Pentecost, day of rejoicing, had come. The church of the villageGleaming stood in the morning's sheen.On the spire of the bellDecked with a brazen cock, the friendly flames of the Spring-sunGlanced like the tongues of fire, beheld by Apostles aforetime.Clear was the heaven and blue, and May, with her cap crowned with roses,Stood in her holiday dress in the fields, and the wind and the brookletMurmured gladness and peace, God's-peace! with lips rosy-tintedWhispered the race of the flowers, and merry on balancing branchesBirds were singing their carol, a jubilant hymn to the Highest.Swept and clean was the churchyard. Adorned like a leaf-woven arborStood its old-fashioned gate; and within upon each cross of ironHung was a fragrant garland, new twined by the hands of affection.Even the dial, that stood on a mound among the departed,(There full a hundred years had it stood,) was embellished with blossomsLike to the patriarch hoary, the sage of his kith and the hamlet,Who on his birthday is crowned by children and children's children,So stood the ancient prophet, and mute with his pencil of ironMarked on the tablet of stone, and measured the time and its changes,While all around at his feet, an eternity slumbered in quiet.Also the church within was adorned, for this was the seasonWhen the young, their parents' hope, and the loved-ones of heaven,Should at the foot of the altar renew the vows of their baptism.Therefore each nook and corner was swept and cleaned, and the dust wasBlown from the walls and ceiling, and from the oil-painted benches.There stood the church like a garden; the Feast of the Leafy PavilionsSaw we in living presentment. From noble arms on the church wallGrew forth a cluster of leaves, and the preacher's pulpit of oak-woodBudded once more anew, as aforetime the rod before Aaron.Wreathed thereon was the Bible with leaves, and the dove, washed with silverUnder its canopy fastened, had on it a necklace of wind-flowers.But in front of the choir, round the altar-piece painted by Horberg,Crept a garland gigantic; and bright-curling tresses of angelsPeeped, like the sun from a cloud, from out of the shadowy leaf-work.Likewise the lustre of brass, new-polished, blinked from the ceiling,And for lights there were lilies of Pentecost set in the sockets.Loud rang the bells already; the thronging crowd was assembledFar from valleys and hills, to list to the holy preaching.Hark! then roll forth at once the mighty tones of the organ,Hover like voices from God, aloft like invisible spirits.Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast from off him his mantle,So cast off the soul its garments of earth; and with one voiceChimed in the congregation, and sang an anthem immortalOf the sublime Wallin, of David's harp in the North-landTuned to the choral of Luther; the song on its mighty pinionsTook every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven,And each face did shine like the Holy One's face upon Tabor.Lo! there entered then into the church the Reverend Teacher.Father he hight and he was in the parish; a Christianly plainnessClothed from his head to his feet the old man of seventy winters.Friendly was he to behold, and glad as the heralding angelWalked he among the crowds, but still a contemplative grandeurLay on his forehead as clear as on moss-covered gravestone a sunbeam.As in his inspiration (an evening twilight that faintlyGleams in the human soul, even now, from the day of creation)Th' Artist, the friend of heaven, imagines Saint John when in Patmos,Gray, with his eyes uplifted to heaven, so seemed then the old man:Such was the glance of his eye, and such were his tresses of silver.All the congregation arose in the pews that were numbered.But with a cordial look, to the right and the left hand, the old manNodding all hail and peace, disappeared in the innermost chancel.Simply and solemnly now proceeded the Christian service,Singing and prayer, and at last an ardent discourse from the old man.Many a moving word and warning, that out of the heart came,Fell like the dew of the morning, like manna on those in the desert.Then, when all was finished, the Teacher re-entered the chancelFollowed therein by the young. The boys on the right had their places,Delicate figures, with close-curling hair and cheeks rosy-blooming.But on the left of these there stood the tremulous lilies,Tinged with the blushing light of the dawn, the diffident maidens,—Folding their hands in prayer, and their eyes cast down on the pavementNow came, with question and answer, the catechism. In the beginningAnswered the children with troubled and faltering voice, but the old man'sGlances of kindness encouraged them soon, and the doctrines eternalFlowed, like the waters of fountains, so clear from lips unpolluted.Each time the answer was closed, and as oft as they named the Redeemer,Lowly louted the boys, and lowly the maidens all courtesied.Friendly the Teacher stood, like an angel of light there among them.And to the children explained the holy, the highest, in few words,Thorough, yet simple and clear, for sublimity always is simple,Both in sermon and song, a child can seize on its meaning.E'en as the green-growing bud unfolds when Springtide approaches.Leaf by leaf puts forth, and warmed, by the radiant sunshine,Blushes with purple and gold, till at last the perfected blossomOpens its odorous chalice, and rocks with its crown in the breezes,So was unfolded here the Christian lore of salvation,Line by line from the soul of childhood. The fathers and mothersStood behind them in tears, and were glad at the well-worded answer.Now went the old man up to the altar;—and straightway transfigured(So did it seem unto me) was then the affectionate Teacher.Like the Lord's Prophet sublime, and awful as Death and as JudgmentStood he, the God-commissioned, the soul-searcher, earthward descendingGlances, sharp as a sword, into hearts that to him were transparentShot he; his voice was deep, was low like the thunder afar off.So on a sudden transfigured he stood there, lie spake and he questioned."This is the faith of the Fathers, the faith the Apostles delivered,This is moreover the faith whereunto I baptized you, while still yeLay on your mothers' breasts, and nearer the portals of heaven,Slumbering received you then the Holy Church in its bosom;Wakened from sleep are ye now, and the light in its radiant splendorDownward rains from the heaven;—to-day on the threshold of childhoodKindly she frees you again, to examine and make your election,For she knows naught of compulsion, and only conviction desireth.This is the hour of your trial, the turning-point of existence,Seed for the coming days; without revocation departethNow from your lips the confession; Bethink ye, before ye make answer!Think not, O think not with guile to deceive the questioning Teacher.Sharp is his eye to-day, and a curse ever rests upon falsehood.Enter not with a lie on Life's journey; the multitude hears you,Brothers and sisters and parents, what dear upon earth is and holyStandeth before your sight as a witness; the Judge everlastingLooks from the sun down upon you, and angels in waiting beside himGrave your confession in letters of fire upon tablets eternal.Thus, then,—believe ye in God, in the Father who this world created?Him who redeemed it, the Son, and the Spirit where both are united?Will ye promise me here, (a holy promise!) to cherishGod more than all things earthly, and every man as a brother?Will ye promise me here, to confirm your faith by your living,Th' heavenly faith of affection! to hope, to forgive, and to suffer,Be what it may your condition, and walk before God in uprightness?Will ye promise me this before God and man?"—With a clear voiceAnswered the young men Yes! and Yes! with lips softly-breathingAnswered the maidens eke. Then dissolved from the brow of the TeacherClouds with the lightnings therein, and lie spake in accents more gentle,Soft as the evening's breath, as harps by Babylon's rivers."Hail, then, hail to you all! To the heirdom of heaven be ye welcome!Children no more from this day, but by covenant brothers and sisters!Yet,—for what reason not children? Of such is the kingdom of heaven.Here upon earth an assemblage of children, in heaven one Father,Ruling them all as his household,—forgiving in turn and chastising,That is of human life a picture, as Scripture has taught us.Blest are the pure before God! Upon purity and upon virtueResteth the Christian Faith: she herself from on high is descended.Strong as a man and pure as a child, is the sum of the doctrine,Which the Divine One taught, and suffered and died on the cross forOh, as ye wander this day from childhood's sacred asylumDownward and ever downward, and deeper in Age's chill valley,Oh, how soon will ye come,—too soon!—and long to turn backwardUp to its hill-tops again, to the sun-illumined, where JudgmentStood like a father before you, and Pardon, clad like a mother,Gave you her hand to kiss, and the loving heart was for givenLife was a play and your hands grasped after the roses of heaven!Seventy years have I lived already; the Father eternalGave rue gladness and care; but the loveliest hours of existence,When I have steadfastly gazed in their eyes, I have instantly known them,Known them all again;—the were my childhood's acquaintance.Therefore take from henceforth, as guides in the paths of existence,Prayer, with her eyes raised to heaven, and Innocence, bride of man's childhoodInnocence, child beloved, is a guest from the world of the blessed,Beautiful, and in her hand a lily; on life's roaring billowsSwings she in safety, she heedeth them not in the ship she is sleeping.Calmly she gazes around in the turmoil of men; in the desertAngels descend and minister unto her; she herself knowethNaught of her glorious attendance; but follows faithful and humble,Follows so long as she may her friend; oh do not reject her,For she cometh from God and she holdeth the keys of the heavens.Prayer is Innocence' friend; and willingly flieth incessant'Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven,Son of Eternity, fettered in Time, and an exile, the SpiritTugs at his chains evermore, and struggles like flame ever upward.Still he recalls with emotion his Father's manifold mansions,Thinks of the land of his fathers, where blossomed more freshly the flowerets,Shone a more beautiful sun, and he played with the winged angels.Then grows the earth too narrow, too close; and homesick for heavenLongs the wanderer again; and the Spirit's longings are worship;Worship is called his most beautiful hour, and its tongue is entreaty.Aid when the infinite burden of life descendeth upon us,Crushes to earth our hope, and, under the earth, in the graveyard,Then it is good to pray unto God; for his sorrowiug childrenTurns he ne'er from his door, but he heals and helps and consoles them,Yet is it better to pray when all things are prosperous with us,Pray in fortunate days, for life's most beautiful FortuneKneels before the Eternal's throne; and with hands interfolded,Praises thankful and moved the only giver of blessings.Or do ye know, ye children, one blessing that comes not from Heaven?What has mankind forsooth, the poor! that it has not received?Therefore, fall in the dust and pray! The seraphs adoringCover with pinions six their face in the glory of him whoHung his masonry pendent on naught, when the world be created.Earth declareth his might, and the firmament utters his glory.Races blossom and die, and stars fall downward from heaven,Downward like withered leaves; at the last stroke of midnight, millenniumsLay themselves down at his feet, and he sees them, but counts them as nothingWho shall stand in his presence? The wrath of the judge is terrific,Casting the insolent down at a glance. When he speaks in his angerHillocks skip like the kid, and mountains leap like the roebuck.Yet,—why are ye afraid, ye children? This awful avenger,Ah! is a merciful God! God's voice was not in the earthquake,Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the whispering breezes.Love is the root of creation; God's essence; worlds without numberLie in his bosom like children; he made them for this purpose only.Only to love and to be loved again, he breathed forth his spiritInto the slumbering dust, and upright standing, it laid itsHand on its heart, and felt it was warm with a flame out of heaven.Quench, oh quench not that flame! It is the breath of your being.Love is life, but hatred is death. Not father, nor motherLoved you, as God has loved you; for 't was that you may be happyGave he his only Son. When he bowed down his head in the death-hourSolemnized Love its triumph; the sacrifice then was completed.Lo! then was rent on a sudden the veil of the temple, dividingEarth and heaven apart, and the dead from their sepulchres risingWhispered with pallid lips and low in the ears of each otherTh' answer, but dreamed of before, to creation's enigma,—Atonement!Depths of Love are Atonement's depths, for Love is Atonement.Therefore, child of mortality, love thou the merciful Father;Wish what the Holy One wishes, and not from fear, but affectionFear is the virtue of slaves; but the heart that loveth is willingPerfect was before God, and perfect is Love, and Love only.Lovest thou God as thou oughtest, then lovest thou likewise thy brethren:One is the sun in heaven, and one, only one, is Love also.Bears not each human figure the godlike stamp on his foreheadReadest thou not in his face thou origin? Is he not sailingLost like thyself on an ocean unknown, and is he not guidedBy the same stars that guide thee? Why shouldst thou hate then thy brother?Hateth he thee, forgive! For 't is sweet to stammer one letterOf the Eternal's language;—on earth it is called Forgiveness!Knowest thou Him, who forgave, with the crown of thorns on his temples?Earnestly prayed for his foes, for his murderers? Say, dost thou know him?Ah! thou confessest his name, so follow likewise his example,Think of thy brother no ill, but throw a veil over his failings,Guide the erring aright; for the good, the heavenly shepherdTook the lost lamb in his arms, and bore it back to its mother.This is the fruit of Love, and it is by its fruits that we know it.Love is the creature's welfare, with God; but Love among mortalsIs but an endless sigh! He longs, and endures, and stands waiting,Suffers and yet rejoices, and smiles with tears on his eyelids.Hope,—so is called upon earth, his recompense, Hope, the befriending,Does what she can, for she points evermore up to heaven, and faithfulPlunges her anchor's peak in the depths of the grave, and beneath itPaints a more beautiful world, a dim, but a sweet play of shadows!Races, better than we, have leaned on her wavering promise,Having naught else but Hope. Then praise we our Father in heaven,Him, who has given us more; for to us has Hope been transfigured,Groping no longer in night; she is Faith, she is living assurance.Faith is enlightened Hope; she is light, is the eye of affection,Dreams of the longing interprets, and carves their visions in marble.Faith is the sun of life; and her countenance shines like the Hebrew's,For she has looked upon God; the heaven on its stable foundationDraws she with chains down to earth, and the New Jerusalem sinkethSplendid with portals twelve in golden vapors descending.There enraptured she wanders. and looks at the figures majestic,Fears not the winged crowd, in the midst of them all is her homestead.Therefore love and believe; for works will follow spontaneousEven as day does the sun; the Right from the Good is an offspring,Love in a bodily shape; and Christian works are no more thanAnimate Love and faith, as flowers are the animate Springtide.Works do follow us all unto God; there stand and bear witnessNot what they seemed,—but what they were only. Blessed is he whoHears their confession secure; they are mute upon earth until death's handOpens the mouth of the silent. Ye children, does Death e'er alarm you?Death is the brother of Love, twin-brother is he, and is onlyMore austere to behold. With a kiss upon lips that are fadingTakes he the soul and departs, and, rocked in the arms of affection,Places the ransomed child, new born, 'fore the face of its father.Sounds of his coming already I hear,—see dimly his pinions,Swart as the night, but with stars strewn upon them! I fear not before him.Death is only release, and in mercy is mute. On his bosomFreer breathes, in its coolness, my breast; and face to face standingLook I on God as he is, a sun unpolluted by vapors;Look on the light of the ages I loved, the spirits majestic,Nobler, better than I; they stand by the throne all transfigured,Vested in white, and with harps of gold, and are singing an anthem,Writ in the climate of heaven, in the language spoken by angels.You, in like manner, ye children beloved, he one day shall gather,Never forgets he the weary;—then welcome, ye loved ones, hereafter!Meanwhile forget not the keeping of vows, forget not the promise,Wander from holiness onward to holiness; earth shall ye heed notEarth is but dust and heaven is light; I have pledged you to heaven.God of the universe, hear me! thou fountain of Love everlasting,Hark to the voice of thy servant! I send up my prayer to thy heaven!Let me hereafter not miss at thy throne one spirit of all these,Whom thou hast given me here! I have loved them all like a father.May they bear witness for me, that I taught them the way of salvation,Faithful, so far as I knew, of thy word; again may they know me,Fall on their Teacher's breast, and before thy face may I place them,Pure as they now are, but only more tried, and exclaiming with gladness,Father, lo! I am here, and the children, whom thou hast given me!"Weeping he spake in these words; and now at the beck of the old manKnee against knee they knitted a wreath round the altar's enclosure.Kneeling he read then the prayers of the consecration, and softlyWith him the children read; at the close, with tremulous accents,Asked he the peace of Heaven, a benediction upon them.Now should have ended his task for the day; the following SundayWas for the young appointed to eat of the Lord's holy Supper.Sudden, as struck from the clouds, stood the Teacher silent and laid hisHand on his forehead, and cast his looks upward; while thoughts high and holy,Flew through the midst of his soul, and his eyes glanced with wonderful brightness."On the next Sunday, who knows! perhaps I shall rest in the graveyard!Some one perhaps of yourselves, a lily broken untimely,Bow down his head to the earth; why delay I? the hour is accomplished,Warm is the heart;—I will! for to-day grows the harvest of heaven.What I began accomplish I now; what failing therein isI, the old man, will answer to God and the reverend father.Say to me only, ye children, ye denizens new-come in heaven,Are ye ready this day to eat of the bread of Atonement?What it denoteth, that know ye full well, I have told it you often.Of the new covenant symbol it is, of Atonement a token,Stablished between earth and heaven. Man by his sins and transgressionsFar has wandered from God, from his essence. 'T was in the beginningFast by the Tree of Knowledge he fell, and it hangs its crown o'er theFall to this day; in the Thought is the Fall; in the Heart the Atonement.Infinite is the fall,—the Atonement infinite likewise.See! behind me, as far as the old man remembers, and forward,Far as Hope in her flight can reach with her wearied pinions,Sin and Atonement incessant go through the lifetime of mortals.Sin is brought forth full-grown; but Atonement sleeps in our bosomsStill as the cradled babe; and dreams of heaven and of angels,Cannot awake to sensation; is like the tones in the harp's strings,Spirits imprisoned, that wait evermore the deliverer's finger.Therefore, ye children beloved, descended the Prince of Atonement,Woke the slumberer from sleep, and she stands now with eyes all resplendent.Bright as the vault of the sky, and battles with Sin and o'ercomes her.Downward to earth he came and, transfigured, thence reascended,Not from the heart in like wise, for there he still lives in the Spirit,Loves and atones evermore. So long as Time is, is Atonement.Therefore with reverence take this day her visible token.Tokens are dead if the things live not. The light everlastingUnto the blind is not, but is born of the eye that has vision.Neither in bread nor in wine, but in the heart that is hallowedLieth forgiveness enshrined; the intention alone of amendmentFruits of the earth ennobles to heavenly things, and removes allSin and the guerdon of sin. Only Love with his arms wide extended,Penitence wee ping and praying; the Will that is tried, and whose gold flowsPurified forth from the flames; in a word, mankind by AtonementBreaketh Atonement's bread, and drinketh Atonement's wine-cup.But he who cometh up hither, unworthy, with hate in his bosom,Scoffing at men and at God, is guilty of Christ's blessed body,And the Redeemer's blood! To himself he eateth and drinkethDeath and doom! And from this, preserve us, thou heavenly Father!Are ye ready, ye children, to eat of the bread of Atonement?"Thus with emotion he asked, and together answered the children,"Yes!" with deep sobs interrupted. Then read he the due supplications,Read the Form of Communion, and in chimed the organ and anthem:"O Holy Lamb of God, who takest away our transgressions,Hear us! give us thy peace! have mercy, have mercy upon us!"Th' old man, with trembling hand, and heavenly pearls on his eyelids,Filled now the chalice and paten, and dealt round the mystical symbols.Oh, then seemed it to me as if God, with the broad eye of midday,Clearer looked in at the windows, and all the trees in the church yardBowed down their summits of green, and the grass on the graves 'gan to shiverBut in the children (I noted it well; I knew it) there ran aTremor of holy rapture along through their ice-cold members.Decked like an altar before them, there stood the green earth, and above itHeaven opened itself, as of old before Stephen; they saw thereRadiant in glory the Father, and on his right hand the Redeemer.Under them hear they the clang of harpstrings, and angels from gold cloudsBeckon to them like brothers, and fan with their pinions of purple.Closed was the Teacher's task, and with heaven in their hearts and their faces,Up rose the children all, and each bowed him, weeping full sorely,Downward to kiss that reverend hand, but all of them pressed heMoved to his bosom, and laid, with a prayer, his hands full of blessings,Now on the holy breast, and now on the innocent tresses.KING CHRISTIANA NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARKKing Christian stood by the lofty mastIn mist and smoke;His sword was hammering so fast,Through Gothic helm and brain it passed;Then sank each hostile hulk and mast,In mist and smoke."Fly!" shouted they, "fly, he who can!Who braves of Denmark's ChristianThe stroke?"Nils Juel gave heed to the tempest's roar,Now is the hour!He hoisted his blood-red flag once more,And smote upon the foe full sore,And shouted Loud, through the tempest's roar,"Now is the hour!""Fly!" shouted they, "for shelter fly!Of Denmark's Juel who can defyThe power?"North Sea! a glimpse of Wessel rentThy murky sky!Then champions to thine arms were sent;Terror and Death glared where he went;From the waves was heard a wail, thatrentThy murky sky!From Denmark, thunders Tordenskiol',Let each to Heaven commend his soul,And fly!Path of the Dane to fame and might!Dark-rolling wave!Receive thy friend, who, scorning flightGoes to meet danger with despite,Proudly as thou the tempest's mightDark-rolling wave!And amid pleasures and alarm;And war and victory, be thine armsMy grave!THE ELECTED KNIGHTSir Oluf he rideth over the plain,Full seven miles broad and seven miles wide,But never, ah never can meet with the manA tilt with him dare ride.He saw under the hillsideA Knight full well equipped;His steed was black, his helm was barred;He was riding at full speed.He wore upon his spursTwelve little golden birds;Anon he spurred his steed with a clang,And there sat all the birds and sang.He wore upon his mailTwelve little golden wheels;Anon in eddies the wild wind blew,And round and round the wheels they flew.He wore before his breastA lance that was poised in rest;And it was sharper than diamond-stone,It made Sir Oluf's heart to groan.He wore upon his helmA wreath of ruddy gold;And that gave him the Maidens Three,The youngest was fair to behold.Sir Oluf questioned the Knight eftsoonIf he were come from heaven down;"Art thou Christ of Heaven," quoth he,"So will I yield me unto thee.""I am not Christ the Great,Thou shalt not yield thee yet;I am an Unknown Knight,Three modest Maidens have me bedight.""Art thou a Knight elected,And have three Maidens thee bedightSo shalt thou ride a tilt this day,For all the Maidens' honor!"The first tilt they together rodeThey put their steeds to the test,The second tilt they together rode,They proved their manhood best.The third tilt they together rode,Neither of them would yield;The fourth tilt they together rode,They both fell on the field.Now lie the lords upon the plain,And their blood runs unto death;Now sit the Maidens in the high tower,The youngest sorrows till death.CHILDHOODBY JENS IMMANUEL BAGGESENThere was a time when I was very small,When my whole frame was but an ell in height;Sweetly, as I recall it, tears do fall,And therefore I recall it with delight.I sported in my tender mother's arms,And rode a-horseback on best father's knee;Alike were sorrows, passions and alarms,And gold, and Greek, and love, unknown to me,Then seemed to me this world far less in size,Likewise it seemed to me less wicked far;Like points in heaven, I saw the stars arise,And longed for wings that I might catch a star.I saw the moon behind the island fade,And thought, "Oh, were I on that island there,I could find out of what the moon is made,Find out how large it is, how round, how fair!"Wondering, I saw God's sun, through western skies,Sink in the ocean's golden lap at night,And yet upon the morrow early rise,And paint the eastern heaven with crimson light;And thought of God, the gracious Heavenly Father,Who made me, and that lovely sun on high,And all those pearls of heaven thick-strung together,Dropped, clustering, from his hand o'er all the sky.With childish reverence, my young lips did sayThe prayer my pious mother taught to me:"O gentle God! oh, let me strive alwayStill to be wise, and good, and follow Thee!"So prayed I for my father and my mother,And for my sister, and for all the town;The king I knew not, and the beggar-brother,Who, bent with age, went, sighing, up and down.They perished, the blithe days of boyhood perished,And all the gladness, all the peace I knew!Now have I but their memory, fondly cherished;—God! may I never lose that too!FROM THE GERMANTHE HAPPIEST LANDThere sat one day in quiet,By an alehouse on the Rhine,Four hale and hearty fellows,And drank the precious wine.The landlord's daughter filled their cups,Around the rustic boardThen sat they all so calm and still,And spake not one rude word.But, when the maid departed,A Swabian raised his hand,And cried, all hot and flushed with wine,"Long live the Swabian land!"The greatest kingdom upon earthCannot with that compareWith all the stout and hardy menAnd the nut-brown maidens there."Ha!" cried a Saxon, laughing,And dashed his heard with wine;"I had rather live in Laplaud,Than that Swabian land of thine!"The goodliest land on all this earth,It is the Saxon landThere have I as many maidensAs fingers on this hand!""Hold your tongues! both Swabianand Saxon!"A bold Bohemian cries;"If there's a heaven upon this earth,In Bohemia it lies."There the tailor blows the flute,And the cobbler blows the horn,And the miner blows the bugle,Over mountain gorge and bourn.". . . . . . . . . . . . . .And then the landlord's daughterUp to heaven raised her hand,And said, "Ye may no more contend,—There lies the happiest land!"THE WAVEBY CHRISTOPH AUGUST TIEDGE"Whither, thou turbid wave?Whither, with so much haste,As if a thief wert thou?""I am the Wave of Life,Stained with my margin's dust;From the struggle and the strifeOf the narrow stream I flyTo the Sea's immensity,To wash from me the slimeOf the muddy banks of Time."THE DEADBY ERNST STOCKMANNHow they so softly rest,All they the holy ones,Unto whose dwelling-placeNow doth my soul draw near!How they so softly rest,All in their silent graves,Deep to corruptionSlowly don-sinking!And they no longer weep,Here, where complaint is still!And they no longer feel,Here, where all gladness flies!And, by the cypressesSoftly o'ershadowedUntil the AngelCalls them, they slumber!THE BIRD AND THE SHIPBY WILHELM MULLER"The rivers rush into the sea,By castle and town they go;The winds behind them merrilyTheir noisy trumpets blow."The clouds are passing far and high,We little birds in them play;And everything, that can sing and fly,Goes with us, and far away."I greet thee, bonny boat! Whither,or whence,With thy fluttering golden band?"—"I greet thee, little bird! To the wide seaI haste from the narrow land."Full and swollen is every sail;I see no longer a hill,I have trusted all to the sounding gale,And it will not let me stand still."And wilt thou, little bird, go with us?Thou mayest stand on the mainmast tall,For full to sinking is my houseWith merry companions all."—"I need not and seek not company,Bonny boat, I can sing all alone;For the mainmast tall too heavy am I,Bonny boat, I have wings of my own."High over the sails, high over the mast,Who shall gainsay these joys?When thy merry companions are still, at last,Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice."Who neither may rest, nor listen may,God bless them every one!I dart away, in the bright blue day,And the golden fields of the sun."Thus do I sing my merry song,Wherever the four winds blow;And this same song, my whole life long,Neither Poet nor Printer may know.'WHITHER?BY WILHELM MULLERI heard a brooklet gushingFrom its rocky fountain near,Down into the valley rushing,So fresh and wondrous clear.I know not what came o'er me,Nor who the counsel gave;But I must hasten downward,All with my pilgrim-stave;Downward, and ever farther,And ever the brook beside;And ever fresher murmured,And ever clearer, the tide.Is this the way I was going?Whither, O brooklet, say IThou hast, with thy soft murmur,Murmured my senses away.What do I say of a murmur?That can no murmur be;'T is the water-nymphs, that are singingTheir roundelays under me.Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur,And wander merrily near;The wheels of a mill are goingIn every brooklet clear.BEWARE!(HUT DU DICH!)I know a maiden fair to see,Take care!She can both false and friendly be,Beware! Beware!Trust her not,She is fooling thee!She has two eyes, so soft and brown,Take care!She gives a side-glance and looks down,Beware! Beware!Trust her not,She is fooling thee!And she has hair of a golden hue,Take care!And what she says, it is not true,Beware! Beware!Trust her not,She is fooling thee!She has a bosom as white as snow,Take care!She knows how much it is best to show,Beware! Beware!Trust her not,She is fooling thee!She gives thee a garland woven fair,Take care!It is a fool's-cap for thee to wear,Beware! Beware!Trust her not,She is fooling thee!SONG OF THE BELLBell! thou soundest merrily,When the bridal partyTo the church doth hie!Bell! thou soundest solemnly.When, on Sabbath morning,Fields deserted lie!Bell! thou soundest merrily;Tellest thou at evening,Bed-time draweth nigh!Bell! thou soundest mournfully.Tellest thou the bitterParting hath gone by!Say! how canst thou mourn?How canst thou rejoice?Thou art but metal dull!And yet all our sorrowings,And all our rejoicings,Thou dost feel them all!God hath wonders many,Which we cannot fathom,Placed within thy form!When the heart is sinking,Thou alone canst raise it,Trembling in the storm!THE CASTLE BY THE SEABY JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND"Hast thou seen that lordly castle,That Castle by the Sea?Golden and red above itThe clouds float gorgeously."And fain it would stoop downwardTo the mirrored wave below;And fain it would soar upwardIn the evening's crimson glow.""Well have I seen that castle,That Castle by the Sea,And the moon above it standing,And the mist rise solemnly.""The winds and the waves of ocean,Had they a merry chime?Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers,The harp and the minstrel's rhyme?""The winds and the waves of ocean,They rested quietly,But I heard on the gale a sound of wail,And tears came to mine eye.""And sawest thou on the turretsThe King and his royal bride?And the wave of their crimson mantles?And the golden crown of pride?"Led they not forth, in rapture,A beauteous maiden there?Resplendent as the morning sun,Beaming with golden hair?""Well saw I the ancient parents,Without the crown of pride;They were moving slow, in weeds of woe,No maiden was by their side!"THE BLACK KNIGHTBY JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND'T was Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness,When woods and fields put off all sadness.Thus began the King and spake:"So from the hallsOf ancient hofburg's walls,A luxuriant Spring shall break."Drums and trumpets echo loudly,Wave the crimson banners proudly,From balcony the King looked on;In the play of spears,Fell all the cavaliers,Before the monarch's stalwart son.To the barrier of the fightRode at last a sable Knight."Sir Knight! your name and scutcheon, say!""Should I speak it here,Ye would stand aghast with fear;I am a Prince of mighty sway!"When he rode into the lists,The arch of heaven grew black with mists,And the castle 'gan to rock;At the first blow,Fell the youth from saddle-bow,Hardly rises from the shock.Pipe and viol call the dances,Torch-light through the high halls glances;Waves a mighty shadow in;With manner blandDoth ask the maiden's hand,Doth with her the dance begin.Danced in sable iron sark,Danced a measure weird and dark,Coldly clasped her limbs around;From breast and hairDown fall from her the fairFlowerets, faded, to the ground.To the sumptuous banquet cameEvery Knight and every Dame,'Twixt son and daughter all distraught,With mournful mindThe ancient King reclined,Gazed at them in silent thought.Pale the children both did look,But the guest a beaker took:"Golden wine will make you whole!"The children drank,Gave many a courteous thank:"O, that draught was very cool!"Each the father's breast embraces,Son and daughter; and their facesColorless grow utterly;Whichever wayLooks the fear-struck father gray,He beholds his children die."Woe! the blessed children bothTakest thou in the joy of youth;Take me, too, the joyless father!"Spake the grim Guest,From his hollow, cavernous breast;"Roses in the spring I gather!"SONG OF THE SILENT LANDBY JOHAN GAUDENZ VON SALISSEEWISInto the Silent Land! Ah! who shall lead us thither? Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. Who leads us with a gentle hand Thither, O thither, Into the Silent Land?Into the Silent Land! To you, ye boundless regions Of all perfection! Tender morning-visions Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and band! Who in Life's battle firm doth stand, Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms Into the Silent Land!O Land! O Land! For all the broken-hearted The mildest herald by our fate allotted, Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand To lead us with a gentle hand To the land of the great Departed, Into the Silent Land!THE LUCK OF EDENHALLBY JOHAN LUDWIG UHLANDOF Edenhall, the youthful Lord Bids sound the festal trumpet's call; He rises at the banquet board, And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers all, "Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall!"The butler hears the words with pain, The house's oldest seneschal, Takes slow from its silken cloth again The drinking-glass of crystal tall; They call it The Luck of Edenhall.Then said the Lord: "This glass to praise, Fill with red wine from Portugal!" The graybeard with trembling hand obeys; A purple light shines over all, It beams from the Luck of Edenhall.Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light: "This glass of flashing crystal tall Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite; She wrote in it, If this glass doth fall, Farewell then, O Luck of Edenhall!"'T was right a goblet the Fate should be Of the joyous race of Edenhall! Deep draughts drink we right willingly: And willingly ring, with merry call, Kling! klang! to the Luck of Edenhall!"First rings it deep, and full, and mild, Like to the song of a nightingale Then like the roar of a torrent wild; Then mutters at last like the thunder's fall, The glorious Luck of Edenhall."For its keeper takes a race of might, The fragile goblet of crystal tall; It has lasted longer than is right; King! klang!—with a harder blow than all Will I try the Luck of Edenhall!"As the goblet ringing flies apart, Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall; And through the rift, the wild flames start; The guests in dust are scattered all, With the breaking Luck of Edenhall!In storms the foe, with fire and sword; He in the night had scaled the wall, Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord, But holds in his hand the crystal tall, The shattered Luck of Edenhall.On the morrow the butler gropes alone, The graybeard in the desert hall, He seeks his Lord's burnt skeleton, He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall The shards of the Luck of Edenhall."The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall aside, Down must the stately columns fall; Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride; In atoms shall fall this earthly ball One day like the Luck of Edenhall!"THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIRBY GUSTAV PFIZERA youth, light-hearted and content,I wander through the worldHere, Arab-like, is pitched my tentAnd straight again is furled.
Pentecost, day of rejoicing, had come. The church of the villageGleaming stood in the morning's sheen.On the spire of the bellDecked with a brazen cock, the friendly flames of the Spring-sunGlanced like the tongues of fire, beheld by Apostles aforetime.Clear was the heaven and blue, and May, with her cap crowned with roses,Stood in her holiday dress in the fields, and the wind and the brookletMurmured gladness and peace, God's-peace! with lips rosy-tintedWhispered the race of the flowers, and merry on balancing branchesBirds were singing their carol, a jubilant hymn to the Highest.Swept and clean was the churchyard. Adorned like a leaf-woven arborStood its old-fashioned gate; and within upon each cross of ironHung was a fragrant garland, new twined by the hands of affection.Even the dial, that stood on a mound among the departed,(There full a hundred years had it stood,) was embellished with blossomsLike to the patriarch hoary, the sage of his kith and the hamlet,Who on his birthday is crowned by children and children's children,So stood the ancient prophet, and mute with his pencil of ironMarked on the tablet of stone, and measured the time and its changes,While all around at his feet, an eternity slumbered in quiet.Also the church within was adorned, for this was the seasonWhen the young, their parents' hope, and the loved-ones of heaven,Should at the foot of the altar renew the vows of their baptism.Therefore each nook and corner was swept and cleaned, and the dust wasBlown from the walls and ceiling, and from the oil-painted benches.There stood the church like a garden; the Feast of the Leafy PavilionsSaw we in living presentment. From noble arms on the church wallGrew forth a cluster of leaves, and the preacher's pulpit of oak-woodBudded once more anew, as aforetime the rod before Aaron.Wreathed thereon was the Bible with leaves, and the dove, washed with silverUnder its canopy fastened, had on it a necklace of wind-flowers.But in front of the choir, round the altar-piece painted by Horberg,Crept a garland gigantic; and bright-curling tresses of angelsPeeped, like the sun from a cloud, from out of the shadowy leaf-work.Likewise the lustre of brass, new-polished, blinked from the ceiling,And for lights there were lilies of Pentecost set in the sockets.Loud rang the bells already; the thronging crowd was assembledFar from valleys and hills, to list to the holy preaching.Hark! then roll forth at once the mighty tones of the organ,Hover like voices from God, aloft like invisible spirits.Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast from off him his mantle,So cast off the soul its garments of earth; and with one voiceChimed in the congregation, and sang an anthem immortalOf the sublime Wallin, of David's harp in the North-landTuned to the choral of Luther; the song on its mighty pinionsTook every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven,And each face did shine like the Holy One's face upon Tabor.Lo! there entered then into the church the Reverend Teacher.Father he hight and he was in the parish; a Christianly plainnessClothed from his head to his feet the old man of seventy winters.Friendly was he to behold, and glad as the heralding angelWalked he among the crowds, but still a contemplative grandeurLay on his forehead as clear as on moss-covered gravestone a sunbeam.As in his inspiration (an evening twilight that faintlyGleams in the human soul, even now, from the day of creation)Th' Artist, the friend of heaven, imagines Saint John when in Patmos,Gray, with his eyes uplifted to heaven, so seemed then the old man:Such was the glance of his eye, and such were his tresses of silver.All the congregation arose in the pews that were numbered.But with a cordial look, to the right and the left hand, the old manNodding all hail and peace, disappeared in the innermost chancel.Simply and solemnly now proceeded the Christian service,Singing and prayer, and at last an ardent discourse from the old man.Many a moving word and warning, that out of the heart came,Fell like the dew of the morning, like manna on those in the desert.Then, when all was finished, the Teacher re-entered the chancelFollowed therein by the young. The boys on the right had their places,Delicate figures, with close-curling hair and cheeks rosy-blooming.But on the left of these there stood the tremulous lilies,Tinged with the blushing light of the dawn, the diffident maidens,—Folding their hands in prayer, and their eyes cast down on the pavementNow came, with question and answer, the catechism. In the beginningAnswered the children with troubled and faltering voice, but the old man'sGlances of kindness encouraged them soon, and the doctrines eternalFlowed, like the waters of fountains, so clear from lips unpolluted.Each time the answer was closed, and as oft as they named the Redeemer,Lowly louted the boys, and lowly the maidens all courtesied.Friendly the Teacher stood, like an angel of light there among them.And to the children explained the holy, the highest, in few words,Thorough, yet simple and clear, for sublimity always is simple,Both in sermon and song, a child can seize on its meaning.E'en as the green-growing bud unfolds when Springtide approaches.Leaf by leaf puts forth, and warmed, by the radiant sunshine,Blushes with purple and gold, till at last the perfected blossomOpens its odorous chalice, and rocks with its crown in the breezes,So was unfolded here the Christian lore of salvation,Line by line from the soul of childhood. The fathers and mothersStood behind them in tears, and were glad at the well-worded answer.Now went the old man up to the altar;—and straightway transfigured(So did it seem unto me) was then the affectionate Teacher.Like the Lord's Prophet sublime, and awful as Death and as JudgmentStood he, the God-commissioned, the soul-searcher, earthward descendingGlances, sharp as a sword, into hearts that to him were transparentShot he; his voice was deep, was low like the thunder afar off.So on a sudden transfigured he stood there, lie spake and he questioned."This is the faith of the Fathers, the faith the Apostles delivered,This is moreover the faith whereunto I baptized you, while still yeLay on your mothers' breasts, and nearer the portals of heaven,Slumbering received you then the Holy Church in its bosom;Wakened from sleep are ye now, and the light in its radiant splendorDownward rains from the heaven;—to-day on the threshold of childhoodKindly she frees you again, to examine and make your election,For she knows naught of compulsion, and only conviction desireth.This is the hour of your trial, the turning-point of existence,Seed for the coming days; without revocation departethNow from your lips the confession; Bethink ye, before ye make answer!Think not, O think not with guile to deceive the questioning Teacher.Sharp is his eye to-day, and a curse ever rests upon falsehood.Enter not with a lie on Life's journey; the multitude hears you,Brothers and sisters and parents, what dear upon earth is and holyStandeth before your sight as a witness; the Judge everlastingLooks from the sun down upon you, and angels in waiting beside himGrave your confession in letters of fire upon tablets eternal.Thus, then,—believe ye in God, in the Father who this world created?Him who redeemed it, the Son, and the Spirit where both are united?Will ye promise me here, (a holy promise!) to cherishGod more than all things earthly, and every man as a brother?Will ye promise me here, to confirm your faith by your living,Th' heavenly faith of affection! to hope, to forgive, and to suffer,Be what it may your condition, and walk before God in uprightness?Will ye promise me this before God and man?"—With a clear voiceAnswered the young men Yes! and Yes! with lips softly-breathingAnswered the maidens eke. Then dissolved from the brow of the TeacherClouds with the lightnings therein, and lie spake in accents more gentle,Soft as the evening's breath, as harps by Babylon's rivers."Hail, then, hail to you all! To the heirdom of heaven be ye welcome!Children no more from this day, but by covenant brothers and sisters!Yet,—for what reason not children? Of such is the kingdom of heaven.Here upon earth an assemblage of children, in heaven one Father,Ruling them all as his household,—forgiving in turn and chastising,That is of human life a picture, as Scripture has taught us.Blest are the pure before God! Upon purity and upon virtueResteth the Christian Faith: she herself from on high is descended.Strong as a man and pure as a child, is the sum of the doctrine,Which the Divine One taught, and suffered and died on the cross forOh, as ye wander this day from childhood's sacred asylumDownward and ever downward, and deeper in Age's chill valley,Oh, how soon will ye come,—too soon!—and long to turn backwardUp to its hill-tops again, to the sun-illumined, where JudgmentStood like a father before you, and Pardon, clad like a mother,Gave you her hand to kiss, and the loving heart was for givenLife was a play and your hands grasped after the roses of heaven!Seventy years have I lived already; the Father eternalGave rue gladness and care; but the loveliest hours of existence,When I have steadfastly gazed in their eyes, I have instantly known them,Known them all again;—the were my childhood's acquaintance.Therefore take from henceforth, as guides in the paths of existence,Prayer, with her eyes raised to heaven, and Innocence, bride of man's childhoodInnocence, child beloved, is a guest from the world of the blessed,Beautiful, and in her hand a lily; on life's roaring billowsSwings she in safety, she heedeth them not in the ship she is sleeping.Calmly she gazes around in the turmoil of men; in the desertAngels descend and minister unto her; she herself knowethNaught of her glorious attendance; but follows faithful and humble,Follows so long as she may her friend; oh do not reject her,For she cometh from God and she holdeth the keys of the heavens.Prayer is Innocence' friend; and willingly flieth incessant'Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven,Son of Eternity, fettered in Time, and an exile, the SpiritTugs at his chains evermore, and struggles like flame ever upward.Still he recalls with emotion his Father's manifold mansions,Thinks of the land of his fathers, where blossomed more freshly the flowerets,Shone a more beautiful sun, and he played with the winged angels.Then grows the earth too narrow, too close; and homesick for heavenLongs the wanderer again; and the Spirit's longings are worship;Worship is called his most beautiful hour, and its tongue is entreaty.Aid when the infinite burden of life descendeth upon us,Crushes to earth our hope, and, under the earth, in the graveyard,Then it is good to pray unto God; for his sorrowiug childrenTurns he ne'er from his door, but he heals and helps and consoles them,Yet is it better to pray when all things are prosperous with us,Pray in fortunate days, for life's most beautiful FortuneKneels before the Eternal's throne; and with hands interfolded,Praises thankful and moved the only giver of blessings.Or do ye know, ye children, one blessing that comes not from Heaven?What has mankind forsooth, the poor! that it has not received?Therefore, fall in the dust and pray! The seraphs adoringCover with pinions six their face in the glory of him whoHung his masonry pendent on naught, when the world be created.Earth declareth his might, and the firmament utters his glory.Races blossom and die, and stars fall downward from heaven,Downward like withered leaves; at the last stroke of midnight, millenniumsLay themselves down at his feet, and he sees them, but counts them as nothingWho shall stand in his presence? The wrath of the judge is terrific,Casting the insolent down at a glance. When he speaks in his angerHillocks skip like the kid, and mountains leap like the roebuck.Yet,—why are ye afraid, ye children? This awful avenger,Ah! is a merciful God! God's voice was not in the earthquake,Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the whispering breezes.Love is the root of creation; God's essence; worlds without numberLie in his bosom like children; he made them for this purpose only.Only to love and to be loved again, he breathed forth his spiritInto the slumbering dust, and upright standing, it laid itsHand on its heart, and felt it was warm with a flame out of heaven.Quench, oh quench not that flame! It is the breath of your being.Love is life, but hatred is death. Not father, nor motherLoved you, as God has loved you; for 't was that you may be happyGave he his only Son. When he bowed down his head in the death-hourSolemnized Love its triumph; the sacrifice then was completed.Lo! then was rent on a sudden the veil of the temple, dividingEarth and heaven apart, and the dead from their sepulchres risingWhispered with pallid lips and low in the ears of each otherTh' answer, but dreamed of before, to creation's enigma,—Atonement!Depths of Love are Atonement's depths, for Love is Atonement.Therefore, child of mortality, love thou the merciful Father;Wish what the Holy One wishes, and not from fear, but affectionFear is the virtue of slaves; but the heart that loveth is willingPerfect was before God, and perfect is Love, and Love only.Lovest thou God as thou oughtest, then lovest thou likewise thy brethren:One is the sun in heaven, and one, only one, is Love also.Bears not each human figure the godlike stamp on his foreheadReadest thou not in his face thou origin? Is he not sailingLost like thyself on an ocean unknown, and is he not guidedBy the same stars that guide thee? Why shouldst thou hate then thy brother?Hateth he thee, forgive! For 't is sweet to stammer one letterOf the Eternal's language;—on earth it is called Forgiveness!Knowest thou Him, who forgave, with the crown of thorns on his temples?Earnestly prayed for his foes, for his murderers? Say, dost thou know him?Ah! thou confessest his name, so follow likewise his example,Think of thy brother no ill, but throw a veil over his failings,Guide the erring aright; for the good, the heavenly shepherdTook the lost lamb in his arms, and bore it back to its mother.This is the fruit of Love, and it is by its fruits that we know it.Love is the creature's welfare, with God; but Love among mortalsIs but an endless sigh! He longs, and endures, and stands waiting,Suffers and yet rejoices, and smiles with tears on his eyelids.Hope,—so is called upon earth, his recompense, Hope, the befriending,Does what she can, for she points evermore up to heaven, and faithfulPlunges her anchor's peak in the depths of the grave, and beneath itPaints a more beautiful world, a dim, but a sweet play of shadows!Races, better than we, have leaned on her wavering promise,Having naught else but Hope. Then praise we our Father in heaven,Him, who has given us more; for to us has Hope been transfigured,Groping no longer in night; she is Faith, she is living assurance.Faith is enlightened Hope; she is light, is the eye of affection,Dreams of the longing interprets, and carves their visions in marble.Faith is the sun of life; and her countenance shines like the Hebrew's,For she has looked upon God; the heaven on its stable foundationDraws she with chains down to earth, and the New Jerusalem sinkethSplendid with portals twelve in golden vapors descending.There enraptured she wanders. and looks at the figures majestic,Fears not the winged crowd, in the midst of them all is her homestead.Therefore love and believe; for works will follow spontaneousEven as day does the sun; the Right from the Good is an offspring,Love in a bodily shape; and Christian works are no more thanAnimate Love and faith, as flowers are the animate Springtide.Works do follow us all unto God; there stand and bear witnessNot what they seemed,—but what they were only. Blessed is he whoHears their confession secure; they are mute upon earth until death's handOpens the mouth of the silent. Ye children, does Death e'er alarm you?Death is the brother of Love, twin-brother is he, and is onlyMore austere to behold. With a kiss upon lips that are fadingTakes he the soul and departs, and, rocked in the arms of affection,Places the ransomed child, new born, 'fore the face of its father.Sounds of his coming already I hear,—see dimly his pinions,Swart as the night, but with stars strewn upon them! I fear not before him.Death is only release, and in mercy is mute. On his bosomFreer breathes, in its coolness, my breast; and face to face standingLook I on God as he is, a sun unpolluted by vapors;Look on the light of the ages I loved, the spirits majestic,Nobler, better than I; they stand by the throne all transfigured,Vested in white, and with harps of gold, and are singing an anthem,Writ in the climate of heaven, in the language spoken by angels.You, in like manner, ye children beloved, he one day shall gather,Never forgets he the weary;—then welcome, ye loved ones, hereafter!Meanwhile forget not the keeping of vows, forget not the promise,Wander from holiness onward to holiness; earth shall ye heed notEarth is but dust and heaven is light; I have pledged you to heaven.God of the universe, hear me! thou fountain of Love everlasting,Hark to the voice of thy servant! I send up my prayer to thy heaven!Let me hereafter not miss at thy throne one spirit of all these,Whom thou hast given me here! I have loved them all like a father.May they bear witness for me, that I taught them the way of salvation,Faithful, so far as I knew, of thy word; again may they know me,Fall on their Teacher's breast, and before thy face may I place them,Pure as they now are, but only more tried, and exclaiming with gladness,Father, lo! I am here, and the children, whom thou hast given me!"Weeping he spake in these words; and now at the beck of the old manKnee against knee they knitted a wreath round the altar's enclosure.Kneeling he read then the prayers of the consecration, and softlyWith him the children read; at the close, with tremulous accents,Asked he the peace of Heaven, a benediction upon them.Now should have ended his task for the day; the following SundayWas for the young appointed to eat of the Lord's holy Supper.Sudden, as struck from the clouds, stood the Teacher silent and laid hisHand on his forehead, and cast his looks upward; while thoughts high and holy,Flew through the midst of his soul, and his eyes glanced with wonderful brightness."On the next Sunday, who knows! perhaps I shall rest in the graveyard!Some one perhaps of yourselves, a lily broken untimely,Bow down his head to the earth; why delay I? the hour is accomplished,Warm is the heart;—I will! for to-day grows the harvest of heaven.What I began accomplish I now; what failing therein isI, the old man, will answer to God and the reverend father.Say to me only, ye children, ye denizens new-come in heaven,Are ye ready this day to eat of the bread of Atonement?What it denoteth, that know ye full well, I have told it you often.Of the new covenant symbol it is, of Atonement a token,Stablished between earth and heaven. Man by his sins and transgressionsFar has wandered from God, from his essence. 'T was in the beginningFast by the Tree of Knowledge he fell, and it hangs its crown o'er theFall to this day; in the Thought is the Fall; in the Heart the Atonement.Infinite is the fall,—the Atonement infinite likewise.See! behind me, as far as the old man remembers, and forward,Far as Hope in her flight can reach with her wearied pinions,Sin and Atonement incessant go through the lifetime of mortals.Sin is brought forth full-grown; but Atonement sleeps in our bosomsStill as the cradled babe; and dreams of heaven and of angels,Cannot awake to sensation; is like the tones in the harp's strings,Spirits imprisoned, that wait evermore the deliverer's finger.Therefore, ye children beloved, descended the Prince of Atonement,Woke the slumberer from sleep, and she stands now with eyes all resplendent.Bright as the vault of the sky, and battles with Sin and o'ercomes her.Downward to earth he came and, transfigured, thence reascended,Not from the heart in like wise, for there he still lives in the Spirit,Loves and atones evermore. So long as Time is, is Atonement.Therefore with reverence take this day her visible token.Tokens are dead if the things live not. The light everlastingUnto the blind is not, but is born of the eye that has vision.Neither in bread nor in wine, but in the heart that is hallowedLieth forgiveness enshrined; the intention alone of amendmentFruits of the earth ennobles to heavenly things, and removes allSin and the guerdon of sin. Only Love with his arms wide extended,Penitence wee ping and praying; the Will that is tried, and whose gold flowsPurified forth from the flames; in a word, mankind by AtonementBreaketh Atonement's bread, and drinketh Atonement's wine-cup.But he who cometh up hither, unworthy, with hate in his bosom,Scoffing at men and at God, is guilty of Christ's blessed body,And the Redeemer's blood! To himself he eateth and drinkethDeath and doom! And from this, preserve us, thou heavenly Father!Are ye ready, ye children, to eat of the bread of Atonement?"Thus with emotion he asked, and together answered the children,"Yes!" with deep sobs interrupted. Then read he the due supplications,Read the Form of Communion, and in chimed the organ and anthem:"O Holy Lamb of God, who takest away our transgressions,Hear us! give us thy peace! have mercy, have mercy upon us!"Th' old man, with trembling hand, and heavenly pearls on his eyelids,Filled now the chalice and paten, and dealt round the mystical symbols.Oh, then seemed it to me as if God, with the broad eye of midday,Clearer looked in at the windows, and all the trees in the church yardBowed down their summits of green, and the grass on the graves 'gan to shiverBut in the children (I noted it well; I knew it) there ran aTremor of holy rapture along through their ice-cold members.Decked like an altar before them, there stood the green earth, and above itHeaven opened itself, as of old before Stephen; they saw thereRadiant in glory the Father, and on his right hand the Redeemer.Under them hear they the clang of harpstrings, and angels from gold cloudsBeckon to them like brothers, and fan with their pinions of purple.Closed was the Teacher's task, and with heaven in their hearts and their faces,Up rose the children all, and each bowed him, weeping full sorely,Downward to kiss that reverend hand, but all of them pressed heMoved to his bosom, and laid, with a prayer, his hands full of blessings,Now on the holy breast, and now on the innocent tresses.
A NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARK
King Christian stood by the lofty mastIn mist and smoke;His sword was hammering so fast,Through Gothic helm and brain it passed;Then sank each hostile hulk and mast,In mist and smoke."Fly!" shouted they, "fly, he who can!Who braves of Denmark's ChristianThe stroke?"
Nils Juel gave heed to the tempest's roar,Now is the hour!He hoisted his blood-red flag once more,And smote upon the foe full sore,And shouted Loud, through the tempest's roar,"Now is the hour!""Fly!" shouted they, "for shelter fly!Of Denmark's Juel who can defyThe power?"
North Sea! a glimpse of Wessel rentThy murky sky!Then champions to thine arms were sent;Terror and Death glared where he went;From the waves was heard a wail, thatrentThy murky sky!From Denmark, thunders Tordenskiol',Let each to Heaven commend his soul,And fly!
Path of the Dane to fame and might!Dark-rolling wave!Receive thy friend, who, scorning flightGoes to meet danger with despite,Proudly as thou the tempest's mightDark-rolling wave!And amid pleasures and alarm;And war and victory, be thine armsMy grave!
Sir Oluf he rideth over the plain,Full seven miles broad and seven miles wide,But never, ah never can meet with the manA tilt with him dare ride.
He saw under the hillsideA Knight full well equipped;His steed was black, his helm was barred;He was riding at full speed.
He wore upon his spursTwelve little golden birds;Anon he spurred his steed with a clang,And there sat all the birds and sang.
He wore upon his mailTwelve little golden wheels;Anon in eddies the wild wind blew,And round and round the wheels they flew.
He wore before his breastA lance that was poised in rest;And it was sharper than diamond-stone,It made Sir Oluf's heart to groan.
He wore upon his helmA wreath of ruddy gold;And that gave him the Maidens Three,The youngest was fair to behold.
Sir Oluf questioned the Knight eftsoonIf he were come from heaven down;"Art thou Christ of Heaven," quoth he,"So will I yield me unto thee."
"I am not Christ the Great,Thou shalt not yield thee yet;I am an Unknown Knight,Three modest Maidens have me bedight."
"Art thou a Knight elected,And have three Maidens thee bedightSo shalt thou ride a tilt this day,For all the Maidens' honor!"
The first tilt they together rodeThey put their steeds to the test,The second tilt they together rode,They proved their manhood best.
The third tilt they together rode,Neither of them would yield;The fourth tilt they together rode,They both fell on the field.
Now lie the lords upon the plain,And their blood runs unto death;Now sit the Maidens in the high tower,The youngest sorrows till death.
BY JENS IMMANUEL BAGGESEN
There was a time when I was very small,When my whole frame was but an ell in height;Sweetly, as I recall it, tears do fall,And therefore I recall it with delight.
I sported in my tender mother's arms,And rode a-horseback on best father's knee;Alike were sorrows, passions and alarms,And gold, and Greek, and love, unknown to me,
Then seemed to me this world far less in size,Likewise it seemed to me less wicked far;Like points in heaven, I saw the stars arise,And longed for wings that I might catch a star.
I saw the moon behind the island fade,And thought, "Oh, were I on that island there,I could find out of what the moon is made,Find out how large it is, how round, how fair!"
Wondering, I saw God's sun, through western skies,Sink in the ocean's golden lap at night,And yet upon the morrow early rise,And paint the eastern heaven with crimson light;
And thought of God, the gracious Heavenly Father,Who made me, and that lovely sun on high,And all those pearls of heaven thick-strung together,Dropped, clustering, from his hand o'er all the sky.
With childish reverence, my young lips did sayThe prayer my pious mother taught to me:"O gentle God! oh, let me strive alwayStill to be wise, and good, and follow Thee!"
So prayed I for my father and my mother,And for my sister, and for all the town;The king I knew not, and the beggar-brother,Who, bent with age, went, sighing, up and down.
They perished, the blithe days of boyhood perished,And all the gladness, all the peace I knew!Now have I but their memory, fondly cherished;—God! may I never lose that too!
There sat one day in quiet,By an alehouse on the Rhine,Four hale and hearty fellows,And drank the precious wine.
The landlord's daughter filled their cups,Around the rustic boardThen sat they all so calm and still,And spake not one rude word.
But, when the maid departed,A Swabian raised his hand,And cried, all hot and flushed with wine,"Long live the Swabian land!
"The greatest kingdom upon earthCannot with that compareWith all the stout and hardy menAnd the nut-brown maidens there.
"Ha!" cried a Saxon, laughing,And dashed his heard with wine;"I had rather live in Laplaud,Than that Swabian land of thine!
"The goodliest land on all this earth,It is the Saxon landThere have I as many maidensAs fingers on this hand!"
"Hold your tongues! both Swabianand Saxon!"A bold Bohemian cries;"If there's a heaven upon this earth,In Bohemia it lies.
"There the tailor blows the flute,And the cobbler blows the horn,And the miner blows the bugle,Over mountain gorge and bourn.". . . . . . . . . . . . . .And then the landlord's daughterUp to heaven raised her hand,And said, "Ye may no more contend,—There lies the happiest land!"
BY CHRISTOPH AUGUST TIEDGE
"Whither, thou turbid wave?Whither, with so much haste,As if a thief wert thou?""I am the Wave of Life,Stained with my margin's dust;From the struggle and the strifeOf the narrow stream I flyTo the Sea's immensity,To wash from me the slimeOf the muddy banks of Time."
BY ERNST STOCKMANN
How they so softly rest,All they the holy ones,Unto whose dwelling-placeNow doth my soul draw near!How they so softly rest,All in their silent graves,Deep to corruptionSlowly don-sinking!And they no longer weep,Here, where complaint is still!And they no longer feel,Here, where all gladness flies!And, by the cypressesSoftly o'ershadowedUntil the AngelCalls them, they slumber!
BY WILHELM MULLER
"The rivers rush into the sea,By castle and town they go;The winds behind them merrilyTheir noisy trumpets blow."The clouds are passing far and high,We little birds in them play;And everything, that can sing and fly,Goes with us, and far away."I greet thee, bonny boat! Whither,or whence,With thy fluttering golden band?"—"I greet thee, little bird! To the wide seaI haste from the narrow land."Full and swollen is every sail;I see no longer a hill,I have trusted all to the sounding gale,And it will not let me stand still."And wilt thou, little bird, go with us?Thou mayest stand on the mainmast tall,For full to sinking is my houseWith merry companions all."—"I need not and seek not company,Bonny boat, I can sing all alone;For the mainmast tall too heavy am I,Bonny boat, I have wings of my own.
"High over the sails, high over the mast,Who shall gainsay these joys?When thy merry companions are still, at last,Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice."Who neither may rest, nor listen may,God bless them every one!I dart away, in the bright blue day,And the golden fields of the sun.
"Thus do I sing my merry song,Wherever the four winds blow;And this same song, my whole life long,Neither Poet nor Printer may know.'
BY WILHELM MULLER
I heard a brooklet gushingFrom its rocky fountain near,Down into the valley rushing,So fresh and wondrous clear.I know not what came o'er me,Nor who the counsel gave;But I must hasten downward,All with my pilgrim-stave;
Downward, and ever farther,And ever the brook beside;And ever fresher murmured,And ever clearer, the tide.
Is this the way I was going?Whither, O brooklet, say IThou hast, with thy soft murmur,Murmured my senses away.
What do I say of a murmur?That can no murmur be;'T is the water-nymphs, that are singingTheir roundelays under me.
Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur,And wander merrily near;The wheels of a mill are goingIn every brooklet clear.
(HUT DU DICH!)
I know a maiden fair to see,Take care!She can both false and friendly be,Beware! Beware!Trust her not,She is fooling thee!
She has two eyes, so soft and brown,Take care!She gives a side-glance and looks down,Beware! Beware!Trust her not,She is fooling thee!
And she has hair of a golden hue,Take care!And what she says, it is not true,Beware! Beware!Trust her not,She is fooling thee!
She has a bosom as white as snow,Take care!She knows how much it is best to show,Beware! Beware!Trust her not,She is fooling thee!
She gives thee a garland woven fair,Take care!It is a fool's-cap for thee to wear,Beware! Beware!Trust her not,She is fooling thee!
Bell! thou soundest merrily,When the bridal partyTo the church doth hie!Bell! thou soundest solemnly.When, on Sabbath morning,Fields deserted lie!
Bell! thou soundest merrily;Tellest thou at evening,Bed-time draweth nigh!Bell! thou soundest mournfully.Tellest thou the bitterParting hath gone by!
Say! how canst thou mourn?How canst thou rejoice?Thou art but metal dull!And yet all our sorrowings,And all our rejoicings,Thou dost feel them all!
God hath wonders many,Which we cannot fathom,Placed within thy form!When the heart is sinking,Thou alone canst raise it,Trembling in the storm!
BY JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND
"Hast thou seen that lordly castle,That Castle by the Sea?Golden and red above itThe clouds float gorgeously."And fain it would stoop downwardTo the mirrored wave below;And fain it would soar upwardIn the evening's crimson glow.""Well have I seen that castle,That Castle by the Sea,And the moon above it standing,And the mist rise solemnly.""The winds and the waves of ocean,Had they a merry chime?Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers,The harp and the minstrel's rhyme?""The winds and the waves of ocean,They rested quietly,But I heard on the gale a sound of wail,And tears came to mine eye.""And sawest thou on the turretsThe King and his royal bride?And the wave of their crimson mantles?And the golden crown of pride?"Led they not forth, in rapture,A beauteous maiden there?Resplendent as the morning sun,Beaming with golden hair?""Well saw I the ancient parents,Without the crown of pride;They were moving slow, in weeds of woe,No maiden was by their side!"
BY JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND
'T was Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness,When woods and fields put off all sadness.Thus began the King and spake:"So from the hallsOf ancient hofburg's walls,A luxuriant Spring shall break."
Drums and trumpets echo loudly,Wave the crimson banners proudly,From balcony the King looked on;In the play of spears,Fell all the cavaliers,Before the monarch's stalwart son.
To the barrier of the fightRode at last a sable Knight."Sir Knight! your name and scutcheon, say!""Should I speak it here,Ye would stand aghast with fear;I am a Prince of mighty sway!"
When he rode into the lists,The arch of heaven grew black with mists,And the castle 'gan to rock;At the first blow,Fell the youth from saddle-bow,Hardly rises from the shock.
Pipe and viol call the dances,Torch-light through the high halls glances;Waves a mighty shadow in;With manner blandDoth ask the maiden's hand,Doth with her the dance begin.
Danced in sable iron sark,Danced a measure weird and dark,Coldly clasped her limbs around;From breast and hairDown fall from her the fairFlowerets, faded, to the ground.
To the sumptuous banquet cameEvery Knight and every Dame,'Twixt son and daughter all distraught,With mournful mindThe ancient King reclined,Gazed at them in silent thought.
Pale the children both did look,But the guest a beaker took:"Golden wine will make you whole!"The children drank,Gave many a courteous thank:"O, that draught was very cool!"
Each the father's breast embraces,Son and daughter; and their facesColorless grow utterly;Whichever wayLooks the fear-struck father gray,He beholds his children die.
"Woe! the blessed children bothTakest thou in the joy of youth;Take me, too, the joyless father!"Spake the grim Guest,From his hollow, cavernous breast;"Roses in the spring I gather!"
BY JOHAN GAUDENZ VON SALISSEEWIS
Into the Silent Land! Ah! who shall lead us thither? Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. Who leads us with a gentle hand Thither, O thither, Into the Silent Land?
Into the Silent Land! To you, ye boundless regions Of all perfection! Tender morning-visions Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and band! Who in Life's battle firm doth stand, Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms Into the Silent Land!
O Land! O Land! For all the broken-hearted The mildest herald by our fate allotted, Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand To lead us with a gentle hand To the land of the great Departed, Into the Silent Land!
BY JOHAN LUDWIG UHLAND
OF Edenhall, the youthful Lord Bids sound the festal trumpet's call; He rises at the banquet board, And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers all, "Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall!"
The butler hears the words with pain, The house's oldest seneschal, Takes slow from its silken cloth again The drinking-glass of crystal tall; They call it The Luck of Edenhall.
Then said the Lord: "This glass to praise, Fill with red wine from Portugal!" The graybeard with trembling hand obeys; A purple light shines over all, It beams from the Luck of Edenhall.
Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light: "This glass of flashing crystal tall Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite; She wrote in it, If this glass doth fall, Farewell then, O Luck of Edenhall!
"'T was right a goblet the Fate should be Of the joyous race of Edenhall! Deep draughts drink we right willingly: And willingly ring, with merry call, Kling! klang! to the Luck of Edenhall!"
First rings it deep, and full, and mild, Like to the song of a nightingale Then like the roar of a torrent wild; Then mutters at last like the thunder's fall, The glorious Luck of Edenhall.
"For its keeper takes a race of might, The fragile goblet of crystal tall; It has lasted longer than is right; King! klang!—with a harder blow than all Will I try the Luck of Edenhall!"
As the goblet ringing flies apart, Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall; And through the rift, the wild flames start; The guests in dust are scattered all, With the breaking Luck of Edenhall!
In storms the foe, with fire and sword; He in the night had scaled the wall, Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord, But holds in his hand the crystal tall, The shattered Luck of Edenhall.
On the morrow the butler gropes alone, The graybeard in the desert hall, He seeks his Lord's burnt skeleton, He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall The shards of the Luck of Edenhall.
"The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall aside, Down must the stately columns fall; Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride; In atoms shall fall this earthly ball One day like the Luck of Edenhall!"
BY GUSTAV PFIZER
A youth, light-hearted and content,I wander through the worldHere, Arab-like, is pitched my tentAnd straight again is furled.