v,",>,n;:'->N'i!'i^.r^w 
 
 A SHEAF OF POEMS 
 
 .YARD TAYLOR 
 
 & 
 ULIAN BAYARD TAYLOR KILIANI 
 
THE LIBRARY , 
 OF 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 
 Professor Aram Torosslai 
 1884-1941 
 

A 
 SHEAF OF POEMS 
 
 Trnnslatirjns 
 
 BY 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR 
 
 AND 
 
 LILIAN BaWARD TAYLOR KILIANI 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 I9II 
 
Copyright, 1911, by Richard G. Badger 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 The Qorham press, Boston, U. s. a. 
 
 GiFT 
 
TTMGo 
 
 FOREWORD 
 
 In this volume the various minor translations of 
 Bayard Taylur have been collected for the first 
 time. To them have been added a number of poems 
 of different authors, translated by Bayard Taylor's 
 daughter. As the latter has followed the preceprs 
 of her father in reproducing the poems in their 
 original meters, it seems fitting to intersperse her 
 translations with those of her father, so as to ar- 
 range them all as a whole. Those translations 
 which are the product of Mrs. Kiliani are desig- 
 nated by her initials: L. B. T. K. 
 
 Some of the poems translated by Bayard Taylor 
 have appeared in early editions of his Poems. A 
 few have been published here and there during his 
 life-time. Most of them, however, have been col- 
 lected from his prose volumes, and principally from 
 "Studies in German Literature," and "Critical Es- 
 says and Literary Notes," a volume issued after 
 the author's death (1880), and now out of print. 
 
 17G 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 Page. 
 Poems by Wolfgang von Gofthe. 
 
 The Shepherd's Lament i i 
 
 The Song of AL'gnon 1 1 
 
 Hartz-Journey in Winter 12 
 
 Kpilogue to Schiller's Song of the HeH . . . 15 
 
 l^imits of Humanity i5 
 
 Prometheus it) 
 
 Kncouragenient 18 
 
 Nearness of the Beloved 19 
 
 Musagetes 19 
 
 The God and the Bayadere 21 
 
 The Apprentice at iVIagic 24 
 
 Llf-King 27 
 
 The Dance of the Dead 28 
 
 Poems by Frederick von Schiller. 
 
 A Group in Tartarus 33 
 
 Elysium 33 
 
 The First Scene of Wilhelm Tell 35 
 
 The Count of Habsburg 36 
 
 1 he Diver 39 
 
 The P>ast of Eleusis 44 
 
 The Glove 50 
 
 Poems by Various German Authors. 
 He Came to Meet Me. By Frederick 
 
 Riickert 55 
 
 Barbarossa. By Frederick Riickert 55 
 
 The Mountain Boy. By Ludwig Uhland . 56 
 
 The Three Songs. By Ludwig Uhland. ... 57 
 
 The Garden of Roses. By Ludwig LIhland. 58 
 
 Bertram de Born. By Ludwig Uhland... 60 
 
 The Castle by the Sea. By Ludwig Uhland. b2 
 
 5 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 Page. 
 
 Disappointment. By Joseph von Eichen- 
 
 dorf 63 
 
 The Poet's Fate. By Joseph von Eichendorf 64 
 
 The Cross-ways. By Joseph von Eichendorf. 64 
 
 Longing. By Joseph von Eichendorf 64 
 
 Pergolese. By Emanuel Geibel 65 
 
 Golden Bridges. By Emanuel Geibel 67 
 
 Song. By Emanuel Geibel 67 
 
 Two Kings. By Emanuel Geibel 68 
 
 Prince Eugene. By Ferdinand Freiligrath. 68 
 
 Song. By Heinrich Heine 70 
 
 To the Ganges. By Heinrich Heine 70 
 
 The Grenadiers. By Heinrich Heine 71 
 
 The Asra. By Heinrich Heine 72 
 
 A Song. By Martin Greif 73 
 
 The Women of Weinsperg. By Adalbert 
 
 von Chamisso 73 
 
 Adelaide. By Friedrich von Matthison . . 75 
 The Grave of Alaric. By August, Count 
 
 Platen 76 
 
 Transylvanian Hunter's Song 77 
 
 Swording, the Saxon Duke. By Egon Ebert 78 
 
 The Mill. Old Folk-song. 80 
 
 The Watch on the Rhine. By Max Schneck- 
 
 enburger 80 
 
 Poems by Various French Authors. 
 
 Solomon. By Victor Hugo 85 
 
 Moschus. By Victor Hugo 86 
 
 The Earth. By Victor Hugo 87 
 
 Since Eve Placed My Lips. By Victor Hugo 88 
 
 Rondel. By Charles d'Orleans 89 
 
 Cassandra. By Pierre de Ronsard 90 
 
 To a Hawthorne. By Pierre de Ronsard ... 90 
 
 Ballade. By Frangois Villon 91 
 
 6 
 
TABLK OF CONTENTS 
 
 Page. 
 The Inconstant Shepherdess. By Philippe 
 
 Desportes 93 
 
 The Roses of Saatli. By M. D. Vahnore. . 94 
 
 A Woman's Prayer. By M. U. Vahnore. . 94 
 
 Separation. By M. D. V^ahnore 95 
 
 What the Swallows Say. By Theophile Gau- 
 
 tier 96 
 
 From the Ai.lemamc Poems of Johaxn Peter 
 Hebel. 
 
 Jack and Maggie lOi 
 
 The Meadow 103 
 
 The Contented Parmer 105 
 
 The Guide-Post 107 
 
 The Ghost's Visit on the Feldberg 108 
 
 Poems from the Minnesingers. 
 
 The Bliss of May. By Walther von der 
 
 Vogel weide 121 
 
 A Miene-Song. By Walther von der Vog- 
 
 elweide 121 
 
 From the Glorious Dance. By Walther von 
 
 der Vogelweide 122 
 
 Spring and Women (opening stanzas). By 
 
 Walther von der V^ogelweide 122 
 
 Lines. By Conrad of Wiirzburg 123 
 
 The Falcon. By Diethmar von Aist 123 
 
 Quatrain. By Heinrich von Morungen... 124 
 From the "Tristan," of Gottfried von Stras- 
 
 burg 124 
 
 Ger.m.an Poems of Three Successive Centur- 
 ies. 
 
 Trooper's Song, XV Century 129 
 
 Hunter's Song, XVI Century 129 
 
 The Nettle- Wreath, XV^I Century 130 
 
 7 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 Page. 
 
 The Poet and the Singer. By Hans Sachs. 
 
 XVI Century 131 
 
 Hymn. By Paul Flemming. XVH Cen- 
 tury 132 
 
 Sonnet. By Paul Flemming. XVH Cen- 
 tury 133 
 
 The Haste of Love. By Martin Opitz. 
 
 XVH Century 134 
 
POEMS BY 
 WOLFGANG VON GOETHE 
 
THE SHEPHERD'S EAMENT 
 
 Up yonder on the mounrain 
 
 A thousand times I stand, 
 Leant on my crook, and pazinj:; 
 
 Down on the valley-land. 
 
 I follow the flock to the pasture; 
 
 My little doiz watches them still. 
 I have come below, but I know not 
 
 How I descended the hill. 
 
 The beautiful meadow is covered 
 
 With blossoms of ever>' hue; 
 I pluck them, alas! without knowing 
 
 Whom I shall give them to. 
 
 I seek, in the rain and the tempest, 
 
 A refuge under the tree: 
 Yonder the doors are fastened, 
 
 And all is a dream to me. 
 
 Right over the roof of the dwelling 
 
 I sec a rainbow stand ; 
 But she has departed forever, 
 
 And gone far out in the land. 
 
 Far out in the land, and farther, — 
 
 Perhaps to an alien shore: 
 Go forward, ye sheep! go forward, — 
 
 The heart of the shepherd is sore. 
 
 THE SONG OF MIGNON 
 
 Know'st thou the land where citron-flowers unfold? 
 Through dusky foliage gleams the orange-gold; 
 Soft breezes float beneath the dark-blue sky; 
 The myrtle sleeps, the laurel shoots on high? 
 
 II 
 
Thither — that land dost thou not know? 
 Would I with thee, O my Beloved, go! 
 
 Know'st thou the house, its roof on pillars fair? 
 The long hall shines, the chambers glimmer there ; 
 And marble statues stand and gaze on me: 
 Poor child, they say, what ill was done to thee? 
 
 Thither — that house dost thou not know? 
 Would I with thee, O my Protector, go! 
 
 Know'st thou the mountain ? Through the cloud it 
 
 soars ; 
 In rolling mist the mule his path explores; 
 The ancient dragons haunt its caverns deep, 
 And o'er the crashing rock the torrents leap ? 
 
 Thither — the hills dost thou not know? 
 Our pathway leads: O Father, let us go! 
 
 HARTZ-JOURNEY IN WINTER 
 
 The vulture like — 
 
 Who, on heavy clouds of morning 
 
 With quiet pinion poising. 
 
 Keeps watch for prey — 
 
 Hover, my song! 
 
 For a God hath 
 
 Unto each his path 
 
 Fixed beforehand. 
 
 Which the fortunate 
 
 Tread till the happy 
 
 Goal is reached: 
 
 But he, the wretched. 
 
 Whose heart is pinched with pain, 
 
 He struggles vainly 
 
 Against the restrictions 
 
 Of Fate's thread of iron, 
 
 Which the shears still unwelcome 
 
 But once shall slit. 
 
 12 
 
In dusk of thickets 
 
 Crowd the rough-coated deer, 
 
 And with the sparrows 
 
 Flavc the rich already 
 
 Juried themselves in muck and mire. 
 
 Easy the chariot to follow 
 Driven by Fortune's hand, 
 Easy as unto the troop 
 Following the Prince's entry 
 Is the convenient highway. 
 But, who fares on by-paths? 
 
 In the copse he loses his way, 
 After him rustle 
 The branches together, 
 The grass springs up again, 
 The wilderness hides him. 
 
 Ah, his pangs who shall solace — 
 
 His, whose halm becomes poison? 
 
 Who but hate of man 
 
 Drank from very abundance of love! 
 
 First despised, and now the despiser, 
 
 Thus in secret he 
 
 His own worth consumes 
 
 In unsatisfying self-love. 
 
 Is there in Thy psalter. 
 Father of Love, but a tone 
 Unto his ear accessible, 
 Then refresh Thou his heart. 
 To his clouded sight reveal 
 Where are the thousand fountains 
 Near to the thirt>' one 
 In the Desert. 
 
 Thou, the Creator of joys. 
 Giving the fullest cup to each. 
 Favor the sons of the chase, 
 
 13 
 
Tracking signs of their game 
 With reckless ardor of youth, 
 Murderous, joyous, 
 Late avengers of losses. 
 Which the peasant so vainly 
 Fought for years w^ith his bludgeon, 
 
 But the Solitary fold 
 
 In clouds that are golden! 
 
 Entwine with winter-green, 
 
 Till the rose again is in blossom, 
 
 The moistened tresses, 
 
 O Love, of thy Poet! 
 
 With thy glimmering flambeau 
 
 Lightest thou him 
 
 Through the waters by night, 
 
 Over fathomless courses 
 
 On desolate lowlands; 
 
 With the thousand hues of the morning 
 
 Mak'st thou his heart glad; 
 
 With the sting of the storm 
 
 Bear'st thou him high aloft: 
 
 Winter-torrents plunge from the granite. 
 
 In psalms he singeth, 
 
 An altar of gratitude sweet 
 
 Is for him the perilous summit's 
 
 Snow-enshrouded forehead, 
 
 Which with circling phantoms 
 
 Crowned the faith of the races. 
 
 Thou with inscrutable bosom standest 
 
 Mysterious in revelation 
 
 Above the astonished world, 
 
 From clouds down-looking 
 
 On all its kingdoms and splendid shows 
 
 Which thou from the veins dost water 
 
 Of brothers beside thee. 
 
 14 
 
GOETHE'S EPILOGUE 
 
 To Schiller's Sor\<z of the Roll, when it was pre- 
 sented in 1815. 
 
 For he w.is ours! Be this proud consciousness 
 
 A spell that shall subdue our lamentation! 
 
 He sought with us a harbor from the stress 
 
 Of storms, a more enduring inspiration. 
 
 While with strong step his mind did forward press 
 
 To Good, Tnith, Beauty, in its pure creation, 
 
 And far behind him lay, a formless vision, 
 
 The vulgar power that fetters our ambition. 
 
 And thus his cheek grew red, and redder ever, 
 From that fair youth whose wings are never 
 
 furled. 
 That courage, crowned at last, whose proud en- 
 deavor, 
 Tames the resistance of the stubborn world. — 
 That faith, that onward, upward, mounts forever, 
 Now patient waiting, now in conflict hurled. 
 That so the Good shall work, increase and sway. 
 And for the noble man shall dawn a nobler day! 
 
 LIMITS OF HUMANITY 
 
 When the most ancient 
 Holiest Father 
 With dispassionate hand 
 From fast-rolling cloud-banks 
 Lightnings in blessing 
 Scatters upon the earth, 
 I kiss the farthest 
 Hem of His garment. 
 Tremors of childhood 
 Filling my breast. 
 
 No man livcth 
 
 Who with the Godhead 
 
 15 
 
May mete himself: 
 
 If he reach upward 
 
 Till he touch 
 
 With his forehead the stars, 
 
 Nowhere he findeth 
 
 For his soles a foot-hold, 
 
 And round him play the 
 
 Clouds and the breezes. 
 
 But when he stands with 
 
 Brawniest muscles 
 
 On the broad foundations of 
 
 Earth everlasting, 
 
 He does not dare 
 
 E'en with the oak-tree, 
 
 Or with the grape-vine 
 
 Contrast to challenge. 
 
 How do we differ — 
 Gods and we mortals? 
 That many billows 
 Before them wander, 
 A stream without end: 
 The billow lifts us. 
 The billow whelms us. 
 And we are sunken. 
 
 A little ring 
 
 This life of ours circleth, 
 
 And long generations' 
 
 Endless progression 
 
 Lengthens forever 
 
 The chain of their being. 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 PROMETHEUS 
 
 Now cover thou thy heaven, Zeus, 
 With misty clouds, 
 And practise, like a boy 
 i6 
 
Who thistles crops, 
 
 Thy skill on oaks and mountain-peaks; 
 
 Even thou must suffer 
 
 My earth to stand, 
 
 My cabin also, that thou didst not build, 
 
 And eke my hearth, 
 
 Whose cheerful glow 
 
 Excites thy envy. 
 
 I wot naught more pitiful 
 
 Under the sun, gods, than you are! 
 
 "V'e nourish scantily 
 
 With sacrifices 
 
 And whiflFs of prayer 
 
 Your majesty. 
 
 And would be starvelings, 
 
 If children and beggars 
 
 Were not sanguine dunces. 
 
 Once in my childhood 
 
 When sorely bewildered and lost, 
 
 I cast up despairing glances 
 
 To yonder sun, as if aloft 
 
 An ear there were, to hear my plaining, 
 
 A heart, like mine. 
 
 To take compassion on my trouble. 
 
 Who helped me 
 
 'Gainst the Titans' overwhelming might? 
 
 Who did deliver me from death, 
 
 From servitude? 
 
 Did'st not accompli>^h all unaided. 
 
 Purely glowing heart? 
 
 And full of youth and faith. 
 
 Tho' cheated, gavest thanks 
 
 To him who sleeps up yonder. 
 
 Honor thee? And whercfor? 
 When hast thou lightened the travail 
 Ever of burdened ones? 
 
 17 
 
When didst thou comfort the sorrows 
 Ever of anguished ones? 
 Was not I forged into manhood, 
 Moulded by Time, the almighty, 
 And by Fate, the eternal. 
 Masters of me and of thee? 
 
 Did'st thou imagine 
 That I would call life hateful, 
 Would flee into deserts, 
 Because not all my 
 Blossom-dreams have ripened? 
 
 Here sit I, moulding mortals 
 After mine own image, 
 Men, that me shall resemble, 
 To suffer, to sorrow. 
 To enjoy and happiness feel. 
 And of thee to be scornful. 
 As I! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 ENCOURAGEMENT 
 
 Cowardly faltering, 
 Hesitant paltering. 
 Womanish quailing. 
 Terrified wailing 
 Turns not misfortune, 
 Nor gives you the odds. 
 
 Proving the master 
 In spite of disaster, 
 Yielding him never. 
 Combating ever, — 
 Thus man invoketh 
 The arms of the gods. 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
NEARNESS OE THE BELOVED 
 
 I think of thee when bright the sunbeams shimmer 
 
 WHiere ocean Hows; 
 I think of thee when pale the moonlight glimmer 
 
 In fountains shows. 
 
 I see but thee when on the distant highway 
 
 The dust is blown ; 
 In darksome night, when trembles in a by-way 
 
 The wanderer lone. 
 
 I hear but thee when yon with muffled beating 
 
 The waves dash high 
 Oft in the silent grove I send thee greeting, 
 
 When none is nigh ! 
 
 I am with thee, e'en if afar thou'rt pining, — 
 
 \ et thou art near! 
 The sun has set, and now the stars are shining, 
 
 Would thou wert here! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 MUSAGETES 
 
 Oft in deepest nights of winter 
 To the Muses I addressed me: 
 "Now the sky is wrapped in darkness 
 And the day is long in coming, 
 Do ye at the proper moment 
 Bring the lamp's refreshing glimmer. 
 That instead of Dawn and Phoebus 
 It m\ patient labor quicken!" 
 But they left me to my slumbers, 
 Lanquid, dull and unrefreshing, 
 And on all these wasted mornings 
 Followed days of vain endeavor. 
 
 19 
 
Then, when Spring had come to gladden, 
 
 To the nightingales I turned me: 
 
 "Darling nightingales, I pray you, 
 
 Warble early at my window, 
 
 Wake me from the heavy slumber. 
 
 Which the mind of youth doth fetter!" 
 
 But the little amorous songsters 
 
 All night warbled at my window 
 
 Their entrancing melodies, — 
 
 Kept enthralled my soul with rapture. 
 
 Filled my palpitating bosom 
 
 With a vague, unwonted yearning, 
 
 And thus passed the night in longing. 
 
 And Aurora found me sleeping, 
 
 Phoebus' self could hardly wake me! 
 
 Now at length has come the summer; 
 At the first bright gleam of morning 
 Comes the fly, industrious, early. 
 Rouses me from pleasant slumbers, — 
 Comes again without compassion 
 Though, but half-awake, I often 
 Brush it off with hands impatient, — 
 Calls its saucy, shameless sisters. 
 Worries me till from my eyelids 
 Gracious Sleep is forced to flee. 
 From my couch I leap, and quickly 
 Seek my well-beloved Muses, 
 Find them in the grove of beeches 
 With their welcome ever ready. 
 Thus is due unto those tiny 
 Insects many a morning precious. 
 May ye be, oh flies tormenting, 
 By the poet highly lauded. 
 Ye, in truth, are Musagetes! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 20 
 
THE GOD AND THE BAYADERE 
 
 A Legt nd of InJ'ui 
 
 He of all the Gods the greatest, 
 
 Mahadeva, came once more 
 
 Down to earth the sixth and latest 
 
 Time, to study human lore. 
 
 And he deigns to dwell here truly, 
 
 Bears the ills that mortals ken. 
 
 For to mete out judgment duly 
 
 He must be a man with men. 
 
 And when as a wand'rer the town he knows wholly, 
 
 Has spied on the great ones, watched over the 
 
 lowly, 
 And evening is falling, he fares forth again. 
 
 As he goes without the city, 
 
 Where the houses first begin, 
 
 He beholds a sight to pit}', — 
 
 Painted, fair, a child of sin. 
 
 Greet thee, maiden! — Welcome here, sir! 
 
 Wait, and I'll be with you straight. 
 
 What art thou? — A Bayadere, sir! 
 
 And this house of Love the gate. — 
 
 At once she begins, with a clashing of cymbal, 
 
 And swaying, and winding a circle so nimble. 
 
 And bending, she offers her nosegay, elate. 
 
 Toward the threshold him persuading. 
 
 Eagerly she leads him In ; 
 
 Gentle stranger, all-pervading 
 
 Light shall instant glow within! 
 
 If you're weary, let me tend you. 
 
 Bathe your waysore, aching feet. 
 
 All you wish I will extend you. 
 
 Frolic, joy, or rest so sweet. 
 
 She bustles about, his feigned sorrows beguiling; 
 
 21 
 
The god is rejoiced, and watches her smiling, 
 A heart that is kindly, though sinful, to greet. 
 
 And he slavish tasks imposes — 
 
 She is cheerful evermore; 
 
 And as natural discloses 
 
 What was artifice before. 
 
 Thus the flower's debt fulfilling, 
 
 Soon the fruitage ripe we find ; 
 
 Where obedience is willing, 
 
 Soon with love 'twill be combined. 
 
 Sharper and sharper to prove her he chooses ; 
 
 Knowing the highest and deepest, he uses 
 
 Ecstasy, horror, and anguish of mind. 
 
 'Neath his kiss her cheeks are redding, 
 
 And she feels of love the pain; 
 
 And her first tears she is shedding. 
 
 Stealing down her cheeks like rain. 
 
 At his feet she sinketh meekly, 
 
 Not for gain or passion sues, 
 
 And her pliant body weakly 
 
 Every office doth refuse. 
 
 And so o'er the couch where repose these fond lovers, 
 
 The Spirit of Darkness benignantly covers 
 
 A curtain of magical texture diffuse. 
 
 Late she sleeps, 'mid fond caresses. 
 
 Rises early from her bed. 
 
 Sees her lover, whom she presses 
 
 To her heart, is cold and dead. 
 
 Crying, she doth close embrace him, 
 
 Can not life in him inspire; — 
 
 And the funeral bearers place him 
 
 Soon within the pit of fire. 
 
 The chanting of songs by the Brahmins she heareth. 
 
 And raving, a path through the people she cleareth. 
 
 "Who art thou? what seekest thou here at the pyre?" 
 
 22 
 
By his bier she falleth, shrieking, 
 
 That the air with sound is split. 
 
 'Tis my husband I am seeking, 
 
 And I seek him in the pit! 
 
 Shall his limbs to dust be turning, 
 
 Like a god's so young and fair? 
 
 Mine ho w.is! though lovers' yearning 
 
 But a single night we share. 
 
 'I'he Brahmins are chanting; the aged we carry, 
 
 Though slowly they wither, and long may they tarry, 
 
 We carr}- the youthful, before they're aware! 
 
 Hear the counsel we are giving: 
 
 Husband he was not to thee. 
 
 Thou as Bayadere wcrt living, 
 
 Thus of duty thou wert free! 
 
 Shadows follow bodies only 
 
 To the realm of death and night ; 
 
 Wives may follow husbands only — 
 
 'Tis their duty and their right. 
 
 Then blow we the tnmipet, our dirges upraising, 
 
 We mourn for the dead, and his virtues are praising: 
 
 Oh, take him in flames to elysian delight! 
 
 Thus the chorus, void of feeling, 
 
 But her angiu'sh deepeneth. 
 
 She with outstretched arms appealing, 
 
 Springs into the fierj- death. 
 
 But the God, in youth resplendent. 
 
 High above the flames doth rise, 
 
 And his love, in bliss transcendant. 
 
 In his arms enfolded lies. 
 
 The godhead is pleasured by sinners repenting; 
 
 Immortals to save the lost children consenting, 
 
 In fierj' arms waft them up to the skies. 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 23 
 
THE APPRENTICE AT MAGIC 
 
 Now my master, the magician, 
 Left me here without forbiddin', 
 And his spirits my volition 
 Shall obey, and do my biddin'! 
 Words and incantation 
 I remember well. 
 And in emulation 
 I can work the spell. 
 
 Foot it! foot it! 
 
 Ample measure; 
 
 For my pleasure 
 
 Water's gushin'; 
 
 Fill the bath wherein you put it 
 
 With a copious current rushin' ! 
 
 Now come forth, old broom so dusty! 
 See, these rags I hang about you, 
 Long you've been our servant trusty, 
 You'll obey, I never doubt you ! 
 On two legs I set you. 
 With a head atop ; 
 Hurry now and get you 
 Buckets, — do not stop! 
 
 Foot it! foot it! 
 
 Ample measure; 
 
 For my pleasure 
 
 Water's gushin' ; 
 
 Fill the bath wherein you put it 
 
 With a copious current rushin' ! 
 
 Look ! he's runnin' down so swiftly 
 In a twinklin' to the river, 
 Speedier than lightnin', deftly, 
 Back he comes with fleet endeavor. 
 
 24 
 
Now the basin's brimfull, 
 He has iilk'il it twice; 
 Kver>' vessel's rinifull, 
 Brimmin' in a trice! 
 
 Stay now ! stay now ! 
 
 ^ ou're efficient, 
 
 Win sufficient 
 
 Approbation ! 
 
 Woe is me! he won't obey me! 
 
 I've forgot the exhortation! 
 
 Oh, the word that turns him swiftly 
 
 Back to what he was aforetime. 
 
 See, he runs and carries deftly; 
 
 Would you were a broom one more time! 
 
 Floods of water gushin' 
 
 Still he brings apace, 
 
 Hundred rivers rushin' 
 
 Flowin' through the place. 
 
 Now, or never. 
 
 Time to nab him ; 
 
 I will grab him ! 
 
 He is spiteful ! 
 
 Oh, I fear him more than ever! 
 
 See his face, so scowling, frightful! 
 
 Oh, you imp of Hell's creation ! 
 
 Will you drown us with your pourin'? 
 
 Everywhere this inundation 
 
 Covers inches deep the Hoorin'! 
 
 You old broom of curst guile. 
 
 Listen to my will ! 
 
 Stick, that you were erstwhile, 
 
 Will you now stand still? 
 
 So you would not 
 When I told vou! 
 Well, I'll hold you. 
 And I'll hit you I 
 
 2$ 
 
Since you are of wood, what 
 Odds I do not split j'ou? 
 
 Look ! another load he's luggin' ! 
 Now, how should I best attack him ? 
 Wait, you imp, just watch me sluggin' ! 
 With this hatchet I will whack him. 
 See, I struck him squarely, 
 He is split in twain! 
 I have served him fairly, 
 And I breathe again! 
 
 Lord, preserve me! 
 
 Here's a couple 
 
 Of these supple 
 
 Servants flightly. 
 
 Who arise and rush to serve me! 
 
 Help me now, ye powers almighty! 
 
 And they're runnin' ! Water's pourin', — 
 
 They with one another vyin' — 
 
 Streams are floodin' stairs and floorin' ! 
 
 Oh, my master, hear me crj'in' ! 
 
 Here my master's comin' ! 
 
 Sir, my need is great; 
 
 These, whom I did summon, 
 
 Will not dissipate! 
 
 "To your corner. 
 
 Broom-stick! broom-stick! 
 
 Be a broom quick ! 
 
 I forbid you 
 
 That ye e'er as spirits born are. 
 
 Till I as j^our master bid you!" 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 36 
 
ELF-KING 
 
 Who rideth abroad in the night so u ild ? 
 
 It is the father with his child: 
 
 He holds the boy in his sheltering arm, 
 
 He folds him close, and he keeps him warm. 
 
 "My son. why hid'st thou they face in such fear?" 
 "Oh, father, look! the elf-king is near, 
 Dost see his crown and his train so bright?" 
 "My son, 'tis mist that shineth white." 
 
 "My darling child, come, go with me, 
 Where lovely toys are waiting for thee! 
 Bright flowers grow on the river's brim ; 
 My mother has golden dresses so trim." 
 
 "My father, my father, and dost thou not hear? 
 Elf-king is whispering his wiles at my ear!" 
 "Be quiet, now. be quiet, my child! 
 'Tis rustling of leaves in the wind so wild!" 
 
 "Wilt come with me. thou beautiful boy? 
 My daughters shall tend and serve thee with joy; 
 My daughters their nightly revels will keep, 
 And rock thee, and dance thee, and sing thee to 
 sleep!" 
 
 "My father, my father, dost see over there 
 The elf-king's daughters with shimmering hair?" 
 "My son, my son, I see it quite plain: 
 The old grey willows we're passing amain!" 
 
 "I adore thee, my beauty! thou canst not refuse! 
 But if thou resistest, then force I will use!" 
 "My father, my father, he seizes my arm! 
 The elf-king has done me grievous harm!" 
 
 27 
 
The father galloped, his heart beat wild, 
 He held in his arms the quivering child. 
 At length reached his home in fear and dread: 
 And in his arms the child was dead, 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 THE DANCE OF THE DEAD 
 
 The sexton looks down in the middle of the night 
 
 On the gravestones in rows all reposing, 
 
 The moon makes everything clear and bright, 
 
 The churchyard in day light lies dozing, 
 
 When a grave it opens, another one then. 
 
 And forth they come trooping, the women and men. 
 
 In snowy and long-trailing garments. 
 
 They hurry, and soon in a circle, behold ! 
 
 Their feet they are lifting, and prancing. 
 
 So young and so poor, and so rich and so old, — 
 
 The trains they hinder in dancing. 
 
 And as modesty here they've long outgrown. 
 
 They shake themselves, and quickly are strovvn 
 
 The garments all over the graveyard. 
 
 Now thigh-bones are lifted, and gestures queer 
 
 Abundantly show their pleasure, 
 
 And a clippering, clapping you sometimes hear, 
 
 As the rattling bones sound the measure. 
 
 The sexton all this most ridiculous deems, 
 
 When something whispers, the Tempter, it seems, 
 
 "Go pick up one of their sheetings!" 
 
 'Tis done soon as thought, and quickly, in fear, 
 He hides behind sacred portals. 
 The moon yet shineth so bright and so clear 
 On the dance of these gruesome immortals. 
 But finally they can no longer abide. 
 And one and the other slinks sheeted aside. 
 And lo! it is *bwe under the greensward. 
 28 
 
But one poe5 trippinp and stumblinp; about, 
 
 And taps at the vaults unrclentinji. — 
 
 VoT sonir one has played it a trick, no doubt — 
 
 On the winds its garment scenting. 
 
 It rattles the door of the tower, in vain! 
 
 — The sexton's in luck — 'tis blessed, like the fane. 
 
 And covered with wrought-iron crosses. 
 
 It must have the sheeting, or it's in a plight, 
 
 Nor has it much time to tarr>'. 
 
 The ornaments Gothic it seizes, the wight. 
 
 And climbs by the volutes. Marry, 
 
 'Tis up with the sexton, the poor sinful man! 
 
 It's hitching his way from span to span. 
 
 Like a hideous long-legged spider. 
 
 The sexton trembles, the sexton grows pale, 
 He'd give back the sheeting gladly; 
 For he feels — will he live to tell the tale? — 
 That the sheeting it's clutching madly! — 
 The moon is obscured by a cloudlet dun, 
 The clock booms forth a thunderous "One", — 
 And the skeleton breaks on the pavement. 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 29 
 
POEMS BY 
 FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER 
 
Tivo Early Lyrics 
 A GROUP IN TARTARUS 
 
 Hark I as noises of the hoarse, aroused sea, 
 As through hollow-throated rocks a streamlet's 
 moan, 
 
 Sounds below there, wearily and endlessly, 
 A torture-burdened groan! 
 
 Faces wearing 
 Pain alone, in wild despairing. 
 
 Curse through jaws that open wide; 
 And with haggard eyes forever 
 Gaze upon the bridge of Hell's Black river, 
 
 Weeping, gaze upon its sullen tide. 
 
 Ask each other, then, in fearful whispers, 
 
 If not soon the end shall he? 
 Ihe End? — the scythe of Time is broken; 
 
 Over them revolves Eternity ! 
 
 ELYSIUM 
 
 Gone is the wail and the torture! 
 Elysium's banquets of rapture 
 
 Chase ever\ shadow of woe! 
 
 Elysium's seeing. 
 
 Endless the bliss, and endless the bein^. 
 As musical brooks through the meadows that flow! 
 
 May is eternal. 
 Over the vernal 
 
 Landscapes of youth ; 
 
 33 
 
The hours bring golden dreams in their races, 
 The soul is expanded through infinite spaces, 
 The veil is torn from the visage of truth! 
 
 Here never a morrow 
 
 The heart's full rapture can blight; 
 Even a name is wanting to Sorrow 
 And Pain is only a gentler delight. 
 
 Here, stretching his weary limbs, prone on the 
 
 meadows, 
 Resteth the pilgrim in whispering shadows, 
 
 Casteth forever his burden aside, — 
 Here the reaper droppeth his sickle, 
 Lulled by the harpings that faintly trickle, 
 
 Dreameth of harvests fair and wide. 
 
 He whose banner waved in storm-winds thundrous. 
 He whose ears were filled with riot murdrous, 
 
 Mountains trembled 'neath his foot-steps' thun- 
 der-might, — 
 Sleeps here softly where the brooklet babbles. 
 That like silver glistens o'er the pebbles, 
 
 Hears no more the tumult of the fight. 
 
 Wedded lovers' faith is here rewarded. 
 They embrace on velvet meadows swarded, 
 
 By the zephyr's balm caressed ; 
 Love here finds its best fruition, 
 Safe from Death's grim inhibition. 
 
 Marriage feasts have endless zest.* 
 
 *The first half of "Elysium" was translated by 
 Bayard Taylor, the second half by his daughter, L. 
 B. T. Kiliani. 
 
 34 
 
THE FIRST SCENE OF WILHELM TELL 
 
 Drama in Flvf Acts 
 FiSHER-BoY 
 
 Iinitlnt; the bather, the bright lake is leaping; 
 The fisher-boy lies on its margin a-sleeping; 
 
 Then hears he a nuisic 
 
 Like riutes in its tone 
 
 Like voices of angels 
 
 In Eden alone. 
 And as he awakens, enraptured and blest, 
 The waters are whirling around his breast; 
 
 And a voice from the waters 
 
 Sa\s: "Mine thou must be! 
 
 I wait for the sleeper, 
 
 I lure him to me!" 
 
 Herdsman 
 
 Ye meadows, farewell ! 
 
 Ye sunniest pastures. 
 
 The herdsman must leave you. 
 
 The summer is gone. 
 We go from the hills, we come ere long 
 When the cuckoo calls, and the sound of song; 
 When the earth with blossoms again is gay, 
 When the fountains gush in the lovely May. 
 
 Ye meadows, farewell! 
 
 "^'e sunniest pastures, 
 
 The herdsman must leave you, 
 
 The summer is gone. 
 
 Alpine Hunter 
 
 The avalanche thunders, the bridges are frail. 
 The hunter is fearless, though dizzy the trail ; 
 He strides in his daring 
 
 35 
 
O'er deserts of snow, 
 
 Where Spring never bloosoms 
 
 And grass never grows, 
 And the mists like an ocean beneath him are tost, 
 Till the cities of men to his vision are lost. 
 
 Through the rifts of the cloud-land 
 
 The far world gleams, 
 
 And the green fields under 
 
 The Alpine streams. 
 
 THE COUNT OF HABSBURG 
 
 At Aix in imperial splendor dight, 
 
 In the ancient hall of the Nation, 
 
 Sat Rudolph the King in his sacred might. 
 
 At the feast of his coronation. 
 
 The dishes were borne by the Count of the Rhine, 
 
 The Bohemian poured out the sparkling wine, 
 
 And all the Electors, the Seven, 
 
 As the starry host to the sun in thrall, 
 
 Were busily serving the Ruler of all, 
 
 Fulfilling their duties given. 
 
 The balconies held a joyous crowd 
 
 Of folk in holiday faring, 
 
 Who voiced their joy in plaudits loud, 
 
 That mixed with the trumpets' blaring. 
 
 For ended at last are the direful crimes 
 
 Of the rulerless, the terrible times. 
 
 And justice once more prevaileth. 
 
 No longer blindly ruleth the spear, 
 
 And the weak and the peaceful no longer fear, 
 
 When the might of the great ones assaileth. 
 
 And the Emperor, raising his beaker of gold, 
 
 Outspake, and smiled debonnairly, 
 
 "The splendor of banquet and feast, behold! 
 
 Our heart It pleaseth rarely! 
 
 We lack but the minstrel, who bringeth delight, 
 
 36 
 
Who with music sweet our breast doth excite, 
 And with precepts exalted in measure. 
 Such was our wont since the days of our youth, 
 And the Emperor will not relinquish, forsooth! 
 What as Knight he practiced with pleasure." 
 
 And, lo! the circle of nobles and peers. 
 
 It opened, the minstrel showing, — 
 
 His locks were silvered o'er with years, 
 
 His robe was long and Howing. 
 
 "Sweet melody doth from my harp-strings proceed: 
 
 The minstrel singeth the lover's meed, 
 
 The best and the highest voicing; 
 
 What the spirit craves, what the heart doth require: 
 
 And prithee, what is the Emperor's desire, 
 
 On his greatest day, rejoicing?" 
 
 "I may not command the minstrel to sing," 
 
 The monarch smiling sayeth, 
 
 "He stands in the thrall of a mightier King, 
 
 The behest of the hour obeyeth. 
 
 For as in the heavens the hurricane blows, 
 
 And none may guess whence it comes and grows; 
 
 As the spring from caverns hidden, — 
 
 So pours from the soul of the minstrel his song, 
 
 And the passions the breast has harbored long 
 
 Awake to life unbidden." 
 
 The minstrel touches his harp apace, 
 
 The resonant chords far carr> : 
 
 "Forth rode a noble knight to the chase. 
 
 The fugitive chamois to harr>-. 
 
 His squire came after with huntinc gear; 
 
 And when his horse had borne him near 
 
 To a meadow, softly ringing 
 
 Afar he heard a tinkling bell, 
 
 And a priest with his acolyte saw full well, 
 
 The host to a sick man bringing. 
 
 37 
 
The Count right humbly bent his knee, 
 
 Head bared in veneration, 
 
 As a Christian worshipped reverently 
 
 What gives the world salvation. 
 
 But a brooklet brawling athwart the mead. 
 
 By the freshet swelled, its banks did exceed. 
 
 The steps of the wayfarers staying; 
 
 The priest set down the sacrament soon 
 
 And began from his feet to strip the shoon, 
 
 To wade through the brook essaying. 
 
 "What do ye?" thus the Count began 
 
 And looked at him inquiring; 
 
 "I am going, Sir, to a dying man 
 
 The blessed unction desiring. 
 
 And now that I've come to the narrow foot-way. 
 
 The turbulent freshet hath torn it away. 
 
 In the sv^arl of its eddies rushing. 
 
 And so, that the soul of the sick I may shrive, 
 
 With naked feet I must contrive 
 
 To wade through the rivulet gushing." 
 
 But the Count sets him up on his knightly steed, 
 
 And gives the reins to him willing, 
 
 That he solace the dying man with speed, 
 
 His holy office fulfilling. 
 
 Himself then the nag of his squire bestrides 
 
 And forth to his hunting blithely he rides. 
 
 The other his journey speedeth ; 
 
 And the following morn with grateful mien, 
 
 He appears on foot at the Count's demesne. 
 
 And humbly the stallion leadeth. 
 
 "Now God forbid," spake out the Count, 
 "That for any deer to be harried 
 I ever again this steed should remount, 
 Which the Host of the Lord hath carried ! 
 And if thou'lt not keep him for use of thy own. 
 Then let him be vowed to God's service alone. 
 For a gift he was freely given 
 38 
 
To Him from whom In tec I hold 
 
 My lift* and breath and honor and gold, 
 
 My sold and my hope of Heaven!" 
 
 "Now may our God, the almigiity Lord, 
 
 Who hears the prayers of the weakest, 
 
 To thee such honor yet afford, 
 
 As thou to serve Him seekest. 
 
 A mii^hty Count thou art, and kent 
 
 As Switzerlanij's knightly ornament." 
 
 Inspired thus he presages: 
 
 "Six daughters beautiful are thine. 
 
 Six crowns they bring to thy princely line. 
 
 And flourish they house through the ages!" 
 
 And the Emperor sat with bended brow, 
 
 In the fields of his memor>' gleaning, 
 
 As he marked the minstrel closely now. 
 
 The words of the song took meaning; 
 
 The face of the priest at last he knew% 
 
 And the quick tears springing he hid from view. 
 
 His purple mantle raising. 
 
 And all on the Emperor fixed their eyes. 
 
 And in him the Count did recognize. 
 
 The ways of Providence praising. 
 
 L. H. T. K. 
 
 THE DIVER 
 
 "Now who is among ye, or knight or squire. 
 
 Dares plunge into yonder abyss? 
 
 A goblet of gold in its eddies dire 
 
 I fling, and lo! 'tis engulfed ere this! 
 
 And if any man here bring back the bauble, 
 
 He e'en may keep it, a fee for his trouble!" 
 
 Thus speaketh the king, and casts from tlie verge 
 Of the crag, that sheer and steep, 
 O'erhangs the ocean's limitless surge, 
 
 39 
 
A goblet into Chatybdis deep. 
 
 "Again I ask, who has courage ready, 
 
 To dive in the maelstrom's whirling eddy?" 
 
 And the ring of knights and squires so brave 
 
 In silence the challenge heed ; 
 
 Gaze on the tumult of wind and wave, 
 
 And none for the goblet will venture the deed. 
 
 And again the king for the third time speaketh: 
 
 "Is there none who bravely his fortune seeketh?" 
 
 But they all are silent round about: 
 
 And a stripling, gentle and bold, 
 
 From the ranks of the timorous squires steps out. 
 
 Casts aside his belt and his mantle's fold, — 
 
 And the men and the ladies gaze astounded 
 
 At the young man's beauty of figure rounded. 
 
 And as he stands on the precipice, 
 And looks on the chasm beneath. 
 The waters return in the horrid abyss: 
 Charybdis howling commences to seethe, 
 And bursting her cavernous depths asunder. 
 She belches forth in a voice of thunder! 
 
 And it bubbles and hisses, it foams and it boils, 
 As when water commingles with fire. 
 To heaven it spurteth in steaming coils. 
 And flood upon flood it mounteth higher. 
 And forth it pours in endless commotion, — 
 An ocean that giveth birth to an ocean ! 
 
 But the turmoil wild is stilled at last: 
 
 Through the white foam, black and fell, 
 
 A yawning gulf is opening fast, 
 
 And bottomless, as the road to Hell. 
 
 And he sees the surging billows leaping. 
 
 Their course down the furious vortex keeping. 
 
 40 
 
Now quick, ere the roaring waters return, 
 A prayer unto God he breathes; 
 With a shuddering cr}' the beholders turn, — 
 He leaps, where the swirling eddy seethes! 
 The whirlpool rages, engulfs the swimmer, 
 The vortex closes, and hope grows dimmer! 
 
 And now are hushed the waters loud. 
 
 The depths are ringing his knell, 
 
 And a mumiur runs through the awe-struck crowd : 
 
 "O youth undaunted, fare thee well!" 
 
 And hoarser and hollower howleth the surging 
 
 Of the maelstrom's rage, to its climax converging. 
 
 "And if you should cast your crown in the sea. 
 And say : who brings back the crown, 
 Himself shall wear it and king shall be, — 
 Not for such a prize would I venture down ! 
 What horrors that howling abyss concealeth, 
 No happy mortal, living, revealeth! 
 
 'Tull many a ship, sailing gallantly past. 
 Engulfed in this whirlpool we saw, 
 And shattered wreckage of keel and of mast 
 Was vomited forth from its ravenous maw !" 
 And louder and louder, as tempests roaring. 
 And nearer and nearer the waters are pouring. 
 
 And it bubbles and hisses, it foams and it boils, 
 As when water commingles with fire, 
 To the heavens it spurteth in steaming coils, 
 And flood upon flood it mounteth higher. 
 And bursting its cavernous depths asunder, 
 It belches forth in a voice of thunder! 
 
 And lo! in the waters dark and drear 
 They behold a gleam of white. 
 And an arm and a shining neck appear. 
 And he breasteth strongly the surges' might : 
 
 41 
 
'Tis he, and in his left hand he swingeth 
 On high the goblet that he bringeth ! 
 
 And deep and long was the breath he drew, 
 
 As he greeted the light of day: 
 
 And a joyous clamor quickly grew. 
 
 "He lives! He is here! He found the way! 
 
 From the grave, from the whirlpool's rage infernal, 
 
 He bravely hath saved his soul eternal!" 
 
 He comes, he draws near with the joyous crowd; 
 He sinks at the feet of the king, 
 And kneeling presenteth the goblet, proud ; 
 And the king bids his daughter guerdon bring, 
 She the goblet brimfull of wine on him presses, 
 And these words the youth to the king addresses: 
 
 "Long life to the king! And glad let him be. 
 
 Who breathes in the light of day. 
 
 For horrible 'tis down there in the sea! 
 
 Let no man desire what the gods gainsay, 
 
 And never and never seek to discover 
 
 What in mercy with darkness and terrors they 
 
 "It tore me down with the speed of light. 
 
 Till shot from a rift in my course, 
 
 A rushing stream in my face did smite: — 
 
 I was gripped by the maelstrom's furious force, 
 
 And like a top, in dizzy gs^ration, 
 
 I was whirled around without cessation. 
 
 "And God, to whom for help I called, 
 
 In my great and imminent need. 
 
 He showed a reef to my e\'es appalled. 
 
 To which I clung, and from death was freed : 
 
 And there hung the cup, from a coral depending, 
 
 That else had fallen to depths unending. 
 
 42 
 
 I 
 
"For far below nir, inountiiiiiN deep, 
 
 An empurpled darkness lay. 
 
 And though to the ear it seemed to sleep, 
 
 The eye beheld, with fear and ilismay 
 
 Lizards, salamanders and drajzons tremendous 
 
 Astir in that hellisli cavern stupendous. 
 
 "And knotted, in black contusion, they 
 
 Were horribly squirminj:; about ; 
 
 The prickle-set fish, the stinping ray. 
 
 The hammerhead's monstrous, distorted snout, 
 
 And with serrated teeth in menacinp; motion, 
 
 The terrible shark, the hyena of ocean! 
 
 "And there I hunp, ami shudderinfj; confessed, 
 
 From human aid so remote, 
 
 'Mid masks the only sentiment breast, 
 
 Alone in this vast desolation afloat. 
 
 Far down neath the sound of human voices, 
 
 Where only the hideous monster rejoices. 
 
 "And terror o'ercame me: when sprawling near, 
 
 Comes a hundred-jointed thinp. 
 
 With snappinjz of jaws; in a panic of fear 
 
 I loose the coral to which I cling. 
 
 The whirlpool grips me in wild g>'ration. 
 
 But it tears me upward, imto salvation!" 
 
 The tale in ama/enient heareth the king. 
 
 And saith, "the goblet is thine. 
 
 And added to it, this precious ring 
 
 With its jewel rare for thee I design, 
 
 If thou tr>' once more and give me a notion 
 
 What thou saw'st in the uttermost depths of the 
 
 ocean 
 
 I" 
 
 His daughter hears it in soft dismay. 
 And in coaxing tones doth plead : 
 "Let, father, enough be the cruel play! 
 
 43 
 
What none would do, he hath done the deed; 
 
 If your heart's desire be thus untamed, 
 
 Let not the knights by the squire be shamed!" 
 
 And quickly the king grips the goblet then, 
 And flings it down in the sea: 
 And if thou bring back the goblet again, 
 Of all my knights the best thou shalt be, 
 And this very day to the altar be leading 
 The maiden who now thy cause is pleading." 
 
 Then heavenly bliss in his soul is bred, 
 And his eyes they sparkle bright. 
 He sees the fair one flush rosy red, 
 And he sees her sink down pale and white; 
 This prize so precious, he must attain it. 
 And he plunges in, to die or gain it! 
 
 And the surges roar, and again they rise, 
 Proclaimed by their thundrous call ; 
 They are watched with eager, with loving eyes: 
 They come, they come, the waters all, 
 And upward they rush, and downward ever, 
 The gallant youth returneth never! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 THE FEAST OF ELEUSIS 
 
 Ears of the wheat for the garland you're wreathing 
 
 Take, and the dark-blue cyanas between ! 
 Joy full as pure as the air that you're breathing 
 
 Fill your hearts as you welcome the Queen. 
 For she tamed Man's wildness primeval, 
 
 Made him live with his neighbor content. 
 To a cottage, devoid of evil, 
 
 Changed his dwelling of yore, the tent. 
 
 Clefts of rocks and secret places 
 Sheltered then the troglodyte; 
 Roving nomads left their traces, — 
 44 
 
Land laid waste as by a blight. 
 Hunstmen only braved its danger, — 
 
 Arrows and a spear they bore; 
 Woe unto the shipwrecked stranger 
 
 Cast on that forsaken shore! 
 
 Of her ceaseless wand "rings weary, 
 
 Still in search of Proserpine, 
 Ceres reached this country drear>-, 
 
 Where no fields were waving green, 
 Where no homes of humble tillers 
 
 Of the soil their welcome shed, 
 A\'here no temple reared its pillars, — 
 
 Where the fear of God was dead ! 
 
 Nowhere did the harvest's treasure 
 
 To a pure repast invite, 
 But the altars bore full measure — 
 
 Human victims, bones bleached white! 
 \'ea, and everywhere she wandered 
 
 She encountered sin, disgrace. 
 And her generous spirit pondered 
 
 How to lift the human race. 
 
 "Man with beaut\' we did dower 
 
 Such as gods enjoy in bliss. 
 Where o'er Tempe mountains tower, — 
 
 And is he reduced to this? 
 We did give him for a dwelling 
 
 (^ur progenitress, the Earth; 
 On Her regal bosom swelling 
 
 Outcast, he doth suffer dearth. 
 
 "Has no god by pity driven, 
 None of all the heavenly band. 
 
 From disgrace to free him striven? 
 Has none lent a helping hand? 
 
 In the happy meads of heaven 
 They feel not for others' woe, 
 
 45 
 
But the anguish that is given 
 Unto Man, I well do know! 
 
 "Man must seal a league eternal, 
 
 If true manhood he would know, 
 Keep his faith with his maternal 
 
 Soil, the Earth, for weal or woe, — 
 Must give honor to the holy 
 
 Laws of Nature, and the long 
 Marches of the moons that slowly 
 
 Wander in melodious song!" 
 
 Softly she the mist disperses 
 
 With which mortal sight was sealed ; 
 Midst of savage oaths and curses, 
 
 Lo! the goddess stood revealed! 
 At a feast of martial glory 
 
 Gathered was the savage horde, — 
 From a cup, all blood and gory, 
 
 A libation they have poured ! 
 
 At the sight with horror stricken. 
 
 Shuddering she turned and spake: 
 "Bloody feasts may tigers quicken. 
 
 Such no god will e'er partake! 
 Pure must be the gifts ye offer. 
 
 Fruits that Autumn hath purveyed ; 
 With the wealth the fields shall proffer 
 
 Should your sacrifice be made!" 
 
 And she grasped the spear, held idle 
 
 In the huntsman's brawny hand, 
 With the wTapon homicidal 
 
 Traced a line upon the sand ; 
 Took a seed, with strength prolific, 
 
 From the wheat-beards of her wreath. 
 Dropped it in the rill vivific, — 
 
 Straight the germ swelled in its sheath. 
 
 46 
 
And at once the pround was flecked with 
 
 Blades of tender sprinpinj; p;reeii ; 
 Lo! as they pa/.ed. the earth was decked with 
 
 WavincT fields of polden sheen ! 
 Then she blessed the crops perfected, 
 
 First a sheaf herself did make, 
 For her hearth the field-stone selected. 
 
 And the p;oddess smilinp; spake: 
 
 "Father Zeus, oh, thou who reignest 
 
 Over all the gods on high, 
 If this sacrifice thou deignest 
 
 To accept, vouchsafe reply. 
 And these most unhappy mortals, 
 
 Who wot not thy majesU', 
 Open thou for them the portals, 
 
 That their god they now may see!" 
 
 And Zeus heard his sister's pleading 
 
 On his throne above the world. 
 From aloft, her prayer heeding, 
 
 Straight his thunderbolt he hurled : 
 Hurtling fire from heaven descended. 
 
 Set the leaping flames alight, 
 And, where high the smoke ascended. 
 
 Soared his eagle, swift of flight! 
 
 Moved by this wonder the horde perturbated 
 
 At the feet of the goddess bent low, 
 Their barbarian souls agitated 
 
 By humanit>'s earliest glow! 
 Casting aside their weapons all gor\', 
 
 Minds darkly sealed they open, and hearts, 
 Heeding the teachings admonitory- 
 
 Which the gracious Queen imparts. 
 
 From their thrones in quick succession 
 
 Came each goddess, aye, and god ; 
 Themis led the long procession, 
 
 47 
 
And with her impartial rod 
 His just dues to each she meted, 
 
 Set the stone where bounds confine, 
 And as valid witness greeted 
 
 Styx mysterious and divine. 
 
 Vulcan left his forges glowing, 
 
 He, the son of Zeus, in play 
 How to fashion vessels knowing; 
 
 Artisan in bronze and clay. 
 How to use the tongs expounding. 
 
 With his leathern bellows' aid 
 And with hammer strokes resounding, 
 
 First of all a plough he made. 
 
 And Minerva, tall and stately. 
 
 With her mighty spear in hand, 
 Lifts her voice, resounding greatly. 
 
 And commands the heavenly band ; 
 She would rear on firm foundations 
 
 Wallsi a shelter strong to be, 
 To unite the severed nations 
 
 In a league of amity. 
 
 And she leads the way imperious 
 
 O'er the softly swelling plain, 
 And the boundary-god mysterious 
 
 Follows closely in her train. 
 Thus the sacred precincts pacing. 
 
 Over wooded hill and dale. 
 Eke the river's torrent racing 
 
 She includes within the pale. 
 
 All the nymphs and sylphids sprightly 
 
 That in Huntress Dian's train. 
 Coursing though the forest lightly. 
 
 Cast their hunting spears amain, — 
 One and all they come, and waxes 
 
 Loud the mirth, as helping all, 
 Busily they ply their axes. 
 
 And the fir-trees crashing fall. 
 48 
 
From his \vater\- realm arises, 
 
 Crowned with reeds, the river god. 
 To their place the trunks he prizes. 
 
 At Minerva's heck and nod; 
 And the Hours that run so swiftly. 
 
 Scantly-kirtled, do their part, 
 And the rupged boles are deftly 
 
 Smoothed and fashioned by their art. 
 
 Neptune also cometh, hasting, — 
 
 With his mighty trident's stroke 
 Granite pillars everlasting 
 
 From the ribs of Earth hath broke ; 
 Tosses them in grip gigantic 
 
 High in air, like to a ball, 
 And with Hermes, nimbly antic. 
 
 Piles the ramparts of the wall. 
 
 Rut Apollo from his golden 
 
 Lyre evokes sweet harmony, 
 And the sweep of measures molten. 
 
 And the power of melody ; 
 While the ninefold cadence ringing 
 
 Of the Muses, swells the tone 
 Rhythmic to their tuneful singing 
 
 Stone is fitted unto stone. 
 
 And the gateway's ample portals 
 
 Kybele doth set aright. 
 Fixes bolts 'gainst hostile mortals, 
 
 And the locks that close them tight. 
 Swift, when godlike strength combineth, 
 
 Lo! the wondrous task is done, 
 And the temple's beauty shineth 
 
 \Vith the glon- of the sun. 
 
 Juno with a wreath of myrtle 
 
 Decks the fairest maiden there. 
 And she leads her, in her kirtle, 
 
 49 
 
To the youth most debonair. 
 Venus and the Boy-god offer 
 
 To adorn the couple fair, 
 All the gods their bounties proffer 
 
 To the first new-wedded pair. 
 
 And the people, songs reciting, 
 
 By the gods are ushered in. 
 Through the gates that ope inviting 
 
 Where the fane of Zeus is seen — 
 As High Priestess office holding, 
 
 Ceres doth oblation make, 
 Hands in benediction folding. 
 
 To the people thus she spake: 
 
 "Free, the gods do reign in heaven, 
 
 And the beasts hold freedom dear. 
 Though their breasts be passion-riven, 
 
 Nature's Law" they yet revere. 
 Man, alone of all creation. 
 
 With his fellow must unite, 
 And in such association 
 
 Freedom shall he know, and might!" 
 
 Ears of the wheat for the garland you're wreathing 
 
 Take, and the dark-blue cyanas between, 
 Joy full as pure as the air that you're breathing 
 
 Fill your hearts as you w^elcome the Queen ! 
 For she gave man his peaceful dwelling 
 
 Made him live with his neighbor content: 
 In her praise lift your voices swelling, 
 
 The World-Mother beneficent! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 THE GLOVE 
 
 In his garden for lion-baiting, 
 
 The mimic fight awaiting. 
 Sat Francis the King; 
 
 50 
 
And the peers of his realm surround him, 
 In the balcony's curve, around him, 
 Of ladies, a beauteous ring. 
 
 And when his hand he waveth 
 
 A den wide open caveth. 
 
 Whence with slow, majestic walk, 
 
 A lion doth stalk. 
 
 In silence profound 
 
 Looks round, 
 
 His mane then shaketh. 
 
 And a yawn he fetches. 
 
 His limbs he stretches. 
 
 And his ease he taketh. 
 
 And the King again beckons; 
 
 Another of the keeps 
 
 At once gapes wide. 
 
 From whence leaps 
 
 In fur}- careering, 
 
 A tiger pied. 
 
 When he sees the lion hoar. 
 
 With a roar. 
 
 He lashes the air 
 
 With his tail, and lays bare 
 
 His fangs, with tongue appearing; 
 
 And circles shy 
 
 Where the lion doth lie. 
 
 Purring loudly ; 
 
 Then lays him down proudly 
 
 Beside the lion. 
 
 And the King again beckons; 
 
 At once two gates are opened as one 
 
 And forth two leopards madly run, 
 
 And rush with lust of blood and hate 
 
 At the tiger straight ; 
 
 Who seizes them in his paws gigantic; 
 
 But the lion lifts his head, 
 
 51 
 
Roars once, and in dread 
 They cease their attacks 
 And lie down in their tracks, 
 Though for blood and combat frantic. 
 
 And a glove from the balustrade, 
 From the hand of a beauteous maid 
 Falls twixt the lion and tiger-cat, 
 Just where she sat. 
 
 And to her knight, in mocking guise, 
 The lady turns, and speaks this wise: 
 "Sir Knight, and if so hot is your love 
 As you do swear at every hour, 
 Why, I pray you, go pick up my glove!" 
 
 And this knight, of knighthood the flower, 
 
 Descends to the den of terror, 
 
 He walks in boldly, 
 
 And from the midst of the beasts he coldly 
 
 Picks up the glove, without an error. 
 
 And all the knights and ladies are gazing 
 
 With fear and awe at this deed amazing. 
 
 And calmly he brings back the glove; 
 
 And every one in praise to him tumeth. 
 
 But with the looks of a gentle dove — 
 
 A promise of her love — 
 
 The lady waits as he returneth. 
 
 And he casts the glove full in her face : 
 
 "No thanks. Lady, do I crave from your grace!' 
 
 And thenceforth her love he spurneth. 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 52 
 
POEMS BY 
 VARIOUS GERMAN AUTHORS 
 
TWO POEMS 
 
 By Fried rich Riickert 
 
 He came to meet me 
 
 In rain ami tliuiuler; 
 
 My heart Vain heating 
 
 In timid wonder: 
 
 Could I guess whether 
 
 Thenceforth together 
 
 Our path should run, so long asunder? 
 
 He came to meet me 
 
 In rain and thunder, 
 
 With guile to cheat me, — 
 
 My heart to plunder. 
 
 Was't mine he captured? 
 
 Or his I raptured ? 
 
 Half-way both met, in hliss and wonder! 
 
 He came to meet me 
 
 In rain and thunder: 
 
 Spring-blessings greet me 
 
 Spring-blossoms under. 
 
 What though he leave me? 
 
 No partings grieve me, — 
 
 No path can lead our hearts asunder! 
 
 BARBAROSSA 
 
 The ancient Barbarossa, 
 Fried rich, the Kaiser great. 
 
 Within the castle-cavern 
 Sits in enchanted state. 
 
 He did not die; but ever 
 Waits in the chamber deep, 
 
 Where hidden under the castle 
 He sat himself to sleep. 
 
 55 
 
The splendor of the Empire 
 He took with him away, 
 
 And back to earth will bring it 
 When dawns the promised day. 
 
 The chair is ivory purest 
 Whereof he makes his bed ; 
 
 The table is of marble 
 
 Whereon he props his head. 
 
 His beard, not flax, but burning 
 With fierce and fiery glow 
 
 Right through the marble table 
 Beneath his chair does grow. 
 
 He nods in dreams, and winketh 
 With dull, half-open eyes. 
 
 And once an age he beckons 
 A page that standeth by. 
 
 He bids the boy in slumber: 
 "O dwarf, go up this hour, 
 
 And see if still the ravens 
 Are flying round the tower. 
 
 "And if the ancient ravens 
 Still wheel above us here, 
 
 Then must I sleep enchanted 
 For many a hundred year." 
 
 SIX POEMS 
 
 By Ludwig Uhland 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN BOY 
 
 A herd-boy on the mountain's brow, 
 
 I see the castles all below. 
 
 The sunbeam here is earliest cast 
 
 56 
 
And by my side it lingers last — 
 I am the boy of the mountain! 
 
 The mother-house of streams is here — 
 I drink them in their cradles clear; 
 From out the rock they foam below, 
 I spring to catch them as they go ! 
 I am the boy of the mountain ! 
 
 To me belongs the mountain's iiound, 
 Where gathering tempests march around ; 
 But though from north and south they shout, 
 Above them still my song rings out — 
 "I am the boy of the mountain!" 
 
 Below me clouds and thunders move; 
 I stand amid the blue above, 
 I shout to them with fearless breast: 
 "Go leave my father's house in rest!" 
 I am the boy of the mountain! 
 
 And when the loud bell shakes the spires 
 And flame aloft the signal-fires, 
 I go below and join the throng, 
 And swing my sword and sing my song: 
 "I am the boy of the mountain!" 
 
 THE thrp:e songs 
 
 King Siegfried sat in his lofty hall: 
 "\'e harpers! who sings the best song of all?" 
 Then a youth stepped forth with a scornful lip, 
 The harp in his hand, and the sword at his hip. 
 
 "Three songs I know ; but this first song 
 
 Thou, O King! hast forgotten long: 
 
 Thou hast stabbed my brother with murderous 
 
 hand, — 
 Hau "^tabbed my brother with murderous hand ! 
 
 57 
 
"The second song I learned aright 
 In the midst of a dark and stormy night: 
 Thou shalt fight with me for life or death, — 
 Must fight with me for life or death!" 
 
 On the banquet-table he laid his harp, 
 And they both drew out their swords so sharp ; 
 And they fought in the sight of the harpers all. 
 Till the King sank dead in the lofty hall. 
 
 "And now for the third, the proudest, best! 
 I shall sing it, sing it, and never rest: 
 King Siegfried lies in his red, red blood, — 
 Siegfried lies in his red, red blood!" 
 
 THE GARDEN OF ROSES 
 
 Of the beautiful Garden of Roses 
 I will sing, with your gracious leave. 
 
 There the dames walked forth at morning. 
 And the heroes fought at eve. 
 
 "My Lord is King of the countr}^ 
 But I am the Garden's Queen; 
 
 His crown with the red gold sparkles, 
 And mine with the rose's sheen. 
 
 "So hear me, ye youthful gallants. 
 
 My favorite guardsmen three; 
 The garden is free to the maidens, 
 
 To the knights it must not be. 
 
 "They would trample my beautiful roses. 
 And bring me trouble enow," — 
 
 Said the Queen, as she walked in the morning, 
 With the garland on her brow. 
 
 Then went the three young gallants 
 And guarded the gate about; 
 
 58 
 
And peacefully blossomed the roses 
 And sent their odors out. 
 
 Now canu- three lair yoiiii^ maidens, 
 
 Vir<::ins that knew not sin: 
 "Ve fTiiardsmen, ye jzallant three guardsmen, 
 
 (^pen, and let us in !" 
 
 And when they had gathered the roses, 
 They spake, with looks forlorn : 
 
 "What makes our hands so bloody 
 Is it the prick of the thorn?" 
 
 And still the three younj]; gallants 
 
 Guarded the gate about, 
 And peacefully blossomed the roses. 
 
 And sent their odors out. 
 
 Now came upon prancing stallions 
 Three lawless knights, and cried : 
 
 "Ye guardsmen, ye surly three guardsmen. 
 Open the portal wide!" 
 
 "The portal is shut and bolted: 
 
 Our naked swords will teach 
 That the price of the roses is costly ; 
 
 Ye must pay a wound for each !" 
 
 Then fought the knights and the gallants. 
 But the knights had the victory'. 
 
 And the roses were torn and trampled. 
 And died with the guardsmen three. 
 
 And when the evening darkened, 
 
 The Queen came by with her train : 
 
 "Now that my roses arc trampled 
 And my beautiful guardsmen slain, 
 
 "I will lay them on leaves of roses, 
 59 
 
And bur\' them solemnly: 
 And where was the Garden of Roses, 
 The Garden of Lilies shall be. 
 
 "But who, will watch my lilies, 
 When their blossoms open white? 
 
 By day the sun shall be sentr>^ 
 
 And the moon and the stars by night!' 
 
 BERTRAN DE BORN 
 
 Yonder now in ashes smoulders 
 
 Autafort upon its height, 
 
 And its lord is brought, a prisoner, 
 
 Straight into the monarch's sight: 
 
 "Art thou he whose songs our people 
 
 To rebellion did incite. 
 
 For whose sake our children gladly 
 
 Stood against their sire in fight?" 
 
 "Stands before us he who boasted 
 
 In exultant, vaunting strain, 
 
 That in direst need sufficient 
 
 Was the moiety of his brain ? 
 
 Now the moiety hath not saved thee, 
 
 Use the whole, nor use't in vain; 
 
 Let it build anew thy castle, 
 
 And thy fetters break in twain!" 
 
 "As thou sayest. King and master, 
 
 I am he, Bertran de Born, 
 
 Who with songs hath made rebellious 
 
 Perigueux, Montfort, Comborn, 
 
 Who hath been, most might}^ monarch, 
 
 In thy flesh a constant thorn. 
 
 For the love of whom thy children 
 
 Have the royal anger borne. 
 
 60 
 
"In thy palace sat thy daughter. 
 Beautiful, a duke's fair bride, 
 And my envoy stood before her. 
 Unto whom I did confide 
 Songs that told her poet's longing. 
 Songs that once had been her pride, 
 Till she wept upon her bridal 
 And her tears would not be dried. 
 
 "In the olive's slumbrous shadow- 
 Best of all thy sons lay there: 
 XNTien he heard my war-songs ringing, 
 Up he sprang, to do and dare. 
 Quiclvly saddled was his charger. 
 And his standard I did bear 
 When at Montfort's gates an arrow 
 Laid him low, so young and fair! 
 
 "In my arms he lay expiring; 
 
 Sharper than his wound could be 
 
 \Vas the anguish of his spirit, — 
 
 He was dying, cursed by thee! 
 
 And he stretched his right hand towards thee 
 
 Over valleys, hills and sea; 
 
 When thy hand in answer clasped not 
 
 Mine in death once more pressed he. 
 
 "Then, like Autafort up yonder. 
 Broke m>' spirit when he fell ; 
 Not the whole, not yet the moict>' 
 Had I, — sword nor minstrel's spell. 
 Easy 'twas the arm to fetter 
 When the mind was weak as well ; 
 Now my strength is gone forever, 
 Thou hast heard its funeral knell!" 
 
 Spake with bended head the monarch : 
 "Thou didst lead my son astray, 
 Ca5t a glamor o'er my daughter, 
 6i 
 
And my heart hast touched to-day! 
 Thine, thou friend of the departed, 
 Be the pardon he did pray. 
 Loose his fetters! Of thy spirit 
 I have caught a single ray!" 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 THE CASTLE BY THE SEA 
 
 Hast seen the castle lifting 
 Its walls high o'er the sea? 
 Golden and rosy shifting 
 The clouds float lazily. 
 
 It is fain to look down, and bendeth 
 To the mirrored depths below ; 
 It is fain to rise and extendeth 
 Its height in the sunset glow. 
 
 "I've seen the castle lifting 
 Its walls high o'er the sea, 
 And fog-wreaths past it drifting; 
 The moon shone mistily." 
 
 Were the winds and the billows leaping, 
 Sparkling, blithe and gay? 
 Were the halls high revel keeping. 
 With carols and roundelay? 
 
 "The billows and winds were sleeping, 
 Hushed were all sounds below ; 
 In the hall were dirges and weeping. 
 Listening my tears did flow." 
 
 Did'st thou up yonder behold them. 
 The king and his royal spouse? 
 Did the crimson mantles enfold them? 
 Were the crowns of gold on their brows? 
 
 62 
 
WvTC they nor twixt them leacHnp; 
 A inaiden womlrous fair, 
 Glorious, the sun excecdinji, 
 Radiant in golden hair? 
 
 "I saw that couple pacinp:, 
 Black-vested cap-a-pie ; 
 No crowns their hrows were gracing; — 
 The maid I did not see." 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 FOUR POEMS 
 
 B\' Joseph von Eichendorf 
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT 
 
 I rested from my wand'ring, 
 
 Full-orbed the moon arose, — 
 
 Afar, a line of silver. 
 
 Where ancient Tiber flows. 
 
 Castles crowned the mountains, 
 
 Shining in moonlit air, 
 
 And gardens with gurgling fountains, — 
 
 Italia! thou art so fair! 
 
 And when the night was failing. 
 All earth was gladsome and bright, 
 I spied a shepherd scaling 
 The rock at a dizzy height. 
 I asked with senses reeling: 
 "Can I walk to Rome to-day?" 
 He, scarce a laugh concealing, 
 "Have you lost your wits, man, pray?" 
 From a vineyard a maid was peeping. 
 Through the leaves her bright eyes gleam, — 
 While my heart within me was weeping, — 
 For it was nought but a dream! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 63 
 
THE POET'S FATE 
 
 For all, my heart rejoicing, 
 
 With faithful warmth must glow; 
 
 The grief of all still voicing, 
 
 For all, my flowers blow, — 
 
 And when my songs reward are earning 
 
 My body will to dust be turning! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 THE CROSS-WAYS 
 
 By starlight oft at the cross-ways I hark. 
 When the fires in the forest are dying, 
 And where afar a dog first doth bark 
 Hither my lover is hieing. 
 
 "And when the gray dawn broke in the glade 
 A wildcat from cover came creeping; 
 Through her nut-brown pelt I shot the jade, — 
 How far she sprang, overleaping!" 
 
 Alas for the pelt, 'tis lost for aw^hile ! 
 My love must be like his fellows. 
 Brown, with mustachios Hungarian style, 
 And a heart that the vagrant life mellows! 
 
 LONGING 
 
 In the glimmer of golden starlight 
 
 I stood at the casement alone, 
 And heard thro' the silent far night 
 
 A postilion's bugle tone. 
 My heart in my bosom was burning 
 
 And longing o'erpowered me quite: 
 "Ah! would that I could he journeying 
 
 In the glorious summer night!" 
 
 64 
 
Two youthful wanderers wended 
 
 Ihcir way down the mountain side, 
 As thcN fared, their voices blended 
 
 In the silence far and wide. 
 They sanp: of dizzy abysses, 
 
 Where forests murmur low, 
 Of towering precipices 
 
 And cataracts fed by the snow. 
 
 Of statues smothered in flowers 
 
 They sang, and of gardens at noon 
 Still dusky with tangled bowers, — 
 
 Of a palace under the moon. 
 Where a maid at the window listens 
 
 For her lover's lute, by the light 
 1 hat in drowsy fovmtains glistens, 
 
 In the glorious summer night! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 FOUR POEMS 
 
 By Emanual Geibel 
 
 PERGOLESE 
 
 Now at length his work is fini=;hed. 
 And with piety undiminished 
 Kneels th'' Ma.^ter at God's throne: 
 The cathedral's statel\' arches 
 Pulsate vith the swelling marches, 
 Choral song and organ tone: 
 
 Stabat mater dolorosa 
 Juxta crucem lacrymosa, 
 Dum pendebat fHius, 
 Cujus animam ^emcnti'm 
 Contristatam ac dolentem 
 Pertransivit f^lad'tus. 
 
 And the Holy Mother's passion 
 Strongly moves all heart's compassion — 
 
 65 
 
Sounds the organ deep and low ; 
 But in music heaven-descended 
 Even anguish must be ended: 
 Gentle tears begin to flow. 
 
 Quis est homo qui nan fleret 
 Chris ti matrem si videret 
 In tanto suppUcio, 
 Quis non posset contristari 
 Piam matrem contemplari 
 Dolentem cum filio. 
 
 Pious tremors, raptures holy 
 Now enshroud the Master wholly, 
 Thoughts of death both sweet and mild, 
 And his eyes in faith upraising. 
 To the altar he is gazing, 
 To the Virgin undefiled. 
 
 Virgo virginum praeclara, 
 Mihi jam non sis amara, 
 Fac me tecum plangere, 
 Fac ut partem Christi mortem 
 Passionis egy sortem 
 Et plagas recolere. 
 
 Hark! what heavenly strains are stealing, 
 Mingled with the organ's pealing, 
 On the wond'ring, awestruck throng — 
 Seraphim to earth descending 
 Bear him into bliss unending, 
 While to heaven soars his song! 
 
 Fac me cruce custodiri, 
 Morte Christi praemuniri, 
 Confoveri gratia; 
 Quando corpus morietur 
 Fac ut animae donetur 
 Paradisi gloria! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 66 
 
GOLDEN BRIDGES 
 
 Golden bridges shall be 
 
 All my songs to me, 
 
 O'er which Love may wander 
 
 Sweetest child, to thee! 
 
 And the dream-god's pinions 
 Every night shall bear 
 To thy loving heart me 
 Joy betide, or care! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 SONG 
 
 The stately water-lily 
 
 Floats o'er the blue below, 
 
 Its leaves are flashing and glistening, 
 
 Its flower is white as snow. 
 
 And the moon above in heaven 
 Pours all its golden light. 
 Pours all its rays so silent 
 Into her bosom white. 
 
 A snow-white swan in circles 
 Around the flower floats; 
 He sings so sweet, so softly. 
 His love to her devotes. 
 
 He sings so sweet, so softly. 
 No ear that song can withstand — 
 O flower, snow-white flower. 
 That song dost understand? 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 67 
 
TWO KINGS 
 
 Two Kings were sitting in Orkadal, 
 By torchlight glare in the pillared hall. 
 
 The minstrels sang, the wine foamed high; 
 The Kings looked on with gloomy eye. 
 
 Up spake the one: "Give me the fair, 
 Blue are her eyes, and golden her hair!" 
 
 The other he answered with angr}^ mien : 
 "My vow is recorded, she is my queen!" 
 
 The Kings thereafter spake not a word, 
 
 But up they arose, and each grasped his sword. 
 
 And out they stalked from the lighted hall, 
 Where the snow lay deep with silent fall. 
 
 Bright flashed their blades by the castle wall ; 
 Two Kings lay dead in Orkadal. 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 PRINCE EUGENE 
 
 By Ferdinand Freiltgrath 
 
 Tents and outposts, sentries rounding! 
 Danube's banks with mirth resounding! 
 Round the tent-pegs in a line 
 Horses grazing on their tether; 
 From each peaked saddle leather 
 Swings the cavalry carbine. 
 
 Round about the fires camping. 
 At their feet the horses champing. 
 Lies the Austrian vedette. 
 
 68 
 
Oti their cloaks they rest together; 
 From each busby floats a feather, 
 Captain dices, and cx)rnet. 
 
 Stretched beside his horse all jaded 
 
 ( )ii a blanket worn and faded 
 
 All alone the bugler lay. 
 
 "Leave your dice and cards and stories! 
 
 Fighters for an empire's glories 
 
 Will enjoy a martial lay!" 
 
 "Of last week's successful action. 
 For the army's satisfaction 
 I have made a seemly verse: 
 E'en the tune is my invention, 
 Therefore, Whites and Reds, attention ! 
 Listen while I do rehearse." 
 
 Once and twice and thrice the measure 
 In a low voice for the pleasure 
 Of those troopers bold he sang, 
 And the last time when he ended 
 Suddenly their voices blended ; 
 Loud and full the chorus rang: 
 
 "Prince Eugene, our knight victorious!" 
 Hi! the sound, like storm uproarious 
 Frights the Turk within his trench. 
 And the bugler, his mustachios twisting. 
 Strolls apart to keep his trysting 
 With the buxom sutler's wench. 
 
 L. B. r. I 
 
 69 
 
FOUR POEMS 
 
 By Heinrich Heine 
 SONG 
 
 Thou hast diamonds and pearls and jewels, 
 
 Hast all the heart wishes, in store ; 
 And ah, thou hast eyes so lovelj^ — 
 
 My darling, what would'st thou have more? 
 
 And upon thine ej^es so lovely. 
 
 That pierce my heart to its core, 
 Uncounted songs have I written — 
 
 My darling, what would'st thou have more? 
 
 Alas, with thine eyes so lovely 
 
 Thou hast tortured and wounded me sore; 
 Thine eyes have compassed my view — 
 
 My darling, what would'st thou have more? 
 
 TO THE GANGES 
 
 On the wing of Fancy flying. 
 Sweetheart, I bear thee with me, 
 
 To a wondrous paradise lying 
 Where Ganges rolls to the sea. 
 
 A garden with flowers rosy flushing 
 
 Lies steeped in moonlit air; 
 And the lotus faintly blushing. 
 
 Awaits its sister fair. 
 
 The violets rustling and spreading 
 
 Peer out at the stars above, 
 Roses their fragrance are shedding. 
 
 And whispering tales of love! 
 
 70 
 
I'he timid gazelles arc listening 
 
 With soft and eager eyes, 
 And in the distance glistening 
 
 The sacred river lies. 
 
 At the foot of a palm-tree sinking, 
 Where shadows darkest seem, 
 
 Of Love we'll deep be drinking 
 And dream a rapturous dream! 
 
 L. B. r. K. 
 
 THE GRENADIERS 
 
 Two grenadiers, captured in Russian Campaign, 
 Toward France were plodding aweary; 
 And when they in Germany quarter had ta'en, 
 Their spirits were saddened and drearj-. 
 
 For there the sad tidings the)' heard in dismay 
 That Victorj' France had forsaken ; 
 Dispersed and defeated her battle array. 
 And the Emperor, the Emperor was taken ! 
 
 The grenadiers heard it dolefully, 
 And their tears were beyond restraining. 
 And one. he said: "Ah, woe is me! 
 How it sets my wound apaining!" 
 
 The other said, "it is the end. 
 And I would die with you gladly, 
 But wife and child at home depend 
 On me. or they fare badly." 
 
 "What care I for child, what care I for w Ife, 
 By greater alarms I am shaken ; 
 Let them go and beg, if they care for lite — 
 When iny Emperor, my Emperor is taken! 
 
 71 
 
My comrade true, one boon I crave, 
 
 For I will soon be dying; 
 
 Then carry my body to France for a grave, — 
 
 In the soil of France I'd be lying. 
 
 The cross of honor \vith its red band, 
 Upon my breast display it ; 
 And place my gun within my hand, 
 My sabre, beside me lay it. 
 
 There I'll lie and listen so many a year 
 A sentry, the green sod under, 
 Till neighing horses' hoofbeats I hear, 
 And the cannons' volley and thunder. 
 
 Then rideth my Emperor over my grave ; 
 
 The sabres are flashing and fending. 
 
 Full armed I will rise from the sleep of the grave, 
 
 My Emperor, my Emperor defending!" 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 THE ASRA 
 
 Daily in her wondrous beauty 
 Did the daughter of the sultan 
 Walk at evening by the fountain, 
 Where the silver waters tinkle. 
 
 Daily did the slave so youthful 
 Stand at evening by the fountain. 
 Where the silver waters tinkle ; 
 Daily grew more pale and paler. 
 
 Then one evening did the princess 
 Thus with rapid words approach him : 
 "I would know what might thy name be. 
 Whence thou art, and what thy lineage?" 
 
 72 
 
Ami the slave thus spake: "My name is 
 Mahomet; I come from Yemen, 
 And by race I am an Asra, 
 One who dieth when he loveth!" 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 A SONG 
 
 By Martin Grasf 
 
 One midsummer night hand-in-hand we twain 
 
 Sprang through the flames so lightly 
 
 That the fire's dread might clutch uur dress in 
 
 vain, — 
 Our hearts they blazed up brightly. 
 
 One midsummer night did a pouring rain 
 Quench all the iitful flashes: — 
 In our hot delight lip to lip we strain — 
 Down sank the fire in ashes. 
 
 I stand upon the moorland drear 
 And silence broodcth far and near. 
 The night falls darkly o'er the weald. 
 My soul is fain to roam afield. 
 
 THE WOMEN OF WEINSPERG 
 
 By Adalbert voti Chamisso 
 
 It was the good King Konrad with all his army lay 
 Before the ttnvn of Weinsperg full many a weary 
 
 day. 
 The Guelph at last was vanquished, but still the 
 
 town held out. 
 The bold and fearless burghers they fought with 
 
 courage stout. 
 
 But then came hunger! hunger, that was a grievous 
 
 guest ; 
 They went to ask for favor, but anger met their 
 
 quest. 
 
 73 
 
"Through you the dust hath bitten full many a 
 
 worthy knight, 
 And if your gates you open, the sword shall you 
 
 requite!" 
 
 Then came the women, praying: "Let be as thou 
 hast said, 
 
 Yet give us women quarter, for we no blood have 
 shed!" 
 
 At sight of these poor wretches the hero's anger 
 failed, 
 
 And soft compassion entered and in his heart pre- 
 vailed. 
 
 "The women shall be pardoned, and each with her 
 
 shall bear 
 As much as she can carrj' of her most precious ware ; 
 The women with their burdens unhindered forth 
 
 shall go. 
 Such is our royal judgment — we swear it shall be 
 
 At early dawn next morning, ere yet the east was 
 bright. 
 
 The soldiers saw advancing a strange and wondrous 
 sight ; 
 
 The gates swung slowly open, and from the van- 
 quished town 
 
 Forth swayed a long procession of women weighted 
 down ; 
 
 For perched upon her shoulders each did her hus- 
 band bear, — 
 
 That was the thing most precious of all her house- 
 hold ware. 
 
 "We'll stop the treacherous women!" cried all with 
 one intent; 
 
 The chancellor he shouted: "This was not what 
 we meant!" 
 
 74 
 
iMir when they told Kin>: Konraii, the ^ood kin^ 
 
 lauphed aloud ; 
 "If this was not our incaninp;, the\\c made it so," 
 
 he vowed. 
 "A promise is a promise, f)ur lt)\al word \\a> pledpc; 
 It stands, and no Lord Chancellor may quibble or 
 
 may hedge." 
 
 Thus was the royal scutcheon kept free from stain 
 
 or blot! 
 The story has descended from days now half-forp:ot ; 
 'Twas'i^eleven forty this happened, as I've heard. 
 The flower of German princes thouf^ht shame to 
 
 break his word. 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 ADELAIDA 
 
 By Frudrich von Alattliisson 
 
 Lonely wanders thy friend in the vernal j:;arden ; 
 Softl\- streams the ma^ic light around him, 
 Sifting through the swaying leaves and blossoms, 
 Adelaida! 
 
 In the mirrored lake, in snows eternal, 
 In the golden clouds of Day departing. 
 In the starr\- heavens shines thine image, 
 Adelaida! 
 
 Twilight zephyrs in tender foliage rustle, 
 Lilies of the valley softly tinkle. 
 Wavelets whi«per and nightingales warble — 
 Adelaida ! 
 
 On my grave one day shall bloom, oh! wonder, 
 From the ashes of m\- heart a flower, 
 On whose every purple leaf thou shinest, 
 Adelaida! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 75 
 
THE GRAVE OF ALARIC 
 By August, Count Platen 
 
 On Busento's grassy banks a muffled chorus echoes 
 
 nightly, 
 While the swirling eddies answer, and the wavelets 
 
 ripple lightly. 
 
 Up and down the river, shades of Gothic warriors 
 
 watch are keeping, 
 For they mourn their people's hero, Alaric, with 
 
 sobs of weeping. 
 
 All too soon and far from home and kindred here 
 
 to rest they laid him 
 While in youthful beauty still his flowing golden 
 
 curls arrayed him. 
 
 And along the river's bank a thousand hands with 
 
 eager striving 
 Labored long, another channel for Busento's tide 
 
 contriving. 
 
 Then a cavern deep they hollowed in the river-bed 
 
 depleted. 
 Placed therein the dead king, clad in proof, upon 
 
 his charger seated. 
 
 O'er him and his proud array the earth they filled 
 
 and covered loosely 
 So that on their hero's grave the water-plants would 
 
 grow profusely. 
 
 And again the course they altered of Busento's wa- 
 ters troubled ; 
 
 In its ancient channel rushed the current, — foamed, 
 and hissed, and bubbled. 
 
 76 
 
And the Goths in chorus chanted: — "Hero, sleep! 
 
 thy fame immortal 
 Roman greed shall ne'er in'^ult, nor break thy tomb's 
 
 most sacred portal !" 
 
 Thus they sang, and paeans sounded high above the 
 
 fipht's commotion ; 
 Onward roll, Busento's waves, and bear them to 
 
 the farthest ocean ! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 TRANSYLVANIAN HUNTER'S SONG 
 
 I hunt the stag in forests deep. 
 
 The roe-buck in the brake. 
 
 The caple on her eyrie steep. 
 
 The wild-duck in the lake ; 
 
 No place could shelter pive, in fine, 
 
 Whene'er my rifle spoke. 
 
 And \ct this stony heart of mine 
 
 Hath felt Love's gentle joke. 
 
 Oft have I camped in winter time 
 
 In drear and stormy night. 
 
 And covered o'er with snow and rime 
 
 A rock my bed I bight. 
 
 On thorns I've slept as if on down, 
 
 The north wind passed me by — 
 
 And \et this callous breast of mine 
 
 Could not Love's might defy. 
 
 Mv fellow is the falcon bold, 
 
 The wolf's my mate in fight; 
 
 The baying hounds my matins tolled, 
 
 Hu7,zas begin my night. 
 
 A sprig of fir in lieu of flower 
 
 Adorns my blood -smirched cap, 
 
 And yet once Love with sovereign power 
 My wild heart's strength did sap! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 77 
 
SWORDING, THE SAXON DUKE 
 By Egon Ebert 
 
 The Saxon Duke, great Swording, sat feasting in his 
 
 hall, 
 The rarest wines were sparkling in cups of iron all, 
 Delicious foods were passing on iron platters round, 
 The iron breastplates clanking, they made a fear- 
 some sound. 
 
 And Frotho, King of Denmark, sat at the board, a 
 
 guest. 
 He marvelled as he saw that the Duke in chains 
 
 was dressed. 
 That iron chains were hanging about his arms and 
 
 neck. 
 And iron clasps and brooches his sable habit deck. 
 
 "Now tell me what this meaneth. Lord Brother, 
 
 prithee, say, 
 Why was a guest I bidden to this most grim array ? 
 When I rode blithely hither from out my Danish 
 
 hold 
 I hoped to find j^ou fairly decked out with wealth 
 
 of gold." 
 
 "Sir King, the slave wears iron, while gold is for 
 
 the free. 
 Such is the Saxon custom, and so if needs must be! 
 The Saxon's arm you've fettered with bonds of iron 
 
 strong. 
 For if your chains were golden, they had not held us 
 
 long. 
 
 "And yet methinks these fetters may broken be, in 
 
 sooth. 
 By high and noble courage, and honest faith and 
 
 truth. 
 By these we'll win our freedom, though hundredfold 
 
 in chains, 
 
 78 
 
By these our oaths we'll sever, wipe f)ut disgraceful 
 stains!" 
 
 Thus spake the Duke, and straifzhtway appeared 
 
 within the hall 
 Twelve Saxon knights in sable, and bearin<^ torches 
 
 all : 
 They stood in silence, waitinj: for Sword ing's low 
 
 command, 
 Then forth they sprang, and swiftly, each lifting 
 
 high his brand. 
 
 And soon arose a clamor, that guest and master 
 
 note. 
 Like fire crackling, snapping, upon their ears it 
 
 smote. 
 And soon the air grew stifling and hot within the 
 
 hall, 
 "The hour has come!" thus hoarsely the knights 
 
 they murmured all. 
 
 The King would flee in terror, the Duke, he holds 
 
 him fast, 
 "Nav stav thou here and let us thy courage prove at 
 
 last! 
 If thou against yon mighty opponent hold'st thine 
 
 own. 
 Thine be the Saxon's country', thine be the Saxon 
 
 throne." 
 
 And hotter vet, and hotter, it grows within the 
 
 hall. 
 And louder yet, and louder, without, the rafters fall. 
 And brighter yet, and brighter, a rosy light is shed, 
 And breaking through the portal, devouring flames 
 
 do spread. 
 
 And all those knights, devoted and prayerful bend 
 the knee. 
 
 79 
 
"Lord, to our souls be gracious, that here them- 
 selves set free!" 
 
 The Duke, he looks on calmly, the fire advances 
 fleet, 
 
 The King, from fear nigh fainting, he drags upon 
 his feet. 
 
 "Look up, thou mighty victor! Thou coward, ter- 
 ror feel! 
 
 Thus iron bonds we loosen, thus melts thy strong- 
 est steel!" 
 
 He speaks, and flames devouring soon whelm them 
 one and all, 
 
 Seize Duke and King together; in ruin sinks the 
 hall. 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 THE MILL 
 
 Old Folk-sons 
 
 Up yonder on the mountain 
 
 A millwheel turns alway ; 
 
 And naught but love it grindeth 
 
 All night till break of day. 
 
 The mill, alas! is broken. 
 
 And love is ended, gone; 
 
 God have thee in His keeping, love, 
 
 For I must wander on ! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 THE WATCH ON THE RHINE 
 
 By Max Schneckenburger 
 
 A peal like thunder calls the brave. 
 
 With clash of sword and sound of rave. 
 
 To the Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine! 
 
 80 
 
Who now will guard the river's line? 
 Dear Fatherland, no fear he tiiine! 
 Firm stands thy guard along the Rhine. 
 
 A hundred thousand hearts beat high, 
 The answer flames from every eye; 
 The German youths devoted stand 
 They shield the holy border-land. 
 Dear Fatherland, no fear be thine! 
 Firm stands thy guard along the Rhine. 
 
 And though my heart in death be dumb, 
 
 Still thou shalt not a Frank become! 
 
 Rich, as in water thy fair flood 
 
 Is Germany in hero-blood. 
 
 Dear Fatherland, no fear be thine! 
 
 Firm stands thy guard along the Rhine. 
 
 He sees above him heaven's blue dome 
 Whence souls of heroes watch their home 
 And vows, with battle's pride possessed: 
 Be German Rhine as is my breast! 
 Dear Fatherland, no fear be thine! 
 Firm stands thy guard along the Rhine. 
 
 So long as blood shall warm our veins, 
 While for the sword one hand remains, 
 One arm to bear a gun, — no more 
 Shall foot of foeman tread thy shore! 
 Dear Fatherland, no fear be thine! 
 Firm stands thy guard along the Rhine. 
 
 The oatli resounds, the wave rolls by, 
 
 The banners wave, advanced on high ; 
 
 To the Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine! 
 
 We all will guard the river's line. 
 
 Dear Fatherland, no fear be thine! 
 
 Firm stands thy guard along the Rhine. 
 
POEMS BY 
 VARIOUS FRENCH AUTHORS 
 
THREE LYRICS FROM VICTOR HUGO'S 
 LEGENDE DES SIECLES 
 
 SOLOMON 
 
 I am the king \v ho mystic power commanded ; 
 
 1 built the Temple, ruined towns supreme: 
 Hiram, my architect, and Chares, my right-handed. 
 
 Still here beside me dream. 
 
 One as a trowel, one as a sword, was given; 
 
 I let them plan, and what they did was well: 
 My breath mounts higher, nearer unto heaven 
 
 Than Libyan whirlwinds swell ; — 
 
 God sometimes feels it. Child of guilty kisses. 
 Vast, gloomy in my wisdom : demons shun 
 
 To take between high heaven and their abysses, 
 A judge but Solomon. 
 
 I make men tremble and believe my stor\'; 
 
 Conquering, they part and follow to my feast: 
 As king, I bear down mortals with the glory, 
 
 And with the gloom as priest. 
 
 Mine was of festals and of cups the vision, 
 The finger writing Mene Tekel then. 
 
 And war, and chariots, clarions, and collision 
 Of horses and of men. 
 
 Grand as some sullen idol's form discloses, 
 Mysterious as a garden's closed retreat, 
 
 ^'et. though I be more mighty than the roses 
 In moons of May are sweet, 
 
 Take from me scepter with the bright gold laden, 
 My throne, the archer on my tower above, 
 
 But men shall never take, O sweet young maiden. 
 From out mv heart its love! 
 
 85 
 
Men shall not take the love, O virgin purest, 
 That as in fountains beams to mirror thee. 
 
 More than from out the darkness of the forest 
 The song-bird's minstrelsy! 
 
 MOSCHUS 
 
 Bathe ye, O Nymphs, in the cool forest-springs! 
 Although the thicket with dull voices rings, 
 
 And in its rocks the eagle's nest finds place, 
 'Twas ne'er invaded by such gathering gloom 
 As grows to darkness, and will yield no room 
 To nude Neaera's grace. 
 
 Fair is Neaera, pure, and glimmers white. 
 Transparent, through the forest's horrid night; 
 
 An echo dialogues with one afar. 
 Gossips a hive with fiowers upon the leas, — 
 What saj^s the echo? — what the wandering bees? 
 She, naked, is a star! 
 
 For, when thou bathest, starry splendor falls. 
 Chaste one, on thee, with vague fear that appals 
 
 And beauty's boldness ever must imbue: 
 In shades where eye of ardent faun peers now, 
 To show thee woman, — knowest, Nesera, thou, — 
 Shows thee as goddess too! 
 
 Though man be darkened by the high king's power. 
 Above my head I here have built a bower 
 
 With boughs of elm and boughs of holly green'; 
 I love the meadows, woods, the unfettered air, 
 Neasra Phyllodoxis, and the fair 
 Fond idyl's strain serene. 
 
 Though here, where sleep sometimes our lids may 
 
 The distant thunders stray from hill to hill, — 
 Though spectral lightnings here forever shoot, 
 86 
 
And the sky threatens, — as we pace along 
 Is it forbiM to dream, or hear the song, 
 Hotuixt the thunders, or a Bute? 
 
 THE EARTH 
 
 {"^4 fnu of the btst stanzas {of the opcnint^ 
 liyrnri] in thf forni and nitttr of the oris^inal." B. 
 
 T.) 
 
 Glory to Earth ! — to the Dawn where God is seen ! 
 To tingling eyes that ope in forest green, 
 
 To flowers, and nests the Day makes bright ! 
 Glon,- to nightly gleams of snowy hills, — 
 To the blue sky which, unexhausted, spills 
 
 Such prodigal morning light! 
 
 Earth shows the harvest, though she hides the gold. 
 And in the flying seasons doth she fold 
 
 The germs of seasons that shall be, — 
 Sends birds in air that carol: "Let us love!" 
 She founts in shadow, while on hills above 
 
 Quivers the great oak-tree. 
 
 She pays to each his due, to Day Night's hours, 
 To Night the Day, the herbs to rocks, fruits flowers; 
 
 She feedcth all she does create; 
 When men are doubtful, trusts in her the tree, — 
 O, sweet comparison, shaming Destiny, 
 
 O Nature, holy, great! 
 
 Cradle of Adam and of Yaphet she 
 
 And then their tomb: she ordered Tyre to be, 
 
 Now shorn of empire and of kintjs. 
 In Rome and Sparta, Memphis of old fame. 
 
Whenever Man spake — and the silence came, — 
 The loud cicala sings. 
 
 And why? To quiet all who sleep in dust. 
 And why? Because the apotheosis must 
 
 Succeed the ruin and the wrong; 
 After the "No!" the "Yes!" be spoken then, 
 After the silent vanishing of men 
 
 The world's mysterious song. 
 
 Earth's friends are harvestmen ; when evening falls 
 She fain would free her dark horizon-walls 
 
 From the keen swarm of ravenous crows. 
 When the tired ox says: "Home, now, let us 
 
 fare!" 
 And in the farmer's hands, returning there, 
 
 The ploughshare-armor glows. 
 
 Incessant, transient blossoms bear her sod ; 
 They never breathe the least complaint to God : 
 
 Chaste lilies, vines that ripen free. 
 The shivering myrtles never send a cry 
 From winds profane up to the sacred sky, 
 
 To move with innocent plea. 
 
 SINCE I'VE PLACED MY LIP 
 
 By Victor Hugo 
 
 Since at thy brimming cup I've placed my lip ; 
 Since my pale brow wnthin thy hands I've laid; 
 Since sometimes I the fragrant breath did sip 
 Of thy soul, perfume now swallowed up in shade: — 
 
 Since to me 'twas given to hear thee speak some- 
 while 
 The words wherein the heart's sweet mysterj' lies; 
 Since I've seen thee weep, since I've seen thee smile, 
 Thy lips on my lips, as thine eyes in my eyes; — 
 88 
 
Since I've seen on my raptured head shining briglit 
 A ray of thy star, alas! forever in haze; 
 Since I've seen on the wave of my life falling light 
 A rose-leaf torn from the wreath of thy days; — 
 
 I now to the rapid years can say: 
 
 Pass on ! Pass on ! ye cannot make me old ! 
 
 Go ye hence with your Howcrs all withered away; 
 
 In my soul I've a Hower that no other may hold! 
 
 Your wings in their beating can nothing spill 
 
 Of the vase wherein I lave, and which is brimming 
 
 set. 
 My soul has more fire than your ashes can kill! 
 My heart has more love than yon can make me 
 
 forget ! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 RONDEL 
 
 By Charles d'Orleans (1391-1465) 
 
 The weather casts his cloak aside, 
 
 Of wind and ice and rain, pardie! 
 
 And dons a gown of broidery. 
 
 With sunlight brilliant, golden-dyed. 
 
 All beasts and birdlets pied 
 
 Their jargon sing, and cry with glee; 
 
 The weather casts his cloak aside. 
 
 Of wind and ice and rain, pardie! 
 
 Fount, brook, and river wide 
 
 Wear in joyous liverj' 
 
 Drops of silver, as jewelry: 
 
 Each garbs himself anew with pride. 
 
 The weather casts his cloak aside. 
 
 Of wind and ice and rain, pardie! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 89 
 
TWO POEMS 
 
 By Pierre de Ronsard 
 
 CASSANDRA 
 
 Sweetheart, let us see if the rose, 
 Which this morning did unclose 
 Its heart to the sun's golden shine. 
 At this evening hour yet holds 
 Of its royal robe the folds, 
 And its tint, that rivals thine. 
 
 Ah, see in what short space. 
 Sweetheart, it has beneath its place, 
 Alas, its fallen beauty shed! 
 Oh, Nature! thou dost unkindly give. 
 That such a Hower may only live 
 From morn till daylight fled! 
 
 Then, if thou'lt believe me, sweet, 
 While yet the blossoms greet 
 Thee of Life's verdant May, — 
 Enjoy, enjoy thy youth, 
 Before old age, forsooth. 
 Thy beauty plucks away! 
 
 L. B. T K. 
 
 TO A HAWTHORN 
 
 Fair hawthorn, green bowering. 
 
 Flowering, 
 The length of this shore's incline, 
 Thou'rt wreathed to the vtxy tip 
 
 In close grip 
 By a wild grape-vine. 
 
 Two squadrons of red ants, 
 Militants, 
 90 
 
'Twixt thy roots in ambush lurk; 
 All its length in evcr>- hole 
 
 Of thy bole 
 Busy bees are at work. 
 
 The sweet sonpster frail, 
 
 Nightingale, 
 With his dainty mate so dear, 
 When the time for love compels, 
 
 Comes and dwells 
 In thy branches ever>' year. 
 
 Lined with wool, he builds his nest 
 
 In thy crest, 
 And with finest silk made soft, 
 Where will hatch his babies wee, 
 
 Who shall be 
 Of my hands a prize aloft. 
 
 Then live, fair hawthorn tree, 
 
 Endlessly, 
 And may never thunder's might, 
 Or the axe. or time unkind, 
 
 Or the wind, 
 Prone on the earth thee smite! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 BALLADE 
 
 By Francois I'illon {Written for His Mother) 
 
 Lady of Heaven, Earth's regent, 
 Empress of th' infernal state, 
 Receive thou me. a Christian reverent, 
 That I be one by thee nominate; — 
 This natheless that I am not adequate. 
 The gifts thou giv'st my lady and mistress. 
 Are far too great for my great sinfulness. 
 Without which gifts no soul may e'en try 
 
 91 
 
To win to heaven, and I'm no juggleress. 
 In this faith I'm fain to live and die. 
 
 To thy Son commend his penitent: 
 That by him my sins be dissipate. 
 Give pardon as to th' Eg^^ptian lent. 
 Or as the clerk Theophilus, whose fate 
 Moved thee to pardon him, compassionate, 
 Although he with the devil did transgress. 
 Preserve me thou, that I make no cesse ; 
 Virgin, yet I beg thee purify 
 Me with thy sacramental holiness. 
 In this faith I'm fain to live and die. 
 
 I am a woman, poor and bent, 
 
 Nor nothing know, nor read can I ; 
 
 Lo, in the minster where to prayer I went, 
 
 Paradise painted, with its harps I spy. 
 
 And Hell, where all the damned do boil and fry: 
 
 One gives me fear, the other joy's excess. 
 
 This joy give me to have, high Goddess, 
 
 To whom all sinners must apply, 
 
 Fill me with faith, without feint or idless; 
 
 In this faith I'm fain to live and die. 
 
 Envoi 
 
 You bore, O Virgin, high princess, 
 
 Jesus our King, who has nor end nor cesse. 
 
 The Might}' One, taking our feebleness, 
 
 Came down from heaven us to fortify, 
 
 Offered to death his beauteous youthfulness ; 
 
 He is our Lord, him I confess. 
 
 In this faith I'm fain to live and die. 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 92 
 
THE INCONSTANT SHEPHERDESS 
 
 By Philippe Dcspnrtcs 
 
 Rosette, \vc did briefly part, 
 And you got you a brand-new beau ; 
 And i, knowing your fickle heart, 
 Did mine on another bestow. 
 Now, rU never more be swayed, 
 Or by beauty easily bent ; 
 We shall see, O fickle maid. 
 Of us two, which first will repent. 
 
 While so many a tear I shed, 
 My absence deploring, you, 
 By force of habit led, 
 Were caressing a lover new. 
 Oh, never was weathervane yet 
 By the wind so swift veering sent ; 
 We'll see. shepherdess Rosette, 
 Of us tAvo, which first will repent. 
 
 Where are all your promises vowed, 
 And the tears that at parting you shed? 
 Is it true that your plaint so loud 
 From an inconstant heart was said? 
 Gods! in falsehood you surpass! 
 Trust in you is detriment. 
 We shall see, my flighty lass, 
 Of us two, which first will repent. 
 
 The lover who's taken my place 
 Cannot love you as well as I ; 
 And she that I love in grace, 
 Tnith and beauty, passes you by. 
 Then guard your new friendship well; 
 My love will be permanent. 
 
 93 
 
And so at last we can tell 
 
 Of us two which first will repent. 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 THREE POEMS 
 
 By Marcelline Desbordes Valmore 
 
 THE ROSES OF SAADI 
 
 I was going to bring thee some roses this morn, 
 
 But so many I took in the girdle I'd worn, 
 
 That its knots, too tight-drawn, could not hold 
 
 them for thee. 
 The knots, they did burst, and the roses, caught 
 By the wind, in its rush to the sea were brought ; 
 They have followed the tide, and ne'er will return 
 
 to me. 
 
 The wave by them was reddened and seemed afire; 
 To-night their odor clings jTt to my attire — 
 Inhale then on me their fragrant memory! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 A WOMAN'S PRAYER 
 
 My sainted love! My duty dear! 
 
 If God would grant to see thee here. 
 
 If thy lodging were poor and drear, 
 
 Too tender for fear to constrain, 
 
 And bearing my amorous chain. 
 
 Dost know who would happiness gain ? 
 
 'Tis I ! Forgiving all wrongs. 
 
 The wild-birds' myriad throngs 
 
 Would have nor my wings nor my songs! 
 
 To bring thee back happiness' tide. 
 Without hate or fear, or guide, 
 I'd go next thy heart to abide, 
 
 94 
 
Or die of joy at thy door. 
 
 If to thee God would me restore, 
 
 To live or die for thee, what more? 
 
 But no! thy love to requite, 
 
 I would not quit the light 
 
 Till thy arms had clasped me tip;ht! 
 
 'Tis a dream! But such appear 
 To ease the way so long and drear. 
 'Tis my heart that beats; 'tis here; 
 It mounts, like a flame, to thee! 
 Share this dream, oh my soul, with me! 
 'Tis a woman's prayer, dost see! 
 'Tis my sigh in this sad place, 
 'Tis heaven since our last embrace; 
 'Tis mv belief in God's sweet grace! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 SEPARATION 
 
 Do not write! I am sad, and to d\e I am fain, 
 Fair summer, without thee, is love in gloom. 
 I've closed my arms that cannot thee attain ; 
 And to knock at my heart is to knock at a tomb. 
 Do not write ! 
 
 Do not write! Let us learn by ourselves to die; 
 But of God — of thyself, ask what love I thee bore. 
 From the depth of thy silence to hear thy love give 
 
 reply. 
 Is to hear of the heaven I ma>' enter no more! 
 Do not write! 
 
 Do not write! I am afraid of thee; I fear to think; 
 Memor>' holdeth thy voice, that, calling oft I hear. 
 Do not show fresh water to him who may not drink. 
 A living portrait is, thy writing dear. 
 Do not write! 
 
 95 
 
Do not write those three words that I dare not see, 
 It seems that thy voice spreads them over my heart, 
 That through thy smile they are shining on me, 
 It seems that a kiss prints them deep on my heart. 
 Do not write! 
 
 L. B. T. K 
 
 WHAT THE SWALLOWS SAY 
 
 By Theophile Gautier 
 
 Now more than one dry leaf 
 
 Lies on the yellowed lawn ; 
 
 The breeze is fresh at morn and eve, 
 
 Alas! the summer days are gone. 
 
 We see the flowers blooming yet, 
 The latest that the gardens hold ; 
 The dahlia wears its rosette, 
 And its close cap the marigold. 
 
 The rain makes bubbles in the lakes, 
 The swallows on the roof-tree near 
 Each of his fellows council takes. 
 For here is winter, cold is here. 
 
 By hundreds they assemble there, 
 Foregathering, ready to depart. 
 Says one: "Oh, in Athens fair 
 'Tis fine on the old rampart! 
 
 Every year I go there and I build 
 In the frieze of the Parthenon ; 
 My house in the cornice filled 
 The cannon's shot-hole yon." 
 
 Another says: "My journey leads 
 To the ceiling of a Smyrna cafe. 
 The Hadjis count their amber beads 
 On the threshold, warmed by a ray. 
 96 
 
I come and go, accustomed c'''^'^^ " 
 To the pallid vapors of chibooks, 
 And through the waves of smoke upblovvn 
 I graze the turbans and tarbooks." 
 
 Now this one: "I inhabit a triglyph 
 On a temple's front at Baal beck, 
 There I hang with claws bent stiff 
 At my wide-mouthed infants' beck." 
 
 Now that: "Here's my address — 
 At Rhodes, the Cavaliers' high hall; 
 Each winter there my home I dress 
 On top of a black pillar tall." 
 
 The fifth: "I stay my flight. 
 For age now makes me heavy fly, 
 At Malta's terrace white 
 Between blue sea and bluer sky." 
 
 The sixth: "Oh. fair is the day 
 Up in Cairo'' ^lim minaret! 
 I wall up the fretwork of clay, 
 And my winter quarters get." 
 
 "At the second cataract," 
 
 Says the last, "my nest doth cling; 
 
 I've marked the spot exact, 
 
 In the ps^nth of a granite king." 
 
 Then all: "How many miles shall we 
 To-morrow reel off in our flight — 
 Brown plains, white peaks, blue sea. 
 And shores with foam laced white!" 
 
 With cries and beating wings 
 On the cornice and its narrow crown, 
 The air with swallow chatter rings. 
 As they see the woods grow rusty brown. 
 
 97 
 
I understand what they say, 
 
 For the poet too, is a bird ; 
 
 But, captive, he his flight must stay, 
 
 By an invisible net deterred. 
 
 Oh, for wings! for wings! for wings! 
 That I might join the swallows' flight 
 To the land whereof the poet sings, 
 To springtime green and gold sunlight! 
 
 L. B. T. K. 
 
 98 
 
FROM THE ALLEMANNIC POEMS OF 
 JOHANN PETER HEBEL 
 
JACK AND MAGGIE 
 
 There's only one I'm after, 
 
 And she's the one,- I vow ! 
 If she was here, and standin' by, 
 She is a gal so neat and spry. 
 So neat and spry, 
 
 I'd be in glor>' now! 
 
 It's so, — I'm hankerin' for her, 
 
 And want to have her, too. 
 Her temper's always gay and bright, 
 Her face like posies red and white. 
 Both red and white. 
 
 And eyes like posies blue. 
 
 And when I see her comin', 
 
 My face gits red at once; 
 My heart feels chokin'-like and weak. 
 And drops o' sweat run down my cheek. 
 Yes, down my cheek, — 
 
 Confound me for a dunce! 
 
 She spoke so kind, last Tuesday, 
 
 When at the well we met: 
 "Jack, give a lift! What ails you? Say! 
 I see that somethin' 's wrong to-day. 
 What's wrong to-day?" 
 
 No. that I can't forget! 
 
 I know I'd ought to tell her. 
 
 And wish I'd told her then ; 
 And if I was n't poor and low. 
 And sayin' it did n't choke me so, 
 (It chokes me so,) 
 I'd find a chance again. 
 
 Well, up and of? I'm goin': 
 lOl 
 
She's in the field below: 
 I'll tty and let her know my mind; 
 And if her answer is n't kind, 
 If 't is n't kind, 
 
 I'll join the ranks, and go! 
 
 I'm but a poor young fellow, 
 
 Yes, poor enough, no doubt: 
 But ha'n't, thank God, done nothin' wrong. 
 And be a man as stout and strong, 
 As stout and strong. 
 
 As any roundabout. 
 
 What's rustlin' in the bushes? 
 
 I see a movin' stalk: 
 The leaves is openin': there's a dress! 
 
 Lord, forbid it! but I guess — 
 
 I guess — I guess 
 Somebody's heard me talk! 
 
 "Ha! here I am! you've got me! 
 
 So keep me, if you can ! 
 I've guessed it ever since last Fall, 
 And Tuesday morn I saw it all, 
 I saw it all ! 
 
 Speak out, then, like a .man! 
 
 "Though rich you a'n't in money, 
 
 Nor rich in goods to sell, 
 An honest heart is more than gold. 
 And hands you've got for field and fold, 
 For house and fold. 
 
 And — Jack — I love you well!" 
 
 "O Maggie, say it over! 
 O Maggie, is it so? 
 
 1 could n't longer bear the doubt: 
 
 'Twas hell, — but now you've drawed me out, 
 You've drawed me out! 
 And will I? Wont I, though?" 
 1 02 
 
THE MEADOW 
 
 {"Dif If'itsf, xhv name uf a inountaiii-strcam, 
 which, rising in the Feldberg, the highest peak of 
 the iilack Forest. Hows past Hauseii ... on 
 its way to the Rhine. An extract from the poem.") 
 
 Beautiful "Meadow," daughter o' Feldberg, I wel- 
 come and greet you. 
 Listen: I am going to sing a song, and all In y'r 
 
 honor, 
 Makin' a music beside ye, follerin' wherever you 
 
 wander. 
 Born unbeknown in the rocky, hidden heart o' the 
 
 mountain. 
 Suckled o' clouds and fogs, and weaned by the 
 
 waters o' heaven, 
 There you slep' like a babblin' baby, a-kep' in 
 
 the bed-room, 
 Secret, and tenderly cared-for: and eye o' man 
 
 never saw you, — 
 Never peeked through a key-hole and saw my little 
 
 girl sleep in' 
 Sound in her chamber o' crystal, rocked in her cradle 
 
 o' silver. 
 Neither an ear o' man ever listened to hear her 
 
 a-breathin', 
 No, nor her voice all alone to herself a-laughin' or 
 
 cryin'. 
 Only the close little spirits that know every passage 
 
 and entrance. 
 In and out dodgin', they brought ye up and teached 
 
 ye to toddle, 
 Gav' you a cheerful natur', and learnt you how to 
 
 be useful : 
 Yet, and their words did n't go into f)ne ear and out 
 
 at the t'other. 
 Stand on your slippery feet as soon as maybe, and 
 
 use 'em, 
 
 103 
 
That you do, as you slyly creep from your chamber 
 
 o' crystal 
 Out o' doors, barefoot, and squint up to heaven, 
 
 mischievously smilin'. 
 Oh, but you're pretty, my darlin', y'r eyes have a 
 
 beautiful sparkle! 
 Is n't it nice, out o' doors? you did n't guess 't 
 
 vv^as so pleasant? 
 Listen, the leaves is rustlin', and listen, the birdies 
 
 a-singin' ! 
 "Yes," says you, "but I'm goin' furder, and can't 
 
 stay to hear 'm : 
 Pleasant, truly, 's my way, and more so the furder 
 
 I travel." 
 
 Only see how^ spry my little one is at her jumpin' ! 
 "Ketch me!" she shouts, in her fun, — "if you w^ant 
 
 me, foUer and ketch me!" 
 Every minute she turns and jumps in another direc- 
 tion. 
 There, you'll fall from the bank! You see, she's 
 
 done it: I said so. 
 Did n't I say it? And now she wobbles furder and 
 
 furder, 
 Creepin' along on all-fours, then off on her legs 
 
 she's a-toddlin', — 
 Slips in the bushes, — "Hunt me!" — and there on 
 
 a sudden, she peeks out. 
 Wait, I'm a-comin'! Back o' the trees I hear her 
 
 a callin': ' 
 
 "Guess where I am!" she's whims of her own, a 
 
 plenty, and keeps 'em. 
 But, as you go, you're growin' han'somer, bigger, 
 
 and stronger. 
 Where the breath o' y'r breathin' falls, the meadows 
 
 is greener. 
 Fresher o' color, right and left, and the weeds and 
 
 the grasses 
 Sprout up as juici as can be, and posies o' loveliest 
 
 colors 
 
 104 
 
Blossom as brif^htly as wink, and bees come and 
 suck 'em. 
 
 Water-wagtails come tiltin', — and, look! there's the 
 geese o' the village, 
 
 All are a-comin' to see you, and all want to give 
 you a welcome ; 
 
 Yes, and you're kind o' heart, and you prattle to 
 all of 'em kindly: 
 
 "Come, you well-behaved creeturs, eat and drink 
 what I bring you, — 
 
 I mu'^t be off and away: God bless you, well-be- 
 haved creetur's!" 
 
 THE CONTENTED FARMER 
 
 I guess I'll take my pouch, and fill 
 My pipe just once, — yes. that I will! 
 Turn out my plough, and home'ards go: 
 Buck things, enough's been done, I know. 
 
 Why, when the Emperor's council's done, 
 And he can hunt, and have his fun, 
 He stops. I guess, at any tree. 
 And fills his pipe as well as me. 
 
 But smokin' does him little good: 
 He can't have all things as he would. 
 His crown's a precious weight, at that: 
 It is n't like my old straw hat. 
 
 He gets a deal o' tin, no doubt, 
 But all the more he pays it out; 
 And ever>wheres they beg and cry 
 Heaps more than he can satisfy. 
 
 And when, to see that nothin's wrong, 
 He plagues hisself the whole day long, 
 
 105 
 
And thinks, "I guess I've fixed it now," 
 Nobody thanks hini anyhow. 
 
 And so when in his bloody clo'es 
 The Gineral out o' battle goes, 
 He takes his pouch, too, I'll agree, 
 And fills his pipe as well as me. 
 
 But in the wild and dreadful fight. 
 His pipe don't taste ezackly right: 
 He's galloped here and galloped there, 
 And things a'n't pleasant anjavhere. 
 
 And sich a cursin' : "Thunder!" "Hell!" 
 And "Devil!" (worse nor I can tell) : 
 His grannydiers in blood lay down. 
 And yonder smokes a burnin' town. 
 
 And when, a-travelin' to the fairs. 
 The merchant goes with all his wares, 
 He takes a pouch o' the best, I guess, 
 And fills and snaokes his pipe, no less. 
 
 Poor devil, 't is n't good for you! 
 With all y'r gold, you've trouble too. 
 Twice two is four, if stocks'U rise: 
 I see the figgers in your eyes. 
 
 It's hurri% worry, tare and tret; 
 Ye ha'n't enough, the more ye get, — 
 And could n't use it, if ye had : 
 No wonder that y'r pipe tastes bad ! 
 
 But good, thank God ! and wholesome's mine 
 The bottom-wheat is growin' fine, 
 And God, o' mornin's, sends the dew, 
 And sends his breath o' blessing too. 
 
 And home, there's Nancy bustlin' round : 
 The supper's ready. I'll be bound, 
 1 06 
 
And younpstcrs waitin'. I.onl! I vow, 
 I (luiino w liich is smartest now. 
 
 Mv pipe tastes pooil ; the reason's plain: 
 (I .miess I'll fill it onee a^^ain) 
 With cheerful heart, and jolly mood. 
 And j^oin' home, all things is good. 
 
 THE Gl IDE-POST 
 
 D'ye know the road to th' bar'l o' flour? 
 
 At break o' day let down the bars, 
 And plough y'r wheat-field, hour by hour, 
 
 Till sundown, — yes, till shine o' stars. 
 
 \'ou peg away, the livelong day. 
 Nor loaf about, nor gape around ; 
 
 And that's the road to the thrashin'-floor, 
 And into the kitchen, I'll be bound! 
 
 D'ye know the road where dollars lay? 
 
 Follow the red cents here and there; 
 For if a man leave<; them, I guess, 
 
 He won't find dollars anywhere. 
 
 D'\e know the road to Sunday's rest? 
 
 Jist don't o' week days be afeard ; 
 In field and workshop do y'r best, 
 
 And Sunda\ comes itself, I've heerd. 
 
 On Saturdays it's not fur off, 
 
 And brings a basketfvd o' cheer, — 
 
 A roast, and lots o' garden-stuff. 
 And, like as not, a jug o' beer! 
 
 D'ye know the road to poverty? 
 
 Turn in at any tavern-sign: 
 Turn in, — it's temptin' as can be: 
 
 There's bran'-new cards and liquor fine. 
 107 
 
In the last tavern there's a sack, 
 
 And, when the cash y'r pocket quits, 
 
 Just hang the wallet on y'r back, — 
 You vagabond! see how it fits! 
 
 D'ye know what road to honor leads, 
 And good old age? — a lovely sight! 
 
 By ways o' temperance, honest deeds. 
 And tryin' to do y'r dooty right. 
 
 And when the road forks, any side. 
 And you're in doubt which one it is. 
 
 Stand still, and let y'r conscience guide: 
 Thank God, it can't lead much amiss! 
 
 And now, the road to church-yard gate 
 
 You need n't ask! Go anywhere! 
 For, whether roundabout or straight, 
 
 All roads, at last, '11 bring you there. 
 
 Go, fearin' God, but lovin' more! — 
 I've tried to be an honest guide, — 
 
 You'll find the grave has got a door. 
 And somethin' for you t'other side. 
 
 THE GHOST'S VISIT ON THE FELDBERG 
 
 Hark ye, fellows o' Todtnau, if ever I told you the 
 
 Scythe-Ghost* 
 Was a spirit of Evil, I've now got a difFerent story. 
 Out of the town am I, — yes, that I'll honestly own 
 
 to,— 
 Related to merchants, at seven tables free to take 
 
 pot-luck. • 
 
 *Dengle-Geist literally Whetting-Spirit. The 
 exact meaning of Tengeln is to sharpen a scythe by 
 hammering the edge of the blade, which was prac- 
 ticed before whetstones came in use. 
 1 08 
 
But I'm a Sunday's child; and wherever the ghosts 
 at the crossroads 
 
 Stand in the air, in vaults, and cellars, and out-o'- 
 way places, — 
 
 Cjuardin' hidden money with eyes like fiery sauce- 
 pans, 
 
 Washin' with bitter tears the spot where somebody's 
 murdered, 
 
 Shovcllin' the dirt, and scratchin' it over with nails 
 all so bloody, — 
 
 Clear as day I can see, when it lightens. Ugh! how 
 they whimper! 
 
 Also, whenever with beautiful blue eyes the heaven- 
 ly angels, 
 
 Deep in the night, in silent, sleepin' villages wander, 
 
 Peekin' in at the windows, and talkin' together so 
 pleasant. 
 
 Smilin' one at the t'other, and settin' outside o' the 
 house-doors. 
 
 So that the pious folks shall take no harm while 
 they're sleepin' : 
 
 Then ag'in, when in couples or threes they walk 
 in the graveyard, 
 
 Talkin' in this like: "There a faithful mother is 
 layin' ; 
 
 And here's a man that was poor, but took no ad- 
 vantage o' no one: 
 
 Take your rest, for you're tired, — we'll waken ye 
 up when the time comes!" 
 
 Clearly I sec by the light o' the stars, and I hear 
 them a-talkin'. 
 
 Many I know by their names, and speak to, when- 
 ever I meet 'em. 
 
 Give 'em the time o' day. and ask 'em, and answer 
 their questions. 
 
 "How do ye do?" "How's y'r watch?" "Praise 
 God, it's tolerable, thank you !" 
 
 Believe it, or not! Well, once on a time my cousin. 
 he sent me 
 
 109 
 
Over to Todtnau, on business with all sorts o' 
 
 troublesome people, 
 AVhere you've coffee to drink, and biscuit they give 
 
 you to soak in 't. 
 "Don't you stop on the road, nor gabble whatever 
 
 comes foremost," 
 Hooted my cousin at startin', "nor don't you let 
 
 go o' your snuffbox, 
 Leavin' it round in the tavern, as gentlemen do, for 
 
 the next time." 
 Up and away I went, and all that my cousin he'd 
 
 ordered 
 Fairly and squarely I fixed. At the sign o' the 
 
 Eagle at Todtnau 
 Set for a while; then, sure o' my way, tramped off 
 
 ag'in home'ards. 
 Nigh by the village, I reckoned, — but found myself 
 
 climbin' the Feldberg, 
 Lured by the birdies, and down by the brooks the 
 
 beautiful posies: 
 That's a weakness o' mine, — I run like a fool after 
 
 such things. 
 Now it was dusk and the birdies hushed up, sittin' 
 
 still on the branches. 
 Hither and yonder a starlie stuck its head through 
 
 the darkness, 
 Peekin' out, as uncertain whether the sun was in 
 
 bed yet, — 
 Whether it mightn't come, and called to the other 
 
 ones: "Come now!" 
 Then I knowed I was lost, and laid myself down, 
 
 — I w^as weary: 
 There, you know, there's a hut, and I found an 
 
 armful o' straw in 't. 
 "Here's a go!" I thinks to myself, "and I wish I 
 
 was safely 
 Cuddled in bed to home ; — or 't was midnight, and 
 
 some little spirit 
 Somewhere popped out, as o' nights when it's twelve 
 no 
 
they're accustomed, 
 Passin' the time with me, friendl), till winds that 
 
 blow early o' mornin's 
 Hlow p)iit the heavetil\- lights, and 1 see the way 
 
 hack, to the village." 
 Now, as thinkin' in this like, I felt all over my 
 
 watch-face, — 
 Dark as pitch all around, — and felt w ith ni\- linger 
 
 the hour-hand, 
 Found it was niph onto "leven, and hauled my pipe 
 
 from my pocket, 
 Thinkin': "Ma\he a bit of a smoke '11 keep me from 
 
 snoozin' :" 
 Thunder! all of a sudden beside me was two of 
 
 'em talkin', 
 Like as they'd business together! You'd better 
 
 believe that I listened. 
 "Say, a'n't I late a-comin'? Because there was over 
 
 in Mambach, 
 r)\in', a trirl with pains in the bones and terrible 
 
 fever: 
 Now, but she's easy! I held to her mouth the drink 
 
 o' departure. 
 So that the sufTcrin' ceased, and softly lowered the 
 
 eyelids, 
 Sayin': 'Sleep, and in peace, — I'll waken thee up 
 
 when the time comes!' 
 Do me the favor, brother: fetch in the basin o' sil- 
 ver 
 \Vater ever so little; my scythe as you see must be 
 
 whetted." 
 "Whetted?" says I to myself, "and a spirit?" and 
 
 peeked from the window. 
 Lo and behold, there sat a youngster with wings 
 
 that was polden ; 
 White was his mantle, white, anrl his iiirdle tlie 
 
 color o' roses. 
 Fair and lovely to see, and beside him two lijxhts all 
 
 a burnin'. 
 
 I II 
 
"All the good spirits," says I, "Mr. Angel, God 
 
 ha\ e you in keepin' !" 
 "Praise their Master, the Lord," said the angel; 
 
 "God thank you, as I do!" 
 "Take no offence, Mr. Ghost, and by y'r good leave 
 
 and permission, 
 Tell me, what have you got for to mow? "Why, 
 
 the scythe!" was his answer. 
 "Yes," saj'S I, "for I see it; and that is my question 
 
 exackly. 
 What you're goin' to do with the scythe?" "Why," 
 
 to mow!" was his answer. 
 Then I ventur'd to say: "And that is my question 
 
 exackly, 
 What you're goin' to mow, supposin' you're willin' 
 
 to tell me." 
 "Grass! And what is your business so late up here 
 
 in the night-time?" 
 "Nothin' special," I answered; "I'm burnin' a little 
 
 tobacco. 
 Lost my way, or most likely I'd be at the Eagle, in 
 
 Todtnau. 
 But to come to the subject, supposin' it isn't a secret, 
 Tell me, what do you make o' the grass? " And he 
 
 answered me: "Fodder!" 
 "Don't understand it," says I ; "for the Lord has 
 
 no cows up in heaven." 
 "Not precisely a cow," he remarked, "but heifers and 
 
 asses. 
 Seest, up j^onder, the star?" and he pointed one 
 
 out with his finger. 
 "There's the ass o' the Christmas — Child, and 
 
 Fridolin's heifers* 
 
 *According to an old legend St. Fridolin har- 
 nessed two young heifers to a mighty fir-tree, and 
 hauled it into the Rhine, near Sackingen, there- 
 by damming the river and forcing it to take a new 
 course on the other side of the town. 
 
 112 
 
Breathiii' the starry air. and waitin' for grass that 
 
 I bring 'cm : 
 Cjra.s> docs n't prow there,— notliin' grows hut the 
 
 heavenly raisins, 
 Milk and honey a-runnin' in rivers, plenty as wa- 
 ter: 
 But they're particular cattle,— grass they must have 
 
 even' mornin', 
 Mouthful o' hay, and drink from earthly fountains 
 
 they're used to. 
 So for them I'm a-whettin' my scythe, and soon 
 
 must me mowin': 
 Would n't it be worth while, if politely you'd offer 
 
 to help me?" 
 So the angel he talked, and this way I answered the 
 
 angel : 
 "Hark ye. this it is. just: and I'll go with the great- 
 est o' pleasure. 
 Folks from the town know nothin' about it: we 
 
 write and we cipher, 
 Reckon up money, — that we can do! — and measure 
 
 and weigh out. 
 Unload, and on-load, and eat and drink without 
 
 any trouble. 
 All that we want for the belly, in kitchen, pantry, 
 
 and cellar. 
 Comes in lots through ever>' gate, in baskets and 
 
 boxes. 
 Runs in every street, and cries at every corner: 
 'Buy my cherries!' and 'Buy my butter!' and 'Look 
 
 at my salad !' 
 'Buy my onions!' and 'Here's your carrots!' and 
 
 'Spinage and parsley!' 
 'Lucifer matches! Lucifer matches!' 'Cabbage and 
 
 turnips!' 
 'Here's your umbrellas!' 'Caraway-seed and juniper- 
 berries ! 
 Cheap for cash, and all to he traded for sugar and 
 
 coffee !' 
 
 113 
 
Say, Mr. Angel, didst ever drink coffee? and how do 
 
 you like it?" 
 "Stop with y'r nonsense!" then he said, but he 
 
 could n't help laughin'; 
 "No, we drink but the heavenly air, and eat nothin' 
 
 but raisins, 
 Four on a day o' the week, and afterwards five on 
 
 a Sunday. 
 Come if you want to go with me, now, for I'm off 
 
 to my mowin', 
 Back o' Todtnau, there on the grassy holt by the 
 
 highway." 
 "Yes, Mr. Angel, that will I truly, seein' you're 
 
 willin' : 
 Seems to me that it's cooler: give me y'r scythe for 
 
 to carry: 
 Here's a pipe and a pouch, — you're welcome to 
 
 smoke, if you want to." 
 While I was talkin', "Poohoo!" cried the angel. A 
 
 fiery man stood, 
 Quicker than lightnin', beside me. "Light us the 
 
 way to the village." 
 Said he. And truly before us marched, a-burnin', 
 
 the Poohoo, 
 Over stock and rock, through the bushes, a travellin' 
 
 torchlight. 
 "Handy, is n't it?" laughin', the angel said. — "What 
 
 are ye doin'? 
 Why do you nick at y'r flint? You can light y'r 
 
 pipe at the Poohoo. 
 Use him whenever you like ; but it seems to me 
 
 you're a-frightened, — 
 You, and a Sunday's child, as you are ; do you think 
 
 he will bite you?" 
 "No, he ha'n't bit me; but this you'll allow me to 
 
 say, Mr. Angel, — 
 Half-and-half I mistrust him : besides, my tobacco's 
 
 a-burnin', 
 
 114 
 
That's a weakness o' mine, — I'm afeard o' them 
 
 fien creeturs: 
 Give me seventy angels, instead o' this big burnin' 
 
 devil!" 
 "Really, it's dreadfle," the angel says he, "that 
 
 men is so silly, 
 Fearful o' ghosts and spectres, and skeery without 
 
 any reason. 
 Two of 'em only is dangerous, two of 'em hurtful to 
 
 mankind : 
 One of 'em's known by the name o' Delusion, and 
 
 Worrj- the t'other, 
 Him. Delusion, 's a dweller in wine: from cans and 
 
 decanters. 
 Up to the head he rises, and turns your sense to con- 
 fusion. 
 This is the ghost that leads you astray in forest and 
 
 highway : 
 Undermost, uppermost, hither and yon the ground 
 
 is a-rollin', 
 Bridges bendin', and mountains movin', and every- 
 thing double. 
 Hark ye, keep out of his way!" "Aha!" I says to 
 
 the angel, 
 "There you prick me, but not to the blood : I see 
 
 what you're after, 
 Sober am I, as a judge. To be sure, I emptied my 
 
 tankard 
 Once at the Eagle, — once, — and the landlord '11 
 
 tell you the same thing, 
 S'posin' you doubt me. And now pray, tell me 
 
 who is the t'other?" 
 "Who is the 'tother? Don't know without askin'?" 
 
 answered the angel. 
 "He's a terrible ghost: the Lord forbid you should 
 
 meet him I 
 When you waken early, at four or five in the 
 
 mornin', 
 
 115 
 
There he stands a-waitin' with burnin' eyes at y'r 
 
 bed-side, 
 Gives you the time o' day with blazin' switches and 
 
 pinchers: 
 Even prayin' don't help, nor help all your Jve 
 
 Marias J 
 When you begin 'em, he takes your jaws and claps 
 
 'em together; 
 Look to heaven, he comes and blinds y'r eyes with 
 
 his ashes; 
 Be you hungry, and eat, he pizons y'r soup with his 
 
 wormwood ; 
 Take you a drink o' nights, he squeezes gall in the 
 
 tankard ; 
 Run like a stag, he follows as close on y'r trail as a 
 
 blood-hound ; 
 Creep like a shadow, he whispers: 'Good! we had 
 
 best take it easy' ; 
 Kneels at y'r side at the church, and sets at y'r side 
 
 in the tavern. 
 Go wherever you will, there's ghosts a-hoverin' 
 
 round you. 
 Shut your eyes in y'r bed, they mutter: 'There's 
 
 no need o' hurry; 
 By-and-by you can sleep, but listen ! we've somethin' 
 
 to tell you: 
 Have you forgot how you stoled ? and how you 
 
 cheated the orphans? 
 Secretly sinned' ? — and this, and the t'other ; and 
 
 when they have finished, 
 Say it over again, and you get little good o' your 
 
 slumber." 
 So the angel he talked, and like iron under the 
 
 hammer. 
 Sparkled and spirted the Poohoo. "Surely," I says 
 
 to the angel, 
 "Born on a Sunday was I, and friendly with many 
 
 a preacher, 
 
 Ii6 
 
Yet the Father protect me from these!" Says he to 
 
 me, smih'n' : 
 "Keep y'r conscience pure ; it is better than crossin' 
 
 and blessin'. 
 Here we must part, tor y'r way turns off and down 
 
 to the village. 
 Take the Poohoo along, but mind ! put him out, 
 
 in the meadow, 
 Lest he should run in the village, settin' hre to the 
 
 stables. 
 God be with you, and keep you!" And then says 
 
 I : "Mr. Angel, 
 God, the Father, protect you ! Be sure, when you 
 
 come to the city, 
 Christmas evenin', call, and I'll hold it an honor to 
 
 see you : 
 Raisins I'll have at your service, and hippocras, if 
 
 you like it. 
 Chilly's the air, o' evenin's, especially down by the 
 
 river." 
 Day was breakin' by this, and right there was Todt- 
 
 nau before me! 
 Past, and onward to Basle I wandered i' the shade 
 
 and the coolness. 
 When into Mambach I come, they bore a dead girl 
 
 to the grave-yard, 
 After the Holy Cross, and the faded banner o' 
 
 Heaven, 
 With the funeral garlands upon her, with sobin' 
 
 and weepin*. 
 Ah, but she'd heard what he said ! he'll waken her up 
 
 when the time comes, 
 Afterwards, Tuesday it was, I got safely back to 
 
 my cousin ; 
 But it turned out as he said, — I'd somewhere for- 
 gotten my snuffbox! 
 
 117 
 
POEMS FROM 
 THE MINNESINGERS 
 
FOUR POEMS 
 
 Bx If'olthi-r von dtr Vogelweide 
 
 THE BLISS OF MAY 
 
 {"Maiemionru") 
 
 Would you see how May to May-mc« 
 
 Briglitest marvels new; 
 Priests, behold '.—behold it laymen, 
 
 What his might can do! 
 
 He is uncontrolled: 
 I know not if magic it is; 
 When his joys the world revisit, 
 
 Then is no one old. 
 
 Happy May, thy spell divideth 
 
 All, but not in hate! 
 Every tree in leafage hideth, 
 
 Nor the moorlands wait. 
 
 Colors fall in showers: 
 "I am long and thou art short," 
 Thus in tields they strive and sport. 
 
 Clover, grass and Bowers. 
 
 Rosy month, why thus degrade thee, 
 
 Let thy laughter be! 
 Shame of scorn shall not evade thee. 
 
 After wounding me. 
 
 Doest thou kindly so? 
 Ah. lost hours that we are proving. 
 When from lips that seem so loving 
 
 Such unlove should flow! 
 
 A MINNE-SONG 
 
 ("Remarkable for being written in the dactylic 
 measure.") 
 
 Happy the moment when first I beheld her, 
 
 121 
 
Conquering bod}' and soul with her beauty; 
 Since when my service the more hath compelled her 
 Still with her kindness to fetter my duty, 
 So that from her I can nevermore part. 
 This from her goodness and grace, and thereafter 
 Her roseate mouth, with the charm of its laughter. 
 
 Spirit and senses and thought I have given 
 Unto the best and the purest and dearest. 
 
 Now must the bliss be complete, as in heaven. 
 Since I have dared to desire to be nearest. 
 If the world's blisses were dear to my heart, 
 
 'Twas from her goodness and grace, and thereafter 
 
 Her roseate mouth, with the charm of its laughter. 
 
 FROM THE GLORIOUS DAME 
 
 God was so careful of her cheeks ; 
 He spread such precious colors there, 
 That pure and perfect, either speaks. 
 Here rosy-red, there lily-fair. 
 Not meaning sin, will I declare 
 
 That I more fain on her would gaze 
 
 Than on the sky or Starry Bear. 
 
 Ah, foolish me, what is't I praise? 
 
 If I, too fond, exalt her so. 
 
 How soon the lips' delight becomes the bosom's woe. 
 
 SPRING AND WOMEN 
 
 {The Opening Stanzas) 
 
 When the blossoms from the grass are springing, 
 As they laughed to meet the sparkling sun. 
 Early on some lovely morn of May, 
 And all the small birds on the boughs are singing 
 Best of music, finished and again begun. 
 What other equal rapture can we pray? 
 
 122 
 
It is already half of heaven. 
 But should we miess what other nii^ht he ;:iven, 
 So I declare, that, which in my si^ht 
 Still better seems, and still would seem, had I the 
 
 same ilelij^ht. 
 
 When a noble dame of purest beauty 
 \V>1I attired, with even garnished tresses, 
 L nto all. in social habit, goes. 
 Finely gracious, yet subdued to duty, 
 Whose impartial glance her state expresses, 
 As on the stars the sun his radiance throws! 
 
 I'hcn let May his bliss renew us: 
 What is there so blissful to us 
 As her lips of love to sec? 
 VVe gaze upon the noble dame, and let the blossoms 
 
 be. 
 
 LINES 
 
 By Conrad of If iiizhurg 
 
 Year-long will the linden 
 
 The wind in 
 
 Go waving, 
 
 ^V^hole a tempest sorest 
 
 The forest 
 
 Is braving; 
 
 To wail the moorland through, 
 
 One's sorrow 
 
 Is doubled ; 
 
 Sweetly love's pretenses 
 
 IVIy senses 
 
 Have troubled. 
 
 THE FALCON 
 
 By Ditlhtnar von .list 
 
 There stood alone a lady 
 And waited on the moorland, 
 12;; 
 
And waited for her lover, 
 
 And saw the falcon flying. 
 
 "Ah, happy falcon that thou art! 
 
 Thou fliest where thou pleasest; 
 
 Thou choosest from the forest 
 
 The tree which best thou lovest, 
 
 And thus have I done also: 
 
 I chose a man to be mine own. 
 
 In mine eyes the one elected. 
 
 And envied am by fairest dames. 
 
 Alas, why -will they not leave my love? 
 
 For none of theirs I ever hankered." 
 
 Fair art thou, joy of summer 
 
 The song of birds is wholesome 
 
 As are its leaves unto the linden. 
 
 QUATRAIN 
 
 By Heinrich von Morungen 
 
 'Tis the way of the nightingale, 
 That when her song is finished she sings no more; 
 
 But the swallow as mate I hail, 
 Who neither for love nor woe, ceases her strain to 
 pour. 
 
 FROM THE "TRISTAN" OF GOTTFRIED 
 OF STRASSBURG 
 
 {Twelfth Century) 
 
 [The scene of the meeting in the spring-time of 
 Prince Reivalin, the father of Tristan, and 
 Blancheflopur, his mother, the sister of Mark, King 
 of Cornwall.] 
 
 The soft and tender summer air 
 Disturbed the summer idlesse there, 
 And woke sweet industry, and fair. 
 124 
 
The little wood-birds singing clear, 
 
 It should be such a joy to hear, 
 
 Mlossoms, grass, and leaves on trees, 
 
 And what the eye may gently please, 
 
 And joy to noble hearts ni;iy yield. 
 
 Of that was the sutnnicr-mradows filled. 
 
 All one wished was gathered then 
 
 Of what the May-time brings to men: 
 
 Shade, when the sun would sting; 
 
 Lindens beside the spring; 
 
 And soft, sweet winds that sent 
 
 Where Mark's retainers went, 
 
 A fresh deligiu to meet them: 
 
 And the bright buds laughed to greet them, 
 
 In the dew}' grass that day; 
 
 And the green turf, the friend of May, 
 
 Wove from its own loveliness 
 
 So delightful a summer dress 
 
 That in the guests' glad eyes 
 
 'Twas mirrored in fairer wise. 
 
 The bloom of trees looked down on men 
 
 So openly, sweetly smiling then, 
 
 That heart and mind and senses lent 
 
 The dancing blood their light content, 
 
 And forever made reply 
 
 In the light of the merry eye. 
 
 All notes the birds repeat, — 
 
 So beautiful, so sweet. — 
 
 That unto heart and ear 
 
 So goodly 'tis to hear, 
 
 Rang there from hill and dale. 
 
 And the blissful nightingale — 
 
 The dear, sweet birdling she 
 
 That ever sweet shall be. 
 
 From out the blossoms trolled 
 
 So clear and ever-bold. 
 
 That many a noble heart that heard, 
 
 Took joy and hope from the happy bird. 
 
 125 
 
GERMAN POEMS OF THREE SUCCES- 
 SIVE CENTURIES 
 
TROOPER'S SONG 
 
 {Of the Fifteenth Century) 
 
 Up and auay, good comrades, 
 Ye gallant brothers mine, 
 Ride fast! it is our purpose 
 To dash beyond the Rhine. 
 There comes a fine fresh summer 
 And promises good store: 
 The longer 'tis, the better; 
 Up, whet your tuslcs, old boar! 
 The pasture waits once more. 
 
 The summer it shall bring us 
 Good luck and courage pure: 
 Success for us is easy. 
 And gay return is sure. 
 Many rode out before us 
 And treasure found in store; 
 We've starved too long already; 
 Up. whet your tusks, old boar! 
 The pasture waits once more. 
 
 Then be not slow or timid, 
 
 \ e troopers fresh and good ! 
 
 We'll break through hedge and thicket. 
 
 And crash across the wood! 
 
 Ours shall be name and honor 
 
 As good as any wore : 
 
 What others do. we'll do it: 
 
 Up, whet your tusks, old boar! 
 
 The pasture waits once more. 
 
 HUNTER'S SONG 
 
 {By Some Unknown Peasant-author; Sixteenth 
 Century) 
 
 A hunter hunted merrily, 
 Under the leafy linden-tree; 
 129 
 
His free, strong heart upbore him; 
 
 Many a beast he hunted down, 
 
 With his greyhounds fast before him. 
 
 He sped through vale, o'er mountain cold, 
 
 The thicket and the bushy wold. 
 
 And blew his horn so clearly; 
 
 But under the bows his sweetheart sat, 
 
 And looked on him so dearly. 
 
 Upon the ground his cloak he threw. 
 Sat there, and her beside him drew. 
 And said, her white hand pressing: 
 "Well may'st thou fare, consoler mine, 
 My one desire and blessing! 
 
 "If hoar-frost came, or snow be seen, 
 To kill for us the clover green 
 And the blossoms on the heather, 
 Nor frost nor snow can part the twain 
 Who love, and sit together!" 
 
 THE NETTLE-WREATH 
 
 {Folks-song of the Sixteenth Century.) 
 
 "O peasant-lad, let the roses be! 
 Not for thee they blow! 
 Thou wearest still the nettle-weed 
 Thy wreath of woe." 
 
 The nettle-weed is bitter and sour. 
 And burneth me: 
 But that I lose my fairest love 
 Is my misery. 
 
 This I lament, and thence my heart 
 Is sad and sore: 
 
 130 
 
God keep thee now, lost, lovely girl! 
 1 shall never see thee more. 
 
 THE POET AND THE SINGER 
 
 J Poem by Hans Scichs, the " Masttrsinger." in his 
 Own "Silver Measure." Dated 1517. 
 
 I 
 
 I like a fountain flowing 
 
 Beside a cavern, showing 
 
 No token, in its going, 
 
 Of whence its waters came. 
 
 Itself must fill forever, 
 
 And by its own endeavor, 
 
 The urn of its light river: 
 
 The cave is not the same. 
 
 When from the sun's increasing heat. 
 
 In days of summertime. 
 
 The cave is neither fresh nor sweet, 
 
 But smells of mould and slime. 
 
 And dries, and groweth rank and green ; 
 
 Then doth the fount itself keep clean 
 
 From out its hidden sources, — 
 
 Conquers the sun's hot forces 
 
 In all its cr>'Stal courses, 
 
 And grows not foul nor dull. 
 
 II 
 
 That fountain I compare to 
 The poet, who does swear to 
 The poetn,- he's heir to; 
 And honors art the more. 
 But he — I say with sorrow — 
 Is a wretched singer thorough. 
 Who all his songs must borrow 
 
 131 
 
From what was sung before. 
 
 For when new art is born again, 
 
 Better than ancient tune, 
 
 The singer's song is all in vain : 
 
 He shall be silenced soon : 
 
 No effort of his own avails 
 
 To follow on those fresher trails, 
 
 'Gainst him whose fancies bear us, — 
 
 Whose heart and art declare us. 
 
 That lightly he can spare us 
 
 A new song every hour. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Our art, of truth the mirror, 
 
 Should daily be the clearer 
 
 Of coarseness and of error. 
 
 That erewhile clouded it. 
 
 And song — there's nothing surer! — 
 
 Should day by day be purer, 
 
 And nobler and securer. 
 
 Made by the poet's wit. 
 
 Therefore a crown of red-gold sheen 
 
 The poet should receive ; 
 
 The singer but a garland green. 
 
 That ye this truth believe: 
 
 Lieth the singer cold and dead. 
 
 His art with him hath perished; 
 
 But when the poet dieth 
 
 His wot that end denieth, 
 
 And liveth still, and flieth 
 
 To many a distant land. 
 
 A HYMN BY PAUL FLEMING 
 
 {Seventeenth Century) 
 
 My soul, no dark depression borrow 
 From sorrow! 
 
 132 
 
Be still ! 
 As God disposeth now, 
 Be cheerful thou, 
 
 My will ! 
 
 To-day, why wilt thou trouble borrow, 
 For to-morrow? 
 
 (^ne alone 
 Careth for all that be: 
 He'll give to thee 
 Thine own ! 
 
 Stand, then, whatever's undertaken, 
 Unshaken ! 
 
 Lift up thy breast ! 
 What so thy God ordains, 
 Is and remains 
 The best! 
 
 THE SONNET PAUL FLEMING WROTE 
 ON HIS DEATHBED 
 
 In art, wealth, standing, was I strong and free; 
 Of honored parents, fortune's chosen son, 
 Free, and mine own, and mine own substance won ; 
 I woke far echoes, — no one sang like me; 
 Praised for my travels, toiling cheerfully, 
 Young, watchful, eager, — named for what I've done. 
 Till the last sands of earthly time be nm. 
 Thi'^, German Muses, was your legacy! 
 God, Father, Dearest, Friends, is my worth so? 
 I say good night, and now must disappear: 
 The black grave waits, all else is finished here: 
 WTiat Death may do, that do he to his foe! 
 To yield my breath shall bring me little strife: 
 There's naught of life in me that less lives than mv 
 life! 
 
 133 
 
THE HASTE OF LOVE 
 
 By Martin Opitz (Seventeenth Century) 
 
 Ah, sweetheart, let us hurry! 
 
 We still have time. 
 Delaying thus we bury 
 
 Our mutual prime. 
 
 Beauty's bright gift shall perish 
 
 As leaves grow sere: 
 All that we have and cherish 
 
 Shall disappear. 
 
 The cheek of roses fadeth, 
 
 Gray grows the head ; 
 And fire the eyes evadeth 
 
 And passion's dead. 
 
 The mouth, love's honeyed winner, 
 
 Is formless, cold; 
 The hand, like snow, gets thinner, 
 
 And thou art old! 
 
 So let us taste the pleasure 
 
 That youth endears. 
 Ere we are called, to measure 
 
 The flying years! 
 
 Give, as thou lov'st and livest, 
 
 Thy love to me, 
 Even though, in what thou givest, 
 
 My loss should be! 
 
 134 
 
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