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ENGLISH HEXAMETER TRANSLATIONS
FROM
Chiller, ^)Ot^e,
Callmus, anil iHtkafftr
omcr,
lanlian : JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
MOCCC&LVU.
(ZTambTflJgt :
Vttittl It tte aBlkCTSlii Vtni.
Thb following English Hexameters and Elegiacs have been written by several persons, and at various times ; and there are therefore probably some discrepancies in the versification of different parts. It is believed, however, that these are slight ; for all the pieces are executed with the intention that the lines, being read according to the natural and ordinary pronunciation, shall run into accentual hexameters or pentameters. If this point be gained, such verses may be no less acceptable to the English than they have long been to the German poetical ear, and may be found suited, in our language, as well as in its sister speech, to the most earnest and elevated kinds of poetry.
IV
To some of the translations the original is appended, both to give a scale of their fidelity, (for the others are no less faithful,) and also, to suggest the tone of classical compactness and purity at which this kind of verse ought to aim. In other pieces the original has been omitted ; and the reader will thus be better able to judge whether these essays have any of the charm of poetry, besides that which their closeness to the beautiful originals reflects upon them.
THE EDITOR.
CONTENTS.
FROM SCHILLER :
The WAUt J.F.W.H 4
The Damob W.W. . . . . 29
The Sexes „ . . . . 33
kpioramuata
Columbiu W.W SO
Odysseus „ . . . . S>.
The Sower J.C.H 41
Archimedes and the Scholar „ .... U>,
Human Knowledge „ .... 43
The Two Paths of Virtue „ .... ib.
Our Zenith and Nadir „ . . . . 4S
The Exit from Life „ . . . . ib.
The Child in its Cradle „ ....»,
The Permanent „ .... 47
The Theophany „ . . . . ib.
CONTENTS.
Our Highest Aim J. C. H.
Value and Worth „
The Present Generation „
To the Muse „
Our Problem „
The Key „
Wisdom and Prudence ,
The Three Ages of Nature „
The Enquirers '■ >,
The Master „
Philosophies „
The Fotmtain of Youth „
Female Judgement ' • »
Our Common Destiny „
Human Action „
Love and Desire „
OoodncM and Greatness . . . „
FROM GOTHE:
Herman and Dorotbba —
Ca//io;<<— Calamity and Pity W.W.
Terpit^ore — Herman „
TAOt
47 49 <i. ib. 61 ib.
a.
63 ib. ib. 66 ib. ib. ib. 67 ib. ib.
63 79
CONTENTS.
\ni
Thalia — The Citizens , . . .
Euterpe — Mother and Son .
Polyhymnia — The Citiiten of the World
CCo— The Times
£ra/o— Dorothea
Melpomene — Herman and Dorothea
Urania — The Denoument
A Poetical. Epistle
A Second Poetical Eputlb
Alexis and Dora
The Metamorphosis op Plants
W. W.
J.C.H.
W.W.
FROM HOMER:
Helen on the Walls op Troy . £. C. H.
Hector in Trov J. 6. L.
Hector and Andromache E. C. H.
FROM CALLINUS AND MELEAGER:
War Sono op Calunvs „
Meleaoeb to his Child „
pjoa TB 105 122 139 161 176 182 204 212 217 229
242 244 263
276
Akt thou a lover of Son;;? Would'st fain have an utterance found it True to the ancient flow, true to the tones of the heart,
Free from the fashions of speech which tinsel the lines of our rhymesters ? Lend us thy listening ear: lend us thy favouring; voice.
torn
Muse, from Teutonic lyi«8 who hast drawn forth the cadence of Hellas, Harmony blending with thought, truth with the rapture of song.
Lend to my Saxon verse, while it echoes the lays of the Maker, Sparks of his Wisdom and Fire, — lispings at least of his Tone.
Set S'lJa3iergang»
Sey mir gegriisst mein Berg rait dem rothlich strahlenden Gipfel,
Sey mir, Sonne gegriisst, die ihn so lieblich bescheint, Dich auch griiss ich belebte Flur, euch sauselnde Linden,
Und den frohlichen Chor, der anf den Aesten sich wiegt, Ruhige Blaiie dich auch, die unermesslich sich ausgiesst
Urn das braune Gebirg, iiber den griinenden Wald Auch uni niich, der endlich entflohn dcs Zimmcrs Gefangniss
Und dem engen Gespriich freudig sich rettet zu dir, Deiner Liifte balsamischer Strom durchrinnt mich erquickend,
Und den durstigcn Blick labt das energische Licht, Kriiftig auf bliihender Au ergliinzen die wechselnden Farben,
Aber der reizcnde Streit loaet in Anmuth sich auf.
THE WALK.
Hail to thee, Mountain Mine ! with thy crest all purple and glowing.
Hail to thy beams, O Sun ! falling so sweet on its slope. Life-teeming fields, all hail ! and ye gently whispering Lime-trees —
Peopled with many a bird rocking aloft in your boughs. Hail ! thou blue and tranquil expanse, whose fathomless concave
Folds round the dark brown hill — sinks o'er the shadowy wood. Me too receive! Escaped from my chamber's narrow confinement
Gladly to thee I fly — from the world's wearisome themes. Rich are thy breezes of balm my inmost bosom reviving!
Strong is thy lively light poured on my rapturous glance. Where the wide-carpeted mead wth friendly welcome receives me
Free the green path I trace, rurally winding along;
a2
4 Bn ^paufigang.
Prey erapfangt mich die Wiese mit wcithin verbreitetem Teppich
Durch ihr freundliches Griin schlingt sich der liindlichc Pfad Um mich summt die geschaftige Biene, mit zweifelndem Fliigel.
Wiegt der Schmetterling sich iiber dem rtithlichen Klee. GUihend trifft mich der Sonne Pfeil, still liegen die Weste
Nur der Lerche Gesang wirbelt in heiterer Luft. Doch jetzt braust's aus dem nahen Gebiisch, tief neigen der Erlen
Kronen sich, und im Wind wogt das versilberte Gras. Mich umfangt ambrosische Nacht ; in duftende Kiihlung
Nimmt ein prachtiges Dach schattender Buchen mich ein, In des Waldes Geheimniss entflieht mir auf einmal die Landschaft,
Und ein mystischer Pfad leitet mich steigend enipor. Nur verstohlen dm"chdringt der Zweige laubigtes Gittcr
Sparsames Licht, und es blickt lachend das Blaue herein. Aber plotzUch zerreisst der Flor. Der geoffnete Wald giebt
llberraschend des Tags blendendem Glanz mich zuriick.
THE WALK.
Bright on the blooming plain the changeful colours are playing,
Now contrasting, and now melting and blending in grace. Hark ! to the bees' busy hum all around. The butterfly flitting
O'er the red clover skims, fickle, in objectless dance. Now the Sun darts his glow, and the west wind hushed into stillness
Mars not the lark's clear strain cheerfully warbled on high : Now from the copse, and aloft in the crowns of the deep-nodding alders,
Rustles the coming breeze, curling in silver the grass. Deep in ambrosial night I plunge, where freshness and odours
Breathe 'neath the beechen roof broad over-arching in shade. Lost is the landscape at once in the dark wood's secret recesses
Where a mysterious path leads up the winding ascent. There through crossing boughs the noonday dimly admitting.
Smiling with furtive glance scarce the blue heaven looks in. Suddenly rent is the veil — All startled I view with amazement
Through the wood's opening glade, blazing in splendour, the day.
6 2Ber ^jpaiieigang.
Unabschbar ergiesst sich vor nieincn Blicken die Feme,
Und ein blaucs Gebirg endigt im Dufte die Welt. Tief an des Berges Fuss der giihlings unter mir abstiirzt
Wallet des g^iinlichten Stroma fliessender Spiegel vorbei. Endlos unter mir seh' ich der Aether, iiber mir endlos,
Blicke mit Schwindeln hinauf, blicke mit Schaudern hinab. Aber zwischen der ewigen Hoh' und der ewigen Tiefe
TrJigt ein gelanderter Steig sicher den Wandrer dahin. Laehend fliehen an mir die reichen Ufer voriiber,
Und den frohlichen Fleiss riihmet das prangendc Tlial. Jenc Linien, sieh! die des Landmanns Eigenthum scheiden,
In den Teppich der Flur hat sie Demeter gcwirkt Freundliche Schrift des Gesetzes, des Menschenerhaltendcn Gottea
Seit aus der ehemen Welt fliehend die Licbe verachwand. Aber in freieren Schlangen durckkrcuzt die geregelten Felder
Jetzt verschlungen vom Wald, jetzt an den Bergen hinauf
THE WALK.
Heavens I what a prospect extends, till the sight bewildered and failing
Rests on the world's last hill, shimmering in distance and mist. Deep at my feet, where sheer to its base the precipice plunges,
Lo ! where the glassy stream glides through its margin of green : Boundless, above and around and below me, the ^ther is rolling ;
Giddy aloft I gaze, shuddering recoil from beneath. Yet 'twixt the yawning gulph, and the cliff in horror impending.
Led by a rock-built path, safely the wanderer descends: Safely and swift, while the laughing shores fly past in their richness,
And the luxuriant vale industry's triumph proclaims. Hedgerows there, with tracery neat, on its velvety carpet
Broidered by Ceres' hand, limit each rural domain. Legible lines of Justice and Law, whose firm interdiction.
(Lore from the world being fled) curbs the encroachments of man. There with a freer sweep, far-stretching o'er field and o'er meadow,
Commerce her high-way leads, land interlinking with land;
8 JBeu iS'jiajieigang,
Klimmcnd, ein schimmemder Streif die Lander verkniipfende Strasse,
Auf dem ebenen Strom gleiten die Fldsse dahin, Vielfach ertont der Heerden Gelaut im belebten Gcfilde,
Und den Wiederhall weckt einsam des Hirten Gesang. Muntre Diirfer bekranzen den Strom, in Gebiischen verschwinden
Andre, vom Riicken des Bergs stiirzen sie gah dort herab. Nachbarlich wohnet der Mensch noch mit deni Acker zusammen,
Seine Felder umruhn friedJich sein landliches Dach, Traulich rankt sich die Reb' empor an dem niedrigen Fenster,
Einen umarmenden Zweig schlingt um die Hiitte der Baum, Gliickliches Volk der Gefilde! noch nicht zur Freiheit erwachet,
Theilst du mit deiner Flur frcihlich das engc Gesetz. Deine Wiinsche beschriinkt der Acmten ruhiger Kreislauf,
Wie dein Tagewerk, gleich, windet dein Leben sich ab I
THE WALK. 9
Now in dark woods ingulphed, now crowning the crest of the mountain
^Vhile the raft-laden stream glides in its easy descent. Wide o'er the peopled mead the lowing herds are resounding,
And the rude herdsman's song wakes the lone echoes afar, Bordering villages deck the gay banks, or in sheltering woodlands
Shrink — or shelf over shelf climb the projecting ascent. Man on the land which he tills, in peace contentedly dwelling,
Sees the loved fields of his youth stretched round his rustic abode ; Where the confiding vine up the lowly window is climbing.
Where the old friendly tree wraps its protecting embrace : Blest, thrice blest in his lot ! Not yet to false freedom awakened,
Pleased he reveres the law, sovereign o'er him and his field, Bounded in thought and in wish by the peaceful round of his harvests.
Calm as his daily toil glides his existence away.
10 Ber ^paitrrgang.
Aber wer raubt mir auf einmal den lieblichen Anblick ? Eiii fremder
Geist verbreitet sich schnell iiber die fremdere Flur ! Sprdde sondert sich ab was kaum noch liebend sich mischte,
Und das Gleiche nur ist's, was an das Gleiche sich rciht. StMnde seh ich gebildet. Der Pappeln stoke Geschlechter
Ziehn in geordnetem Pomp vornehm und prachtig daher, Regel wird alles und alles wird Wahl und alles Bedeutung,
Dieses Dienergefolg meldet den Herrscher mir an. Prangend verkiindigen ihn von fern die beleuchteten Kuppeln
Au» dem felsigten Kern, hebt sich die thiirmende Sfadt. In die Wildniss hinaua sind des Waldes Faunen verstossen,
Aber die Andacht leiht hoheres Leben dem Stein. Naher geruckt ist der Mensch an den Menschen ; Enger wird um ihn,
Iteger erwacht, es umwillzt rascher sich in ihm die Welt. Sieh, da entbrennen in feurigem Kampf die eifernden Krafte
Grosses wirket ihr Streit, grossercs wirket ihr Bund.
THE WALK. 11
Fare ye well, sweet scenes ! A stranger spirit is breathing
O'er the transformed plains, snatching your charms from my view: Harshly springing asunder from forced and unequal alliance,
What shall coerce the strong, when at the lovely it spurns? Classes behold, and ranks. In long and stately perspective —
Lo ! where the poplar's pomp sweeps in aspiring array. All is Rule and Arrangement and Choice. Each feature has meaning;
Such an impressive train tells of The Ruler at hand : Brightly yon gleaming domes his presence announce, where the city
High o'er its nest of rocks soars in its towcry pride. Far from their ancient haunts the Fauns complaining are driven ;
(What though piety lend holier life to the stone ;) Man pressed closer to Man, finds his being concentred, his feelings
Broader awake. His world rolls in a swifter career. There in contention fierce blaze forth antagonist powers.
Great, opposed in their strife — greater in union linked.
12 ©tr ^pautigang.
Tausend Hande belebt Ein Geist, hoch schliiget in tausend
Briisten, von cinem Gefiihl gliihend, ein einziges Herz, Schlagt fiir das Vaterland und gliiht fiir der Ahnen Gesetze,
Hier auf dem theuren Gnind ruht ihr verehrtes Gebein. Nieder steigen vom Himmel die seligen Gotter, und nehmen
In dem geweihten Bezirk festliche Wohnungen ein, Herrliche Gaben bescheerend erscheinen sie ; Ceres vor alien
Bringet des Pfluges Geschenk, Hermes den Anker herbei, Bacchus die Traube, Miner>'a des Oehlbaums griinende Reiser
Auch das kriegrische Ross fiihret Poseidon heran, Mutter Cybele spannt an des Wagens Deichsel die Lowen,
In das gastlichc Thor zieht sie als Biigcrinn ein. Heilige Steine I Aus euch ergossen sich Pflanzer der Menschheit,
Femen Insein des Meers sandtet ihr Sitten und Kunst, Weise sprachen das Recht an diesen geselligen Thoren,
Heldcn sturzten zum Kampf fiir die Penaten heraus.
THE WALK, 13
Linking a thousand hands in a single effort ; a thousand
Hearts in a single pulse ; thoughts in a single resolve ; Burning with patriot love, and with long ancestral devotion,
There on the hallowed spot where the loved ashes repose ; AVTiere the immortal Gods their glorious temples have chosen,
Drawn by established rites down from their Heavenly abodes. Fraught with blessings they come. First, Ceres, Mother of harvests,
Brings the productive plough — Hermes the anchor affords — Bacchus the grape — Minerva the genial fruit and the graceful
Frond of the olive bough — Neptune the warrior steed — Borne through the welcoming gate on her lion-yoked chariot, Cybele
Enters, an honoured guest, — dwells, a protectress and friend. Sacred Walls ! from whose bosom the seeds of humanity, wafted
Ev'n to the farthest isles, morals and arts have conveyed. Sages in these thronged gates in justice and judgment have spoken ;
Heroes to battle have rushed hence for their altars and homes :
14 Btv ^pajingang.
Auf den Mauren erschienen, den Saiigling im Arme, die Mutter
Blicktcn dem Heerzug nach, bis ihn die Feme verschlang Betend sturzten sie dann vor der Gotter Altaren sich nieder,
Flehten um Ruhm und Sieg, flehten um Riickkehr fiir euch. Ehre ward euch und Sieg, doch der Ruhm nur kehrte zuriicke,
Eurer Thaten Verdienst meldet der riihrende Stein : " Wanderer, kommst du nach Sparta, verkiindige dorten, du habest
•' Uns hier liegen gesehn, wie das Gesetz es befahl.'' Ruhet sanft ihr Geliebten ! Von eurem Blute begossen
Griinet der Oelbaum, es keimt lustig die kostliche Saat. Munter entbrennt, des Eigenthuras froh, das freie Gewerbe,
Aus dem Schilfe des Stroms winket der blaiilichte Gott. Zischend flicgt in den Baiim die Axt, es erseufzt die Dryade,
Hoch von des Berges Haupt stiirzt sich die donnernde Last. Aus dem Felsbruch' wiegt sich der Stein, vom Hebel befliigelt,
In der Gebii^e Schlucht taucht sich der Bergmann hinab.
THE WALK. 15
Mothers the while (their infants in arms) from the battlements gazing,
Follow with tears the host, till in the distance it fades ; Then to the temples crowding, and prostrate flung, at the altars
Pray for their triumph and fame — pray for their joyful return. Triumph and fame are theirs, but in vain their welcome expects them :
Read how the exciting stone tells of their glorious deserts. " Traveller ! when to Sparta thou comest, declare thou hast seen us,
" Each man slain at his post, — even as the law hath ordained." Soft be your honoured rest ! with your precious life-blood besprinkled ;
Freshens the olive bough — sparkles with harvests the plain. Commerce awakes, by freedom inspired, by security nurtured;
Beckons the azure God, pleased, from the reeds of his stream. Gashing, the broad axe flies — ^while the Dryad shrieks — and in ruin
Down from the mountain's brow, crashes the thundering tree. Winged by the lever's force, the stone nods forth from the quarry,
Deep in its innermost gorge plunges the miner beneath.
16 fier ^paiirrgfanff.
Mulcibers Ambos tont von dem Takt geschwungener Hammer
Unter der nervigten Faust spriitzen die Funken des Stahls, Gliinzend umwindet der goldene Lein die tanzende Spindel,
Durch die Saiten des Gams sauset das webende Schiff, Fern auf der Rhede ruft der Pilot, es warten die Flotten,
Die in der Fremdlinge Land tragen den heimischen Fleiss, Andre ziehn frohlockend dort ein, mit den Gaben der Feme,
Hoch von dem ragendcn Mast wehet der festliche Kranz. Siehe da wimmcln die Markte, der Krahn von frohlichem Leben,
Seltsamer Sprachen Ge^virr braust in das wundernde Olir. Auf den StApel schiittet die Aerntcn der Erde der Kaufmann.
Was dem gliihcnden Strahl Afrikas Boden gebiert. Was Arabien kocht, was die aiisserste Thule bereitet,
Hoch mit erfreuendem Gut fiillt Amalthea das Horn. Da gebieret das Gliick dem Talente die gottlichen Kinder,
Von der Freiheit gesaugt wachsen die Kunste der Lust.
THE WALK. 17
Hark to the rude Vulcanian music from anvil and hammer,
Where at each nervous blow flashes the bickering steel : Hark to the whirling reel, with its flaxen biu-den surrounded,
And the swift shuttle's play, brushing the weft as it flies : Hark to the Pilot's hail in the distant road, where a navy
Waits to transport abroad industry's costly results. Others arrive, deep laden, from far, and jovially cheering,
Garland and streamer on high float from the towering mast; Rises o'er all the mart's busy din — the bustle of commerce ;
Barbarous tongues uncouth strike on the wondering ear. Hither the harvests of Earth are consigned. Here heapeth the merchant
All that Africa's soil yields to the ripening sun; AJl that Arabia distils^all uttermost Thule can proffer ;
Fair Amalthea's horn brima with exuberant wealth : Wealth, which, to Genius wedded, a godlike offspring produces —
Arts, which strengthen and grow, nurtured by freedom and taste. B
18 Mtv ^pajitiffauff,
Mit nachahmendem Leben erfreuet der Bildner die Augen,
Und vom Meissel beseelt redet der fiihlende Stein, Kilnstliche Himmel ruhn auf schlanken lonischen Skulen
Und den ganzen Olynip schliesset ein Pantheon ein, Leicht wie der Iris Sprung diirch die Luft, wie der Pfeil von der Senne
Hiipfet der Briicke Joch iiber den brausenden Strom. Aber ini stillen Gemach entwirft bedeutende Zirkel
Sinnend der Weise, beschleicht forschend den schaflenden Geist, Priift der Stoffe Gewalt, der Magnete Hassen und Licben,
Folgt dureh die Liifte dem Klang, folgt durch den Aether dem Strahl; Sucht das vertraute Gesetz in des Zufalls grausenden Wundem,
Sucht den ruhenden Pol in der Erscheinungen Flucht. Korper und Stimme leiht die Schrift dem stummen Gedanken,
Durch der Jahrhunderte Strom triigt ihn das redende Blatt. Da zerrinnt vor dem wundernden Blick der Nebel des Wahnes
Und die Gebilde der Nacht weichen dem tagenden Licht.
THE WALK. 19
Charming the sight with emulous life, spreads the painter his canvas.
And by the sculptor* inspired, feels the cold marble and speaks. Sky-like vaults scarce press on the slender Ionian column ;
And a Pantheon's dome swells, — an Olympus on Earth I Light as the rainbow's leap — as the vaulting flight of the arrow,
Bounds the self-balanced bridge, yoking the torrent beneath ; Science, the while, deep musing in cell over circle and figure.
Knows and adores the Power which through creation it tracks, Measures the forces of matter — the hates and loves of the magnets —
Sound through its wafting breeze, Light through its JEther, pursues ; Seeks in the marvels of chance the law which pervades and controls it —
Seeks the reposing pole, fixed in the whirl of events. Speechless thought takes body and voice from the craft of the penman,
Down the long stream of time borne on the eloquent page. Fast from the wondering sight the mists of error are clearing :
Chased by the dawning beam fly the dark spectres of night.
• I.iterallj the Chitel. g 2
20 laer ^pantrgauff.
Seine Fesseln zerbricht der Mensch. Dcr Begluckte ! Zerriss er
Mit den Fesseln der Furcht nur nicht den Zilgel der Schaain ! Freiheit ruft die Vernunft, Freiheit die wilde Begierde,
Von der heil'gen Natur ringen sie liistem sich los. Ach, da reissen im Sturm die Anker, die an dem Ufer
Wamend ihn hielten, ihn fasst machtig der flutende Strom ; Ins Unendliche reisst er ihn hin, die KUste verschwindet,
Hoch auf der Fluten Gebirg wiegt sich entmastet der Kahn : Hinter Wolken erloschen des Wagens beharrliche Sterne,
Bleibend ist nichts mehr, es irrt selbst in dem Busen der Gott. Aus dem Gespriiche verschwindet die Wahrheit, Glauben und Treue
Aus dem Leben, es liigt selbst auf der Lippe der Sehwur. In der Herzen vertraulichsten liund, in der I^iebe Gcheimniss
Dningt sich der Sykophant, reisst von dem Freunde den Freund Auf die Unschuld schielt der Verrath mit verschlingendeni Blicke
Mit vergiftendem Biss todtet des Last«rers Zahn.
THE WALK. 21
Burst are the chains which fettered mankind. O happy! if only
Bursting the chains of fear, kept they the bridle of shame. Freedom the watchword — by Reason proclaimed — by Passion reechoed,
Rending each natural bond, madly they tear themselves loose. Cast is each anchor aside (all warning neglected) which held them
Safe to the shore. The flood sweeps them in tumult away. Far from the vanishing coast, on a swelling and limitless ocean,
Tossed on the mountain-wave labours dismasted their bark. Quenched is each lode-star in cloud — no mark — no principle constant ;
Even their own bosom-god* swerves in its doubtful response. Truth from their language, faith from their life, and confidence, vanish ;
Even on their glozing lips lies in its utterance the oath. Into the heart's most sacred recess, love's holiest secret.
Creeps the vile sycophant's art, severing the friend from the friend — Treachery scowls with withering glance on its innocent victim,
And with envenomed death darts the fell slanderer's tooth :
• Conscience.
22 Mtv Sbpaperffang.
Feil ist in der geschandeten Brust der Gcdanke, die Liebe
Wirft des freyen Gefiihls gottlichen Adel hinweg, Deiner heiligen Zeichen, o Wahrheit, hat der Betrug sich
Angemasst, der Natur kostlichste Stimmen entweiht, Die das bediirftige Herz in der Freude Drang sich erfindet,
Kaum giebt wahres Gefiihl noch durch Verstummen sich kund. Auf der Tribune prahlet das llecht, in der Hiittc die Eintracht,
Des Gesetzes Gespenst steht an der Konige Thron, Jahre lang mag, Jahrhunderte lang die Mumie dauern,
Mag das triigende Bild lebender Fiille bestehn, Bis die Natur erwacht, und mit schweren eherncn Hiinden
An das hohle Gcbiiu riihret die Noth und die Zeit, Finer Tygerinn gleich, die das eiserne Gittcr durchbrochen
Und des Numidischen Wald's plcitzlich und sehrecklich gedenkt, Aufstebt mit des Verbrechens Wuth und des Elcnds, die Menschheit
Und in der Asche der Stadt sucht die verlorne Natur.
THE WALK. 23
In the degraded bosom the thought is venal — the feeling
Ev'n of Love's godlike fire dies in ignoble constraint. Where are thy characters, Truth? By artifice seized and perverted,
Every one precious sign Nature has marked for her own ; Even what the yearning heart gasps forth in the stress of emotion,
Till but by silence expressed genuine feeling is known. Loud is the vaunt of right in the tribune — peace in the cottage ;
And by the Sovereign's throne stands the vain phantom of law. Years — aye, centuries long may the bloodless and impotent mummy
Fixed in deceptive guise, carry the semblance of life, Until nature awakes — and with hand of iron unsparing.
Heavy with time and fate, shatters the hollow device. Then, like the tiger at large, when burst are the bars of his prison,
And his Numidian wild rushes in blood on his thoughts. Trampled humanity rises, in crime and in misery's madness ;
And through the ashes of states, back to rude nature reverts.
24 Mtv ^pmn'QmxQ,
O so offiiet euch Mauren, und gebt den Gefangenen ledig,
Zu der verlassenen Flur kehr' er gerettet zuriick ! Aber wo bin ich ? Es birgt sich der Pfad. Abschiissige Grunde
Hemmen mit gahnender Kluft hinter mir, vor mir, den Schritt. Hinter mir blieb der Garten, der Hecken vertraute Begleitung,
Hinter mir jegliehe Spur menschlicher Hiinde zuriick. Nur die Stoffe seh ich gethiirmt, aus welchen das Leben
Keimet, der rohe Basalt hoflfl auf die bildende Hand Brausend stiirzt der Giessbach herab durch die Rinne des Felsen
Unter den Wurzeln des Baums bricht er entriistet sich Bahn Wild ist es hier und schauerlich od'. Im einsamen Luftraum
Hangt nur der Adler, und kniipft an das Gewolke die Welt. Hoch herauf bis zu mir triigt keines Windes Gefieder
Den verlorenen Schall menschlicher Muhen und Lust. Bin ich wirklich allein? In deinen Armen, an deinem
Herzen wieder, Natur, ach ! und es war nur ein Traura
THE WALK. 25
Open ye walls 1 in mercy, — ^ye gates I fly wide to the captive ;
Back to his long-lost plains forth let him rush in his rage. Where am I wandering ? the path is lost ! Before and behind me.
Rifted and yawning ravines narrow the dangerous way! Gardens and hedges withdraw their frientUy and sociable guidance !
Trace of man's hand is none, save in the distance behind. Pile upon pile rude masses arise chaotic! — a Chaos
Pregnant! The formless basalt longs for the sculpturing hand. Headlong now, from the cleft rock's brow, the torrent is rushing !
Now, 'neath the wreathed root bursting indignant its way. Savage and shudd'ringly lonely the spot! the companionless eagle
Hangs in mid-air aloft — linking the sky with the world. Hush'd is each slumbering breeze ! No Zephyr balmily stealing
Bears on its panting plume sound of man's toU or his joy. Am I then truly alone ? Kind Nature ! Once more on thy bosom,
In thy protecting arm, dare I look back on the dream
26 Brr ^pau'trgang.
Der mich schaudemd crgriff, mit des Lebens furchtbarem Bilde
Mit dem stiirzendem Thai stiirzte der finstre hinab Reiner nehm' ich mein Leben von deinem reinen Altare,
Nehme den friihlichen Muth hoffender Jugend zuriick ! Ewig weehsclt der Wille den Zweck und die Kegel, in ewig
Wiederholter Gestalt wiilzen die Thaten sich um. Aber jugendlich immer, in immer veranderter Schone
Ehrst du, fromrae Natur, ziichtig das alte Gesetz, Immer dieselbe, bewahrst du in treuen Handen dem Manne,
Was dir das gaukelnde Kind, was dir der Jungling vertraut, Nahrest an gleicher Brust die vielfach weehselnden Alter ;
Unter demselben Blau, iiber dem nehmlichen Grun Wandeln die nahen und wandein vereint die fernen Geschlechter,
Und die Sonne Homers, siehe I sic lachelt auch uns.
THE WALK. 27
Which with the deepening gloom of the steep-down valley conspiring,
Forced on my harrowed soul all the dire horrors of life. — Pure, from thy altar pure, I drink the new breath of my being,
And the rich glow of my youth joyous and hopeful returns. Wild is the will of man, and changeful its course and its object ;
And in ephemeral round, action to action succeeds. Thou, in enduring bloom, and in beauty's exhaustless succession.
True to thine ancient law, hold'st thine appointed career; All that the sportive child, the confiding youth, hath entrusted
Into thy faithful hands — back to the man is repaid. Changeless in all ! Each age on thine equal bosom is nurtured.
Under the same blue vault — on the same tapestried green Kace upon race succeeding, through countless ages have wandered;
Suns that on Homer smiled smile as benignant on us !
I9er Ean3*
SiEHK wie schwebenden Schritts im Wellenschwung sich die Paare
Drehen, den Boden beriihrt kaum dcr gefluegelte Fuss. Sell' ich fliichtige Schatten, befreit von der Schwere des Leibes?
Schlingen im Mondlicht dort Elfen den luftigen Reihn? Wie, vom Zephyr gewiegt, der leichte Rauch in die Luft fliesat,
Wie sich leise der Kahn sehaukelt auf silberner Flut. Hiipft der gelehrige Fuss auf des Takts melodischer Woge,
Saiiselndes Saitengeton hebt den aetherischen Leib. Jetzt, als wollt es mit Macht durchreissen die Kette des Tanzes,
Schwingt sich ein muthiges Paar dort in den dichtcsten Reihn. SchncU vor ihm her entsteht ihm die Bahn, die hinter ihm schwindet,
Wie durch magische Hand ofinet und Bchliesst sich der Weg.
THE DANCE.
See with floating tread the bright pair whirl in a wave-like
Swing, and the winged foot scarce gives a touch to the floor. Say, is it shadows that flit unclogg'd by the load of the body ?
Say, is it Elves that weave fairy-rings under the moon ? So rolls the curling smoke through air on the breath of the zephyr,
So sways the light canoe, borne on the silvery lake. Bounds the well-taught foot on the sweet-flowing wave of the measure,
Whispering musical strains buoy up the aery forms. Now, as if in its rush it would break the chain of the dancers,
Dives an adventurous pair into the thick of the throng. Quick before them a pathway is formed and closes behind them.
As by a magical hand, open'd and shut is the way.
30 J3er Can).
Sieh! Jetzt schwand es dem Blick, in wildem Gewirr durch einander
Stiirzt der zierliche Bau dieser beweglichen Welt. Nein, dort schwebt es frohlockend herauf, der Knoten entwirrt sich,
Nut mit verandertera Reiz stellet die Regel sich her. Ewig zerstort, es erzeugt sich ewig die drehende Schopfung,
Und ein stilles Gesetz lenkt der Verwandlungen Spiel. Sprich, wie geschieht's, dass rastlos erneut die Bildungen schwanken,
Und die Ruhe besteht in der bewegten Gestalt? Jeder ein Herrscher, frei, nur dera eigenem Herzen gehorchet,
Und im eilendcn Lauf findet die einzige Bahn? Willst du es wissen? Es ist des Wohllauts machtige Gottheit,
Die zum geselligen Tanz, ordnet den tobenden Sprung, Die der Nemesis gleich, an des Rhythmus goldenem Ziigel
Lenkt die brausende Lust und die verwilderte zahmt; Und dir rauschen umsonst die Harmonien des Weltalls,
Dich ergreift nicht der Strom dieses erhabnen Gesangs,
THE DANCE. 31
Now it is lost to the eye ; into wild confusion resolved
Lo ! that revolving world loses its orderly frame. No ! from the mass there it gaily emerges and glides from the tangle,
Order resumes her sway, only with altered charm. Vanishing still, it still reappears, the revolving creation,
And, deep-working, a law governs the aspects of change. Say, how is it that forms ever passing are ever restored ?
How still fixity stays even where motion most reigns ? How each, master and free, by his own heart shaping his pathway.
Finds in the hurrying maze simply the path that he seeks ? This thou would'st know ! 'Tis the might divine of Harmony's empire.
She to the social dance moulds the spontaneous bound. She like the Goddess Severe*, with the golden bridle of order,
Tames and guides at her will wild and tumultuous strength. And does the world in vain around thee its harmonies utter ?
Feel'st thou thy heart not swept on in the stream of the strain ?
• * \enie»i«.
32 Drr Canu
Nicht der begeisternde Tokt. den alle Wesen dir schlagcn, Nicht der wirbelnde Tanz, der durch den ewigen Baum,
Leuchtende Sonnen schwingt in kiihn gcwundcnen Bahnen !
Das du ini Spiele doch ehrst, fliehst du im Handeln, das Mast*.
23ie #c0cftlecftttt-
SiEii in dem zarten Kind zwei liebliche Blunien vereinigt,
Jungfrau und Jungling, sie deckt beide die Knospc noch zu. Incise liw't sich das Band, cs entzweicn sich zart die Naturen,
Und von der hulden Scham trennct sich feurig die Kraft. Gonne dem Knaben zu spielen, in wilder Begierde zu toben,
Nur die gesiittigtc Kraft kchret zur Anmuth zuriick. A 118 der Knospc bcginnt die duppeltc Blume zu streben,
KoMtlich iHt jedc, doch stillt keine dein schnendeu Herz,
THE DAKCE. 33
Not by that measure of Life which beats through all beings around thee ;
— Not by the whirl of that Dance, which through the vacant abyss Launches the blazing suns in the spacious sweeps of their orbits ?
Order rules in thy sports ; so let her nde in thy acts.
THE SEXES.
See in the child's soft form two beauteous blossoms united,
Youth and Maiden are there latent alike in the bud. Soon is the slight bond broken, and straight are the natures dissevered.
Bashful gentleness here, there, energetical fire. Yes, — let the Boy sport free, swept on in the storm of his impulse,
■ Not till sated, will strength feel the impression of grace. Now from the blossom in each bursts forth the flow'r in its beauty, Beauteous each, yet fills neither the wish of thy heart. C
34 Mit (BtStf)\tti)Ui\
lleizende Fiille schwellt der Jungfrau bliihcnde Glieder,
Aber der Stolz bewacht strong wie der Giirtel den Reiz. Scheu wie das zitternde Reh, das ihr Horn durch die Walder verfolgct,
Flieht sie im Mann niir den Feind, basset noch, weil sie nicht liebt. Trotzig schauet und kiihn aus finstern Wimpern der Jiingling,
Und gehartet zum Kampf spannet die Sehne sicb an. Fern in der Speere Gewiihl und auf die stiiubende Rennbahn
Ruft ihn der lockende Ruhm, reisst ihn der brausende Muth. Jetzt beschiitze dein Werk Natur! Auseinander auf iminer
Fliehet, wenn Du nicht vereinst, feindlich, was ewig sich sucht. Aber da bist du, du machtige, schon, aus deni wildesten Streite
Rufst du der Harmonic gottlichen Frieden hervor. Tief verstummet die liirmendc Jagd, des rauschenden Tages
Tosen verhallet und leis' sinken die Sterne herab. Seufzend fliistert das Rohr, sanft munnelnd gleiton die Bache,
Und mit mclodischem Lied fiillt Philomela den Hayn.
THE SEXES. 35
See the voluptuous swell that rounds the limbs of the damsel,
Yet Pride binds up her heart, close as her girdle her form. Shy as the trembling Fawn that flies the cry of the hunters,
Man she shuns as her foe — hates, because Love is not come. Bold through the youth's dark eyelash flashes his look in its keenness,
And he stiffens his arm, stringing his nerves to the fight. Into the storm of spears, and into the dusty arena,
Drawn by his hunger of Fame, driv'n by his boiling of Blood. Now guard, favouring Nature, thy work ! Though made for each other,
If thou unite them not, ever asunder they stay. Mighty One ! there already thou art, and out of the Discord
Draw'st, when wildest its strife, sweetest of Harmony's strains. Silent now is the storm of the chase ; the tumultuous day-world
Sinks to silence, and calm, circle the stars in the sky. Sighs to the wind the reed, soft gliding rividets murmur,
And with melodious song fills Philomela the grove.
02
36 IBit (3titt)\ttl)Uv*
Was erreget zu Seufzern der Jungfrau steigenden Busen ?
Jiingling, was fiillet den Blick schwellend mit Thranen dir an ? Ach sie sachet umsonst, was sie sanft ansehmiegend umfasse,
Und die schwellende Frucht beuget zur Erde die Last. Kuhelos strebend verzehrt sich in eigenen Flammen der Jiingling,
Ach, der brennenden Glut wehet kein lindernder Hauch. Siehe, da finden sie sich, es fiihret sie Amor zusammen,
Und dem gefliigelten Gott folgt der gefliigelte Sieg. Gottliche Liebe, du bist's die der Menschheit Blumcn vereinigt,
Ewig getrennt, sind sie doch ewig verbunden durch dich.
THE SEXES. 37
What calls deep-drawn sighs from the swelling breast of the maiden ?
Thou — ^youth — why do thine eyes tremble through gathering tears ? Ah ! she seeks in vain where her soft embrace may support her,
And the full-swelling fruit weighs down the burthened bough. Restless struggles the youth consumed with conscious ardours ;
Ah ! no cooling airs temper the perilous glow. See — there each finds each — 'tis Love who brings them together.
And in the Wing'd God's train Victory winged arrives. Love Divine, it is thou that unitest humanity's blossoms
Separate ever, and yet ever united by thee.
i
38
SolumbU0.
Stbure muthiger Segler! Es mag der Witz dich verhohnen,
Und Jer Schiffer am Steu'r senken die liissige Hand. Immer, immer nach W^estl Dort musa die Kiiste sich zeigen,
Liegt sie doch deutlich uad liegt schimmernd vor deinem Verstjind. Trauc dem leitenden Gott und folge dem schweigcnden AVeltmecr,
Wiir' sie noch nicht, sie stieg jetzt aus den Fluten erapor. Mit dem Genius steht die Natur in ewigem Bunde,
Was der eine verspricht, leistet die andre gewiss.
Alle Gewasscr durchkreuzt', die Heimat zu finden, Odysseus,
Durch der Scilla Gcbell, durch der Charybde Gcfahr, Durch die Schrecken dcs feindlichen ISIcers, durch die Schrecken dcs Laiules,
Selber in Aidiis Reich fiihrt ihn die irrende Fahrt. Kndlich tragi das Geschick ihn schlafcnd an Ithakas Kiiste,
Er erwacht und erkennt jammernd das Vaterland nicht.
^
39
COLUMBUS. Still steer on, brave heart! though witlings laugh at thy emprize,
And though the helmsmen drop, weary and nerveless, their hands. Westward, westward still ! there land must emerge to the vision ;
There it lies in its light, clear to the eye of thy mind. Trust in the power that guides : press on o'er the conve.v of ooeiiu :
What thou seek'st — were it not — ^yet it shoidd rise from the wave. Nature with Genius holds a pact that is fixt and eternal :
All which is promised by this, that never fails to perform.
ODYSSEUS. ,
O'er all seas, in his search of his home, lay the path of Odysseus, Scilla he past and her yell, skirted Charybdis's whirl.
Througli the perils of land, through the perils of waves in their fury, Yea even Hades self 'scap't not his devious course.
Fortune lays him at last asleep on Ithaca's margin.
And he awakes, nor knows, waUing, the land that he sought.
40
Btv SAtnann.
SiEHB, vol! Hoffnung vertraust du der Erde den goldenen Samen, Und erwartest im Lenz frohlich die keimende Saat.
Nur in die Furche der Zeit bedcnkst du dich Thaten zu streuen, Die von der Weisheit gesat still fiir die Ewigkeit bliilin ?
9rctli<neli£0 unb Der ;ScI)uIcr.
Zu Archimedes kam ein wissbegieriger Jirngling :
Weihc mich, sprach er zu ihm, ein in die giittliche Kunst, Die so herrliche Fnicht dem Vaterlande getragen,
Und die Mauern der Stadt vor der Sambuca beschiitzt. — Gottlich nennst du die Kunst? Sie ist's, versetzte der Weise,
Aber das war sie, mein Sohn, eh' sie dem Staat noch gedient. Willst du nur Friichte von ihr, die kann auch die sterbliche zeugen
Wer um die Gottin freit, suche in ihr nicht das Wcib.
41
THE SOWER.
Lo, full of hope to the earth thy rich gold seed thou entrustest, And thou awaitest till Spring draws forth the gladdening crop ;
Yet in the furrows of Time thy deeds dost thou scruple to scatter, Which, if by Wisdom sown, shall for eternity bloom ?
ARCHIMEDES AND THE SCHOLAR.
Once Archimedes was askt by a youth all eager for knowledge :
Teach me, he said to the Sage, teach me thy heavenly art : Teach me the art which has borne such glorious fruits for my country,
Which from Syracuse walls e'en the Sambuca repelled. — Heavenly caUest thou Art ? She is so, replied Archimedes :
But so was she before Syracuse walls were preserved. Wouldst thou but gather her fruits ? those fruits may be borne by a mortal.
Wouldst thou the goddess woo ? seek not the woman in her.
42
Weii. du liesest in ihr, was du selber in ihr geschrieben,
Weil du in Gruppen furs Aug' ihre Erscheinungen reihst, Deine Schnlire gezogen auf ihrem unendlichen Felde,
Wiilin-st du, es fassc dein Geist ahnend die grosse Natur? So beschreibt mit Figuren der Astronome den Himmel,
Dass in dem ewigen liaum leichter sich finde der IJlick, Kniipft entlegene Sonnen, dureh Siriusfernen gesehieden,
Aneinander im Sehwan, und in den Homem des Stiers. Aber versteht er darum der Spharen mystischc Tiinze,
"Weil ihm das Sternengewcilb sein Planiglobium zeigt?
Bit i\Dti tTugenatDrge.
ZwEi sind der Wege, auf welehen der Mensch zur Tugend emporstrebt ;
Schliesst sieh der eine dir zu. thut sich der andcrc dir auf. Handelnd erringt der Gliickliche sie, der Leidende duldend.
Wohl ihm, den sein Geschick liebend auf beiden gefiihrt.
I
48
HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. When thou readeat in her, what thine own pencil hath written,
When thou her visible shapes rangest in groups for the eye. When thou hast stretcht out thy lines across her measureless surface,
Deemst thou thy spirit hath pierced Nature's eternal abyss? Thus the astronomer ever bescribbles the sky with his figures.
Fixing, to mark out his path, sign-posts in infinite space : Far-off suns he combines, by Sirius distances severed.
Couples them now in the Swan, now in the horns of the Bull. But does his spirit ascend to contemplate their mystical dances, P'or that the star-strewn vault stretcht on his planisphere lies?
THE TWO PATHS OF VIRTUE. Twofold the path by which journeying man toils upward to Virtue,
And though the first may be closed, open the other still lies. He that is fortunate vnna her by action, the sufferer by patience :
Happy is he whom by both Destiny lovingly leads.
44
Zenitf) anD ila&ir.
Wo du auch wandelst im Raum, es kniipft dein Zenith und Nadir An den Himmel dich an, dich an die Axe der Welt.
Wie du auch handelst in dir, es beriihre den Himmel der Wille, Durch die Axe der Welt gehe die Richtung der That.
3u00ang tiU0 Hem Heben. Aus dem Leben heraus sind der Wege zwei dir geoffnet :
Zum Ideale fiihrt einer, der and're zum Tod. Siehe, wie du bei Zeit noch frei auf dem ersten cntspringest,
Ehe die Parze mit Zwang dich auf dem andern entfiihrt.
2Iia0 UinXf in Der JSSAiegt,
Glij'cklicher Saugling! Dir ist ein unendlichcr Raum noch die Wiege. Werde Mann, und dir wird eng die unendliche Welt.
46
OUR ZENITH AND NADIR. Whithehsoever thou goest in space, thy Zenith and Nadir
Thee to the heavens unite, thee to the axis of earth. Whatsoever thou doest, thy will should mount to the heavens.
While through the centre of earth downward thy action should pass.
THE EXIT FROM LIFE.
Two ways out of this life, thou pilgrim, lie open before thee: To the Ideal the first leads, and the other to Death.
I>ook thou, while it is time, to secure thy escape by the former ; Eire by the latter perforce Destiny drag thee away.
THE CHILD IN ITS CRADLE. Happy Infant 1 thou findest an infinite space in thy cradle : Grow but a man, and the world ^vill be too narrow for thee.
46 Ba» SlnVDantrrlbarr.
" Unaufhaltsam enteilet die Zeit." — Sie sucht das Bestand'ge. Sey getreu, und du legst ewige Fesseln ihr an.
Zbiot sich der Gliickliche mir, ich vergesse die Gotter des Himmels : Aber sie stehn vor mir, wenn ich den Lcidenden seh.
Ban |Qdcf)0tr.
Sdchst du das Hochste, das Grosste? Die Pflanze kann es dich leliren. Was sie wissenlos ist, sey du es wollend — das ist's.
47
THE PERMANENT.
Time flies ever, and none can arrest him. — He seeks the enduring, Be but true, — to thy side thus thou wilt bind him in chains.
THE THEOPHANY.
When on the happy I look, I forget the Gods in the heavens ; But before me they stand, when I the sufferer see.
OCR HIGHEST AIM.
Dost thou aspire to attain what is highest ? that plant there may teach thee. What it unconsciously is, willingly thou must become.
48
Hast du etwas, so theile mir's niit, und ich zahle was recht ist, Bist du etwas, o dann tauschea die Seeleu wir aus.
.Urijige 0rneration.
War 08 immer wie jetzt ? Ich kann das Geschlecht nicht begreifen. Nur das Alter ist jung, ach? und die Jugend ist alt.
9n Die £&mt.
Was ich ohne dich ware, ich weiss es nicht — aber mir grauet, Seh' ich, was ohne Dich Hundcrt' und Tauscnde sind.
49
VALUE AND WORTH.
Hast thou anything? share it with me, and I'll pay thee its value. Art thou anything? O let us our spirits exchange.
THE PRESENT GENERATION. Has it been always as now? I see but a puzzle around me : Old age only is young, ah, and the young are so old.
TO THE MUSE.
What I should be without thee, I know not; — but horrour assails me, Seeing what without thee hundreds and thousands become.
D
50
^ufgatie.
Reiner sey gleich dem andem, doch gleich sey jeder dem Hiichsten. Wie das zu machen ? Es sey Jeder vollendet in aich.
WiLLST du dich selber erkennen, so sieh' wie die anderii es treibeii. Willst du die andern versteh'n, blick in deiii eigcnes Herz.
SOri0tiett unH Itlugfjrit.
Willst du, Freund, die erhabensten Hoh'n der Weisheit erfliegen Wag' es auf die Gefahr, dass dich die Klugheit verlacht.
Die kurzsichtige sieht nur das Ufer, das dir zuriickflieht, Jenes nicht, wo dereinst landet dein mutbiger Flug.
51
OUR PROBLEM. None should be like to another ; yet each should be like to the Highest. How can this be? let each labour to perfect himself.
THE KEY.
WouLDST thou know thyself? observe what thy neighbours are doing. Wouldst thou thy neighbours know ? look through the depths of thy heart.
WISDOM AND PRUDENCE.
Dost thou desire to attain to the loftiest summits of Wisdom ?
Onward boldly, my friend, even though Prudence deride. She shortsightedly sees but the shore which thou leavest behind thee,
Not that whither thy boat bears thine adventurous soul.
n8
52
Die Orel 'Stttev ttev ilatur. Leben gab ihr die Fabel, die Schule hat sie entscclet, Schaffendes Leben aufs neu gibt die Vernunft ihr zuriick.
Bit ^orecffer,
Allbs will jetzt den Menschen von innen, von aussen ergriinden ;
Wahrheit, wo rettest du dich hin vor der wiithenden Jagd ? Dich zu fangcn zichen sie aus mit Netzen und Stangen,
Aber mit Geistestritt schreitest du mitten hindurch.
user iClci0trr-
Jedbn anderen Meister crkennt man an dem, was er auspricht : Was er weise verschweigt zcigt mir den Meister des Stils.
63
THE THREE AGES OF NATURE. Fables endowed her with life ; the Schools then rendered her lifeless : Now with a seminal life Reason endows her anew.
THE ENQUIRERS. All men are fingering man ; both inside and out they explore him.
Truth ! how wilt thou escape from this tumultuous chase ? Ajmies of huntsmen with nets and with poles are gone out to catch thee
But with thy spiritual tread stately thou glidest through the throng.
THE MASTER. Masters in art, lore, science, are known by that which they utter; That which he keeps to himself, shews us the master in style.
54
Bit ||l)tIO0optifeeii.
Welche wohl bleibt von alien den Philosophieen ? Ich weiss nicht. Aber die Philosophic, hoff' ich, soli ewig bestehn.
C^uelle Utv Vnjunsung.
Glaubt niir, es ist kein Mahrchen, die Quelle der Jugend: sie rinnet Wirklich noch immer. Ihr fragt, wo ? In der dichtenden Kunst.
&!Sieimtffe& iStrt^nl.
Manner richten nach Griinden : des Weibes Urtheil ist seine Liebe; wo es nicht liebt, hat schon gerichtet das Weib.
Oa0 @rmein0amc ||^cl)icb0ail.
SiEHR, wir hassen, wir streiten; es trennet uns Neigung und Mcinung Aber es bleichet indess dir sich die Locke wie mir.
55
PHILOSOPHIES. Which will endure the longest of all our Philosophies ? who knows ? But Philosophy, friend, she will for ever endure.
THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. Trust me, it is no fable, the Fountain of Youth ; it is flowing Ceaselessly ever : ye ask, where ? In poetical song.
FEMALE JUDGEMENT. Mbn judge guided by reasons ; a woman's love is her judgement : Where she bestows no love, she has already condemned.
OUR COMMON DESTINY. Lo, we hate, we quarrel ; our notions and likings divide us : But meanwhile thy locks whiten and drop off like mine.
56
An dem Eingang der Bahn liegt die Unendlicheit offen ; Doch mit dem engesten Kreis horet der Weiseste auf.
ia.iebc tinti IScgicrHc.
Kecht gesagt, Schlosser ! Man liebt vraa man hat, man beyelirt was man nicht hat. Denn nur das reiche Gemiith liebt, nur das Arme begehrt.
(Bute unO mxoaM.
NuK zwei Tugenden giebt's. O waren sie immer vereiuigt, Iniiner die Giite auch gross, immer die Grosse auch gut !
57
HUMAN ACTION.
When on oui" course we enter, the universe spreads out before us ; But in the narrowest range he who is wisest will end.
LOVE AND DESIRE.
Well said, Schlosser ! one loves what one has ; one desires what one has not : None but the rich soul loves; none but the poor one desires.
GOODNESS AND GREATNESS.
Two are the modes of Virtue. O would they were always united ! Goodness were always great, greatness invariably good.
X0m
Two great things, said the Sage, claim awe; — the Conscience within us, And around us tiie Vault spangled with stars and with suns.
Two great Bards, meanwhile, displayed, in glorious aspects, That, the fixt Mind within, this, the briglit multiform "World.
HERMAN AND DOROTHEA.
Ancient Rhine ! on thee are blessings breathed by the German When, by thy bounties cheer'd, his heart expands in his bosom. Beautiful Rhine! the Traveler too oft wafts thee a blessing Bearing away in his thought full many a cherisht remembrance. For who, once that has roved on the beauteous banks of the Rhine-stream, Joys not stiU to recall those castled rocks with their vine-clad Slopes, and the winding stream, broad-dimpled, rushing between them ; Oodesbcrg gay, and the Dragon's Rock, and the Comer of Roland, ,
«
62 HERMAN AND DOROTHEA.
Fair Saint Goar, and the Switzer Dale, and the voice of tlie Lurley
Heard in the silence of eve, sweet answering over the water
Colin with its lofty vaults, where sacred harmonies float, while
Sound, and stony shaft, seem both aspiring to heaven;
Towns with their nightly pomp, when, seen from the halconied window
Lamps and serener stars reflected beam in the river.
And the tumult of day sinks softening into its slumber!
Wanderer, lov'st thou the Rhine ? Then list to a tale of its borders
Flung from its Master's lyre; by me, as a labour of love, thus
Tuned, but ah, I fear me in vain ! for the ear of the Briton ;
And yet never in vain, if it once to the sad or the weary
Bring those visions again in the soothing power of their beauty
Linking the Fair with the Fair ; that so the Forms of the Poet
Ever may float in his mind with scenes of memory blended.
M. I,.
CALLIOPE.
" Never before did I see the street and the market so empty ! All seems just as if swept with a broom. I doubt whether fifty People are left here at home in the town 'of the whole population. What curiosity does !! each man runs off in a hurry Just to see as they pass poor folks that are flying their country. Down to the causey along which they go is a league at the smallest, And there ev'ry one posts in the heat and the dust of the midday. I should be sorry to stir from my place to see the sad pilgrims ; Worthy unfortunate men, who now, with the goods they have rescued Leave, poor souls ! homes over the Rhine in their beautiful land there.
64 CALLIOPE.
Come to our side as exiles, and through that prosperous comer
Of our favoured vale and along its meanderings wander.
Wife, thou hast done right well in kindly sending our son forth
Well provided with old worn linen and meat and with drink, to
Give to the destitute folk ; for to give is the duty of rich men.
But look how the lad drives, and how he handles the horses!
Our new chaise of a truth looks well. 'Twill hold, one may see now,
E^ily four within, besides the box for the driver.
He has it all to himself. How nicely it turns round the comer!"
Thus to hia wife spake, under the porch that stands on the Market
UTiere he sat at his ease, the host of the Golden Lion.
Thereto answered straight the Housewife thrifty and thoughtful : " Husband, old worn linen I do not willingly part with. Many a turn it serves in the house, and gold cannot buy it When the day comes that I need it ; but this time willingly gave I
CALAMITY AND PITY, 65
Many a thing that is better, both shirts and wearing apparel ; For I heard of children and old men all going naked. But, wilt thou forgive? Thy clothes-press too has been plunder'd. And in especial the gown with a pattern of Indian flowers, Made of the finest cotton, and soft with a lining of flannel. Gave I away; it is old and thin and quite out of the fashion."
Thus she spoke ; but the excellent Host just smiled as he answered ; " Ha ! my dressing-gown ! old, yet good ! I am sorry to lose it ; Right East-Indian stuff, not easy again to be gotten. True ; I had laid it aside. Forsooth men now have a notion 'Tis not right to be seen in undrpss. You must wear a coat ever; Ever have boots to your legs ; quite banisht are slipper and nightcap."
" See ! " then answer'd the Housewife, " some are already returning. Who have been seeing the wand'rers ; the crowd has passed by this time. E
66 CALLIOPE.
See, how all their shoes are so dusty ! and look at their faces All in a glow ! and each one wipes his brow with his kerchief. Well, I would never, to see such a sight, go out in the hot day Running and broiling! and truly, for me, I've enough in the hearing.
And the Goodman of the house to this with emphasis answer'd : " Such a season of weather with such crops seldom has happen'd, And we shall get in the com, as the hay has already been got in. Dry ; the sky is clear, not the smallest cloud is apparent, And in the morn the wind blows light, but cool and refreshing ; Sign of settled weather ! and fully ripe is the harvest : We will begin to reap the plentiful crop on the morrow."
AVhile he spoke, the strings of folk grew greater and greater. Women and men, all crossing the market to go to their houses; And among them came, on the other side, with his daughters
CALAMITY AND PITY. 67
Quick to his new house driving along, their prosperous neighbour In his gay landau, of that to>vn's tradesmen the foremost. Lively the streets of the town became, for well it was peopled ; Many a branch of trade and of work was followed with spirit.
Chatting thus, the kindly couple sat under the doorway, Making quiet remarks on all the people that past by. But the housewife started at last, and said, as she lookt out, " See ! there comes the Minister here ; and with him the Surgeon Our good neighbour, too : they shall tell us the whole of the story. What they have seen in their jaunt; 'tis better to hear than to see it."
Friendly the two came up to the door and saluted the couple, Sat themselves down on the benches of wood that were under the doorway, Shaking the dust from their feet and fanning themselves with their kerchiefs. And when greeting was over on this and on that side, the' Surgeon
E 2
68 CALLIOPE.
First began with his tale, almost as if he were peevish.
" This is the way of the world ! and one is just as another ;
All must needs go and stare when evil haps to a neighbour :
Forth runs each, when a fire breaks out spreading ruin on all sides;
Forth runs each, when a wretch is led out to a rigorous death-doom :
And now forth goes each to look on this lot of the exiles ;
Hard lot truly ! and nobody thinks that a similar fortune
Soon may be his; or at least may befall him sooner or later.
Fie upon levity such as this is 1 yet it is in our nature."
And thereto the good-hearted sensible Minister answer'd : — Ornament he of the city, a youth, but nearer to manhood ; He was acquainted with life, and knew the wants of his hearers. Knew in the depth of his mind the pow'r and aim of the Scripture, Where man's heart and the end of his being alone are revealed ; And with the best of the books of this world too was acquainted : —
CALAMITY AND PITY. 69
" 1 not lightly quarrel with many an innocent impulse
Which our Nature, a kindly mother, bestows upon mortals ;
For, where Reason and Thought often fail, there comes in a help from
These kind leanings, that guide us whether we will or we will not.
If this curious spirit were gone, with its busy inquiry.
Could man know how vast and how fair the things of the world are.
Each in its bearing on each? But first he runs after what New is.
Next he turns to pursue >vith toil unflinching the Useful,
Last he yearns for the Good, and that refines and exalts him.
Friend of his youthful years, how oft Light-heartedness cheers him.
Veils his fears, and with healing hand the traces of sorrow
Brushes away from his thought when the evil moment is past by.
Doubtless him we praise, who when ripe years are arrived at,
Casts away this lightness of mind by the strength of his reason ;
Him who is zealous and active alike in weal and misfortune;
He best finds a way to the good and a cure to the evil."
70 CALLIOPE.
Then broke in the impatient Housewife and utter'd her question : " Tell to us what you have seen ; for that is the thing I would fain know."
" Tie not easy," thereat the Surgeon with emphasis answer'd, " Out of one's mind to cast the thought of the wo that I've witnessd. And who, alack ! can tell such a various story of sorrow ? Far at a distance, or ever we came to the slope of the meadow, Saw we the dust : on the distant hills the crowd was in motion Far an the eye could reach, but we could little distinguish. But when we reacht the roatl that turns and crosses the valley, There was a throng and a tumult great of wandrers and waggons. There we saw full plain the Unfortunates pass on their journey, There we could learn from each how sad a compulsory flight is, Yet how dear is the joy of the thought that life has been rescu'd. Sad in truth is the sight of the manifold goods and the chattels Which in a house well plenisht are hid in its nimierous corners,
CALAMITY AND PITY. 71
Which the sage good man has stow'd away each in its due place.
Each to be ready for use, for what is not wanted at some time?
Sad to see all this, on wains and waggons of all kinds
Tumbled together and piled on a heap as snatcht in a hurry.
There is a comer-cupboard and on it a sieve and a blanket,
There is the bed in the baking trough, and the sheet on the mirror.
And you might see, as we saw in the great fire, now it is twenty
Years back, common sense is lost in the moment of danger,
For men take what is nought, the best they leave it behind them.
So too here, with inconsiderate haste they had brought out
Worthless matters, a useless load for horses and oxen,
Ancient boards and barrels, the old hen-coop and the bird-cage.
There too women and children dragged on weary and panting
Baskets and heavy loads that of no manner of use were ;
So unwilling are men to quit the last of their havings.
Thus on the dusty road the throng'd crowd laboured onward,
72 CALLIOPE.
Tangled and void of rule. With cattle wearied, one man Fain would slowly move, and another was eager to haste on. Then rose screams of babes and women crowded together, While the oxen low'd, and dogs came in with their yelping, And a moaning of old and sick, that high amid bedding Sat and jolting sway'd on the top of the overpackt waggon. Then forced out of the rut, to the sloping side of the high road Grided the creaking wheel ; the huge cart into the ditch went Overturn'd; far cast by the sidewards sway were the men thrown Into the field with outcry dire. By happier fortune I^atcr dropt the chests and nearer fell to the waggon. He who the j>oor folk falling saw, deem'd soon to behold them Buried and crusht beneath the chests and the ponderous ruin. So the car lay broken, and helpless those it had carried; For the rest held still their way, and hastily past on, Thinking but of themselves and forwards swept by the current.
CALAMITY AM) PITY. 73
And we hied us there, and found the sick and the aged, Who in their homes and beds their load of wearying sorrow Scarce could bear, on the ground all hurt and heavily wailing, Scorcht by the burning sun and choked by the stifling dust-cloud."
Thereto, toucht in his manly heart, the Host said in answer : " These may Herman find, and soon refresh them and clothe them. I such sights would shun ; the aspect of misery shocks me. We, at the first account of a case so sorrowful soften'd. Sent in haste some scraps of our superfluity, such that Some might find relief, and we some peace in our bosoms. But let us now no longer dwell on pictures so mournful ; For so Fear with her abject chill creeps into the bosom And dark Care, which to me far worse than the evil itself is. Now walk into our own back room ; the chamber is cooler, There Sun ne'er shines in, and there warm air never enters
74 CALLIOPE.
Through the old thick walls. And Mother, get us a glass here Of our old three-and-eighty to drive off sorro^vful fancies. Here we drink not well, the flies so buz in the glasses." So they went in all, and all were glad of the cool air.
And the careful Dame brought forth of the generous liquor, In the rich cut flask, on the clear bright circle of metal, With the goblets green, the genuine glass of the Rhine-wine. And thus sat the three, along the rim of the round brown Table, varnisht well, that stood upon ponderous claws there. Soon the Minister's glass and the Host's, struck mutual, rang clear ; Moved the Third his not, but thoughtful jjaused for a moment ; Him the Host then roused, and cried with a cheerier spirit :
" Neighbour, off" with your glass I Thus far from heavier evils We have been kept by God, and He will keep us in future.
CALAMITY AND PITY. 75
Who can fail to see, that since that terrible burning Which chastis'd us sore. He still has given us good things. Still has guarded us well in safety, e'en as a man would Guard of his eye the apple, his dearest bodily member. Think you not He will still go on to help and protect us ? How great His might is, man sees in the moment of danger. He that raised, by the hands of the townsmen, out of the ashes All our flourishing city, and then gave blessing abundant, Will He dash it to earth — undo the prospering labour?"
Cheerily then and benign spoke out the excellent Pastor : " Fast hold still your faith, and fast the trust you have utter'd ; That can make you in time of wealth bear a calm and a firm mind, That consoles and gives bright hope in the worst tribulation."
Then the Host replied in a strain of manly reflection :
76 CALLIOPE.
" Often I greet with wonder and awe the waves of the Rhine-stream
When, from journey abroad, I turn me back to its border :
Still it to me was great, and my spirit rose as I view'd it ;
But I never had thought how soon its beauteous margin
Should our bulwark be to stop the course of the Frenchman,
And its channel a mighty foss to repel the invader.
Nature thus is our guard, our guard is the spirit of Germans,
And our guard is the Lord, and who'd sit idly repining ?
Wearied are now the foes, and all things point to a peace time.
And when at length that Festival comes, long eagerly hoped for,
And in our church that day the bell sounds deep, and the organ
Swells, and the trumpet blares, as the full Te Deum arises ; —
Kind sir Pastor, would that then my Herman before you.
His full purpose form'd, with his bride might stand at the altar ;
And thus joy might rise from one same happy occasion
To all lands, to me a family holiday ever.
CALAMITY AND PITY. 77
But, — 'tis ray grief, — the youth at home so busy and active
When he ventures abroad is still seen timid and aimless.
Little of joy finds he to go where company waits him ;
Even the maidens' groups seeks not, but shuns and avoids them,
And the festive dance so fondly lov'd by the youthful."
Thus as he spake he listen'd. Was heard the trampling of horses
Sounding afar; was heard the din of the wheels as they rattled,
And the carriage at speed came thundering under the gateway.
TERPSICHORE.
JQcrtnan.
And when comely and tall the Son came into the chamber.
With keen look full fixt on his brow the Minister scann'd him,
And regarded the form of the youth and his air and demeanour
With the observer's eye that reads the meaning of faces ;
Smil'd thereon, and spake to him then with cordial accents :
" Truly you come as an alter'd man ; for ne'er have I seen you
Hearing before so bright a glance, so lively an aspect.
Inly content and rejoiced you come ; 'tis seen, on the needy
You have bestowed your gifts and received their blessing in answer."
HERMAN. 79
Calmly thereat responded the Son with serious accents ; " K I have well done, that I know not ; but my heart was the prompter Which I obey'd ; and I did what I now will tell as it happen'd. Mother, so long each nook you explored, what was oldest to find out And to select, that not till late was the gathering ready. And the wine and the beer was slowly and carefully stowed. When I at length from the gate drove forth and out on the road came. There stream'd townsmen back, and the throng of women and children Adverse all; for still far off was the train of the Outcasts. Quicker drove 1 forth and sped me towards the village Where this night, as I heard, the Wand'rers tarry and rest them, And when now on my way the new-made causey I travers'd, There a waggon I saw of strong bars solidly builded, By two oxen dragg'd, their breed the strongest and largest. And close by them walk'd with active paces a maiden And with a long wand guided the course of the powerful creatures,
80 TERPSICHORE.
Quicken'd their steps or held them back, right skilfully driving.
Me when the Maiden saw, she gently mov'd to me nearer
Nigh to my horses and said : " Not always such was our fortune,
Wretched as here to-day upon this land you behold us.
Nor am I customed yet the boon to crave from the stranger
Oft bestow'd with a grudge to rid himself of the asker ;
But hard need now drives me to speak. Here stretcht on the straw lies
Fresh from her childbed throes, the Wife of the wealthy possessor
\NTiom, with her burthen great, I scarce, thus plac'd on the wain, sav'd.
Late we follow the throng and hardly her life is preser\'ed.
Now lies naked and bare the new-born child in her bosom
And small means, alack ! our kindred have to assist us
If in the nearest village, for there this even we tarry.
Still we find them abide ; but in truth I fear they are gone forth.
If ye have ought of linen your wants can spare, if a dweller
Here in the neighbourhood ye, be kindly and give it the needy."
HERMAN. 81
Thus she spoke, and pale from the straw the sufFering woman Rais'd her in part, and toward me lookt ; and I in return said : ' Surely oft do good men hear from angels a whisper, And so think of the needs that press on their sorrowing brothers ; Even thus in the forefeeling of griefs like yours, has my mother Giv'n me a store, that therewithal may the naked be clothed.' And I loosen'd the knot of the cord, and gave her my father's Nightgown forth, and linen I gave for the bed and the wearer. And she thankt me vrith joy, and cried : ' The prosperous deems not That still miracles happen ; for only in misery owns man God's kind Hand and his Finger, by which good men are to good works Guided. What He for im through you does, may He for you do.' And the sick woman I saw the folds with joyfulness touching Of the linen, but most of the nightgown's lining of flannel. ' Haste we,' to her the Maiden said, ' to the neighbouring village, Where our company rest e'en now, and tarry the night through ;
F
82 TERPSICHORE.
There will I to the child's clothes see, and all shall be cared for.' Me she then bade farewell, and spake her heartiest thanks out, Urged the oxen, the wain went on ; I lingered there still And held in my rein ; for in my heart was a doubting, Should I with hasty steeds to the village, there the provided Food 'mid the rest of the folk to divide, or here on the spot all Give to the maiden's hands that she might portion it msely. And I resolv'd me straight in my heart ; and started, and gently After her drove, and o'ertook her soon, and said to her quickly: • Good young maid, not linen alone my mother has sent out Which I hither have brought, to wann the naked with clothing : Food she also gave and drink of various liquors. And here, lodg'd in the car's deep coffers, lie they abundant. But now rather incline I these gifta too into thy hands All to intrust, and so is best my office discharged ; Thou with knowledge wilt portion them forth, I by accident only.'
HERMAN. 83
Thereto answer'd the Maid: 'With all true faithfulness your gifts Shall I bestow ; the relief shall fall to the lot of the needy.' Thus she spoke. I opened quick the chariot's coffers, Lifted the dried ham forth, all ponderous; lifted the bread forth, Bottles of wine and beer; to her hand each and the whole gave. Willingly more had I giv'n, but empty at length were the store-cells. All she laid on her wain, at the feet of the sick woman, — and then Tum'd I, and back with speed drove into the town with my horses."
When now Herman had ended his tale, the garrulous Neighbour Took up the word and cried : " O happy who in the days of This commotion and strife, in his own small cottage alone lives. With nor wife nor child that anxious and close to his side cling ! Happy I feel me now; for worlds I would not at this day Bear a father's name, and tremble for wife and for children.
FS
84 TERPISCHORE.
Oft have I thought nie of flight ere now, and oft of my havings All that is best I have gather'd together ; my gold and my treasure, Trinkets left by my mother, for unsold still I have kept them. Doubtless much had behind been left, not easily carried. Even the herbs and the roots with so much pains I have gather'd Had I unwillingly lost, though slender the worth of the ware be. But yet, leaving my 'prentice behind, consoled I could quit them. If I the hard coin save and my own proper person, then have I All saved, and that man who alone is easiest flees forth."
" Neighbour," to him the youthful Herman with emphasis answer'd. " No wise do I after your sort think, and your wisdom I praise not. Is he a man right-hearted, he who in good and in evil Thinks of himself alone, and who in his joy and his sorrow Seeks no sharer, and feels no need of such in his bosom ?
HERMAN. 85
I more willingly now than erst could resolve me to wedlock.
For full many a worthy maid now needs a protector.
And man needs a consoling wife when adversity meets him."
Smiling then the Father said. " This willingly hear I, Such a sensible word to me thou seldom hast utter'd."
But the good Dame thereat broke quickly into the converse : " Truly Son thou art right, we elders gave the example. For we two made our choice not in days of rejoicing, Ilather it was that the hour of misery knit us together 'Twas on a Monday mom — well know I ; the previous day was That of the terrible fire when so much of the city was burnt down ;- Twenty years it is now ; just as to day, 'twas a Sunday ; Hot and dry was the season, and most of the water was dried up. All the townsfolk a walking were gone in their holiday clothing,
86 TERPSICHORE.
Scatter'd about in the villages near and the mills and the gardens.
Then at the end of the town the fire broke out ; and the burning
Quick ran all the street long and caused a draft with its blazing.
Then were the bams all burnt that held the garnered harvest,
Burnt were the streets as far as the Market ; the house of my father
Here close by was consumed, and this along with it perisht.
Not far off fled we. I sat the desolate night through
There on the Green outside, and watcht the chests and the bedding.
Sleep fell on me at last ; and when the cool of the morning,
Which before sunrise is felt, had woke me from slumber.
There was the smoke and the glow, and the black bare walls and the
chimneys, Then was my heart right sad ; but soon the glorious sun rose Brighter than ever before, and that shed hope in my bosom. Quick then I rose on my feet. I thought I would look at the ground-plots Where thfe dwellings had stood, and see if the poultry was rescued
HERMAN. 87
Which I had tended and loved; for my thoughts were the thoughts of a
child still. And as over the ruins I clomb of the house and the homestead, Smoking still, and saw the perisht and waste habitation. Thou earnest up on the opposite side the ruin exploring. For thy horse in his stable was buried ; the smouldering timbers Lay on the spot in the rubbish, but nought could be seen of the beast there. So there face to face stood we, both mournful and thoughtful ; For the wall was destroyed which our two homes had divided. Then didst thou take hold of my hand and say to me kindly : ' AVhat dost thou in this place, Eliza ? thy feet will be scorched. For the rubbish is hot; my boots, though stouter, are singed.' And thou tookest me up, and carriedst me out through the court-yard Of thy house. The door was standing yet, and the door-way, Just as it stands e'en now : of the whole that alone had escaped. And thou setst me down and gav'st me a kiss though I would not ;
88 TERPSICHORE.
And then didst thou say with kind and significant accents :
' See my house is down. Stay here and help me to build it ;
I in return will help thy father when he is a builder.'
Yet understood I not, till thou to my father thy mother
Sentest, and then was the vow pronounced of the happy betrothal.
Still to this day in ray thoughts the half-burnt beams I remember
Joyful, and love to see the glorious sun at his rising.
For that day gave a husband to me ; and the very same time that
QtLve me the son of my youth was the time of the utter destruction.
Therefore I praise thee, Herman, that thou with confident heart still
Think'st of a partner, e'en in the time of this dire tribulation,
And canst venture to woo though war and ruin be round thee."
Lively and quick to the narrative Dame responded the Father : " Well hast thou thought and spoke, and also true is the story, Wife, which thou hast told, for just so came it to pass all.
HERMAN. 89
But what is better is better. It does not happen to each man That he has life to begin and to make his way from the outset. All are not doomed to trouble and toil, as we were in our time. O how happy is he who straight from father and mother Holds a well-plenisht house, which he too graces with increase ! Hard is the outset in all things, but in house-keeping the hardest. Many a thing the householder wants, and each thing is dearer Day by day. He has need to provide him with money beforehand. And so, my Herman, look I to thee, with hope that thou soon wilt Bring to me home a bride well-grac'd with a liberal portion. For a sensible youth deserves a well-dower'd maiden. And right pleasant it is, when along with the wife of thy wishes. Comes, in chest and in basket, the useful store of the dower. Not in vain does the mother prepare through many a long year Linen in store for her child of fine and durable textiu-e. Not in vain are the sponsor's gifts, the vessel of silver.
90 TERPSICHORE. •
Nor the gold piece, rare sight, by her sire reserved in a safe nook.
For the time comes at the last when all these savings and treasures
Gladden the heart of the youth who has fixt his choice on the damsel.
Ha, right well do I know how glad the young wife in her home feels
Who sees gpods of her own in hall and kitchen and chamber;
Who ha.s the garniture furnisht herself of bod and of table.
Ne'er may I see a bride in my house not duly provided :
She who is poor comes soon to be lightly seen of her husband.
And she is held as a Maid who came like a Maid with her bundle.
Man is ui\just, and so he remains, but soon is his love gone.
Yea my Herman, thou'dst bring u heartfelt joy to my old age
Wouldst thou soon to my house a wealthy daughter-in-law bring
Out of the neighbourhood here, e'en from yon house with the green wall.
Wealthy in truth is the man ; and grows with his trade and his fabrics
Daily richer; for when makes not his profit the merchant?
Three girls has he alone ; they share the whole of his fortune.
HERMAN. 91
True ; bespoke is the eldest, I know ; but still is the second,
Still is the third, and perhaps not long, to be had for the asking.
Were but I in thy place, till now I never had lingered,
Of those girls I had carried off one as I carried thy mother."
Modestly then the Son to the Father's urgency answer'd :
" Truly my wish was still, as yours, that one of the daughters
Of our neighbour I might make mine. We were brought up together,
Play'd in our earliest days around the Fount in the Market.
Them had I oft protected from ruder boys in their horseplay.
But that is now long past. At length these damsels are grown up ;
Stay contented at home, and come no more to the play-ground.
Well brought up they are. At times I have paid them a visit
Just for old acquaintance' sake, and I knew that you wisht it ;
But I never could find, while in their company, pleasure.
Still they had fault to find with me, and I had to bear it.
92 TERPSICHORE.
All too long was my coat ; and the cloth was coarse, and the colour
All too common ; my hair not dipt and properly curled.
So at the last I must needs trick out myself, and appear like
Those smart 'prentice youths who are aye seen there on a Sunday,
With their silken skirts for summer hanging about them.
But when this was done, I saw full soon that they mockt me ;
That was ill to bear ; my pride was wounded ; and more still
1 was deeply hurt they took no note of the kindness
Which I bore them all, and especially Alinna the youngest.
For, the last time 'twas, at Easter there I went over
Wearing that new coat which now hangs up in the clothes-press,
And my hair was comb'd and curl'd, like the rest of the youths there.
I went in, they giggled ; but I took that to myself not.
At the piano was Minna; the father was there in the chamber,
Listen'd his daughters sing, was in good mood and delighted.
No great sense made I of what I caught in the singing.
HERMAN. 98
But I heard there much of Pamina, much of Tamino,
And I wisht to be not quite dumb ! Aa soon as they ended
I askt after the words of the song, and who the two names were.
All were silent and smiled ; outspoke the father : ' My good friend !
You never heard of a pair since Adam and Eve ; is it not so ?'
Then they held no longer, but outright laughed the damsels,
Outright laughed the youths, and the old man held in his fat sides.
I was flurried and dropt my hat : the continual giggling
Broke out again and again, as they went on singing and playing.
So I hasted forth to my home, ashamed and vexed;
Hung up my coat in the press and pull'd my hair down with my fingers
To its own state : and I swore not again to go over their threshold.
And in truth I did well; for vain girls are they and heartless
And, as I hear, I go there still by the name of Tamino."
Thereto answer'd the Mother : " Thou should'st not, Herman, so long bear
94 TERPSICHORE.
Anger against those children, for still they are nothing but children.
Minna in truth was a good girl still, and for thee had a liking :
'Tis not long that of thee she enquired. Her raightest thou well chuse."
Thereto thoughtfully answer'd the Son : " I know not ; so deeply Sank that trouble within my breast, that truly I would not See them again their music play or list to their singing.''
But the Father then broke out in angrier accents: " Small is the comfort I find in thee. And this I have still said When thou took'st no pleasure except in horses and farm-work. What might suit the serving-man of a well-doing farmer That dost thou. Meanwhile thy father finds not a son that Brings him to honour and wins respect from the rest of his townsmen. And 'twas so from the first ; thy mother fed me with vain hope When in the school thy reading and writing and learning was always
HERMAN. 96
Backward more than the rest, and thou sat'st ever the lowest.
Thus forsooth it is, when there beats in the breast of a young man
No desire of distinction, and no ambition of honour.
Had my father but cared for me, as I have for thee done,
Sent me to school to learn, and found me competent tutors,
I had been something more than host of the Golden Lion."
Then the Son stood up and silent toward the door-way Slowly and stilly moved : but then the Father enraged Cried as he went : " Go hence ; thy sullen spirit I well know ; Go and manage the house right well that I have not to scold thee ; But think not to thyself thou wilt ever to me, in this house, some CJoarse ill-nurtured rustic wench as a daughter-in-law bring. Long time I have lived, and know how men should be dealt with ; How to receive both lords and ladies, that they may depart hence From my house content, and how to flatter the stranger.
96 TERPSICHORE.
But I would have a daughter-in-law who with gracious ways may
Meet my cares, and sweeten the toil I take for my children.
Nor shall she fail to play the spinet; and so shall assemble
At my house the town's best company pleasant and pleased,
As in the house of my neighbour on Sundays." Then did the Son press
Lightly the latch with his hand and so past out of the chamber.
THALIA.
Thus did the modest Son from the Father's angry rebuke shrink ; But the Sire, to complaint thus rous'd, went on in the same strain ; " What in a man is not, that out of him comes not, and hardly Shall I rejoice that to me my heart's first wish is fulfilled, That my Son may prove a better man than his Father. What woidd come of a house, or what of a city, if each one Deem'd not aye that a pleasant task to preserve and restore 'tis. And to improve, as still new times and foreigners teach us. 'Tis not for man to shrink like a mushroom back to his nothing. Merely to wither and rot on the spot that gave him his being, G
98 THALIA.
After him no trace of life's activity leaving.
Soon at the sight of the house is known the mind of the master.
And as we walk in a town we judge of the magistrate's wisdom.
Where the town-walls are left to decay, where piled in the foss lies
Rubbish in heaps, and filth encumbers the street,s of the city ;
Where stones part in the wall, and the yawning joint is repair'd not;
Where the timbers rot, and the tottering building in vain asks
New support from the wright ; that place is slothfully govern 'd.
For if order and neatness are not urged by the rulers.
Sloven and slow the burgher rests content in his meanness ;
Even as use accustoms the ragged coat to the beggar.
Therefore was it my wish that Herman should go on his travels
Now ere long, and visit at least both Strasburg and Frankfort,
Manheim also the gay with streets so open and friendly.
For who cities has seen, all great and splendid, he rests not,
But would his own town grace, though small it may be, in a like sort.
THE CITIZENS. 99
Does not the stranger admire our gateways neatly repaired
And, white-painted, the tow'r, and the churt-h restored so throughly?
Speak not all of the pavement well ? The runnels of water
Copious, covcr'd, distributed well, for use and for safety,
So that the ravage of fire may promptly be checkt in the outbreak,
All this, is it not new from the time of the terrible burning?
Six times I in the Coxmcil have served Director of Buildings,
And have received the cordial thanks of my excellent townsmen,
FoUow'd my own plans out with effect, and forwarded also
Schemes adopted of old and left unfinisht by others.
And so the love of improvement at last seiz'd all of the Council.
All are in earnest now, and already the line of the causey
Fully is fixt to be made which joins this place with the main-road.
But full sorely I fear our youth this temper inspires not ;
For some think but of pleasure and finery, whim of the moment,
Q 2
100 THALIA.
Others lounge in the house and idle close to the chimney, And, as I greatly fear, of such kind Herman will still be."
Then replied forthwith the good intelligent Mother : " Father, towards thy Son thou art ever unjust, and believe me 'Tis not so that thy wishes of good will e'er be aeeomplisht. For we cannot our children shape just as we would have them ; As they are given by God, e'en such must we take them and love them. Bring them up to the best of our power, and let them their course take. For one child is endowed with one gift, one with another ; E^ch must improve his own, and can but be in his own way Happy and good. Unfit is it thus to scold at my Herman, For full well he deserves whatever inheritance waits him. And a good man he will be, and a pattern to town and to country, Nor at the board of the Council the last, I tell you beforehand.
THE CITIZENS. ' 101
But thus, day after day, with scolding and finding of fault, thou Checkest his spirit and breakest his heart, as thou hast to-day done." And therewith she the chamber left, and after her Son went. Bent to find him wherever he was, and with words of aflFection Him to console ; for, ever a kind Son, well he deserv'd it.
Smiling said thereon, when she had vanisht, the Father : •' Troth ! strange folk the womankind are, as well as the children ! All must follow their oum course, all live after their liking. And we must praise them and pat their backs, to keep them in humour. And yet, once for all, that proverb is true of the old time : If a man goes not forward he back goes : that is the end on't."
Then in thoughtful guise thereto responded the Surgeon : " Willingly I to your notions assent, and still for my own part After improvements seek, which, not too dear, yet are novel.
102 THALIA.
But yet alack, what boots, if a man have not money in plenty,
Still to be busy and active, improving in-doors and out-doors !
We who depend on the town are sorely straiten'd, and though we
Know how things should be done, our purse is too weak to effect it ;
All too large the demands ; and thus are we hindered ever.
Much have I thought to do, but who shrinks not from the outlay
^Vhich such changes require, and in these perilous times too !
Long did my house, in its stylish array, greet, smiling, my pleas'd eye;
Long did the windows shine without compare with their large panes ;
But who can vie with the merchant, who not only has money
But knows best where the best can be had in every quarter?
Look at that opposite house, all new ! how gaily in white shows
On the pannels of green the flourisho<l pattern of stucco !
Large are the window-frames ; the panes like looking-glass glisten ;
Each other house in the Square of the Market is cast into shadow.
And yet after the fire were these two houses the best, the
THE CITIZENS. 103
Surgery known by the Angel, the Inn by the Golden Lion.
Then my garden too was in all the neighbourhood famous,
Every traveler stopt to look through the red palisado
At the beggars of stone, and the dwarf all painted in colours.
And when coffee I gave to a friend in the beautiful grotto,
Which stands now in my grounds, all dusty and nearly a ruin —
He, be sure, was pleas'd to remark the glistening splendour
Of the shell-work ; and even the connoisseur was delighted
As he gazed on the wall adorn'd vnth galena and coral.
And no less in the hall the paintings too were admired ;
Lords and ladies who, drest superbly, walk in a garden.
Holding bouquets forth in their slender delicate fingers.
But who looks at it now for a moment? out of conceit I
Scarce go thither, for all must now be changed and tasty
(Such is the phrase) with trellis of white and benches of plain wood.
All is simple and plain ; and all our carving and gilding
104 THALIA.
Valu'd no more ; and these foreign woods, how costly their price is !
Troth, no scruple have I, I would some novelties purchase.
And would move with the time, and oft my furniture alter.
But one still is afraid in a house to change e'en a small thing,
For where, where is the coin to be found for the numerous workmen?
Lately I thought in my mind I anew would gild the archangel
Michael, who of my shop is the sign ; and furbish the Dragon
"Which lies curl'd at his feet in folds all scaly and prickly ;
But I shall leave it brown as it is, afraid of the charges.
EUTERPE.
Talking thus the men went on with their converse, the Mother
Went meanwhile to seek her Son, in the front of the house first,
There on the settle of stone where his weU-aceustomed seat was.
When she found him not there, on went she, lookt in the stable.
If with the goodly team he himself had busied, the horses
Which he had bought as colts, and which he trusted to no man.
There the Groom told straight : " To the garden-ground he is gone forth.
Then the Dame past quick through the two long folds of the farm-yard,
Left the stable behind and the well-built stalls of the oxen.
Into the garden stept, that far to the walls of the city
106 EUTERPE.
Reacht, and through as she past, rejoic'd in the manifold grow'th that
Flourisht around ; and set to rights the props that supported
Branches laden with apples and bending boughs of the pear-tree,
And pickt worms from the wide-spread leaves of the vigorous colewort,
For no step is idly made by a provident housewife.
And so came she at last to the end of the spacious garden.
E'en to the harbour of woodbine woven, nor saw she her Son yet ;
Him she found not there, as she found him not in the garden.
But thereby the gate was ajar, that out of the arbour,
By an especial grace, through the wall of the city, the grandsire
Had in the old time broken, the honoiu-ed Burgomaster.
And so over the deep dry foss she easily on went,
Where hard on the road, the vineyard well-palisaded
Rose with a steeper path, its earthy slope to the sun turn'd.
That too clomb she up, and joy'd to see as she mounted
Clusters swelling, that scarce could hide in the shade of the green leaves.
MOTHER AND SON. 107
Shady the walk in the midst and overarcht with the vine-boughs, Where the path was of steps, of unhewn pieces of wood made. There the choice grapes bung, the Muscadell and the Noble, Reddening purple their hue, of largest sizes the berries. Planted all with care, to deck the dessert of the guests meant. But the rest of the slope was cloth'd with separate vine-plants. Bearing the smaller grape of which the excellent wine comes. Thus she upward went and joy'd in the thought of the vintage. And of the day when all the place, in festival uproar, Gathers and treads the grapes and fills the vats with the sweet must. Then comes eve, and from all sides and in every comer Fireworks crackle and blaze, the honours due to the vintage. Yet unquiet she went on still, when she had on her Son call'd Twice and thrice, and heard as oft but the voice of the Echo, Which from the city tow'rs, right talkative, readily answer'd. 'Twas so strange to have him to seek. He never would far go.
108 EUTERPE.
But still told her before, to save from anxious care the
Mind of his loving Mother, and from all fear of disaster.
But she hop'd on yet, to find him whither the road led,
For the gates, both that below and above, of the vineyard
Still were open. And so she stept on into the wide field
That with broader space slop'd down the back of the hill-ground.
Still she roamed on ground that was hers, and rejoiced in the sight of
Her own crops, and the ears of the corn that prosperous nodded
And fiU'd all the field with the sway of its golden waving.
On the green ridge between the furrows she walk'd on the foot- path, Kept in her eye the one great pear-tree, which on the hill top Stood, the boundary mark of the fields possest by her household. By whom planted, none could tell; it was in the place round Seen all far and wide, and noted the fruit of the tree was.
MOTHER .VND SON. 109
Under it the - reapers ate their meal at the midday, And the herdsmen there were wont in its shadow to tarry ; There they found them seats of naked stone or of greensward. And she erred not ; there sat her Herman and rested ; Sat on his elbows propt, as looking abroad at the country Outwards towards the hills ; his back was turnd to his Mother. Gently to him she stole, and lightly touched his shoulder. And he turned him quick : then saw she tears on his eyelids.
" Mother," he sadly said, " you take me thus by surprize :" and Hastily dried up his tears, the youth of generous feeling.
" How ! thou weepest, my Son !" replied quick touched the Mother ; "That is but ill like thee. Till now thus ne'er have I known thee. Say what load thus lies on thy heart? What drives thee alone thus Under the pear-tree to sit ; and what brings tears to thy eyelids ?"
1 10 EUTERPE.
And the excellent Youth coUeeted himself as he answer'd ; " Tndy no heart has he in his breast of iron who feels not Much for the lot of those, the men who are flying their country. No understanding has he who in times like these is devoid of Anxious fears for himself and cares for the weal of his country. AMiat I to-day have seen and heard has touched my heart deep, And now came I forth and saw this beauteous >vide-spread Landscape, hills on fruitful hills all rising around us ; Saw hill nod to hill with the golden heads of the corn-field. And the orchard promise abundant store for the chamber. But yet, alas, how near is the foe ! The waves of the Rhine-stream Guard us still, it is true ; but what are rivers or mountains In the way of that terrible people that comes like a tempest ; They who gather together the young from every quarter, And the old with the young, and fierce press on ; and the strong host Fears not the face of death, and army crowds upon army.
MOTHER AND SON. Ill
And amid times like these can a German rest in his homestead? Hope perhaps to shun the struggle that menaces all men? Nay, dear Mother, from this day forth umwelcome to me 'tis That I excus'd have just now been, when out of our townsmen Those who should war were chosen by lot. 'Tis true I alone am Now as your son, and large is our hostel, and weighty the home-work ; But were it not a far worthier course to combat beforehand There at the frontier's line, than here wait slavery's coming ? Yea, my spirit replies that it is ! In the depth of my bosom Springs up courage and strong desire, in the cause of my country Active to live and to die, and to give an example to others. O, were but the strength of the German youth at the frontier Gather'd and banded in firm resolve not to yield to the Stranger, Ne'er would they with destructive feet on the beauteous soil tread, And consume in the sight of our eyes the fruit of the dear land, And make slaves of the men, and prey of the wves and the maidens !
112 EUTERPE.
Mother, I tell you my thought ; deep fixt in my heart the resolve is Quickly and surely to do what seems most fitting and worthy, For who ponders long, he takes not always the best course. Mother, I turn not back to the house. From hence I go onwards Straightway into the town, and offer at once to the war-host This my arm and my heart to work my Fatlierland's service. Ask my Father, then, if no strong feeling of honour Beats in this bosom of mine, and no desire of distinction."
Then considerate said the good intelligent Mother, Shedding silent tears that readily sprang to her eyelids : " Son, what is it which thus has chang'd thy temper and nature, That to thy Mother no more thou speakest, as ever in past days, Frank and open, and tellest at once the aim of thy wishes? Did a third person hear thee talk, no doubt he would praise thee Warmly, and speak of thy purposed course as nobly resolv'd on,
MOTHER AND SON. 113
Mov'd by thy grave discourse and by thy vehement speeches. But I praise thee not ; for ah I much better I know thee. Thou concealest thy heart, and different thoughts in thy breast are. For I know thou feel'st no call in the drum and the trumpet, Nor desir'st in the soldier's garb to dazzle the maidens. Thy vocation it is, though brave and fearless thou still wert. Household cares to pursue and quiet to watch o'er the field-work. Tell then truly to me what moves thee to thy intention."
Serious answer'd the Son : " You err, ray Mother ; for one day Is not just as another. The youth moves onward to manhood ; Better perhaps he ripens for act in silence than in the Whirl of a turbident life where youth too often is tainted. And though quiet I was and am, yet still in my bosom Form'd is a heart that deeply loathes all wrong and injustice ; Nor do I want for skill in human affairs to distinguish.
H
114 EUTERPE.
Labour has made my arm and foot right steady and active,
All that I am is true ; so much I boldly can challenge. —
And yet rightly, O Mother, you blame, and siu-ely have caught me
Using half-true words, and half my purpose dissembling.
For I must own perforce, 'tis not the danger that calls me
Forth of the house of my Father, and not the lofty intention
Aid to bring to my Fatherland and terrour to foemen.
These were words alone which I utter'd ; meant to conceal the
Feelings lodg'd in my heart, which tear my bosom asunder.
And so hear me. Mother ! For since vain wishes I foster
Deep in my breast, let my life as a blank run on to its ending.
For right well do I know : the sole man iiyures himself still.
Who devotes himself when all join not in the purpose."
" Now, my Son, proceed," replied the intelligent Mother ; " All to me relate ; the greatest thing and the smallest.
MOTHER AND SON. 115
For menfolk are hasty and hot, and think but of one thing,
And so, soon are stopt in the course, when hinderance rises.
But a woman has wit to find out ways, and can often.
Taking a round about path arrive at the point that she aims at.
Tell me then all, wherefore thou art so easily moved
As saw I never before, and why the blood in thy veins boils,
And thy eyes fill with tears, that start in spite of thy wishes."
Then the good Youth abandon'd himself to his grief and he wept out, Wept loud there on the breast of his Mother ; and softened spake forth : " O 'tis true ! my Father's speech has wounded me deeply, Never deserved by me, not now, nor ever in time past; For to honour my parents still with me was a chief point. No one seem'd to me wiser and better than they who had taught me. Whose grave bidding had guided the dim soft thoughts of my childhood. Ofttimes mischievous tricks have I patiently borne of my playmates,
h2
116 EUTERPE.
When they bore me a grudge which 1 had never provoked.
Ofttimes pelting and kicks I took nor cared to avenge them.
But if they once at my Father laught, when he on a Sunday
Out of the church came forth with grave and leisurely paces,
Laught at his bordered cap, or jeer'd at liis flowered night-gown.
(Which so stately he wore, and which wc parted to-day with,)
Fiercely soon my fist was clencht. With terrible wrath I
Headlong on them rusht, and smote and struck in my blind rage,
Caring not for the rest. They howl'd with bloodied faces
And scarce 'scaped from the kicks and tlie blows that I in my ire gave.
And thus up I grew. And much I bore of my Father,
Who for want of another would vent his rage upon me oft,
When he vext came home with what had past at the Council,
And I paid for the wrangling mood and the quirks of his colleagues.
Ofttimes you have been grieved for me ; for much I put up with,
Bearing still in my thoughts the thanks we owe to our parents,
MOTHER AND SON. 117
Who think but to increase for us their goods and their havings.
And deprive themselves, to spare the more for their children.
But alas ! not sparing alone for future enjoyment
Makes men happy ; nor yet heap largely piled upon heap, nor
Acre added to acre, though all be rounded so fairly.
For old grows the father, and up to manhood the sons grow,
Void of the joy of the day and full of the care of the morrow.
Tell me : Look now forth, how fair and beauteous lie the
Fertile fields before us, and vines and gardens beneath them;
Bams and stables there, a goodly range of possessions.
But there too I the house-top see, and there in the gable
Peeps the window forth of my small room in the house-roof.
Back as I look and think of the time, how many a night I
There have watcht for the morn, and watcht in the mom for the sunrise,
When sleep, healthy and sound, for a few short hours has sufficed me.
1 18 EUTERPE.
Then 80 alone I feel ! and like my own little lonesome Chamber, all around, farm-yard and garden and corn-field. All seems lone and void. I feel the need of a partner."
Thereto answered straight the good intelligent Mother : " Son, not more yearn'st thou thy bride to lead to thy chamber, That the night may be the fairer half of thy life-day, And thy daily toil may freer and more for thyself be, Than thy Father desires and thy Mother. We ever have giv'n thee This advice, yea importuned, to choose thee a partner. But right well do I know, and this is a truth that my heart tells, 'Till the right hour comes, and till, disclos'd at the moment. Comes the right maid forth, the power of choice is afar off, And the fear to take the wrong still holds us in bondage. Shall I tell thee, my Son ? thy choice, I deem, is e'en now made ;
MOTHER AND SON. 119
For thy heart is toucht and sensitive more than its wont is. Speak it forth outright. My mind already has told me ; She — that exile Maid it is, thy fancy is fixt on."
" Yes, dear Mother, you say it," the fond Son livelily answer'd, Yes, it' is she. And, comes she not as bride to my homestead This day, forth she fares, to me for ever is vanisht. In the whirl of the war, amid courses that this way and that run. Mother, in vain it will then be that wealthy possessions Thrive in my sight ; in vain will years bring plenteous harvests. E'en the accustomed house and the garden will seem to me irksome, Yea, and even a Mother's love no longer will cheer me. For all ties by Love, too well I feel it, are loosen'd When he twines us round; and not the Maiden alone leaves Father and mother behind, when she to the man of her choice goes; Even the Youth, too. knows no more of father and mother.
120 EUTERPE.
When the Maid that alone he can love, is gone and for ever. Let me then, let me then go the course despondency marks out ; For my Sire said words by which my fate is decided ; And his house is no house for me, since he on the Maiden Shuts the door, whom alone I desire to lead to my homestead."
Straightway then replied the good intelligent Mother : " Yea now, thus men stand like rocks in hard opposition ! Proud and stiff, not one will make an approach to the other, Nor be the first to mould his tongue to language of kindness. Therefore I tell thee. Son : still lives firm lodg'd in my bosom Hope, he will make her, be she but good and true, thy betrothed. Poor though she be, and though he so sternly spoke against poor maids. For he says many a thing in his warm impetuous manner Which yet never he does ; and gives what at first he refused. But for this he must have good words, and 'tis right he should have them ;
MOTHER AND SON. 121
For he thy Father is ! We know too that after the meal 'tis
That he is hot, speaks promptly and strongly, and others' opinions
Treats with slight ; for the juice of the grape then stimulates freely
AD the springs of his ^vill, nor will he mark with attention
What is said, himself he feels and listens too only.
But the evening then comes on ; and the lively discussions
Which he has with his friends at length are thoroughly gone through.
Then he is milder, as I well know, when the fervour is over.
And he feels the wrong he has done in his vehement moments.
Come let us take our chance ; what is fresh resolved succeeds best,
And we have need of the friends, who now at his table assembled
Sit, and the worthy Pastor there will especially help us."
Thus she cheerfully spoke, and rising up from the stone, drew Also the Son from his seat, not unpleas'd following. Both went Silent back on the way their weighty purpose revolving.
POLYHYMNIA.
Cde Cttijm of tfie ^iiaorlD.
But mean time those Three still sat conversing together,
There at the board of the host, with the man of Religion, the Surgeon ;
And the train of discourse was still the same as it first was
This way and that pursued, and flowing in many a winding ;
And, of right thoughts full, that excellent Minister thus spoke :
" I gainsay you not. I know it is well that a man should Ever aim at the Better ; and as we see, he aspires still Higher and higher to reach, at least he seeks what is Novel. But go not too far. For join'd with feelings of such sort
THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD. 123
Nature gave us, too, the love of abiding in old things, And to enjoy that beat to which each long is accustom'd. Each condition is good that conforms to truth and to reason. Man has desire for much, and yet he has need but of little ; For full brief is time, and the lot of mortals is bounded. Ne'er blame I the man, who bold, energetic and active. Traversing all the roads of the land and the paths of the ocean, Fearless and restless, seeks and eiyoys the gain that he finds there. While the rich heaps accumulate still round him and his household. But him, too, I esteem no less, though quiet his course be, Who with tranquil footsteps treads the field he inherits, And as the circling hours direct, his cares to the earth gives. Not to him with each year does the ground a varying face wear, Nor does the tree, new-planted, forthwith spread toward heaven Branching arms profuse, with blossoms richly adorned. No ; he has need of a patient mind ; nor less has he need of
124 POLYHYMNIA.
Clear, calm, steady sense, and sound and right understanding ;
For but few are the seeds he may trust to the fostering furrow.
Few are the brutes that he knows to nurture with profit and increase ;
^V^lile the Useful alone engages the thoughts of his mind still.
Happy to whom a mind so moulded is given by nature !
He 'tis feeds us all. And hail to the Burgher in rural
To%vn, who joins the work of the field with the trade of the city !
He feels not the stress which wrings and fetters the farmer;
Nor is beguiled by desires, in towns ambitiously foster'd,
After the Richer and Higher to strain, though scanty the means be.
For such still is the wont, and most, of the wives and the maidens.
Therefore constantly bless the tranquil spirit your Son bears,
And the Mate whom hereafter he may, like tempered, choose him."
Thus spoke he. Just then with the Son there enter'd the Mother Treading him in by the hand, and plac'd him in front of her Husband :-
THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD. 125
" Father, how often have we discoura'd, as we chatted together,
Of that joyful day, we tnisted hereafter should come, when
Herman should gladden our hearts by fixing his choice on a partner.
Backwards and forwards we went in our minds, now this and now that maid
Settled as fit to be his ; fond talk, as the wont is of parents.
Now that day — it is come ; now heaven has led to him hither.
And to his eyes presented his bride, and his heart has decided.
Said we not still, in that past time, he should for himself choose ?
Didst not thou wish ever, he might a lively affection
Feel for the maid, whoever she was ? And now is the hour come !
Yes, he has felt and has chosen, and come to a manly decision.
She it is, that stranger jVIaid, who accosted him lately.
Give her to him, or he will, so he says, in singleness live on."
And the Son, too, said : " Give her to me. Father ! my heart has Clearly and surely spoke ; She most deserves to be your child."
126 POLYnYMNIA.
But the Father was mute. Then quick the Minister rose up, Took the discourse and said : " 'Tis a moment's turn which determines How man's life shall take its course, and the whole of his fortunes : For when long he has ponder'd, still is each resolution Only the instant's work, and none but the Wise takes the right lot. 'Tis for us more perilous far when we in our choosing Pause on this and on that, the soul's clear tenour perplexing. Herman's heart is clear ; I know him from earliest youth ; he E'en as a boy, reacht not with his hands towards this thing and that thing. That he desir'd which was fitting for him, and fast then he held it. Start not and be not amazed, that now comes suddenly forward What you have wisht so long. In sooth, it may be, the event now Bears not the form of the wish you cherisht so long in your bosom. For our wishes themselves hide from us the thing that we wish for. Blessings come from above and take their own form in their visit. Fail you not to see this, in the Maid who first and alone has
THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD. 127
Touched the heart in the breast of your good intelligent Herman.
Happy is he who, spared from delay, mns the hand of his first love !
Whose heart's dearest wish pines not in his bosom in secret.
Yes : right well do I see, e'en now his lot is decided.
For true liking soon the youth complete to the man forms.
Fickle his temper is not ; I fear if this you deny him
All the fairest years of his life will joyless away pass."
Then, too, utter'd his mind in weighty manner the Surgeon : — Eager to speak, the words already had long on his lips been : — " This time, too, let us choose a midway course as the wisest. Use good speed with good heed ! the motto of Caesar Augu.stus. I full willingly try to neighbours to make myself useful, And to employ for their good use my poor understanding ; And to the young in especial, a graver guidance is needful. Let me go to the place ; I will the worth of the Maid learn ;
128 POLYHYxMNIA.
^\'ill her repute inquire among those who have liv'd with and known her, 'Tis not easy on me to impose; I the value of words know."
Then too utter'd his mind the Son in quick-flowing accents : " Do this, neighbour, and go and inform you. — But I could wish too Our good Pastor here might in your companj' travel : Two so excellent men are witnesses safe from exception. O my Father ! 'tis, be sure, no runaway damsel. None who roves the country round in search of adventures. And deludes with her wiles unwary youth who accost her. No ; the chance of war, involving all in its ruin, Ravaging all the world, and tearing up from its strong base Many a lofty fane, has this poor soul ilrivcn homeless. Are not nobles of lofty descent in misery roving. Princes flying disguised and sovereigns living in exile ? — Yea ; thus, alas ! she too, of all her sisters the best, is
THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD. 129
Out of her land expelled; and, her own sorrow forgetting,
Is the support of others, and, e'en when destitute, helpful.
Great are the wailing and wo that o'er Earth's surface are spreading;
Should some stroke of good, too, not come out of the evil ?
And may not I, in the arms of my bride, the wife I confide in,
Joy at the histori'd war, as you at the tale of the burning?"
Then the Father replied, his lips with gravity op'ning : — " How is it. Son, that thy tongue thus is loos'd, which for so many years has StiU in thy mouth been chain'd, itself so scantily moving? Must I to-day bear that which so oft is the lot of a father : That the son's self-will the mother, all too indulgent. Favours with helpful hand; and neighbours all in agreement Side with them in the push that is made on the father and husband ? But, all join'd as you are, I resist you not ; 'twere of small use ; For full well do I see there is pouting and weeping in prospect.
I
130 POLYHYMNIA.
Gro in the name of heaven, and inquire, and bring me this daughter, Home ; and if this suit not, let him think no more of the Maiden."
Thus the Father. The Son then cried with joy in his gestures : " Ere nightfall, the best of daughters is doom'd to be jours yet, Such as a man would desire whose feelings are right in his bosom. She, good Maiden, too will be happy, for so I may well hope ; Yes ; she will ever be grateful to me, who again have restor'd her Father and Mother in you ; and such as the wisest of children Most would wish. But I linger no more ; I harness the horf4es Straight, and carry our friends to track the course of the lov'd Maid, Leave them there to themselves; to their own sagacity trust them, Guide myself, I give you my oath, entirely by their rede. And see not the Maiden again until she mine own is." And so forth did he go, and meanwhile much did the others Wi.sely pondering speak, the grave theme quickly discussing.
THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD. 131
Hasted Herman straight to the stalls, where the spirited horses Quiet stood, and quickly the grained provender ate up. And the well-dried hay, on the best of the meadows produced. Speedily then in their mouths, the bit, all bright, he inserted, Drew with practised hands the straps through the silvery buckles, Firmly fasten'd the leathern length of the reins to the head-gear, Led the horses into the fold, where ready the groom had Now drawn forward the car, by the pole it easily moving. Firmly then they two to the car, with the leathern traces, Bound the vigorous force of the fleet impetuous horses. Herman grasped the whip, took his seat, drove under the gateway. And when the friends in the roomy recess had taken their places Speedily rolled the car, and left behind it the pav'd road, Left behind the walls of the town and the txurets of smooth stone. Quickly did Herman drive to the well-remembered causey, Pausing not, but up-hill and down-dale driving with like speed.
IS
132 POLYHYMNIA.
But when he now once more the tow'r of the \nllage espied. And not afar off now lay the houses, garden-encircled, Thoughtful he in his mind rein'd in the powerful horses.
By the reverend gloom of tall limes shadily shelter'd. In that place already many a century rooted. Lay, with sward well-clothed, a broad and spacious green spot. Close to the village, a field for the games of the neighbouring ct)untry. HoUow'd below the ground a well lay under the lime-trees; \Vhen you the steps went down, appear'd there benches of hewn stone Round the source disposed where live floods constantly well'd forth. Neat, with a low wall girt, well fitted for those that would draw there. Herman here had resolved, beneath this shadow, the horses With the car to detain. This straightway did he, and thus spoke : " Now descend from the car, my friends, and go and inform you Whether the Maiden merit the hand that 1 would to her offer.
THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD. 133
Doubtless I so do think. To me not sudden nor strange 'twere.
Had I alone to proceed, I quickly had gone to the village,
And the good Maid with a few short words had my destiny fixed.
Her ye will soon discern full easily out of the number.
For in figure with her to compare ye find not another.
But yet more ; I will tell by her neat dress how ye shall know her.
For her belt of red sets off, round- swelling, her bosom,
Tightly drawn ; well-Iac'd to her shape her black boddice close fits ;
And from within its rim, all spotless, rises in small plaits
Under her fair round chin, the linen's gauzier texture ;
Frank and bright looks forth the oval head from its border.
And large tresses manifold twine the bodkin of silver ;
Blue from beneath her belt her skirt falls downwards in long folds,
And plays round her well-tum'd ankles still in her going.
But this one thing say I to you, and specially ask for ;
Hold no speech with the Maid, nor let her know of your purpose.
134 POLYHYMNIA.
But of the others inquire, and all hear that they can tell you, And when enough ye have learnt to content my Father and Mother Come to me hither again, and what remains we will see to. Such is the plan I have fixt in my thoughts as hither we travel'd."
Thus spoke he. The Friends, thereon, Avent into the village. WTiere in gardens and sheds and in houses, the crowds of the wand'rers Swarmed, and carts on carts quite fill'd the whole of the broad street. Tliere men tended the lowing kine and the horse at the waggon. Women on every hedge spread clothes to dry in the breezes, Children sported and splasht in the stream that ran by the highway. Pressing then amid carts, through throngs of men and of cattle, Lookt all round to the right and the left those Spies on their mission. If they perchance the form might see, as describ'd, of the Maiden ; But the well-turn'd shape and the dress no where were apparent. Soon they the crowd yet denser found ; for there was, at the wains, a
THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD. 135
War of words of the men, and therein mixt them the women Screaming. Then came near with dignified paces an Old Man, Went the brawlers among, and straight subsided the uproar, As he exhorted to peace, and rebuked with fatherly sharpness. " Has not yet," he cried, " distress so bound us together That we have all by this time learnt the lore of forbearance. And to have patience, e'en if our neighbour slip in his going ? What if the prosperous man is intolerant! Has not misfortune Taught us better, and told us not to strive with a brother? Make for each other room on the stranger's soil, and together Share such goods as you have, as you hope for pity from others I"
Thus spoke he ; and they stood mute all, and with mutual yielding Order'd their kine and their wains, those once more mollified wand'rers. When the Minister now had heard the discourse of the Old Man, And the tranquil spirit perceiv'd of this Judge of the Strangers,
136 POLYHYMNIA.
Unto him straight he went, and thus significant words spoke : —
" Father, in truth when a people long a prosperous life leads.
Feeding itself from the earth, that pours its bounty on all sides,
And with the years and the months renews the gifts that are lookt for,
All goes on of itself, and each to himself is the wisest,
Each is the best; and all men then are mingled together.
And the most prudent of men is thought of just as another.
For then affairs run smooth, and all a matter of course seems.
But when the waters of wo come forth, and break up the highways.
Tear the strong house down, and swirl through garden and corn-field.
Drag both woman and man forth out of the customed dwelling.
Drive them through the drear wide world for many a sad day :
Ah I then men look round for him who has most imderstanding,
And no more does he utter in vain the accents of wisdom.
Tell me. Father, — ^ye are, no doubt, a Judge among these men
Who thus travel, — ^ye who their minds so speedily calmed.
THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD. 137
Yea, ye appear to me as one of the Leaders of old time,
Who through wand'rings and wastes long guided a nation of exiles ;
And I could think that I am with Moses or Joshua talking."
And thereto the Judge with serious look said in answer: — " Well may our time, in truth, be compared with ages of wonder. With the most strange that profane or sacred history speaks of. For who, in these our times, has Yesterday but and To-day liv'd Has through long years lived ; events so are crowded together ! If I a space look back, me seems as ancient and hoary Years were laid on my head, though my life has the vigour of manhood. We, of a truth, with those of ancient days may compare us Who in the burning bush, in the hour of dread visitation. Saw their God ; we too have seen him in fire and in tempest."
When the Minister now to more discourse was inclined,
138 POLYUYMNIA.
And would hear the tale of the man and of those who were with him,
Privately thus in his ear his busy companion whisper'd :
" Speak thus on with the Judge, and lead the discourse to the Maiden.
Meantime I go alone, to seek her forth ; and return here
Back, when her I have found." Thereto the Minister nodded,
And through hedges and gardens and sheds past on the Explorer.
CLIO.
When the Man of Religion had askt the Judge of the Strangers
What his people had suffer'd and when they from home driven forth were,
Thereto answer'd the man : — " Not brief has our story of wo been ;
For we have drunk, through year upon year, the bitters of sorrow,
Bitterer too for us, who mourned the fairest of hopes crost.
For what man now thinks to deny that higher his heart swell'd,
That his breast breathed freer and beat with loftier pulses.
When he saw the first bright gleam of the sun that was rising;
When we heard of the Rights of Man that are common to all men.
Freedom's sacred flame, and fair Equality's precepts !
140 CLIO.
Each man thought he should live for himself henceforth ; and the fetters
Seem'd to be loosed for aye, that had bound full many a fair land.
Where the chain was held in the grasp of Greed and of Idless.
Lookt not nations then, in the days of rising emotion.
Towards that city, so long the world's great capital deemed,
And now more than before that lofty title deserving?
And were not those men, who the heralds of coming events were.
Names not less than the first that beneath the stars are inscribed ?
Rose not each man's soul and his speech at the call of the epoch ?
" We, near neighbours, caught full soon the contagious fervour, Then the war began : and the armed hosts of the Frenchmen Nearer prest ; yet still they seem'd but friendship to bring us. And they brought it in truth ; for their souls all were exalted ; And with exulting joy they the Tree of Liberty planted. Promising all should their own possess, should be their own rulers.
THE TIMES. 141
High then joyed the young in their hope, high joyed the aged. And round the new-raised banner the gay dance livelily wheeled. And thus soon they won, those Frenchmen ever incroaching. First the minds of the men with their bold and vigorous projects, Then the hearts of the fair with the witching grace of their manner. Light to us seem'd then e'en war's importunate pressure,
For in the distance far, hope's hues play'd gaily before us,
Tempted our eager looks through yet unvisited pathways.
" O how sweet is the time, when join'd, the bride and the bride- groom Whirl in the dance, expecting the blissful day of espousal ! But yet fairer the time seem'd then, when the loftiest objects Which man shapes in his mind show'd near and ready for grasping. Loosened then was the tongue of all : then utter'd the aged Utter'd the man and the stripling alike high thoughts and aspirings.
142 CLIO.
" But the sky was soon overcast. A vile generation Strove for the mastery, barren of good and greedy of lucre. Miu-derers one of another, and foul oppressors of new-made Brothers in neighbouring lands, they sent a ravenous host forth. Then on large scale rcvel'd and robbed among us the Leaders. While, to the least things down, the small folk revel'd and robbed. Each seem'd only to care how spoil might remain for the morrow. Then was the stress too heavy to bear, and daily the grief grew ; But they were deaf to the cry of the wrong'd ; they were lords of the moment. Then even calm minds burned with indignation and anger ; Each man swore to avenge, and sought but the method of vengeance ; Sought to requite the wrong of fair hopes doubly deceived. And now fortune turned, and shone on the side of the Germans, And with march reversed the Frenchmen hastily back fled. Ah, then first we felt war's dire calamity grind us ! For the victor is great and good ; at least in his seeming ;
THE TIMES. 143
And he spares the vanquished man as though he his own were. While from him and his goods he daily reaps his advantage. But the flying man owns no law; — shuns death for the moment. And destroys and wastes with no regard of the future. Then too his soul is sour'd ; and dark despair in his anguish Out of his heart's abyss each wild atrocity drags forth. Nought is sacred or pure in his eyes. His lust on the woman Rushes with violent hand, and desire is mingled with horror. Death is on every side ; he enjoys what moments are left him, Grimly rejoices in blood, and exults in misery's bowlings.
" Then did our men conceive the stern resolve in their bosoms, That to avenge which was lost, and that to defend which remained. All then ran to arms, by the fugitive hurry invited Seen in the foe, and his visage pale, and his timorous glances. Loud and ceaseless pealed the sound of alarm from the belfry.
144 CLIO.
Wrath its work began, nor paused with fear of the future.
Soon was the peaceful gear of the plowman chang'd into arms of
War /ind death ; the scythe and the fork all ruddy with blood show'd.
Frequent fell the foe, without or pity or sparing ;
Every where rag'd ire, and the spite of cowardly weakness.
Never again may it be my lot, thus basely degraded
Man to behold ! a fairer sight the beast in his rage is.
Ne'er let him liberty claim, as to govern himself he were fitted,
Fierce unbound comes forth, when once restraint is removed,
All that is worst, and law shrinks scared into a comer."
" Excellent man !" thereto the Pastor with emphasis answer'd, " If you of man think ill, yet therefore cannot I blame you ; For full sore you have felt what flows from his vice and his madness ! Yet would ye but your eye cast back through the days of your sorrow Ye would yourself confess how oft ye have somewhat of good seen ;
THE TIMES. 145
Many a virtue which deep had lain conceal'd in the bosom, Had not danger its force call'd forth, and necessity urg'd man Till he appears as a god, the guardian angel of others."
Smiling then that ancient Judge with dignity answer'd : — " Shrewdly you bring to my thought that oft when the homestead is burnt
down, Men the disconsolate owner remind of gold and of silver, Melted down in the fire and buried in masses of rubbish. Small is the treasure in truth, yet is it a precious treasure, And the impoverisht man digs for it, and joys to have found it. And so turn I gladly my cheerfuUer musing to those few Deeds of worthier sort which now my memory offers. Yes ; — I deny it not ; — I have seen reconcilement of foemen Join'd to rescue the state from its ills ; I have seen among friends too. Seen among parents and children, the love that essays what is hopeless ;
K
146 CLIO.
Seen how the stripling at once to the man grows ; seen how the aged
Grow to be young again, and the strong youth comes in the child forth.
Yea, and the weaker sex, as men are accustomed to term it,
Shows itself bold and mighty and filled with presence of spirit.
And here let me, before all others, the fairest of deeds tell,
Which with a noble courage was wrought by a virtuous INIaiden,
Who was left in our village alone with the rest of the damsels ;
For the whole of the men to face the foemen were gone forth.
Then swept into the town a troop of reprobate rabble
Bent on plunder, and broke their way to the place of the women.
There they saw the form of the fair anil womanly Maiden,
And of the lovely damsels, rather as children to speak of.
Then were they filled with foul desires; and callous to pity
Fierce on the trembling fiock and the liigh-soul'd Maiden they darted.
But from the side of one forthwith she snatched the sabre,
Smote him with strong arm down ; in his blood be down at her feet fell.
THE TIMES. 147
Then with vigorous strokes she, daring, rescued the damsels,
Sraote yet four of the ruffians band ; they fled for their lives forth ;
Then she barred the close, and, arm^d, waited for succour."
When the Minister now had heard the praise of the Maiden, Mounted a hope for the love of his Friend in the depth of his bosom, And already he thought to inquire, what further had hapt her; If she were still on her way in the wretched throng of the exiles.
But just then came up with rapid motion the Surgeon, Toucht the Minister's elbow, and said to him words in a whisper : — " Well ! I at last the Maiden have found, out of so many hundreds By the description known ! With your own eyes come and behold her ; And bring with you the Judge, that we may hear of her further." And they turned them round, but the Judge was called away then By his people, needful of counsel, who sought bis assistance.
K 2
148 CLIO.
But the Minister straight pursued the steps of the Surgeon
Unto the breach in the hedge, and he there cunningly pointed.
" See you," he said, " the Maideh ? The bantling has she enfolded ;
And I recognize well the ancient gowii, and the bright blue
Covers of sofa-seats, by Herman brought in his bundle ;
Speedily, troth, and well, she has dispos'd of the present.
These be certain tokens, and thereto answer the rest all:
For her belt of red sets off, round-swelling, her bosom
Tightly drawn; well lac'd to her shape her black boddice close fits;
And from within its rim, all sjjotlcss, rises in small plaits
Under her fair round chin, the linen's gauzier texture ;
PVank and bright looks forth the oval head from its border.
And large tresses manifold twine the bodkin of silver ;
Her though sitting we see, her tall fair form we can measure,
And the skirt of blue, too, plaited fidl at her girdle.
Bravely down to her well-turn'd ancles spreads with its large folds.
THE TIMES. 149
Doubtless she it is. Come therefore and let us inform us If she be good ; a maiden fit for a virtuous household."
Then the Pastor, scanning the Maid with his look as she sat there : — •' Truly 1 wonder not that the Youth was smit with the Maiden ; For full well she the scrutiny bears of the man who has much seen. Happy to whom kind Natiu-e, our Mother, a beautiful form gives ! lliat commends him to all, and no where is he a stranger. Willingly each comes nigh him, and willingly lingers beside him If with the graceful form are gracious manners conjoined. Trust me in this, the Youth in her has found him a maiden Who can spread a radiant joy o'er the rest of his life-time. And stand by him with womanly strength through every season. Yea, so perfect a form insures us, doubtless the soul, too. Pure, and the vigour of youth gives happiest promise of ripe age."
150 CLIO.
And thereto with thoughtful manner answer'd the Surgeon " Yet does the seeming deceive full often ! I trust not the outside ; For how oft have I found the usual proverb confirmed: — Till thou hast eaten a bushel of salt with a new-made acquaintance, May'st thou not trust to him fully ; time only can surely instruct thee How thou standest with him, and how far firm is the friendship. — Therefore first let us take our account from sensible people Who the Maiden have known, and who can tell us about her."
" I your thoughtfulness praise ;" assenting the Minister answer'd ; " Not for ourselves we choose ; 'tis a grave thing choosing for others." And thereon they forwards to meet the excellent Judge went, Who, engag'd in his cares, came up the street of the village. And to him the Pastor said with provident caution : " Tell us ; for we have a Maiden observed, close by in the garden. Who sits under the tree, and clothing makes for the children
THE TIMES. 151
Of a vestment of cotton, to her, we conjecture, presented.
Much are we ta'en with her form ; she looks so active and kindly.
Tell us what of her you know; we ask with a laudable purpose."
And when now the Judge nigh came to the garden and looked. Said he : " That Maid already you know ; for when I the tale told Of the noble deed perform'd by the vigorous Maiden, How she laid hand on the sword and freed herself and her damsels. This was she ! Ye see by her look she is healthily formed. Nor more active than good ; long care of her ancient relation Took she, till that he died, hence swept by harassing sorrow Felt for the ills of the state and peril that threaten'd his fortune. Then too with calm emotion she bore the pain that she deep felt At her bridegroom's death, a noble youth, who incited By the first glow of his ardent mind to combat for freedom, Went on his way toward Paris, and soon a violent death found, —
152 CLIO.
For he there, as at home, still warr'd against guile and oppression."
Thus the ancient Judge. The two then thankt him in parting ;
And the Priest drew a gold piece forth ; (the store of his silver
Was some hours before all spent by him in his pity
When he the fugitives saw pass by on their sorrowful journey ;)
And to the Magistrate gave he the coin, saying : " Take and bestow ye
This my mite on the needy, and God add worth to the bounty ! "
But the man refus'd it, and thus said : " We of ourselves have
Many a crown which we saved, and much of goods and of clothing ;
And I trust we return to our home ere all is expended."
Then the Pastor replied, and prest the gold in his hand still: — " In these days let none delay to give, and let no one Shrink to receive such offering as by compassion is tender'd. None knows how long is his, what he now possesses in quiet ; None, how long he may still be in foreign countries a wand'rer
THE TIMES. 153
Far from the field and the garden to which he lookt for subsistence."
" Yea now," said thereon with busy demeanour the Surgeon, " Had I but coin in my purse to you had I willingly given it, Great and small, for doubtless many are with you that need it. Yet ungifted I leave you not, that ye of a goodwill See the token, although the deed with the will correspond not." Thus the Surgeon spoke, and drew the embroidered pouch out Forth by the strings, wherein he carefidly kept his tobacco, Open'd it in due form, and therein was a scanty supply found. " Small is the gift," he said, as he shared it. Answ'ring the Judge said " Yet is the fragrant weed to the traveller never unwelcome." And the Surgeon prais'd what he gave as genuine Knaster.
But the Pastor drew him away, and they quitted the Judge then. "Haste we!" said that thoughtful man ; "for the young man is waiting
154 CLIO.
Anxious. To him be oui* joyful tidings quickly reported."
And they hasted, and came and found the Youth as he leaned,
Under the lime-trees against the carriage. The horses were stamping
All impatient the sod ; but he stood thoughtfully musing,
Holding the rein ; and forward looking, saw not the friends till
They, nigh moving, called his name and signal of joy made.
Aud at a distance began already the Surgeon his story ;
But still nearer they stept ; and then the Minister graspt him
Fast by the hand and spoke, and took the discourse from his partner :
" Hail, young Man, to thee ! Thy eye is true, and thy heart too Truly has chosen. May joy on thee and the wife of thy youth be ! Worthy she is of thee. Come tiu*n. then that way the carriage. That by its aid we may reach fortliwith the side of the village, And to the good Maid sue, that she with us back to thy house come."
THE TIMES. 155
But the Youth stood there, and gave no token of pleasure When he the Envoy heard speak words of joy and of comfort. Deep he sighed and said : " We came here rapidly driving, But ashamed perhaps and slow it is ours to return hence. For since here I stand, dark Cares have fallen upon me, Doubt and Suspicion, and all that racks the breast of a lover. Think ye, soon as we come the Maid will follow us straightway, For that we are rich, and she is poor and an exile ? Poverty makes men proud, when undeserved ; and active Seems the Maid and calm, and so the world is before her. Think ye, such as she is, with such a form and demeanour. She to woman has grown, nor drawn the eyes of a suitor ? Think ye that till this time her heart to love has been closed ? Drive not hastily on ; perhaps in shame and confusion Must we the team lead slowly home. For surely I fear me Some one youth has already her heart's affection obtained,
156 CLIO.
And to some fortunate man her hand and her troth she has plighted ; Then stand I in shame with my proposal before her !"
And the Minister open'd his mouth, as prompt to console him, But in his talkative sort the Surgeon took up the converse : • Truly in ancient days had no such trouble assaii'd us, For in its due course then each thing was fitly arranged. Soon as a bride for the son the father and mother had lookt out, First some friend of the house was confidentially calld in ; Then this friend, as an Envoy, forth was sent to the parents Of the selected bride ; and he, arrayed in full-dress, ^'isited after dinner, belike on a Sunday, tlie father ; First on general matters in friendly converse engaging, And well skilled to guide the discourse in devious channel ; Led to thus, was somewhat said in ])raisc of the daughter, Somewhat, too, in praise of the man and the house that had sent him.
THE TIMES. 157
Shrewd folks markt the end that was sought; and shrewdly the Envoy
Markt the hearers' thoughts, and then could further declare him.
Was the offer declined ? No soreness brought the refusal.
But an if the event was good, be sure that the Envoy
First guest was in the house at household festivals ever.
For the wedded pair remembered ever their life long
That his skilful hand had first the fortunate knot bound.
But now is all this, with other laudable customs,
Out of fashion grown ; and each young man for himself wooes.
So let each man now, from the maid that he wooes, with his own hand
Take in shame the willow she gives, and wear it in sorrow."
" Yea — be that as it may !" the Youth replied, who hardly All the discourse had heard, but stilly himself had resolved: " I myself will go, myself my destiny seeking From the mouth of the Maid, in whom I confident trust feel.
158 CLIO.
Firm as ever man repos'tl in tlie soul of a woman.
What she may say, that is good ; that is right and reason, I know it.
Should I but for the last time see her, yet will I once more
That dark eye behold, its look of openness meeting ;
Though I may press them never, yet will I the breast and the shoulders
Once more see, which my arm so gladly would fold in embraces ;
Yet the mouth \vill I see, from which a kiss and a Yes would
Make me happy for ever ; a No give endless affliction.
But leave ye me here. Ye shall not tarry. Return ye
Back to my Father and Mother again, that ye may assure them
That their Son erred not, and that the Maiden is worthy.
And now leave me alone ! By the footway over the mountain
Past that old pear-tree, and down the slope of the vineyard
Go 1 a nigher way back to the house. O might I the lov'd one
Joyful and soon bring home! But haply must I alone seek
Sadly that homeward way, nor ever tread it with joy more I"
THE TIMES. 159
Thus spoke he, and gave the reins to the hand of the Pastor, Who them skilfully grasping, the foaming steeds in command held, Mounted quickly the car, and took the seat of the driver. But joint-traveller Sage ! thou still didst linger and saidest " Gladly, my friend, to you do I trust my soul and my conscience, But the body and bones are somewhat, I fear me, in peril. When the spiritual arm thus hold of the temporal rein takes." But then smiledst thou, intelligent Pastor ! and saidest : " Take your seat, and as with your soul, trust me with your body ; For the rein to direct this hand was long ago skilful. And well practis'd this eye to take the critical turning. For our custom at Strasburg it was, in the carriage to go forth When I the youthful Baron thither accompanied. — Daily, Driven by me, did the car roll forth through the echoing gateway, On by the dusty road, and far to meadows and lime-groves. Through the crowds of the people that roves all day in the free air."
160 CLIO.
Comforted half, did the Neighbour then mount into the carriage; And there sat as a man in an instant ready to spring forth. And the horses homeward ran, all keen for the stable. While the clouds of dust rolled up at their powerful paces. Long still stood the Youth, and watcht the dust flying upwards, Watcht it vanish away : then stood he vacant of thought there.
ERATO.
JBorotlita.
As when a wandering man, at sunset loitering, once more Gazes intent on the orb fast sinking just ere it vanish, Then in the thicket's gloom and upon the side of the dark rock Sees its similitude float : wherever his vision is turned Still it dances and glances before him in gorgeous colours : So to Herman's eyes the lovely form of the Maiden Softly moved before, along the path of the corn-field. But from the startling dream he broke, and turned him slowly Towards the village to go ; and started again ; for again there Lo ! to meet him came the tall fair form of the Damsel. L
162 ERATO.
Stedfast then he lookt : 'twas no illusory vision,
'Twas herself: a pitcher, and by the handle a smaller,
Bearing in either hand, thus careful sought she the fountain.
And he joyful towards her turn'd; the sight of her gave him
Courage and cheer; and thus, to her much-wondering, spake he.
"Thus so soon, good Maiden, afresh intent do I find thee
Help to others to give, and busied still to refresh them?
Say, why com'st thou alone to the well that thus so remote lies,
^Vhile the rest with the streams that flow in the village content them ?
This, in truth, has virtues especial, and sweet to the taste is :
And thou seekst it for thy sick friend, so faithfully rescued."
Friendly in turn the kindly Damsel greeted the young man. Saying : " Already my way to the well is amply rewarded. Since I the good friend find whose gifts so largely we shared : For the sight of the giver cheers, no less than his bounty.
DOROTHEA. 163
Come ye, and see yourself the folks your pity has holpen, And receive, calm utter'd, the thanks of those you relieved. But, that ye now may know why hither my way I have taken. Water to draw, where pure and unremitting the stream flows, This i.s the cause : already have our improvident wand'rers Troubled the streams the village throughout ; with horses and oxen Wading through the source that sends supplies to the dwellers. In like sort have they disturbed with washing and cleansing All the channels, and sidlied the spouts that rim by the houses : For each man cares but for himself; and, hasty and headlong. Sates the moment's need and takes no thought of the future."
Thus as she spoke, adown the broad-laid steps she descended. With her companion, she. And there both close to the fountain On the low wall sat down. She bent her over, as drawing. And the other pitcher he took and over he bent him :
L2
164 ERATO.
And they saw their forms reflected float in the blue sky,
And in the mirror below they nodded and greeted each other.
" Give me to drink," then said the ardent Youth to the Maiden ;"
And she reacht him the jar. Then they, leant each on a vessel.
Still and confiding sat : and thus of her friend she demanded :
" How is it here thou art ? and with nor carriage nor horses,
Far from the place where first we met? How camest thou hither?"
Thoughtful Herman gazed on the ground, then raised he his glances Quietly toward the Maid, and friendly into her eyes lookt, Felt him tranquil and cheer'd. Yet to speak to her as a lover Wa^ not now in his power. No love was seen in her glances. But a clear calm sense which call'd for sensible converse. And he master'd his soul, and frankly said to the Maiden : " Now child listen to me, what I too, questioning utter. Thou art the cause that hither I came, and why should I hide it ?
DOROTHEA. 165
For in my home I am blest with two affectionate parents,
Whom in duty I help to manage their house and their havings,
I, as the only son ; nor few nor small are our labours.
Mine is the care of the land ; my Father is busied indoors ;
And my Mother's eye gives life to the whole of the household.
But thou too of a surety hast known how sorely the housewife
Partly with servants' neglect and partly is vext with their untruth ;
And so is changing still, but to gain one fault for another.
Hence long time my Mother has rnsht in the house for a maiden
Who not alone with hands, but with true heart too may assist her.
In the stead of her child, too soon removed ! her daughter.
And as I drove to-day, when I saw thee cheerful and helpful.
Saw there was strength in thy form, and blooming health in thy visage,
Ajid when I heard thee speak, so sensibly, much I was moved;
And to my home I sped : to my parents spoke of the Stranger,
Praising her as she deserv'd. And now I come, and would tell thee
166 ERATO.
What their wish is, and mine. Forgive my stammering story."
" Shrink ye not," said she, " to speak the rest of yom- message ; Me ye will not offend : I grateful guess at your purpose. Right forth speak it at once ; the name has nought that affrights me Me ye woiild hire as a servant-maid to your Father and Mother, That to the house I may see which you it behoves to provide for : And you think that in me a damsel fit for the service, Able to labour and not too dull of >vit, you discover. Brief is your ofl'er and plain : brief also shall be the answer. Yea — with you I will go, and follow the call of my fortune. My first duty is done. The child-bed woman already Have I brought to her friends ; they joy them all in her safety, Gather'd already the most ; the rest will speedily find them. All of a surety deem some few days more shall restore them Back to their home : so still, sclf-flattcring, hopes the poor exile.
DOROTHEA. 167
But too well know I, with empty hopes to deceive me,
In these sorrowful days, that bode long courses of sorrow.
All dissolv'd are the bands of the world, and who shall re-knit
them. Save necessity, direst and worst, that soon will o'ertake us ! If in a good man's house these hands can avail to support me Under the eyes of his virtuous wife, that willingly choose I. For a wandering maid bears still a repute that is doubtful. Yea, with you >vill I go, so soon as I back to my friends, these Vessels have taken, and begged of them, good people I a blessing. Come ! Ye too must see them, and at their hands must receive me."
Joyful heard the Youth the free resolve of the Maiden, Doubtful whether now the truth to her to discover ;
But to him seem'd best yet a while to leave her in errour,
Into his house to lead her, and not till then of his love speak.
168 ERATO.
And he spied too, alas ! the golden ring on her finger. So he cheekt her not, but eagerly listen'd her converse.
"And let us now," she said, " go back to our friends ! for the maidens Ever incur reproof who tarry long at the draw-well ; Yet by the gushing source to tell our story is pleasant." And so up they rose, and once more into the well lookt Both, ere away they tum'd, and longing rose in their bosoms.
Silent then the Maid the pitchers • took by the handles, Upward trod the steps, and Herman follow'd the lov'd one. Fain he the burthen had shared, and one of the vessels had taken ; " Leave it thus," she said ; " so balanced easier carried, Nor let him serve me, whom I must obey a.s a master. T^ook at me not so gravely, as though my lot were a sad one ! Woman should learn betimes to serve, for that is her office ;
DOROTHEA. 169
'Tis by obeying alone she comes to rule, and attains to Merited sway and gentle command which is hers in the household. Still in the outset of life the sister yields to the brother, Yields to her parents ; and still her life is a Going and Coming, Fetching and Carrying still, and Making and Mending for others. Well for her, when so she is wont that no way is too rugged. That the hours of the night to her as the hours of the day are, That the work never seems too nice, too cunning the needle. That she forgets herself, and lives in those who are near her! For, in truth, as a mother she needs all virtue and patience, Oft in her weakness roused by the nursling asking refreshment, From her suffering form ; her cares thus sharpen her sorrows. Ne'er could a score of the stronger sex endure such a burthen ; Nor is it theirs to endure; yet should they gratefully view it."
Thus spake she; and came, with her mute companion, winding
170 ERATO.
On by a garden path, to the ample door of the shed, where
Lay the new-made Mother, rejoicing there with her daughters,
Damsels by her preserved, in youth's fair purity blooming.
Into the space stept both ; and from the opposite quarter
Came, with a child in either hand, the Judge of the people.
Until now these two had been lost to the sorrowing mother.
But that ancient man in the throng of the people had found them.
Forth they joyful sprang, to cling to the mother they loved,
And their brother, a playmate new, to handle and gaze on.
Then Dorothea they saw, and springing, eagerly held her,
Asking for bread and for fruit, but most of all for the water.
So she gave them to drink all round. First drank it the children.
Drank the sick woman then, with her daughters ; then did the Judge
drink. All were slak'd and refresht, and prais'd the excellent water. Sweet and sharp to the taste, a wholesome draught to the thirsty.
DOROTHEA. 171
Then spoke forth the Maid, and with look right serious, thus said : " Friends, 'tis the last time now, that I your lips with my pitcher Moisten, and give to your thirst the grateful gush of the water. But when in future time, refresht from the dust and the hot day, Still in the shade you enjoy the cooling draught and the quiet, Think then kindly of me, and of my office of friendship, Giv'n you of love far more than because of kindred that binds us. Good that to me ye have done, through life shall I gratefully think on. And full sad is my heart that I leave you; but here as we wander, Each is to each more burthen than help ; and we in the end must All amid strangers disperse, if speedy return is denied us. See, here stands the good Youth, who deserves our thanks for his bounty, Garments that warm the poor child, and welcome food that ye tasted. Hither he comes, and sues that I to his home should betake me. And that I there should serve his wealthy and virtuous parents. And 1 refuse not the proffer ; for still is the maiden a servant ;
172 ERATO.
And an incumbrance were I, did I seek attendance of others. And so willingly go I with him ; right-minded the Youth seems. And right-minded the Parents will be, as should be the wealthy. Wherefore now farewell, you, much-lov'd friend ! and rejoice in That young infant that lies at your breast and healthfully eyes you. And, when your arms fold round the babe in his gay-colour'd swaddling^, O then, think of the Youth to whom, kind-hearted, we owe them, And who to me, your own, henceforth gives shelter and clothing. And you, excellent man," to the Judge then turning her, said she, " Take my thanks that a father to me you in many a strait were."
And so knelt she down by the side of the woman and child, and KissM her weeping friend, and received her whisper^ blessing. Then didst thou, much honoured Judge, thus answer to Herman : " Truly, O friend, we must among wise householders account you Who will have none in their house but persons thrifty and helpful.
DOROTHEA. 173
For full oft have I seen that men their cattle and horses
Carefully scan, and their sheep, when taken in barter and purchase ;
And yet the persons to manage the whole, who, if they are trusty,
Keep all right, but ruin and spoil it if they are unthrifts.
Thoughtlessly into the house are brought, and chosen at random,
And too late they rue resolves so hastily rusht on.
But ye know what ye do ; for ye have chosen a Maiden
Worthy and steady and true, to wait on you and your Parents,
Use her and guard her well : With her to manage the household
Ye and your friends, be sure, will ne'er miss sister and daughter."
Meantime many there came, the sick-woman's kindred, and brought her Needful matters, and spoke of a better abode they had found her. All were told of the tale, and gave their blessing to Herman With significant looks, and guesses quickly conceived. For one whisper'd another, and sideways spoke as she ey'd them;
174 ERATO.
" What if the master Bhould soon be the bridegroom ! All's well that ends
weU!" Then took Herman the Maid by the hand, and spoke to her gently : " Go we hence ; for the day is declining, and far is the city." Then with many a parting word did the women embrace her. Herman drew her away, while greetings she left for the absent. Forth then sprung the children with crying and sorrowful moaning Would not quit her, but held her garments, lov'd as a mother. Then this wife and that spoke out with chiding and coaxing : " Children, peace ! for into the city she goes, and will bring you Many a fine sweet cate, which your brother bade to be made you When the stork, aa he brought him here, just stopt at the baker's, And you will see it soon, all bright with patches of gilding." So at the last they let her depart, and Herman withdrew her Scarce from their straining arms, and kerchiefs waving afar off.
^'^^V'^V^^^^^^*^'^^^^^^^^^^*^^^^^^'^^^^^*^*^^'^^
MELPOMENE:
Igertnan anD laorotbea.
So they together went on, towards where the sun in hia setting
Plunged him deep in clouds with tempest-threatening aspect,
Through the shattered veil, now here now there, with his glances
Over the field a sad prophetic radiance beaming.
" Grant heaven," Herman said, " this sky so menacing bring not
Hail and passionate burst of rain, for heavy the crop is."
And they joy'd them both in the corn-field loftily waving
Which nigh equall'd in height the two tall forms as they trod through.
Then of her guide and companion thus enquired the Damsel :
" Friend, through whose kind aid a gentle destiny mine is.
Roof and home, when the storm finds many a wanderer houseless.
Tell yet further to me ; with your parents make me acquainted.
1 76 MELPOMENE.
^Vhom truehearted to serve, henceforth my innermost >vish is, For when the master's nature is known we easier please him; Then we think of the things which he as weightiest reckons, And on which his thought and his will are steadily fixed. Tell to me then how best I win thy Father and Mother."
Then to her the kind intelligent Youth said in answer : " O right well dost thou, my kind and excellent Maiden, That thou beforehand thus would'st know the mood of my parents 1 For, this left unmarkt, in vain thus far ^vith my seniee Seek I my Father to please ; though still I care for the household As it were mine, and am early and late in field and in vineyard. Easily could I my Mother content, she valued my service ; And to her thou still wilt seem the choicest of damsels If thou car'st for the house which is hers as thou woultlst for thy own care. But not so with my Father ; he loves the show with the substance.
HERMAN AND DOROTHEA. 177
Good kind Maiden, think of me not as cold and unfeeling
Parents' weakness thus to thee, a stranger, disclosing.
Truly to thee I swear, for the first time now has escaped
From my tongue such word, not lightly given to babble.
But thou draw'st all secrets forth of the depths of my bosom.
Somewhat of fair outside ray Father loves in his household,
Wishes for outward signs that love and reverence token.
And he woidd be perhaps content with a servant that worse were,
Who this knew and us'd, and would peevish be to be better."
Then said she with joy, meanwhile with livelier motion And with doubling steps on the dusky path she advanced; " Truly my hope is still that I to both may content bring ; For thy Mother's turn is mine own natural temper. Nor has my youth a stranger been to graces of manner. Our near neighbours the French, such as we knew them in past time,
M
178 MELPOMENE.
Set great store by courtesy still ; both gentle and simple.
Yea and the peasant possest it, and each one taught his children.
And so, e'en on the German side of the border, the wont was
That the child came in the mom with a kiss of the hand and a curtsey.
Gave good day to her parents, and still must mannerly bear her.
All that once I learnt, and that then in my youth was a custom
Courtesy, felt in my heart, shall all be shown to thy Father.
But yet one thing tell : in speech what name shall 1 call thee.
Thee, the son of the house, and to be hereafter my master?"
Thus she spoke, and just then came they under the pear-tree ;
Bright from on high the full moon pour'd her radiance downward ;
Night was come, and closed was every gleam of the sunlight.
And so before them lay, spread out in neighbouring masses,
Lights as bright as the day, and dark abysses of shadow.
And right gladly did Herman hear the confiding enquiry
There in the pear-tree's shade, the spot so dear to his fancy.
HERMAN AND DOROTHEA. 179
Which already to-day had seen his tears for the exile.
And as the two there sat them down to rest for a moment.
Said the enamoured Youth as he took the hand of the Maiden :
"Let thy heart reply, and freely follow its bidding."
Yet no further word did he dare, all fair as the hour was,
Favouring all ; he fear'd too soon a Nay he might draw down.
Ah, and he felt on her finger the ring, the token of sorrow !
And so sat they still and silent each by the other.
But the Maid broke silence and said : " How fair to me still seems.
Fair and sweet the shine of the moon! 'Tis bright as the day-light.
There quite plain in the town do I see a house and a farm-yard,
And in the gable a window; I count the squares of the casement."
" What thou seest," thereto the entranced Youth said in answer,
" That is our abode to which I downward must lead thee,
And that window belongs to my chamber that under the roof lies ;
Now 'twill perhaps be thine ; some changes have we in prospect.
M 2
180 MELPOMENE.
Ours are all these fields ; they wait the sickle to-morrow. Here in the shade we rest, and eat the meal of the noon-day. But let us onwards now ; and down the vineyard and garden Follow our way : for over us spreads the lowering tempest Heavy with rain and covering up the beauteous full-moon." And so stood they up, and downhill trod on the field-path. Through the noble com, and joy'd in the fresh of the night-air ; And to the vineyard came, where through the darkness the path lay.
And so down the long stair of planks he guided the Damsel, Which, unhewn, made steps in the alley with leaves overarched. Slowly down she stept, and kept her hands on his shoulders ; And, with a flickering light, through leaves the moon shot her glances. Ere yet, wrapt in the cloud, she left the pair in the darkness. And his strength supported the Maid, and over him hung she ; But, all strange to the path, where now more rugged the steps lay
HERMAN AND DOROTHEA. 181
Footing she mist; her foot thus wrencht, well-nigh she had fallen. Quick and attentive the Youth his arm right skilfully stretcht forth. And upheld the dear Maid ; she lighty sank on his shoulder. Breast toucht breast, cheek, cheek. All still and motionless stood he. E'en as a statue of stone, fast bound in the depth of his feeling, Nor did he closer press her, but, stifFen'd, bore up the burthen. And so felt he the much-lov'd form, the warmth of her bosom. And the balm of her breath which floated close to his own lips. Held in his manly arms the well-shaped form of the Maiden.
She dissembled the pain, and, jesting playfully, thus spake : " That denotes ill-luck, so tell us folk that are knowing. When, as you enter a house, not far from the threshold you stumble. And in truth I had wisht for a better token of fortune ! Here let us tarry a while, that you meet not blame of your parents, And, home bringing a halting maid, be deemed an unthrift."
URANIA.
IRtte Drnoumcnt.
MosRa, ye who so gladly regard the course of a true love, And have brought thus far the excellent Youth on his progress, And have prest, e'en ere the betrothal, the Maid to his bosom: Lend ye your aid, the knot to complete that binds them together 1 Part ye the doubtful cloud that still hangs over their fortune! But first say, for ye can, what now goes on in the household?
Now for the third time enter'd the Mother impatient, the chamber Where were seated the men, which, full of cares, she had quitted ; — Spoke of the suddenly overcast moon, and the gathering tempest.
THE DENOUMENT. 183
And of her Son who so long staid forth, and of perils of night-time ; Sharply gave blame to the friends, that, no word said to the Maiden, No suit urged for the Youth, so soon from him they had parted.
" Make not worse what is bad !" thus spake the Host out of humour ; " For aa thou seest, we too must wait, and tarry the ending."
Tranquilly then as he sat, began with his story the Neighbour : " Still do I gratefully think, in such disquieting seasons, Of my father who, when I a boy was, pluckt out the root of All impatience in me, that not a fibre remained. And much better I learnt to wait than many a wise man." " Tell us," the Minister said, " what the old man's clever device was." " That will I gladly narrate, for each to himself may apply it," Said the Surgeon thereto. "As a boy, chanced once on a Sunday That I impatiently stood, for the carriage eagerly waiting
184 URANIA.
Which was to take us a drive to the Fountain under the lime-trees.
It came not, and I ran like a weasel hither and thither.
Upstairs and downstairs oft; and from the door to the window.
Seem'd to me all my fingers itcht; I scratcht on the table,
Drumm'd on the floor with my feet, and had almost fallen a weeping.
All this saw my father in quiet; but when, at the last, I
All too silly became, by the arm he tranquilly took me,
Led me up to the window, and spoke what well I remember :
' Seest thou the carpenter's shop there opposite, clos'd for the Sunday ?
Soon on the morrow it opens, and plane and saw are in motion,
And from morning to night they there are constantly working.
But bethink thee of this : in the end there will be a morning
When the Master will work, and all his journeymen with him.
Making a coffin for thee, to finish it quickly and fitly.
And here over the way the wooden house they will carry,
Which at the last the patient alike and impatient must lie in.
THE DENOUMENT. 185
And which a heavy roof full soon is appointed to cover.'
And forthwith in my spirit I saw all this as before me,
Saw the boards join'd together, the sad black colour prepared.
And sat patiently down, and waited then for the carriage.
Now when others I see with eager solicitude flutter'd
This way running and that, I bethink me still of the coffin."
Smiling the Minister said : " the touching image of Death stands Not as a Fear to the wise, and not as an End to the pious. Him it sends to the bus'ness of life, and teaches him action ; This one finds in it solace, and hope of a glorious future. EAch in death sees life. 'Twas not well done of the father Thus to the sensitive boy death as death only to set forth. Let men show to the youth the worth which in ripened manhootl Lies, and to age, the vigour of youth ; that each may rejoice in That continual round, and life may ever to life lead."
186 URAJflA.
But then open'd the door, and the goodly couple appeared, And the friends were struck, the affectionate parents were startled At the form of the Bride, fit match for the form of the Bridegfrooni ; Yea, too small the door-way seem'd, the towering stature Of the pair to admit, who trod the threshold together. And with winged words did Herman place her before them': " Here is a Maiden," he said, " e'en such as ye wish in the household ; Dearest Father, receive her well, she deserves it ; and Mother, In whate'er to housekeeping belongs inquire of her knowledge. That you may learn how well she deserves, to you to be nearer." Hastily then the excellent Pastor drew he aside, and Said : " Kind sir, do ye from this perplexity free me. Quickly untying the knot, for I tremble to what it may drag me. For I the Maid have in no wise woo'd she should here as my bride come ; But she believes as a servant she comes to the house ; and I fear me She will take fright and fly hence, as soon as the talk is of wedlock.
THE DENOUMENT. 187
But yet soon be decided the lot ! No longer in errour
Must she remain ; I, too, cannot bear the uncertainty longer.
Haste, and in this that wisdom show which we venerate ever !"
And the Minister straight then back to the company tum'd him.
But already, alas ! the gentle soul of the Maiden
Was by the speech of the Father disturb'd ; he had freely addrest her
In his gamesome mood, nor meant he ought of unseemly :
" Yes, my Child, it is well ! With joy I perceive it, my Son has
Taste, like his Father before him, who in his time, it was well known.
Ever the fairest led to the dance, and at last on the fairest
Fixt, and brought her as bride to his house ; for such was my Wife
here. When a man chooses a bride it is well seen what is his spirit. If he have judgement, and whether he feels that he has a value. But you needed, I ween, small time to make your decision ; And, by my troth, to follow our Herman is not a hard thing."
188 URANIA.
Herman heard but faintly the words ; for all in a tremble Was he within; and at once the whole of the circle was silent. |
But the excellent Maid, by such strange lightness of converse. As to her it appcar'd, offended and deep in her soul hurt. Stood, with a flying blush from her cheeks e'en downi to her bosom All suffus'd; yet still she refrain'd, and herself she collected, Then to the Host she spake, her pain not fully dissembling : " Truth I your Son had prepar'd me not for such a reception. Who his Father's ways, as a worthy citizen's, painted; And I know that I stand before a person of culture. Who to the state of those he accosts still moulds his behaviour. Yet it would seem that ye scarce feel pity enough for a poor maid Who on your threshold has but just trod, and is ready to serve you ; Else ye never had sought, with bitter mocking, to show me How remote my lot from yours and that of your Son's is.
THE DENOUMENT. 189
True it is that I came to you poor, ray all in my bundle,
Into your house, well stored with all that can serve to your comfort;
But myself I know, and how we stand to each other.
Is it then noble and right to cast such mockery on me
As at my entrance well-nigh scares me back from your threshold?"
Anxious Herman moved, and unto the Minister sign made Into the middle to break, and quick to demolish the errour.' Soon forth stept the prudent man, and lookt at the Maiden's Deep oflFense, and her pain supprest and the tears in her eyehds. Then did his spirit urge, not straight to dispel the confusion, But still further to probe the high-wrought soul of the Damsel ; And forthwith to her then, with words deep-searching, he thus said :
" Surely, O foreigner Maid ! not well in thy thought thou hast weighed,- VVhen, too hastily all thou resolv'dst to serve with the stranger, —
190 URANIA.
What it is to enter the house of a lord and a master.
For the fate of the whole of the year is stampt by the hiring.
And when ' Agreed' is said, most sure you have much to put up
with! That which is hardest to bear is not the wearying task-day. Nor the sweat, though bitter, of labour pressing on labour, For full oft he toils who is free, no less than his servant; But with the "master's humour to bear, when he chides thee unjustly, Or would have now this and now that, with himself disagreeing ; Then the passionate fits of the women, so easily anger'd. That, and the rudeness and pertness of spoilt and troublesome childi-en, — This it is hard to endure, while still all duties performing Quick and alert, nor once to show thee sullen or stupid. Yet for this thou seem'st but unapt, since the jests of the Host here Wound thee so deejily ; and yet it is, sure, nought strange or unfrequent Jesting a maiden to tease, that she for a youth has a liking."
THE DENOUMENT. 191
Thus spoke he. And deeply the Damsel felt what he iitter'd, And she refrained no more. Forth burst the tide of her feeling Strong, and her full heart heav'd, and a sob burst forth from her bosom, And with a flood of scalding tears thus suddenly said she : "Ah! the prudent man. when he counsels us in our anguish, Little he knows how ill his cold word boots to relieve us From the load of our grief that Providence places upon us ! Ye are happy and gay, and how should a jest give to you pain ! But who is sick at heart, though slight, feels sorely the touching. No ! to me 'twere of no avail e'en could 1 dissemble ; Forth at once come that which, later, bitterer pain were. And might plant in my heart a silent cankering sorrow. Let me hence depart ! no longer here may I tarry ; Quick will I now return and seek my desolate people Whom I left in their wo, my own sole profit pursuing. Such is my firm resolve ; unshrinking therefore I tell you
192 URANIA.
What had else long years in my heart's recesses been buried. Yea, the Father's jests have deeply wounded me : not that Proud I and sensitive am, beyond what is meet for a servant : But that my heart, in truth, was inly aware of a leaning Towards the Youth who to-day as a kind preserver had sought us. For when first on the road we parted, still he remained Firm in my memory fixt ; I thought of the bliss of the maiden Whom already perhaps in his heart, his betrothed, he cherisht. And when again at the fountain I found him, I drew in a joy from His dear sight, as if an angel from heav'ii were before me. And so readily with him I went, though sought as a servant. Yet the fond thought still flatter'd my heart, (I will not deny it,) As on the way we came hither, I might at the last, by deserving Win him, if once I became the needful prop of the household. But, now alas ! at length my eyes are unclos'd to the danger Which I had run, while in silence I lived so near to the lov'd One.
THP. DKNOUMENT. 193
Ah, and at last I feel how far the destitute Maiden
Is from the optdent Youth, e'en were she the best and discreetest.
All this now have I said, that of me judging ye err not,
Now that my heart, chance-bruised, has taught me to know my own
weakness. For, living on with my secret wish, this too I must look for, That he at last his selected bride had brought to his homestead ; And how then had I borne the inward pangs of my bosom ! Happily now I am warn'd ; and happily, loos'd from my breast, the Veil of mysterj- falls, while yet the ill may be healed. And so all is said. And now nought longer shall keep me Tn this house, where I stand thus cover'd with pain and confusion, Freely owning my love, and my hopes so fond and so foolish. Not the night, and the sky all deep with lowering clouds spread, Not the roll of the thunder (I hear it) shall hinder my going. Not the burst of the rain from the sky impetuous pouring, N
194 URANIA.
Not the howl of the storm. All this, already I've borne it, Join'd with the terrours of flight, and the foeman pressing upon us. And now again I go forth — such long has my customed course been — Swept by the stream of the time and parting from all I have clung to. Fare ye well I I tarry no longer ; the struggle is over."
Thus as she spoke she moved her quickly back to the threshold Under her arm, as she came, her little packet retaining. But then both her arms the Mother threw round the Maiden, Grasping her round her waist, and cried, amaz'd and astonisht : " What is the meaning of this ? And whence come tears so uncall'd for ? Nay ! but 1 let thee not go ; thou art the betroth'd of my Herman." But thereat the Sire much ruffled stood and displeased, Ix)okt at them both as they wept, and drily said as he turned : " Even so I this is the beautifid sight at the end of the story I That the day, for its close, has that which most I recoil from I
THE DENOUMENT. 195
For nought worse can I bear than weeping and wailing of women,
Passionate sobs and cries, that make a scene of a matter
Which with an atom of sense might be far easier righted.
Tiresome it is to me, this incomprehensible bus'ness
Further to hear. It may take its course, but I shall to bed go."
And he tum'd him away, in act to go to his chamber.
Where was the bed of the married pair and where he his rest took.
But the Son held him back, and said with hurried accents,
" Father, be not too hasty, nor angered be with the Maiden I
I alone am to blame for all this train of confusion
Which our Friend has increast, dissembling thus in his seeming.
Worthy sir, speak forth I for to you I trusted the matter.
Add not trouble and pain, but rather clear up the whole tale I
For it were not in my power so highly hereafter to prize you
If you, admir'd as a wise good man, were a maker of mischief."
N 2
196 URANIA.
Smiling thereat, thus said the worthy Pastor in answer : • What course other than this had giv'n us the pleasing confession This good child has made, and shown the truth of her feeling ? Is not thy care all cured, thy sorrow to rapture and joy turn'd ? Speak then out for thyself! What need of a stranger between you ?" Then stept Herman forth, and said in friendliest accents : " Never may'st thou these dear tears rue, these griefs of a moment ! For they the pledge of delight to me, and I trust too to thee, are. Not as a servant the aid to gain of the excellent Stranger Took I my way to the well ; I came to sue for thy heart's love. Hut, alas for my timorous glance 1 no trace it discover'd Of thy leaning of heart ; it saw but the visage of friendship When from the glass of the tranquil well thou gav'st it a greeting. But to my house to bring thee, already the half of my wish was ; Now thou hast giv'n me the whole ! O, therefore blest be thou ever I"
THE DENOUMENT. 197
And the Maiden lookt on the Youth with deepen'd emotion,
Nor did she shun the embrace and the kiss, which the summit of joy
are, When, long inly desir'd, to the pair they come as assurance Of a future of bliss which, now as it seems, shall be endless.
Meanwhile unto the rest the Minister all had explained. But the Maid came, and before the Sire with a genuine grace stood, And, low bending, kist with affection the hand he retracted. And said : " Ta'en as I was by surprize, you kindly will pardon First the tears of my pain, and now the tears of my gladness. O forgive me that former feeling ! Forgive me the present ! And let me feel me secure in the new found joy which is shown me. Yes, let the first offence, which I, bewildered, gave you Likewise be the last! The service, trusty and loving Which the maid had vowed, she trusts as a daughter to render."
198 URANIA.
Then the Father embrac'd her and hid the tears he was shedding ; Lovingly leant the Mother to them, and heartily kist her; So, hand shaking in hand, wept on the women in silence.
Quickly then took the hand the good intelligent Pastor (>f the Host, and drew the wedding-ring from his finger ; (Not with ease; the plump well-rounded member retain'd it;) Took the ring of the Mother therewith and betrothed the children. Saying : " Once more have this golden hoop for its office Firmly a bond to knit, which blessed be as the former. This Young Man is deeply possest with love of the Maiden, And the Maiden owns that he is the Youth of her wishes. Therefore thus I betroth you, and bless your union henceforth, With your Parents' leave, and with your Friend as a witness."
And with wishing of joy the Surgeon made his obeisance.
THE DENOUMENT. 199
But when the Minister now prepar'd on the hand of the Maid the
Circlet of gold to place, he saw with wonder the other,
Which before at the well with trouble Herman had notic'd.
And he said thereon, in kind tones playfully chiding,
" How ! thou betrothest thee now to a second ? See that there come not
Thy first bridegroom back to forbid the banns at the altar !"
And she said thereon : " O yet to that mark of remembrance. Let me a moment devote ! for well he deserves my remembrance. That true friend who gave it in parting and never returned. All did he well foresee, when, urg'd by the ardour of freedom, Urg'd by desire to act in a world transform'd and renewed. Eager to Paris he went, and there soon fetters and death found. — ' Fare thee well and live happy !' he said : ' I go and I leave thee. All is in motion on earth ; all things at once are dissever'd. Nations see their foundation laws reversed in a moment,
200 URANIA.
Rich possessions quit the grasp of the ancient possessor. Friend is sever'd from friend ; so love from love is divided. Here I leave thee now ; but where I find thee hereafter Who can tell ? Perhaps we talk thus now for the last time. Well of a truth it was said that man on earth is a stranger. And he, in our wild times, a stranger more than of yore is. Ours is the solid ground no more ; our treasures away fly ; Gold and silver melt from the ancient hallowed figures ; All is in change, as if the world, with its varied forms, would Back into Chaos and Night dissolve, new-formed to come forth. Keep thou thy heart for me ; and if we meet as we walk on \\' recks of a broken world, we meet as regenerate creatures, Lifted and transform'd, nor more by destiny fetter'd ; For what chains bind him who times like ours has survived ? But if it may not be that ever again from these dangers We, triumphant emerging, embrace each other in gladness.
THE DENOUMENT. 201
O do thou keep still in thy thought my image before thee.
That thou with equal soul may'st bear or weal or misfortune.
Does a new home invite, new bands of union draw thee ?
Then vnth gratitude take the good that destiny offers.
Give to the loving thy love, and thank the kind for their kindness.
But e'en so, set lightly thy foot, as easily lifted.
For some fresher loss may lurk, to double thy sorrow.
Sacred deem thy day ; yet prize not higher thy life, than
Other gifts that thou hold'st, and gifts may still be deceitful.' —
Thus high-minded he spoke ; and back he never returned.
Mean time I lost all ; and thought full oft of the warning.
And e'en now do the words come back, when joy for me once more
Love prepares, and Hope spreads forth her loveliest prospects.
O forgive me, my excellent friend, that e'en while I hold thee
Thus by the arm, I quake ; to the long time sea-tossed sailor
Seems, when landed, the solidest ground to sway with a motion."
202 URANIA.
Thus spoke she, and placed the rings on her finger together. And the Bridegroom spoke with a manly accent of feeling : " All the faster bound, amid this loosing of all things, Be, Dorothea, the tie ! We firm will hold to each other ; Firm and long ; nor quit our hold of the good that is giv'n us. For the man who in wavering times has a wavering mind too. He adds weight to the ill and spreads it wider and wider; But who firmly stands, he moulds the world to his posture. Not the German's work should it be, the violent movement Onward to urge, pr to reel in his courses this way and that way. ' Here we take our stand !' Such be our word and our action. For men honour still those Peoples, firm and resolved, Who for their God and their laws, their homes, their wives and their children. Fought and repell'd the foe, or banded fell and unvanquisht. Thou art mine; and Mine now is mine more truly than ever; Xot in fear to be held, in stealth to be poorly eiyoyed,
THE DENOUMENT. 203
But with courage and heart. And if the foemen assail us
Now or in future days, I don my harness and go forth.
Whilst thou guardest my house and tendest the days of my parents
Fearless and tranquil I can turn my breast to the foeman.
Yea and were all like-minded with me, Force quickly would come forth
Menacing Force to repel, and Peace would return with her blessings."
I
A POETICAL EPISTLE.
[Tliis and the following Epistle were firtt published in 1795, in 77^ Horen, a Journal con- ducted by Schiller, who may therefore be regarded as the friend addressed in them : what is said of him is well suited to bis ardent and noble character.]
Now that the whole world reads, and that many a reader will only Turn impatiently over the leaves, and then snatching his pen up Dextrously graft on the tiniest book a new portlier volume, I too, thou wilt have it, my Friend, must add to the number, Writing to thee about writing, and telling thee all my opinions. So that others again may broach their o])inions about them, And wave followng wave may roll everlastingly onward. Thus however the fisherman puts out to sea, when the morning
A POETICAL EPISTLE. 205
Summons him, if but the wind bids fair ; he plies at his task still, Though his comrades by hundreds are skimming the glittering waters.
Generous Friend, thou hast so much at heart, — the good of mankind first, That of thy countrymen then, above all of thy townsmen and neighbours : Thou art alarmed at the mischief of mischievous books. We have seen
such Often, alas ! What then ought one to do ? what might be accomplisht, Would honest men join firmly together, were princes in earnest ? It is a grave, a momentous enquiry, but happens to find me In an agreeable humour. The corn-clad country is smiling Under the warm bright sky, and the gentlest breezes are blowing, Cooling their wings in the waves, and gathering scents from the blossoms ; And to the cheerful the world has a face of gladness ; afar off Care scuds floating away in thin clouds that are ready to vanish.
206 A POETICAL EPISTLE.
All that my light slim pen marks down you may easily blot out ; Nor are the traces of types much more enduring or deeper, Though they are said to defy eternity. True, the black column Speaks to a thousand at once; but anon, as every one, after Seeing his face in the glass, forgets it, in spite of its sweetness. So words too are forgotten, although they be graven by iron.
Speeches are tost to and fro with such marvellous ease, when a number Talk away, each only hearing himself in the words that he pours out. Yea, only hearing himself in the words that proceed from his neighbour. Just in the same way fares it with books ; all, every reader Reads himself out of the book that he reads ; nay, ha.s he a strong mind, Reads himself into the book, and amalgams his thoughts with the author's. Thus it is all lost labour, whene'er you endeavour by writings Man's preconceived inclinations and made-up opinions to alter. But you may do thus much ; you may strengthen him in his opinions ;
A POETICAL EPISTLE. 207
Or, if he be but a youth, this and that you perchance may inculcate.
Shall I tell you my mind? it is life, life only, that fashions Men, and that teaches and trains them ; words mean little, do little. True, we readily listen to all that confirms our own notions : But what we hear never forms those notions. If we dislike aught, We may perhaps go along with its advocate, should he be clever ; But when escaped from his clutches we hasten adown the old sheep-track. Woidd you be heard with delight, and be hearkened to willingly, you must Flatter. WTiether you speak to the mob, or to nobles, or princes, You must amuse them with stories that place as though living before them Just what they like, just what they themselves would wish to befall them.
Think you that all would have listened to Homer, that all would have read him, Had he not smoothed a way to the heart, persuading his reader
208 A POETICAL EPJSTLE.
That he is just what he would be ? and do we not high in the palace,
Or in the chieftain's tent, see the soldier exult in the Iliad?
While in the street or the market, where citizens gather together,
All far gladlier hear of the craft of the vagrant Ulysses.
There every warrior beholdeth himself in his helmet and armour ;
Here in Ulysses the beggar sees even his rags are ennobled.
Thus I was walking one day on the well-paved quay of the city, Dearly beloved by old Neptune, in which winged lions are worshipt, Almost as though they were gods, when a tale was a telling. A circle, Close, thick, breathless, surrounded the voluble tatterdemalion. " Once," so he sang, " I was driven by storms on the shores of an island, Called by the name of Utopia. I wot not whether another Out of this company ever set foot there ; it lies in the ocean. West of the Pillars of Hercules. There I was welcomed most kindly, I^ed to an inn hard by, had the best both of eating and drinking ;
A POETICAL EPISTLE. 209
All were on tiptoe to serve me ; my bed was the softest and warmest. Thus did a month glide swift as a song. I had wholly forgotten Care's grim looks and the furrows of want ; when in secret this question 'Gan to disquiet me sorely : What face will the reckoning put on, When thy meals are all done ? There was not a doit in my pocket. Do not bring me so much, I cried to the host ; but he brought me Still more dishes and more. This increast my distress ; and I could not Eat any longer through my uneasiness : so I entreated, Pray, master host, let my bill be a fair one. At this he grew angry. Eyed me askance with a dark frown, caught up a cudgel and swung it Over my head, and the blows came pattering down on my shoulders, Down on my back without mercy, and beat me almost to a mummy. Fast as I could I ran and enquired for the Justice : he straightway Sent for the host, who was now grown calm, and grave was his answer :
" So must it happen to all who outrage the laws of our island, O
210 A POETICAL EPISTLE.
Wronging a host, whose rights are sacred, and wickedly asking After a bill from the man who has courteously treated and fed them. Was I then tamely to brook such an insult ? In my own house too ! No ! I should have but a spunge instead of a heart in my bosom, Had not my blood boiled over at such an offense to my honour."
Then said the Justice to me : " Friend, think no more of your beating : For, if you had your deserts, your punishment would be much harsher, l^ut if you choose to abide in this island and settle amongst us, You must prove yourself worthy and fit to be one of our body."
" Oh !" I exclaimed, " kind Sir, I have very unluckily never Felt any liking to labour ; and nature gave me no talents Wherewith to earn my bread at my ease : > my brethren all called me Jack Do-nothing, and tinned me away from the house of my father."
A POETICAL EPISTLE. 211
" O then, welcome amongst us," the Justice replied : " thou shalt always Sit at the top of the table whenever the Commons assemble, And in the Senate shalt take the place thou nobly deservest. Only be well on thy guard that no backsliding entice thee E'er to disgrace us by working, that no spade ever be met with. No oar ever be found in thy house ; for if so, in a moment Thou wilt be utterly ruined, and no one will honour or feed thee. But to sit hour after hour in the market-place, folding thine arms thus Over thy well-filled paunch, and hearing the merriest minstrels Singing their ballads, seeing the gay girls dancing, the glad boys Gamboling : these are the duties that thou must promise and swear to."
Such was the story he told ; and there was not a hearer whose forehead Grew not open and cheerful ; and all on that day began wishing. They might find such a host, nay, e'en might earn such a beating.
o2
A SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE.
Excellent friend ! thou knittest thy brows ; thou exclaiinest, that jesting Here has been quite out of place: thy question was grave and momentous; And it required to be answered as gravely. I know not, by heaven, How it has happened that some pert demon of laughter possest me ; But I will now continue more seriously. Men, thou declarest, Men may look after themselves, watch over their lives and their lessons ; Choose they to go wrong, let them ; but think of thy daughters at home,
think How these pandering poets are teaching them all that is evil.
This is a mischief, I answer, 'tis easy to remedy ; more so
A SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 213
Than many think perhaps. Girls are so good, so glad to have some- '
thing They may be busy about. Give the eldest the keys of the cellar, That she may see thy wines placed right, whenever the merchant. Or when the vintager sends in the barrels of generous liquor. Here will be much for a damsel to look to ; such numbers of vessels. Bottles, and emptied casks, to be kept all clean and in order. Oft too will she observe how the must keeps frothing and stirring, And she will pour in more when it falls short ; so that the bubbles Easily float to the mouth of the vat, and the noblest of juices Ripens in delicate clearness, to gladden the years that are coming. Daily moreover she draws it unweariedly, filling the bottles Ever afresh, that its spirit may always enliven the table.
Next, let another be queen of the kitchen : there in good earnest She will have work enough ; — dinners and suppers all summer and winter ;
214 A SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE.
And they must always be savoury, yet without draining the pocket.
When spring opens its doors, she has motherly cares for the poultry.
Feeding the ducklings betimes in the yard, and the yellow-beakt chickens.
All that the season produces she brings in its turn to the table,
Happy if only before-hand. Daily she changes the dishes,
Tasking her wits to devise a variety. Soon as the summer
Ripens the fruit, she stores for the winter. Down in the cool vault
Cabbages lie fermenting, and vinegar mellows the gurkins,
While in the breeze-loving loft she treasures the gifts of Pomona.
Joyfully lists she to praise from her father, her brothers and sisters ;
But, if in aught she miscarry, alack ! 'tis a greater misfortune.
Than if thy debtor absconded and left thee his note for thy money.
Thus will the maiden be constantly busy, and quietly grow up
Full of all household virtues; and happy the man who shall wed her.
Then, if she wishes to read, she will take up a treatise on cooking,
Such as our teeming presses have issued already by hundreds.
A SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE. 215
Has she a sister? her care be the garden. Thou dost not condemn it. Surely, to girdle thy house with a belt of romantical dampness : But it is laid out neatly in beds for the use of the kitchen, Bearing the wholesomest herbs, and the fruits that make children so happy.
Thus, like a patriarch, let thine own house be a kingdom in little ; And let thy offspring around thee be ever thy trustiest servants. If thou hast still more daughters, who like sitting quiet and working Works such as women delight in, 'tis only the better : the needle Finds little leisure to rust in the year round : be they so homely While they are staying at home, when abroad they would willingly look
like Ladies with nothing to do. How much too has sewing and darning, Washing and plaiting increast, now that every damsel is wearing White Arcadian garments, with long-tailed petticoats trailing, Sweeping the streets and the garden, and stirring a dust in the ball-room !
216 A SECOND POETICAL EPISTLE.
Verily, had I a whole round dozen of daughters to manage, I should be ne'er at a loss for employment ; they get up employment All for themselves in abundance ; and so not a volume the year through Should ever come from the book-lender's library over my threshold.
ALEXIS AND DORA.
Ah ! every moment the vessel is cliiving incessantly onward !
Over the foam-crested waves further and further it flies. Still does the keel's track lengthen its furrow, along which the dolphins
Follow it leaping as though chasing their fugitive prey. All things betoken a prosperous voyage : the boatswain is gently
•Righting the sail, which toils blithely that others may rest. Forward the souls of the mariners speed with the flags and the pennons ;
— All save one by the mast, fixing his eyes on the shore, Watching the last blue tints of the hills as they vanish : he sees them
Sink in the ocean ; and now all that he joys in is gone. Now from thee too has vanisht the vessel that bears thy Alexis,
Bears, O Dora, thy friend, bears thy beloved away.
218 ALEXIS AND DORA:
Thou after me too gazest in vain : our hearts are yet beating
Each for the other; but each presses the other no more. It was a moment, the first I have really lived in, outweighing
All those years which have crept coldly and dully along. Yet was it only a moment, a parting moment. My life dawned
Suddenly out of thine eyes, as it were sent from the gods. Why does thy joyless radiance thus idly illumine the heavens !
Thy all-brightening day, Phebus, it sickens my heart. Backward I'll go and converse with my memory, fondly reviving
Times now gone when her sight daily enlivened my eyes. How was it possible e'er to behold yet be blind to her beauty ?
How could thy spirit remain dull to her heavenly charms? Blame not thyself, poor wight ! It is thus that a poet will often
Utter a riddle abroad, cunningly setting the words. All feel pleasure in seeing the posy of sprightly devices;
Yet they know not the word which will its meaning unfold.
ALEXIS AND DORA. 219
Lo, that word has been found ; how at once ev'ry countenance brightens !
That which was pleasing before, doubly delightful has grown. Wherefore wert thou so tardy in stripping my eyes of the bandage,
Which thou hadst bound on them ? AVhy wert thou so tardy, O Love ! Lt)ng had the vessel been laden and waiting for breezes to waft her ;
And now at length they blew right from the land in her stern. Vain were the days of my youth, most vain were my dreams of the future ;
They all crumble apace ; nothing endures but one hour. Yes, it endures, my bliss is enduring : I hold thee, my Dora :
Hope has one image to shew ; Dora, that image is thine. Oft had I seen thee repair in thy maidenly garb to the temple.
Whilst thy mother would walk solemnly close by thy side. Early thou hastenedst ever to carry thy fruit to the market.
O how nobly thy head bore up the pitcher on high.
220 ALEXIS AND DORA.
When from the fountain thou earnest ! how stately thy throat and thy neck rose !
Every motion thou madest, harmony guided them alL Often I watcht with uneasy alarm lest the pitcher should tumble;
But on the round striped cloth steadily onward it sailed. Thus, my beautiful neighbour, I daily was wont to behold thee.
As one beholdeth the stars, or as one looks at the moon. Gladly we see them again and again; but the bosom is quiet,
Joying contentedly ; — no wish to possess them is felt. Year after year rolled past me : but twenty paces asunder
Stood our dwellings ; and yet ne'er have I entered her door. Now divides us the wide blank sea. False mirror of Heaven,
Ocean, thy glorious blue is but the colour of night. All were already in motion : the boy came hastily running
Up to my father's house, bidding me hie to the shore. Come, they are hoisting the sail, and it flaunts with the breezes, thus spake he ;
ALEXIS AND DORA. 221
Now too the anchor mounts, tearing its fangs from the sand. Hasten, Alexis, O hasten ! On this my excellent father
Gave me his blessing, his hand smoothing the curls on my brow. Quickly the ready-made bundle was fetcht by my anxious mother ;
Come back happy, they cried, happy, Alexis, and rich. Thus I hurried away, and under my arms was the bundle ;
Down alongside of the wall ran I : but thou, as I past, Stoodst by the gate of thy garden, and saidst with a smile, Good Alexis,
Are those screamers on board going to carry thee off? Far-off coasts thou'lt visit, and bring back costliest treasures.
Jewels of silver and gold, fit for our wealthiest dames. But bring me too, I pray thee, a light gold necklace : I'll pay thee
Thankfully for it: my heart often has longed for a chain. I had arrested my steps; and I askt in a merchantly manner
Questions concerning the chain, as to its shape and its weight. Pensively thou computest the cost : my eyes in the meanwhile
222 ALEXIS AND DORA.
Light on a neck that would grace gems such as circle a queen's. Boisterous cries now mount from the ship: thou saidst to me kindly,
Wilt thou not on thy way take from my garden some fruit ? Take of my mellowest figs, of my juiciest oranges with thee.
Seas bring forth no fruit ; many a land too has none. Thus do I enter thy gate ; thou busily pluckest the choice fruit ;
So that the bright gold load weighs down thy up-gathered gown. Oft I besought thee, O that is enough ! but another still finer
Fruit, and another yet dropt into thy lap at a touch. Following thee I advanced to the arbour ; a basket was lying
There, and the myrtle-tree hung blossoming over our heads. Silently thou arrangest the fruit in the comeliest order,
Laying the heavier gold ball of the orange beneath ; Next the sofl-pulpt figs that the slightest pressure disfigures ;
Lastly the myrtle at top roofing the whole with its green. Still I did not remove it; I stood. We lookt at each other
ALEXIS AND DORA. 228
Full in the eye ; and a mist suddenly olouded my sight. Thy soft bosom I felt it on mine. The neck I had gazed at
Wondering, was claspt by my arm ; kiss after kiss from my lips Fell on thy beautiful throat ; thy head now drops on my shoidder ;
Now too thy fair arms form round me a circle of bliss. Love's own hands I feel : he presses us firmly together ;
And from the clear blue sky thrice does it thunder : then tears Chasing each other besprinkle my cheeks : thou weepest ; I weep : joy
Mingles with pain so, the world seems to be fleeting away. Cries of impatience resound from the shore : my feet as if fastened
Cling to the groimd ; I exclaim, Dora, and art thou then mine ? Thine for ever ! thou answerest softly. The tears that were trickling
Sparkle and vanish, as though dried by a breath from the gods. Straightway approaches the cry of Alexia! The boy who was seeking
After me, peeps through the door. How he the basket took up ! How he drove me away I how I covered thy hands with my kisses !
224 ALEXIS AND DORA.
How I arrived at the ship 1 Surely I seemed to be drunk. So too my comrades deemed me, regarding my sickness with pity.
Shortly the dimness of sad distance envelopt the town. Tliine for ever ! O such was thy whisper ! it sounds in ray ears still,
INIixt with the thunder of Jove ! Yea, and she stood by his throne, She, his daughter, the Goddess of Love ! the sisterly Graces
Stood by her side ! our vow chimed with the will of the gods I Hasten then, hasten my vessel, with all fair winds to befriend thee ;
Put forth thy strength thou keel ; cleave through the flood till it foams. Bear me with speed to thy goal in a far land : so shall the skilful
Goldsmith begin forthwith working the pledge of our loves. Dora, thy chain shall grow far beyond what thy modesty askt for;
Nine times shall it be wound loosely encircling thy neek. Jewels besides will I buy thee, the fairest and costliest: golden
Bracelets shall fashion a rich girdle to compass thine arms. There shall the emerald vie with the ruby ; the heavenly-eyed sapphire
ALEXIS AND DORA. 226
Matching the jacinth shall stand over against it ; and gold Chasing the bright-hued gems shall inweave them in beautiful union.
O 'tis the bridegroom's prime pleasure to deck out his bride. Let me but look on a pearl, I shall think upon thee ; let a ring shine,
Wooing my sight, thy fair finger will glimmer within. Barter will I and bargain ; whatever is best thou shalt choose out ;
If all the cargo were mine, I would bestow it on thee. Nor shall trinkets and jewels be all thy beloved will purchase.
Much that a housekeeping wife joys in, he'll bring thee besides : Quilts of the goodliest woolen, with bright wide borders of purple.
Fit for the couch where we softly and sweetly may rest ; Fine white linen : I see thee sitting, and sewing, and clothing
Me and thyself, and perhaps also another therewith. Visions of hope come and quiet me, while you delude me! Ye gods, calm
This tempestuous joy, which is upheaving my heart. Yet shall I soon claim back these transports of sickening sweetness, P
22G. ALEXIS AND DORA.
When grief's clay-cold hand creeps with its palsying touch. No, not the Furies torches, the hell-dog's barking could ever
Scare poor sinners with like force in the land of despair, As I am scared by the calm cold spectre that shews me my fair one
Far from her lover : the gate, still it is standing ajar : Lo, and another now enters : for him too the orange is falling ;
Nor does the fig-tree deny honied refreshment to him. Him too she lures to the arbour ! and look, he follows her ! strike me
Blind, kind godj^ ! blot out memory's treacherous forms. Is she then anything more than a woman ! and she who so lightly
Yielded to one, will scarce close up her heart from the next. Laugh not this once, great Jove, at a vow so wantonly broken !
Thunder, thou monarch of dread ! strike, — but thy lightnings withhold. Shoot out thy rivers of clouds after mel in the darkness of midnight
Let thy glittering bolt smite this unfortunate mast ; Scatter the planks all round ; and give to the bellowing waters
ALEXIS AND DORA. 227
All these wares, yea, give me to the dolphins a prey. Hush, ye Muses ! enough ! in vain do ye labour to shew forth
How grief's currents and joy's cross in a love-smitten heart. Powerless are ye for healing the wounds which love has inflicted ;
Yet are ye our best friends ! none can assuage them but you.
" Your Idyl (Schiller says, in a letter to Gothe, speaking rf this Poem, which he had just seen in manuscript,) has affected me no less powerfiilly on a second reading, or rather still more [xjwerfiiUy, than on the first. Assuredly it is one of your most beautiful compositions ; so fiill of simplicity, at the same time that there is in it an un&thomable depth of feeling. Owing to the precipitation of the action, by means of the ship's crew who are waiting for Alexis, the lovers find themselves so prest for room, their situation becomes so urgent and imjx>rtant, that this one moment does actually contain the sum and substance of a whole life. It would be difficult to conceive any other case in which the flower of jxjetry can l)e nilled from an object with the same ease and felicity. Your introducing a fit of jealousy so immediately after, and making the lover's happiness swallowed up so rapidly by his fears, I have not yet been quite able to reconcile with my feelings, though I have no convincing objection to allege. I merely feel that I should have liked to prolong the trance of bliss in which Ale.™ leaves the girl and em- barks." (Vol. II. p. 51.) In a subsequent letter (p. 1*7) he adds, " Humboldt says very much that is true about the Idyl : some things he does not seem to me to have felt quite as I feel them. Thus the
p2
228 ALEXIS AND DORA.
adinirabk passage, ' Thine for ever, thou answerest softly,' does not strike me so much on account of its Holemnity, which is a matter of course, but because the secret of her heart bursts forth in these little words at once and entirely, n-ith its endless train of consequences. These words, in this place, serve instead of a whole love-story; and the two lovers stand immediately in the same relation to each other, as if their affection had subsisted for years." And again (p. 108): " People talk a great deal about the Idyl, and say, it contains things which have never yet been uttered by mortal man. In spite of all the ra]>ture8 about it, Q. was scandalized at the bundle which the hero has to carry, and saj's that this is a great blemish in the beautifiil poem; that the work is so rich, and yet the hero does ju.st like a poor man. You may suppose that at this criticism I fell out of the clouds. It was so new to me, that I thought, she was speaking of some other work. I assured her however that this poverty does not offend me, if I do but find the other riches."
To the remark on the conclusion Gothe replies (p. 59) : " I am very glad that the Idyl does not loae ground on a nearer inspection. For the jealousy at the end I have two reasons ; one from nature, because in fact every unexpected and unmerited success in love is followed at the heels by the fear of kiabg it; and another from art, because the Idyl has a |)athetic clmracter throughout, and therefore the pasuon must become more intense toward the close; where the poet's [larting bow restores the balance and cheerfulness of the whole. Thus much in justification of the inexplicable instinct by which such thing! are produced."
THE METAMOKPHOSIS OF PLANTS.
Thou, my love, art perplext with the endless seeming confusion
Of the luxuriant wealth which in the garden is spread ; Name upon name thou hearest, and in thy dissatisfied hearing.
With a barbarian noise one drives another along. All the forms resemble, yet none is the same as another ;
Thus the whole of the throng points at a deep-hidden law, Points at a sacred riddle. O covdd I to thee, my belov'd friend,
Whisper the fortunate word by which the riddle is read ! Come then, trace we the plant through all its succession of changes,
As its inherent pow'r forms it to blossom and fruit. Out of the seed unfolded it comes, as soon as the silent
Nourishing womb of the earth sends it to life and to light.
13u i%tctamotpt)O0e tier i|flan^tn«
DicH verwirret, Gelicbte, die tansendfaltige IVIischung
Dieses Blumengewuhls iiber dem Garten umher ; Viele Namen horest du an, iind immer verdranget
Mit barbarischem Klang einer den andem im Ohr. Alle Gestalten sind ahnlich, und keine gleichct der andcrn ;
Und so deutet das Chor auf ein geheimes Gesetz, Auf ein hciliges Itathscl. (), konnt' ich dir, liebliche Freundin.
Ueberliefern sogleich gliicklich das losende Wort ! — Wcrdcnd betrachte sie nun, wie nach und nach sich die Pflanze
Stufenweise gefiihrt bildet zu Bliithen und Fruclit. Aus dem Samen entwickeit sie jich, sobald ihn der Erde
Stille befruchtender Schoos hold in das Leben entlaszt,
THE METAMORPHOSIS OF PLANTS. 231
Holy Light, ever active, which makes the forms that it shines on,
Broods o'er the delicate leaves, e'en as they burst from their ceil. — Slept in the seed such power ; an unborn type of the future
Ijay, >vrapt fold within fold, deep in the heart of the mass ; — Leaves, and the root, and the bud, as yet unformed and uncoloured ;
So the dry kernel holds, stilly, the springs of a life. Then the young birth breaks forth, confides in the genial moisture.
Gathers and lifts itself up, out of the chaos of night. Simple at first is the form, and plain and unvaried its aspect :
Simple is childhood still ; now as a child is the plant. UpwartLs straining again and again, the formative impulse
Thrusts forth, stage above stage, shapes that are like to the first; Like, and yet different still : for lo, still higher and higher.
Multiform more does the leaf show us the working of change. Spreading and notcht and carved with varied and multiplied members.
Which, all merged in a mass, dwelt in the stages below.
232 Me iHftamorp&ose tier ^flainni.
Und dem Reize des Lichts, des heiligen, evng bewegten,
Gleich den zartesten Bau keimcnder Blatter crapfiehlt. Einfach schlief in dem Samen die Kraft ; ein beginnendes A'orbild
Lag, verschlossen in sich, unter die Hulle gcbeugt, Blatt und Wurzel und Keim, nur halb geformet und farblos ;
Trocken erhalt so der Kern ruhiges Lebcn bewahrt, Quillet strebend empor, sich milder Feuchte vertrauend,
Und erhebt sich sogleich aus der umgebenden Naeht. Aber einfach bleibt die Gestalt der ersten Erscheinung ;
Und so bezeichnet sich auch unter den Pflanzen das Kind. Gleich darauf ein folgender Trieb, sich erhebend, emeuet,
Knoten auf Knotcn gethiirmt, immer das erste Gebild. Zwar nicht immer das gleiche ; denn mannigfaltig crzeugt sich,
Ausgebilder, du siehst's, immer das folgende Blatt, Ausgedehnter, gekerbter, getrennter in Spitzen und Theile,
Die verwachsen vorher ruhten im untern Organ.
THE METAMORPHOSIS OF PLANTS. 233
And thus reaches at last the leaf its fulness of fabric,
Which in full many a kind much thy astonishment moves, Ribb'd and indented about, and in rich convexity swelling, —
Seems as the impidse of growth freely and boundlessly WTought. But, at this point arriv'd, the expanding urgency Nature
Checks with her mighty hand — guides to a loftier plan — Tames the flow of the juices — contracts the vessels — and straightway
Finer workmanship shows in the refinement of form. Back to the center retreats the expanding thrust of the margin :
Fuller the leafy rib gathers itself in the midst. Leafless and smooth, a more delicate stalk springs rapidly upwards.
And a marvellous show meets the contemplative eye. Close ranged round the stalk, — or fixed in number or boundless, —
Leaflets, each like each, gather themselves in a ring. Here, with protecting circle, the Calyx girdles the axis.
And in the fairest forms lovely-hued coronets wears.
284 Bit iHftamorpJbo^e tier ^flan^rn.
Unci so erreicht e8 zuerat die hochst bestimmte Vollendung,
Die bei manchem Geschlecht dich zum Erstaunen bewegt. Viel gerippt und gezackt, auf mastig strotzendcr FL-iche
Scheinct die FiiUe des Triebs frey und unendlich su seyn. Doch hicr hiilt die Natur, mit raachtigen Hiinden, die Hildung
An, und lenket sie sauft in das Vollkommnere hin. Miisziger leitet sie nun den Saft, verengt die Gefasse,
Und gleich zeigt die Gestolt zartere Wirkungen an. Stille zieht sich der Trieb der strebenden Rander zuriicke,
Und die Rij)pe des Stiels bildet sich viilliger aus. Blattlos aber und schnell erhebt sich der zartere Stengel,
Und cin Wundergebild zieht den Betrachtenden an. Kings im Kreise steUet sich nun, gezahlet, und ohne
Zahl, das kleinere Blatt ncben dem iihnlichen hin. Urn die Achse gedrangt entscheidet der bergende Kelch sich,
Der zur hochsten Gestalt farbige Kronen entltisst.
THE METAMORPHOSIS OF PLANTS. 235
Nature thus stands forth in her pride, refined and exalted ;
Member on member imposed — fulness and symmetry joined. And with wonder thou seest the Flow'r, as it waves on its footstalk,
Over the changeful Leaves — scaffolding, these, of the flow'r. Yet does this splendour all but announce new formative changes :
Yet does the petal again yield to the pow'r which transforms. See — it contracts to the slenderest shapes, which, higher aspiring.
Twofold show in their forms ; — double, yet made to unite. Each confiding in each, the lowly pairs, as they gather
Numerous, orderly, stand circling the altar of Love. Hymen hovers above, while around, a delicious fragrance,
Breathed from each to each, floats with a life-giving pow'r. And now, separate all, the Buds in the motherly shelter
Each of its swelling fruit, rip'ning, innumerous, swell. And thus Nature rounds the eternal Ring of her working.
There where it seems to end, ever beginning again.
236 ©if iHftnmorpf)Osff bfr ^flan^n.
Also prangt die Natur in hoher voller Erscheinung,
Und sie zeiget, gereiht, Glieder an Glieder gestuft. Immer staunst du auf s neue, so bald sich am Stengel die Blume
Ueber dem schlanken Geriist wechselnder Blatter bewegt. Aber die Herrlichkeit ^vird des neuen Schaffens Verkiindung.
Ja, das farbige Blatt fiihlet die giittliche Hand. Und zusammen zieht es sich schnell ; die zartesten Forraen,
Zwiefach strcben sie vor, sich zu vereinen bestimmt Traulich stehen sie nun, die holden Paare, beisammen,
Zahlreich ordnen sie sich um den geweihten Altar. Hymen schwebet herbei, und herrliche Diifte, gewaltig,
Stromen silssen Geruch, alles belebend, umher. Nun vereinzelt schwellen sogleich unzahlige Keime,
Hold in den Mutterschoos schwellender Friichte gchilllt. Und hier schliesst die Natur den Ring der ewigen Krafte ;
Doch ein neuer sogleich faaset den vorigen an,
THE METAMORPHOSIS OF PLA2JTS. 237
Thus is the chain prolonged through the endless circuit of ages ;
Thus, as Each Thing has a Life, is there a Life in the Whole. And now turn, O beloved I thy glance to the motley assembly
Troubling thy mind no more, now, with its manifold show. Now does each plant proclaim the eternal Law of its being ;
Every plant as it blows speaks to thee clearly and plain. But if thou here canst decypher the sacred letters of Nature,
See them ev'rywhere stampt, though in a varying form. See how the Grub creeps low, till the butterfly flutters expanded ;
See even Man himself changed by the formative pow'r. And O ! then reflect how in us too the bud of Acquaintance,
Opening day by day, grew to the Sweetness of Use. How then Friendship next disclosed its pow'r in our bosoms ;
How Love came at last ; — came with his flow'rs and his fruits. Think how many a shape, each springing out of another,
Nature, imfolding our hearts, unto our feelings has given.
238 Bi'r i^ftamorpOosJf "btv ^Rnmtn,
Dass die Kette sich fort durch alle Zeiten verlange,
Und das Ganze belebt, so wie das Einzelne, sey. Wende nun, o Geliebte, den Blick zum bunten Gewimmel.
Das verwirrend nicht mehr sich vor dem Geiste bewegt. Jede Pflanze verkiindet dir nun die ew'gen Gesetze,
Jede Blume, sie spricht lauter und lauter mit dir. Aber entziffcrst du hier der GiJttin heilige Lettern,
Ueberall siehst du sie dann, auch in venindertera Zug. Kriechcnd zaudre die Raupe, der Schmetterling eile geschaftig,
Bildsam sindre der Mensch selbst die bestimmte Gestalt. O, gedcnke denn auch, wic aus dem Keim der IJekanntschaft
Nach und nach in uns holdc Gewohnheit cntspross, Freundschaft sich mit Macht in unsrem Innem enthiillte,
Und wie Amor zidetzt Bliithen und Friichte gezeugt. Denke, wie mannigfach bald die, bald jene Gestalten,
Still enfaltend. Natur unsern Gefiihlen geliehn !
THE META3I0RPH0SIS OF PLANTS. 289
Joy with me in the thought of to-day : — when Love, in its yearning, Seeks Love's fairest of fruits, — seeks a Communion of Thought ;
Seeks a Oneness of View in the pair, that, harmoniously musing. Heart may, united to heart, rise to a loftier World.
240 Mt iWetamorpftosff lirr ^flamm.
Freue dich auch des heutigen Tags ! Die heilige Liebe Strebt zu der hochsten Frucht gleicher Gesinnungen auf,
Gleicher Ausicht der Dinge, damit in harmonischem Anschaun Sich verbinde das Paar, finde die hohere Welt.
xom
omer.
Time-honour'd Bard, all hail! that on eagle's pinions sailing Mark'st with their rhythmical sweep measures of loftiest song,
Roll'st into ages to come the sounding strain of the Epos, Here may its echo revive, here on Cimmerian * shores !
• 'H 8' t's iTflpaB iKavi ^oBvppoov 'Qxcai/oto ''EvGa ii Kififuplav avSpwv Sjjii6s re nSKit Tt.
For the image, see the cover of this book, imitated from an antique design on a cup
found at Herculaneum.
"~--^fl^^)%
ILIAD, Book III. w. 234—244. HELEN FROM THE WALLS OF TROY LOOKING FOR HER BROTHERS.
" Clearly the rest I behold of the dark-ey'd sons of Achaia, Known to me well are the faces of all ; their names I remember ; Two — two only remain, whom I see not among the Commanders, Kastor fleet in the Car — Polydeykes brave with the Cestus — Own dear brethren of mine — one parent lov'd us as infants. Are they not here in the host, from the shores of lov'd Lakedaimon, Or, tho' they came with the rest in ships that bound thro' the waters, Dare they not enter the fight or stand in the council of Heroes, All for fear of the shame and the taunts my crime has awaken'd ?"
So said she ; — long since they in Earth's soft arms were reposing, There, in their own dear land, their Father-land, Lakedaimon.
OMHPOY FIAIAZ T EAENH A no TOY RYPrOY TOYZ AAEA<r»OYZ ZHTOYZA
Nyn B' aWovi fxev TraVras opui eA/xtDTras 'A;^atoi/s, Oi/s Kev do yvoiriv, Kai rovuofxa fjLu6t](raiiuit]V Aoito S' ov Zvvafiat iSeeiv KOCixriTope \awv, Kd(TTopd 6' tTTTToSajUOf, Kai TTv^ dyadov TloXvdeuKea, AvTOKatriyvtiTw, tw fxoi fi'ta yeivaro fxrirtjp. 'H ovx ea7re(r6t]v Aa/ceSatjuofos i^ epaTeivfjif "H Bevpo /U6J/ eTTovTO veecra-' evl TrovTOTropotcri, Ni/i' S* avT ovK ideKovai fidx,^v KaTaZvfxevai. dvhpwv, A«r;^ea ZeiZioTH Kai oveihea iroW, a, fjioi etrriv ;
'^fis (paTO ' TOi)s 8' f]Br] Kare^e (pua-'i^oos aia 'El' AaKthaifxovi av6i, fp'iKt) ivi TrarpiBi yairi.
Q2
ILIAD, Book VI. w. 236— olO,
HECTOR IN TROY.
Hector arriving anon at the Skaian gate and the oak-tree, Eagerly round him the wives and the daughters of IHon cluster'd, Asking how fared it in field with the son or the brother or husband, Kinsman or friend ; and he answer'd, and each in her order at parting Wam'd to petition the Gods ; but for many was misery destined.
Thence he immediately past to the beautiful mansion of Priam, Bright with its fair stone halls, where in fifty contiguous chambers, All of the smooth-wrought marble, the King's sons slept with their consorts ; Over against them as well, on the opposite side of the Court-yard, Twelve fair chambers of marble ordain'd for the daughters of Priam, Kach to inhabit apart, mth the Lord that in wedlock revered her.
HECTOR IN TROY. 246
There in the midst of the court did the kind-faced Hecuba meet him,
As to Laodice's chamber she past, of her daughters the fairest,
And with her hand on his raiment she held him, and motherly question'd :
" Wherefore, my child, com'st thou from the field when the battle is raging? Grievous the pressure, I ween, of the sons of accursed Achaia Troyward swarming to-day ; — since the impulse could not be resisted. But thou must turn thee to pray from the holiest Tower to Kronlon. But stay here till I bring thee a beaker of cordial vintage, Whereof duly libation to Zeus and the other Immortals First make thou ; — then drink, O son, that the draught may refresh thee, For to the toilworn man great strength is the generous wine-cup. Weary and worn like thee in defending the home of thy kindred."
Thus in reply to the Queen spake tall bright-helmeted Hector :— " Fetch me not generous wine, O mother revered, to unnerve me,
246 HECTOR IN TROY.
Lest as 1 taste of the goblet my strength and my spirit be weakened.
Nor yet mine be the daring, to pour black wine to Kronlon
Thus with my hands unwasht : it beseems not to pray to the Highest,
Standing before him in blood all clotted and grim with the war-slinie.
Better thyself should be seen with the worshipful matrons assembled.
Moving, with censer in hand, to the temple of awful Athena.
Also the veil, that for splendour and size is the first of thy garments,
That lay thou on the knees of the fair-hair'd Goddess of War-spoils,
Vowing withal twelve heifers, the choice of the herd, for her altar.
Yearlings, untouch'd by the yoke — so she may have eyed with compassion
Troy's vext town and the woe of the ^vives and the stammering children :
So she withhold of her grace, from the rampart of Ilion holy.
Tydeus' blood-wild son, whose countenance scatters the spearmen.
Thou, then, swiftly repair to the shrine of the terrible Goddess : —
I have mine errand to Paris, to summon him back to the battle,
If he will hear when I speak. Would Earth were to gape and devour him !
HECTOR IN TROY. 247
For he was rear'd by the Gods tx) afflict us with measureless mischief, Fatal to Troy, and her King, and the lineage of generous Priam, Early and late our disgrace : — Could I see him descending to Hades, Light were the spirit that now is with shameful perplexity burthen'd."
So did he speak ; and she enter'd the dwelling and call'd on her handmaids, And at her bidding anon were Ihe worshipful matrons assembled. She meanwhile by herself to her odorous chamber descended. Where in the secret recess great treasiu-e of raiment was gather'd. Rich, with the handiwork rare of Sidonian women embroider'd. Brought from the city of Sidon of yore by divine Alexander, Then when across wide seas he was sailing with Helen the highborn : Whence one veil was elected, a gift right meet for Athena, Largest of all in the store, and with many a hue in its texture : Bright as a star did it shine, and its place in the coffer was lowmost.
248 HECTOR IN TROY.
This being chosen, the Queen came forth, and, the matrons attending. Past, on the citadel height, to the temple of Pallas Athena. Then were the gates of the Shrine thro^vn wide by Theano the comely, Kisseus' daughter, the spouse of Antenor the tamer of war-steeds : Her whom the Ilian elders had named to be Priestess of Pallas. All with a wailing of woe then lifting their hands in the Temple, Comely Theano accepted the garment that Hecuba tender'd; And when it lay on the knees of the fair-hair 'd Goddess Athena, Thus did the votare.s8 pray to the daughter of Mighty KronTon : —
" AAvful Athena, protectress of cities, in majesty peerless ! Break now Diomed's spear, and surrender himself to be trampled. Prone, in the sight of us all, as we gaze from the Ilian ramparts. Speedily then will we bring twelve heifers to bleed on the altar, Yearlings, untouch'd of the yoke ; for in thee is the rescue of Troia, If thou behold in compassion the wives and the stammering children !"
HECTOR IN TROY. 249
Earnest the voice of the Priestess ; yet spurn'd was the prayer by Athena.
Hector was gone, meanwhile, to his brother's magnificent dwelling. Which Alexander himself had contrived, and the workmen of Troia, Foremost in fame, uprear'd, with the porch and the hall and the chamber, Near the abode of the King and his own, on the rock of the fastness ; On to the hall past he, in his right hand bearing the war-spear — (Cubits eleven had the staff, and the brass head glitter'd before him Girded with circles of gold) — and he found him within, in the chamber, Brightening his beautiful shield and the peaks of his bow and the breast- plate, Argive Helena by — in the midst of her maidens presiding, Tasking their delicate skill ; — and austere when he saw was the greeting.
" Strangest of men ! 'tis not well to let temper have mastery wholly' I
260 HECTOR IN TROY.
Great is the thinning amongst us : the battle approaches the ramparts Swiftly — and only for thee does the tumult and storm of the war-cry Burn to the walls of the town — and another were sure of thy censure If thou beheld him avoiding the field when the struggle is fiercest. Up ! lest the summons at hand be the blazing of Uion captur'd I"
So spake Hector : and this was the answer of fair Alexander : — " Brother, thy word is severe ; but I am not rebuked with injustice ; Therefore the truth shall be spoken by me, and with confidence hear me. Anger o'ermaster'd me not, nor the pang of Dardanian insult. Here in the chamber to sit — but I fain would resign me to sorrow. Helena also but now with a gentle persuasion was urging Instant return ; and 'twere better, I know, than the sloth of dejection ; None can be serv'd by Despair, and the chances of battle are changeful. Only abide till mine armour be donn'd, or, if that be displea.sing, Go ; I will follow, be sure, and I think I shall soon overtake thee."
HECTOR IN TROY. 251
So Alexander ; to whom bright-helmeted Hector replied not ; But fair Helena open'd with words that were humble and soothing : — " Brother ! — if still thou wilt own me, with shame and fatality branded — ■ O had the hurricane blast, on the day I was bom of my mother. Blown me afar to the mountain, or over the roar of the sea-waves. Under the deep to be plunged, ere the sin and the curse were accomplish'd! — Would that at least, if the ill must be, and the Gods had decreed it. He that the Destiny markt for my love had been other and better. One to confront Fate's worst, and to fear not death, but dishonour ! Feeble and fickle is this : — in his bosom the firmness of manhood Never will root : — but the seed that he sows will have fruit to be gather'd. Yet now enter the chamber, and sit for a space to repose thee, Brother ! — for still upon thee is the worst of the care and the labour Due to unhappiest me and the madness of frail Alexander, And to the sorrowful doom that will darken our memories ever. Bruited in proverb and song among men of unborn generations."
252 HECTOR IN TROY
This was the answer she had from the tall bright-hchneted Hector : — " Helena, bid me not sit : thy kindliness cannot persuade me. Eager am I even now to return to the help of the Trojans ; For great trouble is theirs when they miss me in front of the battle. Quicken the arming of him, and let zeal be awake in his bosom, So that he yet may o'ertakc me before I have past from the Town-gate ; For I too, being here — I would look once more on my household Ere I depart, and the wife that I love and the stammering infant — Since it is veil'd in the dark if again they shall see me returning. Or that the Gods are to slay me to-day by the spears of Achaia."
So he to Helena said, and departed : and, eagerly stepping, Soon to his own fair home came tall bright-helmeted Hector ; But not then in her chamber was comely Andromache waiting : She with her damsel alone and the child had ascended the ramparts, Up to the nian Tower, while the tears rain'd fast on her mantle.
HECTOR IN TROY. 253
Then, when the hero beheld not his innocent wife in her chamber, He on the threshold remain'd — but he summon'd and question'd the hand- maids : — " Come now, hear me, ye damsels, delay not but answer me clearly. Whither to-day from her home has the beauteous Andromache wanderd ? Whether to sister of mine she hath gone or the wife of a brother. Or with the noble attendance of Dames to the Shrine of Athena, In the solemnity vow'd for appeasing the terrible Goddess ?"
This was the answer he had from the diligent chief of the handmaids " Hector, since thou hast commanded an instant and clear revelation. Neither to brother's of thine nor to sister's abode was her errand, Nor with the noble attendance of Dames to the Shrine of Athena In the solemnity vow'd for appeasing the terrible Goddess. Up to the Ilian Tower is she gone — for a rumour of evil Came, of the Trojans distrest, and that victory gladden'd Achaia ;
254 HECTOR IN TROY.
Hearing the tidings she started, and stands ere this on the watch-tower, Like one phrenzied in soul : and the nurse ran too >vith the infant."
Thus did the handmaiden answer, and turning at once from his house- door Hector departed, nor paus'd he again ^vithin Dion stately, Pacing the high-built streets till the Skaian Gate was before him. For thereby he was minded to issue again to the champain. Then did his well-dower'd wife, the noble Eetion's daughter, Comely Andromache, see him, and hastily quitted the rampart — She that from Theba was sent, where Eetion held his dominion Under the Plakian hills among shady Cilicia's woodlands, Sent in her maidenly prime to be wedded to Hector the warlike — She now met his approach, and beside her a damsel attended, Bearing the boy on her bosom, — as yet but an innocent infant, Dear to the fatherly heart, as a star in the freshness of beauty :
HECTOR IN TROY. 255
Hector Scamandrius call'd hira at birth, but Astyanax all men Else in the town — for his sire was the only protector of Troia : He then halted and smil'd as in silence he gazed on the infant : — Comely Andromache stood meanwhile at his side, with her fingers Clinging upon him, and wept : but she named him at last and addresst him : —
" Noblest of madmen ! thy fury will ruin thyself, and compassion None for the innocent babe feel'st thou, or calamitous mother Soon to be mdow'd of thee : — for the raging Achaians will slay thee Whelm'd in a rush of them all ; and for me, if bereav'd of my husband, Better at once to go down to the grave, — for complete desolation Waits me on earth thenceforth, if the doom upon thee be accomplish'd : Misery only to come — neither father to shield me nor mother. Him slew fearful Pelides, and razed the Cilician fastness, High-tower'd populous Theba ; — he slew, but he stript not the body ; Shame barr'd that : but interr'd him unspoil'd in his armour resplendent,
256 HECTOR IN TROY.
Piling an earth-mound o'er — which the nymphs that inhabit the mountains, Daughters of cloud-girt Zeus, have benignantly planted with elm-trees. Seven fair brothers as well did I leave in the house of my father, And on the self-same day all sank to the darkness of Hades, All in the midst of the heifers and white-wool'd sheep they were tending, Scatter'd in blood at a swoop by the terrible runner Aehilleus. Lastly my mother, the Princess supreme by umbrageous Plakos, Hither his captive was borne, with the rest of the plunder of Theba ; And though her father redeem'd her, in vain was the infinite ransom. Soon to be slain in his home by the arrows of Letogeneia. Hut thou. Hector, art father to me and affectionate mother. Brother as well, and ray husband art thou in the bloom of thy manhood ! Come then — have pity upon me, and stay even here on the rampart ; Cause not thy child to be orphan'd to-day and thy wife to be widow'd : Station the host in our sight where the field slopes up to the fig-tree ; Easiest there the approach, and a rush to the walls may be fatal.
m
HECTOR IN TROY. 257
Thrice, thou know'st it, already the first of their chiefs have essay'd it, Telamon's son, and Oileus', and Nestor's, the glory of Pylos, High Agamemnon himself, Menelaus, and stern Diomedes, — Whether combin'd in obedience to skilful direction of Augur, Or that the spirit within drives all with determinate impulse."
Thus, when Andromache ended, said tall bright-helmeted Hector: — " All thy cares, dear wife, are partaken by me — but above them Haiigs the unbearable thought of the men and the matrons of Troia Stalking past me in scorn as a coward that slunk from the battle. Nor does infirmity urge me, for aye from the days of my boyhood Foremost in arms have I stood, undismay'd when the fury was wildest. Winning a worthy renown for myself and the house of my fathers. Well do I know — the presentiment clings to my soul and my heartstrings — Fate stands fixt, and a day of destruction for Ilion holy Ck>mes, and for Priam the hero, and all that are liegemen to Priam.
R
258 HECTOR IN TROY.
Yet less near to my heart is the woe of the Trojans hereafter. Yea, and of Hecuba's self, and of Priam the King, and my brothers Many and brave, all trodden in dust at the feet of the foemen. Than the forethinking of thine, when some brass-clad man of Achaia Leads thee weeping away, and the hour of thy freedom is ended ; Or in some Argive abode thou art spinning the web of a mistress, Or bear'st water perchance from Messeis or clear Hypereiu, Sorely abhorring the toil, but the strength of Necessity conquers. Then one says peradventure, beholding thee weep with the burthen ; — • This was the wife of the noblest of all the Dardanian Captains, Hector, the son of the King, that famous defender of Troia.' — Thus will the passenger speak, and the anguish within thee is sharpen'd. Calling the husband to mind, that alone could have sav'd thee from
bondage. O ! be the death-sleep mine, and above me the darkening earth-mound. Ere I can hear thy shriek and the dragging away of the helpless !"
HECTOR IN TROY. 259
So said the glorious Hector, and stretcht out his amis for the infant — But back-shrinking, the child on the deep-veil'd breast of the tlamsel Cower'd with a cry, and avoided in horror the sight of his father, Scared at the shine of the brass and the terrible plumage of horse-hair Tossing adown, as he stoopt, from the crest of the glittering helmet : Then did the father laugh right forth — and Andromache also ; But soon glorious Hector had lifted the casque from his temples. And on the ground at their feet it was laid, the magnificent head-piece ; Then in his hands he receiv'd him and kisst him and tenderly dandled ; Which done, this was his prayer unto Zeus and the rest of the Godheads : —
" Zeus I and ye Deities all ! may your blessing descend on mine oflfspring ! Grant estimation to him, as to me, in the land of the Trojan ! Gallant in arms may he be, and his reign over Ilion mighty. Let it be spoken of him, when they see him returning from battle, Bearing the blood-stain'd spoils, having slaughtered his enemy fairly ; —
R 3
260 HECTOR IN TROY.
' This is the first of his lineage, more excellent far than his father.' Such be the cry — and in him let the heart of his mother be gladden'd !"
Thus pray'd he, and surrender'd the child to the hands of the mother. And she receiv'd him and presst to the fragrant repose of her bosom, Smiling with tears in her eyes ; and the husband beheld her with pity, Gently caresst with his hand, and bespake her again at departing: —
" Dearest and best I let not trouble for me overmaster thy spirit. None, contravening the doom, prematurely to Hades shall send me, Nor, fidl sure, can the sentence of Fate be avoided by mortals, Whether for good or for ill, firm fixt from the hour of our birthtime. Go now back to thy home, and attend to thy proper concernments, Plying the loom and the distaff, and watching the band of thy maidens, Lest there be sloth among them : 'tis for men to take thought of the warfare,
HECTOR IN TROY. 261
Elach in his station, for me above all that were nurtur'd in Troia."
This did he speak, and the helmet was rais'd by illustrious Hector Grasping the horse-hair plume : and Andromache went at his bidding, Looking behind as she went, while the tears ran still in abundance. And the magnificent dwelling of Hector the slayer of heroes Speedily held her again, and the plentiful troop of the damsels Rose in the chamber, but sorrow was stirr'd in them aU at her entrance : Hector, though living as yet, was lamented of these in his mansion ; For it was said of them all that no more from the battle returning They should behold him, escap'd from the rage of the deadly Achaians.
Paris, the while, had not linger'd behind in his fair habitation, But having cased him complete in the dazzling array of his armour, Instantly issued, and travers'd the city with confident swiftness. As when a stall-fed horse, full pamper'd with corn at the manger.
202 HECTOR IN TROY.
Bursting the halter stamps, and with eagerness over the chanipain. On to the clear-pool'd stream where he often has lav'd him aforetime, Hushes exulting : high bears he his head — and the mane on his shoulders Tossing profuse, he careers at his ease in the pride of his beauty, Right for the well-known haunts where the herd of the mares are at pasture : — So from the Pergamas towery, the palace ancestral of Priam, Paris appear'd, in the bluze of his panoply, bright as the sunbeam. Joyous of cheer, light-limb'd — and o'ertook great Hector his brother, Even as he turn'd to the gate from the place of Andromache's parting.
ILIAD, Book VI. w. 394— .j02. THE PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.
There came hast'ning to meet him his consort, the fair and the wealthy,
She, that Andromache hight, stout-hearted Eetion's daughter,
Daughter of him, who dwelt under Placus, the forest-becrownied,
O'er Hypoplacian Thebes and Cilician warriors reigning.
His was the daughter, whom Hector, the brasen-crestcd, had chosen :
She was the wife, who met him, her handmaid pacing beside her
Holding a babe at her breast, that tender delicate infant.
Hector's only belov'd, who shone like a star in its brightness.
Hector had named the boy Scamandrius, all beside Hector
Called him King-of-the-City ; for Troy had no guardian but Hector.
Then did he smile, as he gaz'd on the child in affectionate silence.
Near him Andromache stood, and the tears stream'd faf5t from her eyelids:
264 HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.
Then did she cling to his hand, and with words such as these she
address'd him : " Hector, my brave one, but oh, too brave to be safe, or to pity This, thine infant child, or me, the unhappy — thy widow Soon to be called ; for soon the Grecian warriors will slay thee Rushing together on One ; but for me far happier were it — Were I bereaved of thee — to sink in the grave ; for what other Hope of comfort have I, when fate thy career shall have ended, — What, but to grieve ? They are gone, both the father and mother, who
bare me ; For my father was slain by the hand of the mighty Achilles, Then, when he took by storm the Cilicians' populous city, Thebes with her high-rais'd gates, and Eetion slew in the capture, Slew, but spoiled him not ; for a sense of religion restrain'd him. Him did he burn on the pile with his arras in their brightness around him ; Then on his ashes a tomb did he raise ; but the NjTnphs of the mountain
HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. 265
Planted an elm-grove around — the -.Egis-arm'd Jupiter's daughters. Then too the seven brave youths, the brothers that dwelt in our palace, They in a day went down to the darksome mansion of Hades. All were in one day slain by the swift-footed mighty Achilles, While they were tending the white-fleeced sheep and the slow-footed oxen. But for my mother, who reign'd under Placus the forest-becrowned, Her he had taken away with the rest of the spoils of the conquer'd, Then did he let her go free for a ransom of infinite value, So by Diana's shafts she died in the hall of my father. Hector — to me thou art all and enough for father and mother, Aye, and for brothers too — my brave — my beautiful husband ! Oh, then pity me now, and stay where thou art on the ramparts. Make not thy child here an orphan, thy wife too a desolate widow. Bid the men halt by the fig-tree-grove, where approach to the city Seems to invite the foe and to give a clear path to the onset. Thrice already the bravest have that way tried to assail us ;
266 HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.
Ajax, the swift, and the bold, and the far-famed king of the Cretans. One must have told them the way, well-skill'd in the art of divining. Or their own spirit has urg'd them prophetic of victory onwards."
Then to her answer made the great helm-quivering Hector : " I too have thought of all this, dear wife, but I fear the reproaches Both of the Trojan youths and the long-rob'd maidens of Troja, If like a cowardly churl I should keep me aloof from the combat : Nor would m^- spirit permit ; for well I have learnt to be valiant, Fighting aye 'mong the first of the Trojans marshall'd in battle, Striving to keep the renown of my sire and my own unattainted. Well, too well, do I know. — both my mind and my spirit agreeing, — That there will be a day when sacred Troja will perish. Priam will perish too, and the people of Priam, the spear-ann'd. Still I have not such care for the Trojans doom'd to destruction. No, nor for Heciiba's self, nor for Priam the monarch my father,
HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. 267
Nor for my brothers' fate, who, though they may be mauy and valiant,
All in the dust may lie low by the hostile spears of Achaia,
As for thee, when some youth of the brazen-mailed Achteans
Weeping shall bear thee away and bereave thee for ever of freedom,
Then for another perchance thou'lt handle the shuttle in Argos
Slave-like, or water bear from Messeis or else Hyperea,
Sorely against thy will, for force will weigh heavily on thee.
Some one perchance will say, while he looks at thee bitterly weeping,
• Lo, this is Hector's wife, who once was first in the battle
'Moug the Dardanian host, when they fought for the safety of Ilion.'
So will the stranger say ; and thine will be bitterer anguish.
Widow'd of hasband so brave, who might have kept off the enslaver.
Oh ! may the earth o'erspread first cover me deep in her bosom,
Ere I can hear thy wail, when they drag thee from Troj- as a captive."
Thus said Hector, and stretch'd his arras to encircle his infant ;
268 HECTOR AlfD ANDROMACHE.
Then did the child on the breast of the deep-zon'd handmaid in
terror, Screaming shrilly, recline, all alarm'd at the look of hia father, Dreading the brass, and the crest that fearfully nodded with horse-hair. While he beheld it shake from the glittering cone of the helmet. Oh, then his father laugh'd out, and so did his beautiful mother. Quickly did Hector take down from his head that quivering helmet, And on the ground, where he stood, all glittering laid it before him. But when he'd kissed his boy and fondling gently caresst him, Loud then pray'd he to Jove and the other Gods of Olympus ; " Jove and ye other Gods, oh grant that this child may be honour'd E'en as I honour'd have been among all the Dardanian heroes. Brave like me in the fight, and to rule over Ilion with valour ! So shall some gazer exclaim, ' Far braver is he than his father,' When he retiUTis from the fight with blood-stain'd trophies adorned. Freshly ta'en off from the slain, while the heart of his mother r€|joices."
HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. 269
So said the chief, and replac'd his child in the arms of his consort Gently, but she then at once on her fragrant bosom receiv'd him SmUing amidst her tears, and her husband pitied her weeping, Soothing her grief in his arms, and thus consoling address'd her : " Dearest, do not too much afflict thy spirit with sorrow, None can in spite of the fates send me to the mansion of Hades ; Yet what they have decreed no man has the power of escaping, Coward or brave though he be, from the hour when he first was created. Go then, go to thine house, where duties befitting await thee There by the distaff and loom ; and order thy handmaids about thee All to their daily employ. For men is the care of the battle. Most of them all, for me 'mong the native heroes of Hion." Such then were Hector's words, and he raised his helm at departing, Crested on high — but his wife was now on her way to the palace. Turning again and again, while tears flow'd fast from her eyelids. Soon did she reach the abode of Hector, the hero-destroyer.
270 HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.
Fair to behold ; and there did she find her numei-ous handmaids
All in attendance within ; and their grief was arous'd at her cj)niing.
Sorely for Hector they griev'd, yet alive, at his palace of Ilion.
" Never," they said, " will he come back again from the din of the battle
Safe to his ho:ne from the hands of the Grecians in fury assailing. "
H^otn
adinus
mxt iBrleager.
Skt to the Doriau mood of flutes and heart-stirring recorders Thus did Calliuus' strain fire the Ephesians to war.
Gentlier elegy flowed to comfort thee, sad Meleager, When in her early tomb Heliodora was laid.
WAR SONG OF CALLINUS.
Bright and glorious it is, that soldier's fate, who in armour
Stands for his children and home, stands for the wife of his heart. Bravely oppos'd to the foe. So death may come on, when he listeth,
And life's thread's at an end. Then let him on to the field, Holding on high the spear, and pressing his heart to the buckler
Firmly, when Ares first mingles the bold in the fray. Think not fate will allow for a man to live always unharmed.
Great though he be, though he boast sires of the race of the Gods. \N'hat though the coward pa.ss through the rattle of lances and arrows.
Safe to his home he may flee — death will o'ertake him at home. But then think not he dies lamented, lov'd by the people,
While both the high and the low weep by the tomb of the brave.
KAAAINOY AEf+ANON.
TiMHEN T€ yap ecTi Kai dyXaov auBpi fxd)(^e(rdai
r»;s Trepi, Kai Traihwv, KovpiBit]^ t dXo^ou Avafxeveaiv ddvaroi Se tot' earcreTai, oTnroTe kcv Brj
Moipai eTriK\w{riD(r'' dWd rts i6v^ tVw ^yX°^ dvaaxofJievoi, Kai vir dinridoi ccXki/jlov rjTop
E\o"as, TO TTpoiTOv iJnyvvfjievov rroXefxov. Ov yap Kcos davuTOu ye (pvyelv elfxapfxevov iaTiv
AvSp', ovS' rjv Trpoyovwv t] yevo^ 'ABavdTwv. YloWaKi oriioTtiTa (pvyuii/ Kai Zovirov dKOVTtov
'Ep^CTai, iv Z' o'lKw fioTpa Kixev BavaTOv. 'AA\' o' nev ovK efXTrrji hripiu) (pi\o^, ovhe Trodeivoi'
Tov 5' 6\iyo^ (TTevdx^t Kai fieya^, t]v ti Trddtj.
274 WAR SONG OF KALLINOS.
Yes ; with a nation's tears, where e'er he may die, we bewail him ;
And, if he live, he is hail'd all but a Mars upon earth. Strong as a tow'r of defence in the fight do we gaze on our hero :
His are deeds of an host ; — aye, and he does them alone.
KAAAINOY AEIH'ANON. 275
Aaw yap trvfiiravri tto^os Kparepocppovo^ aVSpos
QvTia-KOVTO^' ^w(av h' d^ioK npudewv ' Q.<nrep yap pnv irvpyov iv 6(p6a\ijioi(riv 6pia(rif Epoei yap TroWiou apia jjlovvo^ 'iiav.
MELEAGER TO HIS CHILD.
Thouoh the earth hide thee, yet there — even there, my HeHodora,
AH that is left ine I give — ^tears of my love — to thy grave ; Tears — how bitterly shed ! on thy tomb bedew'd with my weeping,
Pledge of a fond regret — pledge of affection, for thee. Piteously, piteously still — ^but in vain — grieves on Meleager :
Thou art among the dead ; Acheron heeds not my woe. Where is the flowr that I lov'd ? death tore it away in the spring-tide-
Tore it away ; and the dust stains the fair leaves ih their bloom. Genial Earth, be it thine, at the mourner's humble entreaty,
Softly to fold on thy breast her whom I ever deplore.
MEAEArPOY EnirPAMMA.
Aakpya (rot Kai vepde Bid j^dovo^, H\iohwpa,
Ait-povfiai, aTopya^ Xeiy^avov ets ^'iBav, ActKpva Bva-BaKpuTW 7ro\vK\avTw B' CTri Tvfx^to
STreVSw fxvcifxa Trodwv, fxvafxa (pi\o(ppo<Tvva^. O'lKTpd yap, o'lKTpa <pi\av ere Kai ev (pBifxevoi^ yieXeaypo^
Ata^to), Kevedv eU h.-)(epovTa )(^dpiv. A'l a'l, TTOv TO TTodetPov if^Ol 6a\oi ; dpiraaev ''AiBa^,
''ApnaceV aKfiaiov B' dv6o^ e(pvpe Kovts. 'A\Aa <re yovvovfxai, ya TravTpoipe, rau TravoBvprov
'Hptfxa troh koXttoKj fidrep, evayKaKiaai.
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