Ye sinn'd, and all My precepts slightedWrapp'd in the sleep of sin ye dwelt,Now is My fearful judgment felt,
By a just doom your guilt requited."—Thus spake He, and a fearful storm
From Him proceeds, the lightnings glow,The thunders seize each wicked form,
And hurl them in the gulf below.
The God-man closeth Hell's sad doors,In all His majesty He soars
From those dark regions back to light.He sitteth at the Father's side;Oh, friends, what joy doth this betide!
For us, for us He still will fight!The angels sacred quire around
Rejoice before the mighty Lord,So that all creatures hear the sound:
"Zebaoth's God be aye ador'd!"
1765. ——-
——- LEOPOLD, DUKE OF BRUNSWICK.
[Written on the occasion of the death, by drowning, of thePrince.]
THOU wert forcibly seized by the hoary lord of the river,—
Holding thee, ever he shares with thee his streaming domain,Calmly sleepest thou near his urn as it silently trickles,
Till thou to action art roused, waked by the swift-rolling flood.Kindly be to the people, as when thou still wert a mortal,
Perfecting that as a god, which thou didst fail in, as man.
1785. ——- TO THE HUSBANDMAN.
SMOOTHLY and lightly the golden seed by the furrow is cover'd;
Yet will a deeper one, friend, cover thy bones at the last.Joyously plough'd and sow'd! Here food all living is budding,
E'en from the side of the tomb Hope will not vanish away.
1789.* ——- ANACREON'S GRAVE.
HERE where the roses blossom, where vines round the laurels are twining,
Where the turtle-dove calls, where the blithe cricket is heard,Say, whose grave can this be, with life by all the Immortals
Beauteously planted and deck'd?—Here doth Anacreon sleepSpring and summer and autumn rejoiced the thrice-happy minstrel,
And from the winter this mound kindly hath screen'd him at last.
1789.* ——- THE BRETHREN.
SLUMBER and Sleep, two brethren ordain'd by the gods to their service,
Were by Prometheus implored, comfort to give to his race;But though so light to the gods, too heavy for man was their burden,
We in their slumber find sleep, we in their sleep meet with death.
1789.* ——- MEASURE OF TIME.
EROS, what mean'st thou by this? In each of thine hands is an hourglass!
What, oh thou frivolous god! twofold thy measure of time?"Slowly run from the one, the hours of lovers when parted;
While through the other they rush swiftly, as soon as they meet."
1789.* ——- WARNING.
WAKEN not Amor from sleep! The beauteous urchin still slumbers;
Go, and complete thou the task, that to the day is assign'd!Thus doth the prudent mother with care turn time to her profit,
While her babe is asleep, for 'twill awake but too soon.
1785.* ——- SOLITUDE.
OH ye kindly nymphs, who dwell 'mongst the rocks and the thickets,
Grant unto each whatsoe'er he may in silence desire!Comfort impart to the mourner, and give to the doubter instruction,
And let the lover rejoice, finding the bliss that he craves.For from the gods ye received what they ever denied unto mortals,
Power to comfort and aid all who in you may confide.
1782. ——- THE CHOSEN CLIFF.
HERE in silence the lover fondly mused on his loved one;
Gladly he spake to me thus: "Be thou my witness, thou stone!Yet thou must not be vainglorious, thou hast many companions;
Unto each rock on the plain, where I, the happy one, dwell,Unto each tree of the wood that I cling to, as onward I ramble,
'Be thou a sign of my bliss!' shout I, and then 'tis ordain'd.Yet to thee only I lend a voice, as a Muse from the people
Chooseth one for herself, kissing his lips as a friend."
1782. ——- THE CONSECRATED SPOT.
WHEN in the dance of the Nymphs, in the moonlight so holy assembled,
Mingle the Graces, down from Olympus in secret descending,Here doth the minstrel hide, and list to their numbers enthralling,
Here doth he watch their silent dances' mysterious measure.All that is glorious in Heaven, and all that the earth in her beauty
Ever hath brought into life, the dreamer awake sees before him;All he repeats to the Muses, and lest the gods should be anger'd,
How to tell of secrets discreetly, the Muses instruct him.
1789.* ——- THE INSTRUCTORS.
WHEN Diogenes quietly sunn'd himself in his barrel,
When Calanus with joy leapt in the flame-breathing grave,Oh, what noble lessons were those for the rash son of Philip,
Were not the lord of the world e'en for instruction too great!
1789.* ——- THE UNEQUAL MARRIAGE,
EVEN this heavenly pair were unequally match'd when united:
Psyche grew older and wise, Amor remain'd still a child,
1789.* ——- EXCUSE.
THOU dost complain of woman for changing from one to another?
Censure her not: for she seeks one who will constant remain.
1789.* ——- SAKONTALA.
WOULDST thou the blossoms of spring, as well as the fruits of the autumn,
Wouldst thou what charms and delights, wouldst thou what
plenteously, feeds, Would thou include both Heaven and earth in one designation,
All that is needed is done, when I Sakontala name.
1792. ——- THE MUSE'S MIRROR.
EARLY one day, the Muse, when eagerly bent on adornment,Follow'd a swift-running streamlet, the quietest nook by it seeking.Quickly and noisily flowing, the changeful surface distortedEver her moving form; the goddess departed in anger.Yet the stream call'd mockingly after her, saying: "What, truly!Wilt thou not view, then, the truth, in my mirror so clearly depicted?"But she already was far away, on the brink of the ocean,In her figure rejoicing, and duly arranging her garland.
1799.* ——- PHOEBUS AND HERMES.
DELOS' stately ruler, and Maia's son, the adroit one,
Warmly were striving, for both sought the great prize to obtain.Hermes the lyre demanded, the lyre was claim'd by Apollo,
Yet were the hearts of the foes fruitlessly nourish'd by hope.For on a sudden Ares burst in, with fury decisive,
Dashing in twain the gold toy, brandishing wildly his sword.Hermes, malicious one, laughed beyond measure; yet deep-seated sorrow
Seized upon Phoebus's heart, seized on the heart of each Muse.
1799.* ——- THE NEW AMOR.
AMOR, not the child, the youthful lover of Psyche,Look'd round Olympus one day, boldly, to triumph inured;There he espied a goddess, the fairest amongst the immortals,—Venus Urania she,—straight was his passion inflamed.Even the holy one powerless proved, alas! 'gainst his wooing,—Tightly embraced in his arm, held her the daring one fast.Then from their union arose a new, a more beauteous Amor,Who from his father his wit, grace from his mother derives.Ever thou'lt find him join'd in the kindly Muses' communion,And his charm-laden bolt foundeth the love of the arts.
1792. ——- THE GARLANDS.
KLOPSTOCK would lead us away from Pindus; no longer for laurelMay we be eager—the homely acorn alone must content us;Yet he himself his more-than-epic crusade is conductingHigh on Golgotha's summit, that foreign gods he may honour!Yet, on what hill he prefers, let him gather the angels together,Suffer deserted disciples to weep o'er the grave of the just one:There where a hero and saint hath died, where a bard breath'd his numbers,Both for our life and our death an ensample of courage resplendentAnd of the loftiest human worth to bequeath,—ev'ry nationThere will joyously kneel in devotion ecstatic, reveringThorn and laurel garland, and all its charms and its tortures.
1815.* ——- THE SWISS ALPS.
YESTERDAY brown was still thy head, as the locks of my loved one,
Whose sweet image so dear silently beckons afar.Silver-grey is the early snow to-day on thy summit,
Through the tempestuous night streaming fast over thy brow.Youth, alas, throughout life as closely to age is united
As, in some changeable dream, yesterday blends with to-day.
Uri, October 7th, 1797.——-DISTICHS.
CHORDS are touch'd by Apollo,—the death-laden bow, too, he bendeth;
While he the shepherdess charms, Python he lays in the dust.——-WHAT is merciful censure? To make thy faults appear smaller?
May be to veil them? No, no! O'er them to raise thee on high!——-DEMOCRATIC food soon cloys on the multitude's stomach;But I'll wager, ere long, other thou'lt give them instead.——-WHAT in France has pass'd by, the Germans continue to practise,
For the proudest of men flatters the people and fawns.——-WHO is the happiest of men? He who values the merits of others,And in their pleasure takes joy, even as though 'twere his own.——-NOT in the morning alone, not only at mid-day he charmeth;
Even at setting, the sun is still the same glorious planet. ——-
VENETIAN EPIGRAMS.(Written in 1790.)——-URN and sarcophagus erst were with life adorn'd by the heathen
Fauns are dancing around, while with the Bacchanal troopChequerd circles they trace; and the goat-footed, puffy-cheekd player
Wildly produceth hoarse tones out of the clamorous horn.Cymbals and drums resound; we see and we hear, too, the marble.
Fluttering bird! oh how sweet tastes the ripe fruit to thy bill!Noise there is none to disturb thee, still less to scare away Amor,
Who, in the midst of the throng, learns to delight in his torch.Thus doth fullness overcome death; and the ashes there cover'd
Seem, in that silent domain, still to be gladdend with life.Thus may the minstrel's sarcophagus be hereafter surrounded
With such a scroll, which himself richly with life has adorn'd.——-CLASP'D in my arms for ever eagerly hold I my mistress,
Ever my panting heart throbs wildly against her dear breast,And on her knees forever is leaning my head, while I'm gazing
Now on her sweet-smiling mouth, now on her bright sparkling eyes."Oh thou effeminate!" spake one, "and thus, then, thy days thou
art spending?"
Ah, they in sorrow are spent. List while I tell thee my tale:Yes! I have left my only joy in life far behind me,
Twenty long days hath my car borne me away from her sight.Vettrini defy me, while crafty chamberlains flatter,
And the sly Valet de place thinks but of lies and deceit.If I attempt to escape, the Postmaster fastens upon me,
Postboys the upper hand get, custom-house duties enrage."Truly, I can't understand thee! thou talkest enigmas! thou seemest
Wrapp'd in a blissful repose, glad as Rinaldo of yore:Ah, I myself understand full well; 'tis my body that travels,
And 'tis my spirit that rests still in my mistress's arms.——-I WOULD liken this gondola unto the soft-rocking cradle,
And the chest on its deck seems a vast coffin to be.Yes! 'tween the cradle and coffin, we totter and waver for ever
On the mighty canal, careless our lifetime is spent.——-WHY are the people thus busily moving? For food they are seeking,
Children they fain would beget, feeding them well as they can.Traveller, mark this well, and when thou art home, do thou likewise!
More can no mortal effect, work with what ardour he will.——-I WOULD compare to the land this anvil, its lord to the hammer,
And to the people the plate, which in the middle is bent.Sad is the poor tin-plate's lot, when the blows are but given at random:
Ne'er will the kettle be made, while they uncertainly fall.——-WHAT is the life of a man? Yet thousands are ever accustom'dFreely to talk about man,—what he has done, too, and how.Even less is a poem; yet thousands read and enjoy it,Thousands abuse it.—My friend, live and continue to rhyme!——-MERRY'S the trade of a poet; but somewhat a dear one, I fear me
For, as my book grows apace, all of my sequins I lose.——-Is' thou'rt in earnest, no longer delay, but render me happy;Art thou in jest? Ah, sweet love! time for all jesting is past.——-ART thou, then, vex'd at my silence? What shall I speak of? Thou markest
Neither my sorrowful sigh, nor my soft eloquent look.Only one goddess is able the seal of my lips to unloosen,—
When by Aurora I'm found, slumbering calm on thy breast.Ah, then my hymn in the ears of the earliest gods shall be chaunted,
As the Memnonian form breath'd forth sweet secrets in song.——-IN the twilight of morning to climb to the top of the mountain,—
Thee to salute, kindly star, earliest herald of day,—And to await, with impatience, the gaze of the ruler of heaven,—
Youthful delight, oh oft lur'st thou me out in the night!Oh ye heralds of day, ye heavenly eyes of my mistress,
Now ye appear, and the sun evermore riseth too soon.——-THOU art amazed, and dost point to the ocean. It seems to be burning,Flame-crested billows in play dart round our night-moving bark.Me it astonisheth not,—of the ocean was born Aphrodite,—Did not a flame, too, proceed from her for us, in her son?——-GLEAMING the ocean appear'd, the beauteous billows were smiling,
While a fresh, favouring wind, filling the sails, drove us on.Free was my bosom from yearning; yet soon my languishing glances
Turn'd themselves backward in haste, seeking the snow-cover'd hills.Treasures unnumber'd are southwards lying. Yet one to the northwards
Draws me resistlessly back, like the strong magnet in force.——-SPACIOUS and fair is the world; yet oh! how I thank the kind heavens
That I a garden possess, small though it be, yet mine own.One which enticeth me homewards; why should a gardener wander?
Honour and pleasure he finds, when to his garden he looks.——-AH, my maiden is going! she mounts the vessel! My monarch,
AEolus! potentate dread! keep ev'ry storm far away!"Oh, thou fool!" cried the god:"ne'er fear the blustering tempest;
When Love flutters his wings, then mayst thou dread the soft breeze." ——-
——- PART I.
[The Roman Elegies were written in the same year as the VenetianEpigrams—viz. 1790.]
SPEAK, ye stones, I entreat! Oh speak, ye palaces lofty!
Utter a word, oh ye streets! Wilt thou not, Genius, awake?All that thy sacred walls, eternal Rome, hold within them
Teemeth with life; but to me, all is still silent and dead.Oh, who will whisper unto me,—when shall I see at the casement
That one beauteous form, which, while it scorcheth, revives?Can I as yet not discern the road, on which I for ever
To her and from her shall go, heeding not time as it flies?Still do I mark the churches, palaces, ruins, and columns,
As a wise traveller should, would he his journey improve.Soon all this will be past; and then will there be but one temple,
Amor's temple alone, where the Initiate may go.Thou art indeed a world, oh Rome; and yet, were Love absent,
Then would the world be no world, then would e'en Rome be no Rome.——-Do not repent, mine own love, that thou so soon didst surrender
Trust me, I deem thee not bold! reverence only I feel.Manifold workings the darts of Amor possess; some but scratching,
Yet with insidious effect, poison the bosom for years.Others mightily feather'd, with fresh and newly-born sharpness
Pierce to the innermost bone, kindle the blood into flame.In the heroical times, when loved each god and each goddess,
Longing attended on sight; then with fruition was bless'd.Think'st thou the goddess had long been thinking of love and its pleasures
When she, in Ida's retreats, own'd to Anchises her flame?Had but Luna delayd to kiss the beautiful sleeper,
Oh, by Aurora, ere long, he had in envy been rous'd!Hero Leander espied at the noisy feast, and the lover
Hotly and nimbly, ere long, plunged in the night-cover'd flood.Rhea Silvia, virgin princess, roam'd near the Tiber,
Seeking there water to draw, when by the god she was seiz'd.Thus were the sons of Mars begotten! The twins did a she-wolf
Suckle and nurture,—and Rome call'd herself queen of the world,——-ALEXANDER, and Caesar, and Henry, and Fred'rick, the mighty,
On me would gladly bestow half of the glory they earn'd,Could I but grant unto each one night on the couch where I'm lying;
But they, by Orcus's night, sternly, alas! are held down.Therefore rejoice, oh thou living one, blest in thy love-lighted homestead,
Ere the dark Lethe's sad wave wetteth thy fugitive foot.——-THESE few leaves, oh ye Graces, a bard presents, in your honour,
On your altar so pure, adding sweet rosebuds as well,And he does it with hope. The artist is glad in his workshop,
When a Pantheon it seems round him for ever to bring.Jupiter knits his godlike brow,—her's, Juno up-lifteth;
Phoebus strides on before, shaking his curly-lock'd headCalmly and drily Minerva looks down, and Hermes the light one,
Turneth his glances aside, roguish and tender at once.But tow'rds Bacchus, the yielding, the dreaming, raiseth Cythere
Looks both longing and sweet, e'en in the marble yet moist.Of his embraces she thinks with delight, and seems to be asking
"Should not our glorious son take up his place by our side?"——-AMOR is ever a rogue, and all who believe him are cheated!
To me the hypocrite came: "Trust me, I pray thee, this once.Honest is now my intent,—with grateful thanks I acknowledge
That thou thy life and thy works hast to my worship ordain'd.See, I have follow'd thee thither, to Rome, with kindly intention,
Hoping to give thee mine aid, e'en in the foreigner's land.Every trav'ller complains that the quarters he meets with are wretched
Happily lodged, though, is he, who is by Amor receiv'd.Thou dost observe the ruins of ancient buildings with wonder,
Thoughtfully wandering on, over each time-hallow'd spot.Thou dost honour still more the worthy relics created
By the few artists—whom I loved in their studios to seek.I 'twas fashion'd those forms! thy pardon,—I boast not at present;
Presently thou shalt confess, that what I tell thee is true.Now that thou serv'st me more idly, where are the beauteous figures,
Where are the colours, the light, which thy creations once fill'd?Hast thou a mind again to form? The school of the Grecians
Still remains open, my friend; years have not barr'd up its doors.I, the teacher, am ever young, and love all the youthful,
Love not the subtle and old; Mother, observe what I say!Still was new the Antique, when yonder blest ones were living;
Happily live,—and, in thee, ages long vanish'd will live!Food for song, where hop'st thou to find it? I only can give it,
And a more excellent style, love, and love only can teach."Thus did the Sophist discourse. What mortal, alas! could resist him?
And when a master commands, I have been train'd to obey.Now he deceitfully keeps his word, gives food for my numbers,
But, while he does so, alas! robs me of time, strength, and mind.Looks, and pressure of hands, and words of kindness, and kisses,
Syllables teeming with thought, by a fond pair are exchang'd.Then becomes whispering, talk,—and stamm'ring, a language enchanting;
Free from all prosody's rules, dies such a hymn on the ear.Thee, Aurora, I used to own as the friend of the Muses;
Hath, then, Amor the rogue cheated, Aurora, e'en thee?Thou dost appear to me now as his friend, and again dost awake me
Unto a day of delight, while at his altar I kneel.All her locks I find on my bosom, her head is reposing,
Pressing with softness the arm, which round her neck is entwin'd;Oh! what a joyous awak'ning, ye hours so peaceful, succeeded,
Monument sweet of the bliss which had first rock'd us to sleepIn her slumber she moves, and sinks, while her face is averted,
Far on the breadth of the couch, leaving her hand still in mineHeartfelt love unites us for ever, and yearnings unsullied,
And our cravings alone claim for themselves the exchange.One faint touch of the hand, and her eyes so heavenly see I
Once more open. Ah, no! let me still look on that form!Closed still remain! Ye make me confused and drunken, ye rob me
Far too soon of the bliss pure contemplation affords.Mighty, indeed, are these figures! these limbs, how gracefully rounded!
Theseus, could'st thou e'er fly, whilst Ariadne thus slept?Only one single kiss on these lips! Oh, Theseus, now leave us!
Gaze on her eyes! she awakes—Firmly she holds thee embrac'd——-PART II.
[This beautiful poem was first published in Schiller's Horen.]
FARTHER and farther away, alas! at each moment the vessel
Hastens, as onward it glides, cleaving the foam-cover'd flood!Long is the track plough'd up by the keel where dolphins are sporting,
Following fast in its rear, while it seems flying pursuit.All forebodes a prosperous voyage; the sailor with calmness
Leans 'gainst the sail, which alone all that is needed performs.Forward presses the heart of each seamen, like colours and streamers;
Backward one only is seen, mournfully fix'd near the mast,While on the blue tinged mountains, which fast are receding, he gazeth,
And as they sink in the sea, joy from his bosom departs.Vanish'd from thee, too, oh Dora, is now the vessel that robs thee
Of thine Alexis, thy friend,—ah, thy betrothed as well!Thou, too, art after me gazing in vain. Our hearts are still throbbing,
Though, for each other, yet ah! 'gainst one another no more.Oh, thou single moment, wherein I found life! thou outweighest
Every day which had else coldly from memory fled.'Twas in that moment alone, the last, that upon me descended
Life, such as deities grant, though thou perceived'st it not.Phoebus, in vain with thy rays dost thou clothe the ether in glory:
Thine all-brightening day hateful alone is to me.Into myself I retreat for shelter, and there, in the silence,
Strive to recover the time when she appear'd with each day.Was it possible beauty like this to see, and not feel it?
Work'd not those heavenly charms e'en on a mind dull as thine?Blame not thyself, unhappy one! Oft doth the bard an enigma
Thus propose to the throng, skillfully hidden in words.Each one enjoys the strange commingling of images graceful,
Yet still is wanting the word which will discover the sense.When at length it is found, the heart of each hearer is gladden'd,
And in the poem he sees meaning of twofold delight.Wherefore so late didst thou remove the bandage, oh Amor,
Which thou hadst placed o'er mine eyes,—wherefore remove it so late?Long did the vessel, when laden, lie waiting for favouring breezes,
'Till in kindness the wind blew from the land o'er the sea.Vacant times of youth! and vacant dreams of the future!
Ye all vanish, and nought, saving the moment, remains.Yes! it remains,—my joy still remains! I hold thee; my Dora,
And thine image alone, Dora, by hope is disclos'd.Oft have I seen thee go, with modesty clad, to the temple,
While thy mother so dear solemnly went by thy side.Eager and nimble thou wert, in bearing thy fruit to the market,
Boldly the pail from the well didst thou sustain on thy head.Then was reveal'd thy neck, then seen thy shoulders so beauteous,
Then, before all things, the grace filling thy motions was seen.Oft have I fear'd that the pitcher perchance was in danger of falling,
Yet it ever remain'd firm on the circular cloth.Thus, fair neighbour, yes, thus I oft was wont to observe thee,
As on the stars I might gaze, as I might gaze on the moon,Glad indeed at the sight, yet feeling within my calm bosom
Not the remotest desire ever to call them mine own.Years thus fleeted away! Although our houses were only
Twenty paces apart, yet I thy threshold ne'er cross'd.Now by the fearful flood are we parted! Thou liest to Heaven,
Billow! thy beautiful blue seems to me dark as the night.All were now in movement; a boy to the house of my father
Ran at full speed and exclaim'd: "Hasten thee quick to the strandHoisted the sail is already, e'en now in the wind it is flutt'ring,
While the anchor they weigh, heaving it up from the sand;Come, Alexis, oh come!"—My worthy stout-hearted father
Press'd, with a blessing, his hand down on my curly-lock'd head,While my mother carefully reach'd me a newly-made bundle,
"Happy mayst thou return!" cried they—" both happy and rich!"Then I sprang away, and under my arm held the bundle,
Running along by the wall. Standing I found thee hard by,At the door of thy garden. Thou smilingly saidst then "Alexis!
Say, are yon boisterous crew going thy comrades to be?Foreign coasts will thou visit, and precious merchandise purchase,
Ornaments meet for the rich matrons who dwell in the town.Bring me, also, I praythee, a light chain; gladly I'll pay thee,
Oft have I wish'd to possess some stich a trinket as that."There I remain'd, and ask'd, as merchants are wont, with precision
After the form and the weight which thy commission should have.Modest, indeed, was the price thou didst name! I meanwhile was gazing
On thy neck which deserv'd ornaments worn but by queens.Loudly now rose the cry from the ship; then kindly thou spakest
"Take, I entreat thee, some fruit out of the garden, my friendTake the ripest oranges, figs of the whitest; the ocean
Beareth no fruit, and, in truth, 'tis not produced by each land." So I entered in. Thou pluckedst the fruit from the branches,
And the burden of gold was in thine apron upheld.Oft did I cry, Enough! But fairer fruits were still falling
Into the hand as I spake, ever obeying thy touch.Presently didst thou reached the arbour; there lay there a basket,
Sweet blooming myrtle trees wav'd, as we drew nigh, o'er our heads.Then thou began'st to arrange the fruit with skill and in silence:
First the orange, which lay heavy as though 'twere of gold,Then the yielding fig, by the slightest pressure disfigur'd,
And with myrtle the gift soon was both cover'd and grac'd.But I raised it not up. I stood. Our eyes met together,
And my eyesight grew dim, seeming obscured by a film,Soon I felt thy bosom on mine! Mine arm was soon twining
Round thy beautiful form; thousand times kiss'd I thy neck.On my shoulder sank thy head; thy fair arms, encircling,
Soon rendered perfect the ring knitting the rapturous pair.Amor's hands I felt: he press'd us together with ardour,
And, from the firmament clear, thrice did it thunder; then tearsStream'd from mine eyes in torrents, thou weptest, I wept, both were weeping,
And, 'mid our sorrow and bliss, even the world seem'd to die.Louder and louder they calI'd from the strand; my feet would no longer
Bear my weight, and I cried:—"Dora! and art thou not mine?""Thine forever!" thou gently didst say. Then the tears we were shedding
Seem'd to be wiped from our eyes, as by the breath of a god.Nearer was heard the cry "Alexis!" The stripling who sought me
Suddenly peep'd through the door. How he the basket snatch'd up!How he urged me away! how press'd I thy hand! Wouldst thou ask me
How the vessel I reach'd? Drunken I seem'd, well I know.Drunken my shipmates believed me, and so had pity upon me;
And as the breeze drove us on, distance the town soon obscur'd."Thine for ever!" thou, Dora, didst murmur; it fell on my senses
With the thunder of Zeus! while by the thunderer's throneStood his daughter, the Goddess of Love; the Graces were standing
Close by her side! so the bond beareth an impress divine!Oh then hasten, thou ship, with every favouring zephyr!
Onward, thou powerful keel, cleaving the waves as they foam!Bring me unto the foreign harbour, so that the goldsmith
May in his workshop prepare straightway the heavenly pledge!Ay, of a truth, the chain shall indeed be a chain, oh my Dora!
Nine times encircling thy neck, loosely around it entwin'dOther and manifold trinkets I'll buy thee; gold-mounted bracelets,
Richly and skillfully wrought, also shall grace thy fair hand.There shall the ruby and emerald vie, the sapphire so lovely
Be to the jacinth oppos'd, seeming its foil; while the goldHolds all the jewels together, in beauteous union commingled.
Oh, how the bridegroom exults, when he adorns his betroth'd!Pearls if I see, of thee they remind me; each ring that is shown me
Brings to my mind thy fair hand's graceful and tapering form.I will barter and buy; the fairest of all shalt thou choose thee,
Joyously would I devote all of the cargo to thee.Yet not trinkets and jewels alone is thy loved one procuring;
With them he brings thee whate'er gives to a housewife delight.Fine and woollen coverlets, wrought with an edging of purple,
Fit for a couch where we both, lovingly, gently may rest;Costly pieces of linen. Thou sittest and sewest, and clothest
Me, and thyself, and, perchance, even a third with it too.Visions of hope, deceive ye my heart! Ye kindly Immortals,
Soften this fierce-raging flame, wildly pervading my breast!Yet how I long to feel them again, those rapturous torments.
When, in their stead, care draws nigh, coldly and fearfully calm.Neither the Furies' torch, nor the hounds of hell with their harking
Awe the delinquent so much, down in the plains of despair,As by the motionless spectre I'm awed, that shows me the fair one
Far away: of a truth, open the garden-door stands!And another one cometh! For him the fruit, too, is falling,
And for him, also, the fig strengthening honey doth yield!Doth she entice him as well to the arbour? He follows? Oh, make me
Blind, ye Immortals! efface visions like this from my mind!Yes, she is but a maiden! And she who to one doth so quickly
Yield, to another ere long, doubtless, Will turn herself round.Smile not, Zeus, for this once, at an oath so cruelly broken!
Thunder more fearfully! Strike!—Stay—thy fierce lightnings withhold!Hurl at me thy quivering bolt! In the darkness of midnight
Strike with thy lightning this mast, make it a pitiful wreck!Scatter the planks all around, and give to the boisterous billows
All these wares, and let me be to the dolphins a preyNow, ye Muses, enough! In vain would ye strive to depicture
How, in a love-laden breast, anguish alternates with bliss.Ye cannot heal the wounds, it is true, that love hath inflicted;
Yet from you only proceeds, kindly ones, comfort and balm.
1796. ——- HERMANN AND DOROTHEA.
IN NINE CANTOS. ——- I. KALLIOPE.
"NE'ER have I seen the market and streets so thoroughly empty!Still as the grave is the town, clear'd out! I verily fancyFifty at most of all our inhabitants still may be found there.People are so inquisitive! All are running and racingMerely to see the sad train of poor fellows driven to exile.Down to the causeway now building, the distance nearly a league is,And they thitherward rush, in the heat and the dust of the noonday.As for me, I had rather not stir from my place just to stare atWorthy and sorrowful fugitives, who, with what goods they can carry,Leaving their own fair land on the further side of the Rhine-stream,Over to us are crossing, and wander through the delightfulNooks of this fruitful vale, with all its twistings and windings.Wife, you did right well to bid our son go and meet them,Taking with him old linen, and something to eat and to drink too,Just to give to the poor; the rich are bound to befriend them.How he is driving along! How well he holds in the horses!Then the new little carriage looks very handsome; inside itFour can easily sit, besides the one on the coachbox.This time he is alone; how easily-turns it the corner!"Thus to his wife the host of the Golden Lion discoursed,Sitting at ease in the porch of his house adjoining the market.Then replied as follows the shrewd and sensible hostess"Father, I don't like giving old linen away, for I find itUseful in so many ways, 'tis not to he purchased for moneyJust when it's wanted. And yet to-day I gladly have givenMany excellent articles, shirts and covers and suchlike;For I have heard of old people and children walking half-naked.Will you forgive me, too, for having ransacked your presses?That grand dressing-gown, cover'd with Indian flowers all over,Made of the finest calico, lined with excellent flannel,I have despatch'd with the rest; 'tis thin, old, quite out of fashion."
But the worthy landlord only smiled, and then answer'dI shall dreadfully miss that ancient calico garment,Genuine Indian stuff! They're not to be had any longer.Well! I shall wear it no more. And your poor husband henceforwardAlways must wear a surtout, I suppose, or commonplace jacket,Always must put on his boots; good bye to cap and to slippers!"
"See," continued his wife, "a few are already returningWho have seen the procession, which long ago must have pass'd by.See how dusty their shoes are, and how their faces are glowingEach one carries a handkerchief, wiping the sweat from his forehead.I, for one, wouldn't hurry and worry myself in such weatherMerely to see such a sight! I'm certain to hear all about it."
And the worthy father, speaking with emphasis, added"Such fine weather seldom lasts through the whole of the harvestAnd we're bringing the fruit home, just as the hay we brought lately,Perfectly dry; the sky is clear, no cloud's in the heavens,And the whole day long delicious breezes are blowing.Splendid weather I call it! The corn already too ripe is,And to-morrow begin we to gather the plentiful harvest."
Whilst he was thus discoursing, the number of men and of womenCrossing the market and going towards home kept ever increasing;And there return'd amongst others, bringing with him his daughters,On the other side of the market, their prosperous neighbour,Going full speed to his newbuilt house, the principal merchant,Riding inside an open carriage (in Landau constructed).All the streets were alive; for the town, though small, was well peopled,Many a factory throve there, and many a business also.
Long sat the excellent couple under the doorway, exchangingMany a passing remark on the people who happen'd to pass them.Presently thus to her husband exclaim'd the good-natured hostess"See! Yon comes the minister; with him is walking the druggist:They'll be able to give an account of all that has happen'd,What they witness'd, and many a sight I fear which was painful."
Both of them came in a friendly manner, and greeted the couple,Taking their seats on the wooden benches under the doorway,Shaking the dust from their feet, their handkerchiefs using to fan them.Presently, after exchanging reciprocal greetings, the druggistOpen'd his mouth, and almost peevishly vented his feelings"What strange creatures men are! They all resemble each other,All take pleasure in staring, when troubles fall on their neighbours.Ev'ry one runs to see the flames destroying a dwelling,Or a poor criminal led in terror and shame to the scaffold.All the town has been out to gaze at the sorrowing exiles,None of them bearing in mind that a like misfortune hereafter,Possibly almost directly, may happen to be their own portion.I can't pardon such levity; yet 'tis the nature of all men."Thereupon rejoin'd the noble and excellent pastor,He, the charm of the town, in age scarce more than a stripling:—(He was acquainted with life, and knew the wants of his hearers,Fully convinced of the worth of the Holy Scriptures, whose missionIs to reveal man's fate, his inclinations to fathom;He was also well read in the best of secular writings.)"I don't like to find fault with any innocent impulseWhich in the mind of man Dame Nature has ever implanted;For what reason and intellect ne'er could accomplish, is oftenDone by some fortunate, quite irresistible instinct within him.If mankind were never by curiosity driven,Say, could they e'er have found out for themselves the wonderful mannerThings in the world range in order? For first they Novelty look for,Then with untiring industry seek to discover the Useful,Lastly they yearn for the Good, which makes them noble and worthy.All through their youth frivolity serves as their joyous companion,Hiding the presence of danger, and. swiftly effacing the tracesCaused by misfortune and grief, as soon as their onslaught is over.Truly the man's to be praised who, as years roll onward, developsOut of such glad disposition an intellect settled and steady,—Who, in good fortune as well as misfortune, strives zealously, nobly;For what is Good he brings forth, replacing whatever is injured."Then in a friendly voice impatiently spoke thus the hostess:—"Tell us what have you seen; I am eagerly longing to hear it."
Then with emphasis answer'd the druggist:—" The terrible storiesTold me to-day will serve for a long time to make me unhappy.Words would fail to describe the manifold pictures of mis'ry.Far in the distance saw we the dust, before we descendedDown to the meadows; the rising hillocks hid the processionLong from our eyes, and little could we distinguish about it.When, however, we reach'd the road that winds thro' the valley,Great was the crowd and the noise of the emigrants mix'd with the waggons.We unhappily saw poor fellows passing in numbers,Some of them showing how bitter the sense of their sorrowful flight was,Some with a feeling of joy at saving their lives in a hurry.Sad was the sight of the manifold goods and chattels pertainingUnto a well-managed house, which the careful owner's accustom'dEach in its proper position to place, and in regular order,Always ready for use, for all are wanted and useful.—Sad was the sight of them now, on many a waggon and barrowHeap'd in thorough confusion, and hurriedly huddled together.Over a cupboard was placed a sieve and a coverlet woollen;Beds in the kneeding troughs lay, and linen over the glasses.Ah! and the danger appear'd to rob the men of their senses,Just as in our great fire of twenty years ago happen'd,When what was worthless they saved, and left all the best things behind them.So on the present occasion with heedless caution they carriedMany valueless chattels, o'erlading the cattle and horses,—Common old boards and barrels, a birdcage next to a goosepen.Women and children were gasping beneath the weight of their bundles,Baskets and tubs full of utterly useless articles, bearing.(Man is always unwilling the least of his goods to abandon.)Thus on its dusty way advanced the crowded procession,All in hopeless confusion. First one, whose cattle were weaker,Fain would slowly advance, while others would eagerly hasten.Then there arose a scream of half-crush'd women and children,And a lowing of cattle, with yelping of dogs intermingled,And a wailing of aged and sick, all sitting and shaking,Ranged in their beds on the top of the waggon too-heavily laden.Next some lumbering wheel, push'd out of the track by the pressure,Went to the edge of the roadway; the vehicle fell in the ditch then,Rolling right over, and throwing, in falling, the men who were in itFar in the field, screaming loudly, their persons however uninjured.Then the boxes roll'd off and tumbled close to the waggon.Those who saw them failing full surely expected to see themSmash'd to pieces beneath the weight of the chests and the presses.So the waggon lay broken, and those that it carried were helpless,For the rest of the train went on, and hurriedly pass'd them,Thinking only of self, and carried away by the current.So we sped to the spot, and found the sick and the agedWho, when at home and in bed, could scarcely endure their sad ailments,Lying there on the ground, all sighing and groaning in anguish,Stifled by clouds of dust, and scorch'd by the fierce sun of summer.
Then replied in tones of compassion the sensitive landlordHermann I trust will find them and give them refreshment and clothing.I should unwillingly see them: I grieve at the eight of such sorrow.Touch'd by the earliest news of the sad extent of the suffering,Hastily sent we a trifle from out of our superabundance,Just to comfort a few, and then our minds were more easy.Now let us cease to discourse on such a sorrowful subject,For men's hearts are easily overshadow'd by terror,And by care, more odious far to me than misfortune.Now let us go to a cooler place, the little back-parlour;There the sun never shines, and the walls are so thick that the hot airNever can enter; and mother shall forthwith bring us a glass eachFull of fine Eighty-three, well fitted to drive away trouble.This is a bad place for drinking; the flies will hum round the glasses."So they all went inside, enjoying themselves in the coolness.Then in a well-cut flask the mother carefully brought themSome of that clear good wine, upon a bright metal waiterWith those greenish rummers, the fittingest goblets for Rhine wine.So the three sat together, around the glistening polish'dCircular large brown table-─on massive feet it was planted.Merrily clink'd together the glasses of host and of pastor,But the other one thoughtfully held his glass without moving,And in friendly fashion the host thus ask'd him to join them:—
"Drink, good neighbour, I pray! A merciful God has protectedUs in the past from misfortune, and will protect us in future.All must confess that since He thought fit to severely chastise us,When that terrible fire occurr'd, He has constantly bless'd us.And watch'd over us constantly, just as man is accustom'dHis eye's precious apple to guard, that dearest of members.Shall He not for the future preserve us, and be our Protector?For 'tis in danger we learn to appreciate duly His Goodness.This so flourishing town, which He built again from its ashesBy the industrious hands of its burghers, and bless'd it so richly,Will He again destroy it, and render their toil unavailing?"
Cheerfully answer'd the excellent pastor, in accents of mildness"Steadfastly cling to this faith, and cherish such worthy opinions;In good fortune they'll make you prudent, and then in misfortuneWell-grounded hopes they'll supply, and furnish you true consolation."
Then continued the host, with thoughts full of manhood and wisdom"Oft have I greeted with wonder the rolling flood of the Rhine stream,When, on my business trav'lling, I've once more come to its borders.Grand has it ever appear'd, exalting my feelings and senses;But I could never imagine that soon its beautiful marginInto a wall would be turn'd, to keep the French from our country,And its wide-spreading bed a ditch to hinder and check them.So by Nature we're guarded, we're guarded by valorous Germans,And by the Lord we're guarded; who then would foolishly tremble?Weary the combatants are, and all things indicate peace soon;And when at length the long-expected festival's holdenHere in our church, and the bells chime in with the organ in chorus,And the trumpets are blowing, the noble Te Deum upraising,Then on that selfsame day I fain would see, my good pastor,Our dear Hermann kneel with his bride at the altar before you,And the glad festival held through the length and breadth of the countryWill henceforward to me be a glad anniversary also!But I am grieved to observe that the youth, who is always so activeWhen he is here at home, abroad is so slow and so timid.Little at any time cares he to mix with the rest of the people;Yes, he even avoids young maidens' society ever,And the frolicsome dance, that great delight of young people."
Thus he spake, and then listen'd. The sound of the stamping of horsesDrawing nearer was heard; and then the roll of the carriage,Which, with impetuous speed, now thunder'd under the gateway.——-II. TERPSICHORE.
THEN when into the room the well-built son made his entry,Straightway with piercing glances the minister eyed him intently,And with carefulness watch'd his looks and the whole of his bearing,With an inquiring eye which easily faces decyphers;Then he smiled, and with cordial words address'd him as follows"How you are changed in appearance, my friend! I never have seen youHalf so lively before; your looks are thoroughly cheerful.You have return'd quite joyous and merry. You've doubtless dividedAll of the presents amongst the poor, their blessings receiving."
Then in calm accents replied the son, with gravity speaking"Whether I've laudably acted, I know not; I follow'd the impulseOf my own heart, as now I'll proceed to describe with exactness.Mother, you rummaged so long, in looking over old pieces,And in making your choice, that 'twas late when the bundle was ready,And the wine and the beer were slowly and carefully pack'd up.When I at length emerged at the gate, and came on the highway,Streams of citizens met I returning, with women and children,For the train of the exiles had long disappear'd in the distance.So I quicken'd my pace, and hastily drove to the villageWhere I had heard that to-night to rest and to sleep they intended.Well, as I went on my way, the newly-made causeway ascending,Suddenly saw I a waggon, of excellent timber constructed,Drawn by a couple of oxen, the best and the strongest of foreign.Close beside it there walk'd, with sturdy footsteps, a maiden,Guiding the two strong beasts with a long kind of staff, which with skill sheKnew how to use, now driving, and now restraining their progress.When the maiden observed me, she quietly came near the horses,And address'd me as follows:—'Our usual condition, believe me,Is not so sad as perchance you might judge from our present appearance.I am not yet accustom'd to ask for alms from a stranger,Who so often but gives, to rid himself of a beggar.But I'm compell'd to speak by necessity. Here on the straw nowLies the lately-confined poor wife of a wealthy landowner,Whom with much trouble I managed to save with oxen and waggon.We were late in arriving, and scarcely with life she escaped.Now the newly-born child in her arms is lying, all naked,And our friends will be able to give them but little assistance,E'en if in the next village, to which to-night we are going,We should still find them, although I fear they have left it already.If you belong to the neighbourhood, any available linenThese poor people will deem a most acceptable present.
"Thus she spake, and wearily raised herself the pale patientUp from the straw and gazed upon me, while thus I made answer'Oft doth a heavenly spirit whisper to kind-hearted people,So that they feel the distress o'er their poorer brethren impending;For my mother, your troubles foreboding, gave me a bundleReady prepared for relieving the wants of those who were naked.'Then I loosen'd the knots of the cord, and the dressing-gown gave herWhich belong'd to my father, and gave her some shirts and some linen,And she thank'd me with joy and said:—'The fortunate know notHow 'tis that miracles happen; we only discover in sorrowGod's protecting finger and hand, extended to beckonGood men to good. May your kindness to us by Him be requited.'And I saw the poor patient joyfully handling the linen,Valuing most of all the soft flannel, the dressing-gown lining.Then the maid thus address'd her:—'Now let us haste to the villageWhere our friends are resting, to-night intending to sleep thereThere I will straightway attend to what e'er for the infant is needed.'Then she saluted me too, her thanks most heartily giving,Drove the oxen, the waggon went on. I lingerd behind them,Holding my horses rein'd back, divided between two opinions,Whether to hasten ahead, reach the village, the viands distribute'Mongst the rest of the people, or give them forthwith to the maiden,So that she might herself divide them amongst them with prudenceSoon I made up my mind, and follow'd after her softly,Overtook her without delay, and said to her quickly'Maiden, it was not linen alone that my mother providedAnd in the carriage placed, as clothing to give to the naked,But she added meat, and many an excellent drink too;And I have got quite a stock stow'd away in the boot of the carriage.Well, I have taken a fancy the rest of the gifts to depositIn your hands, and thus fulfil to the best my commission;You will divide them with prudence, whilst I my fate am obeying.'Then the maiden replied:—'With faithfulness I will distributeAll your gifts, and the needy shall surely rejoice at your bounty.'Thus she spake, and I hastily open'd the boot of the carriage,Took out the hams (full heavy they were) and took out the bread-stuffs,Flasks of wine and beer, and handed the whole of them over.Gladly would I have given her more, but empty the boot was.Straightway she pack'd them away at the feet of the patient, and forthwithStarted again, whilst I hasten'd back to the town with my horses."
Then when Hermann had ended his story, the garrulous neighbourOpen'd his mouth and exclaim'd:—"I only deem the man happyWho lives alone in his house in these days of flight and confusion,Who has neither wife nor children cringing beside himI feel happy at present; I hate the title of father;Care of children and wife in these days would be a sad drawback.Often have I bethought me of flight, and have gather'd togetherAll that I deem most precious, the antique gold and the jewelsWorn by my late dear mother, not one of which has been sold yet.Much indeed is left out, that is not so easily carried.Even the herbs and the roots, collected with plenty of trouble,I should he sorry to lose, though little in value they may be.If the dispenser remains, I shall leave my house in good spiritsIf my ready money is saved, and my body, why trulyAll is saved, for a bachelor easily flies when 'tis needed."
"Neighbour," rejoin'd forthwith young Hermann, with emphasis speaking"Altogether I differ, and greatly blame your opinions.Can that man be deem'd worthy, who both in good and ill fortuneThinks alone of himself, and knows not the secret of sharingSorrows and joys with others, and feels no longing to do so?I could more easily now than before determine to marryMany an excellent maiden needs a husband's protection,Many a man a cheerful wife, when sorrow's before him."Smilingly said then the father:—"I'm pleas'd to hear what you're saying,Words of such wisdom have seldom been utter'd by you in my presence.
Then his good mother broke in, in her turn, with vivacity speaking"Son, you are certainly right. We parents set the example.'Twas not in time of pleasure that we made choice of each other,And 'twas the saddest of hours, that knitted us closely together.Monday morning,—how well I remember! the very day afterThat most terrible fire occurr'd which burnt down the borough,Twenty years ago now; the day, like to-day, was a Sunday,Hot and dry was the weather, and little available water.All the inhabitants, clothed in their festival garments, were walking,Scatter'd about in the inns and the mills of the neighbouring hamlets.At one end of the town the fire broke out, and the flames ranHastily all through the streets, impell'd by the draught they created.And the barns were consumed, where all the rich harvest was gather'dAnd all the streets as far as the market; the dwelling house alsoOf my father hard by was destroy'd, as likewise was this one.Little indeed could we save; I sat the sorrowful night throughOn the green of the town, protecting the beds and the boxes.Finally sleep overtook me, and when by the cool breeze of morningWhich dies away when the sun arises I was awaken'd,Saw I the smoke and the glow, and the half-consumed walls and the chimneys.Then my heart was sorely afflicted; but soon in his gloryRose the sun more brilliant than ever, my spirits reviving.Then in haste I arose, impell'd the site to revisitWhere our dwelling had stood, to see if the chickens were livingWhich I especially loved; for childlike I still was by nature.But when over the ruins of courtyard and house I was climbing,Which still smoked, and saw my dwelling destroy'd and deserted,You came up on the other side, the ruins exploring.You had a horse shut up in his stall; the still-glowing raftersOver it lay, and rubbish, and nought could be seen of the creature.Over against each other we stood, in doubt and in sorrow,For the wall had fallen which used to sever our courtyards;And you grasp'd my hand, addressing me softly as follows'Lizzy, what here are you doing? Away! Your soles you are burning,For the rubbish is hot, and is scorching my boots which are thicker.'Then you lifted me up, and carried me off through your courtyard.There still stood the gateway before the house, with its arch'd roof,Just as it now is standing, the only thing left remaining.And you sat me down and kiss'd me, and I tried to stop you,But you presently said, with kindly words full of meaning'See, my house is destroy'd! Stop here and help me to build it,I in return will help to rebuild the house of your father.'I understood you not, till you sent to my father your mother,And ere long our marriage fulfilid the troth we soon plighted.Still to this day I remember with pleasure the half-consumed rafters,Still do I see the sun in all his majesty rising,For on that day I gain'd my husband; the son of my youth tooGained I during that earliest time of the wild desolation.Therefore commend I you, Hermann, for having with confidence guilelessTurn'd towards marriage your thoughts in such a period of mourning,And for daring to woo in war and over the ruins.—"
Then the father straightway replied, with eagerness speaking:—"Sensible is your opinion, and true is also the storyWhich you have told us, good mother, for so did ev'rything happen.But what is better is better. 'Tis not the fortune of all menAll their life and existence to find decided beforehand;All are not doom'd to such troubles as we and others have suffer'd.O, how happy is he whose careful father and motherHave a house ready to give him, which he can successfully manage!All beginnings are hard, and most so the landlords profession.Numberless things a man must have, and ev'rything dailyDearer becomes, so he needs to scrape together more money.So I am hoping that you, dear Hermann, will shortly be bringingHome to us a bride possessing an excellent dowry,For a worthy husband deserves a girl who is wealthy,And 'tis a capital thing for the wish'd-for wife to bring with herPlenty of suitable articles stow'd in her baskets and boxes.Not in vain for years does the mother prepare for her daughterStocks of all kinds of linen, both finest and strongest in texture;Not in vain do god-parents give them presents of silver,Or the father lay by in his desk a few pieces of money.For she hereafter will gladden, with all her goods and possessions,That happy youth who is destined from out of all others to choose her.Yes! I know how pleasant it makes a house for a young wife,When she finds her own property placed in the rooms and the kitchen,And when she herself has cover'd the bed and the table.Only well-to-do brides should be seen in a house, I consider,For a poor one is sure at last to be scorn'd by her husband,And he'll deem her a jade who as jade first appear'd with her bundle.Men are always unjust, but moments of love are but transient.Yes, my Hermann, you greatly would cheer the old age of your fatherIf you soon would bring home a daughter-in-law to console me,Out of the neighbourhood too,—yes, out of yon dwelling, the green one!Rich is the man, in truth his trade and his manufacturesMake him daily richer, for when does a merchant not prosper?He has only three daughters; the whole of his wealth they'll inherit.True the eldest's already engaged; but then there's the second,And the third, who still (not for long) may be had for the asking.Had I been in your place, I should not till this time have waited;Bring home one of the girls, as I brought your mother before you.
Then, with modesty, answer'd the son his impetuous father"Truly my wish was, like yours, to marry one of the daughtersOf our neighbour. We all, in fact, were brought up together,Sported in youthful days near the fountain adjoining the market,And from the rudeness of boys I often managed to save them.But those days have long pass'd the maidens grew up, and with reasonStop now at home and avoid the rougher pastimes of childhood.Well brought up with a vengeance they are! To please you, I sometimesWent to visit them, just for the sake of olden acquaintanceBut I was never much pleased at holding intercourse with them,For they were always finding fault, and I had to bear itFirst my coat was too long, the cloth too coarse, and the colourFar too common, my hair was cut and curl'd very badly.I at last was thinking of dressing myself like the shop-boys,Who are accustom'd on Sundays to show off their persons up yonder,And round whose coats in summer half-silken tatters are hanging.But ere long I discover'd they only intended to fool meThis was very annoying, my pride was offended, but more stillFelt I deeply wounded that they so mistook the good feelingsWhich I cherish'd towards them, especially Minnie, the youngest.Well, I went last Easter, politely to pay them a visit,And I wore the new coat now hanging up in the closet,And was frizzled and curld, like all the rest of the youngsters.When I enter'd, they titter'd; but that didn't very much matter.Minnie sat at the piano, the father was present amongst them,Pleased with his daughter's singing, and quite in a jocular humour.Little could I understand of the words in the song she was singing,But I constantly heard of Pamina, and then of Tamino,*
(* Characters In Mozart's Zauberflote.)And I fain would express my opinion; so when she had ended,I ask'd questions respecting the text, and who were the persons.All were silent and smiled; but presently answer'd the father'Did you e'er happen, my friend, to hear of Eve or of Adam?'Then no longer restrain'd they themselves, the girls burst out laughing,All the boys laugh'd loudly, the old man's sides appear'd splitting.In my confusion I let my hat fall down, and the titt'ringLasted all the time the singing and playing continued.Then I hasten'd home, ashamed and full of vexation,Hung up my coat in the closet, and put my hair in disorderWith my fingers, and swore ne'er again to cross o'er their threshold.And I'm sure I was right; for they are all vain and unloving.And I hear they're so rude as to give me the nickname Tamino."Then the mother rejoin'd:—"You're wrong, dear Hermann, to harbourAngry feelings against the children, for they are but children.Minnie's an excellent girl, and has a tenderness for you;Lately she ask'd how you were. Indeed, I wish you would choose her!"
Then the son thoughtfully answer'd:—"I know not why, but the fact isMy annoyance has graven itself in my mind, and hereafterI could not bear at the piano to see her, or list to her singing."
But the father sprang up, and said, in words full of anger"Little comfort you give me, in truth! I always have said it,When you took pleasure in horses, and cared for nothing but fieldwork;That which the servants of prosperous people perform as their duty,You yourself do; meanwhile the father his son must dispense with,Who in his honour was wont to court the rest of the townsfolk.Thus with empty hopes your mother early deceived me,When your reading, and writing, and learning at school ne'er succeededLike the rest of the boys, and so you were always the lowest.This all comes from a youth not possessing a due sense of honour,And not having the spirit to try and raise his position.Had my father but cared for me, as I have for you, sir,Sent me to school betimes, and given me proper instructors,I should not merely have been the host of the famed Golden Lion."