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S C H I LLER’
S
HOMAGE OF THE ART S,
WI TH
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES
F ROM
R'CCKERT,
FREILIGRATH AND OTHER GERMAN POETS .
“at“.
nC H A R LE S T
‘BR O OK S .
B O S T O N
J AM ES M UNR O E A ND C O M PAN ! .
M D C C C XLVI I .
En tered accordmg to Act o f Con gress , in the year 1846 , byJ AMES MONR OE AND COMPAN!
,
m the Clerk ’s O ffice of the D istrict Court of the s trict ofMassachusetts
C A M B R I D G EM E T C A L F A N D C O M P A N Y ,
PR I NTLR S TO THE UNI VER S I T ! .
P R E F A C E .
THE author of this l ittl e me’
l ang e published , a
few years ago , a larger collection , devoted princi
pally to specimens O f departed and classic German
poets ; and it was his first idea , in preparing this
volume,to represent , in a corresponding way , the
l iving poe ts Of the same language . But not havin g
the means of such access as would have been desir
able to the German poe ts Of the day, nor the le isure
to use his materials , if he had had them ,—and re
flectin g , too , how hard it is for a right sensibil ity to
put asunder the l iv ing who promise not to d ie,and
the dead who ye t l ive and w i ll l ive awhile longer,
the translator, l eaving the task Of representing fairly
and fully the poets of young Germany , such as
Heine , Herwegh , and others , i n the hope that som e
on e , i f not himself, may on e day undertake i t,has
concluded to content himself, for the present, by
iv PREFACE .
Offering h is friends and the publ ic a small selection,
consisting partly of p ieces which came to him in the
original too late for his former vo lume,and assoc iat
ing the names and effusions Of living men indisc rim
inate ly with those of
Germ an Poesy ’
s imm o rta l dead .
The Germans , however , would hardly call the ir
Schiller a d ead poe t ; KOrn er is a l ive poet , i f not
a l iving on e ; and Bucke t t and Uhland , though not
ye t canonized , ser i i n cazlum r ed ean t ! form a
noble l ink between the days o f Schiller and KOrne r
and the generation Of Herwegh and Fre il igrath
It is hoped that some o f the p ieces in this volume ,
particularly Of those from Ruckert and Freiligrath,
will be famil iar to the readers Of the Dial and the
Diadem,the Child ’s Friend and the Christian Exam
iner . Those pieces looked so wel l i n the maga
zines , that the translator flattered himself they would
do to print in a beuk .
”
He closes with the wish that th is little book may
prove l ight enough for a winter hol iday , and weighty
enough to last through the next summer .
NEWPORT , D ec . 5th , 1 846 .
C O N T E N T
S C H I L L E R
THE HOMAGE OF THE ARTS
THE FROM AFA R
R U C KER T
A GA! ELLE
A GA! ELLE
A GA! ELLE
FROM MY BOYHOOD ’S PR IME
THE STRANGER-CH ILD 'S HOLY CHR IST
THE CAMEL-DR IVER
THE WANDER ING I Ew
TREE OF L IFE
SUMMONS
FOUR WAYS
FROM THE “ HUNDRED ! UATRAINS
THE B ITER BIT , OR THE DEV IL OUTWITTED
VI CONTENTS .
MARSHAL FORWARD
THE FATAL R IVERS
THE BATTLE OF LE IPS IC
ALEXANDER ’S POWER0
F R EH J GR ATH
THE LI ON’s R IDE
THE MOOR ISH PR INCE
THE AWAKENER IN THE W ILDERNESS
THE EMIGRANTS
NAPOLEON IN B IVOUAC
THE GREEK GIRL AT THE FAIR
THE SKAT ING NEGRO
THE STEPPES
EURNs’
s FAREWELL To H IS NAT IVE LAND
U H L AN D
THE WH ITE STAG
LUCKLESS
N IGHT J OURNEY
PEASANT ’ S RULE
HE RWEGH.
TO THE KING OF PRUSS IA
TO A CENSOR
CONTENT S . vh
L I E B E R .
To J EAN PAUL
SONNET ON’
hHLTON
LOU IS PH IL IPPE ’ S GR IEF
TEE IHNG
LUT H E R
PSALM ON THE ROAD TO WORMS
HORN E R .
THROUGH '
J A C O B I .
L ITANY FOR THE FEAST OF ALL ! SOULS
THE BLACK FOREST
AFTER AN OLD SONG
THE CROWN AND THE N IGHTCAP
B UR G E R .
SW’ EET SUSY
G L E IM .
SONG OF THE POOR GARDENER
KR UMH A C H ER .
O UR L ITTLE CHURCH
THE SABBATH
vhi CONTENTS .
S C H UL ! E .
SONG OF THE L ITTLE B IRDS
WULFLER .
ETERN ITY
AN O N YM O U S .
GERMAN WATCHMAN ’S SONG
THE C ARD 'HOUSE
S C H I L L E R .
THE HOMAGE OF ARTS .
A LYRIC DRAMA .
[This p iece w as fi rst brough t out in the Cou rt Theatre O f
We im ar,Nov . 1 2
,1 804
,in com p l im en t to Maria Pau low n a
,
the Russian prin cess,When she cam e
,a bride
,to We im ar
,
as fu ture Gran d Duchess ]
DRAMATIS PERS ON!E .
FATHER .
MOTHER .
! OUTH .
MAIDEN .
C HO IR OF PEASANTS .
GEN IUS .
THE S EVEN A RTS .
2 SCH I LLER .
Scen e, a r ur a l,open coun try i n the cen tr e a n ora ng e
-tr ee lad en
with f r u it a n d d ecor a ted wi th r ibbon s . P ea sa n ts a r e !ust
i n the a ct of s etting i t ou t, whi l e m a i dens a n d chi ld ren ho l dit stea dy on both si d es , with cha ins of fl owers .
FATHER .
PRO SPER , prosper, glorious tree ,
Crowned with golden fru its and flowers !
Child of softer , sunnier bowers ,
In these natal fie lds of ours ,
Here,henceforth
,thy home shall be .
Ful l o f sweetest fruit, as now ,
Ever green thy branches b ow
ALL THE PEASANTS .
Prosper,prosper
,glorious tree ,
Towering heavenward , fair and free !
YOUTH .
With the scented blossom blending,
May the golden fruitage glow
Through the storms o f t ime unbending,
Let i t bide while ages flow
ALL .
brough the storms of time unbend ing ,
Le t i t bide while ages flow !
HOMAGE OF THE ARTS .
MOTHER .
Holy Earth this tender stranger,
Take him to thy warm embrace
Lord Of yonder sunny pas tures,
Guide Of fleckéd flocks,heaven-ranger
,
Cheer him with thy smil ing face !
MAIDEN .
Sister Dryads , gently rear him
Shield him , sh ield h im ,Father Pan
And,ye Oreads
,freely roaming ,
That no blasting wind come near him ,
Hold each mountain-storm in ban !
ALL.
Sister Dryads , kindly rear him
Shield him,shie ld h im , Father Pan !
YOUTH .
E ther’ s glowing smile befriend thee ,
Ever clear and ever blue
Sun his kindl ing radiance lend thee
Lend him , Earth , thy quickening dew !
Sun , thy cheering radiance lend him
Lend him,Earth
,thy quickening dew
SCH ILLER .
FATHER .
Joy , in thee , and l ife from heaven ,
Be to every wanderer given !
For ’t was Joy that planted thee .
May thy nectar-gifts , partaken
By the latest grandson , waken
Blessings on the qu ickening tree
ALL.
Joy , i n thee , new life from heaven ,
Be to every p ilgrim given
For ’t was Joy that planted thee .
[They dance in a motley row aroun d the tree . The mus ic of the or .
chestra accom pan ies them,gradually passm g over i n to a grander style ,
Wh l l e , in the b ackground , Gen ius is seen descen d ing With the SevenGoddesses . The peasants Withdraw to e i ther S ide of the Stage
,Wh i le
Gen ius steps In to the cen tre ; the three plast ic Arts placmg themselves at h i s right hand, an d the four rhetor ical and mus ical ones onh is left . ]
CHORUS OF THE ARTS .
We come from far ages ,
We come from far climes ;
We roam through all nations ,
Pass down through all times
roam the wide world round in quest home .
For a home Of our own
On some tranquil shore ,
HOMAGE OF THE ARTS .
Where , each oni
her throne,
We may sit evermore,
Creating in stillness,
An d working in fulness ,seeking, ne
’er finding, for ever we
YOUTH .
LO , what godlike group advances !
Never in the dreams of night
Saw I such transcendent sight
Wondrously my soul i t trances .
GEN IUS .
Where armor doth rattle ,
Wi th iron clang,’Mid din Of the battle ,
Where hatred ’s fang
Strik es its victim with venomous wound ,
Where pass ion’ s delusions the heart confound,
Where mortals in error do endlessly stray,
With fleet-win ged footstws there bend,
we
way .
CHORUS OF THE ARTS .
We hate false blasphemers ,
The Gods who contemn
SCH I LLER .
The sons of uprightness ,
We seek after them
Where manners are childlike ,
And friendly hearts yearn ,
There build we our mansions ,
And there we sojourn
MAIDEN .
What thrills through my bosom
What sends me such bliss
AS drawn by dark cords , how my heart leaps to
meet them
As fond and famil iar loved faces I greet them,
Yet I know I have never beheld them ere this
ALL THE PEASANTS .
What thril ls through my bosom
Whence cometh such bliss
GEN IUS .
Hush ! Look yonder ! Men are dancing,
And their looks b eSpeak them blessed
R ich with wreaths and ribbons glancing,
Festally the tree is dressed .
Are not these o f joy the traces !
What goes on here , children say !
HOMAGE OF THE ARTS .
FATHER .
Shepherds are we in these places,
Festal ri te s we keep to-day .
GEN IU S .
And what rites ! O ,‘
straightway tel l us
MOTHER .
R ites in honor O f our queen ,
Who , from royal halls descending,
Graciously her footsteps bend ing
Hitherward , i s come to bless us ,
To our peaceful valley lending
Presence all sublime,serene .
YOUTH .
Her , whom every Grace attending,
Smiles,l ike sunlight , from her mien .
GEN IUS .
Wherefore plant ye now this tree P
YOUTH .
Ah from distant cl imes she ’s come ,
And her heart is thi ther yearning,
Evermore , in dream ,return ing ;
SCH ILLER .
But we would not gladly le t her,
Fancy ’ s foot we fain would fetter,
Till she owns her second home .
GEN IUS .
Therefore,then , tod ay ye come ,
Men and maidens , gathering round ,
And so deeply in the ground
Plant,with all its roots , this tree ,
That the lofty on e may be
I n th is land henceforth at home P
MAIDEN .
Ah ! so many a tender band
Draws her to her Childhood ’s land
All she left with streaming tears,
Paradise Of early years ,
An d the holy lap Of mother,
And each manly-hearted brothe r,
And a sister’s tender breast,
Can we give her back these pleasures
Hath wide Nature , in her store ,
Price to buy such joys , such treasures
GEN IUS .
Love , too , for the d istant yea rneth ;
Love no chains O f place confine .
10 S C I I I LLER .
Fain would we many a fragrant garland wind her,
And lead her to our homes and hearths and hearts !
GEN IUS .
A lovely heart soon finds its home around it
It makes a world,i n silence
,Of its own
And as the tree , far from its native zone ,
Grasps with strong root the soil i ts lot hath found
SO twines true nobleness , with noble strife
Of manly actions , round this earthly life .
Love knits her tender bonds with Speedy hand ,
The spot we bless,—there is our native land .
ALL THE PEASANTS
O lovely stranger tel l us how to b ind her
TO our stil l haunts , who leaves such scenes behind
her !
GEN IUS .
The tender bond is found ,’t i s close at hand
Not al l is strange to her in this new land
Me and my train no strangers she will own ,
When we to her our names and works make known .
[Upon th is Gen ius steps forward to the proscen ium ; the Seven Goddessesdo the same , so as to form a sem ic ircle . At the mom en t when theyadvance , they d iscover the ir emb lems, wh ich they have h itherto keptconcealed un der the ir dresses . ]
HOMAGE OF THE ARTS . l l
GEN IUS [turn ing toward the Pri ncess ] .
Beauty ’s creative Genius stands before thee ,
Attended by the Arts , a sister-band .
’T is we who crown all human works with glory ,
Palace and altar own our voice and hand .
We dwelt long since with thy imperial name ,
And she , the lofty one who gave thee birth ,
Herself the holy sacrificial flame
Tends with pure hand on her domestic hearth .
She bade us follow thee with this our greeting ,
O ur smile a lon e earth ’ s proudest bl iss completing .
ARCH ITECTURE [With a mural crown on her hea d,and a golden Shi p
i n he r han d ] .
Enthroned by Neva’s banks , I graced thy home
Thy world-renowned ancestor called me forth
At his behest I built a second Rome ,
The imperial seat and mistress of the North .
A paradise of statel iness , astounding,
Arose beneath my magic wand , on e day ;
And now l ife ’s gay and busy d in is so unding
Where yesterday but gloomy fog-banks lay ;
Her bristl ing naval armaments gigantic
Drive back O l d Be lt’lF to his sea-palace , frantic .
Be l t is the n am e , properly , of tw o s trai ts in the Bal tic
12 SCH ILLER .
SCULPTURE [With a Victory in her hand] .
Me , too , with wonder , hast thou seen full oft
Grave sculptress of the gods who held the world
Of old .
Placed by me on a rock that towers aloft,
H is great heroic statue men behold
[Showm g the im age of Victory . ]
And this Vic toria , made by me for man ,Thy lofty brother waves with mighty arm ;
It loves to fly in Alexander’s van,
Held to his banner by resistless charm
I only mould the clay to l ifeless grace,
He of a savage horde creates a gentle race .
PAINT ING .
Nor me wil t thou , exalted on e , mistake ,
The bright creatress O f deceptive forms .
L ife ’ s gl owing hues beneath my pencil wake ,
And al l the insp ired canvass beams and warms .
I know to cheat the senses ,— ay, the heart
Can sweetly , through the sight, delude awhile
(Skagerack an d Cattegat! ; the tran slato r w ou ld,how eve r,
have ren dered it Bal tic , had n o t the an tic term in ation s forhidden .
HOMAGE OF THE ARTS . 1 3
And,copying each loved trait with cunning art ,
The bitte r pangs of absence o ft beguile .
Whom North and South , by sea and mountain , sever,
They both have me, and part n o more for ever.
POESY .
N0 place can hold , no chain my feet confine
Freely I soar beyond the firm am en t.
The ill imitable realm Of thought is mine ,
The inspired word my winged instrument .
And all that l ives and moves in earth and sky,
An d all that Nature doth in secret night,
Must stand unve iled , unsealed , before my eye
Fo r naught can hem the free poetic flight ;
Yet nothing lovel ier can I choose or find ,
Than a fair soul in a fair form enshrined .
MUS IC [with the Lyre] .
The power Of sound,from the swept strings up
well ing ,
Thou know ’st i t well , thou wie l d
’st i t mightily .
All yearnings dim,i n the deep bosom swell ing,
Find utterance free and full alone in me ;
A fond enchantment round each sense doth play,
When I pour forth my streams of harmony ;
14 SCHI LLER .
In sweetest woe the heart would melt away,
And from the l ips the soul were fain to flee
And when my scale Of tones I rear on high ,
I bear thee up to Beauty’ s loftiest sky .
DANCE [w ith the Cym b al] .
The thoughts o f God in solemn stillness rest ;
In thoughtful stillness is h is Spiri t found .
Life beats tumultuous in the human breast ,
And in youth ’ s pulse the bounding hours dance
round .
Wild Joy with Beauty ’ s rein I guide and tame ,
Who loves the del icate bounds to overleap
I clothe with zephyr’s wing the heavy frame
I hid the dance an even measure keep .
My wand doth Nature ’s every movement trace’T i s I bestow the lovely gift o f grace .
DRAMA [w ith a doub le m ask] .
A Janus-face my name and work discovers ;
On this side joy i t shows,on that side , woe .
Humanity ’ twixt smiles and tears aye hovers .
Earnest and jest are mated here below.
With al l i ts depths,with all its heights serene ,
I l ife ’ s great map before thy view unroll .
HOMAGE OF THE ARTS . 1 5
When thou hast once the world ’ s great drama seen,
Thou comes t back more rich to thine own soul
For whoso thus surveys the whole finds rest,
And ends the vexing strife within his breast .
GEN IUS .
And now we all who here appear before thee,
Of high and holy arts the sacred choir ,
0 Princess,wait thy pleasure , seek thy glory .
Speak thou the word , and , as at sound O f lyre
The walls O f Thebes arose , in ancient story ,
The insensate stone shall l ive when thou dost cal l,
A world of beauty shall unfold before thee .
ARCH ITECTURE .
Column with column into line shall fall .
SCULPTURE .
The marble mel t beneath the hammer’s blow .
PAINT ING .
Fresh l ife , warm-breathing , on the canvass glow .
MUS IC .
The stream of harmonies resound to thee .
D ANCE .
The airy dance glide gayly round to thee .
1 6 SCH ILLER .
DRAMA .
L ife on this sta ge unfold its wide dominion .
POESY .
And bright-eyed Fancy , on her mighty pinion ,
To heavenly fields enchant thee far away !
PAINT ING .
And like as Iris with the solar ray
Builds up her glorious spectrum in the sky ,
Even so will we , with fair and friendly strife ,
The mystic Seven O f Beauty pure and high ,
Weave , glorious on e , the carpet Of thy life .
ALL THE ARTS [clasp in g han ds] .
For all the powers , with fair and friendly strife ,
Must join to weave the web o f manly life .
18 SCH ILLER .
She brought with her both fruits and flowers ,
Matured in other, sunnier fields ,
Where Nature , in her southern bowers ,
A glow of milder radiance yields .
To each she gave h is heart’ s desire ,
Gave flowers to these , and fruits to those
The bounding youth , the bending si re ,
Each with his present homeward goes .
A welcome waited every guest
But when drew near a lovin g pair,
Them gave she of her gifts the best,
Of all her flowers , the fairest there .
R U C KE R T .
*
A GA! ELLE .
[Th is is a class of poem s wh ich seem s to b e qui te a favori tew i th Rackert. They are n am ed Gaz e l les, prob ab ly i n referen ce to the i r m ovem en t, w h ich im i tates the pecul iar boun din gof that an im a l .]
0 CRADLE o f the rising sun , 0 holy Sea
O grave o f every setting sun , 0 holy Sea !
0 thou in balmy nights outspreading the crystal mirror
Where Luna looks , a silent nun , -O holy Sea !
0 thou in silent midnights chiming, through thy Wide
realm ,
With starry choirs , sweet unison , O holy Sea !
Th is pro l ific , yet n o less thoughtfii l than gracefii l , poe tsti l l l ives, as O rien ta l Professor, at Berl in .]
20 RUCKERT .
The morning’ s and the evening’s red bloom out from
thee ,
Two roses Of thy ga rden-bed , O holy Sea
O Amphitr ite’s panting bosom , whose heaving waves
Now swell , now sink , beneath the moon , O holy
S ea
O Aphrodite ’ s womb maternal ! bring forth thy ch ild ,
And borrow splendor from thy son , 0 holy Sea !
Sprinkle the earth ’s green wreath Of spring w ith
pearly dew ,
For thine the pearls are , every one , 0 holy Sea
The Naiads o f the meadows all , that sprang from thee ,
Come back as Nere ids at thy call , 0 holy Sea
The ships Of thought sai l over thee and sink in thee ;
Atlantis rests there , mighty on e , 0 holy Sea
The beaker of the gods , that fell from high Olympus ,
Hangs on the coral-twigs ,* far down , 0 holy Sea
A d iver in the sea Of love is Fre im un d’s song,
Would show how rich his chosen on e , 0 holy Sea
My spirit yearn eth l ike the moon to sink in thee
Forth send me from thee l ike the sun , 0 holy Sea
Like the cup in S chi l ler’
s“ D iver . TR .
A GA! ELLE .
[The tran slato r m ust presum e tha t the prope r n am es in th isp iece are fam i l iar to the readers o f Persian 1iterature .]
UP , rise up ,’t is day, 0 youthful Mussulman
Pack thy goods and forth to j oin the caravan .
Hark , O , hark ! e’en n ow they ’
re moving, while thou
sleepest ;
Hark the bell’s low tinkling warns thee , from the van
When the desert-drifts have swept away the ir sand
wake ,
Hope not that thy footsteps ever track them can .
Rouse thee up O , waste not l ife in fond delusions !
Be a soldier,—b e a hero ,—b e a man !
22 HECKERT .
Of thy noble blood bethink thee,youthful Persian
,
L ike Bostem ,- l ike Saal , j oin thou the hero’s
c lanfi“
Man of l igh t, of right, the sunl ight’ s champ ion
Yield n ot up thy soul to gloomy Ahriman
When thou hast in fight thy earthy soul downtrodden ,
L ife ’s victorious banner shall the heavenly fan .
When thy low l ips touch the dust upon the threshold ,
Thou shalt be the seal-ring in our she ik’s d ivan !
Bostem (or Rustam ,as Moo re ca l ls him in his Lal la
R ookh! is the Persian Hercu les . S aa l (or S a l! is his associa te in fam e ; Racke rt ca l ls h im a P ehl ewa n . What thism ean s the tran slator has n ot succeeded in fin ding out.
A GA! ELLE .
CREAT ION‘
n ow in slumber lies , 0 , watch in
Sleep waits to snare my weary eyes , 0 , watch
in me
Thou E ’ye , that in the heavens watchest, with starry
glance ,When close in sl eep my weary eyes , 0 ,watch in me
Thou L ight,through ether beaming h igher than sun
and moon ,
When sun and moon forsake the skies , 0 , watch
in me
When on this outer world is closing the door of sense ,
Sink not my soul in dread surprise , 0 ,watch in me
O ,sufi
'
er n ot the power of darkness,the gloom of night,
To quench the light of inner skies 0 , watch
in me
24 RUCKERT.
0 , let not, in the night’s Warm breathings , in balmy
shade ,
The shoots of s inful passion rise !—O , watch in
me
Fresh with the dew of Eden’s branches , le t in my
dream
The fruit of l ife hang from the skies ! 0 , watch in
me
Show me in dream my warfare ended , my heart’s
wish won
Let this bright v is ion bless my eyes 0 , watch in
me
I ’ l l slumber in thy lap till wakes me the morning-red
Upon thy cheeks , ti l l darkness fl ies , 0 ,watch
in me
26 RUCKERT.
O thou ch ildhood ’s word —O thou Childhood ’s wordGlad wisdom ’s unconsc ious spring,
Skilled in speech Of bird,— ski lled in speech of
bird ,
As the wise king
O ye fields of home O ye fields of home
By the hallowed shade and stream
Might I once more roam, m ightI once more roam ,
On wings of dream
When I went, ah then , when I went , ah then
The world was so full and fair
When I came again , when I came again ,
I found all bare .
Comes the swallow back ,—comes the swal low back,The chests that were empty run o’er ;
But the hea rt , alack but the heart,alack
Grows full no more .
There ’S n o swallow brings , there ’
s no swallow
brings
Back to thee what thy tears deplore ;
Yet the swallow sings , —yet the swallow Sings
Just as of yore
PROM MY BOYHOOD’ S PRIME .
When I last took wing, when I last took wing,
Bin and barn stood loaded there
When I came in sprin g , - when I came in spring ,
I found al l bare .
”
THE STRANGER-CHILD ’S HOLY CHRIST .
’T I S Christmas eve ,—ful l plain ,A strange child runs about
Through stree t, and square , and lane ,
To see the lights gleam out
From every window-pane .
Behold him stop and stare
At every house he sees
The bright rooms , how they glare ,
And all the lamp-full trees,
Sad is he everywhere .
The poor child weeps TO-night
Each l ittle girl and boy
The ir li ttle tree and light
Can see and can enjoy,
Al l, al l but me , poor Wight
THE STRANGER-CHI LD’ S HOLY CHRI ST . 29
Brothers and sisters , we
Once frolicked , hand in hand ,
Around one sparkl ing tree
But here , in this strange land ,NO on e remembe rs me .
Now al l the doors they close
Against the cold and me ;
In all these goodly rows
Of houses , can there be
No spot for my repose P
Will n o on e ope to me
Naught wil l I touch or take
I ’ ll only look and see
The pretty Christmas cake ,
The sight my feas t shall be .
”
He knocks at ga te and door,
On shutter and on pane
Within they laugh the more
The poor child knocks in vain ,
His li ttle joints grow sore .
RUCKERT.
Each father, ful l Of !oy,
His children eyes with pride
The mother hands the toy,
She thinks Of naugh t beside
None heeds the s tranger-boy .
Dear holy Chri st ! save thee ,
NO father a nd no mother
Have I on earth 0 , be
My Saviour and my brother,
For none remembers me
Numbed with the biting blast ,
He rubs his l ittle hands ,
Hugs himself tight and fast,
And in the b y-lane stands ,
His eyes to Heaven upcast .
Lo ! with a l ittle l ight,
Comes plodding up the stree t,
All dressed in spotless white,
Another child how Sweet
His accents p ierce the night
THE STRANGER-CHILD’ S HOLY CHRI ST . 3 1
I am the holy c hild
J esus , and once , like the e ,
I roamed through cold and Wild
Poor wanderer , Come to me ,For I am meek and mild
I wi ll n ot scorn thy prayer ;The poor I love to bless,
And grant my tender care
Here in the stree t n o less
Than in the parlour there .
And now I ’11 let thee see ,
Here in the Open a ir ,
Thou stranger-child , thy tre e ,
And non e so b right and fa ir
In all the rooms can be .
”
Then pointed with his hand
Child Jesus to the skyA mighty tree did sta nd ,
Crowded with stars , so high ,
Its boughs the wide heaven spanned .
RUCKERT.
How far, and yet how near,
The sparkling torches seem
Poor c hild i t d id appear
L ike to a fairy dream ,
All was so calm and clear .
There ,—ih the Shining sky,There stood his Christmas-tree
And little angels nigh
Reached down so lovingly,
And drew him up on high .
And homeward now he goes,
The little stranger-child ,
With Jesus to repose ,
The Saviour meek and mild,
And soon forgets his woes .
RUCKERT .
Thereto the m an did straightway cling,
Close crouching, coldly shuddering .
When he looked up, he saw with dread
Peer down that frightful camel ’s head ,
That stil l more near and frightful grew
And when below he bent his view ,
Down in the fountain’s depths he saw
A dragon , with extended jaw ,
That lay there waiting for h is blood ,
When he should d rop into the flood ;
For , 10 ! thus trembling’ twixt the two ,
A third woe met the wretch’ s View .
Where in the cavern’s crevice clung
The bush’s root on which he hung ,
He saw of mice a busy pair,
One black , on e white , close nibbl ing there .
He saw the black one and the whi te
Alternately the root d id bite .
They gnawed , they tugged , with snout an d
They raked the earth from round the root ;And as the mould , down-rattl ing, fell ,
The dragon looked up from the well ,
To see how soon the bush would fall
Into the water, load and all .
THE CAMEL-DRIVER. 35
The man , in terror and despair ,
Beset, besieged , beleaguered there ,
In vain from this most dread suspense
Sought and besought del iverance .
But as he strains his eager eyes ,
Nodding ab ove h is head he sp ies
A twig with blackberries thick-hung,
Part of the vine to which he clung .
NO more he saw the camel ’ s head
S O hideous , nor the dragon dread ,
Nor yet the mice ’ s knavery ,When once the berries met his eye .
The beast o ’e rhead might snort and blow ,
The dragon lurk and gloat be low
And at his s ide the mice might gnaw ,
The blackbe rries were al l he saw .
They pleased his eyes ,—he thought them sweet ,Berry on berry did he eat
SO great the pleasure while he ate ,
It made him all his fear forget .
As k’st thou what foolish man is he
Forgets such fear so easi ly P
Know then , 0 friend , that man art thou
For thou shalt hear the moral now .
RUCKERT.
The dragon down beneath the Wave
IS Death’ s wide-gaping maw ,- the grave .
The camel threatening overhead
Is L ife ’s distress , and doubt, and dread .
’Twixt L ife and Death aye hovering ,Thou dost to Earth ’ s frail thorn-bush cl ing .
The two that gnaw incessantly
The root that bears the twigs and thee ,
To bring thee down to Death’ s dark might,
The mice ’ s names—are Day and N ight .The black one gnaws , concealed from sight,
From eventide till morning light
From morning light til l eventide ,The white on e gnaws the root beside .
Yet,i n th is wild and weary waste ,
The berry , Pleasure , tempts thy taste .
Till the huge camel , L ife’s d istress ,
The dragon , Death , i n the abyss ,
The busy nibblers , Day and Ni ght,
Forgotten in thy strange delight
Of death’s dark flood thou dost not think,
But o f the berries on its brink .
THE WANDERING JEW.
[Rackert’
s ti tle o f th is piece is C hidher .
THE wandering Jew once said to me,
I passed through a city in the cool Of the year
A man in the garden plucked fru it from a tree .
I asked,HOW long has the city been here P”
And he answered me , and he plucked away ,
It has always stood where it stands tod ay,
An d here it will stand for ever and aye .
Five hundred years rolled by , and then
I travelled the selfsame road again .
NO trace of a city there I found
A shepherd sat blowing his pipe alone ,
H is flock went quietly nibbl ing round .
I asked , How long has the city been
38 RUGKERT .
And he answered me , and he p iped away ,
The new ones bloom and the O ld decay ,
Th is is my pasture-ground for aye .
Five hundred years rolled by,and then
I travelled the selfsame road again .
And I came to a sea,and the waves d id roar ,
And a fisherman threw his net out clear ,
An d when , heavy-laden , he dragged it ashore ,
I asked , HOW long has the sea been here !
And he laughed , and he said , and he laughed away ,
As long as you billows have tossed their spray
They ’ve fished and they ’
ve fished in this sel fsame
bay .
”
F ive hundred years rolle d by , and then
I travelled the selfsame road again .
And I came to a forest , vast and free ,And a woodman stood in the thicket near ,
His axe he had laid at the foot of a tree .
I asked , How long have the woods been here P
And he answered , These woods are a covert for aye
My ancestors dwelt here alway ,
And the trees have been here since creation’s day .
Five hundred years rolled by , and then
I travelled the selfsame road again .
THE WANDERING J EW. 39
And I found there a city , and far and near
Reso unded the hum of toil and glee ,
And I asked , How long has the city been here ,
And where is the pipe,and the wood
,and the sea P
And they answered me,as they went the ir way ,
Th in gs always have stood as they stand tod ay,
And so they wi ll s tand fo r ever and aye .
I ’l l wait five hundred years , and then
I ’l l travel the selfsame road again .
THE TREE OF LIFE .
WHEN Father Adam lay at his last groan,
He sent to Paradise his faithful son ,
A twig to fetch him from the Tree of L i fe ,Whereby he hoped recovery might be won .
Seth plucked the twig and brought it home but, 10
Our father’s ghost, w i th his last breath , had flown .
Then planted they the twig on Adam ’s grave,
And so from son to son ’t was handed down .
Itgrew , when in the pit young Joseph lay ,
When Egypt’ s task-maste rs made Israel groan .
That tree put forth i ts blossoms fragrantly ,
When David,harping , sat upon his throne .
Dry was the tree , when , in his wisdom , erred
From the Lord ’s way the sage King Solomon
Ye t every generation hoped to see
Its l ife renewed in David ’s greater son .
THE SUMMONS .
IS i t the brass-mouthed clarion screaming SO ,
To rouse the warrior from his tented bed P
IS i t the solemn trump God ’s angels blow,
Whose clang unbol ts the tomb and wakes the dead !
0 , no ! i t is the early cock , whose crow
Shakes the gold mists of slumber from my head ,
An d , l ike the battle-trump , the j udgment-morning,
Of a new day , whose night is hid , gives warn ing .
Herald of l ight ! admonisher,whose cal l
Shook the frai l heart that dared deny its Lord
So , to this day , when leaden slumbers fall
On souls whose sensual passions choke the word ,
THE SUMMON S . 43
’T is thy bo ld , faithful voice that l ifts the pall
Of self-Oblivion,thou shrill-throated b ird
S tartl in g the gu il ty soul,and rous in g all
Sp irits o f l ife,that with a shudder, scorning
Dark sel f-dece it, expect the eternal morning .
Dash down yon dizzying cup of earthly lust ,
Filled with the brown and poisonous juice Of sleep ,
And go thou forth,and
,armed with better trust
Than thine own strength , cl imb duty’s rugged steep .
Fear n ot !—high Heaven’ s right arm prote cts thejust
,
Faint n ot !—whate ’er thou sowest thou shalt reap .
Warrior of God , I heed the so lemn warning,
And a glad day succeeds the dreariest morning .
THE FOUR WAYS .
BEFORE the Sul tan’s throne appears
The Mew lana , with lowly brow .
Thy wisdom ’s fame hath reached m in e
Then answer me on e question n ow .
Four several sects , well knowest thou ,My faithful Mussulmans divide
Without delay , then , tell me n ow
With which doth Allah ’s favor side P
By which o f these four pathways , say,
Shal l dust attain to Allah ’ s throne P
In doubt I ’Ve waited till tod ay ;
Now let the certainty be known .
Thus spake the Sultan , and was dumb .
The Mewlan a gazed silently
A moment round the audience-room ,
And then he said , with bended knee
THE FOUR WAYS .
Thou in whose smile thy faithful race
The light O f Heaven reflected see,
Protect me wi th thy shield of grace ,
Then shal l my answer be to thee
Thou sitt’st enthroned here in a hall ,
To which four doors thy slaves admit,
And al l thy Splendor beams on all ,
By whichsoe ’er they enter it .
That I did not mistake the way ,
Thy messenger the pra ise must claim,
An d , dazzled by the bright array ,
I kn ow not n ow which way I came .
FROM THE HUNDRED ! UATRAINS .
FI RST HUNDRED .
A LOVER , who in confidence
Le ts other people know it,Il l ed ifies his audience ,Or else he is a poet .
I I .
Reason , rebell ing, armed’gain st Love , one day ,
And ‘Visdom on his banner blazed o ’erhead .
Love sent a breath to make the attack , they say,
When Reason , trembl ing, sp iked his guns and fled .
VIII .
See , the rose-be d o f creation
Never o f i ts flowers is bare
Fades one red-cheeked generation ,
Lo ! another cr0p is there .
FROM THE HUNDRED ! UATRAIN S . 47
That which thou canst not hate,and yet
Fin d ’st i t st il l harder to forget ,0 heart no third way is left to thee
But this , to love it hearti ly .
The poet is a king without a throne,
And earthly ones who here in purple dress
Him as their equal do not love to own ;’T were better he shoul d shun the ir courts, I guess .
XIx .
Sprin g is a poet wheresoe ’er he looks
Trees bloom and all the fields look gay .
Autumn ’s a critic dead leaves strew the brooks ,
Touched by his b reath , an d nature’ s charm s decay .
n VI I t .
Ciphers , with a unit at their head ,
Grow to hundreds , thousands , what
When by on e they choo se not to be led ,
Mil l ion ciphers are b ut zero stil l .
48 RUCHERT.
xxxvm .
Prose never brings a full-formed work to l ight
However great,’t is but a fragment stil l
While not four lines can Poesy indite ,
But a round whole thy ear and thought shall
SECOND HUNDRED .
VI I .
She went , serenely smiling l ike the sun
That look , Farewell ! we meet in yonder skyIt said ; and thinking What a day is done ,I feel moist night-dews standing in my eye .
XVII I .
0 heart ! keep loving ; though time hath bereft
Of youth and beauty , yet never despair .
They have not departed , while love is left thee ,Fo r love and love only is young and fair.
xxrr.
The dog i s born a slave to be ,
The will Of his lord for law holds b e .
But the cat is a creature born to be free
Thou play’st not with her, she p lays with
50 RUCRERT .
A father one day was teaching h is son'
No monarch had a right to his thron e.
The son learned well in his father’ s school ,
And knocked the Old gentleman o ff his stool .
In every stone , i n every clod ,
L ies hid an image o f man or god
But whoso would bring i t to daylight, he
Must either a carver or sculptor be .
The rich man spares his foot ;
The poor man spares h is shoe,
Because he needs must buy it,
And has n o money to .
xcv .
Easter morning breaks triumphant, Christ is risen !
See,my soul , how all creation wakes from death !
Burst the chains of slumber,—forth from death’ s dark
prison ,
Leave thy sepulchre like h im of Naz areth I
FROM THE HUNDRED ! UATRA INS . 5 1
XCVI .
Weary , worry not thyself in vain
If the fruit thou seekest hangs too high ,Wait, and all the riper , by and by,
In thy lap ’t wi ll fall —le t i t remain .
XCVI I .
How fin d ’st thou thy cal l ing so hard a on e ,
When others take i t so easily P”
To teach me I myself had none ,And so can no one ’ s teacher be .
0 .
There ’s many a li ttle book that reads righ t nice
The reader never cares to see again
But whatsoe ’er is not worth reading twice
Was n ot worth reading once , I do main tain .
THE BITER BIT, OR THE DEVIL
OUTWITTED .
THE Arabs had ploughed , but not planted , the ir fie ld ,
When the Devil , l ike Jehu , came galloping by,
And said , Half the earth me its produce must yield ;
Remember it , rogues , when your harvest draws
nigh .
”
The Arabs are foxes . They said , Be i t so
The upper half ours and the lower half th ine .”
But the Devil wil l always be uppermost No
The lower half you rs , and the upper half m ine .”
SO they planted them turnips and beets everywhere ,
And then , when the time Of the harvest drew on ,
The Devil came puffing to gather his share ,
The tops were all there , but the roots were al l gone .
THE B ITER B IT . 53
And when it came round to the spring Of the year,
Then out spake the Devil , in a furious heat ,I go for the lower half th is time , that
’s clear.
So the Arabs , they planted them corn and wheat .
And when it became again time to d ivide ,
The Arabs began the ripe ears to fel l
The Devil he took the dry stubble , and cried ,’T will kindle my fires below there right well.
MARSHAL FORWARD .
B! what name , thou gallant Prussian ,
Say , wilt thou thy Bl ii cher cal l !
Close thy classic books the Russian
G ives him the best name of all .
There ’s no name in Classic story
Can Speak his pecul iar glory ;
Marshal Forward ! Marshal Forward !
Marshal Forward beats them all
Over forest , flood , and mountain ,
Forward march ! was stil l the word
From the Oder’ s farthest fountain
To the E lbe-stream flashed his sword .
MARSHAL FORWARD . 55
Now Upon the Rhine we find him ,
Now he leaves the Rhone beh ind him ,
Marshal Forward ! Marshal Forward
Forward Forward ! That ’s the word
Ha ! French marshals , wherefore quake ye ,
Wherefore hang your heads for Shame ,
And behind your walls be take you ,
TVhen ye hear our Blficher ’s name !
Marshal Backward,— that ’s the coward
Call the brave man Marshal Forward
Marsha l Forward Marshal Forward
Su its alone the Bl i'
I cher’s fame .
[Rossb ach m ean s Horse-br ook,an d Katz bach ,
FROM th is time forth and for ever,Look out for each beast-named river,
Frenchmen , look !
By the Rossbach , by the Rossbach ,
We shot you on horseback .
When from Off your horses
Rolled the heavy corses ,
Down the blood rolled ,
In a real brook .
From this time forth an d for ever,
Look out fo r each beast-named river,Frenchmen , look
By the Katzbach , by the Katzbach ,
Stood the hair up on the cat’ s back ;
THE BATTLE OF LEIPS IC .
Is there no song
Can crash with might,
Loud and long
As crashed the Leipsic fight .
Three days , day and night,
Smoke and stroke,
And n o joke ,
S lashed and crashed an d smashed the
fight
THE BATTLE OF LEIPS IC . 59
Three days , day and night,
Lasted the Leipsic fair ;With iron yard-sticks we measured"! ye there ,
We charg ed you heavily , quite .
Three days,day and night
,
Lasted at Leipsic the hunt of the lark
We caught them at daylight , we caught them at
A hundred we caught at a single gate ,
A thousand at a flight .
TVhen the troops o f Charles the Fifth an d Pope C lem entarrived in sigh t of Flo ren ce they are sa id to have cried ,Ge t ready
,0 Flo ren ce
,thy go lden brocades w e com e to
b uy them by the m easure of our p ikes . TR .
ALEXANDER’S POWER .
WHEN Alexander died , he gave command
They from h is cofii n should le t hang his hand ,
That all men who had seen h im formerly,
Exulting in the pomp o f royalty ,
Might now see that,with empty hands , alone ,
He,too , the universal road had gone ,
And that, Of all h is treasures , n othing save
That empty hand went with h im to the grave .
F R E I L‘
I G RATH .
THE LION’S RIDE .
[The tr an slator has seen tw o o ther Eersion s Of the fo llowin g p iece , n e ither in the exact m easure of the o rigin al
,w hich
is here given ]
KING of deserts reigns the l ion ; wil l he through his
realm go riding,
Down to the lagoon he paces , in the tall sedge there
l ies hid in g .
Where gazelles and camelopards drink , he crouches
by the shore
Ominous,above the monster, moa ns the qu ivering
sycamore .
62 FREILIGRATH .
When , at dusk , the ruddy hearth-fires in the Hotten
tot kraals are glowing,
And the motley , changeful signals on the Table Moun
tain growin g
Dim and distant, when the C afl’
re sweeps along the
lone karroo ,
When in the bush the antelope slumbers,and beside
the stream the gnu ,
LO ! majestical ly s talking, yonder comes the tal l gi
rafl'
e ,
Hot with thirst , the gloomy waters Of the dul l lagoon
to quafl'
O’er the naked waste behold her , with parched
tongue,all panting hasten ,
Now she sucks the cool draught, kneel ing, from the
stagnant,sl imy basin .
Hark ! a rustl ing in the sedges with a roar, the l ion
springs
On her back n ow . What a race-horse Say , in proud
est s tall s o f kings,
Saw one ever richer housings than the courser’ s mot
ley hide ,
On whose back the tawny monarch Of the beasts to
nigh t wil l ride !
THE L ION ’ S RIDE . 63
F ixed his tee th are in the muscles of the nape , w i th
greedy strain ;
Round the giant courser’s withers wa ves the rider’ s
yellow mane .
With a hollow cry of anguish , leaps and fl ies the
tortured steed
See her,how with skin of leopard she combines the
camel’s speed !
See,with l ightly beating footsteps, how she scours the
moonlit plains !
From their sockets start the eyeballs ; from the torn
and bleed ing veins ,
Fast the thick , black drops come trickl ing O’er the
brown and dappled neck,
And the flying beast’s heart-beatings audible the still
ness make .
Like the cloud , that , guiding Israe l through the land
o f Yemen , shone ,
L ike a sp irit Of the desert , like a phantom , pale and
O’er the desert’s sandy ocean, l ike a waterspout at
Wh irls a yellow , cloudy column , tracking them where
e’er they flee .
64 FREILIGRATH .
On the ir track the vulture follows , flapping, c'
roaking,
through the air,
An d'
the terrible hyena,p l underer Of tombs , is there ;
Fol lows’
them the stealthy panther,—Cape-town’ s foldshave known h im well
Them the ir monarch’ s dreadfu l pathway, blood and
sweat full plainly tell .
On his l iVIng throne , they, quaking, see their ruler
sitting there ,
With sharp claw the painted cushion of h is seat they
see him tear.
Restless the giraffe must hear h im on , ti ll strength and
l ife-blood fail her
Mastered by such daring rider, rearin g, p lunging,
naught avai l her .
To the desert’s verge she staggers , sinks ,
groan,and al l is o’er.
Now the steed Shall feast the rider, dead , and smear
ed with dust and gore .
Far across , o’er Madagascar, faintly now the morn
ing breaks
Thus the king of beasts h is journey nigh tly through
his'
empire makes .
66 FREILIGRATH .
Lo ! gl ittering pearls I ’ve brough t thee there,
TO twine with thy dark and glossy hair
And the corals , all snakel ike , i n Persia’s green sea
,
The dripp ing divers have fished for me .
See ! p lumes of the ostrich , thy beauty to grace
Let them nod , snowy-white , o’ er thy dusky face .
Deck the tent , make ready the feast for me ,
F i ll the garlanded goblet o f Victory
And forth from his snowy and shimmering tent
The princely Moor, i n h is armor, went .
S O looks the dark moon , when , ecl ipsed , through the
gate
Of the silver-edged clouds , she rides forth in her sta te .
A welcoming shout h is proud host fl ings ,
And Welcome !” the stampin g steed ’ s hoof rings ;
For him rolls faithful the negro’ s blood ,
And Ni ger’ s o l d , mysterious flood .
Now lead us to victory , lead us to fight
They battled from morning far into the night .
The hollow tooth of the elephant blew
A blast that p ierced each foeman through .
THE MOORI SH PRINCE .
How scatter the l ions ! the se rpen ts fly
From the rattl ing tambour ; the flags on
All hung with skulls , proclaim the dead ,
And the yel l ow desert is dyed with red .
SO rings in the val ley the desperate fight
But she is preparing the feast for the night
She fi lls the goblets with rich palm-wines,
And the shafts of the tent-poles with flowers
twines .
With pearls that Pers ia’s green flood bare,
She dresses her dark and glossy hair ;
Feathers are floating her brow to deck,
And gay shells gleam on her arms and neck .
She S i ts by the door Of her lover’ s tent ,
She l ists the far war-horns til l morning is
The noonday burns , the sun stings hot
The garlands wither,she heeds it not .
The sun goes down in the fading skies,
The night-dew trickles , the glow-worm fl ies,
And the crocodile looks from the tep id pool ,
As if he , too , would enjoy the cool .
68 FREILIGRATH .
The l ion bestirs h im an d prowls for prey,
The elephant-tusks through the jungles make
Home to her lair the giraffe goes ,
And flower-leaves shut and eyel ids close .
The maiden’s fluttering heart beats h igh ,
When a bleed ing, fugitive Moor draws nigh
Farewell to al l hope now the battle is lost ;
Thy lover is captured , he ’s dragged to the coast,
They sel l h im to white men , b e ’S carried
0 , Spare
The maiden falls headlong, she clutches her hair ;
All quivering she crushes the pearls in her hand,
She hides her hot cheek in the burning-hot sand .
PART I I .
’T 1 5 fair-day —how sweeps the tempestuous throngTo circus and tilt-ground , with Shout and with song
There ’s a blast Of trumpets
,the cymbal rings
,
The deep drum rumbles , Bajazz o springs .
Come on ! come on ! HOW swel ls the roar !
They fly,as on wings , o
’er the hard , flat floor ;
THE MOORISH PRIN CE . 69
The British sorrel , the Turk’ s black steed
,
From plum éd beauty win honor’ s meed .
And there , by the tilting-ground’ s curtained door
,
Stands , silent and thoughtful , a curly-haired Moor .
The Turkish drum he beats full loud ,
On the drum is hanging a l ion-skin p roud .
He sees not the knights and their graceful swing ,
He sees not the steeds and the ir dar ing sprin g
The Moor’ s d ry eye , with its sti ll”
, wild stare ,
Sees naught but the Shaggy lion-skin there .
He thinks of the far , far dista nt N iger,
And how he once chase d there the l ion and tiger ,
And how he once brandished his Sword in the fight,
And came not back to h is couch at night .
And he thinks of her , who , in other hours ,
Decked her hair with his pearls and plucked him
flowers ;
His eye grew moist, with a sc ornful stroke
He smote the drum-head , i t rattled and broke .
THE AWAKENER IN THE WILDERNESS .
HARD by the N i le ,’mid desert-sands
,
K ing Of the wild , a L ion stands ,
Yellow as are the sandy waves ,
When the Simoom around him raves .
His mane a royal mantle seems,
As o ’er his brawny breast i t streams ;
His fierce and shaggy top looks down ,
Majestic , l ike a k in gly crown .
He li fts his head and roars ; - the sound
So deep and hollow murmurs round,
Through all that awe-struck wilderness,
Lake Mce ris hears it well , I guess .
THE AWAKENER IN THE WILDERNES S . 7 1
The Spotted panther knows it wel l
Ofi‘
darts the tremulous gazelle ;
The camel and the crocodile
Hear the dread monarch of the N ile .
Old N ile ’ s reverberating shore
Bears far away that sullen roar
The Pyramids send back the sound,
And echo through the ir vaults profound .
The brown-dried royal mummy,h id
In dust and dusk of Pyramid
For weary ages,stirs and shakes
,
And from his ted ious slumber wakes .
He r i ses In h is narrow shrine !
Thanks , L ion , for that roar o f thine
Ah ages long in sleep have passed ,
Thy voice awakens me at last .
0 years that I have dreamed away
I'Vhere are ye , golden ages , say !
\Vhen in triumphal pomp I rode,
A king, a conqueror , a god !
FREILIGRATH .
Then v ictory’ s banners o ’er me flew,
Thy ancestors , 0 L ion , drew ,
On that proud day , the festal car
That brought me back from glorious war
That car was gorgeous to behold ;
The beam was all enchased with gold ;
Both spoke and rim w ith pearls did Sh ine
The hundred-gated Thebes was mine .
These feet, so dry and shrivelled now,
Trod on the Indian ’ s tawny brow ,
The frizzled hair Of Moors , the wild
And stubborn neck Of Afric ’ s child .
S tiff l inen binds a hand that held
Sway o’e r the world in years of e ld
All that you hieroglyphics say
Once glowed within thi s breast of clay .
These hands upreared the mighty t'
omb,
That holds me in its rayless gloom
I sat upon a throne , the while
The myriad insects raised the p ile .
THE EMIGRANTS .
I CANNOT take my eyes away
From you , ye busy, bustl ing band ,
Your l ittle al l to see you lay
Each in the waiting boatman’ s hand .
Ye m en , that from your necks set down
Your heavy baskets on the earth ,
Of bread , from German corn baked brown ,
By German wives , on German hearth ,
And you , with braided queues so neat,
Black Forest maidens , sl im and brown ,
How careful , on the sloop’ s green seat,
! ou se t your pails and p itchers down .
THE EM IGRANT S . 75
Ah oft have home ’s cool , shady tank s
Those pails and p itche rs fi lle d for you
By far Missouri ’s silent banks
Shal l these the scenes of home renew ,
The stone-rimmed fount , in village street ,
IVhere oft ye stooped to chat and draw ,
The hearth , and each familiar seat ,
The pictured tiles your childhood saw .
Soon , in the far and wooded “l est
S hall log-house walls therewith be graced ;
Soon , many a tired , tawny guest
Shal l sweet refreshment from them taste .
From them shall drin k the Cherokee ,Faint with the hot an d dusty chase
NO more from German vin tage ye
Shall hear them home , i n l eaf-crown ed grace .
0 , say , why seek ye other lands !
The Neckar’ s vale hath wine and corn
Full of dark firs the Schwarzwald stands ;
In Spessart rings the Alp-herd ’s horn .
FREILIGRATH .
Ah in strange fores ts ye wil l yearn
For the green mountains o f your home ,
TO Deutschland ’ s yellow wheat-fie lds turn,
In Spiri t o ’e r her vine-hills roam .
How will the forms o f days grown pale
In golden dreams float softly by,
L ike some wild , legendary tale ,Before fond memory
’ s moistened eye
The boatman calls , go hence in peace
God bless you , wife , and child , and S ire
B less al l your fields with rich increas e ,
And crown each fai thful heart ’s desire
A WATCH-F IRE on a sandy waste ,
Two trenches , -a rms in stack,
A pyramid Of bayon ets,
Napoleon ’s bivouac
Yonder the stately grenadie rs
Of Kleber’s vanguard see
The general to inspec t them sits ,
Close by the blaze s its he .
Upon his weary knee the cha rt,
There , by the glowing heap ,
S inks , l ike a child , to S leep .
FREI LI GRATI I .
And , stretched on cloak and cannon ,
His soldiers , too , sleep well
And , leaning on his musket, nods
The very sentinel .
S leep on , ye weary warriors , Sleep !
Sleep Oh"your last hard fight !
Mute , shadowy sentinels shall keep
Watch round your trench to-night .
Let Murad ’S horsemen dash along
Let man and steed come on
TO guard your l ine stalks many a strong
And stalwart champ ion .
A Mede stands guard , who with you rode
When you from Thebes marched back ;
Who after King Cambyses strode ,
Hard in his chariot’ s track .
A stately Macedonian
Stands sentry by your l ine,
Who saw on Ammon ’s p lains the crown
Of Alexander sh ine .
NAPOLEON IN B IVOUAC . 79
And , lo , another Spectre
Old N ile has known him well
An admiral Of Cwsar ’s fleet,
Who under Caesar fell .
The graves Of earth ’ s Ol d lords , who sleep
Beneath the desert-sands ,
Send forth the ir dead his guard to keep ,
W’ho n ow the world commands .
They stir, they wake , their places take
Around the midnight flame
The sand and mould I see them shake
From many a mail-clad frame.
I see the antique armor gleam
With wild and lurid light ;
Old,bloody purple mantles stream
Out on the winds Of night .
They float and flap around a brow
By boiling passion stirred ;
The hero , as in anger, now ,
Deep-breathing,grasps his sword .
FREILIGRATH .
He dreams a hundred realms in dream,
E rect him each a throne ;
H igh on a car, with golden beam ,
He S its as Ammon’ s
With thousand throats , to welcome
The glowing Orient cries ,
While at his fee t the fire grows dim ,
G ives on e faint flash , and dies .
82 FREILIGRATH .
From distant marts they came to thee ,
Through trading hordes Of Southern lands,
In Stamboul and Gallipoli
Thou se l l ’st them now on Northern strands .
Thy moving house gleams far and wide,
The golden beakers sparkle so
Gay as the peacock’ s motley pride ,
Strange dresses on thy tables glow .
And thou , beh ind them , pacing, too ,
God ’s peace w ithin this threshold dwel l
S O , on the banks O f Karasu ,
By Taurus , feeds the Sl im gazelle .
The calm blue eye seems lost afar,’Neath thy blue turban and black
See ’ st thou , i n Spirit, the bazaar
Of Smyrna and its buyers fair !
Dream on ! and stil l roam ba ck , in thought,
O ’er many a dusty, weary mile !
What do I want ! 0 , ask me not
I would but see thy priceless smile
THE SKATING NEGRO .
STRANGE man,Of frame athletic
,
I’
Vho oft, by Gambia’s stream ,
Hast seen the golden Fetish
With wondrous lustre gleam ,
Who oft, beneath the equator,
Hast pierced the panther’ s heart,
And at the alligator
Shot Off the poisoned dart
There , where on palace-portal
Bleached Skul ls strange sigh t to see
Are ranged , dark fel low-mortal !
There would I have thee be !
84 FREILIGRATH .
Where yellow gum is streaming
Down from the bursting trees ,
My spirit , fondly dreaming,
Thy dusky image sees,
A watchman and a warder there ,
Bedecked with pearls and gold
To guard the treasures , rich and rare ,
The sunny South enfolds .
There would I gladly see thee chase
The unicorn’ s wild fl ight ;
But ever strange to me thy face
On this cold , Northern bight.
What dost thou here , on ice , I say ,TO scorn our snows and sleets ,
S on of the tropic ’s burning ray,
And equatorial heats ,
Thou,that upon the steed ’s bare back
,
Naked , wast wont to spring ,And o ’er the flying Caffre ’s neck
The forkéd slip-yoke fl ing !
THE SKAT ING NEGRO . 85
Amidst this motley throng
Thou towerest on my V iew ,
Gliding, with fur-clad arms , along ,
A necromancer true,
Who , in his magic ring,
Each ghostly spe lLdefies ,
And , mounted on a gr ifli n’s wing,
Through the Sahara fl ies .
0 ,when the winds
,in spring ,
Detain thy keel no more ,
Home to thy native land take wing,
Home to thine own tent-door
There shall Dar Fur, thy country, shake
Gold dust upon thy pow ,
For frost and flake thy locks bedeck
With dust of silver n ow !
THE STEPPES .
A FRAGMENT .
FROM ocean strand to ocean strand
Spreads the grim , giant wilderness ,
Stretched out, l ike some great beggar’ s hand ,
To God in all its emptiness .
The jagged torrents through i t borne ,
The winding wheel-ruts in it worn
By colonists from many a land ,
The tracks where buffaloes have trod,
All seem to me (engraved by God!The furrows o f that giant hand .
BURNS’S FAREWELL TO HIS NATIVE
LAND .
RETRANSLAT ION .
[Happen in g to rem em be r on ly the first th ree w ords of th e
o rigin a l p iece in Burn s, the tran slato r took a cu rious in terest
in ren de rin g i t back from Fre i l igra th ’
s Germ an version,by
w ay O f p rovi ng i t, as the boys do the i r sum s in ari thm e ti c ;an d the resu l t w as as fo l low s . S om e reade rs m ay care to
com pare the son g thus brough t roun d through the Germ an
w i th Burn s ’ s o rigin a l . The on ly th in g w h ich m akes i t imposs ib le for the Germ an s to give the cha racteristic beau ties ofBurn s is
,tha t they have n o dia lec t w h ich bears the sam e re
la tion to a Ge rm an ear tha t the S co ttish do es to an En g lishe ar , un less a sprin k l in g o f Tyro lese m igh t serve . Bon n yDoon
,
"an d My J o , J ohn , can n o t b e tran s la ted in to Ger
m an ]
HOW fast the gloomy night comes down
The tempest howls the storm-clouds frown,
As , big and black w i th ra in , they stand
Above this naked,h illy land .
88 FREILIGRATH .
The moorland hunter homeward hies
Beneath the sedge the partridge fl ies ;
And I , oppressed wi th grief and care ,
Gae , lonesome , by the banks o f Ayr .
His ripening corn Old Autumn wails ,
SO early shook by wintry gales
He sees the storm in evening skies ,
An d , wildly moaning, southward fl ies .
Cold in my bosom grows the blood
While musing on the troubled flood ,
Whose waves so soon my bark must bear
Far, far from you , sweet banks Of Ayr'
’T is not the surf that beats the land ,
SO wild and stern,nor yet yon strand
,
With spars O f many a wreck o ’e rspread ,
Nor the chill storm-wind , fi lls with dread
The son o f sorrow but my heart,
Must it not feel the cruel smart,
And beat fu’ fast , and bleed fu’ sair,
To break its chains , and leave thee , Ayr !
U H L AN D .
THE WHITE STAG .
THREE hunters went over the fields one day
To hunt the white stag ful l fain were they .
They laid themselves down in the shade of a tree,
And a singular dream had each Of the three .
THE F IRST .
I dreamed that I was beating the bush,
And out came rushing the stag, hush hush
THE SECOND .
And when with the yelp ing pack he was Off,
I scorched h im on the hide , pifl'
, paff
THE WH ITE STAG . 91
THE TH I RD .
And when I saw him fall,ha ha
I lustily sounded the horn,trara
As thus they lay and spake,the three ,
Behold , the white stag ran by the tree .
And ere the three hunters could see h im aright,
Away he was gone over hollow and height .
Hush , hush ! pifl'
,paff ! trara ! ha , ha !
LUCKLESS .
LUCKLE SS , best of fellows clearly
Fate with thee strange antics played
Many a time he would have nearly ,
If not quite,his fortune made ;
One blest star upon another
O ’er his cradle would have smiled,
But one hour too late h is mother
Gave the world this ‘luckless child .
Martial fame , in song and story ,
Early would his deeds have crowned
None so emulous Of glory
Was in all the army found
Only when , l ike waves Of ocean ,
To the stormy shock they rolled ,
Hush ! through all the wild commotion ,
See the flag o f peace unfold .
UHLAND
One good angel , for a wonder,
Reached a help ing hand this once ,
Back to hell , with bolt Of thunder ,
Hurled that black and blundering dunce ;
Spreading then h is Shiny pinions,
Through the heavens poor Luckless bore
Far beyond mad Luck’ s dominions ,
Where the stars hold sway no more .
NIGHT JOURNEY .
I TRAVEL through a land of night
NO moon , n o sta rs , give friendly light,
The winds blow chill and wild .
How Oft have I this journ ey made ,\Vhen blandest breezes round me played ,
And golden sunshine smiled
I ride through gardens of the night
Dry trees , l ike spectres , mock my sight,
Dead leaves fal l rustl ing'
roun d .
Ah in the time of roses,here
,
With all my loves and treasures near,
TVhat rapture once I found
UHLAND .
The sunbeams quenched and fled ,
The roses faded all , and dead ,
My love is in the grave .
I my mantle round me tight,
And hurry through the land o f n ight ,
Where storm and w inter rave .
H E RWE G H .
TO THE KlNG OF PRUSS IA .
[The ce lebrated Be ttin a Bren tan o havin g w ri tten a booka t the late k in g, w i th the m o tto
,D ies gehOrt d em KOn ig
(Th is is fo r the K in g!, the cen so r-ge n e ra l issu ed his Prob ib eatu r , w i th the m o tto
,D ies gehOrtBettin e n (Th is i s fo r
Be ttin a!. Whereupon H e rw egh cam e o ut w i th the fo l low in gb last
,un de r the m o tto
,—“ Auch dies gehOrt d em KOn ig
"
(Th is , too , is the K in g’
s!. Frederick is sa id to have rem arked ,w hen the p iece cam e to h is han ds
,I see th is is m in e
,b u t I
real ly don ’ t kn ow Wha t to d o w i th i t . ” How eve r, he did
Wha t he cou l d, an d issued a proclam atio n fo r the a rrest o fo n e George Herwegh ,
”who
,how ever, had fl ed the k in g
dom in season ]
I KNEW a king was but a wandering star,That accident alone his orbi t rules .
’T was not the comet’ s nucleus , but the far
Extended tai l of Charlatans , and fools ,
TO THE KING OF PRUS S IA . 99
And slaves,I warned I said within my heart
,
Thy princely character is more to thee
Than all the pride and pomp Of pedigree
But I forgot that always threefold brass
Keeps,e ’en in death , a monarch far apart
From his vile subjects ; so my words did pass
For a mere jest w ith thee ,—thy bosom felt n osmart.
Fool that I was , I dreamed I knew thee well
One mother’ s breast had suckled thee and me,
The mother whom I name my centu ry .
I seemed upon the Atlantic coast to dwell,
And,l istening toward the German wilderness
,
To hear the gushin gs O f a distant Spring ;And on my ear , in grateful cadences ,
Borne by the murmuring breeze ’s rushing wing,
The solemn words , I swear,” SO sweetly fell
Sounding across from the far Baltic Sea,
Through my republic rang the hymns of jubilee
Inspired , I cried , Great monarch of the North
The maiden whom the father wooed and won
Is grown too Ol d and homely for the son
Take for thy bride this yOung age lead her forth
100 HERWEGH .
Let haggard beauty ’ s withered ruins l ie ;Take up no wail that slave ry should die
G ive to the shades the atonement they demand
Le t us possess at length the promised land
L ight thou the or iflamm e of virgin l iberty
Le t all the ghostly brood at cockcrow die
Be Of good cheer ! only the birds O f night
Shall quake and perish at the new-born l ight ,
The l ight that gree ts thy people from on high .
0 ,speak the word that shall their fears control !
0 ,speak the word that shall awake the soul !
G ive us a law that shal l not soothe alone,
But heal , the wound , a royal law , whose force
Shall check our f a l l i ng only , not our course
Give this,and glory ’ s l igh t Shall beam around thy
throne !
S O , be a prince tear up the tinsel trash
Of paltry pomp and of mock majesty !
Break through and trample down , with one bold dash ,
The nets by popes and nobles spread for thee
Fl ing out the match into the waiting world ,And spring the mine , and , heaving from below,
Le t the o ld musty edifice be hurled
102 HERWEGH .
Each id le paramour and parasite
Thou ca l l ’st thy friend , who loudly trumpets forth
With h is pufl'
ed cheeks the honor , and thy Shame
Thou hast desp i sed o f our pure hearts the flame
That would but purge from dross the metal bright
The day must come,—it comes e ’en n ow,
earth,
When Cossacks shall n o more obscure the free
man’ s worth .
And still thou standest there,with scornful mien ,
Amidst thy masks,thou helpless , hapless prince
Those masks whose faces true wil l ne’ er be seen ,
And at the truth too sharp for thee dost wince ,
The vain Maecenas Of a juggl ing crew,
Who l ight and dark confound before thy cheated
View
TOO timid eye to eye to meet this age ,
T00 fond of praise i ts language to despise ,
TOO high-born its true tones to recognize ,
Through painted glasses thou wouldst read the page ,
Glasses thy puppets sl ide before thy sight,
To quench thy last clear gl impse of truth in rayless
night .
To THE KING OF PRUSS IA . 103
What boots it to lop o ff a l eaf or two P
The great creative force thou canst n ot kil l
The fruits wil l ripen , yea , and faster still !
Poor plaything o f poor fools ! Hadst thou been true ,
The banner o f thy age thou might’st have borne ,
Who bearest now its train,—and ye t shal t bear
i ts scorn
Think not the dust upon the ground will l ie
For ever ! NO there comes a day , ye kings
When ye shal l quail to see the storm sweep by,
And fl ing the dust on high with rushing wings .
Then shall ye see the dust upon your crown ,
Shall see your purple pillows gray with dust ;
Then , i f ye dare , on freeborn men look down
Then , i f ye dare , your proud and pensioned hire
l ings trust
Slaves as they are , ye then shall see them b ow
Before the people ’s feet , and cringe , and quail ,
Your pages , feeble reeds , with which you n ow
Think to control the tempest and the gale .
Thou scornes t for the stream to dig a bed,
In which its rush ing waves might freely flow
Fain wouldst thou drive back to its fountain-head
That flood which stil l doth deeper, broader, grow ,
104 HERWEGH .
Wh ich mocks thy puny dams with its proud leap,
Or bears them all away in i ts triumphant sweep .
Thy Office ’t was , with peaceful master-stroke ,
To beat out wide the ring Of l iberty .
Thou hast desp ise d the task I t must he broke ,
That all too narrow ring , and we be free !
The ship in careless p ilot’ s hands I see ,
W ith thee and thy unhappy throne on deck ,
E re nightfal l on the cl iff, a miserable wreck !
The Sphinx yet l ives Of Revolution Thou
Wast sent to end the hour of sacrifice .
0 , were there not already o’er thy brow
A thousand garlands hovering P—And , 10 ! nowThy faithless hand the knot stil l faste r ties ,
And I have falsely read the starry skies
The Sphinx wil l not yet plunge , and thou to us
Hast proved thyself to be no (Ed ipus
L I E B E R .
TO JEAN PAUL .
[The au tho r o f this so n n e t , an d the three fo l low ing p iecesFran cis Lieber
,n ow Professo r at Co lum bia Co l lege , S . C .
an d so We l l kn ow n an d apprecia ted in th is coun try, prepared,when i n prison on the Co n tin en t, a m an uscrip t vo lum e
of h is poem s,w h ich he dedicated an d sen t to Richte r . When
he was set at l iberty,an d then soon obliged to leave h is
own coun try for th is,to avo id a secon d im prisonm en t, n o t
hearin g from J ean Pau l,he suppo sed tha t si len ce had b een
adop ted as the least disagreeab le m ode of pron oun cin g an uh
favo rab le !udgm en t ou h is efl'
usion s . A few years ago , Mrs .
Lee,Wh i le co l lectin g m a teria ls for the l ife of Rich ter, w ro te
to Lieber to kn ow if he w e re the Lieber w hom J ean Pau lm en tion ed w i th pra ise
,in a certain le tte r . Upon in vestigat
ing the m a tter, i t appeared tha t R ich ter had w ri tten an ap
provin g le tte r to Lieber,w h i ch
,how ever, cam e too late ,
when his coun try w as beh in d him
FROM distant days and home’s far d istant strand ,
The poet’s greeting came o ’er ocean ’ s wave ,
L ike a sad murmur from the long-closed grave ,Like a sweet murmur from the spi rit’s land
To J EAN PAUL . 107
While al l the thousand ties were yet unbroken ,
That g reeting , 0 , what joy it had insp ired ,
Wi th what new might my swelling bosom fired ,
And urged me onward with my master’s token
But ah ! what then with kindling fire had wrought ,
On this far shore awakes the saddening thought
What once like Pharos-l ight hung out on high ,
And shone the while my sails I boldly spread,
Is now too distant —years o f change have sped,
The poet is n o more ,—n o more a poet I .
SONNET ON MILTON .
When I w as pub l icly so li c i te d to w ri te a rep ly to the
defen ce o f the royal cause,when I had to con ten d w i th the
pressu re of s ickn ess,an d w i th the apprehen sion O f soon
losin g the S igh t of m y rem a in in g eye , an d w hen m y m edicala tten dan ts clearly an n oun ced
,tha t
,if I did en gag e in the
w o rk,i t w ou ld b e i rreparably lost, the ir prem on ition s caused
n o hesita tion,an d in sp ired D O dism ay . I w ou l d n o t have l is
ten ed to the vo i ce eve n o f Escul apius h im se lf from the Shrin eOf Epidaur is, i n preferen ce to the suggestion s O f the beaven l y m on i to r w i thi n m y breas t ; m y reso lutio n w as u n shaken ,tho ugh the a l tern ative w as e i ther the loss o f m y S i gh t o r thedese rtion o f my duty . I con sidered tha t m an y had purchased a less good by a grea ter evi l
,the m eed o f glo ry by
the loss of l ife b ut tha t I m igh t procure gre a t good by l ittlesuffe rin g ; tha t though I am b l in d , I m igh t sti l l d ischarge them ost hon orable duties, the perfo rm an ce o f w h ich
,as i t is
som e thi n g m o re durabl e than glo ry,ough t to b e an Ob!ect o f
supe rio r adm iration an d esteem ; I reso l ved , therefo re , tom ake th e Short in terva l of S ight w h ich w as left m e to en!oyas ben eficial as possible .
”—Secon d D ef en ce of the P eop l e ofEng la n d ]
WHETHER , in high and priestly strains , he
Of the first pair the sad and early fall ,
In virtue of his mission through the All
Soarin g on Poesy’ s gigantic wings ,
LOUIS PHILIPPE ’S GRIEF .
A MONARCH sat and wept
Upon his lofty throne ,
In death ’s cold chamber slep t
That monarch ’ s eldest son .
H is nobles , with their train ,
Stood round him , al l in state
The king would speak , in vain
His sorrow was too great.
The king , he strove to speak ,
The father bowed and wept ;
The salt tears down his cheek,
All to h is mantle , crep t .
LOUI S PH IL IPPE ’ S GRIEP . 1 1 1
Again he strove to Speak ,
His heart is broke again
He sobbed ,—and o ’er his cheekThe tears gushed down l ike rain .
That monarch ’s princely son ,
In all his manly bloom ,
Grim Death—the envious on eHas hurried to the tomb .
He sought the king , but no ,
God ’s armor broke the dart
He smites the son , and lo
He hits the father’s heart .
The eye is stiff that beamed
With warm love yesterday
To-morrow ’ s sceptre gleamed
For a hand n ow l ife less clay .
Pale is the brow that wore
So well the fresh green wreath
That heart shall beat no more
With hope ,’t is hushed in death .
1 12 L IEBER .
The wife ’s a widowed on e ,
The promised crown has flown,
And soon her l ittle son ,
An orphan,mounts the throne .
O cruel Death thy blow
Falls here with heaviness ;
It fi lls the house with woe ,
And France with sore distress .
Yet is there solace , too
Hearts o ft at war are one ;
What ne ’er the king could do ,
The father’ s tear hath done .
God bless the firm , wise on e ,
And many a year still spare ,
And long with honor crown ,
And joy, h is hoary hair.
And grant the kingdom rest,What’er Death turns to dust,
That hearts by trouble blest
May work with manly trust .
L U T H E R .
PSALM ON THE ROAD TO WORMS .
[SaysHe in e (Revue d e Deux Mon des,
The hym n
w i th w h ich he en tered Wo rm s,fo l low ed by his com pan ion s
,
w as a rea l w ar-son g . The o l d cathedra l trem bled at thesen ew soun ds
,an d the raven s w ere afi
'
r ighted in the ir obscu ren ests on the t0ps of the towe rs . Th is hym n
,the Marsei l l ese
of the Reform ation,has re ta in ed to th is d ay its po ten t en ergy ,
an d perhaps w e sha l l soon hear,in sim i lar ba ttles, those o ld
w o rds rin gin g aga in .
OUR God ’s a mighty panoply
,
A tower that can ’ t be shaken
From every strait he ’11 help us free ,
That n ow hath us o’e rtaken .
The old black Fiend hath risen
From out his ancient prison ;
PSALM ON THE ROAD TO WORM S . 1 1 5
Great power, deep artifice ,
His dreadful armor is ;
On earth there ’s not his equal .
By stren gth o f ours is noth ing done ,
A fearful game we ’re losing ;
But the right man ’s our champion ,
The man of God ’ s own choosing .
Wouldst know who that may be
Lord Jesus Christ i s he ,
The Lord of Hosts alone
Him for our God we own ;
He ’11 take the field , and keep it .
And though the wor ld were full of
All waiting to devour,
All the ir infernal magazines
Against us have no power .
The prince of this world may
Draw out h is grim array
He cannot make us yield .
Why P For his doom is sealed ,
A word shall bid him cower .
1 16 LUTHER .
That word , despite them ,stil l shall stand ,
And they shal l help fulfi l i t ,
N0 thanks to them praise Him whose
And counsel so d id wil l i t .
Let them take house , child , wife ,
Good name,and body’s l ife
What then small gain is the irs .
Good bye to earthly cares ;God ’s kingdom stands unshaken !
1 18 KORNER .
Lo where in crowds poor sinners l ie,
With quivering lips and pale !
Spare , Lord o f Sabaoth ,” they cry
,
O,spare my peaceful vale
Slay , if thou wilt , all creatures slay
Root out the human race
But spare me , Lord , my l ittle day,Wife , child , an d dwelling-place l
”
Ay, cowards , bend your necks in prayer
L ie low and wait your death
The God who looks yon lightning-glare
Shall trample out your breath
The he l l , that in the stormy hour
Tolls out the cal l to prayer,
Attracts the soonest to its tower
The hot, electric ai r.
But, 10 another, nobler band !
Death’s terrors they defy .
In bristl ing armor there they stand ,
Steel-clad , beneath the sky.
How firm the ir tread , how calm they
The thun der’s awful crash ,
And eye the lightnings , that more near ,
And ever nearer, flash !
THROUGH ! 1 19
What boots it here to quake and quail P
March on w ith fearless tread
Swift action shall alone prevail
To crush the serpent’ s head
Trust ye to armor Well i t may
Ward off the foeman’ s lance ,
But calls down on your heads tod ay
The l ightning’ s vengeful glance
No , courage ! cheering victory
Is born o f strangl ing fight
See through the sky yon arrow fly
I t cleaves the cloud-born night .
Thr ough ! thr ough’twill go - the bended bow
Spared n ot the string , I trow
Straigh t to its mark the shaft will go,
And swims in sunl ight now .
Thr ough 1 brothers , through Be this our
In sorrow and in strife
The dust i ts native dust shal l find,
The soul its heavenly l ife .
Shall we in earthly marshes rot
Were the last day at hand,
Yet let the lightnings blaze,fear not !
Through There ’ s your Fatherland
J A C O B I .
LITANY FOR THE FEAST OF ALL
SOULS .
[At th is festiva l the Rom an Catho l ics visi t the graves o fthe ir fi'ien ds , p lace l igh ts on them ,
an d pray fo r the departed ]
REST all souls i n peaceful slumber,
Who , set free from care and cumber,Who , from dreams o f rapture torn ,
Sick of l ife,or scarcely born
,
From the world have found release
Rest al l souls in heavenly peace
They who,friendship vainly seeking
,
Never cursed , though heart were break ing,
J ACOB I .
And the sunless ones , unsleeping,
Thorny watch by moonl ight keeping,
Yearning long for on e clear sight
Of their God , i n heaven’ s pure light
All who now have found release ,
Rest al l soul s in heavenly peace
All who tarried , crowned with flowers ,
At the cup in Pleasure ’ s bowers ,
But in evil days no less
Tasted of its bitterness
Al l who now have found release ,
Rest all souls in heavenly peace
They , too , who in tribulation
Sent glad words of insp iration
O ’er a gloomy Golgotha ,
To a world in sleep that lay
All who now have found release,
Rest al l souls in heavenly peace
Rest all souls in peaceful slumber,
Who , set free from care and cumber,
Who , from dreams o f rapture torn ,Sick of l ife , or scarcely born ,
From the world have found release
THE BLACK FOREST .
THE Schwarzwald , with its grim and
Old gloomy firs,who knows not
No pilgrim comes to Swabia ’s land,
And from it one there goes n ot,
Who stands not still and sta res to see
That wood ’s wild pomp and majesty .
IVild are its heights , so gr im and hoar ;
Darkly they close behind us
Before us,glad and strong they soar ,
And of our sires remind us ,
The rough old Germans,brave and stron g
\Vhy wake these woods no German song 2
124 J ACOB I .
Old Schwarzwald , were I strong as he ,
With al l his years around him ,
His anthem were not hard for me
But I have always found him ,
This will I say , though wild to V iew ,
My best of neighbours,friend most true .
I ’ve seen , on many a grove-crowned hill ,
Dance round the murmuring fountain
\Vhol e troops o f Nymphs ; ye t love I stil l
Far best the wooded mountain
For always , when I nearer drew ,
Not the last goddess was in view .
SO sang I oft on vine-hills , where
Grape gleamed with goblet , saying,
My country ’ s daughters must be fair,
For songs with kisses paying
But soon as Autumn took his fl ight
Were kiss and song forgotten quite .
But Schwarzwald is my love for aye .
Down from his heights so gayly,
With neat white hat, a maid on e day
Came tripping to the val ley,
126 JACOB I .
No mountain can wealth enfold
For me , -on earth no mountain ,
Though all its rocks were sol id gold
And wine i ts every fountain ,
As , all undreamed Of and unsought,
From h is rough heights Old Schwarzwald
AFTER AN OLD SONG .
WHERE are now the violets gone ,
That , in vernal hours ,
All along the pathway shone
Of the queen of flowers !
Ah , fond youth the spring is fled ,
And the v iole ts are dead
Where are now the roses , say ,
That , in summer hours ,
Lads and lasses , we , so gay ,
Plucked i n singing bowers
Ah,fond maid the summer
And the roses, too , are dead !
Lead me , then , beside the bank
Where the rivule t glistened ,
J ACOB I .
Where the v iole t freshness d rank,
And the lovers l istened
Sun and w ind burned hot an d sore,
And the r ivulet runs no more
Bring me to the arbor , then ,
Where the roses , blowing,
Blushed l ike shepherdess and swain ,
There with true love glowing .
Wind and hail the foliage tore,
And the arbor is no more !
Where , O ,where ’
s the maiden now ,
Who,with sweet pretending ,
Turned from me her modest brow ,
O ’er the violets bending P
Youth all mortal beauty fl ies
In the grave the maiden l ies !
Where is he whose tuneful tongue ,
In the summer hour,Violet , rose , and herdsm a id sung,
R ivule t and bower
Maiden ! ah l ife soon is sped ,
And the minstrel , too , is dead
1 30 J AC OBL
But thou
Think what thou art and where thou art , low-born
I am ,
” stole forth the humble , fi rm reply ,
Not so d ispensable as thou dost deem
To his,thy regent’s , and thine own renown .
True , where they see thy flashing jewels gleam ,
With pomp o f praise and swel l of laureate song,
The idle paras ites and flatterers throng ,
The astonished multitude bow down ,
An d , ah too soon a fool ish king
Forgets he,too , i s but a mortal thing .
But when upon the p illow he and I
In the dumb darkness l ie ,
Alone , I whisper in h is ear
The mighty truth , and , wil l his pride but hear
Then shal l a faithful people gratefully revere,
Even in the person of a prince ’ s son,
Shining through all , and towering far above ,
The person o f the man their hearts can love .
Then , crown , rejoice ! for thou has t holie r lustre
won
BUR G E R .
SWEET SUSY .
LONG time had I sweet Susy known ,
A lovely ch ild was she
Each grace and virtue was her own ,
That could I clearly see .
I came and went, and went and came ,
L ike ocean ’ s ebb and flow
Glad was I always when I came ,
Yet never sad to go .
But by and by it came to pass,
! uite other thoughts I had
Then , when I went , I sighed , A las
And when I came , was glad .
BURGER .
She was my only pastime now,
My only business,too ;
Whole was I,soul and body , now
She fi lled me through and through .
I was as deaf as any stone ,
As dumb as dumb could be ;
Naught saw I , heard I she alone
Was b ird and bud to me .
N0 star in heaven,no sun
,no moon ,
Naught but my darling , shined
On her , as on a sun at noon ,
I looked my eyes quite blind .
But changing time , with silent pace ,
My feel ings changed again
Yet every virtue , charm ,and grace
Did stil l with her remain .
I came and went,and went and came ,
L ike ocean’ s ebb and flow ;’T was very pleasant when I came ,
Nor painful now to go .
Ye w ise ones , who investigate
Wi th learned labor th is ,
G L E IM .
SONG OF THE POOR GARDENER .
AM I , poor gardener , happy Yes ,
I am,and have a right to be
Much toil and trouble , I confess ,
Has God,my God , allotte d me
But pleasures , also , not a few ,
Fo r which what thanks to Him belong
And heart and voice to sing them , too ,
AS S ings the lark his morning-song .
AS bright and early as the sun ,
Up from my bed of straw I spring,
And hours and minutes,as they run
,
Bring joy and gladness on the ir wing .
SONG OF THE POOR GARDENER . 1 35
At early morn , his friendly ray
Paints me the top o f every tree,
And when he sinks,at close Of day,
Stil l through the twigs he bl inks at
The birds that Sing to welcome spring,
Each morning sing to welcome me ;
For I have never stain ed a wing ,
Nor robbed a nest i n bush or tree .
This makes each creature kind to me ,
That hovers o ’e r me in the air,
And worm and insect fearlessly
With me the common bounty share .
When we have sung our matin-son g,
Brisk to o ur daily work we run ;
And then we sing and spring along
Back to our meal when work is done .
My table on the turf is spread ,
Sweet krout and cool ing must are there
More swee t to me my daily bread ,
Than to a king his costl iest fare .
I snatch a hasty meal,then go
Fresh to my daily work again
1 36 GLEIM .
And hours o f to il l ike minutes flow,
Sweet birds beneath your merry strain .
Full o ft I pause to hear and see
Great Nature ’ s l ife-tides ripple round
Here l ittle gnat-choi rs hum the ir glee ,
There roam the bees o’er flowery ground .
The God who made and doth sustain
Each l ittle l ife,however brief
,
Makes nothing empty o r in vain
N0,not the tiniest trembling leaf.
There ’s not a blade o f gras s that grows
,
My browsing lambkin leaves behind
In vain no smallest flower-cup blows ;
In every th ing a use I find .
Here , for example , God has made
My digging serve his pu rpose , too ;
For you , ye ravens ! works my spade ,
And , l ittle singing birds for you .
For y ou , fat worms I bring to sight ,
And dig up chafers from the sand ;
Then on my spade you come an d l ight ,
And sing , and pick from out my hand .
KR U MMA C H E R .
OUR LITTLE CHURCH .
O , ONLY see how sweetly there
Our little church is gleaming
The golde n evening sunsh ine fair
On tower and roof is streaming .
How soft and tranqu i l all around
Where shall its l ike on earth be found 9
Through the green fol iage , white and
It peeps out all so gayly
Round on our l ittle village here ,
And down through all the val ley .
Well pleased i t is , as one may see ,
With its own grace and purity .
OUR LITTLE CHURCH . 1 39
Not always does i t fare SO well
When tempests rage and riot
Yet even then the l i ttle bell
Speaks out,’T will soon be quie t !
Though clouds look black and pour down
The sunshine,brighter
,comes again .
”
And when the organ shines and sounds ,
With silver pipes all gl istening ,
How every heart then thrills and bounds ,
An d earth and heaven seem listening ,
S uch feelings in each bosom swell
But what he feels no on e can tell .
0 , see in evening’ s golden fire
Its l ittle windows gleaming
Bright as a bride in gay attire,
With flowers and jewels beaming .
Ay, look now how it gleams and glows ,
Fair as an apricot or rose
Within , our l ittle church shows quite ,
Believe me , quite as n eatly
The little benches,blue and white ,
All empty , look so sweetly
1 40 KRUMMACHER .
On Sunday none is empty found ;
There ’S n o such church the wide world round
See where , against the p illared wall ,
The pulp it high is builded ,
Well carved and planned by master-hand ,
All polished bright and gilded .
Then comes the parson undismayed ,
They wonder he is not afraid .
But he stands up , a hero , there ,
And leads them on to heaven ,
Through all th is world of S in and care ,
The flock his God has given .
Soft falls h is word,as dew comes down
On a dry meadow,parched and brown .
But see the sun already sinks,
And all the vale is darkl ing,
Only our l i ttle spire stil l bl inks
With day’s last golden sparkling .
How still and sacred al l around
Where shall a church l ike ou rs be found P
KRUMMACHER .
The Sabbath is here
NO clank O f the plough-chain
No lash , far or n ear , now ,
No creaking o f wheels .
With mill ion low voices
The harvest rejoices
All over the fields
The Sabbath is here
The seed we in faith and hope planted
God ’s blessing was granted ;
I t sprang to the light .
We gaz e , now ,and l isten ,
Where fields wave and gl isten ,
With grateful del ight .
The Sabbath is here
Give praise to the Father, whose blessing
The fields are confessing
Soon the reapers will come,
With rustl ing and ringing
Of s ickles,and br inging
The yellow sheaves home .
THE SABBATH . 143
The Sabbath is here
The seed we in fond hope are sowing
Will one day rise , glowing
In the smile of God ’s love .
In dust though we leave it ,
We trust to receive it
In glory above
S C H U L ! E .
SONG OF THE LITTLE BIRDS .
FROM twig to twig a-skipping,
Through bush and brake a-slipping ,
To rest in some soft grassy spot ,
Ah ! that ’s the lot
Of your l it tle feathered s inger .
Long linger ,
Thou sweetest,loveliest lot
Mild breezes,softly springing ,
O , come flower-flagran ce bringing
Ye pretty butterflies , be quick ,
From twig to twig,
With our l i ttle troop , to be straying
And playing,
Where bushes are cool and thick .
WU L FLE R .
ETERNITY .
ETERN ITY E ternity
How long art thou , E ternity !
Fo r stil l to thee man ’ s l ittle l ife
Darts , l ike the daring steed to strife
Swifte r than post , than home-bound
Or arrow speeding to the mark .
Think , mortal , o f E ternity '
E terni ty E te rnity
How long art thou , E ternity P
A circle infinite art thou ,
Whose centre is the E ternal Now ;
The vast c ircumference men call Never,
Fo r that i t finds no end for ever .
Think , mortal , o f E te rnity
AN O N ! M O U S .
GERMAN WATCHMAN ’S SONG .
GIVE ear,ye neighbours , while I tell
Ten strikes the hammer on the bell .
The hour o f rest i s draw ing near
To him whose duty ’s done , good cheer '
Take heed to your fire and light,
That none may be harmed to-night ;
Ten,and all ’s well
Give ear, ye ne ighbours , while I te ll
The hammer strikes ’ leven on the bell .
In town and village sweetly sleep,
All ye who a good conscience keep
A bad one knows n o rest ;It gnaws and stings the breast
E leven , and all ’s well
ANONYM OUS .
Give ear, ye neighbours , while I tell
Twelve strikes the hammer on the bell .
The ghostly hour is just gone by,
Who now bel ieves the foolery P
L ie down in God ’s good keeping,
For there is quie t sleeping
Twelve , and al l ’S well
Give ear, ye ne ighbours , wh i le I tel l
One strikes the hamm er on the bell .
Sad watcher by that lonely l ight ,
May God make short thy tedious night !
His hope make strong thy heart ,
His peace assuage the smart !
One,and all ’s well !
Give ear,ye neighbours , while I tel l
Two strikes the hammer on the he l l .
I hear the cock already crow ;
Soon,now
,I cry my last and go .
Still you l ie sleeping there
Better than some you fare
Two,and al l ’s wel l
Give ear,ye neighbours , while I tel l
Three strikes the hammer o n the bell .
THE CARD-HOUSE .
GENTLE neighbours,wherefore laugh
,
‘When the wind , l ike idle chaff,Blows away my careful p ile P
Is it worth your smile P
You build castles i n the air ;
Morning sees them tal l and fair ;
But when shuts the eye of day ,
Te ll me , where are they P
Read ye not a lesson here ,
Ye who Mammon ’ s temples rear P
Know ye not, your glories must
Crumble soon to dust !
THE CARD-HOUSE . 1 5 1
Why,then , gentle neighbours , laugh ,
When the wind , l ike idle chaff ,
Blows away my careful piIe P
IVhat build ye the while P
THE EN D .