So at length the children released her; but scarcely could HermannTear her from their embraces and distant-signalling kerchiefs.——-VIII. MELPOMENE.
So tow'rd the sun, now fast sinking to rest, the two walk'd together,Whilst he veil'd himself deep in clouds which thunder portended.Out-of his veil now here, now there, with fiery glancesBeaming over the plain with rays foreboding and lurid."May this threatening weather," said Hermann, "not bring to us shortlyHail and violent rain, for well does the harvest now promise."And they both rejoiced in the corn so lofty and waving,Well nigh reaching the heads of the two tall figures that walk'd there.Then the maiden spoke to her friendly leader as follows"Generous youth, to whom I shall owe a kind destiny shortly,Shelter and home, when so many poor exiles must weather the tempest,In the first place tell me all about your good parents,Whom I intend to serve with all my soul from hence-forward;Knowing one's master, 'tis easier far to give satisfaction,By rememb'ring the things which he deems of the highest importance,And on which he has set his heart with the greatest decision.Tell me, then, how best I can win your father and mother."
Then the good and sensible youth made answer as follows"You are indeed quite right, my kind and excellent maiden,To begin by asking about the tastes of my parents!For I have hitherto striven in vain to satisfy Father,When I look'd after the inn, as well as my regular duty,Working early and late in the field, and tending the vineyard.Mother indeed was contented; she knew how to value my efforts;And she will certainly hold you to be an excellent maiden,If you take care of the house, as though the dwelling your own were.But my father's unlike her; he's fond of outward appearance.Gentle maiden, deem me not cold and void of all feeling,If I disclose my father's nature to you, who're a stranger.Yes, such words have never before escaped, I assure vonOut of my mouth, which is little accustom'd to babble and chatter;But you have managed to worm all my secrets from out of my bosom.Well, my worthy father the graces of life holds in honour,Wishes for outward signs of love, as well as of rev'rence,And would doubtless be satisfied with an inferior servantWho understood this fancy, and hate a better, who did not."
Cheerfully she replied, with gentle movement increasingThrough the darkening path the speed at which she was walking:I in truth shall hope to satisfy both of your parents,For your mother's character my own nature resembles,And to external graces have I from my youth been accustom'd.Our old neighbours, the French, in their earlier days laid much stress onCourteous demeanour; 'twas common alike to nobles and burghers,And to peasants, and each enjoin'd it on all his acquaintance.in the same way, on the side of the Germans, the children were train'd upEvery morning, with plenty of kissing of hands and of curtsies,To salute their parents, and always to act with politeness.All that I have learnt, and all I have practised since childhood,All that comes from my heart,—I will practise it all with the old man.But on what terms shall I—I scarcely dare ask such a question,—Be with yourself, the only son, and hereafter my master?"
Thus she spoke, and at that moment they came to the peartree.Down from the skies the moon at her full was shining in glory;Night had arrived, and the last pale gleam of the sunset had vanish'd.So before them were lying, in masses all heap'd up together,Lights as clear as the day, and shadows of night and of darkness.And the friendly question was heard by Hermann with pleasure,Under the shade of the noble tree at the spot which he loved soWhich that day had witness'd his tears at the fate of the exile.And whilst they sat themselves down, to take a little repose there,Thus the loving youth spoke, whilst he seized the hand of the maiden"Let your heart give the answer, and always obey what it tells you!"But he ventured to say no more, however propitiousWas the moment; he feard that a No would be her sole answer,Ah! and he felt the ring on her finger, that sorrowful token.So by the side of each other they quietly sat and in silence,But the maiden began to speak, and said, "How delightfulIs the light of the moon! The clearness of day it resembles.Yonder I see in the town the houses and courtyards quite plainly,In the gable a window; methinks all the panes I can reckon."
"That which you see," replied the youth, who spoke with an effort,"That is our house down to which I now am about to conduct you,And that window yonder belongs to my room in the attic,Which will probably soon be yours, as we're making great changes.All these fields are ours, and ripe for the harvest to-morrow;Here in the shade we are wont to rest, enjoying our meal-time.But let us now descend across the vineyard and garden,For observe how the threatening storm is hitherward rolling,Lightening first, and then eclipsing the beautiful full moon."So the pair arose, and wauder'd down by the corn-field,
Through the powerful corn, in the nightly clearness rejoicing;And they reach'd the vineyard, and through its dark shadows proceeded.So he guided her down the numerous tiers of the flat stonesWhich, in an unhewn state, served as steps to the walk through the foliage.Slowly she descended, and placed her hands on his shoulders;And, with a quivering light, the moon through the foliage o'erlook'd them,Till by storm-clouds envelop'd, she left the couple in darkness.Then the strong youth supported the maiden, who on him was leaning;She, however, not knowing the path, or observing the rough steps,Slipp'd as she walk'd, her foot gave way, and she well nigh was falling.Hastily held out his arm the youth with nimbleness thoughtful,And held up his beloved one; she gently sank on his shoulders,Breast was press'd against breast, and cheek against cheek, and so stood heFix'd like a marble statue, restrained by a firm resolution;He embraced her no closer, thoughall her weight he supported;So he felt his noble burden, the warmth of her bosom,And her balmy breath, against his warm lips exhaling,Bearing with manly feelings the woman's heroical greatness.
But she conceal'd the pain which she felt, and jestingly spoke thus"It betokens misfortune,—so scrupulous people inform us,—For the foot to give way on entering a house, near the threshold.I should have wish'd, in truth, for a sign of some happier omen!Let us tarry a little, for fear your parents should blame youFor their limping servant, and you should be thought a bad landlord."——-IX. URANIA.
O YE Muses, who gladly favour a love that is heartfelt,Who on his way the excellent youth have hitherto guided,Who have press'd the maid to his bosom before their betrothal,Help still further to perfect the bonds of a couple so loving,Drive away the clouds which over their happiness hover!But begin by saying what now in the house has been passing.
For the third time the mother impatiently enter'd the chamberWhere the men were sitting, which she had anxiously quitted,Speaking of the approaching storm, and the loss of the moon's light,Then of her son's long absence, and all the perils that night brings.Strongly she censured their friends for having so soon left the youngster,For not even addressing the maiden, or seeking to woo her.
"Make not the worst of the mischief," the father peevishly answer'd;"For you see we are waiting ourselves, expecting the issue."
But the neighbour sat still, and calmly address'd them as follows:—"In uneasy moments like these, I always feel gratefulTo my late father, who when I was young all seeds of impatienceIn my mind uprooted, and left no fragment remaining,And I learnt how to wait, as well as the best of the wise men."Tell us what legerdemain he employ'd," the pastor made answer."I will gladly inform you, and each one may gain by the lesson,"Answer'd the neighbour. "When I was a boy, I was standing one SundayIn a state of impatience, eagerly waiting the carriageWhich was to carry us out to the fountain under the lime-trees;But it came not; I ran like a weasel now hither, now thither,Up and down the stairs, and from the door to the window;Both my hands were prickling, I scratch'd away at the tables,Stamping and trotting about, and scarcely refrain'd I from crying.All this the calm man composedly saw; but finally when ICarried my folly too far, by the arm he quietly took me,Led me up to the window, and used this significant language'See you up yonder the joiner's workshop, now closed for the Sunday?'Twill be re-open'd to-morrow, and plane and saw will be working.Thus will the busy hours be pass'd from morning till evening.But remember this: the rimming will soon be arriving,When the master, together with all his men, will be busyIn preparing and finishing quickly and deftly your coffin,And they will carefully bring over here that house made of boards, whichWill at length receive the patient as well as impatient,And which is destined to carry a roof that's unpleasantly heavy.All that he mention'd I forthwith saw taking place in my mind's eye,Saw the boards join'd together, and saw the black cover made ready,Patiently then I sat, and meekly awaited the carriage.And I always think of the coffin whenever I see menRunning about in a state of doubtful and wild expectation."
Smilingly answered the pastor:—"Death's stirring image is neitherUnto the wise a cause of alarm,—or an end to the pious.Back into life it urges the former, and teaches him action,And, for the weal of the latter, it strengthens his hope in affliction.Death is a giver of life unto both. Your father did wronglyWhen to the sensitive boy he pointed out death in its own form.Unto the youth should be shown the worth of a noble and ripen'dAge, and unto the old man, youth, that both may rejoice inThe eternal circle, and life may in life be made perfect!"
Here the door was open'd. The handsome couple appear'd there,And the friends were amazed, the loving parents astonish'dAt the form of the bride, the form of the bridegroom resembling.Yes! the door appear'd too small to admit the tall figuresWhich now cross'd the threshold, in company walking together.To his parents Hermann presented her, hastily saying:—"Here is a maiden just of the sort you are wishing to have here,Welcome her kindly, dear father! she fully deserves it, and you too,Mother dear, ask her questions as to her housekeeping knowledge,That you may see how well she deserves to form one of our party."Then he hastily took on one side the excellent pastor,Saying:—" Kind sir, I entreat you to help me out of this troubleQuickly, and loosen the knot, whose unravelling I am so dreading;For I have not ventured to woo as my bride the fair maiden,But she believes she's to be a maid in the house, and I fear meShe will in anger depart, as soon as we talk about marriage.But it must be decided at once! no longer in errorShall she remain, and I no longer this doubt can put up with.Hasten and once more exhibit that wisdom we all hold in honour."So the pastor forthwith turn'd round to the rest of the party,But the maiden's soul was, unhappily, troubled alreadyBy the talk of the father, who just had address'd her as follows,Speaking good humour'dly, and in accents pleasant and lively"Yes, I'm well satisfied, child! I joyfully see that my son hasJust as good taste as his father, who in his younger days show'd it,Always leading the fairest one out in the dance, and then lastlyTaking the fairest one home as his wife—'twas your dear little mother!For by the bride whom a man selects, we may easily gatherWhat kind of spirit his is, and whether he knows his own value.But you will surely need but a short time to form your decision,For I verily think he will find it full easy to follow."Hermann but partially heard the words; the whole of his membersInwardly quivered, and all the circle were suddenly silent.
But the excellent maiden, by words of such irony wounded, (As she esteem'd them to be) and deeply distress'd in her spirit, Stood, while a passing flush from her cheeks as far as her neck was Spreading, but she restrain'd herself, and collected her thoughts soon; Then to the old man she said, not fully concealing her sorrow "Truly I was not prepared by your son for such a reception, When he described his father's nature,—that excellent burgher, And I know I am standing before you, a person of culture, Who behaves himself wisely to all, in a suitable manner. But it would seem that you feel not pity enough for the poor thing Who has just cross'd your threshold, prepared to enter your service Else you would not seek to point out, with ridicule bitter, How far removed my lot from your son's and that of yourself is. True, with a little bundle, and poor, I have enter'd your dwelling, Which it is the owner's delight to furnish with all things. But I know myself well, and feel the whole situation. Is it generous thus to greet me with language so jeering, Which was well nigh expelled me the house, when just on the threshold?"
Hermann uneasily moved about, and signed to the pastorTo interpose without delay, and clear up the error.Quickly the wise man advanced to the spot, and witness'd the maiden'sSilent vexation and tearful eyes and scarce-restrain'd sorrow.Then his spirit advised him to solve not at once the confusion,But, on the contrary, prove the excited mind of the maiden.So, in words framed to try her, the pastor address'd her as follows:—"Surely, my foreign maiden, you did not fully consider,When you made up your mind to serve a stranger so quickly,What it really is to enter the house of a master;For a shake of the hand decides your fate for a twelvemonth,And a single word Yes to much endurance will bind you.But the worst part of the service is not the wearisome habits,Nor the bitter toil of the work, which seems never-ending;For the active freeman works hard as well as the servant.But to suffer the whims of the master, who blames you unjustly,Or who calls for this and for that, not knowing his own mind,And the mistress's violence, always so easily kindled,With the children's rough and supercilious bad manners,—This is indeed hard to bear, whilst still fulfilling your dutiesPromptly and actively, never becoming morose or ill-natured;Yet for such work you appear little fit, for already the father'sJokes have offended you deeply; yet nothing more commonly happensThan to tease a maiden about her liking a youngster."Thus he spoke, and the maiden felt the weight of his language,And no more restrain'd herself; mightily all her emotionsShow'd themselves, her bosom heaved, and a deep sigh escaped her,And whilst shedding burning tears, she answer'd as follows:—"Ne'er does the clever man, who seeks to advise us in sorrow,Think how little his chilling words our hearts can deliverFrom the pangs which an unseen destiny fastens upon us.You are happy and merry. How then should a jest ever wound you?But the slightest touch gives torture to those who are suff'ring.Even dissimulation would nothing avail me at present.Let me at once disclose what later would deepen my sorrow,And consign me perchance to agony mute and consuming.Let me depart forthwith! No more in this house dare I linger;I must hence and away, and look once more for my poor friendsWhom I left in distress, when seeking to better my fortunes.This is my firm resolve; and now I may properly tell youThat which had else been buried for many a year in my bosom.Yes, the father's jest has wounded me deeply, I own it,Not that I'm proud and touchy, as ill becometh a servant,But because in truth in my heart a feeling has risenFor the youth, who to-day has fill'd the part of my Saviour.For when first in the road he left me, his image remain'd stillFirmly fix'd in my mind; and I thought of the fortunate maidenWhom, as his betroth'd one, he cherish'd perchance in his bosom.And when I found him again at the well, the sight of him charm'd meJust as if I had-seen an angel descending from heaven.And I follow'd him willingly, when as a servant he sought me,But by my heart in truth I was flatter'd (I need must confess it),As I hitherward came, that I might possibly win him,If I became in the house an indispensable pillar.But, alas, I now see the dangers I well nigh fell into,When I bethought me of living so near a silently-loved one.Now for the first time I feel how far removed a poor maidenIs from a richer youth, however clever she may be.I have told you all this, that you my heart may mistake not,Which an event that in thought I foreshadow has wounded already.For I must have expected, my secret wishes concealing,That, ere much time had elapsed, I should see him bringing his bride home.And how then could I have endured my hidden affliction!Happily I am warn'd in time, and out of my bosomHas my secret escaped, whilst curable still is the evil.But no more of the subject! I now must tarry no longerIn this house, where I now am standing in pain and confusion,All my foolish hopes and my feelings freely confessing.Not the night which, with sinking clouds, is spreading around us,Not the rolling thunder (I hear it already) shall stop me,Not the falling rain, which outside is descending in torrents,Not the blustering storm. All this I had to encounterIn that sorrowful flight, while the enemy follow'd behind Us.And once more I go on my way, as I long have been wont to,Seized by the whirlpool of time, and parted from all that I care for.So farewell! I'll tarry no longer. My fate is accomplish'd!"
Thus she spoke, and towards the door she hastily turn'd her,Holding under her arm the bundle she brought when arriving.But the mother seized by both of her arms the fair maiden,Clasping her round the body, and cried with surprise and amazement"Say, what signifies this? These fruitless tears, what denote they?No, I'll not leave you alone! You're surely my dear son's betroth'd one!"But the father stood still, and show'd a great deal of reluctance,Stared at the weeping girl, and peevishly spoke then as follows"This, then, is all the indulgence my friends are willing to give me,That at the close of the day the most unpleasant thing happens!For there is nothing I hate so much as the tears of a woman,And their passionate cries, set up with such heat and excitement,Which a little plain sense would show to be utterly needless.Truly, I find the sight of these whimsical doings a nuisance.Matters must shift for themselves; as for me, I think it is bed-time."So he quickly turn'd round, and hasten'd to go to the chamberWhere the marriage-bed stood, in which he slept for the most part.But his son held him back, and spoke in words of entreaty"Father, don't go in a hurry, and be not amniote with the maiden!I alone have to bear the blame of all this confusion,Which our friend has increased by his unexpected dissembling.Speak then, honour'd Sir! for to you the affair I confided;Heap not up pain and annoyance, but rather complete the whole matter;For I surely in future should not respect you so highly,If you play practical jokes, instead of displaying true wisdom."
Thereupon the worthy pastor smilingly answer'd"What kind of wisdom could have extracted the charming confessionOf this good maiden, and so have reveal'd all her character to us?Is not your care converted at once to pleasure and rapture?Speak out, then, for yourself! Why need explanations from othersHermann then stepped forward, and gently address'd her as follows"Do not repent of your tears, nor yet of your passing affliction;For they perfect my happiness; yours too, I fain would consider.I came not to the fountain, to hire so noble a maidenAs a servant, I came to seek to win you affections.But, alas! my timid gaze had not strength to discoverYour heart's leanings; it saw in your eye but a friendly expression,When you greeted it out of the tranquil fountain's bright mirror.Merely to bring you home, made half of my happiness certainBut you now make it complete! May every blessing be yours, then!"Then the maiden look'd on the youth with heartfelt emotion,And avoided not kiss or embrace, the summit of rapture,When they also are to the loving the long-wish'd-for pledgesOf approaching bliss in a life which now seems to them endless.Then the pastor told the others the whole of the story;But the maiden came and gracefully bent o'er the father,Kissing the while his hand, which he to draw back attempted.And she said:—" I am sure that you will forgive the surprised one,First for her tears of sorrow, and then for her tears of true rapture.O forgive the emotions by which they both have been prompted,And let me fully enjoy the bliss that has now been vouchsafed me!Let the first vexation, which my confusion gave rise to,Also be the last! The loving service which latelyWas by the servant promised, shall now by the daughter be render'd."
And the father, his tears concealing, straightway embraced her;Lovingly came the mother in turn, and heartily kiss'd her,Warmly shaking her hand; and silently wept they together.Then in a hasty manner, the good and sensible pastorSeized the hand of the father, his wedding-ring off from his fingerDrawing (not easily though; so plump was the member that held it)Then he took the mother's ring, and betroth'd the two children,Saying:—"Once more may it be these golden hoops' destinationFirmly to fasten a bond altogether resembling the old one!For this youth is deeply imbued with love for the maiden,And the maiden confesses that she for the youth has a liking.Therefore, I now betroth you, and wish you all blessings hereafter,With the parents' consent, and with our friend here as a witness."
And the neighbour bent forward, and added his own benediction;But when the clergyman placed the gold ring on the hand of the maiden,He with astonishment saw the one which already was on it,And which Hermann before at the fountain had anxiously noticed.Whereupon he spoke in words at once friendly and jesting"What! You are twice engaging yourself? I hope that the first oneMay not appear at the altar, unkindly forbidding the banns there!"
But she said in reply:—"O let me devote but one momentTo this mournful remembrance! For well did the good youth deserve it,Who, when departing, presented the ring, but never return'd home.All was by him foreseen, when freedom's love of a sudden,And a desire to play his part in the new-found Existence,Drove him to go to Paris, where prison and death were his portion.'Farewell,' said he, 'I go; for all things on earth are in motionAt this moment, and all things appear in a state of disunion.Fundamental laws in the steadiest countries are loosen'd,And possessions are parted from those who used to possess them,Friends are parted from friends, and love is parted from love too.I now leave you here, and whether I ever shall see youHere again,—who can tell? Perchance these words will our last be.Man is a stranger here upon earth, the proverb informs us;Every person has now become more a stranger than ever.Ours the soil is no longer; our treasures are fast flying from us;All the sacred old vessels of gold and silver are melted,All is moving, as though the old-fashion'd world would roll backwardsInto chaos and night, in order anew to be fashion'd.You of my heart have possession, and if we shall ever here-afterMeet again over the wreck of the world, it will be as new creatures,All remodell'd and free and independent of fortune;For what fetters can bind down those who survive such a period!But if we are destined not to escape from these dangers,If we are never again to embrace each other with rapturesO then fondly keep in your thoughts my hovering image,That you may be prepared with like courage for good and ill fortune!If a new home or a new alliance should chance to allure you,Then enjoy with thanks whatever your destiny offers,Purely loving the loving, and grateful to him who thus loves you.But remember always to tread with a circumspect footstep,For the fresh pangs of a second loss will behind you be lurking.Deem each day as sacred; but value not life any higherThan any other possession, for all possessions are fleeting.'Thus he spoke; and the noble youth and I parted for ever:Meanwhile I ev'rything lost, and a thousand times thought of his warning.Once more I think of his words, now that love is sweetly preparingHappiness for me anew, and the brightest of hopes is unfolding.Pardon me, dearest friend, for trembling e'en at the momentWhen I am clasping your arm! For thus, on first landing, the sailorFancies that even the solid ground is shaking beneath him."
Thus she spoke, and she placed the rings by the side of each other.But the bridegroom answer'd, with noble and manly emotion"All the firmer, amidst the universal disruption,Be, Dorothea, our union! We'll show ourselves bold and enduring,Firmly hold our own, and firmly retain our possessions.For the man who in wav'ring times is inclined to be wav'ringOnly increases the evil, and spreads it wider and wider;But the man of firm decision the universe fashions.'Tis not becoming the Germans to further this fearful commotion,And in addition to waver uncertainly hither and thither.'This is our own!' we ought to say, and so to maintain it!For the world will ever applaud those resolute nationsWho for God and the Law, their wives, and parents, and childrenStruggle, and fall when contending against the foeman together.You are mine; and now what is mine, is mine more than ever.Not with anxiety will I preserve it, or timidly use it,But with courage and strength. And if the enemy threatenNow or hereafter, I'll hold myself ready, and reach down my weapons.If I know that the house and my parents by you are protected,I shall expose my breast to the enemy, void of all terror;And if all others thought thus, then might against might should be measured,And in the early prospect of peace we should all be rejoicing."
1796─7.——-WEST-EASTERN DIVAN.——-Who the song would understand,Needs must seek the song's own land.Who the minstrel understand,Needs must seek the minstrel's land.——-
THE Poems comprised in this collection are written in the Persian style, and are greatly admired by Oriental scholars, for the truthfulness with which the Eastern spirit of poetry is reproduced by the Western minstrel. They were chiefly composed between the years 1814 and 1819, and first given to the world in the latter year. Of the twelve books into which they are divided, that of Suleika will probably be considered the best, from the many graceful love-songs which it contains. The following is Hanoi's account of the Divan, and may well serve as a substitute for anything I could say respecting it:—
It contains opinions and sentiments on the East, expressed in a series of rich cantos and stanzas full of sweetness and spirit, and all this as enchanting as a harem emitting the most delicious and rare perfumes, and blooming with exquisitely-lovely nymphs with eyebrows painted black, eyes piercing as those of the antelope, arms white as alabaster, and of the most graceful and perfectly-formed shapes, while the heart of the reader beats and grows faint, as did that of the happy Gaspard Debaran, the clown, who, when on the highest step of his ladder, was enabled to peep into the Seraglio of Constantinople—that recess concealed from the inspection of man. Sometimes also the reader may imagine himself indolently stretched on a carpet of Persian softness, luxuriously smoking the yellow tobacco of Turkistan through a long tube of jessamine and amber, while a black slave fans him with a fan of peacock's feathers, and a little boy presents him with a cup of genuine Mocha. Goethe has put these enchanting and voluptuous customs into poetry, and his verses are so perfect, so harmonious, so tasteful, so soft, that it seems really surprising that he should ever have been able to have brought the German language to this state of suppleness. The charm of the book is inexplicable; it is a votive nosegay sent from the West to the East, composed of the most precious and curious plants: red roses, hortensias like the breast of a spotless maiden, purple digitalis like the long finger of a man, fantastically formed ranunculi, and in the midst of all, silent and tastefully concealed, a tuft of German violets. This nosegay signifies that the West is tired of thin and icy-cold spirituality, and seeks warmth in the strong and healthy bosom of the East."
Translations are here given of upwards of sixty of the bestPoems embraced in the Divan, the number in the original exceedingtwo hundred.——-I. MORGAGNI NAME.
GOD is of the east possess'd,God is ruler of the west;North and south alike, each landRests within His gentle hand.——-HE, the only righteous one,Wills that right to each be done.'Mongst His hundred titles, then,Highest praised be this!—Amen.——-ERROR seeketh to deceive me,Thou art able to retrieve me;Both in action and in songKeep my course from going wrong.
1819.* ——- THE FOUR FAVOURS.
THAT Arabs through the realms of space
May wander on, light-hearted,Great Allah hath, to all their race,
Four favours meet imparted.
The turban first—that ornament
All regal crowns excelling;A light and ever-shifting tent,
Wherein to make our dwelling;
A sword, which, more than rocks and walls
Doth shield us, brightly glistening;A song that profits and enthrall,
For which the maids are list'ning!
1814. ——- DISCORD.
WHEN by the brook his strain
Cupid is fluting,And on the neighboring plain
Mayors disputing,There turns the ear ere long,
Loving and tender,Yet to the noise a song
Soon must surrender.Loud then the flute-notes glad
Sound 'mid war's thunder;If I grow raving mad,
Is it a wonder?Flutes sing and trumpets bray,
Waxing yet stronger;If, then, my senses stray,
Wonder no longer.
1814. ——- SONG AND STRUCTURE.
LET the Greek his plastic clay
Mould in human fashion,While his own creation may
Wake his glowing passion;
But it is our joy to court
Great Euphrates' torrent,Here and there at will to sport
In the Wat'ry current.
Quench'd I thus my spirit's flame,
Songs had soon resounded;Water drawn by bards whose fame
Pure is, may be rounded.+
1819.* (+ This oriental belief in the power of the pure to roll-up water into a crystal hail is made the foundation of the Interesting Pariah Legend, that will be found elsewhere amongst the Ballads.) ——- II. HAFIS NAME.
SPIRIT let us bridegroom call,
And the word the bride;Known this wedding is to all
Who have Hafis tried.
THAT thou can't never end, doth make thee great,And that thou ne'er beginnest, is thy fate.Thy song is changeful as yon starry frame,End and beginning evermore the same;And what the middle bringeth, but containsWhat was at first, and what at last remains.Thou art of joy the true and minstrel-source,From thee pours wave on wave with ceaseless force.A mouth that's aye prepared to kiss,
A breast whence flows a loving song,A throat that finds no draught amiss,
An open heart that knows no wrong.
And what though all the world should sink!
Hafis, with thee, alone with thee
Will I contend! joy, misery,
The portion of us twain shall be;Like thee to love, like thee to drink,—
This be my pride,—this, life to me!
Now, Song, with thine own fire be sung,—For thou art older, thou more young!
1817.* ——- TO HAFIS.
HAFIS, straight to equal thee,
One would strive in vain;Though a ship with majesty
Cleaves the foaming main,Feels its sails swell haughtily
As it onward hiesCrush'd by ocean's stern decree,
Wrecked it straightway lies.Tow'rd thee, songs, light, graceful, free,
Mount with cooling gush;Then their glow consumeth me,
As like fire they rush.Yet a thought with ecstasy
Hath my courage moved;In the land of melody
I have lived and loved.
1815. ——- III. USCHK NAME.
LIST, and in memory bearThese six fond loving pair.Love, when aroused, kept trueRustan and Rad!Strangers approach from farJoseph and Suleika;Love, void of hope, is inFerhad and Schirin.Born for each other areMedschnun and Lily;Loving, though old and grey,Dschemil saw Boteinah.Love's sweet caprice anon,Brown maid + and Solomon!If thou dost mark them well,Stronger thy love will swell.
1817.*(+ Brown maid is the Queen of Sheba.)——-ONE PAIR MORE.
LOVE is indeed a glorious prize!What fairer guerdon meets our eyes?—Though neither wealth nor power are thine,A very hero thou dost shine.As of the prophet, they will tell,Wamik and Asia's tale as well.—They'll tell not of them,—they'll but giveTheir names, which now are all that live.The deeds they did, the toils they provedNo mortal knows! But that they lovedThis know we. Here's the story trueOf Wamik and of Asia too.
1827.* ——- LOVE's torments sought a place of rest,
Where all might drear and lonely be;They found ere long my desert breast,
And nestled in its vacancy.
1827.* ——- IV. TEFKIR NAME.
WHAT makes time short to me?
Activity!What makes it long and spiritless?
'Tis idleness!What brings us to debt?
To delay and forget!What makes us succeed?
Decision with speedHow to fame to ascend?
Oneself to defend!
1814 ——- FOR woman due allowance make!
Form'd of a crooked rib was she,—
By Heaven she could not straightened be.Attempt to bend her, and she'll break;If left alone, more crooked grows madam;What well could be worse, my good friend, Adam?—For woman due allowance make;'Twere grievous, if thy rib should break!
1819.* ——- FIRDUSI (Speaks).
OH world, with what baseness and guilt thou art rife!
Thou nurtures, trainest, and illest the while.
He only whom Allah doth bless with his smileIs train'd and is nurtured with riches and life.
1819.* ——- SULEIKA (Speaks).
THE mirror tells me, I am fair!
Thou sayest, to grow old my fate will be.Nought in God's presence changeth e'er,—
Love him, for this one moment, then, in me.
1819.* ——- V. RENDSCH NAME
IT is a fault oneself to praise,
And yet 'tis done by each whose deeds are kind;And if there's no deceit in what he says,
The good we still as good shall find.
Let, then, ye fools, that wise man taste
Of joy, who fancies that he s wise,That he, a fool like you, may waste
Th' insipid thanks the world supplies.
1816. ——- VI. HIKMET NAME.
CALL on the present day and night for nought,Save what by yesterday was brought.——-THE sea is flowing ever,The land retains it never.——-BE stirring, man, while yet the day is clear;The night when none can work fast Draweth near.——-WHEN the heavy-laden sigh,Deeming help and hope gone by,Oft, with healing power is heard,Comfort-fraught, a kindly word.——-How vast is mine inheritance, how glorious and sublime!For time mine own possession is, the land I till is time!——-UNWARY saith,—ne'er lived a man more true;The deepest heart, the highest head he knew,—"In ev'ry place and time thou'lt find availingUprightness, judgment, kindliness unfailing."——-THOUGH the bards whom the Orient sun bath bless'dAre greater than we who dwell in the west,Yet in hatred of those whom our equals we find.In this we're not in the least behind.——-
WOULD we let our envy burst,
Feed its hunger fully first!To keep our proper place,
We'll show our bristles more;With hawks men all things chase,
Except the savage boar.——-BY those who themselves more bravely have foughtA hero's praise will be joyfully told.The worth of man can only be taughtBy those who have suffer'd both heat and cold.——-"WHEREFORE is truth so far from our eyes,Buried as though in a distant land?"None at the proper moment are wise!
Could they properly understand,
Truth would appear in her own sweet guise,Beauteous, gentle, and close at hand.——-WHY these inquiries make,
Where charity may flow?Cast in the flood thy cake,—
Its eater, who will know?——-ONCE when I a spider had kill'd,
Then methought: wast right or wrong?
That we both to these times should belong,This had God in His goodness willed.——-MOTLEY this congregation is, for, lo!At the communion kneel both friend and foe.——-IF the country I'm to show,Thou must on the housetop go.——-A MAN with households twain
Ne'er finds attention meet,A house wherein two women reign
Is ne'er kept clean and neat.——-BLESS, thou dread Creator,
Bless this humble fane;Man may build them greater,—
More they'll not contain.——-LET this house's glory rise,
Handed to far ages down,
And the son his honour prize.As the father his renown.——-O'ER the Mediterranean sea
Proudly hath the Orient sprung;Who loves Hafis and knows him, he
Knows what Caldron hath sung.——-IF the ass that bore the Saviour
Were to Mecca driven, he
Would not alter, but would beStill an ass in his behavior.——-THE flood of passion storms with fruitless strife
'Gainst the unvanquished solid land.—
It throws poetic pearls upon the strand,And thus is gain'd the prize of life.——-WHEN so many minstrels there are,
How it pains me, alas, to know it!Who from the earth drives poetry far?
Who but the poet!——-VII. TIMUR NAME.
So the winter now closed round themWith resistless fury. ScatteringOver all his breath so icy,He inflamed each wind that blitheTo assail them angrily.Over them he gave dominionTo his frost-unsharpened tempests;Down to Timur's council went he,And with threat'ning voice address'd him:—"Softly, slowly, wretched being!Live, the tyrant of injustice;But shall hearts be scorch'd much longerBy thy flames,—consume before them?If amongst the evil spiritsThou art one,—good! I'm another.Thou a greybeard art—so I am;Land and men we make to stiffen.Thou art Mars! And I Saturnus,—Both are evil-working planets,When united, horror-fraught.Thou dost kill the soul, thou freezesE'en the atmosphere; still colderIs my breath than thine was ever.Thy wild armies vex the faithfulWith a thousand varying torments;Well! God grant that I discoverEven worse, before I perish!And by God, I'll give thee none.Let God hear what now I tell thee!Yes, by God! from Death's cold clutchesNought, O greybeard, shall protect thee,Not the hearth's broad coalfire's ardour,Not December's brightest flame."
1814. ——- TO SULEIKA.
FITTING perfumes to prepare,
And to raise thy rapture high,Must a thousand rosebuds fair
First in fiery torments die.
One small flask's contents to glean,
Whose sweet fragrance aye may live,Slender as thy finger e'en,
Must a world its treasures give;
Yes, a world where life is moving,
Which, with impulse full and strong,Could forbode the Bulbul's loving,
Sweet, and spirit-stirring song.
Since they thus have swell'd our joy,
Should such torments grieve us, then?Doth not Timur's rule destroy
Myriad souls of living men?
1815.* ——- VIII. SULEIKA NAME.
ONCE, methought, in the night hours cold,
That I saw the moon in my sleep;But as soon as I waken'd, behold
Unawares rose the sun from the deep.
THAT Suleika's love was so strong
For Joseph, need cause no surprise;
He was young, youth pleaseth the eyes,—
He was fair, they say, beyond measure
Fair was she, and so great was their pleasure.But that thou, who awaitedst me long,Youthful glances of fire dost throw me,Soon wilt bless me, thy love now dost show me,This shall my joyous numbers proclaim,Thee I for ever Suleika shall name.
1815. ——- HATEM.
NOT occasion makes the thief;
She's the greatest of the whole;For Love's relics, to my grief,
From my aching heart she stole.
She hath given it to thee,—
All the joy my life had known,So that, in my poverty,
Life I seek from thee alone.
Yet compassion greets me straight
In the lustre of thine eye,And I bless my newborn fate,
As within thine arms I lie.
1815. ——- SULEIKA.
THE sun appears! A glorious sight!
The crescent-moon clings round him now.What could this wondrous pair unite?
How to explain this riddle? How?
May this our joy's foreboder prove!
In it I view myself and thee;Thou calmest me thy sun, my love,—
Come, my sweet moon, cling thou round me!
1815. ——- LOVE for love, and moments sweet,
Lips returning kiss for kiss,Word for word, and eyes that meet;
Breath for breath, and bliss for bliss.Thus at eve, and thus the morrow!
Yet thou feeblest, at my lay,Ever some half-hidden sorrow;Could I Joseph's graces borrow,
All thy beauty I'd repay!
1815. ——- HATEM.
O, SAY, 'neath what celestial sign
The day doth lie,When ne'er again this heart of mine
Away will fly?And e'en though fled (what thought divine!)
Would near me lie?—On the soft couch, on whose sweet shrine
My heart near hers will lie!
1816. ——- HATEM.
HOLD me, locks, securely caught
In the circle of her face!Dear brown serpents, I have nought
To repay this act of grace,
Save a heart whose love ne'er dies,
Throbbing with aye-youthful glow;For a raging ETA lies
'Neath its veil of mist and snow.
Yonder mountain's stately brow
Thou, like morning beams, dost shame;Once again feels Hatem now
Spring's soft breath and summer's flame.
One more bumper! Fill the glass;
This last cup I pledge to thee!—By mine ashes if she pass,
"He consumed," she'll say, "for me."
1815. ——- THE LOVING ONE SPEAKS.
AND wherefore sends notThe horseman-captainHis heralds hither
Each day, unfailing?Yet hath he horses,He writes well.
He waiteth Tali,And Neski knows heTo write with beautyOn silken tablets.I'd deem him present,Had I his words.
The sick One will not,Will not recoverFrom her sweet sorrow;She, when she hearethThat her true loverGrows well, falls sick.
1819.* ——- THE LOVING ONE AGAIN.
WRITES he in Neski,Faithfully speaks he;Writes he in Tali,Joy to give, seeks he:Writes he in either,Good!—for he loves!
1819.* ——- THESE tufted branches fair
Observe, my loved one, well!And see the fruits they bear
In green and prickly shell!
They've hung roll'd up, till now,
Unconsciously and still;A loosely-waving bough
Doth rock them at its will.
Yet, ripening from within.
The kernel brown swells fast;It seeks the air to win,
It seeks the sun at last.
With joy it bursts its thrall,
The shell must needs give way.'Tis thus my numbers fall
Before thy feet, each day.
1815. ——- SULEIKA.
WHAT is by this stir reveal'd?
Doth the East glad tidings bring?For my heart's deep wounds are heal'd
By his mild and cooling wing.
He the dust with sports doth meet,
And in gentle cloudlets chase;To the vineleaf's safe retreat
Drives the insects' happy race,
Cools these burning cheeks of mine,
Checks the sun's fierce glow Adam,Kisses, as he flies, the vine,
Flaunting over hill and plain.
And his whispers soft convey
Thousand greetings from my friend;Ere these hills own night's dark sway,
Kisses greet me, without end.
Thus canst thou still onward go,
Serving friend and mourner too!There, where lofty ramparts glow,
Soon the loved one shall I view.
Ah, what makes the heart's truth known,—
Love's sweet breath,—a newborn life,—Learn I from his mouth alone,
In his breath alone is rife!
1815. ——- THE SUBLIME TYPE.
THE sun, whom Grecians Helms call,
His heavenly path with pride doth tread,And, to subdue the world's wide all,
Looks round, beneath him, high o'er head.
He sees the fairest goddess pine,
Heaven's child, the daughter of the clouds,—For her alone he seems to shine;
In trembling grief his form he shrouds,
Careless for all the realms of bliss,—
Her streaming tears more swiftly flow:For every pearl he gives a kiss,
And changeth into joy her woe.
She gazeth upward fixedly,
And deeply feels his glance of might,While, stamped with his own effigy,
Each pearl would range itself aright.
Thus wreath'd with bows, with hues thus grac'd,
With gladness beams her face so fair,While he, to meet her, maketh haste,
And yet, alas! can reach her ne'er.
So, by the harsh decree of Fate,
Thou modest from me, dearest one;And were I Helms e'en, the Great,
What would avail his chariot-throne?
1815. ——- SULEIKA.
ZEPHYR, for thy humid wing,
Oh, how much I envy thee!Thou to him canst tidings bring
How our parting saddens me!
In my breast, a yearning still
As thy pinions wave, appears;Flow'rs and eyes, and wood, and hill
At thy breath are steeped in tears.
Yet thy mild wing gives relief,
Soothes the aching eyelid's pain;Ah, I else had died for grief,
Him ne'er hoped to see again.
To my love, then, quick repair,
Whisper softly to his heart;Yet, to give him pain, beware,
Nor my bosom's pangs impart.
Tell him, but in accents coy,
That his love must be my life;Both, with feelings fraught with joy,
In his presence will be rife.
1815. ——- THE REUNION.
CAN it be! of stars the star,
Do I press thee to my heart?In the night of distance far,
What deep gulf, what bitter smart!Yes, 'tis thou, indeed, at last,
Of my joys the partner dear!Mindful, though, of sorrows past,
I the present needs must fear.
When the still-unfashion'd earth
Lay on God's eternal breast,He ordain'd its hour of birth,
With creative joy possess'd.Then a heavy sigh arose,
When He spake the sentence:—"Be!"And the All, with mighty throes,
Burst into reality.
And when thus was born the light,
Darkness near it fear'd to stay,And the elements with might
Fled on every side away;Each on some far-distant trace,
Each with visions wild employ,Numb, in boundless realm of space,
Harmony and feeling-void.
Dumb was all, all still and dead,
For the first time, God alone!Then He form'd the morning-red,
Which soon made its kindness known:It unravelled from the waste,
Bright and glowing harmony,And once more with love was grac'd
What contended formerly.
And with earnest, noble strife,
Each its own Peculiar sought;Back to full, unbounded life
Sight and feeling soon were brought.Wherefore, if 'tis done, explore
How? why give the manner, name?Allah need create no more,
We his world ourselves can frame.
So, with morning pinions bright,
To thy mouth was I impell'd;Stamped with thousand seals by night,
Star-clear is the bond fast held.Paragons on earth are we
Both of grief and joy sublime,And a second sentence:—"Be!"
Parts us not a second time.
1815. ——- SULEIKA.
WITH what inward joy, sweet lay,
I thy meaning have descried!Lovingly thou seem'st to say
That I'm ever by his side;
That he ever thinks of me,
That he to the absent givesAll his love's sweet ecstasy,
While for him alone she lives.
Yes, the mirror which reveals
Thee, my loved one, is my breast;This the bosom, where thy seals
Endless kisses have impress'd.
Numbers sweet, unsullied truth,
Chain me down in sympathy!Love's embodied radiant youth,
In the garb of poesy!
1819.* ——- IN thousand forms mayst thou attempt surprise,
Yet, all-beloved-one, straight know I thee;Thou mayst with magic veils thy face disguise,
And yet, all-present-one, straight know I thee.
Upon the cypress' purest, youthful bud,
All-beauteous-growing-one, straight know I thee;In the canal's unsullied, living flood,
All-captivating-one, well know I thee.
When spreads the water-column, rising proud,
All-sportive one, how gladly know I thee;When, e'en in forming, is transform'd the cloud,
All-figure-changing-one, there know I thee.
Veil in the meadow-carpet's flowery charms,
All-checkered-starry-fair-one, know I thee;And if a plant extend its thousand arms,
O, all-embracing-one, there know I thee.
When on the mount is kindled morn's sweet light,
Straightway, all-gladdening-one, salute I thee,The arch of heaven o'er head grows pure and bright,—
All-heart-expanding-one, then breathe I thee.
That which my inward, outward sense proclaims,
Thou all-instructing-one, I know through thee;And if I utter Allah's hundred names,
A name with each one echoes, meant for thee.
1819.* ——- IX. SAKE NAME.
CAN the Koran from Eternity be?
'Tis worth not a thought!Can the Koran a creation, then, be?
Of that, I know nought!Yet that the book of all books it must be,
I believe, as a Mussulman ought.That from Eternity wine, though, must be,
I ever have thought;That 'twas ordain'd, ere the Angels, to be,
As a truth may be taught.Drinkers, however these matters may be,
Gaze on God's face, fearing nought.
1815. ——- YE'VE often, for our drunkenness,
Blamed us in ev'ry way,And, in abuse of drunkenness,
Enough can never say.Men, overcome by drunkenness,
Are wont to lie till day;And yet I find my drunkenness
All night-time make me stray;For, oh! 'tis Love's sweet drunkenness
That maketh me its prey,Which night and day, and day and night,
My heart must needs obey,—A heart that, in its drunkenness,
Pours forth full many a lay,So that no trifling drunkenness
Can dare assert its sway.Love, song, and wine's sweet drunkenness,
By night-time and by day,—How god-like is the drunkenness
That maketh me its prey!
1815. ——- X. MATHAL NAME.
FROM heaven there fell upon the foaming wave
A timid drop; the flood with anger roared,—
But God, its modest boldness to reward,Strength to the drop and firm endurance gave.Its form the mussel captive took,
And to its lasting glory and renown,
The pearl now glistens in our monarch's crown,With gentle gleam and loving look.
1819.* ——- BULBUL'S song, through night hours cold,
Rose to Allah's throne on high;
To reward her melody,Giveth he a cage of gold.Such a cage are limbs of men,—
Though at first she feels confin'd,
Yet when all she brings to mind,Straight the spirit sings again.
1819.*——-IN the Koran with strange delightA peacock's feather met my sight:Thou'rt welcome in this holy place,The highest prize on earth's wide face!As in the stars of heaven, in thee,God's greatness in the small we see;For he whose gaze whole worlds bath bless'dHis eye hath even here impress'd,And the light down in beauty dress'd,So that e'en monarchs cannot hopeIn splendour with the bird to cope.Meekly enjoy thy happy lot,And so deserve that holy spot!
1815.——-ALL kinds of men, both small and great,A fine-spun web delight to create,And in the middle they take their place,And wield their scissors with wondrous grace.But if a besom should sweep that way:"What a most shameful thing," they say,—"They've crush'd a mighty palace to-day."
1815. ——- IT IS GOOD.
IN Paradise while moonbeams play'd,
Jehovah found, in slumber deep,Adam fast sunk; He gently laid
Eve near him,—she, too, fell asleep.There lay they now, on earth's fair shrine,God's two most beauteous thoughts divine.—When this He saw, He cried:—'Tis Good!!!And scarce could move from where He stood.
No wonder, that our joy's completeWhile eye and eye responsive meet,When this blest thought of rapture moves us—That we're with Him who truly loves us,And if He cries:—Good, let it be!'Tis so for both, it seems to me.Thou'rt clasp'd within these arms of mine,Dearest of all God's thoughts divine!
1815. ——- XI. PARIS NAME.
BRETHREN, what bequest to you should comeFrom the lowly poor man, going home,Whom ye younger ones with patience tended,Whose last days ye honour'd and defended?
When we oft have seen the monarch ride,Gold upon him, gold on ev'ry side;Jewels on him, on his courtiers all,Thickly strewed as hailstones when they fall,