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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. 


-'?/S'7. 


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