lap, - - Helping to undress him. Near her - Stood upright her ugly pug-dog, - And he in his front paw managed - Cleverly to hold a pot. - - From the pot Uraca took some - Reddish fat, and with it rubb’d the - Ribs and bosom of her son, - Rubbing hastily, with trembling. - - And while rubbing him and salving, - She a cradle-song was humming - Through her nose, whilst strangely crackled - On the hearth the ruddy flames. - - Like a corpse, all yellow, bony, - On his mother’s lap the son lay, - Sorrowful as death, wide open - Stared his hollow, pallid eyes. - - Is he truly but a dead man - Who each night by love maternal - Hath a life enchanted giv’n him - By the aid of strongest witch-salve? - - Wondrous the half-sleep of fever, - Where the leaden limbs feel weary - As though fetter’d, and the senses - O’er-excited, wide awake! - - How the herb-smell in the chamber - Troubled me! With painful effort - Thought I where I had already - Smelt the same, but vain my thoughts were. - - How the wind a-down the chimney - Gave me pain! Like sighs it sounded - Of dejected dried-up spirits,-- - Like the sound of well-known voices. - - Most of all was I tormented - By the stuff’d birds, which were standing - On a shelf above my head, - Near the place where I was lying. - - They their wings were slowly flapping - And with awful motion, bending - Downward tow’rd me, forward pushing - Their long beaks, like human noses. - - Ah! where have I seen already - Noses such as these? At Hamburg, - Or at Frankfort, in the Jews’ street? - Sad the glimmering recollection! - - I at last was overpower’d - Quite by sleep, and in the place of - Wakeful, terrible phantasmas, - Came a healthful, steady dream. - - And I dreamt that this poor cottage - Suddenly became a ball-room - Which by columns was supported, - And by candelabra lighted. - - Some invisible musicians - Play’d from out Robert-le-Diable - That fine crazy dance of nuns; - All alone I walk’d about there. - - But at length the doors were open’d, - Open’d wide and then advanced - With a step both slow and stately - Guests of wonderful appearance. - - They were solely bears and spirits! - Walking bolt upright, each bear - Led a spirit as his partner, - In a snow-white grave-cloth hidden. - - In this manner pair’d, began they - Waltzing up and down with vigour - In the hall. The sight was curious, - Laughable, but also fearful! - - For the awkward bears soon found it - Difficult to keep in step - With the white and airy figures, - Who whirl’d round with easy motion. - - But those poor unhappy creatures - Were inexorably driven, - And their snorting overpower’d - E’en the’ orchestral double bass. - - Oftentimes one couple jostled - ’Gainst another, and the bear - Gave the spirit that had push’d him - Some hard kicks on his hind quarters. - - Often in the dance’s bustle - Would a bear tear off the shroud - From the head of his companion, - And a death’s head was disclosed then. - - But at length with joyous uproar - Crash’d the trumpets and the cymbals, - And the kettle-drums loud thunder’d, - And there came the gallopade. - - To the end of this I dreamt not,-- - For a stupid clumsy bear - Trod upon my corns, and made me - Cry aloud, and so awoke me. - - -CAPUT XXII. - - Phœbus in his sunny droschka - Lash’d his flaming horses onwards, - And had half his course already - Through the spacious heavens completed, - - Whilst I still in slumber lay, - And of bears and spirits, strangely - Intertwining with each other - In quaint arabesque, was dreaming. - - Midday ’twas ere I awaken’d, - And I found myself alone; - Both my hostess and Lascaro - For the chase had started early. - - In the hut the pug-dog only - Still remain’d. Beside the hearth he - Stood upright before the kettle, - While his paws a spoon were holding. - - Admirably had they taught him - Whensoe’er the broth boil’d over - Hastily to stir it round, - And to skim away the bubbles. - - But am I myself bewitch’d? - Or still blazes there the fever - In my head? I scarce can credit - My own ears--the pug-dog’s talking! - - Yes, he’s talking, and his accent - Gentle is and Swabian; dreaming, - As though buried in deep thought, - Speaks he in the foll’wing fashion: - - “Poor unhappy Swabian poet! - “In a foreign land I sadly - “Languish, as a dog enchanted, - “And a witch’s kettle watch! - - “What a shameful sin is witchcraft! - “O how sad, how deeply tragic - “Is my fate,--with human feelings - “Underneath a dog’s exterior! - - “Would that I at home had tarried - “With my trusty school companions! - “They’re at any rate no wizards,-- - “Ne’er bewitch’d a single being! - - “Would that I at home had tarried - “With Charles Mayer, with the fragrant - “Wallflow’rs of my native country, - “With its pudding-broth delicious! - - “I’m half dead now with nostalgia-- - “Would that I could see the smoke - “Rising from the chimneys where they - “Vermicelli cook at Stukkert!” - - When I heard this, deep emotion - Came across me; quickly sprang I - From the couch, approach’d the fireplace, - And address’d him with compassion: - - “Noble bard, say how it happens - “That thou’rt in this witch’s cottage? - “Tell me wherefore have they changed thee - “Cruelly into a pug-dog?” - - But with joy exclaim’d the other: - “Then thou’rt really not a Frenchman, - “But a German, understanding - “All my silent monologue? - - “Ah, dear countryman! how sad that - “Counc’llor-of-legation Kölle, - “When we o’er our pipes and glasses - “Held discussions in the beershop, - - “Always harp’d upon the thesis - “That by travelling alone we - “Could obtain that polish, which he - “Had from foreign lands imported! - - “So, that I might wipe away all - “That raw crust which stuck upon me, - “And like Kölle might acquire - “Elegant and polish’d manners, - - “From my country I departed, - “And while thus the grand tour making, - “Came I to the Pyrenees, - “To the cottage of Uraca. - - “I an introduction brought her - “From Justinus Kerner[34], never - “Thinking that this so-called friend - “Was in wicked league with witches. - - “Kindly welcomed me Uraca, - “Yet, to my alarm, her friendship - “Kept on growing, till converted - “At the last to sensual passion. - - “Yes, immodesty still flicker’d - “Wildly in the wither’d bosom - “Of this wretched, worthless woman, - “And she now must needs seduce me! - - “Yet implored I: ‘Ah, excuse me, - “‘Worthy madam! I’m no friv’lous - “‘Goethe’s pupil, but belong - “‘To the poet-school of Swabia. - - “‘Modesty’s the muse we worship, - “‘And the drawers she wears are made of - “‘Thickest leather--Ah, good madam, - “‘Do not violate my virtue! - - “‘Other poets boast of genius, - “‘Others fancy, others passion, - “‘But the pride of Swabian poets - “‘Is especially their virtue. - - “‘That’s the only wealth we boast of! - “‘Do not rob me of the modest - “‘And religious simple garment - “‘Which my nakedness doth cover!’ - - “Thus I spoke, and yet the woman - “Smiled ironically; smiling - “She a switch of mistletoe - “Took, and then my head touch’d with it. - - “Thereupon I felt a chilly - “Strange sensation, like a goose-skin - “Being o’er my members drawn; - “Yet in truth a goose-skin ’twas not-- - - “On the contrary, a dog-skin - “Was it rather; since that fearful - “Moment have I been converted - “As thou see’st me, to a pug-dog!” - - Poor young fellow! Through his sobbing - Not a word more could he utter; - And he wept with so much fervour, - That in tears wellnigh dissolved he. - - “Listen now,” I said with pity: - “Can I possibly relieve you - “Of your dog-skin, and restore you - “To humanity and verses?” - - But the other raised his paws up - In the air disconsolately - And despairingly; at length he - Spake with sighing and with groaning: - - “Till the Judgment Day, alas! I - “In this dog-skin must be prison’d, - “If I’m freed not from enchantment - “By a virgin’s self-devotion. - - “Yes, a pure unsullied virgin, - “Who ne’er touch’d a human being, - “And the following condition - “Truly keeps, alone can free me. - - “This unsullied virgin must, - “In the night of Saint Sylvester, - “Read Gustavus Pfizer’s[35] poems, - “And not go to sleep one moment! - - “If she keeps awake while reading, - “And her modest eye ne’er closes,-- - “Then shall I be disenchanted, - “Be a man,--yes, be undogg’d!” - - “In that case, good friend,” replied I, - “I at any rate can never - “Undertake to disenchant you, - “For I’m no unsullied virgin; - - “And still less should I be able - “To fulfil the task of reading - “All Gustavus Pfizer’s poems, - “And not fall asleep instanter!” - - -CAPUT XXIII. - - From the witch’s entertainment - To the valley we descended, - And our footsteps to the region - Of the Positive return’d. - - Hence, ye spirits! Nightly spectres! - Airy figures! Fev’rish visions! - We find rational employment - Once again with Atta Troll. - - In the cavern, by his young ones, - Lies the old bear, soundly sleeping, - With the snore of conscious virtue, - And at length he wakes with gaping. - - Near him squats young Master One-ear - And his head he’s gently scratching. - Like a bard whose rhyme is wanting, - And upon his paws he’s scanning. - - Likewise by their father’s side - On their backs are dreaming lying - Innocent four-footed lilies, - Atta Troll’s belovèd daughters. - - Say, what tender thoughts are pining - In the softly blooming spirits - Of these snowy young bear-virgins? - Moist with tears their eyes are glist’ning. - - Most of all appears the youngest - Deeply moved. Within her bosom - She a blissful twinge is feeling, - And to Cupid’s might succumbs she. - - Yes, that little god’s sharp arrow - Through her thick skin penetrated - When she saw Him--O, good heavens - Him she loves, a living man is! - - Is a man, yclept Schnapphahnski;-- - Whilst before his foes retreating - He arrived by chance one morning - At the mountain in his flight. - - Woes of heroes touch all women, - And within our hero’s features - Were depicted want of money, - Pale distress and gloomy sorrow. - - All his military chest, - Two-and-twenty silver groschen, - Which he had when Spain he enter’d, - Was the prey of Espartero. - - E’en his watch was not preserved him, - But remain’d at Pampeluna - In a pawn-shop. ’Twas an heirloom, - Costly and of genuine silver. - - And with long legs swiftly ran he, - But unconsciously whilst running - Won he something that’s far better - Than the best of fights,--a heart! - - Yes, she loves him, him, the archfoe! - O thou most unhappy bearess! - If thy father knew the secret, - He would growl in frightful fashion. - - As the aged Odoardo[36] - Stabb’d Emilia Galotti - In his pride of citizenship, - So would also Atta Troll - - Sooner have destroy’d his daughter, - Yes, with his own paws destroy’d her - Than permitted her to tumble - In the arms of any monarch - - Yet he at this very moment - Is of tender disposition, - With no wish to crush a rosebud - Ere the hurricane has stripp’d it.[37] - - Tenderly lies Atta Troll - In the cavern, by his young ones. - O’er him creep, like death’s forebodings, - Mournful yearnings for the future. - - “Children,” sigh’d he, as his great eyes - “Suddenly ’gan dripping, “children, - “All my earthly pilgrimage - “Is accomplish’d, we must part now. - - “For to-day at noon whilst sleeping - “Came a vision full of meaning, - “And my soul enjoy’d the blissful - “Foretaste of an early death. - - “Now, I’m far from superstitious, - “I’m no giddy bear,--yet are there - “Certain things ’twixt earth and heaven - “Unaccountable to thinkers. - - “Over world and fate whilst poring, - “Fell I fast asleep, with yawning, - “And I dreamt that I was lying - “Underneath a mighty tree. - - “From the branches of this tree there - “Trickled down some whitish honey, - “Gliding in my open muzzle, - “And I felt a sweet enjoyment. - - “As I blissfully peer’d upwards, - “Saw I on the very tree-top - “Seven tiny little bears - “Sliding up and down the branches. - - “Tender, pretty little creatures, - “With a skin of rose-red colour, - “While, like silk, from their dear shoulders - “Hung a something, like two pinions. - - “Yes, those rose-red little bears - “Were adorn’d with silken pinions, - “And with sweet celestial voices, - “Sounding like a flute’s notes, sang they! - - “As they sang, my skin turn’d ice-cold, - “And from out my skin there mounted, - “Like a soaring flame, my spirit, - “Radiantly to heaven ascending.”-- - - Thus spake Atta Troll in quivering - Tender grunting tones; a moment - Paused he, full of melancholy-- - But his ears with sudden impulse - - Prick’d he up, and strangely shook they, - Whilst from off his couch upsprang he, - Trembling, bellowing with rapture: - “Do ye hear that sound, my children? - - “Is it not the darling accents - “Of your mother? O, well know I, - “’Tis the roaring of my Mumma! - “Mumma! Yes, my swarthy Mumma!” - - Atta Troll, these words pronouncing, - Hasten’d, like a crazy being, - From the cavern to destruction! - Ah, he rush’d to meet his doom! - - -CAPUT XXI - - In the vale of Ronceval - On the very spot where whilome - Charlemagne’s unhappy nephew - To the foe his life surrender’d, - - There, too, fell poor Atta Troll, - And he fell by cunning, like him - Whom the base equestrian Judas, - Ganelon of Mainz, betrayed. - - Ah! that noblest bear’s-emotion, - Namely his uxorious feelings, - Was a snare which old Uraca - Cunningly avail’d herself of. - - She the growl of swarthy Mumma - Copied with such great perfection, - That poor Atta Troll was tempted - Out of his secure bear’s-cavern. - - On the wings of yearning ran he - Through the vale,--oft stood he, gently - Snuffing at a rock in silence, - Thinking Mumma was conceal’d there. - - Ah! conceal’d there was Lascaro - With his musket, and he shot him - Through the middle of his heart, whence - Gush’d a ruddy stream of blood. - - Once or twice his head he waggled, - But at last with heavy groaning - Fell he down, and wildly gasp’d he, - And his latest sigh was--“Mumma.” - - Thus the noble hero fell; - Thus he died. And yet immortal - Will he in the poet’s numbers - After death arise in glory. - - Yes, he’ll rise again in numbers, - And his glory, grown colossal, - On four-footed solemn trochees - O’er the face of earth stride proudly. - - And his tomb Bavaria’s monarch - Will erect in the Walhalla, - Writing on it this inscription, - In true lapidary style: - - “Atta Troll; a bear of impulse; - “Devotee; a loving husband; - “Full of sans-culottic notions, - “Thanks to the prevailing fashion. - - “Wretched dancer; strong opinions - “Bearing in his shaggy bosom; - “Often stinking very badly; - “Talentless; a character!” - - -CAPUT XXV. - - Three-and-thirty aged women, - Wearing on their heads the scarlet - Old Biscayan caps we read of, - Stood around the village entrance. - - One, like Deborah, amongst them - Beat the tambourine, and danced too, - And she sang a song of triumph - O’er Lascaro, the bear-slayer. - - Four strong men upon their shoulders - Bore the vanquish’d bear in triumph; - Upright sat he on the seat, - Like a sickly bathing patient. - - And behind, as if related - To the dead bear, went Lascaro - With Uraca; right and left she - Bow’d her thanks, though much embarrass’d. - - And the Mayor’s Assistant gave them - Quite a speech before the town hall, - When the grand procession got there, - And he spoke on many subjects,-- - - As, for instance, on the increase - Of the navy, on the press, - On the weighty beetroot question, - On the curse of party spirit. - - After fully illustrating - Louis Philippe’s special merits, - He proceeded to the bear, - And Lascaro’s great achievement. - - “Thou, Lascaro!” cried the speaker, - As with his tricolour’d sash he - Wiped the sweat from off his forehead, - “Thou, Lascaro! Thou, Lascaro! - - “Thou who bravely hast deliver’d - “France and Spain from Atta Troll, - “Thou’rt the hero of both countries, - “Pyrenean Lafayette!” - - When Lascaro in this manner - Heard officially his praises, - In his beard with pleasure laugh’d he, - And quite blush’d with satisfaction, - - And in very broken accents, - One word o’er another stumbling, - Gave he utt’rance to his thanks - For this most exceeding honour! - - Every one with deep amazement - Gazed upon this sight unwonted, - And the aged women mutter’d - In alarm, beneath their breath: - - “Why, Lascaro has been laughing! - “Why, Lascaro has been blushing! - “Why, Lascaro has been speaking! - “He, the dead son of the witch!”-- - - Atta Troll that very day was - Flay’d, and then they sold by auction - His poor skin. A furrier bought it - For one hundred francs, hard money. - - He most beautifully trimm’d it - With a lovely scarlet border, - And then sold it for just double - What it cost him in the first place. - - Juliet then became its owner - At third hand, and in her bedroom - Lies it now in Paris, serving - As a rug beside her bed. - - O, with naked feet how often - Have I stood at night upon this - Earthly brown coat of my hero, - On the skin of Atta Troll! - - And o’ercome by sad reflections, - Schiller’s words I then remember’d: - “What in song shall be immortal - “Must in actual life first die!”[38] - - -CAPUT XXVI. - - Well, and Mumma? Ah, poor Mumma - Is a woman! Frailty - Is her name! Alas! all women - Are as frail as any porcelain. - - When by fate’s hand she was parted - From her glorious noble husband, - She by no means died of sorrow, - Nor succumb’d to her affliction. - - On the contrary, she gaily - Went on living, went on dancing - As before, with ardour wooing - For the public’s daily plaudits. - - Finally she found a solid - Situation, and provision - For the whole of life, at Paris - In the famed _Jardin des Plantes_. - - When I chanced the other Sunday - With my Juliet to go thither - And expounded Nature to her, - Of the plants and beasts conversing, - - Showing the giraffes and cedars - Of Mount Lebanon, the mighty - Dromedary, the gold pheasants, - And the zebra,--as we chatted - - It so happen’d that at length we - Stood before the pit’s close railing - Where the bears are all collected,-- - Gracious heavens, what saw we there! - - An enormous desert-bear - From Siberia, white and hairy, - With a lady-bear was playing - A too-tender game of love there. - - And the latter was our Mumma! - Was the wife of Atta Troll! - Well I knew her by the tender - Humid glances of her eye. - - Yes, ’twas she! the South’s black daughter! - She it was,--yes, Madame Mumma - With a Russian is now living, - With a Northern wild barbarian! - - With a simp’ring face a negro - Who approach’d us, thus address’d me: - “Is there any sight more pleasing - “Than to see two lovers happy?” - - I replied: “Pray tell me whom, Sir, - “I’ve the honour of addressing?” - But the other cried with wonder: - “Don’t you really recollect me? - - “Why, the Moorish prince am I - “Who in Freiligrath was drumming; - “Things in Germany went badly, - “I was far too isolated. - - “Here, however, where as keeper - I am station’d, where I’m living - ’Mongst the lions, plants, and tigers - Of my home within the tropics, - - “Here I find it much more pleasant - Than your German fairs attending, - Where I day by day was drumming - And was fed so very badly. - - “I quite recently was married - To a fair cook from Alsatia; - When within her arms reposing - Feel I then at home completely. - - “Her dear feet remind me closely - Of our darling elephants; - When she speaks in French, her language - My black mother-tongue resembles. - - “Oft she scolds me, and I think then - Of the rattling of that drum - Which had skulls around it hanging; - Snake and lion fled before it. - - “Yet with feeling in the moonlight - Weeps she, like a crocodile - Peeping from the tepid river - To enjoy a little coolness. - - “And she gives me charming tit-bits, - And I thrive upon them, eating - Once again, as on the Niger, - With old African enjoyment. - - “I am getting fat; my belly’s - Grown quite round, and from my shirt it - Is projecting, like a black moon - From the snow-white clouds advancing.” - - -CAPUT XXVII. - -(To Augustus Varnhagen Von Ense.) - - “Where in heaven, Master Louis, - Did you pick up all this crazy - Nonsense?”--these the very words were - hich the Card’nal d’Este made use of. - - When he read the well-known poem - Of Orlando’s frantic doings, - Which politely Ariosto - To his Eminence inscribed. - - Yes, my good old friend Varnhagen, - Yes, I round thy lips see plainly - Hov’ring those exact expressions, - By the same sly smile attended. - - Often dost thou laugh whilst reading, - Yet at intervals thy forehead - Solemnly is wrinkled over, - And these thoughts then steal across thee: - - “Sounds it not like those young visions - That I dreamt once with Chamisso, - And Brentano and Fouqué, - In the blue and moonlight evenings?[39] - - “Is it not the dear notes rising - From the long-lost forest chapel? - Sound the well-known cap and bells not - Roguishly at intervals? - - “In the nightingale’s sweet chorus - Breaks the bear’s deep double-bass, - Dull and growling, interchanging - In its turn with spirit-whispers! - - “Nonsense, which pretends to wisdom! - Wisdom, which has turn’d quite crazy! - Dying sighs, which suddenly - Into laughter are converted!”-- - - Yes, my friend, the sounds indeed ’tis - From the long departed dream-time; - Save that modern quavers often - ’Midst the olden keynotes jingle. - - Signs of trembling thou’lt discover - Here and there, despite the boasting; - I commend this little poem - To thy well-proved gentleness! - - Ah! perchance it is the last free - Forest-song of the Romantic; - In the daytime’s wild confusion - Will it sadly die away. - - Other times and other birds too! - Other birds and other music! - What a crackling, like the geese’s - Who preserved the Capitol! - - What a twitt’ring! ’Tis the sparrows,. - While their claws hold farthing rushlights; - Yet they’re strutting like Jove’s eagle - With the mighty thunderbolt! - - What a cooing! Turtledoves ’tis; - Sick of love, they now are hating, - And henceforward, ’stead of Venus, - Draw the chariot of Bellona! - - What a humming, world-convulsing! - ’Tis in fact the big cock-chafers - Of the springtime of the people, - Smitten with a sudden frenzy! - - Other times and other birds too! - Other birds and other music! - They perchance could give me pleasure - Had I only other ears! - - - - -GERMANY.[40] - -A WINTER TALE. - - -CAPUT I. - - In the mournful month of November ’twas, - The winter days had returnèd, - The wind from the trees the foliage tore, - When I tow’rds Germany journied. - - And when at length to the frontier I came - I felt a mightier throbbing - Within my breast, tears fill’d my eyes, - And I wellnigh broke into sobbing. - - And when I the German language heard, - Strange feelings each other succeeding, - I felt precisely as though my heart - Right pleasantly were bleeding. - - A little maiden sang to the harp; - Real feeling her song was conveying, - Though false was her voice, and yet I felt - Deep moved at hearing her playing. - - She sang of love, and she sang of love’s woes, - Of sacrifices, and meeting - Again on high, in yon better world - Where vanish our sorrows so fleeting. - - She sang of this earthly valley of tears, - Of joys which so soon have vanish’d, - Of yonder, where revels the glorified soul - In eternal bliss, grief being banish’d. - - The song of renunciation she sang, - The heavenly eiapopeia, - Wherewith the people, the booby throng, - Are hush’d when they soothing require. - - I know the tune, and I know the text, - I know the people who wrote it; - I know that in secret they drink but wine, - And in public a wickedness vote it. - - A song, friends, that’s new, and a better one, too, - Shall be now for your benefit given! - Our object is, that here on earth - We may mount to the realms of heaven. - - On earth we fain would happy be, - Nor starve for the sake of the stronger; - The idle stomach shall gorge itself - With the fruit of hard labour no longer. - - Bread grows on the earth for every one, - Enough, and e’en in redundance, - And roses and myrtles, beauty and joy, - And sugarplums too in abundance. - - Yes, sugarplums for every one, - As soon as the plums are provided; - To angels and sparrows we’re quite content - That heaven should be confided. - - If after death our pinions should grow, - We’ll pay you a visit auspicious - In regions above, and with you we’ll eat - Sweet tarts and cakes delicious. - - A song that’s new, and a better one, too, - Resounds like fiddle and flute now; - The Miserere’s at last at an end, - The funeral bells are mute now. - - The maiden Europe has been betroth’d - To the handsome Genius Freedom; - They clasp and kiss each other with warmth, - As their newborn passions lead ’em. - - The priestly blessing may absent be, - But the wedding is still a wedding; - So here’s long life to the bridegroom and bride, - And the future fruit of their bedding! - - An epithalamium is my song, - My latest and best creation; - Within my soul are shooting the stars - That proclaim its inauguration. - - Those stars inspired blaze wildly on - In torrents of flame, and with wonder - I feel myself full of unearthly strength, - I could rend e’en oaks asunder! - - Since I on Germany’s ground have trod, - I’m pervaded by magical juices; - The giant has touch’d his mother once more, - And the contact new vigour produces. - - -CAPUT II. - - Whilst heavenly joys were warbled thus - And sung by the little maiden, - The Prussian douaniers search’d my trunk, - As soon as the coach was unladen. - - They poked their noses in every thing, - Each handkerchief, shirt, and stocking; - They sought for jewels, prohibited books, - And lace, with a rudeness quite shocking. - - Ye fools, so closely to search my trunk! - Ye will find in it really nothing; - My contraband goods I carry about - In my head, not hid in my clothing. - - Point lace is there, that’s finer far - Than Brussels or Mechlin laces; - If once I unpack my point, ’twill prick - And cruelly scratch your faces. - - In my head I carry my jewelry all, - The Future’s crown-diamonds splendid, - The new god’s temple-ornaments rich, - The god as yet not comprehended. - - And many books also you’d see in my head, - If the top were only off it! - My head is a twittering bird’s nest, full - Of books that they gladly would forfeit. - - Believe me that matters are no worse off - In the library e’en of the devil; - E’en Hoffmann of Fallersleben[41] ne’er wrote - Any works that were half so evil. - - A passenger who stood by my side - Remark’d that we now had before us - The famous Prussian Zollverein, - The customhouses’ vast chorus. - - “The Zollverein”--thus he observed,-- - “Will found our nationality, - “And join our scatter’d fatherland - “In bonds of cordiality. - - “’Twill give us external unity,-- - “That kind that’s material and real: - “The censorship gives us the other kind, - “That’s ghostly and ideal. - - “It gives us internal unity, - “In thought as well as in feelings; - “A united Germany need we to rule - “Our outward and inward dealings.” - - -CAPUT III. - - In the old cathedral at Aix-la-Chapelle - Lie buried great Charlemagne’s ashes; - (Not the living Charles Mayer in Swabia born, - Who the writer of so much trash is!) - - As the smallest of poets I’d sooner live - At Stukkert, by Neckar’s fair river, - Than be buried as Emp’ror at Aix-la-Chapelle, - And so be extinguish’d for ever. - - In the streets of Aix-la-Chapelle the dogs - Are ennui’d, and humbly implore us: - “O stranger, prythee give us a kick, - And to life for a time thus restore us.” - - I saunter’d along in this tedious place - For an hour, with great perseverance, - And saw that the Prussian soldiery - Are not the least changed in appearance. - - The high red collar still they wear, - With the same grey mantle below it-- - (The Red betokens the blood of the French, - Sang Körner the youthful poet). - - They are still the wooden pedantic race, - In every motion displaying - The same right angle, and every face - A frigid conceit still betraying. - - They walk about stiffly, as though upon stilts, - Stuck up as straight as a needle, - Appearing as if they had swallow’d the stick - Once used as the best means to wheedle. - - Yes, ne’er has entirely vanish’d the rod, - They carry it now inside them; - Familiar _Du_ will recall the old _Er_ - Wherein they were wont to pride them. - - The long mustachio nothing more - Than the pigtail of old discloses - The tail that formerly hung behind - Is hanging right under their noses. - - I was not displeased with the new costume - Of the cavalry, I must confess it; - And chiefly the headpiece, the helmet in fact - With the steel point above it, to dress it. - - It seems so knightly, and takes one back - To the sweet romance of past ages, - To the Countess Johanna of Mountfaucon, - Tieck, Uhland, Fouqué, and such sages. - - The middle ages it calls to mind, - With their squires and noble inferiors, - Who in their bosoms fidelity bore, - And escutcheons upon their posteriors. - - Crusades and tourneys it brings back too, - And love, and respect at a distance, - And times of faith, ere printing was known, - When newspapers had no existence. - - Yes, yes, I admire the helmet, it shows - An intellect truly enchanting! - Right royal indeed the invention was, - The _point_ is really not wanting! - - If a storm should arise, a peak like this - (The thought is terribly fright’ning) - On your romantic head might attract - The heavens’ most modern lightning! - - At Aix-la-Chapelle, on the posthouse arms, - I saw the bird detested - Yet once again. With poisonous glare - His eyes upon me rested. - - Detestable bird! If e’er thou should’st fall - In my hands, thou creature perfidious, - I would tear thy feathers from off thy back, - And hack off thy talons so hideous! - - And then I would stick thee high up on a pole - In the air, thou wicked freebooter, - And then to the joyful shooting match - Invite each Rhenish sharpshooter. - - As for him who succeeds in shooting thee down, - The crown and sceptre shall proudly - Reward the worthy; the trumpets we’ll blow, - “Long life to the king,” shouting loudly.[42] - - -CAPUT IV. - - ’Twas late at night when I reach’d Cologne, - The Rhine was past me rushing, - The air of Germany on me breath’d, - And I felt its influence gushing - - Upon my appetite. I ate - Some omelets, together with bacon; - And as they were salt, some Rhenish wine - Was by me also taken. - - The Rhenish wine gleams like very gold, - When quaff’d from out a green rummer; - If thou drink’st a few pints in excess, ’twill give - Thy nose the colour of summer. - - So sweet a tickling attacks the nose, - One’s sensations grow fonder and fonder; - It drove me out in the darkening night, - Through the echoing streets to wander. - - The houses of stone upon me gazed, - As if wishing to tell me the mysteries - And legends of times that have long gone by,-- - The town of Cologne’s old histories. - - Yes, here it was that the clergy of yore - Dragg’d on their pious existence; - Here ruled the dark men, whose story’s preserved - By Ulrich von Hutten’s[43] assistance. - - ’Twas here that the nuns and monks once danced - In mediæval gyrations, - Here Cologne’s own Menzel, Hoogstraaten[44] by name, - Wrote his bitter denunciations. - - ’Twas here that the flames of the funeral pile - Both books and men once swallow’d; - The bells rang merrily all the while, - And Kyrie Eleison follow’d. - - Stupidity here and spitefulness - Like dogs in the street coquetted; - In religious hatred the brood still exists, - Though greatly to be regretted, - - But see, where the moonlight yonder gleams, - A form of a monstrous sort is! - As black as the devil it rears its head,-- - Cologne Cathedral in short ’tis. - - ’Twas meant a bastile of the spirit to be, - And the cunning papists bethought them: - “In this prison gigantic shall pine away - German intellects, when we have caught them.” - - Then Luther appear’d, and soon by his mouth - A thundering “Halt!” was spoken. - Since then the Cathedral no progress has made - In building, the charm being broken. - - It never was finish’d, and this is as well, - For its very non-termination - A monument makes it of German strength - And Protestant reformation. - - Ye Cathedral-Society’s members vain, - With powerless hands have ye risen - To continue the work that so long has been stopp’d, - And complete the ancient prison. - - O foolish delusion! In vain will ye shake - The money-boxes so bootless, - And beg of the Jews and heretics too,-- - Your labour is idle and fruitless. - - In vain will Liszt on behalf of the fund - Make concerts all the fashion, - And all in vain will a talented king - Declaim with impetuous passion. - - Cologne Cathedral will finish’d be ne’er, - Although the Swabian Solons - Have sent a shipload full of stones - To help it, nolens volens. - - ’Twill ne’er be completed, despite all the cries - Of the ravens and owls without number, - Who, full of antiquarian lore, - In high church-steeples slumber. - - Indeed, the time will by-and-by come, - When instead of completing it rightly, - The inner space as a stable will serve - For horses,--a change but unsightly. - - “And if the cathedral a stable becomes, - “Pray tell us how they will then tackle - “The three holy kings who rest there now, - “Within the tabernacle?” - - Thus ask they. But why should we, in these days, - Stand up as their supporters? - The three holy kings from the Eastern land - Must find some other quarters. - - Take my advice, and place them all - In those three iron cages - That high upon St. Lambert’s tower - At Münster have hung for ages. - - If one of the three should missing be, - Select in his stead some other; - Replace the king of the Eastern land - By some regal Western brother.[45] - - The king of the tailors[46] sat therein - With his two advisers by him; - But we will employ the cages now - For monarchs who greatly outvie him. - - On the right Balthasar shall have his place, - On the left shall be Melchior’s station, - In the midst shall be Gaspar. I know not what - When alive, was their right situation. - - The Holy Alliance from out of the East, - Now canonised so duly, - Perchance has not always its mission fulfill’d - Quite properly and truly. - - Balthasar perchance and Melchior too - Were men of but weak resolution, - Who promised, when sorely press’d from without, - Their kingdom a constitution, - - And afterwards broke their word.--Perchance - King Gaspar, who reign’d o’er the Moormen, - Rewarded with black ingratitude - His foolish fond subjects, the poor men! - - -CAPUT V. - - And when I came to the bridge o’er the Rhine, - Where the bastion its corner advances, - There saw I Father Rhine flowing on - In the silent moonbeam’s glances. - - “All hail to thee, good Father Rhine, - Now that I’m home returning! - Full often have I on thee thought, - With longing and deep yearning.” - - Thus spake I, and heard in the waters deep - A voice at once strange and moaning, - Like the wheezing cough of an aged man, - With grumbling and feeble groaning: - - “Thou’rt welcome, and as thou rememberest me, - I see thee, good youth, again gladly; - ’Tis thirteen long years since I saw thee last, - My affairs have meanwhile gone badly. - - “At Biberich many a stone I’ve gulp’d down, - “My digestion in consequence worse is; - “Yet heavier far on my stomach, alas, - “Lie Nicholas Becker’s[47] verses! - - “My praises he chants, as though I were now - “The purest and best-behaved maiden, - “Who never allow’d any mortal to steal - “The crown with her purity laden. - - “Whenever I hear the stupid song, - “I could tear my beard in a passion, - “And feel inclined to drown myself - “In myself, in a curious fashion! - - “That I am a virgin pure no more - “The French know better than any; - “For they with my waters have mingled oft - “Their floods of victory many. - - “The stupid song and the stupid man! - “Indeed he has treated me badly; - “To a certain extent he has compromised me - “In matters political sadly. - - “For if the French should ever come back, - “I must blush at their reappearance, - “Though I’ve pray’d with tears for their return - “To heaven with perseverance. - - “I always have loved full well the French, - “So tiny yet full of sinew; - “Still wear they white breeches as formerly? - “Does their singing and springing continue? - - “Right glad should I be to see them again, - “And yet I’m afraid to be twitted - “On account of the words of that cursèd song; - “And the sneers of its author half-witted! - - “That Alfred de Musset[48], that lad upon town, - “Perchance will come as their drummer, - “And march at their head, and his wretched wit - “Play off on me all through the summer.” - - Poor Father Rhine thus made his complaints, - And discontentedly splutter’d.-- - In order to raise his sinking heart, - These comforting words I utter’d: - - “O do not dread, good Father Rhine, - “The laugh of a Frenchman, which is - “Worth little, for he is no longer the same, - “And they also have alter’d their breeches. - - “Their breeches are red, and no longer are white, - “They also have alter’d the button; - “No longer they sing and no longer they spring, - “But hang their heads like dead mutton. - - “They now are philosophers all, and quote - “Hegel, Fichte, Kant, over their victuals; - “Tobacco they smoke, and beer they drink, - “And many play also at skittles. - - “They’re all, like us Germans, becoming mere snobs, - “But carry it even farther; - “No longer they follow in Voltaire’s steps, - “But believe in Hengstenberg[49] rather. - - “As for Alfred de Musset, indeed it is true - “That he still to abuse gives a handle; - “But be not afraid, and we’ll soon chain down - “His tongue so devoted to scandal. - - “And if he should play off his wretched wit, - “We’ll punish him most severely, - “Proclaiming aloud the adventures he meets - “With the women he loves most dearly. - - “Then be contented, good Father Rhine, - “Bad songs treat only with laughter; - “A better song ere long thou shalt hear,-- - “Farewell, we shall meet hereafter.” - - -CAPUT VI. - - On Paganini used always to wait - A Spiritus Familiaris, - Ofttimes as a dog, ofttimes in the shape - Of the late lamented George Harris. - - Napoleon, before each important event, - Saw a man in red, as they mention, - And Socrates he had his Dæmon too, - No fanciful mere invention. - - E’en I, when I sat at my table to write, - When the darkness of night had entwined me, - Have sometimes seen a muffled form, - Mysteriously standing behind me. - - Hid under his mantle, a Something he held, - And when the light happen’d to catch it, - It strangely gleam’d, and methought ’twas an axe, - An executioner’s hatchet. - - His stature appear’d to be under the mean, - His eyes like very stars glisten’d; - He never disturb’d me as I wrote, - But quietly stood there, and listen’d. - - For many a year I had ceased to see - This very singular fellow, - But found him here suddenly at Cologne, - In the moonlight silent and mellow. - - I saunter’d thoughtfully through the streets, - And saw him behind me stalking, - Just like my shadow, and when I stood still, - He also left off walking. - - He stood, as if he were waiting for me, - And when I onward hurried, - He follow’d again, and thus I reach’d - The Cathedral yard, quite flurried. - - I could not bear it, so turn’d sharp round, - And said: “I insist on an answer; - “Why follow me thus in the silent night, - “And lead me this wandering dance, Sir? - - “I come across thee just at the time - “When world-wide feelings are dashing - “Across my breast, and through my brain - “The spirit-lightnings are flashing. - - “Thou gazest upon me so fixedly-- - “Now answer me, what is there hidden - “Beneath thy mantle that secretly gleams? - “Thy business say, when thou’rt bidden.” - - “The other replied in a somewhat dry tone, - “If not a little phlegmatic: - “I pray thee, exorcise me not, - “And be not quite so emphatic! - - “No ghost am I from the days gone by, - “No grave-arisen spectre; - “I have no affection for rhetoric, - “I’m no philosophic projector. - - “I am of a practical nature in fact, - “And of silent resolution; - “But know, that whatever thy spirit conceives, - “I put into execution. - - “And even when years have pass’d away, - “I rest not, nor suffer distraction, - “Till I’ve changed to reality all thy thoughts; - “Thine’s the thinking, and mine is the action. - - “The judge art thou, and the jailer am I, - “And, like a servant obedient, - “The judgments execute pleasing to thee, - “Whether right or inexpedient. - - “Before the Consul they carried an axe - “In Rome of old, let me remind thee - “And thou hast also thy lictor, but he - “Now carries the axe behind thee. - - “Thy lictor am I, and follow behind, - “And carry in all its splendour - “The polish’d executioner’s axe-- - “I’m the deed which thy thoughts engender.” - - -CAPUT VII. - - I homeward went, and as soundly I slept - As if by the angels tended; - In German beds one cosily rests, - For they are all featherbeds splendid. - - How often I’ve yearn’d for the sweet repose - Of my own native country’s pillows, - While I lay on hard mattresses, sleepless all night, - In my exile far over the billows! - - One sleeps so well, and one dreams so well - In our featherbeds delicious; - The German spirit here feels itself free - From all earth’s fetters pernicious. - - It feels itself free, and upward soars - To the highest regions Elysian; - O German Spirit, how proud is the flight - Thou takest in nightly vision! - - The gods turn pale, when thou drawest nigh; - When soaring tow’rds heaven’s dominions, - Thou hast snuff’d out the light of many a star, - With the strokes of thine eager pinions. - - The land belongs to the Russians and French, - In the British the ocean is vested, - But we in dream’s airy regions possess - The mastery uncontested. - - The art of ruling practise we here, - And here we are never dissever’d, - While other nations on earth’s flat face - To develop themselves have endeavour’d.-- - - And as I slumber’d, methought in my dream - I was once more sauntering slowly - In the moonlight clear through the echoing streets - Of Cologne’s ancient city so holy. - - Behind me once again my black - And mask’d attendant speeded; - I felt so weary, my knees wellnigh broke, - Yet on, still on, we proceeded. - - We onward went. My heart in my breast - Gaped open, and parted in sunder, - And the red drops glided out of the wound - In my heart,--a sight of wonder. - - I oftentimes dipp’d my finger therein, - And often the fancy came o’er me - To streak with the blood, as I onward pass’d, - Each doorpost lying before me. - - And every time that I mark’d a house - In this very peculiar fashion, - A funeral bell was heard in a tone - Of mournful and soft compassion. - - But now in the heavens the moon grew pale, - And darkness came over me thickly, - And over her face, like horses black, - The stormy clouds sped quickly. - - And still behind me onward went - My dark companion ever, - His hidden axe grasping,--on, still on, - And pausing and resting never. - - We went and went, till we reach’d at length - The Cathedral precincts’ centre; - The doors of the church wide open stood, - And straightway did we enter. - - Within its capacious expanse but death - And night and silence hover’d, - While here and there a glimmering lamp - The darkness plainly discover’d. - - I wander’d long the pillars among, - And heard the footsteps only - Of my attendant, who follow’d me still - E’en here in the silence lonely. - - At length we came to a certain place, - With gold and jewels quite glorious, - And illumed by the tapers’ sparkling light,-- - ’Twas the three kings’ chapel notorious. - - But the three holy kings, who were wont to lie - Quite still, and in order befitting-- - O sight of wonder!--were now upright - Upon their sarcophagi sitting. - - Three skeletons, deck’d in fantastic array, - With crowns on their skulls dry and yellow, - And each one held in his bony hand - A sceptre, beside his fellow. - - Like dancing puppets they moved about - Their bones which so long had perish’d; - They smelt of mould, and they also smelt - Of incense fragrant and cherish’d. - - One ’mongst the number soon moved his mouth, - And utter’d a lengthy oration, - Explaining the reasons why he claim’d - My respectful salutation. - - The first, because he was a corpse, - Because a monarch, the second; - Because a saint, the third,--but the whole - Of little account I reckon’d. - - I gave him an answer in laughing mood: - “In vain is all thy endeavour! - “I see that thou’rt still in ev’ry respect - “As strange and old-fashion’d as ever! - - “Away! away! In the deep grave alone - “Your lengths ye ought to measure! - “Real life will shortly confiscate - “This chapel’s mighty treasure. - - “Hereafter the merry cavalry - “Shall make the Cathedral their dwelling; - “If ye will not go gently, then force shall be used, - “With clubs your exit compelling!” - - When thus I had spoken, I turn’d me round, - And saw where was glimmering brightly - My silent attendant’s terrible axe, - And he read my meaning rightly. - - So he quickly approach’d, and with the axe - Remorselessly he shatter’d - Those skeletons poor of bigotry, - And into atoms scatter’d. - - The echoing blows from the vaulted roof - Rang wildly, in countless numbers; - While streams of blood pour’d out from my breast, - And I awoke from my slumbers. - - -CAPUT VIII. - - From Cologne to Hagen it costs to post - Five Prussian dollars, six groschen; - The diligence chanced to be full, so I came - In a chaise, though rough was the motion. - - ’Twas a late autumn morning, both damp and grey - The coach in the mud groan’d sadly; - Yet despite the bad weather, despite the bad road, - Sweet thoughts pervaded me gladly. - - ’Tis my own native air, and the glow on my cheek - Could bear no other construction; - The very dirt in the highway itself - Is my fatherland’s production! - - The horses wagg’d their tails like old friends, - As they went along in a canter; - Their very dung appear’d to me fair - As the apples of Atalanta! - - We pass’d through Mühlheim. The people are dull - And busy, the town far from dirty; - I last was there in the merry month - Of May, in the year one and thirty. - - All things then stood in blooming attire, - And the sunlight sweetly was blinking; - The birds were singing their yearning song, - While the men were hoping and thinking. - - Thus thought they: “The lanky order of knights - “Will depart from amongst us shortly; - “Their farewell draught they shall drink from long flasks - “Of iron, in fashion not courtly! - - “And freedom shall come with sport and with dance, - “With the banner, the white-blue-red one; - “Perchance she will fetch from out of the grave - “E’en Bonaparte, even the dead one!” - - Alas! the knights remain as before; - More than one of those fools so derided - Who enter’d the country as thin as a lath - Are now with fat bellies provided. - - The pallid canaille, who used to look - The pictures of faith, hope, charity, - Have got red noses by tippling our wine - With the utmost regularity. - - And Freedom has sprain’d her foot, and has lost - For springing and raving all power; - In Paris itself the tricolour flag - Looks mournfully down from each tower. - - The Emperor truly arose again, - Yet the English, fearing a riot, - Converted him into a peaceable man, - And he let them inter him in quiet. - - Yes, I myself his funeral saw, - The golden carriage so splendid, - And victory’s golden goddesses, - Who the golden coffin attended. - - Along the famous Champs Elysées, - Through the Arc de Triomphe stately, - Across the mist and over the snow - The procession wended sedately. - - The music was painful and out of tune, - And frozen was every musician; - The eagles perch’d over the standards look’d down - Upon me in woeful condition. - - In ghostly fashion the men all appear’d, - All lost in old recollections,-- - The wondrous imperial dream revived, - Awakening olden affections. - - I wept on that day. Tears rose in my eyes, - And down my cheeks fast fleeted, - When I heard the long-vanish’d loving shout - Of “Vive l’Empereur!” repeated. - - -CAPUT IX. - - I left Cologne on my onward road - At a quarter to eight precisely; - We got to Hagen at three o’clock, - And there had our dinners nicely. - - The table was cover’d. Here found I all - The old-fashion’d German dishes; - All hail, thou savoury sour-krout, hail, - The reward of my utmost wishes! - - Stuff’d chestnuts all in green cabbages dress’d! - My food when I was a baby! - All hail, ye native stockfish, ye swim - In the butter as nicely as may be! - - One’s native country to each fond heart - Grows ever dearer and dearer-- - Its eggs and bloaters, when nicely brown’d, - Come home to one’s feelings still nearer. - - How the sausages sang in the spluttering fat. - The fieldfares, those very delicious - And roasted angels with apple sauce, - All warbled a welcome propitious. - - “Thou’rt welcome, countryman,” warbled they, - “Full long hast thou been delaying! - “Full long hast thou with foreign birds - “In foreign lands been straying!” - - Upon the table stood also a goose, - A silent, kindhearted being; - Perchance she loved me in younger days, - When our tastes were nearer agreeing. - - Full of meaning she eyed me, cordial but sad, - And fond, like the rest of her gender; - She surely possess’d an excellent soul, - But her flesh was by no means tender. - - A boar’s head they also brought in the room, - On a pewter dish, for me to guzzle; - The _bores_ with us are always deck’d out - With laurel leaves round their muzzle. - - -CAPUT X. - - On leaving Hagen the night came on, - And I felt a chilly sensation - Inside. At the inn at Unna I first - Recover’d my animation. - - A pretty maiden found I there, - Who pour’d out my punch discreetly; - Like yellow silk were her comely locks, - Her eyes like the moonlight gleam’d sweetly. - - Her lisping Westphalian accents I heard - With joy, as she utter’d them clearly; - The punch with sweet recollections smoked, - I thought of my brethren loved dearly; - - The dear Westphalians, with whom I oft drank - At Göttingen, while we were able, - Till we sank in emotion on each other’s necks, - And also sank under the table. - - That loveable, worthy, Westphalian race! - I ever have loved it extremely; - A nation so firm, so faithful, so true, - Ne’er given to boasting unseemly. - - How proudly they stand, with their lion-like hearts, - In the noble science of fencing! - Their quarts and their tierces, so honestly meant, - With vigorous arm dispensing. - - Right well they fight, and right well they drink; - When they give thee their hand so gentle - To strike up a friendship, they needs must weep, - Like oaks turn’d sentimental. - - May heaven watch over thee, worthy race, - On thy seed shower down benefactions, - Preserve thee from war and empty renown, - From heroes and heroes’ actions! - - May it evermore grant to thy excellent sons - An easy examination, - And give thy daughters marriages good,-- - So Amen to my invocation! - - -CAPUT XI. - - Behold the wood of Teutoburg, - Described in Tacitus’ pages; - Behold the classical marsh, wherein - Stuck Varus, in past ages. - - Here vanquish’d him the Cheruscian prince, - The noble giant, named Hermann;[50] - ’Twas in this mire that triumph’d first - Our nationality German. - - Had Hermann with his light-hair’d hordes - Not triumph’d here over the foeman, - Then German freedom had come to an end, - We had each been turn’d to a Roman! - - Nought but Roman language and manners had now - Our native country ruled over, - In Munich lived Vestals, the Swabians e’en - As Quirites have flourish’d in clover! - - An harúspex had Hengstenberg surely been, - And groped about in the bowels - Of oxen; Neander[51] an Augur, and based - On flights of birds his avowals. - - Birch-Pfeifer[52] had tippled her turpentine, - Like the Roman ladies admired. - (’Tis said that they, by its frequent use, - A pleasing odour acquired). - - Friend Raumer[53] had been no German scamp, - But a regular Roman Scampatius, - And Freiligrath written without using rhyme, - Like worthy Flaccus Horatius. - - The clumsy beggar, Father Jahn,[54] - Had then been call’d Clumsianus; - Me Hercule! Massmann[55] would Latin have talk’d, - As Marcus Tullius Massmanus! - - The friends of truth, instead of with curs - In the papers, would in the arena - Have had to wage a mortal fight - With the lion, jackal, hyena. - - One single Nero we now should have had, - ’Stead of three dozen pieces of knavery; - Our veins should we have open’d, and so - Defied the bailiffs of slavery. - - Thank heaven! The Romans were driven away, - A glorious triumph was Hermann’s; - Both Varus and all his legions succumb’d, - And we remain’d still Germans! - - We Germans remain, and German we speak, - As we before times have spoken; - An ass is an ass, not asinus, - The Swabian line is unbroken. - - Friend Raumer remain’d a German scamp - In our northern German climate; - And Freiligrath no Horace became, - But in verse is accustom’d to rhyme it. - - Thank heaven that Massmann no Latin e’er writes, - Birch-Pfeifer writes nothing but dramas, - And drinks no nasty turpentine - Like those lovely Roman charmers. - - O Hermann, for this we’re indebted to thee! - So at Dettmoldt[56] thy friends and extollers - A monument proud of late have design’d, - And towards it I gave a few dollars. - - -CAPUT XII. - - Through the wood in the dark the postchaise bump’d on, - When a crash took place, sudden and frightful-- - A wheel came off, and we came to a stand, - An occurrence by no means delightful. - - The postilion dismounted, and made all haste - To the village for help, and I found me - At midnight alone in the darksome wood, - While a howling I heard all around me. - - The wolves it was, who wildly howl’d - With half-starv’d voices all wiry; - Like lights in the darkness brightly gleam’d - Their eyes so fierce and fiery. - - Of my arrival certainly knew - The beasts, and to honour me, proudly - They lighted up the forest thus, - And sang in chorus loudly. - - I soon observed ’twas a real serenade, - Design’d for my glorification, - So threw myself in an attitude fit, - And spoke with extreme animation: - - “Brother wolves! it gives me great pleasure to-day - “To tarry awhile ’midst your growling, - “Where so many noble spirits have met, - “Around me lovingly howling. - - “My feelings just at the moment I speak - “Are truly beyond all measure; - “This present hour I ne’er shall forget, - “So fraught with exceeding pleasure. - - “I thank you for the confidence thus - “Evinced beyond denial, - “And which by the clearest proofs ye have shown - “In every period of trial. - - “Brother wolves! ye ne’er doubted that true I remain’d, - “Ye set all the rogues at defiance, - “Who falsely asserted that I had of late, - “Struck up with the dogs an alliance, - - “And turn’d an apostate, and e’en in the fold - “As a Councillor soon they would show me-- - “To answer such base assertions as these - “I feel to be really below me. - - “The sheepskin that I for a time had on - “As a piece of warm clothing merely, - “Believe me, will never make me love - “The sheep’s race an atom more dearly. - - “No sheep am I, and no dog am I, - “No Councillor, or such like; - “A wolf am I, and my heart and teeth - “A wolf’s are very much like. - - “A wolf am I, and with the wolves - “I ever will be a yelper; - “Yes, reckon upon me, and help yourselves, - “And God will be your helper!” - - This was the speech deliver’d by me, - Without the least preparation; - In the Allgemeine Zeitung, I’m told, - It appear’d, though with much mutilation. - - -CAPUT XIII. - - The sun arose near Paderborn, - With a look by no means bright’ning - In fact he leads but a sorry life, - This wretched earth enlight’ning. - - As soon as he has lighted one side, - And hastens with beams all sparkling - To lighten the other, already the first - Is getting gloomy and darkling. - - Poor Sisyphus’ stone keeps rolling down, - The Danaids’ bucket never - Gets fill’d, and to lighten this earthly ball - In vain is the sun’s endeavour. - - And when the mist of morning dispersed, - I saw by the wayside projecting - In the early glow, His figure, who died - On the cross a death so affecting. - - I’m filled with dejection every time - That I see Thee, my poor Relation, - Whose mission was to redeem the world, - And be mankind’s salvation. - - A sorry trick they play’d Thee indeed, - The lords of the Council stately; - O why didst Thou speak of Church and State - In a manner to wound them greatly? - - To Thy misfortune the printing art - To mortals had then not been given, - Or else a book had been written by Thee - On the subjects relating to heaven. - - The Censor would then have erased whate’er - Satirical seem’d in its diction, - And so the loving censorship - Have saved Thee from crucifixion. - - Ah! if for Thy sermon on the mount - Another text Thou hadst taken! - Sufficient genius and talent were Thine, - And the pious Thou need’st not have shaken. - - Money-changers and bankers Thou drov’st with the scourge - From the temple, in just indignation-- - Unhappy Enthusiast! Now on the cross - Thou dost suffer a sad expiation. - - -CAPUT XIV. - - The wind was humid, and barren the land, - The chaise floundered on in the mire, - Yet a singing and ringing were filling my ears: - “O Sun, thou accusing fire!” - - The burden is this of the olden song - That my nurse so often was singing-- - “O Sun, thou accusing fire!” was then - Like the note of the forest horn ringing. - - This song of a murderer tells the tale, - Who lived a life joyous and splendid; - Hung up in the forest at last he was found, - From a grey old willow suspended. - - The murderer’s sentence of death was nail’d - On the willow’s stem, written entire; - The Vehm-gericht’s avengers’ work ’twas-- - O Sun, thou accusing fire! - - The Sun was accuser,--’twas he who condemn’d - The murderer foul, in his ire. - Ottilia had cried, as she gave up the ghost: - “O Sun, thou accusing fire!” - - When the song I recall, the remembrance too - Of my dear old nurse never ceases - I see once more her swarthy face, - With all its wrinkles and creases. - - In the district of Münster she was born, - And knew, in all their glory, - Many popular songs and wondrous tales, - And many a wild ghost-story. - - How my heart used to beat when the old nurse told how - The king’s daughter, in days now olden, - Sat all alone on the desert heath, - While glisten’d her tresses so golden. - - Her business was to tend the geese - As a goosegirl, and when at nightfall - She drove the geese home again through the gate, - Her tears would in piteous plight fall. - - For nail’d up on high, above the gate, - She saw a horse’s head o’er her; - The head it was of the dear old horse - Who to foreign countries bore her. - - The king’s poor daughter deeply sigh’d: - “O Falada! hangest thou yonder?” - The horse’s head from above replied: - “Alas that from home thou did’st wander!” - - The king’s poor daughter deeply sigh’d: - “O would that my mother knew it!” - The horse’s head from above replied: - “Full sorely she would rue it!” - - With gasping breath I used to attend - When my nurse, with a voice soft and serious, - Of Barbarossa began to speak, - Our Emperor so mysterious. - - She assured me that he was not dead, as to think - By learned men we were bidden, - But with his comrades in arms still lived - In a mountain’s recesses safe hidden. - - Kyffhauser is the mountain’s name, - With a cave in its depths benighted; - By lamps its high and vaulted rooms - In ghostly fashion are lighted. - - The first of the halls is a stable vast, - Where in glittering harness the stranger - Who enters may see many thousand steeds, - Each standing at his manger. - - They all are saddled, and bridled all, - Yet amongst these thousands of creatures, - No single one neighs, no single one stamps, - Like statues of iron their features. - - Upon the straw in the second hall - The soldiers are seen in their places; - Many thousand soldiers, a bearded race, - With warlike and insolent faces. - - They all are full arm’d from top to toe, - Yet out of this countless number, - Not one of them moves, not one of them stirs, - They all are wrapp’d in slumber. - - In the third of the halls in lofty piles - Swords, spears, and axes are lying, - And armour and helmets of silver and steel, - With old-fashion’d fire-arms vying. - - The cannons are few, but yet are enough - To build up a trophy olden. - A standard projects from out of the heap, - Its colour is black-red-golden. - - In the fourth of the halls the Emperor lives, - For many a century dosing - On a seat made of stone near a table of stone, - His head on his arm reposing. - - His beard, which has grown right down to the ground, - Is red as a fiery ocean; - At times his eye to blink may be seen, - And his eyebrows are ever in motion. - - But whether he sleeps or whether he thinks - For the present we cannot discover; - Yet when the proper hour has come, - He’ll shake himself all over. - - His trusty banner he then will seize, - And “To horse! Quick to horse!” shout proudly; - His cavalry straight will awake and spring - From the earth, all rattling loudly. - - Each man will forthwith leap on his horse, - Each stamping his hoofs and neighing; - They’ll ride abroad in the clattering world, - While their trumpets are merrily playing. - - Right well they ride, and right well they fight, - No longer they slumber supinely; - In terrible judgment the Emperor sits, - To punish the murd’rers condignly,-- - - The murderers foul, who murder’d erst - Her whose beauty such awe did inspire, - The golden-hair’d maiden Germania hight,-- - O Sun, thou accusing fire! - - Full many who deem’d themselves safely hid, - And sat in their castles cheerful, - Shall then not escape Barbarossa’s fierce wrath, - And the cord of vengeance fearful. - - My old nurse’s tales, how sweetly they ring, - How dear are the thoughts they inspire! - My heart superstitiously shouts with joy: - “O Sun, thou accusing fire!” - - -CAPUT XV. - - A fine and prickly rain now descends, - Like needle-tops cold, and wetting; - The horses mournfully waggle their tails, - And wade through the mud with sweating. - - Upon his horn the postilion blows - The old tune loved so dearly: - “Three horsemen are riding out at the gate”-- - Its memory crosses me clearly. - - I sleepy grew, and at length went to sleep, - And as for my dream, this is it: - To the Emperor Barbarossa I - In the wondrous mount paid a visit. - - On his stony seat by the table of stone - Like an image no longer I saw him, - Nor had he that very respectable look - With which for the most part they draw him. - - He waddled about with me round the halls - Discoursing with much affection, - Like an antiquarian pointing out - The gems of his precious collection. - - In the hall of armour he show’d with a club - How the strength of a blow to determine, - And rubb’d off the dust from a few of the swords - With his own imperial ermine. - - He took in his hand a peacock’s fan, - And clean’d full many a dusty - Old piece of armour, and many a helm, - And many a morion rusty. - - The standard he carefully dusted too, - And said, “My greatest pride is, - “That not e’en one moth hath eaten the silk, - “And not e’en one insect inside is.” - - And when we came to the second hall, - Where asleep on the ground were lying - Many thousand arm’d warriors, the old man said, - Their forms with contentment eyeing: - - “We must take care, while here, not to waken the men, - “And make no noise in the gallery; - “A hundred years have again passed away, - “And to-day I must pay them their salary.” - - And see! the Emperor softly approach’d, - While he held in his hand a ducat, - And quietly into the pocket of each - Of the sleeping soldiery stuck it. - - And then he remark’d with a simpering face, - When I observ’d him with wonder: - “I give them a ducat apiece as their pay, - “At periods a century asunder.” - - In the hall wherein the horses were ranged, - And drawn out in rows long and silent, - Together the Emperor rubb’d his hands - While his pleasure seem’d getting quite vi’lent. - - He counted the horses, one by one, - And poked their ribs approving; - He counted and counted, and all the while - His lips were eagerly moving. - - “The proper number is not complete,”-- - Thus angrily he discourses: - “Of soldiers and weapons I’ve quite enough, - “But still am deficient in horses. - - “Horse-jockeys I’ve sent to every place - “In all the world, to supply me - “With the very best horses that they can find - “And now I’ve a good number by me. - - “I only wait till the number’s complete, - “Then, making a regular clearance, - “I’ll free my country, my German folk, - “Who trustingly wait my appearance.”-- - - Thus spake the Emperor, while I cried: - “Old fellow! seize time as it passes; - “Set to work, and hast thou not horses enough, - “Then fill up their places with asses.” - - Then Barbarossa smiling replied: - “For the battle there need be no hurry; - “Rome certainly never was built in one day, - “Nothing’s gained by bustle and flurry. - - “Who comes not to-day, to-morrow will come, - “The oak’s slow growth might shame us; - “_Chi va piano va sano_ wisely says - “The Roman proverb famous.” - - -CAPUT XVI. - - The carriage’s jolting woke me up - From my dream, yet vainly sought I - To keep awake, so I slumber’d again, - And of Barbarossa thought I. - - Again we went through the echoing halls, - And talked of great and small things; - He ask’d me this, and he ask’d me that, - And wish’d to know about all things. - - He told me that not one mortal word - From the world above had descended - For many a year,--in fact not since - The Seven-years’ war had ended. - - With interest he for Karschin[57] ask’d, - For Mendelssohn (Moses the glorious), - For Louis the Fifteenth’s mistress frail, - The Countess Du Barry notorious. - - “O Emperor,” cried I, “how backward thou art! - Old Moses is dead and forgotten, - With his Rebecca; and Abraham too, - The son, is dead and rotten. - - “This Abraham and Leah, his wife, gave birth - “To Felix[58], who proved very steady; - “His fame through Christendom far has spread, - “He’s a Chapel-master already. - - “Old Karschin likewise has long been dead, - “And Klenke, her daughter, is dead too; - “Helmine Chezy, the granddaughter, though, - “Still lives--at least she is said to. - - “Du Barry lived merrily, keeping afloat, - “For Louis the Fifteenth screen’d her - “As long as he lived, but when she was old - “They cruelly guillotined her. - - “King Louis the Fifteenth died in his bed, - “By the doctors attended and seen to; - “But Louis the Sixteenth was guillotined, - “And Antoinette the Queen too. - - “The Queen the greatest courage display’d, - “And died like a monarch, proudly; - “But Madame Du Barry, when guillotined, - “Kept weeping and screaming loudly.”-- - - The Emperor suddenly came to a stand, - And stared, as if doubting my meaning, - And said: “For the sake of heaven explain - “What is meant by that word guillotining?” - - “Why, guillotining,” I briefly replied, - “Is a method newly constructed, - “By means of which people of every rank - “From life to death are conducted. - - “For this purpose, a new machine is employ’d”-- - “I continued, while closely he listen’d; - “Invented by Monsieur Guillotin, - “And ‘guillotine’ after him christen’d. - - “You first are fasten’d to a board; - “’Tis lower’d; then quickly they shove you - “Between two posts; meanwhile there hangs - “A triangular axe just above you. - - “They pull a string, and downward shoots - “The axe, quite lively and merry; - “And so your head falls into a bag, - “And nothing remains but to bury.” - - The Emperor here interrupted my speech: - “Be silent! May heaven confuse it, - “That foul machine! and God forbid - “That I should ever use it! - - “The King and Queen! What? To a board - “Both fasten’d! What a position! - “’Tis contrary to all respect, - “And etiquette in addition! - - “And who art thou, that darest to speak - “So coolly and so much, man? - “Just wait a while, and I’ll soon clip - “Thy wings, or I’m a Dutchman! - - “My inmost bile is deeply stirr’d - “At words so out of season; - “Thy very breath is full of crime - “And guilty of high treason!” - - When in his zeal the old man rail’d, - And treated me thus cavalierly, - Surpassing all bounds,--I sharply replied, - And told him my mind quite clearly. - - “Barbarossa!” I cried, “thou’rt just as absurd - “As an old woman’s silly fable; - “Go, lie down and sleep! without thy aid - “To free ourselves we are able. - - “The republicans all would scoff and jeer, - “And shake their sides with laughter - “To see such a spectre, with sceptre and crown - “Act as leader, while we went after. - - “Thy standard, too, no more I respect; - “My love for the black-red-golden - “Has been quench’d by the fools of the _Burschenschaft_, - “With their rage for the so-call’d olden. - - “In Old Kyffhauser ’twere better that thou - “Shouldst pass thy days morosely; - “In truth, we’ve no need of an Emperor now, - “When I view the matter closely.” - - -CAPUT XVII. - - I wrangled in dream with the Emperor thus,-- - In dream,--I say it advisedly; - In waking hours we never dare talk - To princes so undisguisedly. - - The Germans only venture to speak - When asleep, in a dream ideal, - The thoughts that they bear in their faithful hearts, - So German and yet so real. - - When I awoke, I was passing a wood, - And the sight of the trees in such numbers, - And their naked wooden reality, - Soon scared away my slumbers. - - The oaks with solemnity shook their heads; - The twigs of the birch-trees, in token - Of warning, nodded,--and I exclaim’d: - “Dear monarch, forgive what I’ve spoken! - - “Forgive, Barbarossa, my headstrong speech, - “I know that thou art far wiser - “Than I, for impatient by nature I am-- - “Yet hasten thy coming, my Kaiser! - - “If guillotining contents thee not, - “Retain the old plan for the present: - “The sword for the nobleman, keeping the rope - “For the townsman and vulgar peasant. - - “But frequently change the order, and let - “The nobles be hang’d, beheading - “The townsmen and peasants, for God cares alike - “For all who life’s pathways are treading. - - “Restore again the Criminal Court - “That Charles the Fifth invented; - “With orders, corporations, and guilds - “Let the people again be contented. - - “To the sacred old Roman Empire again - “In all its integrity yoke us; - “Its musty frippery give us once more, - “And all its hocus-pocus. - - “The middle ages, if you like, - “The genuine middle ages - “I’ll gladly endure,--but free us, I pray, - “From the nonsense that now all the rage is,-- - - “From all that mongrel chivalry - “That such a nauseous dish is - “Of Gothic fancies and modern deceit, - “And neither flesh nor fish is. - - “The troops of Comedians drive away, - “And close the theatres sickly, - “Wherein they parody former times,-- - “O Emperor, come thou quickly!” - - -CAPUT XVIII. - - The town of Minden’s a fortress strong, - With arms and stores well provided; - But Prussian fortresses, truth to say, - I never have abided. - - We got there just as evening fell; - The planks of the drawbridge sadly - Beneath us groan’d, as over we roll’d, - And the dark moat gaped on us madly. - - The lofty bastions on me gazed - With threat’ning and sulky wonder; - The heavy gate open’d with rattling loud, - And closed with a noise like thunder. - - Alas! my soul felt as sad as the soul - Of Odysseus, the world-renown’d warrior, - When he heard Polyphemus rolling a rock - In front of the cave as a barrier. - - A Corporal came to the door of the coach - For our names; I replied to this latter act: - “I’m Nobody call’d; I an oculist am, - “Who couch the giants for cataract!” - - At the inn I found my discomfort increase, - My victuals fill’d me with loathing; - I straight went to bed, but slept not a wink, - So heavy I found the bed-clothing. - - The bed was a large, broad featherbed, - Red damask curtains around it, - The canopy wrought with faded gold, - While a dirty tassel crown’d it. - - Accursèd tassel! of all my repose - It robb’d me all the night through; - It hung over head, like Damocles’ sword, - And threaten’d to pierce me right through! - - A serpent’s head it often appear’d, - And I heard its hissing mysterious: - “In the fortress thou art, and canst not escape”-- - A position especially serious! - - “O would that I were”--I thought with a sigh,-- - “Of my peaceable home a sharer, - “With my own dear wife in Paris once more, - “In the Faubourg-Poissonière!” - - I felt that a Something oftentimes - Was over my forehead stealing, - Just like a Censor’s chilly hand, - And all my thoughts congealing. - - Gendarmes, in the dresses of corpses conceal’d, - In white and ghostly confusion - Surrounded my bed, while a rattling of chains - I heard, to swell the illusion. - - Alas! the spectres carried me off, - And at length with amazement I found me - Beside a precipitous wall of rocks, - And there they firmly had bound me. - - Detestable tassel, so dirty and foul! - Again it appear’d before me, - But now in the shape of a vulture with claws - And black wings hovering o’er me. - - And now like the well-known eagle it seem’d - And grasp’d me, and breathing prevented; - It ate the liver out of my breast, - While sadly I groan’d and lamented. - - Long time I lamented, when crow’d the cock, - And the feverish vision faded; - Perspiring in bed at Minden I lay, - To a tassel the bird was degraded. - - I travell’d with post-horses on, - And free breath presently drew I - On the domain of Bückeburg, - As by my feelings knew I. - - -CAPUT XIX. - - O Danton, great was thy mistake, - And thy error was paid for dearly! - One can carry away one’s fatherland - On the soles of one’s feet, pretty nearly. - - Of the princely domain of Bückeburg - One half to my boots clung in patches; - In all my life I never have seen - A place that in filth its match is. - - At the town of Bückeburg shortly I stopp’d, - To see the ancestral castle - Whence my grandfather came; my grandmother though - Of Hamburg was part and parcel. - - I got to Hanover just at noon, - And there had my boots clean’d neatly, - And afterwards went to visit the town; - When I travel, I do it completely. - - By heavens, how spruce the place appear’d! - No mud in its streets was lying; - Many handsome buildings there I saw, - In massive splendour vying.[59] - - I was mostly charm’d by a very large square, - Surrounded by houses superior; - There lives the king and his palace there stands, - Of a really handsome exterior,-- - - (The palace I mean.) On each side of the door - A sentry-box had its station; - Redcoats with muskets there kept guard, - Of threat’ning and wild reputation. - - My cicerone said: “Here lives - “King Ernest Augustus, a tory - “Of the olden school, and a nobleman,-- - “Very sharp, though his hairs are hoary. - - “In safety idyllic here he dwells, - “For he’s far more securely protected - “By the scanty courage of our dear friends - “Than his satellites ever effected. - - “I see him sometimes, and then he complains - “How very tedious his post is,-- - “The regal post, of which he here - “In Hanover now the boast is. - - “Accustom’d to a British life, - “And plagued by spleen, to cure it - “He finds it not easy, and greatly fears - “That he cannot much longer endure it. - - “T’other day I found him at early morn - “By the fireside mournfully bending; - “For his dog, who was sick, with his own royal hands - “A comforting draught he was blending.” - - -CAPUT XX. - - In an hour from Harburg to Hamburg I went; - The shades of evening were thick’ning, - The stars in the heavens their greetings sent, - And the air was soft and quick’ning. - - And when I reach’d my mother at last, - She was wellnigh frighten’d with gladness; - She cried “My darling child!” and clasp’d - Her hands together with madness. - - “My darling child, full thirteen years - “Have pass’d since our last meeting; - “You surely are hungry; tell me now - “What you’ll take in the way of eating? - - “I’ve here some fish, and goose-flesh too, - “And handsome oranges also!”-- - “Then give me some fish, and goose-flesh too, - “And handsome oranges also!” - - And whilst I ate with an appetite good, - My mother was lively and merry; - She ask’d me this, and she ask’d me that, - And her questions were awkward, very. - - “My darling child, in your foreign home - “Do you get all the things you require? - “Is your wife pretty skilful at keeping house? - “Are your shirts and stockings darn’d by her?” - - “The fish is good, my mother dear, - “But in silence one ought to eat it; - “’Tis easy to get a bone in one’s throat, - “Pray leave me in peace to complete it.” - - And when I had finish’d the excellent fish, - The goose next made its appearance; - My mother again ask’d for this and for that, - With the same ill-timed perseverance. - - “My darling child, which land do you think - “Is the best for people to dwell in,-- - “This place, or France? which nation’s the best? - “What thing does each excel in?”-- - - “A German goose, my mother dear, - “Is good as one of the courses; - “But the French stuff geese far better than we, - “And they also have better sauces.” - - And when the goose had taken its leave, - The oranges presently follow’d, - And tasted so unexpectedly nice, - That with pleasure they quickly were swallow’d. - - But now my mother again began - Her questions with very much pleasure; - She ask’d me a thousand things, but some - Were awkward beyond all measure. - - “My darling child, pray tell me now, - “If politics still you’re inclined to? - “Which party in the state to support - “Have you the greatest mind to?”-- - - “The quality, my mother dear, - “Of your oranges cannot be beaten; - “The sweet juice I swallow with much delight, - “But I leave the peel uneaten.” - - -CAPUT XXI. - - They bit by bit are building again - The hapless half-burnt city; - Like a half-shorn poodle Hamburg now looks, - An object to waken one’s pity.[60] - - Full many a street has disappear’d - That mournfully one misses-- - Where is the house, wherein I kiss’d - Love’s first delicious kisses? - - Where is the printing-house, where I - My _Reisebilder_ printed? - The oyster shop, where I oysters gulp’d down - With appetite unstinted? - - The Dreckwall too,--where is it now? - I now should seek it vainly; - Where the pavilion, where I ate - So many cakes profanely? - - Where is the town-hall, wherein sat - The senate and burghers stately? - A prey to the flames! The flames spared not - Whatever was holiest lately. - - The people still were sighing with grief, - And with most mournful faces - The history sad of the great fire told, - And pointed out all its traces:-- - - “It burnt in every corner at once, - “All was smoke and flames fiercely flashing; - “The churches’ towers all blazed on high, - “And tumbled in with loud crashing. - - “The old exchange was also burnt, - “Where our fathers in every weather - “Were wont to assemble for centuries past, - “And honestly traded together. - - “The bank, the silvery soul of the town, - “And the books which have always served us - “To note the assets of every man, - “Thank heaven! have been preserved us. - - “Thank heaven! In every land they made - “On our behalf large collections; - “A capital job,--we got no less - “Than eight millions in all directions. - - “The money from every country flow’d - “In our hands, which were far from unwilling, - “And plenty of food they also sent, - “And we gladly accepted each shilling. - - “They sent us clothes and bedding enough, - “And bread, and meat, and soups too; - “The King of Prussia, to show his regard, - “Would fain have sent us troops too. - - “Our losses in property thus were replaced, - “A matter of mere valuation; - “But then the fright,--our terrible fright, - “Admits of no compensation!” - - I cheeringly said: “My worthy friends, - “You should not lament and bawl so! - “A far better city than yours was Troy, - “And yet it was burnt down also. - - “Rebuild your houses as fast as you can, - “And dry up every puddle; - “Get better engines and better laws, - “That are not quite such a muddle. - - “Don’t put in your nice mock-turtle soup - “So very much Cayenne pepper; - “Your carp are not wholesome with so much sauce, - “Or when eaten with scales, like a leper. - - “Your turkeys will not do much harm, - “But be on your guard ’gainst disaster - “From the knavish bird that lays its eggs - “In the wig of the burgomaster. - - “’Tis not for me to tell you the name - “Of this bird of bad reputation; - “When thinking about him, the food in my maw - “Is stirr’d with indignation.” - - -CAPUT XXII. - - More changed than even the city itself - Appear’d the people within it; - Like walking ruins they totter’d about, - As if ready to tumble each minute. - - The thin still thinner than ever appear’d, - The fat appear’d still fatter, - The children were old, and the old were young, - (In their second childhood the latter). - - Full many that I had left as calves, - As oxen were herding together, - And many a gosling had now become - A goose in fullest feather. - - The aged Gudel I found be-rouged, - And dress’d with syren-like brightness; - She had procured some dark black hair, - And teeth of dazzling whiteness. - - The best preserved of all was my friend - The paper-dealer, good fellow; - Like John the Baptist, round his head - Was floating his hair so yellow. - - I only saw D---- a long way off, - He slipp’d away so fleetly; - I hear that his soul was burnt, but insured - For a large amount discreetly. - - I also saw my old Censor again - In the fog, and lowly stooping - I met him in the goose market by chance, - And he seem’d completely drooping. - - We shook each other’s hands, and some tears - In his eye appear’d collecting; - He was so pleased to see me once more! - The scene was truly affecting. - - I found not all, for many a one - Had quitted this scene for ever; - My Gumpelino,[61] ’mongst others, alas! - Was gone, to appear again never. - - That noble one had surrender’d his soul - To Him by whom it was given, - And now had a glorified seraph become - In the blissful realms of heaven. - - In vain for the crooked Adonis I sought, - (Though I look’d in every direction,) - Who used to sell pots and pans in the street,-- - A very cheap collection. - - And Sarras, the trusty dog, was dead, - A loss of a serious nature; - Friend Campe[62] would sooner have lost a whole host - Of writers than this good creature. - - The population of Hamburg town - Has from time immemorial consisted - Of Jews and Christians; ’tis also the case - That the latter are rather close-fisted. - - The Christians all behave pretty well, - And pass their time in clover, - And promptly pay their bills of exchange, - Ere the days of grace are over. - - The Jews are however divided again - Into two very different parties; - The old one goes to the synagogue, - In the temple the new one’s heart is. - - The new party eat the flesh of swine, - Their manners are somewhat dogmatic; - They democrats are, but the older school - Is much more aristocratic. - - I love the old, and I love the new, - Yet I swear by the prophet Jonas - That certain fish I love still more,-- - Smoked sprats they are commonly known as! - - -CAPUT XXIII. - - Though as a republic Hamburg was ne’er - As great as Venice or Florence, - Yet Hamburg has better oysters; one gets - The best in the cellar of Laurence. - - I went there with Campe at evening time, - When splendid was the weather, - Intending on oysters and Rhenish wine - To have a banquet together. - - I found some excellent company there, - And greatly was delighted - To see many old friends, such as Chaufepié, - And new ones, self-invited. - - There Wille was, whose very face - Was an album where foes academic - Right legibly had inscribed their names - In the shape of scars polemic. - - There Fucks was also, a heathen blind, - And personal foe of Jehovah, - Who believed but in Hegel, and slightly perhaps - In the Venus of Canova. - - My Campe was our Amphytrion there, - And smiled and enjoy’d the honour; - His eye was beaming with happiness, - Just like an ecstatic Madonna. - - I ate and drank with an appetite good, - And these thoughts then cross’d my noddle: - “This Campe is really an excellent man, - “And of publishers quite the model. - - “Another publisher, I feel sure, - “Would have left me of hunger to perish; - “But he has given me drink as well, - “His name I ever shall cherish. - - “I thank the mighty Lord of all - “Who this juice of the grape created, - “And Campe to me as a publisher gave, - “Whose merits can’t be overrated. - - “I thank the mighty Lord of all - “Who by His own mere motion - “Created on earth the Rhenish wine, - “And the oysters in the ocean. - - “Who also made the lemons to grow, - “The oyster’s flavour to sweeten,-- - “O may I peacefully to-night - “Digest what I have eaten!” - - The Rhenish wine makes my feelings soft, - All quarrelsome thoughts congealing - Within my breast, and kindling instead - A philanthropic feeling. - - It now compell’d me to leave the room, - And through the streets to wander; - My soul sought a soul, and the sight of each dress - Of a woman made it still fonder. - - In moments like this, with grief I could melt, - While my yearning makes me tremble; - The cats appear to me all too grey, - And Helens the women resemble.-- - - And when I came to the Drehbahn Street, - I saw in the moonbeams glancing - The noble form of a woman fair, - With stately grace advancing. - - Her face was perfectly healthy and round, - Her cheek like a damask rose was, - Like a turquoise her eye, like a cherry her mouth, - While somewhat reddish her nose was. - - Her head was cover’d with a cap - Of snowy stiff linen, not ragged, - But folded like a mural crown, - With turrets and battlements jagged. - - She wore as her dress a tunic white - Which down to her calves descended; - And O what calves! The pedestals they - Of two Doric columns splendid. - - A very worldly naïveté - Could be read in her every feature, - But her superhuman hinder parts - Betray’d a superior creature. - - She now approach’d me, and straightway said: - “To the Elbe here’s a welcome hearty! - “E’en after an absence of thirteen years, - “I see that thou’rt still the same party! - - “Perchance thou seekest the souls so fair - “Who so often used to meet thee, - “And all night long in this beautiful place - “With their reveries loved to greet thee. - - “By that hundred-headed hydra, Life, - “That monster fierce, they were swallow’d; - “Thou’lt find those olden times no more, - “Nor those friends once lovingly follow’d. - - “No longer thou’lt find those beauteous flowers, - “Which enchanted thy youthful bosom; - “’Twas here they bloom’d,--they’re wither’d now, - “And the tempest has scatter’d each blossom. - - “Yes, wither’d, and stripp’d, and trampled down - “By destiny’s footsteps appalling-- - “My friend, this is ever the fate upon earth - “Of all that is sweet and enthralling!”-- - - “Who art thou?” I cried--“like a dream of old times - “Thy appearance doth strangely beset me; - “Where is thy dwelling, enormous one? - “I’ll follow thee there, if thou’lt let me.” - - The woman then smiled, and thus she replied: - “Thou art wrong, I’m a decent and quiet - “And highly moral personage too, - “By no means given to riot. - - “I’m none of your foreign lorettes, my friend, - “And none of your common ladies; - “I’m Hamburg’s goddess, Hammonia by name, - “And to watch o’er its welfare my trade is! - - “Thou art startled perchance to bear this news, - “Thou once undaunted singer? - “Art thou prepared to follow me still? - “Then quick, and no more let us linger.” - - But I in reply laugh’d loudly and cried: - “I’ll follow thee instanter! - “If thou’lt go in front, I’ll go behind,-- - “Yes, even to hell in a canter!” - - -CAPUT XXIV. - - How I managed to mount the narrow stairs - I haven’t the slightest notion; - Perhaps the spirits carried me up - With some invisible motion. - - But here, in Hammonia’s little room, - The hours pass’d swiftly o’er me; - The goddess confess’d the sympathy - That she had ever felt for me. - - “Look here”--said she, “in former days - “The minstrel who sang the Messiah - “Was dearest to me of all the throng, - “With his piously-sounding lyre. - - “To this day the bust of my Klopstock stands - “On that chest of drawers, but though on it, - “For many a year it has only served - “As a block for holding my bonnet. - - “Thou’rt my favourite now, and thy likeness hangs - “At the head of my bed in due order; - “And see, a fresh laurel now surrounds - “The cherish’d portrait’s border. - - “Yet thy attacks on my sons, I confess, - “Repeated by thee so often, - “Have sometimes caused me the greatest pain; - “Thy language thou must soften. - - “I trust that time has cured thee now - “Of rudeness so cold-hearted, - “And somewhat greater tolerance - “For even the fools imparted. - - “But say how thou camest to travel north - “At such an unclement season? - “The weather already is winterly quite,-- - “I fain would know the reason.” - - “O worthy goddess!” I said in reply, - “In the bosom’s inmost recesses - “Are slumbering thoughts which often awake - “At a time which rather distresses. - - “Externally things went on pretty well, - “But within I was weigh’d down with anguish, - “Which every day grew worse and worse,-- - “For home I ceased not to languish. - - “The air of France, so usually light, - “Began to be oppressive; - “I long’d to breathe some German air, - “To relieve this burden excessive. - - “I yearn’d for German tobacco-smoke, - “And the smell of German peat too; - “My foot impatiently quiver’d, the ground - “Of Germany to beat too. - - “I sigh’d all night, and I long’d and long’d - “Yet once again to view her, - “The old woman who close to the Dammthor lives, - “And Lotte, who lives close to her. - - “The thought of that old and worthy man - “Who always freely reproved me, - “And then his protection over me threw, - “To many a sigh now moved me. - - “I fain would hear again from his mouth - “The words ‘young stupid!’ repeated, - “Which always in my younger days - “My heart like music greeted. - - “I yearn’d for the blue smoke that high in the air - “From German chimneys reaches, - “For the Lower-Saxony nightingales, - “For the silent groves of beeches. - - “I yearn’d for all the sorrowful spots, - “The places where once I resorted, - “Where once I trail’d my youthful cross, - “And my crown of thorns supported. - - “I fain would weep where I formerly wept - “Those tears so bitter and burning; - “The love of fatherland methinks - “They call this foolish yearning. - - “I love not to talk of it; ’tis nought else - “But a whim of the’ imagination; - “Shamefaced by nature, I hide my wounds - “From public observation. - - “O how I detest the trumpery set - “Who, to stir men’s passion heated, - “Of patriotism make a show - “With all its ulcers fetid. - - “They’re shameless and shabby beggars all, - “Who live upon people’s charity; - “For Menzel[63] and all his Swabians, here’s - “A penn’orth of popularity! - - “My goddess! thou hast found me to-day - “Of a tender disposition! - “I’m rather ill, but a little care - “Will soon recruit my condition. - - “Yes, I am ill, and thou canst refresh - “My spirits in a minute - “By means of a cup of excellent tea, - “With a little rum mix’d in it.” - - -CAPUT XXV. - - Some tea the goddess quickly made, - And then the rum pour’d she in; - But she herself preferr’d the rum - Without a drop of tea in. - - Against my shoulder she lean’d her head, - And rather tumbled her bonnet - Or mural crown, and gently she spake, - While I reflected upon it: - - “I often have thought with much alarm - “That in Paris, that wicked city, - “With the frivolous French thou’rt living still,-- - “’Tis really a very great pity. - - “Without an object thou’rt passing thy time, - “And hast not even beside thee - “Some faithful German publisher who - “As a Mentor might warn and guide thee. - - “And then the temptations there are so great, - “So many a sylph amuses, - “Whose health is bad, and one’s peace of mind - “One far too easily loses. - - “Return not again, but stop with us, - “Here modesty reigns still, and morals; - “And here thou may’st gather, e’en in our midst, - “In silence many fair laurels. - - “In Germany stay, and thou’lt relish things more - “Than thou wert formerly able; - “We’re fast advancing, and thou must have seen - “Our progress so rapid and stable. - - “The censorship even less rigorous is, - “Friend Hoffmann is milder and older; - “His youthful passion for cutting up - “Thy _Reisebilder_ is colder. - - “Thou too art older and milder now, - “And many things quietly takest, - “And in a better spirit than once, - “Past times thou now awakest. - - “That matters in Germany used to go ill - “Is a great exaggeration; - “One could always escape, like the Romans of old, - “From serfdom, by self-immolation. - - “The people enjoy’d full freedom of thought, - “For the masses it never was stinted; - “Restrictions affected nobody, save - “The limited number who printed. - - “No lawless despotism then reign’d, - “The worst of demagogues never - “Were deprived of their rights of citizenship, - “Till condemn’d for some wicked endeavour. - - “Things never in Germany went so ill, - “Whatever disputes may have risen; - “Believe me, no mortal was e’er starved to death - “Inside a German prison. - - “In those long vanish’d days there bloom’d - “Full many a fair apparition - “Of simple faith and kindliness too,-- - “Now all is doubt and sedition. - - “The practical freedom that’s all outside - “Will soon destroy the Ideal - “That we bore in our bosoms,--as fair as a dream - “Of lilies, and not more real! - - “Our beautiful poetry’s fading fast, - “Already ’tis somewhat faded; - “The _Moorish King_ of Freiligrath, - “Like the rest of the kings, is degraded. - - “O couldst thou be silent, I soon would unseal - “The book of fate, free from all error, - “And suffer thee future ages to see - “Within my magic mirror. - - “That which to mortal man I ne’er show’d, - “To thee would I gladly discover: - “The future of thy fatherland,-- - “Thou wouldst tell it, though, all the world over!” - - “Good heavens, dear goddess!” I cried with delight. - “It would give me most exquisite pleasure; - “O let me the future of Germany see, - “I know how a secret to treasure. - - “I’m ready to swear whatever oath - “Thou soonest would have me swallow, - “As a pledge to thee of my secrecy; - “So say what form I shall follow.” - - But she rejoin’d: “Thou must swear to me - “As by Father Abraham’s order - “His servant Eliezer swore, - “When starting to cross the border. - - “Lift up my dress and place thy hand - “Upon my thigh below it, - “And swear that in speaking, the secret thou’lt keep, - “And in thy works as a poet!” - - The moment was solemn. I felt as though fann’d - By the breath of ages long perish’d, - When I swore the oath in the manner ordain’d - By Abraham, our forefather cherish’d. - - I lifted up the goddess’s dress, - And placed on her thigh below it - My hand, vowing secrecy both in my words - And in my works as a poet. - - -CAPUT XXVI. - - The cheeks of the goddess glow’d all-red - (I think that the rum had ascended - Up into her head) and she spoke in a tone - In which sorrow was painfully blended: - - “I’m fast getting old; I was born on the day - “Of Hamburg’s first foundation; - “My mother was a mermaid, who had - “At the mouth of the Elbe her station. - - “My father was a monarch renown’d, - “Called Charlemagne the glorious; - “He was still more wise than Frederick the Great, - “And also still more victorious. - - “At Aix-la-Chapelle is the seat where he sat - “On the day of his coronation: - “The seat where he sat at night devolved - “On my mother, as nearest relation. - - “My mother left it to me in her turn, - “A common-looking article; - “And yet for the whole of Rothschild’s gold - “I wouldn’t surrender one particle. - - “Behold, in yon corner stands a chair, - “Both old and weather-beaten; - “The leather that covers its arms is torn, - “And the cushion is sadly moth-eaten. - - “Approach it now, and gently lift - “The cushion from the settle; - “Thou’lt see an oval opening then, - “And under it a kettle. - - “That is a magic kettle wherein - “The magic forces are brewing; - “On placing thy head in the aperture, soon - “The future thou’lt clearly be viewing. - - “Yes, Germany’s future there thou’lt see, - “Like wondrously rolling phantasmas; - “But shudder not, if out of the filth - “Arise any foul miasmas!” - - She spoke, and she laugh’d a singular laugh - But I undauntedly hasted - To hold my head over the terrible hole, - And there I eagerly placed it. - - I’ll not betray, for silence I vow’d, - The things that I saw and felt there; - I scarcely dare to utter a word, - Good heavens, of what I smelt there! - - With deep disgust I think to this day - Of that smell, which blended together, - In vile and accursèd union, a stench - Of old cabbage and Russia leather. - - And heavens! the stink that afterwards rose - Was still more filthy and dirty; - ’Twas as though they had swept together the soil - From closets six and thirty. - - I know full well what was said by Saint Just - In the famous Committee of Safety: - “Great illnesses cannot be cured by musk - “And rose-oil,” he told them with naïveté. - - And yet this German futurity’s smell - Was infinitely stronger - Than aught that my nose could e’er have conceived-- - In fact I could bear it no longer.-- - - My senses I lost, and on opening my eyes - Once more, I found myself sitting - Beside the goddess, and leaning my head - On her breast, in a manner befitting. - - Her look it glisten’d, her mouth it glow’d, - Her nostrils twitched, with bacchantic - Excitement she clasp’d the poet, and sang - With ecstasy fearful and frantic: - - “Stay with me in Hamburg, I love thee full well, - “And we’ll eat and drink with gladness - “The oysters and wine of present times, - “Forgetting the future’s sadness. - - “Put on the cover, for fear lest the stench - “Should all our pleasure cloud over; - “I love thee no German poet had e’er - “A more affectionate lover! - - “I kiss thee, and I feel myself now - “By thy genius quite inspired; - “My spirit by a wondrous kind - “Of paroxysm is fired. - - “I feel as though I heard in the street - “The watchmen singing in chorus; - “’Tis wedding music and bridal songs, - “Sweet friend, that are rising o’er us. - - “The attendants on horseback also approach, - “With their torches flaring brightly; - “The torch-dance they dance in dignified wise, - “And hop and spring about lightly. - - “The noble and worshipful Senate is there, - “And the elders according to station; - “The burgomaster clears his throat, - “Preparing a lengthy oration. - - “In glittering uniforms also appear - “The whole of the corps diplomatic, - “In the name of the neighbouring states to present - “Congratulations emphatic. - - “A clerical deputation, too, comes, - “By rabbis and pastors guided; - “But, alas! here Hoffmann also draws near, - “With his scissors, as censor, provided. - - “The scissors rattle in his hand, - “And eagerly he races - “To seize thy body,--he cuts thy flesh-- - “Methinks it by far the best place is.” - - -CAPUT XXVII. - - When summer’s pleasant days have come - I’ll tell you all the history - Of the other wonders that came to pass - In that long night of mystery. - - The olden hypocritical race, - Thank heaven, is rapidly dying; - To the grave it is sinking, and owes its death - To its ceaseless habit of lying. - - Another race is rising up fast, - By rouge and by sin untarnish’d, - Of genial humour and thoughts,--to it - I’ll tell my story unvarnish’d. - - The youth which the poet’s goodness and pride - Appreciates, puts forth its blossom, - And warms itself at his radiant soul, - And against his feeling bosom. - - My heart is loving as the light, - And pure and chaste as the fire; - The noblest Graces themselves have tuned - The chords of my sweet lyre. - - ’Tis the selfsame lyre that in his songs - My worthy father uses,-- - The poet Aristophanes, - The favourite of the Muses. - - In the previous chapter I tried my hand - At copying the conclusion - Of the play of the “Birds,” which certainly is - My father’s finest effusion. - - The “Frogs” is also capital. This - Is now, in a German translation, - Perform’d, I am told, on the stage at Berlin - For his Majesty’s edification. - - The King likes the piece. This shows his taste - For the old-fashion’d style of joking; - The late King far more amusement found - In modern frogs’ loud croaking. - - The King likes the piece. But nevertheless - Were the author still living, I kindly - Would counsel him to trust himself - In Prussia not too blindly. - - The genuine Aristophanes - Would find it no subject for laughter; - We should see him move, wherever he went, - With a chorus of gendarmes after. - - O King, I really wish thee well - When this piece of advice I’m giving: - Due reverence pay to the poets who’re dead, - And tender be to the living. - - Affront the living poets not, - With weapons and flames they are furnish’d, - More terrible far than the lightnings of Jove, - By the poets created and burnish’d. - - Affront the gods in Olympus who dwell, - Regardless whether they know it; - Affront the mightiest Lord of all, - But O, affront not the poet! - - The deities harshly avenge in truth - Man’s crimes, and allow him no shelter; - The fire of hell is passably hot, - And there he must roast and must swelter. - - Yet pious steps can the sinner release - From the flames; for saying masses - And giving to churches with liberal hand - From torment a certain pass is. - - When the days are accomplish’d, then Christ will descend, - And burst hell’s gloomy portals; - And though he may sit in judgment strict, - He still will acquit many mortals. - - And yet there are hells from out of whose clutch - There’s no escape to heaven; - No prayers there avail, and powerless too - Is the Saviour’s pardon even. - - Is Dante’s hell to thee unknown, - With its terrible trinary verses? - The man whom the poet there has shut up - Will never escape from his curses. - - He ne’er will be freed from those musical flames - By any god or Saviour; - So for fear we condemn thee to such a sad hell, - Thou hadst better mind thy behaviour! - - - - -ROMANCERO. - - - - -_BOOK I.--HISTORIES._ - - - When vex’d by slander’s treacherous breath, - Let thy faith soar the higher; - And when thy soul is sad unto death, - Then strike thou the lyre. - - A flaming and glowing heroical song - The chords breathe discreetly! - All anger flies, and thy spirit ere long - Will bleed to death sweetly. - - - - -RHAMPSENITUS.[64] - - - When the King Rhampsenitus - Enter’d in the halls resplendent - Of his daughter, she was laughing, - As was also each attendant. - - E’en the blackamoors, the eunuchs, - Follow’d in loud chorus after; - E’en the mummies, e’en the sphynxes - Seem’d about to burst with laughter. - - Then the princess said: “I fancied - That I held the thief securely, - But it was a dead arm only - That my hand had seized so surely. - - “I can see now how the robber - To thy storehouse penetrated, - And despite all bars and fast’nings - All thy treasure confiscated. - - “He a magic key possesses, - “Which the door of house or stable - “Straightway opens; to resist it - “Are the strongest doors unable. - - “Now I’m really not a strong door, - “Nor could I resist his pleasure; - “So this night, while treasure-watching, - “Have I lost my little treasure!” - - Round the chamber danced the princess, - Laughing at this notion clever, - And the maidens and the eunuchs - Laugh’d again as loud as ever. - - On that day all Memphis laugh’d too, - E’en the crocodiles so bloody - Laughingly their heads protruded - From the yellow Nile-stream muddy, - - When they heard the drum’s loud beating, - And the foll’wing proclamation - Shouted by the public crier - On the bank, to all the nation:-- - - “We, Rhampsenitus, by God’s grace - “King of Egypt, to our loyal - “Well-belovèd friends and subjects - “Hereby send our greeting royal. - - “In the night between the third and - “Fourth of June, the fourteen hundred - “Four and twentieth year before Christ, - “Came a certain thief, who plunder’d - - “Many jewels from the storehouse - “Where we kept them, and more lately - “Further thefts has perpetrated, - “So that we have suffer’d greatly. - - “To discover the offender, - “Made we our belovèd daughter - “Sleep beside the treasure; but he - “Robb’d her too, and napping caught her. - - “Now, to check this wholesale plunder, - “And to show our deep affection - “For the thief, our admiration, - “And our grateful recollection, - - “We will give our only daughter - “As his lawful wife--God bless her!-- - “And to princely rank promote him, - “Owning him as our successor. - - “Since our son-in-law’s abode is - “Unknown to us just at present, - “This our rescript shall inform him - “That we’ve now made all things pleasant. - - “Done the third of January - “Thirteen hundred twenty-six - “Years before Christ; here our seal we, - “King Rhampsenitus, affix.” - - And he kept his word; the thief he - As his son-in-law soon counted, - And when he was dead, the robber - On the throne of Egypt mounted. - - And he ruled like other monarchs, - Trade and talent patronizing, - And the fewness of the robb’ries - In his reign was quite surprising. - - - - -THE WHITE ELEPHANT. - - - Great Mahawasant, of Siam the King, - Has half of India under his wing; - Twelve kings, with the Great Mogul, obey - His rule, and acknowledge his sovereign sway. - - Each year with banner, trumpet, and drum - To Siam the trains with the tribute come; - Many thousand camels, with backs piled high - With the costliest treasures of earth, draw nigh. - - When the camels he sees with their heavy piles, - The soul of the King in secret smiles; - But in public in truth he always deplores - That his storehouses serve not to hold all his stores. - - Yet these storehouses all are so lofty and spacious, - So full of magnificence, so capacious, - The reality’s splendour surpasses in glory - The Arabian Nights’ most wondrous story. - - The “Castle of Indra” call they the hall - In which are display’d the deities all, - The golden images, chisell’d with care, - And all incrusted with jewels so fair. - - Full thirty thousand their numbers are, - Their ugliness passes description far; - A compound of men and animals dread, - With many a hand and many a head. - - In the “Hall of purple” one wond’ringly sees - Some thirteen hundred coral trees, - As big as palms, a singular sight, - With spiral branches, a forest bright. - - The floor of purest crystal is made, - And all the trees are in it display’d, - While pheasants of glittering plumage gay - Strut up and down in a dignified way. - - The ape on which the monarch doth dote - A ribbon of silk wears round his throat, - Whence hangs the key that opens the hall - Which people the “Chamber of Slumber” call. - - All kinds of jewels of value high - All over the ground here scatter’d lie - Like common peas, with diamonds rare - That in size with the egg of a fowl compare. - - On sacks that stuff’d with pearls appear - The Monarch is wont to stretch himself here; - The ape lies down by the monarch proud, - And both of them slumber and snore aloud. - - But the King’s most precious, costly treasure, - His happiness, his soul’s first pleasure, - The joy and the pride of Mahawasant - Is truly his snow-white elephant. - - As a home for a guest so highly respected - A splendid palace the King has erected; - Gay lotos-headed columns uphold - Its roof, all cover’d with plates of gold. - - Three hundred heralds stand at the gate, - As the elephant’s guard of honour to wait; - And kneeling down with low-bent back - There serve him a hundred eunuchs black. - - For his proboscis the daintiest meat - On golden dishes they bring him to eat; - From silver buckets he drinks his wine, - Well season’d with spices sweet and fine. - - With perfumes they rub him, and otto of roses - On his head a chaplet of flowers reposes, - The richest shawls that are made in the East - As carpets serve for the dignified beast. - - The happiest life appears to be his, - But no one on earth contented is; - The noble creature,--one cannot tell why,-- - Gives way to a deep despondency. - - The melancholy monster white - Is wretched, all this profusion despite; - They fain would enliven and cheer him again, - But all their cleverest efforts are vain. - - In vain with singing and springing there come - The bayaderes; the kettle drum - And cornet in vain the musicians play, - But nothing can make the elephant gay. - - As matters continue to go on badly, - The heart of Mahawasant beats sadly; - He sends for the wisest astrologer known, - And bids him stand before his throne. - - “Stargazer, I’ll cut off at once your head”-- - Thus speaks he, “unless you can tell me instead - “What is it that my poor elephant needs, - “And why his spirit with sorrow so bleeds.” - - The other one threw himself thrice on the ground, - And finally spoke with obeisance profound: - “O monarch, I’ll tell thee the actual fact, - “And then as thou will’st, thou canst afterwards act. - - “There lives in the North a woman fair, - “Of lofty stature and beauty rare; - “Thy elephant’s certainly handsome, Sir, - “But still not fit to be liken’d to her. - - “Compared with her, he only appears - “A little white mouse; her form she rears - “Like giantess Bimha in Ramajana, - “And like the Ephesians’ great Diana. - - “Her limbs are combined in a beautiful frame; - “Two lofty pilasters support the same, - “And proudly and gracefully stand upright, - “Of alabaster dazzling and white. - - “This is God Amor’s temple gigantic, - “In other words, love’s cathedral romantic! - “As lamp there burns within the fane - “A heart quite free from spot and stain. - - “The poets are nonpluss’d how to begin - “To describe the charms of her snow-white skin; - “E’en Gautier[65] unable to do it, alas! is, - “Its whiteness all description surpasses. - - “The highest Himalaya’s snow - “Beside her seems ash-grey to grow; - “The lily that she by accident thumbs - “Through envy or contrast yellow becomes. - - “The Countess Bianca is the name - “Of this enormous snow-white dame; - “At Paris she dwells, in the land of France, - “And the elephant loves her by singular chance. - - “By strange and wondrous elective affinity - “She became through a dream his bosom’s divinity - “And into his heart this lofty Ideal - “First crept by means of a vision unreal. - - “Since then he’s consumed by a yearning stealthy, - “And he, who was once so joyous and healthy, - “As a four-footed Werther sadly stands, - “And dreams of a Lotte in Northern lands. - - “O, Sympathy’s mysterious thrill! - “He never saw her, but thinks of her still; - “Oft tramps he round in the moonlight fair, - “And sighs: ‘O were I a bird of the air!’ - - “His body alone is in Siam, his mind - “In France with Bianca thou’lt certainly find; - “And yet this parting of body and soul - “Must greatly injure his health as a whole. - - “From the daintiest morsels revolts his belly, - “He cares for nothing but vermicelli; - “He’s coughing already, and fast grows thinner; - “His yearning will kill him, or I’m a sinner. - - “If thou wouldst save him, preserve him alive, - “His return to the animal world contrive, - “O King, then send the renown’d invalid - “Direct to Paris, with utmost speed. - - “When he on the spot in the actual sight - “Of the beautiful lady can take delight-- - “Of her who the prototype was of his dream, - “He’ll soon be cured of his sadness extreme. - - “There where his mistress’s glances fall, - “His spirit’s torments will vanish all; - “Her smiles will the last of the shadows efface - “Which in his bosom had taken their place. - - “And then her voice, like a magical tune, - “Will cure his distracted mind full soon; - “The flaps of his ears he’ll joyfully raise, - “And feel as he felt in youthful days. - - “All things are so very enchanting and pretty - “On the banks of the Seine, in Paris’ fair city! - “How thy elephant there will civilized be, - “Amusing himself right merrily! - - “But most of all, O monarch, take care - “That plenty of money he has with him there, - “And a letter of credit, all charges to meet, - “On Rothschild Frères in the Rue Lafitte, - - “For a million of ducats or thereabouts; - “Then Baron Rothschild will harbour no doubts - “About him, but say with an accent mellow: - “‘The elephant’s really a capital fellow!’” - - The astrologer thus discoursed, and then - He threw himself thrice on the ground again. - The king with rich presents sent him away, - And stretched himself, his course to survey. - - He thought of this, and he thought of that; - (Kings seldom find their thoughts come pat). - His ape beside him took his seat, - And both of them fell asleep with the heat. - - What he resolved, I’ll hereafter relate; - The Indian mails are behind their date. - The last of these which has come to hand - Was by way of Suez, and overland. - - - - -KNAVE OF BERGEN. - - - At Dusseldorf castle on the Rhine - They’re gaily masquerading; - The waxlights sparkle, the company dance, - The music their nimbleness aiding. - - The beauteous Duchess dances too, - And ceases laughing never; - Her partner is a slender youth, - Who seems right courtly and clever. - - He wears a mask of velvet black, - Whence merrily is peeping - An eye just like a shining dirk - From out of its sheath half creeping. - - The carnival throng exultingly shout - As they whirl in the waltz’s embraces, - While Drickes and Marizzebill[66] - Salute with loud noise and grimaces. - - The trumpets crash, and the merry hum - Of the double-bass increases, - Until the dance to an end has come, - And then the music ceases. - - “Most excellent Lady, thy pardon I beg, - “’Tis time for me to go now--” - “The Duchess said smiling: “You shall not depart, - “Unless your face you show now.” - - “Most excellent Lady, thy pardon I beg, - “My face is a hideous creature’s--” - “The Duchess said smiling: “I am not afraid, - “I insist upon seeing your features.” - - “Most excellent Lady, thy pardon I beg, - “For night and death are my portion--” - “The Duchess said smiling: “I’ll not let you go - “I’ll see you, despite all your caution.” - - In vain he struggled with gloomy words - To change her determination; - At length she forcibly tore the mask - From his face for her information. - - “’Tis the headsman of Bergen!” the throng in the hall - Exclaim with a feeling of terror, - And timidly shrink;--the Duchess rush’d out, - Her husband to tell of her error. - - The Duke was wise, and all the disgrace - Of the Duchess straightway effac’d he; - He drew his bright sword and said: “Kneel down, - Good fellow!” with accents hasty. - - “With this stroke of the sword I make you now - “A limb of the order knightly; - “And since you’re a knave, you’ll hereafter be call’d - “Sir Knave of Bergen rightly.” - - So the headsman became a nobleman proud, - Of the Bergen Knaves’ family founder; - A haughty race! they dwelt on the Rhine, - Though now they all underground are! - - - - -THE VALKYRES.[67] - - - While below contending forces - Fight, above on cloudy horses - Three Valkyres ride; their song - Through the air re-echoes long. - - “Princes wrangle, nations quarrel, - “Each would bear away the laurel; - “Conquest is the highest prize, - “Highest worth in courage lies. - - “No proud helmet gives protection, - “Death brings all things in subjection; - “And the hero’s blood is shed, - “And the wicked win instead. - - “Laurel wreaths, triumphal arches! - On the morrow in he marches, - “Who the better one o’erthrew, - “Winning land and people too. - - “Senator and burgomaster - “Go to meet the victor faster - “With the keys that ope the gate, - “And the train then enters straight. - - “Cannon from the walls are crashing, - “Kettle-drums and trumpets clashing, - “Bells’ loud ringing fills the sky, - “And ‘hurrah!’ the people cry. - - “On the balconies are standing - “Smiling beauteous women, handing - “To the victor flow’ry wreaths; - “He with haughty calmness breathes.” - - - - -HASTINGS BATTLE-FIELD. - - - The Abbot of Waltham deeply sigh’d - When he heard the tragical story - That Harold the king had lost his life - On Hastings battle-field gory. - - Two monks, named Asgod and Ailrik, he - As messengers then selected, - To seek at Hastings amongst the dead - For Harold’s body neglected. - - The monks went forth with sorrowing hearts, - And return’d with faces averted: - “O Father, the world goes wrong with us now, - “We seem by Fortune deserted. - - “The better man has fallen in fight, - “O’ercome by that bastard demon; - “Arm’d thieves amongst them divide the land, - “And make a slave of the freeman. - - “The veriest rascal in Normandy now - “Is lord of the island of Britain; - “A tailor from Bayeux with golden spurs - “We saw as gay as a kitten. - - “Woe, woe to the man of Saxon birth! - “Ye Saxon sainted ones even, - “Ye had better take care, ye’re not safe from disgrace, - “E’en now in the kingdom of heaven. - - “The meaning now we can understand - “Of the blood-red comet which lately - “On a broomstick of fire rode through the sky - “One night, and astonish’d us greatly. - - “At Hastings there was realized - “The evil star’s prediction; - “Amongst the dead on the battle-field there - “We sought with deep affliction. - - “Till every hope had disappear’d - “We sought in each direction; - “The corpse of King Harold, we grieve to say, - “Escaped our close inspection.” - - ’Twas thus that Asgod and Ailrik spoke; - His hands wrung the Abbot, while moan’d he - Then sank in deep thought, and finally said, - As heavily sigh’d and groan’d he: - - “At Grendelfield, by the bards’ old stone, - “In a hut in the forest, is dwelling - “Her whom they Edith the Swanneck call, - “In beauty once so excelling. - - “They call’d her Edith the Swanneck erst, - “Because her neck in its splendour - “Resembled the neck of the swan; the king - “Loved the maid with affection tender. - - “He loved, kiss’d, fondled her long, and then - “Forgot, like a faithless lover; - Time’s fleeting on, full sixteen years - “Have since those days pass’d over. - - “Now, brethren, go to this woman straight, - “And bid her return with you quickly - “To Hastings; her eye will discover the king - “‘Mid the corpses scatter’d so thickly. - - “And when you have found his body, with speed - “To Waltham Abbey transfer him, - “That we for his soul due masses may sing, - “And like a Christian inter him.” - - At midnight’s hour the messengers reach’d - The hut in the forest, saying: - “Awake, O Edith the Swanneck, awake, - “And follow without delaying. - - “The Duke of the Normans as victor hath come, - “And the routed Saxons are flying, - “And on the field of Hastings the corpse - “Of Harold the King is lying. - - “Come with us to Hastings, we’re seeking there - “The body beneath the dead hidden, - “To bring it to Waltham Abbey with care, - “As we by the Abbot are bidden.” - - Then Edith the Swanneck girded herself, - And not one word she utter’d, - But follow’d the monks, while her grizzly hair - In the wind all wildly flutter’d. - - The poor woman follow’d with naked feet, - And through marsh, wood, and briar on hied they, - Till the chalky cliffs on the Hastings coast - At the dawning of day descried they. - - The mist, which like a snowy veil, - The battle-field was cloaking, - Dispersed by degrees; the noisy daws - Were flapping their wings and croaking. - - Many thousand corpses were lying there - On the earth with blood bespatter’d, - Stripp’d naked, and mangled, with many a steed - Among the carcases scatter’d. - - Poor Edith the Swanneck in the blood - With naked feet now waded; - No single spot the searching glance - Of her piercing eye evaded. - - Both here and there she sought, and she oft - Had to scare away the devouring - Black troop of ravens that prey’d on the dead; - The monks behind her were cowering. - - She sought throughout the livelong day, - Till the shades of the evening were falling; - When out of the poor woman’s breast there burst - A shriek both wild and appalling. - - For Edith the Swanneck had found at last - The corpse of the king, poor creature! - No word she utter’d, no tear she wept, - She kiss’d each pallid feature. - - She kiss’d his forehead, she kiss’d his mouth, - Her arms encircled him tightly; - She kiss’d the bloody breast of the king, - Disfigured by wounds unsightly. - - Upon his shoulder she likewise spied,-- - And cover’d them over with kisses,-- - Three little scars that her teeth had made, - The signs of their former blisses. - - And in the meantime the pair of monks - Some branches of trees collected; - These form’d the bier, on which they bore - The body, with hearts dejected. - - To Waltham Abbey the body they took, - To bury it rightly and duly, - And Edith the Swanneck follow’d the corpse - Of him she had loved so truly. - - The litanies for the dead she sang - In childlike pious fashion, - And in the night they fearfully rang,-- - The monks pray’d, full of compassion. - - - - -CHARLES I. - - - In the charcoal-burner’s hut in the wood - Sits the king, an object of pity; - The charcoal-burner’s child’s cradle he rocks, - And sings this monotonous ditty: - - “Eiapopeia, why rustles the straw? - “The sheep in the stalls bleat loudly; - “Thou bearest the sign on thy forehead, and smil’st - “In thy sleep so wildly and proudly. - - “Eiapopeia, thou bear’st on thy brow - “The sign,--and dead is the kitten; - “When grown to manhood, thou’lt flourish the axe, - “And the oak in the wood will be smitten. - - “The charcoal-burner’s religion is dead, - “And now no longer receive they,-- - “Eiapopeia,--the faith in a God, - “Still less in the king believe they. - - “The kitten is dead, and the mice rejoice - “And we from their presence are driven,-- - “Eiapopeia,--I, monarch on earth, - “And God, the monarch in heaven. - - “My heart grows sicker day by day, - “My brow grows sterner and sterner; - “Eiapopeia,--my headsman art thou, - “Thou child of the charcoal-burner! - - “My song of death is thy cradle-song-- - “Eiapopeia--thou’lt fumble - “My grey locks about, and cut them off,-- - “Thine axe on my neck will tumble. - - “Eiapopeia,--why rustles the straw? - “Thou hast gained a kingdom splendid; - “Thou strikest off from my body my head,-- - “The life of the kitten is ended. - - “Eiapopeia,--why rustles the straw? - “The sheep in the stalls bleat loudly; - “The kitten is dead, and the mice rejoice,-- - “My dear little headsman, sleep proudly!” - - - - -MARIE ANTOINETTE. - - - The plate-glass windows gleam in the sun - In the Tuileries Castle gaily; - And yet the well-known spectres of old - Still walk about in it daily. - - Queen Marie Antoinette still doth haunt - The famous pavilion of Flora; - With strict etiquette she holds her court - At each return of Aurora. - - Full dress’d are the ladies,--they most of them stand, - On tabourets others are sitting, - With dresses of satin and gold brocade, - Hung with lace and jewels befitting. - - Their waists are small, their hoop-petticoats swell, - And from underneath them are peeping - Their high-heel’d feet, that so pretty appear,-- - If their heads were but still in their keeping! - - Not one of the number a head has on, - The queen herself in that article - Is wanting, and so Her Majesty boasts - Of frizzling not one particle. - - Yes, she with toupée as high as a tower, - In dignity so resplendent, - Maria Theresa’s daughter fair, - The German Cæsar’s descendant, - - She, curlless and headless, now must walk - Amongst her maids of honour, - Who, equally headless and void of curls, - Are humbly waiting upon her. - - All this from the French Revolution has sprung, - And its doctrines so pernicious, - From Jean Jacques Rousseau and the guillotine, - And Voltaire the malicious. - - Yet strange though it be, I shrewdly think - That none of these hapless creatures - Have ever observed how dead they are, - How devoid of head and features. - - The first _dame d’atour_ a linen shift brings, - And makes a reverence lowly; - The second hands it to the queen, - And both retire then slowly. - - The third and fourth ladies curtsy and kneel - Before the queen discreetly, - That they may be able to draw on - Her Majesty’s stockings neatly. - - A maid of honour curtsying brings - Her Majesty’s robe for the morning; - Another with curtsies her petticoat holds - And assists at the queen’s adorning. - - The mistress of the robes with her fan - Stands by, the time beguiling; - And as her head is unhappily gone, - With her other end she is smiling. - - The sun his inquisitive glances throws - Inside the draperied casement; - But when the apparitions he sees, - He starts in fearful amazement. - - - - -THE SILESIAN WEAVERS.[68] - - - No tears from their gloomy eyes are flowing, - They sit at the loom, their white teeth showing: - “Thy shroud, O Germany, now weave we, - “A threefold curse we’re weaving for thee,-- - “We’re weaving, we’re weaving! - - “A curse on the God to whom our petition - “We vainly address’d when in starving condition; - “In vain did we hope, and in vain did we wait, - “He only derided and mock’d our sad fate,-- - “‘re weaving, we’re weaving! - - “A curse on the King of the wealthy, whom often - “Our misery vainly attempted to soften; - “Who takes away e’en the last penny we’ve got, - “And lets us like dogs in the highway be shot,-- - “We’re weaving, we’re weaving! - - “A curse on our fatherland false and contriving, - “Where shame and disgrace alone are seen thriving, - “Where flowers are pluck’d before they unfold, - “Where batten the worms on corruption and mould,-- - “We’re weaving, we’re weaving! - - “The shuttle is flying, the loom creaks away, - “We’re weaving busily night and day; - “Thy shroud, Old Germany, now weave we, - “A threefold curse we’re weaving for thee,-- - “We’re weaving, we’re weaving!” - - - - -POMARE. - - -1. - - All the gods of love are shouting - In my heart, and blowing airy - Flourishes, and crying: “Hail! - “Hail, thou mighty queen Pomare!” - - Not the queen of Otaheite - Whom ’twas missionaries’ duty - To convert; no, she I mean - Is a wild untutor’d beauty. - - Twice in every week appears she, - All her subjects quite entrancing - In that dear Jardin Mabille, - Waltzes and the polka dancing. - - Majesty in all her footsteps, - Grace and beauty ne’er forsake her, - Quite a princess every inch, - Whichsoever way you take her. - - Thus she dances--gods of love are - In my heart all blowing airy - Flourishes, and crying: “Hail! - “Hail, thou mighty queen Pomare!” - - -2. - - She dances. How her figure sways! - What grace her every limb displays! - There’s as much flitting, leaping, swinging, - As if she from her skin were springing. - - She dances. When she twirls with skill - Upon one foot, and then stands still - At last with both her arms extended, - My very reason seems suspended. - - She dances. ’Tis the very same - That once Herodias’ daughter came - And danced to Herod. As she dances, - Her eye casts round it deadly glances. - - She’ll dance me frantic. Woman, say, - What shall be thy reward to-day? - Thou smil’st? Quick, herald! to the gateway - Decapitate the Baptist straightway! - - -3. - - Yesterday for very bread, - In the mire she wallowèd; - But to-day, with pride o’erbearing, - In her carriage takes an airing. - On its silken cushions she - Rests her head, and haughtily - Looks upon the thronging masses - Whom on foot her carriage passes. - When I see thee travelling so, - Then my heart is fill’d with woe! - Ah, this carriage,--so prepare thee,-- - To the hospital will bear thee, - Where unfeeling cruel death - Soon will take away thy breath, - And the student, with coarse greasy - Prentice hand, so free and easy, - Will cut up thy body fair - Anatomically there; - And at Montfaucon thy horses - At the knacker’s end their courses. - - -4. - - Thou hast been by fate befriended - Better than at first I said; - God be praised, all now is ended! - God be praised, and thou art dead! - - In thy poor and agèd mother’s - Garret thou at length didst die. - She, with love beyond all others, - Closed thy fair eyes tenderly. - - She a winding-sheet bought duly, - And a coffin, and a grave; - Somewhat close and wretched truly - Was the funeral that they gave. - - No priests at that funeral lonely - Sang, no bell toll’d mournfully; - Thy _friseur_ and poodle only - As thy mourners follow’d thee. - - “Ah!” the former sigh’d: “I often - “Used to comb Pomare’s hair, - “And her long black tresses soften, - “Sitting in her easy chair!” - - But the dog,--away he scamper’d - At the churchyard gate anon, - And was lodged and fed and pamper’d - Afterwards by Rose Pompon. - - She, the Provençaler, grudged thee - Thy hard-earnèd name of queen, - As a hated rival judged thee, - Made thee victim of her spleen. - - Ah, poor queen of jests diurnal, - With thy mud crown on thy head, - Thou art saved by God’s eternal - Goodness, thou at last art dead. - - As thy mother, so thy Father - Mercy show’d thee from above; - This He did, methinks, the rather - In that thou so much didst love. - - - - -THE APOLLO GOD. - - - The convent stands high on the rocky steep, - The Rhine beneath it glistens; - The youthful nun doth eagerly peep - Through the lattice window, and listens. - - A bark of fable is sailing past, - By the evening glow tinged brightly; - While chequer’d pennons stream from the mast, - With laurels and flowers crown’d lightly. - - Amid-ship stands a beauteous youth, - With flowing auburn tresses; - Of very ancient cut, in truth, - His gold and purple dress is. - - Before his feet nine women lie, - Of marble-lovely graces; - A tunic fair and loop’d up high - Each slender form embraces. - - The golden-tress’d one sweetly sings, - And likewise plays his lyre; - The song the poor nun’s bosom stings, - And sets it all on fire. - - She makes a cross, and once again - The nun repeats the measure; - The cross scares not her blissful pain, - Nor checks her bitter pleasure. - - -2. - - I am the god of music bright, - Revered in every nation; - In Greece, on Mount Parnassus’ height, - My temple had its station. - - In Greece I oft have sat and play’d - On famed Parnassus’ mountain, - Beneath the cypress’ pleasant shade, - Beside Castalia’s fountain. - - My daughters sat around their Pa, - And raised a vocal chorus; - They sweetly sang: la-la, la-la! - While laughter floated o’er us. - - The bugle rang: tra-ra, tra-ra! - From out the forest loudly; - There hunted Artemisia, - My little sister, proudly. - - And whensoe’er I took some sips,-- - I can’t describe it neatly,-- - From out Castalia’s fount, my lips - Burst into music sweetly. - - I sang--my lyre, as it replied, - O’er its own chords seem’d sweeping; - I felt as if I Daphne spied - Behind the laurels peeping. - - I sang--ambrosial incense stream’d, - And lightly o’er me hover’d; - And the whole world around me seem’d - By a bright halo cover’d. - - A thousand years from Grecia’s land - Have I been sadly banish’d; - Yet hath my heart in Grecia’s land - Remain’d, though I have vanish’d. - - -3. - - In the costume of the Beguins, - In the cloak with cap upon it - Of the coarsest blackest serge, - Is the youthful nun envelop’d. - - Hastily along the Rhine banks - Paces she adown the highway - On the road to Holland, asking - Eagerly of every passer: - - “Hast thou chanced to see Apollo? - “He a scarlet cloak is wearing, - “Sweetly sings he, plays the lyre, - “And he is my darling idol.” - - None will answer her inquiry, - Many turn their backs in silence, - Many stare upon her smiling, - Many sigh: “Alas, poor creature!” - - But along the highway trotting - Comes a slovenly old man; - Making figures in the air, he - Keeps on singing through his nose. - - He a clumsy wallet carries, - And a little hat three-corner’d, - And with sharp and smiling eyes he - Listens to the nun’s inquiry: - - “Hast thou chanced to see Apollo? - “He a scarlet cloak is wearing, - “Sweetly sings he, plays the lyre, - “And he is my darling idol.” - - He however gave this answer, - Whilst his little head he waggled - Here and there, and comically - At his sharp beard kept on twitching: - - “Have I chanced to see Apollo? - “Yes, I certainly have seen him - “When at Amsterdam full often, - “In the German synagogue. - - “He was there the leading singer, - “Known by name of Rabbi Faibisch, - “Which in High-Dutch means Apollo,-- - “But he’s not my idol truly. - - “Scarlet cloak? His scarlet cloak too - “I remember; genuine scarlet, - “And the price per ell eight florins,-- - “Not all paid for to this moment. - - “His old father, Moses Jitscher, - “Know I well; he’s circumciser - “To the Portuguese, I fancy, - “And to various sovereigns also. - - “And his mother is a cousin - “Of my sister’s husband, trading - “On the Gracht in pickled gherkins, - “And in worn-out pairs of breeches. - - “In their son they take no pleasure; - “On the lyre he plays not badly, - “But, I grieve to say, far better - “Plays he at taroc and ombre. - - “He is likewise a free-thinker, - “Lost his place through eating swine’s flesh, - “And then travell’d round the country - “With some painted low comedians. - - “In the shops and on the markets - “Has he acted as Jack-pudding, - “Holofernes, or King David, - “But the latter most excell’d in. - - “For the king’s own sorrows sang he - “In the king’s own mother language, - “Giving all the proper quavers - “In the proper olden fashion. - - “Recently some wenches took he - “From the Amsterdam casino, - “And he’s travelling with these Muses - “Round the country as Apollo. - - “One amongst them is a stout one, - “Squeaking very much and grunting: - “On account of her green laurel - “Head-dress, they ‘the green sow’ call her.” - - - - -HYMN TO KING LOUIS.[69] - - - Behold great Louis, Bavaria’s king, - Few monarchs are half so splendid; - In him a king the Bavarians revere, - From an ancient line descended. - - He’s fond of art: fair women to get - For their portraits to sit, is his passion: - In this painted seraglio takes he his walks, - In eunuch-artistic fashion. - - A marble place of skulls hath he - Near Ratisbon constructed, - And all the arrangements for every head - In his own royal person conducted. - - Walhalla-companions! A masterpiece, - Where the merit of every man is - Set forth, with his character and his acts, - From Teut[70] to Schinderhannes.[71] - - But Luther, the blockhead, amongst them all, - Has no place in this proud mausoleum; - The whale ’mongst the fishes is often left out - In a natural hist’ry museum. - - King Louis is also a poet renown’d; - Whenever sings or plays he, - Apollo falls down at his feet and exclaims: - “O stop, or you’ll drive me quite crazy!” - - King Louis is also a hero renown’d, - Like his child, his little son, Otho, - Who was chosen to sit on the throne of Greece - (He disgraced it long ago, tho’). - - When Louis dies, he’ll canonised be - At Rome by the holy Father; - A cat with ruffles a face like his - With its Glory will look like rather. - - As soon as the monkeys and kangaroos - Are converted to Christianity, - They’ll make St. Louis their guardian saint, - In proof of their perfect sanity. - - - - -TWO KNIGHTS. - - - Crapulinski and Waschlapski, - Poles in Poland born and bred, - Fought for their dear country’s freedom - ’Gainst the Russian tyrant dread. - - Boldly did they fight, and lastly - Found at Paris a retreat; - Living, just as much as dying - For one’s fatherland, is sweet. - - Like Achilles and Patroclus, - David and his Jonathan, - Loved the pair of Poles each other, - Kiss’d, and said: “Kochan! Kochan!”[72] - - Neither e’er betray’d the other, - Both were faithful friends and true, - Notwithstanding that they Poles were, - Born and bred in Poland too. - - They the same apartment dwelt in, - In the selfsame bed slept they, - And in noble emulation - Scratch’d themselves by night and day. - - In the selfsame beershop dined they, - And as neither was content - That the other paid his reckoning, - Neither ever paid a cent. - - ’Twas the selfsame washerwoman - Did the washing for the pair; - Humming, for their linen came she - Every month to wash and air. - - Yes, they really had their linen, - Each one had two shirts, well-worn, - Notwithstanding that they Poles were, - Poles in Poland bred and born. - - They to-day sit near the chimney, - Where the flames a bright glow cast; - Out of doors are night, a snowstorm, - And the coaches driving past. - - They a mighty bowl of punch have - Drain’d already and devour’d; - (Understand me, ’twas unsugar’d, - And unwater’d and unsour’d.) - - Sorrow o’er their souls is creeping, - Tears their furrow’d faces streak: - With a voice of deep emotion - Thus doth Crapulinski speak; - - “Would that I had here in Paris - “My dear bearskin, my old cotton - “Dressing-gown, my catskin-nightcap, - “In my fatherland forgotten!” - - Thus to him replied Waschlapski: - “O thou art a driv’ller true; - “Of thy home thou’rt over thinking, - “Catskin-nightcap, bearskin too. - - “Poland has not yet quite perish’d, - “Still our wives to sons give birth, - “And our girls will do so likewise, - “And produce us men of worth, - - “Heroes, like great Sobieski, - “Like Schelmufski and Uminski, - “Eskrokewitsch, Schubiakski, - “And the mighty Eselinski.” - - - - -OUR MARINE.[73] - -(A Nautical tale.) - - - A dream of a fleet we lately dreamt, - And enjoy’d a sail delicious - Far over the wide and boundless sea, - The wind was quite propitious. - - We gave our frigates the proudest names - That we in our calendar reckon’d; - One Hoffmann of Fallersleben we call’d, - And Prutz[74] we christen’d the second. - - There floated the cutter Freiligrath, - Whereon was seen the figure - Of the Moorish king, which gazed below - Like a moon (but as black as a nigger). - - There floated Gustavus Schwab as well, - A Pfizer, a Kölle, a Mayer; - On each of them stood a Swabian face, - Each holding a wooden lyre. - - There floated Birch-Pfeiffer, a brig which bore - On its mast the escutcheon olden - Of the famous German Admiralty, - On tatters black-red-golden. - - We boldly clamber’d on bowsprit and yard, - And bore ourselves like sailors; - Our jackets were short, our hats betarr’d, - And our trousers as big as a tailor’s. - - Full many, who formerly sipp’d but tea - As husbands kind and forbearing, - Now drank their rum, their pigtail chew’d, - And, seaman-like, took to swearing. - - So bright was our vision, we well nigh won - A naval victory splendid; - But when return’d the morning sun, - Both fleet and vision had ended. - - We still were lying at home in bed, - Our limbs all over it sprawling; - We rubbed the sleep from out of our eyes, - The following wise speech bawling: - - “The world is round; why seek to be tost - “On the idle billows, faint-hearted? - “When we sail round the world, at last we return - “To the point from which we started.” - - - - -THE GOLDEN CALF. - - - Fiddle, flute, and horn uniting, - To the idol-dance inviting-- - Round the golden calf with springing - All of Jacob’s daughters come-- - Brum--brum--brum-- - Kettle drums and laughter ringing! - - Girding up their tunics lightly, - Clasping hands together tightly, - Noble maidens, off’rings bringing, - Twist, like whirlwinds at the least, - Round the beast-- - Kettle drums and laughter ringing! - - Aaron’s self joins in the mazy - Circling dance with motions crazy; - His concerns not looking after, - Skips he, in his high-priest’s coat, - Like a goat-- - Kettle drums and ringing laughter! - - - - -KING DAVID. - - - Despots smiling yield their breath, - Knowing after their own death - That their slaves but change their master, - And, if anything, work faster. - - Ah, poor race! like horse and bull - They the waggons still must pull, - And their backs will soon be broken - If they heed not what is spoken. - - David said to Solomon - On his deathbed: “List, my son! - “My most dreaded foe of course is - “Joab, general of my forces. - - “This brave general many a year - “I have view’d with hate and fear; - “But, however I detest him, - “I ne’er ventured to arrest him. - - “Thou, my son, of sterner stuff, - “Fearing God, art strong enough; - “’Tis for thee an easy matter - “That said Joab’s brains to scatter.” - - - - -KING RICHARD. - - - Through the silent glades of the forest there springs - An eager horseman proudly; - He blows his horn, he laughs, and he sings - Exultingly and loudly. - - His armour is made of the brass most strong, - But stronger still is his bosom; - ’Tis Cœur de Lion that’s riding along, - That Christian chivalry’s blossom. - - “Thou’rt welcome to England!” each verdant bough - “Exclaims with joyous assurance; - “We’re heartily glad, O monarch, that thou - “Hast escap’d from thine Austrian durance.” - - The king snuffs up the free air the while, - Like a newborn creature lives he; - He thinks of his Austrian dungeon vile,-- - And his spurs to his proud horse gives he. - - - - -THE ASRA. - - - Daily went the wondrous lovely - Sultan’s daughter at the cooling - Hour of evening to the fountain, - Where the waters white were plashing. - - Daily at the hour of evening - Stood the young slave at the fountain - Where the waters white were plashing, - Daily grew he pale and paler. - - And one evening came the princess, - And these sudden words address’d him: - “Thou must tell me what thy name is, - “And thy country and thy kindred!” - - And the slave replied: “My name is - “Mahomet, I came from Yemmen, - “And my race is of those Asras, - “Who, whene’er they love, must perish.” - - - - -THE NUNS. - - - Who at night the convent walls - Passes, sees the windows brightly - Lighted up, for there the spectres - Make their gloomy circuit nightly. - - ’Tis dead Ursulines that join - In the sad and dark procession; - From the linen hoods are peeping - Faces young of sweet expression. - - Tapers bear they in their hands, - Glimm’ring bloodred and mysterious - Strangely echo in the crossway - Whispers low, wails sad and serious. - - To the church the train moves on; - Sitting on the wooden benches - Of the quire, their mournful chorus - Straight begin the’ unhappy wenches. - - Like a litany it sounds, - But the words are wild and shocking - They are poor and outcast spirits - At the heavenly portal knocking. - - “Brides of Christ we used to be, - “But by love of earth were chainèd, - “And we render’d unto Cæsar - “Things that unto God pertainèd. - - “Charming is a uniform - “And mustachios smooth and shining - “For the epaulettes of Cæsar - “Were our hearts in secret pining. - - “Antlers to the brow we gave - “By our shameless ill behaviour, - “Which the crown of thorns once carried,-- - “We betray’d our heavenly Saviour. - - “Jesus,--mercy’s very self,-- - “Softly wept o’er our transgression, - “And he said: ‘Your souls be cursèd - “‘For disgracing your profession!’ - - “Grave-sprung spectres of the night, - “We must wander in these dreary - “Walls, our folly to atone for,-- - “Miserere! Miserere! - - “Ah, within the grave ’tis well! - “Though indeed ’tis far more cheery - “In the glowing realms of heaven,-- - “Miserere! Miserere! - - “Jesus sweet, forgive at length - “Our transgression sad and weary; - “Let us feel the warmth of heaven,-- - “Miserere! Miserere!” - - Thus the troop of nuns sing on, - And a long-dead clerk is playing - On the organ. Hands of spirits - O’er the keys are wildly straying. - - - - -PALSGRAVINE JUTTA. - - - The Palsgravine Jutta, in bark so light, - Is crossing the Rhine in the moonlight bright; - The Countess speaks, while rows the maid: - “Hast thou yon seven corpses survey’d - “That, seeking to find us, - “Are floating behind us?-- - “So sadly are floating the corpses! - - “Seven knights were they, who their love confess’d, - “And tenderly sank on my heaving breast, - “And swore to be faithful; so, certain to make - “That they their oaths should never break, - “I seized and bound them, - “And straightway drown’d them,-- - “So sadly are floating the corpses!” - - The Countess laughs, while the maiden rows, - Through the air her laughter scornfully goes; - From the water the corpses rise high as the thigh, - And point with their fingers towards the sky, - In token of swearing, - With glassy eyes staring-- - So sadly are floating the corpses! - - - - -THE MOORISH KING. - - - To the Alpuxarres’ exile - Went the youthful Moorish monarch; - Silent and with heart full mournful - Heading the procession rode he. - - And behind, on lofty palfreys - Or in golden litters riding, - Sat the women of his household; - Swarthy maids on mules were sitting. - - And a hundred trusty followers - Rode on noble Arab horses; - Haughty steeds, and yet the riders - Carelessly bestrode the saddles. - - Not a drum and not a cymbal, - Not a single song resounded; - Silver bells upon the mules, though, - Echoed sadly in the silence. - - On the height, from whence the glances - Sweep across the Duero valley, - And Granada’s battlements - For the last time rise before one, - - There the mournful king dismounted, - And he gazed upon the city - Glittering in the light of evening, - As though deck’d with gold and purple. - - But, great Allah! what a sight ’twas! - In the place of that dear crescent - Gleam’d the Spaniard’s cross and standard - On the tow’rs of the Alhambra. - - Ah! deep sighs at this discov’ry - Broke from out the monarch’s bosom; - Suddenly the tears ’gan falling - Like a torrent down his cheeks. - - Sadly from her lofty palfrey - Downward gazed the monarch’s mother, - Looking on her son’s affliction; - Proudly, bitterly, she chided: - - “Boabdil el Chico,” said she, - “Like a woman thou bewailest - “Yonder town, which thou neglectedst - “To defend with manly courage.” - - When the monarch’s dearest mistress - Heard these words, so harsh and cruel, - Hastily she left her litter, - Her lord’s neck embracing fondly. - - “Boabdil el Chico,” said she, - “Comfort take, my heart-belov’d one! - “From the deep abyss of sorrow - “Blossoms forth a beauteous laurel. - - “Not alone the glorious victor, - “Not alone the proud triumphant - “Fav’rite of the blind jade Fortune, - “But misfortune’s bloody son, too, - - “And the’ heroic-fighting warrior, - “Who to destiny o’erpow’ring - “Has succumb’d, will live for ever - “In the memory of mortals.”-- - - “Mountain of the Moor’s last sigh” - To this very moment call they - Yonder height from whence the monarch - For the last time saw Granada. - - Time has now fulfill’d full sweetly - His beloved one’s prophecy, - And the Moorish monarch’s name is - Reverenced and held in honour. - - Never will his glory vanish, - Never, till the last chord’s broken - Of the last guitar remaining - In the land of Andalusia. - - - - -GEOFFRY RUDÈL AND MELISANDA OF TRIPOLI. - - - In the Château Blay still see we - Tapestry the walls adorning, - Worked by Tripoli’s fair countess’ - Own fair hands, no labour scorning. - - Her whole soul was woven in it, - And with loving tears and tender - Hallow’d is the silken picture, - Which the following scene doth render: - - How the Countess saw Rudèl - Dying on the strand of ocean, - And the’ ideal in his features - Traced of all her heart’s emotion. - - For the first and last time also - Living saw Rudèl and breathing - Her who in his every vision - Intertwining was and wreathing. - - Over him the Countess bends her, - Lovingly his form she raises, - And his deadly-pale mouth kisses, - That so sweetly sang her praises. - - Ah! the kiss of welcome likewise - Was the kiss of separation, - And they drain’d the cup of wildest - Joy, and deepest desolation. - - In the Château Blay at night-time - Comes a rushing, crackling, shaking - On the tapestry the figures - Suddenly to life are waking. - - Troubadour and lady stretch their - Drowsy ghostlike members yonder, - And from out the wall advancing, - Up and down the hall they wander. - - Whispers fond and gentle toying, - Sad-sweet secrets, heart-enthralling, - Posthumous gallánt soft speeches, - Minnesingers’ times recalling: - - “Geoffry! At thy voice’s music - “Warmth is in my dead heart glowing, - “And I feel once more a glimmer - “In the long-quench’d embers growing!” - - “Melisanda! I awaken - “Unto happiness and gladness, - “When I see thine eyes; dead only - “Is my earthly pain and sadness.” - - “Geoffry! Once we loved each other - “In our dreams; now, cut asunder - “By the hand of death, still love we,-- - “Amor ’tis that wrought this wonder!” - - “Melisanda! What are dreams? - “What is death? Mere words to scare one! - “Truth in love alone e’er find we, - “And I love thee, ever fair one!” - - “Geoffry! O how sweet our meetings - “In this moonlit chamber nightly, - “Now that in the day’s bright sunbeams - “I no more shall wander lightly.” - - “Melisanda! Foolish dear one! - “Thou art light and sun, thou knowest! - “Love and joys of May are budding, - “Spring is blooming, where thou goest!”-- - - Thus those tender spectres wander - Up and down, and sweet caresses - Interchange, whilst peeps the moonlight - Through the window’s arch’d recesses. - - But at length the rays of morning - Scare away the fond illusion; - To the tapestry retreat they - On the wall, in shy confusion. - - - - -THE POET FERDUSI. - - -1. - - Men of gold, and men of silver! - When a fool about a thoman - Talks, of silver he is speaking, - And he means a silver thoman. - - In a prince’s mouth, however, - Or a shah’s, a thoman’s always - Golden, for a shah will only - Give and take in golden thomans. - - Worthy people have this notion, - And Ferdusi thought so also, - The composer of the famous - And immortal work _Schah Nameh_. - - This divine heroic poem - At the Shah’s command composed he, - Who for every verse a thoman - Promised to bestow upon him. - - Seventeen times bloom’d the roses, - Seventeen times did they wither, - And the nightingales sang sweetly - And were silent seventeen times,-- - - And meanwhile the bard was sitting - At the loom of thought, composing - Day and night, and nimbly weaving - His sweet numbers’ giant-carpet,-- - - Giant-carpet, where the poet - Interwove with skill his country’s - Chronicles from times of fable, - Farsistan’s primeval monarchs, - - Fav’rite heroes of his nation, - Knightly deeds, adventures wondrous, - Magic beings, hateful demons, - Intertwined with flowers of fable. - - All were blooming, all were living, - Bright with colours, glowing, burning, - With the heavenly rays illumin’d - From the sacred light of Iran, - - From the godlike light primeval, - Whose last pure and fiery temple, - Spite of Koran and of Mufti, - In the poet’s heart flam’d brightly. - - When at last the work was finish’d, - Then the manuscript the poet - Sent to his illustrious patron, - E’en two hundred thousand verses. - - It was in the public bath room, - In the bathing place at Gasna, - That the Shah’s black messengers - Found at last the bard Ferdusi. - - Each a bag of money carried, - Which before the poet’s feet he - Kneeling placed, to be the guerdon - To reward his minstrel labours. - - Hastily the poet open’d - Both the bags, his eyes to gladden - With the gold so long kept from him,-- - When he saw with consternation - - That the bags contain’d within them - Silver only, silver thomans, - Some two hundred thousand of them;-- - Bitterly then laugh’d the poet. - - Laughing bitterly, the money - He divided in three equal - Portions, and a third part gave he - To the two black messengers, - - Each a third, to be his guerdon - For the message, and the third part - Gave he to the man who waited - On his bath, as drinking-money. - - Then his pilgrim staff he straightway - Grasp’d, and left at once the city, - And before the gate the dust he - From his very shoes rejected. - - - 2. - - “Had he been, like other men, - “Heedless of his words once spoken, - “And his promise merely broken, - “I had not been angry then. - - “Suffer _this_? I never will! - “His deceit my heart amazes, - “Both his double-meaning phrases, - “And his silence, falser still. - - “He was noble, fair to see, - “Proud his gestures were, and stately; - “Other men excell’d he greatly, - “Every inch a king was he. - - “Firelike did his glance once meet me, - “As the sun in yonder heaven - “He, truth’s haughty image even-- - “And he yet hath deign’d to cheat me.” - - -3. - - Shah Mahomet full well has dined, - And his soul to be merry is fully inclined. - - In the garden at twilight, on purple seat - He sits by the fountain. Its splashing sounds sweet, - - With looks respectful his servants stand: - His fav’rite Ansari’s amongst the band. - - From marble vases a fiery gush - Of luxuriant flowers appears to rush. - - Like Odalisques with graceful arms - Stand fanning themselves the slender palms. - - The cypresses stand with branches unfurl’d, - As if dreaming of heaven, forgetting the world. - - But sudden to strains of the lute ere long - Is heard a gentle mysterious song. - - The Shah sprang up, as if sorely perplex’d: - “Who wrote of this song the charming text?” - - Ansari, from whom he sought to know it, - Replied: “’Tis the work of Ferdusi the poet.” - - “Ferdusi!”--exclaim’d the prince in dismay,-- - “Where is he? How fares the poet, O say!” - - “Ansari gave answer: “In poverty great - “He has lived full long in a mournful state - - “At Thus, the native town of the bard, - “Where he in his garden works full hard.” - - Shah Mahomet paused, and presently said: - “Ansari, a thought has come in my head. - - “To my stables make haste, and with hands unthrifty - “Take a hundred mules, and camels fifty. - - “And lade them all with every treasure - “That fills the heart of a mortal with pleasure, - - “With splendid articles, rich and rare, - “With costly dresses and furniture fair - - “Of sandal wood and ivory white, - “With gold and silver tissues dight; - - “With precious-handled goblets and pots, - “And leopard-skins, all cover’d with spots, - - “With carpets and shawls and the richest brocade - “That in my kingdom has ever been made. - - “And don’t forget to pack with the rest - “Some glittering arms, and of housings the best, - - “As well as drinks of every kind - “And eatables such as in pots we find, - - “And almond cakes and sweetmeats Egyptian, - “And gingerbread of every description. - - “And also add a dozen steeds - “As swift as arrows, of Arab breeds, - - “And likewise a dozen slaves, black as coals, - “With bodies of steel, and sturdy souls. - - “Ansari, when all these things thou hast got, - “Thou must start on thy journey, and linger not. - - “Thou must take them all with my kind regard - “To Thus, to Ferdusi, the mighty bard.”-- - - Ansari fulfill’d his lord’s behest, - And loaded the camels and mules with the best - - And costliest presents, the value of which - Was enough to make a whole province quite rich. - - In propriâ personâ he left at last - The palace, when some three days had past, - - And with a general’s banner red - In front of the caravan he sped. - - At the end of a week to Thus came they; - The town at the foot of the mountain lay. - - The caravan the western gate - With shouts and noises entered straight. - - The trumpets sounded, the loud drums beat, - And songs of triumph rang through the street. - - “La Illa Il Allah!” with joyous shout - The camel drivers were calling out. - - But through the East gate at the farther end - Of Thus, at that moment chanced to wend - - The funeral train so full of gloom, - That the dead Ferdusi bore to his tomb. - - - - -VOYAGE BY NIGHT. - - - The half-moon peer’d from the darksome clouds - With coyness, while rock’d the sea; - And when in the bark our places we took, - Our number then was three. - - There plash’d in the water the strokes of the oar - With sad monotony; - White foaming billows came with a roar, - And sprinkled all of us three. - - She stood in the bark, as pale, as slim, - As void of motion too, - As though she a marble statue were, - Diana’s image true. - - The moon disappear’d. The nightwind piped - With chilly blast on high; - When over our heads there suddenly rose - A wild and piercing cry. - - ’Twas the white and ghostlike seamew’s voice, - And at that terrible cry, - Which fearfully rang like a warning call, - All three felt like to die. - - Am I in a fever? A vision is this - Of nightly phantasy? - Am I aped by a dream? I’m dreaming a dream - Of wild buffoonery. - - Buffoonery wild! Methinks in my dream - That I a Saviour am; - And faithfully bear the weight of the Cross, - As gentle as a lamb. - - Poor beauty beside me is sore distress’d, - But soon I’ll set her free - From sin and shame and sorrow and pain, - And earthly misery. - - Poor beauty, O be not thou terrified, - Though bitter the medicine be; - Although my heart may break, I myself - Will mete out death to thee. - - O folly wild and terrible dream! - O madness fearful to see! - The night is yawning, the ocean yells-- - O God, have mercy on me! - - Have mercy on me, O merciful God! - O merciful God! Schaddey![75] - A Something falls in the sea--Alas! - Schaddey! Schaddey! Adonay![76] - - The sun arose, we came to the land, - Sweet smiled the spring to the view; - And when at length we left the bark, - Our number then was two. - - - - -THE PRELUDE. - - - This, then, is America! - This indeed the new world is! - Not the present, which already - Europeanized, is with’ring.-- - - This indeed the new world is, - As by Christopher Columbus - From the ocean extricated; - In its billowy freshness gleams it, - - With its watery pearls still dripping, - Which are scatter’d, colour-sprinkling, - When the sunlight fair it kisses. - O how healthy this new world is! - - ’Tis no churchyard of romance, - ’Tis no ancient Scherbenberg, - All made up of mouldy symbols, - And of petrified perukes. - - From the healthy earth are shooting - Healthy trees, and none amongst them - _Blasé_ is, or has consumption - Eating up its spinal marrow. - - On the branches are disporting - Mighty birds. Of chequer’d colours - Is their plumage. With their solemn - Lengthy beaks, and eyes encircled - - With black marks, like spectacles, - They in silence gaze upon thee, - Till they shriek with sudden clamour - And like washerwomen chatter. - - Yet I know not what they’re saying, - Notwithstanding that I’m learned - In birds’ tongues as Solomon, - Who a thousand wives rejoiced in, - - And with birds’ tongues was acquainted,-- - Not the modern ones alone, - But all dialects whatever, - Whether dead, or old, or worn-out. - - New the land is, new the flowers! - New the flowers and new the fragrance! - Fragrance wild, and never heard of, - Piercing sweetly through my nostrils, - - Teasing, prickling, full of passion-- - And my subtle sense of smelling - Racks itself with meditating: - “Where have I e’er smelt this odour? - - “Was’t in Regent Street, perchance, - “In the sunny arms so yellow - “Of that Javanese thin woman - “Who was always eating flowers? - - “Was it else at Rotterdam, - “Near the Column of Erasmus, - “In the wafer-shop notorious - “With its most mysterious curtain?” - - Whilst I in this puzzled fashion - The new world was contemplating, - Seeming to instil into it - Still more bashfulness,--a monkey, - - Who, affrighted, sought the bushes, - Cross’d himself at my appearance, - Crying with alarm: “A Spirit! - “Yes, a Spirit from the old world!”-- - - “Monkey, be not thus confounded! - “I’m no spirit, I’m no spectre; - “Life within my veins is boiling, - “I’m life’s most true-hearted son. - - “Yet by living many years - “With the dead, have I adopted - “Dead men’s manners very likely, - “And peculiar ways of thinking. - - “All the fairest years of life - “Spent I in Kyffhauser’s cavern, - “In the Venusberg, and other - “Catacombs of the Romantic. - - “Have no fear of me, good monkey! - “Thee I like, for on thy hairless - “Tann’d and shaven hinder-quarters - “Thou dost bear my fav’rite colours.”-- - - Darling colours! Black-red-golden! - Yes, these monkey-buttock-colours, - Sorrowfully they remind me - Of the flag of Barbarossa. - - - - -VITZLIPUTZLI. - - -1. - - On his head he wore the laurel, - And upon his boots there glitter’d - Golden spurs,--but notwithstanding - He was neither knight nor hero. - - He was but a robber captain, - Who within the book of glory - Wrote with his own wicked hand - His own wicked name of--Cortez. - - Underneath Columbus’ name he - Wrote his own,--yes, close beneath it, - And the schoolboy at his lessons - Learns by heart both names together. - - After Christopher Columbus - He now names Fernando Cortez, - As the second greatest man - In the new world’s proud Pantheon. - - Heroes’ fate’s last stroke of malice! - That our name should thus be coupled - With the name of a vile scoundrel - In the memory of mortals! - - Were’t not better e’en to perish - All unknown, than draggle with it - Through eternity’s long ages - Such a name in comradeship? - - Master Christopher Columbus - Was a hero,--and his temper, - That was pure as e’en the sunlight, - Was as gen’rous in addition. - - Many people much have given, - But Columbus to the world - Hath a world entire imparted, - And ’tis call’d America. - - He had not the power to free us - From our dreary earthly prison, - But he managed to enlarge it - And our heavy chain to lengthen. - - Mortals thankfully revere him, - Being, not of Europe only, - But of Africa and Asia, - Equally quite sick and weary. - - One alone, one hero only - Gave us more and gave us better - Than Columbus--that one mean I - Who a God bestow’d upon us. - - His old father’s name was Amram, - And his mother’s Jochebed, - And himself, his name was Moses, - And he is my greatest hero. - - But, my Pegasus, thou’rt loitering - Far too long with this Columbus; - Know thou that our flight to-day is - With the lesser man,--with Cortez. - - So extend thy colour’d pinions, - Wingèd steed! and carry me - To the new world’s beauteous country - That they Mexico entitle. - - Carry me to yonder castle, - Which the monarch Montezuma - Kindly offer’d to his Spanish - Guests, to be their habitation. - - Not mere food and shelter only - In extravagant profusion - Gave the prince these foreign strollers,-- - Presents rich and precious also, - - Valuable, wrought with cunning, - All of massive gold, and jewels, - Bear gay witness to the monarch’s - Generosity and favour. - - This uncivilised, unlearned, - Superstitious, blinded heathen - Still believed in faith and honour, - And the sacredness of guest-right. - - He accepted a proposal - To be present at a banquet - That the Spaniards in their castle - Wish’d to give, to do him honour. - - And with all his court attendants - Came the inoffensive monarch - Kindly to the Spanish quarters, - Where by trumpets he was greeted. - - What they call’d the entertainment - Know I not. ’Twas very likely - “Spanish Truth!” of which the author’s - Name was Don Fernando Cortez. - - Cortez gave the signal--straightway - They attack’d the peaceful monarch, - And they bound him and retain’d him - In the castle as a hostage. - - But poor Montezuma died there, - And the dam was broken down - Which the bold adventurers - From the people’s wrath protected. - - Terribly began the tempest; - Like a wild and furious ocean - Raved and bluster’d ever nearer - The excited human billows. - - Valiantly in truth the Spaniards - Drove the tempest back. But daily - Was the castle fresh blockaded, - And the conflict was exhausting. - - When the King was dead, the convoys - Of provisions ceased entirely; - In proportion as the rations - Shorter grew, each face grew longer. - - With long faces on each other - Gazed the sons of Spain with sadness, - And they sigh’d, when they bethought them - Of their cosy Christian dwellings - - In their cherish’d fatherland, - Where the pious bells were ringing, - And upon the hearth there bubbled - Peaceful olla podridas, - - Thickly studded with garbanzos, - Under which, with waggish fragrance - Chuckling famously, were hidden - Those dear garlic sausages. - - Then the leader held a council, - And upon retreat decided; - On the following morn at daybreak - Was the force to leave the city. - - Easy ’twas for clever Cortez - Cunningly to gain an entrance, - But retreat to terra firma - Offer’d fatal obstacles. - - Mexico, the island city, - In a mighty lake is founded, - In the middle, wave-surrounded: - E’en a haughty water fortress, - - With the continent connected - But by ships and rafts and bridges, - Which repose on piles gigantic, - Little islands forming forts. - - ’Twas before the sun had risen - That their march began the Spaniards - Not a single drum was beaten, - Not a trumpeter was blowing. - - ’Twas their object not to waken - From their quiet sleep their hosts-- - (For a hundred thousand Indians - Were encamp’d in Mexico). - - Yet without his host the Spaniard - Reckon’d, when his plans he settled; - For the Mexicans had risen - Earlier still to-day than he had. - - On the rafts and on the bridges, - On the forts they all were waiting, - That they to their guests might offer - Then and there the parting cup. - - On the rafts and forts and bridges - Ha! a frantic banquet follow’d; - In red torrents stream’d the blood, - And the bold carousers struggled,-- - - Struggled, body press’d to body, - And we see on many naked - Indian breasts the arabesque - Of the Spanish arms imprinted. - - ’Twas a throttling and a choking - And a butchery that slowly, - Sadly slowly, roll’d still onward - Over rafts and forts and bridges. - - Whilst the Indians sang and bellow’d - Silently the Spaniards struggled, - Step by step with toil and labour - For their flight a footing gaining. - - Fighting thus in narrow passes - Small to-day the’ advantage lying - In old Europe’s strategy, - Or her cannons, armour, horses. - - Many Spaniards in addition - With the gold were heavy laden, - Lately captured or extorted-- - Ah! that yellow load of sin - - Lamed and hemm’d them in the conflict, - And the devilish metal proved - Not to the poor spirit only - Ruinous, but to the body. - - And meanwhile the lake around them - With canoes and barks was cover’d; - Archers in them sat, all shooting - At the rafts and forts and bridges. - - True they hit in the confusion - Many of their Indian brethren, - But they also hit full many - Excellent and brave hidalgos. - - On the third bridge fell at last - Poor young Gaston, who was bearing - On that day the flag whereon - Was the Holy Virgin’s image. - - E’en this image’ self was struck - By the missiles of the Indians; - Six such missiles were left sticking - In its very heart,--bright arrows, - - Like those swords of golden colour - Which transfix the sorrowing bosom - Of the Mater Dolorosa - In Good Friday’s sad procession. - - Gaston, when he died, made over - His proud banner to Gonsalvo, - Who soon afterwards was stricken - E’en to death, and died. Then Cortez - - Seized himself the precious banner, - He, the leader, and he bore it - On his steed till tow’rd the evening, - When the fight at length was over. - - On that day a hundred Spaniards - Fell, and sixty in addition; - Eighty more alive were taken - By the Indians’ cruel hands. - - Many of them sorely wounded, - Who ere long their breath surrender’d - And a dozen horses, too, were - Partly kill’d and partly captured. - - Cortez and his army only - Just at evening gain’d the shelter - Of the shore, a seacoast planted - Niggardly with weeping willows. - - -2. - - When the battle day is over, - Comes the frantic night of triumph - So in Mexico a hundred - Thousand lamps of joy are flaring; - - Hundred thousand lamps of joy, with - Woodpine torches, pitch-ring fires, - Throw a light as clear as daylight - Over palaces and temples, - - And guildhouses,--likewise over - Vitzliputzli’s splendid temple, - Idol-fortress built of red brick, - Strangely like the old Egyptian, - - Babylonian, and Assyrian - Monster buildings so colossal, - As we see them in the pictures - Of the English Henry Martin.[77] - - Yes, it is the same broad staircase, - So exceeding broad, that on it - Many thousand Mexicans - Up and down are walking freely, - - Whilst upon the steps are lying - Mighty troops of savage warriors, - Banqueting in joyous fashion, - Flush’d with triumph and with palm-wine. - - This great staircase leadeth upwards - Like a zigzag to the platform, - By a balustrade surrounded - At the summit of the temple. - - There, upon his altar-throne, - Sits the mighty Vitzliputzli, - Mexico’s bloodthirsty wargod.-- - He is but an evil monster, - - But so droll is his exterior, - Full of carvings, and so childish, - That despite our inward horror - It must needs excite our laughter. - - His appearance altogether - Brought to mind a combination - Of the “Dance of Death” at Basle, - And the Mannekin at Brussels. - - On the god’s left side his priests are - Station’d, on his right the people; - Ornaments of colour’d feathers - Are to-day the former wearing. - - On the altar-stairs of marble - Squats a man a hundred years old; - On his chin and skull no hair is, - And he wears a scarlet waistcoat. - - He’s the priest of sacrifices, - And his bloody knife he’s whetting; - As he whets, he grins, and ofttimes - Leers upon the god above him. - - Vitzliputzli seems the glances - Of his servant to appreciate, - And he twitches every eyelash, - And his lips at times he twitches. - - On the altar steps squat also - The musicians of the temple, - Kettle-drummers, cowhorn blowers-- - Loud the clatter, loud the tooting! - - Loud the clatter, loud the tooting! - And the Mexican Te Deum - Rises up in noisy chorus, - As if many cats were mewing-- - - As if many cats were mewing, - But of that enlarged description - Which are “tiger-cats” entitled, - And, instead of mice, eat people! - - When the nightwind carries with it - These loud noises to the seashore, - The poor Spaniards there encamping - Feel sensations far from pleasant. - - Sadly ’neath the weeping willows - Are the Spaniards still remaining, - Gazing tow’rd the distant city - Which within the dark sea water - - Mirrors back, in sheer derision, - All the flames of former pleasure-- - There they stand, as in the pit - Of a vast gigantic playhouse, - - Vitzliputzli’s temple’s radiant - Platform serving as the stage - Where they act a tragic myst’ry - To commemorate their triumph. - - “Human sacrifice” the play is, - Old, full old, its plot, its fable; - But the piece is not so fearful - In the Christian treatment of it. - - For into the blood is red wine, - And into the actual body - Is a thin and harmless wafer - Transubstantiated truly. - - ’Mongst these savages at present - Was the joke in downright earnest - Taken up; they fed on flesh, - And the blood was human blood. - - This time ’twas indeed the pure blood - Of old Christians, which had never - Never mingled with the baser - Blood of Jews or of Moriscos. - - O be joyful, Vitzliputzli! - For to-day ’tis Spanish blood, - And thou mayst refresh thy nostrils - With its warm scent greedily. - - Eighty Spaniards will be slaughter’d - On this day to do thee honour-- - Proud repast to grace the table - Of thy priests, who flesh delight in. - - For the priest is but a mortal, - And poor man, unhappy glutton, - Cannot, like the gods, live only - On sweet smells and savoury odours. - - Hark! the death-drum now is beating, - And the evil cowhorn screeches! - They proclaim the’ approaching advent - Of the victims’ sad procession. - - Eighty Spaniards, vilely naked, - With their hands securely fasten’d - To their backs, are harshly driven - Up the temple’s lofty staircase. - - And to Vitzliputzli’s image - They must bow the knee right humbly, - And must dance the wildest dances, - Forcibly constrain’d by tortures, - - All so terrible and fearful, - That their madden’d screams of anguish - Overpow’r the whole collective - Cannibals’ wild charivari. - - Poor spectators by the ocean! - Cortez and his warlike comrades - But too plainly could distinguish - All their friends’ loud cries of torment. - - On the stage, too clearly lighted, - They could see, alas! too plainly, - Every figure, every gesture,-- - See the knife and see the blood. - - Then from off their heads their helmets - Silently they took, and kneeling, - Chaunted they the death-psalm sadly, - And they sang the De Profundis. - - ’Mongst the number of the victims - Was young Raimond de Mendoza, - Offspring of the lovely abbess, - Cortez’ first and youthful love. - - When he on the stripling’s bosom - Saw the well-remember’d locket - Which enclosed his mother’s portrait, - Bitter, bitter tears wept Cortez-- - - But from off his eyes he wiped them - With his buffalo’s hard gauntlet-- - Deeply sigh’d, and sang in chorus - With the others: Miserere! - - -3. - - Now the stars are glimm’ring paler, - And the morning mists are rising - From the ocean-flood, like spirits - Dragging their white shrouds behind them. - - Feasts and lights are all extinguish’d - In the temple of the idol, - Where, upon the blood-soak’d pavement, - Priest and laity lie snoring. - - None are waking, save Red Jacket. - By the last lamp’s flickering glimmer, - Sickly grinning, grimly jesting, - Thus the priest his god addresses: - - “Vitzliputzli, Putzlivitzli! - “Darling god, my Vitzliputzli! - “Thou to-day hast had amusement, - “And has smelt a fragrant odour! - - “Spanish blood to-day we offer’d, - “O how savourily steam’d it! - “And thy fine and dainty nostrils - “Suck’d the scent in, full of rapture! - - “We’ll to-morrow slay the horses, - “Neighing noble monsters are they, - “Offspring of the tempest spirits’ - “Amorous toying with the seacow. - - “If thou’lt gracious be, I’ll slaughter - “In thine honour my two grandsons, - “Pretty children,--sweet their blood is,-- - “My old age’s only pleasure. - - “But indeed thou must be gracious, - “And must grant us further triumphs, - “Let us conquer, darling godhead, - “Putzlivitzli, Vitzliputzli! - - “All our enemies destroy thou, - “All these strangers who from distant - “And still undiscover’d countries - “Hither came across the ocean-- - - “Wherefore did they leave their dwellings? - “Was it crime or hunger drove them? - “‘Stop at home and live in quiet’ - “Is a sensible old proverb. - - “What is their desire? Our money - “Stick they in their greedy pockets, - “And they wish us to be happy-- - “So they tell us,--in the heavens! - - “We at first believed them fully - “Beings of a higher order, - “Children of the Sun, immortal, - “Arm’d with lightning and with thunder. - - “But they’re only men, as mortal - “As ourselves; my knife to-night has - “Proved beyond all doubt and question - “Their extreme mortality. - - “They are mortal, and no fairer - “Than ourselves, and many of them - “Are as ugly as the monkeys, - “And their faces, like the latter, - - “Are all hairy, and ’tis whisper’d - “Many of them carry hidden - “In their breeches monkeys’ tails, for - “Those not monkeys need no breeches. - - “Morally they’re also ugly - “And of piety know nothing, - “And ’tis said that they’re accustom’d - “Their own deities to swallow! - - “O destroy this vile abandon’d - “Wicked brood, these god-devourers-- - “Vitzliputzli, Putzlivitzli, - “Let us conquer, Vitzliputzli!”-- - - Thus the priest address’d the god, - And the god’s reply resounded - Sighing, rattling, like the nightwind - Toying with the ocean sedges: - - “Red-coat, red-coat, bloody slayer! - “Thou hast slaughter’d many thousands,-- - “Plunge thy sacrificial knife now - “In thine own old worn-out body! - - “From thy body, thus slit open, - “Will thy spirit make its exit, - “Over roots and over pebbles - “Tripping to the green frog’s pond. - - “There thou’lt find my aunt, the rat-queen, - “Squatting, and she’ll thus address thee: - “‘So good morning, naked spirit! - “‘Pray how fares it with my nephew? - - “‘Is he Vitzliputzlied nicely - “‘In the gold-light, sweet as honey? - “‘Does good fortune from his forehead - “‘Brush away all flies and sorrows? - - “‘Or does Katzlagara scratch him, - “‘Hated goddess of all evil, - “‘With her black paws made of iron, - “‘Which are steep’d in adder’s poison?’ - - “Naked spirit, give this answer: - “‘Vitzliputzli sends thee greeting, - “‘And a pestilence he wishes - “‘In thy belly, thou accurst one! - - “‘Thou didst urge him to the conflict, - “‘And thy counsel was destruction; - “‘Soon will be fulfill’d the evil - “‘Old and mournful prophecy - - “‘Of the kingdom’s subjugation - “‘By the men so fiercely bearded, - “‘Who on wooden birds all flying - “‘From the Eastern land come hither. - - “‘There’s an ancient proverb also-- - “‘Woman’s will is God’s will likewise-- - “‘And the God’s will is redoubled - “‘When the woman is his mother. - - “‘She it is that wakes my anger, - “‘She, the haughty queen of heaven, - “‘She, a pure and spotless virgin, - “‘Working charms and versed in magic. - - “‘She protects the Spanish people, - “‘And we all at length must perish, - “‘I, the poorest of the godheads, - “‘And my poor, dear Mexico.’-- - - “When thou hast fulfill’d thy message, - Red-coat, let thy naked spirit - In a sandhole creep; sleep soundly - Out of sight of all my misery. - - “This proud temple will be shatter’d, - “I myself shall in its ruins - “Disappear,--mere dust and rubbish,-- - “No one e’er again will see me. - - “Yet I shall not die; we godheads - “Grow as old as do the parrots, - “And we cast our skins, and like them - “Only change at times our feathers. - - “To my foemen’s native country - “Which they give the name of Europe - “I shall fly away, beginning - “There a really new career. - - “I’ll turn devil, and the god - “Then shall be a God-be-with-us; - “As my foemen’s evil spirit - “I can work as best may suit me. - - “There my enemies I’ll trouble, - “And alarm them all with phantoms; - “As a foretaste of hell’s torments, - “Brimstone they shall smell in plenty. - - “Both their wise men and their doltards - “I’ll allure with my seductions; - “And their virtue will I tickle - “Till it laughs like any strumpet. - - “Yes, I’ll turn into a devil, - “And salute as my dear comrades - “Satanas and Belial with him, - “Astaroth and Beelzebub. - - “Thee I’ll also greet, O Lilis, - “Sin’s own mother, smooth-skinn’d serpent - “Teach me all thy dreadful secrets, - “And the charming art of lying! - - “My belovèd Mexico, - “I no longer can preserve thee, - “But I’ll fearfully avenge thee, - “My belovèd Mexico!” - - - - -_BOOK II.--LAMENTATIONS._ - - - Good fortune quite a fickle miss is, - And in one place will never stay; - The hair from off thy face with kisses - She strokes, and then she flies away. - - Misfortune to her heart, however, - To clasp thee tightly, ne’er omits; - She says she’s in a hurry never, - Sits down beside thy bed and knits. - - - - -WOOD SOLITUDE. - - - In former days, in my life’s young morning, - I wore a garland my brow adorning; - How wondrously glisten’d then every flower! - The garland was fill’d with a magical power. - - While all in the beautiful garland took pleasure, - Its wearer they hated beyond all measure; - I fled from the envy of mortals rude, - I fled to the wood’s green solitude. - - To the wood! to the wood! A life of enjoyment - With spirits and beasts was my sole employment. - The fairies and stags, with their antlers tall, - Without any fear approach’d me all. - - They all approach’d me without any terror, - In this they knew they committed no error; - That I was no huntsman, the doe well knew, - That I was no babbler, the fairies saw too. - - None but fools ever boast of the fays’ approbation, - But how the remaining gentry of station - That lived in the forest treated me well, - I’ve not the slightest objection to tell. - - How round me hover’d the elfin rabble, - That airy race, with their charming gabble! - ’Tis dangerous truly their gaze to meet, - The bliss it imparts is so deadly, though sweet. - - With May dance and May games amused they me highly - And tales of the court narrated they slily, - For instance, the scandalous chronicles e’en - Of lovely Titania, the faery queen. - - If I sat by the brook, with leaping and springing - Rose out of the flood, their tresses wringing, - With long silver veils and fluttering hair, - The water-bacchantes, the nixes fair! - - They play’d on the lute and the fiddle so sweetly, - And danced the nixes’ famed dances discreetly; - The tunes that they sang, the antics they play’d, - Of rollicking boisterous madness seem’d made. - - And yet at times was much less alarming - The noise that they made; these elfins charming - Before my feet lay quietly, - Their heads reclining on my knee. - - Some foreign romances they trill’d,--for example - I’ll name the “three oranges” song as a sample; - A hymn of praise they sang also with grace - On me and my noble human face. - - They oft interrupted their songs with loud laughter, - Many critical matters inquiring after, - For instance: “On what particular plan - “Did God determine on fashioning man? - - “Is each individual’s soul altogether - “Immortal? These souls, are they made all of leather, - “Or stiff linen only? How comes it to pass - “That almost every man is an ass?” - - The answers I gave, I’ll conceal for the present, - And yet my immortal soul (which is pleasant) - Was not in the slightest degree ever hurt - By the prattling talk of a water-sprite pert. - - While sportive and roguish are elfins and nixes, - Not so the truehearted earth-spirits and pixies, - Which love to help man. I prefer most of all - The race that they dwarfs or mannikins call. - - They all wear a long and swelling red doublet, - Their face is noble, though care seems to trouble it; - I let them not see that I had descried - Why they their feet so carefully hide. - - They all have ducks’ feet, but object much to show it; - And fancy that nobody else can know it; - Their sorrow’s so deep and hard to bear, - That to teaze them about it I never could dare. - - Alas! we all, like those dwarfs full of feeling, - We all have something that needs concealing; - No Christians, we fancy, have ever descried - Where we our ducks’ feet so carefully hide. - - Salamanders for me had never attractions, - I learnt very little respecting their actions - From other wood spirits. They pass’d me by night - Like fleeting shadows, mysteriously light. - - They are thin as a spindle, and long as a baby, - With breeches and waistcoats tight-fitting as may be, - Of scarlet colours, embroider’d with gold; - Their faces are sickly and yellow and old. - - A golden crown, with rubies all over, - The head of each of their number doth cover; - The whole of these vain conceited elves - Quite absolute monarchs consider themselves. - - That they are not burnt in the fire is truly - A great piece of art, I acknowledge it duly; - And yet the uninflammable wight - Is far from being a true fire-sprite. - - The sharpest woodspirits are mandrakes however; - Short legs have these bearded mannikins clever; - They have old men’s faces, the length of a span, - But whence they proceed, is a secret to man. - - When head over heels in the moonlight they tumble, - They remind one of roots in their nature quite humble; - But as my welfare they always have sought, - Their origin really to me matters nought. - - In small acts of witchcraft they gave me instructions, - How to exorcise flames, ply the birds with seductions, - And also to pluck on Midsummer night - The root that makes one invisible quite. - - They taught me the stars and strange signs--how astraddle - To ride on the winds without any saddle, - And Runic sentences, able to call - The dead from out of their silent graves all. - - They also taught me the whistle mysterious - That serves to deceive the woodpecker serious, - And makes him give us the spurge, to show - Where secret treasures are hidden below. - - The words that ’tis needful for people to mutter - When digging for treasure, they taught me to utter; - But all in vain, for I ne’er got by heart - The treasure-digger’s wonderful art. - - For money in fact I then cared not a tittle, - My wants were soon satisfied, being but little; - I possess’d many castles in Spain’s fair land, - The income from which came duly to hand. - - O charming time, when the heaven’s high arches - With fiddles were hung, when elfin marches - And nixes’ dances and cobolds’ glad play - My story-drunk heart enchanted all day! - - O charming time, when into auspicious - Triumphal arches the foliage delicious - Appear’d to be twining! I wander’d around, - My brow, like a victor’s, with laurel-wreath crown’d. - - That charming time has utterly vanish’d, - And all those pleasures for ever are banish’d; - And, ah! they have stolen the garland so fair - That I was then wont on my head to wear. - - The garland is gone that my locks shaded over, - But how it happen’d, I ne’er could discover; - Yet since that beauteous garland they stole, - My spirit has seem’d deprived of its soul. - - The ghosts of the world, with looks dimly staring, - Gaze on me, and heaven seems barren and glaring, - A churchyard blue, its deities gone; - I roam in the forest, depress’d and alone. - - From the forest have vanish’d the elves with their graces - Horns hear I, and yelping of dogs in their places; - While hid in the thicket, the trembling roe - Is licking her wounds with tearful woe. - - And where are the mandrakes? Methinks they are biding - In clefts of the rocks, as a safe place of hiding; - My dear little friends, I’m returning again, - But reft of my garland and joy I remain. - - O where is the fairy, with hair long and golden, - First beauty to whom I was ever beholden? - The oak-tree wherein her lifetime she pass’d - Stands mournfully stripp’d, and bared by the blast. - - The waves of the streamlet run sad as the Styx’s; - Beside its lone banks sits one of the nixes, - As pale and as mute as a figure of stone, - While marks of deep grief o’er each feature are thrown. - - I softly approach’d her with heartfelt compassion,-- - She arose and gazed on me in singular fashion, - And then she fled with a terrified mien, - As if she some fearful spectre had seen. - - - - -SPANISH LYRICS. - - - ’Twas on Hubert’s day--the year was - Thirteen hundred, three and eighty-- - That the king a banquet gave us - In the castle at Segovia. - - These state banquets just the same are - Everywhere, and at the tables - Of all princes sov’reign tedium - Yawns with uncontested vigour. - - Everywhere the same silk rabble, - Gaily dress’d, and proudly nodding, - Like a bed of gorgeous tulips; - Different only are the sauces. - - Whispers all the time and buzzing - Lull the senses like the poppy, - Till the sound of trumpets wakes us - From our state of chewing deafness. - - Near me, by good luck, was sitting - Don Diego Albuquerque, - From whose lips the conversation - Flow’d in one unbroken torrent. - - He with wondrous skill related - Bloody stories of the palace, - Of the times of old Don Pedro, - Whom they call’d the cruel monarch. - - When I ask’d him why Don Pedro - Caused his brother Don Fredrego - To be secretly beheaded, - With a sigh my neighbour answer’d: - - Ah, Señor! the tales believe not - Jingled on their vile guitars by - Balladsingers and muledrivers - In posadas, beershops, taverns. - - And believe not what they chatter - Of the love of Don Fredrego - And Don Pedro’s wife so beauteous, - Donna Blanca of Bourbon. - - ’Twas not to the husband’s jealous - Feelings, but to his low envy - That as victim fell Fredrego, - Chief of Calatrava’s order. - - For the crime Don Pedro never - Would forgive him, was his glory,-- - Glory such as Donna Fama - Loves with trumpet-tongue to herald-- - - Never could Don Pedro pardon - His magnanimous high spirit, - Or the beauty of his person, - Which was but his spirit’s image. - - Still within my memory blossoms - That slim graceful hero-flower; - Ne’er shall I forget those lovely - Dream-like, soft and youthful features. - - They were just of that description - That the fairies take delight in, - And a fable-seeming secret - Spoke from all those features plainly. - - Blue his eyes were, their enamel - Being dazzling as a jewel, - But a jewel’s staring hardness - Seem’d reflected in them likewise. - - Black his hair was in its colour, - Bluish black, and strangely glistening, - And in fair luxuriant tresses - Falling down upon his shoulders. - - In the charming town of Coimbra - Which he from the Moors had taken, - For the last time I beheld him, - In this world,--unhappy prince! - - He was coming from Alcanzor, - Through the narrow streets fast riding - Many a fair young Moorish maiden - Eyed him from her latticed window. - - O’er his head his helm-plume floated - Gallantly, and yet his mantle’s - Rigid Calatrava cross - Scared away all loving fancies. - - By his side, and gaily wagging - With his tail, his favourite Allan - Sprang,--a beast of proud descent, - And whose home was the Sierra. - - He, despite his size gigantic, - Was as nimble as a reindeer; - Noble was his head to look at, - Though the fox’s it resembled. - - Snow-white and like silk in softness, - Down his back his long hair floated, - And with rubies bright incrusted - Was his broad and golden collar. - - It was said this collar hid the - Talisman fidelity; - Never did the faithful creature - Leave the side of his dear master. - - O that fierce fidelity! - It excites my startled feelings, - When I think how ’twas made public - Here, before our frighten’d presence. - - O that day so full of horror! - Here, within this hall, it happen’d, - And as I to-day am sitting, - At the monarch’s table sat I. - - At the high end of the table, - Where to-day young Don Henrico - Gaily tipples with the flower - Of Castilian chivalry, - - On that day there sat Don Pedro - Darkly silent, and beside him, - Proudly radiant as a goddess, - Sat Maria de Padilla. - - At the table’s lower end, where - Here to-day we see the lady - With the linen frill capacious, - Like a white plate in appearance. - - Whilst her yellow face is gilded - With a smile of sour complexion, - Like the citron that is lying - On the plate already mention’d,-- - - At the table’s lower end here - Was a place remaining empty; - Some great guest of lofty station - Seem’d the golden seat to wait for. - - Don Fredrego was the guest, for - Whom the golden seat was destined; - Yet he came not,--ah! now know we - But too well why thus he tarried. - - Ah! that selfsame hour the wicked - Deed of blood was consummated, - And the innocent young hero - Suddenly attack’d and basely - - By Don Pedro’s myrmidons, - Tightly bound, and quickly hurried - To a dreary castle dungeon - Lighted only by some torches. - - Executioners stood ready, - And their bloody chief was with them, - Who, upon his axe while leaning, - Thus with sadden’d look address’d him: - - “Now, Grand Master of San Jago, - “Now must thou for death prepare thee; - “Just one quarter of an hour - “Still is left for thee to pray in.” - - Don Fredrego then knelt humbly, - And he pray’d with pious calmness, - And then said: “I now have finish’d,” - And received the stroke of death. - - In the very selfsame moment - That the head roll’d on the pavement, - Faithful Allan, who had follow’d - All unseen, sprang quickly to it. - - With his teeth the head straight seized he - By the long luxuriant tresses, - And with this much valued booty - Shot away with speed of magic. - - Agonizing shouts resounded - Everywhere as on he hasten’d, - Through the passages and chambers, - Sometimes upstairs, sometimes downstairs. - - Since the banquet of Belshazzar - Never company at table - Was so utterly confounded - As was ours that fill’d this hall then, - - When the monstrous creature leapt in, - With the head of Don Fredrego, - Which he with his teeth was dragging - By the dripping bloody tresses. - - On the seat which, being destined - For his master, still was empty, - Sprang the dog and like a plaintiff - Held the head before our faces. - - Ah! it was the well-remember’d - Hero’s features, but still paler - And more solemn now when dead, - And all-fearfully encircled - - By the locks in black luxuriance, - Which stood up as did the savage - Serpent-headdress of Medusa, - Turning into stone through terror. - - Yes, turn’d into stone felt all then, - Wildly stared we on each other, - And each tongue was mute and palsied - Both by etiquette and horror. - - But Maria de Padilla - Broke the universal silence; - Wringing hands, and sobbing loudly, - She forebodingly lamented: - - “Now it will be said ’twas I that - “Brought about this cruel murder; - “Rancour will assail my children, - “My poor innocent young children!--” - - Don Diego interrupted - At this place his tale, observing - That the company had risen, - And the court the hall was leaving. - - Kind and courteous in his manners, - Then the knight became my escort, - And we rambled on together - Through the ancient Gothic castle. - - In the crossway which conducted - To the kennels of the monarch, - Which proclaimed themselves already - By far growling sounds and yelpings, - - There I noticed, built up strongly - In the wall, and on the outside - Firmly fasten’d by strong iron, - Like a cage, a narrow cell. - - And inside it sat two human - Figures, two young boys appearing; - By the legs securely fetter’d, - On the dirty straw they squatted. - - Scarcely twelve years old the one seem’d, - Scarcely older seem’d the other; - Fair and noble were their faces, - But through sickness thin and sallow. - - They were clothed in rags, half naked, - And their wither’d bodies offer’d - Plainest signs of gross ill-treatment; - Both with fever shook and trembled. - - From the depth of their deep mis’ry - They upon me turn’d their glances; - White and spirit-like their eyes were, - And I felt all terror-stricken. - - “Who, then, are these wretched objects?” - I exclaim’d, with hasty action - Don Diego’s hand tight grasping, - Which was trembling as I touch’d it. - - Don Diego seem’d embarrass’d, - Look’d if any one was listening, - Deeply sigh’d, and said, assuming - A mere worldling’s jaunty accents: - - These are children of a monarch, - Early orphan’d, and their father - Was Don Pedro, and their mother - Was Maria de Padilla. - - After the great fight at Narvas, - Where Henrico Transtamara - Freed his brother, this Don Pedro, - From his crown’s oppressive burden, - - And from that still greater burden - Which by men is Life entitled, - Don Henrico’s victor-kindness - Also reach’d his brother’s children. - - Under his own care he took them, - As becomes a kindly uncle, - And in his own castle gave them - Free of charge, both board and lodging. - - Narrow is indeed the chamber - That he there allotted to them; - Yet in summer it is coolish, - And not over cold in winter. - - For their food, they live on ryebread, - As delicious in its flavour - As if Ceres’ self had baked it - For her dear child Proserpina. - - Oftentimes he also sends them - Quite a bowl-full of garbanzos, - And the youngsters in this manner - Learn that ’tis in Spain a Sunday. - - Yet not always is it Sunday, - And garbanzos come not always, - And the upper huntsman treats them - To a banquet with his whip. - - For this worthy upper huntsman, - Who is with the care entrusted - Of the pack of hounds, together - With the cage that holds the nephews, - - Is the most unhappy husband - Of that acid Citronella - With the frill so white and plate-like, - Whom we saw to-day at table; - - And she scolds so loud, that often - On the whip her husband seizes, - Hither hastens, and chastises - First the dogs, and then the children. - - But the king is very angry - With his conduct, and commanded - That his nephews should in future - Never like the dogs be treated. - - He will not entrust to any - Mercenary fist the duty - Of correcting them, but do it - With his own right hand henceforward.-- - - Suddenly stopp’d Don Diego, - For the castle Seneschal - Now approach’d us, and politely - Ask’d: Had we enjoy’d our dinner?-- - - - - -THE EX-LIVING ONE. - - - Say, Brutus, where can thy Cassius be, - The watchman, the crier nightly, - Who once on the banks of the Seine with thee - Used to ramble in converse sprightly? - - Ye often were wont to gaze up on high, - Where the darksome clouds were scudding; - A far darker cloud were the thoughts, by-the-by, - That in your bosoms were budding. - - Say, Brutus, where can thy Cassius be? - No longer he thinks of destroying; - By the Neckar he dwells, where his talents is he - As a reader to tyrants employing. - - But Brutus replied: “A fool, friend, art thou, - “Shortsighted as every poet; - “To a tyrant my Cassius now reads, I allow, - “But his object’s to kill him,--I know it. - - “So Matzerath’s[78] poems he reads him each day - “A dagger is each line in it; - “And so the poor tyrant, I’m sorry to say, - “May die of ennui any minute.” - - - - -THE EX-WATCHMAN. - - - From the Neckar he departed, - With the town of Stuttgardt vex’d, - And as play-director started - In fair Munich’s city next. - - All that country’s very pretty, - And they in perfection here, - In this fancy-stirring city, - Brew the very best of beer. - - But ’tis said the poor Director - Rambles, like a Dante, glum, - Melancholy as a spectre, - Like Lord Byron, gloomy, dumb. - - Comedies no longer heeds he, - Nor the very worst of rhyme; - Wretched tragedies oft reads he, - Not once smiling all the time. - - Oft herself some fair one flatters - She will cheer his sorrowing heart; - But his coat of mail soon shatters - Every love-directed dart. - - All in vain his friends endeavour - To enliven him and sing: - “In thy life rejoice thee ever, - “While thy lamp’s still glimmering!” - - Is there nought can raise thy spirits - In this fair and charming town, - Which, among its many merits, - Boasts such men of great renown? - - It is true, that it has lately - Lost full many a man of worth - Whom we miss and valued greatly, - Chorus-leaders and so forth. - - Would that Massmann left us never! - He would surely have some day - By his antics strange but clever - Driven all thy cares away. - - Schelling’s[79] loss is very serious, - And can never be replaced, - A philosopher mysterious, - And a mimic highly graced. - - That the founder of Walhalla - Went away, and left behind - All his manuscripts,--by Allah! - That was really too unkind! - - With Cornelius[80] also perish’d - All his pupils whatsoe’er; - They shaved off their tresses cherish’d, - And their strength was in their hair - - For their prudent Master planted - In their hair some magic springs, - And it seem’d, as if enchanted, - To be full of living things. - - Apropos! The arch-notorious - Priest, as Dollingerius known,-- - That’s, I think, his name inglorious,-- - Has he from the Isar flown? - - In Good Friday’s sad procession - I beheld him in his place; - ’Mongst the men of his profession - He had far the gloomiest face. - - On Monácho Monachorum - Now-a-days the cap doth fit - Of virorum obscurorum, - Glorified by Hutten’s wit.[81] - - At his name thy dull eye flashes; - Ex-nightwatchman, watchful be! - There the cowls are, here the lash is,-- - Strike away as formerly! - - Scourge them, worthy friend, devoutly, - As at sight of every cowl - Ulrich did; he smote them stoutly, - And they fearfully did howl. - - Old Erasmus could not master - His loud laughter at the joke; - And this fortunate disaster - His tormenting ulcer broke. - - Old and young laugh,--all the city - In the general shout concur, - And they sing the well-known ditty: - “Gaudeamur igitur!” - - When those dirty monks we’re catching, - We are overwhelm’d with fleas; - Hutten thus was always scratching, - And was never at his ease. - - “Alea jacta est!” however - Was the brave knight’s battle shout, - Smiting down, with deathstroke clever, - Both the priests and rabble rout. - - Ex-nightwatchman, now be wiser! - Feel’st thou not thy bosom glow? - Wake to action on the Isar, - And thy sickly spleen o’erthrow. - - Call thy long legs transcendental - Into full and active play; - Vulgar be the monks or gentle, - If they’re monks, then strike away! - - He however sigh’d, and wringing - Both his hands he thus replied: - My long legs, so apt at springing, - Are with Europe stupified. - - And my corns are twitching sadly, - Tight the German shoes I’ve on; - Where the shoe is pinching badly - Know I now,--so pray begone! - - - - -MYTHOLOGY. - - - Yes! Europa must knock under,-- - Who could stand against a bull? - Danäe we’ll forgive; no wonder - Golden rain made her a fool! - - Sem’le was a victim real, - For she innocently thought - That a heavenly cloud ideal - Could not injure her in aught. - - But poor Leda’s tale notorious - Really stirs up all our spleen; - Vanquish’d by a swan inglorious, - - What a goose must she have been! - - - - -IN MATILDA’S ALBUM. - - - On these mill’d rags--a change mysterious!-- - I with a goose-quill must rehearse - Partly in jest, and partly serious, - Some foolish nonsense turn’d to verse. - - I, who am wont my thoughts to utter - Upon thy rosy lips so fair - With kisses that like bright flames splutter - Up from my bosom’s inmost lair! - - O fashion’s rage! If I’m a poet, - E’en by my wife I’m plagued at times - Until (and other minstrels know it) - I in her album scrawl some rhymes. - - - - -TO THE YOUNG. - - - Heed not the confusion, resist the illusion - Of golden apples that lie in thy way! - The swords are clashing, the arrows are flashing, - But they cannot long the hero delay. - - A daring beginning is halfway to winning, - An Alexander once conquer’d the earth! - Restrain each soft feeling! the queens are all kneeling - In the tent, to reward thy victorious worth. - - Surmounting each burden, we win as our guerdon - The bed of Darius of old, and his crown; - O deadly seduction! O blissful destruction! - To die thus in triumph in Babylon town! - - - - -THE UNBELIEVER. - - - Thou wilt repose within mine arms! - With rapturous emotion - My bosom heaves and throbs and thrills - At this delicious notion. - - Thou wilt repose within mine arms, - Whilst with thy fair gold tresses - I sport, and thy dear darling head - My shoulder gently presses! - - Thou wilt repose within mine arms! - To truth will turn my vision, - And here on earth shall I enjoy - The highest bliss elysian. - - St. Thomas! Scarce can I believe - The fact, my doubts will linger - Until upon my rapture’s wounds - I lay my eager finger. - - - - -WHITHER NOW? - - - Whither now? my stupid foot - Fain to Germany would guide me; - But my reason shakes its head - Wisely, seeming thus to chide me: - - “Ended is the war indeed, - “But they still keep up courts-martial, - “And to writing things esteem’d - “Shootable, thou’rt far too partial.” - - That’s quite true, and being shot - Has for me no great attractions; - I’m no hero, and unskill’d - In pathetic words and actions. - - Fain to England would I go, - View’d I not with such displeasure - Englishmen and coals--their smell - Makes me sick beyond all measure. - - To America methinks - I would sail the broad seas over; - To that place of freedom where - All alike may live in clover, - - Did I not detest a land - Where tobacco’s ’mongst their victuals, - Where they never use spittoons, - And so strangely play at skittles. - - Russia, that vast empire fair, - Might be tolerably pleasant, - But I should not like the knout - That’s their usual winter present. - - Sadly gaze I up on high, - Where the countless stars are gleaming, - But I nowhere can discern - Where my own bright star is beaming. - - Perhaps in heaven’s gold labyrinth - It has got benighted lately, - As I on this bustling earth - Have myself been wandering greatly. - - - - -AN OLD SONG. - - - Thou now art dead, and thou knowest it not, - The light of thine eyes is quench’d and forgot; - Thy rosy mouth is pallid for ever, - And thou art dead, and wilt live again never. - - ’Twas in a dreary midsummer night, - I bore thee myself to the grave outright; - The nightingales sang their soft lamentations, - And after us follow’d the bright constellations. - - As through the forest the train moved along, - They made it resound with the litany’s song; - The firs, in their mantles of mourning veil’d closely, - The prayers for the dead repeated morosely. - - And as o’er the willowy lake we flew - The elfins were dancing full in our view; - They suddenly stopp’d in wondering fashion, - And seem’d to regard us with looks of compassion. - - And when we had reach’d the grave, full soon - From out of the heavens descended the moon, - And preach’d a sermon, ’midst tears and condoling - While in the distance the bells were tolling. - - - - -READY MONEY. - - - Love, before she granted favours, - One day told the god Apollo - She on guarantees insisted, - For the times were false and hollow. - - Laughingly the god made answer: - “Yes, the times are alter’d truly, - “And thou speakest like a usurer - “Who on pawn lends money duly. - - “Well, then, I’ve a lyre, one only,-- - “’Tis of gold, a good and rare one; - “Prythee say how many kisses - “Thou wilt lend upon it, fair one?” - - - - -THE OLD ROSE. - - - She for whom my heart once beat - Was a rosebud fair and tender; - Yet it ever grew more sweet, - Bursting into full-blown splendour. - - ’Twas the loveliest that could be, - And to pluck it I bethought me; - But it stung me piquantly - With its thorns, and prudence taught me. - - Now, when wither’d, torn, and maim’d, - By the wind and tempests shatter’d, - “Dearest Henry” I’m proclaim’d, - And I’m follow’d, sought, and flatter’d. - - Henry here and Henry there - Calleth she with ceaseless din now; - If a thorn is anywhere, - ’Tis upon the fair one’s chin now. - - O how hard the bristles grow - On the chin’s warts of my beauty! - Either to a convent go, - Or to shave will be thy duty. - - - - -AUTO-DA-FÉ. - - - See these violets, dusty tresses, - And this faded ribbon blue, - Long forgotten cherish’d trifles, - And these half-torn billets-doux,-- - - All, with angry look and gesture - In the blazing fire I throw; - Sadly crackle up these relics - Of my happiness and woe. - - Vows of love, and fond deceiving - Broken oaths all upwards fly - In the chimney, while in secret - Cupid laughs maliciously. - - Dreamily beside the fireplace - Sit I, while the sparkles bright - Glow in silence midst the ashes,-- - So farewell! good night! good night! - - - - -LAZARUS. - - - - -1. THE WAY OF THE WORLD. - - - He who has already much, - Finds his wealth increasing faster; - Who but little, is of all - Soon bereft by some disaster. - - But if thou hast nothing, friend, - Go and hang thyself this minute; - Only they who’ve aught on earth - Have a claim for living in it. - - - - -2. RETROSPECT. - - - I’ve snuff’d at every smell that has birth - In this delightful kitchen of earth; - Each thing that the world contains that’s delicious - Have I enjoy’d like a hero ambitious; - I’ve drunk my coffee, and eaten with zest, - And many a charming doll caress’d, - Worn silken waistcoats and handsome coats, - And had my pockets well lined with notes; - The high horse, like Gellert the poet, I rode, - Had house and castle all à-la-mode. - On fortune’s verdant meadow I lay, - While on me the sun gleam’d brightly all day, - A wreath of laurel my brow embraced, - And through my brain sweet visions raced, - Sweet visions of endless May and flowers-- - How happily fleeted then the hours, - So dim and hazy, so full of repose,-- - My mouth was fill’d with whatever I chose, - And angels came, and out of their pockets - The champagne bottles flew like rockets,-- - Bright visions were these,--soap-bubbles, alas! - They burst,--and I lie on the humid grass; - My limbs are now rheumatic and lame, - My inmost spirit is fill’d with shame. - Alas! each pleasure and gratification - I bought at the price of bitter vexation; - I’m steep’d in bitterness up to the chin, - The bugs have terribly bitten my skin; - Oppress’d by care and gloomy sorrow - I needs must lie, and I needs must borrow - From wealthy rascals, and slatterns vile, - I even believe that I begg’d for a while. - And now I would finish this wearisome race, - And find in the grave a resting-place. - Farewell! In yon heavens, good Christian brother, - Once more we may hope to meet with each other. - - - - -3. RESURRECTION. - - - The trumpet’s wild echo fills the skies - As though it summon’d to battle; - From out of their graves the dead arise, - Their limbs they wriggle and rattle. - - Each thing that has legs prepares for the race, - The spectres white are all driven - To Jehoshaphat, the gathering-place, - Where judgment is now to be given. - - There sits, as Head of the Court, the Lord, - By all his apostles surrounded; - Assessors are they,--each judgment, each word - On love and wisdom is founded. - - No face is disguised in all that array - For every mask is seen falling - In the radiant light of the judgment day, - At the sound of the trumpet enthralling. - - At Jehoshaphat, in the valley at last - The whole of the troop is united, - And since the defendants’ number’s so vast, - I’ve the summary only recited: - - The goats to the left, and the sheep to the right,-- - The parting is quickly effected; - For the pious good sheep heaven’s mansions of light, - And hell for the goats is selected. - - - - -4. THE DYING ONE. - - - Flying after bliss and light, - Thou return’st in piteous plight; - German truth and German shirt - Strangers draggle through the dirt. - - Pale as death hast thou become, - But take comfort, thou’rt at home; - Warm as by the household hearth - Lie we under German earth. - - Many others, who fell lame, - Home again, alas! ne’er came, - Though they yearningly implored,-- - O have pity, gracious Lord! - - - - -5. RASCALITY. - - - Rich people only can be won - By open, barefaced flattery; - Money is flat, my worthy son, - And needs must flatly flatter’d be. - - The box of incense swing with zeal - Before all worshipp’d golden calves: - In dust and mire with meekness kneel, - And, above all, ne’er praise by halves. - - The price of bread this year is high, - Fine words we lavish all in vain; - Mecænas’ dog to praise, then, try, - And earn a bellyful again. - - - - -6. RETROSPECT. - - - The pearl for the first, and the case for the second,-- - O William Wisetzki, thy days were soon reckon’d, - But the Kitten, the Kitten was saved.[82] - - The beam that he clung to, that stretch’d o’er the current - Beneath him broke down, and he sank in the torrent, - But the Kitten, the Kitten was saved. - - We follow’d the corpse of this darling of ours, - They buried him under a grave of May flowers, - But the Kitten, the Kitten was saved. - - O prudent wert thou, thus early in striving - To ’scape from life’s storms, and in harbour arriving,-- - But the Kitten, the Kitten was saved. - - Happy thou, that thus early thy danger was over; - Before thou wert ill, thou thy health didst recover,-- - But the Kitten, the Kitten was saved. - - For many a year have I thought, child so cherish’d, - With envy and grief how thou early hast perish’d,-- - But the Kitten, the Kitten was saved. - - - - -7. IMPERFECTION. - - - Nothing is perfect in this world of ours, - The thorn grows with the rose, that queen of flowers; - Methinks the angels, who for our protection - Dwell in the skies, are stain’d with imperfection. - - The tulip has no scent. The saying is: - Honour once stole a sucking-pig, old quiz; - Had not Lucretia stabb’d herself, she may be - Would have in time brought forth a thumping baby. - - The haughty peacock has but ugly feet; - A woman may be witty and discreet, - And yet, like Voltaire’s Henriade, may weary, - Or be, like Klopstock’s famed Messias, dreary. - - The best of cows no Spanish knows, I ween, - Massmann no Latin. Much too smooth are e’en - The marble buttocks of Canova’s Venus; - Too flat is Massmann’s nose (but this between us). - - In pretty songs are hidden wretched rhymes, - As bees’ stings in the honey lurk at times; - Of vulnerable heel the son of Thetis, - And Alexandre Dumas is quite a Metis. - - The fairest star that in the heavens has birth, - When it has caught a cold, straight falls to earth; - Prime cider of the barrel bears the traces, - And many a spot the sun’s bright face defaces. - - And thou, much honour’d Madam, even thou - Faultless art not, nor free from failings now. - “What, then, is wanting?” askest thou and starest,-- - A bosom, and a soul within it, fairest! - - - - -8. PIOUS WARNING. - - - When thou dost quit this mortal abode, - Immortal spirit, beware thee - Lest dangers seek to ensnare thee; - Through death and night conducteth the road. - - The soldiers of God at the golden door - Of the city of light are collected; - Here actions and deeds are respected, - Mere name and station avail no more. - - The pilgrim leaves at the portal behind - His shoes so heavy and dusty; - O enter with confidence trusty, - Soft slippers, sweet music, and rest thou’lt find. - - - - -9. THE COOLED-DOWN ONE. - - - When we are dead, we long must lie - Within the tomb; distress’d am I, - Yes, sad am I that resurrection - Delays so long to give perfection. - - Once more, before the light of life - Is quench’d, before this weary strife - Is o’er, fain would I, ere I perish, - Have woman’s love, to bless and cherish. - - Some fair one I would now invite - With eyes as soft as moonbeams’ light; - No more I relish the advances - Of wild brunettes with burning glances. - - Young men, exulting in their youth, - Prefer tumultuous love in truth. - With them excitement’s all the fashion, - And soul-enthralling mutual passion. - - No longer young, bereft of power, - As I, alas! am at this hour, - I fain once more would love in quiet, - And happy be,--without a riot. - - - - -10. SOLOMON. - - - The drums, trumps, cornets at length sink to slumber; - By Solomon’s couch, as he lieth sleeping, - Full-girded angels the watch are keeping, - On either side six thousand in number. - - The monarch protect they from cares while dreaming, - And as he frowns in his slumbers nightly, - From out of their sheaths straight draw they lightly - Twelve thousand swords, all fiercely gleaming. - - But presently back in their sheaths are falling - The angels’ swords. The brow of the sleeper - Grows smooth, his slumber is softer and deeper, - And soon his lips are gently calling: - - “O Sulamith, thou whom so dearly I cherish! - “O’er countries and kingdoms I rule, great and glorious, - “Of Israel and Judah the monarch victorious, - “But if thou’lt not love me, I wither and perish.” - - - - -11. LOST WISHES. - - - Similar in disposition, - Like a brother link’d to brother, - We unconsciously were ever - Growing fonder of each other. - - Each one knew the other’s meaning, - Just as if we were omniscient; - Words, in fact, we found superfluous, - And a look was quite sufficient. - - How I long’d to have thee near me, - Revelling in peace and plenty, - As my staunch and valiant comrade - In a dolce far niente! - - Always to remain beside thee - Was the aim of each endeavour; - Everything that gave thee pleasure, - To accomplish sought I ever. - - I enjoy’d what thou didst relish, - Neither would I touch the dishes - Thou didst hate, and even smoking - I commenced, to meet thy wishes. - - Many a funny Polish story - That thy merriment excited, - In a strange and Jewish accent - To repeat I then delighted. - - Yes, then long’d I to approach thee, - Leave my foreign habitation, - And beside thy fortune’s fireplace - Take for evermore my station. - - Golden wishes! mere soap bubbles! - Like my life they all have vanish’d; - On the ground I now am lying, - Crush’d for ever, hopeless, banish’d. - - Fare ye well, ye golden wishes - Where my darling hopes once centred! - Ah! the blow was far too deadly - That my inmost heart has enter’d. - - - - -12. THE ANNIVERSARY. - - - Not one mass will e’er be chanted, - Not one Hebrew prayer be mutter’d, - When the day I died returneth,-- - Nothing will be sung or utter’d. - - Yet upon that day, it may be, - If the weather has not chill’d her, - On a visit to Montmartre - With Pauline will go Matilda. - - With a wreath of immortelles she’ll - Deck my grave in foreign fashion, - Sighing say “_pauvre homme!_” and sadly - Drop a tear of fond compassion. - - I shall then too high be dwelling, - And, alas! no chair have ready - For my darling’s use to offer, - As she walks with foot unsteady. - - Sweet, stout little one, return not - Home on foot, I must implore thee; - At the barrier gate is standing - A fiacre all ready for thee. - - - - -13. MEETING AGAIN. - - - One summer eve, in the woodbine bower - We sat once more at the window lonely; - The moon arose with life-giving power, - But we appear’d two spectres only. - - Twelve years had pass’d since the last occasion - When we on this spot had sat together; - Each tender glow, each loving persuasion - Had meanwhile been quench’d in life’s rough weather. - - I silently sat. The woman, however, - Just like her sex, amongst love’s ashes - Must needs be raking, but vain her endeavour - To kindle again its long-quench’d flashes. - - And she recounted how she had contended - With evil thoughts, the story disclosing - How hardly she once her virtue defended,-- - I stupidly listened to all her prosing. - - When homeward I rode, the trees beside me - Like spirits beneath the moon’s rays flitted; - Sad voices call’d, but onward I hied me, - Yes, I and the dead, who my side ne’er quitted. - - - - -14. MRS. CARE. - - - When fortune on me shed her ray, - The gnats around me danced all day, - Plenty of friends then cherish’d me, - And all, in fashion brotherly, - My viands with me tasted, - And my last penny wasted. - - Fortune has fled, and void is my purse, - My friends have left for better for worse, - Extinguish’d is each sunny ray, - Around me the gnats no longer play; - My friends and the gnats together - Have gone with the sunny weather. - - Beside my bed in the winter night - Old Care as my nurse sits bolt upright; - She wears a habit that’s white enough, - A bonnet black, and takes her snuff. - The box is harshly creaking, - As the woman a pinch is seeking. - - I often dream that the happy time - Of bliss has return’d, and May’s young prime, - And friendship, and all the gnats as well,-- - When creaks the snuffbox,--and, sad to tell, - The bubble is straightway breaking, - While the nurse her snuff is taking. - - - - -15. TO THE ANGELS. - - - This is dread Thanatos indeed! - He comes upon his pale-white steed. - I hear its tread, I hear its trot, - The dusky horseman spares me not; - He tears me from Matilda’s fond embraces,-- - This thought of woe all other thoughts effaces. - - She was at once my child, my wife, - And when I quit this mortal life - An orphan’d widow will she be! - I leave alone on earth’s wide sea - The wife, the child, who, trusting to my guiding - Slept on my bosom, careless and confiding. - - Ye angels in yon heavens so fair - Receive my sobs, receive my prayer! - When I am buried, from above - Protect the woman that I love! - Be shield and guardian to your own reflection, - Grant my poor child Matilda your protection! - - By all the tears e’er shed by you - Over men’s woes in pity true,-- - By that dread word that priests alone - Know, and ne’er breathe without a groan, - By all your beauty, gentleness, perfection, - Ye angels, grant Matilda your protection! - - - - -16. IN OCTOBER 1849. - - - The weather now is calm and mild, - And hush’d once more the tempest’s voice is, - And Germany, that o’ergrown child, - Once more in its old Christmas trees rejoices. - - Domestic joys we now pursue, - All things beyond are false and hollow, - And to the house’s gable too, - Where once he built his nest, comes concord’s swallow. - - Forest and stream rest peacefully, - With the soft moonlight o’er them playing; - But, hark, a crack! A shot may’t be? - It is perchance some friend whom they are slaying. - - Perchance with weapons in his hand, - Some madcap they have overtaken; - (All do not flight well understand - Like Horace, who so nimbly saved his bacon). - - Crack, Crack! A fête, may I presume, - Or fireworks in our Goethe’s honour? - Or Sontag rising from the tomb - Greeted, by rockets showering down upon her? - - And Francis Liszt appears again! - He lives, he lies not dead and gory - On some Hungarian battle-plain, - Russian and Croat have not quench’d his glory. - - Freedom’s last bulwark was o’erthrown, - And Hungary to death is bleeding-- - Francis, our Knight, escaped alone, - His sword a quiet life at home is leading. - - Francis still lives; when old and gray - Of the Hungarian war devoutly - He’ll tell his grandsons: “Thus I lay, - “And thus my trusty blade I wielded stoutly!” - - Hearing the name of Hungary, - My German waistcoat grows too narrow; - Beneath it foams a raging sea, - The trumpet’s clang seems thrilling through my marrow. - - Once more across my memory throng - The hero-legend’s strains enthralling, - The wild and iron martial song, - The Nibelunge’s overthrow appalling. - - ’Tis still the same heroic lot, - ’Tis still the same old noble stories; - The names are changed, the natures not,-- - ’Tis still the same praiseworthy hero-glories. - - And the same issue ’tis once more; - However proudly flaunts the banner, - The hero, as in days of yore, - Yields to brute strength, but in a glorious manner. - - This time the oxen and the bear - In firm alliance are united; - Thou fall’st; but, Magyar, ne’er despair, - Still more have all _our_ German hopes been blighted. - - While very decent beasts are they - Who have in fight become thy masters, - We have, alas! become the prey - Of wolves, swine, dogs,--so great are our disasters. - - They howl, grunt, bark,--the victor’s smell - Is such, I fain would do without it;-- - But, Poet, hush!--it were as well, - Seeing thou’rt ill, to say no more about it. - - - - -17. EVIL DREAMS. - - - In vision once more young and happy, paced I - Near the old country house that used to stand - Hard by the mountain; down the pathway raced I, - Yes, raced with dear Ottilia, hand in hand. - - How graceful was her figure! She enchanted - With the sweet magic of her sea-green eyes; - On her small feet how firmly was she planted, - A form where elegance with vigour vies! - - Her voice’s tone, how true and how confiding! - Her spirit’s inmost depth one seems to see; - Wisdom her every word is ever guiding, - Her mouth’s as like a rosebud as can be. - - It is not pangs of love that now steal o’er me, - I wander not, my reason’s in command; - Yet strangely am I soften’d, as before me - She stands, with trembling warmth I kiss her hand. - - When I a lily from the stem had broken, - I gave it her, and then these words address’d: - “Ottilia, be my wife by this dear token, - “That I may be as good as thee, and blest.” - - The answer that she gave, it reach’d me never, - For presently I woke,--and now lie here - In my sick chamber, weak and ill as ever-- - As I have hopeless lain for many a year. - - - - -18. IT GOES OUT. - - - The curtain falls, as ends the play, - And all the audience go away; - And did the piece give satisfaction? - Methinks they found it of attraction. - A much-respected public then - Its poet thankfully commended; - But now the house is hush’d again, - And lights and merriment are ended. - - But hark to that dull heavy clang - Hard by the empty stage’s middle! - It was perchance the bursting twang - Of the worn string of some old fiddle. - With rustling noise across the pit - Some nasty rats like shadows flit, - And rancid oil all places smell of, - And the last lamp, with groans and sighs - Despairing, then goes out and dies.-- - My soul was this poor light I tell of. - - - - -19. THE WILL. - - - Now that life is nearly spent, - Here’s my will and testament, - Giving every foe a present, - As a Christian finds it pleasant: - - Let these gentry full of merit - Have my sickness as their guerdon, - All that makes my life a burden,-- - All my wretched pangs inherit. - - I bequeath you all the colic - Which my belly tweaks in frolic,-- - Strangury and these perfidious - Prussian piles so sharp and hideous. - - Unto you my cramps be given, - Pains in joints, and salivation, - Pains in back, and inflammation,-- - Every one the gift of heaven. - - Let this codicil then follow:-- - Lord! that wretched herd demolish, - And their very name abolish, - As they in their vileness wallow. - - - - -20. ENFANT PERDU. - - - Forlorn posts leading, thirty long years fought I - Stoutly and well on freedom’s battle plain; - Hopeless of triumph, never hoped or thought I - Safe and uninjured home to see again. - - I watch’d both day and night, slept not a tittle, - As when I camp’d amongst my friends of yore; - (And if I felt inclined to doze a little, - I soon was waken’d by my neighbour’s snore.) - - In those long nights ennui would oft assail me, - And fear as well,--(’tis fools who never fear;) - To scare them, I delighted to regale me - With whistling songs all full of gibe and jeer. - - Yes, watchfully I stood, my weapon grasping,-- - If a suspicious looking fool drew nigh, - I took a careful aim, and laid him gasping - With a hot bullet in his paunch or thigh. - - But by-and-by, if I may so express it, - This clumsy fool, whom I so much deride, - Proves the best shot; and now, I must confess it, - My blood pours forth, my wounds are gaping wide. - - A post is vacant! All my wounds are gaping-- - One falls, the others follow in his wake; - Unvanquish’d fall I,--from my hands escaping - My arms break not, my heart alone doth break. - - - - -_BOOK III.--HEBREW MELODIES_ - - - O let the days of thy life pass not - Without tasting life’s blisses; - And if thou’rt shelter’d from the shot, - Let it fly, for it misses. - - If fortune should ever be passing thy way, - To grasp her, forth sally; - Don’t build on the summit thy cottage, I pray, - But down in the valley. - - - - -PRINCESS SABBATH. - - - In Arabia’s books of stories - Read we of enchanted princes, - Who from time to time recover’d - Their once handsome pristine features; - - Or the whilome hairy monster - To a king’s son is converted, - Dress’d in gay and glittering garments, - And the flute divinely playing. - - Yet the magic time expires, - And once more and of a sudden - We behold his royal highness - Changed into a shaggy monster. - - Of a prince of such-like fortune - Sings my song. His name is Israel, - And a witch’s art has changed him - To the figure of a dog. - - As a dog, with doggish notions, - All the week his time he muddles - Through life’s filthiness and sweepings, - To the scavengers’ derision. - - But upon each Friday evening, - Just at twilight, the enchantment - Ceases suddenly,--the dog - Once more is a human being. - - As a man, with human feelings, - With his head and breast raised proudly - Dress’d in festival attire, - His paternal halls he enters. - - “Hail, all hail, ye halls belovèd - “Of my gracious regal father! - “Tents of Jacob, your all-holy - “Entrance posts my mouth thus kisses!” - - Through the house mysteriously - Goes a whispering and buzzing, - And the unseen master of it - Shudd’ring breathes amid the silence,-- - - Silence, save the seneschal - (Vulgo Synagogue-Attendant) - Here and there with vigour springing, - As the lamps he seeks to kindle. - - Golden lights so comfort-giving, - How they glitter, how they glimmer! - Proudly also flare the tapers - On the rails of the Almemor. - - At the shrine wherein the Thora - Is preserved, and which is cover’d - With the costly silken cov’ring - That with precious jewels sparkles,-- - - There beside his post, already - Stands prepared the parish minstrel, - Dandy little man, who shoulders - His black cloak coquettishly. - - His white hand to show the better, - At his neck he works, his finger - Pressing strangely to his temple, - And his thumb against his throat. - - To himself then softly trills he, - Till at length his voice he raises - Joyfully, and loudly sings he - “Lecho Daudi Likras Kalle! - - “Lecho Daudi Likras Kalle-- - “Loved one, come! the bride already - “Waiteth for thee, to uncover - “To thy face her blushing features!” - - This most charming marriage ditty - Was composed by the illustrious - Far and wide known Minnesinger - Don Jehuda ben Halevy. - - In the song was celebrated - The espousals of Prince Israel - With the lovely Princess Sabbath, - Whom they call the silent princess. - - Pearl and flower of perfect beauty - Is the Princess. Fairer never - Was the famous queen of Sheba, - Solomon’s old bosom-friend, - - Ethiopian vain blue-stocking, - Who with her _esprit_ would dazzle, - And with all her clever riddles - Was, I fear, extremely tedious. - - But our Princess Sabbath, who was - Peace itself personified, - Held in utter detestation - All debates and wit-encounters. - - Equally abhorr’d she noisy - And declamatory passion,-- - All that pathos which with flowing - And dishevell’d hair storms wildly. - - Modestly the silent princess - In her hood conceals her tresses; - Soft as the gazelle’s her looks are, - Slender as an Addas blooms she. - - She allows her lover all things - Save this one,--tobacco-smoking: - “Loved one! smoking is forbidden, - “For to-day the Sabbath is. - - “But at noon, in compensation, - “Thou a steaming dish shalt taste of, - “Which is perfectly delicious-- - “Thou shall eat to-day some Schalet!” - - “Schalet, beauteous spark immortal, - “Daughter of Elysium!”[83] - Thus would Schiller’s song have sung it, - Had he ever tasted Schalet. - - Schalet is the food of heaven, - Which the Lord Himself taught Moses - How to cook, when on that visit - To the summit of Mount Sinai, - - Where the Lord Almighty also - Every good religious doctrine - And the holy ten commandments - Publish’d in a storm of lightning. - - Schalet is the pure ambrosia - That the food of heaven composes-- - Is the bread of Paradise; - And compared with food so glorious, - - The ambrosia of the spurious - Heathen gods whom Greece once worshipp’d - And were naught but muffled devils, - Was but wretched devil’s dung. - - When the prince this food hath tasted, - Gleams his eye as if transfigured, - And his waistcoat he unbuttons, - And he speaks with smiles of rapture: - - “Hear I not the Jordan murmuring? - “Is it not the gushing fountains - “In the palmy vale of Beth-El, - “Where the camels have their station? - - “Hear I not the sheep-bells ringing? - “Is it not the well-fed wethers - “Whom the herdsman drives at evening - “Down from Gilead’s lofty mountain?” - - Yet the beauteous day fades quickly; - As with long and shadowy legs - Hastens on the fell enchantment’s - Evil hour, the prince sighs sadly, - - Feeling as though with his bosom - Icy witches’ fingers grappled; - He’s pervaded by the fear of - Canine metamorphosis. - - To the prince then hands the princess - Her own golden box of spikenard; - Long he smells, once more desiring - To find comfort in sweet odours. - - Next the parting drink the princess - Gives the prince--He hastily - Drinks, and in the goblet only - Some few drops are left untasted. - - With them sprinkles he the table, - Then he takes a little waxlight, - And he dips it in the moisture - Till it crackles and goes out. - - - - -JEHUDA BEN HALEVY - -A FRAGMENT. - - -1. - - “If, Jerusalem, I ever - “Should forget thee, let my tongue - “To my mouth’s roof cleave, let also - “My right hand forget her cunning--” - - Words and melody are whirling - In my head to-day unceasing, - And methinks I hear sweet voices - Singing psalms, sweet human voices. - - Often to the light come also - Beards of shadowy-long proportions; - Say, ye phantoms, which amongst you - Is Jehuda ben Halevy? - - But they quickly hustle by me; - Spirits ever shun with terror - Exhortations of the living-- - But I recognized him well. - - Well I knew him by his pallid, - Haughty, high, and thoughtful forehead, - By his eyes so sweetly staring, - Viewing me with piercing sorrow. - - But I recognized him mostly - By the enigmatic smile which - O’er his fair rhymed lips was playing, - Such as none but poets boast of. - - Years come on and years pass swiftly - Since Jehuda ben Halevy - Had his birth, have seven hundred - Years and fifty fleeted o’er us. - - At Toledo in Castile he - For the first time saw the light, - And the golden Tagus lull’d him - In his cradle with its music. - - His strict father the unfolding - Of his intellect full early - Cared for, and began his lessons - With the book of God, the Thora. - - With his son he read this volume - In the’ original, whose beauteous - Picturesque and hieroglyphic - Old Chaldean quarto pages - - Spring from out the childish ages - Of our world, and for that reason - Smile so trustingly and sweetly - On each childlike disposition. - - And this genuine ancient text - By the boy was likewise chanted - In the ancient and establish’d - Sing-song fashion, known as Tropp. - - And melodiously he gurgled - Those fat oily gutturals; - Like a very bird he warbled - That fine quaver, the Schalscheleth. - - And the Targum Onkelos, - Which is written in the idiom, - The low-Hebrew sounding idiom - That we call the Aramæan, - - And that to the prophet’s language - Has about the same relation - As the Swabian to the German,-- - In this bastard Hebrew likewise - - Was the youth betimes instructed - And the knowledge thus acquired - Proved extremely useful to him - In the study of the Talmud. - - Yes, full early did his father - Lead him onward to the Talmud - And he then unfolded to him - The Halacha, that illustrious - - Fighting school, where the expertest - Dialectic athletes both of - Babylon and Pumpeditha - Carry on their mental combats. - - Here the boy could gain instruction - In the arts, too, of polemics; - Later, in the book Cosari - Was his mastership establish’d. - - Yet the heavens pour down upon us - Lights of two distinct descriptions: - Glaring daylight of the sun, - And the moonlight’s softer lustre. - - Thus two different lights the Talmud - Also sheds, and is divided - In Halacha and Hagada.-- - Now the first’s a fighting school, - - But the latter, the Hagada, - I should rather call a garden, - Yes, a garden, most fantastic, - Comparable to that other, - - Which in days of yore was planted - In the town of Babylon,-- - Great Semiramis’s garden, - That eighth wonder of the world. - - ’Tis said queen Semiramis, - Who had, when a child, been brought up - By the birds, and had contracted - Many a bird’s peculiar custom, - - On the mere flat ground would never - Promenade, as human creatures - Mostly do, and so she planted - In the air a hanging garden. - - High upon colossal pillars - Palms and cypresses were standing, - Golden oranges, fair flow’r-beds, - Marble statues, gushing fountains,-- - - Firmly, skilfully united - By unnumber’d hanging bridges - Which appear’d like climbing plants, - And whereon the birds were rocking,-- - - Solemn birds, large, many-colour’d, - All deep thinkers, never singing, - While around them finches flutter’d, - Keeping up a merry twitter,-- - - All things here were blest, and teeming - With a pure balsamic fragrance, - Which was free from all offensive - Earthly smells and hateful odours. - - The Hagada is a garden - That this airy whim resembles, - And the youthful Talmud scholar, - When his heart was overpower’d - - And was deafen’d by the squabbles - Of the’ Halacha, by disputes - All about the fatal egg - Laid one feast day by a pullet,-- - - Or about some other question - Of the same importance, straightway - Fled the boy to find refreshment - In the blossoming Hagada - - Where the charming olden stories, - Tales of angels, famous legends, - Silent histories of martyrs, - Festal songs, and words of wisdom, - - Hyperboles, far-fetch’d it may be, - But impress’d with deep conviction, - Full of glowing faith,--all glitter’d, - Bloom’d and sprung in such abundance. - - And the stripling’s noble bosom - Was pervaded by the savage - But adventure-breathing sweetness, - By the wondrous blissful anguish - - And the fabulous wild terrors - Of that blissful secret world, - Of that mighty revelation, - Known to us as Poesy. - - And the art of Poesy, - Radiant knowledge, understanding, - Which we call the art poetic, - Open’d on the boy’s mind also. - - And Jehuda ben Halevy - Was not merely skill’d in reading, - But in poetry a master, - And himself a first-rate poet. - - Yes, he was a first-rate poet, - Star and torch of his own age, - Light and beacon of his people, - Yes, a very wondrous mighty - - Fiery pillar of all song, - That preceded Israel’s mournful - Caravan as it was marching - Through the desert of sad exile. - - Pure and true alike, and spotless - Was his song, as was his spirit; - When this spirit was created - By its Maker, self-contented, - - He embraced the lovely spirit, - And that kiss’s beauteous echo - Thrills through all the poet’s numbers, - Which are hallow’d by this grace. - - As in life, in numbers also - Grace is greatest good of all; - He who has it, ne’er transgresses - In his prose or in his verses. - - Genius call we such a poet - Of the mighty grace of God; - He is undisputed monarch - Of the boundless realms of fancy. - - He to God alone accounteth, - Not to man, and, as in lifetime, - So in art the mob have power - To destroy, but not to judge us. - - -2. - - “By the streams of Babylon - “Sat we down and wept, we hangèd - “Our sad harps upon the willows--” - Know’st thou not the olden song? - - Know’st thou not the olden tune, - Which begins with elegiac - Crying, humming like a kettle - That upon the hearth is boiling? - - Long has it been boiling in me, - Thousand years. A gloomy anguish - And my wounds are lick’d by time, - As Job’s boils by dogs were lickèd. - - Thank thee, dog, for thy saliva,-- - Though it can but cool and soften-- - Death alone can ever heal me, - But, alas, I am immortal! - - Years come round and years then vanish-- - Busily the spool is humming - As it in the loom is moving,-- - What it weaves, no weaver knoweth. - - Years come round and years then vanish, - Human tears are dripping, running - On the earth, and then the earth - Sucks them in with eager silence. - - Seething mad! The cover leaps up-- - “Happy he whose daring hand - “Taketh up thy little ones, - “Dashing them against the stones.” - - God be praised! the seething slowly - In the pot evaporates, - Then is mute. My spleen is soften’d, - My west-eastern darksome spleen. - - And my Pegasus is neighing - Once more gaily, and the nightmare - Seems to shake with vigour off him, - And his wise eyes thus are asking: - - Are we riding back to Spain, - To the little Talmudist there, - Who was such a first-rate poet,-- - To Jehuda ben Halevy? - - Yes, he was a first-rate poet, - In the realm of dreams sole ruler - With the spirit-monarch’s crown, - By the grace of God a poet, - - Who in all his sacred metres, - In his madrigals, terzinas, - Canzonets, and strange ghaselas - Pour’d out all the’ abundant fire - - Of his noble god-kiss’d spirit! - Of a truth this troubadour - Was upon a par with all the - Best lute-players of Provence, - - Of Poitou and of Guienne, - Roussillon and every other - Charming orange-growing region - Of gallant old Christendom. - - Charming orange-growing regions - Of gallant old Christendom! - How they glitter, smell, and tingle - In the twilight of remembrance! - - Beauteous world of nightingales! - Where we only in the place of - The true God, the false God worshipp’d - Of the Muses and of love. - - Clergy, bearing wreaths of roses - On their bald pates, sang the psalms - In the charming langue d’oc; - Laity, all gallant knights, - - On their high steeds proudly trotting, - Verse and rhyme were ever making - To the honour of the ladies - Whom their hearts to serve delighted. - - There’s no love without a lady. - Therefore to a Minnesinger - Was a lady just as needful - As to bread-and-butter, butter. - - And the hero, whom we sing of, - Our Jehuda ben Halevy, - Also had his heart’s fair lady; - But she was of special kind. - - She no Laura was, whose eyes, - Mortal constellations, kindled - On Good Friday the notorious - Fire within the famed Cathedral; - - She was not a chatelaine - Who, attired in youthful graces, - Took the chair at tournaments, - And the laurel wreath presented. - - Casuist in the laws of kisses - She was not, no doctrinaire, - Who within the learned college - Of a court of love gave lectures. - - She the Rabbi was in love with - Was a poor and mournful loved one, - Woeful image of destruction, - And her name--Jerusalem! - - In his early days of childhood - She his one sole love was always; - E’en the word Jerusalem - Made his youthful spirit quiver. - - Purple flames were ever standing - On the boy’s cheek, and he hearken’d - When a pilgrim to Toledo - Came from out the far east country, - - And recounted how deserted - And uncleanly was the city - Where upon the ground the traces - Of the prophets’ feet still glisten’d; - - Where the air is still perfumed - By the’ undying breath of God-- - “O the mournful sight!” a pilgrim - Once exclaim’d, whose beard was floating - - White as silver, notwithstanding - That the hair which form’d its end - Once again grew black, appearing - As if getting young again. - - And a very wondrous pilgrim - Might he be, his eyes were peering - As through centuries of sorrow, - And he sigh’d: “Jerusalem! - - “She, the crowded holy city, - “Is converted to a desert, - “Where wood-devils, werewolves, jackals - “Their accursèd home have made. - - “Serpents, birds of night, are dwelling - “In its weather-beaten ruins; - “From the window’s airy bow - “Peeps the fox with much contentment. - - “Here and there a ragged fellow - “Comes sometimes from out the desert, - “And his hunch-back’d camel feedeth - “In the long grass growing round it. - - “On the noble heights of Zion, - “Where stood up the golden fortress - “Whose great majesty bore witness - “To the mighty monarch’s glory,-- - - “There, with noisome weeds encumber’d, - “Nought now lies but gray old ruins, - “Gazing with such looks of sorrow - “One must fancy they are weeping. - - “And ’tis said they wept in earnest, - “Once in each year, on the ninth day - “Of the month’s that known as Ab-- - “With my own eyes, full of weeping, - - “I the clammy drops have witness’d - “Down the large stones slowly trickling, - “And have heard the broken columns - “Of the temple sadly moaning.” - - Such-like pious pilgrim-sayings - Waken’d in the youthful bosom - Of Jehuda ben Halevy - Yearnings for Jerusalem. - - Poet’s yearnings! As foreboding, - Visionary, sad, as those - In the Château Blay experienced - Whilome by the noble Vidam, - - Messer Geoffroy Rudello, - When the knights, returning homeward - From the Eastern land, asserted - Loudly, as they clash’d their goblets, - - That the paragon of graces, - And the flower and pearl of women, - Was the beauteous Melisanda, - Margravine of Tripoli. - - Each one knows that for this lady - Raved the troubadour thenceforward; - Her alone he sang, and shortly - Château Blay no more could hold him; - - And he hasten’d thence. At Cette - Took he ship, but on the ocean - He fell ill, and sick and dying - He arriv’d at Tripoli. - - Here at length, on Melisanda - He, too, gazed with eyes all-loving, - Which that self-same hour were cover’d - By the darksome shades of death. - - Singing his last song of love, - He expired before the feet - Of his lady Melisanda, - Margravine of Tripoli.[84] - - Wonderful was the resemblance - In the fate of these two poets! - Save that in old age the former - His great pilgrimage commenced. - - And Jehuda ben Halevy - At his mistress’ feet expired, - And his dying head, it rested - On Jerusalem’s dear knees. - - -3. - - When the fight at Arabella - Had been won, great Alexander - Placed Darius’ land and people, - Court and harem, horses, women, - - Elephants, and daric coins, - Crown and sceptre, golden lumber-- - Placed them all inside his spacious - Macedonian pantaloons. - - In the tent of great Darius, - Who himself had fled, because he - Fear’d he also might be placed there, - The young hero found a casket. - - ’Twas a little golden box, - Richly ornamented over - With incrusted stones and cameos, - And with miniature devices. - - Now this casket, in itself - Of inestimable value, - Served to hold the priceless treasures - Of the monarch’s body-jewels. - - All the latter Alexander - On his brave commanders lavish’d, - Smiling at the thought of men - Childlike loving colour’d pebbles. - - One fair valuable gem he - To his mother dear presented; - ’Twas the signet ring of Cyrus, - Turn’d into a brooch henceforward. - - To his famous old preceptor - Aristotle he presented - A fine onyx for his splendid - Cabinet of natural history. - - In the casket were some pearls too, - Forming quite a wondrous string, - Which were once to Queen Atossa - Given by the false knave Smerdis; - - But the pearls were all quite real, - And the merry victor gave them - To a pretty dancer whom he - Brought from Corinth, named Miss Thais. - - In her hair the latter wore them, - In bacchantic fashion streaming, - On that night when she was dancing - At Persepolis, and wildly - - In the regal castle hurl’d her - Impious torch, till, loudly crackling, - Soon the flames obtain’d the mastery, - And the fortress laid in ruins. - - On the death of beauteous Thais - Who of some bad Babylonian - Illness died at Babylon, - All her pearls were sold by auction - - At the public auction-rooms there; - Purchased by a priest from Memphis, - He to Egypt took them with him, - Where they on the toilet table - - Of fair Cleopatra glisten’d; - She the finest pearl amongst them - Crush’d and mix’d with wine and swallow’d, - Her friend Antony to banter. - - With the final Ommiad monarch - Came the string of pearls to Spain, - And they twined around the turban - Worn at Cord’va, by the Caliph. - - Abderam the Third he wore them - As his breast-knot at the tourney - Where he pierced through thirty golden - Rings, and fair Zuleima’s bosom. - - When the Moorish race was vanquish’d, - Then the Christians gain’d possession - Of the pearls, which rank’d thenceforward - As crown-jewels of Castile. - - Their most Cath’lic Majesties, - Queens of Spain, were wont to wear them - On all court and state occasions, - At all bullfights, grand processions, - - And at each auto da fé, - When they took their pleasure, sitting - At the balcony, in sniffing - Up the smell of burnt old Jews. - - Later still, old Mendizabel, - Satan’s grandson, pawn’d these jewels, - Vainly hoping thus to meet the - Deficit in the finances. - - At the Tuileries the jewels - Finally appear’d again, - Glittering on the neck of Madame - Salomon, the Baroness. - - With the fair pearls thus it happened.-- - Less adventurous the fortune - Of the casket, Alexander - Keeping it for his own use. - - He the songs enclosed within it - Of ambrosia-scented Homer, - His great fav’rite, and the casket - All night long was wont to stand - - At his bed’s head; when the monarch - Slept, the heroes’ airy figures - Came from out it, o’er his visions - Creeping in fantastic fashion. - - Other times and other birds too-- - I myself have erst delighted - In the stories of the actions - Of Pelides, of Odysseus. - - All then seem’d so sunny-golden - And so purple to my spirit, - Vine-leaves twined around my forehead, - And the trumpets flourish’d loudly. - - Hush, no more! All broken lieth - Now my haughty victor-chariot, - And the panthers, who once drew it, - Now are dead, as are the women - - Who, to sound of drum and cymbal, - Danced around, and I myself - Writhe upon the ground in anguish. - Weak and crippled--hush, no more! - - Hush, no more! we now are speaking - Of the casket of Darius, - And within myself thus thought I: - Should I e’er possess the casket, - - And not be obliged to change it - Into cash, for want of money, - I would then enclose within it - All the poems of our Rabbi,-- - - All Jehuda ben Halevy’s - Festal songs and lamentations, - And Ghaselas, the description - Of his pilgrimage--the whole I - - Would have written on the cleanest - Parchment by the best of scribes, - And the manuscript deposit - In the little golden casket. - - This should stand upon the table - Near my bed, and then, whenever - Friends appear’d and were astonish’d - At the beauty of the trinket,-- - - At the wondrous bas-reliefs, - Small in size, and yet so perfect - Notwithstanding,--at the jewels - Of such size incrusted on it,-- - - I should smilingly address them: - That is but the vulgar covering - That contains a nobler treasure-- - In this casket there are lying - - Diamonds, whose light doth mirror - And reflect the light of heaven, - Rubies glowing as the heart’s blood, - Turquoises of spotless beauty, - - And fair emeralds of promise, - Likewise pearls of greater value - Than the pearls to Queen Atossa - Given by the false knave Smerdis, - - And that afterwards were worn by - All the notabilities - Who this mundane earth have dwelt in, - Thais first, then Cleopatra, - - Priests of Isis, Moorish princes, - And the queens of old Hispania, - And at last the worthy Madame - Salomon, the Baroness.-- - - For those pearls of world-wide glory - After all are but the mucus - Of a poor unhappy oyster - Lying sickly in the ocean; - - But the pearls within this casket - Are the offspring of a beauteous - Human spirit, far far deeper - Than the ocean’s deepest depths,-- - - For they are the pearly tears - Of Jehuda ben Halevy, - That he over the destruction - Of Jerusalem let fall. - - Pearly tears, which, join’d together - By the golden threads of rhythm, - As a song from poesy’s - Golden smithy have proceeded. - - And this song of pearly tears - Is the famous lamentation - That is sung in all the scatter’d - And far-distant tents of Jacob - - On the ninth day of the month Ab, - That sad anniversary - Of Jerusalem’s destruction - By the Emperor Vespasian. - - Yes, it is the song of Zion - That Jehuda ben Halevy - Sang when dying on the holy - Ruins of Jerusalem. - - Barefoot and in lowly garments - Sat he there upon the fragment - Of a pillar that had fallen, - Till upon his breast there fell - - Like a gray old wood his hair, - Shading over in strange fashion - His afflicted pallid features, - With his eyes so like a spectre’s. - - In this manner sat he, singing, - In appearance like a minstrel - From the times of old, like ancient - Jeremiah, grave-arisen. - - Soon the birds around the ruins - By his numbers’ mournful cadence - All were tamed, and e’en the vulture - Drew near list’ning, almost pitying,-- - - But an impious Saracen - Came one day in that direction, - On his charger in his stirrups - Balancing, his bright lance wielding. - - And the breast of our poor singer - With this deadly spear transfix’d he, - And then gallop’d off instanter - Wing’d as though a shadowy figure. - - Calmly flow’d the Rabbi’s life-blood, - Calmly to its termination - Sang he his sweet song,--his dying - Sigh was still--Jerusalem! - - It is said in olden legend - That the Saracen was really - Not a wicked cruel mortal, - But an angel in disguise, - - Sent from the bright realms of heaven - To remove God’s favourite - From the earth, and to advance him - Painlessly to those blest regions. - - There, ’tis said, there waited for him - A reception highly flatt’ring - In its nature to the poet, - Quite a heavenly surprise. - - Solemnly with strains of music - Came the’ angelic choir to meet him, - And instead of hymns, he heard them - Singing his own lovely verses, - - Synagoguish Wedding-Carmen, - Hymeneal Sabbath numbers, - With their well-known and exulting - Melodies--what notes enthralling! - - While some angels play’d the hautboy, - Others play’d upon the fiddle; - Others handled the bass-viol, - Others beat the drum and cymbal. - - Sweetly all the music sounded. - Sweetly through the far-extending - Vaults of heaven these strains re-echoed - Lecho Daudi Likras Kalle! - - -4. - - My good wife is not contented - With the chapter just concluded, - And especially the portion - Speaking of Darius’ casket. - - Almost bitterly observes she, - That a husband with pretensions - To religion, into money - Straightway would convert the casket, - - That he with it might be able - For his poor and lawful spouse - That nice Cashmere shawl to purchase - That she stands so much in need of. - - That Jehuda ben Halevy - Would, she fancies, with sufficient - Honour be preserved, if guarded - In a pretty box of pasteboard, - - Deck’d with Chinese elegant - Arabesques, like those enchanting - Sweetmeat-boxes of Marquis - In the Passage Panorama. - - “Very strange it is,”--she added,-- - “That I never heard the name of - “This remarkable old poet, - “This Jehuda ben Halevy.” - - Darling little wife, I answer’d, - Your delightful ignorance - But too well the gaps discloses - In the education given - - In the boarding schools of Paris, - Where the girls, the future mothers - Of a proud and freeborn nation, - Learn the elements of knowledge. - - All about the dry old mummies, - And embalm’d Egyptian Pharaohs - Merovingian shadowy monarchs, - With perukes devoid of powder, - - And the pig-tail’d kings of China, - Lords of porcelain and pagodas,-- - This they know by heart and fully, - Clever girls,--but, O, good heavens - - If you ask for any great names - From the glorious golden ages - Of Arabian-ancient-Spanish - Jewish schools of poetry,-- - - If you ask for those three worthies, - For Jehuda ben Halevy, - For great Solomon Gabirol, - Or for Moses Iben Esra, - - If you ask for these or suchlike, - Then the children stare upon us - With a look of stupid wonder, - And in fact seem quite dumb-founded. - - Let me then advise you, dearest, - These neglected points to study, - And to take to learning Hebrew - Leaving theatres and concerts. - - When a few years to these studies - Have been given, you’ll be able - In the’ original to read them, - Iben Esra and Gabirol, - - And Halevy in addition, - That triumvirate poetic, - Who evoked the sweetest music - From the instrument of David. - - Alcharisi, who, I’ll wager, - Is to you unknown, although he - A Voltairian was, six hundred - Years before Voltaire’s time, spoke thus: - - “In his thoughts excels Gabirol, - “And the thinker most he pleases; - “Iben Esra shines in art, and - “Is the fav’rite of the artist. - - “But Jehuda ben Halevy - “Is in both a perfect master, - “And at once a famous poet - “And a universal fav’rite.” - - Iben Esra was a friend, - And I rather think, a cousin - Of Jehuda ben Halevy, - Who in his famed book of travels - - Bitterly complains how vainly - He had sought through all Granada - For his friend, and only found there - His friend’s brother, the physician, - - Rabbi Meyer, poet likewise, - And the father of the beauty - Who in Iben Esra’s bosom - Kindled such a hopeless passion. - - That he might forget his niece, he - Took in hand his pilgrim’s staff, - Like so many of his colleagues, - Living restlessly and homeless. - - Tow’rd Jerusalem he wander’d, - When some Tartars fell upon him, - Fasten’d him upon a steed’s back, - And to their wild deserts took him. - - Duties there devolved upon him - Quite unworthy of a Rabbi, - Still less fitted for a poet-- - He was made to milk the cows. - - Once, as he beneath the belly - Of a cow was sitting squatting, - Fing’ring hastily her udder, - While the milk the tub was filling,-- - - A position quite unworthy - Of a Rabbi, of a poet,-- - Melancholy came across him, - And to sing a song began he. - - And he sang so well and sweetly, - That the Khan, the horde’s old chieftain, - Who was passing by, was melted, - And he gave the slave his freedom. - - And he likewise gave him presents, - Gave a fox-skin, and a lengthy - Saracenic mandoline, - And some money for his journey. - - Poets’ fate! an evil star ’tis, - Which the offspring of Apollo - Worried unto death, and even - Did not spare their noble father, - - When he, after Daphne lurking, - In the fair nymph’s snowy body’s - Stead, embraced the laurel only,-- - He, the great divine Schlemihl! - - Yes, the glorious Delphic god is - A Schlemihl, and e’en the laurel - That so proudly crowns his forehead - Is a sign of his Schlemihldom. - - What the word Schlemihl betokens - Well we know. Long since Chamisso - Rights of German citizenship - Gain’d it (of the word I’m speaking). - - But its origin has ever, - Like the holy Nile’s far sources, - Been unknown. Upon this subject - Many a night have I been poring. - - Many a year ago I travell’d - To Berlin, to see Chamisso - On this point, and from the dean sought - Information of Schlemihl. - - But he could not satisfy me, - And referr’d me on to Hitzig, - Who had made the first suggestion - Of the family name of Peter - - Shadowless. I straightway hired - The first cab, and quickly hasten’d - To the magistrate Herr Hitzig, - Who was formerly call’d Itzig. - - When he still was known as Itzig, - In a vision saw he written - His own name high in the heavens, - And in front the letter H. - - “What’s the meaning of this H?” - Ask’d he of himself. “Herr Itzig - “Or the Holy Itzig? Holy - “Is a pretty title. Not, though, - - “Suited for Berlin.” At length he, - Tired of thinking, took the name of - Hitzig, and his best friends only - Knew that Hitzig stood for Holy. - - “Holy Hitzig!” said I therefore - When I saw him, “have the goodness - “To explain the derivation - “Of the word Schlemihl, I pray you.” - - Many circumbendibuses - Took the holy one--he could not - Recollect,--and made excuses - In succession like a Christian, - - Till at length I burst the buttons - In the breeches of my patience, - And began to swear so fiercely, - In such very impious fashion, - - That the worthy pietist, - Pale as death, with trembling knees, - Forthwith gratified my wishes, - And the following story told me: - - “In the Bible it is written - “How, while wandering in the desert, - “Israel oft committed whoredom - “With the daughters fair of Canaan. - - “Then it came to pass that Phinehas - “Chanced to see the noble Zimri - “Thus engaged in an intrigue - “With a Canaanitish woman. - - “Straightway in his fury seized he - “On his spear, and put to death - “Zimri on the very spot.--Thus - “In the Bible ’tis recounted. - - “But, according to an oral - “Old tradition ’mongst the people, - “’Twas not Zimri that was really - “Stricken by the spear of Phinehas; - - “But the latter, blind with fury, - “In the sinner’s place, by ill-luck - “Chanced to kill a guiltless person, - “Named Schlemihl ben Zuri Schadday.”-- - - He, then, this Schlemihl the First, - Was the ancestor of all the - Race Schlemihlian. We’re descended - From Schlemihl ben Zuri Schadday. - - Certainly no wondrous actions - Are preserved of his; we only - Know his name, and in addition - Know that he was a Schlemihl. - - But a pedigree is valued - Not according to its fruits, but - Its antiquity alone-- - Ours three thousand years can reckon. - - Years come round, and years then vanish-- - Full three thousand years have fleeted - Since the death of our forefather - This Schlemihl ben Zuri Schadday. - - Phinehas, too, has long been dead, - But his spear is in existence, - And incessantly we hear it - Whizzing through the air above us. - - And the noblest hearts it pierces-- - Both Jehuda ben Halevy, - Also Moses Iben Esra, - And it likewise struck Gabirol, - - Yes, Gabirol, that truehearted - God-devoted Minnesinger, - That sweet nightingale, who sang to - God instead of to a rose,-- - - That sweet nightingale who caroll’d - Tenderly his loving numbers - In the darkness of the Gothic - Mediæval night of earth! - - Undismay’d and caring nothing - For grimaces or for spirits, - Or the chaos of delirium - And of death those ages haunting, - - Our sweet nightingale thought only - Of the Godlike One he loved so, - Unto Whom he sobb’d his love, - Whom his hymns were glorifying. - - Thirty springs Gabirol witness’d - On this earth, but loud-tongued Fama - Trumpeted abroad the glory - Of his name through every country. - - Now at Cordova, his home, he - Had a Moor as nextdoor neighbour, - Who wrote verses, like the other, - And the poet’s glory envied. - - When he heard the poet singing, - Then the Moor’s bile straight flow’d over, - And the sweetness of the songs was - Bitter wormwood to this base one. - - He enticed his hated rival - To his house one night, and slew him - There, and then the body buried - In the garden in its rear. - - But behold! from out the spot - Where the body had been hidden, - Presently there grew a fig-tree - Of the most enchanting beauty. - - All its fruit was long in figure, - And of strange and spicy sweetness; - He who tasted it, sank into - Quite a dreamy state of rapture. - - ’Mongst the people on the subject - Much was said aloud or whisper’d, - Till at length the rumour came to - The illustrious Caliph’s ears. - - He with his own tongue first tasted - This strange fig-phenomenon, - And then form’d a strict commission - Of inquiry on the matter. - - Summarily they proceeded; - On the owner of the tree’s soles - Sixty strokes of the bamboo they - Gave, and then his crime confess’d he. - - Thereupon they tore the tree up - By its roots from out the ground, - And the body of the murder’d - Man Gabirol was discover’d. - - He was buried with due honour, - And lamented by his brethren; - And the selfsame day they also - Hang’d the Moor at Cordova. - - - - -DISPUTATION. - - - In the Aula at Toledo - Loudly are the trumpets blowing - To the spiritual tourney, - Gaily dress’d, the crowd are going. - - This is no mere worldly combat, - Not one arm of steel here glances; - Sharply pointed and scholastic - Words are here the only lances. - - Gallant Paladins here fight not, - Ladies’ honest fame defending; - Capuchins and Jewish Rabbis - Are the knights who’re here contending. - - In the place of helmets are they - Scull caps and capouches wearing; - Scapular and _Arbecanfess_ - Are the armour they are bearing. - - Which God is the one true God? - He, the Hebrew stern and glorious - Unity, whom Rabbi Juda - Of Navarre would see victorious? - - Or the triune God, whom Christians - Hold in love and veneration, - As whose champion Friar Jose, - The Franciscan, takes his station? - - By the might of weighty reasons, - And the logic taught at college, - And quotations from the authors - Whose repute one must acknowledge, - - Either champion _ad absurdum_ - His opponent would bring duly, - And the pure divinity - Of his own God point out truly. - - ’Tis laid down that he whose foeman - Manages his cause to smother, - Should be bound to take upon him - The religion of the other, - - And the Jew be duly christen’d,-- - This was the express provision,-- - On the other hand the Christian - Bear the rite of circumcision. - - Each one of the doughty champions - Has eleven comrades by him, - All to share his fate determined, - And for weal or woe keep nigh him. - - While the monks who back the friar - With assurance full and steady - Hold the holy-water vessels - For the rite of christening ready, - - Swinging sprinkling-brooms and censers, - Whence the incense smoke is rising,-- - All their adversaries briskly - Whet their knives for circumcising. - - By the lists within the hall stand, - Ready for the fray, both forces, - And the crowd await the signal, - Eager for the knights’ discourses. - - ’Neath a golden canopy, - While their courtiers duly flatter, - Both the king and queen are sitting; - Quite a child appears the latter. - - With a small French nose, her features - Are in roguishness not wanting, - And the ever laughing rubies - Of her mouth are quite enchanting. - - Fragile fair inconstant flower,-- - May the grace of God be with her!-- - From the merry town of Paris - She has been transplanted hither, - - To the country where the Spanish - Old grandees’ stiff manners gall her; - Whilome known as Blanche de Bourbon, - Donna Blanca now they call her. - - And the monarch’s name is Pedro, - With the nickname of The Cruel; - But to-day, in gentle mood, he - Looks as if he ne’er could do ill. - - With the nobles of his court he - Enters into conversation, - And both Jew and Moor addresses - With a courteous salutation. - - For these sons of circumcision - Are the monarch’s favourite creatures; - They command his troops, and also - In finances are his teachers. - - Suddenly the drums ’gin beating, - And the trumpets’ bray announces - That the conflict is beginning, - Where each knight the other trounces. - - The Franciscan monk commences, - Bursting into furious passion, - And his voice, now harsh, now growling, - Blusters in a curious fashion. - - Father, Son, and Holy Spirit - In one sentence he comprises, - And the seed accurst of Jacob - In the Rabbi exorcises. - - For in suchlike controversies - Little devils oft are hidden - In the Jews, and give them sharpness, - Wit, and arguments when bidden. - - Having thus expell’d the devil - By his mighty exorcism, - Comes the monk, dogmatically, - Quoting from the catechism. - - He recounts how in the Godhead - Persons three are comprehended, - Who, whenever they so will it, - Into one are straightway blended. - - ’Tis a mystery unfolded - But to those who, in due season, - Have escaped from out the prison - And the chains of human reason. - - He recounts how God was born at - Bethlehem, of a tenderhearted - Virgin, whose divine unsullied - Innocency ne’er departed. - - How they laid the Lord Almighty - In a lowly stable manger, - Where the calf and heifer meekly - Stood around the newborn stranger. - - He recounts, too, how the Lord - From King Herod’s minions flying, - Went to Egypt, how still later - Death’s sharp pangs he suffer’d, dying. - - In the time of Pontius Pilate, - Who subscribed his condemnation, - Urged on by the Jews and cruel - Pharisees’ confederation. - - He recounts, too, how the Lord, - Bursting from the tomb’s dark prison - On the third day, into heaven - Had in glorious triumph risen; - - How, when ’tis the proper time, he - Would return to earth in splendour, - At Jehoshaphat, to judge there - Every quick and dead offender. - - “Tremble, Jews!” exclaim’d the friar, - “At the God whom ye tormented - “Cruelly with thorns and scourges, - “To whose death ye all consented. - - “Jews, ye were his murderers! nation - “Of vindictive fierce behaviour! - “Him who comes to free you, still ye - “Slay,--ye murder him, the Saviour. - - “Jews, the carrion where the demons - “Coming from the lower regions - “Dwell, your bodies are the barracks - “Of the devil’s wicked legions. - - “Thomas of Aquinas says so, - “He is famed in Christian story, - “Call’d the mighty ox of learning, - “Orthodoxy’s light and glory. - - “Villain race of Jews! you’re nought but - “Wolves, hyenas, jackals hateful, - “Church-yard prowlers, who deem only - “Flesh of corpses to be grateful. - - “Jews, O Jews! you’re hogs and monkeys, - “Monsters cruel and perfidious, - “Whom they call rhinoceroses, - “Crocodiles and vampires hideous. - - “Ye are ravens, owls, and screechowls, - “Rats and miserable lapwings, - “Gallows’-birds and cockatrices, - “Very scum of all that flap wings! - - “Ye are vipers, ye are blindworms, - “Rattlesnakes, disgusting adders, - “Poisonous toads--Christ soon will surely - “Tread you out like empty bladders! - - “Or, accursèd people, would ye - “Save your souls so wretched rather? - “Flee the synagogues of evil, - “Seek the bosom of your Father. - - “Flee to love’s bright radiant churches, - “Where the well of mercy bubbles - “For your sakes in hallow’d basins,-- - “Hide your heads there from your troubles. - - “Wash away the ancient Adam, - “And the vices that deface it; - “From your hearts the stains of rancour - “Wash, and grace shall then replace it. - - “Hear ye not the Saviour speaking? - “O how well your new names suit you! - “Cleanse yourselves upon Christ’s bosom - “From the vermin that pollute you. - - “Yes, our God is very love, is - “Like a lamb that’s dearly cherish’d, - “And our vices to atone for, - “On the cross with meekness perish’d. - - “Yes, our God is very love, his - “Name is Jesus Christ the blessèd; - “Of his patience and submission - “We aspire to be possessèd. - - “Therefore are we meek and gentle, - “Courteous, never in a passion, - “Fond of peace and charitable, - “In the Lamb the Saviour’s fashion. - - “We in heaven shall be hereafter - “Into angels blest converted, - “Wandering there in bliss with lily - “Blossoms in our hands inserted. - - “In the place of cowls, the purest - “Robes shall we when there be wearing, - “Made of silk, brocades, and muslin, - “Golden lace and ribbons flaring. - - “No more bald pates! Round our heads there - “Will be floating golden tresses; - “While our hair some charming virgin - “Into pretty topknots dresses. - - “Winecups will be there presented - “Of circumference so spacious, - “That, compared with them, the goblets - “Made on earth are not capacious. - - “On the other hand, much smaller - “Than the mouths of earthly ladies - “Will the mouth be of each woman - “Who in heaven our solace made is. - - “Drinking, kissing, laughing will we - “Pass through endless ages proudly, - “Singing joyous Hallelujahs, - “Kyrie Eleyson loudly.” - - Thus the Christian ended, and the - Monks believed illumination - Pierced each heart, and so prepared for - The baptismal operation. - - But the water-hating Hebrews - Shook themselves with scornful grinning, - Rabbi Juda of Navarre thus - His reply meanwhile beginning: - - “That thou for thy seed mightst dung - “My poor soul’s bare field devoutly, - “With whole dung-carts of abuse thou - “Hast in truth befoul’d me stoutly. - - “Every one the method follows - “To his taste best calculated, - “And instead of being angry, - “Thank you, I’m propitiated. - - “Your fine trinitarian doctrine - “We poor Jews can never swallow, - “Though from earliest days of childhood - “Wont the rule of three to follow. - - “That three persons in your Godhead, - “And no more, are comprehended, - “Moderate appears; the ancients - “On six thousand gods depended. - - “Quite unknown to me the God is - “Whom you call the Christ, good brother; - “Nor have I e’er had the honour - “To have met his virgin mother. - - “I regret that some twelve hundred - “Years back, as your speech confesses, - “At Jerusalem he suffer’d - “Certain disagreablenesses. - - “That the Jews in truth destroy’d him - “Rests upon your showing solely, - “Seeing the delicti corpus - “On the third day vanish’d wholly. - - “It is equally uncertain - “Whether he was a connection - “Of our God, who had no children-- - “In, at least, our recollection. - - “Our great God, like some poor lambkin, - “For humanity would never - “Perish; for such philanthropic - “Actions he is far too clever. - - “Our great God of love knows nothing, - “Never to affection yields he, - “For he is a God of vengeance, - “And as God his thunders wields he. - - “Nothing can his wrathful lightnings - “From the sinner turn or soften, - “And the latest generations - “For the fathers’ sins pay often. - - “Our great God, he lives for ever - “In his heavenly halls in glory, - “And, compared with him, eternal - “Ages are but transitory. - - “Our great God, he is a hearty - “God, not like the myths that fright us, - “Pale and lean as any wafer, - “Or the shadows by Cocytus. - - “Our great God is strong. He graspeth - “Sun and moon and constellation: - “Thrones are crush’d, and people vanish - “When he frowns in indignation. - - “And he is a mighty God. - “David sings: We cannot measure - “All his greatness, earth’s his footstool, - “And is subject to his pleasure. - - “Our great God loves music dearly, - “Lute and song to him are grateful; - “But, like grunts of sucking pigs, he - “Finds the sounds of churchbells hateful. - - “Great Leviathan the fish is - “Who beneath the ocean strayeth, - “And with him the Lord Almighty - “For an hour each morning playeth. - - “With the’ exception of the ninth day - “Of the month Ab, that sad morrow, - “When they burnt his holy temple; - “On that day too great’s his sorrow. - - “Just one hundred miles in length is - “The Leviathan; each fin is - “Big as Og the King of Basan, - “And his tail no cedar thin is. - - “Yet his flesh resembles turtle, - “And its flavour is perfection, - “And the Lord will ask to dinner - “On the day of resurrection - - “All his own elect, the righteous, - “Those whose faith was firm and stable, - “And this fish, the Lord’s own favourite, - “Will be set upon the table, - - “Partly dress’d with garlic white sauce, - “Partly stew’d in wine and toasted, - “Dress’d with raisins and with spices, - “Much resembling matelotes roasted. - - “Little slices of horseradish - “Will the white sauce much embellish, - “So make ready, Friar Jose, - “To devour the fish with relish. - - “And the raisin sauce I spoke of - “Makes a most delicious jelly, - “And will be full well adapted, - “Friar Jose, to thy belly. - - “What God cooks, is quite perfection-- - “Monk, my honest counsel follow, - “And be circumcised, your portion - “Of Leviathan to swallow.”-- - - Thus the Rabbi to allure him - Spoke with inward mirth insulting, - And the Jews, with pleasure grunting, - Brandish’d all their knives exulting. - - To cut off the forfeit foreskins, - Victors after all the fighting, - Genuine spolia opima - In this conflict so exciting. - - But the monks to their religion - Stuck, despite the Jews’ derision, - And were equally reluctant - To submit to circumcision. - - Next the Catholic converter - Answer’d, when the Jew had finish’d, - His abuse again repeating, - Full of fury undiminish’d. - - Then the Rabbi with a cautious - Ardour, with his answer follow’d; - Though his heart was boiling over, - All his rising gall he swallow’d. - - He appeals unto the Mischna, - Treatises and commentaries, - And with extracts from the Tausves- - Jontof his quotations varies. - - But what blasphemy now speaks the - Friar, arguments in want of! - He exclaim’d: “I wish the devil - “Had your stupid Tausves-Jontof!” - - “This surpasses all, good heavens!” - Fearfully the Rabbi screeches, - And his patience lasts no longer, - Like a maniac’s soon his speech is. - - “If the Tausves-Jontof’s nothing, - “What is left? O vile detractor! - Lord, avenge this foul transgression! - “Punish, Lord, this malefactor! - - “For the Tausves-Jontof, God, - “Is thyself! And on the daring - “Tausves-Jontof’s base denier - “Thou must vent thy wrath unsparing. - - “Let the earth consume him, like the - “Wicked band of Cora, quickly, - “Who their plots and machinations - “Sow’d against thee, Lord, so thickly. - - “Punish, O my God, his baseness! - “Thunder forth thy loudest thunder; - “Thou with pitch and brimstone Sodom - “And Gomorrha didst bring under. - - “Strike these Capuchins with vigour, - “As of yore thou struckest Pharaoh - “Who pursued us, as well-laden - “Flying from his land we were, Oh! - - “Knights a hundred thousand follow’d - “This proud monarch of Mizrayim, - “In steel armour, with bright weapons - “In their terrible Jadayim. - - “Lord, thy right hand then extending, - “Pharaoh and his host were smitten - “In the Red Sea, and were drown’d there - “As we drown a common kitten. - - “Strike these Capuchins with vigour, - “Show the wicked wretches clearly - “That the lightnings of thine anger - “Are not smoke and bluster merely. - - “Then thy triumph’s praise and glory - “I will sing and tell of proudly, - “And moreover will, like Miriam, - “Dance and play the timbrel loudly.” - - Then the monk with equal passion - Answer’d thus the furious Rabbi: - “Villain, may the Lord destroy thee, - “Damnable, accurst, and shabby! - - “I can well defy your devils - “Whom the Evil One created, - “Lucifer and Beelzebub, - “Astaroth and Belial hated. - - “I can well defy your spirits, - “And your hellish tricks unhallow’d, - “For in me is Jesus Christ, since - “I his body blest have swallow’d. - - “Christ my only favourite food is, - “Than Leviathan more savoury, - “With its boasted garlic white sauce - “Cook’d by Satan, full of knavery. - - “Ah! instead of thus disputing, - “I would sooner roast and bake you - “With your comrades on the warmest - “Funeral pile, the devil take you!” - - Thus for God and faith the tourney - Goes on in confusion utter; - But in vain the doughty champions - Screech and rail and storm and splutter. - - For twelve hours the fight has lasted, - Neither side gives signs of tiring, - But the public fast grow weary, - And the ladies are perspiring. - - And the Court, too, grows impatient, - Ladies make with yawns suggestions; - To the lovely queen the monarch - Turns and asks the following questions: - - “Tell me, what is your opinion? - “Which is right, and which the liar? - “Will you give your verdict rather - “For the Rabbi or the friar?” - - Donna Blanca gazes on him, - Thoughtfully her hands she presses - With closed fingers on her forehead, - And the monarch thus addresses: - - “Which is right, I cannot tell you, - “But I have a shrewd suspicion - “That the Rabbi and the monk are - “Both in stinking bad condition.” - - - - -LATEST POEMS. - -(1853-4.) - - - - -1. PEACE-YEARNING. - - - O let thy wounds bleed on, and let - Thy tears for ever flow unbidden-- - In sorrow revels secret joy, - And a sweet balm in tears is hidden. - - If strangers’ hand did wound thee not, - Thou by thyself must needs be wounded; - Thank God with all thy heart, if tears - To wet thy cheek have e’er abounded. - - The noise of day is hush’d, and night - In long dark mantle comes from heaven; - While in her arms, nor fool nor dolt - Can break the rest to soothe thee given. - - Here thou art safe from music’s noise, - And from the piano’s hammer-hammer, - From the grand opera’s pompous notes, - And the bravura’s fearful clamour. - - Here thou art not pursued, nor plagued - By endless crowds of idle smatt’rers; - Nor by the genius Giacomo,[85] - And all the clique of world-known chatt’rers. - - O grave, thou art the Paradise - Of ears that shun the rabble’s chorus; - Death’s good indeed, yet better ’twere - Our loving mothers never bore us. - - - - -2. IN MAY. - - - The friends whom I kiss’d and caress’d of yore - Have treated me now with cruelty sore; - My heart is fast breaking. The sun, though, above - With smiles is hailing the sweet month of love. - - Spring blooms around. In the greenwood is heard - The echoing song of each happy bird, - And flowers and girls wear a maidenly smile-- - O beauteous world, I hate thee the while; - - Yes, Orcus’ self I wellnigh praise; - No contrasts vain torment there our days; - For suffering hearts ’tis better below, - There where the Stygian night-waters flow. - - That sad and melancholy stream, - And the Stymphalides’ dull scream, - The Furies singsong, so harsh and shrill, - With Cerberus’ bark the pauses to fill,-- - - These match full well with sorrow and pain. - In Proserpine’s accursèd domain, - In the region of shadows, the valley of sighs, - All with our tears doth harmonize. - - But here above, like hateful things, - The sun and the rose inflict their stings; - I’m mock’d by the heavens so May-like and blue-- - O beauteous world, I hate thee anew! - - - - -3. BODY AND SOUL. - - - Poor soul doth to the body say: - I’ll never leave thee, but I’ll stay - With thee; yea, I with thee will sink - In death and night, destruction drink. - Thou ever wert my second I, - And round me clungest lovingly, - As though a dress of satin bright, - All lined throughout with ermine white-- - Alas! I’ve come to nakedness, - A mere abstraction, bodiless, - Reduced a blessèd nullity - In yon bright realms of light to be, - In the cold halls of heaven up yonder, - Where the Immortals silent wander, - And gape upon me, clatt’ring by - In leaden slippers wearily. - ’Tis quite intolerable; stay, - Stay with me, my dear body, pray. - - The body to poor soul replied: - Cheer up, be not dissatisfied! - We peacefully must learn to bear - What Fate apportions as our share. - I was the lamp’s wick; I must now - Consume away; the spirit, thou, - Wilt be selected by-and-by - To sparkle as a star on high - Of purest radiance. I’m but rags. - Mere stuff, like rotten tinder bags, - Collapsing fast, and nothing worth, - Becoming, what I was, mere earth. - - Farewell! take comfort, cease complaining; - Perchance ’tis far more entertaining - In heaven than now supposed by thee. - If thou shouldst e’er the great bear see - (Not Meyer-beer[86]) in those bright climes, - Greet him from me a thousand times. - - - - -4. RED SLIPPERS. - - - A wicked cat, grown old and gray, - That she was a shoemaker chose to say, - And put before her window a board - Where slippers for young maidens were stored; - While some were of morocco made, - Others of satin were there display’d; - Of velvet some, with edges of gold, - And figured strings, all gay to behold. - But fairest of all exposed to view - Was a pair of slippers of scarlet hue; - They gave full many a lass delight - With their gorgeous colours and splendour bright. - A young and snow-white noble mouse - Who chanced to pass the shoemaker’s house - First turn’d to look, and then stood still, - And then peep’d over the window sill. - At length she said: “Good day, mother cat: - “You’ve pretty red slippers, I grant you that. - “If they’re not dear, I’m ready to buy, - “So tell me the price, if it’s not too high.” - - “My good young lady,” the cat replied, - “Pray do me the favour to step inside, - “And honour my house, I venture to pray, - “With your gracious presence. Allow me to say - “That the fairest maidens come shopping to me, - “And duchesses too, of high degree. - “The slippers I’m willing full cheap to sell, - “Yet let us see if they’ll fit you well. - “Pray step inside, and take a seat”-- - - Thus the wily cat did falsely entreat, - And the poor white thing in her ignorance then - Fell plump in the snare in that murderous den. - The little mouse sat down on a chair, - And lifted her small leg up in the air, - In order to try how the red shoes fitted, - A picture of innocent calm to be pitied. - When sudden the wicked cat seized her fast, - Her murderous talons around her cast, - And bit right off her poor little head. - “My dear white creature,” the cat then said, - “My sweet little mouse, you’re as dead as a rat. - “The scarlet red slippers that served me so pat - “I’ll kindly place on the top of your tomb, - “And when is heard, on the last day of doom, - “The sound of the trump, O mouse so white, - “From out of your grave you’ll come to light, - “Like all the rest, and then you’ll be able - “To wear your red slippers.” Here ends my fable. - - -MORAL. - - Ye little white mice, take care where you go, - And don’t be seduced by worldly show; - I counsel you sooner barefooted to walk, - Than buy slippers of cats, however they talk. - - - - -5. BABYLONIAN SORROWS. - - - I’m summon’d by death. I’d fain, my love, - Have left thee behind in a wood to rove, - In one of those forests of firs so drear, - Where vultures build, and wolves’ howlings we hear, - Where the wild sow fearfully grunts evermore, - The lawful spouse of the light grey boar. - - I’m summon’d by death. ’Twere better far - If I, where the stormy billows are, - Had had to leave thee, my wife, my child, - And straightway the northpole’s tempest wild - The waters had flogg’d, and out of the deep - The hideous monsters that in it sleep, - The crocodile fierce and the shark, had come - With open jaws, and around thee swum. - Believe me, my child, Matilda, my wife, - That the angry sea, in its wildest strife, - And the cruel forest less dangers give - Than the city where we’re now fated to live. - Though fearful the wolf and the vulture may be, - The shark, and the monsters dread of the sea, - Far fiercer, more furious beasts have their birth - In Paris, the capital proud of the earth. - Fair Paris, the singing, so gay in her revels, - That hell to the angels, that heaven to devils.-- - That thee I must leave in this dungeon sad, - This drives me crazy, this drives me mad. - - With scornful buzzing around my bed - The black flies come; on my nose and head - They perch themselves--detestable race! - Amongst them are some with a human face, - And elephants’ trunks (though small in span) - Like the god Ganesa in Hindostan. - In my brain I hear noises and heavy knocks, - It sounds as if they were packing a box, - And my reason departs, alas! alas! - Ere I myself from this earth can pass. - - - - -6. THE SLAVE SHIP. - - -PART I. - - The supercargo Mynher Van Koek - In his cabin sits adding his figures; - He calculates his cargo’s amount, - And the probable gain from his niggers. - - “My gum and pepper are good: the stock - “Is three hundred chests of all sizes; - “I’ve gold dust and ivory too in store, - “But the black ware by far the best prize is. - - “Six hundred niggers I bought dirt-cheap - “Where the Senegal river is flowing; - “Their flesh is firm, and their sinews tough - “As the finest iron going. - - “I got them by barter, and gave in exchange - “Glass beads, steel goods, and some brandy; - “I shall make at least eight hundred per cent. - “With but half of them living and handy. - - “If only three hundred niggers are left, - “When I get to Rio Janeiro, - “I shall have a hundred ducats a head - “From the house of Gonzales Perreiro.”-- - - Here all of a sudden Mynher Van Koek - Was disturb’d in his meditation, - For Doctor Van Smissen enter’d in, - The vessel’s surgeon by station. - - His figure was just as thin as a lath, - And his nose had warts all over; - “Well, worthy Doctor,” exclaim’d Van Koek, - “Are my niggers still living in clover?” - - The Doctor thank’d him, and said in reply: - “I’ve come with a tale of disaster; - “Throughout the night, I’m sorry to say, - “The deaths have grown faster and faster. - - “The average daily number is two, - “But to-day just seven have died, Sir,-- - “Four men and three women; I wrote the loss - “At once in the log as my guide, Sir. - - “I closely inspected every corpse, - “For these rascals have often a notion - “To feign themselves dead, in hopes that they - “May be thrown away into the ocean. - - “I took the irons from off the dead, - “And according to usual custom - “Next morning early into the sea - “I bid the sailors thrust ’em. - - “At once the sharks from out of the waves - “Shot up in countless legions; - “They love full dearly the niggers’ flesh, - “My boarders are they in these regions. - - “They have follow’d after the track of the ship, - “Since we’ve left the land in the distance; - “The creatures smell the scent of a corpse - “With ravenous snuffling persistence. - - “In truth ’tis a capital joke to see - “How after the bodies they follow; - “One takes the head, another a leg, - “While the rest the fragments swallow. - - “Then round the ship contented they roll, - “When they’ve finished their eating and crunching - “And stare in my face, as if they sought - “To thank me for their luncheon.”-- - - Then spake Van Koek, as he sadly sigh’d, - When the Doctor his story had finish’d: - “How to lessen the evil? In what way best - “Can the rate of the deaths be diminish’d?” - - The Doctor replied: “Many niggers have died - “By their own misconduct stealthy; - “Their breath’s so bad, that it poisons the air - “In the ship, and makes it unhealthy. - - “Through lowness of spirits, too, many have died, - “And ennui, in this dreary stillness; - “I think that air and music and dance - “Would soon remove their illness.”-- - - Then cried Van Koek: “An excellent plan! - “Dear Doctor, I utter no slander, - “When I say that like Aristotle you’re wise, - “The tutor of Alexander. - - “The Tulip-improvement Society’s head - “In the town of Delft may be clever, - “But he hasn’t one half of your brains, I’m sure,-- - “Your equal I’ve met with never. - - “Then, music, music! The niggers all - “On the deck I’ll see dancing and kicking, - “And whosoever won’t join in the fun - “Shall receive in reward a good licking.” - - -PART II. - - On high, from the heaven’s blue canopy, - Many thousand stars are gleaming, - Like the eyes of fair women, so large and clear, - And with locks of yearning beaming. - - They’re looking down on the ocean below, - Whose waves in the distance are curling, - In phosphorescent blue vapour all veil’d, - While the billows are joyously whirling. - - Not a sail on the slave-ship is fluttering now, - As though without tackle she’s lying; - But lanthorns are glimmering high on the decks - Where the dance with the music is vying. - - The cook of the vessel is playing the flute, - The steersman’s playing the fiddle, - The trumpet is blown by the Doctor himself, - And a lad beats the drum in the middle. - - A hundred niggers, both women and men, - Are yelling and whirling and leaping, - As though they were mad; and at every spring - Their irons the tune are keeping. - - They stamp on the ground in uproarious mirth, - And many a swarthy maiden - Clasps her naked partner with warmth, while at times - The air with their groanings is laden. - - The jailer acts as _maître des plaisirs_, - And dealing his lashes so fearful, - The weary dancers he stimulates, - And bids them be merry and cheerful. - - So dideldumdei and schnedderedeng! - The strange unwonted commotion - Aroused from their lazy slumbers below - The monsters fierce of the ocean. - - All-heavy with sleep, the sharks swam up, - In numbers many a hundred; - They stupidly stared at the ship on high - With amazement, and blindly wondered. - - They see that their usual breakfast time - Has not come as soon as ’tis wanted, - So they gape and ope wide their throats, their jaws - With teeth like saws being planted. - - And dideldumdei and schnedderedeng! - There seems no end to the dances; - The sharks grow impatient, and bite themselves - In the tail with their teeth like lances. - - I presume that for music they’ve got no taste, - Like many an ignoramus; - Trust not the beast that music loves not, - Says Albion’s poet famous. - - And schnedderedeng and dideldumdei! - Not one of the dancers seems lazy; - At the foremast stands Mynher Van Koek, - And with folded hands thus prays he: - - “For Christ’s dear sake, O spare, good Lord, - “The lives of these swarthy sinners; - “If they’ve anger’d thee e’er, thou know’st they’re as dull - “As the beasts that we eat for our dinners. - - “O spare their lives, for Christ’s dear sake, - “Who died for our salvation; - “For unless I have left me three hundred head, - “There’s an end to my occupation.” - - - - -7. AFFRONTENBURG. - - - Time fleeteth, yet that castle old, - With all its battlements, its tower, - And simple folk that in it dwelt, - Appears before me every hour. - - I ever see the weathercock - That on the roof turn’d round so drily; - Each person, ere he spoke a word, - Was wont to look up tow’rds it slily. - - He that would talk, first learnt the wind, - For fear the ancient grumbler Boreas - Might turn against him suddenly, - Tormenting him with blast uproarious. - - In truth, the wisest held their tongues, - For in that place an echo sported, - Which, when it answer’d back the voice, - Each word maliciously distorted. - - Amidst the castle garden stood - A marble fount, with sphinxes round it, - For ever dry, though tears enough - Had flow’d inside it, to have drown’d it. - - O most accursèd garden! Ah, - No single spot was in thy keeping - Wherein my heart had not been sad, - Wherein my eye had not known weeping. - - No single tree did it contain - Beneath whose shade affronts injurious - Had not against me utter’d been - By tongues ironical or furious. - - The toad that listen’d in the grass - Unto the rat hath all confided, - Who told his aunt the viper straight - The news in which himself he prided. - - She in her turn told cousin frog,-- - And in this manner each relation - In the whole filthy race soon learnt - My dire affronts and sad vexation. - - The garden roses were full fair, - And sweet the fragrance that they scatter’d; - Yet early wither’d they and died, - By a mysterious poison shatter’d. - - And next the nightingale was sick - To death,--that songster loved and cherish’d. - That sang to every rose her song; - Through her own poison’s taste she perish’d. - - O most accursèd garden! Yea, - It was as though a curse oppress’d it; - Oft was I seized by ghostly fear, - While broad clear daylight still possess’d it. - - The green-eyed spectre on me grinn’d, - Terror with fearful mockery vying, - While from the yew-trees straightway rose - A sound of groaning, choking, sighing. - - At the long alley’s end arose - The terrace where the Baltic Ocean - At time of flood its billows dash’d - Against the rocks in wild commotion. - - There sees one far across the main, - There stood I oft, in wild dreams roaming; - The breakers fill’d my heart as well - With ceaseless roaring, raging, foaming. - - A foaming, raging, roaring ’twas, - As powerless as the billows curling - That the hard rock broke mournfully, - Proudly as they their shocks were hurling. - - With envy saw I ships pass by, - Some happier country seeking gladly, - While I am in this castle chain’d - With bonds accurst, and pining sadly. - - - - -8. APPENDIX TO “LAZARUS.”[87] - - -I. - - Holy parables discarding, - And each guess, however pious, - To these awful questions plainly - Seek with answers to supply us:-- - - Wherefore bends the Just One, bleeding - ’Neath the cross’s weight laborious, - While upon his steed the Wicked - Rides all-proudly and victorious? - - Wherein lies the fault? It is not - That our God is not almighty? - Or hath he himself offended?-- - Such a thought seems wild and flighty. - - Thus are we for ever asking, - Till at length our mouths securely - With a clod of earth are fasten’d,-- - That is not an answer, surely? - - -II. - - My head by the maiden swarthy but fair - Was press’d ’gainst her bosom with yearning; - But, alas! to grey soon turn’d my hair, - Where had fallen her tears so burning. - - She kiss’d me ill, and she kiss’d me lame, - She kiss’d till my eyes were faded; - My spinal marrow dried up became, - By her mouth’s wild sucking pervaded. - - My body is now a corpse, wherein - My spirit is fetter’d closely; - ’Tis often angry, and makes a din, - And storms and struggles morosely, - - O impotent curses! Not even a fly - Can be kill’d by mere execrations; - Submit to thy fate, and patiently try - To bear Heaven’s dispensations. - - -III. - - How slowly time is crawling on, - That serpent terrible and creeping! - While I, alas! all-motionless, - On the same spot am ever weeping. - - On my dark cell no ray of hope - Hath shone, no sunbeam e’er hath risen; - For nothing but the churchyard’s vault - Shall I exchange this fatal prison. - - Perchance I long ago did die, - Perchance the phantasies which nightly - Hold in my brain their shifting dance - Are nought but ghostly forms unsightly. - - They may full well the spectres be - Of some old heathen gods or devils; - They gladly choose the empty skull - Of a dead poet for their revels. - - Those orgies sweet but terrible, - Those nightly ghost-acts, full of warning, - The poet’s corpse-hand ofttimes seeks - To place on record in the morning. - - -IV. - - Once saw I many a blooming flower - Upon my way, but slothfully - Stoop’d not to pluck them in that hour, - And on my proud steed hasten’d by. - - Now when I’m near to death, and languish, - Now when beneath me yawns the tomb, - Oft in my thought, with bitter anguish, - Returns the’ unheeded flowers’ perfume. - - But most of all, my brain is burning - With a bright yellow violet fair; - Wild beauty! How I grieve with yearning, - To think that I enjoy’d thee ne’er! - - My comfort is: Oblivion’s waters - Have not yet lost their olden might - The dull hearts of earth’s sons and daughters - To steep in Lethe’s blissful night. - - -V. - - I saw them laughing, smiling gladly,-- - I saw them ruin’d utterly; - I heard them weeping, dying sadly,-- - And yet I utter’d not a sigh. - - Each corpse I as a mourner follow’d, - Yea, to the churchyard follow’d I, - And then--with appetite I swallow’d, - My noontide meal, I’ll not deny. - - I now recall that band long perish’d, - With feelings sadden’d and oppress’d: - Like sudden glowing love once cherish’d - They strangely storm within my breast. - - And most ’tis Juliet’s tears so burning - That in my memory spring to light; - My sadness turns to ceaseless yearning, - I call upon her day and night. - - In feverish dreams, with soft emotion - The faded flower oft comes again; - Methinks a posthumous devotion - To my love’s glow it offers then. - - O gentle phantom, clasp me often - With strong and ever stronger power; - Unto my lips press thine, and soften - The bitterness of this last hour. - - -VI. - - Thou wast a maiden fair, so good and kindly, - So neat, so cool--in vain I waited blindly - Till came the hour wherein thy gentle heart - Would ope, and inspiration play its part. - - Yea, inspiration for those lofty things - Which prose and reason deem but wanderings, - But yet for which the noble, lovely, good - Upon this earth rave, suffer, shed their blood. - - Upon the Rhine’s fair strand, where vine-hills smile, - Once in glad summer days we roam’d the while; - Bright laugh’d the sun, sweet incense in that hour - Stream’d from the beauteous cup of every flower. - - The purple pinks and roses breath’d in turn - Red kisses on us, which like fire did burn; - Even the smallest daisy’s faint perfume - Appear’d a life ideal then to bloom. - - But thou didst peacefully beside me go, - In a white satin dress, demure and slow, - Like some girl’s portrait limn’d by Netscher’s art, - A little glacier seem’d to be thy heart. - - -VII. - - At reason’s solemn judgment-seat - Thy full acquittal hath been spoken; - The verdict says: the little one - By word or deed no law hath broken. - - Yes, dumb and motionless thou stood’st, - While madd’ning flames were raging through me; - Thou stirredst not, no word thou spak’st, - Yet thou’lt be ever guilty to me. - - Throughout my visions every night - A voice accusing ceaseth never - To charge thee with ill will, and say - That thou hast ruin’d me for ever. - - It brings its proofs and witnesses, - Its musty rolls from thought long banish’d - And yet at morning, with my dream, - Lo, the accuser too hath vanish’d! - - Now hath it in my inmost heart, - With all its records, refuge taken-- - One only haunts my memory still: - That I am ruin’d and forsaken. - - -VIII. - - Thy letter was a flash of lightning, - Illuming night with sudden glow; - It served with dazzling force to show - How deep my misery is, how fright’ning. - - E’en thou compassion then didst share, - Who, ’mid my life’s sad desolation, - Stood’st, like the sculptor’s mute creation, - As cold as marble, and as fair. - - O God, how wretched must I be! - For into speech her lips are waking, - From out her eyes the tears are breaking, - The stone feels for me tenderly. - - The sight hath fill’d me with confusion; - Have pity, Lord, though thou mayst chasten, - Thy peace bestow, and quickly hasten - This fearful tragedy’s conclusion. - - -IX. - - The true sphynx’s form’s the same as - Woman’s; this I see full clearly; - And the paws and lion’s body - Are the poet’s fancy merely. - - Dark as death is still the riddle - Of this true sphynx. E’en the clever - Son and husband of Jocasta - Such a hard one found out never. - - By good luck, though, woman knows not - Her own riddle’s explanation; - If the answer she discover’d, - Earth would fall from its foundation. - - -X. - - Three women sit at the crossway lonely, - They’re thinking and spinning, - They’re sighing and grinning; - Their very aspect is hideous only. - - The distaff the first holds, so placid; - The threads she setteth, - And each one wetteth; - So her hanging lip is all dry and flaccid. - - The spindle the second one dances - In a circle ’tis whirling, - In droll fashion twirling; - The old woman’s eyes shoot blood-red glances. - - The third Fate’s hands, so befitting, - Hold the scissors so dreary, - She hums Miserere, - And sharp is her nose, with a wart on it sitting. - - O hasten thee quickly, and sever - My life’s thread so sadd’ning, - Escaping this madd’ning - Turmoil of life’s distresses for ever! - - -XI. - - I scorn the heavenly plains above me, - In the blest land of Paradise; - No fairer women there will love me - Than those whom here on earth I prize. - - No angel blest, his high flight winging, - Could there replace my darling wife; - To sit on clouds, whilst psalms I’m singing, - Would small enjoyment give to life. - - O Lord, methinks ’twere best to leave me - Upon this lower world to dwell; - But first from sufferings reprieve me, - Some money granting me as well. - - The world, I know, is overflowing - With sin and misery; yet I - Have learnt full well the art of going - Along its pavement quietly. - - Life’s bustle cannot now annoy me, - For ’tis but seldom that I roam; - Beside my wife I’d fain employ me - In slippers and loose-coat at home. - - Leave me with her! When she is prattling, - My soul drinks in the music dear - Of that sweet voice, so gaily rattling,-- - Her look so faithful is and clear! - - For health alone and means of living, - Lord, ask I! Let me stay below - For many a day its blessings giving, - Beside my wife _in statu quo_! - - - - -9. THE DRAGONFLY. - - - The beauteous dragonfly’s dancing - By the waves of the rivulet glancing; - She dances here and she dances there, - The glimmering, glittering flutterer fair. - - Full many a beetle with loud applause - Admires her dress of azure gauze, - Admires her body’s bright splendour, - And also her figure so slender. - - Full many a beetle, to his cost, - His modicum small of reason lost; - Her wooers are humming of love and truth, - Brabant and Holland pledging forsooth. - - The dragonfly smiled and thus spake she: - “Brabant and Holland are nought to me; - “But haste, if my charms you admire, - “And fetch me a sparklet of fire. - - “The cook has just been brought to bed, - “And I my supper must cook instead; - “The coals on the hearth are burnt away,-- - “So fetch me a sparklet of fire, I pray.” - - Scarce had the false one spoken the word, - When off the beetles flew, like a bird. - They seek for fire, and soon they find - Their home in the wood’s left far behind. - - At length they see a candle’s light - In garden-bower burning bright; - And then with amorous senseless aim, - They headlong rush in the candle’s flame. - - The candle’s flame with crackling consumed - The beetles and their fond hearts so doom’d: - While some with their lives did expiation, - Some only lost wings in the conflagration. - - O woe to the beetle, whose wings have been - Burnt off! In a foreign land, I ween, - He must crawl on the ground like vermin fell, - With humid insects that nastily smell. - - One’s bad companions--he’s heard to say,-- - Are the worst of plagues, in exile’s day. - We’re forced to converse with every sort - Of noxious creatures, of bugs in short, - - Who treat us as though their comrades were we, - Because in the selfsame mud we be. - Of this complain’d old Virgil’s scholar, - The poet of exile and hell, with choler. - - I think with grief of the happier time, - When I in my glory’s well-winged prime - In my native ether was playing, - On sunny flowers was straying. - - From rosy calixes food I drew, - Was thought of importance, and wheeling flew - With butterflies all of elegance rare, - And with the cricket, the artist fair. - - But since my poor wings I happen’d to burn, - To my fatherland now I ne’er can return; - I’m turn’d to a worm, that will soon expire, - I’m rotting away in foreign mire. - - O would that I had never met - The dragonfly, that azure coquette, - With figure so fine and slender, - The fair but cruel pretender! - - - - -10. ASCENSION. - - - The body lay on the bier of death, - While the poor soul, when gone its breath, - Escaping from earth’s constant riot, - Was on its way to heavenly quiet. - - Then knock’d it at the portal high, - And spake these words with a heavy sigh: - “Saint Peter, give me inside a place, - “I am so tired of life’s hard race. - - “On silken pillows I fain would rest - “In heaven’s bright realms, and play my best - “With darling angels at blindman’s-buff, - “Enjoying repose and bliss enough!” - - A clatter of slippers ere long was heard, - A bunch of keys appear’d to be stirr’d, - And out of a lattice, the entrance near, - Saint Peter’s visage was seen to peer. - - He spake: “The vagabonds come again, - “The gipsies, Poles, and their beggarly train, - “The idlers and the Hottentots-- - “They come alone and they come in knots, - “And fain would enter on heaven’s bright rest, - “And there be angels, and there be blest. - “Halloa, halloa! For gallows’ faces - “Like yours, for such contemptible races - “Were never created the halls of bliss,-- - “Your portion’s with Satan, far off from this. - “Away, away, and take your flight - “To the black pool of endless night.”-- - - The old man thus growl’d, but hadn’t the heart - To continue to play a blustering part, - So added these words, its spirits to cheer: - “Poor soul, in truth thou dost not appear - “To that base troop of rogues to belong-- - “Well, well, I’ll grant thy desire so strong, - “Because it is my birthday to-day, - “And I feel just now in a merciful way. - “But meanwhile tell me the country and place - “From whence thou comest; and was it the case - “That thou wast married? It happens sometimes - “A husband’s patience atones for all crimes; - “A husband need not in hell to be stew’d, - “Nor need we him from heaven exclude.” - - The soul replied: “From Prussia I came, - “My native town is Berlin by name, - “There ripples the Spree, and in its bed - “The young cadets jump heels over head; - “It overflows kindly, when rains begin-- - “A beautiful spot is indeed Berlin! - “I was a private teacher when there, - “And much philosophy read with care. - “I married a chanoinesse--strange to say, - “She quarrell’d frightfully every day, - “Especially when in the house was no bread-- - “’Twas this that kill’d me, and now I am dead.” - - Saint Peter cried: “Alack, alack! - “Philosophy’s but the trade of a quack. - “In truth it is a puzzle to me - “Why people study philosophy. - “It is such tedious and profitless stuff, - “And is moreover godless enough; - “In hunger and doubt their votaries dwell, - “Till Satan carries them off to hell. - “Well thy Xantippe might make exclamations - “Against the thin and washy potations - “From whence upon her, with comforting gleam - “No eye of fat could ever beam. - “But now, poor soul, pray comforted be! - “The strictest commands are given to me, - “’Tis true, that each who whilst he did live - “To philosophy used his attention to give, - “Especially to the godless German, - “Should be driven away from hence like vermin. - “Yet ’tis my birthday to-day, as I - “Have said, so there is a reason why - “I’ll not reject thee, but ope for a minute - “The gate of heaven--quick, enter within it - “With utmost speed-- - “Now all is right! - “The whole of the day, from morn’s first light - “Till late in the evening, thou canst walk - “Round heaven at will, and dreamily stalk - “Along its jewel-paved streets so fair; - “But mind, thou must not meddle when there - “With any philosophy, or I shall be - “Soon compromised most terribly. - “When angels thou hearest singing, assume - “A face of rapture, and never of gloom; - “But if an archangel sang the song, - “Be full of inspiration strong, - “And say that Malibran ne’er pretended - “To have a soprano so rich and splendid; - “And ever applaud each tuneful hymn - “Of cherubim and of seraphim. - “Compare them all with Signor Rubini, - “With Mario and Tamburini, - “Give them the title of Excellencies, - “And be not sparing of reverencies. - “The singers in heaven, as well as on earth, - “Have all loved flattery since their birth. - “The world’s great Chapel-master on high, - “E’en He is pleased when they glorify - “His works, and delighteth to hear ador’d - “The wonders of God, the mighty Lord, - “And when a psalm to His glory and praise - “In thickest incense clouds they raise. - - “Forget me not. Whenever to thee - “The glory of heaven causes ennui, - “Then hither come, and at cards we’ll play. - “All games alike are in my way, - “From doubledummy to faro I’ll go,-- - “We’ll also drink. But, _apropos_, - “If thou should’st meet, when going from hence, - “The Lord, and He should ask thee from whence - “Thou com’st, let no word of Berlin be said, - “But say, from Vienna or Munich instead.” - - - - -11. THE AFFIANCED ONES. - - - Thou weep’st, and on me look’st, believing - That thou art for my anguish grieving-- - Thou know’st not, wife, that ’tis for thee - The tear escapes thee, not for me. - - O tell me if it be not true - That o’er thy spirit sometimes grew - The blest foreboding, showing thee - That we were join’d by fate’s decree? - United, bliss was ours below, - But sever’d, nought is ours but woe. - - In the great book ’tis written clearly - That we should love each other dearly. - Thy place should be upon my breast, - Here first awoke self-knowledge blest; - From out the realm of plants, with power - ’Twas mine to free, to kiss thee, flower!-- - Raise thee to me, to highest life, - ’Twas mine to give thee soul, my wife. - - Now, when reveal’d the riddles stand, - When in the hour-glass is the sand - Run out, weep not, ’tis order’d so-- - Alone thou’lt wither, when I go; - Thou’lt wither, ere thou yet hast bloom’d, - Ere thou hast glow’d, be quench’d and doom’d; - Thou’lt die and be the prey of death - Ere thou hast learnt to draw thy breath. - - I know it now. By heaven, ’tis thou - Whom I have loved. How bitter now, - The moment we are join’d for ever, - To find the hour when we must sever. - The welcome meanwhile must give way - To sad farewell. We part to-day - For evermore, for ’tis not given - To us to meet again in heaven. - Beauty to dust will fall at last, - Thou’lt pass away, and crumble fast. - The poets’ fate will happier be, - Death cannot kill them utterly. - Annihilation strikes us ne’er, - We live in poesy’s land so fair, - In Avalon, where fairies dwell-- - Dear corpse, for ever fare thee well! - - - - -12. THE PHILANTHROPIST. - - - There once was a brother and sister, - The sister was poor, the brother was rich. - The poor one said to the rich one: - “Give me a piece of bread.” - - The rich one said to the poor one: - “Leave me to-day in peace, - “While I give my yearly banquet - “To the lords of the Council all. - - “The first doth turtlesoup relish, - “The second doth pineapples eat, - “The third is fond of pheasant - “And Perigord truffles too. - - “The fourth eats nought but seafish, - “The fifth in salmon delights, - “The sixth of each dish eateth, - “And drinketh even more.” - - The poor rejected sister - Went hungry back to her house; - She threw herself on her straw-bed, - And deeply sighed and died. - - We all alike must perish! - The scythe of death at last - Mowed down the wealthy brother, - As it the sister had mown. - - And when the wealthy brother - His end approaching saw, - He sent for his notary quickly, - And straightway made his will. - - With legacies large and lib’ral - The clergy he endow’d, - The schools, and the great museum - Of zoological things. - - And noble sums moreover - The great testator bequeath’d - To the deaf and dumb asylum - And Jewish Conversion fund. - - A handsome bell bestow’d he - On the new Saint Stephen’s tower; - It weighs five hundred centners, - Of first-rate metal too. - - It is a bell enormous, - And sounds both early and late; - It sounds to the praise and glory - Of that most excellent man. - - It tells, with its tongue of iron, - Of all the good he has done - To the town and his fellow-townsmen, - Whatever might be their faith. - - Thou great benefactor of mortals - In death as well as in life - The great bell’s ever proclaiming - Each benefaction of thine! - - The funeral next with all honour - And pomp was solemnized, - The people crowded to see it - And reverently gazed. - - Upon a coal-black carriage, - Like a vast canopy - Adorn’d with black ostrich feathers, - The splendid coffin lay. - - Trick’d out with plates of silver, - And silver embroidery fine, - Upon the black ground the silver - The grandest effect produced. - - The carriage was drawn by six horses, - In coal-black trappings disguised, - That fell, like funeral mantles, - Down even to their hoofs. - - Behind the coffin were crowded - The servants in liveries black, - Their snow-white handkerchiefs holding - Before their sorrowing face. - - The people of rank in the city, - In long procession form’d - Of black and showy coaches, - Totter’d along behind. - - In this grand fun’ral procession, - Remember, were also found - The noble lords of the Council, - And yet they were not complete. - - The one was missing, whose fancy - Was pheasant and truffles to eat; - An attack of indigestion - Had lately carried him off. - - - - -13. THE WHIMS OF THE AMOROUS. - -(A true story, repeated after old documents and reproduced in excellent -rhyme.) - - - Upon the hedge the beetle sits sadly, - He has fallen in love with a lady-fly madly. - - O fly of my soul, ’tis thou alone - Art the wife I have chosen to be my own. - - O marry me, and be not cold, - For I have a belly of glistening gold. - - My back is a mass of glory and show, - There rubies glitter, there emeralds glow-- - - O would that I were a fool just now! - I’d never marry a beetle, I vow. - - I care not for emeralds, rubies, or gold, - I know that no happiness riches enfold. - - ’Tis tow’rd the ideal my thought soars high, - For I am in truth a haughty fly.-- - - The beetle flew off, with a heart like to break, - The fly went away, a bath to take. - - O what has become of my maid, the bee, - That she when I’m washing may wait on me, - - That she may stroke my soft hair outside, - For I am now a beetle’s bride. - - In truth, a splendid party I’ll give, - For handsomer beetle never did live. - - His back is a mass of glory and show, - There rubies glitter, there emeralds glow. - - His belly is golden, and noble each feature; - With envy will burst full many a creature. - - Make haste, Miss Bee, and dress my hair, - And lace my waist, use perfumes rare. - - With otto of roses rub me o’er, - And lavender oil on my feet then pour, - - That I mayn’t stink or nastily smell, - When I in my bridegroom’s arms shall dwell. - - Already are flitting the dragonflies blue, - As maids of honour to wait on me too. - - Into my bridal garland they’ll twine - The blossoms white of the orange so fine. - - Full many musicians are asked to the place, - And singers as well, of the grasshopper race. - - The bittern, drone, hornet, and gadfly all come, - To blow on the trumpet, and beat the drum. - - They’re all to strike up for the glad wedding feast-- - The gay-wingèd guests, from greatest to least, - - Are coming in families dapper and brisk, - The commoner insects amongst them frisk. - - The grasshoppers, wasps, and the aunts, and the cousins - Are coming, whilst trumpets are blowing by dozens. - - The pastor, the mole, in black dignified state, - Has also arrived, and the hour grows late. - - The bells are all sounding ding-dong, ding-a-dong-- - But where’s my dear bridegroom ling’ring so long? - - Ding dong, ding-a-dong, sound the bells all the day, - The bridegroom however has flown far away. - - The bells are all sounding ding-dong, ding-a-dong-- - But where’s my dear bridegroom ling’ring so long? - - The bridegroom has meanwhile taken his seat - On a distant dunghill, enjoying the heat. - - Seven years there sits he, until his forgotten - Poor bride has long been dead and rotten. - - - - -14. MIMI. - - - “I’m no modest city creature - “By the hearth demurely spinning, - “But a free cat on the roof, - “In the air, with manners winning. - - “When in summer nights I’m musing - “On the roof, in grateful coolness, - “Music in me purrs, I sing - “From my heart’s o’erpowering fulness.” - - Thus she speaks, and from her bosom - Wild and wedding-songs stream thickly, - And the melody allures - All the cats unmarried quickly. - - Purring, mewing, thither hasten - All the young cats, plain or brindled, - And with Mimi join in chorus, - Full of love, with passion kindled. - - They are no mere virtuosos - Who profane, for sordid wages, - Music, but of harmony - Are apostles true, and sages. - - They no instruments use ever, - Each is his own flute and viol; - All their noses trumpets are, - Bellies, drums, and no denial. - - They in chorus raise their voices, - In one general intermezzo, - Playing fugues, as if by Bach, - Or by Guido of Arezzo. - - Wild the symphonies they’re singing - Like capriccios of Beethoven, - Or of Berlioz, who’s excell’d - By their strains so interwoven. - - Wonderful their music’s might is! - Magic notes without an equal! - E’en the heavens they shake, the stars - All turn pallid in the sequel. - - When the magic notes she heareth, - And the wondrous tones delightful, - Then Selene hides her face - With a veil of clouds so frightful. - - But the nightingale with envy-- - Scandalous old prima donna-- - Turns her nose up, snuffs, and scorns - Mimi’s voice, to her dishonour. - - Never mind! She’ll go on singing - Spite the envy of Signora, - Till on the horizon’s seen, - Smiling rosily, Aurora. - - - - -15. GOOD ADVICE. - - - Cease thy blushes and thy sorrow, - Boldly woo, and, not aside, - Civil they will be to-morrow, - And thou thus wilt win thy bride. - - ’Tis the fiddle makes the revel,-- - Give, then, the musicians gold; - Though thou wish them at the devil, - Kiss thy aunts-in-law, though old. - - Give a prince his meed of laurel, - Of a woman speak not ill; - With thy sausages don’t quarrel - When thou hast a sow to kill. - - If the church to thee is hateful, - All the more attend its shrine; - To the parson be thou grateful, - Send him, too, a flask of wine. - - If an itching chance to teaze thee, - Like a man of honour, scratch; - If thy shoe be tight and squeeze thee, - Slippers get with all despatch. - - If thy soup has too much seasoning, - Be not in an angry mood; - Smiling say, instead of reasoning: - “Sweet wife, all thou cook’st is good.” - - If thy wife a wish expresses - For a shawl, straight buy her two; - Buy her golden brooches, dresses, - Lace and jewels not a few. - - If thou’lt give this plan a trial, - Then, my friend, thou’lt surely gain - Heaven to bless thy self-denial, - And on earth to peace attain. - - - - -16. REMINISCENCES OF HAMMONIA.[88] - - - Orphan children two and two, - Wandering gladly on we view, - All of them blue coats are wearing, - All of them red cheeks are bearing-- - O the pretty orphan children! - - All are moved when thus they prattle, - And the money boxes rattle; - Liberal alms upon them flow, - That their secret sires bestow,-- - O the pretty orphan children! - - Women of a feeling heart - Many a poor child kiss apart, - Kiss his driv’lling nose (not pleasant), - Give him sweetmeats as a present-- - O the pretty orphan children! - - One, with timid face but willing, - Throws into the box a shilling,-- - For he has a heart,--then gaily - Follows he his business daily-- - O the pretty orphan children! - - One a golden louis-d’or - Next bestows, but not before - Heavenward looking, hoping blindly - That the Lord will view him kindly-- - O the pretty orphan children! - - Porters, coopers, working men, - Servants, make to-day again - Holiday, and drain their glasses, - Drinking to these lads and lasses-- - O the pretty orphan children! - - Tutelar Hammonia - Follows them incognita; - As she moves, her form gigantic - Sways about, in manner frantic-- - O the pretty orphan children! - - In the green field where they went - Music fills the lofty tent, - Cover’d o’er with flag and banner; - There are fed in sumptuous manner - All these pretty orphan children. - - There in lengthy rows they sit, - Eating many a nice tit-bit, - Tarts and cakes and sweet things crunching, - While like little mice they’re munching,-- - All these pretty orphan children. - - Now my thoughts to dwell begin - On an orphan-house wherein - There no feasting is or gladness, - Where lament in ceaseless sadness, - Millions of poor orphan children. - - There no uniforms are seen, - Many want their dinner e’en; - No two walk together yonder, - Lonely, sorrowfully wander - Many million orphan children. - - - - -17. THE ROBBERS. - - - While Laura’s arm, with tender feeling, - Embraced me on the couch, the fox - Her worthy husband from my box - My banknotes quietly was stealing. - - My pockets now have got no cash in! - Was Laura’s kiss a simple lie? - Ah! what is truth? In days gone by - Thus Pilate ask’d, his hands while washing. - - This evil world, decay’d and rotten, - I soon shall ne’er again behold; - I see that he who has no gold - Will very soon be quite forgotten. - - For you, pure souls, whose habitation - In yonder realms of light I see, - My bosom yearns. No wants have ye, - So stealing is not your vocation. - - - - -18. THE YOUNG CATS’ CLUB FOR POETRY-MUSIC - - - The philharmonic young cats’ club - Upon the roof was collected - To-night, but not for sensual joys, - No wrong could there be detected. - - No summer night’s wedding dream there was dreamt, - No song of love did they utter - In the winter season, in frost and snow, - For frozen was every gutter. - - A newborn spirit hath recently - Come over the whole cat-nation, - But chiefly the young, and the young cat feels - More earnest with inspiration. - - The frivolous generation of old - Is extinct, and a newborn yearning, - A pussy-springtime of poetry - In art and in life they’re learning. - - The philharmonic young cats’ club - Is now returning to artless - And primitive music, and naïveté, - From modern fashions all heartless. - - It seeks in music for poetry, - Roulades with the quavers omitted - It seeks for poetry, music-void, - For voice and instrument fitted. - - It seeks for genius’s sovereign sway, - Which often bungles truly, - Yet oft in art unconsciously - Attains the highest stage duly. - - It honours the genius which prefers - Dame Nature to keep at a distance, - And will not show off its learning,--in fact - Its learning not having existence. - - This is the programme of our cat club, - And with these intentions elated, - It holds its first winter concert to-night - On the roof, as before I have stated. - - Yet sad was the execution, alas! - Of this great idea so splendid; - I’m sorry, my dear friend Berlioz, - That by thee it wasn’t attended. - - It was a charivari, as though - With brandy elated greatly, - Three dozen pipers struck up the tune - That the poor cow died of lately. - - It was an utter medley, as though - In Noah’s ark were beginning - The whole of the beasts in unison - The Deluge to tell of in singing, - - O what a croaking, snarling, and noise! - O what a mewing and yelling! - And even the chimneys all join’d in, - The wonderful chorus swelling. - - And loudest of all was heard a voice - Which sounded languid and shrieking - As Sontag’s voice became at the last, - When utterly broken and squeaking. - - The whimsical concert! Methinks that they - A grand Te Deum were chanting, - To honour the triumph o’er reason obtain’d - By commonest frenzy and canting. - - Perchance moreover the young cats’ club - The opera grand were essaying - That the greatest pianist of Hungary[89] - Composed for Charenton’s playing. - - It was not till the break of day - That an end was put to the party; - A cook was in consequence brought to bed - Who before had seem’d well and hearty. - - The lying-in woman lost her wits, - Her memory, too, was affected, - And who was the father of her child - No longer she recollected. - - Say, was it Peter? Say, was it Paul? - Say who is the father, Eliza! - “O Liszt, thou heavenly cat!” she said, - And simper’d and look’d the wiser. - - - - -19. HANS LACK-LAND. - - - Farewell, my wife, said Lack-Land Hans, - A lofty object elates me; - Far different goats I now must shoot, - Far different game awaits me. - - I’ll leave thee behind my hunting horn, - Thou canst in my absence daily,. - Play merrily on it, for thou hast learnt - To blow on the post-horn gaily. - - I’ll also leave thee behind my hound, - To be the castle’s defender; - My German folk, like faithful dogs, - Will guard me and never surrender. - - They offer me the imperial throne, - Their affection is almost provoking - My image is graven on every heart, - And every pipe they are smoking. - - Ye Germans are a wonderful race, - So simple and yet so clever; - One forgets that gunpowder, but for you, - Had been discover’d never. - - Your emperor,--no, your father I’ll be, - Your welfare shall be my sole glory-- - O blissful thought! it makes me as proud - As the Gracchi’s mother in story. - - I’ll govern my people by feeling alone, - And not by the light of mere reason; - I never could bear diplomacy, - And politics hate like treason. - - A huntsman am I, and Nature’s own child, - Who had in the forest my training, - With chamois and snipe and roebuck and boar,-- - A foe to all nonsense and feigning. - - By proclamations I never enticed, - No printed pamphlet invented; - I say: “My people, the salmon’s all gone, - “With cod for to-day be contented. - - “If I don’t please you as Emperor, take - “The first donkey that comes about you; - “I had, when I lived in the Tyrol, no lack, - “I’ve plenty to eat without you.” - - Thus speak I, but now, my wife, farewell, - I must end my long discourses; - My father-in-law’s postilion’s outside, - Awaiting me with the horses. - - Quick, hand me over my travelling cap, - With the ribbon all black-red-golden; - Thou’lt see me soon with the diadem, - In the dress imperial and olden. - - Thou’lt see me in the Pluvial too, - The purple robe so glorious, - The gift of the Saracen Sultan erst - To Otto, the Cæsar victorious. - - Beneath, I shall wear the Dalmatian dress, - Whereon, in each species of jewel, - A train of lions and camels is work’d, - And fabulous monsters and cruel. - - Upon my breast the stole I shall wear, - Significantly blended - With eagles black on a yellow ground,-- - The garment is really splendid. - - Farewell! Posterity shall say - I reign’d with honest intention.-- - Who knows? Posterity perchance - My name will never mention. - - - - -20. RECOLLECTIONS FROM KRÄHWINKEL’S DAYS OF TERROR. - - - We, mayor and senate of the town, - The following orders now lay down - To all who love their city truly, - Enjoining them to keep them duly. - - ’Tis foreigners and strangers most - Who their rebellious spirit boast; - Thank God, such rogues (to put it fairly) - The children of the soil are rarely. - - The Atheists likewise are concern’d; - For he by whom his God is spurn’d - Is sure at last to hold detested - All those on earth with power invested. - - Christian and Jew, at close of day, - Must shut their shops without delay; - “Obey your rulers” should be ever - Both Jew and Christian’s first endeavour. - - No person shall be seen at night - In any street without a light; - Where three or more in groups are standing, - Let them at once begin disbanding. - - Each one must bring his weapons all, - And lay them down in the guildhall; - And every kind of ammunition - Is subject to the same condition. - - He who in any public spot - Ventures to reason, shall be shot; - He who by gestures dares to reason - Shall pay the penalty of treason. - - Confide in the authorities, - So gracious, but withal so wise, - Who rule the fortunes of the city, - And hold your tongues, or more’s the pity. - - - - -21. THE AUDIENCE. - -(An old Fable.) - - - “I’ll let not my children, like Pharaoh, be drown’d - “In the Nile’s deep turbulent water; - “Nor am I a tyrant, like Herod of old, - “No patron of children’s slaughter. - - “I will, as my gracious Saviour did, - “Find the sight of the children pleasant; - “So suffer the children to come, and first - “The big one, the Swabian peasant.” - - Thus spake the monarch; the chamberlain ran, - And return’d, introducing slowly - The stalwart child from Swabia’s land, - Who made a reverence lowly. - - Thus spake the king: “A Swabian art thou? - “There’s no disgrace in that surely.”-- - “Quite right! I was born in Swabia’s land,” - Replied the Swabian demurely. - - “Art thou from the seven Swabians sprung?” - Ask’d the other.--“In truth I’m descended - “From one of them only,” the Swabian replied, - “And not from the whole of them blended.” - - The king then ask’d: “Are dumplings this year - “In Swabia as usual eaten?”-- - “I’m obliged for the question,” the Swabian rejoin’d, - “They are not easily beaten.” - - “And do ye still boast big men?” next said - The monarch.--“Why, just at present - “The big ones are scarce, but in their place - “We’ve fat ones,” answer’d the peasant. - - “Has Menzel,” added the king, “received - “On his ear many boxes lately?” - “I’m obliged for the question,” the Swabian said, - “The former ones punish’d him greatly.” - - The king then said, “Thou’rt not such a fool, - “My friend, as thou fain wouldst persuade me.” - “That’s because I was changed in my cradle,” said he, - “By the cobolds, who different made me.” - - The king then spake: “The Swabians are wont - “To love their fatherland dearly; - “So why hast thou left thy native home? - “Explain the reason clearly.” - - The Swabian replied: “Each day I had nought - “But turnips and sour-crout ever; - “And had my mother but cook’d me meat, - “I had left my fatherland never.” - - “One wish I will grant thee,” the monarch then said-- - Then the Swabian in deep supplication - Knelt down and exclaim’d: “O, Sire, pray grant - “Their freedom once more to the nation. - - “Freeborn is man, and Nature ne’er meant - “That he as a slave should perish; - “O, Sire, restore to the German folk - “The rights that they manfully cherish!” - - The monarch in deep amazement stood, - The scene was really enthralling; - With his sleeve the Swabian wiped from his eye - The tear that was wellnigh falling. - - At last said the king: “In truth a fine dream! - “Farewell, and pray learn more discretion; - “And as a somnambulist plainly thou art, - “Of thy person I’ll give the possession - - “To two trusty gendarmes, whose duty ’twill be - “To see thee safe over the border-- - “Farewell! I must hasten to join the parade, - “The drums are beating to order.” - - And so this affecting audience came - To a most affecting conclusion. - But from that moment the monarch allow’d - No more of his children’s intrusion.[90] - - - - -22. KOBES I. - - - In eighteen hundred and forty-eight, - When passions men’s minds were heating, - The German nation’s parliament - At Frankfort held its meeting. - - Just at this time, in the Senate-house - Appear’d the white lady ghostly, - The spectre that heralds the coming of woe,-- - They call her the Housekeeper mostly. - - By night they say in the Senate-house - She is wont to make her appearance, - Whenever the Germans their foolish tricks play - With extra perseverance. - - I saw her myself at the selfsame time - As she roam’d in the hours of slumber - Through the silent chambers, wherein were piled - The middle ages’ old lumber. - - She held the lamp and a bunch of keys - In her hands so pale and sickly; - She open’d the presses against the walls, - And the chests strew’d around her thickly. - - There lie the imperial insignia all, - There lies the bull all-golden, - The sceptre, the regal apple, the crown, - And more of such fancies olden. - - There lie the ancient imperial robes, - The purple frippery faded, - The German kingdom’s wardrobe in fact, - Now rusted and rot-pervaded. - - The Housekeeper mournfully shakes her head - At the sight, then with deep displeasure - She suddenly cries at the top of her voice: - “The whole of them stink beyond measure! - - “The whole of them stink with mice’s dung - “And rotten and mouldy’s the ermine; - “And all the gaudy trumpery work - “Is swarming with noxious vermin. - - “In truth, on this splendid ermine dress, - “Once used at the coronation, - “The cats of the Senate-house district are wont - “To lie, as their lying-in station. - - “’Tis useless to clean them; I pity the fate - “Of the Emperor next elected; - “By the fleas in his coronation robe - “His health will be surely affected. - - “And know ye, that all the people must scratch, - “Whenever the Emperor itches-- - “O Germans, I dread the princely fleas - “Who swallow up much of your riches. - - “Yet what is the use of monarch and fleas? - “For rusty are now and all rotten - “The olden costumes--By modern days - “Are the ancient dresses forgotten. - - “The German poet at Kyffhauser said - “To Barbarossa quite truly: - “‘I find that we want no Emperor now, - “When I weigh the matter duly.’ - - “But if, spite of all, ye an empire must have, - “With an Emperor reigning o’er ye, - “My worthy Germans, don’t suffer yourselves - “To be snared by genius or glory. - - “Choose one of the people your monarch to be, - “All sons of the nobles reject ye; - “Select not the lion, select not the fox, - “The dullest of sheep elect ye. - - “Elect as your Monarch Colonia’s son, - “The crown to dull Kobes awarding; - “The genius of Dulness well-nigh is he, - “His people he’ll ne’er be defrauding. - - “A log is ever the best of kings, - “As Esop has shown in the fable; - “He cannot devour us poor frogs up, - “As the stork with his long bill is able. - - “Be sure that Kobes no tyrant will be, - “No Holofernes or Nero; - “He boasts no terrible antique heart, - “A soft modern heart has our hero. - - “Though vulgar pride might scorn such a heart - “Yet in the arms of the helot - “Of work the unfortunate threw himself, - “Becoming a regular zealot. - - “The men of the journeymen’s _Burschenschaft_ - “As president Kobes elected; - “He shared with them their last piece of bread, - “They held him vastly respected. - - “They boasted that he in all his life - “Had never been at college, - “And out of his head composed his books - “By the light of intuitive knowledge. - - “Yes, his consummate ignorance - “Was the fruit of his own endeavour; - “With foreign wisdom and training he - “Had injured his intellect never. - - “From abstract philosophy’s influence he - “Kept likewise his thoughts and his spirit - “Entirely free.--Himself he remain’d! - “Yes, Kobes has really his merit! - - “The tear of the usual stereotype form - “In his beautiful eye is gleaming, - “And from his lips incessantly - “The grossest stupidity’s streaming. - - “He prates and he grins, and he grins and prates, - “His words with long ears are provided; - “A pregnant woman who heard him speak - “Gave birth to a donkey decided. - - “With scribbling books and knitting he’s wont - “His idle hours to flavour; - “The stockings that he with his own hands knit - “Have met with particular favour. - - “To devote himself wholly to knitting he’s begg’d - “By Apollo and all the Muses; - “They’re frighten’d whenever they see that his hand - “A goose-quill laboriously uses. - - “His knitting recals the olden time - “Of the Funken,[91]--who all stood knitting - “While mounting guard,--these men of Cologne - “No means of amusement omitting. - - “If Kobes is Emp’ror, he’ll surely recal - “To life these Funken deserving; - “The valiant band will surround his throne, - “As the guard imperial serving. - - “He well might be glad to go at their head, - “And march over France’s borders, - “And Alsace, Lorraine, and Burgundy fair - “Bring under Germany’s orders. - - “Yet be not afraid, at home he’ll remain, - “Intent on a scheme long suspended, - “A lofty idea, the completion, in fact, - “Of Cologne Cathedral so splendid. - - “But when the Cathedral’s quite complete, - “Then Kobes will get in a passion, - “And sword in hand, will bring the French - “To account in a regular fashion. - - “He’ll take Alsace and Lorraine away - “(By France from the empire estreated); - “To Burgundy, too, he’ll triumphantly go, - “When once the Cathedral’s completed. - - “Ye Germans, pray lose not your senses quite, - “If an Emperor’s needed, I’ll name him; - “The Carnival King of Cologne let it be, - “As Kobes the First now proclaim him! - - “The fools of the Carnival rout at Cologne, - “With caps and bells ringing and mocking, - “Shall be his ministers of state, - “His scutcheon a knitted stocking. - - “Let Drickes be Chancellor, calling himself - “Count Drickes of Drickeshausen, - “And Marizebill the Mistress of State, - “With the Emperor fondly carousing.[92] - - “Within his good sacred town of Cologne - “Will be Kobes’s habitation; - “And when the Cologners hear the glad news, - “They’ll have an illumination. - - “The bells, the iron dogs of the air, - “Into joyous barks will be breaking, - “And the three holy kings from the land of the East - “In their chapel will soon be awaking. - - “They’ll step outside with their clattering bones, - “All dancing with rapture and springing; - “I hear them the Hallelujah’s strains - “And Kyrie Eleison singing.”-- - - Thus spoke the dread white nightly ghost - With loud uproarious laughter; - Through all the resounding halls of the place - The echo rang wildly long after. - - - - -13. EPILOGUE. - - - Graves they say are warm’d by glory; - Foolish words and empty story! - Better far the warmth we prove - From a cow-girl deep in love, - With her arms around us flung, - Reeking with the smell of dung. - And that warmth is better too - That man’s entrails pierces through - When he drinks hot punch and wine, - Or his fill of grog divine, - In the vilest, meanest den - ’Mongst the thieves and scum of men, - Who escape the gallows daily, - But who breathe and live all-gaily, - With as enviable fate - As e’en Thetis’ son so great.-- - Rightly did Pelides say: - Living in the meanest way - In the upper world’s worth more, - Than beside the Stygian shore - King of shades to be; a hero - Such as Homer sang is zero. - - - - -_ADDENDA TO THE POEMS._[93] - - - - -THE SONG OF SONGS. - - - Fair woman’s body is a song - Inscribed by our great Maker - In Nature’s mighty album erst, - When moved to life to wake her. - - Ah yes! propitious was the hour - When thus he show’d compassion! - The coy rebellious stuff he work’d - In true artistic fashion. - - Yes, woman’s body is, ’mongst songs, - The song most sweet and tender, - And wondrous strophes are her limbs, - So snowy-white and slender. - - And then her neck, her glistening neck,-- - O what a godlike notion!-- - Where the main thought, her little head, - Rocks with a graceful motion. - - Like polish’d epigrams one loves - Her bosom’s rosebuds dearly; - Enchanting the cæsura is - That parts her breasts severely. - - The song has flesh, ribs, hands, and feet, - No abstract poem this is! - With lips that rhyme deliciously - It smiles and sweetly kisses. - - True poetry is breathing here, - Grace shines in each direction; - The song upon its forehead bears - The stamp of all perfection. - - I’ll praise thee, Lord, and in the dust - Will humbly kneel to show it; - Bunglers are we, compared with thee, - Thou glorious heavenly Poet. - - Before the splendour of thy song - I’ll bow in adoration, - And to its study day and night - Pay closest application. - - Yes, day and night I’ll study it, - No loss of time admitting; - So shall I soon with overwork - Be thinner than befitting. - - - - -THE SUTTLER’S SONG. - -(From the Thirty Years’ War.) - - - The brave hussars I dearly love, - I love each gallant fellow; - Without distinction I love them all, - The blue as well as the yellow. - - The musketeers I dearly love, - I love the musketeers, too; - The officers, privates, and recruits, - And those of older years too. - - The infantry and cavalry-- - I love the brave fellows sincerely; - And then the artillery,--one and all, - I love them truly and dearly. - - I love the Germans, I love the French, - I love the Italians and Dutchmen; - I love the Bohemians, Spaniards, and Swedes, - I love both many and much men. - - Whatever may be his native land, - Whatever his faith or persuasion, - Provided a man is sound in health, - I love him on ev’ry occasion. - - Religion and country are nothing more - Than his outside clothing,--God bless him. - Away with his cov’ring, that I to my heart - May fondly and warmly press him! - - A mortal am I, and only too glad - With any mortal to dally; - And as for the man who can’t pay on the spot, - For him I keep a tally. - - The garland green in front of my tent - In the light of the sun smiles gaily, - And I am now drinking malmsey wine - From a fresh-open’d barrel daily. - - - - -POSTHUMOUS POEMS. - - - - -HORSE AND ASS. - - - A train was rushing along one day, - With carriages, engine, and tender; - The chimney vomited forth its smoke, - Like a dashing old offender. - - The train pass’d a farmyard, and over the hedge - A grey horse, at the sound of the whistle, - Stretch’d out his head; an ass stood by, - Demurely chewing a thistle. - - With wondering gaze the horse long stared - At the train; then strangely quivering - In every limb, he sigh’d, and said: - “The sight has set me a-shivering! - - “I’m sure that if I by nature had been - “A chesnut, or black, or bay horse, - “My skin with the fright its colour would change, - “And make me (as now) a grey horse. - - “The equestrian race is doom’d, beyond doubt, - “To be swept away in fate’s eddy; - “Although I’m a grey horse, I cannot but see - “A black future before me already. - - “The competition of these machines - “Will certainly kill us poor horses; - “For riding and driving will man prefer - “Iron steeds, if so great their force is. - - “And if man can get on without our help, - “Alike for riding and driving, - “Good-bye to our oats, good-bye to our hay - “What chance have we of surviving? - - “The heart of man is hard as a stone, - “He gives away nothing gratis; - “They’ll drive us out of our stables, and we - “Shall starve--what a cruel fate ’tis! - - “We cannot borrow and cannot steal - “Like mortals whose natures are blacker; - “We cannot fawn like men and dogs, - “But shall fall a prey to the knacker.” - - Thus grumbled the horse, and deeply sigh’d,-- - Meanwhile the ass hard by him - Had quietly chew’d two thistle-tops, - As if nothing could terrify him. - - He presently answer’d in dainty tones, - With his tongue first licking his muzzle: - “With what the future may have in store, - “My brains I shall not puzzle. - - “You horses proud are threaten’d, no doubt, - “By a future that’s far from pleasant; - “But we modest asses are not afraid - “Of dangers future or present. - - “That grey horses, and chesnut, and piebald, and black, - “May be done without, true, alas! is; - “But Mister Steam, with his chimney long, - “Can never replace us asses. - - “However clever may be the machines - “Made by man with his senses besotted, - “The ass as his portion will always have - “Sure means of existence allotted. - - “Its asses will Heaven, I’m sure, ne’er desert, - “Who, moved by a calm sense of duty, - “Turn the mill every day, as their fathers have done,-- - “A sight not deficient in beauty. - - “The mill-wheel clatters, the miller works hard, - “The meal in the sack well shaking, - “And people eat their bread and their rolls, - “As soon as they’ve finished the baking. - - “In Nature’s old-fashion’d and jogtrot way - “The world will keep spinning for ever; - “And as changeless even as Nature herself, - “The ass will alter never.” - - * * * * * - - MORAL. - - Gone are the days of chivalry, - And the proud steed must hungry be; - But L----, the ass, I boldly say, - Will never want his oats and hay. - - - - -THE ASS-ELECTION. - - - Being tired of freedom for some time past - The beasts’ republic decided - To be with a single ruler at last - As its absolute head provided. - - Each kind of beast prepared for the strife, - Electoral billets were written; - Intrigues on every side were rife, - With party zeal all were bitten. - - By long-ear’d gentry at its head - The asses’ committee was aided; - Cockades, whose colours were black, gold, and red,[94] - They boastfully paraded. - - A small party there was of friends of the horse, - Who yet were afraid of voting, - So greatly they dreaded the outcry coarse - The long-ear’d party denoting. - - But when one of them ventured the horse to name - As a candidate, greater and greater - Wax’d the noise, and an old long-ear, to his shame, - Shouted out “Thou art only a traitor. - - “A traitor art thou, in thy veins doth not flow - “One drop of asses’ blood proper; - “No ass art thou, and I almost know - “That a foreign mare was thy dropper! - - “From the zebra perchance thou art sprung; thy striped hide - “Quite answers the zebra’s description; - “The nasal twang of thy voice is allied - “To the Hebrew as well as Egyptian. - - “And if not a stranger, thou art, thou must own, - “A dull ass, of an intellect paltry; - “The depths of ass-nature to thee are unknown - “Thou hear’st not its mystical psalt’ry. - - “But with sweet stupefaction my soul drinks in - “That sound which all others surpasses; - “An ass am I, and each hair in the skin - “Of my tail the hair of an ass is. - - “I am not a Papist, I am not a slave, - “A German ass am I solely; - “The same as my fathers, who all were so brave, - “So thoughtful, demure, and so holy. - - “They were not addicted to doing ill, - “Or practising gallantry gaily; - “But trotted off with the sack to the mill - “In frolicsome fashion daily. - - “Our fathers still live. In the tomb only lie - “Their skins, their mortal covering; - “Their happy spirits, high up in the sky, - “Complacently o’er us are hovering. - - “Ye glorified asses, ye need not doubt - “That we fain would resemble you ever, - “And from the path that duty points out - “We’ll swerve a finger’s breadth never. - - “O what a delight an ass to be, - “From such long-ear’d worthies descended! - “From every house-top I’d fain shout with glee: - “‘An ass I was born--how splendid!’ - - “The noble jackass who gave me birth - “Was of genuine German extraction; - “From my mother, a German ass of worth, - “My milk suck’d I with great satisfaction. - - “An ass am I, and fully intend, - “Like my fathers who now are departed, - “To stand by the asses, yes, stand to the end - “By the asses so dear and true-hearted. - - “And since I’m an ass, I advise you all round - “To choose your king from the asses; - “A mighty ass-kingdom we thus will found, - “They being the governing classes. - - “We all are asses. Hee-ha! Hee-ha! - “As ostlers we will not demean us; - “Away with the horses! Long live, hurrah, - “The king of the asinine genus!” - - Thus spake the patriot. Through the hall - The asses cheer’d him proudly; - They all, in fact, were national, - And with their hoofs stamp’d loudly. - - An oaken wreath on the orator’s head - They put as a decoration; - He wagg’d his tail (though nothing he said) - With evident gratification. - - - - -BERTHA. - - - She seem’d so gentle, she seem’d so good, - An angel I thought my lover; - She wrote the dearest letters to me, - With kindness teeming all over. - - The wedding was very soon to take place, - Her relations heard this by dozens; - My Bertha was a silly thing, - For she listen’d to aunts and cousins. - - She kept not her word, she broke her oath, - And yet I have been forgiving; - Had I married her first, I ne’er should have known - Either pleasure or love while living. - - When I of a faithless woman think, - I think of Bertha the faithless; - The only wish I have left, is that she - May pass through her confinement scatheless. - - - - -IN THE CATHEDRAL. - - - Before me the sexton’s daughter fair - Through the sacred edifice skippèd; - Her size was small, and light her hair, - From her neck her kerchief had slippèd. - - In the old cathedral for sixpence I got - A sight of its marvellous creatures, - Its tombs, lights, crosses; I turn’d quite hot - When I gazed on Elspeth’s features. - - And once again I stared about - At the sacred relics entrancing; - In their under-petticoats all trick’d out, - On the window the women were dancing. - - The sexton’s little daughter fair - Stood by me, while thus I inspected. - She had a very pretty pair - Of eyes, wherein all was reflected. - - Before me the sexton’s daughter fair - From the sacred edifice skippèd; - Her mouth was small, her neck was bare, - From her bosom her kerchief had slippèd. - - - - -THE DRAGONFLY. - - - The dragonfly blue’s all the fashion - In beetle-land, in the present day; - The butterflies their addresses pay - To the beauty with amorous passion. - - Her hips are excessively slender, - She wears a gauze dress of delicate hue, - With very symmetrical movements too - She flutters about in splendour. - - Her colour’d admirers hover - In her train, and many a young gallant - Thus swears: “I’ll Holland give, and Brabant - “If thou wilt be my lover.” - - She answers (but how insincerely!): - “Brabant and Holland are nothing to me, - “I want but a spark of light, to see - “In my little chamber clearly.” - - When she imposes this duty, - Her lovers hasten to join in the race, - And eagerly seek, from place to place, - A spark of light for the beauty. - - As soon as one sees a taper, - He blindly rushes on to his doom, - And the cruel flames the victim consume, - And his loving heart, like paper. - - * * * * * - - It comes from Japan, this fable, - Yet even in Germany, my dear child, - Are plenty of dragonflies, devilish wild, - Perfidious, and unstable. - - - - -OLD SCENTS. - - - The nosegay Matilda twined for me, - And smilingly offer’d entreatingly, - I push’d away, o’erpower’d completely - By the sight of the flowers that blossom’d so sweetly. - - At the scent of the flowers, my tears fast flow,-- - I feel that in all this fair world below, - Its beauty, sunlight, joy, love are bereft me, - And nought but its bitter tears are left me. - - They tell me that I no longer share - A part in life and its circle fair, - That I belong to death’s kingdom dreary, - Yes, I, a corpse unburied and weary. - - How happy was I when erst I saw - The dance of rats at the Opera! - But now I hear the odious scuffling - Of churchyard rats and grave-moles shuffling. - - The scent of the flowers recalls again - A perfect ballet, a joyous train - Of recollections perfumed and glowing, - From the hidden depths of the past o’erflowing, - - To sound of cornet and castanet, - In spangled dresses (full short, I regret),-- - Yet all their toying, each laugh, each titter, - Can only render my thoughts more bitter. - - Away with the flowers! O, how I abhor - The scent that maliciously tells once more - Of days long vanish’d and hours of gladness-- - I weep at the thought with speechless sadness. - - - - -MISERERE. - - - The sons of Fortune I envy not - For their lives, in pleasure vying, - I envy them only their happy death, - Their easy and painless dying. - - In gala dresses, with garlanded heads, - Their lips in laughter extended, - They joyously sit at the banquet of life,-- - The sickle falls,--all is ended! - - In festal attire, with roses adorn’d, - Still blooming with life, these glad mortals, - These fav’rites of fortune reach at last - The shadowy realm’s dark portals. - - They ne’er were disfigured by fever’s attack, - They die with a joyous demeanour, - And gladly are welcomed at her sad court - By Proserpine, hell’s Czarina. - - O how I envy a fate like theirs! - Seven years I daily languish - For death, as on the ground I writhe - In bitter and speechless anguish. - - O God! my agony shorten, that I - May be buried,--my sole ambition. - Thou knowest that I no talent possess - For filling a martyr’s position. - - I feel astonished, gracious Lord, - At a course so unconsequential; - Thou madest a joyous poet, without - That joy that is so essential. - - My torments blunt each feeling of mirth, - And melancholy make me; - Unless I get better ere long, to the faith - Of a Catholic I must betake me. - - Like other good Christians, I then shall howl - In thine ears my wailings dreary-- - The best of humorists then will be lost - For ever--O Miserere. - - - - -TO MATILDA. - - - I was, dear lamb, ordain’d to be - A shepherd here, to watch o’er thee; - I nourish’d thee with mine own bread, - With water from the fountain head. - - And when the winter storm roar’d loudly, - Against my breast I warm’d thee proudly; - There held I thee encircled well - Whilst rain in torrents round us fell; - When, through its rocky dark bed pouring - The torrent, with the wolf, was roaring, - Thou feared’st not, no muscle quiver’d, - E’en when the highest pine was shiver’d - By the fork’d flash--within mine arm - Thou slept’st in peace without alarm. - - My arm grows weak, and fast draws near - Pale death! My shepherd’s task so dear, - And pastoral care approach their end. - Into Thy hands, God, I commend - My staff once more. O do Thou guard - My lamb, when I beneath the sward - Am laid in peace, and suffer ne’er - A thorn to prick her anywhere. - - From thorny hedges guard her fleece, - May quagmires ne’er disturb her peace, - May there spring up beneath her feet - An ample crop of pasture sweet, - And let her sleep without alarm, - As erst she slept within mine arm! - - - - -FOR THE “MOUCHE.”[95] - - - I had a dream. It was a summer’s night, - And in the moonlight, pale and weatherbeaten, - Lay buildings, relics of past ages bright,-- - The style, renaissant, of these wrecks time-eaten. - - And here and there, with stately Doric head, - Rose single columns from the mass there lying, - And on the firmament high o’er them spread - Gazed they, as if its thunderbolts defying. - - In broken fragments lay there on the ground, - Mingled with many a portal, many a gable, - Sculptures where man, beast, centaur, sphinx were found, - Chimera, satyr,--creatures of old fable. - - The contrasts there presented were grotesque, - The emblems of Judæa’s God combining - With Grecian grace, in fashion arabesque - The ivy round them both, its tendrils twining. - - A fair sarcophagus of marble white - Amid the ruins stood, unmutilated; - And in the coffin lay a corpse in sight, - Of features mild, with sadness penetrated. - - The power supporting it appear’d supplied - By Caryatides, with necks extended; - And many a bas-relief on either side - Was seen, of chisell’d figures strangely blended. - - The glories of Olympus there saw I, - With all its heathen deities misguided; - Adam and Eve were there, decorously - With figleaf aprons round their loins provided. - - Troy’s taking and Troy’s burning here were seen, - Hector and Helen, Paris (that wild gay man); - Moses and Aaron also stood between, - With Esther, Judith, Holofernes, Haman. - - God Amor also had his place hard by, - Phœbus, Apollo, Vulcan, Madam Venus, - Pluto, Proserpina, and Mercury, - God Bacchus, and Priapus, and Silenus. - - Likewise was Balaam’s ass omitted not,-- - (The ass for speaking seem’d, in fact, created), - And Abraham’s temptation too, and Lot, - Who by his daughters was intoxicated. - - Herodias’ daughter’s dance was shown as well, - The Baptist’s head was in the charger given; - The monster Satan too was there, and hell, - And Peter, with the heavy keys of heaven. - - And next in order saw I sculptured there - The loves of Jove, with his vile actions blending; - How as a swan he ravish’d Leda fair, - And Danaë, in golden shower descending. - - The wild hunt of Diana was display’d, - With her fleet dogs, and nymphs attired so trimly; - And Hercules, in woman’s clothes array’d, - Distaff on arm, the spindle whirling nimbly. - - And next was Sinai’s mountain to be view’d, - And Israel near it, with his oxen lowing; - The Lord a child within the temple stood, - Disputing with the doctors proud and knowing. - - But, strange to tell, when I had dreamily - These forms a while observed, in thought suspended, - I suddenly conceived myself to be - The corpse, in that fair marble tomb extended. - - And at the head of this my grave there stood - A flower full fair, of strange configuration; - Its leaves were yellow-tinged and violet-hued, - The flower possess’d a wondrous fascination. - - ’Tis by the name of passion-flower well known, - On Golgotha, they say, ’twas first created - The day they crucified God’s only Son, - And the Redeemer’s body lacerated. - - Bloodwitness doth this flower now bear, they say; - Each instrument of torture then invented - And used at His sad martyrdom that day, - Is in its calyx duly represented. - - Yes! every passion-attribute adorns - The flower, each emblem of their cruel malice,-- - For instance, scourge and rope and crown of thorns, - The hammer and the nails, the cross, the chalice. - - Such was the flower which at my grave did stand, - And o’er my body bending with compassion, - As with a woman’s sorrow, kiss’d my hand, - My eyes, and forehead, in sad silent fashion. - - But O, my dream’s strange magic! Wondrously - The passion-flower, the yellow-hued and rare one, - Changed to a woman’s likeness,--ah! and she, - She was my loved one, she was mine own fair one! - - Thou wert the flower, yes, thou, my darling child! - At once I knew thee by thy kisses yearning; - No lips of flowers so tender are and mild, - No tears of flowers so fiery are and burning. - - Although mine eyes were closed, my spirit gazed - With steadiness upon thy face entrancing; - Thou look’dst at me with raptured look amazed, - Strangely illumined in the moonlight glancing. - - No words we spake, and yet my heart could see - The thoughts that in thy mind in silence hover’d; - A word when spoken has no modesty, - By silence is love’s modest blossoms cover’d. - - Voiceless our converse! Wondrous doth it seem - How in our silent, tender conversation - The time pass’d in that summer night’s fair dream, - When joy commingled was with consternation. - - That which we spoke of then, ne’er seek to learn, - The glow-worm ask, why in the grass it gloweth, - The torrent, why it roareth in the burn, - The west wind, why it waileth as it bloweth. - - Ask the carbuncle why it gleams so bright, - The rose and violet, why so sweetly scented; - But ask not what, beneath the moon’s soft light, - The martyr-flower talk’d with her love lamented! - - I cannot tell how long it was that I - Enjoy’d, as in the marble tomb I slumber’d, - That beauteous, happy dream. It fleeted by, - Too soon the moments of my rest were number’d. - - Death with thy gravelike silence! Thou alone - Canst give us pleasure in a lasting fashion; - Vain barbarous life, for joy is ever known - To give us restless bliss, convulsive passion. - - Alas, alas! my happiness soon fled, - For suddenly arose a noise exciting, - It was a savage conflict, fierce and dread-- - Ah, my poor flower was scared by all this fighting! - - Yes! there arose outside, with hideous yell, - A quarrelling, a yelping, and a scolding; - Methought that many a voice I knew full well,-- - It was the bas-reliefs my tomb enfolding! - - Is the stone haunted by those visions wan? - And are those marble phantoms all disputing? - The fearful clamour of the wood-god Pan, - Moses’s fierce anathemas confuting. - - Alas! this contest ne’er will ended be, - The True and Beautiful will wrangle ever! - Greeks and Barbarians in wild rivalry - The ranks of man are always doom’d to sever. - - They cursed and raved. No end would there have been - To this long squabble, and their passion towering, - Had Balaam’s ass not come upon the scene, - The voices of the gods and saints o’erpowering. - - The stupid beast, with his disgusting brag, - That sobbing sound of sheer abomination, - Made me cry out in terrible dismay, - And I awoke at last in desperation. - - -THE END. - - -LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED; - -DUKE STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E., AND GREAT WINDMILL STREET, W. - - * * * * * - -AN ALPHABETICAL LIST OF BOOKS CONTAINED IN BOHN’S LIBRARIES. - -_Detailed Catalogue, arranged according to the various Libraries, will -be sent on application._ - - -=ADDISON’S Works.= With the Notes of Bishop Hurd, Portrait, and 8 Plates -of Medals and Coins. Edited by H. G. Bohn. 6 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=ÆSCHYLUS, The Dramas of.= Translated into English Verse by Anna Swanwick. -4th Edition, revised. 5_s._ - -=---- The Tragedies of.= Translated into Prose by T. A. Buckley, B.A. -3_s._ 6_d._ - -=ALLEN’S (Joseph, R. N.) Battles of the British Navy.= Revised Edition, -with 57 Steel Engravings. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=AMMIANUS MARCELLINUS. History of Rome= during the Reigns of Constantius, -Julian, Jovianus, Valentinian, and Valens. Translated by Prof. C. D. -Yonge, M.A. 7_s._ 6_d._ - -=ANDERSEN’S Danish Legends and Fairy Tales.= Translated by Caroline -Peachey. With 120 Wood Engravings. 5_s._ - -=ANTONINUS (M. Aurelius), The Thoughts of.= Trans. literally, with Notes -and Introduction by George Long, M.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=APOLLONIUS RHODIUS. ‘The Argonautica.’= Translated by E. P. Coleridge, -B.A. 5_s._ - -=APPIAN’S Roman History.= Translated by Horace White, M.A., LL.D. With -Maps and Illustrations. 2 vols. 6_s._ each. - -=APULEIUS, The Works of= Comprising the Golden Ass, God of Socrates, -Florida, and Discourse of Magic. 5_s._ - -=ARIOSTO’S Orlando Furioso.= Translated into English Verse by W. S. Rose. -With Portrait, and 21 Steel Engravings. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=ARISTOPHANES’ Comedies.= Translated by W. J. Hickie. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=ARISTOTLE’S Nicomachean Ethics.= Translated, with Introduction and Notes, -by the Venerable Archdeacon Browne. 5_s._ - -=---- Politics and Economics.= Translated by E. Walford, M.A., with -Introduction by Dr. Gillies. 5_s._ - -=ARISTOTLE’S Metaphysics.= Translated by the Rev. John H. M’Mahon, M.A. -5_s._ - -=---- History of Animals.= Trans. by Richard Cresswell, M.A. 5_s._ - -=---- Organon=; or, Logical Treatises, and the Introduction of Porphyry. -Translated by the Rev. O. F. Owen, M.A. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- Rhetoric and Poetics.= Trans. by T. Buckley, B.A. 5_s._ - -=ARRIAN’S Anabasis of Alexander=, together with the Indica. Translated by -E. J. Chinnock, M.A., LL.D. With Maps and Plans. 5_s._ - -=ATHENÆUS. The Deipnosophists=; or, the Banquet of the Learned. Trans. by -Prof. C. D. Yonge, M.A. 3 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=BACON’S Moral and Historical Works=, including the Essays, Apophthegms, -Wisdom of the Ancients, New Atlantis, Henry VII., Henry VIII., -Elizabeth, Henry Prince of Wales, History of Great Britain, Julius -Cæsar, and Augustus Cæsar. Edited by J. Devey, M.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Novum Organum and Advancement of Learning.= Edited by J. Devey, M.A. -5_s._ - -=BASS’S Lexicon to the Greek Testament.= 2_s._ - -=BAX’S Manual of the History of Philosophy=, for the use of Students. By -E. Belfort Bax. 5_s._ - -=BEAUMONT and FLETCHER=, their finest Scenes, Lyrics, and other Beauties, -selected from the whole of their works, and edited by Leigh Hunt. 3_s._ -6_d._ - -=BECHSTEIN’S Cage and Chamber Birds=, their Natural History, Habits, Food, -Diseases, and Modes of Capture. Translated, with considerable additions -on Structure, Migration, and Economy, by H. G. Adams. Together with -SWEET BRITISH WARBLERS. With 43 coloured Plates and Woodcut -Illustrations. 5_s._ - -=BEDE’S (Venerable) Ecclesiastical History of England.= Together with the -ANGLO-SAXON CHRONICLE. Edited by J. A. Giles, D.C.L. With Map. 5_s._ - -=BELL (Sir Charles). The Anatomy and Philosophy of Expression, as -connected with the Fine Arts.= By Sir Charles Bell, K.H. 7th edition, -revised. 5_s._ - -=BERKELEY (George), Bishop of Cloyne, The Works of.= Edited by George -Sampson. With Biographical Introduction by the Right Hon. A. J. Balfour, -M.P. 3 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=BION.= _See_ THEOCRITUS. - -=BJÖRNSON’S Arne and the Fisher Lassie.= Translated by W. H. Low, M.A. -3_s._ 6_d._ - -=BLAIR’S Chronological Tables.= Revised and Enlarged. Comprehending the -Chronology and History of the World, from the Earliest Times to the -Russian Treaty of Peace, April 1856. By J. Willoughby Rosse. Double vol. -10_s._ - -=---- Index of Dates.= Comprehending the principal Facts in the Chronology -and History of the World, alphabetically arranged; being a complete -Index to Blair’s Chronological Tables. By J. W. Rosse. 2 vols. 5_s._ -each. - -=BLEEK, Introduction to the Old Testament.= By Friedrich Bleek. Edited by -Johann Bleek and Adolf Kamphausen. Translated by G. H. Venables, under -the supervision of the Rev. Canon Venables. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=BOETHIUS’S Consolation of Philosophy=. King Alfred’s Anglo-Saxon Version -of. With a literal English Translation on opposite pages, Notes, -Introduction, and Glossary, by Rev. S. Fox, M.A. 5_s._ - -=BOHN’S Dictionary of Poetical Quotations.= 4th edition. 6_s._ - -=BOHN’S Handbooks of Games.= New edition. In 2 vols., with numerous -Illustrations 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - - Vol. I.--TABLE GAMES:--Billiards, Chess, Draughts, Backgammon, - Dominoes, Solitaire, Reversi, Go-Bang, Rouge et Noir, Roulette, - E.O., Hazard, Faro. - - Vol. II.--CARD GAMES:--Whist, Solo Whist, Poker, Piquet, Ecarté, - Euchre, Bézique, Cribbage, Loo, Vingt-et-un, Napoleon, Newmarket, - Pope Joan, Speculation, &c., &c. - -=BOND’S A Handy Book of Rules and Tables= for verifying Dates with the -Christian Era, &c. Giving an account of the Chief Eras and Systems used -by various Nations; with the easy Methods for determining the -Corresponding Dates. By J. J. Bond. 5_s._ - -=BONOMI’S Nineveh and its Palaces.= 7 Plates and 294 Woodcut -Illustrations. 5_s._ - -=BOSWELL’S Life of Johnson=, with the TOUR IN THE HEBRIDES and -JOHNSONIANA. Edited by the Rev. A. Napier, M.A. With Frontispiece to -each vol. 6 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=BRAND’S Popular Antiquities of England, Scotland, and Ireland.= Arranged, -revised, and greatly enlarged, by Sir Henry Ellis, K.H., F.R.S., &c., -&c. 3 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=BREMER’S (Frederika) Works.= Translated by Mary Howitt. 4 vols. 3_s._ -6_d._ each. - -=BRIDGWATER TREATISES.= - - =Bell (Sir Charles) on the Hand.= With numerous Woodcuts. 5_s._ - - =Kirby on the History, Habits, and Instincts of Animals.= Edited by - T. Rymer Jones. With upwards of 100 Woodcuts. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - - =Kidd on the Adaptation of External Nature to the Physical Condition - of Man.= 3_s._ 6_d._ - - =Chalmers on the Adaptation of External Nature to the Moral and - Intellectual Constitution of Man.= 5_s._ - -=BRINK (B. ten) Early English Literature.= By Bernhard ten Brink. Vol. I. -To Wyclif. Translated by Horace M. Kennedy 3_s._ 6_d._ - - Vol. II. Wyclif, Chaucer, Earliest Drama Renaissance. Translated by - W. Clarke Robinson, Ph.D. 3_s._ 6_d._ - - Vol. III. From the Fourteenth Century to the Death of Surrey. - Edited by Dr. Alois Brandl. Trans. by L. Dora Schmitz. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=----Five Lectures on Shakespeare.= Trans. by Julia Franklin. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=BROWNE’S (Sir Thomas) Works.= Edited by Simon Wilkin. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ -each. - -=BURKE’S Works. 8 vols.= 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - - I.--Vindication of Natural Society--Essay on the Sublime and - Beautiful, and various Political Miscellanies. - - II.--Reflections on the French Revolution--Letters relating to the - Bristol Election--Speech on Fox’s East India Bill, &c. - - III.--Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs--On the Nabob of Arcot’s - Debts--The Catholic Claims, &c. - - IV.--Report on the Affairs of India, and Articles of Charge against - Warren Hastings. - - V.--Conclusion of the Articles of Charge against Warren - Hastings--Political Letters on the American War, on a Regicide - Peace, to the Empress of Russia. - - VI.--Miscellaneous Speeches--Letters and Fragments--Abridgments of - English History, &c. With a General Index. - - VII. & VIII.--Speeches on the Impeachment of Warren Hastings; and - Letters. With Index. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- Life.= By Sir J. Prior. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=BURNEY’S Evelina. By Frances Burney= (Mme. D’Arblay). With an -Introduction and Notes by A. R. Ellis. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Cecilia.= With an Introduction and Notes by A. R. Ellis. 2 vols. -3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=BURN (R.) Ancient Rome and its Neighbourhood.= An Illustrated Handbook to -the Ruins in the City and the Campagna, for the use of Travellers. By -Robert Burn, M.A. With numerous Illustrations, Maps, and Plans. 7_s._ -6_d._ - -=BURNS (Robert), Life of.= By J. G. Lockhart, D.C.L. A new and enlarged -Edition. Revised by William Scott Douglas. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=BURTON’S (Robert) Anatomy of Melancholy.= Edited by the Rev. A. R. -Shilleto, M.A. With Introduction by A. H. Bullen, and full Index. 3 -vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=BURTON (Sir R. F.) Personal Narrative of a Pilgrimage to Al-Madinah and -Meccah.= By Captain Sir Richard F. Burton, K.C.M.G. With an Introduction -by Stanley Lane-Poole, and all the original Illustrations. 2 vols. 3_s._ -6_d._ each. - -This is the copyright edition, containing the author’s latest notes. - -=BUTLER’S (Bishop) Analogy of Religion, Natural and Revealed=, to the -Constitution and Course of Nature; together with two Dissertations on -Personal Identity and on the Nature of Virtue, and Fifteen Sermons. -3_s._ 6_d._ - -=BUTLER’S (Samuel) Hudibras.= With Variorum Notes, a Biography, Portrait, -and 28 Illustrations. 5_s._ - ----- or, further Illustrated with 60 Outline Portraits. 2 vols. 5_s._ -each. - -=CÆSAR. Commentaries on the Gallic and Civil Wars.= Translated by W. A. -McDevitte, B.A. 5_s._ - -=CAMOENS’ Lusiad; or, the Discovery of India.= An Epic Poem. Translated by -W. J. Mickle. 5th Edition, revised by E. R. Hodges, M.C.P. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=CARAFAS (The) of Maddaloni.= Naples under Spanish Dominion. Translated -from the German of Alfred de Reumont. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=CARLYLE’S French Revolution.= Edited by J. Holland Rose, Litt.D. Illus. 3 -vols. 5_s._ each. - -=---- Sartor Resartus.= With 75 Illustrations by Edmund J. Sullivan. 5_s._ - -=CARPENTER’S (Dr. W. B.) Zoology.= Revised Edition, by W. S. Dallas, -F.L.S. With very numerous Woodcirts. Vol. I. 6_s._ - - [_Vol. II. out of print._ - -=CARPENTER’S Mechanical Philosophy, Astronomy, and Horology.= 181 -Woodcuts. 5_s._ - -=---- Vegetable Physiology and Systematic Botany.= Revised Edition, by E. -Lankester, M.D., &c. With very numerous Woodcuts. 6_s._ - -=---- Animal Physiology.= Revised Edition. With upwards of 300 Woodcuts. -6_s._ - -=CASTLE (E.) Schools and Masters of Fence=, from the Middle Ages to the -End of the Eighteenth Century. By Egerton Castle, M.A., F.S.A. With a -Complete Bibliography. Illustrated with 140 Reproductions of Old -Engravings and 6 Plates of Swords, showing 114 Examples. 6_s._ - -=CATTERMOLE’S Evenings at Haddon Hall.= With 24 Engravings on Steel from -designs by Cattermole, the Letterpress by the Baroness de Carabella. -5_s._ - -=CATULLUS, Tibullus, and the Vigil of Venus.= A Literal Prose Translation. -5_s._ - -=CELLINI (Benvenuto). Memoirs of=, written by Himself. Translated by -Thomas Roscoe. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=CERVANTES’ Don Quixote de la Mancha.= Motteaux’s Translation revised. 2 -vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- Galatea. A Pastoral Romance.= Translated by G. W. J. Gyll. 3_s._ -6_d._ - -=---- Exemplary Novels.= Translated by Walter K. Kelly. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=CHAUCER’S Poetical Works.= Edited by Robert Bell. Revised Edition, with a -Preliminary Essay by Prof. W. W. Skeat, M.A. 4 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=CHESS CONGRESS of 1862.= A Collection of the Games played. Edited by J. -Löwenthal. 5_s._ - -=CHEVREUL on Colour.= Translated from the French by Charles Martel. Third -Edition, with Plates, 5s.; or with an additional series of 16 Plates in -Colours, 7_s._ 6_d._ - -=CHILLINGWORTH’S Religion of Protestants.= A Safe Way to Salvation. 3_s._ -6_d._ - -=CHINA, Pictorial, Descriptive, and Historical.= With Map and nearly 100 -Illustrations. 5_s._ - -=CHRONICLES OF THE CRUSADES.= Contemporary Narratives of the Crusade of -Richard Cœur de Lion, by Richard of Devizes and Geoffrey de Vinsauf; -and of the Crusade at St. Louis, by Lord John de Joinville. 5_s._ - -=CICERO’S Orations.= Translated by Prof. C. D. Yonge, M.A. 4 vols. 5_s._ -each. - -=CICERO’S Letters.= Translated by Evelyn S. Shuckburgh. 4 vols. 5_s._ -each. - -=---- On Oratory and Orators.= With Letters to Quintus and Brutus. -Translated by the Rev. J. S. Watson, M.A. 5_s._ - -=---- On the Nature of the Gods=, Divination, Fate, Laws, a Republic, -Consulship. Translated by Prof. C. D. Yonge, M.A., and Francis Barham. -5_s._ - -=---- Academics=, De Finibus, and Tusculan Questions. By Prof. C. D. -Yonge, M.A. 5_s._ - -=---- Offices=; or, Moral Duties. Cato Major, an Essay on Old Age; Lælius, -an Essay on Friendship; Scipio’s Dream; Paradoxes; Letter to Quintus on -Magistrates. Translated by C. R. Edmonds. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=CORNELIUS NEPOS.=--_See_ JUSTIN. - -=CLARK’S (Hugh) Introduction to Heraldry.= 18th Edition, Revised and -Enlarged by J. R. Planché, Rouge Croix. With nearly 1000 Illustrations. -5_s._ Or with the Illustrations Coloured, 15_s._ - -=CLASSIC TALES=, containing Rasselas, Vicar of Wakefield, Gulliver’s -Travels, and The Sentimental Journey. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=COLERIDGE’S (S. T.) Friend.= A Series of Essays on Morals, Politics, and -Religion. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Aids to Reflection=, and the CONFESSIONS OF AN INQUIRING SPIRIT, to -which are added the ESSAYS ON FAITH and the BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER. 3_s._ -6_d._ - -=---- Lectures and Notes on Shakespeare and other English Poets.= Edited -by T. Ashe. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=COLERIDGE’S Biographia Literaria=; together with Two Lay Sermons. 3_s._ -6_d._ - -=---- Table-Talk and Omniana.= Edited by T. Ashe, B.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Miscellanies, Æsthetic and Literary=; to which is added, THE THEORY -OF LIFE. Collected and arranged by T. Ashe, B.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=COMTE’S Positive Philosophy.= Translated and condensed by Harriet -Martineau. With Introduction by Frederic Harrison. 3 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=COMTE’S Philosophy of the Sciences=, being an Exposition of the -Principles of the _Cours de Philosophie Positive_. By G. H. Lewes. 5_s._ - -=CONDÉ’S History of the Dominion of the Arabs in Spain.= Translated by -Mrs. Foster. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=COOPER’S Biographical Dictionary.= Containing Concise Notices (upwards of -15,000) of Eminent Persons of all Ages and Countries. By Thompson -Cooper, F.S.A. With a Supplement, bringing the work down to 1883. 2 -vols. 5_s._ each. - -=COXE’S Memoirs of the Duke of Marlborough.= With his original -Correspondence. By W. Coxe, M.A., F.R.S. Revised edition by John Wade. 3 -vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - - ⁂ An Atlas of the plans of Marlborough’s campaigns, 4to. 10_s._ - 6_d._ - -=---- History of the House of Austria (1218-1792).= With a Continuation -from the Accession of Francis I. to the Revolution of 1848. 4 vols. -3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=CRAIK’S (G. L.) Pursuit of Knowledge under Difficulties.= Illustrated by -Anecdotes and Memoirs. Revised edition, with numerous Woodcut Portraits -and Plates. 5_s._ - -=CRUIKSHANK’S Punch and Judy.= The Dialogue of the Puppet Show; an Account -of its Origin, &c. With 24 Illustrations, and Coloured Plates, designed -and engraved by G. Cruikshank. 5_s._ - -=CUNNINGHAM’S Lives of the Most Eminent British Painters.= A New Edition, -with Notes and Sixteen fresh Lives. By Mrs. Heaton. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ -each. - -=DANTE. Divine Comedy.= Translated by the Rev. H. F. Cary, M.A. 3_s._ -6_d._ - ----- Translated into English Verse by I. C. Wright, M.A. 3rd Edition, -revised. With Portrait, and 34 Illustrations on Steel, after Flaxman. - -=DANTE. The Inferno.= A Literal Prose Translation, with the Text of the -Original printed on the same page. By John A. Carlyle, M.D. 5_s._ - -=---- The Purgatorio.= A Literal Prose Translation, with the Text printed -on the same page. By W. S. Dugdale. 5_s._ - -=DE COMMINES (Philip), Memoirs of.= Containing the Histories of Louis XI. -and Charles VIII., Kings of France, and Charles the Bold, Duke of -Burgundy. Together with the Scandalous Chronicle, or Secret History of -Louis XI., by Jean de Troyes. Translated by Andrew R. Scoble. With -Portraits. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=DEFOE’S Novels and Miscellaneous Works.= With Prefaces and Notes, -including those attributed to Sir W. Scott. 7 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - - I.--Captain Singleton, and Colonel Jack. - - II.--Memoirs of a Cavalier, Captain Carleton, Dickory Cronke, &c. - - III.--Moll Flanders, and the History of the Devil. - - IV.--Roxana, and Life of Mrs. Christian Davies. - - V.--History of the Great Plague of London, 1665; The Storm (1703); - and the True-born Englishman. - - VI.--Duncan Campbell, New Voyage round the World, and Political - Tracts. - - VII.--Robinson Crusoe. - -=DEMMIN’S History of Arms and Armour,= from the Earliest Period. By -Auguste Demmin. Translated by C. C. Black, M.A. With nearly 2000 -Illustrations. 7_s._ 6_d._ - -=DEMOSTHENES’ Orations.= Translated by C. Rann Kennedy. 5 vols. Vol. I., -3_s._ 6_d._; Vols. II.-V., 5_s._ each. - -=DE STAËL’S Corinne or Italy.= By Madame de Staël. Translated by Emily -Baldwin and Paulina Driver. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=DEVEY’S Logic=, or the Science of Inference. A Popular Manual. By J. -Devey. 5s. - -=DICTIONARY of Latin and Greek Quotations=; including Proverbs, Maxims, -Mottoes, Law Terms and Phrases. With all the Quantities marked, and -English Translations. With Index Verborum (622 pages). 5_s._ - -=DICTIONARY of Obsolete and Provincial English.= Compiled by Thomas -Wright, M.A., F.S.A., &c. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=DIDRON’S Christian Iconography=: a history of Christian Art in the Middle -Ages. Translated by E. J. Millington and completed by Margaret Stokes. -With 240 Illustrations. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=DIOGENES LAERTIUS.= Lives and Opinions of the Ancient Philosophers. -Translated by Prof. C. D. Yonge, M.A. 5_s._ - -=DOBREE’S Adversaria.= Edited by the late Prof. Wagner. 2 vols. 5_s._ -each. - -=DODD’S Epigrammatists.= A Selection from the Epigrammatic Literature of -Ancient, Mediæval, and Modern Times. By the Rev. Henry Philip Dodd, M.A. -Oxford. 2nd Edition, revised and enlarged. 6_s._ - -=DONALDSON’S The Theatre of the Greeks.= A Treatise on the History and -Exhibition of the Greek Drama. With numerous Illustrations and 3 Plans. -By John William Donaldson, D.D. 5_s._ - -=DRAPER’S History of the Intellectual Development of Europe.= By John -William Draper, M.D., LL.D. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=DUNLOP’S History of Fiction.= A new Edition. Revised by Henry Wilson. 2 -vols. 5_s._ each. - -=DYER’S History of Modern Europe=, from the Fall of Constantinople. 3rd -edition, revised and continued to the end of the Nineteenth Century. By -Arthur Hassall, M.A. 6 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=DYER’S (Dr. T. H.) Pompeii=: its Buildings and Antiquities. By T. H. -Dyer, LL.D. With nearly 300 Wood Engravings, a large Map, and a Plan of -the Forum. 7_s._ 6_d._ - -=DYER (T. F. T.) British Popular Customs, Present and Past.= An Account of -the various Games and Customs associated with Different Days of the Year -in the British Isles, arranged according to the Calendar. By the Rev. T. -F. Thiselton Dyer, M.A. 5_s._ - -=EBERS’ Egyptian Princess.= An Historical Novel. By George Ebers. -Translated by E. S. Buchheim. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=EDGEWORTH’S Stories for Children.= With 8 Illustrations by L. Speed. -3_s._ 6_d._ - -=ELZE’S William Shakespeare.=--_See_ SHAKESPEARE. - -=EMERSON’S Works.= 5 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - - I.--Essays and Representative Men. - - II.--English Traits, Nature, and Conduct of Life. - - III.--Society and Solitude--Letters and Social Aims--Addresses. - - IV.--Miscellaneous Pieces. - - V.--Poems. - -=ENNEMOSER’S History of Magic.= Translated by William Howitt. 2 vols. -5_s._ each. - -=EPICTETUS. The Discourses of.= With the ENCHEIRIDION and Fragments. -Translated by George Long, M.A. 5_s._ - -=EURIPIDES.= A New Literal Translation in Prose. By E. P. Coleridge, M.A. -2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=EUTROPIUS.=--_See_ JUSTIN. - -=EUSEBIUS PAMPHILUS=, Ecclesiastical History of. Translated by Rev. C. F. -Cruse, M.A. 5_s._ - -=EVELYN’S Diary and Correspondence=. Edited from the Original MSS. by W. -Bray, F.A.S. With 45 engravings. 4 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=FAIRHOLT’S Costume in England.= A History of Dress to the end of the -Eighteenth Century. 3rd Edition, revised, by Viscount Dillon, V.P.S.A. -Illustrated with above 700 Engravings. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=FIELDING’S Adventures of Joseph Andrews and his Friend Mr. Abraham -Adams.= With Cruikshank’s Illustrations. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- History of Tom Jones, a Foundling.= With Cruikshank’s Illustrations. -2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- Amelia.= With Cruikshank’s Illustrations. 5_s._ - -=FLAXMAN’S Lectures on Sculpture.= By John Flaxman, R.A. With Portrait and -53 Plates. 6_s._ - -=FOSTER’S (John) Life and Correspondence.= Edited by J. E. Ryland. 2 vols. -3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- Critical Essays.= Edited by J. E. Ryland. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- Essays:= on Decision of Character; on a Man’s writing Memoirs of -Himself; on the epithet Romantic; on the aversion of Men of Taste to -Evangelical Religion. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Essays= on the Evils of Popular Ignorance; to which is added, a -Discourse on the Propagation of Christianity in India. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=FOSTER’S Essays= on the Improvement of Time. With NOTES OF SERMONS and -other Pieces. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=GASPARY’S History of Italian Literature.= Translated by Herman Oelsner, -M.A., Ph.D. Vol. I. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH, Chronicle of.=--_See Old English Chronicles._ - -=GESTA ROMANORUM=, or Entertaining Moral Stories invented by the Monks. -Translated by the Rev. Charles Swan. Revised Edition, by Wynnard Hooper, -B.A. 5_s._ - -=GILDAS, Chronicles of.=--_See Old English Chronicles._ - -=GIBBON’S Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.= Complete and Unabridged, -with Variorum Notes. Edited by an English Churchman. With 2 Maps and -Portrait. 7 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=GILBART’S History, Principles, and Practice of Banking.= By the late J. -W. Gilbart, F.R.S. New Edition, revised by A. S. Michie. 2 vols. 10_s._ - -=GIL BLAS, The Adventures of.= Translated from the French of Lesage by -Smollett. With 24 Engravings on Steel, after Smirke, and 10 Etchings by -George Cruikshank. 6_s._ - -=GIRALDUS CAMBRENSIS’ Historical Works.= Translated by Th. Forester, M.A., -and Sir R. Colt Hoare. Revised Edition, Edited by Thomas Wright, M.A., -F.S.A. 5_s._ - -=GOETHE’S Faust.= Part I. German Text with Hayward’s Prose Translation and -Notes. Revised by C. A. Buchheim, Ph.D. 5_s._ - -=GOETHE’S Works.= Translated into English by various hands. 14 vols. 3_s._ -6_d._ each. - - I. and II.--Poetry and Truth from My Own Life. New and revised - edition. - - III.--Faust. Two Parts, complete. (Swanwick.) - - IV.--Novels and Tales. - - V.--Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship. - - VI.--Conversations with Eckermann and Soret. - - VIII.--Dramatic Works. - - IX.--Wilhelm Meister’s Travels. - - X.--Tour in Italy, and Second Residence in Rome. - - XI.--Miscellaneous Travels. - - XII.--Early and Miscellaneous Letters. - - XIV.--Reineke Fox, West-Eastern Divan and Achilleid. - -=GOLDSMITH’S Works.= A new Edition, by J. W. M. Gibbs. 5 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ -each. - -=GRAMMONT’S Memoirs of the Court of Charles II.= Edited by Sir Walter -Scott. Together with the BOSCOBEL TRACTS, including two not before -published, &c. New Edition. 5_s._ - -=GRAY’S Letters.= Including the Correspondence of Gray and Mason. Edited -by the Rev. D. C. Tovey, M.A. Vols. I. and II. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=GREEK ANTHOLOGY.= Translated by George Burges, M.A. 5_s._ - -=GREEK ROMANCES of Heliodorus, Longus, and Achilles Tatius=--viz., The -Adventures of Theagenes & Chariclea; Amours of Daphnis and Chloe; and -Loves of Clitopho and Leucippe. Translated by Rev. R. Smith, M.A. 5_s._ - -=GREGORY’S Letters on the Evidences, Doctrines, & Duties of the Christian -Religion.= By Dr. Olinthus Gregory. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=GREENE, MARLOWE, and BEN JONSON,= Poems of. Edited by Robert Bell. 3_s._ -6_d._ - -=GRIMM’S TALES.= With the Notes of the Original. Translated by Mrs. A. -Hunt. With Introduction by Andrew Lang, M.A. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- Gammer Grethel=; or, German Fairy Tales and Popular Stories. -Containing 42 Fairy Tales. Trans. by Edgar Taylor. With numerous -Woodcuts after George Cruikshank and Ludwig Grimm. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=GROSSI’S Marco Visconti.= Translated by A. F. D. The Ballads rendered -into English Verse by C. M. P. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=GUIZOT’S History of the English Revolution of 1640.= From the Accession -of Charles I. to his Death. Translated by William Hazlitt. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- History of Civilisation=, from the Fall of the Roman Empire to the -French Revolution. Translated by William Hazlitt. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ -each. - -=HALL’S (Rev. Robert) Miscellaneous Works and Remains.= 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=HAMPTON COURT: A Short History of the Manor and Palace.= By Ernest Law, -B.A. With numerous Illustrations. 5_s._ - -=HARDWICK’S History of the Articles of Religion.= By the late C. Hardwick. -Revised by the Rev. Francis Procter, M.A. 5_s._ - -=HAUFF’S Tales.= The Caravan--The Sheik of Alexandria--The Inn in the -Spessart. Trans. from the German by S. Mendel. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=HAWTHORNE’S Tales.= 4 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - - I.--Twice-told Tales, and the Snow Image. - - II.--Scarlet Letter, and the House with the Seven Gables. - - III.--Transformation [The Marble Faun], and Blithedale Romance. - - IV.--Mosses from an Old Manse. - -=HAZLITT’S Table-talk.= Essays on Men and Manners. By W. Hazlitt. 3_s._ -6_d._ - -=---- Lectures on the Literature of the Age of Elizabeth= and on -Characters of Shakespeare’s Plays. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Lectures on the English Poets=, and on the English Comic Writers. -3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- The Plain Speaker.= Opinions on Books, Men, and Things. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Round Table.= 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Sketches and Essays.= 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- The Spirit of the Age=; or, Contemporary Portraits. Edited by W. -Carew Hazlitt. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- View of the English Stage.= Edited by W. Spencer Jackson. 3_s._ -6_d._ - -=HEATON’S Concise History of Painting.= New Edition, revised by Cosmo -Monkhouse. 5_s._ - -=HEGEL’S Lectures on the Philosophy of History.= Translated by J. Sibree, -M.A. - -=HEINE’S Poems=, Complete. Translated by Edgar A. Bowring, C.B. 3_s._ -6_d._ - -=---- Travel-Pictures=, including the Tour in the Harz, Norderney, and -Book of Ideas, together with the Romantic School. Translated by Francis -Storr. A New Edition, revised throughout. With Appendices and Maps. -3_s._ 6_d._ - -=HELP’S Life of Christopher Columbus=, the Discoverer of America. By Sir -Arthur Helps, K.C.B. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Life of Hernando Cortes=, and the Conquest of Mexico. 2 vols. 3_s._ -6_d._ each. - -=---- Life of Pizarro.= 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Life of Las Casas= the Apostle of the Indies. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=HENDERSON (E.) Select Historical Documents of the Middle Ages=, including -the most famous Charters relating to England, the Empire, the Church, -&c., from the 6th to the 14th Centuries. Translated from the Latin and -edited by Ernest F. Henderson, A.B., A.M., Ph.D. 5_s._ - -=HENFREY’S Guide to English Coins=, from the Conquest to the present time. -New and revised Edition by C. F. Keary, M.A., F.S.A. 6_s._ - -=HENRY OF HUNTINGDON’S History of the English.= Translated by T. Forester, -M.A. 5_s._ - -=HENRY’S (Matthew) Exposition of the Book of the Psalms.= 5_s._ - -=HELIODORUS. Theagenes and Charicles.=--_See_ GREEK ROMANCES. - -=HERODOTUS.= Translated by the Rev. Henry Cary, M.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Notes on.= Original and Selected from the best Commentators. By D. -W. Turner, M.A. With Coloured Map. 5_s._ - -=---- Analysis and Summary of.= By J. T. Wheeler. 5_s._ - -=HESIOD, CALLIMACHUS, and THEOGNIS.= Translated by the Rev. J. Banks, M.A. -5_s._ - -=HOFFMANN’S (E. T. W.) The Serapion Brethren.= Translated from the German -by Lt.-Col. Alex. Ewing. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=HOLBEIN’S Dance of Death and Bible Cuts.= Upwards of 150 Subjects, -engraved in facsimile, with Introduction and Descriptions by Francis -Douce and Dr. Thomas Frognall Dibden. 5_s._ - -=HOMER’S Iliad.= Translated into English Prose by T. A. Buckley, B.A. -5_s._ - -=---- Odyssey.= Hymns, Epigrams, and Battle of the Frogs and Mice. -Translated into English Prose by T. A. Buckley, B.A. 5_s._ - ----- _See also_ POPE. - -=HOOPER’S (G.) Waterloo: The Downfall of the First Napoleon=: a History of -the Campaign of 1815. By George Hooper. With Maps and Plans. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- The Campaign of Sedan=: The Downfall of the Second Empire, -August-September, 1870. With General Map and Six Plans of Battle. 3_s._ -6_d._ - -=HORACE.= A new literal Prose translation, by A. Hamilton Bryce, LL.D. -3_s._ 6_d._ - -=HUGO’S (Victor) Dramatic Works.= Hernani--Ruy Blas--The King’s Diversion. -Translated by Mrs. Newton Crosland and F. L. Slous. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Poems=, chiefly Lyrical. Translated by various Writers, now first -collected by J. H. L. Williams. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=HUMBOLDT’S Cosmos.= Translated by E. C. Otté, B. H. Paul, and W. S. -Dallas, F.L.S. 5 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each, excepting Vol. V. 5_s._ - -=HUMBOLDT’S Personal Narrative =of his Travels to the Equinoctial Regions -of America during the years 1799-1804. Translated by T. Ross. 3 vols. -5_s._ each. - -=---- Views of Nature.= Translated by E. C. Otté and H. G. Bohn. 5_s._ - -=HUMPHREYS’ Coin Collector’s Manual.= By H. N. Humphreys. With upwards of -140 Illustrations on Wood and Steel. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=HUNGARY=: its History and Revolution, together with a copious Memoir of -Kossuth. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=HUTCHINSON (Colonel). Memoirs of the Life of.= By his Widow, Lucy: -together with her Autobiography, and an Account of the Siege of Lathom -House. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=HUNT’S Poetry of Science.= By Richard Hunt. 3rd Edition, revised and -enlarged. 5_s._ - -=INGULPH’H Chronicles of the Abbey of Croyland=, with the CONTINUATION by -Peter of Blois and other Writers. Translated by H. T. Riley, M.A. 5_s._ - -=IRVING’S (Washington) Complete Works.= 15 vols. With Portraits, &c. 3_s._ -6_d._ each. - - I.--Salmagundi, Knickerbocker’s History of New York. - - II.--The Sketch-Book, and the Life of Oliver Goldsmith. - - III.--Bracebridge Hall, Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey. - - IV.--The Alhambra, Tales of a Traveller. - - V.--Chronicle of the Conquest of Granada, Legends of the Conquest - of Spain. - - VI. & VII.--Life and Voyages of Columbus, together with the Voyages - of his Companions. - - VIII.--Astoria, A Tour on the Prairies. - - IX.--Life of Mahomet, Lives of the Successors of Mahomet. - - X.--Adventures of Captain Bonneville, U.S.A., Wolfert’s Roost. - - XI.--Biographies and Miscellaneous Papers. - - XII.-XV.--Life of George Washington. 4 vols. - -=---- Life and Letters.= By his Nephew, Pierre E. Irving. 2 vols. 3_s._ -6_d._ each. - -=ISOCRATES, The Orations of.= Translated by J. H. Freese, M.A. Vol. I. -5_s._ - -=JAMES’S (G. P. R.) Life of Richard Cœur de Lion.= 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ -each. - -=JAMESON’S (Mrs.) Shakespeare’s Heroines.= Characteristics of Women: -Moral, Poetical, and Historical. By Mrs. Jameson. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=JESSE’S (E.) Anecdotes of Dogs.= With 40 Woodcuts and 34 Steel -Engravings. 5_s._ - -=JESSE’S (J. H.) Memoirs of the Court of England during the Reign of the -Stuarts=, including the Protectorate. 3 vols. With 42 Portraits. 5_s._ -each. - -=---- Memoirs of the Pretenders and their Adherents.= With 6 Portraits. -5_s._ - -=JOHNSON’S Lives of the Poets. =Edited by Mrs. Alexander Napier, with -Introduction by Professor Hales. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=JOSEPHUS (Flavius).= The Works of. Whiston’s Translation, revised by Rev. -A. R. Shilleto, M.A. With Topographical and Geographical Notes by -Colonel Sir C. W. Wilson, K.C.B. 5 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=JULIAN, the Emperor.= Containing Gregory Nazianzen’s Two Invectives and -Libanus’ Monody, with Julian’s extant Theosophical Works. Translated by -C. W. King, M.A. 5_s._ - -=JUNIUS’S Letters.= With all the Notes of Woodfall’s Edition, and -important Additions. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=JUSTIN CORNELIUS NEPOS, and EUTROPIUS.= Translated by the Rev. J. S. -Watson, M.A. 5_s._ - -=JUVENAL, PERSIUS, SULPICIA and LUCILIUS.= Translated by L. Evans, M.A. -5_s._ - -=KANT’S Critique of Pure Reason.= Translated by J. M. D. Meiklejohn. 5_s._ - -=---- Prolegomena and Metaphysical Foundations of Natural Science.= -Translated by E. Belfort Bax. 5_s._ - -=KEIGHTLEY’S (Thomas) Mythology of Ancient Greece and Italy.= 4th Edition, -revised by Leonard Schmitz, Ph.D., LL.D. With 12 Plates from the -Antique. 5_s._ - -=KEIGHTLEY’S Fairy Mythology=, illustrative of the Romance and -Superstition of Various Countries. Revised Edition, with Frontispiece by -Cruikshank. 5_s._ - -=LA FONTAINE’S Fables.= Translated into English Verse by Elizur Wright. -New Edition, with Notes by J. W. M. Gibbs. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=LAMARTINE’S History of the Girondists.= Translated by H. T. Ryde. 3 vols. -3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- History of the Restoration of Monarchy in France= (a Sequel to the -history of the Girondists). 4 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- History of the French Revolution of 1848.= 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=LAMB’S (Charles) Essays of Elia and Eliana.= Complete Edition. =3s. 6d.= - -=---- Specimens of English Dramatic Poets of the Time of Elizabeth.= 3_s._ -6_d._ - -=---- Memorials and Letters of Charles Lamb.= By Serjeant Talfourd. New -Edition, revised, by W. Carew Hazlitt. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- Tales from Shakespeare.= With Illustrations by Byam Shaw. 3_s._ -6_d._ - -=LANE’S Arabian Nights’ Entertainments.= Edited by Stanley Lane-Poole, -M.A., Litt.D. 4 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=LANZI’S History of Painting in Italy=, from the Period of the Revival of -the Fine Arts to the End of the Eighteenth Century. Translated by Thomas -Roscoe. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=LAPPENBERG’S History of England under the Anglo-Saxon Kings.= Translated -by B. Thorpe, F.S.A. New edition, revised by E. C. Otté. 2 vols. 3_s._ -6_d._ each. - -=LECTURES ON PAINTING=, by Barry, Opie, Fuseli. Edited by R. Wornum. 5_s._ - -=LEONARDO DA VINCI’S Treatise on Painting.= Translated by J. F. Rigaud, -R.A., With a Life of Leonardo by John William Brown. With numerous -Plates. 5_s._ - -=LEPSIUS’S Letters from Egypt, Ethiopia, and the Peninsula of Sinai.= -Translated by L. and J. B. Horner. With Maps. 5_s._ - -=LESSING’S Dramatic Works, Complete.= Edited by Ernest Bell, M.A. With -Memoir of Lessing by Helen Zimmern. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- Laokoon, Dramatic Notes, and the Representation of Death by the -Ancients.= Translated by E. C. Beasley and Helen Zimmern. Edited by -Edward Bell, M.A. With a Frontispiece of the Laokoon group. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=LILLY’S Introduction to Astrology.= With a Grammar of Astrology and -Tables for Calculating Nativities, by Zadkiel. 5_s._ - -=LIVY’S History of Rome.= Translated by Dr. Spillan, C. Edmonds, and -others. 4 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=LOCKE’S Philosophical Works.= Edited by J. A. St. John. 2 vols. 3_s._ -6_d._ each. - -=---- Life and Letters=: By Lord King. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=LOCKHART (J. G.)=--_See_ BURNS. - -=LODGE’S Portraits of Illustrious Personages of Great Britain=, with -Biographical and Historical Memoirs. 240 Portraits engraved on Steel, -with the respective Biographies unabridged. 8 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=LONGFELLOW’S Prose Works.= With 16 full-page Wood Engravings. 5_s._ - -=LOUDON’S (Mrs.) Natural History.= Revised edition, by W. S. Dallas, -F.L.S. With numerous Woodcut Illus. 5_s._ - -=LOWNDES’ Bibliographer’s Manual of English Literature.= Enlarged Edition. -By H. G. Bohn. 6 vols. cloth, 5_s._ each. Or 4 vols. half morocco, 2_l._ -2_s._ - -=LONGUS. Daphnis and Chloe.=--_See_ GREEK ROMANCES. - -=LUCAN’S Pharsalia.= Translated by H. T. Riley, M.A. 5_s._ - -=LUCIAN’S Dialogues of the Gods, of the Sea Gods, and of the Dead.= -Translated by Howard Williams, M.A. 5_s._ - -=LUCRETIUS. A Prose Translation.= By H. A. J. Munro. Reprinted from the -Final (4th) Edition. With an Introduction by J. D. Duff, M.A. 5_s._ - ----- Translated by the Rev. J. S. Watson, M.A. 5_s._ - -=LUTHER’S Table-Talk.= Translated and Edited by William Hazlitt. 3_s._ -6_d._ - -=---- Autobiography.=--_See_ MICHELET. - -=MACHIAVELLI’S History of Florence=, together with the Prince, Savonarola, -various Historical Tracts, and a Memoir of Machiavelli. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=MALLET’S Northern Antiquities=, or an Historical Account of the Manners, -Customs, Religions and Laws, Maritime Expeditions and Discoveries, -Language and Literature, of the Ancient Scandinavians. Translated by -Bishop Percy. Revised and Enlarged Edition, with a Translation of the -PROSE EDDA, by J. A. Blackwell. 5_s._ - -=MANTELL’S (Dr.) Petrifactions and their Teachings.= With numerous -illustrative Woodcuts. 6_s._ - -=---- Wonders of Geology.= 8th Edition, revised by T. Rupert Jones, F.G.S. -With a coloured Geological Map of England, Plates, and upwards of 200 -Woodcuts. 2 vols. 7_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=MANZONI. The Betrothed=: being a Translation of ‘I Promessi Sposi.’ By -Alessandro Manzoni. With numerous Woodcuts. 5_s._ - -=MARCO POLO’S Travels=; the Translation of Marsden revised by T. Wright, -M.A., F.S.A. 5_s._ - -=MARRYAT’S (Capt. R. N.) Masterman Ready.= With 93 Woodcuts. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Mission=; or, Scenes in Africa. Illustrated by Gilbert and Dalziel. -3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Pirate and Three Cutters.= With 8 Steel Engravings, from Drawings by -Clarkson Stanfield, R.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Privateersman.= 8 Engravings on Steel. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Settlers in Canada.= 10 Engravings by Gilbert and Dalziel. 3_s._ -6_d._ - -=---- Poor Jack.= With 16 Illustrations after Clarkson Stansfield, R.A. -3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Peter Simple.= With 8 full-page Illustrations. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Midshipman Easy.= With 8 full-page Illustrations. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=MARTIAL’S Epigrams=, complete. Translated into Prose, each accompanied by -one or more Verse Translations selected from the Works of English Poets, -and other sources. 7_s._ 6_d._ - -=MARTINEAU’S (Harriet) History of England=, from 1800-1815. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- History of the Thirty Years’ Peace=, A.D. 1815-46. 4 vols. 3_s._ -6_d._ each. - ----- _See Comte’s Positive Philosophy._ - -=MATTHEW PARIS’S English History=, from the Year 1235 to 1273. Translated -by Rev. J. A. Giles, D.C.L. 3 vols. 5_s._ each. - - [_Vols. II. and III. out of print._ - -=MATTHEW OF WESTMINSTER’S Flowers of History=, from the beginning of the -World to A.D. 1307. Translated by C. D. Yonge, M.A. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=MAXWELL’S Victories of Wellington and the British Armies.= Frontispiece -and 5 Portraits. 5_s._ - -=MENZEL’S History of Germany=, from the Earliest Period to 1842. 3 vols. -3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=MICHAEL ANGELO AND RAPHAEL, their Lives and Works.= By Duppa and -Quatremere de Quincy. With Portraits, and Engravings on Steel. 5_s._ - -=MICHELET’S Luther’s Autobiography.= Trans. by William Hazlitt. With an -Appendix (110 pages) of Notes. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- History of the French Revolution= from its earliest indications to -the flight of the King in 1791. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=MIGNET’S History of the French Revolution=, from 1789 to 1814. 3_s._ -6_d._ New edition reset. - -=MILL (J. S.). Early Essays by John Stuart Mill.= Collected from various -sources by J. W. M. Gibbs. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=MILLER (Professor). History Philosophically Illustrated=, from the Fall -of the Roman Empire to the French Revolution. 4 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=MILTON’S Prose Works.= Edited by J. A. St. John. 5 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ -each. - -=---- Poetical Works=, with a Memoir and Critical Remarks by James -Montgomery, an Index to Paradise Lost, Todd’s Verbal Index to all the -Poems, and a Selection of Explanatory Notes by Henry G. Bohn. -Illustrated with 120 Wood Engravings from Drawings by W. Harvey. 2 vols. -3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=MITFORD’S (Miss) Our Village= Sketches of Rural Character and Scenery. -With 2 Engravings on Steel. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=MOLIÈRE’S Dramatic Works.= A new Translation in English Prose, by C. H. -Wall. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=MONTAGU. The Letters and Works of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.= Edited by -her great-grandson, Lord Wharncliffe’s Edition, and revised by W. Moy -Thomas. New Edition, revised, with 5 Portraits. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=MONTAIGNE’S Essays.= Cotton’s Translation, revised by W. C. Hazlitt. New -Edition. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=MONTESQUIEU’S Spirit of Laws.= New Edition, revised and corrected. By J. -V. Pritchard, A.M. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=MORPHY’S Games of Chess.= Being the Matches and best Games played by the -American Champion, with Explanatory and Analytical Notes by J. -Löwenthal. 5_s._ - -=MOTLEY (J. L.). The Rise of the Dutch Republic.= A History. By John -Lothrop Motley. New Edition, with Biographical Introduction by Moncure -D. Conway. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=MUDIE’S British Birds;= or, History of the Feathered Tribes of the -British Islands. Revised by W. C. L. Martin. With 52 Figures of Birds -and 7 Coloured Plates of Eggs. 2 vols. - -=NEANDER (Dr. A.). History of the Christian Religion and Church.= Trans. -from the German by J. Torrey. 10 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- Life of Jesus Christ.= Translated by J. McClintock and C. -Blumenthal. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- History of the Planting and Training of the Christian Church by the -Apostles.= Translated by J. E. Ryland. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- Memorials of Christian Life in the Early and Middle Ages=; including -Light in Dark Places. Trans. by J. E. Ryland. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=NIBELUNGEN LIED. The Lay of the Nibelungs=, metrically translated from -the old German text by Alice Horton, and edited by Edward Bell, M.A. To -which is prefixed the Essay on the Nibelungen Lied by Thomas Carlyle. -5_s._ - -=NEW TESTAMENT (The) in Greek.= Griesbach’s Text, with various Readings at -the foot of the page, and Parallel References in the margin; also a -Critical Introduction and Chronological Tables. By an eminent Scholar, -with a Greek and English Lexicon. 3rd Edition, revised and corrected. -Two Facsimiles of Greek Manuscripts. 900 pages. 5_s._ - -The Lexicon may be had separately, price 2_s._ - -=NICOLINI’S History of the Jesuits=: their Origin, Progress, Doctrines, -and Designs. With 8 Portraits. 5_s._ - -=NORTH (R.) Lives of the Right= Hon. Francis North, Baron Guildford, the -Hon. Sir Dudley North, and the Hon. and Rev. Dr. John North. By the Hon. -Roger North. Together with the Autobiography of the Author. Edited by -Augustus Jessopp, D.D. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=NUGENT’S (Lord) Memorials of Hampden, his Party and Times.= With a Memoir -of the Author, an Autograph Letter, and Portrait. 5_s._ - -=OLD ENGLISH CHRONICLES=, including Ethelwerd’s Chronicle, Asser’s Life of -Alfred, Geoffrey of Monmouth’s British History, Gildas, Nennius, and the -spurious chronicle of Richard of Cirencester. Edited by J. A. Giles, -D.C.L. 5_s._ - -=OMAN (J. C.) The Great Indian Epics=: the Stories of the RAMAYANA and the -MAHABHARATA. By John Campbell Oman, Principal of Khalsa College, -Amritsar. With Notes, Appendices, and Illustrations. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=ORDERICUS VITALIS’ Ecclesiastical History of England and Normandy.= -Translated by T. Forester, M.A. To which is added the CHRONICLE OF ST. -EVROULT. 4 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=OVID’S Works=, complete. Literally translated into Prose. 3 vols. 5_s._ -each. - -=PASCAL’S Thoughts.= Translated from the Text of M. Auguste Molinier by C. -Kegan Paul. 3rd Edition. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=PAULI’S (Dr. R.) Life of Alfred the Great.= Translated from the German. -To which is appended Alfred’s ANGLO-SAXON VERSION of OROSIUS. With a -literal Translation interpaged, Notes, and an ANGLO-SAXON GRAMMAR and -GLOSSARY, by B. Thorpe. 5_s._ - -=PAUSANIAS’ Description of Greece.= Newly translated by A. R. Shilleto, -M.A. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=PEARSON’S Exposition of the Creed.= Edited by E. Walford, M.A. 5_s._ - -=PEPYS’ Diary and Correspondence.= Deciphered by the Rev. J. Smith, M.A., -from the original Shorthand MS. in the Pepysian Library. Edited by Lord -Braybrooke. 4 vols. With 31 Engravings. 5_s._ each. - -=PERCY’S Reliques of Ancient English Poetry.= With an Essay on Ancient -Minstrels and a Glossary. Edited by J. V. Pritchard, A.M. 2 vols. 3_s._ -6_d._ each. - -=PERSIUS.=--_See_ JUVENAL. - -=PETRARCH’S Sonnets, Triumphs, and other Poems.= Translated into English -Verse by various Hands. With a Life of the Poet by Thomas Campbell. With -Portrait and 15 Steel Engravings. 5_s._ - -=PHILO-JUDÆUS, Works of.= Translated by Prof. C. D. Yonge, M.A. 4 vols. -5_s._ each. - -=PICKERING’S History of the Races of Man=, and their Geographical -Distribution. With An ANALYTICAL SYNOPSIS OF THE NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN -by Dr. Hall. With a Map of the World and 12 coloured Plates. 5_s._ - -=PINDAR.= Translated into Prose by Dawson W. Turner. To which is added the -Metrical Version by Abraham Moore. 5_s._ - -=PLANCHÉ. History of British Costume=, from the Earliest Time to the Close -of the Eighteenth Century. By J. R. Planché, Somerset Herald. With -upwards of 400 Illustrations. 5_s._ - -=PLATO’S Works.= Literally translated, with Introduction and Notes. 6 -vols. 5_s._ each. - - I.--The Apology of Socrates, Crito, Phædo, Gorgias, Protagoras, - Phædrus, Theætetus, Euthyphron, Lysis. Translated by the Rev. H. - Carey. - - II.--The Republic, Timæus, and Critias. Translated by Henry Davis. - - III.--Meno, Euthydemus, The Sophist, Statesman, Cratylus, - Parmenides, and the Banquet. Translated by G. Burges. - - IV.--Philebus, Charmides, Laches, Menexenus, Hippias, Ion, The Two - Alcibiades, Theages, Rivals, Hipparchus, Minos, Clitopho, Epistles. - Translated by G. Burges. - - V.--The Laws. Translated by G. Burges. - - VI.--The Doubtful Works. Translated by G. Burges. - ----- Summary and Analysis of the Dialogues. With Analytical Index. By A. -Day, LL.D. 5_s._ - -=PLAUTUS’S Comedies.= Translated by H. T. Riley, M.A. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=PLINY’S Natural History.= Translated by the late John Bostock, M.D., -F.R.S., and H. T. Riley, M.A. 6 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=PLINY. The Letters of Pliny the Younger.= Melmoth’s translation, revised -by the Rev. F. C. T. Bosanquet, M.A. 5_s._ - -=PLOTINUS, Select Works of.= Translated by Thomas Taylor. With an -Introduction containing the substance of Porphyry’s Plotinus. Edited by -G. R. S. Mead, B.A., M.R.A.S. 5_s._ - -=PLUTARCH’S Lives.= Translated by A. Stewart, M.A., and George Long, M.A. -4 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- Morals.= Theosophical Essays. Translated by C. W. King, M.A. 5_s._ - -=---- Morals.= Ethical Essays. Translated by the Rev. A. R. Shilleto, M.A. -5_s._ - -=POETRY OF AMERICA.= =Selections from One Hundred American Poets=, from 1776 -to 1876. By W. J. Linton. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=POLITICAL CYCLOPÆDIA.= =A Dictionary= of Political, Constitutional, -Statistical, and Forensic Knowledge; forming a Work of Reference on -subjects of Civil Administration, Political Economy, Finance, Commerce, -Laws, and Social Relations. 4 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=POPE’S Poetical Works.= Edited, with copious Notes, by Robert Carruthers. -With numerous Illustrations. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=---- Homer’s Iliad.= Edited by the Rev. J. S. Watson, M.A. Illustrated by -the entire Series of Flaxman’s Designs. 5_s._ - -=---- Homer’s Odyssey=, with the Battle of Frogs and Mice, Hymns, &c., by -other translators. Edited by the Rev. J. S. Watson, M.A. With the entire -Series of Flaxman’s Designs. 5_s._ - -=---- Life=, including many of his Letters. By Robert Carruthers. With -numerous Illustrations. 5_s._ - -=POUSHKIN’S Prose Tales=: The Captain’s Daughter--Doubrovsky--The Queen of -Spades--An Amateur Peasant Girl--The Shot--The Snow Storm--The -Postmaster--The Coffin Maker--Kirdjali--The Egyptian Nights--Peter the -Great’s Negro. Translated by T. Keane. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=PRESCOTT’S Conquest of Mexico.= Copyright edition, with the notes by John -Foster Kirk, and an introduction by G. P. Winship. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ -each. - -=---- Conquest of Peru.= Copyright edition, with the notes of John Foster -Kirk. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- Reign of Ferdinand and Isabella.= Copyright edition, with the notes -of John Foster Kirk. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=PROPERTIUS.= Translated by Rev. P. J. F. Gantillon, M.A., and accompanied -by Poetical Versions, from various sources. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=PROVERBS, Handbook of.= Containing an entire Republication of Ray’s -Collection of English Proverbs, with his additions from Foreign -Languages and a complete Alphabetical Index; in which are introduced -large additions as well of Proverbs as of Sayings, Sentences, Maxims, -and Phrases, collected by H. G. Bohn. 5_s._ - -=PROVERBS, A Polyglot of Foreign.= Comprising French, Italian, German, -Dutch, Spanish, Portuguese, and Danish. With English Translations & a -General Index by H. G. Bohn. 5_s._ - -=POTTERY AND PORCELAIN=, and other Objects of Vertu. Comprising an -Illustrated Catalogue of the Bernal Collection of Works of Art, with the -prices at which they were sold by auction, and names of the possessors. -To which are added, an Introductory Lecture on Pottery and Porcelain, -and an Engraved List of all the known Marks and Monograms. By Henry G. -Bohn. With numerous Wood Engravings, 5_s._; or with Coloured -Illustrations, 10_s._ 6_d._ - -=PROUT’S (Father) Reliques.= Collected and arranged by Rev. F. Mahony. New -issue, with 21 Etchings by D. Maclise, R.A. Nearly 600 pages. 5_s._ - -=QUINTILIAN’S Institutes of Oratory=, or Education of an Orator. -Translated by the Rev. J. S. Watson, M.A. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=RACINE’S (Jean) Dramatic Works.= A metrical English version. By R. Bruce -Boswell, M.A. Oxon. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=RANKE’S History of the Popes=, during the Last Four Centuries. Translated -by E. Foster. Mrs. Foster’s translation revised, with considerable -additions, by G. R. Dennis, B.A. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- History of Servia and the Servian Revolution.= With an Account of -the Insurrection in Bosnia. Translated by Mrs. Kerr. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=RECREATIONS in SHOOTING.= By ‘Craven.’ With 62 Engravings on Wood after -Harvey, and 9 Engravings on Steel, chiefly after A. Cooper, R.A. 5_s._ - -=RENNIE’S Insect Architecture.= Revised and enlarged by Rev. J. G. Wood, -M.A. With 186 Woodcut Illustrations. 5_s._ - -=REYNOLD’S (Sir J.) Literary Works.= Edited by H. W. Beechy. 2 vols. 3_s._ -6_d._ each. - -=RICARDO on the Principles of Political Economy and Taxation.= Edited by -E. C. K. Gonner, M.A. 5_s._ - -=RICHTER (Jean Paul Friedrich).= =Levana=, a Treatise on Education: together -with the Autobiography (a Fragment), and a short Prefatory Memoir. 3_s._ -6_d._ - -=----Flower, Fruit, and Thorn Pieces=, or the Wedded Life, Death, and -Marriage of Firmian Stanislaus Siebenkaes, Parish Advocate in the Parish -of Kuhschnapptel. Newly translated by Lt.-Col. Alex. Ewing. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=ROGER DE HOVEDEN’S Annals of English History=, comprising the History of -England and of other Countries of Europe from A.D. 732 to A.D. 1201. -Translated by H. T. Riley, M.A. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=ROGER OF WENDOVER’S Flowers of History=, comprising the History of -England from the Descent of the Saxons to A.D. 1235, formerly ascribed -to Matthew Paris. Translated by J. A. Giles, D.C.L. 2 vols. 5_s._ each - - [_Vol. II. out of print._ - -=ROME in the NINETEENTH CENTURY.= Containing a complete Account of the -Ruins of the Ancient City, the Remains of the Middle Ages, and the -Monuments of Modern Times. By C. A. Eaton. With 34 Steel Engravings. 2 -vols. 5_s._ each. - ----- _See_ BURN. - -=ROSCOE’S (W.) Life and Pontificate of Leo X.= Final edition, revised by -Thomas Roscoe. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- Life of Lorenzo de’ Medici=, called ‘the Magnificent.’ With his -poems, letters, &c. 10th Edition, revised, with Memoir of Roscoe by his -Son. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=RUSSIA. History of=, from the earliest Period, compiled from the most -authentic sources by Walter K. Kelly. With Portraits. 2 vols. 3_s._ -6_d._ each. - -=SALLUST, FLORUS, and VELLEIUS PATERCULUS.= Translated by J. S. Watson, -M.A. 5_s._ - -=SCHILLER’S Works.= Translated by various hands. 7 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ -each:-- - - I.--History of the Thirty Years’ War. - - II.--History of the Revolt in the Netherlands, the Trials of Counts - Egmont and Horn, the Siege of Antwerp, and the Disturbances in - France preceding the Reign of Henry IV. - - III.--Don Carlos, Mary Stuart, Maid of Orleans, Bride of Messina, - together with the Use of the Chorus in Tragedy (a short Essay). - - These Dramas are all translated in metre. - - IV.--Robbers (with Schiller’s original Preface), Fiesco, Love and - Intrigue, Demetrius, Ghost Seer, Sport of Divinity. - - The Dramas in this volume are translated into Prose. - - V.--Poems. - - VI.--Essays, Æsthetical and Philosophical. - - VII.--Wallenstein’s Camp, Piccolomini and Death of Wallenstein, - William Tell. - -=SCHILLER and GOETHE.= =Correspondence between=, from A.D. 1794-1805. -Translated by L. Dora Schmitz. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=SCHLEGEL’S (F.) Lectures on the Philosophy of Life and the Philosophy of -Language.= Translated by the Rev. A. J. W. Morrison, M.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Lectures on the History of Literature=, Ancient and Modern. -Translated from the German. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Lectures on the Philosophy of History.= Translated by J. B. -Robertson. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=SCHLEGEL’S Lectures on Modern History=, together with the Lectures -entitled Cæsar and Alexander, and The Beginning of our History. -Translated by L. Purcell and R. H. Whitetock. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Æsthetic and Miscellaneous Works.= Translated by E. J. Millington. -3_s._ 6_d._ - -=SCHLEGEL (A. W.) Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature.= Translated by -J. Black. Revised Edition, by the Rev. A. J. W. Morrison, M.A. 3_s._ -6_d._ - -=SCHOPENHAUER on the Four-fold Root of the Principle of Sufficient -Reason, and On the Will in Nature.= Translated by Madame Hillebrand. -5_s._ - -=---- Essays.= Selected and Translated. With a Biographical Introduction -and Sketch of his Philosophy, by E. Belfort Bax. 5_s._ - -=SCHOUW’S Earth, Plants, and Man.= Translated by A. Henfrey. With coloured -Map of the Geography of Plants. 5_s._ - -=SCHUMANN (Robert).= His Life and Works, by August Reissmann. Translated -by A. L. Alger. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Early Letters.= Originally published by his Wife. Translated by May -Herbert. With a Preface by Sir George Grove, D.C.L. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=SENECA on Benefits.= Newly translated by A. Stewart, M.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Minor Essays and On Clemency.= Translated by A. Stewart, M.A. 5_s._ - -=SHAKESPEARE DOCUMENTS.= Arranged by D. H. Lambert, B.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=SHAKESPEARE’S Dramatic Art.= The history and Character of Shakespeare’s -Plays. By Dr. Hermann Ulrici. Translated by L. Dora Schmitz. 2 vols. -3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=SHAKESPEARE (William).= A Literary Biography by Karl Elze, Ph.D., LL.D. -Translated by L. Dora Schmitz. 5_s._ - -=SHARPE (S.) The History of Egypt,= from the Earliest Times till the -Conquest by the Arabs, A.D. 640. By Samuel Sharpe. 2 Maps and upwards of -400 Illustrative Woodcuts. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=SHERIDAN’S Dramatic Works,= Complete. With Life by G. G. S. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=SISMONDI’S History of the Literature of the South of Europe.= Translated -by Thomas Roscoe. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=SMITH’S Synonyms and Antonyms, or Kindred Words and their Opposites.= -Revised Edition. 5_s._ - -=---- Synonyms Discriminated.= A Dictionary of Synonymous Words in the -English Language, showing the Accurate signification of words of similar -meaning. Edited by the Rev. H. Percy Smith, M.A. 6_s._ - -=SMITH’S (Adam) The Wealth of Nations.= Edited by E. Belfort Bax. 2 vols. -3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- Theory of Moral Sentiments.= With a Memoir of the Author by Dugald -Stewart. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=SMYTH’S (Professor) Lectures on Modern History.= 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ -each. - -=SMYTH’S (Professor) Lectures on the French Revolution.= 2 vols. 3_s._ -6_d._ each. - -=SMITH’S (Pye) Geology and Scripture.= 2nd Edition. 5_s._ - -=SMOLLETT’S Adventures of Roderick Random.= With short Memoir and -Bibliography, and Cruikshank’s Illustrations. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=SMOLLETT’S Adventures of Peregrine Pickle.= With Bibliography and -Cruikshank’s Illustrations. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- The Expedition of Humphry Clinker.= With Bibliography and -Cruikshank’s Illustrations. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=SOCRATES (surnamed ‘Scholasticus’).= The Ecclesiastical History of (A.D. -305-445). Translated from the Greek. 5_s._ - -=SOPHOCLES, The Tragedies of.= A New Prose Translation, with Memoir, -Notes, &c., by E. P. Coleridge, M.A. 5_s._ - -=SOUTHEY’S Life of Nelson.= With Portraits, Plans, and upwards of 50 -Engravings on Steel and Wood. 5_s._ - -=---- Life of Wesley, and the Rise and Progress of Methodism.= 5_s._ - -=---- Robert Southey.= The Story of his Life written in his Letters. -Edited by John Dennis. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=SOZOMEN’S Ecclesiastical History.= Translated from the Greek. Together -with the ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY OF PHILOSTORGIUS, as epitomised by -Photius. Translated by Rev. E. Walford, M.A. 5_s._ - -=SPINOZA’S Chief Works.= Translated, with Introduction, by R. H. M. Elwes. -2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=STANLEY’S Classified Synopsis of the Principal Painters of the Dutch and -Flemish Schools.= By George Stanley. 5_s._ - -=STARLING’S (Miss) Noble Deeds of Women.= With 14 Steel Engravings. 5_s._ - -=STAUNTON’S Chess-Player’s Handbook.= 5_s._ - -=---- Chess Praxis.= A Supplement to the Chess-player’s Handbook. 5_s._ - -=STAUNTON’S Chess-player’s Companion.= Comprising a Treatise on Odds, -Collection of Match Games, and a Selection of Original Problems. 5_s._ - -=---- Chess Tournament of 1851.= With Introduction and Notes. 5_s._ - -=STOCKHARDT’S Experimental Chemistry.= Edited by C. W. Heaton, F.C.S. -5_s._ - -=STOWE (Mrs. H. B.) Uncle Tom’s Cabin.= Illustrated. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=STRABO’S Geography.= Translated by W. Falconer, M.A., and H. C. Hamilton. -3 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=STRICKLAND’S (Agnes) Lives of the Queens of England=, from the Norman -Conquest. Revised Edition. With 6 Portraits. 6 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=---- Life of Mary Queen of Scots.= 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=---- Lives of the Tudor and Stuart Princesses.= With Portraits. 5_s._ - -=STUART and REVETT’S Antiquities of Athens=, and other Monuments of -Greece. With 71 Plates engraved on Steel, and numerous Woodcut Capitals. -5_s._ - -=SUETONIUS’ Lives of the Twelve Cæsars and Lives of the Grammarians.= -Thomson’s translation, revised by T. Forester. 5_s._ - -=SWIFT’S Prose Works.= Edited by Temple Scott. With a Biographical -Introduction by the Right Hon. W. E. H. Lecky, M.P. With Portraits and -Facsimiles. 12 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - - [_Vols. I.-XI. ready._ - - I.--A Tale of a Tub, The Battle of the Books, and other early - works. Edited by Temple Scott. With a Biographical Introduction by - W. E. H. Lecky. - - II.--The Journal to Stella. Edited by Frederick Ryland, M.A. With 2 - Portraits and Facsimile. - - III. & IV.--Writings on Religion and the Church. - - V.--Historical and Political Tracts (English). - - VI.--The Drapier’s Letters. With facsimiles of Wood’s Coinage, &c. - - VII.--Historical and Political Tracts (Irish). - - VIII.--Gulliver’s Travels. Edited by G. R. Dennis. With Portrait - and Maps. - - IX.--Contributions to Periodicals. - - X.--Historical Writings. - - XI.--Literary Essays. - - XII.--Index and Bibliography, &c. - - [_In preparation._ - -=TACITUS. The Works of.= Literally translated. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=TASSO’S Jerusalem Delivered.= Translated into English Spenserian Verse by -J. H. Wiffen. With 8 Engravings on Steel and 24 Woodcuts by Thurston. -5_s._ - -=TAYLOR’S (Bishop Jeremy) Holy Living and Dying.= 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=TEN BRINK.=--_See_ BRINK. - -=TERENCE and PHÆDRUS.= Literally translated by H. T. Riley, M.A. To which -is added, Smart’s Metrical Version of Phædrus. 5_s._ - -=THEOCRITUS, BION, MOSCHUS, and TYRTÆUS.= Literally translated by the Rev. -J. Banks, M.A. To which are appended the Metrical Versions of Chapman. -5_s._ - -=THEODORET and EVAGRIUS.= Histories of the Church from A.D. 332 to A.D. -427; and from A.D. 431 to A.D. 544. Translated. 5_s._ - -=THIERRY’S History of the Conquest of England by the Normans.= Translated -by William Hazlitt. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=THUCYDIDES. The Peloponnesian War.= Literally translated by the Rev. H. -Dale. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=---- An Analysis and Summary of.= By J. T. Wheeler. 5_s._ - -=THUDICHUM (J. L. W.) A Treatise on Wines.= Illustrated. 5_s._ - -=URE’S (Dr. A.) Cotton Manufacture of Great Britain.= Edited by P. L. -Simmonds. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=---- Philosophy of Manufactures.= Edited by P. L. Simmonds. 7_s._ 6_d._ - -=VASARI’S Lives of the most Eminent Painters, Sculptors, and Architects.= -Translated by Mrs. J. Foster, with a Commentary by J. P. Richter, Ph.D. -6 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=VIRGIL.= A Literal Prose Translation by A. Hamilton Bryce, LL.D. With -Portrait. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=VOLTAIRE’S Tales.= Translated by R. B. Boswell. Containing Bebouc, -Memnon, Candide, L’Ingénu, and other Tales. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=WALTON’S Complete Angler.= Edited by Edward Jesse. With Portrait and 203 -Engravings on Wood and 26 Engravings on Steel. 5_s._ - -=---- Lives of Donne, Hooker, &c.= New Edition revised by A. H. Bullen, -with a Memoir of Izaak Walton by Wm. Dowling. With numerous -Illustrations. 5_s._ - -=WELLINGTON, Life of. By ‘An Old Soldier.’= From the materials of Maxwell. -With Index and 18 Steel Engravings. 5_s._ - -=WELLINGTON, Victories of.= _See_ MAXWELL. - -=WERNER’S Templars in Cyprus.= Translated by E. A. M. Lewis. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=WESTROPP (H. M.) A Handbook of Archæology, Egyptian, Greek, Etruscan, -Roman.= Illustrated. 5_s._ - -=WHITE’S Natural History of Selborne.= With Notes by Sir William Jardine. -Edited by Edward Jesse. With 40 Portraits and coloured Plates. 5_s._ - -=WHEATLEY’S A Rational Illustration of the Book of Common Prayer.= 3_s._ -6_d._ - -=WHEELER’S Noted Names of Fiction, Dictionary of.= 5_s._ - -=WIESELER’S Chronological Synopsis of the Four Gospels.= Translated by the -Rev. Canon Venables. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=WILLIAM of MALMESBURY’S Chronicle of the Kings of England.= Translated by -the Rev. J. Sharpe. Edited by J. A. Giles, D.C.L. 5_s._ - -=XENOPHON’S Works.= Translated by the Rev. J. S. Watson, M.A., and the -Rev. H. Dale. In 3 vols. 5_s._ each. - -=YOUNG (Arthur). Travels in France during the years 1787, 1788, and 1789.= -Edited by M. Betham Edwards. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -=---- Tour in Ireland,= with General Observations on the state of the -country during the years 1776-79. Edited by A. W. Hutton. With Complete -Bibliography by J. P. Anderson, and Map. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. - -=YULE-TIDE STORIES.= A Collection of Scandinavian and North-German Popular -Tales and Traditions. Edited by B. Thorpe. 5_s._ - - - - -THE YORK LIBRARY - -A NEW SERIES OF REPRINTS ON THIN PAPER. - -_With specially designed title-pages, binding, and end-papers._ - -Fcap. 8vo. in cloth, =2s. net=; - -In leather, =3s. net=. - -‘The York Library is noticeable by reason of the wisdom and intelligence -displayed in the choice of unhackneyed classics.... A most attractive -series of reprints.... The size and style of the volumes are exactly -what they should be.’--_Bookman._ - - -_The following volumes are now ready_: - - CHARLOTTE BRONTË’S JANE EYRE. - - BURNEY’S EVELINA. Edited, with an Introduction and Notes, by ANNIE - RAINE ELLIS. - - BURNEY’S CECILIA. Edited by ANNIE RAINE ELLIS. 2 vols. - - BURTON’S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY. Edited by the Rev. A. R. SHILLETO, - M.A., with Introduction by A. H. BULLEN. 3 vols. - - BURTON’S (SIR RICHARD) PILGRIMAGE TO AL-MADINAH AND MECCAH. With - Introduction by STANLEY LANE-POOLE. 2 vols. - - CERVANTES’ DON QUIXOTE. MOTTEUX’S Translation, revised. With - LOCKHART’S Life and Notes. 2 vols. - - CLASSIC TALES: JOHNSON’S RASSELAS, GOLDSMITH’S VICAR OF WAKEFIELD, - STERNE’S SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY, WALPOLE’S CASTLE OF OTRANTO. With - Introduction by C. S. FEARENSIDE, M.A. - - COLERIDGE’S AIDS TO REFLECTION, and the Confessions of an Inquiring - Spirit. - - COLERIDGE’S FRIEND. A series of Essays on Morals, Politics, and - Religion. - - COLERIDGE’S TABLE TALK AND OMNIANA. Arranged and Edited by T. ASHE, - B.A. - - COLERIDGE’S LECTURES AND NOTES ON SHAKESPEARE, and other English - Poets. Edited by T. ASHE, B.A. - - DRAPER’S HISTORY OF THE INTELLECTUAL DEVELOPMENT OF EUROPE. 2 vols. - - EBERS’ AN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS. Translated by E. S. BUCHHEIM. - - GEORGE ELIOT’S ADAM BEDE. - - EMERSON’S WORKS. A new edition in 5 volumes, with the Text edited - and collated by GEORGE SAMPSON. - - FIELDING’S TOM JONES (2 vols.), AMELIA (1 vol.), JOSEPH ANDREWS (1 - vol.). - - GASKELL’S SYLVIA’S LOVERS. - - GESTA ROMANORUM, or Entertaining Moral Stories invented by the - Monks. Translated from the Latin by the Rev. CHARLES SWAN. Revised - edition, by WYNNARD HOOPER, M.A. - - GOETHE’S FAUST. Translated by ANNA SWANWICK, LL.D. Revised edition, - with an Introduction and Bibliography by KARL BREUL, Litt.D., Ph.D. - - GOETHE’S POETRY AND TRUTH FROM MY OWN LIFE. Translated by M. - STEELE-SMITH, with Introduction and Bibliography by KARL BREUL, - Litt.D. - - HAWTHORNE’S TRANSFORMATION (THE MARBLE FAUN). - - HOOPER’S WATERLOO: THE DOWNFALL OF THE FIRST NAPOLEON. With Maps - and Plans. - - IRVING’S SKETCH BOOK. - - IRVING’S BRACEBRIDGE HALL, OR THE HUMOURISTS. - - JAMESON’S SHAKESPEARE’S HEROINES. Characteristics of Women: Moral, - Poetical, and Historical. - - LAMB’S ESSAYS. Including the Essays of Elia, Last Essays of Elia, - and Eliana. - - MARCUS AURELIUS ANTONINUS, THE THOUGHTS OF. Translated by GEORGE - LONG, M.A. With an Essay on Marcus Aurelius by MATTHEW ARNOLD. - - MARRYAT’S MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. With 8 Illustrations. 1 vol. PETER - SIMPLE. With 8 Illustrations. 1 vol. - - MIGNET’S HISTORY OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION, from 1789 to 1814. - - MONTAIGNE’S ESSAYS. Cotton’s translation. Revised by W. C. HAZLITT. - 3 vols. - - MOTLEY’S RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC. With a Biographical - Introduction by MONCURE D. CONWAY. 3 vols. - - PASCAL’S THOUGHTS. Translated from the Text of M. AUGUSTE MOLINIER - by C. KEGAN PAUL. Third edition. - - PLUTARCH’S LIVES. Translated, with Notes and a Life by AUBREY - STEWART, M.A., and GEORGE LONG, M.A. 4 vols. - - RANKE’S HISTORY OF THE POPES, during the Last Four Centuries. Mrs. - Foster’s translation. Revised by G. R. DENNIS. 3 vols. - - SWIFT’S GULLIVER’S TRAVELS. Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by - G. R. DENNIS, with facsimiles of the original illustrations. - - SWIFT’S JOURNAL TO STELLA. Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by - F. RYLAND, M.A. - - TROLLOPE’S BARSETSHIRE NOVELS.--THE WARDEN (1 vol.), BARCHESTER - TOWERS (1 vol.), DR. THORNE (1 vol.), FRAMLEY PARSONAGE (1 vol.), - SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON (2 vols.), LAST CHRONICLE OF BARSET (2 - vols.). - - VOLTAIRE’S ZADIG AND OTHER TALES. Translated by R. BRUCE BOSWELL. - - ARTHUR YOUNG’S TRAVELS IN FRANCE, during the years 1787, 1788, and - 1789. Edited with Introduction and Notes, by M. BETHAM EDWARDS. - - -_Other Volumes are in Preparation._ - - - - -BELL’S HANDBOOKS - -OF - -THE GREAT MASTERS - -IN PAINTING AND SCULPTURE. - -EDITED BY G. C. WILLIAMSON, LITT.D. - -NEW AND CHEAPER REISSUE. - -Post 8vo. With 40 Illustrations and Photogravure Frontispiece. 3_s._ -6_d._ net each. - - -_The following Volumes have been issued_: - - BOTTICELLI. By A. STREETER. 2nd Edition. - - BRUNELLESCHI. By LEADER SCOTT. - - CORREGGIO. By SELWYN BRINTON, M.A. 2nd Edition. - - CARLO CRIVELLI. By G. MCNEIL RUSHFORTH, M.A. - - DELLA ROBBIA. By the MARCHESA BURLAMACCHI. 2nd Edition. - - ANDREA DEL SARTO. By H. GUINNESS. 2nd Edition. - - DONATELLO. By HOPE REA. 2nd Edition. - - GERARD DOU. By Dr. W. MARTIN. Translated by Clara Bell. - - GAUDENZIO FERRARI. By ETHEL HALSEY. - - FRANCIA. By GEORGE C. WILLIAMSON, Litt.D. - - GIORGIONE. By HERBERT COOK, M.A. - - GIOTTO. By F. MASON PERKINS. - - FRANS HALS. By GERALD S. DAVIES, M.A. - - BERNARDINO LUINI. By GEORGE C. WILLIAMSON, Litt.D. 3rd Edition. - - LEONARDO DA VINCI. By EDWARD MCCURDY, M.A. - - MANTEGNA. By MAUD CRUTTWELL. - - MEMLINC. By W. H. JAMES WEALE. - - MICHEL ANGELO. By Lord RONALD SUTHERLAND GOWER, M.A., F.S.A. - - PERUGINO. By G. C. WILLIAMSON, Litt.D. 2nd Edition. - - PIERO DELLA FRANCESCA. By W. G. WATERS, M.A. - - PINTORICCHIO. By EVELYN MARCH PHILLIPPS. - - RAPHAEL. By H. STRACHEY. 2nd Edition. - - REMBRANDT. By MALCOLM BELL. 2nd Edition. - - RUBENS. By HOPE REA. - - LUCA SIGNORELLI. By MAUD CRUTTWELL. 2nd Edition. - - SODOMA. By the CONTESSA LORENZO PRIULI-BON. - - TINTORETTO. By J. B. STOUGHTON HOLBORN, M.A. - - VAN DYCK. By LIONEL CUST, M.V.O., F.S.A. - - VELASQUEZ. By R. A. M. STEVENSON. 3rd Edition. - - WATTEAU. By EDGCUMBE STALEY, B.A. - - WILKIE. By Lord RONALD SUTHERLAND GOWER, M.A., F.S.A. - - -_Write for Illustrated Prospectus._ - - - - -THE CHISWICK SHAKESPEARE. - -_Illustrated by BYAM SHAW._ - -WITH INTRODUCTIONS AND GLOSSARIES BY JOHN DENNIS. - -Printed at the Chiswick Press, pott 8vo., price 1_s._ 6_d._ net per -volume; also a cheaper edition, 1_s._ net per volume; or 2_s._ net in -limp leather; also a few copies, on Japanese vellum, to be sold only in -sets, price 5_s._ net per volume. - - -_Now Complete in 39 Volumes._ - - ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. - ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. - AS YOU LIKE IT. - COMEDY OF ERRORS. - CORIOLANUS. - CYMBELINE. - HAMLET. - JULIUS CÆSAR. - KING HENRY IV. Part I. - KING HENRY IV. Part II. - KING HENRY V. - KING HENRY VI. Part I. - KING HENRY VI. Part II. - KING HENRY VI. Part III. - KING HENRY VIII. - KING JOHN. - KING LEAR. - KING RICHARD II. - KING RICHARD III. - LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST. - MACBETH. - MEASURE FOR MEASURE. - MERCHANT OF VENICE. - MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. - MIDSUMMER-NIGHT’S DREAM. - MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. - OTHELLO. - PERICLES. - ROMEO AND JULIET. - THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. - THE TEMPEST. - TIMON OF ATHENS. - TITUS ANDRONICUS. - TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. - TWELFTH NIGHT. - TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. - WINTER’S TALE. - POEMS. - SONNETS. - - - ‘A fascinating little edition.’--_Notes and Queries._ - - ‘A cheap, very comely, and altogether desirable - edition.’--_Westminster Gazette._ - - ‘But a few years ago such volumes would have been deemed worthy to - be considered _éditions de luxe_. To-day, the low price at which - they are offered to the public alone prevents them being so - regarded.’--_Studio._ - - ‘Handy in shape and size, wonderfully cheap, beautifully printed - from the Cambridge text, and illustrated quaintly yet admirably by - Mr. Byam Shaw, we have nothing but praise for it. No one who wants - a good and convenient Shakespeare--without excursuses, discursuses, - or even too many notes--can do better, in our opinion, than - subscribe to this issue: which is saying a good deal in these days - of cheap reprints.’--_Vanity Fair._ - - ‘What we like about these elegant booklets is the attention that - has been paid to the paper, as well as to the print and decoration; - such stout laid paper will last for ages. On this account alone, - the ‘Chiswick’ _should easily be first_ among pocket - Shakespeares.’--_Pall Mall Gazette._ - -⁂ _The Chiswick Shakespeare may also be had bound in 12 volumes, full -gilt back, price 36s. net._ - - - - -New Editions, fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. each net. - -THE ALDINE EDITION - -OF THE - -BRITISH POETS. - - ‘This excellent edition of the English classics, with their - complete texts and scholarly introductions, are something very - different from the cheap volumes of extracts which are just now so - much too common.’--_St. James’s Gazette._ - - ‘An excellent series. Small, handy, and complete.’--_Saturday - Review._ - - - Blake. Edited by W. M. Rossetti. - - Burns. Edited by G. A. Aitken. 3 vols. - - Butler. Edited by R. B. Johnson. 2 vols. - - Campbell. Edited by His Son-in-law, the Rev. A. W. Hill. With - Memoir by W. Allingham. - - Chatterton. Edited by the Rev. W. W. Skeat, M.A. 2 vols. - - Chaucer. Edited by Dr. R. Morris, with Memoir by Sir H. Nicolas. 6 - vols. - - Churchill. Edited by Jas. Hannay. 2 vols. - - Coleridge. Edited by T. Ashe, B.A. 2 vols. - - Collins. Edited by W. Moy Thomas. - - Cowper. Edited by John Bruce, F.S.A. 3 vols. - - Dryden. Edited by the Rev. R. Hooper, M.A. 5 vols. - - Goldsmith. Revised Edition by Austin Dobson. With Portrait. - - Gray. Edited by J. Bradshaw, LL.D. - - Herbert. Edited by the Rev. A. B. Grosart. - - Herrick. Edited by George Saintsbury. 2 vols. - - Keats. Edited by the late Lord Houghton. - - Kirke White. Edited, with a Memoir, by Sir H. Nicolas. - - Milton. Edited by Dr. Bradshaw. 2 vols. - - Parnell. Edited by G. A. Aitken. - - Pope. Edited by G. R. Dennis. With Memoir by John Dennis. 3 vols. - - Prior. Edited by R. B. Johnson. 2 vols. - - Raleigh and Wotton. With Selections from the Writings of other - COURTLY POETS from 1540 to 1650. Edited by Ven. Archdeacon Hannah, - D.C.L. - - Rogers. Edited by Edward Bell, M.A. - - Scott. Edited by John Dennis. 5 vols. - - Shakespeare’s Poems. Edited by Rev. A. Dyce. - - Shelley. Edited by H. Buxton Forman. 5 vols. - - Spenser. Edited by J. Payne Collier. 5 vols. - - Surrey. Edited by J. Yeowell. - - Swift. Edited by the Rev. J. Mitford. 3 vols. - - Thomson. Edited by the Rev. D. O. Tovey. 2 vols. - - Vaughan. Sacred Poems and Pious Ejaculations. Edited by the Rev. H. - Lyte. - - Wordsworth. Edited by Prof. Dowden. 7 vols. - - Wyatt. Edited by J. Yeowell. - - Young. 2 vols. Edited by the Rev. J. Mitford. - - - - -THE ALL-ENGLAND SERIES. - - -HANDBOOKS OF ATHLETIC GAMES. - -‘The best instruction on games and sports by the best authorities, at -the lowest prices.’--_Oxford Magazine._ - -Small 8vo. cloth, Illustrated. Price 1_s._ each. - - Cricket. By FRED C. HOLLAND. - - Cricket. By the Hon. and Rev. E. LYTTELTON. - - Croquet. By Lieut.-Col. the Hon. H. C. NEEDHAM. - - Lawn Tennis. By H. W. W. WILBERFORCE. With a Chapter for Ladies, by - Mrs. HILLYARD. - - Squash Tennis. By EUSTACE H. MILES. Double vol. 2_s._ - - Tennis and Rackets and Fives. By JULIAN MARSHALL, Major J. SPENS, - and Rev. J. A. ARNAN TAIT. - - Golf. By H. S. C. EVERARD. Double vol. 2_s._ - - Rowing and Sculling. By GUY RIXON. - - Rowing and Sculling. By W. B. WOODGATE. - - Sailing. By E. F. KNIGHT, dbl. vol. 2_s._ - - Swimming. By MARTIN and J. RACSTER COBBETT. - - Camping out. By A. A. MACDONELL. Double vol. 2_s._ - - Canoeing. By Dr. J. D. HAYWARD. Double vol. 2_s._ - - Mountaineering. By Dr. CLAUDE WILSON. Double vol. 2_s._ - - Athletics. By H. H. GRIFFIN. - - Riding. By W. A. KERR, V.C. Double vol. 2_s._ - - Ladies’ Riding. By W. A. KERR, V.C. - - Boxing. By R. G. ALLANSON-WINN. With Prefatory Note by Bat Mullins. - - Fencing. By H. A. COLMORE DUNN. - - Cycling. By H. H. GRIFFIN, L.A.C., N.C.U., C.T.C. With a Chapter - for Ladies, by Miss AGNES WOOD. Double vol. 2_s._ - - Wrestling. By WALTER ARMSTRONG. New Edition. - - Broadsword and Singlestick. By R. G. ALLANSON-WINN and C. - PHILLIPPS-WOLLEY. - - Gymnastics. By A. F. JENKIN. Double vol. 2_s._ - - Gymnastic Competition and Display Exercises. Compiled by F. GRAF. - - Indian Clubs. By G. T. B. COBBETT and A. F. JENKIN. - - Dumb-bells. By F. GRAF. - - Football--Rugby Game. By HARRY VASSALL. - - Football--Association Game. By C. W. ALCOCK. Revised Edition. - - Hockey. By F. S. CRESWELL. New Edition. - - Skating. By DOUGLAS ADAMS. With a Chapter for Ladies, by Miss L. - CHEETHAM, and a Chapter on Speed Skating, by a Fen Skater. Dbl. - vol. 2_s._ - - Baseball. By NEWTON CRANE. - - Rounders, Fieldball, Bowls, Quoits, Curling, Skittles, &c. By J. M. - WALKER and C. C. MOTT. - - Dancing. By EDWARD SCOTT. Double vol. 2_s._ - - -THE CLUB SERIES OF CARD AND TABLE GAMES. - -‘No well-regulated club or country house should be without this useful -series of books.’--_Globe._ - -Small 8vo. cloth, Illustrated. Price 1_s._ each. - - Bridge. By ‘TEMPLAR.’ - - Whist. By Dr. WM. POLE, F.R.S. - - Solo Whist. By ROBERT F. GREEN. - - Billiards. By Major-Gen. A. W. DRAYSON, F.R.A.S. With a Preface by - W. J. Peall. - - Hints on Billiards. By J. P. BUCHANAN. Double vol. 2_s._ - - Chess. By ROBERT F. GREEN. - - The Two-Move Chess Problem. By B. G. LAWS. - - Chess Openings. By I. GUNSBERG. - - Draughts and Backgammon. By ‘BERKELEY.’ - - Reversi and Go Bang. By ‘BERKELEY.’ - - Dominoes and Solitaire. By ‘BERKELEY.’ - - Bézique and Cribbage. By ‘BERKELEY.’ - - Écarté and Euchre. By ‘BERKELEY.’ - - Piquet and Rubicon Piquet. By ‘BERKELEY.’ - - Skat. By LOUIS DIEHL. ⁂ A Skat Scoring-book. 1_s._ - - Round Games, including Poker, Napoleon, Loo, Vingt-et-un, &c. By - BAXTER-WRAY. - - Parlour and Playground Games. By Mrs. LAURENCE GOMME. - - * * * * * - -BELL’S CATHEDRAL SERIES. - - -_Profusely Illustrated, cloth, crown 8vo. 1s. 6d. net each._ - -ENGLISH CATHEDRALS. An Itinerary and Description. Compiled by JAMES G. -GILCHRIST, A.M., M.D. Revised and edited with an Introduction on -Cathedral Architecture by the Rev. T. PERKINS, M.A., F.R.A.S. - - BANGOR. By P. B. IRONSIDE BAX. - - BRISTOL. By H. J. L. J. MASSÉ, M.A. - - CANTERBURY. By HARTLEY WITHERS. 5th Edition. - - CARLISLE. By C. KING ELEY. - - CHESTER. By CHARLES HIATT. 3rd Edition. - - CHICHESTER. By H. C. CORLETTE, A.R.I.B.A. 2nd Edition. - - DURHAM. By J. E. BYGATE, A.R.C.A. 3rd Edition. - - ELY. By Rev. W. D. SWEETING, M.A. 2nd Edition. - - EXETER. By PERCY ADDLESHAW, B.A. 2nd Edition, revised. - - GLOUCESTER. By H. J. L. J. MASSÉ, M.A. 3rd Edition. - - HEREFORD. By A. HUGH FISHER, A.R.E. 2nd Edition, revised. - - LICHFIELD. By A. B. CLIFTON. 2nd Edition. - - LINCOLN. By A. F. KENDRICK, B.A. 3rd Edition. - - LLANDAFF. By E. C. MORGAN WILLMOTT, A.R.I.B.A. - - MANCHESTER. By Rev. T. PERKINS, M.A. - - NORWICH. By C. H. B. QUENNELL. 2nd Edition. - - OXFORD. By Rev. PERCY DEARMER, M.A. 2nd Edition, revised. - - PETERBOROUGH. By Rev. W. D. SWEETING. 2nd Edition, revised. - - RIPON. By CECIL HALLETT, B.A. - - ROCHESTER. By G. H. PALMER, B.A. 2nd Edition, revised. - - ST. ALBANS. By Rev. T. PERKINS, M.A. - - ST. ASAPH. By P. B. IRONSIDE BAX. - - ST. DAVID’S. By PHILIP ROBSON, A.R.I.B.A. - - ST. PATRICK’S, DUBLIN. By Rev. J. H. BERNARD, M.A., D.D. 2nd - Edition. - - ST. PAUL’S. By Rev. ARTHUR DIMOCK, M.A. 3rd Edition, revised. - - ST. SAVIOUR’S, SOUTHWARK. By GEORGE WORLEY. - - SALISBURY. By GLEESON WHITE. 3rd Edition, revised. - - SOUTHWELL. By Rev. ARTHUR DIMOCK, M.A. 2nd Edition, revised. - - WELLS. By Rev. PERCY DEARMER, M.A. 3rd Edition. - - WINCHESTER. By P. W. SERGEANT. 3rd Edition. - - WORCESTER. By E. F. STRANGE. 2nd Edition. - - YORK. By A. CLUTTON-BROCK, M.A. 3rd Edition. - - -_Uniform with above Series. Now ready. 1s. 6d. net each._ - - ST. MARTIN’S CHURCH, CANTERBURY. By the Rev. CANON ROUTLEDGE, M.A., - F.S.A. - - BEVERLEY MINSTER. By CHARLES HIATT. - - WIMBORNE MINSTER and CHRISTCHURCH PRIORY. By the Rev. T. PERKINS, - M.A. - - TEWKESBURY ABBEY AND DEERHURST PRIORY. By H. J. L. J. MASSÉ, M.A. - - BATH ABBEY, MALMESBURY ABBEY, and BRADFORD-ON-AVON CHURCH. By Rev. - T. PERKINS, M.A. - - WESTMINSTER ABBEY. By CHARLES HIATT. - - THE TEMPLE CHURCH. By GEORGE WORLEY. - - ST. BARTHOLOMEW’S, SMITHFIELD. By GEORGE WORLEY. - - STRATFORD-ON-AVON CHURCH. By HAROLD BAKER. - - -BELL’S HANDBOOKS TO CONTINENTAL CHURCHES. - -_Profusely Illustrated. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net each._ - - AMIENS. By the Rev. T. PERKINS, M.A. - - BAYEUX. By the Rev. R. S. MYLNE. - - CHARTRES: The Cathedral and Other Churches. By H. J. L. J. MASSÉ, - M.A. - - MONT ST. MICHEL. By H. J. L. J. MASSÉ, M.A. - - PARIS (NOTRE-DAME). By CHARLES HIATT. - - ROUEN: The Cathedral and Other Churches. By the Rev. T. PERKINS, - M.A. - - - - -The Best Practical Working Dictionary of the English Language. - -WEBSTER’S INTERNATIONAL DICTIONARY. - -_2348 PAGES._ _5000 ILLUSTRATIONS._ - -NEW EDITION, REVISED THROUGHOUT WITH A NEW SUPPLEMENT OF 25,000 -ADDITIONAL WORDS AND PHRASES. - -The Appendices comprise a Pronouncing Gazetteer of the World, -Vocabularies of Scripture, Greek, Latin, and English Proper Names, a -Dictionary of the Noted Names of Fiction, a Brief History of the English -Language, a Dictionary of Foreign Quotations, Words, Phrases, Proverbs, -&c., a Biographical Dictionary with 10,000 names, &c., &c. - - - =Dr. MURRAY=, _Editor of the ‘Oxford English Dictionary,’_ says:--‘In - this its latest form, and with its large Supplement and numerous - appendices, it is a wonderful volume, which well maintains its - ground against all rivals on its own lines. The ‘definitions,’ or - more properly, ‘explanations of meaning’ in ‘Webster’ have always - struck me as particularly terse and well-put; and it is hard to see - how anything better could be done within the limits.’ - - =Professor JOSEPH WRIGHT, M.A., Ph.D., D.C.L., LL.D.=, _Editor of the - ‘English Dialect Dictionary,’_ says:--‘The new edition of - “Webster’s International Dictionary” is undoubtedly the most useful - and reliable work of its kind in any country. No one who has not - examined the work carefully would believe that such a vast amount - of lexicographical information could possibly be found within so - small a compass.’ - - =Rev. JOSEPH WOOD, D.D.=, _Head Master of Harrow_, says:--‘I have - always thought very highly of its merits. Indeed, I consider it to - be far the most accurate English Dictionary in existence, and much - more reliable than the “Century.” For daily and hourly reference, - “Webster” seems to me unrivalled.’ - -_Prospectuses, with Prices and Specimen Pages, on Application._ - - -WEBSTER’S COLLEGIATE DICTIONARY. - -THE LARGEST AND LATEST ABRIDGMENT OF ‘THE INTERNATIONAL.’ - -_Full particulars on application._ - - - LONDON: GEORGE BELL & SONS, YORK HOUSE, - PORTUGAL STREET, W.C. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] I believe that a translation of one of Heine’s works--his “Book - of Songs”--was published in this country a few years ago, but I have - not met with it. An American version of the “Pictures of Travel” also - appeared in 1855. - - [2] One of the finest in the collection, “The Grenadiers,” which is - thoroughly imbued with the spirit of Béranger, was written as early as - 1815, when Heine was not sixteen years old, and before Béranger had - written his analogous poems “Le Vieux Drapeau,” “Le Vieux Sergent,” &c. - - [3] The Arminius of Tacitus. - - [4] A suburb of Frankfort, on the further side of the Main. - - [5] German _litterateurs_ of more or less note. - - [6] In the original, _Hell_ and _Kind_, well-known writers. It is - necessary to translate the names for the sake of the pun. - - [7] The word “Gimpel” in the original has the double meaning of - “bullfinch” and “blockhead,” and the point of this verse is therefore - lost in a translation. - - [8] See Heine’s Tragedy of that name. - - [9] The Hindoo god corresponding to Cupid. - - [10] Spring. - - [11] The eminent Professor and Editor of Hegel’s works. He died in - 1839. - - [12] It is with real hesitation that I publish this lame and impotent - conclusion to a legend the first two parts of which are in Heine’s - best style. - - [13] The three following verses are extracted by Heine _verbatim_ from - Schiller’s well-known “Lament of Ceres.” The version of them here - given is taken from the translation of Schiller’s Poems published by - me in 1851. - - [14] Names for the three royal houses of Prussia, Austria, and Bavaria. - - [15] See the account of the old Drum-Major Le Grand contained in the - prose section of Heine’s “Pictures of Travel,” entitled “Book Le - Grand.” - - [16] A well-known republican poet and writer, born at Stuttgardt; at - one time caressed, and afterwards banished, by the King of Prussia. He - took an active part in the political troubles of 1848. - - [17] See Schiller’s Play of “Don Carlos.” - - [18] Evidently a satire on the King of Prussia. - - [19] A famous theological writer, who died in 1850, at the age of - ninety. He was formerly Counsellor of the Consistory (_Kirchenrath_) - at Würzburg, and for many years Professor of Church History, &c. at - Heidelberg. - - [20] A polite allusion to the late King of Bavaria and his Walhalla. - - [21] This refers to a poem of Freiligrath’s, entitled “The Dead to the - Living,” for which he was prosecuted, but acquitted, in 1848. - - [22] A hill close to Berlin. - - [23] I have here attempted to imitate a wretched pun in the original. - - [24] A “blind passenger” means in German a person who travels without - paying his fare. - - [25] Berlin. - - [26] It will be remembered that the sun is feminine in German. - - [27] Edward Gans, a distinguished German professor, and pupil of - Hegel, whose works he edited. He died in 1839. - - [28] One section of the famous Bremen Cellar is called the Rose, - and is said to contain hock of between two and three centuries old. - Another part is called the Apostles’ Cellar, and has in it twelve - vats, known as the Twelve Apostles, also full of very old wine. - - [29] See Freiligrath’s Poems. - - [30] Well-known German writers. - - [31] A race not unlike the _Crétins_. - - [32] Shakespear. - - [33] Alluding to the large number of petty states into which Germany - is divided. - - [34] A well-known poet and physician, born in 1786, and founder of the - so-called Modern Swabian School of Poetry. - - [35] A voluminous writer, born at Stuttgardt in 1807. He attacked - Heine’s School of Poetry, and was repaid by Heine in the same coin. - - [36] See Lessing’s “Emilia Galotti.” - - [37] See the concluding words of the last scene but one of the above - play. - - [38] See the end of Schiller’s “Gods of Greece.” - - [39] This refers to the time of Heine’s residence in Berlin, when he - was intimate with these and other well-known personages. See Sketch of - his Life, _ante_. - - [40] The slightly irregular metre of this fine poem is a close copy of - the original. - - [41] A popular German poet, born in 1798, who was deprived of his - professorship in the University of Breslau, in 1842, for publishing a - volume entitled “Unpolitical Songs.” - - [42] The last four verses were erased by the censors from the original - edition. - - [43] A famous theologian, poet, and orator, and one of Luther’s chief - followers. He died in 1523. - - [44] A Dominican friar, who was one of Luther’s first antagonists. - - [45] The first edition ended with this verse, which was struck out by - the censors, and replaced by the five following verses. - - [46] The remains of John of Leyden and his two chief accomplices were - exposed in these cages, which still remain in their old position. - - [47] A youthful poet, who excited great enthusiasm in Germany by a - poem, written in 1840 (when a war with France on the Eastern question - seemed not unlikely), beginning,-- - - “They shall not have the German Rhine.” - - - [48] The well-known French poet, who replied to the above poem of - Becker’s, by another commencing,-- - - “We have had your German Rhine.” - - - [49] A noted theologian, born in 1802, and one of the leaders of the - orthodox party in Prussia. - - [50] Called Arminius by the Romans. - - [51] The famous historian and professor of theology at Berlin. He died - in 1850. - - [52] A well-known actress and voluminous dramatic author, born in 1800. - - [53] The historian. - - [54] A professor of gymnastics. - - [55] A linguist and professor of languages and gymnastics jointly. In - the latter science he was a pupil of Jahn. - - [56] A monument has been recently erected in Dettmoldt to commemorate - the victory of Arminius over Varus. - - [57] A poetess of some reputation, who died in 1791. Her - granddaughter, Helmine Chezy, born in 1783, was also well known as a - poetess and romance writer. - - [58] The great composer Mendelssohn was grandson to the famous - philosopher of that name. - - [59] The rest of this chapter was erased by the censors from the - original edition. - - [60] The great fire at Hamburg took place in May, 1842, or shortly - before this poem was written. - - [61] A nickname of a relation of Heine’s. - - [62] A leading publisher at Hamburg, employed by Heine to publish many - of his works. - - [63] A noted critic, poet, and historian, born in 1798. He had - literary quarrels with both Heine and Börne. - - [64] For the full particulars of this story see Herodotus, Book II. c. - 121. - - [65] The French author. - - [66] Carnival masks. - - [67] Or Valkyriors; a race of martial virgins, described in northern - mythology as riding in the air and fighting under Odin. - - [68] This poem was formerly suppressed by the censors. - - [69] This poem was originally suppressed by the censors. - - [70] Meaning the founder of the Teutonic race. - - [71] A noted brigand, executed in 1803. - - [72] A Polish term of endearment. - - [73] This poem was originally suppressed by the censors. - - [74] A poet and writer, born in 1816, and persecuted by the police for - his liberal writings. - - [75] An ancient Hebrew word for _Almighty_. - - [76] A Hebrew word for _Lord_. - - [77] Doubtless John Martin is here meant. - - [78] A recent poet of no great reputation. He was the joint editor of - the “Rhine Annual” with Freiligrath and Simrock. - - [79] The famous philosopher, who at one time resided in Munich. - - [80] The eminent painter, who decorated the Glyptothek and Pinacothek - at Munich. He was afterwards Director of the Berlin Academy. - - [81] One of Hutten’s well-known works was entitled “Epistolae - Obscurorum Vivorum.” - - [82] This poem recounts the untimely fate of a playmate, who was - drowned when trying to save a kitten. See Heine’s _Reisebilder_, - chapter vi. - - [83] A parody on the beginning of Schiller’s “Hymn to Joy.” - - [84] See also this story in Book I. of the “Romancero,” p. 411. - - [85] Meyerbeer. - - [86] The famous composer, whose real name was Beer. - - [87] See Book II. of “Romancero.” - - [88] The tutelar goddess of Hamburg. See Heine’s “Germany.” - - [89] Liszt. - - [90] The hero of this story is the well-known Swabian poet George - Herwegh. - - [91] Funken (or Sparks) was the name given to the soldiers of Cologne - before the Revolution, who used to knit when on guard. - - [92] Drickes and Marizebill are popular masks at the Carnival at - Cologne. - - [93] These two poems were first published in the _Musenaumanach_ for - 1854. - - [94] The national colours of Germany. - - [95] This was the nickname of a young lady whose acquaintance Heine - made towards the end of his life, who attended him in his last - illness, and for whom he felt a strong affection. The present poem was - the last composition of Heine, and was written only two or three weeks - before his death. It is undoubtedly one of the finest of his works. - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The poems of Heine; Complete, by Heinrich Heine - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF HEINE; COMPLETE *** - -***** This file should be named 52882-0.txt or 52882-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/8/8/52882/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif, Bryan Ness and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |