APPENDIXSONGS OF PRINCE FREE-AS-A-BIRD
TO GOETHE.[15]
"The Undecaying"Is but thy label,God the betrayingIs poets' fable.Our aims all are thwartedBy the World-wheel's blind roll:"Doom," says the downhearted,"Sport," says the fool.The World-sport, all-ruling,Mingles false with true:The Eternally FoolingMakes us play, too!
"The Undecaying"Is but thy label,God the betrayingIs poets' fable.Our aims all are thwartedBy the World-wheel's blind roll:"Doom," says the downhearted,"Sport," says the fool.The World-sport, all-ruling,Mingles false with true:The Eternally FoolingMakes us play, too!
"The Undecaying"Is but thy label,God the betrayingIs poets' fable.
"The Undecaying"
Is but thy label,
God the betraying
Is poets' fable.
Our aims all are thwartedBy the World-wheel's blind roll:"Doom," says the downhearted,"Sport," says the fool.
Our aims all are thwarted
By the World-wheel's blind roll:
"Doom," says the downhearted,
"Sport," says the fool.
The World-sport, all-ruling,Mingles false with true:The Eternally FoolingMakes us play, too!
The World-sport, all-ruling,
Mingles false with true:
The Eternally Fooling
Makes us play, too!
THE POET'S CALL.
As 'neath a shady tree I satAfter long toil to take my pleasure,I heard a tapping "pit-a-pat"Beat prettily in rhythmic measure.Tho' first I scowled, my face set hard,The sound at length my sense entrappingForced me to speak like any bard,And keep true time unto the tapping.As I made verses, never stopping,Each syllable the bird went after,Keeping in time with dainty hopping!I burst into unmeasured laughter!What, you a poet? You a poet?Can your brains truly so addled be?"Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.What doth me to these woods entice?The chance to give some thief a trouncing?A saw, an image? Ha, in a triceMy rhyme is on it, swiftly pouncing!All things that creep or crawl the poetWeaves in his word-loom cunningly."Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.Like to an arrow, methinks, a verse is,See how it quivers, pricks and smartsWhen shot full straight (no tender mercies!)Into the reptile's nobler parts!Wretches, you die at the hand of the poet,Or stagger like men that have drunk too free."Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.So they go hurrying, stanzas malign,Drunken words—what a clattering, banging!—Till the whole company, line on line,All on the rhythmic chain are hanging.Has he really a cruel heart, your poet?Are there fiends who rejoice, the slaughter to see?"Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.So you jest at me, bird, with your scornful graces?So sore indeed is the plight of my head?And my heart, you say, in yet sorrier case is?Beware! for my wrath is a thing to dread!Yet e'en in the hour of his wrath the poetRhymes you and sings with the selfsame glee."Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.
As 'neath a shady tree I satAfter long toil to take my pleasure,I heard a tapping "pit-a-pat"Beat prettily in rhythmic measure.Tho' first I scowled, my face set hard,The sound at length my sense entrappingForced me to speak like any bard,And keep true time unto the tapping.As I made verses, never stopping,Each syllable the bird went after,Keeping in time with dainty hopping!I burst into unmeasured laughter!What, you a poet? You a poet?Can your brains truly so addled be?"Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.What doth me to these woods entice?The chance to give some thief a trouncing?A saw, an image? Ha, in a triceMy rhyme is on it, swiftly pouncing!All things that creep or crawl the poetWeaves in his word-loom cunningly."Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.Like to an arrow, methinks, a verse is,See how it quivers, pricks and smartsWhen shot full straight (no tender mercies!)Into the reptile's nobler parts!Wretches, you die at the hand of the poet,Or stagger like men that have drunk too free."Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.So they go hurrying, stanzas malign,Drunken words—what a clattering, banging!—Till the whole company, line on line,All on the rhythmic chain are hanging.Has he really a cruel heart, your poet?Are there fiends who rejoice, the slaughter to see?"Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.So you jest at me, bird, with your scornful graces?So sore indeed is the plight of my head?And my heart, you say, in yet sorrier case is?Beware! for my wrath is a thing to dread!Yet e'en in the hour of his wrath the poetRhymes you and sings with the selfsame glee."Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.
As 'neath a shady tree I satAfter long toil to take my pleasure,I heard a tapping "pit-a-pat"Beat prettily in rhythmic measure.Tho' first I scowled, my face set hard,The sound at length my sense entrappingForced me to speak like any bard,And keep true time unto the tapping.
As 'neath a shady tree I sat
After long toil to take my pleasure,
I heard a tapping "pit-a-pat"
Beat prettily in rhythmic measure.
Tho' first I scowled, my face set hard,
The sound at length my sense entrapping
Forced me to speak like any bard,
And keep true time unto the tapping.
As I made verses, never stopping,Each syllable the bird went after,Keeping in time with dainty hopping!I burst into unmeasured laughter!What, you a poet? You a poet?Can your brains truly so addled be?"Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.
As I made verses, never stopping,
Each syllable the bird went after,
Keeping in time with dainty hopping!
I burst into unmeasured laughter!
What, you a poet? You a poet?
Can your brains truly so addled be?
"Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"
Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.
What doth me to these woods entice?The chance to give some thief a trouncing?A saw, an image? Ha, in a triceMy rhyme is on it, swiftly pouncing!All things that creep or crawl the poetWeaves in his word-loom cunningly."Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.
What doth me to these woods entice?
The chance to give some thief a trouncing?
A saw, an image? Ha, in a trice
My rhyme is on it, swiftly pouncing!
All things that creep or crawl the poet
Weaves in his word-loom cunningly.
"Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"
Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.
Like to an arrow, methinks, a verse is,See how it quivers, pricks and smartsWhen shot full straight (no tender mercies!)Into the reptile's nobler parts!Wretches, you die at the hand of the poet,Or stagger like men that have drunk too free."Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.
Like to an arrow, methinks, a verse is,
See how it quivers, pricks and smarts
When shot full straight (no tender mercies!)
Into the reptile's nobler parts!
Wretches, you die at the hand of the poet,
Or stagger like men that have drunk too free.
"Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"
Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.
So they go hurrying, stanzas malign,Drunken words—what a clattering, banging!—Till the whole company, line on line,All on the rhythmic chain are hanging.Has he really a cruel heart, your poet?Are there fiends who rejoice, the slaughter to see?"Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.
So they go hurrying, stanzas malign,
Drunken words—what a clattering, banging!—
Till the whole company, line on line,
All on the rhythmic chain are hanging.
Has he really a cruel heart, your poet?
Are there fiends who rejoice, the slaughter to see?
"Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"
Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.
So you jest at me, bird, with your scornful graces?So sore indeed is the plight of my head?And my heart, you say, in yet sorrier case is?Beware! for my wrath is a thing to dread!Yet e'en in the hour of his wrath the poetRhymes you and sings with the selfsame glee."Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.
So you jest at me, bird, with your scornful graces?
So sore indeed is the plight of my head?
And my heart, you say, in yet sorrier case is?
Beware! for my wrath is a thing to dread!
Yet e'en in the hour of his wrath the poet
Rhymes you and sings with the selfsame glee.
"Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"
Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.
I swing on a bough, and restMy tired limbs in a nest,In the rocking home of a bird,Wherein I perch as his guest,In the South!I gaze on the ocean asleep,On the purple sail of a boat;On the harbour and tower steep,On the rocks that stand out of the deep,In the South!For I could no longer stay,To crawl in slow German way;So I called to the birds, bade the windLift me up and bear me awayTo the South!No reasons for me, if you please;Their end is too dull and too plain;But a pair of wings and a breeze,With courage and health and ease,And games that chase diseaseFrom the South!Wise thoughts can move without sound,But I've songs that I can't sing alone;So birdies, pray gather around,And listen to what I have foundIn the South!* * *"You are merry lovers and false and gay,In frolics and sport you pass the day;Whilst in the North, I shudder to say,I worshipped a woman, hideous and gray,Her name was Truth, so I heard them say,But I left her there and I flew awayTo the South!"
I swing on a bough, and restMy tired limbs in a nest,In the rocking home of a bird,Wherein I perch as his guest,In the South!I gaze on the ocean asleep,On the purple sail of a boat;On the harbour and tower steep,On the rocks that stand out of the deep,In the South!For I could no longer stay,To crawl in slow German way;So I called to the birds, bade the windLift me up and bear me awayTo the South!No reasons for me, if you please;Their end is too dull and too plain;But a pair of wings and a breeze,With courage and health and ease,And games that chase diseaseFrom the South!Wise thoughts can move without sound,But I've songs that I can't sing alone;So birdies, pray gather around,And listen to what I have foundIn the South!* * *"You are merry lovers and false and gay,In frolics and sport you pass the day;Whilst in the North, I shudder to say,I worshipped a woman, hideous and gray,Her name was Truth, so I heard them say,But I left her there and I flew awayTo the South!"
I swing on a bough, and restMy tired limbs in a nest,In the rocking home of a bird,Wherein I perch as his guest,In the South!
I swing on a bough, and rest
My tired limbs in a nest,
In the rocking home of a bird,
Wherein I perch as his guest,
In the South!
I gaze on the ocean asleep,On the purple sail of a boat;On the harbour and tower steep,On the rocks that stand out of the deep,In the South!
I gaze on the ocean asleep,
On the purple sail of a boat;
On the harbour and tower steep,
On the rocks that stand out of the deep,
In the South!
For I could no longer stay,To crawl in slow German way;So I called to the birds, bade the windLift me up and bear me awayTo the South!
For I could no longer stay,
To crawl in slow German way;
So I called to the birds, bade the wind
Lift me up and bear me away
To the South!
No reasons for me, if you please;Their end is too dull and too plain;But a pair of wings and a breeze,With courage and health and ease,And games that chase diseaseFrom the South!
No reasons for me, if you please;
Their end is too dull and too plain;
But a pair of wings and a breeze,
With courage and health and ease,
And games that chase disease
From the South!
Wise thoughts can move without sound,But I've songs that I can't sing alone;So birdies, pray gather around,And listen to what I have foundIn the South!
Wise thoughts can move without sound,
But I've songs that I can't sing alone;
So birdies, pray gather around,
And listen to what I have found
In the South!
* * *
* * *
"You are merry lovers and false and gay,In frolics and sport you pass the day;Whilst in the North, I shudder to say,I worshipped a woman, hideous and gray,Her name was Truth, so I heard them say,But I left her there and I flew awayTo the South!"
"You are merry lovers and false and gay,
In frolics and sport you pass the day;
Whilst in the North, I shudder to say,
I worshipped a woman, hideous and gray,
Her name was Truth, so I heard them say,
But I left her there and I flew away
To the South!"
BEPPA THE PIOUS.
While beauty in my face is,Be piety my care,For God, you know, loves lasses,And, more than all, the fair.And if yon hapless monklingIs fain with me to live,Like many another monkling,God surely will forgive.No grey old priestly devil,But, young, with cheeks aflame—Who e'en when sick with revel,Can jealous be and blame.To greybeards I'm a stranger,And he, too, hates the old:Of God, the world-arranger,The wisdom here behold!The Church has ken of living,And tests by heart and face.To me she'll be forgiving!Who will not show me grace?I lisp with pretty halting,I curtsey, bid "good day,"And with the fresh defaultingI wash the old away!Praise be this man-God's guerdon,Who loves all maidens fair,And his own heart can pardonThe sin he planted there.While beauty in my face is,With piety I'll stand,When age has killed my graces,Let Satan claim my hand!
While beauty in my face is,Be piety my care,For God, you know, loves lasses,And, more than all, the fair.And if yon hapless monklingIs fain with me to live,Like many another monkling,God surely will forgive.No grey old priestly devil,But, young, with cheeks aflame—Who e'en when sick with revel,Can jealous be and blame.To greybeards I'm a stranger,And he, too, hates the old:Of God, the world-arranger,The wisdom here behold!The Church has ken of living,And tests by heart and face.To me she'll be forgiving!Who will not show me grace?I lisp with pretty halting,I curtsey, bid "good day,"And with the fresh defaultingI wash the old away!Praise be this man-God's guerdon,Who loves all maidens fair,And his own heart can pardonThe sin he planted there.While beauty in my face is,With piety I'll stand,When age has killed my graces,Let Satan claim my hand!
While beauty in my face is,Be piety my care,For God, you know, loves lasses,And, more than all, the fair.And if yon hapless monklingIs fain with me to live,Like many another monkling,God surely will forgive.
While beauty in my face is,
Be piety my care,
For God, you know, loves lasses,
And, more than all, the fair.
And if yon hapless monkling
Is fain with me to live,
Like many another monkling,
God surely will forgive.
No grey old priestly devil,But, young, with cheeks aflame—Who e'en when sick with revel,Can jealous be and blame.To greybeards I'm a stranger,And he, too, hates the old:Of God, the world-arranger,The wisdom here behold!
No grey old priestly devil,
But, young, with cheeks aflame—
Who e'en when sick with revel,
Can jealous be and blame.
To greybeards I'm a stranger,
And he, too, hates the old:
Of God, the world-arranger,
The wisdom here behold!
The Church has ken of living,And tests by heart and face.To me she'll be forgiving!Who will not show me grace?I lisp with pretty halting,I curtsey, bid "good day,"And with the fresh defaultingI wash the old away!
The Church has ken of living,
And tests by heart and face.
To me she'll be forgiving!
Who will not show me grace?
I lisp with pretty halting,
I curtsey, bid "good day,"
And with the fresh defaulting
I wash the old away!
Praise be this man-God's guerdon,Who loves all maidens fair,And his own heart can pardonThe sin he planted there.While beauty in my face is,With piety I'll stand,When age has killed my graces,Let Satan claim my hand!
Praise be this man-God's guerdon,
Who loves all maidens fair,
And his own heart can pardon
The sin he planted there.
While beauty in my face is,
With piety I'll stand,
When age has killed my graces,
Let Satan claim my hand!
Yester-eve, when all things slept—Scarce a breeze to stir the lane—I a restless vigil kept,Nor from pillows sleep could gain,Nor from poppies nor—most sureOf opiates—a conscience pure.Thoughts of rest I 'gan forswear,Rose and walked along the strand,Found, in warm and moonlit air,Man and boat upon the sand,Drowsy both, and drowsilyDid the boat put out to sea.Passed an hour or two perchance,Or a year? then thought and senseVanished in the engulfing tranceOf a vast Indifference.Fathomless, abysses dreadOpened—then the vision fled.Morning came: becalmed, the boatRested on the purple flood:"What had happened?" every throatShrieked the question: "was there—Blood?"Naught had happened! On the swellWe had slumbered, oh, so well!
Yester-eve, when all things slept—Scarce a breeze to stir the lane—I a restless vigil kept,Nor from pillows sleep could gain,Nor from poppies nor—most sureOf opiates—a conscience pure.Thoughts of rest I 'gan forswear,Rose and walked along the strand,Found, in warm and moonlit air,Man and boat upon the sand,Drowsy both, and drowsilyDid the boat put out to sea.Passed an hour or two perchance,Or a year? then thought and senseVanished in the engulfing tranceOf a vast Indifference.Fathomless, abysses dreadOpened—then the vision fled.Morning came: becalmed, the boatRested on the purple flood:"What had happened?" every throatShrieked the question: "was there—Blood?"Naught had happened! On the swellWe had slumbered, oh, so well!
Yester-eve, when all things slept—Scarce a breeze to stir the lane—I a restless vigil kept,Nor from pillows sleep could gain,Nor from poppies nor—most sureOf opiates—a conscience pure.
Yester-eve, when all things slept—
Scarce a breeze to stir the lane—
I a restless vigil kept,
Nor from pillows sleep could gain,
Nor from poppies nor—most sure
Of opiates—a conscience pure.
Thoughts of rest I 'gan forswear,Rose and walked along the strand,Found, in warm and moonlit air,Man and boat upon the sand,Drowsy both, and drowsilyDid the boat put out to sea.
Thoughts of rest I 'gan forswear,
Rose and walked along the strand,
Found, in warm and moonlit air,
Man and boat upon the sand,
Drowsy both, and drowsily
Did the boat put out to sea.
Passed an hour or two perchance,Or a year? then thought and senseVanished in the engulfing tranceOf a vast Indifference.Fathomless, abysses dreadOpened—then the vision fled.
Passed an hour or two perchance,
Or a year? then thought and sense
Vanished in the engulfing trance
Of a vast Indifference.
Fathomless, abysses dread
Opened—then the vision fled.
Morning came: becalmed, the boatRested on the purple flood:"What had happened?" every throatShrieked the question: "was there—Blood?"Naught had happened! On the swellWe had slumbered, oh, so well!
Morning came: becalmed, the boat
Rested on the purple flood:
"What had happened?" every throat
Shrieked the question: "was there—Blood?"
Naught had happened! On the swell
We had slumbered, oh, so well!
AN AVOWAL OF LOVE(during which, however, the poet fell into a pit).
Oh marvel! there he fliesCleaving the sky with wings unmoved—what forceImpels him, bids him rise,What curb restrains him? Where's his goal, his course?Like stars and time eterneHe liveth now in heights that life forswore,Nor envy's self doth spurn:A lofty flight were't, e'en to see him soar!Oh albatross, great bird,Speeding me upward ever through the blue!I thought of her, was stirredTo tears unending—yea, I love her true!
Oh marvel! there he fliesCleaving the sky with wings unmoved—what forceImpels him, bids him rise,What curb restrains him? Where's his goal, his course?Like stars and time eterneHe liveth now in heights that life forswore,Nor envy's self doth spurn:A lofty flight were't, e'en to see him soar!Oh albatross, great bird,Speeding me upward ever through the blue!I thought of her, was stirredTo tears unending—yea, I love her true!
Oh marvel! there he fliesCleaving the sky with wings unmoved—what forceImpels him, bids him rise,What curb restrains him? Where's his goal, his course?
Oh marvel! there he flies
Cleaving the sky with wings unmoved—what force
Impels him, bids him rise,
What curb restrains him? Where's his goal, his course?
Like stars and time eterneHe liveth now in heights that life forswore,Nor envy's self doth spurn:A lofty flight were't, e'en to see him soar!
Like stars and time eterne
He liveth now in heights that life forswore,
Nor envy's self doth spurn:
A lofty flight were't, e'en to see him soar!
Oh albatross, great bird,Speeding me upward ever through the blue!I thought of her, was stirredTo tears unending—yea, I love her true!
Oh albatross, great bird,
Speeding me upward ever through the blue!
I thought of her, was stirred
To tears unending—yea, I love her true!
Here I lie, my bowels sore,Hosts of bugs advancing,Yonder lights and romp and roar!What's that sound? They're dancing!At this instant, so she prated,Stealthily she'd meet me:Like a faithful dog I've waited,Not a sign to greet me!She promised, made the cross-sign, too,Could her vows be hollow?Or runs she after all that woo,Like the goats I follow?Whence your silken gown, my maid?Ah, you'd fain be haughty,Yet perchance you've proved a jadeWith some satyr naughty!Waiting long, the lovelorn wightIs filled with rage and poison:Even so on sultry nightToadstools grow in foison.Pinching sore, in devil's mood,Love doth plague my crupper:Truly I can eat no food:Farewell, onion-supper!Seaward sinks the moon away,The stars are wan, and flare not:Dawn approaches, gloomy, grey,Let Death come! I care not!
Here I lie, my bowels sore,Hosts of bugs advancing,Yonder lights and romp and roar!What's that sound? They're dancing!At this instant, so she prated,Stealthily she'd meet me:Like a faithful dog I've waited,Not a sign to greet me!She promised, made the cross-sign, too,Could her vows be hollow?Or runs she after all that woo,Like the goats I follow?Whence your silken gown, my maid?Ah, you'd fain be haughty,Yet perchance you've proved a jadeWith some satyr naughty!Waiting long, the lovelorn wightIs filled with rage and poison:Even so on sultry nightToadstools grow in foison.Pinching sore, in devil's mood,Love doth plague my crupper:Truly I can eat no food:Farewell, onion-supper!Seaward sinks the moon away,The stars are wan, and flare not:Dawn approaches, gloomy, grey,Let Death come! I care not!
Here I lie, my bowels sore,Hosts of bugs advancing,Yonder lights and romp and roar!What's that sound? They're dancing!
Here I lie, my bowels sore,
Hosts of bugs advancing,
Yonder lights and romp and roar!
What's that sound? They're dancing!
At this instant, so she prated,Stealthily she'd meet me:Like a faithful dog I've waited,Not a sign to greet me!
At this instant, so she prated,
Stealthily she'd meet me:
Like a faithful dog I've waited,
Not a sign to greet me!
She promised, made the cross-sign, too,Could her vows be hollow?Or runs she after all that woo,Like the goats I follow?
She promised, made the cross-sign, too,
Could her vows be hollow?
Or runs she after all that woo,
Like the goats I follow?
Whence your silken gown, my maid?Ah, you'd fain be haughty,Yet perchance you've proved a jadeWith some satyr naughty!
Whence your silken gown, my maid?
Ah, you'd fain be haughty,
Yet perchance you've proved a jade
With some satyr naughty!
Waiting long, the lovelorn wightIs filled with rage and poison:Even so on sultry nightToadstools grow in foison.
Waiting long, the lovelorn wight
Is filled with rage and poison:
Even so on sultry night
Toadstools grow in foison.
Pinching sore, in devil's mood,Love doth plague my crupper:Truly I can eat no food:Farewell, onion-supper!
Pinching sore, in devil's mood,
Love doth plague my crupper:
Truly I can eat no food:
Farewell, onion-supper!
Seaward sinks the moon away,The stars are wan, and flare not:Dawn approaches, gloomy, grey,Let Death come! I care not!
Seaward sinks the moon away,
The stars are wan, and flare not:
Dawn approaches, gloomy, grey,
Let Death come! I care not!
Souls that lack determinationRouse my wrath to white-hot flame!All their glory's but vexation,All their praise but self-contempt and shame!Since I baffle their advances,Will not clutch their leading-string,They would wither me with glancesBitter-sweet, with hopeless envy sting.Let them with fell curses shiver,Curl their lip the livelong day!Seek me as they will, foreverHelplessly their eyes shall go astray!
Souls that lack determinationRouse my wrath to white-hot flame!All their glory's but vexation,All their praise but self-contempt and shame!Since I baffle their advances,Will not clutch their leading-string,They would wither me with glancesBitter-sweet, with hopeless envy sting.Let them with fell curses shiver,Curl their lip the livelong day!Seek me as they will, foreverHelplessly their eyes shall go astray!
Souls that lack determinationRouse my wrath to white-hot flame!All their glory's but vexation,All their praise but self-contempt and shame!
Souls that lack determination
Rouse my wrath to white-hot flame!
All their glory's but vexation,
All their praise but self-contempt and shame!
Since I baffle their advances,Will not clutch their leading-string,They would wither me with glancesBitter-sweet, with hopeless envy sting.
Since I baffle their advances,
Will not clutch their leading-string,
They would wither me with glances
Bitter-sweet, with hopeless envy sting.
Let them with fell curses shiver,Curl their lip the livelong day!Seek me as they will, foreverHelplessly their eyes shall go astray!
Let them with fell curses shiver,
Curl their lip the livelong day!
Seek me as they will, forever
Helplessly their eyes shall go astray!