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Full text of "Schiller's "The Song of the Bell": And Other Poems"

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r \ 

1996. 





IN MEMORY OF 
WILLIAM C. HABBERLEY 



] 





t 







SCHILLBR'S 

"TfieSsrigeftFieBell" 



AND OTHER POEMS. 



. . TRANSLATED BY 



\ THOS. C. ZIMMERMAN. 

[second edition, 1896.] 



iPRINTmO i'OR PRIVATM OIROULATIOM OMi-X.] 



f/ 



w 



READING, PA. 
1896. 



/^ 



G^ : 






I ^ 



SCHILLER'S 



"TfieSefigefltieBell 



AND OTHER POEMS. 



M 



. TRANSI^ATED BY 



THOS. C.l ZIMMERMAN. 



[second edition, 1896.] 



[PRINTBO FOI? PRIVATM GIRGUUATION ONLY.] 



READING, PA. 
1896. 



PRESERVATION 
COPY ADDED 



.A 



»»> 



^^' 



\a ' 



TO HIS DBA& P&IBND 

WILLIAM M. GRISCOM, Esq.. 

TO WH08B KINDLY OFFICES 
WHILB A RESIDENT OF BERLIN, GERMANY, 

THE TRANSLATOR 

WAS MirOH INDBBTBD F6R LITERARY FAVORS, 

THIS VOLUME IS 

RBSPBCT FULLY INSCRIBED. 







J f^ /: ^'t' /J A Ti . ) 






[The present volume has been reprinted to accom> 
modate a steadily-increasing demand for the translator's 
rendition of "The Song of the Bell," which he has not 
been able to supply. A great many letters of commend- 
ation of his work, which appeared in the first edition, 
have been omitted in this, while a number of others. 
from distinguished sources, which were received after 
the initial volume had made its appearance, have been 
inserted in this. Other new matter, such as Mr. Zim- 
merman*s address on Schiller's birthday anniversary, 
together with his translation of Luther's celebrated 
hymn, *Em* feste Burg ist tunser Gott,* and a few other 
translations, will also be found in this edition.] 



M620548 



^k<2 ^u^ €f ike %M. 



Vivos Fooom MortuoB Flango. FiOamra Frango. 

Finnly walled in earth, and steady. 

Stands tne mold of well burnt clay. 

Quick, now, workmen, be ye reacly ! 

Forth must come the bell to-day ! 
Hot from forehead's g^ow 
Must the sweat-drap»s flow. 

Should the master praise be given ; 

Yet the blessing comes from Heaven. 

The work prepared with so much ardor 
May well an earnest word become ; 
When good discourse attends the labor. 
Then flows employment briskly on. 
Observe with care, then, what arises — 
See what from leeble strength escapes; 
The man so poor, each one despises. 
Who ne'er foresees the form he shapes. 
'TIs this that man so well adorneth, 
For mind hath he to uiiderstand 
That in his inner heart he feeleth 
Whatever he fashions with his hand. 

Take the wood from trunks of pine- 

• trees, 
But well-seasoned let it be. 
That th' imprisoned flame may,bursting 
Strike the flue with lurid glee ! 

Let the copper brew ! 

Quick I the tin add, too ! 
That the tough bell metal, flowing, 
Biay the proper way be going. 

What in this pit, with hidden power. 
The hands with help of Are create, 
^yigh up in yonder belfry-tower. 
Will irpeak of us in tones elate. 
And times remote will hear it tolling. 
And many an ear its sounds will thrill; 
AflBiction's plaint, too, be condoling, 
And help Devotion's choir to fill. 
Whatever to this earthly pilgrim 
This ever-chanj<ing life may bring. 
Will strike upon its crown's clear metal 
Whose tones will then reverb' rate ring. 

Bubbles white now see I bursting; 
Good! the mass is melting now; 
Let alkali be thrown in with it. 
That will quick promote its flow. 

And from dross set free 

Must the mixture be, [ing, 

That from the metal's unmixed found- 
Clear and full may the bell be sonnding;. 



Vivos voeo. Mortuos plango. Fulgura frango. 

gcftgcmauert in ber Grfccu 
6tcl^t bie 5o«n, mi^ M)Xii gcbranr.t. 
^tc mug bie @lo<fe tocrben ! 
griW, ©efeUcn, Jeib jur §anb ! 

SBon bcr ©time ^jeift 

Stinnen mu{$ ber ©d^tveig, 
6oU ba« mxt ben aReifter Icbcn ; 
IDoc^ ber ©egen fonunt t)on oben. 

gum SBcrfe, bad luir cmft bereiten, 
(Sei^ietnt fic^ t9o(^l cin emfte^ ^ort ; 
^enn ^ute 9ieben fte begleiten, 
2)antt tiicS* bie 2lrbeit munter fort. 
@i> la^ imd ie|t mit gleig betrac^ten, 
2Bad burcb bie {c^n>ac^e Kraft enlf^^ringt ; 
^en fd^(ed9ten 97iann mu( man k>erac^ten, 
^Xr nie bebac^t, toad er oodbringt. 
^ad ift'd ia, toad ben SRenfc^en ^ieret. 
Unb ba^u toarb il^ ber Serftanb, 
S)a6 er tm innem ^erjen f^ilret, 
Sad er erfdj^afft mit {einet iganb. 

9{el^met £0(3 t)om ^c^lenfiamme, 
^od) tec^t tro(fen taft ed fern, 
^aB bie ettigepreBte St<tmme 
©dblage m U.n Sc^toalc^ ^inem. 

Xoe^t bed j^u^ferd »ret ! 

@c&nett bad Amn berbet, 
5DaJ bit ffiffi ®Tocfenf^fc 
Sliege nac^ ber vec^ten SBeife I 

^Skiii in bed 2>ammed tiefer ®xubz 
^ie $anb mit geuetd $iUfe bout, 
&odf ouf bed X^urmed (^iotfenftube, 
i^a toitb ed t)on und ^eugen laut. 
^)lod) bauent toirb'd in wliitn Xa^in 
Unb rfll^ oieler 3J{enfAen Dbr, 
Unb toirb mit bem ^etrikbten nageti 
Unb ftimmen )u ber Slnba^t S^or. 
Sad unten tief bem ^rbeniobne 
"^a^ toec^fetnbe SSertfttngniB om^t, 
^ad fc^ldgt an bie metoHne Rxom, 
2)ie ed erbaulid^ toetier tlingt. 

©eifie Slafen W *<^ f^ngen ; 
SBo^I ! bie maj\m finb im $Iui 
Saftt'd mit Sljcbenfala burAbringen, 
!Dad befbrbert fd^neU ben ©ug. 

^\xA 00m 6c^amne rein, 

ailuB bie SMfcbimg fein, 
2)a6 00m rrtith^wi SWetaffc 
*Jiein uitb t»oll bie ©timme feOalle* 



For, with its joyous, festal ringing, 
{t greets the chiicl, in accents clear, 
iVho, wrapt in sleep, is just beginning 
His earliest step in life's career. 
In Timers dark womb for him reposes 
A crown of thorns, a wreath of roses, 
A mother guards — her love attending — 
His golden morn with beauty blending — 
Arrow-swiltly flies each year. 
From maid thi? boy now proudly runneth, 
With pilfi^rim's staff doth madly roam 
Throuj^hout the world; at last returneth 
A stranger in his father *s home. 
And beauteous, in her youthful splendor, 
Like vision from celestial skies, 
With modest mien and blushes tender, 
He sees the maid before his eyes. 
A nameless longing, pleasure-thrilling. 
Then seized the youth; alone strays he; 
His eyes with copious tears are filling. 
From brothers* wild sports doth he flee. 
Encrimsoiied, now, her steps he traces, 
Her greeting's like a joy new-born, 
Tlie fairest flower in nekl embraces 
Wlierevvith his loved one to adorn. 

O sweetest hope! O tender lon^^ing! 
Tilt earliest love's first golden time! 
The eye, it sees the heavens thronging 
\\^ith rapt'rous sights and scenes sublime: 
C) that they would be never-ending, 
Tliebe vernal days, with lovelightblending^ 

See the pipes already browing! 
This small bar I dip therein; 
If it show a glasc^d coatings. 
Then the casting may begin. 

Workmen, quickly go; 

Prove the mixture's flow. 
When soft and brittle fuse together, 
'Tis a sign propitious ever* 

For when the stern and soft are sharing, 
And strength with gentleness is pairing, 
'i'lie harmony is sweet and strong. 
Who, therefore, would be boi^nd forever. 
Must see that hearts agree together! — 
Illusion's brief, repentance long. 
Lovely, in the bride's fair tresses, 
Plays the virgin wreath of green, 
When the merry church bells, ringing. 
Summon to the joyous scene. 
Ah! iife\ sweetest festal moments 
Also end life's sunny May, 
With the veil, and with the girdle, 
Fond illUf'^ions fade away. 
For passion will fly, 
But love he surviving; 
The flower must die, 
The fruitage be thriving. 
The man must be out 
In life's battle fighting, 



^inn mit bet gccubc ^t^rHange 
':BeQcUBt fte bad geliebte Hinb 
^Jlut fcinwf fieben* erftem ©ange, 
^en cd in Scbtafed ^2lrm bcginnt ; 
'^^m rul^n iioc^ m ^nUn\Sfooiit 
$te [^toat)cn unb bie ffcitixn Soofe; 
2)er aftutterliebe jartc ^orgen 
JBetDot^m jeinen golbnen ^orgeit — 
Die So^jre fllicl^n pfeilaefc^»inb. 
"S^om iD^ab^en reiftt ftc^ ftotg ber jtnobe, 
($r ftilrmt ind ;i5eben btlb ^itaud, 
2)ur(^^mi6t bie jlBelt am SBanberftobe, 
Tfvm'b te^ct er l^eim inl^ iBaterl^aud. 
Unb ^rcli(^ in ber ^ugenb $tangen,. 
^ie ein O^ebilb auii^ .<&itmneldl^&l^n, 
^{tt 5iic$ti^en, k>erfc^amten SBangen 
Sie^t er bte Sungfrau not m fteffiu 
Da fagt ein namenlofed @e^nen 
Dee Sttngttnft* ibet^ er tert attetn, 
^u0 fetnen %um brecben 2:branent 
(Sr pie^^t ber ©rilbw totlben Slel^'tu 
®rrbtbenb folat er i^ ©j)urcn 
Unb ift bott i$rem ®ru6 bealilrft, 
Da§ ©ct^bnjte fud^t er auf ben g(ur««, 
SSoniit er feme £iebe fctfinUift. 



D sarte ©ebnfuc^^t, tflgeS $offm ! 
Der erften fiiebe ^Ibne 3^^* • 
Dad ^uge fie]^ ben $imme( offen^ 
©d fc^wetQt baS ^n in ©eliflfeit; 
O, bag fie elvtg griinen bUebe, 
^it fc§bne 3eit ber iungen Siebe ! 

Ste \it^ f(^on bie $feifen brauttw I 
Diefed Btaba^m taud^' i^ m, 
@e^tt h>ir'd iiberalaft tx\qimm, 
JBirb'd jum ®uffe aeittg \m. 

3e^t, @eicKe», frifc^ I 

$rurt mic bad &^mi\df, 
Db bai €^cobe mit bem ^eid^en 
^ic^ ^erciiit 5um guten 3^i^^* 

D«m, 1)30 bi3 ©trcnge mit bem 3<ivt^# 
3Bo ©tttrle* fic^ unb SWilbcd paaxwx, 
Da giebt ed cucix QuUn iltattg. 
Drum jjnife, toec fic^ miQ biixttkr 
Db fic^ bad .^c>crg ^um ^ei-jen finbet ! 
Der SBx^n ift furg, bie JHcu' ift laUQ. 
^'Midf in ber ^laute fiotfeii 
©otelt Der juugiraulic^e Sttcm^ 
'Bcnn bie f)t len.'tird^cnQloden 
^.uen gu bed J^fbd 0lang. 
vld? ! b s i^ebend fc^bnfte getet 
(riibigj av(^ ben i'clcndmai, 
Mn bem ©iirtel, mit bem ©d^Ieiejf 
JHeifet ber fc^bne SSal^n entatoei. 
Die Seibenjc^aft fli^t. 
Die Sicbe mufj Hiibm ; 
Die 581 iine UerbCii^t, 
Die 5ru.^t muft treiben. 
Der Mann muf> l;inau3 
^5;nd feiublic^H* i'cben, 
i)h\i \mvkn unb ftvcbm 



And planting j^od nforking. 

No artifice shirking, , 

Be risking and staking, 

His fortune o*if»rtaking. 

Then riches ffow in, like a rtver unending. 

With costliest treasures the garners are 

bending; [spreads out; 

The store-rooms expand, the mansion . 
And in it reigneth 
The housewife so modest, 
The gentlest of mothers. 
Who wisely, sweetly, 
Ruleth discreetly; 
The maidens she traineth. 
The boys shfe restraineth; 
Her work ne'er decreasing 
She toileth unceasing; 
With well-ordered pains 
She adds to th^ gains, {with treasure. 
And fills up the sweet-scented presses 
Round the spindle reels thread to its 

swift-wnirring measure, [until full 
And hoards.in the bright -polished chest, 
The linen so.snow- white, and the jj:hsten- 

ing wool; [she adds ever. 

The gloss and shimmer to the good 
And resteth never. 

And the father, with joyful mien. 
From the mansion^ high, far-seeing gable 
Counts his wealth in the blooming scene; 
Sees the landmarks his estate surround- 
ing, : 
And the barn's well-filled bins abounding. 
And the gran'ries. with bounty bending, 
And the waving grain, its sunshine lend- 
Boasting, with pride-lit face: [ing; 

**Firm as the earth's own base, 
'Gainst all misfortune's might. 
Stands my house in st;itely height !'* 
But 4¥ith Oest'ny is there, seeming. 
No lasting union, interwe^»ving. 
And Misfortune strideth fast 

Good ! at once begin the casting: 
A jagg^.grain the breach presents; 
But, before we set it running. 
Pray some pious sentiments ! 

Th' tap knock out ! And, Lord. 

Well this house do guard !^ 
From the smoking mold come, gushing, 
Th' fire-brown wavelets onward rush'g. 

How friendly is the fire's might. 
When tamed by being watched aright; 
And what man fashions, what creates. 
From this heaven-born force he takes. 
But fearful this promethean wonder. 
When its fetters break asunder. 
And madly leaps unchecked along ! 
Dame Nature's daughter, free and strong! 
Woe, when once 'tis liberated. 
Spreading free on every hand; 



Unb ^fCanien ttitb fc^affdw 

(Sriiften, cttaffeRr 

IDlni main unb toogeiir 

^ad <S(fu<f IB eqagen. 

^a ftromet V^i ^t^ unenMid^e (SoBc, 

6« fuUt fi4 bet epti6ftt mU tdfUidjict^aSc^ 

^te maumt toac^fen, ed bet^t ft^ boi^inii. 

Unb brinnen toaltet 

^ii siid^ti^e $audftau, 

^ie ^{utter ber ^inber, 

Unb ^rjd^et toeife 

3m ^auSlic^en 5lreife, 

Uiio (e^ret bie SRabd^en 

Unb n>e^ret ben jtnaben, 

Unb te^^ ol^' (Snbe 

2)ie fleiSigen §anbe, 

Unb me^rt ben ©ciDtnn 

3Rit orbnenbem ©inn, 

Unb fflUet ntit ©(^a^ bie buftenben 2(Cbm, 

Unb brel^t urn bie fd^nurtenbe @^inbe( bm 

gaben, 
Unb fammelt m mnVx^ ^egtdtteten ^d^vm 
Xit f(&hnmembe SSoae, ben f d^neeigten 2etn^ 
Unb fiioet jum ®uten ben ®lan| unb ben 

^d^iimner 
Unb tuj^t nimmer. 



Unb ber Saler imt ftolfm SlidC, 
$on bed $aufed meitfc^auenbem (Siebel 
Ueberaol^tet fern blfli^b ©liicf, 
Sie^t ber $fofiten ragenbe ^dume 
Unb ber ^qtwitm gefftSte dtdunte 
Unb bie ^pddfn, t>om 6eaen g^bogen, 
Unb bed horned beioegte SBogen, 
MUfnni fi($ mit ftohem Stunb : 
^eft, tote ber @rb« ©runb, 
®egen be« Ungiatfd Slac^t 
<BtiU mtr bed £)aufed ^rac^t ! 
^0(9 mtt bed Sef(^tffed SRdc^ten 
3ft fein eto'ger «wnb m fitdftm, 
Unb bod UngUUf fd^reUet fc^neH. 

SBobl ! nun !ann ber @u( b<egtnnen; 
ec^6n ge^odTet tk ber Sruc^. 
^oc^, bek>or toir^d laffen rtnnen, 
S^tUi etnen frmmiiat @^rttc^ i 

@to(t ben 3a^f^ oud ! 

@ott betoal^' bad ^aud ! 
9iau(^enb in bed ^enMd Sogen 
@(^te^'d mit fenmrounen SBogcn. 

3Bo^lt^tig ift bed $euerd SRac^t, 
SBenn pc ber Vim^ bcjal^t, benni^t 
Unb foa% er bilbet, tca^ er fd^afft, 
^a^ bantt er biejer £)tmme(dfraft ; 
3)o(^ furd^tbar toirb bie $>!nime(fl'h*a[f, 
mm fie ber ^effel fic^ cntrafft, 
©in^crtritt auf ber eignen ©vur, 
2)ie freie Xodbter ber 9iahir, 
3Be^e, toenn fie todgelaffen, 
'Bac^fenb ol^ne SBibcrftanb, 



Through the streets like fiehd unsated, T^utdf bie iiorOetrtttn tkiffH ^'"^^ 
Quickly moves the monstrous brand I SBdl^t ben uriQef^eurm Ormf'^ 
By the elements is hated ^enn bie (Slemente Mf^ ^ 

Work^that's done by human hand * ^ad @ebilb ber ^enf(i^cilteik^ 



From the clouds come 

Rk:fa«st blessing, 

Rains refreshing; 

From the clouds, *mid thunder's crash, 

Lightnings flash. 

Hear'stfrom yon spire the wild alarm?' 

That's the siorm ! 

Red as blood 

Are the skies; 

That is not the daylight's floo ^ 

What tumults rise 

Along each street ! 

Up, smoke and heat. 

Through the streets, with fury flaring, 

Stajks the Are with fiendish glaring, 

Rushing as if the whirlwind shanngl 

Like the blast from furnace flashing 

Qows the air, and .beams are crashing, 

Pillars tumbling,, windows creaking, 

Mothers wandering, children shrieking, 

Be/ists are moaning, 

Running, groaning 

'Neath the ruins; all are frightened. 

Bright as day the night enlightened. 

Through the chain of hands, extending, 
Wi' zeal contending. 
Flies the bucket; bow-like, soaring. 
High in air the stream is pouring. 
Comes the tempest, howling, roaring, 
Rushing in the path of flame. 
Crackling 'mid the well-dried grain, 
In the gran'ry chanitvers falling, 
'Lonij the well-dried-rafters bawling; 
As if 'twould surely^^r, in blowing. 
The very earth itseJjT Slid bear 
It upwards through the lurid air. 
High as heaven the Barnes are growing — 
Giant tall ! 

Hopeless^ all, « 

Man submits to might o^erpow'ring; 
Idly sees, what first see'lfted low' ring. 
His work to sure destruction going. 

All burnt out are 
Town and village, 

Rugged beds ofthe tempest's pillage. 
In the hollow gaping windows 
Gloom is sitting, 

And the clouds, through heaven flitting, - 
Look within. 

One look at last . 
Where tfee measure 
or his treasure 

Buried lies, man turns to cast — 
Then clutches he his staff with pleasure. 
W^hate'er the flaptes took from his home, 
One solace ever him consoleth: 



3(ud ber SSoRe 

DuiSt ber Segcn, 

©trdmt ber ffit^m ; 

^ud ber SOoIIe, o^ne SJol^I, 

3ucft ber ©trabl. 

§5rt ibr'd tDtmnicru f^^ Mm S^^mnl 

2)a« tft @turm ! 

Moib, tDte Slut, 

3ft ber §immel ; 

^ad ift nic^t bed Xaged ©Util^l 
; SBelc^ ©etilmmei 
[ ©traften auf ! 
' ^om^f toaUt auf ! 

F^todemb ftetgt bie geuerfSufc;: 

^urd^ ber 6tra6e laxt%9 3eile 

SBac^ft ed fort mit SSinbedeile; 

5to<fienb, tt)ie aud Ofend MaSeiL 

@(i&n bie 2afte, Salfeit fcad^ 

$foften ftitr^en, genftet Hirten, 

iltnber iammem, ^JRutter irscn, 

2^1^itre loinuuern 

Unter Xrftmmem ; 

mti rennet, rettet, fifldbtet, 

Xag^ ift bie mc^t geKc^tet; 

^urc^ ber $dnbe Um%^ Petie 
Umbie©etlc 

gltcgt ber (5imer ; l^oA im ©ogett 
Bptii^ DueUen ^Bafferttw^en. 
£)eu(enb lommt ber @turm atfleqifn^ /v 

^er bie Jlamme braufenb fuci^t. .' . . 

?Jraff elnb in bie bfirre Sruc^t ; , . :. 

5?aat fie, in be« ©^tc6er« ^6mttt^ ; . 
3n ber ©barren bilrte SSKtume, _/ " 

Unb aI8 topUte fie im SBel^ . .t ^: t?; 
3Rit fic^ fpTt ber ^be 3BudJt ' .'n^ 

SReiften in a^toalt'aer gluAt, : :*■ 

SBac^ft fie m be« $itmne» S^km *<:lv; . r. \ 
^iiefengroft ! 

feoffnun^Mod .;. •' :.':m; ; ; i; ' '> 

'BexO^t ber •3Renf6 ber ®»tt«rftfithiit % A> 
aRttftie fie^it er ieine ©erfe J .ni ? 

Unb betounbemb.unterflel^." : vixj'v v, vi; 
t-i. • ■ •» v! ffi\i ' T 

fieergebrannt . , >;jr v-^M 

3ft.bie."@titte, -■ .i;r. ■• .• r.--}. 

Silbet ©turme raul^e« Bettf.. ' ^ ' :T 
5n ben b^en ?Venfter^o(>len 
Solent t>n§ ©rauen, 
Unbbe$.^Miwncli-5fepl*enfd^uai i : 
$o(^ l^inein.; ; , 

©hienmif " - 

"Jlcid) betti ©rabe 
Seiner .t^abc 

Senbet nod; ber IWcnfc^ jiurfldP — 
Wreift frcMic^ bann aum SOBanbcrflaBe, 
%x^ 5c«cr« %v'f) ibm audf aeraubt. 
Gin fuijev Xroft ift ijjm geblieoen : 



T 



He counts the heads of those he Ipveth, 
And lo ! not one dear head is gon^' 

In the earth *tis now reposing 
Haply we the mold did ^U; 
Will the light, its form disclosing, 
Thus repay our toil and skill ? 
Should tj^ casthig crack 1 
Should the matrix break ! 
Ah, perhaps, •while hope is glowing, 
Its bad work ^s already showing. 

To e^h*s dark womb, our hopes pos 
.<essin^.' • 
Coiiade we what our hands have done, 
As trusts the sower the seed he's sown, 
And hopes 'twill bloom into a blessing, 
And bless him,theii, as heaven has shown. 
Yet costlier seed, in sorrow sowing. 
We trembling hide in earth's dark womb. 
And hope that from the coffin, growing, 
A fairer form will sometime blooio. 

From the steeple 
Sad and strong; 
Th' bell is tolling 

A fun'ral song. [ing 

Sad and slow its mournful strokes attend- 
Some poor wand rer tow'rds his last 
home ^vending. 

Ah ! the wife it is, tlie dear one; 
Ah! it is the faithful mother, 
Whona the Prince of Shades, unheeding. 
From the husband's arms is leading, 
From the group of children there, 
Whom she blooming to him bare; 
On whose breast saw, maid and boy» 
Growing with maternal joy. 
Ah ! the household ties so tender, 
Sundered are forevermore; 
Gone into the realm of shadows 
She who ruled this household o'er. 
Now her faithful Teign is ended. 
She will need to watch no more; 
In the orphaned place there ruleth 
A stranger, loveless evermore. 

'Till the bell bfe rightly cool^, 
Let us rest from toil severe. 
As the bird 'mid foliage playeth. 
So may each be blessed with cheer. 

When stars twinkling come— 

With labor's duty done — 
Th' workman hears the vespers ringing. 
Still to master care is clinging. 

Homeward now, with joy attending, 
Far in forest wild tlie wand'rer 
Towards his loved cot ts wending. 
Slowly home the sh<fep are winding. 
And the cattle, 

Broad-browed, gentle, sleek. assenii'Iiiv-*;. 
Come in Towing, 
Their accustomed places knowing;. 



^r jdBIt bfe ©Suiter feiner Steben, 

Unb fie^ ! i^m fc^lt !cin tl^ureS §atJi)te • 

Jn bic (Srb' tft'S auf^eno'.imicn, 
® lucf (ic^ ift bic gomi gefliUt ; ' 
SBivb'S auc^ fc(;bn ju Xa^t fuiamen, 
2)aft e§ 5lei& unb Al^unfi ijergilt ? 

SBenn btr @«fi miglang? 

2Bcnn bic gonn jcr)>rana? 
2lc^; bicEcic^t int>an tt)ir gotten, 
.^at 4irt& Unl^eil Won getroffen. 

; -tltm ^unfclrt @rf)ooS ber l^cirgcn (&ttt 
Stotroiicn tuir bcr ^anbc S:i;at 
^Vvalraut bcr ©amaiui fcinc Baat 
Unb l^offt, baft fie cntfcimeti tucrbe 
Sum ©egcn, nac^ bc^ ^iimuelS 3iatl^. 
5iod^ fbftlic^cren ©amen bergen 
SBir traucrnb in ber ®rbc ©c^i>S 
Unb j^offcn, bag er aviJ b^ s^cirgen 
terbliil^n \oU 3U fd^bnenti Sopg; . 

95on bem 2)(mte, , . • ,/ 

©d^tDcr tinb bang, . ' 

%'6nt bie Olotfe * * 
(SJcabgefong. 

®mft begleitcn il/rc ^^rduerfd^iagt 
©incn 3Q3anbercr auf bcm lejten ffiege. 

%(!f)\ bie ©attln tff«, bie tl^cure, 
9ld) ! e8 ift bic trcue mntttr, 
2)ic ber fcptoarje giirft ber ©c^atten 
STiJcgfil^rt au« bhn 2lm bco GJutlenr 
9Iu« ber jartcn ^inbcr ©i^aar, 
$Dtc fie blii^enb il^ Qibax', 
©ic fie an bcr treuen ©luft 
2Ba4icu !a^ mit a»utterlufi — 
9lc^ ! bed. ^aufcd ^arte Sanbe 
6tnb gctoft auf iminerbar ; 
$Denn fte too^t xm ©c^attcnlanbc, 
SDic bc« feaufed 5)2iittcr tuar ; 
iDcnn e§ fc^lt \]}t trench SGaltai, 
3^re 6orae luad^t nid^t nicbr ; 
2lu t)crh)atfter ©tdttc )d),\Uin 
2Birb bie JJrembc, licbclccr. 

93i§ bic ®I#de ftc^ tierliii^; 
Safjlbie fti^ae Slrbeit nihn. 
2Bie im Saub ber 9>t>cjel \p\il^, 
SRctfl r^c^ jcber ftfltlic^ tl^un. 

tffiinft ber ©ternc Sic^l, 

Sebig aUer ^flic^t, 
foM ber Surfc^ bi* ^^cfpcr fc^'agcn; 
^eifter mug fi^ iiuiiier ^(aget^ 

3Ruhter fSrbcrt fetne ©c^ritte 
Jvern im wtCben 5?orft bcr SBanbrer 
'^ladf bcr lieben §etmat^]^utte, 
'Blbdenb jiei^cn l^eim bie ©d^afe, 
Unb ber ^Jinbcr 

^Brcitgeftimte, glattt ©(^aaren 
.^ommcn briiUcub, 
Die gctvo^teii Ct^ffc filllcn^. 



Fffled wftfi crftffl 

Reels ttie w«f om 

HeAvy-ladefi, 

Bright with |Mye« 

Oh g^oldefi nheaves 

Garlands glance^ 

And tlie yottflj^ent of the r^ttpen 

Seek the dance, 

Street and market gTC>w more nilent; 

HouHehotd Inmates now are aeekfni^ 

The cheering; g;! ow of lighted tapera, 

And ckxitnji; toiA'N*«:ate« •j:ain are creak- 

DHrUa««iMf»pr«ad«th [Ing, 

O'er the lAndicaiM; 

But the honaat burgher dreadetb 

Not the niflfht, 

Whteh alarm to evil upreadeth; 

Forthee^'e ofLawkeepa watch aright. 

Holy Order, rich in Meting, 
H@4vefl'g daughter, llghtljr preMtng^ 
BJndeth thrwe of eqimlitiitlon^ 
Firmly l^ys tho town'f /olindation. 
CaUn th« {^Avaga from hlf wildneaa^ 
Bld« him live in peace and mildneaa. 
Into htimati htrta ahe entera, 
• Aeauftintelh all with gentle mannem, 
And thsii deafest band weaver Votsnd tie 
Which to Fnthertand hath bound ua» 

In St cheerful obligation 
Thotmand busy handa unite. 
And in bummg agitation 
Fofcca all are brought to light 
Mnster frtir*?, and workmen, a1«io. 
When guarded well, in' Freedom** catiae^ 
Each rejoices in his station, 
Defying those who break the laws. 
Blessing is the prize of labor. 
Work for burgher grace commands; 
Kings are honored by their office^ 
Honored we by busy hands» 

Peace, all-gentlet 
Concord sweet, 
Tarry, friendly, 
Never from this place retreat f 
May the day, too, ne'er be dawning, 
When ruffian hordes of war, engaging, 
Throngb this peaceful vale go raging; 
When the heavens 
Which, with evening's rosy flashe*;. 
Softly beam. 

Shall towns and cities, in therr ashes, 
Reflect the firelight's frfehtful gleam. 

Instant break the mold to pieces. 
It has now its part well borne. 
That both heart and eye, delighted, 
Mny behold tlie perfect form. 

.Swing the hammer, swing, 

'Till the case shall spring. 
For the bell, to sight appearing; 
Must its outer shell be clearing. 



ItotnMabm; 
9ttnt twn BMfii, 

Sieat Ut Ktani, 

UvS ha$ Iwm Sod ^ e^itma 

SRorft iinb 6irtt^ iMbm fWkr; 

Z<tna(itinM m 4>auMe»0l^^ 
Unb ba« et^ot f^Ciefit fi^ Ir 

ei(^bi/frbf; 

2)c4 b€n f^ffm m«9€r fi^tedEet 

fllt^ft We !fea<^H, 

^U ben «5fen eMM totdtt ; 

^mn bat Sit^ bei 4kf^ motf 

i^Va/t jDtbmma^ fe^eiKtei^f 
^fmtikMfitt, b& boi (S^id^e 
grei tmb (dc^t unb ftatbui bittbel; 
{Die bet ©table ©ou gwrflnbet^ 
^xt ^dn uon ben ^cnlben 
Slief ben ufi^efcU'gen ffillben, 
(Sinlrat in bet SRenf^en Mtten^ 
etc tte»&]^t px fonfteit ©itten, 
Unb bo« tbeuetfte ber ©anbe 
9Bob, ben %xuh yam Sotertonbe I 

Xaufenb pcij'ge j^dnbe rojen^ 
.&<lfm fid^ in munterm Sunb^ 
Unb irt fcurigcm ©etoegen 
Serben aUt SttixfU hmb. 
Weiftcr rtil^rt p^ ""^ ®«l«n< 
5n ber ^mlmt MV^m ©(^tt^ ; 
Seber freut fic^ )ein« etette, 
xBietct bem SScrftcf^tcr Xm^. 
Krbcit ift be« 33iiraer§ Qierbe, 
©egen ift ber mm ?^rei« ; 
ei&rt ben.^onig feme SButbe^ 
ft)vzt u n g b<r ^onbe gkij. 

©otb«r 5ricbe, 
©tigc mntva^t, 
SBeiiet, meilet 

^unbiic^ .ftber bicfct ©tabt f 
Wm nk ber %aQ erfc^tiuen, 
IQo be« ralii^ ^riege^ .t o''bcii 
SMefeg fttHe Zfyil bnrc^toden, 
"^0 ber §immet, 
'^eu beS 2lbenbi& fanfte S'StOe 
liebUdSf matt^ 

9?on ber 2)ijrfer, t^on ber ©tdbte 
Sfiilbem ©ranbe fc^redlid; ftraMf f 

Seine ^bfic^t^afderfQat, 
^afe fic^ §er> unb Stttge toeibe 
^iln bem njol^Cgelungeiicn 53ilb. 

S3i§beraKanteTfjjrin9tl 
?5cnn bte ^floc!' fott auferftei^en, 
'UuB bic gorm in ©tutftit Qcfcii. 



The master, with judicious training, 
Knows when 'tis best to break the mold; 
But woe! when streams of ore, all glowing. 
Rush unchecked from out their hold! 
Blind racing, like the thunder's crashing, 
It bursts its fractured bed of earth, 
As if from out hell's jaws, fierce flashing, 
It spewed its flaming ruin forth. 

Where forces rude are madly reigning. 
There can no perfect form be framing; 
When nations would themselves be free- 
ing, 
The common weal will soon be fleeing* 

Woe, when in the heart of dties 
The smouldering embers heaped-up liet 
When the people, fetters bursting. 
Help themselves with savage cry 1 
Rebellion, at the bell's strone cable, 
Sendeth out a howling sound; 
Though consecrate to peace and quiet, 
The tocsin rings the signal round. 

"Equal'ty and Freedom!" men are 

shrilling. 
To arms the peaceful burj^hers fly. 
The streets and halls with crowds are 

filling. 
And murd'rous bands around there hie. 
Then women, to hyenas turning, 
'Mid horrors mock and jeer and iest. 
And tear, with panther's frenzy burning, 
The heart from every hostile breast 
There's naught that's sacred more, for 

breaking 
Are all the bonds of pious fear^ 
The bad the good one's place is taking. 
Vice knows no law in its career. 
*Tis dangerous to wake the lion. 
Destructive is the tiger's tooth, 
But far more fierce, and far more fiendish, 
Deluded man bereft of ruth. 
Woe to them who lend the sightless 
The heavenly torch to light the way ! 
It guides them not, it can but kindle, 
And towns and lands in ashes lay. 

Joy to me now God hath given ! 
See ye I like a golden star. 
From the shell all bright and even, 
Comes the metal kernel clear. 

Bright the molten stream 

Plays like sunny beam. 
Lik wise on th' 'scutcheon, clearing, 
Is the skillful work appearing 

Come in, come in ! 
Ye workmen all, the pit surrounding, 
Baptize the bell ere it be sounding ! 
Concordia its name shall be 
To heartfelt union and adoration 
May it summon all the congregation. 



^et SWeifter Imtn bte gormwrbrfc^eti 
SRit tocifer $)anb, gur rental 3<ii ; 
^odf mf^, mmx in glammenbac^m 
S)a8 0lii]^'nbe (grg ftd? ielbft befteii ! 
SUnbtviitl^enb, ntit u^ ^onnerS Rvadftn, 
Serf^rengt e« ba« gebovftne ^w«, 
unb i»ie avLi offneni feoUeitrac^en 
6))eit cS SBevbevben jiinbenb aud. 

fflo rol^ Hrfifte ftnnlcS \m\Un, 
^a lann ftdjf Urn @ebtlb (^eftalten ; 
aSenn fic^ bie 5Sdl!er felbft befreui, 
IDa !ann bie SBol^lfaljfvt uic^t gebeil^n. 

SBfl^, toenn ftd^ in bem Sc^oog bn @t&bte 
5Der fjeueraunber ftiU gel^awft, 
3)aS sBolI, gerreifienb feine RHit, 
3ur (Et0cn]^iilfe {(^ved lic^ ^mH ! 
sDa serret an bev ©lode ©triingen 
2)ec Slufrul^r, bag fte l^enlenb fc^aUt 
ttnb, nut getveil^t 5u i^riebenSftaiigen, 
2)ie Sofung anftimmt aur ©eioalt. 



gfreil^it unb ©letd^l^eit ! (>5rt ii? n *clf alien; 
S)et nil^ige 3)ilrfler greift i;ur 2B<?^r, 
^ie etragen fUden fic^, bie £>alieu, 
ttnb SS^fttgerbanben gie^n unil^er. 
a)a toerben SBeiber n« ^t^mm 
Unb treiben mit (Sntfefeen ©c()erji ; 
9lc^ fadmh, niit bed $antl^erd 3dl^nen« 
Serteigen fte be« geinbeS §et;i. 
vliAt^ ^eiligeg ift mel^r, ed Ii)fen 
6i(9 aUe ^anbe fronimer @d^eu ; 

2)er ®ute ratnnt ben $Ia^ bem Sofen, 
Unb aHe fiafter toalten frei. 
©efdl^rUc^ ift'«, ben Sen mx mdm, 
Serberblic^ ift be§ Xiflci<j 3ahi ; 
Sebcc^ bad Ic^^redtlic^fte ber (Sdnerfen, 
3)ad ift bet 3!flm\d) in fetnem ^al^n. 
SDSel^ benen, bte bem (Si^ic^Minbeu 
3)e« Sic^teS .tjimmelfiidet leil^n ! 
Sie fttal^lt il^m nic^t, fie fann nnr gi'mben, 
Unb aMert @tabt' unb Sduber ein. 



greube j^at mir ®ott ^e^cben ! 
©e^et ! njie ein gclbner ©tern, 
atud ber £)iilfe blnn! nnb ebni, 
6c6alt fic^ ber metaUne 5lern. 
3$on bem $|elm gum Hrang 
@^)ielt'§ h)ie ©i nnenglnng, 
9ixi(Sf beg SBa^)pen6 nette @cl;ilbct 
Soben ben erfa^^rnen ^iJilber. 

Serein! I^erein! 
efeaen aUe, fdS^Hegt ben Sleil^en, 
3)a6 h)ir bie ©lode tanfenb toeil^en ! 
® n c V b i a f oU i^r 9lame f ein . 
3ur (Sintrac^t, gu l^orginniaem ^crcine 
Serfauunle fie bie liebenbe Q^emciu^. 



And this henceforth its calling be, 
Whereto the master set it free! 
High o'er this nether world of ours, 
Shall it, in heaven *s azure tent, 
D^U where the pealing thunder lowers, 
And border on the firmament. 
It shall, too. be a voice from heaven, 
Like yonder starry hosts, so clear, 
Who in their course extol their Maker. 
And 9nward lead the wreath-crowned 

year. 
To earnest things and things eternal, 
Devoted be its metal tongue, [pinions. 
And, hourly, Time, with swift-winged 
Will touch it as it flieth on. 
Its tongue to Dest'ny 'twill be lending^ 
No heart itself, from pity free 
Its swinging ever be attending 
Life's changeful play, whate'er it be. 
And as the sound is slowly dying. 
That strikes with such o erpowVing 

might, 
So may it teach that naught abideth, - 
That all things earthly take their flight 

And now employ the cable's power, 
Raise the bell from out the ground^ 
That in its roomy, air-built tower, 
It may reach the realms of sound ! 

Higher, higher raise! 

Now it moves, it swaysl 
To this city Joy revealing. 
Be Peace the first note of its pealing. 



Unb bleft fci fortxu iOr 53emf, '- 

SBoxu bcr iRcifter fi: ctjc^uf : 

^oc9 ilbenn niebem (£'rbeiileben 

&oU fie m blauen ^hitmc(<^3elt, 

^ie afiac^barin bed ^otuter^', f<^mcben 

Unb flrenjen an bie (Sterueinoclt, 

@pa eine <Stimme fein Don obcti, 

9Bie ber @efttme I^Ue @d^aar, 

^ie ibren ©c^b^fer manbetub lobcn 

Unb.fiil^ren bag belrSnste "^dfyv. 

3lxLX etpigen unb emften ^Dinflen 

@ei tbr metaUnet 3Runb Qtim% 

Unb ftunbli^ mit ben fcbneUen 3cbtrir.v« 

©erii^c'^ iirt JJuffe fte bic 3cit. 

2)em ©c^^icffal Uif;c fie bie 3unai' , 

© e I b ft ^r^loe, o^ne a)htflefu|l, 

33efllttle fie mit il^rem ©(^toungc 

^eg i^ebend mec^ieluoiled @^iel. 

Unb mie ber ^lang im xjfyc uer(^e(?et, 

2)er md^tig tdnenb i^jr entft^alit, 

©0 Iel[ire fie, baf, ni(tt« befte'-et, 

^aB Affed Svbifc^e Der(^aia. ' 



Se^o mit ber 5lraft be« ©hra«{]ie« 
SBiegt bie mod' mir au« ber @nift, 
S)a6 lie in bad mid) bed ^laugci^'' 
©teige, in bie $iminc(dluft ! 

§ieH ai^^et, l^ebt ! 
ie htti^i ficb, fc^iijebt, - 
greube biefer ©tabt bebeute, 
gr Ube fei i^r erft ©elciute. 



->^ti^ 



^lAeMnueeu^ ^ecm^. 



Sctjnfttd?t .— TI)e Longing. 



SCHILLER. 



Ach, aus dieses Thales Grtinden, 
Die der kalte Nebel driickt, 
Konnt' ich doch den Ausgang finden, 
Ach, wie fatilt' ich mich begltickt ! 
Dort erblick' ich-schone Hiigel, 
Ewig jung und ewig grun ! 
Hatt' ich Schwingen, hatt* ich Fliigel, 
Nach den Hiigeln zog ich hin. 

Harmonifeen hor' ich klingen, 
Tone siissef Himmelsnih. 
Und die lekfeten Winde bringen 
Mir der Dtifft^\Balsatti zu. 
Gcldne Frucht^ seh' ich gliihen, 
Winkend zWi'schen diinkelm Laub, 
Und4ie.Blvimen, die dort hliihen, 
We'rdej) keJnes VViiitei^';K?nib. 

Ach. wie schon muss sich's ^r^geheii 
Dort im ewigen SonnenscKeii),>, •' 
Und die Luft aujT jenfen Hoh^rvy^ ' 
O, wie labend muss sie sein ! 
Doch mir wehrt des Stromes Tpben, < 
Der ergrimmt dazwischen braupt; 
Seine Wellen sind gehoben, 
Dass die Seele mir ergraust 

Einen Nachen seh' ich schwankeiur, 
Aber, ach! der Fuhrmann fehlt. 
Frisch hinein und ohne Wanken ! 
Seine Segel sind beseelt. 
Du musst glauben. dti musst wagen, 
I ♦enn die Gotter liehn kein Pfand ; 
Nur ein Wunder kann dich tragen 
In das schone VVunderland. 



Alas! from out this lowly valley, 
Which the chilly mists oppress, 

[ Could I but the path discover, 
Fiird I'd be with happiness! 

; There I see yon lovely mountains; 

• Ever young, and green all o'er ! 

; Had I wings, yea, had I pinions— 
I To the mountains would { soaf . ' ' 

' Harmonies do I hear ringing, 
Tones of heavenly rest and calm, 
: And the gentle winds are bringing 
: Wealth to me of odorous balm. j , 
j Golden fruits, too, see I glowipg, 
i Glinting 'tween the dark green spray, 
I And the flowers, there now blooming, 

• Are no fpdd for Winter's jprey. 

; Ah ! in sunshine never ending 
It were sweet to wander free. 
And the aironyonaer mountains- 
How refreshing it must be ! 
; But an angr)r stream confronts me, 
Torrents 'twixt up furious roll, 
Billows h^ve with dreadful menace. 
Striking terroi; to my soul. 

See ! there comes a reeling shallop, 
But alas ! no pilot's there I 
Enter in it witnout wav'ring ! 
inlled are all its sails with air. • 
Thou must trust, must something venture, 
The* gods to others pledge give ne'er ; 
Naught but wonder can convey thee 
To the Wonde land, so fair 



Der ^llpenOflSen— Tl)e Alpine Hunter. 



SCHILLSR. 



Willst du nicht das Lammlein hiiten ? 
Lammlein ist so fromm und sanft, 
Nahrt sich von des Grases Bluthen, 
Spielend an des Baches Ranft. 
**Mutter, Mutter, lass mich g^ehen, 
**Jagen nach des Herges Hohen !" 

Willst du nicht die Heerde locken 
Mit des Homes munterm Klang ? 
Lieblich tont der Schall der Glocken 
In des Waldes Lustgesang : 
"Mutter, Mutter, lass mich gehen, 
'•Schweifen aufden wildea Hohen !" 

Willst du nicht der Blumlein warten, 
Die im i5eete freundlich stehn ? 
Draussen ladet dich kein Garten ; 
Wild ist s aufden wilden Hoh'n ! 
"Lass die Blumlein lass sie hliihen ! 
**Mutter, Mutter, lass mich ziehen !** 

Und der Knabe ging zu jagen, 
Und es treibt und reisst ihn fort, 
Rastlos fort mit blindem VVagen 
An des Berges finstern Ort ; 
Vor ihm her mit Windesschnelle 
Flieht die zittemde Gazelle. 

Auf der Felsen nackte Rippen 
Klettert sie mit leichtem Schwung, 
Durch den Riss gespaltner Klippen 
Tragt sie der gewagte Sprung : 
Aber h inter ihr verwogen 
Folgt er mit dem Todesbogen. 

Jetzo auf den schroffen Zinken 
Hangt sie auf dem hochsten Grat, 
Wo die Felsen jah versinken, 
Und verschwunden ist der Pfad. 
Unter sich die steile Hohe. 
H inter sich des Feindes Nahe. 

Mit des Jammers stummen Blicken 
Fleht sie zu dem harten Mann, 
Fleht umsonst, denn loszudriicken, 
Legt er schon den Bogen an ; 
Plotzlich aus der Felsenspalte 
Tritt der Geist, der Bergesalte. 

Und mit seinen Gotterhanden 
Schiitzt er das gequulte Thier. 
**Musst du Tod und Jammer senden," 
Ruft er, "bis herauf zu mir ? 
"Raum fur Alle hat die Erde ; 
**Was verfolgst du meine Heerde?" 



Wilt thou not the lamb be heeding ? 
Mild and innocent its look; 
Browsing on the blooming meadow, 
Playing by the babbling brook ; 
"Mother, mother, It-t me fly 
"Hunting on the mountain high I*' 

Wilt thou not the herds be 'luring 
With the bugle's tones of cheer ? 
Charming sounds from bells commingle 
With the woodland son|^ so clear. 
"Mother, mother, roammg, I, 
** Would to yonder mountain hie !" 

Wilt thou please attend the flower, 
In its bed so sweet and bright ? 
Garden none without, nor bower, 
Wild 'tis on the mountain height. 
"Let the flowers bloom and blow ! 
"Mother, mother, let me go !" 

And the boy went to the mountain. 
And heedless, both of time and place. 
With blinded zeal that knows no resting 
Thro* gloom he strides with rapid pace j 
Like the wind from out the dell, 
Panting, flies the swift gazelle. 

On the rocky verge she climbeth 
With an easy, graceful swing, 
O'er the cfefted rocks she leapeth 
With a swift and fearless spring : 
But behind her speeds the foe 
Recklessly with deadly bow. 

See how o'er the rock-ribbed summit 
Hangs she, on the topmost height. 
Where the crags sink so abruptly, 
And the path is lost to sight. 
Under her the precipice, 
Close behind the foeman is. 

At this man of stone she glances 
With silent looks so full of woe. 
But in vain ; for he is ready 
To let his deadly arrow go. 
Instant from his cavern doors 
Th' ancient mountain spirit soars. 

And with godlike hand he guarded 
This tortured creature from the foe. 
"To my house must you be sending 
"Death's darts," cried he, "and lasting 
**Room on earth for every one, [woe ? 
"Why not let my flocks alone ?" 



-II- 



€m 5c(ie Surg.— A RoCl^-^^ound fortress. 



MARTIN LUTHER. 



Ein* feste Burg ist unser Gott, 

Ein* gute Wehr und Waffeii. 

Er hiut uns frei aus aller Noth, 

Die uns jetzt hat he' roffen. 

Der alt* bose Feind 

Mit Ernst er's jetzt meint ; 

Gross* Macht und viel List, 

Sein' grausam* Riistung ist, 

Auf Erd*n ist nicht sein's Gleichen. 

Mit unsrer Macht ist nichts gethan, 

Wir sind gar bald verloren ; 

Es streit*t fur uns der rechte Mann, 

Den Gott hat selbst erkoren. 

Fragst du, wer Der ist ? 

Er heisst Jesus Christ, 

Der Herr Zebaoth, 

Und ist kein andrer Gott ; 

Das Feld muss Er behalten. 

Und wenn die Welt voll Teufel war 
Und wollt uns gar verschlingen, 
So fiirchten wir uns nicht so sehr, 
Es soil uns doch gelingen. 
Der Fiirst dieser Welt, 
Wie sau*r er sich stellt, 
Thut er uns doch nichts ; 
Das macht. er ist gericht*t, 
Ein Wortlein kann ihn fallen. 

Das Wort sie soil en lassen stan 

Und kein'n Dank darzu haben. 

Er ist bei uns wohl auf dem Plan 

Mit Seinem Geist und Gaben. 

Nehmen sie den Leib, 

Gut, Ehr, Kind und Weib ; 

Lass fahren dahin, 

Sie haben's kein'n Gewinn : 

Das Reich muss uns doch bleiben I 



A rock-bound fortress is our God^ 
A good defense and weapon. 
He helps us out of every need 
That doth us press or threaten. 
The old, wicked foe, 
With zeal now doth glow ; 
Much craft and great might 
Prepare him for the fight. 
On earth there is none like him. 

With our own strength there^s nothing 
We're well nigh lost, dejected ; [done, 
For us doth fi^ht the proper One, 
Whom God Himself elected. 
Dost ask for His name ? 
Christ Jesus— the same! 
The Lord of Sabaoth, 
The world no other hath ; 
The field must He be holding. 

And were the world with devils fiUed, 
With wish to quite devour us. 
We need not be so sore afraid, 
Since they can not o*erpower us. 
The Prince of this World, 
In madness though whirled, 
Can harm you nor me, 
Because adjudged is he, 
A little word can fell him. 

This Word shall they now let remain, 
No thanks therefor attending ; 
He is with us upon the plain, 
His gifts and spirit lending. 
Though th* body be ta'en. 
Goods, child, wife and fame ; 
Go — life, wealth and kin ! 
They yet can nothing win : 
For us remaineth th* Kingdom. 



Du Bijl tDie €inc 3Iumc.— Tl)ou Art 50 t,i^z a Plover. 



HEINE. 



Du bist wie e:ne Blume* 
So hold und schi'm und rein ; 

Ich schau dich.aa und Wehmut 
Schleicht mir ins Herz hinein. 

Mir ist als ob ic!i die Hande 
Aufs Haupt dir legen sollt', 

Betend. dass dich Gott erhalte, 
So rein und schon.uud hold. 



Thou art so like a flower, 
So pure and bright and fair ; 

I gaze on thee, and sadness 
Steals on me unaware. 

I feel as if o er thee, blinding, 
My hands should close in pray'f:; 

Praying that God may protect thee, 
And keep thee pure and fair. 



Pes Knaben Bergliei),— 3l)^pl)^^^ ^o^'S fountain 3ong. 



UHLAND. 



Ich bin vom Berg der HirtenVnab, 
Seh* auf die Schlosser all herab; 
Die Sonne strahlt am ersten hier, 
Am langsteii weilet sie hei mir; 
Ich bin der Knab vom Berge ! 

Hier ist des Stromes Mutterhaus, 
Ich trink' ihn frisch vom Stein heraus; 
Er braust vom Pels in wildem Lauf, 
Ich fang' ihn mit den Armen auf; 
Ich bin der Knab vom Berge ! 

Der Berg, der ist mein Eigenthum, 
Da ziehn die Stiirme rings herum; 
Und heulen sie von Nord und Slid, 
So uberschallt sie doch mein Lied : 
Ich bin der Knab vom Berge ! 

Sind Blitz und Donner unter mir, 
So steh* ich hoch im Blauen hier ; 
Ich kenne sie und rufe zu : 
I^sstmeines Vaters Haus in Ruh ! 
Ich bin der Knab v m Berge ! 

UndwanndieSturmglock' einst erschallt, 
Manch Feuer auf den Bergfen wallt, 
Dann steig' ich nieder. tret' ins Glied ; 
Und schwing' mein Schwert, und sing* 

mein Lied : 
Ich bin der Knab vom Berge I 



I am the mountain shep.'^erd boy, 
The castles all below I see, 
The sun's first glimpses here -ire seen, 
And linger lon<j:est here with me; 
I am the mountain boy ! 

The torrent here its birthplace finds, 
I drink from out its stony bed; 
It frets and leaps and rushes down, 
I catch it with my arms outspread; 
I am the mountain boy I 

The mountain-height, this is my home, 
'fere sullen storms ;round me ily. 
And howl they from north to south,- 
Still o'er them all you'll hear my cry : 
I am the mountain boy ! 

When thunders roll and lightnings flash, 
Here stand I far above t!ie storm ; 
I know them well and quickly call : 
*• Protect my father's house from harm I" 
I am the mountain boy ! 

And when the tocsin once resounds, 
And mountiiin fires blaze along, 
Then I'll descend and join the throng. 
And swing my sword, and sing my 

song : 
I am the mountain bov I 



Die f^immds-CIjrane.— Tl)e Crystal Tear. 



. Der Himmel hat eine Thrane geweint, 
Die hat sich ins Meer zu verlieren ge- 

meint, 
Die Muschel kam und schloss sie ein : 
Du sollst nun meine Perle sein. 

Du sollst nicht vor den Wogen zagen, 
Ich will hindurch dich ruhig tragen ; 
O, du mein Schmerz, du meine Lust, 
Du i {immelsthau in meiner Brust ! 

Gieb Himmel. dass ich in reinem Ge- 

miite, 
Den einsten deiner Tropfen hiite. 



The heavens « crystal tear once shed, . 
It sought its grave in tlie ocean's bed. 
A shell enclosed ihe shining sphere : 
My own dear pearl shalt thou be here. 

Thou needst not fear the foam-flecked 

billow, 
My breast shall be thy peaceful pillow. 
O thou, my grief ! thou, my delight ! 
A gem as pure as heaven's own light. 

O Heav'n, let me guard with soulful 

emotion, 
Thy purest gifts with true devotion. 



-13- 



€s f^er5:-€n Cieb.— Tl)e Heart:-(3 3ong. 



i^nw <<»S*/<«^ »»^ Land''-- A Comedy in Ufiper^AusMan DiaUB^ 



FBEDERICK KAISBR. 



*s Herz |s a g'spassigs Ding, 

Oft gar so sen war, oft gring, 

Oft IS so. mauserlstill, 

Oft hammert's wie a Mfihl — 

Oft thut's am wohl, oft wieder schmerzen; 

DrurA glaub* i in mein' Sinn, 

*s sitzt was Lebendig's drin 

Ganz tief im Herzen. 



's kann sogar dischkariem, 

Mitan a dischbadiern ; 

I bans oft gar nit g'fragt 

Und 's hat mir do was g'sagt 

Das thut am kruseln so und schlagen, 

's sein kani Worter zwar, 

*s redt aber deutii klar, 

's thut am Alles sagen 

Und nur durch*s Schlagen. 



Tetzt Mancher sagt : O mein I 

Wie kann das mogli sein ? 

Der plauscht sich selber an, 

A bissel ^'spiirt er's schon, 

Er mag sich d* Wahrheit selbst nit sagen,. 

Do hilfts nit g'schamig sein, 

Der droben schaut hinein, 

Dos thiit dos Schlagen 

Am J eden sagen. 



*s gibt- Viel, dos gar nit h6r*n, 

Wann d' Schlag rebel lisch wem, 

Bei do is Herz ganz weg. 

Is nit am rechten Fleck. 

Und erst ganz spat in alten Tagen 

Dan g'spiirn sie*s zentnerschwar 

Was triiner war ganz laar-^ 

In alten Tagen 

Thut's weh dos Schlagen. 



Woher dos Schlagen kiimmt, 

Dag wass ma halt niit b'stimmt 

I man und bild mir ein, 

's wird unser Schutzgeist sein, 

Der thut nit seinen Fliigerln schlagen, 

Und wann ma genga drauf, 

Tragt er die Seel hinauf, 

Thut fiir an Jeden 

Da drobnet reden. 



The heart is a curious thing, 
Oft sad, oft light of wing, 
Oft, mouse;like, 'tis so still, 
Oft hammers like a mill — 
Oft pleasure gives, with pain retiHning { 
Therefore do I believe, 
Something in it doth live- 
So deep its yeaming« ] 



Discourse it e'en can do, 

Dispute with oneself, too ; 

Oft have I nothing sought. 

Yet me its answer brought 

Inspired it was with fear, and beating; 

No words employed to teach, 

And yet how clear its speech; 

It tells one everything ' - • 

Only by beating. 



Now, many a one will cry : 

How can this be ?^-^Oh my I 

Deceive himself may he, 

And quickly felt 'twill be; 

From himself mav he the truth be keeplngi 

Ashamed, ho help 'twill be, 

Within the heart sees He ; 

This does the beating. 

To each one speaking. 



There are some who fail to hear 
When the beats rebellious are ; 
With such the heart's quite gone, 
At th* right place there is none. 
And not till late in life, that's " 
They feel a weight so sore 
Where naught had been before ; 
As age is fleeting 
It pains, this beating. 



From whence these beatings come 

Exactly knows no one ; 

It must, I think, youjll see. 

Our guardian-angel be. 

That with his snow-white wings is beating; 

And when life's end we mourn, 

The soul's by him upborne. 

For each good's seeking 

Above he's pleading. 



-14- 



Xlad^ €inem Tllkn Ciebe,— After An Old 3^ng. 



JACOBI. 



Sagt, wo sind die Veilchen hin, 
Die so freiidig gliinzteii, 
Und der Blunien Kiinigin 
Ihren Weg bekrilnzten ? 
'*Jungling, ach ! der l^nz entflieht ; 
"Diese Veilchen sind verbluht.*' 

Sagt, wo sind die Rosen hin. 
Die wir singend pfliickten, 
Als sich Hirt und Schilferin 
Hut und Busen schmiickten ? 
*'Madchen. ach ! der Sommer flieht ; 
Diese Rosen sind verbluht" 

Fiihre denn zum Bilchlein mi h. 
Das die Veil hen triinkte, 
Das mit leisem Murmelm sich 
In die Thiiler senkte. 
*'Luft und Sonne gliihten sehr I 
"Jenes Biichlein ist nicht mehr.** 

Bringe denn zur Laube mich. 
Wo die Rosen standen, 
Wo in treuer Liebe sich 
Hirt und Miidchen fanden. 
"Wind und Hagel stiirmten sehr ; 
"Jene Laube griint nicht mehr." 

Sagt, wo ist das Madchen hin. 
Das. weil ich*s erblickte, 
Sich mit demuthvollem Sinn 
Zu den Veilchen biickte ? 
**Jungling ! alle Schonheit flieht ; 
'vVuch das Madchen ist verblilht" 

Sagt, wo ist der Sanger hin, 
Der auf bunten Wiesen 
Veilchen, Ros' und Schaferin, 
Laub und Bach gepriesen ? 
"Madchen, unser Leben flieht ; 
"Auch der Sanger ist verbliiht" 



Say. whither have th' violets gon^ 

That erst shone serenely, 

And that made a pathway bright 

For the rose so queenly? 

"Gentle youth ! the spring has fled, 

"And the violets now are dead. " 

Sav, where have the roses ^one 
Which we plucked at mommg, 
Shepherdess and shepherd deck'd^ 
Hat and breast adorning ? 
"Maiden dear ! the summer's fled, 
"And the roses, too, are dead." 

Lead me where the violets 
At the brook were drinking ; 
Where i* the vale, too, murmuring; 
The stream was gently sinking. 
"Brightly glowed both sun and air, 
"Th' brooklet is no longer there." 

Lead me to arboreal shade. 

Where, 'mid roses blooming, 

Th' shepherd and his gentle maid 

Notes of love were tunmg. 

"Wind and hailstorm raged with pow'r^ 

"Leafless now the shady bow'r." 

Say, where has the maiden gone^ 
Who with meekness wending 
'Mong the flow'rs, observed I there 
O'er the violets bending ? 
"Gentle youth ! all beauty dies ; 
"Dead there, too, the maiden lies." 

Say, where has the singer eone, 
Who, 'mid the meadow's nowerii 
Sang of roses, violets, too. 
Of maidens, brooks and bowers ? 
"Maiden, list I our lives flee 'way, 
"Silent now the singer's lay." 



tDanberer's Had^tlkb.— Wanderer's Nigl)t ^o**^* 



GOETHE. 



Ueber alien Gipfeln 

Ist Ruh. 
In alien Wipfeln 

Sparest du 
Kaum einen Hauch. 

Die Voglein schweigen im Walde, 

Warte nur, balde 
Ruhest du auch. 



Over every summit 

There's rest ; 
Scarce e'en a zephyr 

Th' woodland's crest 
Wafteth to thee. 

The birdlings are hushed in their song, 

Only wait ! ere long 
At rest thou It be. 



-15- 



Wk ber JtTonb^— As tl)e ?laDn. 



HEINS. 



Wie der Mond sich leuchtend dranget 
Durch den dunkeln Wolkenflor, 
Also taucht aus dunkeln Zeiten 
Mir ein lichtes Bild hervor. 

Sassen All* auf dem Verdecke, 
Fuhren stolz hinab den Rhein, 
Und die sommergriinen lifer 
Gltihn im Abendsonnenschein. 

Sinnend sass ich zu den Fiissen 
Einer Dame schon und hold; 
In ihr liebes, bleiches Antlitz 
Spielt* das rothe Sonnengold. 

Lauten klangen, Buben sangen, 
Wftnderbare Frohlichkeit ! 
Und der Himmel wurde blauer, 
Und die Seele wurde weit 

Marchenhaft voriiberzogen 
Bere* und Burgen, Wald und Au; — 
Una das Alles sah ich glanzen 
In dem Aug* der schonen Frau, 



As the moon with sudden brightness 
Flashes through the clouds its light, 
So through days almost forgotten 
Comes a vision fair and bright 

On the deck we all were seated, 
Proudly sailing down the Rhine, 
And the banks, in summer verdure, 
Glow'd in evening's sun, like wine. 

At a lady's feet I sat me. 
Fair her features to behold ; 
On her pale and beauteous visage 
Play'd the rosy sunlight's gold. 

Lutes were sounding, youths were singing, 
Festal joys held queenly reign; 
And the sky grew more cerulean, 
Fuller still the soul became. 

Hill and castle, wood and meadow, 
Pass'd like fairy visions bright ; 
And the scene I saw reflected 
In that lady's eyes of light 



Dos Zneer.— Tl)e dea. 



HEINB, 



Das Meer erglanzte weit hinaus, 

Im letzten Abendscheine ; 
Wir sassen am einsamen Fischerhaus, 

Wir sassen stumm und alleine. 

Der Nebel stieg, das Wasser schwoll, 
Die Move flog hin und wieder ; 

Aus deinen Augen liebevoll 
Fielen die Thranen nieder 

Ich sah sie fallen auf deine Hand, 
Und bin auf's Knie gesunken ; 

Ich hab' von deiner weissen Hand, 
Die Thranen fortgetrunken 

Seit Jener Stunde verzehrt sich mein Leib, 
Die Seele stirbt vor Sehnen; — 

Mich hat das ungliicksel'se Weib 
Vergiftet mit ihren Thranen. 



Quite radiant was the distant sea 
With evening's parting beams ; 

By fisher's lonely cot sat we 
In silence and in dreams. 

The mists arose, the waters swelPd, 
And gulls flew far and near ; 

From out thine eyes, so full of love, 
Dropp'd many a silent tear. 

I saw them falling on your hand, 

And sank upon my knee; 
I drank from ofl* thy snow-white hand 

The tears you shed for me. 

Since that sad hour I've i>ined away, 
My soul with longing dies; — 

That wretched maid h?ith tx)isoned me 
With her envenomed eyes. 



2rretn f^er5 ijl am Htjeine.— ?\^ Heart's on tl)e RI)ine. 



WOLFGANG MUBLLBR. 



Mein Herz ist am Rheine, im heimischen 

Und! 
Mein Herz ist am Rhein, wo die Wiege 

mir stand, 
Wo die Jugend mir liegt. wo die Freunde 

mir bluhn, 
Wo die Liebste mein denket mit won- 

nigem Gliihn, 
O wo ich geschwelget in Liedern und 

Wein : 
Wo ich bin, wo ich gehe, mein Herz ist 

am Rhein ! 



Dich griiss ich, du breiter, griingoldiger 

Strom, 
Euch Schlosser und Dorfer und Stadte 

und Dom, 
Ihr goldenen Saaten im schwellenden 

Thai. 
Dich Rebengebirge im sonnigen Strahl, 
Euch Walder und Schluchten, dich Fel- 

sengestein, 
Wo ich bin wo ich gehe, mein Herz ist 

am Rhein ' 



Dich griiss ich, o Leben mit sehnender 

Brust, 
Beim Liede. beim Weine, beim Tanze 

die Lust, 
Dich griiss ich, o theures, o wackres Ge- 

schlecht, 
Die Frauen so wonnig, die Manner so 

recht ! 
Eu'r Streben, eu'r Leben, o mog' es ge- 

deihn : 
Wo ich bin wo ich gehe, mein Herz ist 

am Rhein ! 



Mein Herz ist am Rheine, im heimischen 

Land! 
Mein Herz ist am Rhein. wo die Wiege 

mir stand ; 
Wo die Jugend mir liegt, wo die Freunde 

mir bliihn, 
Wo die Liebste mein denket mit won- 

nigem Gliihn ! 
O moget ihr immer dieselben mir sein ! 
Wo ich bin w » ich gehe, mein Herz ist 

am Rhein ! 



My heart's on the Rhine, in my own 

native land ! 
Where my cradle was rocked by a dear 

mother's hand. 
Where youth's pleasures lay, and where 

friends bloom arouna. 
Where th' heart of my love beats with 

rapturous bound, 
O where I have revelled in song and in 

wine : 
Wherever I wander, my heart's on the 

Rhine ! 



I greet thee, broad stream, in thy green- 
golden flow. 

Ye grain fields of gold in the valley 
below. 

Ye castles and hamlets and domes in the 
sky! 

Ye woods and ravines, and ye cliffs 
tow' ling high, 

Ye hills, too, all clad with the sun-illum'd 
vine. 

Wherever I wander, my heart's on the 
Rhine ! 



I greet thee, O life, and my heart yearns 

for thee 
In th' dance, in the cup, or the song's 

merry glee. 
My dearly loved race, these, my greetings 

to you. 
The maidens so bright, and the men 

tried and true ! 
Your struggles, your lives, may success 

them ent wme : 
Wherever I wander, my heart's on the 

Rhine ! 



My heart's on the Rhine, in my own 

native land ! 
Where my cradle was rocked by a dear 

mother's hand. 
Where youth's pleasures lay, and where 

friends bloom around. 
Where th' heart of my love beats with 

rapturous bound, 
O may evermore these same treasures be 

mine : 
Wherever I wander, my heart's on the 

Rhine ! 



-17- 



(Bute Hac^t— (lood Nigl)t* 



GEHBEL. 



Schon fangt es an zu dammem, 
Der Mond als Hirt erwacht 
Und singt den Wolkenlammern 
Ein Lied zur guten Nacht ; 
Und wie er singt so leise, 
Da dringt voni Stemenkreise 
Der Schall ins Ohr mir sacht : 
Schlafet in Ruh*, schlafet in RuhM 
Voniber der Tag und sein Schall ; 
Die Liebe Gottesdeckt euch zu 
Alliiberall. • 



Nun suchen in den Zweigen 
Ihr Nest die Vogelein, 
Die Halm* und Blumen neigen 
Das Haupt im Mondenschein, 
Und selbst des Miihlbach's Wellen 
Lassen das wilde Schwellen 
Und schlammern murmelnd ein. 

Schlafet in Ruh», schlafet in RuhM 

Voriiber der Tag und sein Schall ; 

Die Liebe Gottes deckt euch zu 

Alluberall. 



Von Thiir zu Thiire wallet 
Der Traum, ein lieber Oast, 
Das Harfenspiel verhallet 
Im schimmemden Palast, 
Im Nachen schlaft der Ferge, 
Die Hirten auf dem Berge 
Halten urns Feuer Rast. 

Schlafet in Ruh', schlafet in RuhM 

Voriiber der Tag und sein Schall ; 

Die Liebe Gottes deckt euch zu 

Alluberall. 



Und wie nun alle Kerzen 
Verloschen durch die Nacht, 
Da schweigen auch die Schmerzen 
Die Sonn' und Tag gebracht ; 
Lind sauseln die C)rpressen, 
Ein seliges Vergessen 
Durchweht die Liifte sacht. 

Schlafet in Ruh\ schlafet in Ruh'! 

Voruber der Tag und sein Schall ; 

Die Liebe Gottes deckt euch zu 

Alluberall. 



The shepherd moon is waking 
As day fades into ni^ht. 
And to the clouds, his lambkins, 
He sings a sweet **Good Night.** 
And as I hear him singings, 
From stars come faintly nnging 
A sound in accents light : 

Slumber in peace, slumber in peace ! 

All over the day and its sound ; 

The Father's love will cover you all 

Wherever found. 



Now seeks within the branches 
The bird its cosy nest, 
The stately stalk and flower 
Each bends its moonlit crest. 
And e'en the brook's swift waters, 
As bright as earth's fair daughters, 
Submissive sink to rest. 

Slumber in peace, slumber in peace I 

All over the day and its sound ; 

The Father's love will cover you all 

Wherever found. 



Sweet dreams, like welcome guests, 
Now go from door to door, 
Within the glittering palace 
Is heard the harp no more. 
Around the campfire, nesting, 
The shepherds now are resting, 
Sleeps the boatman at his oar. 

Slumber in peace, slumber in peace ! 

AH over the day and its sound ; 

The Father's love will cover you all 

Wherever found. 



And as each glittering taper 

Is extinguished through the night. 

The pains which each day brings us 

Now seem to take their flight 

Soft airs through trees come stealing, 

A bless'd, oblivious feeling 

Pervades the balmy night. 

Slumber in peace, slumber in peace ! 

All over the day and its sound ; 

The Father's love will cover you all 

Wherever found. 



Und wo von heissen Thranen 
Ein schmachtend Aug^e bliiht, 
Und wo in bangem Sehnen 
Ein liebend Herz ver^liiht, 
Der Traum kommt leis* und linde 
Und singt dem kranken Kinde 
Ein trostend Hoffnungslied. 

Schlafet in Ruh\ schlafet in RuhM 

Voriiber der Tag und sein Schall ; 

Die Liebe Gotten deckt euch zu 

AlliiberalL 

Gut Nacht denn, all ihr Miiden, 
Ihr Lieben nah und fern ! 
Nun ruh* auch ich in Frieden, 
Bis glanzt der Morgenstem. 
Die Nachti^all alleine 
Singt noch im Mondenscheine 
Und lobet Gott, den Herrn. 

Schlafet in Ruh', schlafet in RuhM 

Voriiber der Tag und sein Schall ; 

Die Liebe Gottes deckt euch zu 

Alliiberall. 



And when the burning tear-drops 
From languid eyes do start, 
And when from anxious craving 
No longer glows the heart, 
With music ni^h elysian, 
To the sick child comes a vision, « 
Sweet comfort to impart. 

Slumber in peace, slumber in peace 1 

All over the day and its sound ; 

The Father's love will cover you all 

Wherever fonnd. 

Good night, then, all ve weary, 
Ye lov*d ones, far and near ! 
In peace I'll, too, rest sweetly. 
Till the morning stars appear. 
The nightingale is singing. 
And to the Lord is rineing 
Its praises sweet and clear. 

Slumber in peace, slumber in peace ! 

All over the day and its sound ; 

The Father's love will cover you all 

Wherever found. 



Pineta.— Vineta. 



WILHELM MUELLER. 



Aus des Meeres tiefem, tiefem Grunde 
Klingen Abendglocken dumpf und matt, 
Uns zu geben wunderbare Kunde 
Von der schonen alten Wunderstadt. 

In der Fluthen Schoos hina^igesunken 
Blieben unten ihre Triimmer stehn ; 
Ihre Zinnen lassen goldne Funken 
Wiederscheinend auf dem Spiegel sehn. 

Und der Schiffer. der den Zauberschimmer 
Einmal sah im hellen Abendroth, 
Nach derselben Stelle schifTt er immer, 
Ob auch rings umher die Klippe droht. 

Aus des Herzens tiefem, tiefem Grunde 
Klingt es mir, wie Glocken, dumpf und 

matt, 
Ach, sie geben wunderbare Kunde 
Von der Liebe, die geliebt es hat. 

Eine schone Welt ist da versunken, 
Ihre Triimmer blieben unten stehn, 
Lassen sich als goldne Himmelsfunken 
Oft im Spiegel meiner Traume sehn. 

Und dann mocht ich tauchen in die Tiefen, 
Mich versenken in den Wiederschein, 
Und mir ist, als ob mich Engel riefen 
In die alte Wunderstadt herein. 



Out of ocean's depths prdfound resound- 
ing. 
Evening bells are ringing dull and faint, 
Telling, in their wondrous revelations, 
Of the wonder city, old and quaint. 

'Neath the ocean's glittering bosom 

sunken, 
Ruins of that city still remain ; 
Sparks of ^old emitted from its turrets 
Shine enmirrored on the glassy main. 

And the sailor who, at evening twilight. 
First beholds this magic sight appear, 
Ever after steers his vessel thither, 
Though the rocks around are threatening 
here. 

From the human heart's profoundest 

soundings 
Hear I tones like bells, so sad and low ; 
Ah ! they seem to tell a wondrous story 
Of the one it loved so long ago. 

What a beauteous world beneath is 

sunken, 
Ruins of it all make up the scene ; 
Oftimes golden gleams from heaven 

gHmm'ring 
On the mirror of my dreams are seen. 

Then into the ocean's depths descending, 
Would I sink into those mirrored deeps, 
And I seem to hear the angels calling 
Down to where the wonder city sleeps. 



JHcergruss.— 3ea (ireetitig. 



HEINE. 



Thalatta ! Thalatta ! 

Sei mir gegriisst. du ewiges Meer ! 

Sei mir gegriisst zehntausendmal 

Aus jauchzendem Herzen, 

Wie einst dich begriissten 

Zehntausend Griechenherzen, [ende. 

Ungltickbekampfende, heimatverlang- 

Weltberiihmte Griechenherzen. 



Es wogten die Flu ten, 

Sie wogten und brausten, 

Die Sonne goss eilig herunter, 

Die spielenden Rosenlichter. 

Die auf escheucht^n Movenziige 

Flatterten fort, lautschreiend, 

Es stampften die Rosse, es klirrten die 

Schilde, 
Und weithin erscholles wie Siegesruf : 
* 'Thalatta! Thalatta! * 



Sei mir gegriisst, du ewiges Meer, 

Wie Sprache der Heimat rauscht mir dein 

Wasser, 
Wie Triiume der Kindheit sah ich es 

flimmern 
Anfdeinemwogenden Wassergebiet 
Und alte Eririnrung erzahlt mir ;iurs neue 
Von all dem lieben, herrlichen Spielzeug. 
Von all den blinkenden Weihnachtsgaben 
Von alt den roten Korallenbaumen, 
Goldfischchen, Perlen und bunten 

Mucheln, 
Die du geheimnisvoll bewahrst 
Dort unten im klaren Krystallhaus. 



O! wie oft hab' ich geschmachtet in oder 

Fremde ! 
Gleich einer welken Blume 
In des Botankiers blecherner Kapsel 
Lag mir das Herz in der Brust ; 
Mir ist, als sass ich winterlange, 
Ein Kranker, in dunkler Krankenstube, 
Und nun verlass ich sie plotzlich, 
Und blendend strahlt mir entgegen 
Der smaragdene Friihling, der sonnen- 

geweckte, 
Und es rauschen die weissen Blfitenbiiume, 
Und die jungen Blumen schauen mich an 
Mit bunten, duftenden Augen, 
Und es duftet und summt und atmet und 

lacht 
Und im blauen Him melsingen die Vog- 

lein — 
Thalatta ! Thalatta ! 



Thalatta ! Thalatta ! 

I hail thee, thou everlasting Sea ! 

Be thou greeted ten thousand times, 

With rapturous emotion, 

As once thou wert greeted 

By ten thousand Grecian hearts, [home. 

Combating misfortune, and longmg for 

World-renowned, trustful, Grecian hearts. 



The billows were rolling, 

\^ ere rolling and roaring ; 

The radiant sun soon cast o'er them 

A floe d of roseate splendor; 

The rising frightened trains of sea gulls 

Fluttered away, loud screaming : 

The steeds they were stamping, the 

armor was clan.e:ing. 
And far it re-echoed like a victor's cry : 
Thalatta ! Thalatta ! 



I greet thee, thou everlasting Sea ! 

Like sweet sounds from home is the rush 

of thy waters ; 
Like dreams of my childhood, see I the 

glimmer 
On thy billowy, watery world ; 
And memories old seem to be telling anew 
Of all the charming, beautiful playthings, 
Of all the glittering gifts of Christmas, 
Of all the trees of encrimsoned coral. 
Gold fishes and pearls and colored sea- 
shells. 
Which thou dost so mysteriously keep 
Down there in thy house of clear crystal. 



O ! how much have I longed when in 

distant lands ! 
Like to a withered flower 
In a botanist's close-covered case of tin. 
Lay this sad heart in m^ breast ; 
Seemingly as if I had sat the winter long 
A sick man in a darkened chamber, 
And had now left it instantly. 
And, blinded beaming before me 
Comes emerald Spring, just waked by the 

sun. [rustling. 

And the white tree blossoms are gently 
And the fair flowrets look at me 
With colored, perfume-laden eyes, 
Exhaling and humming, and breathing 

and smiling ; 
And in the blue heaven the birds are 

singing— 
Thalatta ! Thalatta ! 



Da tapferes Riickzujjherz ! 

Wie oft, wie bitteroft 

Bedrangten dich des Nordens Barbarin- 

nen ! 
Aus grossen, siegenden Augen 
Schos en sie brennende Pfeile ; 
Mit krummgeschliffenen Worten 
Drohten sie mir die B'ust zu spalten ; 
Mit Keilschriftbillets zerschlugen sie mir 
Das Arme, betaubte Gehirn — 
Vergebens hielt ich den Schild entgegen, 
Die Pfeile zischten, die Hiebe krachten; 
Und von des Nordens Barbarinnen 
Ward ich gedriinkt bis ans Meer. 
Das Hebe, rettende Meer, 
Thalatta ! Thalatta ! 



Thou brave, retreating heart ! 

How oft, how bitter oft 

Oppressed thee have the barbarous 

northern dames ! 
Four large and conquering eyes 
Shot swiftly their arrows of fire; 
With words both artful and polished 
Threatened they my tender breast to 

cleave; 
With cuneiform letters fiercely they smote 
My poor, my bewildered brain 
In vain I held the shield against them; 
The arrows hissed, the strokes swift 

crashing came 
And by the barbarous northern dames 
Was I driven at last to the sea. 
With a free breath I greet thee, thou sea! 
Thou beloved, rescuing Sea. 
Thalatta ! Thalatta ! 



Pie Sptnnerm.— Tl)e 3pitiner- 



Ich sass und spann vor meiner Thur, 
Da kam ein junger Mann gegangen, 
Sein braunes Auge lachte mir, 
Und rother gliithen seine Wangen. 
Ich sah vom Rocken auf,und sann, [spann 
Und sass verschamt, und spann und 



Gar freundlich bot er guten Tag, 

Und trat mit holder Scheu mir niiher. 

Mir ward so angst ; der Faden br ch ; 

Das Herz im Busen schlug mer hoher. 

BetrofFen kniipft' ich wieder an, 

Und sass verschamt, und spann und spann. 



Lie kosend driicket' er mir die Hand. 
Und sch wur dass keine Hand ihr gleiche. 
Die schonste nicht im ganzen Land, 
AnSchwanenweiss' und Rund'und Weiche 
Wie sehr dies Lob mein Herz gewann ; 
Ich sass verschamt, und spann und spann. 



Auf meinen Stuhl lehnt' er den Arm, 
Und riihmte sehr das feinde Fadchen. 
Sein naher Miind, so roth und warm. 
Wie ziirtli h haucht' er ; Susses Madchen ! 
Wie blickte mich sein Ange an ! 
Ich sass verschamt, und spann nnd spann. 



I sat and spun before my door, 
A youth came walking up the road ; 
His deep brown eyes were full of glee, 
His cheeks with crimson blu hes glowed. 
From distaff I looked up at him, 
Ai>ashed, I did but spin and spin. 



Quite friendly he his greeting made. 
And closer came, with tim'rous grace. 
I fri.vhtened grew ; the thread it broke ; 
My heart it beat with quicker pace. 
Perplexed I 'gain the thread tied on, 
And sat abashed, and spun and spun. 



Caressingly he pressed my hand. 

And swore none could with it compare, 

Not e'en the fairest in the land, 

So white and round so soft and fair. 

This lavish praise my heart soon won ; 

I sat abashed, and spun and spun 



He leaned his arm upon my chair. 
And praised the fineness of the thread. 
His rosy lips, so warm and near. 
How softly 'Gentle maid !" they said. 
His eyes they glanced like love's own sun ! 
I sat abashed, and spun and spun. 



Indess an meiner Wange her 

Sein schones Angesicht sich biickte, 

Be^egnet' ihm von Ohngefahr 

Mem Haupt, das sanft im Spinnen nickte. 

Da kiisste mich der schone Mann 

Ich sass verschamt, und spann and spann. 



Mit grossem Ernst verwies ich* ihm ; 
Doch ward er kiihner stets und freier, 
Unarmte mich met Ungestiim, 
Und kussste mich so roth wie Feuer. 
O sagi mir, Schwestern. sagt mir an : 
War's moglich, dass ich weiter spann ? 



As he towards my cheek bent down 
His winsome face, so lovely grown, 
And as my head kept nodding on, 
His cheek so softly touched m)^ own. 
He kissed me then, this charming man, 
Abashed I sat, the wheel still ran. 



In earnest tones rebuked I him, 

But, bolder grown, he came still nigher ; 

Impetuously he clasped me now, 

And kissed my cheeks as red as fire. 

Oh, tell me sister, if you can, 

Could you have kept on spinning then p 



Der Knabe mit bent Wnnb^x-Bfom. — Tl)e ^oatl) and His 

Wonder-Horn- 



GEIBEL. 



Ich bin ein lust*ger Geselle, 
Wer konnt' auf Erden frohlicher sein ! 
Mein Rosslein so helle, so helle, 
Das tragt mich mit Windeschnelle 
Ins bliihende Leben hinein — 

Trara ! 
Ins bliihende Leben hinein. 

Es tont an meinem Munde 

Ein silbernes Horn von siissem Schall, 

Es tont wohl manche Stunde, 

Von Pels und Wald in der Runde 

Antwortet der Widerhall — 

Trara ! 
Antwortet der Widerhall. 

Und komm* ich zu festlichen Tanzen, 
Zu Scherz und Spiel im sonnigen Wald, 
Wo schmachtende Augen mir glanzen 
Und Blumen den Becher bekranzen. 
Da schwing* ich vom Ross mich alsbald — 

Trara ! 
Da schwing' ich vom Ross mich alsbald 

Siiss lockt die Guitarre zum Reigen, 
Ich kiisse die Miidchen, ich trinke den 

Wein ; 
Doch will hinter bliihenden Zweigen 
Die purpurne Sonne sich neigen. 
Da muss es geschieden sein — 

Trara ! 
Da muss es geschieden sein. 

Es zieht mich hinaus in die Feme ; 
Ich gebe dem fliichtigen Rqsse den Spom. 
Ade ! Wohl blieb' ich noch gerne, 
Doch winken schon andere Sterne, 
Und griissend vertonet das Horn^ 

Trara ! 
Und griissend vertonet das Horn. 



I am a jolly good fellow. 

Who could on earth well happier be ! 

My palfrey's as light as a hind, 

It carries me swift as the wind 

Into a blooming life, you see — 

Trara ! 
Into a blooming life, you see. 

My lips intone with power 

A silver trumpet of sweetest sound, 

It lingers many an hour ; 

From rock and wood and from bower 

Comes back the echoing sound— 

Trara ! 
Comes back the echoing sound. 

And go I to feast and to dancing. 
To sport and play, in sun-illumed wood, 
Where fond, longing eyes look entrancing. 
And garlands 'round beakers are glancing, 
I quickly dismount, as I shold, 

Trara ! 
I quickly dismount, as I should. 

Allures the guitar now the dancers, [wine, 
I kiss the sweet maidens, I drink, too, the 
But back of the branches, yet shining, 
The purple-red sun is declming. 
Then must I be gone in time — 

Trara ! 
Then must I be gone in time. 

It draws me 'way out in the distance, 
I give to my fleet horse the spur, like a 

thorn, 
I'm loth from these joys to be shrinking, 
But, see, other stars are now winking, 
And greetings flow out of my horn — 

Trara ! 
And greetings flow out of my horn. 



-22- 



Tldi, wk ijl's maglid? bann.— 01), Can it l^ver be ? 



VOLKSLISD. 



Ach, wie ist's moglich dann, 
Dass ich dich lassen kann ; 
Hab' dich von Herzen lieb, 

Das glaube mir ! 
Du hast das Herze mein 
So ganz genommen ein, 
Dass ich kein andre lieb', 

Als dich allein. 

Blau ist ein Bliimelein, 

Das heisst Vergiss-nicht-mein; 

Dies Bliimlein leg' ans Herz 

Und denk an mich ! 
Stirbt Blum' und Hoffnung gleich,' 
Sind wir an Liebe reich; 
Dass sie stirbt nie bei mir, 

Das glaube mir. 

War' ich ein Vogelein, 
Wollt ich bald bei dir sein, 
Scheut' Falk und Habicht nicht, 

Flog' schnell zu dir ! 
S hoss mich ein Jager tot, 
Fiel ich in deinen Schoos ! 
Siihst du mich traurig an, 

Gern sturb' ich dann ! 



Oh, can it ever be 

That I must part from thee ? 

Thou art my heart's true love — 

This doubt not me. 
Thou hast this heart of mine ; 
It is so wholly thine 
That 1 no other love 

Save only thee. 

Blue is a flow' ret, famed, 
Forget me-not 'tis named; 
Lay it upon thy heart, 

And think of me ! 
Though flower and hope may flee, 
Yet rich in love are we ; 
Believe 'twill never die, 

But live for aye. 

If little bird were I, 

To thee I soon would hie, 

I'd fear no falcon nighv " 

But fly to thee. 
If hit by huntsman's ball 
Into thy lap I'd fall ! 
Should sorrow dim thine eye, 

I'd gladly die. 



Die Betenbe.— T])e Pranging One. 



FRIEDRICH VON MATTHISON. 



Laura betet ! Engelharfen hallen 
Frieden Gottes in ihr krankes Herz, 
Und wie Abel's Opferdiifte, wallen 
Ihre Seufzer himmelwarts. 

Wie sie kniet, in Andacht hingegossen, 
Schon, wie Raphael die Unschuld malt ! 
Vom Verkliirungsglanze schon umflossen, 
Der um Himmelswohner strahlt. 

O sie fuhlt, im leisen, linden Wehen, 
Froh der Hocherhabnen Gegenwart, 
Sieht im Geiste schon die Palmenhohen, 
Wo der Lichtkranz ihrer harrt ! 

So von Andacht, so von Gottvertrauen 
Ihre engelreine Brust geschwellt, 
Betend diese Heilige zu schauen, 
Ist ein Blick in jene Welt. 



Laura's praying ! Angels' harps resound- 
ing, [send, 
Peace to her poor, grieving heart doth 
And. like Abel's offering, sweetly rising, 
Do her sighs toward heav'n ascend. 

As she kneels, outpouring her devotions, 
Sweet, as Raphael paints pure innocence, 
'Round her flows a light of heavenly 
As from out celestial tents, [splendor. 

O she feels, amid the gentle breezes, 
Glad, indeed, for presence so divine ! 
Sees, in spirit, th' palmy heights uplifted, 
Where her radiant crown doth shine 1 

So from trust in Him and from devotion, 
Swelleth now her pure angelic breast ; 
Praying, this holy one a vision seemeth 
From the regions of the blest. 



-23- 



tPanberscI^ajl^— Wandering. 



WILHBLM MUELLER. 



Das Wandem ist des Miiller's Lust,. 
Das Wandem ! 

Das muss ein schlechter Miiller sein, 
Dem niemals fiel das Wandern ein, 
Das Wandem. 

Vom Wasser haben wir's gelemt, 
Vom Wasser I 

Das hat nicht Rastbei Tag und Nacht, 
Ist stets auf Wanderschaft bedacht, 
Das Wasser. 

Das sehn wir auch den Radern ab, 

Den Radem 1 

Die gar nicht geme stille stehn, 

Die sich mein Tag nicht miide drehn, 

Die Rader. 

Die Steine selbst, so schwer sie sind, 
Die Steine ! 

Sie tanzen mit den muntern Reihn, 
Und wollen gar noch schneller sein, 
Die Steine. 

O Wandern, Wandern, meine Lust, 
O Wandern ! 

Herr Meister und Frau Meisterin, 
Lasst mich ini Frieden weiter ziehn 
Und Wandem. 



Wandering is the miller's joy, 

Wandering ! 

He must a poor base miller be. 

Who ne'er hath felt like wandering free. 

Wandering. 

From water have we learned it thus, 
From water ! 

This has no rest by day nor night. 
Is wand- ring ever out of sight, 
This water. 

This do we at the mill-wheels see. 
The mill-wheels ! 

They don't care to be standing still, 
Nor weary they to turn the mill. 
The mill-wheels. 

The stones themselves so heavy are, 
The stones are ! 

They whirl and dance at lively rate, 
And yet would like a swifter gait, 
The stones would. 

O wand'ring, wand'ring is my joy, 
O wand'ring ! 

O master and you, mistress, too. 
Let me in peace depart from you. 
And wander. 



2ln Ceufon.— To I^eacon. 



GLEIM. 



Rosen pfliicke, Rosen bliihn, 
Morgen ist nicht heut ! 
Keine Stunde loss enfliehn, 
Fluchtig ist die Zeit » 

Trinke, kiisse ! Sieh, es ist, 
Heut Gelegenheit ! 
Weisst du, wo du morgen bist ? 
Fleuschtig ist die Zeit ! 

Aufschab einer guten That, 
Hat schon oft gerent ! 
Hurtlg leben, ist mein Rath, 
Fluchtig ist die, Zeit! 



Gather roses while they bloom, 
To morrow's not to-day ; 
Ah ! the hours flee all too soon. 
Time quickly speeds away ! 

Fill up the glass, imprint a kiss. 
The chance is here to-day ; 
Knowst where thou 'It to-morrow be ? 
Time quickly speeds away ! 

He who a noble deed defers. 
Will oft regret the day ; 
Thy life enjoy, my counsel is, 
Time quickly speeds away ! 



-24- 



Hljcmsage— A RI>ine Tradition. 



GEIBBL. 



Am Rheim, am griinen Rheine, 
Da ist so mild die Nacht, 
Die Rebenhiigel liegen 
In goldner Mondenpracht. 

Und an den Hiigeln wandelt 
Ein hoher Schatten her 
Mit Schwert und Purpurmantel, 
Die Krone von Golde schwer. 

Das ist der Karl, der Kaiser, 
Der mit gewalt'ger Hand 
Von vielen hundert Jahren 
Geherrscht im deutschen Land. 

Er ist heraufgestiegen 
Zu Aachen aus der Gruft, 
Und segnet seine Reben 
Und atmet Traubenduft. 

Bei Kiidesheim, da funkelt 
Der Mond ins Wasser hinein, 
Und baut eine goldene Briicke 
Wohl iiber den griinen Rhein. 

Der Kaiser geht hiniiber 
Und schreitet langsam fort 
Und segnet langs dem Strome 
Die Reben an jedem Ort. 

Dann kehrt er heim nach Aachen 
Und schliift in seiner Gruft 
Bis ihn im neuen Jahre 
Elrweckt der Trauben Duft. 

Wir aber fallen die Romer 
Und trinken inl goldenen Saft 
Uns deutsches Heldenfeuer 
Uns deutsches Heldenkraft. 



Along the Rhine's green waters 
Resplendent is the night, 
The vine-clad hills are glowing 
In th' moon's soft, silvery light. 

And 'round the hill is wand'ring 
A phantom tall and bold, 
With sword and purple mantle, 
And heavy crown of gold. 

And this is Karl, the emp'ror, 
He who, with mighty hand, 
For many hundred years 
Did rule in Fatherland. 

Up from his tomb at Aachen 
Did this tall phanton climb. 
Inhaled the grapes' sweet perfume. 
And blessed his growing vine. 

At Riidesheim the moonbeams 
On th' rippling waters glow, 
A bridge of gold they're building 
Across the Rhine's green flow. 

The emp'ror passes over. 
And slowly strides apace, 
And blesses long the river 
The vines at every place 

He turns again towards Aachen, 

Asleep falls in his tomb 

Till he, in th' new year coming, 

Is waked 1 )y the grapes' sweet bloom. 

But yet we fill the beakers, 
And, in the golden wine. 
We drink to all our heroes. 
Whose might and virtues shine. 



2norgenItcb^— i^orning 3ong- 



UHLAND. 



Noch ahnt man kaum der Sonne T Jcht, 
Noch sind die Morgenglocken nicht 
Im finstern Thai erklungen. 

Wie still des Waldes weiter Raum ! 
Die Voglein zwitschern nur im Traum, 
Kein Sang hat sich erschwungen. 

Ich hab* mich Uingst in's Feld gemacht, 
Und habe schon dies Lied erdacht, 
Und hab' es laut ge ungen. 



Morn's rosy beams have not yet come» 
The morning bells have not yet rung 
The gloomy vale along. 

How still the forest there doth seem, 
The birds but warble in a dream, 
Upsoared hath yet no song. 

In fields of green I lingered long. 
Already have composed this song, 
And sang it loud and strong. 



21benttie&.— :^ireiihig ^Oflf/ 



lOJaCKEBT. 



Ich stand auf Berges Halde, 
Als Sonn' hinunter gien^, 
Und sah wie uberni Walde 
Des Abends Goldnots hieng. 



Des Himmels Wolken thauten 
Der Erde Frieden zu, 
Bei Abendglockenlautea 
Gieng die Natur xax Ruliu 



Ich spracb r O Hera, empfinde 
Der SchopfunjEj Stille nun, 
Und Schick mit jedem Kinde 
Der Flur dich auch, 2iar tuhtL. 



Die Blumen alle scfrllesseir 
Die Augen attgemach, 
Und alle Wellen fliessen 
Bessaaft^^et im Bach. 



Nun hat der miide Silfe 
Sich unters Blatt gesetzt,. 
Und die Libell am Schilfe 
Eatschltttnmert thaubenetzt. 



Es ward dem gol'dnen Kafer 
Zur Wieg* ein Rosenblatt ; 
Die Heerde mit dem Schater 
SuchI ihre Lagerstatt* 



Die Lerche sucht aus Liiften: 
Ihr feuchtes Nest im Klee 
Und in des Waldes Schliiflen 
Ihr Lagec Hirsch und Reh* 



Wer sein ein^Huettchen netinet) 
Rubt nun darin sich aus ; 
Und wen die Fremde trennet. 
Den tragt ein Traum nach Hau». 



Mick (asset ein Verran^en,. 
Dass ich zur dieser Frist 
Hinauf nicht kann ^elangea 
Wo meine Heimat ist. 



I stood upon the mountain 
As the sun began to set, 
And saw how o*er the foMSt 
Hung evenlnsr^» golden net. 



The clouds of heaven bedewecC 
The earth with smiling peace ; 
With evening's beUs* resounding 
Came natnce's ss»«et Eetease.^ 



Said I : ''O £lefli% beMB tfie« 
Fair nature's tranquil reign ; 
Be thou at i^t th)fself, as 
The child£€& of the plain t ** 



The flowers are all cFosin^ 
Their eyes of gentle mien, 
And every wave is flowing 
Senuiely m the stream^ 



O, see the sylph, so weary^ 
Benesdi the leaf doth lie,. 
And on the serge, all dew-spfent, 
AsI^p'S'the dnB^on fly. 



To rock the goldeil beetfe 

A leaf waits on the rose ; 

The flocks and their kind shepherd 

Arc seeking their repose- 



The lafk V the air is leofalnsr 
Us humid nest to And,. 
And in the forest seek they 
Their bod,, the coe anil kiwi. 



To such as own their cottage 
Sweet rest doth gentfy come ; 
While tliey who roam as wanderers 
Will dream of home, sweet home. 



Regretful is. my longing^ 
That I camtot attain 
My home above in. heaven^ 
Where all is free fsonft pain. 



Znalfomets <5esang*— i^aI)O0)et^5 sSong. 



GOETHE. 



Seht den Felsenquell, 

Freudehell 

Wie ein Stemenblick ; 

Ueber Wolken 

Nahrten sein Jugend 

Gute Geister 

Zwischen Klippen im Gebtisch. 

iinglingfrisch 

Fanzt er aus der Wolke 
Auf die Marmorfelsen nieder, 
Tauchzet wieder 
Nach dem Himmel. 



Ts 



Durch die Gipfelgange 
Jagt er bunten Kieseln nach, 
Und mit frtihem Ftihrertritt 
Reisst er seine Bruderquellen 
Mit sich fort. 

Drunten werden in dem Thai 
Under seinem Fusstritt Blumen, 
Und die Wiese 
Lebt von seinem Hauch. 

Doch ihn halt kein Schattenthal, 

Keine Blumen, 

Die ihm seine Knie* umschlingen, 

Ihm mit Liebesangen schmeicneln : 

Nach der Ebne dringt sein Lauf 

Schlangenwandelnd. 

Bache schmiegen 
Sich gesellig an. Nun tritt er 
. In die Ebne silberprangend, 
Und die Ebne prangt mit ihm, 
Und die Fliisse von der Ebne, 
Und die Bache von den Bergen 
Jauchzen ihm und rufen : Bruder ! 
Bruder, nimm die Briider mit, 
Mit zu deinem alten Vater, 
Zu dem ew*gen Ocean, 
Der mit ausgespannten Armen 
Unser wartet, 

Die sich, ach, vergebens offhen, 
Seine Sehnenden zu fassen ; 
Denn uns frisst in oder Wiiste 
Gier'ger Sand ; die Sonne droben 
Saugt an unserm Blut ; ein Hiigel 
Hemmet uns zum Teiche ! Bruder^ 
Nimm die Bruder von der Ebne, 
Nimm die Brtider von den Bergen 
Mit, zu deinem Vater mit ! 
Kommt ihr alle ! 



See the rocky spring, 

Bright and clear 

As a twinkline star I 

0*er the clouds his 

Tender youth was nourished 

By goocl spirits, 

'Tween the shrubby cliffs above. 

Fresh with youth. 

Out of the clouds he dances 

Ton the marble rocks below ; 

His exultant song 

He sends back to heaven. 

Along the channels on the summit 
Chases he the mottled pebbles ; 
And with a leader's lofty tread 
Convoys he all his brother streamlets 
With him along. 

In yonder valley far below. 
Grow flowers in his footsteps. 
And the meadow 
Lives upon his breath. 

But him holds no shady vale, 

No blossoms fair. 

Which 'round his knees are clinging, 

And with loving eyes entreating ; 

Along the plain the current winds 

Snake-like and slow. 

Brooklets, too, wind 

Socially along. Now runs he 

O'er the plain like burnished silver. 

And the plain his brightness sheds, 

And the streamlets from the plain, 

And the brooklets from the mountain, 

Exult and cry to him : Brother ! 

Take thy brothers with thee, 

With thee, to thy aged father, 

To the everlasting ocean, 

Who, with outstretched arms is waiting, 

Awaiting us— 

Arms with which, alas ! in vain 

His longing ones he tried to seize ; 

For on the waste the greedy sand 

Devours us ; the sun above us 

Sucks at our blood ; the mountain 

Hems us into pools ! Brother, 

Take thy brothers from the plain. 

Take thy brothers from the mountain. 

Take them to thy sire, O take ! 

Come, come ye all ! 



-27- 



Und nun schwillt er 
Herrlicher ; ein ganz Geschlechte 
Tragt den Fursten hoch empor ! 
Una im rollenden Triumphe 
Gibt er Landern Namen, Stadte 
Werden unter seinem Fuss. 

Unauthaltsam rauscht er weiter, 
Lasst der Tiinne Flammengipfel 
Marmorhauser. eine Schopfung 
Seiner Fiille, hinter sich. 

Cedemhauser tragt der Atlas 
Auf den Riesenschultern ; sausend 
Wehen iiber seinem Haupte 
Tausend Flaggen durch die Liifte, 
Zeugen seiner Herrlichkeit 

Und so tragt er seine Brfider, 
Seine Schatze, seine Kinder, 
Dem erwartenden Erzeuger 
Freudebrausend an das Herz. 



And now swells he 

Proudly ; a whole race of them 

Bear their princely charge on high ! 

And in triumph, rolling on. 

Giving names to lands. Towns and cities 

Spring up beneath his foot 

Resist lessly he rushes on, 
Leaving flaming minarets and 
Marble mansions — creatures ol 
His fullness — ^all behind him. 

Cedar-houses bears this Atlas 
On his giant shoulders, Rustling, 
Above his head a thousand flags 
Do proudly wave — all attesting 
His majestic presence. 

And so bears he all his brothers, 
All his treasures and his children, 
With enraptured emotion 
To his waiting father's heart. 



gtDiegesang.— TI)e Daet. 



REINICK. 



Im Fliederbusch ein Voe^lein sass 
In der stillen schonen Maiennacht, 
Darunter ein Magdlein im hohen Gras, 
In der stillen schonen Maiennacht. 
Sang Magdlein, hielt das Voglein Ruh, 
Sang Voglein, hort das Magdlein zu. 

Und weithin klang 

Der Zwiegesang 
Das mondbeglantze Thai entlang. 
Was sang das Voglein im Gezweig 
Durch die stille schone Maiennacht ? 
Was sang doch wohl das Magdlein gleich 
Durch die stille schone Maiennacht ? 
Von Friihlingssonne das Voglein, 
Von Liebeswonne das Magdlein. 

Wie der Gesang 

Zum Herzen klang 
Vergess* ich nimmer mem Lebenlang ! 



In an elder-bush sat a bird (juite small, 
On a lovely, tranquil night in May, 
And, beneath, a maid in grass so tall, 
On a lovely, tranquil night in May. 
The bird had rest when the maiden sang. 
The maid gave ear when the bird s voice 

And far along [rang 

The duo son^^ 
Through the moonlit vale resounded long. 
And what sang that bird on yonder limb 
Through that lovely tranquil night in May? 
And the maiden's song — what did she sing 
Through that lovely tranquil night in May? 
The wee bird sang of Spring so bright. 
The maiden sang of love's delight. 

How that sweet song 

My heart did throng 
I will ne'er forget my lifetime long. 



3m Hoscnbusd? bk Ciebe Sd^Iief.— I^ove Asleep in a 

Rose-:^asI). 



HOFFMAN VON 

Im Rosenbusch die Liebe schlief, 
Der Friihling kim, der Fruhling rief ; 
Die Liebe horts die Lieb erwacht, 
Schaut aus der Knosp' hervor und lacht, 
Und denkt, zu zeitig mocht's bait sein, 
Und schlaft drum ruhig wieder ein. 
Der Friihling aber lasst nich nach, 
Er kiisst sie jeden Morgen wach, 
Er kos't mit ihr von friih bis spat. 
Bis sie ihr Herz geoffnet hat, 
Und seine heisse Sehnsucht stillt, 
Und jeden Sonnenblick vergilt. 



FALLERSLEBEN. 

Love sleeping lies in a rose-bush tall, [call, 
Fair Spring hath come, and Spring doth 
Love hears the song, and Love awakes» 
Peeps out the bud, with laughter shakes, 
And thinks it is too soon to rise. 
And shuts again his peaceful eyes. 
Fair Spring, howe'er, would not give way, 
She waked him with a kiss each day, 
Caressed him, too, from morn till night, 
Until his heart was opened quite, 
Until her longings were allayed, 
And every sunbeam was repaid. 



-28- 



Das parables. — Paradise- 



RUECKERT. 



Das Paradies muss schiiner sein 

Als jeder Ort auf Erden. [darein, 

Drum wiinscht mein Herz, recht bald 

Recht bald zu werden. 

Im Paradies muss ein Fluss 

Der ew'gen Liebe rinnen 

Und jede Sehnsuchtthriine muss 

Sein eine Perle drinnen. 

Im Paradiese muss ein Hauch 

Der Schmerzenstillung wehen, 

Dass jeder Sell inerz, und meiner auch, 

Muss aufgelost vergehen. 

Da steht des Friedens kiihler Baum 

Gepflanzt auf griinen Riiumen, 

Und drunter muss ein stiller Traum 

Von Ruh' und Gliick sich triiumen. 

Ein Cheruh an der Pforte steht, 

Die Welt hinweg zu schrecken 

Dass auch zu niir ihr Hauch nicht geht, 

Mich aus dem Traum zii wecken. 

Da wird das nionsche Schift. mein Herz, 

Geankert ruh'n im Hafen, 

Das rege Wiegenkindlein Schmerz 

Im Busen endlich schlafen 

Fiir jeden Dorn, der hier mich stach, 

Wird sich die Rose finden, 

Und Lust, die nie mir Rosen brach, 

Wird sie um's Haupt mir winden. 

Dort werden alle Freuden Miih'n, 

Die in der Knosp' hier starben, 

Und werden wird ein Friihlings grun 

Aus alien Todesgarben 

Dort wird, was je mein Herz gesucht; 

Mir still entgegentreten. 

Vom griinen Zweig als goldne Frucht, 

Als helle Blum aus Beeten 

Die Wiinsch' und Hoffnungen der Brust, 

Wie Blumen aller Zonen, 

Sie werden dort in stiller Luft 

Um mich zusammen wohnen. 

Die Jugend, die mit Fliigelschlag 

An mir voriiberrauschte, 

Die Liebe, die auf einen Tag 

Mit Nektar mich berauschte. 

Sie werden flucht und fliigellos, 

Auf ewig mich umscherzen, 

Mich halten wie das Kind im Schoss 

Und ihren Liebling herzen. 

Und jene Gottheit, deren Licht 

Auf mich von fernher taute, 

Und deren klares Angesicht 

Ich nur in Thriinen Schauta. 

Die Poesie, als Geist der Welt 

Wird hell sich mir entschleiern, 

Wann hell sich Freimunds Lieb gesellt 

Dem Chor der Stemenleiern. 



O Paradise must fairer be 

Than all earth's beauteous places, 

My heart is stirred to be transferred 

To share its heavenly graces. 

In Paradise there runs a stream 

Of love that s ever flowing ; 

And every tear that doth appear 

With pearly light is glowing. 

And breezes blow in Paradise 

To cool the heart's fierce fever ; 

That each one's pain, nor mine remain, 

Must pass away ibrever. 

There stands so fair the tree of Peace, 

On greenest spot 'tis planted ; 

Beneath its shade, in slumber laid. 

Lies one by visions haunted. 

A cherub at the gateway stands, 

And watchful guard is keeping, 

Lest wordly din should enter in. 

And rouse me from my sleeping. 

And here my heart, that shattered bark. 

Safe anchor will be keeping. 

And restless Care, a nursling fair, 

Will soon itself be sleeping. 

For every thorn that me hath pricked, 

A rose I will be finding, 

And Joy, that naught the roses brought. 

Will them round me be winding. 

From dead buds there will hrightly bloom 

All pleasures here once cherished ; 

And vernal bloom transformed be soon 

From sheaves that long have perished- 

And there just what my heart hath sought, 

So silently discloses. 

As golden fruit from tender shoot. 

As from their bed the roses. 

The hopes and wishes in my breast. 

Like flowers from every quarter 

Will bloom so fair in tranquil air, 

And dwell with me thereafter. 

Bright Youth that, in thy winged flight, 

My years had swiftly captured ; 

And Love, that, in a single day, 

With nectar me enraptured. 

Will both be wingless, flightless, too. 

And ever play around me ; 

And as you see, on mother's knee, 

A child, so they will hold me. 

That deity, whose distant light 

On me was faintly gleaming, 

Whose lovely face I could but trace 

In tears, as I was dreaming ; 

Fair i 'oesy, the world's great soul, 

Will so n unveil its fires, 

When clear and strong my joyous song 

Will join celestial lyres. 



-29 



(glegic— ]5leg>5- 



MATTHISSON. 



[In den Ruinen Eines Alien Bergschlosses 

GeschriehenJ\ 
Schweigend, in der Abenddammrung 

Schleier, 
Ruht die Flur, das Lied der Haine stirbt ; 
Nur dass hier im alternden Gemiiuer 
Melancholisch noch ein Heimchen zirpt. 
Stille sinkt aus unbewolkten Liiften, 
Langsam zieh'n die Herden von den 

Triften, 
Und der miide Landmann eilt der Ruh 
Seiner vaterlichen Hiitte zu. 

Hier, auf diesen waldumkranzten Hohen, 
Unter Triimmern der Vergangenheit, 
Wo der Vorwelt Schauer mich umwehen, 
Sei dies Lied, O Wehmut, dir geweiht ! 
Traurend denk' ich, was, vor grauen 

Jahren, 
Diese morschen Ueberreste waren : 
Ein betiirmtes Schloss, vol! Majestilt, 
Auf des Berges Felsenstirn' erhoht. 



Dort, wo um des Pfeilers dunkle Tnim- 

mer 
Traurig fliistemd sich der Epheu schlingt, 
Und der Abendrote triiber Schimmer 
Durch den oden Raum der Fenster blinkt, 
Segneten vielleicht des Vaters Thranen 
Einst den edelsten von Deutschlands 

Sohnen, 
Dessen Herz, der Ehrbegierde voll, 
Heiss demnaiien Kampf entgegenschwoll. 



Zeuch in Frieden, sprach der greise 

Krieger, 
Ihn umgiirtend mit dem Heldenschwert, 
Kehre nimmer, oder kehr' als Sieger, 
Sei des Namens deiner Viiter wert ! 
Und des edlen Jiinglins^s Auge spriihte 
Todesflammen ; seine VVange gliihte, 
Gleich dem aufgebliithen Rosenhain, 
In der Morgennite Purpurschein 



Eine Donnerwolke, flog der Ritter 
Dann, wie Richard Lowenherz, zur 

Schlacht ; 
Gleich dem Tannenwald im Ungewitter 
Beugte sich vor ihm des Feindes Macht ! 
Mild, wie Bache, die durch Blumen 

wallen, 
Kehrt er zu des Felsenschlosses Hallen, 
Zu des Vaters Freudenthriinenblick, 



[ Written in the Ruins of an old Castle. '\ 

Silent, in the dusky light of evening, 
Rests the plain ; the woodland song is 

gone, [olden. 

Save that, 'mid these ruins, gray and 
Chirps a cricket its melancholy tone. 
Silence sinks from out a sky serene, 
Slowly wind the herds from pastures 

green, [free, 

The weary plowman, from his toil now 
Quick to his father's humble cot will flee. 

Here upon this wood-encircled height, 
Amid the ruins of departed years. 
Where pictures dread of by-gone times 

surround me, [tears ! 

Sing I to thee, oh Sad -ess, through my 
What, oft sadly think I, in those days 

grown hoary, [glory : 

Were these wrecks of lofty pride and 
A towering castle of majestic mien, 
Once on this mountain's brow of stone 

was seen. 

— [the ivy 
There, whispering sadly, where clings 
To the ruined pillar, stately now no more, 
And the dusky shimmer of the evening 

glimmer [floor, 

Blinks at casement there across the empty 
A father sadly weeping, and, perhaps, 
caressing, [blessing 

Him, the noblest son of Germany, was 
Whose swelling heart, aglow wi' am- 
bition's heat, 
The coming struggle desired to meet. 

— [rior, 
Depart in peace ! said the grizzled war- 
As he begirt him with the sword of fame; 
Return no more, or return as victor, 

Be thou worthy of thy father's name ! 

And the noble youth's bright eyes were 
throwing [glowing 

Flashes of deadly fire ; his cheeks were 

With hue like that which steals o'er full- 
bloom roses [closes. 

When morn the purple rays of light dis- 

— [der, 
Then flew the knight like cloud of thun- 
der 

As Richard Lion-Heart once did, to fight; 
Like fir trees 'neath the wrathful tempest 

bending. 
Bowed before him the hostile might. 
Gently, as brooklets through flowers are 

wending, [tending, 

To his cliff built halls his steps were 
To his father's joyful, tear-stainedface, 



-30- 



In des keuschen Madchens Arm zuriick. 



Ach ! mit badger Sehnsucht blickt die 

Holde 
Oft vom Soller nach des Thales Pfad ; 
Schild und Panzer gliihn im Abendgolde» 
Rosse fliegen, der Geliebte naht ! 
Ihm die treue Rechte sprachlos reichend 
Steht sie da, errotend und erbleichend : 
Aber was ihr sanftes Auge ^pricht, 
Sangen selbst Petrarch und Sappho nicht. 



Frohlich halite der Pokale Lauten 
Dort, wo wildverschlunge Ranken sich 
Ueber Uhunester schwarz verbreiten, 
Bis der Sterne Silberglanz erblich ; 
Die Geschichten schwererkampfter Siege, 
Grauser Abenteu'r im heilgen Kriege, 
Weckten in der rauhen Helden Brust 
Die Erinnrung schauerlicher Lust. 



O der Wandlung! Grau'n und Nacht 

umdustem 
Nun den Schauplatz jener Herrllchkeit ! 
Schwermutvolle Abendwinde fliistem, 
Wo die Starken sich des Mahls gefreut ! 
Disteln wanken einsam auf der Statte, 
Wo um Schild und Speer der Knabe 

flehte, 
Wann der Kriegsdrommete Ruf erklang, 
Und aufs Kampfross sich der Vater 

schwang. 



Asche sind der Machtigen Gebeine 
Tief im dunkeln Erdenschose nun ! 
Kaum dass halbversunkne Leichensteine 
Noch die Statte zeigen, wo sie ruh'n. 
Viele warden langst ein Spiel der Liifte, 
Ihr Gedachtnis sank, wie ihre Griifte ; 
Vor dem Thatenglanz der Heldenzeit 
Schwebt die Wolke der Vergessenheit. 



So vergehn des Lebens l^errlichkeiten, 
So entfleucht das Trumbild eitler Macht ! 
So versinkt, im schnallen Lauf der Zeiten, 
Was die Erde tragt, in ode Nacht ! 
Lorbeern, die des Siegers Stirn um- 

kranzen, 
Thaten, die in Erz und Marmor glanzen 
Urnen, der Erinnerung geweiht, 
Und Gesange der Unsterblichkeit ! 

AUes, was mit Sehnsucht und Entziicken 
Hier am Staub ein edles Herz erfiillt, 



And to the waiting maiden*s chaste em- 
brace. 

Oft, with anxious longing, from her turret 
Far down into the vale her eyes are peer- 
ing; [glowing. 

Shield and mail in evening's gold are 
Steeds are flying ; the lov'd one's Hear- 
ing, [tended, 
Speechless, she her faithful hand ex- 
With blush and pallor interblended, 
But what her soft blue eye expresses — 
well, [could tell. 
Nor Sappho's song, nor Petrarch's muse, 

Joyously rang the goblets of crystal, 
There where the tangled and rank-grow- 
ing vine. [spreading. 
Black o'er the nests of the owl«ts is 
Till the glistening stars do but faintly 

shine. 
The tales of victories, heard from afar, 
Of wildest adventures in the Holy War, 
Aroused in the breasts of the rugged 

knights 
The remembrance of their fierce delights. 

How changed the scene ! Dismay and 
Night o'ercast [been ; 

The place where all that glory once had 
Winds of evening, sadly swelling, whisper 
Where strong hearts revelled 'mid rap- 
turous dm, [field 
Lonely thistles now are nodding o'er the 
Where the boy was pleading for spear 

and shield, 
When the call to arms from trumpet rang, 
And on his charger the father sprang. 

Turned to ashes the bones of the mighty! 
Down in the dark lap of earth they lie 

deep, [their trenches 

Scarcely the half-sunken stones o'er 
Point out the spot where the heroes now 

sleep, [of these braves. 

The winds have long toyed with the dust 
Their memories sank, too, just like their 

graves, [won. 

O'er the war-like deeds by those heroes 
Pass the cloud-folds of Oblivion ! 

— [glory ! 
Thus depart this life's vain pomp and 
'Thus flit by the dreams of passmg might ! 
Thus, too, sinks in Time's swift-flowing 

current 
All that earth upbears, to empty night ! 
Laurels, that the victor's brow entwine. 
Deeds that in brass and marble shine. 
Urns, dedicate to Memory, 
And the songs of Immortality. 

— [rapture, 
All, all, that here, with longing and with 
On the earth a noble heart doth warm. 



-31- 



Schwindet, gleich des Herbstes Sonnen- 

blicken, 
Wenn ein Sturm den Horizont umhiillt. 
Die am Abend freudig sich umfassen, 
Sieht der Morgenrote schon erblassen : 
Selbst der Freundschaft und der Liebe 

Gliick 
Lasst auf Erden keine Spur zuriick. 

Liebe ! deines Tempels Rosenauen 
Grenzen an bedomte Wastenei'n, 
Und ein plotzliches Gewittergrauen 
Diistert oft der Freundschaft Aetherschein. 
Hoheit, Ehre, Macht und Ruhm sind 

eitel ! 
Eines Weltgebieters stolzen Scheitel, 
Und ein zitternd Haupt am Pilgerstab, 
Deckt mit einer Dunkelheit das Grab. 



Vanishes like the autumnal sunshine 
When the horizon's verge is veiled in 

storm. 
Those at evening who fondly do embrace, 
Are in the morning found with pallid face ; 
Even Friendship's ties, and Love's de- 
light, 
Leave on the earth no trace in sight. 

O Love ! thy gardens of fragriint roses 
By thorny wastes are hemmed in every- 
where ! [tempest 
When quickly spread the wings of the 
Darken often Friendship's sky, so fair ! 
Vain are greatness, honor, might and 
glory ! [hoary, 
On the monarch's head, so proud and 
And on the weary pilgrim's trembling 
head. [o'erspread. 
One common darkness doth the grave 



2lbelaibe.— Adelaide. 



MATTHISSON. 



Einsam wandelt dein Freund im Friieh- 

lingsgarten, 
Mild vom lieblichen Zauberlicht um- 

flossen, 
Das durch wankende Blilthenzweige 

zittert, 
Adelaide ! 

In der spiegelnden Fluth, im Schnee der 

Alpen, 
In des sinkejiden Tages Goldgewolken, 
Im Gefilde der Sterne strahlt dein Bild- 

niss, 
Adelaide ! 



Abendliiftchen im z art en Laube 
fliistern, [sauseln, 

Silberglockchen des Mai's im Grase 
Wellen rauschen und Nachtigallen floten : 
Adelaide ! 



Einst, O Wunder ! entbliiht auf meinem 

Grabe, 
Eine Blume der Asche meines Herzens ; 
Deutlich schimmert auf jedem Furpur- 

blattchen, 
Adelaide ! 



Through Spring's fair garden thy friend 
wanders lonely, 

Surrounded with light both magic and 
mellow, 

That quivering comes through blossom- 
ing branches, 

Adelaide ! 

In the mirrored flood, in the Alpine 

snow-storm. 
In the closing day's fast-fading clouds all 

golden, 
In the star lit noon of night beams thy 

image, 
Adelaide I 

Evening zephyrs in tender foliage whisper, 
In silv'ry tones sweet floral bells are tmk- 

ling, 
Billows murmur and nightingales e'er 

warble : 
Adelaide ! 

Once, O wonder ! upon my grave will 

blossom 
A tender flower from my heart's pale 

ashes ; 
On each purple leaf there will brightly 

glimmer 
Adelaide ! 



-32- 



Der (5raf von (Breiers,— TI)e Coant of (ireier^. 



JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND. 



Der junge Graf von Greiers, er steht vor 

seinem Haus, 
Er sieht am schonen Morgen weit ins 

Gebirg hinaus, 
Er sieht die Felsenhomer verklart im 

goldnen Strahl 
Und dammernd mitten i'nne das griinste 

Alpenthal : 

"O Alpe, griine Alpe, wie zieht*snach dir 

mich hin ! 
Begliickt, die dich befahren, Berghirt 

tind Sennerin ! 
Oft sah ich sonst hiniiber, empfand nich 

Leid noch Lust; 
Doch heute dringt ein Sehnen mir in die 

tiefste Brust." 

t 
Und nah und njiher klingen Schalmeien 

an sein Ohr, 
Die Hirtinnen nnd Hirten sie ziehn zur 

Burg empor, 
Und auf des Schlosses Rasen hebt an der 

Ringeltanz, 
Die weissen Aermel schimmern, bunt 

flattern Band und Kranz. 

Der Sennerinnen jiingste, schlank wie ein 

Maienreis. 
Erfasst die Hand des Grafen, da muss er 

in den Kreis. 
Es schlinget ihn der Reigeij in seinen 

Wirbel ein : 
*'Hei. junger Graf von Greiers, gefangen 

musst du sein." 

Sie raffen ihn von hinnen mit Sprung 

und ReigenHed, 
Sie tanzen durch die Dorfer, wo GHed 

sich reiht an Glied 
Sie tanzen iiher Mat ten sie tanzen durch 

den Wald. 
Bis fernhin auf die Alpen derhelle Klang 

verhallt. 

Schon steigt der zweite Morgen, der 

dritte schon wird klar. 
Wo bleibt der Graf von Greiers ? 1st er 

verschollen gar? 
Und wieder sinkt zum Abend der 

schwiilen Sonne Lauf ; 
Da donnert's im Gebirge, da ziehn die 

Wetter auf 



The youthful Count of Greiers before his 
castle stands, 

At mom his vision sweeps o'er the 
mountain's sun-kissed lands. 

He sees the horn-ed crags in the sun- 
light's golden sheen, 

And, dimly, too, the greatest vale in the 
shade between. 

"Oh, Alp, thou green-clad Alp ! how 
much I'm drawn to thee ! 

How happy, when they reach thee must 
maids and herdsmen be ! 

Oftimes I've gazed upon thee, nor cared 
for all thou art. 

But now a longing seizes me in my in- 
most heart. 



And near and nearer still sound the tim- 

bls on his ear ; 
The herdsmen and the maidens to the 

castle now draw near ; 
And on the turf of green around begins 

the whirling dance. 
The white sleeves flit and glimmer, the 

wreaths and ribbons glance. 

The youngest of the maidens, slim as a 
sprig of spring, 

The Count's hand seizes quickly, he 
must go in the ring ; 

Soon swallowed in the whirl of the cir- 
cling dance is he : 

"Ho, youthful Count of Greiers, now 
captured must you be ! ', 

They forced him from that place, and, with 

dance and roundelay, 
They dancing go through hamlets where 

others lead the way. 
They dance across the meadow, they 

dance through wood and dell. 
Till in the heart of th' distant Alps the 

lingering echoes dwell 

The second mom has come, and the third 

will soon be here ; 
Where stays the Count of Greiers ? did 

he, then, disappear ? 
Again the evening closes in thick and 

sultry air ; 
It thunders in the mountains, the storm 

is gathering there 



-33- 



Geborsten Ist die Wolke. der Bach zum 

Strom geschwellt, 
Und als mit jahem Strahle der Blitz die 

Nacht erhellt, 
Da zeigt sich in den Strudeln ein Mann, 

der wogt und ringt, 
Bis er den Ast ergriffen und sich ans Ufer 

schwingt: 

"Da bin ich, weggerissen aus eurer Berge 

Schoos ; 
Im Tanzen und im Schwingen ergriff 

mich Sturmgetos ; 
Ihr alle sind geborgen in Hiitt' und Fel- 

senspalt, 
Nur mich hat fortgeschwemmet des 

Wolkenbruchs Gewalt. 



Leb' wohl, du griine Alpe, mit deiner 

frohen Schaar ! 
Lebt wohl drei sel'ge Tage, da ich ein 

Hirte war ! 
O, nicht bin ich geboren zu solchem Par- 

adies, 
Aus dem mit Blitzesflamme des Himmels 

Zorn mich wies. 

Du frische Alpenrose, riihr' nimmer 

meine Hand ! 
Ich fiihls, die kalte Woge, sie loscht nicht 

diesen Brand. 
Du zauberischer Reigen, lock* nimmer 

mich hinaus ! 
Nimm mich in deine Mauern, du odes 

Grafenhaus !" 



The cloud has burst its fetters, the brook 

becomes a stream, 
Illumined is the night with the lightning's 

fitful gleam. 
A man is seen to struggle 'mid the 

whirlpool's sullen roar. 
Till a branch he quickly seizes and 

swings upon the shore. 

** Here am I, torn away from your moun- 
tain's sweet retreat, 

While dancing I was whirled by the 
storm's tempestuous beat ; 

In mountain huts and caverns ye all did 
shelter find ; 

While I alone was swept along by the 
torrent and the wind. 

Farewell, thou green-clad Alp, with thy 

joyous company ! 
Farewell the blessed days when 1 watched 

the flocks on thee ! 
I was not born t' enjoy that beatific place 
From whence the lightnings drove me 

'neath heaven's angry face. 

Thou Alpine rose, so lovely, touch thou 

my hand no more ! 
Unquenched 's the fire within me though 

torrents o'er me pour. 
Ye whirling dance bewitching, ne'er lure 
I me 'gain to thee ! 
! My cheerless walls, receive me, within 
I thee must I flee 1 *' 



PrencI) Pri^^e poem- 



Sungr at the Openingr of the PgutIs Exposition in 1889.— First English 
Translation by Mr. Zimmerman. 



QUATRE VINGT-NEUF. 
Chant 1 



CHCEUR DES PEUPLES. 

Dans la foret du vieux monde, 

Marchant, peinant sans repos, 
Priant sans qu on nous reponde, 

Nous allons, mornes troupeaux. 
Du meme pas implacable 

L'heure vient, I'heure s*enfuit, 
Le meme poids nous accable 

C'est toujours la sombre nuit 
Interroge encor Tespace, 

Guetteur, du haut de la tour. 
Que te dit le vent qui passe ? 

Quand done paraitra le jour? 



'.EIGHTY-NINE. 
• Song off the Centuries. 
CHORUS OF THE PEOPLE. 

In the old world's forests, dim with gloom, 

Forever toiling without rest. 
Like driven beasts, we pass our lives, 

Forever praying, though never blest. 
The hours come, the hours go, 

In the same unending flight ; 
The selfsame burdens bendf us low ; 

With us 'tis always blackest night. 
O, watcher on the tower's top, 

What see'st thou from thy lofty height ? 
Say, does the passing wind say aught ? 

O, when will come the morning Tight? 



-34- 



enferme. 

CHCEUR DES PEUPLES. 

J'interroge I'etendue : 

Partout la nuit sans amour ! 

O sentinelle perdue, 
Vois-tu poindre enfin le jour ? 



LB GUETTBUB. 

Les ailes de la nuit couvrent le monde 

immense, 
Seuls, de leur vol epais evillant le silence, 
Les noirs esprits planent sur moi ! 

LA HAINE. 

Peuples, tremblez ! J'ai, pour apotres, 

La mort et Teffroi. 

Sans meme savoir pourquoi, 
Ruez-vous les uns sur les autres. 

L* IGNORANCE. 

Peuples, reconnaissez ma loi ; 
J*ai souffle sur vos yeux et scelle votre 
bouche 

LA TYRANNIE, 

Mords ton frein, esclave farouche. 
Sous mes pieds orgueilleux je te sens 
desarme. 

LE DESESPOIR. 

Au tombeau, pour toujours, Lazare est Forever is Lazarus entombed in the 

grave. 

CHORUS OF THE PEOPLE. 

The distance now we scan, 
Of light appears not e*en a ray. 

O useless sentinel ! 
See'st thou not the dawn of day ? 



THE WATCHER. 

The sombre wings of night the earth still 
in ^loom do hide. 

Dark spirits above me hover and threat- 
eningly *round me glide ; 
And break the silence with their cry. 

HATB. 

Tremble, people ! Rage, Terror, Death, 
Apostles mine, in wait do lie ; 
Without even knowing why 

Ye slay each other at ev'ry breath. 

IGNORANCE. 

Acknowledge my power and hear 
my cry; 
Your lips are close sealed, upon your 
eyes did I breathe. 

TYRANNY. 

Disarmed art thou my heel beneath. 
Then gnaw thy bit, thou poor, thou sav- 
age slave ! 



DESPAIR. 



LE GUETTEUR. 

Freres, debout ; leyez la tete, 
Voyez, voyez, le Ciel blanchit ; 
Le coq a chante, I'air fraichit. 
Entendez-vousces cris de fete? 
C'est le jour, c'est le jour. Nous som- 

mes deli res. 
Chaines, tombez ; croulez, prisons. 
L'aube est venue. 
Mes yeux mouilles de pleurs Pont 
reconnue. 
Hants les coeurs ; haut le front, peuples 
regeneres. 



THE WATCHER. 

Lift up your heads, O brothers dear ! 
The heavens presage the coming 

glow; 
The air is cool, the cock doth crow ; 
Dost not those cries of joy now hear ? 
*Tis the dawn ! fetters break ! Delivered 
are we ! [breaks at last ! 

See, the prisons are toppling ! Day 
Thro* tear-bedewed eyes I see *t com- 
ing fast ! [ye people free 1 
Lift up your hearts ! Raise your heads ! 
The dawn of Liberty is here at last ! 



Die Kapelle.— TI)C Cl)apel. 



Droben stehet die Kapelle, 
Schauet still in's Thai hinab, 
Drunten singt bei Wies' und Quelle 
Froh und hell der Hirtenknab * 

Tranrig tont das Glocklein nieder, 
Schauerlich der Leichenchor ; 
Stille sind die frohen Lieder 
Und der Knabe lauscht empor. 

Droben bringt man sie zu Grabe, 
Die sich freuten in dem Thai. 
Hirtenknabe ! Hirtenknabe ! 
Dir auch singt man dort einmal. 



UHLAND 

On yonder height the chapel stands, 
O'erlooks the vale in tranquil joy ; 
While there, by rills and meadow lands, 
Sings glad and clear the shepherd boy. 

So sadly tolls the little bell, 

And, shudd'ring, sings the chapel choir ; 

How silent is the shepherd's song 

As, list'ning, now, the tones come nigher. 

They lay to rest on yonder hill 
Those who below once lived in joy ; 
Some day o'er thee, when you're at rest, 
They'll sing sad strains, O shepherd boy ! 



-35^ 



Der postiHon.— TI)e Po^tUtion. 



LENAU. 



Lieblich war die Maiennacht, 
Silberwolklein flogen. 
Ob der holden Friihlingspracht 
Freudig hingezogen. 

Schlummernd lagen Wies' und Haiti, 
Jeder Pfad verlassen; 
Niemand als der Mondenschein 
Wachte auf der Strassen. 

Leise nur das Liiftchen sprach, 
Und es zog gjelinder 
Durch das stille Schlafgemach 
All der Frahlingskinder. . 

Heimlich nur das Bachlein schlich, 
Denn der Bliiten Traume 
Dufteten gar wonniglich 
Durch die stillen Raume. 

Rauher war mein Postilion, 
Liess die Geissel knallen, 
Ueber Berg und Thai davon 
Frisch sein Horn erschallen. 

Und von flinken Rossen vier 
Scholl der Hufe Schlagen, 
Die durchs bliihende Revier 
Trabten mit Behagen 

Wald und Flur im schnellen Zug 
Kaum gegriisst— gemieden; 
Und vorbei, wie Traumesflug 
Schwand der Dorfer Frieden. 

Mitten in dem Maiengliick 
Lag ein Kirchhof innen, 
Der den raschen Wanderblick 
Hielt zu emstem Sinnen. 

Hingelehnt an Bergesrand 
War die bleiche Mauer, 
Und das Kreuzbild Gottes stand 
Hoch, in stummer Trauer. 

Schwa^er ritt anf seiner Bahn 
Stiller jetzt und triiber; 
Und die Rosse hielt er an, 
Sah zum Keruz hiniiber; 

"Halten muss hier Ross und Rad ! 
Mag's Euch nicht gefahrden; 
Driiben liegt mein Kamerad 
In der kuhlen Erden ! 



Lovely was the night of May, 
Silvery clouds flew brightly. 
O'er the joyous Spring passed they 
Here and there so lightly. 

Slumbering lay both/mead and wood. 
Every path forsaken ; 
On the street the moon alone ' 
Watchful guard had taken. 

Softly spoke the gentle breeze 
In almost breathless numbers, . 
As Spring her fairy children led 
Through the realm of slumbers. 

Softly, too, the brooklet crept, 
While many a blooming vision 
Swept along the silent rooms 
In perfume nigh elysian. 

My postillion rougher was, 
He cracked his whip and, bounding. 
Sped away o'er hill and dale. 
Clear his horn resounding. 

From the hoofs of shining steeds 
Echoes loud were sounding ; 
As thro' blooming field and wood 
Th' steeds were onward bounding. 

Wood and mead in rapid Hight 
Passed with scarce a greeting ; 
By us fled the peaceful towns 
Like a dream still fleeting. 

Right within this charming scene 
Lay a churchyard nested, 
Whereon the traveler's wand 'ring sight 
Musingly had rested.* 

On the mountain side there stood 
The faded wall reclining. 
And. above, the crucifix 
In silent grief was shining. 

The driver rode along his path 
Stiller, then, to ponder. 
And the horses stopped he there,'' 
The shining cross saw yonder : 

"Tarry here must horse and wheel ! 
No fear o'er thee be creeping ; 
Yonder lies my comrade dear. 
In the cold earth sleeping. 



-3fi- 



' 'Ein gar herzlieber Gesell I 
Herr, *s ist ewig Schade I 
Keiner blies das Horn so hell, 
Wie mein Kamerade I 

''Hier ich immer halten muss, 
Dem dort unterm Rasen 
Zum getreuen Bnidergruss 
Sein Leiblied zu blasen !" 

Und dem Kirch hofsandt' er za 
Frohe Wahdersange, 
Dass es in die Gra'^esruh' 
Seinem Bruder drange 

Und des Homes heller Ton 
Klang vom Berge wieder, 
Ob der todte Postilion 
Stimmt in seine Lieder. 

Weiter ging^s durch Feld und Hag 
Mit verhangtem Ziigel ; 
Lang mir noch im Ohre lag 
lener Klang vom Hiigel. 



* 'Charming fellow was this lad f 
Lasting pify, 'tis, sir ! 
Clearer notes from horn ne'er came 
Than those which came from his, sir I 

•*'And I always linger here, 
And send forth a greeting 
To the dear one buried there. 
His fav'rite air repeating." 

Toward the churchyard he sent out 
Such entrancing numbers, [grave. 

That well nigh pierced the deaa man's 
And woke him from his slumbers. 

Again the bugler's clearer tone 
From the hills came flying, 
Ere the dead postillion was 
In his songs replying. 

Farther on through field and wood 
The good steeds quickly bounded ; 
Long that echo from the hill 
In my ears resounded. 



Die Oerlorene Ktrclje.— TI)e ^o$t Ain^ter. 



UHLAND. 



Man horet oft im femen Wald 
Von obenher ein dumpfes Lauten. 
Doch Niemand weiss, von wann es hallt, 
Und kaum die Sage kann es deuten. 
Von der veriomen Kirche soli 
Der Klang ertonen mit den Winden ; 
Einst war der Pfad von Wallem volL 
Nun weis ihn keiner mehr zu finden. 

Jiingst gieng ich in dem Walde weit, 
Wo kein betretner Steip: sich dehnet ; 
Aus der Verderbniss dieser Zeit 
Hatt' ich zu Gott mich hingesehnet 
Wo in der Wildniss Alles schwieg, 
Vernahm ich das Gelaiite wieder ; 
]e hoher meine Sehrisucht stieg, 
Je naher, voller klang es nieden 

Mein Geist war s in sich gekehrt, 
Mein Sinn vom Klange hingenommen, 
Dass mir es immer unerklart, 
Wie ich so hoch hinauf gekommen. 
Mir schien es mehr, denn hundert Jahr*, 
Dass ich so hingetraumet hatte: 
Alsui>er N'ebeln, sonnenklar, 
Sich oftnet, eine freie Statte. 



Der Himmel war so dunkelblau, 
Die Sonne war so vol! und gliihend. 



O'er the distant woods is often heard 
A muffled tone as from a bell, 
And no one knows from whence it came — 
Tradition even scarce can tell. 
Of the Minster Lost the sound, 'tb said, 
Is wafted hither by the breeze ; 
Erstwhile the path with wand Vers roamed. 
Now found are none beneath those trees. 
— [roamed. 

Of late far through these woods Pve 
Where now no beaten path is trod ; 
Oft loneed had I this world to flee, 
And refuge find in thee, oh, God ! 
When all the woods in silence slept. 
Again that tone fell on my ear ; 
As higher my yearning prayer went up, 
The sound seemed nearer and more 
clear. 

My spirit was so much absorbed, 
The sound so much enraptured me, 
That if I would, I could not tdl, 
How came I in such ecstacy. 
It seemed a hundred years or more 
That I had been thus fondly dreaming:. 
When o'er the mists, so bright and clear, 
A glade appeared, with sunlight gleam- 
ing 

The heavens were so darkly blue. 
The sun so full and brightly beaming^ 



-37- 



Und eines Munsters stolzer Bau 
Stand in dem goldenen Lichte bliihend 
Mir dunkten helle Wolken ihn 
Gleich.Fittigen emporzuheben, 
Und seines Thurmes Spitze schien 
Im sel'gen Himmel zu verschweben. 

£>er Gkx:ke wonnevoller Klang 
Ertonte schiitternd in dem Thnrme ; 
Doch zog nicht Menschenhand den 

Strang, 
Sie ward bewegt vom heil'gen Sturme. 
Mir war's, derselbe Sturm und Strom 
Hatt an mein klopfend Herz geschlagen ; 
So trat ich in den hohen Dom [Zagen. 
Mit schwankem Schritt und freud'gem 

Wie mir in jenem Hallen war, 

Das kann ich nicht mit Wortenschildem. 

Die Fenster gluhten dunkelklar 

Mit aller Martrer frommen Bildern ; 

Dann sah ich, wundersam erhellt. 

Das Bild zum Leben sich erweitem, 

Ich sah hinaus in eine Welt 

Van heil'gen Frauen, Gottesstreitern. 

Ich kniete nieder am Altar, [strahlet. 
Von Lieb' und Andacht ganz durch- 
Hoch oben an der Decke war 
Des Himmels Glorie gemalet ; 
Doch als ich wieder sah empor, 
Da war gesprengt der Kuppel Bogen, 
GeofFhet war des Himmels Thor 
Und jede Hiille weggezogen. 

Was ich fur Herrlichkeit geschaut 
Mit still anbetendem Erstaunen, 
Was ich gehort fur sel'gen Laut. 
Als OrgeT mehr und als Posaunen : 
Das steht nicht in der Worte Macht ; 
Doch wer darnach sich treulich sehnet, 
Der nehme des Gelaiites Acht, 
Das in dem Walde dumpf ertonet ! 



While full in view a minster proud 

In golden light stood brightly gleaming. 

Methought the silvery clouds, like wings, 

Upheld on high the fabric fair, 

And that the top of its tall spire 

Now seemed to vanish in the air. 

The bell rang out its wondrous tones, 
And sent them trembling through the 

tower ; 
Yet 'twas not rung by human hands. 
But by a holy tempest's power 
I felt that this same stream and storm 
My beating heart had struck with dread; 
80 stept I in the lofty dome 
With gladsome fear and wav'ring tread. 

How felt I wand' ring thro' those halls, 
Can not in words of mine be told ; 
The casements gleamed so darkly clear 
With sainted forms of martyrs old. 
Then saw I, filled with light and life. 
The picture as it wider grew ; 
I looked again, and lo ! beheld 
Holy knights and ladies, too. 

I knelt before the altar there, 
Imbued with holy love and awe, 
And, painted on the ceiling high. 
The glory of the heavens I saw. 
But when again I looked above. 
The vaulted dome had opened wide. 
And opened, too was heaven's gate. 
And every veil was torn aside. 

What splendors then I gazed upon. 
With worship and amazement blending, 
What blessed sounds fell on my ear, 
Both trump and organ notes transcending, 
Is not in power of words to tell ; 
Howe'er, who truly longs to know, 
Let him go hear the sounding bell 
That in these woods is tolling so. 



Conrab tDetser's ^y"^^-— Conrad tDeiser'^j H^mn. 



Composed for the Dedication of the 
Jehovah, Herr und Majestaet ! 
Hoer unser kindlich Flehen : 
Neig deine Ohrcn zum Gebet 
Der Schaaren, die da stehen 
Vor deinem heiligen Angesicht : 
Verschmaehe unsere Bitte nicht, 
Um deines Namens willen. 

Dies Haus wird heute eingeweith 
Von deinem Bundes-Volke : 
Lass uns, Herr, deine Herrlichkeit 
Hemieder in der Wolke, 
Dass sie erfuelle dieses Haus 
Und treibe alles Boese aus, 
Um deines Namens willen. 



First Trinity Lutheran Church, 775^. 
**[ehovah, Lord and Mighty One \ 
Hear, Thou, our childlike calls ; 
To all who stand before Thy face 
Within these sacred walls, 
Incline, dear Lord, Thy gracious ear. 
Nor cast aside our fervent prayer. 
For sake of Thy dear name. 

The people of Thy covenant 

Now consecrate this place ; 

Reveal, O Lord, from out the cloud 

The splendors of Thy face, 

That It may flood this house with light. 

And banish evil from our sight, 

For sake of Thy dear name.* 



■ ' ■ 38 ' - ■■■■■ 
TranslationB into Pennsylvania-German by Sir. Zimmerman. 



BARRY CORNWALL. 

Sing, maiden, sing ! 

Mouths were made to sing ; 
Listen— songs thoul't hear 

Through the wide world ringing ; 
Songs from all the birds. 

Songs from winds and showers, 
Songg trom seas and streams, 

Even from sweet flowers. 

Hearest thou the rain, 

How it gently falleth ? 
Hearest thou the bird, 

AVho from the forest calleth ? 
Hearest thou the bee 

O'er the sunflower ringing? 
Tell us, maiden, now^ 

Shouldst thou not be singing? 

Hearest thou the breeze 

'Round the rose-bud sighing? 
And the small sweet rose 

Love to love replying ? 
So shouldst thou rejjly 

To the prayer we're bringing ; 
So that the bud, thy mouth. 

Should burst forth in singing ! 



THOS. C. ZIMMEBMAK. 

Sing, Madel, sing ! 

Mauler war g'macht fur singe ; 
Horch— G*song liorscht du 

Dorch die weit Welt ringe ; 
G'song von all die Vogel, 

G'song von Schauers und Wind, 
G'song von See und Schtrom — 

Ach, die stisse Blume singt. 

Horscht d« den Rege, 

Wieersaftlichfallt? 
Horscht du den Vogel, 

Der vom Busch 'raus ruuft"? 
Horscht die Imme, du, 

Uever die Sunnblum' ringe ? 
Saagt ens, Madel, now— 

Setscht du net *mohl singe ? 

Horscht du net des schtilles Wind 

Seufze um die Rose dort ? 
Und die gleene stisse Rose, 

Die wu Lieb' zu Lieb' antwort ? 
So setscht du als Antwort mache 

Den G'bed', wu mir dir bringe ; 
Dass der Rose- Knopf, dei Maul, 

Ufschpringe dheet mit Singe ! 



A Visit from 3t. Ntd)0la3.— Pi^ Xio&ii for be Ctirisd^baog. 



MOORE. 

*Twas the night before Christmas when 

all. through the house {mouse ; 

Not a creature was stirring, not even a 
The stockings were hung by the chimney 

with care, [there ; 

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon woul,d be 
The children were nestled all snug in 

their beds, ^ [their heslds ; 

While vi-ions of sugar-plums danced in 
And mamma in 'kerchief and I in my 

cap, [winter's nap — 

Had just settled our brams for a long 
When out on the lawn there arose such a 

clatter, [the matter. 

I sprang from my bed to see what was 
Away to the window I flew like a flash. 
Tore open th^e shutters and threw up the 

sash. [snow. 

The moon, on the breast of the new fallen 
Gave a luster of midday to objects below; 
When, what to my wond'ring eyes 

should appear. [reindeer. 

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny 



ZIMMERMAy. 

'S .wraar die Nacht for de Chrischdaag 

und dorch es gans Haus [Maus ; 

Verreegt sich ke' Thierli, net emol en 

Die Schtriimp waare schnock im Schom- 

schte gehunke, . 
In der Honhing der "Nick" dheet |^raad 
runner dschumpe ; [ Bett, 

Die Kinner so schnock waare all s6h6 im 
Von Zuckerschleck draame un was mer, 
doch, wott ; [der Kapp, 

Die Mamme im Schnupduch un ich m 
Hen uns juscht hi geleegt for'n lang Win- 
ter's Nap — [nerse Jacht, 
Dan draus in 'm Hoof waar so 'n dun- 
Dass ich ufg'schprunge bin zu sehne 

war's macht. 

An's Fenschter graad schpring. ich so 

schnell wie'n Flasch, [Sasch ! 

Die Lade lifg'risse, ufg'schmisse di^ 

Der Moond uf der Bruscht dem neu- 

g'fallne Schnee 
Macht ' elling wie Mitdaag, iiwweralles, 
so scho. 



-39-^ 



With a little old driver, so lively and 

quick, 
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. 
More rapid than eagles his coursers they 

came, [them by name, — 

And he whistled and shouted and called 
**Now, Dasher ! now. Dancer ! now 

Pranzer and Vixen ! [Blitzen ! 

On Comet ! on Cupid ! on Donder and 
To the top of the porch, to the top ot the 

wall, [all !" 

Now, dash away, dash away, dash away 
As dry leaves that before the wild hurri- 
cane fly [to the sky. 
When they met with an obstacle, mount 
So up to the housetop the coursers they 

flew. [Nicholas, too. 

With the sleigh lull of toys— and St. 
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the 

roof [hoof. 

The prancing and pawing of each little 
As I drew in my head, and was turning 

around, [a bound. 

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with 
He was dressed all in fur from his head 

to his foot, • [ashes and soot ; 
And his clothes were all tarnished with 
A bundle of toys he had flung on his 

back, ling his pack. 

And he looked like a peddler just open- 
His eyes, how they twinkled ! his dimples 

how merry ! [a cherry ; 

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like 
His droll little mouth was drawn up like 

a bow, • [as the snow. 

And the beard on his chin was as white 
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his 

teeth, [a wreath. 

And the smoke, it encircled his head like 
He had a broad face and a little round 

belly [full of jelly. 

That shook when he laughed like a bowl 
He was chubby and plump — a right jolly 

old elf ; [of myself. 

And I laughed when I saw him in spite 
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his 

head, [to dread. 

Soon gave me to know I had nothing 
He spoke not a word, but went straight 

to his work, [with a jerk, 

And filled all the stockings ; then turned 
And laying his finger aside of his nose, 
And giving a nod. up the chimney he 

rose. [a whistle. 

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave 
And away they all flew like the down of 

a thistle [out of sight, 

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove 
**Happy Christmas to all, and to all a 

good-night." 



Im e' Aageblick kummt, jetz, un rund 

wie e* Kersch [Hersch — 

E* Fuhrmann im Schlidde un acht kleene 
E' Mannli in Pelze, so freundlich un frei — 
'Hab graadeweck g*wiisst*8 muss der 

Pelznickel sei ! [zusamme, 

Wie Aadler, so schnell, sin die Herschlin 
Un er peift un'r ruuft, un'r nennt sie mit 

Naame : [jetz Vixen ! 

**Tetz Dascher ! jetz Danzer ! jetz Pranzer ! 
Un Komet ! un Kupid ! un Dunder ! un 

Blitzen !* [gefalle— 

An der Porck isch er nuff", um die Mauer 
"Jetz schpringt eweck ! schpringtaweck! 

schpringt aweck alle !" 
Wie laab for'm e Windschtorm — der 

wildscht das mer seht, [werts geht, 
Wann ebbes im Weeg isch un*s himmel* 
Zum Hausgiwwel nuf sin die Herschlin 

wie 2f flocfe 
Mit'm Schlidli foil Sach un der "Nick*' 

mit gezoge ; [owwedrowe — 

Im e' Aageblick' horscht uf m Dach — 
En Gescheer un Gedanz wie mit hol'zene 

Glow we. [Haus— 

Mei Kop zieg ich nei, guk um mich im 
Un im Schomschte, do kummt* r wahr- 

haftig schun raus ! [Fuus, 

Mit Peltze ferwickelt fon Kop biz zum 
Un alles ferschnuttelt mit Aesche un 

Runs ! [G'schpiel— 

Uf'm Buckel en Bundel foil allerhand 
*S hat geguckt wie *m Kremer sei 

Kramm artlig fiel. [die lache — 

Sei Maul, wie *n Kersch, un sei Dimple 
Sei Aage, die blinzle, und wie Rosa sei 

Backe. I^Klee, 

Gans rund war sei Mauli un roth wie der 
Un 's Schnurbardli weiss wie woll, oder 

Schnee : [Zeh, 

En schtumpiges Peifli, fescht zwische de 
Un der schmook schteigt in Ringlin so 

scho in die Hoh. [bissel 

Sei G'sichtli so breed, un sei Bauchli e* 
Ueverm Lache hot g'shittelt wie Dschelly 

in der Schiissel. [Elfg^e, 

So dick un so rund war des luschtige 
Muss lache, graad aus un kan's gaar net 

helfe [Niicken — 

Sei Kopli waar eifrig un schwatzig mit 
Sei Aage, gaar freundlich mit Blinzele un 

Blicken ; [frolichem Braus. 

Die Schtriimp hot 'r g'fiU't, un mit 
Da schprinp;t inschtandig, den Schom- 
schte hinaus ; [peift en Piftel, 
Dann fliege sie fort wie Duun fon der 

Dischtel : [hat er g^macht— 

Doch eb' er gans fort waar, sei Gruss 
"En herrliche Chrischdaag ! un zu alle, 

GuutNacht!" 



sSong of tl)e f QS2^gaenger- 



Air:—" The Old Oaken Bucket: 



How dear to the heart are the meadows 
and uplands, 
When orcnards are fragrant and burst- 
ing with bloom ; 
When lanes are aflutter with life and 
with beauty, 
And birds in the tree-tops are singing 
their tune. 
How fondly we turn to the shade in the 
wildwood, 
When summer's hot breath with fierce 
heat is aglow, 
And drink from the spring, that recalls 
our blest childhood — 
The days when our hearts were as 
pure as. the snow. 

Those golden-hued days, how with rap- 
ture we greet them ! 
The Junes of our Youthland, so bright 
and so fair ; 
Though gone like a dream from some 
Eden of mem'ry. 
We praise them, we bless them, in 
silence and prayer ! 



Oh ! dear fellow-walkers, though long we 
have loitered 
Amonp^ the sweets haunts of our moun- 
tams and dells, 
Fond memory brings back its delectable 
treasures. 
Like echoes of songs from some far 
distant bells. 

They count not, the years that are crowd- 
ing upon us. 
So long as our hearts are in touch 
with life's May ; 
The perfume of flowers, the voice of the 
waters. 
The glow of the autumn, e'en winter's 
fierce fray, 
But serve to imbue us with magical fresh- 
ness, 
With sweet, subtle breath, like the 
odors of Spring; 
So here's to the nills, to the streams and 
the valleys — 
To one, each and all, our best oft'rings 
we bring. 



dong of tl)e pQS2^gaengen 



Kr^',—'' Ben Bolt: 



Oh! don't you remember the days, 
brother John, 
The days when we tramped o'er the 
hills 
With footsteps so light, and with faces so 
bright, 
And with hearts that were pure as the 
rills? 
And don't you remember the springs, 
brother John, 
In the gloom of the forest's repose? 
How 'mid merriest sound the cup went 
around. 
While, like incense, our thanks slowly 
rose? 

And don't you remember the flow'rs, 
brother John, 
The flowers that bloomed 'long the 
road — 
The hum of the bees, and the songs in 
the trees, 
And the murmjir of brooks as they 
flowed ? 



Let us, brother John, then, thank God for 
His love, 
For health, and for friends, and for life; 
For th' birds and the flowers, for the sun, 
and for showers, 
Aye, for home, and for child, and for 
wife. 



And now that the woodlands are bud- 
ding again. 
And the robins are singing their lay, 
And the streams are unbound, with wel- 
coming sound 
The walkers must wend on their way. 
In the sweet, balmy air there are thou- 
sands of notes, 
And the meadows with rapture are 
thrilled, 
In mute words telling, how hearts should 
be swelling. 
As our vision with blossoms is filled. 



-41- 



Jic ^klll^y'^ %euer. 



An Address before the Oanstatter Verein by Thos. O. Zimznennan. 



The 130th anniversary of the birthday of the poet Schiller was celebrated on the 
evening of November nth, 1889, at their hall, Fifth and Franklin streets, Read- 
ing. A large and deeply interested audience was present. The exercises con- 
sisted of music and addresses. Following are the remarks made by Thos. C. 
Zimmerman : 



I certainly feel complimented by being 
called upon to say anything in this pres- 
ence. We have met to-night to revive the 
glories of a name that has become a pre- 
cious heritage to literature — that ol 
Schiller, the genius of poesy, romance and 
intellectual liberty. One hundred 
and thirty years look down upon his warb- 
ling mtise and sublime fancy as still de- 
lighting humanity. The eye of Des- 
tiny, which has witnessed the moldering 
into dust of temples and trophies, and 
which has seen much of the pomp ol 
civilization buried; which has seen the 
crumbling gates of Troy resolve them- 
selves into dust and every vestige of the 
ruins of ancient cities wiped from the 
face of the earth, is resting lovingly to- 
night on the assured immortality of one 
who wears a crown brighttr than the 
diadem of the Caesars, and whose glory 
and fame have become the proud posses- 
sion of a never-ending posterity. 

The presence here, to-night, of so large 
an audience to participate in celebrating 
the natal anniversary of Germany's 
most illustrious poet, is an evidence 
not only of the existence of that 
instinct which ever places the love of 
Fatherland supreme in the German heart, 
and whose all-pervading presence domes 
every German home and every German 
being like a sky, but it is a living proof of 



an intelligence which seeks to honor the 
memory of an imperial mind whose regal 
gifts have enriched the literary treasures 
of the world. 

We have met here, as hundreds of 
thousands are now doing all over the 
world, to pay our tribute of respect to the 
memory of one who was a very king in 
the domain of Creative Thought Cele- 
brations like these will help to make him 
more than ever a familiar presence. More 
and more he is finding his way into hu- 
man hearts and homes. Under the force- 
ful influences of his splendid concep- 
tion, grouped and colored as they are 
>yith a masterly hand, humanity will con- 
tinue to be moved and exalted as under 
the spell of one divinely gifted. 

In his great article on Dante, Lowell 
recalls the fact that at the Round Table 
of King Arthur there was left always one 
seat empty for him who should accomplish 
the adventure of the Holy Grail. It was 
called the perilous seat because of the dan- 
gers he must encounter who would win it. 
In the company of the epic poets, he adds, 
there was a place left for whoever should 
embody the Christian idea of a triumph- 
ant life, outwardly all defeat, inwardly 
victorious, who should make us par- 
takers of that cup of sorrow in which all 
are communicants with Christ. He who 
should do this would indeed achieve the 



-42- 



perilous seat, for he must combine poesy 
with doctrine in such cunning wise that 
one lose not its beauty nor the other its 
sovereignty, and Dante has done it. says 
Lowell exultingly. So with Schiller m 
the realm of German poesy. In the 
temple consecrate to genius, it is he who 
occupies the exalted place. There he 
sits enthroned like a king. 

The better to form an estimate of 
Schiller's claims on posterity — I mean 
now among English readers — it is neces- 
sary to remember that . he preceded the 
great poets who have made the Nine- 
teenth Century an era in British literature 
inferior only to the Elizabethan. To 
quote a passage from a critical com- 
mentary of his works : "The influence 
of genius circulates insensibly, through a 
thousand channels impossible to trace ; 
and, as in Elizabeth's day, the Italian 
mind colored deeply the very atmos- 
phere in which Shakespeare breathed in- 
spiration, so, in the earlier years of the 
present century, the spirit of Schiller 
operated almost equally on those versed 
in, and those ignorant of, the German 
language. It affected each peculiar 
mind according to its own peculiar 
idiosyncrasy — was reflective with 
Coleridge, chivalrous with Scott, ani- 
mated and passionate with Byron, and 
transfused its lyric fire into the kindling 
melodies of Campbell.** Schiller him- 
self has said of the German Muse : 

No Augustan century. 

No propitious Medici 
Smil'd on German art when young ; 

Glory nourished not her powers, 

She unfolded not her flowers 
Princes' favoring rays among. 

From the mighty Fred'rick's throne 

Germany's most glorious son, — 
Went she forth, defenceless, spum'd ; 

Proudly Germans may repeat. 

While their hearts more gladly beat — 
They themselves their crown have earned. 

Therefore mounts with nobler pride, 

Therefore with a fuller tide 
Pours the stream of German bards ; 
. With his own abundance swells — 

From the inmost bosom wells — 
Chains of methods disregards. 

Dear old Germany ! the land of those 
twin immortals, Schiller and Goethe. 
We love the tenderness of her song and 
the witchery of her romance. In imagi- 
nation we are soothed by the music of 
her shepherds* horns and lulled into 
pleasant dreams by the tinkling of the 



bells upon her sheep and kine. It is 

there where 

splendor falls on castle walls 
And snowy summits old in story; 

and where 

The long light shakes across the lakes. 
And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 

Whether charmed with her sweetly- 
flowing rills or wooed by the wild melody 
of her mountain torrents ; whether we 
are stirred by the languid pulses of her 
summer air, or awed by the black and 
frowning strength of her mountain crags ; 
whether imbued with the art which gave 
to literature the incomparable "Diver,** 
the sublimest ballad in the world ; 
whether thrilled by the dramatic move- 
ment of "Wallenstein,** or moved by the 
fierce energy of "The Robbers, '* which has 
been likened to some ancient rugged pile 
of a barbarous age. Schiller and the land 
of his birth will continue to grow more 
and more resplendent — the one with his 
noble aspirations, overpowering genius 
and asthetic art saturating with sweet 
discourse the pages of literature ; the 
other with its happy homes, its unity of 
domestic life, its patriotism, its music, 
its philosophy, its history and its poesy, 
making glad the hearts of all her chil- 
dren everywhere, for it is- in Germany, as 
Schiller himself has pictured it, where 
Man and the soil serene 
Dwell neighbor like togethei— and the still 
Meadow sleeps peaceful round the rural door. 

In conclusion, let me say that I am glad 
to see growing evidences all about us of an 
ever-increasing regard of the American 
heart for the sturdy honesty and the intel- 
lectual and artistic wealth of the German 
people. The close commingling of the 
different portions of the great Anglo- 
Saxon family will more closely unite in 
one common bond the political and social 
sympathies of our people, and help to a 
better appreciation of the duties which 
we owe to each other, to society, and to 
government 

Travelers, we are told, are sometimes 
thrilled in seeing for the first time the in- 
scription, Hier wohnte Schiller^ over the 
door of a small house on Schiller-strasse, 
in Weimar. Let us so study the charac- 
ter, the philosophy and the genius of this 
great poet, that we may lay our hands 
upon our hearts, and say : "Hier wohnte 
Schiller:' 



-43- 



A ^etuMc gKt^rtCllKi^^Kt* 



Mr. T. C. Zimmerman's Translation of Schiller's Masterpiece Recited by 
Mayor Kenney before the Hajmonie Maennerchor. 



[From the Beading Times^ January 24, 1889.] 
The grand musical and literary enter- 
tainment of the Harmonie-Maennerchor at 
their hall last evening was the superior, 
in every respect, of the long list of enter- 
tainments heretofore given by this society; 
besides, the rendition of literary and musi- 
cal productions whose authors are 
among us and are so well known to every 
person in the city, added an interest to 
the entertainment which those of the past 
have lacked. The hall was filled, every 
seat on the main floor having been taken, 
while the east gallery was crowded. The 
full programme arranged for the evening 
has been published in the Times, having 
appeared in Monday morning's issue. 
Harmonie-Maennerchor orchestra was 
first on the programme, while the second 
number was by the Msennerchor, the 
title of the song being "Weib, Wein und 
Gesang." 'Love's Sorrow," a tenor solo 
by Mr. Daniel Roland, was greeted with 
hearty applause, and was followed by 
another selection hy the orchestra. The 
part of the programme in which the 
greatest interest centered was then 
reached— the recitation, by Mayor James 
R. Kenney, of Mr. Thos. C. Zimmerman's 
translation of the renowned German poet 
Schiller's masterpiece, "The Song of the 
Bell " Many of the persons present in 
order to better catch every word, rose to 
their feet as Mr. Wm. Rosenthal stepped 
to the front and said : 



MR. Rosenthal's introductory re- 
marks. 
"Please permit me to invite your special 
kind attention to the recitation, an- 
nounced in to-night's programme, of a 
masterpiece of German poetry, Schiller's 
"Song of the Bell," as translated into 
English by our gifted townsman, Thomas 
C. Zimmerman. It has been my good 
fortune to receive an advance copy from 
my esteemed friend, thus enabling me to 
read carefully and to compare his work 
with a number of previous translations 
rendered by celebrated authors. Dr. 
Fumess's translation has been pro- 
nounced to be the standard work hereto- 
fore ; Sir Bulwer L3^ton painted an ad- 
mirable poetical picture of the song. 
Elliot, Baskerville, Earl of Ellsmere, 
Dwight and Frothingham, and other 
eminent writers furnished highly credit- 
able productions, and Edgar Bowring 
came nearest in my judgment to the ideal 
representation of the original in the Eng- 
lish language It has been well said, 
that an English Schiller himself would 
not be able to do full justice to the Ger- 
man original ot the Bell in the English 
language. When I, in the face of all 
these celebrated translations, emphati- 
cally express my own opinion that 
Thomas C Zimmerman's work is not 
excelled by any one so far rendered, 
and is superior in many fine points, 
I assure you, that it is not personal 



-44- 



admiration, but true conviction, that 
prompts me to proclaim this my 
judgment from this stand. It is an en- 
tirely new and original work; it is in its 
metrical adaptation to the original poem 
almost perfect ; its poetical form and ex- 
pression is chaste, true and lofty, and the 
contemporaneous surroundings of a cen- 
tury ago, which Schiller's creation neces- 
sarily would reflect, have diligently been 
searched and thus enabled the author to 
present a more faithful adherence to the 
German original than most of his co- 
translators have succeeded in doing. 
This work will be recited by the Hon. 
James R Kenney.*' 

MAYOR KENNEY'S APPEARANCE. 

Mayor Kenney's appearance was 
greeted with hearty applause, but 
scarcely had the first words of his pre- 
liminary remarks been uttered when the 
audience quieted down and listened to 
him with the most marked attention. 
Mr. Kenney's rendition of the translation 
was well worthy of the compliments it 
received from those who heard him. 
Although having less than a week's time 
to study the poem, he seemed to have 
thoroughly grasped the picture the 
. author so beautifully paints in words, 
and presented it to his hearers in such a 
way as to also bring to their minds, 
through Mr. Zimmerman's translation, a 
more full understanding of what the poet 
saw before him when he penned the im- 
mortal lines. 

At the conclusion of the recitation the 
applause was deafening, and cries of 
* 'Zimmerman" came from all parts of the 
hall, and only ceased when Mr. Zimmer- 
man stepped to the platform and said : 

MB. ZIMMERMAN'S REMARKS. 

'*I thank you for this mark of apprecia- 
tion. Expressions like this are a pleasure 
and a recompen>e — a pleasure in that 
they convey the good wishes of kindly 
disposed neighbors and friends ; a recom- 
pense in that they bring to honest en- 
deavor the coveted **well done ! ' It is 
not my purpose, however, to inflict a 
speech upon you, as I am not practised 
in the graces of pub ic utterance, and so, 
with your permission, I will briefly re- 
count, although in, perhaps, less inviting 
form, the exalted virtues of one whose 
epic and dramatic idealism, impassioned 
eloquence, and artistic grace and felicity. 



gave to the world of German literature, 
next to Goethe, the greatest poet Ger- 
many has produced. I need hardly say 
that I refer to Friederich von Schiller, 
the author of ' 'Das Lied von der Glocke, ' ' 
the finest of his lyrics, which, in common 
with many others, I have attempted to 
translate for English readers, and which 
translation Mayor Kenney has rendered 
so acceptably this evening. No less an 
illustrious personage than Bulwer, who 
himself has made a translation of all the 
metrical productions of Schiller, character- 
izes this great German poet as "the rep- 
resentative of the civilization of Northern 
Manhood and Christian sentiment. " "In 
his poems," says Bulwer, may be seen 
"a great and forcible intellect uniting 
with a golden chain the outer world and 
the inner to the Celestial Throne :" the 
vocation of whose Muse * is a Religious 
Mission, who loses not her spiritualpre- 
rogative, though shorn of her stately 
pageantry, and despoiled of her festive 
robes ; whose power to convert and to 
enlighten, to purify and to raise, depends 
not on the splendor of her appearance, 
but on the truths that she proclaims." 

To thoroughly appreciate a genius like 
Schiller, with all the subtleties of his ex- 
pression, the robust character of his 
verse, its classic rhythm and sublime 
energy, one should be able to understand 
the original form into which his work 
was fashioned. His is not "the lay that 
lightly floats; " his not the murmuring, 
dying cadences 

"That fall as soft as snow on the sea, 
And melt in the heart as instantly ;" 

but more like 

"The passionate strain that, deeply going, 
Refines the bosom it trembles through, 
As the musk-wind, over the water blowing. 
Ruffles the wave, out sweetens it, too." 

Aye, more. All through his poetical 
works there is noticeable, on every hand, 
a rugged loftiness of purpose and a 
grandeur of diction, suggestive oftimes of 
tenderness, as well as majesty, and 
quickening power ; that deepens the 
moral convictions of men, and enlarges 
and intensifies their spiritual conceptions. 
Much of this necessarily escapes in trans- 
lation, "even if," as Bulwer expresses it, 
"an English Schiller were himself to 
translate." Again I thank you for you 
patient attention. 



-45- 



^€1(3 €f tW ^^11. 



Oordial Beoeption of Mr. ZimmermaJi's Translation of Sohiller*s Famous 
Poem.— Tributes ftom all Quarters. 



Following extracts are from some of the 
many kind letters and notices received 
by Mr. Thos. C. Zimmerman in reference 
to his recent translation into English of 
Schiller's famous ^^Das Lied von der 

Glocke,'' 

Letter From Oswego State Normal School. 

Prof. Otto H L Schwetzky, instructor 
in German and Latin in the State Nor- 
mal School, Oswego, N. Y., wrote as 
follows : 

*'I have just read in Germania a part 
of your translation of Schiller's Glocke, 
and am struck with its beauty and faith- 
fulness I must have the whole of your 
translation for my German class. * * * 
Being a German, an enthusiastic reader 
of Schiller and a teacher of German, I 
can appreciate your almost marvelous 
success. The transformation worked by 
you is such as we are wont to find in 
fairy tales only, where we accept the 
wonderful without asking any questions, 
because every thing seems natural 
enough, after bewilderment has changed 
to fascination. 

Your translation proves the maxim, 
that the simplest solution of a problem is 
the one nearest the truth. May I venture 
to guess at the secrets of your workshop ? 
Did you not set out to translate every 
word by itself? and when you had them 
all, did you not put them together as you 
would a number of marbles on a plate, 
just large enough for the marbles to 
cover its bott<jm, and then with one 



masterly movement give a shake that 
made every marble get into line, the 
whole representing a symmetrical, com- 
plete picture, which nothing can im- 
prove?" 

Letter From Canada. 

A. Purslow, M. A., LL. D., headmaster 
of Port Hope High School, Ontario, 
Canada, says: 

"I have checked a few of the crucial 
verses in your translation of Schiller's 
The Song of the Bell,' and would add 
mine to the many compliments you have 
already received were I not afraid that 
they would be as unnoticed as a small 
boy in a crowd. I consider myself for- 
tunate in securing a copy of so excellent 
a translation of my favorite German 
poem." 

From the Argentine Republic. 

Maj. O. C James, writing from Car- 
carana, Argentine Republic, S. A., said, 
a*mong other things: 

•*I am not familiar enough with the 
German to read poetry with any great 
sense of its beauty, hence *The Song of 
the Bell' in the original was a sealed 
book. Your translation, therefore, ap- 
peals to me with all the force of a first 
presentation in strong, terse, yet musi- 
cally-flowing English. I read it with 
great pleasure, and need not say that you 
have my hearty congratulations on your 
great achievement " 



Kind Words From California. 

Nathan Stein, teller in Wells Fargo & 
Go's. Bank, San Francisco, writes thus: 

**I rejoice to find the honor has fallen 
on a 'Lebanon county boy* (of which I'm 
one myself, though born in Dauphin,) of 
making so fine and approved a transla- 
tion of so great a German original. It 
has always appeared to me among the 
'Pennsylvania Dutch' who have been 
blessed with opportunities— or impelling 
power to help themselves — should be 
found the ablest interpreters, to English 
readers, of the treasures of German litera- 
ture, and in such as Bayard Taylor's and 
yours I find the record fairly started 
that will confirm my opinion. You have 
my hearty good wishes for all future 
endeavors you may make in that line." 



Letter From Berlin, Germany. 

Theodore Liebermann, of San Fran- 
cisco, wrote from Berlin, Germany, in 
these words: 

"The translation of the Glocke which 
I admired so much in its recitation to 
the steamship's company on board the 
steamer Lahn by Capt. Andrews, a 
fellow-passenger from Toronto Canada, 
and which I borrowed the next day for 
careful personal reading, I should like to 
have. Please send me a copy to Berlin. 
I wish to offer you my compliments for 
the rare talent you have shown in the 
work of translation. ' * 



The Philadelphia "Oemokrafs" High Comprtment 

The Philadelphia Detnokrat oi the 30th 
ultimo contains the following very com- 
plimentary notice : 

**An eminent translator of German clas- 
sical poems into the English is Mr 
Thomas C. Zimmerman, editor of the 
Reading Times. A large number of 
such translations have been already pub- 
lished. They excel not only in choice 
poetical language, but also by a most 
faithful adherence to the original, and 
well deserve to be compiled into one 
general edition. The latest, which Mr. 
Zimrerman has furnished, is a transla- 
tion of Schiller's **Bell." There are al- 
ready existing a number of excellent 
translations into the English of the "Bell" 
from Bulwer's to Rev. Furness's of Phila- 
delphia, which up to the present time 
has been judged to be the best, but 
which, indeed, is excelled by that of Mr. 
Zimmerman in the accuracy of the ren- 
dition of the original " 



From the Editor of the New York Times. 

C. R. Miller, editor-in-chief of the 
New York Times, sent the following: 

"I have lately seen a copy of your 
translation of Schiller's 'Song of the 
Bell, ' and have been so much struck by 
its fidelity and excellence that I make 
bold to ask you where and how I can 
obtain it." 



"A Triumph of the Translator's Art." 

[From the New York World.] 

Thomas C. Zimmerman, editor of the 
Reading (Pa.) Times, has made a fine 
translation of Schiller's "S^ng of the 
Bell." Mr. Zimmerman's rendering is a 
triumph of the translator's art, and recalls 
the work of Bayard Taylor. 



*'An Admirable Translation." 
J. G. Rosengarten, Esq., one of Phila- 
delphia's leading attorneys, writes as fol- 
lows : 

"I congratulate you on being a poet who 
is honored at home ; it is an augury of 
good things yet to come." 

Prof. F. A. Muhlenberg's Greetings. 

Prof. F. A Muhlenberg, late Professor 
of Greek in the University of Pennsyl- 
vania, writes under date of the 26th 
ultimo : 

"I have read with great interest, and 
great pleasure, your spirited translation 
of Schiller's "Song of the Bell." It is a 
real masterpiece of poetic work, on your 
part, for the translation, owine to the 
constantly varying rhythms of tne origi- 
nal presents peculiar difficulties. I have 
read over your translation several times, 
with admiration of your success ; and am 
disposed to say you are competent to 
grapple with any difficulties in German 
poetry, after such a specimen. 

I cannot do anything else than praise 
your industry, and wise economy of^time; 
in laboring, in this delightful department 
of literature, for your own pleasure and 
profit, and the benefit of the present and 
future generations. 

I hope, when you have a sufficiency of 
your literary labors on hand, you will 
have them collected in a volume, for our 
permanent possession." 



N. Y. Herald's High Praise. 
Mr. Thomas C. Zimmerman, one of the 
proprietors of the Reading Times, has 
placed his name in the category of famous 
litterateurs by a very creditable transla- 
tion of Schiller's "Song of the Bell." 



-47- 



What B. P. ShUlaber Says. 

B. P. Shillaher. (Mrs. Partington,) Bos- 
ton, writes of the translation : 

* * "The sturdiness of the poem at- 
tests its fidelity, and I think there is a 
self-evidence of this 4n the construction of 
the versification, and to read it one might 
be lead to say, with the New Jersey jus- 
tice, #rhen opposing evidence was called 
for in a certain case, "You needn't bring 
it on— my mind is made up.'* I congrat- 
ulate you on the success you have 
achieved, and trust that you may be led 
to gather all you have written and give it 
to the world m books. * * 



Judge McPherson's Beautiful Tribute. 

Under date of Jan. 29th, Hon. John B. 
McPherson, additional law judge of the 
Dauphin- Lebanon judicial district, writes 
as follows : 

*'It is not given to every translator to 
follow faithfully his original and yet pre- 
serve its felicities both of thought and 
expression, and that you have so abun- 
dantly succeeded in an effort of unusual 
difficulty is convincing proof that you 
have had the invaluable aid of that inner, 
imaginative sympathy without which 
translation is mechanical work hardly 
worth doing." 

Congratulations from CalHomia. 

Mr. John S. Hittell, historian ot the 
Golden State, and a gentleman of pro- 
found scholarly attainments, sends the 
following : 

1025 Hyde Street, 
San Francisco, Feb. 2, 1889. 
Mb T. C. Zimmerman : 

Dear Sir: — Let me congratulate you 
on the merit of your translation of ''Das 
Lied von der Glocke,'' by Schiller, pub- 
lished in the Reading Times and Dis- 
patch of the 24th ult : 

I would like still more to congratulate 
you on making your journal a steadfast 
and influential advocate of the study of 
high German by the Pennsylvania Ger- 
mans, who can learn it easily and will 
not forget it, as they do their French and 
their Latin. Next to the English, the 
German language has the richest of all 
literatures ; and in many branches it is 
worth more to the scholar than all other 
foreign tongues, ancient and modem to- 
gether. 

I am a Pennsylvania German by birth ; 
I have studied three ancient languages ; 
I speak four of the tongues of modern 
Continental Europe ; and therefore I 
know something ot what 1 write. 



A 



What Geo. G. Barclay Writes. 

Geo. G. Barclay, Esq , for many years 
a practitioner at the Berks county bar, 
late of Philadelphia, deceased, wrote thus: 

Deat Zimmerman: — I have just read a 
pamphlet copy of your translation of 
Schiller's masterpiece, "The Song of the 
Bell," and I am delighted with it. It 
has touched my heart, and affected my 
head, as a glass of sparkling champagne, 
such as we used to have in "the olden 
time," when there was champagne. If 
you were not of "Old Berks," * * 
that piece of yours would be applauded 
to the very echo that doth applaud again 

I have read Bulwer, but his translation 
has not left upon my mind the impression 
that I know yours will. I have forgotten 
his ; I doubt whether I will as soon for- 
get yoMX fine translation. 

Allow me to say— and I don't intend to 
flatter— that I think and know ihat there 
is a good deal of poetry in your make 
which ought to be better appreciated than 
it is, but— but — but— '*a prophet is not 
without honor save in his own country.'* 



Praise from Robert J. Burdetfe. 

Under date of the 29th ultimo, Robert 
J. Burdette, the world-renowned humor- 
ist, writes from Bryn Mawr, as follows : 

My deat friend Zimmerman : — I have 
just been reading the "Song ol the Bell'* 
—Schiller interpreted by Zimmerman. 
Happy the poet who hath an interpreter 
whose heart throbs in harmony and ca- 
dence with his own. 

So be the mission of your pen, my 
friend — 

** This henceforth its callinsr be 

**•••? 

* ♦ • a voice from heaven, 

Like ponder starry hosts, so clear, 
Who in their course extol their Maker, 
And onward lead the wreath-crowned year. 
To earnest things and things eternal, 
Devoted be its metal tongue." 

Itself hath written its own prophecy 1 



What Prest White, of Cornell, Says. 

President White, of Cornell University, 
writes as follows : 

That your work obeys the chief requi- 
site for a translation of a poem, — fidelity 
to the original metre and rime,— is not 
the least of its merits. And I trust that 
one influence from its publication will be 
to attract more readers to become better 
acquainted with the many noble lyric 
utterances of Schiller himself." 



-48 



A Scholarly Review. 

The following ably-written criticism is 
from the pen of J. B. Ker, who, while a 
resident of Scotland, once stood for 
Parliament ; 

To Coi.. T. C. Zimmerman —5i>.- 
Having read and studied your notable 
translation of Schiller's **Song of the 
Bell," I have been forcibly impressed by 
the music of the language into which you 
have rendered the poem. This is a merit 
oi capital importance in the translation of 
this poem In estimating the value of 
translations of the great German poems, 
it is necessary to bear in mind the weight 
which the literary and critical conscious- 
ness of Germany attached to the ancient 
classical canons of poetry. There is no 
question here as to whether the ancients 
were right The point for us is that their 
influence was loyally acknowledged as of 
high authority during the Augustan age 
of German literature. Proof of this can 
be found in Goethe as distinctly as it 
superabundantly appears in Lessing's 
famous "Dramatic Notes,** where the 
poetic dicta of Aristotle are treated with 
profound respect. 

In the study of Aristotle's work on the 
Poetic, nothing is perhaps more striking 
than his dictum that poetry is imitation, 
with the explanation or enlargement so 
aptly given by Pope in the words : 

'Xis not enough uo harshness gives offence, 
The sound must se- m an echo to the sense. 
Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows, 
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers 

flows : 
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, 
The hoarse, rough waves should like the torrent 

roar 
When Ajax strives some rocks vast weight to 

throw. 
The line, too, labors, and the words move slow, 
Not so when swift Camilla scours the main. 
Plies o'er the unbending corn, or skims along 

the plain. 

Now knowing the German recognition 
of the law and acknowledging its realiza- 
tion in the works of the leading Teutonic 
poets, one of the crucial tests of a trans- 
lation of a great German poem is, Does 
the language into which the original is 
rendered form an '^ echo to the sense? " 

It seems to me that one of the strongest 
points in your translation of the "Bell" is 
that the words which you have selected 
and gathered have sounds, which like the 
music of a skillful musical composer, 
convey a signification independently ot 
their literal meaning. Not to protract 
these remarks unduly, few words could 
more appropriately refer to the music ot 
strong and distant hells than your render- 
ini; 



"That from the metal's unmixed founding 
Clear and full may the bell be sounding." 

Very slight poetic capacity must admit 
the music of these words as eminently 
happy in the " Song of the Bell." 

The echo to the sense is also striking 
in the sound of the word-symbols in 
many places throughout the rendering 
where the poet describes the occurrences 
conceived in connection with th^bell's 
imagined history. 

Speaking of the visions of love 

•*0, ihat they toovl ■ be neeer-endinu^ 
These vernal days toUh lovelight blending;** 

the way in which the penult of the word 
*' ending** conveys the idea of finality, 
while the affix ot the present participle 
yet prolongs the word as though loath to 
let it depart, is a beautiful and enviable 
realization of the Aristotelian rule, a pro- 
longation of the words which expresses 
doubly a prolongation of desire. 

The four lines reading : 

"Blind raging, like the thunder's crashing, 

It bursts its fractured bed of earth. 

As if from out hell's jaws fierce flashing, 

It spewed its flaming ruin forth," 

have a vehement strength and a rough 
and even a painful and horrid sound 
which apply with singular propriety to 
the horrible images by which the poet 
presents the catastrophe to our quickened 
apprehensions. 
The beautiful lines : 

"Joy to me now God hath given," Ac. 

in which the bell-founder exults, avoid- 
ing, as they do, the deeper vowel sounds 
and preser\'ing as it were a series of high 
musical notes save where the gift de- 
scends from Heaven to earth when the 
vowel sounds fall from high to low, form 
a delightful resonance of the happy senti- 
ment they embody. 

The general experience of translations 
is that they are more prosy than sonorous 
or musical. Few, however, if any, will 
deny the melody of your language in 
many places and its remarkable appro- 
priateness in others, and those who have 
worked on similar translations can best 
iudge how great is the success you have 
accomplished in this valuable contribu- 
tion to Angl -Saxon literature. 



'^Recalling the Finest Works of Bayard Taylor." 

[From the Philadelphia Times.) 

Thomas C Zimmerman, editor of the 
Reading Timks, has made a fine transla- 
tion of Schiller's "Song of the Bell," 
which is said to recall some of the finest 
works of I^avard Trivlor 



-49- 



A Cotemporar/s Cordial Greeting. 

To the Reading Evening Telegram^ 
the translator is indebted for the follow- 
ing graceful compliment : 

'^Editor Zimmerman, of the Times, has 
had the many complimentary newspaper 
notices of his translation of Schiller's 
"Song of the Bell," together with the let- 
ters of congratulation of personal friends 
and literatteurs printed with his transla- 
tion in pamphlet form. This book is a 
treasure house filled with the sweet in- 
cense of praise, the reward of well-spent 
time and labor, and shows that the popu- 
lar appreciation will follow all deserving 
effort. Editor Zimmerman's literary 
work, the largest part of which is in the 
columns of the Times, has always borne 
the impress of a scholarly taste, and 
some of his best efforts have been his 
sketches of nature as he saw it in his 
rambles about the city. That he should 
have been able to make translations of 
the German classical lyrics is not sur- 
prising, for he possesses the gift of poesy 
which only needed occasion for its devel- 
opment It will be far more surprising if 
he is not accorded the place in the world 
of letters which he should occupy " 



''GermaniaV Criticism of the Translation. 

From a criticism published in Ger- 
mania, a monthly magazine published in 
Boston, the following extracts are made : 

Wir haben schon friiher einmal darauf 
hingewiesen welch' vortreffliches Mittel 
der aufmerksame Vergleich einer guten 
Uebersetzung mit dem Originale jedem 
Studierenden an die Hand giebt, um in 
den Geist der Sprache einzudringen. 
Selten haben wir uns von der Wahrheit 
dieser Behauptung so Ueberzeugt ge- 
fuhlt wie beim Lesen der trefflichen Ueber- 
setzung des Herm Zimmermann. Herr 
Zimmermann ist kein Neuling in der Ueb- 
ersetzungskunst, wie wir horen, hat er 
schon manches herrliche deutsche Ge- 
dicht: "Die Lorelei," "Erlkcinig," '*Ein 
feste Burg ist unser Gott," u. a. ins 
Englische iibertragen, und sich durch 
seine genaue und dichterische Wieder- 
gabe des Originals die hochste Anerken- 
nung erworben. Wir miissen gestehn 
dass wir seine Uebersetzung von Schiller's 
Lied von der Glocke aber doch mit 
einem gewissen Zweifel in die Hand 
nahmen. Die Aufgabe, dieses herrliche 
Gedicht zu libersetzen, ist eine so un- 
geheure, die Uebersetzungen der tiichtig- 
sten Manner standen so tief under dem 
Original, dass sie uns fast unmciglich 
vorkam. VVunderbar hat sich Herr 



Zimmermann seiner Aufgabe entledigt. 
Seine Uebersetzung erreicht das Original 
nicht, sie kommt demselben aber wohl 
am niichsten. Einige Stellen sind mit 
solcher Meisterschaft wiedergegeben, wie 
es nur ein Genie, ein hochbegabter 
Dichter vermag. * * * 

'Lust und Liebe sind die Fittiche zu 
grossen Thaten', das sieht man recht an 
dem Werke des Herrn Zimmermann. 
Moge das Lob, welches er sich durch 
diese Arbeit erworben hat, den Verfasser 
zu anlichen Werken anspornen, das ist 
unser innigster Wunsch. 

[translation.] 

Upon a previous occasion we have 
pointed out the excellent means which 
are placed in the hands of the student to 
enter into the spirit of a language by a 
careful comparison of a creditabfc trans- 
lation with the original Seldom have 
we felt so convinced of the truth of this 
assertion, as by reading the excellent 
translation of Mr. Zimmerman. Mr. 
Zimmerman is no novice in the 
art of translation, as we are in- 
formed; he has translated into English 
many a beautiful German poem such as 
•The Lorelei," "Erlking," "A Rock- 
Bound Fortress is our God, ' and others, 
and by his accurate and poetic rendition 
of the original earned the highest recog- 
nition. V\/e must admit that we took in 
hand his translation of Schiller's "Song 
of the Bell" with certain misgivings. 
The task of translating this beautiful 
poem is so enormous; the translations of 
the most capable men stood so far beneath 
the original that it appeared to us a 
feat well nigh impossible. 

Wonderfully has Mr Zimmerman ac- 
quitted himself of his task. His transla- 
tion does not reach the original; it how- 
ever, comes nearest to it. Several parts 
are rendered in such masterly manner, 
as only a genius, a highly-gifted poet, is 
enabled to do. 

'Pleasure and love are the wings to 
great deeds'; this can be particularly seen 
in this work of Mr Zimmerman. May 
the praise, which he has received through 
this Work, inspire the author to similar 
works, is our most ardent wish. 



Wliat tlie San Francisco "Call" Says. 

Thomas C. Zimmerman, editor of the 
Reading Times, has made a fine transla- 
tion of Schiller's "Song of the Bell," 
which is said to recall some of the finest 
works of Bayard Taylor. 



"A Remarkable Production.'' 

John W. Mish, Esq., of Lebanon, in a 
letter dated the 3cth ultimo, says : 

" Dear Mr. Zimmerman : — Your trans- 
lation of Schiller's "Song of the Bell" is a 
remarkable production — following ex- 
actly the peculiar metrical construction 
of the original throughout and yet re- 
taining the absolute literal expression of 
the author. 

Evidences of a discernment extraordi- 
nary', united with poetic genius, from 
which still higher flights can be antici- 
pated. 

To the translator I tender my warmest 
congratulations, and hope soon to wel- 
come an Epic or an Idyl from the gifted 
translator." 



" Commands the Attention of Ail Lovers of Poetry." 

[From the I^ancaster (Pa.) Intelligencer.] 

*'The translation commands the atten- 
tion of all lovers of poetry, and as repro- 
ducing with accuracy and force the poetic 
thought of Schiller's masterpiece, it is a 
notable work. In the minds of a j»reat 
many, however, the only right of poetry 
to exist depends upon the melody of the 
language used, and it has been found 
almost impossible tor even the greatest 

Eoets to translate a poem with exact ad- 
erence to the thought and an equal care 
for the sound effect. It has been said 
that Longfellow sacrificed sense to sound, 
and Zimmerman may be taxed with the 
smaller fault of reversing the sacrifice 
and preserving the vigor and beauty ot 
the thought. If the English language 
cannot accommodate itself to Schiller so 
much the worse for the language. In 
many passages, however, words and 
thoughts are equally pleasing, and we 
have to thank the talented Pennsylvania 
editor for an excellent and valuable addi- 
tion to our translated literature." 



"A Wonderful Success." 

[From the Reading Herald.] 

'The translation is a wonderful success 
in *'^etting over," to use the German 
idiom, into the English language the 
whole poem without apparently marring 
a sentiment or jarring out of place the 
delicate music that Schiller put into it. 
In doing this he [Mr. Zimmerman] has 
performed a service for English readers 
not to be overestimated, and has added 
much to the fame he has already acquired 
by his admirable translations of some ot 
the masterpieces of German poetry." 



"Cliarming and Impressive.'' 

fFrom the Philadelphia City Item.] 

" It is worthy of the reputation of Mr. 
Zimmerman, who possesses the poetic 
faculty in an eminent degree, and whose 
facility as a writer is charming and im- 
pressive." 



A Poetic Tribute. 

Rev. Theodore E Schmauk, associate 
pastor of Salem's Lutheran church, Leba- 
non, and a gentleman of high literary 
culture, writes from 'On Board Train," 
**New York State," as follows : 

'''My Dear Mr. Zimmerman:— Your 
new translation in my hand has kept mv 
eyes from the snowy scenes, through 
which I am being whirled, along the 
shores of Seneca Lake. 

In a pure white flame you have fused 
over again the great German Glocke, 
and run its molten metal into the ever 
changing, mightily-stirring metrical 
mould of the original, with such success 
That both heart and eye delighted, 
May behold the perfect form. 

If the German 'Glocke' be 'like a 
golden star,' and vibrate with golden 
tones ; surely the English "Bell is like a 
silvery star, and sings a silvery song." 

** Poetic Genius of a High Order." 

[From the Harrisburg (Pa.) Telegraph.] 

" Schiller's " Song of the Bell" is one 
of the finest poems in the German or any 
other language, and Mr Zimmerman has 
translated it in a manner which preserves 
the beauty of sentiment and imagery of 
the original, and gives him fresh claims 
on the praise of lovers of pure, vigorous 
English. The Telegraph congratulates 
Mr Zimmerman on his success as a trans- 
lator." 



Shows Sidll and Taste. 
The Book Buyers' Guide of Balti- 
more, recently contained the following 
under its editorial head : "Editor Zim- 
merman, of the esteemed Reading Times, 
finds time in the intervals of daily work 
to woo the muses. He recently pub- 
lished a metrical translation of Schiller's 
'Das Lied von der Glocke. * It compares 
favorably with similar efforts by other 
writers and shows no little skill and liter- 
ary taste. The Bell Song is one of the 
most difficult poems to render into Eng- 
lish to be found among Schiller's writings. 
It has a ^reat variety of metre and the 
meaning in the original is in some cases 
not a little obscure. Mr, Zimmerman 
has received, as he deserves, the compli- 
ments of the craft." 



-51- 



A Clergyman's Congratulations. 

Rev. S H. Hoover, pastor of St. Peter's 
M. E. church, this city, concludes a letter 
to the translator in these words : 

* * • 'You have a way of getting at the 
meaning of the German poets — that's 
really genius. How do you do it ? Tell 
us your secret. I think even Schiller 
himself is indebted to you and ought to 
rise and thank you for making his Bell 
ring out so grandly its melodious peals 
to the comfort and delight of the busy 
peoples of this busy century." 



"Eminently Creditable.'' 

[From the Scranton Truth.] 

•Eminently creditable to that gentle- 
man's literary skill." 



Brentano't Publishing House Wants It. 

Brentanos' publishers and booksellers, 
5 Union Square, New York, write as 
follows : 

Thos. C. Zimmerman— /?^ar Sir :— 
Where can we obtain "The Song of Bell" 
by you ? If you can supply it please send 
one, with bill. 



inia, 1 
taction, y 

2, 1889. j 



From the Deputy Sup't of Penna. Schools. 
The following congratulatory letter is 
from the Deputy Superintendent of the 
Common Schools of the State : 

'*C<ymmonwe(Mh of Pennsylvania, 
Dtpartmenl of Public Inatruetion, 
Harrisbukg, Feb. 12. 

''Mr. Zimmerman: — Your translation 
of Schiller's poem, entitled, **The Song 
of the Bell," came here during my ab- 
sence. I have read it over and over 
again, and I am glad to admit that you 
have accomplished a task which to me 
seemed impossible. I thought there is 
no English which could take the place ol 
this beautiful German. 

With your translation before me, I am 
ready to say it is Schiller's poem in Eng- 
lish as it is in German. We are proud ol 
the fact that you belong to Lebanon 
county." 



An "Ideal Interpretation." 
The following note from New York 
city explains itself : 

The harmonious blending of words, 
the true and ideal interpretation of the 
great German poet's master work, is 
through your masterly translation made 
truly perfect. The clear and sweet into- 
nations of the "Bell" now have the iden- 
tical metallic ring in both languages ! " 
Very sincerely yours, 

LOUIS C. WOEHNING. 



Revealing "a Mine of Poetic Wealth." 
Hon Charles B. Forney, a retired iron- 
master residing at Lebanon, and a writer 
of State-wide reputation, sends the fol- 
lowing under date of the 12th instant : 

"Friend Zimmerman.— /?^ar Sir: — 
Your translation of Schiller's "Song ot 
the Bell" is deservedly calling forth the 
praise of capable critics. It is a literary 
triumph of which you may well feel 
proucl, ranking as it does your name with 
those ol the most distinguished transla- 
tors from the German. The mine ol 
poetic wealth you have revealed to us in 
your translations, is not only invaluable 
m itself, but forcibly teaches the same 
lesson, that "man lives not by bread 
alone." Those who minister to our 
higher and better nature are few— you 
are destined to be one of them." 



What the Editor of "American Notes and Queries'' 
Says. 

Under date of February 12th, instant, 
W. H. Garrison, one of the editors and 
publishers of American Notes and Quer- 
ies^ says : 

''My Dear Sir :—\ spoke yesterday to 
Mr Levy, a highly intelligent German, 
editing the Evening Herald of this city, 
about the translation of "The Song o\ 
the Bell." If you will forward him a 
copy f6r notice it will be appreciated as 
greatly as it was by 

Very truly yours, 

W. H. GARRISON. 



What Rothermel, the Great Historical Painter, Says. 

P. F. Rothermel, . the well known 
painter of the *' Battle of Gettysburg," 
writes as follows : 

'^My Dear Mr. Zimmerman: — I read 
your translation of Schiller's "Song ot 
the Bell ; " also your paper containing 
many expressions of very great value 
from scholars, whose praise, unreserved 
and spontaneous as it is, stamps your 
translation as ^i work of the greatest 
merit. 

I wish also heartily to congratulate you 
upon the manner in which the public has 
met your work by its pronounced appre- 
ciation." 



Never Saw a Better Piece of Work. 
"I find yonr translation very good. I 
have never seen a better piece ol work. 
The same opinion of its high merit is en- 
tertained by all to whom I have shown 
the translation." 

Yours truly, 

GEO. HOKHN. 
360 Seventh Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 



-52- 



''The Finest Translation Yet Made.'* 
Under this caption appears the follow- 
ing editorial from the columns of the 
Easton (Pa.) Sunday Call: 

The truest translation yet made, not- 
withstanding so scholarly a gentleman as 
Dr. Fumess and several others equally 
eminent, had previously translated it. 
This is but one of the many creditable 
translations rendered from the German 
by our gifted editorial brother. '■ ' 

'*As an evidence of the esteem in which 
the people of Reading hold him, it may 
be stated that at a musical festival held 
there, by the most popular society of the 
city, a part of the program was the reci- 
tation, by the Mayor of the city, of the 
English translation alluded to, to a large 
and intelligent audience cf the elite of 
Reading." 

"Adding Lustre to the Illustrious Schiller." 
Dr. S. T. Linea\yeaver, of Lebanon, 
sends the following highly flattering 
commendation of the translator's work : 
"You must certainly be divinely-gifted, 
in a poetical sense, to reproduce in a for- 
eign language, a poem hitherto deemed 
tame except in its original language. I 
recognize the difficulty of a poetical 
translation into hard English, from the 
German, and was amazed as well as 
gratified to know that a fellow-townsman 
of mine could add lustre to the illustrious 
Schiller. This translation will go down 
to generations of English-reading people 
in company with its illustrious author." 



A New York Lady's Congratulations. 
A daintly-written note, approaching in 
delicacy of form and feature the attrac- 
tiveness of copperplate, reached the 
translator from New York a few days ago. 
It is dated as follows : 

1 135 Lex. Ave., Cor. 79th St., ) 
New York, Feb. 12, 1889. | 
" My familiarity with the German lan- 
guage has enabled me to enjoy the origi- 
nal works of this poet laureate — and you 
through an admirable translation, per- 
fectly reflect the beauties of the poem, 
thereby enabling American ladies to 
share the enjoyment, and appreciate this 
favorite poet to a far greater degree than 
heretofore. ' ' 

Very respectfully, 

FRANCES WOEHNING. 



Achieving Fame. 

[From the Scranton Republican.] 

"Mr. Zimmerman has achieved no lit- 
tle lame as a translator of poetry from 
German to English." 



"Americanizing the German Muse'' 
Dr. Frank Cowan, of Greenesburgh, 
well known in literary and scientific cir- 
cles as a writer of scholarly ability, sends 
the following : 

"Thomas C. Zimmerman, Esq., Read- 
ing, Vdi.—My Dear Sir: — I congratulate 
you heartily on the series of brilliant suc- 
cesses which you have achieved in 
Americanizing the German Muse. It 
seems to me to be the capping-sheaf to 
our general success in naturalizing the 
Germans, to make our own the highest 
evolutions of their poetic thought. It is 
becoming in a man of your name and 
lineage to engage in this work ; it is 
within the compass of your well. known 
powers of appreciation and expression to 
continue your successes indefinitely, and 
have no rival save yourself; and it is my 
earnest prayer that you work away until 
— poetically, at least — the terms Pennsyl- 
vania Dutch and German American be as 
tautologic as ox-beef, Hebrew-Jew, or 
the like. With respect to your last suc- 
cess—well, I thank you a thousand times 
for combining forever the tones of Schil- 
ler's Bell and the notes of the wood- 
thrush and other choristers of Appa- 
lachia." 



"Beautiful, Correct, Rhythmic" 
The Harrisburg Evening Star says : 
"We have long known Mr. Zimmer- 
man's love for the Muses, but had no 
idea that so beautiful, so correct, so 
rhythmic a rendition of one of the great 
German's greatest poetic effusions could 
be produced in English. Mr. Zimmer- 
man has done so, and the sons and de- 
scendants of das Vatetland owe him a 
debt of gratitude. " 



Rev. Dr. Mann's Eloquent Tribute. 
Rev. W J. Mann, D.D., of Philadel- 
phia, perhaps the foremost German pulpit 
orator in America, under date of Febru- 
ary 27th, writes as follows : 

'Thomas C. Zimmerman, Esq. — Dear 
Sir .'—So much has been said in praise of 
your excellent translation of Schiller's 
"Glocke" that whatever I might say can- 
not add one leaf to the wreath of laurels 
encircling your head. Perhaps it might 
not be unwelcome to you to hear that one 
of the greatest in the line of literary criti- 
cism, Wilhelm von Humbold, once re- 
marked that Schiller's 'Glocke' was the 
song which embodied in its sentiments 
the entire scale of feelings of which the 
human soul was capable The 'Glocke* 
has not lost in this respect by being by 
you recast in the English mould.'* 



-53- 



High Praise from Rev. W. H. Myers. 

In his "At Leisure" paper contributed 
to Tke Lutheran of January 31st, Rev. W. 
H. Myers, of this city, pays the following 
high compliment to the translator ol 
"The Song of the Bell" and his work : 

When Col. T C. Zimmerman, quite re- 
cently, published at the request of The 
Lutheran^ his new translation of Luther's 
Battle-Hymn, a spontaneous literary 
ovation overwhelmed him. The secular 
and religious press from every side at 
once popularized the excellent rendition, 
and intensified the beauty and strength ot 
the original hymn itself— one of the rich- 
est legacies 01 the Lutheran Church. 

Mr. Zimmerman's genius, as a transla- 
tor from German into English, is even 
better demonstrated in his masterly ren- 
dition of "Schiller's Song of the Bell," 
just brought to public notice. It was 
first read before a large assemblage in 
the Reading Academy of Music last week, 
and was afterwards printed in the Read- 
ing Times, where the German and Eng- 
lish appear side by side. Those who 
are interested in the poem would do well 
to secure it in this shape by sending for 
copies of the Times. 

The great German lyric bard is not so 
easily ai)proached by the translator 
His classical metres were not popular in 
this country until recently. Then, too, 
he is often mystical, and this, together 
with the peculiar metre, makes the rendi- 
tion of his writings into English a diffi- 
cult task. 

"The Song of the Bell" rides on the 
top crest of Schiller's popularity. Its 
varied intonations are as rich as the 
sounding metal of the Bell itself. No 
wonder so many translators have labored 
over its eccentric lines, oft weird, oft ex- 
hilarating — few of the translations can 
be praised for fidelity to the original. 

I have before me Edgar Alfred Bow- 
ring's effort Men of greater literary 
fame have risked their reputation on 
Schiller's poem— but this modest tribute 
is not eclipsed by any more popularly 
accepted authority. 

We need not necessarily have the in- 
stinct of the more astute critic to affirm 
that the translation of T. C. Zimmerman 
strikes one as pre-eminently masterly. 
The faithful art-student of poesy may 
linger and pick flaws in detail if he will — 
there is much in feeling that a thing is 
right. The deep poetic feeling of the 
bard appeals more to the heart than to 
the head of the reader. Our translator 
has caught the spirit of the varied transi- 
tions of the poem most faithfully — the 



scenes shift in their moods like sunshine 
playing through rushing clouds. Humor 
it has none, lor Schiller had none — but a 
mixture of solid repose and a surprised 
influx of thrilling pathos, chased out 
again by light-hearted fflayfulness. It is 
not art, but genius that can reflect this 
poem in another tongue 

The opening verses describing the cast- 
ing of the bell, are full of stately senti- 
ments and philosophic truths capable ot 
much artificial bungling in the transla- 
tion — but there is nothing labored in the 
knottiest parts. 

The revelry of love and its beautiful 
attainment — the hymeneal altar, as pic- 
tured by Schiller, has not suffered by the 
translation. It retains the measured in- 
tonations of the bell — 

See the pipes already browning I 

This small bar I dip therein ; 

If it show a glazed coating, 

Then the castinjgs may begin. 
Workmen, quickly go, 
Prove the mixture's flow. 

When sott and brittle fuse together, 

'Tis a sign propitious ever. 

For when the stern and soft are sharing, 
And strength with gentleness is pairing, 
The harmony is sweet and strong. 
Who, therefore, would be bound forever, 
Must see that hearts agree together!— 
Illusion's brief, repentance long. 
Lovely, in the bride's fair tresses, 
Plays the virgin wreath ot green, 
When the merry church bells, ringing, ^ 
Summon to the joyous scene. 
Ah ! life's sweetest festal moments 
Also end life's sunny May, 
With the veil, and with the girdle, 
Fond illusions fade away. 
For passion will fly, 
But love be surviving ; 
The flower must die, 
The fruitage be thriving. 
The man must be out 
In life's battle fighting4 
Be struggling and striving. 
And planting and working, 
No artifice shirking, 
Be risking and staking, 
His fortune o'ertaking. 

Taking all in all, I think the translator 
has shown himself most . masterly in the 
thrilling, exciting alarum that he creates 
in the unhesitatine, even strokes of the 
following lines. Tne picture is real, and 
not a single misplacing of word or metre 
breaks the spell of your excitement — 

How friendly is the fire's might, 
When tamed by being watched aright ; 
And what man fashions, what creates, 
From this heaven-bom force he takes. 
But fearful this promethean wonder, 
When its fetters break asunder, 
And madly leaps unchecked along ! 
Dame Nature's daughter, free and strong ! 
Woe, when once 'tis liberated, 
Spreading free on every hand ; 
Through the streets, like fiend unsated. 
Quickly moves the monstrous brand ! 
By the elements is hated 
Work that's done by human hand. 



-54- 



Prom the clouds come 

Richest blessing, 

Rains refreshing ; 

From the clouds, 'mid thunder's crash, 

Lightnings flash. 

Hear'st from yon spire the wild alarm ? 

That's the storm ! * 

Red as blood 

Are the skies ; 

That is not the daylight's flood. 

What tumults rise 

Along each street ! 

Up, smoke and heat. 

Through the streets, with fury flaring, 

Stalks the fire with fiendish glaring, 

Rushing as if the whirlwind sharing I 

l^ike the blast from furnace flashing ; 

Glows the air, and beams are crashing, 

Pillars tumbling, windows creaking, 

Mothers wandering, children shrieking 

Beasts are moaning. 

Running, groaning 

'Neath the ruins ; all are frightened. 

Bright as day the night enlightened. 

Through the chain of hands, extending, 
Wi' zeal contending, 
Flies the bucket ; bow-like, soaring, 
High in air the stream is pouring. 
Comes the tempest, howling, roaring. 
Rushing in the path of flame. 
Crackling 'mid the well-dried grain, 
In the gran'ry chambers tailing, 
'i,ong the well-dried rafters bawling ; 
As if 'twould surely tear, in blowing, 
The very earth itself and bear 
It upwards through the lurid air. 
High as heaven the flames are growing- 
Giant tall ! 
Hopeless, all, 

Man submits to might o'erpow'ring ; 
Idly sees, what first seemed low' ring. 
His work to sure destruction going. 

All burnt out are 
Town and village. 

Rugged beds ofthe tempest's pillage. 
In the hollow gaping windows 
Gloom is sitting, 

And the clouds, through heaven flitting, 
Ivook within. 

One look at last 
Where the measure 
Of his treasure 

Buried lies, man turns to cast- 
Then clutches he his staff with pleasure. 
Whate'er the flames took from his home, 
One solace ever him consoleth : 
He counts the heads of those he loveth, 
And lo ! not one dear head is gone. 

There is much of the rural repose ol 
"Gray's Elegy" in the following lines- 
much of the English dignity- 
Filled with grain 
Reels the wagon, 
Heaw-laden. 
Brigh't with leaves 
On golden sheaves 
Garlands glance, 
And the youngest of the reapers 
Seek the dance. 

Street and market grow more silent ; 
Household inmates now are seeking 
The cheering glow of lighted tapers. 
And closing town-gates 'gain are creaking. 
Dark ness spread eth 
O'er the landscape ; 
But the honest burgher dreadeth 
Not the night, 

Which alarm to evil spreadeth ; 
For the eye of I^w keeps watch aright. 



Shakesperean in its cast are the follow- 
ing lines. The English has the sturdy 
strength ofthe warlike passions it depicts: 

"Equal'ty and Freedom! " men are shrilling, 

To arms the peaceful burghers fly. 

The streets and halls with crowds are filling, 

And murd'rous bands around there hie. 

Then women, to hyenas turning, 

'Mid horrors mock and jeer and iest. 

And tear, with panther's trenzy burning. 

The heart from every hostile breast. 

There's naught that's sacred more, for breaking 

Are all the bonds or pious fear, 

The bad the good one's place is taking, 

Vice knows no law in its career. 

'Tis dangerous to wake the lion, 

Destructive is the tiger's tooth, 

But far more fierce, and far more fiendish. 

Deluded man bereft of ruth. 

Woe to them who lend the sightless 

The heavenly torch to light the way! 

It guides them not, it can but kindle, 

And towns and lands in ashes lay. 

The reaction of the poem is well ar- 
rested in the dropping of the curtain upon 
it all. We are satisfied with the bell, and 
quite ready at last to consign it to its 
exalted place — 

And now employ the cable's power. 
Raise the bell from out the ground, 
That in its roomy, air-built tower, 
It may reach the realms of sound ! 

Higher, higher raise ! 

Now it moves, it sways ! 
To this city Joy revealing, 
Be Peace the first note of its pealing. 



A San Francisco Lady's Inquiry. 
The following letter, written in German 
(herewith translated) is from a lady in 
San Francisco, from which place it was 
mailed on the nth instant : 

"Mb. Thos C. Zimmerman, Editor oj 
the r/w^j.— Honored Sir i—May I 
trespass upon your kindness by asking 
you to please inform me from whom your 
j translation of Schiller's Glocke (Bell), 
i commented on in our papers, may be ob- 
tained ? 

You will not only thankfully oblige me 

I by this information, but also aftord sev- 

1 eral ladies of my acquaintance the great 

pleasure of enjoying the beauties of this 

wonderful and incomparable poem. 

Hoping you may kindly gratify my 
wish, I subscribe myself, with the great- 
est consideration, 

FRANCISCA MANTELI*. 



Thomas MacKellaKs Compliment. 

Thomas MacKellar, Esq , of the firm of 
MacKellar, Smiths & Jordan, type-foun- 
ders, Philadelphia, sends the following 
under date of yesterday : 

"One who can translate so well will 
surely distinguish himself by original 
work. ' ' 



-55- 



Rev. Mr. Cleveland's Words of Praise. 

Rev. H. A.Cleveland, DD., of Indian- 
apolis, Ind., formerly of this city, writes 
under date of the i8th instant : 

"T. C. Zimmerman. — Dear Sir:— I 
was delighted when I saw your *Song ot 
the Bell.* Your hand has yet its cunning 
and knows how to turn the glowing Ger- 
man of Schiller into glorious English. No 
one who is not himself a poet could 
translate as you have translated Your 
rendering enables English readers to see, 
as they never before have seen, why it is 
that Schiller has won and held the hearts 
of the German people. Thanks for your 
insight and wonderful interpretation." 
Long may you live and with your fine 
frenzy make glad many readers as in the 
pealing notes of this "Song of the Bell" 
your "revealing" has done 



Sup't Buehrle's Congratulation. 

R. K. Buehrle, Ph. D., city superinten" 
dent of the public schools of Lancaster, 
writes under date of the i8th inst. : 

'^Having been an advocate of the study 
of German in our common schools now 
for upwards of twenty years, and having 
taught classes pursuing the study of that 
language during almost all that time, 
and have given more than ordinary at- 
tention to metre and versification, I may 
perhaps be permitted to say that I know 
something of the difficulty of preserving 
the metre of the original in the transla- 
tion into English of so highly artistic a 
poem as the "Song of the Bell." Let 
the "well done" of your old friend, 
though it come late, not be less grateful 
to you, but may it rather stir you up to 
continue in the good work of acquainting 
the Germanic peoples more thoroughly 
with each other, by enabling this Eng- 
lish-speaking nation also to enjoy the 
beautiful creations of the 'divine art' 
now laid up in the younger sister lan- 
guage." 



Franklin B. Gowen's Congratulations. 

The following letter written on the 22d 
of February explains itself: 

'*My Deaf Sir: — I am obliged by your 
favor of the 14th instant, enclosing your 
admirable translation of ^ Das Lied von 
der Glocke,'^ which I have read with 
great pleasure. You are to be congratu- 
lated upon the excellence of your work, 
and especially upon having succeeded in 
rendenn|: a very faithful translation into 
very spirited English verse. 

FRANKI.IN B. GOWEN. 



Prof. J. H. Dubbs's Compliment 
Jos. Henry Dubbs, Professor in Frank- 
lin and Marshall College, Lancaster, 
writes as follows : 

Franklin and Marshall College. ) 
Lancaster, Pa., Feb. 25, i88q. / 
My Dear Mr. Zimmerman :—\ have 
read your poetic versions with the keen- 
est interest, regarding them as possessed 
of a very high order of merit. Good 
metrical translators are more rare than 
original poets, and their work is deserv- 
ing of high appreciation. It not only in- 
volves great labor but demands peculiar 
talents. Poets, like Coleridge, Long- 
fellow and Bayard Taylor have always 

j regarded their metrical versions as equal 

I in rank to their best original work. 

j The extraordinary success which has 
attended your labors induced me to hope 

I that you will continue to cultivate this 
beautiful field. It is a grand thing to 
convey the best thoughts of the greatest 
men from one language to another, and 
thus to make them the property of an- 
other people. May we not hope that 
such work will also have a tendency 
to induce the young to honor their Ger- 
man ancestry, and to appreciate the 
precious literary treasures of the father- 
land? 



Another Congratulation from the Pacific Coast. 

Mrs. M. P. Biddle, wife of Noble Bid- 
die, Esq., a prominent attorney-at-law in 
San Jose, Cal., writes under date of the 
12th thus : 

Mr. T. C. Zimmerman.— Z>(?^zr Friend: 
As the "Song of the Bell" rang out its 
notes of sadness and of gladness, in the 
new translation, to me in my home ol 
the setting sun, I, too, join in the ''well- 
done" and offer my congratulations. 



Letter from the Illinois Staats-Zeitung. 

The following letter from the Illinois 
Staats-Zeitung^ the great German news- 
paper of the Northwest, tells its own 
story : 

" We certainly take the greatest inter- 
est in an American who has so much 
love for our German poets as to under- 
take a translation of their works." 



Just as Schiller Wrote It 

The Wilkesbarre Record of the 19th 
instant, has the following ; 

"Col Zimmerman is to be congratu- 
lated on the elegant diction an4 complete- 
ness of his translation, which gives the 
English reader Schiller's beautiful poem 
just as he wrote it." 



-56- 



Proff. Seidensticker's High Praise. 

Prof Oswald Seidensticker, the emi- 
nent litterateur^ who fills one of the most 
important chairs in the Faculty of the 
University of Pennsylvania, writes from 
Philadelphia under the date of March 4th 
mstant, as follows : 

Philadelphia March 4, 1889. 

Thomas C. Zimmerman, Esq — Dear 
Mr. Zimmertnan : — Schiller's Song of 
the Bell is of all lyrics of our g'reat poet 
the most unique and precious, and the 
admiration with which it was hailed 
nearly a century ago has not abated 
since. Hence translations into other 
languages foremost the English, have 
not been wanting. But so intimately is 
the spirit of the poem blended with its 
sonorous language and its versatile 
rhythm that the recasting into the mould 
of a foreign tongue has its peculiar diffi- 
culties. Many able men have undertaken 
the task and the successive attempts show 
a remarkable scale of improvement, 
as everybody must admit who compares 
the spirited but totally inadequate render- 
ing of Bulwer with your own translation, 
which combines exactness, faithful ob- 
servance of all rhythmical niceties and a 
fine appreciation of the poet s intention. 
I hope the skill which you have exhibited 
as a translator and the general applause 
with which your efforts have been re- 
vyarded, may induce you to offer in Eng- 
lish garb many more treasures from the 
inexhaustible mine oiG^xva^xipoesieV 



Or, may I say, it is like rebuilding the 
belfry while the Song of the Bell goes on, 
without suffering even a discord from the 
sound of the (Zimmerman's) hammer 
This is the work, not of the scholar, 
merely, but of the artist, the genius 

"To further illustrate my meaning, it is 
only necessary to bring into contrast the 
first stanzas of two or three translations 
mentioned, in juxtaposition with the 
original : 
Fest ffemauert in der Erden 

Stent die Form, aus Lehm gebrannt, 
Heute muss die Glocke werdea ! 
Frisch, GescUen, seid zur Hand ! 
Von der Stirne heiss, 
Rinnen muss der S>chweiss, 
Soil dass Werk der Meister lobcn ; 
Doch der Segen kommt von oben. 

— Schiller. 

Fast in its pri.9on walls of earth, 

Awaits the mould of bak-ed clay. 
Up, comrades, up, and aid the birth— 
The Bell that shall be bom to-day ! 
Who would honor obtain, 
With the sweat and the pain, 
The praise that man gives to the master must 

buv! 
But the blessings withal must descend from on 
high! 

— Hempel 

Firmly walled in earth, and steady, 

Stands the mold of well-burnt clay. 
Quick, now, workmen, be ye ready! 
Forth must come the bell to-day ! 
Hot from forehead's glow 
Must the sweat-drops flow. 
Should the master praise be given ; 
Yet the blessing comes from Heaven. 

— Zimmerman. 



A Poet's Congratulations. 

H. L. Fisher, Esq., attorney-at-law, 
York, Pa , and author of several volumes 
of poems, in the English and Pennsyl- 
vania-German, contributed the following 
to the columns of the York Daily ol a 
recent date : 

"Of the several translations of this 
acknowledged masterpiece of one of 
Germany's many great poets, I have been 
familiar with but two, Longfellow's and 
Hempel's. As has been so well said by 
several of Mr. Zimmerman's critics, the 
beauty if not the excellence of his English 
versions, notably ol the one more im- 
mediately under consideration, consists 
in that — which is the highest proof of 
genius— a fairly true and faithful expres- 
sion of the sense, without, in the least, 
impairing the sound— the music— of the 
original, or, (in my own more homely 
words, > it is like transplanting the stalk, 
the bush of full-blown roses, in a noon- 
day summer's sun, while the flowers wilt 
not nor is aught of their fragrance lost. 



What the Westliche Post Says. 

A marked copy of the Westliche Post, 
the great German newspaper of the West, 
published at St. Louis, was sent to the 
office of the Times. It contained the 
following paragraph : 

"There are already existing a number 
of excellent translations into the English 
of the "Bell," from Bulwer's to Rev. Fur- 
ness's, of Philadelphia, which, up to the 

C resent time, has been judged to be the 
est, but which, indeed, is excelled by 
that of Mr. Zimmerman in the accuracy 
of the rendition of the original." 



High Compiiments from Lebanon. 

[From the Lebanon Courier.] 

Mr. Thomas C. Zimmerman, editor of 
the Reading Times, in whom Lebanon, 
and the Courier office particularly, feel a 
pride, is now the acknowledged most 
successiul translator of German poetry 
that has ever essayed that work. With 
a profound understanding of the German 
language, and true poetic inspiration, 
German poetry in no way loses force nor 
beauty in his translations. 



-57- 



%ke ^citkav HiiiKif. 



Following is an extract from a sermon 
preached in Salem's Lutheran church at 
Lebanon, by Rev. Theodore E. Schmauk, 
on Mr. Zimmerman's translation of ''Bin' 
feste Burg:'' 

A native of Lebanon has been led to 
link his name with Luthep's, and as a con- 
sequence "no small stir ' has arisen 
throughout these regions. Our represen- 
tative townspeople have been moved to 
express a glowing appreciation of the 
work of both, and also of that hymn for 
the ages, which Carlyle compares to "a 
sound of Alpine avalanches, or the first 
murmur of earthquakes," whose weighty, 
though rugged resonance will be pro- 
longed, and whose faith-inspired and 
faith-inspiring outbursts will rise to the 
skies long after "Hold the Fort" with its 
transient fervor will have passed away 
with the hosts of ephemeral songs of to- 
day and been buried in the grave of 
oblivion; 

Thus one of our prominent citizens 
writes to the new translator : "The rendi- 
tion of the soul-stirring hymn of Luther I 
regard as your crowning effort. It makes 
my blood tingle when reading it. Oh, 
that we would realize at every step of our 
weary pilgrimage, that, ' Ein' feste Burg 
ist unser Gott\ Who can estimate what 
the outcome of such a faith would be ? 
You have done a public service in plac- 
ing a thorough translation of the grand 
old lyric in the hands of our people, 
especially the rising generation God 
bless you." 

One of our leading ladies of the Pres- 
byterian church writes : "I thank you 
for the pleasure the reading of your fine 
translation of Luther's noble hymn has 
given me * * * * That the simple, 
yet lofty faith and exultation in one 
'Mighty to Save,' breathed forth in every 
stanza of the hymn may ever be the ex 



mspi ra- 



tion. Great in burning, thrilling, poeti- 
cal development" 

These words are spray-drops from a 
wave of enthusiasm that has rolled widely 
beyond local bounds, reaching even to 
the sunny slopes of California. Ex-Gov- 
ernor Hoyt writes to the translator. 
"There is such a general consensus of 
opinion from those entitled to speak of 
your translation of Luther's Battle Hymn 
of the Reformation,' that I add my 
congratulations with something of diffi- 
dence. If Luther's hymn in the original 
is as good for a 'German' as yours is for 
an 'American' it is good enough." Prof. 
Porter of Lafayette College speaks to the 
public in a translation of his own Dr. 
Jacobs of the Philadelphia Theological 
Seminary does the same. An unpublished 
one of Dr. Seiss, the eloquent Lutheran 
pulpit orator, is brought to Hght. Geo. 
W. Childs publishes a lon^ complimentary 
article in the Philadelphia Ledger^ and 
takes occasion to write personally several 
times. A Presbyterian clergyman from 
Detroit, Michigan, writes: "It is remark- 
ably well done, preserving the simplicity 
and majesty while it presents the force and 
characteristic ruggedness of the famous 
stirring hymn. Your verse is altogether 
good, and has the ring of battle through- 
out. 'A Rock-bound Fortress is our God, ' 
could not be improved, and see that you 
put no file upon the last four lines." 
Similar strains come from a prominent 
clergyman in Philadelphia, and from many 
quarters, but perhaps the mo-^t surprising 
tribute to the hymn and its author is the 
one coming from a Methodist pulpit. 
Such a glorious eulogy of Luther, and 
his faith, and his heart, and his singing, 
have rarely been heard from even a 
Lutheran pulpit. He is described as be- 
longing to every age — to every country 
— to every church — as the "solar center 
ol undulations which have filled the 
world with light and glory, and those 
undulations shall continue so long as the 



-58- 



es of the ocean shall beat upon the 
res of time and even into the great 
ond/' 

Talk ol Putting it in the Hymn-Books. 

The Westliche Post of St. Louis, Mo., 

I most influential German newspaper 

the West, formerly owned by Joseph 

ilitzer, of the New York U^orld, and at 

le time edited by Carl Schurz, says : 

'•In another part of to-day's paper is 

rinted, side by side with the German 

riginal text, an English translation of 

lartin Luther's ''Ein' feste Burg ist 

nser Gott^ The transferring into Eng- 

ish is the meritorious work of Thos. C. 

Zimmerman, editor of the Reading Times. 

30 beautiful is the translation, that there 

is already talk of substituting it for the 

present version in the English Lutheran 

hymn books. 



Reception of tlie Song in tlie Fifth Street M. E. Church. 

Following is from the Reading Times 
of February 27, 1888: 

Standing room was held at premium 
in the Fifth Street M. E. church last 
evening, aisles, gallery and every availa- 
ble space about the large auditorium be- 
ing crowded with an anxious and ex- 
pectant audience to hear Mrs. James C 
Brown, assisted by a special choir, under 
the direction of Mr. T. W. Frescoln, 
render Mr. T. C Zimmerman's transla- 
tion of Luther's great battle hymn, '"''Ein^ 
feste Burg.^^ Among the audience 
were a large number of prominent citi- 
zens and members of other congrega- 
tions. That the rendition of the hymn 
was appreciated by the large congrega- 
tion is shown in the fact that the choir 
was requested to repeat the first stanza, 
and gratefully complied. The soloist, 
Mrs. Brown, as well as the members of 
the choir, were compHmented on all 
sides, and certainly deserved it all. The 
stanzas were sung alternately as solo and 
chorus, and were rendered with fine 
effect. 

After a brief introductory service Rev. 
S. H. Hoover preached on the text, "'Ein^ 
feste Burg istunser Gott^ Following is 
the concluding paragraph : 

'*I esteem it both a privilege and an 
honor to introduce to this vast audience 
and to the singing world of God's wor- 
shippers what will probably come to be 
regarded as the best translation of the im- 
mortal battle-hymn of the Reformation, 
though it has been singing in cathedral, 
temple, meeting-house, in the cloisters of 
the saints, for nearly four hundred years. 



I refer to the translation from the pen ot 
our talented fellow-townsman, Mr. 
Thomas C. Zimmerman, editor of the 
Reading Times. He has not only 
stormed and taken '*i5V«' feste Burg,^' 
but captured the hearts also of the sweet 
singers of Israel. How was it done? 
Whence his secret ! May it not lie in 
this, that, discarding all other transla- 
tions, he drew himself up so close to the 
original that the heart of the great re- 
former telephoned across the centuries 
its own swing of rugged force and de- 
fiance, so that it is not the editor of the 
Times, but the Reformer himself who 
sings." 



Dr, Mann's Eloquent Tribute. 

The late Rev. W. J. Mann, D. D., oi 
Philadelphia, probably the foremost Ger- 
man Lutheran preacher in this country, 
wrote as follows : 

" He (Martin Luther) has set aglow 
the musical genius and the imaginative 
powers of artists, and now he has by his 
magic art elicited from you a brilliant 
spark and poured a flood of light upon 
that soul-stirring ''Ein^ feste Burg,^^ 
It takes a poet to be moved by a poet. 
Let me congratulate you on your eminent 
success in most happily- not translating, 
but— reproducing in the cognate English 
language that emperor among the royal 
assembly of ancient Gernian church 
songs.'* 



Rev. Dr. SclimuckeKs Tribute. 

The late Rev. B. M. Schmucker, D. D., 
said among other things : 

'*Mr. Zimmerman's translation has so 
many excellencies that it must be placed 
in the list of those which deserve special 
attention, and by their merits demand 
the consideration of those who seek for, 
and would use the hymn in English. 

* * * * W hen I consider the translations 
of this hymn which so many men and 
women eminent for their poetic gifts and 
for their experience as translators have 
produced. I am the more impressed with^ 
the distinction and honor due to Mr; 
Zimmerman for the very excellent and 
commendable rendering of it which he has 
given us." 



Wiiat the PItila. Ledger Says. 
* * Mr. Zimmerman has not only 
seized the meaning of the author, but he 
has so put it irrto an English clothing as 
to show that the real bone and sinew of 
the original still live in its new dress. 



Manu/aclund hy 
I eAYLORD BROS. 




^ 



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