Prologue

There once lived a knight, who was mournful and bent, His cheeks white as snow were, and hollow; He totter’d and stagger’d wherever he went, A vain vision attempting to follow. He seem’d so clumsy and awkward and gauche, That the flowers and girls, when they saw him approach, Their merriment scarcely could swallow.

From his room’s darkest corner he often ne’er stirr’d, Esteeming the sight of men shocking, And extended his arms, without speaking a word, As though some vain phantom were mocking. But scarce had the hour of midnight drawn near, When a wonderful singing and noise met his ear, And he heard at the door a strange knocking.

His mistress then secretly enters the room, In a dress made of foam of the ocean; She glows like a rosebud, so sweet is her bloom, Her jewell’d veil’s ever in motion; Her golden locks play round her form slim and tall, Their eyes meet with rapture, and straightway they fall In each other’s arms with devotion.

In his loving embraces the knight holds her fast, The dullard with passion is glowing; He reddens, the dreamer awakens at last, And bolder and bolder he’s growing. But she grows more saucy and mocking instead, And gently and softly she covers his head, Her white jewell’d veil o’er him throwing.

To a watery palace of crystal bright The knight on a sudden is taken; His eyes are dazzled by radiant light, By his wits he is well-nigh forsaken. But the nymph holds him closely embraced by her side The knight is the bridegroom, the nymph is the bride While her maidens the lute’s notes awaken.

So sweetly they play and so sweetly they sing, In the dance they are moving so lightly, That the knight before long finds his senses take wing, He embraces his sweet one more tightly-- When all of a sudden the lights disappear, And the knight’s once more sitting in solitude drear In his poet’s low garret unsightly.

’Twas in the beauteous month of May, When all the flowers were springing, That first within my bosom I heard love’s echo ringing.

’Twas in the beauteous month of May, When all the birds were singing, That first I to my sweetheart My vows of love was bringing.

From out of my tears all burning Many blooming flowerets break, And all my sighs combining A chorus of nightingales make.

And if thou dost love me, my darling, To thee shall the flowerets belong; Before thy window shall echo The nightingale’s tuneful song.

The rose and the lily, the dove and the sun, I loved them all dearly once, every one; I love them no longer, I love now alone The small one, the neat one, the pure one, mine own. Yes, she herself, the fount of all love, Is the rose and the lily, the sun and the dove.

When gazing on thy beauteous eyes All thought of sorrow straightway flies; But when I kiss thy mouth so sweet, My cure is perfect and complete.

When leaning on thy darling breast, I feel with heavenly rapture blest; But when thou sayest: “I love thee!” I begin weeping bitterly.

Thy face, so lovely and serene, In vision I have lately seen; So like an angel’s ’tis, and meek, Though bitter grief has blanch’d thy cheek.

Thy lips alone, they still are red; Death soon will kiss them pale and dead; The heavenly light will soon be o’er That from thine eyes is wont to pour.

O lean thy beauteous cheek on mine, That our tears together may mingle! Against my bosom press thou thine, That their flames may no longer be single

And when with the flame is mingled at last The stream of our tears all burning, And mine arm is lovingly round thee cast,-- I’ll die of my love’s sweet yearning.

I’ll dip my spirit discreetly In the cup of the lily down here; The lily shall sing to me sweetly A song of my mistress dear.

The song shall tremble and quiver, Like that delicious kiss, Of which her mouth was the giver In a wondrous moment of bliss.

The stars in yonder heavens Immovably have stood For thousands of years, regarding Each other in sad loving mood.

They speak a mysterious language That’s rich and sweet to the ear; Yet no philologist living Can make its meaning clear.

But I’ve learnt it, and ne’er will forget it, Whatever the time and place; As my grammar I used for the purpose My own dear mistress’s face.

On song’s exulting pinion I’ll bear thee, my sweetheart fair, Where Ganges holds his dominion,-- The sweetest of spots know I there.

There a red blooming garden is lying In the moonlight silent and clear; The lotos flowers are sighing For their sister so pretty and dear

The violets prattle and titter, And gaze on the stars high above The roses mysteriously twitter Their fragrant stories of love.

The gazelles so gentle and clever Skip lightly in frolicsome mood And in the distance roars ever The holy river’s loud flood.

And there, while joyously sinking Beneath the palm by the stream, And love and repose while drinking Of blissful visions we’ll dream.

10.

The lotos flower is troubled At the sun’s resplendent light With sunken head and sadly She dreamily waits for the night.

The moon appears as her wooer, She wakes at his fond embrace; For him she kindly uncovers Her sweetly flowering face.

She blooms and glows and glistens, And mutely gazes above; She weeps and exhales and trembles With love and the sorrows of love.

11.

In the Rhine, that beautiful river, The sacred town of Cologne, With its vast cathedral, is ever Full clearly mirror’d and shown.

A picture on golden leather In that fair cathedral is seen; On my life, so sad altogether, It hath cast its rays serene.

The flowers and angels hover Round our dear Lady there; Her eyes, lips, cheeks, all over Resemble my mistress fair.

12.

Thou lov’st me not, thou tellest me.-- It troubles me but slightly; But when thy beauteous face I see, No king’s heart beats more lightly.

Thou hatest me, thy red lips say With well-pretended snarling; But when sweet kisses they convey, I’m comforted, my darling.

13.

Full lovingly thou must embrace me, My mistress beauteous and sweet! With pliant form interlace me, And with thine arms and thy feet.

The fairest of snakes e’er created With vigour encircles anon, And clasps and twines round the elated And happy Laocoon.

14.

Swear not at all, but only kiss! All woman’s oaths I hold amiss; Thy word is sweet, but sweeter far The kisses that my guerdon are. These keep I, while thy words but seem A passing cloud, or fragrant dream.

* * * * *

Now then, my loved one, swear away! I’ll credit all that thou dost say; And when I sink upon thy breast, I’ll think that I am truly blest; I’ll think that, love, eternally And even longer, thou’lt love me.

15.

Upon my mistress’s eyes so clear I write the fairest cantatas; Upon my mistress’s mouth sincere I write the best of terzinas; Upon my mistress’s cheeks so dear I write the cleverest stanzas; And had my mistress a heart, upon it I soon would write a charming sonnet.

16.

The world’s an ass, the world can’t see, And grows more stupid daily: It says, my darling child, of thee,-- Thou livest far too gaily.

The world’s an ass, the world can’t see, Thy character not knowing; It knows not how sweet thy kisses be, How rapturously glowing.

17.

Loved one--gladly would I know it,-- Art thou but a vision fair, Such as in his brain the poet Loves in summer to prepare?

No! such eyes of magic splendour, Lips so rosy and so warm, Such a child, so sweet and tender, Never did the poet form.

Basilisks and vampires gory, Dragons, monsters of the earth, Suchlike evil beasts of story In the poet’s fire have birth.

But thyself, thy wiles insidious, And thy face, so sweet and staid, And thy kindly looks perfidious,-- These the poet never made.

18.

Gleams my love in beauty’s splendour, Like the child of ocean foam; As his bride my mistress tender Is a stranger taking home.

Though ’tis treason, don’t abuse it, Heart, thou much-enduring one! Bear it, bear it, and excuse it, What the beauteous fool hath done.

19.

I’ll not be angry, though my heart should break, Evermore lost one! no complaint I’ll make. Though thou may’st sparkle ’neath thy diamonds bright, No ray can pierce thy heart’s unceasing night.

I’ve known it long. In vision saw I thee, How night thy heart doth fill unceasingly, And how the serpent at thy heart doth gnaw,-- How wretched, love, thou art, too well I saw.

20.

Thou’rt wretched, yes!--but no complaint I’ll make;-- My love, we both, alas, must wretched be! Till death our poor afflicted hearts doth break, My love, we both, alas, must wretched be!

I see the scorn that round thy mouth doth play, I see thine eyes that glance so haughtily, I see the pride that doth thy bosom sway,-- Yet thou art wretched, wretched e’en as I.

Grief lurks around thy mouth, unseen indeed, With hidden tears thine eyes can scarcely see, And secret wounds on thy proud bosom feed-- My love, we both, alas, must wretched be!

21.

The flutes and fiddles are sounding, The trumpets ringing clear; In the wedding dance is bounding My heart’s own mistress dear.

The shawms and kettle-drums vying In noisy chorus I hear; But meanwhile good angels are sighing And weeping many a tear.

22.

Thou scarcely could’st have forgotten it faster, That I of thine heart so long was the master; Thine heart so false, so small, and so sweet, A sweeter and falser I never shall meet.

Thou now hast forgotten the love and disaster That made my heart throb all the faster; I know not if love was the greatest, or woe; That both were great, full well I know.

23.

O if the tiny flowers But knew of my wounded heart, Their tears, like mine, in showers Would fall, to cure the smart.

If knew the nightingales only That I’m so mournful and sad, They would cheer my misery lonely With their notes so tuneful and glad.

If the golden stars high o’er us But knew of my bitter woe, They would speak words of comfort in chorus, Descending hither below.

Not one of these can allay it, One only knows of my smart; ’Tis she, I grieve to say it, Who thus hath wounded my heart.

24.

O why have the roses lost their hue, Sweet love, O tell me why? Why mutely thus do the violets blue In the verdant meadows sigh?

O why doth the lark up high in the air With a voice so mournful sing? O why doth each fragrant floweret fair Exhale like a poisonous thing?

O wherefore looks the sun to-day On the fields, so full of gloom? O why doth the earth appear so grey, And dreary as a tomb?

Why feel I myself so mournful and weak,-- Sweet love, I put it to thee? My own sweet darling, sweet love, O speak,-- O wherefore leavest thou me?

25.

For thine ear many tales they invented, And loud complaints preferred; But how my soul was tormented, Of this they said not a word.

They prated of mischief and evil, And mournfully shook their head; They liken’d poor me to the devil, And thou didst believe what they said.

But, O; the worst and the saddest, Of this they nothing knew; The saddest and the maddest In my heart was hidden from view.

26.

The linden blossom’d, the nightingale sung, The sun was laughing with radiance bright; Thou kissed’st me then, while thine arm round me clung, To thy heaving bosom thou pressed’st me tight.

The raven was screeching, the leaves fast fell, The sun gazed cheerlessly down on the sight; We coldly said to each other “Farewell!” Thou politely didst make me a curtsey polite.

27.

We have felt for each other emotions soft, And yet our tempers always were matching, At “man and wife” we have play’d full oft, And yet ne’er took to fighting and scratching. We have shouted together, together been gay, And tenderly kiss’d and fondled away. At last we play’d in forest and dell At hide and seek, like sister and brother. And managed to hide ourselves so well, That never since then have we seen each other.

28.

I’ve no belief in the heavens Of which the parsons rave; In thine eyes believe I only, In their heavenly light I lave.

I’ve no belief in the Maker Of whom the parsons rave; In thine heart believe I only, No other God will I have.

I’ve no belief in the devil, In hell or the pains of hell; In thine eyes believe I only, And thine evil heart as well.

29.

To me thou wert faithful and steady, And madest for me supplication; In my troubles and sad tribulation Thy comfort always was ready.

Food and drink thou gav’st me in payment, And plenty of money didst lend me, And also a passport didst send me, As well as some changes of raiment.

From heat and from coldness unpleasant May heaven, my dear one, long guard thee, And may it never reward thee The kindness shown me at present!

30.

The earth had long been avaricious, But May, when she came, gave with great prodigality, And all things now smile with rapture delicious, But I for laughter have no partiality.

The blue bells are ringing, their beauty displaying, The birds, as in fables, talk sentimentality; I take no pleasure in all they are saying, And I am quite wretched in sober reality.

All men I detest, and now cannot meet one, Not even my friend, with the least cordiality, And this all because my amiable sweet one They “madam” entitle, with chilling formality.

31.

And when I so long, so long had delay’d, In foreign lands had in reveries stay’d, My loved one found it too long to wait, And sew’d herself a wedding-dress straight, And then embraced in her arms, willy-nilly, As bridegroom, the youth in the world the most silly.

My loved one is so beauteous and soft, Before me still hovers her image oft; Her rosy cheeks, her violet eyes That all the year round glow bright as the skies. That I could fly from such charming attractions Was the silliest far of my silliest actions.

32.

The lovely eyes of violet blue, The beauteous cheeks of rosy hue, The hands so like white lilies too,-- All these still sweetly blossom and bloom, The heart alone is cold as the tomb.

33.

The earth is so fair, and the heavens so bright, The breezes are breathing with soothing might The blooming fields with flowers are dight, In the morning dew all radiant with light, All men are rejoicing that meet my sight-- My bed in the grave I fain would be pressing, The corpse of my mistress dear caressing.

34.

When in the tomb, my mistress fair, The chilly tomb, thou must hide thee. I’ll soon descend to rejoin thee there, And fondly nestle beside thee.

I wildly will press thee, embrace thee, and kiss My pale, cold, fearful-to-see love! I’ll tremble, weep, shout with rapturous bliss, And soon be a corpse like thee, love.

The dead will arise, when midnight is nigh, And dance in airy troops lightly; But we in the tomb will quietly lie, Thine arms embracing me tightly.

The dead will arise, when the loud trump of doom To bliss or to torment is calling; But regardless of all, we’ll remain in the tomb, Still clasp’d in embraces enthralling.

35.

A lonely fir tree is standing On a northern barren height; It sleeps, and the ice and snow-drift Cast round it a garment of white.

It dreams of a slender palm-tree, Which far in the Eastern land Beside a precipice scorching In silent sorrow doth stand.

36.

Fair, bright, golden constellation, Seek my love’s far habitation; Tell her that I still am true, Sick at heart and palefaced too.

37.

(The head speaks.)

Ah, were I but the footstool e’en On which my loved one’s foot doth rest, I ne’er to grumble should be seen, However hard I might be press’d.

(The heart speaks.)

Ah, were I but the cushion soft Wherein her pins she’s wont to stick, And ’twere her will to prick me oft, I should rejoice at every prick.

(The song speaks.)

Ah, were I but the paper dear Wherewith she’s wont her hair to curl, I’d gently whisper in her ear The thoughts that in me live and whirl.

38.

Since my darling one has left me, Power of laughing is bereft me; Blockheads fain would raise a joke, But no laughter can provoke.

Since I’ve lost my darling one, Power of weeping, too, is gone; Though my heart with sorrow deep Wellnigh breaks, I cannot weep.

39.

My little songs do I utter From out of my great, great sorrow; Some tinkling pinions they borrow, And tow’rd her bosom they flutter.

They found it, and over it hover’d, But soon return’d they, complaining, And yet to tell me disdaining What they in her bosom discover’d.

40.

Sweet darling, beloved by me solely, The thoughts in my memory dwell That once I possess’d thee wholly, Thy soul and body as well.

Thy body, so young and tender, I need, beyond all doubt; Thy soul to the tomb I’ll surrender, I’ve plenty of soul without.

I’ll cut my soul in sunder, And half of it breathe into thee, And when I embrace thee,--O wonder!-- One soul and body we’ll be.

41.

The blockheads, their holidays keeping, Are walking through forest and plain; They shout, and like kittens are leaping, And hail sweet Nature again.

They gaze, with glances that glisten, On each romantic thing; With ears like asses they listen To hear the sparrows sing.

My chamber window to darken, With black cloth I hang it by day; To the signal my spirits straight hearken, Day-visits they hasten to pay.

My olden love also draws nigh me, From the realms of the dead she appears; She, weeping, sits gently close by me, And softens my bosom to tears.

42.

Many visions of times long vanish’d Arise from out of their tomb, And show me how once in thy presence I lived in my life’s young bloom.

All day I mournfully totter’d Through the streets, as though in a dream The people gazed on me with wonder, So silent and sad did I seem.

The night-time suited me better, Deserted the streets were then, And I and my shadow together We wandered in silence again.

With footsteps echoing loudly I wander’d over the bridge; The moon with solemn look hail’d me As she burst through the cloudy ridge.

I stood in front of thy dwelling, And fondly gazed up on high; I gazed up towards thy window, My heart breathed many a sigh.

Well know I that thou from the window Full often hast gazed below, And in the moonlight hast seen me Stand fix’d, the image of woe.

43.

A youth once loved a maiden, Who loved another instead; The other himself loved another, And with the latter did wed. The maiden, in scornful anger, Straight married the first of the men Who happened to come across her,-- The youth was heart-broken then. ’Tis only an old, old story, And yet it ever seems new; The heart of him whom it pictures Will soon be broken in two.

44.

Friendship, love, philosophers’ stone,-- These three things men value alone. I, too, valued and sought them ever, But, alas, discovered them never.

45.

On hearing the strains enthralling That my loved one sang to me erst, With torments fierce and appalling My heart is ready to burst. Impell’d by a gloomy yearning I seek in the forest relief, And there in tears hotly burning I quench my anguish and grief.

46.

The child of a king in dream have I seen; How tear-stain’d and pallid her face is, As we quietly sit ’neath the linden green, Held fast in each other’s embraces!

“Thy father’s throne is nothing to me, Nor yet his sceptre all golden, And diamond crown; for nothing but thee, Sweet love, will I be beholden.”

“That may not be,” the maiden replied, For I in my grave am lying, And only by night can I be by thy side, To thy loving caresses replying.”

47.

Sweet love, in fond converse together In the light canoe sat we, Still the night was, and calm was the weather, As we skimm’d o’er the wide-spreading sea.

The fair spirit-islands before us In the glimmering moonlight lay; Sweet tones came floating o’er us, While the mists were dancing in play.

On danced they with merrier motion, And sweeter still sounded the song; But over the boundless ocean We mournfully floated along.

48.

From older legends springing, Appears a snow-white band With joyous strains, and singing, From some far magic-land,

Where flowers in glowing splendour Pine in the evening sun, And bridal glances tender Cast sweetly every one;

Where all the trees, uniting In chorus, shout below, And bubbling brooks delighting The ear, like music flow;

And love-songs fierce and burning Unheard of bliss impart, Till sweet and wondrous yearning Befools the throbbing heart.

Ah, could I thither travel, And ease my aching breast, And all my grief unravel, And there be free and blest!

That land, whence care and trouble Are banish’d, that in dreams Oft see I, like a bubble Dissolves, when morning beams.

49.

I’ve loved thee long, and I love thee still And e’en if the world were shatter’d, My glowing love would glisten and thrill, Though widely earth’s ruins were scatter’d.

* * * * *

And when I thus have loved thee so well Till the hour of death has sounded, I’ll take with me e’en to my tomb’s dark cell My love-pangs fierce and unbounded.

50.

In the glimmering summer morning I pace the garden alone; The flowers are whisp’ring and speaking, But silently wander I on.

The flowers are whisp’ring and speaking, My form with compassion they scan: O pray be kind to our sister, Thou mournful and pale-faced man!

51.

Her dark attire thus wearing My love appears to my sight Like a tale of sorrow despairing That’s told in the long summer night:

“In the magical garden there wander “Two lovers mute and alone; “Sweet sing the nightingales yonder, “The moonbeams are over them thrown.

“Like a statue the maiden stands mildly, “At her feet the faithful knight lies; “The forest giant comes wildly, “The sorrowing maiden soon flies.

“Soon the knight on the ground lies all gory, “The giant goes home at his ease--” And when I am buried, the story Is ended as soon as you please.

52.

They often have vex’d me sadly And worried me early and late; While some with their love have annoy’d me, The others pursued me with hate.

My bread they have utterly poison’d, And poison’d my cup too of late; While some with their love have annoy’d me, The others pursued me with hate.

But she who more than all others Has vex’d me, and worried, and chafed, She only with hate ne’er pursued me, She only her love ne’er vouchsafed.

53.

There lies the glow of summer Upon thy cheek confess’d, And in thine heart cold winter Has made its place of rest.

All this will soon be alter’d, My dearest love and best, The winter on thy cheek be, The summer in thy breast!

54.

When two fond lovers are parted, They give each other the hand, To weep and to sigh beginning, And losing all self-command.

But not one single tear wept we, No Ah! or Alas! did we sigh; Our tears and our sighs both together Too surely came by-and-by.

55.

They sat round the tea-table drinking And speaking of love a great deal; The men of æsthetics were thinking, The ladies more prone were to feel.

“All love ought to be but platonical” The wither’d old counsellor said; His wife by a smile quite ironical Rejoin’d, and then sighed “Ah!” instead.

Said the canon with visage dejected: “Love ne’er should be suffered to go “Too far, or the health is affected;” The maiden then simper’d: “How so?”

The Countess her sad feelings vented, Said “Love is a passion, I’m sure,” And then to the Baron presented His cup with politeness demure.

A place was still empty at table; My darling, ’twas thou wert away; Thou hadst been so especially able The tale of thy love, sweet, to say.

56.

My songs with poison are tainted, But how could it otherwise be? My blossoming life thou hast poison’d, And made it hateful to me.

My songs with poison are tainted, But how could it otherwise be? In my heart many serpents I carry, And thee too, my dearest love, thee.

57.

I dreamt once more the vision of yore: The time was a fair May even, We sat ’neath the linden, and there we swore To be faithful, in presence of heaven.

And once and again we plighted our troth, And titter’d, caress’d, kiss’d so dearly; And lest I should fail to remember my oath, My hand thou then bittest severely.

O sweetest love, with the eyes so bright, O sweet one, so fair and so biteful! The swearing was doubtless all proper and right But the biting was rather too spiteful!

58.

I stand on the brow of the mountain, And sentimentally sigh. “O were I only a bird now!” I many a thousand times cry.

O were I only a swallow, My darling, to thee would I fly, And soon a nest would I build me, Thy lattice window hard by.

O were I a nightingale only, I would fly, my darling, to thee, And sing my sweet songs by night-time Perch’d high in the green linden tree.

O were I only a bullfinch, I would fly straight into thy heart; To the bullfinch thou always wert kindly, And healest the bullfinch’s smart.[7]

59.

My carriage is traversing slowly The greenwood merry and bright, Through flowering valleys, like magic Illumed by the sun’s glowing light.

I’m sitting and thinking and dreaming, And muse on my mistress dear; When, nodding their heads at the window, Three shadowy figures appear.

They skip and they make wry grimaces, So scoffing and yet so shy; And twirling mist-like together, They titter and haste swiftly by.

60.

In vision I lately was weeping, I dreamt thou wert laid in thy grave; I awoke, and the tears unceasing My cheeks continued to lave.

In vision I lately was weeping, I dreamt I was left, love, by thee; I awoke, and weeping continued Both long and bitterly.

In vision I lately was weeping, I dreamt thou wert kind as of yore; I awoke, and my tears in torrents Continued to flow as before.

61.

All night in vision behold I thee, And see thee greeting me kindly; And loudly weeping then throw I me Before thy sweet feet blindly.

With sorrowing looks thou stand’st in my view, Thy fair locks mournfully shaking; While teardrops bright of pearly hue From thy dear eyes are breaking.

A gentle word thou dost secretly say, And givest a cypress-wreath sweetly; I awake, and the wreath has vanish’d away, And the word is forgotten completely.

62.

’tis autumn, the night’s dark and gloomy With rain and tempest above; Where tarries,--O tell it unto me,-- My poor and sorrowing love?

By the window I see her reclining, In her chamber lonely and drear, And out in the night, sadly pining, She looks with many a tear.

63.

The trees in the autumn wind rustle, The night is humid and cold; I ride all alone in the forest, And round me my grey cloak I fold.

And as I am riding, before me My thoughts unrestrainedly roam; They lightly and airily bear me To my own dear mistress’s home.

The dogs are barking, the servants With glittering torches appear; I climb up the winding staircase, My spurs ring loudly and clear.

In her bright-lighted tapestry chamber, So full of magical charms, My own sweet darling awaits me, I hasten into her arms.

The wind in the leaves is sighing, The oak thus whispers to me: “What means, thou foolish young horseman, “Thy foolish reverie?”

64.

A glittering star is falling From its shining home in the air; The star of love ’tis surely That I see falling there.

The blossoms and leaves in plenty From the apple tree fall each day; The merry breezes approach them, And with them merrily play.

The swan in the pool is singing, And up and down doth he steer, And, singing gently ever, Dips under the water clear.

All now is silent and darksome, The leaves and blossoms decay, The star has crumbled and vanish’d, The song of the swan died away.

65.

The Dream-God brought me to a castle vast, Where magic fragrance reign’d and lights were gleaming, And through its mazy-winding chambers pass’d A chequer’d throng, still onward, onward streaming. The pale crowd seek the exit-portal fast, Wringing their hands, and full of terror screaming, And knights and maidens mingle in the throng, And I myself am with them borne along.

But suddenly I stand alone, for, lo, The crowd hath vanish’d and from sight departed; I wander on, and through the chambers go, All strangely winding, silent and deserted; My foot is leaden, and I scarcely know How to escape, thus sadden’d and faint-hearted. At length the farthest portal I descry, And seek to pass--great heavens, what meets mine eye!

It was my love, who at the door did stand, Grief on her lips, her brow in tribulation. I sought to fly,--she beckon’d with her hand, Whether to warn me, or in indignation; Yet gleam’d her eye like some sweet glowing brand, Setting my heart and brain in conflagration. And as she gazed with looks of passion deep, Blended with sternness, I awoke from sleep.

66.

The midnight was cold, in plaintive mood I wander’d mournfully through the wood; I shook the trees from out of their sleep, They shook their heads with pity deep.

67.

Beneath the crossway buried, The suicide lies here, Where grows a charming blue flow’ret, The culprit-flower so dear.

I stood by the crossway sighing, The night was chilly and drear, While slowly moved in the moonlight The culprit-flower so dear.

68.

Wheresoe’er I go, there darkles Round me gloom and utter night, Now that there no longer sparkles On me, love, thine eyes’ sweet light.

Quench’d are all the golden blisses That love’s star upon me smil’d; ’Neath my feet the dread abyss is,-- Night primeval, take thy child!

69.

Night lay upon mine eyelids, Upon my mouth lay lead; I in my grave was lying, With frozen heart and head.

How long it was I know not That I in slumber lay; I woke and heard a knocking Upon my grave one day.

“Wilt thou not rise up, Henry? “The Judgment Day is this, “The dead have all arisen, “To taste of endless bliss.”

I cannot rise, my darling, For I have lost my sight; Mine eyes, through very weeping, Are veil’d in darkest night.

“I’ll kiss away the darkness, “My Henry, from thine eyes; “The angels shalt thou see then, “The glory of the skies.”

I cannot rise, my darling, The wound is bleeding yet, Made by thee in my bosom With one sharp word and threat.

“My hand all gently, Henry, “I’ll lay upon thy heart; “It then will bleed no longer, “And heal’d will be the smart.”

I cannot rise, my darling, My head still bleeds amain! ’Twas there the bullet enter’d, When thou wert from me ta’en.

“With my long tresses, Henry, “I’ll stanch the bleeding wound, “And drive the blood-stream backwards, “And make thy head thus sound.”

So gently, sweetly pray’d she, I could not spurn her prayer; I sought to rise and hasten To join my mistress fair.

Then all my wounds ’gan bleeding, Then, wildly rushing, broke From head and breast the bloodstream, And lo!--from sleep I woke.

70.

The numbers old and evil, The dreams so harrowing, Let’s bury all together,-- A mighty coffin bring!

I’ll place there much, but say not What ’tis, till all is done; The coffin must be larger Than Heidelberg’s vast tun.

And also bring a death-bier, Of boards full stout and sound; They also must be longer Than Mayence bridge renown’d.

And also bring twelve giants Whose strength of limb excels Saint Christopher’s, whose shrine in Cologne Cathedral dwells.

The coffin they must carry, And sink beneath the wave; For such a mighty coffin Must have a mighty grave.

Why was the coffin, tell me, So great and hard to move? I in it placed my sorrows, And in it placed my love.

THE GODS’ TWILIGHT.

Fair May has come with her bright golden radiance And silken gales and fragrant spicy odours, And kindly lures us with her snowy blossoms, And from a thousand blue-eyed violets greets us, And spreads abroad her flowery verdant carpet, With morning dew and sunshine interwoven, And summons all her favourite human children. At her first call the bashful people come; The men in haste put on their nankeen breeches, And Sunday coats with golden glassy buttons; The women don the white of innocence, The youths take care to curl their spring-mustachios, The maidens bid their bosoms softly heave; The city poets cram into their pockets Paper, lead-pencil, and lorgnette; and gaily The eddying moving crowd draw near the gateway, And lie at ease on the green turf beyond, Amazed to see how much the trees have sprouted,-- Play with the tender colour’d flowerets fair, List to the song of merry birds above them, And shout exulting tow’rds the vault of heaven.

To me came also May, and three times knock’d she Against my door and cried: “Behold sweet May! “Thou palefaced dreamer, come, I fain would kiss thee!” But I my door kept bolted, and I cried: “In vain thou seek’st to tempt me, evil stranger. “I long have seen thee through, I’ve seen through also “The fabric of the world, and seen too much, “And much too deep, and fled is all my pleasure, “And endless torments quiver in my heart. “I see through all the stony hard outsides “Of human houses and of human bosoms, “And see in both deceit and woe and falsehood. “I’ve learnt to read the thoughts on every face,-- “All evil! In the maiden’s shamefaced blushes “I see the trembling of a secret lust; “On the inspired and haughty head of youth “I see the laughing chequer’d fool’s cap jingling; “And caric’tures alone and sickly shadows “I see upon this earth, and live in doubt “Whether a madhouse ’tis, or hospital. “The old earth’s crust I see through but too plainly “As though it were of crystal,--see the horrors “Which May is vainly striving to conceal “With pleasing verdure. There I see the dead; “They lie beneath, in their small coffins prison’d, “With hands together folded, eyes wide open, “White is their garment, white their face as well, “And yellow worms from out their lips are crawling. “I see the son with his loved mistress sitting “And toying with her on his father’s grave. “Derisive songs the nightingales are singing, “The gentle meadow flow’rets laugh with malice, “And the dead father moveth in his grave, “While the old mother-earth with pain doth shudder.” O thou poor earth, thy sorrows know I well! I see the glow that in thy breast is heaving, Thy thousand veins I see all bleeding freely, And see thy gaping wounds all, all torn open, While flames and smoke and blood stream wildly forth. I see thy proud defiant giant-children, Primeval monsters, from dark gulfs arising And swinging ruddy torches in their hands. Their iron scaling-ladders they advance, And wildly rush to storm the forts of heaven, And swarthy dwarfs climb after them; with crackling Each golden star on high like dust is scatter’d. With daring hand they tear the golden curtain From God’s own tent; the blessèd troops of angels Fall headlong down with howling at the sight. The pale God sits upon his awful throne, Tears from his head his crown, and tears his hair.-- Still onward, onward press the savage crew, The giants fiercely hurl their blazing torches Into the realms of heaven, the dwarfs strike wildly With flaming scourges on the angels’ backs, Who twist and writhe in ecstasy of anguish, And by the hair are seized and whirl’d away. And my own angel likewise see I there, With his blond locks, his sweet expressive features, With everlasting love around his mouth, And with beatitude in his blue eyes. A fearful hideous swarthy goblin comes, Tears him from off the ground, my poor pale angel, Grins as he ogles his fair noble limbs, And clasps him firmly in his soft embraces,-- A yell re-echoes through the universe, The pillars crash, and earth and heaven are hurl’d Headlong together, and old night is lord.

RATCLIFF.[8]

The Dream-God brought me to a landscape fair Where weeping willows nodded me a welcome With their long verdant arms, and where the flowers Gazed on me mutely with wise sisters’ eyes, Where the birds’ twittering resounded sweetly, Where the dogs’ barking seem’d to me familiar, And voices kindly greeted me, and figures, Like an old friend, and yet where everything Appear’d so strange, beyond description strange. Before a pretty country-house I stood, My bosom in me moving, but my head All peaceful, and the dust with calmness shook I From off my travelling garments; shrilly sounded The bell I rang, and then the door was open’d.

Inside were men and women, many faces To me well known. Still sorrow lay on all, And secret fearful grief. With strange emotion, Wellnigh with looks of pity, on me gazed they Till my own soul with terror was pervaded, As though foreboding some unknown misfortune. Old Margaret I straightway recognized, Gazed on her fixedly, but yet she spake not. “Where is Maria?” ask’d I, yet she spake not, But softly seized my hand, and led me on Through many a long and brightly-lighted chamber, Where splendour, pomp, and deathlike silence reign’d And to a darksome room at length she brought me, And, with her face averted from me, pointed Toward the form that sat upon the sofa. “Art thou Maria?” ask’d I. Inwardly I was myself astounded at the firmness With which I spoke. Like stone and hollow Sounded a voice: “That is the name they call me.” A piercing agony straight froze me through, For that cold hollow tone, alas, was yet The once enchanting voice of my Maria! And yonder woman in pale lilac dress, In negligent attire, with unveil’d bosom, With glassy staring eyes, like leather seeming The muscles of the cheeks of her white face,-- Alas, that woman once was the most lovely, The blooming, pleasing, sweet and kind Maria! “Your travels have been long” she said aloud In cold, unpleasing, but familiar accents,-- “You look no longer languishing, my friend, “You’re well in health, your loins and calves elastic. “Show your solidity.” A silly smile Play’d the while round her yellow, pallid mouth. In my confusion utter’d I these accents: “I’ve been inform’d that thou art married now?” “Ah yes!” she carelessly replied with laughing: “I have a stick of wood that’s cover’d over “With leather, call’d a husband. Still, for all that, “Wood is but wood!” And then she laugh’d perversely Till chilling anguish through my spirit ran, And doubt upon me seized:--are those the modest, The flowery-modest lips of my Maria? But presently she rose, took quickly up From off the chair her cashmere shawl, and threw it Around her neck, my arm took hold of then, Drew me away, and through the open housedoor, And led me on through thicket, field, and meadow.

The sun’s red glowing disk already downward Was hast’ning, and its purple rays were beaming Over the trees and flowers, and o’er the river That flow’d majestically in the distance. “See’st thou the large and golden eye that’s floating “In the blue water?” cried Maria quickly. “Hush, thou poor creature!” said I, as I spied In the dim twilight a strange wondrous motion. Figures of mist arose from out the plain, And with white tender arms embraced each other; The violets eyed each other tenderly, The lily cups with yearning bent together; A loving glow in every rose was gleaming, The pinks would fain in their own breath be kindled, In blissful odours revell’d every flower, And every one wept silent tears of rapture, And all exulting shouted: Love! Love! Love! The butterflies were fluttering, and the shining Gold beetles humm’d their gentle fairy songs, The winds of evening whisper’d, and the oaks All rustled, and the nightingale sang sweetly; And amid all the whispering, rustling, singing, Prated away, with thin cold soundless voice, The faded woman hanging on my arm: “I know your nightly longing for the castle; “Every long shadow is a simpleton, “That nods and signs precisely as one wishes; “The blue coat is an angel; but the red coat “With his drawn sword, is very hostile to you.” And many other things in this strange fashion Continued she to say, till, tired at length, She sat down with me on the mossy bank That stands beneath the ancient noble oak-tree. Together there we sat, both sad and silent, And gazed upon each other, growing sadder. The oak, as with a dying sigh, was murmuring; Deep-grieving, sang the nightingale down on us. But through the leaves a ruddy light was piercing, And flicker’d round Maria’s pallid face, And lured a glow from out her rigid eyes, Until with her old darling voice thus spoke she: “How knewest thou that I am so unhappy? “I read it lately in thy strange wild numbers.”

An ice-cold feeling pierced my breast, I shudder’d At my own mad delirium, which the future Saw through, my brain grew giddy with alarm, And through sheer terror I awoke from sleep.

DONNA CLARA.

In the evening-shaded garden Rambles the Alcalde’s daughter; Kettle-drums and trumpets loudly Echo from the lofty castle.

“Wearisome I find the dances, “And the honied words of flatt’ry, “And the knights, who so gallantly “Tell me I the sun resemble.

“Everything is hateful to me “Since I by the beaming moonlight “Saw the Knight whose lute allured me “To the window every evening.

“As he stood, so slim, but daring, “And his eyes shot lightning glances “From his pale and noble features, “Truly he Saint George resembled.”

In this manner Donna Clara Thought, and on the ground then looked she; When she raised her eyes, the handsome Unknown Knight was standing by her.

Pressing hands with loving whispers Wander they beneath the moonlight, And the zephyr gently woos them, Wondrously the roses greet them.

Wondrously the roses greet them, Like love’s messengers all glowing.-- “But, my loved one, prythee tell me “Why so suddenly thou redden’st?”

“’Twas the flies that stung me, dearest, “And the flies are, all the summer, “Quite as much detested by me “As the long-nosed Jewish fellows.”

“Never mind the flies and Jews, dear,” Said the Knight, with fond caresses. From the almond-trees are falling Thousand white and fleecy blossoms.

Thousand white and fleecy blossoms Their sweet fragrance shed around them. “But, my loved one, prythee tell me “Is thy heart devoted to me?”

“Yes, I truly love thee, dearest, “And I swear it by the Saviour “Whom the God-detested Jews erst “Wickedly and vilely murder’d.”

“Never mind the Jews and Saviour,” Said the Knight, with fond caresses. In the distance snow-white lilies Dreamily, light-bathed, are bending.

Bathed in light the snow-white lilies Gaze upon the stars above them: “But, my loved one, prythee tell me “Hast thou not a false oath taken?”

“Falsehood is not in me, dearest, “Since within my breast there flows not “E’en one single drop of Moor’s blood, “Or of dirty Jew’s blood either.”

“Never mind the Moors and Jews, dear,” Said the Knight, with fond caresses; And he to a myrtle bower Leads the fair Alcalde’s daughter.

With the nets of love so tender, He hath secretly enclosed her! Short their words and long their kisses, And their hearts are overflowing.

Like a wedding-song all-melting Sings the nightingale, the dear one; Glowworms on the ground are moving, As if in the torch-dance circling.

Silence reigns within the bower, Nought is heard except the stealthy Whispers of the cunning myrtles, And the breathing of the flowerets.

But soon kettle-drums and trumpets Echo from the lofty castle, And, awakening, Clara quickly From the Knight’s arm frees her person.

“Hark, they’re calling me, my dearest, Yet before we part, thou need’st must Thy dear name to me discover Which thou hast so long concealèd.”

And the Knight, with radiant smiling, Kiss’d the fingers of his Donna, Kiss’d her lips and kiss’d her forehead, And at last these words he uttered:

“I, Señora, I, your loved one, Am the son of the much honour’d Great and learned scribe, the Rabbi Israel of Saragossa.”

ALMANSOR.

In fair Cordova’s cathedral, Stand the columns, thirteen hundred,-- Thirteen hundred giant-columns Bear the mighty dome in safety.

And on dome and walls and columns From the very top to bottom The Koran’s Arabian proverbs Twine in wise and flowery fashion.

Moorish Kings erected whilome This vast house to Allah’s glory, Yet in many parts ’tis alter’d In the darksome whirl of ages.

On the turret where the watchman Summon’d unto prayer the people, Now the Christian bell is sounding With its melancholy murmur.

On the steps whereon the faithful Used to sing the Prophet’s sayings, Now baldpated priests exhibit All the mass’s trivial wonders.

How they twirl before the colour’d Puppets, full of antic capers, Midst the incense smoke and ringing, While the senseless tapers sparkle!

In fair Cordova’s cathedral Stands Almansor ben Abdullah, Viewing silently the columns, And these words in silence murmuring:

“O ye columns, strong, gigantic, “Once adorn’d in Allah’s glory, “Now must ye pay humble homage “To this Christendom detested.

“To the times have ye submitted, “And ye bear the burden calmly; “Still more reason for the weaker “To be patient all the sooner.”

And Almansor ben Abdullah Bent his head with face unruffled O’er the font so decorated In fair Cordova’s cathedral.

The cathedral left he quickly, On his wild steed speeding onward, While his moist locks and the feathers In his hat the wind is moving.

On the road to Alcolea, By the side of Guadalquivir, Where the snowy almond blossoms, And the fragrant golden orange,

Thither bastes the merry rider, Piping, singing, laughing gaily, And the birds all swell the chorus, And the torrent’s noisy waters.

In the fort at Alcolea Dwelleth Clara de Alvares; In Navarre her sire is fighting, And she revels in her freedom.

And afar Almansor heareth Sounds of kettle-drums and trumpets, And the castle lights beholds he Glittering through the trees’ dark shadows.

In the fort at Alcolea Dance twelve gaily trick’d-out ladies With twelve knights attired as gaily, But Almansor’s the best dancer.

As if wing’d by merry fancies, Round about the hall he flutters, Knowing how to all the ladies To address sweet flattering speeches.

Isabella’s lovely hands he Kisses quickly, and then leaves her, And before Elvira stands he, Looking in her face so archly.

He in turns assures each lady That he heartily adores her; “On the true faith of a Christian” Swears he thirty times that evening.

In the fort at Alcolea Merriment and noise have ceased now Knights and ladies all have vanish’d, And the lights are all extinguish’d.

Donna Clara and Almansor In the hall above still linger, And one single lamp is throwing On them both its feeble lustre.

On the seat the lady’s sitting, And the knight upon the footstool, And his head, by sleep o’erpower’d, On her darling knees is resting.

From a golden flask some rose-oil Pours the lady, sadly musing, On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,-- From his inmost bosom sighs he.

With her soft lips then the lady Gives a sweet kiss, sadly musing, On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,-- And his brow is clouded over.

From her light eyes tears in torrents Weeps the lady, sadly musing, On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,-- And his lips begin to quiver.

And he dreams he’s once more standing With his head bent down and weeping In fair Cordova’s cathedral, Many gloomy voices hearing.

All the lofty giant-columns Hears he murmuring full of anger,-- That no longer will they bear it, And they totter and they tremble.

And they wildly fall together, Pale turn all the priests and people, Crashing falls the dome upon them, And the Christian gods wail loudly.

THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR

The mother stood by the window, The son in bed lay he. “Wilt thou not rise up, William, “The fair procession to see?”--

“I am so ill, my mother, “I neither see nor hear; “I think of my poor dead Gretchen, “My heart is breaking near.”

“Arise, let’s go to Kevlaar, “Take book and rosary too; “The mother of God will heal thee, “And cure thy sick heart anew.”

In church-like tones they are singing, The banners flutter on high; At Cologne on the Rhine this happens, The proud procession moves by.

The crowd the mother follows, Her son she leadeth now, And both of them sing in chorus: “O Mary, blessed be thou!”

The mother of God at Kevlaar Her best dress wears to-day; Full much hath she to accomplish, So great the sick folks’ array.

The sick folk with them are bringing, As offerings fitting and meet, Strange limbs of wax all fashion’d, Yes, waxen hands and feet.

And he who a wax hand offers, Finds cured in his hand the wound, And he who a wax foot proffers, Straight finds his foot grow sound.

To Kevlaar went many on crutches Who now on the tight rope skip, And many a palsied finger O’er the viol doth merrily trip.

The mother took a waxlight, And out of it fashion’d a heart: “My son, take that to God’s mother, “And she will cure thy smart.”

The son took sighing the wax-heart, Went with sighs to the shrine so blest, The tears burst forth from his eyelids, The words burst forth from his breast:

“Thou highly-favour’d blest one! “Thou pure and godlike maid! “Thou mighty queen of heaven, “To thee my woes be display’d!

“I with my mother was dwelling “In yonder town of Cologne, “The town that many a hundred “Fair churches and chapels doth own.

“And near us there dwelt my Gretchen, “Who, alas! is dead to-day; “O, Mary, I bring thee a wax-heart, “My heart’s wounds cure, I pray.

“My sick heart cure, O cure thou, “And early and late my vow “I’ll pay, and sing with devotion: “‘O Mary, blessed be thou!’”

The poor sick son and his mother In their little chamber slept, The mother of God to their chamber All lightly, lightly crept.

She bent herself over the sick one, Her hand with action light Upon his heart placed softly, Smiled sweetly and vanish’d from sight.

The mother saw all in her vision, Saw this and saw much more; From out of her slumber woke she, The hounds were baying full sore.

Her son was lying before her, And dead her son he lay, While over his pale cheeks gently The light of morning did play.

Her hands the mother folded, She felt she knew not how; With meekness sang she and softly: “O Mary, blessed be thou!”

THE DREAM.

(From Salon.)

A vision I dreamt of a lovely child. She wore her hair in tresses; In the blue nights of summer so calm and mild We sat in the greenwood’s recesses.

In mutual rapture and torture we vied, We loved and exchanged loving kisses; The yellow stars in the heavens all sigh’d And seem’d to envy our blisses.

I now am awake, and around me gaze In the darkness, alone and despairing; The stars in the heavens are shedding their rays In silence and all-uncaring.

NEW POEMS.

1. SERAPHINA.

When at evening in the forest, In the dreamlike wood I rove, Ever doth thy slender figure Close beside me softly move.

See I not thy gentle features? Is it not thy veil that stirs? Can it be the moonlight only Breaking through the gloomy firs?

Can it be mine own tears only That I hear all-lightly flow? Or my loved one, dost thou really Close beside me weeping go?

O’er the silent strand of ocean Night appears in gloomy splendour From the clouds the moon is breaking, As the waves these whispers send her

“Yonder mortal, is he foolish, “Or is he by love tormented, “That he looks so sad, yet joyous, “So distress’d, yet so contented?”

But the moon, with smiles replying, Loudly said: “Full well I know it; “He is both in love and foolish, “And moreover is a poet.”

’Tis surely a snowwhite seamew That I see fluttering there Just over the darksome billows; The moon stands high in the air.

The shark and the ray snap fiercely From out of the wave, and stare; The seamew is rising and falling, The moon stands high in the air.

O dear and wandering spirit, So sad and full of despair! Too near art thou to the water, The moon stands high in the air.

I knew that thou didst love me, I knew it long, dear maid; Yet when thou didst confess it I felt full sore afraid.

I clamber’d up the mountain With loud exulting song, At sunset rambled weeping The ocean shore along.

The sun my heart resembleth, So flaming to the sight, And in a loving ocean It setteth, great and bright.

How curiously the seamew Looks over at us, dear, Because against thy lips I So firmly press my ear!

She maybe would discover What from thy mouth did flow,-- If words alone or kisses Thou in my ear didst throw.

O could I but decipher What ’tis that fills my mind! The words are with the kisses So wondrously combined.

As timid as the roe she fled, And with its fleetness vying; She clamber’d on from crag to crag Her hair behind her flying.

Where to the sea the cliffs descend, At length I caught the rover; And gently there with gentle words Her coy heart soon won over.

High as the heavens we sat, both fill’d With heavenly blest emotion; Beneath us by degrees the sun Sank in the dark deep ocean.

In the dark sea beneath us far The beauteous sun sank proudly; The billows with impetuous joy Were meanwhile roaring loudly.

Weep not, the sun in yonder waves Hath not for ever perish’d, But lieth hidden in my heart, Where all its glow is cherish’d.

Upon this rock we build the Church Which (type of our to-morrow) Proclaims the third New Testament, And ended is our sorrow.

The twofold nature that so long Deceived us, is abolish’d; Our olden fierce corporeal pangs Are now at length demolish’d.

Hear’st thou the God in yon dark sea? He speaks with thousand voices; See’st thou how overhead God’s sky With thousand lights rejoices?

Almighty God is in the light, As in the dark abysses, And everything there is, is God, He is in all our kisses.

Gray night broodeth o’er the ocean, And the tiny stars are sparkling; Long protracted voices oft-times Sound from out the billows darkling.

There the aged north wind sporteth With the glassy waves of ocean, Which like organ pipes are skipping With a never-ceasing motion.

Partly heathenish, partly churchlike, Strangely doth this music move us, As it rises boldly upwards, Gladdening e’en the stars above us.

And the stars, still larger growing, With a radiant joy are gleaming, And at length around the heavens Roam, with sunlike lustre beaming

To far-reaching strains of music They revolve in madden’d legions Sunny nightingales are circling In those fair and blissful regions.

With a mighty roar and crashing, Sea and heaven alike are singing, And I feel a giant-rapture Wildly through my bosom ringing

Shadowy love and shadowy kisses, Shadowy life, how wondrous strange! Fool, dost think, then, that all this is Ever true and free from change?

Like an empty dream hath vanish’d All we loved with love so deep; Memory from the heart is banish’d, And the eyes are closed in sleep.

10.

The maid stood by the ocean, And long and deep sigh’d she With heartfelt sad emotion, The setting sun to see.

Sweet maiden, why this fretting? An olden trick is here; Although before us setting, He rises in our rear.

11.

With sails all black my ship sails on Far over the raging sea; Thou know’st full well how sad am I, And yet tormentest me.

Thy heart is faithless as the wind, And flutters ceaselessly; With sails all black my ship sails on Far over the raging sea.

12.

Though shamefully thou didst entreat me, To no man would I e’er unfold it, But travell’d far over the billows, And unto the fishes I told it.

I’ve left thee thy good reputation With earth and the beings upon her, But every depth of the ocean Knows fully thy tale of dishonour.

13.

The roaring waves are dashing High on the strand; They’re swelling and they’re crashing Over the sand.

They come in noisy fashion Unceasingly,-- At length burst into passion,-- But what care we?

14.

The Runic stone ’mongst the waves stands high, There sit I, with thoughts far roaming; The wind pipes loudly, the seamews cry, The billows are curling and foaming.

I’ve loved full many a charming girl, Loved many a comrade proudly-- Where are they now? The billows curl And foam, and the wind pipes loudly.

15.

The sea appears all golden Beneath the sunlit sky, O let me there be buried, My brethren, when I die.

The sea I have always loved so, It oft hath cool’d my breast With its refreshing billows, Each in the other’s love blest.

2. ANGELICA.

Now that heaven my wish hath granted, Why be dumb, like mutes inglorious,-- I who, when unhappy, chanted Of my woe with noise uproarious,

Till a thousand youths despairing Sang like me with voices hollow, And the song I sang uncaring Made still greater mischief follow?

O ye nightingale-like chorus, That I bear within my spirit, Let your song of joy rise o’er us Merrily, that all may hear it.

Once more behind thee thou wert looking, Swiftly as thou didst past me glide, With open mouth, as if inquiring, And in thy look a stormy pride.

O that I ne’er had sought to grasp it, That flowing robe of snowy white! The little foot’s enchanting traces, O that they ne’er had met my sight!

Thy wildness now indeed hath vanish’d, Like other women tame art thou, And mild, and somewhat over-civil, And, ah, thou even lov’st me now.

I’ll not credit, youthful beauty, What thy bashful lips may say; Eyes so black and large and rolling Are not much in virtue’s way.

Strip away this brown-striped falsehood-- Well and truly love I thee; Let thy white heart kiss me, dearest-- White heart, understand’st thou me?

Upon her mouth I give a kiss, And close her either eye; She gives me now no peace for this, But asks the reason why.

From night to morn, because of this, This is her constant cry: “When on my mouth thou giv’st a kiss, “Why close my either eye?”

I tell her not the cause of this, Nor know the reason why, Yet on her mouth I give a kiss, And close her either eye.

When I am made blest with kisses delicious, And lie in thine arms, O in that happy season Thou ne’er must discourse of Germany, dearest,-- It spoils my digestion,--there’s plenty of reason.

With Germany leave me in peace, I implore thee, Thou must not torment me with question on question Of home and relations and manner of living,-- There’s plenty of reason,--it spoils my digestion.

The oaks there are green, and blue are the dear eyes Of German women; they sigh as they please on The blisses of love and of hope and religion,-- It spoils my digestion,--there’s plenty of reason.

Whilst I after other people And their treasures have been prying, And with ever-restless yearning, At strange doors of love been spying,

Probably those other people Have been taking their own pleasure Similarly, and been ogling At my window my own treasure.

This is human! God in heaven In our every action guard us! God in heaven give us blessings, And with happiness reward us!

O yes, thou art my ideal forsooth, I’ve often confirmed it till dizzy With kisses and oaths unnumber’d in truth;-- To-day I however am busy.

Return to-morrow between two and three, And then a fresh-kindled passion Shall prove my love, and afterwards we Will dine in a friendly fashion.

And if I in time the tickets receive, We’ll join in a merry revel, And go to the Opera, where I believe They’re playing Robert the Devil.

A wondrous magic play is here, With devils’ loves and curses; The music is by Meyerbeer; By Scribe the wretched verses.

Dismiss me not, although thy thirst The pleasant draught has still’d; Some three months longer keep me on, Till I too have been fill’d.

If thou my love canst not remain, O be my friend, I pray; For when one has outloved one’s love, Friendship may have its way.

This wild carnival of loving, This delirium of our bosoms Comes unto an end, and now we Soberly gape on each other!

Drain’d the cup is to the bottom, Brimming with intoxication, Foaming, glowing to the margin; Drain’d the cup is to the bottom.

And the fiddles too are silent, Which for dancing gave the signal, Signal for the dance of passion; Yes, the fiddles too are silent.

And the lamps too are extinguish’d, Which their wild light shed so brightly On the masquerade exciting; Yes, the lamps too are extinguish’d.

And to-morrow comes Ash-Wednesday, When I’ll sign upon thy forehead With the cross of ashes, saying: “Woman, that thou’rt dust, forget not.”

10.

O how rapidly develop From mere fugitive sensations Passions that are fierce and boundless, Tenderest associations!

Tow’rds this lady grows the bias Of my heart on each occasion, And that I’m enamoured of her Has become my firm persuasion.

Beauteous is her spirit. Truly Thus I learn to rise superior To the overpowering beauty Of her form and mere exterior.

Ah, what hips! and, ah, what forehead! Ah, what nose! Could aught serener Be than this sweet smile she’s wearing? And how noble her demeanour!

11.

Ah, how fair art thou, whenever Thou thy mind disclosest sweetly, And thy language with the grandest Sentiments o’erflows discreetly!

When thou tell’st me how thou always Worthily and nobly thoughtest; How unto thy pride of heart thou Greatest sacrifices broughtest!

How with countless millions even Men could woo and win thee never; Sooner than be sold for money Thou wouldst quit this world for ever.

And I stand before thee, listening To the end with due emotion; Like an image mute of faith, I Fold my hands with meek devotion.

12.

Have no fear, dear soul, I pray thee, Thou art safe here evermore; Fear not lest they’ll take away thee, For I’ll forthwith bar the door.

Though the wind may roar around us, It will do no mischief here; That a fire may not confound us, Let us put the light out, dear!

Let me in mine arm, dear small one, Thy enchanting neck enfold; In the absence of a shawl, one Gets so very quickly cold.

3. DIANA.

These fair limbs, of size so massive, Of colossal womanhood, Now are, in a yielding mood, Under my embraces passive.

Had I, with unbridled passion, Trusting in my strength drawn near, I had soon had cause for fear! She had thrashed me in strange fashion.

How her bosom, neck, throat charm me (Higher I can scarcely see); Ere alone I’d with her be, Pray I that she may not harm me.

’Twas in the Bay of Biscay That she first saw the light; Two kittens in the cradle She squeezed to death outright.

Across the Pyrenees she With feet uncover’d ran; Then for her size gigantic Was shown at Perpignan.

She’s now the grandest dame in The Faubourg Saint-Denis, Where unto small Sir William Some thousand pounds costs she.

Often when I am with thee, Much-beloved and noble lady, The remembrance steals o’er me Of Bologna’s market shady. There a massive fount doth stand-- ’Tis the Giants’ Fountain pretty-- With a Neptune, by the hand Of Giovanni of that city.

4. HORTENSE.

Once I thought each kiss a woman Gives us, or receives instead, By some influence superhuman Was from old predestinèd.

I both took and gave back willing Kisses then as earnestly As if I were but fulfilling Actions of necessity.

Kisses are superfluous,--this I Have discover’d on life’s stage, And with small concern now kiss I, Heedless of the surplusage.

Beside the corner of the street We stood in fond communion For full an hour, and talked about Our spirits’ loving union.

We loved each other--this we said A hundred times repeating; Beside the corner of the street We stood, and went on greeting.

The Goddess of Occasion, brisk As waiting maids, and sprightly, Pass’d by that way and saw us stand And smiled, and went on lightly.

In all my dreams by daytime, In all my watchings nightly, Thy sweet delicious laughter Rings through my spirit lightly.

Remember’st Montmorency, Where, on the donkey riding, Thou fell’st among the thistles, From off the saddle gliding?

The ass stood still, the thistles Demurely looking after,-- I never shall forget, love, Thy sweet delicious laughter.

(She speaks.)

In the garden fair a tree stands, And an apple hangeth there, And around the trunk a serpent Coils himself, and I can ne’er From the serpent’s eyes enchanting Turn away my troubled sight, And he whispers words alluring, And enthrals me with delight.

(The other one speaks.)

’Tis the fruit of life thou spyest,-- Its delicious flavour taste, That thy life until thou diest May not be for ever waste! Darling dove, sweet child, no sighing! Quickly taste, and never fear; Follow my advice, relying On thy aunt’s sage counsel, dear.

On my newly-tuned guitar I Play new tunes that seem much fitter Old the text is, for the words are Solomon’s: A woman’s bitter.

To her husband she is faithless, And she treats her friend with malice; Wormwood are the last remaining Drops in love’s once-golden chalice.

Tell me, is the ancient legend Of the curse of sin no libel? Did the serpent bring it on thee, As recorded in the Bible?

Creeping on the earth, the serpent Lurks in every bush around thee, Still, as formerly, caresses, And her hisses still confound thee.

Ah, how cold and dark ’tis growing! Round the sun the ravens hover Croakingly, and love and rapture Now for evermore are over.

The bliss that thou didst falsely pledge For but a short time cheated; Thine image, like a vision false, Soon from my bosom fleeted.

The morning came, the mist soon fled Before the sun’s rays splendid; And wellnigh ere it had commenced, Our passing fondness ended.

5. CLARISSA.

All my charming loving offers Thou art eagerly declining; If I say: “Is this refusal?” Thou at once beginnest whining.

Seldom pray I, but now hear me, Gracious God! O help this maiden! Dry her sweet tears, and enlighten Her poor brains so sorrow-laden!

Wheresoever thou mayst wander, Thou dost every hour behold me, And I love thee all the fonder, When thou dost rebuke and scold me. Charming malice will ensnare me, While I hate a kindly action; And the surest way to scare me, Is to love me to distraction.

May the devil take thy mother And thy father, for their cruel Conduct at the play, in hiding Thee from me, my precious jewel!

There they sat, their spreading dresses Leaving but few spaces only Through the which to spy thee sitting In the box’s rear, all lonely.

There they sat, and saw two lovers Both destroy’d, with eyes admiring; And they clapp’d a loud approval When they saw them both expiring.

Go not through the naughty quarters Where the pretty eyes are living; Ah, they fain would spare their lightnings With a semblance of forgiving.

From the high bow-window looking In a loving way they greet thee, Smiling kindly (death and devil!) Sisterlike their glances meet thee.

But thou’rt on thy way already, And in vain is all thy striving; Thou wilt have a very breastful Of distress, when home arriving.

It comes too late, thy present smiling, It comes too late, thy present sigh! The feelings all long since have perish’d That thou didst spurn so cruelly.

Too late has come thy love responsive, My heart thou vainly seek’st to stir With burning looks of love, all falling Like sunbeams on a sepulchre.

* * * * *

This would I learn: when life is ended, O whither doth our spirit go? Where is the flame when once extinguish’d? The wind, when it hath ceased to blow?

Wounded, in distress, and sickly, On a lovely summer’s morrow Men I fly, and bury quickly In the wood my bitter sorrow.

As I move, in mute compassion All the noisy birds are vying; At my grief in wondrous fashion Each dark linden-tree is sighing.

In the vale I sadly sit on Some green bank, sweet balm exhaling: “Kitten! O my pretty kitten!” And the hills repeat my wailing.

Kitten! O my pretty kitten! Why delightest thou to do ill? Sadly is my poor heart smitten By thy tiger-talons cruel.

For my heart, grown stern and sadden’d, Long had been to joy a stranger, Till by new love I was gladden’d At thy sight, and fear’d no danger.

Thou in secret seem’dst to mew thus: “Have no fear of being bitten; “Prythee trust me when I sue thus, “I’m a very gentle kitten.”

* * * * *

Whilst sweet Philomel in airy Woods at random sings and wildly, Thou preferrest the canary Doubtless, as it flutters mildly.

In the cage I see thee feeding This small bird, so tame and yellow, And it picks thy fingers, pleading For some sugar, pretty fellow!

Charming is the scene and moving! Angels must enjoy the notion! I myself, with look approving, Drop a tear of deep emotion.

With Wedding Gifts the Spring Has Arrived, With music and exultation; It brings the bridegroom and the bride Its hearty congratulation.

It brings its violets, rosebuds fair, And jasmine and herbs sweet-scented, And for the bride asparagus too,-- The bridegroom’s with salad contented.

God protect thee from o’erheating, And thy heart from palpitation, Keep thee from excessive eating, And excessive perspiration.

As upon thy day of marriage May thy love be ever blessèd! Ne’er the bridal yoke disparage! Be thy frame with health possessèd!

10.

Pretty maid, if so inclined, Thou mayst now thus think anent me This man’s conduct is unkind, For he’s seeking to torment me;--

Me, who never said a word That could possibly offend him; Who, when others’ blame I heard, Did my utmost to befriend him.

Me, who had resolved in fact By-and-by to love him dearly, Had he not begun to act As if he were frantic nearly!

11.

How thou snarlest, laughest, broodest. How thou in ill humour twistest, When thou, to all love a stranger, Yet on jealousy existest!

’Tis not red and fragrant roses Thou dost smell and love so dearly; No, amongst the thorns thou sniffest, Till they scratch thy nose severely.

6. YOLANTE AND MARY.

Both these ladies know by instinct How a poet well to treat, For they ask’d me and my genius Luncheon with them once to eat.

Ah! the soup was quite delicious, And the wine was old and rare, And the game was really heavenly, And well-larded was the hare.

They of poetry kept talking, Till I had enough at last, And I thank’d them for the honour Of this very kind repast.

With which shall I become enamour’d, Since both are loveable and mild? The mother’s still a pretty woman, The daughter is a pretty child.

The white and inexperienced members Are very pleasant to the view, And yet the genial eyes that answer Our tenderness are charming too.

My heart the jackass grey resembles, Who when twixt two hay bundles placed, Eyes them with hesitation, doubting Which of the two the best will taste.

The bottles are empty, the breakfast was good, The ladies are gay and impassion’d; They open their corsets in right merry mood, Methinks they with point lace are fashion’d.

Their bosoms how fair! Their shoulders how white! My heart is soon trembling all over; They presently jump on the bed with delight, And hide themselves under the cover.

The curtains around them before long they pull, And snore away, free from intrusion; I stand in the chamber alone, like a fool, And stare at the bed in confusion.

Now that I’m fast growing older, Youth’s by keener fire replaced, And my arm, becoming bolder, Circles many a loving waist.

Though at first they were affrighted, Yet they soon were reconcil’d; Modest doubts and wrath united Were o’ercome by flattery mild.

Yet the best of all is wanting When I taste my victory; Can it be my youth’s enchanting Bashful weak stupidity?

This tricolour’d flow’r now worn is In my breast, to show I’m free, Proving that my heart freeborn is, And a foe to slavery.

Sweet Queen Mary, who thy quarters In my heart hast fix’d, pray list: Many of earth’s fairest daughters There have reign’d, then been dismiss’d.

7. EMMA.

He stands as firm as a tree stem, In heat and tempest and frost; His toes in the ground are planted, His arms are heavenward toss’d.

Thus long is Bagíratha tortured, And Brama his torments would end; He makes the mighty Ganges Down from the heavens descend.

But I, my loved one, am vainly Tormented and stricken with woe; From out of thine heavenly eyelids No drops of pity e’er flow.

Four-and-twenty hours I still must Wait, to see my bliss complete, As her sidelong glances tell me, Glances, O how dazzling sweet!

Language is but inexpressive, Words are awkward and in vain; Soon as they are said, the pretty Butterfly flies off again.

But a look may last for ever, And with joy may fill thy breast, Making it like some wide heaven, Full of starry rapture blest.

Not one solitary kiss After months of loving passion, So my mouth must still continue Dry, in very wretched fashion.

Happiness seem’d once at hand, And her breath I e’en felt nigh me But without my lips e’er touching, She, alas! soon fleeted by me.

Emma, for my satisfaction Say if I’m distracted driven, By my love, or is love only The result of my distraction?

Ah! I’m tortured, charming Emma, Not alone by my mad loving, Not alone by loving madness, But besides by this dilemma.

When I’m with thee, strife and need! So I on my travels started; Yet my life, when from thee parted, Is no life, but death indeed.

Pondering all the livelong night, I ’twixt death and hell lay choosing-- Ah, methinks this strife confusing Now has driv’n me mad outright!

Fast is creeping on us dreary Night with many a ghostly shape, And our souls are growing weary, And we at each other gape.

Thou art old and I still older, And our spring has ceased to bloom; Thou art cold, and I still colder, At th’ approach of winter’s gloom.

At the end, how all is sadden’d! After love’s sweet cares are past, Cares draw nigh, by love ungladden’d, After life comes death at last.

8. FREDERICA.

O leave Berlin, with its thick-lying sand, Weak tea, and men who seem so much to know That they both God, themselves, and all below With Hegel’s reason only understand.

O come to India, to the sunny land Where flowers ambrosial their sweet fragrance throw Where pilgrim troops on tow’rd the Ganges go With reverence, in white robes, a festal band.

There, where the palm-trees wave, the billows smile, And on the sacred bank the lotos-tree Soars up to Indra’s castle blue,--yes there,

There will I kneel to thee in trusting style, And press against thy foot, and say to thee: “Madam, thou art the fairest of the fair!”

The Ganges roars; amid the foliage see The sharp eyes of the antelope, who springs Disdainfully along; their colour’d wings The peacocks as they move, show haughtily.

Deep from the bosom of the sunny lea Rises a newborn race of flowers, sweet things; With yearning-madden’d voice Cocila sings-- Yes, thou art fair, no woman’s like to thee!

God Cama[9] lurks in all thy features fair, He dwells within thy bosom’s tents so white, And breathes to thee the sweetest songs he knows.

Upon thy lips Vassant[10] has made his lair, I find within thine eyes new worlds of light, In my own world no more I find repose.

The Ganges roars; the mighty Ganges swells, The Himalaya glows in evening’s light, And from the banyan-forest’s gloomy night The elephantine herd breaks forth and yells.

O for a type to show how she excels! A typo of thee, so lovely to the sight, Thee the incomparable, good and bright, So that sweet rapture in my bosom dwells.

In vain thou see’st me seek for types, and prate,-- See’st me with feelings struggle, and with rhyme, And, ah, thou smilest at my pangs of love!

But smile! For when thou smil’st, Gandarvas straight Seize on the sweet guitar, and all the time Sing in the golden sunny halls above.

9. CATHERINE.

A beauteous star arises o’er my night, A star which smiles down on me comfort bright, And new life pledges to supply,-- O do not lie!

As leaps to the moon the sea with sullen roar, So gladly, wildly, doth my spirit soar Up to thy blissful light on high,-- O do not lie!

“Will you not be presented to her?” The duchess whisper’d once to me. “On no account! for I to woo her “Methinks have too much modesty.”

How gracefully she stands before me! I fancy, when I near her go, A newborn life is stealing o’er me, With newborn joy and newborn woe.

I’m from her kept as though by anguish, While yearning drives me to draw near; Her eyes, as they so sweetly languish, The wild stars of my fate appear.

Her brow is clear, yet in the distance The future lightning gathers there, The storm which, spite of all resistance, My spirit’s deepest seat will tear.

Her mouth is lovely, but with terror I see beneath the roses hiss The serpents which will prove my error, With honied scorn and treach’rous kiss.

Impell’d by yearning, still more near I Draw to the dear but dangerous place; Her darling voice already hear I-- Bright flames her every sentence grace.

“Sir, what’s the name”--I hear her utter These words--“Of her whose voice I heard?” I only answer with a stutter: “Madam, I did not hear one word!”

Yes, I now, a poor magician, Like sage Merlin, am held fast In my magic ring at last, In disconsolate condition.

At her feet imprison’d sweetly I am lying all the while, Gazing on her eyes’ sweet smile, And the hours are passing fleetly.

Thus, for hours, days, weeks behold me! Like a vision time has fled, Scarcely know I what I said, And I know not what she told me.

Just as if her lips were dearly Press’d to mine, beyond control I am stirr’d, till in my soul I can trace the flames full clearly.

Thou lie’st in my arms so gladly. So gladly thou lie’st on my heart! I am thy one sole heaven, My dearest star thou art.

The foolish race of mortals Is swarming far below; They’re shouting and storming and scolding, (And each one is right, I well know)

Their cap and bells they jingle, And quarrel without a cause, And with their heavy club-sticks They break each other’s jaws.

How happy are we, my darling, That we so far away are; Thou hidest in thy heaven Thy head, my dearest star!

I love such white and snowy members, The thin veil of a spirit tender, Wild and large eyes, a brow encompass’d With flowing locks of swarthy splendour.

Thou art indeed the very person Whom I in every land have sought for, While girls like thee a man of honour Like me have always cared and thought for.

The very man thou stand’st in need of Is found in me. At first thou’lt pay me Richly with sentiments and kisses, And then, as usual, wilt betray me.

The spring’s already at the gate With looks my care beguiling; The country round appeareth straight A flower-garden smiling.

My darling sitteth by my side, In carriage onward fleeting; She looks on me with tender pride, Her heart, I feel it beating.

What warbling, what fragrance the sun’s light awakes! Like jewels the verdure is gleaming, His snowy-blossoming head soon shakes The sapling with joyous seeming.

The flowers peep forth from the earth to see, With longing in every feature, The lovely woman won by me, And me, the happy creature.

O transient bliss! Across the corn To-morrow will pass the sickle, The beauteous spring wither, and I all forlorn Be left by the woman fickle.

Lately dreamt I I was walking In the happy realms of heaven, Walking with thee, for without thee, Heaven itself would be a hell.

There I saw th’ Elect together, All the righteous and the godly, Who had for their souls’ salvation Mortified on earth their bodies.

Fathers of the Church, apostles, Capuchins and holy hermits, Strange old fellows, some strange young ones-- ’Twas the latter look’d the ugliest!

Very long and saintly faces, Ample bald pates, also grey beards (Various Jews were of the number) Pass’d us, looking stern and solemn.

Not one look upon thee throwing, Although thou, my pretty darling, On my arm wert hanging, toying, Toying, smiling, and coquetting.

One alone upon thee look’d, And he was the only handsome, Handsome man of all the number; And majestic were his features.

Round his lips was human kindness, In his eyes divine repose, And he mildly gazed upon thee As upon the Magdalene.

Ah! I know, he meant it kindly, None was e’er so pure and noble, But I, I was notwithstanding Moved as by an envious feeling;

And, I must confess, I found it Far from pleasant up in heaven-- May God pardon me! Our Saviour Jesus Christ I deem’d intrusive.

Each person to this feast enchanting His mistress takes, and with delight Roams in the blooming summer night. I wander alone, for my loved one is wanting.

Like some sick man, I wander all lonely, And far from the mirth and dancing go, The music sweet and the lamps’ bright glow My thoughts are away, and in England only.

I pluck the pinks and I pluck the roses, Distractedly and full of woe, And know not on whom the flow’rs to bestow; My heart soon withers along with the posies.

Long songless and oppress’d with sadness, I now compose again with yearning! Like tears that from us burst with madness My songs are suddenly returning.

Again I chant, with voice melodious, Of great love and still greater sorrow; Of hearts which, to each other odious To-day, when parted break to-morrow.

I ofttimes think I feel the greeting Of German oak trees waving o’er me, With whispers of a glad re-meeting-- A dream! they vanish from before me.

I ofttimes think I hear the singing Of German nightingales once cherish’d; Sweetly their notes are round me clinging-- A dream! the vision soon has perish’d.

Where are the roses whose delicious Perfume once bless’d me? Every blossom Long since has died! With taint pernicious Their ghostly scent still haunts my bosom.

10. SONGS OF CREATION.

God at first the sun created, Then each nightly constellation; From the sweat of his own forehead Oxen were his next creation.

Wild beasts he created later, Lions with their paws so furious; In the image of the lion Made he kittens small and curious.

Afterwards, the wilds to people, Man to spring to being bade he, And in man’s attractive image Interesting monkeys made he.

Satan saw it, full of laughter: “Copies from himself he’s taking! “In the image of his oxen “Calves he finally is making.”

To the devil spake the Lord thus: Copies of myself I’m taking; After sun come constellations, After oxen, calves I’m making.

After lions with their furious Paws, I’m making kittens curious, After men come monkeys clever: Thou canst nothing make, however.

I made for my glory and edification Men, lions, and oxen, and sunlight splendid; But calves, cats, monkeys, and each constellation For nought but my own delight I intended.

With one short week of preparation The whole of the world was made by me And yet I work’d out the plan of creation For thousands of years full thoughtfully.

Creation itself is a mere act of motion That’s easily done in a very short time; And yet the plan, the primary notion,-- ’Tis that that proves the artist sublime.

Three hundred long years have I been taking In solving the question by slow degrees As to which was the proper manner of making Both Doctors of Law and little fleas.

On the sixth day spake the Lord thus: I have finish’d finally All this vast and fair creation, And that all is good, I see.

How the sun’s rays, golden-roselike, O’er the ocean brightly gleam! Every tree is green and glittering, And enamell’d all things seem.

On the plain yon lambkins sporting Are like alabaster white; O how natural and perfect Nature seemeth to the sight!

Earth and heaven alike are teeming With my glorious majesty, And through long and endless ages Man will praise and worship me.

The stuff out of which a poem is wrought Is not to be suck’d from the finger; No God created the world from nought Any more than an earthly singer.

’Twas mud primeval that form’d the source Whence the body of man I created, And from the ribs of man in due course Fair woman I separated.

The heavens I form’d from out of the earth, And angels from women completed; The raw material first gets its worth From being artist’cally treated.

The chiefest reason why I made The earth, I will confess with gladness: Within my soul, like fiery madness, A burning call to do so play’d.

Illness was the especial ground Of my creative inclination; I might recover by creation, Creation made me once more sound.

11. ABROAD.

From place to place thou’rt wandering still, Thou scarcely knowest why; A gentle word the wind doth fill,-- Thou look’st round wond’ringly.

My loved one, who was left behind, Is calling softly now: “Return, I love thee, O be kind, My only joy art thou!”

But on, still on, no peace, no rest, Thou never still mayst be; What thou of yore didst love the best, Thou ne’er again shalt see.

Thou art to-day of sadder seeming Than thou hast been for long before; Mute tears upon thy cheeks are gleaming, Thy sighs wax louder more and more.

Of thy far home long vanish’d is it That thou art thinking, full of pain? Wouldst thou not joyfully revisit Thy much-loved fatherland again?

Art thinking now of her who sweetly With tiny rage enchanted thee? Vex’d by her oft, ye soon completely Were reconciled, and laugh’d with glee.

Art thinking of the friends whom yearning Impell’d to fall upon thy breast? Within the heart the thoughts were burning, And yet the lips remain’d at rest.

Or of the sister and the mother Art thinking, who approved thy suit? Methinks within thy breast, good brother, Wild passions fast are growing mute.

Of the fair garden art thou thinking, Its birds and trees, where love’s young dream Ofttimes sustain’d thy spirits sinking, And hope shone forth with trembling beam?

’Tis late. The snow has fallen thickly, Bright night illumes the humid mass; I now must go, and hasten quickly To dress for company,--Alas!

Of my fair fatherland I once was proud; Beside the stream The oak soar’d high, the violets gently bow’d; It was a dream.

German the kisses were, in German too (Sweet then did seem The sound) they spake the words: “Yes, I love you!”-- It was a dream.

12. TRAGEDY

O fly with me, and be my wife, And to my heart for comfort come! Far, far away hence be my heart, Thy fatherland and father’s home.

If thou’lt not go, I here will die, And all alone abandon thee; And if thou in thy father’s home Dost stay, thou’lt seem abroad to be.

A genuine national song, heard by Heine on the Rhine.

There fell a frost in a night of spring, It fell on the tender flowerets blue, They all soon wither’d and faded.

A youth once loved a maiden full well, They secretly fled away from the house, Unknown to father and mother.

They wander’d here and they wander’d there, And neither joy nor star could they find, And so they droop’d and they perish’d.

Upon her grave a linden is springing, Where birds and the evening breeze are singing, And on the green sward under it The miller’s boy and his sweetheart sit.

The winds are blowing so softly and fleetly, The birds are singing so sadly and sweetly, The prattling lovers are mute by-and-by, They weep and they know not the reason why.

13. THE TANNHAUSER.

A LEGEND.

(Written in 1836.)

O all good Christians, be on your guard, Lest Satan’s wiles ensnare you! I’ll sing you the song of the Tannhauser bold, That ye may duly beware you.

The noble Tannhauser, a valiant knight, For love and pleasure yearning, To the Venus’ mount travell’d, and there he dwelt Seven years without returning.

“Dear Venus, lovely mistress, farewell! “Though much thou mayst enchant me, “No longer will I tarry with thee, “Permission to leave now grant me.”

“Tannhauser, dear and noble knight, “To-day you have kept from kissing; “So kiss me quickly and tell me true, “What is there in me you find missing?

“Have I each day the sweetest wine “Not pour’d out for you gaily? “And have I not always crown’d your head “With fragrant roses daily?”--

“Dear Venus, lovely mistress, in truth “My soul no longer finds pleasing “These endless kisses and luscious wine,-- “I long for something that’s teasing.

“Too much have we jested, too much have we laugh’d, “My heart for tears has long panted; “Each rose on my head I fain would see “By pointed thorns supplanted.”--

“Tannhauser, dear and noble knight, “You fain would vex and grieve me; “An oath you have sworn a thousand times “That you would never leave me.

“Come, let us into the chamber go, “To taste of love’s rapture and gladness, “And there my fair and lily-white form “Shall drive away thy sadness.”--

“Dear Venus, lovely mistress, thy charms “Will bloom for ever and ever; “As many already have glow’d for thee, “So men will forget thee never!

“But when I think of the heroes and gods “Who erst have taken their pleasure “In clasping thy fair and lily-white form “My anger knows no measure.

“Thy fair and lily-white figure with dread “Is filling me even this minute, “When thinking how many in after times “Will still take pleasure in it!”--

“Tannhauser, dear and noble knight, “You should not utter such treason; “’T’were better to beat me, as you have before “Oft done for many a season.

“’T’were better to beat me, than such harsh words “Of insult thus to have spoken, “Whereby, O Christian ungrateful and cold, “The pride in my bosom is broken.

“Because I love you so much, I forgive “Your evil words, thankless mortal; “Farewell, I grant you permission to leave, “I’ll open myself the portal.”

In Rome, in the holy city of Rome, With singing and ringing and blowing A grand procession is moving on, The Pope in the middle is going.

The pious Pope Urban is his name, The triple crown he is wearing, He wears a red and purple robe, And Barons his train are bearing.

“O holy Father, Pope Urban, stay! “I will not move from my station, “Until thou hast saved my soul from hell, “And heard my supplication!”--

The ghostly songs are suddenly mute, The people fall backwards dumbly; O who is the pilgrim pale and wild Who bends to the Pope so humbly?

“O holy Father, Pope Urban, to whom “To bind and to loose not too much is, “O save me from the pangs of hell, “And out of the Evil One’s clutches!

“By name, I’m the noble Tannhauser call’d; “For love and pleasure yearning, “To the Venus’ mount I travell’d and dwelt “Seven years there without returning.

“This Venus is a woman fair “With charms of dazzling splendour; Like light of sun and flowers’ sweet scent “Her voice is gentle and tender.

“As a butterfly flutters around a flower “And from its calyx sips too, So flutters my soul for evermore “Around her rosy lips too.

“Around her noble features entwine “Her blooming black locks wildly; Thy breath would be gone if once her great eyes “Were fix’d upon thee mildly.

“If her great eyes upon thee were fix’d “They surely would harass thee greatly; ’Twas with the greatest trouble that I “Escaped from the mountain lately.

“From out of the mountain I made my escape “And yet for ever pursue me “The looks of the beautiful woman, which seem “To say ‘O hasten back to me!’

“A wretched spectre by day I’ve become, “At night I vainly would hide me “In sleep, for I dream that my mistress dear “Is sitting and laughing beside me.

“How clearly, how sweetly, how madly she laughs “Her white teeth all the while showing! “Whenever I think of that laugh, in streams “The tears from my eyes begin flowing.

“I love her indeed with a boundless love “That scorches me up to a cinder; “’Tis like a wild waterfall, whose fierce flood “No barrier ever can hinder.

“It nimbly leaps from rock to rock “With noisy foaming and boiling; “Its neck it may break a thousand times, “Yet on, still on, it keeps toiling.

“If all the expanse of the heavens were mine, “To Venus the whole I’d surrender; “I’d give her the sun, I’d give her the moon, “I’d give her the stars in their splendour.

“I love her indeed with a boundless love, “Whose flame within me rages; “O say can this be the fire of hell, “The glow that will last through all ages?

“O holy Father, Pope Urban, to whom “To bind and to loose not too much is, “O save me from the pangs of hell, “And out of the Evil One’s clutches!--”

His hands the Pope raised sadly on high, And sigh’d till these words he had spoken: “Tannhauser, most unhappy knight, “The charm can never be broken.

“The Devil whom they Venus call “Is mighty for hurting and harming; “I’m powerless quite to rescue thee “From out of his talons so charming.

“And so thy soul must expiate now Thy fleshly lusts infernal; Yes, thou art rejected, yes, thou art condemn’d To suffer hell’s torments eternal.”

The knight Tannhauser roam’d on till his feet Were sore with his wanderings dreary. At midnight’s hour he came at length To the Venus’ mountain, full weary.

Fair Venus awoke from out of her sleep, And out of her bed sprang lightly, And clasp’d her fair and lily-white arms Around her beloved one tightly.

From out of her nose the blood fell fast, The tears from her eyes descended; She cover’d the face of her darling knight With blood and tears closely blended.

The knight lay quietly down in the bed, And not one word has he spoken; While Venus went to the kitchen, to make Some soup, that his fast might be broken.

She gave him soup, and she gave him bread, She wash’d his wounded feet, too; She comb’d his rough and matted hair, And laugh’d with a laugh full sweet, too.

“Tannhauser, dear and noble knight, “Full long hast thou been wandering; “O say in what lands hast thou thy time “So far from hence been squandering?”

“Dear Venus, lovely mistress, in truth “In Italy I have been staying; “I’ve had some bus’ness in Rome, and now “Return without further delaying.

“Rome stands on the Tiber, just at the spot “Where seven hills are meeting; “In Rome I also beheld the Pope,-- “The Pope he sends thee his greeting.

“And Florence I saw, when on my return, “And then through Milan I hasted, “And next through Switzerland scrambled fast, “And not one moment wasted.

“And when I travell’d over the Alps, “The snow already was falling; “The blue lakes sweetly on me smiled, “The eagles were circling and calling.

“And when on the Mount St. Gothard I stood, “Below me snored Germany loudly; “Beneath the mild sway of thirty-six kings “It slumber’d calmly and proudly.

“In Swabia I saw the poetical school “Of dear little simpleton creatures; “They sat together all ranged in a row, “With very diminutive features.

“In Dresden I saw a certain dog, “A sprig of the aristocracy; “His teeth he had lost, and bark’d and yell’d “Like one of the vulgar democracy.

“At Weimar, the Muses’ widow’d seat, “I heard them their sentiments giving; “They wept and lamented that Goethe was dead, “And Eckermann still ’mongst the living!

“At Potsdam I heard a very loud cry,-- “I said in amaze: ‘What’s the matter?’-- “’Tis Gans[11] at Berlin, who last century’s tale “Is reading and making this clatter.’

“At Göttingen knowledge was blossoming still, “But bringing no fruit to perfection; “’Twas dark as pitch when I got there at night, “No light was in any direction.

“In the bridewell at Zell Hanoverians alone “Were confined; at our next Reformation “A national bridewell and one common lash “We must have for the whole German nation.

“At Hamburg, in that excellent town, “Many terrible rascals dwell still; “And when I wander’d about the Exchange, “I fancied myself in Zell still!

“At Hamburg I Altona saw; ’tis a spot “In a charming situation; “And all my adventures that there I met “I’ll tell on another occasion.”[12]

14. ROMANCES.

1. A WOMAN.

They loved each other beyond belief, The woman a rogue was, the man was a thief; At each piece of knavery, daily She fell on the bed, laughing gaily.

In joy and pleasure they pass’d the day, Upon his bosom all night she lay; When they carried him off to Old Bailey, At the window she stood, laughing gaily.

He sent her this message: O come to me, I yearn, my love, so greatly for thee; I want thee, I pine, and look palely,-- Her head she but shook, laughing gaily.

At six in the morning they hang’d the knave, At seven they laid him down in his grave; At eight on her ears this fell stalely, And a bumper she drank, laughing gaily.

2. CELEBRATION OF SPRING.

O list to this spring time’s terrible jest! In savage troops the maidens fair Are rushing along with fluttering hair, And howls of anguish and naked breast:-- Adonis! Adonis!

The night falls fast. By torchlight clear They sadly explore each forest track, Which mournful answers is echoing back Of laughter, sobs, sighs, and cries of fear:-- Adonis! Adonis!

That youthful figure, so wondrous fair, Now lies on the ground all pale and dead; His blood has dyed each floweret red, And mournful sighs resound through the air:-- Adonis! Adonis!

3. CHILDE HAROLD.

Slow and weary, moves a dreary Stout black bark the stream along; Visors wearing, all-uncaring, Funeral mutes the benches throng.

’Mongst them dumbly, with his comely Face upturn’d, the dead bard lies; Living seeming, toward the beaming Light of heaven still turn his eyes.

From the water, like a daughter Of the stream’s voice, comes a sigh, And with wailing unavailing ’Gainst the bark the waves dash high.

4. THE EXORCISM.

The young Franciscan friar sits In his cloister silent and lonely; He reads a magical book, which speaks Of exorcisms only.

And when the hour of midnight knell’d, An impulse resistless came o’er him; The underground spirits with pallid lips He summon’d to rise up before him:

“Ye spirits! Go, fetch me from out of the grave The corpse of my mistress cherish’d; For this one night restore her to life, Rekindling joys long perish’d.”

The fearful exorcising word He breathes, and his wish is granted; The poor dead beauty in grave-clothes white Appears to his vision enchanted.

Her look is mournful; her ice-cold breast Her sighs of grief cannot smother; The dead one sits herself down by the monk, In silence they gaze on each other.

5. EXTRACT FROM A LETTER.

(The Sun speaks.)

What matter all my looks to thee? It is the well-known right of the sun To shed down his rays on ev’ry one; I beam because ’tis proper for me.

What matter all my looks to thee? Thy duties bear in mind, poor elf; Quick, marry, and get a son to thyself, And so a German worthy be!

I beam because ’tis proper for me. I wander up and down in the sky, From mere ennui I peep from on high-- What matter all my looks to thee?

(The Poet speaks.)

It is in truth my special merit That I can bear thy radiant light, Pledge of an endless youthful spirit, Thou dazzling beauty, blest and bright.

But now mine eyes are growing weary, On my poor eyelids fast are falling, Like a black covering, the dreary Dark shades of night with gloom appalling.

(Chorus of Monkeys.)

We monkeys, we monkeys, Like impudent flunkies, Stare at the sun, Who can’t prevent its being done.

(Chorus of Frogs.)

The water is better, But also much wetter Than ’tis in the air, And merrily there We love to gaze On the sun’s bright rays.

(Chorus of Moles.)

How foolish people are to chatter Of beams and sunny rays bewitching With us, they but produce an itching We scratch it and so end the matter.

(A Glow-worm speaks.)

How boastingly the sun displays His very fleeting daily rays! But I’m not so immodest quite, And yet I’m an important light,-- I mean by night, I mean by night!

6. THE EVIL STAR.

The star, after beaming so brightly, From the sky fell, a vision unsightly, What is the love by poets sung? A star amid a heap of dung.

Like a poor mangy dog, when he’s dying, Beneath all this filth it is lying; Shrill crows the cock, loud grunts the sow, And wallows in the fearful slough.

In the garden O had I descended, By fair flowerets lovingly tended, Where I oft yearn’d to find my doom, A virgin death, a fragrant tomb!

7. ANNO 1829.

Give me a wide and noble field Where I may perish decently! O let me in this narrow world Of shops be not condemned to die!

They eat full well, they drink full well, And revel in their mole-like bliss; Their magnanimity’s as great As any poor-box opening is.

Cigars they carry in their mouths, Their hands we in their breeches view, And their digestive powers are great,-- O could we but digest them too!

They trade in every spice that grows Upon the earth, yet we can trace, Despite their spices, in the air The odour of a grovelling race.

Could I some great transgressions, yes, Colossal bloody crimes but see,-- Aught but this virtue flat and tame, This solvent strict morality!

Ye clouds on high, O bear me hence, To some far spot without delay! To Lapland or to Africa, To Pomerania e’en--away!

O bear me hence!--They hearken not-- The clouds on high so prudent are! They fly above this town, to seek With trembling haste some region far.

8. ANNO 1839.

Dear distant Germany, how often I weep when I remember thee! Gay France my sorrow cannot soften, Her merry race gives pain to me.

In Paris, in this witty region, ’Tis cold dry reason that now reigns; O bells of folly and religion, How sweetly sound at home your strains!

Courteous the men! Their salutation I yet return with feelings sad; The rudeness shown in every station In my own country made me glad!

Smiling the women! but their clatter, Like millwheels, never seems to cease; The Germans (not to mince the matter) Prefer I, who lie down in peace.

And all things here with restless passion Keep whirling, like some madden’d dream; With us, they move in jog-trot fashion, And well-nigh void of motion seem.

Methinks I hear the distant ringing Of the soft bugle’s notes serene; The watchman’s songs I hear them singing, With Philomel’s sweet strains between.

At home the bard, a happy vagrant In Schilda’s oak woods loved to rove; From moonbeams fair and violets fragrant My tender verses there I wove.

9. AT DAWN.

On the Faubourg Saint Marçeau Lay the mist this very morning, Mist of autumn, heavy, thick, And a white-hued night resembling.

Wandering through this white-hued night, I beheld before me gliding An enchanting female form Which the moon’s sweet light resembled.

Yes, she was, like moonlight sweet, Lightly floating, tender, graceful; Such a slender shape of limbs I had here in France ne’er witness’d.

Was it Luna’s self perchance, Who with some young dear and handsome Fond Endymion had to-day In th’ Quartier Latin been ling’ring?

On my way home thus I thought: Wherefore fled she when she saw me? Did the Goddess think that I Was perchance the Sun-God Phœbus?

10. SIR OLAVE.

At the door of the cathedral Stand two men, both wearing red coats, And the first one is the monarch, And the headsman is the other.

To the headsman spake the monarch: “By the priest’s song I can gather “That the wedding is now finish’d-- “Keep thy trusty hatchet ready!”

To the sound of bells and organ From the church the people issue In a motley throng, and ’mongst them Move the gay-dress’d bridal couple.

Pale as death and sad and mournful Looks the monarch’s lovely daughter; Bold and joyous looks Sir Olave, And his ruddy lips are smiling.

And with smiling ruddy lips he Thus the gloomy king addresses: “Father of my wife, good morning! “Forfeited to-day my head is.

“I to-day must die,--O suffer, “Suffer me to live till midnight, “That I may with feast and torch-dance “Celebrate my happy wedding!

“Let me live, O let me live, sire, “Till I’ve drain’d the final goblet, “Till the final dance is finish’d-- “Suffer me to live till midnight!”

To the headsman spake the monarch: “To our son-in-law a respite “Of his life we grant till midnight-- “Keep thy trusty hatchet ready!”

II.

Sir Olave he sits at his wedding repast, And every goblet is drained at last; Upon his shoulder reclines His wife and pines-- At the door the headsman is standing.

The dance begins, and Sir Olave takes hold Of his youthful wife, and with haste uncontroll’d They dance by the torches’ glow Their last dance below-- At the door the headsman is standing.

The fiddles strike up, so merry and glad, The flutes they sound so mournful and sad; Whoever their dancing then saw Was filled with awe-- At the door the headsman is standing.

And as they dance in the echoing hall, To his wife speaks Sir Olave, unheard by them all: “My love will be ne’er known to thee-- “The grave yawns for me--” At the door the headsman is standing.

III.

Sir Olave, ’tis the midnight hour, Thy days of life are number’d; In a king’s daughter’s arms instead Thou thoughtest to have slumber’d.

The monks they mutter the prayers for the dead, The man the red coat wearing Already before the black block stands, His polish’d hatchet bearing.

Sir Olave descends to the court below, Where the swords and the lights are gleaming; The ruddy lips of the Knight they smile, And he speaks with a countenance beaming:

“I bless the sun, and I bless the moon, “And the stars in the heavens before me; “I bless too the little birds that sing “In the air so merrily o’er me.

“I bless the sea and I bless the land, “And the flow’rs that the meadow’s life are; “I bless the violets, which are as soft “As the eyes of my own dear wife are.

“Ye violet eyes of my own dear wife, “My life for your sakes I surrender! “I bless the elder-tree, under whose shade “We plighted our vows of love tender.”

11. THE WATER NYMPHS.

The waves were plashing against the lone strand, The moon had risen lately, The knight was lying upon the white sand, In vision musing greatly.

The beauteous nymphs arose from the deep, Their veils around them floated; They softly approach’d, and fancied that sleep The youth’s repose denoted.

The plume of his helmet the first one felt, To see if perchance it would harm her; The second took hold of his shoulder belt, And handled his heavy chain armour.

The third one laugh’d, and her eyes gleam’d bright, As the sword from the scabbard drew she; On the bare sword leaning, she gazed on the knight, And heartfelt pleasure knew she.

The fourth one danced both here and there, And breath’d from her inmost bosom: “O would that I thy mistress were, “Thou lovely mortal blossom!”

The fifth her kisses with passionate strength On the hand of the knight kept planting; The sixth one tarried, and kissed at length His lips and his cheeks enchanting.

The knight was wise, and far too discreet To open his eyes midst such blisses; He let the fair nymphs in the moonlight sweet Continue their loving kisses.

12. BERTRAND DE BORN.

A noble pride on every feature, His forehead stamp’d with thought mature, He could subdue each mortal creature, Bertrand de Born, the troubadour.

How wondrously his sweet notes caught her, Plantagenet the Lion’s queen! Both sons as well as lovely daughter He sang into his net, I ween.

The father too he fool’d discreetly! Hush’d was the monarch’s wrath and scorn On hearing him discourse so sweetly, The troubadour, Bertrand de Born.

13. SPRING.

The waters glisten and merrily glide,-- How lovely is love midst spring’s splendour! The shepherdess sits by the streamlet’s side, And twines her garlands so tender.

All nature is budding with fragrant perfume, How lovely is love midst spring’s splendour! The shepherdess sighs from her heart: “O to whom “Shall I my garlands surrender?”

A horseman is riding beside the clear brook, A kindly greeting he utters; The shepherdess views him with sorrowful look, The plume in his hat gaily flutters.

She weeps and into the gliding waves flings Her flowery garlands so tender; Of kisses and love the nightingale sings-- How lovely is love midst spring’s splendour!

14. ALI BEY.

Ali Bey, the true Faith’s hero, Happy lies in maids’ embraces; Allah granteth him a foretaste Here on earth of heavenly rapture.

Odalisques, as fair as houris, Like gazelles in every motion-- While the first his beard is curling, See, the second smoothes his forehead.

And the third the lute is playing, Singing, dancing, and with laughter Kissing him upon his bosom, Where the flames of bliss are glowing.

But the trumpets of a sudden Sound outside, the swords are rattling, Calls to arms, and shots of muskets-- Lord, the Franks are marching on us!

And the hero mounts his war-steed, Joins the fight, but seems still dreaming; For he fancies he is lying As before in maids’ embraces.

Whilst the heads of the invaders He is cutting off by dozens, He is smiling like a lover, Yes, he softly smiles and gently.

15. PSYCHE.

In her hand the little lamp, and Mighty passion in her breast, Psyche creepeth to the couch where Her dear sleeper takes his rest.

How she blushes, how she trembles, When his beauty she descries! He, the God of love, unveil’d thus, Soon awakes and quickly flies.

Eighteen hundred years’ repentance! And the poor thing nearly died! Psyche fasts and whips herself still, For she Amor naked spied.

16. THE UNKNOWN ONE.

Every day I have a meeting With my golden-tressèd beauty In the Tuileries’ fair garden Underneath the chesnuts’ shadow.

Every day she goes to walk there With two old and ugly women-- Are they aunts? or else two soldiers Muffled up in women’s garments?

Overawed by the mustachios Of her masculine attendants, And still farther overawed too By the feelings in my bosom,

I ne’er ventured e’en one sighing Word to whisper as I pass’d her, And with looks I scarcely ventured Ever to proclaim my passion.

For the first time I to-day have Learnt her name. Her name is Laura, Like the Provençal fair maiden Whom the famous poet loved so.

Laura is her name! I’ve gone now Just as far as Master Petrarch, Who the fair one celebrated In canzonas and in sonnets.

Laura is her name! like Petrarch I can now platonically Revel in this name euphonious-- He himself no further ventured.

17. THE CHANGE.

With brunettes I now have finish’d, And this year am once more fond Of the eyes whose colour blue is, Of the hair whose colour’s blond.

Mild the blond one, whom I love now, And in meekness quite a gem! She would be some blest saint’s image, Held her hand a lily stem.

Slender limbs of wondrous beauty, Little flesh, much sympathy; All her soul is glowing but for Faith and hope and charity.

She maintains she understands not German,--but it can’t be so; Hast ne’er read the heavenly poem Klopstock wrote some time ago?

18. FORTUNE.

Madam Fortune, thou in vain Act’st the coy one! I can gain By my own exertions merely All thy favours prized so dearly.

Thou art overcome by me, To the yoke I fasten thee; Thou art mine beyond escaping-- But my bleeding wounds are gaping.

All my red blood gushes out, My life’s courage to the rout Soon is put; I’m vanquish’d lying, And in victory’s hour am dying.

19. LAMENTATION OF AN OLD-GERMAN YOUTH.

The man on whom virtue smiles is blest, He is lost who neglects her instructions; Poor youth that I am, I am ruin’d By evil companions’ seductions.

For cards and dice soon dispossess’d My pockets of all their money; At first the maidens consoled me With smiles as luscious as honey.

But when they had fuddled with wine their guest, And torn my garments, straightway (Poor youth that I am) they seized me, And bundled me out at the gateway.

On waking after a bad night’s rest,-- Sad end to all my ambition!-- Poor youth that I am, I was filling At Cassel a sentry’s position.

20. AWAY!

The day’s enamour’d of the night, The springtime loves the winter, And life’s in love with death,-- And thou, thou lovest me!

Thou lov’st me--thou’rt already seized By fear-inspiring shadows, And all thy blossoms fade, To death thy soul is bleeding.

Away from me, and only love The butterflies, gay triflers, Who in the sunlight sport-- Away from me and sorrow!

21. MADAM METTE.

(From the Danish.)

Says Bender to Peter over their wine: “I’ll wager (though doubtless you’re clever) “That though your fine singing may conquer the world, “My wife ’twill conquer never.”

Then Peter replied: “I’ll wager my horse “To your dog, or the devil is in it, “I’ll sing Madam Mette into my house “This evening, at twelve to a minute.”

And when the hour of midnight drew near, Friend Peter commenced his sweet singing; Right over the forest, right over the flood His charming notes were ringing.

The fir-trees listen’d in silence deep, The flood stood still and listen’d, The pale moon trembled high up in the sky, The wise stars joyously glisten’d.

Madam Mette awoke from out of her sleep: “What singing! How sweet the seduction!” She put on her dress, and left the house-- Alas, it proved her destruction!

Right through the forest, right through the flood, She speeded onward straightway; While Peter, with the might of his song, Allured her inside his own gateway.

And when she at morning return’d back home, At the door her husband caught her: “Pray tell me, good wife, where you spent the night! “Your garments are dripping with water.”

“I spent the night at the water-nymphs’ stream, “And heard the Future told by them; “The mocking fairies wetted me through “With their splashes, for going too nigh them.”

“You have not been to the water-nymphs’ stream, “The sand there could ne’er make you muddy; “Your feet, good wife, are bleeding and torn, “Your cheeks are also bloody.”

“I spent the night in the elfin wood, “To see the elfin dances; “I wounded my feet and face with the thorns “And fir-boughs cutting like lances.”

“The elfins dance in the sweet month of May “On flowery plains, but the chilly “Bleak days of autumn now reign on the earth, “The wind in the forests howls shrilly.”

“At Peter Nielsen’s I spent the night, “He sang so mightily to me, “That through the forest, and through the flood “He irresistibly drew me.

“His song is mighty as death itself, “To-night and perdition alluring; “Its tuneful glow still burns in my heart, “ A speedy death insuring.”

The door of the church is hung with black, The funeral bells are ringing, Poor Madam Mette’s terrible death To public notice bringing.

Poor Bender sighs, as he stands at the bier,-- ’Twas sad to hear him call so!-- “I now have lost my beautiful wife, “And lost my true dog also.”

22. THE MEETING.

The music under the linden-tree sounds, The boys and the maidens dance lightly; Amongst them two dance, whom nobody knows, Of figures noble and sightly.

They float about here, they float about there, In a way that strange habits expresses; They smile at each other, they shake their heads, The maiden the youth thus addresses:

“My handsome youth, upon thy hat There nods a lily splendid, That only grows in the depths of the sea,-- From Adam thou art not descended.

“The Kelpie art thou, who the fair village maids Would’st allure with thy arts of seduction; I knew thee at once, at the very first sight, By thy teeth of fish-like construction.”

They float about here, they float about there, In a way that strange habits expresses; They smile at each other, they shake their heads, The youth the maid thus addresses:

“My handsome maiden, tell me why “Thy hand so icy cold is? “And tell me why thy snow-white dress “So moist in every fold is?

“I knew thee at once, at the very first sight, “By thy bantering salutation; “Thou art no mortal child of man, “But the water-nymph, my relation.”

The fiddles are silent, and finish’d the dance, They part like sister and brother, They know each other only too well, And shun now the sight of each other.

23. KING HAROLD HARFAGAR.

The great King Harold Harfagar In ocean’s depths is sitting, Beside his lovely water-fay; The years are over him flitting.

By water-sprite’s magical arts chain’d down, He is neither living nor dead now, And while in this state of baneful bliss Two hundred years have sped now.

The head of the king is laid on the lap Of the beautiful woman, and ever He yearningly gazes up tow’rd her eyes, And looks away from her never.

His golden hair is silver grey, His cheekbones (of time’s march a token) Project like a ghost’s from his yellow face, His body is wither’d and broken.

And many a time from his sweet dream of love He suddenly is waking, For over him wildly rages the flood, The castle of glass rudely shaking.

He oftentimes fancies he hears in the wind The Northmen shouting out gladly; He raises his arms with joyous haste, Then lets them fall again sadly.

He oftentimes fancies he hears far above The seamen their voices raising, The great King Harold Harfagar In songs heroical praising.

And then the king from the depth of his heart Begins sobbing and wailing and sighing, When quickly the water-fay over him bends, With loving kisses replying.

24. THE LOWER WORLD.

Many a time poor Pluto sigh’d thus: “Were I but a single man! “Since my married life began, “Hell, I’ve learnt, was not a hell “Till I to a wife was tied thus!

“Would that I remain’d still single! “Since I Proserpine did wed, “Each day wish I I was dead! “With the bark of Cerberus “Her loud scoldings ever mingle.

“Each attempt I make is fruitless “After peace. There’s not a ghost “Half so sad in all my host, “And I envy Sisyphus, “And the Danaid’s labour bootless.”

II.

On golden chair in the regions infernal, Beside her spouse, the monarch eternal, Queen Proserpine’s sitting With mien ill befitting Her station, and sadly she’s sighing:

“For roses I yearn, and the rapturous blisses “Of Philomel’s song, and the sun’s sweet kisses; “And here ’mongst the pallid “Lemures and squalid “Dead bodies, my youth’s days are flying.

“I’m firmly bound in the hard yoke of marriage “In this hole, which I’m sure e’en a rat would disparage “And the spectres unsightly “Through my window peep nightly, “Their wails with the Styx’s groans vying.

“This very day I’ve invited to dinner “Old Charon, the bald-pated spindle-shank’d sinner,-- “And also the Judges, “Those wearisome drudges-- “Such company’s really too trying!”

III.

Whilst these murmurs unavailing In the lower world found vent, Ceres on the earth was wailing, And the crazy goddess went, With no cap on, with no collar, And with loose dishevell’d hair, Uttering, in a voice of dolour, That lament known everywhere:[13]

“Is’t the beauteous spring I see? “Hath the earth grown young again? “Sunlit hills glow verdantly, “Bursting through their icy chain. “From the streamlet’s mirror blue “Smiles the now-unclouded sky, “Zephyr’s wings wave milder too, “Youthful blossoms ope their eye. “In the grove sweet songs resound, “While the Oread thus doth speak: “‘Once again thy flow’rs are found, “Vain thy daughter ’tis to seek.’

“Ah, how long ’tis since I went “First in search o’er earth’s wide face! “Titan, all thy rays I sent, “Seeking for the loved one’s trace! “Of that form so dear, no ray “Hath as yet brought news to me, “And the all-discerning Day “Cannot yet the lost one see. “Hast thou, Zeus, her from me torn? “Or to Orcus’ gloomy stream, “Hath she been by Pluto borne, “Smitten by her beauty’s beams?

“Who will to yon dreary strand “Be the herald of my woe? “Ever leaves the bark the land, “Yet but shadows in it go. “To each blest eye evermore “Closed those night-like fields remain; “Styx no living form e’er bore, “Since his stream first wash’d the plain. “Thousand paths lead downward there, “None lead up again to light; “And her tears no witness e’er “Brings to her sad mother’s sight.”

IV.

“Ceres! my good wife’s relation! “Prythee cease to weep and call so! “I now grant your application-- “I have suffer’d greatly also!

“Comfort take! we’ll share your daughter’s “Sweet society, and let her “Have on earth six months her quarters “Yearly, if you like it better.

“She, when men in summer swelter, “Can assist your rural labours, “‘Neath a straw hat taking shelter, “Flow’r-bedizen’d, like her neighbours’.

“She can rant, when colours glowing “Robe the evening sky in splendour, “When beside the stream is blowing “On his flute a bumpkin tender.

“She’ll rejoice with lads and lasses “At the harvest-home’s gay dances, “And amongst the sheep and asses “Be a lioness, the chance is.

“I’ll recruit my spirits sinking “Here in Orcus in a canter, “Mingled punch and Lethe drinking, “And forget my wife instanter!”

“Methinks at times thy brow is shaded “With yearnings that in secret dwell; “Thy hapless lot I know full well; “Lost love, a life untimely faded!

“Thou nodd’st a sad assent! I never “Can give thee back thy youthful prime; “Thy heart’s woes cannot heal with time: “A faded life, love lost for ever!”

15. MISCELLANIES.

1. MULEDOM.

Thy father, as is known to all, A donkey was, beyond denial; Thy mother on the other hand A noble brood-mare proved on trial.

Thy mulish nature, worthy friend, Though little liked, a thing of course is; Yet thou canst say, with perfect truth, That thou belongest to the horses.

Thou spring’st from proud Bucephalus; Thy fathers were with the invaders Who to the Holy Sepulchre Of old time went, the famed Crusaders.

Thou countest ’mongst thy relatives The charger ridden by the glorious Sir Godfrey of Bouillon the day He took God’s town with arm victorious.

Thou canst aver that Bayard’s steed Thy cousin was, and say (andante) Thine aunt the knight Don Quixote bore, The most heroic Rosinante.

But Sancho’s donkey thou’lt not own As kin, he being much too lowly; Thou’lt e’en disown the ass’s foal That whilome bore the Saviour holy.

And thou art not obliged to stick A long-ear surely in thy scutcheon; Of thine own value be the judge, And thou wilt never lay too much on.

2. THE SYMBOL OF MADNESS.

We’ll now begin to sing the song Of a Number of much reputation, Known by the name of Number Three: To joy succeeds vexation.

Though sprung from an old Arabian stock, In Christian estimation Nothing in Europe higher stood Than this Number of proud reputation.

A very pattern of modesty, How great was her indignation At finding the man in bed with the maid! She gave them a sound castigation.

In summer her coffee at seven A.M. She drank with much gratification, In winter at nine, and slept all night Without the least molestation.

But now ’tis time to alter our rhyme, To-day is changed to to-morrow, And, sad to say, poor Number Three Must suffer pain and sorrow.

There came a cobbler who said: “The head “Of Number Three at present “Is like a small Seven that’s placed on the top “Of the moon when she’s shaped like a crescent.

“The Seven the mystical number is “Of the ancient Pythagoreans; “The crescent Diana’s worship denotes, “And also recals the Sabeans.

“The Three herself the famed Shibboleth is “Of the senior bonze of Babel, “Intriguing with whom she at length gave birth “To the Holy Trinity’s fable.”

A tailor came next, with a smile on his face; Poor Number Three, he insisted, Was nought but a name, and nowhere else Except upon paper existed.

When poor Three heard these cruel words, Like a duck in a state of distraction She waddled here and waddled there, Lamenting with vehement action:

“I’m just as old as the sea and the wold, “As the stars that in heaven are blinking; “I’ve seen kingdoms ascend, and presently end, “And nations rising and sinking.

“I’ve stood on the ceaselessly whirling loom “Of time for many long ages; “I’ve peep’d into Nature’s fashioning womb, “Where everything rushes and rages.

“And nevertheless I withstood all assaults “Of darkness and sensuality, “And safely preserved my virgin charms, “Despite their cruel brutality.

“What use is my virtue now? By the wise “And the fools I am evil entreated; “The world is wicked, and ne’er content “Till every one is cheated.

“But cheer up, my heart! thou still hast left “Thy faith and hope and charity, “With excellent coffee and glasses of rum “Above the reach of vulgarity.”

3. PRIDE.

O Countess Gudel of Gudelfeld town, Because you are wealthy, you’re held in renown With not less than four horses contented, At court you are duly presented; In carriage of gold you go lightly To the castle, where waxlights gleam brightly; Up the marble stairs rustle Your clothes with their bustle, And then at the top, on the landing The servants in gay dresses standing Shout: Madame la Comtesse de Gudelfeld!

Your fan in your hand, talking loudly, Through the chamber you wander on proudly; With diamonds gaily bedizen’d, In pearls and Brussels lace prison’d, Your snowy bosom with madness Is heaving in uncontroll’d gladness. What smiles, nods, polite interjections! What curtsies and deep genuflexions! The Duchess of Pavia Calls you her cara mia; The nobles and courtiers advancing Invite you to join in the dancing; And the heir to the crown (who’s thought witty) Says loudly: How graceful and pretty Are all the stern movements of Gudelfeld!

But if, poor creature, you money did lack, The world would straightway show you its back; The very lackeys with loathing Would spit on your clothing; ’Stead of bows and civility, Nought but vulgar scurrility; The Duchess would cross herself rudely, And the Crown Prince take snuff, and say shrewdly: She smells of garlic--this Gudelfeld!

4. AWAY!

If by one woman thou’rt jilted, love Another, and so forget her; To pack up thy knapsack, and straight remove From the town will be still better.

Thou’lt soon discover a blue lake fair, By weeping willows surrounded; Thy trifling grief thou’lt weep away there, Thy pangs so little founded.

Whilst climbing up the hillside fast, Thou’lt pant and groan full loudly; But when on the rocky summit at last, Thou’lt hear the eagle scream proudly.

An eagle thyself thou’lt seem to be, New life the change will bestow thee; Thou’lt feel thou hast lost, when thus set free, Not much in the world below thee.

5. WINTER.

The cold may burn us sadly Like fire, and mortals hurry Amidst the snowdrift madly, With still-increasing flurry.

O winter stern and chilly, When frozen are our noses, And piano-strumming silly Our ears so discomposes!

I like the summer only When in the wood I’m roving With my own griefs all-lonely, And scanning verses loving.

6. THE OLD CHIMNEYPIECE.

Outside fall the snowflakes lightly Through the night, loud raves the storm In my room the fire glows brightly, And ’tis cosy, silent, warm.

Musing sit I on the settle By the firelight’s cheerful blaze, Listening to the busy kettle Humming long-forgotten lays.

And beside me sits a kitten, Warming at the blaze her feet; Strangely are my senses smitten As the flickering flames they meet.

Many a dim long-buried story O’er me soon begins to rise, But with dead and faded glory, And in strange and mask’d disguise.

Lovely women with shrewd faces Greet me with a secret smile, Then the harlequins run races, Laughing merrily the while.

Distant marble-gods nod kindly, Dreamily beside them grow Fable-flow’rs, whose leaves wave blindly In the moonlight to and fro.

Magic castles, once resplendent, Ruin’d now, in sight appear; Knights in armour, squires attendant Quickly follow in their rear.

All these visions I discover As with shadowy haste they pass,-- Ah, the kettle’s boiling over, And the kitten’s burnt, alas!

7. LONGING.

Thou beholdest in thy vision Fable’s silent flow’rs before thee, And a yearning wild steals o’er thee At their fragrant scent elysian.

But thou from those flow’rs art parted By a gulf both deep and fearful; Thou becomest sad and tearful, And at last art broken-hearted.

How they glitter! how they lure me! Could I but the gulf pass over! How the secret to discover, And a bridge across procure me?

8. HELENA.

Thou hast call’d me forth from out of the grave By means of thy magic will now, And fill’d me full of love’s fierce glow-- This glow thou never canst still now.

O press thy mouth against my mouth, Man’s breath with heaven is scented; Thy very soul I’ll drain to the dregs, The dead are never contented.

9. THE WISE STARS.

The flowerets sweet are crush’d by the feet Full soon, and perish despairing; One passes by, and they must die, The modest as well as the daring.

The pearls all sleep in the caves of the deep, Where one finds them, despite wind and weather A hole is soon bored and they’re strung on a cord, And there fast yoked together.

The stars are more wise, and keep in the skies, And hold the earth at a distance; They shed their light in the heavens so bright, In safe and endless existence.

10. THE ANGELS.

Faithless as Saint Thomas, never Could I in the heaven believe Which both Jew and Priest endeavour To compel men to receive.

That the angels, though, are real I have never held in doubt; Spotless, and of grace ideal, On this earth they move about.

Still I doubt if such a being Wing’d is, it must be confess’d; I have recently been seeing Wingless angels, I protest.

With their dear and loving glances With their loving hands so white Men they guard, and all advances Of misfortune put to flight.

Every one can comfort borrow From their favour and regard; Most of all that child of sorrow Whom the people call a bard.

16. POEMS FOR THE TIMES.

1. SOUND DOCTRINE.

Quick, beat the drum, and be not afraid, The suttler-maiden lovingly kiss; This is the whole of knowledge, in truth, The deepest book-learning lies in this.

Quick, drum the people out of their sleep, And drum the réveille with the ardour of youth, And as you march, continue to drum-- This is the whole of knowledge, in truth.

All Hegel’s philosophy here is found, The deepest book-learning lies in this; I’ve found it out, because I’m no fool, And also because I drum not amiss.

2. ADAM THE FIRST.

Gendarmes of heaven with flaming swords Thou sent’st in cruel fashion, And drov’st me out of Paradise Without the least compassion.

In search of another country, I And my wife from Eden hasted; Thou canst not alter the fact that there The tree of knowledge I tasted.

Thou canst not alter the fact that I know Thy weakness and many blunders, However mighty thou seemest to be When wielding death and thunders.

O heavens, how pitiful is this Consilium abeundi! I call it a Magnificus Of earth, a Lumen Mundi.

I shall not miss the spacious realms Of Paradise one minute. It is no genuine Paradise When trees forbidden are in it.

I claim my full unfetter’d rights! The slightest limitation Changes my Paradise at once To hell and desolation.

3. WARNING.

Worthy friend, ’twill be perdition Books like this to think of printing! Wouldst thou money earn or honour Thou must bend in meek submission.

Never in this manner flighty Shouldest thou before the public Thus have spoken of the parsons And of monarchs high and mighty!

Friend, thou’lt be by all forsaken! Princes have long arms, the parsons Have long tongues, and then the public Have long ears, or I’m mistaken!

4. TO A QUONDAM FOLLOWER OF GOETHE.

(1832.)

Hast thou, then, superior risen To the chilly dream of glory Which great Weimar’s poet hoary Wove around thee, like a prison?

Are thy old friends bores now voted?-- Clara, Gretchen,--names familiar,-- Serlo’s chaste maid, and Ottilia In the “Wahlverwandschaft” noted?

Thou’rt with Germany enchanted, Art become a Mignon-hater, And thou seek’st for freedom greater Than Philina ever granted.

Like a Luneburgomaster, Thou dost battle for the nation, Holding up to execration Kings, as causing all disaster.

And I hear with pleasure hearty, What a pitch thy praises grow to, And how thou’rt a Mirabeau, too, At each Luneburg tea-party!

5. THE SECRET.

We sigh not, and the eye’s not moisten’d, We laugh at times, we often smile; In not a look, in not a gesture The secret comes to light the while.

Deep in our bleeding spirit hidden, It lies in silent misery; If in our wild heart it finds language, The mouth’s still closed convulsively.

Ask of the suckling in the cradle, Ask of the dead man in the grave; They may perchance disclose the secret To which I never utt’rance gave.

6. ON THE WATCHMAN’S ARRIVAL IN PARIS.

“Good watchman with face so sad and despairing, “Why runnest thou hither with headlong speed? “My dear fellow-countrymen, how are they faring? “My fatherland, is it from tyranny freed?”

All’s going on well, and liberty’s blessing Is showering silently on us its stores, And Germany, calmly and safely progressing, Unfolds and develops herself within doors.

Unlike France, superficial are none of her blossoms,-- There freedom but touches the outside of life; ’Tis but in the depths of their innermost bosoms That freedom with Germans is found to be rife.

They’ll finish Cologne’s great cathedral, they tell us, The Hohenzollerns[A] have brought this to pass; A Hapsburg[A] has shown himself equally zealous, A Wittelsbach[14] gives it some fine painted glass.

That true Magna Charta, a free constitution, They’ve promised, and surely their promise they’ll keep; A king’s word’s a prize, without circumlocution,-- Like the Nibelung stone in the Rhine it lies deep.

The Brutus of rivers, the free Rhine, they surely Can never remove him from out of his bed; The Dutchman his feet have fasten’d securely, The Switzers securely are holding his head.

God will grant us a fleet, if we prove persevering; Our patriotic exuberant strength Will find a vent in sailing and steering, The pain of imprisonment ending at length.

The seeds cast their shells and the spring’s blooming sweetly, We draw a free breath at this time of the year; If permission to print is denied us completely, The censorship will of itself disappear.

7. THE DRUM-MAJOR.[15]

The old drum-major it is that we see; Poor fellow, he’s pull’d down sadly! In the Emperor’s time a youngster was he, And merrily lived and gladly.

He used to balance his ponderous stick, While a smile on his face play’d lightly; The silver-lace on his tunic so thick In the rays of the sun gleam’d brightly.

Whene’er with a mighty roll of the drum He enter’d a village or city, He caused an echo responsive to come In the heart of each girl, plain or pretty.

He came and saw and conquer’d too Each fair one welcomed him in; His black moustache was wetted through With tears of German women.

Resistance was vain! In every land That the foreign invaders came to, The Emperor vanquished the gentlemen, and The drum-major each maiden and dame too.

Our sorrows full long we patiently bore Like oaks, with no one to heed ’em, Until the Authorities gave us once more The signal to battle for freedom.

Like buffaloes rushing on to the fray, We toss’d our horns up proudly, The yoke of France we cast away, The songs of Körner sang loudly.

O terrible verses! the tyrant’s ear At their awful sound revolted; The Emperor and the drum-major in fear Precipitately bolted.

They both of them reap’d the wages of sin, And came to an end inglorious; The Emperor Napoleon tumbled in The hands of the Britons victorious.

In Saint Helena his time he now pass’d In martyrdom, banish’d from France, Sir, And, after long suff’ring, died at last Of that terrible ailment cancer.

The poor drum-major, too, fell in disgrace, And lost his situation; In our hotel he took the place Of boots,--what degradation!

He warms the oven, he scours the pots, And wood and water fetches; His grey head wags as he wheezingly trots Up the stairs, so weak the poor wretch is.

When Fritz comes to see me, he finds himself Inclined to jeer and rally The comical lanky poor old elf And his motions shilly-shally.

O Fritz, a truce to raillery, please! The sons of Germany never Should fallen greatness love to tease, Or to torment endeavour.

Such people you ought to regard with pride And filial piety rather; Perchance upon the mother’s side The old man is your father!

8. DEGENERACY.

Has Nature’s self been going backward, And human faults assuming, then? The very plants and beasts, I fancy, Now lie as much as mortal men.

I trust not in the lily’s chasteness; The colour’d fop, the butterfly, Toys with her, kisses, round her flutters, Till lost is all her purity.

The violet’s modesty moreover I hold full cheap. The little flower With the coquettish breezes trifles, In secret pants for fame and power.

I doubt if Philomel appreciates The time she sings with pompous mien; She overdoes it, sobs, and warbles Methinks from nought but pure routine.

Truth from the earth is fast departing, The days of Faith are also o’er; The dogs still wag their tails, smell bully And yet are faithful now no more.

9. HENRY.

In Canossa’s castle courtyard Stands the German Cæsar Henry, Barefoot, clad in penitential Shirt--the night is cold and rainy.

From the window high above him Peep two figures, and the moonlight Gregory’s bald head illumines And the bosom of Mathilda.

Henry, with his lips all pallid, Murmurs pious paternosters; Yet in his imperial heart he Secretly revolts and speaks thus:

“In my distant German country “Upward rise the sturdy mountains; “In the mountain-pits in silence “Grows the iron for the war-axe.

“In my distant German country “Upward rise the fine oak-forests; “In the loftiest oak-stem ’mongst them “Grows the handle for the war-axe.

“Thou, my dear and faithful country, “Wilt beget the hero also “Who in time will crush the serpent “Of my sorrows with his war-axe.”

10. LIFE’S JOURNEY.

What laughter and singing! The sun’s rays crossing Each other gleam brightly; the billows are tossing The joyous bark, and there I reclined With friends beloved and lightsome mind.

The bark was presently wreck’d and shatter’d, My friends were poor swimmers, and soon were scatter’d, And all were drown’d, in our fatherland; I was thrown by the storm on the Seine’s far strand.

Another ship I now ascended, My journey by new companions attended; By strange waves toss’d and rock’d, I depart-- How far my home! how heavy my heart!

Once more arises that singing and laughter! The wind pipes loud, the planks crack soon after-- In heaven is quench’d the last last star-- How heavy my heart! My home how far!

11. THE NEW JEWISH HOSPITAL AT HAMBURG.

A hospital for Jews who’re sick and needy, For those unhappy threefold sons of sorrow, Afflicted by the three most dire misfortunes Of poverty, disease, and Judaism.

The worst by far of all the three the last is, That family misfortune, thousand years old, That plague which had its birth in Nile’s far valley, The old Egyptian and unsound religion.

Incurable deep pain! ’gainst which avail not Nor douche nor vapour-bath, the apparatus Of surgery, nor all the means of healing Which this house offers to its sickly inmates.

Will Time, eternal goddess, e’er extinguish This glowing ill, descending from the father Upon the son,--and will the grandson ever Be cured, and rational become and happy?

I cannot tell! Yet in the meantime let us Extol that heart which lovingly and wisely Sought to alleviate pain as far as may be, Into the wounds a timely balsam pouring.

Dear worthy man! He here has built a refuge For sorrows which by the physician’s science (Or else by death’s!) are curable, providing Cushions, refreshing drinks, and food, and nurses.

A man of deeds, he did his very utmost, Devoted to good works his hard-earned savings In his life’s evening, kindly and humanely, Recruiting from his toils by acts of mercy.

He gave with open hand--but gifts still richer, His tears, full often from his eyes were rolling, Tears fair and precious, which he wept deploring His brethren’s great, incurable misfortune.

12. GEORGE HERWEGH.[16]

When Germany first drank her fill, You then were her obedient vassal, Believing in each pipe-bowl still, And in its black-red-golden tassel.

But when the fond delirium ceased, Good friend, how great your consternation! The public seem’d a very beast, After its sweet intoxication!

Pelted by vile abusive swarms With rotten apples, in disorder, Under an escort of gendarmes You reach’d at length the German border.

There you stood still. A tear you wiped Away, the well-known posts on spying Which like the zebra’s back are striped, With heavy heart as follows sighing:--

“Aranjuez, in lightsome mood “Once stay’d I in thy halls so splendid, “When I before King Philip stood, “By all his proud grandees attended.

“He gave me an approving smile “When I the Marquis Posa acted; “My prose he could not relish, while “My verses his applause attracted.”[17]

13. THE TENDENCY.

German bard! extol our glorious German freedom, that thy lay May possess our souls, and fire us, And to mighty deeds inspire us, Like the Marseillaise notorious.

Be no more, like Werther, tender, Who for Lotte sigh’d all day; Thou shouldst tell the people proudly What the bells proclaim so loudly,-- Speak of dirks, swords, no surrender.

Gentle flutes no more resemble, Be not so idyllic, pray! Fire the mortars, beat to quarters, Crash, kill, thunder, make them tremble.

Crash, kill, thunder like a devil Till the last foe flies away; To this cause devote thy singing, Thy poetic efforts bringing To the common public’s level.

14. THE CHILD.

The good their gifts in dream enjoy, How did it fare with thee? Scarce feeling it, you’ve got a boy, Poor virgin Germany!

This boy an urchin frolicsome Ere long shall we behold; A first-rate archer he’ll become, As Cupid was of old.

He’ll pierce the soaring eagle through; And, proudly though he fly, The double-headed eagle too Struck by his bolt, shall die.

But that blind heathen God of love Will he resemble not In wearing neither clothes nor glove, Nor be a sans-culotte.

The seasons in our land combine With morals and police To make both old and young incline To wear their clothes in peace.

15. THE PROMISE.

You no more shall barefoot crawl so Through the dirt, poor German freedom! Stockings (as you find you need ’em) You shall have, and stout boots also.

As respects your head, upon it To protect your ears from freezin’ In the chilly winter-season You shall have a nice warm bonnet.

You shall have, too, savoury messes-- Grand the future that’s before you! Let no Satyr, I implore you, Lure you onward to excesses!

Do not haste on fast and faster! Render, as becomes inferiors, Due respect to your superiors And the worthy burgomaster.

16. THE CHANGELING.

A child with monstrous pumpkin head, Grey pigtail, and moustache light red, With lanky arms and yet stupendous, No bowels, yet with maw tremendous,-- A changeling which a Corporal Into our cradle had let fall On stealing from it our own baby-- This monster, falsehood’s child, (or may be ’Twas in reality the son Of his own favourite dog alone)-- What need to say how much we spurn it? For heaven’s sake, drown it or else burn it!

17. THE EMPEROR OF CHINA.[18]

My father was a dreadful bore, A good-for-nothing dandy; But I’m a mighty Emperor, And love a bumper of brandy.

These glorious draughts all others surpass In this, their magical power: As soon as I have drain’d my glass, All China bursts into flower.

The Middle Kingdom bursts into life, A blossoming meadow seeming; A man I wellnigh become, and my wife Soon gives me signs of teeming.

On every side abundance reigns, The sick no longer need potions; Confucius, Court-philosopher, gains Distinct and positive notions.

The ryebread the soldiers used to eat Of almond cakes is made now; The very vagabonds in the street In silk and satin parade now.

The knightly Order of Mandarins, Those weak old invalids, daily Are gaining strength and filling their skins, And shaking their pigtails gaily.

The great pagoda, faith’s symbol prized, Is ready for those who’re believing; The last of the Jews are here baptized, The Dragon’s order receiving.

The noble Manchoos exclaim, when freed From the presence of revolution: “The bastinado is all that we need, “We want no constitution!”

The pupils of Æsculapius perhaps May tell me that drink’s dissipation; But I continue to drink my Schnaps, To benefit the nation.

And so in drinking I persevere; It tastes like very manna! My people are happy, and drink their beer And join in shouting Hosanna!

18. CHURCH-COUNSELLOR PROMETHEUS.

Good Sir Paulus,[19] noble robber, All the gods are on thee gazing With their brows in anger knitted, Furious at the theft amazing

Thou hast practised in Olympus— Sorry for it they will make thee! Fear the fate of poor Prometheus If Jove’s bailiffs overtake thee!

Worse indeed his theft, because he Stole the light in heaven dwelling To enlighten us weak mortals— Thou didst steal the works of Schelling,

Just the opposite of light,—nay, Darkness we can feel and handle Like the old Egyptian darkness,— Not one solitary candle!

19. TO THE WATCHMAN.

(On a recent occasion.)

If heart and style remain still true, I’ll not object, whatever you do. My friend, I never will mistake you, E’en though a Counsellor they make you.

They now are raising a terrible din Because you’ve been sworn as a Counsellor in; From the Seine to the Elbe, regardless of reason, For months they’ve declaim’d thus against your sad treason:

His progress onward is changed of late To progress backward; O, answer us straight-- On Swabian crabs are you really riding? Is’t only court-ladies you now take pride in?

Perchance you are tired, and long for rest; All night on your horn you’ve been blowing your best And now on a nail you quietly stow it; No longer for Germany’s hobby you’ll blow it.

You lie down in bed, and straightway close Your eyes, but vainly you seek for repose; Before the window the mockers salute us: Awake, Liberator! What! sleeping, Brutus?

Ah, bawlers like these can never know why The best of watchmen ceases to cry; These young braggadocios cannot discover Why man his exertions at length gives over.

You ask me how matters are going on here? No breeze is stirring, the atmosphere’s clear; The weathercocks all are perplex’d, not discerning The proper direction in which to be turning.

20. CONSOLING THOUGHTS.

We sleep as Brutus slept of yore,-- And yet he awoke, and ventured to bore In Cæsar’s bosom his chilly dagger! The Romans their tyrants loved to stagger.--

No Romans are we, tobacco we smoke, Each nation its favourite taste can invoke; Each nation its special merit possesses-- The finest dumplings Swabia dresses.

But Germans are we, kindhearted and brave, We sleep as soundly as though in the grave; And when we awake, our thirst is excessive, But not for the blood of tyrants oppressive.

’Tis our great pride to be as true As heart of oak and linden too; The land which oaks and lindens gives birth to Can never produce a Brutus of worth too.

And e’en if amongst us a Brutus were found, No Cæsar exists in the country round; Despite all his search, he would find him never,-- We make good gingerbread however.

We’ve six-and-thirty masters and lords, (Not one too many!) who wear their swords And stars on their regal breasts to protect them; The Ides of March can never affect them.

We call them Father, and Fatherland We call the country they command By right of descent, and love to call so-- We love sour-crout and sausages also.

And when our Father walks in the street We take off our hats with reverence meet; Our guileless Germany, injuring no man, Is not a den of murderers Roman.

21. THE WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN.

The world is topsy-turvy turn’d, We walk feet-upwards in it; The woodcocks shoot the sportsmen down, A dozen in a minute.

The calves are seen to roast the cook, On men are riding the horses; On freedom of teaching and laws of light The Catholic owl discourses.

The herring is a sans-culotte, The truth is told by Bettina, And puss-in-boots brings Sophocles On the stage, with learned demeanour.

An ape for German heroes has built A Pantheon, for glory zealous;[20] And Massmann has lately been using a comb, As German papers tell us.

The German bears, I grieve to say, Are atheists unbelieving, And in their place the parrots of France The Christian faith are receiving.

The Moniteur of Uckermark With equal frenzy seems smitten; The dead have on the living there The vilest epitaph written.[21]

Then let us not swim against the stream, Good friends! ’twould serve us but badly; But let us ascend the Templehof hill,[22] “Long life to the king!” shouting gladly.

22. ENLIGHTENMENT.

Have the scales that dimm’d thy vision Fallen, Michael? Canst thou see How they’re stealing in derision All the choicest food from thee?

In return, divine enjoyment Promise they in realms above, Where the angels’ sole employment Is to cook us fleshless love.

Michael, hath thy faith grown weaker, Or thy appetite more strong? Thou dost grasp life’s sparkling beaker, And thou sing’st a hero-song.

Fear not, Michael! take thy pleasure While on earth, and eat what’s good; When thou’rt dead, thou’lt have full leisure To digest in peace thy food.

23. WAIT AWHILE!

Because my lightnings are so striking, You think that I can’t thunder too! You’re wrong, for I’ve a special liking For thunder, as I’ll prove to you.

This will be seen with awful clearness When the right moment is at hand; You’ll hear my voice in startling nearness,-- The word of thunder and command.

The raging storm will surely shiver Full many an oak upon that day; Each palace to its base shall quiver, And many a steeple proud give way.

24. NIGHT THOUGHTS.

When, Germany, I think of thee At night, all slumber flies from me; I cannot close mine eyes for yearning, And down my cheeks run tears all burning.

How swiftly speeds each rolling year! Since I have seen my mother dear Twelve years have pass’d away; the longer I wait, my yearning grows the stronger.

My yearning’s growing evermore; That woman has bewitch’d me sore! Dear, dear old woman! with what fervour I think of her! may God preserve her!

The dear old thing in me delights, And in the letters that she writes I see how much her hand is shaking,-- Her mother’s heart, how nearly breaking!

My mother’s ever in my mind; Twelve long long years are left behind, Twelve years have follow’d on each other Since to my heart I clasp’d my mother.

For ages Germany will stand; Sound to the core is that dear land! Its oaks and lindens I shall ever Find just the same, they alter never.

For Germany I less should care If my dear mother were not there; My fatherland will never perish But she may die, whom most I cherish.

Since I my native land saw last, Into the tomb have many pass’d Whom I so loved--When of them thinking How sadly bleeds my spirit sinking!

I needs must count them,--as I count My sorrows higher, higher mount; I feel as though each corpse were lying Upon my breast--Thank God, they’re flying!

Thank God! for through the window-pane France’s clear daylight breaks again; My fair wife enters, sweetly smiling, And all my German cares beguiling!

NEW SPRING.

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