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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6796-h.zip b/6796-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d9248d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/6796-h.zip diff --git a/6796-h/6796-h.htm b/6796-h/6796-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..32c329d --- /dev/null +++ b/6796-h/6796-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9025 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Schiller's Poems, Third Period + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's Poems of The Third Period, by Friedrich Schiller + +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 + + +Title: Poems of The Third Period + +Author: Friedrich Schiller + +Release Date: October 26, 2006 [EBook #6796] +Last Updated: November 6, 2012 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF THE THIRD PERIOD *** + + + + +Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <h1> + SCHILLER'S POEMS + </h1> + <h2> + By Friedrich Schiller + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CONTENTS + + The Meeting + The Secret + The Assignation + Longing + Evening (After a Picture) + The Pilgrim + The Ideals + The Youth by the Brook + To Emma + The Favor of the Moment + The Lay of the Mountain + The Alpine Hunter + Dithyramb + The Four Ages of the World + The Maiden's Lament + To My Friends + Punch Song + Nadowessian Death Lament + The Feast of Victory + Punch Song + The Complaint of Ceres + The Eleusinian Festival + The Ring of Polycrates + The Cranes of Ibycus (A Ballad) + The Playing Infant + Hero and Leander (A Ballad) + Cassandra + The Hostage (A Ballad) + Greekism + The Diver (A Ballad) + The Fight with the Dragon + Female Judgment + Fridolin; or, the Walk to the Iron Foundry + The Genius with the Inverted Torch + The Count of Hapsburg (A Ballad) + The Forum of Women + The Glove (A Tale) + The Circle of Nature + The Veiled Statue at Sais + The Division of the Earth + The Fairest Apparition + The Ideal and the Actual Life + Germany and her Princes + Dangerous Consequences + The Maiden from Afar + The Honorable + Parables and Riddles + The Virtue of Woman + The Walk + The Lay of the Bell + The Power of Song + To Proselytizers + Honor to Woman + Hope + The German Art + Odysseus + Carthage + The Sower + The Knights of St. John + The Merchant + German Faith + The Sexes + Love and Desire + The Bards of Olden Time + Jove to Hercules + The Antiques of Paris + Thekla (A Spirit Voice) + The Antique to the Northern Wanderer + The Iliad + Pompeii and Herculaneum + Naenia + The Maid of Orleans + Archimedes + The Dance + The Fortune-Favored + Bookseller's Announcement + Genius + Honors + The Philosophical Egotist + The Best State Constitution + The Words of Belief + The Words of Error + The Power of Woman + The Two Paths of Virtue + The Proverbs of Confucius + Human Knowledge + Columbus + Light and Warmth + Breadth and Depth + The Two Guides of Life + The Immutable + + VOTIVE TABLETS + Different Destinies + The Animating Principle + Two Descriptions of Action + Difference of Station + Worth and the Worthy + The Moral Force + Participation + To—— + The Present Generation + To the Muse + The Learned Workman + The Duty of All + A Problem + The Peculiar Ideal + To Mystics + The Key + The Observer + Wisdom and Prudence + The Agreement + Political Precept + Majestas Populi + The Difficult Union + To a World-Reformer + My Antipathy + Astronomical Writings + The Best State + To Astronomers + My Faith + Inside and Outside + Friend and Foe + Light and Color + Genius + Beauteous Individuality + Variety + The imitator + Geniality + The Inquirers + Correctness + The Three Ages of Nature + The Law of Nature + Choice + Science of Music + To the Poet + Language + The Master + The Girdle + The Dilettante + The Babbler of Art + The Philosophies + The Favor of the Muses + Homer's Head as a Seal + + Goodness and Greatness + The Impulses + Naturalists and Transcendental Philosophers + German Genius + Theophania + + TRIFLES + The Epic Hexameter + The Distich + The Eight-line Stanza + The Obelisk + The Triumphal Arch + The Beautiful Bridge + The Gate + St. Peter's + + The Philosophers + The Homerides + G. G. + The Moral Poet + The Danaides + The Sublime Subject + The Artifice + Immortality + Jeremiads + Shakespeare's Ghost + The Rivers + Zenith and Nadir + Kant and his Commentators + The Philosophers + The Metaphysician + Pegasus in harness + Knowledge + The Poetry of Life + To Goethe + The Present + Departure from Life + Verses written in the Album of a Learned Friend + Verses written in the Album of a Friend + The Sunday Children + The Highest + The Puppet-show of Life + To Lawgivers + False Impulse to Study + To the Prince of Weimar + The Ideal of Woman (To Amanda) + The Fountain of Second Youth + William Tell + To a Young Friend Devoting Himself to Philosophy + Expectation and Fulfilment + The Common Fate + Human Action + Nuptial Ode + The Commencement of the New Century + Grecian Genius + The Father + The Connecting Medium + The Moment + German Comedy + Farewell to the Reader + + Dedications to Death + Preface +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <table summary=""> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> POEMS OF THE THIRD PERIOD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> DEDICATION TO DEATH, MY PRINCIPAL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkfootnotes"> FOOTNOTES. </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + POEMS OF THE THIRD PERIOD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE MEETING. + + I see her still—by her fair train surrounded, + The fairest of them all, she took her place; + Afar I stood, by her bright charms confounded, + For, oh! they dazzled with their heavenly grace. + With awe my soul was filled—with bliss unbounded, + While gazing on her softly radiant face; + But soon, as if up-borne on wings of fire, + My fingers 'gan to sweep the sounding lyre. + + The thoughts that rushed across me in that hour, + The words I sang, I'd fain once more invoke; + Within, I felt a new-awakened power, + That each emotion of my bosom spoke. + My soul, long time enchained in sloth's dull bower, + Through all its fetters now triumphant broke, + And brought to light unknown, harmonious numbers, + Which in its deepest depths, had lived in slumbers. + + And when the chords had ceased their gentle sighing, + And when my soul rejoined its mortal frame, + I looked upon her face and saw love vieing, + In every feature, with her maiden shame. + And soon my ravished heart seemed heavenward flying, + When her soft whisper o'er my senses came. + The blissful seraphs' choral strains alone + Can glad mine ear again with that sweet tone, + + Of that fond heart, which, pining silently, + Ne'er ventures to express its feelings lowly, + The real and modest worth is known to me— + 'Gainst cruel fate I'll guard its cause so holy. + Most blest of all, the meek one's lot shall be— + Love's flowers by love's own hand are gathered solely— + The fairest prize to that fond heart is due, + That feels it, and that beats responsive, too! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE SECRET. + + She sought to breathe one word, but vainly; + Too many listeners were nigh; + And yet my timid glance read plainly + The language of her speaking eye. + Thy silent glades my footstep presses, + Thou fair and leaf-embosomed grove! + Conceal within thy green recesses + From mortal eye our sacred love! + + Afar with strange discordant noises, + The busy day is echoing; + And 'mid the hollow hum of voices, + I hear the heavy hammer ring. + 'Tis thus that man, with toil ne'er ending + Extorts from heaven his daily bread; + Yet oft unseen the Gods are sending + The gifts of fortune on his head! + + Oh, let mankind discover never + How true love fills with bliss our hearts + They would but crush our joy forever, + For joy to them no glow imparts. + Thou ne'er wilt from the world obtain it— + 'Tis never captured save as prey; + Thou needs must strain each nerve to gain it, + E'er envy dark asserts her sway. + + The hours of night and stillness loving, + It comes upon us silently— + Away with hasty footstep moving + Soon as it sees a treacherous eye. + Thou gentle stream, soft circlets weaving, + A watery barrier cast around, + And, with thy waves in anger heaving, + Guard from each foe this holy ground! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE ASSIGNATION. <a href="#linknote-14" name="linknoteref-14" + id="linknoteref-14">14</a> + + Hear I the creaking gate unclose? + The gleaming latch uplifted? + No—'twas the wind that, whirring, rose, + Amidst the poplars drifted! + Adorn thyself, thou green leaf-bowering roof, + Destined the bright one's presence to receive, + For her, a shadowy palace-hall aloof + With holy night, thy boughs familiar weave. + And ye sweet flatteries of the delicate air, + Awake and sport her rosy cheek around, + When their light weight the tender feet shall bear, + When beauty comes to passion's trysting-ground. + + Hush! what amidst the copses crept— + So swiftly by me now? + No-'twas the startled bird that swept + The light leaves of the bough! + Day, quench thy torch! come, ghostlike, from on high, + With thy loved silence, come, thou haunting Eve, + Broaden below thy web of purple dye, + Which lulled boughs mysterious round us weave. + For love's delight, enduring listeners none, + The froward witness of the light will flee; + Hesper alone, the rosy silent one, + Down-glancing may our sweet familiar be! + + What murmur in the distance spoke, + And like a whisper died? + No—'twas the swan that gently broke + In rings the silver tide! + Soft to my ear there comes a music-flow; + In gleesome murmur glides the waterfall; + To zephyr's kiss the flowers are bending low; + Through life goes joy, exchanging joy with all. + Tempt to the touch the grapes—the blushing fruit, <a href="#linknote-15" + name="linknoteref-15" id="linknoteref-15">15</a> + Voluptuous swelling from the leaves that bide; + And, drinking fever from my cheek, the mute + Air sleeps all liquid in the odor-tide! + + Hark! through the alley hear I now + A footfall? Comes the maiden? + No,—'twas the fruit slid from the bough, + With its own richness laden! + + Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death, + And pale and paler wane his jocund hues, + The flowers too gentle for his glowing breath, + Ope their frank beauty to the twilight dews. + The bright face of the moon is still and lone, + Melts in vast masses the world silently; + Slides from each charm the slowly-loosening zone; + And round all beauty, veilless, roves the eye. + + What yonder seems to glimmer? + Her white robe's glancing hues? + No,—'twas the column's shimmer + Athwart the darksome yews! + + O, longing heart, no more delight-upbuoyed + Let the sweet airy image thee befool! + The arms that would embrace her clasp the void + This feverish breast no phantom-bliss can cool, + O, waft her here, the true, the living one! + Let but my hand her hand, the tender, feel— + The very shadow of her robe alone!— + So into life the idle dream shall steal! + + As glide from heaven, when least we ween, + The rosy hours of bliss, + All gently came the maid, unseen:— + He waked beneath her kiss! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + LONGING. + + Could I from this valley drear, + Where the mist hangs heavily, + Soar to some more blissful sphere, + Ah! how happy should I be! + Distant hills enchant my sight, + Ever young and ever fair; + To those hills I'd take my flight + Had I wings to scale the air. + + Harmonies mine ear assail, + Tunes that breathe a heavenly calm; + And the gently-sighing gale + Greets me with its fragrant balm. + Peeping through the shady bowers, + Golden fruits their charms display. + And those sweetly-blooming flowers + Ne'er become cold winter's prey. + + In you endless sunshine bright, + Oh! what bliss 'twould be to dwell! + How the breeze on yonder height + Must the heart with rapture swell! + Yet the stream that hems my path + Checks me with its angry frown, + While its waves, in rising wrath, + Weigh my weary spirit down. + + See—a bark is drawing near, + But, alas, the pilot fails! + Enter boldly—wherefore fear? + Inspiration fills its sails, + Faith and courage make thine own,— + Gods ne'er lend a helping-hand; + 'Tis by magic power alone + Thou canst reach the magic land! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + EVENING. + + (AFTER A PICTURE.) + + Oh! thou bright-beaming god, the plains are thirsting, + Thirsting for freshening dew, and man is pining; + Wearily move on thy horses— + Let, then, thy chariot descend! + + Seest thou her who, from ocean's crystal billows, + Lovingly nods and smiles?—Thy heart must know her! + Joyously speed on thy horses,— + Tethys, the goddess, 'tis nods! + + Swiftly from out his flaming chariot leaping, + Into her arms he springs,—the reins takes Cupid,— + Quietly stand the horses, + Drinking the cooling flood. + + Now from the heavens with gentle step descending, + Balmy night appears, by sweet love followed; + Mortals, rest ye, and love ye,— + Phoebus, the loving one, rests! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE PILGRIM. + + Youth's gay springtime scarcely knowing + Went I forth the world to roam— + And the dance of youth, the glowing, + Left I in my father's home, + Of my birthright, glad-believing, + Of my world-gear took I none, + Careless as an infant, cleaving + To my pilgrim staff alone. + For I placed my mighty hope in + Dim and holy words of faith, + "Wander forth—the way is open, + Ever on the upward path— + Till thou gain the golden portal, + Till its gates unclose to thee. + There the earthly and the mortal, + Deathless and divine shall be!" + Night on morning stole, on stealeth, + Never, never stand I still, + And the future yet concealeth, + What I seek, and what I will! + Mount on mount arose before me, + Torrents hemmed me every side, + But I built a bridge that bore me + O'er the roaring tempest-tide. + Towards the east I reached a river, + On its shores I did not rest; + Faith from danger can deliver, + And I trusted to its breast. + Drifted in the whirling motion, + Seas themselves around me roll— + Wide and wider spreads the ocean, + Far and farther flies the goal. + While I live is never given + Bridge or wave the goal to near— + Earth will never meet the heaven, + Never can the there be here! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE IDEALS. + + And wilt thou, faithless one, then, leave me, + With all thy magic phantasy,— + With all the thoughts that joy or grieve me, + Wilt thou with all forever fly? + Can naught delay thine onward motion, + Thou golden time of life's young dream? + In vain! eternity's wide ocean + Ceaselessly drowns thy rolling stream. + + The glorious suns my youth enchanting + Have set in never-ending night; + Those blest ideals now are wanting + That swelled my heart with mad delight. + The offspring of my dream hath perished, + My faith in being passed away; + The godlike hopes that once I cherish + Are now reality's sad prey. + + As once Pygmalion, fondly yearning, + Embraced the statue formed by him, + Till the cold marble's cheeks were burning, + And life diffused through every limb, + So I, with youthful passion fired, + My longing arms round Nature threw, + Till, clinging to my breast inspired, + She 'gan to breathe, to kindle too. + + And all my fiery ardor proving, + Though mute, her tale she soon could tell, + Returned each kiss I gave her loving, + The throbbings of my heart read well. + Then living seemed each tree, each flower, + Then sweetly sang the waterfall, + And e'en the soulless in that hour + Shared in the heavenly bliss of all. + + For then a circling world was bursting + My bosom's narrow prison-cell, + To enter into being thirsting, + In deed, word, shape, and sound as well. + This world, how wondrous great I deemed it, + Ere yet its blossoms could unfold! + When open, oh, how little seemed it! + That little, oh, how mean and cold! + + How happy, winged by courage daring, + The youth life's mazy path first pressed— + No care his manly strength impairing, + And in his dream's sweet vision blest! + The dimmest star in air's dominion + Seemed not too distant for his flight; + His young and ever-eager pinion + Soared far beyond all mortal sight. + + Thus joyously toward heaven ascending, + Was aught for his bright hopes too far? + The airy guides his steps attending, + How danced they round life's radiant car! + Soft love was there, her guerdon bearing, + And fortune, with her crown of gold, + And fame, her starry chaplet wearing, + And truth, in majesty untold. + + But while the goal was yet before them, + The faithless guides began to stray; + Impatience of their task came o'er them, + Then one by one they dropped away. + Light-footed Fortune first retreating, + Then Wisdom's thirst remained unstilled, + While heavy storms of doubt were beating + Upon the path truth's radiance filled. + + I saw Fame's sacred wreath adorning + The brows of an unworthy crew; + And, ah! how soon Love's happy morning, + When spring had vanished, vanished too! + More silent yet, and yet more weary, + Became the desert path I trod; + And even hope a glimmer dreary + Scarce cast upon the gloomy road. + + Of all that train, so bright with gladness, + Oh, who is faithful to the end? + Who now will seek to cheer my sadness, + And to the grave my steps attend? + Thou, Friendship, of all guides the fairest, + Who gently healest every wound; + Who all life's heavy burdens sharest, + Thou, whom I early sought and found! + + Employment too, thy loving neighbor, + Who quells the bosom's rising storms; + Who ne'er grows weary of her labor, + And ne'er destroys, though slow she forms; + Who, though but grains of sand she places + To swell eternity sublime, + Yet minutes, days, ay! years effaces + From the dread reckoning kept by Time! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE YOUTH BY THE BROOK. <a href="#linknote-16" name="linknoteref-16" + id="linknoteref-16">16</a> + + Beside the brook the boy reclined + And wove his flowery wreath, + And to the waves the wreath consigned— + The waves that danced beneath. + "So fleet mine hours," he sighed, "away + Like waves that restless flow: + And so my flowers of youth decay + Like those that float below." + + "Ask not why I, alone on earth, + Am sad in life's young time; + To all the rest are hope and mirth + When spring renews its prime. + Alas! the music Nature makes, + In thousand songs of gladness— + While charming all around me, wakes + My heavy heart to sadness." + + "Ah! vain to me the joys that break + From spring, voluptuous are; + For only one 't is mine to seek— + The near, yet ever far! + I stretch my arms, that shadow-shape + In fond embrace to hold; + Still doth the shade the clasp escape— + The heart is unconsoled!" + + "Come forth, fair friend, come forth below, + And leave thy lofty hall, + The fairest flowers the spring can know + In thy dear lap shall fall! + Clear glides the brook in silver rolled, + Sweet carols fill the air; + The meanest hut hath space to hold + A happy loving pair!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + TO EMMA. + + Far away, where darkness reigneth, + All my dreams of bliss are flown; + Yet with love my gaze remaineth + Fixed on one fair star alone. + But, alas! that star so bright + Sheds no lustre save by night. + + If in slumbers ending never, + Gloomy death had sealed thine eyes, + Thou hadst lived in memory ever— + Thou hadst lived still in my sighs; + But, alas! in light thou livest— + To my love no answer givest! + + Can the sweet hopes love once cherished + Emma, can they transient prove? + What has passed away and perished— + Emma, say, can that be love? + That bright flame of heavenly birth— + Can it die like things of earth? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE FAVOR OF THE MOMENT. + + Once more, then, we meet + In the circles of yore; + Let our song be as sweet + In its wreaths as before, + Who claims the first place + In the tribute of song? + The God to whose grace + All our pleasures belong. + Though Ceres may spread + All her gifts on the shrine, + Though the glass may be red + With the blush of the vine, + What boots—if the while + Fall no spark on the hearth; + If the heart do not smile + With the instinct of mirth?— + From the clouds, from God's breast + Must our happiness fall, + 'Mid the blessed, most blest + Is the moment of all! + Since creation began + All that mortals have wrought, + All that's godlike in man + Comes—the flash of a thought! + For ages the stone + In the quarry may lurk, + An instant alone + Can suffice to the work; + An impulse give birth + To the child of the soul, + A glance stamp the worth + And the fame of the whole. <a href="#linknote-17" name="linknoteref-17" + id="linknoteref-17">17</a> + On the arch that she buildeth + From sunbeams on high, + As Iris just gildeth, + And fleets from the sky, + So shineth, so gloometh + Each gift that is ours; + The lightning illumeth— + The darkness devours! <a href="#linknote-18" name="linknoteref-18" + id="linknoteref-18">18</a> +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE LAY OF THE MOUNTAIN. + + [The scenery of Gotthardt is here personified.] + + To the solemn abyss leads the terrible path, + The life and death winding dizzy between; + In thy desolate way, grim with menace and wrath, + To daunt thee the spectres of giants are seen; + That thou wake not the wild one <a href="#linknote-20" name="linknoteref-20" + id="linknoteref-20">20</a>, all silently tread— + Let thy lip breathe no breath in the pathway of dread! + + High over the marge of the horrible deep + Hangs and hovers a bridge with its phantom-like span, <a href="#linknote-21" + name="linknoteref-21" id="linknoteref-21">21</a> + Not by man was it built, o'er the vastness to sweep; + Such thought never came to the daring of man! + The stream roars beneath—late and early it raves— + But the bridge, which it threatens, is safe from the waves. + + Black-yawning a portal, thy soul to affright, + Like the gate to the kingdom, the fiend for the king— + Yet beyond it there smiles but a land of delight, + Where the autumn in marriage is met with the spring. + From a lot which the care and the trouble assail, + Could I fly to the bliss of that balm-breathing vale! + + Through that field, from a fount ever hidden their birth, + Four rivers in tumult rush roaringly forth; + They fly to the fourfold divisions of earth— + The sunrise, the sunset, the south, and the north. + And, true to the mystical mother that bore, + Forth they rush to their goal, and are lost evermore. + + High over the races of men in the blue + Of the ether, the mount in twin summits is riven; + There, veiled in the gold-woven webs of the dew, + Moves the dance of the clouds—the pale daughters of heaven! + There, in solitude, circles their mystical maze, + Where no witness can hearken, no earthborn surveys. + + August on a throne which no ages can move, + Sits a queen, in her beauty serene and sublime, <a href="#linknote-22" + name="linknoteref-22" id="linknoteref-22">22</a> + The diadem blazing with diamonds above + The glory of brows, never darkened by time, + His arrows of light on that form shoots the sun— + And he gilds them with all, but he warms them with none! +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="4pa116 (142K)" src="images/4pa116.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE ALPINE HUNTER. + + Wilt thou not the lambkins guard? + Oh, how soft and meek they look, + Feeding on the grassy sward, + Sporting round the silvery brook! + "Mother, mother, let me go + On yon heights to chase the roe!" + + Wilt thou not the flock compel + With the horn's inspiring notes? + Sweet the echo of yon bell, + As across the wood it floats! + "Mother, mother, let me go + On yon heights to hunt the roe!" + + Wilt thou not the flow'rets bind, + Smiling gently in their bed? + For no garden thou wilt find + On yon heights so wild and dread. + "Leave the flow'rets,—let them blow! + Mother, mother, let me go!" + + And the youth then sought the chase, + Onward pressed with headlong speed + To the mountain's gloomiest place,— + Naught his progress could impede; + And before him, like the wind, + Swiftly flies the trembling hind! + + Up the naked precipice + Clambers she, with footsteps light, + O'er the chasm's dark abyss + Leaps with spring of daring might; + But behind, unweariedly, + With his death-bow follows he. + + Now upon the rugged top + Stands she,—on the loftiest height, + Where the cliffs abruptly stop, + And the path is lost to sight. + There she views the steeps below,— + Close behind, her mortal foe. + + She, with silent, woeful gaze, + Seeks the cruel boy to move; + But, alas! in vain she prays— + To the string he fits the groove. + When from out the clefts, behold! + Steps the Mountain Genius old. + + With his hand the Deity + Shields the beast that trembling sighs; + "Must thou, even up to me, + Death and anguish send?" he cries,— + Earth has room for all to dwell,— + "Why pursue my loved gazelle?" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + DITHYRAMB. <a href="#linknote-23" name="linknoteref-23" + id="linknoteref-23">23</a> + + Believe me, together + The bright gods come ever, + Still as of old; + Scarce see I Bacchus, the giver of joy, + Than comes up fair Eros, the laugh-loving boy, + And Phoebus, the stately, behold! + + They come near and nearer, + The heavenly ones all— + The gods with their presence + Fill earth as their hall! + + Say, how shall I welcome, + Human and earthborn, + Sons of the sky? + Pour out to me—pour the full life that ye live! + What to ye, O ye gods! can the mortal one give? + + The joys can dwell only + In Jupiter's palace— + Brimmed bright with your nectar, + Oh, reach me the chalice! + + "Hebe, the chalice + Fill full to the brim! + Steep his eyes—steep his eyes in the bath of the dew, + Let him dream, while the Styx is concealed from his view, + That the life of the gods is for him!" + + It murmurs, it sparkles, + The fount of delight; + The bosom grows tranquil— + The eye becomes bright. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE FOUR AGES OF THE WORLD. + + The goblet is sparkling with purpled-tinged wine, + Bright glistens the eye of each guest, + When into the hall comes the Minstrel divine, + To the good he now brings what is best; + For when from Elysium is absent the lyre, + No joy can the banquet of nectar inspire. + + He is blessed by the gods, with an intellect clear, + That mirrors the world as it glides; + He has seen all that ever has taken place here, + And all that the future still hides. + He sat in the god's secret councils of old + And heard the command for each thing to unfold. + + He opens in splendor, with gladness and mirth, + That life which was hid from our eyes; + Adorns as a temple the dwelling of earth, + That the Muse has bestowed as his prize, + No roof is so humble, no hut is so low, + But he with divinities bids it o'erflow. + + And as the inventive descendant of Zeus, + On the unadorned round of the shield, + With knowledge divine could, reflected, produce + Earth, sea, and the star's shining field,— + So he, on the moments, as onward they roll, + The image can stamp of the infinite whole. + + From the earliest age of the world he has come, + When nations rejoiced in their prime; + A wanderer glad, he has still found a home + With every race through all time. + Four ages of man in his lifetime have died, + And the place they once held by the fifth is supplied. + + Saturnus first governed, with fatherly smile, + Each day then resembled the last; + Then flourished the shepherds, a race without guile + Their bliss by no care was o'ercast, + They loved,—and no other employment they had, + And earth gave her treasures with willingness glad. + + Then labor came next, and the conflict began + With monsters and beasts famed in song; + And heroes upstarted, as rulers of man, + And the weak sought the aid of the strong. + And strife o'er the field of Scamander now reigned, + But beauty the god of the world still remained. + + At length from the conflict bright victory sprang, + And gentleness blossomed from might; + In heavenly chorus the Muses then sang, + And figures divine saw the light;— + The age that acknowledged sweet phantasy's sway + Can never return, it has fleeted away. + + The gods from their seats in the heavens were hurled, + And their pillars of glory o'erthrown; + And the Son of the Virgin appeared in the world + For the sins of mankind to atone. + The fugitive lusts of the sense were suppressed, + And man now first grappled with thought in his breast. + + Each vain and voluptuous charm vanished now, + Wherein the young world took delight; + The monk and the nun made of penance a vow, + And the tourney was sought by the knight. + Though the aspect of life was now dreary and wild, + Yet love remained ever both lovely and mild. + + An altar of holiness, free from all stain, + The Muses in silence upreared; + And all that was noble and worthy, again + In woman's chaste bosom appeared; + The bright flame of song was soon kindled anew + By the minstrel's soft lays, and his love pure and true. + + And so, in a gentle and ne'er-changing band, + Let woman and minstrel unite; + They weave and they fashion, with hand joined to hand, + The girdle of beauty and right. + When love blends with music, in unison sweet, + The lustre of life's youthful days ne'er can fleet. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE MAIDEN'S LAMENT. + + The clouds fast gather, + The forest-oaks roar— + A maiden is sitting + Beside the green shore,— + The billows are breaking with might, with might, + And she sighs aloud in the darkling night, + Her eyelid heavy with weeping. + + "My heart's dead within me, + The world is a void; + To the wish it gives nothing, + Each hope is destroyed. + I have tasted the fulness of bliss below + I have lived, I have loved,—Thy child, oh take now, + Thou Holy One, into Thy keeping!" + + "In vain is thy sorrow, + In vain thy tears fall, + For the dead from their slumbers + They ne'er can recall; + Yet if aught can pour comfort and balm in thy heart, + Now that love its sweet pleasures no more can impart, + Speak thy wish, and thou granted shalt find it!" + + "Though in vain is my sorrow, + Though in vain my tears fall,— + Though the dead from their slumbers + They ne'er can recall, + Yet no balm is so sweet to the desolate heart, + When love its soft pleasures no more can impart, + As the torments that love leaves behind it!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + TO MY FRIENDS. + + Yes, my friends!—that happier times have been + Than the present, none can contravene; + That a race once lived of nobler worth; + And if ancient chronicles were dumb, + Countless stones in witness forth would come + From the deepest entrails of the earth. + But this highly-favored race has gone, + Gone forever to the realms of night. + We, we live! The moments are our own, + And the living judge the right. + + Brighter zones, my friends, no doubt excel + This, the land wherein we're doomed to dwell, + As the hardy travellers proclaim; + But if Nature has denied us much, + Art is yet responsive to our touch, + And our hearts can kindle at her flame. + If the laurel will not flourish here— + If the myrtle is cold winter's prey, + Yet the vine, to crown us, year by year, + Still puts forth its foliage gay. + + Of a busier life 'tis well to speak, + Where four worlds their wealth to barter seek, + On the world's great market, Thames' broad stream; + Ships in thousands go there and depart— + There are seen the costliest works of art, + And the earth-god, Mammon, reigns supreme + But the sun his image only graves + On the silent streamlet's level plain, + Not upon the torrent's muddy waves, + Swollen by the heavy rain. + + Far more blessed than we, in northern states + Dwells the beggar at the angel-gates, + For he sees the peerless city—Rome! + Beauty's glorious charms around him lie, + And, a second heaven, up toward the sky + Mounts St. Peter's proud and wondrous dome. + But, with all the charms that splendor grants, + Rome is but the tomb of ages past; + Life but smiles upon the blooming plants + That the seasons round her cast. + + Greater actions elsewhere may be rife + Than with us, in our contracted life— + But beneath the sun there's naught that's new; + Yet we see the great of every age + Pass before us on the world's wide stage + Thoughtfully and calmly in review + All. in life repeats itself forever, + Young for ay is phantasy alone; + What has happened nowhere,—happened never,— + That has never older grown! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + PUNCH SONG. + + Four elements, joined in + Harmonious strife, + Shadow the world forth, + And typify life. + + Into the goblet + The lemon's juice pour; + Acid is ever + Life's innermost core. + + Now, with the sugar's + All-softening juice, + The strength of the acid + So burning reduce. + + The bright sparkling water + Now pour in the bowl; + Water all-gently + Encircles the whole. + + Let drops of the spirit + To join them now flow; + Life to the living + Naught else can bestow. + + Drain it off quickly + Before it exhales; + Save when 'tis glowing, + The draught naught avails. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + NADOWESSIAN DEATH-LAMENT. + + See, he sitteth on his mat + Sitteth there upright, + With the grace with which he sat + While he saw the light. + + Where is now the sturdy gripe,— + Where the breath sedate, + That so lately whiffed the pipe + Toward the Spirit great? + + Where the bright and falcon eye, + That the reindeer's tread + On the waving grass could spy, + Thick with dewdrops spread? + + Where the limbs that used to dart + Swifter through the snow + Than the twenty-membered hart, + Than the mountain roe? + + Where the arm that sturdily + Bent the deadly bow? + See, its life hath fleeted by,— + See, it hangeth low! + + Happy he!—He now has gone + Where no snow is found: + Where with maize the fields are sown, + Self-sprung from the ground; + + Where with birds each bush is filled, + Where with game the wood; + Where the fish, with joy unstilled, + Wanton in the flood. + + With the spirits blest he feeds,— + Leaves us here in gloom; + We can only praise his deeds, + And his corpse entomb. + + Farewell-gifts, then, hither bring, + Sound the death-note sad! + Bury with him everything + That can make him glad! + + 'Neath his head the hatchet hide + That he boldly swung; + And the bear's fat haunch beside, + For the road is long; + + And the knife, well sharpened, + That, with slashes three, + Scalp and skin from foeman's head + Tore off skilfully. + + And to paint his body, place + Dyes within his hand; + Let him shine with ruddy grace + In the Spirit-land! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE FEAST OF VICTORY. + + Priam's castle-walls had sunk, + Troy in dust and ashes lay, + And each Greek, with triumph drunk, + Richly laden with his prey, + Sat upon his ship's high prow, + On the Hellespontic strand, + Starting on his journey now, + Bound for Greece, his own fair land. + Raise the glad exulting shout! + Toward the land that gave them birth + Turn they now the ships about, + As they seek their native earth. + + And in rows, all mournfully, + Sat the Trojan women there,— + Beat their breasts in agony, + Pallid, with dishevelled hair. + In the feast of joy so glad + Mingled they the song of woe, + Weeping o'er their fortunes sad, + In their country's overthrow. + "Land beloved, oh, fare thee well! + By our foreign masters led, + Far from home we're doomed to dwell,— + Ah, how happy are the dead!" + + Soon the blood by Calchas spilt + On the altar heavenward smokes; + Pallas, by whom towns are built + And destroyed, the priest invokes; + Neptune, too, who all the earth + With his billowy girdle laves,— + Zeus, who gives to terror birth, + Who the dreaded Aegis waves. + Now the weary fight is done, + Ne'er again to be renewed; + Time's wide circuit now is run, + And the mighty town subdued! + + Atreus' son, the army's head, + Told the people's numbers o'er, + Whom he, as their captain, led + To Scamander's vale of yore. + Sorrow's black and heavy clouds + Passed across the monarch's brow: + Of those vast and valiant crowds, + Oh, how few were left him now! + Joyful songs let each one raise, + Who will see his home again, + In whose veins the life-blood plays, + For, alas! not all remain! + + "All who homeward wend their way, + Will not there find peace of mind; + On their household altars, they + Murder foul perchance may find. + Many fall by false friend's stroke, + Who in fight immortal proved:"— + So Ulysses warning spoke, + By Athene's spirit moved. + Happy he, whose faithful spouse + Guards his home with honor true! + Woman ofttimes breaks her vows, + Ever loves she what is new. + + And Atrides glories there + In the prize he won in fight, + And around her body fair + Twines his arms with fond delight. + Evil works must punished be. + Vengeance follows after crime, + For Kronion's just decree + Rules the heavenly courts sublime. + Evil must in evil end; + Zeus will on the impious band + Woe for broken guest-rights send, + Weighing with impartial hand. + + "It may well the glad befit," + Cried Olleus' valiant son, <a href="#linknote-24" name="linknoteref-24" + id="linknoteref-24">24</a> + "To extol the Gods who sit + On Olympus' lofty throne! + Fortune all her gifts supplies, + Blindly, and no justice knows, + For Patroclus buried lies, + And Thersites homeward goes! + Since she blindly throws away + Each lot in her wheel contained, + Let him shout with joy to-day + Who the prize of life has gained." + + "Ay, the wars the best devour! + Brother, we will think of thee, + In the fight a very tower, + When we join in revelry! + When the Grecian ships were fired, + By thine arm was safety brought; + Yet the man by craft inspired <a href="#linknote-25" name="linknoteref-25" + id="linknoteref-25">25</a> + Won the spoils thy valor sought. + Peace be to thine ashes blest! + Thou wert vanquished not in fight: + Anger 'tis destroys the best,— + Ajax fell by Ajax' might!" + + Neoptolemus poured then, + To his sire renowned <a href="#linknote-26" name="linknoteref-26" + id="linknoteref-26">26</a> the wine— + "'Mongst the lots of earthly men, + Mighty father, prize I thine! + Of the goods that life supplies, + Greatest far of all is fame; + Though to dust the body flies, + Yet still lives a noble name. + Valiant one, thy glory's ray + Will immortal be in song; + For, though life may pass away, + To all time the dead belong!" + + "Since the voice of minstrelsy + Speaks not of the vanquished man, + I will Hector's witness be,"— + Tydeus' noble son <a href="#linknote-27" name="linknoteref-27" + id="linknoteref-27">27</a> began: + "Fighting bravely in defence + Of his household-gods he fell. + Great the victor's glory thence, + He in purpose did excel! + Battling for his altars dear, + Sank that rock, no more to rise; + E'en the foemen will revere + One whose honored name ne'er dies." + + Nestor, joyous reveller old, + Who three generations saw, + Now the leaf-crowned cup of gold + Gave to weeping Hecuba. + "Drain the goblet's draught so cool, + And forget each painful smart! + Bacchus' gifts are wonderful,— + Balsam for a broken heart. + Drain the goblet's draught so cool, + And forget each painful smart! + Bacchus' gifts are wonderful,— + Balsam for a broken heart. + + "E'en to Niobe, whom Heaven + Loved in wrath to persecute, + Respite from her pangs was given, + Tasting of the corn's ripe fruit. + Whilst the thirsty lip we lave + In the foaming, living spring, + Buried deep in Lethe's wave + Lies all grief, all sorrowing! + Whilst the thirsty lip we lave + In the foaming, living spring, + Swallowed up in Lethe's wave + Is all grief, all sorrowing!" + + And the Prophetess <a href="#linknote-28" name="linknoteref-28" + id="linknoteref-28">28</a> inspired + By her God, upstarted now,— + Toward the smoke of homesteads fired, + Looking from the lofty prow. + "Smoke is each thing here below; + Every worldly greatness dies, + As the vapory columns go,— + None are fixed but Deities! + Cares behind the horseman sit— + Round about the vessel play; + Lest the morrow hinder it, + Let us, therefore, live to-day." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + PUNCH SONG. + + (TO BE SUNG IN NORTHERN COUNTRIES.) + + On the mountain's breezy summit, + Where the southern sunbeams shine, + Aided by their warming vigor, + Nature yields the golden wine. + + How the wondrous mother formeth, + None have ever read aright; + Hid forever is her working, + And inscrutable her might. + + Sparkling as a son of Phoebus, + As the fiery source of light, + From the vat it bubbling springeth, + Purple, and as crystal bright; + + And rejoiceth all the senses, + And in every sorrowing breast + Poureth hope's refreshing balsam, + And on life bestows new zest. + + But their slanting rays all feebly + On our zone the sunbeams shoot; + They can only tinge the foliage, + But they ripen ne'er the fruit. + + Yet the north insists on living, + And what lives will merry be; + So, although the grape is wanting, + We invent wine cleverly. + + Pale the drink we now are offering + On the household altar here; + But what living Nature maketh, + Sparkling is and ever clear. + + Let us from the brimming goblet, + Drain the troubled flood with mirth; + Art is but a gift of heaven, + Borrowed from the glow of earth. + + Even strength's dominions boundless + 'Neath her rule obedient lie; + From the old the new she fashions + With creative energy. + + She the elements' close union + Severs with her sovereign nod; + With the flame upon the altar, + Emulates the great sun-god. + + For the distant, happy islands + Now the vessel sallies forth, + And the southern fruits, all-golden, + Pours upon the eager north. + + As a type, then,—as an image, + Be to us this fiery juice, + Of the wonders that frail mortals + Can with steadfast will produce! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE COMPLAINT OF CERES. <a href="#linknote-29" name="linknoteref-29" + id="linknoteref-29">29</a> + + Does pleasant spring return once more? + Does earth her happy youth regain? + Sweet suns green hills are shining o'er; + Soft brooklets burst their icy chain: + Upon the blue translucent river + Laughs down an all-unclouded day, + The winged west winds gently quiver, + The buds are bursting from the spray; + While birds are blithe on every tree; + The Oread from the mountain-shore + Sighs, "Lo! thy flowers come back to thee— + Thy child, sad mother, comes no more!" + + Alas! how long an age it seems + Since all the earth I wandered over, + And vainly, Titan, tasked thy beams + The loved—the lost one—to discover! + Though all may seek—yet none can call + Her tender presence back to me + The sun, with eyes detecting all, + Is blind one vanished form to see. + Hast thou, O Zeus! hast thou away + From these sad arms my daughter torn? + Has Pluto, from the realms of day, + Enamored—to dark rivers borne? + + Who to the dismal phantom-strand + The herald of my grief will venture? + The boat forever leaves the land, + But only shadows there may enter.— + Veiled from each holier eye repose + The realms where midnight wraps the dead, + And, while the Stygian river flows, + No living footstep there may tread! + A thousand pathways wind the drear + Descent;—none upward lead to-day;— + No witness to the mother's ear + The daughter's sorrows can betray. + + Mothers of happy human clay + Can share at least their children's doom; + And when the loved ones pass away, + Can track—can join them—in the tomb! + The race alone of heavenly birth + Are banished from the darksome portals; + The Fates have mercy on the earth, + And death is only kind to mortals! <a href="#linknote-30" + name="linknoteref-30" id="linknoteref-30">30</a> + Oh, plunge me in the night of nights, + From heaven's ambrosial halls exiled! + Oh, let the goddess lose the rights + That shut the mother from the child! + + Where sits the dark king's joyless bride, + Where midst the dead her home is made; + Oh that my noiseless steps might glide, + Amidst the shades, myself a shade! + I see her eyes, that search through tears, + In vain the golden light to greet; + That yearn for yonder distant spheres, + That pine the mother's face to meet! + Till some bright moment shall renew + The severed hearts' familiar ties; + And softened pity steal in dew, + From Pluto's slow-relenting eyes! + + Ah, vain the wish, the sorrows are! + Calm in the changeless paths above + Rolls on the day-god's golden car— + Fast are the fixed decrees of Jove! + Far from the ever-gloomy plain, + He turns his blissful looks away. + Alas! night never gives again + What once it seizes as its prey! + Till over Lethe's sullen swell, + Aurora's rosy hues shall glow; + And arching through the midmost hell + Shine forth the lovely Iris-bow! + + And is there naught of her; no token— + No pledge from that beloved hand? + To tell how love remains unbroken, + How far soever be the land? + Has love no link, no lightest thread, + The mother to the child to bind? + Between the living and the dead, + Can hope no holy compact find? + No! every bond is not yet riven; + We are not yet divided wholly; + To us the eternal powers have given + A symbol language, sweet and holy. + + When Spring's fair children pass away, + When, in the north wind's icy air, + The leaf and flower alike decay, + And leave the rivelled branches bare, + Then from Vertumnus' lavish horn + I take life's seeds to strew below— + And bid the gold that germs the corn + An offering to the Styx to go! + Sad in the earth the seeds I lay— + Laid at thy heart, my child—to be + The mournful tokens which convey + My sorrow and my love to thee! + + But, when the hours, in measured dance, + The happy smile of spring restore, + Rife in the sun-god's golden glance + The buried dead revive once more! + The germs that perished to thine eyes, + Within the cold breast of the earth, + Spring up to bloom in gentler skies, + The brighter for the second birth! + The stem its blossom rears above— + Its roots in night's dark womb repose— + The plant but by the equal love + Of light and darkness fostered—grows! + + If half with death the germs may sleep, + Yet half with life they share the beams; + My heralds from the dreary deep, + Soft voices from the solemn streams,— + Like her, so them, awhile entombs, + Stern Orcus, in his dismal reign, + Yet spring sends forth their tender blooms + With such sweet messages again, + To tell,—how far from light above, + Where only mournful shadows meet, + Memory is still alive to love, + And still the faithful heart can beat! + + Joy to ye children of the field! + Whose life each coming year renews, + To your sweet cups the heaven shall yield + The purest of its nectar-dews! + Steeped in the light's resplendent streams, + The hues that streak the Iris-bow + Shall trim your blooms as with the beams + The looks of young Aurora know. + The budding life of happy spring, + The yellow autumn's faded leaf, + Alike to gentle hearts shall bring + The symbols of my joy and grief. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE ELEUSINIAN FESTIVAL. + + Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear! + With it, the Cyane <a href="#linknote-31" name="linknoteref-31" + id="linknoteref-31">31</a> blue intertwine + Rapture must render each glance bright and clear, + For the great queen is approaching her shrine,— + She who compels lawless passions to cease, + Who to link man with his fellow has come, + And into firm habitations of peace + Changed the rude tents' ever-wandering home. + + Shyly in the mountain-cleft + Was the Troglodyte concealed; + And the roving Nomad left, + Desert lying, each broad field. + With the javelin, with the bow, + Strode the hunter through the land; + To the hapless stranger woe, + Billow-cast on that wild strand! + + When, in her sad wanderings lost, + Seeking traces of her child, + Ceres hailed the dreary coast, + Ah, no verdant plain then smiled! + That she here with trust may stay, + None vouchsafes a sheltering roof; + Not a temple's columns gay + Give of godlike worship proof. + + Fruit of no propitious ear + Bids her to the pure feast fly; + On the ghastly altars here + Human bones alone e'er dry. + Far as she might onward rove, + Misery found she still in all, + And within her soul of love, + Sorrowed she o'er man's deep fall. + + "Is it thus I find the man + To whom we our image lend, + Whose fair limbs of noble span + Upward towards the heavens ascend? + Laid we not before his feet + Earth's unbounded godlike womb? + Yet upon his kingly seat + Wanders he without a home?" + + "Does no god compassion feel? + Will none of the blissful race, + With an arm of miracle, + Raise him from his deep disgrace? + In the heights where rapture reigns + Pangs of others ne'er can move; + Yet man's anguish and man's pains + My tormented heart must prove." + + "So that a man a man may be, + Let him make an endless bond + With the kind earth trustingly, + Who is ever good and fond + To revere the law of time, + And the moon's melodious song + Who, with silent step sublime, + Move their sacred course along." + + And she softly parts the cloud + That conceals her from the sight; + Sudden, in the savage crowd, + Stands she, as a goddess bright. + There she finds the concourse rude + In their glad feast revelling, + And the chalice filled with blood + As a sacrifice they bring. + + But she turns her face away, + Horror-struck, and speaks the while + "Bloody tiger-feasts ne'er may + Of a god the lips defile, + He needs victims free from stain, + Fruits matured by autumn's sun; + With the pure gifts of the plain + Honored is the Holy One!" + + And she takes the heavy shaft + From the hunter's cruel hand; + With the murderous weapon's haft + Furrowing the light-strown sand,— + Takes from out her garland's crown, + Filled with life, one single grain, + Sinks it in the furrow down, + And the germ soon swells amain. + + And the green stalks gracefully + Shoot, ere long, the ground above, + And, as far as eye can see, + Waves it like a golden grove. + With her smile the earth she cheers, + Binds the earliest sheaves so fair, + As her hearth the landmark rears,— + And the goddess breathes this prayer: + + "Father Zeus, who reign'st o'er all + That in ether's mansions dwell, + Let a sign from thee now fall + That thou lov'st this offering well! + And from the unhappy crowd + That, as yet, has ne'er known thee, + Take away the eye's dark cloud, + Showing them their deity!" + + Zeus, upon his lofty throne, + Harkens to his sister's prayer; + From the blue heights thundering down, + Hurls his forked lightning there, + Crackling, it begins to blaze, + From the altar whirling bounds,— + And his swift-winged eagle plays + High above in circling rounds. + + Soon at the feet of their mistress are kneeling, + Filled with emotion, the rapturous throng; + Into humanity's earliest feeling + Melt their rude spirits, untutored and strong. + Each bloody weapon behind them they leave, + Rays on their senses beclouded soon shine, + And from the mouth of the queen they receive, + Gladly and meekly, instruction divine. + + All the deities advance + Downward from their heavenly seats; + Themis' self 'tis leads the dance, + And, with staff of justice, metes + Unto every one his rights,— + Landmarks, too, 'tis hers to fix; + And in witness she invites + All the hidden powers of Styx. + + And the forge-god, too, is there, + The inventive son of Zeus; + Fashioner of vessels fair + Skilled in clay and brass's use. + 'Tis from him the art man knows + Tongs and bellows how to wield; + 'Neath his hammer's heavy blows + Was the ploughshare first revealed. + + With projecting, weighty spear, + Front of all, Minerva stands, + Lifts her voice so strong and clear, + And the godlike host commands. + Steadfast walls 'tis hers to found, + Shield and screen for every one, + That the scattered world around + Bind in loving unison. + + The immortals' steps she guides + O'er the trackless plains so vast, + And where'er her foot abides + Is the boundary god held fast; + And her measuring chain is led + Round the mountain's border green,— + E'en the raging torrent's bed + In the holy ring is seen. + + All the Nymphs and Oreads too + Who, the mountain pathways o'er, + Swift-foot Artemis pursue, + All to swell the concourse, pour, + Brandishing the hunting-spear,— + Set to work,—glad shouts uprise,— + 'Neath their axes' blows so clear + Crashing down the pine-wood flies. + + E'en the sedge-crowned God ascends + From his verdant spring to light, + And his raft's direction bends + At the goddess' word of might,— + While the hours, all gently bound, + Nimbly to their duty fly; + Rugged trunks are fashioned round + By her skilled hand gracefully. + + E'en the sea-god thither fares;— + Sudden, with his trident's blow, + He the granite columns tears + From earth's entrails far below;— + In his mighty hands, on high, + Waves he them, like some light ball, + And with nimble Hermes by, + Raises up the rampart-wall. + + But from out the golden strings + Lures Apollo harmony, + Measured time's sweet murmurings, + And the might of melody. + The Camoenae swell the strain + With their song of ninefold tone: + Captive bound in music's chain, + Softly stone unites to stone. + + Cybele, with skilful hand, + Open throws the wide-winged door; + Locks and bolts by her are planned, + Sure to last forevermore. + Soon complete the wondrous halls + By the gods' own hands are made, + And the temple's glowing walls + Stand in festal pomp arrayed. + + With a crown of myrtle twined, + Now the goddess queen comes there, + And she leads the fairest hind + To the shepherdess most fair. + Venus, with her beauteous boy, + That first pair herself attires; + All the gods bring gifts of joy, + Blessing their love's sacred fires. + + Guided by the deities, + Soon the new-born townsmen pour, + Ushered in with harmonies, + Through the friendly open door. + Holding now the rites divine, + Ceres at Zeus' altar stands,— + Blessing those around the shrine, + Thus she speaks, with folded hands:— + + "Freedom's love the beast inflames, + And the god rules free in air, + While the law of Nature tames + Each wild lust that lingers there. + Yet, when thus together thrown, + Man with man must fain unite; + And by his own worth alone + Can he freedom gain, and might." + + Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear! + With it, the Cyane blue intertwine! + Rapture must render each glance bright and clear, + For the great queen is approaching her shrine,— + She who our homesteads so blissful has given, + She who has man to his fellow-man bound: + Let our glad numbers extol then to heaven, + Her who the earth's kindly mother is found! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE RING OF POLYCRATES. <a href="#linknote-32" name="linknoteref-32" + id="linknoteref-32">32</a> + + A BALLAD. + + Upon his battlements he stood, + And downward gazed in joyous mood, + On Samos' Isle, that owned his sway, + "All this is subject to my yoke;" + To Egypt's monarch thus he spoke,— + "That I am truly blest, then, say!" + + "The immortals' favor thou hast known! + Thy sceptre's might has overthrown + All those who once were like to thee. + Yet to avenge them one lives still; + I cannot call thee blest, until + That dreaded foe has ceased to be." + + While to these words the king gave vent, + A herald from Miletus sent, + Appeared before the tyrant there: + "Lord, let thy incense rise to-day, + And with the laurel branches gay + Thou well may'st crown thy festive hair!" + + "Thy foe has sunk beneath the spear,— + I'm sent to bear the glad news here, + By thy true marshal Polydore"— + Then from a basin black he takes— + The fearful sight their terror wakes— + A well-known head, besmeared with gore. + + The king with horror stepped aside, + And then with anxious look replied: + "Thy bliss to fortune ne'er commit. + On faithless waves, bethink thee how + Thy fleet with doubtful fate swims now— + How soon the storm may scatter it!" + + But ere he yet had spoke the word, + A shout of jubilee is heard + Resounding from the distant strand. + With foreign treasures teeming o'er, + The vessels' mast-rich wood once more + Returns home to its native land. + + The guest then speaks with startled mind: + "Fortune to-day, in truth, seems kind; + But thou her fickleness shouldst fear: + The Cretan hordes, well skilled, in arms, + Now threaten thee with war's alarms; + E'en now they are approaching here." + + And, ere the word has 'scaped his lips, + A stir is seen amongst the ships, + And thousand voices "Victory!" cry: + "We are delivered from our foe, + The storm has laid the Cretan low, + The war is ended, is gone by!" + + The shout with horror hears the guest: + "In truth, I must esteem thee blest! + Yet dread I the decrees of heaven. + The envy of the gods I fear; + To taste of unmixed rapture here + Is never to a mortal given." + + "With me, too, everything succeeds; + In all my sovereign acts and deeds + The grace of Heaven is ever by; + And yet I had a well-loved heir— + I paid my debt to fortune there— + God took him hence—I saw him die." + + "Wouldst thou from sorrow, then, be free. + Pray to each unseen Deity, + For thy well-being, grief to send; + The man on whom the Gods bestow + Their gifts with hands that overflow, + Comes never to a happy end." + + "And if the Gods thy prayer resist, + Then to a friend's instruction list,— + Invoke thyself adversity; + And what, of all thy treasures bright, + Gives to thy heart the most delight— + That take and cast thou in the sea!" + + Then speaks the other, moved by fear: + "This ring to me is far most dear + Of all this isle within it knows— + I to the furies pledge it now, + If they will happiness allow"— + And in the flood the gem he throws. + + And with the morrow's earliest light, + Appeared before the monarch's sight + A fisherman, all joyously; + "Lord, I this fish just now have caught, + No net before e'er held the sort; + And as a gift I bring it thee." + + The fish was opened by the cook, + Who suddenly, with wondering look, + Runs up, and utters these glad sounds: + "Within the fish's maw, behold, + I've found, great lord, thy ring of gold! + Thy fortune truly knows no bounds!" + + The guest with terror turned away: + "I cannot here, then, longer stay,— + My friend thou canst no longer be! + The gods have willed that thou shouldst die: + Lest I, too, perish, I must fly"— + He spoke,—and sailed thence hastily. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE CRANES OF IBYCUS. + + A BALLAD. + + Once to the song and chariot-fight, + Where all the tribes of Greece unite + On Corinth's isthmus joyously, + The god-loved Ibycus drew nigh. + On him Apollo had bestowed + The gift of song and strains inspired; + So, with light staff, he took his road + From Rhegium, by the godhead fired. + + Acrocorinth, on mountain high, + Now burns upon the wanderer's eye, + And he begins, with pious dread, + Poseidon's grove of firs to tread. + Naught moves around him, save a swarm + Of cranes, who guide him on his way; + Who from far southern regions warm + Have hither come in squadron gray. + + "Thou friendly band, all hail to thee! + Who led'st me safely o'er the sea! + I deem thee as a favoring sign,— + My destiny resembles thine. + Both come from a far distant coast, + Both pray for some kind sheltering place;— + Propitious toward us be the host + Who from the stranger wards disgrace!" + + And on he hastes, in joyous wood, + And reaches soon the middle wood + When, on a narrow bridge, by force + Two murderers sudden bar his course. + He must prepare him for the fray, + But soon his wearied hand sinks low; + Inured the gentle lyre to play, + It ne'er has strung the deadly bow. + + On gods and men for aid he cries,— + No savior to his prayer replies; + However far his voice he sends, + Naught living to his cry attends. + "And must I in a foreign land, + Unwept, deserted, perish here, + Falling beneath a murderous hand, + Where no avenger can appear?" + + Deep-wounded, down he sinks at last, + When, lo! the cranes' wings rustle past. + He hears,—though he no more can see,— + Their voices screaming fearfully. + "By you, ye cranes, that soar on high, + If not another voice is heard, + Be borne to heaven my murder-cry!" + He speaks, and dies, too, with the word. + + The naked corpse, ere long, is found, + And, though defaced by many a wound, + His host in Corinth soon could tell + The features that he loved so well. + "And is it thus I find thee now, + Who hoped the pine's victorious crown + To place upon the singer's brow, + Illumined by his bright renown?" + + The news is heard with grief by all + Met at Poseidon's festival; + All Greece is conscious of the smart, + He leaves a void in every heart; + And to the Prytanis <a href="#linknote-33" name="linknoteref-33" + id="linknoteref-33">33</a> swift hie + The people, and they urge him on + The dead man's manes to pacify + And with the murderer's blood atone. + + But where's the trace that from the throng + The people's streaming crowds among, + Allured there by the sports so bright, + Can bring the villain back to light? + By craven robbers was he slain? + Or by some envious hidden foe? + That Helios only can explain, + Whose rays illume all things below. + + Perchance, with shameless step and proud, + He threads e'en now the Grecian crowd— + Whilst vengeance follows in pursuit, + Gloats over his transgression's fruit. + The very gods perchance he braves + Upon the threshold of their fane,— + Joins boldly in the human waves + That haste yon theatre to gain. + + For there the Grecian tribes appear, + Fast pouring in from far and near; + On close-packed benches sit they there,— + The stage the weight can scarcely bear. + Like ocean-billows' hollow roar, + The teaming crowds of living man + Toward the cerulean heavens upsoar, + In bow of ever-widening span. + + Who knows the nation, who the name, + Of all who there together came? + From Theseus' town, from Aulis' strand + From Phocis, from the Spartan land, + From Asia's distant coast, they wend, + From every island of the sea, + And from the stage they hear ascend + The chorus's dread melody. + + Who, sad and solemn, as of old, + With footsteps measured and controlled, + Advancing from the far background, + Circle the theatre's wide round. + Thus, mortal women never move! + No mortal home to them gave birth! + Their giant-bodies tower above, + High o'er the puny sons of earth. + + With loins in mantle black concealed, + Within their fleshless bands they wield + The torch, that with a dull red glows,— + While in their cheek no life-blood flows; + And where the hair is floating wide + And loving, round a mortal brow, + Here snakes and adders are descried, + Whose bellies swell with poison now. + + And, standing in a fearful ring, + The dread and solemn chant they sing, + That through the bosom thrilling goes, + And round the sinner fetters throws. + Sense-robbing, of heart-maddening power, + The furies' strains resound through air + The listener's marrow they devour,— + The lyre can yield such numbers ne'er. + + "Happy the man who, blemish-free, + Preserves a soul of purity! + Near him we ne'er avenging come, + He freely o'er life's path may roam. + But woe to him who, hid from view, + Hath done the deed of murder base! + Upon his heels we close pursue,— + We, who belong to night's dark race!" + + </pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="4pa148 (144K)" src="images/4pa148.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + "And if he thinks to 'scape by flight, + Winged we appear, our snare of might + Around his flying feet to cast, + So that he needs must fall at last. + Thus we pursue him, tiring ne'er,— + Our wrath repentance cannot quell,— + On to the shadows, and e'en there + We leave him not in peace to dwell!" + + Thus singing, they the dance resume, + And silence, like that of the tomb, + O'er the whole house lies heavily, + As if the deity were nigh. + And staid and solemn, as of old, + Circling the theatre's wide round, + With footsteps measured and controlled, + They vanish in the far background. + + Between deceit and truth each breast. + Now doubting hangs, by awe possessed, + And homage pays to that dread might, + That judges what is hid from sight,— + That, fathomless, inscrutable, + The gloomy skein of fate entwines, + That reads the bosom's depths full well, + Yet flies away where sunlight shines. + + When sudden, from the tier most high, + A voice is heard by all to cry: + "See there, see there, Timotheus! + Behold the cranes of Ibycus!" + The heavens become as black as night, + And o'er the theatre they see, + Far over-head, a dusky flight + Of cranes, approaching hastily. + + "Of Ibycus!"—That name so blest + With new-born sorrow fills each breast. + As waves on waves in ocean rise, + From mouth to mouth it swiftly flies: + "Of Ibycus, whom we lament? + Who fell beneath the murderer's hand? + What mean those words that from him went? + What means this cranes' advancing band?" + + And louder still become the cries, + And soon this thought foreboding flies + Through every heart, with speed of light— + "Observe in this the furies' might! + The poets manes are now appeased + The murderer seeks his own arrest! + Let him who spoke the word be seized, + And him to whom it was addressed!" + + That word he had no sooner spoke, + Than he its sound would fain invoke; + In vain! his mouth, with terror pale, + Tells of his guilt the fearful tale. + Before the judge they drag them now + The scene becomes the tribunal; + Their crimes the villains both avow, + When neath the vengeance-stroke they fall. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE PLAYING INFANT. + + Play on thy mother's bosom, babe, for in that holy isle + The error cannot find thee yet, the grieving, nor the guile; + Held in thy mother's arms above life's dark and troubled wave, + Thou lookest with thy fearless smile upon the floating grave. + Play, loveliest innocence!—Thee yet Arcadia circles round, + A charmed power for thee has set the lists of fairy ground; + Each gleesome impulse Nature now can sanction and befriend, + Nor to that willing heart as yet the duty and the end. + Play, for the haggard labor soon will come to seize its prey. + Alas! when duty grows thy law, enjoyment fades away! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + HERO AND LEANDER. <a href="#linknote-34" name="linknoteref-34" + id="linknoteref-34">34</a> + + A BALLAD. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + See you the towers, that, gray and old, + Frown through the sunlight's liquid gold, + Steep sternly fronting steep? + The Hellespont beneath them swells, + And roaring cleaves the Dardanelles, + The rock-gates of the deep! + Hear you the sea, whose stormy wave, + From Asia, Europe clove in thunder? + That sea which rent a world, cannot + Rend love from love asunder! + + In Hero's, in Leander's heart, + Thrills the sweet anguish of the dart + Whose feather flies from love. + All Hebe's bloom in Hero's cheek— + And his the hunter's steps that seek + Delight, the hills above! + Between their sires the rival feud + Forbids their plighted hearts to meet; + Love's fruits hang over danger's gulf, + By danger made more sweet. + + Alone on Sestos' rocky tower, + Where upward sent in stormy shower, + The whirling waters foam,— + Alone the maiden sits, and eyes + The cliffs of fair Abydos rise + Afar—her lover's home. + Oh, safely thrown from strand to strand, + No bridge can love to love convey; + No boatman shoots from yonder shore, + Yet Love has found the way.— + + </pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="4pa152 (131K)" src="images/4pa152.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + That love, which could the labyrinth pierce— + Which nerves the weak, and curbs the fierce, + And wings with wit the dull;— + That love which o'er the furrowed land + Bowed—tame beneath young Jason's hand— + The fiery-snorting bull! + Yes, Styx itself, that ninefold flows, + Has love, the fearless, ventured o'er, + And back to daylight borne the bride, + From Pluto's dreary shore! + + What marvel then that wind and wave, + Leander doth but burn to brave, + When love, that goads him, guides! + Still when the day, with fainter glimmer, + Wanes pale—he leaps, the daring swimmer, + Amid the darkening tides; + With lusty arms he cleaves the waves, + And strikes for that dear strand afar; + Where high from Hero's lonely tower + Lone streams the beacon-star. + + In vain his blood the wave may chill, + These tender arms can warm it still— + And, weary if the way, + By many a sweet embrace, above + All earthly boons—can liberal love + The lover's toil repay, + Until Aurora breaks the dream, + And warns the loiterer to depart— + Back to the ocean's icy bed, + Scared from that loving heart. + + So thirty suns have sped their flight— + Still in that theft of sweet delight + Exult the happy pair; + Caress will never pall caress, + And joys that gods might envy, bless + The single bride-night there. + Ah! never he has rapture known, + Who has not, where the waves are driven + Upon the fearful shores of hell, + Plucked fruits that taste of heaven! + + Now changing in their season are, + The morning and the Hesper star;— + Nor see those happy eyes + The leaves that withering droop and fall, + Nor hear, when, from its northern hall, + The neighboring winter sighs; + Or, if they see, the shortening days + But seem to them to close in kindness; + For longer joys, in lengthening nights, + They thank the heaven in blindness. + + It is the time, when night and day, + In equal scales contend for sway <a href="#linknote-35" name="linknoteref-35" + id="linknoteref-35">35</a>— + Lone, on her rocky steep, + Lingers the girl with wistful eyes + That watch the sun-steeds down the skies, + Careering towards the deep. + Lulled lay the smooth and silent sea, + A mirror in translucent calm, + The breeze, along that crystal realm, + Unmurmuring, died in balm. + + In wanton swarms and blithe array, + The merry dolphins glide and play + Amid the silver waves. + In gray and dusky troops are seen, + The hosts that serve the ocean-queen, + Upborne from coral caves: + They—only they—have witnessed love + To rapture steal its secret way: + And Hecate <a href="#linknote-36" name="linknoteref-36" id="linknoteref-36">36</a> seals the only lips + That could the tale betray! + + She marks in joy the lulled water, + And Sestos, thus thy tender daughter, + Soft-flattering, woos the sea! + "Fair god—and canst thou then betray? + No! falsehood dwells with them that say + That falsehood dwells with thee! + Ah! faithless is the race of man, + And harsh a father's heart can prove; + But thee, the gentle and the mild, + The grief of love can move!" + + "Within these hated walls of stone, + Should I, repining, mourn alone, + And fade in ceaseless care, + But thou, though o'er thy giant tide, + Nor bridge may span, nor boat may glide, + Dost safe my lover bear. + And darksome is thy solemn deep, + And fearful is thy roaring wave; + But wave and deep are won by love— + Thou smilest on the brave!" + + "Nor vainly, sovereign of the sea, + Did Eros send his shafts to thee + What time the rain of gold, + Bright Helle, with her brother bore, + How stirred the waves she wandered o'er, + How stirred thy deeps of old! + Swift, by the maiden's charms subdued, + Thou cam'st from out the gloomy waves, + And in thy mighty arms, she sank + Into thy bridal caves." + + "A goddess with a god, to keep + In endless youth, beneath the deep, + Her solemn ocean-court! + And still she smooths thine angry tides, + Tames thy wild heart, and favoring guides + The sailor to the port! + Beautiful Helle, bright one, hear + Thy lone adoring suppliant pray! + And guide, O goddess—guide my love + Along the wonted way!" + + Now twilight dims the waters' flow, + And from the tower, the beacon's glow + Waves flickering o'er the main. + Ah, where athwart the dismal stream, + Shall shine the beacon's faithful beam + The lover's eyes shall strain! + Hark! sounds moan threatening from afar— + From heaven the blessed stars are gone— + More darkly swells the rising sea + The tempest labors on! + + Along the ocean's boundless plains + Lies night—in torrents rush the rains + From the dark-bosomed cloud— + Red lightning skirs the panting air, + And, loosed from out their rocky lair, + Sweep all the storms abroad. + Huge wave on huge wave tumbling o'er, + The yawning gulf is rent asunder, + And shows, as through an opening pall, + Grim earth—the ocean under! + + Poor maiden! bootless wail or vow— + "Have mercy, Jove—be gracious, thou! + Dread prayer was mine before!" + What if the gods have heard—and he, + Lone victim of the stormy sea, + Now struggles to the shore! + There's not a sea-bird on the wave— + Their hurrying wings the shelter seek; + The stoutest ship the storms have proved, + Takes refuge in the creek. + + "Ah, still that heart, which oft has braved + The danger where the daring saved, + Love lureth o'er the sea;— + For many a vow at parting morn, + That naught but death should bar return, + Breathed those dear lips to me; + And whirled around, the while I weep, + Amid the storm that rides the wave, + The giant gulf is grasping down + The rash one to the grave! + + "False Pontus! and the calm I hailed, + The awaiting murder darkly veiled— + The lulled pellucid flow, + The smiles in which thou wert arrayed, + Were but the snares that love betrayed + To thy false realm below! + Now in the midway of the main, + Return relentlessly forbidden, + Thou loosenest on the path beyond + The horrors thou hadst hidden." + + Loud and more loud the tempest raves + In thunder break the mountain waves, + White-foaming on the rock— + No ship that ever swept the deep + Its ribs of gnarled oak could keep + Unshattered by the shock. + Dies in the blast the guiding torch + To light the struggler to the strand; + 'Tis death to battle with the wave, + And death no less to land! + + On Venus, daughter of the seas, + She calls the tempest to appease— + To each wild-shrieking wind + Along the ocean-desert borne, + She vows a steer with golden horn— + Vain vow—relentless wind! + On every goddess of the deep, + On all the gods in heaven that be, + She calls—to soothe in calm, awhile + The tempest-laden sea! + + "Hearken the anguish of my cries! + From thy green halls, arise—arise, + Leucothoe the divine! + Who, in the barren main afar, + Oft on the storm-beat mariner + Dost gently-saving shine. + Oh,—reach to him thy mystic veil, + To which the drowning clasp may cling, + And safely from that roaring grave, + To shore my lover bring!" + + And now the savage winds are hushing. + And o'er the arched horizon, blushing, + Day's chariot gleams on high! + Back to their wonted channels rolled, + In crystal calm the waves behold + One smile on sea and sky! + All softly breaks the rippling tide, + Low-murmuring on the rocky land, + And playful wavelets gently float + A corpse upon the strand! + + 'Tis he!—who even in death would still + Not fail the sweet vow to fulfil; + She looks—sees—knows him there! + From her pale lips no sorrow speaks, + No tears glide down her hueless cheeks; + Cold-numbed in her despair— + She looked along the silent deep, + She looked upon the brightening heaven, + Till to the marble face the soul + Its light sublime had given! + + "Ye solemn powers men shrink to name, + Your might is here, your rights ye claim— + Yet think not I repine + Soon closed my course; yet I can bless + The life that brought me happiness— + The fairest lot was mine! + Living have I thy temple served, + Thy consecrated priestess been— + My last glad offering now receive + Venus, thou mightiest queen!" + + Flashed the white robe along the air, + And from the tower that beetled there + She sprang into the wave; + Roused from his throne beneath the waste, + Those holy forms the god embraced— + A god himself their grave! + Pleased with his prey, he glides along— + More blithe the murmured music seems, + A gush from unexhausted urns + His everlasting streams! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + CASSANDRA. + + Mirth the halls of Troy was filling, + Ere its lofty ramparts fell; + From the golden lute so thrilling + Hymns of joy were heard to swell. + From the sad and tearful slaughter + All had laid their arms aside, + For Pelides Priam's daughter + Claimed then as his own fair bride. + + Laurel branches with them bearing, + Troop on troop in bright array + To the temples were repairing, + Owning Thymbrius' sovereign sway. + Through the streets, with frantic measure, + Danced the bacchanal mad round, + And, amid the radiant pleasure, + Only one sad breast was found. + + Joyless in the midst of gladness, + None to heed her, none to love, + Roamed Cassandra, plunged in sadness, + To Apollo's laurel grove. + To its dark and deep recesses + Swift the sorrowing priestess hied, + And from off her flowing tresses + Tore the sacred band, and cried: + + "All around with joy is beaming, + Ev'ry heart is happy now, + And my sire is fondly dreaming, + Wreathed with flowers my sister's brow + I alone am doomed to wailing, + That sweet vision flies from me; + In my mind, these walls assailing, + Fierce destruction I can see." + + "Though a torch I see all-glowing, + Yet 'tis not in Hymen's hand; + Smoke across the skies is blowing, + Yet 'tis from no votive brand. + Yonder see I feasts entrancing, + But in my prophetic soul, + Hear I now the God advancing, + Who will steep in tears the bowl!" + + "And they blame my lamentation, + And they laugh my grief to scorn; + To the haunts of desolation + I must bear my woes forlorn. + All who happy are, now shun me, + And my tears with laughter see; + Heavy lies thy hand upon me, + Cruel Pythian deity!" + + "Thy divine decrees foretelling, + Wherefore hast thou thrown me here, + Where the ever-blind are dwelling, + With a mind, alas, too clear? + Wherefore hast thou power thus given, + What must needs occur to know? + Wrought must be the will of Heaven— + Onward come the hour of woe!" + + "When impending fate strikes terror, + Why remove the covering? + Life we have alone in error, + Knowledge with it death must bring. + Take away this prescience tearful, + Take this sight of woe from me; + Of thy truths, alas! how fearful + 'Tis the mouthpiece frail to be!" + + "Veil my mind once more in slumbers + Let me heedlessly rejoice; + Never have I sung glad numbers + Since I've been thy chosen voice. + Knowledge of the future giving, + Thou hast stolen the present day, + Stolen the moment's joyous living,— + Take thy false gift, then, away!" + + "Ne'er with bridal train around me, + Have I wreathed my radiant brow, + Since to serve thy fane I bound me— + Bound me with a solemn vow. + Evermore in grief I languish— + All my youth in tears was spent; + And with thoughts of bitter anguish + My too-feeling heart is rent." + + "Joyously my friends are playing, + All around are blest and glad, + In the paths of pleasure straying,— + My poor heart alone is sad. + Spring in vain unfolds each treasure, + Filling all the earth with bliss; + Who in life can e'er take pleasure, + When is seen its dark abyss?" + + "With her heart in vision burning, + Truly blest is Polyxene, + As a bride to clasp him yearning. + Him, the noblest, best Hellene! + And her breast with rapture swelling, + All its bliss can scarcely know; + E'en the Gods in heavenly dwelling + Envying not, when dreaming so." + + "He to whom my heart is plighted + Stood before my ravished eye, + And his look, by passion lighted, + Toward me turned imploringly. + With the loved one, oh, how gladly + Homeward would I take my flight + But a Stygian shadow sadly + Steps between us every night." + + "Cruel Proserpine is sending + All her spectres pale to me; + Ever on my steps attending + Those dread shadowy forms I see. + Though I seek, in mirth and laughter + Refuge from that ghastly train, + Still I see them hastening after,— + Ne'er shall I know joy again." + + "And I see the death-steel glancing, + And the eye of murder glare; + On, with hasty strides advancing, + Terror haunts me everywhere. + Vain I seek alleviation;— + Knowing, seeing, suffering all, + I must wait the consummation, + In a foreign land must fall." + + While her solemn words are ringing, + Hark! a dull and wailing tone + From the temple's gate upspringing,— + Dead lies Thetis' mighty son! + Eris shakes her snake-locks hated, + Swiftly flies each deity, + And o'er Ilion's walls ill-fated + Thunder-clouds loom heavily! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE HOSTAGE. + + A BALLAD. + + The tyrant Dionys to seek, + Stern Moerus with his poniard crept; + The watchful guard upon him swept; + The grim king marked his changeless cheek: + "What wouldst thou with thy poniard? Speak!" + "The city from the tyrant free!" + "The death-cross shall thy guerdon be." + + "I am prepared for death, nor pray," + Replied that haughty man, "I to live; + Enough, if thou one grace wilt give + For three brief suns the death delay + To wed my sister—leagues away; + I boast one friend whose life for mine, + If I should fail the cross, is thine." + + The tyrant mused,—and smiled,—and said + With gloomy craft, "So let it be; + Three days I will vouchsafe to thee. + But mark—if, when the time be sped, + Thou fail'st—thy surety dies instead. + His life shall buy thine own release; + Thy guilt atoned, my wrath shall cease." + + He sought his friend—"The king's decree + Ordains my life the cross upon + Shall pay the deed I would have done; + Yet grants three days' delay to me, + My sister's marriage-rites to see; + If thou, the hostage, wilt remain + Till I—set free—return again!" + + His friend embraced—No word he said, + But silent to the tyrant strode— + The other went upon his road. + Ere the third sun in heaven was red, + The rite was o'er, the sister wed; + And back, with anxious heart unquailing, + He hastes to hold the pledge unfailing. + + Down the great rains unending bore, + Down from the hills the torrents rushed, + In one broad stream the brooklets gushed. + The wanderer halts beside the shore, + The bridge was swept the tides before— + The shattered arches o'er and under + Went the tumultuous waves in thunder. + + Dismayed he takes his idle stand— + Dismayed, he strays and shouts around; + His voice awakes no answering sound. + No boat will leave the sheltering strand, + To bear him to the wished-for land; + No boatman will Death's pilot be; + The wild stream gathers to a sea! + + Sunk by the banks, awhile he weeps, + Then raised his arms to Jove, and cried, + "Stay thou, oh stay the maddening tide; + Midway behold the swift sun sweeps, + And, ere he sinks adown the deeps, + If I should fail, his beams will see + My friend's last anguish—slain for me!" + + More fierce it runs, more broad it flows, + And wave on wave succeeds and dies + And hour on hour remorseless flies; + Despair at last to daring grows— + Amidst the flood his form he throws; + With vigorous arms the roaring waves + Cleaves—and a God that pities, saves. + + He wins the bank—he scours the strand, + He thanks the God in breathless prayer; + When from the forest's gloomy lair, + With ragged club in ruthless hand, + And breathing murder—rushed the band + That find, in woods, their savage den, + And savage prey in wandering men. + + "What," cried he, pale with generous fear; + "What think to gain ye by the strife? + All I bear with me is my life— + I take it to the king!"—and here + He snatched the club from him most near: + And thrice he smote, and thrice his blows + Dealt death—before him fly the foes! + + The sun is glowing as a brand; + And faint before the parching heat, + The strength forsakes the feeble feet: + "Thou hast saved me from the robbers' hand, + Through wild floods given the blessed land; + And shall the weak limbs fail me now? + And he!—Divine one, nerve me, thou!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + Hark! like some gracious murmur by, + Babbles low music, silver-clear— + The wanderer holds his breath to hear; + And from the rock, before his eye, + Laughs forth the spring delightedly; + Now the sweet waves he bends him o'er, + And the sweet waves his strength restore. + + Through the green boughs the sun gleams dying, + O'er fields that drink the rosy beam, + The trees' huge shadows giant seem. + Two strangers on the road are hieing; + And as they fleet beside him flying, + These muttered words his ear dismay: + "Now—now the cross has claimed its prey!" + + Despair his winged path pursues, + The anxious terrors hound him on— + There, reddening in the evening sun, + From far, the domes of Syracuse!— + When towards him comes Philostratus + (His leal and trusty herdsman he), + And to the master bends his knee. + + "Back—thou canst aid thy friend no more, + The niggard time already flown— + His life is forfeit—save thine own! + Hour after hour in hope he bore, + Nor might his soul its faith give o'er; + Nor could the tyrant's scorn deriding, + Steal from that faith one thought confiding!" + + "Too late! what horror hast thou spoken! + Vain life, since it cannot requite him! + But death with me can yet unite him; + No boast the tyrant's scorn shall make— + How friend to friend can faith forsake. + But from the double death shall know, + That truth and love yet live below!" + + The sun sinks down—the gate's in view, + The cross looms dismal on the ground— + The eager crowd gape murmuring round. + His friend is bound the cross unto. . . . + Crowd—guards—all bursts he breathless through: + "Me! Doomsman, me!" he shouts, "alone! + His life is rescued—lo, mine own!" + + Amazement seized the circling ring! + Linked in each other's arms the pair— + Weeping for joy—yet anguish there! + Moist every eye that gazed;—they bring + The wondrous tidings to the king— + His breast man's heart at last hath known, + And the friends stand before his throne. + + Long silent, he, and wondering long, + Gazed on the pair—"In peace depart, + Victors, ye have subdued my heart! + Truth is no dream!—its power is strong. + Give grace to him who owns his wrong! + 'Tis mine your suppliant now to be, + Ah, let the band of love—be three!" <a href="#linknote-37" + name="linknoteref-37" id="linknoteref-37">37</a> +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + GREEKISM. + + Scarce has the fever so chilly of Gallomania departed, + When a more burning attack in Grecomania breaks out. + Greekism,—what did it mean?—'Twas harmony, reason, and clearness! + Patience,—good gentlemen, pray, ere ye of Greekism speak! + 'Tis for an excellent cause ye are fighting, and all that I ask for + Is that with reason it ne'er may be a laughing-stock made. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE DIVER. + + A BALLAD. + + "What knight or what vassal will be so bold + As to plunge in the gulf below? + See! I hurl in its depths a goblet of gold, + Already the waters over it flow. + The man who can bring back the goblet to me, + May keep it henceforward,—his own it shall be." + + Thus speaks the king, and he hurls from the height + Of the cliffs that, rugged and steep, + Hang over the boundless sea, with strong might, + The goblet afar, in the bellowing deep. + "And who'll be so daring,—I ask it once more,— + As to plunge in these billows that wildly roar?" + + And the vassals and knights of high degree + Hear his words, but silent remain. + They cast their eyes on the raging sea, + And none will attempt the goblet to gain. + And a third time the question is asked by the king: + "Is there none that will dare in the gulf now to spring?" + + Yet all as before in silence stand, + When a page, with a modest pride, + Steps out of the timorous squirely band, + And his girdle and mantle soon throws aside, + And all the knights, and the ladies too, + The noble stripling with wonderment view. + + And when he draws nigh to the rocky brow, + And looks in the gulf so black, + The waters that she had swallowed but now, + The howling Charybdis is giving back; + And, with the distant thunder's dull sound. + From her gloomy womb they all-foaming rebound. + + And it boils and it roars, and it hisses and seethes, + As when water and fire first blend; + To the sky spurts the foam in steam-laden wreaths, + And wave presses hard upon wave without end. + And the ocean will never exhausted be, + As if striving to bring forth another sea. + + But at length the wild tumult seems pacified, + And blackly amid the white swell + A gaping chasm its jaws opens wide, + As if leading down to the depths of hell: + And the howling billows are seen by each eye + Down the whirling funnel all madly to fly. + + Then quickly, before the breakers rebound, + The stripling commends him to Heaven, + And—a scream of horror is heard around,— + And now by the whirlpool away he is driven, + And secretly over the swimmer brave + Close the jaws, and he vanishes 'neath the dark wave. + + O'er the watery gulf dread silence now lies, + But the deep sends up a dull yell, + And from mouth to mouth thus trembling it flies: + "Courageous stripling, oh, fare thee well!" + And duller and duller the howls recommence, + While they pause in anxious and fearful suspense. + + "If even thy crown in the gulf thou shouldst fling, + And shouldst say, 'He who brings it to me + Shall wear it henceforward, and be the king,' + Thou couldst tempt me not e'en with that precious foe; + What under the howling deep is concealed + To no happy living soul is revealed!" + + Full many a ship, by the whirlpool held fast, + Shoots straightway beneath the mad wave, + And, dashed to pieces, the hull and the mast + Emerge from the all-devouring grave,— + And the roaring approaches still nearer and nearer, + Like the howl of the tempest, still clearer and clearer. + + And it boils and it roars, and it hisses and seethes, + As when water and fire first blend; + To the sky spurts the foam in steam-laden wreaths, + And wave passes hard upon wave without end. + And, with the distant thunder's dull sound, + From the ocean-womb they all-bellowing bound. + + And lo! from the darkly flowing tide + Comes a vision white as a swan, + And an arm and a glistening neck are descried, + With might and with active zeal steering on; + And 'tis he, and behold! his left hand on high + Waves the goblet, while beaming with joy is his eye. + + Then breathes he deeply, then breathes he long, + And blesses the light of the day; + While gladly exclaim to each other the throng: + "He lives! he is here! he is not the sea's prey! + From the tomb, from the eddying waters' control, + The brave one has rescued his living soul!" + + And he comes, and they joyously round him stand; + At the feet of the monarch he falls,— + The goblet he, kneeling, puts in his hand, + And the king to his beauteous daughter calls, + Who fills it with sparkling wine to the brim; + The youth turns to the monarch, and speaks thus to him: + + "Long life to the king! Let all those be glad + Who breathe in the light of the sky! + For below all is fearful, of moment sad; + Let not man to tempt the immortals e'er try, + Let him never desire the thing to see + That with terror and night they veil graciously." + + "I was torn below with the speed of light, + When out of a cavern of rock + Rushed towards me a spring with furious might; + I was seized by the twofold torrent's wild shock, + And like a top, with a whirl and a bound, + Despite all resistance, was whirled around." + + "Then God pointed out,—for to Him I cried + In that terrible moment of need,— + A craggy reef in the gulf's dark side; + I seized it in haste, and from death was then freed. + And there, on sharp corals, was hanging the cup,— + The fathomless pit had else swallowed it up." + + "For under me lay it, still mountain-deep, + In a darkness of purple-tinged dye, + And though to the ear all might seem then asleep + With shuddering awe 'twas seen by the eye + How the salamanders' and dragons' dread forms + Filled those terrible jaws of hell with their swarms." + + "There crowded, in union fearful and black, + In a horrible mass entwined, + The rock-fish, the ray with the thorny back, + And the hammer-fish's misshapen kind, + And the shark, the hyena dread of the sea, + With his angry teeth, grinned fiercely on me." + + "There hung I, by fulness of terror possessed, + Where all human aid was unknown, + Amongst phantoms, the only sensitive breast, + In that fearful solitude all alone, + Where the voice of mankind could not reach to mine ear, + 'Mid the monsters foul of that wilderness drear." + + "Thus shuddering methought—when a something crawled near, + And a hundred limbs it out-flung, + And at me it snapped;—in my mortal fear, + I left hold of the coral to which I had clung; + Then the whirlpool seized on me with maddened roar, + Yet 'twas well, for it brought me to light once more." + + The story in wonderment hears the king, + And he says, "The cup is thine own, + And I purpose also to give thee this ring, + Adorned with a costly, a priceless stone, + If thou'lt try once again, and bring word to me + What thou saw'st in the nethermost depths of the sea." + + His daughter hears this with emotions soft, + And with flattering accent prays she: + "That fearful sport, father, attempt not too oft! + What none other would dare, he hath ventured for thee; + If thy heart's wild longings thou canst not tame, + Let the knights, if they can, put the squire to shame." + + The king then seizes the goblet in haste, + In the gulf he hurls it with might: + "When the goblet once more in my hands thou hast placed, + Thou shalt rank at my court as the noblest knight, + And her as a bride thou shalt clasp e'en to-day, + Who for thee with tender compassion doth pray." + + Then a force, as from Heaven, descends on him there, + And lightning gleams in his eye, + And blushes he sees on her features so fair, + And he sees her turn pale, and swooning lie; + Then eager the precious guerdon to win, + For life or for death, lo! he plunges him in! + + The breakers they hear, and the breakers return, + Proclaimed by a thundering sound; + They bend o'er the gulf with glances that yearn, + And the waters are pouring in fast around; + Though upwards and downwards they rush and they rave, + The youth is brought back by no kindly wave. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE KNIGHT OF TOGGENBURG. + + A BALLAD. + + "I Can love thee well, believe me, + As a sister true; + Other love, Sir Knight, would grieve me, + Sore my heart would rue. + Calmly would I see thee going, + Calmly, too, appear; + For those tears in silence flowing + Find no answer here." + + Thus she speaks,—he hears her sadly,— + How his heartstrings bleed! + In his arms he clasps her madly, + Then he mounts his steed. + From the Switzer land collects he + All his warriors brave;— + Cross on breast, their course directs he + To the Holy Grave. + + In triumphant march advancing, + Onward moves the host, + While their morion plumes are dancing + Where the foes are most. + Mortal terror strikes the Paynim + At the chieftain's name; + But the knight's sad thoughts enchain him— + Grief consumes his frame. + + Twelve long months, with courage daring, + Peace he strives to find; + Then, at last, of rest despairing, + Leaves the host behind; + Sees a ship, whose sails are swelling, + Lie on Joppa's strand; + Ships him homeward for her dwelling, + In his own loved land. + + Now behold the pilgrim weary + At her castle gate! + But alas! these accents dreary + Seal his mournful fate:— + "She thou seek'st her troth hath plighted + To all-gracious heaven; + To her God she was united + Yesterday at even!" + + To his father's home forever + Bids he now adieu; + Sees no more his arms and beaver, + Nor his steed so true. + Then descends he, sadly, slowly,— + None suspect the sight,— + For a garb of penance lowly + Wears the noble knight. + + Soon he now, the tempest braving, + Builds an humble shed, + Where o'er the lime-trees darkly waving, + Peeps the convent's head. + From the orb of day's first gleaming, + Till his race has run, + Hope in every feature beaming, + There he sits alone. + + Toward the convent straining ever + His unwearied eyes,— + From her casement looking never + Till it open flies, + Till the loved one, soft advancing, + Shows her gentle face, + O'er the vale her sweet eye glancing, + Full of angel-grace. + + Then he seeks his bed of rushes, + Stilled all grief and pain, + Slumbering calm, till morning's blushes + Waken life again. + Days and years fleet on, yet never + Breathes he plaint or sighs, + On her casement gazing ever + Till it open flies. + + Till the loved one, soft advancing, + Shows her gentle face, + O'er the vale her sweet eyes glancing, + Full of angel-grace. + But at length, the morn returning + Finds him dead and chill;— + Pale and wan, his gaze, with yearning, + Seeks her casement still. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE FIGHT WITH THE DRAGON. + + Why run the crowd? What means the throng + That rushes fast the streets along? + Can Rhodes a prey to flames, then, be? + In crowds they gather hastily, + And, on his steed, a noble knight + Amid the rabble, meets my sight; + Behind him—prodigy unknown!— + A monster fierce they're drawing on; + A dragon stems it by its shape, + With wide and crocodile-like jaw, + And on the knight and dragon gape, + In turns, the people, filled with awe. + + And thousand voices shout with glee + "The fiery dragon come and see, + Who hind and flock tore limb from limb!— + The hero see, who vanquished him! + Full many a one before him went, + To dare the fearful combat bent, + But none returned home from the fight; + Honor ye, then, the noble knight!" + And toward the convent move they all, + While met in hasty council there + The brave knights of the Hospital, + St. John the Baptist's Order, were. + + Up to the noble master sped + The youth, with firm but modest tread; + The people followed with wild shout, + And stood the landing-place about, + While thus outspoke that daring one: + "My knightly duty I have done. + The dragon that laid waste the land + Has fallen beneath my conquering hand. + The way is to the wanderer free, + The shepherd o'er the plains may rove; + Across the mountains joyfully + The pilgrim to the shrine may move." + + But sternly looked the prince, and said: + "The hero's part thou well hast played + By courage is the true knight known,— + A dauntless spirit thou hast shown. + Yet speak! What duty first should he + Regard, who would Christ's champion be, + Who wears the emblem of the Cross?"— + And all turned pale at his discourse. + Yet he replied, with noble grace, + While blushingly he bent him low: + "That he deserves so proud a place + Obedience best of all can show." + + </pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="4pa176 (127K)" src="images/4pa176.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + "My son," the master answering spoke, + "Thy daring act this duty broke. + The conflict that the law forbade + Thou hast with impious mind essayed."— + "Lord, judge when all to thee is known," + The other spake, in steadfast tone,— + "For I the law's commands and will + Purposed with honor to fulfil. + I went not out with heedless thought. + Hoping the monster dread to find; + To conquer in the fight I sought + By cunning, and a prudent mind." + + "Five of our noble Order, then + (Our faith could boast no better men), + Had by their daring lost their life, + When thou forbadest us the strife. + And yet my heart I felt a prey + To gloom, and panted for the fray; + Ay, even in the stilly night, + In vision gasped I in the fight; + And when the glimmering morning came, + And of fresh troubles knowledge gave, + A raging grief consumed my frame, + And I resolved the thing to brave." + + "And to myself I thus began: + 'What is't adorns the youth, the man? + What actions of the heroes bold, + Of whom in ancient song we're told, + Blind heathendom raised up on high + To godlike fame and dignity? + The world, by deeds known far and wide, + From monsters fierce they purified; + The lion in the fight they met, + And wrestled with the minotaur, + Unhappy victims free to set, + And were not sparing of their gore.'" + + "'Are none but Saracens to feel + The prowess of the Christian steel? + False idols only shall be brave? + His mission is the world to save; + To free it, by his sturdy arm, + From every hurt, from every harm; + Yet wisdom must his courage bend, + And cunning must with strength contend.' + Thus spake I oft, and went alone + The monster's traces to espy; + When on my mind a bright light shone,— + 'I have it!' was my joyful cry." + + "To thee I went, and thus I spake: + 'My homeward journey I would take.' + Thou, lord, didst grant my prayer to me,— + Then safely traversed I the sea; + And, when I reached my native strand, + I caused a skilful artist's hand + To make a dragon's image, true + To his that now so well I knew. + On feet of measure short was placed + Its lengthy body's heavy load; + A scaly coat of mail embraced + The back, on which it fiercely showed." + + "Its stretching neck appeared to swell, + And, ghastly as a gate of hell, + Its fearful jaws were open wide, + As if to seize the prey it tried; + And in its black mouth, ranged about, + Its teeth in prickly rows stood out; + Its tongue was like a sharp-edged sword, + And lightning from its small eyes poured; + A serpent's tail of many a fold + Ended its body's monstrous span, + And round itself with fierceness rolled, + So as to clasp both steed and man." + + "I formed the whole to nature true, + In skin of gray and hideous hue; + Part dragon it appeared, part snake, + Engendered in the poisonous lake. + And, when the figure was complete, + A pair of dogs I chose me, fleet, + Of mighty strength, of nimble pace, + Inured the savage boar to chase; + The dragon, then, I made them bait, + Inflaming them to fury dread, + With their sharp teeth to seize it straight, + And with my voice their motions led." + + "And, where the belly's tender skin + Allowed the tooth to enter in, + I taught them how to seize it there, + And, with their fangs, the part to tear. + I mounted, then, my Arab steed, + The offspring of a noble breed; + My hand a dart on high held forth, + And, when I had inflamed his wrath, + I stuck my sharp spurs in his side, + And urged him on as quick as thought, + And hurled my dart in circles wide + As if to pierce the beast I sought." + + "And though my steed reared high in pain, + And champed and foamed beneath the rein, + And though the dogs howled fearfully, + Till they were calmed ne'er rested I. + This plan I ceaselessly pursued, + Till thrice the moon had been renewed; + And when they had been duly taught, + In swift ships here I had them brought; + And since my foot these shores has pressed + Flown has three mornings' narrow span; + I scarce allowed my limbs to rest + Ere I the mighty task began." + + "For hotly was my bosom stirred + When of the land's fresh grief I heard; + Shepherds of late had been his prey, + When in the marsh they went astray. + I formed my plans then hastily,— + My heart was all that counselled me. + My squires instructing to proceed, + I sprang upon my well-trained steed, + And, followed by my noble pair + Of dogs, by secret pathways rode, + Where not an eye could witness bear, + To find the monster's fell abode." + + "Thou, lord, must know the chapel well, + Pitched on a rocky pinnacle, + That overlooks the distant isle; + A daring mind 'twas raised the pile. + Though humble, mean, and small it shows + Its walls a miracle enclose,— + The Virgin and her infant Son, + Vowed by the three kings of Cologne. + By three times thirty steps is led + The pilgrim to the giddy height; + Yet, when he gains it with bold tread, + He's quickened by his Saviour's sight." + + "Deep in the rock to which it clings, + A cavern dark its arms outflings, + Moist with the neighboring moorland's dew, + Where heaven's bright rays can ne'er pierce through. + There dwelt the monster, there he lay, + His spoil awaiting, night and day; + Like the hell-dragon, thus he kept + Watch near the shrine, and never slept; + And if a hapless pilgrim chanced + To enter on that fatal way, + From out his ambush quick advanced + The foe, and seized him as his prey." + + "I mounted now the rocky height; + Ere I commenced the fearful fight, + There knelt I to the infant Lord, + And pardon for my sins implored. + Then in the holy fane I placed + My shining armor round my waist, + My right hand grasped my javelin, + The fight then went I to begin; + Instructions gave my squires among, + Commanding them to tarry there; + Then on my steed I nimbly sprung, + And gave my spirit to God's care." + + "Soon as I reached the level plain, + My dogs found out the scent amain; + My frightened horse soon reared on high,— + His fear I could not pacify, + For, coiled up in a circle, lo! + There lay the fierce and hideous foe, + Sunning himself upon the ground. + Straight at him rushed each nimble hound; + Yet thence they turned, dismayed and fast, + When he his gaping jaws op'd wide, + Vomited forth his poisonous blast, + And like the howling jackal cried." + + "But soon their courage I restored; + They seized with rage the foe abhorred, + While I against the beast's loins threw + My spear with sturdy arm and true: + But, powerless as a bulrush frail, + It bounded from his coat of mail; + And ere I could repeat the throw, + My horse reeled wildly to and fro + Before his basilisk-like look, + And at his poison-teeming breath,— + Sprang backward, and with terror shook, + While I seemed doomed to certain death." + + "Then from my steed I nimbly sprung, + My sharp-edged sword with vigor swung; + Yet all in vain my strokes I plied,— + I could not pierce his rock-like hide. + His tail with fury lashing round, + Sudden he bore me to the ground. + His jaws then opening fearfully, + With angry teeth he struck at me; + But now my dogs, with wrath new-born, + Rushed on his belly with fierce bite, + So that, by dreadful anguish torn, + He howling stood before my sight." + + "And ere he from their teeth was free, + I raised myself up hastily, + The weak place of the foe explored, + And in his entrails plunged my sword, + Sinking it even to the hilt; + Black gushing forth, his blood was spilt. + Down sank he, burying in his fall + Me with his body's giant ball, + So that my senses quickly fled; + And when I woke with strength renewed, + The dragon in his blood lay dead, + While round me grouped my squires all stood." + + The joyous shouts, so long suppressed, + Now burst from every hearer's breast, + Soon as the knight these words had spoken; + And ten times 'gainst the high vault broken, + The sound of mingled voices rang, + Re-echoing back with hollow clang. + The Order's sons demand, in haste, + That with a crown his brow be graced, + And gratefully in triumph now + The mob the youth would bear along + When, lo! the master knit his brow, + And called for silence 'mongst the throng. + + And said, "The dragon that this land + Laid waste, thou slew'st with daring hand; + Although the people's idol thou, + The Order's foe I deem thee now. + Thy breast has to a fiend more base + Than e'en this dragon given place. + The serpent that the heart most stings, + And hatred and destruction brings, + That spirit is, which stubborn lies, + And impiously cast off the rein, + Despising order's sacred ties; + 'Tis that destroys the world amain." + + "The Mameluke makes of courage boast, + Obedience decks the Christian most; + For where our great and blessed Lord + As a mere servant walked abroad, + The fathers, on that holy ground, + This famous Order chose to found, + That arduous duty to fulfil + To overcome one's own self-will! + 'Twas idle glory moved thee there: + So take thee hence from out my sight! + For who the Lord's yoke cannot bear, + To wear his cross can have no right." + + A furious shout now raise the crowd, + The place is filled with outcries loud; + The brethren all for pardon cry; + The youth in silence droops his eye— + Mutely his garment from him throws, + Kisses the master's hand, and—goes. + But he pursues him with his gaze, + Recalls him lovingly, and says: + "Let me embrace thee now, my son! + The harder fight is gained by thee. + Take, then, this cross—the guerdon won + By self-subdued humility." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + FEMALE JUDGMENT. +</pre> + <p> + Man frames his judgment on reason; but woman on love founds her verdict; + If her judgment loves not, woman already has judged. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + FRIDOLIN; OR, THE WALK TO THE IRON FOUNDRY. + + A gentle was Fridolin, + And he his mistress dear, + Savern's fair Countess, honored in + All truth and godly fear. + She was so meek, and, ah! so good! + Yet each wish of her wayward mood, + He would have studied to fulfil, + To please his God, with earnest will. + + From the first hour when daylight shone + Till rang the vesper-chime, + He lived but for her will alone, + And deemed e'en that scarce time. + And if she said, "Less anxious be!" + His eye then glistened tearfully. + Thinking that he in duty failed, + And so before no toil he quailed. + + And so, before her serving train, + The Countess loved to raise him; + While her fair mouth, in endless strain, + Was ever wont to praise him. + She never held him as her slave, + Her heart a child's rights to him gave; + Her clear eye hung in fond delight + Upon his well-formed features bright. + + Soon in the huntsman Robert's breast + Was poisonous anger fired; + His black soul, long by lust possessed, + With malice was inspired; + He sought the Count, whom, quick in deed, + A traitor might with ease mislead, + As once from hunting home they rode, + And in his heart suspicion sowed. + + "Happy art thou, great Count, in truth," + Thus cunningly he spoke; + "For ne'er mistrust's envenomed tooth + Thy golden slumbers broke; + A noble wife thy love rewards, + And modesty her person guards. + The tempter will be able ne'er + Her true fidelity to snare." + + A gloomy scowl the Count's eye filled: + "What's this thou say'st to me? + Shall I on woman's virtue build, + Inconstant as the sea? + The flatterer's mouth with ease may lure; + My trust is placed on ground more sure. + No one, methinks, dare ever burn + To tempt the wife of Count Savern." + + The other spoke: "Thou sayest it well, + The fool deserves thy scorn + Who ventures on such thoughts to dwell, + A mere retainer born,— + Who to the lady he obeys + Fears not his wishes' lust to raise."— + "What!" tremblingly the Count began, + "Dost speak, then, of a living man?"— + + "Is, then, the thing, to all revealed, + Hid from my master's view? + Yet, since with care from thee concealed, + I'd fain conceal it too"— + "Speak quickly, villain! speak or die!" + Exclaimed the other fearfully. + "Who dares to look on Cunigond?" + "'Tis the fair page that is so fond." + + "He's not ill-shaped in form, I wot," + He craftily went on; + The Count meanwhile felt cold and hot, + By turns in every bone. + "Is't possible thou seest not, sir, + How he has eyes for none but her? + At table ne'er attends to thee, + But sighs behind her ceaselessly?" + + "Behold the rhymes that from him came + His passion to confess"— + "Confess!"—"And for an answering flame,— + The impious knave!—to press. + My gracious lady, soft and meek, + Through pity, doubtless, feared to speak; + That it has 'scaped me, sore I rue; + What, lord, canst thou to help it do?" + + Into the neighboring wood then rode + The Count, inflamed with wrath, + Where, in his iron foundry, glowed + The ore, and bubbled forth. + The workmen here, with busy hand, + The fire both late and early fanned. + The sparks fly out, the bellows ply, + As if the rock to liquefy. + + The fire and water's might twofold + Are here united found; + The mill-wheel, by the flood seized hold, + Is whirling round and round; + The works are clattering night and day, + With measured stroke the hammers play, + And, yielding to the mighty blows, + The very iron plastic grows. + + Then to two workmen beckons he, + And speaks thus in his ire; + "The first who's hither sent by me + Thus of ye to inquire + 'Have ye obeyed my lord's word well?' + Him cast ye into yonder hell, + That into ashes he may fly, + And ne'er again torment mine eye!" + + The inhuman pair were overjoyed, + With devilish glee possessed + For as the iron, feeling void, + Their heart was in their breast, + And brisker with the bellows' blast, + The foundry's womb now heat they fast, + And with a murderous mind prepare + To offer up the victim there. + + Then Robert to his comrade spake, + With false hypocrisy: + "Up, comrade, up! no tarrying make! + Our lord has need of thee." + The lord to Fridolin then said: + "The pathway toward the foundry tread, + And of the workmen there inquire, + If they have done their lord's desire." + + The other answered, "Be it so!" + But o'er him came this thought, + When he was all-prepared to go, + "Will she command me aught?" + So to the Countess straight he went: + "I'm to the iron-foundry sent; + Then say, can I do aught for thee? + For thou 'tis who commandest me." + + To this the Lady of Savern + Replied in gentle tone: + "To hear the holy mass I yearn, + For sick now lies my son; + So go, my child, and when thou'rt there, + Utter for me a humble prayer, + And of thy sins think ruefully, + That grace may also fall on me." + + And in this welcome duty glad, + He quickly left the place; + But ere the village bounds he had + Attained with rapid pace, + The sound of bells struck on his ear, + From the high belfry ringing clear, + And every sinner, mercy-sent, + Inviting to the sacrament. + + "Never from praising God refrain + Where'er by thee He's found!" + He spoke, and stepped into the fane, + But there he heard no sound; + For 'twas the harvest time, and now + Glowed in the fields the reaper's brow; + No choristers were gathered there, + The duties of the mass to share. + + The matter paused he not to weigh, + But took the sexton's part; + "That thing," he said, "makes no delay + Which heavenward guides the heart." + Upon the priest, with helping hand, + He placed the stole and sacred band, + The vessels he prepared beside, + That for the mass were sanctified. + + And when his duties here were o'er, + Holding the mass-book, he, + Ministering to the priest, before + The altar bowed his knee, + And knelt him left, and knelt him right, + While not a look escaped his sight, + And when the holy Sanctus came, + The bell thrice rang he at the name. + + And when the priest, bowed humbly too, + In hand uplifted high, + Facing the altar, showed to view + The present Deity, + The sacristan proclaimed it well, + Sounding the clearly-tinkling bell, + While all knelt down, and beat the breast, + And with a cross the Host confessed. + + The rites thus served he, leaving none, + With quick and ready wit; + Each thing that in God's house is done, + He also practised it. + Unweariedly he labored thus, + Till the Vobiscum Dominus, + When toward the people turned the priest, + Blessed them,—and so the service ceased. + + Then he disposed each thing again, + In fair and due array; + First purified the holy fane, + And then he went his way, + And gladly, with a mind at rest, + On to the iron-foundry pressed, + Saying the while, complete to be, + Twelve paternosters silently. + + And when he saw the furnace smoke, + And saw the workmen stand, + "Have ye, ye fellows," thus he spoke, + "Obeyed the Count's command?" + Grinning they ope the orifice, + And point into the fell abyss: + "He's cared for—all is at an end! + The Count his servants will commend." + + The answer to his lord he brought, + Returning hastily, + Who, when his form his notice caught, + Could scarcely trust his eye: + "Unhappy one! whence comest thou?"— + "Back from the foundry"—"Strange, I vow! + Hast in thy journey, then, delayed?"— + "'Twas only, lord, till I had prayed." + + "For when I from thy presence went + (Oh pardon me!) to-day, + As duty bid, my steps I bent + To her whom I obey. + She told me, lord, the mass to hear, + I gladly to her wish gave ear, + And told four rosaries at the shrine, + For her salvation and for thine." + + In wonder deep the Count now fell, + And, shuddering, thus spake he: + "And, at the foundry, quickly tell, + What answer gave they thee?" + "Obscure the words they answered in,— + Showing the furnace with a grin: + 'He's cared for—all is at an end! + The Count his servants will commend.'" + + "And Robert?" interrupted he, + While deadly pale he stood,— + "Did he not, then, fall in with thee? + I sent him to the wood."— + "Lord, neither in the wood nor field + Was trace of Robert's foot revealed."— + "Then," cried the Count, with awe-struck mien, + "Great God in heaven his judge hath been!" + + With kindness he before ne'er proved, + He led him by the hand + Up to the Countess,—deeply moved,— + Who naught could understand. + "This child, let him be dear to thee, + No angel is so pure as he! + Though we may have been counselled ill, + God and His hosts watch o'er him still." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE GENIUS WITH THE INVERTED TORCH. +</pre> + <p> + Lovely he looks, 'tis true, with the light of his torch now extinguished; + But remember that death is not aesthetic, my friends! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE COUNT OF HAPSBURG. <a href="#linknote-38" name="linknoteref-38" + id="linknoteref-38">38</a> + + A BALLAD. + + At Aix-la-Chapelle, in imperial array, + In its halls renowned in old story, + At the coronation banquet so gay + King Rudolf was sitting in glory. + The meats were served up by the Palsgrave of Rhine, + The Bohemian poured out the bright sparkling wine, + And all the Electors, the seven, + Stood waiting around the world-governing one, + As the chorus of stars encircle the sun, + That honor might duly be given. + + And the people the lofty balcony round + In a throng exulting were filling; + While loudly were blending the trumpets' glad sound, + The multitude's voices so thrilling; + For the monarchless period, with horror rife, + Has ended now, after long baneful strife, + And the earth had a lord to possess her. + No longer ruled blindly the iron-bound spear, + And the weak and the peaceful no longer need fear + Being crushed by the cruel oppressor. + + And the emperor speaks with a smile in his eye, + While the golden goblet he seizes: + "With this banquet in glory none other can vie, + And my regal heart well it pleases; + Yet the minstrel, the bringer of joy, is not here, + Whose melodious strains to my heart are so dear, + And whose words heavenly wisdom inspire; + Since the days of my youth it hath been my delight, + And that which I ever have loved as a knight, + As a monarch I also require." + + And behold! 'mongst the princes who stand round the throne + Steps the bard, in his robe long and streaming, + While, bleached by the years that have over him flown, + His silver locks brightly are gleaming; + "Sweet harmony sleeps in the golden strings, + The minstrel of true love reward ever sings, + And adores what to virtue has tended— + What the bosom may wish, what the senses hold dear; + But say, what is worthy the emperor's ear + At this, of all feasts the most splendid?" + + "No restraint would I place on the minstrel's own choice," + Speaks the monarch, a smile on each feature; + "He obeys the swift hour's imperious voice, + Of a far greater lord is the creature. + For, as through the air the storm-wind on-speeds,— + One knows not from whence its wild roaring proceeds— + As the spring from hid sources up-leaping, + So the lay of the bard from the inner heart breaks + While the might of sensations unknown it awakes, + That within us were wondrously sleeping." + + Then the bard swept the cords with a finger of might, + Evoking their magical sighing: + "To the chase once rode forth a valorous knight, + In pursuit of the antelope flying. + His hunting-spear bearing, there came in his train + His squire; and when o'er a wide-spreading plain + On his stately steed he was riding, + He heard in the distance a bell tinkling clear, + And a priest, with the Host, he saw soon drawing near, + While before him the sexton was striding." + + "And low to the earth the Count then inclined, + Bared his head in humble submission, + To honor, with trusting and Christian-like mind, + What had saved the whole world from perdition. + But a brook o'er the plain was pursuing its course, + That swelled by the mountain stream's headlong force, + Barred the wanderer's steps with its current; + So the priest on one side the blest sacrament put, + And his sandal with nimbleness drew from his foot, + That he safely might pass through the torrent." + + "'What wouldst thou?' the Count to him thus began, + His wondering look toward him turning: + 'My journey is, lord, to a dying man, + Who for heavenly diet is yearning; + But when to the bridge o'er the brook I came nigh, + In the whirl of the stream, as it madly rushed by + With furious might 'twas uprooted. + And so, that the sick the salvation may find + That he pants for, I hasten with resolute mind + To wade through the waters barefooted.'" + + "Then the Count made him mount on his stately steed, + And the reins to his hands he confided, + That he duly might comfort the sick in his need, + And that each holy rite be provided. + And himself, on the back of the steed of his squire, + Went after the chase to his heart's full desire, + While the priest on his journey was speeding + And the following morning, with thankful look, + To the Count once again his charger he took, + Its bridle with modesty leading." + + "'God forbid that in chase or in battle,' then cried + The Count with humility lowly, + 'The steed I henceforward should dare to bestride + That had borne my Creator so holy! + And if, as a guerdon, he may not be thine, + He devoted shall be to the service divine, + Proclaiming His infinite merit, + From whom I each honor and earthly good + Have received in fee, and my body and blood, + And my breath, and my life, and my spirit.'" + + "'Then may God, the sure rock, whom no time can e'er move, + And who lists to the weak's supplication, + For the honor thou pay'st Him, permit thee to prove + Honor here, and hereafter salvation! + Thou'rt a powerful Count, and thy knightly command + Hath blazoned thy fame through the Switzer's broad land; + Thou art blest with six daughters admired; + May they each in thy house introduce a bright crown, + Filling ages unborn with their glorious renown'— + Thus exclaimed he in accents inspired." + + And the emperor sat there all-thoughtfully, + While the dream of the past stood before him; + And when on the minstrel he turned his eye, + His words' hidden meaning stole o'er him; + For seeing the traits of the priest there revealed, + In the folds of his purple-dyed robe he concealed + His tears as they swiftly coursed down. + And all on the emperor wonderingly gazed, + And the blest dispensations of Providence praised, + For the Count and the Caesar were one. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE FORUM OF WOMAN. + + Woman, never judge man by his individual actions; + But upon man as a whole, pass thy decisive decree. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE GLOVE. + + A TALE. + + Before his lion-court, + Impatient for the sport, + King Francis sat one day; + The peers of his realm sat around, + And in balcony high from the ground + Sat the ladies in beauteous array. + + And when with his finger he beckoned, + The gate opened wide in a second,— + And in, with deliberate tread, + Enters a lion dread, + And looks around + Yet utters no sound; + Then long he yawns + And shakes his mane, + And, stretching each limb, + Down lies he again. + + Again signs the king,— + The next gate open flies, + And, lo! with a wild spring, + A tiger out hies. + When the lion he sees, loudly roars he about, + And a terrible circle his tail traces out. + Protruding his tongue, past the lion he walks, + And, snarling with rage, round him warily stalks: + Then, growling anew, + On one side lies down too. + + Again signs the king,— + And two gates open fly, + And, lo! with one spring, + Two leopards out hie. + On the tiger they rush, for the fight nothing loth, + But he with his paws seizes hold of them both. + And the lion, with roaring, gets up,—then all's still; + The fierce beasts stalk around, madly thirsting to kill. + + From the balcony raised high above + A fair hand lets fall down a glove + Into the lists, where 'tis seen + The lion and tiger between. + + To the knight, Sir Delorges, in tone of jest, + Then speaks young Cunigund fair; + "Sir Knight, if the love that thou feel'st in thy breast + Is as warm as thou'rt wont at each moment to swear, + Pick up, I pray thee, the glove that lies there!" + + And the knight, in a moment, with dauntless tread, + Jumps into the lists, nor seeks to linger, + And, from out the midst of those monsters dread, + Picks up the glove with a daring finger. + + And the knights and ladies of high degree + With wonder and horror the action see, + While he quietly brings in his hand the glove, + The praise of his courage each mouth employs; + Meanwhile, with a tender look of love, + The promise to him of coming joys, + Fair Cunigund welcomes him back to his place. + But he threw the glove point-blank in her face: + "Lady, no thanks from thee I'll receive!" + And that selfsame hour he took his leave. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE CIRCLE OF NATURE. + + All, thou gentle one, lies embraced in thy kingdom; the graybeard + Back to the days of his youth, childish and child-like, returns. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE VEILED STATUE AT SAIS. + + A youth, impelled by a burning thirst for knowledge + To roam to Sais, in fair Egypt's land, + The priesthood's secret learning to explore, + Had passed through many a grade with eager haste, + And still was hurrying on with fond impatience. + Scarce could the Hierophant impose a rein + Upon his headlong efforts. "What avails + A part without the whole?" the youth exclaimed; + "Can there be here a lesser or a greater? + The truth thou speak'st of, like mere earthly dross, + Is't but a sum that can be held by man + In larger or in smaller quantity? + Surely 'tis changeless, indivisible; + Deprive a harmony of but one note, + Deprive the rainbow of one single color, + And all that will remain is naught, so long + As that one color, that one note, is wanting." + + While thus they converse held, they chanced to stand + Within the precincts of a lonely temple, + Where a veiled statue of gigantic size + The youth's attention caught. In wonderment + He turned him toward his guide, and asked him, saying, + "What form is that concealed beneath yon veil?" + "Truth!" was the answer. "What!" the young man cried, + "When I am striving after truth alone, + Seekest thou to hide that very truth from me?" + + "The Godhead's self alone can answer thee," + Replied the Hierophant. "'Let no rash mortal + Disturb this veil,' said he, 'till raised by me; + For he who dares with sacrilegious hand + To move the sacred mystic covering, + He'—said the Godhead—" "Well?"—"'will see the truth.'" + "Strangely oracular, indeed! And thou + Hast never ventured, then, to raise the veil?" + "I? Truly not! I never even felt + The least desire."—"Is't possible? If I + Were severed from the truth by nothing else + Than this thin gauze—" "And a divine decree," + His guide broke in. "Far heavier than thou thinkest + Is this thin gauze, my son. Light to thy hand + It may be—but most weighty to thy conscience." + + The youth now sought his home, absorbed in thought; + His burning wish to solve the mystery + Banished all sleep; upon his couch he lay, + Tossing his feverish limbs. When midnight came, + He rose, and toward the temple timidly, + Led by a mighty impulse, bent his way. + The walls he scaled, and soon one active spring + Landed the daring boy beneath the dome. + + Behold him now, in utter solitude, + Welcomed by naught save fearful, deathlike silence,— + A silence which the echo of his steps + Alone disturbs, as through the vaults he paces. + Piercing an opening in the cupola, + The moon cast down her pale and silvery beams, + And, awful as a present deity, + Glittering amid the darkness of the pile, + In its long veil concealed, the statue stands. + + With hesitating step, he now draws near— + His impious hand would fain remove the veil— + Sudden a burning chill assails his bones + And then an unseen arm repulses him. + "Unhappy one, what wouldst thou do?" Thus cries + A faithful voice within his trembling breast. + "Wouldst thou profanely violate the All-Holy?" + "'Tis true the oracle declared, 'Let none + Venture to raise the veil till raised by me.' + But did the oracle itself not add, + That he who did so would behold the truth? + Whate'er is hid behind, I'll raise the veil." + And then he shouted: "Yes! I will behold it!" + "Behold it!" + Repeats in mocking tone the distant echo. + + He speaks, and, with the word, lifts up the veil. + Would you inquire what form there met his eye? + I know not,—but, when day appeared, the priests + Found him extended senseless, pale as death, + Before the pedestal of Isis' statue. + What had been seen and heard by him when there + He never would disclose, but from that hour + His happiness in life had fled forever, + And his deep sorrow soon conducted him + To an untimely grave. "Woe to that man," + He warning said to every questioner, + "Woe to that man who wins the truth by guilt, + For truth so gained will ne'er reward its owner." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE DIVISION OF THE EARTH. + + "Take the world!" Zeus exclaimed from his throne in the skies + To the children of man—"take the world I now give; + It shall ever remain as your heirloom and prize, + So divide it as brothers, and happily live." + + Then all who had hands sought their share to obtain, + The young and the aged made haste to appear; + The husbandman seized on the fruits of the plain, + The youth through the forest pursued the fleet deer. + + The merchant took all that his warehouse could hold, + The abbot selected the last year's best wine, + The king barred the bridges,—the highways controlled, + And said, "Now remember, the tithes shall be mine!" + + But when the division long-settled had been, + The poet drew nigh from a far distant land; + But alas! not a remnant was now to be seen, + Each thing on the earth owned a master's command. + + "Alas! shall then I, of thy sons the most true,— + Shall I, 'mongst them all, be forgotten alone?" + Thus loudly he cried in his anguish, and threw + Himself in despair before Jupiter's throne. + + "If thou in the region of dreams didst delay, + Complain not of me," the Immortal replied; + "When the world was apportioned, where then wert thou, pray?" + "I was," said the poet, "I was—by thy side!" + + "Mine eye was then fixed on thy features so bright, + Mine ear was entranced by thy harmony's power; + Oh, pardon the spirit that, awed by thy light, + All things of the earth could forget in that hour!" + + "What to do?" Zeus exclaimed,—"for the world has been given; + The harvest, the market, the chase, are not free; + But if thou with me wilt abide in my heaven, + Whenever thou comest, 'twill be open to thee!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE FAIREST APPARITION. + + If thou never hast gazed upon beauty in moments of sorrow, + Thou canst with truth never boast that thou true beauty hast seen. + If thou never hast gazed upon gladness in beauteous features, + Thou canst with truth never boast that thou true gladness hast seen. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE IDEAL AND THE ACTUAL LIFE. + + Forever fair, forever calm and bright, + Life flies on plumage, zephyr-light, + For those who on the Olympian hill rejoice— + Moons wane, and races wither to the tomb, + And 'mid the universal ruin, bloom + The rosy days of Gods—With man, the choice, + Timid and anxious, hesitates between + The sense's pleasure and the soul's content; + While on celestial brows, aloft and sheen, + The beams of both are blent. + + Seekest thou on earth the life of gods to share, + Safe in the realm of death?—beware + To pluck the fruits that glitter to thine eye; + Content thyself with gazing on their glow— + Short are the joys possession can bestow, + And in possession sweet desire will die. + 'Twas not the ninefold chain of waves that bound + Thy daughter, Ceres, to the Stygian river— + She plucked the fruit of the unholy ground, + And so—was hell's forever! + The weavers of the web—the fates—but sway + The matter and the things of clay; + Safe from change that time to matter gives, + Nature's blest playmate, free at will to stray + With gods a god, amidst the fields of day, + The form, the archetype <a href="#linknote-39" name="linknoteref-39" + id="linknoteref-39">39</a>, serenely lives. + Would'st thou soar heavenward on its joyous wing? + Cast from thee, earth, the bitter and the real, + High from this cramped and dungeon being, spring + Into the realm of the ideal! + + Here, bathed, perfection, in thy purest ray, + Free from the clogs and taints of clay, + Hovers divine the archetypal man! + Dim as those phantom ghosts of life that gleam + And wander voiceless by the Stygian stream,— + Fair as it stands in fields Elysian, + Ere down to flesh the immortal doth descend:— + If doubtful ever in the actual life + Each contest—here a victory crowns the end + Of every nobler strife. + + Not from the strife itself to set thee free, + But more to nerve—doth victory + Wave her rich garland from the ideal clime. + Whate'er thy wish, the earth has no repose— + Life still must drag thee onward as it flows, + Whirling thee down the dancing surge of time. + But when the courage sinks beneath the dull + Sense of its narrow limits—on the soul, + Bright from the hill-tops of the beautiful, + Bursts the attained goal! + + If worth thy while the glory and the strife + Which fire the lists of actual life— + The ardent rush to fortune or to fame, + In the hot field where strength and valor are, + And rolls the whirling thunder of the car, + And the world, breathless, eyes the glorious game— + Then dare and strive—the prize can but belong + To him whose valor o'er his tribe prevails; + In life the victory only crowns the strong— + He who is feeble fails. + + But life, whose source, by crags around it piled, + Chafed while confined, foams fierce and wild, + Glides soft and smooth when once its streams expand, + When its waves, glassing in their silver play, + Aurora blent with Hesper's milder ray, + Gain the still beautiful—that shadow-land! + Here, contest grows but interchange of love, + All curb is but the bondage of the grace; + Gone is each foe,—peace folds her wings above + Her native dwelling-place. + + When, through dead stone to breathe a soul of light, + With the dull matter to unite + The kindling genius, some great sculptor glows; + Behold him straining, every nerve intent— + Behold how, o'er the subject element, + The stately thought its march laborious goes! + For never, save to toil untiring, spoke + The unwilling truth from her mysterious well— + The statue only to the chisel's stroke + Wakes from its marble cell. + + But onward to the sphere of beauty—go + Onward, O child of art! and, lo! + Out of the matter which thy pains control + The statue springs!—not as with labor wrung + From the hard block, but as from nothing sprung— + Airy and light—the offspring of the soul! + The pangs, the cares, the weary toils it cost + Leave not a trace when once the work is done— + The Artist's human frailty merged and lost + In art's great victory won! <a href="#linknote-40" name="linknoteref-40" + id="linknoteref-40">40</a> + + If human sin confronts the rigid law + Of perfect truth and virtue <a href="#linknote-41" name="linknoteref-41" + id="linknoteref-41">41</a>, awe + Seizes and saddens thee to see how far + Beyond thy reach, perfection;—if we test + By the ideal of the good, the best, + How mean our efforts and our actions are! + This space between the ideal of man's soul + And man's achievement, who hath ever past? + An ocean spreads between us and that goal, + Where anchor ne'er was cast! + + But fly the boundary of the senses—live + The ideal life free thought can give; + And, lo, the gulf shall vanish, and the chill + Of the soul's impotent despair be gone! + And with divinity thou sharest the throne, + Let but divinity become thy will! + Scorn not the law—permit its iron band + The sense (it cannot chain the soul) to thrall. + Let man no more the will of Jove withstand <a href="#linknote-42" + name="linknoteref-42" id="linknoteref-42">42</a>, + And Jove the bolt lets fall! + + If, in the woes of actual human life— + If thou could'st see the serpent strife + Which the Greek art has made divine in stone— + Could'st see the writhing limbs, the livid cheek, + Note every pang, and hearken every shriek, + Of some despairing lost Laocoon, + The human nature would thyself subdue + To share the human woe before thine eye— + Thy cheek would pale, and all thy soul be true + To man's great sympathy. + + But in the ideal realm, aloof and far, + Where the calm art's pure dwellers are, + Lo, the Laocoon writhes, but does not groan. + Here, no sharp grief the high emotion knows— + Here, suffering's self is made divine, and shows + The brave resolve of the firm soul alone: + Here, lovely as the rainbow on the dew + Of the spent thunder-cloud, to art is given, + Gleaming through grief's dark veil, the peaceful blue + Of the sweet moral heaven. + + So, in the glorious parable, behold + How, bowed to mortal bonds, of old + Life's dreary path divine Alcides trod: + The hydra and the lion were his prey, + And to restore the friend he loved to-day, + He went undaunted to the black-browed god; + And all the torments and the labors sore + Wroth Juno sent—the meek majestic one, + With patient spirit and unquailing, bore, + Until the course was run— + + Until the god cast down his garb of clay, + And rent in hallowing flame away + The mortal part from the divine—to soar + To the empyreal air! Behold him spring + Blithe in the pride of the unwonted wing, + And the dull matter that confined before + Sinks downward, downward, downward as a dream! + Olympian hymns receive the escaping soul, + And smiling Hebe, from the ambrosial stream, + Fills for a god the bowl! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + GERMANY AND HER PRINCES. + + Thou hast produced mighty monarchs, of whom thou art not unworthy, + For the obedient alone make him who governs them great. + But, O Germany, try if thou for thy rulers canst make it + Harder as kings to be great,—easier, though, to be men! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + DANGEROUS CONSEQUENCES. + + Deeper and bolder truths be careful, my friends, of avowing; + For as soon as ye do all the world on ye will fall. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE MAIDEN FROM AFAR. + + (OR FROM ABROAD.) + + Within a vale, each infant year, + When earliest larks first carol free, + To humble shepherds cloth appear + A wondrous maiden, fair to see. + Not born within that lowly place— + From whence she wandered, none could tell; + Her parting footsteps left no trace, + When once the maiden sighed farewell. + + And blessed was her presence there— + Each heart, expanding, grew more gay; + Yet something loftier still than fair + Kept man's familiar looks away. + From fairy gardens, known to none, + She brought mysterious fruits and flowers— + The things of some serener sun— + Some Nature more benign than ours. + + With each her gifts the maiden shared— + To some the fruits, the flowers to some; + Alike the young, the aged fared; + Each bore a blessing back to home. + Though every guest was welcome there, + Yet some the maiden held more dear, + And culled her rarest sweets whene'er + She saw two hearts that loved draw near. <a href="#linknote-43" + name="linknoteref-43" id="linknoteref-43">43</a> +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE HONORABLE. + + Ever honor the whole; individuals only I honor; + In individuals I always discover the whole. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + PARABLES AND RIDDLES. + + I. + + A bridge of pearls its form uprears + High o'er a gray and misty sea; + E'en in a moment it appears, + And rises upwards giddily. + + Beneath its arch can find a road + The loftiest vessel's mast most high, + Itself hath never borne a load, + And seems, when thou draw'st near, to fly. + + It comes first with the stream, and goes + Soon as the watery flood is dried. + Where may be found this bridge, disclose, + And who its beauteous form supplied! + + II. + + It bears thee many a mile away, + And yet its place it changes ne'er; + It has no pinions to display, + And yet conducts thee through the air. + + It is the bark of swiftest motion + That every weary wanderer bore; + With speed of thought the greatest ocean + It carries thee in safety o'er; + One moment wafts thee to the shore. + + III. + + Upon a spacious meadow play + Thousands of sheep, of silvery hue; + And as we see them move to-day, + The man most aged saw them too. + + They ne'er grow old, and, from a rill + That never dries, their life is drawn; + A shepherd watches o'er them still, + With curved and beauteous silver horn. + + He drives them out through gates of gold, + And every night their number counts; + Yet ne'er has lost, of all his fold, + One lamb, though oft that path he mounts. + + A hound attends him faithfully, + A nimble ram precedes the way; + Canst thou point out that flock to me, + And who the shepherd, canst thou say? + + IV. + + There stands a dwelling, vast and tall, + On unseen columns fair; + No wanderer treads or leaves its hall, + And none can linger there. + + Its wondrous structure first was planned + With art no mortal knows; + It lights the lamps with its own hand + 'Mongst which it brightly glows. + + It has a roof, as crystal bright, + Formed of one gem of dazzling light; + Yet mortal eye has ne'er + Seen Him who placed it there. + + V. + + Within a well two buckets lie, + One mounts, and one descends; + When one is full, and rises high, + The other downward wends. + + They wander ever to and fro— + Now empty are, now overflow. + If to the mouth thou liftest this, + That hangs within the dark abyss. + In the same moment they can ne'er + Refresh thee with their treasures fair. + + VI. + + Know'st thou the form on tender ground? + It gives itself its glow, its light; + And though each moment changing found. + Is ever whole and ever bright. + In narrow compass 'tis confined, + Within the smallest frame it lies; + Yet all things great that move thy mind, + That form alone to thee supplies. + + And canst thou, too, the crystal name? + No gem can equal it in worth; + It gleams, yet kindles near to flame, + It sucks in even all the earth. + Within its bright and wondrous ring + Is pictured forth the glow of heaven, + And yet it mirrors back each thing + Far fairer than to it 'twas given. + + VII. + + For ages an edifice here has been found, + It is not a dwelling, it is not a Pane; + A horseman for hundreds of days may ride round, + Yet the end of his journey he ne'er can attain. + + Full many a century o'er it has passed, + The might of the storm and of time it defies! + Neath the rainbow of Heaven stands free to the last,— + In the ocean it dips, and soars up to the skies. + + It was not vain glory that bade its erection, + It serves as a refuge, a shield, a protection; + Its like on the earth never yet has been known + And yet by man's hand it is fashioned alone. + + VIII. + + Among all serpents there is one, + Born of no earthly breed; + In fury wild it stands alone, + And in its matchless speed. + + With fearful voice and headlong force + It rushes on its prey, + And sweeps the rider and his horse + In one fell swoop away. + + The highest point it loves to gain; + And neither bar nor lock + Its fiery onslaught can restrain; + And arms—invite its shock. + + It tears in twain like tender grass, + The strongest forest-trees; + It grinds to dust the hardened brass, + Though stout and firm it be. + + And yet this beast, that none can tame, + Its threat ne'er twice fulfils; + It dies in its self-kindled flame. + And dies e'en when it kills. + + IX. + + We children six our being had + From a most strange and wondrous pair,— + Our mother ever grave and sad, + Our father ever free from care. + + Our virtues we from both receive,— + Meekness from her, from him our light; + And so in endless youth we weave + Round thee a circling figure bright. + + We ever shun the caverns black, + And revel in the glowing day; + 'Tis we who light the world's dark track, + With our life's clear and magic ray. + + Spring's joyful harbingers are we, + And her inspiring streams we swell; + And so the house of death we flee, + For life alone must round us dwell. + + Without us is no perfect bliss, + When man is glad, we, too, attend, + And when a monarch worshipped is, + To him our majesty attend. + + X. + + What is the thing esteemed by few? + The monarch's hand it decks with pride, + Yet it is made to injure too, + And to the sword is most allied. + + No blood it sheds, yet many a wound + Inflicts,—gives wealth, yet takes from none; + Has vanquished e'en the earth's wide round, + And makes life's current smoothly run. + + The greatest kingdoms it has framed, + The oldest cities reared from dust, + Yet war's fierce torch has ne'er inflamed; + Happy are they who in it trust! + + XI. + + I live within a dwelling of stone, + There buried in slumber I dally; + Yet, armed with a weapon of iron alone, + The foe to encounter I sally. + At first I'm invisible, feeble, and mean, + And o'er me thy breath has dominion; + I'm easily drowned in a raindrop e'en, + Yet in victory waxes my pinion. + When my sister, all-powerful, gives me her hand, + To the terrible lord of the world I expand. + + XII. + + Upon a disk my course I trace, + There restlessly forever flit; + Small is the circuit I embrace, + Two hands suffice to cover it. + Yet ere that field I traverse, I + Full many a thousand mile must go, + E'en though with tempest-speed I fly, + Swifter than arrow from a bow. + + XIII. + + A bird it is, whose rapid motion + With eagle's flight divides the air; + A fish it is, and parts the ocean, + That bore a greater monster ne'er; + An elephant it is, whose rider + On his broad back a tower has put: + 'Tis like the reptile base, the spider, + Whenever it extends its foot; + And when, with iron tooth projecting, + It seeks its own life-blood to drain, + On footing firm, itself erecting, + It braves the raging hurricane. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE VIRTUE OF WOMAN. + + Man of virtue has need;-into life with boldness he plunges, + Entering with fortune more sure into the hazardous strife; + But to woman one virtue suffices; it is ever shining + Lovingly forth to the heart; so let it shine to the eye! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE WALK. + + Hail to thee, mountain beloved, with thy glittering purple-dyed summit! + Hail to thee also, fair sun, looking so lovingly on! + Thee, too, I hail, thou smiling plain, and ye murmuring lindens, + Ay, and the chorus so glad, cradled on yonder high boughs; + Thee, too, peaceably azure, in infinite measure extending + Round the dusky-hued mount, over the forest so green,— + Round about me, who now from my chamber's confinement escaping, + And from vain frivolous talk, gladly seek refuge with thee. + Through me to quicken me runs the balsamic stream of thy breezes, + While the energetical light freshens the gaze as it thirsts. + Bright o'er the blooming meadow the changeable colors are gleaming, + But the strife, full of charms, in its own grace melts away + Freely the plain receives me,—with carpet far away reaching, + Over its friendly green wanders the pathway along. + Round me is humming the busy bee, and with pinion uncertain + Hovers the butterfly gay over the trefoil's red flower. + Fiercely the darts of the sun fall on me,—the zephyr is silent, + Only the song of the lark echoes athwart the clear air. + Now from the neighboring copse comes a roar, and the tops of the alders + Bend low down,—in the wind dances the silvery grass; + Night ambrosial circles me round; in the coolness so fragrant + Greets me a beauteous roof, formed by the beeches' sweet shade. + In the depths of the wood the landscape suddenly leaves me + And a serpentine path guides up my footsteps on high. + Only by stealth can the light through the leafy trellis of branches + Sparingly pierce, and the blue smilingly peeps through the boughs, + But in a moment the veil is rent, and the opening forest + Suddenly gives back the day's glittering brightness to me! + Boundlessly seems the distance before my gaze to be stretching, + And in a purple-tinged hill terminates sweetly the world. + + Deep at the foot of the mountain, that under me falls away steeply, + Wanders the greenish-hued stream, looking like glass as it flows. + Endlessly under me see I the ether, and endlessly o'er + Giddily look I above, shudderingly look I below, + But between the infinite height and the infinite hollow + Safely the wanderer moves over a well-guarded path. + Smilingly past me are flying the banks all teeming with riches, + And the valley so bright boasts of its industry glad. + See how yonder hedgerows that sever the farmer's possessions + Have by Demeter been worked into the tapestried plain! + Kindly decree of the law, of the Deity mortal-sustaining, + Since from the brazen world love vanished forever away. + But in freer windings the measured pastures are traversed + (Now swallowed up in the wood, now climbing up to the hills) + By a glimmering streak, the highway that knits lands together; + Over the smooth-flowing stream, quietly glide on the rafts. + + Ofttimes resound the bells of the flocks in the fields that seem living, + And the shepherd's lone song wakens the echo again. + Joyous villages crown the stream, in the copse others vanish, + While from the back of the mount, others plunge wildly below. + Man still lives with the land in neighborly friendship united, + And round his sheltering roof calmly repose still his fields; + Trustingly climbs the vine high over the low-reaching window, + While round the cottage the tree circles its far-stretching boughs. + Happy race of the plain! Not yet awakened to freedom, + Thou and thy pastures with joy share in the limited law; + Bounded thy wishes all are by the harvest's peaceable circuit, + And thy lifetime is spent e'en as the task of the day! + + But what suddenly hides the beauteous view? A strange spirit + Over the still-stranger plain spreads itself quickly afar— + Coyly separates now, what scarce had lovingly mingled, + And 'tis the like that alone joins itself on to the like. + Orders I see depicted; the haughty tribes of the poplars + Marshalled in regular pomp, stately and beauteous appear. + All gives token of rule and choice, and all has its meaning,— + 'Tis this uniform plan points out the Ruler to me. + Brightly the glittering domes in far-away distance proclaim him. + Out of the kernel of rocks rises the city's high wall. + Into the desert without, the fauns of the forest are driven, + But by devotion is lent life more sublime to the stone. + Man is brought into nearer union with man, and around him + Closer, more actively wakes, swifter moves in him the world. + See! the emulous forces in fiery conflict are kindled, + Much, they effect when they strive, more they effect when they join. + Thousands of hands by one spirit are moved, yet in thousands of bosoms + Beats one heart all alone, by but one feeling inspired— + Beats for their native land, and glows for their ancestors' precepts; + Here on the well-beloved spot, rest now time-honored bones. + + Down from the heavens descends the blessed troop of immortals, + In the bright circle divine making their festal abode; + Granting glorious gifts, they appear: and first of all, Ceres + Offers the gift of the plough, Hermes the anchor brings next, + Bacchus the grape, and Minerva the verdant olive-tree's branches, + Even his charger of war brings there Poseidon as well. + Mother Cybele yokes to the pole of her chariot the lions, + And through the wide-open door comes as a citizen in. + Sacred stones! 'Tis from ye that proceed humanity's founders, + Morals and arts ye sent forth, e'en to the ocean's far isles. + 'Twas at these friendly gates that the law was spoken by sages; + In their Penates' defence, heroes rushed out to the fray. + On the high walls appeared the mothers, embracing their infants, + Looking after the march, till the distance 'twas lost. + Then in prayer they threw themselves down at the deities' altars, + Praying for triumph and fame, praying for your safe return. + Honor and triumph were yours, but naught returned save your glory, + And by a heart-touching stone, told are your valorous deeds. + "Traveller! when thou com'st to Sparta, proclaim to the people + That thou hast seen us lie here, as by the law we were bid." + Slumber calmly, ye loved ones! for sprinkled o'er by your life-blood, + Flourish the olive-trees there, joyously sprouts the good seed. + In its possessions exulting, industry gladly is kindled. + And from the sedge of the stream smilingly signs the blue god. + Crushingly falls the axe on the tree, the Dryad sighs sadly; + Down from the crest of the mount plunges the thundering load. + Winged by the lever, the stone from the rocky crevice is loosened; + Into the mountain's abyss boldly the miner descends. + Mulciber's anvil resounds with the measured stroke of the hammer; + Under the fist's nervous blow, spurt out the sparks of the steel. + Brilliantly twines the golden flax round the swift-whirling spindles, + Through the strings of the yarn whizzes the shuttle away. + + Far in the roads the pilot calls, and the vessels are waiting, + That to the foreigner's land carry the produce of home; + Others gladly approach with the treasures of far-distant regions, + High on the mast's lofty head flutters the garland of mirth. + See how yon markets, those centres of life and of gladness, are swarming! + Strange confusion of tongues sounds in the wondering ear. + On to the pile the wealth of the earth is heaped by the merchant, + All that the sun's scorching rays bring forth on Africa's soil, + All that Arabia prepares, that the uttermost Thule produces, + High with heart-gladdening stores fills Amalthea her horn. + Fortune wedded to talent gives birth there to children immortal, + Suckled in liberty's arms, flourish the arts there of joy. + With the image of life the eyes by the sculptor are ravished, + And by the chisel inspired, speaks e'en the sensitive stone. + Skies artificial repose on slender Ionian columns, + And a Pantheon includes all that Olympus contains. + Light as the rainbow's spring through the air, as the dart from + the bowstring, + Leaps the yoke of the bridge over the boisterous stream. + + But in his silent chamber the thoughtful sage is projecting + Magical circles, and steals e'en on the spirit that forms, + Proves the force of matter, the hatreds and loves of the magnet, + Follows the tune through the air, follows through ether the ray, + Seeks the familiar law in chance's miracles dreaded, + Looks for the ne'er-changing pole in the phenomena's flight. + Bodies and voices are lent by writing to thought ever silent, + Over the centuries' stream bears it the eloquent page. + Then to the wondering gaze dissolves the cloud of the fancy, + And the vain phantoms of night yield to the dawning of day. + Man now breaks through his fetters, the happy one! Oh, let him never + Break from the bridle of shame, when from fear's fetters he breaks + Freedom! is reason's cry,—ay, freedom! The wild raging passions + Eagerly cast off the bonds Nature divine had imposed. + + Ah! in the tempest the anchors break loose, that warningly held him + On to the shore, and the stream tears him along in its flood,— + Into infinity whirls him,—the coasts soon vanish before him, + High on the mountainous waves rocks all-dismasted the bark; + Under the clouds are hid the steadfast stars of the chariot, + Naught now remains,—in the breast even the god goes astray. + Truth disappears from language, from life all faith and all honor + Vanish, and even the oath is but a lie on the lips. + Into the heart's most trusty bond, and into love's secrets, + Presses the sycophant base, tearing the friend from the friend. + Treason on innocence leers, with looks that seek to devour, + And the fell slanderer's tooth kills with its poisonous bite. + In the dishonored bosom, thought is now venal, and love, too, + Scatters abroad to the winds, feelings once god-like and free. + All thy holy symbols, O truth, deceit has adopted, + And has e'en dared to pollute Nature's own voices so fair, + That the craving heart in the tumult of gladness discovers; + True sensations are now mute and can scarcely be heard. + Justice boasts at the tribune, and harmony vaunts in the cottage, + While the ghost of the law stands at the throne of the king. + Years together, ay, centuries long, may the mummy continue, + And the deception endure, apeing the fulness of life. + Until Nature awakes, and with hands all-brazen and heavy + 'Gainst the hollow-formed pile time and necessity strikes. + Like a tigress, who, bursting the massive grating iron, + Of her Numidian wood suddenly, fearfully thinks,— + So with the fury of crime and anguish, humanity rises + Hoping nature, long-lost in the town's ashes, to find. + Oh then open, ye walls, and set the captive at freedom + To the long desolate plains let him in safety return! + + But where am I? The path is now hid, declivities rugged + Bar, with their wide-yawning gulfs, progress before and behind. + Now far behind me is left the gardens' and hedges' sure escort, + Every trace of man's hand also remains far behind. + Only the matter I see piled up, whence life has its issue, + And the raw mass of basalt waits for a fashioning hand. + Down through its channel of rock the torrent roaringly rushes, + Angrily forcing a path under the roots of the trees. + All is here wild and fearfully desolate. Naught but the eagle + Hangs in the lone realms of air, knitting the world to the clouds. + Not one zephyr on soaring pinion conveys to my hearing + Echoes, however remote, marking man's pleasures and pains. + Am I in truth, then, alone? Within thine arms, on thy bosom, + Nature, I lie once again!—Ah, and 'twas only a dream + That assailed me with horrors so fearful; with life's dreaded phantom, + And with the down-rushing vale, vanished the gloomy one too. + Purer my life I receive again from thine altar unsullied,— + Purer receive the bright glow felt by my youth's hopeful days. + Ever the will is changing its aim and its rule, while forever, + In a still varying form, actions revolve round themselves. + But in enduring youth, in beauty ever renewing. + Kindly Nature, with grace thou dost revere the old law! + Ever the same, for the man in thy faithful hands thou preservest + That which the child in its sport, that which the youth lent to thee; + At the same breast thou dost suckle the ceaselessly-varying ages; + Under the same azure vault, over the same verdant earth, + Races, near and remote, in harmony wander together, + See, even Homer's own sun looks on us, too, with a smile! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE LAY OF THE BELL. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + "Vivos voco—Mortuos plango—Fulgura frango." <a href="#linknote-44" + name="linknoteref-44" id="linknoteref-44">44</a> + + Fast, in its prison-walls of earth, + Awaits the mould of baked clay. + Up, comrades, up, and aid the birth + The bell that shall be born to-day! + Who would honor obtain, + With the sweat and the pain, + The praise that man gives to the master must buy.— + But the blessing withal must descend from on high! + + And well an earnest word beseems + The work the earnest hand prepares; + Its load more light the labor deems, + When sweet discourse the labor shares. + So let us ponder—nor in vain— + What strength can work when labor wills; + For who would not the fool disdain + Who ne'er designs what he fulfils? + And well it stamps our human race, + And hence the gift to understand, + That man within the heart should trace + Whate'er he fashions with the hand. + + From the fir the fagot take, + Keep it, heap it hard and dry, + That the gathered flame may break + Through the furnace, wroth and high. + When the copper within + Seeths and simmers—the tin, + Pour quick, that the fluid that feeds the bell + May flow in the right course glib and well. + + Deep hid within this nether cell, + What force with fire is moulding thus, + In yonder airy tower shall dwell, + And witness wide and far of us! + It shall, in later days, unfailing, + Rouse many an ear to rapt emotion; + Its solemn voice with sorrow wailing, + Or choral chiming to devotion. + Whatever fate to man may bring, + Whatever weal or woe befall, + That metal tongue shall backward ring, + The warning moral drawn from all. + + See the silvery bubbles spring! + Good! the mass is melting now! + Let the salts we duly bring + Purge the flood, and speed the flow. + From the dross and the scum, + Pure, the fusion must come; + For perfect and pure we the metal must keep, + That its voice may be perfect, and pure, and deep. + + </pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="4pa224 (132K)" src="images/4pa224.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + That voice, with merry music rife, + The cherished child shall welcome in; + What time the rosy dreams of life, + In the first slumber's arms begin. + As yet, in Time's dark womb unwarning, + Repose the days, or foul or fair; + And watchful o'er that golden morning, + The mother-love's untiring care! + And swift the years like arrows fly + No more with girls content to play, + Bounds the proud boy upon his way, + Storms through loud life's tumultuous pleasures, + With pilgrim staff the wide world measures; + And, wearied with the wish to roam, + Again seeks, stranger-like, the father-home. + And, lo, as some sweet vision breaks + Out from its native morning skies + With rosy shame on downcast cheeks, + The virgin stands before his eyes. + + A nameless longing seizes him! + From all his wild compassions flown; + Tears, strange till then, his eyes bedim; + He wanders all alone. + Blushing, he glides where'er she move; + Her greeting can transport him; + To every mead to deck his love, + The happy wild flowers court him! + Sweet hope—and tender longing—ye + The growth of life's first age of gold; + When the heart, swelling, seems to see + The gates of heaven unfold! + O love, the beautiful and brief! O prime, + Glory, and verdure, of life's summer time! + + Browning o'er, the pipes are simmering, + Dip this wand of clay <a href="#linknote-45" name="linknoteref-45" + id="linknoteref-45">45</a> within; + If like glass the wand be glimmering, + Then the casting may begin. + Brisk, brisk now, and see + If the fusion flow free; + If—(happy and welcome indeed were the sign!) + If the hard and the ductile united combine. + For still where the strong is betrothed to the weak, + And the stern in sweet marriage is blent with the meek, + Rings the concord harmonious, both tender and strong + So be it with thee, if forever united, + The heart to the heart flows in one, love-delighted; + Illusion is brief, but repentance is long. + + Lovely, thither are they bringing. + With the virgin wreath, the bride! + To the love-feast clearly ringing, + Tolls the church-bell far and wide! + With that sweetest holiday, + Must the May of life depart; + With the cestus loosed—away + Flies illusion from the heart! + Yet love lingers lonely, + When passion is mute, + And the blossoms may only + Give way to the fruit. + The husband must enter + The hostile life, + With struggle and strife + To plant or to watch. + To snare or to snatch, + To pray and importune, + Must wager and venture + And hunt down his fortune! + Then flows in a current the gear and the gain, + And the garners are filled with the gold of the grain, + Now a yard to the court, now a wing to the centre! + Within sits another, + The thrifty housewife; + The mild one, the mother— + Her home is her life. + In its circle she rules, + And the daughters she schools + And she cautions the boys, + With a bustling command, + And a diligent hand + Employed she employs; + Gives order to store, + And the much makes the more; + Locks the chest and the wardrobe, with lavender smelling, + And the hum of the spindle goes quick through the dwelling; + And she hoards in the presses, well polished and full, + The snow of the linen, the shine of the wool; + Blends the sweet with the good, and from care and endeavor + Rests never! + Blithe the master (where the while + From his roof he sees them smile) + Eyes the lands, and counts the gain; + There, the beams projecting far, + And the laden storehouse are, + And the granaries bowed beneath + The blessed golden grain; + There, in undulating motion, + Wave the cornfields like an ocean. + Proud the boast the proud lips breathe:— + "My house is built upon a rock, + And sees unmoved the stormy shock + Of waves that fret below!" + What chain so strong, what girth so great, + To bind the giant form of fate?— + Swift are the steps of woe. + + Now the casting may begin; + See the breach indented there: + Ere we run the fusion in, + Halt—and speed the pious prayer! + Pull the bung out— + See around and about + What vapor, what vapor—God help us!—has risen?— + Ha! the flame like a torrent leaps forth from its prison! + What friend is like the might of fire + When man can watch and wield the ire? + Whate'er we shape or work, we owe + Still to that heaven-descended glow. + But dread the heaven-descended glow, + When from their chain its wild wings go, + When, where it listeth, wide and wild + Sweeps free Nature's free-born child. + When the frantic one fleets, + While no force can withstand, + Through the populous streets + Whirling ghastly the brand; + For the element hates + What man's labor creates, + And the work of his hand! + Impartially out from the cloud, + Or the curse or the blessing may fall! + Benignantly out from the cloud + Come the dews, the revivers of all! + Avengingly out from the cloud + Come the levin, the bolt, and the ball! + Hark—a wail from the steeple!—aloud + The bell shrills its voice to the crowd! + Look—look—red as blood + All on high! + It is not the daylight that fills with its flood + The sky! + What a clamor awaking + Roars up through the street, + What a hell-vapor breaking. + Rolls on through the street, + And higher and higher + Aloft moves the column of fire! + Through the vistas and rows + Like a whirlwind it goes, + And the air like the stream from the furnace glows. + Beams are crackling—posts are shrinking + Walls are sinking—windows clinking— + Children crying— + Mothers flying— + And the beast (the black ruin yet smouldering under) + Yells the howl of its pain and its ghastly wonder! + Hurry and skurry—away—away, + The face of the night is as clear as day! + As the links in a chain, + Again and again + Flies the bucket from hand to hand; + High in arches up-rushing + The engines are gushing, + And the flood, as a beast on the prey that it hounds + With a roar on the breast of the element bounds. + To the grain and the fruits, + Through the rafters and beams, + Through the barns and garners it crackles and streams! + As if they would rend up the earth from its roots, + Rush the flames to the sky + Giant-high; + And at length, + Wearied out and despairing, man bows to their strength! + With an idle gaze sees their wrath consume, + And submits to his doom! + Desolate + The place, and dread + For storms the barren bed. + In the blank voids that cheerful casements were, + Comes to and fro the melancholy air, + And sits despair; + And through the ruin, blackening in its shroud + Peers, as it flits, the melancholy cloud. + + One human glance of grief upon the grave + Of all that fortune gave + The loiterer takes—then turns him to depart, + And grasps the wanderer's staff and mans his heart + Whatever else the element bereaves + One blessing more than all it reft—it leaves, + The faces that he loves!—He counts them o'er, + See—not one look is missing from that store! + + Now clasped the bell within the clay— + The mould the mingled metals fill— + Oh, may it, sparkling into day, + Reward the labor and the skill! + Alas! should it fail, + For the mould may be frail— + And still with our hope must be mingled the fear— + And, ev'n now, while we speak, the mishap may be near! + To the dark womb of sacred earth + This labor of our hands is given, + As seeds that wait the second birth, + And turn to blessings watched by heaven! + Ah, seeds, how dearer far than they, + We bury in the dismal tomb, + Where hope and sorrow bend to pray + That suns beyond the realm of day + May warm them into bloom! + + From the steeple + Tolls the bell, + Deep and heavy, + The death-knell! + Guiding with dirge-note—solemn, sad, and slow, + To the last home earth's weary wanderers know. + It is that worshipped wife— + It is that faithful mother! <a href="#linknote-46" name="linknoteref-46" + id="linknoteref-46">46</a> + Whom the dark prince of shadows leads benighted, + From that dear arm where oft she hung delighted + Far from those blithe companions, born + Of her, and blooming in their morn; + On whom, when couched her heart above, + So often looked the mother-love! + + Ah! rent the sweet home's union-band, + And never, never more to come— + She dwells within the shadowy land, + Who was the mother of that home! + How oft they miss that tender guide, + The care—the watch—the face—the mother— + And where she sate the babes beside, + Sits with unloving looks—another! + + While the mass is cooling now, + Let the labor yield to leisure, + As the bird upon the bough, + Loose the travail to the pleasure. + When the soft stars awaken, + Each task be forsaken! + And the vesper-bell lulling the earth into peace, + If the master still toil, chimes the workman's release! + + Homeward from the tasks of day, + Through the greenwood's welcome way + Wends the wanderer, blithe and cheerly, + To the cottage loved so dearly! + And the eye and ear are meeting, + Now, the slow sheep homeward bleating— + Now, the wonted shelter near, + Lowing the lusty-fronted steer; + Creaking now the heavy wain, + Reels with the happy harvest grain. + While with many-colored leaves, + Glitters the garland on the sheaves; + For the mower's work is done, + And the young folks' dance begun! + Desert street, and quiet mart;— + Silence is in the city's heart; + And the social taper lighteth; + Each dear face that home uniteth; + While the gate the town before + Heavily swings with sullen roar! + + Though darkness is spreading + O'er earth—the upright + And the honest, undreading, + Look safe on the night— + Which the evil man watches in awe, + For the eye of the night is the law! + Bliss-dowered! O daughter of the skies, + Hail, holy order, whose employ + Blends like to like in light and joy— + Builder of cities, who of old + Called the wild man from waste and wold. + And, in his hut thy presence stealing, + Roused each familiar household feeling; + And, best of all the happy ties, + The centre of the social band,— + The instinct of the Fatherland! + + United thus—each helping each, + Brisk work the countless hands forever; + For naught its power to strength can teach, + Like emulation and endeavor! + Thus linked the master with the man, + Each in his rights can each revere, + And while they march in freedom's van, + Scorn the lewd rout that dogs the rear! + To freemen labor is renown! + Who works—gives blessings and commands; + Kings glory in the orb and crown— + Be ours the glory of our hands. + + Long in these walls—long may we greet + Your footfalls, peace and concord sweet! + Distant the day, oh! distant far, + When the rude hordes of trampling war + Shall scare the silent vale; + And where, + Now the sweet heaven, when day doth leave + The air, + Limns its soft rose-hues on the veil of eve; + Shall the fierce war-brand tossing in the gale, + From town and hamlet shake the horrent glare! + + Now, its destined task fulfilled, + Asunder break the prison-mould; + Let the goodly bell we build, + Eye and heart alike behold. + The hammer down heave, + Till the cover it cleave:— + For not till we shatter the wall of its cell + Can we lift from its darkness and bondage the bell. + + To break the mould, the master may, + If skilled the hand and ripe the hour; + But woe, when on its fiery way + The metal seeks itself to pour. + Frantic and blind, with thunder-knell, + Exploding from its shattered home, + And glaring forth, as from a hell, + Behold the red destruction come! + When rages strength that has no reason, + There breaks the mould before the season; + When numbers burst what bound before, + Woe to the state that thrives no more! + Yea, woe, when in the city's heart, + The latent spark to flame is blown; + And millions from their silence start, + To claim, without a guide, their own! + + Discordant howls the warning bell, + Proclaiming discord wide and far, + And, born but things of peace to tell, + Becomes the ghastliest voice of war: + "Freedom! Equality!"—to blood + Rush the roused people at the sound! + Through street, hall, palace, roars the flood, + And banded murder closes round! + The hyena-shapes (that women were!), + Jest with the horrors they survey; + They hound—they rend—they mangle there— + As panthers with their prey! + Naught rests to hollow—burst the ties + Of life's sublime and reverent awe; + Before the vice the virtue flies, + And universal crime is law! + Man fears the lion's kingly tread; + Man fears the tiger's fangs of terror; + And still the dreadliest of the dread, + Is man himself in error! + No torch, though lit from heaven, illumes + The blind!—Why place it in his hand? + It lights not him—it but consumes + The city and the land! + + Rejoice and laud the prospering skies! + The kernel bursts its husk—behold + From the dull clay the metal rise, + Pure-shining, as a star of gold! + Neck and lip, but as one beam, + It laughs like a sunbeam. + And even the scutcheon, clear-graven, shall tell + That the art of a master has fashioned the bell! + + Come in—come in + My merry men—we'll form a ring + The new-born labor christening; + And "Concord" we will name her!— + To union may her heartfelt call + In brother-love attune us all! + May she the destined glory win + For which the master sought to frame her— + Aloft—(all earth's existence under), + In blue-pavillioned heaven afar + To dwell—the neighbor of the thunder, + The borderer of the star! + Be hers above a voice to rise + Like those bright hosts in yonder sphere, + Who, while they move, their Maker praise, + And lead around the wreathed year! + To solemn and eternal things + We dedicate her lips sublime!— + As hourly, calmly, on she swings + Fanned by the fleeting wings of time!— + No pulse—no heart—no feeling hers! + She lends the warning voice to fate; + And still companions, while she stirs, + The changes of the human state! + So may she teach us, as her tone + But now so mighty, melts away— + That earth no life which earth has known + From the last silence can delay! + + Slowly now the cords upheave her! + From her earth-grave soars the bell; + Mid the airs of heaven we leave her! + In the music-realm to dwell! + Up—upwards yet raise— + She has risen—she sways. + Fair bell to our city bode joy and increase, + And oh, may thy first sound be hallowed to peace! <a href="#linknote-47" + name="linknoteref-47" id="linknoteref-47">47</a> +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE POWER OF SONG. + + The foaming stream from out the rock + With thunder roar begins to rush,— + The oak falls prostrate at the shock, + And mountain-wrecks attend the gush. + With rapturous awe, in wonder lost, + The wanderer hearkens to the sound; + From cliff to cliff he hears it tossed, + Yet knows not whither it is bound: + 'Tis thus that song's bright waters pour + From sources never known before. + + In union with those dreaded ones + That spin life's thread all-silently, + Who can resist the singer's tones? + Who from his magic set him free? + With wand like that the gods bestow, + He guides the heaving bosom's chords, + He steeps it in the realms below, + He bears it, wondering, heavenward, + And rocks it, 'twixt the grave and gay, + On feeling's scales that trembling sway. + + As when before the startled eyes + Of some glad throng, mysteriously, + With giant-step, in spirit-guise, + Appears a wondrous deity, + Then bows each greatness of the earth + Before the stranger heaven-born, + Mute are the thoughtless sounds of mirth, + While from each face the mask is torn, + And from the truth's triumphant might + Each work of falsehood takes to flight. + + So from each idle burden free, + When summoned by the voice of song, + Man soars to spirit-dignity, + Receiving force divinely strong: + Among the gods is now his home, + Naught earthly ventures to approach— + All other powers must now be dumb, + No fate can on his realms encroach; + Care's gloomy wrinkles disappear, + Whilst music's charms still linger here, + + As after long and hopeless yearning, + And separation's bitter smart, + A child, with tears repentant burning, + Clings fondly to his mother's heart— + So to his youthful happy dwelling, + To rapture pure and free from stain, + All strange and false conceits expelling, + Song guides the wanderer back again, + In faithful Nature's loving arm, + From chilling precepts to grow warm. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + TO PROSELYTIZERS. + + "Give me only a fragment of earth beyond the earth's limits,"— + So the godlike man said,—"and I will move it with ease." + Only give me permission to leave myself for one moment, + And without any delay I will engage to be yours. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + HONOR TO WOMAN. + + [Literally "Dignity of Women."] + + Honor to woman! To her it is given + To garden the earth with the roses of heaven! + All blessed, she linketh the loves in their choir + In the veil of the graces her beauty concealing, + She tends on each altar that's hallowed to feeling, + And keeps ever-living the fire! + + From the bounds of truth careering, + Man's strong spirit wildly sweeps, + With each hasty impulse veering + Down to passion's troubled deeps. + And his heart, contented never, + Greeds to grapple with the far, + Chasing his own dream forever, + On through many a distant star! + But woman with looks that can charm and enchain, + Lureth back at her beck the wild truant again, + By the spell of her presence beguiled— + In the home of the mother her modest abode, + And modest the manners by Nature bestowed + On Nature's most exquisite child! + + Bruised and worn, but fiercely breasting, + Foe to foe, the angry strife; + Man, the wild one, never resting, + Roams along the troubled life; + What he planneth, still pursuing; + Vainly as the Hydra bleeds, + Crest the severed crest renewing— + Wish to withered wish succeeds. + + But woman at peace with all being, reposes, + And seeks from the moment to gather the roses— + Whose sweets to her culture belong. + Ah! richer than he, though his soul reigneth o'er + The mighty dominion of genius and lore, + And the infinite circle of song. + + Strong, and proud, and self-depending, + Man's cold bosom beats alone; + Heart with heart divinely blending, + In the love that gods have known, + Soul's sweet interchange of feeling, + Melting tears—he never knows, + Each hard sense the hard one steeling, + Arms against a world of foes. + + Alive, as the wind-harp, how lightly soever + If wooed by the zephyr, to music will quiver, + Is woman to hope and to fear; + All, tender one! still at the shadow of grieving, + How quiver the chords—how thy bosom is heaving— + How trembles thy glance through the tear! + + Man's dominion, war and labor; + Might to right the statue gave; + Laws are in the Scythian's sabre; + Where the Mede reigned—see the slave! + Peace and meekness grimly routing, + Prowls the war-lust, rude and wild; + Eris rages, hoarsely shouting, + Where the vanished graces smiled. + + But woman, the soft one, persuasively prayeth— + Of the life <a href="#linknote-48" name="linknoteref-48" id="linknoteref-48">48</a> that she charmeth, the sceptre she swayeth; + She lulls, as she looks from above, + The discord whose bell for its victims is gaping, + And blending awhile the forever escaping, + Whispers hate to the image of love! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + HOPE. + + We speak with the lip, and we dream in the soul, + Of some better and fairer day; + And our days, the meanwhile, to that golden goal + Are gliding and sliding away. + Now the world becomes old, now again it is young, + But "The better" 's forever the word on the tongue. + + At the threshold of life hope leads us in— + Hope plays round the mirthful boy; + Though the best of its charms may with youth begin, + Yet for age it reserves its toy. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE GERMAN ART. + + By no kind Augustus reared, + To no Medici endeared, + German art arose; + Fostering glory smiled not on her, + Ne'er with kingly smiles to sun her, + Did her blooms unclose. + + No,—she went by monarchs slighted + Went unhonored, unrequited, + From high Frederick's throne; + Praise and pride be all the greater, + That man's genius did create her, + From man's worth alone. + + Therefore, all from loftier mountains, + Purer wells and richer fountains, + Streams our poet-art; + So no rule to curb its rushing— + All the fuller flows it gushing + From its deep—the heart! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + ODYSSEUS. + + Seeking to find his home, Odysseus crosses each water; + Through Charybdis so dread; ay, and through Scylla's wild yells, + Through the alarms of the raging sea, the alarms of the land too,— + E'en to the kingdom of hell leads him his wandering course. + And at length, as he sleeps, to Ithaca's coast fate conducts him; + There he awakes, and, with grief, knows not his fatherland now. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + CARTHAGE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + +Oh thou degenerate child of the great and glorious mother, + Who with the Romans' strong might couplest the Tyrians' deceit! +But those ever governed with vigor the earth they had conquered,— + These instructed the world that they with cunning had won. +Say! what renown does history grant thee? Thou, Roman-like, gained'st + That with the steel, which with gold, Tyrian-like, then thou didst rule! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE SOWER. + + Sure of the spring that warms them into birth, + The golden seeds thou trustest to the earth; + And dost thou doubt the eternal spring sublime, + For deeds—the seeds which wisdom sows in time. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. + + Oh, nobly shone the fearful cross upon your mail afar, + When Rhodes and Acre hailed your might, O lions of the war! + When leading many a pilgrim horde, through wastes of Syrian gloom; + Or standing with the cherub's sword before the holy tomb. + Yet on your forms the apron seemed a nobler armor far, + When by the sick man's bed ye stood, O lions of the war! + When ye, the high-born, bowed your pride to tend the lowly weakness, + The duty, though it brought no fame, fulfilled by Christian meekness— + Religion of the cross, thou blend'st, as in a single flower, + The twofold branches of the palm—humility and power. <a + href="#linknote-49" name="linknoteref-49" id="linknoteref-49">49</a> +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE MERCHANT. + + Where sails the ship?—It leads the Tyrian forth + For the rich amber of the liberal north. + Be kind, ye seas—winds, lend your gentlest wing, + May in each creek sweet wells restoring spring!— + To you, ye gods, belong the merchant!—o'er + The waves his sails the wide world's goods explore; + And, all the while, wherever waft the gales + The wide world's good sails with him as he sails! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + GERMAN FAITH. <a href="#linknote-50" name="linknoteref-50" + id="linknoteref-50">50</a> + + Once for the sceptre of Germany, fought with Bavarian Louis + Frederick, of Hapsburg descent, both being called to the throne. + But the envious fortune of war delivered the Austrian + Into the hands of the foe, who overcame him in fight. + With the throne he purchased his freedom, pledging his honor + For the victor to draw 'gainst his own people his sword; + But what he vowed when in chains, when free he could not accomplish, + So, of his own free accord, put on his fetters again. + Deeply moved, his foe embraced him,—and from thenceforward + As a friend with a friend, pledged they the cup at the feast; + Arm-in-arm, the princes on one couch slumbered together. + While a still bloodier hate severed the nations apart. + 'Gainst the army of Frederick Louis now went, and behind him + Left the foe he had fought, over Bavaria to watch. + "Ay, it is true! 'Tis really true! I have it in writing!" + Thus did the Pontifex cry, when he first heard of the news. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE SEXES. + + See in the babe two loveliest flowers united—yet in truth, + While in the bud they seem the same—the virgin and the youth! + But loosened is the gentle bond, no longer side by side— + From holy shame the fiery strength will soon itself divide. + Permit the youth to sport, and still the wild desire to chase, + For, but when sated, weary strength returns to seek the grace. + Yet in the bud, the double flowers the future strife begin, + How precious all—yet naught can still the longing heart within. + In ripening charms the virgin bloom to woman shape hath grown, + But round the ripening charms the pride hath clasped its guardian zone; + Shy, as before the hunter's horn the doe all trembling moves, + She flies from man as from a foe, and hates before she loves! + + From lowering brows this struggling world the fearless youth observes, + And hardened for the strife betimes, he strains the willing nerves; + Far to the armed throng and to the race prepared to start, + Inviting glory calls him forth, and grasps the troubled heart:— + Protect thy work, O Nature now! one from the other flies, + Till thou unitest each at last that for the other sighs. + There art thou, mighty one! where'er the discord darkest frown, + Thou call'st the meek harmonious peace, the god-like soother down. + The noisy chase is lulled asleep, day's clamor dies afar, + And through the sweet and veiled air in beauty comes the star. + Soft-sighing through the crisped reeds, the brooklet glides along, + And every wood the nightingale melodious fills with song. + O virgin! now what instinct heaves thy bosom with the sigh? + O youth! and wherefore steals the tear into thy dreaming eye? + Alas! they seek in vain within the charm around bestowed, + The tender fruit is ripened now, and bows to earth its load. + And restless goes the youth to feed his heart upon its fire, + All, where the gentle breath to cool the flame of young desire! + And now they meet—the holy love that leads them lights their eyes, + And still behind the winged god the winged victory flies. + O heavenly love!—'tis thy sweet task the human flowers to bind, + For ay apart, and yet by thee forever intertwined! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + LOVE AND DESIRE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + +Rightly said, Schlosser! Man loves what he has; what he has not, desireth; + None but the wealthy minds love; poor minds desire alone. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE BARDS OF OLDEN TIME. + + Say, where is now that glorious race, where now are the singers + Who, with the accents of life, listening nations enthralled, + Sung down from heaven the gods, and sung mankind up to heaven, + And who the spirit bore up high on the pinions of song? + Ah! the singers still live; the actions only are wanting, + And to awake the glad harp, only a welcoming ear. + Happy bards of a happy world! Your life-teeming accents + Flew round from mouth unto mouth, gladdening every race. + With the devotion with which the gods were received, each one welcomed + That which the genius for him, plastic and breathing, then formed. + With the glow of the song were inflamed the listener's senses, + And with the listener's sense, nourished the singer the glow— + Nourished and cleansed it,—fortunate one! for whom in the voices + Of the people still clear echoed the soul of the song, + And to whom from without appeared, in life, the great godhead, + Whom the bard of these days scarcely can feel in his breast. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + JOVE TO HERCULES. + + 'Twas not my nectar made thy strength divine, + But 'twas thy strength which made my nectar thine! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE ANTIQUES AT PARIS. + + That which Grecian art created, + Let the Frank, with joy elated, + Bear to Seine's triumphant strand, + And in his museums glorious + Show the trophies all-victorious + To his wondering fatherland. + + They to him are silent ever, + Into life's fresh circle never + From their pedestals come down. + He alone e'er holds the Muses + Through whose breast their power diffuses,— + To the Vandal they're but stone! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THEKLA. + + A SPIRIT VOICE. + + Whither was it that my spirit wended + When from thee my fleeting shadow moved? + Is not now each earthly conflict ended? + Say,—have I not lived,—have I not loved? + + Art thou for the nightingales inquiring + Who entranced thee in the early year + With their melody so joy-inspiring? + Only whilst they loved they lingered here. + + Is the lost one lost to me forever? + Trust me, with him joyfully I stray + There, where naught united souls can sever, + And where every tear is wiped away. + + And thou, too, wilt find us in yon heaven, + When thy love with our love can compare; + There my father dwells, his sins forgiven,— + Murder foul can never reach him there. + + And he feels that him no vision cheated + When he gazed upon the stars on high; + For as each one metes, to him 'tis meted; + Who believes it, hath the Holy nigh. + + Faith is kept in those blest regions yonder + With the feelings true that ne'er decay. + Venture thou to dream, then, and to wander + Noblest thoughts oft lie in childlike play. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE ANTIQUE TO THE NORTHERN WANDERER. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + +Thou hast crossed over torrents, and swung through wide-spreading ocean,— + Over the chain of the Alps dizzily bore thee the bridge, +That thou might'st see me from near, and learn to value my beauty, + Which the voice of renown spreads through the wandering world. +And now before me thou standest,—canst touch my altar so holy,— + But art thou nearer to me, or am I nearer to thee? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE ILIAD. + + Tear forever the garland of Homer, and number the fathers + Of the immortal work, that through all time will survive! + Yet it has but one mother, and bears that mother's own feature, + 'Tis thy features it bears,—Nature,—thy features eterne! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + POMPEII AND HERCULANEUM. + + What wonder this?—we ask the lympid well, + O earth! of thee—and from thy solemn womb + What yieldest thou?—is there life in the abyss— + Doth a new race beneath the lava dwell? + Returns the past, awakening from the tomb? + Rome—Greece!—Oh, come!—Behold—behold! for this! + Our living world—the old Pompeii sees; + And built anew the town of Dorian Hercules! + House upon house—its silent halls once more + Opes the broad portico!—Oh, haste and fill + Again those halls with life!—Oh, pour along + Through the seven-vista'd theatre the throng! + Where are ye, mimes?—Come forth, the steel prepare + For crowned Atrides, or Orestes haunt, + Ye choral Furies, with your dismal chant! + The arch of triumph!—whither leads it?—still + Behold the forum!—on the curule chair + Where the majestic image? Lictors, where + Your solemn fasces?—Place upon his throne + The Praetor—here the witness lead, and there + Bid the accuser stand + + —O God! how lone + The clear streets glitter in the quiet day— + The footpath by the doors winding its lifeless way! + The roofs arise in shelter, and around + The desolate Atrium—every gentle room + Wears still the dear familiar smile of home! + Open the doors—the shops—on dreary night + Let lusty day laugh down in jocund light! + + See the trim benches ranged in order!—See + The marble-tesselated floor—and there + The very walls are glittering livingly + With their clear colors. But the artist, where! + Sure but this instant he hath laid aside + Pencil and colors!—Glittering on the eye + Swell the rich fruits, and bloom the flowers!—See all + Art's gentle wreaths still fresh upon the wall! + Here the arch Cupid slyly seems to glide + By with bloom-laden basket. There the shapes + Of genii press with purpling feet the grapes, + Here springs the wild Bacchante to the dance, + And there she sleeps [while that voluptuous trance + Eyes the sly faun with never-sated glance] + Now on one knee upon the centaur-steeds + Hovering—the Thyrsus plies.—Hurrah!—away she speeds! + + Come—come, why loiter ye?—Here, here, how fair + The goodly vessels still! Girls, hither turn, + Fill from the fountain the Etruscan urn! + On the winged sphinxes see the tripod.— + Ho! + Quick—quick, ye slaves, come—fire!—the hearth prepare! + Ha! wilt thou sell?—this coin shall pay thee—this, + Fresh from the mint of mighty Titus!—Lo! + Here lie the scales, and not a weight we miss + So—bring the light! The delicate lamp!—what toil + Shaped thy minutest grace!—quick pour the oil! + Yonder the fairy chest!—come, maid, behold + The bridegroom's gifts—the armlets—they are gold, + And paste out-feigning jewels!—lead the bride + Into the odorous bath—lo! unguents still— + And still the crystal vase the arts for beauty fill! + + But where the men of old—perchance a prize + More precious yet in yon papyrus lies, + And see ev'n still the tokens of their toil— + The waxen tablets—the recording style. + The earth, with faithful watch, has hoarded all! + Still stand the mute penates in the hall; + Back to his haunts returns each ancient god. + Why absent only from their ancient stand + The priests?—waves Hermes his Caducean rod, + And the winged victory struggles from the hand. + Kindle the flame—behold the altar there! + Long hath the god been worshipless—to prayer. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + NAENIA. + + Even the beauteous must die! This vanquishes men and immortals; + But of the Stygian god moves not the bosom of steel. + Once and once only could love prevail on the ruler of shadows, + And on the threshold, e'en then, sternly his gift he recalled. + Venus could never heal the wounds of the beauteous stripling, + That the terrible boar made in his delicate skin; + Nor could his mother immortal preserve the hero so godlike, + When at the west gate of Troy, falling, his fate he fulfilled. + But she arose from the ocean with all the daughters of Nereus, + And o'er her glorified son raised the loud accents of woe. + See! where all the gods and goddesses yonder are weeping, + That the beauteous must fade, and that the perfect must die. + Even a woe-song to be in the mouth of the loved ones is glorious, + For what is vulgar descends mutely to Orcus' dark shades. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE MAID OF ORLEANS. + + Humanity's bright image to impair. + Scorn laid thee prostrate in the deepest dust; + Wit wages ceaseless war on all that's fair,— + In angel and in God it puts no trust; + The bosom's treasures it would make its prey,— + Besieges fancy,—dims e'en faith's pure ray. + + Yet issuing like thyself from humble line, + Like thee a gentle shepherdess is she— + Sweet poesy affords her rights divine, + And to the stars eternal soars with thee. + Around thy brow a glory she hath thrown; + The heart 'twas formed thee,—ever thou'lt live on! + + The world delights whate'er is bright to stain, + And in the dust to lay the glorious low; + Yet fear not! noble bosoms still remain, + That for the lofty, for the radiant glow + Let Momus serve to fill the booth with mirth; + A nobler mind loves forms of nobler worth. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + ARCHIMEDES. + + To Archimedes once a scholar came, + "Teach me," he said, "the art that won thy fame;— + The godlike art which gives such boons to toil, + And showers such fruit upon thy native soil;— + The godlike art that girt the town when all + Rome's vengeance burst in thunder on the wall!" + "Thou call'st art godlike—it is so, in truth, + And was," replied the master to the youth, + "Ere yet its secrets were applied to use— + Ere yet it served beleaguered Syracuse:— + Ask'st thou from art, but what the art is worth? + The fruit?—for fruit go cultivate the earth.— + He who the goddess would aspire unto, + Must not the goddess as the woman woo!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE DANCE. + + See how, like lightest waves at play, the airy dancers fleet; + And scarcely feels the floor the wings of those harmonious feet. + Ob, are they flying shadows from their native forms set free? + Or phantoms in the fairy ring that summer moonbeams see? + As, by the gentle zephyr blown, some light mist flees in air, + As skiffs that skim adown the tide, when silver waves are fair, + So sports the docile footstep to the heave of that sweet measure, + As music wafts the form aloft at its melodious pleasure, + Now breaking through the woven chain of the entangled dance, + From where the ranks the thickest press, a bolder pair advance, + The path they leave behind them lost—wide open the path beyond, + The way unfolds or closes up as by a magic wand. + See now, they vanish from the gaze in wild confusion blended; + All, in sweet chaos whirled again, that gentle world is ended! + No!—disentangled glides the knot, the gay disorder ranges— + The only system ruling here, a grace that ever changes. + For ay destroyed—for ay renewed, whirls on that fair creation; + And yet one peaceful law can still pervade in each mutation. + And what can to the reeling maze breathe harmony and vigor, + And give an order and repose to every gliding figure? + That each a ruler to himself doth but himself obey, + Yet through the hurrying course still keeps his own appointed way. + What, would'st thou know? It is in truth the mighty power of tune, + A power that every step obeys, as tides obey the moon; + That threadeth with a golden clue the intricate employment, + Curbs bounding strength to tranquil grace, and tames the wild enjoyment. + And comes the world's wide harmony in vain upon thine ears? + The stream of music borne aloft from yonder choral spheres? + And feel'st thou not the measure which eternal Nature keeps? + The whirling dance forever held in yonder azure deeps? + The suns that wheel in varying maze?—That music thou discernest? + No! Thou canst honor that in sport which thou forgettest in earnest. + <a href="#linknote-52" name="linknoteref-52" id="linknoteref-52">52</a> +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE FORTUNE-FAVORED. <a href="#linknote-53" name="linknoteref-53" + id="linknoteref-53">53</a> +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + Ah! happy he, upon whose birth each god + Looks down in love, whose earliest sleep the bright + Idalia cradles, whose young lips the rod + Of eloquent Hermes kindles—to whose eyes, + Scarce wakened yet, Apollo steals in light, + While on imperial brows Jove sets the seal of might! + Godlike the lot ordained for him to share, + He wins the garland ere he runs the race; + He learns life's wisdom ere he knows life's care, + And, without labor vanquished, smiles the grace. + Great is the man, I grant, whose strength of mind, + Self-shapes its objects and subdues the fates— + Virtue subdues the fates, but cannot blind + The fickle happiness, whose smile awaits + Those who scarce seek it; nor can courage earn + What the grace showers not from her own free urn! + From aught unworthy, the determined will + Can guard the watchful spirit—there it ends + The all that's glorious from the heaven descends; + As some sweet mistress loves us, freely still + Come the spontaneous gifts of heaven!—Above + Favor rules Jove, as it below rules love! + The immortals have their bias!—Kindly they + See the bright locks of youth enamored play, + And where the glad one goes, shed gladness round the way. + It is not they who boast the best to see, + Whose eyes the holy apparitions bless; + The stately light of their divinity + Hath oft but shone the brightest on the blind;— + And their choice spirit found its calm recess + In the pure childhood of a simple mind. + Unasked they come delighted to delude + The expectation of our baffled pride; + No law can call their free steps to our side. + Him whom he loves, the sire of men and gods + (Selected from the marvelling multitude) + Bears on his eagle to his bright abodes; + And showers, with partial hand and lavish, down, + The minstrel's laurel or the monarch's crown! + Before the fortune-favored son of earth, + Apollo walks—and, with his jocund mirth, + The heart-enthralling smiler of the skies + For him gray Neptune smooths the pliant wave— + Harmless the waters for the ship that bore + The Caesar and his fortunes to the shore! + Charmed at his feet the crouching lion lies, + To him his back the murmuring dolphin gave; + His soul is born a sovereign o'er the strife— + The lord of all the beautiful of life; + Where'er his presence in its calm has trod, + It charms—it sways as solve diviner God. + Scorn not the fortune-favored, that to him + The light-won victory by the gods is given, + Or that, as Paris, from the strife severe, + The Venus draws her darling—Whom the heaven + So prospers, love so watches, I revere! + And not the man upon whose eyes, with dim + And baleful night, sits fate. Achaia boasts, + No less the glory of the Dorian lord <a href="#linknote-54" + name="linknoteref-54" id="linknoteref-54">54</a> + That Vulcan wrought for him the shield and sword— + That round the mortal hovered all the hosts + Of all Olympus—that his wrath to grace, + The best and bravest of the Grecian race + Untimely slaughtered, with resentful ghosts + Awed the pale people of the Stygian coasts! + Scorn not the darlings of the beautiful, + If without labor they life's blossoms cull; + If, like the stately lilies, they have won + A crown for which they neither toiled nor spun;— + If without merit, theirs be beauty, still + Thy sense, unenvying, with the beauty fill. + Alike for thee no merit wins the right, + To share, by simply seeing, their delight. + Heaven breathes the soul into the minstrel's breast, + But with that soul he animates the rest; + The god inspires the mortal—but to God, + In turn, the mortal lifts thee from the sod. + Oh, not in vain to heaven the bard is dear; + Holy himself—he hallows those who hear! + The busy mart let justice still control, + Weighing the guerdon to the toil!—What then? + A God alone claims joy—all joy is his, + Flushing with unsought light the cheeks of men. + <a href="#linknote-55" name="linknoteref-55" id="linknoteref-55">55</a> Where is no miracle, why there no bliss! + Grow, change, and ripen all that mortal be, + Shapened from form to form, by toiling time; + The blissful and the beautiful are born + Full grown, and ripened from eternity— + No gradual changes to their glorious prime, + No childhood dwarfs them, and no age has worn.— + Like heaven's, each earthly Venus on the sight + Comes, a dark birth, from out an endless sea; + Like the first Pallas, in maturest might, + Armed, from the thunderer's—brow, leaps forth each thought of light. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + BOOKSELLER'S ANNOUNCEMENT. + + Naught is for man so important as rightly to know his own purpose; + For but twelve groschen hard cash 'tis to be bought at my shop! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + GENIUS. + + "Do I believe," sayest thou, "what the masters of wisdom would teach me, + And what their followers' band boldly and readily swear? + Cannot I ever attain to true peace, excepting through knowledge, + Or is the system upheld only by fortune and law? + Must I distrust the gently-warning impulse, the precept + That thou, Nature, thyself hast in my bosom impressed, + Till the schools have affixed to the writ eternal their signet, + Till a mere formula's chain binds down the fugitive soul? + Answer me, then! for thou hast down into these deeps e'en descended,— + Out of the mouldering grave thou didst uninjured return. + Is't to thee known what within the tomb of obscure works is hidden, + Whether, yon mummies amid, life's consolations can dwell? + Must I travel the darksome road? The thought makes me tremble; + Yet I will travel that road, if 'tis to truth and to right." + + Friend, hast thou heard of the golden age? Full many a story + Poets have sung in its praise, simply and touchingly sung— + Of the time when the holy still wandered over life's pathways,— + When with a maidenly shame every sensation was veiled,— + When the mighty law that governs the sun in his orbit, + And that, concealed in the bud, teaches the point how to move, + When necessity's silent law, the steadfast, the changeless, + Stirred up billows more free, e'en in the bosom of man,— + When the sense, unerring, and true as the hand of the dial, + Pointed only to truth, only to what was eternal? + + Then no profane one was seen, then no initiate was met with, + And what as living was felt was not then sought 'mongst the dead; + Equally clear to every breast was the precept eternal, + Equally hidden the source whence it to gladden us sprang; + But that happy period has vanished! And self-willed presumption + Nature's godlike repose now has forever destroyed. + Feelings polluted the voice of the deities echo no longer, + In the dishonored breast now is the oracle dumb. + Save in the silenter self, the listening soul cannot find it, + There does the mystical word watch o'er the meaning divine; + There does the searcher conjure it, descending with bosom unsullied; + There does the nature long-lost give him back wisdom again. + If thou, happy one, never hast lost the angel that guards thee, + Forfeited never the kind warnings that instinct holds forth; + If in thy modest eye the truth is still purely depicted; + If in thine innocent breast clearly still echoes its call; + If in thy tranquil mind the struggles of doubt still are silent, + If they will surely remain silent forever as now; + If by the conflict of feelings a judge will ne'er be required; + If in its malice thy heart dims not the reason so clear, + Oh, then, go thy way in all thy innocence precious! + Knowledge can teach thee in naught; thou canst instruct her in much! + Yonder law, that with brazen staff is directing the struggling, + Naught is to thee. What thou dost, what thou mayest will is thy law, + And to every race a godlike authority issues. + What thou with holy hand formest, what thou with holy mouth speakest, + Will with omnipotent power impel the wondering senses; + Thou but observest not the god ruling within thine own breast, + Not the might of the signet that bows all spirits before thee; + Simple and silent thou goest through the wide world thou hast won. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + HONORS. + + [Dignities would be the better title, if the word were not so + essentially unpoetical.] + + When the column of light on the waters is glassed, + As blent in one glow seem the shine and the stream; + But wave after wave through the glory has passed, + Just catches, and flies as it catches, the beam + So honors but mirror on mortals their light; + Not the man but the place that he passes is bright. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE PHILOSOPHICAL EGOTIST. + + Hast thou the infant seen that yet, unknowing of the love + Which warms and cradles, calmly sleeps the mother's heart above— + Wandering from arm to arm, until the call of passion wakes, + And glimmering on the conscious eye—the world in glory breaks? + + And hast thou seen the mother there her anxious vigil keep? + Buying with love that never sleeps the darling's happy sleep? + With her own life she fans and feeds that weak life's trembling rays, + And with the sweetness of the care, the care itself repays. + + And dost thou Nature then blaspheme—that both the child and mother + Each unto each unites, the while the one doth need the other?— + All self-sufficing wilt thou from that lovely circle stand— + That creature still to creature links in faith's familiar band? + + Ah! dar'st thou, poor one, from the rest thy lonely self estrange? + Eternal power itself is but all powers in interchange! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE BEST STATE CONSTITUTION. + + I can recognize only as such, the one that enables + Each to think what is right,—but that he thinks so, cares not. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE WORDS OF BELIEF. + + Three words will I name thee—around and about, + From the lip to the lip, full of meaning, they flee; + But they had not their birth in the being without, + And the heart, not the lip, must their oracle be! + And all worth in the man shall forever be o'er + When in those three words he believes no more. + + Man is made free!—Man by birthright is free, + Though the tyrant may deem him but born for his tool. + Whatever the shout of the rabble may be— + Whatever the ranting misuse of the fool— + Still fear not the slave, when he breaks from his chain, + For the man made a freeman grows safe in his gain. + + And virtue is more than a shade or a sound, + And man may her voice, in this being, obey; + And though ever he slip on the stony ground, + Yet ever again to the godlike way, + To the science of good though the wise may be blind, + Yet the practice is plain to the childlike mind. + + And a God there is!—over space, over time, + While the human will rocks, like a reed, to and fro, + Lives the will of the holy—a purpose sublime, + A thought woven over creation below; + Changing and shifting the all we inherit, + But changeless through all one immutable spirit + + Hold fast the three words of belief—though about + From the lip to the lip, full of meaning, they flee; + Yet they take not their birth from the being without— + But a voice from within must their oracle be; + And never all worth in the man can be o'er, + Till in those three words he believes no more. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE WORDS OF ERROR. + + Three errors there are, that forever are found + On the lips of the good, on the lips of the best; + But empty their meaning and hollow their sound— + And slight is the comfort they bring to the breast. + The fruits of existence escape from the clasp + Of the seeker who strives but those shadows to grasp— + + So long as man dreams of some age in this life + When the right and the good will all evil subdue; + For the right and the good lead us ever to strife, + And wherever they lead us the fiend will pursue. + And (till from the earth borne, and stifled at length) + The earth that he touches still gifts him with strength! <a + href="#linknote-56" name="linknoteref-56" id="linknoteref-56">56</a> + + So long as man fancies that fortune will live, + Like a bride with her lover, united with worth; + For her favors, alas! to the mean she will give— + And virtue possesses no title to earth! + That foreigner wanders to regions afar, + Where the lands of her birthright immortally are! + + So long as man dreams that, to mortals a gift, + The truth in her fulness of splendor will shine; + The veil of the goddess no earth-born may lift, + And all we can learn is—to guess and divine! + Dost thou seek, in a dogma, to prison her form? + The spirit flies forth on the wings of the storm! + + O, noble soul! fly from delusions like these, + More heavenly belief be it thine to adore; + Where the ear never hearkens, the eye never sees, + Meet the rivers of beauty and truth evermore! + Not without thee the streams—there the dull seek them;—No! + Look within thee—behold both the fount and the flow! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE POWER OF WOMAN. + + Mighty art thou, because of the peaceful charms of thy presence; + That which the silent does not, never the boastful can do. + Vigor in man I expect, the law in its honors maintaining, + But, through the graces alone, woman e'er rules or should rule. + Many, indeed, have ruled through the might of the spirit and action, + But then thou noblest of crowns, they were deficient in thee. + No real queen exists but the womanly beauty of woman; + Where it appears, it must rule; ruling because it appears! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE TWO PATHS OF VIRTUE. + + Two are the pathways by which mankind can to virtue mount upward; + If thou should find the one barred, open the other will lie. + 'Tis by exertion the happy obtain her, the suffering by patience. + Blest is the man whose kind fate guides him along upon both! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE PROVERBS OF CONFUCIUS. + + I. + + Threefold is the march of time + While the future slow advances, + Like a dart the present glances, + Silent stands the past sublime. + + No impatience e'er can speed him + On his course if he delay; + No alarm, no doubts impede him + If he keep his onward way; + No regrets, no magic numbers + Wake the tranced one from his slumbers. + Wouldst thou wisely and with pleasure, + Pass the days of life's short measure, + From the slow one counsel take, + But a tool of him ne'er make; + Ne'er as friend the swift one know, + Nor the constant one as foe! + + II. + + Threefold is the form of space: + Length, with ever restless motion, + Seeks eternity's wide ocean; + Breadth with boundless sway extends; + Depth to unknown realms descends. + + All as types to thee are given; + Thou must onward strive for heaven, + Never still or weary be + Would'st thou perfect glory see; + Far must thy researches go. + Wouldst thou learn the world to know; + Thou must tempt the dark abyss + Wouldst thou prove what Being is. + + Naught but firmness gains the prize,— + Naught but fulness makes us wise,— + Buried deep, truth ever lies! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. + + Since thou readest in her what thou thyself hast there written, + And, to gladden the eye, placest her wonders in groups;— + Since o'er her boundless expanses thy cords to extend thou art able, + Thou dost think that thy mind wonderful Nature can grasp. + Thus the astronomer draws his figures over the heavens, + So that he may with more ease traverse the infinite space, + Knitting together e'en suns that by Sirius-distance are parted, + Making them join in the swan and in the horns of the bull. + But because the firmament shows him its glorious surface, + Can he the spheres' mystic dance therefore decipher aright? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + COLUMBUS. + + Steer on, bold sailor—Wit may mock thy soul that sees the land, + And hopeless at the helm may droop the weak and weary hand, + Yet ever—ever to the West, for there the coast must lie, + And dim it dawns, and glimmering dawns before thy reason's eye; + Yea, trust the guiding God—and go along the floating grave, + Though hid till now—yet now behold the New World o'er the wave! + With genius Nature ever stands in solemn union still, + And ever what the one foretells the other shall fulfil. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + LIGHT AND WARMTH. + + In cheerful faith that fears no ill + The good man doth the world begin; + And dreams that all without shall still + Reflect the trusting soul within. + Warm with the noble vows of youth, + Hallowing his true arm to the truth; + + Yet is the littleness of all + So soon to sad experience shown, + That crowds but teach him to recall + And centre thought on self alone; + Till love, no more, emotion knows, + And the heart freezes to repose. + + Alas! though truth may light bestow, + Not always warmth the beams impart, + Blest he who gains the boon to know, + Nor buys the knowledge with the heart. + For warmth and light a blessing both to be, + Feel as the enthusiast—as the world-wise see. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + BREADTH AND DEPTH. + + Full many a shining wit one sees, + With tongue on all things well conversing; + The what can charm, the what can please, + In every nice detail rehearsing. + Their raptures so transport the college, + It seems one honeymoon of knowledge. + + Yet out they go in silence where + They whilom held their learned prate; + Ah! he who would achieve the fair, + Or sow the embryo of the great, + Must hoard—to wait the ripening hour— + In the least point the loftiest power. + + With wanton boughs and pranksome hues, + Aloft in air aspires the stem; + The glittering leaves inhale the dews, + But fruits are not concealed in them. + From the small kernel's undiscerned repose + The oak that lords it o'er the forest grows. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE TWO GUIDES OF LIFE. + + THE SUBLIME AND THE BEAUTIFUL. + + Two genii are there, from thy birth through weary life to guide thee; + Ah, happy when, united both, they stand to aid beside thee? + With gleesome play to cheer the path, the one comes blithe with beauty, + And lighter, leaning on her arm, the destiny and duty. + With jest and sweet discourse she goes unto the rock sublime, + Where halts above the eternal sea <a href="#linknote-57" name="linknoteref-57" + id="linknoteref-57">57</a> the shuddering child of time. + The other here, resolved and mute and solemn, claspeth thee, + And bears thee in her giant arms across the fearful sea. + Never admit the one alone!—Give not the gentle guide + Thy honor—nor unto the stern thy happiness confide! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE IMMUTABLE. + + Time flies on restless pinions—constant never. + Be constant—and thou chainest time forever. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + VOTIVE TABLETS. + + That which I learned from the Deity,— + that which through lifetime hath helped me, + Meekly and gratefully now, here I suspend in his shrine. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + DIFFERENT DESTINIES. + + Millions busily toil, that the human race may continue; + But by only a few is propagated our kind. + Thousands of seeds by the autumn are scattered, yet fruit is engendered + Only by few, for the most back to the element go. + But if one only can blossom, that one is able to scatter + Even a bright living world, filled with creations eterne. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE ANIMATING PRINCIPLE. + + Nowhere in the organic or sensitive world ever kindles + Novelty, save in the flower, noblest creation of life. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + TWO DESCRIPTIONS OF ACTION. + + Do what is good, and humanity's godlike plant thou wilt nourish; + Plan what is fair, and thou'lt strew seeds of the godlike around. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + DIFFERENCE OF STATION. + + Even the moral world its nobility boasts—vulgar natures + Reckon by that which they do; noble, by that which they are. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + WORTH AND THE WORTHY. + + If thou anything hast, let me have it,—I'll pay what is proper; + If thou anything art, let us our spirits exchange. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE MORAL FORCE. + + If thou feelest not the beautiful, still thou with reason canst will it; + And as a spirit canst do, that which as man thou canst not. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + PARTICIPATION. + + E'en by the hand of the wicked can truth be working with vigor; + But the vessel is filled by what is beauteous alone. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + TO —— + + Tell me all that thou knowest, and I will thankfully hear it! + But wouldst thou give me thyself,—let me, my friend, be excused! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + TO —— + + Wouldst thou teach me the truth? Don't take the trouble! I wish not, + Through thee, the thing to observe,—but to see thee through the thing. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + TO —— + + Thee would I choose as my teacher and friend. Thy living example + Teaches me,—thy teaching word wakens my heart unto life. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE PRESENT GENERATION. + + Was it always as now? This race I truly can't fathom. + Nothing is young but old age; youth, alas! only is old. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + TO THE MUSE. + + What I had been without thee, I know not—yet, to my sorrow + See I what, without thee, hundreds and thousands now are. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE LEARNED WORKMAN. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + +Ne'er does he taste the fruit of the tree that he raised with such trouble; + Nothing but taste e'er enjoys that which by learning is reared. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE DUTY OF ALL. + + Ever strive for the whole; and if no whole thou canst make thee, + Join, then, thyself to some whole, as a subservient limb! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + A PROBLEM. + + Let none resemble another; let each resemble the highest! + How can that happen? let each be all complete in itself. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE PECULIAR IDEAL. + + What thou thinkest, belongs to all; what thou feelest, is thine only. + Wouldst thou make him thine own, feel thou the God whom thou thinkest! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + TO MYSTICS. + + That is the only true secret, which in the presence of all men + Lies, and surrounds thee for ay, but which is witnessed by none. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE KEY. + + Wouldst thou know thyself, observe the actions of others. + Wouldst thou other men know, look thou within thine own heart. + + THE OBSERVER. + + Stern as my conscience, thou seest the points wherein I'm deficient; + Therefore I've always loved thee, as my own conscience I've loved. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + WISDOM AND PRUDENCE. + + Wouldst thou, my friend, mount up to the highest summit of wisdom, + Be not deterred by the fear, prudence thy course may deride + That shortsighted one sees but the bank that from thee is flying, + Not the one which ere long thou wilt attain with bold flight. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE AGREEMENT. + + Both of us seek for truth—in the world without thou dost seek it, + I in the bosom within; both of us therefore succeed. + If the eye be healthy, it sees from without the Creator; + And if the heart, then within doubtless it mirrors the world. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + POLITICAL PRECEPT. + + All that thou doest is right; but, friend, don't carry this precept + On too far,—be content, all that is right to effect. + It is enough to true zeal, if what is existing be perfect; + False zeal always would find finished perfection at once. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + MAJESTAS POPULI. + + Majesty of the nature of man! In crowds shall I seek thee? + 'Tis with only a few that thou hast made thine abode. + Only a few ever count; the rest are but blanks of no value, + And the prizes are hid 'neath the vain stir that they make. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE DIFFICULT UNION. + + Why are taste and genius so seldom met with united? + Taste of strength is afraid,—genius despises the rein. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + TO A WORLD-REFORMER. + + "I Have sacrificed all," thou sayest, "that man I might succor; + Vain the attempt; my reward was persecution and hate." + Shall I tell thee, my friend, how I to humor him manage? + Trust the proverb! I ne'er have been deceived by it yet. + Thou canst not sufficiently prize humanity's value; + Let it be coined in deed as it exists in thy breast. + E'en to the man whom thou chancest to meet in life's narrow pathway, + If he should ask it of thee, hold forth a succoring hand. + But for rain and for dew, for the general welfare of mortals, + Leave thou Heaven to care, friend, as before, so e'en now. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + MY ANTIPATHY. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + +I have a heartfelt aversion for crime,—a twofold aversion, + Since 'tis the reason why man prates about virtue so much. +"What! thou hatest, then, virtue?"—I would that by all it were practised, + So that, God willing, no man ever need speak of it more. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + ASTRONOMICAL WRITINGS. + + Oh, how infinite, how unspeakably great, are the heavens! + Yet by frivolity's hand downwards the heavens are pulled! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE BEST STATE. + + "How can I know the best state?" + In the way that thou know'st the best woman; + Namely, my friend, that the world ever is silent of both. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + TO ASTRONOMERS. + + Prate not to me so much of suns and of nebulous bodies; + Think ye Nature but great, in that she gives thee to count? + Though your object may be the sublimest that space holds within it, + Yet, my good friends, the sublime dwells not in the regions of space. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + MY FAITH. + + Which religion do I acknowledge? None that thou namest. + "None that I name? And why so?"—Why, for religion's own sake? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + INSIDE AND OUTSIDE. + + God alone sees the heart and therefore, since he alone sees it, + Be it our care that we, too, something that's worthy may see. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + FRIEND AND FOE. + + Dearly I love a friend; yet a foe I may turn to my profit; + Friends show me that which I can; foes teach me that which I should. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + LIGHT AND COLOR. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + +Thou that art ever the same, with the changeless One take up thy dwelling! + Color, thou changeable one, kindly descends upon man! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + GENIUS. + + Understanding, indeed, can repeat what already existed,— + That which Nature has built, after her she, too, can build. + Over Nature can reason build, but in vacancy only: + But thou, genius, alone, nature in nature canst form. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + BEAUTEOUS INDIVIDUALITY. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + +Thou in truth shouldst be one, yet not with the whole shouldst thou be so. + 'Tis through the reason thou'rt one,—art so with it through the heart. +Voice of the whole is thy reason, but thou thine own heart must be ever; + If in thy heart reason dwells evermore, happy art thou. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + VARIETY. + + Many are good and wise; yet all for one only reckon, + For 'tis conception, alas, rules them, and not a fond heart. + Sad is the sway of conception,—from thousandfold varying figures, + Needy and empty but one it is e'er able to bring. + But where creative beauty is ruling, there life and enjoyment + Dwell; to the ne'er-changing One, thousands of new forms she gives. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE IMITATOR. + + Good from the good,—to the reason this is not hard of conception; + But the genius has power good from the bad to evoke. + 'Tis the conceived alone, that thou, imitator, canst practise; + Food the conceived never is, save to the mind that conceives. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + GENIALITY. + + How does the genius make itself known? In the way that in nature + Shows the Creator himself,—e'en in the infinite whole. + Clear is the ether, and yet of depth that ne'er can be fathomed; + Seen by the eye, it remains evermore closed to the sense. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE INQUIRERS. + + Men now seek to explore each thing from within and without too! + How canst thou make thy escape, Truth, from their eager pursuit? + That they may catch thee, with nets and poles extended they seek thee + But with a spirit-like tread, glidest thou out of the throng. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + CORRECTNESS. + + Free from blemish to be, is the lowest of steps, and highest; + Weakness and greatness alone ever arrive at this point. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE THREE AGES OF NATURE. + + Life she received from fable; the schools deprived her of being, + Life creative again she has from reason received. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE LAW OF NATURE. + + It has ever been so, my friend, and will ever remain so: + Weakness has rules for itself,—vigor is crowned with success. + + CHOICE. + + If thou canst not give pleasure to all by thy deeds and thy knowledge, + Give it then, unto the few; many to please is but vain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + SCIENCE OF MUSIC. + + Let the creative art breathe life, and the bard furnish spirit; + But the soul is expressed by Polyhymnia alone. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + TO THE POET. + + Let thy speech be to thee what the body is to the loving; + Beings it only can part,—beings it only can join. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + LANGUAGE. + + Why can the living spirit be never seen by the spirit? + Soon as the soul 'gins to speak, then can the soul speak no more! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE MASTER. + + Other masters one always can tell by the words that they utter; + That which he wisely omits shows me the master of style. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE GIRDLE. + + Aphrodite preserves her beauty concealed by her girdle; + That which lends her her charms is what she covers—her shame. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE DILETTANTE. + + Merely because thou hast made a good verse in a language poetic, + One which composes for thee, thou art a poet forsooth! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE BABBLER OF ART. + + Dost thou desire the good in art? Of the good art thou worthy, + Which by a ne'er ceasing war 'gainst thee thyself is produced? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE PHILOSOPHIES. + + Which among the philosophies will be enduring? I know not, + But that philosophy's self ever may last is my hope. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE FAVOR OF THE MUSES. + + Fame with the vulgar expires; but, Muse immortal, thou bearest + Those whom thou lovest, who love thee, into Mnemosyne's arms. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + HOMER'S HEAD AS A SEAL. + + Trusty old Homer! to thee I confide the secret so tender; + For the raptures of love none but the bard should e'er know. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + GOODNESS AND GREATNESS. + + Only two virtues exist. Oh, would they were ever united! + Ever the good with the great, ever the great with the good! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE IMPULSES. + + Fear with his iron staff may urge the slave onward forever; + Rapture, do thou lead me on ever in roseate chains! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + NATURALISTS AND TRANSCENDENTAL PHILOSOPHERS. + + Enmity be between ye! Your union too soon is cemented; + Ye will but learn to know truth when ye divide in the search. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + GERMAN GENIUS. + + Strive, O German, for Roman-like strength and for Grecian-like beauty! + Thou art successful in both; ne'er has the Gaul had success. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THEOPHANIA. + + When the happy appear, I forget the gods in the heavens; + But before me they stand, when I the suffering see. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + TRIFLES. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE EPIC HEXAMETER. + + Giddily onward it bears thee with resistless impetuous billows; + Naught but the ocean and air seest thou before or behind. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE DISTICH. + + In the hexameter rises the fountain's watery column, + In the pentameter sweet falling in melody down. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE EIGHT-LINE STANZA. + + Stanza, by love thou'rt created,—by love, all-tender and yearning; + Thrice dost thou bashfully fly; thrice dost with longing return. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE OBELISK. + + On a pedestal lofty the sculptor in triumph has raised me. + "Stand thou," spake he,—and I stand proudly and joyfully here. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE TRIUMPHAL ARCH. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + +"Fear not," the builder exclaimed, "the rainbow that stands in the heavens; + I will extend thee, like it, into infinity far!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE BEAUTIFUL BRIDGE. + + Under me, over me, hasten the waters, the chariots; my builder + Kindly has suffered e'en me, over myself, too, to go! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE GATE. + + Let the gate open stand, to allure the savage to precepts; + Let it the citizen lead into free nature with joy. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + ST. PETER'S. + + If thou seekest to find immensity here, thou'rt mistaken; + For my greatness is meant greater to make thee thyself! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE PHILOSOPHERS. + + PUPIL. + I am rejoiced, worthy sirs, to find you in pleno assembled; + For I have come down below, seeking the one needful thing. + + ARISTOTLE. + Quick to the point, my good friend! For the Jena Gazette comes + to hand here, + Even in hell,—so we know all that is passing above. + + PUPIL. + So much the better! So give me (I will not depart hence without it) + Some good principle now,—one that will always avail! + + FIRST PHILOSOPHER. + Cogito, ergo sum. I have thought, and therefore existence! + If the first be but true, then is the second one sure. + + PUPIL. + As I think, I exist. 'Tis good! But who always is thinking? + Oft I've existed e'en when I have been thinking of naught. + + SECOND PHILOSOPHER. + Since there are things that exist, a thing of all things there must + needs be; + In the thing of all things dabble we, just as we are. + + THIRD PHILOSOPHER. + Just the reverse, say I. Besides myself there is nothing; + Everything else that there is is but a bubble to me. + + FOURTH PHILOSOPHER. + Two kinds of things I allow to exist,—the world and the spirit; + Naught of others I know; even these signify one. + + FIFTH PHILOSOPHER. + I know naught of the thing, and know still less of the spirit; + Both but appear unto me; yet no appearance they are. + + SIXTH PHILOSOPHER. + I am I, and settle myself,—and if I then settle + Nothing to be, well and good—there's a nonentity formed. + + SEVENTH PHILOSOPHER. + There is conception at least! A thing conceived there is, therefore; + And a conceiver as well,—which, with conception, make three. + + PUPIL. + All this nonsense, good sirs, won't answer my purpose a tittle: + I a real principle need,—one by which something is fixed. + + EIGHTH PHILOSOPHER. + Nothing is now to be found in the theoretical province; + Practical principles hold, such as: thou canst, for thou shouldst. + + PUPIL. + If I but thought so! When people know no more sensible answer, + Into the conscience at once plunge they with desperate haste. + + DAVID HUME. + Don't converse with those fellows! That Kant has turned them all crazy; + Speak to me, for in hell I am the same that I was. + + LAW POINT. + I have made use of my nose for years together to smell with; + Have I a right to my nose that can be legally proved? + + PUFFENDORF. + Truly a delicate point! Yet the first possession appeareth + In thy favor to tell; therefore make use of it still! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + SCRUPLE OF CONSCIENCE. + Willingly serve I my friends; but, alas, I do it with pleasure; + Therefore I often am vexed that no true virtue I have. + + DECISION. + As there is no other means, thou hadst better begin to despise them; + And with aversion, then, do that which thy duty commands. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE HOMERIDES. + + Who is the bard of the Iliad among you? For since he likes puddings, + Heyne begs he'll accept these that from Gottingen come. + "Give them to me! The kings' quarrel I sang!"— + "I, the fight near the vessels!"—"Hand me the puddings! + I sang what upon Ida took place!" + Gently! Don't tear me to pieces! The puddings will not be sufficient; + He by whom they are sent destined them only for one. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + G. G. + + Each one, when seen by himself, is passably wise and judicious; + When they in corpore are, naught but a blockhead is seen. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE MORAL POET. + + Man is in truth a poor creature,—I know it,—and fain would forget it; + Therefore (how sorry I am!) came I, alas, unto thee! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE DANAIDES. + + Into the sieve we've been pouring for years,— + o'er the stone we've been brooding; + But the stone never warms,—nor does the sieve ever fill. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE SUBLIME SUBJECT. + + 'Tis thy Muse's delight to sing God's pity to mortals; + But, that they pitiful are,—is it a matter for song? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE ARTIFICE. + + Wouldst thou give pleasure at once to the children of earth and + the righteous? + Draw the image of lust—adding the devil as well! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + IMMORTALITY. + + Dreadest thou the aspect of death! Thou wishest to live on forever? + Live in the whole, and when long thou shalt have gone, 'twill remain! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + JEREMIADS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + +All, both in prose and in verse, in Germany fast is decaying; + Far behind us, alas, lieth the golden age now! +For by philosophers spoiled is our language—our logic by poets, + And no more common sense governs our passage through life. +From the aesthetic, to which she belongs, now virtue is driven, + And into politics forced, where she's a troublesome guest. +Where are we hastening now? If natural, dull we are voted, + And if we put on constraint, then the world calls us absurd. +Oh, thou joyous artlessness 'mongst the poor maidens of Leipzig, + Witty simplicity come,—come, then, to glad us again! +Comedy, oh repeat thy weekly visits so precious, + Sigismund, lover so sweet,—Mascarill, valet jocose! +Tragedy, full of salt and pungency epigrammatic,— + And thou, minuet-step of our old buskin preserved! +Philosophic romance, thou mannikin waiting with patience, + When, 'gainst the pruner's attack, Nature defendeth herself! +Ancient prose, oh return,—so nobly and boldly expressing + All that thou thinkest and hast thought,—and what the reader thinks too +All, both in prose and in verse, in Germany fast is decaying; + Far behind us, alas, lieth the golden age now! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + SHAKESPEARE'S GHOST. + + A PARODY. + + I, too, at length discerned great Hercules' energy mighty,— + Saw his shade. He himself was not, alas, to be seen. + Round him were heard, like the screaming of birds, + the screams of tragedians, + And, with the baying of dogs, barked dramaturgists around. + There stood the giant in all his terrors; his bow was extended, + And the bolt, fixed on the string, steadily aimed at the heart. + "What still hardier action, unhappy one, dost thou now venture, + Thus to descend to the grave of the departed souls here?"— + "'Tis to see Tiresias I come, to ask of the prophet + Where I the buskin of old, that now has vanished, may find?" + "If they believe not in Nature, nor the old Grecian, but vainly + Wilt thou convey up from hence that dramaturgy to them." + "Oh, as for Nature, once more to tread our stage she has ventured, + Ay, and stark-naked beside, so that each rib we count." + "What? Is the buskin of old to be seen in truth on your stage, then, + Which even I came to fetch, out of mid-Tartarus' gloom?"— + "There is now no more of that tragic bustle, for scarcely + Once in a year on the boards moves thy great soul, harness-clad." + "Doubtless 'tis well! Philosophy now has refined your sensations, + And from the humor so bright fly the affections so black."— + "Ay, there is nothing that beats a jest that is stolid and barren, + But then e'en sorrow can please, if 'tis sufficiently moist." + "But do ye also exhibit the graceful dance of Thalia, + Joined to the solemn step with which Melpomene moves?"— + "Neither! For naught we love but what is Christian and moral; + And what is popular, too, homely, domestic, and plain." + "What? Does no Caesar, does no Achilles, appear on your stage now, + Not an Andromache e'en, not an Orestes, my friend?" + "No! there is naught to be seen there but parsons, + and syndics of commerce, + Secretaries perchance, ensigns, and majors of horse." + "But, my good friend, pray tell me, what can such people e'er meet with + That can be truly called great?—what that is great can they do?" + "What? Why they form cabals, they lend upon mortgage, they pocket + Silver spoons, and fear not e'en in the stocks to be placed." + "Whence do ye, then, derive the destiny, great and gigantic, + Which raises man up on high, e'en when it grinds him to dust?"— + "All mere nonsense! Ourselves, our worthy acquaintances also, + And our sorrows and wants, seek we, and find we, too, here." + "But all this ye possess at home both apter and better,— + Wherefore, then, fly from yourselves, if 'tis yourselves that ye seek?" + "Be not offended, great hero, for that is a different question; + Ever is destiny blind,—ever is righteous the bard." + "Then one meets on your stage your own contemptible nature, + While 'tis in vain one seeks there nature enduring and great?" + "There the poet is host, and act the fifth is the reckoning; + And, when crime becomes sick, virtue sits down to the feast!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE RIVERS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + RHINE. + + True, as becometh a Switzer, I watch over Germany's borders; + But the light-footed Gaul jumps o'er the suffering stream. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + RHINE AND MOSELLE. + + Many a year have I clasped in my arms the Lorrainian maiden; + But our union as yet ne'er has been blest with a son. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + DANUBE IN —— + + Round me are dwelling the falcon-eyed race, the Phaeacian people; + Sunday with them never ends; ceaselessly moves round the spit. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + MAIN. + + Ay, it is true that my castles are crumbling; yet, to my comfort, + Have I for centuries past seen my old race still endure. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + SAALE. + + Short is my course, during which I salute many princes and nations; + Yet the princes are good—ay! and the nations are free. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + ILM. + + Poor are my banks, it is true; but yet my soft-flowing waters + Many immortal lays here, borne by the current along. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + PLEISSE. + + Flat is my shore and shallow my current; alas, all my writers, + Both in prose and in verse, drink far too deep of its stream! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + ELBE. + + All ye others speak only a jargon; 'mongst Germany's rivers + None speak German but me; I but in Misnia alone. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + SPREE. + + Ramler once gave me language,—my Caesar a subject; and therefore + I had my mouth then stuffed full; but I've been silent since that. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + WESER. + + Nothing, alas, can be said about me; I really can't furnish + Matter enough to the Muse e'en for an epigram, small. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + MINERAL WATERS AT ——. + + Singular country! what excellent taste in its fountains and rivers + In its people alone none have I ever yet found! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + PEGNTTZ. + + I for a long time have been a hypochondriacal subject; + I but flow on because it has my habit been long. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE —— RIVERS. + + We would gladly remain in the lands that own—as their masters; + Soft their yoke ever is, and all their burdens are light. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + SALZACH. + + I, to salt the archbishopric, come from Juvavia's mountains; + Then to Bavaria turn, where they have great need of salt! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE ANONYMOUS RIVER. + + Lenten food for the pious bishop's table to furnish, + By my Creator I'm poured over the famishing land. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + LES FLEUVES INDISCRETS. + + Pray be silent, ye rivers! One sees ye have no more discretion + Than, in a case we could name, Diderot's favorites had. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + ZENITH AND NADIR. + + Wheresoever thou wanderest in space, thy Zenith and Nadir + Unto the heavens knit thee, unto the axis of earth. + Howsoever thou attest, let heaven be moved by thy purpose, + Let the aim of thy deeds traverse the axis of earth! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + KANT AND HIS COMMENTATORS. + + See how a single rich man gives a living to numbers of beggars! + 'Tis when sovereigns build, carters are kept in employ. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE PHILOSOPHERS. + + The principle by which each thing + Toward strength and shape first tended,— + The pulley whereon Zeus the ring + Of earth, that loosely used to swing, + With cautiousness suspended,— + he is a clever man, I vow, + Who its real name can tell me now, + Unless to help him I consent— + 'Tis: ten and twelve are different! + + Fire burns,—'tis chilly when it snows, + Man always is two-footed,— + The sun across the heavens goes,— + This, he who naught of logic knows + Finds to his reason suited. + Yet he who metaphysics learns, + Knows that naught freezes when it burns— + Knows that what's wet is never dry,— + And that what's bright attracts the eye. + + Old Homer sings his noble lays, + The hero goes through dangers; + The brave man duty's call obeys, + And did so, even in the days + When sages yet were strangers— + But heart and genius now have taught + What Locke and what Descartes never thought; + By them immediately is shown + That which is possible alone. + + In life avails the right of force. + The bold the timid worries; + Who rules not, is a slave of course, + Without design each thing across + Earth's stage forever hurries. + Yet what would happen if the plan + Which guides the world now first began, + Within the moral system lies + Disclosed with clearness to our eyes. + + "When man would seek his destiny, + Man's help must then be given; + Save for the whole, ne'er labors he,— + Of many drops is formed the sea,— + By water mills are driven; + Therefore the wolf's wild species flies,— + Knit are the state's enduring ties." + Thus Puffendorf and Feder, each + Is, ex cathedra, wont to teach. + + Yet, if what such professors say, + Each brain to enter durst not, + Nature exerts her mother-sway, + Provides that ne'er the chain gives way, + And that the ripe fruits burst not. + Meanwhile, until earth's structure vast + Philosophy can bind at last, + 'Tis she that bids its pinion move, + By means of hunger and of love! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE METAPHYSICIAN. + + "How far beneath me seems the earthly ball! + The pigmy race below I scarce can see; + How does my art, the noblest art of all, + Bear me close up to heaven's bright canopy!" + So cries the slater from his tower's high top, + And so the little would-be mighty man, + Hans Metaphysicus, from out his critic-shop. + Explain, thou little would-be mighty man! + The tower from which thy looks the world survey, + Whereof,—whereon is it erected, pray? + How didst thou mount it? Of what use to thee + Its naked heights, save o'er the vale to see? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + PEGASUS IN HARNESS. + + Once to a horse-fair,—it may perhaps have been + Where other things are bought and sold,—I mean + At the Haymarket,—there the muses' horse + A hungry poet brought—to sell, of course. + + 'The hippogriff neighed shrilly, loudly, + And reared upon his hind-legs proudly; + In utter wonderment each stood and cried: + "The noble regal beast!" But, woe betide! + Two hideous wings his slender form deface, + The finest team he else would not disgrace. + "The breed," said they, "is doubtless rare, + But who would travel through the air?" + Not one of them would risk his gold. + At length a farmer grew more bold: + "As for his wings, I of no use should find them, + But then how easy 'tis to clip or bind them! + The horse for drawing may be useful found,— + So, friend, I don't mind giving twenty pound!" + The other glad to sell his merchandise, + Cried, "Done!"—and Hans rode off upon his prize. + + The noble creature was, ere long, put-to, + But scarcely felt the unaccustomed load, + Than, panting to soar upwards, off he flew, + And, filled with honest anger, overthrew + The cart where an abyss just met the road. + "Ho! ho!" thought Hans: "No cart to this mad beast + I'll trust. Experience makes one wise at least. + To drive the coach to-morrow now my course is, + And he as leader in the team shall go. + The lively fellow'll save me full two horses; + As years pass on, he'll doubtless tamer grow." + + All went on well at first. The nimble steed + His partners roused,—like lightning was their speed. + What happened next? Toward heaven was turned his eye,— + Unused across the solid ground to fly, + He quitted soon the safe and beaten course, + And true to nature's strong resistless force, + Ran over bog and moor, o'er hedge and pasture tilled; + An equal madness soon the other horses filled— + No reins could hold them in, no help was near, + Till,—only picture the poor travellers' fear!— + The coach, well shaken, and completely wrecked, + Upon a hill's steep top at length was checked. + + "If this is always sure to be the case," + Hans cried, and cut a very sorry face, + "He'll never do to draw a coach or wagon; + Let's see if we can't tame the fiery dragon + By means of heavy work and little food." + And so the plan was tried.—But what ensued? + The handsome beast, before three days had passed, + Wasted to nothing. "Stay! I see at last!" + Cried Hans. "Be quick, you fellows! yoke him now + With my most sturdy ox before the plough." + + </pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="4pa292 (136K)" src="images/4pa292.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + No sooner said than done. In union queer + Together yoked were soon winged horse and steer. + The griffin pranced with rage, and his remaining might + Exerted to resume his old-accustomed flight. + 'Twas all in vain—his partner stepped with circumspection, + And Phoebus' haughty steed must follow his direction; + Until at last, by long resistance spent, + When strength his limbs no longer was controlling, + The noble creature, with affliction bent, + Fell to the ground, and in the dust lay rolling. + "Accursed beast!" at length with fury mad + Hans shouted, while he soundly plied the lash,— + "Even for ploughing, then, thou art too bad!— + That fellow was a rogue to sell such trash!" + + Ere yet his heavy blows had ceased to fly, + A brisk and merry youth by chance came by. + A lute was tinkling in his hand, + And through his light and flowing hair + Was twined with grace a golden band. + "Whither, my friend, with that strange pair?" + From far he to the peasant cried. + "A bird and ox to one rope tied— + Was such a team e'er heard of, pray? + Thy horse's worth I'd fain essay; + Just for one moment lend him me,— + Observe, and thou shalt wonders see!" + + The hippogriff was loosened from the plough, + Upon his back the smiling youth leaped now; + No sooner did the creature understand + That he was guided by a master-hand, + Than 'ginst his bit he champed, and upward soared + While lightning from his flaming eyes outpoured. + No longer the same being, royally + A spirit, ay, a god, ascended he, + Spread in a moment to the stormy wind + His noble wings, and left the earth behind, + And, ere the eye could follow him, + Had vanished in the heavens dim. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + KNOWLEDGE. + + Knowledge to one is a goddess both heavenly and high,—to another + Only an excellent cow, yielding the butter he wants. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE POETRY OF LIFE. + + "Who would himself with shadows entertain, + Or gild his life with lights that shine in vain, + Or nurse false hopes that do but cheat the true?— + Though with my dream my heaven should be resigned— + Though the free-pinioned soul that once could dwell + In the large empire of the possible, + This workday life with iron chains may bind, + Yet thus the mastery o'er ourselves we find, + And solemn duty to our acts decreed, + Meets us thus tutored in the hour of need, + With a more sober and submissive mind! + How front necessity—yet bid thy youth + Shun the mild rule of life's calm sovereign, truth." + + So speakest thou, friend, how stronger far than I; + As from experience—that sure port serene— + Thou lookest;—and straight, a coldness wraps the sky, + The summer glory withers from the scene, + Scared by the solemn spell; behold them fly, + The godlike images that seemed so fair! + Silent the playful Muse—the rosy hours + Halt in their dance; and the May-breathing flowers + Fall from the sister-graces' waving hair. + Sweet-mouthed Apollo breaks his golden lyre, + Hermes, the wand with many a marvel rife;— + The veil, rose-woven, by the young desire + With dreams, drops from the hueless cheeks of life. + The world seems what it is—a grave! and love + Casts down the bondage wound his eyes above, + And sees!—He sees but images of clay + Where he dreamed gods; and sighs—and glides away. + The youngness of the beautiful grows old, + And on thy lips the bride's sweet kiss seems cold; + And in the crowd of joys—upon thy throne + Thou sittest in state, and hardenest into stone. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + TO GOETHE, + + ON HIS PRODUCING VOLTAIRE'S "MAHOMET" ON THE STAGE. + + Thou, by whom, freed from rules constrained and wrong, + On truth and nature once again we're placed,— + Who, in the cradle e'en a hero strong, + Stiffest the serpents round our genius laced,— + Thou whom the godlike science has so long + With her unsullied sacred fillet graced,— + Dost thou on ruined altars sacrifice + To that false muse whom we no longer prize? + + This theatre belongs to native art, + No foreign idols worshipped here are seen; + A laurel we can show, with joyous heart, + That on the German Pindus has grown green + The sciences' most holy, hidden part + The German genius dares to enter e'en, + And, following the Briton and the Greek, + A nobler glory now attempts to seek. + + For yonder, where slaves kneel, and despots hold + The reins,—where spurious greatness lifts its head, + Art has no power the noble there to mould, + 'Tis by no Louis that its seed is spread; + From its own fulness it must needs unfold, + By earthly majesty 'tis never fed; + 'Tis with truth only it can e'er unite, + Its glow free spirits only e'er can light. + + 'Tis not to bind us in a worn-out chain + Thou dost this play of olden time recall,— + 'Tis not to seek to lead us back again + To days when thoughtless childhood ruled o'er all. + It were, in truth, an idle risk and vain + Into the moving wheel of time to fall; + The winged hours forever bear it on, + The new arrives, and, lo! the old has gone. + + The narrow theatre is now more wide, + Into its space a universe now steals; + In pompous words no longer is our pride, + Nature we love when she her form reveals; + Fashion's false rules no more are deified; + And as a man the hero acts and feels. + 'Tis passion makes the notes of freedom sound, + And 'tis in truth the beautiful is found. + + Weak is the frame of Thespis' chariot fair, + Resembling much the bark of Acheron, + That carries naught but shades and forms of air; + And if rude life should venture to press on, + The fragile bark its weight no more can bear, + For fleeting spirits it can hold alone. + Appearance ne'er can reach reality,— + If nature be victorious, art must fly. + + For on the stage's boarded scaffold here + A world ideal opens to our eyes, + Nothing is true and genuine save—a tear; + Emotion on no dream of sense relies. + The real Melpomene is still sincere, + Naught as a fable merely she supplies— + By truth profound to charm us is her care; + The false one, truth pretends, but to ensnare. + + Now from the scene, art threatens to retire, + Her kingdom wild maintains still phantasy; + The stage she like the world would set on fire, + The meanest and the noblest mingles she. + The Frank alone 'tis art can now inspire, + And yet her archetype can his ne'er be; + In bounds unchangeable confining her, + He holds her fast, and vainly would she stir. + + The stage to him is pure and undefiled; + Chased from the regions that to her belong + Are Nature's tones, so careless and so wild, + To him e'en language rises into song; + A realm harmonious 'tis, of beauty mild, + Where limb unites to limb in order strong. + The whole into a solemn temple blends, + And 'tis the dance that grace to motion lends. + + And yet the Frank must not be made our guide. + For in his art no living spirit reigns: + The boasting gestures of a spurious pride + That mind which only loves the true disdains. + To nobler ends alone be it applied, + Returning, like some soul's long-vanished manes. + To render the oft-sullied stage once more + A throne befitting the great muse of yore. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE PRESENT. + + Ring and staff, oh to me on a Rhenish flask ye are welcome! + Him a true shepherd I call, who thus gives drink to his sheep. + Draught thrice blest! It is by the Muse I have won thee,—the Muse, too, + Sends thee,—and even the church places upon thee her seal. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + DEPARTURE FROM LIFE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + +Two are the roads that before thee lie open from life to conduct thee; + To the ideal one leads thee, the other to death. +See that while yet thou art free, on the first thou commencest thy journey, + Ere by the merciless fates on to the other thou'rt led! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + VERSES WRITTEN IN THE FOLIO ALBUM OF A LEARNED FRIEND. + + Once wisdom dwelt in tomes of ponderous size, + While friendship from a pocketbook would talk; + But now that knowledge in small compass lies, + And floats in almanacs, as light as cork, + Courageous man, thou dost not hesitate + To open for thy friends this house so great! + Hast thou no fear, I seriously would ask, + That thou may'st thus their patience overtask? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + VERSES WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF A FRIEND. + + (HERR VON MECHELN OF BASLE.) + + Nature in charms is exhaustless, in beauty ever reviving; + And, like Nature, fair art is inexhaustible too. + Hail, thou honored old man! for both in thy heart thou preservest + Living sensations, and thus ne'er-ending youth is thy lot! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE SUNDAY CHILDREN. + + Years has the master been laboring, but always without satisfaction; + To an ingenious race 'twould be in vision conferred. + What they yesterday learned, to-day they fain would be teaching: + Small compassion, alas, is by those gentlemen shown! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE HIGHEST. + + Seerest thou the highest, the greatest! + In that the plant can instruct thee; + What it unwittingly is, be thou of thine own free will! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE PUPPET-SHOW OF LIFE. + + Thou'rt welcome in my box to peep! + Life's puppet-show, the world in little, + Thou'lt see depicted to a tittle,— + But pray at some small distance keep! + 'Tis by the torch of love alone, + By Cupid's taper, it is shown. + + See, not a moment void the stage is! + The child in arms at first they bring,— + The boy then skips,—the youth now storms and rages,— + The man contends, and ventures everything! + + Each one attempts success to find, + Yet narrow is the race-course ever; + The chariot rolls, the axles quiver, + The hero presses on, the coward stays behind, + The proud man falls with mirth-inspiring fall, + The wise man overtakes them all! + + Thou see'st fair woman it the barrier stand, + With beauteous hands, with smiling eyes, + To glad the victor with his prize. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + TO LAWGIVERS. + + Ever take it for granted, that man collectively wishes + That which is right; but take care never to think so of one! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + FALSE IMPULSE TO STUDY. + + Oh, how many new foes against truth! My very soul bleedeth + When I behold the owl-race now bursting forth to the light. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE HEREDITARY PRINCE OF WEIMAR, ON HIS PROCEEDING TO PARIS. + + (SUNG IN A CIRCLE OF FRIENDS.) + + With one last bumper let us hail + The wanderer beloved, + Who takes his leave of this still vale + Wherein in youth he roved. + + From loving arms, from native home, + He tears himself away, + To yonder city proud to roam, + That makes whole lands its prey. + + Dissension flies, all tempests end, + And chained is strife abhorred; + We in the crater may descend + From whence the lava poured. + + A gracious fate conduct thee through + Life's wild and mazy track! + A bosom nature gave thee true,— + A bosom true bring back! + + Thou'lt visit lands that war's wild train + Had crushed with careless heed; + Now smiling peace salutes the plain, + And strews the golden seed. + + The hoary Father Rhine thou'lt greet, + Who thy forefather <a href="#linknote-58" name="linknoteref-58" + id="linknoteref-58">58</a> blest + Will think of, whilst his waters fleet + In ocean's bed to rest. + + Do homage to the hero's manes, + And offer to the Rhine, + The German frontier who maintains, + His own-created wine,— + + So that thy country's soul thy guide + May be, when thou hast crossed + On the frail bark to yonder side, + Where German faith is lost! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE IDEAL OF WOMAN. + + TO AMANDA. + + Woman in everything yields to man; but in that which is highest, + Even the manliest man yields to the woman most weak. + But that highest,—what is it? The gentle radiance of triumph + As in thy brow upon me, beauteous Amanda, it beams. + When o'er the bright shining disk the clouds of affliction are fleeting, + Fairer the image appears, seen through the vapor of gold. + Man may think himself free! thou art so,—for thou never knowest + What is the meaning of choice,—know'st not necessity's name. + That which thou givest, thou always givest wholly; but one art thou ever, + Even thy tenderest sound is thine harmonious self. + Youth everlasting dwells here, with fulness that never is exhausted, + And with the flower at once pluckest thou the ripe golden fruit. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE FOUNTAIN OF SECOND YOUTH. + + Trust me, 'tis not a mere tale,—the fountain of youth really runneth, + Runneth forever. Thou ask'st, where? In the poet's sweet art! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + WILLIAM TELL. <a href="#linknote-59" name="linknoteref-59" + id="linknoteref-59">59</a> + + When hostile elements with rage resound, + And fury blindly fans war's lurid flame,— + When in the strife of party quarrel drowned, + The voice of justice no regard can claim,— + When crime is free, and impious hands are found + The sacred to pollute, devoid of shame, + And loose the anchor which the state maintains,— + No subject there we find for joyous strains. + + But when a nation, that its flocks still feeds + With calm content, nor other's wealth desires + Throws off the cruel yoke 'neath which it bleeds, + Yet, e'en in wrath, humanity admires,— + And, e'en in triumph, moderation heeds,— + That is immortal, and our song requires. + To show thee such an image now is mine; + Thou knowest it well, for all that's great is thine! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + TO A YOUNG FRIEND DEVOTING HIMSELF TO PHILOSOPHY. + + Severe the proof the Grecian youth was doomed to undergo, + Before he might what lurks beneath the Eleusinia know— + Art thou prepared and ripe, the shrine—the inner shrine—to win, + Where Pallas guards from vulgar eyes the mystic prize within? + Knowest thou what bars thy way? how dear the bargain thou dost make, + When but to buy uncertain good, sure good thou dost forsake? + Feel'st thou sufficient strength to brave the deadliest human fray, + When heart from reason—sense from thought, shall rend themselves away? + Sufficient valor, war with doubt, the hydra-shape, to wage; + And that worst foe within thyself with manly soul engage? + With eyes that keep their heavenly health—the innocence of youth + To guard from every falsehood, fair beneath the mask of truth? + Fly, if thou canst not trust thy heart to guide thee on the way— + Oh, fly the charmed margin ere th' abyss engulf its prey. + Round many a step that seeks the light, the shades of midnight close; + But in the glimmering twilight, see—how safely childhood goes! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + EXPECTATION AND FULFILMENT. + + Into life's ocean the youth with a thousand masts daringly launches; + Mute, in a boat saved from wreck, enters the gray-beard the port. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE COMMON FATE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + +See how we hate, how we quarrel, how thought and how feeling divide us! + But thy locks, friend, like mine, meanwhile are bleachening fast. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + HUMAN ACTION. + + Where the pathway begins, eternity seems to lie open, + Yet at the narrowest point even the wisest man stops. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + NUPTIAL ODE. <a href="#linknote-60" name="linknoteref-60" + id="linknoteref-60">60</a> + + Fair bride, attended by our blessing, + Glad Hymen's flowery path 'gin pressing! + We witnessed with enraptured eye + The graces of thy soul unfolding, + Thy youthful charms their beauty moulding + To blossom for love's ecstasy. + A happy fate now hovers round thee, + And friendship yields without a smart + To that sweet god whose might hath bound thee;— + He needs must have, he hath thy heart! + + To duties dear, to trouble tender, + Thy youthful breast must now surrender, + Thy garland's summons must obey. + Each toying infantine sensation, + Each fleeting sport of youth's creation, + Forevermore hath passed away; + And Hymen's sacred bond now chaineth + Where soft and fluttering love was shrined; + Yet for a heart, where beauty reigneth, + Of flowers alone that bond is twined. + + The secret that can keep forever + In verdant links, that naught can sever, + The bridal garland, wouldst thou find? + 'Tis purity the heart pervading, + The blossoms of a grace unfading, + And yet with modest shame combined, + Which, like the sun's reflection glowing, + Makes every heart throb blissfully;— + 'Tis looks with mildness overflowing, + And self-maintaining dignity! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE NEW CENTURY. + + Where will a place of refuge, noble friend, + For peace and freedom ever open lie! + The century in tempests had its end, + The new one now begins with murder's cry. + + Each land-connecting bond is torn away, + Each ancient custom hastens to decline; + Not e'en the ocean can war's tumult stay. + Not e'en the Nile-god, not the hoary Rhine. + + Two mighty nations strive, with hostile power, + For undivided mastery of the world; + And, by them, each land's freedom to devour, + The trident brandished is—the lightning hurled. + + Each country must to them its gold afford, + And, Brennus-like, upon the fatal day, + The Frank now throws his heavy iron sword, + The even scales of justice to o'erweigh. + + His merchant-fleets the Briton greedily + Extends, like polyp-limbs, on every side; + And the domain of Amphitrite free + As if his home it were, would fain bestride. + + E'en to the south pole's dim, remotest star, + His restless course moves onward, unrestrained; + Each isle he tracks,—each coast, however far, + But paradise alone he ne'er has gained! + + Although thine eye may every map explore, + Vainly thou'lt seek to find that blissful place, + Where freedom's garden smiles for evermore, + And where in youth still blooms the human race. + + Before thy gaze the world extended lies, + The very shipping it can scarce embrace; + And yet upon her back, of boundless size, + E'en for ten happy men there is not space! + + Into thy bosom's holy, silent cells, + Thou needs must fly from life's tumultuous throng! + Freedom but in the realm of vision dwells, + And beauty bears no blossoms but in song. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + GRECIAN GENIUS. + + TO MEYER IN ITALY. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + +Speechless to thousands of others, who with deaf hearts would consult him, + Talketh the spirit to thee, who art his kinsman and friend. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE FATHER. + + Work as much as thou wilt, alone thou'lt be standing forever, + Till by nature thou'rt joined forcibly on to the whole. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE CONNECTING MEDIUM. + + How does nature proceed to unite the high and the lowly + In mankind? She commands vanity 'tween them to stand! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + THE MOMENT. + + Doubtless an epoch important has with the century risen; + But the moment so great finds but a race of small worth. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + GERMAN COMEDY. + + Fools we may have in plenty, and simpletons, too, by the dozen; + But for comedy these never make use of themselves. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + FAREWELL TO THE READER. + + A maiden blush o'er every feature straying, + The Muse her gentle harp now lays down here, + And stands before thee, for thy judgment praying,— + She waits with reverence, but not with fear; + Her last farewell for his kind smile delaying. + Whom splendor dazzles not who holds truth dear. + The hand of him alone whose soaring spirit + Worships the beautiful, can crown her merit. + + These simple lays are only heard resounding, + While feeling hearts are gladdened by their tone, + With brighter phantasies their path surrounding, + To nobler aims their footsteps guiding on. + Yet coming ages ne'er will hear them sounding, + They live but for the present hour alone; + The passing moment called them into being, + And, as the hours dance on, they, too, are fleeing. + + The spring returns, and nature then awaking, + Bursts into life across the smiling plain; + Each shrub its perfume through the air is shaking, + And heaven is filled with one sweet choral strain; + While young and old, their secret haunts forsaking, + With raptured eye and ear rejoice again. + The spring then flies,—to seed return the flowers. + And naught remains to mark the vanished hours. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DEDICATION TO DEATH, MY PRINCIPAL. + </h2> + <p> + Most high and mighty Czar of all flesh, ceaseless reducer of empires, + unfathomable glutton in the whole realms of nature. + </p> + <p> + With the most profound flesh-creeping I take the liberty of kissing the + rattling leg-bones of your voracious Majesty, and humbly laying this + little book at your dried-up feet. My predecessors have always been + accustomed, as if on purpose to annoy you, to transport their goods and + chattels to the archives of eternity, directly under your nose, forgetting + that, by so doing, they only made your mouth water the more, for the + proverb—Stolen bread tastes sweetest—is applicable even to + you. No! I prefer to dedicate this work to you, feeling assured that you + will throw it aside. + </p> + <p> + But, joking apart! methinks we two know each other better than by mere + hearsay. Enrolled in the order of Aesculapius, the first-born of Pandora's + box, as old as the fall of man, I have stood at your altar,— have + sworn undying hatred to your hereditary foe, Nature, as the son of + Hamilcar to the seven hills of Rome,—have sworn to besiege her with + a whole army of medicines,—to throw up barricades round the + obstinate soul,—to drive from the field the insolents who cut down + your fees and cripple your finances,—and on the Archaean + battle-plain to plant your midnight standard. In return (for one good turn + deserves another), you must prepare for me the precious TALISMAN, which + can save me from the gallows and the wheel uninjured, and with a whole + skin— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + Jusque datum sceleri. +</pre> + <p> + Come then! act the generous Maecenas; for observe, I should be sorry to + fare like my foolhardy colleagues and cousins, who, armed with stiletto + and pocket-pistol, hold their court in gloomy ravines, or mix in the + subterranean laboratory the wondrous polychrest, which, when taken with + proper zeal, tickles our political noses, either too little or too much, + with throne vacancies or state-fevers. D'Amiens and Ravaillac!—Ho, + ho, ho!—'Tis a good thing for straight limbs! + </p> + <p> + Perhaps you have been whetting your teeth at Easter and Michaelmas?—the + great book-epidemic times at Leipzig and Frankfort! Hurrah for the + waste-paper!—'twill make a royal feast. Your nimble brokers, + Gluttony and Lust, bring you whole cargoes from the fair of life. Even + Ambition, your grandpapa—War, Famine, Fire, and Plague, your mighty + huntsmen, have provided you with many a jovial man-chase. Avarice and + Covetousness, your sturdy butlers, drink to your health whole towns + floating in the bubbling cup of the world-ocean. I know a kitchen in + Europe where the rarest dishes have been served up in your honor with + festive pomp. And yet—who has ever known you to be satisfied, or to + complain of indigestion? Your digestive faculties are of iron; your + entrails fathomless! + </p> + <p> + Pooh—I had many other things to say to you, but I am in a hurry to + be off. You are an ugly brother-in-law—go! I hear you are + calculating on living to see a general collation, where great and small, + globes and lexicons, philosophies and knick-knacks, will fly into your + jaws—a good appetite to you, should it come to that.—Yet, + ravenous wolf that you are! take care that you don't overeat yourself, and + have to disgorge to a hair all that you have swallowed, as a certain + Athenian (no particular friend of yours, by-the-by) has prophesied. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE. + </h2> + <p> + TOBOLSKO, 2d February. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + Tum primum radiis gelidi incaluere Triones. +</pre> + <p> + Flowers in Siberia? Behind this lies a piece of knavery, or the sun must + make face against midnight. And yet—if ye were to exert yourselves! + 'Tis really so; we have been hunting sables long enough; let us for once + in a way try our luck with flowers. Have not enough Europeans come to us + stepsons of the sun, and waded through our hundred years' snow, to pluck a + modest flower? Shame upon our ancestors—we'll gather them ourselves, + and frank a whole basketful to Europe. Do not crush them, ye children of a + milder heaven! + </p> + <p> + But to be serious; to remove the iron weight of prejudice that broods + heavily over the north, requires a stronger lever than the enthusiasm of a + few individuals, and a firmer Hypomochlion than the shoulders of two or + three patriots. Yet if this anthology reconciles you squeamish Europeans + to us snow-men as little as—let's suppose the case—our "Muses' + Almanac," <a href="#linknote-61" name="linknoteref-61" id="linknoteref-61">61</a> + which we—let's again suppose the case—might have written, it + will at least have the merit of helping its companions through the whole + of Germany to give the last neck-stab to expiring taste, as we people of + Tobolsko like to word it. + </p> + <p> + If your Homers talk in their sleep, and your Herculeses kill flies with + their clubs—if every one who knows how to give vent to his portion + of sorrow in dreary Alexandrines, interprets that as a call to Helicon, + shall we northerns be blamed for tinkling the Muses' lyre?—Your + matadors claim to have coined silver when they have stamped their effigy + on wretched pewter; and at Tobolsko coiners are hanged. 'Tis true that you + may often find paper-money amongst us instead of Russian roubles, but war + and hard times are an excuse for anything. + </p> + <p> + Go forth then, Siberian anthology! Go! Thou wilt make many a coxcomb + happy, wilt be placed by him on the toilet-table of his sweetheart, and in + reward wilt obtain her alabaster, lily-white hand for his tender kiss. Go! + thou wilt fill up many a weary gulf of ennui in assemblies and + city-visits, and may be relieve a Circassienne, who has confessed herself + weary amidst a shower of calumnies. Go! thou wilt be consulted in the + kitchens of many critics; they will fly thy light, and like the + screech-owl, retreat into thy shadow. Ho, ho, ho! Already I hear the + ear-cracking howls in the inhospitable forest, and anxiously conceal + myself in my sable. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkfootnotes" id="linkfootnotes"></a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + FOOTNOTES: + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + <a href="#linknoteref-14" name="linknote-14" id="linknote-14">14</a> In Schiller the eight long lines that conclude each stanza of + this charming love-poem, instead of rhyming alternately as in the + translation, chime somewhat to the tune of Byron's Don Juan—six lines + rhyming with each other, and the two last forming a separate couplet. + In other respects the translation, it is hoped, is sufficiently close + and literal. + + <a href="#linknoteref-15" name="linknote-15" id="linknote-15">15</a> The peach. + + <a href="#linknoteref-16" name="linknote-16" id="linknote-16">16</a> Sung in "The Parasite," a comedy which Schiller translated from + Picard—much the best comedy, by the way, that Picard ever wrote. + + <a href="#linknoteref-17" name="linknote-17" id="linknote-17">17</a> The idea diffused by the translator through this and the preceding + stanza is more forcibly condensed by Schiller in four lines. + + <a href="#linknoteref-18" name="linknote-18" id="linknote-18">18</a> "And ere a man hath power to say, 'behold,' + The jaws of Darkness do devour it up, + So quick bright things come to confusion."— + SHAKESPEARE. + + 19 The three following ballads, in which Switzerland is the scene, + betray their origin in Schiller's studies for the drama of William Tell. + + <a href="#linknoteref-20" name="linknote-20" id="linknote-20">20</a> The avalanche—the equivoque of the original, turning on the Swiss + word Lawine, it is impossible to render intelligible to the English + reader. The giants in the preceding line are the rocks that overhang the + pass which winds now to the right, now to the left, of a roaring stream. + + <a href="#linknoteref-21" name="linknote-21" id="linknote-21">21</a> The Devil's Bridge. The Land of Delight (called in Tell "a serene + valley of joy") to which the dreary portal (in Tell the black rock gate) + leads, is the Urse Vale. The four rivers, in the next stanza, are the + Reus, the Rhine, the Tessin, and the Rhone. + + <a href="#linknoteref-22" name="linknote-22" id="linknote-22">22</a> The everlasting glacier. See William Tell, act v, scene 2. + + <a href="#linknoteref-23" name="linknote-23" id="linknote-23">23</a> This has been paraphrased by Coleridge. + + <a href="#linknoteref-24" name="linknote-24" id="linknote-24">24</a> Ajax the Less. + + <a href="#linknoteref-25" name="linknote-25" id="linknote-25">25</a> Ulysses. + + <a href="#linknoteref-26" name="linknote-26" id="linknote-26">26</a> Achilles. + + <a href="#linknoteref-27" name="linknote-27" id="linknote-27">27</a> Diomed. + + <a href="#linknoteref-28" name="linknote-28" id="linknote-28">28</a> Cassandra. + + <a href="#linknoteref-29" name="linknote-29" id="linknote-29">29</a> It may be scarcely necessary to treat, however briefly, of the + mythological legend on which this exquisite elegy is founded; yet we + venture to do so rather than that the forgetfulness of the reader should + militate against his enjoyment of the poem. Proserpine, according to the + Homeride (for the story is not without variations), when gathering + flowers with the Ocean-Nymphs, is carried off by Aidoneus, or Pluto. Her + mother, Ceres, wanders over the earth for her in vain, and refuses to + return to heaven till her daughter is restored to her. Finally, Jupiter + commissions Hermes to persuade Pluto to render up his bride, who rejoins + Ceres at Eleusis. Unfortunately she has swallowed a pomegranate seed in + the Shades below, and is thus mysteriously doomed to spend one-third of + the year with her husband in Hades, though for the remainder of the year + she is permitted to dwell with Ceres and the gods. This is one of the + very few mythological fables of Greece which can be safely interpreted + into an allegory. Proserpine denotes the seed-corn one-third of the year + below the earth; two-thirds (that is, dating from the appearance of the + ear) above it. Schiller has treated this story with admirable and + artistic beauty; and, by an alteration in its symbolical character has + preserved the pathos of the external narrative, and heightened the beauty + of the interior meaning—associating the productive principle of the + earth with the immortality of the soul. Proserpine here is not the + symbol of the buried seed, but the buried seed is the symbol of her—that + is, of the dead. The exquisite feeling of this poem consoled Schiller's + friend, Sophia La Roche, in her grief for her son's death. + <a href="#linknoteref-30" name="linknote-30" id="linknote-30">30</a> What a beautiful vindication of the shortness of human life! + + <a href="#linknoteref-31" name="linknote-31" id="linknote-31">31</a> The corn-flower. + + <a href="#linknoteref-32" name="linknote-32" id="linknote-32">32</a> For this story, see Herodotus, book iii, sections 40-43. + + <a href="#linknoteref-33" name="linknote-33" id="linknote-33">33</a> President of Council of Five Hundred. + + <a href="#linknoteref-34" name="linknote-34" id="linknote-34">34</a> We have already seen in "The Ring of Polycrates," Schiller's mode + of dealing with classical subjects. In the poems that follow, derived + from similar sources, the same spirit is maintained. In spite of + Humboldt, we venture to think that Schiller certainly does not narrate + Greek legends in the spirit of an ancient Greek. The Gothic sentiment, + in its ethical depth and mournful tenderness, more or less pervades all + that he translates from classic fable into modern pathos. The grief of + Hero in the ballad subjoined, touches closely on the lamentations of + Thekla, in "Wallenstein." The Complaint of Ceres, embodies Christian + grief and Christian hope. The Trojan Cassandra expresses the moral of + the Northern Faust. Even the "Victory Feast" changes the whole spirit of + Homer, on whom it is founded, by the introduction of the ethical + sentiment at the close, borrowed, as a modern would apply what he so + borrows from the moralizing Horace. Nothing can be more foreign to the + Hellenic genius, (if we except the very disputable intention of the + "Prometheus"), than the interior and typical design which usually exalts + every conception in Schiller. But it is perfectly open to the modern + poet to treat of ancient legends in the modern spirit. Though he selects + a Greek story, he is still a modern who narrates—he can never make + himself a Greek any more than Aeschylus in the "Persae" could make + himself a Persian. But this is still more the privilege of the poet in + narrative, or lyrical composition, than in the drama, for in the former + he does not abandon his identity, as in the latter he must—yet even this + must has its limits. Shakspeare's wonderful power of self-transfusion has + no doubt enabled him, in his plays from Roman history, to animate his + characters with much of Roman life. But no one can maintain that a Roman + would ever have written plays in the least resembling "Julius Caesar," or + "Coriolanus," or "Antony and Cleopatra." The portraits may be Roman, but + they are painted in the manner of the Gothic school. The spirit of + antiquity is only in them, inasmuch as the representation of human + nature, under certain circumstances, is accurately, though loosely + outlined. When the poet raises the dead, it is not to restore, but to + remodel. + + <a href="#linknoteref-35" name="linknote-35" id="linknote-35">35</a> This notes the time of year—not the time of day—viz., about the + 23d of September.—HOFFMEISTER. + + <a href="#linknoteref-36" name="linknote-36" id="linknote-36">36</a> Hecate as the mysterious goddess of Nature.—HOFFMEISTER. + + <a href="#linknoteref-37" name="linknote-37" id="linknote-37">37</a> This story, the heroes of which are more properly known to us under + the names of Damon and Pythias (or Phintias), Schiller took from Hyginus + in whom the friends are called Moerus and Selinuntius. Schiller has + somewhat amplified the incidents in the original, in which the delay of + Moerus is occasioned only by the swollen stream—the other hindrances are + of Schiller's invention. The subject, like "The Ring of Polycrates," + does not admit of that rich poetry of description with which our author + usually adorns some single passage in his narratives. The poetic spirit + is rather shown in the terse brevity with which picture after picture is + not only sketched but finished—and in the great thought at the close. + Still it is not one of Schiller's best ballads. His additions to the + original story are not happy. The incident of the robbers is commonplace + and poor. The delay occasioned by the thirst of Moerus is clearly open + to Goethe's objection (an objection showing very nice perception of + nature)—that extreme thirst was not likely to happen to a man who had + lately passed through a stream on a rainy day, and whose clothes must + have been saturated with moisture—nor in the traveller's preoccupied + state of mind, is it probable that he would have so much felt the mere + physical want. With less reason has it been urged by other critics, that + the sudden relenting of the tyrant is contrary to his character. The + tyrant here has no individual character at all. He is the mere + personation of disbelief in truth and love—which the spectacle of + sublime self-abnegation at once converts. In this idea lies the deep + philosophical truth, which redeems all the defects of the piece—for + poetry, in its highest form, is merely this—"Truth made beautiful." + + <a href="#linknoteref-38" name="linknote-38" id="linknote-38">38</a> The somewhat irregular metre of the original has been preserved + in this ballad, as in other poems; although the perfect anapaestic metre + is perhaps more familiar to the English ear. + + <a href="#linknoteref-39" name="linknote-39" id="linknote-39">39</a> "Die Gestalt"—Form, the Platonic Archetype. + + <a href="#linknoteref-40" name="linknote-40" id="linknote-40">40</a> More literally translated thus by the author of the article on + Schiller in the Foreign and Colonial Review, July, 1843— + + "Thence all witnesses forever banished + Of poor human nakedness." + + <a href="#linknoteref-41" name="linknote-41" id="linknote-41">41</a> The law, i. e., the Kantian ideal of truth and virtue. This stanza + and the next embody, perhaps with some exaggeration, the Kantian doctrine + of morality. + + <a href="#linknoteref-42" name="linknote-42" id="linknote-42">42</a> "But in God's sight submission is command." "Jonah," by the Rev. + F. Hodgson. Quoted in Foreign and Colonial Review, July, 1843: Art. + Schiller, p. 21. + + <a href="#linknoteref-43" name="linknote-43" id="linknote-43">43</a> It seems generally agreed that poetry is allegorized in these + stanzas; though, with this interpretation, it is difficult to + reconcile the sense of some of the lines—for instance, the last in + the first stanza. How can poetry be said to leave no trace when she + takes farewell? + + <a href="#linknoteref-44" name="linknote-44" id="linknote-44">44</a> "I call the living—I mourn the dead—I break the lightning." + These words are inscribed on the great bell of the Minster of + Schaffhausen—also on that of the Church of Art near Lucerne. There was + an old belief in Switzerland that the undulation of air caused by the + sound of a bell, broke the electric fluid of a thunder-cloud. + + <a href="#linknoteref-45" name="linknote-45" id="linknote-45">45</a> A piece of clay pipe, which becomes vitrified if the metal is + sufficiently heated. + + <a href="#linknoteref-46" name="linknote-46" id="linknote-46">46</a> The translator adheres to the original, in forsaking the rhyme in + these lines and some others. + + <a href="#linknoteref-47" name="linknote-47" id="linknote-47">47</a> Written in the time of the French war. + + <a href="#linknoteref-48" name="linknote-48" id="linknote-48">48</a> Literally, "the manners." The French word moeurs corresponds best + with the German. + + <a href="#linknoteref-49" name="linknote-49" id="linknote-49">49</a> The epithet in the first edition is ruhmlose. + + <a href="#linknoteref-50" name="linknote-50" id="linknote-50">50</a> For this interesting story, see Cox's "House of Austria," vol i, + pp. 87-98 (Bohn's Standard Library). + + 51 See "Piccolomini," act ii., scene 6; and "The Death of + Wallenstein," act v., scene 3. + + <a href="#linknoteref-52" name="linknote-52" id="linknote-52">52</a> This poem is very characteristic of the noble ease with which + Schiller often loves to surprise the reader, by the sudden introduction + of matter for the loftiest reflection in the midst of the most familiar + subjects. What can be more accurate and happy than the poet's description + of the national dance, as if such description were his only object—the + outpouring, as it were, of a young gallant intoxicated by the music, and + dizzy with the waltz? Suddenly and imperceptibly the reader finds himself + elevated from a trivial scene. He is borne upward to the harmony of the + sphere. He bows before the great law of the universe—the young gallant + is transformed into the mighty teacher; and this without one hard conceit + —without one touch of pedantry. It is but a flash of light; and where + glowed the playful picture shines the solemn moral. + + <a href="#linknoteref-53" name="linknote-53" id="linknote-53">53</a> The first five verses in the original of this poem are placed as + a motto on Goethe's statue in the Library at Weimar. The poet does not + here mean to extol what is vulgarly meant by the gifts of fortune; he + but develops a favorite idea of his, that, whatever is really sublime + and beautiful, comes freely down from heaven; and vindicates the seeming + partiality of the gods, by implying that the beauty and the genius given, + without labor, to some, but serve to the delight of those to whom they are + denied. + + <a href="#linknoteref-54" name="linknote-54" id="linknote-54">54</a> Achilles. + + <a href="#linknoteref-55" name="linknote-55" id="linknote-55">55</a> "Nur ein Wunder kann dich tragen + In das schoene Wunderland."—SCHILLER, Sehnsucht. + + <a href="#linknoteref-56" name="linknote-56" id="linknote-56">56</a> This simile is nobly conceived, but expressed somewhat obscurely. + As Hercules contended in vain against Antaeus, the Son of Earth—so long + as the earth gave her giant offspring new strength in every fall,—so + the soul contends in vain with evil—the natural earth-born enemy, while + the very contact of the earth invigorates the enemy for the struggle. + And as Antaeus was slain at last, when Hercules lifted him from the earth, + and strangled him while raised aloft, so can the soul slay the enemy (the + desire, the passion, the evil, the earth's offspring), when bearing it + from earth itself, and stifling it in the higher air. + + <a href="#linknoteref-57" name="linknote-57" id="linknote-57">57</a> By this Schiller informs us elsewhere that he does not mean death + alone; but that the thought applies equally to every period of life when + we can divest ourselves of the body and perceive or act as pure spirits; + we are truly then under the influence of the sublime. + + <a href="#linknoteref-58" name="linknote-58" id="linknote-58">58</a> Duke Bernard of Weimar, one of the heroes of the Thirty Years' war. + + <a href="#linknoteref-59" name="linknote-59" id="linknote-59">59</a> These verses were sent by Schiller to the then Electoral High + Chancellor, with a copy of his "William Tell." + + <a href="#linknoteref-60" name="linknote-60" id="linknote-60">60</a> Addressed in the original to Mdlle. Slevoigt, on her marriage to + Dr. Sturm. + + <a href="#linknoteref-61" name="linknote-61" id="linknote-61">61</a> This was the title of the publication in which many of the finest + of Schiller's "Poems of the Third Period" originally appeared. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Poems of The Third Period, by Friedrich Schiller + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF THE THIRD PERIOD *** + +***** This file should be named 6796-h.htm or 6796-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/6/7/9/6796/ + +Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger + +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. 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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 + + +Title: Poems of The Third Period + +Author: Frederich Schiller + +Release Date: October 26, 2006 [EBook #6796] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF THE THIRD PERIOD *** + + + + +Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger + + + + + + SCHILLER'S POEMS + + By Frederich Schiller + + + + + CONTENTS: + + The Meeting + The Secret + The Assignation + Longing + Evening (After a Picture) + The Pilgrim + The Ideals + The Youth by the Brook + To Emma + The Favor of the Moment + The Lay of the Mountain + The Alpine Hunter + Dithyramb + The Four Ages of the World + The Maiden's Lament + To My Friends + Punch Song + Nadowessian Death Lament + The Feast of Victory + Punch Song + The Complaint of Ceres + The Eleusinian Festival + The Ring of Polycrates + The Cranes of Ibycus (A Ballad) + The Playing Infant + Hero and Leander (A Ballad) + Cassandra + The Hostage (A Ballad) + Greekism + The Diver (A Ballad) + The Fight with the Dragon + Female Judgment + Fridolin; or, the Walk to the Iron Foundry + The Genius with the Inverted Torch + The Count of Hapsburg (A Ballad) + The Forum of Women + The Glove (A Tale) + The Circle of Nature + The Veiled Statue at Sais + The Division of the Earth + The Fairest Apparition + The Ideal and the Actual Life + Germany and her Princes + Dangerous Consequences + The Maiden from Afar + The Honorable + Parables and Riddles + The Virtue of Woman + The Walk + The Lay of the Bell + The Power of Song + To Proselytizers + Honor to Woman + Hope + The German Art + Odysseus + Carthage + The Sower + The Knights of St. John + The Merchant + German Faith + The Sexes + Love and Desire + The Bards of Olden Time + Jove to Hercules + The Antiques of Paris + Thekla (A Spirit Voice) + The Antique to the Northern Wanderer + The Iliad + Pompeii and Herculaneum + Naenia + The Maid of Orleans + Archimedes + The Dance + The Fortune-Favored + Bookseller's Announcement + Genius + Honors + The Philosophical Egotist + The Best State Constitution + The Words of Belief + The Words of Error + The Power of Woman + The Two Paths of Virtue + The Proverbs of Confucius + Human Knowledge + Columbus + Light and Warmth + Breadth and Depth + The Two Guides of Life + The Immutable + + VOTIVE TABLETS + Different Destinies + The Animating Principle + Two Descriptions of Action + Difference of Station + Worth and the Worthy + The Moral Force + Participation + To---- + The Present Generation + To the Muse + The Learned Workman + The Duty of All + A Problem + The Peculiar Ideal + To Mystics + The Key + The Observer + Wisdom and Prudence + The Agreement + Political Precept + Majestas Populi + The Difficult Union + To a World-Reformer + My Antipathy + Astronomical Writings + The Best State + To Astronomers + My Faith + Inside and Outside + Friend and Foe + Light and Color + Genius + Beauteous Individuality + Variety + The imitator + Geniality + The Inquirers + Correctness + The Three Ages of Nature + The Law of Nature + Choice + Science of Music + To the Poet + Language + The Master + The Girdle + The Dilettante + The Babbler of Art + The Philosophies + The Favor of the Muses + Homer's Head as a Seal + + Goodness and Greatness + The Impulses + Naturalists and Transcendental Philosophers + German Genius + Theophania + + TRIFLES + The Epic Hexameter + The Distich + The Eight-line Stanza + The Obelisk + The Triumphal Arch + The Beautiful Bridge + The Gate + St. Peter's + + The Philosophers + The Homerides + G. G. + The Moral Poet + The Danaides + The Sublime Subject + The Artifice + Immortality + Jeremiads + Shakespeare's Ghost + The Rivers + Zenith and Nadir + Kant and his Commentators + The Philosophers + The Metaphysician + Pegasus in harness + Knowledge + The Poetry of Life + To Goethe + The Present + Departure from Life + Verses written in the Album of a Learned Friend + Verses written in the Album of a Friend + The Sunday Children + The Highest + The Puppet-show of Life + To Lawgivers + False Impulse to Study + To the Prince of Weimar + The Ideal of Woman (To Amanda) + The Fountain of Second Youth + William Tell + To a Young Friend Devoting Himself to Philosophy + Expectation and Fulfilment + The Common Fate + Human Action + Nuptial Ode + The Commencement of the New Century + Grecian Genius + The Father + The Connecting Medium + The Moment + German Comedy + Farewell to the Reader + + Dedications to Death + Preface + + + + + + POEMS OF THE THIRD PERIOD. + + + THE MEETING. + + I see her still--by her fair train surrounded, + The fairest of them all, she took her place; + Afar I stood, by her bright charms confounded, + For, oh! they dazzled with their heavenly grace. + With awe my soul was filled--with bliss unbounded, + While gazing on her softly radiant face; + But soon, as if up-borne on wings of fire, + My fingers 'gan to sweep the sounding lyre. + + The thoughts that rushed across me in that hour, + The words I sang, I'd fain once more invoke; + Within, I felt a new-awakened power, + That each emotion of my bosom spoke. + My soul, long time enchained in sloth's dull bower, + Through all its fetters now triumphant broke, + And brought to light unknown, harmonious numbers, + Which in its deepest depths, had lived in slumbers. + + And when the chords had ceased their gentle sighing, + And when my soul rejoined its mortal frame, + I looked upon her face and saw love vieing, + In every feature, with her maiden shame. + And soon my ravished heart seemed heavenward flying, + When her soft whisper o'er my senses came. + The blissful seraphs' choral strains alone + Can glad mine ear again with that sweet tone, + + Of that fond heart, which, pining silently, + Ne'er ventures to express its feelings lowly, + The real and modest worth is known to me-- + 'Gainst cruel fate I'll guard its cause so holy. + Most blest of all, the meek one's lot shall be-- + Love's flowers by love's own hand are gathered solely-- + The fairest prize to that fond heart is due, + That feels it, and that beats responsive, too! + + + + + THE SECRET. + + She sought to breathe one word, but vainly; + Too many listeners were nigh; + And yet my timid glance read plainly + The language of her speaking eye. + Thy silent glades my footstep presses, + Thou fair and leaf-embosomed grove! + Conceal within thy green recesses + From mortal eye our sacred love! + + Afar with strange discordant noises, + The busy day is echoing; + And 'mid the hollow hum of voices, + I hear the heavy hammer ring. + 'Tis thus that man, with toil ne'er ending + Extorts from heaven his daily bread; + Yet oft unseen the Gods are sending + The gifts of fortune on his head! + + Oh, let mankind discover never + How true love fills with bliss our hearts + They would but crush our joy forever, + For joy to them no glow imparts. + Thou ne'er wilt from the world obtain it-- + 'Tis never captured save as prey; + Thou needs must strain each nerve to gain it, + E'er envy dark asserts her sway. + + The hours of night and stillness loving, + It comes upon us silently-- + Away with hasty footstep moving + Soon as it sees a treacherous eye. + Thou gentle stream, soft circlets weaving, + A watery barrier cast around, + And, with thy waves in anger heaving, + Guard from each foe this holy ground! + + + + + THE ASSIGNATION. [14] + + Hear I the creaking gate unclose? + The gleaming latch uplifted? + No--'twas the wind that, whirring, rose, + Amidst the poplars drifted! + Adorn thyself, thou green leaf-bowering roof, + Destined the bright one's presence to receive, + For her, a shadowy palace-hall aloof + With holy night, thy boughs familiar weave. + And ye sweet flatteries of the delicate air, + Awake and sport her rosy cheek around, + When their light weight the tender feet shall bear, + When beauty comes to passion's trysting-ground. + + Hush! what amidst the copses crept-- + So swiftly by me now? + No-'twas the startled bird that swept + The light leaves of the bough! + Day, quench thy torch! come, ghostlike, from on high, + With thy loved silence, come, thou haunting Eve, + Broaden below thy web of purple dye, + Which lulled boughs mysterious round us weave. + For love's delight, enduring listeners none, + The froward witness of the light will flee; + Hesper alone, the rosy silent one, + Down-glancing may our sweet familiar be! + + What murmur in the distance spoke, + And like a whisper died? + No--'twas the swan that gently broke + In rings the silver tide! + Soft to my ear there comes a music-flow; + In gleesome murmur glides the waterfall; + To zephyr's kiss the flowers are bending low; + Through life goes joy, exchanging joy with all. + Tempt to the touch the grapes--the blushing fruit, [15] + Voluptuous swelling from the leaves that bide; + And, drinking fever from my cheek, the mute + Air sleeps all liquid in the odor-tide! + + Hark! through the alley hear I now + A footfall? Comes the maiden? + No,--'twas the fruit slid from the bough, + With its own richness laden! + + Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death, + And pale and paler wane his jocund hues, + The flowers too gentle for his glowing breath, + Ope their frank beauty to the twilight dews. + The bright face of the moon is still and lone, + Melts in vast masses the world silently; + Slides from each charm the slowly-loosening zone; + And round all beauty, veilless, roves the eye. + + What yonder seems to glimmer? + Her white robe's glancing hues? + No,--'twas the column's shimmer + Athwart the darksome yews! + + O, longing heart, no more delight-upbuoyed + Let the sweet airy image thee befool! + The arms that would embrace her clasp the void + This feverish breast no phantom-bliss can cool, + O, waft her here, the true, the living one! + Let but my hand her hand, the tender, feel-- + The very shadow of her robe alone!-- + So into life the idle dream shall steal! + + As glide from heaven, when least we ween, + The rosy hours of bliss, + All gently came the maid, unseen:-- + He waked beneath her kiss! + + + + + LONGING. + + Could I from this valley drear, + Where the mist hangs heavily, + Soar to some more blissful sphere, + Ah! how happy should I be! + Distant hills enchant my sight, + Ever young and ever fair; + To those hills I'd take my flight + Had I wings to scale the air. + + Harmonies mine ear assail, + Tunes that breathe a heavenly calm; + And the gently-sighing gale + Greets me with its fragrant balm. + Peeping through the shady bowers, + Golden fruits their charms display. + And those sweetly-blooming flowers + Ne'er become cold winter's prey. + + In you endless sunshine bright, + Oh! what bliss 'twould be to dwell! + How the breeze on yonder height + Must the heart with rapture swell! + Yet the stream that hems my path + Checks me with its angry frown, + While its waves, in rising wrath, + Weigh my weary spirit down. + + See--a bark is drawing near, + But, alas, the pilot fails! + Enter boldly--wherefore fear? + Inspiration fills its sails, + Faith and courage make thine own,-- + Gods ne'er lend a helping-hand; + 'Tis by magic power alone + Thou canst reach the magic land! + + + + + EVENING. + + (AFTER A PICTURE.) + + Oh! thou bright-beaming god, the plains are thirsting, + Thirsting for freshening dew, and man is pining; + Wearily move on thy horses-- + Let, then, thy chariot descend! + + Seest thou her who, from ocean's crystal billows, + Lovingly nods and smiles?--Thy heart must know her! + Joyously speed on thy horses,-- + Tethys, the goddess, 'tis nods! + + Swiftly from out his flaming chariot leaping, + Into her arms he springs,--the reins takes Cupid,-- + Quietly stand the horses, + Drinking the cooling flood. + + Now from the heavens with gentle step descending, + Balmy night appears, by sweet love followed; + Mortals, rest ye, and love ye,-- + Phoebus, the loving one, rests! + + + + + THE PILGRIM. + + Youth's gay springtime scarcely knowing + Went I forth the world to roam-- + And the dance of youth, the glowing, + Left I in my father's home, + Of my birthright, glad-believing, + Of my world-gear took I none, + Careless as an infant, cleaving + To my pilgrim staff alone. + For I placed my mighty hope in + Dim and holy words of faith, + "Wander forth--the way is open, + Ever on the upward path-- + Till thou gain the golden portal, + Till its gates unclose to thee. + There the earthly and the mortal, + Deathless and divine shall be!" + Night on morning stole, on stealeth, + Never, never stand I still, + And the future yet concealeth, + What I seek, and what I will! + Mount on mount arose before me, + Torrents hemmed me every side, + But I built a bridge that bore me + O'er the roaring tempest-tide. + Towards the east I reached a river, + On its shores I did not rest; + Faith from danger can deliver, + And I trusted to its breast. + Drifted in the whirling motion, + Seas themselves around me roll-- + Wide and wider spreads the ocean, + Far and farther flies the goal. + While I live is never given + Bridge or wave the goal to near-- + Earth will never meet the heaven, + Never can the there be here! + + + + + THE IDEALS. + + And wilt thou, faithless one, then, leave me, + With all thy magic phantasy,-- + With all the thoughts that joy or grieve me, + Wilt thou with all forever fly? + Can naught delay thine onward motion, + Thou golden time of life's young dream? + In vain! eternity's wide ocean + Ceaselessly drowns thy rolling stream. + + The glorious suns my youth enchanting + Have set in never-ending night; + Those blest ideals now are wanting + That swelled my heart with mad delight. + The offspring of my dream hath perished, + My faith in being passed away; + The godlike hopes that once I cherish + Are now reality's sad prey. + + As once Pygmalion, fondly yearning, + Embraced the statue formed by him, + Till the cold marble's cheeks were burning, + And life diffused through every limb, + So I, with youthful passion fired, + My longing arms round Nature threw, + Till, clinging to my breast inspired, + She 'gan to breathe, to kindle too. + + And all my fiery ardor proving, + Though mute, her tale she soon could tell, + Returned each kiss I gave her loving, + The throbbings of my heart read well. + Then living seemed each tree, each flower, + Then sweetly sang the waterfall, + And e'en the soulless in that hour + Shared in the heavenly bliss of all. + + For then a circling world was bursting + My bosom's narrow prison-cell, + To enter into being thirsting, + In deed, word, shape, and sound as well. + This world, how wondrous great I deemed it, + Ere yet its blossoms could unfold! + When open, oh, how little seemed it! + That little, oh, how mean and cold! + + How happy, winged by courage daring, + The youth life's mazy path first pressed-- + No care his manly strength impairing, + And in his dream's sweet vision blest! + The dimmest star in air's dominion + Seemed not too distant for his flight; + His young and ever-eager pinion + Soared far beyond all mortal sight. + + Thus joyously toward heaven ascending, + Was aught for his bright hopes too far? + The airy guides his steps attending, + How danced they round life's radiant car! + Soft love was there, her guerdon bearing, + And fortune, with her crown of gold, + And fame, her starry chaplet wearing, + And truth, in majesty untold. + + But while the goal was yet before them, + The faithless guides began to stray; + Impatience of their task came o'er them, + Then one by one they dropped away. + Light-footed Fortune first retreating, + Then Wisdom's thirst remained unstilled, + While heavy storms of doubt were beating + Upon the path truth's radiance filled. + + I saw Fame's sacred wreath adorning + The brows of an unworthy crew; + And, ah! how soon Love's happy morning, + When spring had vanished, vanished too! + More silent yet, and yet more weary, + Became the desert path I trod; + And even hope a glimmer dreary + Scarce cast upon the gloomy road. + + Of all that train, so bright with gladness, + Oh, who is faithful to the end? + Who now will seek to cheer my sadness, + And to the grave my steps attend? + Thou, Friendship, of all guides the fairest, + Who gently healest every wound; + Who all life's heavy burdens sharest, + Thou, whom I early sought and found! + + Employment too, thy loving neighbor, + Who quells the bosom's rising storms; + Who ne'er grows weary of her labor, + And ne'er destroys, though slow she forms; + Who, though but grains of sand she places + To swell eternity sublime, + Yet minutes, days, ay! years effaces + From the dread reckoning kept by Time! + + + + + THE YOUTH BY THE BROOK. [16] + + Beside the brook the boy reclined + And wove his flowery wreath, + And to the waves the wreath consigned-- + The waves that danced beneath. + "So fleet mine hours," he sighed, "away + Like waves that restless flow: + And so my flowers of youth decay + Like those that float below." + + "Ask not why I, alone on earth, + Am sad in life's young time; + To all the rest are hope and mirth + When spring renews its prime. + Alas! the music Nature makes, + In thousand songs of gladness-- + While charming all around me, wakes + My heavy heart to sadness." + + "Ah! vain to me the joys that break + From spring, voluptuous are; + For only one 't is mine to seek-- + The near, yet ever far! + I stretch my arms, that shadow-shape + In fond embrace to hold; + Still doth the shade the clasp escape-- + The heart is unconsoled!" + + "Come forth, fair friend, come forth below, + And leave thy lofty hall, + The fairest flowers the spring can know + In thy dear lap shall fall! + Clear glides the brook in silver rolled, + Sweet carols fill the air; + The meanest hut hath space to hold + A happy loving pair!" + + + + + TO EMMA. + + Far away, where darkness reigneth, + All my dreams of bliss are flown; + Yet with love my gaze remaineth + Fixed on one fair star alone. + But, alas! that star so bright + Sheds no lustre save by night. + + If in slumbers ending never, + Gloomy death had sealed thine eyes, + Thou hadst lived in memory ever-- + Thou hadst lived still in my sighs; + But, alas! in light thou livest-- + To my love no answer givest! + + Can the sweet hopes love once cherished + Emma, can they transient prove? + What has passed away and perished-- + Emma, say, can that be love? + That bright flame of heavenly birth-- + Can it die like things of earth? + + + + THE FAVOR OF THE MOMENT. + + Once more, then, we meet + In the circles of yore; + Let our song be as sweet + In its wreaths as before, + Who claims the first place + In the tribute of song? + The God to whose grace + All our pleasures belong. + Though Ceres may spread + All her gifts on the shrine, + Though the glass may be red + With the blush of the vine, + What boots--if the while + Fall no spark on the hearth; + If the heart do not smile + With the instinct of mirth?-- + From the clouds, from God's breast + Must our happiness fall, + 'Mid the blessed, most blest + Is the moment of all! + Since creation began + All that mortals have wrought, + All that's godlike in man + Comes--the flash of a thought! + For ages the stone + In the quarry may lurk, + An instant alone + Can suffice to the work; + An impulse give birth + To the child of the soul, + A glance stamp the worth + And the fame of the whole. [17] + On the arch that she buildeth + From sunbeams on high, + As Iris just gildeth, + And fleets from the sky, + So shineth, so gloometh + Each gift that is ours; + The lightning illumeth-- + The darkness devours! [18] + + + + + THE LAY OF THE MOUNTAIN. + + [The scenery of Gotthardt is here personified.] + + To the solemn abyss leads the terrible path, + The life and death winding dizzy between; + In thy desolate way, grim with menace and wrath, + To daunt thee the spectres of giants are seen; + That thou wake not the wild one [20], all silently tread-- + Let thy lip breathe no breath in the pathway of dread! + + High over the marge of the horrible deep + Hangs and hovers a bridge with its phantom-like span, [21] + Not by man was it built, o'er the vastness to sweep; + Such thought never came to the daring of man! + The stream roars beneath--late and early it raves-- + But the bridge, which it threatens, is safe from the waves. + + Black-yawning a portal, thy soul to affright, + Like the gate to the kingdom, the fiend for the king-- + Yet beyond it there smiles but a land of delight, + Where the autumn in marriage is met with the spring. + From a lot which the care and the trouble assail, + Could I fly to the bliss of that balm-breathing vale! + + Through that field, from a fount ever hidden their birth, + Four rivers in tumult rush roaringly forth; + They fly to the fourfold divisions of earth-- + The sunrise, the sunset, the south, and the north. + And, true to the mystical mother that bore, + Forth they rush to their goal, and are lost evermore. + + High over the races of men in the blue + Of the ether, the mount in twin summits is riven; + There, veiled in the gold-woven webs of the dew, + Moves the dance of the clouds--the pale daughters of heaven! + There, in solitude, circles their mystical maze, + Where no witness can hearken, no earthborn surveys. + + August on a throne which no ages can move, + Sits a queen, in her beauty serene and sublime, [22] + The diadem blazing with diamonds above + The glory of brows, never darkened by time, + His arrows of light on that form shoots the sun-- + And he gilds them with all, but he warms them with none! + + + + + THE ALPINE HUNTER. + + Wilt thou not the lambkins guard? + Oh, how soft and meek they look, + Feeding on the grassy sward, + Sporting round the silvery brook! + "Mother, mother, let me go + On yon heights to chase the roe!" + + Wilt thou not the flock compel + With the horn's inspiring notes? + Sweet the echo of yon bell, + As across the wood it floats! + "Mother, mother, let me go + On yon heights to hunt the roe!" + + Wilt thou not the flow'rets bind, + Smiling gently in their bed? + For no garden thou wilt find + On yon heights so wild and dread. + "Leave the flow'rets,--let them blow! + Mother, mother, let me go!" + + And the youth then sought the chase, + Onward pressed with headlong speed + To the mountain's gloomiest place,-- + Naught his progress could impede; + And before him, like the wind, + Swiftly flies the trembling hind! + + Up the naked precipice + Clambers she, with footsteps light, + O'er the chasm's dark abyss + Leaps with spring of daring might; + But behind, unweariedly, + With his death-bow follows he. + + Now upon the rugged top + Stands she,--on the loftiest height, + Where the cliffs abruptly stop, + And the path is lost to sight. + There she views the steeps below,-- + Close behind, her mortal foe. + + She, with silent, woeful gaze, + Seeks the cruel boy to move; + But, alas! in vain she prays-- + To the string he fits the groove. + When from out the clefts, behold! + Steps the Mountain Genius old. + + With his hand the Deity + Shields the beast that trembling sighs; + "Must thou, even up to me, + Death and anguish send?" he cries,-- + Earth has room for all to dwell,-- + "Why pursue my loved gazelle?" + + + + + DITHYRAMB. [23] + + Believe me, together + The bright gods come ever, + Still as of old; + Scarce see I Bacchus, the giver of joy, + Than comes up fair Eros, the laugh-loving boy, + And Phoebus, the stately, behold! + + They come near and nearer, + The heavenly ones all-- + The gods with their presence + Fill earth as their hall! + + Say, how shall I welcome, + Human and earthborn, + Sons of the sky? + Pour out to me--pour the full life that ye live! + What to ye, O ye gods! can the mortal one give? + + The joys can dwell only + In Jupiter's palace-- + Brimmed bright with your nectar, + Oh, reach me the chalice! + + "Hebe, the chalice + Fill full to the brim! + Steep his eyes--steep his eyes in the bath of the dew, + Let him dream, while the Styx is concealed from his view, + That the life of the gods is for him!" + + It murmurs, it sparkles, + The fount of delight; + The bosom grows tranquil-- + The eye becomes bright. + + + + + THE FOUR AGES OF THE WORLD. + + The goblet is sparkling with purpled-tinged wine, + Bright glistens the eye of each guest, + When into the hall comes the Minstrel divine, + To the good he now brings what is best; + For when from Elysium is absent the lyre, + No joy can the banquet of nectar inspire. + + He is blessed by the gods, with an intellect clear, + That mirrors the world as it glides; + He has seen all that ever has taken place here, + And all that the future still hides. + He sat in the god's secret councils of old + And heard the command for each thing to unfold. + + He opens in splendor, with gladness and mirth, + That life which was hid from our eyes; + Adorns as a temple the dwelling of earth, + That the Muse has bestowed as his prize, + No roof is so humble, no hut is so low, + But he with divinities bids it o'erflow. + + And as the inventive descendant of Zeus, + On the unadorned round of the shield, + With knowledge divine could, reflected, produce + Earth, sea, and the star's shining field,-- + So he, on the moments, as onward they roll, + The image can stamp of the infinite whole. + + From the earliest age of the world he has come, + When nations rejoiced in their prime; + A wanderer glad, he has still found a home + With every race through all time. + Four ages of man in his lifetime have died, + And the place they once held by the fifth is supplied. + + Saturnus first governed, with fatherly smile, + Each day then resembled the last; + Then flourished the shepherds, a race without guile + Their bliss by no care was o'ercast, + They loved,--and no other employment they had, + And earth gave her treasures with willingness glad. + + Then labor came next, and the conflict began + With monsters and beasts famed in song; + And heroes upstarted, as rulers of man, + And the weak sought the aid of the strong. + And strife o'er the field of Scamander now reigned, + But beauty the god of the world still remained. + + At length from the conflict bright victory sprang, + And gentleness blossomed from might; + In heavenly chorus the Muses then sang, + And figures divine saw the light;-- + The age that acknowledged sweet phantasy's sway + Can never return, it has fleeted away. + + The gods from their seats in the heavens were hurled, + And their pillars of glory o'erthrown; + And the Son of the Virgin appeared in the world + For the sins of mankind to atone. + The fugitive lusts of the sense were suppressed, + And man now first grappled with thought in his breast. + + Each vain and voluptuous charm vanished now, + Wherein the young world took delight; + The monk and the nun made of penance a vow, + And the tourney was sought by the knight. + Though the aspect of life was now dreary and wild, + Yet love remained ever both lovely and mild. + + An altar of holiness, free from all stain, + The Muses in silence upreared; + And all that was noble and worthy, again + In woman's chaste bosom appeared; + The bright flame of song was soon kindled anew + By the minstrel's soft lays, and his love pure and true. + + And so, in a gentle and ne'er-changing band, + Let woman and minstrel unite; + They weave and they fashion, with hand joined to hand, + The girdle of beauty and right. + When love blends with music, in unison sweet, + The lustre of life's youthful days ne'er can fleet. + + + + + THE MAIDEN'S LAMENT. + + The clouds fast gather, + The forest-oaks roar-- + A maiden is sitting + Beside the green shore,-- + The billows are breaking with might, with might, + And she sighs aloud in the darkling night, + Her eyelid heavy with weeping. + + "My heart's dead within me, + The world is a void; + To the wish it gives nothing, + Each hope is destroyed. + I have tasted the fulness of bliss below + I have lived, I have loved,--Thy child, oh take now, + Thou Holy One, into Thy keeping!" + + "In vain is thy sorrow, + In vain thy tears fall, + For the dead from their slumbers + They ne'er can recall; + Yet if aught can pour comfort and balm in thy heart, + Now that love its sweet pleasures no more can impart, + Speak thy wish, and thou granted shalt find it!" + + "Though in vain is my sorrow, + Though in vain my tears fall,-- + Though the dead from their slumbers + They ne'er can recall, + Yet no balm is so sweet to the desolate heart, + When love its soft pleasures no more can impart, + As the torments that love leaves behind it!" + + + + + TO MY FRIENDS. + + Yes, my friends!--that happier times have been + Than the present, none can contravene; + That a race once lived of nobler worth; + And if ancient chronicles were dumb, + Countless stones in witness forth would come + From the deepest entrails of the earth. + But this highly-favored race has gone, + Gone forever to the realms of night. + We, we live! The moments are our own, + And the living judge the right. + + Brighter zones, my friends, no doubt excel + This, the land wherein we're doomed to dwell, + As the hardy travellers proclaim; + But if Nature has denied us much, + Art is yet responsive to our touch, + And our hearts can kindle at her flame. + If the laurel will not flourish here-- + If the myrtle is cold winter's prey, + Yet the vine, to crown us, year by year, + Still puts forth its foliage gay. + + Of a busier life 'tis well to speak, + Where four worlds their wealth to barter seek, + On the world's great market, Thames' broad stream; + Ships in thousands go there and depart-- + There are seen the costliest works of art, + And the earth-god, Mammon, reigns supreme + But the sun his image only graves + On the silent streamlet's level plain, + Not upon the torrent's muddy waves, + Swollen by the heavy rain. + + Far more blessed than we, in northern states + Dwells the beggar at the angel-gates, + For he sees the peerless city--Rome! + Beauty's glorious charms around him lie, + And, a second heaven, up toward the sky + Mounts St. Peter's proud and wondrous dome. + But, with all the charms that splendor grants, + Rome is but the tomb of ages past; + Life but smiles upon the blooming plants + That the seasons round her cast. + + Greater actions elsewhere may be rife + Than with us, in our contracted life-- + But beneath the sun there's naught that's new; + Yet we see the great of every age + Pass before us on the world's wide stage + Thoughtfully and calmly in review + All. in life repeats itself forever, + Young for ay is phantasy alone; + What has happened nowhere,--happened never,-- + That has never older grown! + + + + + PUNCH SONG. + + Four elements, joined in + Harmonious strife, + Shadow the world forth, + And typify life. + + Into the goblet + The lemon's juice pour; + Acid is ever + Life's innermost core. + + Now, with the sugar's + All-softening juice, + The strength of the acid + So burning reduce. + + The bright sparkling water + Now pour in the bowl; + Water all-gently + Encircles the whole. + + Let drops of the spirit + To join them now flow; + Life to the living + Naught else can bestow. + + Drain it off quickly + Before it exhales; + Save when 'tis glowing, + The draught naught avails. + + + + + NADOWESSIAN DEATH-LAMENT. + + See, he sitteth on his mat + Sitteth there upright, + With the grace with which he sat + While he saw the light. + + Where is now the sturdy gripe,-- + Where the breath sedate, + That so lately whiffed the pipe + Toward the Spirit great? + + Where the bright and falcon eye, + That the reindeer's tread + On the waving grass could spy, + Thick with dewdrops spread? + + Where the limbs that used to dart + Swifter through the snow + Than the twenty-membered hart, + Than the mountain roe? + + Where the arm that sturdily + Bent the deadly bow? + See, its life hath fleeted by,-- + See, it hangeth low! + + Happy he!--He now has gone + Where no snow is found: + Where with maize the fields are sown, + Self-sprung from the ground; + + Where with birds each bush is filled, + Where with game the wood; + Where the fish, with joy unstilled, + Wanton in the flood. + + With the spirits blest he feeds,-- + Leaves us here in gloom; + We can only praise his deeds, + And his corpse entomb. + + Farewell-gifts, then, hither bring, + Sound the death-note sad! + Bury with him everything + That can make him glad! + + 'Neath his head the hatchet hide + That he boldly swung; + And the bear's fat haunch beside, + For the road is long; + + And the knife, well sharpened, + That, with slashes three, + Scalp and skin from foeman's head + Tore off skilfully. + + And to paint his body, place + Dyes within his hand; + Let him shine with ruddy grace + In the Spirit-land! + + + + + THE FEAST OF VICTORY. + + Priam's castle-walls had sunk, + Troy in dust and ashes lay, + And each Greek, with triumph drunk, + Richly laden with his prey, + Sat upon his ship's high prow, + On the Hellespontic strand, + Starting on his journey now, + Bound for Greece, his own fair land. + Raise the glad exulting shout! + Toward the land that gave them birth + Turn they now the ships about, + As they seek their native earth. + + And in rows, all mournfully, + Sat the Trojan women there,-- + Beat their breasts in agony, + Pallid, with dishevelled hair. + In the feast of joy so glad + Mingled they the song of woe, + Weeping o'er their fortunes sad, + In their country's overthrow. + "Land beloved, oh, fare thee well! + By our foreign masters led, + Far from home we're doomed to dwell,-- + Ah, how happy are the dead!" + + Soon the blood by Calchas spilt + On the altar heavenward smokes; + Pallas, by whom towns are built + And destroyed, the priest invokes; + Neptune, too, who all the earth + With his billowy girdle laves,-- + Zeus, who gives to terror birth, + Who the dreaded Aegis waves. + Now the weary fight is done, + Ne'er again to be renewed; + Time's wide circuit now is run, + And the mighty town subdued! + + Atreus' son, the army's head, + Told the people's numbers o'er, + Whom he, as their captain, led + To Scamander's vale of yore. + Sorrow's black and heavy clouds + Passed across the monarch's brow: + Of those vast and valiant crowds, + Oh, how few were left him now! + Joyful songs let each one raise, + Who will see his home again, + In whose veins the life-blood plays, + For, alas! not all remain! + + "All who homeward wend their way, + Will not there find peace of mind; + On their household altars, they + Murder foul perchance may find. + Many fall by false friend's stroke, + Who in fight immortal proved:"-- + So Ulysses warning spoke, + By Athene's spirit moved. + Happy he, whose faithful spouse + Guards his home with honor true! + Woman ofttimes breaks her vows, + Ever loves she what is new. + + And Atrides glories there + In the prize he won in fight, + And around her body fair + Twines his arms with fond delight. + Evil works must punished be. + Vengeance follows after crime, + For Kronion's just decree + Rules the heavenly courts sublime. + Evil must in evil end; + Zeus will on the impious band + Woe for broken guest-rights send, + Weighing with impartial hand. + + "It may well the glad befit," + Cried Olleus' valiant son, [24] + "To extol the Gods who sit + On Olympus' lofty throne! + Fortune all her gifts supplies, + Blindly, and no justice knows, + For Patroclus buried lies, + And Thersites homeward goes! + Since she blindly throws away + Each lot in her wheel contained, + Let him shout with joy to-day + Who the prize of life has gained." + + "Ay, the wars the best devour! + Brother, we will think of thee, + In the fight a very tower, + When we join in revelry! + When the Grecian ships were fired, + By thine arm was safety brought; + Yet the man by craft inspired [25] + Won the spoils thy valor sought. + Peace be to thine ashes blest! + Thou wert vanquished not in fight: + Anger 'tis destroys the best,-- + Ajax fell by Ajax' might!" + + Neoptolemus poured then, + To his sire renowned [26] the wine-- + "'Mongst the lots of earthly men, + Mighty father, prize I thine! + Of the goods that life supplies, + Greatest far of all is fame; + Though to dust the body flies, + Yet still lives a noble name. + Valiant one, thy glory's ray + Will immortal be in song; + For, though life may pass away, + To all time the dead belong!" + + "Since the voice of minstrelsy + Speaks not of the vanquished man, + I will Hector's witness be,"-- + Tydeus' noble son [27] began: + "Fighting bravely in defence + Of his household-gods he fell. + Great the victor's glory thence, + He in purpose did excel! + Battling for his altars dear, + Sank that rock, no more to rise; + E'en the foemen will revere + One whose honored name ne'er dies." + + Nestor, joyous reveller old, + Who three generations saw, + Now the leaf-crowned cup of gold + Gave to weeping Hecuba. + "Drain the goblet's draught so cool, + And forget each painful smart! + Bacchus' gifts are wonderful,-- + Balsam for a broken heart. + Drain the goblet's draught so cool, + And forget each painful smart! + Bacchus' gifts are wonderful,-- + Balsam for a broken heart. + + "E'en to Niobe, whom Heaven + Loved in wrath to persecute, + Respite from her pangs was given, + Tasting of the corn's ripe fruit. + Whilst the thirsty lip we lave + In the foaming, living spring, + Buried deep in Lethe's wave + Lies all grief, all sorrowing! + Whilst the thirsty lip we lave + In the foaming, living spring, + Swallowed up in Lethe's wave + Is all grief, all sorrowing!" + + And the Prophetess [28] inspired + By her God, upstarted now,-- + Toward the smoke of homesteads fired, + Looking from the lofty prow. + "Smoke is each thing here below; + Every worldly greatness dies, + As the vapory columns go,-- + None are fixed but Deities! + Cares behind the horseman sit-- + Round about the vessel play; + Lest the morrow hinder it, + Let us, therefore, live to-day." + + + + + PUNCH SONG. + + (TO BE SUNG IN NORTHERN COUNTRIES.) + + On the mountain's breezy summit, + Where the southern sunbeams shine, + Aided by their warming vigor, + Nature yields the golden wine. + + How the wondrous mother formeth, + None have ever read aright; + Hid forever is her working, + And inscrutable her might. + + Sparkling as a son of Phoebus, + As the fiery source of light, + From the vat it bubbling springeth, + Purple, and as crystal bright; + + And rejoiceth all the senses, + And in every sorrowing breast + Poureth hope's refreshing balsam, + And on life bestows new zest. + + But their slanting rays all feebly + On our zone the sunbeams shoot; + They can only tinge the foliage, + But they ripen ne'er the fruit. + + Yet the north insists on living, + And what lives will merry be; + So, although the grape is wanting, + We invent wine cleverly. + + Pale the drink we now are offering + On the household altar here; + But what living Nature maketh, + Sparkling is and ever clear. + + Let us from the brimming goblet, + Drain the troubled flood with mirth; + Art is but a gift of heaven, + Borrowed from the glow of earth. + + Even strength's dominions boundless + 'Neath her rule obedient lie; + From the old the new she fashions + With creative energy. + + She the elements' close union + Severs with her sovereign nod; + With the flame upon the altar, + Emulates the great sun-god. + + For the distant, happy islands + Now the vessel sallies forth, + And the southern fruits, all-golden, + Pours upon the eager north. + + As a type, then,--as an image, + Be to us this fiery juice, + Of the wonders that frail mortals + Can with steadfast will produce! + + + + + THE COMPLAINT OF CERES. [29] + + Does pleasant spring return once more? + Does earth her happy youth regain? + Sweet suns green hills are shining o'er; + Soft brooklets burst their icy chain: + Upon the blue translucent river + Laughs down an all-unclouded day, + The winged west winds gently quiver, + The buds are bursting from the spray; + While birds are blithe on every tree; + The Oread from the mountain-shore + Sighs, "Lo! thy flowers come back to thee-- + Thy child, sad mother, comes no more!" + + Alas! how long an age it seems + Since all the earth I wandered over, + And vainly, Titan, tasked thy beams + The loved--the lost one--to discover! + Though all may seek--yet none can call + Her tender presence back to me + The sun, with eyes detecting all, + Is blind one vanished form to see. + Hast thou, O Zeus! hast thou away + From these sad arms my daughter torn? + Has Pluto, from the realms of day, + Enamored--to dark rivers borne? + + Who to the dismal phantom-strand + The herald of my grief will venture? + The boat forever leaves the land, + But only shadows there may enter.-- + Veiled from each holier eye repose + The realms where midnight wraps the dead, + And, while the Stygian river flows, + No living footstep there may tread! + A thousand pathways wind the drear + Descent;--none upward lead to-day;-- + No witness to the mother's ear + The daughter's sorrows can betray. + + Mothers of happy human clay + Can share at least their children's doom; + And when the loved ones pass away, + Can track--can join them--in the tomb! + The race alone of heavenly birth + Are banished from the darksome portals; + The Fates have mercy on the earth, + And death is only kind to mortals! [30] + Oh, plunge me in the night of nights, + From heaven's ambrosial halls exiled! + Oh, let the goddess lose the rights + That shut the mother from the child! + + Where sits the dark king's joyless bride, + Where midst the dead her home is made; + Oh that my noiseless steps might glide, + Amidst the shades, myself a shade! + I see her eyes, that search through tears, + In vain the golden light to greet; + That yearn for yonder distant spheres, + That pine the mother's face to meet! + Till some bright moment shall renew + The severed hearts' familiar ties; + And softened pity steal in dew, + From Pluto's slow-relenting eyes! + + Ah, vain the wish, the sorrows are! + Calm in the changeless paths above + Rolls on the day-god's golden car-- + Fast are the fixed decrees of Jove! + Far from the ever-gloomy plain, + He turns his blissful looks away. + Alas! night never gives again + What once it seizes as its prey! + Till over Lethe's sullen swell, + Aurora's rosy hues shall glow; + And arching through the midmost hell + Shine forth the lovely Iris-bow! + + And is there naught of her; no token-- + No pledge from that beloved hand? + To tell how love remains unbroken, + How far soever be the land? + Has love no link, no lightest thread, + The mother to the child to bind? + Between the living and the dead, + Can hope no holy compact find? + No! every bond is not yet riven; + We are not yet divided wholly; + To us the eternal powers have given + A symbol language, sweet and holy. + + When Spring's fair children pass away, + When, in the north wind's icy air, + The leaf and flower alike decay, + And leave the rivelled branches bare, + Then from Vertumnus' lavish horn + I take life's seeds to strew below-- + And bid the gold that germs the corn + An offering to the Styx to go! + Sad in the earth the seeds I lay-- + Laid at thy heart, my child--to be + The mournful tokens which convey + My sorrow and my love to thee! + + But, when the hours, in measured dance, + The happy smile of spring restore, + Rife in the sun-god's golden glance + The buried dead revive once more! + The germs that perished to thine eyes, + Within the cold breast of the earth, + Spring up to bloom in gentler skies, + The brighter for the second birth! + The stem its blossom rears above-- + Its roots in night's dark womb repose-- + The plant but by the equal love + Of light and darkness fostered--grows! + + If half with death the germs may sleep, + Yet half with life they share the beams; + My heralds from the dreary deep, + Soft voices from the solemn streams,-- + Like her, so them, awhile entombs, + Stern Orcus, in his dismal reign, + Yet spring sends forth their tender blooms + With such sweet messages again, + To tell,--how far from light above, + Where only mournful shadows meet, + Memory is still alive to love, + And still the faithful heart can beat! + + Joy to ye children of the field! + Whose life each coming year renews, + To your sweet cups the heaven shall yield + The purest of its nectar-dews! + Steeped in the light's resplendent streams, + The hues that streak the Iris-bow + Shall trim your blooms as with the beams + The looks of young Aurora know. + The budding life of happy spring, + The yellow autumn's faded leaf, + Alike to gentle hearts shall bring + The symbols of my joy and grief. + + + + + THE ELEUSINIAN FESTIVAL. + + Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear! + With it, the Cyane [31] blue intertwine + Rapture must render each glance bright and clear, + For the great queen is approaching her shrine,-- + She who compels lawless passions to cease, + Who to link man with his fellow has come, + And into firm habitations of peace + Changed the rude tents' ever-wandering home. + + Shyly in the mountain-cleft + Was the Troglodyte concealed; + And the roving Nomad left, + Desert lying, each broad field. + With the javelin, with the bow, + Strode the hunter through the land; + To the hapless stranger woe, + Billow-cast on that wild strand! + + When, in her sad wanderings lost, + Seeking traces of her child, + Ceres hailed the dreary coast, + Ah, no verdant plain then smiled! + That she here with trust may stay, + None vouchsafes a sheltering roof; + Not a temple's columns gay + Give of godlike worship proof. + + Fruit of no propitious ear + Bids her to the pure feast fly; + On the ghastly altars here + Human bones alone e'er dry. + Far as she might onward rove, + Misery found she still in all, + And within her soul of love, + Sorrowed she o'er man's deep fall. + + "Is it thus I find the man + To whom we our image lend, + Whose fair limbs of noble span + Upward towards the heavens ascend? + Laid we not before his feet + Earth's unbounded godlike womb? + Yet upon his kingly seat + Wanders he without a home?" + + "Does no god compassion feel? + Will none of the blissful race, + With an arm of miracle, + Raise him from his deep disgrace? + In the heights where rapture reigns + Pangs of others ne'er can move; + Yet man's anguish and man's pains + My tormented heart must prove." + + "So that a man a man may be, + Let him make an endless bond + With the kind earth trustingly, + Who is ever good and fond + To revere the law of time, + And the moon's melodious song + Who, with silent step sublime, + Move their sacred course along." + + And she softly parts the cloud + That conceals her from the sight; + Sudden, in the savage crowd, + Stands she, as a goddess bright. + There she finds the concourse rude + In their glad feast revelling, + And the chalice filled with blood + As a sacrifice they bring. + + But she turns her face away, + Horror-struck, and speaks the while + "Bloody tiger-feasts ne'er may + Of a god the lips defile, + He needs victims free from stain, + Fruits matured by autumn's sun; + With the pure gifts of the plain + Honored is the Holy One!" + + And she takes the heavy shaft + From the hunter's cruel hand; + With the murderous weapon's haft + Furrowing the light-strown sand,-- + Takes from out her garland's crown, + Filled with life, one single grain, + Sinks it in the furrow down, + And the germ soon swells amain. + + And the green stalks gracefully + Shoot, ere long, the ground above, + And, as far as eye can see, + Waves it like a golden grove. + With her smile the earth she cheers, + Binds the earliest sheaves so fair, + As her hearth the landmark rears,-- + And the goddess breathes this prayer: + + "Father Zeus, who reign'st o'er all + That in ether's mansions dwell, + Let a sign from thee now fall + That thou lov'st this offering well! + And from the unhappy crowd + That, as yet, has ne'er known thee, + Take away the eye's dark cloud, + Showing them their deity!" + + Zeus, upon his lofty throne, + Harkens to his sister's prayer; + From the blue heights thundering down, + Hurls his forked lightning there, + Crackling, it begins to blaze, + From the altar whirling bounds,-- + And his swift-winged eagle plays + High above in circling rounds. + + Soon at the feet of their mistress are kneeling, + Filled with emotion, the rapturous throng; + Into humanity's earliest feeling + Melt their rude spirits, untutored and strong. + Each bloody weapon behind them they leave, + Rays on their senses beclouded soon shine, + And from the mouth of the queen they receive, + Gladly and meekly, instruction divine. + + All the deities advance + Downward from their heavenly seats; + Themis' self 'tis leads the dance, + And, with staff of justice, metes + Unto every one his rights,-- + Landmarks, too, 'tis hers to fix; + And in witness she invites + All the hidden powers of Styx. + + And the forge-god, too, is there, + The inventive son of Zeus; + Fashioner of vessels fair + Skilled in clay and brass's use. + 'Tis from him the art man knows + Tongs and bellows how to wield; + 'Neath his hammer's heavy blows + Was the ploughshare first revealed. + + With projecting, weighty spear, + Front of all, Minerva stands, + Lifts her voice so strong and clear, + And the godlike host commands. + Steadfast walls 'tis hers to found, + Shield and screen for every one, + That the scattered world around + Bind in loving unison. + + The immortals' steps she guides + O'er the trackless plains so vast, + And where'er her foot abides + Is the boundary god held fast; + And her measuring chain is led + Round the mountain's border green,-- + E'en the raging torrent's bed + In the holy ring is seen. + + All the Nymphs and Oreads too + Who, the mountain pathways o'er, + Swift-foot Artemis pursue, + All to swell the concourse, pour, + Brandishing the hunting-spear,-- + Set to work,--glad shouts uprise,-- + 'Neath their axes' blows so clear + Crashing down the pine-wood flies. + + E'en the sedge-crowned God ascends + From his verdant spring to light, + And his raft's direction bends + At the goddess' word of might,-- + While the hours, all gently bound, + Nimbly to their duty fly; + Rugged trunks are fashioned round + By her skilled hand gracefully. + + E'en the sea-god thither fares;-- + Sudden, with his trident's blow, + He the granite columns tears + From earth's entrails far below;-- + In his mighty hands, on high, + Waves he them, like some light ball, + And with nimble Hermes by, + Raises up the rampart-wall. + + But from out the golden strings + Lures Apollo harmony, + Measured time's sweet murmurings, + And the might of melody. + The Camoenae swell the strain + With their song of ninefold tone: + Captive bound in music's chain, + Softly stone unites to stone. + + Cybele, with skilful hand, + Open throws the wide-winged door; + Locks and bolts by her are planned, + Sure to last forevermore. + Soon complete the wondrous halls + By the gods' own hands are made, + And the temple's glowing walls + Stand in festal pomp arrayed. + + With a crown of myrtle twined, + Now the goddess queen comes there, + And she leads the fairest hind + To the shepherdess most fair. + Venus, with her beauteous boy, + That first pair herself attires; + All the gods bring gifts of joy, + Blessing their love's sacred fires. + + Guided by the deities, + Soon the new-born townsmen pour, + Ushered in with harmonies, + Through the friendly open door. + Holding now the rites divine, + Ceres at Zeus' altar stands,-- + Blessing those around the shrine, + Thus she speaks, with folded hands:-- + + "Freedom's love the beast inflames, + And the god rules free in air, + While the law of Nature tames + Each wild lust that lingers there. + Yet, when thus together thrown, + Man with man must fain unite; + And by his own worth alone + Can he freedom gain, and might." + + Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear! + With it, the Cyane blue intertwine! + Rapture must render each glance bright and clear, + For the great queen is approaching her shrine,-- + She who our homesteads so blissful has given, + She who has man to his fellow-man bound: + Let our glad numbers extol then to heaven, + Her who the earth's kindly mother is found! + + + + + THE RING OF POLYCRATES. [32] + + A BALLAD. + + Upon his battlements he stood, + And downward gazed in joyous mood, + On Samos' Isle, that owned his sway, + "All this is subject to my yoke;" + To Egypt's monarch thus he spoke,-- + "That I am truly blest, then, say!" + + "The immortals' favor thou hast known! + Thy sceptre's might has overthrown + All those who once were like to thee. + Yet to avenge them one lives still; + I cannot call thee blest, until + That dreaded foe has ceased to be." + + While to these words the king gave vent, + A herald from Miletus sent, + Appeared before the tyrant there: + "Lord, let thy incense rise to-day, + And with the laurel branches gay + Thou well may'st crown thy festive hair!" + + "Thy foe has sunk beneath the spear,-- + I'm sent to bear the glad news here, + By thy true marshal Polydore"-- + Then from a basin black he takes-- + The fearful sight their terror wakes-- + A well-known head, besmeared with gore. + + The king with horror stepped aside, + And then with anxious look replied: + "Thy bliss to fortune ne'er commit. + On faithless waves, bethink thee how + Thy fleet with doubtful fate swims now-- + How soon the storm may scatter it!" + + But ere he yet had spoke the word, + A shout of jubilee is heard + Resounding from the distant strand. + With foreign treasures teeming o'er, + The vessels' mast-rich wood once more + Returns home to its native land. + + The guest then speaks with startled mind: + "Fortune to-day, in truth, seems kind; + But thou her fickleness shouldst fear: + The Cretan hordes, well skilled, in arms, + Now threaten thee with war's alarms; + E'en now they are approaching here." + + And, ere the word has 'scaped his lips, + A stir is seen amongst the ships, + And thousand voices "Victory!" cry: + "We are delivered from our foe, + The storm has laid the Cretan low, + The war is ended, is gone by!" + + The shout with horror hears the guest: + "In truth, I must esteem thee blest! + Yet dread I the decrees of heaven. + The envy of the gods I fear; + To taste of unmixed rapture here + Is never to a mortal given." + + "With me, too, everything succeeds; + In all my sovereign acts and deeds + The grace of Heaven is ever by; + And yet I had a well-loved heir-- + I paid my debt to fortune there-- + God took him hence--I saw him die." + + "Wouldst thou from sorrow, then, be free. + Pray to each unseen Deity, + For thy well-being, grief to send; + The man on whom the Gods bestow + Their gifts with hands that overflow, + Comes never to a happy end." + + "And if the Gods thy prayer resist, + Then to a friend's instruction list,-- + Invoke thyself adversity; + And what, of all thy treasures bright, + Gives to thy heart the most delight-- + That take and cast thou in the sea!" + + Then speaks the other, moved by fear: + "This ring to me is far most dear + Of all this isle within it knows-- + I to the furies pledge it now, + If they will happiness allow"-- + And in the flood the gem he throws. + + And with the morrow's earliest light, + Appeared before the monarch's sight + A fisherman, all joyously; + "Lord, I this fish just now have caught, + No net before e'er held the sort; + And as a gift I bring it thee." + + The fish was opened by the cook, + Who suddenly, with wondering look, + Runs up, and utters these glad sounds: + "Within the fish's maw, behold, + I've found, great lord, thy ring of gold! + Thy fortune truly knows no bounds!" + + The guest with terror turned away: + "I cannot here, then, longer stay,-- + My friend thou canst no longer be! + The gods have willed that thou shouldst die: + Lest I, too, perish, I must fly"-- + He spoke,--and sailed thence hastily. + + + + + THE CRANES OF IBYCUS. + + A BALLAD. + + Once to the song and chariot-fight, + Where all the tribes of Greece unite + On Corinth's isthmus joyously, + The god-loved Ibycus drew nigh. + On him Apollo had bestowed + The gift of song and strains inspired; + So, with light staff, he took his road + From Rhegium, by the godhead fired. + + Acrocorinth, on mountain high, + Now burns upon the wanderer's eye, + And he begins, with pious dread, + Poseidon's grove of firs to tread. + Naught moves around him, save a swarm + Of cranes, who guide him on his way; + Who from far southern regions warm + Have hither come in squadron gray. + + "Thou friendly band, all hail to thee! + Who led'st me safely o'er the sea! + I deem thee as a favoring sign,-- + My destiny resembles thine. + Both come from a far distant coast, + Both pray for some kind sheltering place;-- + Propitious toward us be the host + Who from the stranger wards disgrace!" + + And on he hastes, in joyous wood, + And reaches soon the middle wood + When, on a narrow bridge, by force + Two murderers sudden bar his course. + He must prepare him for the fray, + But soon his wearied hand sinks low; + Inured the gentle lyre to play, + It ne'er has strung the deadly bow. + + On gods and men for aid he cries,-- + No savior to his prayer replies; + However far his voice he sends, + Naught living to his cry attends. + "And must I in a foreign land, + Unwept, deserted, perish here, + Falling beneath a murderous hand, + Where no avenger can appear?" + + Deep-wounded, down he sinks at last, + When, lo! the cranes' wings rustle past. + He hears,--though he no more can see,-- + Their voices screaming fearfully. + "By you, ye cranes, that soar on high, + If not another voice is heard, + Be borne to heaven my murder-cry!" + He speaks, and dies, too, with the word. + + The naked corpse, ere long, is found, + And, though defaced by many a wound, + His host in Corinth soon could tell + The features that he loved so well. + "And is it thus I find thee now, + Who hoped the pine's victorious crown + To place upon the singer's brow, + Illumined by his bright renown?" + + The news is heard with grief by all + Met at Poseidon's festival; + All Greece is conscious of the smart, + He leaves a void in every heart; + And to the Prytanis [33] swift hie + The people, and they urge him on + The dead man's manes to pacify + And with the murderer's blood atone. + + But where's the trace that from the throng + The people's streaming crowds among, + Allured there by the sports so bright, + Can bring the villain back to light? + By craven robbers was he slain? + Or by some envious hidden foe? + That Helios only can explain, + Whose rays illume all things below. + + Perchance, with shameless step and proud, + He threads e'en now the Grecian crowd-- + Whilst vengeance follows in pursuit, + Gloats over his transgression's fruit. + The very gods perchance he braves + Upon the threshold of their fane,-- + Joins boldly in the human waves + That haste yon theatre to gain. + + For there the Grecian tribes appear, + Fast pouring in from far and near; + On close-packed benches sit they there,-- + The stage the weight can scarcely bear. + Like ocean-billows' hollow roar, + The teaming crowds of living man + Toward the cerulean heavens upsoar, + In bow of ever-widening span. + + Who knows the nation, who the name, + Of all who there together came? + From Theseus' town, from Aulis' strand + From Phocis, from the Spartan land, + From Asia's distant coast, they wend, + From every island of the sea, + And from the stage they hear ascend + The chorus's dread melody. + + Who, sad and solemn, as of old, + With footsteps measured and controlled, + Advancing from the far background, + Circle the theatre's wide round. + Thus, mortal women never move! + No mortal home to them gave birth! + Their giant-bodies tower above, + High o'er the puny sons of earth. + + With loins in mantle black concealed, + Within their fleshless bands they wield + The torch, that with a dull red glows,-- + While in their cheek no life-blood flows; + And where the hair is floating wide + And loving, round a mortal brow, + Here snakes and adders are descried, + Whose bellies swell with poison now. + + And, standing in a fearful ring, + The dread and solemn chant they sing, + That through the bosom thrilling goes, + And round the sinner fetters throws. + Sense-robbing, of heart-maddening power, + The furies' strains resound through air + The listener's marrow they devour,-- + The lyre can yield such numbers ne'er. + + "Happy the man who, blemish-free, + Preserves a soul of purity! + Near him we ne'er avenging come, + He freely o'er life's path may roam. + But woe to him who, hid from view, + Hath done the deed of murder base! + Upon his heels we close pursue,-- + We, who belong to night's dark race!" + + "And if he thinks to 'scape by flight, + Winged we appear, our snare of might + Around his flying feet to cast, + So that he needs must fall at last. + Thus we pursue him, tiring ne'er,-- + Our wrath repentance cannot quell,-- + On to the shadows, and e'en there + We leave him not in peace to dwell!" + + Thus singing, they the dance resume, + And silence, like that of the tomb, + O'er the whole house lies heavily, + As if the deity were nigh. + And staid and solemn, as of old, + Circling the theatre's wide round, + With footsteps measured and controlled, + They vanish in the far background. + + Between deceit and truth each breast. + Now doubting hangs, by awe possessed, + And homage pays to that dread might, + That judges what is hid from sight,-- + That, fathomless, inscrutable, + The gloomy skein of fate entwines, + That reads the bosom's depths full well, + Yet flies away where sunlight shines. + + When sudden, from the tier most high, + A voice is heard by all to cry: + "See there, see there, Timotheus! + Behold the cranes of Ibycus!" + The heavens become as black as night, + And o'er the theatre they see, + Far over-head, a dusky flight + Of cranes, approaching hastily. + + "Of Ibycus!"--That name so blest + With new-born sorrow fills each breast. + As waves on waves in ocean rise, + From mouth to mouth it swiftly flies: + "Of Ibycus, whom we lament? + Who fell beneath the murderer's hand? + What mean those words that from him went? + What means this cranes' advancing band?" + + And louder still become the cries, + And soon this thought foreboding flies + Through every heart, with speed of light-- + "Observe in this the furies' might! + The poets manes are now appeased + The murderer seeks his own arrest! + Let him who spoke the word be seized, + And him to whom it was addressed!" + + That word he had no sooner spoke, + Than he its sound would fain invoke; + In vain! his mouth, with terror pale, + Tells of his guilt the fearful tale. + Before the judge they drag them now + The scene becomes the tribunal; + Their crimes the villains both avow, + When neath the vengeance-stroke they fall. + + + + + THE PLAYING INFANT. + + Play on thy mother's bosom, babe, for in that holy isle + The error cannot find thee yet, the grieving, nor the guile; + Held in thy mother's arms above life's dark and troubled wave, + Thou lookest with thy fearless smile upon the floating grave. + Play, loveliest innocence!--Thee yet Arcadia circles round, + A charmed power for thee has set the lists of fairy ground; + Each gleesome impulse Nature now can sanction and befriend, + Nor to that willing heart as yet the duty and the end. + Play, for the haggard labor soon will come to seize its prey. + Alas! when duty grows thy law, enjoyment fades away! + + + + + HERO AND LEANDER. [34] + + A BALLAD. + + + See you the towers, that, gray and old, + Frown through the sunlight's liquid gold, + Steep sternly fronting steep? + The Hellespont beneath them swells, + And roaring cleaves the Dardanelles, + The rock-gates of the deep! + Hear you the sea, whose stormy wave, + From Asia, Europe clove in thunder? + That sea which rent a world, cannot + Rend love from love asunder! + + In Hero's, in Leander's heart, + Thrills the sweet anguish of the dart + Whose feather flies from love. + All Hebe's bloom in Hero's cheek-- + And his the hunter's steps that seek + Delight, the hills above! + Between their sires the rival feud + Forbids their plighted hearts to meet; + Love's fruits hang over danger's gulf, + By danger made more sweet. + + Alone on Sestos' rocky tower, + Where upward sent in stormy shower, + The whirling waters foam,-- + Alone the maiden sits, and eyes + The cliffs of fair Abydos rise + Afar--her lover's home. + Oh, safely thrown from strand to strand, + No bridge can love to love convey; + No boatman shoots from yonder shore, + Yet Love has found the way.-- + + That love, which could the labyrinth pierce-- + Which nerves the weak, and curbs the fierce, + And wings with wit the dull;-- + That love which o'er the furrowed land + Bowed--tame beneath young Jason's hand-- + The fiery-snorting bull! + Yes, Styx itself, that ninefold flows, + Has love, the fearless, ventured o'er, + And back to daylight borne the bride, + From Pluto's dreary shore! + + What marvel then that wind and wave, + Leander doth but burn to brave, + When love, that goads him, guides! + Still when the day, with fainter glimmer, + Wanes pale--he leaps, the daring swimmer, + Amid the darkening tides; + With lusty arms he cleaves the waves, + And strikes for that dear strand afar; + Where high from Hero's lonely tower + Lone streams the beacon-star. + + In vain his blood the wave may chill, + These tender arms can warm it still-- + And, weary if the way, + By many a sweet embrace, above + All earthly boons--can liberal love + The lover's toil repay, + Until Aurora breaks the dream, + And warns the loiterer to depart-- + Back to the ocean's icy bed, + Scared from that loving heart. + + So thirty suns have sped their flight-- + Still in that theft of sweet delight + Exult the happy pair; + Caress will never pall caress, + And joys that gods might envy, bless + The single bride-night there. + Ah! never he has rapture known, + Who has not, where the waves are driven + Upon the fearful shores of hell, + Plucked fruits that taste of heaven! + + Now changing in their season are, + The morning and the Hesper star;-- + Nor see those happy eyes + The leaves that withering droop and fall, + Nor hear, when, from its northern hall, + The neighboring winter sighs; + Or, if they see, the shortening days + But seem to them to close in kindness; + For longer joys, in lengthening nights, + They thank the heaven in blindness. + + It is the time, when night and day, + In equal scales contend for sway [35]-- + Lone, on her rocky steep, + Lingers the girl with wistful eyes + That watch the sun-steeds down the skies, + Careering towards the deep. + Lulled lay the smooth and silent sea, + A mirror in translucent calm, + The breeze, along that crystal realm, + Unmurmuring, died in balm. + + In wanton swarms and blithe array, + The merry dolphins glide and play + Amid the silver waves. + In gray and dusky troops are seen, + The hosts that serve the ocean-queen, + Upborne from coral caves: + They--only they--have witnessed love + To rapture steal its secret way: + And Hecate [36] seals the only lips + That could the tale betray! + + She marks in joy the lulled water, + And Sestos, thus thy tender daughter, + Soft-flattering, woos the sea! + "Fair god--and canst thou then betray? + No! falsehood dwells with them that say + That falsehood dwells with thee! + Ah! faithless is the race of man, + And harsh a father's heart can prove; + But thee, the gentle and the mild, + The grief of love can move!" + + "Within these hated walls of stone, + Should I, repining, mourn alone, + And fade in ceaseless care, + But thou, though o'er thy giant tide, + Nor bridge may span, nor boat may glide, + Dost safe my lover bear. + And darksome is thy solemn deep, + And fearful is thy roaring wave; + But wave and deep are won by love-- + Thou smilest on the brave!" + + "Nor vainly, sovereign of the sea, + Did Eros send his shafts to thee + What time the rain of gold, + Bright Helle, with her brother bore, + How stirred the waves she wandered o'er, + How stirred thy deeps of old! + Swift, by the maiden's charms subdued, + Thou cam'st from out the gloomy waves, + And in thy mighty arms, she sank + Into thy bridal caves." + + "A goddess with a god, to keep + In endless youth, beneath the deep, + Her solemn ocean-court! + And still she smooths thine angry tides, + Tames thy wild heart, and favoring guides + The sailor to the port! + Beautiful Helle, bright one, hear + Thy lone adoring suppliant pray! + And guide, O goddess--guide my love + Along the wonted way!" + + Now twilight dims the waters' flow, + And from the tower, the beacon's glow + Waves flickering o'er the main. + Ah, where athwart the dismal stream, + Shall shine the beacon's faithful beam + The lover's eyes shall strain! + Hark! sounds moan threatening from afar-- + From heaven the blessed stars are gone-- + More darkly swells the rising sea + The tempest labors on! + + Along the ocean's boundless plains + Lies night--in torrents rush the rains + From the dark-bosomed cloud-- + Red lightning skirs the panting air, + And, loosed from out their rocky lair, + Sweep all the storms abroad. + Huge wave on huge wave tumbling o'er, + The yawning gulf is rent asunder, + And shows, as through an opening pall, + Grim earth--the ocean under! + + Poor maiden! bootless wail or vow-- + "Have mercy, Jove--be gracious, thou! + Dread prayer was mine before!" + What if the gods have heard--and he, + Lone victim of the stormy sea, + Now struggles to the shore! + There's not a sea-bird on the wave-- + Their hurrying wings the shelter seek; + The stoutest ship the storms have proved, + Takes refuge in the creek. + + "Ah, still that heart, which oft has braved + The danger where the daring saved, + Love lureth o'er the sea;-- + For many a vow at parting morn, + That naught but death should bar return, + Breathed those dear lips to me; + And whirled around, the while I weep, + Amid the storm that rides the wave, + The giant gulf is grasping down + The rash one to the grave! + + "False Pontus! and the calm I hailed, + The awaiting murder darkly veiled-- + The lulled pellucid flow, + The smiles in which thou wert arrayed, + Were but the snares that love betrayed + To thy false realm below! + Now in the midway of the main, + Return relentlessly forbidden, + Thou loosenest on the path beyond + The horrors thou hadst hidden." + + Loud and more loud the tempest raves + In thunder break the mountain waves, + White-foaming on the rock-- + No ship that ever swept the deep + Its ribs of gnarled oak could keep + Unshattered by the shock. + Dies in the blast the guiding torch + To light the struggler to the strand; + 'Tis death to battle with the wave, + And death no less to land! + + On Venus, daughter of the seas, + She calls the tempest to appease-- + To each wild-shrieking wind + Along the ocean-desert borne, + She vows a steer with golden horn-- + Vain vow--relentless wind! + On every goddess of the deep, + On all the gods in heaven that be, + She calls--to soothe in calm, awhile + The tempest-laden sea! + + "Hearken the anguish of my cries! + From thy green halls, arise--arise, + Leucothoe the divine! + Who, in the barren main afar, + Oft on the storm-beat mariner + Dost gently-saving shine. + Oh,--reach to him thy mystic veil, + To which the drowning clasp may cling, + And safely from that roaring grave, + To shore my lover bring!" + + And now the savage winds are hushing. + And o'er the arched horizon, blushing, + Day's chariot gleams on high! + Back to their wonted channels rolled, + In crystal calm the waves behold + One smile on sea and sky! + All softly breaks the rippling tide, + Low-murmuring on the rocky land, + And playful wavelets gently float + A corpse upon the strand! + + 'Tis he!--who even in death would still + Not fail the sweet vow to fulfil; + She looks--sees--knows him there! + From her pale lips no sorrow speaks, + No tears glide down her hueless cheeks; + Cold-numbed in her despair-- + She looked along the silent deep, + She looked upon the brightening heaven, + Till to the marble face the soul + Its light sublime had given! + + "Ye solemn powers men shrink to name, + Your might is here, your rights ye claim-- + Yet think not I repine + Soon closed my course; yet I can bless + The life that brought me happiness-- + The fairest lot was mine! + Living have I thy temple served, + Thy consecrated priestess been-- + My last glad offering now receive + Venus, thou mightiest queen!" + + Flashed the white robe along the air, + And from the tower that beetled there + She sprang into the wave; + Roused from his throne beneath the waste, + Those holy forms the god embraced-- + A god himself their grave! + Pleased with his prey, he glides along-- + More blithe the murmured music seems, + A gush from unexhausted urns + His everlasting streams! + + + + + CASSANDRA. + + Mirth the halls of Troy was filling, + Ere its lofty ramparts fell; + From the golden lute so thrilling + Hymns of joy were heard to swell. + From the sad and tearful slaughter + All had laid their arms aside, + For Pelides Priam's daughter + Claimed then as his own fair bride. + + Laurel branches with them bearing, + Troop on troop in bright array + To the temples were repairing, + Owning Thymbrius' sovereign sway. + Through the streets, with frantic measure, + Danced the bacchanal mad round, + And, amid the radiant pleasure, + Only one sad breast was found. + + Joyless in the midst of gladness, + None to heed her, none to love, + Roamed Cassandra, plunged in sadness, + To Apollo's laurel grove. + To its dark and deep recesses + Swift the sorrowing priestess hied, + And from off her flowing tresses + Tore the sacred band, and cried: + + "All around with joy is beaming, + Ev'ry heart is happy now, + And my sire is fondly dreaming, + Wreathed with flowers my sister's brow + I alone am doomed to wailing, + That sweet vision flies from me; + In my mind, these walls assailing, + Fierce destruction I can see." + + "Though a torch I see all-glowing, + Yet 'tis not in Hymen's hand; + Smoke across the skies is blowing, + Yet 'tis from no votive brand. + Yonder see I feasts entrancing, + But in my prophetic soul, + Hear I now the God advancing, + Who will steep in tears the bowl!" + + "And they blame my lamentation, + And they laugh my grief to scorn; + To the haunts of desolation + I must bear my woes forlorn. + All who happy are, now shun me, + And my tears with laughter see; + Heavy lies thy hand upon me, + Cruel Pythian deity!" + + "Thy divine decrees foretelling, + Wherefore hast thou thrown me here, + Where the ever-blind are dwelling, + With a mind, alas, too clear? + Wherefore hast thou power thus given, + What must needs occur to know? + Wrought must be the will of Heaven-- + Onward come the hour of woe!" + + "When impending fate strikes terror, + Why remove the covering? + Life we have alone in error, + Knowledge with it death must bring. + Take away this prescience tearful, + Take this sight of woe from me; + Of thy truths, alas! how fearful + 'Tis the mouthpiece frail to be!" + + "Veil my mind once more in slumbers + Let me heedlessly rejoice; + Never have I sung glad numbers + Since I've been thy chosen voice. + Knowledge of the future giving, + Thou hast stolen the present day, + Stolen the moment's joyous living,-- + Take thy false gift, then, away!" + + "Ne'er with bridal train around me, + Have I wreathed my radiant brow, + Since to serve thy fane I bound me-- + Bound me with a solemn vow. + Evermore in grief I languish-- + All my youth in tears was spent; + And with thoughts of bitter anguish + My too-feeling heart is rent." + + "Joyously my friends are playing, + All around are blest and glad, + In the paths of pleasure straying,-- + My poor heart alone is sad. + Spring in vain unfolds each treasure, + Filling all the earth with bliss; + Who in life can e'er take pleasure, + When is seen its dark abyss?" + + "With her heart in vision burning, + Truly blest is Polyxene, + As a bride to clasp him yearning. + Him, the noblest, best Hellene! + And her breast with rapture swelling, + All its bliss can scarcely know; + E'en the Gods in heavenly dwelling + Envying not, when dreaming so." + + "He to whom my heart is plighted + Stood before my ravished eye, + And his look, by passion lighted, + Toward me turned imploringly. + With the loved one, oh, how gladly + Homeward would I take my flight + But a Stygian shadow sadly + Steps between us every night." + + "Cruel Proserpine is sending + All her spectres pale to me; + Ever on my steps attending + Those dread shadowy forms I see. + Though I seek, in mirth and laughter + Refuge from that ghastly train, + Still I see them hastening after,-- + Ne'er shall I know joy again." + + "And I see the death-steel glancing, + And the eye of murder glare; + On, with hasty strides advancing, + Terror haunts me everywhere. + Vain I seek alleviation;-- + Knowing, seeing, suffering all, + I must wait the consummation, + In a foreign land must fall." + + While her solemn words are ringing, + Hark! a dull and wailing tone + From the temple's gate upspringing,-- + Dead lies Thetis' mighty son! + Eris shakes her snake-locks hated, + Swiftly flies each deity, + And o'er Ilion's walls ill-fated + Thunder-clouds loom heavily! + + + + + THE HOSTAGE. + + A BALLAD. + + The tyrant Dionys to seek, + Stern Moerus with his poniard crept; + The watchful guard upon him swept; + The grim king marked his changeless cheek: + "What wouldst thou with thy poniard? Speak!" + "The city from the tyrant free!" + "The death-cross shall thy guerdon be." + + "I am prepared for death, nor pray," + Replied that haughty man, "I to live; + Enough, if thou one grace wilt give + For three brief suns the death delay + To wed my sister--leagues away; + I boast one friend whose life for mine, + If I should fail the cross, is thine." + + The tyrant mused,--and smiled,--and said + With gloomy craft, "So let it be; + Three days I will vouchsafe to thee. + But mark--if, when the time be sped, + Thou fail'st--thy surety dies instead. + His life shall buy thine own release; + Thy guilt atoned, my wrath shall cease." + + He sought his friend--"The king's decree + Ordains my life the cross upon + Shall pay the deed I would have done; + Yet grants three days' delay to me, + My sister's marriage-rites to see; + If thou, the hostage, wilt remain + Till I--set free--return again!" + + His friend embraced--No word he said, + But silent to the tyrant strode-- + The other went upon his road. + Ere the third sun in heaven was red, + The rite was o'er, the sister wed; + And back, with anxious heart unquailing, + He hastes to hold the pledge unfailing. + + Down the great rains unending bore, + Down from the hills the torrents rushed, + In one broad stream the brooklets gushed. + The wanderer halts beside the shore, + The bridge was swept the tides before-- + The shattered arches o'er and under + Went the tumultuous waves in thunder. + + Dismayed he takes his idle stand-- + Dismayed, he strays and shouts around; + His voice awakes no answering sound. + No boat will leave the sheltering strand, + To bear him to the wished-for land; + No boatman will Death's pilot be; + The wild stream gathers to a sea! + + Sunk by the banks, awhile he weeps, + Then raised his arms to Jove, and cried, + "Stay thou, oh stay the maddening tide; + Midway behold the swift sun sweeps, + And, ere he sinks adown the deeps, + If I should fail, his beams will see + My friend's last anguish--slain for me!" + + More fierce it runs, more broad it flows, + And wave on wave succeeds and dies + And hour on hour remorseless flies; + Despair at last to daring grows-- + Amidst the flood his form he throws; + With vigorous arms the roaring waves + Cleaves--and a God that pities, saves. + + He wins the bank--he scours the strand, + He thanks the God in breathless prayer; + When from the forest's gloomy lair, + With ragged club in ruthless hand, + And breathing murder--rushed the band + That find, in woods, their savage den, + And savage prey in wandering men. + + "What," cried he, pale with generous fear; + "What think to gain ye by the strife? + All I bear with me is my life-- + I take it to the king!"--and here + He snatched the club from him most near: + And thrice he smote, and thrice his blows + Dealt death--before him fly the foes! + + The sun is glowing as a brand; + And faint before the parching heat, + The strength forsakes the feeble feet: + "Thou hast saved me from the robbers' hand, + Through wild floods given the blessed land; + And shall the weak limbs fail me now? + And he!--Divine one, nerve me, thou!" + + + Hark! like some gracious murmur by, + Babbles low music, silver-clear-- + The wanderer holds his breath to hear; + And from the rock, before his eye, + Laughs forth the spring delightedly; + Now the sweet waves he bends him o'er, + And the sweet waves his strength restore. + + Through the green boughs the sun gleams dying, + O'er fields that drink the rosy beam, + The trees' huge shadows giant seem. + Two strangers on the road are hieing; + And as they fleet beside him flying, + These muttered words his ear dismay: + "Now--now the cross has claimed its prey!" + + Despair his winged path pursues, + The anxious terrors hound him on-- + There, reddening in the evening sun, + From far, the domes of Syracuse!-- + When towards him comes Philostratus + (His leal and trusty herdsman he), + And to the master bends his knee. + + "Back--thou canst aid thy friend no more, + The niggard time already flown-- + His life is forfeit--save thine own! + Hour after hour in hope he bore, + Nor might his soul its faith give o'er; + Nor could the tyrant's scorn deriding, + Steal from that faith one thought confiding!" + + "Too late! what horror hast thou spoken! + Vain life, since it cannot requite him! + But death with me can yet unite him; + No boast the tyrant's scorn shall make-- + How friend to friend can faith forsake. + But from the double death shall know, + That truth and love yet live below!" + + The sun sinks down--the gate's in view, + The cross looms dismal on the ground-- + The eager crowd gape murmuring round. + His friend is bound the cross unto. . . . + Crowd--guards--all bursts he breathless through: + "Me! Doomsman, me!" he shouts, "alone! + His life is rescued--lo, mine own!" + + Amazement seized the circling ring! + Linked in each other's arms the pair-- + Weeping for joy--yet anguish there! + Moist every eye that gazed;--they bring + The wondrous tidings to the king-- + His breast man's heart at last hath known, + And the friends stand before his throne. + + Long silent, he, and wondering long, + Gazed on the pair--"In peace depart, + Victors, ye have subdued my heart! + Truth is no dream!--its power is strong. + Give grace to him who owns his wrong! + 'Tis mine your suppliant now to be, + Ah, let the band of love--be three!" [37] + + + + + GREEKISM. + + Scarce has the fever so chilly of Gallomania departed, + When a more burning attack in Grecomania breaks out. + Greekism,--what did it mean?--'Twas harmony, reason, and clearness! + Patience,--good gentlemen, pray, ere ye of Greekism speak! + 'Tis for an excellent cause ye are fighting, and all that I ask for + Is that with reason it ne'er may be a laughing-stock made. + + + + + THE DIVER. + + A BALLAD. + + "What knight or what vassal will be so bold + As to plunge in the gulf below? + See! I hurl in its depths a goblet of gold, + Already the waters over it flow. + The man who can bring back the goblet to me, + May keep it henceforward,--his own it shall be." + + Thus speaks the king, and he hurls from the height + Of the cliffs that, rugged and steep, + Hang over the boundless sea, with strong might, + The goblet afar, in the bellowing deep. + "And who'll be so daring,--I ask it once more,-- + As to plunge in these billows that wildly roar?" + + And the vassals and knights of high degree + Hear his words, but silent remain. + They cast their eyes on the raging sea, + And none will attempt the goblet to gain. + And a third time the question is asked by the king: + "Is there none that will dare in the gulf now to spring?" + + Yet all as before in silence stand, + When a page, with a modest pride, + Steps out of the timorous squirely band, + And his girdle and mantle soon throws aside, + And all the knights, and the ladies too, + The noble stripling with wonderment view. + + And when he draws nigh to the rocky brow, + And looks in the gulf so black, + The waters that she had swallowed but now, + The howling Charybdis is giving back; + And, with the distant thunder's dull sound. + From her gloomy womb they all-foaming rebound. + + And it boils and it roars, and it hisses and seethes, + As when water and fire first blend; + To the sky spurts the foam in steam-laden wreaths, + And wave presses hard upon wave without end. + And the ocean will never exhausted be, + As if striving to bring forth another sea. + + But at length the wild tumult seems pacified, + And blackly amid the white swell + A gaping chasm its jaws opens wide, + As if leading down to the depths of hell: + And the howling billows are seen by each eye + Down the whirling funnel all madly to fly. + + Then quickly, before the breakers rebound, + The stripling commends him to Heaven, + And--a scream of horror is heard around,-- + And now by the whirlpool away he is driven, + And secretly over the swimmer brave + Close the jaws, and he vanishes 'neath the dark wave. + + O'er the watery gulf dread silence now lies, + But the deep sends up a dull yell, + And from mouth to mouth thus trembling it flies: + "Courageous stripling, oh, fare thee well!" + And duller and duller the howls recommence, + While they pause in anxious and fearful suspense. + + "If even thy crown in the gulf thou shouldst fling, + And shouldst say, 'He who brings it to me + Shall wear it henceforward, and be the king,' + Thou couldst tempt me not e'en with that precious foe; + What under the howling deep is concealed + To no happy living soul is revealed!" + + Full many a ship, by the whirlpool held fast, + Shoots straightway beneath the mad wave, + And, dashed to pieces, the hull and the mast + Emerge from the all-devouring grave,-- + And the roaring approaches still nearer and nearer, + Like the howl of the tempest, still clearer and clearer. + + And it boils and it roars, and it hisses and seethes, + As when water and fire first blend; + To the sky spurts the foam in steam-laden wreaths, + And wave passes hard upon wave without end. + And, with the distant thunder's dull sound, + From the ocean-womb they all-bellowing bound. + + And lo! from the darkly flowing tide + Comes a vision white as a swan, + And an arm and a glistening neck are descried, + With might and with active zeal steering on; + And 'tis he, and behold! his left hand on high + Waves the goblet, while beaming with joy is his eye. + + Then breathes he deeply, then breathes he long, + And blesses the light of the day; + While gladly exclaim to each other the throng: + "He lives! he is here! he is not the sea's prey! + From the tomb, from the eddying waters' control, + The brave one has rescued his living soul!" + + And he comes, and they joyously round him stand; + At the feet of the monarch he falls,-- + The goblet he, kneeling, puts in his hand, + And the king to his beauteous daughter calls, + Who fills it with sparkling wine to the brim; + The youth turns to the monarch, and speaks thus to him: + + "Long life to the king! Let all those be glad + Who breathe in the light of the sky! + For below all is fearful, of moment sad; + Let not man to tempt the immortals e'er try, + Let him never desire the thing to see + That with terror and night they veil graciously." + + "I was torn below with the speed of light, + When out of a cavern of rock + Rushed towards me a spring with furious might; + I was seized by the twofold torrent's wild shock, + And like a top, with a whirl and a bound, + Despite all resistance, was whirled around." + + "Then God pointed out,--for to Him I cried + In that terrible moment of need,-- + A craggy reef in the gulf's dark side; + I seized it in haste, and from death was then freed. + And there, on sharp corals, was hanging the cup,-- + The fathomless pit had else swallowed it up." + + "For under me lay it, still mountain-deep, + In a darkness of purple-tinged dye, + And though to the ear all might seem then asleep + With shuddering awe 'twas seen by the eye + How the salamanders' and dragons' dread forms + Filled those terrible jaws of hell with their swarms." + + "There crowded, in union fearful and black, + In a horrible mass entwined, + The rock-fish, the ray with the thorny back, + And the hammer-fish's misshapen kind, + And the shark, the hyena dread of the sea, + With his angry teeth, grinned fiercely on me." + + "There hung I, by fulness of terror possessed, + Where all human aid was unknown, + Amongst phantoms, the only sensitive breast, + In that fearful solitude all alone, + Where the voice of mankind could not reach to mine ear, + 'Mid the monsters foul of that wilderness drear." + + "Thus shuddering methought--when a something crawled near, + And a hundred limbs it out-flung, + And at me it snapped;--in my mortal fear, + I left hold of the coral to which I had clung; + Then the whirlpool seized on me with maddened roar, + Yet 'twas well, for it brought me to light once more." + + The story in wonderment hears the king, + And he says, "The cup is thine own, + And I purpose also to give thee this ring, + Adorned with a costly, a priceless stone, + If thou'lt try once again, and bring word to me + What thou saw'st in the nethermost depths of the sea." + + His daughter hears this with emotions soft, + And with flattering accent prays she: + "That fearful sport, father, attempt not too oft! + What none other would dare, he hath ventured for thee; + If thy heart's wild longings thou canst not tame, + Let the knights, if they can, put the squire to shame." + + The king then seizes the goblet in haste, + In the gulf he hurls it with might: + "When the goblet once more in my hands thou hast placed, + Thou shalt rank at my court as the noblest knight, + And her as a bride thou shalt clasp e'en to-day, + Who for thee with tender compassion doth pray." + + Then a force, as from Heaven, descends on him there, + And lightning gleams in his eye, + And blushes he sees on her features so fair, + And he sees her turn pale, and swooning lie; + Then eager the precious guerdon to win, + For life or for death, lo! he plunges him in! + + The breakers they hear, and the breakers return, + Proclaimed by a thundering sound; + They bend o'er the gulf with glances that yearn, + And the waters are pouring in fast around; + Though upwards and downwards they rush and they rave, + The youth is brought back by no kindly wave. + + + + + THE KNIGHT OF TOGGENBURG. + + A BALLAD. + + "I Can love thee well, believe me, + As a sister true; + Other love, Sir Knight, would grieve me, + Sore my heart would rue. + Calmly would I see thee going, + Calmly, too, appear; + For those tears in silence flowing + Find no answer here." + + Thus she speaks,--he hears her sadly,-- + How his heartstrings bleed! + In his arms he clasps her madly, + Then he mounts his steed. + From the Switzer land collects he + All his warriors brave;-- + Cross on breast, their course directs he + To the Holy Grave. + + In triumphant march advancing, + Onward moves the host, + While their morion plumes are dancing + Where the foes are most. + Mortal terror strikes the Paynim + At the chieftain's name; + But the knight's sad thoughts enchain him-- + Grief consumes his frame. + + Twelve long months, with courage daring, + Peace he strives to find; + Then, at last, of rest despairing, + Leaves the host behind; + Sees a ship, whose sails are swelling, + Lie on Joppa's strand; + Ships him homeward for her dwelling, + In his own loved land. + + Now behold the pilgrim weary + At her castle gate! + But alas! these accents dreary + Seal his mournful fate:-- + "She thou seek'st her troth hath plighted + To all-gracious heaven; + To her God she was united + Yesterday at even!" + + To his father's home forever + Bids he now adieu; + Sees no more his arms and beaver, + Nor his steed so true. + Then descends he, sadly, slowly,-- + None suspect the sight,-- + For a garb of penance lowly + Wears the noble knight. + + Soon he now, the tempest braving, + Builds an humble shed, + Where o'er the lime-trees darkly waving, + Peeps the convent's head. + From the orb of day's first gleaming, + Till his race has run, + Hope in every feature beaming, + There he sits alone. + + Toward the convent straining ever + His unwearied eyes,-- + From her casement looking never + Till it open flies, + Till the loved one, soft advancing, + Shows her gentle face, + O'er the vale her sweet eye glancing, + Full of angel-grace. + + Then he seeks his bed of rushes, + Stilled all grief and pain, + Slumbering calm, till morning's blushes + Waken life again. + Days and years fleet on, yet never + Breathes he plaint or sighs, + On her casement gazing ever + Till it open flies. + + Till the loved one, soft advancing, + Shows her gentle face, + O'er the vale her sweet eyes glancing, + Full of angel-grace. + But at length, the morn returning + Finds him dead and chill;-- + Pale and wan, his gaze, with yearning, + Seeks her casement still. + + + + + THE FIGHT WITH THE DRAGON. + + Why run the crowd? What means the throng + That rushes fast the streets along? + Can Rhodes a prey to flames, then, be? + In crowds they gather hastily, + And, on his steed, a noble knight + Amid the rabble, meets my sight; + Behind him--prodigy unknown!-- + A monster fierce they're drawing on; + A dragon stems it by its shape, + With wide and crocodile-like jaw, + And on the knight and dragon gape, + In turns, the people, filled with awe. + + And thousand voices shout with glee + "The fiery dragon come and see, + Who hind and flock tore limb from limb!-- + The hero see, who vanquished him! + Full many a one before him went, + To dare the fearful combat bent, + But none returned home from the fight; + Honor ye, then, the noble knight!" + And toward the convent move they all, + While met in hasty council there + The brave knights of the Hospital, + St. John the Baptist's Order, were. + + Up to the noble master sped + The youth, with firm but modest tread; + The people followed with wild shout, + And stood the landing-place about, + While thus outspoke that daring one: + "My knightly duty I have done. + The dragon that laid waste the land + Has fallen beneath my conquering hand. + The way is to the wanderer free, + The shepherd o'er the plains may rove; + Across the mountains joyfully + The pilgrim to the shrine may move." + + But sternly looked the prince, and said: + "The hero's part thou well hast played + By courage is the true knight known,-- + A dauntless spirit thou hast shown. + Yet speak! What duty first should he + Regard, who would Christ's champion be, + Who wears the emblem of the Cross?"-- + And all turned pale at his discourse. + Yet he replied, with noble grace, + While blushingly he bent him low: + "That he deserves so proud a place + Obedience best of all can show." + + "My son," the master answering spoke, + "Thy daring act this duty broke. + The conflict that the law forbade + Thou hast with impious mind essayed."-- + "Lord, judge when all to thee is known," + The other spake, in steadfast tone,-- + "For I the law's commands and will + Purposed with honor to fulfil. + I went not out with heedless thought. + Hoping the monster dread to find; + To conquer in the fight I sought + By cunning, and a prudent mind." + + "Five of our noble Order, then + (Our faith could boast no better men), + Had by their daring lost their life, + When thou forbadest us the strife. + And yet my heart I felt a prey + To gloom, and panted for the fray; + Ay, even in the stilly night, + In vision gasped I in the fight; + And when the glimmering morning came, + And of fresh troubles knowledge gave, + A raging grief consumed my frame, + And I resolved the thing to brave." + + "And to myself I thus began: + 'What is't adorns the youth, the man? + What actions of the heroes bold, + Of whom in ancient song we're told, + Blind heathendom raised up on high + To godlike fame and dignity? + The world, by deeds known far and wide, + From monsters fierce they purified; + The lion in the fight they met, + And wrestled with the minotaur, + Unhappy victims free to set, + And were not sparing of their gore.'" + + "'Are none but Saracens to feel + The prowess of the Christian steel? + False idols only shall be brave? + His mission is the world to save; + To free it, by his sturdy arm, + From every hurt, from every harm; + Yet wisdom must his courage bend, + And cunning must with strength contend.' + Thus spake I oft, and went alone + The monster's traces to espy; + When on my mind a bright light shone,-- + 'I have it!' was my joyful cry." + + "To thee I went, and thus I spake: + 'My homeward journey I would take.' + Thou, lord, didst grant my prayer to me,-- + Then safely traversed I the sea; + And, when I reached my native strand, + I caused a skilful artist's hand + To make a dragon's image, true + To his that now so well I knew. + On feet of measure short was placed + Its lengthy body's heavy load; + A scaly coat of mail embraced + The back, on which it fiercely showed." + + "Its stretching neck appeared to swell, + And, ghastly as a gate of hell, + Its fearful jaws were open wide, + As if to seize the prey it tried; + And in its black mouth, ranged about, + Its teeth in prickly rows stood out; + Its tongue was like a sharp-edged sword, + And lightning from its small eyes poured; + A serpent's tail of many a fold + Ended its body's monstrous span, + And round itself with fierceness rolled, + So as to clasp both steed and man." + + "I formed the whole to nature true, + In skin of gray and hideous hue; + Part dragon it appeared, part snake, + Engendered in the poisonous lake. + And, when the figure was complete, + A pair of dogs I chose me, fleet, + Of mighty strength, of nimble pace, + Inured the savage boar to chase; + The dragon, then, I made them bait, + Inflaming them to fury dread, + With their sharp teeth to seize it straight, + And with my voice their motions led." + + "And, where the belly's tender skin + Allowed the tooth to enter in, + I taught them how to seize it there, + And, with their fangs, the part to tear. + I mounted, then, my Arab steed, + The offspring of a noble breed; + My hand a dart on high held forth, + And, when I had inflamed his wrath, + I stuck my sharp spurs in his side, + And urged him on as quick as thought, + And hurled my dart in circles wide + As if to pierce the beast I sought." + + "And though my steed reared high in pain, + And champed and foamed beneath the rein, + And though the dogs howled fearfully, + Till they were calmed ne'er rested I. + This plan I ceaselessly pursued, + Till thrice the moon had been renewed; + And when they had been duly taught, + In swift ships here I had them brought; + And since my foot these shores has pressed + Flown has three mornings' narrow span; + I scarce allowed my limbs to rest + Ere I the mighty task began." + + "For hotly was my bosom stirred + When of the land's fresh grief I heard; + Shepherds of late had been his prey, + When in the marsh they went astray. + I formed my plans then hastily,-- + My heart was all that counselled me. + My squires instructing to proceed, + I sprang upon my well-trained steed, + And, followed by my noble pair + Of dogs, by secret pathways rode, + Where not an eye could witness bear, + To find the monster's fell abode." + + "Thou, lord, must know the chapel well, + Pitched on a rocky pinnacle, + That overlooks the distant isle; + A daring mind 'twas raised the pile. + Though humble, mean, and small it shows + Its walls a miracle enclose,-- + The Virgin and her infant Son, + Vowed by the three kings of Cologne. + By three times thirty steps is led + The pilgrim to the giddy height; + Yet, when he gains it with bold tread, + He's quickened by his Saviour's sight." + + "Deep in the rock to which it clings, + A cavern dark its arms outflings, + Moist with the neighboring moorland's dew, + Where heaven's bright rays can ne'er pierce through. + There dwelt the monster, there he lay, + His spoil awaiting, night and day; + Like the hell-dragon, thus he kept + Watch near the shrine, and never slept; + And if a hapless pilgrim chanced + To enter on that fatal way, + From out his ambush quick advanced + The foe, and seized him as his prey." + + "I mounted now the rocky height; + Ere I commenced the fearful fight, + There knelt I to the infant Lord, + And pardon for my sins implored. + Then in the holy fane I placed + My shining armor round my waist, + My right hand grasped my javelin, + The fight then went I to begin; + Instructions gave my squires among, + Commanding them to tarry there; + Then on my steed I nimbly sprung, + And gave my spirit to God's care." + + "Soon as I reached the level plain, + My dogs found out the scent amain; + My frightened horse soon reared on high,-- + His fear I could not pacify, + For, coiled up in a circle, lo! + There lay the fierce and hideous foe, + Sunning himself upon the ground. + Straight at him rushed each nimble hound; + Yet thence they turned, dismayed and fast, + When he his gaping jaws op'd wide, + Vomited forth his poisonous blast, + And like the howling jackal cried." + + "But soon their courage I restored; + They seized with rage the foe abhorred, + While I against the beast's loins threw + My spear with sturdy arm and true: + But, powerless as a bulrush frail, + It bounded from his coat of mail; + And ere I could repeat the throw, + My horse reeled wildly to and fro + Before his basilisk-like look, + And at his poison-teeming breath,-- + Sprang backward, and with terror shook, + While I seemed doomed to certain death." + + "Then from my steed I nimbly sprung, + My sharp-edged sword with vigor swung; + Yet all in vain my strokes I plied,-- + I could not pierce his rock-like hide. + His tail with fury lashing round, + Sudden he bore me to the ground. + His jaws then opening fearfully, + With angry teeth he struck at me; + But now my dogs, with wrath new-born, + Rushed on his belly with fierce bite, + So that, by dreadful anguish torn, + He howling stood before my sight." + + "And ere he from their teeth was free, + I raised myself up hastily, + The weak place of the foe explored, + And in his entrails plunged my sword, + Sinking it even to the hilt; + Black gushing forth, his blood was spilt. + Down sank he, burying in his fall + Me with his body's giant ball, + So that my senses quickly fled; + And when I woke with strength renewed, + The dragon in his blood lay dead, + While round me grouped my squires all stood." + + The joyous shouts, so long suppressed, + Now burst from every hearer's breast, + Soon as the knight these words had spoken; + And ten times 'gainst the high vault broken, + The sound of mingled voices rang, + Re-echoing back with hollow clang. + The Order's sons demand, in haste, + That with a crown his brow be graced, + And gratefully in triumph now + The mob the youth would bear along + When, lo! the master knit his brow, + And called for silence 'mongst the throng. + + And said, "The dragon that this land + Laid waste, thou slew'st with daring hand; + Although the people's idol thou, + The Order's foe I deem thee now. + Thy breast has to a fiend more base + Than e'en this dragon given place. + The serpent that the heart most stings, + And hatred and destruction brings, + That spirit is, which stubborn lies, + And impiously cast off the rein, + Despising order's sacred ties; + 'Tis that destroys the world amain." + + "The Mameluke makes of courage boast, + Obedience decks the Christian most; + For where our great and blessed Lord + As a mere servant walked abroad, + The fathers, on that holy ground, + This famous Order chose to found, + That arduous duty to fulfil + To overcome one's own self-will! + 'Twas idle glory moved thee there: + So take thee hence from out my sight! + For who the Lord's yoke cannot bear, + To wear his cross can have no right." + + A furious shout now raise the crowd, + The place is filled with outcries loud; + The brethren all for pardon cry; + The youth in silence droops his eye-- + Mutely his garment from him throws, + Kisses the master's hand, and--goes. + But he pursues him with his gaze, + Recalls him lovingly, and says: + "Let me embrace thee now, my son! + The harder fight is gained by thee. + Take, then, this cross--the guerdon won + By self-subdued humility." + + + + + FEMALE JUDGMENT. + +Man frames his judgment on reason; but woman on love founds her verdict; +If her judgment loves not, woman already has judged. + + + + + FRIDOLIN; OR, THE WALK TO THE IRON FOUNDRY. + + A gentle was Fridolin, + And he his mistress dear, + Savern's fair Countess, honored in + All truth and godly fear. + She was so meek, and, ah! so good! + Yet each wish of her wayward mood, + He would have studied to fulfil, + To please his God, with earnest will. + + From the first hour when daylight shone + Till rang the vesper-chime, + He lived but for her will alone, + And deemed e'en that scarce time. + And if she said, "Less anxious be!" + His eye then glistened tearfully. + Thinking that he in duty failed, + And so before no toil he quailed. + + And so, before her serving train, + The Countess loved to raise him; + While her fair mouth, in endless strain, + Was ever wont to praise him. + She never held him as her slave, + Her heart a child's rights to him gave; + Her clear eye hung in fond delight + Upon his well-formed features bright. + + Soon in the huntsman Robert's breast + Was poisonous anger fired; + His black soul, long by lust possessed, + With malice was inspired; + He sought the Count, whom, quick in deed, + A traitor might with ease mislead, + As once from hunting home they rode, + And in his heart suspicion sowed. + + "Happy art thou, great Count, in truth," + Thus cunningly he spoke; + "For ne'er mistrust's envenomed tooth + Thy golden slumbers broke; + A noble wife thy love rewards, + And modesty her person guards. + The tempter will be able ne'er + Her true fidelity to snare." + + A gloomy scowl the Count's eye filled: + "What's this thou say'st to me? + Shall I on woman's virtue build, + Inconstant as the sea? + The flatterer's mouth with ease may lure; + My trust is placed on ground more sure. + No one, methinks, dare ever burn + To tempt the wife of Count Savern." + + The other spoke: "Thou sayest it well, + The fool deserves thy scorn + Who ventures on such thoughts to dwell, + A mere retainer born,-- + Who to the lady he obeys + Fears not his wishes' lust to raise."-- + "What!" tremblingly the Count began, + "Dost speak, then, of a living man?"-- + + "Is, then, the thing, to all revealed, + Hid from my master's view? + Yet, since with care from thee concealed, + I'd fain conceal it too"-- + "Speak quickly, villain! speak or die!" + Exclaimed the other fearfully. + "Who dares to look on Cunigond?" + "'Tis the fair page that is so fond." + + "He's not ill-shaped in form, I wot," + He craftily went on; + The Count meanwhile felt cold and hot, + By turns in every bone. + "Is't possible thou seest not, sir, + How he has eyes for none but her? + At table ne'er attends to thee, + But sighs behind her ceaselessly?" + + "Behold the rhymes that from him came + His passion to confess"-- + "Confess!"--"And for an answering flame,-- + The impious knave!--to press. + My gracious lady, soft and meek, + Through pity, doubtless, feared to speak; + That it has 'scaped me, sore I rue; + What, lord, canst thou to help it do?" + + Into the neighboring wood then rode + The Count, inflamed with wrath, + Where, in his iron foundry, glowed + The ore, and bubbled forth. + The workmen here, with busy hand, + The fire both late and early fanned. + The sparks fly out, the bellows ply, + As if the rock to liquefy. + + The fire and water's might twofold + Are here united found; + The mill-wheel, by the flood seized hold, + Is whirling round and round; + The works are clattering night and day, + With measured stroke the hammers play, + And, yielding to the mighty blows, + The very iron plastic grows. + + Then to two workmen beckons he, + And speaks thus in his ire; + "The first who's hither sent by me + Thus of ye to inquire + 'Have ye obeyed my lord's word well?' + Him cast ye into yonder hell, + That into ashes he may fly, + And ne'er again torment mine eye!" + + The inhuman pair were overjoyed, + With devilish glee possessed + For as the iron, feeling void, + Their heart was in their breast, + And brisker with the bellows' blast, + The foundry's womb now heat they fast, + And with a murderous mind prepare + To offer up the victim there. + + Then Robert to his comrade spake, + With false hypocrisy: + "Up, comrade, up! no tarrying make! + Our lord has need of thee." + The lord to Fridolin then said: + "The pathway toward the foundry tread, + And of the workmen there inquire, + If they have done their lord's desire." + + The other answered, "Be it so!" + But o'er him came this thought, + When he was all-prepared to go, + "Will she command me aught?" + So to the Countess straight he went: + "I'm to the iron-foundry sent; + Then say, can I do aught for thee? + For thou 'tis who commandest me." + + To this the Lady of Savern + Replied in gentle tone: + "To hear the holy mass I yearn, + For sick now lies my son; + So go, my child, and when thou'rt there, + Utter for me a humble prayer, + And of thy sins think ruefully, + That grace may also fall on me." + + And in this welcome duty glad, + He quickly left the place; + But ere the village bounds he had + Attained with rapid pace, + The sound of bells struck on his ear, + From the high belfry ringing clear, + And every sinner, mercy-sent, + Inviting to the sacrament. + + "Never from praising God refrain + Where'er by thee He's found!" + He spoke, and stepped into the fane, + But there he heard no sound; + For 'twas the harvest time, and now + Glowed in the fields the reaper's brow; + No choristers were gathered there, + The duties of the mass to share. + + The matter paused he not to weigh, + But took the sexton's part; + "That thing," he said, "makes no delay + Which heavenward guides the heart." + Upon the priest, with helping hand, + He placed the stole and sacred band, + The vessels he prepared beside, + That for the mass were sanctified. + + And when his duties here were o'er, + Holding the mass-book, he, + Ministering to the priest, before + The altar bowed his knee, + And knelt him left, and knelt him right, + While not a look escaped his sight, + And when the holy Sanctus came, + The bell thrice rang he at the name. + + And when the priest, bowed humbly too, + In hand uplifted high, + Facing the altar, showed to view + The present Deity, + The sacristan proclaimed it well, + Sounding the clearly-tinkling bell, + While all knelt down, and beat the breast, + And with a cross the Host confessed. + + The rites thus served he, leaving none, + With quick and ready wit; + Each thing that in God's house is done, + He also practised it. + Unweariedly he labored thus, + Till the Vobiscum Dominus, + When toward the people turned the priest, + Blessed them,--and so the service ceased. + + Then he disposed each thing again, + In fair and due array; + First purified the holy fane, + And then he went his way, + And gladly, with a mind at rest, + On to the iron-foundry pressed, + Saying the while, complete to be, + Twelve paternosters silently. + + And when he saw the furnace smoke, + And saw the workmen stand, + "Have ye, ye fellows," thus he spoke, + "Obeyed the Count's command?" + Grinning they ope the orifice, + And point into the fell abyss: + "He's cared for--all is at an end! + The Count his servants will commend." + + The answer to his lord he brought, + Returning hastily, + Who, when his form his notice caught, + Could scarcely trust his eye: + "Unhappy one! whence comest thou?"-- + "Back from the foundry"--"Strange, I vow! + Hast in thy journey, then, delayed?"-- + "'Twas only, lord, till I had prayed." + + "For when I from thy presence went + (Oh pardon me!) to-day, + As duty bid, my steps I bent + To her whom I obey. + She told me, lord, the mass to hear, + I gladly to her wish gave ear, + And told four rosaries at the shrine, + For her salvation and for thine." + + In wonder deep the Count now fell, + And, shuddering, thus spake he: + "And, at the foundry, quickly tell, + What answer gave they thee?" + "Obscure the words they answered in,-- + Showing the furnace with a grin: + 'He's cared for--all is at an end! + The Count his servants will commend.'" + + "And Robert?" interrupted he, + While deadly pale he stood,-- + "Did he not, then, fall in with thee? + I sent him to the wood."-- + "Lord, neither in the wood nor field + Was trace of Robert's foot revealed."-- + "Then," cried the Count, with awe-struck mien, + "Great God in heaven his judge hath been!" + + With kindness he before ne'er proved, + He led him by the hand + Up to the Countess,--deeply moved,-- + Who naught could understand. + "This child, let him be dear to thee, + No angel is so pure as he! + Though we may have been counselled ill, + God and His hosts watch o'er him still." + + + + + THE GENIUS WITH THE INVERTED TORCH. + +Lovely he looks, 'tis true, with the light of his torch now extinguished; +But remember that death is not aesthetic, my friends! + + + + + THE COUNT OF HAPSBURG. [38] + + A BALLAD. + + At Aix-la-Chapelle, in imperial array, + In its halls renowned in old story, + At the coronation banquet so gay + King Rudolf was sitting in glory. + The meats were served up by the Palsgrave of Rhine, + The Bohemian poured out the bright sparkling wine, + And all the Electors, the seven, + Stood waiting around the world-governing one, + As the chorus of stars encircle the sun, + That honor might duly be given. + + And the people the lofty balcony round + In a throng exulting were filling; + While loudly were blending the trumpets' glad sound, + The multitude's voices so thrilling; + For the monarchless period, with horror rife, + Has ended now, after long baneful strife, + And the earth had a lord to possess her. + No longer ruled blindly the iron-bound spear, + And the weak and the peaceful no longer need fear + Being crushed by the cruel oppressor. + + And the emperor speaks with a smile in his eye, + While the golden goblet he seizes: + "With this banquet in glory none other can vie, + And my regal heart well it pleases; + Yet the minstrel, the bringer of joy, is not here, + Whose melodious strains to my heart are so dear, + And whose words heavenly wisdom inspire; + Since the days of my youth it hath been my delight, + And that which I ever have loved as a knight, + As a monarch I also require." + + And behold! 'mongst the princes who stand round the throne + Steps the bard, in his robe long and streaming, + While, bleached by the years that have over him flown, + His silver locks brightly are gleaming; + "Sweet harmony sleeps in the golden strings, + The minstrel of true love reward ever sings, + And adores what to virtue has tended-- + What the bosom may wish, what the senses hold dear; + But say, what is worthy the emperor's ear + At this, of all feasts the most splendid?" + + "No restraint would I place on the minstrel's own choice," + Speaks the monarch, a smile on each feature; + "He obeys the swift hour's imperious voice, + Of a far greater lord is the creature. + For, as through the air the storm-wind on-speeds,-- + One knows not from whence its wild roaring proceeds-- + As the spring from hid sources up-leaping, + So the lay of the bard from the inner heart breaks + While the might of sensations unknown it awakes, + That within us were wondrously sleeping." + + Then the bard swept the cords with a finger of might, + Evoking their magical sighing: + "To the chase once rode forth a valorous knight, + In pursuit of the antelope flying. + His hunting-spear bearing, there came in his train + His squire; and when o'er a wide-spreading plain + On his stately steed he was riding, + He heard in the distance a bell tinkling clear, + And a priest, with the Host, he saw soon drawing near, + While before him the sexton was striding." + + "And low to the earth the Count then inclined, + Bared his head in humble submission, + To honor, with trusting and Christian-like mind, + What had saved the whole world from perdition. + But a brook o'er the plain was pursuing its course, + That swelled by the mountain stream's headlong force, + Barred the wanderer's steps with its current; + So the priest on one side the blest sacrament put, + And his sandal with nimbleness drew from his foot, + That he safely might pass through the torrent." + + "'What wouldst thou?' the Count to him thus began, + His wondering look toward him turning: + 'My journey is, lord, to a dying man, + Who for heavenly diet is yearning; + But when to the bridge o'er the brook I came nigh, + In the whirl of the stream, as it madly rushed by + With furious might 'twas uprooted. + And so, that the sick the salvation may find + That he pants for, I hasten with resolute mind + To wade through the waters barefooted.'" + + "Then the Count made him mount on his stately steed, + And the reins to his hands he confided, + That he duly might comfort the sick in his need, + And that each holy rite be provided. + And himself, on the back of the steed of his squire, + Went after the chase to his heart's full desire, + While the priest on his journey was speeding + And the following morning, with thankful look, + To the Count once again his charger he took, + Its bridle with modesty leading." + + "'God forbid that in chase or in battle,' then cried + The Count with humility lowly, + 'The steed I henceforward should dare to bestride + That had borne my Creator so holy! + And if, as a guerdon, he may not be thine, + He devoted shall be to the service divine, + Proclaiming His infinite merit, + From whom I each honor and earthly good + Have received in fee, and my body and blood, + And my breath, and my life, and my spirit.'" + + "'Then may God, the sure rock, whom no time can e'er move, + And who lists to the weak's supplication, + For the honor thou pay'st Him, permit thee to prove + Honor here, and hereafter salvation! + Thou'rt a powerful Count, and thy knightly command + Hath blazoned thy fame through the Switzer's broad land; + Thou art blest with six daughters admired; + May they each in thy house introduce a bright crown, + Filling ages unborn with their glorious renown'-- + Thus exclaimed he in accents inspired." + + And the emperor sat there all-thoughtfully, + While the dream of the past stood before him; + And when on the minstrel he turned his eye, + His words' hidden meaning stole o'er him; + For seeing the traits of the priest there revealed, + In the folds of his purple-dyed robe he concealed + His tears as they swiftly coursed down. + And all on the emperor wonderingly gazed, + And the blest dispensations of Providence praised, + For the Count and the Caesar were one. + + + + + THE FORUM OF WOMAN. + + Woman, never judge man by his individual actions; + But upon man as a whole, pass thy decisive decree. + + + + + THE GLOVE. + + A TALE. + + Before his lion-court, + Impatient for the sport, + King Francis sat one day; + The peers of his realm sat around, + And in balcony high from the ground + Sat the ladies in beauteous array. + + And when with his finger he beckoned, + The gate opened wide in a second,-- + And in, with deliberate tread, + Enters a lion dread, + And looks around + Yet utters no sound; + Then long he yawns + And shakes his mane, + And, stretching each limb, + Down lies he again. + + Again signs the king,-- + The next gate open flies, + And, lo! with a wild spring, + A tiger out hies. + When the lion he sees, loudly roars he about, + And a terrible circle his tail traces out. + Protruding his tongue, past the lion he walks, + And, snarling with rage, round him warily stalks: + Then, growling anew, + On one side lies down too. + + Again signs the king,-- + And two gates open fly, + And, lo! with one spring, + Two leopards out hie. + On the tiger they rush, for the fight nothing loth, + But he with his paws seizes hold of them both. + And the lion, with roaring, gets up,--then all's still; + The fierce beasts stalk around, madly thirsting to kill. + + From the balcony raised high above + A fair hand lets fall down a glove + Into the lists, where 'tis seen + The lion and tiger between. + + To the knight, Sir Delorges, in tone of jest, + Then speaks young Cunigund fair; + "Sir Knight, if the love that thou feel'st in thy breast + Is as warm as thou'rt wont at each moment to swear, + Pick up, I pray thee, the glove that lies there!" + + And the knight, in a moment, with dauntless tread, + Jumps into the lists, nor seeks to linger, + And, from out the midst of those monsters dread, + Picks up the glove with a daring finger. + + And the knights and ladies of high degree + With wonder and horror the action see, + While he quietly brings in his hand the glove, + The praise of his courage each mouth employs; + Meanwhile, with a tender look of love, + The promise to him of coming joys, + Fair Cunigund welcomes him back to his place. + But he threw the glove point-blank in her face: + "Lady, no thanks from thee I'll receive!" + And that selfsame hour he took his leave. + + + + + THE CIRCLE OF NATURE. + + All, thou gentle one, lies embraced in thy kingdom; the graybeard + Back to the days of his youth, childish and child-like, returns. + + + + + THE VEILED STATUE AT SAIS. + + A youth, impelled by a burning thirst for knowledge + To roam to Sais, in fair Egypt's land, + The priesthood's secret learning to explore, + Had passed through many a grade with eager haste, + And still was hurrying on with fond impatience. + Scarce could the Hierophant impose a rein + Upon his headlong efforts. "What avails + A part without the whole?" the youth exclaimed; + "Can there be here a lesser or a greater? + The truth thou speak'st of, like mere earthly dross, + Is't but a sum that can be held by man + In larger or in smaller quantity? + Surely 'tis changeless, indivisible; + Deprive a harmony of but one note, + Deprive the rainbow of one single color, + And all that will remain is naught, so long + As that one color, that one note, is wanting." + + While thus they converse held, they chanced to stand + Within the precincts of a lonely temple, + Where a veiled statue of gigantic size + The youth's attention caught. In wonderment + He turned him toward his guide, and asked him, saying, + "What form is that concealed beneath yon veil?" + "Truth!" was the answer. "What!" the young man cried, + "When I am striving after truth alone, + Seekest thou to hide that very truth from me?" + + "The Godhead's self alone can answer thee," + Replied the Hierophant. "'Let no rash mortal + Disturb this veil,' said he, 'till raised by me; + For he who dares with sacrilegious hand + To move the sacred mystic covering, + He'--said the Godhead--" "Well?"--"'will see the truth.'" + "Strangely oracular, indeed! And thou + Hast never ventured, then, to raise the veil?" + "I? Truly not! I never even felt + The least desire."--"Is't possible? If I + Were severed from the truth by nothing else + Than this thin gauze--" "And a divine decree," + His guide broke in. "Far heavier than thou thinkest + Is this thin gauze, my son. Light to thy hand + It may be--but most weighty to thy conscience." + + The youth now sought his home, absorbed in thought; + His burning wish to solve the mystery + Banished all sleep; upon his couch he lay, + Tossing his feverish limbs. When midnight came, + He rose, and toward the temple timidly, + Led by a mighty impulse, bent his way. + The walls he scaled, and soon one active spring + Landed the daring boy beneath the dome. + + Behold him now, in utter solitude, + Welcomed by naught save fearful, deathlike silence,-- + A silence which the echo of his steps + Alone disturbs, as through the vaults he paces. + Piercing an opening in the cupola, + The moon cast down her pale and silvery beams, + And, awful as a present deity, + Glittering amid the darkness of the pile, + In its long veil concealed, the statue stands. + + With hesitating step, he now draws near-- + His impious hand would fain remove the veil-- + Sudden a burning chill assails his bones + And then an unseen arm repulses him. + "Unhappy one, what wouldst thou do?" Thus cries + A faithful voice within his trembling breast. + "Wouldst thou profanely violate the All-Holy?" + "'Tis true the oracle declared, 'Let none + Venture to raise the veil till raised by me.' + But did the oracle itself not add, + That he who did so would behold the truth? + Whate'er is hid behind, I'll raise the veil." + And then he shouted: "Yes! I will behold it!" + "Behold it!" + Repeats in mocking tone the distant echo. + + He speaks, and, with the word, lifts up the veil. + Would you inquire what form there met his eye? + I know not,--but, when day appeared, the priests + Found him extended senseless, pale as death, + Before the pedestal of Isis' statue. + What had been seen and heard by him when there + He never would disclose, but from that hour + His happiness in life had fled forever, + And his deep sorrow soon conducted him + To an untimely grave. "Woe to that man," + He warning said to every questioner, + "Woe to that man who wins the truth by guilt, + For truth so gained will ne'er reward its owner." + + + + + THE DIVISION OF THE EARTH. + + "Take the world!" Zeus exclaimed from his throne in the skies + To the children of man--"take the world I now give; + It shall ever remain as your heirloom and prize, + So divide it as brothers, and happily live." + + Then all who had hands sought their share to obtain, + The young and the aged made haste to appear; + The husbandman seized on the fruits of the plain, + The youth through the forest pursued the fleet deer. + + The merchant took all that his warehouse could hold, + The abbot selected the last year's best wine, + The king barred the bridges,--the highways controlled, + And said, "Now remember, the tithes shall be mine!" + + But when the division long-settled had been, + The poet drew nigh from a far distant land; + But alas! not a remnant was now to be seen, + Each thing on the earth owned a master's command. + + "Alas! shall then I, of thy sons the most true,-- + Shall I, 'mongst them all, be forgotten alone?" + Thus loudly he cried in his anguish, and threw + Himself in despair before Jupiter's throne. + + "If thou in the region of dreams didst delay, + Complain not of me," the Immortal replied; + "When the world was apportioned, where then wert thou, pray?" + "I was," said the poet, "I was--by thy side!" + + "Mine eye was then fixed on thy features so bright, + Mine ear was entranced by thy harmony's power; + Oh, pardon the spirit that, awed by thy light, + All things of the earth could forget in that hour!" + + "What to do?" Zeus exclaimed,--"for the world has been given; + The harvest, the market, the chase, are not free; + But if thou with me wilt abide in my heaven, + Whenever thou comest, 'twill be open to thee!" + + + + + + THE FAIREST APPARITION. + + If thou never hast gazed upon beauty in moments of sorrow, + Thou canst with truth never boast that thou true beauty hast seen. + If thou never hast gazed upon gladness in beauteous features, + Thou canst with truth never boast that thou true gladness hast seen. + + + + + THE IDEAL AND THE ACTUAL LIFE. + + Forever fair, forever calm and bright, + Life flies on plumage, zephyr-light, + For those who on the Olympian hill rejoice-- + Moons wane, and races wither to the tomb, + And 'mid the universal ruin, bloom + The rosy days of Gods--With man, the choice, + Timid and anxious, hesitates between + The sense's pleasure and the soul's content; + While on celestial brows, aloft and sheen, + The beams of both are blent. + + Seekest thou on earth the life of gods to share, + Safe in the realm of death?--beware + To pluck the fruits that glitter to thine eye; + Content thyself with gazing on their glow-- + Short are the joys possession can bestow, + And in possession sweet desire will die. + 'Twas not the ninefold chain of waves that bound + Thy daughter, Ceres, to the Stygian river-- + She plucked the fruit of the unholy ground, + And so--was hell's forever! + The weavers of the web--the fates--but sway + The matter and the things of clay; + Safe from change that time to matter gives, + Nature's blest playmate, free at will to stray + With gods a god, amidst the fields of day, + The form, the archetype [39], serenely lives. + Would'st thou soar heavenward on its joyous wing? + Cast from thee, earth, the bitter and the real, + High from this cramped and dungeon being, spring + Into the realm of the ideal! + + Here, bathed, perfection, in thy purest ray, + Free from the clogs and taints of clay, + Hovers divine the archetypal man! + Dim as those phantom ghosts of life that gleam + And wander voiceless by the Stygian stream,-- + Fair as it stands in fields Elysian, + Ere down to flesh the immortal doth descend:-- + If doubtful ever in the actual life + Each contest--here a victory crowns the end + Of every nobler strife. + + Not from the strife itself to set thee free, + But more to nerve--doth victory + Wave her rich garland from the ideal clime. + Whate'er thy wish, the earth has no repose-- + Life still must drag thee onward as it flows, + Whirling thee down the dancing surge of time. + But when the courage sinks beneath the dull + Sense of its narrow limits--on the soul, + Bright from the hill-tops of the beautiful, + Bursts the attained goal! + + If worth thy while the glory and the strife + Which fire the lists of actual life-- + The ardent rush to fortune or to fame, + In the hot field where strength and valor are, + And rolls the whirling thunder of the car, + And the world, breathless, eyes the glorious game-- + Then dare and strive--the prize can but belong + To him whose valor o'er his tribe prevails; + In life the victory only crowns the strong-- + He who is feeble fails. + + But life, whose source, by crags around it piled, + Chafed while confined, foams fierce and wild, + Glides soft and smooth when once its streams expand, + When its waves, glassing in their silver play, + Aurora blent with Hesper's milder ray, + Gain the still beautiful--that shadow-land! + Here, contest grows but interchange of love, + All curb is but the bondage of the grace; + Gone is each foe,--peace folds her wings above + Her native dwelling-place. + + When, through dead stone to breathe a soul of light, + With the dull matter to unite + The kindling genius, some great sculptor glows; + Behold him straining, every nerve intent-- + Behold how, o'er the subject element, + The stately thought its march laborious goes! + For never, save to toil untiring, spoke + The unwilling truth from her mysterious well-- + The statue only to the chisel's stroke + Wakes from its marble cell. + + But onward to the sphere of beauty--go + Onward, O child of art! and, lo! + Out of the matter which thy pains control + The statue springs!--not as with labor wrung + From the hard block, but as from nothing sprung-- + Airy and light--the offspring of the soul! + The pangs, the cares, the weary toils it cost + Leave not a trace when once the work is done-- + The Artist's human frailty merged and lost + In art's great victory won! [40] + + If human sin confronts the rigid law + Of perfect truth and virtue [41], awe + Seizes and saddens thee to see how far + Beyond thy reach, perfection;--if we test + By the ideal of the good, the best, + How mean our efforts and our actions are! + This space between the ideal of man's soul + And man's achievement, who hath ever past? + An ocean spreads between us and that goal, + Where anchor ne'er was cast! + + But fly the boundary of the senses--live + The ideal life free thought can give; + And, lo, the gulf shall vanish, and the chill + Of the soul's impotent despair be gone! + And with divinity thou sharest the throne, + Let but divinity become thy will! + Scorn not the law--permit its iron band + The sense (it cannot chain the soul) to thrall. + Let man no more the will of Jove withstand [42], + And Jove the bolt lets fall! + + If, in the woes of actual human life-- + If thou could'st see the serpent strife + Which the Greek art has made divine in stone-- + Could'st see the writhing limbs, the livid cheek, + Note every pang, and hearken every shriek, + Of some despairing lost Laocoon, + The human nature would thyself subdue + To share the human woe before thine eye-- + Thy cheek would pale, and all thy soul be true + To man's great sympathy. + + But in the ideal realm, aloof and far, + Where the calm art's pure dwellers are, + Lo, the Laocoon writhes, but does not groan. + Here, no sharp grief the high emotion knows-- + Here, suffering's self is made divine, and shows + The brave resolve of the firm soul alone: + Here, lovely as the rainbow on the dew + Of the spent thunder-cloud, to art is given, + Gleaming through grief's dark veil, the peaceful blue + Of the sweet moral heaven. + + So, in the glorious parable, behold + How, bowed to mortal bonds, of old + Life's dreary path divine Alcides trod: + The hydra and the lion were his prey, + And to restore the friend he loved to-day, + He went undaunted to the black-browed god; + And all the torments and the labors sore + Wroth Juno sent--the meek majestic one, + With patient spirit and unquailing, bore, + Until the course was run-- + + Until the god cast down his garb of clay, + And rent in hallowing flame away + The mortal part from the divine--to soar + To the empyreal air! Behold him spring + Blithe in the pride of the unwonted wing, + And the dull matter that confined before + Sinks downward, downward, downward as a dream! + Olympian hymns receive the escaping soul, + And smiling Hebe, from the ambrosial stream, + Fills for a god the bowl! + + + + + GERMANY AND HER PRINCES. + + Thou hast produced mighty monarchs, of whom thou art not unworthy, + For the obedient alone make him who governs them great. + But, O Germany, try if thou for thy rulers canst make it + Harder as kings to be great,--easier, though, to be men! + + + + + DANGEROUS CONSEQUENCES. + + Deeper and bolder truths be careful, my friends, of avowing; + For as soon as ye do all the world on ye will fall. + + + + + THE MAIDEN FROM AFAR. + + (OR FROM ABROAD.) + + Within a vale, each infant year, + When earliest larks first carol free, + To humble shepherds cloth appear + A wondrous maiden, fair to see. + Not born within that lowly place-- + From whence she wandered, none could tell; + Her parting footsteps left no trace, + When once the maiden sighed farewell. + + And blessed was her presence there-- + Each heart, expanding, grew more gay; + Yet something loftier still than fair + Kept man's familiar looks away. + From fairy gardens, known to none, + She brought mysterious fruits and flowers-- + The things of some serener sun-- + Some Nature more benign than ours. + + With each her gifts the maiden shared-- + To some the fruits, the flowers to some; + Alike the young, the aged fared; + Each bore a blessing back to home. + Though every guest was welcome there, + Yet some the maiden held more dear, + And culled her rarest sweets whene'er + She saw two hearts that loved draw near. [43] + + + + + THE HONORABLE. + + Ever honor the whole; individuals only I honor; + In individuals I always discover the whole. + + + + + PARABLES AND RIDDLES. + + I. + + A bridge of pearls its form uprears + High o'er a gray and misty sea; + E'en in a moment it appears, + And rises upwards giddily. + + Beneath its arch can find a road + The loftiest vessel's mast most high, + Itself hath never borne a load, + And seems, when thou draw'st near, to fly. + + It comes first with the stream, and goes + Soon as the watery flood is dried. + Where may be found this bridge, disclose, + And who its beauteous form supplied! + + II. + + It bears thee many a mile away, + And yet its place it changes ne'er; + It has no pinions to display, + And yet conducts thee through the air. + + It is the bark of swiftest motion + That every weary wanderer bore; + With speed of thought the greatest ocean + It carries thee in safety o'er; + One moment wafts thee to the shore. + + III. + + Upon a spacious meadow play + Thousands of sheep, of silvery hue; + And as we see them move to-day, + The man most aged saw them too. + + They ne'er grow old, and, from a rill + That never dries, their life is drawn; + A shepherd watches o'er them still, + With curved and beauteous silver horn. + + He drives them out through gates of gold, + And every night their number counts; + Yet ne'er has lost, of all his fold, + One lamb, though oft that path he mounts. + + A hound attends him faithfully, + A nimble ram precedes the way; + Canst thou point out that flock to me, + And who the shepherd, canst thou say? + + IV. + + There stands a dwelling, vast and tall, + On unseen columns fair; + No wanderer treads or leaves its hall, + And none can linger there. + + Its wondrous structure first was planned + With art no mortal knows; + It lights the lamps with its own hand + 'Mongst which it brightly glows. + + It has a roof, as crystal bright, + Formed of one gem of dazzling light; + Yet mortal eye has ne'er + Seen Him who placed it there. + + V. + + Within a well two buckets lie, + One mounts, and one descends; + When one is full, and rises high, + The other downward wends. + + They wander ever to and fro-- + Now empty are, now overflow. + If to the mouth thou liftest this, + That hangs within the dark abyss. + In the same moment they can ne'er + Refresh thee with their treasures fair. + + VI. + + Know'st thou the form on tender ground? + It gives itself its glow, its light; + And though each moment changing found. + Is ever whole and ever bright. + In narrow compass 'tis confined, + Within the smallest frame it lies; + Yet all things great that move thy mind, + That form alone to thee supplies. + + And canst thou, too, the crystal name? + No gem can equal it in worth; + It gleams, yet kindles near to flame, + It sucks in even all the earth. + Within its bright and wondrous ring + Is pictured forth the glow of heaven, + And yet it mirrors back each thing + Far fairer than to it 'twas given. + + VII. + + For ages an edifice here has been found, + It is not a dwelling, it is not a Pane; + A horseman for hundreds of days may ride round, + Yet the end of his journey he ne'er can attain. + + Full many a century o'er it has passed, + The might of the storm and of time it defies! + Neath the rainbow of Heaven stands free to the last,-- + In the ocean it dips, and soars up to the skies. + + It was not vain glory that bade its erection, + It serves as a refuge, a shield, a protection; + Its like on the earth never yet has been known + And yet by man's hand it is fashioned alone. + + VIII. + + Among all serpents there is one, + Born of no earthly breed; + In fury wild it stands alone, + And in its matchless speed. + + With fearful voice and headlong force + It rushes on its prey, + And sweeps the rider and his horse + In one fell swoop away. + + The highest point it loves to gain; + And neither bar nor lock + Its fiery onslaught can restrain; + And arms--invite its shock. + + It tears in twain like tender grass, + The strongest forest-trees; + It grinds to dust the hardened brass, + Though stout and firm it be. + + And yet this beast, that none can tame, + Its threat ne'er twice fulfils; + It dies in its self-kindled flame. + And dies e'en when it kills. + + IX. + + We children six our being had + From a most strange and wondrous pair,-- + Our mother ever grave and sad, + Our father ever free from care. + + Our virtues we from both receive,-- + Meekness from her, from him our light; + And so in endless youth we weave + Round thee a circling figure bright. + + We ever shun the caverns black, + And revel in the glowing day; + 'Tis we who light the world's dark track, + With our life's clear and magic ray. + + Spring's joyful harbingers are we, + And her inspiring streams we swell; + And so the house of death we flee, + For life alone must round us dwell. + + Without us is no perfect bliss, + When man is glad, we, too, attend, + And when a monarch worshipped is, + To him our majesty attend. + + X. + + What is the thing esteemed by few? + The monarch's hand it decks with pride, + Yet it is made to injure too, + And to the sword is most allied. + + No blood it sheds, yet many a wound + Inflicts,--gives wealth, yet takes from none; + Has vanquished e'en the earth's wide round, + And makes life's current smoothly run. + + The greatest kingdoms it has framed, + The oldest cities reared from dust, + Yet war's fierce torch has ne'er inflamed; + Happy are they who in it trust! + + XI. + + I live within a dwelling of stone, + There buried in slumber I dally; + Yet, armed with a weapon of iron alone, + The foe to encounter I sally. + At first I'm invisible, feeble, and mean, + And o'er me thy breath has dominion; + I'm easily drowned in a raindrop e'en, + Yet in victory waxes my pinion. + When my sister, all-powerful, gives me her hand, + To the terrible lord of the world I expand. + + XII. + + Upon a disk my course I trace, + There restlessly forever flit; + Small is the circuit I embrace, + Two hands suffice to cover it. + Yet ere that field I traverse, I + Full many a thousand mile must go, + E'en though with tempest-speed I fly, + Swifter than arrow from a bow. + + XIII. + + A bird it is, whose rapid motion + With eagle's flight divides the air; + A fish it is, and parts the ocean, + That bore a greater monster ne'er; + An elephant it is, whose rider + On his broad back a tower has put: + 'Tis like the reptile base, the spider, + Whenever it extends its foot; + And when, with iron tooth projecting, + It seeks its own life-blood to drain, + On footing firm, itself erecting, + It braves the raging hurricane. + + + + + THE VIRTUE OF WOMAN. + + Man of virtue has need;-into life with boldness he plunges, + Entering with fortune more sure into the hazardous strife; + But to woman one virtue suffices; it is ever shining + Lovingly forth to the heart; so let it shine to the eye! + + + + + THE WALK. + + Hail to thee, mountain beloved, with thy glittering purple-dyed summit! + Hail to thee also, fair sun, looking so lovingly on! + Thee, too, I hail, thou smiling plain, and ye murmuring lindens, + Ay, and the chorus so glad, cradled on yonder high boughs; + Thee, too, peaceably azure, in infinite measure extending + Round the dusky-hued mount, over the forest so green,-- + Round about me, who now from my chamber's confinement escaping, + And from vain frivolous talk, gladly seek refuge with thee. + Through me to quicken me runs the balsamic stream of thy breezes, + While the energetical light freshens the gaze as it thirsts. + Bright o'er the blooming meadow the changeable colors are gleaming, + But the strife, full of charms, in its own grace melts away + Freely the plain receives me,--with carpet far away reaching, + Over its friendly green wanders the pathway along. + Round me is humming the busy bee, and with pinion uncertain + Hovers the butterfly gay over the trefoil's red flower. + Fiercely the darts of the sun fall on me,--the zephyr is silent, + Only the song of the lark echoes athwart the clear air. + Now from the neighboring copse comes a roar, and the tops of the alders + Bend low down,--in the wind dances the silvery grass; + Night ambrosial circles me round; in the coolness so fragrant + Greets me a beauteous roof, formed by the beeches' sweet shade. + In the depths of the wood the landscape suddenly leaves me + And a serpentine path guides up my footsteps on high. + Only by stealth can the light through the leafy trellis of branches + Sparingly pierce, and the blue smilingly peeps through the boughs, + But in a moment the veil is rent, and the opening forest + Suddenly gives back the day's glittering brightness to me! + Boundlessly seems the distance before my gaze to be stretching, + And in a purple-tinged hill terminates sweetly the world. + + Deep at the foot of the mountain, that under me falls away steeply, + Wanders the greenish-hued stream, looking like glass as it flows. + Endlessly under me see I the ether, and endlessly o'er + Giddily look I above, shudderingly look I below, + But between the infinite height and the infinite hollow + Safely the wanderer moves over a well-guarded path. + Smilingly past me are flying the banks all teeming with riches, + And the valley so bright boasts of its industry glad. + See how yonder hedgerows that sever the farmer's possessions + Have by Demeter been worked into the tapestried plain! + Kindly decree of the law, of the Deity mortal-sustaining, + Since from the brazen world love vanished forever away. + But in freer windings the measured pastures are traversed + (Now swallowed up in the wood, now climbing up to the hills) + By a glimmering streak, the highway that knits lands together; + Over the smooth-flowing stream, quietly glide on the rafts. + + Ofttimes resound the bells of the flocks in the fields that seem living, + And the shepherd's lone song wakens the echo again. + Joyous villages crown the stream, in the copse others vanish, + While from the back of the mount, others plunge wildly below. + Man still lives with the land in neighborly friendship united, + And round his sheltering roof calmly repose still his fields; + Trustingly climbs the vine high over the low-reaching window, + While round the cottage the tree circles its far-stretching boughs. + Happy race of the plain! Not yet awakened to freedom, + Thou and thy pastures with joy share in the limited law; + Bounded thy wishes all are by the harvest's peaceable circuit, + And thy lifetime is spent e'en as the task of the day! + + But what suddenly hides the beauteous view? A strange spirit + Over the still-stranger plain spreads itself quickly afar-- + Coyly separates now, what scarce had lovingly mingled, + And 'tis the like that alone joins itself on to the like. + Orders I see depicted; the haughty tribes of the poplars + Marshalled in regular pomp, stately and beauteous appear. + All gives token of rule and choice, and all has its meaning,-- + 'Tis this uniform plan points out the Ruler to me. + Brightly the glittering domes in far-away distance proclaim him. + Out of the kernel of rocks rises the city's high wall. + Into the desert without, the fauns of the forest are driven, + But by devotion is lent life more sublime to the stone. + Man is brought into nearer union with man, and around him + Closer, more actively wakes, swifter moves in him the world. + See! the emulous forces in fiery conflict are kindled, + Much, they effect when they strive, more they effect when they join. + Thousands of hands by one spirit are moved, yet in thousands of bosoms + Beats one heart all alone, by but one feeling inspired-- + Beats for their native land, and glows for their ancestors' precepts; + Here on the well-beloved spot, rest now time-honored bones. + + Down from the heavens descends the blessed troop of immortals, + In the bright circle divine making their festal abode; + Granting glorious gifts, they appear: and first of all, Ceres + Offers the gift of the plough, Hermes the anchor brings next, + Bacchus the grape, and Minerva the verdant olive-tree's branches, + Even his charger of war brings there Poseidon as well. + Mother Cybele yokes to the pole of her chariot the lions, + And through the wide-open door comes as a citizen in. + Sacred stones! 'Tis from ye that proceed humanity's founders, + Morals and arts ye sent forth, e'en to the ocean's far isles. + 'Twas at these friendly gates that the law was spoken by sages; + In their Penates' defence, heroes rushed out to the fray. + On the high walls appeared the mothers, embracing their infants, + Looking after the march, till the distance 'twas lost. + Then in prayer they threw themselves down at the deities' altars, + Praying for triumph and fame, praying for your safe return. + Honor and triumph were yours, but naught returned save your glory, + And by a heart-touching stone, told are your valorous deeds. + "Traveller! when thou com'st to Sparta, proclaim to the people + That thou hast seen us lie here, as by the law we were bid." + Slumber calmly, ye loved ones! for sprinkled o'er by your life-blood, + Flourish the olive-trees there, joyously sprouts the good seed. + In its possessions exulting, industry gladly is kindled. + And from the sedge of the stream smilingly signs the blue god. + Crushingly falls the axe on the tree, the Dryad sighs sadly; + Down from the crest of the mount plunges the thundering load. + Winged by the lever, the stone from the rocky crevice is loosened; + Into the mountain's abyss boldly the miner descends. + Mulciber's anvil resounds with the measured stroke of the hammer; + Under the fist's nervous blow, spurt out the sparks of the steel. + Brilliantly twines the golden flax round the swift-whirling spindles, + Through the strings of the yarn whizzes the shuttle away. + + Far in the roads the pilot calls, and the vessels are waiting, + That to the foreigner's land carry the produce of home; + Others gladly approach with the treasures of far-distant regions, + High on the mast's lofty head flutters the garland of mirth. + See how yon markets, those centres of life and of gladness, are swarming! + Strange confusion of tongues sounds in the wondering ear. + On to the pile the wealth of the earth is heaped by the merchant, + All that the sun's scorching rays bring forth on Africa's soil, + All that Arabia prepares, that the uttermost Thule produces, + High with heart-gladdening stores fills Amalthea her horn. + Fortune wedded to talent gives birth there to children immortal, + Suckled in liberty's arms, flourish the arts there of joy. + With the image of life the eyes by the sculptor are ravished, + And by the chisel inspired, speaks e'en the sensitive stone. + Skies artificial repose on slender Ionian columns, + And a Pantheon includes all that Olympus contains. + Light as the rainbow's spring through the air, as the dart from + the bowstring, + Leaps the yoke of the bridge over the boisterous stream. + + But in his silent chamber the thoughtful sage is projecting + Magical circles, and steals e'en on the spirit that forms, + Proves the force of matter, the hatreds and loves of the magnet, + Follows the tune through the air, follows through ether the ray, + Seeks the familiar law in chance's miracles dreaded, + Looks for the ne'er-changing pole in the phenomena's flight. + Bodies and voices are lent by writing to thought ever silent, + Over the centuries' stream bears it the eloquent page. + Then to the wondering gaze dissolves the cloud of the fancy, + And the vain phantoms of night yield to the dawning of day. + Man now breaks through his fetters, the happy one! Oh, let him never + Break from the bridle of shame, when from fear's fetters he breaks + Freedom! is reason's cry,--ay, freedom! The wild raging passions + Eagerly cast off the bonds Nature divine had imposed. + + Ah! in the tempest the anchors break loose, that warningly held him + On to the shore, and the stream tears him along in its flood,-- + Into infinity whirls him,--the coasts soon vanish before him, + High on the mountainous waves rocks all-dismasted the bark; + Under the clouds are hid the steadfast stars of the chariot, + Naught now remains,--in the breast even the god goes astray. + Truth disappears from language, from life all faith and all honor + Vanish, and even the oath is but a lie on the lips. + Into the heart's most trusty bond, and into love's secrets, + Presses the sycophant base, tearing the friend from the friend. + Treason on innocence leers, with looks that seek to devour, + And the fell slanderer's tooth kills with its poisonous bite. + In the dishonored bosom, thought is now venal, and love, too, + Scatters abroad to the winds, feelings once god-like and free. + All thy holy symbols, O truth, deceit has adopted, + And has e'en dared to pollute Nature's own voices so fair, + That the craving heart in the tumult of gladness discovers; + True sensations are now mute and can scarcely be heard. + Justice boasts at the tribune, and harmony vaunts in the cottage, + While the ghost of the law stands at the throne of the king. + Years together, ay, centuries long, may the mummy continue, + And the deception endure, apeing the fulness of life. + Until Nature awakes, and with hands all-brazen and heavy + 'Gainst the hollow-formed pile time and necessity strikes. + Like a tigress, who, bursting the massive grating iron, + Of her Numidian wood suddenly, fearfully thinks,-- + So with the fury of crime and anguish, humanity rises + Hoping nature, long-lost in the town's ashes, to find. + Oh then open, ye walls, and set the captive at freedom + To the long desolate plains let him in safety return! + + But where am I? The path is now hid, declivities rugged + Bar, with their wide-yawning gulfs, progress before and behind. + Now far behind me is left the gardens' and hedges' sure escort, + Every trace of man's hand also remains far behind. + Only the matter I see piled up, whence life has its issue, + And the raw mass of basalt waits for a fashioning hand. + Down through its channel of rock the torrent roaringly rushes, + Angrily forcing a path under the roots of the trees. + All is here wild and fearfully desolate. Naught but the eagle + Hangs in the lone realms of air, knitting the world to the clouds. + Not one zephyr on soaring pinion conveys to my hearing + Echoes, however remote, marking man's pleasures and pains. + Am I in truth, then, alone? Within thine arms, on thy bosom, + Nature, I lie once again!--Ah, and 'twas only a dream + That assailed me with horrors so fearful; with life's dreaded phantom, + And with the down-rushing vale, vanished the gloomy one too. + Purer my life I receive again from thine altar unsullied,-- + Purer receive the bright glow felt by my youth's hopeful days. + Ever the will is changing its aim and its rule, while forever, + In a still varying form, actions revolve round themselves. + But in enduring youth, in beauty ever renewing. + Kindly Nature, with grace thou dost revere the old law! + Ever the same, for the man in thy faithful hands thou preservest + That which the child in its sport, that which the youth lent to thee; + At the same breast thou dost suckle the ceaselessly-varying ages; + Under the same azure vault, over the same verdant earth, + Races, near and remote, in harmony wander together, + See, even Homer's own sun looks on us, too, with a smile! + + + + + THE LAY OF THE BELL. + + + "Vivos voco--Mortuos plango--Fulgura frango." [44] + + Fast, in its prison-walls of earth, + Awaits the mould of baked clay. + Up, comrades, up, and aid the birth + The bell that shall be born to-day! + Who would honor obtain, + With the sweat and the pain, + The praise that man gives to the master must buy.-- + But the blessing withal must descend from on high! + + And well an earnest word beseems + The work the earnest hand prepares; + Its load more light the labor deems, + When sweet discourse the labor shares. + So let us ponder--nor in vain-- + What strength can work when labor wills; + For who would not the fool disdain + Who ne'er designs what he fulfils? + And well it stamps our human race, + And hence the gift to understand, + That man within the heart should trace + Whate'er he fashions with the hand. + + From the fir the fagot take, + Keep it, heap it hard and dry, + That the gathered flame may break + Through the furnace, wroth and high. + When the copper within + Seeths and simmers--the tin, + Pour quick, that the fluid that feeds the bell + May flow in the right course glib and well. + + Deep hid within this nether cell, + What force with fire is moulding thus, + In yonder airy tower shall dwell, + And witness wide and far of us! + It shall, in later days, unfailing, + Rouse many an ear to rapt emotion; + Its solemn voice with sorrow wailing, + Or choral chiming to devotion. + Whatever fate to man may bring, + Whatever weal or woe befall, + That metal tongue shall backward ring, + The warning moral drawn from all. + + See the silvery bubbles spring! + Good! the mass is melting now! + Let the salts we duly bring + Purge the flood, and speed the flow. + From the dross and the scum, + Pure, the fusion must come; + For perfect and pure we the metal must keep, + That its voice may be perfect, and pure, and deep. + + That voice, with merry music rife, + The cherished child shall welcome in; + What time the rosy dreams of life, + In the first slumber's arms begin. + As yet, in Time's dark womb unwarning, + Repose the days, or foul or fair; + And watchful o'er that golden morning, + The mother-love's untiring care! + And swift the years like arrows fly + No more with girls content to play, + Bounds the proud boy upon his way, + Storms through loud life's tumultuous pleasures, + With pilgrim staff the wide world measures; + And, wearied with the wish to roam, + Again seeks, stranger-like, the father-home. + And, lo, as some sweet vision breaks + Out from its native morning skies + With rosy shame on downcast cheeks, + The virgin stands before his eyes. + + A nameless longing seizes him! + From all his wild compassions flown; + Tears, strange till then, his eyes bedim; + He wanders all alone. + Blushing, he glides where'er she move; + Her greeting can transport him; + To every mead to deck his love, + The happy wild flowers court him! + Sweet hope--and tender longing--ye + The growth of life's first age of gold; + When the heart, swelling, seems to see + The gates of heaven unfold! + O love, the beautiful and brief! O prime, + Glory, and verdure, of life's summer time! + + Browning o'er, the pipes are simmering, + Dip this wand of clay [45] within; + If like glass the wand be glimmering, + Then the casting may begin. + Brisk, brisk now, and see + If the fusion flow free; + If--(happy and welcome indeed were the sign!) + If the hard and the ductile united combine. + For still where the strong is betrothed to the weak, + And the stern in sweet marriage is blent with the meek, + Rings the concord harmonious, both tender and strong + So be it with thee, if forever united, + The heart to the heart flows in one, love-delighted; + Illusion is brief, but repentance is long. + + Lovely, thither are they bringing. + With the virgin wreath, the bride! + To the love-feast clearly ringing, + Tolls the church-bell far and wide! + With that sweetest holiday, + Must the May of life depart; + With the cestus loosed--away + Flies illusion from the heart! + Yet love lingers lonely, + When passion is mute, + And the blossoms may only + Give way to the fruit. + The husband must enter + The hostile life, + With struggle and strife + To plant or to watch. + To snare or to snatch, + To pray and importune, + Must wager and venture + And hunt down his fortune! + Then flows in a current the gear and the gain, + And the garners are filled with the gold of the grain, + Now a yard to the court, now a wing to the centre! + Within sits another, + The thrifty housewife; + The mild one, the mother-- + Her home is her life. + In its circle she rules, + And the daughters she schools + And she cautions the boys, + With a bustling command, + And a diligent hand + Employed she employs; + Gives order to store, + And the much makes the more; + Locks the chest and the wardrobe, with lavender smelling, + And the hum of the spindle goes quick through the dwelling; + And she hoards in the presses, well polished and full, + The snow of the linen, the shine of the wool; + Blends the sweet with the good, and from care and endeavor + Rests never! + Blithe the master (where the while + From his roof he sees them smile) + Eyes the lands, and counts the gain; + There, the beams projecting far, + And the laden storehouse are, + And the granaries bowed beneath + The blessed golden grain; + There, in undulating motion, + Wave the cornfields like an ocean. + Proud the boast the proud lips breathe:-- + "My house is built upon a rock, + And sees unmoved the stormy shock + Of waves that fret below!" + What chain so strong, what girth so great, + To bind the giant form of fate?-- + Swift are the steps of woe. + + Now the casting may begin; + See the breach indented there: + Ere we run the fusion in, + Halt--and speed the pious prayer! + Pull the bung out-- + See around and about + What vapor, what vapor--God help us!--has risen?-- + Ha! the flame like a torrent leaps forth from its prison! + What friend is like the might of fire + When man can watch and wield the ire? + Whate'er we shape or work, we owe + Still to that heaven-descended glow. + But dread the heaven-descended glow, + When from their chain its wild wings go, + When, where it listeth, wide and wild + Sweeps free Nature's free-born child. + When the frantic one fleets, + While no force can withstand, + Through the populous streets + Whirling ghastly the brand; + For the element hates + What man's labor creates, + And the work of his hand! + Impartially out from the cloud, + Or the curse or the blessing may fall! + Benignantly out from the cloud + Come the dews, the revivers of all! + Avengingly out from the cloud + Come the levin, the bolt, and the ball! + Hark--a wail from the steeple!--aloud + The bell shrills its voice to the crowd! + Look--look--red as blood + All on high! + It is not the daylight that fills with its flood + The sky! + What a clamor awaking + Roars up through the street, + What a hell-vapor breaking. + Rolls on through the street, + And higher and higher + Aloft moves the column of fire! + Through the vistas and rows + Like a whirlwind it goes, + And the air like the stream from the furnace glows. + Beams are crackling--posts are shrinking + Walls are sinking--windows clinking-- + Children crying-- + Mothers flying-- + And the beast (the black ruin yet smouldering under) + Yells the howl of its pain and its ghastly wonder! + Hurry and skurry--away--away, + The face of the night is as clear as day! + As the links in a chain, + Again and again + Flies the bucket from hand to hand; + High in arches up-rushing + The engines are gushing, + And the flood, as a beast on the prey that it hounds + With a roar on the breast of the element bounds. + To the grain and the fruits, + Through the rafters and beams, + Through the barns and garners it crackles and streams! + As if they would rend up the earth from its roots, + Rush the flames to the sky + Giant-high; + And at length, + Wearied out and despairing, man bows to their strength! + With an idle gaze sees their wrath consume, + And submits to his doom! + Desolate + The place, and dread + For storms the barren bed. + In the blank voids that cheerful casements were, + Comes to and fro the melancholy air, + And sits despair; + And through the ruin, blackening in its shroud + Peers, as it flits, the melancholy cloud. + + One human glance of grief upon the grave + Of all that fortune gave + The loiterer takes--then turns him to depart, + And grasps the wanderer's staff and mans his heart + Whatever else the element bereaves + One blessing more than all it reft--it leaves, + The faces that he loves!--He counts them o'er, + See--not one look is missing from that store! + + Now clasped the bell within the clay-- + The mould the mingled metals fill-- + Oh, may it, sparkling into day, + Reward the labor and the skill! + Alas! should it fail, + For the mould may be frail-- + And still with our hope must be mingled the fear-- + And, ev'n now, while we speak, the mishap may be near! + To the dark womb of sacred earth + This labor of our hands is given, + As seeds that wait the second birth, + And turn to blessings watched by heaven! + Ah, seeds, how dearer far than they, + We bury in the dismal tomb, + Where hope and sorrow bend to pray + That suns beyond the realm of day + May warm them into bloom! + + From the steeple + Tolls the bell, + Deep and heavy, + The death-knell! + Guiding with dirge-note--solemn, sad, and slow, + To the last home earth's weary wanderers know. + It is that worshipped wife-- + It is that faithful mother! [46] + Whom the dark prince of shadows leads benighted, + From that dear arm where oft she hung delighted + Far from those blithe companions, born + Of her, and blooming in their morn; + On whom, when couched her heart above, + So often looked the mother-love! + + Ah! rent the sweet home's union-band, + And never, never more to come-- + She dwells within the shadowy land, + Who was the mother of that home! + How oft they miss that tender guide, + The care--the watch--the face--the mother-- + And where she sate the babes beside, + Sits with unloving looks--another! + + While the mass is cooling now, + Let the labor yield to leisure, + As the bird upon the bough, + Loose the travail to the pleasure. + When the soft stars awaken, + Each task be forsaken! + And the vesper-bell lulling the earth into peace, + If the master still toil, chimes the workman's release! + + Homeward from the tasks of day, + Through the greenwood's welcome way + Wends the wanderer, blithe and cheerly, + To the cottage loved so dearly! + And the eye and ear are meeting, + Now, the slow sheep homeward bleating-- + Now, the wonted shelter near, + Lowing the lusty-fronted steer; + Creaking now the heavy wain, + Reels with the happy harvest grain. + While with many-colored leaves, + Glitters the garland on the sheaves; + For the mower's work is done, + And the young folks' dance begun! + Desert street, and quiet mart;-- + Silence is in the city's heart; + And the social taper lighteth; + Each dear face that home uniteth; + While the gate the town before + Heavily swings with sullen roar! + + Though darkness is spreading + O'er earth--the upright + And the honest, undreading, + Look safe on the night-- + Which the evil man watches in awe, + For the eye of the night is the law! + Bliss-dowered! O daughter of the skies, + Hail, holy order, whose employ + Blends like to like in light and joy-- + Builder of cities, who of old + Called the wild man from waste and wold. + And, in his hut thy presence stealing, + Roused each familiar household feeling; + And, best of all the happy ties, + The centre of the social band,-- + The instinct of the Fatherland! + + United thus--each helping each, + Brisk work the countless hands forever; + For naught its power to strength can teach, + Like emulation and endeavor! + Thus linked the master with the man, + Each in his rights can each revere, + And while they march in freedom's van, + Scorn the lewd rout that dogs the rear! + To freemen labor is renown! + Who works--gives blessings and commands; + Kings glory in the orb and crown-- + Be ours the glory of our hands. + + Long in these walls--long may we greet + Your footfalls, peace and concord sweet! + Distant the day, oh! distant far, + When the rude hordes of trampling war + Shall scare the silent vale; + And where, + Now the sweet heaven, when day doth leave + The air, + Limns its soft rose-hues on the veil of eve; + Shall the fierce war-brand tossing in the gale, + From town and hamlet shake the horrent glare! + + Now, its destined task fulfilled, + Asunder break the prison-mould; + Let the goodly bell we build, + Eye and heart alike behold. + The hammer down heave, + Till the cover it cleave:-- + For not till we shatter the wall of its cell + Can we lift from its darkness and bondage the bell. + + To break the mould, the master may, + If skilled the hand and ripe the hour; + But woe, when on its fiery way + The metal seeks itself to pour. + Frantic and blind, with thunder-knell, + Exploding from its shattered home, + And glaring forth, as from a hell, + Behold the red destruction come! + When rages strength that has no reason, + There breaks the mould before the season; + When numbers burst what bound before, + Woe to the state that thrives no more! + Yea, woe, when in the city's heart, + The latent spark to flame is blown; + And millions from their silence start, + To claim, without a guide, their own! + + Discordant howls the warning bell, + Proclaiming discord wide and far, + And, born but things of peace to tell, + Becomes the ghastliest voice of war: + "Freedom! Equality!"--to blood + Rush the roused people at the sound! + Through street, hall, palace, roars the flood, + And banded murder closes round! + The hyena-shapes (that women were!), + Jest with the horrors they survey; + They hound--they rend--they mangle there-- + As panthers with their prey! + Naught rests to hollow--burst the ties + Of life's sublime and reverent awe; + Before the vice the virtue flies, + And universal crime is law! + Man fears the lion's kingly tread; + Man fears the tiger's fangs of terror; + And still the dreadliest of the dread, + Is man himself in error! + No torch, though lit from heaven, illumes + The blind!--Why place it in his hand? + It lights not him--it but consumes + The city and the land! + + Rejoice and laud the prospering skies! + The kernel bursts its husk--behold + From the dull clay the metal rise, + Pure-shining, as a star of gold! + Neck and lip, but as one beam, + It laughs like a sunbeam. + And even the scutcheon, clear-graven, shall tell + That the art of a master has fashioned the bell! + + Come in--come in + My merry men--we'll form a ring + The new-born labor christening; + And "Concord" we will name her!-- + To union may her heartfelt call + In brother-love attune us all! + May she the destined glory win + For which the master sought to frame her-- + Aloft--(all earth's existence under), + In blue-pavillioned heaven afar + To dwell--the neighbor of the thunder, + The borderer of the star! + Be hers above a voice to rise + Like those bright hosts in yonder sphere, + Who, while they move, their Maker praise, + And lead around the wreathed year! + To solemn and eternal things + We dedicate her lips sublime!-- + As hourly, calmly, on she swings + Fanned by the fleeting wings of time!-- + No pulse--no heart--no feeling hers! + She lends the warning voice to fate; + And still companions, while she stirs, + The changes of the human state! + So may she teach us, as her tone + But now so mighty, melts away-- + That earth no life which earth has known + From the last silence can delay! + + Slowly now the cords upheave her! + From her earth-grave soars the bell; + Mid the airs of heaven we leave her! + In the music-realm to dwell! + Up--upwards yet raise-- + She has risen--she sways. + Fair bell to our city bode joy and increase, + And oh, may thy first sound be hallowed to peace! [47] + + + + + THE POWER OF SONG. + + The foaming stream from out the rock + With thunder roar begins to rush,-- + The oak falls prostrate at the shock, + And mountain-wrecks attend the gush. + With rapturous awe, in wonder lost, + The wanderer hearkens to the sound; + From cliff to cliff he hears it tossed, + Yet knows not whither it is bound: + 'Tis thus that song's bright waters pour + From sources never known before. + + In union with those dreaded ones + That spin life's thread all-silently, + Who can resist the singer's tones? + Who from his magic set him free? + With wand like that the gods bestow, + He guides the heaving bosom's chords, + He steeps it in the realms below, + He bears it, wondering, heavenward, + And rocks it, 'twixt the grave and gay, + On feeling's scales that trembling sway. + + As when before the startled eyes + Of some glad throng, mysteriously, + With giant-step, in spirit-guise, + Appears a wondrous deity, + Then bows each greatness of the earth + Before the stranger heaven-born, + Mute are the thoughtless sounds of mirth, + While from each face the mask is torn, + And from the truth's triumphant might + Each work of falsehood takes to flight. + + So from each idle burden free, + When summoned by the voice of song, + Man soars to spirit-dignity, + Receiving force divinely strong: + Among the gods is now his home, + Naught earthly ventures to approach-- + All other powers must now be dumb, + No fate can on his realms encroach; + Care's gloomy wrinkles disappear, + Whilst music's charms still linger here, + + As after long and hopeless yearning, + And separation's bitter smart, + A child, with tears repentant burning, + Clings fondly to his mother's heart-- + So to his youthful happy dwelling, + To rapture pure and free from stain, + All strange and false conceits expelling, + Song guides the wanderer back again, + In faithful Nature's loving arm, + From chilling precepts to grow warm. + + + + + TO PROSELYTIZERS. + + "Give me only a fragment of earth beyond the earth's limits,"-- + So the godlike man said,--"and I will move it with ease." + Only give me permission to leave myself for one moment, + And without any delay I will engage to be yours. + + + + + HONOR TO WOMAN. + + [Literally "Dignity of Women."] + + Honor to woman! To her it is given + To garden the earth with the roses of heaven! + All blessed, she linketh the loves in their choir + In the veil of the graces her beauty concealing, + She tends on each altar that's hallowed to feeling, + And keeps ever-living the fire! + + From the bounds of truth careering, + Man's strong spirit wildly sweeps, + With each hasty impulse veering + Down to passion's troubled deeps. + And his heart, contented never, + Greeds to grapple with the far, + Chasing his own dream forever, + On through many a distant star! + But woman with looks that can charm and enchain, + Lureth back at her beck the wild truant again, + By the spell of her presence beguiled-- + In the home of the mother her modest abode, + And modest the manners by Nature bestowed + On Nature's most exquisite child! + + Bruised and worn, but fiercely breasting, + Foe to foe, the angry strife; + Man, the wild one, never resting, + Roams along the troubled life; + What he planneth, still pursuing; + Vainly as the Hydra bleeds, + Crest the severed crest renewing-- + Wish to withered wish succeeds. + + But woman at peace with all being, reposes, + And seeks from the moment to gather the roses-- + Whose sweets to her culture belong. + Ah! richer than he, though his soul reigneth o'er + The mighty dominion of genius and lore, + And the infinite circle of song. + + Strong, and proud, and self-depending, + Man's cold bosom beats alone; + Heart with heart divinely blending, + In the love that gods have known, + Soul's sweet interchange of feeling, + Melting tears--he never knows, + Each hard sense the hard one steeling, + Arms against a world of foes. + + Alive, as the wind-harp, how lightly soever + If wooed by the zephyr, to music will quiver, + Is woman to hope and to fear; + All, tender one! still at the shadow of grieving, + How quiver the chords--how thy bosom is heaving-- + How trembles thy glance through the tear! + + Man's dominion, war and labor; + Might to right the statue gave; + Laws are in the Scythian's sabre; + Where the Mede reigned--see the slave! + Peace and meekness grimly routing, + Prowls the war-lust, rude and wild; + Eris rages, hoarsely shouting, + Where the vanished graces smiled. + + But woman, the soft one, persuasively prayeth-- + Of the life [48] that she charmeth, the sceptre she swayeth; + She lulls, as she looks from above, + The discord whose bell for its victims is gaping, + And blending awhile the forever escaping, + Whispers hate to the image of love! + + + + + HOPE. + + We speak with the lip, and we dream in the soul, + Of some better and fairer day; + And our days, the meanwhile, to that golden goal + Are gliding and sliding away. + Now the world becomes old, now again it is young, + But "The better" 's forever the word on the tongue. + + At the threshold of life hope leads us in-- + Hope plays round the mirthful boy; + Though the best of its charms may with youth begin, + Yet for age it reserves its toy. + + + + + THE GERMAN ART. + + By no kind Augustus reared, + To no Medici endeared, + German art arose; + Fostering glory smiled not on her, + Ne'er with kingly smiles to sun her, + Did her blooms unclose. + + No,--she went by monarchs slighted + Went unhonored, unrequited, + From high Frederick's throne; + Praise and pride be all the greater, + That man's genius did create her, + From man's worth alone. + + Therefore, all from loftier mountains, + Purer wells and richer fountains, + Streams our poet-art; + So no rule to curb its rushing-- + All the fuller flows it gushing + From its deep--the heart! + + + + + ODYSSEUS. + + Seeking to find his home, Odysseus crosses each water; + Through Charybdis so dread; ay, and through Scylla's wild yells, + Through the alarms of the raging sea, the alarms of the land too,-- + E'en to the kingdom of hell leads him his wandering course. + And at length, as he sleeps, to Ithaca's coast fate conducts him; + There he awakes, and, with grief, knows not his fatherland now. + + + + + CARTHAGE. + +Oh thou degenerate child of the great and glorious mother, + Who with the Romans' strong might couplest the Tyrians' deceit! +But those ever governed with vigor the earth they had conquered,-- + These instructed the world that they with cunning had won. +Say! what renown does history grant thee? Thou, Roman-like, gained'st + That with the steel, which with gold, Tyrian-like, then thou didst rule! + + + + + THE SOWER. + + Sure of the spring that warms them into birth, + The golden seeds thou trustest to the earth; + And dost thou doubt the eternal spring sublime, + For deeds--the seeds which wisdom sows in time. + + + + + THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. + + Oh, nobly shone the fearful cross upon your mail afar, + When Rhodes and Acre hailed your might, O lions of the war! + When leading many a pilgrim horde, through wastes of Syrian gloom; + Or standing with the cherub's sword before the holy tomb. + Yet on your forms the apron seemed a nobler armor far, + When by the sick man's bed ye stood, O lions of the war! + When ye, the high-born, bowed your pride to tend the lowly weakness, + The duty, though it brought no fame, fulfilled by Christian meekness-- + Religion of the cross, thou blend'st, as in a single flower, + The twofold branches of the palm--humility and power. [49] + + + + + THE MERCHANT. + + Where sails the ship?--It leads the Tyrian forth + For the rich amber of the liberal north. + Be kind, ye seas--winds, lend your gentlest wing, + May in each creek sweet wells restoring spring!-- + To you, ye gods, belong the merchant!--o'er + The waves his sails the wide world's goods explore; + And, all the while, wherever waft the gales + The wide world's good sails with him as he sails! + + + + + GERMAN FAITH. [50] + + Once for the sceptre of Germany, fought with Bavarian Louis + Frederick, of Hapsburg descent, both being called to the throne. + But the envious fortune of war delivered the Austrian + Into the hands of the foe, who overcame him in fight. + With the throne he purchased his freedom, pledging his honor + For the victor to draw 'gainst his own people his sword; + But what he vowed when in chains, when free he could not accomplish, + So, of his own free accord, put on his fetters again. + Deeply moved, his foe embraced him,--and from thenceforward + As a friend with a friend, pledged they the cup at the feast; + Arm-in-arm, the princes on one couch slumbered together. + While a still bloodier hate severed the nations apart. + 'Gainst the army of Frederick Louis now went, and behind him + Left the foe he had fought, over Bavaria to watch. + "Ay, it is true! 'Tis really true! I have it in writing!" + Thus did the Pontifex cry, when he first heard of the news. + + + + + THE SEXES. + + See in the babe two loveliest flowers united--yet in truth, + While in the bud they seem the same--the virgin and the youth! + But loosened is the gentle bond, no longer side by side-- + From holy shame the fiery strength will soon itself divide. + Permit the youth to sport, and still the wild desire to chase, + For, but when sated, weary strength returns to seek the grace. + Yet in the bud, the double flowers the future strife begin, + How precious all--yet naught can still the longing heart within. + In ripening charms the virgin bloom to woman shape hath grown, + But round the ripening charms the pride hath clasped its guardian zone; + Shy, as before the hunter's horn the doe all trembling moves, + She flies from man as from a foe, and hates before she loves! + + From lowering brows this struggling world the fearless youth observes, + And hardened for the strife betimes, he strains the willing nerves; + Far to the armed throng and to the race prepared to start, + Inviting glory calls him forth, and grasps the troubled heart:-- + Protect thy work, O Nature now! one from the other flies, + Till thou unitest each at last that for the other sighs. + There art thou, mighty one! where'er the discord darkest frown, + Thou call'st the meek harmonious peace, the god-like soother down. + The noisy chase is lulled asleep, day's clamor dies afar, + And through the sweet and veiled air in beauty comes the star. + Soft-sighing through the crisped reeds, the brooklet glides along, + And every wood the nightingale melodious fills with song. + O virgin! now what instinct heaves thy bosom with the sigh? + O youth! and wherefore steals the tear into thy dreaming eye? + Alas! they seek in vain within the charm around bestowed, + The tender fruit is ripened now, and bows to earth its load. + And restless goes the youth to feed his heart upon its fire, + All, where the gentle breath to cool the flame of young desire! + And now they meet--the holy love that leads them lights their eyes, + And still behind the winged god the winged victory flies. + O heavenly love!--'tis thy sweet task the human flowers to bind, + For ay apart, and yet by thee forever intertwined! + + + + + LOVE AND DESIRE. + +Rightly said, Schlosser! Man loves what he has; what he has not, desireth; + None but the wealthy minds love; poor minds desire alone. + + + + + THE BARDS OF OLDEN TIME. + + Say, where is now that glorious race, where now are the singers + Who, with the accents of life, listening nations enthralled, + Sung down from heaven the gods, and sung mankind up to heaven, + And who the spirit bore up high on the pinions of song? + Ah! the singers still live; the actions only are wanting, + And to awake the glad harp, only a welcoming ear. + Happy bards of a happy world! Your life-teeming accents + Flew round from mouth unto mouth, gladdening every race. + With the devotion with which the gods were received, each one welcomed + That which the genius for him, plastic and breathing, then formed. + With the glow of the song were inflamed the listener's senses, + And with the listener's sense, nourished the singer the glow-- + Nourished and cleansed it,--fortunate one! for whom in the voices + Of the people still clear echoed the soul of the song, + And to whom from without appeared, in life, the great godhead, + Whom the bard of these days scarcely can feel in his breast. + + + + + JOVE TO HERCULES. + + 'Twas not my nectar made thy strength divine, + But 'twas thy strength which made my nectar thine! + + + + + THE ANTIQUES AT PARIS. + + That which Grecian art created, + Let the Frank, with joy elated, + Bear to Seine's triumphant strand, + And in his museums glorious + Show the trophies all-victorious + To his wondering fatherland. + + They to him are silent ever, + Into life's fresh circle never + From their pedestals come down. + He alone e'er holds the Muses + Through whose breast their power diffuses,-- + To the Vandal they're but stone! + + + + + THEKLA. + + A SPIRIT VOICE. + + Whither was it that my spirit wended + When from thee my fleeting shadow moved? + Is not now each earthly conflict ended? + Say,--have I not lived,--have I not loved? + + Art thou for the nightingales inquiring + Who entranced thee in the early year + With their melody so joy-inspiring? + Only whilst they loved they lingered here. + + Is the lost one lost to me forever? + Trust me, with him joyfully I stray + There, where naught united souls can sever, + And where every tear is wiped away. + + And thou, too, wilt find us in yon heaven, + When thy love with our love can compare; + There my father dwells, his sins forgiven,-- + Murder foul can never reach him there. + + And he feels that him no vision cheated + When he gazed upon the stars on high; + For as each one metes, to him 'tis meted; + Who believes it, hath the Holy nigh. + + Faith is kept in those blest regions yonder + With the feelings true that ne'er decay. + Venture thou to dream, then, and to wander + Noblest thoughts oft lie in childlike play. + + + + + THE ANTIQUE TO THE NORTHERN WANDERER. + +Thou hast crossed over torrents, and swung through wide-spreading ocean,-- + Over the chain of the Alps dizzily bore thee the bridge, +That thou might'st see me from near, and learn to value my beauty, + Which the voice of renown spreads through the wandering world. +And now before me thou standest,--canst touch my altar so holy,-- + But art thou nearer to me, or am I nearer to thee? + + + + + THE ILIAD. + + Tear forever the garland of Homer, and number the fathers + Of the immortal work, that through all time will survive! + Yet it has but one mother, and bears that mother's own feature, + 'Tis thy features it bears,--Nature,--thy features eterne! + + + + + POMPEII AND HERCULANEUM. + + What wonder this?--we ask the lympid well, + O earth! of thee--and from thy solemn womb + What yieldest thou?--is there life in the abyss-- + Doth a new race beneath the lava dwell? + Returns the past, awakening from the tomb? + Rome--Greece!--Oh, come!--Behold--behold! for this! + Our living world--the old Pompeii sees; + And built anew the town of Dorian Hercules! + House upon house--its silent halls once more + Opes the broad portico!--Oh, haste and fill + Again those halls with life!--Oh, pour along + Through the seven-vista'd theatre the throng! + Where are ye, mimes?--Come forth, the steel prepare + For crowned Atrides, or Orestes haunt, + Ye choral Furies, with your dismal chant! + The arch of triumph!--whither leads it?--still + Behold the forum!--on the curule chair + Where the majestic image? Lictors, where + Your solemn fasces?--Place upon his throne + The Praetor--here the witness lead, and there + Bid the accuser stand + + --O God! how lone + The clear streets glitter in the quiet day-- + The footpath by the doors winding its lifeless way! + The roofs arise in shelter, and around + The desolate Atrium--every gentle room + Wears still the dear familiar smile of home! + Open the doors--the shops--on dreary night + Let lusty day laugh down in jocund light! + + See the trim benches ranged in order!--See + The marble-tesselated floor--and there + The very walls are glittering livingly + With their clear colors. But the artist, where! + Sure but this instant he hath laid aside + Pencil and colors!--Glittering on the eye + Swell the rich fruits, and bloom the flowers!--See all + Art's gentle wreaths still fresh upon the wall! + Here the arch Cupid slyly seems to glide + By with bloom-laden basket. There the shapes + Of genii press with purpling feet the grapes, + Here springs the wild Bacchante to the dance, + And there she sleeps [while that voluptuous trance + Eyes the sly faun with never-sated glance] + Now on one knee upon the centaur-steeds + Hovering--the Thyrsus plies.--Hurrah!--away she speeds! + + Come--come, why loiter ye?--Here, here, how fair + The goodly vessels still! Girls, hither turn, + Fill from the fountain the Etruscan urn! + On the winged sphinxes see the tripod.-- + Ho! + Quick--quick, ye slaves, come--fire!--the hearth prepare! + Ha! wilt thou sell?--this coin shall pay thee--this, + Fresh from the mint of mighty Titus!--Lo! + Here lie the scales, and not a weight we miss + So--bring the light! The delicate lamp!--what toil + Shaped thy minutest grace!--quick pour the oil! + Yonder the fairy chest!--come, maid, behold + The bridegroom's gifts--the armlets--they are gold, + And paste out-feigning jewels!--lead the bride + Into the odorous bath--lo! unguents still-- + And still the crystal vase the arts for beauty fill! + + But where the men of old--perchance a prize + More precious yet in yon papyrus lies, + And see ev'n still the tokens of their toil-- + The waxen tablets--the recording style. + The earth, with faithful watch, has hoarded all! + Still stand the mute penates in the hall; + Back to his haunts returns each ancient god. + Why absent only from their ancient stand + The priests?--waves Hermes his Caducean rod, + And the winged victory struggles from the hand. + Kindle the flame--behold the altar there! + Long hath the god been worshipless--to prayer. + + + + + NAENIA. + + Even the beauteous must die! This vanquishes men and immortals; + But of the Stygian god moves not the bosom of steel. + Once and once only could love prevail on the ruler of shadows, + And on the threshold, e'en then, sternly his gift he recalled. + Venus could never heal the wounds of the beauteous stripling, + That the terrible boar made in his delicate skin; + Nor could his mother immortal preserve the hero so godlike, + When at the west gate of Troy, falling, his fate he fulfilled. + But she arose from the ocean with all the daughters of Nereus, + And o'er her glorified son raised the loud accents of woe. + See! where all the gods and goddesses yonder are weeping, + That the beauteous must fade, and that the perfect must die. + Even a woe-song to be in the mouth of the loved ones is glorious, + For what is vulgar descends mutely to Orcus' dark shades. + + + + + THE MAID OF ORLEANS. + + Humanity's bright image to impair. + Scorn laid thee prostrate in the deepest dust; + Wit wages ceaseless war on all that's fair,-- + In angel and in God it puts no trust; + The bosom's treasures it would make its prey,-- + Besieges fancy,--dims e'en faith's pure ray. + + Yet issuing like thyself from humble line, + Like thee a gentle shepherdess is she-- + Sweet poesy affords her rights divine, + And to the stars eternal soars with thee. + Around thy brow a glory she hath thrown; + The heart 'twas formed thee,--ever thou'lt live on! + + The world delights whate'er is bright to stain, + And in the dust to lay the glorious low; + Yet fear not! noble bosoms still remain, + That for the lofty, for the radiant glow + Let Momus serve to fill the booth with mirth; + A nobler mind loves forms of nobler worth. + + + + + ARCHIMEDES. + + To Archimedes once a scholar came, + "Teach me," he said, "the art that won thy fame;-- + The godlike art which gives such boons to toil, + And showers such fruit upon thy native soil;-- + The godlike art that girt the town when all + Rome's vengeance burst in thunder on the wall!" + "Thou call'st art godlike--it is so, in truth, + And was," replied the master to the youth, + "Ere yet its secrets were applied to use-- + Ere yet it served beleaguered Syracuse:-- + Ask'st thou from art, but what the art is worth? + The fruit?--for fruit go cultivate the earth.-- + He who the goddess would aspire unto, + Must not the goddess as the woman woo!" + + + + + THE DANCE. + + See how, like lightest waves at play, the airy dancers fleet; + And scarcely feels the floor the wings of those harmonious feet. + Ob, are they flying shadows from their native forms set free? + Or phantoms in the fairy ring that summer moonbeams see? + As, by the gentle zephyr blown, some light mist flees in air, + As skiffs that skim adown the tide, when silver waves are fair, + So sports the docile footstep to the heave of that sweet measure, + As music wafts the form aloft at its melodious pleasure, + Now breaking through the woven chain of the entangled dance, + From where the ranks the thickest press, a bolder pair advance, + The path they leave behind them lost--wide open the path beyond, + The way unfolds or closes up as by a magic wand. + See now, they vanish from the gaze in wild confusion blended; + All, in sweet chaos whirled again, that gentle world is ended! + No!--disentangled glides the knot, the gay disorder ranges-- + The only system ruling here, a grace that ever changes. + For ay destroyed--for ay renewed, whirls on that fair creation; + And yet one peaceful law can still pervade in each mutation. + And what can to the reeling maze breathe harmony and vigor, + And give an order and repose to every gliding figure? + That each a ruler to himself doth but himself obey, + Yet through the hurrying course still keeps his own appointed way. + What, would'st thou know? It is in truth the mighty power of tune, + A power that every step obeys, as tides obey the moon; + That threadeth with a golden clue the intricate employment, + Curbs bounding strength to tranquil grace, and tames the wild enjoyment. + And comes the world's wide harmony in vain upon thine ears? + The stream of music borne aloft from yonder choral spheres? + And feel'st thou not the measure which eternal Nature keeps? + The whirling dance forever held in yonder azure deeps? + The suns that wheel in varying maze?--That music thou discernest? + No! Thou canst honor that in sport which thou forgettest in earnest. + [52] + + + + + THE FORTUNE-FAVORED. [53] + + + + Ah! happy he, upon whose birth each god + Looks down in love, whose earliest sleep the bright + Idalia cradles, whose young lips the rod + Of eloquent Hermes kindles--to whose eyes, + Scarce wakened yet, Apollo steals in light, + While on imperial brows Jove sets the seal of might! + Godlike the lot ordained for him to share, + He wins the garland ere he runs the race; + He learns life's wisdom ere he knows life's care, + And, without labor vanquished, smiles the grace. + Great is the man, I grant, whose strength of mind, + Self-shapes its objects and subdues the fates-- + Virtue subdues the fates, but cannot blind + The fickle happiness, whose smile awaits + Those who scarce seek it; nor can courage earn + What the grace showers not from her own free urn! + From aught unworthy, the determined will + Can guard the watchful spirit--there it ends + The all that's glorious from the heaven descends; + As some sweet mistress loves us, freely still + Come the spontaneous gifts of heaven!--Above + Favor rules Jove, as it below rules love! + The immortals have their bias!--Kindly they + See the bright locks of youth enamored play, + And where the glad one goes, shed gladness round the way. + It is not they who boast the best to see, + Whose eyes the holy apparitions bless; + The stately light of their divinity + Hath oft but shone the brightest on the blind;-- + And their choice spirit found its calm recess + In the pure childhood of a simple mind. + Unasked they come delighted to delude + The expectation of our baffled pride; + No law can call their free steps to our side. + Him whom he loves, the sire of men and gods + (Selected from the marvelling multitude) + Bears on his eagle to his bright abodes; + And showers, with partial hand and lavish, down, + The minstrel's laurel or the monarch's crown! + Before the fortune-favored son of earth, + Apollo walks--and, with his jocund mirth, + The heart-enthralling smiler of the skies + For him gray Neptune smooths the pliant wave-- + Harmless the waters for the ship that bore + The Caesar and his fortunes to the shore! + Charmed at his feet the crouching lion lies, + To him his back the murmuring dolphin gave; + His soul is born a sovereign o'er the strife-- + The lord of all the beautiful of life; + Where'er his presence in its calm has trod, + It charms--it sways as solve diviner God. + Scorn not the fortune-favored, that to him + The light-won victory by the gods is given, + Or that, as Paris, from the strife severe, + The Venus draws her darling--Whom the heaven + So prospers, love so watches, I revere! + And not the man upon whose eyes, with dim + And baleful night, sits fate. Achaia boasts, + No less the glory of the Dorian lord [54] + That Vulcan wrought for him the shield and sword-- + That round the mortal hovered all the hosts + Of all Olympus--that his wrath to grace, + The best and bravest of the Grecian race + Untimely slaughtered, with resentful ghosts + Awed the pale people of the Stygian coasts! + Scorn not the darlings of the beautiful, + If without labor they life's blossoms cull; + If, like the stately lilies, they have won + A crown for which they neither toiled nor spun;-- + If without merit, theirs be beauty, still + Thy sense, unenvying, with the beauty fill. + Alike for thee no merit wins the right, + To share, by simply seeing, their delight. + Heaven breathes the soul into the minstrel's breast, + But with that soul he animates the rest; + The god inspires the mortal--but to God, + In turn, the mortal lifts thee from the sod. + Oh, not in vain to heaven the bard is dear; + Holy himself--he hallows those who hear! + The busy mart let justice still control, + Weighing the guerdon to the toil!--What then? + A God alone claims joy--all joy is his, + Flushing with unsought light the cheeks of men. + [55] Where is no miracle, why there no bliss! + Grow, change, and ripen all that mortal be, + Shapened from form to form, by toiling time; + The blissful and the beautiful are born + Full grown, and ripened from eternity-- + No gradual changes to their glorious prime, + No childhood dwarfs them, and no age has worn.-- + Like heaven's, each earthly Venus on the sight + Comes, a dark birth, from out an endless sea; + Like the first Pallas, in maturest might, + Armed, from the thunderer's--brow, leaps forth each thought of light. + + + + + BOOKSELLER'S ANNOUNCEMENT. + + Naught is for man so important as rightly to know his own purpose; + For but twelve groschen hard cash 'tis to be bought at my shop! + + + + + GENIUS. + + "Do I believe," sayest thou, "what the masters of wisdom would teach me, + And what their followers' band boldly and readily swear? + Cannot I ever attain to true peace, excepting through knowledge, + Or is the system upheld only by fortune and law? + Must I distrust the gently-warning impulse, the precept + That thou, Nature, thyself hast in my bosom impressed, + Till the schools have affixed to the writ eternal their signet, + Till a mere formula's chain binds down the fugitive soul? + Answer me, then! for thou hast down into these deeps e'en descended,-- + Out of the mouldering grave thou didst uninjured return. + Is't to thee known what within the tomb of obscure works is hidden, + Whether, yon mummies amid, life's consolations can dwell? + Must I travel the darksome road? The thought makes me tremble; + Yet I will travel that road, if 'tis to truth and to right." + + Friend, hast thou heard of the golden age? Full many a story + Poets have sung in its praise, simply and touchingly sung-- + Of the time when the holy still wandered over life's pathways,-- + When with a maidenly shame every sensation was veiled,-- + When the mighty law that governs the sun in his orbit, + And that, concealed in the bud, teaches the point how to move, + When necessity's silent law, the steadfast, the changeless, + Stirred up billows more free, e'en in the bosom of man,-- + When the sense, unerring, and true as the hand of the dial, + Pointed only to truth, only to what was eternal? + + Then no profane one was seen, then no initiate was met with, + And what as living was felt was not then sought 'mongst the dead; + Equally clear to every breast was the precept eternal, + Equally hidden the source whence it to gladden us sprang; + But that happy period has vanished! And self-willed presumption + Nature's godlike repose now has forever destroyed. + Feelings polluted the voice of the deities echo no longer, + In the dishonored breast now is the oracle dumb. + Save in the silenter self, the listening soul cannot find it, + There does the mystical word watch o'er the meaning divine; + There does the searcher conjure it, descending with bosom unsullied; + There does the nature long-lost give him back wisdom again. + If thou, happy one, never hast lost the angel that guards thee, + Forfeited never the kind warnings that instinct holds forth; + If in thy modest eye the truth is still purely depicted; + If in thine innocent breast clearly still echoes its call; + If in thy tranquil mind the struggles of doubt still are silent, + If they will surely remain silent forever as now; + If by the conflict of feelings a judge will ne'er be required; + If in its malice thy heart dims not the reason so clear, + Oh, then, go thy way in all thy innocence precious! + Knowledge can teach thee in naught; thou canst instruct her in much! + Yonder law, that with brazen staff is directing the struggling, + Naught is to thee. What thou dost, what thou mayest will is thy law, + And to every race a godlike authority issues. + What thou with holy hand formest, what thou with holy mouth speakest, + Will with omnipotent power impel the wondering senses; + Thou but observest not the god ruling within thine own breast, + Not the might of the signet that bows all spirits before thee; + Simple and silent thou goest through the wide world thou hast won. + + + + + HONORS. + + [Dignities would be the better title, if the word were not so + essentially unpoetical.] + + When the column of light on the waters is glassed, + As blent in one glow seem the shine and the stream; + But wave after wave through the glory has passed, + Just catches, and flies as it catches, the beam + So honors but mirror on mortals their light; + Not the man but the place that he passes is bright. + + + + + THE PHILOSOPHICAL EGOTIST. + + Hast thou the infant seen that yet, unknowing of the love + Which warms and cradles, calmly sleeps the mother's heart above-- + Wandering from arm to arm, until the call of passion wakes, + And glimmering on the conscious eye--the world in glory breaks? + + And hast thou seen the mother there her anxious vigil keep? + Buying with love that never sleeps the darling's happy sleep? + With her own life she fans and feeds that weak life's trembling rays, + And with the sweetness of the care, the care itself repays. + + And dost thou Nature then blaspheme--that both the child and mother + Each unto each unites, the while the one doth need the other?-- + All self-sufficing wilt thou from that lovely circle stand-- + That creature still to creature links in faith's familiar band? + + Ah! dar'st thou, poor one, from the rest thy lonely self estrange? + Eternal power itself is but all powers in interchange! + + + + + THE BEST STATE CONSTITUTION. + + I can recognize only as such, the one that enables + Each to think what is right,--but that he thinks so, cares not. + + + + + THE WORDS OF BELIEF. + + Three words will I name thee--around and about, + From the lip to the lip, full of meaning, they flee; + But they had not their birth in the being without, + And the heart, not the lip, must their oracle be! + And all worth in the man shall forever be o'er + When in those three words he believes no more. + + Man is made free!--Man by birthright is free, + Though the tyrant may deem him but born for his tool. + Whatever the shout of the rabble may be-- + Whatever the ranting misuse of the fool-- + Still fear not the slave, when he breaks from his chain, + For the man made a freeman grows safe in his gain. + + And virtue is more than a shade or a sound, + And man may her voice, in this being, obey; + And though ever he slip on the stony ground, + Yet ever again to the godlike way, + To the science of good though the wise may be blind, + Yet the practice is plain to the childlike mind. + + And a God there is!--over space, over time, + While the human will rocks, like a reed, to and fro, + Lives the will of the holy--a purpose sublime, + A thought woven over creation below; + Changing and shifting the all we inherit, + But changeless through all one immutable spirit + + Hold fast the three words of belief--though about + From the lip to the lip, full of meaning, they flee; + Yet they take not their birth from the being without-- + But a voice from within must their oracle be; + And never all worth in the man can be o'er, + Till in those three words he believes no more. + + + + + THE WORDS OF ERROR. + + Three errors there are, that forever are found + On the lips of the good, on the lips of the best; + But empty their meaning and hollow their sound-- + And slight is the comfort they bring to the breast. + The fruits of existence escape from the clasp + Of the seeker who strives but those shadows to grasp-- + + So long as man dreams of some age in this life + When the right and the good will all evil subdue; + For the right and the good lead us ever to strife, + And wherever they lead us the fiend will pursue. + And (till from the earth borne, and stifled at length) + The earth that he touches still gifts him with strength! [56] + + So long as man fancies that fortune will live, + Like a bride with her lover, united with worth; + For her favors, alas! to the mean she will give-- + And virtue possesses no title to earth! + That foreigner wanders to regions afar, + Where the lands of her birthright immortally are! + + So long as man dreams that, to mortals a gift, + The truth in her fulness of splendor will shine; + The veil of the goddess no earth-born may lift, + And all we can learn is--to guess and divine! + Dost thou seek, in a dogma, to prison her form? + The spirit flies forth on the wings of the storm! + + O, noble soul! fly from delusions like these, + More heavenly belief be it thine to adore; + Where the ear never hearkens, the eye never sees, + Meet the rivers of beauty and truth evermore! + Not without thee the streams--there the dull seek them;--No! + Look within thee--behold both the fount and the flow! + + + + + THE POWER OF WOMAN. + + Mighty art thou, because of the peaceful charms of thy presence; + That which the silent does not, never the boastful can do. + Vigor in man I expect, the law in its honors maintaining, + But, through the graces alone, woman e'er rules or should rule. + Many, indeed, have ruled through the might of the spirit and action, + But then thou noblest of crowns, they were deficient in thee. + No real queen exists but the womanly beauty of woman; + Where it appears, it must rule; ruling because it appears! + + + + + THE TWO PATHS OF VIRTUE. + + Two are the pathways by which mankind can to virtue mount upward; + If thou should find the one barred, open the other will lie. + 'Tis by exertion the happy obtain her, the suffering by patience. + Blest is the man whose kind fate guides him along upon both! + + + + + THE PROVERBS OF CONFUCIUS. + + I. + + Threefold is the march of time + While the future slow advances, + Like a dart the present glances, + Silent stands the past sublime. + + No impatience e'er can speed him + On his course if he delay; + No alarm, no doubts impede him + If he keep his onward way; + No regrets, no magic numbers + Wake the tranced one from his slumbers. + Wouldst thou wisely and with pleasure, + Pass the days of life's short measure, + From the slow one counsel take, + But a tool of him ne'er make; + Ne'er as friend the swift one know, + Nor the constant one as foe! + + II. + + Threefold is the form of space: + Length, with ever restless motion, + Seeks eternity's wide ocean; + Breadth with boundless sway extends; + Depth to unknown realms descends. + + All as types to thee are given; + Thou must onward strive for heaven, + Never still or weary be + Would'st thou perfect glory see; + Far must thy researches go. + Wouldst thou learn the world to know; + Thou must tempt the dark abyss + Wouldst thou prove what Being is. + + Naught but firmness gains the prize,-- + Naught but fulness makes us wise,-- + Buried deep, truth ever lies! + + + + + HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. + + Since thou readest in her what thou thyself hast there written, + And, to gladden the eye, placest her wonders in groups;-- + Since o'er her boundless expanses thy cords to extend thou art able, + Thou dost think that thy mind wonderful Nature can grasp. + Thus the astronomer draws his figures over the heavens, + So that he may with more ease traverse the infinite space, + Knitting together e'en suns that by Sirius-distance are parted, + Making them join in the swan and in the horns of the bull. + But because the firmament shows him its glorious surface, + Can he the spheres' mystic dance therefore decipher aright? + + + + + COLUMBUS. + + Steer on, bold sailor--Wit may mock thy soul that sees the land, + And hopeless at the helm may droop the weak and weary hand, + Yet ever--ever to the West, for there the coast must lie, + And dim it dawns, and glimmering dawns before thy reason's eye; + Yea, trust the guiding God--and go along the floating grave, + Though hid till now--yet now behold the New World o'er the wave! + With genius Nature ever stands in solemn union still, + And ever what the one foretells the other shall fulfil. + + + + + LIGHT AND WARMTH. + + In cheerful faith that fears no ill + The good man doth the world begin; + And dreams that all without shall still + Reflect the trusting soul within. + Warm with the noble vows of youth, + Hallowing his true arm to the truth; + + Yet is the littleness of all + So soon to sad experience shown, + That crowds but teach him to recall + And centre thought on self alone; + Till love, no more, emotion knows, + And the heart freezes to repose. + + Alas! though truth may light bestow, + Not always warmth the beams impart, + Blest he who gains the boon to know, + Nor buys the knowledge with the heart. + For warmth and light a blessing both to be, + Feel as the enthusiast--as the world-wise see. + + + + + BREADTH AND DEPTH. + + Full many a shining wit one sees, + With tongue on all things well conversing; + The what can charm, the what can please, + In every nice detail rehearsing. + Their raptures so transport the college, + It seems one honeymoon of knowledge. + + Yet out they go in silence where + They whilom held their learned prate; + Ah! he who would achieve the fair, + Or sow the embryo of the great, + Must hoard--to wait the ripening hour-- + In the least point the loftiest power. + + With wanton boughs and pranksome hues, + Aloft in air aspires the stem; + The glittering leaves inhale the dews, + But fruits are not concealed in them. + From the small kernel's undiscerned repose + The oak that lords it o'er the forest grows. + + + + + THE TWO GUIDES OF LIFE. + + THE SUBLIME AND THE BEAUTIFUL. + + Two genii are there, from thy birth through weary life to guide thee; + Ah, happy when, united both, they stand to aid beside thee? + With gleesome play to cheer the path, the one comes blithe with beauty, + And lighter, leaning on her arm, the destiny and duty. + With jest and sweet discourse she goes unto the rock sublime, + Where halts above the eternal sea [57] the shuddering child of time. + The other here, resolved and mute and solemn, claspeth thee, + And bears thee in her giant arms across the fearful sea. + Never admit the one alone!--Give not the gentle guide + Thy honor--nor unto the stern thy happiness confide! + + + + + THE IMMUTABLE. + + Time flies on restless pinions--constant never. + Be constant--and thou chainest time forever. + + + + + VOTIVE TABLETS. + + That which I learned from the Deity,-- + that which through lifetime hath helped me, + Meekly and gratefully now, here I suspend in his shrine. + + + DIFFERENT DESTINIES. + + Millions busily toil, that the human race may continue; + But by only a few is propagated our kind. + Thousands of seeds by the autumn are scattered, yet fruit is engendered + Only by few, for the most back to the element go. + But if one only can blossom, that one is able to scatter + Even a bright living world, filled with creations eterne. + + + THE ANIMATING PRINCIPLE. + + Nowhere in the organic or sensitive world ever kindles + Novelty, save in the flower, noblest creation of life. + + + TWO DESCRIPTIONS OF ACTION. + + Do what is good, and humanity's godlike plant thou wilt nourish; + Plan what is fair, and thou'lt strew seeds of the godlike around. + + + DIFFERENCE OF STATION. + + Even the moral world its nobility boasts--vulgar natures + Reckon by that which they do; noble, by that which they are. + + + WORTH AND THE WORTHY. + + If thou anything hast, let me have it,--I'll pay what is proper; + If thou anything art, let us our spirits exchange. + + + THE MORAL FORCE. + + If thou feelest not the beautiful, still thou with reason canst will it; + And as a spirit canst do, that which as man thou canst not. + + + PARTICIPATION. + + E'en by the hand of the wicked can truth be working with vigor; + But the vessel is filled by what is beauteous alone. + + + TO ---- + + Tell me all that thou knowest, and I will thankfully hear it! + But wouldst thou give me thyself,--let me, my friend, be excused! + + + TO ---- + + Wouldst thou teach me the truth? Don't take the trouble! I wish not, + Through thee, the thing to observe,--but to see thee through the thing. + + + TO ---- + + Thee would I choose as my teacher and friend. Thy living example + Teaches me,--thy teaching word wakens my heart unto life. + + + THE PRESENT GENERATION. + + Was it always as now? This race I truly can't fathom. + Nothing is young but old age; youth, alas! only is old. + + + TO THE MUSE. + + What I had been without thee, I know not--yet, to my sorrow + See I what, without thee, hundreds and thousands now are. + + + THE LEARNED WORKMAN. + +Ne'er does he taste the fruit of the tree that he raised with such trouble; + Nothing but taste e'er enjoys that which by learning is reared. + + + THE DUTY OF ALL. + + Ever strive for the whole; and if no whole thou canst make thee, + Join, then, thyself to some whole, as a subservient limb! + + + A PROBLEM. + + Let none resemble another; let each resemble the highest! + How can that happen? let each be all complete in itself. + + + THE PECULIAR IDEAL. + + What thou thinkest, belongs to all; what thou feelest, is thine only. + Wouldst thou make him thine own, feel thou the God whom thou thinkest! + + + TO MYSTICS. + + That is the only true secret, which in the presence of all men + Lies, and surrounds thee for ay, but which is witnessed by none. + + + THE KEY. + + Wouldst thou know thyself, observe the actions of others. + Wouldst thou other men know, look thou within thine own heart. + + THE OBSERVER. + + Stern as my conscience, thou seest the points wherein I'm deficient; + Therefore I've always loved thee, as my own conscience I've loved. + + + WISDOM AND PRUDENCE. + + Wouldst thou, my friend, mount up to the highest summit of wisdom, + Be not deterred by the fear, prudence thy course may deride + That shortsighted one sees but the bank that from thee is flying, + Not the one which ere long thou wilt attain with bold flight. + + + THE AGREEMENT. + + Both of us seek for truth--in the world without thou dost seek it, + I in the bosom within; both of us therefore succeed. + If the eye be healthy, it sees from without the Creator; + And if the heart, then within doubtless it mirrors the world. + + + POLITICAL PRECEPT. + + All that thou doest is right; but, friend, don't carry this precept + On too far,--be content, all that is right to effect. + It is enough to true zeal, if what is existing be perfect; + False zeal always would find finished perfection at once. + + + MAJESTAS POPULI. + + Majesty of the nature of man! In crowds shall I seek thee? + 'Tis with only a few that thou hast made thine abode. + Only a few ever count; the rest are but blanks of no value, + And the prizes are hid 'neath the vain stir that they make. + + + THE DIFFICULT UNION. + + Why are taste and genius so seldom met with united? + Taste of strength is afraid,--genius despises the rein. + + + TO A WORLD-REFORMER. + + "I Have sacrificed all," thou sayest, "that man I might succor; + Vain the attempt; my reward was persecution and hate." + Shall I tell thee, my friend, how I to humor him manage? + Trust the proverb! I ne'er have been deceived by it yet. + Thou canst not sufficiently prize humanity's value; + Let it be coined in deed as it exists in thy breast. + E'en to the man whom thou chancest to meet in life's narrow pathway, + If he should ask it of thee, hold forth a succoring hand. + But for rain and for dew, for the general welfare of mortals, + Leave thou Heaven to care, friend, as before, so e'en now. + + + MY ANTIPATHY. + +I have a heartfelt aversion for crime,--a twofold aversion, + Since 'tis the reason why man prates about virtue so much. +"What! thou hatest, then, virtue?"--I would that by all it were practised, + So that, God willing, no man ever need speak of it more. + + + ASTRONOMICAL WRITINGS. + + Oh, how infinite, how unspeakably great, are the heavens! + Yet by frivolity's hand downwards the heavens are pulled! + + + THE BEST STATE. + + "How can I know the best state?" + In the way that thou know'st the best woman; + Namely, my friend, that the world ever is silent of both. + + + TO ASTRONOMERS. + + Prate not to me so much of suns and of nebulous bodies; + Think ye Nature but great, in that she gives thee to count? + Though your object may be the sublimest that space holds within it, + Yet, my good friends, the sublime dwells not in the regions of space. + + + MY FAITH. + + Which religion do I acknowledge? None that thou namest. + "None that I name? And why so?"--Why, for religion's own sake? + + + INSIDE AND OUTSIDE. + + God alone sees the heart and therefore, since he alone sees it, + Be it our care that we, too, something that's worthy may see. + + + FRIEND AND FOE. + + Dearly I love a friend; yet a foe I may turn to my profit; + Friends show me that which I can; foes teach me that which I should. + + + LIGHT AND COLOR. + +Thou that art ever the same, with the changeless One take up thy dwelling! + Color, thou changeable one, kindly descends upon man! + + + GENIUS. + + Understanding, indeed, can repeat what already existed,-- + That which Nature has built, after her she, too, can build. + Over Nature can reason build, but in vacancy only: + But thou, genius, alone, nature in nature canst form. + + + BEAUTEOUS INDIVIDUALITY. + +Thou in truth shouldst be one, yet not with the whole shouldst thou be so. + 'Tis through the reason thou'rt one,--art so with it through the heart. +Voice of the whole is thy reason, but thou thine own heart must be ever; + If in thy heart reason dwells evermore, happy art thou. + + + VARIETY. + + Many are good and wise; yet all for one only reckon, + For 'tis conception, alas, rules them, and not a fond heart. + Sad is the sway of conception,--from thousandfold varying figures, + Needy and empty but one it is e'er able to bring. + But where creative beauty is ruling, there life and enjoyment + Dwell; to the ne'er-changing One, thousands of new forms she gives. + + + THE IMITATOR. + + Good from the good,--to the reason this is not hard of conception; + But the genius has power good from the bad to evoke. + 'Tis the conceived alone, that thou, imitator, canst practise; + Food the conceived never is, save to the mind that conceives. + + + GENIALITY. + + How does the genius make itself known? In the way that in nature + Shows the Creator himself,--e'en in the infinite whole. + Clear is the ether, and yet of depth that ne'er can be fathomed; + Seen by the eye, it remains evermore closed to the sense. + + + THE INQUIRERS. + + Men now seek to explore each thing from within and without too! + How canst thou make thy escape, Truth, from their eager pursuit? + That they may catch thee, with nets and poles extended they seek thee + But with a spirit-like tread, glidest thou out of the throng. + + + CORRECTNESS. + + Free from blemish to be, is the lowest of steps, and highest; + Weakness and greatness alone ever arrive at this point. + + + THE THREE AGES OF NATURE. + + Life she received from fable; the schools deprived her of being, + Life creative again she has from reason received. + + + THE LAW OF NATURE. + + It has ever been so, my friend, and will ever remain so: + Weakness has rules for itself,--vigor is crowned with success. + + CHOICE. + + If thou canst not give pleasure to all by thy deeds and thy knowledge, + Give it then, unto the few; many to please is but vain. + + + SCIENCE OF MUSIC. + + Let the creative art breathe life, and the bard furnish spirit; + But the soul is expressed by Polyhymnia alone. + + + TO THE POET. + + Let thy speech be to thee what the body is to the loving; + Beings it only can part,--beings it only can join. + + + LANGUAGE. + + Why can the living spirit be never seen by the spirit? + Soon as the soul 'gins to speak, then can the soul speak no more! + + + THE MASTER. + + Other masters one always can tell by the words that they utter; + That which he wisely omits shows me the master of style. + + + THE GIRDLE. + + Aphrodite preserves her beauty concealed by her girdle; + That which lends her her charms is what she covers--her shame. + + + THE DILETTANTE. + + Merely because thou hast made a good verse in a language poetic, + One which composes for thee, thou art a poet forsooth! + + + THE BABBLER OF ART. + + Dost thou desire the good in art? Of the good art thou worthy, + Which by a ne'er ceasing war 'gainst thee thyself is produced? + + + THE PHILOSOPHIES. + + Which among the philosophies will be enduring? I know not, + But that philosophy's self ever may last is my hope. + + + THE FAVOR OF THE MUSES. + + Fame with the vulgar expires; but, Muse immortal, thou bearest + Those whom thou lovest, who love thee, into Mnemosyne's arms. + + + HOMER'S HEAD AS A SEAL. + + Trusty old Homer! to thee I confide the secret so tender; + For the raptures of love none but the bard should e'er know. + + + GOODNESS AND GREATNESS. + + Only two virtues exist. Oh, would they were ever united! + Ever the good with the great, ever the great with the good! + + + THE IMPULSES. + + Fear with his iron staff may urge the slave onward forever; + Rapture, do thou lead me on ever in roseate chains! + + + NATURALISTS AND TRANSCENDENTAL PHILOSOPHERS. + + Enmity be between ye! Your union too soon is cemented; + Ye will but learn to know truth when ye divide in the search. + + + GERMAN GENIUS. + + Strive, O German, for Roman-like strength and for Grecian-like beauty! + Thou art successful in both; ne'er has the Gaul had success. + + + THEOPHANIA. + + When the happy appear, I forget the gods in the heavens; + But before me they stand, when I the suffering see. + + + + + TRIFLES. + + + THE EPIC HEXAMETER. + + Giddily onward it bears thee with resistless impetuous billows; + Naught but the ocean and air seest thou before or behind. + + + THE DISTICH. + + In the hexameter rises the fountain's watery column, + In the pentameter sweet falling in melody down. + + + THE EIGHT-LINE STANZA. + + Stanza, by love thou'rt created,--by love, all-tender and yearning; + Thrice dost thou bashfully fly; thrice dost with longing return. + + + THE OBELISK. + + On a pedestal lofty the sculptor in triumph has raised me. + "Stand thou," spake he,--and I stand proudly and joyfully here. + + + THE TRIUMPHAL ARCH. + +"Fear not," the builder exclaimed, "the rainbow that stands in the heavens; + I will extend thee, like it, into infinity far!" + + + THE BEAUTIFUL BRIDGE. + + Under me, over me, hasten the waters, the chariots; my builder + Kindly has suffered e'en me, over myself, too, to go! + + + THE GATE. + + Let the gate open stand, to allure the savage to precepts; + Let it the citizen lead into free nature with joy. + + + ST. PETER'S. + + If thou seekest to find immensity here, thou'rt mistaken; + For my greatness is meant greater to make thee thyself! + + + + + THE PHILOSOPHERS. + + PUPIL. + I am rejoiced, worthy sirs, to find you in pleno assembled; + For I have come down below, seeking the one needful thing. + + ARISTOTLE. + Quick to the point, my good friend! For the Jena Gazette comes + to hand here, + Even in hell,--so we know all that is passing above. + + PUPIL. + So much the better! So give me (I will not depart hence without it) + Some good principle now,--one that will always avail! + + FIRST PHILOSOPHER. + Cogito, ergo sum. I have thought, and therefore existence! + If the first be but true, then is the second one sure. + + PUPIL. + As I think, I exist. 'Tis good! But who always is thinking? + Oft I've existed e'en when I have been thinking of naught. + + SECOND PHILOSOPHER. + Since there are things that exist, a thing of all things there must + needs be; + In the thing of all things dabble we, just as we are. + + THIRD PHILOSOPHER. + Just the reverse, say I. Besides myself there is nothing; + Everything else that there is is but a bubble to me. + + FOURTH PHILOSOPHER. + Two kinds of things I allow to exist,--the world and the spirit; + Naught of others I know; even these signify one. + + FIFTH PHILOSOPHER. + I know naught of the thing, and know still less of the spirit; + Both but appear unto me; yet no appearance they are. + + SIXTH PHILOSOPHER. + I am I, and settle myself,--and if I then settle + Nothing to be, well and good--there's a nonentity formed. + + SEVENTH PHILOSOPHER. + There is conception at least! A thing conceived there is, therefore; + And a conceiver as well,--which, with conception, make three. + + PUPIL. + All this nonsense, good sirs, won't answer my purpose a tittle: + I a real principle need,--one by which something is fixed. + + EIGHTH PHILOSOPHER. + Nothing is now to be found in the theoretical province; + Practical principles hold, such as: thou canst, for thou shouldst. + + PUPIL. + If I but thought so! When people know no more sensible answer, + Into the conscience at once plunge they with desperate haste. + + DAVID HUME. + Don't converse with those fellows! That Kant has turned them all crazy; + Speak to me, for in hell I am the same that I was. + + LAW POINT. + I have made use of my nose for years together to smell with; + Have I a right to my nose that can be legally proved? + + PUFFENDORF. + Truly a delicate point! Yet the first possession appeareth + In thy favor to tell; therefore make use of it still! + + + SCRUPLE OF CONSCIENCE. + Willingly serve I my friends; but, alas, I do it with pleasure; + Therefore I often am vexed that no true virtue I have. + + DECISION. + As there is no other means, thou hadst better begin to despise them; + And with aversion, then, do that which thy duty commands. + + + + + THE HOMERIDES. + + Who is the bard of the Iliad among you? For since he likes puddings, + Heyne begs he'll accept these that from Gottingen come. + "Give them to me! The kings' quarrel I sang!"-- + "I, the fight near the vessels!"--"Hand me the puddings! + I sang what upon Ida took place!" + Gently! Don't tear me to pieces! The puddings will not be sufficient; + He by whom they are sent destined them only for one. + + + + + G. G. + + Each one, when seen by himself, is passably wise and judicious; + When they in corpore are, naught but a blockhead is seen. + + + + + THE MORAL POET. + + Man is in truth a poor creature,--I know it,--and fain would forget it; + Therefore (how sorry I am!) came I, alas, unto thee! + + + + + THE DANAIDES. + + Into the sieve we've been pouring for years,-- + o'er the stone we've been brooding; + But the stone never warms,--nor does the sieve ever fill. + + + + + THE SUBLIME SUBJECT. + + 'Tis thy Muse's delight to sing God's pity to mortals; + But, that they pitiful are,--is it a matter for song? + + + + + THE ARTIFICE. + + Wouldst thou give pleasure at once to the children of earth and + the righteous? + Draw the image of lust--adding the devil as well! + + + + + IMMORTALITY. + + Dreadest thou the aspect of death! Thou wishest to live on forever? + Live in the whole, and when long thou shalt have gone, 'twill remain! + + + + + JEREMIADS. + +All, both in prose and in verse, in Germany fast is decaying; + Far behind us, alas, lieth the golden age now! +For by philosophers spoiled is our language--our logic by poets, + And no more common sense governs our passage through life. +From the aesthetic, to which she belongs, now virtue is driven, + And into politics forced, where she's a troublesome guest. +Where are we hastening now? If natural, dull we are voted, + And if we put on constraint, then the world calls us absurd. +Oh, thou joyous artlessness 'mongst the poor maidens of Leipzig, + Witty simplicity come,--come, then, to glad us again! +Comedy, oh repeat thy weekly visits so precious, + Sigismund, lover so sweet,--Mascarill, valet jocose! +Tragedy, full of salt and pungency epigrammatic,-- + And thou, minuet-step of our old buskin preserved! +Philosophic romance, thou mannikin waiting with patience, + When, 'gainst the pruner's attack, Nature defendeth herself! +Ancient prose, oh return,--so nobly and boldly expressing + All that thou thinkest and hast thought,--and what the reader thinks too +All, both in prose and in verse, in Germany fast is decaying; + Far behind us, alas, lieth the golden age now! + + + + + SHAKESPEARE'S GHOST. + + A PARODY. + + I, too, at length discerned great Hercules' energy mighty,-- + Saw his shade. He himself was not, alas, to be seen. + Round him were heard, like the screaming of birds, + the screams of tragedians, + And, with the baying of dogs, barked dramaturgists around. + There stood the giant in all his terrors; his bow was extended, + And the bolt, fixed on the string, steadily aimed at the heart. + "What still hardier action, unhappy one, dost thou now venture, + Thus to descend to the grave of the departed souls here?"-- + "'Tis to see Tiresias I come, to ask of the prophet + Where I the buskin of old, that now has vanished, may find?" + "If they believe not in Nature, nor the old Grecian, but vainly + Wilt thou convey up from hence that dramaturgy to them." + "Oh, as for Nature, once more to tread our stage she has ventured, + Ay, and stark-naked beside, so that each rib we count." + "What? Is the buskin of old to be seen in truth on your stage, then, + Which even I came to fetch, out of mid-Tartarus' gloom?"-- + "There is now no more of that tragic bustle, for scarcely + Once in a year on the boards moves thy great soul, harness-clad." + "Doubtless 'tis well! Philosophy now has refined your sensations, + And from the humor so bright fly the affections so black."-- + "Ay, there is nothing that beats a jest that is stolid and barren, + But then e'en sorrow can please, if 'tis sufficiently moist." + "But do ye also exhibit the graceful dance of Thalia, + Joined to the solemn step with which Melpomene moves?"-- + "Neither! For naught we love but what is Christian and moral; + And what is popular, too, homely, domestic, and plain." + "What? Does no Caesar, does no Achilles, appear on your stage now, + Not an Andromache e'en, not an Orestes, my friend?" + "No! there is naught to be seen there but parsons, + and syndics of commerce, + Secretaries perchance, ensigns, and majors of horse." + "But, my good friend, pray tell me, what can such people e'er meet with + That can be truly called great?--what that is great can they do?" + "What? Why they form cabals, they lend upon mortgage, they pocket + Silver spoons, and fear not e'en in the stocks to be placed." + "Whence do ye, then, derive the destiny, great and gigantic, + Which raises man up on high, e'en when it grinds him to dust?"-- + "All mere nonsense! Ourselves, our worthy acquaintances also, + And our sorrows and wants, seek we, and find we, too, here." + "But all this ye possess at home both apter and better,-- + Wherefore, then, fly from yourselves, if 'tis yourselves that ye seek?" + "Be not offended, great hero, for that is a different question; + Ever is destiny blind,--ever is righteous the bard." + "Then one meets on your stage your own contemptible nature, + While 'tis in vain one seeks there nature enduring and great?" + "There the poet is host, and act the fifth is the reckoning; + And, when crime becomes sick, virtue sits down to the feast!" + + + + + THE RIVERS. + + + RHINE. + + True, as becometh a Switzer, I watch over Germany's borders; + But the light-footed Gaul jumps o'er the suffering stream. + + + RHINE AND MOSELLE. + + Many a year have I clasped in my arms the Lorrainian maiden; + But our union as yet ne'er has been blest with a son. + + + DANUBE IN ---- + + Round me are dwelling the falcon-eyed race, the Phaeacian people; + Sunday with them never ends; ceaselessly moves round the spit. + + + MAIN. + + Ay, it is true that my castles are crumbling; yet, to my comfort, + Have I for centuries past seen my old race still endure. + + + SAALE. + + Short is my course, during which I salute many princes and nations; + Yet the princes are good--ay! and the nations are free. + + + ILM. + + Poor are my banks, it is true; but yet my soft-flowing waters + Many immortal lays here, borne by the current along. + + + PLEISSE. + + Flat is my shore and shallow my current; alas, all my writers, + Both in prose and in verse, drink far too deep of its stream! + + + ELBE. + + All ye others speak only a jargon; 'mongst Germany's rivers + None speak German but me; I but in Misnia alone. + + + SPREE. + + Ramler once gave me language,--my Caesar a subject; and therefore + I had my mouth then stuffed full; but I've been silent since that. + + + WESER. + + Nothing, alas, can be said about me; I really can't furnish + Matter enough to the Muse e'en for an epigram, small. + + + MINERAL WATERS AT ----. + + Singular country! what excellent taste in its fountains and rivers + In its people alone none have I ever yet found! + + + PEGNTTZ. + + I for a long time have been a hypochondriacal subject; + I but flow on because it has my habit been long. + + + THE ---- RIVERS. + + We would gladly remain in the lands that own--as their masters; + Soft their yoke ever is, and all their burdens are light. + + + SALZACH. + + I, to salt the archbishopric, come from Juvavia's mountains; + Then to Bavaria turn, where they have great need of salt! + + + THE ANONYMOUS RIVER. + + Lenten food for the pious bishop's table to furnish, + By my Creator I'm poured over the famishing land. + + + LES FLEUVES INDISCRETS. + + Pray be silent, ye rivers! One sees ye have no more discretion + Than, in a case we could name, Diderot's favorites had. + + + + + ZENITH AND NADIR. + + Wheresoever thou wanderest in space, thy Zenith and Nadir + Unto the heavens knit thee, unto the axis of earth. + Howsoever thou attest, let heaven be moved by thy purpose, + Let the aim of thy deeds traverse the axis of earth! + + + + + KANT AND HIS COMMENTATORS. + + See how a single rich man gives a living to numbers of beggars! + 'Tis when sovereigns build, carters are kept in employ. + + + + + THE PHILOSOPHERS. + + The principle by which each thing + Toward strength and shape first tended,-- + The pulley whereon Zeus the ring + Of earth, that loosely used to swing, + With cautiousness suspended,-- + he is a clever man, I vow, + Who its real name can tell me now, + Unless to help him I consent-- + 'Tis: ten and twelve are different! + + Fire burns,--'tis chilly when it snows, + Man always is two-footed,-- + The sun across the heavens goes,-- + This, he who naught of logic knows + Finds to his reason suited. + Yet he who metaphysics learns, + Knows that naught freezes when it burns-- + Knows that what's wet is never dry,-- + And that what's bright attracts the eye. + + Old Homer sings his noble lays, + The hero goes through dangers; + The brave man duty's call obeys, + And did so, even in the days + When sages yet were strangers-- + But heart and genius now have taught + What Locke and what Descartes never thought; + By them immediately is shown + That which is possible alone. + + In life avails the right of force. + The bold the timid worries; + Who rules not, is a slave of course, + Without design each thing across + Earth's stage forever hurries. + Yet what would happen if the plan + Which guides the world now first began, + Within the moral system lies + Disclosed with clearness to our eyes. + + "When man would seek his destiny, + Man's help must then be given; + Save for the whole, ne'er labors he,-- + Of many drops is formed the sea,-- + By water mills are driven; + Therefore the wolf's wild species flies,-- + Knit are the state's enduring ties." + Thus Puffendorf and Feder, each + Is, ex cathedra, wont to teach. + + Yet, if what such professors say, + Each brain to enter durst not, + Nature exerts her mother-sway, + Provides that ne'er the chain gives way, + And that the ripe fruits burst not. + Meanwhile, until earth's structure vast + Philosophy can bind at last, + 'Tis she that bids its pinion move, + By means of hunger and of love! + + + + + THE METAPHYSICIAN. + + "How far beneath me seems the earthly ball! + The pigmy race below I scarce can see; + How does my art, the noblest art of all, + Bear me close up to heaven's bright canopy!" + So cries the slater from his tower's high top, + And so the little would-be mighty man, + Hans Metaphysicus, from out his critic-shop. + Explain, thou little would-be mighty man! + The tower from which thy looks the world survey, + Whereof,--whereon is it erected, pray? + How didst thou mount it? Of what use to thee + Its naked heights, save o'er the vale to see? + + + + + PEGASUS IN HARNESS. + + Once to a horse-fair,--it may perhaps have been + Where other things are bought and sold,--I mean + At the Haymarket,--there the muses' horse + A hungry poet brought--to sell, of course. + + 'The hippogriff neighed shrilly, loudly, + And reared upon his hind-legs proudly; + In utter wonderment each stood and cried: + "The noble regal beast!" But, woe betide! + Two hideous wings his slender form deface, + The finest team he else would not disgrace. + "The breed," said they, "is doubtless rare, + But who would travel through the air?" + Not one of them would risk his gold. + At length a farmer grew more bold: + "As for his wings, I of no use should find them, + But then how easy 'tis to clip or bind them! + The horse for drawing may be useful found,-- + So, friend, I don't mind giving twenty pound!" + The other glad to sell his merchandise, + Cried, "Done!"--and Hans rode off upon his prize. + + The noble creature was, ere long, put-to, + But scarcely felt the unaccustomed load, + Than, panting to soar upwards, off he flew, + And, filled with honest anger, overthrew + The cart where an abyss just met the road. + "Ho! ho!" thought Hans: "No cart to this mad beast + I'll trust. Experience makes one wise at least. + To drive the coach to-morrow now my course is, + And he as leader in the team shall go. + The lively fellow'll save me full two horses; + As years pass on, he'll doubtless tamer grow." + + All went on well at first. The nimble steed + His partners roused,--like lightning was their speed. + What happened next? Toward heaven was turned his eye,-- + Unused across the solid ground to fly, + He quitted soon the safe and beaten course, + And true to nature's strong resistless force, + Ran over bog and moor, o'er hedge and pasture tilled; + An equal madness soon the other horses filled-- + No reins could hold them in, no help was near, + Till,--only picture the poor travellers' fear!-- + The coach, well shaken, and completely wrecked, + Upon a hill's steep top at length was checked. + + "If this is always sure to be the case," + Hans cried, and cut a very sorry face, + "He'll never do to draw a coach or wagon; + Let's see if we can't tame the fiery dragon + By means of heavy work and little food." + And so the plan was tried.--But what ensued? + The handsome beast, before three days had passed, + Wasted to nothing. "Stay! I see at last!" + Cried Hans. "Be quick, you fellows! yoke him now + With my most sturdy ox before the plough." + + No sooner said than done. In union queer + Together yoked were soon winged horse and steer. + The griffin pranced with rage, and his remaining might + Exerted to resume his old-accustomed flight. + 'Twas all in vain--his partner stepped with circumspection, + And Phoebus' haughty steed must follow his direction; + Until at last, by long resistance spent, + When strength his limbs no longer was controlling, + The noble creature, with affliction bent, + Fell to the ground, and in the dust lay rolling. + "Accursed beast!" at length with fury mad + Hans shouted, while he soundly plied the lash,-- + "Even for ploughing, then, thou art too bad!-- + That fellow was a rogue to sell such trash!" + + Ere yet his heavy blows had ceased to fly, + A brisk and merry youth by chance came by. + A lute was tinkling in his hand, + And through his light and flowing hair + Was twined with grace a golden band. + "Whither, my friend, with that strange pair?" + From far he to the peasant cried. + "A bird and ox to one rope tied-- + Was such a team e'er heard of, pray? + Thy horse's worth I'd fain essay; + Just for one moment lend him me,-- + Observe, and thou shalt wonders see!" + + The hippogriff was loosened from the plough, + Upon his back the smiling youth leaped now; + No sooner did the creature understand + That he was guided by a master-hand, + Than 'ginst his bit he champed, and upward soared + While lightning from his flaming eyes outpoured. + No longer the same being, royally + A spirit, ay, a god, ascended he, + Spread in a moment to the stormy wind + His noble wings, and left the earth behind, + And, ere the eye could follow him, + Had vanished in the heavens dim. + + + + + KNOWLEDGE. + + Knowledge to one is a goddess both heavenly and high,--to another + Only an excellent cow, yielding the butter he wants. + + + + + THE POETRY OF LIFE. + + "Who would himself with shadows entertain, + Or gild his life with lights that shine in vain, + Or nurse false hopes that do but cheat the true?-- + Though with my dream my heaven should be resigned-- + Though the free-pinioned soul that once could dwell + In the large empire of the possible, + This workday life with iron chains may bind, + Yet thus the mastery o'er ourselves we find, + And solemn duty to our acts decreed, + Meets us thus tutored in the hour of need, + With a more sober and submissive mind! + How front necessity--yet bid thy youth + Shun the mild rule of life's calm sovereign, truth." + + So speakest thou, friend, how stronger far than I; + As from experience--that sure port serene-- + Thou lookest;--and straight, a coldness wraps the sky, + The summer glory withers from the scene, + Scared by the solemn spell; behold them fly, + The godlike images that seemed so fair! + Silent the playful Muse--the rosy hours + Halt in their dance; and the May-breathing flowers + Fall from the sister-graces' waving hair. + Sweet-mouthed Apollo breaks his golden lyre, + Hermes, the wand with many a marvel rife;-- + The veil, rose-woven, by the young desire + With dreams, drops from the hueless cheeks of life. + The world seems what it is--a grave! and love + Casts down the bondage wound his eyes above, + And sees!--He sees but images of clay + Where he dreamed gods; and sighs--and glides away. + The youngness of the beautiful grows old, + And on thy lips the bride's sweet kiss seems cold; + And in the crowd of joys--upon thy throne + Thou sittest in state, and hardenest into stone. + + + + + TO GOETHE, + + ON HIS PRODUCING VOLTAIRE'S "MAHOMET" ON THE STAGE. + + Thou, by whom, freed from rules constrained and wrong, + On truth and nature once again we're placed,-- + Who, in the cradle e'en a hero strong, + Stiffest the serpents round our genius laced,-- + Thou whom the godlike science has so long + With her unsullied sacred fillet graced,-- + Dost thou on ruined altars sacrifice + To that false muse whom we no longer prize? + + This theatre belongs to native art, + No foreign idols worshipped here are seen; + A laurel we can show, with joyous heart, + That on the German Pindus has grown green + The sciences' most holy, hidden part + The German genius dares to enter e'en, + And, following the Briton and the Greek, + A nobler glory now attempts to seek. + + For yonder, where slaves kneel, and despots hold + The reins,--where spurious greatness lifts its head, + Art has no power the noble there to mould, + 'Tis by no Louis that its seed is spread; + From its own fulness it must needs unfold, + By earthly majesty 'tis never fed; + 'Tis with truth only it can e'er unite, + Its glow free spirits only e'er can light. + + 'Tis not to bind us in a worn-out chain + Thou dost this play of olden time recall,-- + 'Tis not to seek to lead us back again + To days when thoughtless childhood ruled o'er all. + It were, in truth, an idle risk and vain + Into the moving wheel of time to fall; + The winged hours forever bear it on, + The new arrives, and, lo! the old has gone. + + The narrow theatre is now more wide, + Into its space a universe now steals; + In pompous words no longer is our pride, + Nature we love when she her form reveals; + Fashion's false rules no more are deified; + And as a man the hero acts and feels. + 'Tis passion makes the notes of freedom sound, + And 'tis in truth the beautiful is found. + + Weak is the frame of Thespis' chariot fair, + Resembling much the bark of Acheron, + That carries naught but shades and forms of air; + And if rude life should venture to press on, + The fragile bark its weight no more can bear, + For fleeting spirits it can hold alone. + Appearance ne'er can reach reality,-- + If nature be victorious, art must fly. + + For on the stage's boarded scaffold here + A world ideal opens to our eyes, + Nothing is true and genuine save--a tear; + Emotion on no dream of sense relies. + The real Melpomene is still sincere, + Naught as a fable merely she supplies-- + By truth profound to charm us is her care; + The false one, truth pretends, but to ensnare. + + Now from the scene, art threatens to retire, + Her kingdom wild maintains still phantasy; + The stage she like the world would set on fire, + The meanest and the noblest mingles she. + The Frank alone 'tis art can now inspire, + And yet her archetype can his ne'er be; + In bounds unchangeable confining her, + He holds her fast, and vainly would she stir. + + The stage to him is pure and undefiled; + Chased from the regions that to her belong + Are Nature's tones, so careless and so wild, + To him e'en language rises into song; + A realm harmonious 'tis, of beauty mild, + Where limb unites to limb in order strong. + The whole into a solemn temple blends, + And 'tis the dance that grace to motion lends. + + And yet the Frank must not be made our guide. + For in his art no living spirit reigns: + The boasting gestures of a spurious pride + That mind which only loves the true disdains. + To nobler ends alone be it applied, + Returning, like some soul's long-vanished manes. + To render the oft-sullied stage once more + A throne befitting the great muse of yore. + + + + + THE PRESENT. + + Ring and staff, oh to me on a Rhenish flask ye are welcome! + Him a true shepherd I call, who thus gives drink to his sheep. + Draught thrice blest! It is by the Muse I have won thee,--the Muse, too, + Sends thee,--and even the church places upon thee her seal. + + + + + DEPARTURE FROM LIFE. + +Two are the roads that before thee lie open from life to conduct thee; + To the ideal one leads thee, the other to death. +See that while yet thou art free, on the first thou commencest thy journey, + Ere by the merciless fates on to the other thou'rt led! + + + + + VERSES WRITTEN IN THE FOLIO ALBUM OF A LEARNED FRIEND. + + Once wisdom dwelt in tomes of ponderous size, + While friendship from a pocketbook would talk; + But now that knowledge in small compass lies, + And floats in almanacs, as light as cork, + Courageous man, thou dost not hesitate + To open for thy friends this house so great! + Hast thou no fear, I seriously would ask, + That thou may'st thus their patience overtask? + + + + + VERSES WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF A FRIEND. + + (HERR VON MECHELN OF BASLE.) + + Nature in charms is exhaustless, in beauty ever reviving; + And, like Nature, fair art is inexhaustible too. + Hail, thou honored old man! for both in thy heart thou preservest + Living sensations, and thus ne'er-ending youth is thy lot! + + + + + THE SUNDAY CHILDREN. + + Years has the master been laboring, but always without satisfaction; + To an ingenious race 'twould be in vision conferred. + What they yesterday learned, to-day they fain would be teaching: + Small compassion, alas, is by those gentlemen shown! + + + + + THE HIGHEST. + + Seerest thou the highest, the greatest! + In that the plant can instruct thee; + What it unwittingly is, be thou of thine own free will! + + + + + THE PUPPET-SHOW OF LIFE. + + Thou'rt welcome in my box to peep! + Life's puppet-show, the world in little, + Thou'lt see depicted to a tittle,-- + But pray at some small distance keep! + 'Tis by the torch of love alone, + By Cupid's taper, it is shown. + + See, not a moment void the stage is! + The child in arms at first they bring,-- + The boy then skips,--the youth now storms and rages,-- + The man contends, and ventures everything! + + Each one attempts success to find, + Yet narrow is the race-course ever; + The chariot rolls, the axles quiver, + The hero presses on, the coward stays behind, + The proud man falls with mirth-inspiring fall, + The wise man overtakes them all! + + Thou see'st fair woman it the barrier stand, + With beauteous hands, with smiling eyes, + To glad the victor with his prize. + + + + + TO LAWGIVERS. + + Ever take it for granted, that man collectively wishes + That which is right; but take care never to think so of one! + + + + + FALSE IMPULSE TO STUDY. + + Oh, how many new foes against truth! My very soul bleedeth + When I behold the owl-race now bursting forth to the light. + + + + + THE HEREDITARY PRINCE OF WEIMAR, ON HIS PROCEEDING TO PARIS. + + (SUNG IN A CIRCLE OF FRIENDS.) + + With one last bumper let us hail + The wanderer beloved, + Who takes his leave of this still vale + Wherein in youth he roved. + + From loving arms, from native home, + He tears himself away, + To yonder city proud to roam, + That makes whole lands its prey. + + Dissension flies, all tempests end, + And chained is strife abhorred; + We in the crater may descend + From whence the lava poured. + + A gracious fate conduct thee through + Life's wild and mazy track! + A bosom nature gave thee true,-- + A bosom true bring back! + + Thou'lt visit lands that war's wild train + Had crushed with careless heed; + Now smiling peace salutes the plain, + And strews the golden seed. + + The hoary Father Rhine thou'lt greet, + Who thy forefather [58] blest + Will think of, whilst his waters fleet + In ocean's bed to rest. + + Do homage to the hero's manes, + And offer to the Rhine, + The German frontier who maintains, + His own-created wine,-- + + So that thy country's soul thy guide + May be, when thou hast crossed + On the frail bark to yonder side, + Where German faith is lost! + + + + + THE IDEAL OF WOMAN. + + TO AMANDA. + + Woman in everything yields to man; but in that which is highest, + Even the manliest man yields to the woman most weak. + But that highest,--what is it? The gentle radiance of triumph + As in thy brow upon me, beauteous Amanda, it beams. + When o'er the bright shining disk the clouds of affliction are fleeting, + Fairer the image appears, seen through the vapor of gold. + Man may think himself free! thou art so,--for thou never knowest + What is the meaning of choice,--know'st not necessity's name. + That which thou givest, thou always givest wholly; but one art thou ever, + Even thy tenderest sound is thine harmonious self. + Youth everlasting dwells here, with fulness that never is exhausted, + And with the flower at once pluckest thou the ripe golden fruit. + + + + + THE FOUNTAIN OF SECOND YOUTH. + + Trust me, 'tis not a mere tale,--the fountain of youth really runneth, + Runneth forever. Thou ask'st, where? In the poet's sweet art! + + + + + WILLIAM TELL. [59] + + When hostile elements with rage resound, + And fury blindly fans war's lurid flame,-- + When in the strife of party quarrel drowned, + The voice of justice no regard can claim,-- + When crime is free, and impious hands are found + The sacred to pollute, devoid of shame, + And loose the anchor which the state maintains,-- + No subject there we find for joyous strains. + + But when a nation, that its flocks still feeds + With calm content, nor other's wealth desires + Throws off the cruel yoke 'neath which it bleeds, + Yet, e'en in wrath, humanity admires,-- + And, e'en in triumph, moderation heeds,-- + That is immortal, and our song requires. + To show thee such an image now is mine; + Thou knowest it well, for all that's great is thine! + + + + + TO A YOUNG FRIEND DEVOTING HIMSELF TO PHILOSOPHY. + + Severe the proof the Grecian youth was doomed to undergo, + Before he might what lurks beneath the Eleusinia know-- + Art thou prepared and ripe, the shrine--the inner shrine--to win, + Where Pallas guards from vulgar eyes the mystic prize within? + Knowest thou what bars thy way? how dear the bargain thou dost make, + When but to buy uncertain good, sure good thou dost forsake? + Feel'st thou sufficient strength to brave the deadliest human fray, + When heart from reason--sense from thought, shall rend themselves away? + Sufficient valor, war with doubt, the hydra-shape, to wage; + And that worst foe within thyself with manly soul engage? + With eyes that keep their heavenly health--the innocence of youth + To guard from every falsehood, fair beneath the mask of truth? + Fly, if thou canst not trust thy heart to guide thee on the way-- + Oh, fly the charmed margin ere th' abyss engulf its prey. + Round many a step that seeks the light, the shades of midnight close; + But in the glimmering twilight, see--how safely childhood goes! + + + + + EXPECTATION AND FULFILMENT. + + Into life's ocean the youth with a thousand masts daringly launches; + Mute, in a boat saved from wreck, enters the gray-beard the port. + + + + + THE COMMON FATE. + +See how we hate, how we quarrel, how thought and how feeling divide us! + But thy locks, friend, like mine, meanwhile are bleachening fast. + + + + + HUMAN ACTION. + + Where the pathway begins, eternity seems to lie open, + Yet at the narrowest point even the wisest man stops. + + + + + NUPTIAL ODE. [60] + + Fair bride, attended by our blessing, + Glad Hymen's flowery path 'gin pressing! + We witnessed with enraptured eye + The graces of thy soul unfolding, + Thy youthful charms their beauty moulding + To blossom for love's ecstasy. + A happy fate now hovers round thee, + And friendship yields without a smart + To that sweet god whose might hath bound thee;-- + He needs must have, he hath thy heart! + + To duties dear, to trouble tender, + Thy youthful breast must now surrender, + Thy garland's summons must obey. + Each toying infantine sensation, + Each fleeting sport of youth's creation, + Forevermore hath passed away; + And Hymen's sacred bond now chaineth + Where soft and fluttering love was shrined; + Yet for a heart, where beauty reigneth, + Of flowers alone that bond is twined. + + The secret that can keep forever + In verdant links, that naught can sever, + The bridal garland, wouldst thou find? + 'Tis purity the heart pervading, + The blossoms of a grace unfading, + And yet with modest shame combined, + Which, like the sun's reflection glowing, + Makes every heart throb blissfully;-- + 'Tis looks with mildness overflowing, + And self-maintaining dignity! + + + + + THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE NEW CENTURY. + + Where will a place of refuge, noble friend, + For peace and freedom ever open lie! + The century in tempests had its end, + The new one now begins with murder's cry. + + Each land-connecting bond is torn away, + Each ancient custom hastens to decline; + Not e'en the ocean can war's tumult stay. + Not e'en the Nile-god, not the hoary Rhine. + + Two mighty nations strive, with hostile power, + For undivided mastery of the world; + And, by them, each land's freedom to devour, + The trident brandished is--the lightning hurled. + + Each country must to them its gold afford, + And, Brennus-like, upon the fatal day, + The Frank now throws his heavy iron sword, + The even scales of justice to o'erweigh. + + His merchant-fleets the Briton greedily + Extends, like polyp-limbs, on every side; + And the domain of Amphitrite free + As if his home it were, would fain bestride. + + E'en to the south pole's dim, remotest star, + His restless course moves onward, unrestrained; + Each isle he tracks,--each coast, however far, + But paradise alone he ne'er has gained! + + Although thine eye may every map explore, + Vainly thou'lt seek to find that blissful place, + Where freedom's garden smiles for evermore, + And where in youth still blooms the human race. + + Before thy gaze the world extended lies, + The very shipping it can scarce embrace; + And yet upon her back, of boundless size, + E'en for ten happy men there is not space! + + Into thy bosom's holy, silent cells, + Thou needs must fly from life's tumultuous throng! + Freedom but in the realm of vision dwells, + And beauty bears no blossoms but in song. + + + + + GRECIAN GENIUS. + + TO MEYER IN ITALY. + +Speechless to thousands of others, who with deaf hearts would consult him, + Talketh the spirit to thee, who art his kinsman and friend. + + + + + THE FATHER. + + Work as much as thou wilt, alone thou'lt be standing forever, + Till by nature thou'rt joined forcibly on to the whole. + + + + + THE CONNECTING MEDIUM. + + How does nature proceed to unite the high and the lowly + In mankind? She commands vanity 'tween them to stand! + + + + + THE MOMENT. + + Doubtless an epoch important has with the century risen; + But the moment so great finds but a race of small worth. + + + + + GERMAN COMEDY. + + Fools we may have in plenty, and simpletons, too, by the dozen; + But for comedy these never make use of themselves. + + + + + FAREWELL TO THE READER. + + A maiden blush o'er every feature straying, + The Muse her gentle harp now lays down here, + And stands before thee, for thy judgment praying,-- + She waits with reverence, but not with fear; + Her last farewell for his kind smile delaying. + Whom splendor dazzles not who holds truth dear. + The hand of him alone whose soaring spirit + Worships the beautiful, can crown her merit. + + These simple lays are only heard resounding, + While feeling hearts are gladdened by their tone, + With brighter phantasies their path surrounding, + To nobler aims their footsteps guiding on. + Yet coming ages ne'er will hear them sounding, + They live but for the present hour alone; + The passing moment called them into being, + And, as the hours dance on, they, too, are fleeing. + + The spring returns, and nature then awaking, + Bursts into life across the smiling plain; + Each shrub its perfume through the air is shaking, + And heaven is filled with one sweet choral strain; + While young and old, their secret haunts forsaking, + With raptured eye and ear rejoice again. + The spring then flies,--to seed return the flowers. + And naught remains to mark the vanished hours. + + + + + + +DEDICATION TO DEATH, MY PRINCIPAL. + + +Most high and mighty Czar of all flesh, ceaseless reducer of empires, +unfathomable glutton in the whole realms of nature. + +With the most profound flesh-creeping I take the liberty of kissing the +rattling leg-bones of your voracious Majesty, and humbly laying this +little book at your dried-up feet. My predecessors have always been +accustomed, as if on purpose to annoy you, to transport their goods and +chattels to the archives of eternity, directly under your nose, +forgetting that, by so doing, they only made your mouth water the more, +for the proverb--Stolen bread tastes sweetest--is applicable even to you. +No! I prefer to dedicate this work to you, feeling assured that you will +throw it aside. + +But, joking apart! methinks we two know each other better than by mere +hearsay. Enrolled in the order of Aesculapius, the first-born of +Pandora's box, as old as the fall of man, I have stood at your altar,-- +have sworn undying hatred to your hereditary foe, Nature, as the son of +Hamilcar to the seven hills of Rome,--have sworn to besiege her with a +whole army of medicines,--to throw up barricades round the obstinate +soul,--to drive from the field the insolents who cut down your fees and +cripple your finances,--and on the Archaean battle-plain to plant your +midnight standard. In return (for one good turn deserves another), you +must prepare for me the precious TALISMAN, which can save me from the +gallows and the wheel uninjured, and with a whole skin-- + + Jusque datum sceleri. + +Come then! act the generous Maecenas; for observe, I should be sorry to +fare like my foolhardy colleagues and cousins, who, armed with stiletto +and pocket-pistol, hold their court in gloomy ravines, or mix in the +subterranean laboratory the wondrous polychrest, which, when taken with +proper zeal, tickles our political noses, either too little or too much, +with throne vacancies or state-fevers. D'Amiens and Ravaillac!--Ho, ho, +ho!--'Tis a good thing for straight limbs! + +Perhaps you have been whetting your teeth at Easter and Michaelmas?--the +great book-epidemic times at Leipzig and Frankfort! Hurrah for the +waste-paper!--'twill make a royal feast. Your nimble brokers, Gluttony +and Lust, bring you whole cargoes from the fair of life. Even Ambition, +your grandpapa--War, Famine, Fire, and Plague, your mighty huntsmen, have +provided you with many a jovial man-chase. Avarice and Covetousness, +your sturdy butlers, drink to your health whole towns floating in the +bubbling cup of the world-ocean. I know a kitchen in Europe where the +rarest dishes have been served up in your honor with festive pomp. And +yet--who has ever known you to be satisfied, or to complain of +indigestion? Your digestive faculties are of iron; your entrails +fathomless! + +Pooh--I had many other things to say to you, but I am in a hurry to be +off. You are an ugly brother-in-law--go! I hear you are calculating on +living to see a general collation, where great and small, globes and +lexicons, philosophies and knick-knacks, will fly into your jaws--a good +appetite to you, should it come to that.--Yet, ravenous wolf that you +are! take care that you don't overeat yourself, and have to disgorge to a +hair all that you have swallowed, as a certain Athenian (no particular +friend of yours, by-the-by) has prophesied. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +TOBOLSKO, 2d February. + + Tum primum radiis gelidi incaluere Triones. + +Flowers in Siberia? Behind this lies a piece of knavery, or the sun must +make face against midnight. And yet--if ye were to exert yourselves! +'Tis really so; we have been hunting sables long enough; let us for once +in a way try our luck with flowers. Have not enough Europeans come to us +stepsons of the sun, and waded through our hundred years' snow, to pluck +a modest flower? Shame upon our ancestors--we'll gather them ourselves, +and frank a whole basketful to Europe. Do not crush them, ye children of +a milder heaven! + +But to be serious; to remove the iron weight of prejudice that broods +heavily over the north, requires a stronger lever than the enthusiasm of +a few individuals, and a firmer Hypomochlion than the shoulders of two or +three patriots. Yet if this anthology reconciles you squeamish Europeans +to us snow-men as little as--let's suppose the case--our "Muses' +Almanac," [61] which we--let's again suppose the case--might have +written, it will at least have the merit of helping its companions +through the whole of Germany to give the last neck-stab to expiring +taste, as we people of Tobolsko like to word it. + +If your Homers talk in their sleep, and your Herculeses kill flies with +their clubs--if every one who knows how to give vent to his portion of +sorrow in dreary Alexandrines, interprets that as a call to Helicon, +shall we northerns be blamed for tinkling the Muses' lyre?--Your matadors +claim to have coined silver when they have stamped their effigy on +wretched pewter; and at Tobolsko coiners are hanged. 'Tis true that you +may often find paper-money amongst us instead of Russian roubles, but war +and hard times are an excuse for anything. + +Go forth then, Siberian anthology! Go! Thou wilt make many a coxcomb +happy, wilt be placed by him on the toilet-table of his sweetheart, and +in reward wilt obtain her alabaster, lily-white hand for his tender kiss. +Go! thou wilt fill up many a weary gulf of ennui in assemblies and +city-visits, and may be relieve a Circassienne, who has confessed herself +weary amidst a shower of calumnies. Go! thou wilt be consulted in the +kitchens of many critics; they will fly thy light, and like the +screech-owl, retreat into thy shadow. Ho, ho, ho! Already I hear the +ear-cracking howls in the inhospitable forest, and anxiously conceal +myself in my sable. + + + + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[14] In Schiller the eight long lines that conclude each stanza of +this charming love-poem, instead of rhyming alternately as in the +translation, chime somewhat to the tune of Byron's Don Juan--six lines +rhyming with each other, and the two last forming a separate couplet. +In other respects the translation, it is hoped, is sufficiently close +and literal. + +[15] The peach. + +[16] Sung in "The Parasite," a comedy which Schiller translated from +Picard--much the best comedy, by the way, that Picard ever wrote. + +[17] The idea diffused by the translator through this and the preceding +stanza is more forcibly condensed by Schiller in four lines. + +[18] "And ere a man hath power to say, 'behold,' + The jaws of Darkness do devour it up, + So quick bright things come to confusion."-- + SHAKESPEARE. + +[19] The three following ballads, in which Switzerland is the scene, +betray their origin in Schiller's studies for the drama of William Tell. + +[20] The avalanche--the equivoque of the original, turning on the Swiss +word Lawine, it is impossible to render intelligible to the English +reader. The giants in the preceding line are the rocks that overhang the +pass which winds now to the right, now to the left, of a roaring stream. + +[21] The Devil's Bridge. The Land of Delight (called in Tell "a serene +valley of joy") to which the dreary portal (in Tell the black rock gate) +leads, is the Urse Vale. The four rivers, in the next stanza, are the +Reus, the Rhine, the Tessin, and the Rhone. + +[22] The everlasting glacier. See William Tell, act v, scene 2. + +[23] This has been paraphrased by Coleridge. + +[24] Ajax the Less. + +[25] Ulysses. + +[26] Achilles. + +[27] Diomed. + +[28] Cassandra. + +[29] It may be scarcely necessary to treat, however briefly, of the +mythological legend on which this exquisite elegy is founded; yet we +venture to do so rather than that the forgetfulness of the reader should +militate against his enjoyment of the poem. Proserpine, according to the +Homeride (for the story is not without variations), when gathering +flowers with the Ocean-Nymphs, is carried off by Aidoneus, or Pluto. Her +mother, Ceres, wanders over the earth for her in vain, and refuses to +return to heaven till her daughter is restored to her. Finally, Jupiter +commissions Hermes to persuade Pluto to render up his bride, who rejoins +Ceres at Eleusis. Unfortunately she has swallowed a pomegranate seed in +the Shades below, and is thus mysteriously doomed to spend one-third of +the year with her husband in Hades, though for the remainder of the year +she is permitted to dwell with Ceres and the gods. This is one of the +very few mythological fables of Greece which can be safely interpreted +into an allegory. Proserpine denotes the seed-corn one-third of the year +below the earth; two-thirds (that is, dating from the appearance of the +ear) above it. Schiller has treated this story with admirable and +artistic beauty; and, by an alteration in its symbolical character has +preserved the pathos of the external narrative, and heightened the beauty +of the interior meaning--associating the productive principle of the +earth with the immortality of the soul. Proserpine here is not the +symbol of the buried seed, but the buried seed is the symbol of her--that +is, of the dead. The exquisite feeling of this poem consoled Schiller's +friend, Sophia La Roche, in her grief for her son's death. +[30] What a beautiful vindication of the shortness of human life! + +[31] The corn-flower. + +[32] For this story, see Herodotus, book iii, sections 40-43. + +[33] President of Council of Five Hundred. + +[34] We have already seen in "The Ring of Polycrates," Schiller's mode +of dealing with classical subjects. In the poems that follow, derived +from similar sources, the same spirit is maintained. In spite of +Humboldt, we venture to think that Schiller certainly does not narrate +Greek legends in the spirit of an ancient Greek. The Gothic sentiment, +in its ethical depth and mournful tenderness, more or less pervades all +that he translates from classic fable into modern pathos. The grief of +Hero in the ballad subjoined, touches closely on the lamentations of +Thekla, in "Wallenstein." The Complaint of Ceres, embodies Christian +grief and Christian hope. The Trojan Cassandra expresses the moral of +the Northern Faust. Even the "Victory Feast" changes the whole spirit of +Homer, on whom it is founded, by the introduction of the ethical +sentiment at the close, borrowed, as a modern would apply what he so +borrows from the moralizing Horace. Nothing can be more foreign to the +Hellenic genius, (if we except the very disputable intention of the +"Prometheus"), than the interior and typical design which usually exalts +every conception in Schiller. But it is perfectly open to the modern +poet to treat of ancient legends in the modern spirit. Though he selects +a Greek story, he is still a modern who narrates--he can never make +himself a Greek any more than Aeschylus in the "Persae" could make +himself a Persian. But this is still more the privilege of the poet in +narrative, or lyrical composition, than in the drama, for in the former +he does not abandon his identity, as in the latter he must--yet even this +must has its limits. Shakspeare's wonderful power of self-transfusion has +no doubt enabled him, in his plays from Roman history, to animate his +characters with much of Roman life. But no one can maintain that a Roman +would ever have written plays in the least resembling "Julius Caesar," or +"Coriolanus," or "Antony and Cleopatra." The portraits may be Roman, but +they are painted in the manner of the Gothic school. The spirit of +antiquity is only in them, inasmuch as the representation of human +nature, under certain circumstances, is accurately, though loosely +outlined. When the poet raises the dead, it is not to restore, but to +remodel. + +[35] This notes the time of year--not the time of day--viz., about the +23d of September.--HOFFMEISTER. + +[36] Hecate as the mysterious goddess of Nature.--HOFFMEISTER. + +[37] This story, the heroes of which are more properly known to us under +the names of Damon and Pythias (or Phintias), Schiller took from Hyginus +in whom the friends are called Moerus and Selinuntius. Schiller has +somewhat amplified the incidents in the original, in which the delay of +Moerus is occasioned only by the swollen stream--the other hindrances are +of Schiller's invention. The subject, like "The Ring of Polycrates," +does not admit of that rich poetry of description with which our author +usually adorns some single passage in his narratives. The poetic spirit +is rather shown in the terse brevity with which picture after picture is +not only sketched but finished--and in the great thought at the close. +Still it is not one of Schiller's best ballads. His additions to the +original story are not happy. The incident of the robbers is commonplace +and poor. The delay occasioned by the thirst of Moerus is clearly open +to Goethe's objection (an objection showing very nice perception of +nature)--that extreme thirst was not likely to happen to a man who had +lately passed through a stream on a rainy day, and whose clothes must +have been saturated with moisture--nor in the traveller's preoccupied +state of mind, is it probable that he would have so much felt the mere +physical want. With less reason has it been urged by other critics, that +the sudden relenting of the tyrant is contrary to his character. The +tyrant here has no individual character at all. He is the mere +personation of disbelief in truth and love--which the spectacle of +sublime self-abnegation at once converts. In this idea lies the deep +philosophical truth, which redeems all the defects of the piece--for +poetry, in its highest form, is merely this--"Truth made beautiful." + +[38] The somewhat irregular metre of the original has been preserved +in this ballad, as in other poems; although the perfect anapaestic metre +is perhaps more familiar to the English ear. + +[39] "Die Gestalt"--Form, the Platonic Archetype. + +[40] More literally translated thus by the author of the article on +Schiller in the Foreign and Colonial Review, July, 1843-- + + "Thence all witnesses forever banished + Of poor human nakedness." + +[41] The law, i. e., the Kantian ideal of truth and virtue. This stanza +and the next embody, perhaps with some exaggeration, the Kantian doctrine +of morality. + +[42] "But in God's sight submission is command." "Jonah," by the Rev. +F. Hodgson. Quoted in Foreign and Colonial Review, July, 1843: Art. +Schiller, p. 21. + +[43] It seems generally agreed that poetry is allegorized in these +stanzas; though, with this interpretation, it is difficult to +reconcile the sense of some of the lines--for instance, the last in +the first stanza. How can poetry be said to leave no trace when she +takes farewell? + +[44] "I call the living--I mourn the dead--I break the lightning." +These words are inscribed on the great bell of the Minster of +Schaffhausen--also on that of the Church of Art near Lucerne. There was +an old belief in Switzerland that the undulation of air caused by the +sound of a bell, broke the electric fluid of a thunder-cloud. + +[45] A piece of clay pipe, which becomes vitrified if the metal is +sufficiently heated. + +[46] The translator adheres to the original, in forsaking the rhyme in +these lines and some others. + +[47] Written in the time of the French war. + +[48] Literally, "the manners." The French word moeurs corresponds best +with the German. + +[49] The epithet in the first edition is ruhmlose. + +[50] For this interesting story, see Cox's "House of Austria," vol i, +pp. 87-98 (Bohn's Standard Library). + +[51] See "Piccolomini," act ii., scene 6; and "The Death of +Wallenstein," act v., scene 3. + +[52] This poem is very characteristic of the noble ease with which +Schiller often loves to surprise the reader, by the sudden introduction +of matter for the loftiest reflection in the midst of the most familiar +subjects. What can be more accurate and happy than the poet's description +of the national dance, as if such description were his only object--the +outpouring, as it were, of a young gallant intoxicated by the music, and +dizzy with the waltz? Suddenly and imperceptibly the reader finds himself +elevated from a trivial scene. He is borne upward to the harmony of the +sphere. He bows before the great law of the universe--the young gallant +is transformed into the mighty teacher; and this without one hard conceit +--without one touch of pedantry. It is but a flash of light; and where +glowed the playful picture shines the solemn moral. + +[53] The first five verses in the original of this poem are placed as +a motto on Goethe's statue in the Library at Weimar. The poet does not +here mean to extol what is vulgarly meant by the gifts of fortune; he +but develops a favorite idea of his, that, whatever is really sublime +and beautiful, comes freely down from heaven; and vindicates the seeming +partiality of the gods, by implying that the beauty and the genius given, +without labor, to some, but serve to the delight of those to whom they are +denied. + +[54] Achilles. + +[55] "Nur ein Wunder kann dich tragen + In das schoene Wunderland."--SCHILLER, Sehnsucht. + +[56] This simile is nobly conceived, but expressed somewhat obscurely. +As Hercules contended in vain against Antaeus, the Son of Earth--so long +as the earth gave her giant offspring new strength in every fall,--so +the soul contends in vain with evil--the natural earth-born enemy, while +the very contact of the earth invigorates the enemy for the struggle. +And as Antaeus was slain at last, when Hercules lifted him from the earth, +and strangled him while raised aloft, so can the soul slay the enemy (the +desire, the passion, the evil, the earth's offspring), when bearing it +from earth itself, and stifling it in the higher air. + +[57] By this Schiller informs us elsewhere that he does not mean death +alone; but that the thought applies equally to every period of life when +we can divest ourselves of the body and perceive or act as pure spirits; +we are truly then under the influence of the sublime. + +[58] Duke Bernard of Weimar, one of the heroes of the Thirty Years' war. + +[59] These verses were sent by Schiller to the then Electoral High +Chancellor, with a copy of his "William Tell." + +[60] Addressed in the original to Mdlle. Slevoigt, on her marriage to +Dr. Sturm. + +[61] This was the title of the publication in which many of the finest +of Schiller's "Poems of the Third Period" originally appeared. + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Poems of The Third Period, by Frederich Schiller + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF THE THIRD PERIOD *** + +***** This file should be named 6796.txt or 6796.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/6/7/9/6796/ + +Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger + +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. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cb8057e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #6796 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6796) diff --git a/old/fs36w10.txt b/old/fs36w10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e207f6e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/fs36w10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8588 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook Poems of The Third Period, by Schiller + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**EBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These EBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers***** + + +Title: Poems of The Third Period + +Author: Frederich Schiller + +Release Date: Oct, 2004 [EBook #6796] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on January 31, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS THIRD PERIOD, SCHILLER *** + + + +This eBook was produced by Tapio Riikonen +and David Widger, widger@cecomet.net + + + + + + POEMS OF THE THIRD PERIOD + + By Frederich Schiller + + CONTENTS: + + The Meeting + The Secret + The Assignation + Longing + Evening (After a Picture) + The Pilgrim + The Ideals + The Youth by the Brook + To Emma + The Favor of the Moment + The Lay of the Mountain + The Alpine Hunter + Dithyramb + The Four Ages of the World + The Maiden's Lament + To My Friends + Punch Song + Nadowessian Death Lament + The Feast of Victory + Punch Song + The Complaint of Ceres + The Eleusinian Festival + The Ring of Polycrates + The Cranes of Ibycus (A Ballad) + The Playing Infant + Hero and Leander (A Ballad) + Cassandra + The Hostage (A Ballad) + Greekism + The Diver (A Ballad) + The Fight with the Dragon + Female Judgment + Fridolin; or, the Walk to the Iron Foundry + The Genius with the Inverted Torch + The Count of Hapsburg (A Ballad) + The Forum of Women + The Glove (A Tale) + The Circle of Nature + The Veiled Statue at Sais + The Division of the Earth + The Fairest Apparition + The Ideal and the Actual Life + Germany and her Princes + Dangerous Consequences + The Maiden from Afar + The Honorable + Parables and Riddles + The Virtue of Woman + The Walk + The Lay of the Bell + The Power of Song + To Proselytizers + Honor to Woman + Hope + The German Art + Odysseus + Carthage + The Sower + The Knights of St. John + The Merchant + German Faith + The Sexes + Love and Desire + The Bards of Olden Time + Jove to Hercules + The Antiques of Paris + Thekla (A Spirit Voice) + The Antique to the Northern Wanderer + The Iliad + Pompeii and Herculaneum + Naenia + The Maid of Orleans + Archimedes + The Dance + The Fortune-Favored + Bookseller's Announcement + Genius + Honors + The Philosophical Egotist + The Best State Constitution + The Words of Belief + The Words of Error + The Power of Woman + The Two Paths of Virtue + The Proverbs of Confucius + Human Knowledge + Columbus + Light and Warmth + Breadth and Depth + The Two Guides of Life + The Immutable + + VOTIVE TABLETS + Different Destinies + The Animating Principle + Two Descriptions of Action + Difference of Station + Worth and the Worthy + The Moral Force + Participation + To---- + The Present Generation + To the Muse + The Learned Workman + The Duty of All + A Problem + The Peculiar Ideal + To Mystics + The Key + The Observer + Wisdom and Prudence + The Agreement + Political Precept + Majestas Populi + The Difficult Union + To a World-Reformer + My Antipathy + Astronomical Writings + The Best State + To Astronomers + My Faith + Inside and Outside + Friend and Foe + Light and Color + Genius + Beauteous Individuality + Variety + The imitator + Geniality + The Inquirers + Correctness + The Three Ages of Nature + The Law of Nature + Choice + Science of Music + To the Poet + Language + The Master + The Girdle + The Dilettante + The Babbler of Art + The Philosophies + The Favor of the Muses + Homer's Head as a Seal + + Goodness and Greatness + The Impulses + Naturalists and Transcendental Philosophers + German Genius + Theophania + + TRIFLES + The Epic Hexameter + The Distich + The Eight-line Stanza + The Obelisk + The Triumphal Arch + The Beautiful Bridge + The Gate + St. Peter's + + The Philosophers + The Homerides + G. G. + The Moral Poet + The Danaides + The Sublime Subject + The Artifice + Immortality + Jeremiads + Shakespeare's Ghost + The Rivers + Zenith and Nadir + Kant and his Commentators + The Philosophers + The Metaphysician + Pegasus in harness + Knowledge + The Poetry of Life + To Goethe + The Present + Departure from Life + Verses written in the Album of a Learned Friend + Verses written in the Album of a Friend + The Sunday Children + The Highest + The Puppet-show of Life + To Lawgivers + False Impulse to Study + To the Prince of Weimar + The Ideal of Woman (To Amanda) + The Fountain of Second Youth + William Tell + To a Young Friend Devoting Himself to Philosophy + Expectation and Fulfilment + The Common Fate + Human Action + Nuptial Ode + The Commencement of the New Century + Grecian Genius + The Father + The Connecting Medium + The Moment + German Comedy + Farewell to the Reader + + Dedications to Death + Preface + + + + + + POEMS OF THE THIRD PERIOD. + + + THE MEETING. + + I see her still--by her fair train surrounded, + The fairest of them all, she took her place; + Afar I stood, by her bright charms confounded, + For, oh! they dazzled with their heavenly grace. + With awe my soul was filled--with bliss unbounded, + While gazing on her softly radiant face; + But soon, as if up-borne on wings of fire, + My fingers 'gan to sweep the sounding lyre. + + The thoughts that rushed across me in that hour, + The words I sang, I'd fain once more invoke; + Within, I felt a new-awakened power, + That each emotion of my bosom spoke. + My soul, long time enchained in sloth's dull bower, + Through all its fetters now triumphant broke, + And brought to light unknown, harmonious numbers, + Which in its deepest depths, had lived in slumbers. + + And when the chords had ceased their gentle sighing, + And when my soul rejoined its mortal frame, + I looked upon her face and saw love vieing, + In every feature, with her maiden shame. + And soon my ravished heart seemed heavenward flying, + When her soft whisper o'er my senses came. + The blissful seraphs' choral strains alone + Can glad mine ear again with that sweet tone, + + Of that fond heart, which, pining silently, + Ne'er ventures to express its feelings lowly, + The real and modest worth is known to me-- + 'Gainst cruel fate I'll guard its cause so holy. + Most blest of all, the meek one's lot shall be-- + Love's flowers by love's own hand are gathered solely-- + The fairest prize to that fond heart is due, + That feels it, and that beats responsive, too! + + + + + THE SECRET. + + She sought to breathe one word, but vainly; + Too many listeners were nigh; + And yet my timid glance read plainly + The language of her speaking eye. + Thy silent glades my footstep presses, + Thou fair and leaf-embosomed grove! + Conceal within thy green recesses + From mortal eye our sacred love! + + Afar with strange discordant noises, + The busy day is echoing; + And 'mid the hollow hum of voices, + I hear the heavy hammer ring. + 'Tis thus that man, with toil ne'er ending + Extorts from heaven his daily bread; + Yet oft unseen the Gods are sending + The gifts of fortune on his head! + + Oh, let mankind discover never + How true love fills with bliss our hearts + They would but crush our joy forever, + For joy to them no glow imparts. + Thou ne'er wilt from the world obtain it-- + 'Tis never captured save as prey; + Thou needs must strain each nerve to gain it, + E'er envy dark asserts her sway. + + The hours of night and stillness loving, + It comes upon us silently-- + Away with hasty footstep moving + Soon as it sees a treacherous eye. + Thou gentle stream, soft circlets weaving, + A watery barrier cast around, + And, with thy waves in anger heaving, + Guard from each foe this holy ground! + + + + + THE ASSIGNATION. [14] + + Hear I the creaking gate unclose? + The gleaming latch uplifted? + No--'twas the wind that, whirring, rose, + Amidst the poplars drifted! + Adorn thyself, thou green leaf-bowering roof, + Destined the bright one's presence to receive, + For her, a shadowy palace-hall aloof + With holy night, thy boughs familiar weave. + And ye sweet flatteries of the delicate air, + Awake and sport her rosy cheek around, + When their light weight the tender feet shall bear, + When beauty comes to passion's trysting-ground. + + Hush! what amidst the copses crept-- + So swiftly by me now? + No-'twas the startled bird that swept + The light leaves of the bough! + Day, quench thy torch! come, ghostlike, from on high, + With thy loved silence, come, thou haunting Eve, + Broaden below thy web of purple dye, + Which lulled boughs mysterious round us weave. + For love's delight, enduring listeners none, + The froward witness of the light will flee; + Hesper alone, the rosy silent one, + Down-glancing may our sweet familiar be! + + What murmur in the distance spoke, + And like a whisper died? + No--'twas the swan that gently broke + In rings the silver tide! + Soft to my ear there comes a music-flow; + In gleesome murmur glides the waterfall; + To zephyr's kiss the flowers are bending low; + Through life goes joy, exchanging joy with all. + Tempt to the touch the grapes--the blushing fruit, [15] + Voluptuous swelling from the leaves that bide; + And, drinking fever from my cheek, the mute + Air sleeps all liquid in the odor-tide! + + Hark! through the alley hear I now + A footfall? Comes the maiden? + No,--'twas the fruit slid from the bough, + With its own richness laden! + + Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death, + And pale and paler wane his jocund hues, + The flowers too gentle for his glowing breath, + Ope their frank beauty to the twilight dews. + The bright face of the moon is still and lone, + Melts in vast masses the world silently; + Slides from each charm the slowly-loosening zone; + And round all beauty, veilless, roves the eye. + + What yonder seems to glimmer? + Her white robe's glancing hues? + No,--'twas the column's shimmer + Athwart the darksome yews! + + O, longing heart, no more delight-upbuoyed + Let the sweet airy image thee befool! + The arms that would embrace her clasp the void + This feverish breast no phantom-bliss can cool, + O, waft her here, the true, the living one! + Let but my hand her hand, the tender, feel-- + The very shadow of her robe alone!-- + So into life the idle dream shall steal! + + As glide from heaven, when least we ween, + The rosy hours of bliss, + All gently came the maid, unseen:-- + He waked beneath her kiss! + + + + + LONGING. + + Could I from this valley drear, + Where the mist hangs heavily, + Soar to some more blissful sphere, + Ah! how happy should I be! + Distant hills enchant my sight, + Ever young and ever fair; + To those hills I'd take my flight + Had I wings to scale the air. + + Harmonies mine ear assail, + Tunes that breathe a heavenly calm; + And the gently-sighing gale + Greets me with its fragrant balm. + Peeping through the shady bowers, + Golden fruits their charms display. + And those sweetly-blooming flowers + Ne'er become cold winter's prey. + + In you endless sunshine bright, + Oh! what bliss 'twould be to dwell! + How the breeze on yonder height + Must the heart with rapture swell! + Yet the stream that hems my path + Checks me with its angry frown, + While its waves, in rising wrath, + Weigh my weary spirit down. + + See--a bark is drawing near, + But, alas, the pilot fails! + Enter boldly--wherefore fear? + Inspiration fills its sails, + Faith and courage make thine own,-- + Gods ne'er lend a helping-hand; + 'Tis by magic power alone + Thou canst reach the magic land! + + + + + EVENING. + + (AFTER A PICTURE.) + + Oh! thou bright-beaming god, the plains are thirsting, + Thirsting for freshening dew, and man is pining; + Wearily move on thy horses-- + Let, then, thy chariot descend! + + Seest thou her who, from ocean's crystal billows, + Lovingly nods and smiles?--Thy heart must know her! + Joyously speed on thy horses,-- + Tethys, the goddess, 'tis nods! + + Swiftly from out his flaming chariot leaping, + Into her arms he springs,--the reins takes Cupid,-- + Quietly stand the horses, + Drinking the cooling flood. + + Now from the heavens with gentle step descending, + Balmy night appears, by sweet love followed; + Mortals, rest ye, and love ye,-- + Phoebus, the loving one, rests! + + + + + THE PILGRIM. + + Youth's gay springtime scarcely knowing + Went I forth the world to roam-- + And the dance of youth, the glowing, + Left I in my father's home, + Of my birthright, glad-believing, + Of my world-gear took I none, + Careless as an infant, cleaving + To my pilgrim staff alone. + For I placed my mighty hope in + Dim and holy words of faith, + "Wander forth--the way is open, + Ever on the upward path-- + Till thou gain the golden portal, + Till its gates unclose to thee. + There the earthly and the mortal, + Deathless and divine shall be!" + Night on morning stole, on stealeth, + Never, never stand I still, + And the future yet concealeth, + What I seek, and what I will! + Mount on mount arose before me, + Torrents hemmed me every side, + But I built a bridge that bore me + O'er the roaring tempest-tide. + Towards the east I reached a river, + On its shores I did not rest; + Faith from danger can deliver, + And I trusted to its breast. + Drifted in the whirling motion, + Seas themselves around me roll-- + Wide and wider spreads the ocean, + Far and farther flies the goal. + While I live is never given + Bridge or wave the goal to near-- + Earth will never meet the heaven, + Never can the there be here! + + + + + THE IDEALS. + + And wilt thou, faithless one, then, leave me, + With all thy magic phantasy,-- + With all the thoughts that joy or grieve me, + Wilt thou with all forever fly? + Can naught delay thine onward motion, + Thou golden time of life's young dream? + In vain! eternity's wide ocean + Ceaselessly drowns thy rolling stream. + + The glorious suns my youth enchanting + Have set in never-ending night; + Those blest ideals now are wanting + That swelled my heart with mad delight. + The offspring of my dream hath perished, + My faith in being passed away; + The godlike hopes that once I cherish + Are now reality's sad prey. + + As once Pygmalion, fondly yearning, + Embraced the statue formed by him, + Till the cold marble's cheeks were burning, + And life diffused through every limb, + So I, with youthful passion fired, + My longing arms round Nature threw, + Till, clinging to my breast inspired, + She 'gan to breathe, to kindle too. + + And all my fiery ardor proving, + Though mute, her tale she soon could tell, + Returned each kiss I gave her loving, + The throbbings of my heart read well. + Then living seemed each tree, each flower, + Then sweetly sang the waterfall, + And e'en the soulless in that hour + Shared in the heavenly bliss of all. + + For then a circling world was bursting + My bosom's narrow prison-cell, + To enter into being thirsting, + In deed, word, shape, and sound as well. + This world, how wondrous great I deemed it, + Ere yet its blossoms could unfold! + When open, oh, how little seemed it! + That little, oh, how mean and cold! + + How happy, winged by courage daring, + The youth life's mazy path first pressed-- + No care his manly strength impairing, + And in his dream's sweet vision blest! + The dimmest star in air's dominion + Seemed not too distant for his flight; + His young and ever-eager pinion + Soared far beyond all mortal sight. + + Thus joyously toward heaven ascending, + Was aught for his bright hopes too far? + The airy guides his steps attending, + How danced they round life's radiant car! + Soft love was there, her guerdon bearing, + And fortune, with her crown of gold, + And fame, her starry chaplet wearing, + And truth, in majesty untold. + + But while the goal was yet before them, + The faithless guides began to stray; + Impatience of their task came o'er them, + Then one by one they dropped away. + Light-footed Fortune first retreating, + Then Wisdom's thirst remained unstilled, + While heavy storms of doubt were beating + Upon the path truth's radiance filled. + + I saw Fame's sacred wreath adorning + The brows of an unworthy crew; + And, ah! how soon Love's happy morning, + When spring had vanished, vanished too! + More silent yet, and yet more weary, + Became the desert path I trod; + And even hope a glimmer dreary + Scarce cast upon the gloomy road. + + Of all that train, so bright with gladness, + Oh, who is faithful to the end? + Who now will seek to cheer my sadness, + And to the grave my steps attend? + Thou, Friendship, of all guides the fairest, + Who gently healest every wound; + Who all life's heavy burdens sharest, + Thou, whom I early sought and found! + + Employment too, thy loving neighbor, + Who quells the bosom's rising storms; + Who ne'er grows weary of her labor, + And ne'er destroys, though slow she forms; + Who, though but grains of sand she places + To swell eternity sublime, + Yet minutes, days, ay! years effaces + From the dread reckoning kept by Time! + + + + + THE YOUTH BY THE BROOK. [16] + + Beside the brook the boy reclined + And wove his flowery wreath, + And to the waves the wreath consigned-- + The waves that danced beneath. + "So fleet mine hours," he sighed, "away + Like waves that restless flow: + And so my flowers of youth decay + Like those that float below." + + "Ask not why I, alone on earth, + Am sad in life's young time; + To all the rest are hope and mirth + When spring renews its prime. + Alas! the music Nature makes, + In thousand songs of gladness-- + While charming all around me, wakes + My heavy heart to sadness." + + "Ah! vain to me the joys that break + From spring, voluptuous are; + For only one 't is mine to seek-- + The near, yet ever far! + I stretch my arms, that shadow-shape + In fond embrace to hold; + Still doth the shade the clasp escape-- + The heart is unconsoled!" + + "Come forth, fair friend, come forth below, + And leave thy lofty hall, + The fairest flowers the spring can know + In thy dear lap shall fall! + Clear glides the brook in silver rolled, + Sweet carols fill the air; + The meanest hut hath space to hold + A happy loving pair!" + + + + + TO EMMA. + + Far away, where darkness reigneth, + All my dreams of bliss are flown; + Yet with love my gaze remaineth + Fixed on one fair star alone. + But, alas! that star so bright + Sheds no lustre save by night. + + If in slumbers ending never, + Gloomy death had sealed thine eyes, + Thou hadst lived in memory ever-- + Thou hadst lived still in my sighs; + But, alas! in light thou livest-- + To my love no answer givest! + + Can the sweet hopes love once cherished + Emma, can they transient prove? + What has passed away and perished-- + Emma, say, can that be love? + That bright flame of heavenly birth-- + Can it die like things of earth? + + + + THE FAVOR OF THE MOMENT. + + Once more, then, we meet + In the circles of yore; + Let our song be as sweet + In its wreaths as before, + Who claims the first place + In the tribute of song? + The God to whose grace + All our pleasures belong. + Though Ceres may spread + All her gifts on the shrine, + Though the glass may be red + With the blush of the vine, + What boots--if the while + Fall no spark on the hearth; + If the heart do not smile + With the instinct of mirth?-- + From the clouds, from God's breast + Must our happiness fall, + 'Mid the blessed, most blest + Is the moment of all! + Since creation began + All that mortals have wrought, + All that's godlike in man + Comes--the flash of a thought! + For ages the stone + In the quarry may lurk, + An instant alone + Can suffice to the work; + An impulse give birth + To the child of the soul, + A glance stamp the worth + And the fame of the whole. [17] + On the arch that she buildeth + From sunbeams on high, + As Iris just gildeth, + And fleets from the sky, + So shineth, so gloometh + Each gift that is ours; + The lightning illumeth-- + The darkness devours! [18] + + + + + THE LAY OF THE MOUNTAIN. + + [The scenery of Gotthardt is here personified.] + + To the solemn abyss leads the terrible path, + The life and death winding dizzy between; + In thy desolate way, grim with menace and wrath, + To daunt thee the spectres of giants are seen; + That thou wake not the wild one [20], all silently tread-- + Let thy lip breathe no breath in the pathway of dread! + + High over the marge of the horrible deep + Hangs and hovers a bridge with its phantom-like span, [21] + Not by man was it built, o'er the vastness to sweep; + Such thought never came to the daring of man! + The stream roars beneath--late and early it raves-- + But the bridge, which it threatens, is safe from the waves. + + Black-yawning a portal, thy soul to affright, + Like the gate to the kingdom, the fiend for the king-- + Yet beyond it there smiles but a land of delight, + Where the autumn in marriage is met with the spring. + From a lot which the care and the trouble assail, + Could I fly to the bliss of that balm-breathing vale! + + Through that field, from a fount ever hidden their birth, + Four rivers in tumult rush roaringly forth; + They fly to the fourfold divisions of earth-- + The sunrise, the sunset, the south, and the north. + And, true to the mystical mother that bore, + Forth they rush to their goal, and are lost evermore. + + High over the races of men in the blue + Of the ether, the mount in twin summits is riven; + There, veiled in the gold-woven webs of the dew, + Moves the dance of the clouds--the pale daughters of heaven! + There, in solitude, circles their mystical maze, + Where no witness can hearken, no earthborn surveys. + + August on a throne which no ages can move, + Sits a queen, in her beauty serene and sublime, [22] + The diadem blazing with diamonds above + The glory of brows, never darkened by time, + His arrows of light on that form shoots the sun-- + And he gilds them with all, but he warms them with none! + + + + + THE ALPINE HUNTER. + + Wilt thou not the lambkins guard? + Oh, how soft and meek they look, + Feeding on the grassy sward, + Sporting round the silvery brook! + "Mother, mother, let me go + On yon heights to chase the roe!" + + Wilt thou not the flock compel + With the horn's inspiring notes? + Sweet the echo of yon bell, + As across the wood it floats! + "Mother, mother, let me go + On yon heights to hunt the roe!" + + Wilt thou not the flow'rets bind, + Smiling gently in their bed? + For no garden thou wilt find + On yon heights so wild and dread. + "Leave the flow'rets,--let them blow! + Mother, mother, let me go!" + + And the youth then sought the chase, + Onward pressed with headlong speed + To the mountain's gloomiest place,-- + Naught his progress could impede; + And before him, like the wind, + Swiftly flies the trembling hind! + + Up the naked precipice + Clambers she, with footsteps light, + O'er the chasm's dark abyss + Leaps with spring of daring might; + But behind, unweariedly, + With his death-bow follows he. + + Now upon the rugged top + Stands she,--on the loftiest height, + Where the cliffs abruptly stop, + And the path is lost to sight. + There she views the steeps below,-- + Close behind, her mortal foe. + + She, with silent, woeful gaze, + Seeks the cruel boy to move; + But, alas! in vain she prays-- + To the string he fits the groove. + When from out the clefts, behold! + Steps the Mountain Genius old. + + With his hand the Deity + Shields the beast that trembling sighs; + "Must thou, even up to me, + Death and anguish send?" he cries,-- + Earth has room for all to dwell,-- + "Why pursue my loved gazelle?" + + + + + DITHYRAMB. [23] + + Believe me, together + The bright gods come ever, + Still as of old; + Scarce see I Bacchus, the giver of joy, + Than comes up fair Eros, the laugh-loving boy, + And Phoebus, the stately, behold! + + They come near and nearer, + The heavenly ones all-- + The gods with their presence + Fill earth as their hall! + + Say, how shall I welcome, + Human and earthborn, + Sons of the sky? + Pour out to me--pour the full life that ye live! + What to ye, O ye gods! can the mortal one give? + + The joys can dwell only + In Jupiter's palace-- + Brimmed bright with your nectar, + Oh, reach me the chalice! + + "Hebe, the chalice + Fill full to the brim! + Steep his eyes--steep his eyes in the bath of the dew, + Let him dream, while the Styx is concealed from his view, + That the life of the gods is for him!" + + It murmurs, it sparkles, + The fount of delight; + The bosom grows tranquil-- + The eye becomes bright. + + + + + THE FOUR AGES OF THE WORLD. + + The goblet is sparkling with purpled-tinged wine, + Bright glistens the eye of each guest, + When into the hall comes the Minstrel divine, + To the good he now brings what is best; + For when from Elysium is absent the lyre, + No joy can the banquet of nectar inspire. + + He is blessed by the gods, with an intellect clear, + That mirrors the world as it glides; + He has seen all that ever has taken place here, + And all that the future still hides. + He sat in the god's secret councils of old + And heard the command for each thing to unfold. + + He opens in splendor, with gladness and mirth, + That life which was hid from our eyes; + Adorns as a temple the dwelling of earth, + That the Muse has bestowed as his prize, + No roof is so humble, no hut is so low, + But he with divinities bids it o'erflow. + + And as the inventive descendant of Zeus, + On the unadorned round of the shield, + With knowledge divine could, reflected, produce + Earth, sea, and the star's shining field,-- + So he, on the moments, as onward they roll, + The image can stamp of the infinite whole. + + From the earliest age of the world he has come, + When nations rejoiced in their prime; + A wanderer glad, he has still found a home + With every race through all time. + Four ages of man in his lifetime have died, + And the place they once held by the fifth is supplied. + + Saturnus first governed, with fatherly smile, + Each day then resembled the last; + Then flourished the shepherds, a race without guile + Their bliss by no care was o'ercast, + They loved,--and no other employment they had, + And earth gave her treasures with willingness glad. + + Then labor came next, and the conflict began + With monsters and beasts famed in song; + And heroes upstarted, as rulers of man, + And the weak sought the aid of the strong. + And strife o'er the field of Scamander now reigned, + But beauty the god of the world still remained. + + At length from the conflict bright victory sprang, + And gentleness blossomed from might; + In heavenly chorus the Muses then sang, + And figures divine saw the light;-- + The age that acknowledged sweet phantasy's sway + Can never return, it has fleeted away. + + The gods from their seats in the heavens were hurled, + And their pillars of glory o'erthrown; + And the Son of the Virgin appeared in the world + For the sins of mankind to atone. + The fugitive lusts of the sense were suppressed, + And man now first grappled with thought in his breast. + + Each vain and voluptuous charm vanished now, + Wherein the young world took delight; + The monk and the nun made of penance a vow, + And the tourney was sought by the knight. + Though the aspect of life was now dreary and wild, + Yet love remained ever both lovely and mild. + + An altar of holiness, free from all stain, + The Muses in silence upreared; + And all that was noble and worthy, again + In woman's chaste bosom appeared; + The bright flame of song was soon kindled anew + By the minstrel's soft lays, and his love pure and true. + + And so, in a gentle and ne'er-changing band, + Let woman and minstrel unite; + They weave and they fashion, with hand joined to hand, + The girdle of beauty and right. + When love blends with music, in unison sweet, + The lustre of life's youthful days ne'er can fleet. + + + + + THE MAIDEN'S LAMENT. + + The clouds fast gather, + The forest-oaks roar-- + A maiden is sitting + Beside the green shore,-- + The billows are breaking with might, with might, + And she sighs aloud in the darkling night, + Her eyelid heavy with weeping. + + "My heart's dead within me, + The world is a void; + To the wish it gives nothing, + Each hope is destroyed. + I have tasted the fulness of bliss below + I have lived, I have loved,--Thy child, oh take now, + Thou Holy One, into Thy keeping!" + + "In vain is thy sorrow, + In vain thy tears fall, + For the dead from their slumbers + They ne'er can recall; + Yet if aught can pour comfort and balm in thy heart, + Now that love its sweet pleasures no more can impart, + Speak thy wish, and thou granted shalt find it!" + + "Though in vain is my sorrow, + Though in vain my tears fall,-- + Though the dead from their slumbers + They ne'er can recall, + Yet no balm is so sweet to the desolate heart, + When love its soft pleasures no more can impart, + As the torments that love leaves behind it!" + + + + + TO MY FRIENDS. + + Yes, my friends!--that happier times have been + Than the present, none can contravene; + That a race once lived of nobler worth; + And if ancient chronicles were dumb, + Countless stones in witness forth would come + From the deepest entrails of the earth. + But this highly-favored race has gone, + Gone forever to the realms of night. + We, we live! The moments are our own, + And the living judge the right. + + Brighter zones, my friends, no doubt excel + This, the land wherein we're doomed to dwell, + As the hardy travellers proclaim; + But if Nature has denied us much, + Art is yet responsive to our touch, + And our hearts can kindle at her flame. + If the laurel will not flourish here-- + If the myrtle is cold winter's prey, + Yet the vine, to crown us, year by year, + Still puts forth its foliage gay. + + Of a busier life 'tis well to speak, + Where four worlds their wealth to barter seek, + On the world's great market, Thames' broad stream; + Ships in thousands go there and depart-- + There are seen the costliest works of art, + And the earth-god, Mammon, reigns supreme + But the sun his image only graves + On the silent streamlet's level plain, + Not upon the torrent's muddy waves, + Swollen by the heavy rain. + + Far more blessed than we, in northern states + Dwells the beggar at the angel-gates, + For he sees the peerless city--Rome! + Beauty's glorious charms around him lie, + And, a second heaven, up toward the sky + Mounts St. Peter's proud and wondrous dome. + But, with all the charms that splendor grants, + Rome is but the tomb of ages past; + Life but smiles upon the blooming plants + That the seasons round her cast. + + Greater actions elsewhere may be rife + Than with us, in our contracted life-- + But beneath the sun there's naught that's new; + Yet we see the great of every age + Pass before us on the world's wide stage + Thoughtfully and calmly in review + All. in life repeats itself forever, + Young for ay is phantasy alone; + What has happened nowhere,--happened never,-- + That has never older grown! + + + + + PUNCH SONG. + + Four elements, joined in + Harmonious strife, + Shadow the world forth, + And typify life. + + Into the goblet + The lemon's juice pour; + Acid is ever + Life's innermost core. + + Now, with the sugar's + All-softening juice, + The strength of the acid + So burning reduce. + + The bright sparkling water + Now pour in the bowl; + Water all-gently + Encircles the whole. + + Let drops of the spirit + To join them now flow; + Life to the living + Naught else can bestow. + + Drain it off quickly + Before it exhales; + Save when 'tis glowing, + The draught naught avails. + + + + + NADOWESSIAN DEATH-LAMENT. + + See, he sitteth on his mat + Sitteth there upright, + With the grace with which he sat + While he saw the light. + + Where is now the sturdy gripe,-- + Where the breath sedate, + That so lately whiffed the pipe + Toward the Spirit great? + + Where the bright and falcon eye, + That the reindeer's tread + On the waving grass could spy, + Thick with dewdrops spread? + + Where the limbs that used to dart + Swifter through the snow + Than the twenty-membered hart, + Than the mountain roe? + + Where the arm that sturdily + Bent the deadly bow? + See, its life hath fleeted by,-- + See, it hangeth low! + + Happy he!--He now has gone + Where no snow is found: + Where with maize the fields are sown, + Self-sprung from the ground; + + Where with birds each bush is filled, + Where with game the wood; + Where the fish, with joy unstilled, + Wanton in the flood. + + With the spirits blest he feeds,-- + Leaves us here in gloom; + We can only praise his deeds, + And his corpse entomb. + + Farewell-gifts, then, hither bring, + Sound the death-note sad! + Bury with him everything + That can make him glad! + + 'Neath his head the hatchet hide + That he boldly swung; + And the bear's fat haunch beside, + For the road is long; + + And the knife, well sharpened, + That, with slashes three, + Scalp and skin from foeman's head + Tore off skilfully. + + And to paint his body, place + Dyes within his hand; + Let him shine with ruddy grace + In the Spirit-land! + + + + + THE FEAST OF VICTORY. + + Priam's castle-walls had sunk, + Troy in dust and ashes lay, + And each Greek, with triumph drunk, + Richly laden with his prey, + Sat upon his ship's high prow, + On the Hellespontic strand, + Starting on his journey now, + Bound for Greece, his own fair land. + Raise the glad exulting shout! + Toward the land that gave them birth + Turn they now the ships about, + As they seek their native earth. + + And in rows, all mournfully, + Sat the Trojan women there,-- + Beat their breasts in agony, + Pallid, with dishevelled hair. + In the feast of joy so glad + Mingled they the song of woe, + Weeping o'er their fortunes sad, + In their country's overthrow. + "Land beloved, oh, fare thee well! + By our foreign masters led, + Far from home we're doomed to dwell,-- + Ah, how happy are the dead!" + + Soon the blood by Calchas spilt + On the altar heavenward smokes; + Pallas, by whom towns are built + And destroyed, the priest invokes; + Neptune, too, who all the earth + With his billowy girdle laves,-- + Zeus, who gives to terror birth, + Who the dreaded Aegis waves. + Now the weary fight is done, + Ne'er again to be renewed; + Time's wide circuit now is run, + And the mighty town subdued! + + Atreus' son, the army's head, + Told the people's numbers o'er, + Whom he, as their captain, led + To Scamander's vale of yore. + Sorrow's black and heavy clouds + Passed across the monarch's brow: + Of those vast and valiant crowds, + Oh, how few were left him now! + Joyful songs let each one raise, + Who will see his home again, + In whose veins the life-blood plays, + For, alas! not all remain! + + "All who homeward wend their way, + Will not there find peace of mind; + On their household altars, they + Murder foul perchance may find. + Many fall by false friend's stroke, + Who in fight immortal proved:"-- + So Ulysses warning spoke, + By Athene's spirit moved. + Happy he, whose faithful spouse + Guards his home with honor true! + Woman ofttimes breaks her vows, + Ever loves she what is new. + + And Atrides glories there + In the prize he won in fight, + And around her body fair + Twines his arms with fond delight. + Evil works must punished be. + Vengeance follows after crime, + For Kronion's just decree + Rules the heavenly courts sublime. + Evil must in evil end; + Zeus will on the impious band + Woe for broken guest-rights send, + Weighing with impartial hand. + + "It may well the glad befit," + Cried Olleus' valiant son, [24] + "To extol the Gods who sit + On Olympus' lofty throne! + Fortune all her gifts supplies, + Blindly, and no justice knows, + For Patroclus buried lies, + And Thersites homeward goes! + Since she blindly throws away + Each lot in her wheel contained, + Let him shout with joy to-day + Who the prize of life has gained." + + "Ay, the wars the best devour! + Brother, we will think of thee, + In the fight a very tower, + When we join in revelry! + When the Grecian ships were fired, + By thine arm was safety brought; + Yet the man by craft inspired [25] + Won the spoils thy valor sought. + Peace be to thine ashes blest! + Thou wert vanquished not in fight: + Anger 'tis destroys the best,-- + Ajax fell by Ajax' might!" + + Neoptolemus poured then, + To his sire renowned [26] the wine-- + "'Mongst the lots of earthly men, + Mighty father, prize I thine! + Of the goods that life supplies, + Greatest far of all is fame; + Though to dust the body flies, + Yet still lives a noble name. + Valiant one, thy glory's ray + Will immortal be in song; + For, though life may pass away, + To all time the dead belong!" + + "Since the voice of minstrelsy + Speaks not of the vanquished man, + I will Hector's witness be,"-- + Tydeus' noble son [27] began: + "Fighting bravely in defence + Of his household-gods he fell. + Great the victor's glory thence, + He in purpose did excel! + Battling for his altars dear, + Sank that rock, no more to rise; + E'en the foemen will revere + One whose honored name ne'er dies." + + Nestor, joyous reveller old, + Who three generations saw, + Now the leaf-crowned cup of gold + Gave to weeping Hecuba. + "Drain the goblet's draught so cool, + And forget each painful smart! + Bacchus' gifts are wonderful,-- + Balsam for a broken heart. + Drain the goblet's draught so cool, + And forget each painful smart! + Bacchus' gifts are wonderful,-- + Balsam for a broken heart. + + "E'en to Niobe, whom Heaven + Loved in wrath to persecute, + Respite from her pangs was given, + Tasting of the corn's ripe fruit. + Whilst the thirsty lip we lave + In the foaming, living spring, + Buried deep in Lethe's wave + Lies all grief, all sorrowing! + Whilst the thirsty lip we lave + In the foaming, living spring, + Swallowed up in Lethe's wave + Is all grief, all sorrowing!" + + And the Prophetess [28] inspired + By her God, upstarted now,-- + Toward the smoke of homesteads fired, + Looking from the lofty prow. + "Smoke is each thing here below; + Every worldly greatness dies, + As the vapory columns go,-- + None are fixed but Deities! + Cares behind the horseman sit-- + Round about the vessel play; + Lest the morrow hinder it, + Let us, therefore, live to-day." + + + + + PUNCH SONG. + + (TO BE SUNG IN NORTHERN COUNTRIES.) + + On the mountain's breezy summit, + Where the southern sunbeams shine, + Aided by their warming vigor, + Nature yields the golden wine. + + How the wondrous mother formeth, + None have ever read aright; + Hid forever is her working, + And inscrutable her might. + + Sparkling as a son of Phoebus, + As the fiery source of light, + From the vat it bubbling springeth, + Purple, and as crystal bright; + + And rejoiceth all the senses, + And in every sorrowing breast + Poureth hope's refreshing balsam, + And on life bestows new zest. + + But their slanting rays all feebly + On our zone the sunbeams shoot; + They can only tinge the foliage, + But they ripen ne'er the fruit. + + Yet the north insists on living, + And what lives will merry be; + So, although the grape is wanting, + We invent wine cleverly. + + Pale the drink we now are offering + On the household altar here; + But what living Nature maketh, + Sparkling is and ever clear. + + Let us from the brimming goblet, + Drain the troubled flood with mirth; + Art is but a gift of heaven, + Borrowed from the glow of earth. + + Even strength's dominions boundless + 'Neath her rule obedient lie; + From the old the new she fashions + With creative energy. + + She the elements' close union + Severs with her sovereign nod; + With the flame upon the altar, + Emulates the great sun-god. + + For the distant, happy islands + Now the vessel sallies forth, + And the southern fruits, all-golden, + Pours upon the eager north. + + As a type, then,--as an image, + Be to us this fiery juice, + Of the wonders that frail mortals + Can with steadfast will produce! + + + + + THE COMPLAINT OF CERES. [29] + + Does pleasant spring return once more? + Does earth her happy youth regain? + Sweet suns green hills are shining o'er; + Soft brooklets burst their icy chain: + Upon the blue translucent river + Laughs down an all-unclouded day, + The winged west winds gently quiver, + The buds are bursting from the spray; + While birds are blithe on every tree; + The Oread from the mountain-shore + Sighs, "Lo! thy flowers come back to thee-- + Thy child, sad mother, comes no more!" + + Alas! how long an age it seems + Since all the earth I wandered over, + And vainly, Titan, tasked thy beams + The loved--the lost one--to discover! + Though all may seek--yet none can call + Her tender presence back to me + The sun, with eyes detecting all, + Is blind one vanished form to see. + Hast thou, O Zeus! hast thou away + From these sad arms my daughter torn? + Has Pluto, from the realms of day, + Enamored--to dark rivers borne? + + Who to the dismal phantom-strand + The herald of my grief will venture? + The boat forever leaves the land, + But only shadows there may enter.-- + Veiled from each holier eye repose + The realms where midnight wraps the dead, + And, while the Stygian river flows, + No living footstep there may tread! + A thousand pathways wind the drear + Descent;--none upward lead to-day;-- + No witness to the mother's ear + The daughter's sorrows can betray. + + Mothers of happy human clay + Can share at least their children's doom; + And when the loved ones pass away, + Can track--can join them--in the tomb! + The race alone of heavenly birth + Are banished from the darksome portals; + The Fates have mercy on the earth, + And death is only kind to mortals! [30] + Oh, plunge me in the night of nights, + From heaven's ambrosial halls exiled! + Oh, let the goddess lose the rights + That shut the mother from the child! + + Where sits the dark king's joyless bride, + Where midst the dead her home is made; + Oh that my noiseless steps might glide, + Amidst the shades, myself a shade! + I see her eyes, that search through tears, + In vain the golden light to greet; + That yearn for yonder distant spheres, + That pine the mother's face to meet! + Till some bright moment shall renew + The severed hearts' familiar ties; + And softened pity steal in dew, + From Pluto's slow-relenting eyes! + + Ah, vain the wish, the sorrows are! + Calm in the changeless paths above + Rolls on the day-god's golden car-- + Fast are the fixed decrees of Jove! + Far from the ever-gloomy plain, + He turns his blissful looks away. + Alas! night never gives again + What once it seizes as its prey! + Till over Lethe's sullen swell, + Aurora's rosy hues shall glow; + And arching through the midmost hell + Shine forth the lovely Iris-bow! + + And is there naught of her; no token-- + No pledge from that beloved hand? + To tell how love remains unbroken, + How far soever be the land? + Has love no link, no lightest thread, + The mother to the child to bind? + Between the living and the dead, + Can hope no holy compact find? + No! every bond is not yet riven; + We are not yet divided wholly; + To us the eternal powers have given + A symbol language, sweet and holy. + + When Spring's fair children pass away, + When, in the north wind's icy air, + The leaf and flower alike decay, + And leave the rivelled branches bare, + Then from Vertumnus' lavish horn + I take life's seeds to strew below-- + And bid the gold that germs the corn + An offering to the Styx to go! + Sad in the earth the seeds I lay-- + Laid at thy heart, my child--to be + The mournful tokens which convey + My sorrow and my love to thee! + + But, when the hours, in measured dance, + The happy smile of spring restore, + Rife in the sun-god's golden glance + The buried dead revive once more! + The germs that perished to thine eyes, + Within the cold breast of the earth, + Spring up to bloom in gentler skies, + The brighter for the second birth! + The stem its blossom rears above-- + Its roots in night's dark womb repose-- + The plant but by the equal love + Of light and darkness fostered--grows! + + If half with death the germs may sleep, + Yet half with life they share the beams; + My heralds from the dreary deep, + Soft voices from the solemn streams,-- + Like her, so them, awhile entombs, + Stern Orcus, in his dismal reign, + Yet spring sends forth their tender blooms + With such sweet messages again, + To tell,--how far from light above, + Where only mournful shadows meet, + Memory is still alive to love, + And still the faithful heart can beat! + + Joy to ye children of the field! + Whose life each coming year renews, + To your sweet cups the heaven shall yield + The purest of its nectar-dews! + Steeped in the light's resplendent streams, + The hues that streak the Iris-bow + Shall trim your blooms as with the beams + The looks of young Aurora know. + The budding life of happy spring, + The yellow autumn's faded leaf, + Alike to gentle hearts shall bring + The symbols of my joy and grief. + + + + + THE ELEUSINIAN FESTIVAL. + + Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear! + With it, the Cyane [31] blue intertwine + Rapture must render each glance bright and clear, + For the great queen is approaching her shrine,-- + She who compels lawless passions to cease, + Who to link man with his fellow has come, + And into firm habitations of peace + Changed the rude tents' ever-wandering home. + + Shyly in the mountain-cleft + Was the Troglodyte concealed; + And the roving Nomad left, + Desert lying, each broad field. + With the javelin, with the bow, + Strode the hunter through the land; + To the hapless stranger woe, + Billow-cast on that wild strand! + + When, in her sad wanderings lost, + Seeking traces of her child, + Ceres hailed the dreary coast, + Ah, no verdant plain then smiled! + That she here with trust may stay, + None vouchsafes a sheltering roof; + Not a temple's columns gay + Give of godlike worship proof. + + Fruit of no propitious ear + Bids her to the pure feast fly; + On the ghastly altars here + Human bones alone e'er dry. + Far as she might onward rove, + Misery found she still in all, + And within her soul of love, + Sorrowed she o'er man's deep fall. + + "Is it thus I find the man + To whom we our image lend, + Whose fair limbs of noble span + Upward towards the heavens ascend? + Laid we not before his feet + Earth's unbounded godlike womb? + Yet upon his kingly seat + Wanders he without a home?" + + "Does no god compassion feel? + Will none of the blissful race, + With an arm of miracle, + Raise him from his deep disgrace? + In the heights where rapture reigns + Pangs of others ne'er can move; + Yet man's anguish and man's pains + My tormented heart must prove." + + "So that a man a man may be, + Let him make an endless bond + With the kind earth trustingly, + Who is ever good and fond + To revere the law of time, + And the moon's melodious song + Who, with silent step sublime, + Move their sacred course along." + + And she softly parts the cloud + That conceals her from the sight; + Sudden, in the savage crowd, + Stands she, as a goddess bright. + There she finds the concourse rude + In their glad feast revelling, + And the chalice filled with blood + As a sacrifice they bring. + + But she turns her face away, + Horror-struck, and speaks the while + "Bloody tiger-feasts ne'er may + Of a god the lips defile, + He needs victims free from stain, + Fruits matured by autumn's sun; + With the pure gifts of the plain + Honored is the Holy One!" + + And she takes the heavy shaft + From the hunter's cruel hand; + With the murderous weapon's haft + Furrowing the light-strown sand,-- + Takes from out her garland's crown, + Filled with life, one single grain, + Sinks it in the furrow down, + And the germ soon swells amain. + + And the green stalks gracefully + Shoot, ere long, the ground above, + And, as far as eye can see, + Waves it like a golden grove. + With her smile the earth she cheers, + Binds the earliest sheaves so fair, + As her hearth the landmark rears,-- + And the goddess breathes this prayer: + + "Father Zeus, who reign'st o'er all + That in ether's mansions dwell, + Let a sign from thee now fall + That thou lov'st this offering well! + And from the unhappy crowd + That, as yet, has ne'er known thee, + Take away the eye's dark cloud, + Showing them their deity!" + + Zeus, upon his lofty throne, + Harkens to his sister's prayer; + From the blue heights thundering down, + Hurls his forked lightning there, + Crackling, it begins to blaze, + From the altar whirling bounds,-- + And his swift-winged eagle plays + High above in circling rounds. + + Soon at the feet of their mistress are kneeling, + Filled with emotion, the rapturous throng; + Into humanity's earliest feeling + Melt their rude spirits, untutored and strong. + Each bloody weapon behind them they leave, + Rays on their senses beclouded soon shine, + And from the mouth of the queen they receive, + Gladly and meekly, instruction divine. + + All the deities advance + Downward from their heavenly seats; + Themis' self 'tis leads the dance, + And, with staff of justice, metes + Unto every one his rights,-- + Landmarks, too, 'tis hers to fix; + And in witness she invites + All the hidden powers of Styx. + + And the forge-god, too, is there, + The inventive son of Zeus; + Fashioner of vessels fair + Skilled in clay and brass's use. + 'Tis from him the art man knows + Tongs and bellows how to wield; + 'Neath his hammer's heavy blows + Was the ploughshare first revealed. + + With projecting, weighty spear, + Front of all, Minerva stands, + Lifts her voice so strong and clear, + And the godlike host commands. + Steadfast walls 'tis hers to found, + Shield and screen for every one, + That the scattered world around + Bind in loving unison. + + The immortals' steps she guides + O'er the trackless plains so vast, + And where'er her foot abides + Is the boundary god held fast; + And her measuring chain is led + Round the mountain's border green,-- + E'en the raging torrent's bed + In the holy ring is seen. + + All the Nymphs and Oreads too + Who, the mountain pathways o'er, + Swift-foot Artemis pursue, + All to swell the concourse, pour, + Brandishing the hunting-spear,-- + Set to work,--glad shouts uprise,-- + 'Neath their axes' blows so clear + Crashing down the pine-wood flies. + + E'en the sedge-crowned God ascends + From his verdant spring to light, + And his raft's direction bends + At the goddess' word of might,-- + While the hours, all gently bound, + Nimbly to their duty fly; + Rugged trunks are fashioned round + By her skilled hand gracefully. + + E'en the sea-god thither fares;-- + Sudden, with his trident's blow, + He the granite columns tears + From earth's entrails far below;-- + In his mighty hands, on high, + Waves he them, like some light ball, + And with nimble Hermes by, + Raises up the rampart-wall. + + But from out the golden strings + Lures Apollo harmony, + Measured time's sweet murmurings, + And the might of melody. + The Camoenae swell the strain + With their song of ninefold tone: + Captive bound in music's chain, + Softly stone unites to stone. + + Cybele, with skilful hand, + Open throws the wide-winged door; + Locks and bolts by her are planned, + Sure to last forevermore. + Soon complete the wondrous halls + By the gods' own hands are made, + And the temple's glowing walls + Stand in festal pomp arrayed. + + With a crown of myrtle twined, + Now the goddess queen comes there, + And she leads the fairest hind + To the shepherdess most fair. + Venus, with her beauteous boy, + That first pair herself attires; + All the gods bring gifts of joy, + Blessing their love's sacred fires. + + Guided by the deities, + Soon the new-born townsmen pour, + Ushered in with harmonies, + Through the friendly open door. + Holding now the rites divine, + Ceres at Zeus' altar stands,-- + Blessing those around the shrine, + Thus she speaks, with folded hands:-- + + "Freedom's love the beast inflames, + And the god rules free in air, + While the law of Nature tames + Each wild lust that lingers there. + Yet, when thus together thrown, + Man with man must fain unite; + And by his own worth alone + Can he freedom gain, and might." + + Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear! + With it, the Cyane blue intertwine! + Rapture must render each glance bright and clear, + For the great queen is approaching her shrine,-- + She who our homesteads so blissful has given, + She who has man to his fellow-man bound: + Let our glad numbers extol then to heaven, + Her who the earth's kindly mother is found! + + + + + THE RING OF POLYCRATES. [32] + + A BALLAD. + + Upon his battlements he stood, + And downward gazed in joyous mood, + On Samos' Isle, that owned his sway, + "All this is subject to my yoke;" + To Egypt's monarch thus he spoke,-- + "That I am truly blest, then, say!" + + "The immortals' favor thou hast known! + Thy sceptre's might has overthrown + All those who once were like to thee. + Yet to avenge them one lives still; + I cannot call thee blest, until + That dreaded foe has ceased to be." + + While to these words the king gave vent, + A herald from Miletus sent, + Appeared before the tyrant there: + "Lord, let thy incense rise to-day, + And with the laurel branches gay + Thou well may'st crown thy festive hair!" + + "Thy foe has sunk beneath the spear,-- + I'm sent to bear the glad news here, + By thy true marshal Polydore"-- + Then from a basin black he takes-- + The fearful sight their terror wakes-- + A well-known head, besmeared with gore. + + The king with horror stepped aside, + And then with anxious look replied: + "Thy bliss to fortune ne'er commit. + On faithless waves, bethink thee how + Thy fleet with doubtful fate swims now-- + How soon the storm may scatter it!" + + But ere he yet had spoke the word, + A shout of jubilee is heard + Resounding from the distant strand. + With foreign treasures teeming o'er, + The vessels' mast-rich wood once more + Returns home to its native land. + + The guest then speaks with startled mind: + "Fortune to-day, in truth, seems kind; + But thou her fickleness shouldst fear: + The Cretan hordes, well skilled, in arms, + Now threaten thee with war's alarms; + E'en now they are approaching here." + + And, ere the word has 'scaped his lips, + A stir is seen amongst the ships, + And thousand voices "Victory!" cry: + "We are delivered from our foe, + The storm has laid the Cretan low, + The war is ended, is gone by!" + + The shout with horror hears the guest: + "In truth, I must esteem thee blest! + Yet dread I the decrees of heaven. + The envy of the gods I fear; + To taste of unmixed rapture here + Is never to a mortal given." + + "With me, too, everything succeeds; + In all my sovereign acts and deeds + The grace of Heaven is ever by; + And yet I had a well-loved heir-- + I paid my debt to fortune there-- + God took him hence--I saw him die." + + "Wouldst thou from sorrow, then, be free. + Pray to each unseen Deity, + For thy well-being, grief to send; + The man on whom the Gods bestow + Their gifts with hands that overflow, + Comes never to a happy end." + + "And if the Gods thy prayer resist, + Then to a friend's instruction list,-- + Invoke thyself adversity; + And what, of all thy treasures bright, + Gives to thy heart the most delight-- + That take and cast thou in the sea!" + + Then speaks the other, moved by fear: + "This ring to me is far most dear + Of all this isle within it knows-- + I to the furies pledge it now, + If they will happiness allow"-- + And in the flood the gem he throws. + + And with the morrow's earliest light, + Appeared before the monarch's sight + A fisherman, all joyously; + "Lord, I this fish just now have caught, + No net before e'er held the sort; + And as a gift I bring it thee." + + The fish was opened by the cook, + Who suddenly, with wondering look, + Runs up, and utters these glad sounds: + "Within the fish's maw, behold, + I've found, great lord, thy ring of gold! + Thy fortune truly knows no bounds!" + + The guest with terror turned away: + "I cannot here, then, longer stay,-- + My friend thou canst no longer be! + The gods have willed that thou shouldst die: + Lest I, too, perish, I must fly"-- + He spoke,--and sailed thence hastily. + + + + + THE CRANES OF IBYCUS. + + A BALLAD. + + Once to the song and chariot-fight, + Where all the tribes of Greece unite + On Corinth's isthmus joyously, + The god-loved Ibycus drew nigh. + On him Apollo had bestowed + The gift of song and strains inspired; + So, with light staff, he took his road + From Rhegium, by the godhead fired. + + Acrocorinth, on mountain high, + Now burns upon the wanderer's eye, + And he begins, with pious dread, + Poseidon's grove of firs to tread. + Naught moves around him, save a swarm + Of cranes, who guide him on his way; + Who from far southern regions warm + Have hither come in squadron gray. + + "Thou friendly band, all hail to thee! + Who led'st me safely o'er the sea! + I deem thee as a favoring sign,-- + My destiny resembles thine. + Both come from a far distant coast, + Both pray for some kind sheltering place;-- + Propitious toward us be the host + Who from the stranger wards disgrace!" + + And on he hastes, in joyous wood, + And reaches soon the middle wood + When, on a narrow bridge, by force + Two murderers sudden bar his course. + He must prepare him for the fray, + But soon his wearied hand sinks low; + Inured the gentle lyre to play, + It ne'er has strung the deadly bow. + + On gods and men for aid he cries,-- + No savior to his prayer replies; + However far his voice he sends, + Naught living to his cry attends. + "And must I in a foreign land, + Unwept, deserted, perish here, + Falling beneath a murderous hand, + Where no avenger can appear?" + + Deep-wounded, down he sinks at last, + When, lo! the cranes' wings rustle past. + He hears,--though he no more can see,-- + Their voices screaming fearfully. + "By you, ye cranes, that soar on high, + If not another voice is heard, + Be borne to heaven my murder-cry!" + He speaks, and dies, too, with the word. + + The naked corpse, ere long, is found, + And, though defaced by many a wound, + His host in Corinth soon could tell + The features that he loved so well. + "And is it thus I find thee now, + Who hoped the pine's victorious crown + To place upon the singer's brow, + Illumined by his bright renown?" + + The news is heard with grief by all + Met at Poseidon's festival; + All Greece is conscious of the smart, + He leaves a void in every heart; + And to the Prytanis [33] swift hie + The people, and they urge him on + The dead man's manes to pacify + And with the murderer's blood atone. + + But where's the trace that from the throng + The people's streaming crowds among, + Allured there by the sports so bright, + Can bring the villain back to light? + By craven robbers was he slain? + Or by some envious hidden foe? + That Helios only can explain, + Whose rays illume all things below. + + Perchance, with shameless step and proud, + He threads e'en now the Grecian crowd-- + Whilst vengeance follows in pursuit, + Gloats over his transgression's fruit. + The very gods perchance he braves + Upon the threshold of their fane,-- + Joins boldly in the human waves + That haste yon theatre to gain. + + For there the Grecian tribes appear, + Fast pouring in from far and near; + On close-packed benches sit they there,-- + The stage the weight can scarcely bear. + Like ocean-billows' hollow roar, + The teaming crowds of living man + Toward the cerulean heavens upsoar, + In bow of ever-widening span. + + Who knows the nation, who the name, + Of all who there together came? + From Theseus' town, from Aulis' strand + From Phocis, from the Spartan land, + From Asia's distant coast, they wend, + From every island of the sea, + And from the stage they hear ascend + The chorus's dread melody. + + Who, sad and solemn, as of old, + With footsteps measured and controlled, + Advancing from the far background, + Circle the theatre's wide round. + Thus, mortal women never move! + No mortal home to them gave birth! + Their giant-bodies tower above, + High o'er the puny sons of earth. + + With loins in mantle black concealed, + Within their fleshless bands they wield + The torch, that with a dull red glows,-- + While in their cheek no life-blood flows; + And where the hair is floating wide + And loving, round a mortal brow, + Here snakes and adders are descried, + Whose bellies swell with poison now. + + And, standing in a fearful ring, + The dread and solemn chant they sing, + That through the bosom thrilling goes, + And round the sinner fetters throws. + Sense-robbing, of heart-maddening power, + The furies' strains resound through air + The listener's marrow they devour,-- + The lyre can yield such numbers ne'er. + + "Happy the man who, blemish-free, + Preserves a soul of purity! + Near him we ne'er avenging come, + He freely o'er life's path may roam. + But woe to him who, hid from view, + Hath done the deed of murder base! + Upon his heels we close pursue,-- + We, who belong to night's dark race!" + + "And if he thinks to 'scape by flight, + Winged we appear, our snare of might + Around his flying feet to cast, + So that he needs must fall at last. + Thus we pursue him, tiring ne'er,-- + Our wrath repentance cannot quell,-- + On to the shadows, and e'en there + We leave him not in peace to dwell!" + + Thus singing, they the dance resume, + And silence, like that of the tomb, + O'er the whole house lies heavily, + As if the deity were nigh. + And staid and solemn, as of old, + Circling the theatre's wide round, + With footsteps measured and controlled, + They vanish in the far background. + + Between deceit and truth each breast. + Now doubting hangs, by awe possessed, + And homage pays to that dread might, + That judges what is hid from sight,-- + That, fathomless, inscrutable, + The gloomy skein of fate entwines, + That reads the bosom's depths full well, + Yet flies away where sunlight shines. + + When sudden, from the tier most high, + A voice is heard by all to cry: + "See there, see there, Timotheus! + Behold the cranes of Ibycus!" + The heavens become as black as night, + And o'er the theatre they see, + Far over-head, a dusky flight + Of cranes, approaching hastily. + + "Of Ibycus!"--That name so blest + With new-born sorrow fills each breast. + As waves on waves in ocean rise, + From mouth to mouth it swiftly flies: + "Of Ibycus, whom we lament? + Who fell beneath the murderer's hand? + What mean those words that from him went? + What means this cranes' advancing band?" + + And louder still become the cries, + And soon this thought foreboding flies + Through every heart, with speed of light-- + "Observe in this the furies' might! + The poets manes are now appeased + The murderer seeks his own arrest! + Let him who spoke the word be seized, + And him to whom it was addressed!" + + That word he had no sooner spoke, + Than he its sound would fain invoke; + In vain! his mouth, with terror pale, + Tells of his guilt the fearful tale. + Before the judge they drag them now + The scene becomes the tribunal; + Their crimes the villains both avow, + When neath the vengeance-stroke they fall. + + + + + THE PLAYING INFANT. + + Play on thy mother's bosom, babe, for in that holy isle + The error cannot find thee yet, the grieving, nor the guile; + Held in thy mother's arms above life's dark and troubled wave, + Thou lookest with thy fearless smile upon the floating grave. + Play, loveliest innocence!--Thee yet Arcadia circles round, + A charmed power for thee has set the lists of fairy ground; + Each gleesome impulse Nature now can sanction and befriend, + Nor to that willing heart as yet the duty and the end. + Play, for the haggard labor soon will come to seize its prey. + Alas! when duty grows thy law, enjoyment fades away! + + + + + HERO AND LEANDER. [34] + + A BALLAD. + + + See you the towers, that, gray and old, + Frown through the sunlight's liquid gold, + Steep sternly fronting steep? + The Hellespont beneath them swells, + And roaring cleaves the Dardanelles, + The rock-gates of the deep! + Hear you the sea, whose stormy wave, + From Asia, Europe clove in thunder? + That sea which rent a world, cannot + Rend love from love asunder! + + In Hero's, in Leander's heart, + Thrills the sweet anguish of the dart + Whose feather flies from love. + All Hebe's bloom in Hero's cheek-- + And his the hunter's steps that seek + Delight, the hills above! + Between their sires the rival feud + Forbids their plighted hearts to meet; + Love's fruits hang over danger's gulf, + By danger made more sweet. + + Alone on Sestos' rocky tower, + Where upward sent in stormy shower, + The whirling waters foam,-- + Alone the maiden sits, and eyes + The cliffs of fair Abydos rise + Afar--her lover's home. + Oh, safely thrown from strand to strand, + No bridge can love to love convey; + No boatman shoots from yonder shore, + Yet Love has found the way.-- + + That love, which could the labyrinth pierce-- + Which nerves the weak, and curbs the fierce, + And wings with wit the dull;-- + That love which o'er the furrowed land + Bowed--tame beneath young Jason's hand-- + The fiery-snorting bull! + Yes, Styx itself, that ninefold flows, + Has love, the fearless, ventured o'er, + And back to daylight borne the bride, + From Pluto's dreary shore! + + What marvel then that wind and wave, + Leander doth but burn to brave, + When love, that goads him, guides! + Still when the day, with fainter glimmer, + Wanes pale--he leaps, the daring swimmer, + Amid the darkening tides; + With lusty arms he cleaves the waves, + And strikes for that dear strand afar; + Where high from Hero's lonely tower + Lone streams the beacon-star. + + In vain his blood the wave may chill, + These tender arms can warm it still-- + And, weary if the way, + By many a sweet embrace, above + All earthly boons--can liberal love + The lover's toil repay, + Until Aurora breaks the dream, + And warns the loiterer to depart-- + Back to the ocean's icy bed, + Scared from that loving heart. + + So thirty suns have sped their flight-- + Still in that theft of sweet delight + Exult the happy pair; + Caress will never pall caress, + And joys that gods might envy, bless + The single bride-night there. + Ah! never he has rapture known, + Who has not, where the waves are driven + Upon the fearful shores of hell, + Plucked fruits that taste of heaven! + + Now changing in their season are, + The morning and the Hesper star;-- + Nor see those happy eyes + The leaves that withering droop and fall, + Nor hear, when, from its northern hall, + The neighboring winter sighs; + Or, if they see, the shortening days + But seem to them to close in kindness; + For longer joys, in lengthening nights, + They thank the heaven in blindness. + + It is the time, when night and day, + In equal scales contend for sway [35]-- + Lone, on her rocky steep, + Lingers the girl with wistful eyes + That watch the sun-steeds down the skies, + Careering towards the deep. + Lulled lay the smooth and silent sea, + A mirror in translucent calm, + The breeze, along that crystal realm, + Unmurmuring, died in balm. + + In wanton swarms and blithe array, + The merry dolphins glide and play + Amid the silver waves. + In gray and dusky troops are seen, + The hosts that serve the ocean-queen, + Upborne from coral caves: + They--only they--have witnessed love + To rapture steal its secret way: + And Hecate [36] seals the only lips + That could the tale betray! + + She marks in joy the lulled water, + And Sestos, thus thy tender daughter, + Soft-flattering, woos the sea! + "Fair god--and canst thou then betray? + No! falsehood dwells with them that say + That falsehood dwells with thee! + Ah! faithless is the race of man, + And harsh a father's heart can prove; + But thee, the gentle and the mild, + The grief of love can move!" + + "Within these hated walls of stone, + Should I, repining, mourn alone, + And fade in ceaseless care, + But thou, though o'er thy giant tide, + Nor bridge may span, nor boat may glide, + Dost safe my lover bear. + And darksome is thy solemn deep, + And fearful is thy roaring wave; + But wave and deep are won by love-- + Thou smilest on the brave!" + + "Nor vainly, sovereign of the sea, + Did Eros send his shafts to thee + What time the rain of gold, + Bright Helle, with her brother bore, + How stirred the waves she wandered o'er, + How stirred thy deeps of old! + Swift, by the maiden's charms subdued, + Thou cam'st from out the gloomy waves, + And in thy mighty arms, she sank + Into thy bridal caves." + + "A goddess with a god, to keep + In endless youth, beneath the deep, + Her solemn ocean-court! + And still she smooths thine angry tides, + Tames thy wild heart, and favoring guides + The sailor to the port! + Beautiful Helle, bright one, hear + Thy lone adoring suppliant pray! + And guide, O goddess--guide my love + Along the wonted way!" + + Now twilight dims the waters' flow, + And from the tower, the beacon's glow + Waves flickering o'er the main. + Ah, where athwart the dismal stream, + Shall shine the beacon's faithful beam + The lover's eyes shall strain! + Hark! sounds moan threatening from afar-- + From heaven the blessed stars are gone-- + More darkly swells the rising sea + The tempest labors on! + + Along the ocean's boundless plains + Lies night--in torrents rush the rains + From the dark-bosomed cloud-- + Red lightning skirs the panting air, + And, loosed from out their rocky lair, + Sweep all the storms abroad. + Huge wave on huge wave tumbling o'er, + The yawning gulf is rent asunder, + And shows, as through an opening pall, + Grim earth--the ocean under! + + Poor maiden! bootless wail or vow-- + "Have mercy, Jove--be gracious, thou! + Dread prayer was mine before!" + What if the gods have heard--and he, + Lone victim of the stormy sea, + Now struggles to the shore! + There's not a sea-bird on the wave-- + Their hurrying wings the shelter seek; + The stoutest ship the storms have proved, + Takes refuge in the creek. + + "Ah, still that heart, which oft has braved + The danger where the daring saved, + Love lureth o'er the sea;-- + For many a vow at parting morn, + That naught but death should bar return, + Breathed those dear lips to me; + And whirled around, the while I weep, + Amid the storm that rides the wave, + The giant gulf is grasping down + The rash one to the grave! + + "False Pontus! and the calm I hailed, + The awaiting murder darkly veiled-- + The lulled pellucid flow, + The smiles in which thou wert arrayed, + Were but the snares that love betrayed + To thy false realm below! + Now in the midway of the main, + Return relentlessly forbidden, + Thou loosenest on the path beyond + The horrors thou hadst hidden." + + Loud and more loud the tempest raves + In thunder break the mountain waves, + White-foaming on the rock-- + No ship that ever swept the deep + Its ribs of gnarled oak could keep + Unshattered by the shock. + Dies in the blast the guiding torch + To light the struggler to the strand; + 'Tis death to battle with the wave, + And death no less to land! + + On Venus, daughter of the seas, + She calls the tempest to appease-- + To each wild-shrieking wind + Along the ocean-desert borne, + She vows a steer with golden horn-- + Vain vow--relentless wind! + On every goddess of the deep, + On all the gods in heaven that be, + She calls--to soothe in calm, awhile + The tempest-laden sea! + + "Hearken the anguish of my cries! + From thy green halls, arise--arise, + Leucothoe the divine! + Who, in the barren main afar, + Oft on the storm-beat mariner + Dost gently-saving shine. + Oh,--reach to him thy mystic veil, + To which the drowning clasp may cling, + And safely from that roaring grave, + To shore my lover bring!" + + And now the savage winds are hushing. + And o'er the arched horizon, blushing, + Day's chariot gleams on high! + Back to their wonted channels rolled, + In crystal calm the waves behold + One smile on sea and sky! + All softly breaks the rippling tide, + Low-murmuring on the rocky land, + And playful wavelets gently float + A corpse upon the strand! + + 'Tis he!--who even in death would still + Not fail the sweet vow to fulfil; + She looks--sees--knows him there! + From her pale lips no sorrow speaks, + No tears glide down her hueless cheeks; + Cold-numbed in her despair-- + She looked along the silent deep, + She looked upon the brightening heaven, + Till to the marble face the soul + Its light sublime had given! + + "Ye solemn powers men shrink to name, + Your might is here, your rights ye claim-- + Yet think not I repine + Soon closed my course; yet I can bless + The life that brought me happiness-- + The fairest lot was mine! + Living have I thy temple served, + Thy consecrated priestess been-- + My last glad offering now receive + Venus, thou mightiest queen!" + + Flashed the white robe along the air, + And from the tower that beetled there + She sprang into the wave; + Roused from his throne beneath the waste, + Those holy forms the god embraced-- + A god himself their grave! + Pleased with his prey, he glides along-- + More blithe the murmured music seems, + A gush from unexhausted urns + His everlasting streams! + + + + + CASSANDRA. + + Mirth the halls of Troy was filling, + Ere its lofty ramparts fell; + From the golden lute so thrilling + Hymns of joy were heard to swell. + From the sad and tearful slaughter + All had laid their arms aside, + For Pelides Priam's daughter + Claimed then as his own fair bride. + + Laurel branches with them bearing, + Troop on troop in bright array + To the temples were repairing, + Owning Thymbrius' sovereign sway. + Through the streets, with frantic measure, + Danced the bacchanal mad round, + And, amid the radiant pleasure, + Only one sad breast was found. + + Joyless in the midst of gladness, + None to heed her, none to love, + Roamed Cassandra, plunged in sadness, + To Apollo's laurel grove. + To its dark and deep recesses + Swift the sorrowing priestess hied, + And from off her flowing tresses + Tore the sacred band, and cried: + + "All around with joy is beaming, + Ev'ry heart is happy now, + And my sire is fondly dreaming, + Wreathed with flowers my sister's brow + I alone am doomed to wailing, + That sweet vision flies from me; + In my mind, these walls assailing, + Fierce destruction I can see." + + "Though a torch I see all-glowing, + Yet 'tis not in Hymen's hand; + Smoke across the skies is blowing, + Yet 'tis from no votive brand. + Yonder see I feasts entrancing, + But in my prophetic soul, + Hear I now the God advancing, + Who will steep in tears the bowl!" + + "And they blame my lamentation, + And they laugh my grief to scorn; + To the haunts of desolation + I must bear my woes forlorn. + All who happy are, now shun me, + And my tears with laughter see; + Heavy lies thy hand upon me, + Cruel Pythian deity!" + + "Thy divine decrees foretelling, + Wherefore hast thou thrown me here, + Where the ever-blind are dwelling, + With a mind, alas, too clear? + Wherefore hast thou power thus given, + What must needs occur to know? + Wrought must be the will of Heaven-- + Onward come the hour of woe!" + + "When impending fate strikes terror, + Why remove the covering? + Life we have alone in error, + Knowledge with it death must bring. + Take away this prescience tearful, + Take this sight of woe from me; + Of thy truths, alas! how fearful + 'Tis the mouthpiece frail to be!" + + "Veil my mind once more in slumbers + Let me heedlessly rejoice; + Never have I sung glad numbers + Since I've been thy chosen voice. + Knowledge of the future giving, + Thou hast stolen the present day, + Stolen the moment's joyous living,-- + Take thy false gift, then, away!" + + "Ne'er with bridal train around me, + Have I wreathed my radiant brow, + Since to serve thy fane I bound me-- + Bound me with a solemn vow. + Evermore in grief I languish-- + All my youth in tears was spent; + And with thoughts of bitter anguish + My too-feeling heart is rent." + + "Joyously my friends are playing, + All around are blest and glad, + In the paths of pleasure straying,-- + My poor heart alone is sad. + Spring in vain unfolds each treasure, + Filling all the earth with bliss; + Who in life can e'er take pleasure, + When is seen its dark abyss?" + + "With her heart in vision burning, + Truly blest is Polyxene, + As a bride to clasp him yearning. + Him, the noblest, best Hellene! + And her breast with rapture swelling, + All its bliss can scarcely know; + E'en the Gods in heavenly dwelling + Envying not, when dreaming so." + + "He to whom my heart is plighted + Stood before my ravished eye, + And his look, by passion lighted, + Toward me turned imploringly. + With the loved one, oh, how gladly + Homeward would I take my flight + But a Stygian shadow sadly + Steps between us every night." + + "Cruel Proserpine is sending + All her spectres pale to me; + Ever on my steps attending + Those dread shadowy forms I see. + Though I seek, in mirth and laughter + Refuge from that ghastly train, + Still I see them hastening after,-- + Ne'er shall I know joy again." + + "And I see the death-steel glancing, + And the eye of murder glare; + On, with hasty strides advancing, + Terror haunts me everywhere. + Vain I seek alleviation;-- + Knowing, seeing, suffering all, + I must wait the consummation, + In a foreign land must fall." + + While her solemn words are ringing, + Hark! a dull and wailing tone + From the temple's gate upspringing,-- + Dead lies Thetis' mighty son! + Eris shakes her snake-locks hated, + Swiftly flies each deity, + And o'er Ilion's walls ill-fated + Thunder-clouds loom heavily! + + + + + THE HOSTAGE. + + A BALLAD. + + The tyrant Dionys to seek, + Stern Moerus with his poniard crept; + The watchful guard upon him swept; + The grim king marked his changeless cheek: + "What wouldst thou with thy poniard? Speak!" + "The city from the tyrant free!" + "The death-cross shall thy guerdon be." + + "I am prepared for death, nor pray," + Replied that haughty man, "I to live; + Enough, if thou one grace wilt give + For three brief suns the death delay + To wed my sister--leagues away; + I boast one friend whose life for mine, + If I should fail the cross, is thine." + + The tyrant mused,--and smiled,--and said + With gloomy craft, "So let it be; + Three days I will vouchsafe to thee. + But mark--if, when the time be sped, + Thou fail'st--thy surety dies instead. + His life shall buy thine own release; + Thy guilt atoned, my wrath shall cease." + + He sought his friend--"The king's decree + Ordains my life the cross upon + Shall pay the deed I would have done; + Yet grants three days' delay to me, + My sister's marriage-rites to see; + If thou, the hostage, wilt remain + Till I--set free--return again!" + + His friend embraced--No word he said, + But silent to the tyrant strode-- + The other went upon his road. + Ere the third sun in heaven was red, + The rite was o'er, the sister wed; + And back, with anxious heart unquailing, + He hastes to hold the pledge unfailing. + + Down the great rains unending bore, + Down from the hills the torrents rushed, + In one broad stream the brooklets gushed. + The wanderer halts beside the shore, + The bridge was swept the tides before-- + The shattered arches o'er and under + Went the tumultuous waves in thunder. + + Dismayed he takes his idle stand-- + Dismayed, he strays and shouts around; + His voice awakes no answering sound. + No boat will leave the sheltering strand, + To bear him to the wished-for land; + No boatman will Death's pilot be; + The wild stream gathers to a sea! + + Sunk by the banks, awhile he weeps, + Then raised his arms to Jove, and cried, + "Stay thou, oh stay the maddening tide; + Midway behold the swift sun sweeps, + And, ere he sinks adown the deeps, + If I should fail, his beams will see + My friend's last anguish--slain for me!" + + More fierce it runs, more broad it flows, + And wave on wave succeeds and dies + And hour on hour remorseless flies; + Despair at last to daring grows-- + Amidst the flood his form he throws; + With vigorous arms the roaring waves + Cleaves--and a God that pities, saves. + + He wins the bank--he scours the strand, + He thanks the God in breathless prayer; + When from the forest's gloomy lair, + With ragged club in ruthless hand, + And breathing murder--rushed the band + That find, in woods, their savage den, + And savage prey in wandering men. + + "What," cried he, pale with generous fear; + "What think to gain ye by the strife? + All I bear with me is my life-- + I take it to the king!"--and here + He snatched the club from him most near: + And thrice he smote, and thrice his blows + Dealt death--before him fly the foes! + + The sun is glowing as a brand; + And faint before the parching heat, + The strength forsakes the feeble feet: + "Thou hast saved me from the robbers' hand, + Through wild floods given the blessed land; + And shall the weak limbs fail me now? + And he!--Divine one, nerve me, thou!" + + + Hark! like some gracious murmur by, + Babbles low music, silver-clear-- + The wanderer holds his breath to hear; + And from the rock, before his eye, + Laughs forth the spring delightedly; + Now the sweet waves he bends him o'er, + And the sweet waves his strength restore. + + Through the green boughs the sun gleams dying, + O'er fields that drink the rosy beam, + The trees' huge shadows giant seem. + Two strangers on the road are hieing; + And as they fleet beside him flying, + These muttered words his ear dismay: + "Now--now the cross has claimed its prey!" + + Despair his winged path pursues, + The anxious terrors hound him on-- + There, reddening in the evening sun, + From far, the domes of Syracuse!-- + When towards him comes Philostratus + (His leal and trusty herdsman he), + And to the master bends his knee. + + "Back--thou canst aid thy friend no more, + The niggard time already flown-- + His life is forfeit--save thine own! + Hour after hour in hope he bore, + Nor might his soul its faith give o'er; + Nor could the tyrant's scorn deriding, + Steal from that faith one thought confiding!" + + "Too late! what horror hast thou spoken! + Vain life, since it cannot requite him! + But death with me can yet unite him; + No boast the tyrant's scorn shall make-- + How friend to friend can faith forsake. + But from the double death shall know, + That truth and love yet live below!" + + The sun sinks down--the gate's in view, + The cross looms dismal on the ground-- + The eager crowd gape murmuring round. + His friend is bound the cross unto. . . . + Crowd--guards--all bursts he breathless through: + "Me! Doomsman, me!" he shouts, "alone! + His life is rescued--lo, mine own!" + + Amazement seized the circling ring! + Linked in each other's arms the pair-- + Weeping for joy--yet anguish there! + Moist every eye that gazed;--they bring + The wondrous tidings to the king-- + His breast man's heart at last hath known, + And the friends stand before his throne. + + Long silent, he, and wondering long, + Gazed on the pair--"In peace depart, + Victors, ye have subdued my heart! + Truth is no dream!--its power is strong. + Give grace to him who owns his wrong! + 'Tis mine your suppliant now to be, + Ah, let the band of love--be three!" [37] + + + + + GREEKISM. + + Scarce has the fever so chilly of Gallomania departed, + When a more burning attack in Grecomania breaks out. + Greekism,--what did it mean?--'Twas harmony, reason, and clearness! + Patience,--good gentlemen, pray, ere ye of Greekism speak! + 'Tis for an excellent cause ye are fighting, and all that I ask for + Is that with reason it ne'er may be a laughing-stock made. + + + + + THE DIVER. + + A BALLAD. + + "What knight or what vassal will be so bold + As to plunge in the gulf below? + See! I hurl in its depths a goblet of gold, + Already the waters over it flow. + The man who can bring back the goblet to me, + May keep it henceforward,--his own it shall be." + + Thus speaks the king, and he hurls from the height + Of the cliffs that, rugged and steep, + Hang over the boundless sea, with strong might, + The goblet afar, in the bellowing deep. + "And who'll be so daring,--I ask it once more,-- + As to plunge in these billows that wildly roar?" + + And the vassals and knights of high degree + Hear his words, but silent remain. + They cast their eyes on the raging sea, + And none will attempt the goblet to gain. + And a third time the question is asked by the king: + "Is there none that will dare in the gulf now to spring?" + + Yet all as before in silence stand, + When a page, with a modest pride, + Steps out of the timorous squirely band, + And his girdle and mantle soon throws aside, + And all the knights, and the ladies too, + The noble stripling with wonderment view. + + And when he draws nigh to the rocky brow, + And looks in the gulf so black, + The waters that she had swallowed but now, + The howling Charybdis is giving back; + And, with the distant thunder's dull sound. + From her gloomy womb they all-foaming rebound. + + And it boils and it roars, and it hisses and seethes, + As when water and fire first blend; + To the sky spurts the foam in steam-laden wreaths, + And wave presses hard upon wave without end. + And the ocean will never exhausted be, + As if striving to bring forth another sea. + + But at length the wild tumult seems pacified, + And blackly amid the white swell + A gaping chasm its jaws opens wide, + As if leading down to the depths of hell: + And the howling billows are seen by each eye + Down the whirling funnel all madly to fly. + + Then quickly, before the breakers rebound, + The stripling commends him to Heaven, + And--a scream of horror is heard around,-- + And now by the whirlpool away he is driven, + And secretly over the swimmer brave + Close the jaws, and he vanishes 'neath the dark wave. + + O'er the watery gulf dread silence now lies, + But the deep sends up a dull yell, + And from mouth to mouth thus trembling it flies: + "Courageous stripling, oh, fare thee well!" + And duller and duller the howls recommence, + While they pause in anxious and fearful suspense. + + "If even thy crown in the gulf thou shouldst fling, + And shouldst say, 'He who brings it to me + Shall wear it henceforward, and be the king,' + Thou couldst tempt me not e'en with that precious foe; + What under the howling deep is concealed + To no happy living soul is revealed!" + + Full many a ship, by the whirlpool held fast, + Shoots straightway beneath the mad wave, + And, dashed to pieces, the hull and the mast + Emerge from the all-devouring grave,-- + And the roaring approaches still nearer and nearer, + Like the howl of the tempest, still clearer and clearer. + + And it boils and it roars, and it hisses and seethes, + As when water and fire first blend; + To the sky spurts the foam in steam-laden wreaths, + And wave passes hard upon wave without end. + And, with the distant thunder's dull sound, + From the ocean-womb they all-bellowing bound. + + And lo! from the darkly flowing tide + Comes a vision white as a swan, + And an arm and a glistening neck are descried, + With might and with active zeal steering on; + And 'tis he, and behold! his left hand on high + Waves the goblet, while beaming with joy is his eye. + + Then breathes he deeply, then breathes he long, + And blesses the light of the day; + While gladly exclaim to each other the throng: + "He lives! he is here! he is not the sea's prey! + From the tomb, from the eddying waters' control, + The brave one has rescued his living soul!" + + And he comes, and they joyously round him stand; + At the feet of the monarch he falls,-- + The goblet he, kneeling, puts in his hand, + And the king to his beauteous daughter calls, + Who fills it with sparkling wine to the brim; + The youth turns to the monarch, and speaks thus to him: + + "Long life to the king! Let all those be glad + Who breathe in the light of the sky! + For below all is fearful, of moment sad; + Let not man to tempt the immortals e'er try, + Let him never desire the thing to see + That with terror and night they veil graciously." + + "I was torn below with the speed of light, + When out of a cavern of rock + Rushed towards me a spring with furious might; + I was seized by the twofold torrent's wild shock, + And like a top, with a whirl and a bound, + Despite all resistance, was whirled around." + + "Then God pointed out,--for to Him I cried + In that terrible moment of need,-- + A craggy reef in the gulf's dark side; + I seized it in haste, and from death was then freed. + And there, on sharp corals, was hanging the cup,-- + The fathomless pit had else swallowed it up." + + "For under me lay it, still mountain-deep, + In a darkness of purple-tinged dye, + And though to the ear all might seem then asleep + With shuddering awe 'twas seen by the eye + How the salamanders' and dragons' dread forms + Filled those terrible jaws of hell with their swarms." + + "There crowded, in union fearful and black, + In a horrible mass entwined, + The rock-fish, the ray with the thorny back, + And the hammer-fish's misshapen kind, + And the shark, the hyena dread of the sea, + With his angry teeth, grinned fiercely on me." + + "There hung I, by fulness of terror possessed, + Where all human aid was unknown, + Amongst phantoms, the only sensitive breast, + In that fearful solitude all alone, + Where the voice of mankind could not reach to mine ear, + 'Mid the monsters foul of that wilderness drear." + + "Thus shuddering methought--when a something crawled near, + And a hundred limbs it out-flung, + And at me it snapped;--in my mortal fear, + I left hold of the coral to which I had clung; + Then the whirlpool seized on me with maddened roar, + Yet 'twas well, for it brought me to light once more." + + The story in wonderment hears the king, + And he says, "The cup is thine own, + And I purpose also to give thee this ring, + Adorned with a costly, a priceless stone, + If thou'lt try once again, and bring word to me + What thou saw'st in the nethermost depths of the sea." + + His daughter hears this with emotions soft, + And with flattering accent prays she: + "That fearful sport, father, attempt not too oft! + What none other would dare, he hath ventured for thee; + If thy heart's wild longings thou canst not tame, + Let the knights, if they can, put the squire to shame." + + The king then seizes the goblet in haste, + In the gulf he hurls it with might: + "When the goblet once more in my hands thou hast placed, + Thou shalt rank at my court as the noblest knight, + And her as a bride thou shalt clasp e'en to-day, + Who for thee with tender compassion doth pray." + + Then a force, as from Heaven, descends on him there, + And lightning gleams in his eye, + And blushes he sees on her features so fair, + And he sees her turn pale, and swooning lie; + Then eager the precious guerdon to win, + For life or for death, lo! he plunges him in! + + The breakers they hear, and the breakers return, + Proclaimed by a thundering sound; + They bend o'er the gulf with glances that yearn, + And the waters are pouring in fast around; + Though upwards and downwards they rush and they rave, + The youth is brought back by no kindly wave. + + + + + THE KNIGHT OF TOGGENBURG. + + A BALLAD. + + "I Can love thee well, believe me, + As a sister true; + Other love, Sir Knight, would grieve me, + Sore my heart would rue. + Calmly would I see thee going, + Calmly, too, appear; + For those tears in silence flowing + Find no answer here." + + Thus she speaks,--he hears her sadly,-- + How his heartstrings bleed! + In his arms he clasps her madly, + Then he mounts his steed. + From the Switzer land collects he + All his warriors brave;-- + Cross on breast, their course directs he + To the Holy Grave. + + In triumphant march advancing, + Onward moves the host, + While their morion plumes are dancing + Where the foes are most. + Mortal terror strikes the Paynim + At the chieftain's name; + But the knight's sad thoughts enchain him-- + Grief consumes his frame. + + Twelve long months, with courage daring, + Peace he strives to find; + Then, at last, of rest despairing, + Leaves the host behind; + Sees a ship, whose sails are swelling, + Lie on Joppa's strand; + Ships him homeward for her dwelling, + In his own loved land. + + Now behold the pilgrim weary + At her castle gate! + But alas! these accents dreary + Seal his mournful fate:-- + "She thou seek'st her troth hath plighted + To all-gracious heaven; + To her God she was united + Yesterday at even!" + + To his father's home forever + Bids he now adieu; + Sees no more his arms and beaver, + Nor his steed so true. + Then descends he, sadly, slowly,-- + None suspect the sight,-- + For a garb of penance lowly + Wears the noble knight. + + Soon he now, the tempest braving, + Builds an humble shed, + Where o'er the lime-trees darkly waving, + Peeps the convent's head. + From the orb of day's first gleaming, + Till his race has run, + Hope in every feature beaming, + There he sits alone. + + Toward the convent straining ever + His unwearied eyes,-- + From her casement looking never + Till it open flies, + Till the loved one, soft advancing, + Shows her gentle face, + O'er the vale her sweet eye glancing, + Full of angel-grace. + + Then he seeks his bed of rushes, + Stilled all grief and pain, + Slumbering calm, till morning's blushes + Waken life again. + Days and years fleet on, yet never + Breathes he plaint or sighs, + On her casement gazing ever + Till it open flies. + + Till the loved one, soft advancing, + Shows her gentle face, + O'er the vale her sweet eyes glancing, + Full of angel-grace. + But at length, the morn returning + Finds him dead and chill;-- + Pale and wan, his gaze, with yearning, + Seeks her casement still. + + + + + THE FIGHT WITH THE DRAGON. + + Why run the crowd? What means the throng + That rushes fast the streets along? + Can Rhodes a prey to flames, then, be? + In crowds they gather hastily, + And, on his steed, a noble knight + Amid the rabble, meets my sight; + Behind him--prodigy unknown!-- + A monster fierce they're drawing on; + A dragon stems it by its shape, + With wide and crocodile-like jaw, + And on the knight and dragon gape, + In turns, the people, filled with awe. + + And thousand voices shout with glee + "The fiery dragon come and see, + Who hind and flock tore limb from limb!-- + The hero see, who vanquished him! + Full many a one before him went, + To dare the fearful combat bent, + But none returned home from the fight; + Honor ye, then, the noble knight!" + And toward the convent move they all, + While met in hasty council there + The brave knights of the Hospital, + St. John the Baptist's Order, were. + + Up to the noble master sped + The youth, with firm but modest tread; + The people followed with wild shout, + And stood the landing-place about, + While thus outspoke that daring one: + "My knightly duty I have done. + The dragon that laid waste the land + Has fallen beneath my conquering hand. + The way is to the wanderer free, + The shepherd o'er the plains may rove; + Across the mountains joyfully + The pilgrim to the shrine may move." + + But sternly looked the prince, and said: + "The hero's part thou well hast played + By courage is the true knight known,-- + A dauntless spirit thou hast shown. + Yet speak! What duty first should he + Regard, who would Christ's champion be, + Who wears the emblem of the Cross?"-- + And all turned pale at his discourse. + Yet he replied, with noble grace, + While blushingly he bent him low: + "That he deserves so proud a place + Obedience best of all can show." + + "My son," the master answering spoke, + "Thy daring act this duty broke. + The conflict that the law forbade + Thou hast with impious mind essayed."-- + "Lord, judge when all to thee is known," + The other spake, in steadfast tone,-- + "For I the law's commands and will + Purposed with honor to fulfil. + I went not out with heedless thought. + Hoping the monster dread to find; + To conquer in the fight I sought + By cunning, and a prudent mind." + + "Five of our noble Order, then + (Our faith could boast no better men), + Had by their daring lost their life, + When thou forbadest us the strife. + And yet my heart I felt a prey + To gloom, and panted for the fray; + Ay, even in the stilly night, + In vision gasped I in the fight; + And when the glimmering morning came, + And of fresh troubles knowledge gave, + A raging grief consumed my frame, + And I resolved the thing to brave." + + "And to myself I thus began: + 'What is't adorns the youth, the man? + What actions of the heroes bold, + Of whom in ancient song we're told, + Blind heathendom raised up on high + To godlike fame and dignity? + The world, by deeds known far and wide, + From monsters fierce they purified; + The lion in the fight they met, + And wrestled with the minotaur, + Unhappy victims free to set, + And were not sparing of their gore.'" + + "'Are none but Saracens to feel + The prowess of the Christian steel? + False idols only shall be brave? + His mission is the world to save; + To free it, by his sturdy arm, + From every hurt, from every harm; + Yet wisdom must his courage bend, + And cunning must with strength contend.' + Thus spake I oft, and went alone + The monster's traces to espy; + When on my mind a bright light shone,-- + 'I have it!' was my joyful cry." + + "To thee I went, and thus I spake: + 'My homeward journey I would take.' + Thou, lord, didst grant my prayer to me,-- + Then safely traversed I the sea; + And, when I reached my native strand, + I caused a skilful artist's hand + To make a dragon's image, true + To his that now so well I knew. + On feet of measure short was placed + Its lengthy body's heavy load; + A scaly coat of mail embraced + The back, on which it fiercely showed." + + "Its stretching neck appeared to swell, + And, ghastly as a gate of hell, + Its fearful jaws were open wide, + As if to seize the prey it tried; + And in its black mouth, ranged about, + Its teeth in prickly rows stood out; + Its tongue was like a sharp-edged sword, + And lightning from its small eyes poured; + A serpent's tail of many a fold + Ended its body's monstrous span, + And round itself with fierceness rolled, + So as to clasp both steed and man." + + "I formed the whole to nature true, + In skin of gray and hideous hue; + Part dragon it appeared, part snake, + Engendered in the poisonous lake. + And, when the figure was complete, + A pair of dogs I chose me, fleet, + Of mighty strength, of nimble pace, + Inured the savage boar to chase; + The dragon, then, I made them bait, + Inflaming them to fury dread, + With their sharp teeth to seize it straight, + And with my voice their motions led." + + "And, where the belly's tender skin + Allowed the tooth to enter in, + I taught them how to seize it there, + And, with their fangs, the part to tear. + I mounted, then, my Arab steed, + The offspring of a noble breed; + My hand a dart on high held forth, + And, when I had inflamed his wrath, + I stuck my sharp spurs in his side, + And urged him on as quick as thought, + And hurled my dart in circles wide + As if to pierce the beast I sought." + + "And though my steed reared high in pain, + And champed and foamed beneath the rein, + And though the dogs howled fearfully, + Till they were calmed ne'er rested I. + This plan I ceaselessly pursued, + Till thrice the moon had been renewed; + And when they had been duly taught, + In swift ships here I had them brought; + And since my foot these shores has pressed + Flown has three mornings' narrow span; + I scarce allowed my limbs to rest + Ere I the mighty task began." + + "For hotly was my bosom stirred + When of the land's fresh grief I heard; + Shepherds of late had been his prey, + When in the marsh they went astray. + I formed my plans then hastily,-- + My heart was all that counselled me. + My squires instructing to proceed, + I sprang upon my well-trained steed, + And, followed by my noble pair + Of dogs, by secret pathways rode, + Where not an eye could witness bear, + To find the monster's fell abode." + + "Thou, lord, must know the chapel well, + Pitched on a rocky pinnacle, + That overlooks the distant isle; + A daring mind 'twas raised the pile. + Though humble, mean, and small it shows + Its walls a miracle enclose,-- + The Virgin and her infant Son, + Vowed by the three kings of Cologne. + By three times thirty steps is led + The pilgrim to the giddy height; + Yet, when he gains it with bold tread, + He's quickened by his Saviour's sight." + + "Deep in the rock to which it clings, + A cavern dark its arms outflings, + Moist with the neighboring moorland's dew, + Where heaven's bright rays can ne'er pierce through. + There dwelt the monster, there he lay, + His spoil awaiting, night and day; + Like the hell-dragon, thus he kept + Watch near the shrine, and never slept; + And if a hapless pilgrim chanced + To enter on that fatal way, + From out his ambush quick advanced + The foe, and seized him as his prey." + + "I mounted now the rocky height; + Ere I commenced the fearful fight, + There knelt I to the infant Lord, + And pardon for my sins implored. + Then in the holy fane I placed + My shining armor round my waist, + My right hand grasped my javelin, + The fight then went I to begin; + Instructions gave my squires among, + Commanding them to tarry there; + Then on my steed I nimbly sprung, + And gave my spirit to God's care." + + "Soon as I reached the level plain, + My dogs found out the scent amain; + My frightened horse soon reared on high,-- + His fear I could not pacify, + For, coiled up in a circle, lo! + There lay the fierce and hideous foe, + Sunning himself upon the ground. + Straight at him rushed each nimble hound; + Yet thence they turned, dismayed and fast, + When he his gaping jaws op'd wide, + Vomited forth his poisonous blast, + And like the howling jackal cried." + + "But soon their courage I restored; + They seized with rage the foe abhorred, + While I against the beast's loins threw + My spear with sturdy arm and true: + But, powerless as a bulrush frail, + It bounded from his coat of mail; + And ere I could repeat the throw, + My horse reeled wildly to and fro + Before his basilisk-like look, + And at his poison-teeming breath,-- + Sprang backward, and with terror shook, + While I seemed doomed to certain death." + + "Then from my steed I nimbly sprung, + My sharp-edged sword with vigor swung; + Yet all in vain my strokes I plied,-- + I could not pierce his rock-like hide. + His tail with fury lashing round, + Sudden he bore me to the ground. + His jaws then opening fearfully, + With angry teeth he struck at me; + But now my dogs, with wrath new-born, + Rushed on his belly with fierce bite, + So that, by dreadful anguish torn, + He howling stood before my sight." + + "And ere he from their teeth was free, + I raised myself up hastily, + The weak place of the foe explored, + And in his entrails plunged my sword, + Sinking it even to the hilt; + Black gushing forth, his blood was spilt. + Down sank he, burying in his fall + Me with his body's giant ball, + So that my senses quickly fled; + And when I woke with strength renewed, + The dragon in his blood lay dead, + While round me grouped my squires all stood." + + The joyous shouts, so long suppressed, + Now burst from every hearer's breast, + Soon as the knight these words had spoken; + And ten times 'gainst the high vault broken, + The sound of mingled voices rang, + Re-echoing back with hollow clang. + The Order's sons demand, in haste, + That with a crown his brow be graced, + And gratefully in triumph now + The mob the youth would bear along + When, lo! the master knit his brow, + And called for silence 'mongst the throng. + + And said, "The dragon that this land + Laid waste, thou slew'st with daring hand; + Although the people's idol thou, + The Order's foe I deem thee now. + Thy breast has to a fiend more base + Than e'en this dragon given place. + The serpent that the heart most stings, + And hatred and destruction brings, + That spirit is, which stubborn lies, + And impiously cast off the rein, + Despising order's sacred ties; + 'Tis that destroys the world amain." + + "The Mameluke makes of courage boast, + Obedience decks the Christian most; + For where our great and blessed Lord + As a mere servant walked abroad, + The fathers, on that holy ground, + This famous Order chose to found, + That arduous duty to fulfil + To overcome one's own self-will! + 'Twas idle glory moved thee there: + So take thee hence from out my sight! + For who the Lord's yoke cannot bear, + To wear his cross can have no right." + + A furious shout now raise the crowd, + The place is filled with outcries loud; + The brethren all for pardon cry; + The youth in silence droops his eye-- + Mutely his garment from him throws, + Kisses the master's hand, and--goes. + But he pursues him with his gaze, + Recalls him lovingly, and says: + "Let me embrace thee now, my son! + The harder fight is gained by thee. + Take, then, this cross--the guerdon won + By self-subdued humility." + + + + + FEMALE JUDGMENT. + +Man frames his judgment on reason; but woman on love founds her verdict; +If her judgment loves not, woman already has judged. + + + + + FRIDOLIN; OR, THE WALK TO THE IRON FOUNDRY. + + A gentle was Fridolin, + And he his mistress dear, + Savern's fair Countess, honored in + All truth and godly fear. + She was so meek, and, ah! so good! + Yet each wish of her wayward mood, + He would have studied to fulfil, + To please his God, with earnest will. + + From the first hour when daylight shone + Till rang the vesper-chime, + He lived but for her will alone, + And deemed e'en that scarce time. + And if she said, "Less anxious be!" + His eye then glistened tearfully. + Thinking that he in duty failed, + And so before no toil he quailed. + + And so, before her serving train, + The Countess loved to raise him; + While her fair mouth, in endless strain, + Was ever wont to praise him. + She never held him as her slave, + Her heart a child's rights to him gave; + Her clear eye hung in fond delight + Upon his well-formed features bright. + + Soon in the huntsman Robert's breast + Was poisonous anger fired; + His black soul, long by lust possessed, + With malice was inspired; + He sought the Count, whom, quick in deed, + A traitor might with ease mislead, + As once from hunting home they rode, + And in his heart suspicion sowed. + + "Happy art thou, great Count, in truth," + Thus cunningly he spoke; + "For ne'er mistrust's envenomed tooth + Thy golden slumbers broke; + A noble wife thy love rewards, + And modesty her person guards. + The tempter will be able ne'er + Her true fidelity to snare." + + A gloomy scowl the Count's eye filled: + "What's this thou say'st to me? + Shall I on woman's virtue build, + Inconstant as the sea? + The flatterer's mouth with ease may lure; + My trust is placed on ground more sure. + No one, methinks, dare ever burn + To tempt the wife of Count Savern." + + The other spoke: "Thou sayest it well, + The fool deserves thy scorn + Who ventures on such thoughts to dwell, + A mere retainer born,-- + Who to the lady he obeys + Fears not his wishes' lust to raise."-- + "What!" tremblingly the Count began, + "Dost speak, then, of a living man?"-- + + "Is, then, the thing, to all revealed, + Hid from my master's view? + Yet, since with care from thee concealed, + I'd fain conceal it too"-- + "Speak quickly, villain! speak or die!" + Exclaimed the other fearfully. + "Who dares to look on Cunigond?" + "'Tis the fair page that is so fond." + + "He's not ill-shaped in form, I wot," + He craftily went on; + The Count meanwhile felt cold and hot, + By turns in every bone. + "Is't possible thou seest not, sir, + How he has eyes for none but her? + At table ne'er attends to thee, + But sighs behind her ceaselessly?" + + "Behold the rhymes that from him came + His passion to confess"-- + "Confess!"--"And for an answering flame,-- + The impious knave!--to press. + My gracious lady, soft and meek, + Through pity, doubtless, feared to speak; + That it has 'scaped me, sore I rue; + What, lord, canst thou to help it do?" + + Into the neighboring wood then rode + The Count, inflamed with wrath, + Where, in his iron foundry, glowed + The ore, and bubbled forth. + The workmen here, with busy hand, + The fire both late and early fanned. + The sparks fly out, the bellows ply, + As if the rock to liquefy. + + The fire and water's might twofold + Are here united found; + The mill-wheel, by the flood seized hold, + Is whirling round and round; + The works are clattering night and day, + With measured stroke the hammers play, + And, yielding to the mighty blows, + The very iron plastic grows. + + Then to two workmen beckons he, + And speaks thus in his ire; + "The first who's hither sent by me + Thus of ye to inquire + 'Have ye obeyed my lord's word well?' + Him cast ye into yonder hell, + That into ashes he may fly, + And ne'er again torment mine eye!" + + The inhuman pair were overjoyed, + With devilish glee possessed + For as the iron, feeling void, + Their heart was in their breast, + And brisker with the bellows' blast, + The foundry's womb now heat they fast, + And with a murderous mind prepare + To offer up the victim there. + + Then Robert to his comrade spake, + With false hypocrisy: + "Up, comrade, up! no tarrying make! + Our lord has need of thee." + The lord to Fridolin then said: + "The pathway toward the foundry tread, + And of the workmen there inquire, + If they have done their lord's desire." + + The other answered, "Be it so!" + But o'er him came this thought, + When he was all-prepared to go, + "Will she command me aught?" + So to the Countess straight he went: + "I'm to the iron-foundry sent; + Then say, can I do aught for thee? + For thou 'tis who commandest me." + + To this the Lady of Savern + Replied in gentle tone: + "To hear the holy mass I yearn, + For sick now lies my son; + So go, my child, and when thou'rt there, + Utter for me a humble prayer, + And of thy sins think ruefully, + That grace may also fall on me." + + And in this welcome duty glad, + He quickly left the place; + But ere the village bounds he had + Attained with rapid pace, + The sound of bells struck on his ear, + From the high belfry ringing clear, + And every sinner, mercy-sent, + Inviting to the sacrament. + + "Never from praising God refrain + Where'er by thee He's found!" + He spoke, and stepped into the fane, + But there he heard no sound; + For 'twas the harvest time, and now + Glowed in the fields the reaper's brow; + No choristers were gathered there, + The duties of the mass to share. + + The matter paused he not to weigh, + But took the sexton's part; + "That thing," he said, "makes no delay + Which heavenward guides the heart." + Upon the priest, with helping hand, + He placed the stole and sacred band, + The vessels he prepared beside, + That for the mass were sanctified. + + And when his duties here were o'er, + Holding the mass-book, he, + Ministering to the priest, before + The altar bowed his knee, + And knelt him left, and knelt him right, + While not a look escaped his sight, + And when the holy Sanctus came, + The bell thrice rang he at the name. + + And when the priest, bowed humbly too, + In hand uplifted high, + Facing the altar, showed to view + The present Deity, + The sacristan proclaimed it well, + Sounding the clearly-tinkling bell, + While all knelt down, and beat the breast, + And with a cross the Host confessed. + + The rites thus served he, leaving none, + With quick and ready wit; + Each thing that in God's house is done, + He also practised it. + Unweariedly he labored thus, + Till the Vobiscum Dominus, + When toward the people turned the priest, + Blessed them,--and so the service ceased. + + Then he disposed each thing again, + In fair and due array; + First purified the holy fane, + And then he went his way, + And gladly, with a mind at rest, + On to the iron-foundry pressed, + Saying the while, complete to be, + Twelve paternosters silently. + + And when he saw the furnace smoke, + And saw the workmen stand, + "Have ye, ye fellows," thus he spoke, + "Obeyed the Count's command?" + Grinning they ope the orifice, + And point into the fell abyss: + "He's cared for--all is at an end! + The Count his servants will commend." + + The answer to his lord he brought, + Returning hastily, + Who, when his form his notice caught, + Could scarcely trust his eye: + "Unhappy one! whence comest thou?"-- + "Back from the foundry"--"Strange, I vow! + Hast in thy journey, then, delayed?"-- + "'Twas only, lord, till I had prayed." + + "For when I from thy presence went + (Oh pardon me!) to-day, + As duty bid, my steps I bent + To her whom I obey. + She told me, lord, the mass to hear, + I gladly to her wish gave ear, + And told four rosaries at the shrine, + For her salvation and for thine." + + In wonder deep the Count now fell, + And, shuddering, thus spake he: + "And, at the foundry, quickly tell, + What answer gave they thee?" + "Obscure the words they answered in,-- + Showing the furnace with a grin: + 'He's cared for--all is at an end! + The Count his servants will commend.'" + + "And Robert?" interrupted he, + While deadly pale he stood,-- + "Did he not, then, fall in with thee? + I sent him to the wood."-- + "Lord, neither in the wood nor field + Was trace of Robert's foot revealed."-- + "Then," cried the Count, with awe-struck mien, + "Great God in heaven his judge hath been!" + + With kindness he before ne'er proved, + He led him by the hand + Up to the Countess,--deeply moved,-- + Who naught could understand. + "This child, let him be dear to thee, + No angel is so pure as he! + Though we may have been counselled ill, + God and His hosts watch o'er him still." + + + + + THE GENIUS WITH THE INVERTED TORCH. + +Lovely he looks, 'tis true, with the light of his torch now extinguished; +But remember that death is not aesthetic, my friends! + + + + + THE COUNT OF HAPSBURG. [38] + + A BALLAD. + + At Aix-la-Chapelle, in imperial array, + In its halls renowned in old story, + At the coronation banquet so gay + King Rudolf was sitting in glory. + The meats were served up by the Palsgrave of Rhine, + The Bohemian poured out the bright sparkling wine, + And all the Electors, the seven, + Stood waiting around the world-governing one, + As the chorus of stars encircle the sun, + That honor might duly be given. + + And the people the lofty balcony round + In a throng exulting were filling; + While loudly were blending the trumpets' glad sound, + The multitude's voices so thrilling; + For the monarchless period, with horror rife, + Has ended now, after long baneful strife, + And the earth had a lord to possess her. + No longer ruled blindly the iron-bound spear, + And the weak and the peaceful no longer need fear + Being crushed by the cruel oppressor. + + And the emperor speaks with a smile in his eye, + While the golden goblet he seizes: + "With this banquet in glory none other can vie, + And my regal heart well it pleases; + Yet the minstrel, the bringer of joy, is not here, + Whose melodious strains to my heart are so dear, + And whose words heavenly wisdom inspire; + Since the days of my youth it hath been my delight, + And that which I ever have loved as a knight, + As a monarch I also require." + + And behold! 'mongst the princes who stand round the throne + Steps the bard, in his robe long and streaming, + While, bleached by the years that have over him flown, + His silver locks brightly are gleaming; + "Sweet harmony sleeps in the golden strings, + The minstrel of true love reward ever sings, + And adores what to virtue has tended-- + What the bosom may wish, what the senses hold dear; + But say, what is worthy the emperor's ear + At this, of all feasts the most splendid?" + + "No restraint would I place on the minstrel's own choice," + Speaks the monarch, a smile on each feature; + "He obeys the swift hour's imperious voice, + Of a far greater lord is the creature. + For, as through the air the storm-wind on-speeds,-- + One knows not from whence its wild roaring proceeds-- + As the spring from hid sources up-leaping, + So the lay of the bard from the inner heart breaks + While the might of sensations unknown it awakes, + That within us were wondrously sleeping." + + Then the bard swept the cords with a finger of might, + Evoking their magical sighing: + "To the chase once rode forth a valorous knight, + In pursuit of the antelope flying. + His hunting-spear bearing, there came in his train + His squire; and when o'er a wide-spreading plain + On his stately steed he was riding, + He heard in the distance a bell tinkling clear, + And a priest, with the Host, he saw soon drawing near, + While before him the sexton was striding." + + "And low to the earth the Count then inclined, + Bared his head in humble submission, + To honor, with trusting and Christian-like mind, + What had saved the whole world from perdition. + But a brook o'er the plain was pursuing its course, + That swelled by the mountain stream's headlong force, + Barred the wanderer's steps with its current; + So the priest on one side the blest sacrament put, + And his sandal with nimbleness drew from his foot, + That he safely might pass through the torrent." + + "'What wouldst thou?' the Count to him thus began, + His wondering look toward him turning: + 'My journey is, lord, to a dying man, + Who for heavenly diet is yearning; + But when to the bridge o'er the brook I came nigh, + In the whirl of the stream, as it madly rushed by + With furious might 'twas uprooted. + And so, that the sick the salvation may find + That he pants for, I hasten with resolute mind + To wade through the waters barefooted.'" + + "Then the Count made him mount on his stately steed, + And the reins to his hands he confided, + That he duly might comfort the sick in his need, + And that each holy rite be provided. + And himself, on the back of the steed of his squire, + Went after the chase to his heart's full desire, + While the priest on his journey was speeding + And the following morning, with thankful look, + To the Count once again his charger he took, + Its bridle with modesty leading." + + "'God forbid that in chase or in battle,' then cried + The Count with humility lowly, + 'The steed I henceforward should dare to bestride + That had borne my Creator so holy! + And if, as a guerdon, he may not be thine, + He devoted shall be to the service divine, + Proclaiming His infinite merit, + From whom I each honor and earthly good + Have received in fee, and my body and blood, + And my breath, and my life, and my spirit.'" + + "'Then may God, the sure rock, whom no time can e'er move, + And who lists to the weak's supplication, + For the honor thou pay'st Him, permit thee to prove + Honor here, and hereafter salvation! + Thou'rt a powerful Count, and thy knightly command + Hath blazoned thy fame through the Switzer's broad land; + Thou art blest with six daughters admired; + May they each in thy house introduce a bright crown, + Filling ages unborn with their glorious renown'-- + Thus exclaimed he in accents inspired." + + And the emperor sat there all-thoughtfully, + While the dream of the past stood before him; + And when on the minstrel he turned his eye, + His words' hidden meaning stole o'er him; + For seeing the traits of the priest there revealed, + In the folds of his purple-dyed robe he concealed + His tears as they swiftly coursed down. + And all on the emperor wonderingly gazed, + And the blest dispensations of Providence praised, + For the Count and the Caesar were one. + + + + + THE FORUM OF WOMAN. + + Woman, never judge man by his individual actions; + But upon man as a whole, pass thy decisive decree. + + + + + THE GLOVE. + + A TALE. + + Before his lion-court, + Impatient for the sport, + King Francis sat one day; + The peers of his realm sat around, + And in balcony high from the ground + Sat the ladies in beauteous array. + + And when with his finger he beckoned, + The gate opened wide in a second,-- + And in, with deliberate tread, + Enters a lion dread, + And looks around + Yet utters no sound; + Then long he yawns + And shakes his mane, + And, stretching each limb, + Down lies he again. + + Again signs the king,-- + The next gate open flies, + And, lo! with a wild spring, + A tiger out hies. + When the lion he sees, loudly roars he about, + And a terrible circle his tail traces out. + Protruding his tongue, past the lion he walks, + And, snarling with rage, round him warily stalks: + Then, growling anew, + On one side lies down too. + + Again signs the king,-- + And two gates open fly, + And, lo! with one spring, + Two leopards out hie. + On the tiger they rush, for the fight nothing loth, + But he with his paws seizes hold of them both. + And the lion, with roaring, gets up,--then all's still; + The fierce beasts stalk around, madly thirsting to kill. + + From the balcony raised high above + A fair hand lets fall down a glove + Into the lists, where 'tis seen + The lion and tiger between. + + To the knight, Sir Delorges, in tone of jest, + Then speaks young Cunigund fair; + "Sir Knight, if the love that thou feel'st in thy breast + Is as warm as thou'rt wont at each moment to swear, + Pick up, I pray thee, the glove that lies there!" + + And the knight, in a moment, with dauntless tread, + Jumps into the lists, nor seeks to linger, + And, from out the midst of those monsters dread, + Picks up the glove with a daring finger. + + And the knights and ladies of high degree + With wonder and horror the action see, + While he quietly brings in his hand the glove, + The praise of his courage each mouth employs; + Meanwhile, with a tender look of love, + The promise to him of coming joys, + Fair Cunigund welcomes him back to his place. + But he threw the glove point-blank in her face: + "Lady, no thanks from thee I'll receive!" + And that selfsame hour he took his leave. + + + + + THE CIRCLE OF NATURE. + + All, thou gentle one, lies embraced in thy kingdom; the graybeard + Back to the days of his youth, childish and child-like, returns. + + + + + THE VEILED STATUE AT SAIS. + + A youth, impelled by a burning thirst for knowledge + To roam to Sais, in fair Egypt's land, + The priesthood's secret learning to explore, + Had passed through many a grade with eager haste, + And still was hurrying on with fond impatience. + Scarce could the Hierophant impose a rein + Upon his headlong efforts. "What avails + A part without the whole?" the youth exclaimed; + "Can there be here a lesser or a greater? + The truth thou speak'st of, like mere earthly dross, + Is't but a sum that can be held by man + In larger or in smaller quantity? + Surely 'tis changeless, indivisible; + Deprive a harmony of but one note, + Deprive the rainbow of one single color, + And all that will remain is naught, so long + As that one color, that one note, is wanting." + + While thus they converse held, they chanced to stand + Within the precincts of a lonely temple, + Where a veiled statue of gigantic size + The youth's attention caught. In wonderment + He turned him toward his guide, and asked him, saying, + "What form is that concealed beneath yon veil?" + "Truth!" was the answer. "What!" the young man cried, + "When I am striving after truth alone, + Seekest thou to hide that very truth from me?" + + "The Godhead's self alone can answer thee," + Replied the Hierophant. "'Let no rash mortal + Disturb this veil,' said he, 'till raised by me; + For he who dares with sacrilegious hand + To move the sacred mystic covering, + He'--said the Godhead--" "Well?"--"'will see the truth.'" + "Strangely oracular, indeed! And thou + Hast never ventured, then, to raise the veil?" + "I? Truly not! I never even felt + The least desire."--"Is't possible? If I + Were severed from the truth by nothing else + Than this thin gauze--" "And a divine decree," + His guide broke in. "Far heavier than thou thinkest + Is this thin gauze, my son. Light to thy hand + It may be--but most weighty to thy conscience." + + The youth now sought his home, absorbed in thought; + His burning wish to solve the mystery + Banished all sleep; upon his couch he lay, + Tossing his feverish limbs. When midnight came, + He rose, and toward the temple timidly, + Led by a mighty impulse, bent his way. + The walls he scaled, and soon one active spring + Landed the daring boy beneath the dome. + + Behold him now, in utter solitude, + Welcomed by naught save fearful, deathlike silence,-- + A silence which the echo of his steps + Alone disturbs, as through the vaults he paces. + Piercing an opening in the cupola, + The moon cast down her pale and silvery beams, + And, awful as a present deity, + Glittering amid the darkness of the pile, + In its long veil concealed, the statue stands. + + With hesitating step, he now draws near-- + His impious hand would fain remove the veil-- + Sudden a burning chill assails his bones + And then an unseen arm repulses him. + "Unhappy one, what wouldst thou do?" Thus cries + A faithful voice within his trembling breast. + "Wouldst thou profanely violate the All-Holy?" + "'Tis true the oracle declared, 'Let none + Venture to raise the veil till raised by me.' + But did the oracle itself not add, + That he who did so would behold the truth? + Whate'er is hid behind, I'll raise the veil." + And then he shouted: "Yes! I will behold it!" + "Behold it!" + Repeats in mocking tone the distant echo. + + He speaks, and, with the word, lifts up the veil. + Would you inquire what form there met his eye? + I know not,--but, when day appeared, the priests + Found him extended senseless, pale as death, + Before the pedestal of Isis' statue. + What had been seen and heard by him when there + He never would disclose, but from that hour + His happiness in life had fled forever, + And his deep sorrow soon conducted him + To an untimely grave. "Woe to that man," + He warning said to every questioner, + "Woe to that man who wins the truth by guilt, + For truth so gained will ne'er reward its owner." + + + + + THE DIVISION OF THE EARTH. + + "Take the world!" Zeus exclaimed from his throne in the skies + To the children of man--"take the world I now give; + It shall ever remain as your heirloom and prize, + So divide it as brothers, and happily live." + + Then all who had hands sought their share to obtain, + The young and the aged made haste to appear; + The husbandman seized on the fruits of the plain, + The youth through the forest pursued the fleet deer. + + The merchant took all that his warehouse could hold, + The abbot selected the last year's best wine, + The king barred the bridges,--the highways controlled, + And said, "Now remember, the tithes shall be mine!" + + But when the division long-settled had been, + The poet drew nigh from a far distant land; + But alas! not a remnant was now to be seen, + Each thing on the earth owned a master's command. + + "Alas! shall then I, of thy sons the most true,-- + Shall I, 'mongst them all, be forgotten alone?" + Thus loudly he cried in his anguish, and threw + Himself in despair before Jupiter's throne. + + "If thou in the region of dreams didst delay, + Complain not of me," the Immortal replied; + "When the world was apportioned, where then wert thou, pray?" + "I was," said the poet, "I was--by thy side!" + + "Mine eye was then fixed on thy features so bright, + Mine ear was entranced by thy harmony's power; + Oh, pardon the spirit that, awed by thy light, + All things of the earth could forget in that hour!" + + "What to do?" Zeus exclaimed,--"for the world has been given; + The harvest, the market, the chase, are not free; + But if thou with me wilt abide in my heaven, + Whenever thou comest, 'twill be open to thee!" + + + + + + THE FAIREST APPARITION. + + If thou never hast gazed upon beauty in moments of sorrow, + Thou canst with truth never boast that thou true beauty hast seen. + If thou never hast gazed upon gladness in beauteous features, + Thou canst with truth never boast that thou true gladness hast seen. + + + + + THE IDEAL AND THE ACTUAL LIFE. + + Forever fair, forever calm and bright, + Life flies on plumage, zephyr-light, + For those who on the Olympian hill rejoice-- + Moons wane, and races wither to the tomb, + And 'mid the universal ruin, bloom + The rosy days of Gods--With man, the choice, + Timid and anxious, hesitates between + The sense's pleasure and the soul's content; + While on celestial brows, aloft and sheen, + The beams of both are blent. + + Seekest thou on earth the life of gods to share, + Safe in the realm of death?--beware + To pluck the fruits that glitter to thine eye; + Content thyself with gazing on their glow-- + Short are the joys possession can bestow, + And in possession sweet desire will die. + 'Twas not the ninefold chain of waves that bound + Thy daughter, Ceres, to the Stygian river-- + She plucked the fruit of the unholy ground, + And so--was hell's forever! + The weavers of the web--the fates--but sway + The matter and the things of clay; + Safe from change that time to matter gives, + Nature's blest playmate, free at will to stray + With gods a god, amidst the fields of day, + The form, the archetype [39], serenely lives. + Would'st thou soar heavenward on its joyous wing? + Cast from thee, earth, the bitter and the real, + High from this cramped and dungeon being, spring + Into the realm of the ideal! + + Here, bathed, perfection, in thy purest ray, + Free from the clogs and taints of clay, + Hovers divine the archetypal man! + Dim as those phantom ghosts of life that gleam + And wander voiceless by the Stygian stream,-- + Fair as it stands in fields Elysian, + Ere down to flesh the immortal doth descend:-- + If doubtful ever in the actual life + Each contest--here a victory crowns the end + Of every nobler strife. + + Not from the strife itself to set thee free, + But more to nerve--doth victory + Wave her rich garland from the ideal clime. + Whate'er thy wish, the earth has no repose-- + Life still must drag thee onward as it flows, + Whirling thee down the dancing surge of time. + But when the courage sinks beneath the dull + Sense of its narrow limits--on the soul, + Bright from the hill-tops of the beautiful, + Bursts the attained goal! + + If worth thy while the glory and the strife + Which fire the lists of actual life-- + The ardent rush to fortune or to fame, + In the hot field where strength and valor are, + And rolls the whirling thunder of the car, + And the world, breathless, eyes the glorious game-- + Then dare and strive--the prize can but belong + To him whose valor o'er his tribe prevails; + In life the victory only crowns the strong-- + He who is feeble fails. + + But life, whose source, by crags around it piled, + Chafed while confined, foams fierce and wild, + Glides soft and smooth when once its streams expand, + When its waves, glassing in their silver play, + Aurora blent with Hesper's milder ray, + Gain the still beautiful--that shadow-land! + Here, contest grows but interchange of love, + All curb is but the bondage of the grace; + Gone is each foe,--peace folds her wings above + Her native dwelling-place. + + When, through dead stone to breathe a soul of light, + With the dull matter to unite + The kindling genius, some great sculptor glows; + Behold him straining, every nerve intent-- + Behold how, o'er the subject element, + The stately thought its march laborious goes! + For never, save to toil untiring, spoke + The unwilling truth from her mysterious well-- + The statue only to the chisel's stroke + Wakes from its marble cell. + + But onward to the sphere of beauty--go + Onward, O child of art! and, lo! + Out of the matter which thy pains control + The statue springs!--not as with labor wrung + From the hard block, but as from nothing sprung-- + Airy and light--the offspring of the soul! + The pangs, the cares, the weary toils it cost + Leave not a trace when once the work is done-- + The Artist's human frailty merged and lost + In art's great victory won! [40] + + If human sin confronts the rigid law + Of perfect truth and virtue [41], awe + Seizes and saddens thee to see how far + Beyond thy reach, perfection;--if we test + By the ideal of the good, the best, + How mean our efforts and our actions are! + This space between the ideal of man's soul + And man's achievement, who hath ever past? + An ocean spreads between us and that goal, + Where anchor ne'er was cast! + + But fly the boundary of the senses--live + The ideal life free thought can give; + And, lo, the gulf shall vanish, and the chill + Of the soul's impotent despair be gone! + And with divinity thou sharest the throne, + Let but divinity become thy will! + Scorn not the law--permit its iron band + The sense (it cannot chain the soul) to thrall. + Let man no more the will of Jove withstand [42], + And Jove the bolt lets fall! + + If, in the woes of actual human life-- + If thou could'st see the serpent strife + Which the Greek art has made divine in stone-- + Could'st see the writhing limbs, the livid cheek, + Note every pang, and hearken every shriek, + Of some despairing lost Laocoon, + The human nature would thyself subdue + To share the human woe before thine eye-- + Thy cheek would pale, and all thy soul be true + To man's great sympathy. + + But in the ideal realm, aloof and far, + Where the calm art's pure dwellers are, + Lo, the Laocoon writhes, but does not groan. + Here, no sharp grief the high emotion knows-- + Here, suffering's self is made divine, and shows + The brave resolve of the firm soul alone: + Here, lovely as the rainbow on the dew + Of the spent thunder-cloud, to art is given, + Gleaming through grief's dark veil, the peaceful blue + Of the sweet moral heaven. + + So, in the glorious parable, behold + How, bowed to mortal bonds, of old + Life's dreary path divine Alcides trod: + The hydra and the lion were his prey, + And to restore the friend he loved to-day, + He went undaunted to the black-browed god; + And all the torments and the labors sore + Wroth Juno sent--the meek majestic one, + With patient spirit and unquailing, bore, + Until the course was run-- + + Until the god cast down his garb of clay, + And rent in hallowing flame away + The mortal part from the divine--to soar + To the empyreal air! Behold him spring + Blithe in the pride of the unwonted wing, + And the dull matter that confined before + Sinks downward, downward, downward as a dream! + Olympian hymns receive the escaping soul, + And smiling Hebe, from the ambrosial stream, + Fills for a god the bowl! + + + + + GERMANY AND HER PRINCES. + + Thou hast produced mighty monarchs, of whom thou art not unworthy, + For the obedient alone make him who governs them great. + But, O Germany, try if thou for thy rulers canst make it + Harder as kings to be great,--easier, though, to be men! + + + + + DANGEROUS CONSEQUENCES. + + Deeper and bolder truths be careful, my friends, of avowing; + For as soon as ye do all the world on ye will fall. + + + + + THE MAIDEN FROM AFAR. + + (OR FROM ABROAD.) + + Within a vale, each infant year, + When earliest larks first carol free, + To humble shepherds cloth appear + A wondrous maiden, fair to see. + Not born within that lowly place-- + From whence she wandered, none could tell; + Her parting footsteps left no trace, + When once the maiden sighed farewell. + + And blessed was her presence there-- + Each heart, expanding, grew more gay; + Yet something loftier still than fair + Kept man's familiar looks away. + From fairy gardens, known to none, + She brought mysterious fruits and flowers-- + The things of some serener sun-- + Some Nature more benign than ours. + + With each her gifts the maiden shared-- + To some the fruits, the flowers to some; + Alike the young, the aged fared; + Each bore a blessing back to home. + Though every guest was welcome there, + Yet some the maiden held more dear, + And culled her rarest sweets whene'er + She saw two hearts that loved draw near. [43] + + + + + THE HONORABLE. + + Ever honor the whole; individuals only I honor; + In individuals I always discover the whole. + + + + + PARABLES AND RIDDLES. + + I. + + A bridge of pearls its form uprears + High o'er a gray and misty sea; + E'en in a moment it appears, + And rises upwards giddily. + + Beneath its arch can find a road + The loftiest vessel's mast most high, + Itself hath never borne a load, + And seems, when thou draw'st near, to fly. + + It comes first with the stream, and goes + Soon as the watery flood is dried. + Where may be found this bridge, disclose, + And who its beauteous form supplied! + + II. + + It bears thee many a mile away, + And yet its place it changes ne'er; + It has no pinions to display, + And yet conducts thee through the air. + + It is the bark of swiftest motion + That every weary wanderer bore; + With speed of thought the greatest ocean + It carries thee in safety o'er; + One moment wafts thee to the shore. + + III. + + Upon a spacious meadow play + Thousands of sheep, of silvery hue; + And as we see them move to-day, + The man most aged saw them too. + + They ne'er grow old, and, from a rill + That never dries, their life is drawn; + A shepherd watches o'er them still, + With curved and beauteous silver horn. + + He drives them out through gates of gold, + And every night their number counts; + Yet ne'er has lost, of all his fold, + One lamb, though oft that path he mounts. + + A hound attends him faithfully, + A nimble ram precedes the way; + Canst thou point out that flock to me, + And who the shepherd, canst thou say? + + IV. + + There stands a dwelling, vast and tall, + On unseen columns fair; + No wanderer treads or leaves its hall, + And none can linger there. + + Its wondrous structure first was planned + With art no mortal knows; + It lights the lamps with its own hand + 'Mongst which it brightly glows. + + It has a roof, as crystal bright, + Formed of one gem of dazzling light; + Yet mortal eye has ne'er + Seen Him who placed it there. + + V. + + Within a well two buckets lie, + One mounts, and one descends; + When one is full, and rises high, + The other downward wends. + + They wander ever to and fro-- + Now empty are, now overflow. + If to the mouth thou liftest this, + That hangs within the dark abyss. + In the same moment they can ne'er + Refresh thee with their treasures fair. + + VI. + + Know'st thou the form on tender ground? + It gives itself its glow, its light; + And though each moment changing found. + Is ever whole and ever bright. + In narrow compass 'tis confined, + Within the smallest frame it lies; + Yet all things great that move thy mind, + That form alone to thee supplies. + + And canst thou, too, the crystal name? + No gem can equal it in worth; + It gleams, yet kindles near to flame, + It sucks in even all the earth. + Within its bright and wondrous ring + Is pictured forth the glow of heaven, + And yet it mirrors back each thing + Far fairer than to it 'twas given. + + VII. + + For ages an edifice here has been found, + It is not a dwelling, it is not a Pane; + A horseman for hundreds of days may ride round, + Yet the end of his journey he ne'er can attain. + + Full many a century o'er it has passed, + The might of the storm and of time it defies! + Neath the rainbow of Heaven stands free to the last,-- + In the ocean it dips, and soars up to the skies. + + It was not vain glory that bade its erection, + It serves as a refuge, a shield, a protection; + Its like on the earth never yet has been known + And yet by man's hand it is fashioned alone. + + VIII. + + Among all serpents there is one, + Born of no earthly breed; + In fury wild it stands alone, + And in its matchless speed. + + With fearful voice and headlong force + It rushes on its prey, + And sweeps the rider and his horse + In one fell swoop away. + + The highest point it loves to gain; + And neither bar nor lock + Its fiery onslaught can restrain; + And arms--invite its shock. + + It tears in twain like tender grass, + The strongest forest-trees; + It grinds to dust the hardened brass, + Though stout and firm it be. + + And yet this beast, that none can tame, + Its threat ne'er twice fulfils; + It dies in its self-kindled flame. + And dies e'en when it kills. + + IX. + + We children six our being had + From a most strange and wondrous pair,-- + Our mother ever grave and sad, + Our father ever free from care. + + Our virtues we from both receive,-- + Meekness from her, from him our light; + And so in endless youth we weave + Round thee a circling figure bright. + + We ever shun the caverns black, + And revel in the glowing day; + 'Tis we who light the world's dark track, + With our life's clear and magic ray. + + Spring's joyful harbingers are we, + And her inspiring streams we swell; + And so the house of death we flee, + For life alone must round us dwell. + + Without us is no perfect bliss, + When man is glad, we, too, attend, + And when a monarch worshipped is, + To him our majesty attend. + + X. + + What is the thing esteemed by few? + The monarch's hand it decks with pride, + Yet it is made to injure too, + And to the sword is most allied. + + No blood it sheds, yet many a wound + Inflicts,--gives wealth, yet takes from none; + Has vanquished e'en the earth's wide round, + And makes life's current smoothly run. + + The greatest kingdoms it has framed, + The oldest cities reared from dust, + Yet war's fierce torch has ne'er inflamed; + Happy are they who in it trust! + + XI. + + I live within a dwelling of stone, + There buried in slumber I dally; + Yet, armed with a weapon of iron alone, + The foe to encounter I sally. + At first I'm invisible, feeble, and mean, + And o'er me thy breath has dominion; + I'm easily drowned in a raindrop e'en, + Yet in victory waxes my pinion. + When my sister, all-powerful, gives me her hand, + To the terrible lord of the world I expand. + + XII. + + Upon a disk my course I trace, + There restlessly forever flit; + Small is the circuit I embrace, + Two hands suffice to cover it. + Yet ere that field I traverse, I + Full many a thousand mile must go, + E'en though with tempest-speed I fly, + Swifter than arrow from a bow. + + XIII. + + A bird it is, whose rapid motion + With eagle's flight divides the air; + A fish it is, and parts the ocean, + That bore a greater monster ne'er; + An elephant it is, whose rider + On his broad back a tower has put: + 'Tis like the reptile base, the spider, + Whenever it extends its foot; + And when, with iron tooth projecting, + It seeks its own life-blood to drain, + On footing firm, itself erecting, + It braves the raging hurricane. + + + + + THE VIRTUE OF WOMAN. + + Man of virtue has need;-into life with boldness he plunges, + Entering with fortune more sure into the hazardous strife; + But to woman one virtue suffices; it is ever shining + Lovingly forth to the heart; so let it shine to the eye! + + + + + THE WALK. + + Hail to thee, mountain beloved, with thy glittering purple-dyed summit! + Hail to thee also, fair sun, looking so lovingly on! + Thee, too, I hail, thou smiling plain, and ye murmuring lindens, + Ay, and the chorus so glad, cradled on yonder high boughs; + Thee, too, peaceably azure, in infinite measure extending + Round the dusky-hued mount, over the forest so green,-- + Round about me, who now from my chamber's confinement escaping, + And from vain frivolous talk, gladly seek refuge with thee. + Through me to quicken me runs the balsamic stream of thy breezes, + While the energetical light freshens the gaze as it thirsts. + Bright o'er the blooming meadow the changeable colors are gleaming, + But the strife, full of charms, in its own grace melts away + Freely the plain receives me,--with carpet far away reaching, + Over its friendly green wanders the pathway along. + Round me is humming the busy bee, and with pinion uncertain + Hovers the butterfly gay over the trefoil's red flower. + Fiercely the darts of the sun fall on me,--the zephyr is silent, + Only the song of the lark echoes athwart the clear air. + Now from the neighboring copse comes a roar, and the tops of the alders + Bend low down,--in the wind dances the silvery grass; + Night ambrosial circles me round; in the coolness so fragrant + Greets me a beauteous roof, formed by the beeches' sweet shade. + In the depths of the wood the landscape suddenly leaves me + And a serpentine path guides up my footsteps on high. + Only by stealth can the light through the leafy trellis of branches + Sparingly pierce, and the blue smilingly peeps through the boughs, + But in a moment the veil is rent, and the opening forest + Suddenly gives back the day's glittering brightness to me! + Boundlessly seems the distance before my gaze to be stretching, + And in a purple-tinged hill terminates sweetly the world. + + Deep at the foot of the mountain, that under me falls away steeply, + Wanders the greenish-hued stream, looking like glass as it flows. + Endlessly under me see I the ether, and endlessly o'er + Giddily look I above, shudderingly look I below, + But between the infinite height and the infinite hollow + Safely the wanderer moves over a well-guarded path. + Smilingly past me are flying the banks all teeming with riches, + And the valley so bright boasts of its industry glad. + See how yonder hedgerows that sever the farmer's possessions + Have by Demeter been worked into the tapestried plain! + Kindly decree of the law, of the Deity mortal-sustaining, + Since from the brazen world love vanished forever away. + But in freer windings the measured pastures are traversed + (Now swallowed up in the wood, now climbing up to the hills) + By a glimmering streak, the highway that knits lands together; + Over the smooth-flowing stream, quietly glide on the rafts. + + Ofttimes resound the bells of the flocks in the fields that seem living, + And the shepherd's lone song wakens the echo again. + Joyous villages crown the stream, in the copse others vanish, + While from the back of the mount, others plunge wildly below. + Man still lives with the land in neighborly friendship united, + And round his sheltering roof calmly repose still his fields; + Trustingly climbs the vine high over the low-reaching window, + While round the cottage the tree circles its far-stretching boughs. + Happy race of the plain! Not yet awakened to freedom, + Thou and thy pastures with joy share in the limited law; + Bounded thy wishes all are by the harvest's peaceable circuit, + And thy lifetime is spent e'en as the task of the day! + + But what suddenly hides the beauteous view? A strange spirit + Over the still-stranger plain spreads itself quickly afar-- + Coyly separates now, what scarce had lovingly mingled, + And 'tis the like that alone joins itself on to the like. + Orders I see depicted; the haughty tribes of the poplars + Marshalled in regular pomp, stately and beauteous appear. + All gives token of rule and choice, and all has its meaning,-- + 'Tis this uniform plan points out the Ruler to me. + Brightly the glittering domes in far-away distance proclaim him. + Out of the kernel of rocks rises the city's high wall. + Into the desert without, the fauns of the forest are driven, + But by devotion is lent life more sublime to the stone. + Man is brought into nearer union with man, and around him + Closer, more actively wakes, swifter moves in him the world. + See! the emulous forces in fiery conflict are kindled, + Much, they effect when they strive, more they effect when they join. + Thousands of hands by one spirit are moved, yet in thousands of bosoms + Beats one heart all alone, by but one feeling inspired-- + Beats for their native land, and glows for their ancestors' precepts; + Here on the well-beloved spot, rest now time-honored bones. + + Down from the heavens descends the blessed troop of immortals, + In the bright circle divine making their festal abode; + Granting glorious gifts, they appear: and first of all, Ceres + Offers the gift of the plough, Hermes the anchor brings next, + Bacchus the grape, and Minerva the verdant olive-tree's branches, + Even his charger of war brings there Poseidon as well. + Mother Cybele yokes to the pole of her chariot the lions, + And through the wide-open door comes as a citizen in. + Sacred stones! 'Tis from ye that proceed humanity's founders, + Morals and arts ye sent forth, e'en to the ocean's far isles. + 'Twas at these friendly gates that the law was spoken by sages; + In their Penates' defence, heroes rushed out to the fray. + On the high walls appeared the mothers, embracing their infants, + Looking after the march, till the distance 'twas lost. + Then in prayer they threw themselves down at the deities' altars, + Praying for triumph and fame, praying for your safe return. + Honor and triumph were yours, but naught returned save your glory, + And by a heart-touching stone, told are your valorous deeds. + "Traveller! when thou com'st to Sparta, proclaim to the people + That thou hast seen us lie here, as by the law we were bid." + Slumber calmly, ye loved ones! for sprinkled o'er by your life-blood, + Flourish the olive-trees there, joyously sprouts the good seed. + In its possessions exulting, industry gladly is kindled. + And from the sedge of the stream smilingly signs the blue god. + Crushingly falls the axe on the tree, the Dryad sighs sadly; + Down from the crest of the mount plunges the thundering load. + Winged by the lever, the stone from the rocky crevice is loosened; + Into the mountain's abyss boldly the miner descends. + Mulciber's anvil resounds with the measured stroke of the hammer; + Under the fist's nervous blow, spurt out the sparks of the steel. + Brilliantly twines the golden flax round the swift-whirling spindles, + Through the strings of the yarn whizzes the shuttle away. + + Far in the roads the pilot calls, and the vessels are waiting, + That to the foreigner's land carry the produce of home; + Others gladly approach with the treasures of far-distant regions, + High on the mast's lofty head flutters the garland of mirth. + See how yon markets, those centres of life and of gladness, are swarming! + Strange confusion of tongues sounds in the wondering ear. + On to the pile the wealth of the earth is heaped by the merchant, + All that the sun's scorching rays bring forth on Africa's soil, + All that Arabia prepares, that the uttermost Thule produces, + High with heart-gladdening stores fills Amalthea her horn. + Fortune wedded to talent gives birth there to children immortal, + Suckled in liberty's arms, flourish the arts there of joy. + With the image of life the eyes by the sculptor are ravished, + And by the chisel inspired, speaks e'en the sensitive stone. + Skies artificial repose on slender Ionian columns, + And a Pantheon includes all that Olympus contains. + Light as the rainbow's spring through the air, as the dart from + the bowstring, + Leaps the yoke of the bridge over the boisterous stream. + + But in his silent chamber the thoughtful sage is projecting + Magical circles, and steals e'en on the spirit that forms, + Proves the force of matter, the hatreds and loves of the magnet, + Follows the tune through the air, follows through ether the ray, + Seeks the familiar law in chance's miracles dreaded, + Looks for the ne'er-changing pole in the phenomena's flight. + Bodies and voices are lent by writing to thought ever silent, + Over the centuries' stream bears it the eloquent page. + Then to the wondering gaze dissolves the cloud of the fancy, + And the vain phantoms of night yield to the dawning of day. + Man now breaks through his fetters, the happy one! Oh, let him never + Break from the bridle of shame, when from fear's fetters he breaks + Freedom! is reason's cry,--ay, freedom! The wild raging passions + Eagerly cast off the bonds Nature divine had imposed. + + Ah! in the tempest the anchors break loose, that warningly held him + On to the shore, and the stream tears him along in its flood,-- + Into infinity whirls him,--the coasts soon vanish before him, + High on the mountainous waves rocks all-dismasted the bark; + Under the clouds are hid the steadfast stars of the chariot, + Naught now remains,--in the breast even the god goes astray. + Truth disappears from language, from life all faith and all honor + Vanish, and even the oath is but a lie on the lips. + Into the heart's most trusty bond, and into love's secrets, + Presses the sycophant base, tearing the friend from the friend. + Treason on innocence leers, with looks that seek to devour, + And the fell slanderer's tooth kills with its poisonous bite. + In the dishonored bosom, thought is now venal, and love, too, + Scatters abroad to the winds, feelings once god-like and free. + All thy holy symbols, O truth, deceit has adopted, + And has e'en dared to pollute Nature's own voices so fair, + That the craving heart in the tumult of gladness discovers; + True sensations are now mute and can scarcely be heard. + Justice boasts at the tribune, and harmony vaunts in the cottage, + While the ghost of the law stands at the throne of the king. + Years together, ay, centuries long, may the mummy continue, + And the deception endure, apeing the fulness of life. + Until Nature awakes, and with hands all-brazen and heavy + 'Gainst the hollow-formed pile time and necessity strikes. + Like a tigress, who, bursting the massive grating iron, + Of her Numidian wood suddenly, fearfully thinks,-- + So with the fury of crime and anguish, humanity rises + Hoping nature, long-lost in the town's ashes, to find. + Oh then open, ye walls, and set the captive at freedom + To the long desolate plains let him in safety return! + + But where am I? The path is now hid, declivities rugged + Bar, with their wide-yawning gulfs, progress before and behind. + Now far behind me is left the gardens' and hedges' sure escort, + Every trace of man's hand also remains far behind. + Only the matter I see piled up, whence life has its issue, + And the raw mass of basalt waits for a fashioning hand. + Down through its channel of rock the torrent roaringly rushes, + Angrily forcing a path under the roots of the trees. + All is here wild and fearfully desolate. Naught but the eagle + Hangs in the lone realms of air, knitting the world to the clouds. + Not one zephyr on soaring pinion conveys to my hearing + Echoes, however remote, marking man's pleasures and pains. + Am I in truth, then, alone? Within thine arms, on thy bosom, + Nature, I lie once again!--Ah, and 'twas only a dream + That assailed me with horrors so fearful; with life's dreaded phantom, + And with the down-rushing vale, vanished the gloomy one too. + Purer my life I receive again from thine altar unsullied,-- + Purer receive the bright glow felt by my youth's hopeful days. + Ever the will is changing its aim and its rule, while forever, + In a still varying form, actions revolve round themselves. + But in enduring youth, in beauty ever renewing. + Kindly Nature, with grace thou dost revere the old law! + Ever the same, for the man in thy faithful hands thou preservest + That which the child in its sport, that which the youth lent to thee; + At the same breast thou dost suckle the ceaselessly-varying ages; + Under the same azure vault, over the same verdant earth, + Races, near and remote, in harmony wander together, + See, even Homer's own sun looks on us, too, with a smile! + + + + + THE LAY OF THE BELL. + + + "Vivos voco--Mortuos plango--Fulgura frango." [44] + + Fast, in its prison-walls of earth, + Awaits the mould of baked clay. + Up, comrades, up, and aid the birth + The bell that shall be born to-day! + Who would honor obtain, + With the sweat and the pain, + The praise that man gives to the master must buy.-- + But the blessing withal must descend from on high! + + And well an earnest word beseems + The work the earnest hand prepares; + Its load more light the labor deems, + When sweet discourse the labor shares. + So let us ponder--nor in vain-- + What strength can work when labor wills; + For who would not the fool disdain + Who ne'er designs what he fulfils? + And well it stamps our human race, + And hence the gift to understand, + That man within the heart should trace + Whate'er he fashions with the hand. + + From the fir the fagot take, + Keep it, heap it hard and dry, + That the gathered flame may break + Through the furnace, wroth and high. + When the copper within + Seeths and simmers--the tin, + Pour quick, that the fluid that feeds the bell + May flow in the right course glib and well. + + Deep hid within this nether cell, + What force with fire is moulding thus, + In yonder airy tower shall dwell, + And witness wide and far of us! + It shall, in later days, unfailing, + Rouse many an ear to rapt emotion; + Its solemn voice with sorrow wailing, + Or choral chiming to devotion. + Whatever fate to man may bring, + Whatever weal or woe befall, + That metal tongue shall backward ring, + The warning moral drawn from all. + + See the silvery bubbles spring! + Good! the mass is melting now! + Let the salts we duly bring + Purge the flood, and speed the flow. + From the dross and the scum, + Pure, the fusion must come; + For perfect and pure we the metal must keep, + That its voice may be perfect, and pure, and deep. + + That voice, with merry music rife, + The cherished child shall welcome in; + What time the rosy dreams of life, + In the first slumber's arms begin. + As yet, in Time's dark womb unwarning, + Repose the days, or foul or fair; + And watchful o'er that golden morning, + The mother-love's untiring care! + And swift the years like arrows fly + No more with girls content to play, + Bounds the proud boy upon his way, + Storms through loud life's tumultuous pleasures, + With pilgrim staff the wide world measures; + And, wearied with the wish to roam, + Again seeks, stranger-like, the father-home. + And, lo, as some sweet vision breaks + Out from its native morning skies + With rosy shame on downcast cheeks, + The virgin stands before his eyes. + + A nameless longing seizes him! + From all his wild compassions flown; + Tears, strange till then, his eyes bedim; + He wanders all alone. + Blushing, he glides where'er she move; + Her greeting can transport him; + To every mead to deck his love, + The happy wild flowers court him! + Sweet hope--and tender longing--ye + The growth of life's first age of gold; + When the heart, swelling, seems to see + The gates of heaven unfold! + O love, the beautiful and brief! O prime, + Glory, and verdure, of life's summer time! + + Browning o'er, the pipes are simmering, + Dip this wand of clay [45] within; + If like glass the wand be glimmering, + Then the casting may begin. + Brisk, brisk now, and see + If the fusion flow free; + If--(happy and welcome indeed were the sign!) + If the hard and the ductile united combine. + For still where the strong is betrothed to the weak, + And the stern in sweet marriage is blent with the meek, + Rings the concord harmonious, both tender and strong + So be it with thee, if forever united, + The heart to the heart flows in one, love-delighted; + Illusion is brief, but repentance is long. + + Lovely, thither are they bringing. + With the virgin wreath, the bride! + To the love-feast clearly ringing, + Tolls the church-bell far and wide! + With that sweetest holiday, + Must the May of life depart; + With the cestus loosed--away + Flies illusion from the heart! + Yet love lingers lonely, + When passion is mute, + And the blossoms may only + Give way to the fruit. + The husband must enter + The hostile life, + With struggle and strife + To plant or to watch. + To snare or to snatch, + To pray and importune, + Must wager and venture + And hunt down his fortune! + Then flows in a current the gear and the gain, + And the garners are filled with the gold of the grain, + Now a yard to the court, now a wing to the centre! + Within sits another, + The thrifty housewife; + The mild one, the mother-- + Her home is her life. + In its circle she rules, + And the daughters she schools + And she cautions the boys, + With a bustling command, + And a diligent hand + Employed she employs; + Gives order to store, + And the much makes the more; + Locks the chest and the wardrobe, with lavender smelling, + And the hum of the spindle goes quick through the dwelling; + And she hoards in the presses, well polished and full, + The snow of the linen, the shine of the wool; + Blends the sweet with the good, and from care and endeavor + Rests never! + Blithe the master (where the while + From his roof he sees them smile) + Eyes the lands, and counts the gain; + There, the beams projecting far, + And the laden storehouse are, + And the granaries bowed beneath + The blessed golden grain; + There, in undulating motion, + Wave the cornfields like an ocean. + Proud the boast the proud lips breathe:-- + "My house is built upon a rock, + And sees unmoved the stormy shock + Of waves that fret below!" + What chain so strong, what girth so great, + To bind the giant form of fate?-- + Swift are the steps of woe. + + Now the casting may begin; + See the breach indented there: + Ere we run the fusion in, + Halt--and speed the pious prayer! + Pull the bung out-- + See around and about + What vapor, what vapor--God help us!--has risen?-- + Ha! the flame like a torrent leaps forth from its prison! + What friend is like the might of fire + When man can watch and wield the ire? + Whate'er we shape or work, we owe + Still to that heaven-descended glow. + But dread the heaven-descended glow, + When from their chain its wild wings go, + When, where it listeth, wide and wild + Sweeps free Nature's free-born child. + When the frantic one fleets, + While no force can withstand, + Through the populous streets + Whirling ghastly the brand; + For the element hates + What man's labor creates, + And the work of his hand! + Impartially out from the cloud, + Or the curse or the blessing may fall! + Benignantly out from the cloud + Come the dews, the revivers of all! + Avengingly out from the cloud + Come the levin, the bolt, and the ball! + Hark--a wail from the steeple!--aloud + The bell shrills its voice to the crowd! + Look--look--red as blood + All on high! + It is not the daylight that fills with its flood + The sky! + What a clamor awaking + Roars up through the street, + What a hell-vapor breaking. + Rolls on through the street, + And higher and higher + Aloft moves the column of fire! + Through the vistas and rows + Like a whirlwind it goes, + And the air like the stream from the furnace glows. + Beams are crackling--posts are shrinking + Walls are sinking--windows clinking-- + Children crying-- + Mothers flying-- + And the beast (the black ruin yet smouldering under) + Yells the howl of its pain and its ghastly wonder! + Hurry and skurry--away--away, + The face of the night is as clear as day! + As the links in a chain, + Again and again + Flies the bucket from hand to hand; + High in arches up-rushing + The engines are gushing, + And the flood, as a beast on the prey that it hounds + With a roar on the breast of the element bounds. + To the grain and the fruits, + Through the rafters and beams, + Through the barns and garners it crackles and streams! + As if they would rend up the earth from its roots, + Rush the flames to the sky + Giant-high; + And at length, + Wearied out and despairing, man bows to their strength! + With an idle gaze sees their wrath consume, + And submits to his doom! + Desolate + The place, and dread + For storms the barren bed. + In the blank voids that cheerful casements were, + Comes to and fro the melancholy air, + And sits despair; + And through the ruin, blackening in its shroud + Peers, as it flits, the melancholy cloud. + + One human glance of grief upon the grave + Of all that fortune gave + The loiterer takes--then turns him to depart, + And grasps the wanderer's staff and mans his heart + Whatever else the element bereaves + One blessing more than all it reft--it leaves, + The faces that he loves!--He counts them o'er, + See--not one look is missing from that store! + + Now clasped the bell within the clay-- + The mould the mingled metals fill-- + Oh, may it, sparkling into day, + Reward the labor and the skill! + Alas! should it fail, + For the mould may be frail-- + And still with our hope must be mingled the fear-- + And, ev'n now, while we speak, the mishap may be near! + To the dark womb of sacred earth + This labor of our hands is given, + As seeds that wait the second birth, + And turn to blessings watched by heaven! + Ah, seeds, how dearer far than they, + We bury in the dismal tomb, + Where. hope and sorrow bend to pray + That suns beyond the realm of day + May warm them into bloom! + + From the steeple + Tolls the bell, + Deep and heavy, + The death-knell! + Guiding with dirge-note--solemn, sad, and slow, + To the last home earth's weary wanderers know. + It is that worshipped wife-- + It is that faithful mother! [46] + Whom the dark prince of shadows leads benighted, + From that dear arm where oft she hung delighted + Far from those blithe companions, born + Of her, and blooming in their morn; + On whom, when couched her heart above, + So often looked the mother-love! + + Ah! rent the sweet home's union-band, + And never, never more to come-- + She dwells within the shadowy land, + Who was the mother of that home! + How oft they miss that tender guide, + The care--the watch--the face--the mother-- + And where she sate the babes beside, + Sits with unloving looks--another! + + While the mass is cooling now, + Let the labor yield to leisure, + As the bird upon the bough, + Loose the travail to the pleasure. + When the soft stars awaken, + Each task be forsaken! + And the vesper-bell lulling the earth into peace, + If the master still toil, chimes the workman's release! + + Homeward from the tasks of day, + Through the greenwood's welcome way + Wends the wanderer, blithe and cheerly, + To the cottage loved so dearly! + And the eye and ear are meeting, + Now, the slow sheep homeward bleating-- + Now, the wonted shelter near, + Lowing the lusty-fronted steer; + Creaking now the heavy wain, + Reels with the happy harvest grain. + While with many-colored leaves, + Glitters the garland on the sheaves; + For the mower's work is done, + And the young folks' dance begun! + Desert street, and quiet mart;-- + Silence is in the city's heart; + And the social taper lighteth; + Each dear face that home uniteth; + While the gate the town before + Heavily swings with sullen roar! + + Though darkness is spreading + O'er earth--the upright + And the honest, undreading, + Look safe on the night-- + Which the evil man watches in awe, + For the eye of the night is the law! + Bliss-dowered! O daughter of the skies, + Hail, holy order, whose employ + Blends like to like in light and joy-- + Builder of cities, who of old + Called the wild man from waste and wold. + And, in his hut thy presence stealing, + Roused each familiar household feeling; + And, best of all the happy ties, + The centre of the social band,-- + The instinct of the Fatherland! + + United thus--each helping each, + Brisk work the countless hands forever; + For naught its power to strength can teach, + Like emulation and endeavor! + Thus linked the master with the man, + Each in his rights can each revere, + And while they march in freedom's van, + Scorn the lewd rout that dogs the rear! + To freemen labor is renown! + Who works--gives blessings and commands; + Kings glory in the orb and crown-- + Be ours the glory of our hands. + + Long in these walls--long may we greet + Your footfalls, peace and concord sweet! + Distant the day, oh! distant far, + When the rude hordes of trampling war + Shall scare the silent vale; + And where, + Now the sweet heaven, when day doth leave + The air, + Limns its soft rose-hues on the veil of eve; + Shall the fierce war-brand tossing in the gale, + From town and hamlet shake the horrent glare! + + Now, its destined task fulfilled, + Asunder break the prison-mould; + Let the goodly bell we build, + Eye and heart alike behold. + The hammer down heave, + Till the cover it cleave:-- + For not till we shatter the wall of its cell + Can we lift from its darkness and bondage the bell. + + To break the mould, the master may, + If skilled the hand and ripe the hour; + But woe, when on its fiery way + The metal seeks itself to pour. + Frantic and blind, with thunder-knell, + Exploding from its shattered home, + And glaring forth, as from a hell, + Behold the red destruction come! + When rages strength that has no reason, + There breaks the mould before the season; + When numbers burst what bound before, + Woe to the state that thrives no more! + Yea, woe, when in the city's heart, + The latent spark to flame is blown; + And millions from their silence start, + To claim, without a guide, their own! + + Discordant howls the warning bell, + Proclaiming discord wide and far, + And, born but things of peace to tell, + Becomes the ghastliest voice of war: + "Freedom! Equality!"--to blood + Rush the roused people at the sound! + Through street, hall, palace, roars the flood, + And banded murder closes round! + The hyena-shapes (that women were!), + Jest with the horrors they survey; + They hound--they rend--they mangle there-- + As panthers with their prey! + Naught rests to hollow--burst the ties + Of life's sublime and reverent awe; + Before the vice the virtue flies, + And universal crime is law! + Man fears the lion's kingly tread; + Man fears the tiger's fangs of terror; + And still the dreadliest of the dread, + Is man himself in error! + No torch, though lit from heaven, illumes + The blind!--Why place it in his hand? + It lights not him--it but consumes + The city and the land! + + Rejoice and laud the prospering skies! + The kernel bursts its husk--behold + From the dull clay the metal rise, + Pure-shining, as a star of gold! + Neck and lip, but as one beam, + It laughs like a sunbeam. + And even the scutcheon, clear-graven, shall tell + That the art of a master has fashioned the bell! + + Come in--come in + My merry men--we'll form a ring + The new-born labor christening; + And "Concord" we will name her!-- + To union may her heartfelt call + In brother-love attune us all! + May she the destined glory win + For which the master sought to frame her-- + Aloft--(all earth's existence under), + In blue-pavillioned heaven afar + To dwell--the neighbor of the thunder, + The borderer of the star! + Be hers above a voice to rise + Like those bright hosts in yonder sphere, + Who, while they move, their Maker praise, + And lead around the wreathed year! + To solemn and eternal things + We dedicate her lips sublime!-- + As hourly, calmly, on she swings + Fanned by the fleeting wings of time!-- + No pulse--no heart--no feeling hers! + She lends the warning voice to fate; + And still companions, while she stirs, + The changes of the human state! + So may she teach us, as her tone + But now so mighty, melts away-- + That earth no life which earth has known + From the last silence can delay! + + Slowly now the cords upheave her! + From her earth-grave soars the bell; + Mid the airs of heaven we leave her! + In the music-realm to dwell! + Up--upwards yet raise-- + She has risen--she sways. + Fair bell to our city bode joy and increase, + And oh, may thy first sound be hallowed to peace! [47] + + + + + THE POWER OF SONG. + + The foaming stream from out the rock + With thunder roar begins to rush,-- + The oak falls prostrate at the shock, + And mountain-wrecks attend the gush. + With rapturous awe, in wonder lost, + The wanderer hearkens to the sound; + From cliff to cliff he hears it tossed, + Yet knows not whither it is bound: + 'Tis thus that song's bright waters pour + From sources never known before. + + In union with those dreaded ones + That spin life's thread all-silently, + Who can resist the singer's tones? + Who from his magic set him free? + With wand like that the gods bestow, + He guides the heaving bosom's chords, + He steeps it in the realms below, + He bears it, wondering, heavenward, + And rocks it, 'twixt the grave and gay, + On feeling's scales that trembling sway. + + As when before the startled eyes + Of some glad throng, mysteriously, + With giant-step, in spirit-guise, + Appears a wondrous deity, + Then bows each greatness of the earth + Before the stranger heaven-born, + Mute are the thoughtless sounds of mirth, + While from each face the mask is torn, + And from the truth's triumphant might + Each work of falsehood takes to flight. + + So from each idle burden free, + When summoned by the voice of song, + Man soars to spirit-dignity, + Receiving force divinely strong: + Among the gods is now his home, + Naught earthly ventures to approach-- + All other powers must now be dumb, + No fate can on his realms encroach; + Care's gloomy wrinkles disappear, + Whilst music's charms still linger here, + + As after long and hopeless yearning, + And separation's bitter smart, + A child, with tears repentant burning, + Clings fondly to his mother's heart-- + So to his youthful happy dwelling, + To rapture pure and free from stain, + All strange and false conceits expelling, + Song guides the wanderer back again, + In faithful Nature's loving arm, + From chilling precepts to grow warm. + + + + + TO PROSELYTIZERS. + + "Give me only a fragment of earth beyond the earth's limits,"-- + So the godlike man said,--"and I will move it with ease." + Only give me permission to leave myself for one moment, + And without any delay I will engage to be yours. + + + + + HONOR TO WOMAN. + + [Literally "Dignity of Women."] + + Honor to woman! To her it is given + To garden the earth with the roses of heaven! + All blessed, she linketh the loves in their choir + In the veil of the graces her beauty concealing, + She tends on each altar that's hallowed to feeling, + And keeps ever-living the fire! + + From the bounds of truth careering, + Man's strong spirit wildly sweeps, + With each hasty impulse veering + Down to passion's troubled deeps. + And his heart, contented never, + Greeds to grapple with the far, + Chasing his own dream forever, + On through many a distant star! + But woman with looks that can charm and enchain, + Lureth back at her beck the wild truant again, + By the spell of her presence beguiled-- + In the home of the mother her modest abode, + And modest the manners by Nature bestowed + On Nature's most exquisite child! + + Bruised and worn, but fiercely breasting, + Foe to foe, the angry strife; + Man, the wild one, never resting, + Roams along the troubled life; + What he planneth, still pursuing; + Vainly as the Hydra bleeds, + Crest the severed crest renewing-- + Wish to withered wish succeeds. + + But woman at peace with all being, reposes, + And seeks from the moment to gather the roses-- + Whose sweets to her culture belong. + Ah! richer than he, though his soul reigneth o'er + The mighty dominion of genius and lore, + And the infinite circle of song. + + Strong, and proud, and self-depending, + Man's cold bosom beats alone; + Heart with heart divinely blending, + In the love that gods have known, + Soul's sweet interchange of feeling, + Melting tears--he never knows, + Each hard sense the hard one steeling, + Arms against a world of foes. + + Alive, as the wind-harp, how lightly soever + If wooed by the zephyr, to music will quiver, + Is woman to hope and to fear; + All, tender one! still at the shadow of grieving, + How quiver the chords--how thy bosom is heaving-- + How trembles thy glance through the tear! + + Man's dominion, war and labor; + Might to right the statue gave; + Laws are in the Scythian's sabre; + Where the Mede reigned--see the slave! + Peace and meekness grimly routing, + Prowls the war-lust, rude and wild; + Eris rages, hoarsely shouting, + Where the vanished graces smiled. + + But woman, the soft one, persuasively prayeth-- + Of the life [48] that she charmeth, the sceptre she swayeth; + She lulls, as she looks from above, + The discord whose bell for its victims is gaping, + And blending awhile the forever escaping, + Whispers hate to the image of love! + + + + + HOPE. + + We speak with the lip, and we dream in the soul, + Of some better and fairer day; + And our days, the meanwhile, to that golden goal + Are gliding and sliding away. + Now the world becomes old, now again it is young, + But "The better" 's forever the word on the tongue. + + At the threshold of life hope leads us in-- + Hope plays round the mirthful boy; + Though the best of its charms may with youth begin, + Yet for age it reserves its toy. + + + + + THE GERMAN ART. + + By no kind Augustus reared, + To no Medici endeared, + German art arose; + Fostering glory smiled not on her, + Ne'er with kingly smiles to sun her, + Did her blooms unclose. + + No,--she went by monarchs slighted + Went unhonored, unrequited, + From high Frederick's throne; + Praise and pride be all the greater, + That man's genius did create her, + From man's worth alone. + + Therefore, all from loftier mountains, + Purer wells and richer fountains, + Streams our poet-art; + So no rule to curb its rushing-- + All the fuller flows it gushing + From its deep--the heart! + + + + + ODYSSEUS. + + Seeking to find his home, Odysseus crosses each water; + Through Charybdis so dread; ay, and through Scylla's wild yells, + Through the alarms of the raging sea, the alarms of the land too,-- + E'en to the kingdom of hell leads him his wandering course. + And at length, as he sleeps, to Ithaca's coast fate conducts him; + There he awakes, and, with grief, knows not his fatherland now. + + + + + CARTHAGE. + +Oh thou degenerate child of the great and glorious mother, + Who with the Romans' strong might couplest the Tyrians' deceit! +But those ever governed with vigor the earth they had conquered,-- + These instructed the world that they with cunning had won. +Say! what renown does history grant thee? Thou, Roman-like, gained'st + That with the steel, which with gold, Tyrian-like, then thou didst rule! + + + + + THE SOWER. + + Sure of the spring that warms them into birth, + The golden seeds thou trustest to the earth; + And dost thou doubt the eternal spring sublime, + For deeds--the seeds which wisdom sows in time. + + + + + THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. + + Oh, nobly shone the fearful cross upon your mail afar, + When Rhodes and Acre hailed your might, O lions of the war! + When leading many a pilgrim horde, through wastes of Syrian gloom; + Or standing with the cherub's sword before the holy tomb. + Yet on your forms the apron seemed a nobler armor far, + When by the sick man's bed ye stood, O lions of the war! + When ye, the high-born, bowed your pride to tend the lowly weakness, + The duty, though it brought no fame, fulfilled by Christian meekness-- + Religion of the cross, thou blend'st, as in a single flower, + The twofold branches of the palm--humility and power. [49] + + + + + THE MERCHANT. + + Where sails the ship?--It leads the Tyrian forth + For the rich amber of the liberal north. + Be kind, ye seas--winds, lend your gentlest wing, + May in each creek sweet wells restoring spring!-- + To you, ye gods, belong the merchant!--o'er + The waves his sails the wide world's goods explore; + And, all the while, wherever waft the gales + The wide world's good sails with him as he sails! + + + + + GERMAN FAITH. [50] + + Once for the sceptre of Germany, fought with Bavarian Louis + Frederick, of Hapsburg descent, both being called to the throne. + But the envious fortune of war delivered the Austrian + Into the hands of the foe, who overcame him in fight. + With the throne he purchased his freedom, pledging his honor + For the victor to draw 'gainst his own people his sword; + But what he vowed when in chains, when free he could not accomplish, + So, of his own free accord, put on his fetters again. + Deeply moved, his foe embraced him,--and from thenceforward + As a friend with a friend, pledged they the cup at the feast; + Arm-in-arm, the princes on one couch slumbered together. + While a still bloodier hate severed the nations apart. + 'Gainst the army of Frederick Louis now went, and behind him + Left the foe he had fought, over Bavaria to watch. + "Ay, it is true! 'Tis really true! I have it in writing!" + Thus did the Pontifex cry, when he first heard of the news. + + + + + THE SEXES. + + See in the babe two loveliest flowers united--yet in truth, + While in the bud they seem the same--the virgin and the youth! + But loosened is the gentle bond, no longer side by side-- + From holy shame the fiery strength will soon itself divide. + Permit the youth to sport, and still the wild desire to chase, + For, but when sated, weary strength returns to seek the grace. + Yet in the bud, the double flowers the future strife begin, + How precious all--yet naught can still the longing heart within. + In ripening charms the virgin bloom to woman shape hath grown, + But round the ripening charms the pride hath clasped its guardian zone; + Shy, as before the hunter's horn the doe all trembling moves, + She flies from man as from a foe, and hates before she loves! + + From lowering brows this struggling world the fearless youth observes, + And hardened for the strife betimes, he strains the willing nerves; + Far to the armed throng and to the race prepared to start, + Inviting glory calls him forth, and grasps the troubled heart:-- + Protect thy work, O Nature now! one from the other flies, + Till thou unitest each at last that for the other sighs. + There art thou, mighty one! where'er the discord darkest frown, + Thou call'st the meek harmonious peace, the god-like soother down. + The noisy chase is lulled asleep, day's clamor dies afar, + And through the sweet and veiled air in beauty comes the star. + Soft-sighing through the crisped reeds, the brooklet glides along, + And every wood the nightingale melodious fills with song. + O virgin! now what instinct heaves thy bosom with the sigh? + O youth! and wherefore steals the tear into thy dreaming eye? + Alas! they seek in vain within the charm around bestowed, + The tender fruit is ripened now, and bows to earth its load. + And restless goes the youth to feed his heart upon its fire, + All, where the gentle breath to cool the flame of young desire! + And now they meet--the holy love that leads them lights their eyes, + And still behind the winged god the winged victory flies. + O heavenly love!--'tis thy sweet task the human flowers to bind, + For ay apart, and yet by thee forever intertwined! + + + + + LOVE AND DESIRE. + +Rightly said, Schlosser! Man loves what he has; what he has not, desireth; + None but the wealthy minds love; poor minds desire alone. + + + + + THE BARDS OF OLDEN TIME. + + Say, where is now that glorious race, where now are the singers + Who, with the accents of life, listening nations enthralled, + Sung down from heaven the gods, and sung mankind up to heaven, + And who the spirit bore up high on the pinions of song? + Ah! the singers still live; the actions only are wanting, + And to awake the glad harp, only a welcoming ear. + Happy bards of a happy world! Your life-teeming accents + Flew round from mouth unto mouth, gladdening every race. + With the devotion with which the gods were received, each one welcomed + That which the genius for him, plastic and breathing, then formed. + With the glow of the song were inflamed the listener's senses, + And with the listener's sense, nourished the singer the glow-- + Nourished and cleansed it,--fortunate one! for whom in the voices + Of the people still clear echoed the soul of the song, + And to whom from without appeared, in life, the great godhead, + Whom the bard of these days scarcely can feel in his breast. + + + + + JOVE TO HERCULES. + + 'Twas not my nectar made thy strength divine, + But 'twas thy strength which made my nectar thine! + + + + + THE ANTIQUES AT PARIS. + + That which Grecian art created, + Let the Frank, with joy elated, + Bear to Seine's triumphant strand, + And in his museums glorious + Show the trophies all-victorious + To his wondering fatherland. + + They to him are silent ever, + Into life's fresh circle never + From their pedestals come down. + He alone e'er holds the Muses + Through whose breast their power diffuses,-- + To the Vandal they're but stone! + + + + + THEKLA. + + A SPIRIT VOICE. + + Whither was it that my spirit wended + When from thee my fleeting shadow moved? + Is not now each earthly conflict ended? + Say,--have I not lived,--have I not loved? + + Art thou for the nightingales inquiring + Who entranced thee in the early year + With their melody so joy-inspiring? + Only whilst they loved they lingered here. + + Is the lost one lost to me forever? + Trust me, with him joyfully I stray + There, where naught united souls can sever, + And where every tear is wiped away. + + And thou, too, wilt find us in yon heaven, + When thy love with our love can compare; + There my father dwells, his sins forgiven,-- + Murder foul can never reach him there. + + And he feels that him no vision cheated + When he gazed upon the stars on high; + For as each one metes, to him 'tis meted; + Who believes it, hath the Holy nigh. + + Faith is kept in those blest regions yonder + With the feelings true that ne'er decay. + Venture thou to dream, then, and to wander + Noblest thoughts oft lie in childlike play. + + + + + THE ANTIQUE TO THE NORTHERN WANDERER. + +Thou hast crossed over torrents, and swung through wide-spreading ocean,-- + Over the chain of the Alps dizzily bore thee the bridge, +That thou might'st see me from near, and learn to value my beauty, + Which the voice of renown spreads through the wandering world. +And now before me thou standest,--canst touch my altar so holy,-- + But art thou nearer to me, or am I nearer to thee? + + + + + THE ILIAD. + + Tear forever the garland of Homer, and number the fathers + Of the immortal work, that through all time will survive! + Yet it has but one mother, and bears that mother's own feature, + 'Tis thy features it bears,--Nature,--thy features eterne! + + + + + POMPEII AND HERCULANEUM. + + What wonder this?--we ask the lympid well, + O earth! of thee--and from thy solemn womb + What yieldest thou?--is there life in the abyss-- + Doth a new race beneath the lava dwell? + Returns the past, awakening from the tomb? + Rome--Greece!--Oh, come!--Behold--behold! for this! + Our living world--the old Pompeii sees; + And built anew the town of Dorian Hercules! + House upon house--its silent halls once more + Opes the broad portico!--Oh, haste and fill + Again those halls with life!--Oh, pour along + Through the seven-vista'd theatre the throng! + Where are ye, mimes?--Come forth, the steel prepare + For crowned Atrides, or Orestes haunt, + Ye choral Furies, with your dismal chant! + The arch of triumph!--whither leads it?--still + Behold the forum!--on the curule chair + Where the majestic image? Lictors, where + Your solemn fasces?--Place upon his throne + The Praetor--here the witness lead, and there + Bid the accuser stand + + --O God! how lone + The clear streets glitter in the quiet day-- + The footpath by the doors winding its lifeless way! + The roofs arise in shelter, and around + The desolate Atrium--every gentle room + Wears still the dear familiar smile of home! + Open the doors--the shops--on dreary night + Let lusty day laugh down in jocund light! + + See the trim benches ranged in order!--See + The marble-tesselated floor--and there + The very walls are glittering livingly + With their clear colors. But the artist, where! + Sure but this instant he hath laid aside + Pencil and colors!--Glittering on the eye + Swell the rich fruits, and bloom the flowers!--See all + Art's gentle wreaths still fresh upon the wall! + Here the arch Cupid slyly seems to glide + By with bloom-laden basket. There the shapes + Of genii press with purpling feet the grapes, + Here springs the wild Bacchante to the dance, + And there she sleeps [while that voluptuous trance + Eyes the sly faun with never-sated glance] + Now on one knee upon the centaur-steeds + Hovering--the Thyrsus plies.--Hurrah!--away she speeds! + + Come--come, why loiter ye?--Here, here, how fair + The goodly vessels still! Girls, hither turn, + Fill from the fountain the Etruscan urn! + On the winged sphinxes see the tripod.-- + Ho! + Quick--quick, ye slaves, come--fire!--the hearth prepare! + Ha! wilt thou sell?--this coin shall pay thee--this, + Fresh from the mint of mighty Titus!--Lo! + Here lie the scales, and not a weight we miss + So--bring the light! The delicate lamp!--what toil + Shaped thy minutest grace!--quick pour the oil! + Yonder the fairy chest!--come, maid, behold + The bridegroom's gifts--the armlets--they are gold, + And paste out-feigning jewels!--lead the bride + Into the odorous bath--lo! unguents still-- + And still the crystal vase the arts for beauty fill! + + But where the men of old--perchance a prize + More precious yet in yon papyrus lies, + And see ev'n still the tokens of their toil-- + The waxen tablets--the recording style. + The earth, with faithful watch, has hoarded all! + Still stand the mute penates in the hall; + Back to his haunts returns each ancient god. + Why absent only from their ancient stand + The priests?--waves Hermes his Caducean rod, + And the winged victory struggles from the hand. + Kindle the flame--behold the altar there! + Long hath the god been worshipless--to prayer. + + + + + NAENIA. + + Even the beauteous must die! This vanquishes men and immortals; + But of the Stygian god moves not the bosom of steel. + Once and once only could love prevail on the ruler of shadows, + And on the threshold, e'en then, sternly his gift he recalled. + Venus could never heal the wounds of the beauteous stripling, + That the terrible boar made in his delicate skin; + Nor could his mother immortal preserve the hero so godlike, + When at the west gate of Troy, falling, his fate he fulfilled. + But she arose from the ocean with all the daughters of Nereus, + And o'er her glorified son raised the loud accents of woe. + See! where all the gods and goddesses yonder are weeping, + That the beauteous must fade, and that the perfect must die. + Even a woe-song to be in the mouth of the loved ones is glorious, + For what is vulgar descends mutely to Orcus' dark shades. + + + + + THE MAID OF ORLEANS. + + Humanity's bright image to impair. + Scorn laid thee prostrate in the deepest dust; + Wit wages ceaseless war on all that's fair,-- + In angel and in God it puts no trust; + The bosom's treasures it would make its prey,-- + Besieges fancy,--dims e'en faith's pure ray. + + Yet issuing like thyself from humble line, + Like thee a gentle shepherdess is she-- + Sweet poesy affords her rights divine, + And to the stars eternal soars with thee. + Around thy brow a glory she hath thrown; + The heart 'twas formed thee,--ever thou'lt live on! + + The world delights whate'er is bright to stain, + And in the dust to lay the glorious low; + Yet fear not! noble bosoms still remain, + That for the lofty, for the radiant glow + Let Momus serve to fill the booth with mirth; + A nobler mind loves forms of nobler worth. + + + + + ARCHIMEDES. + + To Archimedes once a scholar came, + "Teach me," he said, "the art that won thy fame;-- + The godlike art which gives such boons to toil, + And showers such fruit upon thy native soil;-- + The godlike art that girt the town when all + Rome's vengeance burst in thunder on the wall!" + "Thou call'st art godlike--it is so, in truth, + And was," replied the master to the youth, + "Ere yet its secrets were applied to use-- + Ere yet it served beleaguered Syracuse:-- + Ask'st thou from art, but what the art is worth? + The fruit?--for fruit go cultivate the earth.-- + He who the goddess would aspire unto, + Must not the goddess as the woman woo!" + + + + + THE DANCE. + + See how, like lightest waves at play, the airy dancers fleet; + And scarcely feels the floor the wings of those harmonious feet. + Ob, are they flying shadows from their native forms set free? + Or phantoms in the fairy ring that summer moonbeams see? + As, by the gentle zephyr blown, some light mist flees in air, + As skiffs that skim adown the tide, when silver waves are fair, + So sports the docile footstep to the heave of that sweet measure, + As music wafts the form aloft at its melodious pleasure, + Now breaking through the woven chain of the entangled dance, + From where the ranks the thickest press, a bolder pair advance, + The path they leave behind them lost--wide open the path beyond, + The way unfolds or closes up as by a magic wand. + See now, they vanish from the gaze in wild confusion blended; + All, in sweet chaos whirled again, that gentle world is ended! + No!--disentangled glides the knot, the gay disorder ranges-- + The only system ruling here, a grace that ever changes. + For ay destroyed--for ay renewed, whirls on that fair creation; + And yet one peaceful law can still pervade in each mutation. + And what can to the reeling maze breathe harmony and vigor, + And give an order and repose to every gliding figure? + That each a ruler to himself doth but himself obey, + Yet through the hurrying course still keeps his own appointed way. + What, would'st thou know? It is in truth the mighty power of tune, + A power that every step obeys, as tides obey the moon; + That threadeth with a golden clue the intricate employment, + Curbs bounding strength to tranquil grace, and tames the wild enjoyment. + And comes the world's wide harmony in vain upon thine ears? + The stream of music borne aloft from yonder choral spheres? + And feel'st thou not the measure which eternal Nature keeps? + The whirling dance forever held in yonder azure deeps? + The suns that wheel in varying maze?--That music thou discernest? + No! Thou canst honor that in sport which thou forgettest in earnest. + [52] + + + + + THE FORTUNE-FAVORED. [53] + + + + Ah! happy he, upon whose birth each god + Looks down in love, whose earliest sleep the bright + Idalia cradles, whose young lips the rod + Of eloquent Hermes kindles--to whose eyes, + Scarce wakened yet, Apollo steals in light, + While on imperial brows Jove sets the seal of might! + Godlike the lot ordained for him to share, + He wins the garland ere he runs the race; + He learns life's wisdom ere he knows life's care, + And, without labor vanquished, smiles the grace. + Great is the man, I grant, whose strength of mind, + Self-shapes its objects and subdues the fates-- + Virtue subdues the fates, but cannot blind + The fickle happiness, whose smile awaits + Those who scarce seek it; nor can courage earn + What the grace showers not from her own free urn! + From aught unworthy, the determined will + Can guard the watchful spirit--there it ends + The all that's glorious from the heaven descends; + As some sweet mistress loves us, freely still + Come the spontaneous gifts of heaven!--Above + Favor rules Jove, as it below rules love! + The immortals have their bias!--Kindly they + See the bright locks of youth enamored play, + And where the glad one goes, shed gladness round the way. + It is not they who boast the best to see, + Whose eyes the holy apparitions bless; + The stately light of their divinity + Hath oft but shone the brightest on the blind;-- + And their choice spirit found its calm recess + In the pure childhood of a simple mind. + Unasked they come delighted to delude + The expectation of our baffled pride; + No law can call their free steps to our side. + Him whom he loves, the sire of men and gods + (Selected from the marvelling multitude) + Bears on his eagle to his bright abodes; + And showers, with partial hand and lavish, down, + The minstrel's laurel or the monarch's crown! + Before the fortune-favored son of earth, + Apollo walks--and, with his jocund mirth, + The heart-enthralling smiler of the skies + For him gray Neptune smooths the pliant wave-- + Harmless the waters for the ship that bore + The Caesar and his fortunes to the shore! + Charmed at his feet the crouching lion lies, + To him his back the murmuring dolphin gave; + His soul is born a sovereign o'er the strife-- + The lord of all the beautiful of life; + Where'er his presence in its calm has trod, + It charms--it sways as solve diviner God. + Scorn not the fortune-favored, that to him + The light-won victory by the gods is given, + Or that, as Paris, from the strife severe, + The Venus draws her darling--Whom the heaven + So prospers, love so watches, I revere! + And not the man upon whose eyes, with dim + And baleful night, sits fate. Achaia boasts, + No less the glory of the Dorian lord [54] + That Vulcan wrought for him the shield and sword-- + That round the mortal hovered all the hosts + Of all Olympus--that his wrath to grace, + The best and bravest of the Grecian race + Untimely slaughtered, with resentful ghosts + Awed the pale people of the Stygian coasts! + Scorn not the darlings of the beautiful, + If without labor they life's blossoms cull; + If, like the stately lilies, they have won + A crown for which they neither toiled nor spun;-- + If without merit, theirs be beauty, still + Thy sense, unenvying, with the beauty fill. + Alike for thee no merit wins the right, + To share, by simply seeing, their delight. + Heaven breathes the soul into the minstrel's breast, + But with that soul he animates the rest; + The god inspires the mortal--but to God, + In turn, the mortal lifts thee from the sod. + Oh, not in vain to heaven the bard is dear; + Holy himself--he hallows those who hear! + The busy mart let justice still control, + Weighing the guerdon to the toil!--What then? + A God alone claims joy--all joy is his, + Flushing with unsought light the cheeks of men. + [55] Where is no miracle, why there no bliss! + Grow, change, and ripen all that mortal be, + Shapened from form to form, by toiling time; + The blissful and the beautiful are born + Full grown, and ripened from eternity-- + No gradual changes to their glorious prime, + No childhood dwarfs them, and no age has worn.-- + Like heaven's, each earthly Venus on the sight + Comes, a dark birth, from out an endless sea; + Like the first Pallas, in maturest might, + Armed, from the thunderer's--brow, leaps forth each thought of light. + + + + + BOOKSELLER'S ANNOUNCEMENT. + + Naught is for man so important as rightly to know his own purpose; + For but twelve groschen hard cash 'tis to be bought at my shop! + + + + + GENIUS. + + "Do I believe," sayest thou, "what the masters of wisdom would teach me, + And what their followers' band boldly and readily swear? + Cannot I ever attain to true peace, excepting through knowledge, + Or is the system upheld only by fortune and law? + Must I distrust the gently-warning impulse, the precept + That thou, Nature, thyself hast in my bosom impressed, + Till the schools have affixed to the writ eternal their signet, + Till a mere formula's chain binds down the fugitive soul? + Answer me, then! for thou hast down into these deeps e'en descended,-- + Out of the mouldering grave thou didst uninjured return. + Is't to thee known what within the tomb of obscure works is hidden, + Whether, yon mummies amid, life's consolations can dwell? + Must I travel the darksome road? The thought makes me tremble; + Yet I will travel that road, if 'tis to truth and to right." + + Friend, hast thou heard of the golden age? Full many a story + Poets have sung in its praise, simply and touchingly sung-- + Of the time when the holy still wandered over life's pathways,-- + When with a maidenly shame every sensation was veiled,-- + When the mighty law that governs the sun in his orbit, + And that, concealed in the bud, teaches the point how to move, + When necessity's silent law, the steadfast, the changeless, + Stirred up billows more free, e'en in the bosom of man,-- + When the sense, unerring, and true as the hand of the dial, + Pointed only to truth, only to what was eternal? + + Then no profane one was seen, then no initiate was met with, + And what as living was felt was not then sought 'mongst the dead; + Equally clear to every breast was the precept eternal, + Equally hidden the source whence it to gladden us sprang; + But that happy period has vanished! And self-willed presumption + Nature's godlike repose now has forever destroyed. + Feelings polluted the voice of the deities echo no longer, + In the dishonored breast now is the oracle dumb. + Save in the silenter self, the listening soul cannot find it, + There does the mystical word watch o'er the meaning divine; + There does the searcher conjure it, descending with bosom unsullied; + There does the nature long-lost give him back wisdom again. + If thou, happy one, never hast lost the angel that guards thee, + Forfeited never the kind warnings that instinct holds forth; + If in thy modest eye the truth is still purely depicted; + If in thine innocent breast clearly still echoes its call; + If in thy tranquil mind the struggles of doubt still are silent, + If they will surely remain silent forever as now; + If by the conflict of feelings a judge will ne'er be required; + If in its malice thy heart dims not the reason so clear, + Oh, then, go thy way in all thy innocence precious! + Knowledge can teach thee in naught; thou canst instruct her in much! + Yonder law, that with brazen staff is directing the struggling, + Naught is to thee. What thou dost, what thou mayest will is thy law, + And to every race a godlike authority issues. + What thou with holy hand formest, what thou with holy mouth speakest, + Will with omnipotent power impel the wondering senses; + Thou but observest not the god ruling within thine own breast, + Not the might of the signet that bows all spirits before thee; + Simple and silent thou goest through the wide world thou hast won. + + + + + HONORS. + + [Dignities would be the better title, if the word were not so + essentially unpoetical.] + + When the column of light on the waters is glassed, + As blent in one glow seem the shine and the stream; + But wave after wave through the glory has passed, + Just catches, and flies as it catches, the beam + So honors but mirror on mortals their light; + Not the man but the place that he passes is bright. + + + + + THE PHILOSOPHICAL EGOTIST. + + Hast thou the infant seen that yet, unknowing of the love + Which warms and cradles, calmly sleeps the mother's heart above-- + Wandering from arm to arm, until the call of passion wakes, + And glimmering on the conscious eye--the world in glory breaks? + + And hast thou seen the mother there her anxious vigil keep? + Buying with love that never sleeps the darling's happy sleep? + With her own life she fans and feeds that weak life's trembling rays, + And with the sweetness of the care, the care itself repays. + + And dost thou Nature then blaspheme--that both the child and mother + Each unto each unites, the while the one doth need the other?-- + All self-sufficing wilt thou from that lovely circle stand-- + That creature still to creature links in faith's familiar band? + + Ah! dar'st thou, poor one, from the rest thy lonely self estrange? + Eternal power itself is but all powers in interchange! + + + + + THE BEST STATE CONSTITUTION. + + I can recognize only as such, the one that enables + Each to think what is right,--but that he thinks so, cares not. + + + + + THE WORDS OF BELIEF. + + Three words will I name thee--around and about, + From the lip to the lip, full of meaning, they flee; + But they had not their birth in the being without, + And the heart, not the lip, must their oracle be! + And all worth in the man shall forever be o'er + When in those three words he believes no more. + + Man is made free!--Man by birthright is free, + Though the tyrant may deem him but born for his tool. + Whatever the shout of the rabble may be-- + Whatever the ranting misuse of the fool-- + Still fear not the slave, when he breaks from his chain, + For the man made a freeman grows safe in his gain. + + And virtue is more than a shade or a sound, + And man may her voice, in this being, obey; + And though ever he slip on the stony ground, + Yet ever again to the godlike way, + To the science of good though the wise may be blind, + Yet the practice is plain to the childlike mind. + + And a God there is!--over space, over time, + While the human will rocks, like a reed, to and fro, + Lives the will of the holy--a purpose sublime, + A thought woven over creation below; + Changing and shifting the all we inherit, + But changeless through all one immutable spirit + + Hold fast the three words of belief--though about + From the lip to the lip, full of meaning, they flee; + Yet they take not their birth from the being without-- + But a voice from within must their oracle be; + And never all worth in the man can be o'er, + Till in those three words he believes no more. + + + + + THE WORDS OF ERROR. + + Three errors there are, that forever are found + On the lips of the good, on the lips of the best; + But empty their meaning and hollow their sound-- + And slight is the comfort they bring to the breast. + The fruits of existence escape from the clasp + Of the seeker who strives but those shadows to grasp-- + + So long as man dreams of some age in this life + When the right and the good will all evil subdue; + For the right and the good lead us ever to strife, + And wherever they lead us the fiend will pursue. + And (till from the earth borne, and stifled at length) + The earth that he touches still gifts him with strength! [56] + + So long as man fancies that fortune will live, + Like a bride with her lover, united with worth; + For her favors, alas! to the mean she will give-- + And virtue possesses no title to earth! + That foreigner wanders to regions afar, + Where the lands of her birthright immortally are! + + So long as man dreams that, to mortals a gift, + The truth in her fulness of splendor will shine; + The veil of the goddess no earth-born may lift, + And all we can learn is--to guess and divine! + Dost thou seek, in a dogma, to prison her form? + The spirit flies forth on the wings of the storm! + + O, noble soul! fly from delusions like these, + More heavenly belief be it thine to adore; + Where the ear never hearkens, the eye never sees, + Meet the rivers of beauty and truth evermore! + Not without thee the streams--there the dull seek them;--No! + Look within thee--behold both the fount and the flow! + + + + + THE POWER OF WOMAN. + + Mighty art thou, because of the peaceful charms of thy presence; + That which the silent does not, never the boastful can do. + Vigor in man I expect, the law in its honors maintaining, + But, through the graces alone, woman e'er rules or should rule. + Many, indeed, have ruled through the might of the spirit and action, + But then thou noblest of crowns, they were deficient in thee. + No real queen exists but the womanly beauty of woman; + Where it appears, it must rule; ruling because it appears! + + + + + THE TWO PATHS OF VIRTUE. + + Two are the pathways by which mankind can to virtue mount upward; + If thou should find the one barred, open the other will lie. + 'Tis by exertion the happy obtain her, the suffering by patience. + Blest is the man whose kind fate guides him along upon both! + + + + + THE PROVERBS OF CONFUCIUS. + + I. + + Threefold is the march of time + While the future slow advances, + Like a dart the present glances, + Silent stands the past sublime. + + No impatience e'er can speed him + On his course if he delay; + No alarm, no doubts impede him + If he keep his onward way; + No regrets, no magic numbers + Wake the tranced one from his slumbers. + Wouldst thou wisely and with pleasure, + Pass the days of life's short measure, + From the slow one counsel take, + But a tool of him ne'er make; + Ne'er as friend the swift one know, + Nor the constant one as foe! + + II. + + Threefold is the form of space: + Length, with ever restless motion, + Seeks eternity's wide ocean; + Breadth with boundless sway extends; + Depth to unknown realms descends. + + All as types to thee are given; + Thou must onward strive for heaven, + Never still or weary be + Would'st thou perfect glory see; + Far must thy researches go. + Wouldst thou learn the world to know; + Thou must tempt the dark abyss + Wouldst thou prove what Being is. + + Naught but firmness gains the prize,-- + Naught but fulness makes us wise,-- + Buried deep, truth ever lies! + + + + + HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. + + Since thou readest in her what thou thyself hast there written, + And, to gladden the eye, placest her wonders in groups;-- + Since o'er her boundless expanses thy cords to extend thou art able, + Thou dost think that thy mind wonderful Nature can grasp. + Thus the astronomer draws his figures over the heavens, + So that he may with more ease traverse the infinite space, + Knitting together e'en suns that by Sirius-distance are parted, + Making them join in the swan and in the horns of the bull. + But because the firmament shows him its glorious surface, + Can he the spheres' mystic dance therefore decipher aright? + + + + + COLUMBUS. + + Steer on, bold sailor--Wit may mock thy soul that sees the land, + And hopeless at the helm may droop the weak and weary hand, + Yet ever--ever to the West, for there the coast must lie, + And dim it dawns, and glimmering dawns before thy reason's eye; + Yea, trust the guiding God--and go along the floating grave, + Though hid till now--yet now behold the New World o'er the wave! + With genius Nature ever stands in solemn union still, + And ever what the one foretells the other shall fulfil. + + + + + LIGHT AND WARMTH. + + In cheerful faith that fears no ill + The good man doth the world begin; + And dreams that all without shall still + Reflect the trusting soul within. + Warm with the noble vows of youth, + Hallowing his true arm to the truth; + + Yet is the littleness of all + So soon to sad experience shown, + That crowds but teach him to recall + And centre thought on self alone; + Till love, no more, emotion knows, + And the heart freezes to repose. + + Alas! though truth may light bestow, + Not always warmth the beams impart, + Blest he who gains the boon to know, + Nor buys the knowledge with the heart. + For warmth and light a blessing both to be, + Feel as the enthusiast--as the world-wise see. + + + + + BREADTH AND DEPTH. + + Full many a shining wit one sees, + With tongue on all things well conversing; + The what can charm, the what can please, + In every nice detail rehearsing. + Their raptures so transport the college, + It seems one honeymoon of knowledge. + + Yet out they go in silence where + They whilom held their learned prate; + Ah! he who would achieve the fair, + Or sow the embryo of the great, + Must hoard--to wait the ripening hour-- + In the least point the loftiest power. + + With wanton boughs and pranksome hues, + Aloft in air aspires the stem; + The glittering leaves inhale the dews, + But fruits are not concealed in them. + From the small kernel's undiscerned repose + The oak that lords it o'er the forest grows. + + + + + THE TWO GUIDES OF LIFE. + + THE SUBLIME AND THE BEAUTIFUL. + + Two genii are there, from thy birth through weary life to guide thee; + Ah, happy when, united both, they stand to aid beside thee? + With gleesome play to cheer the path, the one comes blithe with beauty, + And lighter, leaning on her arm, the destiny and duty. + With jest and sweet discourse she goes unto the rock sublime, + Where halts above the eternal sea [57] the shuddering child of time. + The other here, resolved and mute and solemn, claspeth thee, + And bears thee in her giant arms across the fearful sea. + Never admit the one alone!--Give not the gentle guide + Thy honor--nor unto the stern thy happiness confide! + + + + + THE IMMUTABLE. + + Time flies on restless pinions--constant never. + Be constant--and thou chainest time forever. + + + + + VOTIVE TABLETS. + + That which I learned from the Deity,-- + that which through lifetime hath helped me, + Meekly and gratefully now, here I suspend in his shrine. + + + DIFFERENT DESTINIES. + + Millions busily toil, that the human race may continue; + But by only a few is propagated our kind. + Thousands of seeds by the autumn are scattered, yet fruit is engendered + Only by few, for the most back to the element go. + But if one only can blossom, that one is able to scatter + Even a bright living world, filled with creations eterne. + + + THE ANIMATING PRINCIPLE. + + Nowhere in the organic or sensitive world ever kindles + Novelty, save in the flower, noblest creation of life. + + + TWO DESCRIPTIONS OF ACTION. + + Do what is good, and humanity's godlike plant thou wilt nourish; + Plan what is fair, and thou'lt strew seeds of the godlike around. + + + DIFFERENCE OF STATION. + + Even the moral world its nobility boasts--vulgar natures + Reckon by that which they do; noble, by that which they are. + + + WORTH AND THE WORTHY. + + If thou anything hast, let me have it,--I'll pay what is proper; + If thou anything art, let us our spirits exchange. + + + THE MORAL FORCE. + + If thou feelest not the beautiful, still thou with reason canst will it; + And as a spirit canst do, that which as man thou canst not. + + + PARTICIPATION. + + E'en by the hand of the wicked can truth be working with vigor; + But the vessel is filled by what is beauteous alone. + + + TO ---- + + Tell me all that thou knowest, and I will thankfully hear it! + But wouldst thou give me thyself,--let me, my friend, be excused! + + + TO ---- + + Wouldst thou teach me the truth? Don't take the trouble! I wish not, + Through thee, the thing to observe,--but to see thee through the thing. + + + TO ---- + + Thee would I choose as my teacher and friend. Thy living example + Teaches me,--thy teaching word wakens my heart unto life. + + + THE PRESENT GENERATION. + + Was it always as now? This race I truly can't fathom. + Nothing is young but old age; youth, alas! only is old. + + + TO THE MUSE. + + What I had been without thee, I know not--yet, to my sorrow + See I what, without thee, hundreds and thousands now are. + + + THE LEARNED WORKMAN. + +Ne'er does he taste the fruit of the tree that he raised with such trouble; + Nothing but taste e'er enjoys that which by learning is reared. + + + THE DUTY OF ALL. + + Ever strive for the whole; and if no whole thou canst make thee, + Join, then, thyself to some whole, as a subservient limb! + + + A PROBLEM. + + Let none resemble another; let each resemble the highest! + How can that happen? let each be all complete in itself. + + + THE PECULIAR IDEAL. + + What thou thinkest, belongs to all; what thou feelest, is thine only. + Wouldst thou make him thine own, feel thou the God whom thou thinkest! + + + TO MYSTICS. + + That is the only true secret, which in the presence of all men + Lies, and surrounds thee for ay, but which is witnessed by none. + + + THE KEY. + + Wouldst thou know thyself, observe the actions of others. + Wouldst thou other men know, look thou within thine own heart. + + THE OBSERVER. + + Stern as my conscience, thou seest the points wherein I'm deficient; + Therefore I've always loved thee, as my own conscience I've loved. + + + WISDOM AND PRUDENCE. + + Wouldst thou, my friend, mount up to the highest summit of wisdom, + Be not deterred by the fear, prudence thy course may deride + That shortsighted one sees but the bank that from thee is flying, + Not the one which ere long thou wilt attain with bold flight. + + + THE AGREEMENT. + + Both of us seek for truth--in the world without thou dost seek it, + I in the bosom within; both of us therefore succeed. + If the eye be healthy, it sees from without the Creator; + And if the heart, then within doubtless it mirrors the world. + + + POLITICAL PRECEPT. + + All that thou doest is right; but, friend, don't carry this precept + On too far,--be content, all that is right to effect. + It is enough to true zeal, if what is existing be perfect; + False zeal always would find finished perfection at once. + + + MAJESTAS POPULI. + + Majesty of the nature of man! In crowds shall I seek thee? + 'Tis with only a few that thou hast made thine abode. + Only a few ever count; the rest are but blanks of no value, + And the prizes are hid 'neath the vain stir that they make. + + + THE DIFFICULT UNION. + + Why are taste and genius so seldom met with united? + Taste of strength is afraid,--genius despises the rein. + + + TO A WORLD-REFORMER. + + "I Have sacrificed all," thou sayest, "that man I might succor; + Vain the attempt; my reward was persecution and hate." + Shall I tell thee, my friend, how I to humor him manage? + Trust the proverb! I ne'er have been deceived by it yet. + Thou canst not sufficiently prize humanity's value; + Let it be coined in deed as it exists in thy breast. + E'en to the man whom thou chancest to meet in life's narrow pathway, + If he should ask it of thee, hold forth a succoring hand. + But for rain and for dew, for the general welfare of mortals, + Leave thou Heaven to care, friend, as before, so e'en now. + + + MY ANTIPATHY. + +I have a heartfelt aversion for crime,--a twofold aversion, + Since 'tis the reason why man prates about virtue so much. +"What! thou hatest, then, virtue?"--I would that by all it were practised, + So that, God willing, no man ever need speak of it more. + + + ASTRONOMICAL WRITINGS. + + Oh, how infinite, how unspeakably great, are the heavens! + Yet by frivolity's hand downwards the heavens are pulled! + + + THE BEST STATE. + + "How can I know the best state?" + In the way that thou know'st the best woman; + Namely, my friend, that the world ever is silent of both. + + + TO ASTRONOMERS. + + Prate not to me so much of suns and of nebulous bodies; + Think ye Nature but great, in that she gives thee to count? + Though your object may be the sublimest that space holds within it, + Yet, my good friends, the sublime dwells not in the regions of space. + + + MY FAITH. + + Which religion do I acknowledge? None that thou namest. + "None that I name? And why so?"--Why, for religion's own sake? + + + INSIDE AND OUTSIDE. + + God alone sees the heart and therefore, since he alone sees it, + Be it our care that we, too, something that's worthy may see. + + + FRIEND AND FOE. + + Dearly I love a friend; yet a foe I may turn to my profit; + Friends show me that which I can; foes teach me that which I should. + + + LIGHT AND COLOR. + +Thou that art ever the same, with the changeless One take up thy dwelling! + Color, thou changeable one, kindly descends upon man! + + + GENIUS. + + Understanding, indeed, can repeat what already existed,-- + That which Nature has built, after her she, too, can build. + Over Nature can reason build, but in vacancy only: + But thou, genius, alone, nature in nature canst form. + + + BEAUTEOUS INDIVIDUALITY. + +Thou in truth shouldst be one, yet not with the whole shouldst thou be so. + 'Tis through the reason thou'rt one,--art so with it through the heart. +Voice of the whole is thy reason, but thou thine own heart must be ever; + If in thy heart reason dwells evermore, happy art thou. + + + VARIETY. + + Many are good and wise; yet all for one only reckon, + For 'tis conception, alas, rules them, and not a fond heart. + Sad is the sway of conception,--from thousandfold varying figures, + Needy and empty but one it is e'er able to bring. + But where creative beauty is ruling, there life and enjoyment + Dwell; to the ne'er-changing One, thousands of new forms she gives. + + + THE IMITATOR. + + Good from the good,--to the reason this is not hard of conception; + But the genius has power good from the bad to evoke. + 'Tis the conceived alone, that thou, imitator, canst practise; + Food the conceived never is, save to the mind that conceives. + + + GENIALITY. + + How does the genius make itself known? In the way that in nature + Shows the Creator himself,--e'en in the infinite whole. + Clear is the ether, and yet of depth that ne'er can be fathomed; + Seen by the eye, it remains evermore closed to the sense. + + + THE INQUIRERS. + + Men now seek to explore each thing from within and without too! + How canst thou make thy escape, Truth, from their eager pursuit? + That they may catch thee, with nets and poles extended they seek thee + But with a spirit-like tread, glidest thou out of the throng. + + + CORRECTNESS. + + Free from blemish to be, is the lowest of steps, and highest; + Weakness and greatness alone ever arrive at this point. + + + THE THREE AGES OF NATURE. + + Life she received from fable; the schools deprived her of being, + Life creative again she has from reason received. + + + THE LAW OF NATURE. + + It has ever been so, my friend, and will ever remain so: + Weakness has rules for itself,--vigor is crowned with success. + + CHOICE. + + If thou canst not give pleasure to all by thy deeds and thy knowledge, + Give it then, unto the few; many to please is but vain. + + + SCIENCE OF MUSIC. + + Let the creative art breathe life, and the bard furnish spirit; + But the soul is expressed by Polyhymnia alone. + + + TO THE POET. + + Let thy speech be to thee what the body is to the loving; + Beings it only can part,--beings it only can join. + + + LANGUAGE. + + Why can the living spirit be never seen by the spirit? + Soon as the soul 'gins to speak, then can the soul speak no more! + + + THE MASTER. + + Other masters one always can tell by the words that they utter; + That which he wisely omits shows me the master of style. + + + THE GIRDLE. + + Aphrodite preserves her beauty concealed by her girdle; + That which lends her her charms is what she covers--her shame. + + + THE DILETTANTE. + + Merely because thou hast made a good verse in a language poetic, + One which composes for thee, thou art a poet forsooth! + + + THE BABBLER OF ART. + + Dost thou desire the good in art? Of the good art thou worthy, + Which by a ne'er ceasing war 'gainst thee thyself is produced? + + + THE PHILOSOPHIES. + + Which among the philosophies will be enduring? I know not, + But that philosophy's self ever may last is my hope. + + + THE FAVOR OF THE MUSES. + + Fame with the vulgar expires; but, Muse immortal, thou bearest + Those whom thou lovest, who love thee, into Mnemosyne's arms. + + + HOMER'S HEAD AS A SEAL. + + Trusty old Homer! to thee I confide the secret so tender; + For the raptures of love none but the bard should e'er know. + + + GOODNESS AND GREATNESS. + + Only two virtues exist. Oh, would they were ever united! + Ever the good with the great, ever the great with the good! + + + THE IMPULSES. + + Fear with his iron staff may urge the slave onward forever; + Rapture, do thou lead me on ever in roseate chains! + + + NATURALISTS AND TRANSCENDENTAL PHILOSOPHERS. + + Enmity be between ye! Your union too soon is cemented; + Ye will but learn to know truth when ye divide in the search. + + + GERMAN GENIUS. + + Strive, O German, for Roman-like strength and for Grecian-like beauty! + Thou art successful in both; ne'er has the Gaul had success. + + + THEOPHANIA. + + When the happy appear, I forget the gods in the heavens; + But before me they stand, when I the suffering see. + + + + + TRIFLES. + + + THE EPIC HEXAMETER. + + Giddily onward it bears thee with resistless impetuous billows; + Naught but the ocean and air seest thou before or behind. + + + THE DISTICH. + + In the hexameter rises the fountain's watery column, + In the pentameter sweet falling in melody down. + + + THE EIGHT-LINE STANZA. + + Stanza, by love thou'rt created,--by love, all-tender and yearning; + Thrice dost thou bashfully fly; thrice dost with longing return. + + + THE OBELISK. + + On a pedestal lofty the sculptor in triumph has raised me. + "Stand thou," spake he,--and I stand proudly and joyfully here. + + + THE TRIUMPHAL ARCH. + +"Fear not," the builder exclaimed, "the rainbow that stands in the heavens; + I will extend thee, like it, into infinity far!" + + + THE BEAUTIFUL BRIDGE. + + Under me, over me, hasten the waters, the chariots; my builder + Kindly has suffered e'en me, over myself, too, to go! + + + THE GATE. + + Let the gate open stand, to allure the savage to precepts; + Let it the citizen lead into free nature with joy. + + + ST. PETER'S. + + If thou seekest to find immensity here, thou'rt mistaken; + For my greatness is meant greater to make thee thyself! + + + + + THE PHILOSOPHERS. + + PUPIL. + I am rejoiced, worthy sirs, to find you in pleno assembled; + For I have come down below, seeking the one needful thing. + + ARISTOTLE. + Quick to the point, my good friend! For the Jena Gazette comes + to hand here, + Even in hell,--so we know all that is passing above. + + PUPIL. + So much the better! So give me (I will not depart hence without it) + Some good principle now,--one that will always avail! + + FIRST PHILOSOPHER. + Cogito, ergo sum. I have thought, and therefore existence! + If the first be but true, then is the second one sure. + + PUPIL. + As I think, I exist. 'Tis good! But who always is thinking? + Oft I've existed e'en when I have been thinking of naught. + + SECOND PHILOSOPHER. + Since there are things that exist, a thing of all things there must + needs be; + In the thing of all things dabble we, just as we are. + + THIRD PHILOSOPHER. + Just the reverse, say I. Besides myself there is nothing; + Everything else that there is is but a bubble to me. + + FOURTH PHILOSOPHER. + Two kinds of things I allow to exist,--the world and the spirit; + Naught of others I know; even these signify one. + + FIFTH PHILOSOPHER. + I know naught of the thing, and know still less of the spirit; + Both but appear unto me; yet no appearance they are. + + SIXTH PHILOSOPHER. + I am I, and settle myself,--and if I then settle + Nothing to be, well and good--there's a nonentity formed. + + SEVENTH PHILOSOPHER. + There is conception at least! A thing conceived there is, therefore; + And a conceiver as well,--which, with conception, make three. + + PUPIL. + All this nonsense, good sirs, won't answer my purpose a tittle: + I a real principle need,--one by which something is fixed. + + EIGHTH PHILOSOPHER. + Nothing is now to be found in the theoretical province; + Practical principles hold, such as: thou canst, for thou shouldst. + + PUPIL. + If I but thought so! When people know no more sensible answer, + Into the conscience at once plunge they with desperate haste. + + DAVID HUME. + Don't converse with those fellows! That Kant has turned them all crazy; + Speak to me, for in hell I am the same that I was. + + LAW POINT. + I have made use of my nose for years together to smell with; + Have I a right to my nose that can be legally proved? + + PUFFENDORF. + Truly a delicate point! Yet the first possession appeareth + In thy favor to tell; therefore make use of it still! + + + SCRUPLE OF CONSCIENCE. + Willingly serve I my friends; but, alas, I do it with pleasure; + Therefore I often am vexed that no true virtue I have. + + DECISION. + As there is no other means, thou hadst better begin to despise them; + And with aversion, then, do that which thy duty commands. + + + + + THE HOMERIDES. + + Who is the bard of the Iliad among you? For since he likes puddings, + Heyne begs he'll accept these that from Gottingen come. + "Give them to me! The kings' quarrel I sang!"-- + "I, the fight near the vessels!"--"Hand me the puddings! + I sang what upon Ida took place!" + Gently! Don't tear me to pieces! The puddings will not be sufficient; + He by whom they are sent destined them only for one. + + + + + G. G. + + Each one, when seen by himself, is passably wise and judicious; + When they in corpore are, naught but a blockhead is seen. + + + + + THE MORAL POET. + + Man is in truth a poor creature,--I know it,--and fain would forget it; + Therefore (how sorry I am!) came I, alas, unto thee! + + + + + THE DANAIDES. + + Into the sieve we've been pouring for years,-- + o'er the stone we've been brooding; + But the stone never warms,--nor does the sieve ever fill. + + + + + THE SUBLIME SUBJECT. + + 'Tis thy Muse's delight to sing God's pity to mortals; + But, that they pitiful are,--is it a matter for song? + + + + + THE ARTIFICE. + + Wouldst thou give pleasure at once to the children of earth and + the righteous? + Draw the image of lust--adding the devil as well! + + + + + IMMORTALITY. + + Dreadest thou the aspect of death! Thou wishest to live on forever? + Live in the whole, and when long thou shalt have gone, 'twill remain! + + + + + JEREMIADS. + +All, both in prose and in verse, in Germany fast is decaying; + Far behind us, alas, lieth the golden age now! +For by philosophers spoiled is our language--our logic by poets, + And no more common sense governs our passage through life. +From the aesthetic, to which she belongs, now virtue is driven, + And into politics forced, where she's a troublesome guest. +Where are we hastening now? If natural, dull we are voted, + And if we put on constraint, then the world calls us absurd. +Oh, thou joyous artlessness 'mongst the poor maidens of Leipzig, + Witty simplicity come,--come, then, to glad us again! +Comedy, oh repeat thy weekly visits so precious, + Sigismund, lover so sweet,--Mascarill, valet jocose! +Tragedy, full of salt and pungency epigrammatic,-- + And thou, minuet-step of our old buskin preserved! +Philosophic romance, thou mannikin waiting with patience, + When, 'gainst the pruner's attack, Nature defendeth herself! +Ancient prose, oh return,--so nobly and boldly expressing + All that thou thinkest and hast thought,--and what the reader thinks too +All, both in prose and in verse, in Germany fast is decaying; + Far behind us, alas, lieth the golden age now! + + + + + SHAKESPEARE'S GHOST. + + A PARODY. + + I, too, at length discerned great Hercules' energy mighty,-- + Saw his shade. He himself was not, alas, to be seen. + Round him were heard, like the screaming of birds, + the screams of tragedians, + And, with the baying of dogs, barked dramaturgists around. + There stood the giant in all his terrors; his bow was extended, + And the bolt, fixed on the string, steadily aimed at the heart. + "What still hardier action, unhappy one, dost thou now venture, + Thus to descend to the grave of the departed souls here?"-- + "'Tis to see Tiresias I come, to ask of the prophet + Where I the buskin of old, that now has vanished, may find?" + "If they believe not in Nature, nor the old Grecian, but vainly + Wilt thou convey up from hence that dramaturgy to them." + "Oh, as for Nature, once more to tread our stage she has ventured, + Ay, and stark-naked beside, so that each rib we count." + "What? Is the buskin of old to be seen in truth on your stage, then, + Which even I came to fetch, out of mid-Tartarus' gloom?"-- + "There is now no more of that tragic bustle, for scarcely + Once in a year on the boards moves thy great soul, harness-clad." + "Doubtless 'tis well! Philosophy now has refined your sensations, + And from the humor so bright fly the affections so black."-- + "Ay, there is nothing that beats a jest that is stolid and barren, + But then e'en sorrow can please, if 'tis sufficiently moist." + "But do ye also exhibit the graceful dance of Thalia, + Joined to the solemn step with which Melpomene moves?"-- + "Neither! For naught we love but what is Christian and moral; + And what is popular, too, homely, domestic, and plain." + "What? Does no Caesar, does no Achilles, appear on your stage now, + Not an Andromache e'en, not an Orestes, my friend?" + "No! there is naught to be seen there but parsons, + and syndics of commerce, + Secretaries perchance, ensigns, and majors of horse." + "But, my good friend, pray tell me, what can such people e'er meet with + That can be truly called great?--what that is great can they do?" + "What? Why they form cabals, they lend upon mortgage, they pocket + Silver spoons, and fear not e'en in the stocks to be placed." + "Whence do ye, then, derive the destiny, great and gigantic, + Which raises man up on high, e'en when it grinds him to dust?"-- + "All mere nonsense! Ourselves, our worthy acquaintances also, + And our sorrows and wants, seek we, and find we, too, here." + "But all this ye possess at home both apter and better,-- + Wherefore, then, fly from yourselves, if 'tis yourselves that ye seek?" + "Be not offended, great hero, for that is a different question; + Ever is destiny blind,--ever is righteous the bard." + "Then one meets on your stage your own contemptible nature, + While 'tis in vain one seeks there nature enduring and great?" + "There the poet is host, and act the fifth is the reckoning; + And, when crime becomes sick, virtue sits down to the feast!" + + + + + THE RIVERS. + + + RHINE. + + True, as becometh a Switzer, I watch over Germany's borders; + But the light-footed Gaul jumps o'er the suffering stream. + + + RHINE AND MOSELLE. + + Many a year have I clasped in my arms the Lorrainian maiden; + But our union as yet ne'er has been blest with a son. + + + DANUBE IN ---- + + Round me are dwelling the falcon-eyed race, the Phaeacian people; + Sunday with them never ends; ceaselessly moves round the spit. + + + MAIN. + + Ay, it is true that my castles are crumbling; yet, to my comfort, + Have I for centuries past seen my old race still endure. + + + SAALE. + + Short is my course, during which I salute many princes and nations; + Yet the princes are good--ay! and the nations are free. + + + ILM. + + Poor are my banks, it is true; but yet my soft-flowing waters + Many immortal lays here, borne by the current along. + + + PLEISSE. + + Flat is my shore and shallow my current; alas, all my writers, + Both in prose and in verse, drink far too deep of its stream! + + + ELBE. + + All ye others speak only a jargon; 'mongst Germany's rivers + None speak German but me; I but in Misnia alone. + + + SPREE. + + Ramler once gave me language,--my Caesar a subject; and therefore + I had my mouth then stuffed full; but I've been silent since that. + + + WESER. + + Nothing, alas, can be said about me; I really can't furnish + Matter enough to the Muse e'en for an epigram, small. + + + MINERAL WATERS AT ----. + + Singular country! what excellent taste in its fountains and rivers + In its people alone none have I ever yet found! + + + PEGNTTZ. + + I for a long time have been a hypochondriacal subject; + I but flow on because it has my habit been long. + + + THE ---- RIVERS. + + We would gladly remain in the lands that own--as their masters; + Soft their yoke ever is, and all their burdens are light. + + + SALZACH. + + I, to salt the archbishopric, come from Juvavia's mountains; + Then to Bavaria turn, where they have great need of salt! + + + THE ANONYMOUS RIVER. + + Lenten food for the pious bishop's table to furnish, + By my Creator I'm poured over the famishing land. + + + LES FLEUVES INDISCRETS. + + Pray be silent, ye rivers! One sees ye have no more discretion + Than, in a case we could name, Diderot's favorites had. + + + + + ZENITH AND NADIR. + + Wheresoever thou wanderest in space, thy Zenith and Nadir + Unto the heavens knit thee, unto the axis of earth. + Howsoever thou attest, let heaven be moved by thy purpose, + Let the aim of thy deeds traverse the axis of earth! + + + + + KANT AND HIS COMMENTATORS. + + See how a single rich man gives a living to numbers of beggars! + 'Tis when sovereigns build, carters are kept in employ. + + + + + THE PHILOSOPHERS. + + The principle by which each thing + Toward strength and shape first tended,-- + The pulley whereon Zeus the ring + Of earth, that loosely used to swing, + With cautiousness suspended,-- + he is a clever man, I vow, + Who its real name can tell me now, + Unless to help him I consent-- + 'Tis: ten and twelve are different! + + Fire burns,--'tis chilly when it snows, + Man always is two-footed,-- + The sun across the heavens goes,-- + This, he who naught of logic knows + Finds to his reason suited. + Yet he who metaphysics learns, + Knows that naught freezes when it burns-- + Knows that what's wet is never dry,-- + And that what's bright attracts the eye. + + Old Homer sings his noble lays, + The hero goes through dangers; + The brave man duty's call obeys, + And did so, even in the days + When sages yet were strangers-- + But heart and genius now have taught + What Locke and what Descartes never thought; + By them immediately is shown + That which is possible alone. + + In life avails the right of force. + The bold the timid worries; + Who rules not, is a slave of course, + Without design each thing across + Earth's stage forever hurries. + Yet what would happen if the plan + Which guides the world now first began, + Within the moral system lies + Disclosed with clearness to our eyes. + + "When man would seek his destiny, + Man's help must then be given; + Save for the whole, ne'er labors he,-- + Of many drops is formed the sea,-- + By water mills are driven; + Therefore the wolf's wild species flies,-- + Knit are the state's enduring ties." + Thus Puffendorf and Feder, each + Is, ex cathedra, wont to teach. + + Yet, if what such professors say, + Each brain to enter durst not, + Nature exerts her mother-sway, + Provides that ne'er the chain gives way, + And that the ripe fruits burst not. + Meanwhile, until earth's structure vast + Philosophy can bind at last, + 'Tis she that bids its pinion move, + By means of hunger and of love! + + + + + THE METAPHYSICIAN. + + "How far beneath me seems the earthly ball! + The pigmy race below I scarce can see; + How does my art, the noblest art of all, + Bear me close up to heaven's bright canopy!" + So cries the slater from his tower's high top, + And so the little would-be mighty man, + Hans Metaphysicus, from out his critic-shop. + Explain, thou little would-be mighty man! + The tower from which thy looks the world survey, + Whereof,--whereon is it erected, pray? + How didst thou mount it? Of what use to thee + Its naked heights, save o'er the vale to see? + + + + + PEGASUS IN HARNESS. + + Once to a horse-fair,--it may perhaps have been + Where other things are bought and sold,--I mean + At the Haymarket,--there the muses' horse + A hungry poet brought--to sell, of course. + + 'The hippogriff neighed shrilly, loudly, + And reared upon his hind-legs proudly; + In utter wonderment each stood and cried: + "The noble regal beast!" But, woe betide! + Two hideous wings his slender form deface, + The finest team he else would not disgrace. + "The breed," said they, "is doubtless rare, + But who would travel through the air?" + Not one of them would risk his gold. + At length a farmer grew more bold: + "As for his wings, I of no use should find them, + But then how easy 'tis to clip or bind them! + The horse for drawing may be useful found,-- + So, friend, I don't mind giving twenty pound!" + The other glad to sell his merchandise, + Cried, "Done!"--and Hans rode off upon his prize. + + The noble creature was, ere long, put-to, + But scarcely felt the unaccustomed load, + Than, panting to soar upwards, off he flew, + And, filled with honest anger, overthrew + The cart where an abyss just met the road. + "Ho! ho!" thought Hans: "No cart to this mad beast + I'll trust. Experience makes one wise at least. + To drive the coach to-morrow now my course is, + And he as leader in the team shall go. + The lively fellow'll save me full two horses; + As years pass on, he'll doubtless tamer grow." + + All went on well at first. The nimble steed + His partners roused,--like lightning was their speed. + What happened next? Toward heaven was turned his eye,-- + Unused across the solid ground to fly, + He quitted soon the safe and beaten course, + And true to nature's strong resistless force, + Ran over bog and moor, o'er hedge and pasture tilled; + An equal madness soon the other horses filled-- + No reins could hold them in, no help was near, + Till,--only picture the poor travellers' fear!-- + The coach, well shaken, and completely wrecked, + Upon a hill's steep top at length was checked. + + "If this is always sure to be the case," + Hans cried, and cut a very sorry face, + "He'll never do to draw a coach or wagon; + Let's see if we can't tame the fiery dragon + By means of heavy work and little food." + And so the plan was tried.--But what ensued? + The handsome beast, before three days had passed, + Wasted to nothing. "Stay! I see at last!" + Cried Hans. "Be quick, you fellows! yoke him now + With my most sturdy ox before the plough." + + No sooner said than done. In union queer + Together yoked were soon winged horse and steer. + The griffin pranced with rage, and his remaining might + Exerted to resume his old-accustomed flight. + 'Twas all in vain--his partner stepped with circumspection, + And Phoebus' haughty steed must follow his direction; + Until at last, by long resistance spent, + When strength his limbs no longer was controlling, + The noble creature, with affliction bent, + Fell to the ground, and in the dust lay rolling. + "Accursed beast!" at length with fury mad + Hans shouted, while he soundly plied the lash,-- + "Even for ploughing, then, thou art too bad!-- + That fellow was a rogue to sell such trash!" + + Ere yet his heavy blows had ceased to fly, + A brisk and merry youth by chance came by. + A lute was tinkling in his hand, + And through his light and flowing hair + Was twined with grace a golden band. + "Whither, my friend, with that strange pair?" + From far he to the peasant cried. + "A bird and ox to one rope tied-- + Was such a team e'er heard of, pray? + Thy horse's worth I'd fain essay; + Just for one moment lend him me,-- + Observe, and thou shalt wonders see!" + + The hippogriff was loosened from the plough, + Upon his back the smiling youth leaped now; + No sooner did the creature understand + That he was guided by a master-hand, + Than 'ginst his bit he champed, and upward soared + While lightning from his flaming eyes outpoured. + No longer the same being, royally + A spirit, ay, a god, ascended he, + Spread in a moment to the stormy wind + His noble wings, and left the earth behind, + And, ere the eye could follow him, + Had vanished in the heavens dim. + + + + + KNOWLEDGE. + + Knowledge to one is a goddess both heavenly and high,--to another + Only an excellent cow, yielding the butter he wants. + + + + + THE POETRY OF LIFE. + + "Who would himself with shadows entertain, + Or gild his life with lights that shine in vain, + Or nurse false hopes that do but cheat the true?-- + Though with my dream my heaven should be resigned-- + Though the free-pinioned soul that once could dwell + In the large empire of the possible, + This workday life with iron chains may bind, + Yet thus the mastery o'er ourselves we find, + And solemn duty to our acts decreed, + Meets us thus tutored in the hour of need, + With a more sober and submissive mind! + How front necessity--yet bid thy youth + Shun the mild rule of life's calm sovereign, truth." + + So speakest thou, friend, how stronger far than I; + As from experience--that sure port serene-- + Thou lookest;--and straight, a coldness wraps the sky, + The summer glory withers from the scene, + Scared by the solemn spell; behold them fly, + The godlike images that seemed so fair! + Silent the playful Muse--the rosy hours + Halt in their dance; and the May-breathing flowers + Fall from the sister-graces' waving hair. + Sweet-mouthed Apollo breaks his golden lyre, + Hermes, the wand with many a marvel rife;-- + The veil, rose-woven, by the young desire + With dreams, drops from the hueless cheeks of life. + The world seems what it is--a grave! and love + Casts down the bondage wound his eyes above, + And sees!--He sees but images of clay + Where he dreamed gods; and sighs--and glides away. + The youngness of the beautiful grows old, + And on thy lips the bride's sweet kiss seems cold; + And in the crowd of joys--upon thy throne + Thou sittest in state, and hardenest into stone. + + + + + TO GOETHE, + + ON HIS PRODUCING VOLTAIRE'S "MAHOMET" ON THE STAGE. + + Thou, by whom, freed from rules constrained and wrong, + On truth and nature once again we're placed,-- + Who, in the cradle e'en a hero strong, + Stiffest the serpents round our genius laced,-- + Thou whom the godlike science has so long + With her unsullied sacred fillet graced,-- + Dost thou on ruined altars sacrifice + To that false muse whom we no longer prize? + + This theatre belongs to native art, + No foreign idols worshipped here are seen; + A laurel we can show, with joyous heart, + That on the German Pindus has grown green + The sciences' most holy, hidden part + The German genius dares to enter e'en, + And, following the Briton and the Greek, + A nobler glory now attempts to seek. + + For yonder, where slaves kneel, and despots hold + The reins,--where spurious greatness lifts its head, + Art has no power the noble there to mould, + 'Tis by no Louis that its seed is spread; + From its own fulness it must needs unfold, + By earthly majesty 'tis never fed; + 'Tis with truth only it can e'er unite, + Its glow free spirits only e'er can light. + + 'Tis not to bind us in a worn-out chain + Thou dost this play of olden time recall,-- + 'Tis not to seek to lead us back again + To days when thoughtless childhood ruled o'er all. + It were, in truth, an idle risk and vain + Into the moving wheel of time to fall; + The winged hours forever bear it on, + The new arrives, and, lo! the old has gone. + + The narrow theatre is now more wide, + Into its space a universe now steals; + In pompous words no longer is our pride, + Nature we love when she her form reveals; + Fashion's false rules no more are deified; + And as a man the hero acts and feels. + 'Tis passion makes the notes of freedom sound, + And 'tis in truth the beautiful is found. + + Weak is the frame of Thespis' chariot fair, + Resembling much the bark of Acheron, + That carries naught but shades and forms of air; + And if rude life should venture to press on, + The fragile bark its weight no more can bear, + For fleeting spirits it can hold alone. + Appearance ne'er can reach reality,-- + If nature be victorious, art must fly. + + For on the stage's boarded scaffold here + A world ideal opens to our eyes, + Nothing is true and genuine save--a tear; + Emotion on no dream of sense relies. + The real Melpomene is still sincere, + Naught as a fable merely she supplies-- + By truth profound to charm us is her care; + The false one, truth pretends, but to ensnare. + + Now from the scene, art threatens to retire, + Her kingdom wild maintains still phantasy; + The stage she like the world would set on fire, + The meanest and the noblest mingles she. + The Frank alone 'tis art can now inspire, + And yet her archetype can his ne'er be; + In bounds unchangeable confining her, + He holds her fast, and vainly would she stir. + + The stage to him is pure and undefiled; + Chased from the regions that to her belong + Are Nature's tones, so careless and so wild, + To him e'en language rises into song; + A realm harmonious 'tis, of beauty mild, + Where limb unites to limb in order strong. + The whole into a solemn temple blends, + And 'tis the dance that grace to motion lends. + + And yet the Frank must not be made our guide. + For in his art no living spirit reigns: + The boasting gestures of a spurious pride + That mind which only loves the true disdains. + To nobler ends alone be it applied, + Returning, like some soul's long-vanished manes. + To render the oft-sullied stage once more + A throne befitting the great muse of yore. + + + + + THE PRESENT. + + Ring and staff, oh to me on a Rhenish flask ye are welcome! + Him a true shepherd I call, who thus gives drink to his sheep. + Draught thrice blest! It is by the Muse I have won thee,--the Muse, too, + Sends thee,--and even the church places upon thee her seal. + + + + + DEPARTURE FROM LIFE. + +Two are the roads that before thee lie open from life to conduct thee; + To the ideal one leads thee, the other to death. +See that while yet thou art free, on the first thou commencest thy journey, + Ere by the merciless fates on to the other thou'rt led! + + + + + VERSES WRITTEN IN THE FOLIO ALBUM OF A LEARNED FRIEND. + + Once wisdom dwelt in tomes of ponderous size, + While friendship from a pocketbook would talk; + But now that knowledge in small compass lies, + And floats in almanacs, as light as cork, + Courageous man, thou dost not hesitate + To open for thy friends this house so great! + Hast thou no fear, I seriously would ask, + That thou may'st thus their patience overtask? + + + + + VERSES WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF A FRIEND. + + (HERR VON MECHELN OF BASLE.) + + Nature in charms is exhaustless, in beauty ever reviving; + And, like Nature, fair art is inexhaustible too. + Hail, thou honored old man! for both in thy heart thou preservest + Living sensations, and thus ne'er-ending youth is thy lot! + + + + + THE SUNDAY CHILDREN. + + Years has the master been laboring, but always without satisfaction; + To an ingenious race 'twould be in vision conferred. + What they yesterday learned, to-day they fain would be teaching: + Small compassion, alas, is by those gentlemen shown! + + + + + THE HIGHEST. + + Seerest thou the highest, the greatest! + In that the plant can instruct thee; + What it unwittingly is, be thou of thine own free will! + + + + + THE PUPPET-SHOW OF LIFE. + + Thou'rt welcome in my box to peep! + Life's puppet-show, the world in little, + Thou'lt see depicted to a tittle,-- + But pray at some small distance keep! + 'Tis by the torch of love alone, + By Cupid's taper, it is shown. + + See, not a moment void the stage is! + The child in arms at first they bring,-- + The boy then skips,--the youth now storms and rages,-- + The man contends, and ventures everything! + + Each one attempts success to find, + Yet narrow is the race-course ever; + The chariot rolls, the axles quiver, + The hero presses on, the coward stays behind, + The proud man falls with mirth-inspiring fall, + The wise man overtakes them all! + + Thou see'st fair woman it the barrier stand, + With beauteous hands, with smiling eyes, + To glad the victor with his prize. + + + + + TO LAWGIVERS. + + Ever take it for granted, that man collectively wishes + That which is right; but take care never to think so of one! + + + + + FALSE IMPULSE TO STUDY. + + Oh, how many new foes against truth! My very soul bleedeth + When I behold the owl-race now bursting forth to the light. + + + + + THE HEREDITARY PRINCE OF WEIMAR, ON HIS PROCEEDING TO PARIS. + + (SUNG IN A CIRCLE OF FRIENDS.) + + With one last bumper let us hail + The wanderer beloved, + Who takes his leave of this still vale + Wherein in youth he roved. + + From loving arms, from native home, + He tears himself away, + To yonder city proud to roam, + That makes whole lands its prey. + + Dissension flies, all tempests end, + And chained is strife abhorred; + We in the crater may descend + From whence the lava poured. + + A gracious fate conduct thee through + Life's wild and mazy track! + A bosom nature gave thee true,-- + A bosom true bring back! + + Thou'lt visit lands that war's wild train + Had crushed with careless heed; + Now smiling peace salutes the plain, + And strews the golden seed. + + The hoary Father Rhine thou'lt greet, + Who thy forefather [58] blest + Will think of, whilst his waters fleet + In ocean's bed to rest. + + Do homage to the hero's manes, + And offer to the Rhine, + The German frontier who maintains, + His own-created wine,-- + + So that thy country's soul thy guide + May be, when thou hast crossed + On the frail bark to yonder side, + Where German faith is lost! + + + + + THE IDEAL OF WOMAN. + + TO AMANDA. + + Woman in everything yields to man; but in that which is highest, + Even the manliest man yields to the woman most weak. + But that highest,--what is it? The gentle radiance of triumph + As in thy brow upon me, beauteous Amanda, it beams. + When o'er the bright shining disk the clouds of affliction are fleeting, + Fairer the image appears, seen through the vapor of gold. + Man may think himself free! thou art so,--for thou never knowest + What is the meaning of choice,--know'st not necessity's name. + That which thou givest, thou always givest wholly; but one art thou ever, + Even thy tenderest sound is thine harmonious self. + Youth everlasting dwells here, with fulness that never is exhausted, + And with the flower at once pluckest thou the ripe golden fruit. + + + + + THE FOUNTAIN OF SECOND YOUTH. + + Trust me, 'tis not a mere tale,--the fountain of youth really runneth, + Runneth forever. Thou ask'st, where? In the poet's sweet art! + + + + + WILLIAM TELL. [59] + + When hostile elements with rage resound, + And fury blindly fans war's lurid flame,-- + When in the strife of party quarrel drowned, + The voice of justice no regard can claim,-- + When crime is free, and impious hands are found + The sacred to pollute, devoid of shame, + And loose the anchor which the state maintains,-- + No subject there we find for joyous strains. + + But when a nation, that its flocks still feeds + With calm content, nor other's wealth desires + Throws off the cruel yoke 'neath which it bleeds, + Yet, e'en in wrath, humanity admires,-- + And, e'en in triumph, moderation heeds,-- + That is immortal, and our song requires. + To show thee such an image now is mine; + Thou knowest it well, for all that's great is thine! + + + + + TO A YOUNG FRIEND DEVOTING HIMSELF TO PHILOSOPHY. + + Severe the proof the Grecian youth was doomed to undergo, + Before he might what lurks beneath the Eleusinia know-- + Art thou prepared and ripe, the shrine--the inner shrine--to win, + Where Pallas guards from vulgar eyes the mystic prize within? + Knowest thou what bars thy way? how dear the bargain thou dost make, + When but to buy uncertain good, sure good thou dost forsake? + Feel'st thou sufficient strength to brave the deadliest human fray, + When heart from reason--sense from thought, shall rend themselves away? + Sufficient valor, war with doubt, the hydra-shape, to wage; + And that worst foe within thyself with manly soul engage? + With eyes that keep their heavenly health--the innocence of youth + To guard from every falsehood, fair beneath the mask of truth? + Fly, if thou canst not trust thy heart to guide thee on the way-- + Oh, fly the charmed margin ere th' abyss engulf its prey. + Round many a step that seeks the light, the shades of midnight close; + But in the glimmering twilight, see--how safely childhood goes! + + + + + EXPECTATION AND FULFILMENT. + + Into life's ocean the youth with a thousand masts daringly launches; + Mute, in a boat saved from wreck, enters the gray-beard the port. + + + + + THE COMMON FATE. + +See how we hate, how we quarrel, how thought and how feeling divide us! + But thy locks, friend, like mine, meanwhile are bleachening fast. + + + + + HUMAN ACTION. + + Where the pathway begins, eternity seems to lie open, + Yet at the narrowest point even the wisest man stops. + + + + + NUPTIAL ODE. [60] + + Fair bride, attended by our blessing, + Glad Hymen's flowery path 'gin pressing! + We witnessed with enraptured eye + The graces of thy soul unfolding, + Thy youthful charms their beauty moulding + To blossom for love's ecstasy. + A happy fate now hovers round thee, + And friendship yields without a smart + To that sweet god whose might hath bound thee;-- + He needs must have, he hath thy heart! + + To duties dear, to trouble tender, + Thy youthful breast must now surrender, + Thy garland's summons must obey. + Each toying infantine sensation, + Each fleeting sport of youth's creation, + Forevermore hath passed away; + And Hymen's sacred bond now chaineth + Where soft and fluttering love was shrined; + Yet for a heart, where beauty reigneth, + Of flowers alone that bond is twined. + + The secret that can keep forever + In verdant links, that naught can sever, + The bridal garland, wouldst thou find? + 'Tis purity the heart pervading, + The blossoms of a grace unfading, + And yet with modest shame combined, + Which, like the sun's reflection glowing, + Makes every heart throb blissfully;-- + 'Tis looks with mildness overflowing, + And self-maintaining dignity! + + + + + THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE NEW CENTURY. + + Where will a place of refuge, noble friend, + For peace and freedom ever open lie! + The century in tempests had its end, + The new one now begins with murder's cry. + + Each land-connecting bond is torn away, + Each ancient custom hastens to decline; + Not e'en the ocean can war's tumult stay. + Not e'en the Nile-god, not the hoary Rhine. + + Two mighty nations strive, with hostile power, + For undivided mastery of the world; + And, by them, each land's freedom to devour, + The trident brandished is--the lightning hurled. + + Each country must to them its gold afford, + And, Brennus-like, upon the fatal day, + The Frank now throws his heavy iron sword, + The even scales of justice to o'erweigh. + + His merchant-fleets the Briton greedily + Extends, like polyp-limbs, on every side; + And the domain of Amphitrite free + As if his home it were, would fain bestride. + + E'en to the south pole's dim, remotest star, + His restless course moves onward, unrestrained; + Each isle he tracks,--each coast, however far, + But paradise alone he ne'er has gained! + + Although thine eye may every map explore, + Vainly thou'lt seek to find that blissful place, + Where freedom's garden smiles for evermore, + And where in youth still blooms the human race. + + Before thy gaze the world extended lies, + The very shipping it can scarce embrace; + And yet upon her back, of boundless size, + E'en for ten happy men there is not space! + + Into thy bosom's holy, silent cells, + Thou needs must fly from life's tumultuous throng! + Freedom but in the realm of vision dwells, + And beauty bears no blossoms but in song. + + + + + GRECIAN GENIUS. + + TO MEYER IN ITALY. + +Speechless to thousands of others, who with deaf hearts would consult him, + Talketh the spirit to thee, who art his kinsman and friend. + + + + + THE FATHER. + + Work as much as thou wilt, alone thou'lt be standing forever, + Till by nature thou'rt joined forcibly on to the whole. + + + + + THE CONNECTING MEDIUM. + + How does nature proceed to unite the high and the lowly + In mankind? She commands vanity 'tween them to stand! + + + + + THE MOMENT. + + Doubtless an epoch important has with the century risen; + But the moment so great finds but a race of small worth. + + + + + GERMAN COMEDY. + + Fools we may have in plenty, and simpletons, too, by the dozen; + But for comedy these never make use of themselves. + + + + + FAREWELL TO THE READER. + + A maiden blush o'er every feature straying, + The Muse her gentle harp now lays down here, + And stands before thee, for thy judgment praying,-- + She waits with reverence, but not with fear; + Her last farewell for his kind smile delaying. + Whom splendor dazzles not who holds truth dear. + The hand of him alone whose soaring spirit + Worships the beautiful, can crown her merit. + + These simple lays are only heard resounding, + While feeling hearts are gladdened by their tone, + With brighter phantasies their path surrounding, + To nobler aims their footsteps guiding on. + Yet coming ages ne'er will hear them sounding, + They live but for the present hour alone; + The passing moment called them into being, + And, as the hours dance on, they, too, are fleeing. + + The spring returns, and nature then awaking, + Bursts into life across the smiling plain; + Each shrub its perfume through the air is shaking, + And heaven is filled with one sweet choral strain; + While young and old, their secret haunts forsaking, + With raptured eye and ear rejoice again. + The spring then flies,--to seed return the flowers. + And naught remains to mark the vanished hours. + + + + + + +DEDICATION TO DEATH, MY PRINCIPAL. + + +Most high and mighty Czar of all flesh, ceaseless reducer of empires, +unfathomable glutton in the whole realms of nature. + +With the most profound flesh-creeping I take the liberty of kissing the +rattling leg-bones of your voracious Majesty, and humbly laying this +little book at your dried-up feet. My predecessors have always been +accustomed, as if on purpose to annoy you, to transport their goods and +chattels to the archives of eternity, directly under your nose, +forgetting that, by so doing, they only made your mouth water the more, +for the proverb--Stolen bread tastes sweetest--is applicable even to you. +No! I prefer to dedicate this work to you, feeling assured that you will +throw it aside. + +But, joking apart! methinks we two know each other better than by mere +hearsay. Enrolled in the order of Aesculapius, the first-born of +Pandora's box, as old as the fall of man, I have stood at your altar,-- +have sworn undying hatred to your hereditary foe, Nature, as the son of +Hamilcar to the seven hills of Rome,--have sworn to besiege her with a +whole army of medicines,--to throw up barricades round the obstinate +soul,--to drive from the field the insolents who cut down your fees and +cripple your finances,--and on the Archaean battle-plain to plant your +midnight standard. In return (for one good turn deserves another), you +must prepare for me the precious TALISMAN, which can save me from the +gallows and the wheel uninjured, and with a whole skin-- + + Jusque datum sceleri. + +Come then! act the generous Maecenas; for observe, I should be sorry to +fare like my foolhardy colleagues and cousins, who, armed with stiletto +and pocket-pistol, hold their court in gloomy ravines, or mix in the +subterranean laboratory the wondrous polychrest, which, when taken with +proper zeal, tickles our political noses, either too little or too much, +with throne vacancies or state-fevers. D'Amiens and Ravaillac!--Ho, ho, +ho!--'Tis a good thing for straight limbs! + +Perhaps you have been whetting your teeth at Easter and Michaelmas?--the +great book-epidemic times at Leipzig and Frankfort! Hurrah for the +waste-paper!--'twill make a royal feast. Your nimble brokers, Gluttony +and Lust, bring you whole cargoes from the fair of life. Even Ambition, +your grandpapa--War, Famine, Fire, and Plague, your mighty huntsmen, have +provided you with many a jovial man-chase. Avarice and Covetousness, +your sturdy butlers, drink to your health whole towns floating in the +bubbling cup of the world-ocean. I know a kitchen in Europe where the +rarest dishes have been served up in your honor with festive pomp. And +yet--who has ever known you to be satisfied, or to complain of +indigestion? Your digestive faculties are of iron; your entrails +fathomless! + +Pooh--I had many other things to say to you, but I am in a hurry to be +off. You are an ugly brother-in-law--go! I hear you are calculating on +living to see a general collation, where great and small, globes and +lexicons, philosophies and knick-knacks, will fly into your jaws--a good +appetite to you, should it come to that.--Yet, ravenous wolf that you +are! take care that you don't overeat yourself, and have to disgorge to a +hair all that you have swallowed, as a certain Athenian (no particular +friend of yours, by-the-by) has prophesied. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +TOBOLSKO, 2d February. + + Tum primum radiis gelidi incaluere Triones. + +Flowers in Siberia? Behind this lies a piece of knavery, or the sun must +make face against midnight. And yet--if ye were to exert yourselves! +'Tis really so; we have been hunting sables long enough; let us for once +in a way try our luck with flowers. Have not enough Europeans come to us +stepsons of the sun, and waded through our hundred years' snow, to pluck +a modest flower? Shame upon our ancestors--we'll gather them ourselves, +and frank a whole basketful to Europe. Do not crush them, ye children of +a milder heaven! + +But to be serious; to remove the iron weight of prejudice that broods +heavily over the north, requires a stronger lever than the enthusiasm of +a few individuals, and a firmer Hypomochlion than the shoulders of two or +three patriots. Yet if this anthology reconciles you squeamish Europeans +to us snow-men as little as--let's suppose the case--our "Muses' +Almanac," [61] which we--let's again suppose the case--might have +written, it will at least have the merit of helping its companions +through the whole of Germany to give the last neck-stab to expiring +taste, as we people of Tobolsko like to word it. + +If your Homers talk in their sleep, and your Herculeses kill flies with +their clubs--if every one who knows how to give vent to his portion of +sorrow in dreary Alexandrines, interprets that as a call to Helicon, +shall we northerns be blamed for tinkling the Muses' lyre?--Your matadors +claim to have coined silver when they have stamped their effigy on +wretched pewter; and at Tobolsko coiners are hanged. 'Tis true that you +may often find paper-money amongst us instead of Russian roubles, but war +and hard times are an excuse for anything. + +Go forth then, Siberian anthology! Go! Thou wilt make many a coxcomb +happy, wilt be placed by him on the toilet-table of his sweetheart, and +in reward wilt obtain her alabaster, lily-white hand for his tender kiss. +Go! thou wilt fill up many a weary gulf of ennui in assemblies and city- +visits, and may be relieve a Circassienne, who has confessed herself +weary amidst a shower of calumnies. Go! thou wilt be consulted in the +kitchens of many critics; they will fly thy light, and like the screech- +owl, retreat into thy shadow. Ho, ho, ho! Already I hear the ear- +cracking howls in the inhospitable forest, and anxiously conceal myself +in my sable. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[14] In Schiller the eight long lines that conclude each stanza of +this charming love-poem, instead of rhyming alternately as in the +translation, chime somewhat to the tune of Byron's Don Juan--six lines +rhyming with each other, and the two last forming a separate couplet. +In other respects the translation, it is hoped, is sufficiently close +and literal. + +[15] The peach. + +[16] Sung in "The Parasite," a comedy which Schiller translated from +Picard--much the best comedy, by the way, that Picard ever wrote. + +[17] The idea diffused by the translator through this and the preceding +stanza is more forcibly condensed by Schiller in four lines. + +[18] "And ere a man hath power to say, "behold," + The jaws of Darkness do devour it up, + So quick bright things come to confusion."-- + SHAKESPEARE. + +[19] The three following ballads, in which Switzerland is the scene, +betray their origin in Schiller's studies for the drama of William Tell. + +[20] The avalanche--the equivoque of the original, turning on the Swiss +word Lawine, it is impossible to render intelligible to the English +reader. The giants in the preceding line are the rocks that overhang the +pass which winds now to the right, now to the left, of a roaring stream. + +[21] The Devil's Bridge. The Land of Delight (called in Tell "a serene +valley of joy") to which the dreary portal (in Tell the black rock gate) +leads, is the Urse Vale. The four rivers, in the next stanza, are the +Reus, the Rhine, the Tessin, and the Rhone. + +[22] The everlasting glacier. See William Tell, act v, scene 2. + +[23] This has been paraphrased by Coleridge. + +[24] Ajax the Less. + +[25] Ulysses. + +[26] Achilles. + +[27] Diomed. + +[28] Cassandra. + +[29] It may be scarcely necessary to treat, however briefly, of the +mythological legend on which this exquisite elegy is founded; yet we +venture to do so rather than that the forgetfulness of the reader should +militate against his enjoyment of the poem. Proserpine, according to the +Homeride (for the story is not without variations), when gathering +flowers with the Ocean-Nymphs, is carried off by Aidoneus, or Pluto. Her +mother, Ceres, wanders over the earth for her in vain, and refuses to +return to heaven till her daughter is restored to her. Finally, Jupiter +commissions Hermes to persuade Pluto to render up his bride, who rejoins +Ceres at Eleusis. Unfortunately she has swallowed a pomegranate seed in +the Shades below, and is thus mysteriously doomed to spend one-third of +the year with her husband in Hades, though for the remainder of the year +she is permitted to dwell with Ceres and the gods. This is one of the +very few mythological fables of Greece which can be safely interpreted +into an allegory. Proserpine denotes the seed-corn one-third of the year +below the earth; two-thirds (that is, dating from the appearance of the +ear) above it. Schiller has treated this story with admirable and +artistic beauty; and, by an alteration in its symbolical character has +preserved the pathos of the external narrative, and heightened the beauty +of the interior meaning--associating the productive principle of the +earth with the immortality of the soul. Proserpine here is not the +symbol of the buried seed, but the buried seed is the symbol of her--that +is, of the dead. The exquisite feeling of this poem consoled Schiller's +friend, Sophia La Roche, in her grief for her son's death. +[30] What a beautiful vindication of the shortness of human life! + +[31] The corn-flower. + +[32] For this story, see Herodotus, book iii, sections 40-43. + +[33] President of Council of Five Hundred. + +[34] We have already seen in "The Ring of Polycrates," Schiller's mode +of dealing with classical subjects. In the poems that follow, derived +from similar sources, the same spirit is maintained. In spite of +Humboldt, we venture to think that Schiller certainly does not narrate +Greek legends in the spirit of an ancient Greek. The Gothic sentiment, +in its ethical depth and mournful tenderness, more or less pervades all +that he translates from classic fable into modern pathos. The grief of +Hero in the ballad subjoined, touches closely on the lamentations of +Thekla, in "Wallenstein." The Complaint of Ceres, embodies Christian +grief and Christian hope. The Trojan Cassandra expresses the moral of +the Northern Faust. Even the "Victory Feast" changes the whole spirit of +Homer, on whom it is founded, by the introduction of the ethical +sentiment at the close, borrowed, as a modern would apply what he so +borrows from the moralizing Horace. Nothing can be more foreign to the +Hellenic genius, (if we except the very disputable intention of the +"Prometheus"), than the interior and typical design which usually exalts +every conception in Schiller. But it is perfectly open to the modern +poet to treat of ancient legends in the modern spirit. Though he selects +a Greek story, he is still a modern who narrates--he can never make +himself a Greek any more than Aeschylus in the "Persae" could make +himself a Persian. But this is still more the privilege of the poet in +narrative, or lyrical composition, than in the drama, for in the former +he does not abandon his identity, as in the latter he must--yet even this +must has its limits. Shakspeare's wonderful power of self-transfusion has +no doubt enabled him, in his plays from Roman history, to animate his +characters with much of Roman life. But no one can maintain that a Roman +would ever have written plays in the least resembling "Julius Caesar," or +"Coriolanus," or "Antony and Cleopatra." The portraits may be Roman, but +they are painted in the manner of the Gothic school. The spirit of +antiquity is only in them, inasmuch as the representation of human +nature, under certain circumstances, is accurately, though loosely +outlined. When the poet raises the dead, it is not to restore, but to +remodel. + +[35] This notes the time of year--not the time of day--viz., about the +23d of September.--HOFFMEISTER. + +[36] Hecate as the mysterious goddess of Nature.--HOFFMEISTER. + +[37] This story, the heroes of which are more properly known to us under +the names of Damon and Pythias (or Phintias), Schiller took from Hyginus +in whom the friends are called Moerus and Selinuntius. Schiller has +somewhat amplified the incidents in the original, in which the delay of +Moerus is occasioned only by the swollen stream--the other hindrances are +of Schiller's invention. The subject, like "The Ring of Polycrates," +does not admit of that rich poetry of description with which our author +usually adorns some single passage in his narratives. The poetic spirit +is rather shown in the terse brevity with which picture after picture is +not only sketched but finished--and in the great thought at the close. +Still it is not one of Schiller's best ballads. His additions to the +original story are not happy. The incident of the robbers is commonplace +and poor. The delay occasioned by the thirst of Moerus is clearly open +to Goethe's objection (an objection showing very nice perception of +nature)--that extreme thirst was not likely to happen to a man who had +lately passed through a stream on a rainy day, and whose clothes must +have been saturated with moisture--nor in the traveller's preoccupied +state of mind, is it probable that he would have so much felt the mere +physical want. With less reason has it been urged by other critics, that +the sudden relenting of the tyrant is contrary to his character. The +tyrant here has no individual character at all. He is the mere +personation of disbelief in truth and love--which the spectacle of +sublime self-abnegation at once converts. In this idea lies the deep +philosophical truth, which redeems all the defects of the piece--for +poetry, in its highest form, is merely this--"Truth made beautiful." + +[38] The somewhat irregular metre of the original has been preserved +in this ballad, as in other poems; although the perfect anapaestic metre +is perhaps more familiar to the English ear. + +[39] "Die Gestalt"--Form, the Platonic Archetype. + +[40] More literally translated thus by the author of the article on +Schiller in the Foreign and Colonial Review, July, 1843-- + + "Thence all witnesses forever banished + Of poor human nakedness." + +[41] The law, i. e., the Kantian ideal of truth and virtue. This stanza +and the next embody, perhaps with some exaggeration, the Kantian doctrine +of morality. + +[42] "But in God's sight submission is command." "Jonah," by the Rev. +F. Hodgson. Quoted in Foreign and Colonial Review, July, 1843: Art. +Schiller, p. 21. + +[43] It seems generally agreed that poetry is allegorized in these +stanzas; though, with this interpretation, it is difficult to +reconcile the sense of some of the lines--for instance, the last in +the first stanza. How can poetry be said to leave no trace when she +takes farewell? + +[44] "I call the living--I mourn the dead--I break the lightning." +These words are inscribed on the great bell of the Minster of +Schaffhausen--also on that of the Church of Art near Lucerne. There was +an old belief in Switzerland that the undulation of air caused by the +sound of a bell, broke the electric fluid of a thunder-cloud. + +[45] A piece of clay pipe, which becomes vitrified if the metal is +sufficiently heated. + +[46] The translator adheres to the original, in forsaking the rhyme in +these lines and some others. + +[47] Written in the time of the French war. + +[48] Literally, "the manners." The French word moeurs corresponds best +with the German. + +[49] The epithet in the first edition is ruhmlose. + +[50] For this interesting story, see Cox's "House of Austria," vol i, +pp. 87-98 (Bohn's Standard Library). + +[51] See "Piccolomini," act ii., scene 6; and "The Death of +Wallenstein," act v., scene 3. + +[52] This poem is very characteristic of the noble ease with which +Schiller often loves to surprise the reader, by the sudden introduction +of matter for the loftiest reflection in the midst of the most familiar +subjects. What can be more accurate and happy than the poet's description +of the national dance, as if such description were his only object--the +outpouring, as it were, of a young gallant intoxicated by the music, and +dizzy with the waltz? Suddenly and imperceptibly the reader finds himself +elevated from a trivial scene. He is borne upward to the harmony of the +sphere. He bows before the great law of the universe--the young gallant +is transformed into the mighty teacher; and this without one hard conceit +--without one touch of pedantry. It is but a flash of light; and where +glowed the playful picture shines the solemn moral. + +[53] The first five verses in the original of this poem are placed as +a motto on Goethe's statue in the Library at Weimar. The poet does not +here mean to extol what is vulgarly meant by the gifts of fortune; he +but develops a favorite idea of his, that, whatever is really sublime +and beautiful, comes freely down from heaven; and vindicates the seeming +partiality of the gods, by implying that the beauty and the genius given, +without labor, to some, but serve to the delight of those to whom they are +denied. + +[54] Achilles. + +[55] "Nur ein Wunder kann dich tragen + In das schoene Wunderland."--SCHILLER, Sehnsucht. + +[56] This simile is nobly conceived, but expressed somewhat obscurely. +As Hercules contended in vain against Antaeus, the Son of Earth--so long +as the earth gave her giant offspring new strength in every fall,--so +the soul contends in vain with evil--the natural earth-born enemy, while +the very contact of the earth invigorates the enemy for the struggle. +And as Antaeus was slain at last, when Hercules lifted him from the earth, +and strangled him while raised aloft, so can the soul slay the enemy (the +desire, the passion, the evil, the earth's offspring), when bearing it +from earth itself, and stifling it in the higher air. + +[57] By this Schiller informs us elsewhere that he does not mean death +alone; but that the thought applies equally to every period of life when +we can divest ourselves of the body and perceive or act as pure spirits; +we are truly then under the influence of the sublime. + +[58] Duke Bernard of Weimar, one of the heroes of the Thirty Years' war. + +[59] These verses were sent by Schiller to the then Electoral High +Chancellor, with a copy of his "William Tell." + +[60] Addressed in the original to Mdlle. Slevoigt, on her marriage to +Dr. Sturm. + +[61] This was the title of the publication in which many of the finest +of Schiller's "Poems of the Third Period" originally appeared. + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS THIRD PERIOD, SCHILLER *** + +******** This file should be named fs36w10.txt or fs36w10.zip ********* + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, fs36w11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, fs36w10a.txt + +This eBook was produced by Tapio Riikonen +and David Widger, widger@cecomet.net + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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