Have ye e'er known envy at the sight?And not felt your gaze become more bright,When the sun was, on the wings of morning,Darnawend's unnumber'd peaks adorning,
As he, bow-like, rose? How each eye dweltOn the glorious scene! I felt, I felt,Thousand times, as life's days fleeted by,Borne with him, the coming one, on high.
God upon His throne then to proclaim,Him, the life-fount's mighty Lord, to name,Worthily to prize that glorious sight,And to wander on beneath His light.
When the fiery orb was all defined,There I stood, as though in darkness, blind,Beat my breast, my quicken'd members threwOn the earth, brow-foremost, at the view.
Let this holy, great bequest rewardBrotherly good-will and kind regard:SOLEMN DUTY'S DAILY observation.—More than this, it needs no revelation.
If its gentle hands a new-born oneMove, then straightway turn it tow'rd the sun,—Soul and body dip in bath of fire!Then each morning's favour 'twill acquire.
To the living one, commit the dead,O'er the beast let earth and dust be spread,And, so far as may extend your might,What ye deem impure, conceal from sight.
Till your plains to graceful purity,That the sun with joy your labours see;When ye plant, your trees in rows contrive,For he makes the Regular to thrive.
E'en the floods that through the channel rushMust not fail in fulness or in gush;And as Senderud, from mountain high,Rises pure, in pureness must it die.
Not to weaken water's gentle fall,Carefully cleanse out the channels all;Salamander, snake, and rush, and reed,—All destroy,—each monster and each weed.
If thus pure ye earth and water keep,Through the air the sun will gladly peep,Where he, worthily enshrined in space,Worketh life, to life gives holy grace.
Ye, by toil on toil so sorely tried,Comfort take, the All is purified;And now man, as priest, may boldly dareFrom the stone God's image to prepare.
When the flame burns joyously and bright,Limbs are supple, radiant is the night;On the hearth when fire with ardour glows,Ripe the sap of plants and creatures grows.
Dragging wood, with rapture be it done,'Tis the seed of many an earthly sun;Plucking Pambeh, gladly may ye say:—This, as wick, the Holy will convey.
If ye meekly, in each burning lamp,See the nobler light's resplendent stamp,Ne'er will Fate prevent you, void of feeling,At God's throne at morningtide from kneeling.
This is Being's mighty signet, then,God's pure glass to angels and to men;Each word lisped the Highest's praise to sound,Ring in ring, united there is found.
From the shore of Senderud ascendeth,Up to Darnawend its pinions bendeth,As He dawns, with joy to greet His light,You with endless blessings to requite.
1819.* ——- XII. CHULD NAME.
[This battle was fought in the second year of the Hegira (A.A. 623), between the followers of Mahomet, who numbered three hundred and thirteen, possessing two horses and seventy camels, and the 'idolaters,' or Meccans, whose forces amounted to nine hundred and fifty, including two hundred cavalry. The victory remained with Mahomet, who lost fourteen men, while seventy of the enemy were slain. A great accession of strength ensued in consequence to the Prophet, who pretended that miracles were wrought in his behalf in the battle, God having sent angels to fight on his side, and having also made his army to appear larger to the enemy than it really was.—See the Koran, chapter viii., and ABULFEDA'S Life of Mahomet.]
MAHOMET (Speaks).
LET the foeman sorrow o'er his dead,
Ne'er will they return again to light;O'er our brethren let no tear be shed,
For they dwell above yon spheres so bright.
All the seven planets open throw
All their metal doors with mighty shock,And the forms of those we loved below
At the gates of Eden boldly knock.
There they find, with bliss ne'er dream'd before,
Glories that my flight first show'd to eye,When the wondrous steed my person bore
In one second through the realms on high.
Wisdom's trees, in cypress-order growing,
High uphold the golden apples sweet;Trees of life, their spreading shadows throwing,
Shade each blossoming plant, each flow'ry seat.
Now a balmy zephyr from the East
Brings the heavenly maidens to thy view;With the eye thou now dost taste the feast,
Soon the sight pervades thee through and through.
There they stand, to ask thee thy career:
Mighty plans? or dangerous bloody rout?Thou'rt a hero, know they,—for Thourt here,
What a hero?—This they'll fathom out.
By thy wounds soon clearly this is shown,
Wounds that write thy fame's undying story;Wounds the true believer mark alone,
When have perish'd joy and earthly glory.
To chiosks and arbors thou art brought,
Fill'd with checkered marble columns bright;To the noble grape-juice, solace-fraught,
They the guest with kindly sips invite.
Youth! Thou'rt welcome more than e'er was youth
All alike are radiant and serene;When thou tak'st one to thine heart with truth,
Of thy band she'll be the friend and queen.
So prepare thee for this place of rest,
Never can it now be changed again;Maids like these will ever make thee blest,
Wines like these will never harm thy brain.
1819. ——- THE FAVOURED BEASTS.
Or beasts there have been chosen four
To come to Paradise,And there with saints for evermore
They dwell in happy wise.
Amongst them all the Ass stands first;
He comes with joyous stride,For to the Prophet-City erst
Did Jesus on him ride.
Half timid next a Wolf doth creep,
To whom Mahomet spake"Spoil not the poor man of his sheep,
The rich man's thou mayst take."
And then the brave and faithful Hound,
Who by his master kept,And slept with him the slumbers sound
The seven sleepers slept.
Abuherrira's Cat, too, here,
Purrs round his master blest,For holy must the beast appear
The Prophet hath caress'd.
1815. ——- THE SEVEN SLEEPERS.
Six among the courtiers favour'dFly before the Caesar's fury,Who would as a god be worshipp'd,Though in truth no god appearing,For a fly prevents him everFrom enjoying food at table.Though with fans his servants scare it,They the fly can never banish.It torments him, stings, and troubles,And the festal board perplexes,Then returning like the heraldOf the olden crafty Fly-God."What!"—the striplings say together—"Shall a fly a god embarrass?
Shall a god drink, eat at table,Like us mortals? No, the Only,Who the sun and moon created,And the glowing stars arch'd o'er us,He is God,—we'll fly!"—The gentle,Lightly shod, and dainty striplingsDid a shepherd meet, and hide them,With himself, within a cavern.
And the sheep-dog will not leave them,—Scared away, his foot all-mangled,To his master still he presses,And he joins the hidden party,Joins the favorites of slumber.
And the prince, whom they had fled from,Fondly-furious, thinks of vengeance,And, discarding sword and fire,Has them walled-up in the cavern,Walled-up fast with bricks and mortar.
But the others slumber ever,And the Angel, their protector,Gives before God's throne this notice"To the right and left alternateHave I ever cared to turn them,That their fair and youthful membersBe not by the mould-damp injured;Clefts within the rocks I open'd,That the sun may, rising, setting,Keep their cheeks in youthful freshness."So they lie there, bless'd by Heaven.And, with forepaws sound and scatheless,Sleeps the dog in gentle slumber.
Years come round, and years fly onward,And the youths at length awaken,And the wall, which now had moldered,From its very age has fallen.And Jamblika says,—whose beautyFar exceedeth all the others,—When the fearful shepherd lingers:—"I will run, and food procure you,Life and piece of gold I'll wager!"—Ephebus had many a year nowOwn'd the teaching of the ProphetJesus (Peace be with the Good One!)
And he ran, and at the gatewayWere the warders and the others.Yet he to the nearest baker's,Seeking bread, went swiftly onwards.—"Rogue!" thus cried the baker—"hast thou,Youth, a treasure, then, discover'd?Give me,—for the gold betrays thee,—Give me half, to keep thy secret!"—
And they quarrel.—To the monarchComes the matter; and the monarchFain would halve it, like the baker.
Now the miracle is provenSlowly by a hundred tokens.He can e'en his right establishTo the palace he erected,For a pillar, when pierced open.
Leads to wealth he said 'twould lead to.Soon are gather'd there whole races,Their relationship to show him.And as great-grandfather, noblyStands Jamblika's youthful figure.
As of ancestors, he hears them,Speaking of his son and grandsons.His great-grandsons stand around him,Like a race of valiant mortals,Him to honour,—him, the youngest.And one token on anotherRises up, the proof completing;The identity is provenOf himself, and of his comrades.
Now returns he to the cavern,With him go both king and people.—Neither to the king nor peopleE'er returns that chosen mortal;For the Seven, who for ages—Eight was, with the dog, their number—Had from all the world been sunder'd,Gabriel's mysterious power,To the will of God obedient,Hath to Paradise conducted,—And the cave was closed for ever.
1814-15. ——-
——- FROM FAUST.
YE shadowy forms, again ye're drawing near,
So wont of yore to meet my troubled gaze!Were it in vain to seek to keep you here?
Loves still my heart that dream of olden days?Oh, come then! and in pristine force appear,
Parting the vapor mist that round me plays!My bosom finds its youthful strength again,Feeling the magic breeze that marks your train.
Ye bring the forms of happy days of yore,
And many a shadow loved attends you too;Like some old lay, whose dream was well nigh o'er,
First-love appears again, and friendship true;Upon life's labyrinthine path once more
Is heard the sigh, and grief revives anew;The friends are told, who, in their hour of pride,Deceived by fortune, vanish'd from my side.
No longer do they hear my plaintive song,
The souls to whom I sang in life's young day;Scatter'd for ever now the friendly throng,
And mute, alas! each sweet responsive lay.My strains but to the careless crowd belong,
Their smiles but sorrow to my heart convey;And all who heard my numbers erst with gladness,If living yet, roam o'er the earth in sadness.
Long buried yearnings in my breast arise,
Yon calm and solemn spirit-realm to gain;Like the AEONIAN harp's sweet melodies,
My murmuring song breathes forth its changeful strain.A trembling seizes me, tears fill mine eyes,
And softer grows my rugged heart amain.All I possess far distant seems to be,The vanish'd only seems reality.
THE sun still chaunts, as in old time,
With brother-spheres in choral song,And with his thunder-march sublime
Moves his predestined course along.Strength find the angels in his sight,
Though he by none may fathomed be;Still glorious is each work of might
As when first form'd in majesty.
And swift and swift, in wondrous guise,
Revolves the earth in splendour bright,The radiant hues of Paradise
Alternating with deepest night.From out the gulf against the rock,
In spreading billows foams the ocean,—And cliff and sea with mighty shock,
The spheres whirl round in endless motion.
And storms in emulation growl
From land to sea, from sea to land,And fashion, as they wildly howl,
A circling, wonder-working band.Destructive flames in mad career
Precede Thy thunders on their way;Yet, Lord, Thy messengers revere
The soft mutations of Thy day.
Strength find the angels in Thy sight,
Though none may hope to fathom Thee;Still glorious are Thy works of might,
As when first form'd in majesty.
CHRIST is arisen!
Mortal, all hail!Thou, of Earth's prison
Dreary and frail,Bursting the veil,
Proudly hast risen!
Rich spices and myrrh,
To embalm Him we brought;His corpse to inter
His true followers sought.In pure cerements shrin'd,
'Twas placed in the bierBut, alas! we now find
That Christ is not here.
Christ is arisen!
Speechless His love.Who to Earth's prison
Came from above,Trials to prove.
Now is He risen!
Death's gloomy portal
Now hath He rended,—Living, immortal,
Heavenward ascended;Freed from His anguish,
Sees He God's throne;We still must languish,
Earthbound, alone.Now that He's reft us,
Heart-sad we pine;Why hast Thou left us,
Master divine?
Christ is arisen,
Death hath He slain;
Burst ye your prison,
Rend ye each chain!
Songs of praise lead ye,—
Love to show, heed ye,—
Hungry ones feed ye,—
Preaching, on speed ye,—
Coming joys plead ye,—Then is the Master near,Then is He here!
VANISH, dark clouds on high,
Offspring of night!Let a more radiant beamThrough the blue ether gleam,
Charming the sight!Would the dark clouds on high
Melt into air!Stars glimmer tenderly,
Planets more fair
Shed their soft light.Spirits of heav'nly birth,Fairer than sons of earth,Quivering emotions true
Hover above;Yearning affections, too,
In their train move.See how the spirit-band,By the soft breezes fann'd,Covers the smiling land,—Covers the leafy grove,Where happy lovers rove,Deep in a dream of love,True love that never dies!Bowers on bowers rise,
Soft tendrils twine;While from the press escapes,Born of the juicy grapes,
Foaming, the wine;And as the current flowsO'er the bright stones it goes,—Leaving the hilly lands
Far, far behind,—Into a sea expands,
Loving to windRound the green mountain's base;And the glad-winged race,
Rapture sip in,As they the sunny light,And the fair islands bright,
Hasten to win,That on the billows playWith sweet deceptive ray,Where in glad choral songShout the exulting throng;Where on the verdant plain
Dancers we see,Spreading themselves amain
Over the lea.Some boldly climbing are
O'er the steep brake,Others are floating far
O'er the smooth lake.All for a purpose move,
All with life teem,While the sweet stars above
Blissfully gleam.
MY heart is sad,
My peace is o'er;I find it never
And nevermore.
When gone is he,The grave I see;The world's wide allIs turned to gall.
Alas, my head
Is well-nigh crazed;My feeble mind
Is sore amazed.
My heart is sad,
My peace is o'er;I find it never
And nevermore.
For him from the window
Alone I spy;For him alone
From home go I.
His lofty step,
His noble form,His mouth's sweet smile,
His glances warm,
His voice so fraught
With magic bliss,His hand's soft pressure,
And, ah, his kiss!
My heart is sad,
My peace is o'er;I find it never
And nevermore.
My bosom yearns
For his form so fair;Ah, could I clasp him
And hold him there!
My kisses sweet
Should stop his breath,And 'neath his kisses
I'd sink in death!
Margaret. Faust.
DOST thou believe in God?
Doth mortal live
Who dares to say that he believes in God?Go, bid the priest a truthful answer give,
Go, ask the wisest who on earth e'er trod,—Their answer will appear to beGiven alone in mockery.
Then thou dost not believe? This sayest thou?
Sweet love, mistake not what I utter now!Who knows His name?Who dares proclaim:—Him I believe?Who so can feelHis heart to steelTo sari believe Him not?The All-Embracer,The All-Sustained,Holds and sustains He notThee, me, Himself?
Hang not the heavens their arch overhead?Lies not the earth beneath us, firm?Gleam not with kindly glancesEternal stars on high?Looks not mine eye deep into thine?And do not all thingsCrowd on thy head and heart,And round thee twine, in mystery eterne,Invisible, yet visible?Fill, then, thy heart, however vast, with this,And when the feeling perfecteth thy bliss,O, call it what thou wilt,Call it joy! heart! love! God!No name for it I know!'Tis feeling all—nought else;Name is but sound and smoke,Obscuring heaven's bright glow.
VII.MARGARET, Placing fresh flowers in the flower-pots.
O THOU well-tried in grief,
Grant to thy child relief,And view with mercy this unhappy one!
The sword within thy heart,
Speechless with bitter smart,Thou Lookest up towards thy dying son.
Thou look'st to God on high,
And breathest many a sighO'er his and thy distress, thou holy One!
Who e'er can know
The depth of woe
Piercing my very bone?The sorrows that my bosom fill,Its trembling, its aye-yearning will,
Are known to thee, to thee alone!
Wherever I may go,
With woe, with woe, with woe,My bosom sad is aching!
I scarce alone can creep,
I weep, I weep, I weep,My very heart is breaking.
The flowers at my window
My falling tears bedewed,When I, at dawn of morning,
For thee these flow'rets strewed.
When early to my chamber
The cheerful sunbeams stole,I sat upon my pallet,
In agony of soul.
Help! rescue me from death and misery!
Oh, thou well-tried in grief,
Grant to thy child relief,And view with mercy my deep agony!
WHEN in spring the gentle rain
Breathes into the flower new birth,When the green and happy plain
Smiles upon the sons of earth,Haste to give what help we may,
Little elves of wondrous might!Whether good or evil they,
Pity for them feels the sprite.
WHEN the moist and balmy gale
Round the verdant meadow sighs,Odors sweet in misty veil
At the twilight-hour arise.Murmurings soft of calm repose
Rock the heart to child-like rest,And the day's bright portals close
On the eyes with toil oppress'd.
Night already reigns o'er all,
Strangely star is link'd to star;Planets mighty, sparkling small,
Glitter near and gleam afar.Gleam above in clearer night,
Glitter in the glassy sea;Pledging pure and calm delight,
Rules the moon in majesty.
Now each well-known hour is over,
Joy and grief have pass'd away;Feel betimes! thoult then recover:
Trust the newborn eye of day.Vales grow verdant, hillocks teem,
Shady nooks the bushes yield,And with waving, silvery gleam,
Rocks the harvest in the field.
Wouldst thou wish for wish obtain,
Look upon yon glittering ray!Lightly on thee lies the chain,
Cast the shell of sleep away!Tarry not, but be thou bold,
When the many loiter still;All with ease may be controll'd
By the man of daring will.
HARK! the storm of hours draws near,Loudly to the spirit-earSigns of coming day appear.Rocky gates are wildly crashing,Phoebus' wheels are onward dashing;
(A wonderful noise proclaims the approach of the sun.)
Light doth mighty sounds beget!Pealing loud as rolling thunder,Eye and ear it fills with wonder,
Though itself unconscious yet.Downward steals it,'mongst the flowersSeeking deeper, stiller bowers,'Mongst the foliage, 'neath the rock;Thou'lt be deafened by the shock!——-FROM FAUST—SECOND PART.
ANGELS. [Hovering in the higher regions of air, and hearing the immortal part of Faust.]
THE spirit-region's noble limb
Hath 'scaled the Archfiend's power;For we have strength to rescue him
Who labours ev'ry hour.And if he feels within his breast
A ray of love from heaven.He's met by all the squadron blest
With welcome gladly given.
Yonder roses, from the holyHands of penitents so lowly,Help'd to render us victorious,And to do the deed all-glorious;For they gain'd us this soul-treasure.
Evil ones those roses banish'd,
Devils, when we met them, vanish'd.Spirits felt love's pangs with pleasure,Where hell's torments used to dwell;E'en the hoary king of hellFelt sharp torments through him run.Shout for joy! the prize is won.
Strains of mortality
Long have oppress'd us;Pure could they ever be,
If of asbestos.If mighty spirit-strength
Elements everKnew how to seize at length,
Angels could neverLink'd twofold natures move,
Where single-hearted;By nought but deathless love
Can they be parted.
See where a spirit-race
Bursts on the sight!Dimly their forms I trace
Round the far height.Each cloud becometh clear,While the bright troops appear
Of the blest boys,
From the Earth's burden free,In a glad company
Drinking in joys,Born of the world above,
Springtime and bliss.May they forerunners proveOf a more perfect love,
Link'd on to this!
Thus as a chrysalis
Gladly we gain him,And as a pledge of bliss
Safely retain him;When from the shell he's free
Whereby he's tainted,Perfect and fair he'll be,
Holy and sainted.
DOCTOR MARINAS.(In the highest, purest cell.)
Wide is the prospect here,
Raised is the soul;Women on high appear,
Seeking their goal.
'Mongat them the radiant one,
Queen of the skies,In her bright starry crown
Greets my glad eyes.
(With ecstasy.)
Thou who art of earth the queen.
Let me, 'neath the blueHeav'nly canopy serene
Thy sweet mystery view!Grant the gentle solemn force
Which the breast can move.And direct our onward course
Tow'rd thy perfect love.Dauntless let our courage be,
At thy bright behest;Mild our ardour suddenly,
When thou bidd'st us rest.Virgin, type of holiness,
Mother, honour-crown'd,Thou whom we as queen confess,
Godlike and renowned.
Round her, in gentle play,
Light clouds are stealing;Penitents fair are they,
Who, humbly kneeling,Sip in the ether sweet,As they for grace entreat.
Thou, who art from passions free,
Kindly art inclin'd,When the sons of frailty
Seek thee, meek in mind.
Borne by weakness' stream along,
Hard it is to save them;Who can burst lust's chains so strong,
That, alas, enslave them?O how soon the foot may slip,
When the smooth ground pressing!O, how false are eye and lip,
False a breath caressing!
MATER GLORLOSA hovers past.
To bring realms on high
In majesty soaring,O, hark to our cry
Thy pity imploring,Thou help to the cheerless,In glory so peerless!
MAGNA PECCATRIX (St. Luke vii. 36).
By the love, which o'er the feet
Of thy God-transfigur'd SonDropp'd the team, like balsam sweet,
Spite of ev'ry scornful one;By the box of ointment rare,
Whence the drops so fragrant fell;By the locks, whose gentle care
Dried His holy members well—
muller SAMARITANA (St, John iv.).
By the well where Abram erst
Drove his flocks to drink their fill;By the bucket which the thirst
Of the Saviour served to still;By the fountain, balm-exhaling,
That from yon bright region flows,Ever clear and never failing.
As round ev'ry world it goes—
MARIA AEGYPTIACA (Acta Sanctorum).
By the sacred spot immortal,
Where the Lord's remains they plac'd;By the arm, that from the portal
Drove me back with warning haste;By my forty years of lowly
Penance in a desert land;By the farewell greetings holy
That I wrote upon the sand—
Thou who ne'er thy radiant face
From the greatest sinners hides,Thou who Thine atoning grace
Through eternity provident,
Let this soul, by virtue stirr'd,
Self-forgetful though when living,That perceived not that it err'd,
Feel thy mercy, sin forgiving!
UNA POENITENTIUM.(Once named Margaret, pressing near them.)
Oh radiance-spreading One,
Who equall'd art by none,In mercy view mine ecstasy!
For he whom erst I loved,
No more by sorrow proved,Returns at length to me!
BEATIFIED CHILDREN.(Approaching as they hover round.)
He now in strength of limb
Far doth outweigh us,And, as we tended him,
So will repay us.Early removed were we
Far from life's story;Train'd now himself, will he
Train us in glory.
THE PENITENT, once named Margaret.
Link'd with the noble band of spirits,
Scarce can the new one feel or seeThe radiant life he now inherits,
So like that holy band is he.See how he bursts each bond material,
And parts the olden veil at length,—In vesture clad of grace ethereal,
Comes in the glow of youthful strength.Oh, let me guide his steps victorious,
While dazzled by the new-born light.
Come! raise thyself to spheres more glorious,He'll follow when thou matzoth his sight.
DOCTOR MARINAS.(Prostrated in adoration.)
O repentant sinful ones,
On that bright face gaze ye,And, in grateful orisons,
Your blest fortune praise ye!Be each virtue of the mind
To thy service given!Virgin, mother, be thou kind!
Goddess, queen of heaven!
Each thing of mortal birth
Is but a typeWhat was of feeble worth
Here becomes ripe.What was a mystery
Here meets the eye;The ever-womanly
Draws us on high.
(Finis.)——-FROM IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
YE children of mortalsThe deities dread!The mastery hold theyIn hands all-eternal,And use them, unquestioned,What manner they like.
Let him fear them doubly,Whom they have uplifted!On cliffs and on clouds, oh,Round tables all-golden,he seats are made ready.
When rises contention,The guests are humid downwardsWith shame and dishonorTo deep depths of midnight,And vainly await they,Bound fast in the darkness,A just condemnation.
But they remain everIn firmness unshakenRound tables all-golden.On stride they from mountainTo mountain far distant:From out the abysses'Dark jaws, the breath risesOf torment-choked TitansUp tow'rds them, like incenseIn light clouds ascending.
The rulers immortalAvert from whole peoplesTheir blessing-fraught glances,And shun, in the children,To trace the once cherish'd,Still, eloquent featuresTheir ancestors wore.
Thus chanted the Parae;The old man, the banish'd,In gloomy vault lying,Their song overheareth,Sons, grandsons remembereth,And shaketh his head.——-FROM GOTZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
LIEBETRAUT plays and sings.
HIS bow and dart bearing,And torch brightly flaring,
Dan Cupid on flies;With victory laden,To vanquish each maiden
He roguishly tries.
Up! up!
On! on!His arms rattle loudly,His wings rustle proudly,And flames fill his eyes.
Then finds he each bosom
Defenseless and bare;They gladly receive him
And welcome him there.The point of his arrows
He lights in the glow;They clasp him and kiss him
And fondle him so.He e o! Pap!
CLARA winds a skein, and sings with Brackenburg.
THE drum gives the signal!
Loud rings the shrill fife!My love leads his troops on
Full arm'd for the strife,While his hand grasps his lanceAs they proudly advance.
My bosom pants wildly!My blood hotly flows!Oh had I a doublet,A helmet, and hose!
Through the gate with bold footstep
I after him hied,—Each province, each country
Explored by his side.The coward foe trembledThen rattled our shot:What bliss e'er resembled
A soldier's glad lot!
CLARA sings.
Gladness
And sadnessAnd pensiveness blending
Yearning
And burningIn torment ne'er ending;
Sad unto death,Proudly soaring above;
Happy aloneIs the soul that doth love!
WHO never eat with tears his bread,
Who never through night's heavy hoursSat weeping on his lonely bed,—
He knows you not, ye heavenly powers!
Through you the paths of life we gain,
Ye let poor mortals go astray,And then abandon them to pain,—
E'en here the penalty we pay,——-WHO gives himself to solitude,
Soon lonely will remain;Each lives, each loves in joyous mood,
And leaves him to his pain.
Yes! leave me to my grief!Were solitude's relief
E'er granted me,
Alone I should not be.
A lover steals, on footstep light,
To learn if his love's alone;Thus o'er me steals, by day and night,
Anguish before unknown,Thus o'er me steals deep grief.Ah, when I find relief
Within the tomb so lonely,
Will rest be met with only!——-BOOK IV., CHAP. XI.
My grief no mortals know,
Except the yearning!Alone, a prey to woe,
All pleasure spurning,Up tow'rds the sky I throw
A gaze discerning.
He who my love can know
Seems ne'er returning;With strange and fiery glow
My heart is burning.My grief no mortals know,
Except the yearning!——-BOOK V., CHAP. X.
SING no more in mournful tones
Of the loneliness of night;For 'tis made, ye beauteous ones,
For all social pleasures bright.
As of old to man a wife
As his better half was given,So the night is half our life,
And the fairest under heaven.
How can ye enjoy the day,
Which obstructs our rapture's tide?Let it waste itself away;
Worthless 'tis for aught beside.
But when in the darkling hours
From the lamp soft rays are glowing,And from mouth to mouth sweet showers,
Now of jest, now love, are flowing,—
When the nimble, wanton boy,
Who so wildly spends his days,Oft amid light sports with joy
O'er some trifling gift delays,─
When the nightingale is singing
Strains the lover holds so dear,Though like sighs and wailings ringing
In the mournful captive's ear,—
With what heart-emotion blest
Do ye hearken to the bell,Wont of safety and of rest
With twelve solemn strokes to tell!
Therefore in each heavy hour,
Let this precept fill your heart:O'er each day will sorrow loud,
Rapture ev'ry night impart.——-EPILOGUE TO SCHILLER'S "SONG OF THE BELL."
[This fine piece, written originally in 1805, on Schiller's death, was altered and recast by Goethe in 1815, on the occasion of the performance on the stage of the Song of the Bell. Hence the allusion in the last verse.]
To this city joy reveal it!
Peace as its first signal peal it!
(Song of the Bell—concluding lines.)
AND so it proved! The nation felt, ere long,
That peaceful signal, and, with blessings fraught,A new-born joy appear'd; in gladsome song
To hail the youthful princely pair we sought;While in a living, ever-swelling throng
Mingled the crowds from ev'ry region brought,And on the stage, in festal pomp array'dThe HOMAGE OF THE ARTS * we saw displayed.
(* The title of a lyric piece composed by Schiller in honour of the marriage of the hereditary Prince of Weimar to the Princess Maria of Russia, and performed in 1804.)
When, lo! a fearful midnight sound I hear,
That with a dull and mournful echo rings.And can it be that of our friend so dear
It tells, to whom each wish so fondly clings?Shall death overcome a life that all revere?
How such a loss to all confusion brings!How such a parting we must ever rue!The world is weeping,—shall not we weep too?
He was our own! How social, yet how great
Seem'd in the light of day his noble mind!How was his nature, pleasing yet sedate,
Now for glad converse joyously incline,Then swiftly changing, spirit-fraught, elate,
Life's plan with deep-felt meaning it design'd,Fruitful alike in counsel and in deed!This have we proved, this tasted, in our need.
He was our own! O may that thought so blest
Overcome the voice of wailing and of woeHe might have sought the Lasting, safe at rest
In harbour, when the tempest ceased to blow.Meanwhile his mighty spirit onward press'd
Where goodness, beauty, truth, for ever grow;And in his rear, in shadowy outline, layThe vulgar, which we all, alas, obey!
Now doth he deck the garden-turret fair
Where the stars' language first illuded his soul,As secretly yet clearly through the air
On the eterne, the living sense it stole;And to his own, and our great profit, there
Exchangeth he the seasons as they roll;Thus nobly doth he vanquish, with renown,The twilight and the night that weigh us down.
Brighter now glow'd his cheek, and still more bright.
With that unchanging, ever-youthful glow,—That courage which overcomes, in hard-fought fight,
Sooner or later, ev'ry earthly foe—That faith which, soaring to the realms of light,
Now boldly Presseth on, now bendeth low,So that the good may work, wax, thrive amain,So that the day the noble may attain.
Yet, though so skill'd, of such transcendent worth,
This boarded scaffold doth he not despise;The fate that on its axis turns the earth
From day to night, here shows he to our eyes,Raising, through many a work of glorious birth,
Art and the artist's fame up tow'rd the skies.He fills with blossoms of the noblest strife,With life itself, this effigy of life.
His giant-step, as ye full surely knew,
Measured the circle of the will and deed,Each country's changing thoughts and morals too,
The darksome book with clearness could he read;Yet how he, breathless 'midst his friends so true,
Despaired in sorrow, scarce from pain was freed,—All this have we, in sadly happy years,For he was ours, bewailed with feeling tears.
When from the agonizing weight of grief
He raised his eyes upon the world again,We show'd him how his thoughts might find relief
From the uncertain present's heavy chain,Gave his fresh-kindled mind a respite brief,
With kindly skill beguiling ev'ry pain,And e'en at eve, when setting was his sun,From his wan cheeks a gentle smile we won.
Full early had he read the stern decree,
Sorrow and death to him, alas, were known;Ofttimes recovering, now departed he,—
Dread tidings, that our hearts had fear'd to own!Yet his transfigured being now can see
Itself, e'en here on earth, transfigured grown.What his own age reproved, and deem'd a crime,Hath been ennobled now by death and time.
And many a soul that with him strove in fight,
And his great merit grudged to recognise,Now feels the impress of his wondrous might,
And in his magic fetters gladly lies;E'en to the highest bath he winged his flight,
In close communion link'd with all we prize.Extol him then! What mortals while they liveBut half receive, posterity shall give.
Thus is he left us, who so long ago,—
Ten years, alas, already!—turn'd from earth;We all, to our great joy, his precepts know,
Oh may the world confess their priceless worth!In swelling tide tow'rd every region flow
The thoughts that were his own peculiar birth;He gleams like some departing meteor bright,Combining, with his own, eternal light.——-
L'ENVOl.
——- Now, gentle reader, is our journey ended,
Mute is our minstrel, silent is our song;Sweet the bard's voice whose strains our course attended,
Pleasant the paths he guided us along.Now must we part,—Oh word all full of sadness,Changing to pensive retrospect our gladness!
Reader, farewell! we part perchance for ever,
Scarce may I hope to meet with thee again;But e'en though fate our fellowship may sever,
Reader, will aught to mark that tie remain?Yes! there is left one sad sweet bond of union,—Sorrow at parting links us in communion.
But of the twain, the greater is my sorrow,—
Reader, and why?—Bethink thee of the sun,How, when he sets, he waiteth for the morrow,
Proudly once more his giant-race to run,—Yet, e'en when set, a glow behind him leaving,Gladdening the spirit, which had else been grieving.
Thus mayst thou feel, for thou to GOETHE only
Baldest farewell, nor camest aught for me.Twofold my parting, leaving me all lonely,—
I now must part from GOETHE and from thee,Parting at once from comrade and from leader,—Farewell, great minstrel! farewell, gentle reader!
Hush'd is the harp, its music sunk in slumbers,Memory alone can waken now its numbers.