THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 MRS. VIRGINIA B. SPORER
 
 THE POEMS OF HEINE,
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 Tie Poems of Schitter, 
 
 Complete. Second Edition, 
 
 The Poems of Goethe: 
 
 Including Hermann and Dorothea. Translated in the 
 Original Metres. Second Edition. 
 
 The Tragedies of Alfieri : 
 
 Including those published posthumously. 2 vola.
 
 THE POEMS OF HEINE 
 
 COMPLETE 
 
 TRANSLATED INTO THE ORIGINAL METRES 
 WITH A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE 
 
 BY 
 
 EDGAR ALFRED BOWRING, C.B. 
 
 LONDON- GEORGE BELL AND SONS, YORK STREET 
 COVENT GARDEN. 
 
 1887.
 
 LOKDOK: 
 HUNTED BT WIU1AM CLOWES AND SONS, LMITKD. 
 
 BTBEKT AHD CHABISO CBOSS.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PREFACE TO THE SSCOWD EDIXIOIT .... vii 
 
 PREFACE . . . . . . , . ix 
 
 MEMOIR OF HEINBICH HEINE li 
 
 EARLY POEMS I 
 
 BOOK OF SONGS: 
 
 PREFACE 23 
 
 YOUTHFUL SORROWS ...... 24 
 
 LYRICAL INTERLUDE 65 
 
 NEW POEMS 102 
 
 NEW SPRING 180 
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL: 
 
 THE EETUEN HOME ... 195 
 
 THE HARTZ-JOURNET 229 
 
 THE BALTIC 
 
 Parti 237 
 
 Part II 251 
 
 ATTA TROLL, A SUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM . . . 267 
 
 GERMANY, A WINTER TALE 326 
 
 ROMANCERO : 
 
 Book L HISTORIES 380 
 
 Book II. LAMENTATIONS 434 
 
 Book III. HEBREW MELODIES .... 460 
 
 LATEST POEMS 504 
 
 POSTHUMOUS POEMS . . . 548
 
 PKEFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 A NEW edition of this work, having been called for, owing 
 to the first edition having been for some time out of 
 print, I have taken advantage of the opportunity to add 
 translations of a remarkable collection of Poems by Heine, 
 published for the first time since the appearance of my 
 work in 1859. They consist of as many as twelve hundred 
 lines, described partly as " Early Poems," which will be 
 found at the beginning of the volume, and partly as 
 " Posthumous Poems," which are placed at the end. The 
 metres of the original have been again retained through- 
 out. 
 
 Various errors discovered by me in the first edition 
 have now been corrected ; and it only remains for me to 
 express my thanks for the kind manner in which the 
 critical and the general public, both in England and abroad, 
 have received the work, and for the indulgence extended 
 by them to its many imperfections. 
 
 E. A. B.
 
 PKEFACE. 
 
 II may perhaps be thought that I exhibit something of the 
 brazen-facedness of a hardened offender in venturing 
 once more (but, I hope, for the last time) to present myself to 
 the public in the guise of a translator, and, what is more, 
 a translator of a great poet. The favourable reception, how- 
 ever, that my previous translations of the Poems of Schiller 
 and Goethe have met with at the hands of the public, may 
 possibly be admitted as some excuse for this new attempt to 
 make that public acquainted with the works of a third great 
 German minstrel. Comparatively little known and little 
 appreciated in England, the name of Heine is in Germany 
 familiar as a household word ; and while, on the one hand, 
 many of his charming minor poems have become dear to the 
 hearts of thousands and tens of thousands of his fellow- 
 countrymen, and are sung alike in the palace and the cottage, 
 in the country and the town, on the other his sterner works 
 have done much to influence the political and religious 
 tendencies of the modern German school. 
 
 Having prefixed to this Volume a brief memoir of Heine, 
 accompanied by a few observations on his various works and 
 their distinguishing characteristics, I will here confine myself 
 to stating that I have adhered with the utmost strictness to 
 the principles laid down by me for my guidance in the case 
 of the previous translations attempted by me, those prin- 
 ciples being (1) As close and literal an adherence to the 
 original as is consistent with good English and with poetry, 
 and (2) the preservation throughout the work of the original 
 metres, of which Heine presents an almost imprecedented 
 variety. I have, on the occasion of my former publications; 
 fully explained my reasons for adopting this course, and will 
 not weary the reader with repeating them. I have sufficient
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 evidence before me of the approval of the public in thig 
 respect to induce me to frame my translation of Heine's 
 Poems on the same model. 
 
 In addition to thus preserving both the language and the 
 metre of the original, I have in one other respect endeavoured 
 to reproduce my author precisely as I found him, and that is 
 in the important particular of completeness. There are doubt- 
 less many poems written by Heine that one could wish had 
 never been written, and that one would willingly refrain from 
 translating. But the omission of these would hide from the 
 reader some of Heine's chief peculiarities, and would tend to 
 give him an incomplete if not incorrect notion of what the 
 poet was. A translator no more assumes the responsibility of 
 his author's words than a faithful Editor does, and he goes 
 beyond his province if he omits whatever does not happen to 
 agree with his own notions. 
 
 In claiming for the present work (extending over more than 
 20,000 verses) the abstract merits of literalness, completeness, 
 and rigid adherence to the metrical peculiarities of the 
 original, it is very far from my intention to claim any credit 
 for the manner in which I have executed that difficult task, 
 or to pretend that I have been successful in it. That is a 
 question for the reader alone to decide. The credit of con- 
 scientiousness and close application in the matter is all that I 
 would venture to assert for myself. All beyond is left 
 exclusively to the candid, and, I would fain hope, generous, 
 appreciation of those whom I now voluntarily constitute my 
 judges.
 
 HEINKIOH HEINE. 
 
 A LTHOUGH little more than three years have elapsed 
 ** since Heinrich Heine was first numbered amongst the 
 dead ; his name has long been enrolled in the lists of fame. 
 Even during his lifetime he had the good fortune, and, in a 
 poet, the most unusual good fortune, of being generally 
 accepted as a ^Representative Man, and of passing as the 
 National Bard of Young Germany. Although perhaps 
 scarcely entitled to rank with Goethe and Schiller in the 
 very highest order of poets, the name of Heine will assuredly 
 always occupy a prominent place amongst the minstrels not 
 only of Germany, but of the world. 
 
 It is only recently that his works have been for the first 
 time published in an absolutely complete form, the poetry 
 extending over more than two of the six volumes of which 
 they consist. Universally known and read in his native land, 
 and highly popular in France, which was for so many years 
 his adopted country, the works of Heine are to the generality 
 of Englishmen (as stated in the Preface) almost entirely 
 unknown. As the present volume is, as far as I am aware, 
 the only attempt that has been made to bring the far-famed 
 poems of Heine in their integrity before the English reader,* 
 it seems desirable to preface it by a brief sketch of his life, so 
 that in seeing what Heine is as a poet, we may be able to form 
 some idea as to who he was as a man. One who has been 
 compared in turns to Aristophanes, Kabelais, Burns, Cer- 
 vantes, Sterne, Jean Paul, Voltaire, Swift, Byron, and Beranger 
 
 * I believe that a translation of one of Heine's works his " Book 
 of Songs " was published in this country a few years ago, but I 
 have not met with it. An American version of the "Pictures of 
 Travel" also appeared in 1855.
 
 Xll MEMOIR OF 
 
 (and to all these has he been likened), can lie of no 
 common stamp. The discrepancies both as to facts and dates 
 that occur between the various biographies of Heine are, how- 
 ever, so numerous, that it has been no easy task to avoid error 
 in the following brief sketch of his life. 
 
 Heinrich (or Henry) Heine was born in the Bolkerstrasse, 
 at Dusseldorf, on the 12th of December, 1799 ; but, singularly 
 enough, the exact date of his birth was, until recently, 
 unknown to his biographers, who, on the authority of a 
 saying of his own, assigned it to the 1st of January, 1800, 
 which he boasted made him " the first man of the century." 
 In reply, however, to a specific inquiry addressed to him by 
 a friend on this subject a few years before his death, he stated 
 that he was really born on the day first mentioned, and that 
 the date of 1800 usually given by his biographers was the 
 result of an error voluntarily committed by his family in his 
 favour at the time of the Prussian invasion, in order to 
 exempt him from the service of the king of Prussia. 
 
 By birth he was a Jew, both of his parents having been of 
 that persuasion. He was the eldest of four children, and his 
 two brothers are (or were recently) still alive, the one being a 
 physician in Eussia, and the other an officer in the Austrian 
 service. The famous Solomon Heine, the banker of Hamburg, 
 whose wealth was only equalled by his philanthropy, was his 
 uncle. His father, however, was far from being in opulent 
 circumstances. When quite a child, he took delight in 
 reading Don Quixote, and used to cry with anger at seeing 
 how ill the heroism of that valiant knight was requited. He 
 says somewhere, speaking of his boyish days, " apple-tarts 
 " were then my passion. Now it is love, truth, freedom, and 
 ''crab-soup." He received his earliest education at tbo 
 Franciscan convent in his native town, and while there had 
 the misfortune to be the innocent cause of the death by 
 drowning of a schoolfellow, an incident recorded in one of the 
 poems in his " Komancero." He mentions the great effect 
 produced upon him by the sorrowful face of a large wooden 
 Christ which was constantly before his eyes in the Convent. 
 Even at that early age the germs of what has been called 
 " his fantastic sensibility, the food for infinite irony," seem to
 
 HEINBICH HEINE. Xlll 
 
 have been developing themselves. A visit of tin; Emperor 
 Napoleon to Dusseldorf when he was u boy affected him in a. 
 singular manner, and had probably much to do with the 
 formation of those imperialist tendencies which are often to 
 be noticed in his character and writings. He was next 
 placed in the Lyceum of Dusseldorf, and in 1816 was sent to 
 Hamburg to study commerce, being intended for mercantile 
 pursuits. In 1819 he was removed to the University at Bonn 
 which had been founded in the previous year, and there he 
 had the advantage of studying under Augustus SchlegeL 
 He seems, however, to have remained there only six months, 
 and to have then gone to the University of Gottingen, where, 
 as he tells us, he was rusticated soon after matriculation. 
 He next took up his abode at Berlin, Avhere he applied 
 himself to the study of philosophy, under the direction of 
 the great Hegel, whose influence, combined with that of the 
 works of Spinosa, undoubtedly had much to do with the 
 formation of Heine's mind, and also determined his future 
 career. From this time we hear no more of his turning 
 merchant ; and it is from the date of his residence at Berlin 
 that we may date the rise of that spirit of universal indiffer- 
 ence and reckless daring that so strongly characterizes the 
 writings of Heine. Amongst his associates at this period may 
 be mentioned, in addition to Hegel, Chamisso, Varnhagen von 
 Ense and his well-known wife Eachel, Bopp the philologist, 
 and Grabbe, the eccentricities of whose works were only 
 equalled by the eccentricities of his life. 
 
 Heine's first volume of poetry, entitled "Gedichte" or 
 Poems, was published in 1822, the poems being those which, 
 under the name of " Youthful Sorrows," now form the open- 
 ing of his " Book of Songs." Notwithstanding the extra- 
 ordinary success afterwards obtained by this latter work, his 
 first publication was very coldly received. Some of the 
 poems in it were written as far back as 1817,* and original ly 
 
 * One of the finest in the collection, "The Grenadiers." which ig 
 thoroughly imbued with the spirit of Be'ranger, was written as early 
 as 1815, when Heine was not sixteen yesirs old, and before Be'rangef 
 had wriiien his analogous poems "Le Vieux Drapeau," "Le Vieu* 
 Sergcnt." &c.
 
 XIV MEMOIB OP 
 
 appeared in the Hamburg periodical "Der Wachter" 01 
 "Watchman." Offended at this result, he left Berlin and 
 returned to Gottingen in 1823, where he took to studying 
 law, and received the degree of Doctor in 1825. He was 
 baptized into the Lutheran Church in the same year, at 
 Heiligenstadt, near that place. He afterwards said jocularly 
 that he took this course to prevent M. de Kothschild treating 
 him toofa~millionairely. It is to be feared, however, from the 
 tone of all his works, that his nominal religious opinions sat 
 very lightly upon him through life. He writes as follows on 
 this subject in 1852 : " My ancestors belonged to the Jewish 
 " religion, but I was never proud of this descent ; neither did I 
 "ever set store upon my quality of Lutheran, although I 
 " belong to the evangelical confession quite as much as the 
 "greatest devotees amongst my Berlin enemies, who always 
 " reproach me with a want of religion. I rather felt humiliated 
 " at passing for a purely human creature, I whom the philo- 
 " sophy of Hegel led to suppose that I was a god. How proud 
 " I then was of my divinity ! What an idea I had of my 
 " grandeur ! Alas ! that charming time has long passed away, 
 " and I cannot think of it without sadness, now that I am 
 "lying stretched on my back, whilst my disease is making 
 " terrible progress." 
 
 Previous to this date, and whilst living at Berlin, Heine 
 published (in 1823) his only two plays, "Almanzor" and 
 " Eatcliff," which were equally unsuccessful on the stage and 
 in print, and which are certainly the least worthy of all his 
 works. Between these two plays he inserted a collection of 
 poetry entitled "Lyrical Interlude," which attracted little 
 attention at the time. In the year 1827, however, he re- 
 published this collection at Hamburg, in conjunction with his 
 "Youthful Sorrows," giving to the whole the title of the 
 "Book of Songs." In proportion to the indifference with 
 which his poems had been received on their first appearance, 
 was the enthusiasm which they now excited. They were read 
 with avidity in every direction, especially in the various 
 universities, where their influence upon the minds of the 
 students was very great. In the year 1852, this work had 
 reached the tenth edition
 
 HEINRICH HEINE. XV 
 
 Heine's next great work, his " Keisebilder," or Pictures of 
 Travel, written partly in poetry and partly in prose, was 
 published at Hamburg at variolas intervals from 1826 to 
 Ib31, and, as its name implies, is descriptive of his travels in 
 different countries, especially in England and Italy. The 
 poetical portion of the " Keisebilder," the whole of which is 
 translated in this volume, is divided into three parts, " The 
 Eeturn Home," the " Hartz- Journey," and " The Baltic," 
 written between 1823 and 1826. This work again met with 
 an almost unprecedented success, and from the date of its 
 publication and that of the "Book of Songs," may be 
 reckoned the commencement of a new era in German litera- 
 ture. These remarkable poems exhibit the whole nature of 
 Heine, free from all disguise. The striking originality, the 
 exuberance of fancy, and, above all, the singular beauty and 
 feeling of the versification that characterize nearly the whole 
 of them, stand out in as yet unheard-of contrast to the 
 intense and bitter irony that pervades them, an irony that 
 spared nobody, that spared nothing, not even the most sacred 
 subjects being exempt from the poet's mocking sarcasm. 
 This characteristic of Heine only increased as years passed 
 on. In the later years of his life, which were one long- 
 continued agony, his bodily sufferings offer some excuse, it 
 may be, for what would otherwise have been inexcusable in 
 the writings of a great poet. There was doubtless much 
 affectation in the want of all religious and political faith that 
 is so signally apparent in the works of Heine, and yet they 
 betray a real bitterness of feeling that cannot be mistaken. 
 At every page may be traced the malicious pleasure felt by 
 him in exciting the sympathy and admiration of the reader to 
 the highest pitch, and then with a few words, with the last 
 line or the last verse of a long poem, it may be, rudely 
 insulting them, and dashing them to the ground. No better 
 parody of this favourite amusement of Heine can be given 
 than by citing two well-known verses of Dr. Johnson : 
 
 " Hermit old in mossy cell, 
 
 " Wearing out life's evening gray, 
 " Strike thy pensive breast, and tell 
 
 " Where is bliss, and which thu way ?"
 
 ZY1 MEMOIB OF 
 
 Thus I spake, and frequent sigh'd, 
 
 Scarce repress'd the falling tear, 
 When the hoary sage replied : 
 
 " Come, my lad, and driuk some beer !" 
 
 The exuberance of Heine's heart, as has been well said, 
 was only equalled by the dryness of his spirit; a real 
 enthusiasm was blended with an unquenchable love of satire ; 
 " his exquisite dilettanteism made Vn'm adore the gods and 
 goddesses of Greece at the expense even of Christianity." 
 In short, qualities scarcely ever found in combination, were 
 combined in him ; in one weak, suffering body two distinct 
 and opposite natures, each equally mighty, were united. 
 Perhaps the best name ever applied to him is that of the 
 " Julian of poetry." 
 
 The French Revolution in 1830 determined Heine's future 
 life. He was then living at Berlin again, after having resided 
 at Hamburg and Munich. He now turned politician and 
 newspaper writer. His Essay on Nobility was written at this 
 time. He presently (in May 1831) went to live in Paris, 
 where he resided until his death, with the exception of 
 making one or two short visits to his native land. Though 
 the fact is not exactly stated, there can be no doubt that he 
 received some very broad hints from the authorities of 
 Prussia to leave that country. From that time, France 
 became Ids adopted fatherland, and he himself was thence- 
 forward nior.3 of a Frenchman than a German. The Germans 
 have indeed always reproached him as being frivolous and 
 French; he lias often been called the Voltaire of Germany; 
 but Thiers perhaps described him the most accurately when 
 he spoke of him as being "the wittiest Frenchman since 
 Voltairo." He wrote French as fluently as German ; and the 
 translations of hit! various works that were published in 
 Paris ii the Revue des deux Mondes and the Bibliotheque 
 Contemforaine, or as separate works, were either written by 
 himself, or by his ]>ersonal friends under his own immediate 
 superintendence. 
 
 Some of his more important prose works were written soon 
 after he took up his abode in Paris. He wrote, in 1831, a 
 series (if articles foj the Augsburg Gazette on the State of
 
 HETNRICH HEINE. XV11 
 
 France, which he subsequently collected and published both 
 in French and German. In 1833 appeared his well-known 
 "liistory of Modern Literature in Germany," republished 
 afterwards under the title of " The Romantic School," and in 
 French under that of " L'Allemagne." This may be looked 
 upon as his most remarkable prose work, and as the one that 
 most exhibits his characteristic peculiarities. The following 
 lively description of it is from the pen of an eminent French 
 critic : " According to M. Heine, the whole of the intellectual 
 " movement of Germany since Lessing and Kant has been a 
 "death-struggle against Deism. This struggle he describes 
 ' with passion, and it may be said that he heads it in person. 
 " He ranges his army in order of battle, he gives the signals, 
 " and marches the Titans against heaven, Kant, Fichte, Hegel, 
 " all those formidable spirits whose every thought is a victory, 
 " whose every formula is a cosmogonic bouleversement. Around 
 " them, in front or behind, are grouped a crowd of writers, 
 " theologians and poets, romance writers and savans. If one 
 "of the combatants stops short, like Schelling, the author 
 " overwhelms him with invectives. If a timid and poetic band 
 " 9f dreamers, such as Tieck, Novalis, Brentano, and Arnim, 
 " try to bring back this feverish Germany to the fresh poetry 
 " of the middle ages, he throws himself upon them and dis- 
 " perses them, like those Cobolds in the ' Book of Songs ' who 
 " overthrew the angels of paradise. And when the philoso- 
 " phical conflict is over, he predicts its consequences with a sort 
 " of savage delirium .... He compares Kant to the blood- 
 " thirsty dictators of '93, and proclaims the gospel of pantheism. 
 "His theory of the intellectual history of the Germans is 
 " altogether false, and should only be consulted as an illustra- 
 " tion alas, too positive ! of the fever at once mystical and 
 " sensual of a certain period of our age." This book produced 
 a perfect storm of fury in Germany. " Denounced by Menzel 
 " and the pietists as an emissary of Modern Babylon, cursed by 
 " the austere teutomaniu.es as a representative of Parisian cor- 
 " ruption, Heine was not the less suspected by the democrats, 
 " who accused him of treason. To this was added official 
 " persecution." 
 
 Proceeding to his next work, the publication of his " Salon," 
 
 b
 
 XV111 MEMOIR OF 
 
 consisting of an interesting series of essays, &c., commenced 
 at Hamburg in 1834, its fourth and last volume not appear- 
 ing till 1840. A long essay on the Women of Shakespeare 
 appeared in 1839, and in 1840 a violent personal attack on 
 his old friend, the republican poet Borne, then only recently 
 dead, a work which, with all its talent, did great injury to 
 his reputation. His remaining great prose work, entitled 
 " Lutezia," or Paris, consists of a collection of valuable articles 
 on French politics, arts, and manners, written by him as the 
 correspondent of the Augsburg Gazette between 1840 and 1844. 
 The only other writings of his in prose that need be specified, 
 entitled respectively " Confessions," " Dr. Faust," and the 
 " Gods in Exile," were written a few years before his death. 
 
 After the publication of the " Eeisebilder," Heine's next 
 poetical production was the charming poem of " Atta Troll," 
 which appeared in 1841, written in a simple trochaic metre, 
 " four-footed solemn trochees," as he himself expresses it. 
 This poem has been described as the work of a German 
 Ariosto, combining gaiety and poetry, irony and imagination 
 in perfect proportions. Much worldly wisdom is to be learnt 
 from the instructive history of Atta Troll, the dancing bear of 
 the Pyrenees. The striking interlude in it of the vision of Hero- 
 dias amongst the spirit huntsmen should not be overlooked. 
 
 The marriage of Heine seems to have taken place at about 
 this period. His wife, who is often spoken of in his poems in 
 terms of deep affection, and whose name was Mathilde, was 
 a Frenchwoman and a Eoman Catholic, and they were married 
 according to the rites of that church. With all his love for 
 Madame Heine, however, he seems to have been very jealous 
 of her, and it is recorded that on one occasion he took it into 
 his head that she had run away from him. He was reassured 
 by hearing the voice of her favourite parrot " Cocotte," which 
 led him to say, that she would never have gone off without 
 taking " Cocotte " with her. In spite of the bitterness of 
 spirit that pervades all his writings, it is clear that he pos- 
 sessed deep natural affections. His mother survived him; 
 and though almost entirely separated from her for the last 
 twenty-five years of his life, he often introduces her name in 
 his works with expressions of filial reverence. His last visit
 
 HEINRICH HEINE. XIX 
 
 to Germany in the winter of 1843 seems to have been for the 
 special purpose of visiting her at Hamburg, where she resided. 
 His friends fancied that the " old woman at the Dammthor " 
 (one of the gates of Hamburg), of whom he used to speak, 
 was a myth, but she was no other than his mother. Nothing 
 can be more charming than the manner in which he speaks 
 of both her and his wife in the beautiful little poem called 
 " Night Thoughts." (See page 1 79.) 
 
 In 1844 he published a fresh collection of poems under the 
 title of " New Poems," to which was added as an appendix 
 "Germany, a Winter Tale." The former of these was sub- 
 sequently added by him to his " Book of Songs," and will be 
 found in its place accordingly in the present volume, as well 
 as his " New Spring," which formed a part of the same work. 
 The " Germany " is one of his most remarkable works, and 
 contains an account of his journey to Hamburg the previous 
 winter to see his mother that has just been referred to. None 
 of his productions are more thoroughly impregnated with 
 the spirit of satire. Every stage of his journey, from its 
 commencement at the Prussian frontier, to its termination at 
 Hamburg, gives occasion for the display of his wit and sar- 
 castic raillery. It will be seen that many of the passages in 
 the poem were struck out of the original edition by the official 
 Censors. Perhaps the most amusing portions are the episode 
 of the author's adventures in the Cavern of Kyffhauser with 
 the famous Emperor Barbarossa (not omitting their little con- 
 versation respecting the guillotine), and the rencontre with the 
 Goddess Hammonia in the streets of Hamburg, and his sub- 
 sequent tete-a-tete with her. The extravagance (slightly 
 coarse it must be confessed) of the latter scene is quite worthy 
 of Eabelais, though the poet takes care to tell us that it is 
 intended to imitate Aristophanes. The remonstrances to the 
 King of Prussia, with which the poem concludes, should also 
 not be passed over. 
 
 In the year 1848, after a premonitory attack in 1847 that 
 passed away, that terrible disease which eventually destroyed 
 Heine's life, first assailed him in an aggravated form. Com- 
 mencing with a paralysis of the left eyelid, it extended pre- 
 sently to both eyes and finally terminated in paralysis and
 
 XX MEMOIR OF 
 
 atrophy of the legs. The last time he ever left his house was 
 in May, 1848. For eight long years he was confined to his 
 couch, to use his own expression, in a state of " death with- 
 " out its repose, and without the privileges of the dead, who 
 "have no need to spend money, and no letters or books to 
 " write." But despite his bodily sufferings, his good spirits 
 never seemed to leave him, his love of raillery did but in- 
 crease, and little did that public whose interest he continued 
 to excite by the wonderful products of his genius know of 
 his distressing state. 
 
 In the years 1850 and 1851, in the midst of his fearful 
 malady, Heine composed his last great poetical work entitled 
 " Eomancero." This singular volume is divided into three 
 Books, called respectively "Histories," Lamentations," and 
 " Hebrew Melodies." The first of these contains a large num- 
 ber of romantic ballads and poems of the most dissimilar 
 character, but all bearing the stamp of the author's peculiar 
 genius ; the second opens with several miscellaneous pieces, 
 including some literary satires, and concludes with twenty 
 pieces bearing the lively title of " Lazarus," and comprising, 
 as some one has observed, the journal of his impressions as a 
 sick man. The " Hebrew Melodies " are subdivided into three, 
 entitled by Heine " Princess Sabbath," " Jehuda ben Halevy," 
 a poem itself in three parts, and " Disputation." The Jewish 
 descent and Jewish sympathies of the poet are plainly dis- 
 cernible in these Melodies, the most interesting of which, and 
 probably the best of the whole collection contained in the 
 " Eomancero," is that which sets forth the life of Jehuda ben 
 Halevy, the great Hebrew poet of the middle ages. Some 
 critics rank this poem amongst Heine's very best productions 
 The concluding piece, " Disputation," is in Heine's wildest 
 style, and seems written for the express purpose of destroying 
 the pleasure excited by the one that precedes it. In none of 
 his works is his mocking spirit more plainly discernible. " It 
 " is the most Voltairian scene ever imagined by the sceptical 
 " demon of his mind." No one can read this polemical poem 
 without seeing how little Heine himself cared for any received 
 form of religion, for the Christian faith as professed by him, 
 or the Jewish faith into which he was born. The piece ter-
 
 HEIXRICH HEINE/ XXI 
 
 minates in Heine's favourite manner, namely, with an unex- 
 pected joke in the last line. 
 
 The collection entitled " Latest Poems " was written three 
 years afterwards. Its name shows that the end was now not 
 far off. The hand of a master is still visible in all these 
 poems, the most interesting of which is perhaps the " Slave 
 Ship," one of the most powerful productions of Heine's pen. 
 In the year 1855, he published a French translation of his 
 " New Spring " in the Revue des deux Mondes. And now the 
 end really arrived. 
 
 On the 17th February, 1856, Henry Heine was at length 
 released from his sufferings in his house in the Avenue 
 Matignon, No. 3, as appears from the obituary notice. The 
 smallness of the attendance at his funeral would seem to 
 show that there was some truth in the saying that he had 
 many admirers but few friends. The only names of note 
 that are recorded as having been present on the occasion are 
 Mignet, Gautier, and Dumas. And this was the man who 
 was recognized as the successor of Goethe in the throne of 
 poetry in Germany, and whose songs were already household 
 words in all parts of that country! His humour did not 
 leave him till the very last. A few days before his death 
 Hector Berlioz called on him just as a tiresome German pro- 
 fessor was leaving the room after wearying him with his 
 uninteresting conversation. "I am afraid you will find me 
 " very stupid, my dear fellow ! The fact is, I have just been 
 
 " exchanging thoughts with Dr. " was his remark. Only a 
 
 day or two before he expired, he sent back to the printer the 
 last proofs of a new edition of the " fieisebilder." 
 
 Heine left a singular will behind him, in which he begged 
 that all religious solemnities should be dispensed with at his 
 funeral, and that, although he called himself a Lutheran, no 
 Lutheran minister should officiate on the occasion. He added 
 that this was not a mere freak of a freethinker, for that ho 
 had for the last four years dismissed all the pride with which 
 philosophy had filled him, and felt once more the power of 
 religious truth. He also begged for forgiveness for any 
 offence which, in his ignorance, he might have given to good 
 manners and morals.
 
 XX11 MEMOIE OF 
 
 "When the private papers of Louis Philippe fell into the 
 hands of the populace at the sack of the Tuileries in Fe- 
 bruary, 1848, it was discovered that Heine had for many years 
 enjoyed a pension of some 200Z. a year on the Civil List. 
 This discovery gave an opening to the republicans for violent 
 attacks on him ; but there does not appear to have been any- 
 thing in the circumstances of the case to make this transac- 
 tion discreditable to either the giver or the receiver of the 
 pension. 
 
 Heine is described as having lived in the simplest manner, 
 occupying three small rooms on the third floor, the menage 
 comprising, in addition to his wife and himself, no one but 
 an old negress as a servant, and "Cocotte," who has been 
 already alluded to. 
 
 Heine is beyond question the greatest poet that has ap- 
 peared in Germany since the death of Goethe. Enough has 
 been said in the course of this brief sketch of his life to show 
 the singular, the unprecedented character of his genius, and 
 to illustrate that combination in his person of two separate 
 natures that we have stated to exist. What more touching 
 trait of character was ever heard of, than the simple fact that 
 although the last eight years of his life were spent in a state 
 of intolerable agony, he left his mother in ignorance of his 
 sufferings to the very last! Yes, when stricken with total 
 blindness, and when dying literally by inches, all his letters 
 to the " old woman at the Dammthor " were written in the 
 most cheerful, happy tone, and he made her believe that his 
 only reason for employing an amanuensis instead of writing 
 with his own hand was that he had a slight affection in his 
 eyes, which would be cured with a little care ! 
 
 The following appreciation of the character of Heine, 
 written while he was still alive, but when the shades of dark- 
 ness and death were slowly gathering round him, may serve 
 as a fitting termination to these few pages : " It may be said 
 " that Heine bears within him all the misery of a mighty 
 "literature that has fallen from his ideal. Let this be his 
 "excuse. But now his eyes are closing on this perishable 
 " world, whose contradictions and wretchedness provoked his 
 " painful gaiety ; another world is opening on his mind. There,
 
 HEINRICH HEINE. XX111 
 
 " no more misery, no more irritating contrasts, no more revolt- 
 " ing disenchantments ; there, all problems are resolved, all 
 " struggles cease. If irony, in the case of a capricious and 
 " ardent intelligence, could be the faithful mirror of things 
 " below, there is no room save for confidence and respect in 
 " that spiritual world that his soul's looks are fast discovering. 
 " He sought for serenity in that light raillery which enveloped 
 " the whole universe, and played his part in it with grace ; 
 " but this serenity was incomplete and false, and often suffered 
 " his ill- cured sorrows to break forth. True serenity is a higher 
 " thing ; it is to be found in the intelligence and adoration of 
 "that ideal which nothing can affect, that truth which no 
 " shadow can obscure." And so with these words of kindly 
 Sympathy, Heinrich Heine, farewell !
 
 EARLY POEMS. 
 
 SONGS OF LOVE. 
 
 1. LOVES SALUTATION. 
 
 DARLING maiden, who can be 
 Ever found to equal tliee ? 
 To thy service joyfully 
 Shall my life be pledged by me. 
 
 Thy sweet eyes gleam tenderly, 
 Like soft moonbeams o'er the sea ; 
 
 Lights of rosy harmony 
 
 O'er thy red cheeks wander free. 
 
 From thy small mouth, full of glee, 
 Rows of pearls peep charmingly ; 
 
 But thy bosom's drapery 
 Veils thy fairest jewelry. 
 
 Pure love only could it be 
 
 That so sweetly thrill'd through mo, 
 When I whilome gazed on thee, 
 
 Darling maid, so fair to see. 
 
 2. LOVE'S LAMENT. 
 
 ON night's secrecy relying, 
 Silently I breathe my woes ; 
 From the haunts of mortals flying, 
 Where the cup of pleasure flows. 
 
 Down my cheeks run tears all burning, 
 
 Silently, unceasingly; 
 But my bosom's fiery yearning 
 
 Quench'd by tears can never be. 
 
 *
 
 HEINE S POEMS. 
 
 When a laughing urchin, gaily 
 Many a merry game I play'd ; 
 
 In life's sunshine basking daily, 
 Knowing nought of grief or shade. 
 
 For a garden of enjoyment 
 
 Was the world I then lived in, 
 
 Tending flowers my sole employment, 
 Koses, violets, jessamine. 
 
 By the brook's side, on the meadow, 
 Sweetly mused I in those days ; 
 
 Now I see a pale thin shadow, 
 When upon the brook I gaze. 
 
 Pale and thin my grief hath made me, 
 Since mine eyes upon her fell ; 
 
 Secret sorrows now pervade me, 
 Wonderful and hard to tell. 
 
 Deep within my heart I cherish'd 
 Angel forms of peace and love, 
 
 Which have fled, their short joys perish'd, 
 To their starry home above. 
 
 Ghastly shadows rise unbidden, 
 
 Black night round mine eyes is thrown ; 
 In my trembling breast is hidden 
 
 A sad whisp'ring voice unknown. 
 
 Unknown sorrows, unknown anguish 
 
 Toss me wildly to and fro, 
 And I pine away and languish. 
 
 Tortured by an unknown glow. 
 
 But the cause why I am lying 
 Rack'd by fiery torments now, 
 
 Why from very grief I'm dying, 
 Love, behold ! The cause art. thou ! 
 
 3. YEARNING. 
 
 sweetheart on arm, all my comrades with joy 
 Beneath the linden trees move ; 
 But I, alas, poor desolate boy, 
 In utter solitude rove
 
 EARLY POEMS. 
 
 Mine eye grows dim, my heart is oppress'd, 
 
 When happy lovers I see ; 
 For a sweetheart by me is also possess'd. 
 
 But, alas, far distant is she. 
 
 I have borne it for years, with a heart fit to break, 
 But no longer can bear with the pain ; 
 
 So pack up my bundle, my pilgrim's staff take, 
 And start on my travels again. 
 
 And onward I go for hundreds of miles, 
 
 Till I come to a city renown'd ; 
 A noble river beneath it smiles, 
 
 With three stately towers 'tis crown'd. 
 
 And now my late sorrows no longer annoy, 
 
 Made happy at last is my love ; 
 For there, with my sweetheart on arm, I with joy 
 
 Can beneath the sweet linden trees rove. 
 
 4. THE WHITE FLOWER. 
 
 IN father's garden there silently grows 
 A flow'ret mournful and pale ; 
 The spring-time returns, the winter's frost goe-. 
 
 Pale flow'ret remaincth as pale. 
 The poor pale flower looks still 
 Like a young bride that's ill. 
 
 Pale flow'ret gently saith to me 
 " Dear brother, pluck me, I pray !" 
 
 I answer pale flow'ret " That must not be, 
 " I never will take thee away. 
 
 " I seek with anxious care 
 
 " A purple flow'ret fair." 
 
 Pale flow'ret saith " Seek here, seek there, 
 " Seek e'en till the day of thy death, 
 
 " But still that purple flow'ret fair 
 " Thou'lt seek in vain," she saith. 
 
 " But, pry thee, pluck me now, 
 
 " I am as ill as thou."
 
 HEINE S POEMS. 
 
 Thus whispers pale flow'ret, beseeching me sore ; 
 
 I tremblingly pluck her, and lo ! 
 I find my heart suddenly bleeding no more, 
 
 Mine inward eye brightly doth glow. 
 Mute angel-rapture blest 
 Now fills my wounded breast. 
 
 5. PRESENTIMENT. 
 
 , where the stars glow nightly, 
 JL We shall find those joys smile brightly 
 
 Which on earth seem far away. 
 Only in Death's cold embraces 
 Life grows warm, and light replaces 
 Night's dark gloom at dawn of day. 
 
 6. 
 
 WHEN I am with my sweetheart kind, 
 A happy youth am I ; 
 So great the wealth within my mind, 
 I the whole world could buy. 
 
 But when her swanlike arms I quit, 
 
 In that sad hour of pain, 
 Away my boasted wealth doth flit, 
 
 And I am poor again. 
 
 ' 7. 
 
 I WOULD the songs I'm singing 
 Had little flow'rets been ; 
 I'd send them to my sweetheart 
 For her to smell, I ween. 
 
 I would the songs I'm singing 
 Were kisses all unseen ; 
 
 I'd send them all in secret 
 Upon her cheeks to glean. 
 
 I would the songs I'm singing 
 Were little peas so green ; 
 
 I'd make some capital pea-soup 
 All in a soup-tureen 1
 
 EABLY POEMS. 
 
 OF peace, and happiness, and heart, 
 Thou, loved one, long time hast bereft me ; 
 And of the gifts that thou hast left me 
 Not one of these doth form a part. 
 
 For peace, heart, happiness, hast thou 
 To me a life-long sorrow given, 
 With bitter words commingled, even, 
 
 take these back, my loved one, now. 
 
 9. 
 
 T) EMEMBEB'ST thou those fiery glances 
 JLV' In which his trust the novice plac'd ? 
 That long-denied first kiss of passion 
 The ardent lover stole in haste ? 
 
 O glances, ye experienced fish-hooks, 
 On which the fish is captive brought ! 
 
 O kiss, thou charming rod of honey, 
 
 With which the bird is limed and caught ! 
 
 10. 
 
 rpHOU spak'st and gav'st a lock to me 
 -I- Of thy dear silken hair ; 
 " Wear this, and I for ever thee 
 " Within my heart will wear." 
 
 Full oft have heart and hair been call'd 
 
 To act this loving part. 
 Now say : is not thy head yet bald ? 
 
 And full thy little heart ? 
 
 11. 
 
 YOU, loved one, assured me so strongly, 
 I wellnigh fancied it true ; 
 That you asserted it was so, 
 
 Was no sign of folly in you. 
 But that I almost believed it, 
 'Tis this that I so rue.
 
 HEINE 8 POEMS. 
 
 12. 
 
 I'VE seen full many a tragedy play'd, 
 Extracting my tears like magic ; 
 But 'mongst them all, that touching scene 
 Had an end by far the most tragic, 
 
 Wherein thou tookedst the principal part. 
 While I at thy feet was panting, 
 
 How well thou actedst the innocent one, 
 Thou actress most enchanting ! 
 
 13. 
 
 ASK not what I have, my loved one, 
 Ask me rather what I am ; 
 For but little wealth I boast of, 
 But I'm gentle as a lamb. 
 
 Do not ask me how I'm living, 
 But for what, that ask of me ; 
 
 For I live in want, and lonely, 
 Yet I live alone for thee. 
 
 Do not ask me of my pleasures, 
 
 Ask not of my bitter smart ; 
 Pleasure ever flies his presence 
 
 Who doth own a broken heart. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 GERMANY. 1815. 
 
 LET me sing Germania's glory I 
 Hearken to my noblest strains ! 
 While my spirit tells the story, 
 
 Thrilling bliss runs through my veins, 
 
 Time's book is before me lying, 
 
 All things that have happened here, 
 
 Good with Evil ever vying 
 
 All before my gaze stands clear.
 
 EAKLY POEMS. 
 
 From the Frenchman's distant nation 
 
 Hell approach'd, with impious hand, 
 Bringing shame and desecration 
 
 On our much-loved German land, 
 All our faith and virtue soiling, 
 
 All our heavenly yearnings fled, 
 All we deemed of worth, despoiling, 
 
 Giving sin and pain instead. 
 German shame to gild refusing, 
 
 Dark the German sun soon grew, 
 And a mournful voice accusing 
 
 Pierced the German oak trees through. 
 Now the sun once more is glancing, 
 
 And the oak trees roar with joy ; 
 The avengers are advancing, 
 
 Shame and sorrow to destroy. 
 And deceit's proud altars hateful 
 
 Totter, fall with hideous sound ; 
 Every German heart is grateful, 
 
 Free is German holy ground. 
 See'st the glare yon mount illuming ? 
 
 Say, what can that wild flamo be ? 
 Yes ! that fire proclaims the blooming 
 
 Image pure of Germany. 
 From the night of sin emerging 
 
 Germany uninjured stands ; 
 Wildly is the spot still surging, 
 
 Where that fair form burst her bands. 
 On the old oak's stems in splendour 
 
 Glorious blossoms fast unfold ; 
 Foreign blossoms fall, and tender 
 
 Breezes greet us as of old. 
 All that's virtuous is returning, 
 
 All that's good appears once more, 
 And the German, fondly yearning, 
 
 Is exulting as of yore. 
 Ancient manners, ancient German 
 
 Virtues, and heroic deeds ! 
 Valiantly each son of Hermann* 
 
 Waves his sword and proudly bleeds. 
 * The Arminius of Tacitus.
 
 HEINE 8 POEMS. 
 
 Heroes never doves engender, 
 Lionlike is Hermann's race ; 
 
 Yet may love's religion tender 
 Well near valour take its place. 
 
 Germans through their sorrows lonely 
 Learnt. Christ's gentle word to prizo; 
 
 Their land 'genders brethren only, 
 And humanity is wise. 
 
 Once again returns the glorious 
 Noble love of minstrel's song, 
 
 Well becoming the victorious 
 Breasts of German heroes strong, 
 
 As they to the war are going 
 
 With the Frank to cross the sword, 
 
 To take signal vengeance glowing 
 For their perfidy abhorr'd. 
 
 And at home, no labour heeding, 
 Woman plies her gentle hand, 
 
 Tends the sacred wounds all bleeding 
 In defence of fatherland. 
 
 In her black dress robed, entrancing 
 Looks the beauteous German dame, 
 
 Deck'd with flow'rs and jewels glancing, 
 Diamond-girded, too, her frame. 
 
 But a nobler, prouder feeling 
 Through me at her vision thrills, 
 
 When, beside the sick-bed kneeling, 
 Acts of mercy she fulfils. 
 
 Heavenly angels she resembles 
 
 When the last draught she supplies 
 
 To the wounded man, who trembles, 
 Smiles his grateful thanks, and dies. 
 
 He to whom to die 'tis given 
 
 On the battle-field, is blest ; 
 But a foretaste 'tis of heaven, 
 
 Dying on a woman's breast. 
 
 Poor, poor sons of France ! Fate ever 
 
 Unto you unkind has been ; 
 On the Seine's banks, beauty never 
 
 Save in search of gold is
 
 EARLY POEMS. 
 
 German women ! German women ! 
 
 What a charm the words convey 1 
 German women ! German women 1 
 
 Flourish on for many a day ! 
 
 All our daughters like Louisa, 
 All our sons like Frederick be ! 
 
 Hear me in the grave, Louisa ! 
 Ever flourish Germany ! 
 
 DREAM. 1816. 
 
 SON of folly, dream thou ever, 
 When thy thoughts within thee burn : 
 But in life thy visions never 
 To reality will turn. 
 
 Once in happier days chance bore me 
 To a high mount on the Rhine ; 
 
 Smiling lay the land before me, 
 Gloriously the sun did shine. 
 
 Far below, the waves were singing 
 
 Wild and magic melodies ; 
 In my inmost heart were ringing 
 
 Blissful strains in wondrous wise. 
 
 Now, when gazing from that station 
 On the land how sad its doom I 
 
 I but see a pigmy nation 
 Crawling on a giant's tomb. 
 
 So-oall'd men wear silken raiment, 
 Deem themselves the nation's flower ; 
 
 Honours now are gain'd by payment, 
 Rogues possess both wealth and power. 
 
 Of descent they boast, not merit, 
 
 'Tis their dress that makes them men ; 
 
 Old coats now alone the spirit 
 Of old times bring back again ; 
 
 When respect and virtue holy 
 
 Modestly went hand in hand ; 
 When the youth with deference lowly 
 
 By the aged took his stand ;
 
 HEINES POEMS. 
 
 When a hand-shake was more valid 
 Than an oath or written sheet ; 
 
 When men. iron-clad, forth sallied, 
 And a heart inside them beat. 
 
 Our fair garden borders nourish 
 Many a thousand flow'rets fair ; 
 
 In the fostering sofl they flourish, 
 While the sun smiles on them there, 
 
 But the flower most fair, most golden, 
 In our gardens ne'er is known, 
 
 That one which, in days now olden, 
 On each rocky height was grown ; 
 
 h, in cold hill-fortress dwelling, 
 "Mim eadmed with iron frame 
 
 1 -.-._. - - : : :: :' :- --. .:!;:..:.- 
 Hospital 
 
 7 :'- - "...:..i- :::-.: - ". " r ~. 
 'Sfaadof 
 
 Gold, lard walk receive thee now. 
 
 tke wmtch-to wer bio w mo 
 is U Ul :
 
 EARLY POEMS. 11 
 
 In their simple minds, our mothers 
 
 Used to think in days ot' yore, 
 That the gem above all others 
 
 Fair, man in his bosom bore. 
 
 Very different from this is 
 
 What their daughters wisdom call ; 
 
 In the present day our mis.- 
 Love the jewels most of all. 
 
 Lies, deeeit, and superstition 
 
 Rule. life's charms are thrown aside, 
 
 Whilst Rome's sordid base ambition 
 Jordan's pearls has falsified. 
 
 To your dark domain return you. 
 
 Visions of far happier days; 
 O'er a time whieh thus doth spurn you, 
 
 Vain laments no longer raise ! 
 
 THK rONSKi'KATION. 
 
 T ONELY in the forest elm^l. 
 JLj At the image of the Virgin, 
 
 Lay a gentle, pallid stripling, 
 Bout in humble adoration. 
 
 O Madonna ! Lot me ever 
 On the threshold hen- ho kneeling; 
 Thou wilt never drive nu> from tlux>, 
 To the world so eold and sinful. 
 
 O Madonna! Sunny radiance 
 Round thy head's bright locks is gleaming, 
 And a mild sweet smile is playing 
 Round thy fair in. mill's In.ly roses. 
 
 Madonna ! Thino oyoH* lustre 
 Lightens me like slurs in li.-MVeii ; 
 While life's l>:irk dot.h drift, ut, random, 
 Stars lead on fur ever sun-lv. 
 
 OMadunna! Withuiit, \\nveriug 
 
 1 h;ive Imnie thy test, uf sorrow, 
 On kind love relying iilindly, 
 In thy glow alone , , r ;! ,, n- .
 
 12 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Madonna ! This day hear me, 
 Full of mercy, rich in wonders ! 
 Grant me then a sign of favour, 
 Just one little sign of favour. 
 
 Then presently happen'd a marvellous wonder . 
 The forest and chapel were parted insunder ; 
 The boy understood not the miracle strange, 
 For all around him did suddenly change. 
 
 In a brilliant hall there sat the Madonna, 
 Her rays were gone, as he gazed upon her; 
 She bore the form of a lovely maid, 
 Around her lips a childlike smile play'd. 
 
 And see ! from her fair and flowing tresses 
 She steals a lock, as she thus addresses 
 In a heavenly tone, the raptured boy : 
 The sweetest reward on earth enjoy ! 
 
 What attests this consecration ? 
 
 Saw'st thou not the rainbow shedding 
 Its sublime illumination, 
 
 O'er the wide horizon spreading ? 
 
 Angels up and down are moving, 
 Loudly do their pinions flutter ; 
 
 Breathing music strange and loving, 
 Sweet the melodies they utter. 
 
 Well the stripling knows the yearning 
 Through his frame that now doth quiver ; 
 
 To that land his footsteps turning, 
 Where the myrtle blooms for ever. 
 
 THE MOOR'S SERENADE. 
 
 TO my sleeping dear Zuleima's 
 Bosom run, ye tears all burning ! 
 Then will her sweet heart for Abdul 
 'Gin to beat with tender yearning. 
 
 Bound my sleeping dear Zuleima's 
 Ear disport, ye tears of anguish ! 
 
 Then will her fair head in vision 
 
 Sweet for Abdul's love straight languish.
 
 EARLY POEMS. 13 
 
 O'er my sleeping dear Zuleima's 
 
 Soft hand stream, my heart's blood gushing ! 
 Then will her sweet hand bear on it 
 
 Abdul's heart's blood, crimson flushing. 
 
 Sorrow is, alas, born voiceless, 
 
 In its mouth no tongue is growing, 
 
 It hath only tears and sighing, 
 And blood from the heart's wounds flowing. 
 
 DREAM AND LIFE. 
 
 THE day was glowing, my heart, too, glow'd, 
 In silence I bore my sorrow's load ; 
 When night arrived, I hastened then 
 To the blossoming rose in the silent glen. 
 
 I softly approach'd, and mute as the grave, 
 While tears my cheeks did secretly lave, 
 I peep'd in the cup of the rose so fair, 
 And lo ! a bright light was glimmering there. 
 
 By the rose I joyfully fell asleep, 
 
 When a sweet mocking dream did over me creep ; 
 
 The form of a rosy maid was reveal'd ; 
 
 A rosy bodice her bosom conceal'd. 
 
 She gave me soon a rich golden store, 
 To a golden cottage the prize I bore ; 
 Strange goings-on in the cottage I found, 
 Small elves are dancing in graceful round. 
 
 Twelve dancers are dancing, and taking no rest, 
 And closely their hands together are press'd ; 
 And soon as a dance has come to a close, 
 Another begins, and each merrily goes. 
 
 And the music they dance to thus sounds in my ear : 
 
 " The happiest of hours will ne'er reappear, 
 
 " The whole of thy life was only a dream, 
 
 " And this hour of pleasure a dream within dream." 
 
 The dream is over, the sun is up, 
 
 I eagerly peep in the rose's cup. 
 
 Alas ! in the place of the glimmering light, 
 
 A nasty insect meets my sight.
 
 14 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 THE LESSON. 
 
 MOTHER tells little bee, 
 Yonder wax taper flee ; 
 But for his mother's prayers 
 Little bee little cares. 
 Hound the light hovers he, 
 Humming all merrily ; 
 Mother's cry hears not he, 
 Little bee ! Little bee ! 
 Youthful one ! Foolish one I 
 Poor little simpleton ! 
 In the flame rusheth he, 
 Little bee ! Little bee ! 
 Now the flame flickers high, 
 In the flame he must die : 
 ' Ware of the maidens, then, 
 Sons of men ! Sons of men ! 
 
 TO FRANCIS V. Z . 
 
 I'M drawn to the North by a golden star ; 
 Farewell, brother ! forget me not when I am far ; 
 To poetry ever faithful abide, 
 And never desert that charming bride. 
 As a priceless treasure preserve in thy breast 
 The German language so fair and blest ; 
 And shouldst thou e'er come to the Northern strand 
 O listen awhile at that Northern strand ; 
 And list till thou hearest a ringing remote 
 That over the silent waters doth float. 
 When this thou hearest, expect ere long 
 The sound of the well-known minstrel's song. 
 Then strike thou in turn thine echoing chord, 
 And give me news that may pleasure afford ; 
 How matters with thee, dear minstrel, go, 
 And with the others whom I loved so ; 
 And how it fares with the lovely girl 
 Who set so many young hearts in a whirl, 
 And filled so many with yearnings divine 
 The blossoming rose on the blossoming Rhine. 
 And. give me news of my fatherland too, 
 If still 'tis the land of affection true ; 
 If still the old God in Germany lives, 
 And none to the Evil One homage now gives.
 
 EARLY POE11S. 15 
 
 And when thy sweet song thus lovingly rings, 
 And joyous stories with it thus brings 
 Far over the waves to the distant strand, 
 The bard will rejoice in the far North land. 
 
 A PROLOGUE TO THE HARTZ-JOURNEY. 
 
 ALL I saw and heard when travelling, 
 All that soul and heart found pleasing, 
 All that gave me food for cavilling, 
 All that tedious was or teasing ; 
 
 Solemn jostlings, wild excitement, 
 
 Both of simpletons and sages, 
 All shall swell the long indictment 
 
 Of my travels in these pages. 
 
 Give not travels life twice over ? 
 
 When at home one lives once only ; 
 Wouldst thou nobler ends discover, 
 
 Thou must leave thy closet lonely. 
 
 On the world's wide stage, each player 
 
 Is a mimic or a puppet, 
 Eides his hobby his own way, or 
 
 Bids the others clamber up it. 
 
 If we're laughed at by our neighbour, 
 
 Riding in this curious fashion, 
 Let us him in turn belabour, 
 
 Jeering him without compassion. 
 
 Read these travels in the manner 
 
 And the sense in which I'm writing ; 
 
 Each one has his fav'rite banner 
 Under which he fancies fighting. 
 
 DEFEND NOT. 
 
 DEFEND it not, defend it not, 
 This wretched world below; 
 Defend its gaping people not, 
 
 Who care for nought but pomp and show 
 
 The tedious ones, defend them not, 
 
 Who cause us such ennui ; 
 The learned ones, defend them not, 
 
 In their o'erpow'ring pedantry.
 
 16 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 The women, too, defend them not, 
 
 Though good ones may be there ; 
 The best amongst them scorneth not 
 
 The man she loves not, to ensnare. 
 And then my friends defend them not : 
 
 Count not thyself one now ; 
 For thou those friends resemblest not, 
 
 No ! firm, and good, and true art thou. 
 
 A PAEODY. 
 
 INDEED they have wearied me greatly, 
 And made me exceedingly sad, 
 One half with their prose so wretched, 
 
 The other with poetry bad. 
 Their terrible discord has sqatter'd 
 
 What little senses I had, 
 One half with their prose so wretched, 
 
 The other with poetry bad. 
 But 'mongst the whole army of scribblers, 
 
 They most have stirr'd up my bile, 
 Who write in neither prosaic 
 Nor true poetical style. 
 
 WALKING FLOWERS AT BERLIN. 
 
 YES ! under the lindens, my dear friend, 
 Thy yearnings may satisfied be ; 
 The fairest of womankind here, friend, 
 
 All walking together, thou'lt see. 
 How charming they look, how delicious, 
 
 In gay silken garments all dress'd 1 
 A certain poet judicious 
 
 " Walking flowers " has named them in jest. 
 How very charming each bonnet ! 
 
 Each Turkish shawl, how it gleams ! 
 Each cheek, what a bright glow upon it ! 
 
 Each neck, how swanlike it seems! 
 
 EVENING SONGS. 
 1. 
 
 WITHOUT any aim, forth I sallied, 
 And roam'd by the pond o'er the lea ; 
 The charming flowers look'd pallid. 
 And spectre-like gazed upon me.
 
 EARLY POEMS. 17 
 
 Upon me they gazed, and to chatter 
 
 And tell my dull tale I began ; 
 They ask'd me, what was the matter 
 
 With me, poor sad-looking man. 
 
 The truth, I valiantly said it, 
 
 No love in the world can I find ; 
 And as I have lost all my credit, 
 
 With want of cash 'tis combin'd. 
 
 2. 
 
 AND over the pond are sailing 
 Two swans all white as snow ; 
 Sweet voices mysteriously wailing 
 
 Pierce through me as onward they go. 
 
 They sail along, and a ringing 
 
 Sweet melody rises on high, 
 And when the swans begin singing, 
 
 They presently must die. 
 
 3. 
 
 WHEN in sorrow, they dare not show it, 
 However mournful their mood, 
 For the swan, like the soul of the poet, 
 By the dull world is ill understood. 
 
 And in their death-hour they waken 
 
 The air, and break into song ; 
 And, unless my ears are mistaken, 
 
 They sing now, while sailing along. 
 
 4. 
 
 r |^HE cloudlets arc lazily sailing 
 -I- O'er the blue Atlantic sea ; 
 And mid the twilight there hovers 
 A shadowy figure o'er me. 
 
 Full deep in my soul it gazes, 
 
 With old-time-recalling eye, 
 Like a glimpse of joys long buried, 
 
 And happiness long gone by. 
 
 Familiar the vision appeareth, 
 
 Methinks I know it full well ; 
 TIB the much-loved shadow of Mary, 
 
 Who on earth no longer doth dwell. 
 

 
 18 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 She beckons in friendly silence, 
 And clasps me with gentle despair ; 
 
 But I seize hold of my glasses, 
 To have a better stare ! 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 I. TO AUGUSTUS WILLIAM VON SCHLEGEL. 
 
 f I 1 HE worst of worms : the dagger thoughts of doubt 
 J- The worst of poisons : to mistrust one's power 
 
 These struggled my life's marrow to devour ; 
 I was a shoot, whose props were rooted out. 
 
 Thou pitiedst the poor shoot in that sad hour, 
 And bad'st it climb thy kindly words about ; 
 To thee, great Master, owe I thanks devout, 
 
 Should the weak shoot e'er blossom into flower. 
 still watch o'er it, as it grows apace, 
 That as a tree the garden it may grace 
 
 Of that fair fay, whose favourite child thou wert. 
 
 My nurse used of that garden to assert 
 That a strange ringing, wondrous sweet, there dwells, 
 Each flower can speak, each tree with music swells. 
 
 2. TO THE SAME. 
 
 /CONTENTED not with thine own property, 
 
 Vy The Rhine's fair Nibelung-treasure thou didst steal, 
 
 The wondrous gifts the Thames' far banks conceal, 
 The Tagus' flowers were boldy pluck' d by thee, 
 
 Thou mad'st the Tiber many a gem reveal, 
 The Seine paid tribute to thine industry, 
 Thou pierced'st e'en to Brama's sanctuary, 
 
 Pearls from the Ganges taking in thy zeal. 
 Thou greedy man, I pray thee be content 
 With that which seldom unto man is lent ; 
 
 Instead of adding more, to spend prepare ! 
 And with the treasures whicli thou with such ease 
 From North and South accustom'd wert to seize, 
 
 Enrich the scholar and the joyful heir .
 
 EARLY POEMS. 19 
 
 8. TO COUNCILLOR GEORGE S , OF GOTTINGEN 
 
 THOUGH the demeanour be imperious, proud, 
 Yet round the lips may gentleness play still ; 
 
 Though the eye gleam and every muscle thrill, 
 Yet may the voice with calmness be endow'd. 
 Thus art thou in the rostrum, when aloud 
 
 Thou speak'st of governments and of the skill 
 
 Of cabinets, and of the people's will, 
 Of Germany's long strifes and ends avow'd. 
 Ne'er be thine image blotted from my mind ! 
 
 In times of barbarous self-love like these, 
 
 How doth an image of such greatness please ! 
 What thou, in fashion fatherly and kind, 
 
 Spak'st to my heart, while hours flew swiftly by, 
 
 Deep in my heart I still bear faithfully. 
 
 4. TO J. B. ROUSSEAU. 
 
 THY friendly greetings open wide my breast, 
 And the dark chambers of my heart unbar ; 
 
 Home visions greet me like some radiant star, 
 And magic pinions fan me into rest. 
 Once more the Rhine flows by me, on its crest 
 
 Of waters mount and castle mirror 'd are ; 
 
 On vine-clad hills gold clusters gleam afar, 
 Vim -dressers climb, while shoot the flow'rets blest. 
 Could I but see thee, truest friend of all, 
 
 Who still dost link thyself to me, as clings 
 The ivy green around a crumbling wall! 
 Could 1 but be with thee, and to thy song 
 
 In silence listen, while the redbreast sings, 
 And the Rhine's waters softly flow along ! 
 
 5. 
 
 A TORTURE-CHAMBER was the world to me, 
 
 -*- Where I suspended by the feet did hang ; 
 Hot pincers gave my body many a pang, 
 
 A vice of iron crush'd me fearfully. 
 
 I wildly cried in nameless agony, 
 
 From mouth and eyes the blood in torrents sprang, 
 A maid passed by, who a gold hammer swang, 
 
 And presently the coup-de-grace gave she.
 
 20 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 My quivering limbs she scans with eager eye, 
 My tongue protruding, as death's hour draws nigh, 
 From out my bleeding mouth, a ghastly sight, 
 My heart's wild pantings hears she with delight ; 
 My last death-rattle music is the while 
 To her, who stands with cold and mocking smile. 
 
 6. THE NIGHT WATCH ON THE DRACHENFELS. 
 TO FEITZ VON B - . 
 
 'nnWAS midnight as we scaled the mountain height, 
 -L The wood pile 'neath the walls the flames devour'd, 
 
 And as my joyous comrades round it cower'd, 
 They sang of Germany's renown in fight. 
 Her health we drank from Khine wine beakers bright, 
 
 The castle-spirit on the summit tower'd, 
 
 Dark forms of armed knights around us lower'd, 
 And women's misty shapes appear'd in sight. 
 And from the ruins there arose low moans, 
 Owls hooted, rattling sounds were heard, and groans ; 
 
 A furious north wind bluster'd fitfully. 
 Such was the night, my friend, that I did pass 
 On the high Drachenfels, but I, alas, 
 
 A wretched cold and cough took home with me ! 
 
 7. IN FRITZ STEINMANN'S ALBUM. 
 
 THE bad victorious are, the good lie low ; 
 The myrtles are replaced by poplars dry, 
 
 Through which the evening breezes loudly sigh. 
 Bright flashes take the place of silent glow. 
 In vain Parnassus' heights you'll plough and sow, 
 
 Image on image, flower on flower pile high, 
 
 In vain you'll struggle till you're like to die, 
 Unless, before the egg is laid, you know 
 How to cluck-cluck ; and, bulls' horns putting on, 
 Learn to write sage critiques, both pro and con, 
 
 And your own trumpet blow with decent pride. 
 Write for the mob, not for posterity, 
 Let blustering noise your poems' lever be, 
 
 You'll then be by the public deified.
 
 EABLY POEMS. 21 
 
 8. TO HER. 
 
 ^ I^HE flow'rets red and white that I hold here, 
 J- Which blossom'd erst from out the heart's deep 
 wound, 
 
 Into a lovely nosegay I have bound, 
 And offer unto thee, my mistress dear. 
 
 By its acceptance be thy bard's love crown'd ! 
 I cannot from this earth's scene disappear, 
 Till I have left a sign of love sincere. 
 
 Remember me when I my death have found. 
 Yet ne'er, O mistress, shalt thou pity me; 
 
 My life of grief was enviable e'en, 
 For in my heart I bore thee lovingly. 
 And greater bliss shall soon be mine, when I 
 
 Shall, as thy guardian spirit, watch unseen, 
 Thy heart with peaceful greetings satisfy. 
 
 9. GOETHE'S MONUMENT AT FRANKFORT-ON-THE 
 MAIN. 1821. 
 
 GOOD German men, maids, matrons, pray give ear 
 Collect subscribers with the utmost speed, 
 
 The worthy folk of Frankfort have agreed 
 To build a monument to Goethe here. 
 " At fair time " (think they) " this will make it clear 
 
 " To foreign traders that we're of his breed, 
 
 " That 'twas our soil that nurtured such fair seed, 
 " And then in trade they'll trust us without fear." 
 touch the bard's bright wreath of laurel never, 
 
 And keep your money in your pockets too ; 
 'Tis Goethe's, his own monument to raise. 
 He dwelt amongst you in his infant days, 
 
 But half a world now severs him from you, 
 Whom a stream doth from SachsenhauKm* sever I 
 
 10. DRESDEN POETRY. 
 
 AT Dresden on the Elbe, that handsome city, 
 Where straw hats, verses, and cigars are made, 
 They've built (it well may make us feel afraid) 
 A music -club and music warehouse pretty. 
 
 * A suburb of Frankfort, on the further side of the M -.in
 
 22 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 There meet the gentlemen and ladies witty , 
 
 Herr Kuhn,* Miss Nostitz* adepts at the trade, - 
 Spout verses, calling action to their aid. 
 
 How grand ! Avauut, ye critics ! more's the pity ! 
 
 Next day the paper tells us all the facts, 
 
 Bright'sf brightness flies, Child's^ childishness is 
 
 childlike, 
 The critic's supplement is mean yet wildlike. 
 
 Arnoldi* takes the cash, as salesman acts ; 
 
 Then Bottiger* appears, with noise infernal 
 'Tis a true oracle, that Evening Journal ! 
 
 11. BEEADLESS ART. 
 
 HOW soon my poverty would ended be, 
 Could I the pencil use, and paint away, 
 
 The walls of castles proud and churches gay 
 Adorning with my pictures merrily ! 
 How soon would wealth replace my penury, 
 
 Could I the fiddle, flute, and piano play. 
 
 And with such elegance perform each day, 
 That lords and ladies all applauded me ! 
 But ah ! in Mammon's smiles I ne'er had part, 
 
 For I have follow 'd thee alone, alas ! 
 Thee, Poetry, most thankless, breadless art ! 
 When others (how I'm blushing, now I've said it !^ 
 
 Drink their champagne from out a brimming glass, 
 I needs must go without, or drink on credit ! 
 
 * German litterateurs of more or less note, 
 f In the original, Hell and Kind, well-known writers. It ie 
 necessary to translate the names for the sake of the pun.
 
 23 
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 is the olden fairy wood ! 
 -i- The linden blossoms smell sweetly, 
 The strange mysterious light of the moon 
 Enchants my senses completely. 
 
 I onward went, and as I went, 
 
 A voice above me was ringing ; 
 'Tis surely the nightingale's notes that I hear, 
 
 Of love and love's sorrows she's singing. 
 
 She sings of love and love's sorrows as well, 
 
 She sings of smiling and aching, 
 She sadly exults, she joyfully sobs, 
 
 Forgotten visions awaking. 
 
 I onward went, and as I went, 
 
 I saw before me lying, 
 On open ground, a castle vast, 
 
 With gables in loftiness vying. 
 
 The windows were closed, and all things appear'd 
 To stillness and sadness converted ; 
 
 It seem'd as though silent death had his home 
 Within those walls deserted. 
 
 A sphinx was lying before the door, 
 
 Part comical, part not human ; 
 Its body and paws a lion's were, 
 
 With the breasts and head of a woman. 
 
 A woman fair ! her white eyes spoke 
 
 Of yearnings wild but tender ; 
 Her lips, all mute, were closely arch'd. 
 
 And smiled a silent, surrender.
 
 24 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 The nightingale so sweetly sang, 
 
 I found it in vain to resist it 
 I kiss'd the beauteous face, and, ah 1 
 
 Was ruined as soon as I kissed it. 
 
 The marble figure with life was fill'd, 
 The stone began sighing and groaning ; 
 
 She drank my kisses' tremulous glow 
 With thirsty and eager moaning. 
 
 She well nigh drank my breath away, 
 
 And then, with sensual ardour, 
 Embraced me, while her lion's paws press'd 
 
 My body harder and harder. 
 
 blissful torment and rapturous woe ! 
 
 The pain, like the pleasure, unbounded ! 
 For while the mouth's kisses filled me with joy, 
 
 The paws most fearfully wounded. 
 
 The nightingale sang : " O beauteous sphinx ! 
 
 " O loved one, explain the reason 
 " Why all thy raptures with pains of death 
 
 " Are mingled, in cruel treason ? 
 
 " beauteous sphinx! explain to me 
 
 " The riddle so full of wonder ! 
 " I over it many a thousand years 
 
 " Have never ceased to ponder." 
 
 O 
 
 YOUTHFUL SORROWS. 
 
 1817-21. 
 
 I. VISIONS. 
 
 1. 
 F love's wild glow I dreamt in former days, 
 
 Of mignonette, fair locks, and myrtle twinirg, 
 Of lips so sweet, with bitter words combining, 
 Of mournful melodies of mournful lays. 
 
 Those dreams have long been scatter'd far and banish'd, 
 My dearest vision fled for evermore, 
 And, save the burning glow I used to pour 
 
 Into my tender numbers, all is vanish'd.
 
 BOOK OF SONOS. 25 
 
 Thou ling'rest still, deserted song ! Now go, 
 
 And seek that long-lost vision ; shouldst thou meet it, 
 On iny behalf in loving fashion greet it, 
 
 An airy breath to that dim shade I blow. 
 
 A DEEAM both strange and sad to see 
 -AjL Once startled and delighted me ; 
 The dismal vision haunts me still, 
 And in my heart doth wildly thrill. 
 
 There was a garden wondrous fair, 
 I fain would wander gladly there ; 
 The beauteous flowers upon me gazed, 
 And high I found my rapture raised. 
 
 The birds were twittering above 
 Their joyous melodies of love ; 
 The sun was red with rays of gold, 
 The flowers all lovely to behold. 
 
 Sweet fragrance all the herbs exhale, 
 And sweetly, softly blows the gale ; 
 And all things glisten, all things smile, 
 And show their loveliness the while. 
 
 Amid that bright and flowery land 
 A marble fountain was at hand, 
 And there I saw a maiden fair 
 Washing a garment white with care. 
 
 Her cheeks were sweet, her eyes were mild. 
 Fair hair'd and saintly look'd the child, 
 And as I gazed, she seem'd to be 
 So strange, yet so well known to me. 
 
 The beauteous girl, who made all speed, 
 A song was humming, strange indeed : 
 " Water, water, quickly run, 
 " Let the washing soon be done." 
 
 I went and stood then in her way, 
 And whisper'd gently : " Prythee say, 
 "Thou maiden s\v<;<:t mid wondrous fair, 
 " For whom dost thou this dress prepare ?"
 
 26 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Then spake she quickly : " Keady be ! 
 " I'm washing thine own shroud for thee '" 
 Scarce had her lips these words let fall, 
 Like foam the vision vanish'd all. 
 
 And still entranced, ere long I stood 
 Within a desert, gloomy wood : 
 To reach the skies the branches sought ; 
 I stood amazed, and thought and thought. 
 
 And hark ! what hollow echoing sound 
 Like axe-strokes fills the air around 
 Through waste and wood I speed apace. 
 Until I reach an open place. 
 
 In the green plain before me spread 
 A mighty oak tree rear'd its head ; 
 And lo ! the maiden, strange to see, 
 Was felling with an axe the tree. 
 
 With blow on blow a song she sings 
 Unceasing, as the axe she swings : 
 " Iron glittering, iron bright, 
 " Hew the oaken chest aright." 
 
 I went and stood then in her way, 
 And whisper 'd gently : " Pry thee say, 
 " Thou sweet and wondrous maiden mine, 
 " For whom dost hew the oaken shrine?" 
 
 Then spake she quickly : " Time is short, 
 " To hew thy coffin is my sport !" 
 Scarce had her lips these words let fall, 
 Like foam the vision vanish'd all. 
 
 Bleak, dim was all above, beneath, 
 Around was barren, barren heath : 
 I felt in strange mysterious mood, 
 And shuddering inwardly I stood. 
 
 And as I roani'd on silently, 
 A whitish streak soon caught mine eye ; 
 I hasten'd tow'rd it, and when there, 
 Behold, I found the maiden fair ! 
 
 On wide heath stood the snowy maid, 
 Digging the ground with sexton's spade ; 
 Scarce dared I gaze on her aright, 
 So fair yet fearful was the sight.
 
 BOOK OF SONQS. 27 
 
 The beauteous girl, who made all speed, 
 A song was humming, strange indeed : 
 " Spade, spade, so sharp and tried, 
 " Dig a pit both .deep and wide." 
 
 I went, and stood then in her way, 
 And whisper'd gently : "Pry thee say, 
 " Thou maiden sweet and wondrous fair, 
 " What means the pit that's lying there r e" 
 
 Then spake she quickly : " Silent be*! 
 " A cold, cold grave I dig for thee." 
 And when the fair maid thus replied, 
 Its mouth the pit straight opened wide. 
 
 And when the pit was full in view, 
 A chilling shudder pierced me through, 
 And in the grave so dark and deep 
 Headlong I fell, and woke from sleep. 
 
 3. 
 
 IN midnight vision I myself have spied, 
 As for some festival, in ruffles dress'd, 
 
 In a black gala-coat and silken vest ; 
 My sweet and trusting love with scorn I eyed ; 
 And bow'd low down, and said " Art thou a bride ?" 
 
 " I wish thee joy, dear Madam, I protest !" 
 
 And yet my lips reluctantly express'd 
 The words so cold and tauntingly applied. 
 And bitter tears then suddenly 'gan falling 
 
 From her dear eyes, and in a sea of weeping 
 Wellnigh dissolved her image so enthralling. 
 O lovely eyes, ye stars of love so kindly, 
 
 What though ye, when awake, and e'en when sleeping 
 Deceived me oft, I trust ye still as blindly ! 
 
 4. 
 
 IN dream I saw a tiny manikin, 
 Who went on stilts, with steps a yard apart 
 White was his linen, and his dress was smart, 
 But he was coarse and most unclean within. 
 Yes, worthless inwardly, and full of sin ; 
 Worthy to seem outside was his great art, 
 Of courage he discoursed, as from his he art, 
 Defiant, stubborn, 'ncath a veil but thin.
 
 28 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " And know'st thou wlio he is ? Come here and see !" 
 So spake the dream-god, slily showing me 
 
 Within a mirror's frame this vision then. 
 The manikin before an altar stood, 
 My love beside him, both said " Yes, they would," 
 
 And thousand laughing devils cried " Amen !" 
 
 WHY stirs and chafes my madden 'd blood ? 
 Why burns my heart in furious mood ? 
 My blood fast boils, and foams and fumes, 
 And passion fierce my heart consumes. 
 
 My mad blood boils in foaming stream, 
 Because I've dreamt an evil dream : 
 Night's gloomy son appear'd one day, 
 And bore me in his arms away. 
 
 To a bright house soon brought he me, 
 Where sounded harp and revelry, 
 And torches gleam'd and tapers shone 
 The hall I entered then alone. 
 
 I saw a merry wedding feast, 
 
 The glad guests round the table press'd ; 
 
 And when the bridal pair I spied, 
 
 woe ! my mistress was the bride. 
 
 There was my love, and strange to say, 
 A stranger claim'd her hand to-day. 
 Then close behind her chair of honour 
 
 1 silent stood and gazed upon her. 
 
 The music sounded still I stood ; 
 
 Their joy but swell'd my mournful mood ; 
 
 The bride she look'd so highly blest, 
 
 Her hand the while the bridegroom press'd. 
 
 The bridegroom next fill'd full his cup, 
 And from it drank, then gave it up 
 Unto the bride ; she smiled a thank ; 
 woe ! my red blood 'twas she drank. 
 
 The bride a rosy apple took, 
 And gave it him with smiling look ; 
 He took his knife, and cut a part ; 
 O woe ! it was indeed my heart.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 29 
 
 They lovingly each other eyed, 
 The bridegroom boldly clasp'd the bride, 
 And kissed her on her cheeks so red ; 
 O woe ! cold death kiss'd me instead. 
 
 Like lead my tongue within me lay, 
 Vainly I strove one word to say ; 
 A noise was heard, the dance began, 
 The bridal pair were in the van. 
 
 Whilst I stood rooted to the ground, 
 
 The dancers nimbly whirl'd around ; 
 
 The bridegroom spoke a whisper'd word, 
 
 She blush'd, well pleased with what she heard. 
 
 6. 
 
 IN blissful dream, in silent night, 
 There came to me, with magic might, 
 With magic might, my own sweet love, 
 Into my little room above. 
 
 I gazed upon the darling child, 
 I gazed, and she ail-gently smiled, 
 And smiled until my heart swell'd high, 
 When stormlike daring words breath'd I : 
 
 " Take, take thou everything that's mine, 
 
 ' My All will I to thee resign, 
 
 " If I may be thy paramour 
 
 " From midnight till the morning hour." 
 
 Then on me gazed the beauteous maid, 
 With looks that inward strife betray'd, 
 So sweet, so sad, while thus she said : 
 " Give me thy hope of heaven instead !" 
 
 " My life so sweet, my youthful blood, 
 " I'll give with cheerful joyous mood, 
 " For thee, O maiden angel-fair, 
 ' But hope of heaven hereafter ne'er !** 
 
 My daring speech flow'd readily, 
 Yet ever fairer blossom'd she, 
 And still the beauteous maiden said 
 ** Give me thy hope of heaven ii intend !"
 
 30 HEIXE'S POEMS. 
 
 
 
 These words fell on me heavily, 
 Then rush'd, like some fierce flowing sea, 
 Down to my spirit's depth most deep, 
 I scarce had power my breath to keep. 
 
 There came a band of angels white, 
 Graced with a golden halo bright, 
 But wildly followed in their track 
 A grisly train of goblins black. 
 
 They wrestled with the angels white, 
 And drove away those angels bright, 
 And then the gloomy squadron too 
 Melted like morning mist from view. 
 
 Fain had I died of rapture there, 
 My arms upheld my maiden fair ; 
 She nestled near me like a roe, 
 But also wept with bitter woe. 
 
 Sweet maiden wept ; well knew I why, 
 Her rosy mouth to peace kiss'd I : 
 " O still, sweet love, that tearful flood, 
 " Surrender to my loving mood ! 
 
 " Surrender to my loving mood !" 
 When sudden froze to ice my blood ; 
 The earth beneath me groan'd and sigh'd, 
 A yawning chasm open ? d wide. 
 
 And from the chasm's gloomy veil 
 
 Rose the black troop, sweet love turn'd pale ; 
 
 My arms were of sweet love bereft, 
 
 And I in solitude was left. 
 
 The gloomy troop around me danced 
 In wondrous circle, then advanced, 
 And seized and bore me to the ground, 
 While scornful laughter rose around. 
 
 And still the circle narrower grew, 
 And ever humm'd the fearful crew : 
 " Thy hope of heaven was pledg'd by thee, 
 " Thou'rt ours for all eternity '"
 
 BOOK OF SOXG8. 31 
 
 7. 
 
 THOU now hast the money, why longer delay ? 
 Thou dark scowling fellow, why lingering stay ? 
 I sit in my chamber, and patiently wait, 
 And midnight is near, but the bride is still late. 
 
 From the churchyard the shuddering breezes arise ; 
 Ye breezes, O say, has my bride met your eyes ? 
 Pale demons come round me, and hard on me press, 
 Muke curtsies with grinning, and nod their " O yes I" 
 
 Quick, tell me the message you're coming about, 
 Black villain, in liv'ry of fire trick'd out ! 
 3Iy mistress sends word that she soon will be here ; 
 In a car drawn by dragons she'll shortly appear. 
 
 Dear grey little man, say, what would'st thou to-day ? 
 Dead master of mine, what's thy business, pray ? 
 He gazes upon me with mute mournful mien, 
 Shakes his head, turns away, and no longer is seen. 
 
 His tail wags the shaggy old dog, and he whines ; 
 All brightly the eye of the black tom-cat shines ; 
 The women are howling with long flowing hair, 
 Why sings my old nurse my old cradle-song there ? 
 
 Old nurse stops at home, to her song to attend, 
 The eiapopeia is long at an end ; 
 To-day I am keeping my gay wedding feast ; 
 Only watch the arrival of each gallant guest ! 
 
 Only watch them ! Good sirs, how polite is your band ! 
 Ye carry your heads, 'stead of hats, in your hand ; 
 With your clattering bones, and like gallows-birds 
 
 dress'd, 
 Why arrive here so late, when the wind is at rest ? 
 
 The old witch on her broomstick comes galloping on : 
 Ah. bless me, good mother, I'm really thy son. 
 The mouth in her pale face beginning to twitch, 
 " For ever, amen," soon replies the old witch. 
 
 Twelve wither'd musicians come creeping along. 
 The limping blind fiddler is seen in the throng 
 Jackpuddiug dress'd out in his motley array, 
 On the gravedigger's back is grimacing awuy
 
 32 HEINE S POEMS. 
 
 With dancing twelve nuns from the convent advance, 
 The leering old procuress leading the dance ; 
 Twelve merry young priests follow close in their train, 
 And sing their lewd songs in a church-going strain. 
 
 Till you're black in the face, good old clothesman, don't 
 
 yell, 
 
 Your fur-coat will nothing avail you in hell ; 
 'Tis heated for nought all the year with odd things, 
 'Stead of wood, with the bones of dead beggars and 
 kings. 
 
 The girls with the flowers seem'd hunchback'd and bent, 
 Tumbling head over heels in the room as they went ; 
 With your faces like owls, and a grasshopper's leg, 
 That rattling of bones discontinue, I beg. 
 
 The squadrons of hell all appear in their shrouds, 
 And bustle and hustle in fast-swelling crowds ; 
 The waltz of damnation resounds in the ear, 
 Hush, hush ! my sweet love is at length drawing near. 
 
 Now, rabble, be quiet, or get you away ! 
 I scarcely can hear e'en one word that I say ; 
 Hark ! Is't not the sound of a chariot at hand ? 
 Quick, open the door ! Why thus loitering stand ? 
 
 Thou art welcome, my darling ! how goes it, my sweet ? 
 You're welcome, good parson ! stand up, I entreat ! 
 Good parson, with hoof of a horse and with tail, 
 I'm your dutiful servant, and wish you all hail ! 
 
 Dear bride, wherefore stand'st thou so pale and so 
 
 dumb? 
 
 The parson to join us together has come ; 
 Full dear, dear as blood, is the fee I must pay, 
 And yet to possess thee is merely child's play. 
 
 Kneel down, my sweet bride, by my side pry thee kneel 
 She kneels and she sinks, what rapture I feel ! 
 She sinks on my heart, on my fast-heaving breast ; 
 With shuddering pleasure I hold her close press'd. 
 
 Like billows her golden locks circle the pair, 
 'Gainst my heart beats the heart of the maiden so fair , 
 They beat with a union of sorrow and love, 
 And soar to the regions of heaven above
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 33 
 
 While our hearts are thus floating in rapture's wide sea, 
 In God's holy realms, all untrammeU'd and free, 
 On our heads, as a terrible sign and a brand, 
 Has hell in derision imposed her grim hand. 
 
 lu jifnjn-id persona the dark son of night 
 As parson bestows the priest's blessing to-night ; 
 From a bloody book breathes he the formula terse, 
 Each prayer execration, each blessing a curse. 
 
 A crashing and hissing and howling is heard, 
 Like rolling of thunder, like waves wildly stirr'd ; 
 When sudden a bluish-tinged light brightly flames, 
 " For ever, amen 1" the old mother exclaims. 
 
 I CAME from the house of my mistress dear, 
 And wander'd, half frenzied, in midnight fear, 
 And when o'er the churchyard I mournfully trod, 
 In solemn silence the graves seem'd to nod. 
 
 The musician's old tombstone seem'd nodding to be ; 
 'Tis the flickering light of the moon that I see. 
 There's a whisper " Dear brother, I soon shall be here !' 
 Then a misty pale form from the tomb doth appear. 
 The musician it was who arose in the gloom, 
 And po.rch'd himself high on the top of the tomb ; 
 The chords of his lute he struck with good will, 
 And sang svith a voice right hollow and shrill : 
 
 " Ah, know ye still the olden song, 
 
 " That thrill'd the breast with passion strong, 
 
 " Ye chords so dull and unmoving ? 
 " The angels they call it the joys of heaven, 
 " The devils they caul it hell's torments even, 
 
 " And mortals they call it loving !" 
 
 The last word's sound had scarcely died, 
 
 When all the graves their mouths open'd wide; 
 
 Many airy figures step forward, and each 
 
 The musician draws near, while in chorus they screech 
 
 " Love, love, thy wondrous might 
 " Brought us to this dreary plight, 
 "Closed our eyes in endless night, 
 " To disturb us why delight ?" 
 
 D
 
 34 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Thus howl they confusedly, hissing and groaning, 
 With roaring and sighing and crashing and moaning ; 
 The mad troop the musician surround as before, 
 And the chords the musician strikes wildly once more ; 
 
 " Bravo ! bravo ! How absurd 1 
 
 " Welcome to ye ! 
 
 " Plainly knew ye 
 " That I spake the magic word ! 
 
 "As we pass the livelong year 
 " Still as mice in prison drear, 
 " Let's to-day be full of cheer ! 
 
 "First, though, please 
 " See that no one else is here ; 
 " Fools were we as long as living, 
 " To love's maddening passion giving 
 
 " All oui- madden'd energies. 
 " Let, by way of recreation, 
 " Each one give a true narration 
 
 " Of his former history, 
 " How devour'd, 
 " How o'erpower'd 
 
 " In love's frantic chase was he." 
 
 Then as light as the air from the circle there broke 
 A wizen'd thin being, who hummingly spoke : 
 
 " A tailor was I by profession 
 
 " With needle and with shears ; 
 " None made a better impression 
 
 " With needle and with shears. 
 
 ' Then came my master's daughter 
 
 " With needle and with shears, 
 " And pierced my sorrowing bosom 
 
 " With needle and with shears." 
 
 In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed ; 
 In solemn silence a second stepp'd aft : 
 
 " Great Einaldo Rinaldini, 
 " Schinderhanno, Orlandini, 
 " And Charles Moor especially, 
 " Were my patterns made by me.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 35 
 
 ' Like those mighty heroes, I 
 ' Fell in love, I'll not deny, 
 ' And the fairest woman most 
 ' Haunted me like any ghost. 
 
 ' Sighing, cooing like a dove, 
 ' I was driven mad with love, 
 ' And my fingers, by ill-luck, 
 " In my neighbour's pocket stuck 
 
 " But the constable abused me, 
 " And most cruelly ill-used me, 
 " And I sought to hide my grief 
 " In my neighbour's handkerchief. 
 
 " Then their arms policemen placed 
 " Quietly around my waist, 
 " And the bridewell then and there 
 " Took me 'ncath its tender care. 
 
 " There, with thoughts of love quite full, 
 " Long time sat I, spinning wool, 
 " Till Rinaldo's ghost one day 
 " Came and took my soul away." 
 
 In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed ; 
 A third, all-berouged and bedizen'd, stepp'd aft : 
 
 " As monarch I ruled on the stage, 
 
 " The part of the lover played I, 
 " Oft bellowed ' Ye Gods,' in a rage, 
 
 " Breath'd many a heart-rending sigh. 
 " I play'd Mortimer's part best, rnethinks, 
 
 " Maria was always so fair ; 
 " But despite the most natural winks, 
 
 " She never gave heed to my prayer. 
 " Once when 1, with desperate look, 
 
 " ' Maria, thou holy one !' cried, 
 " The dagger I hastily took, 
 
 " And plunged it too deep in my side." 
 
 In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh'd ; 
 A fourth in a white flowing garment stepp'd aft : 
 
 " Ex catkedrd kept prating the learned professor, 
 "lie prated, and I went to sleep all the while ; 
 
 " Yet my pleasure had certainly not been the k>ss'r, 
 " Had I revell'd instead in his daughter's sweet smile
 
 36 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " From the window she oft to me tenderly beckon'd, 
 " That flower of flowers, my life's only light ; 
 
 " Yet that flower of flowers was pluck'd in a second 
 " By a stupid old blockhead, an opulent wight. 
 
 " Then cursed I all women and rogues of high station, 
 " And mingled some poisonous herbs in niy wine, 
 
 " And held with old Death a jollification, 
 
 "While he said : 'Your good health! from this 
 moment you're mine!' " 
 
 In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh'd ; 
 
 A fifth, with a rope round his neck, next stepp'd aft : 
 
 " There boasted and bragg'd a count, over his wine, 
 " Of his daughter so fair, and his jewels so fine. 
 '' What care I, Sir Count, for thy jewels so fine ? 
 " Far rather would I that thy daughter were mine! 
 
 " 'Tis true under bar, lock, and key they both lay, 
 " And the Count many servants retain'd in his pay 
 " What cared I for servants, for bar, lock, or key ? 
 " Up the rungs of the ladder I mounted with glee. 
 
 " To my mistress's window I climb'd with good cheer, 
 " Where curses beneath me saluted my ear. 
 " ' Stop, stop, my fine fellow ! I too must be there, 
 " ' I'm likewise in love with the jewels so fair.' 
 
 " Thus jested the Count, while he grappled me tight. 
 " His servants came roxind me with shouts of delight. 
 " ' Pooh, nonsense, you rascals ! No robber am I, 
 " ' I but came for my mistress 'tis really no lie.' 
 
 " In vain was my talking, in vain what I said, 
 " They got ready the rope, threw it over my head, 
 " And the sun, when he rose, with amazement extreme 
 " Found me hanging, alas, from the gallows' high 
 beam !" 
 
 In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh'd ; 
 
 A sixth, with his head in his hand, next stepp'd aft ; 
 
 " Love's torments made me seek the chace ; 
 " Rifle in hand, I roam'd apace. 
 " Down from the tree, with hollow scoff, 
 " The raven cried : ' head off ! head off 1*
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 37 
 
 " 0, could I only see a dove, 
 ** I'd take it home for my sweet love ! 
 ** Thus thought I, aud midst bush aiid tree 
 " With sportsman's eye sought carefully. 
 " What billing's that ? What gentle cooing '{ 
 "It sounds like turtle doves' soft wooing. 
 " I stole up slily, cock'd my gun, 
 " And, lo, my own sweet love was one ! 
 " It was indeed my dove, my bride ; 
 " A stranger clasp 'd her waist with pride. 
 Old guu, now let thy aim be good ! 
 The stranger welter'd in his blood. 
 ; Soon through the wood I had to pass, 
 With hangmen by my side, alas ! 
 Down from the tree, with bitter scoff, 
 The raven cried : ' head-off! head-off!' " 
 In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed ; 
 At length the musician in person stepp'd aft : 
 " I've sung my own song, friends, demurely, 
 
 " That charming song's at an end ; 
 " When the heart is once broken, why surely 
 
 " The song may homeward wend !" 
 Then began the wild laughter still louder to sound, 
 And the pale spectral troop in a circle swept round. 
 From the neighbouring church-tow'r the stroke of 
 
 " One !" fell, 
 And the spirits rush'd back to their graves with a yell 
 
 I WAS asleep, and calmly slept, 
 All pain and grief allay 'd ; 
 A wondrous vision o'er me crept, 
 
 There came a lovely maid. 
 As pale as marble was her face, 
 
 And, O, so passing fair ! 
 Her eyes they swam with pearl-like grace, 
 
 And strangely waved her hair. 
 And softly, softly moved her foot 
 
 The pale-as-marble maid ; 
 And on my heart herself she put v 
 
 The pale-as-marble maid.
 
 38 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 How shook and throbb'd, half sad, half blest. 
 
 My heart, which hotly burn'd ! 
 But neither shook nor throbb'd her breast, 
 
 Which into ice seem'd turn'd. 
 
 " It neither shakes nor throb?, my breast, 
 
 " And it is icy cold ; 
 " And yet I know love's yearning blest, 
 
 " Love's mighty pow'r of old. 
 
 " No colour's on my lips and cheek, 
 " No blood my veins doth swell ; 
 
 " But start not, thus to hear me speak, 
 " I love thee, love thee well !" 
 
 And wilder still embraced she me, 
 
 And I was sore afraid ; 
 Then crow'd the cock, straight vanished she, 
 
 The pale-as-marble mai/L 
 
 10. 
 
 I OFT have pale spectres before now 
 Conjured with magical might ; 
 They refuse to return any more now 
 To their former dwelling of night. 
 
 The word that commands their submission 
 
 I forgot in my terror and fear ; 
 My own spirits now seek my perdition, 
 
 Within their prison-house drear. 
 
 Dark demons, approach not a finger ! 
 
 Away, nor to torment give birth ! 
 Full many a joy still may linger 
 
 In the roseate light of this earth. 
 
 I needs must be evermore striving 
 
 To reach the flower so fair ; 
 O, what were the use of my living 
 
 If I may cherish her ne'er ? 
 
 To my glowing heart fain would I press her, 
 Would clasp her for once to my breast, 
 
 On her lips and her cheeks once caress her, 
 With sweetest of torments be blest.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 39 
 
 If once from her mouth I could hear it, 
 Gould bear one fond whisper bestow'd, 
 
 I would follow thee, beckoning Spirit, 
 Yea, e'en to thy darksome abode. 
 
 The spirits have heard, and draw nigh me, 
 
 And nod with terricle glee : 
 Sweet love, witn an answer supply me, 
 
 Sweet love. J lovest thou mo? 
 
 2. SONGS. 
 
 1. 
 
 EVEEY morning rise I, crying : 
 Comes my love to-day ? 
 Then sink down at evening, sighing : 
 She is still away 1 
 
 Sleepless and oppress'd with sorrow, 
 
 All night long I lie 
 Dreaming, half asleep ; the morrow 
 
 Sadly wander I. 
 
 I'M driven hither and thither along ! 
 But yet a few hours, I shall see her again, 
 Herself, the most fair of the fair maiden-train ;- 
 True heart, what means thy throbbing so strong ? 
 
 The hours aro only a slothful race 1 
 Lazily they move each day, 
 And with yawning go their way ; 
 
 Hasten on, ye slothful race ! 
 
 Wild-raging eagerness thrills me indeed; 
 
 Never in love have the hours delighted ; 
 
 So, in a cruel bond strangely united, 
 Slily deride they the lovers' wild speed. 
 
 3. 
 
 BY nought but sorrow attended, 
 I wander'd under the trees ; 
 That olden vision descended. 
 
 And stole to my heart by degrees.
 
 40 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Who taught you the word ye are singing, 
 Ye birds in the branches on high ? 
 
 hush ! when my h^art hears it ringing, 
 It makes it more mournfully sigh. 
 
 " A fair young maiden 'twas taught it, 
 " Who came here, and sang like a bird ; 
 
 " And so we birds easily caught it, 
 " That pretty, golden word." 
 
 No more shall this story deceive me, 
 
 Ye birds, so wondrously sly : 
 Of my sorrow ye fain would bereave me, 
 
 On your friendship I cannot rely. 
 
 4. 
 
 SWEET love, lay thy hand on my heart, and tell 
 If thou hearest the knocks in that narrow cell ? 
 There dwells there a carpenter, cunning is he, 
 And slily he's hewing a coffin for me. 
 
 He hammers and knocks by day and by night, 
 My slumber already has banish 'd outright ; 
 Oh. Master Carpenter, prythee make haste, 
 That I some slumber at length may taste. 
 
 5. 
 
 BEAUTEOUS cradle of my sorrow, 
 Beauteous grave of all my peace, 
 Beauteous town, we part to-morrow, 
 Fare thee well, our ties must cease I 
 
 Fare thee well, thou threshold holy, 
 Where my loved one sets her feet ! 
 
 Fare thee well, thou spot so holy, 
 Where we chanced at first to meet 1 
 
 Would that we had been for ever 
 Strangers, queen of hearts so fair ! 
 
 Then it would have happen'd never 
 That I'm driven to despair. 
 
 Ne'er to stir thy bosom thought I, 
 
 For thy love I never pray'd ; 
 Silently to live but sought I 
 
 Where thy breath its balm convey "d.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 41 
 
 Yet thou spurn'st me in my sadness, 
 Bitter words thy mouth doth speak, 
 
 In my senses riots madness, 
 And my heart is faint and weak 
 
 And my limbs, in wanderings dreary, 
 
 Sadly drag I, full of gloom, 
 Till I lay my head all weary 
 
 In a chilly distant tomb. 
 
 ft 
 
 PATIENCE, surly pilot, shortly 
 To the port I'll follow you ; 
 From t\vo maidens I'm departing, 
 From my love and Europe too. 
 
 Blood-spring, from mine eyes 'gin running, 
 
 Blood-spring, from my body flow, 
 So that I then, with my hot blood, 
 
 May write down my tale of woe. 
 
 Ah, my body, wherefore shudder 
 
 Thus to-day my blood to see ? 
 Many years before thee standing 
 
 Pale, heart-bleeding, saw'st thou me! 
 
 Know'st thou still the olden story 
 
 Of the snake in Paradise, 
 Who, a cursed apple giving, 
 
 Caused our parents endless sighs ? 
 
 Apples brought all evils on us, 
 
 Death through Eve by apples came; 
 
 Flames on Troy were brought by Eris, 
 Both thou broughtcst, death and flame I 
 
 7. 
 
 HILL and castle fair are glancing 
 O'er the clear and glassy Rhino, 
 And my bark is gaily dancing 
 In the sunlight all-divine. 
 
 On the golden waters, breaking 
 
 Sportively, my calm eyes rest ; 
 Gently are the feelings waking 
 
 That I nourish'd in my breast.
 
 42 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 With a fond and kindly greeting, 
 Lure me those deep waters bright, 
 
 Yet I know their smoothness cheating 
 Hides beneath it death and night. 
 
 Joy above, below destruction, 
 
 Thou'rt my loved one's image, stream! 
 
 Blissful is her smile's seduction, 
 Kind and gentle can she seem. 
 
 8. 
 
 FIRST methought in my affliction, 
 I can never stand the blow. 
 Yet I did strange contradiction ! 
 How I did, ne'er seek to know. 
 
 9. 
 ITH rose and cypress and tinsel gay, 
 
 I fain would adorn in a charming way 
 This book, as though a coffin it were, 
 And in it my olden songs inter. 
 
 0, could I but bury love also there ! 
 On love's grave grows rest's floweret fair ; 
 'Tis there 'tis pluck'd in its sweetest bloom, 
 For me 'twill not blossom till in my tomb. 
 
 Here now are the songs that formerly rose, 
 As wild as the lava from Etna that flows, 
 From out the depths of my feelings true, 
 And glittering sparks around them threw ! 
 
 Like corpses now lie they, all silent and dumb, 
 And cold and pallid as mist they've become ; 
 But the olden glow their revival will bring 
 When the spirit of love waves o'er them its wing 
 
 In my heart a presentiment loudly cries : 
 The spirit of love will over them rise : 
 This book will hereafter come to thy hand, 
 My sweetest love, in a distant land. 
 
 Then the spell on my song at an end will be, 
 The pallid letters will gaze on thee, 
 Imploringly gaze on thy beauteous eyes, 
 And whisper with sadness and loving sighs.
 
 BOOK OF SOXftS. 43 
 
 3. ROMANCES. 
 
 1. THE MOUKNFUL ONE. 
 
 T7VERY heart with pain is smitten 
 -L-^ When they see the stripling pul*, 
 Who upon his face bears written 
 Grief and sorrow's mournful tale. 
 
 Breezes with compassion lightly 
 
 Fan his burning brow the while, 
 And his bosom many a sprightly 
 
 Damsel fair would fain beguile. 
 
 From the city's ceaseless bustle 
 
 To the wood for peace he flies. 
 Merrily the leaves there rustle, 
 
 Merrier still the bird's songs rise. 
 
 But the merry song soon ceases, 
 
 Sadly rustle leaf and tree, 
 When he, while his grief increases, 
 
 Nears the forest mournfully. 
 
 2. THE MOUNTAIN ECHO. 
 
 AT sad slow pace across the vale 
 There rode a horseman brave : 
 " Ah ! travel I now to my mistress's ariuc; 
 " Or but to the darksome grave ?" 
 The echo answer gave : 
 " The darksome grave !" 
 
 And farther rode the horseman on, 
 
 With sighs his thoughts express'd : 
 " If I thus early must go to my grave, 
 " Yet in the grave is rest." 
 
 The answering voice confess'd : 
 " The grave is rest !" 
 
 Adown the horseman's furrow'd check 
 A tear fell on his breast : 
 " If rest I can only find in the grave. 
 " For me the grave is best." 
 
 The hollow voice confess'd : 
 
 " The grave is best !"
 
 4.4 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 3. THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 ON the mountain summit darkling 
 Lies the castle, veil'd in night j 
 Lights are in the valley sparkling, 
 Clashing swords are gleaming bright 
 
 Brothers 'tis, who in fierce duel 
 Fight, with wrath to fury fann'd ; 
 
 Tell me why these brothers cruel 
 Strive thus madly, sword in hand? 
 
 By the eyes of Countess Laura 
 Were they thus in strife array d ; 
 
 Both with glowing love adore her, 
 Her, the noble, beauteous maid. 
 
 Unto which now of the brothers 
 Is her heart the most inclined ? 
 
 She her secret feelings smothers, 
 Out, then, sword, the truth to find ! 
 
 And they fight with rage despairing, 
 Blows exchange with savage might ; 
 
 Take good heed, ye gallants daring, 
 Mischief walks abroad by night. 
 
 Woe, O woe, ye brothers cruel ! 
 
 Woe, woe, thou vale abhorr'd ! 
 Both fall victims in the duel, 
 
 Falling on each other's sword. 
 
 Races are to dust converted, 
 
 Many centuries have flown, 
 And the castle, now deserted, 
 
 Sadly from the mount looks down. 
 
 But at night-time in the valley 
 
 Wondrous forms appear again ; 
 At the stroke of twelve, forth sally 
 
 To the fight the brothers twain. 
 
 4. POOR PETEK. 
 I. 
 
 ~V\7~HILE Hans and Grettel are dancing with glee, 
 T And each of them loudly rejoices, 
 
 Poor Peter looks as pale as can be, 
 And perfectly mute his voice is.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 45 
 
 While Hans and Grettel are bridegroom and bride, 
 
 And glitter in smart ostentation, 
 Poor Peter must still in his working dress bide, 
 
 And bites his nails with vexation. 
 Then softly Peter said to himself, 
 
 As he gazed on the couple sadly : 
 '' Ah, had I not been such a sensible elf, 
 
 " It had fared with my life but badly !" 
 
 II. 
 
 " "Y\7 ITHIN my breast there sits a woe 
 T T " That seems my breast to sever; 
 " Where'er I stand, where'er I go, 
 
 " It drives me onward ever. 
 " It makes me tow'rd my loved one fly, 
 
 "As if she could restore me ; 
 " Yet when I gaze upon her eye, 
 
 " My sorrows rise before me. 
 " I clamber up the mountain now, 
 
 " In lonely sorrow creeping, 
 " And standing silent on its brow, 
 
 *' I cannot cease from weeping." 
 
 III. 
 
 POOR PETER slowly totters by, 
 Pale as a corpse, and stealthily ; 
 The very people in the street 
 Stand still, when his sad form they meet. 
 The maidens whisper'd as they pitied : 
 " The grave he has this moment quitted." 
 Ah no, my dear young maidens fair, 
 He's just about to lie down there ! 
 As he is of his love bereft, 
 The grave's the best place that is left, 
 Where he his aching heart may lay, 
 And sleep until the Judgment Day. 
 
 5. THE PRISONER'S SONG. 
 
 WHEN my grandmother once had bewitch'd a pool 
 girl, * 
 
 The mob would have burnt her quite readily ; 
 But though fiercely the judge his mustachios might twirl, 
 She refused to confess her crime steadily.
 
 46 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 And when in the caldron they held her fast, 
 
 She shouted and yell'd like a craven ; 
 But when the black vapour arose, she at last 
 
 Flew up in the air as a raven. 
 
 My black and feathery grandmother dear, 
 
 O visit me soon in this tower ! 
 Quick, fly through the grating, and come to me here, 
 
 And bring me some cakes to devour ! 
 
 My black and feathery grandmother dear, 
 
 pry thee protect me from sorrow ! 
 For my aunt will be picking my eyes out, I fear, 
 
 When I merrily soar hence to-morrow. 
 
 6. THE GRENADIERS. 
 
 TWO grenadiers travell'd tow'rds France one day, 
 On leaving their prison in Russia, 
 And sadly they hung their heads in dismay 
 When they reach'd the frontiers of Prussia. 
 
 For there they first heard the story of woe, 
 
 That France had utterly perish 'd, 
 The grand army had met with an overthrow, 
 
 They had captured their Emperor cherish 'd. 
 
 Then both of the grenadiers wept full sore 
 
 At hearing the terrible story ; 
 And one of them said : " Alas ! once more 
 
 " My wounds are bleeding and gory." 
 
 The other one said : " The game's at an end, 
 
 " With thee I would die right gladly, 
 " But I've wife and child, whom at home I should tend, 
 
 " For without me they'll fare but badly. 
 
 " What matters my child, what matters my wife '? 
 
 " A heavier care has arisen ; 
 ' Let them beg, if they're hungry, all their life, 
 
 ' My Emperor sighs in a prison! 
 
 " Dear brother, pray grant me this one last prayer : 
 
 " If my hours I now must number, 
 " take my corpse to my country fair, 
 
 " That there it may peacefully slumber.
 
 BOOK OF SONUS. 47 
 
 " The legion of honour, with ribbon red, 
 
 " Upon my bosom place thou, 
 u And put in my hand my musket dread, 
 
 " And my sword around me brace thou. 
 
 " And so in my grave will I silently lie, 
 " And watch like a guard o'er the forces, 
 
 " Until the roaring of cannon hear I, 
 " And the trampling of neighing horses. 
 
 " My Emperor then will ride over my grave, 
 " While the swords glitter brightly and rattle ; 
 
 u Then armed to the teeth will I rise from the grave, 
 " For my Emperor hasting to battle !" 
 
 7. THE MESSAGE. 
 
 GOOD servant ! up, and saddle quick, 
 And leap upon thy steed, 
 And to King Duncan's castle then 
 Through plain and forest speed. 
 
 Into the stable creep, and wait, 
 
 'Till by the helper spied ; 
 Then say : "Of Duncan's daughters, which 
 
 " Has just become a bride ?'' 
 
 And if he says : " The brown one 'tis," 
 The news bring quickly home ; 
 
 But if he says : " The fair one 'tis," 
 More slowly thou mayst come. 
 
 Then go to the ropemaker's shop, 
 
 And buy a rope for me ; 
 And riding slowly, bring it here, 
 
 And mute and silent be. 
 
 8. TAKING THE BRIDE HOME. 
 
 I'LL go not alone, my sweetheart dear 1 
 With me thou must go now 
 To the cheery, old, and cosy room 
 In the dreary cold abode of gloom, 
 Where at the door my mother keeps guard, 
 And foi her son's return looks hard.
 
 48 HEIXE'S POEMS, 
 
 " Away from me, thou gloomy man ! 
 
 " Who bid thee come hither ? 
 " Thy hand's like ice, thine eye glows bright, 
 " Thy breath is burning, thy cheek is white; 
 " But I would rather my time beguile 
 " With smell of roses and sun's sweet smile." 
 
 The roses may smell, and the sun may shine, 
 
 My darling sweetheart ! 
 
 Throw thy spreading white veil thy figure around, 
 Make the chords of the echoing lyre resound, 
 And sing a wedding song to me ; 
 The night-wind pipes the melody. 
 
 9. DON EAMIRO. 
 
 DONNA CLARA! Donna Clara! 
 " Through long years the hotly-loved one 
 ' Thou hast will'd now my destruction, 
 " Will'd it, too, without compassion. 
 
 " Donna Clara ! Donna Clara ! 
 " Very sweet the gift of life is ! 
 " But beneath us all is fearful, 
 " In the tomb so dark and chilly. 
 
 " Donna Clara, joy ! to-morrow 
 " Will Fernando at the altar 
 " As his wedded bride salute thee, 
 " Wilt thou ask me to the wedding ?" 
 
 " Don Eamiro ! Don Eamiro ! 
 " Bitterly thy words are sounding, 
 " Bitt'rer than yon stars' decree is, 
 " Scoffing at my heart's own wishes. 
 
 " Don Eamiro ! Don Eamiro ! 
 " Shake thy gloomy sadness from thee ; 
 *' On the earth are many maidens, 
 " But by God have we been parted. 
 
 " Don Eamiro, who so bravely 
 " 3Iany Moors hast overpower'd, 
 " Overpower now thyself too, 
 " Come to-morrow to my wedding."
 
 BOOK OP SONGS. 49 
 
 " Donna Clara ! Donna Clara ! 
 " Yes, I swear it, yes, I'll come there ! 
 " And the dance will lead off with thee ; 
 " So good night, I'll come to-morrow." 
 
 ' : So good night !" The window rattled ; 
 Sighing stood below Ramiro, 
 Seeming turn'd to stone long stood he ; 
 Then he vanish'd in the darkness. 
 
 Lastly, after lengthen'd conflict, 
 Night to day in turn surrender'd ; 
 Like a blooming flowery garden 
 Lies extended fair Toledo. 
 
 Palaces and splendid buildings 
 Glitter in the radiant sunlight, 
 And the churches' domes so lofty 
 Glisten proudly, as though gilded. 
 
 Humming like a busy beehive, 
 ^Merrily the bells are sounding ; 
 Sweetly rise the solemn psalm- tunes 
 From the God-devoted churches. 
 
 But look yonder! but look yonder! 
 Where from out the market chapel, 
 Midst the heaving crowd and uproar, 
 Streams the throng in chequer 'd masses , 
 
 Glittering knights and stately ladies 
 In gay courtly dresses sparkle, 
 And the clear-toned bells are ringing, 
 And the organ peals between times. 
 
 But with reverence saluted, 
 In the people's midst are walking, 
 Nobly clad, the youthful couple, 
 Donna Clara, Don Fernando. 
 
 To the bridegroom's palace entrance 
 Slowly moves the gay procession ; 
 There begin the ceremonies, 
 Stately, and in olden fashion. 
 
 Knightly games and merry feasting 
 Interchange with loud rejoicing : 
 Swiftly ny the hours tlius gkdly 
 Till the shades of night have fallen.
 
 50 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 And the wedding-guests assemble 
 
 In the hall, to hold the dances, 
 
 And their chequer'd gala dresses 
 
 Midst the glittering lights are sparkling. 
 
 On a high-exalted dais 
 Bride and bridegroom are reclining, 
 Donna Clara, Don Fernando, 
 Holding loving conversation. 
 
 In the hall are gaily moving 
 All the festal crowd of people, 
 And the kettle-drums sound loudly, 
 And the trumpets, too, are crashing. 
 
 " Wherefore, O my heart's fair mistress, 
 " Are thy glances so directed 
 " Tow'rd the hall's most distant corner ?' 
 Thus the knight exclaim'd with wonder. 
 
 " Seest thou not, then, Don Fernando, 
 " Yonder man in dark cloak hidden?" 
 And the knight with smiling answered : 
 " Ah, 'tis nothing but a shadow." 
 
 But the shadow soon approach'd them, 
 And a man was in the mantle, 
 And Ramiro recognising, 
 Clara greeted him with blushes. 
 
 And the dancing has begun now, 
 And the dancers whirl round gaily 
 In the waltz's giddy mazes, 
 And the ground beneath them trembles. 
 
 " Gladly will I, Don Ramiro, 
 " In the dance become thy partner, 
 '' But thou didst not well to come here 
 " In a black and nightlike mantle." 
 
 But with eyes all fix'd and piercing 
 Looks Ramiro on the fair one ; 
 Clasping her, with gloom thus speaks he, 
 " At thy bidding have I come here !" 
 
 And the pair of dancers vanish 
 In the dance's giddy mazes, 
 And the kettledrums sound loudly, 
 And the trumpets, too, are crashing.
 
 BOOK Of SONGS. 51 
 
 " Snow-white are thy cheeks, Rarairo," 
 Clara speaks with secret trembling. 
 " At thy bidding have I come here !" 
 In a hollow voice replies he. 
 
 In the hall the wax-lights glimmer 
 Through the ebbing, flowing masses, 
 And the kettle-drums sound loudly, 
 And the trumpets, too, are crashing. 
 
 " Ice-cold are thy hands, Ramiro," 
 Clara speaks with shudd'ring terror. 
 "At thy bidding have I come here !" 
 And within the whirl they vanish. 
 
 " Leave me, leave me. Don Ramiro ! 
 i; Ah, thy breath is like a corpse's !" 
 Once again the dark words speaks he 
 " At thy bidding have I come here !" 
 
 And the very ground seems glowing 
 Fiddle, viol sound right merry ; 
 Like a wondrous weft of magic 
 All within the hall is whirling. 
 
 " Leave me, leave me, Don Ramiro !" 
 Sadly sounds amidst the tumult ; 
 Don Ramiro ever answers : 
 " At thy bidding have I come here !" 
 
 " In the name of God depart, then !" 
 Clara with a firm voice utters. 
 And the words she scarce had spoken 
 When Ramiro vanish'd from her. 
 
 Clara, death in every feature, 
 Chilly, night-surrounded, stood there, 
 And a swoon her lightsome figure 
 To its darksome kingdom carries. 
 
 But at last her misty slumber 
 Yields, at last her eyelids open ; 
 But again, with deep amazement, 
 Would she fain have closed her fair eyes. 
 
 For since they began the dancing, 
 From her seat had she not moved once, 
 And she still sits by the bridegroom, 
 And the anxious knight thus asks her :
 
 52 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " Say, why are thy cheeks so pallid ? 
 " Wherefore is thine eye so darksome ?" 
 " And Ramiro V" stammers Clara, 
 And her tongue is mute with horror. 
 
 But with deep and solemn wrinkles 
 Is the bridegroom's brow now furrow'd : 
 " Lady, bloody news why seek'st thou ? 
 " This day's noontide died Karniro." 
 
 10. BELSHAZZAR. 
 
 THE midnight hour was coming on, 
 In deathlike calm lay Babylon. 
 
 But in the monarch's castle nigh 
 
 Held the monarch's attendants gay revelry. 
 
 And in the regal hali upstairs 
 A regal feast Belshazzar shares. 
 
 The servants in glittering circles recline, 
 And empty the goblets of sparkling wine. 
 
 The servants are shouting, the goblets ring, 
 Delighting the heart of the ruthless king. 
 
 The king's cheeks feel a ruddy glow, 
 The wine doth swell his ardour so. 
 
 And blindly led on by his ardour's wiles, 
 
 The Godhead with blasphemous words he reviles. 
 
 And wildly he curses and raves aloud, 
 Approvingly bellow the serving crowd. 
 
 The king commands with a look that burns, 
 The servant hastens and soon returns. 
 
 Many golden vessels he bears on his head, 
 The spoils of Jehovah's temple dread. 
 
 And the monarch straight seized on a sacred cup 
 With impious hand, and fill'd it up. 
 
 And down to the dregs he drains it fast, 
 And with foaming mouth exclaims at last : 
 
 " Jehovah, thy power I here defy, 
 " The King of Babylon am I." 
 
 But scarcely had sounded the fearful word. 
 
 When the heart of the king with terror was stirr d.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 53 
 
 The yelling laughter is silenced all, 
 And deathlike silence fills the hall. 
 
 And see ! And see ! On the wall so white 
 A human hand appeal's in sight. 
 
 And letters of flame on the wall so white 
 It wrote, and wrote, and vanish'd from sight. 
 
 The king the writing with wonderment sees, 
 As pale as death, and with trembling knees. 
 
 The awestruck servants sat around, 
 And silent sat, and utter'd no sound. 
 
 The magicians appear'd, but none 'mongst them all 
 Could rightly interpret the words on the wall. 
 
 But Belshazzar the king the selfsame night 
 Was slain by his servants, a ghastly sight. 
 
 11. THE MINNESINGERS. 
 
 IN the minstrels' strife engaging 
 Pass the Minnesingers by ; 
 Strange the war that they are waging, 
 Strange the tourney where they vie. 
 
 Fancy, that for battle nerves him, 
 
 Is the Minnesinger's steed ; 
 Art as trusty buckler serves him, 
 
 And his word's a sword indeed. 
 
 Beauteous dames, with glances pleasant, 
 From the balcony look down ; 
 
 But the right one is not present 
 With the proper laurel crown. 
 
 Other combatants, when springing 
 To the lists, at least are sound ; 
 
 Minnesingers must bo bringing 
 To the fray a deadly wound. 
 
 He from whom the most there draincth 
 Song's blood from the inmost breast,- 
 
 Ile is victor, and obtaiueth 
 
 From fair lips the praiso most blest.
 
 54 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 12. LOOKING FKOM THE WINDOW. 
 
 FAIR Hedwig lay at the window, to see 
 If pale Henry would chance to detect her 
 She said half aloud : " Why goodness ine ! 
 " The man is as pale as a spectre !" 
 /ith yearning pale Henry look'd above 
 At her window, in hopes to detect her ; 
 Fair Hedwig now felt the torments of love, 
 
 And she became pale as a spectre. 
 Love-sick, now stood fair Hedwig all day 
 
 At her window, lest he should reject her ; 
 But soon in pale Henry's arms she lay 
 All night, at the time for a spectre. 
 
 13. THE WOUNDED KNIGHT. 
 
 I KNOW a story of anguish, 
 A tale of the times of old ; 
 A knight with love doth languish, 
 
 His mistress is faithless and cold. 
 As faithless must he esteem now 
 
 Her whom in his heart he adored ; 
 His loving pangs must he deem now 
 
 Disgraceful and abhorr'd. 
 In vain in the lists would he wander, 
 
 And challenge to battle each knight ; 
 " Let him who my mistress dares slander 
 
 "Make ready at once for the fight !" 
 But all are silent, save only 
 
 His grief, that so fiercely doth burn ; 
 His lance he against his own lonely 
 
 Accusing bosom must turn. 
 
 14. THE SEA-VOYAGE. 
 
 I LEANING stood against the mast, 
 And told each wave of ocean ; 
 Farewell, my beauteous fatherland ! 
 
 My bark, how swift thy motion ! 
 I pass'd my lovely mistress' house, 
 The windows gleanrd all over ; 
 But though I gazed and gazed and gazed, 
 No sign could I discover.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 55 
 
 Ye tears, obscure not thus mine eyes 
 
 On this too-painful morrow; 
 My love-sick heart, O do not break 
 
 With overweight of sorrow ! 
 
 15. THE SONG OF REPENTANCE. 
 
 SIR TJLRICH rides in the forest so green, 
 The leaves with joy seem laden ; 
 He sees, the trees' thick branches between, 
 The form of a beauteous maiden. 
 
 The youth then said : " Well know I thee. 
 
 " So blooming and glowing thy face is ; 
 " Alluringly ever encircles it me, 
 
 " In deserts or crowded places. 
 
 u Those lips, by fresh loveliness ever stirr'd, 
 
 " Appear a pair of roses ; 
 " Yet many a hateful bitter word 
 
 " That roguish mouth discloses. 
 
 " A pretty rosebush a mouth like this 
 
 " Resembles very closely, 
 " Where cunning poisonous serpents hiss 
 
 " Amid the leaves morosely. 
 
 " Within those beauteous cheeks there lies 
 
 " A sweet and beauteous dimple ; 
 " That is the grave where I fell by surprise, 
 
 " Lured on by a yearning simple. 
 
 " There see I the beauteous locks of hair, 
 " That once so lovingly pleased me ; 
 
 " That is the net so wondrous fair 
 " Wherewith the Evil One seized me. 
 
 " And that blue eye, that so sweetly fell, 
 
 " As clear as the ocean even, 
 " It proved to be the portal of hell, 
 
 " Though I thought it the gateway of heaven.' 
 
 In the wood still farther Sir Ulrich doth ride, 
 
 The leaves make a rustling dreary , 
 A second figure afar lie spied, 
 
 That seem'd so sad and weary.
 
 56 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 The youth then said : " mother dear, 
 
 " Who lov'dst me to distraction, 
 " But to whom in life I caused many a tear, 
 
 " By evil word and action ! 
 
 " would that to dry thine eyes could avail 
 
 " My sorrow so fiercely glowing ! 
 " O could I but redden thy cheeks so pale 
 
 " With the blood from my own heart flowing 1" 
 
 And farther rides Sir Ulrich there, 
 The night o'er the forest is falling ; 
 
 Many singular voices fill the air, 
 The evening breezes are calling. 
 
 The youth then hears his sorrowing words 
 
 Full often near him ringing ; 
 'Tis the notes of the mocking forest birds 
 
 All t wittering loudly and singing : 
 
 " Sir Ulrich sings a pretty song, 
 
 '' We call it the song of repentance ; 
 
 '' And when he has reach'd the end of his song, 
 " He'll repeat it sentence by sentence." 
 
 16. TO A SINGER, ON HER SINGING AN OLD 
 ROMANCE. 
 
 STILL think I of the magic fair one, 
 How on her first my glances fell ! 
 How her dear tones resounded sweetly, 
 How they my heart enthrall'd completely, 
 How down my cheeks the tears coursed fleetly, 
 But how it chanced, I could not tell. 
 
 There over me had crept a vision : 
 
 Me thought I was again a child, 
 And in my mother's chamber sitting 
 In silence, by the lamp-light flitting, 
 And reading fairy tales befitting, 
 
 Whilst outside roar'd the tempest wild. 
 
 The tales began with life to glimmer, 
 The knights arise from out the grave ; 
 
 By Eoncesvall the battle rages, 
 
 Sir Eoland in the fight engages, 
 
 And with him many a valiant page is, 
 And also Ganelon, the knave.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 57 
 
 By him is Roland ill entreated, 
 
 He swims in blood, fust ebbs his breath ; 
 Scarce can his horn, at such far distance, 
 Call Charlemagne to his assistance : 
 So passed away the knight's existence, 
 And, with him, sank my dream in death. 
 
 It was a loud confused echo 
 
 That from my vision wakened me. 
 The legend that she sang was ended, 
 The people heartily commended, 
 And ofttirnes shouted : ' Bravo ! splendid!" 
 
 Low bow'd the singer gracefully. 
 
 17. THE SONG OF THE DUCATS. 
 
 OMY golden ducats dear, 
 Tell me why ye are not here ? 
 
 Are ye with the golden fishes 
 Which within the stream so gaily 
 Leap and splash and wriggle daily ? 
 
 Are ye with the golden flow'rets 
 Which, o'er green fields scattered lightly, 
 In the morning dew gleam brightly? 
 
 Are ye with the golden bird-kins 
 Which we see in happy chorus 
 In the blue skies hov'ring o'er us ? 
 
 Are ye with the golden planets 
 Which in radiant crowds each even 
 Smile in yonder distant heaven? 
 
 Ye, alas, my golden ducats, 
 Swim not in the streamlet bright, 
 
 Sparkle not on meadow green, 
 
 Hover not in skies serene, 
 Smile not in the heavens by night. 
 Creditors, with greedy paws, 
 Hold you safely in their claws. 
 
 18. DIALOGUE ON PADEHBORN HEATH, 
 
 HEAE.'ST thou not far music, ringing, 
 As of double-bass and fiddle ? 
 Many fair ones there arc springing 
 Gaily up and down the middle.
 
 58 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " You're mistaken friend, in speaking 
 " Thus of fiddle and its brother ; 
 
 " I but hear young porkers squeaking, 
 " And the grunting of their mother." 
 
 Hear'st tnou not the forest bugle ? 
 
 Hunters in the chase are straying ; 
 Gentle lambs are feeding, frugal 
 
 Shepherds on their pipes are playing. 
 
 " Ah, my friend, what you just now heard, 
 " Was not bugles, pipes, or hunters ; 
 
 " I can only see the sow-herd 
 
 " Slowly driving home his grunters." 
 
 Hear'st thou not the distant voices 
 In sweet rivalry contending ? 
 
 Many an angel blest rejoices 
 
 Strains like these to hear ascending. 
 
 " Ah, that music sweetly ringing 
 " Is, my friend, no rival chorus ; 
 
 " "Pis but youthful gooseherds, singing 
 " As they drive their geese before us." 
 
 Hear'st thou not the church-bells holy, 
 Sweet and clear, with deep emotion ? 
 
 To the village-chapel slowly 
 Wend the people with devotion. 
 
 " Ah, my friend, the bells 'tis only 
 
 " Of the cows and oxen also, 
 " Who, with sunken heads and lonely, 
 
 " Go back to their gloomy stalls so." 
 
 See'st thou not the veil just moving ? 
 
 See'st thou not those soft advances ? 
 There I see my mistress loving, 
 
 Humid sorrow in her glances. 
 
 " She, my friend, who nods so much, is 
 " An old woman, Betsy namely; 
 
 " Pale and haggard, on her crutches 
 " O'er the meadow limps she lamely." 
 
 Overwhelm me with confusion 
 
 At my questions, friend, each minute ; 
 
 Wilt thou deem a mere illusion 
 What my bosom holds within it '?
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 59 
 
 19. LIFE'S SALUTATIONS. 
 
 (From an Album.) 
 
 earth resembles a highway vast, 
 JL We men are the trav'llers along it ; 
 On foot and on horseback we hurry on fast, 
 And as runners or couriers throng it. 
 
 In passing each other, we nod and we greet 
 
 With our handkerchiefs waved from the coacLes ; 
 
 We fain would embrace, but our horses are fleet, 
 And speed on, despite all reproaches. 
 
 Dear Prince Alexander, as onward we go, 
 
 We scarcely have met at a station, 
 When the signal to start the postilions blow, 
 
 Compelling our sad separation. 
 
 20. QUITE TRUE. 
 
 \\7"HEN the spring returns with the sun's sweat 
 ** light, 
 
 The flowers then bud and blossom apace ; 
 
 When the moon begins her radiant race, 
 Then the stars swim after her track so bright. 
 When the minstrel sees two beautiful eyes, 
 Then songs from his inmost bosom arise ; 
 But songs and stars and flowerets gay, 
 And eyes and moonbeams and sun's bright ray, 
 
 However delightful they are, 
 
 Don't make up the world, friend, by far. 
 
 4. SONNETS. 
 TO A. W. VOX SCHLEGEL. 
 
 IN dainty hoop, with flowers ail-richly dight, 
 With beauty-patches on her painted face, 
 With pointed shoes all hung about with lace, 
 With tow'ring curls, and, wasp-like, fasten'd tight, - 
 Thus was the spurious muse equipp'd that night 
 When first she offer 'd thee her fond embrace ; 
 But thou eludedst her and leftst the place, 
 Led by a mystic impulse from her sight :
 
 60 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 A castle in the desert thou didst find, 
 Where, like a lovely marble image shrin'd, 
 
 Lay a fair maid, in magic slumber sunk ; 
 But soon the spell was loosed, when kiss'd by thee, 
 With smiles the lawful muse of Germany 
 
 Awoke, and sank within thine arms, love-drunk. 
 
 TO MY MOTHER, B. HEINE, 
 twfe VON GELDEKN. 
 
 I HAVE been wont to bear my head right high, 
 My temper too is somewhat stern and rough ; 
 Even before a monarch's cold rebuff 
 I would not timidly avert mine eye. 
 Yet, mother dear, I'll tell it openly : 
 
 Much as my haughty pride may swell and puff, 
 I feel submissive and subdued enough, 
 When thy much- cherished, darling form is nigh. 
 Is it thy spirit that subdues me then, 
 Thy spirit, grasping all things .in its ken, 
 And soaring to the light of heaven again ? 
 By the sad recollection I'm oppress'd 
 That I have done so much that grieved thy breast, 
 Which loved me, more than all things else, the best, 
 
 2. 
 
 TH foolish fancy I deserted thee ; 
 I fain would search the whole world through, to 
 learn 
 
 If in it I perchance could love discern, 
 That I might love embrace right-lovingly. 
 I sought for love as far as eye could see, 
 
 My hands extending at each door in turn, 
 
 Begging them not my prayer for love to spurn 
 Cold hate alone they laughing gave to me. 
 And ever search'd I after love ; yes, ever 
 Search'd after love, but love discovered never, 
 
 And so I homeward went, with troubled thought ; 
 But thou wert there to welcome me again, 
 And, ah, what in thy dear eye floated then 
 
 That was the sweet love I so long had sought.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 61 
 
 TO II. S. 
 
 ~ T/nTEN I thy book, friend, open hastily, 
 T T Full many a cherish'd picture meets my view, 
 And many a golden image that I knew 
 
 In boyish dreams and days of infancy. 
 
 Proudly tow'rd heaven upsoaring, then I see 
 The pious dome, rear'd by religion true, 
 I hear the sound of bell and organ too, 
 
 Love's sweet lament at times addressing me. 
 
 Well see I, too, how o'er the dome they skip, 
 The nimble dwarfs, and with malicious joy 
 The beauteous flow'r- and carved- work destroy. 
 
 But though the oak of foliage we may strip, 
 And rob it of its fair and verdant grace, 
 When spring returns, fresh leaves it dons apace. 
 
 FRESCO-SONNETS TO CHRISTIAN 8. 
 1. 
 
 1TAKE no notice of the blockheads tame 
 Who, seeming to be golden, are but sand ; 
 
 I never offer to that rogue my hand 
 Who secretly would injure my good name ; 
 I bow not to the harlots who proclaim 
 
 Boldly their infamy throughout the land ; 
 
 And when in victor-cars the rabble band 
 Draw their vain idols, with them I ne'er came. 
 Well know I that the oak must fall indeed, 
 Whilst by the streamlet's side the pliant reed 
 Stands in all winds and weathers, fearing not ; 
 But say, what is the reed's eventual lot ? 
 What joy! As walking-stick it serves the dandy, 
 Or else for beating clothes they find it handy. 
 
 2. 
 
 GIVE me a mask, I'll join the masquerade 
 As country clown, so that the rabble rout 
 Who in their proud disguises strut about 
 May not suppose mo one of their vile trade. 
 Give me low manners, words on purpose made 
 To show vulgarity beyond all doubt; 
 All sparks of spirit I'll with care put out 
 Wherewith dull fools coquet in accents staid.
 
 (J2 HEINE S POEMS. 
 
 So will I dance then at the great mask'd ball, 
 
 By German knights, monks, kings surrounded too, 
 By Harlequin saluted, known to few. 
 
 With wooden swords they'll strike me, one and all. 
 That is the joke. For if I show rny face, 
 The rascals will be silenced in disgrace. 
 
 3. 
 
 I LAUGH at all the fools who at me gape, 
 And whom with prying goat-like face I see ; 
 I laugh at every fox who knavishly 
 And idly snuffs me like a very grape ; 
 I laugh at every vain pretentious ape, 
 
 Who a proud judge of genius claims to be ; 
 I laugh at all the knaves who threaten me 
 With poisonous weapons whence there's no escape. 
 For when the charming fancies joy once gave 
 Are wrested from us by the hands of fate, 
 And at our feet in thousand atoms cast, 
 And when our very heart is torn at last, 
 All torn and cut and pierced and desolate, 
 A fine shrill laugh we still have power to save. 
 
 4. 
 
 A STKANGE and charming tale still haunts my mind, 
 -"*- Wherein a song the leading part assumes, 
 
 And in the song there lives and twines and blooms 
 A lovely specimen of womankind ; 
 And in this maiden is a heart enshrined, 
 And yet no love that little heart illumes ; 
 Her loveless frosty disposition dooms 
 Her life to suffer from her pride so blind. 
 Hear'st thou how in my head the tale comes back ? 
 And how the song sounds solemnly and sad ? 
 
 And how the maiden titters softly yet? 
 I only fear lest my poor head should crack. 
 Alas ! it would indeed be far too bad, 
 If my unlucky reason were upset. 
 
 5. 
 
 AT evening's silent, melancholy hour, 
 Long buried songs around me take their place, 
 And burning tears course swiftly down my face, 
 And my old heart- wounds bleed with greater power.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. t>3 
 
 My love's deal image like a beauteous flower 
 As in a magic glass again I trace ; 
 In bodice red she sits and sews apace, 
 
 And silence reigns around her blissful bower. 
 
 But on a sudden springs she from her seat, 
 
 And cuts from her dear head a beauteous lock, 
 And gives it me the very joy's a shoe k. 
 
 The Evil One soon spoilt my rapture sweet : 
 The hair he twisted in a rope full strong, 
 And many a year has dragg'd me thus along. 
 
 6. 
 
 " "YTfT'HEN I a year ago again met thee, 
 
 I " No kiss thou gav'st me in that moment 
 blest ;" 
 
 Thus spake I, and my love a kiss impress'd 
 With rosy mouth upon my lips with glee. 
 With a sweet smile she from a myrtle tree 
 
 Hard by us pluck'd a twig, and said in jest : 
 
 " Take thou this twig, in fresh earth let it rest, 
 " And o'er it place a glass," then nodded she. 
 'Twas long ago. The twig died in the pot. 
 
 'Tis many a year since she hath cross'd my sight ; 
 Yet in my head that kiss still burneth hot. 
 Lately returning home, I sought the place 
 
 Where dwells my love. Before her house all night 
 I stood, and left when morning show'd its face. 
 
 7. 
 
 OF savage devils'-brats, my friend, beware, 
 But gentle angels'-brats more hearts will break ; 
 
 Once such a one a sweet kiss bid me take, 
 But when I came, I felt sharp talons there. 
 Of black and ancient cats, my friend, take care, 
 
 But white young kittens are still more awake ; 
 
 Once such a one my sweetheart did I make, 
 My heart my sweetheart savagely did tear. 
 darling brat ! O maiden passing sweet ! 
 
 How could thy clear eye e'er deceive me so ? 
 
 How could thy paw e'er give me such a blow ? 
 my dear kitten's paw so soft and neat ! 
 
 Could I but press thee to my glowing lip ! 
 
 And could my life-blood meanwhile cease to drip !
 
 64 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 THOU oft hast seen me boldly strive with those, - 
 Both spectacled old fop and painted dame, 
 
 Who gladly would destroy my honest name, 
 And gladly see my last expiring throes. 
 Thou oft hast seen how pedants round me close, 
 
 How fools with cap and bells my life defame, 
 
 How poisonous serpents gnaw my sinking frame, 
 Whilst from a thousand wounds my life-blood flows. 
 But firm as any tower there stood thy form ; 
 Thy head a lighthouse was amid the storm, 
 
 Thy faithful heart a haven was for roe ; 
 Though round that haven roars the raging main, 
 And ftnv the ships the landing place that gain, 
 
 Once there, we slumber in security. 
 
 FAIN would I weep, but, ah, I cannot weep ; 
 Fain would I upwards full of vigour spring, 
 But cannot ; to the earth I needs must cling, 
 Spurn'd by the reptiles that around me creep. 
 Fain would I near my beauteous mistress keep, 
 Near my bright light of life be hovering, 
 And in her dear sweet breath be revelling, 
 But cannot ; for my heart with sorrow deep 
 Is breaking ; from my broken heart doth flow 
 My burning blood, my strength within me fades, 
 And darker, darker grows the world to me. 
 With secret awe I yearn unceasingly 
 For yonder misty realm, where silent shades 
 Their gentle loving arms around me throw.
 
 BOOK OP SONGS. 65 
 
 LYRICAL INTERLUDE. 
 
 182223. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 once lived a knight, who was mournful and 
 J- 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 M" 
 The knight is the bridegroom, the nymph is the bridt 
 
 While her maidens the lute's notes awaken.
 
 66 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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. 
 
 1. 
 
 TT^WAS in the beauteous month of May, 
 JL 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. 
 
 2. 
 
 FEOM 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. 
 
 3. 
 
 PT1HE rose and the lily, the dove and the sun, 
 _L 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. 
 
 4. 
 
 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.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 67 
 
 When leaning on thy darling breast, 
 I feel with heavenly rapture blest ; 
 But when thou sayest : " 1 love thee 1" 
 I begin weeping bitterly. 
 
 5. 
 
 T^HY face, so lovely and serene, 
 In vision I have lately seen ; 
 So like an angel's 'tis, and meek, 
 Though bitter grief has blauch'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. 
 
 OLEAN 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. 
 
 7. 
 
 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.
 
 68 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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. 
 
 9. 
 
 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. 5 
 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.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 69 
 
 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 Ehine, 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. 
 
 r I THOU lov'st me not, thou tellest me, 
 -L 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 mo, 
 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.
 
 70 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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. 
 
 T OVED one gladly would I know it. 
 -L^ 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.
 
 BOOK OF SOXGS. 71 
 
 But thyself, thy wiles insidious, 
 And thy face, so sweet and staid, 
 
 And thy kindly looks perfidious, 
 These the poet never made. 
 
 18. 
 
 LEAMS 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'ET 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, 
 Witli hidden tears thine eyes can scarcely see, 
 
 And secret wounds on thy proud bosom feed 
 My love, we both, alas, must wretched bo !
 
 72 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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. 
 
 T^HOU 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. 
 
 OIF 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. 
 
 OWHY have the roses lost their hue, 
 Sweet love, O tell me why ? 
 Why mutely thus do the violets blue 
 In the verdant meadows sigh ?
 
 F 
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 73 
 
 why doth the lark up high in the air 
 
 With a voice so mournful sing ? 
 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, speak, 
 
 O wherefore lea vest thou me ? 
 
 25. 
 'OK 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 helieve what they said. 
 But, 0, 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. 
 "V \7~E 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 awuy.
 
 74 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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, 
 
 / t/ ~ 
 
 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. 
 
 ^T^HE earth had long been avaricious, 
 J- But May, when she came, gave with great pro- 
 digality, 
 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 ; 
 1 take no pleasure in all they are saying, 
 
 And I am quite wretched in sober reality.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 75 
 
 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 likewhite 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, f earful-to-see love ! 
 I'll tremble, weep, shout with rapturous bliss, 
 
 And soon be a corpse like thee, love.
 
 76 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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. 
 
 FAIK, 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.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 77 
 
 38. 
 
 SINCE my darling one has left me, 
 Power of laughing is bereft rne ; 
 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, wonder ! 
 
 One soul and body we'll be. 
 
 41. 
 
 THE blockheads, their holidays keeping, 
 Are walking through forest and plain j 
 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.
 
 78 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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. 
 
 1 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.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 79 
 
 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. 
 
 T7KIE^ T DSHIP, love, philosophers' stone, 
 J? 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.
 
 80 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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 
 Wo 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,
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 8J 
 
 And when I thus have loved thee so 
 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 crory, 
 " The giant goes home at his ease " 
 
 And when I am buried, the story 
 Is ended as soon as you please. 
 
 52. 
 
 PT1HEY often have vex'd me sadly 
 JL And worried mo 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 mo, 
 The others pursued me with hate.
 
 S2 HEINE'S POEJIS. 
 
 But she who more than all others 
 
 Has yex'd me, and worried, and chafed^ 
 
 She only with hate ne'er pursued me, 
 She only her love ne'er vouchsafed. 
 
 53. 
 
 f INHERE lies the glow of summer 
 JL 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. 
 
 ri^HEY sat round the tea-table drinking, 
 JL And speaking of love a great deal ; 
 The men of aesthetics 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 
 
 Eejoin'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 h~r sad feelings vented, 
 Said ' ; Love is a passion, I'm sure," 
 
 And then to the Baron presented 
 His cup with politeness demure.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 83 
 
 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, 
 
 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. 
 " were I only a bird no.w !" 
 I many a thousand times cry. 
 
 were I only a swallow, 
 
 My darling, to thee would I fly, 
 And soon a iiest would I build me, 
 
 Thy lattice window hard by. 
 
 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.
 
 HEINES POEMS. 
 
 were I only a bullfinch, 
 
 I would fly straight into thy heart ; 
 To the bullfinch thou always wert kiudly, 
 And healest the bullfinch's smart.* 
 
 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, 
 
 1 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. 
 
 A 
 
 61. 
 
 LL night in vision behold I thee, 
 
 And see thee greeting me kindly ; 
 And loudly weeping then throw I me 
 Before thy sweet feet llindly. 
 
 * The word " Gimpel " in the original haa the doable meaning 
 of "bullfinch " and ' blockhead,'' and the point of this verse is 
 therefore lost in a translation.
 
 OF soxas. 85 
 
 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 ; 
 
 j. awake, and the wreath has vanish 'd away, 
 And the word is forgotten completely. 
 
 62. 
 
 TpIS autumn, the night's dark and gloomy, 
 
 JL With rain and tempest above ; 
 Where tarries, 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. 
 
 PT^HE trees in the autumn wind rustle, 
 JL 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 '.'"
 
 86 HEINE'S JPOEMS. 
 
 64. 
 
 A GLITTERING star is falling 
 .^A- 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, 
 
 &.nd, 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. 
 
 G5. 
 
 E 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 ; 
 T 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 ;
 
 BOOK OF SONOrS. 
 
 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. 
 
 I^HE midnight was cold, in plaintive mood 
 I wauder'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. 
 
 "VYTHERESOE'ER I go, there darkles 
 
 TT 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 mo smil'd ; 
 
 'Neath my feet the dread abyss is, 
 Night primeval, tnke thy child ! 
 
 69. 
 
 NIGHT 1 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.
 
 88 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " 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.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 89 
 
 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-mustachiog, 
 The maidens bid their bosoms softly heave ;
 
 90 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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 case 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, 
 WTiile the old ncother-earth with pain doth shudder."
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 91 
 
 thou poor earth, thy sorrows know I well ! 
 
 1 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, 
 
 Arid wildly rush to storm the forts of heaven, 
 
 And swarthy dwarfs climb after them ; with craokling 
 
 Each golden star on high like dust is scatter'd. 
 
 With daring hand they tear the golden curtain 
 
 From. God's own tent ; the blessed 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 whirld 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 conies, 
 
 IVars 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. 
 
 BATCLIFF.* 
 
 THE Dream-God brought me to a landscape fair 
 Where weeping willows nodded me a welcome 
 With their long verdant arms, and where the flowera 
 Gazed on me mutely with wise sisters' eyes, 
 
 * See Heine's Tragedy of that name.
 
 92 HEINE S POEMS. 
 
 Where the birds' twittering resounded sweetly, 
 Where the dogs' barking secm'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
 
 BOOK Ol SONQS. 93 
 
 " Show your solidity." A silly smile 
 Play'd the while round her yellow, pallid month. 
 In my confusion uttcr'd I these accents : 
 ' I've been inforin'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, 
 Dre\v 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 ; 
 
 " Everv long shadow is a simpleton,
 
 94 HEINE S POEMS. 
 
 " 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 
 Eambles 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 mt 
 
 " 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."
 
 BOOK OF SOXGS. 95 
 
 In this manner Donna Clara 
 Thought, and on the ground then looked slid ; 
 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 gontly 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 thce, 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 
 Ga/e 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 
 
 w Or of dirty Jew's blood cither."
 
 96 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " 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 movinsr, 
 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 concealed." 
 
 And the Knight, with radiant smiling, 
 Kiss'd the fingers of his Donna, 
 Kiss'dher lips and kiss'd her forehead^ 
 And at last these words he uttered : 
 
 " I, Seiiora, I, your loved one, 
 " Am the son of the much honour'd 
 " Great and learned scribe, the Rabbi 
 " Israel of Saragossa." 
 
 ALMANSOR. 
 1. 
 
 IN fair Cordova's cathedral, 
 Stand the columns, thirteen hundred, 
 Thirteen hundred giant-columns 
 Bear the mighty dome in safety.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 97 
 
 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 sraoke 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 ; 
 
 " 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 uii ruffled 
 O'er the font so decorated 
 In fair Cordova's cathedral.
 
 98 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 l. 
 
 HPHE cathedral left he quickly, 
 JL 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 hastes 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 Ahnansor heareth 
 Sounds of kettle-drums and trumpets, 
 And the castle lights beholds he 
 Glittering through the trees' dark shadown, 
 
 In the fort at Alcolea 
 Dance twelve gaily trick'd-out ladies 
 With t \velve knights attired as gaily, 
 But Almansor's the best dancer. 
 
 As if wing'd by merry fancies, 
 Round about the hall he nutters, 
 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 ne thirty times that evening.
 
 BOOK. OF SONGS. 9J) 
 
 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, 
 :f hat 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.
 
 100 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAB. 
 1. 
 
 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 : 
 
 " Mary, blessed be thou !" 
 
 2. 
 
 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 woundy 
 
 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.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 101 
 
 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 ; 
 " 0, Mary, I bring thee a wax-heart, 
 
 " My heart's wounds cure, I pray. 
 
 " My sick heart cure, cure thou, 
 
 " And early and late my vow 
 " I'll pay, and sing with devotion : 
 
 " ' O Mary, blessed be thoul' " 
 
 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 wore.
 
 102 HEINE'S TOEMS. 
 
 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 : 
 
 " 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. 
 1. 
 
 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 ?
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 103 
 
 2. 
 
 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." 
 
 3. 
 
 TI^IS surely a snowwhite seamew 
 JL 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. 
 
 dear and wandering spirit, 
 So sad and full of despair ! 
 
 Too near art thou to the water, 
 The moon stands high in the air. 
 
 4. 
 
 I KNEW that thou didst love ma, 
 I knew it long, dear maid ; 
 Yet when thou didst confess it 
 I felt full sore afraid. 
 
 1 clamber'd up the mountain 
 
 With loud exulting song, 
 At sunset rambled weeping 
 The ocean shore along. 
 
 The sun my heart resembloth, 
 
 So flaming to the sight, 
 And in a loving ocean 
 
 It setteth, great and bright.
 
 104 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 5. 
 
 HDW 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. 
 
 6. 
 
 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. 
 
 7. 
 
 UPON this rock we build the Church 
 Which (type of our to-morrow) 
 Proclaims the third New Testament, 
 And ended is our sorrow.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 105 
 
 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. 
 
 8. 
 
 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.
 
 106 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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. 
 
 rj^HE maid stood by the ocean, 
 JL 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. 
 
 ~\T7~ITH sails all black my ship sails on 
 
 T T 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 nutters 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.
 
 BOOK OF SONQS. 107 
 
 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. 
 
 npHE Runic stone 'mongst the waves stands high, 
 JL 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, 
 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. 
 1. 
 
 "VTOW that heaven my wish hath granted, 
 -L i Why be dumb, like mutes inglorious, ^- 
 1 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 folk w 9
 
 108 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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. 
 
 2. 
 
 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. 
 
 3. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 4. 
 
 TTPON her mouth I give a kiss, 
 *J 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.
 
 BOOK OF SO-SGS. 109 
 
 WHEN I am made blest with kisses delicious, 
 And lie in thine arms, 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 questiou 
 
 Of home and relations an3 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. 
 
 "TVrHILST I after other people 
 
 T T 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 ! 
 
 7. 
 
 OYES, 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 wo 
 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.
 
 110 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 A wondrous magic play is here, 
 With devils' loves and curses; 
 
 The music is by Meyerbeer. 
 By Scribe the wretched verses. 
 
 8. 
 
 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. 
 Bamming 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. 
 
 OHOW rapidly develop 
 From mere fugitive sensations 
 Passions that are fierce and boundless, 
 Tenderest associations !
 
 LOOK. OF SONGS. Ill 
 
 Towards 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 1 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 ! 
 
 II 
 
 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 !
 
 112 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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. 
 1. 
 
 rpHESE fair limbs, of size so massiva, 
 _L 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. 
 
 2. 
 
 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. 
 
 3. 
 
 OFTEN when I am with thee. 
 Much-beloved and noble lady, 
 The remembrance steals o'er mo 
 Of Bologna's market shady.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 113 
 
 There a massive fount doth stand 
 "Tis the Giants' Fountain pretty 
 
 With a Neptune, by the hand 
 Of Giovanni of that city. 
 
 4. HORTENSE. 
 1. 
 
 ONCE I thought each kiss a womac 
 Gives us, or receives instead, 
 By some influence superhuman 
 Was from old predestined. 
 
 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. 
 
 2. 
 
 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. 
 
 3. 
 
 IN all my dreams by daytime, 
 In all my watchings nightly, 
 Thy sweet delicious laughter 
 T lings through my spirit
 
 114 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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. 
 
 I 
 
 4. 
 
 (She speaks.) 
 
 N 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 
 
 5. 
 
 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.
 
 BOOK OP SONGS. 115 
 
 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. 
 
 6. 
 
 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. 
 1. 
 
 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 ! help this maiden ! 
 
 Dry her sweet tears, and enlighten 
 Her poor brains so sorrow-laden ! 
 
 "YJTTHERESOEVER thou mayst wander, 
 
 ' ' Thou dost every hour behold me, 
 And I love thee all the fonder, 
 
 When thou dost rebuke and scold me.
 
 116 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Charming malice will ensnare me, 
 While I hate a kindly action ; 
 
 And the surest way to scare me, 
 Is to love me to distraction. 
 
 3. 
 
 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. 
 
 4. 
 
 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. 
 
 5. 
 
 IT comes too late, thy present smiling, 
 It comes too late, thy present sigh ! 
 The feelings all long since have periph'd 
 That thou didst spurn so cruelly.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 117 
 
 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 ! my pretty kitten 1" 
 
 And the hills repeat my wailing. 
 
 Kitten ! my pretty kitten 1 
 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 wiM:y. 
 Thou preferrest the canary 
 Doubtless, as it flutters mildly.
 
 118 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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. 
 
 8. 
 
 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. 
 
 9. 
 
 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 blessed ! 
 Ne'er the bridal yoke disparage ! 
 
 Be thy frame with health possessed ! 
 
 10. 
 
 PRETTY maid, if so inclined, 
 Thou mayst now thus think anent a e : 
 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 ho were frantic nearly 1
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 119 
 
 11. 
 
 HOW them 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 MAKY. 
 1. 
 
 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.
 
 120 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 3. 
 
 npHE bottles are empty, the breakfast was good, 
 JL 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 ? 
 
 5. 
 
 ri^HIS tricolour'd flow'r now worn is 
 JL 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
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 121 
 
 7. EMMA. 
 1. 
 
 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 Bagiratha tortured, 
 
 And Brama his torments would end ; 
 
 He makes the mighty Granges 
 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. 
 
 2. 
 
 FOUR-and-twenty hours I still must 
 Wait, to see my bliss complete, 
 As her sidelong glances tell me, 
 Glances, 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. 
 
 3. 
 
 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.
 
 122 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 4. 
 
 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. 
 
 5. 
 
 WHEN I'm with thee, strife and need 1 
 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 ! 
 
 6. 
 
 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. FKEDERICA. 
 1. 
 
 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.
 
 BOOK OF SOKGS. 123 
 
 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 1" 
 
 2. 
 
 HHHE Ganges roars ; amid the foliage see 
 
 JL 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 * 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 f has made his lair, 
 I find within thine eyes new worlds of light, 
 In my own world no more I find repose. 
 
 3. 
 
 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. 
 
 for a type to show how she excels ! 
 A type of thee, so lovely to the sight, 
 Thee the incomparable, good and bright, 
 
 So that sweet rapture in my bosom dwells. 
 
 * The Hindoo god corresponding to Cupid. t Spring.
 
 124 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 In vain tbou 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. 
 1. 
 
 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, 
 do not lie ! 
 
 2. 
 
 " "YTTTILL y u n t be presented to her ?" 
 T T 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
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 125 
 
 Impell'd by yearning, still more near 1 
 Draw to the dear but dangerous placo ; 
 
 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 !" 
 
 3. 
 
 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.
 
 126 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 IIow happy are we, my darling. 
 
 That we so far away are ; 
 Thou hidest in thy heaven 
 
 Thy head, my dearest star ! 
 
 5. 
 
 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 thoult pay me 
 
 Richly with sentiments and kisses, 
 And then, as usual, wilt betray me. 
 
 6. 
 
 T^HE 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. 
 
 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.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 127 
 
 7. 
 
 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 niy 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
 
 128 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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. 
 
 9. 
 
 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 I With taint pernicious 
 Their ghostly scent still haunts my bosom,
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 129 
 
 10. SONGS OF CREATION. 
 1. 
 
 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." 
 
 2. 
 
 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.
 
 ISO HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Creation itself is a mere act of motion 
 That's easily done in a very short tiino ; 
 
 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. 
 
 o 
 
 5. 
 N 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 ; 
 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. 
 
 6. 
 
 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.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 131 
 
 7. 
 
 f PHE chiefest reason why I made 
 
 -I 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. 
 1. 
 
 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, 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
 
 132 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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 ? 
 "Pis late. The snow has fallen thickly, 
 
 Bright night illumes the humid mass ; 
 I now must go, and hasten quickly 
 
 To dress for company, Alas 1 
 
 3. 
 
 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. 
 1. 
 
 OFLY 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 h mo. 
 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. 
 
 2. 
 
 (A genuine national song, heard by Heine on the Ehiin . 
 rp HEEE fell a frost in a night of spring, 
 J- It fell on the tender flowerets blue, 
 They all soon wither'd and faded.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 133 
 
 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. 
 
 3. 
 
 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.) 
 1. 
 
 OALL 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 Tannhaiiser, 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 '.'"
 
 HEINES POEMS. 
 
 " 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 ! 
 
 i: 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 rue even this minute, 
 " When thinking hew many in after times 
 
 " Will still take pleasure in it!" 
 
 " Tannhauser, dear and noble knight, 
 
 " You should not utter such treason ; 
 " 'Twere better to beat me, as you have before 
 
 " Oft done for many a season. 
 
 " 'Twere better to beat me, than such harsh words 
 
 " Of insult thus to have spoken, 
 " Whereby, 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."
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 135 
 
 2. 
 
 JN 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. 
 " holy Father, Pope Urban, stayl 
 
 " 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 ; 
 who is the pilgrim pale and wild 
 
 Who bends to the Pope so humbly ? 
 " holy Father, Pope Urban, to whom 
 
 " To bind and to loose not too much is, 
 " 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 eyea 
 
 " Were fix'd upon thcc mildly. 
 " If her great eyes upon thee were fix'd 
 
 " Ttay surely would harass thee greatly ; 
 " 'T\vas with the greatest trouble that I 
 
 " Escaped from the mountain lately.
 
 136 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " 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 ; 
 " say can this be the fire of hell, 
 
 " The glow that will last through all ages ? 
 
 " holy Father, Pope Urban, to whom 
 To bind and to loose not too much is, 
 
 ' ' 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 
 4i From out of his talons so charming.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 13'i 
 
 " 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." 
 
 rpHE knight Tannhauser roam'd on till his feet 
 J- 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; 
 
 ( ) : ay in what lands hast thou thy time 
 " So far from hence been squats dering ?" 
 
 " Dear Venus, lovely mistress, in truth 
 
 " In Italy I have been staying ; 
 " I've had some bus'ncss in Rome, and now 
 
 " Koiuru without further delaying. 
 
 " Borne stands on the Tiber, just at the spot 
 
 ' Whore seven hills are meeting ; 
 '* In Rome I also beheld the Pope, 
 
 'Tho Pope he sends theo his greeting.
 
 138 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " 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 'rnongst the living ! 
 
 " At Potsdam I heard a very loud cry, 
 " I said in amaae : ' What's the matter ?' 
 
 " 'Tis Gans* at Berlin, who last century's tale 
 " ' Is reading and making this clatter.' 
 
 " At Gottingen 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 Eeformation 
 
 " A national bridewell and one common lash 
 " We must have for the whole German nation. 
 
 * The eminent Professor and Editor of Hegel's works, 
 died hi 183D
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 139 
 
 " 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."* 
 
 14. ROMANCES. 
 1. A WOMAN. 
 
 r PHEY loved each other beyond belief, 
 JL 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 : 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. 
 
 OLIST 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! 
 
 * It is with real hesitation that I publish this liuiic nnd iiu- 
 cunctusiou ti> ii Ifgcixl the first two parts of which aw 
 style.
 
 140 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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. 
 rPHE young Franciscan friar sits 
 JL 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, 
 
 " Eekindling 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.
 
 BOOK OF SOXGS. 14J 
 
 5. EXTRACT FROM A LETTER. 
 (Tlie 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.
 
 142 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 (Chorus of Moles.) 
 
 How foolish people are to chatter 
 
 Of beams and sunny rays bewitching I 
 With us, they but produce an itching. 
 
 TVe 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 ! 
 
 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 had I descended, 
 By fail* 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 ! 
 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 ; 
 
 r rheir 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, 
 could we but digest them too !
 
 BOOK OF SOXGS. 143 
 
 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, bear me hence, 
 
 To some far spot without delay ! 
 To Lapland or to Africa, 
 
 To Pomerania e'en away ! 
 
 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 ; 
 
 bells of folly and religion, 
 
 How sweetly sound at home your strains 1 
 
 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 hero 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.
 
 144 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Metliinks 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 
 lu Sehilda'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 Mar^eau 
 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 Phoebus ? 
 
 10. SIR OLAVE. 
 
 i. 
 
 AT the door of the cathedral 
 Stand two men, both wearing red coata 
 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 !"
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 145 
 
 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, suffer, 
 
 " Suffer me to live till midnight, 
 
 " That I may with feast and torch-danco 
 
 '' Celebrate my happy wedding ! 
 
 " Let me live, 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 !" 
 
 n. 
 
 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.
 
 116 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 And as they dance in the echoing hall, 
 
 To his wife speaks Sir Olave, unheard by them aP 
 
 " My love will be ne'er known to thee 
 
 ' ; The grave yawns for me 
 
 At the door the headsman is standing. 
 
 ra. 
 
 SIE OLAYE, '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.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 147 
 
 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 M, 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 : 
 " 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 1 
 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 do Born. 
 
 13. SPRING. 
 
 THE waters glisten and merrily glide, 
 How lovely is love midst spring's splendour 1 
 The shepherdess sits by the streamlet's side, 
 And twines her garlands so tender.
 
 148 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 All nature is budding with fragrant perfume, 
 How lovely is love midst spring's splendour ! 
 
 The shepherdess sighs from her heart : " 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. 
 
 A LI 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 s\vords 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.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 149 
 
 15. PSYCHE. 
 
 IN her Land 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 1 
 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-tressed 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 further 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 Proven9al 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.
 
 150 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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 YOUTIL 
 
 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.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 151 
 
 For cards and dice soon disposscss'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 bk>ssoms 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 cocquer 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 ; 
 
 liijiht over the forest, right over the flood 
 His charming notes were ringing.
 
 152 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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 1" 
 
 She put on her dress, and left the house 
 Alas, it proved her destruction ! 
 
 Kight 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 wate*-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. 
 
 k ' His song is mighty as death itself, 
 
 " To night and perdition alluring ; 
 " Its tuneful glow still burns in my heart, 
 
 " A speedy death insuring."
 
 BOOK OF SOXGS. 153 
 
 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. 
 
 rilHE music under the linden-tree sounds, 
 JL 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 maida 
 " 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."
 
 154 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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 HARFAGAE. 
 
 r |^HE great King Harold Harfagar 
 J- 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 lovo 
 
 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.
 
 BOOK OP SONGS. 155 
 
 24. THE LOWER WORLD. 
 
 I. 
 
 MANY a time poor Pluto sigh'd thus : 
 " Were 1 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. 
 
 n. 
 
 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 !"
 
 156 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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 :* 
 
 " 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 ; 
 
 * The three following verses are extracted by Heine verbatim 
 from Schiller's well-known " Lament of Ceres." The version of 
 them here given is taken from the translation of Schiller's Poema 
 published by me in 1851.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 157 
 
 ** 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. 
 
 CEEES ! my good wife's relation ! 
 " Prythee cease to weep and call sol 
 " 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 
 " Kobe 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 !" 
 
 v. 
 " 1\/TETHINKS at times thy brow is shaded 
 
 _L.Y_L " 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 !"
 
 158 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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 ia ; 
 
 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 'rnongst 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 OP 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.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 159 
 
 A very pattern of modesty, 
 
 How great was her indignation 
 At finding the man in bed with the maid 1 
 
 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 pet :}>'(! into Nature's fashioning womb, 
 
 " Where everything rushes and rages.
 
 160 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " 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 !
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 161 
 
 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. 
 
 T'HE cold may burn us sadly 
 Like fire, and mortals hurry 
 Amidst the snowdrift madly, 
 With still-increasing flurry. 
 
 winter stern and chilly, 
 When frozen are our noses, 
 
 And piano-strumming silly 
 Our ears so discomposes ! 
 
 1 like the summer only 
 
 When in the wood I'm roving 
 With my own griefs all-lonely, 
 And scanning verses loving.
 
 162 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 6. THE OLD CHIMNEYPIECE. 
 
 OUTSIDE fall the snowflakes lightly 
 Through the night, loud raves the storm j 
 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, 
 
 Kuin'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.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 163 
 
 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 I 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 TjlAITHLESS as Saint Thomas, never 
 JL 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, ami of grace ideal, 
 
 On this earth they move about.
 
 164 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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 1 ivingly 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 reveille 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. 
 
 ENDAEMES 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 thai there 
 
 The tree of knowledge I tasted.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. ] 65 
 
 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. 
 
 heavens, how pitiful is this 
 Consilium abeundi ! 
 
 1 call it a Magnificus 
 
 Of earth, a Lumen Hundi. 
 
 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. 
 
 "YY^ORTHY friend, 'twill be perdition 
 T Y 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 1 
 
 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 ?
 
 166 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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 'ranee gave. 
 
 6. ON THE WATCHMANS ARRIVAL IN PARIS. 
 
 " /^1 OOD watchman with face so sad and despairing, 
 VT" 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.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 167 
 
 They'll finish Cologne's great cathedral, they tell us, 
 The Hoheuzollerns* have brought this to pass ; 
 
 A Hapsburg* has shown himself equally zealous, 
 A Wittelsbach* gives it some fine painted glass. 
 
 That true Magna Charta, a free constitution, [keep ; 
 
 They've promised, and surely their promise they'll 
 A king's word's a prize, without circumlocution, 
 
 Like the Nibelung stone in the Ehine it lies deep. 
 
 The Brutus of rivers, the free Ehine, 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.t 
 
 ^T^HE old drum-major it is that we see ; 
 -A 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 
 
 * Names lor the three royal houses of Prussia, Au.strin, and 
 Bavaria. 
 
 t See the account of the old Drum-Major Le Grand contained 
 in the prose section of Heine's " Pictures of TraTel," entitled 
 14 Book Le Grand."
 
 168 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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. 
 
 Eesistance was vain ! In every land 
 That the foreign invaders came to, 
 
 The Emperor vanquished the gentlemen, and 
 The drum-major each maiden and dame tcx 
 
 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 Korner sang loudly. 
 
 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 himseli 
 
 Inclined to jeer and rally 
 The comical lanky poor old elf 
 
 And his motions shilly-shally.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 169 
 
 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. 
 
 1 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 tune 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 badly 
 
 And yet are faithful now no more. 
 
 9. HENRY. 
 
 IN Canossa's castle courtyard 
 Stands the German CaBsar 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.
 
 170 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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 j 
 ' 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.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 171 
 
 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. 
 
 lie 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.* 
 ^TYTHEN Germany first drank her fill, 
 
 T r You then were h;r 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 I 
 
 * A well-known republican poet and writer, born at Stuttgardt ; 
 at one time caressed, and afterwards banished, by the Kini; of 
 Prussia. He took an active part in the political troubles of 1848.
 
 172 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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."* 
 
 13. THE TENDENCY. 
 
 ERMAN 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 tremhk 
 
 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. 
 
 * See Schiller's Play of " Don Carlos."
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 173 
 
 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 freczin' 
 
 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 I 
 
 Let no Satyr, I implore you, 
 Lure you onward to excesses ! 
 
 Do not haste on fast and faster ! 
 
 Kcnder, as becomes inferiors, 
 
 Due respect to your superiors 
 And the worthy burgomaster.
 
 174 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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 changling 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 EMPEEOE OF CHINA.* 
 
 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. 
 
 * Evidently a satire on the King of Prussia.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 175 
 
 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 jEsculapius 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,* 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 I 
 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 ! 
 
 * A famous theological writer, who died in 1850. at the age ol 
 ninety, lie. was formerly Councilor of the Consistory (Kirchen- 
 rni :it Wiirzburj*, and for many years Professor of Church 
 History, &c. at Heidelberg.
 
 176 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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 ; 0, 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 Caesar's bosom his chilly dagger ! 
 The Romans their tyrants loved to stagger. 
 
 No Eomans are we, tobacco we smoke, 
 Each nation its favourite taste can invoke ; 
 Each nation its special merit possesses 
 The finest dumplings Swabia dresses.
 
 BOOK. OF SONGS. 177 
 
 But Germans are we, kindhearted and brave, 
 We sleep as soundly as though in the grave ; 
 And when we awake, our thirst is excessive, 
 JBut not for the blood of tyrants oppressive. 
 
 "Pis 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 Csesar 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, 
 ( Ni it 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. 
 
 ri^HE world is topsy-turvy turn'd, 
 JL 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.
 
 178 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 An ape foi German heroes has built 
 
 A Pantheon, for glory zealous ; * 
 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.f 
 
 Then let us not swim against the stream, 
 Good friends ! 'twould serve us but badly ; 
 
 But let us ascend the Templehof hill ,| 
 " 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. 
 
 * A polite allusion to the late King of Bavaria and his 
 VValhalk. 
 
 t This refers to a poem of Freiligrath's, entitled " The Dead 
 to the Living," for which he was prosecuted, but acquitted, in 
 1848. 
 
 J A lull close to Berlin.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 179 
 
 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.
 
 180 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 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. 
 
 PKOLOGUE. 
 
 SOMETIMES when o'er pictures turning, 
 You have seen the man perchance, 
 Who is for the battle yearning, 
 
 Well-equipp'd with shield and lance. 
 
 Yet young loves are hov'ring round him, 
 Stealing lance and sword away ; 
 
 They with flow'ry chains have bound him 
 Though he struggle in dismay. 
 
 I, too, in such charming fetters, 
 
 Bind myself with sad delight, 
 And I leave it to my betters 
 
 In time's mighty fight to fight. 
 
 TEATH the white tree sitting sadly, 
 
 Thou dost hear the far winds wailing, 
 Seest how the mute clouds o'er thee 
 Are their forms in mist fast veiling ;
 
 BDOK OF SONGS. 181 
 
 Soe'st how all beneath seems perish M, 
 Wood and plain, how shorn and dreary ; 
 
 Round thee winter, in thee winter, 
 Frozen is thy heart and weary. 
 
 Sudden downward fall upon thee 
 Flakes all white, and with vexation 
 
 Thou dost think the tree is show'ring 
 Snow-dust from that elevation. 
 
 Soon with joyful start thou findcst 
 "Tis no snow-dust cold and freezing ; 
 
 Fragrant blossoms 'tis of springtime 
 Cov'ring thee and fondly teasing. 
 
 What a shudd'ring-sweet enchantment 1 
 
 Into May is winter turning, 
 Snow hath changed itself to blossoms, 
 
 And thy heart with love is yearning. 
 
 2. 
 
 IN the wood, the verdure's shooting, 
 Joy-oppress'd, like some fair maiden ; 
 Yet the sun laughs sweetly downward : 
 " Welcome, young spring, rapture-laden !" 
 
 Nightingale ! I hear thee also, 
 
 Piping, blissful-sad and lonely, 
 Sobbing tones and long-protracted, 
 
 And thy song of love is only ! 
 
 3. 
 
 THE beauteous eyes of the spring's fair night 
 With comfort are downward gazing : 
 If love hath made thee so small in our sight. 
 Yet love hath the power of raising. 
 
 Sweet Philomel sits on the linden green, 
 
 Her notes melodiously blending ; 
 And us in my soul her song pierceth e'en, 
 
 My soul once more is distending. 
 
 4. 
 YY7~HICH flower I love, I cannot discover ; 
 
 ' T This grief doth impart. 
 
 In every calix I search like a lover, 
 And seek a heart.
 
 S 1 
 
 182 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 The flowers smell sweet in the sun's setting splendour, 
 
 The nightingale sings. 
 I seek for a heart that like my heart is tender, 
 
 And like it springs. 
 
 The nightingale sings ; his sweet song, void of gladness, 
 
 Comes home to my breast ; 
 
 We're both so oppress'd and heavy with sadness, 
 So sad and oppress'd. 
 
 5. 
 I WEET May hath come to love us, 
 
 Flowers, trees, their blossoms don ; 
 And through the blue heavens above us 
 The rosy clouds move on. 
 
 The nightingales are singing 
 
 On leafy perch aloft ; 
 The snowy lambs are springing 
 
 In clover green and soft. 
 
 I cannot be singing and springing, 
 
 111 in the grass I lie ; 
 I hear a distant ringing, 
 
 And dream of days gone by. 
 
 6. 
 
 SOFTLY through my spirit ring 
 Blissful tones loved dearly ; 
 Sound, thou little song of spring, 
 Echoing far and clearly. 
 
 Sound, till thou the home com'st nigh 
 
 Of the violet tender ; 
 And when thou a rose dost spy, 
 
 Say, my love I send her. 
 
 7. 
 
 WITH the rose the butterfly's deep in love, 
 A thousand times hovering round ; 
 But round himself, all tender like gold, 
 The sun's sweet ray is hovering found. 
 
 With whom is the rose herself in love ? 
 
 An answer I'd fain receive. 
 Is it the singing nightingale ? 
 
 Is it Che silent star of eve V
 
 BOOK OF SOXGS. 183 
 
 I know not with whom the rose is in love, 
 
 But every one love I : 
 The rose, the nightingale, sun's sweet ray, 
 
 The star of eve and butterfly. 
 
 ALL the trees with joy are shouting, 
 All the birds are singing o'er us 
 Tell me, who can be the leader 
 In this green and forest chorus ? 
 
 Can it be the grey old plover, 
 Wise nods evermore renewing ? 
 
 Or yon pedant, who is ever 
 
 In such measured time coo-coo-ing ? 
 
 Can it be yon stork, the grave one, 
 
 His director's airs betraying. 
 And his long leg rattling loudly, 
 
 Whilst the music's round him playing ? 
 
 No, the forest concert's leader 
 In my own heart hath his station, 
 
 All the while he's beating time there, 
 Amor is his appellation. 
 
 " nnHE nightingale appear'd the first, 
 -L ' And as her melody she sang, 
 
 '' The apple into blossom burst, 
 
 " To life the grass and violets sprang. 
 
 " She her own bosom then did bite, 
 
 " Her red blood flow'd, and from the blood 
 
 " A beauteous rose-tree came to light, 
 " To whom she sings in loving mood. 
 
 " That blood atones for, to this day, 
 " Us birds within the forest here ; 
 
 " Yet when the rose-song dies away, 
 " Will all the wood too disappear." 
 
 Thus to his youthful brood doth speak 
 
 The sparrow in his oaken nest ; 
 His mate pips, while she trims her beak, 
 
 And proudly sits and looks her best
 
 181 HEIXE'S POEMS. 
 
 She is a homely wife and kind, 
 
 Broods well, and ne'er is seen to pout ; 
 
 The father makes his children find 
 Pastime in studying things devout. 
 
 10. 
 
 THE warm and balmy spring-night's air 
 Hath waken'd every flower, 
 And take I not the greatest care, 
 
 My heart must succumb to love's power. 
 
 But which of all the flowery throng 
 
 Is likely most to snare me ? 
 The nightingales say, in their blissful song, 
 
 Of the lily I ought to beware me. 
 
 11. 
 
 I'M sore perplex'd, the bells are ringing, 
 And by my senses I feel forsaken ; 
 The spring and two fair eyes together 
 Against my heart an oath have taken. 
 
 The spring and two fair eyes together 
 Lure on my heart to a new illusion ; 
 
 Methinks the nightingales and roses 
 
 Have much to do with all my confusiou. 
 
 12. 
 
 AH ! I yearn for tears all-burning, 
 Tears of love and gentle woe, 
 And I tremble lest this yearning 
 At the last should overflow. 
 
 Ah ! love's pangs, that sweetly languish, 
 And love's bitter joy, so blest, 
 
 Creep again, with heavenly anguish, 
 Into my scarce healed breast. 
 
 13. 
 
 npHE eyes of spring, so azure, 
 JL Are peeping from the grounJl ; 
 They are the darling violets, 
 That I in nosegays bound.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 185 
 
 I pluck them, thinking deeply, 
 
 And all the thoughts so dear, 
 That in my heart are sighing, 
 
 The nightingale sings clear. 
 
 Yes, all my thoughts she singeth 
 
 And warbleth, echoing far ; 
 So that my tender secrets 
 
 Known to the whole wood are. 
 
 WHEN thy dress doth gently touch me, 
 As thou pass'st before my face, 
 How my heart exults, how wildly 
 Follows it thy lovely trace ! 
 
 Then thou turnest round and gazest 
 With thy large bright eyes on me, 
 
 And my heart doth feel so startled, 
 That it scarce can follow thee. 
 
 15. 
 
 THE slender water-lily 
 Peeps dreamingly out of the lake ; 
 The moon, oppress'd with love's sorrow, 
 Looks tenderly down for her sake. 
 
 With blushes she bends to the water 
 Once more her head so sweet 
 
 Then sees she the poor pale fellow 
 Lying before her feet. 
 
 16. 
 
 IF thou hast good eyes, and look'st 
 In my songs, when thou hast tried them. 
 Thou wilt see a fair young maiden 
 Wandering up and down inside them. 
 
 If thou hast good ears as well, 
 
 Thou canst hear her voice quite clearly, 
 And her sighing, laughing, singing 
 
 Thy poor heart will madden nearly. 
 
 For she will, with look and word. 
 
 Thee, like me, make wellnigh crazy : 
 An cnamour'd springtime-dreamer 
 
 Thou wilt tread the forest mazy.
 
 186 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 17. 
 
 "TTTHAT drives thee on, in tlie spring's clear uight ? 
 Y T Thou hast driven the flowers all mad with fright, 
 
 The violets tremble and shiver ; 
 The roses are all with shame so red, 
 The lilies are death-pale, and hang their head, 
 They mourn, and falter, and quiver. 
 
 O darling moon, what an innocent race 
 
 Those sweet flowers are ! They are right in this case, 
 
 I really have acted badly ; 
 
 Yet how could I tell that in wait she would lie, 
 When I was addressing the stars on high, 
 
 With fierce love raving so madly ? 
 
 18. 
 
 THOU sweetly lookest on me 
 With eyes so blue and meek ; 
 My senses feel all-dreamy, 
 And not a word can I speak. 
 
 I everywhere am thinking 
 
 Of thy blue eyes' sweet smile ; 
 A sea of blue thoughts is spreading 
 
 Over my heart the while. 
 
 19. 
 
 ONCE again my heart is vanquish'd, 
 And my rancour is subsiding ; 
 Once again hath May breath'd on me 
 Feelings tender and confiding. 
 
 Once more late and early haste I 
 
 Through the walks the most frequented, 
 
 Under every bonnet seek I 
 
 For my fair one's face lamented. 
 
 Once more at the verdant river 
 
 On the bridge I take my station ; 
 Peradventure she will come there, 
 
 And will see my desolation. 
 
 In the waterfall's loud music 
 
 Hear I once again soft sighing, 
 And my gentle heart well knoweth 
 
 What the white waves are replying.
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 187 
 
 Once again in mazy pathways 
 
 I am lost in dreamy vision, 
 And the birds in every thicket 
 
 Hold the fond fool in derision. 
 
 20. 
 
 THE rose is fragrant yet if she divineth 
 Her own sweet fragrance, if the nightingale 
 Herself feels what round man's soul softly twineth, 
 WheL echoes her sweet song across the vale, 
 
 I cannot tell. Yet man is with vexation 
 Oft fill'd by truth. If nightingale and rose 
 
 The feeling only feign'd, the fabrication 
 
 Would still be useful, we may well suppose. 
 
 BECAUSE I love thee, be not scornful, 
 If, flying, I avoid thy face ; 
 How ill accords my visage mournful 
 With thine, so fair and full of grace! 
 
 Because I love thee, every feature 
 Grows pale and thinner day by day ; 
 
 Thou'lt find me but a hideous creature, 
 I'll shun thee, be not scornful, pray. 
 
 22. 
 
 I WANDER 'mid the flowers, 
 And blossom with them too ; 
 I wander as in vision, 
 
 And at each step totter anew. 
 
 O hold me fast, my loved one, 
 
 Or at thy feet I'll fall, 
 With love intoxicated, 
 
 In the garden, in presence of all ! 
 
 23. 
 
 A S the moon's fair image quakcth 
 i^A_ In the raging waves of ocean, 
 Whilst she, in the vault of heaven, 
 Moves with silent peaceful motion,
 
 188 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Thus, beloved one, tliou art moving, 
 Stil] and peaceful, and nought quaketh 
 
 In my heart save thy dear image, 
 
 While my own heart 'tis that shaketh. 
 
 24. 
 
 THE hearts of us two, my loved one, 
 A Holy Alliance have made ; 
 They well understood each other, 
 When close together laid. 
 
 Alas ! the rose so youthful 
 
 That decks thy gentle breast, 
 Our poor ally and associate, 
 
 To death was wellnigh press'd. 
 
 25. 
 
 TELL me who first taught clocks to chime, 
 Made minutes, hours, divisions of time ? 
 It was a cold and sorrowful elf; 
 He sat in the winter-night, wrapp'd in himself, 
 And counted the mouse's squeakings mysterious, 
 And the wood-worm's regular tick so serious. 
 
 Tell me who first did kisses suggest ? 
 It was a mouth all glowing and blest ; 
 It kiss'd and it thought of nothing beside. 
 The fair month of May was then in its pride, 
 The flowers were all from the earth fast springing 
 The sun was laughing, the birds were singing. 
 
 26. 
 
 HOW the pinks are breathing fragrance ! 
 How the thronging stars so tender, 
 Golden bee like, sadly glimmer 
 
 'Mid the heaven's blue-violet splendour ! 
 
 Through the gloom of yonder chestnuts 
 
 Gleams the manse, so white and stately, 
 , And I hear the glass door rattling 
 
 While the dear voice thrills me greatly. 
 
 Sweet alarm and blissful tremor, 
 Soft embraces, terror-bringing 
 
 And the youthful rose is list'ning, 
 And the nightingales are singing.
 
 BOOK OF SOXOS. 189 
 
 27. 
 
 HAVE I not the self-same vision 
 Dreamt before of all these blisses ? 
 Were there not these same elysian 
 
 Looks of love, and flowers, and kisses ? 
 
 By the stream the moon was peeping 
 
 Through the foliage of our bower ; 
 Marble-gods still watch were keeping 
 
 At the entrance in that hour. 
 
 Ah ! I know how soon is over 
 
 Every sweet and blissful vision, 
 How the snow's cold dress doth cover 
 
 Heart and tree in sad derision. 
 
 How e'en we are fast congealing, 
 
 Careless, and no love possessing, 
 We, who're now so softly feeling, 
 
 Heart to heart so softly pressing ! 
 
 28. 
 
 KISSES that one steals in darkness, 
 And in darkness then returns 
 How such kisses fire the spirit, 
 If with honest love it burns ! 
 
 Pensive, and with fond remembrance, 
 
 Then the spirit loves to dwell 
 Much on days that long have vanish 'd, 
 
 Much on future days as well. 
 
 Yet methinks that too much thinking 
 
 Dang'rous is, if kiss we will ; 
 \\Ycp, then, rather, darling spirit, 
 
 For to weep is easier still. 
 
 29. 
 
 rr^HERE was an aged monarch, 
 JL His heart was sad, his head was grey ; 
 This poor and aged monarch 
 A young wife married one day. 
 
 There was a handsome ]>;i<_r<'. too, 
 
 Fair was his hair, and light his mien ; 
 
 The silken train he carried 
 Of the aforesaid young Queen.
 
 190 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Dost know the ancient ballad ? 
 
 It sounds so sweet, it sounds so sad ! 
 They both of them must perish, 
 
 For too much affection they had. 
 
 30. 
 
 IN my remembrance blossom 
 The images long forsaken 
 Within thy voice what is there 
 By which so deeply I'm shaken ? 
 
 Say not that thou dost love me ! 
 
 I know that earth's fairest treasure, 
 Sweet love and happy spring time, 
 
 'Twould shame beyond all measure. 
 
 Say not that thou dost love me ! 
 
 A silent kiss I'll bestow thee ; 
 Then smile, when I to-morrow 
 
 The withered roses show thee. 
 
 31. 
 
 INDEN blossoms drunk with moonlight 
 
 " Fly about in fragrant showers, 
 " And the nightingale's sweet music 
 " Fills the air and leafy bowers. 
 
 ' ; Ah ! how sweet it is, my loved one, 
 " 'Neath these lindens to be sitting, 
 
 " When the glimm'ring golden moonbeams 
 " Through the fragrant leaves are flitting. 
 
 " If thou lookest on the lime-leaf, 
 " Thou a heart's form wilt discover ; 
 
 " Therefore are the lindens ever 
 " Chosen seats of each fond lover. 
 
 " Yet thou smilest, as though buried 
 " In far distant visions yearning 
 
 " Speak, beloved, all the wishes 
 
 ' That in thy dear heart are burning." 
 
 Ah, my darling ! I will tell thee 
 
 Whence my thoughts proceed, and whither : 
 Fain I'd see the chilly north-wind 
 
 Sudden bring white snowstorms hither
 
 BOOK OP SONGS. 191 
 
 So that we, with furs well cover'd, 
 
 And in gaudy sledges riding, 
 Cracking whips, with bells loud ringing, 
 
 Might o'er stream and plain be gliding. 
 
 32. 
 
 rpHEOUGH the forest, in the moonlight, 
 JL I the elves saw riding proudly ; 
 And I heard their trumpets sounding, 
 
 And I hear their bells ring loudly. 
 Their white horses had upon them 
 
 Golden staghorns, whilst proceeding 
 Swiftly on like nights of wild swans 
 
 Through the air the train was speeding. 
 Smilingly the queen bent tow'rds me, 
 
 Smiling, as the band rode by me ; 
 Is't a sign that new love's coming, 
 
 Or a sign that death is nigh me ? 
 
 33. 
 
 IN the morning send I violets, 
 Early in the wood discover' d, 
 And at evening bring I roses 
 
 Pluck'd while twilight's hour still hover'd. 
 Knowest thou the hidden language 
 
 By these lovely flowerets spoken ? 
 Truth by day-time, love at night-time 
 'Tis of this that they're the token ! 
 
 34. 
 
 npHY letter, sent to prove me, 
 JL Inflicts no sense of wrong ; 
 No longer wilt thou love me, 
 
 Thy letter, though, is long. 
 Twelve sides, to tell thy views all! 
 
 A manuscript, in fact ! 
 In giving a refnsal 
 
 Far otherwige we act. 
 
 35. 
 
 CARE not, if my love I'm telling 
 Unto all the world around. 
 When my mouth, thy beauty praising, 
 Full of metaphor is found.
 
 192 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Andorneath a wood of flowers 
 
 Lies, in shelter safe below, 
 All that deep and glowing secret, 
 
 All that deep and secret glow. 
 
 If suspicious sparks should issue 
 From the roses, fearless be ! 
 
 This dull world in flames believes not, 
 But believes them poetry. 
 
 'M. 
 
 DAY and night alike the springtime 
 Makes with sounding life all-teeming: 
 Like a verdant echo can it 
 Enter even in my dreaming. 
 
 Then the birds sing yet more sweetly 
 Than before, and softer breezes 
 
 Fill the air, the violet's fragrance 
 With still wilder yearning pleases. 
 
 E'en the roses blossom redder, 
 And a child-like golden glory 
 
 Bear they, like the heads of angels 
 In the pictures of old story. 
 
 And myself I almost fancy 
 
 Some sweet nightingale, when singing 
 Of my love to those fair roses, 
 
 Wondrous songs my vision bringing 
 
 Till I'm waken'd by the sunlight, 
 
 Or by that delicious bustle 
 Of the nightingales of springtime 
 
 That before my window rustle. 
 
 37. 
 
 STARS with golden feet are wand'ring 
 Yonder, and they gently weep 
 That they cannot earth awaken, 
 Who in night's arms is asleep. 
 
 List'ning stand the silent forests, 
 
 Every leaf an ear doth seem ! 
 How its shadowy arm the mountain 
 
 Stretcheth out, as though in dream
 
 BOOK OF SONGS. 193 
 
 What call'd yonder ? In my bosom 
 
 Rings the echo of the tone. 
 Was it my beloved one speaking, 
 
 Or the nightingale alone ? 
 
 38. 
 
 THE spring is solemn, mournful only 
 Are all its dreams, each flower appeal's 
 Weigh 'd down by grief, the song all-lonely 
 
 Of Philomel wakes secret tears. 
 smile thou not, my darling beauty, 
 
 smile not, full of charming grace ! 
 But weep, that it may be my duty 
 To kiss a tear from off thy face. 
 
 39. 
 
 ONCE more from that fond heart I'm driver 
 Which I so dearly love, so madly ; 
 Once more from that fond heart I'm driven -- 
 
 Beside it would I linger gladly, 
 The chariot rolls, the bridge is quaking, 
 
 The stream beneath it flows so sadly ; 
 Once more the joys am I forsaking 
 
 Of that fond heart I love so madly. 
 In heav'n rush on the starry legions, 
 
 As though before my sorrow flying 
 Sweet one, farewell ! in distant regions 
 
 My heart for thee will still be sighing. 
 
 40. 
 "Y cherish'd wishes blossom, 
 
 And wither again at a breath. 
 And blossom again and wither, 
 
 And so on until death. 
 This know I, and it saddens 
 
 All love and joy, once so blest ; 
 My heart is so wise and witty, 
 And bleeds away in my breast. 
 
 41. 
 
 LIKE an old man's face confounded 
 Is the sky so broad and airy, 
 Red, one-eyed, and close surrounded 
 By the grey clouds' locks all hair. 
 
 M
 
 194 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 When upon the earth it gazes, 
 
 Flower and bud grow pale and sickly ; 
 
 Love and song in all their phases 
 
 Fade away from men's minds quickly. 
 
 42. 
 
 WITH sullen thoughts in chilly bosom cherish'd, 
 I travel sullen through the world so cold ; 
 The autumn's end hath come, a humid mist doth hold 
 Deep veil'd from sight the country drear and perish'd. 
 
 The winds are piping, hither, thither bending 
 
 The red-tinged leaves, that from the trees fall fast, 
 The bare plain steams, the wood sighs 'neath the blast, 
 
 The worst of all comes next the rain's descending ! 
 
 43. 
 
 LATE autumnal mists all-dripping 
 Spread o'er hill and valley fair ; 
 Storms the trees of leaves are stripping, 
 And they ghostly look, and bare. 
 
 But one single sad tree only 
 
 Silent and unstripp'd is seen ; 
 Moist with tears of woe, and lonely, 
 
 Shaketh he his head still green. 
 
 Ah ! this waste my heart displayeth, 
 
 And the tree, still full of life, 
 Summer-green, thy form portrayeth, 
 
 Much beloved and beauteous wife ! 
 
 44. 
 
 GREY 'S the sky and every-day like, 
 And the town still looks afflicted ; 
 Ever weak and castaway like, 
 In the Elbe its form's depicted. 
 
 Long each nose is, and its blowing 
 
 Tedious an affair as ever ; 
 All with pride are overflowing, 
 
 Both at pomp and cringing clever. 
 
 Beauteous South ! 0, how adore I 
 All thy gods, thy sky's sweet blisses, 
 
 Bince these human dregs once more I 
 See, and weather foul as this is !
 
 195 
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 
 
 THE EETUEN HOME. 
 1823-4. 
 
 1. 
 
 ON my life, a life of darkness, 
 Once a vision sweet shone bright ; 
 Now that vision sweet hath faded, 
 And I'm veil'd in utter night. 
 
 When in darkness children wander, 
 Soon their spirits die away, 
 
 And to overcome their terror, 
 
 Some loud song straight carol they. 
 
 I, a foolish child, am singing 
 In the darkness spread around ; 
 
 Though my song may give no pleasure, 
 Yet mine anguish it hath drown 'd. 
 
 2. 
 
 IN vain would I seek to discover 
 Why sad and mournful am I ; 
 My thoughts without ceasing brood over 
 A tale of the times gone by. 
 
 The air is cool, and it darkleth, 
 
 And calmly flows the Rhine ; 
 The peak of the mountain sparkleth, 
 
 While evening's sun doth shine. 
 
 Yon sits a wondrous maiden 
 
 On high, a maiden fair ; 
 With bright golden jewels all-ladea, 
 
 She combs her golden hair.
 
 196 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 She combs it with comb all-golden, 
 And sings the while a song ; 
 
 How strange is that melody olden, 
 As loudly it echoes along ! 
 
 It fills with wild terror the sailor 
 
 At sea in his tiny skiff; 
 He looks but on high, and grows paler. 
 
 Nor sees the rock-girded cliff. 
 
 The waves will the bark and its master 
 At length swallow up, then methouglif 
 
 'Tis Lore-ley who this disaster 
 
 With her false singing hath wrought 
 
 3. 
 
 MY heart, my heart is mournful, 
 Yet May is gleaming like gold ; 
 I stand, 'gainst the linden reclining, 
 High over the bastion old. 
 
 Beneath, the moat's blue water 
 
 Flows peacefully along ; 
 A boy his bark is steering, 
 
 And fishes, and pipes his song. 
 
 Beyond, in pleasing confusion, 
 In distant and chequer'd array, 
 
 Are men, and villas, and gardens, 
 And cattle, woods, meadows so gay. 
 
 The maidens are bleaching the linen, 
 And spring on the grass, like deer ; 
 
 The mill-wheel's powd'ring diamonds, 
 Its distant murmur I hear. 
 
 Beside the old grey tower 
 
 A sentry-box is set ; 
 A red-accoutred fellow 
 
 Walks up and down there yet. 
 
 He's playing with his musket. 
 
 While gleameth the sun o'erhead ; 
 
 He first presents and shoulders 
 I would that he'd shoot me dead !
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 197 
 
 4. 
 
 WITH tears through the forest I wander, 
 The throstle's sitting on high ; 
 She, springing, sings softly yonder : 
 O wherefore dost thou sigh ? 
 
 " Sweet bird, thy sister the swallow 
 " Can tell thee the cause of my gloom ; 
 
 " She dwells in a nest all hollow, 
 " Beside my sweetheart's room." 
 
 5. 
 
 THE night is damp and stormy, 
 No star is in the sky ; 
 In the wood, 'neath the rustling branches 
 In silence wander I. 
 
 A distant light is twinkling 
 
 From the hunter's lonely cot ; 
 But within, the scene is but saddening, 
 
 And the light can allure me not. 
 
 The blind old grandmother's sitting 
 
 In her leather elbow-chair, 
 Ail-gloomily fix'd like a statue, 
 
 Not a word escapeth her there. 
 
 With curses to and fro paces 
 
 The forester's red-headed son ; 
 With fury and scorn he's laughing, 
 
 As he throws 'gainst the wall his gun. 
 
 The fair spinning-maiden's weeping, 
 And moistens the flax with her tears ; 
 
 The father's terrier, whining, 
 Curl'd up at her feet appears. 
 
 6. 
 
 WHEN I, on my travels, by hazard 
 My sweetheart's family found, 
 Her sister and father and mother, 
 They gave mo a welcome all round. 
 
 When they for my health had inquired, 
 
 They added, all of a breath, 
 That they thought me quite unalter'd, 
 
 Though my face was pale as death.
 
 198 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 I ask'd for their aunts and their cousins, 
 And many a tiresome friend ; 
 
 I ask'd for the little puppy 
 
 Whose soft bark knew no end. 
 
 And then for my married sweetheart 
 I ask'd, as if just call'd to mind, 
 
 And they answer'd, in friendly fashion, 
 That she had but just been confin'd. 
 
 I gave them my very best wishes, 
 And lovingly begg'd them apart 
 
 That they'd give her a thousand greetings 
 From the bottom of my heart. 
 
 Then cried the little sister : 
 " The small and gentle hound 
 
 " Grew to be big and savage, 
 
 " And in the Ehine was drown'd." 
 
 That little one's like my sweetheart, 
 So like when she wears a smile ! 
 
 Her eyes are the same as her sister's 
 Which caus'd all my mis'ry the while. 
 
 7. 
 
 WE sat by the fisherman's cottage, 
 O'er ocean cast our eye ; 
 Then came the mists of evening, 
 And slowly rose on high. 
 
 The lamps within the light-house 
 
 Were kindled, light by light, 
 And in the farthest distance 
 
 A ship was still in sight. 
 
 We spoke of storm and shipwreck, 
 And of the sailor's strange life, 
 
 'Twixt sky and water, 'twixt terror 
 And joy in endless strife. 
 
 We spoke of distant regions, 
 
 Of North and South spoke we, 
 The many strange races yonder, 
 
 And customs, strange to see.
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 199 
 
 The air on the Ganges is balmy, 
 
 And giant-trees extend, 
 And fair and silent mortals 
 
 Before the lotos bend. 
 
 In Lapland, the people are dirty, 
 
 Flat-headed, broad-mouthed, and small ; 
 
 They squat round the fire, bake fishes. 
 
 And squeak, and speak shrilly, and squall. 
 
 The maidens earnestly listen'd, 
 
 At length not a word was said ; 
 The ship from sight had vanish'd, 
 
 For darkness o'er all things was spread. 
 
 8. 
 
 npHOU pretty fisher-maiden, 
 A Quick, push thy bark to land ; 
 Come hither, and sit beside me, 
 And toy with me, hand in hand. 
 
 Recline thy head on my bosom, 
 
 Nor be so fearful of me ; 
 Thou trustest thyself, void of terror, 
 
 Each day to the raging sea. 
 
 My heart is like the ocean, 
 
 Hath tempest, ebb, and flow, 
 And many pearls full precious 
 
 Lie in its depths below. 
 
 9. 
 
 TI1HE moon hath softly risen, 
 JL And o'er the waves doth smile ; 
 Mine arms hold my sweetheart in prison, 
 Our hearts both swelling the while. 
 
 Blest in her sweet embraces 
 
 I calmly repose on the strand : 
 Hear'st thou aught in the wind as it races ? 
 
 Why shrinks thy snow-white hand ? 
 
 u O, 'tis not the tempest's commotion, 
 " 'Tis the song of the mermaids bellow ; 
 
 " 'Tis the voice of my sisters, whom Ocnm 
 41 Swullow'd up in its depths long ago."
 
 200 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 10. 
 
 ON the clouds doth rest the moon, 
 Like a giant-orange gleaming ; 
 Broad her streaks, with golden rays 
 O'er the dusky ocean beaming. 
 
 Lonely roam I by the strand 
 
 While the billows vhite are breaking ; 
 Many sweet words hear I there, 
 
 From the water's depths awaking. 
 
 Ah ! the night is long, full long, 
 
 And my heart must break its slumbers ; 
 
 Beauteous nymphs, come forth to light, 
 Dance ! and sing your magic numbers 1 
 
 To your bosom take my head, 
 
 Soul and body I surrender ! 
 Sing me dead, caress me dead, 
 
 Drain my life with kisses tender. 
 
 11. 
 
 IN their grey-hued clouds envelop'd, 
 Now the mighty gods are sleeping ; 
 And I listen to their snoring, 
 Stormy weather o'er us creeping. 
 
 Stormy weather ! Eaging tempests 
 On the poor ship bring disaster ; 
 
 On these winds who'll place a bridle, 
 On these waves that own no master ? 
 
 I the storm can never hinder, 
 
 Nor the mast and planks from creaking. 
 So I wrap me in my mantle, 
 
 Like the gods for slumber seeking. 
 
 12. 
 
 npHE wind puts on its breeches again, 
 _L Its white and watery breeches ; 
 It flogs each billow with might and main, 
 Till it howls and rushes and pitches. 
 
 From the darksome height, with furious might 
 Pours the rain in wild commotion ; 
 
 It seems as though the ancient Night 
 Would drown the ancient Ocean.
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 201 
 
 To the ship's high mast the sea-mew clings. 
 With hoarse and shrill shrieking and yelling ; 
 
 In anxious-wise she flutters her wings, 
 Approaching disasters foretelling. 
 
 13. 
 
 THE storm strikes up for dancing, 
 It blusters, pipes, roars with delight ; 
 Hurrah, how the bark is springing ! 
 How merry and wild is the night ! 
 
 A living watery mountain 
 
 The raging sea builds tow'rd the sky ; 
 A gloomy abyss here is gaping, 
 
 There, mounts a white tower on high. 
 
 A vomiting, cursing, and praying 
 
 From the cabin bursts forth 'mid the roar 5 
 
 [ cling to the mast for protection, 
 And wish I was safely on shore. 
 
 14. 
 
 'HP IS evening, darker 'tis getting, 
 JL Mist veils the sea from the eye ; 
 The waves are mysteriously fretting, 
 White shadows are rising on high. 
 
 From the billows the mermaid arises, 
 
 And sits herself near me on shore : 
 The veil which her figure disguises 
 
 Her snow-white bosom peeps o'er. 
 
 She warmly doth caress me, 
 
 And takes my breath away : 
 Too closely dost thou press me, 
 
 Thou lovely water- fay ! 
 
 li My arms thus closely caress thee, 
 
 "' I clasp thee with all my might ; 
 'In hope of warmth do I press thee, 
 
 " For cold indeed is the night." 
 
 The moon from her dusky cloister 
 
 Of clouds, sheds a paler ray ; 
 Thine eye grows sadder and moister. 
 
 Thou lovely water-fay !
 
 202 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " No sadder nor moister 'tis growing. 
 
 " Mine eye is moist and wet, 
 '* For when from the wave I was going, 
 
 " A drop rernain'd in it yet." 
 
 The sea-mew mourns shrilly, while ocean 
 Is growling and heaving its spray ; 
 
 Thy heart throbs with raging emotion, 
 Thou lovely water-fay ! 
 
 " My heart throbs with raging emotion, 
 " Emotion raging and wild ; 
 
 " For I love thee with speechless devotion. 
 " Thou darling human child !" 
 
 15. 
 
 "YjTTHEN I before thy dwelling 
 T T At morning happen to be, 
 I rejoice, my little sweet one, 
 When thee at thy window I see. 
 
 With thy dark-brown eyes so piercing 
 
 My figure thou dost scan : 
 Who art thou, and what ails thee, 
 
 Thou strange and sickly man ? 
 
 " I am a German poet, 
 
 " Well known in the German land ; 
 " When the best names in it are reckon'd, 
 
 " My name amongst them will stand. 
 
 " My little one, that which ails me 
 " Ails crowds in the German land ; 
 
 " When the fiercest sorrows are reckon'd, 
 " My sorrows amongst them w T ill stand." 
 
 16. 
 
 E gleam o'er the ocean had faded not, 
 While the eve's last rays were flitting : 
 We sat by the lonely fisherman's cot, 
 Alone and in silence sitting. 
 
 The waters swell'd, while the mist rose above, 
 The restless sea-mew was screaming ; 
 
 From out thine eyes, so full of love, 
 The tears were quickly streaming.
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 203 
 
 I saw them falling on thy fair hand, 
 
 And on my knees soon sank I, 
 And then from off thy snow-white hand 
 
 The tears with rapture drank I. 
 
 Since that hour, my body hath fast decay'd, 
 
 My soul is dying with yearning ; 
 I was poison'd, alas ! by the hapless maid 
 
 With her falling tears so burning. 
 
 17. 
 
 UP high on yonder mountain 
 Stands a stately castle alone, 
 Where dwell three beauteous maidens, 
 Whose love in turns I have known. 
 
 On Saturday Harriet kiss'd me, 
 
 While Sunday was Julia's right ; 
 On Monday Cunigund follow'd, 
 
 Who well nigh stifled me quite. 
 
 To hold a fete in the castle 
 
 On Tuesday my maidens agreed ; 
 The neighbouring lords and ladies 
 
 All came with carriage or steed. 
 
 But I was never invited, 
 
 To your great wonder, no doubt ; 
 
 The whispering aunts and cousins 
 Observ'd it, and laugh'd right out 
 
 18. 
 
 ON the dim and far horizoii 
 Appeareth, misty and pale, 
 The city, with all its towers, 
 In evening twilight's veil. 
 
 A humid gust is ruffling 
 
 The path o'er the waters dark ; 
 With mournful measure, the sailor 
 
 Is rowing my tiny bark. 
 
 The sun once more ariseth, 
 
 And over the earth gleams he, 
 And shows me the spot out yonder 
 
 Where my loved one was lost to me.
 
 204 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 19. 
 
 ALL hail to thee, them stately 
 Mysterious town, all hail, 
 Who erst within thy bosom 
 
 My loved one's form didst veil ! 
 
 say, ye towers and gateways, 
 
 where can my loved one be ? 
 To your keeping of yore was she trusted, 
 
 And ye must her bail be to me. 
 
 The towers, in truth, are guiltless, 
 
 From their places they could not come down. 
 
 When she, with her trunks and boxes, 
 So hastily went from the town. 
 
 The gates, however, they suffer'd 
 
 My darling to slip through them straight ; 
 
 A gate is ever found willing 
 
 To let a fool " gang her ain gait."* 
 
 20. 
 
 ONCE more my steps through the olden path 
 And the well-known streets are taken, 
 Until I come to my loved one's house, 
 So empty now and forsaken. 
 
 How narrow and close the streets appear ! 
 
 How nauseous the smell of the plaster ! 
 The houses seem tumbling down on my head, 
 
 So I haste away, fearing disaster. 
 
 21. 
 
 ONCE more through the halls I pass'd 
 Where her troth to me was plighted ; 
 On the spot where her tears fell fast 
 A serpent's brood had alighted. 
 
 22. 
 
 npHE night is still, and the streets are deserted, 
 J- In this house my love had her dwelling of yora ; 
 'Tis long since she from the city departed, 
 
 Yet her house still stands on the spot as before. 
 
 * I have here attempted to imitate a wretched pun in the 
 jriginal.
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 205 
 
 There stands, too, a man, who stares up at her casement, 
 And wrings his hands with the weight of his woes ; 
 
 I look on his face with shudd'ring amazement, 
 The moon doth the form of myself disclose. 
 
 Thou pallid fellow, thou worthless double ! 
 
 Why dare to mimic my love's hard lot, 
 Which many a night gave me grief and trouble 
 
 In former days, on this very spot ? 
 
 23. 
 
 HOW canst thou sleep in quiet, 
 And know that I'm still alive ? 
 J burst the yoke that's upon me, 
 When my olden wrath doth revive. 
 
 Dost know the ancient ballad : 
 
 How of yore a dead stripling brave 
 
 At midnight came to his loved one, 
 And carried her down to his grave ? 
 
 Believe me, thou wondrous beauty, 
 
 Thou wondrously lovely maid, 
 I'm alive still, and feel far stronger 
 
 Than the whole of the dead's brigade ! 
 
 24. 
 
 THE maiden's asleep in her chamber, 
 " In peeps the quivering moon ; 
 " Outside is a singing and jingling, 
 " As though to a waltz's tune. 
 
 "I needs must look through my window, 
 
 " To see who's disturbing my rest ; 
 " There stands a skeleton ghastly 
 
 " Who's fiddling and singing his best : 
 
 '* Thy hand for the dance thou didst pledge me, 
 " And then thy promise didst break ; 
 
 " To-night there's a ball in the churchyard. 
 " Come with me, the dance to partake. 
 
 i; He forcibly seizes the maiden, 
 
 " And lures her from out her abode ; 
 "She follows the skeleton wildly, 
 
 " Who tiddles and sings oil the road.
 
 I 
 
 206 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " He hops and he skips and he fiddles, 
 
 " His bones they rattle away ; 
 " With his skull he keeps nidding and nodding, 
 
 " By the moonlight's glimmering ray." 
 
 25 
 STOOD, while sadly mnsed I, 
 
 And her likeness closely did scan, 
 And her beloved features 
 
 To glow with life began. 
 Around her lips there gather'd 
 A sweet and wondrous smile, 
 And as through tears of sorrow 
 
 Her clear eyes shone the while. 
 And then my tears responsive 
 
 Adown my cheeks did pour 
 And ah ! I scarce can believe it, 
 That I've lost thee evermore. 
 
 26. 
 
 UNHAPPY Atlas that I am ! I'm doom'd 
 To bear a world, a very world of sorrows ; 
 Unbearable's the load I bear, and e'en 
 The heart within me's breaking. 
 thou proud heart ! thy doing 'twas indeed, 
 Thou wouldst be happy, utterly be happy, 
 Or utterly be wretched, proud heart, 
 And now in truth thou'rt wretched ! 
 
 27. 
 
 THE years are coming and going, 
 To the grave whole races descend, 
 And yet the love in my bosom 
 
 Shall never wax fainter or end. 
 could I but once more behold thee, 
 Before thee sink down on my knee, 
 And die, as these words I utter : 
 Dear Madam, I love but thee ! 
 
 28. 
 
 IDEEAMT : the quivering moon gleam 'd abovo, 
 And the stars cast a mournful ray ; 
 I was borne to the town where dwelleth my love, 
 Many hundred miles away
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 207 
 
 And when I arrived at her dwelling so blest, 
 
 I kiss'd the stones of the stair, 
 Which her little foot so often had press'd, 
 
 And the train of her garment fair. 
 
 The night was long, the night was chill. 
 And cold were the stones that night ; 
 
 Her pallid form from the window-sill 
 Look'd down in the moonbeam's light. 
 
 29. 
 
 WHAT means this tear all-lonely 
 That troubles now my gaze ? 
 Of olden times the offspring 
 Still in mine eye it stays. 
 
 It had its shining sisters, 
 
 Who all have faded from sight, 
 With all my joys and sorrows, 
 
 Yea, faded in storm and night 
 
 Like clouds have also fleeted 
 
 The stars so blue and mild, 
 Which into my yearning bosom 
 
 Those joys and sorrows once smiled. 
 
 Ah ! even my love's devotion 
 
 Like idle breath did decay ; 
 Thou old, old tear all-lonely, 
 
 Do thou, too, pass away ! 
 
 30. 
 
 THE pallid autumnal half-moon 
 Looks down from the clouds on high ; 
 The parsonage, silent and lonely, 
 
 By the side of the churchyard doth lie. 
 
 The mother is reading her Bible, 
 The son on the light turns his eyes, 
 
 All-sleepy, the elder daughter 
 
 Doth stretch, while the younger thus criee 
 
 44 Good heavens, how dreadfully tedious 
 " The days are ! I'm quite in despair 1 
 
 u 'Tis only when there's a burial 
 " One sees aught of life, I declare 1
 
 208 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 The mother then says, midst her reading : 
 '' You're mistaken, four only have died 
 
 " Since the time when they buried your father 
 " By the gate of the churchyard outside." 
 
 The elder daughter says gaping : 
 " I'll starve no longer with you ; 
 
 " I'll go to the Count to-morrow, 
 " He's rich and he loves me too." 
 
 The son bursts out into laughter : 
 
 " At the tavern drink huntsmen three; 
 
 " They're making money, and gladly 
 " Would teach the secret to me." 
 
 The mother then throws her Bible 
 
 Full hard in his lanky face : 
 " Wouldst thou dare, thou accursed of heaven, 
 
 " As a robber thy friends to disgrace ?" 
 
 They hear a knock at the window, 
 
 And see a beckoning hand ; 
 And behold, outside the dead father 
 
 In his black preaching-garment doth stand. 
 
 31. 
 
 THE weather is bad and stormy, 
 With rain and tempest and snow ; 
 I sit at the window, gazing 
 
 On the gloomy darkness below. 
 
 One single light I see glimm'ring 
 That slowly moves in the street ; 
 
 'Tis a woman holding a lantern, 
 And walking with tottering feet. 
 
 I expect that she's making a purchase 
 
 Of meal and butter and eggs ; 
 'Tis to bake a cake for her daughter 
 
 That she is out now on her legs. 
 
 The daughter's at home in the arm-chair, 
 And sleepily looks at the light, 
 
 Ber golden locks stray over 
 Her face so lovely and bright.
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 209 
 
 32. 
 
 TIS thought that I am tonneuted, 
 By love's bitter sorrow distress'd, 
 And at length I myself believe it 
 
 As well as all the rest. 
 Thou great-eyed little maiden, 
 
 I ever have whisper 'd apart : 
 I love thee beyond expression, 
 
 While love is gnawing my heart. 
 'Twas but in my lonely chamber 
 
 That I dared my love to proclaim, 
 And, ah ! I have ever been silent, 
 
 When into thy presence I came. 
 When there, the evil angels 
 
 Appear'd, and my lips they held ; 
 And, ah ! 'tis by evil angels 
 
 That my joy hath now been dispell'd. 
 
 33. 
 
 OTHY tender lily-fingers. 
 Could I once again but kiss them, 
 Press them softly to my heart, 
 And then die in silent weeping ! 
 thy violet eyes so radiant 
 Hover near me day and night, 
 And I'm troubled : what forebodeth 
 All this sweet, this blue enigma? 
 
 34. 
 "TTATH she then no word e'er spokeu 
 
 Xl " Of thy passion, hapless lover 
 " In her sweet eyes couldst thou never 
 " Signs of answering love discover ? 
 " Through her sweet eyes couldst thou never 
 
 " Eeach her soul, and so get at her? 
 " Yet thou art not thought a blockhead, 
 " Worthy friend, in such a matter." 
 
 35. 
 
 HPHEY loved each other, but noithor 
 -1 Would be the first to confess ; 
 Like foes, they gaz'd at each other, 
 And would die of their love's distress.
 
 210 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 They parted at length, and thereafter, 
 
 Except in vision, ne'er met ; 
 From life they long have departed, 
 
 And scarcely know of it yet. 
 
 36. 
 
 AND when I to you my grief did confide, 
 You only yawn'd, and nothing replied ; 
 But when I reduced my sorrow to rhyme, 
 You praised me greatly, and call'd it sublime. 
 
 37. 
 
 I CALL'D the devil, and he came, 
 And with wonder his form did I closely scan ; 
 He is not ugly, and is not lame, 
 
 But really a handsome and charming man. 
 A man in the prime of life is the devil, 
 Obliging, a man of the world, and civil ; 
 A diplomatist too, well skill'd in debate, 
 He talks right glibly of church and state. 
 He's rather pale, but it's really not strange, 
 For his studies through Sanskrit and Hegel range. 
 Fouque is still his favourite poet ; 
 
 But criticism he'll touoh no more, 
 
 But has handed that subject entirely o'er 
 To his grandmother Hecate, that she may know it. 
 My juridical works did he kindly praise, 
 His favourite hobby in former days. 
 He said that my friendship was not too dear, 
 And then he nodded, and look'd severe, 
 And afterwards asked if it wasn't the case 
 
 We had met at the Spanish ambassador's rout ? 
 And when I look'd him full in the face 
 
 I saw him to be an old friend without doubt. 
 
 38. 
 
 MAN, revile not thou the devil, 
 For the path of life is short, 
 And damnation everlasting 
 Is too true, not mere report. 
 
 Man, pay all the debts thou owest. 
 
 For the path of life is long, 
 And thou'lt often have to borrow 
 
 Just as usual, right or wrong,
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 211 
 
 39. 
 
 ri^HE three holy kings from the Eastern land 
 -L Inquired in every city : 
 Where goeth the road to Bethlehem, 
 Ye boys and maidens pretty ? 
 
 The young and the old, they could not tell, 
 The kings went onward discreetly ; 
 
 They follow'd the track of a golden star, 
 That sparkled brightly and sweetly. 
 
 The star stood still over Joseph's house, 
 And they enter'd the dwelling lowly ; 
 
 The oxen bellow'd, the infant cried, 
 While sang the three kings holy. 
 
 M Y 
 
 40. 
 child, we once were children, 
 
 Two children, little and gay ; 
 We crawl'd inside the henhouse, 
 Anil hid in the straw in play. 
 
 We crow'd as the cocks are accustom'd, 
 And when the people came by, 
 
 " Cock-a-doodle-doo ! " and they fancied 
 'Twas really the cock's shrill cry. 
 
 The chests within our courtyard 
 
 With paper we nicely lined, 
 And in them lived together, 
 
 In a dwelling quite to our mind. 
 
 The aged cat of our neighbour 
 
 Came oft to visit us there ; 
 We made her our bows and our curtsies, 
 
 And plenty of compliments fair. 
 
 For her health we used to inquire 
 In language friendly and soft ; 
 
 Since then we have ask'd the same question 
 Of many old cats full oft. 
 
 We used to sit, while we wisely 
 Discoursed, in the way of old men. 
 
 And lamented that all was better 
 In the olden days than then ;
 
 212 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 How love and truth and religion 
 From out of the world had fled, 
 
 How very dear was the coffee, 
 How scarce was the gold, we said. 
 
 Those childish sports have vanish'd, 
 And all is fast rolling away ; 
 
 The world, and the times, and religion, 
 And gold, love, and truth all decay. 
 
 M 
 
 41. 
 
 Y heart is sore oppress'd, with sighing 
 
 I think upon the days of yore ; 
 The world was then in calmness lying, 
 And men were peaceful evermore. 
 
 All now is changed, in mournful chorus 
 Want and confusion round us spread ; 
 
 The Lord seems dead that erst rul'd o'er us 
 Beneath us, is the Devil dead. 
 
 All now appears so drear and sadden'd, 
 Decay'd and cold, of joy bereft, 
 
 That, were we not by love still gladden'd, 
 No single resting-place were left. 
 
 42. 
 
 A S the gleaming moon is piercing 
 .xJL Through the darksome clouds above, 
 So from out time's darksome mirror 
 Peeps a vision full of love. 
 
 All upon the deck were sitting, 
 Proudly sailing down the Khine, 
 
 And the shores, in summer verdure, 
 In the setting sun did shine. 
 
 Thoughtfully was I reclining, 
 
 Bent before a lovely maid ; 
 In her beauteous, pallid features 
 
 Lo, the golden sunlight play'd. 
 
 Lutes were sounding, youths were singing, 
 Wondrous was our joy that day ; 
 
 And the heavens became still bluer, 
 And our souls soar'd high away.
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 213 
 
 Hills and castles, woods and meadows, 
 
 Like a vision fleeted by, 
 And I saw them all reflected 
 
 In the lovely maiden's eye. 
 
 43. 
 
 IN vision saw I my loved one 
 A worn, sad woman one day ; 
 Her once so-blooming figure 
 Had wither'd and fallen away. 
 
 A child in her arms she carried, 
 
 By the hand another she led, 
 And grief and poverty plainly 
 
 In her walk, looks, and garments I read. 
 
 Across the market she totter'd, 
 
 And then did I meet her eye ; 
 She looked upon me, and gently 
 
 I spake to her thus, with a sigh : 
 
 " Come with me to my dwelling, 
 
 " For thou art pale and ill, 
 " And food and drink I'll earn thee 
 
 " By industry and skill. 
 
 " I'll also nourish and cherish 
 
 " The children that with thee I see ; 
 
 " But, my child so poor and unhappy, 
 " I'll care the most for thee. 
 
 " I never will remind thee 
 
 " That I loved thee so dearly of yore, 
 " And when at length thou diest, 
 
 " I'll weep at thy grave full sore." 
 
 44. 
 
 " THEIEND ! why always thus endeavour 
 -S- " To repeat the same old story ? 
 
 " Wilt thou brooding sit for ever 
 
 " On love's eggs grown old and hoary? 
 
 " Ah! 'tis but tins usual custom, 
 
 " Chickens from the shells are crawling ; 
 
 " In a book thou seck'st to thrust "cm, 
 " While they're fluttering and calling !"
 
 214 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 45. 
 
 PRYTHEE, be not thou impatient 
 If there still are loudly ringing 
 Many of my old sad numbers 
 In the newest songs I'm singing. 
 
 Wait awhile, and soon the echo 
 
 \\ ill have died away of sorrow, 
 And a new-born song-spring softly 
 
 From the heal'd heart shoot to-morrow. 
 
 46. 
 
 'riilS now full time that my folly I drop, 
 JL And return to sober reason ; 
 This comedy now 'twere better to stop 
 That we've played for so long a season. 
 
 In a gay and highly romantic style 
 The gorgeous coulisses were painted ; 
 
 My knight's cloak glitter'd, while I was the wliile 
 With the finest sensations acquainted. 
 
 And now that I, while more sober I grow. 
 
 Am against this toying inveighing, 
 I feel that I'm still as wretched as though 
 
 A comedy still I were playing. 
 
 Alas ! unconsciously and in jest 
 
 Of my feelings was I the narrator ; 
 
 And I've play'd, with my own death in my breast, 
 The dying gladiator. 
 
 47. 
 
 THE monarch Wiswamitra 
 Is restlessly striving now ; 
 He must needs, by fighting and penance, 
 Obtain Wasischta's cow. 
 
 monarch Wiswamitra, 
 
 O what an ox art thou, 
 To have all this fighting and penance, 
 
 And all for nought but a cow ! 
 
 48. 
 
 LET not grief, my heart, come o'er thee 
 Bear thy lot with faith unshaken, 
 For what winter may have taken 
 Will returning spring restore thee
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 215 
 
 And how much remaineth over ! 
 
 And how fair the world is still 1 
 
 And, my heart, if 'tis thy will, 
 Thou of All mayst be the lover ! 
 
 49. 
 
 A FLOW'EET thou resemblest, 
 -XA. So pure and fair and blest ; 
 But when I view thee, sorrow 
 
 Straight creepeth to my breast. 
 I feel as though inspired 
 
 My hands on thy head to lay, 
 And pray that God may keep thee 
 So blest, fair, pure, for aye. 
 
 50. 
 
 CHILD ! it would be thy perdition, 
 And the greatest pains I've taken 
 Ne'er within thy fond heart tow'rd me 
 
 Loving feelings to awaken. 
 Now that I've so soon succeeded, 
 
 To my vow I'm wellnigh faithless, 
 And this thought steals o'er me often : 
 Would that thou could'st love me nathles% 
 
 51. 
 
 WHEN on my couch I'm lying 
 In night and pillows conceal'd, 
 A sweet and charming image 
 
 Before me stands reveal'd. 
 As soon as silent slumber 
 
 Hath closed mine eyes in sleep, 
 Into my dream this image 
 
 Doth softly, gently creep. 
 Yet with the dream of morning 
 
 It ne'er doth melt away, 
 For in mine inmost bosom 
 
 I bear it all the day. 
 
 52. 
 
 MAIDEN with the mouth so rosy, 
 With the eyes so sweet and bright, 
 O my darling little maiden, 
 I of thee think day and night.
 
 216 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Long is now the winter evening, 
 Fain would I disperse its gloom, 
 
 Sitting by thee, talking with thee 
 In thy trusty little room. 
 
 To my lips I'd fain be pressing 
 
 Thy dear little snowy hand, 
 With my falling tears caressing 
 
 Thy dear little snowy hand. 
 
 53. 
 
 THOUGH outside snow-piles are forming, 
 Though 'tis hailing, though 'tis storming, 
 Rattling 'gainst the window-pane, 
 Nevermore will I complain, 
 For within my breast I bear 
 Spring-joys and love's image fair. 
 
 54. 
 
 SOME make prayers to the Madonna, 
 Others unto Paul and Peter ; 
 Thee alone, of suns the fairest, 
 Thee alone will I e'er honour. 
 
 Let me be with kisses laden, 
 
 Be thou kindly, be thou gracious, 
 'Mongst all maidens sun the fairest, 
 
 'Neath the son the fairest maiden ! 
 
 55. 
 
 DID not my pallid face betray 
 My loving woe unto thee ? 
 And wilt thou that my haughty mouth 
 With begging words shall woo thee ? 
 
 Alas ! this mouth is far too proud, 
 
 'Twas made but for kissing and sighing ; 
 
 Perchance it may speak a scornful word, 
 While I with sorrow am dying. 
 
 56. 
 
 WORTHY friend, thou'rt deep in love, 
 And beneath new pangs thou'rt fretting , 
 Darker grows it in thy head, 
 In thy heart 'tis lighter getting.
 
 PICTURES OP TRAVEL, 217 
 
 Worthy friend, thou'rt deep in love, 
 
 And thou fain would'st hide thy yearning ; 
 
 Yet I see thy heart's fierce glow 
 
 Through thy waistcoat hotly burning. 
 
 57. 
 
 I FAIN would linger by thee, 
 And rest beside thee too ; 
 Away thou needs must hie thee, 
 Thou hast so much to do. 
 
 I said that I surrender'd 
 
 My very soul to thee ; 
 An answering bow was tender'd, 
 
 Thou laughedst full of glee. 
 
 Thou cruelly didst use me, 
 
 And treat my love amiss ; 
 At last thou didst refuse me 
 
 The usual parting kiss. 
 
 Don't think that I deem it my duty 
 
 To shoot myself any the more ; 
 For all of this, my beauty, 
 
 Has happen'd to me before 
 
 58. 
 
 A PAIR of sapphires are thine eyes, 
 So clear, so sweetly roving ; 
 three times happy is the man 
 Whom those fair eyes are loving. 
 
 Thy heart, it is a diamond, 
 
 A sparkling radiance throwing ; 
 throe times happy is the man 
 
 For whom with love 'tis glowing. 
 
 Thy lips are very rubies bright, 
 
 One never can see fairer ; 
 three times happy is the man 
 
 Who of their love is sharer. 
 
 O did I know the happy man ! 
 O could I unattended 
 
 Within the green wood meet with him, 
 His luck would soon be ended 1
 
 218 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 59. 
 ^1T"THILE with loving words, but lying, 
 
 TT I have bound me to thy breast. 
 Now in my own fetters dying, 
 Into earnest turns my jest. 
 
 When thou jestingly dost fly me, 
 
 By a rightful impulse led, 
 Then the powers of hell draw nigh me, 
 
 And I really shoot me dead. 
 
 60. 
 
 TOO fragmentary is World and Life ; 
 I'll go to the German professor, who's rife 
 With schemes for putting Life's pieces together, 
 
 Whereby a passable System's unfurl'd ; 
 Ragged nightcaps and dressing-gowns keep out the 
 
 weather, 
 Stop the gaps in the edifice crack'd of the world. 
 
 61. 
 
 THIS evening they've a party, 
 The house is fill'd with light; 
 By yonder shining window 
 A shadowy form's in sight. 
 
 Thou see'st me not, in darkness 
 
 I stand below and apart ; 
 Still less canst thou see ever 
 
 Inside my darksome heart. 
 
 My darksome heart doth love thee, 
 
 It loves thee and it breaks, 
 And breaks, and bleeds, and quivers, 
 
 But thou see'st not how it aches. 
 
 62. 
 
 I WOULD that my woes all their fulness 
 In one single word could convey ; 
 To the merry winds straight would I give it, 
 Who would merrily bear it away. 
 
 That word so teeming with sadness 
 
 They would carry, my loved one, to thee 
 
 Thou wouldst hear it at every moment, 
 Wouldst hear it where'er thou rnightst ba
 
 PICTURES OP TRAVEL. 219 
 
 As soon as thine eyelids at nighttime 
 
 Are peacefully closed in sleep, 
 My word would straightway pursue thee 
 
 Far into thy visions most deep. 
 
 G3. 
 
 npHOU hast pearls, thou hast diamonds also, 
 -L Hast all that mortals adore ; 
 Thine eyes are among the fairest, 
 
 My loved one, what wouldst thou have more? 
 Upon thine eyes so beauteous 
 
 I've written many a score 
 Of sweet immortal ballads, 
 
 My loved one, what wouldst thou have more ? 
 And with thine eyes so beauteous 
 
 Hast thou tormented me sore, 
 And brought me to utter perdition, 
 
 My loved one, what wouldst thou have more ? 
 
 61 
 
 HE who for the first time loveth, 
 Though 'tis hopeless, is a God ; 
 But the man who hopeless loveth 
 For the second time's a fool. 
 I, a fool like this, am loving 
 Once more, with no love responsive ; 
 Sun and moon and stars are laughing, 
 I, too, join the laugh and die. 
 
 G5. 
 
 "TV"EVER match'd the timid coldness 
 JL i Of thy spirit, from the first, 
 With my love's untutor'd boldness, 
 
 Which through rocks delights to burst. 
 Thou in love dost love the highway, 
 
 And I see thee walk through life 
 With thy husband taking thy way, 
 
 As an honest teeming wife 1 
 
 86. 
 
 /COUNSEL they gave me, and good instruction. 
 Vy Pour'd on me honours, by way of seduction 
 Said I had only to wait for a while, 
 And their protection upon me should smilo.
 
 220 HETKE'S POEMS. 
 
 Spite the protection they bid me hold cherishM, 
 I before long should of hunger have perish'd, 
 Had I not happen'd a good man to seo, 
 Who took an interest kindly in me. 
 
 Good man indeed ! for he gives me my food ; 
 
 Never can I forget conduct so good. 
 
 Pity I cannot with kisses reply, 
 
 For the good man is no other than I ! 
 
 67. 
 
 f I ^HIS young man, so good and worthy, 
 JL Cannot be too much respected ; 
 Oft he gives me wine and oysters, 
 Gives me liquors well selected. 
 
 Coat and trousers fit him neatly, 
 His cravat is still more sightly ; 
 
 And so comes he every morning 
 For my health to ask politely. 
 
 Of my wide-spread glory speaks he, 
 
 Of my talents and my graces ; 
 Eagerly at my disposal 
 
 All his services he places. 
 
 And in company at evening, 
 
 With a face as if inspired 
 He declaims before the ladies 
 
 All my poems so admired. 
 
 O it is indeed most pleasant 
 
 Such a young man to discover 
 In the present day, when surely 
 
 All things good will soon be over. 
 
 68. 
 
 IDEEAMT that I was Lord of all, 
 And sat in heaven proudly ; 
 The angels, ranged around my thronu, 
 All praised my verses loudly. 
 
 And cakes I ate, and comfits too, 
 
 In value many a florin ; 
 And Cai dinal I drank the while, 
 
 And had no need of scorin'.
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 221 
 
 Plagued by ennui, I long'd to be 
 
 On earth, with all its evil ; 
 And were I not the Lord of all, 
 
 I'd fain have been the devil. 
 
 Thou long-legg'd Angel, Gabriel, go, 
 
 And hasten downward thither, 
 And find my worthy friend Eugene, 
 
 And bring him to me hither. 
 
 Within the College seek him not, 
 
 But o'er a glass of brandy ; 
 Seek for him not in Hedwig's Church, 
 
 But at Miss Meyer's so handy. 
 
 The Angel then spread out his wings, 
 
 And with his whole soul in it 
 Flew down, and seized my worthy friend, 
 
 And brought him in a minute. 
 
 Ay, youth, I am the Lord of all, 
 
 And rule o'er every nation ; 
 I always told thee I should come 
 
 To power and reputation. 
 
 Each day I work such miracles 
 
 As greatly would delight thee ; 
 The town of A I'll happy make 
 
 To-day, and so excite thee. 
 
 The paving-stones upon the road 
 
 Shall all be now converted, 
 And, lo, an oyster, fresh and clear, 
 
 In each shall be inserted. 
 
 A constant shower of lemon-juice 
 
 Like dew, shall serve as pickle, 
 And in the gutters of the streets 
 
 The finest wine shall trickle. 
 
 How all the A er's straight rejoice, 
 
 And to the banquet hasten ! 
 The judges from the gutter drink 
 
 As if it were a basin. 
 
 And how at this divine repast 
 
 licjoice the poets needy ! 
 Lieutenants lick the streets quite dry, 
 
 And ensigns poor and greedy.
 
 222 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 The ensigns and lieutenants are 
 
 Wise in their generation ; 
 They always think the present time 
 
 The weightiest in creation. 
 
 69. 
 
 FEOM beauteous lips compell'd to part, and carried 
 Away from beauteous arms fast clasp'd around me, 
 Yet one more day I gladly would have tarried, 
 
 When came the post-boy with his steeds, and found me. 
 
 Child, this is very life, an endless wailing, 
 An endless farewell-taking, endless parting ; 
 
 Is then thy heart to clasp mine unavailing ? 
 
 Could not thine eye retain me, e'en at starting ? 
 
 70. 
 
 WE travelled alone in the gloomy 
 Post-chaise the whole of the night ; 
 Each lean'd on the other's bosom, 
 And jested with hearts so light. 
 
 When morning dawn'd upon us, 
 
 My child, how we did stare, 
 For the blind passenger,* Amor, 
 
 Was sitting between us there ! 
 
 71. 
 
 HEAVEN knows where the haughty hussy 
 May have will'd to pitch her tent ; 
 Swearing, with the rain fast falling, 
 All the city through I went. 
 
 From one tavern to another 
 
 Ean I swiftly in the rain, 
 And to every surly waiter 
 
 Did I turn myself in vain. 
 
 Then I saw her at a window, 
 
 Nodding, tittering as well : 
 Could I tell that thou wouldst live in, 
 
 Maiden, such a grand hotel ? 
 
 * A " blind passenger " means in German a person who travels 
 withiout paying his fare.
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 223 
 
 72. 
 
 T IKE darkling visions the bouses 
 L^ Are standing all in a row ; 
 Deep hidden in my mantle, 
 In silence I onward go. 
 
 The high cathedral tower 
 
 The hour of twelve doth proclaim : 
 My love, with her charms and kisses, 
 
 Awaits me with rapturous flame. 
 
 The moon is my attendant, 
 
 And kindly gleams in the sky, 
 And when I arrive at her dwelling, 
 
 I joyfully call up on high : 
 
 I thank thee, my olden companion, 
 That thou hast thus lighted my way ; 
 
 I now at length can release thee, 
 
 Light the rest of the world now, I pray 
 
 And find'st thou some mortal enamour'd, 
 
 In solitude mourning his fate, 
 As me thou of old time didst comfort, 
 
 Him also comfort thou straight ' 
 
 73. 
 
 OWHAT falsehood lies in kisses ! 
 In mere show what joy's convey'd! 
 In betrayal, O what bliss is ! 
 Sweeter still to be betray'd ! 
 
 Though thou mayst resist me, fairest. 
 
 Yet I know what thou allowest ; 
 I'll avow whate'er thou swearest, 
 
 I will swi-ur what thou avowest. 
 
 74. 
 
 UPON thy snowy bosom 
 My head ail-softly I lay, 
 And secretly can listen 
 
 To what thy heart doth say. 
 
 The blue hussars are blowing, 
 
 And riding in at the gate ; 
 To-morrow my heart-beloved ona 
 
 Will surely desert me straight
 
 224 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 If thou wilt desert me tomorrow, 
 At least to-day thou art mine, 
 
 And in thine arms so beauteous 
 With twofold bliss I'll recline 
 
 THE blue hussars are blowing, 
 And riding out at the gate ; 
 I come then, my loved one, and bring thec 
 A nosegay of roses straight. 
 
 Those were indeed wild doings, 
 Much folk and warlike display ! 
 
 By far too many were quarter'd 
 Within thy bosom that day. 
 
 76. 
 
 I IN youthful years did Languish, 
 Suffer'd many a bitter anguish 
 From love's fiery glow. 
 
 Wood is now so dear, the fire 
 Will for lack of fuel expire 
 Mafoi ! 'tis better so. 
 
 Think of this, youthful fair one ! 
 Chase away the tears that wear one, 
 
 And all foolish love's alarms ; 
 If thy life may not have perish'd, 
 O forget thy love once cherish'd 
 
 Ma foi ! within my arms. 
 
 77. 
 
 THE eunuchs controverted, 
 When I raised up my voice ; 
 They grumbled and asserted 
 My singing was not choice. 
 
 And then they all raised sweetly 
 Their voicelets petty and shrill ; 
 
 They sang so finely and neatly, 
 Like crystal sounded their trill. 
 
 They sang of love's fierce yearning, 
 Of loving effusions and love, 
 
 To tears the ladies all turning, 
 With tunes so adapted to move.
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 225 
 
 78. 
 
 I LEFT you at first in July at tho warmest. 
 In January now I find you once more ; 
 In the midst of the heat you then were complaining, 
 
 And now you are cool'd, and cold to the core. 
 1 shall soon leave again, and when next I'm returning 
 Neither warm shall I find you, nor yet quite cold ; 
 I shall walk o'er your grave with silent composure, 
 While my own heart within me is wretched and old. 
 
 79. 
 
 ART thou then indeed so hostile, 
 Art thou tow'rds me changed so sadly ? 
 I by all means shall lament it, 
 Thou hast treated me so badly. 
 
 ungrateful lips, how could ye 
 Speak with malice cruel-hearted 
 
 Of the man who ofttimes kiss'd you 
 Lovingly, in days departed ? 
 
 80. 
 
 AH ! once more the eyes are on me, 
 Which did greet me once with gladness, 
 And the lips once more address me, 
 
 Which once sweeten'd life's long sadness. 
 E'en the voice I hear, whose accents 
 Chann'd me, as they sweetly falter 'd ; 
 
 1 alone am not the same one, 
 Having home return'd, all-alter'd. 
 
 By those arms so white and beauteous 
 
 Lovingly embraced and closely, 
 To her heart I now am clinging, 
 
 Dull of feeling and morosely. 
 
 81. 
 
 ON the walls of Salamanca 
 Soft refreshing winds are playing ; 
 There, with my beloved Donna, 
 
 On a summer's eve I'm straying. 
 Round the fair one's slender body 
 
 Doth my arm with rapture linger, 
 And her bosom's haughty motion 
 Foel I with a loving finger.
 
 226 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Yet a whisper fraught with sorrow 
 
 Through the linden trees is moving, 
 And, beneath, the dusky millstream 
 
 Murmurs sad dreams, disapproving. 
 " Ah, Senora ! a foreboding 
 
 " Tells me, I shall hence be driven 
 " On the walls of Salamanca 
 
 l< Ne'er again to walk 'tis given." 
 
 82. 
 
 THY voice and thine eye, when we first saw each other, 
 Convinced me thon saw'st me with heart not 
 
 estranged ; 
 And had it not been for thy tyrant mother, 
 
 I think that we kisses should straight have exchanged. 
 To-morrow again I depart from the city, 
 And on, in my olden course, wander I ; 
 At the windf*- my fair one is lurking in pity, 
 And friendiy greetings I throw up on high. 
 
 83. 
 
 OVER the mountains the sun mounts in splendour, 
 Afar sound the bells of the lambs as they stray ; 
 My loved one, my lamb, my sun bright and tender, 
 
 How gladly once more would I see thee to-day ! 
 I gaze up on high, with looks fond and loving 
 
 My child, fare thee well, I must wander from thee ; 
 In vain ! for her curtain is still and unmoving 
 She slumbering lieth and dreameth of me. 
 
 84. 
 
 AT Halle, in the market 
 Two mighty lions are standing. 
 Thou lion-scorn of Halle, 
 Methinks they've tamed thee finely ! 
 At Halle, in the market, 
 A mighty giant's standing. 
 He hath a sword, and moves not, 
 He's turn'd to stone by terror. 
 At Halle, in the market, 
 A mighty church is standing. 
 The students of each faction 
 Have there a place for praying.
 
 PICTURES OP TRAVEL. 227 
 
 85. 
 
 LIMM'EING lies the summer even 
 ~ Over wood and verdant meadows, 
 And the gold inoon, fragrance shedding, 
 Gleameth from the azure heaven. 
 
 Crickets at the brook with shrillness 
 Chirp ; there's motion in the water, 
 And the wand'rer hears a splashing, 
 
 And a breathing in the stillness. 
 
 Yonder at the lone stream sparkling, 
 
 See, the beauteous elf is bathing ; 
 
 Arm and neck, so white and lovely, 
 Glisten in the moonbeams darkling. 
 
 86. 
 
 ON the strange roads night is lying, 
 Heart is sick and limbs are weary ; 
 But the moonbeams, softly vying, 
 
 Shed their light like blessings cheery. 
 
 Ah, sweet moon ! thy radiant splendour 
 
 Scares away each terror nightly ; 
 All my woes dissolve, and tender 
 
 Dew o'erflows my eyelids lightly. 
 
 87. 
 
 DEATH nothing is but cooling night, 
 And life is nought but sultry day ; 
 Darkness draws nigh, I slumber 
 Wearied by day's bright light. 
 
 Over my bed ariseth a tree, 
 
 There sings the youthful nightingale ; 
 
 She sings of love exulting, 
 In dreams 'tis luurd by me. 
 
 88. 
 AY, where is thy beauteous mistress, 
 
 " Whom tlum siuigest in the hour 
 " When thy heart was pierced so strangely 
 " By the flames of magic power V" 
 
 All those flames are now extinguish'd, 
 
 And my heart is coll and weary. 
 
 Ami this book's the urn that holdeth 
 
 ^\Iy love's ashes sad and dreary.
 
 228 HEINE'S POEMS 
 
 FULL long have I my head tormented 
 With ceaseless thinking, day and night ; 
 And yet thy darling eyes compel me 
 To love thee, in my own despite. 
 
 Now stand I, where thine eyes are gleaming, 
 Charm'd by their sweet expressive light ; 
 
 That I should love again thus deeply 
 I scarcely can believe aright. 
 
 90. 
 
 WHEN thou hast become my wedded wife 
 Thy joy shall know no measure ; 
 Thou'lt live in happiness all thy life, 
 In uninterrupted pleasure. 
 
 And I will very patient be 
 
 E'en 'neath thy reviling and curses ; 
 But we must part most certainly 
 
 If thou abusest my verses. 
 
 91. 
 
 LITTLE by thee comprehended, 
 Little knew I thee, good brother ; 
 When we in the mud descended 
 Soon we understood each other. 
 
 92. 
 
 NEAR me dwelleth Don Henriques, 
 As the " handsome " known and feted ; 
 Our apartments are adjoining, 
 By a thin wall separated. 
 
 Salamanca's dames are blushing 
 
 As he in the streets is walking 
 Rattling spurs, mustachios twirling, 
 
 With his dogs behind him stalking. 
 
 Bi:t at evening's silent hour he 
 
 All alone at home is sitting, 
 His guitar his fingers twanging. 
 
 Sweet dreams through his fancy flitting. 
 
 On the chisrd* with vigour plays he, 
 His wild phantasies beginning 
 
 O it drives me mad to hear him 
 KIM ping n;> his wretched dinning
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 229 
 
 THE HABTZ-JOURNEY. 
 1824. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 IN black coats and silken stockings, 
 White and courtly frills they hide them, 
 Gentle speeches and embraces 
 Had they only hearts inside them ! 
 
 Hearts within the breast, and love, too, 
 
 In the heart, yea, love all-burning ; 
 Ah ! I'm sick of their false prating 
 
 Of love's sorrows and love's yearning. 
 
 I'll ascend the distant mountains 
 
 Where the peaceful huts are standing, 
 
 Where the breezes free are blowing, 
 And the bosom free's expanding. 
 
 I'll ascend the distant mountains 
 Where the dusky firs are springing, 
 
 And the haughty clouds are roaming, 
 
 Brooks are murmuring, birds are singing. 
 
 Fare ye well, ye polish 'd chambers, 
 Polish'd lords and dames beguiling ; 
 
 To the mountains now ascending 
 I'll look down upon you, smiling. 
 
 ON the mountain stands the cottage 
 Of the aged mountaineer ; 
 There the dark-green fir is rustling, 
 And the golden moon shines clear. 
 
 In the cottage stands an arm-chair, 
 Richly carved and woudrously ; 
 
 He that on it sits is happy, 
 And the happy one am I ! 
 
 On the footstool sits the maiden. 
 On my knee her arms repose ; 
 
 Eyes are like two stars all azure, 
 Mouth is like the purple rose.
 
 230 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 And the stars so sweet and azure, 
 
 Large as heaven, she on me throws, 
 And she puts her lily-finger 
 
 Mocking on the purple rose. 
 No, we're seen not by the mother, 
 
 For with industry she spins ; 
 The guitar the father playing, 
 
 Some old melody begins. 
 And the maiden whispers softly, 
 
 Softly, in a tone suppress'd ; 
 Many a most important secret 
 
 She to me hath soon confess'd : 
 " Since the death of aunt, however, 
 
 :' We can't go to see the sight 
 " Of the shooting-match at Goslar, 
 
 " Which was such a great delight. 
 " Whereas here 'tis very lonely 
 
 " On the mountain-top, you know ; 
 " All the winter we're entirely 
 
 *' As though buried ia the snow. 
 " And I am a timid maiden, 
 
 " And as fearful as a child 
 " Of the wicked mountain spirits, 
 
 " Who at night roam fierce and wild " 
 
 Sudden is the sweet one silent, 
 
 Terrified by what she said, 
 And her little eyes she covers 
 
 With her little hands in dread. 
 Louder roars outside the fir-tree, 
 
 And the spinning-wheel loud hums ; 
 Meanwhile the guitar is tinkling, 
 
 And the olden tune it strums : 
 " Fear thee not, my little darling, 
 
 " At the wicked spirits' might ; 
 " Angels keep, my little darling, 
 
 " Safe watch o'er thee, day and night." 
 2. 
 
 FIR-TKEE with green finger's knocking 
 At the window small and low, 
 And the moon, the yellow list'ner, 
 
 Through it her sweet light, doth throw.
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 231 
 
 Father, mother, gently snoring, 
 
 In the neighbouring chamber sleep, 
 
 Yet we two are gaily talking, 
 So that wide awake we keep. 
 
 " That thou'rt wont to pray too often, 
 
 " Is a thing I'll credit ne'er, 
 " For thy lips' convulsive quiv'ring 
 
 " 111 accords with thoughts of prayer. 
 
 " Ay, that quiv'ring, cold and evil, 
 
 " Every time affrights me sore, 
 '' Yet thine eyes' mild lustre husheth 
 
 " Thy sad anguish evermore. 
 
 " I, too, doubt if thou believest 
 
 " All that is the Christian's boast ; 
 
 " Dost believe in God the Father, 
 " In the Son and Holy Ghost? " 
 
 Ah, my child ! when yet an infant 
 
 Sitting on my mother's knee, 
 I believed in God the Father, 
 
 Ruling all things wondrously ; 
 
 Who the beauteous earth created, 
 
 And the men that on it move ; 
 Who to suns, moons, stars predestined 
 
 All their tracks wherein to rove. 
 
 When, my child, I grew still bi{r?er 
 
 Many more things I conceived, 
 And my reason wax'd yet stronger, 
 
 And I in the Son believed. 
 
 In the Son beloved, who, loving, 
 
 Open'd to us love's door wide, 
 And who in reward, as usual, 
 
 By the mob was crucified. 
 
 Now that I am grown, have read much, 
 
 Wander'd over many a coast, 
 Doth my heart swell, and in earnest 
 
 I believe the Holy Ghost. 
 
 He hath done the greatest marvels, 
 
 And still greater doeth he ; 
 He hath burst the tyrants' strongholds, 
 
 Servants from their yoke set free.
 
 232 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Olden deadly wounds lie healeth, 
 And renews the olden law : 
 
 All men equal are, and noble 
 
 From the earliest breath they dra^r. 
 
 Every evil cloud he chaseth, 
 
 Drives the brain's dark weft away, 
 
 That corrupteth love and pleasure, 
 Grinning at us night and day. 
 
 Thousand knights well arm'd for battle 
 Hath the Holy Ghost ordain'd, 
 
 All his pleasure to accomplish, 
 All by mighty zeal sustain'd. 
 
 See, their trusty swords are gleaming ! 
 
 See, their noble banners wave ! 
 Ah, my child ! hast thou seen ever 
 
 Knights like this, so proud and brave ? 
 
 Now, my child, look on me boldly, 
 Kiss me, look upon me nigh ! 
 
 Such a daring knight, my fair one, 
 Of the Holy Ghost am I ! 
 
 3. 
 
 SILENTLY the moon is hiding 
 In the dark green fir-tree's rear, 
 And our lamp within the chamber 
 Flickers faint, with glimmer drear. 
 
 But my azure eyes are beaming 
 With a light that brighter plays, 
 
 And the purple rose is glowing, 
 And the darling maiden says : 
 
 " Little elves and little people 
 " Pilfer all our bread and bacon ; 
 
 " In the drawer at night they're lying, 
 " But by morning all is taken. 
 
 u Next our cream the little people 
 " From the milk are wont to sup, 
 
 " Leaving, too, the bowl uncover'd, 
 " And the cat the rest drinks up.
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 233 
 
 " And the cat a witch indeed is, 
 
 " For she crawls, while night-storms lower, 
 " Up the spirit-mountain yonder 
 
 " To the ancient ruin'd tower. 
 
 " There a castle erst was standing, 
 " Full of joy and glittering arms; 
 
 " Knights and squires, in merry torch-dance, 
 " Mingled with the ladies' charms. 
 
 " Then a wicked old enchantress 
 
 " Men and castle tod bewitch'd ; 
 " Nought remaineth but the ruins, 
 
 " Where the owls their nest have pitch 'd. 
 
 " Yet my late aunt used to tell us : 
 
 " If the proper word is said 
 " At the proper hour at nighttime 
 
 " At the proper place o'erhead, 
 
 " Then the ruins will be changed 
 
 " To a castle fair once more, 
 " Knights and squires and ladies gaily 
 
 " Will be dancing as of yore. 
 
 " Him by whom that word is spoken 
 
 " Men and castle will obey ; 
 " Drums and trumpets will proclaim him, 
 " Heralding his sov'reign sway." 
 
 Thus the charming legends issue 
 
 From the mouth so like a rose, 
 While an azure starry radiance 
 
 From her sweet eyes overflows. 
 
 Round my hand the little maiden 
 Twines her golden hair with glee, 
 
 Calls by pretty names my fingers, 
 Kisses, laughs, then mute is she. 
 
 All within that silent chamber 
 
 On me looks witli trusting eye ; 
 Table, cupboard, I could fancy 
 
 I had seen them formerly. 
 
 Like a friend tho house-clock prattles, 
 
 The guitar scarce audibly 
 Of itself begins to tinkle, 
 
 And as in a dream sit I.
 
 234 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Now's the proper place discover'd. 
 
 Now the proper hour hath sounded ; 
 If the proper word I utter'd, 
 
 Maiden, thou wouldst be astounded. 
 If that word I straightway utter'd, 
 
 Midnight would grow dim and quake, 
 Fir and streamlet roar more loudly, 
 
 And the aged mountain wake. 
 Lute's soft strains and pigmy music 
 
 From the mountain's clefts would burst, 
 And a flowering wood shoot from them 
 
 As in joyous spring-time erst. 
 Flowers, all-hardy magic flowers, 
 
 Leaves of size so fabulous, 
 Fragrant, varied, hasty-quiv'ring, 
 
 As though passion stirr'd them thus. 
 Roses, wild as flames all-glowing, 
 
 Dart from out the mass like gems ; 
 Lilies, like to crystal arrows. 
 
 Upward shoot tow'rd heaven their stems. 
 And the stars, like suns in greatness 
 
 Downward gaze with yearning glow ; 
 In the lily's giant-calix 
 
 They their gushing radiance throw. 
 Yet ourselves, my darling maiden, 
 
 Alter'd more than all we seem ; 
 Gold and silk and torches' lustre 
 
 Joyously around us gleam. 
 Thou, yea thou, becom'st a princess, 
 
 To a castle turns this cot ; 
 Knights and squires and ladies gaily 
 
 Dance with rapture, tiring not. 
 Thee and all, both men and castle, 
 
 I, yea I, have gaiu'd to-day ; 
 Drums and trumpets loud proclaim me. 
 
 Heralding my sov'reign sway ! 
 4. 
 
 SHEPHERD boy's a king, on greeu hills 
 As a throne he sitteth down; 
 O'er his head the sun all-radiant 
 IP his ever golden crown.
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 235 
 
 At his feet the sheep are lying, 
 Gentle fawners, streak'd with red ; 
 
 Calves as cavaliers attend him, 
 Proudly o'er the pastures spread. 
 
 Kids are all his court-performers, 
 
 With the birds and cows as well, 
 And he has his chamber-music 
 
 To the sound of flute and bell. 
 
 And it sounds and sings so sweetly, 
 
 And the time so sweetly keep 
 Waterfall and nodding fir-trees, 
 
 And the king then goes to sleep. 
 
 In the meantime acts as ruler 
 
 His prime minister, the hound, 
 While his loud and surly barking 
 
 Echoes all the country round. 
 
 Sleepily the young king murmurs : 
 
 " 'Tis a heavy task to reign ; 
 " Ah ! right gladly would I find me 
 
 " With my queen at home again ! 
 
 " In my queen's arms soft and tender 
 
 " Calmly rests my kingly head, 
 " And my vast and boundless kingdom 
 
 " In her dear eyes lies outspread.'' 
 
 5. 
 
 "ORIGHTER in the East 'tis growing 
 -13 Through the sun's soft glimm'ring motion ; 
 Far and wide the mountain-summits 
 Float within the misty ocean. 
 
 With the speed of wind I'd hasten, 
 
 If I seven-league boots had only, 
 Over yonder mountain-summits 
 
 To my darling's dwelling lonely, 
 
 Gently would I draw the curtain 
 
 From the bed wherein she's lying, 
 Gently would I kiss her forehead, 
 
 And her mouth, with rubies vying,
 
 236 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Still more gently would I whisper 
 
 In her lily-ear so tender : 
 " Think in dreams, we love each other, 
 
 " And our love will ne'er surrender." 
 
 6. 
 
 I AM the princess Use, 
 And dwell in Ilsenstein ; 
 Come with me to my castle, 
 
 And there 'midst pleasures be mine. 
 
 Thy head I'll softly moisten 
 
 With my pellucid wave ; 
 Thou shalt forget thine anguish, 
 
 Poor sorrow-stricken knave ! 
 
 Within my arms so snowy, 
 
 Upon my snowy breast, 
 Shalt thou repose, and dream there 
 
 Of olden legends blest. 
 
 I'll kiss thee and embrace thee, 
 
 As I embraced and kiss'd 
 The darling Kaiser Henry, 
 
 Who doth no longer exist. 
 
 None live except the living, 
 The dead are dead and gone ; 
 
 And I am fair and blooming, 
 My laughing heart beats on. 
 
 And as my heart is beating, 
 My crystal castle doth ring ; 
 
 The knights and maidens are dancing, 
 The squires ail-joyfully spring. 
 
 The silken trains are rustling, 
 
 The spurs of iron are worn, 
 The dwarfs beat drum and trumpet, 
 
 And fiddle and play the horn. 
 
 But thee shall my arm hold warmly 
 
 As Kaiser Henry it held ; 
 I held him fast imprison'd, 
 
 When loudly the trumpet's note swell'd.
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 237 
 
 THE BALTIC. 
 
 PAKT I. 1825. 
 1. EVENING TWILIGHT. 
 
 BY ocean's pallid strand 
 Sat I, tormented in spirit and lonely. 
 The sun sank lower and lower, and threw 
 Bed glowing streaks upon the water, 
 And the snowy, spreading billows, 
 By the flood hard-press'd, 
 Foam'd and roar'd still nearer and nearer 
 A wonderful sound, a whisp'ring and piping, 
 A laughing and murmuring, sighing and rushing, 
 Between times a lullaby-home-sounding singing. 
 Methinks I hear some olden tradition, 
 Primeval, favourite legend, 
 Which I erst as a stripling 
 Learnt from the neighbours' children, 
 When we, on the summer evenings, 
 On the house-door's steps all cower'd 
 Cosily for quiet talking. 
 With our little hearts all attentive, 
 And our eyes all wisely curious ; 
 Whilst the bigger maidens, 
 Close by their fragrant flowerpots 
 Sat at the opposite window 
 Rosy their faces, 
 Smiling, illumed by the moon. 
 
 2. SUNSET. 
 
 THE glowing ruddy sun descends 
 Down to the far up-shuddering 
 Silvery -grey world-ocean ; 
 Airy images, rosily taeath'd upon, 
 After him roll, and over against him, 
 Out of the' autumnal glimmering veil of clonds, 
 With face all mournful and pale ab death, 
 Bursteth forth the moon, 
 And behind lier. like sparks of light, 
 Misty-broad, glimmer the stars.
 
 238 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Once in the heavens there glitter'd, 
 Join'd in fond union, 
 Luna the goddess and Sol the god, 
 And around them the stars all cluster'd, 
 Their little, innocent children. 
 
 But evil tongues then whisper'd disunion, 
 And they parted in anger, 
 That glorious, radiant pair. 
 
 . Now, in the daytime, in splendour all lonely, 
 Wanders the Sun-god in realms on high, 
 On account of his majesty 
 Greatly sung-to and worshipp'd 
 By haughty, bliss-harden'd mortals. 
 But in the night-time, 
 In heaven wanders Luna, 
 Unhappy mother, 
 
 With all her orphan'd starry children, 
 And she gleams in silent sorrow, 
 And loving maidens and gentle poets 
 Devote to her tears and songs. 
 
 The gentle Luna ! womanly minded, 
 Still doth she love her beautiful spouse. 
 Towards the evening, trembling and pale, 
 Peeps she forth from the light clouds around, 
 And looks at the parting one mournfully, 
 And fain would cry in her anguish : " Come I 
 " Come ! the children all long for thee 
 But the disdainful Sun-god, 
 At the sight of his spouse, 'gins glowing 
 
 With still deeper purple, 
 
 In anger and grief, 
 
 And inflexibly hastens he 
 
 Down to his flood-chilly widow'd bed. 
 ***** 
 
 Evil and backbiting tongues 
 
 Thus brought grief and destruction 
 
 E'en 'mongst the godheads immortal. 
 
 And the poor godheads, yonder in heaven, 
 
 Wander in misery, 
 
 Comfortless over their endless tracks, 
 
 And death cannot reach them,
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 239 
 
 And with them they trail 
 Their bright desolation. 
 
 But I, the mere man, 
 
 The lowly-planted, the blest- with-death one, 
 
 I sorrow no longer. 
 
 3. THE NIGHT ON THE STRAND. 
 
 STARLESS and cold is the night, 
 The ocean boils ; 
 
 And over the sea, fiat on its belly, 
 Lies the misshapen Northwind ; 
 With groaning and stifled mysterious voice, 
 A sullen grumbler, good-humour'd for once, 
 Prates he away to the waves, 
 Telling many a wild tradition, 
 Giant-legends, murderous humorous, 
 Primeval Sagas from Norway, 
 
 And the while, far echoing, laughs he and howls he 
 Exorcists' songs of the Edda, 
 Grey old Runic proverbs, 
 So darkly-daring, and magic-forcible, 
 That the white sons of Ocean 
 Spring up on high, all exulting, 
 In madden'd excitement. 
 
 Meanwhile, along the flat shore, 
 
 Over the flood-moisten'd sand, 
 
 Paces a stranger, whose heart within him 
 
 Is wilder far than wind and waters ; 
 
 There where he walks 
 
 Sparks fly out, and shells are crackling, 
 
 And he veils himself in his dark-grey mantle, 
 
 And quickly moves on through the blustering night ; 
 
 Guided in safety by you little light, 
 
 That sweetly, invitingly glimmers, 
 
 From the lone fisherman's cottage. 
 
 Father and brother are out on the sea, 
 
 And all all alone is staying 
 
 Within the hut the fisherman's daughter, 
 
 The wondrously lovely fisherman's daughter. 
 
 By the hearth she's sitting, 
 
 And lists to the water-kettle's
 
 240 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Homely, sweet foreboding humming, 
 
 And shakes in the fire the crackling brushwood. 
 
 And on it blows, 
 
 So that the lights, all ruddy and flickering, 
 
 Magic-sweetly are reflected 
 
 On her fair blooming features, 
 
 On her tender, snowy shoulder, 
 
 Which, moving gently, peeps 
 
 From out her coarse grey smock, 
 
 And on her little, anxious hand, 
 
 Which fastens firmer her under-garment, 
 
 Over her graceful hip. 
 
 .But sudden, the door bursts open, 
 The nightly stranger entereth in ; 
 Love-secure, his eye reposes 
 On the snowy, slender maiden, 
 Who, trembling, near him stands, 
 Like to a startled lily ; 
 And he throws his mautle to earth, 
 And laughs and speaks : 
 
 " See now. my child, I've kept my word, 
 
 " And I come, and with me hath come 
 
 " The olden time, when the gods from the heavens 
 
 " Came down to earth, to the daughters of mortals, 
 
 " And the daughters of mortals embraced they, 
 
 " And from them there issued 
 
 " Sceptre-bearing races of monarchs, 
 
 " And heroes, wonders of earth. 
 
 " But start not, my child, any longer 
 
 " Because of my godhead, 
 
 " And I pray thee give me some tea mix'd with rum, 
 
 " For 'tis cold out of doors, 
 
 " And amid such night breezes 
 
 " Freeze even we, we godheads immortal, 
 
 *' And easily catch the divinest of colds, 
 
 " Aitd a cough that proves quite eternal.'' 
 
 4. POSEIDON. 
 
 ri^HE sun's bright rays were playing 
 _L Over the wide-rolling breadth of the sea ; 
 Far in the roadstead glitter'd the ship 
 Destined to home to convey me
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 241 
 
 But a propitious wind was yet wanting, 
 
 And I sat on the white downs all calmly 
 
 Hard by the lonely strand, 
 
 And I read the song of Odysseus, 
 
 The olden, ever-youthful song, 
 
 From out whose sea-beflutter'd leaves 
 
 Joyfully rose to meet me 
 
 The breath of the deities, 
 
 And the shining spring-time of mortals, 
 
 And the blooming heaven of Hellas. 
 
 My generous heart accompanied truly 
 
 The son of Laertes in wanderings and troubles, 
 
 Placed itself with him, spirit-tormented, 
 
 At guestly hearths, 
 
 Where beauteous queens were spinning their purple, 
 
 And help'd him to lie, and succeed in escaping 
 
 From giants' caverns and nymphs' embraces, 
 
 Follow d him down to Cimmerian night, 
 
 And in tempest and shipwreck, 
 
 And with him endured unspeakable torments. 
 
 Sighing spake I : " Thou wicked Poseidon, 
 " Thine auger is fearful ; 
 " I myself am anxious 
 " As to my own return." 
 
 Scarce breath'd I these words, 
 When the sea foam'd on high, 
 And out of the snowy billows arose 
 The sedge-becrowned head of the seagod, 
 And scornfully cried he : 
 
 ' Fear not. little poet ! 
 
 ' I'll not for one moment endanger 
 
 ' Thy poor little vessel, 
 
 And thy dear life shall not be tormented 
 
 ' ' y any critical tossing. 
 
 ' For thou, little poet, hast never annoy'd me, 
 
 'No single turret was injured by thee 
 
 ' In Priam's sacred fortress, 
 
 ' No single hair didst thou e'er singe 
 
 ' In the eye of my son Polyphemus, 
 
 ' And thou hast ne'er been advised or protected 
 
 ' By the goddess of wisdom, Pallas Athene !"
 
 242 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Thus cried Poseidon, 
 And sank 'neath the ocean again ; 
 And at the vulgar seaman's wit 
 Laugh'd under the water 
 Amphitrite, the clumsy fishwoman. 
 And the silly daughters of Nereus. 
 
 5. HOMAGE. 
 
 YE songs ! my trusty numbers ! 
 Up, up ! and on with your arms 
 Bid the trumpet to blow, 
 And raise high on my shield 
 The youthful maiden, 
 Who's now to rule my heart, 
 My undivided heart, as queen. 
 
 Hail to thee, youthful queen ! 
 
 From the sun on high 
 
 Tear I his sparkling ruddy gold, 
 
 And of it weave a diadem 
 
 For thine anointed head. 
 
 From the fluttering blue-silken heaven's veil 
 
 Wherein night's diamonds are gleaming, 
 
 Cut I a costly piece, 
 
 And hang, as coronation mantle, 
 
 Upon thy regal shoulders. 
 
 I give to thee, as courtiers, 
 
 Some well-bedizen'd sonnets, 
 
 Haughty terzinas and courtly stanzas ; 
 
 My wit shall serve thee as footman, 
 
 And as court-fool my phantasy, 
 
 As herald, the laughing tears on my scutcheou, 
 
 My humour shall serve thee. 
 
 But I, my queen, 
 
 Before thee kneel down, 
 
 In homage, on red velvet cushion, 
 
 And to thee hand over 
 
 The small bit of reason, 
 
 Which, out of compassion, was left me 
 
 By her who last govern'd thy kingdom. 
 
 6. DECLARATION. 
 
 ONWARD glimmering came the evening, 
 Wilder tossed the flood,
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 243 
 
 And I sat on the strand, regarding 
 
 The snowy dance of the billows, 
 
 And soon my bosom swell'd like the sea ; 
 
 A deep home-sickness yearningly seized me 
 
 For thee, thou darling form, 
 
 Who everywhere surround'st me. 
 
 And everywhere call'st me, 
 
 Everywhere, everywhere, 
 
 In the moan of the wind, in the roar of the ocean, 
 
 In the sigh within my own breast. 
 
 With brittle reed I wrote on the sand : 
 
 " Agnes, I love thee !" 
 
 But wicked billows soon pour'd themselves 
 
 Over the blissful confession, 
 
 Effacing it all. 
 
 Ah too fragile reed, ah fast-scatter'd sand, 
 
 Ah fugitive billows, I'll trust you no more ! 
 
 The heavens grow darker, my heart grows wilder, 
 
 And with vigorous hand from the forests of Norway 
 
 Tear I the highest fir-tree, 
 
 And plunge it deep 
 
 In Etna's glowing abyss, and thereafter 
 
 With fire-imbued giant-pen 
 
 I write on the dark veil of heaven : 
 
 " Agnes, I love thee !'' 
 
 Every night gleams thenceforward 
 
 On high that eternal fiery writing, 
 
 Aud all generations of farthest descendants 
 
 Head gladly the heavenly sentence : 
 
 ' Agnes, I love thee !" 
 
 7. IN THE CABIN AT NIGHT. 
 
 THE sea its pearls possesseth, 
 And heaven its stars containeth, 
 But, my heart, my heart, 
 My heart its love hath also. 
 
 Vast is the sea and the heavens, 
 Yet vaster is my heart, 
 And fairer than pearls or the stars 
 Glitt'reth and beameth my lore.
 
 244 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Thou little youthful maiden, 
 Come to my heart so vast ; 
 My heart and the sea and the heavens 
 For very love are dying. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 'Gainst the azure veil of heaven, 
 Where the beauteous stars are twinkling^ 
 Fain I'd press my lips with ardour, 
 Press them wildly, madly weeping. 
 
 Yonder stars the very eyes are 
 Of my loved one, thousand-changing 
 Glimmer they and greet me kindly 
 From the azure veil of heaven. 
 
 Tow'rd the azure veil of heaven, 
 Tow'rd the eyes of my beloved one, 
 Lift I up my arms in worship, 
 And I pray, and thus beseech them : 
 
 Beauteous eyes, ye lights of mercy, 
 O make happy my poor spirit, 
 Let me die, and as my guerdon, 
 Win both you and all your heaven ! 
 
 * * * * 
 
 From those heavenly eyes above me 
 Light and trembling sparks are falling 
 Through the night, and then my spirit 
 Loving-wide and wider stretcheth. 
 
 O ye heavenly eyes above me ! 
 Weep yourselves into my spirit. 
 That my spirit may run over 
 With those tears so sweet and starry I 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Cradled by the ocean billows, 
 
 And by thoughts that seem like visions, 
 
 Silent lie I in the cabin, 
 
 In the dark bed in the corner. 
 
 Through the open hatchway see I 
 There on high the stars all-radiant, 
 Thoso sweet eyes so dearly cherish 'd 
 Of my sweet and dearly loved one.
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 245 
 
 Those sweet eyes so dearly cherish'd 
 
 Far above iny head are watching, 
 
 And they tinkle and they beckon 
 
 From the azure veil of heaven. 
 
 Tow'rd the azure veil of heaven 
 
 Gaze I many an hour with rapture, 
 
 Till a white and misty curtain 
 
 From me hides those eyes so cherish'd. 
 
 'Gainst the boarded side of the ship, 
 
 Where my dreaming head is lying, 
 
 Rave the billows, the furious billows. 
 
 They roar and they murmur 
 
 Thus soft in my ear : 
 " foolish young fellow 1 
 
 " Thine arm is short, and the heavens are wide, 
 " And yonder stars are firmly nailed there ; 
 " In vain is thy yearning, in vain is thy sighing, 
 " The best thou can'st do is to sleep !" 
 
 * * * * 
 
 I dreamt, and dreaming saw a spacious heath, 
 Far overspread with white, with whitest snow, 
 And 'neath that white snow buried I was lying, 
 And slept the lonesome, chilly sleep of death. 
 
 Yet from on high, from out the darkling heavens, 
 Look'd down upon my grave those eyes all-starry, 
 Those eyes so sweet ! In triumph they were gleaming, 
 In calm and radiant but excessive love. 
 
 8. STORM. 
 
 THE tempest is raging, 
 It floggeth the billows, 
 And the billows, fierce-foaming and rearing, 
 Rise up on high, and with life are all heaving 
 The snowy watery mountains, 
 And the small bark climbs o'er them. 
 Labouring hastily, 
 And suddenly plungeth it down 
 In the black, wide-gaping abyss of the flood. 
 
 O sea! 
 
 Mother of beauty, the foam-arisen one ! 
 Grandmother of love ! O spare me I 
 Already flutters, corpse-scenting,
 
 246 HEINES POEMS. 
 
 The snowy, spirit-like sea-mew, 
 And wetteth his beak 'gainst the mast, 
 And longs, eager to taste, for the heart 
 Which proclaimeth the fame of thy daughter, 
 And which thy grandson, the little rogue, 
 Chose for his plaything. 
 
 In vain my entreaties and prayers ! 
 
 My cry dies away in the blustering storm, 
 
 In the wind's battle-shout ; 
 
 It roars and pipes and crackles and howls, 
 
 Like a madhouse of noises ! 
 
 And, between times, I audibly hear 
 
 Harp -strains alluring, 
 
 Songs all wild and yearning, 
 
 Spirit-melting and spirit-rending, 
 
 And the voice I remember ! 
 
 Far away, on the rock-coast of Scotland, 
 
 Where the old grey castle projecteth 
 
 Over the wild raging sea, 
 
 There at the lofty and arched window, 
 
 Standeth a woman, beauteous but ill, 
 
 Softly-transparent and marble-pale, 
 
 And she's playing her harp and she's singing, 
 
 And the wind through her long locks forceth its waj 
 
 And beareth her gloomy song 
 
 Over the wide and tempest- toss'd sea. 
 
 9. CALM AT SEA. 
 
 CALM at sea ! His beams all radiant 
 Throws the sun across the water, 
 And amid the heaving jewels, 
 Furrows green the ship is tracing. 
 
 Near the steersman lies the boatswain 
 On his stomach, snoring gently ; 
 Near the mast, the sails repairing, 
 Squats the cabin-boy, all-tarry. 
 
 But behind his cheeks so dirty 
 Red blood springs, a mournful quiv'ring 
 Round his wide mouth plays, and sadly 
 Stare his eyes, so large and handsome.
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 247 
 
 For the captain stands before him, 
 Raving, cursing, "thief" exclaiming: 
 " Thief! a herring you have stolen 
 " From the barrel, O you rascal !" 
 
 Calm at sea ! From out the waters 
 Lifts himself a clever fishkin ; 
 In the sun his head he warmeth, 
 Splashing with his tail so gaily. 
 
 But the sea-mew, soaring over, 
 Shooteth down upon the fishkin, 
 And his sudden prize fast holding 
 In his bill, again mounts upward. 
 
 10. THE OCEAN SPECTRE. 
 
 BUT I upon the ship's edge was lying, 
 And gazed with my eyes all dreamy 
 Down on the glassy pellucid water, 
 And gazed yet deeper and deeper 
 Till, deep in the ocean's abysses, 
 At first like a glimmering mist, 
 Then, bit by bit, with hues more decided, 
 Domes of churches and towers appeared, 
 And at last, clear as sunlight, a city, 
 Antiquarian Netherlandish, 
 And swarming with life. 
 Reverent men, in garments of black, 
 With snowy frills and chains of honour, 
 And lengthy swords and lengthy faces, 
 Over the crowded market are pacing 
 Tow'rd the high-stair'd council-chamber, 
 Where Emperors' stony images 
 Keep guard with sceptre and sword : 
 Hard by, in front of the long row of houses, 
 With mirror-like glistening windows, 
 Stand the lindens all trimm'd into pyramids, 
 And silken rustling maidens are wandering, 
 A golden band round their slender bodies, 
 Their blooming faces neatly surrounded 
 By head-dresses velvet and black, 
 From whence their abundant locks are escaping. 
 Gay young fellows, in Spanish costume, 
 Proudly are passing and nodding.
 
 248 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Aged women, 
 
 [n garments all brown and strange-looking, 
 
 Psalm-book and rosary in hand, 
 
 Hasten with tripping step 
 
 Tow'rd the cathedral church, 
 
 Impell'd by the sound of the bells, 
 
 And the rushing notes of the organ. 
 
 Mysterious awe seizeth me too, 
 
 Caused by the distant sound ; 
 
 A. ne'er-ending yearning and sadness deep 
 
 Steal o'er my heart, 
 
 My scarcely-heard heart ; 
 
 It seems as though its bitter wounds 
 
 By dear lips were kiss'd open, 
 
 And once again were bleeding 
 
 With drops hot and ruddy, 
 
 Which long and slowly downward fall 
 
 Upon an ancient house below 
 
 In yon deep-ocean city, 
 
 Upon an ancient and high-gabled house. 
 
 Where sits in lonely melancholy 
 
 A maiden at the window, 
 
 Her head on her arm reclined, 
 
 Like to some poor, forgotten child, 
 
 And I know thee, thou poor, forgotten child t 
 
 Thus deep, thus deep, then 
 
 Thou hidd'st thyself from me 
 
 In some childish conceit, 
 
 And couldst not reascend, 
 
 And sattest strange, among strange people, 
 
 Five hundred years, 
 
 And I meanwhile, with soul full of grief, 
 
 Sought thee over all the earth, 
 
 And ever sought thee, 
 
 Thou ever-beloved one, 
 
 Thou long-time-lost one, 
 
 Thou finally-found one, 
 
 I've found thee at last, and again behold 
 
 Thy countenance sweet, 
 
 Thine eyes so prudent and faithful, 
 
 Thy smile so dear 
 
 And never again will T leave thee.
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 249 
 
 And downward hasten I to thee, 
 And with wide-spreading arms 
 Throw myself do\vn on thy heart. 
 
 But just in time 
 
 1 was seized by the foot by the Captain, 
 And torn from the side of the ship, 
 While he cried, laughing bitterly : 
 " Why, Doctor, are you mad ?" 
 
 11. PURIFICATION. 
 
 REMAIN thou in thy ocean-depths. 
 Delirious dream, 
 That erst so many a night 
 My heart with false joy hast tormented, 
 And now, an ocean-spectre, 
 E'en in bright daylight threaten'st me 
 Remain below, eternally, 
 And I'll throw down to thee there 
 All my sins and my sorrows, 
 And folly's cap and bells 
 That round my head so long have rattled, 
 And the cold and glistening serpent-skin 
 Of hypocrisy, 
 
 Which so long hath twined round my spirit, 
 My sickly spirit, 
 My God-denying, angel-denying 
 Unhappy spirit 
 
 Hoiho ! hoiho ! Here comes the wind ! 
 Over the plain so destructive when smooth 
 Hastens the ship, 
 And my rescued spirit rejoices. 
 
 12. PEACE. 
 
 HIGH in the heavens there stood the sun 
 Cradled in snowy clouds, 
 The sea was still, 
 
 And musing I lay at the helm of the ship, 
 Dreamily musing, and half in waking 
 And half in slumber, I gazed upon Christ, 
 The Saviour of man. 
 In streaming and snowy garment 
 He wander 'd, ^iant-great, 
 Over land and sea ;
 
 250 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 His head reach'd high to the heavens, 
 
 His hands he stretch'd out in blessing 
 
 Over land and sea ; 
 
 And as a heart in his bosom 
 
 Bore he the sun, 
 
 The sun all ruddy and flaming, 
 
 And the ruddy and flaming sunny-heart 
 
 Shed its beams of mercy 
 
 And its beauteous, bliss-giving light, 
 
 Lighting and warming 
 
 Over land and sea. 
 
 Sounds of bells were solemnly drawing 
 
 Here and there, like swans were drawing 
 
 By rosy bands the gliding ship, 
 
 And drew it sportively tow'rd the green shore, 
 
 Where men were dwelling, in high and turreted 
 
 O'erhanging town. 
 
 O blessings of peace ! how still the town ! 
 
 Hush'd was the hollow sound 
 
 Of busy and sweltering trade, 
 
 And through the clean and echoing streets 
 
 Were passing men in white attire, 
 
 Palm-branches bearing, 
 
 A nd when two chanced to meet, 
 
 They view'd each other with inward intelligence! 
 
 And trembling, in love and sweet denial, 
 
 Kiss'd on the forehead each other, 
 
 And gazed up on high 
 
 At the Saviour's sunny-heart, 
 
 Which, glad and atoningly 
 
 Beam'd down its ruddy blood, 
 
 And three times blest, thus spake they : 
 
 " Praised be Jesus Christ !" 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Couldst thou this vision have only imagined, 
 
 What would st thou not give for it, 
 
 My dearest friend ! 
 
 Thou who in head and loins art so weak, 
 
 And so strong in thy faith, 
 
 And the Trinity worship'st in Unity, 
 
 And the dog and the cross and the paw 
 
 Of thy lofty patroness daily kissest.
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 251 
 
 And hast work'd thy way upward by canting 
 
 As an Aulic Counsellor, Magistrate, 
 
 And at last as a Government Counsellor 
 
 In the pious town * 
 
 Where flourish both sand and religion, 
 
 And the patient water of sacred Spree 
 
 Washes souls and dilutes the tea 
 
 Couldst thou this vision have only imagined, 
 
 My dearest friend ! 
 
 Thou hadst borne it up high, to the market-place, 
 
 Thy countenance pallid and blinking 
 
 Had been dissolved in devotion and lowliness, 
 
 And her Serene Highness, 
 
 Enchanted and trembling with rapture, 
 
 Had with thee sunk in prayer on the knee, 
 
 And her eyes, beaming brightly, 
 
 Had promised, by way of increase of salary, 
 
 A hundred Prussian dollars sterling, 
 
 And thou, with folded hands, wouldst have stammer'd : 
 
 " Praised be Jesus Christ!" 
 
 PART II. 1826. 
 1. SEA SALUTATION. 
 
 THALATTA! Thalatta! 
 Hail to thee, thou Ocean eterne ! 
 Hail to thee ten thousand times 
 From hearts all exulting, 
 As formerly hail'd thee 
 Ten thousand Grecian hearts, 
 Misfortune-contending, homeward-aspiring, 
 World-renown'd Grecian hearts. 
 
 The billows were heaving, 
 
 They heaved and they bluster'd, 
 
 The sun shed hastily downwards 
 
 His light so sportive and rosy-hued; 
 
 The sudden-startled flocks of sea-mews 
 
 Flutter'd along, loud screaming, 
 
 The horses were stamping, the bucklers were ringing, 
 
 And afar there resounded triumphantly : 
 
 Thalatta ! Thalatta ! 
 
 * Berlin.
 
 252 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Hail to thee, thou Ocean eterne ! 
 Like voices of home thy waters are rushing, 
 Like visions of childhood saw I a glimmering 
 Over thy heaving billowy-realm, 
 
 jid olden remembrance again tells me stories 
 Of all the darling, beautiful playthings, 
 Of all the glittering Christmas presents, 
 Of all the ruddy coral branches, 
 The gold fish, pearls and colour'd shells 
 Which thou mysteriously dost keep 
 Down yonder in bright crystal house. 
 
 how have I languish'd in drear foreign lands ! 
 
 Like to a wither'd flower 
 
 In the tin case of a botanist, 
 
 Lay in my bosom my heart ; 
 
 Methought whole winters long I sat 
 
 An invalid, in darksome sick-room, 
 
 And now I suddenly leave it, 
 
 And with dazzling rays am I greeted 
 
 By emerald springtime, the sunny-awaken'd, 
 
 And the snowy blossoming trees are all rustling, 
 
 And the youthful flowers upon me gaze 
 
 With eyes all chequer 'd and fragrant ; [laughing, 
 
 There's a perfume and humming and breathing and 
 
 And the birds in the azure heavens are singing 
 
 Thalatta! Thalatta ! 
 
 Thou valiant retreating heart ! 
 
 How oft, how bitter-oft, wast thou 
 
 Hard press'd by the Northern barbarian women ! 
 
 From large victorious eyes 
 
 Shot they their burning arrows ; 
 
 With words both crooked and polish'd 
 
 They threatened to cleave my breast, 
 
 With cuniform billets-doux harass'd they 
 
 My poor distracted brain 
 
 In vain I held my shield to resist them, 
 
 The arrows whizz'd and the blows crash 'd heavily, 
 
 And by the Northern barbarian women 
 
 Back to the sea was I driven, 
 
 And freely breathing I hailed the sea, 
 
 The darling life-saving sea, 
 
 Thalatta ! Thalatta ?
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 253 
 
 2. THUNDEE8TOKM. 
 
 HEAVILY lies on the ocean the storm, 
 And through the darksome wall of clouds 
 Quivers the forked lightning flash, 
 Suddenly gleaming and suddenly vanishing, 
 Like a thought from the head of Cronion. 
 ( )ver the desert, far-heaving water 
 A fiir the thunders are rolling, 
 The snowy billowy horses are springing, 
 Which Boreas' self did engender 
 Out of the beautiful mares of Erichton, 
 And the seafowl are mournfully fluttering, 
 Like shadowy corpses by Styx, 
 By Charon repulsed from his desolate bark. 
 
 Poor, but merry little ship, 
 
 Yonder dancing the strangest dance! 
 
 ./Eolus sends it his briskest attendants, 
 
 Who wildly strike up for the frolicsome dance ; 
 
 The one is piping, another is blowing, 
 
 The third is beating the hollow double-bass 
 
 And the staggering sailor stands at the rudder, 
 
 And on the compass is steadily looking, 
 
 That trembling soul of the vessel, 
 
 And raises his hands in entreaty to heaven ; 
 
 " rescue me, Castor, thou hero gigantic, 
 
 " And thou, knight of the ring, Polydeuces !" 
 
 3. THE SHIPWRECKED ONE. 
 
 HOPE and love ! All crumbled to atoms ! 
 And I myself, like to a corpse 
 Thrown up by the growling sea, 
 Lie on the strand, 
 The dreary, naked strand. 
 Before me, the watery waste is heaving, 
 Behind me lie but sorrow and misery, 
 And over me high are passing the clouds, 
 The formless grey-hued daughters of air, 
 Who out of the sea, in misty buckets, 
 Draw up the water, 
 And wearily drag it and drag it, 
 Then spill it again in the sea, 
 A mournful and tedious business, 
 And useless as e'en 1113' own life.
 
 234 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 The billows murmur, the sea-mews arc screaming. 
 Olden remembrances over me drift, 
 Dreams long forgotten and images perish'd, 
 Painfully sweet come to light. 
 
 In the North a woman is living, 
 A beauteous woman, royally fair. 
 Her slender figure, like a tall cypress, 
 By an alluring white robe is embraced ; 
 Her dark and flowing tresses, 
 Like to a blissful night, are streaming 
 Down from her lofty, braid-crowned head, 
 And dreamily-sweetly form ringlets 
 Over her sweet pale face ; 
 And out of her sweet pale face, 
 Large and o'erpowering, beams an eye 
 Like a black sun in radiance. 
 
 O thou black sun, how often, 
 
 Enchantingly often, I drank from thee 
 
 Wild flames of inspiration, 
 
 And stood and reel'd, all drunk with fire, 
 
 Then hover'd a mild and dovelike smile 
 
 Eound the high-contracted haughty lips, 
 
 And the high-contracted haughty lips 
 
 Breath'd forth words as sweet as moonlight, 
 
 And tender as the rose's fragrance 
 
 And then my spirit ascended, 
 
 And flew, like an eagle, straight up into heaven 1 
 
 Peace, ye billows and sea-mews ! 
 All is now over, happiness, hope, 
 Hope, ay, and love ! I lie on the shore, 
 A lonely and shipwrecked man, 
 And press my countenance glowing 
 Deep in the humid sand. 
 
 4. SUNSET. 
 
 THE beauteous sun 
 Hath calmly descended down to the sea ; 
 The heaving waters already are dyed 
 By dusky night ; 
 Nought but the evening's red 
 With golden light still spreadeth o'er them, 
 And the rushing force of the flood
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 255 
 
 'Gainst the shore presseth the snowy billows 
 Which merrily, hastily skip, 
 Like wool-cover'd flocks of lambkins 
 Whom the singing sheep-boy at even 
 Homeward doth drive. 
 
 " How fair is the sun !" 
 
 So spake, after long silence, my friend, 
 
 Who with me wander'd along the strand, 
 
 And half in sport and half in sad earnest 
 
 Assured he me that the sun was only 
 
 A lovely woman,* whom the old sea-god 
 
 Out of convenience married ; 
 
 All the day long she joyously wander'd 
 
 In the high heavens, deck'd out with purple, 
 
 And glitt'ring with diamonds, 
 
 And all-beloved and all-adinired 
 
 By every mortal creature, 
 
 And every mortal creature rejoicing 
 
 With her sweet glances' light and warmth ; 
 
 But in the evening, impell'd all-disconsolate, 
 
 Once more returueth she home 
 
 To the moist house and desert arms 
 
 Of her grey-headed spouse. 
 
 " Believe me" here added my friend, 
 
 With laughter and sighing and laughter again : 
 
 " They're living below in the tendorest union ! 
 
 " Either they're sleeping or quarrelling fiercely, 
 
 " So that up here e'en the ocean is roaring, 
 
 " And the fisherman hears in the rush of the wavoa 
 
 " How the old man's abusing his wife : 
 
 " ' Thou round wench of the universe ! 
 
 " ' Beaming coquettish one ! 
 
 " ' All the day long thou art glowing for others, 
 
 " ' At night for me thou art frosty and tired.' 
 
 After this curtain lecture 
 ' As a matter of course the proud sun 
 ' Bursts into tears, lamenting her misery. 
 ' And cries so sadly and long, that the sea-god 
 ' Suddenly springs from his bed all distracted, 
 " And hastily swims to the surface of ocean, 
 " To recover his breath and his senses. 
 
 * It will be remembered that the sun id f< minine in Civmun
 
 256 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 ' I saw him myself, in the night just past, 
 
 ' Rising out of the sea as high as his bosom ; 
 
 ' A jacket of yellow flannel he wore, 
 
 ' And a lily-white nightcap, 
 
 ' And a face all wither'd and dry." 
 
 5. THE SONG OF THE OCEANIDES. 
 
 SHADOWS of evening o'er ocean are falling, 
 And lonely, with none but his lonely soul with him, 
 Sits there a man on the dreary strand, 
 And looks, with death-chilly look, up on high 
 Tow'rd the spacious, death-chilly vault of heaven, 
 And looks on the spacious billowy main, 
 And over the spacious billowy main 
 Like airy sailors, his signs are floating, 
 Returning again despondingly, 
 For they have found fast closed the heart 
 Wherein they fain would anchor 
 And he groans so loud, that the snowy sea-mews, 
 Startled away from their sandy nests, 
 Flutter around him in flocks, 
 And he speaks unto them these laughing words : 
 
 " Ye black-legged birds, 
 
 "With snowy pinions o'er the sea fluttering, 
 
 " With crooked beaks the sea- water sucking up, 
 
 " And train-oily seal's flesh devouring, 
 
 *' Your life is bitter as is your food ! 
 
 " But I, the happy one, taste nought but sweetness ! 
 
 " I taste the rose's sweet exhalation, 
 
 " The moonlight nourished bride of the nightingale ; 
 
 " I taste, too, the sweetness of all things : 
 
 " Loving and being loved ! 
 
 t; She loves me ! she loves me ! the beauteous maiden ! 
 " Now stands she at home in her house's high balcony, 
 " And looks in the twilight abroad, o'er the highway, 
 " And darkens, and for me doth yearn I assure you ! 
 " In vain she looketh around and she sigheth, 
 " And sighing descends she down to the garden, 
 " And wanders in fragrance and moonlight, 
 u And speaks to the flowers and telleth them 
 " How I, the beloved one, so precious am, 
 '' So worthy of love I assure you !
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 257 
 
 * And then in bod, in slumber, in dream, 
 " My darling form around her sports blissfully, 
 " And then at morning at breakfast 
 " Upon her glistening bread and butter 
 " Sees she my countenance smiling, 
 " And she eats it for love I assure you !" 
 
 Thus is he boasting and boasting, 
 
 And betweentimes the sea-mews are screaming, 
 
 Like old ironical chuckling ; 
 
 The mists of twilight rise up on high ; 
 
 Out of the violet clouds, ail-gloomily, 
 
 Peepeth the grass-yellow moon ; 
 
 High are roaring the billows of ocean, 
 
 And from the depths of the high-roaring sea, 
 
 Mournful as whispering gales of wind, 
 
 Soundeth the song of the Oceanides, 
 
 The beauteous compassionate sea-nymphs, 
 
 And loudest of all the voice so enthralling 
 
 Of Peleus' spouse, the silvery-footed one, 
 
 And they're sighing and singing : 
 
 " fool, thou fool ! thou hectoring fool ! 
 " Thou sorrow -tormented one ! 
 " Cruelly rnurder'd are all thy bright hopes, 
 " Thy bosom's frolicsome children, 
 " And ah ! thy heart, thy Niobe-heart 
 " Through grief turn'd to stone ! 
 " Within thy head 'tis now night, 
 " And through it are flashing the lightnings of frenzy. 
 ( And thou boastest of sorrow ! 
 ' fool, thou fool ! thou hectoring fool ! 
 ' Headstrong art thou as thy forefather, 
 ' The lofty Titan, who heavenly fire 
 ' Stole from the gods and gave unto mortals, 
 ' And, vulture-tormented, chain'd to the rock, 
 " Defied e'en Olympus, defied, groaning loudly, 
 " So that in ocean's far depths did we hear it, 
 " And to him came with a comforting song. 
 " fool, thou fool ! thou hectoring fool! 
 " But thou art more powerless even than he, 
 "And thou would'st do well to honour the deities, 
 " And patiently bear the burden of sorrow, 
 " And patiently bear with it, long, ay, full long,
 
 258 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " Till Atlas himself his patience hath lost, 
 
 " And the heavy world from his shoulders throws off 
 
 " Into eternal night." 
 
 Thus sounded the song of the Oceanides, 
 The beauteous compassionate water-nymphs, 
 Till still louder billows at last overpower'd it 
 Then went the moon in the rear of the clouds, 
 And night 'gan to yawn, 
 And long I sat in the darkness, with weeping. 
 
 6. THE GODS OF GREECE. 
 
 FULL-BLOSSOMING moon ! In thy fair light. 
 Like liquid gold, the ocean gleams : 
 Like daylight's clearness, yet charm'd into twilight, 
 Over the strand's wide plain all is lying ; 
 In the starless clear azure heavens 
 Hover the snowy clouds, 
 Like colossal figures of deities 
 Of glittering marble. 
 
 No, 'tis not so, no clouds can they be ! 
 
 'Tis they themselves, the Gods of old Hellas, 
 
 Who once so joyously ruled o'er the world. 
 
 But now, tormented and perish'd, 
 
 Like monster spectres are moving along 
 
 Over the midnight heaven. 
 
 Wond'ring and strangely blinded, observed I 
 The airy pantheon, 
 
 The solemnly mute and fearfully moving 
 Figures gigantic. 
 
 He yonder's Cronion, the monarch of heaven ; 
 Snow-white are the locks of his head. 
 Locks so famous for shaking Olympus ; 
 He holds in his hand his extinguished bolt, 
 And in his face lie misfortune and grief, 
 And yet without change his olden pride. 
 Those times indeed were better, O Zeus, 
 When thou didst take pleasure divinely 
 In youths and in nymphs and in hecatombs ! 
 But even the Gods can reign not for ever, 
 The younger press hard on their elders, 
 As thou didst once on thy grey-headed father
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 259 
 
 And all thy Titan uncles hard press, 
 
 J upiter Parricida ! 
 
 Thee, too, I recognise, haughty Here! 
 
 Spite of all thy jealous anxiety, 
 
 Hath another thy sceptre obtain'd, 
 
 And thou art no longer the queen of the heavens, 
 
 And fixed is now thy beaming eye, 
 
 And powerless lie thy lily-white arms, 
 
 And never more thy vengeance can reach 
 
 The God-impregnated virgin, 
 
 And the wonder-working son of the deity. 
 
 Thee, too, I recognise, Pallas Athene ! 
 
 With shield and wisdom couldest thou not 
 
 Avert the destruction of deities ? 
 
 Thee, too, I recognise, thee, Aphrodite ! 
 
 Erst the golden one ! now the silver one ! 
 
 True thou'rt still deck'd with the charms of thy girdle, 
 
 Yet I secretly tremble at thought of thy beauty, 
 
 And would I enjoy thy bountiful charms, 
 
 Like heroes before me, of fear I should die ; 
 
 To me thou appearest the goddess of corpses,. 
 
 Venus Libitina ! 
 
 Xo longer with love is tow'rd thee looking, 
 
 Yonder, the terrible Ares; 
 
 And sadly is looking Phoebus Apollo, 
 
 The stripling. His lyre is silent 
 
 That sounded so joyous at feasts of the Gods. 
 
 Still sadder appeareth Hephaestus, 
 
 And truly, the lame one ! no longer 
 
 Fills he the office of Hebe, 
 
 And busily pours, in the Gods' congregation, 
 
 The nectar delicious And long is extinguish'^ 
 
 The inextinguishable laughter of deities. 
 
 ye Gods, I never could love you, 
 
 For ever distasteful I've found the Grecians, 
 
 And e'en the Romans I greatly hate. 
 
 Yet holy compassion and shuddering pity 
 
 Stre im through my heart, 
 
 \Vlicu I now behold you on high, 
 
 (!o<lh<::i<ls deserted, 
 
 Dead and night-wandering shadows. 
 
 Misty and weak, scared by the very wind
 
 260 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 And when I bethink me how airy and cowardly 
 
 The godheads are, who overcame you, 
 
 The new, now-ruling, mournful godheads, 
 
 The mischievous ones in the sheepskin of meekness. 
 
 Then over me steals a glorious resentment, 
 
 And fain would I break the new-born temples, 
 
 And fight on your side, ye ancient deities, 
 
 For you, and your good ambrosial rights, 
 
 And before your lofty altars, 
 
 The once-more-restored, the sacrifice -steaming, 
 
 Fain would I kneel down and pray, 
 
 And, praying, raise tow'rd you my arms. 
 
 For evermore, ye ancient deities, 
 Have ye been wont, in the combats of mortals, 
 To join yourselves to the side of the victor, 
 And therefore is man more high-minded than ye. 
 And in combats of deities deem I it right 
 To take the part of the vanquish' d deities. 
 * # * * 
 
 Thus did I speak, and visibly redden'd 
 
 Yon pale cloudy figures on high, 
 
 And on me they gazed like dying ones, 
 
 Sorrow-illumined, and suddenly vanish'd. 
 
 The moon, too, hid herself 
 
 Behind the clouds that darkly came over her ; 
 
 High up roared the sea, 
 
 And then triumphantly stood in the heavens 
 
 The stars all-eternal. 
 
 7. QUESTIONS. 
 
 EY the sea, by the desert night-cover'd sea 
 1 Standeth a youth, 
 
 His breast full of sadness, his head full of doublings, 
 And with gloomy lips he asks of the billows : 
 
 answer me life's hidden riddle, 
 
 The riddle primeval and painful, 
 
 Over which many a head has been poring, 
 
 Heads in hieroglyphical nightcaps, 
 
 Heads in turbans and swarthy bonnets, 
 
 Heads in perukes, and a thousand other 
 
 Poor and perspiring heads of us mortale
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 261 
 
 " Tell me what signifies man ? 
 
 '' From whence doth he come ? And where doth he go ? 
 
 ' Who dwelleth amongst the golden stars yonder?" 
 
 The billows are murm'ring their murmur eternal, 
 The wind is blowing, the clouds are flying, 
 The stars are twinkling, all listless and cold, 
 And a fool is awaiting an answer. 
 
 8. THE PHCEXIX. ^^ 
 
 THERE conies a bird who hath flown from the wost- 
 He flies tow'rd the east, 
 Tow'rd the eastern garden-home, 
 Where the spices so fragrant are growing, 
 And palms are waving and wells are cooling 
 And, flying, the wondrous bird thus singeth 
 She loves him, she loves him ! 
 His image she bears in her little bosom, 
 And bears it sweetly and secretly hidden, 
 Nor knows it herself ! 
 But in her vision, before her he stands, 
 She prays, and she weeps, and she kisses his hands, 
 And calls on his name. 
 
 And calling awakes she and lieth all-startled, 
 And rubbeth her beauteous eyes in amazement 
 She loves him ! she loves him ! 
 
 9. ECHO. fdeclt 
 
 '/""I AINST the mast reclining, and high on the lofty 
 vJT Stood I and heard I the song of the bird. 
 Like black-green steeds, with silvery manes, 
 The white and curling billows were springing ; 
 Like flocks of swans were sailing past us, 
 With glittering sails, the men of Heligoland, 
 The nomads bold of the Baltic. 
 Over my head, in the azure eterne, 
 Snowy clouds were fluttering on, 
 Wliile sparkled the sun everlasting, 
 The rose of the heavens, the fiery-blooming ono. 
 Who joyfully mirror 'd himself in the ocean ; 
 And heaven and ocean and with them my hi'tirl 
 In echo resounded . 
 She loves him ! She loves him I
 
 202 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 10. SEA-SICKNESS. 
 
 ff^HE dark-grey clouds of the afternoon 
 JL Deeper are sinking fast over the sea, 
 Which darkly seemcth to rise to meet them, 
 And between them the ship drives on. 
 
 Sea-sick sit I unmoved by the mast, 
 And make observations respecting myself, 
 Primeval, ash-grey observations, 
 Which Father Lot of old did make 
 When he had drunk too much of the grape, 
 And afterwards found himself amiss. 
 At times I bethink me of olden stories : 
 How cross-mark'd pilgrims of olden days 
 In stormy journeys the comforting image 
 Religiously kiss'd of the Holy Virgin ; 
 How knights, when sick in such sea-misery, 
 The darling glove of their worshipp'd mistress 
 Press'd to their lips and then were comforted 
 But I am sitting, and chew with vexation 
 An ancient herring, the comforter salty 
 After hard drinking or indigestion ! 
 
 All this time the ship is fighting 
 
 With the furious, heaving flood ; 
 
 Now like a rearing battle-steed stands it 
 
 On its hinder part, so that the rudder cracks ; 
 
 Now it plunges headforward down again 
 
 In the howling abyss of the waters ; 
 
 Again, as though carelessly love-faint, 
 
 Thinks it to lay itself down 
 
 On the black breast of the billow gigantic, 
 
 Who mightily onward roars, 
 
 And sudden, a desolate ocean-waterfall, 
 
 In snowy curlings plunges down headlong, 
 
 And covers me over with foam. 
 
 All this swaying and hov'ring and tossing 
 
 Is quite unendurable ! 
 
 In vain doth my eye keep watch and seek for 
 
 The German coast. But, alas, nought but water I 
 
 Evermore water, fast-moving water ! 
 
 As the winter- wanderer at evening 
 Longs for a comforting warm cup of tea,
 
 "PICTURES OF TBAVEL. 263 
 
 So now doth long my heart for thee, 
 
 My German Fatherland 1 
 
 For ever may thy sweet soil be cover'd 
 
 With whims and hussars and horrible verses, 
 
 And lukewarm slender treatises ; 
 
 For ever may thy stately zebras 
 
 Feed upon roses instead of on thistles ; 
 
 For ever may thy noble baboons 
 
 In idle adornment trick themselves out, 
 
 And think themselves better than all the other 
 
 Lowminded heavy and lumbering cattle ; 
 
 For ever may thy assemblage of snails 
 
 Look on themselves as immortal, 
 
 Because they creep so slowly along, 
 
 And may they daily collect men s opinions 
 
 Whether the cheesemite belongs to the cheese ? 
 
 And hold for a long time grave consultations 
 
 How the Egyptian sheep to improve, 
 
 So that their wool may be better in quality, 
 
 And the shepherd may shear them like all other sheep, 
 
 Without a distinction 
 
 For evermore may folly and wrong 
 
 Cover thee, Germany, utterly ! 
 
 Still am I yearning for thee, 
 
 For thou art terra Jirma at least ! 
 
 11. IN HARBOUR. 
 
 HAPPY the man who arrives safe in harbour, 
 And behind him hath left the ocean and tempest?, 
 And now so warmly and quietly sits, 
 In the townhall-cellar of Bremen ! 
 See how the world is truly and lovingly 
 In the bumper fully depicted, 
 And how the heaving microcosm 
 Sunnily flows to the thirsty heart ! 
 All I discern in the glass, 
 Olden and new traditions of nations, 
 Turks and Greeks, and Hegel and Gans,* 
 Citron- forests and watch parades, 
 Berlin and Schilda and Tunis and Hamburg, 
 
 * Edward Guns, a dktingaiahed German profcs-sor, and puoil 
 of Hegel, whose work.-, In edited. He died iii lol).
 
 264 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 But most of all the form of my loved one, 
 
 That angel-head on the Rhenish wine's gold ground 
 
 0, how fair, how fair art thou, loved one 1 
 
 Thou art a very rose, 
 
 Not like the rose of fair Schiras, 
 
 The nightingale's bride, of whom Hafis once sang ; 
 
 Not like the r. se of Sharon, 
 
 The sacred and red one, the prophet-honour'd one ; 
 
 But thou'rt like the rose in the cellar at Bremen !* 
 
 That is the rose of all roses, 
 
 The older she grows, the fairer she blossoms, 
 
 And her heavenly fragrance hath gladden'd my bosom, 
 
 Hath served to inspire me, served to enchant me. 
 
 And did the head of the cellar of Bremen 
 
 Not hold me fast, yes fast by my hair, 
 
 I surely had tumbled ! 
 
 The worthy man ! we sat together, 
 
 And drank like brethren, 
 
 We spoke of lofty mysterious things, 
 
 We sigh'd and sank in the arms of each other, 
 
 And he did convert me to love's religion, 
 
 I drank to the health of my bitterest enemies, 
 
 And every wretched poet I pardoned 
 
 As I myself for pardon would hope ; 
 
 I wept with devotion, and lastly 
 
 The doors of the place were unto me open'd 
 
 Where the twelve apostles, the sacred tuns, 
 
 Silently preach, though understood plainly 
 
 By every nation. 
 
 True men indeed ! 
 
 In wooden coats, from without all-invisible, 
 Inwardly are they more radiant and fairer 
 Than all the haughty priests of the temple, 
 And Herod's satellites cringing and courtiers, 
 All glitt'ring in gold and clothed in purple ; 
 Ever my wont is to say 
 
 v i/ 
 
 Not amongst the mere common people, 
 
 * One section of the famous Bremen Cellar is culled the Rose, 
 and is said to contain hock of between two and three centuries 
 old. Another part is called the Apostles' Cellar, and has in it 
 twelve vats, known as the Twelve Apostles, also full of very old
 
 PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 205 
 
 No, in the best and politest society, 
 Constantly lived the monaich of heaven. 
 
 Hallelujah ! How sweetly wave round me 
 
 The palru- trees of Bethel ! 
 
 How fragrant the myrrh is of Hebron ! 
 
 How Jordan is roaring, and reeling with rapture, 
 
 While my immortal soul also is reeling, 
 
 And I reel with it, and whilst thus reeling, 
 
 I'm brought up the stairs and into the daylight 
 
 By the worthy head of the cellar of Bremen. 
 
 Thou worthy head of the cellar of Bremen ! 
 See where sit on the roofs of the houses 
 The angels, all well-drunken and singing ; 
 The glowing sun high up in the heavens 
 Is nought but the red and drunken nose 
 Which the World-Spirit sticks out, 
 And round the World-Spirit's red nose 
 Whirleth the whole of the drunken world. 
 
 12. EPILOGUE. 
 
 AS on the plain shoot up the wheatstalks 
 So do the thoughts in the spirit of man 
 Grow up and waver ; 
 But the gentle thoughts of the poet 
 Are as the red and blue-colour' d flowers 
 Merrily blooming between them. 
 
 Red and blue-colour'd flowers ! 
 
 The surly reaper rejects you as useless, 
 
 Wooden flails ail-scornfully thresh you, 
 
 Even the needy traveller, 
 
 Whom your sight rejoices and quickens, 
 
 Shaketh his head, 
 
 And calleth you pretty weeds ; 
 
 But the rustic virgin, 
 
 The twiner of garlands, 
 
 Doth honour and pluck you, 
 
 And with yon decketh her beauteous locks, 
 
 And thus adorn'd, makes haste to the dance, 
 
 Where pipes and fiddles sweetly are sounding, 
 
 Or to the silent beech-ti [sound 
 
 Where the voice of the loved one still sweeter doth 
 
 Than pipes or than fiddles.
 
 266 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 MONOLOGUE. 
 
 (From Book " Le Grand.") 
 
 IN olden legends, golden castles stood [danced, 
 
 Where harps were sounding, beauteous maidens 
 And spruce attendants flash'd, and jessamine 
 And rose and myrtle shed their fragrance round 
 And yet one single word of disenchantment 
 Made all this splendour in a moment vanish, 
 And nought remain' d behind but olden ruins 
 And croaking birds of night and drear morass. 
 So have I, too, with but one single word, 
 All Nature's blooming glories disenchanted. 
 There lies she now, as lifeless, cold, and pale 
 As some bedizen'd regal corpse might be, 
 Whose cheekbones have been colour'd red by art, 
 And in whose hand a sceptre hath been placed. 
 His lips however wither 'd look and yellow, 
 For they forgot to dye them red as well ; 
 And mice are springing o'er his regal nosn, 
 And ridicule the pond'rous golden sceptre.
 
 267 
 
 ATTA TROLL, 
 
 A SUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 CAPUT I. 
 
 HEMM'D close in by gloomy mountains 
 Proudly o'er each other rising, 
 Lull'd to sleep by wildly-dashing 
 Cataracts, like some fair vision, 
 
 In the valley lies the charming 
 Cauterets. Its snow-white houses 
 All have balconies ; upon them 
 Stand fair ladies, laughing loudly. 
 
 Laughing loudly, downward look they 
 On the chequer'd noisy market, 
 Where there dance a male and female 
 Bear, to sound of bagpipe-music. 
 
 Atta Troll and his dear wife 'tis 
 (Her they call the swarthy Mumma), 
 Who are dancing, and with wonder 
 The Biscayans are rejoicing. 
 
 Stately, and with solemn grandeur, 
 Dances noble Atta Troll ; 
 Yet his shaggy partner's wanting 
 Both in dignity and manners. 
 
 Yes, I have a shrewd suspicion 
 That she is too much accustom'd 
 To the vulgar shameless dances 
 At the Graud'-Chaumiere at Paris. 
 
 E'en the excellent bear-leader, 
 Who with chain conducts the couple 
 Seems the immorality 
 Of her dance to notice plainly.
 
 2fi<S HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 And hie oft bestows upon her 
 With his whip fast-falling lashes. 
 And the swarthy Mutnraa howls then, 
 And awakes the mountain echoes. 
 
 This bear-leader six Madonnas 
 Wears upon his pointed hat, 
 To protect his head from bullets 
 Or from lice perchance it may be. 
 
 O'er his shoulder there is hanging, 
 Many-hued, an altar covering, 
 Doing office as a mantle ; 
 Knife and pistol lurk beneath it. 
 
 He had been a monk when younger, 
 Then became a robber-captain ; 
 Then, to join the two vocations, 
 Took the service of Don Carlos. 
 
 When Don Carlos had to scamper 
 With the knights of his round table. 
 And his paladins were driven 
 To pursue some honest calling, 
 
 (Thus Schnapphahnski turn'd an author 
 Then our knight became bear-leader, 
 And across the country travell'd 
 Leading Atta Troll and Mumma. 
 
 And in sight of all the people, 
 
 In the market, they must dance now ; 
 
 Atta Troll must in the market 
 
 Of this city dance in fetters ! 
 
 Atta Troll, who once was dwelling 
 Like a haughty desert-monarch 
 On the airy mountain, dances 
 In a valley to the rabble ! 
 
 And for filthy lucre merely 
 He must dance, who formerly 
 Tn the majesty of terror 
 Felt himself so high exalted ! 
 
 When his younger days recals he, 
 His lost lordship of the forest, 
 Then growl forth despairing noipes 
 From the soul of Atta Troll.
 
 ATTA TROLL. 269 
 
 Gloomy looks he, like a swarthy 
 Moorish prince of Freiligrath ;* 
 As the latter drums but badly, 
 So with rage he badly dances. 
 
 But instead of pity, wakes he 
 Only laughter. Even Juliet 
 From the balcony laughs downward 
 At his leaps of desperation. 
 
 Juliet has not in her bosom 
 Any feelings ; Fronch by nation, 
 Outwardly she lives ; her outside 
 Is delightful and enchanting. 
 
 Her sweet looks compose a blissful 
 Net of rays, within whose meshes 
 Is our heart fast held in prison, 
 Like a fish, aud gently struggles. 
 
 CAPUT II. 
 
 THAT a swarthy Freiligrathian 
 Moorish prince with anxious longing 
 On the big drum's skin should rattle, 
 Till with violence 'tis broken, 
 
 Is a very drum-affecting 
 And a drumskin-breaking matter 
 But just fancy the confusion 
 When a bear has burst his fetters! 
 
 Both the music and the laughter 
 Straight are hush'd ; with screams of terror 
 Rush the people from the market, 
 Pale as death turn all the ladies. 
 
 Yes, from out his slavish fetters 
 Atta Troll has freed himself 
 Suddenly, and springing wildly, 
 Through the narrow streets he hastens 
 
 (Each one civilly makes way), 
 Up the rocks he nimbly clambers, 
 Then looks down, as if in scorn, then 
 Vanishes within the mountains. 
 
 * See Freiligrath's Poems.
 
 270 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 On the empty market stand now 
 Swarthy Mnmma, and bear-leader 
 All alone. In angry fury 
 On the ground his hat he flingeth, 
 Trampling on it, the Madonnas 
 Trampling also, tears the covering 
 From his ugly naked body, 
 Swears at such ingratitude, 
 Such black bear's ingratitude ! 
 For he constantly had treated 
 Atta Troll in friendly fashion, 
 And instructed him in dancing. 
 All he had to him was owing, 
 E'en his very life. In vain they 
 Offer'd him a hundred dollars 
 For the skin of Atta Troll ! 
 Then upon the poor black Mumma, 
 Who. a form of silent sorrow, 
 On her hinder paws imploring, 
 Stood before the much enraged one, 
 
 Fell the much enraged one's fury 
 
 With redoubled strength. He beats her, 
 
 Calls her even Queen Christina, 
 
 Madame Munoz and Putana. 
 
 All this happen'd in a beauteous 
 
 Sultry summer afternoon, 
 
 And the night which then succeeded 
 
 To that day was quite superb. 
 
 Almost half that night consumed I 
 
 On the house's balcony ; 
 
 Juliet was beside me standing, 
 
 Gazing on the stars above us. 
 
 Sighing said she : " Ah, in Paris 
 
 '' Fairest are the stars of all, 
 
 " When they on a winter evening 
 
 " In the street mud are reflected !" 
 
 CAPUT III. 
 
 O UMMER-NIGHT'S dream ! All-fantastic, 
 O Aimless is my song. Yes, aimless 
 As our love and as our living, 
 As Creator and creation !
 
 ATT A TROLL. 271 
 
 His own will alone obeying, 
 Galloping along or flying. 
 Bevels in the realms of fable 
 My beloved Pegasus. 
 He's no serviceable, virtuous 
 Carthorse of the citizens, 
 Nor a battle-steed of party, 
 With pathetic neighs and stamping! 
 Golden-mounted are the hoofs all 
 Of my white and winged charger, 
 Cords of pearls the guiding reins are, 
 And at will I let him wander. 
 Bear me whereso'er thou wouldest ! 
 Over steep and merry hill-paths, 
 Where cascades with mournful shrieking 
 Warn 'gainst madness's abysses ! 
 Bear me on through silent valleys, 
 Where the solemn oaks are standing, 
 While primeval sweet traditions 
 From their knotted roots have birth ! 
 Let me drink there, while I moisten 
 My dim eyes, ah, now I languish 
 For the sparkling wondrous water 
 That imparts both sight and knowledge ! 
 All my blindness goes ! my gaze 
 Pierces to the deepest rock-cleft, 
 To the cave of Atta Troll, 
 And I understand his language ! 
 Strange 'tis how familiar to me 
 This bear-language now appeareth ! 
 In my dear home have I never 
 Heard those sounds in earlier days? 
 CAPUT IV. 
 
 RONCEVAL, thou noble valley ! 
 Whensoe'er I hear thy name, 
 That blue flower so long departed 
 O'er my bosom sheds its fragrance ! 
 Then the glitt'ring dream-world rises 
 Which for thousand years had faded, 
 And the mighty spirit-eyes 
 Gaze upon me, till I'm awe-struck !
 
 272 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Rattling sounds awake. There struggle 
 Saracen and Fnmkish knight ; 
 As though bleeding and despairing 
 Eing Orlando's bugle-notes 
 
 In the vale of Ronceval, 
 Hard beside Orlando's gap 
 Christen'd thus, because the hero, 
 Seeking how to force a passage, 
 
 With his trusty sword Duranda 
 Struck with such death-dealing fury 
 On the wall of rock, that plainly 
 To this day are seen its traces 
 
 There within a gloomy hollow, 
 Close surrounded by a thicket 
 Of wild fir-trees, safely hidden, 
 Lies the cave of Atta Troll. 
 
 In the bosom of his fam'ly 
 Rests he after all the hardships 
 Of his flight and the distresses 
 Of his public show and travels. 
 
 Sweet the meeting ! all his young ones 
 Found he in that happy cavern 
 Where with Mumma he begot them, 
 Four his sons, and daughters two. 
 
 Well-lick'd maidens were the latter, 
 Fair their hair, like parsons' daughters 
 Brown the youths, the youngest only 
 With the single ear is black. 
 
 Now this youngest was the darling 
 Of his mother, who when playing 
 Happen'd once to bite his ear off, 
 And for very love she ate it. 
 
 He's a very genial stripling, 
 
 At gymnastics very clever, 
 
 And he turns a somersault 
 
 Like the posture-master Massmann. 
 
 Sprig of autochthonic humour, 
 He his mother-tongue loves only, 
 And has never learnt the jargon 
 Of the Grecian and the Kun.an.
 
 ATTA TROLL. 273 
 
 Fresh and free and good and merry, 
 Soap he holds in detestation, 
 (Luxury of modern washing,) 
 Like the posture-master Massmann. 
 
 But our young friend is most genial 
 Where upon the tree he clambers, 
 Which along the steepest rock-side 
 From the deep abyss upriseth, 
 
 And extendeth to the summit, 
 When the family at night-time 
 Gather all around their father, 
 Toying in the evening coolness. 
 
 Then the old one loves to tell them 
 What he in the world has witness'd ; 
 How he many men and cities 
 Had beheld, and greatly suffer'd, 
 
 Like Laertes' noble offspring, 
 But in one thing still unlike him, 
 Namely, that his wife went with him, 
 His dear black Penelope. 
 
 Atta Troll then also tells them 
 Of the wondrous approbation 
 That he, by his skill in dancing, 
 Had acquired in ev'ry quarter. 
 
 He assured them young and old 
 Had exultingly admired him, 
 When he danced upon the market 
 To the sweet notes of the bagpipe. 
 
 In particular the ladies, 
 Those dear connoisseurs of all things, 
 Had with vehemence applauded, 
 And had ogled him with favour. 
 
 O the vanity of Artists! 
 Our old dancing bear with simpers 
 Calls to mind the time when late he 
 To the public show'd his talent. 
 
 Overcome by self laudation, 
 He would fain by act exhibit 
 That he's no mere boaster only, 
 Bni a really first rate dancer. 
 
 t
 
 274 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 From the ground then sudden springs he, 
 On his hinder paws upstanding, 
 And, as formerly, he dances 
 The gavotte, his favourite dance. 
 
 Mute, with muzzles gaping open, 
 The young bears look on with wonder, 
 While their father in the moonlight 
 Capers here and there thus strangely. 
 
 CAPUT V. 
 
 IN the cavern, by his young ones, 
 Sick at heart, upon his back lies 
 Atta Troll, while thoughtful sucks he 
 At his paws, and sucks, and growls : 
 
 "Mumma, Mumma, swarthy jewel, 
 " Whom I out of life's wide ocean 
 " Once did fish, in life's wide ocean 
 " Once again I now have lost thee! 
 
 " Shall I ne'er again behold thee, 
 " Or beyond the grave p'rhaps only, 
 " Where, set free from earthly trammels, 
 " Thy dear soul is glorified ? 
 
 " Would that I, alas ! could once more 
 " Lick thy well-beloved muzzle, 
 " My dear Mumma, which so sweetly 
 " Stroked me over, as with honey ! 
 
 " Would that I again could snuffle 
 " That sweet smell, thy own peculiar, 
 " O my dear and swarthy Mumma, 
 " Charming as the scent of roses ! 
 
 " But, alas ! my Mumma's pining 
 " In the fetters of those rascals, 
 " Who, the name of men adopting, 
 " Deem themselves creation's masters. 
 
 " Death and hell ! These men unworthy 
 " Aristocracy's arch-emblems, 
 " Look down on the an'mal kingdom 
 " Proudly and disdainfully,
 
 ATTA /ROLL. 275 
 
 " Take away our wives and children, 
 " Fetter us, ill-treat us, even 
 " Kill us, for the sake of selling 
 " Our poor hide and our poor carcass ! 
 
 " And they think themselves permitted 
 ' Wicked deeds like this to practise 
 " 'Gainst us bears especially, 
 " And the rights of man they call it ! 
 
 " Rights of man indeed ! Fine rights these ! 
 " Tell me who bestow'd them on you? 
 " Nature certainly ne'er did so, 
 " For she's not unnatural ! 
 
 " Rights of man indeed ! Who gave you 
 '" This great privilege, I wonder ? 
 " Reason certainly ne'er did so, 
 " For she's not unreasonable ! 
 
 " Men, pray are ye any better 
 " Than we others, just for eating 
 " All your dinners boil'd or roasted ? 
 " In a raw state we eat ours, 
 
 " Yet is the result the same 
 " To us both. No, food can never 
 " Make one noble ; ho is noble 
 " Who both nobly feels and acteth. 
 
 " Men, pray are ye any better 
 " Just because the arts and science 
 ' ' With success ye follow ? We now 
 " Never give ourselves the trouble. 
 
 " Are there not such things as learned 
 " Dogs, and horses too, who reckon 
 " Just like councillors of Commerce ? 
 " Do not hares the drum play finely ? 
 
 " Are not many beavers adepts 
 " In the art of hydrostatics ? 
 " Were not clystors first invented 
 By the cleverness of storks ? 
 
 Write not asses criticisms ? 
 " Are not apes all good comedians? 
 " Is there any greater mimic 
 " Than Batavia, long- tail 'd monkey?
 
 276 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 *' Are not nightingales good singers ? 
 
 ' ; And is Freiligrath no poet, 
 
 " Who can sing of lions better 
 
 " Than his countryman the Camel ? 
 
 " I myself the art of dancing 
 " Have advanced as much as Eaumer 
 " That of writing. Writes he better 
 " Than I dance, yes, I the bear? 
 
 " Men, why are ye any better 
 " Than we others? Upright hold ye, 
 " It is true, your heads, but in them 
 " Low-born thoughts are ever creeping. 
 
 " Men, pray are ye any better 
 
 " Than are we, because your skin is 
 
 " Smooth and glist'ning? This advantage 
 
 " Ye but share with every serpent. 
 
 " Human race, two legged serpents ! 
 " Well I see the reason why ye 
 " Breeches wear ; with foreign wool ye 
 " Hide your serpent -nakedness ! 
 
 " Children, guard yourselves against thoso 
 " Hairless and misshapen creatures ! 
 " My dear daughters, never marry 
 " Any monster that wears breeches !" 
 
 More than this I'll not report now, 
 How the bear in his wild mania 
 For equality, kept reasoning 
 All about the human race. 
 
 For, to say the truth, I also 
 Am a man, and never will I 
 Tell again such foolish libels, 
 Which are, after all, offensive. 
 
 Yes, I am a man, and better 
 Than the other sucking creatures, 
 And the interests of the race 
 Ne'er will I renounce promoting. 
 
 In the fight with other creatures 
 Faithfully I'll ever struggle 
 For humanity, the holy 
 Rights of man that he is born to.
 
 A1TA TROLL. 277 
 
 CAPUT VI. 
 
 "VTET perchance 'tis beneficial 
 -1- For us men, who form the higher 
 Kind of livestock, to discover 
 How they reason down below us. 
 Yes, below us, in the gloomy 
 Mournful spheres of fellowship, 
 In the beasts' inferior strata, 
 Brood resentment, misery, pride. 
 That which natural hist'ry ever, 
 Equally with common custom, 
 Has for centuries admitted 
 Is denied with impious muzzle. 
 That false doctrine by the aged 
 In the young ones' ears is grumbled 
 Which assails both cultivation 
 And humanity on earth. 
 " Children !" Atta Troli thus growl'd. 
 As he hither roll'd and thither 
 On his carpet wanting couch : 
 " Unto us belongs the Future ! 
 " If each bear but thought as I do, 
 " If all beasts but thought so too, 
 " With united forces would we 
 " Take up arms against the tyrants. 
 " Then the bear would form alliance 
 " With the horse, the elephant 
 " Twine his trunk in loving fashion 
 " Round the valiant ox's horn. 
 ' Bear and wolf of every colour, 
 " Goat and monkey, e'en the hare 
 " For a time would work in common, 
 ' And our triumph would be certain. 
 " Union, union is the' essential 
 " Requisite ; alone, we're conquer'd 
 "Easily, but joiu'd together 
 ' We would overreach the tyrants. 
 " Union ! union ! and we'll triumph, 
 " And Monopoly's vile sway 
 I'.c oYrUirov.ii. and we'll establish 
 " A just kingdom for us beasts.
 
 278 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " Full equality for all, then, 
 " Of God's creatures, irrespective 
 " Of their faith, or skin, or odour, 
 " Be its fundamental maxim ! 
 
 " Strict equality ! Each donkey 
 " Be entitled to high office ; 
 " On the other hand, the lion 
 " Carry to the mill the sack. 
 
 " As respects the dog, indeed he 
 
 u Is a very servile rascal, 
 
 " Since for centuries has man 
 
 " Like a dog ne'er ceased to treat him. 
 
 " Yet in our free state we'll give him 
 " Once again his olden rights, 
 " His prescriptive birthright, and he 
 " Soon again will be ennobled. 
 
 " Yes, the Jews shall then enjoy too 
 " All the rights of citizens, 
 " And by law be made the equals 
 *' Of all other sucking creatures. 
 
 " Only dancing in the market 
 " For the Jew shall not be lawful ; 
 " This amendment I insist on 
 " In the interest of my art. 
 
 " For a sense of style, of rigid 
 " Plastic art in motion's wanting 
 " To that race, who really ruin 
 " What there is of public taste." 
 
 CAPUT VII. 
 
 GLOOMY, in his gloomy cavern, 
 Squats, in his belov'd home-circle, 
 Atta Troll, the misanthrope, 
 And he shows his teeth, and growls thus : 
 
 " Men, the pert and vulgar fellows ! 
 " Smile away ! From all your smiling 
 " And from your offensive yoke too 
 " Shall the coming day release us !
 
 ATTA TROLL. 279 
 
 " I am always most offended 
 " By that sour-sweet kind of quiv'ring 
 "' Round the mouth, these smiles of man 
 ' Find I really past all bearing! 
 
 " When I in his pallid visage 
 
 " See display'd that fatal quiv'ring, 
 
 ' All my entrails in my body 
 
 " Turn right round with indignation. 
 
 " More impertinently even 
 " Than by words, a man lays open 
 " By his smile the deepest hidden 
 *' Insolence of his vile spirit. 
 
 " They are always smiling ! Even 
 
 " When by decency is needed 
 
 " Real solemnity of feature, 
 
 " E'en in love's most solemn moment ! 
 
 " They are always smiling ! Even 
 
 " When they're dancing. In this manner 
 
 " They degrade this noble science, 
 
 " Which should be a kind of worship. 
 
 " Yes, the dance throughout all ages 
 
 " Was a pious act of faith ; 
 
 " Solemnly around the altar 
 
 " Turn'd the priests in mystic circle. 
 
 " Thus in olden time King David 
 " Danced before the ark of cov'nant ; 
 " Dancing was an act of worship, 
 " Was a prayer upon the legs ! 
 
 " I have ever understood thus 
 
 " Dancing, when upon the market 
 
 '' To the people I was dancing, 
 
 " Who with their applause repaid me. 
 
 " This applause, I must confess it, 
 " Often made me feel quite happy ; 
 " For extorting admiration 
 " From one's foes is very sweet ! 
 
 " But in their enthusiasm 
 " Still they smile. The art of dancing 
 " Powerless is to make them better, 
 " And they frivolous remain."
 
 280 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 M 
 
 CAPUT vni. 
 ANY a very virtuous burgher 
 
 Smells but badly, whilst the servants 
 Of a king with ambergris 
 Or else lavender are scented. 
 
 Virgin spirits may be met with 
 Which of green soap bear the odour, 
 Whilst the criminal with rose-oil 
 May have wash'd himself demurely. 
 
 Do not therefore turn your nose up, 
 Gentle reader, if the cave of 
 Atta Troll may not remind you 
 Of Arabia's sweetest spices. 
 
 Tarry in that reeking circle, 
 'Mid those miserable stenches, 
 Where to his young son the hero 
 As from out a cloud thus speaks : 
 
 " Child, my child, thou youngest offspring 
 " Of my loins, now place thy one ear 
 " Close beside thy father's muzzle, 
 " And suck in my solemn words ! 
 
 " Guard against man's ways of thinking, 
 " They destroy both soul and body ; 
 " 'Mongst all men there's no such thing as 
 " Any ordinary man. 
 
 " E'en the Germans, once so noble, 
 " E'en the very sons of Tuisco, 
 " Our own primitive relations, 
 " They too have degenerated. 
 
 " They've become now faithless, godless. 
 "Even preaching atheism 
 " Child, my child, be on thy guard, 
 " 'Gainst both Feuerbach and Bauer 1 * 
 
 " Never be an Atheist, 
 
 " Monster void of all respect for 
 
 " The Creator a Creator 
 
 '' 'Twas who made this universe ! 
 
 * Well-known German writers.
 
 ATTA TKOLL. 281 
 
 " High above us, sun and moon 
 u And the stars too (both the tail-less 
 " And all those with tails provided) 
 " Are reflections of His power. 
 
 ' Down below us, land and sra 
 ' Are the echo of His glory, 
 ' And each living creature praises 
 1 Evermore His excellencies. 
 
 ' E'en the smallest silver-louse that 
 
 ' In the aged pilgrim's beard 
 ' In life's pilgrimage is sharer, 
 " Sing-s the great Eternal's praises ! 
 
 " In yon starry bright pavilion, 
 " On the golden seat of power. 
 " World-directing and majestic, 
 " Sits a mighty polar bear. 
 
 " Free from spot and snow-white glitt'ring 
 
 " Is his skin ; his head is cover 'd 
 
 " With a crown of diamonds, 
 
 " Which illumines all the heavens. 
 
 " In his face is harmony, 
 
 " And the silent deeds of thinking ; 
 
 " If lie signs but with his sceptre, 
 
 " All the spheres resound with singing. 
 
 " At his feet bear-saints are sitting 
 " Piously, who meekly sutf'er'd 
 " While on earth, and in their paws they 
 " Hold the palms of martyrdom. 
 
 " Ofttimes one amongst them rises, 
 
 " Then another. by the Spirit 
 
 " Seeming mov'd, and straightway dance they 
 
 " Their most solemn sacred dance 
 
 " Sacred dance, where mercy's radiance 
 " Renders talent quite superfluous, 
 " And the soul for very rapture 
 " From the skin attempts to leap ! 
 
 " shall I, unworthy Troll, 
 " E'er partake this great salvation ? 
 " And from earth's debasing sorrows 
 " To the realms of bliss soar upwards ?
 
 282 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " shall I, all-drunk with heaven, 
 " In the stars' pavilion yonder, 
 " With the palm and with the glory, 
 " Dance before the Master's throne ?" 
 
 CAPUT IX. 
 
 LIKE the tongue as red as scarlet. 
 Which a swarthy Freiligrathian 
 Moorish prince with scornful fury 
 From his sullen mouth protruded, 
 
 So the moon from out the gloomy 
 Clouds of heaven advanced. Afar off 
 Cataracts are roaring, sleepless 
 And morosely through the night. 
 
 Atta Troll upon the summit 
 
 Of his fav'rite rock stands lonely, 
 
 Lonely, and to the abyss 
 
 Downward howls he in the nightwind : 
 
 ' Yes, I am a bear, I am so, 
 
 ' Him ye christen shaggy bear, 
 
 ' Growler, Isegrim, and Bruin, 
 
 ' And heav'n knows how many others ! 
 
 ' Yes, I am a bear, I am so, 
 ' The uncouth and boorish creature, 
 " I'm the awkward dromedary 
 " Of your scorn and cruel laughter. 
 
 " I'm the butt of all your wit, 
 
 " I'm the bugbear, with whose terrors 
 
 " Ye at night your children frighten, 
 
 " Human children, when they're naughty. 
 
 " I'm the joke of all your idle 
 " Nurs'ry stories, well I know it, 
 " And I now proclaim it loudly 
 " To man's paltry world below. 
 
 " Hear it, hear ; a bear am I, 
 " My descent I'm not ashamed of, 
 " But am proud of it, as though I 
 "Sprang from Moses Mendelssohn!"
 
 ATTA TROLL. 283 
 
 CAPDT X. 
 
 TWO dark figures, wild and surly. 
 And upon their all-fours gliding. 
 Force their way across the gloomy 
 Grove of firs at midnight's hour. 
 This is Atta Troll, the father, 
 And his son, young master one-ear. 
 Where the wood grows somewhat lighter 
 By the stone of blood they halted. 
 " This old stone " growl'd Atta Troll, 
 " Is the altar where the Druids 
 " In the days of superstition 
 " Human sacrifices offer'd. 
 " O their cruelty accursed ! 
 " All the hair upon my back 
 " Bristles when I think upon it ; 
 " Blood was pour'd out to God's honour! 
 " Now these men are more enlighten'd, 
 " And no longer kill each other 
 " Merely in excessive zeal 
 " For the interests of heaven. 
 " 'Tis no longer pious fancies, 
 "Madness, nor enthusiasm, 
 " But mere vanity and self-love 
 " Makes them now commit their murders. 
 " On the good things of the earth 
 " Eagerly they're ever seizing ; 
 " 'Tis an endless round of fighting, 
 " For himself each person stealeth ! 
 " Yes ! the heritage of all 
 "Is the individual's booty ; 
 " Of the rights, then, of possession 
 " Speaks he, thinking of his own ! 
 " Of his own ! Possession's rights too ! 
 " O, the cruel theft, the lying ! 
 *' None but man could have invented 
 " Such commingled fraud and madness. 
 " Private property was never 
 " Made by Nature ; pocketless, 
 " With no pockets in our skins, we 
 " Ev'ry one the world first entered.
 
 284 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 ' Not a single one amongst us 
 ' At his birth had such a pocket 
 ' In his body's outer skin, 
 ' Where he might conceal his robb'ries. 
 ' Man alone, that smooth-skinn'd being, 
 ' Who with foreign wool so nicely 
 ' Clothes himself, had e'er the sharpness 
 ' To provide himself with pockets. 
 ' Pockets ! They're as much 'gainst nature 
 ' As is private property, 
 ' As possession's rights themselves are 
 ' Men in fact are but pickpockets ! 
 ' Fiercely hate I them ! My hatred 
 ' Unto thee, my son, bequeath I ; 
 ' Here upon this altar shalt thou 
 ' Swear to man undying hatred ! 
 ' Be implacably the death-foe 
 ' Of those wicked vile oppressors 
 ' To the very end of life, 
 ' Swear it, swear it here, my son !'' 
 And the youngster swore, as once did 
 Hannibal. The moon, all yellow, 
 On the stone of blood look'd wildly, 
 And the pair of misanthropes. 
 By -and- by we'll tell the story 
 How the young bear ever faithful 
 To his oath remain'd. Our lyre shall 
 In another Epic praise him. 
 As respects friend Atta Troll, 
 We will leave him for the present, 
 Presently to come across him, 
 All the surer, with a bullet. 
 All thy stealthy machinations, 
 Traitor 'gainst man's majesty, 
 Now at length are terminated, 
 And thy hour will sound to-morrow ! 
 CAPUT XI. 
 
 LIKE some drowsy bayaderes 
 Look the mountains, standing shiv'ring 
 In their snowy shirts of clouds, 
 Flutt'ring in the breeze of morning.
 
 ATTA TROLL, 285 
 
 Yet they soon become enliven'd 
 By the sun-god stripping from them 
 All the veil that's hanging o'er them, 
 Lighting up their naked beauty ! 
 
 Early in the morn I started 
 With Lascaro on our journey 
 Bound to hunt the bear. At noonday 
 We arrived at Pont d Espagne. 
 
 So they call the bridge which leadeth 
 Out of France and into Spain, 
 To the land of west barbarians, 
 Who're a thousand years behind us, 
 
 Yes, a thousand years behind us 
 In all modern civ'lisation ; 
 My barbarians to the eastward 
 But a hundred years behind are. 
 
 Slowly, almost trembling, left I 
 France's sacred territory, 
 Blessed fatherland of freedom 
 And the women that I love ! 
 
 On the middle of the bridge 
 A poor Spaniard sat. Deep mis'ry 
 Lurk'd behind his tatter'd mantle, 
 Misery in his eyes was lurking. 
 
 An old crazy mandoline 
 With his wither'd fingers pinch'd he ; 
 Shrill the discord which re-echoed 
 From the rocks, as in derision. 
 
 Oftentimes his figure bent he 
 Downward tow'rd the' abyss with laughter, 
 Tinkling harder then than ever, 
 While the following words he sang : 
 
 ' In the middle of my bosom 
 ' Stands a little golden table ; 
 ' Bound the little golden table 
 ' Stand four little golden chairs. 
 
 ' On the golden chairs are sitting 
 
 ' Little ladies, golden arrows 
 
 * In their hair, at cards they're playing. 
 
 ' But 'tis only Clara wins.
 
 2Sti HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " As she wins, she laughs with slyness ; 
 " Ah ! within my bosom, Clara, 
 * Thou'lt be ev'ry time a winner, 
 " For thou holdest nought but trumps." 
 Wand'ring onward, to myself I 
 Spoke : '' 'Tis singular that madness 
 Sits and sings upon yon bridge, 
 That from France to Spain leads over. 
 Is this madman but the emblem 
 Of the interchange 'mongst nations 
 Of their thoughts ? or his own country's 
 Wild and crazy title-page ?" 
 We arrived not until evening 
 At the wretched small posada, 
 Where an olla-podrida 
 In a dirty dish was smoking. 
 There I swallow'd some garbanzos, 
 Heavy, large as musket-bullets, 
 Indigestible to Germans, 
 Though to dumplings they're accustom'd. 
 Fit companion to the cooking 
 Was the bed. With insects pepper'd 
 It appear'd. The bugs, alas ! are 
 Far the greatest foes of man. 
 Fiercer than the wrath of thousand 
 Elephants, I find the hatred 
 Of one tiny little bug, 
 When across my bed it crawleth. 
 One must let them bite in quiet, 
 This is bad enough, still more 'tis 
 If one crushes them. The stink then 
 Keeps one all night long in torment. 
 Yes, the fiercest earthly trouble 
 Is the fight with noxious vermin, 
 Who a stench employ as weapons, 
 Is a duel with a bug ! 
 
 CAPUT XII. 
 
 HOW they rave, the race of poets. 
 E'en the tame ones, singing ever 
 And exclaiming : " Nature's surely 
 " The Creator's mighty temple
 
 ATTA TKOLL. 287 
 
 " Is a temple all whoso glories 
 " To our Maker's fame bear witness, 
 " Sun and moon and stars all hanging 
 " In its cupola as lamps." 
 
 Well and good, my worthy people! 
 Yet confess that in this temple 
 Are the stairs uncomfortable, 
 Bad anu inconvenient stair I 
 
 All this up-and-down-stairs going, 
 Mountain- climbing and this jumping 
 Over rocks is very tiring 
 To the legs as well as spirit. 
 
 Close beside me walk'd Lascaro, 
 Pale and lanky, like a taper ; 
 Never spoke he, never laugh'd he, 
 He, the dead son of the sorc'ress. 
 
 Yes, 'tis said that he's a dead man, 
 Dead long since, but yet his mother 
 Old Uraca's magic science 
 Kept him living in appearance. 
 
 That accursed temple-staircase ! 
 It exceeds my comprehension 
 How my neck escaped from breaking, 
 Stumbling o'er a precipice. 
 
 How the cataracts were shrieking ! 
 How the tempest flogg'd the fir-trees 
 Till they howl'd ! The clouds began too 
 Crashing suddenly bad weather ! 
 
 In a little fishing cottage 
 By the Lac-de-Gobe soon found we 
 Shelter and some trout for luncheon ; 
 Most delicious were the latter. 
 
 In an arm-chair was reclining, 
 111 and grey, the ferryman ; 
 On him his t\vo pretty nieces, 
 Like a pair of angels, waited. 
 
 Stoutish angels, rather Flemish, 
 Seeming from a frame descended 
 Of a Rubens ; gold their tresses, 
 Full of health their eyes, and liquid.
 
 288 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Their vermilion cheeks were dimpled. 
 With a secret slyness in them ; 
 Strong their limbs were, and voluptuous, 
 Giving pleasure to the fancy. 
 
 Dear, affectionate young creatures, 
 Keeping up a sweet discussion, 
 As to which drink would be relish 'd 
 Most of all by their sick uncle. 
 
 If the one the cup should bring him 
 Full of well-boil'd linden blossoms, 
 Then the other hastes to feed him 
 With an elder-flow'r decoction. 
 
 " I'll not drink of either of them," 
 Cried impatiently the old man ; 
 " Fetch some wine, that I may offer 
 " To my guests some better drink !" 
 
 Whether it was wine they gave me 
 At the Lac-de-Gobe, I really 
 Cannot say. Methinks in. Brunswick 
 By the name of .Mum they'd call it. 
 
 Of the very best black goat-skin 
 Was the wine-skin, stinking foully ; 
 Yet the old man drank with pleasure, 
 And he scem'd quite well and joyous. 
 
 He recounted the achievements 
 Of the smugglers and banditti 
 Merrily and freely living 
 In the Pyrenean forests. 
 
 Many old traditions also 
 Well he knew ; amongst the others 
 Were the battles of the giants 
 With the bears in times primeval. 
 
 Yes, the bears then and the giants 
 Struggled fiercely for the mast'ry 
 Of these mountains and these valleys, 
 Ere by man they were discover'd. 
 
 But when man arrived, the giants 
 Fled away from out the country 
 Stupified, for little brains 
 Are contain'd in heads gigantic.
 
 ATTA TROLL. 289 
 
 And 'tis said the silly fellows, 
 On arriving at the ocean, 
 And observing how the heavens 
 In its azure depths were mirror 'd, 
 
 Cleverly supposed the ocean 
 
 To be heaven, and plunged down in it, 
 
 Full of godlike confidence, 
 
 And were drown'd, the whole together. 
 
 As respects the bears, however, 
 They are gradually being 
 Kill'd by man, their numbers yearly 
 Jn the mountain still decreasing. 
 
 " Thus on earth" exclaim'd the old mac, 
 " One gives place unto another, 
 " And when men are put an end to, 
 " Then the dwarfs will be the masters. 
 
 " Yes, the clever little people, 
 " Who the mountain's womb inhabit, 
 " 'Mongst the golden mines of riches 
 " Digging and collecting nimbly. 
 
 " How they from their hiding-places 
 " With their small sly heads keep peeping ! 
 " Oft I've seen them in the moonlight, 
 " And then trembled at the future ; 
 
 " At the power their gold will give them ; 
 " Ah, I fear lest our descendants 
 " Fly for refuge, like the stupid 
 " Giants, to the watery heaven !" 
 
 CAFUT XIII. 
 
 IN the black and rocky caldron 
 Rest the waters deep of ocean ; 
 Stars, all pale and melancholy, 
 Peep from heaven. Night reigns, and silence. 
 
 Night and silence. Oars are moving. 
 Like a splashing wondrous secret 
 Floats the bark. The old man's niece* 
 Play the part of ferrymen, 
 
 u
 
 290 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Joyously and nimbly rowing ; 
 Oftfcimes glisten in the darkness 
 Their stout naked arms, illumined 
 By the stars, their great blue eyes, too. 
 
 By ray side Lascaro sitting 
 
 Is as pale and mute as usual, 
 
 And the fearful thought shoots through me! 
 
 Is he but a very corpse then? 
 
 I myself, am I dead also, 
 And embarking on my journey 
 With my ghostly comrades by me 
 To the chilly realm of shadows ? 
 
 And this lake, can it be Styx's 
 Gloomy flood ? Has Proserpina, 
 In default of Charon's presence, 
 Sent her waiting-maids to fetch me? 
 
 No ! I am not yet departed 
 And extinguish'd ; in my spirit 
 Is the living flame of life still 
 Glowing, blazing and exulting. 
 
 And these maidens, gaily pulling 
 At their oars, and o'er me splashing 
 With the water dripping from them, 
 Full of merriment and laughter, 
 
 These two fresh and sprightly damsels 
 Are most certainly not ghostly 
 Chambermaids in hell residing, 
 Waiting-maids of Proserpina ! 
 
 That 1 might be fully certain 
 Of their upper-worldliness, 
 An:l by practical experience 
 Ascertain my own existence, 
 
 Hastily my lips applied I 
 To their rosy cheeks' soft dimples. 
 And then framed this syllogism : 
 Yes, I kiss, and so I'm living ! 
 
 When we reach'd the shore, again I 
 Kiss'd the pair of kindly maidens ; 
 In this coin, and no other, 
 Would they take the passage -money.
 
 ATTA TROLL. 291 
 
 CAPUT XIV. 
 
 YIOLET-COLOUR'D mountain summits 
 Smile from out the sunny gold-ground ; 
 To the slope a village clingeth, 
 Seeming like a daring bird's nest. 
 When I climb'd up to it, found I 
 That the old ones all had flown, 
 And that none were now remaining 
 Save the young, who could not fly yet ; 
 Pretty boys, and little maidens, 
 Almost hidden in their scarlet 
 Or white woollen caps, whilst playing 
 At a marriage, in the market. 
 Still they play'd regardless of me, 
 And I saw how the enamour 'd 
 Mouse-prince knelt pathetically 
 To the fair cat-emperor's daughter. 
 Poor young prince ! Alas ! he's married 
 To the beauty. She morosely 
 Wrangles, bites him, and then eats him; 
 When he's dead, the game is over. 
 Almost all the day I linger d 
 With the children, and we chatted 
 Like old friends. They fain would ask rue 
 Who I was, and what my business. 
 
 Dear young friends, my native country 
 
 Is call'd Germany," I told them : 
 
 Bears are found there in abundance, 
 
 And my business is bear-hunting. 
 
 There I've torn the skin from many 
 
 Of their bearish ears, and sometimes 
 
 Found myself full sorely handled 
 
 By the paws of Master Bruin. 
 
 Yet with ill-lick'd doltards daily 
 
 I was forced to keep on wrangling 
 
 In my own dear home, and found it 
 
 Get at length beyond all bearing. 
 
 And accordingly here came I, 
 
 Some more noble prey desiring, 
 
 And I fain would try my forces 
 
 'Gainst the mighty Atta TrolL
 
 292 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " He's a noble adversary, 
 " Worthy of me. Ah ! I often 
 " Have in Germany been victor, 
 ' When my victory ashamed me." 
 
 When I took my leave, around me 
 Danced the pretty little beings 
 In a rondo, whilst thus sang they : 
 " Girofflino, Girofflette I" 
 
 Full of charming impudence 
 Stepp'd at last the youngest tow'rds me, 
 Bowing lowly twice, thrice, four times, 
 While with pleasing voice thus sang she : 
 
 " When the king I chance to meet with, 
 " Then I make him two low curtsies ; 
 " When the queen I chance to meet with, 
 " Then I make her curtsies three. 
 
 " But whene'er the devil happens 
 
 " With his horns to come across me, 
 
 " Then I curtsey twice, thrice, four times 
 
 " Girofflino, Girofflette !" 
 
 " Girofflino, Girofflette !" 
 Sang the chorus, and with bant'ring 
 Eound my legs kept gaily whirling 
 With their circling dance and sing-song. 
 
 Whilst descending to the valley 
 That sweet echo still pursued me 
 Evermore, like birds' soft chirping : 
 "Girofflino, Girofflette!" 
 
 CAPUT XV. 
 
 ROCKY blocks, of size gigantic, 
 All-misshapen and distorted, 
 Gaze upon me like fierce monsters 
 Turn'd to stone, from times primeval. 
 
 Strange the sight ! Grey clouds are hov'ring 
 High above me, like their doubl3 ; 
 They're the pallid counterfeit 
 Of those wild and stony figures.
 
 ATTA TROLL. 293 
 
 In the distance roars the streamlet. 
 
 And the wind howls through the fir-trees ; 
 
 'Tis a noise inexorable, 
 
 And as wretched as despair. 
 
 Solitude most terrible ! 
 
 Troops of jackdaws black are sitting 
 
 On the biitter'd crumbling fir-trees, 
 
 Fluttering with their lame wings strangely. 
 
 Close beside me goes Lascaro, 
 
 Pale and silent, I myself, too, 
 
 Looking like incarnate madness, 
 
 With grim death as my companion. 
 
 Wild and wretched is the country ; 
 
 Lies it 'neath a curse ? Methinks I 
 
 On the roots of yonder stunted 
 
 Tree can marks of blood discover. 
 
 It o'ershadoweth a cottage, 
 
 Which is modestly half-hidden 
 
 In the earth ; with meek entreaty 
 
 Seems its thatch to gaze upon thee. 
 
 They who this poor cot inhabit 
 
 Are Cagots* surviving relics 
 
 Of a race that deep in darkness 
 
 Lives a sad despised existence. 
 
 In the hearts of the Biscayans 
 
 Still is rooted fast the loathing 
 
 Of Cagots, dark heritage 
 
 From dark days of superstition. 
 
 In Bagneres cathedral even 
 
 Is a narrow grated entrance ; 
 
 This, the sacristan inform'd.me, 
 
 Was the door Cagots went in at. 
 
 Once to them all other ingress 
 
 To the church was interdicted, 
 
 And by stealth they had to enter 
 
 In God's holy house, like felons. 
 
 There, upon a lowly footstool, 
 
 Sat the poor Cagots, and pray'd thero 
 
 All alone, as though infected, 
 
 Sever'd from the congregation. 
 
 * A rnco not nnlike the Cretin*.
 
 29 J HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 But the consecrated tapers 
 Of this century flare brightly, 
 And their lustre scares the evil 
 Shadows of the middle ages ! 
 
 So outside remained Lascaro, 
 Whilst I the Cagot's poor cottage 
 Enter'd, and my hand extended 
 Kindly to my suff'ring brother. 
 
 And I also kiss'd his infant, 
 Who, close-clinging to the bosom 
 Of his wife, suck'd greedily, 
 Looking like a sickly spider. 
 
 CAPUT XVI. 
 
 "TYT^HEN thou see'st yon mountain summits 
 
 T T From a distance, they are gleaming 
 As though deck'd with gold and purple, 
 Proud and princely in the sunlight. 
 
 But when close at hand, this splendour 
 
 Vanishes, and, as in other 
 
 Earthly loveliness and glory, 
 
 'Tis the play of lights deceived thee. 
 
 What to theo seem'd gold and purple 
 Is, alas ! but common snow, 
 Common snow, which, pale and wretched, 
 Lives a weary life and lonely. 
 
 Just above me heard I plainly 
 How the hapless snow was crackling, 
 To the heartless cold winds telling 
 All the tale of its white sorrows. 
 
 ' 0, how slowly pass here," sigh'd it, 
 
 In the desert waste the hours ! 
 ' O these hours that seem quite endless, 
 ' Like eternities hard frozen ! 
 
 ' Hapless snow ! O had I only, 
 ' 'Stead of on these mountain summits, 
 ' Fallen into yonder valley, 
 " Yonder vale, where flow'rs are blooming.
 
 ATTA TROLL. 295 
 
 *' Then should I have softly melted, 
 4 And become a brook, whilst fairest 
 ' Village maidens in my waters 
 ' Would have washed their smiling faces. 
 
 ' Yes, perchance I should have floated 
 4 To the ocean, there becoming 
 ' Some fair pearl, and so be destin'd 
 To adorn a monarch's crown 1" 
 
 When I heard this pretty language, 
 Said I : " Darling snow, I'm doubtful 
 
 Whether such a brilliant future 
 ' Would have met thee in the valley. 
 
 ' Comfort take ! But few amongst you 
 ' Turn to pearls ; thou wouldst have fallen 
 ' Probably in some small puddle, 
 ' And become a piece of dirt !" 
 
 Whilst I in this friendly fashion 
 With the snow held conversation, 
 Came a shot, and from above me 
 Fell to earth a tawny vulture. 
 
 'Twas a joke of friend Lascaro, 
 Sportsman's joke ; and yet his features 
 Still continued fix'd and solemn, 
 His gun-barrel only smoking. 
 
 He in silence tore a feather 
 From the bird's tail, and then stuck it 
 On the top of his peak'd felt-hat, 
 And then hasten'd on as usual. 
 
 Wellnigh ghostly 'twas to see him, 
 As his shadow with the feather 
 On the white snow of the mountain, 
 Black and long, was onward moving. 
 
 CAPUT XVII. 
 
 T IKE a street there runs a valley, 
 JLj Known by name of Spirit-Hollow ; 
 Rugged cliffs on either side oft 
 Rise to giddy elevation.
 
 290 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 On tie widest, steepest slope there, 
 Peers Uraca's daring cottage 
 Like a watch-tow'r o'er the valley ; 
 Thither follow'd I Lascaro. 
 
 With his mother held he counsel 
 In mysterious signal-language, 
 As to how great Atta Troll 
 Might be best allur'd and vanquish'd. 
 
 For we had explored his traces 
 Carefully, and he no longer 
 Could escape us. Now are number'd, 
 Atta Troll, thy days on earth ! 
 
 As to whether old Uraca 
 Was in truth a mighty witch 
 Of distinction, as the people 
 In the Pyrenees asserted, 
 
 I'll not venture to determine ; 
 This much know I, her exterior 
 Was suspicious, and suspicious 
 Was her red eyes' constant dripping. 
 
 Evil was her look, and squinting, 
 And the poor cows ('tis reported) 
 Whom she look'd on, in their udders 
 Had the milk dried suddenly. 
 
 It is even said that many 
 Fatted swine and strongest oxen 
 She had put to death, by merely 
 Stroking with her wither 'd hands. 
 
 She at times for such offences 
 Was exposed to accusations 
 To the justice. But the latter 
 Was a follower of Voltaire, 
 
 Just a modern, shallow worldling, 
 Void of faith and penetration, 
 And the' accusers sceptically 
 Were dismiss'd, wellnigh with insult. 
 
 Publicly Uraca follow'd 
 
 Quite an honest occupation, 
 
 Namely, selling mountain-simples 
 
 And stuflfd birds to those who sought them.
 
 ATTA TROLL. 297 
 
 Full her cottage was of suchlike 
 Curiosities, and frightful 
 Was the smell of fungi in it, 
 Cuckoo-flow'rs and elderberries. 
 
 There was quite a fine collection 
 Of the vulture tribe display'd there, 
 With their wings extended fully, 
 And their monstrous beaks projecting. 
 
 Was't the strange plants' smell that mounted 
 To my head and stupified me ? 
 Wondrous feelings stole across me, 
 As I gazed upon those birds. 
 
 They're perchance enchanted mortals, 
 Who, by magic art o'erpower'd, 
 To the wretched stuffd condition 
 Of poor birds have been converted. 
 
 Fixedly they gaze upon me, 
 Sadly, yet with much impatience ; 
 Often they appear to throw 
 Tow'rd the witch shy glances also. 
 
 But the latter, old Uraca, 
 Close beside her son Lascaro 
 Cowers in the chimney corner, 
 Melting lead and casting bullets, 
 
 Bullets that by fate are destined 
 To destroy poor Atta Troll. 
 How the flames with hasty motion 
 Quiver o'er the witch's features ! 
 
 She incessantly keeps moving 
 Her thin lips, but nothing says sho ; 
 Mutters she the witches' blessing, 
 That the casting be successful ? 
 
 Oft she chuckles and oft nods she 
 To her son, but he continues 
 Earnestly his occupation, 
 And as silently as Death. 
 
 Swelt'ring 'neath my awe-struck feelings, 
 To the window went I, seeking 
 For fresh air, and then look'd downward 
 O'er the valley far below me.
 
 298 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 What I saw on that occasion 
 'Tween the hours of twelve and one, 
 I will faithfully and neatly 
 Tell you in the following chapters. 
 
 CAPUT XVIII. 
 
 A ND it was the time of full moon 
 ~L\- On St. John the Baptist's evening, 
 When the wild hunt's apparition 
 Rush'd along the Spirit-Hollow. 
 
 From the window of Uraca's 
 Witchlike hut I excellently 
 Could observe the spirit-army 
 As it sped along the valley. 
 
 Capital the place I stood in 
 For observing what was passing ; 
 I enjoy'd a full sight of the 
 Grave-arisen dead men's pastime. 
 
 Cracking whips, and shouts and halloing, 
 Yelping dogs and neighing horses, 
 Notes of hunting-horns and laughter, 
 How they joyously re-echoed ! 
 
 On in front by way of vanguard 
 Ran the wondrous game they hunted, 
 Stag and sow, in herds enormous, 
 With the pack of hounds behind them. 
 
 Huntsmen out of every region 
 And of every age were gather'd ; 
 Hard by Nimrod of Assyria, 
 For example, rode Charles X . 
 
 High upon their snowy horses 
 On they rush'd ; on foot there follow'd 
 The piqueurs, the leashes holding, 
 And the pages with the torches. 
 
 Many in the wild procession 
 Seem'd to me well-known. The horseman 
 In the golden glist'ning armour, 
 Was he not the erreat Kinf Arthur ?
 
 ATT A TROLL. 299 
 
 And Sir Ogier, he of Denmark, 
 Wore he not his green and glancing 
 Coat of ringed mail, that gave him 
 All the' appearance of a frog ? 
 In the long train also saw I 
 Many intellectual heroes ; 
 Tnere I recognized our Wolfgang, 
 By his eyes' exceeding lustre. 
 Being damn'd by Hengstenberg, 
 In his grave he cannot slumber, 
 But his earthly love for hunting 
 AYith the heathen throng continues. 
 By his mouth's sweet smile I also 
 Knew again the worthy William,* 
 Whom the Puritans had likewise 
 Cursed with bitterness ; this sinner 
 Needs must join at night that savage 
 Army, on a black steed mounted ; 
 On an ass, and close beside him 
 Rode a man, and, good heavens, 
 By his weary, praying gestures, 
 By his pious snow-white nightcap, 
 By his grief of soul, I straightway 
 Knew our old friend. Francis Horn ! 
 Just for writing commentaries 
 On the world-child Shakespear, must he 
 After death, poor fellow, with him 
 Ride amidst the wild hunt's tumult! 
 Ah ! he now must ride, poor Francis, 
 Who to walk was well-nigh frighten'd ; 
 Who ne'er moved, except when praying, 
 Or when chatting o'er the tea-tray ! 
 Would not all the aged maidens, 
 Long accustomed to caress him, 
 Shudder if they came to hear that 
 Francis was a savage huntsman ! 
 When he breaks into a gallop, 
 The great William with derision 
 Looks on his poor commentator 
 Who at donkey's pace goes after,
 
 300 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Helplessly and wildly clinging 
 To the pommel of his donkey, 
 Yet in death as well as lifetime 
 Following faithfully his author. 
 
 Many ladies saw I also 
 
 In the spirits' wild procession, 
 
 Many beauteous nymphs amongst them 
 
 With their slender, youthful figures. 
 
 They astraddle sat their horses, 
 Mythologically naked ; 
 Yet their long and curling tresses 
 Fell low down, like golden mantles. 
 
 Garlands on their heads they carried, 
 And with saucy backward-bending 
 Supercilious wanton postures 
 Leafy wands kept ever swinging. 
 
 Hard beside them saw I certain 
 Closely-button'd dames on horseback 
 On their ladies' saddles sitting 
 With their falcons on their fists. 
 
 As in parody behind them 
 On their knackers, lanky ponies, 
 Rode a troop of gay bedizen'd 
 Women, looking like comedians. 
 
 Full of beauty were their features, 
 But perchance a little bold ; 
 Madly were they shouting with their 
 Cheeks so full and wanton-painted. 
 
 How they joyously re-echoed, 
 Notes of hunting-horns and laughter, 
 Yelping dogs and neighing horses, 
 Cracking whips and shouts and halloing 
 
 CAPUT XIX. 
 
 BUT, resembling beauty's trefoil, 
 In the midst of the procession 
 Figures three I noticed ; ne'er I 
 Can forget those lovely women.
 
 ATTA TROLL. 301 
 
 Easily the first one knew I 
 By the crescent on her forehead ; 
 Like a statue pure, ail-proudly 
 Onward rode the mighty goddess. 
 
 High up-turn'd appear'd her tunic, 
 Half her breast and hip disclosing ; 
 Torchlight, moonlight both were playing 
 Gaily round her snowy members. 
 
 White as marble were her features, 
 Cold as marble too ; and fearful 
 Was the numbness and the paleness 
 Of that face, so stern and noble. 
 
 Yet within her black eye plainly 
 Terribly but sweetly sparkled 
 A mysterious, glowing fire, 
 Spirit-dazzling and consuming. 
 
 O, how alter'd was Diana 
 Who, with haughty chastity, 
 To a stag once turn'd Acteon, 
 And as prey to dogs* abandon'd I 
 
 Does she expiate this crime now 
 Join'd to these gallant companions? 
 Like a wretched spectral creature 
 Nightly through the air she travels. 
 
 Late, indeed, but all the stronger 
 She to thoughts of lust awakens, 
 And within her eyes 'tis burning, 
 Like a very brand of hell. 
 
 All the lost time now laments she, 
 When mankind were far more handsome, 
 And by quantity perchance she 
 Now makes up for quality. 
 
 Close beside her rode a beauty 
 Whose fair features were not chiscll'd 
 In such Grecian mould, yet glisteu'd 
 With the Celtic race's charms. 
 
 This one was the fay Abunde, 
 Whom I easily distinguish'd 
 By the sweetness of her smile, 
 And her mad and hearty laughter!
 
 S02 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Hale and rosy were her features, 
 As though limn'd by Master Greuze ; 
 Heart-shaped was her mouth, and open, 
 Showing teeth of dazzling whiteness. 
 
 Night-dress blue and flutt'ring wore she, 
 That the wind to lift attempted ; 
 Even in my brightest visions 
 Never saw I such fair shoulders ! 
 
 Scarcely could I keep from springing 
 Out of window to embrace them ; 
 111 should I have fared, however, 
 For my neck should I have broken. 
 
 She, alas ! would but have titter'd 
 If before her feet, all-bleeding, 
 In the deep abyss I tumbled, 
 Ah ! a laugh like this well know 1 1 
 
 And the third of those fair women, 
 Who so deeply stirr'd thy bosom, 
 Was she but a female devil 
 Like the other two first mention'd ? 
 
 Whether devil she or angel, 
 Know I not ; in case of women 
 One knows never where the angel 
 Ceases, and the deuce commences. 
 
 On her glowing sickly features 
 Lay an oriental charm, 
 And her costly robes reminded 
 Of Schehezerade's sweet stories. 
 
 Soft her lips, just like pomegranates, 
 And her nose a bending lily, 
 And her members cool and slender 
 As the palms in the oasis. 
 
 On a snowy palfrey sat she, 
 Whose gold bridle by two negroes 
 Was conducted, who on foot 
 By the princess' side were walking. 
 
 And in truth she was a princess, 
 Was the queen of far Judraa, 
 Was the lovely wife of Herod, 
 Who the Baptist's hjad demanded*
 
 ATTA TROLL. 303 
 
 For this deed of blood she also 
 Was accurs'd, and as a spectre 
 With the wild hunt must keep riding, 
 Even to the day of judgment. 
 
 In her Hands she evermore 
 Bears the charger with the Baptist's 
 Head upon it, which she kisses, 
 Yes, the head she kisses wildly. 
 
 For she once loved John the Baptist ; 
 In the Bible 'tis not written, 
 Yet in popular tradition 
 Lives Herodias' bloody love. 
 
 Otherwise there's no explaining 
 
 That strange fancy of the lady, 
 
 Would a woman ever ask for 
 
 That man's head for whom she cared not ? 
 
 She was somewhat angry, may be, 
 With him, had him. too, beheaded ; 
 But when she upon the charger 
 Saw the much-loved head lie lifeless, 
 
 Sore she wept, and lost her senses, 
 And she died of love's delirium. 
 (Love's delirium ! Pleonasm ! 
 Love must always be delirium !) 
 
 Every night arising, bears she 
 As I've said, the bloody head 
 In her hand as she goes hunting, 
 Yet with foolish woman's fancy 
 
 She at times the head hiirls from her 
 Through the air, with childish laughter. 
 And then catches it again 
 Very nimbly, like a plaything. 
 
 And as she was riding by me, 
 On me look'd she, and she nodded 
 So coqucttishly aud fondly, 
 That my inmost heart was shaken. 
 
 Three times up and downward moving 
 The procession pass'd. and three times 
 Did the lovely apparition 
 Greet me, as she rode before me.
 
 304 HEINE'S FOE^IS. 
 
 When the train at last had faded, 
 And the tumult was extinguish 'd, 
 Still that loving salutation 
 Glow'd within my inmost brain. 
 
 And throughout the livelong night 
 I my weary limhs kept tossing 
 On the straw (for feather beds 
 Were not in Uraca's cottage), 
 
 And methought : What meaning was there 
 In that strange, mysterious nodding 
 Wherefore didst thou gaze upon me 
 With such tenderness, Herodias ? 
 
 CAPUT XX. 
 
 'ril WAS the sunrise. Golden arrows 
 
 JL Shot against the white mist fiercely. 
 Which turn'd red, as though sore wounded, 
 And in light and glory melted. 
 
 Finally the victory's won, 
 And the day, the triumphator, 
 Stood, in full and beaming splendour, 
 On the summit of the mountain. 
 
 All the birds in noisy chorus 
 T witter 'd in their secret nests, 
 And a smell of herbs arose too, 
 Like a concert of sweet odours. 
 
 At the earliest dawn of morning 
 To the valley we descended, 
 And whilst friend Lascaro follow'd 
 On the traces of the bear, 
 
 I the time to kill attempted 
 With my thoughts, and yet this thinking 
 Made me at the last quite weary, 
 And a little mournful even. 
 
 Weary, then, and mournful sank I 
 On the soft moss-bank beside me. 
 Under yonder mighty fish-tree, 
 Where the little streamlet flow'J,
 
 ATTA TROLL. 305 
 
 Which, with its mysterious plashing 
 So mysteriously befool'd me, 
 That all thoughts and power of thinking 
 From my spirit pass'd away. 
 
 And a raging yearning seized me 
 For a dream, for death, for madness, 
 For that woman-rider, whom I 
 In the" spirit-march had seen. 
 
 O ye lovely nightly faces, 
 Scared away by beams of morning, 
 Tell me, whither have ye fleeted ? 
 Tell me, where ye dwell at daytime ? 
 
 Under olden temples' ruins, 
 
 Far away in the Romagna 
 
 (So 'tis said) Diana refuge 
 
 Seeks by day from Christ's dominion, 
 
 Only in the midnight darkness 
 From her hiding place she ventures, 
 And rejoices in the chase 
 With her heathenish companions. 
 
 And the beauteous fay Abunde 
 Of the Nazarenes is tearful, 
 And throughout the day she lingers 
 Safe within her Avalun. 
 
 This fair island lies deep-hidden 
 Far off, in the silent ocean 
 Of romance, that none can reach save 
 On the fabled horse's pinions. 
 
 Never there casts care its anchor, 
 Never there appears a steamer, 
 Full of wonder-seeking blockheads, 
 With tobacco-pipes in mouth. 
 
 Never reaches there the languid 
 Sound of bells, so dull and tedious, 
 That incessant bim-bom clatter 
 Which the fairies so detest. 
 
 Tin TO. in never-troubled pleasure, 
 And in youth eternal blooming, 
 Still resides the joyous lady, 
 Our blond dame, the fay Abundo.
 
 306 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Laughingly her walks there takes she 
 Under lofty heliotropes, 
 With her talking train beside her, 
 World-departed Paladins. 
 
 Well, and thou, Herodias, prythee 
 Say where art thou ? Ah, I know it, 
 Thou art dead, and liest buried 
 By the town Jerusalem ! 
 
 Stiffly sleeps by day thy body, 
 In its marble coffin prison'd ; 
 Yet the cracking whips and halloing 
 Waken thee at midnight's hour, 
 
 And the wild array thou followest 
 With Diana and Abunde, 
 With thy merry hunting comrades, 
 Who hold cross and pain detested. 
 
 O what sweet society ! 
 Could I hunt with you by night-time 
 Through the forests ! By thy side 
 Always would I ride, Herodias ! 
 
 For 'tis thee I love the dearest ! 
 More than yonder Grecian goddess, 
 More than yonder Northern fairy, 
 Love I thee, thou Jewess dead ! 
 
 Yes, I love thee ! Well I know it 
 By the trembling of my spirit ; 
 Love thou me, and be my darling, 
 Sweet Herodias, beauteous woman 
 
 I'm the yery knight thou wantest ! 
 Little truly it concerns me 
 That thou'rt dead and damn'd already, 
 For I'm free from prejudices. 
 
 My own happiness 'tis only 
 That concerns me, and at times I 
 Feel inclined to doubt if truly 
 To the living I belong ! 
 
 Take me as thy knight, I pray thee, 
 As thy Cavalier servente, 
 And thy mantle will I carry 
 and e'en all thy whims put up with.
 
 ATTA TROLL. 307 
 
 Every night I'll ride beside thee, 
 With the army wild careering ; 
 Merrily we'll talk and laugh then 
 At my frenzied conversation. 
 
 Thus the time I'll shorten for thee 
 In the night ; but yet by day-time 
 All our joy will fly, and weeping 
 On that grave I'll take my seat. 
 
 Yes, I'll sit by day-time weeping 
 On the regal vault's sad ruins, 
 On the grave of thee, my loved one, 
 By the town Jerusalem. 
 
 Aged Jews, who chance to pass me, 
 Then will surely think I'm sorrowing 
 For the temple's desolation, 
 And the town Jerusalem. 
 
 CAPUT XXI. 
 
 A EGONAUTS without a ship, 
 -A_ Who on foot the mountain visit, 
 And instead of golden fleeces 
 Aim at nothing but a bear's skin, 
 
 We're, alas ! poor devils only, 
 Heroes of a modern fashion, 
 And no classic poet ever 
 Will in song immortalize us. 
 
 Yet we notwithstanding suffer'd 
 Serious hardships ! what rain 
 Fell upon us on the summit, 
 Where no tree or hackney-coach was ! 
 
 Fierce the storm, its bonds were broken, 
 
 And in buckets it descended ; 
 
 Jason surely was at Colchis 
 
 Never drench'd in such a show'r-bath ! 
 
 " An umbrella ! Gladly would I 
 ' : Give you six-and-thirty kings* 
 " For the loan of one umbrella !" 
 Cried I, and the water dripp'd still. 
 
 * Alluding to the large number of petty states into whiri 
 
 Gpriii:iiiy is divided.
 
 308 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Fagg'd to death, and out of temper, 
 We return'd, like half-drown' d puppies 
 Late at night, as best we could, 
 To the witch's lofty cottage. 
 
 There beside the glowing fire-place 
 Sat Uraca, busy combing 
 Her great fat and ugly pug-dog ; 
 Quickly she dismiss'd the latter, 
 
 To attend to us instead, 
 And my bed she soon got ready, 
 Loosening first my espardillas, 
 That uncomfortable foot-gear 
 
 Help'd me to undress, my stockings 
 Pulling off ; I found them sticking 
 To my legs, as close and faithful 
 As the friendship of a blockhead. 
 
 " Quick ! a dressing-gown ! I'd give you 
 " Six-and-thirty kings for only 
 " One dry dressing-gown !" exclaim'd I, 
 As my wet shirt steam'd upon me. 
 
 Freezing and with chattering teeth, I 
 Stood awhile upon the hearth ; 
 By the fire then driven senseless 
 On the straw at length I sank. 
 
 But I slept not. Blinking look'd I 
 On the witch, who by the chimney 
 Sat, and held the head and shoulders 
 Of her son upon her lap, 
 
 Helping to undress him. Near her 
 Stood upright her ugly pug-dog, 
 And he in his front paw managed 
 Cleverly to hold a pot. 
 
 From the pot Uraca took some 
 Reddish fat, and with it rubb'd the 
 Ribs and bosom of her son, 
 Rubbing hastily, with trembling. 
 
 And while rubbing him and salving, 
 She a cradle-song was humming 
 Through her nose, whilst strangely crackled 
 On the hearth the ruddy flames.
 
 ATTA TROLL. 309 
 
 Like a corpse, all yellow, bony, 
 On his mother's lap the son lay . 
 Sorrowful as death, wide open 
 Stared his hollow, pallid eyes. 
 
 Is he truly but a dead man 
 Who each night by love maternal 
 Hath a life enchanted giv'n him 
 By the aid of strongest witch-salve ? 
 
 Wondrous the half-sleep of fever, 
 Where the leaden limbs feel weary 
 As though fetter'd, and the senses 
 O'er-excited, wide awake ! 
 
 How the herb-smell in the chamber 
 Troubled me ! With painful effort 
 Thought I where I had already 
 Smelt the same, but vain my thoughts were. 
 
 How the wind a-down the chimney 
 Gave me pain ! Like sighs it sounded 
 Of dejected dried-up spirits, 
 Like the sound of well-known voices. 
 
 Most of all was 1 tormented 
 
 By the stuffd birds, which were standing 
 
 On a shelf above my head, 
 
 Near the place where I was lying. 
 
 They their wings were slowly flapping 
 And with awful motion, bending 
 Downward tow'rd me, forward pushing 
 Their long beaks, like human noses. 
 
 Ah ! where have I seen already 
 Noses such as these ? At Hamburg, 
 Or at Frankfort, in the Jews' street ? 
 Sad the glimmering recollection ! 
 
 I at last was overpower'd 
 Quite by sleep, and in the place of 
 Wakeful, terrible phantasmas, 
 Came a healthful, steady dream. 
 
 And I dreamt that this poor cottage 
 Suddenly became a ball-room 
 Which by columns was supported, 
 And by candelabra lighted.
 
 310 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Some invisible musicians 
 Play'd from out Kobert-le-Diable 
 That fine crazy dance of nuns ; 
 All alone I walk'd about there. 
 
 But at length the doors were open'd, 
 Open'd wide and then advanced 
 With a step both slow and stately 
 Guests of wonderful appearance. 
 
 They were solely bears and spirits ! 
 Walking bolt upright, each bear 
 Led a spirit as his partner, 
 In a snow-white grave-cloth hidden. 
 
 In this manner pair'd, began they 
 Waltzing up and down with vigour 
 In the hall. The sight was curious, 
 Laughable, but also fearful ! 
 
 For the awkward bears soon found it 
 Difficult to keep in step 
 With the white and airy figures, 
 Who whirl'd round with easy motion. 
 
 But those poor unhappy creatures 
 Were inexorably driven, 
 And their snorting overpower'd 
 E'en the' orchestral double bass. 
 
 Oftentimes one couple jostled 
 'Gainst another, and the bear 
 Gave the spirit that had push'd him 
 Some hard kicks on his hind quarters. 
 
 Often in the dance's bustle 
 Would a bear tear off the shroud 
 From the head of his companion, 
 And a death's head was disclosed the,*. 
 
 But at length with joyous uproar 
 Crash'd the trumpets and the cymbals. 
 And the kettle-drums loud thunder' d, 
 And there came the gallopade. 
 
 To the end of this I dreamt not, 
 For a stupid clumsy bear 
 Trod upon my corns, and made me 
 Cry aloud, and so awoke me.
 
 A.TTA TROLL. 311 
 
 CAPUT XXII. 
 
 PHOEBUS in his sunny droschka 
 Lash'd his flaming horses onwards, 
 And had half his course already 
 Through the spacious heavens completed, 
 
 Whilst I still in slumber lay, 
 And of bears and spirits, strangely 
 Intertwining with each other 
 lu quaint arabesque, was dreaming. 
 
 Midday 'twas ere I awaken'd, 
 And I found myself alone ; 
 Both my hostess and Lascaro 
 For the chase had started early. 
 
 In the hut the pug-dog only 
 Still remain'd. Beside the hearth he 
 Stood upright before the kettle, 
 While his paws a spoon were holding. 
 
 Admirably had they taught him 
 Whensoe'er the broth boil'd over 
 Hastily to stir it round, 
 And to skim away the bubbles. 
 
 But am I myself bewitch'd ? 
 
 Or still blazes there the fever 
 
 In my head ? I scarce can credit 
 
 My own ears the pug-dog's talking ! 
 
 Yes, he's talking, and his accent 
 Gentle is and Swabian ; dreaming, 
 As though buried in deep thought, 
 Speaks he in the foil' wing fashion : 
 
 " Poor unhappy Swabian poet ! 
 " In a foreign land I sadly 
 " Languish, as a dog enchanted, 
 " And a witch's kettle watch ! 
 
 " What a shameful sin is witchcraft ! 
 " O how sad, how deeply tragic 
 " Is my fate, with human feelings 
 " Underneath a dog's exterior !
 
 312 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 ' Would that I at home had tarriec 
 " With my trusty school companions ! 
 " They're at any rate no wizards, 
 ' Ne'er bewitch'd a single being ! 
 
 " Would that I at home had tarried 
 " With Charles Mayer, with the fragrant 
 " Wallflow'rs of my native country, 
 " With its pudding-broth delicious ! 
 
 " I'm half dead now with nostalgia 
 " Would that I could see the smoke 
 " Eising from the chimneys where they 
 " Vermicelli cook at Stukkert !" 
 
 When I heard this, deep emotion 
 Came across me ; quickly sprang I 
 From the couch, approach'd the fireplace, 
 And address'd him with compassion : 
 
 " Noble bard, say how it happens 
 
 " That thou'rt in this witch's cottage ? 
 
 " Tell me wherefore have they changed thee 
 
 " Cruelly into a pug-dog ?" 
 
 But with joy exclaim'd the other : 
 " Then thou'rt really not a Frenchman, 
 " But a German, understanding 
 " All my silent monologue ? 
 
 " Ah, dear countryman ! how sad that 
 " Counc'llor-of-legation Kolle, 
 " When we o'er our pipes and glasses 
 " Held discussions in the beershop, 
 
 " Always harp'd upon the thesis 
 " That by travelling alone we 
 " Could obtain that polish, which he 
 " Had from foreign lands imported ! 
 
 " So, that I might wipe away all 
 
 " That raw crust which stuck upon me, 
 
 " And like Kolle might acquire 
 
 " Elegant and polish'd manners, 
 
 " From my country I departed, 
 
 " And while thus the grand tour making, 
 
 u Came I to the Pyrenees, 
 
 " To the cottage of Uraca.
 
 ATTA TROLL. 313 
 
 " I an introduction brought her 
 " From Justinus Kerner*, never 
 " Thinking that this so-called friend 
 " Was in wicked league with witches. 
 
 " Kindly welcomed me Uraca, 
 u Yet, to my alarm, her friendship 
 " Kept on growing, till converted 
 " At the last to sensual passion. 
 
 " Yes, immodesty still flicker'd 
 
 " Wildly in the wither'd bosom 
 
 " Of this wretched, worthless woman, 
 
 " And she now must needs seduce me ! 
 
 " Yet implored I : ' Ah, excuse me, 
 " ' Worthy madam ! I'm no friv'lous 
 " ' Goethe's pupil, but belong 
 " ' To the poet-school of Swabia. 
 
 " ' Modesty's the muse we worship, 
 " ' And the drawers she wears are made of 
 " ' Thickest leather Ah, good madam, 
 " ' Do not violate my virtue ! 
 
 " ' Other poets boast of genius, 
 " ' Others fancy, others passion, 
 " ' But the pride of Swabian poets 
 " ' Is especially their virtue. 
 
 " ' That's the only wealth we boast of! 
 " ' Do not rob me of the modest 
 " ' And religious simple garment 
 " ' Which my nakedness doth cover ! 
 
 " Thus I spoke, and yet the woman 
 
 " Smiled ironically ; smiling 
 
 " She a switch of mistletoe 
 
 " Took, and then my head touch'd with it. 
 
 " Thereupon I felt a chilly 
 
 " Strange sensation, like a goose-skin 
 
 " Being o'er my members drawn ; 
 
 " Yet in truth a goose-skin 'twas not 
 
 * A well-known poet and physician, born in 1786, ami 
 rounder of the so-called Modern Swabimi School of Poetry.
 
 314 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " On the contrary, a dog-skin 
 " Was it rather ; since that fearful 
 " Moment have I been converted 
 " As thou see'st me, to a pug-dog !" 
 
 Poor young fellow ! Through his sobbing 
 Not a word more could he utter ; 
 And he wept with so much fervour, 
 That in tears wellnigh dissolved he. 
 
 " Listen now," I said with pity : 
 " Can I possibly relieve you 
 " Of your dog-skin, and restore you 
 " To humanity and verses ?" 
 
 But the other raised his paws up 
 In the air disconsolately 
 And despairingly ; at length he 
 Spake with sighing and with groaning : 
 
 " Till the Judgment Day, alas ! I 
 " In this dog-skin must be prison'd, 
 " If I'm freed not from enchantment 
 " By a virgin's self-devotion. 
 
 " Yes, a pure unsullied virgin, 
 " Who ne'er touch'd a human being, 
 " And the following condition 
 " Truly keeps, alone can free me 
 
 " This unsullied virgin must, 
 " In the night of Saint Sylvester, 
 " Head Gustavus Pfizer' s* poems, 
 " And not go to sleep one moment ! 
 
 " If she keeps awake while reading, 
 " And her modest eye ne'er closes, 
 " Then shall I be disenchanted, 
 " Be a man, yes, be undogg'd !" 
 
 " In that case, good friend," replied I, 
 
 " I at any rate can never 
 
 " Undertake to disenchant you, 
 
 " For I'm no unsullied virgin ; 
 
 * A voluminous writer, born at Stuttgardt in 1807. He at- 
 lucki d Heine's School of Poetry, and was repaid by Heine in the
 
 ATTA TROLL 315 
 
 " And still less should I be able 
 " To fulfil the task of reading 
 " All Gustavus Pfizer 's poems, 
 " And not fall asleep instanter !" 
 
 CAPUT XXIII. 
 
 FROM the witch's entertainment 
 To the valley we descended, 
 And our footsteps to the region 
 Of the Positive return'd. 
 
 Hence, ye spirits ! Nightly spectres I 
 Airy figures ! Fev'rish visions ! 
 We find rational employment 
 Once again with Atta Troll. 
 
 In the cavern, by his young ones, 
 Lie? the old bear, soundly sleeping, 
 With the snore of conscious virtue, 
 And at length he wakes with gaping. 
 
 Near him squats young Master One-ear, 
 And his head he's gently scratching. 
 Like a bard whose rhyme is wanting, 
 And upon his paws he's scanning. 
 
 Likewise by their father's side 
 On their backs are dreaming lying 
 Innocent four-footed lilies, 
 Atta Troll's beloved daughters. 
 
 Say, what tender thoughts are pining 
 In the softly blooming spirits 
 Of these snowy young bear- virgins ? 
 Moist with tears their eyes are glist'ning. 
 
 Most of all appears the youngest 
 Deeply moved. Within her bosom 
 She a blissful twinge is feeling, 
 And to Cupid's might succumbs she. 
 
 Yes, that little god's sharp arrow 
 Through her thick skin penetrated 
 When she saw Him O, good heavens 
 Him she loves, a living man is !
 
 316 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Is a man, yclept Schnapphahnski ; 
 Whilst before his foes retreating 
 He arrived by chance one morning 
 At the mountain in his flight. 
 
 Woes of heroes touch all women, 
 And within our hero's features 
 Were depicted want of money, 
 Pale distress and gloomy sorrow. 
 
 All his military chest, 
 Two-and-twenty silver groschen, 
 Which he had when Spain he enter 'd, 
 Was the prey of Espartero. 
 
 E'en his watch was not preserved him, 
 But remain 'd at Pampeluna 
 In a pawn-shop. : T\vas an heirloom, 
 Costly and of genuine silver. 
 
 And with long legs swiftly ran he, 
 But unconsciously whilst running 
 Won he something that's far better 
 Than the best of fights, a heart ! 
 
 Yes, she loves him, him, the archfoe ! 
 
 O thou most unhappy bearess ! 
 
 If thy father knew the secret, 
 
 He would growl in frightful fashion. 
 
 As the aged Odoardo* 
 Stabb'd Emilia Galotti 
 In his pride of citizenship, 
 So would also Atta Troll 
 
 Sooner have destroy 'd his daughter, 
 Yes, with his own paws destroy'd her 
 Than permitted her to tumble 
 In the arms of any monarch 
 
 Yet he at this very moment 
 
 Ig of tender disposition, 
 
 With no wish to crush a rosebud 
 
 Ere the hurricane has stripp'd it.f 
 
 * See Lessing's " Emilia Galotti.'' 
 
 t See the concluding words of the last scene but one of tht 
 above play.
 
 ATTA TROLL. 317 
 
 Tenderly lies Atta Troll 
 
 In the cavern, by his young ones. 
 
 O'er him creep, like death's forebodings, 
 
 Mournful yearnings for the future. 
 
 " Children," sigh'd he, as his great eyes 
 Suddenly 'gan dripping, " children, 
 ' All my earthly pilgrimage 
 " Is accomplish'd, we must part now. 
 
 " For to-day at noon whilst sleeping 
 " Came a vision full of meaning, 
 " And my soul enjoy 'd the blissful 
 " Foretaste of an early death. 
 
 " Now, I'm far from superstitious, 
 " I'm no giddy bear, yet are there 
 " Certain things 'twixt earth and heaven 
 " Unaccountable to thinkers. 
 
 " Over world and fate whilst poring, 
 *' Fell I fast asleep, with yawning, 
 " And I dreamt that I was lying 
 " Underneath a mighty tree. 
 
 " From the branches of this tree there 
 " Trickled down some whitish honey, 
 " Gliding in my open muzzle, 
 " And I felt a sweet enjoyment. 
 
 " As I blissfully peer'd upwards, 
 
 " Saw I on the very tree-top 
 
 " Seven tiny little bears 
 
 " Sliding up and down the branches. 
 
 " Tender, pretty little creatures, 
 
 " With a skin of rose-red colour, 
 
 " While, like silk, from their dear shoulders 
 
 " Hung a something, like two pinions. 
 
 " Yes, those rose-red little bears 
 
 ' Were adorn'd with silken pinions, 
 
 " And with sweet celestial voices, 
 
 " Sounding like a flute's notes, sang they ! 
 
 " As they sang, my skin turn'd ice-cold, 
 " And from out my skin there mounted, 
 ' Like a soaring flame, my spirit, 
 ' Kadiantly to heaven ascending."
 
 318 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Thus spake Atta Troll in quivering 
 Tender grunting tones ; a moment 
 Paused he, full of melancholy 
 But his ears with sudden impulse 
 
 Prick'd he up, and strangely shook they, 
 Whilst from off his couch upsprang he, 
 Trembling, bellowing with rapture : 
 " Do ye hear that sound, my children '? 
 
 " Is it not the darling accents 
 
 " Of your mother ? O, well know I, 
 
 " 'Tis the roaring of my Mumma ! 
 
 " Mumma ! Yes, my swarthy Mumma !" 
 
 Atta Troll, these words pronouncing, 
 Hasten'd, like a crazy being, 
 From the cavern to destruction ! 
 Ah, he rush'd to meet his doom ! 
 
 CAPUT XXI 
 
 IN the vale of Ronceval 
 On the very spot where whilome 
 Charlemagne's unhappy nephew 
 To the foe his life surrender'd, 
 
 There, too, fell poor Atta Troll, 
 And he fell by cunning, like him 
 Whom the base equestrian Judas, 
 Ganelon of Mainz, betrayed. 
 
 Ah ! that noblest bear's-emotion, 
 Namely his uxorious feelings, 
 Was a snare which old Uraca 
 Cunningly avail' d herself of. 
 
 She the growl of swarthy Mumma 
 Copied with such great perfection, 
 That poor Atta Troll was tempted 
 Out of his secure bear's-cavern. 
 
 On the wings of yearning ran he 
 Through the vale, oft stood he, gently 
 Snuffing at a rock in silence, 
 Thinking Mumma was conceal'd there.
 
 A.TTA TROLL. 319 
 
 Ah! conceal'd there was Lascaro 
 With his musket, and he shot him 
 Through the middle of his heart, whence 
 Gush'd a ruddy stream of blood. 
 
 Once or twice his head he waggled, 
 But at last with heavy groaning 
 Fell he down, and wildly gasp'd he, 
 And his latest sigh was " Mumma " 
 
 Thus the noble hero fell ; 
 Thus he died. And yet immortal 
 Will he in the poet's numbers 
 After death arise in glory. 
 
 Yes, he'll rise again in numbers, 
 And his glory, grown colossal, 
 On four-footed solemn trochees 
 O'er the face of earth stride proudly. 
 
 And his tomb Bavaria's monarch 
 Will erect in the Walhalla, 
 Writing on it this inscription, 
 In true lapidary style : 
 
 " Atta Troll ; a bear of impulse ; 
 " Devotee ; a loving husband ; 
 " Full of sans-culottic notions, 
 ' ; Thanks to the prevailing fashion. 
 
 " Wretched dancer ; strong opinions 
 " Bearing in his shaggy bosom ; 
 " Often stinking very badly ; 
 " Talentless ; a character !" 
 
 CAPUT XXV. 
 
 THREE-and-thirty aged women, 
 Wearing on their heads the scarlet 
 Old Biscayan caps we read of, 
 Stood around the village entrance. 
 
 One, like Deborah, amongst them 
 Beat the tambourine, and danced too, 
 And she sang a song of triumph 
 O'er Lascaro, the bear-slayer.
 
 320 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Four strong men upon their shoulders 
 Bore the vanquish'd bear in triumph ; 
 Upright sat he on the seat, 
 Like a sickly bathing patient. 
 
 And behind, as if related 
 
 To the dead bear, went Lascaro 
 
 With Uraca ; right and left she 
 
 Bow'd her thanks, though much embarrass'd 
 
 And the Mayor's Assistant gave them 
 Quite a speech before the town hall, 
 When the grand procession got there, 
 And he spoke on many subjects,- 
 
 As, for instance, on the increase 
 Of the navy, on the press, 
 On the weighty beetroot question, 
 On the curse of party spirit. 
 
 After fully illustrating 
 
 Louis Philippe's special merits, 
 
 He proceeded to the bear. 
 
 And Lascaro's great achievement. 
 
 " Thou, Lascaro !" cried the speaker, 
 As with his tricolour'd sash he 
 Wiped the sweat from off his forehead, 
 " Thou, Lascaro ! Thou, Lascaro ! 
 
 " Thou who bravely hast deliver'd 
 " France and Spain from Atta Troll, 
 " Thou'rt the hero of both countries, 
 " Pyrenean Lafayette !" 
 
 When Lascaro in this manner 
 Heard officially his praises, 
 In his beard with pleasure laugh'd he, 
 And quite blush' d with satisfaction, 
 
 And in very broken accents, 
 One word o'er another stumbling, 
 Gave he utt'rance to his thanks 
 For this most exceeding honour ! 
 
 Every one with deep amazement 
 Gazed upon this sight unwonted, 
 And the aged women mutter'd 
 In alarm, beneath their breath :
 
 ATTA TROLL. 321 
 
 " Why, Lascaro hue oeen laughing : 
 " Why, Lascaro has been blushing! 
 " Why, Lascaro has been speaking! 
 " He, the dead son of the witch!" 
 
 Atta Troll that very day was 
 Flay'd, and then they sold by auction 
 His poor skin. A furrier bought it 
 For one hundred francs, hard money. 
 
 He most beautifully trimm'd it 
 With a lovely scarlet border, 
 And then sold it for just double 
 What it cost him in the first place. 
 
 Juliet then became its owner 
 At third hand, and in her bedroom 
 Lies it now in Paris, serving 
 As a rug beside her bed. 
 
 0, with naked feet how often 
 Have I stood at night upon this 
 Earthly brown coat of iny hero, 
 On the skin of Atta Troll ! 
 
 And o'ercome by sad reflections, 
 Schiller's words I then remember'd : 
 " What in song shall be immortal 
 " Must in actual life first die !"* 
 
 CAPUT XXVI. 
 
 WELL, and Mumma ? Ah, poor Mumma 
 Is a woman ! Frailty 
 Is her name ! Alas ! all women 
 Are as frail as any porcelain. 
 
 When by fate's hand she was parted 
 From her glorious noble husband, 
 She by no means died of sorrow, 
 Nor succumb' d to her affliction. 
 
 On the contrary, she gaily 
 Went on living, went on dancing 
 As before, with ardour wooing 
 For the public's daily plaudits. 
 
 * See the end of Sehiller's "Gods of Greece." 
 
 T
 
 322 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Finally she found a solid 
 Situation, and provision 
 For the whole of life, at Paris 
 In the famed Jardin des Planleg. 
 
 When I chanced the other Sunday 
 With my Juliet to go thither 
 And expounded Nature to her. 
 Of the plants and beasts conversing, 
 
 Showing the giraffes and cedars 
 Of Mount Lebanon, the mighty 
 Dromedary, the gold pheasants, 
 And the zebra, as we chatted 
 
 It so happen'd that at length we 
 Stood before the pit's close railing 
 Where the bears are all collected, 
 Gracious heavens, what saw we there ! 
 
 An enormous desert-bear 
 From Siberia, white and hairy, 
 With a lady-bear was playing 
 A too-tender game of love there. 
 
 And the latter was our Mumma ! 
 Was the wife of Atta Troll ! 
 Well I knew her by the tender 
 Humid glances of her eye. 
 
 Yes, 'twas she ! the South's black daughter 
 She it was, yes, Madame Mumma 
 With a Russian is now living, 
 With a Northern wild barbarian ! 
 
 With a simp'ring face a negro 
 Who approach 'd us, thus address'd me : 
 " Is there any sight more pleasing 
 " Than to see two lovers happy ?" 
 
 I replied : " Pray tell me whom, Sir, 
 " I've the honour of addressing ?" 
 But the other cried with wonder : 
 " Don't you really recollect me ? 
 
 " Why, the Moorish prince am I 
 ' ; Who in Freiligrath was drumming ; 
 '' Things in Germany went badly, 
 *' I was far too isolated.
 
 ATTA TROLL. 323 
 
 *' Here, however, where as keeper 
 " I am station'd, where I'm living 
 " *Mongst the lions, plants, and tigtrs 
 " Of my home within the tropics, 
 
 " Here I find it much more pleasant 
 " Than your German fairs attending, 
 " Where I day by day was drumming 
 " And was fed so very badly. 
 
 " I quite recently was married 
 " To a fair cook from Alsatia ; 
 " When within her arms reposing 
 " Feel I then at home completely. 
 
 " Her dear feet remind me closely 
 
 '' Of our darling elephants ; 
 
 " When she speaks in French, her language 
 
 " My black mother -tongue resembles. 
 
 " Oft she scolds me, and I think then 
 " Of the rattling of that drum 
 " Which had skulls around it hanging ; 
 " Snake and lion fled before it. 
 
 " Yet with feeling in the moonlight 
 " Weeps she, like a crocodile 
 " Peeping from the tepid river 
 " To enjoy a little coolness. 
 
 " And she gives me charming tit-bits, 
 " And I thrive upon them, eating 
 u Once again, as on the Niger, 
 " With old African enjoyment. 
 
 " I am getting fat ; my belly's 
 
 " Grown quite round, and from my shirt it 
 
 ' ; Is projecting, like a black moon 
 
 " From the snow-white clouds advancing." 
 
 CAPUT XXVII. 
 
 (To Augustus Varnhagen Von Ense.) 
 
 ERE in heaven, Master Louis, 
 " Did you pick up all this crazy 
 " Nonsense?" these the very words were 
 Which the Card'nal d'Este made use of.
 
 324 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 When Lo read the well-known poem 
 Of Orlando's frantic doings, 
 Which politely Ariosto 
 To his Eminence inscribed. 
 
 Yes, my good old friend Varnhagen, 
 Yes, I round thy lips see plainly 
 Hov'ring those exact expressions, 
 By the same sly smile attended. 
 
 Often dost thou laugh whilst reading, 
 
 Yet at intervals thy forehead 
 
 Solemnly is wrinkled over, 
 
 And these thoughts then steal across thee ; 
 
 " Sounds it not like those young visions 
 " That I dreamt once with Chamisso, 
 " And Brentano and Fouque, 
 " In the blue and moonlight evenings ?* 
 
 " Is it not the dear notes rising 
 
 " From the long-lost forest chapel ? 
 
 " Sound the well-known cap and bells not 
 
 " Eoguishly at intervals ? 
 
 " In the nightingale's sweet chorus 
 " Breaks the bear's deep double-bass, 
 " Dull and growling, interchanging 
 " In its turn with spirit-whispers ! 
 
 " Nonsense, which pretends to wisdom ! 
 " Wisdom, which has turn'd quite crazy ! 
 " Dying sighs, which suddenly 
 " Into laughter are converted! " 
 
 Yes, my friend, ths sounds indeed 'tis 
 From the long departed dream-time ; 
 Save that modern quavers often 
 'Midst the olden keynotes jingle. 
 
 Signs of trembling thou'lt discover 
 Here and there, despite the boasting ; 
 I commend this little poem 
 To thy well-proved gentleness ! 
 
 * This refers to the time of Heine's residence in Berlin, when 
 lie was intimate with these and other well-known personages 
 See Sketch of his Life, ante.
 
 ATTA TROLL. 325 
 
 Ah ! perchance it is the last free 
 Forest-song of the Romantic ; 
 In the daytime's wild confusion 
 Will it sadly die away. 
 
 Other times and other birds too ! 
 Other birds and other music ! 
 What a crackling, like the geese's 
 Who preserved the Capitol ! 
 
 What a twitt'ring ! 'Tis the sparrows- 
 While their claws hold farthing rushlights , 
 Yet they're strutting like Jove's eagle 
 With the mighty thunderbolt ! 
 
 What a cooing ! Turtledoves 'tis ; 
 Sick of love, they now are hating, 
 And henceforward, 'stead of Venus, 
 Draw the chariot of Bellona ! 
 
 What a humming, world-convulsing ! 
 'Tis in fact the big cock-chafers 
 Of the springtime of the people, 
 Smitten with a sudden frenzy ! 
 
 Other times and other birds too t 
 Other birds and other music 1 
 They perchance could give me pleasure 
 Had I only other ears. I
 
 826 
 
 GERMANY. 
 
 A WINTER TALE. 
 
 CAPUT L 
 
 IN the mournful month of November 'twag, 
 The winter days had returned, 
 The wind from the trees the foliage tore, 
 When I tow'rds Germany journied. 
 
 And when at length to the frontier I came 
 
 I felt a mightier throbbing 
 Within my breast, tears fill'd my eyes, 
 
 And I wellnigh broke into sobbing. 
 
 And when I the German language heard, 
 Strange feelings each other succeeding, 
 
 I felt precisely as though my heart 
 Right pleasantly were bleeding. 
 
 A little maiden sang to the harp ; 
 
 Real feeling her song was conveying, 
 Though false was her voice, and yet I felt 
 
 Deep moved at hearing her playing. 
 
 She sang of love, and she sang of love's woes, 
 
 Of sacrifices, and meeting 
 Again on high, in yon better world 
 
 Where vanish our sorrows so fleeting. 
 
 She sang of this earthly valley of tears, 
 Of joys which so soon have vanish'd, 
 
 Of yonder, where revels the glorified soul 
 In eternal bliss, grief being banish'd. 
 
 The song of renunciation she sang, 
 
 The heavenly eiapopeia, 
 Wherewith the people, the booby throng, 
 
 Are hush'd when they soothing require. 
 
 * The slightly irregular metre of this fine poem is a close ec py 
 of the original.
 
 GERMANY. 327 
 
 1 kiiow the tune, and I know the text, 
 
 I know the people who wrote it ; 
 I know that in secret they drink but wine, 
 
 And in public a wickedness vote it. 
 
 A song, friends, that's new, and a better one, too, 
 Shall be now for your benefit given ! 
 
 Our object is, that here on earth 
 
 We may mount to the realms of heaven. 
 
 On earth we fain would happy be, 
 
 Nor starve for the sake of the stronger ; 
 
 The idle stomach shall gorge itself 
 
 With the fruit of hard labour no longer. 
 
 Bread grows on the earth for every one, 
 
 Enough, and e'en in redundance, 
 And roses and myrtles, beauty and joy, 
 
 And sugarplums too in abundance. 
 
 Yes, sugarplums for every one, 
 
 As soon as the plums are provided ; 
 
 To angels and sparrows we're quite content 
 That heaven should be confided. 
 
 If after death our pinions should grow, 
 
 We'll pay you a visit auspicious 
 In regions above, and with you we'll eat 
 
 Sweet tarts and cakes delicious. 
 
 A song that's new, and a better one, too, 
 Resounds like fiddle and flute now ; 
 
 The Miserere's at last at an end, 
 The funeral bells are mute now. 
 
 The maiden Europe has been betroth'd 
 To the handsome Genius Freedom ; 
 
 They clasp and kiss each other with warmth, 
 As their newborn passions lead 'em. 
 
 The priestly blessing may absent be, 
 But the wedding is still a wedding ; 
 
 So here's long life to the bridegroom and bride, 
 And the future fruit of their bedding ! 
 
 An epithalamium is my song, 
 
 My latest and best creation ; 
 Within my soul are shooting the stars 
 
 That proclaim its inauguration.
 
 328 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Those stars inspired blaze wildly on 
 In torrents of flame, and with wonder 
 
 I feel myself full of unearthly strength, 
 I could rend e'en oaks asunder ! 
 
 Since I on Germany's ground have trod. 
 
 I'm pervaded by magical juices ; 
 The giant has touch'd his mother once more, 
 
 And the contact new vigour produces. 
 
 CAPUT II. 
 
 WHILST heavenly joys were warbled thus 
 And sung by the little maiden, 
 The Prussian douaniers search'd my trunk, 
 As soon as the coach was unladen. 
 
 They poked their noses in every thing, 
 Each handkerchief, shirt, and stocking ; 
 
 They sought for jewels, prohibited books, 
 And lace, with a rudeness quite shocking. 
 
 Ye fools, so closely to search my trunk ! 
 
 Ye will find in it really nothing ; 
 My contraband goods I carry about 
 
 In my head, not hid in my clothing. 
 
 Point lace is there, that's finer far 
 
 Than Brussels or Mechlin laces ; 
 If once I unpack my point, 'twill prick 
 
 And cruelly scratch your faces. 
 
 In my head I carry my jewelry all, 
 
 The Future's crown-diamonds splondid, 
 
 The new god's temple-ornaments rich, 
 The god as yet not comprehended. 
 
 And many books also you'd see in my head, 
 
 If the top were only oif it ! 
 My head is a twittering bird's nest, full 
 
 Of books that they gladly would forfeit. 
 
 Believe me that matters are no worse off 
 
 In the library e'en of the devil ; 
 E'en Hoffmann of Fallersleben* ne'er wrote 
 
 Any works that were half so evil. 
 
 * A popular German poet, born in 1798, who was deprived of 
 his professorship in the University of Breslau. in 1842, for pub- 
 lishing a volume entitled "Unpolitical Songs."
 
 GERMANY. 329 
 
 A passenger who stood by my side 
 Kemark'd that we now had before us 
 
 The famous Prussian Zollverein, 
 The customhouses' vast chorus. 
 
 " The Zollverein" thus he observed, 
 
 " Will found our nationality, 
 " And join our scatter'd fatherland 
 
 " In bonds of cordiality. 
 
 ' 'Twill give us external unity, 
 " That kind that's material and real : 
 
 " The censorship gives us the other kind, 
 That's ghostly and ideal. 
 
 " It gives us internal unity, 
 
 " In thought as well as in feelings ; 
 
 A united Germany need we to rule 
 ' Our outward and inward dealings." 
 
 CAPUT III. 
 
 IN the old cathedral at Aix-la-Chapelle 
 Lie buried great Charlemagne's ashes ; 
 (Not the living Charles Mayer in Swabia born, 
 Who the writer of so much trash is !) 
 
 As the smallest of poets I'd sooner live 
 
 At Stukkert, by Neckar's fair river, 
 Than be buried as Emp'ror at Aix-la-Chapelle, 
 
 And so be extinguished for ever. 
 
 In the streets of Aix-la-Chapelle the dogs 
 
 Are ennui'd, and humbly implore us : 
 " O stranger, prythee give us a kick, 
 
 " And to life for a time thus restore us." 
 
 I saunter'd along in this tedious place 
 For an hour, with great perseverance, 
 
 And saw that the Prussian soldiery 
 
 Are not the least changed in appearance. 
 
 The high red collar still they wear, 
 With the same grey mantle below ic 
 
 (The Fed betokens the blood of the French. 
 Sang Korner the youthful poet).
 
 330 SEINE'S K)EM8. 
 
 They are still the wooden pedantic race, 
 
 In every motion displaying 
 The same right angle, and every face 
 
 A frigid conceit still betraying. 
 
 They walk abo\:t stiffly, as though upon stilts, 
 Stuck up as straight as a needle, 
 
 Appearing as if they had swallow'd the stick 
 Once used as the best means to wheedle. 
 
 Yes, ne'er has entirely vanish'd the rod, 
 They carry it now inside them ; 
 
 Familiar Du will recall the old Er 
 
 Wherein they were wont to pride them. 
 
 The long mustachio nothing more 
 Than the pigtail of old discloses 
 
 The tail that formerly hung behin 
 Is hanging right under their noses. 
 
 I was not displeased with the new costume 
 Of the cavalry, I must confess it ; 
 
 And chiefly the beadpiece, the helmet in faci 
 With the steel point above it, to dress it. 
 
 It seems so knightly, and takes one back 
 To the sweet romance of past ages, 
 
 To the Countess Johanna of Montfaucon, 
 Tieck, Uhland, Fouque, and such sages 
 
 The middle ages it calls to mind, 
 
 With their squires and noble inferiors, 
 
 Who in their bosoms fidelity bore, 
 
 And escutcheons upon their posteriors. 
 
 Crusades and tourneys it brings back too, 
 And love, and respect at a distance, 
 
 And times of faith, ere printing was known, 
 When newspapers had no existence. 
 
 Yes, yes, I admire the helmet, it shows 
 
 An intellect truly enchanting ! 
 Right royal indeed the invention was, 
 
 The point is really not wanting ! 
 
 If a storm should arise, a peak like this 
 (The thought is terribly fright'ning) 
 
 On your romantic head might attract 
 The heavens' most modern lightning !
 
 GERMANY. 331 
 
 At Aix-la-Chapelle, on the posthouse arms, 
 
 I saw the bird detested 
 Yet once again. With poisonous glare 
 
 His eyes upon me rested. 
 
 Detestable bird ! If e'er thou should'st fall 
 In my hands, thou creature perfidious, 
 
 I would tear thy feathers from off thy back, 
 And hack off thy talons so hideous ! 
 
 And then I would stick thee high up on a pole 
 
 In the air, thou wicked freebooter, 
 And then to the joyful shooting match 
 
 Invite each Rhenish sharpshooter. 
 
 As for him who succeeds in shooting thee down, 
 The crown and sceptre shall proudly 
 
 Eeward the worthy ; the trumpets we'll blow, 
 " Long life to the king," shouting loudly.* 
 
 CAPUT IV. 
 
 TT1WAS late at night when I reach'd Cologne, 
 JL The Rhine was past me rushing, 
 The air of Germany on mo breath'd, 
 And I felt its influence gushing 
 
 Upon my appetite. I ate 
 
 Some omelets, together with bacon ; 
 And as they were salt, some Rhenish wine 
 
 Was by me also taken. 
 
 The Rhenish wine gleams like very gold, 
 When quaff 'd from out a green rummer ; 
 
 If thou drink'gt a few pints in excess, 'twill give 
 Thy nose the colour of summer. 
 
 So sweet a tickling attacks the nose, 
 
 One's sensations grow fonder and fonder ; 
 
 It drove me out in the darkening night, 
 Through the echoing streets to wander. 
 
 The houses of stone upon me gazed, 
 As if wishing to tell me the mysteries 
 
 And legends of times that have long gone by, 
 The town of Cologne's old histories. 
 
 * The last four verses were erased by the censors from tin 
 original edition.
 
 332 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Yes, here it was that the clergy of yore 
 
 Dragg'd on their pious existence ; 
 Here ruled the dark men, whose story's preserved 
 
 By Ulrich von Hutten's* assistance. 
 
 'Twas here that the nuns and monks once danced 
 
 In mediaeval gyrations, 
 Here Cologne's own Menzel, Hoogstraaten f by name. 
 
 Wrote his bitter denunciations. 
 
 'Twas here that the flames of the funeral pile 
 
 Both books and men once swallow'd ; 
 The bells rang merrily all the while, 
 
 And Kyrie Eleison follow'd. 
 
 Stupidity here and spitefulness 
 
 Like dogs in the street coquetted ; 
 In religious hatred the brood still exists, 
 
 Though greatly to be regretted, 
 
 But see, where the moonlight yonder gleams, 
 
 A form of a monstrous sort is ! 
 As black as the devil it rears its head, 
 
 Cologne Cathedral in short 'tis. 
 
 'Twas meant a bastile of the spirit to be, 
 And the cunning papists bethought them : 
 
 'In this prison gigantic shall pine away 
 
 " German intellects, when we have caught them," 
 
 Then Luther appear 'd, and soon by his mouth 
 
 A thundering " Halt !" was spoken. 
 Since then the Cathedral no progress has made 
 
 In building, the charm being broken. 
 
 It never was finish'd, and this is as well, 
 
 For its very non-termination 
 A monument makes it of German strength 
 
 And Protestant reformation. 
 
 Ye Cathedral-Society's members vain, 
 
 With powerless hands have ye risen 
 To continue the work that so long has been stopp'd, 
 
 And complete the ancient prison. 
 
 * A famous theologian, poet, and orator, and one of Luther a 
 jhief followers. He died in 1523. 
 
 t A Dominican friar, who was one of Luther's first antagonists.
 
 GERMANY. 333 
 
 O foolish delusion ! In vain will ye shako 
 
 The money-boxes so bootless, 
 And beg of the Jews and heretics too, 
 
 Your labour is idle and fruitless. 
 
 In vain will Liszt on behuif of the fund 
 
 Make concerts all the fashion, 
 And all in vain will a talented king 
 
 Declaim with impetuous passion. 
 
 Cologne Cathedral will fiuish'd be ne'er, 
 
 Although the Swabian Solons 
 Have sent a shipload full of stones 
 
 To help it, nolens volens. 
 
 'Twill ne'er be completed, despite all the criefi 
 Of the ravens and owls without number, 
 
 Who, full of antiquarian lore, 
 In high church- steeples slumber. 
 
 Indeed, the time will by-and-by come, 
 
 When instead of completing it rightly, 
 The inner space as a stable will serve 
 
 For horses, a change but unsightly. 
 
 " And if the cathedral a stable becomes, 
 " Pray tell us how they will then tackle 
 
 " The three holy kings who rest there now, 
 ' Within the tabernacle?" 
 
 Thus ask they. But why should we, in these days, 
 
 Stand up as their supporters ? 
 The three holy kings from the Eastern land 
 
 Must find some other quarters. 
 
 Take my advice, and place them all 
 
 In those three iron cages 
 That high upon St. Lambert's tower 
 
 At Miinster have hung for ages. 
 
 If one of the three should missing be, 
 
 Select in his stead some other ; 
 Replace the king of the Eastern land 
 
 By some regal Western brother.* 
 
 * The first edition ended with tin's verse, which was .<trurk 
 out by the reiiaors, and rej.lan-d l,y the five following verses.
 
 334 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 The king of the tailors* sat therein 
 
 With his two advisers by him ; 
 But we will employ the cages now 
 
 For monarchs who greatly outvie him. 
 
 On the right Balthasar shall have his place, 
 
 On the left shall be Melchior's station, 
 In the midst shall be Gaspar. I know not what 
 
 When alive, was their right situation. 
 
 The Holy Alliance from out of the East, 
 
 Now canonised so duly, 
 Perchance has not always its mission fulfill'd 
 
 Quite properly and truly. 
 
 Balthasar perchance and Melchior too 
 
 Were men of but weak resolution, 
 Who promised, when sorely press'd from without, 
 
 Their kingdom a constitution, 
 
 And afterwards broke their word. Perchance 
 King Gaspar, who reign'd o'er the Moormen, 
 
 Rewarded with black ingratitude 
 
 His foolish fond subjects, the poor men ! 
 
 CAPUT V. 
 
 AND when I came to the bridge o'er the Ehine. 
 Where the bastion its corner advances, 
 There saw I Father Rhine flowing on 
 In the silent moonbeam's glances. 
 
 " All hail to thee, good Father Rhine, 
 
 " Now that I'm home returning ! 
 " Full often have I on thee thought, 
 
 " With longing and deep yearning." 
 
 Thus spake I, and heard in the waters deep 
 
 A voice at once strange and moaning, 
 Like the wheezing cough of an aged man, 
 
 With grumbling and feeble groaning : 
 
 " Thou'rt welcome, and as thou rememberest me, 
 
 " I see thee, good youth, again gladly : 
 " 'Tis thirteen long years since I saw thee last, 
 
 " My affairs have meanwhile gone badly. 
 
 * The remains of John of Leyden and his two chief accom- 
 plices were exposed in these cages, \vhich still remain in theii 
 old position.
 
 GEEMAJsTT. 335 
 
 '' At Biborich many a stone I've gulp'd down. 
 
 " My digestion in consequence worse is ; 
 : ' Yet heavier far on my stomach, alas. 
 
 " Lie Nicholas Becker's* ver: ! 
 " My praises he chants, as though I were now 
 
 " The purest and best- behaved maiden, 
 : ' Who never allow'd any mortal to steal 
 
 ' The crown with her purity laden. 
 " Whenever I hear the stupid song, 
 
 " I could tear my beard in a passion, 
 " And feel inclined to drown myself 
 
 " In myself, in a curious fashion! 
 " That I am a virgin pure no more 
 
 " The French know better than any ; 
 " For they with my waters have mingled oft 
 
 " Their floods of victory many. 
 " The stupid song and the stupid man ! 
 
 " Indeed he has treated me badly ; 
 " To a certain extent he has compromised me 
 
 " In matters political sadly. 
 *' For if the French should ever come back, 
 
 " I must blush at their reappearance, 
 " Though I've pray'd with tears for their return 
 
 " To heaven with perseverance. 
 " I always have loved full well the French, 
 
 " So tiny yet full of sinew ; 
 " Still wear they white breeches as formerly ? 
 
 " Does their singing and springing continue V 
 " Right glad should I be to see them again, 
 
 " And yet I'm afraid to be twitted 
 " On account of the words of that cursed song. 
 
 " And the sneers of its author half-witted ! 
 " That Alfred de Mussetf, that lad upon town, 
 
 ' Perchance will come as their drummer, 
 
 * A youthful poet, who excited great enthusiasm in Uennnny 
 by a poem, written in 1840 (when a war with France on the 
 Eastern question Beemed not unlikely), beginning, 
 " They shall not have the Gorman Khine." 
 t The well-known French poet, who replied to the above poom 
 jf Becker's, by another commencing, 
 
 " We have had vour German Ehino."
 
 336 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " And march at their head, and his wretched wit 
 " Play off on me all through the summer." 
 
 Poor Father Rhine thus made his complaints, 
 
 And discontentedly splutter'd. 
 In order to raise his sinking heart, 
 
 These comforting words I utter'd : 
 
 " do not dread, good Father Rhine, 
 " The laugh of a Frenchman, which is 
 
 " Worth little, for he is no longer the same, 
 ' And they also have alter'd their breeches. 
 
 " Their breeches are red, and no longer are white, 
 
 " They also have alter'd the button ; 
 " No longer they sing and no longer they spring, 
 
 "But hang their heads like dead mutton. 
 
 " They now are philosophers all, and quote 
 " Hegel, Fichte, Kant, over their victuals ; 
 
 " Tobacco they smoke, and beer they drink. 
 " And many play also at skittles. 
 
 " They're all, like us Germans, becoming mere snoba 
 
 " But carry it even farther ; 
 ' : No longer they follow in Voltaire's steps, 
 
 *' But believe in Hengstenberg * rather. 
 
 " As for Alfred de Musset, indeed it is true 
 " That he still to abuse gives a handle ; 
 
 " But be not afraid, and we'll soon chain down 
 " His tongue so devoted to scandal. 
 
 " And if he should play off his wretched wit, 
 
 " We'll punish him most severely. 
 " Proclaiming aloud the adventures he meets 
 
 " With the women he loves most dearly. 
 
 " Then be contented, good Father Rhine, 
 " Bad songs treat only with laughter ; 
 
 " A better song ere long thou shalt hear, 
 " Farewell, we shall meet hereafter." 
 
 * A noted theologian, born in Ib02, and one ot the leaders 
 the orthodox party in Prussia.
 
 GERMANY. 337 
 
 CAPUT VI. 
 
 ON Paganini used always to wait 
 A Spiritus Familiaris, 
 Ofttimes as a dog, ofttimes in the shape 
 
 Of the late lamented George Harris. 
 Napoleon, before each important event, 
 
 Saw a man in red, as they mention, 
 And Socrates he had his Daemon too, 
 
 No fanciful mere invention. 
 E'en I, when I sat at my table to write, 
 
 When the darkness of night had entwined me, 
 Have sometimes seen a muffled form, 
 
 Mysteriously standing behind me. 
 Hid under his mantle, a Something he held, 
 
 And when the light happen 'd to catch it, 
 It strangely gleam'd, and mcthought 'twas an axe, 
 
 An executioner's hatchet. 
 His stature appear'd to be under the mean, 
 
 His eyes like very stars glisten'd ; 
 He never disturb'd me as I wrote, 
 
 But quietly stood there, and listen'd. 
 For many a year I had ceased to see 
 
 This very singular fellow, 
 But found him here suddenly at Cologne, 
 
 In the moonlight silent and mellow. 
 I saunter'd thoughtfully through the streets, 
 
 And saw him behind me stalking, 
 Just like my shadow, and when I stood still, 
 
 He also left off walking. 
 He stood, as if he were waiting for me, 
 
 And when I onward hurried, 
 He follow'd again, and thus I reach'd 
 
 The Cathedral yard, quite flurried. 
 I could not bear it, so turn'd sharp round, 
 
 And said : " I insist on an answer ; 
 " Why follow me thus in the silent night, 
 
 " And lead me this wandering dance, Sir? 
 " I come across thee just at the time 
 
 " When world-wide feelings are dashing 
 " Across my breast, and through my brain 
 
 ' The spirit-lightnings are flashing.
 
 338 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " Thou gazest upon me so fixedly 
 " Now answer me, what is there hidden 
 
 " Beneath thy mantle that secretly gleams ? 
 " Thy business say, when thou'rt bidden," 
 
 The other replied in a somewhat dry tone, 
 
 If not a little phlegmatic : 
 " I pray thee, exorcise me not, 
 
 " And be not quite so emphatic ! 
 
 " No ghost am I from the days gone by, 
 
 " No grave-arisen spectre ; 
 " I have no affection for rhetoric, 
 
 " I'm no philosophic projector. 
 
 " I am of a practical nature in fact, 
 
 " And of silent resolution ; 
 " But know, that whatever thy spirit conceives, 
 
 " I put into execution. 
 
 " And even when years have pass'd away, 
 
 " I rest not, nor suffer distraction, 
 " Till I've changed to reality all thy thoughts ; 
 
 " Thine's the thinking, and mine is the action. 
 
 " The judge art thou, and the jailer am I, 
 
 " And, like a servant obedient, 
 " The judgments execute pleasing to thee, 
 
 " Whether right or inexpedient. 
 
 " Before the Consul they carried an axe 
 " In Eome of old, let me remind thee 
 
 " And thou hast also thy lictor, but he 
 " Now carries the axe behind thee. 
 
 " Thy lictor am I, and follow behind, 
 
 " And carry in all its splendour 
 " The polish'd executioner's axe 
 
 " I'm the deed which thy thoughts engender." 
 
 CAPUT VII. 
 
 I HOMEWARD went, and as soundly I slept 
 As if by the angels tended ; 
 In German beds one cosily rests, 
 
 For they are all featherbeds splendid.
 
 GERMANY. 339 
 
 How often I've yearn'd for the sweet repose 
 
 Of my own native country's pillows, 
 While I lay on hard mattresses, sleepless all night, 
 
 In my exile far over the billows ! 
 
 One sleeps so well, and one dreams so well 
 
 In our featherbeds delicious ; 
 The German spirit here feels itself free 
 
 From all earth's fetters pernicious. 
 
 It feels itself free, and upward soars 
 
 To the highest regions Elysian ; 
 German Spirit, how proud is the flight 
 
 Thou takest in nightly vision ! 
 
 The gods turn pale, when thou drawest nigh ; 
 
 When soaring tow'rds heaven's dominions, 
 Thou hast snuff'd out the light of many a star, 
 
 With the strokes of thine eager pinions. 
 
 The land belongs to the Eussians and French, 
 
 In the British the ocean is vested, 
 But we in dream's airy regions possess 
 
 The mastery uncontested. 
 
 The art of ruling practise we here, 
 
 And here we are never dissever'd, 
 While other nations on earth's flat face 
 
 To develop themselves have endeavour'd. 
 
 And as I slumber'd, methought in my dream 
 
 I was once more sauntering slowly 
 In the moonlight clear through the echoing streets 
 
 Of Cologne's ancient city so holy. 
 
 Behind me once again my black 
 
 And mask'd attendant speeded ; 
 I felt so weary, my knees wellnigh broke, 
 
 Yet on, still on, we proceeded. 
 
 We onward went. My heart in my breast 
 
 Gaped open, and parted in sunder, 
 And the red drops glided out of the wound 
 
 In my heart, a sight of wonder. 
 
 I oftentimes dipp'd my finger therein, 
 
 And often the fancy came o'er mo 
 To streak with the blooa, as I onward pass'd, 
 
 Each doorpost lying before mo.
 
 340 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 And every time that I mark'd a house 
 
 In this very peculiar fashion, 
 A funeral bell was heard in a tone 
 
 Of mournful and soft compassion. 
 
 But now in the heavens the moon grew pale, 
 And darkness came over me thickly, 
 
 And over her face, like horses black, 
 The stormy clouds sped quickly. 
 
 And still behind me onward went 
 
 My dark companion ever, 
 His hidden axe grasping, on, still on, 
 
 And pausing and resting never. 
 
 We went and went, till we reach'd at length 
 
 The Cathedral precincts' centre ; 
 The doors of the church wide open stood, 
 
 And straightway did we enter. 
 
 Within its capacious expanse but death 
 
 And night and silence hover'd, 
 While here and there a glimmering lamp 
 
 The darkness plainly discover'd. 
 
 I wander'd long the pillars among, 
 
 And heard the footsteps only 
 Of my attendant, who follow'd me still 
 
 E'en here in the silence lonely. 
 
 At length we came to a certain place, 
 With gold and jewels quite glorious, 
 
 And illumed by the tapers' sparkling light, 
 'Twas the three kings' chapel notorious. 
 
 But the three holy kings, who were wont to lie 
 Quite still, and in order befitting 
 
 O sight of wonder ! were now upright 
 Upon their sarcophagi sitting. 
 
 Three skeletons, deck'd in fantastic array, 
 With crowns on their skulls dry and yellow, 
 
 And each one held in his bony hand 
 A sceptre, beside his fellow. 
 
 Like dancing puppets they moved about 
 Their bones which so long had perish'd ; 
 
 They smelt of mould, and they also smelt 
 Of incense fragrant and cherish'd.
 
 GERMANY. 341 
 
 One 'mongst the number soon moved his niouth, 
 
 And utter 'd a lengthy oration, 
 Explaining the reasons why he claim'd 
 
 My respectful salutation. 
 
 The first, because he was a corpse, 
 
 Because a monarch, the second ; 
 Because a saint, the third, but the whole 
 
 Of little account I reckon 'd. 
 
 I gave him an answer in laughing mood : 
 
 " In vain is all thy endeavour! 
 " I see that thou'rt still in ev'ry respect 
 
 " As strange and old-fashion'd as ever ! 
 
 " Away ! away ! In the deep grave alone 
 
 " Your lengths ye ought to measure ! 
 " Eeal life will shortly confiscate 
 
 " This chapel's mighty treasure. 
 
 " Hereafter the merry cavalry 
 
 " Shall make the Cathedral their dwelling ; 
 " If ye will not go gently, then force shall be used. 
 
 " With clubs your exit compelling !" 
 
 When thus I had spoken, I turn'd me round, 
 And saw where was glimmering brightly 
 
 My silent attendant's terrible axe, 
 And he read my meaning rightly. 
 
 So he quickly approach'd, and with the axe 
 
 Remorselessly he shatter'd 
 Those skeletons poor of bigotry, 
 
 And into atoms scatter'd. 
 
 The echoing blows from the vaulted roof 
 
 Rang wildly, in countless numbers ; 
 While streams of blood pour'd out from my brcar.t, 
 
 And I awoke from my slumbers. 
 
 CAPUT VIII. 
 
 FROM Cologne to Hagen it costs to post 
 Five Prussian dollars, six groschen ; 
 The diligence cliiinci d to be full, so I came 
 In a chaise, though rough was the motion.
 
 342 HEINE 8 POEMS. 
 
 Twas a late autumn morning, both damp and grey 
 
 The coach in the mud groan'd sadly ; 
 Yet despite the bad weather, despite the bad road, 
 
 Sweet thoughts pervaded me gladly. 
 'Tis my own native air, and the glow on my cheek 
 
 Could bear no other construction ; 
 The very dirt in the highway itself 
 
 Is my fatherland's production ! 
 The horses wagg'd their tails like old friends, 
 
 As they went along in a canter ; 
 Their very dung appear'd to me fair 
 
 As the apples of Atalanta ! 
 We pass'd through Miihlheim. The people are dull 
 
 And busy, the town far from dirty ; 
 I last was there in the merry month 
 
 Of May, in the year one and thirty. 
 All things then stood in blooming attire, 
 
 And the sunlight sweetly was blinking ; 
 The birds were singing their yearning song, 
 
 While the men were hoping and thinking. 
 Thus thought they : " The lanky order of knights 
 
 ; ' Will depart from amongst us shortly; 
 " Their farewell draught they shall drink from long 
 flasks 
 
 " Of iron, in fashion not courtly ! 
 " And freedom shall come with sport and with dance, 
 
 " With the banner, the white-blue-red one ; 
 " Perchance she will fetch from out of the grave 
 
 " E'en Bonaparte, even the dead one !" 
 Alas ! the knights remain as before ; 
 
 More than one of those fools so derided 
 Who enter'd the country as thin as a lath 
 
 Are now with fat bellies provided. 
 The pallid canaille, who used to look 
 
 The pictures of faith, hope, charity, 
 Have got red noses by tippling our wine 
 
 With the utmost regularity. 
 And Freedom has sprain'd her foot, and has lost 
 
 For springing and raving all power ; 
 In Paris itself the tricolour flag 
 
 Looks mournfully down from each tower.
 
 GERMANY. 343 
 
 The Emperor truly arose again, 
 
 Yet the English, fearing a riot, 
 Converted him into a peaceable man, 
 
 And he let them inter him in quiet. 
 
 Yes, I myself his funeral saw, 
 
 The golden carriage so splendid, 
 And victory's golden goddesses, 
 
 Who the golden coffin attended. 
 
 Along the famous Champs Elysees, 
 
 Through the Arc de Triomphe stately, 
 Across the mist and over the snow 
 
 The procession wended sedately. 
 
 The music was painful and out of tune, 
 
 And frozen was every musician ; 
 The eagles perch'd over the standards look'd down 
 
 Upon me in woeful condition. 
 
 In ghostly fashion the men all appear'd, 
 
 All lost in old recollections, 
 The wondrous imperial dream revived, 
 
 Awakening olden affections. 
 
 I wept on that day. Tears rose in my eyes, 
 
 And down my cheeks fast fleeted, 
 When I heard the long-vanish'd loving shout 
 
 Of " Vive 1'Empereur !" repeated. 
 
 CAPUT IX. 
 
 I LEFT Cologne on my onward road 
 At a quarter to eight precisely ; 
 We got to Hagen at three o'clock, 
 And there had our dinners nicely. 
 
 The table was cover'd. Here found I all 
 
 The old-fashion'd German dishes ; 
 All hail, thou savoury sour-krout, hail, 
 
 The reward of my utmost wishes ! 
 
 Stuff'd chestnuts all in green cabbages dress'd 1 
 
 My food when I was a baby ! 
 All hail, ye native stockfish, ye swim 
 
 In the butter as nicely as may ^e I
 
 344 HEINE T S POEMS. 
 
 One's native country to each fond heart 
 
 Grows ever dearer and dearer 
 Its eggs and bloaters, when nicely brown'd, 
 
 Come home to one's feelings still nearer. 
 
 How the sausages sang in the spluttering fat . 
 
 The fieldfares, those very delicious 
 And roasted angels with apple sauce, 
 
 All warbled a welcome propitious. 
 
 " Thou'rt welcome, countryman," warbled they, 
 " Full long hast thou been delaying ! 
 
 " Full long hast thou with foreign birds 
 " In foreign lands been straying 1" 
 
 Upon the table stood also a goose, 
 
 A silent, kindhearted being ; 
 Perchance she loved me in younger days, 
 
 When our tastes were nearer agreeing. 
 
 Full of meaning she eyed me, cordial but sad, 
 And fond, like the rest of her gender ; 
 
 She surely possess'd an excellent soul, 
 But her flesh was by no means tender. 
 
 A boar's head they also brought in the room, 
 On a pewter dish, for me to guzzle ; 
 
 The bores with us are always deck'd out 
 With laurel leaves round their muzzle. 
 
 CAPUT X. 
 
 ON leaving Hagen the night came on, 
 And I felt a chilly sensation 
 Inside. At the inn at Unna I first 
 Eecover'd my animation. 
 
 A pretty maiden found I there, 
 
 Who pour'd out my punch discreetly ; 
 
 Like yellow silk were her comely locks, 
 
 Her eyes like the moonlight gleam'd sweetly 
 
 Her lisping Westphalian accents I heard 
 With joy, as she utter'd them clearly ; 
 
 The punch with sweet recollections smoked, 
 I thonght of my brethren loved dearly ;
 
 GERMANY. 345 
 
 The dear Westphalians, with whom I oft drank 
 
 At Gottingen, while we were able, 
 Till we sank in emotion on each other's necks, 
 
 And also sank under the table. 
 
 That loveable, worthy, Westphalian race ! 
 
 I ever have loved it extremely ; 
 A nation so firm, so faithful, so true, 
 
 Ne'er given to boasting unseemly. 
 
 How proudly they stand, with their lion-like hearts, 
 
 In the noble science of fencing ! 
 Their quarts and their tierces, so honestly meant, 
 
 With vigorous arm dispensing. 
 
 Right well they fight, and right well they drink ; 
 
 When they give thee their hand so gentle 
 To strike up a friendship, they needs must weep, 
 
 Like oaks turn'd sentimental. 
 
 May heaven watch over thee, worthy race, 
 On thy seed shower down benefactions, 
 
 Preserve thee from war and empty renown, 
 From heroes and heroes' actions ! 
 
 May it evermore grant to thy excellent sons 
 
 An easy examination, 
 And give thy daughters marriages good, 
 
 So Amen to my invocation ! 
 
 CAPUT XI. 
 
 BEHOLD the wood of Teutoburg, 
 Described in Tacitus' pages ; 
 Behold the classical marsh, wherein 
 Stuck Varus, in past ages. 
 
 Here vanquish'd him the Cheruscian prince, 
 
 The noble giant, named Hermann ; * 
 T\vas in this mire that triumph 'd first 
 
 Our nationality German. 
 
 Had Hermann with his light-hair'd hordes 
 
 Not triumph'd here over the foeman, 
 Then German freedom had come to an end, 
 
 We had each been turn'd to a Roman ' 
 
 * Culled Arminiud l>y the Humane.
 
 346 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Nought but Eoman language and manners had now 
 
 Our native country ruled over, 
 In Munich lived Vestals, the Swabians e'en 
 
 As Quirites have flourish'd in clover ! 
 
 An haruspex had Hengstenberg surely been, 
 
 And groped about in the bowels 
 Of oxen ; Neander * an Augur, and based 
 
 On flights of birds his avowals. 
 
 Birch-Pfeifer f had tippled her turpentine, 
 
 Like the Roman ladies admired. 
 (Tis said that they, by its frequent use, 
 
 A pleasing odour acquired). 
 
 Friend Eaumer J had been no German scamp, 
 
 But a regular Roman Scampatius, 
 And Freiligrath written without using rhyme, 
 
 Like worthy Flaccus Horatius. 
 
 The clumsy beggar, Father Jahn, 
 
 Had then been call'd Clumsianus ; 
 Me Hercule ! Massmann || would Latin have talk'd, 
 
 As Marcus Tullius Massmanus ! 
 
 The friends of truth, instead of with curs 
 
 In the papers, would in the arena 
 Have had to wage a mortal fight 
 
 With the lion, jackal, hyena. 
 
 One single Nero we now should have had, 
 'Stead of three dozen pieces of knavery ; 
 
 Our veins should we have open'd, and so 
 Defied the bailiffs of slavery. 
 
 Thank heaven ! The Romans were driven away, 
 
 A glorious triumph was Hermann's ; 
 Both Varus and all his legions succumb'd, 
 
 And we remain'd still Germans ! 
 
 * The famous historian and professor of theology at Iterlin. 
 He died in 1850. 
 
 t A well-known actress and voluminous dramatic author, born 
 in 1800. 
 
 * The historian. 
 
 A professor of gymnastics. 
 
 || A linguist and professor of languages ana gymnastics jointly. 
 In the latter science he was a pupil of Jahn.
 
 GERMANY. 347 
 
 We Germans remain, and German we speak, 
 
 As we before times have spoken ; 
 An ass is an ass, not asinus, 
 
 The Swabian line is unbroken. 
 
 Friend Raumer remain'd a German scamp 
 
 In our northern German climate ; 
 And Freiligrath no Horace became, 
 
 But in verse is accustom'd to rhyme it. 
 
 Thank heaven that Massmann no Latin e'er writes, 
 Birch-Pfeifer writes nothing but dramas, 
 
 And drinks no nasty turpentine 
 
 Like those lovely Roman charmers. 
 
 Hermann, for this we're indebted to thee ! 
 So at Dettmoldt * thy friends and extollers 
 
 A monument proud of late have design'd, 
 And towards it I gave a few dollars. 
 
 CAPUT XII. 
 
 PT^HROUGH the wood in the dark the postchaise 
 -L bump'd on, 
 
 When a crash took place, sudden and frightful 
 A wheel came off, and we came to a stand, 
 
 An occurrence by no means delightful. 
 
 The postilion dismounted, and made all haste 
 To the village for help, and I found me 
 
 At midnight alone in the darksome wood, 
 While a howling I heard all around me. 
 
 The wolves it was, who wildly howl'd 
 
 With half-starv'd voices all wiry ; 
 Lik lights in the darkness brightly gleam'd 
 
 Their eyes so fierce and fiery. 
 
 Of my arrival certainly knew 
 
 The beasts, and to honour me, proudly 
 They lighted up the forest thus, 
 
 And sang in chorus loudly. 
 
 1 soon observed 'twas a real serenade, 
 
 Design'd for my glorification, 
 So threw myself in an attitude fit, 
 And spoke with extreme animation : 
 
 * A monument has been recently erected in Dettmoldt to 
 commemorate the victory of Armiuius over Varua,
 
 348 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " Brother wolves ! it gives me great pleasure to-day 
 
 " To tarry awhile 'midst your growling, 
 " Where so many noble spirits have met, 
 
 " Around me lovingly howling. 
 " My feelings just at the moment I speak 
 
 " Are truly beyond all measure ; 
 " This present hour I ne'er shall forget, 
 
 " So fraught with exceeding pleasure. 
 " I thank you for the confidence thus 
 
 " Evinced beyond denial, 
 " And which by the clearest proofs ye have shown 
 
 " In every period of trial. 
 
 " Brother wolves ! ye ne'er doubted that true I re- 
 
 " Ye set all the rogues at defiance, [maiu'd, 
 
 " Who falsely asserted that I had of late, 
 
 " Struck up with the dogs an alliance, 
 " And turn'd an apostate, and e'en in the fold 
 
 " As a Councillor soon they would show me 
 " To answer such base assertions as these 
 
 " I feel to be really below me. 
 " The sheepskin that I for a time had on 
 
 " As a piece of warm clothing merely, 
 " Believe me, will never make me love 
 
 " The sheep's race an atom more dearly. 
 " No sheep am I, and no dog am I, 
 
 " No Councillor, or such like ; 
 " A wolf am I, and my heart and teeth 
 
 " A wolfs are very much like. 
 " A wolf am I, and with the wolves 
 
 " I ever will be a yelper ; 
 '' Yes, reckon upon me, and help yourselves, 
 
 " And God will be your helper !" 
 This was the speech deliver 'd by me, 
 
 Without the least preparation ; 
 In the Allgemeine Zeitung, I'm told, 
 
 It appear'd, though with much mutilation. 
 
 CAPUT XIII. 
 
 riiHE sun arose near Paderborn. 
 JL With a look by no means bright'ning 
 In fact he leads but a sorry life, 
 
 This wretched earth enlight'ning.
 
 GERMANY. 349 
 
 As soon as he has lighted one side, 
 
 A iid hastens with beams all sparkling 
 To lighten the other, already the first 
 
 Is getting gloomy and darkling. 
 Poor Sisyphus' stone keeps rolling down, 
 
 The Danaids' bucket never 
 Gets fill'd, and to lighten this earthly ball 
 
 In vain is the sun's endeavour. 
 And when the mist of morning dispersed, 
 
 I saw by the wayside projecting 
 In the early glow, His figure, who died 
 
 On the cross a death so affecting. 
 I'm filled with dejection every time 
 
 That I see Thee, my poor Relation, 
 Whose mission was to redeem the world, 
 
 And be mankind's salvation. 
 A sorry trick they play'd Thee indeed, 
 
 The lords of the Council stately ; 
 O why didst Thou speak of Church and State 
 
 In a manner to wound them greatly ? 
 To Thy misfortune the printing art 
 
 To mortals had then not been given, 
 Or else a book had been written by Thee 
 
 On the subjects relating to heaven. 
 The Censor would then have erased whate'er 
 
 Satirical seem'd in its diction, 
 And so the loving censorship 
 
 Have saved Thee from crucifixion. 
 Ah ! if for Thy sermon on the mount 
 
 Another text Thou hadst taken ! 
 Sufficient genius and talent were Thine, 
 
 And the pious Thou need'st not have shaken. 
 Money-changers and bankers Thou drov'st with the 
 
 From the temple, in just indignation [scourge 
 Unhappy Euthusiast ! Now on the cross 
 
 Thou dost suffer a sad expiation. 
 CAPUT XIV. 
 
 THE wind was humid, and ban-en the land, 
 The chaise floundered on in the mire, 
 Yet a singing and ringing were filling my ears : 
 " Sun, thou accusing firel"
 
 350 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 The burden is this of the olden song 
 
 That my nurse so often was singing 
 " Sun, thou accusing fire !" was then 
 
 Like the note of the forest horn ringing. 
 
 This song of a murderer tells the tale, 
 
 Who lived a life joyous and splendid ; 
 Hung up in the forest at last he was found, 
 
 From a grey old willow suspended. 
 
 The murderer's sentence of death was nail'd 
 
 On the willow's stem, written entire ; 
 The Vehm-gericht's avengers' work 'twas 
 
 O Sun, thou accusing fire ! 
 
 The Sun was accuser, 'twas he who condemn'd 
 
 The murderer foul, in his ire. 
 Ottilia had cried, as she gave up the ghost : 
 
 " Sun, thou accusing fire !" 
 
 When the song I recall, the remembrance too 
 
 Of my dear old nurse never ceases 
 I see once more her swarthy face, 
 
 With all its wrinkles and creases. 
 
 In the district of Miinster she was born, 
 
 And knew, in all their glory, 
 Many popular songs and wondrous tales, 
 
 And many a wild ghost-story. 
 
 How my heart used to beat when the old nurse told hew 
 The king's daughter, in days now olden, 
 
 Sat all alone on the desert heath, 
 
 While glisten'd her tresses so golden. 
 
 Her business was to tend the geese 
 
 As a goosegirl, and when at nightfall 
 She drove the geese home again through the gate, 
 
 Her tears would in piteous plight fall. 
 
 For nail'd up on high, above the gate, 
 
 She saw a horse's head o'er her ; 
 The head it was of the dear old horse 
 
 Who to foreign countries bore her. 
 
 The king's poor daughter deeply sigh'd : 
 
 " O Falada ! hangest thou yonder ?" 
 The horse's head from above replied : 
 
 " Alas, that from home thou did'st wander !"
 
 GERMANY. 351 
 
 The king's poor daughter deeply sigh'd : 
 
 " O would that my mother knew it 1" 
 The horse's head from above replied : 
 
 " Full sorely she would rue it !" 
 
 With gasping breath I used to attend 
 
 When my nurse, with a voice soft and serious, 
 
 Of Barbarossa began to speak, 
 Our Emperor so mysterious. 
 
 She assured me that he was not dead, as to think 
 
 By learned men we were bidden, 
 But with his comrades in arms still lived 
 
 In a mountain's recesses safe hidden. 
 
 Kyffhauser is the mountain's name, 
 
 With a cave in its depths benighted ; 
 By lamps its high and vaulted rooms 
 
 In ghostly fashion are lighted. 
 
 The first of the halls is a stable vast, 
 
 Where in glittering harness the stranger 
 
 Who enters may see many thousand steeds, 
 Each standing at his manger. 
 
 They all are saddled, and bridled all, 
 
 Yet amongst these thousands of creatures, 
 
 No single one neighs, no single one stamps, 
 Like statues of iron their features. 
 
 Upon the straw in the second hall 
 
 The soldiers are seen in their places ; 
 Many thousand soldiers, a bearded race, 
 
 With warlike and insolent faces. 
 
 They all are full arm'd from top to toe, 
 
 Yet out of this countless number, 
 Not one of them moves, not one of them stirs, 
 
 They all are wrapp'd in slumber. 
 
 In the third of the halls in lofty piles 
 
 Swords, spears, and axes are lying, 
 And armour and helmets of silver and steel, 
 
 With old-fashion'd fire-arms vying. I 
 
 The cannons are few, but yet are enough 
 
 To build up a trophy olden. 
 A standard projects from out of the heap, 
 
 Its colour is black-red-golden.
 
 352 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 In the fourth of the halls the Emperor lives, 
 
 For many a century dosing 
 On a seat made of stone near a table of stone, 
 
 His head on his arm reposing. 
 
 His beard, which has grown right down to the ground 
 
 Is red as a fiery ocean ; 
 At times his eye to blink may be seen, 
 
 And his eyebrows are ever in motion. 
 But whether he sleeps or whether he thinks 
 
 For the present we cannot discover; 
 Yet when the proper hour has come, 
 
 He'll shake himself all over. 
 His trusty banner he then will seize, 
 
 And " To horse ! Quick to horse !" shout proudly : 
 His cavalry straight will awake and spring 
 
 From the earth, all rattling loudly. 
 Each man will forthwith leap on his horse, 
 
 Each stamping his hoofs and neighing ; 
 They'll ride abroad in the clattering world, 
 
 While their trumpets are merrily playing. 
 Eight well they ride, and right well they fight, 
 
 No longer they slumber supinely ; 
 In terrible judgment the Emperor sits, 
 
 To punish the murd'rers condignly, 
 The murderers foul, who murder 'd erst 
 
 Her whose beauty such awe did inspire, 
 The golden-hair'd maiden, Germania hight, 
 
 O Sun, thou accusing fire ! 
 Full many who deem'd themselves safely hid, 
 
 And sat in their castles cheerful, 
 Shall then not escape Barbarossa's fierce wrath, 
 
 And the cord of vengeance fearful. 
 My old nurse's tales, how sweetly they ring. 
 
 How dear are the thoughts they inspire ! 
 My heart super stitiously shouts with joy : 
 
 " Sun, thou accusing fire !" 
 
 CAPUT XV. 
 
 A FINE and prickly rain now descends, 
 -/A. Like needle-tops cold, and wetting ; 
 The horses mournfully waggle their tails, 
 
 And wade through the mud with sweating.
 
 GERMANY. 353 
 
 Upon his horn the postilion blows 
 
 The old tune loved so dearly : 
 " Three horsemen are riding out at the gate " 
 
 Its memory crosses me clearly. 
 
 I sleepy grew, and at length went to sleep, 
 
 And as for my dream, this is it : 
 To the Emperor Barbarossa I 
 
 In the wondrous mount paid a visit. 
 
 On his stony seat by the table of stone 
 
 Like an image no longer I saw him, 
 Nor had he that very respectable look 
 
 With which for the most part they draw him. 
 
 He waddled about with me round the halls 
 
 Discoursing with much affection, 
 Like an antiquarian pointing out 
 
 The gems of his precious collection. 
 
 In the hall of armour he show'd with a club 
 How the strength of a blow to determine, 
 
 And rubb'd off the dust from a few of the swords 
 With his own imperial ermine. 
 
 He took in his hand a peacock's fan, 
 
 And clean'd full many a dusty 
 Old piece of armour, and many a helm, 
 
 And many a morion rusty. 
 
 The standard he carefully dusted too, 
 
 And said, " My greatest pride is, 
 " That not e'en one moth hath eaten the silk, 
 
 " And not e'en one insect inside is." 
 
 And when we came to the second hall, 
 Where asleep on the ground were lying 
 
 Many thousand arm'd warriors, the old man said, 
 Their forms with contentment eyeing : 
 
 " We must take care, while here, not to waken the men, 
 
 " And make no noise in the gallery ; 
 " A hundred years have again passed away, 
 
 ' And to-day I must pay them their salary." 
 
 And see ! the Emperor softly approaclfd, 
 
 While he held in his hand a ducat, 
 And quietly into the pocket of each 
 
 Of the sleeping soldiery stuck it. 
 
 2 A
 
 354 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 And then he remark'd with a simpering face, 
 
 When I observ'd him with wonder : 
 " I give them a ducat apiece as their pay, 
 
 " At periods a century asunder." 
 In the hall wherein the horses were ranged, 
 
 And drawn out in rows long and silent, 
 Together the Emperor rubb'd his hands 
 
 While his pleasure seem'd getting quite vi'leni 
 He counted the horses, one by one, 
 
 And poked their ribs approving ; 
 He counted and counted, and all the while 
 
 His lips were eagerly moving. 
 ' ' The proper number is not complete," 
 
 Thus angrily he discourses : 
 " Of soldiers and weapons I've quite enough, 
 
 " But still am deficient in horses. 
 " Horse-jockeys I've sent to every place 
 
 " In all the world, to supply me 
 " With the very best horses that they can find 
 
 " And now I've a good number by me. 
 " I only wait till the number's complete, 
 
 " Then, making a regular clearance, 
 " I'll free my country, my German folk, 
 
 " Who trustingly wait my appearance." 
 Thus spake the Emperor, while I cried : 
 
 " Old fellow ! seize time as it passes ; 
 " Set to work, and hast thou not horses enough, 
 
 '' Then fill up their places with asses." 
 Then Barbarossa smiling replied : 
 
 " For the battle there need be no hurry ; 
 " Rome certainly never was built in one day, 
 
 " Nothing's gained by bustle and flurry. 
 " Who comes not to-day, to-morrow will come, 
 
 " The oak's slow growth might shame us ; 
 " Chi va piano va sano wisely says 
 
 " The Eoman proverb famous." 
 CAPUT XVI. 
 
 npHE carriage's jolting woke me up 
 -L From my dream, yet vainly sought I 
 To keep awake, so I slumber'd again, 
 
 And of Barbarossa thought I.
 
 GERMANY. 355 
 
 Again we went through the echoing halls, 
 
 And talked of great and small things ; 
 He ask'd me this, and he ask'd me that, 
 
 And wish'd to know about all things. 
 He told me that not one mortal word 
 
 From the world above had descended 
 For many a year, in fact not since 
 
 The Seven-years' war had ended. 
 
 With interest he for Karschin* ask'd, 
 
 For Mendelssohn (Moses the glorious), 
 For Louis the Fifteenth's mistress frail, 
 
 The Countess Du Barry notorious. 
 " O Emperor," cried I, " how backward thou artl 
 
 " Old Moses is dead and forgotten, 
 " With his Rebecca ; and Abraham too, 
 
 " The son, is dead and rotten. 
 " This Abraham and Leah, his wife, gave birth 
 
 " To Felix j, who proved very steady ; 
 " His fame through Christendom far hap spread, 
 
 " He's a Chapel-master already. 
 " Old Karschin likewise has long been dead, 
 
 " And Klenke, her daughter, is dead too ; 
 " Helmine Chezy, the granddaughter, though, 
 
 " Still lives at least she is said to. 
 " Du Barry lived merrily, keeping afloat, 
 
 " For Louis the Fifteenth screen'd her 
 " As long as he lived, but when she was old 
 
 " They cruelly guillotined her. 
 
 " King Louis the Fifteenth died in his bed, 
 
 " By the doctors attended and seen to ; 
 " Bnt Louis the Sixteenth was guillotined, 
 
 " And Antoinette the Queen too. 
 " The Queen the greatest courage display'd, 
 
 " And died like a monarch, proudly ; 
 " But Madame Du Barry, when guillotined, 
 
 " Kept weeping and screaming loudly."- 
 
 * A poetess of some reputation, who died in 1791. Her grand- 
 daughter, Helmine Chezy, born in 1783, was also well known aa 
 a poetess and romance writer. 
 
 t The great composer Mendelssohn was grandson to th* 
 famous philosopher of that name.
 
 356 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 The Emperor suddenly came to a stand, 
 And stared, as if doubting my meaning, 
 
 And said : " For the sake of heaven explain 
 " What is meant by that word guillotining ?" 
 
 " Why, guillotining," I briefly replied, 
 
 " Is a method newly constructed, 
 " By means of which people of every rank 
 
 " From life to death are conducted. 
 
 " For this purpose, a new machine is employ 'd"- 
 I continued, while closely he listen'd ; 
 
 " Invented by Monsieur Guillotin, 
 
 " And ' guillotine' after him christen'd. 
 
 " You first are fasten 'd to a board ; 
 
 " 'Tis lower'd ; then quickly they shove you 
 " Between two posts ; meanwhile there hangs 
 
 " A triangular axe just above you. 
 
 " They pull a string, and downward shoots 
 " The axe, quite lively and merry ; 
 
 " And so your head falls into a bag, 
 " And nothing remains but to bury." 
 
 The Emperor here interrupted my speech : 
 " Be silent ! May heaven confuse it, 
 
 " That foul machine ! and God forbid 
 " That I should ever use it ! 
 
 " The King and Queen ! What ? To a board 
 " Both fasten'd ! What a position ! 
 
 " 'Tis contrary to all respect, 
 " And etiquette in addition ! 
 
 " And who art thou, that darest to speak 
 
 " So coolly and so much, man ? 
 " Just wait a while, and I'll soon clip 
 
 " Thy wings, or I'm a Dutchman ! 
 
 " My inmost bile is deeply stirr'd 
 
 " At words so out of season ; 
 " Thy very breath is full of crime 
 
 " And guilty of high treason !" 
 
 When in his zeal the old man rail'd, 
 
 And treated me thus cavalierly, 
 Surpassing all bounds, I sharply replied, 
 
 And told him my mind quite clearly.
 
 GERMAN!. 3.") 7 
 
 " Barbarossa !" I cried, " thou'rt just as absurd 
 
 " As an old woman's silly fable ; 
 " Go, lie down and sleep ! without thy aid 
 
 " To free ourselves we are able. 
 
 " The republicans all would scoff and jeer, 
 
 " And shake their sides with laughter 
 " To see such a spectre, with sceptre and crown 
 
 " Act as leader, while we went after. 
 
 4 Thy standard, too, no more I respect ; 
 
 " My love for the black-red-golden 
 " Has been quench'd by the fools of the Burschenschaft, 
 
 With their rage for the so-call'd olden. 
 
 " In Old Kyffhauser 'twere better that thou 
 
 " Shouldst pass thy days morosely ; 
 " In truth, we've no need of an Emperor now, 
 
 " When I view the matter closely." 
 
 CAPUT XVII. 
 
 I WRANGLED in dream with the Emperor thus, 
 In dream, I say it advisedly ; 
 In waking hours we never dare talk 
 To princes so undisguisedly. 
 
 The Germans only venture to speak 
 
 When asleep, in a dream ideal, 
 The thoughts that they bear in their faithful hearts, 
 
 So German and yet so real. 
 
 When I awoke, I was passing a wood, 
 
 And the sight of the trees in such numbers, 
 
 And their naked wooden reality, 
 Soon scared away my slumbers. 
 
 The oaks with solemnity shook their heads ; 
 
 The twigs of the birch-trees, in token 
 Of warning, nodded, and I exclaim'd : 
 
 " Dear monarch, forgive what I've spoken! 
 
 " Forgive, Barbarossa, my headstrong speech, 
 
 " I know that thou art far wiser 
 :< Than I, for impatient by nature I am 
 
 " Yet hasten thy coming, my Kaiser 1
 
 358 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " If guillotining contents thee not, 
 " Eetain the old plan for the present : 
 
 " The sword for the nobleman, keeping the rope 
 " For the townsman and vulgar peasant. 
 
 " But frequently change the order, and let 
 
 " The nobles be hang'd, beheading 
 " The townsmen and peasants, for God cares alike 
 
 " For all who life's pathways are treading. 
 
 " Restore again the Criminal Court 
 " That Charles the Fifth invented ; 
 
 " With orders, corporations, and guilds 
 " Let the people again be contented. 
 
 " To the sacred old Eoman Empire again 
 
 " In all its integrity yoke us ; 
 " Its musty frippery give us once more, 
 
 " And all its hocus-pocus. 
 
 " The middle ages, if you like, 
 
 " The genuine middle ages 
 " I'll gladly endure, but free us, I pray, 
 
 " From the nonsense that now all the rage ig,- 
 
 " From all that mongrel chivalry 
 
 " That sueh a nauseous dish is 
 " Of Gothic fancies and modern deceit, 
 
 " And neither flesh nor fish is. 
 
 " The troops of Comedians drive away, 
 
 " And close the theatres sickly, 
 " Wherein they parody former times, 
 
 " O Emperor, come thou quickly !" 
 
 CAPUT XVIII. 
 
 THE town of Minden's a fortress strong, 
 With arms and stores well provided ; 
 But Prussian fortresses, truth to say, 
 I never have abided. 
 
 We got there just as evening fell ; 
 
 The planks of the drawbridge sadly 
 Beneath us groan'd, as over we roll'd. 
 
 And the dark moat gaped on us madly.
 
 GERMANY. 359 
 
 The lofty bastions on me gazed 
 
 With threat 'ning and sulky wonder; 
 The heavy gate open'd with rattling loud, 
 
 And closed with a noise like thunder. 
 
 Alas ! my soul felt as sad as the soul 
 
 Of Odysseus, the world-renown'd warrior, 
 
 When he heard Polyphemus rolling a rock 
 In front of the cave as a barrier. 
 
 A Corporal came to the door of the coach 
 For our names ; I replied to this latter act : 
 
 " I'm Nobody call'd ; I an oculist am, 
 Who couch the giants for cataract !" 
 
 At the inn I found my discomfort increase, 
 
 My victuals fill'd me with loathing ; 
 I straight went to bed, but slept not a wink, 
 
 So heavy I found the bed-clothing. 
 
 The bed was a large, broad featherbed, 
 
 Eed damask curtains around it, 
 The canopy wrought with faded gold, 
 
 While a dirty tassel crown'd it. 
 
 Accursed tassel ! of all my repose 
 
 It robb'd me all the night through ; 
 It hung over head, like Damocles' sword, 
 
 And threaten'd to pierce me right through ! 
 
 A serpent's head it often appear'd, 
 
 And I heard its hissing mysterious : 
 " In the fortress thou art, and canst not escape" 
 
 A position especially serious ! 
 
 " would that I were" I thought with a sigh, 
 
 " Of my peaceable home a sharer, 
 " With my own dear wife in Paris once more, 
 
 " In the Faubourg-Poissoniere !" 
 
 I felt that a Something oftentimes 
 
 Was over my forehead stealing, 
 Just like a Censor's chilly hand, 
 
 And all my thoughts congealing. 
 
 Gendarmes, in the dresses of corpses conceal'd, 
 
 In white and ghostly confusion 
 Surrounded my bed, while a rattling of chains 
 
 I heard, to swell the illusion.
 
 360 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Alas ! the spectres carried me off, 
 
 And at length with amazement I found me 
 
 Beside a precipitous wall of rocks, 
 And there they firmly had bound me. 
 
 Detestable tassel, so dirty and foul ! 
 
 Again it appear'd bofore me, 
 But now in the shape of a vulture with claws 
 
 And black wings hovering o'er me. 
 
 And now like the well-known eagle it seem'd 
 And grasp'd me, and breathing prevented ; 
 
 It ate the liver out of my breast, 
 
 While sadly I groan'd and lamented. 
 
 Long time I lamented, when crow'd the cock, 
 
 And the feverish vision faded ; 
 Perspiring in bed at Minden I lay, 
 
 To a tassel the bird was degraded. 
 
 I travell'd with post-horses on, 
 
 And free breath presently drew I 
 On the domain of Buckeburg, 
 
 As by my feelings knew I. 
 
 CAPUT XIX. 
 
 ODANTON, great was thy mistake, 
 And thy error was paid for dearly ! 
 One can carry away one's fatherland 
 On the soles of one's feet, pretty nearly. 
 
 Of the princely domain of Buckeburg 
 One half to my boots clung in patches ; 
 
 In all my life I never have seen 
 A place that in filth its match is. 
 
 At the town of Biickeburg shortly I stopp'd, 
 
 To see the ancestral castle 
 Whence my grandfather came ; my grandmother thougl 
 
 Of Hamburg was part and parcel. 
 
 I got to Hanover just at noon, 
 
 And there had my boots clean'd neatly, 
 
 And afterwards went to visit the town ; 
 When I travel, I do it completely.
 
 GERMANY. 361 
 
 By heavens, how spruce the place appear'd ! 
 
 No mud ill its streets was lying ; 
 Many handsome buildings there I saw, 
 
 In massive splendour vying.* 
 
 I was mostly charm' d by a very large square, 
 
 Surrounded by houses superior ; 
 There lives the king and his palace there stands. 
 
 Of a really handsome exterior, 
 
 (The palace I mean.) On each side of the door 
 
 A sentry-box had its station ; 
 Redcoats with muskets there kept guard, 
 
 Of threat'ning and wild reputation. 
 
 My cicerone said : " Here lives 
 
 " King Ernest Augustus, a tory 
 " Of the olden school, and a nobleman, 
 
 " Very sharp, though his hairs are hoary. 
 
 " In safety idyllic here he dwells, 
 
 " For he's far more securely protected 
 " By the scanty courage of our dear friends 
 
 " Than his satellites ever effected. 
 
 " I see him sometimes, and then he complains 
 
 " How very tedious his post is, 
 " The regal post, of which he hero 
 
 ' In Hanover now the boast is. 
 
 " Accustom'd to a British life, 
 
 " And plagued by spleen, to cure it 
 " He finds it not easy, and greatly fears 
 
 " That he cannot much longer endure it. 
 
 " T'other day I found him at early morn 
 
 " By the fireside mournfully bending ; 
 " For his dog, who was sick, with his own royal hamlc 
 
 " A comforting draught he was blending." 
 
 CAPUT XX. 
 
 IN an hour from Harburg to Hamburg I went ; 
 The shades of evening were thick'ning, 
 The stars in the heavens their greetings sent, 
 And the air was soft and quick'ning. 
 
 * The rest of this chapter wa erased by the censr re from the 
 original edit on.
 
 362 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 And when I reach'd my mother at last, 
 She was wellnigh frighten'd with gladness 
 
 She cried "My darling child!" and clasp'd 
 Her hands together with madness. 
 
 ' My darling child, full thirteen years 
 " Have pass'd since our last meeting; 
 
 " You surely are hungry ; tell me now 
 " What yoa'll take in the way of eating? 
 
 " I've here some fish, and goose-flesh too, 
 
 " And handsome oranges also !" 
 " Then give me some fish, and goose-flesh too, 
 
 " And handsome oranges also !" 
 
 And whilst I ate with an appetite good, 
 
 My mother was lively and merry ; 
 She ask'd me this, and she ask'd me that, 
 
 And her questions were awkward, very. 
 
 " My darling child, in your foreign home 
 " Do you get all the things you require ? 
 
 " Is your wife pretty skilful at keeping house ? 
 " Are your shirts and stockings darn'd by her ?" 
 
 " The fish is good, my mother dear, 
 " But in silence one ought to eat it ; 
 
 " 'Tis easy to get a bone in one's throat, 
 " Pray leave me in peace to complete it." 
 
 And when I had finish'd the excellent fish, 
 The goose next made its appearance ; 
 
 My mother again ask'd for this and for that, 
 With the same ill-timed perseverance. 
 
 " My darling child, which land do you think 
 " Is the best for people to dwell in, 
 
 " This place, or France ? which nation's the best? 
 " What thing does each excel in ?" 
 
 " A German goose, my mother dear, 
 
 " Is good as one of the courses ; 
 " But the French stuff geese far better than we, 
 
 " And they also have better sauces." 
 
 And when the goose had taken its leave, 
 
 The oranges presently follow'd, 
 A nd tasted so unexpectedly nice, 
 
 That with pleasure they quickly were swallow'd.
 
 GERMANY. 363 
 
 But now my mother again began 
 
 Her questions with very much pleasure ; 
 
 She ask'd me a thousand things, but some 
 Were awkward beyond all measure. 
 
 " My darling child, pray tell me now, 
 
 '' If politics still you're inclined to ? 
 li Which party in the state to support 
 
 " Have you the greatest mind to ?" 
 
 " The quality, my mother dear, 
 
 " Of your oranges cannot be beaten ; 
 " The sweet juice I swallow with much deliglf, 
 
 " But I leave the ueel uneaten." 
 
 CAPUT XXL 
 HEY bit by bit are building again 
 
 The hapless half-burnt city ; 
 Like a half-shorn poodle Hamburg now looks, 
 An object to waken one's pity.* 
 
 Full many a street has disappear'd 
 
 That mournfully one misses 
 Where is the house, wherein I kiss'd 
 
 Love's first delicious kisses ? 
 
 Where is the printing-house, where I 
 
 My Iteisebildcr printed ? 
 The oyster shop, where I oysters gulp'd down 
 
 With appetite unstinted ? 
 
 The Dreckwall too, where is it now ? 
 
 I now should seek it vainly; 
 Where the pavilion, where I ate 
 
 So many cakes profanely? 
 
 Where is the town-hall, wherein sat 
 
 The senate and burghers stately ? 
 A prey to the flames ! The flames spared not 
 
 Whatever was holiest lately. 
 
 The people still were sighing with grief, 
 
 And with most mournful faces 
 The history sad of the great fire told, 
 
 And pointed out all its traces : 
 
 * The great fire at Hamburg took place in May. 1812, 01 
 shortly before this pcem was written.
 
 364 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " It burnt in every corner at once, 
 
 " All was smoke and flames fiercely flashing ; 
 
 " The churches' towers all blazed on high, 
 " And tumbled in with loud crashing. 
 
 " The old exchange was also burnt, 
 " Where our fathers in every weather 
 
 ' Were went to assemble for centuries past, 
 " And honestly traded together. 
 
 " The bank, the silvery soul of the town, 
 
 " And the books which have always served us 
 
 " To note the assets of every man, 
 
 " Thank heaven ! have been preserved us. 
 
 " Thank heaven ! In every land they made 
 
 l< On our behalf large collections ; 
 " A capital job, we got no less 
 
 " Than eight millions in all directions. 
 
 '* The money from every country flow'd 
 
 " In our hands, which were far from unwilling, 
 
 " And plenty of food they also sent, 
 " And we gladly accepted each shilling. 
 
 " They sent us clothes and bedding enough, 
 " And bread, and meat, and soups too ; 
 
 " The King of Prussia, to show his regard, 
 " Would fain have sent us troops too. 
 
 " Our losses in property thus were replaced, 
 
 " A matter of mere valuation ; 
 " But then the fright, our terrible fright, 
 
 " Admits of no compensation !" 
 
 I cheeringly said : " My worthy friends, 
 " You should not lament and bawl so ! 
 
 " A far better city than yours was Troy, 
 " And yet it was burnt down also. 
 
 " Eebuild your houses as fast as you can, 
 
 ' And dry up every puddle ; 
 " Get better engines and better laws, 
 
 " That are not quite such a muddle. 
 
 " Don't put in your nice mock-turtle soup 
 
 So very much Cayenne pepper; 
 " Your carp are not wholesome with so much sauce. 
 
 " Or when eaten with scales, like a leper.
 
 GERMANY. 365 
 
 " Your turkeys will not do much harm, 
 " But be on your guard 'gainst disaster 
 
 " From the knavish bird that lays its eggs 
 " In the wig of the burgomaster. 
 
 " "Pis not for me to tell you the name 
 
 " Of this bird of bad reputation ; 
 ' When thinking about him, the food in my maw 
 
 " Is stirr'd with indignation." 
 
 CAPUT XXII. 
 
 MORE changed than even the city itself 
 Appear'd the people within it ; 
 Like walking ruins they totter'd about, 
 As if ready to tumble each minute. 
 
 The thin still thinner than ever appear'd, 
 
 The fat appear'd still fatter, 
 The children were old, and the old were young, 
 
 (In their second childhood the latter). 
 
 Full many that I had left as calves, 
 
 As oxen were herding together, 
 And many a gosling had now become 
 
 A goose in fullest feafcLiir. 
 
 The aged Gudel I found be-rouged, 
 
 And dress'd with syren-like brightness; 
 
 She had procured some dark black hair, 
 And teeth of dazzling whiteness. 
 
 The best preserved of all was my friend 
 
 The paper-dealer, good fellow ; 
 Like John the Baptist, round his head 
 
 Was floating his hair so yellow. 
 
 I only saw D a long way off, 
 
 He slipp'd away so fleetly ; 
 I hear that his soul was burnt, but insured 
 
 For a large amount discreetly. 
 
 I also saw my old Censor again 
 
 In the fog. and lowly stooping 
 I met him in the goose market by chance, 
 
 And he seem'd completely drooping.
 
 366 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 We shook each other's hands, and some tears 
 
 In his eye appear'd collecting ; 
 He was so pleased to see me once more ! 
 
 The scene was truly affecting. 
 
 I found not all, for many a one 
 
 Had quitted this scene for ever ; 
 My Guinpelino, * 'mongst others, alas ! 
 
 Was gone, to appear again never. 
 
 That noble one had surrender'd his soul 
 
 To Him by whom it was given, 
 And now had a glorified seraph become 
 
 In the blissful realms of heaven. 
 
 In vain for the crooked Adonis I sought, 
 
 (Though I look'd in every direction,) 
 Who used to sell pots and pans in the street, 
 
 A very cheap collection. 
 
 And Sarras, the trusty dog, was dead, 
 
 A loss of a serious nature ; 
 Friend Campef would sooner have lost a whole host 
 
 Of writers than this good creature. 
 
 The population of Hamburg town 
 
 Has from time immemorial consisted 
 Of Jews and Christians ; 'tis also the case 
 
 That the latter are rather close-fisted. 
 
 The Christians all behave pretty well, 
 
 And pass their time in clover, 
 And promptly pay their bills of exchange, 
 
 Ere the days of grace are over. 
 
 The Jews are however divided again 
 
 Into two very different parties ; 
 The old one goes to the synagogue, 
 
 In the temple the new one's heart is. 
 
 The new party eat the flesh of swine, 
 Their manners are somewhat dogmatic ; 
 
 They democrats are, but the older school 
 Is much more aristocratic. 
 
 * A nickname of a relation of Heine's. 
 
 t A leading publisher at Hamburg, employed by Heine tc 
 publish many of his worka.
 
 GERMANY. 367 
 
 I love the old, and I love the new, 
 
 Yet I swear by the prophet Jonas 
 That certain fish I love still more, 
 
 Smoked sprats they are commonly krown as ! 
 
 CAPUT XXIII. 
 
 rp HOUGH as a republic Hamburg was ne'er 
 JL As great as Venice or Florence, 
 Yet Hamburg has better oysters ; one gets 
 The best in the cellar of Laurence. 
 
 I went there with Campe at evening time, 
 
 When splendid was the weather, 
 Intending on oysters and Rhenish wine 
 
 To have a banquet together. 
 
 I found some excellent company there, 
 
 And greatly was delighted 
 To see many old friends, such as Chaufepie, 
 
 And new ones, self-invited. 
 
 There Wille was, whose very face 
 
 Was an album where foes academic 
 Right legibly had inscribed their names 
 
 In the shape of scars polemic. 
 
 There Fucks was also, a heathen blind, 
 
 And personal foe of Jehovah, 
 Who believed but in Hegel, and slightly perhaps 
 
 In the Venus of Canova. 
 
 My Campe was our Amphytrion there, 
 
 And smiled and enjoy'd the honour ; 
 His eye was beaming with happiness, 
 
 Just like an ecstatic Madonna. 
 
 I ate and drank with an appetite good, 
 
 And these thoughts then cross'd my noddle 
 
 " This Campe is really an excellent man, 
 " And of publishers quite the model. 
 
 " Another publisher, I feel sure, 
 
 " Would have left me of hunger to perish ; 
 
 " But he has given me drink as well, 
 " His name I ever shall cherish.
 
 368 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " I thank the mighty Lord of all 
 
 " Who this juice of the grape created, 
 
 " And Campe to me as a publisher gave, 
 " Whose merits can't be overrated. 
 
 " I thank the mighty Lord of all 
 
 " Who by His own mere motion 
 " Created on earth the Rhenish wine, 
 
 " And the oysters in the ocean. 
 
 " Who also made the lemons to grow, 
 " The oyster's flavour to sweeten, 
 
 " O may I peacefully to-night 
 " Digest what I have eaten !" 
 
 The Rhenish wine makes my feelings soft, 
 All quarrelsome thoughts congealing 
 
 Within my breast, and kindling instead 
 A philanthropic feeling. 
 
 It now compel!' d me to leave the room, 
 And through the streets to wander ; 
 
 My soul sought a soul, and the sight of each dresa 
 Of a woman made it still fonder. 
 
 In moments like this, with grief I could melt, 
 While my yearning makes me tremble ; 
 
 The cats appear to me all too grey, 
 And Helens the women resemble. 
 
 And when I came to the Drehbahn Street, 
 
 I saw in the moonbeams glancing 
 The noble form of a woman fair, 
 
 With stately grace advancing. 
 
 Her face was perfectly healthy and round, 
 
 Her cheek like a damask rose was, 
 Like a turquoise her eye, like a cherry her mouth s 
 
 While somewhat reddish her nose was. 
 
 Her head was cover' d with a cap 
 
 Of snowy stiff linen, not ragged, 
 But folded like a mural crown, 
 
 With turrets and battlements jagged. 
 
 She wore as her dress a tunic white 
 Which down to her calves descended ; 
 
 And what calves ! The pedestals they 
 Of two J)oric columns splendid.
 
 GERMANY 369 
 
 A very worldly nai'vet6 
 
 Could be read in her every feature, 
 But her superhuman hinder parts 
 
 Betray'd a superior creature. 
 
 She now approach'd me, and straightway said : 
 " To the Elbe here's a welcome hearty ! 
 
 " E'en after an absence of thirteen years, 
 " I see that thou'rt still the same party ! 
 
 " Perchance thou seekest the souls so fair 
 
 " Who so often used to meet thee, 
 " And all night long in this beautiful placo 
 
 " With their reveries loved to greet thee. 
 
 " By that hundred-headed hydra, Life, 
 
 " That monster fierce, they were swallow'd ; 
 
 " Thoult find those olden times no more, 
 " Nor those friends once lovingly follow'd. 
 
 " No longer thou'lt find those beauteous flowers, 
 " Which enchanted thy youthful bosom ; 
 
 " 'Twas here they bloom'd, they're wither'd now, 
 " And the tempest has scatter'd each blossom. 
 
 " Yes, wither'd, and stripp'd, and trampled down 
 
 " By destiny's footsteps appalling 
 " My friend, this is ever the fate upon earth 
 
 '' Of all that is sweet and enthralling !" 
 
 " Who art thou ?" I cried " like a dream of old times 
 " Thy appearance doth strangely beset me ; 
 
 " Where is thy dwelling, enormous one ? 
 " I'll follow thee there, if thou'lt let me." 
 
 The woman then smiled, and thus she replied : 
 " Thou art wrong, I'm a decent and quiet 
 
 " And highly moral personage too, 
 " By no means given to riot. 
 
 '' I'm none of your foreign lorettes, my friend, 
 
 " And none of your common ladies ; 
 ' I'm Hamburg's goddess, Hammonia by name, 
 
 " And to watch o'er its welfare my trade is! 
 
 Thou art startled perchance to hear this news, 
 
 " Thou once undaunted singer? 
 " Art thou prepared to follow me still? 
 " Then quick, and no more let us linger." 
 
 2 B
 
 370 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Put I in reply laugh' d loudly and cried : 
 
 " I'll follow thee instanter ! 
 " If thou'lt go in front, I'll go behind, 
 
 " Yes, even to hell in a canter !" 
 
 CAPUT XXIV. 
 
 HOW I managed to mount the narrow staiig 
 I haven't the slightest notion ; 
 Perhaps the spirits carried me up 
 With some invisible motion. 
 
 But here, in Hammonia's little room, 
 
 The hours pass'd swiftly o'er me ; 
 The goddess confess'd the sympathy 
 
 That she had ever felt for me. 
 
 " Look here" said she, " in former days 
 " The minstrel who sang the Messiah 
 
 " Was dearest to me of all the throng, 
 " With his piously-sounding lyre. 
 
 " To this day the bust of my Klopstock stands 
 " On that chest of drawers, but though on it, 
 
 " For many a year it has only served 
 '' As a block for holding my bonnet. 
 
 " Thou'rt my favourite now, and thy likeness hangs 
 " At the head of my bed in due order ; 
 
 " And see, a fresh laurel now surrounds 
 " The cherish'd portrait's border. 
 
 " Yet thy attacks on my sons, I confess, 
 
 " Repeated by thee so often, 
 " Have sometimes caused me the greatest pain ; 
 
 " Thy language thou must soften. 
 
 " I trust that time has cured thee now 
 
 " Of rudeness so cold-hearted, 
 " And somewhat greater tolerance 
 
 " For even the fools imparted. 
 
 " But say how thou earnest to travel north 
 
 4 ' At such an unclement season ? 
 * The weather already is winterly quite, 
 
 " I fain would know the reason."
 
 GERMANY. 371 
 
 " worthy goddess !" T said in reply, 
 
 " In the bosom's inmost recesses 
 " Are slumbering thoughts which often awake 
 
 " At a time which rather distresses. 
 
 " Externally things went on pretty well, 
 
 " But within I was weigh'd down with anguish, 
 
 " Which every day grew worse and worse, 
 " For home I ceased not to languish. 
 
 " The air of France, so usually light, 
 
 " Began to be oppressive ; 
 " I long'd to breathe some German air, 
 
 " To relieve this burden excessive. 
 
 " I yearn'd for German tobacco-smoke, 
 
 " And the smell of German peat too ; 
 " My foot impatiently quiver 'd, the ground 
 
 " Of Germany to beat too. 
 
 " I sigh'd all night, and I long'd and long'd 
 
 " Yet once again to view her, 
 " The old woman who close to the Dammthor lives, 
 
 " And Lotte, who lives close to her. 
 
 " The thought of that old and worthy man 
 
 " Who always freely reproved me, 
 " And then his protection over me threw, 
 
 " To many a sigh now moved me. 
 
 " I fain would hear again from his mouth 
 
 " The words ' young stupid !' repeated, 
 " Which always in my younger days 
 
 " My heart like music greeted. 
 
 " I yearn'd for the blue smoke that high in the air 
 
 " From German chimneys reaches, 
 " For the Lower-Saxony nightingales, 
 
 " For the silent groves of beeches. 
 
 " I yearn'd for all the sorrowful spots, 
 
 " The places where once I resorted, 
 " WTiere once I trail'd my youthful cross, 
 
 " And my crown of thorns supported. 
 
 " I fain would weep where I formerly wept 
 
 " Those tears so bitter and burning ; 
 " The love of fatherland methinks 
 
 " They call this foolish yearning.
 
 372 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 ' I love not to talk of it ; 'tis nought elae 
 
 " But a whim of the' imagination ; 
 " Shamefaced by nature, I hide my wounds 
 
 " From public observation. 
 
 " O how I detest the trumpery set 
 
 " Who, to stir men's passion heated, 
 " Of patriotism make a show 
 
 " With all its ulcers fetid. 
 
 " They're shameless and shabby beggars all, 
 
 " Who live upon people's charity ; 
 " For Meuzel* and all his Swnbiuns, here's 
 
 " A penn'orth of popularity ! 
 
 ' My goddess ! thou hast found me to-duj 
 
 " Of a tender disposition ! 
 " I'm rather ill, but a little care 
 
 " Will soon recruit my condition. 
 
 " Yes, I am ill, and thou canst refresh 
 
 " My spirits in a minute 
 " By means of a cup of excellent tea, 
 
 " With a little rum mix'd in it." 
 
 CAPUT XXV. 
 
 SOME tea the goddess quickly made, 
 And then the rum pour'd she in ; 
 But she herself preferr'd the rum 
 Without a drop of tea in. 
 
 Against my shoulder she lean'd her head, 
 
 And rather tumbled her bonnet 
 Or mural crown, and gently she spake, 
 
 While I reflected upon it : 
 
 " I often have thought with much alarm 
 
 ' That in Paris, that wicked city, 
 " With the frivolous French thou'rt living still, 
 
 " 'Tis really a very great pity. 
 " Without an object thou'rt passing thy time, 
 
 " And hast not even beside thee 
 " Some faithful German publisher who 
 
 ' As a Mentor might warn and guide thce. 
 
 * A noted critic, poet, and historian, torn in 1798. He had 
 literary quarrels with both Heine and Borne.
 
 GERMANY. 873 
 
 " And then the temptations there are so great, 
 
 " So many a sylph amuses, 
 " Whose health is bad, and one's peace of mind 
 
 " One far too easily loses. 
 
 " Eeturn not again, but stop with us, 
 " Here modesty reigns still, and morals ; 
 
 " And here thou may'st gather, e'en in our midst, 
 " In silence many fair laurels. 
 
 " In Germany stay, and thou'lt relish things more 
 
 " Than thou wert formerly able ; 
 " We're fast advancing, and thou must have seen 
 
 " Our progress so rapid and stable. 
 
 " The censorship even less rigorous is, 
 " Friend Hoffmann is milder and older; 
 
 " His youthful passion for cutting up 
 " Thy Beisebilder is colder. 
 
 " Thou too art older and milder now, 
 
 " And many things quietly takest, 
 44 And in a better spirit than once, 
 
 " Past times thou now awakest. 
 
 '* That matters in Germany used to go ill 
 
 " Is a great exaggeration ; 
 " One could always escape, like the Romans of old, 
 
 " From serfdom, by self-immolation. 
 
 " The people enjoy 'd full freedom of thought, 
 
 " For the masses it never was stinted ; 
 " Restrictions affected nobody, savo 
 
 " The limited number who printed. 
 
 " No lawless despotism then reign'd, 
 
 " The worst of demagogues never 
 " Were deprived of their rights of citizt.uihip, 
 
 " Till condemn'd for some wicked endeavour. 
 
 " Things never in Germany went so ill, 
 
 " Whatever disputes may have risen ; 
 " Believe me, no mortal was e'er starved to death 
 
 " Inside a German prison. 
 
 " In those long vanish'd days there bloom'd 
 
 " Full many a fair apparition 
 " Of simple faith and kindlineSH too, 
 
 " Now all is doubt and sedition.
 
 374 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " The practical freedom that's all outside 
 
 " Will soon destroy the Ideal 
 *' That we bore in our bosoms, as fair as a dream 
 
 " Of lilies, and not more real ! 
 
 " Our beautiful poetry's fading fast, 
 
 " Already 'tis somewhat faded ; 
 ;< The Moorish King of Freiligrath, 
 
 " Like the rest of the kings, is degraded. 
 
 ' O couldst thou be silent, I soon would unseal 
 
 " The book of fate, free from all error, 
 " And suffer thee future ages to see 
 " Within my magic mirror. 
 
 " That which to mortal man I ne'er show'd, 
 
 " To thee would I gladly discover : 
 " The future of thy fatherland, 
 
 " Thou wouldst tell it, though, all the world over !" 
 
 " Good heavens, dear goddess !" I cried with delight, 
 " It would give me most exquisite pleasure ; 
 
 " O let me the future of Germany see, 
 " I know how a secret to treasure. 
 
 " I'm ready to swear whatever oath 
 
 '' Thou soonest would have me swallow, 
 
 " As a pledge to thee of my secrecy ; 
 " So say what form I shall follow." 
 
 But she rejoin'd : " Thou must swear to me 
 
 " As by Father Abraham's order 
 " His servant Eliezer swore, 
 
 " When starting to cross the border. 
 
 " Lift up my dress and place thy hand 
 
 " Upon my thigh below it, 
 ' And swear that in speaking, the secret thou'lt keep, 
 
 " And in thy works as a poet !" 
 
 The moment was solemn. I felt as though fann'd 
 
 By the breath of ages long perish'd, 
 When I swore the oath in the manner ordain'd 
 
 By Abraham, our forefather cherish'd. 
 
 I lifted up the goddess's dress, 
 
 And placed on her thigh below it 
 My hand, vowing secrecy both in my words 
 
 And in my works as a poet.
 
 GERMANY. 375 
 
 CAPUT XXVI. 
 
 cheeks of the goddess glow'd all-red 
 JL (I think that the rum had ascended 
 Up into her head) and she spoke in a tone 
 
 In which sorrow was painfully blended : 
 " I'm fast getting old ; I was born on the day 
 
 " Of Hamburg's first foundation ; 
 " My mother was a mermaid, who had 
 
 " At the mouth of the Elbe her station. 
 " My father was a monarch renown 'd, 
 
 " Called Charlemagne the glorious ; 
 " He was still more wise than Frederick t'ne Great, 
 
 " And also still more victorious. 
 " At Aix-la-Chapelle is the seat where he sat 
 
 " On the day of his coronation ; 
 " The seat where he sat at night devolved 
 
 " On my mother, as nearest relation. 
 " My mother left it to me in her turn, 
 
 " A common-looking article ; 
 " And yet for the whole of Eothschild's gold 
 
 " I wouldn't surrender one particle. 
 " Behold, in yon corner stands a chair, 
 
 " Both old and weather-beaten ; 
 " The leather that covers its arms is torn, 
 
 " And the cushion is sadly moth-eaten. 
 " Approach it now, and gently lift 
 
 " The cushion from the settle ; 
 " Thou'lt see an oval opening then, 
 
 " And under it a kettle. 
 " That is a magic kettle wherein 
 
 " The magic forces are brewing ; 
 " On placing thy head in the aperture, soon 
 
 " The future thou'lt clearly be viewing. 
 
 " Yes, Germany's future there thou'lt see, 
 
 " Like wondrously rolling phantasmas; 
 " But shudder not, if out of the filth 
 
 " Arise any foul miasmas !" 
 She spoke, and she laugh'd a singular laugh, 
 
 But I undauntedly hasted 
 To hold my head over the terrible hole, 
 
 And there I eagerly placed it.
 
 376 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 I'll not betray, for silence I vow'd, 
 The things that I saw and felt there ; 
 
 1 scarcely dare to utter a word, 
 
 Good heavens, of what I smelt there ! 
 
 With deep disgust I think to this day 
 Of that smell, which blended together, 
 
 In vile and accursed union, a stench 
 Of old cabbage and Eussia leather. 
 
 And heavens ! the stink that afterwards rose 
 
 Was still more filthy and dirty ; 
 'Twas as though they had swept together the soil 
 
 From closets six and thirty. 
 
 I know full well what was said by Saint Just 
 
 In the famous Committee of Safety : 
 '* Great illnesses cannot be cured by musk 
 
 " And rose-oil," he told them with naivete. 
 
 And yet this German futurity's smell 
 
 Was infinitely stronger 
 Than aught that my nose could e'er have conceived - 
 
 In fact I could bear it no longer. 
 
 My senses I lost, and on opening my eyes 
 
 Once more, I found myself sitting 
 Beside the goddess, and leaning my head 
 
 On her breast, in a manner befitting. 
 
 Her look it glisten'd, her mouth it glow'd, 
 
 Her nostrils twitched, with bacchantic 
 Excitement she clasp'd the poet, and sang 
 
 With ecstasy fearful and frantic : 
 " Stay with me in Hamburg, I love thee full well, 
 
 " And we'll eat and drink with gladness 
 " The oysters and wine of present times, 
 
 " Forgetting the future's sadness. 
 ' : Put on the covei, for fear lest the stench 
 
 " Should all our pleasure cloud over ; 
 " I love thee no German poet had e'er 
 
 " A more affectionate lover ! 
 
 * I kiss thee, and I feel myself now 
 
 " By thy genius quite inspired ; 
 " My spirit by a wondrous kind 
 
 " Of paroxysm is fired.
 
 GKHMANi*. 377 
 
 " I feel as though I heard in the street 
 
 " The watchmen singing in chorus ; 
 " 'Tis wedding music and bridal songs, 
 
 " Sweet friend, that are rising o'er us. 
 
 " The attendants on horseback also approach, 
 
 " With their torches flaring brightly ; 
 " The torch-dance they dance in dignified wise, 
 
 " And hop and spring about lightly. 
 
 " The noble and worshipful Senate is there, 
 
 " And the elders according to station ; 
 " The burgomaster clears his throat, 
 
 ' Preparing a lengthy oration. 
 
 " In glittering uniforms also appear 
 
 " The whole of the corps diplomatic, 
 "In the name of the neighbouring states to present 
 
 " Congratulations emphatic. 
 
 " A clerical deputation, too, comes, 
 
 " By rabbis and pastors guided ; 
 " But, alas ! here Hoffmann also draws near, 
 
 " With his scissors, as censor, provided. 
 
 " The scissors rattle in his hand, 
 
 " And eagerly he races 
 " To seize thy body, he cuts thy flesh 
 
 " Methinks it by far the best place is." 
 
 CAPUT XXVII. 
 
 WHEN summer's pleasant days have come 
 I'll tell you all the history 
 Of the other wonders that came to pass 
 In that long night of mystery. 
 
 The olden hypocritical race, 
 
 Thank heaven, is rapidly dying ; 
 To the grave it is sinking, and owes its death 
 
 To its ceaseless habit of lying. 
 
 Another race is rising up fast, 
 
 By rouge and by sin untarnish'd, 
 Of genial humour and thoughts, to it 
 
 I'll tell my story unvarnish'd.
 
 378 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 The youth which the poet's goodness and pride 
 Appreciates, puts forth its blossom, 
 
 And warms itself at his radiant soul, 
 And against his feeling bosom. 
 
 My heart is loving as the light, 
 
 And pure and chaste as the fire ; 
 The noblest Graces themselves have tuned 
 
 The chords of my sweet lyre. 
 
 'Tis the selfsame lyre that in his songs 
 
 My worthy father uses, 
 The poet Aristophanes, 
 
 The favourite of the Muses. 
 
 In the previous chapter I tried my hand 
 
 At copying the conclusion 
 Of the play of the " Birds," which certainly is 
 
 My father's finest effusion. 
 
 The " Frogs " is also capital. This 
 
 Is now, in a German translation, 
 Perform'd, I am told, on the stage at Berlin 
 
 For his Majesty's edification. 
 
 The King likes the piece. This shows his taste 
 For the old-fashion'd style of joking ; 
 
 The late King far more amusement found 
 In modern frogs' loud croaking. 
 
 The King likes the piece. But nevertheless 
 Were the author still living, I kindly 
 
 Would counsel him to trust himself 
 In Prussia not too blindly. 
 
 The genuine Aristophanes 
 
 Would find it no subject for laughter ; 
 We should see him move, wherever he went, 
 
 With a chorus of gendarmes after. 
 
 O King, I really wish thee well- 
 When this piece of advice I'm giving : 
 
 Due reverence pay to the poets who're dead, 
 And tender be to the living. 
 
 Affront the living poets not, 
 
 With weapons and flames they are furnish 'd, 
 More terrible far than the lightnings of Jove, 
 
 By the poets created and burnish'd.
 
 GERMANY. 379 
 
 \ffront the gods in Olympus who dwell, 
 
 Regardless whether they know it ; 
 Affront the mightiest Lord of all, 
 
 But 0, affront not the poet ! 
 
 The deities harshly avenge in truth 
 
 Man's crimes, and allow him no shelter ; 
 
 The fire of hell is passably hot, 
 
 And there he must roast and must swelter 
 
 Yet pious steps can the sinner release 
 
 From the flames ; for saying masses 
 And giving to churches with liberal hand 
 
 From torment a certain pass is. [scend, 
 
 When the days are accomplish'd, then Christ will de- 
 
 And burst hell's gloomy portals ; 
 And though he may sit in judgment strict, 
 
 He still will acquit many mortals. 
 
 And yet there are hells from out of whose clutch 
 
 There's no escape to heaven ; 
 No prayers there avail, and powerless too 
 
 Is the Saviour's pardon even. 
 
 Is Dante's hell to thee unknown, 
 
 With its terrible trinary verses ? 
 The man whom the poet there has shut up 
 
 Will never escape from his curses. 
 
 He ne'er will be freed from those musical flames 
 
 By any god or Saviour ; 
 So for fear wo condemn thee to such a sad hell, 
 
 Thou hadst better mind thy behaviour 1
 
 ROMANCERO. 
 
 BOOK L HISTORIES. 
 
 WHEX vex'd by slander's treacherous Licatlt, 
 
 Let thy faith soar tlie higher ; 
 And when thy soul is sad unto death, 
 
 Then strike thou the lyre. 
 
 A naming and glowing heroical song 
 
 The chords breathe discreetly ! 
 All anger flies, and thy spirit ere long 
 
 Will bleed to death sweetly. 
 
 RHAMPSENITUS.* 
 
 WHEN the King Rhampsenitus 
 Enter'd in the halls resplendent 
 Of his daughter, she was laughing, 
 As was also each attendant. 
 
 E'en the blackamoors, the eunuchs, 
 
 Follow'd in loud chorus after ; 
 E'en the mummies, e'en the sphynxes 
 
 Seem'd about to burst with laughter, 
 
 Then the princess said : " I fancied 
 
 " That I held the thief securely, 
 " But it was a dead arm only 
 
 " That my hand had seized so surely. 
 
 " I can see now how the robber 
 
 " To thy storehouse penetrated, 
 " And despite all bars and fast'nings 
 
 " All thy treasure confiscated. 
 
 * For the full particulars of this story see Herodotus, Book IT. 
 e. 121.
 
 ROMANCERO. 
 
 He a magic key possesses, 
 " Which the door of house or stahle 
 " Straightway opens ; to resist it 
 " Are the strongest doors unable. 
 
 " Now I'm really not a strong door, 
 " Nor could I resist his pleasure ; 
 
 " So this night, while treasure- watching, 
 " Have I lost my little treasure !" 
 
 Round the chamber danced the princess, 
 Laughing at this notion clever, 
 
 And the maidens and the eunuchs 
 Laugh'd again as loud as ever. 
 
 On that day all Memphis laugh'd too, 
 
 E'en the crocodiles so bloody 
 Laughingly their heads protruded 
 
 From the yellow Nile-stream muddy, 
 
 When they heard the drum's loud beating, 
 And the foU'wing proclamation 
 
 Shouted by the public crier 
 
 On the bank, to all the nation : 
 
 " We, Ehampsenitus, by God's grace 
 
 " King of Egypt, to our loyal 
 " Well-beloved friends and subjects 
 
 " Hereby send our greeting royal. 
 
 " In the night between the third and 
 " Fourth of June, the fourteen hundred 
 
 " Four and twentieth year before Christ, 
 " Came a certain thief, who plunder'd 
 
 " Many jewels from the storehouse 
 
 " Where we kept them, and more lately 
 
 " Further thefts has perpetrated, 
 " So that we have suffer'd greatly. 
 
 " To discover the offender, 
 
 " Made we our beloved daughter 
 
 " Sleep beside the treasure ; but he 
 
 " Robb'd her too, and napping caught her. 
 
 " Now, to check this wholesale plunder, 
 " And to show our deep affection 
 
 " For the thief, our admiration, 
 " And our grateful recollection,
 
 382 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " We will give our only daughter 
 
 " As his lawful wife God bless her ! 
 
 " And to princely rank promote him, 
 " Owning him as our successor. 
 
 " Since our son-in-law's abode is 
 
 " Unknown to us just at present, 
 " This our rescript shall inform him 
 
 " That we've now made all things pleasant. 
 
 " Done the third of January 
 
 ** Thirteen hundred twenty-six 
 " Years before Christ ; here our seal we, 
 
 ' ; King Khampsenitus, affix." 
 
 And he kept his word ; the thief he 
 
 As his son-in-law soon counted, 
 And when he was dead, the robber 
 
 On the throne of Egypt mounted. 
 
 And he ruled like other monarchs, 
 
 Trade and talent patronizing, 
 And the fewness of the robb'ries 
 
 In his reign was quite surprising. 
 
 THE WHITE ELEPHANT. 
 
 GEEAT Mahawasant, of Siam the King, 
 Has half of India under his wing ; 
 Twelve kings, with the Great Mogul, obey 
 His rule, and acknowledge his sovereign sway. 
 
 Each year with banner, trumpet, and drum 
 To Siam the trains with the tribute come ; 
 Many thousand camels, with backs piled high 
 With the costliest treasures of earth, draw nigh. 
 
 When the camels he sees with their heavy piles, 
 
 The soul of the King in secret smiles ; 
 
 But in public in truth he always deplores 
 
 That his storehouses serve not to hold all his stores. 
 
 Yet these storehouses all are so lofty and spacious, 
 So full of magnificence, so capacious, 
 The reality's splendour surpasses in glory 
 The Arabian Nights' most wondrous story.
 
 ROMA^CERO. 383 
 
 The " Castle of Indra " call they the hall 
 In which are display 'd the deities all, 
 The golden images, chisell'd with care, 
 And all incrusted with jewels so fair. 
 
 Full thirty thousand their numbers are, 
 Their ugliness passes description far : 
 A compound of men and animals dread, 
 With many a hand and many a head. 
 
 In the " Hall of purple " one wond'ringly sees 
 Some thirteen hundred coral trees, 
 As big as palms, a singular sight, 
 With spiral branches, a forest bright. 
 
 The floor of purest crystal is made, 
 And all the trees are in it display 'd, 
 While pheasants of glittering plumage gay 
 Strut up and down in a dignified way. 
 
 The ape on which the monarch doth dote 
 A ribbon of silk wears round his throat, 
 Whence hangs the key that opens the hall 
 Which people the '* Chamber of Slumber " call. 
 
 All kinds of jewels of value high 
 All over the ground here scatter'd lie 
 Like common peas, with diamonds rare 
 That in size with the egg of a fowl compare. 
 On sacks that stufFd with peails appear 
 The Monarch is wont to stretch himself here 
 The ape lies down by the monarch proud, 
 And both of them slumber and snore aloud. 
 
 But the King's most precious, costly treasure, 
 His happiness, his soul's first pleasure, 
 The joy and the pride of Mahawasant 
 Is truly his snow-white elephant. 
 
 As a home for a guest so highly respected 
 A splendid palace the King has erected ; 
 Gay lotos-headed columns uphold 
 Its roof, all cover 'd with plates of gold. 
 
 Three hundred heralds stand at the gate, 
 As the elephant's guard of honour to wait ; 
 And kneeling down with low-bent back 
 There serve him a hundred eunuchs black*
 
 384 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 For his proboscis the daintiest meat 
 On golden dishes they bring him to eat ; 
 From silver buckets he drinks his wine, 
 Well season'd with spices sweet and fine. 
 
 With perfumes they rub him, and otto of roses 
 On his head a chaplet of flowers reposes, 
 The richest shawls that are made in the East 
 As carpets serve for the dignified beast. 
 
 The happiest life appears to be his, 
 
 But no one on earth contented is ; 
 
 The noble creature, one cannot tell why, 
 
 Gives way to a deep despondency. 
 
 The melancholy monster white 
 Is wretched, all this profusion despite ; 
 They fain would enliven and cheer him again, 
 But all their cleverest efforts are vain. 
 
 In vain with singing and springing there come 
 The bayaderes ; the kettle drum 
 And cornet in vain the musicians play, 
 But nothing can make the elephant gay. 
 
 As matters continue to go on badly, 
 The heart of Mahawasant beats sadly ; 
 He sends for the wisest astrologer known. 
 And bids him stand before his throne. 
 
 " Stargazer, I'll cut off at once your head " 
 Thus speaks he, " unless you can tell me instead 
 " What is it that my poor elephant needs, 
 " And why his spirit with sorrow so bleeds." 
 
 The other one threw himself thrice on the ground, 
 
 And finally spoke with obeisance profound : 
 
 " O monarch, I'll tell thee the actual fact, 
 
 " And then as thou will'st, thou canst afterwards act 
 
 " There lives in the North a woman fair, 
 " Of lofty stature and beauty rare ; 
 " Thy elephant's certainly handsome, Sir, 
 " But still not fit to be liken'd to her. 
 
 " Compared with her, he only appears 
 " A little white mouse ; her form she rears 
 " Like giantess Bimha in Ramajana, 
 " And like the Ephesians' great Diana.
 
 ROMANCERO. 385 
 
 " Her limbs are combined in a beautiful frame ; 
 " Two lofty pilasters support the same, 
 " And proudly and gracefully stand upright, 
 " Of alabaster dazzljiig and white. 
 
 " This is God Amor's temple gigantic, 
 " In other words, love's cathedral romantic ! 
 " As lamp there burns within the fane 
 " A heart quite free from spot and stain. 
 
 " The poets are nonpluss'd how to begin 
 
 " To describe the charms of her snow-white skin ; 
 
 " E'en Gautier* unable to do it, alas ! is, 
 
 " Its whiteness all description surpasses. 
 
 " The highest Himalaya's snow 
 
 " Beside her seems ash-grey to grow ; 
 
 " The lily that she by accident thumbs 
 
 " Through envy or contrast yellow becomes. 
 
 " The Countess Bianca is the name 
 
 " Of this enormous snow-white dame ; 
 
 " At Paris she dwells, in the land of Fraace, 
 
 " And the elephant loves her by singular chance. 
 
 " By strange and wondrous elective affinity 
 
 " She became through a dream his bosom's divinity, 
 
 " And into his heart this lofty Ideal 
 
 " First crept by means of a vision unreal. 
 
 " Since then he's consumed by a yearning stealthy, 
 " And he, who was once so joyous and healthy, 
 " As a four-footed Werther sadly stands, 
 " And dreams of a Lotte in Northern lands. 
 
 " O, Sympathy's mysterious thrill ! 
 " He never saw her, but thinks of her still ; 
 " Oft tramps he round in the moonlight fair, 
 " And sighs : ' were I a bird of the air !' 
 
 " His body alone is in Siam, his mind 
 
 " In Franco with Bianca thou'lt certainly find ; 
 
 " And yet this parting of body and soul 
 
 " Must greatly injure his health as a whole. 
 
 * The French author 
 
 2 a
 
 386 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 ' From the daintiest morsels revolts his belly, 
 " He cares for nothing but vermicelli ; 
 " He's coughing already, and fast grows thinner ; 
 " His yearning will kill him, or I'm a sinner. 
 
 " If thou wouldst save him, preserve him alive, 
 " His return to the animal world contrive, 
 " O King, then send the renown'd invalid 
 " Direct to Paris, with utmost speed. 
 
 " When he on the spot in the actual sight 
 " Of the beautiful lady can take delight 
 " Of her who the prototype was of his dream, 
 " He'll soon be cured of his sadness extreme. 
 
 " There where his mistress's glances fall, 
 " His spirit's torments will vanish all ; 
 " Her smiles will the last of the shadows efface 
 " Which in his bosom had taken their place. 
 
 " And then her voice, like a magical tune, 
 " Will cure his distracted mind full soon ; 
 " The flaps of his ears he'll joyfully raise, 
 " And feel as he felt in youthful days. 
 
 " All things are so very enchanting and pretty 
 '' On the banks of the Seine, in Paris' fair city 1 
 " How thy elephant there will civilized be, 
 " Amusing himself right merrily ! 
 
 " But most of all, monarch, take care 
 " That plenty of money he has with him there, 
 " And a letter of credit, all charges to meet, 
 " On Eothschild Freres in the Eue Lafitte, 
 
 " For a million of ducats or thereabouts ; 
 " Then Baron Eothschild will harbour no doubt* 
 " About him, but say with an accent mellow : 
 " ' The elephant's really a capital fellow !' " 
 
 The astrologer thus discoursed, and then 
 He threw himself thrice on the ground again. 
 The king with rich presents sent him away, 
 And stretched himself, his course to survey. 
 
 He thought of this, and he thought of that ; 
 (Kings seldom find their thoughts come pat). 
 His ape beside him took his seat, 
 And both of them fell asleep with the heat.
 
 ROMANCERO. 387 
 
 What he resolved, I'll hereafter relate ; 
 The Indian mails are behind their date. 
 The last of these which has come to hand 
 Was by way of Suez, and overland. 
 
 KNAVE OF BEKGEN. 
 
 AT Dusseldorf castle on the Rhine 
 They're gaily masquerading ; 
 The waxlights sparkle, the company dance, 
 The music their nimblcness aiding. 
 
 The beauteous Duchess dances too, 
 
 And ceases laughing never ; 
 Her partner is a slender youth, 
 
 Who seems right courtly and clever. 
 
 He wears a mask of velvet black, 
 
 Whence merrily is peeping 
 An eye just like a shining dirk 
 
 From out of its sheath half creeping. 
 
 The carnival throng exultingly shout 
 
 As they whirl in the waltz's embraces, 
 While Drickes and Marizzebill* 
 
 Salute with loud noise and grimaces. 
 
 The trumpets crash, and the merry hum 
 
 Of the double-bass increases, 
 Until the dance to an end has come, 
 
 And then the music ceases. 
 
 " Most excellent Lady, thy pardon I beg, 
 
 " 'Tis time for me to go now " 
 The Duchess said smiling : " You shall not depart. 
 
 " Unless your face you show now." 
 
 " Most excellent Lady, thy pardon I beg, 
 
 " My face is a hideous creature's " 
 The Duchess said smiling : " I am not afraid, 
 
 " I insist upon seeing your features.'' 
 
 " Most excellent Lady, thy pardon I beg, 
 " For night and death are my portion 
 
 The Duchess said smiling : " I'll not let you go, 
 " I'll see you, despite all your caution." 
 
 * Cfuruivtd maaka.
 
 388 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 In vain he struggled with gloomy words 
 
 To change her determination ; 
 At length she forcibly tore the mask 
 
 From his face for her information. 
 
 " 'Tis the headsman of Bergen !" the throng in the hall 
 
 Exclaim with a feeling of terror, 
 And timidly shrink ; the Duchess rush'd out, 
 
 Her husband to tell of her error. 
 
 The Duke was wise, and all the disgrace 
 Of the Duchess straightway effac'd he ; 
 He drew his bright sword and said : " Kneel down, 
 " Good fellow !" with accents hasty. 
 
 * With this stroke of the sword I make you now 
 
 " A limb of the order knightly ; 
 " And since you're a knave, you'll hereafter be call'd 
 
 " Sir Knave of Bergen rightly." 
 
 So the headsman became a nobleman proud, 
 Of the Bergen Knaves' family founder ; 
 
 A haughty race ! they dwelt on the Ehine, 
 Though now they all underground are ! 
 
 THE VALKYRES * 
 
 WHILE below contending forces 
 Fight, above on cloudy horses 
 Three Valkyres ride ; their song 
 Through the air re-echoes long. 
 
 " Princes wrangle, nations quarrel, 
 " Each would bear away the laurel ; 
 " Conquest is the highest prize, 
 " Highest worth in courage lies. 
 
 " No proud helmet gives protection, 
 " Death brings all things in subjection ; 
 " And the hero's blood is shed, 
 " And the wicked win instead. 
 
 " Laurel wreaths, triumphal arches ! 
 J On the morrow in he marches, 
 " Who the better one o'erthrew, 
 " Winning land and people too. 
 
 * Or Valkyriors ; a race of martial virgins, described in 
 northern mythology as riding in the air and fighting under 
 Odin.
 
 BOMANCERO. 389 
 
 " Senator and burgomaster 
 " Go to meet the victor faster 
 " With the keys that ope the gate, 
 " And the train then enters straight. 
 
 " Cannon from the walls are crashing, 
 " Kettle-drums and trumpets clashing, 
 " Bells' loud ringing fills the sky, 
 " And ' hurrah !' the people cry. 
 
 " On the balconies are standing 
 
 " Smiling beauteous women, handing 
 
 " To the victor floVry wreaths ; 
 
 " He with haughty calmness breathes.' 
 
 HASTINGS BATTLE-FIELD. 
 
 Abbot of Waltham deeply sigh'd 
 JL When he heard the tragical story 
 That Harold the king had lost his life 
 On Hastings battle-field gory. 
 
 Two monks, named Asgod and Ailrik, he 
 
 As messengers then selected, 
 To seek at Hastings amongst the dead 
 
 For Harold's body neglected. 
 
 The monks went forth with sorrowing hearts, 
 
 And return'd with faces averted : 
 " O Father, the world goes wrong with us now, 
 
 " We seem by Fortune deserted. 
 
 " The better man has fallen in fight, 
 
 " O'ercome by that bastard demon ; 
 " Arm'd thieves amongst them divide the land, 
 
 " And make a slave of the freeman. 
 
 " The veriest rascal in Normandy now 
 
 " Is lord of the island of Britain ; 
 " A tailor from Bayeux with golden spurs 
 
 " We saw as gay as a kitten. 
 
 " Woe, woe to the man of Saxon birth ! 
 
 " Ye Saxon sainted ones even, 
 " Ye had better take care, ye're not safe from lisgrace, 
 
 " E'en now in the kingdom of heaven.
 
 390 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " The meaning now we can understand 
 " Of the blood-red comet which lately 
 
 " On a broomstick of fire rode through the sky 
 " One night, and astonish'd us greatly. 
 
 " At Hastings there was realized 
 
 " The evil star's prediction ; 
 " Amongst the dead on the battle-field there 
 
 " We sought with deep affliction. 
 
 " Till every hope had disappear' d 
 
 " We sought in each direction ; 
 " The corpse of King Harold, we grieve to say, 
 
 " Escaped our close inspection." 
 
 'Twas thus that Asgod and Ailrik spoke ; 
 
 His hands wrung the Abbot, while moan'd he 
 Then sank in deep thought, and finally said, 
 
 As heavily sigh'd and groan'd he : 
 
 " At Grendelfield, by the bards' old stone, 
 " In a hut in the forest, is dwelling 
 
 " Her whom they Edith the Swanneck call, 
 " In beauty once so excelling. 
 
 " They call'd her Edith the Swanneck erst, 
 " Because her neck in its splendour 
 
 " Resembled the neck of the swan ; the king 
 " Loved the maid with affection tender. 
 
 " He loved, kiss'd, fondled her long, and then 
 
 " Forgot, like a faithless lover; 
 " Time's fleeting on, full sixteen years 
 
 " Have since those days pass'd over. 
 
 " Now, brethren, go to this woman straight, 
 " And bid her return with you quickly 
 
 " To Hastings ; her eye will discover the king 
 " 'Mid the corpses scatter'd so thickly. 
 
 " And when you have found his body, with speed 
 " To Waltham Abbey transfer him, 
 
 " That we for his soul due masses may sing, 
 " And like a Christian inter him." 
 
 At midnight's hour the messengers reach'd 
 
 The hut in the forest, saying : 
 " Awake, O Edith the Swanneck, awake, 
 
 " And follow without delaying.
 
 ROMAXCEIIO. 391 
 
 " The Duke of the Normans as victor hath come, 
 
 " And the routed Saxons are flying, 
 " And on the field of Hastings the corpse 
 
 " Of Harold the King is lying. 
 
 " Come with us to Hastings, we're seeking there 
 
 " The body benoath the dead hidden, 
 " To bring it to Waltham Abbey with care, 
 
 " As we by the Abbot are bidden." 
 
 Then Edith the Swanneck girded herself, 
 
 And not one word she utter'd, 
 But follow'd the monks, while her grizzly hair 
 
 In the wind all wildly flutter'd. 
 
 The poor woman follow'd with naked feet, 
 
 And through marsh, wood, and briar on hied they, 
 
 Till the chalky cliffs on the Hastings coast 
 At the dawning of day descried they. 
 
 The mist, which like a snowy veil, 
 
 The battle-field was cloaking, 
 Dispersed by degrees ; the noisy daws 
 
 Were flapping their wings and croaking. 
 
 Many thousand corpses were lying there 
 
 On the earth with blood bespatter' d, 
 Stripp'd naked, and mangled, with many a steed 
 
 Among the carcases scatter'd. 
 
 Poor Edith the Swanneck in the blood 
 
 With naked feet now waded ; 
 No single spot the searching glance 
 
 Of her piercing eye evaded. 
 
 Both here and there she sought, and she oft 
 
 Had to scare away the devouring 
 Black troop of ravens that prey'd on the dead ; 
 
 The monks behind her were cowering. 
 
 She sought throughout the livelong day, 
 Till the shades of tbe evening were falling ; 
 
 When out of the poor woman's breast there burst 
 A shriek both wild and appalling. 
 
 For Edith the Swanneck had found at last 
 
 The corpse of the king, poor creature ! 
 No word she utter'd, no tear she wept, 
 
 She kiss'd each pallid feature^
 
 392 HEINE'S POEMS 
 
 She kiss'd his forehead, she kiss'd his mouth, 
 
 Her arms encircled him tightly ; 
 She kiss'd the bloody breast of the king, 
 
 Disfigured by wounds unsightly. 
 
 Upon his shoulder she likewise spied, 
 And cover d them over with kisses, 
 
 Three little scars that her teeth had made, 
 The signs of their former blisses. 
 
 And in the meantime the pair of monks 
 
 Some branches of trees collected ; 
 These form'd the bier, on which they bore 
 
 The body, with hearts dejected. 
 
 To Waltham Abbey the body they took, 
 
 To bury it rightly and duly, 
 And Edith the Swanneck follow'd the corpse 
 
 Of him she had loved so truly. 
 
 The litanies for the dead she sang 
 
 In childlike pious fashion, 
 And in the night they fearfully rang, 
 
 The monks pray'd, full of compassion. 
 
 CHARLES I. 
 
 IN the charcoal-burner's hut in the wood 
 Sits the king, an object of pity ; 
 The charcoal-burner's child's cradle he rocks, 
 And sings this monotonous ditty : 
 
 ' Eiapopeia, why rustles the straw ? 
 
 " The sheep in the stalls bleat loudly ; 
 " Thou bearest the sign on thy forehead, and smil'st 
 
 " In thy sleep so wildly and proudly. 
 
 " Eiapopeia, thou bear'st on thy brow 
 
 " The sign, and dead is the kitten ; 
 " When grown to manhood, thou'lt flourish the axe, 
 
 " And the oak in the wood will be smitten. 
 
 " The charcoal-burner's religion is dead, 
 " And now no longer receive they, 
 
 " Eiapopeia, the faith in a God, 
 " Still less in the king believe they.
 
 ROMANCERO. 393 
 
 " The kitten is dead, and the mice rejoice 
 " And we from their presence are driven. 
 
 " Eiapopeia, I, monarch on earth, 
 " And God, the monarch in heaven. 
 
 " My heart grows sicker day by day, 
 
 " My brow grows sterner and sterner; 
 " Eiapopeia, my headsman art thou, 
 
 " Thou child of the charcoal-burner ! 
 
 " My song of death is thy cradle-song 
 
 " Eiapopeia, thou'lt fumble 
 " My grey locks about, and cut them off, 
 
 " Thine axe on my neck will tumble. 
 
 " Eiapopeia, why rustles the straw ? 
 
 " Thou hast gained a kingdom splendid ; 
 " Thou strikest off from my body my head, 
 
 " The life of the kitten is ended. 
 
 " Eiapopeia, why rustles the straw ? 
 
 " The sheep in the stalls bleat loudly ; 
 " The kitten is dead, and the mice rejoice, 
 
 " My dear little headsman, sleep proudly !" 
 
 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 THE plate-glass windows gleam in the sun 
 In the Tuileries Castle gaily ; 
 And yet the well-known spectres of old 
 Still walk about in it daily. 
 
 Queen Marie Antoinette still doth haunt 
 
 The famous pavilion of Flora ; 
 With strict etiquette she holds her court 
 
 At each return of Aurora. 
 
 Full dress'd are the ladies, they most of them stand, 
 
 On tabourets others are sitting, 
 With dresses of satin and gold brocade, 
 
 Hung with lace and jewels befitting. 
 
 Their waists are small, their hoop-petticoats swell, 
 And from underneath them are peeping 
 
 Their high-heel'd feet, that so pretty appear, 
 If their heads were but still iu their keeping !
 
 394 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Not one of the number a head has on, 
 
 The queen herself in that article 
 Is wanting, and so Her Majesty boasts 
 
 Of frizzling not one particle. 
 
 Yes, she with toupee as high as a tower, 
 
 In dignity so resplendent, 
 Maria Theresa's daughter fair, 
 
 The German Caesar's descendant, 
 
 She, curlless and headless, now must walk 
 
 Amongst her maids of honour, 
 Who, equally headless and void of curls, 
 
 Are humbly waiting upon her. 
 
 All this from the French Revolution has sprung, 
 
 And its doctrines so pernicious, 
 From Jean Jacques Rousseau and the guillotine, 
 
 And Voltaire the malicious. 
 
 Yet strange though it be, I shrewdly think 
 That none of these hapless creatures 
 
 Have ever observed how dead they are, 
 How devoid of head and features. 
 
 The first dame d'atour a linen shift brings, 
 
 And makes a reverence lowly ; 
 The second hands it to the queen, 
 
 And both retire then slowly. 
 
 The third and fourth ladies curtsy and kneel 
 
 Before the queen discreetly, 
 That they may be able to draw on 
 
 Her Majesty's stockings neatly. 
 
 A maid of honour curtsying brings 
 Her Majesty's robe for the morning ; 
 
 Another with curtsies her petticoat holds, 
 And assists at the queen's adorning. 
 
 The mistress of the robes with her fan 
 
 Stands by, the time beguiling ; 
 And as her head is unhappily gone, 
 
 With her other end she is smiling. 
 
 The sun his inquisitive glances throws 
 
 Inside the draperied casement ; 
 But when the apparitions he sees, 
 
 He starts in fearful amazement.
 
 ROMANCEKO. 395 
 
 THE SILESIAN WEAVERS.* 
 1 tears from their gloomy eyes are flowing, 
 They sit at the loom, their white teeth showing : 
 Thy shroud, O Germany, now weave we, 
 A threefold curse we're weaving for thee, 
 
 " We're weaving, we're weaving ! 
 A curse on the God to whom our petition 
 We vainly address'd when in starving condition ; 
 In vain did we hope, and in vain did we wait, 
 He only derided and mock'd our sad fate, 
 
 " We're weaving, we're weaving ! 
 A curse on the King of the wealthy, whom often 
 Our misery vainly attempted to soften ; 
 Who takes away e'en the last penny we've got, 
 And lets us like dogs in the highway be shot, 
 
 " We're weaving, we're weaving! 
 A curse on our fatherland false and contriving, 
 Where shame and disgrace alone are seen thriving, 
 Where flowers are pluck'd before they unfold, 
 Where batten the worms on corruption and mould, 
 
 " We're weaving, we're weaving ! 
 The shuttle is flying, the loom creaks away, 
 We're weaving busily night and day ; 
 Thy shroud, Old Germany, now weave we, 
 A threefold curse we're weaving for thee, 
 
 " We're weaving, we're weaving !" 
 
 POMARE. 
 1. 
 
 ALL the gods of love are shouting 
 In my heart, and blowing airy 
 Flourishes, and crying : " Hail ! 
 
 " Hail, thou mighty queen Pomare !** 
 Not the queen of Otaheite 
 
 Whom 'twas missionaries' duty 
 To convert ; no, she I mean 
 
 Is a wild untutor'd beauty. 
 Twice in every week appears she, 
 
 All her subjects quite entrancing 
 In that dear Jardin Mabillc, 
 
 Waltzes and the polka dancing. 
 * This poem waa formerly suppressed by the censors.
 
 396 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Majesty in all her footsteps, 
 
 Grace and beauty ne'er forsake her, 
 
 Quite a princess every inch, 
 Whichsoever way you take her. 
 
 Thus she dances gods of love are 
 
 In my heart all blowing airy 
 Flourishes, and crying : " Hail ! 
 
 " Hail, thou mighty queen Pomare !" 
 
 2. 
 
 SHE dances. How her figure sways ! 
 What grace her every limb displays ! 
 There's as much flitting, leaping, swinging, 
 As if she from her skin were springing. 
 
 She dances. When she twirls with skill 
 Upon one foot, and then stands still 
 At last with both her arms extended, 
 My very reason seems suspended. 
 
 She dances. 'Tis the very same 
 That once Herodias' daughter carne 
 And danced to Herod. As she dances, 
 Her eye casts round it deadly glances. 
 
 She'll dance me frantic. Woman, say, 
 What shall be thy reward to-day ? 
 Thou smil'st ? Quick, herald ! to the gateway 
 Decapitate the Baptist straightway ! 
 
 3. 
 
 "T^ESTEKDAY for very bread, 
 i In the mire she wallowed ; 
 But to-day, with pride o'erbearing, 
 In her carriage takes an airing. 
 On its silken cushions she 
 Eests her head, and haughtily 
 Looks upon the thronging masses 
 Whom on foot her carriage passes. 
 When I see thee travelling so, 
 Then my heart is fill'd with woe ! 
 Ah, this carriage, so prepare thee, 
 To the hospital will bear thee, 
 Where unfeeling cruel death 
 Soon will take away thy breath,
 
 KOMAKCERO. 397 
 
 And the student, with coarse greasy 
 Prentice hand, so free and easy, 
 Will cut up thy body fair 
 Anatomically there ; 
 And at Montfaucon thy horses 
 At the knacker's end their courses. 
 
 4. 
 
 THOU hast been by fate befriended 
 Better than at first I said ; 
 God be praised, all now is ended ! 
 God be praised, and thou art dead ! 
 
 In thy poor and aged mother's 
 Garret thou at length didst die 
 
 She, with love beyond all others, 
 Closed thy fair eyes tenderly. 
 
 She a winding-sheet bought duly, 
 
 And a coffin, and a grave ; 
 Somewhat close and wretched truly 
 
 Was the funeral that they gave. 
 
 No priests at that funeral lonely 
 Sang, no bell toll'd mournfully ; 
 
 Thy friseur and poodle only 
 As thy mourners follow'd thee. 
 
 " Ah !" the former sigh'd : " I often 
 " Used to comb Pomare's hair, 
 
 " And her long black tresses soften, 
 " Sitting in her easy chair !" 
 
 But the dog, away he scamper'd 
 At the churchyard gate anon, 
 
 And was lodged and fed and pamper'd 
 Afterwards by Rose Pompon. 
 
 She, the Proven<;aler, grudged thee 
 Thy hard-earned name of queen, 
 
 As a hated rival judged thee, 
 Made thee victim of her spleen. 
 
 Ah, poor queen of jests diurnal, 
 With thy mud crown on thy head, 
 
 Thou art saved by God's eternal 
 Goodness, thou at last art dead.
 
 398 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 As thy mother, so thy Father 
 Mercy show'd thee from above ; 
 
 This He did, methinks, the rather 
 In that thou so much didst love. 
 
 THE APOLLO GOD. 
 
 rilHE convent stands high on the rocky steep, 
 JL The Rhine beneath it glistens ; 
 The youthful nun doth eagerly peep 
 Through the lattice window, and listens. 
 
 A bark of fable is sailing past, 
 
 By the evening glow tinged brightly ; 
 
 While chequer 'd pennons stream from the mast, 
 With laurels and flowers crown'd lightly. 
 
 Amid-ship stands a beauteous youth, 
 
 With flowing auburn tresses ; 
 Of very ancient cut, in truth, 
 
 His gold and purple dress is. 
 
 Before his feet nine women lie, 
 
 Of marble-lovely graces ; 
 A tunic fair and loop'd up high 
 
 Each slender form embraces. 
 
 The goldeu-tress'd one sweetly sings, 
 
 And likewise plays his lyre ; 
 The song the poor nun's bosom stings, 
 
 And sets it all on fire. 
 
 She makes a cross, and once again 
 
 The nun repeats the measure ; 
 The cross scares not her blissful pain, 
 
 Nor checks her bitter pleasure. 
 
 2. 
 
 I AM the god of music bright, 
 Revered in every nation ; 
 In Greece, on Mount Parnassus' height, 
 My temple had its station. 
 
 In Greece I oft have sat and play'd 
 
 On famed Parnassus' mountain, 
 Beneath the cypress' pleasant shade, 
 
 Beside Castalia's fountain.
 
 ROMANCERO. 399 
 
 My daughters sat around their Pa, 
 
 And raised a vocal chorus ; 
 They sweetly sang : la-la, la-la ! 
 
 While laughter floated o'er us. 
 
 The bugle rang : tra-ra, tra-ra ! 
 
 From out the forest loudly ; 
 There hunted Artemisia, 
 
 My little sister, proudly. 
 
 And whensoe'er I took some sips, 
 
 I can't describe it neatly, 
 From out Castalia's fount, my lips 
 
 Burst into music sweetly. 
 
 I sang my lyre, as it replied, 
 
 O'er its own chords seem'd sweeping ; 
 
 I felt as if I Daphne spied 
 Behind the laurels peeping. 
 
 I sang ambrosial incense stream'd, 
 
 And lightly o'er me hover'd ; 
 And the whole world around me seem'd 
 
 By a bright halo cover'd. 
 
 A thousand years from Grecia's land 
 
 Have I been sadly banish'd ; 
 Yet hath my heart in Grecia's land 
 
 Eemain'd, though I have vanish'd. 
 
 3. 
 
 IN the costume of the Beguins, 
 In the cloak with cap upon it 
 Of the coarsest blackest serge, 
 Is the youthful nun envelop'd. 
 
 Hastily along the Rhine banks 
 Paces she adown the highway 
 On the road to Holland, asking 
 Eagerly of every passer : 
 
 " Hast thou chanced to see Apollo ? 
 
 " He a scarlet cloak is wearing, 
 
 " Sweetly sings he, plays the lyre, 
 
 " And he is my darling idol." ,
 
 400 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 None will answer her inquiry, 
 Many turn their backs in silence, 
 Many stare upon her smiling, 
 Many sigh : " Alas, poor creature t f 
 
 But along the highway trotting 
 Comes a slovenly old man ; 
 Making figures in the air, he 
 Keeps on singing through his nose. 
 
 He a clumsy wallet carries, 
 And a little hat three-corner'd, 
 And with sharp and smiling eyes he 
 Listens to the nun's inquiry : 
 
 " Hast thou chanced to see Apollo ? 
 " He a scarlet cloak is wearing, 
 " Sweetly sings he, plays the lyre, 
 " And he is my darling idol." 
 
 He however gave this answer, 
 Whilst his little head he waggled 
 Here and there, and comically 
 At his sharp beard kept on twitching : 
 
 " Have I chanced to see Apollo ? 
 " Yes, I certainly have seen him 
 " When at Amsterdam full often, 
 " In the German synagogue. 
 
 " He was there the leading singer, 
 " Known by name of Eabbi Faibisch, 
 " Which in High-Dutch means Apollo, - 
 " But he's not my idol truly. 
 
 " Scarlet cloak ? His scarlet cloak too 
 " I remember ; genuine scarlet, 
 " And the price per ell eight florins, 
 " Not all paid for to this moment. 
 
 " His old father, Moses Jitscher, 
 " Know I well ; he's circumciser 
 " To the Portuguese, I fancy, 
 " And to various sovereigns also. 
 
 " And his mother is a cousin 
 '' Of my sister's husband, trading 
 ' On the Gracht in pickled gherkins, 
 - 4nd in worn-out pairs of breeches.
 
 R03IAXCEKO. 401 
 
 " In their son they take no pleasure ; 
 " On the lyre he plays not badly, 
 " But, I grieve to say, far better 
 " Plays he at taroc and ombre. 
 
 " Ho is likewise a free thinker, 
 " Lost his place through eating swine's flesh, 
 " And then travell'd round the country 
 " With some painted low comedians. 
 
 " In the shops and on the markets 
 " Has he acted as Jack-pudding, 
 " Holofernes, or King David, 
 " But the latter most excell'd in. 
 
 " For the king's own sorrows sang he 
 " In the king's own mother language, 
 " Giving all the proper quavers 
 " In the proper olden fashion. 
 
 " Recently some wenches took he 
 " From the Amsterdam casino, 
 " And he's travelling with these Muses 
 " Round the country as Apollo. 
 
 " One amongst them is a stout one, 
 
 " Squeaking very much and grunting ; 
 
 " On account of her green laurel 
 
 " Head-dress, they ' the green sow' call her." 
 
 HYMN TO KING LOUIS.* 
 
 BEHOLD great Louis, Bavaria's king, 
 Few monarchs are half so splendid ; 
 In him a king the Bavarians revere, 
 From an ancient lino descended. 
 
 He's fond of art : fair women to get 
 For their portraits to sit, is his passion ; 
 
 In this painted seraglio takes he his walks, 
 In eunuch-artistic fashion. 
 
 A marble place of skulls hath he 
 
 Near Ratisbon construct (il. 
 And all the arrangements for every hc:i'l 
 
 In his own royal person conducted. 
 
 This poem was originally suppressed l>y the r< n.wa. 
 
 2 L>
 
 402 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Walhalla-companions ! A masterpiece, 
 Where the merit of every man is 
 
 Set forth, with his character and his acts, 
 From Teut * to Schinderhannes.f 
 
 But Luther, the blockhead, amongst them all, 
 Has no place in this proud mausoleum ; 
 
 The whale 'mongst the fishes is often left out 
 In a natural hist'ry museum. 
 
 King Louis is also a poet renown'd ; 
 
 Whenever sings or plays he, 
 Apollo falls down at his feet and exclaims : 
 
 " stop, or you'll drive me quite crazy !" 
 
 King Louis is also a hero renown'd, 
 Like his child, his little son, Otho, 
 
 Who was chosen to sit on the throne of Greece 
 (He disgraced it long ago, tho'). 
 
 When Louis dies, he'll canonised be 
 
 At Rome by the holy Father ; 
 A cat with ruffles a face like his 
 
 With its Glory will look like rather. 
 
 As soon as the monkeys and kangaroos 
 
 Are converted to Christianity, 
 They'll make St. Louis their guardian saint, 
 
 In proof of their perfect sanity. 
 
 TWO KNIGHTS. 
 
 pIRAPULINSKI and Waschlapski, 
 Vy Poles in Poland born and bred, 
 Fought for their dear country's freedom 
 'Gainst the Russian tyrant dread. 
 
 Boldly did they fight, and lastly 
 
 Found at Paris a retreat ; 
 Living, just as much as dying 
 
 For one's fatherland, is sweet. 
 
 Like Achilles and Patroclus, 
 
 David and his Jonathan, 
 Loved the pair of Poles each other, 
 
 Kiss'd, and said : " Kochan ! Kochan !" J 
 
 * Meaning the Founder of the Teutonic race. 
 f A noted brigand, executed in 1803. 
 j A Polish term of endearment
 
 EOMANCERO. 403 
 
 Neither e'er betray 'd the other, 
 
 Both were faithful friends and true, 
 
 Notwithstanding that they Poles were, 
 Born and bred in Poland too. 
 
 They the same apartment dwelt in, 
 
 In the selfsame bed slept they, 
 And in noble emulation 
 
 Scratch 'd themselves by night and day., 
 
 In the selfsame beershop dined they, 
 
 And as neither was content 
 That the other paid his reckoning, 
 
 Neither ever paid a cent. 
 
 'Twas the selfsame washerwoman 
 
 Did the washing for the pair ; 
 Humming, for their linen came she 
 
 Every month to wash and air. 
 
 Yes, they really had their linen, 
 
 Each one had two shirts, well-worn, 
 
 Notwithstanding that they Poles were, 
 Poles in Poland bred and born. 
 
 They to-day sit near the chimney, 
 Where the flames a bright glow cast ; 
 
 Out of doors are night, a snowstorm, 
 And the coaches driving past. 
 
 They a mighty bowl of punch have 
 
 Drain'd already and devour'd; 
 (Understand me, 'twas unsugar'd^ 
 
 And unwater'd and unsour'd.) 
 
 Sorrow o'er their souls is creeping, 
 
 Tears their furrow'd faces streak : 
 With a voice of deep emotion 
 
 Thus doth Crapulinski speak ; 
 
 " Would that I had here in Paris 
 
 " My dear bearskin, my old cotton 
 " Dressing-gown, my catskin-nightcapj 
 
 " In my fatherland forgotten T' 
 
 Thus to him replied Waschlapski : 
 
 " O thou art a driv'llcr tnu: ; 
 *' Of thy home thou'rt ever thinking, 
 
 M Catskiu-nightoap, bearskin too.
 
 404 HEDGE'S POEMS. 
 
 " Poland lias not yet quite perish'd, 
 
 " Still oui- wives to sous give birth, 
 " And our girls will do so likewise, 
 
 " And produce us men of worth, 
 " Heroes, like great Sobieski, 
 
 " Like Schelmufski and Uniinski, 
 " Eskrokewitsch, Schubiakski, 
 
 " And the mighty Eseliuski." 
 
 OUR MARINE* 
 (A Nautical tale.) 
 
 A DKEAM of a fleet we lately dreamt, 
 -\_ And enjoy 'd a sail delicious 
 Far over the wide and boundless sea, 
 
 The wind was quite propitious. 
 We gave our frigates the proudest names 
 
 That we in our calendar reckon'd ; 
 One Hoffmann of Fallersleben we call'd, 
 
 And Prutz f we christen'd the second. 
 There floated the cutter Freiligrath, 
 
 Whereon was seen the figure 
 Of the Moorish king, which gazed below 
 
 Like a moon (but as black as a nigger). 
 There floated Gustavus Schwab as well, 
 
 A Pfizer, a Kolle, a Mayer ; 
 On each of them stood a Swabian face, 
 
 Each holding a wooden lyre. 
 There floated B;rch-Pfeiffer, a brig which bore 
 
 On its mast the escutcheon olden 
 Of the famous German Admiralty, 
 
 On tatters black-red-golden. 
 We boldly clamber'd on bowsprit and yard, 
 
 And bore ourselves like sailors ; 
 Our jackets were short, our hats betarr'd, 
 
 And our trousers as big as a tailor's. 
 Full many, who formerly sipp'd but tea 
 
 As husbands kind and forbearing, 
 Now drank their rum, their pigtail chew'd, 
 
 And, seaman-like, took to swearing. 
 
 * This poem was originally suppressed by the censors, 
 t A poet and writer, born in 1816, and persecuted fcy Hie 
 police for his liberal writings.
 
 ROMANCERO. 405 
 
 So bright was our vision, we well iiigh won 
 
 A naval victory splendid ; 
 But when return'd the morning sun, 
 
 Both fleet and vision had ended. 
 
 We still were lying at home in bed, 
 
 Our limbs all over it sprawling ; 
 We rubbed the sleep from out of our eyes, 
 
 The following wise speech bawling : 
 
 " The world is round ; why seek to be tost 
 
 " On the idle billows, faint-hearted ? 
 " When we sail round the world, at last we return 
 
 " To the point from which we started." 
 
 THE GOLDEN CALF. 
 TWIDDLE, flute, and horn uniting, 
 JL To the idol-dance inviting 
 Round the golden calf with springing 
 
 All of Jacob's daughters come 
 
 Brum brum brum- - 
 Kettle drums and laughter ringing I 
 
 Girding up their tunics lightly, 
 Clasping hands together tightly, 
 Noble maidens, off'rings bringing, 
 
 Twist, like whirlwinds at the least, 
 
 Eound the beast 
 Kettle drums and laughter ringing ! 
 
 Aaron's self joins in the mazy 
 Circling dance with motions crazy ; 
 His concerns not looking after, 
 
 Skips he, in his high-priest's coat, 
 
 Like a goat 
 Kettle drums and ringing laughter ! 
 
 KIXG DAVID 
 
 DESPOTS smiling yield their breath, 
 Knowing after their own death 
 That their slaves but change their master, 
 And, if anything, work faster. 
 
 Ah, poor race 1 like horse and bull 
 They the waggons still must pull, 
 And their backs will soon be broken 
 If they heed not what is spoken.
 
 406 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 David said to Solomon 
 
 Cn his deathbed : " List, my son ! 
 
 ' My most dreaded foe of course is 
 
 ' Joab, general of my forces. 
 
 This brave general many a year 
 I have view'd with hate and fear ; 
 But, however I detest him, 
 I ne'er ventured to arrest him. 
 
 ' Thou, my son, of sterner stuff, 
 ' Fearing God, art strong enough ; 
 ' 'Tis for thee an easy matter 
 ' That said Joab's brains to scatter." 
 
 KING RICHARD. [springs 
 
 rpHKOUGH the silent glades of the forest there 
 -L An eager horseman proudly ; 
 He blows his horn, he laughs, and he sings 
 Exultingly and loudly. 
 
 His armour is made of the brass most strong, 
 
 But stronger still is his bosom ; 
 'Tis Coeur de Lion that's riding along, 
 
 That Christian chivalry's blossom. 
 
 " Thou'rt welcome to England !" each verdant bough 
 
 Exclaims with joyous assurance ; 
 " We're heartily glad, monarch, that thou 
 
 " Hast escap'd from thine Austrian durance." 
 
 The king snuffs up the free air the while, 
 
 Like a newborn creature lives he ; 
 He thinks of his Austrian dungeon vile, 
 
 And his spurs to his proud horse gives he. 
 
 THE ASRA. 
 
 DAILY went the wondrous lovely 
 Sultan's daughter at the cooling 
 Hour of evening to the fountain, 
 Where the waters white were plashing. 
 
 Daily at the hour of evening 
 Stood the young slave at the fountain 
 Where the waters white were plashing, 
 Daily grew he pale and paler.
 
 ROMANCERO. 407 
 
 And one evening came the princess, 
 And these sudden words address'd him : 
 " Thou must tell me what thy name is, 
 " And thy country and thy kindred !" 
 
 And the slave replied : " My name is 
 
 " Mahomet, I came from Yemmen, 
 
 " And my race is of those Asras, 
 
 " Who, whene'er they love, must perish." 
 
 THE NUNS. 
 TT'THO at night the convent walls 
 
 T T Passes, sees the windows brightly 
 Lighted up, for there the spectres 
 Make their gloomy circuit nightly. 
 
 Tis dead Ursulines that join 
 
 In the sad and dark procession ; 
 From the linen hoods are peeping 
 
 Faces young of sweet expression. 
 
 Tapers bear they in their hands, 
 
 Glimm'ring bloodred and mysterious ; 
 
 Strangely echo in the crossway 
 
 Whispers low, wails sad and serious. 
 
 To the church the train moves on ; 
 
 Sitting on the wooden benches 
 Of the quire, their mournful chorus 
 
 Straight begin the' unhappy wenches. 
 
 Like a litany it sounds, 
 
 But the words are wild and shocking ; 
 They are poor and outcast spirits 
 
 At the heavenly portal knocking. 
 
 " Brides of Christ we used to be, 
 
 " But by love of earth were chained, 
 
 " And we render'd unto Caesar 
 
 " Things that unto God pertained. 
 
 " Charming is a uniform 
 
 " And mustachios smooth and shining; 
 " For the epaulettes of Caesar 
 
 " Were our hearts in secret pining.
 
 108 HEniE'S POEMS. 
 
 " Antlers to tl:e brow we gave 
 " By our shameless ill behaviour, 
 
 " \Vhich the crown of thorns once carried, 
 " We betray'd our heavenly Saviour. 
 
 " Jesus, mercy's very self, 
 
 " Softly wept o'er our transgression, 
 
 " And he said : ' Your souls be cursed 
 " ' For disgracing your profession !' 
 
 " Grave-sprung spectres of the night, 
 " We must wander in these dreary 
 " Walls, our folly to atone for, 
 " Miserere ! Miserere ! 
 
 " Ah, within the grave 'tis well! 
 
 " Though indeed 'tis far more cheery 
 " In the glowing realms of heaven, 
 
 " Miserere! Miserere! 
 
 " Jesus sweet, forgive at length 
 
 " Our transgression sad and weary ; 
 
 " Let us feel the warmth of heaven, 
 " Miserere ! Miserere 1" 
 
 Thus the troop of nuns sing on, 
 And a long-dead clerk is playing 
 
 On the organ. Hands of spirits 
 O'er the keys are wildly straying. 
 
 PALSGKAVINE JUTTA. 
 PT^HE Palsgravine Jutta, in bark so light, 
 
 I Is crossing the Ehine in the moonlight bright ; 
 The Countess speaks, while rows the maid : 
 '' Hast thou yon seven corpses survey 'd 
 " That, seeking to find us, 
 " Are floating behind us ? 
 " So sadly are floating the corpses! 
 
 " Seven knights were they, who their love confess'd, 
 " And tenderly sank on my heaving breast, 
 ' ' And swore to be faithful ; so, certain to make 
 - That they their oaths should never break, 
 " I seized and bound them, 
 " And straightway drown'd them, 
 4 So sadly are floating the corpses !"
 
 ROMANCEKO. 409 
 
 The Countess laughs, while the maiden rowr,, 
 Through the air her laughter scornfully goes ; 
 From the water the corpses rise high as the thigh, 
 And point with their fingers towards the sky, 
 
 In token of swearing, 
 
 With glassy eyes staring 
 So sadly are floating the corpses ! 
 
 THE MOORISH KING. 
 
 TO the Alpuxarres' exile 
 Went the youthful Moorish monarch .* 
 Silent and with heart full mournful 
 Heading the procession rode he. 
 
 And behind, on lofty palfreys 
 
 Or in golden litters riding, 
 
 Sat the women of his household ; 
 
 Swarthy maids on mules were sitting. 
 
 And a hundred trusty followers 
 Rode on noble Arab horses ; 
 Haughty steeds, and yet the riders 
 Carelessly bestrode the saddles. 
 
 Not a drum and not a cymbal, 
 Not a single song resounded : 
 Silver bells upon the mules, though, 
 Echoed sadly in the silence. 
 
 On the height, from whence the glances 
 
 Sweep across the Duero valley, 
 
 And Granada's battlements 
 
 For the last time rise before one, 
 
 There the mournful king dismounted, 
 And he gazed upon the city 
 Glittering in the light of evening, 
 As though deck'd with gold and purple. 
 
 But, great Allah ! what a sight 'twas ! 
 In the place of that dear crescent 
 Gleam'd the Spaniard's cross and standard 
 On the tow'rs of the Alhambra. 
 
 Ah ! deep sighs at this discov'ry 
 Broke from out the monarch's bosom ; 
 Suddenly the tears 'gan fulling 
 Like a torrent down his cheeks.
 
 410 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Sadly from her lofty palfrey 
 Downward gazed the monarch's mother, 
 Looking on her son's affliction ; 
 Proudly, bitterly, she chided : 
 
 " Boabdil el Chico," said she, 
 
 " Like a woman thou bewailest 
 
 " Yonder town, which thou neglectedst 
 
 " To defend with manly courage." 
 
 When the monarch's dearest mistress 
 Heard these words, so harsh and cruel, 
 Hastily she left her litter, 
 Her lord's neck embracing fondly. 
 
 " Boabdil el Chico," said she, 
 " Comfort take, my heart-belov'd one! 
 " From the deep abyss of sorrow 
 " Blossoms forth a beauteous laurel. 
 
 " Not alone the glorious victor, 
 " Not alone the proud triumphant 
 ** Fav'rite of the blind jade Fortune, 
 " But misfortune's bloody son, too, 
 
 " And the' heroic-fighting warrior, 
 " Who to destiny o'erpow'ring 
 " Has succumb' d, will live for ever 
 " In the memory of mortals." 
 
 u Mountain of the Moor's last sigh " 
 To this very moment call they 
 Yonder height from whence the monarch 
 For the last time saw Granada. 
 
 Time has now fulfill'd full sweetly 
 His beloved one's prophecy, 
 And the Moorish monarch's name is 
 Reverenced and held in honour. 
 
 Never will his glory vanish, 
 Never, till the last chord's broken 
 Of the last guitar remaining 
 In the land of Andalusia.
 
 ROMAXCERO. 411 
 
 GEOFFRY RUDEL AXD MELISANDA OP 
 TRIPOLI. 
 
 IN the Chateau Blay still see we 
 Tapestry the walls adorning, 
 Worked by Tripoli's fair countess' 
 Own fair hands, no labour scorning. 
 
 Her whole soul was woven in it, 
 
 And with loving tears and tender 
 Hallow'd is the silken picture, 
 
 Which the following scene doth render r 
 
 How the Countess saw Rudel 
 
 Dying on the strand of ocean, 
 And the' ideal in his features 
 
 Traced of all her heart's emotion. 
 
 For the first and last time also 
 
 Living saw Rudel and breathing 
 Her who in his every vision 
 
 Intertwining was and wreathing. 
 
 Over him the Countess bends her, 
 
 Lovingly his form she raises, 
 And his deadly-pale mouth kisses, 
 
 That so sweetly sang her praises. 
 
 Ah ! the kiss of welcome likewise 
 
 Was the kiss of separation, 
 And they drain'd the cup of wildest 
 
 Joy, and deepest desolation. 
 
 In the Chateau Blay at night-time 
 Comes a rushing, crackling, shaking 
 
 On the tapestry the figures 
 Suddenly to life are waking. 
 
 Troubadour and lady stretch their 
 
 Drowsy ghostlike members yonder, 
 And from out the wall advancing, 
 
 ITp and down the hall they wander. 
 
 Whispers fond and gentle toying, 
 Sad-sweet secrets, heart enthralling, 
 
 Posthumous gallant soft speeches, 
 Minnesingers' times recalling :
 
 412 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " Gsoffry ! At thy voice's music 
 
 " Warmth is in my dead heart glowing, 
 
 " And I feel once more a glimmer 
 
 " In the long-quench'd embers growing !" 
 
 " Melisanda ! I awaken 
 
 " Unto happiness and gladness, 
 " When I see thine eyes ; dead only 
 
 " Is my earthly pain and sadness." 
 
 " Geoffry ! Once we loved each other 
 " In our dreams ; now, cut asunder 
 
 " By the hand of death, still love we, 
 " Amor 'tis that wrought this wonder !" 
 
 " Melisanda ! What are dreams ? 
 
 " What is death ? Mere words to scare one 
 " Truth in love alone e'er find we, 
 
 ' And I love thee, ever fair one !" 
 
 " Geoffry ! how sweet our meetings 
 " In this moonlit chamber nightly, 
 
 " Now that in the day's bright sunbeams 
 " I no more shall wander lightly." 
 
 " Melisanda ! Foolish dear one ! 
 
 " Thou art light and sun, thou knowest ! 
 " Love and joys of May are budding, 
 
 " Spring is blooming, where thou goest !" 
 
 Thus those tender spectres wander 
 Up and down, and sweet caresses 
 
 Interchange, whilst peeps the moonlight 
 Through the window's arch'd recesses. 
 
 But at length the rays of morning 
 
 Scare away the fond illusion ; 
 To the tapestry retreat they 
 
 On the wall, in shy confusion. 
 
 THE POET FERDUSI. 
 I. 
 
 MEN of gold, and men of silver I 
 When a fool about a thoman 
 Talks, of silver he is speaking, 
 And he means a silver thoman.
 
 ROMANCERO. 413 
 
 In a prince's mouth, however, 
 Or a shah's, a thoman's always 
 Golden, for a shah will only 
 Give and take in golden thomans. 
 
 Worthy people have this notion, 
 And Ferdusi thought so also, 
 The composer of the famous 
 And immortal work Scliah Nameh. 
 
 This divine heroic poem 
 At the Shah's command composed ho, 
 Who for every verse a thoman 
 Promised to bestow upon him. 
 
 Seventeen times bloom'd the roses, 
 Seventeen times did they wither, 
 And the nightingales sang sweetly 
 And were silent seventeen times, 
 
 And meanwhile the bard was sitting 
 At the loom of thought, composing 
 Day and night, and nimbly weaving 
 His sweet numbers' giant-carpet, 
 
 Giant-carpet, where the poet 
 Interwove with skill his country's 
 Chronicles from times of fable, 
 Farsistan's primeval monarchs, 
 
 Fav'rite heroes of his nation, 
 Knightly deeds, adventures wondrous, 
 Magic beings, hateful demons, 
 Intertwined with flowers of fable. 
 
 All were blooming, all were living, 
 Bright with colours, glowing, burning, 
 With the heavenly rays illumin'd 
 From the sacred light of Iran, 
 
 From the godlike light primeval, 
 Whose last pure and fiery temple, 
 Spite of Koran and of Mufti, 
 In the poet's heart flam'd brightly. 
 
 When at last the work was finish'd, 
 Then the manuscript the poet 
 Sent to his illustrious patron, 
 E'en two hundred thousand versos.
 
 414 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 It was in the public bath room, 
 In the bathing place at Gasna, 
 That the Shah's black messengers 
 Found at last the bard Ferdusi. 
 
 Each a bag of money carried, 
 Which before the poet's feet he 
 Kneeling placed, to be the guerdon 
 To reward his minstrel labours. 
 
 Hastily the poet open'd 
 Both the bags, his eyes to gladden 
 With the gold so long kept from him,- 
 When he saw with consternation 
 
 That the bags contain'd within them 
 Silver only, silver thomans, 
 Some two hundred thousand of them ;- 
 Bitterly then laugh'd the poet. 
 
 Laughing bitterly, the money 
 He divided in three equal 
 Portions, and a third part gave he 
 To the two black messengers, 
 
 Each a third, to be his guerdon 
 For the message, and the third part 
 Gave he to the man who waited 
 On his bath, as drinking-money. 
 
 Then his pilgrim staff he straightway 
 Grasp'd, and left at once the city, 
 And before the gate the dust he 
 From his very shoes rejected. 
 
 " TTAD he been, like other men, 
 
 .1 I. " Heedless of his words once spoken, 
 " And his promise merely broken, 
 " I had not been angry then. 
 
 " Suffer this 9 I never will ! 
 " His deceit my heart amazes, 
 " Both his double-meaning phrases, 
 
 " And his silence, falser still.
 
 ROMANCERO. 415 
 
 " Ho was noble, fair to see, 
 
 " Proud his gestures were, and stately ; 
 
 " Other men excell'd he greatly, 
 " Every inch a king was he. 
 
 *' Firelike did his glance once meet me, 
 " As the sun in yonder heaven 
 " He, truth's haughty image even 
 
 " And he yet hath deign'd to cheat me." 
 
 3. 
 
 SHAH Mahomet full well has dined, 
 And his soul to be merry is fully inclined. 
 
 In the garden at twilight, on purple seat 
 
 He sits by the fountain. Its splashing sounds sweet 
 
 With looks respectful his servants stand : 
 His fav'rite Ansari's amongst the band. 
 
 From marble vases a fiery gush 
 
 Of luxuriant flowers appears to rush. 
 
 Like Odalisques with graceful arms 
 
 Stand fanning themselves the slender palms. 
 
 The cypresses stand with branches unfurl'd, 
 As if dreaming of heaven, forgetting the world. 
 
 But sudden to strains of the lute ere long 
 Is heard a gentle mysterious song. 
 
 The Shah sprang up, as if sorely perplex'd : 
 " Who wrote of this song the charming text?" 
 
 Ansari, from whom he sought to know it, 
 Replied : " 'Tis the work of Ferdusi the poet." 
 
 " Ferdusi ! exclaim'd the prince in dismay, 
 " Where is he ? How fares the poet, O say !" 
 
 " Ansari gave answer : " In poverty great 
 " He has lived full long in a mournful state 
 
 " At Thus, the native town of the bard, 
 " Where he in his garden works full hard." 
 
 Shah Mahomet paused, and presently said : 
 " Ansari, a thought has come in my head. 
 
 " To my stables make haste, and with hands unthrifty 
 " Take a hundred mules, and camels fifty.
 
 416 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " And lade them all with every treasure 
 
 " That fills the heart of a mortal with pleasure, 
 
 " With splendid articles, rich and rare, 
 " With costly dresses and furniture fair 
 
 " Of sandal wood and ivory white, 
 " With gold and silver tissues dight ; 
 
 " With precious-handled goblets and pots, 
 " And leopard-skins, all cover'd with spots, 
 
 " With carpets and shawls and the richest brocade 
 " That in my kingdom has ever been made. 
 
 " And don't forget to pack with the rest 
 
 " Some glittering arms, and of housings the bst, 
 
 "As well as drinks of every kind 
 
 " And eatables such as in pots we find, 
 
 " And almond cakes and sweetmeats Egyptian, 
 " And gingerbread of every description. 
 
 " And also add a dozen steeds 
 
 " As swift as arrows, of Arab breeds, 
 
 " And likewise a dozen slaves, black as coals, 
 " With bodies of steel, and sturdy souls. 
 
 " Ansari, when all these things thou hast got, 
 
 " Thou must start on thy journey, and linger not. 
 
 " Thou must take them all with my kind regard 
 " To Thus, to Ferdusi, the mighty bard."- 
 
 Ansari fulfill'd his lord's behest, 
 
 And loaded the camels and mules with the best 
 
 And costliest presents, the value of which 
 
 Was enough to make a whole province quite rich. 
 
 In propria persona he left at last 
 
 The palace, when some three days had past, 
 
 And with a general's banner red 
 In front of the caravan he sped. 
 
 At the end of a week to Thus came they ; 
 The town at the foot of the mountain lay. 
 
 The caravan the western gate 
 
 With shouts and noises entered straight.
 
 ROMAXCERO. 41? 
 
 The trumpets sounded, the loud drums beat, 
 And songs of triumph rang through the street. 
 
 " La Ilia II Allah I" with joyous shout 
 The camel drivers were calling out. 
 
 But through the East gate at the farther end 
 Of Thus, at that moment chanced to wend 
 
 The funeral train so full of gloom, 
 That the dead Ferdusi bore to his tomb. 
 
 VOYAGE BY NIGHT. 
 
 THE half-moon peer'd from the darksome clouds 
 With coyness, while rock'd the sea ; 
 And when in the bark our places we took, 
 Our number then was three. 
 
 There plash'd in the water the strokes of the oar 
 
 With sad monotony ; 
 White foaming billows came with a roar, 
 
 And sprinkled all of us three. 
 
 She stood in the bark, as pale, as slim, 
 
 As void of motion too, 
 As though she a marble statue were, 
 
 Diana s image true. 
 
 The moon disappear'd. The nightwind piped 
 
 With chilly blast on high; 
 When over our heads there suddenly rose 
 
 A wild and piercing cry. 
 
 'Twas the white and ghostlike seamew's voice, 
 
 And at that terrible cry, 
 Which fearfully rang like a warning call, 
 
 All three felt bike to die. 
 
 Am I in a fever ? A vision is this 
 
 Of nightly phantasy ? 
 Am I aped by a dream ? I'm dreaming a dream 
 
 Of wild buffoonery. 
 
 Buffoonery wild ! Methinks in my dream 
 
 That I a Saviour am ; 
 And faithfully bear the weight of the Cross, 
 
 As gentle as a lamb. 
 
 2
 
 418 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Poor beauty beside me is sore distress'd. 
 
 But soon I'll set her free 
 From sin and shame and sorrow and pain, 
 
 And earthly misery. 
 
 Poor beauty, be not thou terrified, 
 Though bitter the medicine be ; 
 
 Although my heart may break, I myself 
 Will mete out death to thee. 
 
 O folly wild and terrible dream ! 
 
 madness fearful to see ! 
 The night is yawning, the ocean yells 
 
 God, have mercy on me ! 
 
 Have mercy on me, merciful God ! 
 
 O merciful God ! Schaddey !* 
 A Something falls in the sea Alas ! 
 
 Schaddey ! Schaddey ! Adonay !f 
 
 The sun arose, we came to the land, 
 Sweet smiled the spring to the view ; 
 
 And when at length we left the bark, 
 Our number then was two. 
 
 THE PRELUDE. 
 
 THIS, then, is America ! 
 This indeed the new world is 1 
 Not the present, which already 
 Europeanized, is with'ring. 
 
 This indeed the new world is, 
 As by Christopher Columbus 
 From the ocean extricated ; 
 In its billowy freshness gleams it, 
 
 With its watery pearls still dripping, 
 Which are scatter'd, colour-sprinkling, 
 When the sunlight fair it kisses. 
 how healthy this new world is ! 
 
 'Tis no churchyard of romance, 
 'Tis no ancient Scherbenberg, 
 All made up of mouldy sy nabob, 
 And of petrified perukes. 
 
 * An ancient Hebrew word for Almighty. 
 t A Hebrew word for Lord.
 
 ROMANCERO. 419 
 
 From the healthy earth are shooting 
 Healthy trees, and none amongst them 
 Blase is, or has consumption 
 Eating up its spinal marrow. 
 
 On the branches are disporting 
 Mighty birds. Of chequer'd colours 
 Is their plumage. With their solemn 
 Lengthy beaks, and eyes encircled 
 
 With black marks, like spectacles, 
 They in silence gaze upon thee, 
 Till they shriek with sudden clamour 
 And like washerwomen chatter. 
 
 Yet I know not what they're saying, 
 Notwithstanding that I'm learned 
 In birds' tongues as Solomon, 
 Who a thousand wives rejoiced in, 
 
 And with birds' tongues was acquainted, 
 Not the modern ones alone, 
 But all dialects whatever, 
 Whether dead, or old, or worn-out. 
 
 New the land is, new the flowers ! 
 New the flowers and new the fragrance ! 
 Fragrance wild, and never heard of, 
 Piercing sweetly through my nostrils, 
 
 Teasing, prickling, full of passion 
 And my subtle sense of smelling 
 Racks itself with meditating : 
 " Where have I e'er smelt this odour ? 
 
 ' Was't in Regent Street, perchance, 
 ' In the sunny arms so yellow 
 ' Of that Javanese thin woman 
 ' Who was always eating flowers ? 
 
 ' Was it else at Rotterdam, 
 
 ' Near the Column of Erasmus, 
 
 ' In the wafer-shop notorious 
 
 ' With its most mysterious curtain ?** 
 
 Whilst I in this puzzled fashion 
 The new world was contemplating, 
 Seeming to instil into it 
 Still more bashfulncss, a monkey,
 
 420 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Who, affrighted, sought the bushes, 
 Cross'd himself at my appearance, 
 Crying with alarm : " A Spirit ! 
 " Yes, a Spirit from the old world !" 
 
 " Monkey, be not thus confounded ! 
 " I'm no spirit, I'm no spectre ; 
 " Life within my veins is boiling, 
 " I'm life's most true-hearted son. 
 
 " Yet by living many years 
 " With the dead, have I adopted 
 " Dead men's manners very likely, 
 " And peculiar ways of thinking. 
 
 " All the fairest years of life 
 " Spent I in Kyffhauser's cavern, 
 " In the Venusberg, and other 
 " Catacombs of the Romantic. 
 
 " Have no fear of me, good monkey ! 
 " Thee I like, for on thy hairless 
 " Tann'd and shaven hinder-quarters 
 " Thou dost bear my fav'rite colours."^- 
 
 Darling colours ! Black-red-golden ! 
 Yes, these monkey-buttock-colours, 
 Sorrowfully they remind me 
 Of the flag of Barbarossa. 
 
 VITZLIPUTZLI. 
 1. 
 
 ON his head he wore the laurel, 
 And upon his boots there glitter'd 
 Golden spurs, but notwithstanding 
 He was neither knight nor hero. 
 
 He was but a robber captain, 
 Who within the book of glory 
 Wrote with his own wicked hand 
 His own wicked name of Cortez. 
 
 Underneath Columbus' name he 
 Wrote his own, yes, close beneath it, 
 And the schoolboy at his lessons 
 Learns by heart both names together.
 
 ROMANCHRO. 42 1 
 
 After Christopher Columbus 
 He now names Fernando Cortez, 
 As the second greatest man 
 In the new world's proud Pantheon. 
 Heroes' fate's last stroke of malice ! 
 That our name should thus be coupled 
 With the name of a vile scoundrel 
 In the memory of mortals ! 
 
 Were't not better e'en to perish 
 All unknown, than draggle with it 
 Through eternity's long ages 
 Luch a name in comradeship ? 
 
 Master Christopher Columbus 
 Was a hero, and his temper, 
 That was pure as e'en the sunlight, 
 Was as gen'rous in addition. 
 
 Many people much have given, 
 But Columbus to the world 
 Hath a world entire imparted, 
 And 'tis call'd America. 
 
 He had not the power to free us 
 Prom our dreary earthly prison, 
 But he managed to enlarge it 
 And our heavy chain to lengthen. 
 
 Mortals thankfully revere him, 
 Being, not of Europe only, 
 But of Africa and Asia, 
 Equally quite sick and weary. 
 
 One alone, one hero only 
 Gave us more and gave us better 
 Than Columbus that one mean I 
 Who a God bestow'd upon us. 
 
 His old father's name was Amram, 
 And his mother's Jochebed, 
 And himself, his name was Moses, 
 And he is my greatest hero. 
 
 But, my Pcgasns, thou'rt loitering 
 Far too long with this Columbus; 
 Know thou that our flight to-day is 
 With the lesser roan, with Cortei.
 
 422 HEINE'S PDEMS. 
 
 So extend thy colour'd pinions, 
 Winged steed ! and carry me 
 To the new world's beauteous country 
 That they Mexico entitle. 
 
 Carry me to yonder castle, 
 Which the monarch Montezuma 
 Kindly offer'd to his Spanish 
 Guests, to be their habitation. 
 
 Not mere food and shelter only 
 
 In extravagant profusion 
 
 Gave the prince these foreign strollers, 
 
 Presents rich and precious also, 
 
 Valuable, wrought with cunning, 
 All of massive gold, and jewels, 
 Bear gay witness to the monarch's 
 Generosity and favour. 
 
 This uncivilised, unlearned, 
 Superstitious, blinded heathen 
 Still believed in faith and honour, 
 And the sacredness of guest -right. 
 
 He accepted a proposal 
 To be present at a banquet 
 That the Spaniards in their castle 
 Wish'd to give, to do him honour. 
 
 And with all his court attendants 
 Came the inoffensive monarch 
 Kindly to the Spanish quarters, 
 Where by trumpets he was greeted. 
 
 What they call'd the entertainment 
 Know I not. 'Twas very likely 
 " Spanish Truth !" of which the author's 
 Name was Don Fernando Cortez. 
 
 Cortez gave the signal straightway 
 They attack'd the peaceful monarch, 
 And they bound him and retain'd him 
 In the castle as a hostage. 
 
 But poor Montezuma died there, 
 And the dam was broken down 
 Which the bold adventurers 
 From the people's wrath protected.
 
 ilOMANCERO. 423 
 
 Terribly began the tempest : 
 Like a wild arid furious ocean 
 Raved and bluster'd ever nearer 
 The excited human billows. 
 
 Valiantly in truth the Spaniards 
 Drove the tempest back. But daily 
 Was the castle fresh blockaded, 
 And the conflict was exhausting. 
 
 When the King was dead, the convoys 
 Of provisions ceased entirely ; 
 In proportion as the rations 
 Shorter grew, each face grew longer. 
 
 With long faces on each other 
 Gazed the sons of Spain with sadness, 
 And they sigh'd, when they bethought them 
 Of their cosy Christian dwellings 
 
 In their cherish'd fatherland, 
 Where the pious bells were ringing, 
 And upon the hearth there bubbled 
 Peaceful olla podridas, 
 
 Thickly studded with garbanzos, 
 Under which, with waggish fragrance 
 Chuckling famously, were hidden 
 Those dear garlic sausages. 
 
 Then the leader held a council, 
 And upon retreat decided ; 
 On the following morn at daybreak 
 Was the force to leave the city. 
 
 Easy 'twas for clever Cortez 
 Cunningly to gain an entrance, 
 But retreat to terra flrma 
 Offer'd fatal obstacles. 
 
 Mexico, the island city, 
 
 In a mighty lake is founded, 
 
 In the middle, wave-surrounded : 
 
 E'en a haughty water fortress, 
 
 With the continent connected 
 But by ships and rafts and bridges, 
 Which repose on piles gigantic, 
 Little islands forming forts.
 
 424 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 'Twas before the sun had risen 
 That their march began the Spaniards 
 Not a single drum was beaten, 
 Not a trumpeter was blowing. 
 
 'Twas their object not to waken 
 From their quiet sleep their hosts 
 (For a hundred thousand Indians 
 Were encamp'd in Mexico). 
 
 Yet without his host the Spaniard 
 Reckon'd, when his plans he settled; 
 For the Mexicans had risen 
 Earlier still to-day than he had. 
 
 On the rafts and on the bridges, 
 On the forts they all were waiting. 
 That they to their guests might offer 
 Then and there the parting cup. 
 
 On the rafts and forts and bridges 
 Ha ! a frantic banquet follow'd ; 
 In red torrents stream'd the blood, 
 And the bold carousers struggled, 
 
 Struggled, body press'd to body, 
 And we see on many naked 
 Indian breasts the arabesque 
 Of the Spanish arms imprinted. 
 
 'Twas a throttling and a choking 
 And a butchery that slowly, 
 Sadly slowly, roll'd still onward 
 Over rafts and forts and bridges. 
 
 Whilst the Indians sang and bellow 'd, 
 Silently the Spaniards struggled, 
 Step by step with toil and labour 
 For their flight a footing gaining. 
 
 Fighting thus in narrow passes 
 Small to-day the' advantage lying 
 In old Europe's strategy, 
 Or her cannons, armour, horses. 
 
 Many Spaniards in addition 
 With the gold were heavy laden, 
 Lately captured or extorted 
 Ah ! that yellow load of sin
 
 KOilANCERO. 425 
 
 Lamed and hemm'd them in the conflict, 
 And the devilish metal proved 
 Not to the poor spirit only 
 Ruinous, but to the body. 
 
 And meanwhile the lake around them 
 With canoes and barks was cover'd ; 
 Archers in them sat. all shooting 
 At the rafts and forts and bridges. 
 
 True they hit in the confusion 
 Many of their Indian brethren, 
 But they also hit full many 
 Excellent and brave hidalgos. 
 
 On the third bridge fell at last 
 Poor young Gaston, who was bearing 
 On that day the flag whereon 
 Was the Holy Virgin's image. 
 
 E'en this image' self was struck 
 By the missiles of the Indians ; 
 Six such missiles were left sticking 
 In its very heart, bright arrows, 
 
 Like those swords of golden colour 
 Which transfix the sorrowing bosom 
 Of the Mater Dolorosa 
 In Good Friday's sad procession. 
 
 Gaston, when he died, made over 
 His proud banner to Gonsalvo, 
 Who soon afterwards was stricken 
 E'en to death, and died. Then Cortez 
 
 Seized himself the precious banner, 
 He, the leader, and he bore it 
 On his steed till tow'rd the evening, 
 When the fight at length was over. 
 
 On that day a hundred Spaniards 
 Fell, and sixty in addition ; 
 Eighty more alive were taken 
 By the Indians' cruel hands. 
 
 Many of them sorely wounded, 
 Who ere long their breath surrendor'd 
 And a dozen horses, too, were 
 Partly kill'd and partly captured.
 
 426 HEINE'S POEMS 
 
 Cortez and his army only 
 Just at evening gain'd the shelter 
 Of the shore, a seacoast planted 
 Niggardly with weeping willows. 
 
 HEN the battle day is over, 
 Comes the frantic night of triumph 
 So in Mexico a hundred 
 Thousand lamps of joy are flaring ; 
 
 Hundred thousand lamps of joy, with 
 Woodpine torches, pitch-ring fires, 
 Throw a light as clear as daylight 
 Over palaces and temples, 
 
 And guildhouses, likewise over 
 Vitzliputzli's splendid temple, 
 Idol-fortress built of red brick, 
 Strangely like the old Egyptian, 
 
 Babylonian, and Assyrian 
 Monster buildings so colossal, 
 As we see them in the pictures 
 Of the English Henry Martin.* 
 
 Yes, it is the same broad staircase, 
 So exceeding broad, that on it 
 Many thousand Mexicans 
 Up and down are walking freely, 
 
 Whilst upon the steps are lying 
 Mighty troops of savage warriors, 
 Banqueting in joyous fashion, 
 Flush'd with triumph and with palm-wino. 
 
 This great staircase leadeth upwards 
 Like a zigzag to the platform, 
 By a balustrade surrounded 
 At the summit of the temple. 
 
 There, upon his altar-throne, 
 Sits the mighty Vitzliputzli, 
 Mexico's bloodthirsty wargod. 
 He is but an evil monster, 
 
 * Doubtless John Martin is here meant.
 
 EOMANCERO. 427 
 
 But so droll is his exterior, 
 Full of carvings, and so childish, 
 That despite our inward horror 
 It must needs excite our laughter. 
 
 His appearance altogether 
 Brought to mind a combination 
 Of the " Dance of Death " at Basle, 
 And the Mannekin at Brussels. 
 
 On the god's left side his priests are 
 Station'd, on his right the people ; 
 Ornaments of colour'd feathers 
 Are to-day the former wearing. 
 
 On the altar-stairs of marble 
 Squats a man a hundred years old ; 
 On his chin and skull no hair is, 
 And he wears a scarlet waistcoat. 
 
 He's the priest of sacrifices, 
 And his bloody knife he's whetting ; 
 As he whets, he grins, and.ofttimes 
 Leers upon the god above him. 
 
 Vitzliputzli seems the glances 
 Of his servant to appreciate, 
 And he twitches every eyelash, 
 And his lips at times he twitches. 
 
 On the altar steps squat also 
 The musicians of the temple, 
 Kettle-drummers, cowhorn blowers- 
 Loud the clatter, loud the tooting ! 
 
 Loud the clatter, loud the tooting ! 
 And the Mexican Te Deum 
 Eises up in noisy chorus, 
 As if many cats were mewing 
 
 As if many cats were mewing, 
 But of that enlarged description 
 Which are " tiger-cats " entitled, 
 And, instead of mice, eat people ! 
 
 When the nightwind carries with it 
 These loud noises to the seashore, 
 The poor Spaniards there encamping 
 Feel sensations far from pleasant.
 
 Sadly 'neath the weeping willows 
 Are the Spaniards still remaining, 
 Gazing tow'rd the distant city 
 Which within the dark sea water 
 
 Mirrors back, in sheer derision, 
 All the flames of former pleasure- 
 There they stand, as in the pit 
 Of a vast gigantic playhouse, 
 
 Yitzliputzli's temple's radiant 
 Platform serving as the stage 
 Where they act a tragic myst'ry 
 To commemorate their triumph. 
 
 " Human sacrifice " the play is, 
 Old, full old, its plot, its fable ; 
 But the piece is not so fearful 
 In the Christian treatment of it. 
 
 For into the blood is red wine, 
 And into the actual body 
 Is a thin and harmless wafer 
 Transubstantiated truly. 
 
 Tlongst these savages at present 
 Was the joke in downright earnest 
 Taken up ; they fed on flesh, 
 And the blood was human blood. 
 
 This time 'twas indeed the pure blood 
 Of old Christians, which had never 
 Never mingled with the baser 
 Blood of Jews or of Moriscos. 
 
 O be joyful, Vitzliputzli ! 
 For to-day 'tis Spanish blood, 
 And thou mayst refresh thy nostrils 
 With its warm scent greedily. 
 
 Eighty Spaniards will be slaughter'd 
 On this day to do thee honour 
 Proud repast to grace the table 
 Of thy priests, who flesh delight in. 
 
 For the priest is but a mortal, 
 And poor man, unhappy glutton, 
 Cannot like the gods, live only 
 On sweet smells and savoury odours.
 
 EOMANCERO. 429 
 
 Hark ! the death-drum now is beating, 
 And the evil cowhorn screeches ! 
 They proclaim the' approaching advent 
 Of the victims' sad procession. 
 
 Eighty Spaniards, vilely naked, 
 "With their hands securely fasten'd 
 To their backs, are harshly driven 
 Up the temple's lofty staircase. 
 
 And to Vitzliputzli's image 
 They must bow the knee right humbly, 
 And must dance the wildest dances, 
 Forcibly coustrain'd by tortures, 
 
 All so terrible and fearful, 
 That their maddcu'd screams of anguish 
 Overpow'r the whole collective 
 Cannibals' wild charivari. 
 
 Poor spectators by the ocean ! 
 Cortez and his warlike comrades 
 But too plainly could distinguish 
 All their friends' loud cries of torment. 
 
 On the stage, too clearly lighted, 
 They could see, alas! too plainly, 
 Every figure, every gesture, 
 See the knife and see the blood. 
 
 Then from off their heads their helmets 
 Silently they took, and kneeling, 
 Chaunted they the death-psalm sadly, 
 And they sang the De Profundis. 
 
 'Mongst the number of the victims 
 Was young Raimond de Mendoza, 
 Offspring of the lovely abbess, 
 Cortez' first and youthful love. 
 
 When he on the stripling's bosom 
 Saw the well-remember'd locket 
 Which enclosed his mother's portrait, 
 Bitter, bitter tears wept Cortez 
 
 But from off his eyes he wiped them 
 With his buffalo's hard gauntlet 
 Deeply sigh'd, and sang in chorus 
 With the others : Miserere !
 
 430 
 
 HEINE S POE1IS. 
 
 NOW the stars are glimm'ring paler, 
 And the morning mists are rising 
 
 From the ocean-flood, like spirits 
 
 Dragging their white shrouds behind them. 
 
 Feasts and lights are all extinguish'd 
 
 In the temple of the idol, 
 
 Where, upon the blood-soak'd pavement, 
 
 Priest and laity lie snoring. 
 
 None are waking save Eed Jacket. 
 
 By the last lamp's flickering glimmer, 
 
 Sickly grinning, grimly jesting, 
 
 Thus the priest his god addresses : 
 
 " Vitzliputzli, Putzlivitzli ! 
 
 " Darling god, my Vitzliputzli ! 
 
 " Thou to-day hast had amusement, 
 
 " And has smelt a fragrant odour ! 
 
 " Spanish blood to-day we offer'd, 
 
 ' ' how savourily steam'd it ! 
 And thy fine and daiuty nostrils 
 Suck'd the scent in, full of rapture ! 
 We'll to-morrow slay the horses, 
 Neighing noble monsters are they, 
 Offspring of the tempest spirits' 
 Amorous toying with the seacow. 
 If thou'lt gracious be, I'll slaughter 
 In thine honour my two grandsons, 
 Pretty children, sweet their blood is, 
 My old age's only pleasure. 
 But indeed thou must be gracious, 
 And must grant us further triumphs, 
 Let us conquer, darling godhead, 
 Putzlivitzli, Vitzliputzli ! 
 All our enemies destroy thou, 
 All these strangers who from distant 
 And still undiscover'd countries 
 Hither came across the ocean 
 Wherefore did they leave their dwellings ? 
 Was it crime or hunger drove them? 
 ' Stop at home and live in quiet ' 
 Is i sensible old proverb.
 
 R03IANCERO. 431 
 
 " What is their desire ? Our money 
 " Stick they in their greedy pockets, 
 " And they wish us to be happy 
 " So they tell us, in the heavens ! 
 
 " We at first believed them fully 
 
 tt Beings of a higher order, 
 
 " Children of the Sun, immortal, 
 
 " Arm'd with lightning and with thunder. 
 
 " But they're only men, as mortal 
 " As ourselves ; my knife to-night has 
 " Proved beyond all doubt and question 
 " Their extreme mortality. 
 
 " They are mortal, and no fairer 
 " Than ourselves, and many of them 
 " Are as ugly as the monkeys, 
 " And their faces, like the latter, 
 
 " Are all hairy, and 'tis whisper'd 
 " Many of them carry hidden 
 " In their breeches monkeys' tails, for 
 " Those not monkeys need no breeches. 
 
 " Morally they're also ugly 
 " And of piety know nothing, 
 
 ' And 'tis said that they're accustom'd 
 
 ' Their own deities to swallow ! 
 
 ' destroy this vile abandon'd 
 
 ' Wicked brood, these god-devourers 
 
 ' Vitzliputzli, Putzlivitzli, 
 
 ' Let us conquer, Vitzliputzli !" 
 
 Thus the priest address'd the god, 
 And the god's reply resounded 
 Sighing, rattling, like the nightwind 
 Toying with the ocean sedges : 
 
 " Red-coat, red-coat, bloody slayer! 
 
 " Thou hast slaughter'd many thousands, 
 
 " Plunge thy sacrificial knife now 
 
 " In thine own old worn-out body ! 
 
 " From thy body, thus slit open, 
 " Will thy spirit make its exit, 
 " Over roots and over pebbles 
 " Tripping to the green frog's pond.
 
 432 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " There thou'lt find my aunt, the rat-queen, 
 " Squatting, and she'll thus address thee : 
 " ' So good morning, naked spirit ! 
 " ' Pray how fares it with my nephew ? 
 
 " ' Is he Vitzliputzlied nicely 
 " ' In the gold-light, sweet as honey ? 
 " ' Does good fortune from his forehead 
 " ' Brush away all flies and sorrows ? 
 
 " 'Or does Katzlagara scratch him, 
 " ' Hated goddess of all evil, 
 " ' With her black paws made of iron, 
 " ' Which are steep'd in adder's poison ?' 
 
 " Naked spirit, give this answer : 
 " ' Vitzliputzli sends thee greeting, 
 " 'And a pestilence he wishes 
 " ' In thy belly, thou accurst one ! 
 
 " ' Thou didst urge him to the conflict, 
 " ' And thy counsel was destruction ; 
 " ' Soon will be fulfill'd the evil 
 u ' Old and mournful prophecy 
 
 " ' Of the kingdom's subjugation 
 " ' By the men so fiercely bearded, 
 " ' Who on wooden birds all flying 
 " ' From the Eastern land come hither. 
 
 " ' There's an ancient proverb also 
 " ' Woman's will is God's will likewise 
 " ' And the God's will is redoubled 
 " ' When the woman is his mother. 
 
 " ' She it is that wakes my anger, 
 
 " ' She, the haughty queen of heaven, 
 
 " ' She, a pure and spotless virgin, 
 
 " ' Working charms and versed in magio. 
 
 " ' She protects the Spanish people, 
 " ' And we all at length must perish, 
 " ' I, the poorest of the godheads, 
 " ' And my poor, dear Mexico.' 
 
 " When thou hast fulfill'd thy message, 
 " Red-coat, let thy naked spirit 
 " In a sandhole creep ; sleep soundly 
 " Out of sight of all my misery.
 
 ROMANCERO. 433 
 
 " This proud temple will be shatter'd, 
 *' I myself shall in its ruins 
 " Disappear, mere dust and rubbish, 
 " No one e'er again will see me. 
 
 " Yet I shall not die ; we godheads 
 " Grow as old as do the parrots, 
 " And we cast our skins, and like them 
 " Only change at times our feathers. 
 
 " To my foemen's native country 
 " Which they give the name of Europe 
 " I shall fly away, beginning 
 " There a really new career. 
 
 " I'll turn devil, and the god 
 
 " Then shall be a God-be-with-us ; 
 
 " As my foemen's evil spirit 
 
 " 1 can work as best may suit me. 
 
 " There my enemies I'll trouble, 
 
 " And alarm them all with phantoms ; 
 
 " As a foretaste of hell's torments, 
 
 " Brimstone they shall smell in plenty. 
 
 " Both their wise men and their doltarde 
 " I'll allure with my seductions ; 
 " And their virtue will I tickle 
 " Till it laughs like any strumpet. 
 
 " Yes, I'll turn into a devil, 
 " And salute as my dear comrades 
 " Satanas and Belial with him, 
 " Astaroth and Beelzebub. 
 
 " Thee I'U also greet, Lilis, 
 
 " Sin's own mother, smooth-skinn'd serpent 
 
 " Teach me all thy dreadful secrets, 
 
 " And the charming art of lying ! 
 
 " My beloved Mexico, 
 *' I no longer can preserve thee, 
 " But I'll fearfully avenge thct:, 
 " My beloved Mexico ! " 
 
 a v
 
 4:34 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 BOOK II. LAMENTATIONS. 
 
 GOOD fortune quite a fickle miss is, 
 And in one place will never stay ; 
 
 The hair from off thy face with kisses 
 She strokes, and then she flies away. 
 
 Misfortune to her heart, however, 
 To clasp thee tightly, ne'er omits ; 
 
 She says she's in a hurry never, 
 Sits down beside thy bed and knits. 
 
 WOOD SOLITUDE. 
 
 IN former days, in my life's young morning, 
 I wore a garland my brow adorning ; 
 How wondrously glisten'd then every flower ! 
 The garland was fill'd with a magical power. 
 
 While all in the beautiful garland took pleasure, 
 Its wearer they hated beyond all measure ; 
 I fled from the envy of mortals rude, 
 I fled to the wood's green solitude. 
 
 To the wood ! to the wood ! A life of enjoyment 
 With spirits and beasts was my sole employment. 
 The fairies and stags, with their antlers tall, 
 Without any fear approach'd me all. 
 
 They all approach'd me without any terror, 
 In this they knew they committed no error ; 
 That I was no huntsman, the doe well knew, 
 That I was no babbler, the fairies saw too. 
 
 None but fools ever boast of the fays' approbation, 
 But how the remaining gentry of station 
 That lived in the forest treated me well, 
 I've not the slightest objection to tell. 
 
 How round me hover'd the elfin rabble, 
 That airy race, with their charming gabble ! 
 'Tis dangerous truly their gaze to meet, 
 The bliss it imparts is so deadly, though sweet
 
 ROMANCERO. 435 
 
 With May dance and May games amused they me highly, 
 And tales of the court narrated they slily, 
 For instance, the scandalous chronicles e'en 
 Of lovely Titania, the faery queen. 
 
 If I sat by the brook, with leaping and springing 
 Rose out of the flood, their tresses wringing, 
 With long silver veils and fluttering hair, 
 The water-bacchantes, the nixes fair ! 
 
 They play'd on the lute and the fiddle so sweetly, 
 And danced the nixes' famed dances discreetly ; 
 The tunes that they sang, the antics they play'd, 
 Of rollicking boisterous madness seem'd made. 
 And yet at times was much less alarming 
 The noise that they made; these elfins charming 
 Before my feet lay quietly, 
 Their heads reclining on my knee. 
 
 Some foreign romances they trill'd, for example 
 I'll name the " three oranges " song as a sample ; 
 A hymn of praise they sang also with grace 
 On me and my noble human face. 
 
 They oft interrupted their songs with loud laughter, 
 Many critical matters inquiring after. 
 For instance : " On what particular plan 
 " Did God determine on fashioning man? 
 
 " Is each individual's soul altogether 
 
 " Immortal ? These souls, are they made all of leather, 
 
 " Or stiff linen only ? How comes it to pass 
 
 " That almost every man is an ass ?" 
 
 The answers I gave, I'll conceal for the present, 
 And yet my immortal soul (which is pleasant) 
 Was not in the slightest degree ever hurt 
 By the prattling talk of a water-sprite pert. 
 
 While sportive and roguish are elfins and nixes, 
 Not so the truehearted earth-spirits and pixies. 
 Which love to help man. I prefer most of all 
 The race that they dwarfs or luannikins cull. 
 
 They all wear a long and swelling red doublet, 
 Their face is noble, though care seems to trouble it ; 
 [ let them not see that I hud d scried 
 Why they their feet so carefully hide.
 
 436 HEINE'S POEJIS. 
 
 They all have ducks' feet, but object much to show it; 
 And fancy that nobody else can know it ; 
 Their sorrow's so deep and hard to bear, 
 That to teaze them about it I never could dare. 
 
 Alas ! we all, like those dwarfs full of feeling, 
 We all have something that needs concealing ; 
 No Christians, we fancy, have ever descried 
 Where we our ducks' feet so carefully hide. 
 
 Salamanders for me had never attractions, 
 
 I learnt very little respecting their actions 
 
 From other wood spirits. They pass'd me by night 
 
 Like fleeting shadows, mysteriously light. 
 
 They are thin as a spindle, and long as a baby, 
 With breeches and waistcoats tight-fitting as may be 
 Of scarlet colours, embroider 'd with gold ; 
 Their faces are sickly and yellow and old. 
 
 A golden crown, with rubies all over, 
 The head of each of their number doth cover ; 
 The whole of these vain conceited elves 
 Quite absolute monarchs consider themselves. 
 
 That they are not burnt in the fire is truly 
 A great piece of art, I acknowledge it duly ; 
 And yet the uninflammable wight 
 Is far from being a true fire-sprite. 
 
 The sharpest woodspirits are mandrakes however ; 
 Short legs have these bearded mannikins clever ; 
 They have old men's faces, the length of a span, 
 But whence they proceed, is a secret to man. 
 
 When head over heels in the moonlight they tumble. 
 They remind one of roots in their nature quite humble ; 
 But as my welfare they always have sought, 
 Their origin really to me matters nought. 
 
 En small acts of witchcraft they gave me instructions, 
 
 How to exorcise flames, ply the birds with seductions, 
 
 And also to pluck on Midsummer night 
 
 The root that makes one invisible quite. [astraddle 
 
 They taught me the stars and strange signs how 
 
 To ride on the winds without any saddle, 
 
 And Eunic sentences, able to call 
 
 The dead from out of their silent graves all.
 
 KOMANCERO. 437 
 
 They also taught me the whistle mysterious 
 That serves to deceive the woodpecker serious, 
 And makes him give us the spurge, to show 
 Where secret treasures are hidden below. 
 
 The words that 'tis needful for people to mutter 
 When digging for treasure, they taught me to utter ; 
 But all in vain, for I ne'er got by heart 
 The treasure-digger's wonderful art. 
 
 For money in fact I then cared not a tittle, 
 My wants were soon satisfied, being but little ; 
 I possess'd many castles in Spain's fair land, 
 The income from which came duly to hand. 
 
 O charming time, when the heaven's high arches 
 With fiddles were hung, when elfin marches 
 And nixes' dances and cobolds' glad play 
 My story-drunk heart enchanted all day ! 
 
 charming time, when into auspicious 
 Triumphal arches the foliage delicious 
 Appear'd to be twining ! I wander'd around, 
 
 My brow, like a victor's, with laurel- wreath crown 'd. 
 
 That charming time has utterly vanish'd, 
 And all those pleasures for ever are banish 'd ; 
 And, ah ! they have stolen the garland so fail- 
 That I was then wont on my head to wear. 
 
 The garland is gone that my locks shaded over, 
 But how it happen'd, I ne'er could discover ; 
 Yet since that beauteous garland they stole, 
 My spirit has seem'd deprived of its soul. 
 
 The ghosts of the world, with looks dimly staring, 
 Gaze on me, and heaven seems barren and glaring, 
 A churchyard blue, its deities gone ; 
 
 1 roam in the forest, deprcss'd and alone. 
 
 From the forest have vanish'd the elves with their graces 
 Horns hear I, and yelping of dogs in their places ; 
 While hid in the thicket, the trembling roe 
 Is licking her wounds with tearful woe. Ibiclin" 
 
 And where are the mandrakes? Methinks they arc 
 In clefts of the rocks, as a safe place of hiding : 
 My dear little friends, I'm returning again, 
 But reft of my garland and joy I remain.
 
 438 HEINE'S POKVIS. 
 
 where is the fairy, with hair long and golden, 
 First beauty to whom I was ever beholden ? 
 The oak-tree wherein her lifetime she pass'd 
 Stands mournfully stripp'd, and bared by the blast. 
 
 The waves of the streamlet run sad as the Styx's ; 
 
 Beside its lone banks sits one of the nixes, 
 
 As pale and as mute as a figure of stone, 
 
 While marks of deep grief o'er each feature are thrown 
 
 1 softly approach'd her with heartfelt compassion, 
 She arose and gazed on me in singular fashion, 
 And then she fled with a terrified mien, 
 
 As if she some fearful spectre had seen. 
 
 SPANISH LYEICS. 
 
 'rilWAS on Hubert's day the year was 
 JL Thirteen hundred, three and eighty 
 That the king a banquet gave us 
 In the castle at Segovia. 
 
 These state banquets just the same are 
 Everywhere, and at the tables 
 Of all princes sov'reign tedium 
 Yawns with uncontested vigour. 
 
 Everywhere the same silk rabble, 
 Gaily dress'd, and proudly nodding, 
 Like a bed of gorgeous tulips ; 
 Different only are the sauces. 
 
 Whispers all the time and buzzing 
 Lull the senses like the poppy, 
 Till the sound of trumpets wakes us 
 From our state of chewing deafness. 
 
 Near me, by good luck, was sitting 
 Don Diego Albuquerque, 
 From whose lips the conversation 
 Flow'd in one unbroken torrent. 
 
 He with wondrous skill related 
 Bloody stories of the palace, 
 Of the times of old Don Pedro, 
 Whom they call'd the cruel monarch.
 
 ROMANCERO. 439 
 
 When I ask'd him why Don Pedro 
 Caused his brother Don Fredrego 
 To be secretly beheaded, 
 With a sigh my neighbour answer'd ; 
 
 Ah, Seiior ! the tales believe not 
 Jingled on their vile guitars by 
 Balladsingers and muledrivers 
 In posadas, beershops, taverns. 
 
 And believe not what they chatter 
 Of the love of Don Fredrego 
 And Don Pedro's wife so beauteous, 
 Donna Blanca of Bourbon. 
 
 'Twas not to the husband's jealous 
 Feelings, but to his low envy 
 That as victim fell Fredrego, 
 Chief of Calatrava's order. 
 
 For the crime Don Pedro never 
 Would forgive him, was his glory, 
 Glory such as Donna Fama 
 Loves with trumpet-tongue to herald 
 
 Never could Don Pedro pardon 
 His magnanimous high spirit, 
 Or the beauty of his person, 
 Which was but his spirit's image. 
 
 Still within my memory blossoms 
 That slim graceful hero-flower ; 
 Ne'er shall I forget those lovely 
 Dream-like, soft and youthful features. 
 
 They were just of that description 
 That the fairies take delight in, 
 And a fable-seeming secret 
 Spoke from all those features plainly. 
 
 Blue his eyes were, their enamel 
 Being dazzling as a jewel, 
 But a jewel's staring hardness 
 Seem'd reflected in them likewise. 
 
 Black his hair was in its colour, 
 Bluish black, and strangely glistening, 
 And in fair luxuriant tresses 
 Fulling down upon his shoulders.
 
 440 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 In the charming town of Coimhra 
 Which he from the Moors had takeu, 
 For the last time I beheld him, 
 In this world, unhappy prince! 
 
 He was coming from Alcanzor, 
 Through the narrow streets fast riding 
 Many a fair young Moorish maiden 
 Eyed him from her latticed window. 
 
 O'er his head his helm-plume floated 
 Gallantly, and yet his mantle's 
 Rigid Calatrava cross 
 Scared away all loving fancies. 
 
 By his side, and gaily wagging 
 With his tail, his favourite Allan 
 Sprang, a beast of proud descent, 
 And whose home was the Sierra. 
 
 He, despite his size gigantic, 
 Was as nimble as a reindeer ; 
 Noble was his head to look at, 
 Though the fox's it resembled. 
 
 Snow-white and like silk in softness, 
 Down his back his long hair floated, 
 And with rubies bright incrusted 
 Was his broad and golden collar. 
 
 It was said this collar hid the 
 Talisman fidelity ; 
 Never did the faithful creature 
 Leave the side of his dear master. 
 
 O that fierce fidelity ! 
 It excites my startled feelings, 
 When I think how 'twas made public 
 Here, before our frighten'cl presence. 
 
 O that day so full of horror ! 
 Here, within this hall, it happen 'd, 
 And as I to-day am sitting, 
 At the monarch's table sat I. 
 
 A.t the high end of the table, 
 Where to-day young Don Henrico 
 Gaily tipples with the flower 
 Of Castilian chivalry,
 
 ROMANCERO. 441 
 
 On that day there sat Don Pedro 
 Darkly silent, and beside him, 
 Proudly radiant as a goddess, 
 Sat Maria de Padilla. 
 
 At the table's lower end, where 
 Here to-day we see the lady 
 With the linen frill capacious, 
 Like a white plate in appearance. 
 
 Whilst her yellow face is gilded 
 With a smile of sour complexion, 
 Like the citron that is lying 
 On the plate already mention'd, 
 
 At the table's lower end here 
 Was a place remaining empty ; 
 Some great guest of lofty station 
 Seem'd the golden seat to wait for. 
 
 Don Fredrego was the guest, for 
 Whom the golden seat was destined ; 
 Yet he came not, ah ! now know we 
 But too well why thus he tarried. 
 
 Ah ! that selfsame hour the wicked 
 Deed of blood was consummated, 
 And the innocent young hero 
 Suddenly attack'd and basely 
 
 By Don Pedro's myrmidons, 
 Tightly bound, and quickly hurried 
 To a dreary castle dungeon 
 Lighted only by some torches. 
 
 Executioners stood ready. 
 And their bloody chief was with them, 
 Who, upon his axe while leaning, 
 Thus with sadden'd look addrcss'd him : 
 
 " Now, Grand Master of San Jago, 
 " Now must thou for death prepare thee ; 
 " Just one quarter of an hour 
 " Still is left for thce to pray in." 
 
 Don Fredrego then knelt humbly, 
 And he pray d with pious calmness, 
 And then said : " I now have finish "d," 
 And received the stroke of death.
 
 442 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 In the very selfsame moment 
 That the head roll'd on the pavement, 
 Faithful Allan, who had follow'd 
 All unseen, sprang quickly to it. 
 
 With his teeth the head straight seized he 
 By the long luxuriant tresses, 
 And with this much valued booty 
 Shot away with speed of magic. 
 
 Agonizing shouts resounded 
 Everywhere as on he hasten'd, 
 Through the passages and chambers, 
 Sometimes upstairs, sometimes downstairs. 
 
 Since the banquet of Belshazzar 
 
 Never company at table 
 
 Was so utterly confounded 
 
 As was ours that fill'd this hall then, 
 
 When the monstrous creature leapt in, 
 With the head of Don Fredrego, 
 Which he with his teeth was dragging 
 By the dripping bloody tresses. 
 
 On the seat which, being destined 
 For his master, still was empty, 
 Sprang the dog and like a plaintiff 
 Held the head before our faces. 
 
 Ah ! it was the well-remember'd 
 Hero's features, but still paler 
 And more solemn now when dead, 
 And ail-fearfully encircled 
 
 By the locks in black luxuriance, 
 Which stood up as did the savage 
 Serpent-headdress of Medusa, 
 Turning into stone through terror. 
 
 Yes, turn'd into stone felt all then, 
 Wildly stared we on each other, 
 And each tongue was mute and palsied 
 Both by etiquette and horror. 
 
 But Maria de Padilla 
 Broke the universal silence ; 
 Wringing hands, and sobbing loudly, 
 She forebodingly lamented :
 
 ROMANCERO. 443 
 
 " Now it will be said 'twas I that 
 " Brought about this cruel murder ; 
 " Eancour will assail my children, 
 " My poor innocent young children! " 
 
 Don Diego interrupted 
 
 At this place his tale, observing 
 
 That the company had risen, 
 
 And the court the hall was leaving. 
 
 Kind and courteous in his manners, 
 Then the knight became my escort, 
 And we rambled on together 
 Through the ancient Gothic castle. 
 
 In the crossway which conducted 
 To the kennels of the monarch, 
 Which proclaimed themselves already 
 By far growling sounds and yelpings, 
 
 There I noticed, built up strongly 
 In the wall, and on the outside 
 Firmly fasten 'd by strong iron, 
 Like a cage, a narrow cell. 
 
 And inside it sat two human 
 Figures, two young boys appearing ; 
 By the legs securely fetter'd, 
 On the dirty straw they squatted. 
 
 Scarcely twelve years old the one seem'd, 
 
 Scarcely older seem'd the other ; 
 
 Fair and noble were their faces, 
 
 But through sickness thin and sallow. 
 
 They were clothed in rags, half naked, 
 And their wither 'd bodies offer'd 
 Plainest signs of gross ill-treatment; 
 Both with fever shook and trembled. 
 
 From the depth of their deep mis'ry 
 They upon me turn'd their glances ; 
 White and spirit-like their eyes were, 
 And I felt all terror-stricken. 
 
 " Who, then, are these wretched objects ?" 
 I exclaim'd, with hasty action 
 Don Diego's hand ti;lit grasping. 
 Which was trembling as I touch d it.
 
 444 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Don Diego seem'd embarrass'd, 
 Look'd if any one was listening. 
 Deeply sigh'cl, and said, assuming 
 A mere worldling's jaunty accents : 
 
 These are children of a monarch, 
 Early orphan'd, and their father 
 Was Don Pedro, and their mother 
 Was Maria de Padilla. 
 
 After the great fight at Narvas, 
 Where Henrico Transtamara 
 Freed his brother, this Don Pedro, 
 From his crown's oppressive burden, 
 
 And from that still greater burden 
 Which by men is Life entitled, 
 Don Henrico's victor-kindness 
 Also reach'd his brother's children. 
 
 Under his own care he took them, 
 As becomes a kindly uncle, 
 And in his own castle gave them 
 Free of charge, both board and lodging. 
 
 Narrow is indeed the chamber 
 That he there allotted to them ; 
 Yet in summer it is coolish, 
 And not over cold in winter. 
 
 For their food, they live on ryebread, 
 As delicious in its flavour 
 As if Ceres' self had baked it 
 For her dear child Proserpina. 
 
 Oftentimes he also sends them 
 Quite a bowl-full of garbanzos, 
 And the youngsters in this manner 
 Learn that 'tis in Spain a Sunday. 
 
 Yet not always is it Sunday. 
 And garbanzos come not always, 
 And the upper huntsman treats them 
 To a banquet with his whip. 
 
 For this worthy upper huntsman, 
 Who is with the care entrusted 
 Of the pack of hounds, together 
 With the cage that holds the nephews,
 
 ROMANCERO. 145 
 
 Is the most unhappy husband 
 
 Of that acid Citronella 
 
 With the frill so white and plate-like. 
 
 Whom we saw to-day at table ; 
 
 And she scolds so loud, that often 
 On the whip her husband seizes, 
 Hither hastens, and chastises 
 First the dogs, and then the children. 
 
 But the king is very angry 
 With his conduct, and commanded 
 That his nephews should in future 
 Never like the dogs be treated. 
 
 He will not entrust to any 
 
 Mercenary fist the duty 
 
 Of correcting them, but do it 
 
 With his own right hand henceforward. 
 
 Suddenly stopp'd Don Diego, 
 
 For the castle Seneschal 
 
 Now approach'd us, and politely 
 
 Ask'd : Had we enjoy 'd our dinner ? 
 
 THE EX-LIVING ONE. 
 
 SAY, Brutus, where can thy Cassius be, 
 The watchman, the crier nightly, 
 Who once on the banks of the Seine with tbee 
 Used to ramble in converse sprightly ? 
 
 Ye often were wont to gaze up on high, 
 Where the darksome clouds were scudding ; 
 
 A far darker cloud were the thoughts, by-the-by, 
 That in your bosoms were budding. 
 
 Say, Brutus, where can thy Cassius be ? 
 
 No longer ho thinks of destroying ; 
 By the Neckar he dwells, where his talents is he 
 
 As a reader to tyrants employing. 
 
 But Brutus replied : " A fool, friend, art thou, 
 
 " Shortsighted as every poet ; 
 " To a tyrant my Cassius now reads, I allow, 
 
 " But his object's to kill, him, I know it
 
 446 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " So Matzerath's* poems he reads him each day, 
 
 *' A dagger is each line in it ; 
 " And so the poor tyrant, I'm sorry to say, 
 
 " May die of ennui any minute." 
 
 THE EX-WATCHMAN. 
 
 FEOM the Neckar he departed, 
 With the town of Stuttgardt vex VI, 
 And as play-director started 
 In fair Munich's city next. 
 
 All that country's very pretty, 
 
 And they in perfection here, 
 In this fancy-stirring city, 
 
 Brew the very best of beer. 
 
 But 'tis said the poor Director 
 
 Eambles, like a Dante, glum, 
 Melancholy as a spectre, 
 
 Like Lord Byron, gloomy, dumb. 
 
 Comedies no longer heeds he, 
 
 Nor the very worst of rhyme ; 
 Wretched tragedies oft reads he, 
 
 Not once smiling all the time. 
 
 Oft herself some fair one flatters 
 
 She will cheer his sorrowing heart ; 
 
 But his coat of mail soon shatters 
 Every love-directed dart. 
 
 All in vain his friends endeavour 
 
 To enliven him and sing : 
 " In thy life rejoice thee ever, 
 
 " While thy lamp's still glimmering !" 
 
 Is there nought can raise thy spirits 
 
 In this fair and charming town, 
 Which, among its many merits, 
 
 Boasts such men of great renown ? 
 
 It is true, that it has lately 
 
 Lost full many a man of worth 
 Whom we miss and valued greatly, 
 
 Chorus leaders and so forth. 
 
 * A recent poet of no great reputation. He was the join! 
 editor of the "Rhine Annual" with Freiligrath and Simrock.
 
 ROMANCWRO. 147 
 
 Would that Massmann left us never I 
 Ho would surely have some day 
 
 By his antics strange but clever 
 Driven all thy cares away. 
 
 Schelling's* loss is very serious, 
 
 And can never be replaced, 
 A philosopher mysterious, 
 
 And a mimic highly graced. 
 
 That the founder of Walhalla 
 
 Went away, arid left behind 
 All his manuscripts, by Allah ! 
 
 That was really too unkind ! 
 
 With Corneliusf also perish'd 
 
 All his pupils whatsoe'er ; 
 They shaved off their tresses cherish 'd, 
 
 And their strength was in their hair. 
 
 For their prudent Master planted 
 In their hair some magic springs, 
 
 And it seem'd, as if enchanted, 
 To be full of living things. 
 
 Apropos ! The arch-notorious 
 Priest, as Dollingerius known. 
 
 That's, I think, his name inglorious, 
 Has he from the Isar flown ? 
 
 In Good Friday's sad procession 
 
 I beheld him in his place ; 
 'Mongst the men of his profession 
 
 He had far the gloomiest face. 
 
 On Monacho Monachorum 
 
 Now-a-days the cap doth fit 
 Of virorum obscurorum, 
 
 Glorified by Hutten's wit.$ 
 
 * The famous philosopher, who at one time resided in Munich. 
 
 t The eminent painter, \vh<> dccunitcd the Glyptothek ami 
 Piimrnthrk :it Mnni.-h. Hr \vn.s af'terwxnls Director of tlio 
 Merlin Academy. 
 
 J One <>r Hut ten's, well-known \v rk.-i was entitled 
 Obscurorum Viniriim."
 
 148 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 At his name thy dull eye flashes ; 
 
 Ex-nightwatchman, watchful be ! 
 There the cowls are, here the lash is, 
 
 Strike away as formerly ! 
 
 Scourge them, worthy friend, devoutly, 
 
 As at sight of every cowl 
 Ulrich did ; he smote them stoutly, 
 
 And they fearfully did howl. 
 
 Old Erasmus could not master 
 His loud laughter at the joke ; 
 
 And this fortunate disaster 
 His tormenting ulcer broke. 
 
 Old and young laugh, all the city 
 In the general shout concur. 
 
 And they sing the well-known ditty : 
 " Gaudeamur igitur !" 
 
 When those dirty monks we're catching,. 
 
 We are overwhelm'd with fleas ; 
 Hutten thus was always scratching, 
 
 And was never at his ease. 
 
 " Alea jacta est!" however 
 
 Was the brave knight's battle shout, 
 Smiting down, with deathstroke clever, 
 
 Both the priests and rabble rout. 
 Ex-nightwatchman, now be wiser ! 
 
 Feel'st thou not thy bosom glow ? 
 Wake to action on the Isar, 
 
 And thy sickly spleen o'erthrow. 
 
 Call thy long legs transcendental 
 
 Into full and active play ; 
 Vulgar be the monks or gentle, 
 
 If they're monks, then strike away f 
 
 He however sigh'd, and wringing 
 
 Both his hands he thus replied : 
 My long legs, so apt at springing, 
 
 Are with Europe stupified. 
 And my corns are twitching sadly, 
 
 Tight the German shoes I've on ; 
 Where the shoe is pinching badly 
 
 Know I now, so pray begone 1
 
 ROJ7AKCERO. 4"l9 
 
 MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 "VTES ! Europa must knock under, 
 JL Who could stand against a bull '/ 
 Danae we'll forgive ; no wonder 
 Golden rain made her a fool ! 
 
 Sem'le was a victim real, 
 
 For she innocently thought 
 That a heavenly cloud ideal 
 
 Could not injure her in aught. 
 
 But poor Leda's tale notorious 
 
 Really stirs up all our spleen ; 
 Vanquish'd by a swan inglorious, 
 
 What a goose must she have been ! 
 
 IX MATILDA'S ALBUM. 
 
 ON these mill'd rags a change mysterious! 
 I with a goose-quill must rehearse 
 Partly in jest, and partly serious, 
 
 Some foolish nonsense turn'd to verse. 
 
 I, who am wont my thoughts to utter 
 
 Upon thy rosy lips so fair 
 With kisses that like bright flames splutter 
 
 Up from my bosom's inmost lair ! 
 
 fashion's rage ! If I'm a poet, 
 
 E'en by my wife I'm plagued at times 
 
 Until (and other minstrels know it) 
 I in her album scrawl some rhymes. 
 
 TO THE YOUN*;. 
 
 HEED not the confusion, resist the illusion 
 Of golden apples that lie in thy way ! 
 The swords are clashing, the arrows are flashing, 
 But they cannot long the l>ero delay. 
 
 A daring beginning is halfway to winning, 
 An Alexander once conquer'd the earth ! 
 
 Restrain each soft feeling ! the queens are all kneeling 
 In the tent, to reward thy victorious worth. 
 
 Surmounting each burden, we win as our guerdon 
 The bed of Darius of old, and his crown ; 
 
 O deadly seduction ! O blissful destruction! 
 To die thus in triumph in Babylon town! 
 
 2 a
 
 450 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 THE UNBELIEVER. 
 
 ri^HOU wilt repose within mine arms ! 
 JL With rapturous emotion 
 My bosom heaves and throbs and thrills 
 At this delicious notion. 
 
 Thou wilt repose within mine arms, 
 "Whilst with thy fair gold tresses 
 
 I sport, and thy dear darling head 
 My shoulder gently presses ! 
 
 Thou wilt repose within mine arms ! 
 
 To truth will turn my vision, 
 And here on earth shall I enjoy 
 
 The highest bliss elysian. 
 
 St. Thomas ! Scarce can I believe 
 The fact, my doubts will linger 
 
 Until upon my rapture's wounds 
 I lay my eager finger. 
 
 WHITHER XOW? 
 
 "TT/HEITHER now ? my stupid foot 
 
 f T Fain to Germany would guide me ; 
 But my reason shakes its head 
 
 Wisely, seeming thus to chide me : 
 
 " Ended is the war indeed, 
 
 " But they still keep up courts-martial, 
 " And to writing things esteem'd 
 
 *' Shootable, thou'rt far too partial." 
 
 That's quite true, and being shot 
 Has for me no great attractions ; 
 
 I'm no hero, and unskill'd 
 In pathetic words and actions. 
 
 Fain to England would I go, 
 
 Yiew'd I not with such displeasure 
 
 Englishmen and coals their smell 
 Makes me sick beyond all measure. 
 
 To America methinks 
 
 I would sail the broad seas over ; 
 To that place of freedom, where 
 
 All alike may live in clover.
 
 BOMAXCERO. 451 
 
 Did I not detest a land 
 
 Where tobacco's 'mongst their victuals, 
 Where they never use spittoons, 
 
 And so strangely play at skittles. 
 
 . that vast empire fair, 
 Might be tolerably pleasant, 
 But I should not like the knout 
 That's their usual winter present. 
 
 Sadly gaze I up on high, 
 
 Where the countless stars are gleaming, 
 But I nowhere can discern 
 
 Where my own bright star is beaming. 
 
 Perhaps in heaven's gold labyrinth 
 
 It has got benighted lately, 
 As I on this bustling earth 
 
 Have myself been wandering greatly. 
 
 AN OLD SONG. 
 
 THOU now art dead, and thou knowest it not, 
 The light of thine eyes is quench'd and forgot ; 
 Thy rosy mouth is pallid for ever, 
 And thou art dead, and wilt live again never. 
 
 'Twas in a dreary midsummer night, 
 I bore thee myself to the grave outright ; 
 The nightingales sang their soft lamentations, 
 And after us follow'd the bright constellations. 
 
 As through the forest the train moved along, 
 They made it resound with the litany's song ; 
 The firs, in their mantles of mourning veil'd closely, 
 The prayers for the dead repeated morosely. 
 
 And as o'er the willowy lake we flew 
 The elfins were dancing full in our view : 
 They suddenly stopp'd in wondering fashion, 
 And seem'd to regard us with looks of compassion. 
 
 And when we had reach 'd the grave, full soon 
 From out of the heavens descended the moon, 
 And preach'd a sermon, 'midst tears and condoling 
 While in the distance the bells were tolling.
 
 452 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 EEADY MONEY. 
 
 LOVE, before she granted favouw, 
 One day told the god Apollo 
 She on guarantees insisted, 
 
 For the times were false and hollow. 
 
 Laughingly the god made answer : 
 " Yes, the times are alter 'd truly, 
 
 " And thou speakest like a usurer 
 " Who on pawn lends money duly. 
 
 " Well, then, I've a lyre, one only, 
 " 'Tis of gold, a good and rare one ; 
 
 " Prythee say how many kisses 
 
 " Thou wilt lend upon it, fair one ?" 
 
 THE OLD KOSE. 
 
 SHE for whom my heart once beat 
 Was a rosebud fair and tender ; 
 Yet it ever grew more sweet, 
 
 Bursting into full-blown splendour. 
 
 'Twas the loveliest that could be, 
 And to pluck it I bethought me ; 
 
 But it stung me piquantly 
 
 With its thorns, and prudence taught mo. 
 
 Now, when wither'd, torn, and maim'd, 
 By the wind and tempests shatter'd, 
 
 " Dearest Henry" I'm proclaim'd, 
 
 And I'm follow'd, sought, and flatter'd. 
 
 Henry here and Henry there 
 
 Calleth she with ceaseless din now ; 
 
 If a thorn is anywhere, 
 
 'Tis upon the fair one's chin now. 
 
 O how hard the bristles grow 
 
 On the chin's warts of my beauty ! 
 
 Either to a convent go, 
 
 Or to shave will be thy duty. 
 
 AUTO-DA-Ffi. 
 
 SEE these violets, dusty tresses. 
 And this faded ribbon blue, 
 Long forgotten cherish'd trifles, 
 And these half -torn billets-doux,
 
 453 
 
 All, with angry look and gesture 
 
 In the blazing fire I throw ; 
 Sadly crackle up these relics 
 
 Of my happiness and woe. 
 
 Vows of love, and fond deceiving 
 
 Broken oaths all upwards fly 
 In the chimney, while in secret 
 
 Cupid laughs maliciously. 
 
 Dreamily beside the fireplace 
 Sit I, while the sparkles bright 
 
 Glow in silence midst the ashes, 
 So farewell ! good night ! g6od night 
 
 LAZARUS. 
 1. THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 
 
 HE who has already much, 
 Finds his wealth increasing faster ; 
 Who but little, is of all 
 
 Soon bereft by some disaster. 
 
 But if thou hast nothing, friend, 
 Go and hang thyself this minute ; 
 
 Only they who've aught on earth 
 Have a claim for living in it. 
 
 2. RETROSPECT. 
 
 I'VE snuff d at every smell that has birth 
 In this delightful kitchen of earth ; 
 Each thing that the world contains that's delicious 
 Have I enjoy 'd like a hero ambitious ; 
 I've drunk my coffee, and eaten with zest, 
 And many a charming doll ciiress'd, 
 Worn silken waistcoats and handsome coats, 
 And had my pockets well lined with n< 
 The high horse, like (iellert the poet, I rode, 
 Had house and castle all a-la-iuodc. 
 On fortune's verdant meadow I lay, 
 While on me the sun glcam'd brightly all day; 
 A wreath of laurel my brow embnin -d, 
 And through my brain s\vcct visions raced, 
 Sweet visions of endl< ss May and tinners 
 How happily fleeted then the hours,
 
 454 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 So dim and hazy, so full of repose, 
 
 My mouth was fill'd with whatever I chose, 
 
 And angels came, and out of their pockets 
 
 The champagne bottles flew like rockets, 
 
 Bright visions were these, soap-bubbles, alas ! 
 
 They burst, and I lie on the humid grass; 
 
 My limbs are now rheumatic and lame, 
 
 My inmost spirit is fill'd with shame. 
 
 Alas ! each pleasure and gratification 
 
 I bought at the price of bitter vexation ; 
 
 I'm steep'd in bitterness up to the chin, 
 
 The bugs have terribly bitten my skin ; 
 
 Oppress' d by care and gloomy sorrow 
 
 I needs must lie, and I needs must borrow 
 
 From wealthy rascals, and slatterns vile, 
 
 I even believe that I begg'd for a while. 
 
 And now I would finish this wearisome race, 
 
 And find in the grave a resting-place. 
 
 Farewell ! In yon heavens, good Christian brother, 
 
 Once more we may hope to meet with each other. 
 
 3. RESURRECTION. 
 
 HPHE trumpet's wild echo fills the skies 
 _L As though it summon'd to battle ; 
 From out of their graves the dead arise, 
 
 Their limbs they wriggle and rattle. 
 Each thing that has legs prepares for the race, 
 
 The spectres white are all driven 
 To Jehoshaphat, the gathering-place, 
 
 Where judgment is now to be given. 
 There sits, as Head of the Court, the Lord, 
 
 By all his apostles surrounded ; 
 Assessors are they, each judgment, each word 
 
 On love and wisdom is founded. 
 No face is disguised in all that array 
 
 For every mask is seen falling 
 In the radiant light of the judgment day, 
 
 At the sound of the trumpet enthralling. 
 At Jehoshaphat, in the valley at last 
 
 The whole of the troop is iinited, 
 And since the defendants' number's so vast, 
 
 I've the summary only recited:
 
 ROMAXCERO. 455 
 
 The goats to the left, and the sheep to the right, 
 
 The parting is quickly effected ; 
 For the pious good sheep heaven's mansions of light, 
 
 And hell for the goats is selected. 
 
 4. THE DYING OXE. 
 
 FLYING after bliss and light, 
 Thou return'st in piteous plight; 
 German truth and German shirt 
 Strangers draggle through the dirt. 
 
 Pale as death hast thou become, 
 But take comfort, thou'rt at home ; 
 Warm as by the household hearth 
 Lie we under German earth. 
 
 Many others, who fell lame, 
 Home again, alas ! ne'er came, 
 Though they yearningly implored, 
 O have pity, gracious Lord ! 
 
 5. RASCALITY. 
 
 RICH people only can be won 
 By open, barefaced flattery ; 
 Money is flat, my worthy son, 
 And needs must flatly flatter'd be. 
 
 The box of incense swing with zeal 
 Before all worshipp'd golden calves ; 
 
 In dust and mire with meekness kneel, 
 And, above all, ne'er praise by halves. 
 
 The price of bread this year is high, 
 Fine words we lavish all in vain ; 
 
 Mecsenas' dog to praise, then, try. 
 And earn a bellyful again. 
 
 6. RETROSPECT. 
 
 T'HE pearl for the first, and the case for the second, 
 O William Wisetzki. thy days wore soon reckon 'd, 
 But the Kitten, the Kitten was saved.* 
 
 * This poem recounts the untimely fate of a playmate, who 
 was drowned when trying to save a kitten. See lleinc'a Reite- 
 bilder, chapter vi.
 
 456 UMINE'S POEMS. 
 
 The beam that lie clung to, that stretch'd o'er the current 
 Beneath him broke down, and he sank in the torrent, 
 But the Kitten, the Kitten was saved. 
 
 We follow'd the corpse of this darling of ours. 
 They buried him under a grave of May flowers, 
 But the Kitten, the Kitten was saved. 
 
 O prudent wert thou, thus early in striving 
 To 'scape from life's storms, and in harbour arriving, 
 But the Kitten, the Kitten was saved. 
 
 Happy thou, that thus early thy danger was over ; 
 Before thou wert ill, thou thy health didst recover, 
 But the Kitten, the Kitten was saved. 
 
 i^or many a year have I thought, child so cherish'd, 
 With envy and grief how thou early hast perish'd, 
 But the Kitten, the Kitten was saved. 
 
 7. IMPERFECTION. 
 
 "VTOTHING is perfect in this world of ours, 
 
 -L i The thorn grows with the rose, that queen of 
 
 flowers ; 
 
 Methinks the angels, who for our protection 
 Dwell in the skies, are stain'd with imperfection. 
 
 The tulip has no scent. The saying is : 
 Honour once stole a sucking-pig, old quiz ; 
 Had not Lucretia stabb'cl herself, she may be 
 Would have in time brought forth a thumping baby, 
 
 The haughty peacock has but ugly feet ; 
 
 A woman may be witty and discreet, 
 
 And yet, like Voltaire's Henriade, may weary, 
 
 Or be, like Klopstock's famed Messias, dreary. 
 
 The best of cows no Spanish knows, I ween, 
 Massmann no Latin. Much too smooth are e'en 
 The marble buttocks of Canova's Venus ; 
 Too flat is Massmann's nose (but this between us). 
 
 In pretty songs are hidden wretched rhymes, 
 As bees' stings in the honey lurk at times ; 
 Of vulnerable heel the son of Thetis, 
 And Alexandre Dumas is quite a Metis.
 
 ROilAXCERO. 457 
 
 The fairest star that in the heavens has birth, 
 When it has caught a cold, straight falls to earth ; 
 Prime cider of the barrel bears the traces, 
 And many a spot the sun's bright face defaces. 
 
 And thou, much honour'd Madam, even thou 
 Faultless art not, nor free from failings now. 
 ' What, then, is wanting?" askest thou and starcst, 
 A bosom, and a soul within it, fairest ! 
 
 8. PIOUS WARNING. 
 
 1T7~HEN thou dost quit this mortal abode, 
 T T Immortal spirit, beware thee 
 Lest dangers seek to ensnare thee ; 
 Through death and night conductcth the road. 
 
 The soldiers of God at the golden door 
 
 Of the city of light are collected ; 
 
 Here actions and deeds are respected, 
 Mere name and station avail no more. 
 
 The pilgrim leaves at the portal behind 
 
 His shoes so heavy and dusty ; 
 
 O enter with confidence trusty, 
 Soft slippers, sweet music, and rest thou'lt find. 
 
 9. THE COOLED-DOWN ONE. 
 
 WHEN we are dead, we long must lio 
 Within the tomb ; distress'd am I, 
 Yes, sad am I that resurrection 
 Delays so long to give perfection. 
 
 Once more, before the light of life 
 Is quench'd, before this weary strife 
 Is o'er, fain would I, ere I pcri>li. 
 Have woman's love, to bless and cherish. 
 
 Some fair one I would now invite 
 With eyes as soft as moonbeams' light ; 
 No more I relish the advances 
 Of wild brunettes with burning glances. 
 
 Young men, exulting in their youth, 
 Prefer tumultuous love in truth : 
 With them < xritniu'iit's all the fashion. 
 And soul-enthralling mutual passion.
 
 458 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 No longer young, bereft of power, 
 As I, alas ! am at this hour, 
 I fain once more would love in quiet, 
 And happy be, without a riot. 
 
 10. SOLOMON. 
 
 T1IE drums, trumps, cornets at length sink to 
 slumber ; 
 
 By Solomon's couch, as he lieth sleeping, 
 Full-girded angels the watch are keeping, 
 
 On either side six thousand in number. 
 
 The monarch protect they from cares while dreaming, 
 And as he frowns in his slumbers nightly, 
 From out of their sheaths straight draw they lightly 
 
 Twelve thousand swords, all fiercely gleaming. 
 
 But presently back in their sheaths are falling 
 The angels' swords. The brow of the sleeper 
 Grows smooth, his slumber is softer and deeper, 
 
 And soon his lips are gently calling : 
 
 " Sulamith, thou whom so dearly I cherish ! 
 
 " O'er countries and kingdoms I rule, great and 
 
 glorious, 
 " Of Israel and Judah the monarch victorious, 
 
 " But if thou'lt not love me, I wither and perish." 
 
 11. LOST WISHES. 
 
 S UVULAE in disposition, 
 Like a brother link'd to brother, 
 We unconsciously were ever 
 
 Growing fonder of each other. 
 Each one knew the other's meaning, 
 
 Just as if we were omniscient ; 
 Words, in fact, we found superfluous, 
 
 And a look was quite sufficient. 
 How I long'd to have thee near me, 
 
 Bevelling in peace and plenty, 
 As my staunch and valiant comrade 
 
 In a dolce far niente ! 
 Always to remain beside thee 
 
 Was the aim of each endeavour ; 
 Everything that gave thee pleasure, 
 
 To accomplish sought I ever.
 
 ROMAXCEUO. 459 
 
 I enjoy'd what thou didst relish, 
 Neither would 1 .touch the dishes 
 
 Thou didst hate, and even smoking 
 I commenced, to meet thy wishes. 
 
 Many a funny Polish story 
 
 That thy merriment excited, 
 In a strange and Jewish accent 
 
 To repeat I then delighted. 
 
 Yes, then long'd I to approach thee, 
 
 Leave my foreign habitation, 
 And beside thy fortune's fireplace 
 
 Take for evermore my station. 
 
 Golden wishes ! mere soap bubbles! 
 
 Like my life they all have vanish'd ; 
 On the ground I now am lying, 
 
 Crush'd for ever, hopeless, banish'd. 
 
 Fare ye well, ye golden wishes 
 
 Where my darling hopes once centred 1 
 
 Ah ! the blow was far too deadly 
 That my inmost heart has enter 'd. 
 
 12. THE AXN'IVKKSARY. 
 
 NOT one mass will e'er be chanted, 
 Not one Hebrew prayer be mutter'd. 
 When the day I died returneth, 
 Nothing will be sung or utter'd. 
 
 Yet upon that day, it may be, 
 
 If the weather has not chill'd her, 
 On a visit to Montmartre 
 
 With Pauline will go Matilda. 
 
 With a wreath of immortelles she'll 
 
 Deck my grave in foreign fashion. 
 Sighing say "pauvre homme !" and sadly 
 
 Drop a tear of fond compassion. 
 
 I hall then too high be dwelling, 
 
 And, alas! no chair h:iv<! rtiady 
 For my darling's use to offt T. 
 
 As she walks with feet unsteady.
 
 HEINE 8 POEMS. 
 
 Sweet, stout little one, return not 
 
 Home on foot, I must implore thee ; 
 At the barrier gate is standing 
 
 A fiacre all ready for thee. 
 
 13. MEETING AGAIN. 
 
 ONE summer eve, in the woodbine bower . 
 We sat once more at the window lonely ; 
 The moon arose with life-giving power, 
 
 But we appear'd two spectres only. 
 Twelve years had pass'd since the last occasion 
 
 When we on this spot had sat together ; 
 Each tender glow, each loving persuasion 
 
 Had meanwhile been quench'd in life's rough weather. 
 I silently sat. The woman, however, 
 
 Just like her sex, amongst love's ashes 
 Must needs be raking, but vain her endeavour 
 
 To kindle again its long-quench'd flashes. 
 And she recounted how she had contended 
 
 With evil thoughts, the story disclosing 
 How hardly she once her virtue defended, 
 
 I stupidly listened to all her prosing. 
 When homeward I rode, the trees beside me 
 
 Like spirits beneath the moon's rays flitted ; 
 Sad voices call'd, but onward I hied me, 
 
 Yes, I and the dead, who my side ne'er quitted. 
 
 14. IVIES. CARE. 
 
 WHEN fortime on me shed her ray, 
 The gnats around me danced all day, 
 Plenty of friends then cherish'd me, 
 And all, in fashion brotherly, 
 
 My viands with me tasted, 
 
 And my last penny wasted. 
 Fortune has fled, and void is my purse, 
 My friends have left for better for worse, 
 Extinguished is each sunny ray, 
 Around me the gnats no longer play ; 
 
 My frieads and the gnats together 
 
 Have gone with the sunny weather. 
 Beside my bed in the winter night 
 Old Care as my nurse sits bolt upright ;
 
 KOilANCEUO. 461 
 
 She wears a habit that's white enough, 
 A bonnet black, and takes her snuff. 
 
 The box is harshly creaking. 
 
 As the woman a pinch is seeking. 
 
 I often dream that the happy time 
 Of bliss has return'd, and May's young prims, 
 And friendship, aud all the gnats as well, 
 When creaks the snuffbox, and, sad to tell, 
 The bubble is straightway breaking, 
 While the nurse her snuff is taking. 
 
 15. TO THE ANGELS. 
 
 THIS is dread Thanatos indeed ! 
 He comes upon his pale- white steed ; 
 I hear its tread, I hear its trot, 
 The dusky horseman spares me not ; 
 He tears me from Matilda's fond embraces, 
 This thought of woe all other thoughts effaces. 
 
 She was at once my child, my wife, 
 
 And when I quit this mortal life 
 
 An orphan'd widow will she be ! 
 
 I leave alone on earth's wide sea 
 The wife, the child, who, trusting to my guiding 
 Slept on my bosom, careless and confiding. 
 
 Ye angels in yon heavens so fair 
 
 Receive my sobs, receive my prayer ! 
 
 When 1 am buried, from above 
 
 Protect the woman that I love ! 
 Bo shield and guardian to your own reflection, 
 Grant my poor child Matilda your protection ! 
 
 By all the tears e'er shed by you 
 Over men's woes in pity true, 
 By that dread word that priests alone 
 Know, and ne'er breathe without a groan, 
 By all your beauty, gentleness, perfection, 
 Ye angels, grant Matilda your protection ! 
 
 1C. IN (HTol'.Ki: 1849. 
 
 THE weather now is calm and mild, 
 And hush'd once more the tempest's voice is, 
 And Germany, that o'ergrown child, 
 
 Once more in its ">ld Christmas trees rejoices.
 
 462 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Domestic joys we now pursue, 
 
 All things beyond are false and hollow, 
 
 And to the house's gable too. 
 
 Where once he built his nest, comes concord's 
 swallow. 
 
 Forest and stream rest peacefully, 
 
 With the soft moonlight o'er them playing ; 
 
 But, hark, a crack ! A shot may't be ? 
 
 It is perchance some friend whom they are slaying. 
 
 Perchance with weapons in his hand, 
 
 Some madcap they have overtaken; 
 (All do not flight well understand 
 
 Like Horace, who so nimbly saved his bacon). 
 
 Crack, Crack! A fete, may I presume, 
 
 Or fireworks in our Goethe's honour? 
 Or Sontag rising from the tomb 
 
 Greeted by rockets showering down upon her ? 
 
 And Francis Liszt appears again ! 
 
 He lives, he lies not dead and gory 
 On some Hungarian battle-plain, 
 
 Russian and Croat have not quench'd his glory. 
 
 Freedom's last bulwark was o'erthrown, 
 
 And Hungary to death is bleeding 
 Francis, our Knight, escaped alone, 
 
 His sword a quiet life at home is leading. 
 
 Francis still lives ; when old and gray 
 
 Of the Hungarian war devoutly 
 He'll tell his grandsons : " Thus I lay, 
 
 " And thus my trusty blade I wielded stoutly !" 
 
 Hearing the name of Hungary, 
 
 My German waistcoat grows too narrow ; 
 
 Beneath it foams a raging sea, 
 
 The trumpet's clang seems thrilling through my 
 marrow. 
 
 Once more across my memory throng 
 
 The hero-legend's strains enthralling, 
 The wild and iron martial song. 
 
 The Nibelunge's overthrow appalling.
 
 H< IMANCERO. 463 
 
 "Pis still the same heroic lot, 
 
 'Tis still the same old noble stories ; 
 The names are changed, the natures not, 
 
 'Tis still the same praiseworthy hero-glc ries. 
 
 And the same issue 'tis once more ; 
 
 However proudly flaunts the hanner, 
 The hero, as in days of yore, 
 
 Yields to brute strength, but in a glorious manner 
 
 This time the oxen and the bear 
 
 In firm alliance are united : 
 Thou fall'st ; but, Magyar, ne'er despair, 
 
 Still more have all our German hopes been blighted. 
 
 While very decent beasts are they 
 
 Who have in fight become thy masters, 
 
 W T e have, alas ! become the prey 
 
 Of wolves, swine, dogs, so great are our disasters. 
 
 They howl, grunt, bark, the victor's smell 
 
 Is such, I fain would do without it ; 
 But, Poet, hush ! it were as well, 
 
 Seeing thou'rt ill, to say no more about it. 
 
 17. EVIL DREAMS. 
 
 IN vision once more young and happy, paced I 
 Near the old country house that used to stand 
 Hard by the mountain ; down the pathway raced I, 
 Yes, raced with dear Ottilia, hand in hand. 
 
 How graceful was her figure ! She enchanted 
 With the sweet magic of her sea-green eyes ; 
 
 On her small feet how firmly was she planted, 
 A form where elegance with vigour vies I 
 
 Her voice's tone, how true and how confiding 1 
 Her spirit's inmost depth one seems to see ; 
 
 Wisdom her every word is ever guiding, 
 Her mouth's as like a rosebud as can be. 
 
 It is not pangs of love that now steal o'er me, 
 I wander not, my reason's in command ; 
 
 Yet strangely am I soften 'd, as before me 
 
 She stands ; with trumbliug warmth I kiss her liuud
 
 464 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 When I a lily from the stem had broken, 
 
 I gave it her, and then these words address'd 
 '' Ottilia, be my wife by this dear token, 
 
 " That I may be as good as thee, and blest." 
 The answer that she gave, it reach'd me never, 
 
 For presently I woke, and now lie here 
 In my sick chamber, weak and ill as ever 
 
 As I have hopeless lain for many a year. 
 
 18. IT GOES OUT. 
 
 THE curtain falls, as ends the play, 
 And all the audience go away ; 
 And did the piece give satisfaction ? 
 Methinks they found it of attraction. 
 A much-respected public then 
 
 Its poet thankfully commended ; 
 But now the house is hush'd again, 
 And lights and merriment are ended. 
 
 But hark to that dull heavy clang 
 
 Hard by the empty stage's middle ! 
 It was perchance the bursting twang 
 
 Of the worn string of some old fiddle. 
 With rustling noise across the pit 
 Some nasty rats like shadows flit, 
 
 And rancid oil all places smell of, 
 And the last lamp, with groans and sighe 
 Despairing, then goes out and dies. 
 
 My soul was this poor light I tell of. 
 
 19. THE WILL. 
 
 "1VTOW that life is nearly spent, 
 -Ll Here's my will and testament, 
 Giving every foe a present, 
 
 As a Christian finds it pleasant : 
 
 Let these gentry full of merit 
 
 Have my sickness as their guerdon, 
 All that makes my life a burden, 
 
 All my wretched pangs inherit. 
 
 I bequeath you all the colic 
 Which my belly tweaks in frolic, 
 Strangury and these perfidious 
 Prussian piles so sharp and hideous.
 
 ROMANCERO. <k>5 
 
 Unto you my cramps be given, 
 Pains in joints, and salivation, 
 Pains in back, and inflammation, 
 
 Every one the gift of heaven. 
 
 Let this codicil then follow : 
 
 Lord! that wretched herd demolish, 
 And their very name abolish, 
 
 As they in their vileness wallow 
 
 20. ENFANT PERDU. 
 
 THOKLOKN posts leading, thirty long years fought I 
 JL Stoutly and well on freedom's battle plain ; 
 Hopeless of triumph, never hoped or thought I 
 Safe and uninjured home to see again. 
 
 I watch'd both day and night, slept not a tittle, 
 
 As when I camp'd amongst my friends of yore ; 
 (And if I felt inclined to doze a little, 
 
 soon was waken'd by my neighbour's snore.) 
 
 In those long nights ennui would oft assail me, 
 And fear as well, ('tis fools who never fear ;) 
 
 To scare them, I delighted to regale me 
 
 With whistling songs all full of gibe and jeer. 
 
 Yes, watchfully I stood, my weapon grasping, 
 If a suspicious looking fool drew nigh, 
 
 I took a careful aim, and laid him gasping 
 With a hot bullet in his paunch or thigh. 
 
 But by-and-by, if I may so express it, 
 
 This clumsy fool, whom I so much deride, 
 
 Proves the best shot ; and now, I must confess it, 
 My blood pours forth, my wounds are gaping wide. 
 
 A post is vacant ! All my wounds are gaping 
 One falls, the others follow in his wake ; 
 
 Unvanquish'd fall I, from my hands escaping 
 My arms break not, my heart alone doth break.
 
 166 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 BOOK III.- HEBREW MELODIES. 
 
 O LET the days of thy life pass not 
 
 Without tasting life's blisses ; 
 And if thou'rt shelter'd from the shot, 
 
 Let it fly, for it misses. 
 
 If fortune should ever be passing thy way, 
 
 To grasp her, forth sally ; 
 Don't build on the summit thy cottage, I pray, 
 
 But down in the valley. 
 
 PRINCESS SABBATH. 
 
 IN Arabia's books of stories 
 Eead we of enchanted princes, 
 Who from time to time recover'd 
 Their once handsome pristine features' ; 
 
 Or the whilome hairy monster 
 To a king's son is converted, 
 Dress'd in gay and glittering garments, 
 And the flute divinely playing. 
 
 Yet the magic time expires, 
 And once more and of a sudden 
 We behold his royal highness 
 Changed into a shaggy monster. 
 
 Of a prince of such-like fortune 
 Sings my song. His name is Israel, 
 And a witch's art has changed him 
 To the figure of a dog. 
 
 As a dog, with doggish notions, 
 All the week his time he muddles 
 Through life's filthiness and sweepings 
 To the scavengers' derision. 
 
 But upon each Friday evening, 
 Just at twilight, the enchantment 
 Ceases suddenly, the dog 
 Once more is a human being.
 
 ROMANCER 3. 46'J 
 
 As a man, with human feelings. 
 With his head and breast raised proudly, 
 Dress'd in festival attire, 
 His paternal halls he enters. 
 
 " Hail, all hail, ye halls beloved 
 
 " Of my gracious regal father! 
 
 " Tents of Jacob, your all-holy 
 
 " Entrance posts my mouth thus kisses!" 
 
 Through the house mysteriously 
 Goes a whispering and buzzing, 
 And the unseen master of it 
 Shudd'ring breathes amid the silence, 
 
 Silence, save the seneschal 
 (Vulgo Synagogue- Attendant) 
 Here and there with vigour springing, 
 As the lamps he seeks to kindle. 
 
 Golden lights so comfort-giving, 
 How they glitter, how they glimmer ! 
 Proudly also flare the tapers 
 On the rails of the Almemor. 
 
 At the shrine wherein the Thora 
 Is preserved, and which is cover'd 
 With the costly silken cov'ring 
 That with precious jewels sparkles, 
 
 There beside his post, already 
 Stands prepared the parish minstrel, 
 Dandy little man, who shoulders 
 His black cloak coquettishly. 
 
 His white hand to show the better, 
 At his neck lie works, his finger 
 Pressing strangely to his temple, 
 And his thumb against his throat. 
 
 To himself then softly trills he, 
 Till at length his voice he raises 
 Joyfully, and loudly sings he : 
 " Lecho Daudi Likras Kalle I 
 
 " Lecho Daudi Likras Kalle 
 
 " Loved one, come ! the bride already 
 
 " Waiteth for theo, to uncover 
 
 To thy face her blushing features I"
 
 468 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 This most charming marriage ditty 
 Was composed by the illustrious 
 Far and wide known Minnesinger 
 Don Jehuda ben Halevy. 
 In the song was celebrated 
 The espousals of Prince Israel 
 With the lovely Princess Sabbath, 
 Whom they call the silent princess. 
 Pearl and flower of perfect beauty 
 Is the Princess. Fairer never 
 Was the famous queen of Sheba, 
 Solomon's old bosom-friend, 
 Ethiopian vain blue-stocking, 
 Who with her esprit would dazzle, 
 And with all her clever riddles 
 Was, I fear, extremely tedious. 
 But our Princess Sabbath, who was 
 Peace itself personified, 
 Held in utter detestation 
 All debates and wit-encounters. 
 Equally abhorr'd she noisy 
 And declamatory passion, 
 All that pathos which with flowing 
 And dishevell'd hair storms wildly. 
 Modestly the silent princess 
 In her hood conceals her tresses ; 
 Soft as the gazelle's her looks are, 
 Slender as an Addas blooms she. 
 She allows her lover all things 
 Save this one, tobacco-smoking : 
 ' Loved one ! smoking is forbidden, 
 ' For to-day the Sabbath is. 
 But at noon, in compensation, 
 ' Thou a steaming dish shalt taste of, 
 ' Which is perfectly delicious 
 ' Thou shall eat to-day some Schalet !' 
 ' Schalet, beauteous spark immortal, 
 ' Daughter of Elysium !"* 
 Thus would Schiller's song have sung it, 
 Had he ever tasted Schalet. 
 A parody on the beginning of Schiller's " Hymn to Joy
 
 ROMANCERO. 469 
 
 Schalet is the food of heaven, 
 Which the Lord Himself taught Moses 
 How to cook, when on that visit 
 To the summit of Mount Sinai, 
 
 Where the Lord Almighty also 
 Every good religious doctrine 
 And the holy ten commandments 
 Publish 'd in a storm of lightning. 
 
 Schalet is the pure ambrosia 
 
 That the food of heaven composes 
 
 Is the bread of Paradise ; 
 
 And compared with food so glorious, 
 
 The ambrosia of the spurious 
 Heathen gods whom Greece once woi >hipj 1 
 And were naught but muffled devils, 
 Was but wretched devil's dung. 
 
 When the prince this food hath tasted, 
 Gleams his eye as if transfigured, 
 And his waistcoat he unbuttons. 
 And he speaks with smiles of rapture : 
 
 " Hear I not the Jordan murmuring ? 
 
 " Is it not the gushing fountains 
 
 " In the palmy vale of Beth-El, 
 
 '' Where the camels have their station ? 
 
 " Hear I not the sheep-bells ringing ? 
 " Is it not the well-fed wethers 
 " Whom the herdsman drives at evening 
 " Down from Gilead's lofty mountain ?" 
 
 Yet the beauteous day fades quickly ; 
 As with long and shadowy legs 
 Hastens on the fell enchantment's 
 Evil hour, the prince sighs sadly, 
 
 Feeling as though with his bosom 
 Icy witches' fingers grappled ; 
 He's pervaded by the fear of 
 Canine metamorphosis. 
 
 To the prince then hands the princess 
 Her own golden box of spikenard ; 
 Long he smells, once more desiring 
 To find comfort in sweet odours.
 
 470 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Next the parting drink the princess 
 Gives the prince He hastily 
 Drinks, and in the goblet only 
 Some few drops are left untasted. 
 
 With them sprinkles he the table, 
 Then he takes a little waxlight, 
 And he dips it in the moisture 
 Till it crackles and goes out. 
 
 JEHUDA BEN HALEVY. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 1. 
 
 " TF, Jerusalem, I ever 
 
 JL " Should forget thee, let my tongue 
 " To my mouth's roof cleave, let also 
 " My right hand forget her cunning " 
 
 Words and melody are whirling 
 In my head to-day unceasing, 
 And methinks I hear sweet voices 
 Singing psalms, sweet human voices. 
 
 Often to the light come also 
 Beards of shadowy-long proportions ; 
 Say, ye phantoms, which amongst you 
 Is Jehuda ben Halevy ? 
 
 But they quickly hustle by me ; 
 Spirits ever shun with terror 
 Exhortations of the living 
 But I recognized him well. 
 
 Well I knew him by his pallid, 
 Haughty, high, and thoughtful forehead, 
 By his eyes so sweetly staring, 
 Viewing me with piercing sorrow. 
 
 But I recognized him mostly 
 
 By the enigmatic smile which 
 
 O'er his fair rhymed lips was playing, 
 
 Such as none but poets boast of. 
 
 Years come on and years pass swiftly : 
 Since Jehuda ben Halevy 
 Had his birth, have seven hundred 
 Years and fifty fleeted o'er us.
 
 KOMANCERO. 471 
 
 At Toledo in Castile lie 
 For the first time saw the light, 
 And the golden Tagus lull'd him 
 In his cradle with its music. 
 
 His strict father the unfolding 
 Of his intellect full early 
 Cared for, and began his lessons 
 With the book of God, the Thora. 
 
 With his son he read this volume 
 In the' original, whose beauteous 
 Picturesque and hieroglyphic 
 Old Chaldean quarto pages 
 
 Spring from out the childish ages 
 Of our world, and for that reason 
 Smile so trustingly and sweetly 
 On each childlike disposition. 
 
 And this genuine ancient text 
 By the boy was likewise chanted 
 In the ancient and establish'd 
 Sing-song fashion, known as Tropp,, 
 
 And melodiously he gurgled 
 Those fat oily gutturals ; 
 Like a very bird he warbled 
 That fine quaver, the Schalscheletb, 
 
 And the Targum Onkelos, 
 Which is written in the idiom, 
 The low-Hebrew sounding idiom 
 That we call the Aramaean, 
 
 And that to the prophet's language 
 Has about the same relation 
 As the Swabian to the German, 
 In this bastard Hebrew likewise 
 
 Was the youth betimes instructed. 
 And the knowledge thus acquired 
 Proved extremely useful to him 
 In the study of the Talmud. 
 
 Yes, full early did his father 
 Lead him onward to the Talmud, 
 And he then unfolded to him 
 The Halacha, that illustrious
 
 472 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Fighting school, where the experteet 
 Dialectic athletes both of 
 Babylon and Pumpeditha 
 Carry on their mental combats. 
 
 Here the boy could gain instruction 
 In the arts, too, of polemics ; 
 Later, in the book Cosari 
 Was his mastership established. 
 
 Yet the heavens pour down upon us 
 Lights of two distinct descriptions : 
 Glaring daylight of the sun, 
 And the moonlight's softer lustre. 
 
 Thus two different lights the Talmud 
 Also sheds, and is divided 
 In Halacha and Hagada. 
 Now the first's a fighting school, 
 
 But the latter, the Hagada, 
 
 I should rather call a garden, 
 
 Yes, a garden, most fantastic, 
 
 Comparable to that other, 
 
 Which in days of yore was planted 
 
 In the town of Babylon, 
 
 Great Semiramis's garden, 
 
 That eighth wonder of the world. 
 
 'Tis said queen Semiramis, 
 Who had, when a child, been brought up 
 By the birds, and had contracted 
 Many a bird's peculiar custom, 
 
 On the mere flat ground would never 
 Promenade, as human creatures 
 Mostly do, and so she planted 
 In the air a hanging garden. 
 
 High upon colossal pillars 
 Palms and cypresses were standing, 
 Golden oranges, fair flow'r-beds, 
 Marble statues, gushing fountains, 
 
 Firmly, skilfully united 
 By unnumber'd hanging bridges 
 Which appear'd like climbing plants, 
 And whereon the birds were rocking,
 
 EOMANCERO. 473 
 
 Solemn birds, large, many-colour 'd, 
 All deep thinkers, never singing, 
 While around them finches flutter 'd, 
 Keeping up a merry twitter, 
 
 All things here were blest, and teeming 
 With a pure balsamic fragrance, 
 Which was free from all offensive 
 Earthly smells and hateful odours. 
 
 The Hagada is a garden 
 That this airy whim resembles, 
 And the youthful Talmud scholar, 
 When his heart was overpower'd 
 
 And was deafen'd by the squabbles 
 Of the' Halacha, by disputes 
 All about the fatal egg 
 Laid one feast day by a pullet, 
 
 Or about some other question 
 Of the same importance, straightway 
 Fled the boy to find refreshment 
 In the blossoming Hagada 
 
 Where the charming olden stories, 
 Tales of angels, famous legends, 
 Silent histories of martyrs, 
 Festal songs, and words of wisdom, 
 
 Hyperboles, far-fetch'd it may be, 
 But impress'd with deep conviction, 
 Full of glowing faith, all glitter'd 
 Bloom'd and sprung in such abundance. 
 
 And the stripling's noble bosom 
 Was pervaded by the savage 
 But adventure-breathing sweetness, 
 By the wondrous blissful anguish 
 
 And the fabulous wild terrors 
 Of that blissful secret world, 
 Of that mighty revelation, 
 Known to us as Poesy. 
 
 And the art of Poesy, 
 Ifjidisint knowledge, understanding, 
 Which we call the art poetic, 
 Open'd on the boy's mind also.
 
 474 HEINE'S FOEMS. 
 
 And Jehuda beu Halevy 
 
 Was not merely skill'd in reading. 
 
 But in poetry a master, 
 
 And himself a first-rate poet. 
 
 Yes, he was a first-rate poet, 
 Star and torch of his own age, 
 Light and beacon of his people, 
 Yes, a very wondrous mighty 
 
 Fiery pillar of all song, 
 That preceded Israel's mournful 
 Caravan as it was marching 
 Through the desert of sad exile. 
 
 Pure and true alike, and spotless 
 Was his song, as was his spirit ; 
 When this spirit was created 
 By its Maker, self-contented, 
 
 He embraced the lovely spirit, 
 And that kiss's beauteous echo 
 Thrills through all the poet's numbers, 
 Which are hallow'd by this grace. 
 
 As in life, in numbers also 
 Grace is greatest good of all ; 
 He who has it, ne'er transgresses 
 In his prose or in his verses. 
 
 Genius call we such a poet 
 
 Of the mighty grace of God ; 
 
 He is undisputed monarch 
 
 Of the boundless realms of fancy. 
 
 He to God alone accounteth, 
 iNot to man, and, as in lifetime, 
 So in art the mob have power 
 To destroy, but not to judge us. 
 
 2. 
 
 " By the streams of Babylon 
 " Sat we down and wept, we hanged 
 " Our sad harps upon the willows " 
 Know'st thou not the olden song ?
 
 KOMANCERO. 475 
 
 Know'st thou not the olden tune, 
 Which begins with elegiac 
 Crying, humming like a kettle 
 That upon the hearth is boiling ? 
 
 Long has it been boiling in me, 
 Thousand years. A gloomy anguish ! 
 And my wounds are lick'd by time, 
 As Job's boils by dogs were licked. 
 
 Thank thee, dog, for thy saliva, 
 Though it can but cool and soften 
 Death alone can ever heal me, 
 But, alas, I am immortal ! 
 
 Years come round and years then vanish- 
 Busily the spool is humming 
 As it in the loom is moving, 
 What it weaves, no weaver knoweth. 
 
 Years come round and years then vanish, 
 Human tears are dripping, running 
 On the earth, and then the earth 
 Sucks them in Avith eager silence. 
 
 Seething mad ! The cover leaps up 
 
 " Happy he whose daring hand 
 
 " Taketh up thy little ones, 
 
 " Dashing them against the stones." 
 
 God be praised ! the seething slowly 
 In the pot evaporates, 
 Then is mute. My spleen is soften'd, 
 My west-eastern darksome spleen. 
 
 And my Pegasus is neighing 
 Once more gaily, and the nightmare 
 Seems to shake with vigour off him, 
 And his wise eyes thus are asking : 
 
 Are we riding back to Spain, 
 To the little Talmudist there, 
 Who was such a first-rate poet, 
 To Jehuda ben Halevy ? 
 
 Yes, he was a first-rate poet, 
 In the realm of dreams sole ruler, 
 With the spirit-monarch's crown, 
 By the grace of God a poet,
 
 476 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Who in all his sacred metres, 
 In his madrigals, terzinas, 
 Canzonets, and strange ghasolas 
 Pour'd out all the' abundant fire 
 
 Of his noble god-kiss'd spirit ! 
 Of a truth this troubadour 
 Was upon a par with all the 
 Best lute-players of Provence, 
 
 Of Poitou and of Guienne, 
 Roussillon and every other 
 Charming orange-growing region 
 Of gallant old Christendom. 
 
 Charming orange-growing regions 
 Of gallant old Christendom ! 
 How they glitter, smell, and tinglo 
 In the twilight of remembrance ! 
 
 Beauteous world of nightingales ! 
 Where we only in the place of 
 The true God, the false God worship^ "1 
 Of the Muses and of love. 
 
 Clergy, bearing wreaths of roses 
 On their bald pates, sang the psalms 
 In the charming langue d'oc ; 
 Laity, all gallant knights, 
 
 On their high steeds proudly trotting, 
 Verse and rhyme were ever making 
 To the honour of the ladies 
 Whom their hearts to serve delighted. 
 
 There's no love without a lady. 
 Therefore to a Minnesinger 
 Was a lady just as needful 
 As to bread-and-butter, butter. 
 
 And the hero, whom we sing of, 
 Our Jehuda ben Halevy, 
 Also had his heart's fair lady ; 
 But she was of special kind. 
 
 She no Laura was, whose eyes, 
 Mortal constellations, kindled 
 On Good Friday the notorious 
 Fire within the famed Cathedral ;
 
 ROMAXCEIiO. 477 
 
 She was not a chatelaine 
 Who, attired in youthful graces, 
 Took the chair at tournaments, 
 And the laurel wreath presented 
 
 Casuist in the laws of kisses 
 She was not, no doctrinaire, 
 Who within the learned college 
 Of a court of love gave lectures. 
 
 She the Rabbi was in love with 
 Was a poor and mournful loved one, 
 Woeful image of destruction, 
 And her name Jerusalem ! 
 
 In his early days of childhood 
 She his one sole love was always ; 
 E'en the word Jerusalem 
 Made his youthful spirit quiver. 
 
 Purple flames were ever standing 
 On the boy's cheek, and he hearken'd 
 When a pilgrim to Toledo 
 Came from out the far east country, 
 
 And recounted how deserted 
 And uncleanly was the city 
 Where upon the ground the traces 
 Of the prophets' feet still glisten'd ; 
 
 Where the air is still perfumed 
 By the' undying breath of God 
 " O the mournful sight !" a pilgrim 
 Once exclaim'd, whose beard was floating 
 
 White as silver, notwithstanding 
 That the hair which form'd its end 
 Once again grew black, appearing 
 As if getting young again. 
 
 And a very wondrous pilgrim 
 
 Might he be, his eyes were peering 
 
 As through centuries of sorrow, 
 
 And he sigh'd : " Jerusalem ! 
 
 " She, the crowded holy city, 
 
 " Is converted to a desert, 
 
 " Where wood-devils, werewolves, jackala 
 
 ' Their accursed home have made.
 
 178 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " Serpents, birds of night, are dwelling 
 
 " In its weather-beaten ruins ; 
 
 " From the window's airy bow 
 
 " Peeps the fox with much contentment. 
 
 " Here and there a ragged fellow 
 " Comes sometimes from out the desert, 
 " And his hunch-back'd camel feedeth 
 " In the long grass growing round it. 
 
 " On the noble heights of Zion, 
 ' Where stood up the golden fortress 
 ' Whose great majesty bore witness 
 ' To the mighty monarch's glory, 
 
 ' There, with noisome weeds encumber d, 
 ' Nought now lies but gray old ruins, 
 " Gazing with such looks of sorrow 
 " One must fancy they are weeping. 
 
 " And 'tis said they wept in earnest, 
 " Once in each year, on the ninth day 
 " Of the month's that known as Ab 
 " With my own eyes, full of weeping, 
 
 " I the clammy drops have witness'd 
 ' Down the large stones slowly trickling, 
 " And have heard the broken columns 
 " Of the temple sadly moaning." 
 
 Such-like pious pilgrim-sayings 
 Waken'd in the youthful bosom 
 Of Jehuda ben Halevy 
 Yearnings for Jerusalem. 
 
 Poet's yearnings ! As foreboding. 
 Visionary, sad, as those 
 In the Chateau Blay experienced 
 Whilome by the noble Vidam, 
 
 Messer Geoffroy Eudello, 
 When the knights, returning homeward 
 From the Eastern land, asserted 
 Loudly, as they clash'd their goblets, 
 
 That the paragon of graces, 
 And the flower and pearl of women, 
 Was the beauteous Melisauda, 
 Margravine of Tripoli.
 
 ROMANCERO. 479 
 
 Each one knows that for this lady 
 luived the troubadour thenceforward ; 
 Her alone he sang, and shortly 
 Chateau Blay no more could hold him ; 
 
 And he hasten'd thence. At Cette 
 Took he ship, but on the ocean 
 He fell ill, and sick and dying 
 He arriv'd at Tripoli. 
 
 Here at length, on Melisanda 
 He, too, gazed with eyes all-loving. 
 Which that self-same hour were cover'd 
 By the darksome shades of death. 
 
 Singing his last song of love, 
 He expired before the feet 
 Of his lady Melisanda, 
 Margravine of Tripoli.* 
 
 Wonderful was the resemblance 
 In the fate of these two poets ! 
 Save that in old age the former 
 His great pilgrimage commenced. 
 
 And Jehu da ben Halevy 
 At his mistress' feet expired, 
 And his dying head, it rested 
 On Jerusalem's dear knees 
 
 WHEN the fight at Arabella 
 Had been won, great Alexander 
 Placed Darius' land and people, 
 Court and harem, horses, women. 
 
 Elephants, and daric coins, 
 Crown and sceptre, golden lumber 
 Placed them all inside his spacious 
 Macedonian pantaloons. 
 
 In the tent of great Darius, 
 Who himself had fled, because he 
 Fear'd he also might be placed there, 
 The young hero found a casket. 
 
 See also this ftory in Book I. of the " Romancero," p. Ill
 
 480 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 'T\vas a little golden box, 
 Richly ornamented over 
 With incrusted stones and cameos, 
 And with miniature devices. 
 
 Now this casket, in itself 
 
 Of inestimable value, 
 
 Served to hold the priceless treasureH 
 
 Of the monarch's body-jewels. 
 
 All the latter Alexander 
 On his brave commanders lavish'd, 
 Smiling at the thought of men 
 Childlike loving colour 'd pebbles?. 
 
 One fair valuable gem he 
 To his mother dear presented ; 
 "IVas the signet ring of Cyrus, 
 Turn'd into a brooch henceforward. 
 
 To his famous old preceptor 
 Aristotle he presented 
 A fine onyx for his. splendid 
 Cabinet of natural history. 
 
 In the casket were some pearls too, 
 Forming quite a wondrous string, 
 Which were once to Queen Atossa 
 Given by the false knave Smerclis ; 
 
 But the pearls were all quite real, 
 
 And the merry victor gave them 
 
 To a pretty dancer whom he 
 
 Brought from Corinth, named Miss Thiun 
 
 In her hair the latter wore them, 
 In bacchantic fashion streaming, 
 On that night when she was dancing 
 At Persepolis, and wildly 
 
 In the regal castle hurl'd her 
 Impious torch, till, loudly crackling, 
 Soon the flames obtain'd the mastery, 
 And the fortress laid in ruins. 
 
 On the death of beauteous Thais 
 Who of some bad Babylonian 
 Illness died at Babylon, 
 All her pearls were sold by auction
 
 ROMANCERO. 4 
 
 At the public auction-rooms there ; 
 Purchased by a priest from Memphis, 
 He to Egypt took them with him, 
 Where they on the toilet table 
 
 Of fair Cleopatra glisten'd ; 
 
 She the finest pearl amongst them 
 
 Crush'd and mix'd with wine and swallow' d, 
 
 Her friend Antony to banter. 
 
 With the final Ommiad monarch 
 Came the string of pearls to Spain, 
 And they twined around the turban 
 Worn at Cord've, by the Caliph. 
 
 Abderam the Third he wore them 
 As his breast-knot at the tourney 
 Where he pierced through thirty golden 
 Rings, and fair Zuleima's bosom. 
 
 When the Moorish race was vanquish'd, 
 Then the Christians gain'd possession 
 Of the pearls, which rank'd thenceforward 
 As crown-jewels of Castile. 
 
 Their most Cath'lic Majesties, 
 
 Queens of Spain, were wont to wear them 
 
 On all court and state occasions, 
 
 At all bullfights, grand processions, 
 
 And at each auto da fe, 
 
 When they took their pleasure, sitting 
 
 At the balcony, in sniffing 
 
 Up the smell of burnt old Jews. 
 
 Later still, old Mendizabel, 
 Satan's grandson, pawn'd these jewels, 
 Vainly hoping thus to meet the 
 Deficit in the finances. 
 
 At the Tuileries the jewels 
 Finally appear 'd again, 
 Glittering on the neck of Madame 
 Salomon, the Baroness. 
 
 With the fair pearls thus it happened.- 
 Less adventurous the fortune 
 Of the casket, Alexander 
 Keeping it for his own use. 
 
 2 I
 
 482 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 He the songs enclosed within it 
 Of ambrosia-scented Homer, 
 His great fav'rite, and the casket 
 All night long was wont to stand 
 
 At his bed's head ; when the monarch 
 Slept, the heroes' airy figures 
 Came from out it, o'er his visions 
 Creeping in fantastic fashion. 
 
 Other times and other birds too 
 I myself have erst delighted 
 In the stories of the actions 
 Of Pelides, of Odysseus. 
 
 All then seem'd so sunny-golden 
 And so purple to my spirit, 
 Vine-leaves twined around my forehead, 
 And the trumpets flourish 'd loudly. 
 
 Hush, no more ! All broken lieth 
 Now my haughty victor-chariot, 
 . And the panthers, who once drew it, 
 Now are dead, as are the women 
 
 Who, to sound of drum and cymbal, 
 Danced around, and I myself 
 Writhe upon the ground in anguish, 
 Weak and crippled hush, no more ! 
 
 Hush, no more ! we now are speaking 
 Of the casket of Darius, 
 And within myself thus thought I : 
 Should I e'er possess the casket, 
 
 And not be obliged to change it 
 Into cash, for want of money, 
 I would then enclose within it 
 All the poems of our Rabbi, 
 
 All Jehuda ben Halevy's 
 Festal songs and lamentations, 
 And Ghaselas, the description 
 Of his pilgrimage the whole I 
 
 Would have w r ritten on the cleanest 
 Parchment by the best of scribes, 
 And the manuscript deposit 
 In the little golden casket.
 
 ROMANCERO. 
 
 This should stand upon the table 
 Near my bed, and then, whenever 
 Friends appear'd and were astonish 'd 
 At the beauty of the trinket, 
 
 At the wondrous bas-reliefs, 
 Small in size, and yet so perfect 
 Notwithstanding. at the jewels 
 Of such size incrusted on it, 
 
 I should smilingly address them : 
 That is but the vulgar covering 
 That contains a nobler treasure 
 In this casket there are lying 
 
 Diamonds, whose light doth mirror 
 And reflect the light of heaven, 
 Eubies glowing as the heart's blood, 
 Turquoises of spotless beauty, 
 
 And fair emeralds of promise. 
 Likewise pearls of greater value 
 Than the pearls to Queen Atossa 
 Given by the false knave Smerdis, 
 
 And that afterwards were worn by 
 All the notabilities 
 
 Who this mundane earth have dwelt in, 
 Thais first, then Cleopatra, 
 
 Priests of Isis, Moorish princes, 
 And the queens of old Hispania, 
 And at last the worthy Madame 
 Salomon, the Baroness. 
 
 For those pearls of world-wide glory 
 After all are but the mucus 
 Of a poor unhappy oyster 
 Lying sickly in the ocean ; 
 
 But the pearls within this casket 
 Are the offspring of a beauteous 
 Human spirit, far far deeper 
 Than the ocean's dec pest depths, 
 
 For they are the pearly tears 
 Of Jehuda ben Halevy, 
 That he over the destruction 
 Of Jerusalem, let fail.
 
 181 HEINE'S POEMS 
 
 Pearly tears, which, join'd together 
 By the golden threads of rhythm, 
 As a song from poesy's 
 Golden smithy have proceeded. 
 
 And this song of pearly tears 
 Is the famous lamentation 
 That is sung in all the scatter'd 
 And far-distant tents of Jacob 
 
 On the ninth day of the month At, 
 
 That sad anniversary 
 
 Of Jerusalem's destruction 
 
 By the Emperor Vespasian. 
 
 Yes, it is the song of Zion 
 That Jehuda ben Halevy 
 Sang when dying on the holy 
 Ruins of Jerusalem. 
 
 Barefoot and in lowly garments 
 Sat he there upon the fragment 
 Of a pillar that had fallen, 
 Till upon his breast there fell 
 
 Like a gray old wood his hair, 
 Shading over in strange fashion 
 His afflicted pallid features, 
 With his eyes so like a spectre's. 
 
 In this manner sat he, singing, 
 In appearance like a minstrel 
 From the times of old, like ancient 
 Jeremiah, grave-arisen. 
 
 Soon the birds around the ruins 
 By his numbers' mournful cadence 
 All were tamed, and e'en the vulture 
 Drew near list'ning, almost pitying,- - 
 
 But an impious Saracen 
 Came one day in that direction, 
 On his charger in his stirrups 
 Balancing, his bright lance wielding. 
 
 And the breast of our poor singer 
 With this deadly spear transfix 'd he, 
 And then gallop'd off instanter 
 Wing'd as though a shadowy figure.
 
 ROMANCERO. 485 
 
 Calmly flow'd the Rabbi's life-blood, 
 Calmly to its termination 
 Sang he his sweet song. his dying 
 Sigh was still Jerusalem I 
 
 It is said in olden legend 
 That the Saracen was really 
 Not a wicked cruel mortal, 
 But an angel in disguise, 
 
 Sent from the bright realms of heaveii 
 To remove God's favourite 
 From the earth, and to advance him 
 Painlessly to those blest regions. 
 
 There, 'tis said, there waited for him 
 A reception highly flatt'ring 
 In its nature to the poet, 
 Quite a heavenly surprise. 
 
 Solemnly with strains of music 
 Came the' angelic choir to meet him, 
 And instead of hymns, he heard them 
 Singing his own lovely verses, 
 
 Synagoguish Wedding-Carmen, 
 Hymeneal Sabbath numbers, 
 With their well-known and exulting 
 Melodies what notes enthralling ! 
 
 While some angels play'd the hautboy, 
 Others play'd upon the fiddle ; 
 Others handled the bass-viol, 
 Others beat the drum and cymbal. 
 
 Sweetly all the music sounded. 
 Sweetly through the far-extending 
 Vaults of heaven these strains re-echoed 
 Lecho Daudi Likras Kalle ! 
 
 4. 
 
 MY good wife is not contented 
 With the chapter just concluded. 
 And especially the portion 
 Speaking of Darius' casket.
 
 i86 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Almost bitterly observes she. 
 That a husband with pretensions 
 To religion, into money 
 Straightway would convert the casket, 
 
 That he with it might be able 
 For his poor and lawful spouse 
 That nice Cashmere shawl to purchase 
 That she stands so much in need of. 
 
 That Jehuda ben Halevy 
 Would, she fancies, with sufficient 
 Honour be preserved, if guarded 
 In a pretty box of pasteboard, 
 
 Deck'd with Chinese elegant 
 Arabesques, like those enchanting 
 Sweetmeat-boxes of Marquis 
 In the Passage Panorama. 
 
 " Very strange it is," she added, 
 " That I never heard the name of 
 " This remarkable old poet, 
 " This Jehuda ben Halevy." 
 
 Darling little wife, I answer'd, 
 Your delightful ignorance 
 But too well the gaps discloses 
 In the education given 
 
 In the boarding schools of Paris, 
 Where the girls, the future mothers 
 Of a proud and freeborn nation, 
 Learn the elements of knowledge. 
 
 All about the dry old mummies, 
 And embalm'd Egyptian Pharaohs, 
 Merovingian shadowy monarchs, 
 With perukes devoid of powder, 
 
 And the pig-tail'd kings of China, 
 Lords of porcelain and pagodas, 
 This they know by heart and fully, 
 Clever girls, but, O, good heavens 
 
 If you ask for any great names 
 From the glorious golden ages 
 Of Arabian-ancient-Spanish 
 Jewish school? of poetry,
 
 KOMAXCERO. 487 
 
 If you ask for those three worthies, 
 For Jehuda ben Halevy, 
 For great Solomon Gabirol, 
 Or for Moses Iben Esra, 
 
 If you ask for these or suchlike, 
 Then the children stare upon us 
 With a look of stupid wonder, 
 And in fact seem quite dumb-founded. 
 
 Let me then advise you, dearest, 
 These neglected points to study, 
 And to take to learning Hebrew 
 Leaving theatres and concerts. 
 
 When a few years to these studies 
 Have been given, you'll be able 
 In the' original to read them, 
 Iben Esra and Gabirol, 
 
 And Halevy in addition, 
 That triumvirate poetic, 
 Who evoked the sweetest music 
 From the instrument of David. 
 
 Alcharisi, who, I'll wager, 
 
 Is to you unknown, although he 
 
 A Voltairian was, six hundred 
 
 Years before Voltaire's time, spoke thus : 
 
 " In his thoughts excels Gabirol, 
 " And the thinker most he pleases ; 
 " Iben Esra shines in art, and 
 " Is the fav'rite of the artist. 
 
 " But Jehuda ben Halevy 
 " Is in both a perfect master, 
 " And at once a famous poet 
 " And a universal fav'rite." 
 
 Iben Esra was a friend, 
 
 And I rather think, a cousin 
 
 Of Jehuda ben Halevy, 
 
 Who in his famed book of travels 
 
 Bitterly complains how vainly 
 He had sought through all Granada 
 For his friend, and only found there 
 His friend's brother, the physician.
 
 488 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Rabbi Meyer, poet likewise, 
 And the father of the beauty 
 Who in Iben Esra's bosom 
 Kindled such a hopeless passion. 
 
 That he might forget his niece, ho 
 Took in hand his pilgrim's staff, 
 Like so many of his colleagues, 
 Living restlessly and homeless. 
 
 Tow'rd Jerusalem he wander'd, 
 When some Tartars fell upon him. 
 Fasten'd him upon a steed's back, 
 And to their wild deserts took hiiu. 
 
 Duties there devolved upon him 
 Quite unworthy of a Rabbi, 
 Still less fitted for a poet 
 He was made to milk the cows. 
 
 Once, as he beneath the belly 
 Of a cow was sitting squatting, 
 Fing'ring hastily her udder, 
 While the milk the tub was filling, 
 
 A position quite unworthy 
 Of a Rabbi, of a poet, 
 Melancholy came across him, 
 And to sing a song began he. 
 
 And he sang so well and sweetly, 
 That the Khan, the horde's old chiuftaiii. 
 Who was passing by, was melted, 
 And he gave the slave his freedom. 
 
 And he likewise gave him presents, 
 Gave a fox-skin, and a lengthy 
 Saracenic mandoline, 
 And some money for his journey. 
 
 Poets' fate ! an evil star 'tis, 
 Which the offspring of Apollo 
 Worried unto death, and even 
 Did not spare their noble father, 
 
 When he, after Daphne lurking, 
 In the fair nymph's snowy body'n 
 Stead, embraced the laurel only. 
 He, the great divine Schlemihl J
 
 ROMANCERO. 489 
 
 Yes, the glorious Delphic god is 
 A Schlemihl, and e'en the laurel 
 That so proudly crowns his forehead 
 Is a sign of his Schlemihldom. 
 
 What the word Schlemihl betokens 
 Well we know. Long since Chamisso 
 Rights of German citizenship 
 Gain'd it (of the word I'm speaking). 
 
 But its origin has ever, 
 Like the holy Nile's far sources, 
 Been unknown. Upon this subject 
 Many a night have I been poring. 
 
 Many a year ago I travell'd 
 
 To Berlin, to see Chamisso 
 
 On this point, and from the dean sought 
 
 Information of SchlemihL 
 
 But he could not satisfy me, 
 And referr'd me on to Hitzig, 
 Who had made the first suggestion 
 Of the family name of Peter 
 
 Shadowless. I straightway hired 
 The first cab, and quickly hasten'd 
 To the magistrate Heir Hitzig, 
 Who was formerly call'd Itzig. 
 
 When he still was known as Itzig, 
 In a vision saw he written 
 His own name high in the heavens, 
 And in front the letter H. 
 
 " What's the meaning of this H ?" 
 Ask'd he of himself. " Herr Itzig 
 " Or the Holy Itzig? Huly 
 " Is a pretty title. Not, though, 
 
 " Suited for Berlin." At length he, 
 Tired of thinking, took the name of 
 Hitzig, and his best friends only 
 Knew that Hitzig stood for Holy. 
 
 " Holy Hitzig !" said I therefore 
 When I saw him, " have the goodness 
 " To explain the derivation 
 " Of the word Schlemihl, I pray you."
 
 190 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Many circumbendibuses 
 Took the holy one he could not 
 Recollect, and made excuses 
 In succession like a Christian, 
 
 Till at length I burst the buttons 
 In the breeches of my patience, 
 And began to swear so fiercely, 
 In such very impious fashion, 
 
 That the worthy pietist, 
 Pale as death, with trembling knees, 
 Forthwith gratified my wishes, 
 And the following story told me : 
 
 " In the Bible it is written 
 " How, while wandering in the desert, 
 " Israel oft committed whoredom 
 " With the daughters fair of Canaan. 
 
 " Then it came to pass that Phinehas 
 " Chanced to see the noble Zimri 
 " Thus engaged in an intrigue 
 " With a Canaanitish woman. 
 
 " Straightway in his fury seized he 
 " On his spear, and put to death 
 " Zimri on the very spot. Thug 
 " In the Bible 'tis recounted. 
 
 " But, according to an oral 
 " Old tradition 'mongst the people, 
 " 'Twas not Zimri that was really 
 " Stricken by the spear of Phinehas; 
 
 " But the latter, blind with fury, 
 
 " In the sinner's place, by ill-luck 
 
 '* Chanced to kill a guiltless person, 
 
 " Named Schlemihl ben Zuri Schadclay."- 
 
 He, then, this Schlemihl the First, 
 Was the ancestor of all the 
 Eace Schlemihlian. We're descended 
 From Schlemihl ben Zuri Schadday. 
 
 Certainly no wondrous actions 
 Are preserved of his ; we only 
 Know his name, and in addition 
 Know that he was a Schlemihl.
 
 BOMANCERO. 491 
 
 But a pedigree is valued 
 
 Not according to its fruits, but 
 
 Its antiquity alone 
 
 Ours three thousand years can reckon. 
 
 Years come round, and years then vanish 
 Full three thousand years have fleeted 
 Since the death of our forefather 
 This Schleniihl ben Zuri Schadday. 
 
 Phinehas, too, has long been dead, 
 But his spear is in existence, 
 And incessantly we hear it 
 Whizzing through the air above us. 
 
 And the noblest hearts it pierces 
 
 Both Jehuda ben Halevy, 
 
 Also Moses Iben Esra, 
 
 And it likewise struck Gabirol, 
 
 Yes, Gabirol, that truehearted 
 God-devoted Minnesinger, 
 That sweet nightingale, who sang to 
 God instead of to a rose, 
 
 That sweet nightingale who caroll'd 
 Tenderly his loving numbers 
 In the darkness of the Gothic 
 Mediaeval night of earth ! 
 
 Undismay'd and caring nothing 
 
 For grimaces or for spirits, 
 
 Or the chaos of delirium 
 
 And of death those ages haunting, 
 
 Our sweet nightingale thought only 
 Of the Godlike One he loved so, 
 Unto Whom he sobb'd his love, 
 Whom his hymns were glorifying. 
 
 Thirty springs Gabirol witness'd 
 
 On this earth, but loud-tongued Fania 
 
 Trumpeted abroad the glory 
 
 Of his name through every country. 
 
 Now at Cordova, his homo, ho 
 Had a Moor as uextdoor neighbour, 
 Who wrote verses, like the other, 
 And the poet's glory envied.
 
 492 HEINE'S 
 
 When he heard the poet singing, 
 
 Then the Moor's bile straight flow'd over, 
 
 And the sweetness of the songs was 
 
 Bitter wormv/ood to this base one. 
 
 He enticed his hated rival 
 
 To his house one night, and slew him 
 
 There, and then the body buried 
 
 In the garden in its rear. 
 
 But behold ! from out the spot 
 
 Where the body had been hidden, 
 
 Presently there grew a fig-tree 
 
 Of the most enchanting beauty. 
 
 All its fruit was long in figure, 
 
 And of strange and spicy sweetness ; 
 
 He who tasted it, sank into 
 
 Quite a dreamy state of rapture. 
 
 "Mongst the people on the subject 
 
 Much was said aloud or whisper'd, 
 
 Till at length the rumour came to 
 
 The illustrious Caliph's ears. 
 
 He with his own tongue first tasted 
 
 This strange fig-phenomenon, 
 
 And then form'd a strict commission 
 
 Of inquiry on the matter. 
 
 Summarily they proceeded ; 
 
 On the owner of the tree's soles 
 
 Sixty strokes of the bamboo they 
 
 Gave, and then his crime confess'd he. 
 
 Thereupon they tore the tree up 
 
 By its roots from out the grouucl, 
 
 And the body of the murder'd 
 
 Man Gabirol was discover'd. 
 
 He was buried with due honour, 
 
 And lamented by his brethren . 
 
 And the selfsame day they also 
 
 Hang'd the Moor at Cordova. 
 
 DISPUTATION. 
 
 IN the Aula at Toledo 
 Loudly are the trumpets blo.ving; 
 To the spiritual tourney, 
 
 Gaily dress'd, the crowd are g >ing.
 
 ROMANCEEO. 493 
 
 This is no mere worldly combat, 
 Not one arm of steel here glances ; 
 
 Sharply pointed and scholastic 
 Words are here the only lances. 
 
 Gallant Paladins here fight not, 
 
 Ladies' honest fame defending; 
 Capuchins and Jewish Rabbis 
 
 Are the knights who're here contending. 
 
 In the place of helmets are they 
 Scull caps and capouches wearing ; 
 
 Scapular and Arbecanfess 
 
 Are the armour they are bearing. 
 
 Which God is the one true God? 
 
 He, the Hebrew stern and glorious 
 Unity, whom Rabbi Juda 
 
 Of Navarre would see victorious ? 
 
 Or the triune God, whom Christians 
 
 Hold in love and veneration, 
 As whose champion Friar Jose, 
 
 The Franciscan, takes his station ? 
 
 By the might of weighty reasons, 
 And the logic taught at college, 
 And quotations from the authors 
 
 Whose repute one must acknowledge, 
 
 Either champion ad absurdum 
 
 His opponent would bring duly, 
 And the pure divinity 
 
 Of his own God point out truly. 
 
 'Tis laid down that he whose foeman 
 
 Manages his cause to smother, 
 Should be bound to take upon him 
 
 The religion of the other, 
 
 And the Jew bo duly christen'd,- 
 This was the express provision, 
 
 On the other hand the Christian 
 Bear the rite of circumcision. 
 
 Each one of the doughty champions 
 
 Has eleven comrades by him, 
 All to share his fate determined, 
 
 And for weal or woe keep nigh him.
 
 494 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 While the monks who back the friar 
 With assurance full and steady 
 
 Hold the holy-water vessels 
 
 For the rite of christening ready, 
 
 Swinging sprinkling-brooms and censers, 
 Whence the incense smoke is rising, 
 
 All their adversaries briskly 
 
 Whet their knives for circumcising. 
 
 By the lists within the hall stand, 
 Eeady for the fray, both forces, 
 
 And the crowd await the signal, 
 Eager for the knights' discourses. 
 
 'Neath a golden canopy, 
 
 While their courtiers duly natter, 
 
 Both the king and queen are sitting ; 
 Quite a child appears the latter. 
 
 With a small French nose, her features 
 Are in roguishness not wanting, 
 
 And the ever laughing rubies 
 
 Of her mouth are quite enchanting. 
 
 Fragile fair inconstant flower, 
 
 May the grace of God be with her ! 
 
 From the merry town of Paris 
 She has been transplanted hither, 
 
 To the country where the Spanish 
 Old grandees' stiff manners gall her ; 
 
 Whilome known as Blanche de Bourbon, 
 Donna Blanca now they call her. 
 
 And the monarch's name is Pedro, 
 With the nickname of The Cruel ; 
 
 But to-day, in gentle mood, he 
 Looks as if he ne'er could do ill. 
 
 With the nobles of his court he 
 
 Enters into conversation, 
 And both Jew and Moor addresses 
 
 With a courteous salutation. 
 
 For these sons of circumcision 
 
 Are the monarch's favourite creatures ; 
 
 They command his troops, and also 
 In finances are his teachers.
 
 KOMANCERO. 495 
 
 Suddenly the drums 'gin beating, 
 And the trumpets' bray announces 
 
 That the conflict is beginning. 
 
 Where each knight the other trounces. 
 
 The Franciscan monk commences, 
 
 Bursting into furious passion, 
 And his voice, now harsh, now growling, 
 
 Blusters in a curious fashion. 
 
 Father, Son, and Holy Spirit 
 
 In one sentence he comprises, 
 And the seed accurst of Jacob 
 
 In the Rabbi exorcises. 
 
 For in suchlike controversies 
 
 Little devils oft are hidden 
 In the Jews, and give them sharpness, 
 
 Wit, and arguments when bidden. 
 
 Having thus expell'd the devil 
 
 By his mighty exorcism, 
 Comes the monk, dogmatically, 
 
 Quoting from the catechism. 
 
 He recounts how in the Godhead 
 
 Persons three are comprehended, 
 Who, whenever they so will it, 
 
 Into one are straightway blended. 
 
 'Tis a mystery unfolded 
 
 But to those who, in due season, 
 Have escaped from out the prison 
 
 And the chains of human reason. 
 
 He recounts how God was born at 
 
 Bethlehem, of a tenderhearted 
 Virgin, whose divine unsullied 
 
 Innocency ne'er departed. 
 
 How they laid the Lord Almighty 
 
 In a lowly stable manger, 
 Where the calf and heifer meekly 
 
 Stood around the newborn stranger, 
 
 He recounts, too, how the Lord 
 From King Herod's minions flying, 
 
 Went to Egypt, how still later 
 
 Death's sharp pangs he sutl'er'd, dying
 
 496 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 In the time of Pontius Pilate, 
 
 Who subscribed his condemnation, 
 
 Urged on by the Jews and cruel 
 Pharisees' confederation. 
 
 He recounts, too, how the Lord, 
 
 Bursting from the tomb's dark prison 
 
 On the third day, into heaven 
 Had in glorious triumph risen ; 
 
 How, when 'tis the proper time, he 
 Would return to earth in splendour, 
 
 At Jehoshaphat, to judge there 
 Every quick and dead offender. 
 
 " Tremble, Jews !" exclaim'd the friar, 
 '' At the God whom ye tormented 
 
 ' Cruelly with thorns and scourges, 
 " To whose death ye all consented. 
 
 " Jews, ye were his murderers ! nation 
 ' w Of vindictive fierce behaviour ! 
 
 " Him who comes to free you. still ye 
 " Slay, ye murder him, the Saviour. 
 
 " Jews, the carrion where the demons 
 " Coming from the lower regions 
 
 " Dwell, your bodies are the barracks 
 " Of the devil's wicked legions. 
 
 " Thomas of Aquinas says so, 
 " He is famed in Christian story, 
 
 " CalFd the mighty ox of learning, 
 " Orthodoxy's light and glory. 
 
 " Villain race of Jews ! you're nought but 
 " Wolves, hyenas, jackals hateful, 
 
 ' Church-yard prowlers, who deem only 
 " Flesh of corpses to be grateful. 
 
 " Jews, O Jews ! you're hogs and monkeya 
 
 " Monsters cruel and perfidious, 
 " Whom they call rhinoceroses, 
 " Crocodiles and vampires hideous. 
 
 " Ye are ravens, owls, and screechowls, 
 " Eats and miserable lapwings, 
 
 " Gallows'-birds and cockatrices, 
 " Very scum of ftll that flap wings !
 
 ROMANOERO. 497 
 
 " Ye are vipers, ye are blindworms, 
 " Rattlesnakes, disgusting adders, 
 " Poisonous toads Christ soon will surely 
 " Tread you out like empty bladders ! 
 
 " Or, accursed people, would ye 
 
 " Save your souls so wretched rather ? 
 
 " Flee the synagogues of evil, 
 
 " Seek the bosom of your Father. 
 
 " Flee to love's bright radiant churches, 
 " Where the well of mercy bubbles 
 
 " For your sakes in hallo w'd basins, 
 " Hide your heads there from your troubles. 
 
 " Wash away the ancient Adam, 
 
 " And the vices that deface it : 
 " From your hearts the stains of rancour 
 
 " Wash, and grace shall then replace it. 
 
 " Hear ye not the Saviour speaking ? 
 
 " O how well yotir new names suit you ! 
 " Cleanse yourselves upon Christ's bosom 
 
 " From the vermin that pollute you. 
 
 " Yes, our God is very love, is 
 
 " Like a lamb that's dearly cherish 'd, 
 
 " And our vices to atone for, 
 
 " On the cross with meekness perish'd. 
 
 " Yes, our God is very love, his 
 
 " Name is Jesus Christ the blessed ; 
 
 " Of his patience and submission 
 " We aspire to be possossrd. 
 
 " Therefore are we meek and gentle, 
 
 " Courteous, never in a passion, 
 " Fond of peace and charitable, 
 
 " In the Lamb the Saviour's fashion. 
 
 " We in heaven shall bo hereafter 
 
 " Into angels blest converted, 
 " Wandering there in bliss with lily 
 
 " Blossoms in our hands inserted. 
 
 " In the place of cowls, the purest 
 
 " Robes shall we when there be wearing, 
 
 '' Made of silk, brocades, and muslin, 
 " Golden lace and ribbons flaring. 
 
 2 K
 
 498 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " No more bald pates ! Bound our heads there 
 ' Will be floating golden tresses ; 
 
 " While our hair some charming virgin 
 " Into pretty topknots dresses. 
 
 " Winecups will be there presented 
 " Of circumference so spacious, 
 
 " That, compared with them, the goblets 
 " Made on earth are not capacious. 
 
 " On the other hand, much smaller 
 " Than the mouths of earthly ladies 
 
 " Will the mouth be of each woman 
 " Who in heaven our solace made is. 
 
 " Drinking, kissing, laughing will we 
 " Pass through endless ages proudly, 
 
 " Singing joyous Hallelujahs, 
 " Kyrie Eleyson loudly." 
 
 Thus the Christian ended, and the 
 
 Monks believed illumination 
 Pierced each heart, and so prepared for 
 
 The baptismal operation. 
 
 But the water-hating Hebrews 
 
 Shook themselves with scornful grinning, 
 Eabbi Juda of Navarre thus 
 
 His reply meanwhile beginning : 
 
 " That thou for thy seed mightst dung 
 " My poor soul's bare field devoutly, 
 
 " With whole dung-carts of abuse thou 
 " Hast in truth befoul' d me stoutly. 
 
 " Every one the method follows 
 
 " To his taste best calculated, 
 " And instead of being angry, 
 
 " Thank you, I'm propitiated. 
 
 " Your fine trinitarian doctrine 
 
 " We poor Jews can never swallow, 
 
 " Though from earliest days of childhood 
 " Wont the rule of three to follow. 
 
 " That three persons in your Godhead, 
 " And no more, are comprehended, 
 
 " Moderate appears; the ancients 
 " On six thousand gods depended.
 
 ROMAXCERO. 499 
 
 " Quite unknown to me the God is 
 
 ' Whom you call the Christ, good brother ; 
 
 " Nor have I e'er had the honour 
 " To have met his virgin mother. 
 
 u I regret that some twelve hundred 
 " Years back, as your speech confesses, 
 
 " At Jerusalem he suffer 'd 
 '' Certain disagreeblenesses. 
 
 " That the Jews in truth destroy'd him 
 " Rests upon your showing solely, 
 
 " Seeing the delicti corpus 
 
 " On the third day vanish'd wholly. 
 
 " It is equally uncertain 
 
 " Whether he was a connection 
 " Of our God, who had no children 
 
 " In, at least, our recollection. 
 
 " Our great God, like some poor lambkin, 
 
 " For humanity would never 
 " Perish ; for such philanthropic 
 
 " Actions he is far too clever. 
 
 " Our great God of love knows nothing, 
 
 " Never to affection yields he, 
 " For he is a God of vengeance, 
 
 " And as God his thunders wields he. 
 
 " Nothing can his wrathful lightnings 
 
 " From the sinner turn or soften, 
 " And the latest generations 
 
 " For the fathers' sins pay often. 
 
 '* Our great God, he lives for ever 
 
 " In his heavenly halls in glory, 
 " And, compared with him, eternal 
 
 " Ages are but transitory. 
 
 " Our great God, he is a hearty 
 
 " God, not like the myths that fright us, 
 
 ** Pale and lean as any wafer, 
 " Or the shadows by Cocytus. 
 
 " Our great God is strong. He graspeth 
 " Sun and moon and constellation ; 
 
 ** Thrones are crush'd, and people vanish 
 " When he frowns in indignation.
 
 500 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 V 
 
 " And ho is a mighty God. 
 
 " David sings : We cannot measure 
 " All his greatness, earth's his footstool, 
 
 " And is subject to his pleasure. 
 " Our great God loves music dearly, 
 
 " Lute and song to him are grateful : 
 " But, like grants of sucking pigs, he 
 
 " Finds the sounds of churchbells hateful. 
 
 " Great Leviathan the fish is 
 
 ' Who beneath the ocean stray eth, 
 
 " And with him the Lord Almighty 
 " For an hour each morning play eth. 
 
 " With the' exception of the ninth day 
 
 " Of the month Ab, that sad morrow, 
 li When they burnt his holy temple ; 
 
 " On that day too great's his sorrow. 
 ' Just one hundred miles in length is 
 
 '' The Leviathan ; each fin is 
 " Big as Og the King of Basan, 
 
 ' And his tail no cedar thin is. 
 
 " Yet his flesh resembles turtle, 
 " And its flavour is perfection, 
 
 " And the Lord will ask to dinner 
 " On the day of resurrection 
 
 " All his own elect, the righteous, 
 
 " Those whose faith was firm and st.iblt, 
 
 " And this fish, the Lord's own favourite, 
 " Will be set upon the table, 
 
 " Partly dress'd with garlic white sauce, 
 " Partly stew'd in wine and toasted, 
 
 " Dress'd with raisins and with spices, 
 " Much resembling matelotes roasted. 
 
 " Little slices of horseradish 
 
 " Will the white sauce much embellish ; 
 " So make ready, Friar Jose, 
 
 " To devour the fish with relish. 
 
 " And the raisin sauce I spoke of 
 " Makes a most delicious jelly, 
 
 ' And will be full well adapted, 
 " Friar Jose, to thy belly.
 
 nOMAKCERO. 501 
 
 " What God cooks, is. quite perfection 
 " Monk, my honest counsel follow, 
 
 " And be circumcised, your portion 
 " Of Leviathan to swallow." 
 
 Thus the Ilabbi to allure him 
 
 Spoke with inward mirth insulting, 
 
 And the Jews, with pleasure grunting, 
 Brandish'd all their knives exulting, 
 
 To cut off the forfeit foreskins, 
 
 Victors after all the fighting, 
 Genuine spolia opima 
 
 In this conflict so exciting. 
 
 But the monks to their religion 
 
 Stuck, despite the Jews' derision, 
 And were equally reluctant 
 
 To submit to circumcision. 
 
 Next the Catholic converter 
 
 Answer'd, when the Jew had finish'd, 
 His abuse again repeating, 
 
 Full of fury undiminish'd. 
 
 Then the Eabbi with a cautious 
 Ardour, with his answer follow'd ; 
 
 Though his heart was boiling over, 
 All his rising gall he swallow'd. 
 
 He appeals unto the Mischna, 
 
 Treatises and commentaries, 
 And with extracts from the Tausves- 
 
 Jontof his quotations varies. 
 
 But what blasphemy now speaks the 
 
 Friar, arguments in want of ! 
 He exclaim'd : "I wish tin- <lr\Jl 
 
 " Had your stupid Tausves-Jontof 1" 
 
 " This surpasses all, good heavens I" 
 
 Fearfully the Rabbi screeches, 
 And his patience lusts no l"iiger, 
 
 Like a maniac's soon his speech is. 
 
 " If the Taiisvr.s-Jontofs nothing, 
 ' What is left ? O vile detractor 1 
 
 " Lord, avenge this foul tn 
 
 44 Punish, Lord, this malefactor!
 
 502* HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " For the Tausves-Jontof, God, 
 " Is thyself ! And on the daring 
 
 " Tausves-Jontof s base denier 
 
 " Thou must vent thy wrath unsparing,, 
 
 " Let the earth consume him, like the 
 " Wicked band of Cora, quickly, 
 
 " Who their plots and machinations 
 " Sow'd against thee, Lord, so thickly. 
 
 " Punish, my God, his baseness 1 
 " Thunder forth thy loudest thunder ; 
 
 u Thou with pitch and brimstone Sodon: 
 " And Gomorrha didst bring under. 
 
 " Strike these Capuchins with vigour, 
 " As of yore thou struckest Pharaoh 
 
 " Who pursued us, as well-laden 
 
 " Flying from his land we were, Oh ! 
 
 " Knights a hundred thousand follow'd 
 " This proud monarch of Mizrayim, 
 
 " In steel armour, with bright weapons 
 " In their terrible Jadayim. 
 
 " Lord, thy right hand then extending, 
 " Pharaoh and his host were smitten 
 
 " In the Red Sea, and were drown'd there 
 " As we drown a common kitten. 
 
 " Strike these Capuchins with vigour, 
 " Show the wicked wretches clearly 
 
 " That the lightnings of thine anger 
 " Are not smoke and bluster merely. 
 
 " Then thy triumph's praise and glory 
 " I will sing and tell of proudly, 
 
 " And moreover will, like Miriam, 
 " Dance and play the timbrel loudly." 
 
 Then the monk with equal passion 
 Answer'd thus the furious Rabbi : 
 
 " Villain, may the Lord destroy thee, 
 " Damnable, accurst, and shabby! 
 
 " I can well defy your devils 
 " Whom the Evil One created, 
 
 " Lucifer and Beelzebub, 
 " Astaroth and Belial hated.
 
 ROMANCERO. 503 
 
 " I can well defy your spirits, 
 
 " And your hellish tricks unhallow'd, 
 
 " For in me is Jesus Christ, since 
 " I his body blest have swallow'd. 
 
 " Christ my only favourite food is, 
 
 " Than Leviathan more savoury, 
 " With its boasted garlic white sauce 
 
 " Cook'd by Satan, full of knavery. 
 
 " Ah ! instead of thus disputing, 
 
 " I would sooner roast and bake you 
 
 " With your comrades on the warmest 
 " Funeral pile, the devil take you !" 
 
 Thus for God and faith the tourney 
 
 Goes on in confusion utter ; 
 But in vain the doughty champions 
 
 Screech and rail and storm and splutter. 
 
 For twelve hours the fight has lasted, 
 
 Neither side gives signs of tiring, 
 But the public fast grow weary, 
 
 And the ladies are perspiring. 
 
 And the Court, too, grows impatient, 
 Ladies make with yawns suggestions ; 
 
 To the lovely queen the monarch 
 
 Turns and asks the following questions : 
 
 " Tell me, what is your opinion ? 
 
 " Which is right, and which the liar ? 
 " Will you give your verdict rather 
 
 " For the Eabbi or the friar?" 
 
 Donna Blanca gazes on him, 
 
 Thoughtfully her hands she presses 
 
 With closed fingers on her forehead, 
 And the monarch thus addresses : 
 
 " Which is right, I cannot tell you, 
 
 '' But I have a shrewd suspicion 
 " That the Rabbi and the monk are 
 
 " Both in stinking bad condition."
 
 504 
 
 LATEST POEMS. 
 
 ri853-4.'i 
 
 1. PEACE-YEARNING. 
 
 OLET thy wounds bleed on, and let 
 Thy tears for ever flow unbidden 
 In sorrow revels secret joy, 
 
 And a sweet balm in tears is hidden. 
 
 If strangers' hand did wound thee not, 
 Thou by thyself must needs be wounded ; 
 
 Thank God with all thy heart, if tears 
 To wet thy cheek have e'er abounded. 
 
 The noise of day is hush'd, and night 
 In long dark mantle comes from heaven ; 
 
 While in her arms, nor fool nor dolt 
 Can break the rest to soothe thee given. 
 
 Here thou art safe from music's noise, 
 And from the piano's hammer-hammer, 
 
 From the grand opera's pompous notes, 
 And the bravura's fearful clamour. 
 
 Here thou art not pursued, nor plagued 
 By endless crowds of idle smatt'rers ; 
 
 Nor by the genius Giacomo,* 
 
 And all the clique of world-known chatt'rers. 
 
 O grave, thou art the Paradise 
 
 Of ears that shun the rabble's chorus ; 
 
 Death's good indeed, yet better 'twere 
 Our loving mothers never bore us. 
 
 2. IN MAY. 
 
 THE friends whom I kiss'd and caress'd of yore> 
 Have treated me now with cruelty sore ; 
 My heart is fast breaking. The sun, though, above 
 With smiles is hailing the sweet month of love. 
 
 * Meyerbeer.
 
 LATEST POEMS. 505 
 
 Spring blooms around. In the greenwood is heard 
 The echoing song of each happy bird, 
 And flowers and girls wear a maidenly smile 
 O beauteous world, I hate thee the while ; 
 
 Yes, Orcus' sell I wellnigh praise ; 
 No contrasts vain torment there our days ; 
 For suffering hearts 'tis better below, 
 There where the Stygian night-waters flow. 
 
 That sad and melancholy stream, 
 And the Stymphalides' dull scream, 
 The Furies singsong, so harsh and shrill, 
 With Cerberus' bark the pauses to fill, 
 
 These match full well with sorrow and pain. 
 In Proserpine's accursed domain. 
 In the region of shadows, the valley of sighs, 
 All with our tears doth harmonize. 
 
 But here above, like hateful things, 
 
 The sun and the rose inflict their stings ; 
 
 I'm mock'd by the heavens so May-like and blue 
 
 O beauteous world, I hate thee anew 1 
 
 3. BODY AND SOUL. 
 
 POOR soul doth to the body say : 
 I'll never leave thcc, but I'll stay 
 With thee ; yea, I with thee will sink 
 In death and night, destruction drink. 
 Thou ever wert my second I, 
 And round me clungest lovingly, 
 As though a dress of satin bright, 
 All lined throughout with ermine white 
 Alas 1 I've come to nakedness, 
 A more abstraction, bodiless, 
 Reduced a blessed nullity 
 In yon bright realms of light to be, 
 In the cold halls of heaven up yonder. 
 Where the Immortals silent wander, 
 And gape upon me, clutt'riug by 
 In leaden slippers wearily. 
 'Tis quite intolerable ; stay, 
 Stay with me, my dear body, pray.
 
 506 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 The body to poor soul replied : 
 Cheer up, be not dissatisfied ! 
 We peacefully must learn to bear 
 What Fate apportions as our share. 
 I was the lamp's wick ; I must now 
 Consume away ; the spirit, thou, 
 Wilt be selected by-and-by 
 To sparkle as a star on high 
 Of purest radiance. I'm but rags. 
 Mere stuff, like rotten tinder bags, 
 Collapsing fast, and nothing worth, 
 Becoming, what I was, mere earth. 
 
 Farewell ! take comfort, cease complaining ; 
 Perchance 'tis far more entertaining 
 In heaven than now supposed by thee. 
 If thou shouldst e'er the great bear see 
 (Not Meyer-beer*) in those bright climes, 
 Greet him from me a thousand times. 
 
 4. RED SLIPPEES. 
 
 A WICKED cat, grown old and gray, 
 J-A- That she was a shoemaker chose to say 
 And put before her window a board 
 Where slippers for young maidens were stored ; 
 While some were of morocco made, 
 Others of satin were there display'd ; 
 Of velvet some, with edges of gold, 
 And figured strings, all gay to behold. 
 But fairest of all exposed to view 
 Was a pair of slippers of scarlet hue ; 
 They gave full many a lass delight 
 With their gorgeous colours and splendour bright. 
 A young and snow-white noble mouse 
 Who chanced to pass the shoemaker's house 
 First turn'd to look, and then stood still, 
 And then peep'd over the window sill. 
 At length she said : " Good day, mother cat : 
 " You've pretty red slippers, I grant you that. 
 " If they're not dear, I'm ready to buy, 
 " So tell me the price, if it's not too high." 
 
 * The famous composer, whose real name was Beer.
 
 LATEST POEMS. 507 
 
 " My good young lady," the cat replied, 
 
 " Pray do me the favour to step inside, 
 
 " And honour my house, I venture to pray, 
 
 " With your gracious presence. Allow me to say 
 
 " That the fairest maidens come shopping to me, 
 
 " And duchesses too, of high degree. 
 
 " The slippers I'm willing full cheap to sell, 
 
 " Yet let us see if they'll tit you well. 
 
 " Pray step inside, and take a seat" 
 
 Thus the wily cat did falsely entreat, 
 
 And the poor white thing in her ignorance then 
 
 Fell plump in the snare in that murderous den. 
 
 The little mouse sat down on a chair, 
 
 And lifted her small leg up in the air, 
 
 In order to try how the red shoes fitted, 
 
 A picture of innocent calm to be pitied. 
 
 When sudden the wicked cat seized her fast, 
 
 Her murderous talons around her cast, 
 
 And bit right off her poor little head. 
 
 " My dear white creature," the cat then said, 
 
 " My sweet little mouse, you're as dead as a rat. 
 
 " The scarlet red slippers that served me so pat 
 
 " I'll kindly place on the top of your tomb, 
 
 " And when is heard, on the hist day of doom, 
 
 " The sound of the trump, O mouse so white, 
 
 " From out of your grave you'll come to light, 
 
 " Like all the rest, and then you'll be able 
 
 " To wear your red slippers." Here ends my fable. 
 
 little white mice, take care where you go, 
 And don't be seduced by worldly show ; 
 I counsel you sooner barefooted to walk, 
 Than buy slippers of cats, however they talk. 
 
 5. BABYLONIAN SORROWS. 
 
 I'M summon'd by death. I'd fain, my love, 
 Have left thee behind in a wood to rove, 
 In one of those forests of firs so drear, 
 Where vultures build, and wolves' bowlings we hear. 
 Where the wild sow fearfully grunts evermore, 
 The lawful spouse of the light-grey hour.
 
 508 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 I'm summon'd by death. 'Twere better fax 
 If I, where the stormy billows are, 
 Had had to leave thee, my wife, my child, 
 And straightway the northpole's tempest wild 
 The waters had flogg'd, and out of the deep 
 The hideous monsters that in it sleep, 
 The crocodile fierce and the shark, had come 
 With open jaws, and around thee swum. 
 Believe me, my child, Matilda, my wife, 
 That the angry sea, in its wildest strife, 
 And the cruel forest less dangers give 
 Than the city where we're now fated to live. 
 Though fearful the wolf and the vulture may be. 
 The shark, and the monsters dread of the sea, 
 Far fiercer, more furious beasts have their birth 
 In Paris, the capital proud of the earth. 
 Fair Paris, the singing, so gay in her revels, 
 That hell to the angels, that heaven to devils. 
 That thee I must leave in this dungeon sad, 
 This drives me crazy, this drives me mad. 
 
 With scornful buzzing around my bed 
 The black flies come ; on my nose and head 
 They perch themselves detestable race ! 
 Amongst them are some with a human face, 
 And elephants' trunks (though small in span) 
 Like the god Ganesa in Hindostan. 
 In my brain I hear noises and heavy knocks, 
 It sounds as if they were packing a box, 
 And my reason departs, alas ! alas ! 
 Ere I myself from this earth can pass. 
 
 6. THE SLAVE SHIP. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 THE supercargo Mynher Van Koek 
 In his cabin sits adding his figures ; 
 He calculates his cargo's amount, 
 
 And the probable gain from his niggers. 
 
 " My gum and pepper are good : the stock 
 " Is three hundred chests of all sizes; 
 
 " I've gold dust and ivory too in store, 
 
 " But the black ware by far the best prize is.
 
 LATEST POEMS. 509 
 
 " Six hundred niggers I bought dirt-cheap 
 
 " Where the Senegal river is flowing ; 
 " Their flesh is firm, and their sinews tough 
 
 " As the finest iron going. 
 
 " I got them by barter, and gave in exchange 
 " Glass beads, steel goods, and some brandy ; 
 
 " I shall make at least eight hundred per cent. 
 ' With but half of them living and handy. 
 
 ' If only throe hundred niggers are left, 
 
 " When I get to Eio Janeiro, 
 " I shall have a hundred ducats a head 
 
 " From the house of Gonzales Perreiro." 
 
 Here all of a sudden Mynher Van Koek 
 
 Was disturb 'd in his meditation, 
 For Doctor Van Smissen enter'd in, 
 
 The vessel's surgeon by station. 
 
 His figure was just as thin as a lath, 
 
 And his nose had warts all over ; 
 " Well, worthy Doctor," exclairn'd Van Koek, 
 
 " Are my niggers still living in clover ?" 
 
 The Doctor thunk'd him, and said in reply : 
 
 ' I've come with a tale of disaster ; 
 " Throughout the night, I'm sorry to say, 
 
 ' The deaths have grown faster and faster. 
 
 " The average daily number is two, 
 
 " L5ut to-day just seven have died, Sir, 
 
 " Four men and three women ; I wrote the loss 
 u At once in the log as my guide, Sir. 
 
 " I closely inspected every corpse, 
 
 ' For these nisrals have often a notion 
 " To feign themselves dead, in hopes that they 
 
 ' May be thrown away into the ocean. 
 
 " I took the irons from off the dead, 
 
 " And according to usual custom 
 " Next morning curly into the sea 
 
 ' I bid the sailors thrust VIM. 
 
 " At once the sharks from out >f the waves 
 
 " Shot up in count I- ss legions; 
 " They love full dearly the niters' flesh, 
 
 " My boarders are they in t]u ?-' regions.
 
 510 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " They have follow'd after the track of the ship, 
 
 ' Since we've left the land in the distance ; 
 " The creatures smell the scent of a corpse 
 
 " With ravenous snuffling persistence. 
 " In truth 'tis a capital joke to see 
 
 " How after the bodies they follow ; 
 " One takes the head, another a leg, 
 
 " While the rest the fragments swallow. 
 " Then round the ship contented they roll, 
 
 " When they've finished their eating and crunching. 
 " And stare in my face, as if they sought 
 
 " To thank me for their luncheon." 
 Then spake Van Koek, as he sadly sigh'd, 
 
 When the Doctor his story had finish'd : 
 " How to lessen the evil ? In what way best 
 
 " Can the rate of the deaths be diminish'd ?" 
 The Doctor replied : " Many niggers have died 
 
 " By their own misconduct stealthy ; 
 " Their breath's so bad, that it poisons the air 
 
 " In the ship, and makes it unhealthy. 
 " Through lowness of spirits, too, many have died, 
 
 ' And ennui, in this dreary stillness ; 
 " I think that air and music and dance 
 
 " Would soon remove their illness." 
 Then cried Van Koek : " An excellent plan ! 
 
 " Dear Doctor, I utter no slander, 
 " When I say that like Aristotle you're wise, 
 
 " The tutor of Alexander. 
 " The Tulip-improvement Society's head 
 
 " In the town of Delft may be clever, 
 " But he hasn't one half of your brains, I'm sure, 
 
 " Your equal I've met with never. 
 " Then, music, music ! The niggers all 
 
 " On the deck I'll see dancing and kicking, 
 " And whosoever won't join in the fun 
 
 " Shall receive in reward a good licking." 
 
 PART II. 
 
 ON high, from the heaven's blue canopy, 
 Many thousand stars are gleaming, 
 Like the eyes of fair women, so large and clear, 
 And with locks of yearning beaming.
 
 LATEST POEMS. oil 
 
 They're looking down on the ocean below, 
 Whose waves in the distance are curling, 
 
 In phosphorescent blue vapour all veil'd. 
 While the billows are joyously whirling. 
 
 Not a sail on the slave-ship is fluttering now, 
 
 As though without tackle she's lying ; 
 But lanthoms are glimmering high on the decks 
 
 Where the dance with the music is vying. 
 The cook of the vessel is playing the flute, 
 
 The steersman's playing the fiddle, 
 The trumpet is blown by the Doctor himself, 
 
 And a lad beats the drum in the middle. 
 
 A hundred niggers, both women and men, 
 
 Are yelling and whirling and leaping, 
 As though they were mad ; and at every spring 
 
 Their irons the tune are keeping. 
 
 They stamp on the ground in uproarious mirth, 
 
 And many a swarthy maiden 
 Clasps her naked partner with warmth, while at times 
 
 The air with their groanings is laden. 
 
 The jailer acts as maftre des plaisirs, 
 
 And dealing his lashes so fearful, 
 The weary dancers he stimulates, 
 
 And bids them be merry and cheerful. 
 
 So dideldumdei and schneddcredeng ! 
 
 The strange unwonted commotion 
 Aroused from their lazy slumbers below 
 
 The monsters fierce of the ocean. 
 
 All-heavy with sleep, the sharks swam up, 
 
 In numbers many a hundred ; 
 They stupidly stared at the ship on high 
 
 With amazement, and blindly wondered. 
 
 They see that their usual breakfast time 
 
 Has not come as soon as 'tis wanted, 
 So they gape and ope wide their throats, their jawa 
 
 With teeth like saws being planted. 
 
 And dideldumdei and schnedderedeng ! 
 
 There seems no end to the dances ; 
 The sharks grow impatient, and bito themselves 
 
 In the tail with their teeth like lances.
 
 512 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 I presume that for music they've got no taste. 
 
 Like many an ignoramus ; 
 Trust not the beast that music loves not, 
 
 Says Albion's poet famous. 
 
 And schnedderedeng and dideldumdei ! 
 
 Not one of the dancers seems lazy ; 
 At the foremast stands Mynher Yan Koek, 
 
 And with folded hands thus prays he : 
 
 " For Christ's dear sake, O spare, good Lord, 
 
 " The lives of these swarthy sinners ; 
 " If they've anger 'd thee e'er, thou know'st they're as 
 dull 
 
 " As the beasts that we eat for our dinners. 
 
 *' spare their lives, for Christ's dear sake, 
 
 " Who died for our salvation ; 
 " For unless I have left me three hundred head, 
 
 " There's an end to my occupation." 
 
 7. AFFROXTENBURG. 
 
 rFIME flceteth, yet that castle old, 
 J- With all its battlements, its tower, 
 And simple folk that in it dwelt, 
 Appears before me every hour. 
 
 I ever see the weathercock 
 
 That on the roof turn'cl round so drily ; 
 Each person, ere he spoke a word, 
 
 Was wont to look up tow'rds it slily. 
 
 He that would talk, first learnt the wind, 
 For fear the ancient grumbler Boreas 
 
 Might turn against him suddenly, 
 
 Tormenting him with blast uproarious. 
 
 In truth, the wisest held their tongues, 
 
 For in that place an echo sported. 
 Which, when it answer'd back the voice, 
 
 Each word maliciously distorted. 
 
 Amidst the castle garden stood 
 
 A marble fount, with sphinxes round it, 
 
 For ever dry, though tears enough 
 
 Had flow'd inside it, to have drown 'd it
 
 LATEST POEMS. 513 
 
 most accursed garden ! Ah, 
 
 No single spot was in thy keeping 
 Wherein my heart had not been sad, 
 
 Wherein my eye had not known weeping. 
 No single tree did it contain 
 
 Beneath whose shade affronts injurious 
 Had not against me utter 'd been 
 
 By tongues ironical or furious. 
 
 The toad that listen'd in the grass 
 
 Unto the rat hath all confided, 
 Who told his aunt the viper straight 
 
 The news in which himself he prided. 
 She in her turn told cousin frog, 
 
 And in this manner each relation 
 In the whole filthy race soon learnt 
 
 My dire affronts and sad vexation. 
 
 The garden roses were full fair, 
 
 And sweet the fragrance that they scatter'd ; 
 Yet early wither 'd they and died, 
 
 By a mysterious poison shatter'd. 
 
 And next the nightingale was sick 
 
 To death, that songster loved and cherish'd. 
 That sang to every rose her song ; 
 
 Through her own poison's taste she perish'd. 
 
 O most accursed garden ! Yea, 
 
 It was as though a curse oppress'd it ; 
 
 Oft was I seized by ghostly fear, 
 
 While broad clear daylight still possess'd it. 
 
 The green-eyed spectre on me grinn'd, 
 
 Terror with fearful mockery vying, 
 While from the yew-trees straightway rose 
 
 A sound of groaning, choking, sighing. 
 
 At the long alley's end arose 
 
 The terrace where the Baltic Ocean 
 At time of flood its billows dash'd 
 
 Against the rocks in wild commotion. 
 
 There sees one far across the main, 
 
 There stood I oft, in wild dreams roaming ; 
 
 The breakers fill'd my heart as well 
 
 With ceaseless roaring, raging, foaming. 
 
 2 L
 
 514 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 A foaming, raging, roaring 'twas, 
 As powerless as the billows curling 
 
 That the hard rock broke mournfully, 
 
 Proudly as they their shocks were hurling 
 
 With envy saw I ships pass by, 
 
 Some happier country seeking gladly, 
 
 While I am in this castle chain'd 
 
 With bonds accurst, and pining sadly. 
 
 8. APPENDIX TO "LAZAKUS."* 
 
 i. 
 
 HOLY parables discarding, 
 And each guess, however pious, 
 To these awful questions plainly 
 Seek with answers to supply us : 
 
 Wherefore bends the Just One, bleeding 
 'Neath the cross's weight laborious, 
 
 While upon his steed the Wicked 
 Bides ail-proudly and victorious ? 
 
 Wherein lies the fault ? It is not 
 That our God is not almighty ? 
 
 Or hath he himself offended ? 
 
 Such a thought seems wild and flighty. 
 
 Thus are we for ever asking, 
 
 Till at length our mouths securely 
 
 With a clod of earth are fasten 'd, 
 That is not an answer, surely ? 
 
 MY head by the maiden swarthy but fair 
 Was press'd 'gainst her bosom with yearning ; 
 But, alas ! to grey soon turn'd my hair, 
 Where had fallen her tears so burning. 
 
 She kiss'd me ill, and she kiss'd me lame, 
 
 She kiss'd till my eyes were faded ; 
 My spinal marrow dried up became, 
 
 By her mouth's wild sucking pervaded. 
 
 * See Book II. of " Romanceio."
 
 LATEST POEMS. 515 
 
 My body is now a corpse, wherein 
 
 My spirit is fetter 'd closely ; 
 'Tis often angry, and makes a din, 
 
 And storms and struggles morosely. 
 
 O impotent curses ! Not even a fly 
 
 Can be kill'd by mere execrations ; 
 Submit to thy fate, and patiently try 
 
 To bear Heaven's dispensations. 
 
 m. 
 
 HOW slowly time is crawling on, 
 That serpent terrible and creeping ! 
 While I, alas ! all-motionless, 
 
 On the same spot am ever weeping. 
 
 On my dark cell no ray of hope 
 
 Hath shone, no sunbeam e'er hath risen ; 
 
 For nothing but the churchyard's vault 
 Shall I exchange this fatal prison. 
 
 Perchance I long ago did die, 
 
 Perchance the phantasies which nightly 
 
 Hold in my brain their shifting dance 
 Are nought but ghostly forms unsightly. 
 
 They may full well the spectres be 
 
 Of some old heathen gods or devils ; 
 They gladly choose the empty skull 
 
 Of a dead poet for their revels. 
 
 Those orgies sweet but terrible, 
 
 Those nightly ghost-acts, full of warning, 
 
 The poet's corpse-hand ofttimes seeks 
 To place on record in the morning. 
 
 ONCE saw I many a blooming flower 
 Upon my way, but slothfully 
 Stoop'd not to pluck them in that hour, 
 And on my proud steed hasten'd by. 
 
 Now when I'm near to death, and languish, 
 Now when beneath inc ya\vus tlic tumb, 
 
 Oft in my thought, with bitter anguish. 
 Returns the' unheeded flowers' perfume.
 
 >16 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 But most of all, my brain is burning 
 With a bright yellow violet fair ; 
 
 Wild beauty ! How I grieve with yearning, 
 To think that I enjoy'd thee ne'er ! 
 
 My comfort is : Oblivion's waters 
 Have not yet lost their olden might 
 
 The dull hearts of earth's sons and daughters 
 To steep in Lethe's blissful night. 
 
 I SAW them laughing, smiling gladly, 
 I saw them ruin'd utterly ; 
 I heard them weeping, dying sadly, 
 And yet I utter 'd not a sigh. 
 
 Each corpse I as a mourner follow'd, 
 Yea, to the churchyard follow'd I, 
 
 And then with appetite I swallow'd, 
 My noontide meal, I'll not deny. 
 
 I now recall that band long perish'd, 
 With feelings sadden'd and oppress'd : 
 
 Like sudden glowing love once cherish'd 
 They strangely storm within my breast. 
 
 And most 'tis Juliet's tears so burning 
 That in my memory spring to light ; 
 
 My sadness turns to ceaseless yearning, 
 I call upon her day and night. 
 
 In feverish dreams, with soft emotion 
 The faded flower oft comes again ; 
 
 Methinks a posthumous devotion 
 To my love's glow it oflfers then. 
 
 gentle phantom, clasp me often 
 
 With strong and ever stronger power ; 
 
 Unto my lips press thine, and soften 
 The bitterness of this last hour. 
 
 THOU wast a maiden fair, so good and kindly, 
 So neat, so cool in vain I waited blindly 
 Till came the hour wherein thy gentle heart 
 Would ope, and inspiration play its part.
 
 LATENT POEMS. 517 
 
 Yea, inspiration for those lofty things 
 Which prose and reason deem but wanderings, 
 But yet for which the noble, lovely, good 
 Upon this earth rave, suffer, shed their blood. 
 
 Upon the Rhine's fair strand, where vine-hills smile, 
 Once in glad summer days we roam'd the while ; 
 Bright laugh' d the sun, sweet incense in that hour 
 Stream'd from the beauteous cup of every flower. 
 
 The purple pinks and roses breath'd in turn 
 lied kisses on us, which like fire did burn ; 
 Even the smallest daisy's faint perfume 
 Appear'd a life ideal then to bloom. 
 
 But thou didst peacefully beside me go, 
 
 In a white satin dress, demure and slow, 
 
 Like some girl's portrait limn'd by Netscher's art, 
 
 A little glacier seem'd to be thy heart. 
 
 AT reason's solemn judgment-seat 
 Thy full acquittal hath been spoken ; 
 The verdict says : the little one 
 
 By word or deed no law hath broken. 
 
 Yes, dumb and motionless thou stood'at, 
 
 While madd'ning flames were raging through me 
 
 Thou stirredst not, no word thou spak'st, 
 Yet thou'lt be ever guilty to me. 
 
 Throughout my visions every night 
 
 A voice accusing ceaseth never 
 To charge thee with ill will, and say 
 
 That thou hast ruin'd me for ever. 
 
 It brings its proofs and witnesses, 
 
 Its musty rolls from thought long banish'.! 
 
 And yet at morning, with my dream, 
 Lo, the accuser too hath vanish'd ! 
 
 Now hath it in my inmost heart. 
 
 With all its records, refuse taken 
 One only haunts my memory still : 
 
 That I am ruin'd and forsaken.
 
 518 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 THY letter was a flash of lightning, 
 Illuming night with sudden glow ; 
 It served with dazzling force to show 
 How deep my misery is, how fright'ning. 
 
 E'en thou compassion then didst share, 
 Who, 'mid my life's sad desolation, 
 Stood'st, like the sculptor's mute creation, 
 
 As cold as marble, and as fair. 
 
 O God, how wretched must I be I 
 For into speech her lips are waking, 
 From out her eyes the tears are breaking, 
 
 The stone feels for me tenderly. 
 
 The sight hath fill'd me with confusion ; 
 
 Have pity, Lord, though thou mayst chasten, 
 Thy peace bestow, and quickly hasten 
 
 This fearful tragedy's conclusion. 
 
 rilHE true sphynx's form's the same as 
 _L Woman's ; this I see full clearly ; 
 And the paws and lion's body 
 Are the poet's fancy merely. 
 
 Dark as death is still the riddle 
 
 Of this true sphynx. E'en the clever 
 
 Son and husband of Jocasta 
 
 Such a hard one found out never. 
 
 By good luck, though, woman knows not 
 Her own riddle's explanation ; 
 
 If the answer she discover'd, 
 
 Earth would fall from its foundation. 
 
 npHEEE women sit at the crossway lonely, 
 -I. They're thinking and spinning, 
 They're sighing and grinning ; 
 Their very aspect is hideous only. 
 
 The distaff the first holds, so placid ; 
 
 The threads she setteth, 
 
 And each one wetteth ; 
 So her hanging lip is all dry and flaccid.
 
 LATEST POEMS. 519 
 
 The spindle the second one dances 
 
 In a circle 'tis whirling, 
 
 In droll fashion twirling ; 
 The old woman's eyes shoot blood-red glances. 
 
 The third Fate's hands, so befitting, 
 
 Hold the scissors so dreary, 
 
 She hums Miserere, 
 And sharp is her nose, with a wart on it sitting. 
 
 hasten thee quickly, and sever 
 
 My life's thread so sadd'ning, 
 
 Escaping this madd'ning 
 Turmoil of life's distresses for ever ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 ISCOEN the heavenly plains above me, 
 In the blest land of Paradise ; 
 No fairer women there will love me 
 
 Than those whom here on earth I prize. 
 
 No angel blest, his high flight winging, 
 Could there replace my darling wife ; 
 
 To sit on clouds, whilst psalms I'm singing, 
 Would small enjoyment give to life. 
 
 Lord, methinks 'twere best to leave me 
 
 Upon this lower world to dwell ; 
 But first from sufferings reprieve me, 
 
 Some money granting me as well. 
 
 The world, I know, is overflowing 
 
 With sin and misery ; yet I 
 Have learnt full well the art of going 
 
 Along its pavement quietly. 
 
 Life's bustle cannot now annoy me, 
 
 For 'tis but seldom that I roam ; 
 Beside my wife I'd fain employ mo 
 
 In slippers and loose-coat at home. 
 
 Leave mo with her ! When she is prattling, 
 My soul drinks in the music dear 
 
 Of that sweet voice, so gaily rattling, 
 Her look so faithful is and clear 1
 
 520 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 For health alone and means of living, 
 Lord, ask I ! Let me stay below 
 
 For many a day its blessings giving, 
 Beside my wife in statu quo ! 
 
 9. THE DRAGONFLY. 
 
 THE beauteous dragonfly's dancing 
 By the waves of the rivulet glancing ; 
 She dances here and she dances there, 
 The glimmering, glittering flutterer fair. 
 
 Full many a beetle with loud applause 
 Admires her dress of aznre gauze, 
 Admires her body's bright splendour, 
 And also her figure so slender. 
 
 Full many a beetle, to his cost, 
 
 His modicum small of reason lost ; 
 
 Her wooers are humming of love and truth, 
 
 Brabant and Holland pledging forsooth. 
 
 The dragonfly smiled and thus spake she : 
 Brabant and Holland are nought to me j 
 But haste, if my charms you admire, 
 And fetch me a sparklet of fire. 
 
 The cook has just been brought to bed, 
 And I my supper must cook instead ; 
 The coals on the hearth are burnt away, 
 So fetch me a sparklet of fire, I pray." 
 
 Scarce had the false one spoken the word, 
 When off the beetles flew, like a bird. 
 They seek for fire, and soon they find 
 Their home in the wood's left far behind. 
 
 At length they see a candle's light 
 In garden-bower burning bright ; 
 And then with amorous senseless aim, 
 They headlong rush in the candle's flame. 
 
 The candle's flame with crackling consumed 
 The beetles and their fond hearts so doom'd ; 
 While some with their lives did expiation, 
 Some only lost wings in the conflagration.
 
 LATEST POEMS. 521 
 
 woe to the beetle, whose wings have been 
 Burnt off! In a foreign land, I ween, 
 
 He must crawl on the ground like vermin fell, 
 With humid insects that nastily smell. 
 
 One's bad companions he's heard to say, 
 Are the worst of plagues, in exile's day. 
 We're forced to converse with every sort 
 Of noxious creatures, of bugs in short, 
 
 Who treat us as though their comrades were wo, 
 Because in the selfsame mud we be. 
 Of this complain'd old Virgil's scholar, 
 The poet of exile and hell, with choler. 
 
 1 think with grief of the happier time, 
 When I in my glory's well-winged prime 
 In my native ether was playing, 
 
 On sunny flowers was straying. 
 
 From rosy calixes food I drew, 
 
 Was thought of importance, and wheeling flew 
 
 With butterflies all of elegance rare, 
 
 And with the cricket, the artist fair. 
 
 But since my poor wings I happen'd to burn, 
 To my fatherland now I ne'er can return ; 
 I'm turn'd to a worm, that will soon expire, 
 I'm rotting away in foreign mire. 
 
 O would that I had never met 
 The dragonfly, that azure coquette, 
 With figure so fine and slender, 
 The fair but cruel pretender ! 
 
 10. ASCENSION. 
 
 THE body lay on the bier of death, 
 While the poor soul, when gone its breath, 
 Escaping from earth's constant riot, 
 Was on its way to heavenly quiet. 
 
 Then knock'd it at the portal high, 
 And spake these words with a heavy sigh : 
 " Saint Peter, give me inside a place, 
 '' I am so tired of life's hard race.
 
 522 HEIXES POEMS. 
 
 " On silken pillows I fain would rest 
 " In heaven's bright realms, and -play my oest 
 " With darling angels at blindman's-buff, 
 " Enjoying repose and bliss enough !" 
 
 A clatter of slippers ere long was heard, 
 A bunch of keys appear'd to be stirr'd, 
 And out of a lattice, the entrance near, 
 Saint Peter's visage was seen to peer. 
 
 He spake : " The vagabonds come again, 
 
 " The gipsies, Poles, and their beggarly train, 
 
 " The idlers and the Hottentots 
 
 " They come alone and they come in knots, 
 
 " And fain would enter on heaven's bright rest. 
 
 '' And there be angels, and there be blest. 
 
 " Halloa, halloa! F< r gallows' faces 
 
 " Like yours, for such contemptible races 
 
 " Were never created the halls of bliss, 
 
 " Your portion's with Satan, far off from this. 
 
 " Away, away, and take your flight 
 
 " To the black pool of endless night." 
 
 The old man thus growl'd, but hadn't the heart 
 To continue to play a blustering part, 
 So added these words, its spirits to cheer : 
 " Poor soul, in truth thou dost not appear 
 " To that base troop of rogues to belong 
 " Well, well, I'll grant thy desire so strong, 
 '' Because it is my birthday to-day, 
 " And I feel just now in a merciful way. 
 " But meanwhile tell me the country and place 
 " From whence thou comest ; and was it the case 
 ' That thou wast married ? It happens sometimes 
 - A husband's patience atones for all crimes ; 
 " A husband need not in hell to be stew'd, 
 " Nor need we him from heaven exclude." 
 
 The soul replied : " From Prussia I came, 
 " My native town is Berlin by name, 
 " There ripples the Spree, and in its bed 
 " The young cadets jump heels over head ; 
 " It overflows kindly, when rains bngin 
 * A beautiful spot is indeed Berlin I
 
 LATEST POEMS. 523 
 
 * I was a private teacher when there, 
 
 " And much philosophy read with care. 
 
 " I married a chanoiuesse strange to s*,y, 
 
 " She quarrell'd frightfully every day, 
 
 " Especially when in the house was no bread 
 
 " 'Twas this that kill'd me, and now I am dead." 
 
 Saint Peter cried : " Alack, alack ! 
 
 ' Philosophy's but the trade of a quack. 
 
 " In truth it is a puzzle to me 
 
 Why people study philosophy. 
 
 " It is such tedious and profitless stuff, 
 
 " And is moreover godless enough ; 
 
 " In hunger and doubt their votaries dwell, 
 
 " Till Satan carries them off to hell. 
 
 " Well thy Xantippe might make exclamations 
 
 " Against the thin and washy potations 
 
 " From whence upon her, with comforting gleam 
 
 " No eye of fat could ever beam. 
 
 " But now, poor soul, pray comforted be ! 
 
 " The strictest commands are given to me, 
 
 " 'Tis true, that each who whilst he did live 
 
 " To philosophy used his attention to give, 
 
 " Especially to the godless German, 
 
 " Should be driven away from hence like vermin, 
 
 " Yet 'tis my birthday to-day, as I 
 
 " Have said, so there is a reason why 
 " I'll not reject thee, but ope for a minute 
 " The gate of heaven quick, enter within it 
 " With utmost speed 
 
 " Now all is right ! 
 
 " The whole of the day, from morn's first light 
 " Till late in the evening, thou canst walk 
 " Round heaven at will, and dreamily stalk 
 " Along its jewel-paved streets so fair ; 
 " But mind, thou must not meddle when there 
 " With any philosophy, or I shall be 
 " Soon compromised most terribly. 
 " When angels thou hcarcst sinking, assume 
 " A face of rapture, and never of gloom ; 
 " But if an archangel sang the song, 
 " Be full of inspiration strong, 
 " And say that Malibran ne'er pretended 
 " To have a snpnmo *> ri< li and splendid ;
 
 524 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " And ever applaud each tuneful hymn 
 
 " Of cherubim and of seraphim. 
 
 " Compare them all with Signor Eubini, 
 
 " "With Mario and Tamburini, 
 
 " Give them the title of Excellencies, 
 
 " And be not sparing of reverencies. 
 
 " The singers in heaven, as well as on earth, 
 
 " Have all loved flattery since their birth. 
 
 " The world's great Chapel-master on high, 
 
 " E'en He is pleased when they glorify 
 
 " His works, and delighteth to hear ador'd 
 
 " The wonders of God, the mighty Lord, 
 
 " And when a psalm to His glory and praiso 
 
 " In thickest incense clouds they raise. 
 
 " Forget me not. Whenever to thee 
 
 " The glory of heaven causes ennui, 
 
 " Then hither come, and at cards we'll play. 
 
 " All games alike are in my way, 
 
 " From doubledummy to faro I'll go, 
 
 " We'll also drink. But, apropos, 
 
 " If thou should'st meet, when going from hence, 
 
 " The Lord, and He should ask thee from whence 
 
 " Thou com'st, let no word of Berlin be said, 
 
 " But say, from Vienna or Munich instead." 
 
 11. THE AFFIANCED ONES. 
 
 THOU weep'st, and on me look'st, believing 
 That thou art for my anguish grieving 
 Thou know'st not, wife, that 'tis for thee 
 The tear escapes thee, not for me. 
 
 O tell me if it be not true 
 
 That o'er thy spirit sometimes grew 
 
 The blest foreboding, showing thee 
 
 That we were join'd by fate's decree ? 
 
 United, bliss was ours below, 
 
 But sever'd, nought is ours but woe. 
 
 In the great book 'tis written clearly 
 That we should love each other dearly. 
 Thy place should be upon my breast, 
 Here first awoke self-knowledge blest ; 
 From out the realm of plants, with power 
 'Twas mine to free, to kiss thee, flower !
 
 LATEST POEMS. 525 
 
 Raise thee to me, to highest life, 
 'Twas mine to give thee soul, my wife. 
 
 Now, when reveal'd the riddles stand, 
 When in the hour-glass is the sand 
 Run out, weep not, 'tis order'd so 
 Alone thou'lt wither, when I go ; 
 Thou'lt wither, ere thou yet hast bloom'd, 
 Ere thou hast glow'd, be quench 'd and doom'd ; 
 Thou'lt die and be the prey of death 
 Ere thou hast learnt to draw thy breath. 
 
 I know it now. By heaven, 'tis thou 
 Whom I have loved. How bitter now, 
 The moment we are join'd for ever, 
 To find the hour when we must sever. 
 The welcome meanwhile must give way 
 To sad farewell. We part to-day 
 For evermore, for 'tis not given 
 To us to meet again in heaven. 
 Beauty to dust will fall at last, 
 Thou'lt pass away, and crumble fast. 
 The poets' fate will happier be, 
 Death cannot kill them utterly. 
 Annihilation strikes us ne'er, 
 We live in poesy's land so fair, 
 In Avalon, where fairies dwell 
 Dear corpse, for ever fare thee well ! 
 
 12. THE PHILANTHROPIST. 
 
 THERE once was a brother and sister, 
 The sister was poor, the brother was rich. 
 The poor one said to the rich one : 
 " Give me a piece of bread." 
 
 The rich one said to the poor one : 
 ' Leave me to-day in peace, . 
 ' While I give my yearly banquet 
 1 To the lords of the Council all. 
 
 ' The first doth turtlesoup relish, 
 ; The second doth pineapples c;it, 
 i The third is fond of phc-.isiint 
 ' And Perigord truffles too.
 
 526 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " The fourth eats nought but seafish, 
 " The fifth in salmon delights, 
 " The sixth of each dish eateth, 
 " And drinketh even more." 
 
 The poor rejected sister 
 Went hungry back to her house ; 
 She threw herself on her straw-bed, 
 And deeply sighed and died. 
 We all alike must perish ! 
 The scythe of death at last 
 Mowed down the wealthy brother, 
 As it the sister had mown. 
 
 And when the wealthy brother 
 His end approaching saw, 
 He sent for his notary quickly, 
 And straightway made his will. 
 
 With legacies large and lib'ral 
 The clergy he endow'd, 
 The schools, and the great museum 
 Of zoological things. 
 
 And noble sums moreover 
 The great testator bequeath'd 
 To the deaf and dumb asylum 
 And Jewish Conversion fund. 
 
 A handsome bell bestow'd he 
 On the new Saint Stephen's tower ; 
 It weighs five hundred centners, 
 Of first-rate metal too. 
 
 It is a bell enormous, 
 And sounds both early and late ; 
 It sounds to the praise and glory 
 Of that most excellent man. 
 
 It tells, with its tongue of iron, 
 Of all the good he has done 
 To the town and his fellow-townsmen., 
 Whatever might be their faith. 
 
 Thou great benefactor of mortals 
 In death as well as in life 
 The great bell's ever proclaiming 
 Each benefaction of thine !
 
 LATEST POEMS. 527 
 
 The funeral next with all houour 
 And pomp was solemnized, 
 The people crowded to see it 
 And reverently gazed. 
 
 Upon a coal-black carriage, 
 Like a vast canopy 
 Adorn'd with black ostrich feathers, 
 The splendid coffin lay. 
 
 Trick'd out with plates of silver, 
 And silver embroidery fine, 
 Upon the black ground the silver 
 The grandest effect produced. 
 
 The carriage was drawn by six korsee, 
 In coal-black trappings disguised, 
 That fell, like funeral mantles, 
 Down even to their hoofs. 
 
 Behind the coffin were crowded 
 
 The servants in liveries black. 
 
 Their snow-white handkerchiefs holding 
 
 Before their sorrowing face. 
 
 The people of rank in the city, 
 In long procession form'd 
 Of black and showy coaches, 
 Totter'd along behind. 
 
 In this grand fun'ral procession, 
 Remember, were also found 
 The noble lords of the Council, 
 And yet they were not complete. 
 
 The one was missing, whose fancy 
 Was pheasant and truffles to eat ; 
 An attack of indigestion 
 Had lately carried him off. 
 
 13. THE WHIMS OF THE AMOROUS. 
 
 (A true story, repeated after old documents and reproduced in 
 excellent rhyme.) 
 
 UPON the hedge the beetle sits sadly. 
 He has fallen in love with a lady-fly madly. 
 
 O fly of my soul, 'tis thou alone 
 
 Art the wife I have chosen to be uiy owu.
 
 528 HEEST56 POEMS. 
 
 marry me, and be not cold. 
 
 For I have a belly of glistening gold. 
 
 My back is a mass of glory and show, 
 There rubies glitter, there emeralds glow 
 
 would that I were a fool just now ! 
 I'd never marry a beetle, I vow. 
 
 1 care not for emeralds, rubies, or gold, 
 I know that no happiness riches enfold. 
 
 'Tis tow'rd the ideal my thought soars high, 
 For I am in truth a haughty fly. 
 
 The beetle flew off, with a heart like to break, 
 The fly went away, a bath to take. 
 
 what has become of my maid, the bee, 
 That she when I'm washing may wait on me, 
 
 That she may stroke my soft hair outside, 
 For I am now a beetle's bride. 
 
 In truth, a splendid party I'll give, 
 For handsomer beetle never did live. 
 
 His back is a mass of glory and show, 
 There rubies glitter, there emeralds glow. 
 
 His belly is golden, and noble each feature ; 
 With envy will burst full many a creature. 
 
 Make haste, Miss Bee, and dress my hair, 
 And lace my waist, use perfumes rare. 
 
 With otto of roses rub me o'er, 
 
 And lavender oil on my feet then pour, 
 
 That I mayn't stink or nastily smell, 
 
 When I in my bridegroom's arms shall dwell. 
 
 Already are flitting the dragonflies blue, 
 As maids of honour to wait on me too. 
 
 Into my bridal garland they'll twine 
 The blossoms white of the orange so fine. 
 
 Full many musicians are asked to the place, 
 And singers as well, of the grasshopper race. 
 
 The bittern, drone, hornet, and gadfly all come, 
 To blow on the trumpet, and beat the drum.
 
 LATEST POEMS. 529 
 
 They're all to strike up for the glad wedding feast 
 
 The gay-winged guests, from greatest to least, 
 
 Are coming in families dapper and brisk, 
 
 The commoner insects amongst them frisk. 
 
 The grasshoppers, wasps, and the aunts, and the cousins 
 
 Are coming, whilst trumpets are blowing by dozens. 
 
 The pastor, the mole, in black dignified state, 
 
 Has also arrived, and the hour grows late. 
 
 The bells are all sounding ding-dong, ding-a-dong 
 
 But where's my dear bridegroom ling'ring so long ? 
 
 Ding doug, ding-a-dong, sound the bells all the day, 
 
 The bridegroom however has flown far away. 
 
 The bells are all sounding ding-dong, ding-a-dong 
 
 But where's my dear bridegroom ling'ring so long ? 
 
 The bridegroom has meanwhile taken his seat 
 
 On a distant dunghill, enjoying the heat. 
 
 Seven years there sits he, until his forgotten 
 
 Poor bride has long been dead and rotten. 
 
 14. MIMI. 
 " T'M no modest city creature 
 
 -L " By the hearth demurely spinning, 
 " But a free cat on the roof, 
 
 " In the air, with manners winning. 
 
 " When in summer nights I'm musing 
 " On the roof, in grateful coolness, 
 
 " Music in me purrs, I sing 
 
 " From my heart's o'erpowering fulness." 
 
 Thus she speaks, and from her bosom 
 Wild a: id wedding-songs stream thickly, 
 
 And the melody allures 
 
 All the cats unmarried quickly. 
 
 Purring, mewing, thither hasten 
 
 All the young cats, plain or brindled, 
 
 And with Mimi join in chorus, 
 Full of love, with passion kindled. 
 
 They are no mere virtuosos 
 
 Who profane, for sordid wages, 
 Music, but of harmony 
 
 Are apostles true, and sages. 
 
 2 M
 
 530 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 They no instruments use ever, 
 Each is his own flute and viol ; 
 
 All their noses trumpets are, 
 Bellies, drums, and no denial. 
 
 They in chorus raise their voices, 
 In one general intermezzo, 
 
 Playing fugues, as if by Bach, 
 Or by Guido of Arezzo. 
 
 "Wild the symphonies they're singing, 
 Like capriccios of Beethoven, 
 
 Or of Berlioz, who's excell'd 
 By their strains so interwoven. 
 
 Wonderful their music's might is ! 
 
 Magic notes without an equal ! 
 E'en the heavens they shake, the stars 
 
 All turn pallid in the sequel. 
 
 When the magic notes she heareth, 
 And the wondrous tones delightful, 
 
 Then Selene hides her face 
 
 With a veil of clouds so frightful. 
 
 But the nightingale with envy 
 Scandalous old prima donna 
 
 Turns her nose up, snuffs, and scorns 
 Mimi's voice, to her dishonour. 
 
 Never mind ! She'll go on singing 
 Spite the envy of Signora, 
 
 Till on the horizon's seen, 
 Smiling rosily, Aurora. 
 
 15. GOOD ADVICE. 
 
 CEASE thy blushes and thy sorrow, 
 Boldly woo, and not aside, 
 Civil they will be to-morrow, 
 
 And thou thus wilt win thy bride. 
 
 'Tis the fiddle makes the revel, 
 Give, then, the musicians gold ; 
 
 Though thou wish them at the devil, 
 Kiss thy aunts-in-law, though old.
 
 LATEST POEMS. 531 
 
 Give a prince his meed of laurel, 
 
 Of a woman speak not ill ; 
 With thy sausages don't quarrel 
 
 When thou hast a sow to kill. 
 If the church to thee is hateful, 
 
 All the more attend its shrine ; 
 To the parson be thou grateful, 
 
 Send him, too, a flask of wine. 
 If an itching chance to teaze thee, 
 
 Like a man of honour, scratch ; 
 If thy shoe be tight and squeeze thee, 
 
 Slippers get with all despatch. 
 If thy soup has too much seasoning, 
 
 Be not in an angry mood ; 
 Smiling say, instead of reasoning : 
 
 " Sweet wife, all thou cook'st is good." 
 If thy wife a wish expresses 
 
 For a shawl, straight buy her two; 
 Buy her golden brooches, dresses, 
 
 Lace and jewels not a few. 
 If thou'lt give this plan a trial, 
 
 Then, my friend, thou'lt surely gain 
 Heaven to bless thy self-denial, 
 
 And on earth to peace attain. 
 
 16. REMINISCENCES OF 1 1 AMMONIA* 
 PHAN children two and two, 
 Wandering gladly on we view, 
 All of them blue coats are wearing, 
 All of them red cheeks are bearing 
 O the pretty orphan children ! 
 All are moved when thus they prattle, 
 And the money boxes rattle ; 
 Liberal alms upon them flow, 
 That their secret sires bestow, 
 O the pretty orphan children ! 
 Women of a fi-fling heart 
 Many a poor child kiss apart, 
 Kiss his driv'lling nose (not pleasant), 
 Give him sweetmeats as a present 
 O the pretty orphan children ! 
 
 * The tutelar goddess of Hamburg. See Heine's " Germa-iy.* 
 

 
 532 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 One, with timid face but willing, 
 Throws inlo the box a shilling, 
 For he has a heart, then gaily 
 Follows he his business daily 
 the pretty orphan children ! 
 
 One a golden louis-d'or 
 Next bestows, but not before 
 Heavenward looking, hoping blindly 
 That the Lord will view him kindly 
 O the pretty orphan children ! 
 
 Porters, coopers, working men, 
 Servants, make to-day again 
 Holiday, and drain their glasses, 
 Drinking to these lads and lasses 
 the pretty orphan children ! 
 
 Tutelar Hammonia 
 
 Follows them incognita ; 
 
 As she moves, her form gigantic 
 
 Sways about, in manner frantic 
 
 the pretty orphan children ! 
 
 In the green field where they went 
 Music fills the lofty tent, 
 Cover'd o'er with flag and banner ; 
 There are fed in sumptuous manner 
 All these pretty orphan children. 
 
 There in lengthy rows they sit, 
 
 Eating many a nice tit-bit, 
 
 Tarts and cakes and sweet things crunching, 
 
 While like little mice they're munching, 
 
 All these pretty orphan children. 
 
 Now my thoughts to dwell begin 
 On an orphan-house wherein 
 There no feasting is or gladness, 
 Where lament in ceaseless sadness, 
 Millions of poor orphan children. 
 
 There no uniforms are seen, 
 Many want their dinner e'en ; 
 No two walk together yonder, 
 Lonely, sorrowfully wander 
 Many million orphan children.
 
 LATEST POEMS. f)3.> 
 
 i7. THE ROBBERS. 
 
 WHILE Laura's arm, with tender feeling, 
 Embraced me on the couch, the fox 
 Her worthy husband from my box 
 My banknotes quietly was stealing. 
 
 My pockets now have got no cash in ! 
 
 Was Laura's kiss a simple lie ? 
 
 Ah! what is truth ? In days gone by 
 Thus Pilate ask'd, his hands while washing. 
 
 This evil world, decay'd and rotten, 
 
 I soon shall ne'er again behold ; 
 
 I see that he who has no gold 
 Will very soon be quite forgotten. 
 
 For you, pure souls, whose habitation 
 In yonder realms of light I see, 
 My bosom yearns. No wants have ye, 
 
 So stealing is not your vocation. 
 
 18. THE YOUNG CATS' CLUB FOR POETRY-MUSIC 
 
 THE philharmonic young cats' club 
 Upon the roof was collected 
 To-night, but not for sensual joys, 
 No wrong could there be detected. 
 
 No summer night's wedding dream there was dreamt, 
 
 No song of love did they utter 
 In the winter season, in frost and snow, 
 
 For frozen was every gutter. 
 
 A newborn spirit hath recently 
 
 Come over the whole cat-nation, 
 But chiefly the young, and the young cat feels 
 
 More earnest with inspiration. 
 
 The frivolous generation of old 
 
 Is extinct, and a newborn yearning, 
 A pussy springtime of poetry 
 
 In art and in life they're learning. 
 
 The philharmonic young cats' club 
 
 Is now returning to artless 
 And primitive music, and ii;iivete\ 
 
 From modern fashions all hi-artlcsa.
 
 534 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 It seeks in music for poetry, 
 
 Roulades with the quavers omitted ; 
 
 It seeks for poetry, music-void, 
 For voice and instrument fitted. 
 
 It seeks for genius's sovereign sway, 
 
 Which often bungles truly, 
 Yet oft in art unconsciously 
 
 Attains the highest stage duly. 
 
 It honours the genius which prefers 
 Dame Nature to keep at a distance, 
 
 And will not show off its learning, in fact 
 Its learning not having existence. 
 
 This is the programme of our cat club, 
 And with these intentions elated, 
 
 It holds its first winter concert to-nigl;l 
 On the roof, as before I have stated 
 
 Yet sad was the execution, alas ! 
 
 Of this great idea so splendid ; 
 I'm sorry, my dear friend Berlioz, 
 
 That by thee it wasn't attended. 
 
 It was a charivari, as though 
 
 With brandy elated greatly, 
 Three dozen pipers struck up the tune 
 
 That the poor cow died of lately. 
 
 It was an utter medley, as though 
 
 In Noah's ark were beginning 
 The whole of the beasts in unison 
 
 The Deluge to tell of in singing, 
 
 what a croaking, snarling, and noise ! 
 
 O what a mewing and yelling ! 
 And even the chimneys all join'd in, 
 
 The wonderful chorus swelling. 
 
 A nd loudest of all was heard a voice 
 Which sounded languid and shrieking 
 
 As Sontag's voice became at the last, 
 When utterly broken and squeaking. 
 
 The whimsical concert ! Methiuks that they 
 A grand Te Deum were chanting, 
 
 To honour the triumph o'er reason obtain' J 
 By commonest frenzy and canting.
 
 LATEST POEMS. 535 
 
 Perchance moreover the young cats' club 
 
 The opera grand were essaying 
 That the greatest pianist of Hungary* 
 
 Composed for Charenton's playing. 
 
 It was not till the break of day 
 
 That an end was put to the party ; 
 A cook was in consequence brought to bed 
 
 Who before had seem'd well and hearty. 
 
 The lying-in woman lost her wits, 
 
 Her memory, too, was affected, 
 And who was the father of her child 
 
 No longer she recollected. 
 
 Say, was it Peter ? Say, was it Paul ? 
 
 Say who is the father, Eliza ! 
 " O Liszt, thou heavenly cat !" she said, 
 
 And simper'd and look'd the wiser. 
 
 19. HANS LACK-LAND. 
 
 T7 ARE WELL, my wife, said Lack-Land Hans, 
 _L A lofty object elates me ; 
 Far different goats I now must shoot, 
 Far different game awaits me. 
 
 I'll leave thee behind my hunting horn, 
 
 Thou canst in my absence daily. 
 Play merrily on it, for thou hast learnt 
 
 To blow on the post-horn gaily. 
 
 I'll also leave thee behind my hound, 
 
 To be the castle's defender ; 
 My German folk, like faithful dogs. 
 
 Will guard me and never surrender. 
 
 They offer me the imperial throne, 
 
 Their affection is almost provoking 
 My image is graven on every heart, 
 
 And every pipe they are smoking. 
 
 Ye Germans are a wonderful race, 
 
 So simple and yet so clever ; 
 One forgets that gunpowder, but for you. 
 
 Had been discover'd never. 
 
 * Liszt.
 
 536 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Your emperor, no, your father I'll be, 
 lour welfare shall be my sole glory 
 
 blissful thought ! it makes me as proud 
 As the Gracchi's mother in story. 
 
 I'll govern my people by feeling alone, 
 And not by the light of mere reason ; 
 
 1 never could bear diplomacy, 
 
 And politics hate like treason. 
 
 A huntsman am I, and Nature's own child, 
 Who had in the forest my training, 
 
 With chamois and snipe and roebuck and boar,- 
 A foe to all nonsense and feigning. 
 
 By proclamations I never enticed, 
 
 No printed pamphlet invented ; 
 I say : " My people, the salmon's all gone, 
 
 " With cod for to-day be contented. 
 
 " If I don't please you as Emperor, take 
 " The first donkey that comes about you ; 
 
 " I had, when I lived in the Tyrol, no lack, ' 
 " I've plenty to eat without you." 
 
 Thus speak I, but now, my wife, farewell, 
 
 I must end my long discourses ; 
 My father-in-law's postilion's outside, 
 
 Awaiting me with the horses. 
 
 Quick, hand me over my travelling cap, 
 With the ribbon all black-red-golden ; 
 
 Thou 'It see me soon with the diadem, 
 In the dress imperial and olden. 
 
 Thou'lt see me in the Pluvial too, 
 
 The purple robe so glorious, 
 The gift of the Saracen Sultan erst 
 
 To Otto, the Caesar victorious. 
 
 Beneath, I shall wear the Dalmatian 
 Whereon, in each species of jewel, 
 
 A train of lions and camels is work'd, 
 And fabulous monsters and cruel. 
 
 Upon my breast the stole I shall wear, 
 
 Significantly blended 
 With eagles black on a yellow ground, 
 
 The garment is really splendid.
 
 LATEST POEMS. 537 
 
 Farewell ! Posterity shall say 
 
 I reign'd with honest intention. 
 Who knows ? Posterity perchance 
 
 My name will never mention. 
 
 20. RECOLLECTIONS FROM KRAHWINKEL'S DAYS 
 OF TERROR. 
 
 "VTTE, mayor and senate of the town, 
 
 T T The following orders now lay down 
 To all who love their city truly, 
 Enjoining them to keep them duly. 
 
 'Tis foreigners and strangers most 
 Who their rebellious spirit boast ; 
 Thank God, such rogues (to put it fairly) 
 The children of the soil are rarely. 
 
 The Atheists likewise are concern'd ; 
 For he by whom his God is spurn'd 
 Is sure at last to hold detested 
 All those on earth with power invested. 
 
 Christian and Jew, at close of day, 
 Must shut their shops without delay ; 
 " Obey your rulers" should be ever 
 Both Jew and Christian's first endeavour. 
 
 No person shall be seen at night 
 
 In any street without a light ; 
 
 Where three or more in groups are standing, 
 
 Let them at once begin disbanding. 
 
 Each one must bring his weapons all, 
 And lay them down in the guildhall ; 
 And every kind of ammunition 
 Is subject to the same condition. 
 
 Hi; who in any public spot 
 Ventures to reason, shall be shot ; 
 Ho who by gestures dares to reason 
 Shall pay the penalty of treason. 
 
 Confide in the authoritii s, 
 
 So gracious, but withal so wise, 
 
 Who rule the fortunes of the city, 
 
 And hold your tongues, or more's the pity
 
 538 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 21. THE AUDIENCE. 
 
 (An old Fable.) 
 
 ** T'LL let not my children, like Pharaoh, be drown 'd 
 
 JL "In the Nile's deep turbulent water ; 
 " Nor am I a tyrant, like Herod of old, 
 " No patron of children's slaughter. 
 
 " I will, as my gracious Saviour did, 
 
 " Find the sight of the children pleasant ; 
 
 " So stiffer the children to come, and first 
 " The big one, the Swabian peasant." 
 
 Thus spake the monarch : the chamberlain ran, 
 
 And return'd, introducing slowly 
 The stalwart child from Swabia's land, 
 
 Who made a reverence lowly. 
 
 Thus spake the king : " A Swabian art thou ? 
 
 " There's no disgrace in that surely." 
 " Quite right ! I was born in Swabia's land," 
 
 Eeplied the Swabian demurely. 
 
 " Art thou from the seven Swabians sprung ?" 
 Ask'd the other. " In truth I'm descended 
 
 " From one of them only," the Swabian replied, 
 " And not from the whole of them blended." 
 
 The king then ask'd : " Are dumplings this year 
 
 " In Swabia as usual eaten ?" 
 " I'm obliged for the question," the Swabian rejoin'd, 
 
 " They are not easily beaten." 
 
 " And do ye still boast big men ?" next said 
 
 The monarch. " Why, just at present 
 " The big ones are scarce, but in their place 
 
 " We've fat ones," answer 'd the peasant. 
 
 " Has Menzel," added the king, "received 
 
 " On his ear many boxes lately ?" 
 " I'm obliged for the question." the Swabian said, 
 
 " The former ones punish'd him greatly." 
 
 The king then said, " Thou'rt not such a fool, 
 " My friend, as thou fain wouldst persuade me." 
 
 " That's because I was changed in my cradle," said he, 
 " By the cobolds, who different made me."
 
 LATEST POEMS. 539 
 
 The king then spake : " The Swabians are wont 
 
 " To love their fatherland dearly ; 
 " So why hast thou left thy native home ? 
 
 " Explain the reason clearly." 
 
 The Swabian replied : " Each day I had nought 
 
 " But turnips and sour-crout ever ; 
 " And had my mother but cook'd me meat, 
 
 ' I had left my fatherland never." 
 
 " One wish I will grant thec," the monarch then said 
 Then the Swabian in deep supplication 
 
 Knelt down and cxclaim'd: "O. Sire, pray grant 
 " Their freedom once more to the nation. 
 
 " Freeborn is man, and Nature ne'er meant 
 
 " That he as a slave should perish ; 
 " O, Sire, restore to the German folk 
 
 " The rights that they manfully cherish !" 
 
 The monarch in deep amazement stood, 
 
 The scene was really enthralling; 
 With his sleeve the Swabian wiped from his eye 
 
 The tear that was wellnigh falling. 
 
 At last said the king : " In truth a fine dream ! 
 
 *' Farewell, and pray learn more discretion ; 
 " And as a somnambulist plainly thou art. 
 
 " Of thy person I'll give the possession 
 
 " To two trusty gendarmes, whose duty 'twill be 
 
 " To see thee safe over the border 
 ' Farewell! I must hasten to join the parade, 
 
 " The drums are beating to order." 
 
 And so this affecting audience: came 
 
 To a most affecting conclusion. 
 But from that moment the monarch allow'd 
 
 No more of his children's intrusion.* 
 
 22. KOBES I. 
 
 IN eighteen hundred and forty-eight, 
 When passions men's minds \ver& heating, 
 
 The German nation's parliament 
 At Frankfort held its meeting. 
 
 * The lirro of tliis story is the well-known P\v;il<inn poet 
 George Hcrwrgh.
 
 540 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Just at this time, in the Senate-house 
 
 Appear'd the white lady ghostly, 
 The spectre that heralds the coming of woe, 
 
 They call her the Housekeeper mostly. 
 
 By night they say in the Senate-house 
 She is wont to make her appearance, 
 
 Whenever the Germans their foolish tricks play 
 With extra perseverance. 
 
 I saw her myself at the selfsame time 
 As she roam'd in the hours of slumber 
 
 Through the silent chambers, wherein were piled 
 The middle ages' old lumber. 
 
 She held the lamp and a bunch of keys 
 
 In her hands so pale and sickly ; 
 She open'd the presses against the walls, 
 
 And the chests strew'd around her thickly. 
 
 There lie the imperial insignia all, 
 
 There lies the bull all-golden, 
 The sceptre, the regal apple, the crown, 
 
 And more of such fancies olden. 
 
 There lie the ancient imperial robes, 
 
 The purple frippery faded, 
 The German kingdom's wardrobe in fact, 
 
 Now rusted and rot-pervaded. 
 
 The Housekeeper mournfully shakes her head 
 At the sight, then with deep displeasure 
 
 She suddenly cries at the top of her voice : 
 " The whole of them stink beyond measure ! 
 
 " The whole of them stink with mice's dung 
 " And rotten and mouldy 's the ermine ; 
 
 " And all the gaudy trumpery work 
 " Is swarming with noxious vermin. 
 
 " In truth, on this splendid ermine dress, 
 
 " Once used at the coronation, 
 " The cats of the Senate-house district are wont 
 
 " To lie, as their lying-in station. 
 
 " 'Tis useless to clean them ; I pity the fate 
 
 " Of the Emperor next elected ; 
 " By the fleas in his coronation robe 
 
 " His health will be surely affected.
 
 LATEST POEMS. 541 
 
 ' A lid kiiow ye, that all the people must scratch, 
 
 " Whenever the Emperor itches 
 " Germans, I dread the princely fleas 
 
 '' Who FW allow up much of your riches. 
 
 " Yet what is the tse of monarch and fleas ? 
 
 " For rusty are now and all rotten 
 ' The olden costumes By modern days 
 
 " Are the ancient dresses forgotten. 
 
 ' The German poet at Kyffhauser said 
 
 " To Barbarossa quite truly : 
 ' ' I find that we want no Emperor now, 
 
 " ' When I weigh the matter duly.' 
 
 " But if, spite of all, ye an empire must have, 
 
 " With an Emperor reigning o'er ye, 
 " My worthy Germans, don't suffer yourselves 
 
 " To be snared by genius or glory. 
 
 " Choose one of the people your monarch to be, 
 
 " All sons of the nobles reject ye ; 
 " Select not the lion, select not the fox, 
 
 " The dullest of sheep elect ye. 
 
 " Elect as your Monarch Colonia's son, 
 
 " The crown to dull Kobes awarding; 
 " The genius of Dulness well-nigh is he, 
 
 " His people he'll ne'er be defrauding. 
 
 " A log is ever the best of kings, 
 
 " As Esop has shown in the fable ; 
 " He cannot devour us poor frogs up, 
 
 "As the stork with his long bill is able. 
 
 " Be sure that Kobes no tyrant will be, 
 
 " No Holofernes or Nero ; 
 * ! He boasts no terrible antique heart, 
 
 " A soft modern heart has our hero. 
 
 " Though vulgar pride might scorn such a heart, 
 
 " Yet in the arms of the liclot 
 " Of work the unfortunate threw himself, 
 
 " Becoming a regular zealot. 
 
 " The men of the journeymen's Bt^scJienschaft 
 
 " As president Kobes elected : 
 M He shared with them their hist piece of bread, 
 
 " They held him vastly respected.
 
 542 HEINE'S 
 
 " They boasted that lie in all his life 
 
 " Had never been at college, 
 " And out of his head composed his books 
 
 " By the light of intuitive knowledge. 
 
 " Yes, his consummate ignorance 
 
 " Was the fruit of his own endeavour; 
 " With foreign wisdom and training he 
 
 " Had injured his intellect never. 
 
 " From abstract philosophy's influence he 
 " Kept likewise his thoughts and his spirit 
 
 " Entirely free. Himself he remain'd ! 
 " Yes, Kobes has really his merit ! 
 
 " The tear of the usual stereotype form 
 
 " In his beautiful eye is gleaming, 
 " And from his lips incessantly 
 
 " The grossest stupidity's streaming. 
 
 " He prates and he grins, and he grins and prates, 
 " His words with long ears are provided ; 
 
 " A pregnant woman who heard him speak 
 " Gave birth to a donkey decided. 
 
 " With scribbling books and knitting he's wont 
 
 " His idle hours to flavour ; 
 " The stockings that he with his own hands knit 
 
 " Have met with particular favour. 
 
 " To devote himself wholly to knitting he's begg'd 
 
 " By Apollo and all the Muses ; 
 " They're frighten 'd whenever they see that his hand 
 
 " A goose-quill laboriously uses. 
 
 " His knitting recals the olden time 
 
 " Of the Funken,* who all stood knitting 
 
 " While mounting guard. these men of Cologne 
 " No means of amusement omitting. 
 
 " If Kobes is Emp'ror. he'll surely recal 
 
 " To life these Funken deserving ; 
 " The valiant band will surround his throne, 
 
 " As the guard imperial serving. 
 
 * Funken (or Sparks') was the name given to the soldiers of 
 Cologne before the Eevolution, who used to knit when on guard.
 
 LATEST POEMS. 543 
 
 " He well might be glad to go at their head, 
 
 ' k And march over France's borders, 
 " And Alsace, Lorraine, and Burgundy fair 
 
 " Bring under Germany's orders. 
 
 <; Yet be not afraid, at home he'll remain, 
 
 ' Intent on a scheme long suspended, 
 " A lofty idea, the completion, in fact, 
 
 " Of Cologne Cathedral so splendid. 
 
 " But when the Cathedral's quite complete, 
 
 '' Then Kobes will get in a passion, 
 " And sword in hand, will bring the French 
 
 " To account in a regular fashion. 
 
 " He'll take Alsace and Lorraine away 
 '* (By France from the empire estreated) ; 
 
 ' To Burgundy, too, he'll triumphantly go, 
 " When once the Cathedral's completed. 
 
 " Ye Germans, pray lose not your senses quite, 
 " If an Emperor's needed, I'll name him ; 
 
 " The Carnival King of Cologne let it be, 
 " As Kobes the First now proclaim him ! 
 
 " The fools of the Carnival rout at Cologne, 
 " With caps and bells ringing and mocking, 
 
 " Shall be his ministers of state, 
 t; His scutcheon a knitted stocking. 
 
 " Let Drickes be Chancellor, calling himself 
 
 ' Count Drickes of Drickeshausen, 
 " And Mari zcl >ill the Mistress of State, 
 
 " With the Emperor fondly carousing.* 
 
 " Within his good sacred town of Cologne 
 
 " Will be Kobes's habitation ; 
 " And when the Cologners hear the glad news, 
 
 " They'll have an illumination. 
 
 " The bells, the iron dogs of the air, 
 
 u Into joyous barks will be breaking, 
 And the three holy kings from the land of the East 
 
 " In their chapel will soon be awaking. 
 
 * Drickes and Marizebill arc popular masks at the Carnival 
 at Cologne.
 
 544 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 ' They'll step outside with their clattering bones, 
 " All dancing with rapture and springing; 
 
 " I hear them the Hallelujah's strains 
 " And Kyrie Eleison singing." - 
 
 Thus spoke the dread white nightly ghost 
 
 With loud uproarious laughter ; 
 Through all the resounding halls of the place 
 
 The echo rang wildly long after. 
 
 13. EPILOGUE. 
 
 G EAVES they say are warm'd by glory; 
 Foolish words and empty story ! 
 Better far the warmth we prove 
 From a cow-girl deep in love, 
 With her arms around us flung, 
 Keeking with the smell of dung. 
 And that warmth is better too 
 That man's entrails pierces through 
 When he drinks hot punch and wine, 
 Or his fill of grog divine, 
 In the vilest, meanest den 
 'Mongst the thieves and scum of meu, 
 Who escape the gallows daily, 
 But who breathe and live ail-gaily, 
 With as enviable fate 
 As e'en Thetis' son so great. 
 Rightly did Pelides say : 
 Living in the meanest way 
 In the upper world's worth more, 
 Than beside the Stygian shore 
 King of shades to be ; a hero 
 Such as Homer sang is zero.
 
 LATK&I POEMS. 545 
 
 ADDENDA TO THE POEMS* 
 
 THE SOXG OF SONGS. 
 
 FAIR woman's body is a song 
 Inscribed by our great Maker 
 In Nature's mighty album erst, 
 When moved to life to wake her. 
 
 Ah yes ! propitious was the hour 
 When thus he show'd compassion I 
 
 The coy rebellious stuff he work'd 
 In true artistic fashion. 
 
 Yes, woman's body is, 'mongst songs, 
 The song most sweet and tender, 
 
 And wondrous strophes are her limbs, 
 So snowy-white and slender. 
 
 And then her neck, her glistening neck, 
 
 O what a godlike notion ! 
 Where the main thought, her little head, 
 
 Rocks with a graceful motion. 
 
 Like polish'd epigrams one loves 
 
 Her bosom's rosebuds dearly ; 
 Enchanting the ctesura is 
 
 That parts her breasts severely. 
 
 The song has flesh, ribs, hands, and feet, 
 
 No abstract poem this is ! 
 With lips that rhyme deliciously 
 
 It smiles and sweetly kisses. 
 
 True poetry is breathing here, 
 
 Grace shines in each direction ; 
 The song upon its forehead bears 
 
 The stamp of all perfection. 
 
 I'll praise thee, Lord, and in the dust 
 
 Will humbly kneel to show it ; 
 Bunglers are we, compared with thee, 
 
 Thou glorious heavenly Poet. 
 
 These two poems were first published in the Mutennlmanaeh 
 for 1854. 
 
 2 N
 
 546 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Before the splendour of thy song 
 I'll bow in adoration, 
 
 And to its study day and night 
 Pay closest application. 
 
 Yes, day and night I'll study it, 
 No loss of time admitting ; 
 
 So shall I soon with overwork 
 Be thinner than befitting. 
 
 THE SUTTLER'S SONG. 
 
 (From the Thirty Years' War.) 
 
 rpHE brave hussars I dearly love, 
 JL I love each gallant fellow ; 
 Without distinction I love them all, 
 The blue as well as the yellow. 
 
 The musketeers I dearly love, 
 
 I love the musketeers, too ; 
 The officers, privates, and recruits, 
 
 And those of older years too. 
 
 The infantry and cavalry 
 
 I love the brave fellows sincerely ; 
 
 And then the artillery, one and all, 
 I love them truly and dearly. 
 
 I love the Germans, I love the French, 
 I love the Italians and Dutchmen ; 
 
 I love the Bohemians, Spaniards, and Swedes, 
 I love both many and much men. 
 
 Whatever may be his native land, 
 Whatever his faith or persuasion, 
 
 Provided a man is sound in health, 
 I love him on ev'ry occasion. 
 
 Jleligion and country are nothing more 
 
 Than his outside clothing. God bless him! 
 
 Away with his cov'ring, that I to my heart 
 May fondly and warmly press him !
 
 LATEST POEMS. 54" 
 
 A mortal am I, and only too glad 
 
 With any mortal to dally ; 
 And as for the m<n who can't pay on the sjxit, 
 
 For him I keep a tally. 
 
 The garland green in front of my tent 
 In the light of the sun smiles gaily, 
 
 And I am now drinking malmsey wine 
 From a fresh-open'd barrel daily.
 
 548 
 
 POSTHUMOUS POEMS. 
 
 HORSE AND ASS. 
 
 A TRAIN was rushing along one day, 
 JT\_ With carriages, engine, and tender ; 
 The chimney vomited forth its smoke, 
 Like a dashing old offender. 
 
 The train pass'd a farmyard, and over the hedge 
 A grey horse, at the sound of the whistle, 
 
 Stretch'd out his head ; an ass stood by, 
 Demurely chewing a thistle. 
 
 With wondering gaze the horse long stared 
 At the train ; then strangely quivering 
 
 In every limb, he sigh'd, and said : 
 " The sight has set me a-shivering ! . 
 
 " I'm sure that if I by nature had been 
 " A chesnut, or black, or bay horse, 
 
 " My skin with the fright its colour would change, 
 " And make me (as now) a grey horse. 
 
 " The equestrian race is doom'd. beyond doubt, 
 
 " To be swept away in fate's eddy ; 
 " Although I'm a grey horse, I cannot but see 
 
 " A black future before me already. 
 
 " The competition of these machines 
 " Will certainly kill us poor horses ; 
 
 " For riding and driving will man prefer 
 " Iron steeds, if so great their force is. 
 
 " And if man can get on without our help, 
 
 " Alike for riding and driving, 
 " Good-bye to our outs, good-bye to our hay I 
 
 " What chance have we of surviving ?
 
 POSTHUMOUS POEMS. 549 
 
 ** The heart of man is hard as a stone, 
 
 " He gives away nothing gratis ; 
 " They'll drive us out of our stables, and we 
 
 " Shall starve what a cruel fate 'tis I 
 
 " We cannot borrow and cannot steal 
 
 " Like mortals whose natures are blacker ; 
 
 " We cannot fawn like men and dogs, 
 " But shall fall a prey to the knacker." 
 
 Thus grumbled the horse, and deeply sigh'd, 
 
 Meanwhile the ass hard by him 
 Had quietly chew'd two thistle-tops, 
 
 As if nothing could terrify him. 
 
 He presently answer 'd in dainty tones, 
 
 With his tongue first licking his muzzle : 
 
 " With what the future may have in store, 
 " My brains I shall not puzzle. 
 
 " You horses proud are threaten'd, no doubt, 
 " By a future that's far from pleasant ; 
 
 " But we modest asses are not afraid 
 " Of dangers future or present. 
 
 " That grey horses, and chesnut, and piebald, and 
 black, 
 
 " May be done without, true, alas ! is ; 
 " But Mister Steam, with his chimney long, 
 
 " Can never replace us asses. 
 
 " However clever may be the machines 
 " Made by man with his senses besotted, 
 
 " The ass as his portion will always have 
 ' Sure means of existence allotted. 
 
 " Its asses will Heaven, I'm sure, ne'er desert, 
 " Who, moved by a calm sense of duty, 
 
 " Turn the mill every day, as their fathers have 
 
 done, 
 " A sight not deficient in beauty. 
 
 " The mill-wheel clatters, the miller works hard, 
 " The meal in the sack well shaking, 
 
 " And people eat their l>n-:i<l und their rolls, 
 " As soon as they've finished the baking.
 
 550 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " In Nature's old-fashion'd and jogtrot way 
 " The world will keep spinning for ever ; 
 
 " And as changeless even as Nature herself, 
 " The ass will alter never." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Gone are the days of chivalry, 
 And the proud steed must hungry be ; 
 But L , the ass, I boldly say, 
 Will never want his oats and hay. 
 
 THE ASS-ELECTION. 
 
 BEING tired of freedom for some time past 
 The beasts' republic decided 
 To be with a single ruler at last 
 As its absolute head provided. 
 
 Each kind of beast prepared for the strife, 
 
 Electoral billets were written ; 
 Intrigues on every side were rife, 
 
 With party zeal all were bitten. 
 
 By long-ear'd gentry at its head 
 
 The asses' committee was aided ; 
 Cockades, whose colours were black, gold, and red,* 
 
 They boastfully paraded. 
 
 A small party there was of friends of the horse, 
 
 Who yet were afraid of voting, 
 So greatly they dreaded the outcry coarse 
 
 The long-ear'd party denoting. 
 
 But when one of them ventured the horse to name 
 
 As a candidate, greater and greater 
 Wax'd the noise, and an old long-ear, to his shame, 
 
 Shouted out " Thou art only a traitor. 
 
 " A traitor art thou, in thy veins doth not flow 
 
 " One drop of asses' blood proper ; 
 u No ass art thou, and I almost know 
 
 " That a foreign mare was thy dropper ! 
 
 * The national colours of Germany.
 
 POSTHUMOUS POEMS. 551 
 
 " From the zebra perchance thou art sprung ; thy striped 
 hide 
 
 " Quite answers the zebra's description ; 
 " The nasal twang of thy voice is allied 
 
 " To the Hebrew as well as Egyptian. 
 " And if not a stranger, thou art, thou must own, 
 
 " A dull ass, of an intellect paltry ; 
 " The depths of ass-nature to thee are unknown 
 
 " Thou hear'st not its mystical psalt'ry. 
 " But with sweet stupefaction my soul drinks in 
 
 " That sound which all others surpasses ; 
 " An ass am I, and each hair in the skin 
 
 " Of my tail the hair of an ass is. 
 " I am not a Papist, I am not a slave, 
 
 " A German ass am I solely ; 
 " The same as my fathers, who all were so brave, 
 
 " So thoughtful, demure, and so holy. 
 " They were not addicted to doing ill, 
 
 " Or practising gallantry gaily ; 
 " But trotted off with the sack to the mill 
 
 " In frolicsome fashion daily. 
 " Our fathers still live. In the tomb only lie 
 
 " Their skins, their mortal covering ; 
 " Their happy spirits, high up in the sky, 
 
 " Complacently o'er us are hovering. 
 " Ye glorified asses, ye need not doubt 
 
 " That we fain would resemble you ever, 
 " And from the path that duty points out 
 
 " We'll swerve a finger's breadth never. 
 " what a delight an ass to be, 
 
 " From such long-ear'd worthies descended ! 
 *' From every house-top I'd fain shout with glee : 
 
 " 4 An ass I was born how splendid !' 
 "The noble jackass who gave me birth 
 
 " Was of genuine German extraction ; 
 " From my mother, a German ass of worth, 
 
 " My milk stick'd I with great satisfaction. 
 " An ass am I, and fully iutcnd, 
 
 " Like my fathers who now arc departed, 
 " To stand by the asses, yes. stand to the end 
 
 " By the asses so dear and tnit -h< ;irted.
 
 552 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 " And since I'm an ass, I advise you all round 
 ' To choose your king from the asses ; 
 
 " A mighty ass-kingdom we thus will found, 
 " They being the governing classes. 
 
 " We all are asses. Hee-ha ! Hee-ha ! 
 
 " As ostlers we will not demean us ; 
 " Away with the horses ! Long live, hurrah, 
 
 " The king of the asinine genus !" 
 
 Thus spake the patriot. Through the hall 
 
 The asses cheer'd him proudly ; 
 They all, in fact, were national, 
 
 And with their hoofs stamp'd loudly. 
 
 An oaken wreath on the orator's head 
 
 They put as a decoration ; 
 He wagg'd his tail (though nothing he said) 
 
 With evident gratification. 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 SHE seem'd so gentle, she seem'd so good, 
 An angel I thought my lover ; 
 She wrote the dearest letters to me, 
 With kindness teeming all over. 
 
 The wedding was very soon to take place, 
 
 Her relations heard this by dozens ; 
 My Bertha was a silly thing,- 
 
 For she listen'd to aunts and cousins. 
 
 She kept not her word, she broke her oath, 
 
 And yet I have been forgiving ; 
 Had I married her first, I ne'er should have known 
 
 Either pleasure or love while living. 
 
 When I of a faithless woman think, 
 
 I think of Bertha the faithless ; 
 The only wish I have left, is that she 
 
 May pass through her confinement scatheless. 
 
 IN THE CATHEDRAL. 
 
 BEFOEE me the sexton's daughter fair 
 Through the sacred edifice skipped ; 
 Her size was small, and light her hair, 
 From her neck her kerchief had slipped.
 
 POSTHUMOUS POEMS. 553 
 
 In tie old cathedral for sixpence I got 
 
 A sight of its marvellous creatures, 
 Its tombs, lights, crosses ; I turn'd quite hot 
 
 When I gazed on Elspeth's features. 
 
 And once again I stared about 
 
 At the sacred relics entrancing ; 
 In their under-petticoats all trick'd out, 
 
 On the window the women were dancing. 
 
 The sexton's little daughter fair 
 
 Stood by me, while thus I inspected. 
 She had a very pretty pair 
 
 Of eyes, wherein all was reflected. 
 
 Before me the sexton's daughter fair 
 
 From the sacred edifice skipped ; 
 Her mouth was small, her neck was bare, 
 
 From her bosom her kerchief had slipped. 
 
 THE DRAGONFLY 
 
 PT^HE dragonfly blue's all the fashion 
 JL In beetle-land, in the present day ; 
 
 The butterflies their addresses pay 
 To the beauty with amorous passion. 
 
 Her hips are excessively slender, 
 
 She wears a gauze dress of delicate hue, 
 With very symmetrical movements too 
 
 She flutters about in splendour. 
 
 Her colour'd admirers hover 
 
 In her train, and many a young gallant 
 
 Tlvus swears: " I'll Holland give, and Br.iban*. 
 
 " If thou wilt be my lover." 
 
 She answers (but how insincerely !) : 
 
 " Brabant and Holland are nothing to me, 
 " I want but a spark of light, to see 
 
 In my little chamber clearly." 
 
 When she imposes this duty, 
 
 Her lovers hasten to join in the race, 
 And eagerly seek, from place to place, 
 
 A spark of light for the beauty.
 
 554 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 As soon as one sees a taper, 
 
 He blindly rushes on to his doom, 
 
 And the cruel flames the victim consume, 
 
 And his loving heart, like paper. 
 
 * * * # 
 
 It comes from Japan, this fable, 
 
 Yet even in Germany, my dear child, 
 Are plenty of dragonflies, devilish wild, 
 
 Perfidious, and unstable. 
 
 OLD SCENTS. 
 
 THE nosegay Matilda twined for me, 
 And smilingly offer 'd entreatingly, 
 I push'd away, o'erpower'd completely 
 By the sight of the flowers that blossom'd so sweetly. 
 
 At the scent of the flowers, my tears fast flow, 
 I feel that in all this fair world below, 
 Its beauty, sunlight, joy, love are bereft me, 
 And nought but its bitter tears are left me. 
 
 They tell me that I no longer share 
 A part in life and its circle fair, 
 That I belong to death's kingdom dreary, 
 Yes, I, a corpse unburied and weary. 
 
 How happy was I when erst I saw 
 
 The dance of rats at the Opera ! 
 
 But now I hear the odious scuffling 
 
 Of churchyard rats and grave -moles shuffling. 
 
 The scent of the flowers recalls again 
 
 A perfect ballet, a joyous train 
 
 Of recollections perfumed and glowing, 
 
 From the hidden depths of the past o'erflowing, 
 
 To sound of cornet and castanet, 
 In spangled dresses (full short, I regret), 
 Yet all their toying, each laugh, each titter, 
 Can only render my thoughts more bitter. 
 
 Away with the flowers ! 0, how I abhor 
 The scent that maliciously tells once more 
 Of days long vanish'd and hours of gladness 
 I weep at the thought with speechless sadness.
 
 POSTHUMOUS POEMS. 
 
 MISEREKE. 
 
 THE sons of Fortune I envy not 
 For their lives, in pleasure vying, 
 1 envy them only their happy death, 
 Their easy and painless dying. 
 
 In gala dresses, with garlanded heads, 
 Their lips in laughter extended, 
 
 They joyously sit at the banquet of life, 
 The sickle falls, all is ended ! 
 
 In festal attire, with roses adorn 'd, 
 
 Still blooming with life, these glad mortals, 
 
 These fav'rites of fortune reach at last 
 The shadowy realm's dark portals. 
 
 They ne'er were disfigured by fever's attack, 
 They die with a joyous demeanour, 
 
 And gladly are welcomed at her sad court 
 By Proserpine, hell's Czarina. 
 
 how I envy a fate like theirs ! 
 
 Seven years I daily languish 
 For death, as on the ground I writhe 
 
 In bitter and speechless anguish. 
 
 God ! my agony shorten, that I 
 May be buried, my sole ambition. 
 
 Thou knowest that I no talent possess 
 For filling a martyr's position. 
 
 1 feel astonished, gracious Lord, 
 
 At a course so unconsequential ; 
 Thou madest a joyous poet, without 
 That joy that is so essential. 
 
 My torments blunt each feeling of mirth, 
 
 And melancholy make me ; 
 Unless 1 get better ere long, to the faith 
 
 Of a Catholic I must betake me. 
 
 Like other good Christians, I then shall howl 
 In thine ears my wailings dreary 
 
 The best of humorists then will be lost 
 For ever O Miserere .
 
 556 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 TO MATILDA. 
 
 I WAS. dear lamb, ordain'd to be 
 A shepherd here, to watch o'er thee ; 
 I kourish'd thee with mine own bread. 
 With water from the fountain head. 
 
 And when the winter storm roar'd loudly, 
 Against my breast I warm'd thee proudly ; 
 There held I thee encircled well 
 Whilst rain in torrents round us fell ; 
 When, through its rocky dark bed pouring 
 The torrent, with the wolf, was roaring, 
 Thou feared'st not, no muscle quiver'd, 
 E'en when the highest pine was shiver'd 
 By the fork'd flash within mine arm 
 Thou slept'st in peace without alarm. 
 
 My arm grows weak, and fast draws near 
 Pale death ! My shepherd's task so dear, 
 And pastoral care approach their end. 
 Into Thy hands, God, I commend 
 My staff once more. O do Thou guard 
 My lamb, when I beneath the sward 
 Am laid in peace, and suffer ne'er 
 A thorn to prick her anywhere. 
 
 From thorny hedges guard her fleece, 
 May quagmires ne'er disturb her peace, 
 May there spring up beneath her feet 
 An ample crop of pasture sweet, 
 And let her sleep without alarm, 
 As erst she slept within mine arm ! 
 
 FOR THE " MOUCHE."* 
 
 T HAD a dream. It was a summer's night, 
 
 -L And in the moonlight, pale and weatherbeaten, 
 
 Lay buildings, relics of past ages bright, 
 
 The style, renaissant, of these wrecks time-eaten. 
 
 * This was the nickname of a young lady whose acquaintance 
 Heine made towards the end of hid life, who attended him in 
 his last, illness, and for whom he felt a strong affection. The 
 present poem was the last composition of Heine, and WHS written 
 only two or three weeks before his death. It is undoubtedly one 
 of the finest of bis works.
 
 POSTHUMOUS POEMS. 557 
 
 And here and there, with stately Doric head, 
 
 Rose single columns from the mass there lying, 
 And on the firmament high o'er them spread 
 
 Gazed they, as if its thunderbolts defying. 
 In broken fragments lay there on the ground, 
 
 Mingled with many a portal, many a gable, 
 Sculptures where man, beast, centaur, sphinx were found, 
 
 Chimera, satyr, creatures of old fable. 
 The contrasts there presented were grotesque, 
 
 The emblems of Judaea's God combining 
 With Grecian grace, in fashion arabesque 
 
 The ivy round them both, its tendrils twining. 
 A fair sarcophagus of marble white 
 
 Amid the ruins stood, unmutilated; 
 And in the coffin lay a corpse in sight, 
 
 Of features mild, with sadness penetrated. 
 The power supporting it appear 'd supplied 
 
 By Caryatides, with necks extended; 
 And many a bas-relief on either side 
 
 Was seen, of chisell'd figures strangely blended. 
 
 The glories of Olympus there saw I, 
 With all its heathen deities misguided ; 
 
 Adam and Eve were there, decorously 
 
 With figleaf aprons round their loins provided. 
 
 Troy's taking and Troy's burning here were seen, 
 Hector and Helen, Paris (that wild gay man) ; 
 
 Moses and Aaron also stood between, 
 
 With Esther, Judith, Holofernes, Haman. 
 
 God Amor also had his place hard by, 
 Phoebus, Apollo, Vulcan. Madam Venus, 
 
 Pluto, Proserpina, and Mercury, 
 
 God Bacchus, and Priapus, and Silenus. 
 
 Likewise was Balaam's ass omitted not, 
 
 (The ass for speaking seem'd, in fact, created ;, 
 
 And Abraham's temptation too, and Lot, 
 Who by his daughters was intoxicated. 
 
 Herodias' daughter's dance was shown as well, 
 The Baptist's head was in the charger given ; 
 
 The monster Satan too was there, and hell, 
 And Peter, with the heavy keys of heaven.
 
 558 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 And next in order saw I sculptured there 
 
 The loves of Jove, with his vile actions blending ; 
 
 How as a swan he ravish'd Ltda fair, 
 
 And Danae, in golden shower descending. 
 
 The wild hunt of Diana was display'd, 
 
 With her fleet dogs, and nymphs attired so trimly ; 
 And Hercules, in woman's clothes array'd, 
 
 Distaff on arm, the spindle whirling nimbly. 
 
 And next was Sinai's mountain to be view'd, 
 And Israel near it, with his oxen lowing ; 
 
 The Lord a child within the temple stood, 
 
 Disputing with the doctors proud and knowing. 
 
 But, strange to tell, when I had dreamily 
 
 These forms a while observed, in thought suspended, 
 
 I suddenly conceived myself to be 
 
 The corpse, in that fair marble tomb extended. 
 
 And at the head of this my grave there stood 
 A flower full fair, of strange configuration ; 
 
 Its leaves were yellow-tinged and violet-hued, 
 The flower possess'd a wondrous fascination. 
 
 'Tis by the name of passion-flower well known, 
 On Golgotha, they say, 'twas tirst created 
 
 The day they crucified God's only Son, 
 And the Eedeemer's body lacerated. 
 
 Bloodwitness doth this flower now bear, they say ; 
 
 Each instrument of torture then invented 
 And used at His sad martyrdom that day, 
 
 Is in its calyx duly represented. 
 
 Yes ! every passion-attribute adorns 
 
 The flower, each emblem of their cruel malice, 
 For instance, scourge and rope and crown of thorns, 
 
 The hammer and the nails, the cross, the chalice 
 
 Such was the flower which at my grave did stand, 
 And o'er my body bending with compassion, 
 
 As with a woman's sorrow, kiss'd my hand, 
 My eyes, and forehead, in sad silent fashion. 
 
 But O, my dream's strange magic ! Wondrously 
 The passion-flower, the yellow-hued and rare one, 
 
 Changed to a woman's likeness, ah ! and she, 
 
 She was my loved one, she was mine own fair one !
 
 POSTHUMOUS POEMS. 559 
 
 Thou wert the flower, yes, thou, my darling child ! 
 
 At once I knew thee by thy kisses yearning ; 
 No lips of flowers so tender are and mild, 
 
 No tears of flowers so fiery are and burning. 
 
 Although mine eyes were closed, my spirit gazed 
 With steadiness upon thy face entrancing ; 
 
 Thou look'dst at me with raptured look amazed, 
 Strangely illumined in the moonlight glancing. 
 
 No words we spake, and yet my heart could see 
 The thoughts that in thy mind in silence hover'd ; 
 
 A word when spoken has no modesty, 
 
 By silence is love's modest blossoms cover'd. 
 
 Voiceless our converse ! Wondrous doth it seem 
 
 How in our silent, tender conversation 
 The time pass'd in that summer night's fair dream, 
 
 When joy commingled was with consternation. 
 
 That which we spoke of then, ne'er seek to learn, 
 The glow-worm ask, why in the grass it gloweth, 
 
 The torrent, why it roareth in the burn, 
 
 The west wind, why it waileth as it bloweth. 
 
 Ask the carbuncle why it gleams so bright, 
 The rose and violet, why so sweetly scented ; 
 
 But ask not what, beneath the moon's soft light, 
 The martyr-flower talk'd with her love lamented ! 
 
 I cannot tell how long it was that I 
 
 Enjoy 'd, as in the marble tomb I slumber'd, 
 
 That beauteous, happy dream. It fleeted by, 
 Too soon the moments of my rest were nuinber'd. 
 
 Death with thy gravelike silence ! Thou alone 
 Canst give us pleasure in a lasting fashion ; 
 
 Vain barbarous life, for joy is ever known 
 To give us restless bliss, convulsive passion. 
 
 Alas, alas ! my happiness soon fled, 
 
 For suddenly arose a noise exciting, 
 It was a savage conflict, fierce and dread 
 
 Ah, my poor flower was scared by all this fighting ! 
 
 Yes ! there arose outside, with hideous yell, 
 A quarrelling, a yelping, and a scolding ; 
 
 Methought that many a voice I knew full well, 
 It was the bas-reliefs my tomb enfolding I
 
 560 HEINE'S POEMS. 
 
 Is the stone haunted by those visions wan ? 
 
 And are those marble phantoms all disputing ? 
 The fearful clamour of the wood- god Pan, 
 
 Moses's fierce anathemas confuting. 
 
 Alas ! this contest ne'er will ended be, 
 
 The True and Beautiful will wrangle ever ! 
 
 Greeks and Barbarians in wild rivalry 
 
 The ranks of man are always doom'd to sever. 
 
 They cursed and raved. No end would there have been 
 To this long squabble, and their passion towering, 
 
 Had Balaam's ass not come upon the scene, 
 
 The voices of the gods and saints o'erpowering. 
 
 The stupid beast, with his disgusting brag, 
 That sobbing sound of sheer abomination, 
 
 Made me cry out in terrible dismay, 
 And I awoke at last in desperation. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON I PRINTED BY WILI.IAM CI.OWKS AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
 
 CATALOGUE OF 
 
 BO PIN'S LIBRARIES.
 
 N.B. // is requested that all orders be accompanied by 
 payment. Books are sent carriage free on the receipt of the 
 published price in stamps or otherwise. 
 
 The Works to which the letters ' N. S.' (denoting New 
 Style) are appended are kept in neat cloth bindings of various 
 colours, as well as in the regular Library style. All Orders 
 are executed in the New binding, unless the contrary is ex- 
 pressly stated. 
 
 Complete Sets or Separate Volumes can be had at short 
 notice, half-bound in calf or morocco. 
 
 New Volumes of Standard Works in the various branches 
 of Literature are constantly being added to this Series, which 
 is already unsurpassed in respect to the number, variety, and 
 cheapness of the Works contained in it. The Publishers have 
 to announce the following Volumes as recently issued or now 
 in preparation : 
 
 Seneca's Minor Works. Translated by Aubrey Stewart, M. A. 
 
 [In the press. 
 
 Elze's Life of Shakespeare. Translated by L. Dora Schmitz. 
 
 [In the press. 
 
 Julian the Apostate. By the Rev. C. W. King. [In the press. 
 
 Adam Smith's "Wealth of Nations. Printed from the Fourth 
 Edition, with Introduction by E. Belfort Bax. [Ready, see p. 8. 
 
 Dunlop's History of Fiction. With Introduction and Supple- 
 ment bringing the Work down to recent times. By Henry 
 Wilson. 3 vols. [In the press. 
 
 Letters and Works of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Ready, see p. 7. 
 
 Heaton's Concise History of Painting. [In the press. 
 
 Lucian's Dialogues of the Gods, the Sea Gods, and 
 the Dead. [In the press. 
 
 Strickland's Lives of the Tudor and Stuart Princesses. 
 In one vol. [/ the press.
 
 .."7, 
 
 BOHN'S LIBRARIES. 
 
 STANDARD LIBRARY. 
 
 317 Vols. at y. 6J. ea^h, excepting those marked otherwise, (fjol. is. per set.) 
 
 BRINK (B. T.) Early English Litera. 
 
 ture (to Wiclif). By Bernhard Ten I'.rink. 
 Trans, by Prof. H. M. Kennedy. N. S. 
 
 BRITISH POETS, from Milton to Kirkt 
 White. Cabinet Edition. With Frontis- 
 piece. 4 vols. N. S. 
 
 BROWNE'S (Sir Thomas) Wo/ks. 
 
 Edit, by S. Wilkin, with Dr. Jol.nson's 
 Life of Browne. Portrait. 3 vof>. 
 
 ADDISON S Works. Notes of Bishop 
 Hurd. Short Memoir, Portrait, and 8 
 Plates of Medals. 6 vols. ;V. S. 
 
 This is the most complete edition of 
 Addison's Works issued. 
 
 ALFIERI'S Tragedies. In English 
 Verse. With Notes, Arguments-, and In- 
 troduction, by E. A. Bowring, C.H. a vols. 
 N. S. 
 
 oetry 
 
 AMERICAN POETRY. See 
 
 o/ America. 
 
 BACON'S Moral and Historical 
 'Works, including Essays, Apophthegms, 
 Wisdom of the Ancients, New Atlantis, 
 Henry VII., Henry VIII., Elizabeth, 
 Henry Prince of Wales, History of Great 
 I'.ri tain, Julius Caesar, and Augustus Caesar. 
 With Critical and Biographical Introduc- 
 tion and Notes by J. Devey, M.A. Por- 
 trait. A'. 6'. 
 
 See also Philosophical Library. 
 
 BALLADS AND SONGS of the Pea- 
 santry of England, from Oral Recitation, 
 privat MSS., Broadsides, &c. Edit, by 
 R. Bell. N. S. 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 tions. With Notes and Introduction 
 by Leigh Hunt. 
 
 BECKMANN (J.) History of Inven- 
 
 liuns, Discoveries, and Origins. With 
 Portraits of Beckmann and James Watt. 
 2 vols. N. S. 
 
 BELL (Robert). See Ballads, Chaucer, 
 Green. 
 
 BOSWELL'S Life of Johnson, with 
 the TOUR in the HKIIKIDKS and 
 |t (HNSONI VNA. N.;w Kdition, with 
 and Appendices, by the Rev. A. 
 Napier, M.A., Trinity College, Cam- 
 bridge, Vicar of Holkham, Editor of the 
 .bridge Edition of the 'Theological 
 Workstof Barrow.' With Frontispiece to 
 each vol. 6 vols. N.S. 
 
 BREMER'S (Fredcrika) Works. 
 Trans, by M. Howitt. Portrait. 4 vols. Jf.S. 
 
 BURKE 'S Works. 6 vols. A^. A". 
 
 Speeches on the Impeachment 
 
 of Warren Hastings : and Letters, z vols. 
 N. S. 
 
 Life. By J. Prior. Portrait. N. S. 
 
 BURNS (Robert). Life of. By J. G. 
 
 Lockhart, D.C.L. A new and enlarged 
 edition. With Notes and Appendices by 
 W. S. Douglas. Portrait. N. S. 
 
 BUTLERS (Bp.) Analogy of Reli- 
 gion; Natural and Revealed, to the Con- 
 stitution and Course of Nature ; with Two 
 I >Usertations on Identity and Virtue, and 
 Fifteen Sermons. With Introductions, 
 Notes, and Memoir. Portrait. N. S. 
 
 CAMOEN'S Lusiad, or the Discovery 
 
 of India. An Epic Poem. Trans, fnnn 
 the Portuguese, with Dissertation, His- 
 torical Sketch, and Life, by W. J. Mickle. 
 5th edition. A r . 6". 
 
 CARAFAS (The) of Maddaloni. 
 
 Naples under Spanish Dominion. Trans, 
 by Alfred de Reumont. Portrait of Mas- 
 saniello. 
 
 CARREL. The Connter-RovolutioB 
 
 in i the Ke-eitat)lishincnt of 
 
 Popery under Charles II. and James II., 
 by Armand Carrel ; with Fox's History of 
 
 James II. and Lord Lonsdale's Memoir ot 
 ames II. Portrait of Carrel. 
 
 CARRUTIIERS. Stc /V/*-, in lilta- 
 truted Library.
 
 BOHtTS LIBRARIES. 
 
 GARY'S Dante. The Vision of Hell, 
 Purgatory, and Paiadise. Trans, by Rev. 
 H. F. Cary, M.A. With Life, Chronolo- 
 gical View of his Age, Notes, and Index 
 of Proper Names. Portrait. N. S. 
 
 This is the authentic edition, containing 
 Mr. Gary's last corrections, with additional 
 notes. 
 
 CELLINI (Benvenuto). Memoirs of, 
 by himself. With Notes of G. P. Carpani. 
 Trans, by T. Roscoe. Portrait. N. S. 
 
 CERVANTES' Galatea. A Pastoral 
 Romance. Trans, by G. W. J. Gyll. N.S. 
 
 Exemplary Novels. Trans, by 
 
 W. K. Kelly. N. S. 
 
 Don Quixote de la Mancha. 
 
 Motteux's Translation revised. With Lock- 
 hart's Life and Notes. 2 vols. A''. S. 
 
 CHAUCER'S Poetical Works. With 
 Poems formerly attributed to him. With a 
 Memoir, Introduction, Notes, and a Glos- 
 sary, by R. Bell. Improved edition, with 
 Preliminary Essay by Rev. W. W. Skeat, 
 M.A. Portrait. 4 vols. A^. 6". 
 
 CLASSIC TALES, containing Rasselas, 
 Vicar of Wakefield, Gulliver's Travels, and 
 The Sentimental Journey. N. S. 
 
 COLERIDGE S (S. T.) Friend. A Series 
 of Essays on Morals, Politics, and Reli- 
 gion. Portrait. N. S. 
 
 Aids to Reflection. Confessions 
 
 of an Inquiring Spirit ; and Essays on 
 Faith and the Common Prayer-book. New 
 Edition, revised. N. S. 
 
 Table-Talk and Omniana. By 
 
 T. Ashe, B.A. N.S. 
 
 Lectures on Shaksperc and 
 
 other Poets. Edit, by T. Ashe, B.A. N.S. 
 Containing the lectures taken down in 
 1811-12 by J. P. Collier, and those de- 
 livered at Bristol in 1813. 
 
 Biographia Literaria; or, Bio- 
 graphical Sketches of my Literary Life 
 and Opinions ; with Two Lay Sermons. 
 N. S. 
 
 Miscellanies, .Esthetic and 
 
 Literary ; to which is added, THE THEORY 
 OF LIFE. Corrected and arranged by 
 T. Ashe, B.A. N.S. 
 
 COMMINES. See Philip. 
 
 CONDE'S History of the Dominion 
 
 of the Arabs in Spain. Trans, by Mrs. 
 Foster. Portrait of Abderahmen ben 
 Moavia. 3 vols. 
 
 COWPER'S Complete Works, Poems, 
 
 Correspondence, and Translations. Edit, 
 with Memoir by R. Southey. 45 En- 
 gravings. 8 vols. 
 
 COXE'S Memoirs of the Duke of 
 
 Marlborough. With his; original Corre- 
 spondence, from family records at Blen- 
 heim. Revised edition. Portraits. 3 vols. 
 ** An Atlas of the plans of Marl- 
 borough's campaigns, 410. los. dd. 
 
 History of the House of Austria. 
 
 From the Foundation of the Monarchy by 
 Rhodolph of Hapsburgh to the Death of 
 Leopold II., 1218-1792. By Archdn. Coxe. 
 With Continuation from the Accession of 
 Francis I. to the Revolution of 1848. 
 4 Portraits. 4 vols. 
 
 CUNNINGHAM'S Lives of the most 
 Eminent British Painters. With Notes 
 and 16 fresh Lives by Mrs. Heaton. 3 vois. 
 N.S. 
 
 DEFOE'S Novels and Miscellaneous 
 Works. With Prefaces and Notes, in- 
 ducing those attributed to Sir W. Scott. 
 Portrait. 7 vols. N. S. 
 
 DE LOLME'S Constitution of Eng- 
 land, in which it is compared both with the 
 Republican form of Government and the 
 other Monarchies of Europe. Edit., with 
 Life and Notes, by J. Macgregor, M.P. 
 
 DUNLOP'S History of Fiction. With 
 Introduction and Supplement adapting the 
 work to present requirements. By Henry 
 Wilson. 3 vols. [In the press. 
 
 ELZE'S Life of Shakespeare. Trans- 
 lated by L. Dora Schmitz. [/ the press, 
 
 EMERSON'S Works. 3 vols. Most 
 complete edition published. N. S. 
 
 Vol. I. Essays, Lectures, and Poems. 
 
 Vol. II. English Traits, Nature, and 
 Conduct of Life. 
 
 Vol. III. Society and Solitude Letters 
 and Social Aims Miscellaneous Papers 
 (hitherto uncollected) May-Day, &c. 
 
 FOSTER'S (John) Life and Corre- 
 spondence. Edit, by J. E. Ryland. Por- 
 trait. 2 vols. N. S. 
 
 Lectxares at Broadmead Chapel. 
 
 Edit, by J. E. Ryland. 2 vols. N. S. 
 
 Critical Essays contributed to 
 
 the ' Eclectic Review.' Edit, by J. E. 
 Ryland. 2 vols. N. S. 
 
 Essays : On Decision of Charac- 
 ter ; on a Man's writing Memoirs of Him- 
 self; on the epithet Romantic ; on the 
 aversion of Men of Taste to Evangelical 
 Religion. N. S. 
 
 Essays on the Evils of Popular 
 
 Ignorance, and a Discourse on the Propa- 
 gation of Christianity in India. jV. S". 
 
 Essay on the Improvement of 
 
 Time, with Notes of Sermons and other 
 Pieces. A'. S. 
 
 Fosteriana : selected from periodical 
 
 papers, edit, by H. G. Bohn. N. S.
 
 STANDARD LIBRARY. 
 
 FOX (Rt. Hon. C. J.)-See Carrel. 
 
 GIBBON'S Decline and Fall of the 
 
 Roman Empire. Complete ant! unabridged, 
 with variorum Notes : including those of 
 Guizot, Wcnck, Niebuhr, Hugo, Neander, 
 and others. 7 vols. 2 Maps and Portrait. 
 
 GOETHE'S Works. Trans, into English 
 by h. A. Bowring, C.B., Anna Swanwick, 
 Sir Walter Scott, &c. &c. 13 vols. N. S. 
 \ !-. I. and II. Autobiography and An- 
 nals. Portrait. 
 
 Vol. III. Faust. Complete. 
 Vol. IV. Novels and Tales : containing 
 Elective Affinities, Sorrows of Werther, 
 The German Emigrants, The Good Wo- 
 men, and a Npuvelette. 
 
 Vol. V. Wilhelm Meister's Apprentice- 
 ship. 
 
 V,-.l. VI. Conversations with Eckerman 
 and Soret. 
 
 Vol. VII. Poems and Ballads in the ori- 
 ginal Metres, including Hermann and 
 Dorothea. 
 
 IlI.-Gotz von Berlichingen, Tor- 
 quato Tasso, Egmont, Iphigenia, Clavigo, 
 Wayward Lover, and Fellow Culprits. 
 
 Vol. IX. Wilhelm Meister's Travels. 
 Complete Edition. 
 
 '< Tour in Italy. Two Parts. 
 And Second Residence in Rome. 
 
 Vol. XI. Miscellaneous Travels, Letters 
 from Switzerland, Campaign in France, 
 f Mainz, and Rhine Tour. 
 
 XII. -Karly and Mi-< ellaneous ' 
 Letters, including Letters to his Mother, i 
 with Biography and Notes. 
 Vol. XIII. Correspondence withZelter. i 
 
 Correspondence with Schiller. 
 
 2 vols. See Schiller. 
 
 GOLDSMITH'S Works. 5 vols. N.S. 
 
 Vol . I . Life, V icar of Wakefield , Essays , 
 and Letters. 
 
 Vnl. II. Poems, Plays, Bee, Cock Lane 
 Ghost. 
 
 Vol. III. The Citizen of the World, 
 Polite Learning in Europe. 
 
 Vol. IV. biographies, Criticisms, Later 
 
 Vol. V. Prefaces, Natural History, 
 Letters, Goody Two-Shoes, Index. 
 
 GREENE, MARLOW, and BEN 
 
 IONSON (P,,ems of). With Notes and 
 Memoirs by R. Hell. .V. .V. 
 
 GREGORYS (Dr.) The Evidences, 
 irines, and Duties of the Christian Re- 
 ligion. 
 
 GRIMM'S Household Tales. With the 
 Original N I linn. 
 
 Introduction by Andrew Lang, M.A. a 
 voN. A'. .V. 
 
 GDIZOT'S History of Representative 
 
 Government in Kurope. Tr.ni-,. l,y \ R 
 Scoble. 
 
 English Revolution of 164O. From 
 
 the Accemon of Charles I. to his Death 
 Trano. by W. Hazlitt. Portrait. 
 
 - History of Civilisation. From the 
 Roman Empire to the French Revolution 
 Trans, by W. Hazlitt. Portraits. 3, 
 
 HALL'S (Rev. Robert) Works and 
 Remains. Memoir by Dr. Gregory and 
 Essay by J. Foster. Portrait. 
 
 HAUFF'S Tales. The Caravan The 
 Sheikh of Alexandria The Inn in the 
 Spessart. Translated by Prof. S. Mendel. 
 
 HAWTHORNE'S Tales. 3 vols. JV". S. 
 
 Vol. I. Twice-told Tales, and the Snow 
 Image. 
 
 Vol. II. Scarlet Letter, and the House 
 with Seven Gables. 
 
 Vol. III. Transformation, and Blithe- 
 dale Romance. 
 
 HAZLITT S (W.) Works. 7 vols. A^. S. 
 
 Table-Talk. 
 
 The Literature of the Age of 
 
 Elizabeth and Characters of Shakespeare's 
 Plays. A'. S. 
 
 English Poets and English Comic 
 
 Writer,. .V. .V. 
 
 The Plain Speaker. Opinions OB 
 
 Books, Men, and Things. JV. S. 
 
 Round Table. Conversions of 
 
 James Northcote, R.A. : Character!- 
 
 N. S. 
 
 Sketches and Essays, and Winter- 
 slow. N. S. 
 
 Spirit of the Age; or, Contem- 
 porary Portraits. To which are added 
 Krer n Public Aflair% ;i 
 letter to William GifTbrd. New Edition, 
 by W. Carew Ha/litt. ff. S. 
 
 HEINES Poems. Translated in the 
 original Metres, with Life by E. A. Bow- 
 riii,;, C.I'. ff. S. 
 
 Travel-Pictures. The Tour in the 
 
 Har/, Nordcrney, and Book of Ideas to- 
 
 f ether with the Koniantic Schi> 
 yF. btorr. With Maps and Appcno: 
 A'. .V. 
 
 HOFFMANN'S Works. The Serapioa 
 
 Brtliti-n. V..1. 1. I 
 
 Lwin;. .V. -S. [/W. Il.inthtf.
 
 BOHN'S LIBRARIES. 
 
 HUGO'S (Victor) Dramatic Works. 
 
 Hernani RuyBlas The King's Diversion. 
 Translated by Mrs. Newton Crosland and 
 F. L. Slous. N. S. 
 
 Poems, chiefly Lyrical. Collected by 
 
 H. L. Williams. N. S. 
 
 This volume contains contributions from 
 F. S. Mahoney, G. W. M. Reynolds, 
 Andrew Lang, Edwin Arnold, Mrs. Newton 
 Crosland, Miss Fanny Kemble, Bishop 
 Alexander, Prof. Dowden, &c. 
 
 HUNGARY : its History and Revo- 
 lution, with Memoir of Kossuth. Portrait. 
 
 HUTCHINSON (Colonel). Memoirs 
 
 of. By his Widow, with her Autobio- 
 
 fraphy, and the Siege of Lathom House, 
 ortrait. N. S. 
 
 IRVING'S (Washington) Complete 
 
 Works. I 5 vols. N. S. 
 
 Life and Letters. By his Nephew, 
 
 Pierre E. Irving. With Index and a 
 Portrait. 2 vols. N. S. 
 
 JAMES'S (G. P. R.) Life of Richard 
 
 Coeur de Lion. Portraits of Richard and 
 Philip Augustus. 2 vols. 
 
 Louis XIV. Portraits. 2 vols. 
 
 JAMESON (Mrs.) Shakespeare's 
 
 Heroines. Characteristics of Women. By 
 Mrs. Jameson. N. S. 
 
 JEAN PAUL. See Richter. 
 
 JONSON (Ben). Poems of. See Greene. 
 
 JUNIUS'S Letters. With Woodfall's 
 Notes. An Essay on the Authorship. Fac- 
 similes of Handwriting. 2 vols. N. S. 
 
 LA FONTAINE'S Fables. In English 
 Verse, with Essay on the Fabulists. By 
 Elizur Wright. N. S. 
 
 LAMARTINE'S The Girondists, or 
 
 Personal Memoirs of the Patriots of the 
 French Revolution. Trans, by H. T. 
 Ryde. Portraits of Robespierre, Madame 
 Roland, and Charlotte Corday. 3 vols. 
 
 The Restoration of Monarchy 
 
 in France (a Sequel to The Girondists). 
 
 5 Portraits. 4 vols. 
 
 The French Revolution of 1848. 
 
 6 Portraits. 
 
 LAMB'S (Charles) Elia and Eliana. 
 
 Complete Edition. Portrait. N. S. 
 
 Specimens of English Dramatic 
 
 Poets of the time of Elizabeth. Notes, 
 with the Extracts from the Garrick Plays. 
 N. S. 
 
 Talfourd's Letters of Charles 
 
 Lamb. New Edition, by W. Carew 
 Hazlitt. 2 vols. N. S. 
 
 LANZI'S History of Painting in 
 
 Italy, from the Period of the Revival of 
 the Fine Arts to the End of the i8th 
 Century. With Memoir of the Author. 
 Portraits of RafFaelle, Titian, and Cor- 
 reggio, after the Artists themselves. Trans, 
 by T. Roscoe. 3 vols. 
 
 LAPPENBERG'S England under the 
 
 Anglo-Saxon Kings. Trans, by B. Thorpe, 
 F.S.A. 2 vols. N. S. 
 
 LESSING'S Dramatic Works. Com- 
 plete. By E. Bell, M.A. With Memoir 
 by H. Zimmern. Portrait. 2 vols. N. S. 
 
 Laokoon, Dramatic Notes, and 
 
 Representation of Death by the Ancients. 
 Frontispiece. N. S. 
 
 LOCKE'S Philosophical Works, con- 
 taining Human Understanding, with Bishop 
 of Worcester, Malebranche's Opinions, Na- 
 tural Philosophy, Reading and Study. 
 With Preliminary Discourse, Analysis, and 
 Notes, by J. A. St. John. Portrait. 2 vols. 
 N.S. 
 
 Life and Letters, with Extracts from 
 
 his Common-place Books. By Lord King. 
 
 LOCKHART (J. G.)-See Burns. 
 LONSDALE (Lord). -See Carrel. 
 
 LUTHER'S Table-Talk. Trans, by W. 
 Hazlitt. With Life by A. Chalmers, and 
 LUTHER'S CATECHISM. Portrait after 
 Cranach. N, S. 
 
 Autobiography. See Mkliclet. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI'S History of Flo- 
 rence, THE PRINCE, Savonarola, Historical 
 Tracts, and Memoir. Portrait. N. S. 
 
 MARLOWE. Poems of. See Greene. 
 
 MARTINEAU'S (Harriet) History 
 
 of England (including History of the Peace) 
 from 1800-1846. 5 vols. N. S. 
 
 MENZEL'S History of Germany, 
 
 from the Earliest Period to the Crimean 
 War. 3 Portraits. 3 vols. 
 
 MICHELET'S Autobiography of 
 
 Luther. Trans, by W. Hazlitt. With 
 Notes. N. S. 
 
 The French Revolution to the 
 
 Flight of the King in 1791. N. S. 
 
 MIGNET'S The French Revolution, 
 
 from 1789 to 1814. Portrait of Napoleon. 
 A^. S. 
 
 MILTON'S Prose Works. With Pre- 
 face, Preliminary Remarks by J. A. St. 
 John, and Index. 5 vols. 
 
 MITFORD'S (Miss) Our Village. 
 
 Sketches of Rural Character and Scenery. 
 2 Engravings. 2 vols. N. S.
 
 STANDARD LIBRARY. 
 
 MOLTERE'S Dramatic Works. In 
 
 English Prose, by C. H. Wall. With a 
 Life and a Portrait. 3 vols. N. S. 
 
 ' It is not too much to say that we have 
 here probably as good a translation of 
 Moliere as can be given.' Academy. 
 
 MONTAGU. Letters and Works of 
 
 . Mary W.,rtley .Montagu. Lord 
 .MclilTc's Third Kdition. Edited by 
 
 W. Moy Thomas. With steel plates. 2 
 
 vols. $s. each. A". S. 
 
 MONTESQUIEU'S Spirit of Laws. 
 Revised Edition, with D'Alembert's Analy- 
 
 . and Memoir. 2 vols. A'. .$'. 
 NEANDER Dr. A.) History of the 
 
 Christian Religion and Church. Trans, by 
 J. Torrey. With Short Memoir. 10 vols. 
 
 Life of Jesus Christ, in its His- 
 torical Connexion and Development. N. S. \ 
 
 The Planting and Training of 
 
 the Christian Church by the Apostles. 
 With the Antignosticus, or Spirit of Ter- 
 tullian. Trans, by J. E. Ryland. 2 vols. 
 
 Lectures on the History of 
 
 Christian Dogmas. Trans, by J. E. Ry- 
 land. 2 vols. 
 
 Memorials of Christian Life in 
 
 the Early and Middle Ages; including 
 Light in Dark Places. Trans, by J. E. 
 Ryland. 
 
 OCKLEY S.) History of the Sara- 
 cens and their Conquests in Syria, Persia, 
 and Egypt. Comprising the Lives of 
 Mohammed and his Successors to the 
 Death of Abdalmelik, the Eleventh Caliph. 
 l!y Simon Ockley, B.D., Prof, of Arabic 
 in Univ. of Cambridge. Portrait of Mo- 
 hammed. 
 
 PERCY'S Reliqnes of Ancient Eng- 
 lish Poetry, consisting of Hal lads, Songs, 
 and other Pieces of our earlier Poets, with 
 some few of later date. With Essay on I 
 Ancient Minstrels, and Glossary. 2 vols. 
 N. S. 
 
 PHILIP DE COMMTNES. Memoirs 
 of. Containing the Histories of Louis XI. 
 and Charles VI 1 1., and Charles the Bold, 
 Duke of Burgundy. With the History of 
 Louis XI., by J. de Troyes. With a Life 
 and Note-!, by A. R. Scuble. Portraits. 
 2 vols. 
 
 PLUTARCH'S LIVES. Newly Trans- 
 
 '.. with Notes and Life, by A 
 
 Stewart, M.A., late Fellow of Trinity 
 
 College, Cambridge, and G. Long, M.A. 
 
 4 vols. A'. S. 
 
 POETRY OF AMERICA. Selections 
 
 fii'iii One Hundred 1'oet^, from 1776 to 
 1^76. With IntrixltK tury Review, and 
 Specimen^ W. I. 
 
 Liut..n. Portrait of W. Whitman. N, S. > 
 
 RANKE (L.) History of the Popes, 
 
 their Church and State, and their Conflicts 
 with Protestantism in the i6th and 171)1 
 Centuries. Trans, by E. Foster. Portraits 
 of Julius II. (after Raphael), Innocent X. 
 (after Velasquez), and Clement VII. (after 
 Titian). 3 vols. A 7 . S. 
 
 History of Servia. Trans, by Mrs. 
 
 Kerr. To which is added, The Slave Pro- 
 vinces of Turkey, by Cyprien Robert. A". .V. 
 
 History of the Latin and Teu- 
 tonic Nations. 1494-1514. Trail*. )>y 
 P. A. Ashworth, translator of Dr. Clneist's 
 * History- ofthe English Constitution.' .'."..V. 
 
 REUMONT (Alfred de). 5>_ Lara/as. 
 
 REYNOLDS' (Sir J.) Literary Works. 
 With Memoir and Remarks by H. W. 
 Beechy. 2 vols. 
 
 RICHTER rjean Paul). Levana, 
 
 a Treatise on Education ; together with the 
 Autobiography, and a short Memoir. A"..S'. 
 
 Flower, Fruit, and Thorn Pieces, 
 
 or the Wedded Life, Death, and Marriage 
 of Siebenkaes. Translated by Alex. E wing. 
 
 The only complete English translation. 
 
 ROSCOE'S (W.) Life of Leo X., with 
 
 Notes, H istorical Documents, and 1 
 tation on Lucretia Borgia. 3 Portraits. 
 2 vols. 
 
 Lorenzo de' Medici, called 'The 
 
 Magnificent,' with Copyright Notes, 
 Poems, Letters, &c. With Memoir of 
 Roscoe and Portrait of Lorenzo. 
 
 RUSSIA, History of, from the 
 
 earliest Period to the Crimean War. By 
 W. K. Kelly. 3 Portraits. 2 vols. 
 
 SCHILLER'S Works. 6 vols. If. S. 
 
 Vol. I. Thirty Years' War Revolt in 
 the Netherlands. Rev A. J. W. Morrison, 
 M.A. Portrait. 
 
 Vol. II. Revolt in the Netherlands, com- 
 pleted Wallenstein. By J. Churchill and 
 S. T. Coleridge. William Teil. Sir Theo- 
 dore Martin. Engraving (after Vandyck). 
 
 Vol. III. Don Carlos. R. D. Boylan 
 M Mellish Maid of Or- 
 
 leans. Anna Swanwick Bride of Me-.- 
 sina. A. Lodge, M.A. Together with the 
 Use of the Chorus in Tragedy (a short 
 I .iy). Engravings. 
 
 These Dramas are all translated in metre. 
 
 Vol. IV. Robbers Fiesco Love and 
 Intrigue Demetrius Ghost Seer - 
 of Divinity. 
 
 The Dramas in this volume are in prose. 
 
 Vol. V. Poems. K. A. Bowrin. 
 
 Vol. VI : I'hil.v 
 
 i. al, inilii.li: i the 
 
 M..II between the Animal ami 
 tu.il in Man.
 
 BONNES LIBRARIES'. 
 
 SCHILLER and GOETHE. Corre- 
 spondence between, from A.D. 1794-1805. 
 With Short Notes by L. Dora Schmitz. 
 2 vols. N. S. 
 
 SCHLEGEL'S (F.) Lectures on the 
 Philosophy of Life and the Philosophy of 
 Language. By A. J. W. Morrison. 
 
 The History of Literature, Ancient 
 
 and Modern. 
 
 The Philosophy of History. With 
 
 Memoir and Portrait. 
 
 Modern History, with the Lectures 
 
 entitled Caesar and Alexander, and The 
 Beginning of our History. By L. Purcel 
 and R. H. Whitelock. 
 
 ^Esthetic and Miscellaneous 
 
 Works, containing Letters on Christian 
 Art, Essay on Gothic Architecture, Re- 
 marks on the Romance Poetry of the Mid- 
 dle Ages, on Shakspeare, the Limits of the 
 Beautiful, and on the Language and Wis- 
 dom of the Indians. By E. J. Millington. 
 
 SCHLEGEL (A. W.) Dramatic Art 
 
 and Literature. By J. Black. With Me- 
 moir by A. J. W. Morrison. Portrait. 
 
 SCHUMANN (Robert), His Life and 
 Works. By A. Reissmann. Trans, by 
 A. L. Alger. N. S. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S Dramatic Art. 
 
 The History and Character of Shakspeare's 
 Plays. By Dr. H. Ulrici. Trans, by L. 
 Dora Schmitz. 2 vols. N. S. 
 
 SHERIDAN'S Dramatic Works. With 
 Memoir- Portrait (after Reynolds). N. .i". 
 
 SKEAT (Rev. W. W.) See Clmucer. 
 
 SISMONDI'S History of the Litera- 
 ture of the South of Europe. With Notes 
 and Memoir by T. Roscoe. Portraits of 
 Sismondi and Dante. 2 vols. 
 
 The specimens of early French, Italian, 
 iish, and Portugese Poetry, in English 
 Verse, by Cary and others. 
 
 SMITH'S (Adam) The Wealth of 
 Nations. An Inquiry into the Nature and 
 Causes of. Reprinted from the Sixth 
 Edition. With an Introfluction by Ernest 
 Belfort Ba.\. j vois. .V. S. 
 
 SMITH'S (Adam) Theory of Moral 
 
 Sentiments ; with Essay on the First For- 
 mation of Languages, and Critical Memoir 
 by Dugald Stewart. 
 
 SMYTH'S (Professor) Lectures on 
 
 Modern History ; from the Irruption of the 
 Northern Nations to the close of the Ameri- 
 can Revolution. 2 vols. 
 
 Lectures on the French Revolu- 
 tion. With Index. 2 vols. 
 
 SOTJTHEY See Confer, Wesley, and 
 (Illustrated Library] Nelson. 
 
 STURM'S Morning Communings 
 with God, or Devotional Meditations for 
 Every Day. Trans, by W. Johnstone, M.A. 
 
 SULLY. Memoirs of the D\ike of, 
 
 Prime Minister to Henry the Great. With 
 Notes and Historical Introduction. 4 Por- 
 traits. 4 vols. 
 
 TAYLOR'S (Bishop Jeremy) Holy 
 Living and Dying, with Prayers, contain- 
 ing the Whole Duty of a Christian and the 
 parts of Devotion fitted to all Occasions. 
 Portrait. N. S. 
 
 THIERRY'S Conquest of England by 
 
 the Normans ; its Causes, and its Conse- 
 quences in England and the Continent. 
 ByW. Hazlitt. With short Memoir. 2 Por- 
 traits. 2 vols. N. S. 
 
 TROYE'S (Jean de). See Philip dc Corn- 
 mines. 
 
 ULRICI ;Dr.) Sc'e Shakespeare. 
 
 VASARI. Lives of the most Eminent 
 
 Painters, Sculptors, and Architects. By 
 Mrs. J. Foster, witli selected Notes. Por- 
 trait. 6 vols., Vol. VI. being an additional 
 Volume of Notes by J. P. Richter. N. S. 
 
 WERNER'S Templars in Cyprus. 
 
 Trans, by E. A. M. Lewis. .\ . S. 
 
 WESLEY, the Life of, and the Rise 
 
 and Progress of Methodism. By Robert 
 Southey. Portrait. 5.5. N. S. 
 
 WHEATLEY. A Rational Illustra- 
 tion of tile liook of Common Player, being 
 the Substance of everything Littirgi'-.il in 
 all former Ritualist Commentators upon the 
 subject. Frontispiece. N. S.
 
 HISTORICAL AND PHILOSOPHICAL LIBRARIES. 
 
 HISTORICAL LIBRARY. 
 
 21 Volumes at $s. each. (5?. 5*. per set.) 
 
 EVELYN'S Diary and Correspond- 
 
 dence, with the Private Correspondence of 
 Charles I and Sir Edward Nicholas, and 
 between Sir Edward Hyde (Earl of Claren- 
 don) and Sir Richard Browne. Edited from 
 the Original MSS. by W. Bray, F.A.S. 
 4 vols. A". 5". 45 Engravings (after Van- 
 dyke, Lely, Kneller, and Jamieson, &c.). 
 
 X.U. This edition contains 130 letters 
 from Evelyn and his wife, contained in no 
 other edition. 
 
 PEPYS' Diary and Correspondence. 
 
 With Life - Lord Braybrooke. 
 
 4 vols. A". 6". With Appendix containing 
 additional Letters, an Index, and 31 En- 
 cravincs (after Vandyke, Sir P. Lely, 
 Holbein, Kneller, &.C.). 
 
 JESSE'S Memoirs of the Court of 
 England under the Stuarts, including the 
 Protectorate. 3 vols. With Index and 42 
 Portraits (after Vandyke, Lely, &c.). 
 
 Memoirs of the Pretenders and 
 
 their Adherents. 7 Portraits. 
 
 NU GENT'S (Lord) Memorials of 
 Hampden, his Party and Times. With 
 Memoir. 12 Portraits (after Vandyke 
 and others). A'. S. 
 
 STRICKLAND'S (Agnes) Lives of the 
 (Jueens of England from the Norman 
 Conquest. From authentic Documents, 
 public and private. 6 Portraits. 6 vols. 
 A. -V. 
 
 Life of Mary Queen of Scots. 
 
 2 Portraits. 2 vols. A". .S'. 
 
 Lives of the Tudor and Stuart 
 
 1'rir.L [In tke frets. 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL LIBRARY. 
 
 16 Vols. at 5-r. eau'i, u, <///, those marked otherwise. (3/. 14*. per set.) 
 
 BACON'S Novum Orgamun and Ad- 
 
 vai: .uiiiag. With Notes by 
 
 J. Devey, M.A. 
 
 BAX. A Handbook of the History 
 of Philosophy, for the u^e of Student!.. 
 By I ".. Bolfurt l;.i\, Editor of Kant's 
 ' Pi -js. A'. 6'. 
 
 COMTE'S Philosophy of the Sciences. 
 An i .if the 
 
 lly ( I. II . 
 r of ' The Life of Goethe." 
 
 DRAPER (Dr. J. W.) A History of 
 
 the Intellectual Development of Europe. 
 b. A'. .V. 
 
 HEGEL'S Philosophy of History. By 
 
 J. Sibixe, M.A. 
 
 KANT'S Critique of Pure Reason. 
 
 By J. M. I). Meiklejohn. 
 
 Prolegomena and Metaphysical 
 
 Foundations of Natural l!i"- 
 
 graphy and Memuir by E. Bclfoi; 
 Portrait. A. 6'. 
 
 LOGIC, or the Science of Inference. 
 
 A Popular Manual. By J. Dcvey. 
 
 MILLER (Professor;. History Philo- 
 
 s..]iliii_ally Illustrated, from the Fall of the 
 ipire to the French Kevoluti'/n. 
 With Memuir. 4 voU. 3*. 6J. each. 
 
 SPINOZA'S Chief Works. Trans, with 
 Introduction by K. 11. M. Ei. 
 
 Politktu 
 
 1'olit. 
 
 Vol. 11. Inipmveim-nt of the Uudei- 
 sta> -Letters. 
 
 TENNEM ANN'S Manual of tho HIH- 
 
 lory of riiilnso|ihy. Trans, by K 
 Johnson, M.A.
 
 BONN'S LIBRARIES. 
 
 THEOLOGICAL LIBRARY. 
 
 15 Voh. at 55. each, excepting those marked otherwise. (3/. 13^. 6d. per set.) 
 
 BLEEK. Introduction to the Old 
 
 Testament. By Friedrich Kleek. Trans, 
 under the supervision of Rev. K. Venables, 
 Residentiary Canon of Lincoln. 2 vols. 
 N.S. 
 
 CHILLINGWORTH'S Religion of 
 
 Protestants. 3.?. 6d. 
 
 EUSEBIUS. Ecclesiastical History 
 
 of Eusebius Pamphiiius, Bishop of Csesarea. 
 Trans, by Rev. C. F. Cruse, M.A. With 
 Notes, Life, and Chrono'ogical Tables. 
 
 EVAGRIUS. History of the Church. 
 
 See Theodoret. 
 
 HARD WICK. History of the Articles 
 
 of Religion ; to which is added a Series of 
 Documents from A.D. 1536 to A.D. 1615. 
 Ed. by Rev. F. Proctor. N. S. 
 
 HENRY'S (Matthew) Exposition of 
 
 the Book of Psalms. Numerous Woodcuts. 
 
 PEARSON (John, D.D.) Exposition 
 
 of the Creed. Edit, by E. Walford, M.A. 
 With Notes, Analysis, and Indexes. N. S. 
 
 PHILO-JUD-EUS, Works of. The 
 
 Contemporary of Josephus. Trans, by 
 C. D. Yonge. 4 vols. 
 
 PHILOSTORGIUS. Ecclesiastical 
 
 History of. See Sozomen. 
 
 SOCRATES' Ecclesiastical History. 
 
 Comprising a History of the Church from 
 Constantine, A.D. 305 ; to the 38th year of 
 Theodosius II. With Short Account of 
 the Author, and selected Notes. 
 
 SOZOMEN'S Ecclesiastical History. 
 
 A.D. 324-440. With Notes, Prefatory Re- 
 marks by Valesius, and Short Memoir. 
 Together with the ECCLESIASTICAL HIS- 
 TORY OF PHILOSTORGIUS, as epitomised by 
 Photius. Trans, by Rev. E. Walford, M.A. 
 With Notes and brief Life. 
 
 THEODORET and EVAGRIUS. His- 
 lories of the Church from A.D. 332 to the 
 Death of Theodore of Mopsuestia, A.D. 
 427 ; and from A.D. 431 to A.D. 544. With 
 Memoirs. 
 
 WIESELER'S (Karl) Chronological 
 
 Synopsis of the Four Gospels. Trans, by 
 Rev. Canon Venables. N. S. 
 
 ANTIQUARIAN LIBRARY. 
 
 35 Voh. at 5-r. each. (8/. l$s. per set.} 
 
 ANGLO-SAXON CHRONICLE. See 
 
 Bede. 
 ASSER'S Life of Alfred See Six O. E. 
 
 Chronicles. 
 BEDE'S (Venerable) Ecclesiastical 
 
 History of England. Together with the 
 ANGLO-SAXON CHRONICLE. With Notes, 
 Short Life, Analysis, and Map. Edit, by 
 J. A. Giles, D.C.L. 
 
 BOETHIUS'S Consolation of Philo- 
 sophy. King Alfred's Anglo-Saxon Ver- 
 sion of. With an English Translation on 
 opposite pages, Notes, Introduction, and 
 Glossary, by Rev. S. Fox, M.A. To 
 which is added the Anglo-Saxon Version of 
 the METRES OF BOETHIUS, with a free 
 Translation by Martin F. Tupper, D.C.L. 
 
 BRAND'S Popular Antiquities of 
 
 England, Scotland, and Ireland. Illus- 
 trating the Origin of our Vulgar and Pro- 
 vincial Customs, Ceremonies, and Super- 
 stitions. By Sir Henry Ellis, K.H., F.R.S. 
 Frontispiece. 3 vols. 
 
 CHRONICLES of the CRUSADES. 
 
 Contemporary Narratives of Richard Coeur 
 de Lion, by Richard of Devizes and Geof- 
 frey de Vinsauf; and of the Crusade at 
 Saint Louis, by Lord John de Joinville. 
 With Short Notes. Illuminated Frontis- 
 piece from an old MS. 
 
 DYER'S (T. F. T.) British Popular 
 
 Customs, Present and Past. An Account 
 of the various Games and Customs asso- 
 ciated with different Days of the Year in 
 the British Isles, arranged according to the 
 Calendar. By the Rev. T. F. Thiselton 
 Dyer, M.A. 
 
 EARLY TRAVELS IN PALESTINE. 
 
 Comprising the Narratives of Arculf, 
 Willibald, Bernard, Saewulf, Sigurd, Ben- 
 jamin of Tudela, Sir John Maundeville, 
 De la Brocquiere, and Maundrell ; all un- 
 abridged. With Introduction and Note 
 by Thomas Wright. Map of Jerusalem.
 
 ANTIQUARIAN LIBRAR Y. 
 
 ELLIS (G.) Specimens of Early En- 
 glish Metrical Romances, relating to 
 Arthur, Merlin, Guy of Warwick, Richard 
 Coeur de Lion, Charlemagne, Rolan 
 
 With Historical Introduction by J. O. 
 Halliwell, F.R.S. Illuminated Frontis- 
 piece from an old MS. 
 
 ETHEL WERD. 
 
 Six O. E. Chron 
 
 Chronicle of. See 
 
 FLORENCE OF 'WORCESTER'S 
 
 Chronicle, with the Two Continuations : 
 comprising Annals of Knglish History 
 from the Departure of the Romans to the 
 Reign of Edward I. Trans., with Notes, 
 by Thomas Forester, M.A. 
 
 GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH. 
 
 Chronicle of. See Six O. E. Chronicles. 
 
 GESTA ROMANORUM, or Enter- 
 
 taining Moral Stories invented by the 
 Mi,: :iy the Rev. 
 
 Charles Swan. Edit, by W. Hooper, M.A. 
 
 GILD AS. Chronicle of. See Six O. E. 
 
 Chronicles. 
 
 GIRALDUS CAMBRENSIS' Histori- 
 
 cal Works. Containing Topography of 
 
 :-.nd, and History of the Conquest of 
 
 Ireland, by Th. 1 V. Itinerary 
 
 through Wales, and Description of Wales, 
 
 : K. Colt Hoare. 
 
 HENRY OF HUNTINGDON'S His- 
 
 tory of the English, from the Roman In- 
 n to the Accession of Henry II. ; 
 with the Acts of King Stephen, and the 
 Letter to \Valtc: : ester, M.A. 
 
 Frontispiece from au old MS. 
 
 INGULPH'S Chronicles of the Abbey 
 
 of Croyland, with the CONTINTATION bv 
 Trans, with 
 be* by H.T. kiley, i:.A. 
 
 KEIGHTLEY'S (Thomas) Fairy My- 
 thology, illustrative of the Romance and 
 ,rious Countries. Frontis- 
 piece by Cruikshank. .' 
 
 LEPSIUS'S Letters from Egypt, 
 
 Ethiopia, and the Peninsula of Sir 
 which are added, Extracts froi,. 
 Chronology of the Egyptians, with refer- 
 ence to th 1 ; V 
 
 L. and J I'.. H mcr. Maps and Coloured 
 Yicv. .rkal. 
 
 MALLET'S Northern Antiqtiities, or 
 
 an Hist'jriial Account of t. 
 Cu- ns, and Literature of the 
 
 Ancient Scandinavians. Trans, by I 
 Percy. With Translation of the I'KOSK 
 
 y .1. A. i 
 and Coloured Frontispiece. 
 
 MARCO POLO'S Travels ; with Notes 
 and Introduction. Edit, by T. Wright. 
 
 MATTHEW PARIS'S English His- 
 tory-, from 1235 . to I2 73- By Rev. J. A. 
 Giles, D.C.L. With Frontispiece. 3\ 
 See also Roger of H'ent.: 
 
 MATTHEW OF WESTMINSTER'S 
 
 Flowers of History, especially such .is re- 
 late to the affairs of Britain, from the be- 
 ginning of the World to A.D. 1307. By 
 C. D. Yonge. a vols. 
 
 NENNIUS. Chronicle of. See Six 
 
 O. E. Chronicles. 
 
 ORDERICUS VTTALIS' Ecclesiastical 
 
 History of England and Normandy. With 
 Notes, Introduction of Guizot, and the 
 Critical Notice of M. Delille, by T. 
 Forester, M.A. To which is added the 
 CHRONICLE OF St. EVROULT. With Gene- 
 ral and Chronological Indexes. 4 vols. 
 
 FAULTS (Dr. R.) Life of Alfred the 
 Great. To which is appended Alfred's 
 A.Mii.o-S With 
 
 literal Translation interpaged, Notei, and 
 an A . GRAMMAR and Gli 
 
 by B. Thorpe, Esq. Frontispiece. 
 
 RICHARD OF CIRENCESTER. 
 
 Chronicle of. See Six O. E. Chronii Us. 
 
 ROGER DE HOVEDEBTS Annals of 
 
 English History, comprising the H 
 of England and of other Countries of Eu- 
 rope from A.D. 732 to A.D. iaoi. With 
 Notes by H. T. Riley, B.A. 2 vols. 
 
 ROGER OF WENDOVER'S Flowers 
 
 of History, comprising the History of 
 England from the Descent of the Sa> 
 A.u. 1235, formerly ascribed to Matthew 
 Paris. With Notes and Index by J. A. 
 Giles, D.C. L. 2 vols. 
 
 SIX OLD ENGLISH CHRONICLES : 
 
 <f Alfred and the t 
 
 frev 
 
 es, by J. A. Giles, 
 D.C.L. Portrait of Alfred. 
 
 WILLIAM OF MALMESBURY'S 
 
 Chr 
 
 the , 
 
 Rev. J. Sharp. - by J. A. 
 
 Gilo^D.C-L. r ' r -i-i'iece. 
 
 YULE-TIDE STORIES. A CV 
 
 I.ir : 
 
 Danish, and German. Edit, by B. Thorpe.
 
 EOHN'S LIBRARIES. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY. 
 
 86 Vols. at 5-r. each, excepting those marked otherwise. (23!. &,s. per set.} 
 
 ALLEN'S (Joseph, R.N.) Battles of 
 
 the British Navy. Revised edition, with 
 Indexes of Names and Events, and 57 Por- 
 traits and Plans, t vols. 
 
 ANDERSEN'S Danish Fairy Tales. 
 
 By Caroline Peachey. With Short Life 
 and 120 Wood Engravings. 
 
 ARIOSTO'S Orlando Fnrioso. In 
 
 English Verse by \V. S. Rose. With Notes 
 and Short Memoir. Portrait after Titian, 
 and 24 Steel Engravings. 2 vols. 
 
 BECHSTEEN'S Cage and Chamber 
 
 Birds : their Natural History, Habits, &c. 
 Together with SWEET'S BRITISH WAR- 
 BLERS. 43 Plates and Woodcuts. JV. S. 
 
 or with the Plates Coloured, js. 6d. 
 
 BONOMI'S Nineveh and its Palaces. 
 
 The Discoveries of Bptta and Layard 
 applied to the Elucidation of Holy Writ. 
 7 Plates and 294 Woodcuts. N. S. 
 
 BUTLER'S Hudibras, with Variorum 
 Notes and Biography. Portrait and 28 
 It-lustrations. 
 
 CATTERMOLE'S Evenings at Had- 
 
 don Hall. Romantic Tales of the Olden 
 Times. With 24 Steel Engravings after | 
 Cattermole. 
 
 CHINA, Pictorial, Descriptive, and : 
 
 Historical, with some account of Ava and ' 
 the Burmese, Siam, and Anam. Map, and 
 nearly 100 Illustrations. 
 
 CRAIK'S (G. L.) Pursuit of Know- 
 ledge under Difficulties. Illustrated by 
 Anecdotes and Memoirs. Numerous Wood- 
 cut Portraits. N. S. 
 
 CRUIKSHANK'S Three Courses and 
 
 a Dessert ; comprising three Sets of Tales, 
 West Country, Irish, and Legal ; and a 
 Melange. With 50 Illustrations by Cruik- 
 shank. N. S. 
 
 Punch and Judy. The Dialogue of 
 
 the Puppet Show ; an Account of its Origin, 
 c. 24 Illustrations by Cruikshank. N. S. 
 
 With Coloured Plates, -js. 6d. 
 
 DIDRON'S Christian Iconography ; 
 
 a History of Christian Art in the Middle 
 Ages. By the late A. N. Diclron. Trans, 
 by E. J. Millington, and completed, with 
 Additions and Appendices, by Margaret 
 Stokes. 2 vols. With numerous Illustrations. 
 
 Vol. I. The History of the Nimbus, the 
 Aureole, and the Glory ; Representations 
 of the Persons of the Trinity. 
 
 Vol. II. The Trinity; Angels; Devil.-; 
 The Soul ; The Christian Scheme. Appen- 
 dices. 
 
 DANTE, in English Verse, by I. C.Wright, 
 M.A. With Introduction and Memoir. 
 Portrait and 34. Steel Engravings after 
 Flaxman. N. S. 
 
 DYER (Dr. T. H.) Pompeii : its Build- 
 ings and Antiquities. An Account of the 
 City, with full Description of the Remains 
 and Recent Excavations, and an Itinerary 
 for Visitors. By T. H. Dyer, LL.D. 
 Nearly 300 Wood Engravings, Map, and 
 Plan. 7 s.6d. N.S. 
 
 Rome : History of the City, with 
 
 Introduction OH recent Excavations. 8 
 Engravings, Frontispiece, and 2 Maps. 
 
 GIL BLAS. The Adventures of. 
 
 From the French of Lesage by Smollett. 
 24 Engravings after Smirke, and 10 Etch- 
 ings by Cruikshank. 612 pages. 6s. 
 
 GRIMM'S Gainnier Grethel; or, Ger- 
 man Fairy Tales and Popular Stories, 
 containing 42 Fairy Tales. By Edgar 
 Taylor. Numerous Woodcuts after Cruik- 
 shank and Ludwig Grimm. 3.$. 6d. 
 
 HOLBEIN'S Dance of Death and 
 
 Bible Cuts. Upwards of 150 Subjects, en- 
 graved in facsimile, with Introduction and 
 Descriptions by the late Francis Douce 
 and Dr. Dibdin. 7^. 6d. 
 
 HOWITT'S (Mary) Pictorial Calen- 
 dar of the Seasons; embodying AIKIN s 
 CAI.KNDAR OF NATURE. Upwards of 100 
 Woodcuts. 
 
 INDIA, Pictorial, Descriptive, and 
 
 Historical, from the Earliest Times. 100 
 Engravings on Wood and Map. 
 
 JESSE'S Anecdotes of Dogs. With 
 40 Woodcuts after Harvey, Bewick, and 
 others. N. 6". 
 
 With 34 additional Steel Engravings 
 
 after Cooper, Landseer, &c. 7$. 6d. -V. 6". 
 
 KING'S (C. W.) Natural History ef 
 
 Gems or Decorative Stones. Illustra- 
 tions. 6s. 
 Natural History of Precious 
 
 Stones and Metals. Illustrations. 6s. 
 
 KITTO'S Scripture Lands. Described 
 in a series of Historical, Geographical, and 
 Topographical Sketches. 42 Maps. 
 
 With the Maps coloured, js. 6d. 
 
 KRUMMACHER'S Parables. 40 Illus- 
 trations. 
 
 LINDSAY'S (Lord) Letters on Egypt, 
 
 Edom, and the Holy Land. 36 Wood 
 
 Engravings and 2 Maps.
 
 ILL VSTRA TED LIBRA R Y. 
 
 3 
 
 LODGE'S Portraits of Illustrious 
 Personages of Great Britain, with Bio- 
 graphical and Historical Memoirs. 240 
 Port: ! on Steel, with the 
 
 i/hies unabridged. Com- 
 plete in 8 vols. 
 
 LONGFELLOW'S Poetical -Works, 
 
 including his Translations and Notes. 24 
 full-page Woodcuts by Birket Foster and 
 others, and a Portrait. N. S. 
 
 ~ Without the Illustrations, 3.1. bd. -V. S. 
 
 Prose Works. With 16 full-page 
 
 Woodcuts by Birket Foster and others. 
 
 LOUDON'S (Mrs.) Entertaining Na- 
 tnralist. Popular Descriptions, Tales, and 
 Anecdotes, of more than 500 Animals, 
 rous Woodcuts. N, S. 
 
 MARRYAT'S (Capt., R.N.) Master. 
 
 man Ready ; or, the Wreck of the Pacific. 
 (Written for Young People.) With 93 
 Woodcuts, y. 6d. N. S. 
 
 Mission ; or, Scenes in Africa. 
 
 (Written : uple.) Illustrated 
 
 by Gilbert and Dalziel. y. 6<t. N. S. 
 
 Pirate and Three Cutters. (Writ- 
 ten for Youni; People.) With a Memoir. 
 
 S Steel Kn^raviir,^ after Clarkson Stan- 
 field, R.A. 31. 6d. A'. S. 
 
 Privateersman. Adventures by Sea 
 
 and Land One Hundred Years ABO. 
 (Written for Young People.) 8 Steel En- 
 gravings. 3*. dti. A". .S". 
 
 Settlers in Canada. (Written for 
 
 Young People.) 10 Engravings by Gilbert 
 and Dal/iel. y. 6tt. N 
 
 Poor Jack. (Written fur ^ 
 
 ic.) With iftllhutrations after CUrk- 
 
 son Stanfield, R.A. 3*. bd. N. S. 
 
 MAXWELL'S Victories of Welling- 
 ton and the British Armies. Frontispiece 
 and 4 Portraits. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO and RAPHAEL, 
 
 lr Lives and Works. I!y Duppa and 
 Quairemere de Quincy. Portraits and 
 
 ravings, including the Last Judgment, 
 and Cartoons. A'. S. 
 
 MILLER'S History of the Anglo- 
 
 the Earliest Period to the 
 
 < : : nait of Alfre. . 
 
 of Saxon Britain, and 12 Steel 1 
 
 MILTON'S Poetical Works, with n 
 
 Memoir ai. y, nn 
 Index to I 
 
 Index to all ll>< . 120 
 
 Woo 
 
 MUDIE'S History of British Birds. 
 
 Revised b] 
 
 Birds and 7 Plates of l._ 
 
 With the 1'l.ites u.'loliml, -s. f d. |>cr vol. 
 
 NAVAL and MHJTART HEROES 
 of Great Britain ; a Record of British 
 Valour on every Day in the year, from 
 William the Conqueror to the Battle of 
 Inkermann. By Major Johns, R.M., and 
 I.ieut. P. H. Nicolas, R.M. Indexes. 24 
 Portraits after Holbein, Reynolds, &c. 6*. 
 
 NICpLINTS History of the Jesuits : 
 
 their Origin, Progress, Doctrines, and De- 
 signs. 8 Portraits. 
 
 PETRARCH'S Sonnets, Triumphs, 
 
 and other Poems, in English Verse. With 
 Life by Thomas Campbell. Portrait and 
 15 Steel Engravings. 
 
 PICKERING'S History of the Races 
 
 of Man, and their Geographical Distribu- 
 tion ; with AN ANALYTICAL SYNOPSIS OH 
 THE NATTRAI. HISTOKYOF MAN. 1 
 Hall. Map of the World and 12 Plates. 
 
 With the Plates coloured, 7*. 6d. 
 
 PICTORIAL HANDBOOK OF 
 
 Modern (ieography on a Popular Plan. 
 Compiled from the best Authorities, English 
 and Foreign, by H. G. Bohn. 150 Wood- 
 cuts and 51 Maps. 6s. 
 
 With the Maps coloured, 7*. (xl. 
 
 Without the Maps, y. 6d. 
 
 POPE'S Poetical Works, including 
 
 Translations. Edit., with Notes, by R. 
 
 Carruthers. 2 vols. 
 Homer's Iliad, with Introduction 
 
 and Notes by Rev. J. S. Watson, M. A. 
 
 With Flaxman's Designs. N. S. 
 Homer's Odyssey, with the I'.ATTI.B 
 
 OK FKO'.S AMI Mi' K. Hymns, & u , by 
 
 other translators, including Cl. 
 
 troduction ami Notes by J. S. Watson, 
 
 M.A. With Flaxman's Designs. A'. S. 
 
 Life, including many of Iris 1 
 
 By R. Carruthers. Numerous Illustrations. 
 
 POTTERY AJTO PORCELAIN, am! 
 
 other objects of Vertu. Comprisi: 
 Illustrated Catalogue of the It- 
 lection, with the prices and names of the 
 Po an Introductory Lecture 
 
 .rcelain.and. 
 
 List of all Marks and Monog:. 
 11. (I. Bohn. Numerous Woodcuts. 
 
 With coloured Illustrations, loj. 64. 
 
 PROUTS (Father) Reliqucs. 1 
 
 ' 
 
 with Ihr Author's last < orrr. tions and 
 
 addili..iis. :, I 
 
 K.A. Nearly 600 pages. 5*. 
 
 RECREATIONS IN SHOOT QTO. 
 
 I'.ritis! ' 
 int. 
 
 ! 9 Steel L 
 
 \. t ' ;
 
 BOHWS LIBRARIES 
 
 REDDING'S History and Descrip- 
 tions of Wines, Ancient and Modern. 20 
 Woodcuts. 
 
 RENNIE. Insect Architecture. Re- 
 vised by Rev. J. G. Wood, M.A. 186 
 Woodcuts. N. S. 
 
 ROBINSON CRUSOE. With Memoir of 
 Defoe, 12 Steel Engravings and 74 Wood- 
 cuts after Stothard and Harvey. 
 
 Without the Engravings, is. 6d. 
 
 ROME IN THE NINETEENTH CEN- 
 
 tury. An Account in 1817 of the Ruins ;f 
 the Ancient City, and Monuments of Modern 
 Times. By C. A. Eaton. 34 Steel En- 
 gravings. 2 vols. 
 
 SHARPE (S.) The History of Egypt, 
 from the Earliest Times till the Conquest 
 by the Arabs, A.D. 640. 2 Maps and up- 
 wards of 400 Woodcuts. 2 vols. A^. 6". 
 
 SOUTHEY'S Life of Nelson. With 
 Additional Notes, Facsimiles of Nelson's 
 Writing, Portraits, Plans, and 50 Engrav- 
 ings, after Birket Foster, &c. N. S. 
 
 STARLING'S (Miss) Noble Deeds of 
 
 Women; or, Examples of Female Courage, 
 Fortitude, and Virtue. With 14 Steel Por- 
 traits. N, S. 
 
 STUART and REVETT'S Antiquities 
 of Athens, and other Monuments of Greece ; 
 with Glossary of Terms used in Grecian 
 Architecture. 71 Steel Plates and numerous 
 Woodcuts. 
 
 SWEET'S British Warblers. ss.See 
 Bechstein. 
 
 TALES OF THE GENII; or, the 
 Delightful Lessons of Horam, the Son of 
 Asmar. Trans, by Sir C. Morrell. Numer- 
 ous Woodcuts. 
 
 TASSO'S Jerusalem Delivered. In 
 English Spenserian Verse, with Life, by 
 . H. Wiffen. With 8 Engravings and 24 
 /oodcuts. N. S. 
 
 W, 
 
 WALKER'S Manly Exercises; con- 
 taining Skating, Riding, Driving, Hunting, 
 Shooting, Sailing, Rowing, Swimming, &c. 
 44 Engravings and numerous Woodcuts. 
 
 WALTON'S Complete Angler, or the 
 
 Contemplative Man's Recreation, by Izaak 
 Walton and Charles Cotton. With Me- 
 moirs and Notes by E. Jesse. Also an 
 Account of Fishing Stations, Tackle, &c., 
 by H. G. Bohn. Portrait and 203 Wood- 
 cuts. N. S. 
 
 With 26 additional Engravings on Stee!, 
 
 7*. 6d. 
 
 Lives of Donne, Wotton, Hooker, 
 
 &c., with Notes. A New Edition, re- 
 vised by A. H. Bullen, with a Memoir 
 of Izaak Walton by William Dowling. 6 
 Portraits, 6 Autograph Signatures. &c. 
 N. S. 
 
 WELLINGTON, Life of. From the 
 Materials of Maxwell. 18 Steel En- 
 gravings. 
 
 Victories of. See Maxwell. 
 
 WESTROPP (H. M.) A Handbook of 
 
 Archaeology, Egyptian, Greek, Etruscan, 
 Roman. By H. M. Westropp. Numerous 
 Illustrations. 7.1. dd. N. S. 
 
 WHITE'S Natural History of Sel- 
 
 borne, with Observations on various Parts 
 of Nature, and the Naturalists' Calendar. 
 Sir W. Jardine. Edit., with Notes and 
 Memoir, by E. Jesse. 40 Portraits. A^. S. 
 
 With the Plates coloured, 7*. dd. N. S. 
 
 YOUNG LADY'S BOOK, The. A 
 
 Manual of Recreations, Arts, Sciences, and 
 Accomplishments. 1200 Woodcut Illustra- 
 tions, js. dd. 
 
 cloth gilt, gilt edges, gs. 
 
 CLASSICAL LIBRARY. 
 
 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GREEK AND LATIN. 
 98 Vols. at 55. each, excepting those marked otherwise. (24.!. os. 6d. per set.) 
 
 .SSCHYLUS, The Dramas of. In 
 
 English Verse by Anna Swanwick. 4th 
 edition. N. S. 
 
 The Tragedies of. In Prose, with 
 
 Notes and Introduction, by T. A. Buckley, 
 B.A. Portrait. 35. dd. 
 
 AMMIANUS MARCELLENUS. His- 
 tory of Rome during the Reigns of Con- 
 stnntius, Julian, Jovianus,Valentinian, and 
 Valens, by C. D. Yonge, 15.A. Double 
 volume, js. dd. 
 
 ANTONINUS (M. Aurelius), The 
 
 Thoughts of. Translated literally, with 
 Notes, Biographical Sketch, and Essay on 
 the Philosophy, by George Long, M.A. 
 3*. 6d. N. S. 
 
 APULEIUS, The Works of. Com- 
 prising the Golden Ass, God of Socrates, 
 Florida, and Discourse of Magic. With 
 a Metrical Version of Cupid and Psyche, 
 and Mrs. Tighe's Psyche. Frontis- 
 piece.
 
 CLASSICAL LIBRARY. 
 
 \RISTOPHANES' Comedies. Trans., 
 with Notes and Extracts from Frere's and 
 other Metrical Versions, by W. J. Hickie. | 
 Portrait. 2 vols. 
 
 VRISTOTLE'S Nicomachean Ethics. 
 
 Trans., with Notes, Analytical Introduc- 
 tion, and Questions for Students, by Ven. 
 Archdn. Browne. 
 
 Politics and Economics. Trans., 
 with Notes, Analyses, and Index, by E. 
 Walford, M.A., and an Essay and Life by 
 Dr. Gillies. 
 
 Metaphysics. Trans., with Notes, 
 Analysis, and Examination Questions, by 
 Rev. John H. M'.Mahon, M.A. 
 
 History of Animals. In Ten Books. 
 Trans., with Notes and Index, by R. 
 i '.veil, .M.A. 
 
 - Organon ; or. Logical Treatises, and 
 the I ntroduction of Porphyry. With Notes, j 
 Analysis, and Introduction, by Rev. O. 
 V. Owen, M.A. 2 vols. $s. 6d. each. 
 
 Rhetoric and Poetics. Trans., with 
 Hobbes' Analysis, Exam. Questions, and 
 Notes, by T. Buckley, 13.A. Portrait. 
 
 ATHENSUS. The Deipnosophists ; 
 
 or, the Banquet of the Learned. By C. 1). 
 Yon^e, B.A. With an Appendix of Poeti- 
 cal Fragments. 3 vols. 
 
 ATLAS of Classical Geography. 22 
 
 Coloured Maps. With a complete 
 Index. Imp. 8vo. 7$. 6d. 
 
 BION. Sef Theocritus. 
 
 C-flESAR. Commentaries on the 
 
 Gallic and Civil Wars, with the Supple- 
 mentary Books attributed to Hirtius, in- 
 cluding the complete Alexandrian, African, 
 and Spanish Wars. Trans, with Notes. 
 Portrait. 
 
 CATULLUS, Tibullns, and 
 
 of Venus. Trans, with Not. 
 graphical Introduction. _ To which are 
 added, Metrical Versions by Lamb, 
 Grainger, and others. Frontispiece. 
 
 CICERO'S Orations. Trans, by C. D. 
 \. 4 vols. 
 
 - On Oratory and Orators. With 
 
 Letters to Ouintus and Brutus. Trans., 
 with Notes, by Rev. J. S. Wat..,,!, M.A. 
 
 - On the Nature of the Gods, Divi- 
 
 nation, Kate, Laws, a RnabltC. Consul- 
 ship. Trans., with Notes, by C. D. Yonge, 
 l;.A. 
 
 - Academics, De Finibus, and Tnsrii- 
 lan Questions. By C. D. YonffB, B.A. 
 With Ski:uh of thr Grn-k I'hilo . 
 mentioned by Ci< 
 
 CICERO'S Orations. Continued. 
 
 Offices; or, Moral Duties. Cato 
 
 Major, an Essay on Old Age; ]..< 
 
 ..ii Friendship; Scipio's Dream; 
 Paradoxes ; Letter to Quintus on M 
 trates. Trans., with Notes, by C. 1< 
 monds. Portrait, & (xl. 
 
 DEMOSTHENES' Orations. Trans., 
 with Notes, Arguments, a Chronological 
 Abstract, and Appendices, by C. Rann 
 Kennedy. 5 vols. 
 
 DICTIONARY of LATIN and GREEK 
 
 Quotations ; including Proverbs, Maxims, 
 Mottoes, Law Terms and Phrases. With 
 the Quantities marked, and English Trans- 
 lations. 
 
 With Index Verborum (622 pages). 6s. 
 
 Index Verborum to the above, with the 
 
 Quantities and Accents marked (56 pages), 
 limp cloth, is. 
 
 DIOGENES LAERTTUS. Lives and 
 
 Opinions of the Ancient Philosophers. 
 Trans., with Notes, by C. D. Yonge, B.A. 
 
 EPICTETUS. The Discourses of. 
 
 With the Encheiridion and Fragments. 
 With Notes, Life, and View of his Philo- 
 sophy, by George Long, M.A. AT. S. 
 
 EURIPIDES. Trans., with Notes and In- 
 troduction, by T. A. Buckley, B.A. Por- 
 trait. 2 Vols. 
 
 GREEK ANTHOLOGY. In Kiifilish 
 Prose by G. Burges, M.A. With M. 
 Versions by Bland, Merivale, Lord Den- 
 man, &c. 
 
 GREEK ROMANCES of Heliodorns, 
 
 Longus, and Achilles Tatius: viz., The 
 Adventures of Theagenes and Chariclea ; 
 Amours of Daphnis and Chloe ; and Loves 
 of Clitopho and Leucippe. Trans., with 
 Notes, by Rev R. Smith, M.A. 
 
 HERODOTUS. Literally trans, by Rev. 
 Henry Gary, M.A. Portrait. 
 
 HESIOD, CALLIMACHUS, and 
 
 Theognis. In Prose, with Notes and 
 Biographical Notices by Rev. |. Banks, 
 M.A. Together with the Metrical Ver- 
 sions of Hesiod, by Elton ; Callimachus, 
 by Tytler ; and Theognis, by Frere. 
 
 HOMER'S Iliad. In English Prose, with 
 Not. ^ 1>> I. A. Buckley, B.A. Portrait. 
 
 Odyssey, Hymns, Epigrams anil 
 
 Battle of the Frogs and Mi. c. In Knulisli 
 Prose, with Notes and Memoir by '1. A. 
 
 Uey, B.A. 
 HORACE. In Prose by Smart, with Notes 
 
 ted by T. A. Buckley, B A. 
 nail. v. 6</. 
 
 JULIAN THE APOSTATE. By the 
 .! \. \t>: :
 
 16 
 
 BONN'S LIBRARIES. 
 
 JUSTIN, CORNELIUS NEPOS, and 
 
 Eutropius. Trans., with Notes, by Rev. 
 J. S. Watson, M.A. 
 
 JUVENAL, PERSIUS, SULPICIA, 
 
 and Lucilius. In Prose, with Notes, 
 Chronological Tables, Arguments, by L. 
 Evans. M.A. To which is added the Me- 
 trical Version of Juvenal and Persius by 
 Gifford. Frontispiece. 
 
 LIVY. The History of Rome. Trans, 
 by Dr. Spillan and others. 4 vols. Por- 
 trait. 
 
 LUCAN'S Pharsalia. In Prose, with 
 Notes by H. T. Riley. 
 
 LUCIAN'S Dialogues of the Gods, 
 
 of the Sea Gods, and of the Dead. Trans, 
 by Howard Williams, M.A. [/ the press. 
 
 LUCRETIUS. In Prose, with Notes and 
 Biographical Introduction by Rev. J. S. 
 Waison, M.A. To which is added the 
 Metrical Version by J. M. Good. 
 
 MARTIAL'S Epigrams, complete. In 
 Prose, with Verse Translations selected 
 from English Poets, and other sources. 
 Dble. vol. (670 pages). js. 6i/. 
 
 MOSCHUS. See Ttuocritns. 
 
 OVID'S Works, complete. In Prose, 
 with Notes and Introduction. 3 vols. 
 
 PAUSANIAS' Description of Greece. 
 
 Translated into English, with Notes and 
 Index. By Arthur Richard Shilleto, M.A., 
 sometime Scholar of Trinity College, Cam- 
 bridge. 2 vols. 
 
 PHALARIS. Bentley's Dissertations 
 upon the Epistles ot Phalaris, Themisto- 
 cles, Socrates, Euripides, and the Fables 
 of /Esop. With Introduction and Notes 
 by Prof. W. Wagner, Ph.D. 
 
 PINDAR. In Prose, with Introduction 
 and Notes by Dawspn W. Turner. To- 
 gether with the Metrical Version by Abra- 
 ham Moore. Portrait. 
 
 PLATO'S Works. Trans., with Intro- 
 duction and Notes. 6 vols. 
 
 Dialogues. A Summary and Analysis 
 
 of. With Analytical Index t the Greek 
 text of modern editions and to the above 
 translations, by A. Day, LL.D. 
 
 PLAUTUS'S Comedies. In Prose, with 
 Notes and Index by H. T. Riley, B.A. 
 
 2 vols. 
 
 PLINY'S Natural History. Trans., 
 with Notes, by J. Bostock, M.D., F.R.S., 
 and H. T. Riley, B.A. 6 vols. 
 
 PLINY. The Letters of Pliny the 
 Younger. Melmoth's Translation, revised, 
 with Notes and short Life, by Rev. F. C. 
 T. Bosanquet, M.A. 
 
 PLUTARCH'S Morals. Theosophical 
 Essays. Trans, by C. W. King, M.A. N.S. 
 
 Lives. Seepage 7. 
 
 PROPERTIUS, The Elegies of. With 
 Notes, Literally translated by the Rev. P. 
 J. F. Gantillon, M.A., with metrical ver- 
 sions of Select Elegies by Nott and Elton. 
 3*. 6d. 
 
 QUINTILIAN'S Institutes of Oratory. 
 Trans., .with Notes and Biographical 
 Notice, by Rev. J. S. Watson, M.A. 
 2 vols. 
 
 SALLUST, FLORUS, and VELLEIUS 
 Paterculus. Trans., with Notes and Bio- 
 graphical Notices, by J. S. Watson, M.A. 
 
 SENECA DE BENEFICIIS. Newly 
 translated by Aubrey Stewart, M.A. 
 3*. M. N. S. 
 
 SENECA'S Minor Works. Translated 
 by A. Stewart, M.A. [In the press. 
 
 SOPHOCLES. The Tragedies of. In 
 
 Prose, with Notes, Arguments, and Intro- 
 duction. Portrait. 
 
 STRABO'S Geography. Trans., with 
 Notes, by W. Falconer, M.A., and H. C. 
 Hamilton. Copious Index, giving Ancient 
 and Modern Names. 3 vols. 
 
 SUETONIUS' Lives of the Twelve 
 
 Czs.ys and Lives of the Grammarians. 
 The Translation of Thomson, revised, with 
 Notes, by T. Forester. 
 
 TACITUS. The Works of. Tran,., 
 
 with Notes. 2 vols. 
 
 TERENCE and PH^EDRUS. In Eng- 
 lish Prose, with Notes and Arguments, by 
 H. T. Riley, B.A. To which is added 
 Smart's Metrical Version of Phaxlrus. 
 With Frontispiece. 
 
 THEOCRITUS, BION, MOSCHUS, 
 
 and Tyrtacus. In Prose, with Notes and 
 Arguments, by Rev. J. Banks, M.A. To 
 which are appended the METRICAL VKR- 
 SIONS of Chapman. Portrait of Theocritus. 
 
 THUCYDIDES. The Peloponnesian 
 
 War. Trans., with Notes, by Rev. H. 
 Dale. Portrait. 2 vols. y. fid. each. 
 
 TYRTJEUS. See Theocritus. 
 
 VIRGDL. The Works of. In Prose, 
 with Notes by Davidson. Revised, with 
 additional Notes and Biographical Notice, 
 by T. A. Buckley, B.A. Portrait. 3*. 6d. 
 
 XENOPHON'S Works. Trans., with 
 Notes, by J. S. Watson, M.A., and others. 
 Portrait. In 3 vols.
 
 COLLEGIATE SERIES AND SCIENTIFIC LIBRARY. 17 
 
 COLLEGIATE SERIES. 
 
 10 Vols. at 5*. each. (zl. los. per set.) 
 
 DANTE. The Inferno. Prose Trans., 
 with the Text of the Original on the same 
 page, and Explanatory Notes, by John 
 A. Carlyle, M.D. Portrait. N. S. 
 
 The Purgatorio. Prose Trans., with 
 
 the Original on the same page, and Ex- 
 planatory Notes, by W. S. Dugdale. N. S. 
 
 NEW TESTAMENT (The) in Greek. 
 Griesbach's Text, with the Readings of 
 Mill and Scholz at the foot of the page, and 
 Parallel References in the margin. AN" a 
 Critical Introduction and Chronological 
 Tables. Two Fac-similes of Greek Manu- 
 scripts. 650 pages, y. (xi. 
 
 or bound up with a Greek and English 
 
 icon to the New Testament (250 pages 
 additional, making in all 900^. 5.1. 
 
 The Lexicon may be had separately, 
 price 2S. 
 
 DOBREE'S Adversaria. (Notes on the 
 Greek and Latin Classics.) Edited by the 
 late Prof. Wagner. 2 vois. 
 
 DONALDSON (Dr.) The Theatre of 
 
 the Greeks. With Supplementary Treatise 
 on the Language, Metres, and Prosody of 
 the Greek Dramatists. Numerous Illus- 
 trations and 3 Plans. By J. W. Donald- 
 son, D.D. W.S. 
 
 KEIGHTLEY'S (Thomas) Mythology 
 of Ancient Greece and Italy. Revised by 
 Leonhard Schmitz, Ph.D., LL.D. 12 
 Plates. N. S. 
 
 HERODOTUS, Notes on. Original 
 
 and Selected from the best Commentators, 
 by D. W. Turner, M.A. Coloured Map. 
 
 Analysis and Summary of, with 
 
 a Synchronistical Table of Events Table* 
 of Weights, Measures, Money, and In- 
 lances an Outline of the History and 
 Geography and the I lutes completed from 
 < laisford, Uaehr, &c. by J. T. Wheeler. 
 
 THUCYDIDES. An Analysis and 
 
 Summary of. With Chronological Table 
 of Events, &c., by J. T. Wheeler. 
 
 SCIENTIFIC LIBRARY. 
 
 59 l"oh. at 5*. each, excepting those marked otherwise. (IS/. 6s. (*/. per set.) 
 
 AGASSIZ and GOULD. Outline of 
 
 Comparative Physiology touching the 
 Structure and Development of the ' 
 of Animal* living and extinct. For Schools 
 ami Coll'., ed by I )r. Wright. 
 
 With Index and 300 Illustrative Woo.: 
 
 BOLLEY'S Manual of Technical 
 
 lysis; :i Guide for the Testing ami 
 Valuation of the various Natural ami 
 Ai (it'n ial Substau.es i-inployed in the Art* 
 .in M the 
 
 u..il of [)r. liullcy. Edit, by Dr. Paul, 
 lo-j Woodcuts. 
 
 BRIDGEWATER TREATISES. 
 Bell (Sir Charles) on the Hand ; 
 
 its Mechanism ami Vital Endowim- 
 evincing I ' led by an A 
 
 of the Author s Discoveries in the Nervous 
 System by A. Shaw. Numerous Woodcuts. 
 
 Kirby on the History, Habits, 
 
 and Instincts of Animals. With Notes by 
 'J'. Kymer Jones. 100 Woodcuts. 2 vols. 
 
 Whcwell's Astronomy and 
 
 General Physics, < onsidered with reference 
 to Natural Theulogy. Portrait of the Earl 
 of bridgewater. y. ftd. 
 
 BRIDGEWATER TREATISES. 
 
 Continued. 
 Chalmers on the Adaptation of 
 
 'rnal Nature to the Moral and Intel- 
 lectual Constitution of Man. With Memoir 
 by Rev. Dr. dimming. Portrait. 
 
 Front's Treatise on Chemistry, 
 
 Meteorology, and the Function of Diges- 
 tion, with reference to Natural Theology. 
 Edit, by Mr J. W. Giitluh. 2 Map*. 
 
 Buckland's Geology and Miner- 
 alogy. With Additions by i 
 
 IVot. Phillip--, ami K. P.rown. Memoir of 
 
 ..it. _ vols. ISA. \ 
 Vol. II. 90 lai>;e plates with letter- 
 press. 
 
 Rpgct's Animal and Vegetable 
 
 Physiology. 463 Woodcuts. 2 vols. 6*. 
 cai h. 
 
 Kidd on the Adaptation of Ex- 
 
 .1 Natuie I" tlu- l'li>sic.il Condition of 
 
 Ha 
 
 CARPENTER'S (Dr. W. B.) Zoology. 
 
 A Systematic View of the Strut ture, H.i- 
 hits, Instincts, and Ue of the prr 
 Families of the Animal Kingdom, and of 
 the chief I mains. Re- 
 
 vised by W. S. D.dUs, F.I..S. Numcrou* 
 Woodcuts, a vols. 6j. each.
 
 IS 
 
 BOHN'S LIBRARIES. 
 
 CARPENTER'S Works. Continued. 
 
 Mechanical Philosophy, Astro- 
 nomy, and Horology. A Popular Expo- 
 sition. 181 Woodcuts. 
 
 Vegetable Physiology and Sys- 
 tematic Botany. A complete Introduction 
 to the Knowledge of Plants. Revised by 
 E. Lankester, M.D., &c. Numerous 
 Woodcuts. 6.r. 
 
 Animal Physiology. Revised Edi- 
 
 tien. 300 Woodcuts. 6s. 
 
 CHEVREUL on Colour. Containing 
 the Principles of Harmony and Contrast 
 of Colours, and their Application to the 
 Arts ; including Painting, Decoration, 
 Tapestries, Carpets, Mosaics, Glazing, 
 Staining, Calico Printing, Letterpress 
 Printing, Map Colouring, Dress, Land- 
 scape and Flower Gardening, &c. Trans, 
 by C. Martel. Several Plates. 
 
 With an additional series of 16 Plates 
 
 in Colours, 7$. 6d. 
 
 ENNEMOSER'S History of Magic. 
 
 Trans, by W. Howitt. With an Appendix 
 of the most remarkable and best authenti- 
 cated Stories of Apparitions, Dreams, 
 Second Sight, Table-Turning, and Spirit- 
 Rapping, &c. 2 vols. 
 
 HIND'S Introduction to Astronomy. 
 
 With Vocabulary of the Terms in present. 
 use. Numerous Woodcuts. 3$. 6d. N.S. 
 
 HOGG'S (Jabez) Elements of Experi- 
 mental and Natural Philosophy. Being 
 an Easy Introduction to the Study of 
 Mechanics, Pneumatics, Hydrostatics, 
 Hydraulics, Acoustics, Optics, Caloric, 
 Electricity, Voltaism, and Magnetism. 
 400 Woodcuts. 
 
 HUMBOLDT'S Cosmos; or, Sketch 
 
 of a Physical Description of the Universe. 
 Trans, by E. C. Otte, B. H. Paul, and 
 W. S. Dallas, F.L.S. Portrait. 5 vols. 
 3$. 6et. each, excepting vol. v., 5$. 
 
 Personal Narrative of his Travels 
 
 in America during the years 1799-1804. 
 Trans., with Notes, by T. Ross. 3 vols. 
 
 Views of Nature ; or, Contem- 
 plations of the Sublime Phenomena of 
 Creation, with Scientific Illustrations. 
 Trans, by E. C. Otte. 
 
 HUNT'S (Robert) Poetry of Science ; 
 
 or, Studies of the Physical Phenomena of 
 Nature. By Robert Hunt, Professor at 
 the School of Mines. 
 
 JOYCE'S Scientific Dialogues. A 
 
 Familiar Introduction to the Arts and 
 Sciences. For Schools and Young People. 
 Numerous Woodcuts. 
 
 Introduction to the Arts and 
 
 Sciences, for Schools and Young People. 
 Divided into Lessons with Examination 
 Questions. Woodcuts. 35. 6d. 
 
 JUKES-BROWNE'S Student's Hand- 
 book of Physical Geology. By A. J. 
 Jukes-Browne, of the Geological Survey of 
 England. With numerous Diagrams and 
 Illustrations, 6.?. N.S. 
 
 The Student's Handbook of 
 
 Historical Geology. By A. J. Jukes- 
 Brown, B.A., F.G.S., of the Geological 
 Survey of England and Wales. With 
 numerous Diagrams and Illustrations. 6s. 
 N.S. 
 
 KNIGHT'S (Charles) Knowledge is 
 
 Power. A Popular Manual of Political 
 Economy. 
 
 LECTURES ON PAINTING by the 
 
 Royal Academicians, Barry, Opie, Fuseli. 
 With Introductory Essay and Notes by 
 R. Wornum. Portrait of Fuseli. 
 
 LILLY. Introduction to Astrology. 
 
 With a Grammar of Astrology and Tables 
 for calculating Nativities, by Zadkiel. 
 
 MANTELL'S (Dr.) Geological Ex- 
 cursions through the Isle of Wight and 
 along the Dorset Coast. Numerous Wood- 
 cuts and Geological Map. 
 
 Medals of Creation ; or, First 
 
 Lessons in Geology : including Geological 
 Excursions. Coloured Plates and several 
 hundred Woodcuts. 2 vols. js. 6d. each. 
 
 Petrifactions and their Teach- 
 ings. Handbook to the Organic Remains 
 in the British Museum. Numerous Wood- 
 cuts. 6s. 
 
 Wonders of Geology ; or, a 
 
 Familiar Exposition of Geological Pheno- 
 mena. A coloured Geological Map of 
 England, Plates, and 200 Woedcuts. 2 
 vols. 7$. 6d. each. 
 
 MORPHY'S Games of Chess, being 
 
 the Matches and best Games played by the 
 American Champion, with explanatory and 
 analytical Notes by J. Lowenthal. With 
 short Memoir and Portrait of Morphy. 
 
 SCHOUW'S Earth, Plants, and Man. 
 
 Popular Pictures of Nature. And Ko- 
 bell's Sketches from the Mineral Kingdom. 
 Trans, by A. Henfrey, F.R.S. Coloured 
 Map of the Geography of Plants. 
 
 SMITH'S (Pye) Geology and Scrip- 
 ture ; or, the Relation between the Scriptures 
 and Geological Science. With Memoir. 
 
 STANLEY'S Classified Synopsis of 
 
 the Principal Painters of the Dutch and 
 Flemish Schools, including an Account of 
 some of the early German Masters. By 
 George Stanley. 
 
 STAUNTON'S Chess-Player's Hand- 
 book. A Popular and Scientific Intro- 
 duction to the Game, with numerous Dia- 
 grams and Coloured Frontispiece. N.S.
 
 REFERENCE LIBRARY. 
 
 STAUNTON. Continued. 
 
 Chess Praxis. A Supplement to the 
 
 Chess-player's Handbook. Containing the 
 most important modern Improvements in 
 the Openings ; Code of Chess Laws ; and 
 a Selection of Morphy's Games. Annotated. 
 636 pages. Diagrams. 6s. 
 
 Chess-Player's Companion. 
 
 Comprising a Treatise on Odds, Collection 
 of Match Games, including the French 
 Match with M. St. Amant, and a Selection 
 of Original Problems. Diagrams and Co- 
 loured Frontispiece. 
 
 Chess Tournament of 1851. 
 
 A Collection of Games played at this cele- 
 brated assemblage. With Introduction 
 and Notes. Numerous Diagrams. 
 
 STOCKHARDT'S Experimental 
 
 Chemistry. A Handbook for the Study 
 of the Science by simple Experiments. 
 Edit, by C. W. Heaton, F.C.S. Nu- 
 merous Woodcuts. N. S. 
 
 TJRE'S (Dr. A.) Cotton Manufacture 
 of Great Britain, systematically investi- 
 gated ; with an Introductory View of its 
 Comparative Slate in Foreign Countries. 
 Revised by 1'. L. Simmonds. 150 Illus- 
 trations. 2 vuls. 
 
 Philosophy of Mamifactures, 
 
 or an Exposition of the Scientific, Moral, 
 and Commercial Economy of the Factory 
 System of Great Britain. Rt\ 
 P. L. Simmonds. Numerous Figures. 
 800 pages. 7*. 6d. 
 
 ECONOMICS AND FINANCE. 
 
 GILBART'S History, Principles, and Practice of Banking. Revised to 1881 by 
 A. S. Miihie, of the Royal Bank of Scotland. Portrait of Gilbart. 2 vols. ioi. N. S. 
 
 REFERENCE LIBRARY. 
 
 28 Volumes at Various Prices. (81. I or. pur id.) 
 
 BLAIR'S Chronological Tables. 
 Comprehending the Chronology and His- 
 tory of the World, from the Earliest Times 
 tutliu Russian Treaty of Peace, April 1856. 
 By J . W. Rosse. 800 pages. 101. 
 
 Index of Dates. Comprehending 
 
 the principal Facts in the Chronology and 
 1 1 Utory of the World, from the Earliest to 
 the Present, alphabetically arranged ; being 
 a complete Index to the foregoing. By 
 J. W. Rosse. 2 vols. si. each. 
 
 BOHN'S Dictionary of Quotations 
 
 from the English Poets. 4th and cheaper 
 
 Edition. 6s. 
 
 BUCHANAN'S Dictionary of Science 
 
 and Technical Terms used in Philosophy, 
 Literature, Professions, Commerce, Arts, 
 and Trades. I'.y \V. H. IHichanan, with 
 Supplement. Edited by Jas. A. Smith. 6s. 
 
 CHRONICLES OF THE TOMBS. A 
 
 Select Collection of Epitaphs, with I 
 on Epitaphs and Observations on Sepul- 
 chral Antiquities. By T. J. Petligrew, 
 F.R.S., F.S.A. 5 s. 
 
 CLARK'S (Hugh) Introduction to 
 Heraldry. Revised by J. R. Planche. 
 950 Illustrations. 
 
 With the Illustration* iolourcd, 
 
 ft.S. 
 
 COINS, Manual of. -Sec Humphreys. 
 DATES, Index of. See Blair. 
 
 DICTIONARY of Obsolete and Pro- 
 vincial English. Containing Words from 
 English Writers previous to the ipth 
 Century. By Thomas Wright, M.A.. 
 F.S.A., &c. 2 vols. 5.1. each. 
 
 EPIGRAMMATISTS (The). A Selec- 
 tion from (lie Epigram 1 ''ire of 
 Ancient, Mi--!!i.i -\al, and Modern I 
 With Introduction, Notes, Obs> 
 Illustrations, an Appendix on Works con- 
 nected with Epigrammatic Literature, 
 by Rev. H. Dodd, M.A. 6s. N. S. 
 
 GAMES, Handbook *f. Comprising 
 s on above ; Chance, 
 
 Skill, and Manu.il Di-xti-iity, including 
 Whist, Billia- I'.y Henry G. 
 
 Bohn. Numerous Diagrams. 5 
 
 HENFREY'S Guide to English 
 Coins. 
 
 M.A., F.S. \. \\ ith an Historical Intro- 
 duction. 6s. A". A.
 
 BOHbTS LIBRARIES. 
 
 LOWNDES' Bibliographer's Manual 
 
 of English Literature. Containing an Ac- 
 count of Rare and Curious Books pub- 
 lished in or relating to Great Britain and 
 Ireland, from the Invention of Printing, 
 with Biographical Notices and Prices, 
 by W. T. Lowndes. Parts I.-X. (A to Z), 
 y. 6d. each. Part XI. (Appendix Vol.), 
 5^. Or the n parts in 4 vols., half 
 morocco, 2/. 2S. 
 
 MEDICINE, Handbook of Domestic, 
 
 Popularly Arranged. By Dr. H. Davies. 
 700 pages, ss. 
 
 NOTED NAMES OF FICTION. 
 
 Dictionary of. Including also Familiar 
 Pseudonyms, Surnames bestowed on Emi- 
 nent Men, &c. By W. A. Wheeler, M.A. 
 S i. N.S 
 
 POLITICAL CYCLOPAEDIA. A 
 
 Dictionary of Political, Constitutional, 
 Statistical, and Forensic Knowledge ; 
 forming a Work of Reference on subjects 
 of Civil Administration, Political Economy, 
 Finance, Commerce, Laws, and Social 
 Relations. 4 vols. 3$. 6d. each. 
 
 PRpVERBS, Handbook of. Con- 
 taining an entire Republication of Ray's 
 Collection, with Additions from Foreign 
 Languages and Sayings, Sentences, 
 Maxims, and Phrases. 5.1. 
 
 A Polyglot of Foreign. Com- 
 prising French, Italian, German, Dutch, 
 Spanish, Portuguese, and Danish. With 
 English Translations. 5.?. 
 
 SYNONYMS and ANTONYMS; or, 
 
 Kindred Words and their Opposites, Col- 
 lected and Contrasted by Ven. C. J. 
 Smith, M.A. 5 s. N. S. 
 
 "WRIGHT (Th.) See Dictionary. 
 
 NOVELISTS' LIBRARY. 
 
 ii 
 
 IN w v *L.t-iL> j. o i-iii3J\.rt.r^ i . 
 
 Volumes at %s. 6d. each, excepting those marked otherwise. (2.1. is. 6J. per set.) 
 
 BURNEY'S Evelina ; or, a Young 
 Lady's Entrance into the World. By F. 
 Burney (Mme. D'Arblay). With Intro- 
 duction and Notes by A. R. Ellis, Author 
 of ' Sylvestra,' &c. N. S. 
 
 Cecilia. With Introduction and 
 
 Notes by A. R. Ellis. 2 vols. N. S. 
 
 EBERS' Egyptian Princess. Trans. 
 by Emma Buchheim. -V. S. 
 
 FIELDING'S Joseph Andrews and 
 
 his Friend Mr. Abraham Adams. With 
 Roscoe's Biography. Cmikshank 's Illus- 
 trations. N. S. 
 
 Amelia. Roscoe's Edition, revised. 
 
 Cmikshank' s Illustrations. $s. N. S. 
 
 FIELDING. Continued. 
 
 History of Tom Jones, a Found- 
 ling. Roscoe's Edition. Cmikshank' s 
 Illustrations. 2 vols. A r . 5. 
 
 GROSSI'S Marco Visconti. Trans, 
 by A. F. D. N. S. 
 
 MANZONI. The Betrothed : being 
 a Translation of ' I Promessi Sposi.' 
 Numerous Woodcuts, i vol. (732 pages 
 $s. N. .S". 
 
 STOWE (Mrs. H. B.) Uncle Tom's 
 
 Cabin ; or, Life among the Lowly. 8 full- 
 page Illustrations. N. S. 
 
 ARTISTS' LIBRARY. 
 
 7 Volumes at Various Prices. ( I /. 1 8s. 6d. per set. ) 
 
 BELL (Sir Charles). The Anatomy 
 and Philosophy of Expression, as Con- 
 nected with the Fine Arts. 5^. N. S. 
 
 DEMMIN. History of Arms and 
 
 Armour from the Earliest Period. By 
 Auguste Demmin. Trans, by C. C. 
 Black, M.A., Assistant Keeper, S. K. 
 Museum. 1900 Illustrations. -js.(>d. N.S. 
 
 FAIRHOLT'S Costume in England. 
 
 Third Edition. Enlarged and Revised by 
 the Hon. H. A. Dillon, F.S.A. With 
 more than 700 Engravings. 2 vols. ss. 
 each. N.S. 
 
 Vol. I. History. Vol. II. Glossary. 
 
 FLAXMAN. Lectures on Sculpture. 
 
 With Three Addresses to the R.A. by Sir 
 R. Westmacott, R.A., and Memoir of 
 Flaxman. Portrait and 53 Plates. 6s. N.S. 
 
 H EATON'S Concise History of 
 Painting. [/ the press. 
 
 LEONARDO DA VINCI'S Treatise 
 on Painting. Trans, by J. F. Rigaud, R.A. 
 With a Life and an Account of his Works 
 by J. W. Brown. Numerous Plates. 5$. 
 N.S. 
 
 PLANCHE'S History of British 
 Costume, from the Earliest Time to the 
 igth Century. By J. R. Planch^. 400 
 Illustrations. 5$. N. S.
 
 ( 21 ) 
 
 BOHN'S CHEAP SERIES. 
 
 PRICE ONE SHILLING EACH. 
 
 A Series of Complete Stones or Essays, mostly reprinted from Vols. 
 in Bohrfs Libraries, and neatly bound in stiff pape 
 with cut edges, suitable for Railway Reading. 
 
 ASCHAM (ROGER). 
 
 SCHOLEMASTER. By PROFESSOR MAYOR. 
 CARPENTER (DR. ir. B.). 
 
 PHYSIOLOGY OF TEMPERANCE AND TOTAL AB- 
 STINENCE. 
 
 EMERSON. 
 
 ENGLAND AND ENGLISH CHARACTERISTICS. Lectures 
 on the Race, Ability, Manners, Truth, Character, Wealth, Religion, &c. &c. 
 
 NATURE : An Essay. To which are added Orations, Lectures, 
 and Addresses. 
 
 REPRESENTATIVE MEN : Seven Lectures on Pr.ATO, S\VK- 
 
 DENBORG, MON TAHJNK, SlIAKKM'EAKK. NAPOLEON, and GOKTHK. 
 
 TWENTY ESSAYS on Various Subjects. 
 THE CONDUCT OF LIFE. 
 
 FRANKLIN (BENJAMIN). 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. Edited by J. SPARKS. 
 
 HAWTHORNE (NATHANIEL). 
 
 TWICE-TOLD TALES. Two Vols. in One. 
 
 SNOW IMAGE, and other Tales. 
 
 SCARLET LETTER. 
 
 HOUSE WITH THE SEVEN GABLES. 
 
 TRANSFORMATION ; or the Marble Fawn. Two Parts. 
 
 HAZLITT (IV.). 
 
 TABLE-TALK : Essays on Men and Manners. Three Parts. 
 
 PLAIN SPEAKER : Opinions on Books, Men, and Things. 
 Three Parts. 
 
 LECTURES ON THE ENGLISH COMIC WRITE! 
 LECTURES ON THE KNC.LISH POETS.
 
 22 SOHWS CHEAP SERIES. 
 
 HAZLITT ( W.). Continued. 
 
 LECTURES ON THE CHARACTERS OF SHAKE- 
 SPEARE'S PLAYS. 
 
 LECTURES ON THE LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF 
 ELIZABETH, chiefly Dramatic. 
 
 IRVING (WASHINGTON). 
 
 LIFE OF MOHAMMED. With Portrait. 
 
 LIVES OF SUCCESSORS OF MOHAMMED. 
 
 LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. 
 
 SKETCH-BOOK. 
 
 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 TOUR ON THE PRAIRIES. 
 
 CONQUESTS OF GRANADA AND SPAIN. Two Parts. 
 
 LIFE AND VOYAGES OF COLUMBUS. Two Parts. 
 
 COMPANIONS OF COLUMBUS : Their Voyages and Dis- 
 coveries. 
 
 ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN BONNEVILLE in the Rocky 
 
 Mountains and the Far West. 
 KNICKERBOCKER'S HISTORY OF NEW YORK, from the 
 
 Beginning of the World to the End of the Dutch Dynasty. 
 TALES OF THE ALHAMBRA. 
 
 CONQUEST OF FLORIDA UNDER HERNANDO DE 
 
 SOTO. 
 ABBOTSFORD AND NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 SALMAGUNDI; or, The Whim -Whams and Opinions of 
 LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, Esq. > 
 
 BRACEBRIDGE HALL ; or, The Humourists. 
 
 ASTORIA ; or, Anecdotes of an Enterprise beyond the Rocky 
 
 Mountains. 
 
 WOLFERT'S ROOST, and Other Tales. 
 
 LAMS (CHARLES). 
 
 ESSAYS OF ELIA. With a Portrait. 
 LAST ESSAYS OF ELIA. 
 ELIANA. With Biographical Sketch. 
 
 MARRY AT (CAPTAIN). 
 
 PIRATE AND THE THREE CUTTERS. With a Memoir of 
 the Author.
 
 ( 23 ) 
 
 The only authorised Edition ; no others published in England contain 
 
 the Derivations and Etymological Notes of Dr. Mahn, who 
 
 devoted several years to this portion of the Work. 
 
 WEBSTER'S DICTIONARY 
 
 OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 Thoroughly revised and improved byCHAUNCEY A. GOODRICH, D.D., LL.D., 
 and NOAH PORTER, D.D., of Yale College. 
 
 THE GUINEA DICTIONARY. 
 
 New Edition [1880], with a Supplement of upwards of 4600 New Words and 
 
 Meanings. 
 1628 Pages. 3000 Illustrations. 
 
 The features of this volume, which render it perhaps the most useful 
 Dictionary for general reference extant, as it is undoubtedly one of the cheapest 
 books ever published, are as follows : 
 
 1. COMPLETENESS. It contains 114,000 words. 
 
 2. ACCURACY OF DEFINITION. 
 
 3. SCIENTIFIC AND TECHNICAL TERMS. 
 
 4. ETYMOLOGY. 
 
 5. THE ORTHOORAIMIY is based, as far as possible, on Fixed Principles. 
 
 6. PRONUNCIATION. 
 
 7. THE ILLUSTRATIVE CITATIONS. 
 
 8. THE SYNONYMS. 
 
 9. THE ILLUSTRATIONS, which exceed 3000. 
 
 Cloth, 2U. ; half-bound in calf, 30*. ; calf or half russia, 31*. 6,/. ; russia, 2/. 
 
 With -\V:c' Biographical Appendix^ containing over yjao Names. 
 
 THE COMPLETE DICTIONARY 
 
 Contains, in addition to the above matter, several valuable Literary Appendix, 
 
 and 70 extra pages of Illustrations, grouped and classified. 
 
 I vol. 1919 pages, cloth, 31.?. 6</. 
 
 English Dictionary extant 1 Q 1873. 
 
 'ith Specimen I\i&s, sent pOit free on application. 
 
 To be obtained through all Bo-
 
 ( 24 ) 
 
 BOHN'S SELECT LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 STANDARD WORKS. 
 
 TFIE texts in all cases will be printed without abridgment, and 
 where Introductions, Biographical Notices and Notes, are likely 
 to be of use to the Student, they will be given. The volumes, 
 well printed and on good paper, will be issued at is. in paper 
 covers, and is. 6d. in cloth. 
 
 NOW READY. 
 
 BACON'S ESSAYS. With Introduction and Notes. 
 
 LESSING'S LAOKOOX. Beasley's Translation, revised with Intro- 
 duction, Notes, &c., by Edward Bell, M.A. 
 
 DANTE'S INFERNO. Translated, with Notes, by Rev. H. F. Gary. 
 
 GOETHE'S FAUST. Part I. Translated, with Introduction, by 
 Anna Swanwick. 
 
 GOETHE'S BOYHOOD. Being Part I. of the Autobiography. 
 Translated by J. Oxenford. 
 
 SCHILLER'S MARY STUART and THE MAID OF ORLEANS. Trans- 
 lated by J. Mellish and Anna Swanwick. 
 
 To be followed at internals of a fortnigJit l>y 
 
 THE QUEEN'S ENGLISH. By 
 the late Dean Alford. 
 
 HELPS' LIFE OF THE LATE 
 THOMAS BRASSEY. 
 
 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 
 GOLDSMITH'S PLAYS. 
 
 PLATO'S APOLOGY, CRITO, 
 PHAEDO, and PROTAGORAS. 
 
 HAUFF'S CARAVAN. 
 MOLIERE'S PLAYS. 
 
 STEWART'S LIFE OF THE DUKE 
 OF WELLINGTON, &c. &c. 
 
 LONDON : 
 Printed by STRANGKWAYS AND SONS, Tower Street, Cambridge Circus, W.C.
 
 from hioh H ^ borrow ^ ar> 
 
 DEC 05
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGION*!. U6RARY MOUTY 
 
 A 000102622 8