Looks the monarch’s lovely daughter;
Bold and joyous looks Sir Olave,
And his ruddy lips are smiling.
And with smiling ruddy lips he
Thus the gloomy king addresses:
“Father of my wife, good morning!
“Forfeited to-day my head is.
“I to-day must die,--O suffer,
“Suffer me to live till midnight,
“That I may with feast and torch-dance
“Celebrate my happy wedding!
“Let me live, O let me live, sire,
“Till I’ve drain’d the final goblet,
“Till the final dance is finish’d--
“Suffer me to live till midnight!”
To the headsman spake the monarch:
“To our son-in-law a respite
“Of his life we grant till midnight--
“Keep thy trusty hatchet ready!”
II.
Sir Olave he sits at his wedding repast,
And every goblet is drained at last;
Upon his shoulder reclines
His wife and pines--
At the door the headsman is standing.
The dance begins, and Sir Olave takes hold
Of his youthful wife, and with haste uncontroll’d
They dance by the torches’ glow
Their last dance below--
At the door the headsman is standing.
The fiddles strike up, so merry and glad,
The flutes they sound so mournful and sad;
Whoever their dancing then saw
Was filled with awe--
At the door the headsman is standing.
And as they dance in the echoing hall,
To his wife speaks Sir Olave, unheard by them all:
“My love will be ne’er known to thee--
“The grave yawns for me--”
At the door the headsman is standing.
III.
Sir Olave, ’tis the midnight hour,
Thy days of life are number’d;
In a king’s daughter’s arms instead
Thou thoughtest to have slumber’d.
The monks they mutter the prayers for the dead,
The man the red coat wearing
Already before the black block stands,
His polish’d hatchet bearing.
Sir Olave descends to the court below,
Where the swords and the lights are gleaming;
The ruddy lips of the Knight they smile,
And he speaks with a countenance beaming:
“I bless the sun, and I bless the moon,
“And the stars in the heavens before me;
“I bless too the little birds that sing
“In the air so merrily o’er me.
“I bless the sea and I bless the land,
“And the flow’rs that the meadow’s life are;
“I bless the violets, which are as soft
“As the eyes of my own dear wife are.
“Ye violet eyes of my own dear wife,
“My life for your sakes I surrender!
“I bless the elder-tree, under whose shade
“We plighted our vows of love tender.”
11. THE WATER NYMPHS.
The waves were plashing against the lone strand,
The moon had risen lately,
The knight was lying upon the white sand,
In vision musing greatly.
The beauteous nymphs arose from the deep,
Their veils around them floated;
They softly approach’d, and fancied that sleep
The youth’s repose denoted.
The plume of his helmet the first one felt,
To see if perchance it would harm her;
The second took hold of his shoulder belt,
And handled his heavy chain armour.
The third one laugh’d, and her eyes gleam’d bright,
As the sword from the scabbard drew she;
On the bare sword leaning, she gazed on the knight,
And heartfelt pleasure knew she.
The fourth one danced both here and there,
And breath’d from her inmost bosom:
“O would that I thy mistress were,
“Thou lovely mortal blossom!”
The fifth her kisses with passionate strength
On the hand of the knight kept planting;
The sixth one tarried, and kissed at length
His lips and his cheeks enchanting.
The knight was wise, and far too discreet
To open his eyes midst such blisses;
He let the fair nymphs in the moonlight sweet
Continue their loving kisses.
12. BERTRAND DE BORN.
A noble pride on every feature,
His forehead stamp’d with thought mature,
He could subdue each mortal creature,
Bertrand de Born, the troubadour.
How wondrously his sweet notes caught her,
Plantagenet the Lion’s queen!
Both sons as well as lovely daughter
He sang into his net, I ween.
The father too he fool’d discreetly!
Hush’d was the monarch’s wrath and scorn
On hearing him discourse so sweetly,
The troubadour, Bertrand de Born.
13. SPRING.
The waters glisten and merrily glide,--
How lovely is love midst spring’s splendour!
The shepherdess sits by the streamlet’s side,
And twines her garlands so tender.
All nature is budding with fragrant perfume,
How lovely is love midst spring’s splendour!
The shepherdess sighs from her heart: “O to whom
“Shall I my garlands surrender?”
A horseman is riding beside the clear brook,
A kindly greeting he utters;
The shepherdess views him with sorrowful look,
The plume in his hat gaily flutters.
She weeps and into the gliding waves flings
Her flowery garlands so tender;
Of kisses and love the nightingale sings--
How lovely is love midst spring’s splendour!
14. ALI BEY.
Ali Bey, the true Faith’s hero,
Happy lies in maids’ embraces;
Allah granteth him a foretaste
Here on earth of heavenly rapture.
Odalisques, as fair as houris,
Like gazelles in every motion--
While the first his beard is curling,
See, the second smoothes his forehead.
And the third the lute is playing,
Singing, dancing, and with laughter
Kissing him upon his bosom,
Where the flames of bliss are glowing.
But the trumpets of a sudden
Sound outside, the swords are rattling,
Calls to arms, and shots of muskets--
Lord, the Franks are marching on us!
And the hero mounts his war-steed,
Joins the fight, but seems still dreaming;
For he fancies he is lying
As before in maids’ embraces.
Whilst the heads of the invaders
He is cutting off by dozens,
He is smiling like a lover,
Yes, he softly smiles and gently.
15. PSYCHE.
In her hand the little lamp, and
Mighty passion in her breast,
Psyche creepeth to the couch where
Her dear sleeper takes his rest.
How she blushes, how she trembles,
When his beauty she descries!
He, the God of love, unveil’d thus,
Soon awakes and quickly flies.
Eighteen hundred years’ repentance!
And the poor thing nearly died!
Psyche fasts and whips herself still,
For she Amor naked spied.
16. THE UNKNOWN ONE.
Every day I have a meeting
With my golden-tressèd beauty
In the Tuileries’ fair garden
Underneath the chesnuts’ shadow.
Every day she goes to walk there
With two old and ugly women--
Are they aunts? or else two soldiers
Muffled up in women’s garments?
Overawed by the mustachios
Of her masculine attendants,
And still farther overawed too
By the feelings in my bosom,
I ne’er ventured e’en one sighing
Word to whisper as I pass’d her,
And with looks I scarcely ventured
Ever to proclaim my passion.
For the first time I to-day have
Learnt her name. Her name is Laura,
Like the Provençal fair maiden
Whom the famous poet loved so.
Laura is her name! I’ve gone now
Just as far as Master Petrarch,
Who the fair one celebrated
In canzonas and in sonnets.
Laura is her name! like Petrarch
I can now platonically
Revel in this name euphonious--
He himself no further ventured.
17. THE CHANGE.
With brunettes I now have finish’d,
And this year am once more fond
Of the eyes whose colour blue is,
Of the hair whose colour’s blond.
Mild the blond one, whom I love now,
And in meekness quite a gem!
She would be some blest saint’s image,
Held her hand a lily stem.
Slender limbs of wondrous beauty,
Little flesh, much sympathy;
All her soul is glowing but for
Faith and hope and charity.
She maintains she understands not
German,--but it can’t be so;
Hast ne’er read the heavenly poem
Klopstock wrote some time ago?
18. FORTUNE.
Madam Fortune, thou in vain
Act’st the coy one! I can gain
By my own exertions merely
All thy favours prized so dearly.
Thou art overcome by me,
To the yoke I fasten thee;
Thou art mine beyond escaping--
But my bleeding wounds are gaping.
All my red blood gushes out,
My life’s courage to the rout
Soon is put; I’m vanquish’d lying,
And in victory’s hour am dying.
19. LAMENTATION OF AN OLD-GERMAN YOUTH.
The man on whom virtue smiles is blest,
He is lost who neglects her instructions;
Poor youth that I am, I am ruin’d
By evil companions’ seductions.
For cards and dice soon dispossess’d
My pockets of all their money;
At first the maidens consoled me
With smiles as luscious as honey.
But when they had fuddled with wine their guest,
And torn my garments, straightway
(Poor youth that I am) they seized me,
And bundled me out at the gateway.
On waking after a bad night’s rest,--
Sad end to all my ambition!--
Poor youth that I am, I was filling
At Cassel a sentry’s position.
20. AWAY!
The day’s enamour’d of the night,
The springtime loves the winter,
And life’s in love with death,--
And thou, thou lovest me!
Thou lov’st me--thou’rt already seized
By fear-inspiring shadows,
And all thy blossoms fade,
To death thy soul is bleeding.
Away from me, and only love
The butterflies, gay triflers,
Who in the sunlight sport--
Away from me and sorrow!
21. MADAM METTE.
(From the Danish.)
Says Bender to Peter over their wine:
“I’ll wager (though doubtless you’re clever)
“That though your fine singing may conquer the world,
“My wife ’twill conquer never.”
Then Peter replied: “I’ll wager my horse
“To your dog, or the devil is in it,
“I’ll sing Madam Mette into my house
“This evening, at twelve to a minute.”
And when the hour of midnight drew near,
Friend Peter commenced his sweet singing;
Right over the forest, right over the flood
His charming notes were ringing.
The fir-trees listen’d in silence deep,
The flood stood still and listen’d,
The pale moon trembled high up in the sky,
The wise stars joyously glisten’d.
Madam Mette awoke from out of her sleep:
“What singing! How sweet the seduction!”
She put on her dress, and left the house--
Alas, it proved her destruction!
Right through the forest, right through the flood,
She speeded onward straightway;
While Peter, with the might of his song,
Allured her inside his own gateway.
And when she at morning return’d back home,
At the door her husband caught her:
“Pray tell me, good wife, where you spent the night!
“Your garments are dripping with water.”
“I spent the night at the water-nymphs’ stream,
“And heard the Future told by them;
“The mocking fairies wetted me through
“With their splashes, for going too nigh them.”
“You have not been to the water-nymphs’ stream,
“The sand there could ne’er make you muddy;
“Your feet, good wife, are bleeding and torn,
“Your cheeks are also bloody.”
“I spent the night in the elfin wood,
“To see the elfin dances;
“I wounded my feet and face with the thorns
“And fir-boughs cutting like lances.”
“The elfins dance in the sweet month of May
“On flowery plains, but the chilly
“Bleak days of autumn now reign on the earth,
“The wind in the forests howls shrilly.”
“At Peter Nielsen’s I spent the night,
“He sang so mightily to me,
“That through the forest, and through the flood
“He irresistibly drew me.
“His song is mighty as death itself,
“To-night and perdition alluring;
“Its tuneful glow still burns in my heart,
“ A speedy death insuring.”
The door of the church is hung with black,
The funeral bells are ringing,
Poor Madam Mette’s terrible death
To public notice bringing.
Poor Bender sighs, as he stands at the bier,--
’Twas sad to hear him call so!--
“I now have lost my beautiful wife,
“And lost my true dog also.”
22. THE MEETING.
The music under the linden-tree sounds,
The boys and the maidens dance lightly;
Amongst them two dance, whom nobody knows,
Of figures noble and sightly.
They float about here, they float about there,
In a way that strange habits expresses;
They smile at each other, they shake their heads,
The maiden the youth thus addresses:
“My handsome youth, upon thy hat
There nods a lily splendid,
That only grows in the depths of the sea,--
From Adam thou art not descended.
“The Kelpie art thou, who the fair village maids
Would’st allure with thy arts of seduction;
I knew thee at once, at the very first sight,
By thy teeth of fish-like construction.”
They float about here, they float about there,
In a way that strange habits expresses;
They smile at each other, they shake their heads,
The youth the maid thus addresses:
“My handsome maiden, tell me why
“Thy hand so icy cold is?
“And tell me why thy snow-white dress
“So moist in every fold is?
“I knew thee at once, at the very first sight,
“By thy bantering salutation;
“Thou art no mortal child of man,
“But the water-nymph, my relation.”
The fiddles are silent, and finish’d the dance,
They part like sister and brother,
They know each other only too well,
And shun now the sight of each other.
23. KING HAROLD HARFAGAR.
The great King Harold Harfagar
In ocean’s depths is sitting,
Beside his lovely water-fay;
The years are over him flitting.
By water-sprite’s magical arts chain’d down,
He is neither living nor dead now,
And while in this state of baneful bliss
Two hundred years have sped now.
The head of the king is laid on the lap
Of the beautiful woman, and ever
He yearningly gazes up tow’rd her eyes,
And looks away from her never.
His golden hair is silver grey,
His cheekbones (of time’s march a token)
Project like a ghost’s from his yellow face,
His body is wither’d and broken.
And many a time from his sweet dream of love
He suddenly is waking,
For over him wildly rages the flood,
The castle of glass rudely shaking.
He oftentimes fancies he hears in the wind
The Northmen shouting out gladly;
He raises his arms with joyous haste,
Then lets them fall again sadly.
He oftentimes fancies he hears far above
The seamen their voices raising,
The great King Harold Harfagar
In songs heroical praising.
And then the king from the depth of his heart
Begins sobbing and wailing and sighing,
When quickly the water-fay over him bends,
With loving kisses replying.
24. THE LOWER WORLD.
I.
Many a time poor Pluto sigh’d thus:
“Were I but a single man!
“Since my married life began,
“Hell, I’ve learnt, was not a hell
“Till I to a wife was tied thus!
“Would that I remain’d still single!
“Since I Proserpine did wed,
“Each day wish I I was dead!
“With the bark of Cerberus
“Her loud scoldings ever mingle.
“Each attempt I make is fruitless
“After peace. There’s not a ghost
“Half so sad in all my host,
“And I envy Sisyphus,
“And the Danaid’s labour bootless.”
II.
On golden chair in the regions infernal,
Beside her spouse, the monarch eternal,
Queen Proserpine’s sitting
With mien ill befitting
Her station, and sadly she’s sighing:
“For roses I yearn, and the rapturous blisses
“Of Philomel’s song, and the sun’s sweet kisses;
“And here ’mongst the pallid
“Lemures and squalid
“Dead bodies, my youth’s days are flying.
“I’m firmly bound in the hard yoke of marriage
“In this hole, which I’m sure e’en a rat would disparage
“And the spectres unsightly
“Through my window peep nightly,
“Their wails with the Styx’s groans vying.
“This very day I’ve invited to dinner
“Old Charon, the bald-pated spindle-shank’d sinner,--
“And also the Judges,
“Those wearisome drudges--
“Such company’s really too trying!”
III.
Whilst these murmurs unavailing
In the lower world found vent,
Ceres on the earth was wailing,
And the crazy goddess went,
With no cap on, with no collar,
And with loose dishevell’d hair,
Uttering, in a voice of dolour,
That lament known everywhere:[13]
“Is’t the beauteous spring I see?
“Hath the earth grown young again?
“Sunlit hills glow verdantly,
“Bursting through their icy chain.
“From the streamlet’s mirror blue
“Smiles the now-unclouded sky,
“Zephyr’s wings wave milder too,
“Youthful blossoms ope their eye.
“In the grove sweet songs resound,
“While the Oread thus doth speak:
“‘Once again thy flow’rs are found,
“Vain thy daughter ’tis to seek.’
“Ah, how long ’tis since I went
“First in search o’er earth’s wide face!
“Titan, all thy rays I sent,
“Seeking for the loved one’s trace!
“Of that form so dear, no ray
“Hath as yet brought news to me,
“And the all-discerning Day
“Cannot yet the lost one see.
“Hast thou, Zeus, her from me torn?
“Or to Orcus’ gloomy stream,
“Hath she been by Pluto borne,
“Smitten by her beauty’s beams?
“Who will to yon dreary strand
“Be the herald of my woe?
“Ever leaves the bark the land,
“Yet but shadows in it go.
“To each blest eye evermore
“Closed those night-like fields remain;
“Styx no living form e’er bore,
“Since his stream first wash’d the plain.
“Thousand paths lead downward there,
“None lead up again to light;
“And her tears no witness e’er
“Brings to her sad mother’s sight.”
IV.
“Ceres! my good wife’s relation!
“Prythee cease to weep and call so!
“I now grant your application--
“I have suffer’d greatly also!
“Comfort take! we’ll share your daughter’s
“Sweet society, and let her
“Have on earth six months her quarters
“Yearly, if you like it better.
“She, when men in summer swelter,
“Can assist your rural labours,
“‘Neath a straw hat taking shelter,
“Flow’r-bedizen’d, like her neighbours’.
“She can rant, when colours glowing
“Robe the evening sky in splendour,
“When beside the stream is blowing
“On his flute a bumpkin tender.
“She’ll rejoice with lads and lasses
“At the harvest-home’s gay dances,
“And amongst the sheep and asses
“Be a lioness, the chance is.
“I’ll recruit my spirits sinking
“Here in Orcus in a canter,
“Mingled punch and Lethe drinking,
“And forget my wife instanter!”
V.
“Methinks at times thy brow is shaded
“With yearnings that in secret dwell;
“Thy hapless lot I know full well;
“Lost love, a life untimely faded!
“Thou nodd’st a sad assent! I never
“Can give thee back thy youthful prime;
“Thy heart’s woes cannot heal with time:
“A faded life, love lost for ever!”
15. MISCELLANIES.
1. MULEDOM.
Thy father, as is known to all,
A donkey was, beyond denial;
Thy mother on the other hand
A noble brood-mare proved on trial.
Thy mulish nature, worthy friend,
Though little liked, a thing of course is;
Yet thou canst say, with perfect truth,
That thou belongest to the horses.
Thou spring’st from proud Bucephalus;
Thy fathers were with the invaders
Who to the Holy Sepulchre
Of old time went, the famed Crusaders.
Thou countest ’mongst thy relatives
The charger ridden by the glorious
Sir Godfrey of Bouillon the day
He took God’s town with arm victorious.
Thou canst aver that Bayard’s steed
Thy cousin was, and say (andante)
Thine aunt the knight Don Quixote bore,
The most heroic Rosinante.
But Sancho’s donkey thou’lt not own
As kin, he being much too lowly;
Thou’lt e’en disown the ass’s foal
That whilome bore the Saviour holy.
And thou art not obliged to stick
A long-ear surely in thy scutcheon;
Of thine own value be the judge,
And thou wilt never lay too much on.
2. THE SYMBOL OF MADNESS.
We’ll now begin to sing the song
Of a Number of much reputation,
Known by the name of Number Three:
To joy succeeds vexation.
Though sprung from an old Arabian stock,
In Christian estimation
Nothing in Europe higher stood
Than this Number of proud reputation.
A very pattern of modesty,
How great was her indignation
At finding the man in bed with the maid!
She gave them a sound castigation.
In summer her coffee at seven A.M.
She drank with much gratification,
In winter at nine, and slept all night
Without the least molestation.
But now ’tis time to alter our rhyme,
To-day is changed to to-morrow,
And, sad to say, poor Number Three
Must suffer pain and sorrow.
There came a cobbler who said: “The head
“Of Number Three at present
“Is like a small Seven that’s placed on the top
“Of the moon when she’s shaped like a crescent.
“The Seven the mystical number is
“Of the ancient Pythagoreans;
“The crescent Diana’s worship denotes,
“And also recals the Sabeans.
“The Three herself the famed Shibboleth is
“Of the senior bonze of Babel,
“Intriguing with whom she at length gave birth
“To the Holy Trinity’s fable.”
A tailor came next, with a smile on his face;
Poor Number Three, he insisted,
Was nought but a name, and nowhere else
Except upon paper existed.
When poor Three heard these cruel words,
Like a duck in a state of distraction
She waddled here and waddled there,
Lamenting with vehement action:
“I’m just as old as the sea and the wold,
“As the stars that in heaven are blinking;
“I’ve seen kingdoms ascend, and presently end,
“And nations rising and sinking.
“I’ve stood on the ceaselessly whirling loom
“Of time for many long ages;
“I’ve peep’d into Nature’s fashioning womb,
“Where everything rushes and rages.
“And nevertheless I withstood all assaults
“Of darkness and sensuality,
“And safely preserved my virgin charms,
“Despite their cruel brutality.
“What use is my virtue now? By the wise
“And the fools I am evil entreated;
“The world is wicked, and ne’er content
“Till every one is cheated.
“But cheer up, my heart! thou still hast left
“Thy faith and hope and charity,
“With excellent coffee and glasses of rum
“Above the reach of vulgarity.”
3. PRIDE.
O Countess Gudel of Gudelfeld town,
Because you are wealthy, you’re held in renown
With not less than four horses contented,
At court you are duly presented;
In carriage of gold you go lightly
To the castle, where waxlights gleam brightly;
Up the marble stairs rustle
Your clothes with their bustle,
And then at the top, on the landing
The servants in gay dresses standing
Shout: Madame la Comtesse de Gudelfeld!
Your fan in your hand, talking loudly,
Through the chamber you wander on proudly;
With diamonds gaily bedizen’d,
In pearls and Brussels lace prison’d,
Your snowy bosom with madness
Is heaving in uncontroll’d gladness.
What smiles, nods, polite interjections!
What curtsies and deep genuflexions!
The Duchess of Pavia
Calls you her _cara mia_;
The nobles and courtiers advancing
Invite you to join in the dancing;
And the heir to the crown (who’s thought witty)
Says loudly: How graceful and pretty
Are all the _stern_ movements of Gudelfeld!
But if, poor creature, you money did lack,
The world would straightway show you its back;
The very lackeys with loathing
Would spit on your clothing;
’Stead of bows and civility,
Nought but vulgar scurrility;
The Duchess would cross herself rudely,
And the Crown Prince take snuff, and say shrewdly:
She smells of garlic--this Gudelfeld!
4. AWAY!
If by one woman thou’rt jilted, love
Another, and so forget her;
To pack up thy knapsack, and straight remove
From the town will be still better.
Thou’lt soon discover a blue lake fair,
By weeping willows surrounded;
Thy trifling grief thou’lt weep away there,
Thy pangs so little founded.
Whilst climbing up the hillside fast,
Thou’lt pant and groan full loudly;
But when on the rocky summit at last,
Thou’lt hear the eagle scream proudly.
An eagle thyself thou’lt seem to be,
New life the change will bestow thee;
Thou’lt feel thou hast lost, when thus set free,
Not much in the world below thee.
5. WINTER.
The cold may burn us sadly
Like fire, and mortals hurry
Amidst the snowdrift madly,
With still-increasing flurry.
O winter stern and chilly,
When frozen are our noses,
And piano-strumming silly
Our ears so discomposes!
I like the summer only
When in the wood I’m roving
With my own griefs all-lonely,
And scanning verses loving.
6. THE OLD CHIMNEYPIECE.
Outside fall the snowflakes lightly
Through the night, loud raves the storm
In my room the fire glows brightly,
And ’tis cosy, silent, warm.
Musing sit I on the settle
By the firelight’s cheerful blaze,
Listening to the busy kettle
Humming long-forgotten lays.
And beside me sits a kitten,
Warming at the blaze her feet;
Strangely are my senses smitten
As the flickering flames they meet.
Many a dim long-buried story
O’er me soon begins to rise,
But with dead and faded glory,
And in strange and mask’d disguise.
Lovely women with shrewd faces
Greet me with a secret smile,
Then the harlequins run races,
Laughing merrily the while.
Distant marble-gods nod kindly,
Dreamily beside them grow
Fable-flow’rs, whose leaves wave blindly
In the moonlight to and fro.
Magic castles, once resplendent,
Ruin’d now, in sight appear;
Knights in armour, squires attendant
Quickly follow in their rear.
All these visions I discover
As with shadowy haste they pass,--
Ah, the kettle’s boiling over,
And the kitten’s burnt, alas!
7. LONGING.
Thou beholdest in thy vision
Fable’s silent flow’rs before thee,
And a yearning wild steals o’er thee
At their fragrant scent elysian.
But thou from those flow’rs art parted
By a gulf both deep and fearful;
Thou becomest sad and tearful,
And at last art broken-hearted.
How they glitter! how they lure me!
Could I but the gulf pass over!
How the secret to discover,
And a bridge across procure me?
8. HELENA.
Thou hast call’d me forth from out of the grave
By means of thy magic will now,
And fill’d me full of love’s fierce glow--
This glow thou never canst still now.
O press thy mouth against my mouth,
Man’s breath with heaven is scented;
Thy very soul I’ll drain to the dregs,
The dead are never contented.
9. THE WISE STARS.
The flowerets sweet are crush’d by the feet
Full soon, and perish despairing;
One passes by, and they must die,
The modest as well as the daring.
The pearls all sleep in the caves of the deep,
Where one finds them, despite wind and weather
A hole is soon bored and they’re strung on a cord,
And there fast yoked together.
The stars are more wise, and keep in the skies,
And hold the earth at a distance;
They shed their light in the heavens so bright,
In safe and endless existence.
10. THE ANGELS.
Faithless as Saint Thomas, never
Could I in the heaven believe
Which both Jew and Priest endeavour
To compel men to receive.
That the angels, though, are real
I have never held in doubt;
Spotless, and of grace ideal,
On this earth they move about.
Still I doubt if such a being
Wing’d is, it must be confess’d;
I have recently been seeing
Wingless angels, I protest.
With their dear and loving glances
With their loving hands so white
Men they guard, and all advances
Of misfortune put to flight.
Every one can comfort borrow
From their favour and regard;
Most of all that child of sorrow
Whom the people call a bard.
16. POEMS FOR THE TIMES.
1. SOUND DOCTRINE.
Quick, beat the drum, and be not afraid,
The suttler-maiden lovingly kiss;
This is the whole of knowledge, in truth,
The deepest book-learning lies in this.
Quick, drum the people out of their sleep,
And drum the réveille with the ardour of youth,
And as you march, continue to drum--
This is the whole of knowledge, in truth.
All Hegel’s philosophy here is found,
The deepest book-learning lies in this;
I’ve found it out, because I’m no fool,
And also because I drum not amiss.
2. ADAM THE FIRST.
Gendarmes of heaven with flaming swords
Thou sent’st in cruel fashion,
And drov’st me out of Paradise
Without the least compassion.
In search of another country, I
And my wife from Eden hasted;
Thou canst not alter the fact that there
The tree of knowledge I tasted.
Thou canst not alter the fact that I know
Thy weakness and many blunders,
However mighty thou seemest to be
When wielding death and thunders.
O heavens, how pitiful is this
Consilium abeundi!
I call it a Magnificus
Of earth, a Lumen Mundi.
I shall not miss the spacious realms
Of Paradise one minute.
It is no genuine Paradise
When trees forbidden are in it.
I claim my full unfetter’d rights!
The slightest limitation
Changes my Paradise at once
To hell and desolation.
3. WARNING.
Worthy friend, ’twill be perdition
Books like this to think of printing!
Wouldst thou money earn or honour
Thou must bend in meek submission.
Never in this manner flighty
Shouldest thou before the public
Thus have spoken of the parsons
And of monarchs high and mighty!
Friend, thou’lt be by all forsaken!
Princes have long arms, the parsons
Have long tongues, and then the public
Have long ears, or I’m mistaken!
4. TO A QUONDAM FOLLOWER OF GOETHE.
(1832.)
Hast thou, then, superior risen
To the chilly dream of glory
Which great Weimar’s poet hoary
Wove around thee, like a prison?
Are thy old friends bores now voted?--
Clara, Gretchen,--names familiar,--
Serlo’s chaste maid, and Ottilia
In the “Wahlverwandschaft” noted?
Thou’rt with Germany enchanted,
Art become a Mignon-hater,
And thou seek’st for freedom greater
Than Philina ever granted.
Like a Luneburgomaster,
Thou dost battle for the nation,
Holding up to execration
Kings, as causing all disaster.
And I hear with pleasure hearty,
What a pitch thy praises grow to,
And how thou’rt a Mirabeau, too,
At each Luneburg tea-party!
5. THE SECRET.
We sigh not, and the eye’s not moisten’d,
We laugh at times, we often smile;
In not a look, in not a gesture
The secret comes to light the while.
Deep in our bleeding spirit hidden,
It lies in silent misery;
If in our wild heart it finds language,
The mouth’s still closed convulsively.
Ask of the suckling in the cradle,
Ask of the dead man in the grave;
They may perchance disclose the secret
To which I never utt’rance gave.
6. ON THE WATCHMAN’S ARRIVAL IN PARIS.
“Good watchman with face so sad and despairing,
“Why runnest thou hither with headlong speed?
“My dear fellow-countrymen, how are they faring?
“My fatherland, is it from tyranny freed?”
All’s going on well, and liberty’s blessing
Is showering silently on us its stores,
And Germany, calmly and safely progressing,
Unfolds and develops herself within doors.
Unlike France, superficial are none of her blossoms,--
_There_ freedom but touches the outside of life;
’Tis but in the depths of their innermost bosoms
That freedom with Germans is found to be rife.
They’ll finish Cologne’s great cathedral, they tell us,
The Hohenzollerns[A] have brought this to pass;
A Hapsburg[A] has shown himself equally zealous,
A Wittelsbach[14] gives it some fine painted glass.
That true Magna Charta, a free constitution,
They’ve promised, and surely their promise they’ll keep;
A king’s word’s a prize, without circumlocution,--
Like the Nibelung stone in the Rhine it lies deep.
The Brutus of rivers, the free Rhine, they surely
Can never remove him from out of his bed;
The Dutchman his feet have fasten’d securely,
The Switzers securely are holding his head.
God will grant us a fleet, if we prove persevering;
Our patriotic exuberant strength
Will find a vent in sailing and steering,
The pain of imprisonment ending at length.
The seeds cast their shells and the spring’s blooming sweetly,
We draw a free breath at this time of the year;
If permission to print is denied us completely,
The censorship will of itself disappear.
7. THE DRUM-MAJOR.[15]
The old drum-major it is that we see;
Poor fellow, he’s pull’d down sadly!
In the Emperor’s time a youngster was he,
And merrily lived and gladly.
He used to balance his ponderous stick,
While a smile on his face play’d lightly;
The silver-lace on his tunic so thick
In the rays of the sun gleam’d brightly.
Whene’er with a mighty roll of the drum
He enter’d a village or city,
He caused an echo responsive to come
In the heart of each girl, plain or pretty.
He came and saw and conquer’d too
Each fair one welcomed him in;
His black moustache was wetted through
With tears of German women.
Resistance was vain! In every land
That the foreign invaders came to,
The Emperor vanquished the gentlemen, and
The drum-major each maiden and dame too.
Our sorrows full long we patiently bore
Like oaks, with no one to heed ’em,
Until the Authorities gave us once more
The signal to battle for freedom.
Like buffaloes rushing on to the fray,
We toss’d our horns up proudly,
The yoke of France we cast away,
The songs of Körner sang loudly.
O terrible verses! the tyrant’s ear
At their awful sound revolted;
The Emperor and the drum-major in fear
Precipitately bolted.
They both of them reap’d the wages of sin,
And came to an end inglorious;
The Emperor Napoleon tumbled in
The hands of the Britons victorious.
In Saint Helena his time he now pass’d
In martyrdom, banish’d from France, Sir,
And, after long suff’ring, died at last
Of that terrible ailment cancer.
The poor drum-major, too, fell in disgrace,
And lost his situation;
In our hotel he took the place
Of boots,--what degradation!
He warms the oven, he scours the pots,
And wood and water fetches;
His grey head wags as he wheezingly trots
Up the stairs, so weak the poor wretch is.
When Fritz comes to see me, he finds himself
Inclined to jeer and rally
The comical lanky poor old elf
And his motions shilly-shally.
O Fritz, a truce to raillery, please!
The sons of Germany never
Should fallen greatness love to tease,
Or to torment endeavour.
Such people you ought to regard with pride
And filial piety rather;
Perchance upon the mother’s side
The old man is your father!
8. DEGENERACY.
Has Nature’s self been going backward,
And human faults assuming, then?
The very plants and beasts, I fancy,
Now lie as much as mortal men.
I trust not in the lily’s chasteness;
The colour’d fop, the butterfly,
Toys with her, kisses, round her flutters,
Till lost is all her purity.
The violet’s modesty moreover
I hold full cheap. The little flower
With the coquettish breezes trifles,
In secret pants for fame and power.
I doubt if Philomel appreciates
The time she sings with pompous mien;
She overdoes it, sobs, and warbles
Methinks from nought but pure routine.
Truth from the earth is fast departing,
The days of Faith are also o’er;
The dogs still wag their tails, smell bully
And yet are faithful now no more.
9. HENRY.
In Canossa’s castle courtyard
Stands the German Cæsar Henry,
Barefoot, clad in penitential
Shirt--the night is cold and rainy.
From the window high above him
Peep two figures, and the moonlight
Gregory’s bald head illumines
And the bosom of Mathilda.
Henry, with his lips all pallid,
Murmurs pious paternosters;
Yet in his imperial heart he
Secretly revolts and speaks thus:
“In my distant German country
“Upward rise the sturdy mountains;
“In the mountain-pits in silence
“Grows the iron for the war-axe.
“In my distant German country
“Upward rise the fine oak-forests;
“In the loftiest oak-stem ’mongst them
“Grows the handle for the war-axe.
“Thou, my dear and faithful country,
“Wilt beget the hero also
“Who in time will crush the serpent
“Of my sorrows with his war-axe.”
10. LIFE’S JOURNEY.
What laughter and singing! The sun’s rays crossing
Each other gleam brightly; the billows are tossing
The joyous bark, and there I reclined
With friends beloved and lightsome mind.
The bark was presently wreck’d and shatter’d,
My friends were poor swimmers, and soon were scatter’d,
And all were drown’d, in our fatherland;
_I_ was thrown by the storm on the Seine’s far strand.
Another ship I now ascended,
My journey by new companions attended;
By strange waves toss’d and rock’d, I depart--
How far my home! how heavy my heart!
Once more arises that singing and laughter!
The wind pipes loud, the planks crack soon after--
In heaven is quench’d the last last star--
How heavy my heart! My home how far!
11. THE NEW JEWISH HOSPITAL AT HAMBURG.
A hospital for Jews who’re sick and needy,
For those unhappy threefold sons of sorrow,
Afflicted by the three most dire misfortunes
Of poverty, disease, and Judaism.
The worst by far of all the three the last is,
That family misfortune, thousand years old,
That plague which had its birth in Nile’s far valley,
The old Egyptian and unsound religion.
Incurable deep pain! ’gainst which avail not
Nor douche nor vapour-bath, the apparatus
Of surgery, nor all the means of healing
Which this house offers to its sickly inmates.
Will Time, eternal goddess, e’er extinguish
This glowing ill, descending from the father
Upon the son,--and will the grandson ever
Be cured, and rational become and happy?
I cannot tell! Yet in the meantime let us
Extol that heart which lovingly and wisely
Sought to alleviate pain as far as may be,
Into the wounds a timely balsam pouring.
Dear worthy man! He here has built a refuge
For sorrows which by the physician’s science
(Or else by death’s!) are curable, providing
Cushions, refreshing drinks, and food, and nurses.
A man of deeds, he did his very utmost,
Devoted to good works his hard-earned savings
In his life’s evening, kindly and humanely,
Recruiting from his toils by acts of mercy.
He gave with open hand--but gifts still richer,
His tears, full often from his eyes were rolling,
Tears fair and precious, which he wept deploring
His brethren’s great, incurable misfortune.
12. GEORGE HERWEGH.[16]
When Germany first drank her fill,
You then were her obedient vassal,
Believing in each pipe-bowl still,
And in its black-red-golden tassel.
But when the fond delirium ceased,
Good friend, how great your consternation!
The public seem’d a very beast,
After its sweet intoxication!
Pelted by vile abusive swarms
With rotten apples, in disorder,
Under an escort of gendarmes
You reach’d at length the German border.
There you stood still. A tear you wiped
Away, the well-known posts on spying
Which like the zebra’s back are striped,
With heavy heart as follows sighing:--
“Aranjuez, in lightsome mood
“Once stay’d I in thy halls so splendid,
“When I before King Philip stood,
“By all his proud grandees attended.
“He gave me an approving smile
“When I the Marquis Posa acted;
“My prose he could not relish, while
“My verses his applause attracted.”[17]
13. THE TENDENCY.
German bard! extol our glorious
German freedom, that thy lay
May possess our souls, and fire us,
And to mighty deeds inspire us,
Like the Marseillaise notorious.
Be no more, like Werther, tender,
Who for Lotte sigh’d all day;
Thou shouldst tell the people proudly
What the bells proclaim so loudly,--
Speak of dirks, swords, no surrender.
Gentle flutes no more resemble,
Be not so idyllic, pray!
Fire the mortars, beat to quarters,
Crash, kill, thunder, make them tremble.
Crash, kill, thunder like a devil
Till the last foe flies away;
To this cause devote thy singing,
Thy poetic efforts bringing
To the common public’s level.
14. THE CHILD.
The good their gifts in dream enjoy,
How did it fare with thee?
Scarce feeling it, you’ve got a boy,
Poor virgin Germany!
This boy an urchin frolicsome
Ere long shall we behold;
A first-rate archer he’ll become,
As Cupid was of old.
He’ll pierce the soaring eagle through;
And, proudly though he fly,
The double-headed eagle too
Struck by his bolt, shall die.
But that blind heathen God of love
Will he resemble not
In wearing neither clothes nor glove,
Nor be a sans-culotte.
The seasons in our land combine
With morals and police
To make both old and young incline
To wear their clothes in peace.
15. THE PROMISE.
You no more shall barefoot crawl so
Through the dirt, poor German freedom!
Stockings (as you find you need ’em)
You shall have, and stout boots also.
As respects your head, upon it
To protect your ears from freezin’
In the chilly winter-season
You shall have a nice warm bonnet.
You shall have, too, savoury messes--
Grand the future that’s before you!
Let no Satyr, I implore you,
Lure you onward to excesses!
Do not haste on fast and faster!
Render, as becomes inferiors,
Due respect to your superiors
And the worthy burgomaster.
16. THE CHANGELING.
A child with monstrous pumpkin head,
Grey pigtail, and moustache light red,
With lanky arms and yet stupendous,
No bowels, yet with maw tremendous,--
A changeling which a Corporal
Into our cradle had let fall
On stealing from it our own baby--
This monster, falsehood’s child, (or may be
’Twas in reality the son
Of his own favourite dog alone)--
What need to say how much we spurn it?
For heaven’s sake, drown it or else burn it!
17. THE EMPEROR OF CHINA.[18]
My father was a dreadful bore,
A good-for-nothing dandy;
But I’m a mighty Emperor,
And love a bumper of brandy.
These glorious draughts all others surpass
In this, their magical power:
As soon as I have drain’d my glass,
All China bursts into flower.
The Middle Kingdom bursts into life,
A blossoming meadow seeming;
A man I wellnigh become, and my wife
Soon gives me signs of teeming.
On every side abundance reigns,
The sick no longer need potions;
Confucius, Court-philosopher, gains
Distinct and positive notions.
The ryebread the soldiers used to eat
Of almond cakes is made now;
The very vagabonds in the street
In silk and satin parade now.
The knightly Order of Mandarins,
Those weak old invalids, daily
Are gaining strength and filling their skins,
And shaking their pigtails gaily.
The great pagoda, faith’s symbol prized,
Is ready for those who’re believing;
The last of the Jews are here baptized,
The Dragon’s order receiving.
The noble Manchoos exclaim, when freed
From the presence of revolution:
“The bastinado is all that we need,
“We want no constitution!”
The pupils of Æsculapius perhaps
May tell me that drink’s dissipation;
But I continue to drink my Schnaps,
To benefit the nation.
And so in drinking I persevere;
It tastes like very manna!
My people are happy, and drink their beer
And join in shouting Hosanna!
18. CHURCH-COUNSELLOR PROMETHEUS.
Good Sir Paulus,[19] noble robber,
All the gods are on thee gazing
With their brows in anger knitted,
Furious at the theft amazing
Thou hast practised in Olympus—
Sorry for it they will make thee!
Fear the fate of poor Prometheus
If Jove’s bailiffs overtake thee!
Worse indeed his theft, because he
Stole the light in heaven dwelling
To enlighten us weak mortals—
_Thou_ didst steal the works of Schelling,
Just the opposite of light,—nay,
Darkness we can feel and handle
Like the old Egyptian darkness,—
Not one solitary candle!
19. TO THE WATCHMAN.
(On a recent occasion.)
If heart and style remain still true,
I’ll not object, whatever you do.
My friend, I never will mistake you,
E’en though a Counsellor they make you.
They now are raising a terrible din
Because you’ve been sworn as a Counsellor in;
From the Seine to the Elbe, regardless of reason,
For months they’ve declaim’d thus against your sad treason:
His progress onward is changed of late
To progress backward; O, answer us straight--
On Swabian crabs are you really riding?
Is’t only court-ladies you now take pride in?
Perchance you are tired, and long for rest;
All night on your horn you’ve been blowing your best
And now on a nail you quietly stow it;
No longer for Germany’s hobby you’ll blow it.
You lie down in bed, and straightway close
Your eyes, but vainly you seek for repose;
Before the window the mockers salute us:
Awake, Liberator! What! sleeping, Brutus?
Ah, bawlers like these can never know why
The best of watchmen ceases to cry;
These young braggadocios cannot discover
Why man his exertions at length gives over.
You ask me how matters are going on here?
No breeze is stirring, the atmosphere’s clear;
The weathercocks all are perplex’d, not discerning
The proper direction in which to be turning.
20. CONSOLING THOUGHTS.
We sleep as Brutus slept of yore,--
And yet he awoke, and ventured to bore
In Cæsar’s bosom his chilly dagger!
The Romans their tyrants loved to stagger.--
No Romans are we, tobacco we smoke,
Each nation its favourite taste can invoke;
Each nation its special merit possesses--
The finest dumplings Swabia dresses.
But Germans are we, kindhearted and brave,
We sleep as soundly as though in the grave;
And when we awake, our thirst is excessive,
But not for the blood of tyrants oppressive.
’Tis our great pride to be as true
As heart of oak and linden too;
The land which oaks and lindens gives birth to
Can never produce a Brutus of worth too.
And e’en if amongst us a Brutus were found,
No Cæsar exists in the country round;
Despite all his search, he would find him never,--
We make good gingerbread however.
We’ve six-and-thirty masters and lords,
(Not one too many!) who wear their swords
And stars on their regal breasts to protect them;
The Ides of March can never affect them.
We call them Father, and Fatherland
We call the country they command
By right of descent, and love to call so--
We love sour-crout and sausages also.
And when our Father walks in the street
We take off our hats with reverence meet;
Our guileless Germany, injuring no man,
Is not a den of murderers Roman.
21. THE WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN.
The world is topsy-turvy turn’d,
We walk feet-upwards in it;
The woodcocks shoot the sportsmen down,
A dozen in a minute.
The calves are seen to roast the cook,
On men are riding the horses;
On freedom of teaching and laws of light
The Catholic owl discourses.
The herring is a sans-culotte,
The truth is told by Bettina,
And puss-in-boots brings Sophocles
On the stage, with learned demeanour.
An ape for German heroes has built
A Pantheon, for glory zealous;[20]
And Massmann has lately been using a comb,
As German papers tell us.
The German bears, I grieve to say,
Are atheists unbelieving,
And in their place the parrots of France
The Christian faith are receiving.
The Moniteur of Uckermark
With equal frenzy seems smitten;
The dead have on the living there
The vilest epitaph written.[21]
Then let us not swim against the stream,
Good friends! ’twould serve us but badly;
But let us ascend the Templehof hill,[22]
“Long life to the king!” shouting gladly.
22. ENLIGHTENMENT.
Have the scales that dimm’d thy vision
Fallen, Michael? Canst thou see
How they’re stealing in derision
All the choicest food from thee?
In return, divine enjoyment
Promise they in realms above,
Where the angels’ sole employment
Is to cook us fleshless love.
Michael, hath thy faith grown weaker,
Or thy appetite more strong?
Thou dost grasp life’s sparkling beaker,
And thou sing’st a hero-song.
Fear not, Michael! take thy pleasure
While on earth, and eat what’s good;
When thou’rt dead, thou’lt have full leisure
To digest in peace thy food.
23. WAIT AWHILE!
Because my lightnings are so striking,
You think that I can’t thunder too!
You’re wrong, for I’ve a special liking
For thunder, as I’ll prove to you.
This will be seen with awful clearness
When the right moment is at hand;
You’ll hear my voice in startling nearness,--
The word of thunder and command.
The raging storm will surely shiver
Full many an oak upon that day;
Each palace to its base shall quiver,
And many a steeple proud give way.
24. NIGHT THOUGHTS.
When, Germany, I think of thee
At night, all slumber flies from me;
I cannot close mine eyes for yearning,
And down my cheeks run tears all burning.
How swiftly speeds each rolling year!
Since I have seen my mother dear
Twelve years have pass’d away; the longer
I wait, my yearning grows the stronger.
My yearning’s growing evermore;
That woman has bewitch’d me sore!
Dear, dear old woman! with what fervour
I think of her! may God preserve her!
The dear old thing in me delights,
And in the letters that she writes
I see how much her hand is shaking,--
Her mother’s heart, how nearly breaking!
My mother’s ever in my mind;
Twelve long long years are left behind,
Twelve years have follow’d on each other
Since to my heart I clasp’d my mother.
For ages Germany will stand;
Sound to the core is that dear land!
Its oaks and lindens I shall ever
Find just the same, they alter never.
For Germany I less should care
If my dear mother were not there;
My fatherland will never perish
But _she_ may die, whom most I cherish.
Since I my native land saw last,
Into the tomb have many pass’d
Whom I so loved--When of them thinking
How sadly bleeds my spirit sinking!
I needs must count them,--as I count
My sorrows higher, higher mount;
I feel as though each corpse were lying
Upon my breast--Thank God, they’re flying!
Thank God! for through the window-pane
France’s clear daylight breaks again;
My fair wife enters, sweetly smiling,
And all my German cares beguiling!
_NEW SPRING._
PROLOGUE.
Sometimes when o’er pictures turning
You have seen the man perchance,
Who is for the battle yearning,
Well-equipp’d with shield and lance.
Yet young loves are hov’ring round him,
Stealing lance and sword away;
They with flow’ry chains have bound him
Though he struggle in dismay.
I, too, in such charming fetters,
Bind myself with sad delight,
And I leave it to my betters
In time’s mighty fight to fight.
1.
’Neath the white tree sitting sadly,
Thou dost hear the far winds wailing,
Seëst how the mute clouds o’er thee
Are their forms in mist fast veiling;
See’st how all beneath seems perish’d,
Wood and plain, how shorn and dreary;
Round thee winter, in thee winter,
Frozen is thy heart and weary.
Sudden downward fall upon thee
Flakes all white, and with vexation
Thou dost think the tree is show’ring
Snow-dust from that elevation.
Soon with joyful start thou findest
’Tis no snow-dust cold and freezing;
Fragrant blossoms ’tis of springtime
Cov’ring thee and fondly teasing.
What a shudd’ring-sweet enchantment!
Into May is winter turning,
Snow hath changed itself to blossoms,
And thy heart with love is yearning.
2.
In the wood, the verdure’s shooting,
Joy-oppress’d, like some fair maiden;
Yet the sun laughs sweetly downward:
“Welcome, young spring, rapture-laden!”
Nightingale! I hear thee also,
Piping, blissful-sad and lonely,
Sobbing tones and long-protracted,
And thy song of love is only!
3.
The beauteous eyes of the spring’s fair night
With comfort are downward gazing:
If love hath made thee so small in our sight,
Yet love hath the power of raising.
Sweet Philomel sits on the linden green,
Her notes melodiously blending;
And as to my soul her song pierceth e’en,
My soul once more is distending.
4.
Which flower I love, I cannot discover;
This grief doth impart.
In every calix I search like a lover,
And seek a heart.
The flowers smell sweet in the sun’s setting splendour,
The nightingale sings.
I seek for a heart that like my heart is tender,
And like it springs.
The nightingale sings; his sweet song, void of gladness,
Comes home to my breast;
We’re both so oppress’d and heavy with sadness,
So sad and oppress’d.
5.
Sweet May hath come to love us,
Flowers, trees, their blossoms don;
And through the blue heavens above us
The rosy clouds move on.
The nightingales are singing
On leafy perch aloft;
The snowy lambs are springing
In clover green and soft.
I cannot be singing and springing,
Ill in the grass I lie;
I hear a distant ringing,
And dream of days gone by.
6.
Softly through my spirit ring
Blissful tones loved dearly;
Sound, thou little song of spring,
Echoing far and clearly.
Sound, till thou the home com’st nigh
Of the violet tender;
And when thou a rose dost spy,
Say, my love I send her.
7.
With the rose the butterfly’s deep in love,
A thousand times hovering round;
But round himself, all tender like gold,
The sun’s sweet ray is hovering found.
With whom is the rose herself in love?
An answer I’d fain receive.
Is it the singing nightingale?
Is it the silent star of eve?
I know not with whom the rose is in love,
But every one love I:
The rose, the nightingale, sun’s sweet ray,
The star of eve and butterfly.
8.
All the trees with joy are shouting,
All the birds are singing o’er us--
Tell me, who can be the leader
In this green and forest chorus?
Can it be the grey old plover,
Wise nods evermore renewing?
Or yon pedant, who is ever
In such measured time coo-coo-ing?
Can it be yon stork, the grave one,
His director’s airs betraying,
And his long leg rattling loudly,
Whilst the music’s round him playing?
No, the forest concert’s leader
In my own heart hath his station,
All the while he’s beating time there,--
Amor is his appellation.
9.
“The nightingale appear’d the first,
“And as her melody she sang,
“The apple into blossom burst,
“To life the grass and violets sprang.
“She her own bosom then did bite,
“Her red blood flow’d, and from the blood
“A beauteous rose-tree came to light,
“To whom she sings in loving mood.
“That blood atones for, to this day,
“Us birds within the forest here;
“Yet when the rose-song dies away,
“Will all the wood too disappear.”
Thus to his youthful brood doth speak
The sparrow in his oaken nest;
His mate pips, while she trims her beak,
And proudly sits and looks her best.
She is a homely wife and kind,
Broods well, and ne’er is seen to pout;
The father makes his children find
Pastime in studying things devout.
10.
The warm and balmy spring-night’s air
Hath waken’d every flower,
And take I not the greatest care,
My heart must succumb to love’s power.
But which of all the flowery throng
Is likely most to snare me?
The nightingales say, in their blissful song
Of the lily I ought to beware me.
11.
I’m sore perplex’d, the bells are ringing,
And by my senses I feel forsaken;
The spring and two fair eyes together
Against my heart an oath have taken.
The spring and two fair eyes together
Lure on my heart to a new illusion;
Methinks the nightingales and roses
Have much to do with all my confusion.
12.
Ah! I yearn for tears all-burning,
Tears of love and gentle woe,
And I tremble lest this yearning
At the last should overflow.
Ah! love’s pangs, that sweetly languish,
And love’s bitter joy, so blest,
Creep again, with heavenly anguish,
Into my scarce healèd breast.
13.
The eyes of spring, so azure,
Are peeping from the ground;
They are the darling violets,
That I in nosegays bound.
I pluck them, thinking deeply,
And all the thoughts so dear,
That in my heart are sighing,
The nightingale sings clear.
Yes, all my thoughts she singeth
And warbleth, echoing far;
So that my tender secrets
Known to the whole wood are.
14.
When thy dress doth gently touch me,
As thou pass’st before my face,
How my heart exults, how wildly
Follows it thy lovely trace!
Then thou turnest round and gazest
With thy large bright eyes on me,
And my heart doth feel so startled,
That it scarce can follow thee.
15.
The slender water-lily
Peeps dreamingly out of the lake;
The moon, oppress’d with love’s sorrow,
Looks tenderly down for her sake.
With blushes she bends to the water
Once more her head so sweet--
Then sees she the poor pale fellow
Lying before her feet.
16.
If thou hast good eyes, and look’st
In my songs, when thou hast tried them,
Thou wilt see a fair young maiden
Wandering up and down inside them.
If thou hast good ears as well,
Thou canst hear her voice quite clearly,
And her sighing, laughing, singing
Thy poor heart will madden nearly.
For she will, with look and word,
Thee, like me, make wellnigh crazy:
An enamour’d springtime-dreamer
Thou wilt tread the forest mazy.
17.
What drives thee on, in the spring’s clear night?
Thou hast driven the flowers all mad with fright,
The violets tremble and shiver;
The roses are all with shame so red,
The lilies are death-pale, and hang their head,
They mourn, and falter, and quiver.
O darling moon, what an innocent race
Those sweet flowers are! They are right in this case,
I really have acted badly;
Yet how could I tell that in wait she would lie,
When I was addressing the stars on high,
With fierce love raving so madly?
18.
Thou sweetly lookest on me
With eyes so blue and meek;
My senses feel all-dreamy,
And not a word can I speak.
I everywhere am thinking
Of thy blue eyes’ sweet smile;
A sea of blue thoughts is spreading
Over my heart the while.
19.
Once again my heart is vanquish’d,
And my rancour is subsiding;
Once again hath May breath’d on me
Feelings tender and confiding.
Once more late and early haste I
Through the walks the most frequented,
Under every bonnet seek I
For my fair one’s face lamented.
Once more at the verdant river
On the bridge I take my station;
Peradventure she will come there,
And will see my desolation.
In the waterfall’s loud music
Hear I once again soft sighing,
And my gentle heart well knoweth
What the white waves are replying.
Once again in mazy pathways
am lost in dreamy vision,
And the birds in every thicket
Hold the fond fool in derision.
20.
The rose is fragrant--yet if she divineth
Her own sweet fragrance, if the nightingale
Herself feels what round man’s soul softly twineth,
When echoes her sweet song across the vale,--
I cannot tell. Yet man is with vexation
Oft fill’d by truth. If nightingale and rose
The feeling only feign’d, the fabrication
Would still be useful, we may well suppose.
21.
Because I love thee, be not scornful,
If, flying, I avoid thy face;
How ill accords my visage mournful
With thine, so fair and full of grace!
Because I love thee, every feature
Grows pale and thinner day by day;
Thou’lt find me but a hideous creature,--
I’ll shun thee,--be not scornful, pray.
22.
I wander ’mid the flowers,
And blossom with them too;
I wander as in vision,
And at each step totter anew.
O hold me fast, my loved one,
Or at thy feet I’ll fall,
With love intoxicated,
In the garden, in presence of all!
23.
As the moon’s fair image quaketh
In the raging waves of ocean,
Whilst she, in the vault of heaven,
Moves with silent peaceful motion,
Thus, beloved one, thou art moving,
Still and peaceful, and nought quaketh
In my heart save thy dear image,
While my own heart ’tis that shaketh.
24.
The hearts of us two, my loved one,
A Holy Alliance have made;
They well understood each other,
When close together laid.
Alas! the rose so youthful
That decks thy gentle breast,
Our poor ally and associate,
To death was wellnigh press’d.
25.
Tell me who first taught clocks to chime,
Made minutes, hours, divisions of time?
It was a cold and sorrowful elf;
He sat in the winter-night, wrapp’d in himself,
And counted the mouse’s squeakings mysterious,
And the wood-worm’s regular tick so serious.
Tell me who first did kisses suggest?
It was a mouth all glowing and blest;
It kiss’d and it thought of nothing beside.
The fair month of May was then in its pride,
The flowers were all from the earth fast springing,
The sun was laughing, the birds were singing.
26.
How the pinks are breathing fragrance!
How the thronging stars so tender,
Golden bee like, sadly glimmer
’Mid the heaven’s blue-violet splendour!
Through the gloom of yonder chestnuts
Gleams the manse, so white and stately,
And I hear the glass door rattling
While the dear voice thrills me greatly.
Sweet alarm and blissful tremor,
Soft embraces, terror-bringing--
And the youthful rose is list’ning,
And the nightingales are singing.
27.
Have I not the self-same vision
Dreamt before of all these blisses?
Were there not these same elysian
Looks of love, and flowers, and kisses?
By the stream the moon was peeping
Through the foliage of our bower;
Marble-gods still watch were keeping
At the entrance in that hour.
Ah! I know how soon is over
Every sweet and blissful vision,
How the snow’s cold dress doth cover
Heart and tree in sad derision.
How e’en we are fast congealing,
Careless, and no love possessing,
We, who’re now so softly feeling,
Heart to heart so softly pressing!
28.
Kisses that one steals in darkness,
And in darkness then returns--
How such kisses fire the spirit,
If with honest love it burns!
Pensive, and with fond remembrance,
Then the spirit loves to dwell
Much on days that long have vanish’d,
Much on future days as well.
Yet methinks that too much thinking
Dang’rous is, if kiss we will;--
Weep, then, rather, darling spirit,
For to weep is easier still.
29.
There was an aged monarch,
His heart was sad, his head was grey;
This poor and aged monarch
A young wife married one day.
There was a handsome page, too,
Fair was his hair, and light his mien;
The silken train he carried
Of the aforesaid young Queen.
Dost know the ancient ballad?
It sounds so sweet, it sounds so sad
They both of them must perish,
For too much affection they had.
30.
In my remembrance blossom
The images long forsaken--
Within thy voice what is there
By which so deeply I’m shaken?
Say not that thou dost love me!
I know that earth’s fairest treasure,
Sweet love and happy spring time,
’Twould shame beyond all measure.
Say not that thou dost love me!
A silent kiss I’ll bestow thee;
Then smile, when I to-morrow
The withered roses show thee.
31.
“Linden blossoms drunk with moonlight
“Fly about in fragrant showers,
“And the nightingale’s sweet music
“Fills the air and leafy bowers.
“Ah! how sweet it is, my loved one,
“‘Neath these lindens to be sitting,
“When the glimm’ring golden moonbeams
“Through the fragrant leaves are flitting.
“If thou lookest on the lime-leaf,
“Thou a heart’s form wilt discover;
“Therefore are the lindens ever
“Chosen seats of each fond lover.
“Yet thou smilest, as though buried
“In far distant visions yearning--
“Speak, belovèd, all the wishes
“That in thy dear heart are burning.”
Ah, my darling! I will tell thee
Whence my thoughts proceed, and whither:
Fain I’d see the chilly north-wind
Sudden bring white snowstorms hither.
So that we, with furs well cover’d,
And in gaudy sledges riding,
Cracking whips, with bells loud ringing,
Might o’er stream and plain be gliding.
32.
Through the forest, in the moonlight,
I the elves saw riding proudly;
And I heard their trumpets sounding,
And I hear their bells ring loudly.
Their white horses had upon them
Golden staghorns, whilst proceeding
Swiftly on--like flights of wild swans
Through the air the train was speeding.
Smilingly the queen bent tow’rds me,
Smiling, as the band rode by me;
Is’t a sign that new love’s coming,
Or a sign that death is nigh me?
33.
In the morning send I violets,
Early in the wood discover’d,
And at evening bring I roses
Pluck’d while twilight’s hour still hover’d.
Knowest thou the hidden language
By these lovely flowerets spoken?
Truth by day-time, love at night-time--
’Tis of this that they’re the token!
34.
Thy letter, sent to prove me,
Inflicts no sense of wrong;
No longer wilt thou love me,--
Thy letter, though, is long.
Twelve sides, to tell thy views all!
A manuscript, in fact!
In giving a refusal
Far otherwise we act.
35.
Care not, if my love I’m telling
Unto all the world around,
When my mouth, thy beauty praising,
Full of metaphor is found.
Underneath a wood of flowers,
Lies in shelter safe below,
All that deep and glowing secret,
All that deep and secret glow.
If suspicious sparks should issue
From the roses,--fearless be!
This dull world in flames believes not,
But believes them poetry.
36.
Day and night alike the springtime
Makes with sounding life all-teeming;
Like a verdant echo can it
Enter even in my dreaming.
Then the birds sing yet more sweetly
Than before, and softer breezes
Fill the air, the violet’s fragrance
With still wilder yearning pleases.
E’en the roses blossom redder,
And a child-like golden glory
Bear they, like the heads of angels
In the pictures of old story.
And myself I almost fancy
Some sweet nightingale, when singing
Of my love to those fair roses,
Wondrous songs my vision bringing--
Till I’m waken’d by the sunlight,
Or by that delicious bustle
Of the nightingales of springtime
That before my window rustle.
37.
Stars with golden feet are wand’ring
Yonder, and they gently weep
That they cannot earth awaken,
Who in night’s arms is asleep.
List’ning stand the silent forests,
Every leaf an ear doth seem!
How its shadowy arm the mountain
Stretcheth out, as though in dream.
What call’d yonder? In my bosom
Rings the echo of the tone.
Was it my beloved one speaking,
Or the nightingale alone?
38.
The spring is solemn, mournful only
Are all its dreams, each flower appears
Weigh’d down by grief, the song all-lonely
Of Philomel wakes secret tears.
O smile thou not, my darling beauty,
O smile not, full of charming grace!
But weep, that it may be my duty
To kiss a tear from off thy face.
39.
Once more from that fond heart I’m driven
Which I so dearly love, so madly;
Once more from that fond heart I’m driven--
Beside it would I linger gladly.
The chariot rolls, the bridge is quaking,
The stream beneath it flows so sadly;
Once more the joys am I forsaking
Of that fond heart I love so madly.
In heav’n rush on the starry legions,
As though before my sorrow flying--
Sweet one, farewell! in distant regions
My heart for thee will still be sighing.
40.
My cherish’d wishes blossom,
And wither again at a breath,
And blossom again and wither,
And so on until death.
This know I, and it saddens
All love and joy, once so blest;
My heart is so wise and witty,
And bleeds away in my breast.
41.
Like an old man’s face confounded
Is the sky so broad and airy,
Red, one-eyed, and close surrounded
By the grey clouds’ locks all hairy
When upon the earth it gazes,
Flower and bud grow pale and sickly;
Love and song in all their phases
Fade away from men’s minds quickly.
42.
With sullen thoughts in chilly bosom cherish’d,
I travel sullen through the world so cold;
The autumn’s end hath come, a humid mist doth hold
Deep veil’d from sight the country drear and perish’d.
The winds are piping, hither, thither bending
The red-tinged leaves, that from the trees fall fast,
The bare plain steams, the wood sighs ’neath the blast,
The worst of all comes next--the rain’s descending!
43.
Late autumnal mists all-dripping
Spread o’er hill and valley fair;
Storms the trees of leaves are stripping,
And they ghostly look, and bare.
But one single sad tree only
Silent and unstripp’d is seen;
Moist with tears of woe, and lonely,
Shaketh he his head still green.
Ah! this waste my heart displayeth,
And the tree, still full of life,
Summer-green, thy form portrayeth,
Much beloved and beauteous wife!
44.
Grey’s the sky and every-day like,
And the town still looks afflicted;
Ever weak and castaway like,
In the Elbe its form’s depicted.
Long each nose is, and its blowing
Tedious an affair as ever;
All with pride are overflowing,
Both at pomp and cringing clever.
Beauteous South! O, how adore I
All thy gods, thy sky’s sweet blisses,
Since these human dregs once more I
See, and weather foul as this is!
PICTURES OF TRAVEL
_THE RETURN HOME._
1823-4.
1.
On my life, a life of darkness,
Once a vision sweet shone bright;
Now that vision sweet hath faded,
And I’m veil’d in utter night.
When in darkness children wander,
Soon their spirits die away,
And to overcome their terror,
Some loud song straight carol they.
I, a foolish child, am singing
In the darkness spread around;
Though my song may give no pleasure,
Yet mine anguish it hath drown’d.
2.
In vain would I seek to discover
Why sad and mournful am I;
My thoughts without ceasing brood over
A tale of the times gone by.
The air is cool, and it darkleth,
And calmly flows the Rhine;
The peak of the mountain sparkleth,
While evening’s sun doth shine.
Yon sits a wondrous maiden
On high, a maiden fair;
With bright golden jewels all-laden,
She combs her golden hair.
She combs it with comb all-golden,
And sings the while a song;
How strange is that melody olden,
As loudly it echoes along!
It fills with wild terror the sailor
At sea in his tiny skiff;
He looks but on high, and grows paler,
Nor sees the rock-girded cliff.
The waves will the bark and its master
At length swallow up, then methought
’Tis Lore-ley who this disaster
With her false singing hath wrought.
3.
My heart, my heart is mournful,
Yet May is gleaming like gold;
I stand, ’gainst the linden reclining,
High over the bastion old.
Beneath, the moat’s blue water
Flows peacefully along;
A boy his bark is steering,
And fishes, and pipes his song.
Beyond, in pleasing confusion,
In distant and chequer’d array,
Are men, and villas, and gardens,
And cattle, woods, meadows so gay.
The maidens are bleaching the linen,
And spring on the grass, like deer
The mill-wheel’s powd’ring diamonds,
Its distant murmur I hear.
Beside the old grey tower
A sentry-box is set;
A red-accoutred fellow
Walks up and down there yet.
He’s playing with his musket,
While gleameth the sun o’erhead;
He first presents and shoulders--
I would that he’d shoot me dead!
4.
With tears through the forest I wander,
The throstle’s sitting on high;
She, springing, sings softly yonder:
O wherefore dost thou sigh?
“Sweet bird, thy sister the swallow
“Can tell thee the cause of my gloom;
“She dwells in a nest all hollow,
“Beside my sweetheart’s room.”
5.
The night is damp and stormy,
No star is in the sky;
In the wood, ’neath the rustling branches
In silence wander I.
A distant light is twinkling
From the hunter’s lonely cot;
But within, the scene is but saddening,
And the light can allure me not.
The blind old grandmother’s sitting
In her leather elbow-chair,
All-gloomily fix’d like a statue,
Not a word escapeth her there.
With curses to and fro paces
The forester’s red-headed son;
With fury and scorn he’s laughing,
As he throws ’gainst the wall his gun.
The fair spinning-maiden’s weeping,
And moistens the flax with her tears;
The father’s terrier, whining,
Curl’d up at her feet appears.
6.
When I, on my travels, by hazard,
My sweetheart’s family found,
Her sister and father and mother,--
They gave me a welcome all round.
When they for my health had inquired,
They added, all of a breath,
That they thought me quite unalter’d,
Though my face was pale as death.
I ask’d for their aunts and their cousins,
And many a tiresome friend;
I ask’d for the little puppy
Whose soft bark knew no end.
And then for my married sweetheart
I ask’d, as if just call’d to mind,
And they answer’d, in friendly fashion,
That she had but just been confin’d.
I gave them my very best wishes,
And lovingly begg’d them apart
That they’d give her a thousand greetings
From the bottom of my heart.
Then cried the little sister:
“The small and gentle hound
Grew to be big and savage,
And in the Rhine was drown’d.”
That little one’s like my sweetheart,
_So_ like when she wears a smile!
Her eyes are the same as her sister’s
Which caus’d all my mis’ry the while.
7.
We sat by the fisherman’s cottage,
O’er ocean cast our eye;
Then came the mists of evening,
And slowly rose on high.
The lamps within the light-house
Were kindled, light by light,
And in the farthest distance
A ship was still in sight.
We spoke of storm and shipwreck,
And of the sailor’s strange life,
’Twixt sky and water, ’twixt terror
And joy in endless strife.
We spoke of distant regions,
Of North and South spoke we,
The many strange races yonder,
And customs, strange to see.
The air on the Ganges is balmy,
And giant-trees extend,
And fair and silent mortals
Before the lotos bend.
In Lapland, the people are dirty,
Flat-headed, broad-mouthèd, and small;
They squat round the fire, bake fishes,
And squeak, and speak shrilly, and squall.
The maidens earnestly listen’d,
At length not a word was said;
The ship from sight had vanish’d,
For darkness o’er all things was spread.
8.
Thou pretty fisher-maiden,
Quick, push thy bark to land;
Come hither, and sit beside me,
And toy with me, hand in hand.
Recline thy head on my bosom,
Nor be so fearful of me;
Thou trustest thyself, void of terror,
Each day to the raging sea.
My heart is like the ocean,
Hath tempest, ebb, and flow,
And many pearls full precious
Lie in its depths below.
9.
The moon hath softly risen,
And o’er the waves doth smile;
Mine arms hold my sweetheart in prison,
Our hearts both swelling the while.
Blest in her sweet embraces
I calmly repose on the strand:
Hear’st thou aught in the wind as it races?
Why shrinks thy snow-white hand?
“O, ’tis not the tempest’s commotion,
“’Tis the song of the mermaids below;
“’Tis the voice of my sisters, whom Ocean
“Swallow’d up in its depths long ago.”
10.
On the clouds doth rest the moon,
Like a giant-orange gleaming;
Broad her streaks, with golden rays
O’er the dusky ocean beaming.
Lonely roam I by the strand
While the billows white are breaking;
Many sweet words hear I there,
From the water’s depths awaking.
Ah! the night is long, full long,
And my heart must break its slumbers;
Beauteous nymphs, come forth to light,
Dance! and sing your magic numbers!
To your bosom take my head,
Soul and body I surrender!
Sing me dead, caress me dead,
Drain my life with kisses tender.
11.
In their grey-hued clouds envelop’d,
Now the mighty gods are sleeping;
And I listen to their snoring,
Stormy weather o’er us creeping.
Stormy weather! Raging tempests
On the poor ship bring disaster;
On these winds who’ll place a bridle,--
On these waves that own no master?
I the storm can never hinder,
Nor the mast and planks from creaking,
So I wrap me in my mantle,
Like the gods for slumber seeking.
12.
The wind puts on its breeches again,
Its white and watery breeches;
It flogs each billow with might and main,
Till it howls and rushes and pitches.
From the darksome height, with furious might
Pours the rain in wild commotion;
It seems as though the ancient Night
Would drown the ancient Ocean.
To the ship’s high mast the sea-mew clings,
With hoarse and shrill shrieking and yelling;
In anxious-wise she flutters her wings,
Approaching disasters foretelling.
13.
The storm strikes up for dancing,
It blusters, pipes, roars with delight;
Hurrah, how the bark is springing!
How merry and wild is the night!
A living watery mountain
The raging sea builds tow’rd the sky;
A gloomy abyss here is gaping,
There, mounts a white tower on high.
A vomiting, cursing, and praying
From the cabin bursts forth ’mid the roar;
I cling to the mast for protection,
And wish I was safely on shore.
14.
’Tis evening, darker ’tis getting,
Mist veils the sea from the eye;
The waves are mysteriously fretting,
White shadows are rising on high.
From the billows the mermaid arises,
And sits herself near me on shore;
The veil which her figure disguises
Her snow-white bosom peeps o’er.
She warmly doth caress me,
And takes my breath away:
Too closely dost thou press me,
Thou lovely water-fay!
“My arms thus closely caress thee,
“I clasp thee with all my might;
“In hope of warmth do I press thee,
“For cold indeed is the night.”
The moon from her dusky cloister
Of clouds, sheds a paler ray;
Thine eye grows sadder and moister
Thou lovely water-fay!
“No sadder nor moister ’tis growing,
“Mine eye is moist and wet,
“For when from the wave I was going,
“A drop remain’d in it yet.”
The sea-mew mourns shrilly, while ocean
Is growling and heaving its spray;
Thy heart throbs with raging emotion,
Thou lovely water-fay!
“My heart throbs with raging emotion,
“Emotion raging and wild;
“For I love thee with speechless devotion,
“Thou darling human child!”
15.
When I before thy dwelling
At morning happen to be,
I rejoice, my little sweet one,
When thee at thy window I see.
With thy dark-brown eyes so piercing
My figure thou dost scan:
Who art thou, and what ails thee,
Thou strange and sickly man?
“I am a German poet,
“Well known in the German land;
“When the best names in it are reckon’d,
“My name amongst them will stand.
“My little one, that which ails me
“Ails crowds in the German land;
“When the fiercest sorrows are reckon’d,
“My sorrows amongst them will stand.”
16.
The gleam o’er the ocean had faded not,
While the eve’s last rays were flitting;
We sat by the lonely fisherman’s cot,
Alone and in silence sitting.
The waters swell’d, while the mist rose above,
The restless sea-mew was screaming;
From out thine eyes, so full of love,
The tears were quickly streaming.
I saw them falling on thy fair hand,
And on my knees soon sank I,
And then from off thy snow-white hand
The tears with rapture drank I.
Since that hour, my body hath fast decay’d,
My soul is dying with yearning;
I was poison’d, alas! by the hapless maid
With her falling tears so burning.
17.
Up high on yonder mountain
Stands a stately castle alone,
Where dwell three beauteous maidens,
Whose love in turns I have known.
On Saturday Harriet kiss’d me,
While Sunday was Julia’s right;
On Monday Cunigund follow’d,
Who well nigh stifled me quite.
To hold a fête in the castle
On Tuesday my maidens agreed;
The neighbouring lords and ladies
All came with carriage or steed.
But I was never invited,
To your great wonder, no doubt;
The whispering aunts and cousins
Observ’d it, and laugh’d right out.
18.
On the dim and far horizon
Appeareth, misty and pale,
The city, with all its towers,
In evening twilight’s veil.
A humid gust is ruffling
The path o’er the waters dark;
With mournful measure, the sailor
Is rowing my tiny bark.
The sun once more ariseth,
And over the earth gleams he,
And shows me the spot out yonder
Where my loved one was lost to me.
19.
All hail to thee, thou stately
Mysterious town, all hail,
Who erst within thy bosom
My loved one’s form didst veil!
O say, ye towers and gateways,
O where can my loved one be?
To your keeping of yore was she trusted,
And ye must her bail be to me.
The towers, in truth, are guiltless,
From their places they could not come down,
When she, with her trunks and boxes,
So hastily went from the town.
The gates, however, they suffer’d
My darling to slip through them straight;
A gate is ever found willing
To let a fool “gang her ain gait.”[23]
20.
Once more my steps through the olden path
And the well-known streets are taken,
Until I come to my loved one’s house,
So empty now and forsaken.
How narrow and close the streets appear!
How nauseous the smell of the plaster!
The houses seem tumbling down on my head,
So I haste away, fearing disaster.
21.
Once more through the halls I pass’d
Where her troth to me was plighted;
On the spot where her tears fell fast
A serpent’s brood had alighted.
22.
The night is still, and the streets are deserted,
In this house my love had her dwelling of yore;
’Tis long since she from the city departed,
Yet her house still stands on the spot as before.
There stands, too, a man, who stares up at her casement,
And wrings his hands with the weight of his woes;
I look on his face with shudd’ring amazement,--
The moon doth the form of myself disclose.
Thou pallid fellow, thou worthless double!
Why dare to mimic my love’s hard lot,
Which many a night gave me grief and trouble
In former days, on this very spot?
23.
How canst thou sleep in quiet,
And know that I’m still alive?
I burst the yoke that’s upon me,
When my olden wrath doth revive.
Dost know the ancient ballad:
How of yore a dead stripling brave
At midnight came to his loved one,
And carried her down to his grave.
Believe me, thou wondrous beauty,
Thou wondrously lovely maid,
I’m alive still, and feel far stronger
Than the whole of the dead’s brigade!
24.
“The maiden’s asleep in her chamber,
“In peeps the quivering moon;
“Outside is a singing and jingling,
“As though to a waltz’s tune.
“I needs must look through my window,
“To see who’s disturbing my rest;
“There stands a skeleton ghastly
“Who’s fiddling and singing his best:
“Thy hand for the dance thou didst pledge me,
“And then thy promise didst break;
“To-night there’s a ball in the churchyard,
“Come with me, the dance to partake.
“He forcibly seizes the maiden,
“And lures her from out her abode;
“She follows the skeleton wildly,
“Who fiddles and sings on the road.
“He hops and he skips and he fiddles,
“His bones they rattle away;
“With his skull he keeps nidding and nodding,
“By the moonlight’s glimmering ray.”
25.
I stood, while sadly mused I,
And her likeness closely did scan,
And her belovèd features
To glow with life began.
Around her lips there gather’d
A sweet and wondrous smile,
And as through tears of sorrow
Her clear eyes shone the while.
And then my tears responsive
Adown my cheeks did pour--
And ah! I scarce can believe it,
That I’ve lost thee evermore.
26.
Unhappy Atlas that I am! I’m doom’d
To bear a world, a very world of sorrows;
Unbearable’s the load I bear, and e’en
The heart within me’s breaking.
O thou proud heart! thy doing ’twas indeed,
Thou wouldst be happy, utterly be happy,
Or utterly be wretched, O proud heart,
And now in truth thou’rt wretched!
27.
The years are coming and going,
To the grave whole races descend,
And yet the love in my bosom
Shall never wax fainter or end.
O could I but once more behold thee,
Before thee sink down on my knee,
And die, as these words I utter:
Dear Madam, I love but thee!
28.
I dreamt: the quivering moon gleam’d above,
And the stars cast a mournful ray;
I was borne to the town where dwelleth my love,
Many hundred miles away
And when I arrived at her dwelling so blest,
I kiss’d the stones of the stair,
Which her little foot so often had press’d,
And the train of her garment fair.
The night was long, the night was chill,
And cold were the stones that night;
Her pallid form from the window-sill
Look’d down in the moonbeam’s light.
29.
What means this tear all-lonely
That troubles now my gaze?
Of olden times the offspring
Still in mine eye it stays.
It had its shining sisters,
Who all have faded from sight,
With all my joys and sorrows,
Yea, faded in storm and night.
Like clouds have also fleeted
The stars so blue and mild,
Which into my yearning bosom
Those joys and sorrows once smiled.
Ah! even my love’s devotion
Like idle breath did decay;
Thou old, old tear all-lonely,
Do thou, too, pass away!
30.
The pallid autumnal half-moon
Looks down from the clouds on high;
The parsonage, silent and lonely,
By the side of the churchyard doth lie.
The mother is reading her Bible,
The son on the light turns his eyes,
All-sleepy, the elder daughter
Doth stretch, while the younger thus cries:
“Good heavens, how dreadfully tedious
“The days are! I’m quite in despair!
“’Tis only when there’s a burial
“One sees aught of life, I declare!
The mother then says, midst her reading:
“You’re mistaken, four only have died
“Since the time when they buried your father
“By the gate of the churchyard outside.”
The elder daughter says gaping:
“I’ll starve no longer with you;
“I’ll go to the Count to-morrow,
“He’s rich and he loves me too.”
The son bursts out into laughter:
“At the tavern drink huntsmen three;
“They’re making money, and gladly
“Would teach the secret to me.”
The mother then throws her Bible
Full hard in his lanky face:
“Wouldst thou dare, thou accursed of heaven,
“As a robber thy friends to disgrace?”
They hear a knock at the window,
And see a beckoning hand;
And behold, outside the dead father
In his black preaching-garment doth stand.
31.
The weather is bad and stormy,
With rain and tempest and snow;
I sit at the window, gazing
On the gloomy darkness below.
One single light I see glimm’ring
That slowly moves in the street;
’Tis a woman holding a lantern,
And walking with tottering feet.
I expect that she’s making a purchase
Of meal and butter and eggs;
’Tis to bake a cake for her daughter
That she is out now on her legs.
The daughter’s at home in the arm-chair
And sleepily looks at the light,
Her golden locks stray over
Her face so lovely and bright.
32.
’Tis thought that I am tormented,
By love’s bitter sorrow distress’d,
And at length I myself believe it
As well as all the rest.
Thou great-eyed little maiden,
I ever have whisper’d apart:
I love thee beyond expression,
While love is gnawing my heart.
’Twas but in my lonely chamber
That I dared my love to proclaim,
And, ah! I have ever been silent,
When into thy presence I came.
When there, the evil angels
Appear’d, and my lips they held;
And, ah! ’tis by evil angels
That my joy hath now been dispell’d.
33.
O thy tender lily-fingers,
Could I once again but kiss them,
Press them softly to my heart,
And then die in silent weeping!
O thy violet eyes so radiant
Hover near me day and night,
And I’m troubled: what forebodeth
All this sweet, this blue enigma?
34.
“Hath she then no word e’er spoken
“Of thy passion, hapless lover?
“In her sweet eyes couldst thou never
“Signs of answering love discover?
“Through her sweet eyes couldst thou never
“Reach her soul, and so get at her?
“Yet thou art not thought a blockhead,
“Worthy friend, in such a matter.”
35.
They loved each other, but neither
Would be the first to confess;
Like foes, they gaz’d at each other,
And would die of their love’s distress.
They parted at length, and thereafter,
Except in vision, ne’er met;
From life they long have departed,
And scarcely know of it yet.
36.
And when I to you my grief did confide,
You only yawn’d, and nothing replied;
But when I reduced my sorrow to rhyme,
You praised me greatly, and call’d it sublime.
37.
I call’d the devil, and he came,
And with wonder his form did I closely scan;
He is not ugly, and is not lame,
But really a handsome and charming man.
A man in the prime of life is the devil,
Obliging, a man of the world, and civil;
A diplomatist too, well skill’d in debate,
He talks right glibly of church and state.
He’s rather pale, but it’s really not strange,
For his studies through Sanskrit and Hegel range.
Fouqué is still his favourite poet;
But criticism he’ll touch no more,
But has handed that subject entirely o’er
To his grandmother Hecate, that she may know it.
My juridical works did he kindly praise,
His favourite hobby in former days.
He said that my friendship was not too dear,
And then he nodded, and look’d severe,
And afterwards asked if it wasn’t the case
We had met at the Spanish ambassador’s rout?
And when I look’d him full in the face
I saw him to be an old friend without doubt.
38.
Man, revile not thou the devil,
For the path of life is short,
And damnation everlasting
Is too true, not mere report.
Man, pay all the debts thou owest,
For the path of life is long,
And thou’lt often have to borrow
Just as usual, right or wrong.
39.
The three holy kings from the Eastern land
Inquired in every city:
Where goeth the road to Bethlehem,
Ye boys and maidens pretty?
The young and the old, they could not tell,
The kings went onward discreetly;
They follow’d the track of a golden star,
That sparkled brightly and sweetly.
The star stood still over Joseph’s house,
And they enter’d the dwelling lowly;
The oxen bellow’d, the infant cried,
While sang the three kings holy.
40.
My child, we once were children,
Two children, little and gay;
We crawl’d inside the henhouse,
And hid in the straw in play.
We crow’d as the cocks are accustom’d,
And when the people came by,
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!”--and they fancied
’Twas really the cock’s shrill cry.
The chests within our courtyard
With paper we nicely lined,
And in them lived together,
In a dwelling quite to our mind.
The aged cat of our neighbour
Came oft to visit us there;
We made her our bows and our curtsies,
And plenty of compliments fair.
For her health we used to inquire
In language friendly and soft;
Since then we have ask’d the same question
Of many old cats full oft.
We used to sit, while we wisely
Discoursed, in the way of old men,
And lamented that all was better
In the olden days than then;
How love and truth and religion
From out of the world had fled,
How very dear was the coffee,
How scarce was the gold, we said.
Those childish sports have vanish’d,
And all is fast rolling away;
The world, and the times, and religion,
And gold, love, and truth all decay.
41.
My heart is sore oppress’d, with sighing
I think upon the days of yore;
The world was then in calmness lying,
And men were peaceful evermore.
All now is changed, in mournful chorus
Want and confusion round us spread;
The Lord seems dead that erst rul’d o’er us
Beneath us, is the Devil dead.
All now appears so drear and sadden’d,
Decay’d and cold, of joy bereft,
That, were we not by love still gladden’d,
No single resting-place were left.
42.
As the gleaming moon is piercing
Through the darksome clouds above,
So from out time’s darksome mirror
Peeps a vision full of love.
All upon the deck were sitting,
Proudly sailing down the Rhine,
And the shores, in summer verdure,
In the setting sun did shine.
Thoughtfully was I reclining,
Bent before a lovely maid;
In her beauteous, pallid features
Lo, the golden sunlight play’d.
Lutes were sounding, youths were singing,
Wondrous was our joy that day;
And the heavens became still bluer,
And our souls soar’d high away.
Hills and castles, woods and meadows,
Like a vision fleeted by,
And I saw them all reflected
In the lovely maiden’s eye.
43.
In vision saw I my loved one
A worn, sad woman one day;
Her once so-blooming figure
Had wither’d and fallen away.
A child in her arms she carried,
By the hand another she led,
And grief and poverty plainly
In her walk, looks, and garments I read.
Across the market she totter’d,
And then did I meet her eye;
She looked upon me, and gently
I spake to her thus, with a sigh:
“Come with me to my dwelling,
“For thou art pale and ill,
“And food and drink I’ll earn thee
“By industry and skill.
“I’ll also nourish and cherish
“The children that with thee I see;
“But, my child so poor and unhappy,
“I’ll care the most for thee.
“I never will remind thee
“That I loved thee so dearly of yore,
“And when at length thou diest,
“I’ll weep at thy grave full sore.”
44.
“Friend! why always thus endeavour
“To repeat the same old story?
“Wilt thou brooding sit for ever
“On love’s eggs grown old and hoary?
“Ah! ’tis but the usual custom,
“Chickens from the shells are crawling;
“In a book thou seek’st to thrust ’em,
“While they’re fluttering and calling!”
45.
Prythee, be not thou impatient
If there still are loudly ringing
Many of my old sad numbers
In the newest songs I’m singing.
Wait awhile, and soon the echo
Will have died away of sorrow,
And a new-born song-spring softly
From the heal’d heart shoot to-morrow.
46.
’Tis now full time that my folly I drop,
And return to sober reason;
This comedy now ’twere better to stop
That we’ve played for so long a season.
In a gay and highly romantic style
The gorgeous coulisses were painted;
My knight’s cloak glitter’d, while I was the while
With the finest sensations acquainted.
And now that I, while more sober I grow,
Am against this toying inveighing,
I feel that I’m still as wretched as though
A comedy still I were playing.
Alas! unconsciously and in jest
Of my feelings was I the narrator;
And I’ve play’d, with my own death in my breast,
The dying gladiator.
47.
The monarch Wiswamitra,
Is restlessly striving now;
He must needs, by fighting and penance,
Obtain Wasischta’s cow.
O monarch Wiswamitra,
O what an ox art thou,
To have all this fighting and penance,
And all for nought but a cow!
48.
Let not grief, my heart, come o’er thee
Bear thy lot with faith unshaken,
For what winter may have taken
Will returning spring restore thee.
And how much remaineth over!
And how fair the world is still!
And, my heart, if ’tis thy will,
Thou of All mayst be the lover!
49.
A flow’ret thou resemblest,
So pure and fair and blest;
But when I view thee, sorrow
Straight creepeth to my breast.
I feel as though inspired
My hands on thy head to lay,
And pray that God may keep thee
So blest, fair, pure, for aye.
50.
Child! it would be thy perdition,
And the greatest pains I’ve taken
Ne’er within thy fond heart tow’rd me
Loving feelings to awaken.
Now that I’ve so soon succeeded,
To my vow I’m wellnigh faithless,
And this thought steals o’er me often:
Would that thou could’st love me nathless.
51.
When on my couch I’m lying
In night and pillows conceal’d,
A sweet and charming image
Before me stands reveal’d.
As soon as silent slumber
Hath closed mine eyes in sleep,
Into my dream this image
Doth softly, gently creep.
Yet with the dream of morning
It ne’er doth melt away,
For in mine inmost bosom
I bear it all the day.
52.
Maiden with the mouth so rosy,
With the eyes so sweet and bright,
O my darling little maiden,
I of thee think day and night.
Long is now the winter evening,
Fain would I disperse its gloom,
Sitting by thee, talking with thee
In thy trusty little room.
To my lips I’d fain be pressing
Thy dear little snowy hand,
With my falling tears caressing
Thy dear little snowy hand.
53.
Though outside snow-piles are forming,
Though ’tis hailing, though ’tis storming,
Rattling ’gainst the window-pane,
Nevermore will I complain,
For within my breast I bear
Spring-joys and love’s image fair.
54.
Some make prayers to the Madonna,
Others unto Paul and Peter;
Thee alone, of suns the fairest,
Thee alone will I e’er honour.
Let me be with kisses laden,
Be thou kindly, be thou gracious,
’Mongst all maidens sun the fairest,
’Neath the sun the fairest maiden!
55.
Did not my pallid face betray
My loving woe unto thee?
And wilt thou that my haughty mouth
With begging words shall woo thee?
Alas! this mouth is far too proud,
’Twas made but for kissing and sighing;
Perchance it may speak a scornful word,
While I with sorrow am dying.
56.
Worthy friend, thou’rt deep in love,
And beneath new pangs thou’rt fretting;
Darker grows it in thy head,
In thy heart ’tis lighter getting.
Worthy friend, thou’rt deep in love,
And thou fain would’st hide thy yearning
Yet I see thy heart’s fierce glow
Through thy waistcoat hotly burning.
57.
I fain would linger by thee,
And rest beside thee too;
Away thou needs must hie thee,
Thou hast so much to do.
I said that I surrender’d
My very soul to thee;
An answering bow was tender’d,
Thou laughedst full of glee.
Thou cruelly didst use me,
And treat my love amiss;
At last thou didst refuse me
The usual parting kiss.
Don’t think that I deem it my duty
To shoot myself any the more;
For all of this, my beauty,
Has happen’d to me before.
58.
A pair of sapphires are thine eyes,
So clear, so sweetly roving;
O three times happy is the man
Whom those fair eyes are loving.
Thy heart, it is a diamond,
A sparkling radiance throwing;
O three times happy is the man
For whom with love ’tis glowing.
Thy lips are very rubies bright,
One never can see fairer;
O three times happy is the man
Who of their love is sharer.
O did I know the happy man!
O could I unattended
Within the green wood meet with him,--
His luck would soon be ended!
59.
While with loving words, but lying,
I have bound me to thy breast,
Now in my own fetters dying,
Into earnest turns my jest.
When thou jestingly dost fly me,
By a rightful impulse led,
Then the powers of hell draw nigh me,
And I really shoot me dead.
60.
Too fragmentary is World and Life;
I’ll go to the German professor, who’s rife
With schemes for putting Life’s pieces together,
Whereby a passable System’s unfurl’d;
Ragged nightcaps and dressing-gowns keep out the weather,
Stop the gaps in the edifice crack’d of the world.
61.
This evening they’ve a party,
The house is fill’d with light;
By yonder shining window
A shadowy form’s in sight.
Thou see’st me not, in darkness
I stand below and apart;
Still less canst thou see ever
Inside my darksome heart.
My darksome heart doth love thee,
It loves thee and it breaks,
And breaks, and bleeds, and quivers,
But thou see’st not how it aches.
62.
I would that my woes all their fulness
In one single word could convey;
To the merry winds straight would I give it,
Who would merrily bear it away.