path: root/77623-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77623 ***




  EVENING SONGS

  BY

  VÍTĚZSLAV HÁLEK

  _From the Czech Original_

  TRANSLATED BY

  DR. JOSEPH ŠTÝBR

  [Illustration]

  BOSTON

  RICHARD G. BADGER

  THE GORHAM PRESS




  COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY JOSEPH ŠTÝBR

  All Rights Reserved


  Made in the United States of America

  The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A.




INTRODUCTION


Vítězslav Hálek, whose little volume of verses is herewith presented
to the reader in English translation, belonged to the romantic and
lyric school of Czech poesy during the second half of the last century.
He was born in 1835 and died in 1874. From his first appearance in
literature in 1858 he held his nation at attention and enjoyed its
admiration and love for twenty years. During that time he produced a
line of works touching upon nearly all classes of writing; however, the
lyric string of his lyre proved to be the most charming one, and this
little volume of Evening Songs proved to be his culminating point. As
an expression of fragrant effusions of feeling it always appealed to
the tenderness of youthful hearts and was eagerly sought and read, so
that the book in the original appeared in many editions.

Should the little volume bring real pleasure to the reader and
induce others to open wider the doors to the rich and charming Czech
literature for the readers in English, the effort of the translator
would be well rewarded.

                                                         THE TRANSLATOR.




CONTENTS


                                                  PAGE

  AS IN THE SKY RISES THE MOON                      53

  AT PROPHETS CAST YE NEVER STONES                  71

  BLEST IS THE MAN WHOM THE LORD’S HAND             67

  DAY AND NIGHT WENT EACH THEIR WAY, THE            55

  DEEP SILENCE REIGNS--IT SEEMS TO ME               48

  DON’T WONDER, SHOULDST THOU CHANCE TO HEAR        58

  FROM HEAVEN ANGELS COME TO EARTH                  72

  GOD SUMMONED ME TO PARADISE                       17

  GOD’S WORLD IS SO FAR AND WIDE, THE               59

  GREATEST HERO IS NOT HE, THE                      32

  HEAVENS ARE REPLETE WITH STARS, THE               33

  HE’S GOING FAR FROM HOME                          75

  HE WHO CAN STRIKE THE GOLDEN STRINGS              70

  HEY, IN THE ROUNDS WHAT PLEASURE                  60

  HUMMING OF THE TREES HAS CEASED, THE              13

  I AM A LINDEN WITH LARGE CROWN                    21

  I AM THE KNIGHT FROM THE OLD TALE                 12

  I BADE THE TRUMPETS TO BE BLOWN                   69

  I DO NOT KNOW, WAS IT A DREAM?                    45

  I THOUGHT TO MYSELF, WITH NO LOVE                 50

  IF ALL THE WORLD LOST ITS DELIGHT                 37

  IF THAT POOR NIGHTINGALE                          18

  IN THE SKY THE MOON WAS STANDING                  74

  IT HAPPENED. MY SOUL MINUS THEE                   26

  IT SEEMED TO ME--GRIEF HAD GROWN OLD              49

  MOON SAILS SLOWLY IN THE SKY, THE                 76

  MUCH HAS BEEN TRUSTED TO THY HANDS                68

  MY GOD, OF ALL THINGS I ASPIRE                    66

  MY LIPS WERE LOCKT A LONG, LONG TIME              64

  MY PILLOW WAS OF SORROW MADE                      62

  MY SWEETHEART, COME, KNEEL DOWN WITH ME           20

  MY SWEETHEART, COME, SIT CLOSE TO ME              29

  MY SWEETHEART, I DREAMT THOU HADST DIED           39

  MY SWEETHEART, LOOK AT THOSE TWO CLOUDS           77

  NIGHT IS FAIR AND TRANSPARENT, THE                43

  NOW GO, MY DARLING CHILDREN, GO                   73

  OF MY SONGS I SHALL BUILD THY THRONE              57

  ONCE AS I THROUGH THE GOLDEN STARS                30

  SCORCHING HEAT OF NOONDAY SUN, THE                35

  SHOULD I TELL THEE THE SECRET TALE                19

  SO MANY, MANY THINGS THERE ARE                    41

  SO OFTEN IT APPEARS TO ME                         22

  SPRING CAME FLYING FROM AFAR, THE                 11

  STARS UPON THE HEAVENS THERE, THE                 31

  STARS BY THE HUNDREDS DOT THE SKY                 15

  TELL WHEREIN THOU HAST SINNED, MY HEART           36

  THAT DEEP AND DARK BLUE HEAVEN’S BOWL             46

  THAT LITTLE BIRD SINGS ALL THE TIME               47

  THAT NIGHTINGALE HAS NOT RETIRED                  24

  THAT YOUNG LITTLE SINGER THERE                    52

  THERE WERE TWO THOUGHTS, TWO THOUGHTS OF GOD      51

  THOSE STARS, THOSE FAIR WEE LITTLE STARS          44

  THOU ART STILL BUT A YOUTHFUL BUD                 23

  THOU HAST LAID THY HAND ON MY HEAD                56

  THOU MAIDEN, CHARMING MOST OF ALL                 25

  THOUGH ALL THE WORLD HAS GONE TO SLEEP            14

  THY BEAUTIFUL EYE IS A LAKE                       28

  ’TIS WRONG FOR MEN TO LACK IN SONG                63

  UP IN THE OAK TREE A DOVE WAILED                  42

  UPON THE SKY THE MOON AND STARS                   34

  WHAT CHARM IS THERE IN LOVE FOR US                16

  WHAT MATTERS IT WHAT IN SWEET SONGS               38

  WHEN GOD FELT HIS SUPREME DELIGHT                 40

  WHEN I GAZE AT THEE, DARLING MINE                 27

  WHEN I SHALL TRUST MY CORPSE TO EARTH             65

  YE ALL WHO DEEM YOURSELVES OPPRESSED              54

  YE LITTLE, YE WEE LITTLE STARS                    61




EVENING SONGS




EVENING SONGS




I


    The spring came flying from afar;
    With fresh desires all’s teeming;
    All things pressed forward to the sun--
    So long all had been dreaming!

    The finches flew out of their nest
    And children from their bowers,
    And on the meadows sweetest scents
    Breathe countless little flowers.

    Young leaves press their way from the twigs
    And from birds’ throats their voices,
    And in the heart with budding love
    The youthful breast rejoices.




II


    I am the knight from the old tale
    Who proudly to the far world rode
    To see the lass who’s like a rose
    And to discover her abode.

    Who would behold her--said her fame--
    Would by a ban at once be struck;
    His heart would be rent from his breast,
    Or he would change to be a rock.

    Thought I to myself, possibly
    For clemency there might be room.
    I ventured out and for my sin--
    Became a bard by rigid doom.




III


    The humming of the trees has ceased,
    Their leaves breathe calmly, neatly;
    The bird is dreaming its fair dream
    So quietly, so sweetly.

    The heavens’ stars have all come out,
    All things rest in calm gladness,
    But in the breast the sorrow wakes
    And in the heart the sadness.

    The fragrant blossom’s pretty cup
    Receives dew in its centre--
    My God, and I, too, feel that dew
    In mine eyes gently enter.




IV


    Though all the world has gone to sleep,
    The heart wakes in the body,
    And God himself knows that the heart
    Ne’er sleeps for anybody.

    The whole God’s world is silence-bound,
    The heart still goes, well rated,
    And God himself knows that the heart
    Gets never fatigated.

    Sleep is the conqueror of thought,
    Night is day’s alternation--
    But in the breast the heart e’er wakes
    And guards its love’s sweet passion.




V


    Stars by the hundreds dot the sky
    With sister Moon at leisure,
    And God and angels view the world
    From heaven’s height with pleasure.

    A smiling angel’s coming down
    To earth as heaven’s vision--
    Fair as the fragrant breath of spring,
    And love is his sweet mission.

    Wherever he just passes by
    All’s stricken with sweet passion,
    And nightingales and fair white doves
    All sing with animation.

    And he whom his white wing does touch
    Is transformed all over,
    And something sweet enters his breast
    That human words can’t cover.




VI


    What charm is there in love for us,
    My God, and why we love it?
    The world would all dissolve in it
    And lives all in love of it.

    The little cloud sails through the sky
    As though love’s message drove it;
    The little bird that sleeps in twigs
    Is dreaming only of it.

    And here, too, on the earth the man,
    While death his head does covet,
    He weeps, rejoices, longs and lives
    And dies for the sake of it.

    Indeed, the heaven’s angel choir
    With their harps’ music prove it--
    What would they sing, if not allowed
    To play and to sing of it!




VII


    God summoned me to Paradise
    To get me educated.
    “’Tis hard for me to be alone!”
    The Lord then Eve created.

    He took not one rib from my breast,
    My heart in half he parted.
    That is why my heart still tends back
    From where Thine once had started.

    And that is why such strange desires
    So oft in my heart gather,
    And I feel as though both our hearts
    Should grow again together.

    And that is why when I’m away
    Pain to my heart is creeping,
    My foot does of itself turn back,
    And I am sad--to weeping.




VIII


    If that poor nightingale
    Lived always with her mate,
    Her love songs would not sound
    So sad and desolate.

    If that poor heart but would
    With Thee wake through the night,
    Instead of pain it would
    Resound with sweet delight.




IX


    Should I tell Thee the secret tale
    As nightingale in the oak forest--
    Or should I weep in bitter tears
    What sways my heart and gives it no rest?

    Or, kneeling down, with ardent words
    Should I in prayer spell my passion--
    Or in a fair and tranquil night
    Out of my dream breathe my confession?

    Or should the hidden paradise
    Sleep in my heart’s depth, never uttered,
    Like in a grave, and far from Thee
    My love in secret be but muttered?

    O angel mine, I do confess
    My love for mankind, never dying;
    But toward Thee--O, don’t chide me,
    That my mind’s weak and undefying!




X


    My sweetheart, come, kneel down with me,
    Now is the time for us to pray--
    The moon has risen o’er the woods,
    And my time has just passed away.

    But, darling, do not clasp Thy hands;
    Embrace me as I Thee with mine--
    And thus, instead of clasping hands,
    Two hearts will in one prayer join.

    Thy lips then press Thou close to mine;
    From one mouth let the prayer rise--
    Let me the words press on Thy lips,
    And Thou send them to Paradise.

    Our prayer shall be strong, indeed,
    Our offer purest in that case--
    For angels, too, when they do pray,
    Are praying just in such embrace.




XI


    I am a linden with large crown,
    In style dressed in the meadow:
    Thou beautiful, sweet rose of May,
    Come to my cooling shadow.

    Here each green leaf does odor breathe
    And swarms of bees are humming,
    And, nightly, little birds arrive--
    Those are my thoughts, home coming.

    They fly far-off as children do
    From home until they hunger,
    But, with Thee seated close to me,
    They will depart no longer.




XII


    So often it appears to me,
    As I embrace and love Thee,
    That Thou art for me in the world
    And I for the sake of Thee.

    ’Tis difficult through life to pass
    Avoiding all deflection;
    But to give others happiness
    Is greatest satisfaction.

    And if the king enjoys his crown
    And God has heaven’s Eden
    And birds have forest in the spring,
    I do have Thee, my maiden.




XIII


    Thou art still but a youthful bud
    Just into the world looming,
    And yet upon Thy cheek appears
    A beautiful rose blooming.

    And it is such a dainty rose
    And such a fragrant blossom
    That soon a fire burns in the soul
    And yearning in the bosom.




XIV


    That nightingale has not retired
    And she’s with song all ringing;
    That song of love, so long, my God,
    When will she be done singing?

    From one twig to another twig,
    From upper to the nether--
    And I believe that the same plight
    In hearts we bear together.

    And turning up her serene eye
    She looks in each direction--
    And I believe that I could guess
    What is her eyes’ attraction.




XV


    Thou maiden, charming most of all,
    O Thou, world’s greatest treasure,
    In Thee I found my sweet delight,
    Thou art my cherished pleasure.

    Thou art as pure as morning drops
    That come from heaven’s dewing
    And graceful as the turtle dove
    When she her song is cooing.

    Thou art fair as the lily white
    That in sweet odor guises
    And noble as the morning star--
    The day dawns as she rises.




XVI


    It happened. My soul minus Thee
    No longer feels itself as whole;
    To think myself without Thee once
    Would be as to have lost my soul.

    Yes, Thou art woven in my soul
    Thou art her pride and her delight--
    Thou art my solace, my desire,
    My happiness--my pain and plight.

    From joyless days Thou heaven weav’st
    As does the bride her wedding dress;
    In me Thou wak’st, in me Thou dream’st;
    What I’m, what Thou, is hard to guess.

    It matters not what my fate be--
    For I know well its weaving hand.
    And should Thy hand destruction bring,
    On that, too, heaven might depend.




XVII


    When I gaze at Thee, darling mine--
    Thou art a dove--though sweeter--
    Delightful, playful, gentle, tame,
    When her mate comes to meet her.

    And I can scarcely gaze enough
    At Thine eyes and cheeks’ blossom--
    Thine eyes are but two dark blue gates
    To Thy deep charming bosom.

    And I can scarcely gaze enough
    At Thy sweet face reflection--
    Through it Thy whole heart speaks to me
    And soul without deception.

    When I gaze at Thee, darling mine--
    O manna’s sweet dispenser!--
    Are not those the same lips, indeed,
    That gave me “yes” for answer?




XVIII


    Thy beautiful eye is a lake
    In darkness gently waving;
    In it the bright lights of the night
    And heavens’ blue are laving.

    And as pure crystal it is clear,
    One sees the bottom in it--
    But who attempts to look in deep
    Will shortly be drowned in it.




XIX


    My sweetheart, come, sit close to me,
    Allow me to embrace Thee;
    The Lord gave Thee an angel’s soul
    From heaven, just to grace Thee.

    I feel that I should speak to Thee
    And make confessions often,
    But my words stay locked in my mouth
    And dead as in a coffin.

    And often what I’d like to say
    Appears unutterable,
    For, though the soul is filled with it,
    The tongue to speak’s unable.

    But as I wind my arm ’round Thee
    And my soul in Thine enters,
    I feel as though Thou knowest all
    What on my tongue then centres.




XX


    Once as I through the golden stars
    Up heavenward was gazing,
    It seemed to me Thou wert a saint
    And I an angel blazing.

    Then I a harp took to my hand
    And songs to Thee I chanted
    Until the saints’ songs died away
    And all eyes to us slanted.

    And God the Father for a while
    Himself ceased in creation.
    And down His cheek there seemed to roll
    A diamond of compassion.




XXI


    The stars upon the heavens there
    Are worlds of greatest features,
    And I would only like to know
    What kind they have of creatures.

    If some one from that height up there
    At us ’way down here gazes,
    And if he up there like I here
    His voice in love songs raises.




XXII


    The greatest hero is not he
    For blows with blows who’s paying,
    But he who, hundred times betrayed,
    Himself knows no betraying.

    Who after love can send a curse
    He never felt love’s passion,
    For love is able to forgive
    And knows no condemnation.

    Who will not bring a sacrifice
    To him no love be proffered;
    Bad is the priest who thinks he’s more
    Than that what he has offered.

    And should e’er love demand of me
    My life and share in heaven--
    I would go as the lamb for Thee
    To whom my love I’ve given.




XXIII


    The heavens are replete with stars
    As spring time is with daisies;
    Thus everything in God’s great world
    For love has its own praises.

    The violet’s replete with scent
    And dew in little blossom,
    And that dear nightingale sings love
    From overflowing bosom.

    The heavens are replete with stars,
    With blazing lights all sweeping,
    And here on earth the living men
    Are singing and are weeping.




XXIV


    Upon the sky the moon and stars,
    The forest full of voices,
    And God spreads only love around
    In which the world rejoices.

    The murmurs in young foliage
    Change to low sweet narration;
    The world is gay and jubilant
    And melts in osculation.

    And yet I know that somewhere grief
    Some youthful heart oppresses,
    And that a secret bitter tear
    Some young pale cheek caresses.




XXV


    The scorching heat of noonday sun
    Is my love’s blazing passion;
    The night--fair shadow of the day--
    Thy love’s sweet moderation.

    Thou hast set fire within my breast,
    Earth’s centre’s heat assuming,
    But that fire, unnursed by Thy love,
    Will die, itself consuming.

    I dreamt of banquets with Thy love
    And have but crumbs collected;
    What wonder, then, if only grief
    Is in my face reflected.

    The heart, indeed, can suffer much,
    Oppressed by love’s great hunger,
    And whether I am day or night
    I now can guess no longer.

    ’Tis written thus. The day and night
    Proceed, each other missing--
    But as the evening’s dusk arrives,
    They meet, each other kissing.




XXVI


    Tell wherein thou hast sinned, my heart;
    My God, such tribulation!
    That what forever should be joined
    Must live in separation.

    How beautiful the life would be
    In love without distressing!
    But to forever yearn and live--
    Where is therein a blessing?




XXVII


    If all the world lost its delight
    And had no other pleasure
    And love alone was left behind--
    The life would have its treasure.

    And if all other things were truth
    And love but dreams’ delusion--
    I would be ready to lie down
    And sleep to life’s conclusion.

    And if till now I’ve only dreamt--
    My dreams had their sweet flavor,
    And who sang me my lullabies
    I shan’t forget forever.




XXVIII


    What matters it what in sweet songs
    The nightingale is telling,
    Since my own heart has left its place
    And now with Thee ’tis dwelling.

    And if her call rang e’er so sweet
    And into mine ears chanted:
    What matters it, since in my heart
    And soul now Thou art planted!

    And there Thou art, so charmful,
    Beyond imagination,
    That I’d give the sky’s stars, my soul,
    To Thee in admiration.




XXIX


    My sweetheart, I dreamt Thou hadst died;
    I heard the death-knells pealing,
    And there were tears and wails and cries
    And signs of saddest feeling.

    For the low mound o’er Thy strange bed
    They picked a tombstone blindly,
    And a verse for Thine epitaph
    To write they asked me kindly.

    Oh, folks! Oh, folks! yourselves of stones,
    My heart take, with grief raving,
    And what I have not sung before
    Use for the stone’s engraving!

    You trusted not in my pure love
    And scorned my word and letter--
    Now if the stone will speak to you,
    You’ll understand it better.




XXX


    When God felt His supreme delight,
    The human heart He molded
    And for eternal memory
    His love in it He folded.

    And as He gazed upon the heart
    With eyes divine, forseeing,
    He wept, for He was overjoyed
    To see the blissful being.

    But as He wept, one of His tears,
    Unnoticed, the heart entered,
    As dew falls in a flower cup,
    And near the bottom centered.

    That is why love is a great grief,
    But grief so sweet and charming
    That pitied must be all the hearts
    That have escaped its harming.

    That is why love is half of bliss
    And half of grief a token,
    But if the tear swells to a wave,
    Then some heart may be broken.




XXXI


    So many, many things there are
    To which the keys are lacking;
    Deep silence answers all man’s knocks
    And foils his undertaking.

    Thou human heart! There sorrows howl
    As wolves, by hunger driven,
    And yet that same heart, oh, my God!
    To love alone is given.

    ’Tis capable of so much love
    That man’s wit may be failing,
    And he may as the lonely dove
    In vain roam, ever wailing.




XXXII


    Up in the oak tree a dove wailed--
    Below, a brooklet muttered--
    Don’t wonder, when I was to speak,
    That not a word I uttered.

    Can he speak from all his soul’s depth
    Who does in strange lands wander?
    And man’s too human that he should
    At paradise not wonder.




XXXIII


    The night is fair and transparent--
    One sees the heaven’s sainted;
    The song, the odor, and the buzz
    Hold the whole heart enchanted.

    O pity, Thou art not with me,
    To hear with me and wonder
    How everything here tells its tale
    To the clear heavens yonder.

    How the whole world is but one song
    The universe pervading,
    And that from human hearts but comes
    An echo, faint and fading.




XXXIV


    Those stars, those fair wee little stars,
    The heavens’ blue dome lighting,
    They look to me down with sweet eyes,
    Me up to them inviting.

    Oh no! ye fair wee little stars;
    You love that wheel of heaven,
    While I prefer to stay down here
    Where I find all I’ve craven.

    You don’t know, fair wee little stars,
    And think not what you’re missing;
    We have here heaven on the earth
    In sweet, delightful kissing.




XXXV


    I do not know, was it a dream?
    But in my mind it lingers--
    I saw and read the nations’ fates,
    Decreed by God’s own fingers.

    Thoughts, earnest as was God himself,
    Passed through His great head, thronging
    And beautiful as nights of spring
    For a sweet body longing.

    Some thought--great as the universe,
    Some--music sounding gently,
    Some--future human history,
    By human eyes seen faintly.

    There, too, I met with my own love
    And with Thy heart, ne’er failing,
    That love of ours appeared there
    As two small bright clouds sailing.

    And God, observing our sweet love,
    Himself with grace relented,
    And throngs of young angels their hymns
    Before Him on it chanted.




XXXVI


    That deep and dark blue heavens’ bowl--
    And stars as golden blossoms;
    As man looks at them from the earth,
    His heart strange feelings bosoms.

    And all the time more and more stars
    Appear without a bound there--
    And yet not ev’ry little star
    Can easily be found there.

    But whene’er in two youthful hearts
    First breath of love does enter,
    A new star is said to appear
    In heavens’ dark blue center.

    And if in one of the two hearts
    Love’s blossoms starts to wither,
    Then from the dark blue heavens’ bowl
    One golden star drops hither.




XXXVII


    That little bird sings all the time
    As one song with life ringing;
    So wonder not, if one does love,
    That he’ll pass life in singing.

    And that bird speaks from heart to heart,
    And it knows how, directly,
    So that man hardly keeps back tears,
    If he knows hearts perfectly.

    Yes, often it appears to me
    That I am as its fellow,
    For my songs, too, can move to tears,
    So soft they are, and mellow.




XXXVIII


    Deep silence reigns--it seems to me
    Sleep comes to mine eyes, resting,
    As does a bird come to its mate
    In their home softly nesting.

    The night’s soft bed is ready made--
    The heavens, with stars covered.
    Maybe that some heart will forget
    For what this day it suffered.

    Maybe that some heart will forget,
    And if it found no treasure,
    Maybe it finds it in its dream
    And with it finds its pleasure.




XXXIX


    It seemed to me--Grief had grown old,
    Soon would come its last countin’,
    And tears--so many had been shed
    That dry must be their fountain.

    Then suddenly I thought of Thee,
    And soon my whole soul shivered,
    And as though I should lose Thee soon
    An echo in it quivered.

    And mine eyes promptly filled with tears,
    My joy to grief is bending,
    And I am finding out with pain
    That tears shall have no ending.




XL


    I thought to myself, with no love
    How’d look that world of ours:
    It would be as a dreary waste
    Without a trace of flowers.

    The heart would wander through that waste
    And always on grief border,
    It would be sad as the world was
    Ere God to light gave order.

    It would be so sad that on earth
    Man would not like the livin’,
    And God the Father would not like
    To stay as God in heaven.




XLI


    There were two thoughts, two thoughts of God,
    Two stars beside each other,
    And from all of the heavens’ stars
    They most loved one another.

    Once one of them fell to the earth--
    The other pined in sorrow,
    And God, touched by her grief and love,
    Sent her down on the morrow.

    They sought each other many nights
    As lonely souls their Eden,
    Until one day they chanced to meet
    As a young man and maiden.

    Their eyes met, and they recognized
    Each other, tender-hearted,
    And lived together in great bliss
    Till one of them departed.

    And when she died, she always called
    And languished for the other,
    Till God summoned the other one,
    And they’re again together.




XLII


    That young little singer there--
    Why did she cease her narration?
    Her eyes quickly filled with tears
    As though grieved in separation.

    Some one may think to himself,
    God, how can her young soul darken?
    Her face young and beautiful,
    And her song so sweet to hearken.

    Ah, a beautiful young face
    May not do in solace bringing;
    And though sweet the song may be--
    You don’t always feel like singing.




XLIII


    As in the sky rises the moon--
    So into hearts love enters;
    And secret pain and silent grief
    Around it often centers.

    And visions man had not thought of
    He may see, dimly lighted,
    And secret pain and silent grief
    May be in song united.

    But gales and tempests violent
    In many hearts are waking,
    And ere in song they utter them--
    How many hearts are breaking!




XLIV


    Ye all who deem yourselves oppressed,
    Come near, come nearer to me:
    Lay off your sorrows’ burdens here
    And light up your minds gloomy.

    I’ve reared here a vast realm of love
    Where mate seeks his mate pretty,
    And what one harbors in his heart
    Resounds in love’s sweet ditty.

    No rival here, no hater’s known,
    Here speech is love song, wooing;
    Here lions turn to calm, meek lambs
    And hawks to doves, sweet, cooing.

    Here are all ailments’ remedies;
    Here hearts are ever youthful;
    Here never fades the blooming rose,
    And friendship’s ever truthful.




XLV


    The day and night went each their way--
    The day, as Judas, traitor,
    The night, so fair, so beautiful,
    That none can ever hate her.

    The little stars shine in the sky,
    The moon comes with her pallor,
    And in the forest chats the dove,
    The fair and tender caller.

    The heart confesses to the heart
    With thoughts in distance sailing,
    And longing lips thirst for a kiss,
    From burning passion thrilling.




XLVI


    Thou hast laid Thy hand on my head,
    My temples proud caressing;
    Thy lips have whispered their sweet words
    In prayer and in blessing.

    Thou hast revealed Thy soul to me
    In Thy love’s fragrant blossom,
    And what I had not dared to dream--
    Thou took’st me to Thy bosom.

    With blessing Thou hast graced my harp,
    My heart and my lips’ diction;
    To pious battles Thou hast sent
    My songs with benediction.

    My forehead is from sadness freed,
    Fears are a thing I scoff at,
    My soul is filled with dawning light--
    And I am love’s great prophet.




XLVII


    Of my songs I shall build Thy throne
    In style of bards of greatest fame.
    Thy sceptre shall be my own heart,
    My fame shall be Thy diadem.

    Love I shall declare to be law,
    I shall sing daily Thine esteem;
    In Thy soul I’ll pour love’s delight
    And sweetest longing in Thy dream.

    I shall bid birds to sing to Thee,
    May’s flowers shall fall to Thy feet;
    I’ll change to heaven the world and all
    And there command the stars to meet.

    I’ll make your subjects all men’s hearts,
    Revive the Eden with my verse,
    Proclaim Thee high queen of it all
    Throughout the whole of universe.




XLVIII


    Don’t wonder, shouldst Thou chance to hear
    Birds sing of Thy love’s wooing;
    They called once at my window sill
    To see what I was doing.

    And they again came and again
    And soon taught me to love them,
    For I am free just as they are
    And am just like one of them.

    I sang them many songs of Thee
    That in sweet love abounded,
    And they soon tuned their throats to them
    Till in their songs love sounded.

    The other day I called on them
    In their woods and nooks shady
    And was surprised to find the birds
    To sing my songs already.




XLIX


    The God’s world is so far and wide
    And goodness in small measure;
    By thousands one can count the pains
    And very little pleasure.

    The heart is ready to redeem
    With hundred pains one pleasure--
    And the same heart, O God, for love
    Will suffer past all measure.




L


    Hey, in the rounds what pleasure
    While one his lass embraces!
    Let’s have the charming music--
    Come, pale lad, join our races!

    Ah, the pale lad’s whole body
    As though with cold frost shivered,
    And down his pale cheeks quickly
    A stream of hot tears quivered.




LI


    Ye little, ye wee little birds,
    Ye song-dreamers in sleeping;
    Does anyone of you there know
    That I die here from weeping?

    Dear moon, stop moving in the sky
    Till I some solace gather;
    My love’s fire’s extinct as art thou--
    We both fit well together.

    The last flame flickers to die out,
    All that’s left are words hollow;
    Yet I would blow all to new life,
    Though nought but grief should follow.




LII


    My pillow was of sorrow made
    My sleep were tears, free flowing;
    Go easy, my heart--not so loud:
    Deep penitence I’m showing.

    The moon comes by the window in,
    Gown’d in her deathly pallor,
    And in the heart a song died down
    As of a bird, sad caller.

    Dear moon, light up the stars on high;
    Let dew descend on flowers;
    Awake from sleep the nightingale,
    But men--let sleep their hours!

    You carry off the gorgeous love--
    You know the calamity;
    I am now but a wretched man--
    Ah, pity, pity, pity!




LIII


    “’Tis wrong for men to lack in song--”
    In judgment God has spoken--
    And then He sent a bard to men
    And gave him this as token:

    “Throughout thy life have thou no rest,
    Thy bread with tears be eaten;
    Know thou nought but hard suffering,
    In all hopes be thou beaten!

    “Though thy heart be rent to its blood--
    View that blood to them clinging;
    Though driven by them through all lands--
    Love them--and keep on singing!”

    That lot is common to us bards.
    Men may have our songs chanted,
    But with what had brought on our song--
    None cares to get acquainted.




LIV


    My lips were lockt a long, long time,
    And mute as rocks are lonely,
    But suddenly they were unlockt
    By Thee with one kiss only.

    That kiss fell as in month of May
    On parched earth falls a shower;
    Now songs began to sprout again
    In my soul with fresh power.




LV


    When I shall trust my corpse to earth
    And my soul to God’s keeping,
    I ask to be laid as a bard
    Away to my last sleeping.

    Into my hand I want the lyre,
    On head, leaves from laure’s arbor;
    Let my new neighbors know at once
    Who comes to their calm harbor.

    I always holy held the lyre
    And not a mere toy only:
    So let it be mine ornament
    In night long and place lonely.

    Should we feel lonesome in the graves
    And, maybe, for home too sick,
    Then I shall sing a song for them
    And cheer them up with music.

    And should in your lives sluggishness
    And sleep here overtake you:
    I’ll rouse the dead and send them back,
    And they shall come and wake you.




LVI


    My God, of all things I aspire
    I here confess, whole-hearted;
    All I pray for is that from song
    I never shall be parted.

    Shouldst Thou withdraw my gift of song--
    I ask to live no longer;
    Shouldst Thou for song bid me take bliss--
    I still to song cling stronger.




LVII


    Blest is the man whom the Lord’s hand
    As bard had consecrated;
    He has looked into God’s decrees
    And has men’s breasts well rated.

    He knows what says the world’s great psalm
    And what the birds are singing;
    He understands the throbbing heart,
    In tears, and with joy ringing.

    What secret is to other men
    Is open to his vision;
    He is the leader of God’s race
    To its long promised region.

    He is the king of kingdoms vast,
    The priest of men’s salvation,
    And beauties’ treasures lie in him
    Beyond all estimation.




LVIII


    Much has been trusted to Thy hands;
    My heart in them I planted,
    And God placed sweet songs in that heart
    To have men’s bliss augmented.

    A strange plant is the human heart--
    Not easily to nourish;
    For, it is up to love alone,
    If it shall die or flourish.

    A strange plant is the human heart--
    It needs the climate’s favor
    And dew and rain and best of care
    To yield fruit of good flavor.

    So should my heart from Thy hands sprout
    In honor of the nation,
    Long ages that are yet to come
    Shall sing Thine adoration.




LIX


    I bade the trumpets to be blown
    For glorious resurrection;
    I shall in final judgment sit--
    Ye shall hear your fates’ lection.

    Ye who have been opposed to love
    And have against it spoken:
    Ye shall despair for all the time,
    And your hearts shall be broken.

    But ye who always have kept faith
    And treated love with favor:
    Ye come and gather on my right
    And live in love forever.

    To you in heaven special place
    And special bliss be given,
    For, having loved upon the earth,
    You had the taste of heaven.




LX


    He who can strike the golden strings
    Be highest honors given,
    For God has shewn you such great love
    That He sent him from heaven.

    It’s dreadful when with barren fields
    And plague God means to punish,
    But greatest scorge visits the race
    From whom its songs do vanish.

    That nation has not perished yet
    To whom its bards are singing:
    For all song is of heaven’s birth
    And life in death ’tis bringing.




LXI


    At prophets cast ye never stones;
    They are as birds, shy, clever:
    Cast thou a stone at him but once,
    And he is gone forever.

    God’s fearful wrath the nation seeks
    Whose love of bards is shaken,
    And greatest wrath befell the race
    From whom God songs has taken.

    The poet’s heart is pure and chaste,
    His faith does never vary;
    Therefore, what he sings from his heart
    That ye in your hearts carry!




LXII


    From heaven angels come to earth--
    Dreams with their golden visions,
    And each of them brings men in sleep
    Delight from happy regions.

    Wherever these fair angels stop,
    Men learn all they had craven;
    For they know and tell them in dreams
    Fair tales direct from heaven.

    The eyelids suddenly get sealed--
    With sweetness of sleep laden:
    Thine image stands in front of me--
    Good night, good night--my maiden!




LXIII


    Now go, my darling children, go--
    This is no more your station;
    Accept for your quaint journey yet
    Your father’s osculation!

    May be, somewhere they’ll honor you
    And offer you receptions;
    But somewhere they may criticise--
    Be ready for exceptions!

    But let your mind not be disturbed
    Nor wrinkles in face driven:
    All kinds of men live in the world,
    But few to love are given.




LXIV


    In the sky the moon was standing;
    Dreams to me new songs were lending.

    Birds came and told one another
    How much we did love each other.

    That the fair fresh meadow flowers
    Would be wedding gowns of ours.

    That green ivy with her story
    Would wreathe Thy head with its glory.

    Adorned with thousand charms,
    That Thou wouldst rest in my arms.




LXV


    He’s going far from home,
    With sorrow laden;
    He turns yet and looks back--
    Good-bye, dear maiden!

    He turns yet and looks back,
    His kerchief waving;
    With kerchief he dries yet
    Eyes in tears laving.

    And now behind him closed
    A foreign region
    As in the sky the lark
    Gets lost to vision.

    He’s gone, but he’ll come back
    Again, joy-laden--
    But ere he will return--
    Good-bye, dear maiden!




LXVI

(Posthumous)


    The moon sails slowly in the sky
    So calmly and so freely;
    The nightingale wails in the twigs
    So sweetly and so really.

    Thy image stands in front of me
    So calmly and so freely;
    The heart in longing wakes and calls
    So sweetly and so really.

    A swarm of songs is circling ’round
    So calmly and so freely;
    And into mine eye steals a tear
    So sweetly and so really.

    Now gentle sleep knocks at my door
    So calmly and so freely--
    And I recall Thee to my mind
    So sweetly and so really.




LXVII

(Posthumous)


    My sweetheart, look at those two clouds
    Above that mountain yonder--
    The moon sheds her light on their way,
    And in close touch they wander.

    The maiden choir of quiet stars
    Is twinkling to them greeting,
    And gentle zephyrs in their breath
    Bring odors to them, fleeting.

    Lo! from the shrubs the nightingale
    Flew up with her narration--
    Hark how she sends her song to them
    As song’s true incarnation!

    My love, look from Thy window there
    How those clouds float together--
    I asked them to bid Thee “good night,”
    Sweet dreams ’round Thee to gather.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77623 ***