PT 
 
 1155 
 
 1996 
 
 UC-NRLF 
 
 o 
 
IN MEMORY OF 
 WILLIAM C. HABBERLEY 
 
Cj/t".?'-*- 'f 
 
 / 
 
 SCHILLER'S 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 . . . TRANSLATED BY ... 
 
 THOS. C. ZIMMERMAN 
 
 [SECOND EDITION, 1896.] 
 
 [PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION ONLY.] 
 
 \\ 
 
 READING, PA. 
 
 1896. 
 
SCHILLBR'S 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 . TRANSLATED BY . . 
 
 THOS. C.! ZIMMERMAN 
 
 [SECOND EDITION, 1896.] 
 
 [PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION ONLY.] 
 
 READING, PA. 
 1896. 
 
PRESERVATION 
 COPY ADDED 
 
 , 
 
 TO HIS DEAR FRIEND 
 
 WILLIAM M. GRISCOM, ESQ.. 
 
 TO WHOSE KINDLY OFFICES 
 WHILE A RESIDENT OF BERLIN, GERMANY, 
 
 THE TRANSLATOR 
 
 WAS MUCH INDEBTED FOR LITERARY FAVORS, 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS 
 RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. 
 
 GIFT 
 
 
[The present volume has been reprinted to accom- 
 modate a steadily-increasing demand for the translator's 
 rendition of "The Song of the Bell," which he has not 
 been able to supply. A great many letters of commend- 
 ation of his work, which appeared in the first edition, 
 have been omitted in this, while a number of others, 
 from distinguished sources, which were received after 
 the initial volume had made its appearance, have been 
 inserted in this. Other new matter, such as Mr. Zim- 
 merman's address on Schiller's birthday anniversary, 
 together with his translation of Luther's celebrated 
 hymn, 'Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott,' and a few other 
 translations, will also be found in this edition.] 
 
 S5620548 
 
lea 
 
 cf tke 
 
 Fieos Foco. JUortuos Plango. Ful.gura Frango. 
 
 Firmly wailed in earth, and steady, 
 
 Stands tne mold of well burnt clay. 
 
 Quick, now, workmen, be ye ready ! 
 
 Forth must come the bell to-day ! 
 Hot from forehead's g'ow 
 Must the sweat-drops now, 
 
 Should the master praise be given ; 
 
 Yet the blessing comes from Heaven. 
 
 The work prepared with so much ardor 
 M;iy well an earnest word become ; 
 When good discourse attends the labor, 
 Then flows employment briskly on. 
 Observe with care, then, what arises 
 See what from feeble strength escapes; 
 The man so poor, each one despises, 
 Whene'er foresees the form he shapes. 
 'Tis this that man so well adorneth, 
 For mind hath he to understand 
 That in his inner heart he feeleth 
 Whate'er he fashions with his hand. 
 
 Take the wood from trunks of pine- 
 trees, 
 
 But well-seasoned let it be, 
 That th' imprisoned flame may,bursting 
 Strike the flue with lurid glee ! 
 
 Let the copper brew ! 
 
 Quick ! the tin add, too ! 
 That the tough bell metal, flowing, 
 May the proper way be going. 
 
 What in this pit, with hidden power, 
 The hands with help of fire create, 
 High up in yonder belfry-tower, 
 Will epeak of us in tones elate. 
 And times remote will hear it tolling, 
 And many an ear its sounds will thrill; 
 Affliction's plaint, too, be condoling, 
 And help Devotion's choir to fill. 
 Whatever to this earthly pilgrim 
 This ever-changing life may bring, 
 Will strike upon its crown's clear metal 
 Whose tones will then reverb' rate ring. 
 
 Bubbles white now see I bursting; 
 Good! the mass is melting now; 
 Let alkali be thrown in with it, 
 That will quick promote its flow. 
 
 And from dross set free 
 
 Must the mixture be, [ing, 
 
 That from the metal's unmixed found- 
 Ciear and full may the bell be sounding. 
 
 Vivos voco. Mortuos plango. Fulgura frango. 
 
 ^eftgemomert in ber Cjrten 
 tefyt bie florin, auS i'elmt gcbran;;i. 
 <>eute mufc bie GHorfe >evben ! 
 #rifd), efeUen, feib jur >anb ! 
 
 SBpn bar time f>eik 
 
 3iinnen mutj ber d;ireifi, 
 Soli ba SBerf ben 3Rift !r6en ; 
 ber <2egen fommt fcon oben. 
 
 .3 urn SBerfe, ba3 toir crnft bereiten, 
 (3?&iemt fid? toofyl cin ernfte$ SBort ; 
 3Senn gute Dieben fie begleiten, 
 2)ann fUefct bie Arbeit munter fort. 
 <So la^t un jeM mit $Ieifj betrac^ten, 
 2Ba burc^ bie fcfytoacfye Kraft enti>ringt ; 
 S)en fcfyledjten 3Jiann muf} man terac^ten, 
 2)er nie bebac^t, tua^ er k>oUbringt. 
 3)a ift' ja, h>a ben 9Jienfd)en jieret. 
 llnb baju n>arb ifym ber SSerftanb, 
 er im innem ^erjen fpuret, 
 er erfdjafft mit jeiner .^anb. 
 
 ^0(3 t>om ^tc^tenftamme, 
 red)t troaen lafet e fein, 
 2) aft bie eingepreftte ^lanmie 
 (Sc^lage ju ten @d;n>atrf> ^inetn. 
 Koc^t be3 Hu^ferd Srei ! 
 cBneU baS Htim krbet, 
 ajj bie jtifye Torfenj^eife 
 glieBe nad; ber rerf;ten 2Beife ! 
 
 in be S5amtne ttefer ntbe 
 S)te anb mit ^euer^ itlfe baut, 
 ."god? auf beS X^urmeS locfenfhtbe, 
 >a iuirb eS bon unS jeugen laut. 
 3bc^ baueru iwirb'g in foaten 
 Unb rii!;ren trieier 9Jienfd;en 
 llnb toirb mit bem yetriibten flaaen 
 Unb ftiinmcn gu ber Slnbac^t (I;or. 
 SBad unten tief bem Grbetilobne 
 25 aS toecfyfelnbe S3erf;dngni| brtngt, 
 2)a fcfyltigt an bie metaflne Krone, 
 2)ie eS erbaulid^ tceiter lltngt. 
 
 _^ SBIafen fefy' id; f r , 
 gBo$! ! bie 3Kaffcn finb im .>,. 
 " ;' mit Jljcoenfalft bnrdpbringcn, 
 befbrbert fdmell ben u. 
 
 bom c^aiune rein, 
 _ bie 3)iifdmng fein, 
 oom rein lichen DietaHe 
 , unb toU bie tunme 
 
For, with its joyous, festal ringing, 
 [t greets the child, in accents clear, 
 Who, wrapt in sleep, is just beginning 
 His earliest step in life's career. 
 In Time's dark womb for him reposes 
 A crown of thorns, a wreath of roses. 
 A mother guards her love attending 
 His golden morn with beauty blending 
 Arrow-swiftly flies each year. 
 From maid the boy now proudly runneth, 
 With pilgrim's staff doth rnadly roam 
 Throughout the world; at last returneth 
 A stranger in his father's home. 
 And beauteous, in her youthful splendor, 
 Like vision from celestial skies, 
 With modest mien and blushes tender, 
 He sees the maid before his eyes. 
 A nameless longing, pleasure-thrilling, 
 Then seized the youth; alone strays he; 
 His eyes with copious tears are filling, 
 From brothers' wild sports doth he flee. 
 Encrimsoned, now, her steps he traces, 
 Her greeting's like a joy new-born, 
 Tiie fairest flower in field embraces 
 Wherewith his loved one to adorn. 
 
 O sweetest hope! O tender longing! 
 Tilt earliest love's first golden time! 
 The eye, it sees the heavens thronging 
 With rapt 'rous sights and scenes sublime: 
 O that they would be never-ending, 
 These vernal days, withlovelightblending. 
 
 See the pipes already browing! 
 This small bar I dip therein; 
 If it show a glazed coating, 
 Then the casting may begin. 
 
 Workmen, quickly go; 
 
 Prove the mixture's flow. 
 When soft and brittle fuse together, 
 'Tis a sign propitious ever. 
 
 For when the stern and soft are sharing, 
 And strength with gentleness is pairing, 
 The harmony is sweet and strong. 
 Who, therefore, would be boi^nd forever, 
 Must see that hearts agree together! 
 Illusion's brief, repentance long. 
 Lovely, in the bride's fair tresses, 
 Plays the virgin wreath of green, 
 When the merry church bells, ringing, 
 Summon to the joyous scene. 
 Ail! life's sweetest festal moments 
 Also end life's sunny May, 
 With the veil, and with the girdle, 
 Fond illusions fade away. 
 For passion will fly, 
 But love be surviving; 
 The flower must die, 
 The fruitage be thriving. 
 The man must be out 
 In life's battle fighting, 
 Be sinilin and striving 
 
 mit ber ^freube ft-eierffcmge 
 
 fie bas geltebte &inb 
 2luf feine* BebenS erftem Qange, 
 >en cs in ScblafeS s ilrm beginnt; 
 '^m rufyen uocfy im 3eiten}d}oofje 
 Sie idjnmrjen unb Die fyettern Soofe; 
 2)er SKutterliebe jarte (Sorgen 
 $eft>ad?en jeinen goibncn 9JJorgen 
 T>te ;$<u)re fliefyen pfeilgeiduwnb. 
 4tom }JJdbd;en reiju fid? ftol| ber nabe, 
 (5r fturrnt in<3 geben hnU> tnnau, 
 2)urd;mtftt bte 2Mt am 2Sanberftabe, 
 ftremb fefyrt er fyeim ins i&aterfyaus. 
 itnb berrlid) in ber 3ngenb ^Srangen, 
 iBie ein (^ebilb cms ,'pimmele^cbn, 
 9Jitt jiic^tigen, t>erjcbdmten SSangen 
 ie^t er bie '^iingfrau or fic^ fte^n. 
 2) a fa^t ein namenlofe* @e^?nen 
 2)es ; 3ungling^ .perj, er irrt atletn, 
 S 2lus jeinen 2lugen bred)en X^ 
 (5r flieb. t ber Srii&er toilben Siei^' 
 rrotbenb folgt er ifren pureu 
 ttnb ift t>on ibrem ru^ begliicft, 
 2>a c^onfte fuc^t er auf ben 
 SJoniit er feine ^iebe jc^miicft. 
 
 D jarte @e^nfud)t, fufee offen ! 
 S)er erften Stebe g^lbne Beit ! 
 S)a 3tiige [ie^t bm .^tmmei offen, 
 G^ jd;melgt ba ^erg in eltgfeit : 
 D, bafe fie etoig grihten bliebe, 
 2)ie )d;one &it ber jungen Siebe ! 
 
 25te fid) fd;on bte 'ipfetfen brauncn ! 
 2)iefe tdbd^en tcmd) 1 id; ein, 
 e^n n)ir' iiberglaft erfcfietnen, 
 Sirb's jum uffe jeitig fein. 
 
 3e^t, cfclien, frtfd; ! 
 
 ^riift mtr ba CJemifd), 
 Cb ba^ ^>r;be mit bem 2Betd;en 
 Sal? UvTcint gum guten 
 
 Senn, rjo bi5 Strcnejc mit bem 
 2Go tartco fid? unb s )Jiilbe paanen 
 2) a giebt cs ci.;o:i guten ^lang. 
 2)rum priife, tDec fid; cn>ig btnbet r 
 Db fid; ba ,\">er^ ^um ^erjen finbet ! 
 Ser 2Bab,n ift furj, bie "SJeu 1 ift lang 
 l';:blid? in ber ^laute fiocfeu 
 Sjielt ber jungiruitlid;c jlran^ 
 ^;nn bie ^e len ^trd^cnglorfen 
 ^ T' en 311 be^ ^c'ft.- tanj. 
 xld; ! b.-d ^ebeng fdionfte geier 
 trnb'g; avri) ben i'cicnsmat, 
 Wit bem Giirtet, mit bem <Sd)(eiec 
 Neikt ber fd)one SSafm ent^ei. 
 3)ic Seibenfd;aft fli^^t, 
 3Me tel)e mu r 5 ttnbcn; 
 2)te 531 me Uerblii^t, 
 Die >ynt:b,t mu| tretben. 
 mnf; I;inau3 
 
 Vcben, 
 iuivfcn iinb ftve&cn 
 
And planting $md working, 
 
 No artifice shirking, 
 
 Be risking and staking, 
 
 His fortune o'^rtaking. 
 
 Then riches flow in, like a river unending, 
 
 With costliest treasures the garners are 
 
 bending; [spreads out; 
 
 The store-rooms expand, tlie mansion 
 And in it reigneth 
 The housewife so modest, 
 The gentlest of mothers, 
 Who wisely, sweetly, 
 Ruleth discreetly; 
 The maidens she traineth, 
 The boys she restraineth; 
 Her work ne'er decreasing 
 She toileth unceasing; 
 With well-ordered pains 
 She adds to the gains, [with treasure, 
 And fills up the sweet-scented presses 
 Round the spindle reels thread to its 
 
 swift-whirring measure, [until full 
 And hoards,in the bright-polished chest, 
 The linen so. snow-white, and the glisten 
 
 ing wool; [she adds ever, 
 
 The gloss and shimmer to the good 
 And resteth never. 
 
 And the father, with joyful mien, 
 From the mansion's high, far-seeing gable 
 Counts his wealth in the blooming scene; 
 Sees the landmarks his estate surround- 
 ing. 
 
 And the barn's well-filled bins abounding, 
 And the gran'ries. with bounty bending, 
 And the waving grain, its sunshine lend- 
 Boasting, with pride-lit face: [ing; 
 
 "Firm as the earth's own base, 
 'Gainst all misfortune's might, 
 Stands my house in stately height !'* 
 But with Dest'ny is there, seeming, 
 No lasting union interweaving, 
 And Misfortune strideth fast. 
 
 Good ! at once begin the casting: 
 A jagged grain the breach presents; 
 But, before we set it running, 
 Pray some pious sentiments ! 
 
 Th' tap knock out ! And, Lord, 
 
 Well this house do guard ! 
 From the smoking mold come, gushing, 
 Th' fire-brown wavelets on ward rush'g. 
 
 How friendly is the fire's might, 
 When tamed by being watched aright; 
 And what man fashions, what creates, 
 From this heaven-born force he takes. 
 But fearful this promethean wonder, 
 When its fetters break asunder. 
 And madly leaps unchecked along ! 
 Dame Nature's daughter, free and strong! 
 Woe, when once 'tis liberated, 
 Spreading free on every hand; 
 
 Unb pflanjen unb fd)affen, 
 
 Grltften, erraffen, 
 
 :Wii toetten unb hwigen, 
 
 Sa &lud $u erjagen. 
 
 a ftromet fyerbet bie imenblidje (SJaBe, 
 
 G3 fullt fidfr ber ^eidjer mit foftlid&er $oBe, 
 
 te ftdume mad) feu, cw 
 
 Unb brinnen toaltet 
 
 Sie siic^tige au3frcru, 
 
 Sie ^hitter ber $inber, 
 
 Unb berrjdjet toetfe 
 
 UuJ) lebret bic 
 
 llnb toefyret ben flnaben, 
 
 llnb reget o^n' jgnbe 
 
 2)ic flei^igen anbe, 
 
 llnb me^rt ben etuinn 
 
 3)iit orbnenbem (Stun, 
 
 llnb fiilfet mit gtifityn bie buftenben Saben, 
 
 llnb br^t urn bie jc^mirrenbe ^inbet ben 
 
 Unb fammelt im reintid^ geglatteten 
 
 Sic fc^tmmernbe SBottc, ben fcfyneeigten Sein, 
 
 Unb fiiget gum uten ben OJlan^ unb ben 
 
 Unb rutyet ntmmer. 
 
 Unb ber SSater mit fro^em 93Iicf, 
 on be <paufc hjeitfc^auenbem iebel 
 Ikberjd^tet fcin blii^enb riidf, 
 ie^>et ber ^Pfoften ragenbe ^Baume 
 Unb ber djeunen gefiiUte 9idume 
 Unb bie @etd)er, t>om @egm gebogen, 
 Unb be3 .KornesJ beivegte SKogen, 
 JWii^mt fidj mit ftotjem 3Wunb : 
 fteft, tt)ie ber rbe runb, 
 Cflen be* Unglurfg 
 Ste^t mir be ,t>aufe 
 Sod) mit be3 ef(^4t 
 3ft fein eto'ger Sunb ^u flecfyten, 
 Unb ba^ Unglud fc&reitet fdjnell. 
 
 ! nun lann ber ufe beginnen; 
 ge^acfet ift ber Sruc^. 
 , bet>or h>ir' laffen rinncn, 
 23etet etnen frommen 
 tofet ben Sapfen 
 ott betpa^r' ba3 
 
 in be ^enfet^ 33ogen 
 mit feuerfcraunen SCogcn. 
 
 ift be fteuerS 
 
 SBenn fie ber 9Jlenf^ bead^mt, benni6(, 
 Unb h)aS er bUbet, ia er fd)nfft, 
 
 banft er btefcr >iinmelfraft ; 
 
 fitrc^tbar n>irb bie Jbin;mc(c>fva)i f 
 SQBenn fie ber g-cffcl ftrf; entraffi, 
 ltnf;ertritt auf ber eignen 3vur. 
 Sic frcie Xod^ter ber s Jiatur. 
 SBe^e, ienn fie Iogelaffen f 
 ffiacfyfenb o^ne ffiiberftanb, 
 
Through the streets like fiend unsated, I Surd; bte nottjefebien 
 Quickly moves the monstrous brand ! SBdl^t ben unptefyeitren 
 By the elements is hated Senn bte (Slemente 
 
 Work^that's done by human hanci Sas ebtlb ber 
 
 From the clouds come 
 
 Richest blessing, 
 
 Rains refreshing; 
 
 From the clouds, 'mid thunder's crash, 
 
 Lightnings flash. 
 
 Hear'st from yon spire the wild alarm ? 
 
 That's the storm ! 
 
 Red as blood 
 
 Are the skies; 
 
 That is not the daylight's floo '* 
 
 What tumults rise 
 
 Along each street ! 
 
 Up, smoke and heat. 
 
 Through the streets, with fury flaring, 
 
 Stalks the fire with fiendish glaring, 
 
 Rushing as if the whirlwind sharing! 
 
 Like the blast from furnace flashing 
 
 Glows the air, and .beams are crashing, 
 
 Pillars tumbling, windows creaking, 
 
 Mothers wandering, children shrieking, 
 
 Be.asts are moaning, 
 
 Running, groaning 
 
 'Neaththe ruins; all are frightened, 
 
 Bright as day the night enlightened. 
 
 Through the chain of hands, extending, 
 
 Wi' zeal contending, 
 
 Flies the bucket; bow-like, soaring, 
 
 High in air the stream is pouring. 
 
 Comes the tempest, howling, roaring, 
 
 Rushing in the path of flame, 
 
 Crackling 'mid the well-dried grain, 
 
 In the gran'ry chambers falling, 
 
 'Long the well-dried rafters bawling; 
 
 As if 'twould surely .^ear, in blowing, 
 
 The very earth itself arid bear 
 
 It upwards through the lurid air. 
 
 High as heaven the flames are growing 
 
 Giant tall ! 
 
 Hopeless, all, 
 
 Man submits to might o'erpow'ring; 
 
 Idly sees, what first seemed low'ring, 
 
 His work to sure destruction going. 
 
 All burnt out are 
 Town and village, 
 
 Rugged beds of the tempest's pillage. 
 In the hollow gaping windows 
 Gloom is sitting, 
 
 And the clouds, through heaven flitting, 
 Look within. 
 
 One look at last 
 Where the measure 
 Of his treasure 
 
 Juried lies, man turns to cast 
 Then clutches he his start with pleasure. 
 IVhate'er the flan-res took from his home, 
 One solace ever him consoleth: 
 
 2lu ber SGBoIte 
 Quillt ber Segcn, 
 Strbmt ber ^e^en ; 
 2lu3 ber SBolfe; obne 
 3urft ber Strabl. 
 
 >6rt i|)r' toimntcru Ijodj &om X^urm ! 
 2>a8 ift Sturm ! 
 ffioty, tote Slut, 
 3ft ber iptmmel ; 
 Sag ift nidjt be 
 \ 28e(d) etitmmel 
 Strafeen auf ! 
 Sampf toaUt auf ! 
 ftlacfernb ftetgt bie $euerfaute, 
 Surd) ber (Strafce lange geile 
 2Bac$ft eg fort mit SBinbe^etle; 
 ^od)enb, tote ait Dfen 3iact?m, 
 liibn bie Siifte, Salfen frac^cn r 
 ^foften fturjen, ft-enfter flirren, 
 iltnber jammern, Gutter irren, 
 X^iere toimmem 
 llnter ^riimmern ; 
 
 rennet, rettet, fliid^tet, 
 ift bie S 3iac^t gelid)tet; 
 
 ber finbe lange 
 Urn bie SBette 
 ^Hegt ber Winter ; ^od^ itn 
 prtfcen QueUeit s Baffertoogen. 
 >eulenb fommt ber turtn geflogen, 
 25er bie ^(amme braufenb fud^t. 
 ^3raffelnb in bie biirre ^rud^t 
 ^ycillt fie, in beS S^eidier^ 5 
 ^n ber Barren biirre 
 Unb al topHic fie tin 
 Wit fid? fprt b^r @rbe 2Bud;t 
 SWeifsen in getoalt'ger 
 2Bad)ft fie in 
 ^Uefengrof? ! 
 
 ber Weni6 ber btterftdrJfe, 
 fieF;t er feme 2Qerfe 
 Unb behnmbernb unterge^en. 
 
 : - 
 
 Seergebrannt ; 
 
 3ft bie Statte, 
 
 2BiIber (Stiirme raufe Sette. 
 ^sn ben oben >yenfter^o^Ien 
 S5o^nt bno Qrauen, 
 Unb beg ftimmels 3Kolfen fatten 
 fyincui. 
 
 > 
 
 men ^8 ttcf 
 9iad> bent (Mrabe 
 Seiner .s>abe 
 
 Senbel nod; ber Dfenid; ^ttrndf 
 Wretft froMicf) bann aunt SBanberftaBe, 
 9BiS ^encr^ 33Bii*^ \bm and; geraubt, 
 Gin fit fecv Xroft ift t^m geblieben : 
 
He counts the heads of those he loveth, 
 And lo ! not one dear head is gone. 
 
 In the earth 'tis now reposing 
 Haply we the mold did fill; 
 Will the light, its form disclosing, 
 Thus repay our toil and skill ? 
 Should the casting crack ! 
 Should the matrix break ! 
 Ah, perhaps, while hope is glowing, 
 Its bad work 's already showing. 
 
 To earth's dark womb, our hopes pos 
 
 sessin,^, 
 
 Coiiiide we what our hands have done, 
 As trusts the sower the seed he's sown, 
 And hopes 'twill bloom into a blessing, 
 And bless him, then, as heaven has shown. 
 Yet costlier seed, in sorrow sowing, 
 We trembling hide in earth's dark womb, 
 And hope that from the coffin, growing, 
 A fairer form will sometime bloom. 
 
 From the steeple 
 Sad and strong, 
 Th' bell is tolling 
 
 A fun'ral song. [ing 
 
 Sad and slow its mournful strokes attend- 
 Some poor wand rer tow'rds his last 
 home wending. 
 
 Ah ! the wife it is, the dear one; 
 Ah! it is the faithful mother, 
 Whom the Prince of Shades, unheeding, 
 From the husband's arms is leading, 
 From the group of children there, 
 Whom she blooming to him bare; 
 On whose breast saw, maid and boy, 
 Growing with maternal joy. 
 Ah ! the household ties so tender, 
 Sundered are forevermore; 
 Gone into the realm of shadows 
 She who ruled this household o'er. 
 Now her faithful reign is ended, 
 She will need to watch no more; 
 In the orphaned place there ruleth 
 A stranger, loveless evermore. 
 
 'Till the bell be rightly cooled, 
 Let us rest from toil severe. 
 As the bird 'mid foliage playeth, 
 So may each be blessed with cheer. 
 
 When stars twinkling come 
 
 With labor's duty done 
 Th' workman hears the vespers ringing. 
 Still to master care is clinging. 
 
 Homeward now, with joy attending. 
 Far in forest wild the wand'rer 
 Towards his loved cot is wending. 
 Slowly home the sheep are winding. 
 And the cattle, 
 
 Broad-browed, gentle, sleek, assemlilin;?;. 
 Come in lowing, 
 Their accustomed places knowing. 
 
 @r jar/It bie g>cinter fritter Steben, 
 Hub fief; ! tfym f^lt fein ttyeured JjSaityt 
 
 3 n bie ub' ift'g aufgenommen;. 
 lucftid; ift bie $orm gefulit ; : 
 SBirb'S and) fcfyon 311 Sage fo,.ujten, 
 2)an eg fjleijj uub ihmft ttergtlt ? 
 
 2Beim ber fj mifjlang ? 
 
 SBenn bie $orm gerfprang? 
 2lcl;; triel(eid)t inborn iutr fyoffen, 
 .gat ung Unveil fd;on getroffen. 
 
 bunfeln cftoofe ber fyeil'gen rbe 
 Stertrauen nrir ber ibanbe t;at, / 
 s lvvTiraut ber antann feine oaat 
 ttnb ^offt, baf; fie entfcimen ioerbe 
 ,^um egen, nad; be )innnel 
 iilodj !oft(tc^)eren amen bergen 
 SBir tratternb in ber @rbe d^b 
 llnb Joffen, ba{5 er au be,n,<Sargen 
 
 n foil 311 fd;onerm 
 
 S5on bent 
 diiuer unb being, 
 %bnt bie lodce 
 rabgefang. 
 
 @mft begleiten il;re Xrduer fd;lage 
 (Sineit 2Banberer auf bent le^ten SKege. 
 
 3lc^ ! bie arttn tft', bte Retire, 
 Sid; ! e ift bie treue flutter, 
 Sie ber fc^ihjarse ^i;rft ber fatten 
 Segfii^rt au^ bent Sinn beo atten r 
 2lu* ber jarten ^inber @u)aar, 
 2)te fie biii^ehb i^m gebar, 
 2)ie fie an ber treiien S3iaift 
 2Bad;jen fa^ mit 2)lutterlufi 
 21 d) ! beg i>,iuje^ garte Sanbe 
 @inb getoff auf intnterbar ; 
 2>enn fie too^nt im fatten fonbc, 
 ie be feaufeg ^hitter tuar ; 
 enn eg fe^lt tl;r treiieg SiBalU'n, 
 S^re <3orge iuadtt nid;t niebr ; 
 2(n toertuaifter tatte fd;.:Ucn 
 2Birb bie ^rembe, ticbelcer. 
 
 33i bie tocte ftc^ berh'tf/Iet, 
 Safu.bie ftrenge 2lrbeit ni^n. 
 2Gie im Saub ber $-o<jcl fpielet, 
 
 ) jeber giitlic^ t^un. 
 SSmn ber Sterne Si 
 Sebig aUer ^fli 
 
 ber 33urfc^> bi' ^ofper )d;'agcn; 
 s })ietfter ntu^ fic^) iinaia- -pliiijcn. 
 
 9Ruhter forbert feine @d;ritte 
 im n^ilben ^orft ber 
 ber lieben .Soeimat^utte. 
 jie^en ^eim bie c^af 
 llnb ber 9{inber 
 
 ^3reitgeftirnte, glftle c^aaren 
 ftommen britUcnb, 
 15 ie geivcf;nten Otalfc fiUIc::S. 
 
F tiled with grafn 
 
 Reels the wagon. 
 
 Heavy-laden, 
 
 Bright with leaves 
 
 OH golden sheaves 
 
 Garlands g1nee f 
 
 And the youngest of the reapers 
 
 Seek the dance, 
 
 Street and market g^row more silent; 
 
 Household inmates now are seeking 
 
 The chef ring glow of lighted tapers. 
 
 And closing tmvn-gfttea 'gain are creak- 
 
 Darkness ppr@a<f eth ["! 
 
 O'ef the landscape; 
 
 But the honest burgher dreadeth 
 
 Not the night, 
 
 Whteh alarm ta fvll spreadeth; 
 
 For the eye of Law keeps watch aright. 
 
 Holy Order,, rich In blessing, 
 Heaven's daughter, lightly pressing, 
 fttwfoth those f eqtialitation, 
 Firmly lays the town'i foundation, 
 Calls th<* savage from his wildness, 
 Bid* him live HI peace and mildness. 
 Into human httta ahe enters, 
 Aeqimintelh nil with gentle manner*, 
 And that' dearest band weaves 'round us 
 Which to Fatherland hath bound us. 
 
 In a cheerful obligation 
 Thousand busy hands unite, 
 And in burning agitation 
 Forces all are brought to light. 
 Master stirs, and workmen, alo. 
 When guarded well, in Freedom's cause, 
 Each rejoices in his station, 
 Defying those who break the laws, 
 Blessing is the prize of labor. 
 Work for burgher grace commands; 
 Kings are honored by their office, 
 Honored we by busy hands. 
 
 Peace, all-gentle, 
 Concord sweet, 
 Tarry, friendly, 
 Never from this place retreat f 
 May the day, too, ne'er be dawning, 
 When ruffian hordes of war, engaging, 
 Through this peaceful vale go raging; 
 When the heavens 
 Which, with evening's rosy flashes, 
 Softly beam, 
 
 Shall' towns and cities, in therr ashes, 
 Reflect the firelight's frightful gleam. 
 
 Instant break the mold to pieces, 
 It has now its part well borne, 
 That both heart and eye, del'ghted, 
 Mny behold the perfect form, 
 
 rawing the hammer, swing, 
 
 'Till the case shall spring. 
 For the bell, to sight appearing, 
 Must its outer shell be clearing. 
 
 SAh>er Bewtn . 
 
 qtowmn bt ogm, 
 
 ftornftefatat ; 
 
 ^unt ben 
 
 Sluf 
 
 Bie 
 
 ttnb ba$ une Sot! br ^nttter 
 
 SWatft unb Strafje toettai fKOar; 
 Urn be i^i^ 
 amt|wln Jt^f We . 
 Unb bai 6tabtt^or 
 ixbetfet 
 
 9m We 
 
 tDie bn 
 
 ba Huge 
 
 tvad 
 
 Dtrb'.tuna, 
 
 , bw bad Sletdfe 
 rei unb leic^t unb freubi^ binbet, 
 e bet 6t&btc ^au ^eATiinbet, 
 
 Don ben cnlben 
 n un^ejcU'gen SBilben, 
 in bet Sftenfdjen ^titten,. 
 br^tt ja faniften itten, 
 Unb ba t^euerfte br 8anbe 
 SBob, ben Xtiei> $utn Satartanbe t 
 
 Xaufenb ffetf/ge $anbe regen, 
 .^elfen fic^ in muntctm Sunb, 
 Unb in feuriflem Setuegen 
 Serben Uc Krafte funb. 
 BMfttt rQ^rt fic6 unb efctte 
 ^n ber ^reiOeit ktCgem 6<^u^ ; 
 Seber freut itc^ icuter Stettc, 
 SJietet bem Semester Xrui:. 
 Er&eit ift be SitrgetS gicr 
 egeit ift bet- SWiibe 
 (SBrt ben ^onig 
 ber 
 
 (? intrant, 
 
 .fl&er bicfer tabt f 
 me bcr ^ag etfc^cinen, 
 
 ^;eie ftitte X^at burc&tobcu, 
 
 So ber imrne(, 
 
 2}eit be 2lDenbS> fanfte ??otr 
 
 Sicbltd^ malt, 
 
 9?pn ber 2>orfer, feon bcr tcibfe 
 
 Sfiilbein Sfranbe fc^retflicl) ftrafitt f 
 
 vec^t mir fea& (SJebft^?, 
 Seine &bfid)t I;at'^ crfttttt, 
 Saf? m >erj unb Sfu^e fcocibe 
 s Jln bem fco^lgefBngtittti ^ilb. 
 
 ben Sanunr, [d)rvi irtt. 
 ' 
 
 : r-3enn bie $Hocf foU cmferftefcen, 
 i vlu& bie ^ormht *'"-* *-- 
 
The master, with judicious training, 
 Knows when 'tis best to break the mold; 
 But woe! when streams of ore, all glowing, 
 Rush unchecked from out their hold! 
 Blind raging, like the thunder's crashing, 
 It bursts its fractured bed of earth, 
 As if from out hell's jaws, fierce flashing, 
 It spewed its flaming ruin forth. 
 
 Where forces rude are madly reigning, 
 There can no perfect form be framing; 
 When nations would themselves be free- 
 ing, 
 The common weal will soon be fleeing. 
 
 Woe, when in the heart of cities 
 The smouldering embers heaped-up lie, 
 When the people, fetters bursting, 
 Help themselves with savage cry ! 
 Rebellion, at the bell's strong cable, 
 Sendeth out a howling sound; 
 Though consecrate to peace and quiet, 
 The tocsin rings the signal round. 
 
 " Equal' ty and Freedom !" men are 
 
 shrilling, 
 
 To arms the peaceful burghers fly, 
 The streets and halls with crowds are 
 
 filling, 
 
 And murd'rous bands around there hie. 
 Then women, to hyenas turning, 
 'Mid horrors mock and jeer and jest, 
 And tear, with panther's frenzy burning, 
 The heart from every hostile breast. 
 There's naught that's sacred more, for 
 
 breaking 
 
 Are all the bonds of pious fear ? 
 The bad the good one's place is taking, 
 Vice knows no law in its career. 
 'Tis dangerous to wake the lion, 
 Destructive is the tiger's tooth, 
 But far more fierce, and far more fiendish, 
 Deluded man bereft of ruth. 
 Woe to them who lend the sightless 
 The heavenly torch to light the way ! 
 It guides them not. it can but kindle, 
 And towns and lands in ashes lay. 
 
 Joy to me now God hath given ! 
 See ye ! like a golden star, 
 From the shell all bright an.d even, 
 Comes the metal kernel clear. 
 
 Bright the molten stream 
 
 Plays like sunny beam. 
 Lik wise on th' 'scutcheon, clearing, 
 Is the skillful work appearing 
 
 Come in, come in ! 
 Ye workmen all, the pit surrounding, 
 Baptize the bell ere it be sounding ! 
 CONCORDIA its name shall be 
 To heartfelt union and adoration 
 May it summon all the congregation. 
 
 $er Sfteifter fann bie $orm aer&redjcn 
 
 tuefye, lucim in ^lammenbadjen 
 2)a3 gliify'nbe 615 fid) ielbft befrett ! 
 $linbtt>uu)enb, rmt be* SonnerS $h-ad)en, 
 3erfprengt e ba$ gcborftne >au*, 
 ttnb hrie au offnein >bllenrad)en 
 J> eit eg SBevberben siinbenb au. 
 
 2Bo rofye tfrafte fumloS Urn (ten, 
 $a fann fid) lent ebilfr geftalten ; 
 SBenn ficfy bie SBblfer ielbft befretn, 
 2>a fann bie SQBofylfafyrt nid)t gebei^n. 
 
 , toenn fid? in bent dboofe bcr table 
 2)er j^euerjunber ftili g^auft, 
 3)a8 Sol!, gerreifjenb leine ^ette, 
 Sur igen^iilfe fc^recflid) greift ! 
 2)a jerret an ber locfe tvdngen 
 S)er 2lufru^>r, bafe fie ^eulenb fd}cCt 
 llnb, nur genjei^t ju ^riebenefidngen, 
 2)ie Soiling anftimmt jur eicalt. 
 
 unb IciA^eit ! ^ort ir n fatten; 
 S)er ru^tge SBitrger greift jur SBe^r, 
 2)ie tra^en fiillen fid), bie feallen, 
 Unb UQiirgerbanben jie^n uiu^er. 
 2)a icerben SBeiber j;u ^tjcinen 
 Unb treiben mit ntie^en 
 9?od) jutfenb, mil be ^a 
 3erretfjen fie be 
 9iid)t eilige ift me^r, e Ibien 
 id) alle Sanbe fvonimer <Sd;eu ; 
 
 2)er ute rainnt ben IJMafc bem 
 Unb alle Safter Junlten frei. 
 efa^rlid) ift', ben I'en su 
 SBerberblid) ift be Xigcvo 
 Sebod) ba id)recflid)fte ^ 
 5)a ift ber SJienid) in feinein 
 SQBe^ benen, bie bem Ghmgblinben 
 
 ie ftra^lt ifym nid)t, fie fann nur ji'mben, 
 Unb dfd;ert ta'bt' unb Sduber ein. 
 
 f^reube l^at mir ott g 
 e^et ! lvie ein golbner tern, 
 2lu ber ibiilie blanf nub ebon, 
 did'It ftd^ ber metallnc 5lcrn. 
 SSon bem 
 
 mie 
 
 nette d;ilbcr 
 Soben ben erfafyvnen 
 
 ^erein ! 
 efellen alle, id}IieBt ben 9lei$en, 
 
 bie lod ; e tanfenb iuei^en ! 
 o n c c v b i a foil iljv 9tame ietn. 
 nr Gintrad)t, ju ^rjinnipe 
 
 fie bie litbenbe ciuvuw. 
 
And this henceforth its calling be, 
 Whereto the master set it free! 
 High o'er this nether world of ours, 
 Shall it, in heaven's azure tent, 
 Dwell where the pealing thunder lowers, 
 And border on the firmament. 
 It shall, too, be a voice from heaven, 
 Like yonder starry hosts, so clear, 
 Who in their course extol their Maker, 
 And 9nward lead the wreath-crowned 
 
 year. 
 
 To earnest things and things eternal, 
 Devoted be its metal tongue, [pinions, 
 And, hourly, Time, with swift-winged 
 Will touch it as it flieth on. 
 Its tongue to Dest'ny 'twill be lending; 
 No heart itself, from pity free 
 Its swinging ever be attending 
 Life's changeful play, whate'etf it be. 
 And as the sound is slowly dying. 
 That strikes with such o'erpow'ring 
 
 might, 
 
 So may it teach that naught abideth, 
 That all things earthly take their flight. 
 
 And now employ the cable's power, 
 Raise the bell from out the ground, 
 That in its roomy, air-built tower, 
 It may reach the realms of sound ! 
 
 Higher, higher raise! 
 
 Now it moves, it sways! 
 To this city Joy revealing, 
 Be PEACE the first note of its pealing. 
 
 ttnb bie iet fortra i'u- ;8eruf, 
 2Bo$u ber iiJieifter fu erjrfjuf : 
 food? itbenn niebern tiTicnleben 
 oil fie im blcmen .piwmel^elt, 
 ' 
 
 tlnb grenjen an bie Steriieiuueit, 
 <5ofl erne <3ttmme Kin Don obcn, 
 2Bie ber eftirnc tyelle cb,aar, 
 >ie ttyren djbjrfer hxxnbelnb loberi 
 Unb fiifyren ba beMnjte xja^r. 
 ^ur eh)tgen unb crnftcn S)ingen 
 @ei i^>r metaUncr 9Jhmb geieil;t, 
 Unb ftiinblicf) mtt ben fd)nellen 3rf; 
 33eru^c' im ftiuvp fie bie 3t. 
 2)em d)tcffal let:/e fie bie 
 e I b ft fyerjloe, o(;n 
 33eflleite fie mtt ibreai 
 
 . 
 
 tlnb it)ie ber-^tang im C^r uergebet, 
 S)er mdd;tig tbnen? if^r cnt^aUt, 
 (So left, re fie, ban n f^ti b^ftc'et, 
 ' 
 
 mtt ber ^raft bc , 
 
 iegt bie CJIocf 1 mtr au ber ruft, 
 >a| fie in ba 9ieid; bc8 ^(a"" 
 tetge, in bie imineBUtft ! 
 
 ticket, jie^et, bebt ! 
 ie beivegt fid), fcbmebt. 
 greube biefer tabt bebeute, 
 r t e b e fei if; r erft clautc. 
 
Sefynfucfyt Tl)e Longing, 
 
 SCHILLER. 
 
 Ach, aus dieses Thales Griinden, 
 Die der kalte Nebel driickt, 
 Konnt' ich doch den Ausgang finden, 
 Ach, wie fiihlt' ich mich begliickt ! 
 Dort erblick' ich -schone Hiigel, 
 Ewig jung nnd ewig griin ! 
 Hatt' ich Schwingen, hatt' ich Fliigel, 
 Nach den Hiigeln zog ich hin. 
 
 Harmonieen her' ich klingen, 
 
 Tone siissef Himmelsruh, 
 
 Und die leichten Winde bringen 
 
 Mir der Du'fte Balsam zu. 
 
 Gc Idne Friichte seh' ich gliihen, 
 
 Winkend zWischen dunkelm Laub, 
 
 Und die Blumen, die cjprt bluhen, 
 
 Werden keines Winters Raiib. 
 
 Ach. wie schon muss sich's ergehen 
 Dort irn ewigen Sonnenschein, : 
 Und die Luft auf jenen Hohen 
 O, wie labend muss sie sein ! 
 Doch mir wehrt des Stromes Toben, 
 Der ergrimmt dazwischen braust; 
 Seine Wellen sincl gehoben, 
 Dass die Seele mir ergraust. 
 
 Einen Nachen seh' ich schvvanken, 
 Aber, ach! der Fii,hrmann fehlt. 
 Frisch hinein und ohne Wanken ! 
 Seine Segel sind beseelt. 
 Du musst glauben. du musst wagen, 
 I 'enn die Gutter liehn kein Pfand ; 
 Nur ein Wunder kann dich tragen 
 In das schone Wunderland. 
 
 Alas! from out this lowly valley, 
 Which the chilly mists oppress, 
 Could I but the path discover, 
 Fill'd I'd be with happiness! 
 There I see yon lovely mountains, 
 Ever young, and green all o'er ! 
 Had I wings, yea, had I pinions 
 To the mountains would I soar. 
 
 Harmonies do I hear ringing, 
 Tones of heavenly rest and calm, 
 And the gentle winds are bringing 
 Wealth to me of odorous balm. 
 i Golden fruits, too, see Iglowing, 
 Glinting 'tween the dark green spray, 
 And the flowers, there now blooming, 
 Are no food for Winter's prey. 
 
 
 | Ah ! in sunshine never ending 
 It were sweet to wander free, 
 And the air on yonder mountain- 
 How refreshing it must be ! 
 But an angry stream confronts me, 
 Torrents 'twixt us furious roll, 
 Billows heave with dreadful menace. 
 Striking terror to my soul. 
 
 See ! there comes a reeling shallop, 
 But alas ! no pilot's there ! 
 Enter in it without wav'ring ! 
 ! illed are all its sails with air. 
 Thou must trust, must something venture, 
 Tho gods to others pledge give ne'er ; 
 Naught but wonder can convey thee 
 To the Wonde land, so fair 
 
-10- 
 
 Der 2llpen=3ager. Tl>e Alpine Hunter, 
 
 SCHILLER. 
 
 Willst du nicht das Lammlein hiiten ? 
 Lammlein ist so fromm und sanft, 
 Niihrt sich von des Grases Bliithen, 
 Spielend an des Baches Ranft. 
 "Mutter, Mutter, lass mich gehen, 
 "Jagen nach des Berges Hohen !" 
 
 Willst du nicht die Heerde locken 
 Mit des Homes munterm Klang? 
 Lieblich tont der Schall der Glocken 
 In des Waldes Lustgesang : 
 "Mutter, Mutter, lass mich gehen, 
 "Schweifen auf den wildea Hohen !" 
 
 Willst du nicht der Bliimlein warten, 
 Die im Beete freundlich stehn ? 
 Draussen ladet dich kein Garten ; 
 Wild ist s auf den wilden Hoh'n ! 
 "Lass die Bliimlein lass sie bliihen ! 
 "Mutter, Mutter, lass mich ziehen !" 
 
 Und der Knabe ging zu jagen, 
 Und es treibt und reisst ihn fort, 
 Rastlos fort mit blindem VVagen 
 An des Berges finstern Ort ; 
 Vor ihm her mit Windesschnelle 
 Flieht die zitternde Gazelle. 
 
 Auf der Felsen nackte Rippen 
 Klettert sie mit leichtem Schwung, 
 Durch den Riss gespaltner Klippen 
 Tragt sie der gewagte Sprung : 
 Aber hinter ihr verwogen 
 Folgt er mit dem Todesbogen. 
 
 Jetzo auf den schroffen Zinken 
 Hiingt sie auf dem hochsten Grat, 
 Wo die Felsen jah versinken, 
 Und verschwunden ist der Pfad. 
 Unter sich die steile Hohe, 
 Hinter sich des Feindes Niihe. 
 
 Mit des Jammers stummen Blicken 
 Fleht sie zu dem harten Mann, 
 Fleht umsonst, denn loszudriicken, 
 Legt er schon den Bogen an ; 
 Plotzlich aus der Felsenspalte 
 Tritt der Geist, der Bergesalte. 
 
 Und mit seinen Gotterhanden 
 Schiitzt er das gequiilte Thier. 
 "Musst du Tod und Jammer senden,' 
 Ruft er, "bis herauf zu mir ? 
 "Raum fiir Alle hat die Erde ; 
 ''Was verfolgst du meine Heerde?" 
 
 Wilt thou not the lamb be heeding? 
 Mild and innocent its look; 
 Browsing on the blooming meadow, 
 Playing by the babbling brook ; 
 "Mother, mother, let me fly 
 "Hunting on the mountain high !" 
 
 Wilt thou not the herds be 'luring 
 With the bugle's tones of cheer? 
 Charming sounds from bells commingle 
 With the woodland songs so clear. 
 "Mother, mother, roaming. I, 
 "Would to yonder mountain hie !" 
 
 Wilt thou please attend the flower, 
 In its bed so sweet and bright ? 
 Garden none without, nor bower, 
 Wild 'tis on the mountain height. 
 "Let the flowers bloom and blow ! 
 "Mother, mother, let me go !" 
 
 And the boy went to the mountain, 
 And heedless, both of time and place, 
 With blinded zeal that knows no resting 
 Thro' gloom he strides with rapid pace ; 
 Like the wind from put the dell, 
 Panting, flies the swift gazelle. 
 
 On the rocky verge she climbeth 
 With an easy, graceful swing, 
 O'er the clefted rocks she leapeth 
 With a swift and fearless spring : 
 But behind her speeds the foe 
 Recklessly with deadly bow. 
 
 See how o'er the rock-ribbed summit 
 Hangs she, on the topmost height, 
 Where the crags sink so abruptly, 
 And the path is lost to sight. 
 Under her the precipice, 
 Close behind the foeman is. 
 
 At this man of stone she glances 
 With silent looks so full of woe, 
 But in vain ; for he is ready 
 To let his deadly arrow go. 
 Instant from his cavern doors 
 Th' ancient mountain spirit soars. 
 
 And with godlike hand he guarded 
 This tortured creature from the foe. 
 "To my house must you be sending 
 "Death's darts," cried he, "and lasting 
 "Room on earth for every one, [woe ? 
 "Why not let my flocks alone?" 
 
II- 
 
 in 5efte Burg. A Rod^ound Fortress. 
 
 MAETIN LUTHER. 
 
 Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott, 
 
 Ein' gute Wehr und VVaffen. 
 
 Er hilft uns frei aus aller Noth, 
 
 Die uns jetzt hat be-roffen. 
 
 Der alt' bose Feind 
 
 Mit Ernst er's jetzt meint ; 
 
 Gross' Macht und viel List, 
 
 Sein' grausam' Riistung ist, 
 
 Auf Erd'n ist nicht sein's Gleichen. 
 
 Mit unsrer Macht ist nichts gethan, 
 
 Wir sind gar bald verloren ; 
 
 Es streit't fur uns der rechte Mann, 
 
 Den Gott hat selbst erkoren. 
 
 Fragst du, wer Der ist ? 
 
 Er heisst Jesus Christ, 
 
 Der Herr Zebaoth, 
 
 Und ist kein andrer Gott ; 
 
 Das Feid muss Er behalten. 
 
 Und wenn die Welt voll Teufel war 
 Und wollt uns gar verschlingen, 
 So furchten wir uns n'cht so sehr, 
 Es soil uns doch gelingen. 
 Der Fiirst dieser Welt, 
 Wie sau'r er sich stellt, 
 Thut er uns doch nichts ; 
 Das macht. er ist gericht't, 
 Ein Wortlein kann ihn fallen. 
 
 Das Wort sie soil en lassen stan 
 
 Und kein'n Dank darzu haben. 
 
 Er ist bei uns wo hi auf dem Plan 
 
 Mit Seinem Geist und Gaben. 
 
 Nehmer> sie den Leib, 
 
 Gut, Ehr, Kind und Weib ; 
 
 Lass fahren dahin, 
 
 Sie haben's kein'n Gewinn : 
 
 Das Reich muss uns doch bleiben ! 
 
 A rock-bound fortress is our God, 
 A good defense and weapon. 
 He helps us out of every need 
 That doth us press or threaten. 
 The old, wicked foe, 
 With zeal now doth glow ; 
 Much craft and great might 
 Prepare him for the fight, 
 On earth there is none like him. 
 
 With our own strength there's nothing 
 We're well nigh lost, dejected ; [done, 
 For us doth fight the proper One, 
 Whom God Himself elected. 
 Dost ask for His name ? 
 Christ Jesus the same ! 
 The Lord of Sabaoth, 
 The world no other hath ; 
 The field must He be holding. 
 
 And were the world with devils filled, 
 With wish to quite devour us, 
 We need not be so sore afraid, 
 Since they can not o'erpower us. 
 The Prince of this World, 
 In madness though whirled, 
 Can harm you nor me, 
 Because adjudged is he, 
 A little word can fell him. 
 
 This Word shall they now let remain, 
 No thanks therefor attending ; 
 He is with us upon the plain, 
 His gifts and spirit lending. 
 Though th' body be ta'en, 
 Goods, child, wife and fame ; 
 Go life, wealth and kin ! 
 They yet can nothing win : 
 For us remaineth th' Kingdom. 
 
 Du 23tft tPte <ine 23Iume. Tl)ou Art so 
 
 a Plover. 
 
 HEINE. 
 
 Du bist wie eine Blume, 
 
 So hold und sdion und rein ; 
 
 Ich schau dich.au und Wehmut 
 Schleicht mir ins Herz hinein. 
 
 Mir ist, als oh ic!i die Hiinde 
 Aufs Haupt air legen sollt', 
 
 Betend, dass dic'n Gott erhalte, 
 So rein und schon und hold- 
 
 Thou art so like a flower, 
 So pure and bright and fair ; 
 
 I gaze on thee, and sadness 
 Steals on me unaware. 
 
 I feel as if o er thee binding, 
 My hands should close in pray'r ; 
 
 Praying that God may protect thee, 
 And keep thee pure and fair. 
 
Dcs Knaben 
 
 . 5l)epl)erd 
 
 Mountain v5ong> 
 
 UHLAND. 
 
 Ich bin vom Berg der Hirtenknab, 
 Seh' auf die Schlosser all herab; 
 Die Sonne strahlt am ersten hier, 
 Am langsten weilet sie bei mir; 
 Ich bin der Knab vom Berge ! 
 
 Hier ist des Stromes Mutterhaus, 
 Ich trink' ihn frisch vom Stein heraus; 
 Er braust vom Fels in wildem Lauf, 
 Ich fang' ihn mit den Armen auf; 
 Ich bin der Knab vom Berge ! 
 
 Der Berg, der ist mein Eigenthum, 
 Da ziehn die Sturme rings herum; 
 Und heulen sie von Nord und Siid, 
 So iiberschallt sie doch mein Lied : 
 Ich bin der Knab vom Berge ! 
 
 Sind Blitz und Donner unter mir, 
 So steh' ich hoch im Blauen hier ; 
 Ich kenne sie und rufe zu : 
 Lasst meines Vaters Haus in Ruh ! 
 Ich bin der Knab v m Berge ! 
 
 Und wanndieSturmglock' einst erschallt, 
 Manch Feuer auf den Bergen wallt, 
 Dann steig' ich nieder, tret' ins Glied ; 
 Und schwing' mein Schwert, und sing' 
 
 mein Lied : 
 Ich bin der Knab vom Berge ! 
 
 I am the mountain shepherd boy, 
 The castles all below I see, 
 The sun's first glimpses here -ire seen, 
 And linger longest here with me; 
 I am the mountain boy ! 
 
 The torrent here its birthplace finds, 
 I drink from out its stony bed; 
 It frets and leaps and rushes down, 
 I catch it with my arms outspread; 
 I am the mountain boy ! 
 
 The mountain-height, this is my home, 
 ; ?ere sullen storms .round me '!y, 
 And howl they from north to south, 
 Still o'er them all you'll hear my cry : 
 I am the mountain boy ! 
 
 When thunders roll and lightnings flash, 
 Here stand I far above the storm ; 
 I know them well and quickly call : 
 "Protect my father's house from harm !" 
 I am the mountain boy ! 
 
 And when the tocsin once resounds, 
 And mountain fires blaze along, 
 Then I'll descend and join the throng, 
 And swing my sword, and sing my 
 
 song : 
 I am the mountain bov 1 
 
 Pie ^immelS'Cljrdtte. TI)e Crystal Tear. 
 
 Der Himmel hat eine Thrane geweint, 
 Die hat sich ins Meer zu verlieren ge- 
 
 meint, 
 
 Die Muschel kam und schloss sie em : 
 Du sollst nun meine Perle sein. 
 
 Du sollst nicht vor den Wogen zagen, 
 Ich will hindurch dich ruhig tragen ; 
 O, du mein Schmefz, du meine Lust, 
 Du I {immelsthau in meiner Brust ! 
 
 Gieb Himmel. dass ich in reinem Ge~ 
 
 miite, 
 Den einsten deiner Tropfen hiite. 
 
 The heavens -a crystal tear once shed, , 
 It sought its grave in the ocean's bed. 
 A shell enclosed ihe shining sphere : 
 My own dear pearl shalt thou be here. 
 
 Thou needst not fear the foam-flecked 
 
 billow, 
 
 My breast shall be thy peaceful pillow. 
 O thou, my grief! thou, my delight ! 
 A gem as pure as heaven's own light. 
 
 O Heav'n, let me guard with soulful 
 
 emotion, 
 Thy purest gifts with true devotion. 
 
13- 
 
 <s 
 
 Tl)e 
 
 From "Stadt und Land" A Comedy in Upper- Austrian Dialeft* 
 
 FREDERICK KAISER. 
 
 's Herz is a g'spassigs Ding, 
 
 Oft gar so sen war, oft gring, 
 
 Oft is so. miiuserlstill, 
 
 Oft hammert's wie a Miihl 
 
 Oft thut's am wohl, oft wieder schmerzen: 
 
 Drum glaub' i in mein' Sinn, 
 
 's sitzt was Lebendig's drin 
 
 Ganz tief im Herzen. 
 
 's kann sogar dischkariern, 
 
 Mitan a dischbadiern ; 
 
 I hans oft gar nit g'fragt 
 
 Und 's hat mir do was g'sagt. 
 
 Das thut am kruseln so und schlagen, 
 
 's sein kani Worter zwar, 
 
 's redt aber deutli klar, 
 
 's thut am Alles sagen 
 
 Und nur durch's Schlagen. 
 
 Jetzt Mancher sagt : O mein ! 
 
 Wie kann das mogli sein ? 
 
 Der plauscht sich selber an, 
 
 A bissel g'spiirt er's schon, 
 
 Er mag sich d' Wahrheit selbst nit sagen, 
 
 Do hilfts nit g'schamig sein, 
 
 Der droben schaut hinein, 
 
 Dos thut dos Schlagen 
 
 Am Jeden sagen. 
 
 's gibt Viel, dos gar nit hor'n, 
 
 Warm d' Schlag rebellisch wern, 
 
 Bei do is Herz ganz weg, 
 
 Is nit am rechten Fleck. 
 
 Und erst ganz spat in alten Tagen 
 
 Dan g'spiirn sie's zentnerschwar 
 
 Was friiher war ganz laar 
 
 In alten Tagen 
 
 Thut's weh dos Schlagen. 
 
 Woher dos Schlagen kiimmt, 
 
 Das wass ma halt mit b'stimmt. 
 
 I man und bild mir ein, 
 
 's wird unser Schutzgeist sein, 
 
 Der thut nit seinen Flugerln schlagen, 
 
 Und wann ma genga drauf, 
 
 Tragt er die Seel hinauf, 
 
 Thut fur an Jeden 
 
 Da drobnet reden. 
 
 The heart is a curious thing, 
 Oft sad, oft light of wing, 
 Oft, mouse-like, 'tis so still, 
 Oft hammers like a mill 
 Oft pleasure gives, with pain returning ; 
 Therefore do I believe, 
 Something in it doth live- 
 So deep its yearning. 
 
 Discourse it e'en can do, 
 
 Dispute with oneself, too ; 
 
 Oft have I nothing sought, 
 
 Yet me its answer brought. 
 
 Inspired it was with fear, and beating; 
 
 No words employed to teach, 
 
 And yet how clear its speech ; 
 
 ft tells one everything 
 
 Only by beating. 
 
 Now, many a one will cry : 
 
 How can this be ? Oh my ! 
 
 Deceive himself may he, 
 
 And quickly felt 'twill be; 
 
 From himself may he the truth be keeping, 
 
 Ashamed, no help 'twill be, 
 
 Within the heart sees He ; 
 
 This does the beating, 
 
 To each one speaking. 
 
 There are some who fail to hear 
 When the beats rebellious are ; 
 With such the heart's quite gone, 
 At th' right place there is none. 
 And not till late in life, that's fleeting, 
 They feel a weight so sore 
 Where naught had been before ; 
 As age is fleeting 
 It pains, this beating. 
 
 From whence these beatings come 
 
 Exactly knows no one ; 
 
 It must, I think, you'll see, 
 
 Our guardian-angel be, 
 
 That with his snow-white wings is beating; 
 
 And when life's end we mourn, 
 
 The soul's by him upborne, 
 
 For each good's seeking 
 
 Above he's pleading. 
 
14- 
 
 Hacf? mem 2llten Ckbe. After An Old 5 on 9'* 
 
 JACOBI. 
 
 Sagt, wo sind die Veilchen bin, 
 Die so freudig gliinzten, 
 Und der Blunien Konigin 
 Ihren Weg bekriinzten ? 
 "Jiingling, ach ! der Lenz entflieht ; 
 "Diese Veilchen sind verbliiht." 
 
 Sagt, wo sind die Rosen bin, 
 Die wir singend pfliickten, 
 Als sich Hirt und Schiiferin 
 Hut und Busen schmiickten ? 
 "Miidchen. acb ! der Sommer flieht ; 
 Diese Rosen sind verbliiht." 
 
 Fiihre denn zum Biichlein mi h, 
 Das die Veil hen triinkte, 
 Das mit leisem Murmelm sich 
 In die Thiiler senkte. 
 "Luft und Sonne gliihten sehr ! 
 "Jenes Biichlein ist nicht mehr." 
 
 Bringe denn zur Laube mich, 
 Wo die Rosen standen, 
 Wo in treuer Liebe sich 
 Hirt und Miidchen fanden. 
 "Wind und Hagel stiirmten sehr ; 
 "Jene Laube griint nicht mehr." 
 
 Sagt, wo ist das Miidchen hin, 
 Das. weil ich's erblickte, 
 Sich mit demuthvollem Sinn 
 Zu den Veilchen biickte ? 
 "Jiingling ! alle Schonheit flieht ; 
 "Auch das MJidchen ist verbliiht." 
 
 Sagt, wo ist der Sanger hin, 
 Der auf bunten Wiesen 
 Veilchen, Ros' und Schaferin, 
 Laub und Bach gepriesen ? 
 "Madchen, unser Leben flieht ; 
 "Auch der Sanger ist verbliiht." 
 
 Say, whither have th' violets gone, 
 
 That erst shone serenely, 
 
 And that made a pathway bright 
 
 For the rose so queenly? 
 
 "Gentle youth ! the spring has fled, 
 
 "And the violets now are dead." 
 
 Say, where have the roses gone 
 Which we plucked at morning, 
 Shepherdess and shepherd deck'd, 
 Hat and breast adorning ? 
 "Maiden dear ! the summer's fled, 
 "And the roses, too, are dead." 
 
 Lead me where the violets 
 At the brook were drinking ; 
 Where i' the vale, too, murmuring, 
 The stream was gently sinking. 
 "Brightly glowed both sun and air, 
 "Th' brooklet is no longer there." 
 
 Lead me to arboreal shade, 
 
 Where, 'mid roses blooming, 
 
 Th' shepherd and his gentle maid 
 
 Notes of love were tuning. 
 
 "Wind and hailstorm raged with pow*r, 
 
 "Leafless now the shady bow'r." 
 
 Say, where has the maiden gone, 
 Who with meekness wending 
 'M<>ng the flow'rs, observed I there 
 O'er the violets bending ? 
 "Gentle youth ! all beauty dies ; 
 "Dead there, too, the maiden lies." 
 
 Say, where has the singer gone, 
 Who, 'mid the meadow's flowers, 
 Sang of roses, violets, too, 
 Of maidens, brooks and bowers ? 
 "Maiden, list I our lives flee 'way, 
 "Silent now the singer's lay." 
 
 IDanberer's 
 
 Wander er's Ntgl)t 5 
 
 GOETHE. 
 
 Ueber alien Gipfeln 
 
 Ist Ruh, 
 In alien Wipfeln 
 
 Spiirest du 
 Kaum einen Hauch. 
 
 Die Voglein schweigen im Walde, 
 
 Warte nur, balde 
 Ruhest du auch. 
 
 Over every summit 
 
 There's rest ; 
 Scarce e'en a zephyr 
 
 Th' woodland's crest 
 Wafteth to thee. 
 
 The birdlings are hushed in their song, 
 
 Only wait ! ere long 
 At rest thou It be. 
 
IDte 
 
 15 
 
 .As tl)e 
 
 HEINE. 
 
 Wie der Mond sich leuchtend driinget 
 Durch den dunkeln Wolkenflor, 
 Also taucht aus dunkeln Zeiten 
 Mir ein lichtes Bild hervor. 
 
 Sassen All' auf dem Verdecke, 
 Fuhren stolz hinab den Rhein, 
 Und die sommergriinen Ufer 
 Gliihn im Abendsonnenschein. 
 
 Sinnend sass ich zu den Fiissen 
 Einer Dame schon und hold; 
 In ihr liebes, bleiches Antlitz 
 Spielt' das rothe Sonnengold. 
 
 Lauten klangen, Buben sangen, 
 Wunderbare Frohlichkeit ! 
 Und der Himmel wurde blauer, 
 Und die Seele wurde weit. 
 
 Marchenhaft voriiberzogen 
 Berg' und Burgeri, Wald und Au; 
 Und das Alles sah ich gliinzen 
 In dem Aug' der schonen Frau. 
 
 [ As the moon with sudden brightness 
 Flashes through the clouds its light, 
 So through days almost forgotten 
 Comes a vision fair and bright. 
 
 On the deck we all were seated, 
 Proudly sailing down the Rhine, 
 And the banks, in summer verdure, 
 Glow'd in evening's sun, like wine. 
 
 At a lady's feet I sat me, 
 Fair her features to behold ; 
 On her pale and beauteous visage 
 Play'd the rosy sunlight's gold. 
 
 Lutes were sounding, youths were singing, 
 Festal joys held queenly reign; 
 And the sky grew more cerulean, 
 Fuller still the soul became. 
 
 Hill and castle, wood and meadow, 
 Pass'd like fairy visions bright ; 
 And the scene I saw reflected 
 In that lady's eyes of light. 
 
 Das 
 
 . Tl>e 
 
 HEINE. 
 
 Das Meer erglanzte weit hinaus, 
 
 Im letzten Abendscheine ; 
 Wir sassen am einsamen Fischerhaus, 
 
 Wir sassen stumm und alleine. 
 
 Der Nebel stieg, das Wasser schwoll, 
 Die Move flog hin und wieder ; 
 
 Aus deinen Augen liebevoll 
 Fielen die Thranen nieder 
 
 Ich sah sie fallen auf deine Hand, 
 Und bin auf's Knie gesunken ; 
 
 Ich hab' von deiner weissen Hand, 
 Die Thranen fortgetrunken 
 
 Seit jener Stunde verzehrt sich mein Leib, 
 Die Seele stirbt vor Sehnen; 
 
 Mich hat das ungiucksel'ge Weib 
 Vergiftet mit ihren Thranen. 
 
 Quite radiant was the distant sea 
 With evening's parting beams ; 
 
 By fisher's lonely cot sat we 
 In silence and in dreams. 
 
 The mists arose, the waters swelPd, 
 And gulls flew far and near ; 
 
 From out thine eyes, so full of love, 
 Dropp'd many a silent tear. 
 
 I saw them falling on your hand, 
 
 And sank upon my knee; 
 I drank from off thy snow-white hand 
 
 The tears you shed for me. 
 
 Since that sad hour I've pined away, 
 My soul with longing dies; 
 
 That wretched maid hath poisoned me 
 With her envenomed eyes. 
 
Zttein fjer3 tft am Htjetne. 1\^ Heart's on tl)e RI)ine. 
 
 WOLFGANG MUELLER. 
 
 Mein Herz ist am Rheine, im heimischen 
 
 Land! 
 Mein Herz ist am Rhein, wo die Wiege 
 
 mir stand, 
 Wo die Jjugend mir liegt. wo die Freunde 
 
 mir bliihn, 
 Wo die Liebste mein denket mit won- 
 
 nigem Gliihn, 
 O wo ich geschwelget in Liedern und 
 
 Wein : 
 Wo ich bin, wo ich gehe, mein Herz ist 
 
 am Rhein ! 
 
 Dich griiss ich, du breiter, griingoldiger 
 
 Strom, 
 Euch Schlosser und Dorfer und Stiidte 
 
 und Dom, 
 Ihr goldenen Saaten im schwellenden 
 
 Thai, 
 
 Dich Rebengebirge im sonnigen Strahl, 
 Euch Wiilder und Schluchten, dich Fel- 
 
 sengestein, 
 Wo ich bin wo ich gehe, mein Herz ist 
 
 am Rhein ' 
 
 Dich griiss ich, o Leben mit sehnender 
 
 Brust, 
 Beim Liede. beim Weinc, beim Tanze 
 
 die Lust, 
 Dich griiss ich, o theures, o wackres Ge- 
 
 schlecht, 
 Die Frauen so wonnig, die Manner so 
 
 recht ! 
 Eu'r Streben, eu'r Leben, o mog' es ge- 
 
 deihn : 
 Wo ich bin wo ich gehe, mein Herz ist 
 
 am Rhein ! 
 
 Mein Herz ist am Rheine, im heimischen 
 
 Land! 
 Mein Herz ist am Rhein. wo die Wiege 
 
 mir stand ; 
 Wo die Jugend mir liegt, wo die Freunde 
 
 mir bliihn, 
 Wo die Liebste mein denket mit won- 
 
 nigem Gliihn ! 
 
 O moget ihr immer dieselben mir sein ! 
 Wo ich bin w ich gehe, mein Herz ist 
 
 am Rhein ! 
 
 My heart's on the Rhine, in my own 
 
 native land ! 
 Where my cradle was rocked by a dear 
 
 mother's hand, 
 Where youth's pleasures lay, and where 
 
 friends bloom around, 
 Where th' heart of my love beats with 
 
 rapturous bound, 
 O where I have revelled in song and in 
 
 wine : 
 Wherever I wander, my heart's on the 
 
 Rhine ! 
 
 I greet thee, broad stream, in thy green- 
 golden flow, 
 
 Ye grain fields of gold in the valley 
 below, 
 
 Ye castles and hamlets and domes in the 
 sky! 
 
 Ye woods and ravines, and ye cliffs 
 tow' ring high, 
 
 Ye hills, too, all clad with the sun-illum'd 
 vine, 
 
 Wherever I wander, my heart's on the 
 Rhine ! 
 
 I greet thee, O life, and my heart yearns 
 
 for thee 
 In th' dance, in the cup, or the song's 
 
 merry glee, 
 My dearly loved race, these, my greetings 
 
 to you, 
 The maidens so bright, and the men 
 
 tried and true ! 
 Your struggles, your lives, may success 
 
 them entwine : 
 Wherever I wander, my heart's on the 
 
 Rhine ! 
 
 My heart's on the Rhine, in my own 
 
 native land ! 
 Where my cradle was rocked by a dear 
 
 mother's hand, 
 Where youth's pleasures lay, and where 
 
 friends bloom around, 
 Where th' heart of my love beats with 
 
 rapturous bound, 
 O may evermore these same treasures be 
 
 mine : 
 Wherever I wander, my heart's on the 
 
 Rhine ! 
 
-17- 
 
 (5ute Hadjt (iood Niglyt. 
 
 GEIBEL. 
 
 Schon fangt es an zu dammern, 
 Der Mond als Hirt erwacht 
 Und singt den Wolkenlammern 
 Ein Lied zur guten Nacht ; 
 Und wie er singt so leise, 
 Da dringt vom Sternenkreise 
 Der Schall ins Ohr mir sacht : 
 
 Schlafet in Ruh', schlafet in Ruh'! 
 
 Vpriiber der Tag und sein Schall ; 
 
 Die Liebe Gottes deckt euch zu 
 
 Alliiberall. 
 
 Nun suchen in den Zweigen 
 Ihr Nest die Vogelein, 
 Die Halm' und Blumen neigen 
 Das Haupt im Mondenschein, 
 Und selbst des Miihlbach's Wellen 
 Lassen das wilde Schwellen 
 Und schlammern murmelnd ein. 
 
 Schlafet in Ruh', schlafet in Ruh'! 
 
 Voriiber der Tag und sein Schall ; 
 
 Die Liebe Gottes deckt euch zu 
 
 Alluberall. 
 
 Von Thiir zu Thiire wallet 
 Der Traum, ein lieber Gast, 
 Das Harfenspiel verhallet 
 Im schimmernden Palast, 
 Im Nachen schlaft der Ferge, 
 Die Hirten auf dem Berge 
 Halten urns Feuer Rast. 
 
 Schlafet in Ruh', schlafet in Ruh'! 
 
 Voriiher der Tag und sein Schall ; 
 
 Die Liebe Gottes deckt euch zu 
 
 Alluberall. 
 
 Und wie nun alle Kerzen 
 Verloschen durch die Nacht, 
 Da schweigen auch die Schmerzen 
 Die Sonn' und Tag gebracht ; 
 Lind sauseln die Cypressen, 
 Ein seliges Vergessen 
 Durchweht die Liifte sacht. 
 
 Schlafet in Ruh\ schlafet in Ruh'! 
 
 Voriiber der Tag und sein Schall ; 
 
 Die Liebe Gottes deckt euch zu 
 
 Alluberall. 
 
 I The shepherd moon is waking 
 ' As day fades into night, 
 And to the clouds, his lambkins, 
 He sings a sweet "Good Night." 
 And as I hear him singing, 
 From stars come faintly ringing 
 A sound in accents light : 
 
 Slumber in peace, slumber in peace ! 
 
 All over the day and its sound ; 
 
 The Father's love will cover you all 
 Wherever found. 
 
 Now seeks within the branches 
 The bird its cosy nest, 
 The stately stalk and flower 
 Each bends its moonlit crest. 
 And e'en the brook's swift waters, 
 As bright as earth's fair daughters, 
 Submissive sink to rest. 
 
 Slumber in peace, slumber in peace ! 
 
 All over the day and its sound ; 
 
 The Father's love will cover you all 
 
 Wherever found. 
 
 Sweet dreams, like welcome guests, 
 Now go from door to door, 
 Within the glittering palace 
 Is heard the harp no more. 
 Around the campfire, nesting, 
 The shepherds now are resting, 
 Sleeps the boatman at his oar. 
 
 Slumber in peace, slumber in peace ! 
 
 All over the day and its sound ; 
 
 The Father's love will cover you all 
 
 Wherever found. 
 
 And as each glittering taper 
 
 Is extinguished through the night, 
 
 The pains which each day brings us 
 
 Now seem to take their flight 
 
 Soft airs through trees come stealing, 
 
 A bless'd, oblivious feeling 
 
 Pervades the balmy night. 
 
 Slumber in peace, slumber in peace ! 
 
 All over the day and its sound ; 
 
 The Father's love will cover you all 
 
 Wherever found. 
 
-18- 
 
 Und wo von heissen Thranen 
 Ein schmachtend Auge bliiht, 
 Und wo in bangem Sehnen 
 Ein liebend Herz vergliiht, 
 Der Traum kommt leis' und linde 
 Und singt dem kranken Kinde 
 Ein trostend Hoffnungslied. 
 
 Schlafet in Ruh', schlafet in Ruh'! 
 
 Vpriiber der Tag und sein Schall ; 
 
 Die Liebe GotteS deckt euch zu 
 
 Alliiberall. 
 
 Gut Nacht denn, all ihr Miiden, 
 Ihr Lieben nah und fern ! 
 Nun ruh' auch ich in Frieden, 
 Bis glanzt der Morgenstern. 
 Die Nachtigall alleine 
 Singt noch im Mondenscheine 
 Und lobet Gott, den Herrn. 
 
 Schlafet in Ruh', schlafet in Ruh'! 
 
 Vpriiber der Tag und sein Schall ; 
 
 Die Liebe Gottes deckt euch zu 
 
 Alliiberall. 
 
 And when the burning tear-drops 
 From languid eyes do start, 
 And when from anxious craving 
 No longer glows the heart, 
 With music nigh elysian, 
 To the sick child comes a vision, - 
 Sweet comfort to impart. 
 
 Slumber in peace, slumber in peace 1 
 
 All over the day and its sound ; 
 
 The Father's love will cover you all 
 
 Wherever fonnd. 
 
 Good night, then, all ye weary, 
 Ye lov'd ones, far and near ! 
 In peace I'll, too, rest sweetly, 
 Till the morning stars appear. 
 The nightingale is singing, 
 And to the Lord is ringing 
 Its praises sweet and clear. 
 
 Slumber in peace, slumber in peace ! 
 
 All over the day and its sound ; 
 
 The Father's love will cover you all 
 
 Wherever found. 
 
 Dineta. Vineta. 
 
 WILHELM MUELLER. 
 
 Aus des Meeres tiefem, tiefem Grunde 
 Klingen Abendglocken dumpf und matt, 
 Uns zu geben wunderbare Kunde 
 Von der schonen alten Wunderstadt. 
 
 In der Fluthen Schoos hina">gesunken 
 Blieben unten ihre Triimmer stehn ; 
 Ihre Zinnen lassen goldne Funken 
 Wiederscheinend auf dem Spiegel sehn. 
 
 UndderSchifTer, der den Zauberschimmer 
 Einmal sah im hellen Abendroth, 
 Nach derselben Stelle schifift er immer, 
 Ob auch rings umher die Klippe droht. 
 
 Aus des Herzens tiefem, tiefem Grunde 
 Klingt es mir, wie Glocken, dumpf und 
 
 matt, 
 
 Ach, sie geben wunderbare Kunde 
 Von der Liebe, die geliebt es hat. 
 
 Fine schone Welt ist da versunken, 
 Ihre Triimmer blieben unten stehn, 
 Lassen sich als goldne Himmelsfunken 
 Oft im Spiegel meiner Triiume sehn. 
 
 Und dann mocht ich tauchen in die Tiefen, 
 Mich versenken in den Wiederschein, 
 Und mir ist, als ob mich Engel riefen 
 In die aite Wunderstadt herein. 
 
 Out of ocean's depths profound resound- 
 ing. 
 
 Evening bells are ringing dull and faint, 
 Telling, in their wondrous revelations, 
 Of the wonder city, old and quaint. 
 
 'Neath the ocean's glittering bosom 
 
 sunken, 
 
 Ruins of that city still remain ; 
 Sparks of gold emitted from its turrets 
 Shine enmirrored on the glassy main. 
 
 And the sailor who, at evening twilight, 
 First beholds this magic sight appear, 
 Ever after steers his vessel thither, 
 Though the rocks around are threatening 
 here. 
 
 From the human heart's profoundest 
 
 soundings 
 
 Hear I tones like bells, so sad and low ; 
 Ah ! they seem to tell a wondrous story 
 Of the one it loved so long ago. 
 
 What a beauteous world beneath is 
 
 sunken, 
 
 Ruins of it all make up the scene ; 
 Oftimes golden gleams from heaven 
 
 glimm'ring 
 On the mirror of my dreams are seen. 
 
 Then into the ocean's depths descending, 
 Would I sink into those mirrored deeps, 
 And I seem to hear the angels calling 
 Down to where the wonder city sleeps. 
 
. 5ea Greeting. 
 
 Thalatta ! Thalatta ! 
 Sei mir gegriisst. du ewiges Meer ! 
 Sei mir gegriisst zehntausendmal 
 Aus jauchzendem Herzen, 
 Wie einst dich begriissten 
 Zehntausend Griechenherzen, 
 
 HEINE. 
 
 Thalatta ! Thalatta ! 
 I hail thee. thou everlasting Sea ! 
 Be thou greeted ten thousand times, 
 With rapturous emotion, 
 As once thou wert greeted 
 [ende. j By ten thousand Grecian hearts, [home, 
 
 Ungliickbekampfende, heimatverlang- Combating misfortune, and longing for 
 Weltberiihmte Griechenherzen. World-renowned, trustful, Grecian hearts. 
 
 Es vvogten die Flu ten, 
 
 Sie vvogten und t^rausten, 
 
 Die Sonne goss eilig herunter, 
 
 Die spielenden Rosenlichter. 
 
 Die auf escheucht- n Movenziige 
 
 Flatterten fort, lautschreiend, 
 
 Es stampften die Rosse, es klirrten die j 
 
 Schilde, 
 
 Und weithin erscholles wie Siegesruf : 
 "Thalatta ! Thalatta ! ' 
 
 Sei mir gegriisst, du ewiges Meer, 
 
 Wie Sprache der Heimat rauscht mir dein 
 
 Wasser, 
 Wie Traume der Kindheit sah ich es 
 
 flimmern 
 
 Anf deinem wogenden Wassergebiet, 
 Und alte Erinnrung erziihlt mir ;iufs netie 
 Von all dem lieben, herrlichen Spielzeug. 
 Von all den blinkenden Weihnachtsgaben 
 Von alt den roten Korallenbaumen 
 Goldfischchen, Perlen und bunten 
 
 Mucheln, 
 
 Die du geheimnisvoll bewahrst 
 Dort unten im klaren Krystallhaus. 
 
 O! wie oft hab' ich geschmachtet in oder 
 
 Fremde ! 
 
 Gleich einer welken Blume 
 In des Botankiers blecherner Kapsel 
 Lag mir das Herz in der Brust ; 
 Mir ist, als sass ich winterlange, 
 Ein Kranker, in dunkler Krankenstube, 
 Und nun verlass ich sie plotzlich, 
 Und blendend strahlt mir entgegen 
 Der smaragdene Friihling, der sonnen- 
 
 geweckte, 
 
 Und es rauschen die weissen Bb'itenbaume, 
 Und diejungen Blumen schauen mich an 
 Mit bunten, duftenden Augen, 
 Und es duftet und summt und atmet und 
 
 lacht 
 Und im blauen Him melsingen die Vog- 
 
 lein 
 Thalatta ! Thalatta ! 
 
 The billows were rolling, 
 
 Were roll ing and roaring; 
 
 The radiant sun soon cast o'er them 
 
 A floe d of roseate splendor; 
 
 The rising frightened trains of sea gulls 
 
 Fluttered away, loud screaming ; 
 
 The steeds they were stamping, the 
 
 armor was clanging, 
 And far it re-echoed like a victor's cry : 
 Thalatta ! Thalatta ! 
 
 I greet thee, thou everlasting Sea ! 
 
 Like sweet sounds from home is the rush 
 
 of thy waters ; 
 Like dreams of my childhood, see I the 
 
 glimmer 
 
 On thy billowy, watery world ; 
 A nd memories old seem to be telling anew 
 Of all the charming, beautiful playthings, 
 Of all the glittering gifts of Christmas, 
 Of all the trees of encrimsoned coral, 
 Gold fishes and pearls and colored sea- 
 shells, 
 
 Which thou dost so mysteriously keep 
 Down there in thy house of clear crystal. 
 
 O! 
 
 in 
 
 how much have I longed when 
 
 distant lands ! 
 i Like to a withered flower 
 I In a botanist's close-covered case of tin, 
 | Lay this sad heart in m breast ; 
 i Seemingly as if I had sat the winter long 
 A sick man in a darkened chamber, 
 And had now left it instantly. 
 And. blinded beaming before me 
 Comes emerald Spring, just waked by the 
 sun, [rustling. 
 
 And the white tree blossoms are gently 
 And the fair flowrets look at me 
 With colored, perfume-laden eyes, 
 Exhaling and humming, and breathing 
 
 and smiling ; 
 And in the blue heaven the birds are 
 
 singing 
 ! Thalatta ! Thalatta ! 
 
Da tapferes Riickzugherz ! 
 
 Wie oft, wie bitteroit 
 
 Bedriingten dich des Nordens Barbarin- 
 
 nen ! 
 
 Aus grossen, siegenden Augen 
 Schos en sie brennende Pfeile ; 
 Mit krummgeschliffenen Worten 
 Drohten sie mir die B-ust zu spalten ; 
 Mit Keilschrifthillets zerschlugen sie mir 
 Das Arme, betiiubte Gehirn 
 Vergebens hielt ich den Schild entgegen, 
 Die Pfeile zischten, die Hiebe krachten; 
 Und von des Nordens Barbarinnen 
 Ward ich gedriinkt bis ans Meer. 
 Das Hebe, rettende Meer, 
 Thalatta ! Thalatta ! 
 
 Thou brave, retreating heart ! 
 
 How oft, how bitter oft 
 
 Oppressed thee have the barbarous 
 
 northern dames ! 
 Four large and conquering eyes 
 Shot swiftly their arrows of fire; 
 With words both artful and polished 
 Threatened they my tender breast to 
 
 cleave; 
 
 With cuneiform letters fiercely they smote 
 My poor, my bewildered brain 
 In vain I held the shield against them; 
 The arrows hissed, the strokes swift 
 
 crashing came 
 
 And by the barbarous northern dames 
 Was I driven at last to the sea. 
 With a free breath I greet thee, thou sea! 
 Thou beloved, rescuing Sea. 
 Thalatta! Thalatta! 
 
 Die Spmnerin. Tl)e 
 
 voss. 
 
 Ich sass und spann vor meiner Thiir, 
 Da kam einjunger Mann gegangen, 
 Sein braunes Auge lachte mir, 
 Und rother gliithen seine Wangen. 
 Ich sah vom Rocken auf, und sann, [spann 
 Und sass verschamt, und spann und 
 
 Gar freundlich bot er guten Tag, 
 
 Und trat mit holder Scheu mir nuher. 
 
 Mir ward so angst ; der Faden br ?ch ; 
 
 Das Herz im Busen schlug mer hoher. 
 
 Betroffen kniipft' ich wieder an, 
 
 Und sass verschamt, und spann und spann. 
 
 Lie kosend driicket' er mir die Hand. 
 Und sch wur dass keine Hand ihr gleiche, 
 Die schonste nicht im ganzen Land, 
 AnSchwanenweiss' und Rund'und Weiche 
 Wie sehr dies Lob mein Herz gewann ; 
 Ich sass verschamt, und spann und spann. 
 
 Auf meinen Stuhl lehnt' er den Arm, 
 Und riihmte sehr das feinde Fiidchen. 
 Sein naher Miind, so roth und warm. 
 Wie zsirtli h haucht' er ; Susses Miidchen ! 
 Wie blickte mich sein Auge an ! 
 Ich sass verschiimt, und spann und spann. 
 
 I sat and spun before my door, 
 A youth came walking up the road ; 
 His deep brown eyes were full of glee, 
 His cheeks with crimson blu hes glowed. 
 From distaff I looked up at him, 
 Abashed, I did but spin and spin. 
 
 Quite friendly he his greeting made. 
 And closer came, with tim'rous grace. 
 I fri.-.htened grew ; the thread it broke 
 My heart it beat with quicker pace. 
 Perplexed I 'gain the thread tied on, 
 And sat abashed, and spun and spun. 
 
 Caressingly he pressed my hand, 
 
 And swore none could with it compare, 
 
 Not e'en the fairest in the land. 
 
 So white and round so soft and fair. 
 
 This lavish praise my heart soon won ; 
 
 I sat abashed, and spun and spun 
 
 He leaned his arm upon my chair, 
 And praised the fineness of the thread. 
 His rosy lips, so warm and near, 
 How softly -'Gentle maid !" they said. 
 His eyes they glanced like love's own sun ! 
 I sat abashed, and spun and spun. 
 
21 
 
 Indess an meiner Wange her 
 
 Sein schones Angesicht sich bnckte, 
 
 Begegnet' ihm von Ohngefahr 
 
 Mein Haupt, das sanft im Spinnen nickte. 
 
 Da kiisste mich der schone Mann 
 
 Ich sass verschivmt, und spann and spann. 
 
 Mit grossem Ernst verwies ich' ihm ; 
 Doch ward er kiihner stets und freier, 
 Unarmte mich met Ungestum, 
 Und kiissste mich so roth wie Feuer. 
 O sagt mir, Schwestern. sagt mir an : 
 War's moglich, dass ich weiter spann ? 
 
 As he towards my cheek bent down 
 His winsome face, so lovely grown, 
 And as my head kept nodding on, 
 His cheek so softly touched my own. 
 He kissed me then, this charming man, 
 Abashed I sat, the wheel still ran. 
 
 In earnest tones rebuked I him, 
 
 But, bolder grown, he came still nigher ; 
 
 Impetuously he clasped me now, 
 
 And kissed my cheeks as red as fire. 
 
 Oh, tell me sister, if you can, 
 
 Could you have kept on spinning then ;> 
 
 Der Knabe mit bent tt)unbet>f}orn. TI)e VToatl) and His 
 
 Wonder-Horn. 
 
 GEIBEL. 
 
 Ich bin ein lust'ger Geselle, 
 Wer konnt' auf Erden frohlicher sein ! 
 Mein Rosslein so helle, so helle, 
 Das tragt mich mit Windeschnelle 
 Ins bliihende Leben hinein 
 
 Trara ! 
 Ins bliihende Leben hinein. 
 
 Es tont an meinem Munde 
 
 Ein silbernes Horn von siissem Schall, 
 
 Es tont wohl manche Stunde, 
 
 Von Fels und Wald in der Runde 
 
 Antwortet der Widerhall 
 
 Trara ! 
 Antwortet der Widerhall. 
 
 Und komm' ich zu festlichen Tanzen, 
 Zu Scherz und Spiel im sonnigen Wald, 
 Wo schmachtende Augen mir glanzen 
 Und Blumen den Becher bekriinzen, 
 Da schwing' ich vom Ross mich alsbald 
 
 Trara ! 
 Da schwing' ich vom Ross mich alsbald 
 
 Suss lockt die Guitarre zum Reigen, 
 Ich kiisse die Madchen, ich trinke den 
 
 Wein ; 
 
 Doch will hinter bliihenden Zweigen 
 Die purpurne Sonne sich neigen, 
 Da muss es geschieden sein 
 
 Trara ! 
 Da muss es geschieden sein. 
 
 Es zieht mich hinaus in die Feme ; 
 Ich gebe dem fliichtigen Rosse den Sporn. 
 Ade ! Wohl blieb' ich noch gerne. 
 Doch winken schon andere Sterne, 
 Und griissend vertonet das Horn, 
 
 Trara ! 
 Und griissend vertonet das Horn. 
 
 I am a jolly good fellow, 
 
 Who could on earth well happier be ! 
 
 My palfrey's as light as a hind, 
 
 It carries me swift as the wind 
 
 Into a blooming life, you see 
 
 Trara ! 
 Into a blooming life, you see. 
 
 My lips intone with power 
 
 A silver trumpet of sweetest sound, 
 
 It lingers many an hour ; 
 
 From rock and wood and from bower 
 
 Comes back the echoing sound 
 
 Trara ! 
 Comes back the echoing sound. 
 
 And go I to feast and to dancing, 
 To sport and play, in sun-illumed wood, 
 Where fond, longing eyes look entrancing, 
 And garlands 'round beakers are glancing, 
 I quickly dismount, as I shold, 
 
 Trara ! 
 I quickly dismount, as I should. 
 
 Allures the guitar now the dancers, [wine, 
 I kiss the sweet maidens, I drink, too, the 
 But back of the branches, yet shining, 
 The purple-red sun is declining. 
 Then must I be gone in time 
 
 Trara ! 
 Then must I be gone in time. 
 
 It draws me 'way out in the distance, 
 
 I give to my fleet horse the spur, like a 
 
 thorn, 
 
 I'm loth from these joys to be shrinking, 
 But, see, other stars are now winking, 
 And greetings flow out of my horn 
 
 Trara ! 
 And greetings flow out of my horn. 
 
-22- 
 
 , u>ie tft's moglicl? bann. OI), On it Ever be ? 
 
 VOLKSLIED. 
 
 Ach, wie ist's moglich dann, 
 Dass ich dich lassen kann ; 
 Hab' dich von Herzen lieb, 
 
 Das glaube mir ! 
 Du hast das Herze mein 
 So ganz genommen ein, 
 Dass ich kein andre lieb', 
 
 Als dich allein. 
 
 Blau ist ein Bliimelein, 
 
 Das heisst Vergiss-nicht-mein; 
 
 Dies Bliimlein leg' ans Herz 
 
 Und denk an mich ! 
 Stirbt Blum' und Hoffnung gleich, 
 Sind wir an Liebe reich; 
 Dass sie stirbt nie bei mir, 
 
 Das glaube mir. 
 
 War' ich ein Vogelein, 
 Wollt ich bald bei dir sein, 
 Scheut' Falk und Habicht nicht, 
 
 Flog' schnell zu dir ! 
 S :hoss mich ein Jiiger tot, 
 Kiel ich in deinen Schoos ! 
 Siihst du mich traurig an, 
 
 Gern stiirb' ich dann ! 
 
 Oh, can it ever be 
 
 That I must part from thee ? 
 
 Thou art my heart's true love 
 
 This doubt not me. 
 Thou hast this heart of mine ; 
 It is so wholly thine 
 That I no other love 
 
 Save only thee. 
 
 Blue is a flow'ret, famed, 
 Forget me-not 'tis named; 
 Lay it upon thy heart, 
 
 And think of me ! 
 Though flower and hope may flee, 
 Yet rich in love are we ; 
 Believe 'twill never die, 
 
 But live for aye. 
 
 If little bird were I, 
 
 To thee I soon would hie, 
 
 I'd fear no falcon nigh. 
 
 But fly to thee. 
 If hit by huntsman's ball 
 Into thy lap I'd fall! 
 Should sorrow dim thine eye, 
 
 I'd gladly die. 
 
 Die Setenbe. Tl)e Prating One. 
 
 FRIEDRICH VON MATTHISON. 
 
 Laura betet ! Engelharfen h alien 
 Frieden Gottes in ihr krankes Herz, 
 Und wie Abel's Opferdiifte, wallen 
 Ihre Seufzer himmelwiirts. 
 
 Wie sie kniet, in Andacht hingegossen, 
 Schon, wie Raphael die Unschuld malt ! 
 VomVerklarungsglanze schon umflossen, 
 Der um Himmelswohner strahlt. 
 
 O sie fiihlt, im leisen, linden Wehen, 
 Froh der Hocherhabnen Gegenwart, 
 Sieht im Geiste schon die Palmenhohen, 
 Wo der Lichtkranz ihrer harrt ! 
 
 So von Andacht, so von Gottvertrauen 
 Ihre engelreine Brust geschwellt, 
 Betend diese Heilige zu schauen, 
 Ist ein Blick in jene Welt. 
 
 Laura's praying ! Angels' harps resound- 
 ing, " [send, 
 Peace to her poor, grieving heart doth 
 And. like Abel's offering, sweetly rising, 
 Do her sighs toward heav : n ascend. 
 
 As she kneels, outpouring her devotions, 
 Sweet, as Raphael paints pure innocence, 
 'Round her flows a light of heavenly 
 As from out celestial tents, [splendor. 
 
 O she feels, amid the gentle breezes, 
 Glad, indeed, for presence so divine ! 
 Sees, in spirit, th' palmy heights uplifted, 
 Where her radiant crown doth shine ! 
 
 So from trust in Him and from devotion, 
 Swelleth now her pure angelic breast ; 
 Praying, this holy one a vision seemeth 
 From the regions of the blest. 
 
-23- 
 
 IDanberscfyaft Wandering, 
 
 WILHELM MUELLER. 
 
 Das Wandern ist des Miiller's Lust, 
 Das Wandern ! 
 
 Das muss ein schlechter Miiller sein, 
 Dem niemals fiel das Wandern ein, 
 Das Wandern. 
 
 Vom Wasser haben wir's gelernt, 
 Vom Wasser ! 
 
 Das hat nicht Rast bei Tag und Nacht, 
 Ist stets auf Wanderschaft bedacht, 
 Das Wasser. 
 
 Das sehn wir auch den Radern ab, 
 
 Den Radern ! 
 
 Die gar nicht gerne stille stehn, 
 
 Die sich mein Tag nicht miide drehn, 
 
 Die Riider. 
 
 Die Steine selbst, so schwer sie sind, 
 Die Steine ! 
 
 Sie tanzen mit den muntern Reihn, 
 Und wollen gar noch schneller sein, 
 Die Steine. 
 
 O Wandern, Wandern, meine Lust, 
 O Wandern ! 
 
 Herr Meister und Frau Meisterin, 
 Lasst mich im Frieden weiter ziehn 
 Und Wandern. 
 
 Wandering is the miller's joy, 
 
 Wandering ! 
 
 He must a poor base miller be, 
 
 Who ne'er hath felt like wandering; free 
 
 TIT i . O *wj 
 
 Wandering. 
 
 From water have we learned it thus, 
 From water ! 
 
 This has no rest by day nor night, 
 Is wand' ring ever out of sight, 
 This water. 
 
 This dp we at the mill-wheels see, 
 The mill-wheels ! 
 
 They don't care to be standing still, 
 Nor weary they to turn the mill, 
 The mill-wheels. 
 
 The stones themselves so heavy are, 
 The stones are ! 
 
 They whirl and dance at lively rate, 
 And yet would like a swifter gait, 
 The stones would. 
 
 O wand'ring, wand'ring is my joy, 
 O wand'ring ! 
 
 O master and you, mistress, too, 
 Let me in peace depart from you, 
 And wander. 
 
 CeufoTu To Lecicon. 
 
 GLEIM. 
 
 Rosen pfliicke Rosen bluhn, 
 Morgen ist nicht heut ! 
 Keine Stunde loss enfliehn, 
 Fliichtig ist die Zeit ' 
 
 Trinke, kiisse ! Sieh, es ist, 
 Heut Gelegenheit ! 
 Weisst du, wo du morgen bist ? 
 Fleuschtig ist die Zeit ! 
 
 Aufschub einer guten That, 
 Hat schon oft gerent ! 
 Hurtig leben, ist mein Rath, 
 Fliichtig ist die Zeit ! 
 
 Gather roses while they bloom, 
 To morrow's not to-day ; 
 Ah ! the hours flee all too soon, 
 Time quickly speeds away ! 
 
 Fill up the glass, imprint a kiss, 
 The chance is here to-day ; 
 Knowst where thou'lt to-morrow be ? 
 Time quickly speeds away ! 
 
 He who a noble deed defers, 
 Will oft regret the day ; 
 Thy life enjoy, my counsel is, 
 Time quickly speeds away ! 
 
-24- 
 
 Hfyemsage A Rl>ine Tradition. 
 
 GEIBEL. 
 
 Am Rheim, am griinen Rheine, 
 Da ist so mild die Nacht, 
 Die Rebenhiigel liegen 
 In goldner Mondenpracht. 
 
 Und an den Hiigeln wandelt 
 Ein hoher Schatten her 
 Mit Schwert und Purpurmantel, 
 Die Krone von Golde schwer. 
 
 Das ist der Karl, der Kaiser, 
 Der mit gewalt'ger Hand 
 Von vielen hundert Jahren 
 Geherrscht im deutschen Land. 
 
 Er ist heraufgestiegen 
 Zu Aachen aus der Gruft, 
 Und segnet seine Reben 
 Und atmet Traubenduft. 
 
 Bei Kiidesheim, da funkelt 
 Der Mond ins Wasser hinein, 
 Und baut eine goldene Briicke 
 Wohl iiber den griinen Rhein. 
 
 Der Kaiser geht hiniiber 
 Und schreitet langsam fort 
 Und segnet liings dem Strome 
 Die Reben an jedem Ort. 
 
 Dann kehrt er heim nach Aachen 
 Und schliift in seiner Gruft 
 Bis ihn im neuen Jahre 
 Erweckt der Trauben Duft. 
 
 Wir aber full en die Romer 
 Und trinken im goldenen Saft 
 Uns deutsches Heldenfeuer 
 Uns deutsches Heldenkraft. 
 
 Along the Rhine's green waters 
 Resplendent is the night, 
 The vine-clad hills are glowing 
 Inth' moon's soft, silvery light. 
 
 And 'round the hill is wand'ring 
 A phantom tall and bold, 
 With sword and purple mantle, 
 And heavy crown of gold. 
 
 And this is Karl, the emp'ror, 
 He who, with mighty hand, 
 For many hundred years 
 Did rule in Fatherland. 
 
 Up from his tomb at Aachen 
 Did this tall phanton climb. 
 Inhaled the grapes' sweet perfume, 
 And blessed his growing vine. 
 
 At Riidesheim the moonbeams 
 On th' rippling waters glow, 
 A bridge of gold they're building 
 Across the Rhine's green flow. 
 
 The emp'ror passes over, 
 And slowly strides apace, 
 And blesses 'long the river 
 The vines at every place 
 
 He turns again towards Aachen, 
 
 Asleep falls in his tomb 
 
 Till he, in th' new year coming, 
 
 Is waked l>y the grapes' sweet bloom. 
 
 But yet we fill the beakers, 
 And, in the golden wine, 
 We drink to all our heroes, 
 Whose might and virtues shine. 
 
 tefc. Aorning 
 
 UHLAND. 
 
 Noch ahnt man kaum der Sonne Licht, 
 Noch sind die Morgenglocken nicht 
 Im finstern Thai erklungen. 
 
 Wie still des Waldes weiter Raum ! 
 Die Voglein zwitschern nur im Traum, 
 Kein Sang hat sich erschwungen. 
 
 Ich hab' mich Uingst in's Feld gemacht, 
 Und liabe schon dies Lied erdacht, 
 Und hab' es laut ge ungen. 
 
 Morn's rosy beams have not yet come, 
 The morning bells have not yet rung 
 The gloomy vale along. 
 
 How still the forest there doth seem, 
 The birds but warble in a dream, 
 Upsoared hath yet no song. 
 
 In fields of green I lingered long, 
 Already have composed this song, 
 And sang it loud and strong. 
 
. Evening v3ong. 
 
 RUECKERT. 
 
 Ich stand auf Berges Halde, 
 Als Sonn' hinunter gieng, 
 Und sah wie uberm Walde 
 Des Abends Goldnetz hieng. 
 
 Des Himmels Wolken thauten 
 Der Erde Frieden zu, 
 Bei Abendglockenlauten 
 Gieng die Natur zur Ruh. 
 
 Ich sprach : O Herz, empfinde 
 Der Schopfung Stille nun, 
 Und schick mit jedem Kinde 
 Der Flur dich auch, zur ruhn. 
 
 Die Blumen alle schliessen 
 Die Augen allgemach, 
 Und alle Wellen fliessen 
 Bessiinftiget im Bach. 
 
 Nun hat der miide Silfe 
 Sich unters Blatt gesetzt, 
 Und die Libell am Schilfe 
 Entschlummert thaubenetzt. 
 
 Es ward dem goldnen Kafer 
 Zur Wieg' ein Rosenblatt ; 
 Die Heerde mit dem Schiller 
 Sucht ihre Lagerstatt. 
 
 Die Lerche sucht aus Liiften 
 Ihr feuchtes Nest im Klee 
 Und in des Waldes Schliiflen 
 Ihr Lager Hirsch und Reh. 
 
 Wer sein ein Hiiettchen nennet, 
 Rubt nun darin sich aus ; 
 Und wen die Fremde trennet, 
 Den triigt ein Traum nach Haus. 
 
 Mich fasset ein Verlangen, 
 Dass ich zur dieser Frist 
 Hinauf niclit kann gelangen 
 Wo meine Heimat ist. 
 
 I stood upon the mountain 
 As the sun began to set, 
 And saw how o'er the forest 
 Hung evening's golden net. 
 
 The clouds of heaven bedewed 
 The earth with smiling peace ; 
 With evening's bells resounding 
 Came nature's sweet release. 
 
 Said I : "O Heart, behold thou 
 Fair nature's tranquil reign ; 
 Be thou at rest thyself, as 
 The children of the plain ! " 
 
 The flowers are all closing 
 Their eyes of gentle mien, 
 And every wave is flowing 
 Serenely in the stream. 
 
 O, see the sylph, so weary, 
 Beneath the leaf doth lie, 
 And on the serge, all dew-sprent, 
 Asleep 's the dragon fly. 
 
 To rock the golden beetle 
 
 A leaf waits on the rose ; 
 
 The flocks and their kind shepherd 
 
 Are seeking their repose. 
 
 The lark i' the air is looking 
 Its humid nest to find, 
 And in the forest seek they 
 Their bed, the roe and hind. 
 
 To such as own their cottage 
 Sweet rest doth gently come ; 
 While they who roam as wand'rers 
 Will dream of home, sweet home. 
 
 Regretful is my longing 
 That I cannot attain 
 My home above in heaven, 
 Where all is free from pain. 
 
GOETHE. 
 
 Sent den Felsenquell, 
 
 Freudehell 
 
 Wie ein Sternenblick ; 
 
 Ueber Wolken 
 
 Nahrten sein Jugend 
 
 Gute Geister 
 
 Zwischen Klippen im Gebiisch. 
 
 Jiinglingfrisch 
 
 Tanzt er aus der Wolke 
 
 Auf die Marmorfelsen nieder, 
 
 Jauchzet wieder 
 
 Nach dem Himmel. 
 
 Durch die Gipfelgange 
 Jagt er bunten Kieseln nach, 
 Und mit fruhem Fiihrertritt 
 Reisst er seine Bruderquellen 
 Mit sich fort. 
 
 Drunten werden in dem Thai 
 Under seinem Fusstritt Blumen, 
 Und die Wiese 
 Lebt von seinem Hauch. 
 
 Doch ihn halt kein Schattenthal, 
 
 Keine Blumen, 
 
 Die ihm seine Knie' umschlingen, 
 
 Ihm mit Liebesan&en schmeicheln : 
 
 Nach der Ebne dringt sein Lauf 
 
 Schlangenwandelnd. 
 
 Bache schmiegen 
 Sich gesellig an. Nun tritt er 
 . In die Ebne silberprangend, 
 Und die Ebne prangt mit ihm, 
 Und die Fliisse von der Ebne, 
 Und die Bache von den Bergen 
 Jauchzen ihm und rufen : Bruder ! 
 Bruder, nimm die Briider mit, 
 Mit zu deinem alten Vater, 
 Zu dem ew'gen Ocean, 
 Der mit ausgespannten Armen 
 Unser wartet, 
 
 Die sich, ach, vergebens offnen, 
 Seine Sehnenden zu fassen ; 
 Denn uns frisst in oder Wiiste 
 Gier'ger Sand ; die Sonne droben 
 Saugt an unserm Blut ; ein Hiigel 
 Hemmet uns zum Teiche ! Bruder, 
 Nimm die Bruder von der Ebne, 
 Nimm die Bruder von den Bergen 
 Mit, zu deinem Vater mit ! 
 Kommt ihr alle ! 
 
 See the rocky spring, 
 
 Bright and clear 
 
 As a twinkling star ! 
 
 O'er the clouds his 
 
 Tender youth was nourished 
 
 By good spirits, 
 
 'Tween the shrubby cliffs above. 
 
 Fresh with youth, 
 
 Out of the clouds he dances 
 
 'Pon the marble rocks below ; 
 
 His exultant song 
 
 He sends back to heaven. 
 
 Along the channels on the summit 
 Chases he the mottled pebbles ; 
 And with a leader's lofty tread 
 Convoys he all his brother streamlets 
 With him along. 
 
 In yonder valley far below, 
 Grow flowers in his footsteps, 
 And the meadow 
 Lives upon his breath. 
 
 But him holds no shady vale, 
 
 No blossoms fair, 
 
 Which 'round his knees are clinging, 
 
 And with loving eyes entreating : 
 
 Along the plain the current winds 
 
 Snake-like and slow. 
 
 Brooklets, too, wind 
 
 Socially along. Now runs he 
 
 O'er the plain like burnished silver, 
 
 And the plain his brightness sheds, 
 
 And the streamlets from the plain, 
 
 And the brooklets from the mountain, 
 
 Exult and cry to him : Brother ! 
 
 Take thy brothers with thee, 
 
 With thee, to thy aged father, 
 
 To the everlasting ocean, 
 
 Who, with outstretched arms is waiting, 
 
 Awaiting us 
 
 Arms with which, alas ! in vain 
 
 His longing ones he tried to seize ; 
 
 For on the waste the greedy sand 
 
 Devours us ; the sun above us 
 
 Sucks at our blood ; the mountain 
 
 Hems us into pools ! Brother, 
 
 Take thy brothers from the plain, 
 
 Take thy brothers from the mountain, 
 
 Take them to thy sire, O take ! 
 
 Come, come ye all ! 
 
-27- 
 
 Und nun schwillt er 
 Herrlicher ; ein ganz Geschlechte 
 Tragt den Fiirsten hoch empor ! 
 Und im rollenden Triumphe 
 Gibt er Liindern Namen, Stiidte 
 Werden unter seinem Fuss. 
 
 Unauthaltsam rauscht er weiter. 
 Lasst der Tiirme Flammengipfel 
 Marmorhiiuser. eine Schopfung 
 Seiner Fiille, hinter sich. 
 
 Cedernhiiuser tragt der Atlas 
 Auf den Riesenschultern ; sausend 
 Wehen iiber seinem Haupte 
 Tausend Flaggen durch die Liifte, 
 Zeugen seiner Herrlichkeit. 
 
 Und so triigt er seine Briider, 
 Seine Schatze, seine Kinder, 
 Dem erwartenden Erzeuger 
 Freudebrausend an das Herz. 
 
 And now swells he 
 
 Proudly ; a whole race of them 
 
 Bear their princely charge on high ! 
 
 And in triumph, rolling on, 
 
 Giving names to lands. Towns and cities 
 
 Spring up beneath his foot. 
 
 Resistlessly he rushes on, 
 Leaving flaming minarets and 
 Marble mansions creatures ot 
 His fullness all behind him. 
 
 Cedar-houses bears this Atlas 
 On his giant shoulders, Rustling, 
 Above his head a thousand flags 
 Do proudly wave all attesting 
 His majestic presence. 
 
 And so bears he all his brothers, 
 All his treasures and his children, 
 With enraptured emotion 
 To his waiting father's heart. 
 
 . Tl)e Duet. 
 
 REINICK 
 
 Im Fliederbusch ein Voegtein sass 
 In der stillen schonen Maiennacht, 
 Darunter ein Magdlein im hohen Gras, 
 In der stillen schonen Maiennacht. 
 Sang Magdlein, hielt das Voglein Ruh, 
 Sang Voglein, hort das Magdlein zu. 
 
 Und weithin klang 
 
 Der Zwiegesang 
 
 Das mondbegliintze Thai entlang. 
 Was sang das Voglein im Gezweig 
 Durch die stille schone Maiennacht ? 
 Was sang doch wohl das Magdlein gleich 
 Durch die stille schone Maiennacht ? 
 Von Friihlingssonne das Voglein, 
 Von Liebeswonne das Magdlein. 
 
 Wie der Gesang 
 
 Zum Herzen klang 
 Vergess' ich nimmer mein Lebenlang ! 
 
 In an elder-bush sat a bird quite small, 
 On a lovely, tranquil night in May, 
 And, beneath, a maid in grass so tall, 
 On a lovely, tranquil night in May. 
 The bird had rest when the maiden sang, 
 The maid gave ear when the bird s voice 
 
 And far along [rang 
 
 The duo song 
 
 Through the moonlit vale resounded long. 
 And what sang that bird on yonder limb 
 Through that lovely tranquil night in May? 
 And the maiden's song what did she sing 
 Through that lovely tranquil night in May? 
 The wee bird sang of Spring so bright, 
 The maiden sang of love's delight. 
 
 How that sweet song 
 
 My heart did throng 
 I will ne'er forget my lifetime long. 
 
 3m Hosenbusctj bte Ciebe Sdjlief. Love Asleep in a 
 
 HOFFMAN VON 
 
 Im Rosenbusch die Liebe schlief, 
 Der Friihling k im, der Friihling rief ; 
 Die Liebe horts die Lieb erwacht, 
 Schaut aus der Knosp' hervor und lacht, 
 Und denkt, zu zeitig mocht's bait sein, 
 Und schlaft drum ruhig wieder ein. 
 Der Friihling aber lasst nich nach, 
 Er kiisst sie jeden Morgen wach, 
 Er kps't mit ihr von friih bis spilt, 
 Bis sie ihr Herz geoffnet hat, 
 Und seine heisse Sehnsucht stillt, 
 Und jeden Sonnenblick vergilt. 
 
 FALLERSLEBEN. 
 
 Love sleeping lies in a rose-bush tall, [call, 
 Fair Spring hath come, and Spring doth 
 Love hears the song, and Love awakes, 
 Peeps out the bud, with laughter shakes, 
 And thinks it is too soon to rise, 
 And shuts again his peaceful eyes. 
 Fair Spring, howe'er, would not give way, 
 She waked him with a kiss each day. 
 Caressed him, too, from morn till night, 
 Until his heart was opened quite, 
 Until her longings were allayed, 
 And every sunbeam was repaid. 
 
-28- 
 
 Das parabies. Paradise, 
 
 RTIECKERT. 
 
 Das Paradies muss schoner sein 
 
 Als jeder Ort auf Erden, [darein, 
 
 Drum wiinscht mein Herz, recht bald 
 
 Recht bald zu werden. 
 
 Im Paradies muss ein Fluss 
 
 Der ew'gen Liebe rinnen 
 
 Und jede Sehnsuchtthrane muss 
 
 Sein eine Perle drinnen. 
 
 Im Paradiese muss ein Hauch 
 
 Der Schmerzenstillung wehen, 
 
 Dass jeder Schmerz, und meiner auch, 
 
 Muss aufgelost vergehen. 
 
 Da steht des Friedens kiihler Baum 
 
 Gepflanzt auf griinen Rliumen, 
 
 Und drunter muss ein stiller Traum 
 
 Von Ruh' und Gliick sich triiumen. 
 
 Ein Cherub an der Pforte steht, 
 
 Die Welt hinweg zu schrecken. 
 
 Dass auch zu mir ihr Hauch nicht geht, 
 
 Mich aus dem Traum zu wecken. 
 
 Da wird das monsche Schifi. mein Herz, 
 
 Geankert ruh'n im Hafen, 
 
 Das rege Wiegenkindlein Schmerz 
 
 Im Busen enalich schlafen 
 
 Fur jeden Dorn, der hier mich stach, 
 
 Wird sich die Rose finden, 
 
 Und Lust, die nie mir Rosen brach, 
 
 Wird sie urn's Haupt mir winden. 
 
 Dort werden alle Freuden Muh'n, 
 
 Die in der Knosp' 'nier starben, 
 
 Und werden wird ein Friihlings griin 
 
 Aus alien Todesgarben 
 
 Dort wird, was je mein Herz gesucht', 
 
 Mir still entgegentreten. 
 
 Vom griinen Zweig als goldne Frncht, 
 
 Als helle Blum aus Beeten 
 
 Die Wunsch' und Hoflnungen der Brust, 
 
 Wie Blumen aller Zonen, 
 
 Sie werden dort in stiller Luft 
 
 Um mich zusammen wohnen. 
 
 Die Jugend, die mit Fliigelschlag 
 
 An mir voriiberrauschte. 
 
 Die Liebe, die auf einen Tag 
 
 Mit Nektar mich berauschte. 
 
 Sie werden fluent und fliigellos, 
 
 Auf ewig mich umscherzen, 
 
 Mich halten wie das Kind im Schoss 
 
 Und ihren Liebling herzen. 
 
 Und jene Gottheit, deren Licht 
 
 Auf mich von fernher taute, 
 
 Und deren klares Angesicht 
 
 Ich nur in Thriinen schaute. 
 
 Die Poesie, als Geist der Welt 
 
 Wird hell sich mir entschleiern, 
 
 Wann hell sich Freimunds Lieb gesellt 
 
 Dem Chor der Sternenleiern. 
 
 O Paradise must fairer be 
 
 Than all earth's beauteous places, 
 
 My heart is stirred to be transferred 
 
 To share its heavenly graces. 
 
 In Paradise there runs a stream 
 
 Of love that's ever flowing ; 
 
 And every tear that doth appear 
 
 With pearly light is glowing. 
 
 And breezes blow in Paradise 
 
 To cool the heart's fierce fever ; 
 
 That each one's pain, nor mine remain, 
 
 Must pass away forever. 
 
 There stands so fair the tree of Peace, 
 
 On greenest spot 'tis planted ; 
 
 Beneath its shade, in slumber laid, 
 
 Lies one by visions haunted. 
 
 A cherub at the gateway stands, 
 
 And watchful guard is keeping, 
 
 Lest wordly din should enter in. 
 
 And rouse me from my sleeping. 
 
 And here my heart, that shattered bark, 
 
 Safe anchor will be keeping, 
 
 And restless Care, a nursling fair, 
 
 Will soon itself be sleeping. 
 
 For every thorn that me hath pricked, 
 
 A rose I will be finding, 
 
 And Joy, that naught the roses brought. 
 
 Will them round me be winding. 
 
 From dead buds there will brightly bloom 
 
 All pleasures here once cherished ; 
 
 And vernal bloom transformed be soon 
 
 From sheaves that long have perished. 
 
 And there just what my heart hath sought, 
 
 So silently discloses, 
 
 As golden fruit from tender shoot, 
 
 As from their bed the roses. 
 
 The hopes and wishes in my breast, 
 
 Like flowers from every quarter 
 
 Will bloom so fair in tranquil air, 
 
 And dwell with me thereafter. 
 
 Bright Youth that, in thy winged flight, 
 
 My years had swiftly captured ; 
 
 And Love, that, in a single day, 
 
 With nectar me enraptured, 
 
 Will both be wingless, flightless, too, 
 
 And ever play around me ; 
 
 And as you see, on mother's knee, 
 
 A child, so they will hold me. 
 
 That deity, whose distant light 
 
 On me was faintly gleaming, 
 
 Whose lovely face I could but trace 
 
 In tears, as I was dreaming ; 
 
 Fair i 'oesy, the world's great soul, 
 
 Will so n unveil its fires, 
 
 When clear and strong my joyous song 
 
 Will join celestial lyres. 
 
(Efegte. 
 
 MATTH [ SSON. 
 
 [/ den Ruinen Ernes Alien Bergschlosses 
 
 Gcschrieben. ] 
 Schweigend, in der Abenddiimmrung 
 
 Schleier, 
 
 Ruht die Flur, das Lied der Haine stirht ; 
 Nur dass hier im alternden Gemiiuer 
 Melancholisch noch ein Heimchen zirpt. 
 Stille sinkt aus unbewolkten Liiften, 
 Langsam zieh'n die Herden von den 
 
 Triften, 
 
 Und der miide Landmann eilt der Ruh 
 Seiner viiterlichen Hiitte zu. 
 
 Hier, auf diesen vvaldumkriinzten Hohen, 
 Unter Triimmern der Vergangenheit, 
 Wo der Vorwelt Schauer mich umwehen, 
 Sei dies Lied, O Wehmut, dir geweiht ! 
 Traurend denk' ich, was, vor grauen 
 
 Jahren, 
 
 Diese morschen Ueberreste waren : 
 Ein betiirmtes Schloss, voll Majestiit, 
 Auf des Berges Felsenstirn' erhoht. 
 
 Dort, wo um des Pfeilers dunkle Triim- 
 
 mer 
 
 Traurig fliisternd sich der Epheu schlingt, 
 Und der Abendrote triiber Schimmer 
 Durch den oden Raum der Fensterblinkt, 
 Segneten vielleicht des Vaters Thranen 
 Einst den edelsten von Deutschlands 
 
 Sohnen, 
 
 Dessen Herz, der Ehrbegierde voll, 
 Heiss demnahen Kampf entgegenschwoll. 
 
 Zetich in Frieden, sprach der greise 
 
 Krieger, 
 
 Ihn umgiirtend mit dem Heldenschwert, 
 Kehre nimmer, oder kehr' als Sieger, 
 Sei des Namens deiner Viiter wert ! 
 Und des edlen Jiinglings Auge spriihte 
 Todesflammen ; seine \Vange gliihte, 
 Gleich dem aufgebliithen Rosenhain, 
 In der Morgenrote Purpurschein 
 
 Eine Donnerwolke, flog der Ritter 
 Dann. wie Richard Lowenherz, zur 
 
 Schlacht ; 
 
 Gleich dem Tannenwald im Ungewitter 
 Beugte sich vor ihm des Feindes Macht ! 
 Mild, wie Biiche, die durch Blumen 
 
 wallen, 
 
 Kehrt er zu des Felsenschlosses Hallen, 
 Zu des Vaters Freudenthriinenblick, 
 
 [ Written in the Ruins of an old Castle.'} 
 
 Silent, in the dusky light of evening, 
 Rests the plain ; the woodland song is 
 
 gone, [olden. 
 
 Save that, 'mid these ruins, gray and 
 Chirps a cricket its melancholy tone. 
 Silence sinks from out a sky serene, 
 Slowly wind the herds from pastures 
 
 green, [free, 
 
 The weary plowman, from his toil now 
 Quick to his father's humble cot will flee. 
 
 Here upon this wood-encircled height, 
 Amid the ruins of departed years, 
 Where pictures dread of by-gone times 
 surround me, [tears ! 
 
 Sing I to thee. ohSad-ess, through my 
 What, oft sadly think I, in those days 
 grown hoary, [glory : 
 
 Were these wrecks of lofty pride and 
 A towering castle of majestic mien, 
 Once on this mountain's brow of stone 
 was seen. 
 
 [the ivy 
 
 There, whispering sadly, where clings 
 To the ruined pillar, stately now no more, 
 And the dusky shimmer of the evening 
 glimmer [floor, 
 
 Blinks at casement there across the empty 
 A father sadly weeping, and, perhaps, 
 caressing, [blessing 
 
 Him, the noblest son of Germany, was 
 Whose swelling heart, aglow wi' am- 
 bition's heat, 
 The coming struggle desired to meet. 
 
 [rior, 
 
 Depart in peace ! said the grizzled war- 
 As he begirt him with the sword of fame; 
 Return no more, or return as victor, 
 Be thou worthy of thy father's name ! 
 And the noble youth's bright eyes were 
 throwing [glowing 
 
 Flashes of deadly fire ; his cheeks were 
 With hue like that which steals o'er full- 
 bloom roses [closes. 
 When morn the purple rays of light dis- 
 
 [der, 
 
 Then flew the knight like doud of thun- 
 der 
 
 As Richard Lion-Heart once did, to fight; 
 Like fir trees 'neath the wrathful tempest 
 
 bending. 
 
 Bowed before him the hostile might. 
 Gently, as brooklets through flowers are 
 wending, [tending, 
 
 To his cliff built halls his steps were 
 To his father's joyful, tear-stainedface, 
 
-30- 
 
 In des keuschen Madchens Arm zuriick. 
 
 Ach ! mit banger Sehnsucht blickt die 
 
 Holde 
 
 Oft yom Seller nach des Thales Pfad ; 
 Schild und Panzer gliihn im Abendgolde, 
 Rosse fliegen, der Geliebte naht ! 
 Ihm die treue Rechte sprachlos reichend 
 Steht sie da, errotend und erbleichend : 
 Aber was ihr sanftes Auge spricht, 
 Sangen selbst Petrarch und Sappho nicht. 
 
 Frohlich halite der Pokale Lauten 
 Dort, wo wildverschlunge Ranken sich 
 Ueber Uhunester schwarz verbreiten, 
 Bis der Sterne Silberglanz erblich ; 
 Die Geschichten schwererkiimpfter Siege, 
 Grauser Abenteu'r im heilgen Kriege, 
 Weckten in der rauhen Helden Brust 
 Die Erinnrung schauerlicher Lust. 
 
 O der Wandlung ! Grau'n und Nacht 
 
 umdiistern 
 
 Nun den Schauplatz jener Herrlichkeit ! 
 Schwermutvolle Abendwinde fliistern, 
 Wo die Starken sich des Mahls gefreut ! 
 Disteln wanken einsam auf der Statte, 
 Wo um Schild und Speer der Knabe 
 
 flehte, 
 
 Wann der Kriegsdrommete Ruf erklang, 
 Und aufs Kampfross sich der Vater 
 
 schwang. 
 
 Asche sind der Machtigen Gebeine 
 Tief im dunkeln Erdenschose nun ! 
 Kaum dass halbversunkne Leichensteine 
 Noch die Statte zeigen, wo sie ruh'n. 
 Viele wiirden langst ein Spiel der Liifte, 
 Ihr Gediichtnis sank, wie ihre Griifte ; 
 Vor dem Thatenglanz der Heldenzeit 
 Schwebt die Wolke der Vergessenheit. 
 
 So vergehn des Lebens Herrlichkeiten, 
 So entfleucht das Trumbild eitler Macht ! 
 So versinkt, im schnallen Lauf der Zeiten, 
 Was die Erde tragt, in ode Nacht ! 
 Lorbeern, die des Siegers Stirn um- 
 
 kranzen, 
 
 Thaten, die in Erz und Marmor gliinzen 
 Urnen, der Erinnerung geweiht, 
 Und Gesange der Unsterblichkeit ! 
 
 Alles, was mit Sehnsucht und Entziicken 
 Hier am Staub ein edles Herz erfiillt, 
 
 And to the waiting maiden's chaste em- 
 brace. 
 
 Oft, with anxious longing, from her turret 
 Far down into the vale her eyes are peer- 
 ing ; [glowing, 
 Shield and mail in evening's gold are 
 Steeds are flying ; the lov'd one's near- 
 ing, [tended, 
 Speechless, she her faithful hand ex- 
 With blush and pallor interblended, 
 But what her soft blue eye expresses 
 well, [could tell. 
 Nor Sappho's song, nor Petrarch's muse, 
 
 Joyously rang the goblets of crystal, 
 There where the tangled and rank-grow- 
 ing vine, [spreading, 
 Black o'er the nests of the owlets is 
 Till the glistening stars do but faintly 
 
 shine. 
 
 The tales of victories, heard from afar, 
 Of wildest adventures in the Holy War, 
 Aroused in the breasts of the rugged 
 
 knights 
 The remembrance of their fierce delights. 
 
 How changed the scene ! Dismay and 
 Night o'ercast [been ; 
 
 The place where all that glory once had 
 Winds of evening, sadly swelling, whisper 
 Where strong hearts revelled 'mid rap- 
 turous din, [field 
 Lonely thistles now are nodding o'er the 
 Where the boy was pleading for spear 
 
 and shield, 
 
 When the call to arms from trumpet rang, 
 And on his charger the father sprang. 
 
 Turned to ashes the bones of the mighty! 
 Down in the dark lap of earth they lie 
 
 deep. [their trenches 
 
 Scarcely the half-sunken stones o'er 
 Point out the spot where the heroes now 
 
 sleep, [of these braves, 
 
 The winds have long toyed with the dust 
 Their memories sank, too, just like their 
 
 graves, [won, 
 
 O'er the war-like deeds by those heroes 
 Pass the cloud-folds of Oblivion ! 
 
 [glory ! 
 
 Thus depart this life's vain pomp and 
 'Thus flit by the dreams of passing might ! 
 Thus, too, sinks in Time's swift-flowing 
 
 current 
 
 All that earth upbears, to empty night ! 
 Laurels, that the victor's brow entwine, 
 Deeds that in brass and marble shine, 
 Urns, dedicate to Memory, 
 And the songs of Immortality. 
 
 [rapture, 
 
 All, all, that here, with longing and with 
 On the earth a noble heart doth warm. 
 
-31- 
 
 Schwindet, gleich des Herbstes Sonnen- 
 
 blicken, 
 
 Wenn ein Sturm den Horizont umhiillt. 
 Die am Abend freudig sich umfassen, 
 Sieht der Morgenrote schon erblassen : 
 Selbst der Freundschaft und der Liebe 
 
 Gliick 
 Liisst auf Erden keine Spur zuriick. 
 
 Liebe ! deines Tempels Rosenauen 
 Grenzen an bedornte Wastenei'n, 
 Und ein plotzliches Gewittergrauen 
 Diistertoft der Freundschaft Aetherschein. 
 Hoheit, Ehre, Macht und Ruhm sind 
 
 eitel ! 
 
 Eines Weltgebieters stolzen Scheitel, 
 Und ein zitternd Haupt am Pilgerstab, 
 Deckt mit einer Dunkelheit das Grab. 
 
 Vanishes like the autumnal sunshine 
 When the horizon's verge is veiled in 
 
 storm. 
 
 Those at evening who fondly do embrace, 
 Are in the morning found with pallid face ; 
 Even Friendship's ties, and Love's de- 
 light, 
 Leave on the earth no trace in sight. 
 
 O Love ! thy gardens of fragrant roses 
 By thorny wastes are hemmed in every- 
 where ! [tempest 
 When quickly spread the wings of the 
 Darken often Friendship's sky, so fair ! 
 Vain are greatness, honor, might and 
 glory ! [hoary, 
 On the monarch's head, so proud and 
 And on the weary pilgrim's trembling 
 head, [o'erspread. 
 One common darkness doth the grave 
 
 :abelaibe. Adelaide. 
 
 MATTHISSON. 
 
 Einsam wandelt dein Freund im Friieh- 
 
 lingsgarten, 
 Mild vom lieblichen Zauberlicht um- 
 
 flossen, 
 Das durch wankende Bliithenzweige 
 
 zittert, 
 Adelaide ! 
 
 In der spiegelnden Fluth, im Schnee der 
 
 Alpen, 
 
 In des sinkenden Tages Goldgewolken, 
 Im Gefilde der Sterne strahlt dein Bild- 
 
 niss, 
 Adelaide ! 
 
 Abendliiftchen im z art en Laube 
 flustern, [sauseln, 
 
 Silberglockchen des Mai's im Grase 
 Wellen rauschen und Nachtigallen floten : 
 Adelaide ! 
 
 Einst, O Wunder ! entbliiht auf meinem 
 
 Grabe, 
 
 Eine Blume der Asche meines Herzens ; 
 Deutlich schimmert auf jedem Purpur- 
 
 bliittchen, 
 Adelaide ! 
 
 Through Spring's fair garden thy friend 
 wanders lonely, 
 
 Surrounded with light both magic and 
 mellow, 
 
 That quivering comes through blossom- 
 ing branches, 
 
 Adelaide ! 
 
 In the mirrored flood, in the Alpine 
 
 snow-storm, 
 In the closing day's fast-fading clouds all 
 
 golden, 
 In the star lit noon of night beams thy 
 
 image, 
 Adelaide 1 
 
 Evening zephyrs in tender foliage whisper, 
 
 In silv'ry tones sweet Moral bells are tink- 
 ling, 
 
 Billows murmur and nightingales e'er 
 warble : 
 
 Adelaide ! 
 
 Once, O wonder ! upon my grave will 
 
 blossom 
 A tender flower from my heart's pale 
 
 ashes ; 
 On each purple leaf there will brightly 
 
 glimmer 
 Adelaide ! 
 
-32- 
 
 Der (5raf r>on (Breters. Tt)e Coant of (ireier^. 
 
 JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND. 
 
 Der junge Graf von Greiers, er steht vor 
 
 seinem Haus, 
 Er sieht am schonen Morgen weit ins 
 
 Gebirg hinaus, 
 Er sieht die Felsenhorner verkliirt im 
 
 goldnen Strahl 
 Und dammernd mitten inne das griinste 
 
 Alpenthal : 
 
 "O Alpe, griine Alpe, wie zieht'snach dir 
 
 mich nin ! 
 Begliickt, die dich befahren, Berghirt 
 
 und Sennerin ! 
 Oft sari ich sonst hiniiber, empfand nich 
 
 Leid noch Lust; 
 Doch heute dringt ein Sehnen mir in die 
 
 tiefste Brust." 
 
 Und nah und naher klingen Schalmeien 
 
 an sein Ohr, 
 Die Hirtinnen und Hirten sie ziehn zur 
 
 Burg empor, 
 Und auf des Schlosses Rasen hebt an der 
 
 Ringeltanz, 
 Die weissen Aermel schimmern, bunt 
 
 flattern Band und Kranz. 
 
 Der Sennerinnen jiingste, schlank wie ein 
 
 Maienreis. 
 Erfasst die Hand des Grafen, da muss er 
 
 in den Kreis. 
 Es schlinget ihn der Reigerj in seinen 
 
 Wirbel ein : 
 "Hei. junger Graf von Greiers, gefangen 
 
 musst du sein." 
 
 Sie raffen ihn von hinnen mit Sprung 
 
 und Reigenlied, 
 Sie tanzen durch die Dorfer, wo Glied 
 
 sich reiht an Glied 
 Sie tanzen liber Matten sie tanzen durch 
 
 den Wald. 
 Bis fernhin auf die Alpen derhelle Klang 
 
 verhallt. 
 
 Schon steigt der zweite Morgen, der 
 
 dritte schon wird klar. 
 Wo bleibt der Graf von Greiers ? 1st er 
 
 verschollen gar? 
 Und wieder sinkt zum Abend der 
 
 schwiilen Sonne Lauf ; 
 Da donnert's im Gebirge, da ziehn die 
 
 Wetter auf. 
 
 The youthful Count of Greiers before his 
 castle stands, 
 
 At morn his vision sweeps o'er the 
 mountain's sun-kissed lands, 
 
 He sees the horn-ed crags in the sun- 
 light's golden sheen, 
 
 And, dimly, too, the greatest vale in the 
 shade between. 
 
 "Oh, Alp, thou green-clad Alp ! how 
 much I'm drawn to thee ! 
 
 How happy, when they reach thee. must 
 maids and herdsmen be ! 
 
 Oftimes I've gazed upon thee, nor cared 
 for all thou art. 
 
 But now a longing seizes me in my in- 
 most heart. 
 
 And near and nearer still sound the tim- 
 
 bls on his ear ; 
 The herdsmen and the maidens to the 
 
 castle now draw near ; 
 And on the turf of green around begins 
 
 the whirling dance, 
 The white sleeves flit and glimmer, the 
 
 wreaths and ribbons glance. 
 
 The youngest of the maidens, slim as a 
 sprig of spring, 
 
 The Count's hand seizes quickly, he 
 must go in the ring ; 
 
 Soon swallowed in the whirl of the cir- 
 cling dance is he : 
 
 "Ho, youthful Count of Greiers, now 
 captured must you be ! ', 
 
 They forced him from that place, and, with 
 
 dance and roundelay, 
 They dancing go through hamlets where 
 
 others lead the way. 
 They dance across the meadow, they 
 
 dance through wood and dell. 
 Till in the heart of th' distant Alps the 
 
 lingering echoes dwell 
 
 The second morn has come, and the third 
 
 will soon be here ; 
 Where stays the Count of Greiers ? did 
 
 he, then, disappear? 
 Again the evening closes in thick and 
 
 sultry air ; 
 It thunders in the mountains, the storm 
 
 is gathering there 
 
-33- 
 
 Geborsten ist die Wolke, der Bach zum 
 
 Strom geschwellt, 
 Und als mit jiihem Strahle der Blitz die 
 
 Nacht erhellt, 
 Da zeigt sich in den Strudeln ein Mann, 
 
 der wogt und ringt, 
 Bis er den Ast ergriffen und sich ans Ufer 
 
 schwingt: 
 
 "Da bin ich, weggerissen aus eurer Berge 
 
 Schoos ; 
 Im Tanzen und im Schwingen ergriff 
 
 mich Sturmgetos ; 
 Ihr alle sind geborgen in Hiitt' und Fel- 
 
 senspalt, 
 Nur mich hat fortgeschwemmet des 
 
 Wolkenbruchs Gevvalt. 
 
 The cloud has burst its fetters, the brook 
 
 becomes a stream, 
 Illumined is the night with the lightning's 
 
 fitful gleam. 
 A man is seen to struggle 'mid the 
 
 whirlpool's sullen roar. 
 Till a branch he quickly seizes and 
 
 swings upon the shore. 
 
 " Here am I, torn away from your moun- 
 tain's sweet retreat, 
 
 While dancing I was whirled by the 
 storm's tempestuous beat ; 
 
 In mountain huts and caverns ye all did 
 shelter find ; 
 
 While I alone was swept along by the 
 torrent and the wind. 
 
 Leb' wohl, du griine Alpe, rnit deiner I Farewell, thou green-clad Alp, with thy 
 rhaar ! *-iovous comnanv ! 
 
 frohen Schaar ! 
 
 *joyous company ! 
 
 Lebt wohl drei sel'ge Tage, da ich ein Farewell the blessed days when I watched 
 
 Hirte war ! 
 O, nicht bin ich geboren zu solchem Par- 
 
 adies, 
 Aus dem mit Blitzesflamme des Himmels 
 
 Zorn mich wies. 
 
 Du frische Alpenrose, 
 meine Hand ! 
 
 riihr' nimmer 
 
 Ich fuhls, die kalte Woge, sieloscht nicht 
 
 diesen Brand. 
 Du zauberischer Reigen, lock' nimmer 
 
 mich hinaus ! 
 Nimm mich in deine Mauern, du odes 
 
 Grafenhaus !" 
 
 the flocks on thee ! 
 I was not born t' enjoy that beatific place 
 From whence the lightnings drove me 
 
 'neath heaven's angry face. 
 
 Thou Alpine rose, so lovely, touch thou 
 
 my hand no more ! 
 Unquenched 's the fire within me though 
 
 torrents o'er me pour. 
 Ye whirling dance bewitching, ne'er lure 
 
 me 'gain to thee ! 
 My cheerless walls, receive me, within 
 
 thee must I flee ! " 
 
 Prencl) Prt^e poem. 
 
 Sung at the Opening of the Paris Exposition in 1889. First English 
 Translation by Mr. Zimmerman. 
 
 QUATRE VINGT-NEUF. 
 
 Chant seculaire. 
 CHCEUR DES PEUPLES. 
 
 Dans la foret du vieux monde, 
 
 Marchant, peinant sans repos, 
 Priant sans qu on nous reponde, 
 
 Nous aliens, mornes troupeaux. 
 Du meme pas implacable 
 
 L'heure vient, 1'heure s'enfuit, 
 Le meme poids nous accable 
 
 C'est toujours la sombre nuit. 
 Interroge encor 1'espace, 
 
 Guetteur, du haut de la tour. 
 Que te dit le vent qui passe ? 
 
 Quand done paraitra le jour? 
 
 '.EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 Song of the Centuries. 
 
 CHORUS OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 In the old world's forests, dim with gloom, 
 
 Forever toiling without rest, 
 Like driven beasts, we pass our lives, 
 
 Forever praying, though never blest. 
 The hours come, the hours go, 
 
 In the same unending flight ; 
 The selfsame burdens bend us low ; 
 
 With us 'tis always blackest night. 
 O, watcher on the tower's top, 
 
 What see'st thou from thy lofty height? 
 Say, does the passing wind say aught ? 
 
 O, when will come the morning light ? 
 
-34- 
 
 LE GUETTEUE. 
 
 Les ailes de la nuit couvrent le monde 
 
 immense, 
 
 Seuls, de leur vol epais evillant le silence, 
 Les noirs esprits planent sur moi ! 
 
 LA HAINE. 
 
 Peuples, tremblez ! J'ai, pour apotres, 
 
 La mort et Feffroi. 
 
 Sans meme savoir pourquoi, 
 Ruez-vous les uns sur les autres. 
 
 L' IGNORANCE. 
 
 Peuples, reconnaissez ma loi ; 
 J'ai souffle sur vos yeux et scelle votre 
 bouche 
 
 LA TYRANNIE. 
 
 Mords ton frein, esclave farouche. 
 Sous mes pieds orgueilleux je te sens 
 desarme. 
 
 LE DESESPOIR. 
 
 Au tombeau, -pour toujours, Lazare est 
 enferme. 
 
 CHCEUR DBS PEUPLES. 
 
 J'interroge 1'etendue : 
 
 Partout la nuit sans amour ! 
 
 O sentinelle perdue, 
 Vois-tu poindre enfin le jour? 
 
 LE GUETTEUR. 
 
 Freres, debout ; levez la tete, 
 Voyez, voyez, le Ciel blanchit ; 
 Le coq a chante, 1'air fraichit. 
 Entendez-vous' ces cris de fete ? 
 C'est le jour, c'est le jour. Nous som- 
 
 mes deli res. 
 Chaines, tombez ; croulez, prisons. 
 
 L'aube est venue. 
 Mes yeux mouilles de pleurs Pont 
 
 reconnue. 
 
 Hauts les cceurs ; haut le front, peuples 
 regeneres. 
 
 THE WATCHER. 
 
 The sombre wings of night the earth still 
 
 in gloom do hide. 
 Dark spirits above me hover and threat- 
 
 'ningly 'round me glide ; 
 And break the silence with their cry. 
 
 HATE. 
 
 Tremble, people ! Rage, Terror, Death, 
 Apostles mine, in wait do lie ; 
 Without even knowing why 
 Ye slay each other at ev'ry breath. 
 
 IGNORANCE. 
 
 Acknowledge my power and hear 
 
 my cry ; 
 
 Your lips are close sealed, upon your 
 eyes did I breathe. 
 
 TYEANNY. 
 
 Disarmed art thou my heel beneath, 
 Then gnaw thy bit, thou poor, thou sav- 
 age slave ! 
 
 DESPAIR. 
 
 Forever is Lazarus entombed in the 
 grave. 
 
 CHORUS OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 The distance now we scan, 
 
 Of light appears not e'en a ray. 
 
 O useless sentinel ! 
 
 See'st thou not the dawn of day ? 
 
 THE WATCHER. 
 
 Lift up your heads, O brothers dear ! 
 The heavens presage the coming 
 
 glow ; 
 
 The air is cool, the cock doth crow ; 
 Dost not those cries of joy now hear ? 
 'Tis the dawn ! fetters break ! Delivered 
 are we ! [breaks at last ! 
 
 See, the prisons are toppling ! Day 
 Thro' tear-bedewed eyes I see 't com- 
 ing fast ! [ye people free ! 
 Lift up your hearts ! Raise your heads ! 
 The dawn of Liberty is here at last ! 
 
 Die 
 
 . Tl)e O)&pel. 
 
 UHLAND 
 
 Droben stehet die Kapelle, 
 Schauet still in's Thai hinab, 
 Drunten singt bei Wies' und Quelle 
 Froh und hell der Hirtenknab ' 
 
 Tranrig tont das Glocklein nieder, 
 Schauerlich der Leichenchor ; 
 Stille sind die frohen Lieder 
 Und der Knabe lauscht empor. 
 
 Droben bringt man sie zu Grabe, 
 Die sich freuten in dem Thai. 
 Hirtenknabe ! Hirtenknabe ! 
 Dir auch singt man dort einmal. 
 
 ; On yonder height the chapel stands, 
 i O'erlooks the vale in tranquil joy ; 
 While there, by rills and meadow lands, 
 Sings glad and clear the shepherd boy. 
 
 So sadly tolls the little bell, 
 
 And, shudd'ring, sings the chapel choir ; 
 
 How silent is the shepherd's song 
 
 As, list'ning, now, the tones come nigher. 
 
 They lay to rest on yonder hill 
 Those who below once lived in joy ; 
 Some day o'er thee, when you're at rest, 
 They'll sing sad strains, O shepherd boy ! 
 
-35- 
 
 Der postilion. Tl)e Postillion. 
 
 LENAU. 
 
 Lieblich war die Maiennacht, 
 Silberwolklein flogen. 
 Ob der holden Friihlingspracht 
 Freudig hingezogen. 
 
 Schlummernd lagen Wies' und Hain, 
 Jeder Pfad verlassen; 
 Niemand als der Mondenschein 
 Wachte auf der Strassen. 
 
 Leise nur das Luftchen sprach, 
 Und es zog gelinder 
 Durch das stille Schlafgemach 
 All der Friihlingskinder. . 
 
 Heimlich nur das Biichlein schlich, 
 Denn der Bltiten Triiume 
 Dufteten gar wonniglich 
 Durch die stillen Riiume. 
 
 Rauher war mein Postilion, 
 Liess die Geissel knallen, 
 Ueber Berg und Thai da von 
 Frisch sein Horn erschallen. 
 
 Und von flinken Rossen vier 
 Scholl der Hufe Schlagen, 
 Die durchs bliihende Revier 
 Trabten mit Behagen 
 
 Wald und Flur im schnellen Zug 
 Kaum gegrusst gemieden; 
 Und vorbei, wie Traumesflug 
 Schwand der Dorfer Frieden. 
 
 Mitten in dem Maiengliick 
 Lag ein Kirchhof innen, 
 Der den raschen Wanderblick 
 Hielt zu ernstem Sinnen. 
 
 Hingelehnt an Bergesrand 
 War die bleiche Mauer, 
 Und das Kreuzbild Gottes stand 
 Hoch, in stummer Trauer. 
 
 Schwager ritt anf seiner Bahn 
 Stiller jetzt und triiber; 
 Und die Rosse hielt er an, 
 Sah zum Keruz hiniiber: 
 
 "Halten muss hier Ross und Rad ! 
 Mag's Euch nicht geliihrden; 
 Driiben liegt mein Kamerad 
 In der kiihlen Erden ! 
 
 Lovely was the night of May, 
 Silvery clouds flew brightly, 
 O'er the joyous Spring passed they 
 Here and there so lightly. 
 
 Slumbering lay both/mead and wood, 
 Every path forsaken ; 
 On the street the moon alone 
 Watchful guard had taken. 
 
 Softly spoke the gentle breeze 
 In almost breathless numbers, 
 As Spring her fairy children led 
 Through the realm of slumbers. 
 
 Softly, too, the brooklet crept, 
 While many a blooming vision 
 Swept along the silent rooms 
 In perfume nigh elysian. 
 
 My postillion rougher was, 
 He cracked his whip and, bounding, 
 Sped away o'er hill and dale, 
 Clear his horn resounding. 
 
 From the hoofs of shining steeds 
 Echoes loud were sounding ; 
 As thro' blooming field and wood 
 Th' steeds were onward bounding. 
 
 Wood and mead in rapid flight 
 Parsed with scarce a greeting ; 
 By us fled the peaceful towns 
 Like a dream still fleeting. 
 
 Right within this charming scene 
 Lay a churchyard nested, 
 Whereon the traveler's wand'ring sight 
 Musingly had rested. 4 
 
 On the mountain side there stood 
 The faded wall reclining, 
 And. above, the crucifix 
 In silent grief was shining. 
 
 The driver rode along his path 
 Stiller, then, to ponder, 
 And the horses stopped he there," 
 The shining cross saw yonder : 
 
 ' 'Tarry here must horse and wheel ! 
 No fear o'er thee be creeping ; 
 Yonder lies my comrade dear, 
 In the cold earth sleeping. 
 
36- 
 
 ' 'Kin gar herzlieber Gesell I 
 Herr, 's ist ewig Schade ! 
 Keiner blies das Horn so hell, 
 Wie mein Kamerade ! 
 
 "Hier ich immer halten muss, 
 Dem dort unterm Rasen 
 Zum getreuen Brudergruss 
 Sein Leiblied zu blasen !" 
 
 Und dem Kirchhof sandt' er zu 
 Frohe Wandersange, 
 Dass es in die Gra"esruh' 
 Seinem Bruder driinge 
 
 Und des Homes heller Ton 
 Klang vom Berge wieder, 
 Ob der todte Postilion 
 Stimmt in seine Lieder. 
 
 Weiter ging's durch Feld und Hag 
 Mit verhiingtem Ziigel ', 
 Lang mir noch im Ohre lag 
 lener Klang vom Hiigel. 
 
 "Charming fellow was this lad f 
 Lasting pity, 'tis, sir ! 
 Clearer notes from horn ne'er came 
 Than those which came from his, sir I 
 
 "And I always linger here, 
 And send forth a greeting 
 To the dear one buried there, 
 His fav'rite air repeating." 
 
 Toward the churchyard he sent out 
 Such entrancing numbers, [grave, 
 
 That well nigh pierced the dead man's 
 And woke him from his slumbers 
 
 Again the bugler's clearer tone 
 From the hills came flying, 
 Ere the dead postillion was 
 In his songs replying. 
 
 Farther on through field and wood 
 The good steeds quickly bounded ; 
 Long that echo from the hill 
 In my ears resounded. 
 
 Die Derlorene Kirdje. Tl)e I$o;t Ain^ter. 
 
 UHLAND 
 
 Man horet oft im fernen Wald 
 Von obenher ein dumpfes Lauten, 
 Doch Niemand weiss, von wann es hallt, 
 Und kaum die Sage kann es deuten. 
 Von der verlornen Kirche soli 
 Der Klang ertonen mit den Winden ; 
 Einst war der Pfad von Wallern voll, 
 Nun weis ihn keiner mehr zu finden. 
 
 Jiingst gieng ich in dem Walde weit, 
 Wo kein hetretnerSteig sich dehnet ; 
 Aus der Verderbniss dieser Zeit 
 Hatt' ich zu Gott mich hingesehnet. 
 Wo in der Wildniss Alles schwieg, 
 Vernahm ich das Gelaute wieder ; 
 Je hoher meine Sehnsucht stieg, 
 Je naher, voller klang es nieder. 
 
 Mein Geist war s in sich^ gekehrt, 
 Mein Sinn vom Klange hingenommen, 
 Dass mir es immer unerkliirt, 
 Wie ich so hoch hinauf gekommen. 
 Mir schien es mehr, denn hundert Jahr', 
 Dass ich so hingetraumet hiitte: 
 Als ii!>er N'ebeln, spnnenklar, 
 Sich oftnet, eine freie Stiitte. 
 
 Der Himmel war so dunkelblau, 
 Die Sonne war so voli und gliihend, 
 
 O'er the distant woods is often heard 
 A muffled tone as from a bell, 
 And no one knows from whence it came 
 Tradition even scarce can tell. 
 Of the Minster Lost the sound, 'tis said, 
 Is wafted hither by the breeze ; 
 Erstwhile the path with wand'rers roamed. 
 Now found are none beneath those trees. 
 
 [roamed, 
 
 Of late far through these woods I've 
 Where now no beaten path is trod ; 
 Oft longed had I this world to flee, 
 And refuge find in thee, oh, God ! 
 When all the woods in silence slept, 
 Again that tone fell on my ear ; 
 As higher my yearning prayer went up, 
 The sound seemed nearer and more 
 clear. 
 
 My spirit was so much absorbed, 
 The sound so much enraptured me, 
 That if I would, I could not tell, 
 How came I in such ecstacy. 
 It seemed a hundred years or more 
 That I had been thus fondly dreaming, 
 When o'er the mists, so bright and clear, 
 A glade appeared, with sunlight gleam- 
 ing 
 
 The heavens were so darkly blue, 
 The sun so full and brightly beaming, 
 
-37- 
 
 Und eines Miinsters stolzer Bau 
 Stand in dem goldenen Lichte bliihend 
 Mir diinkten helle Wolken ihn 
 Gleich Fittigen emporzuheben, 
 Und seines Thurmes Spitze schien 
 Im sel'gen Himmel zu verschweben. 
 
 Der Glocke wonnevoller Klang 
 Ertonte schiitternd in dem Thiirme ; 
 Doch zog nicht Menschenhand den 
 
 Strang, 
 
 Sie ward bewegt vom heil'gen Sturme. 
 Mir war's, derselbe Sturm und Strom 
 Hatt an mein klopfend Herz geschlagen ; 
 So trat ich in den hohen Dom [Zagen. 
 Mit schwankem Schritt und freud'gem 
 
 Wie mir in jeneni Hallen war, 
 
 Das kann ich nicht mit Wortenschildern. 
 
 Die Fenster gliihten dunkelklar 
 
 Mit aller Miirtrer frommen Bildern ; 
 
 Dann sah ich, wundersam erhellt, 
 
 Das Bild zum Leben sich erweitern, 
 
 Ich sah hinaus in eine Welt 
 
 Van heil'gen Frauen, Gottesstreitern. 
 
 Ich kniete nieder am Altar, [strahlet. 
 
 Von Lieb' und Andacht ganz durch- 
 
 Hoch oben an der Decke war 
 
 Des Himmels Glorie gemalet ; 
 
 Doch als ich wieder sah empor, 
 
 Da war gesprengt der Kuppel Bogen, 
 
 Geoffnet war des Himmels Thor 
 
 Und jede Hiille weggezogen. 
 
 Was ich fur Herrlichkeit geschaut 
 Mit still anbetendem Erstaunen, 
 Was ich gehort fur sel'gen Laut, 
 Als Orgel mehr und als Posaunen : 
 Das steht nicht in der Worte Macht ; 
 Doch wer darnach sich treulich sehnet, 
 Der nehme des Gelaiites Acht, 
 Das in dem Walde dumpf ertonet ! 
 
 While full in view a minster proud 
 
 In golden light stood brightly gleaming. 
 
 Methought the silvery clouds, like wings, 
 
 Upheld on high the fabric fair, 
 
 And that the top of its tall spire 
 
 Now seemed to vanish in the air. 
 
 The bell rang out its wondrous tones, 
 And sent them trembling through the 
 
 tower ; 
 
 Yet 'twas not rung by human hands, 
 But by a holy tempest's power 
 I felt that this same stream and storm 
 My beating heart had struck with dread; 
 So stept I in the lofty dome 
 With gladsome fear and wav'ring tread. 
 
 How felt I wand 'ring thro' those halls, 
 Can not in words of mine be told ; 
 The casements gleamed so darkly clear 
 With sainted forms of martyrs old. 
 Then saw I, rilled with light and life, 
 The picture as it wider grew ; 
 I looked again, and lo ! beheld 
 Holy knights and ladies, too. 
 
 I knelt before the altar there, 
 Imbued with holy love and awe, 
 And, painted on the ceiling high, 
 The glory of the heavens I saw. 
 But when again I looked above, 
 The vaulted dome had opened wide. 
 And opened, too was heaven's gate, 
 And every veil was torn aside. 
 
 What splendors then I gazed upon, 
 With worship and amazement blending, 
 What blessed sounds fell on my ear, 
 Both trump and organ notes transcending, 
 Is not in power of words to tell ; 
 Howe'er, who truly longs to know, 
 Let him go hear the sounding bell 
 That in these woods is tolling so. 
 
 Conrab tDdser's fymn Conrad EDeiser'<$ H^ron. 
 
 Composed for the Dedication of the 
 Jehovah, Herr und Majestaet ! 
 Hoer unser kindlich Flehen : 
 Neig deine Ohrcn zum Gebet 
 Der Schaaren, die da stehen 
 Vor deinem heiligen Angesicht : 
 Verschmaehe unsere Bitte nicht, 
 Um deines Namens willen. 
 
 Dies Haus wird heute eingeweith 
 Von deinem Bundes-Volke : 
 Lass uns, Herr, deine Herrlichkeit 
 Hernieder in der Wolke, 
 Dass sie erfuelle dieses Haus 
 Und treibe alles Boese aus, 
 Um deines Namens willen. 
 
 First Trinity Lutheran Church, 1752. 
 "Jehovah, Lord and Mighty One ! 
 Hear, Thou, our childlike calls ; 
 To all who stand before Thy face 
 Within these sacred walls, 
 Incline, dear Lord, Thy gracious ear, 
 Nor cast aside our fervent prayer, 
 For sake of Thy dear name. 
 
 The people of Thy covenant 
 
 Now consecrate this place ; 
 
 Reveal, O Lord, from out the cloud 
 
 The splendors of Thy face, 
 
 That it may flood this house with light, 
 
 And banish evil from our sight, 
 
 For sake of Thy dear name, ' 
 
-38- 
 
 5ing, 
 
 Translations into Pennsylvania- German by Mr. Zimmerman. 
 
 BARRY CORNWALL. 
 
 Sing, maiden, sing ! 
 
 Mouths were made to sing ; 
 Listen songs thoul't hear 
 
 Through the wide world ringing ; 
 Songs from all the birds, 
 
 Songs from winds and showers, 
 Songs from seas and streams, 
 
 Even from sweet flowers. 
 
 Hearest thou the rain, 
 
 How it gently falleth ? 
 Hearest thou the bird, 
 
 Who from the forest calleth ? 
 Hearest thou the bee 
 
 O'er the sunflower ringing? 
 Tell us, maiden, now 
 
 Shouldst thou not be singing? 
 
 Hearest thou the breeze 
 
 'Round the rose-bud sighing? 
 And the small sweet rose 
 
 Love to love replying ? 
 So shouldst thou reply 
 
 To the prayer we're bringing ; 
 So that the bud, thy mouth, 
 
 Should burst forth in singing ! 
 
 THOS. 
 
 ZIMMERMAN. 
 
 Sing, Madel, sing ! 
 
 Mauler war g'macht fur singe ; 
 Horch G'song horscht du 
 
 Doreh die weit Welt ringe ; 
 G'song von all die Vogel, 
 
 G'song von Schauers und Wind, 
 G'song von See und Schtrom 
 
 Ach, die siisse Blume singt. 
 
 Horscht du den Rege, 
 
 Wie er saftlich fallt? 
 Horscht du den Vogel, 
 
 Der vpm Busch 'raus ruuft ? 
 Horscht die Imme, du, 
 
 Uever die Sunnblum' ringe ? 
 Saagt ens, Madel, now 
 
 Setscht du net 'mohl singe ? 
 
 Horscht du net des schtilles Wind 
 
 Seufze um die Rose dort ? 
 Und die gleene siisse Rose, 
 
 Die wu Lieb' zu Lieb' antwort ? 
 So setscht du als Antwort mache 
 
 Den G'bed', wu mir dir bringe ; 
 Dass der Rose- Knopf, dei Maul, 
 
 Ufschpringe dheet mit Singe ! 
 
 A Visit from 3t. Nicholas. Die Ztadjt for 
 
 MOORE. 
 
 'Twas the night before Christmas when 
 
 all .through the house {mouse ; 
 
 Not a creature was stirring, not even a 
 The stockings were hung by the chimney 
 
 with care, [there ; 
 
 In hopes that St. Nicholas soon woul,d be 
 The children were nestled all snug in 
 
 their beds, [their heads ; 
 
 While vi-ions of sugar-plums danced in 
 And mamma in 'kerchief and I in my 
 
 cap, [winter's nap 
 
 Had just settled our brains for a long 
 When out on the lawn there arose such a 
 
 clatter, [the matter. 
 
 I sprang from my bed to see what was 
 Away to the window I flew like a flash, 
 Tore open the shutters and threw up the 
 
 sash. [snow, 
 
 The moon, on the breast of the new fallen 
 Gave a luster of midday to objects below; 
 When, what to my wond'ring eyes 
 
 should appear. [reindeer. 
 
 But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny 
 
 ZIMMERMAN. 
 
 'S waar die Nacht for de Chrischdaag 
 
 und dorch es gans Haus [Maus ; 
 
 Verreegt sich ke' Thierli, net emol en 
 
 Die Schtriimp waare schnock im Schorn- 
 
 schte gehunke, 
 
 In der Hoffning der "Nick" dheet "graad 
 runner dschumpe ; [Bett, 
 
 Die Kinner so schnock waare all scho im 
 Von Zuckerschleck draame un was mer, 
 doch, wott ; [der Kapp, 
 
 Die Mamme im Schnupduch un ich in 
 Hen uns juscht hi geleegt for'n lang Win- 
 ter's Nap [nerse Jacht, 
 Dan draus in 'm Hoof waar so 'n dun- 
 Dass ich ufg'schprunge bin zu sehne 
 
 war's macht. 
 
 An's Fenschter graad schpring ich so 
 
 schnell wie'n Flasch, [Sasch ! 
 
 Die Lade ufg'risse, ufg'schmisse die 
 
 Der Moond uf der Bruscht dem neu- 
 
 g'fallne Schnee 
 
 Macht elling wie Mitdaag, iiwwer alles, 
 so scho. 
 
-39- 
 
 With a little old driver, so lively and 
 
 quick, 
 
 I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. 
 More rapid than eagles his coursers they 
 
 came, [them by name, 
 
 And he whistled and shouted and called 
 "Now, Dasher ! now, Dancer ! now 
 
 Pranzer and Vixen ! [Blitzen ! 
 
 On Comet ! on Cupid ! on Donder and 
 To the top of the porch, to the top ot the 
 
 wall, [all !" 
 
 Now, dash away, dash away, dash away 
 As dry leaves that before the wild hurri- 
 cane fly [to the sky, 
 When they met with an obstacle, mount 
 So up to the housetop the coursers they 
 
 flew. [Nicholas, too. 
 
 With the sleigh lull of toys and St. 
 And then in a twinkling, I heard on the 
 
 roof [hoof. 
 
 The prancing and pawing of each little 
 As I drew in my head, and was turning 
 
 around, [a bound. 
 
 Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with 
 He was dressed all in fur from his head 
 
 to his foot, - [ashes and soot ; 
 And his clothes were all tarnished with 
 A bundle of toys he had flung on his 
 
 back, [ing his pack. 
 
 And he looked like a peddler just open- 
 His eyes, how they twinkled ! his dimples 
 
 how merry ! [a cherry ; 
 
 His cheeks were like roses, his nose like 
 His droll little mouth was drawn up like 
 
 a bow, [as the snow. 
 
 And the beard on his chin was as white 
 The stump of a pipe he held tight in his 
 
 teeth, [a wreath. 
 
 And the smoke, it encircled his head like 
 He had a broad face and a little round 
 
 belly [full of jelly. 
 
 That shook when he laughed like a bowl 
 He was chubby and plump a right jolly 
 
 old elf; [of myself. 
 
 And I laughed when I saw him in spite 
 A wink of his eye, and a twist of his 
 
 head, [to dread. 
 
 Soon gave me to know I had nothing 
 He spoke not a word, but went straight 
 
 to his work, [with a jerk. 
 
 And filled all the stockings ; then turned 
 And laying his finger aside of his nose, 
 And giving a nod, up the chimney he 
 
 rose. [a whistle, 
 
 He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave 
 And away they all flew like the down of 
 
 a thistle " [out of sight, 
 
 But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove 
 "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a 
 
 good-night." 
 
 Im e' Aageblick kummt, jetz, un rund 
 
 wie e' Kersch [Hersch 
 
 E' Fuhrmann im Schlidde un acht kleene 
 E' Mannli in Pelze, sofreundlich un frei 
 'Hab graadeweck g'wiisst's muss der 
 
 Pelznickel sei ! [zusamme, 
 
 Wie Aadler, so schnell, sin die Herschlin 
 Un er peift un'r ruuft, un'r nennt sie mit 
 
 Naame : Jjetz Vixen ! 
 
 "Jetz Dascher ! jetz Danzer ! jetz Pranzer ! 
 Un Komet ! un Kupid ! un Dunder ! un 
 
 Blitzen !' [gefalle 
 
 An der Porch isch er nuff, um die Mauer 
 "Jetz schpringt eweck ! schpringtaweck! 
 
 schpringt aweck alle !" 
 Wie laab for'm e Windschtorm der 
 
 wildscht das mer seht, [werts geht, 
 Wann ebbes im Weeg isch un's himmel- 
 Zum Hausgiwwel nuf sin die Herschlin 
 
 wie g floge, 
 Mit ? m Schlidli foil Sach un der "Nick" 
 
 mit gezoge ; [owwedrowe 
 
 Im e' Aageblick' horscht uf'm Dach 
 En Gescheer un Gedanz wie mit hol'zene 
 
 Glowwe. [Haus 
 
 Mei Kop zieg ich nei, guk um mich im 
 Un im Schornschte. do kummt'r wahr- 
 
 haftig schun raus ! [Fuus, 
 
 Mit Peltze ferwickelt fon Kop biz zum 
 Un alles ferschnuttelt mit Aesche un 
 
 Ruus ! [G-'schpiel 
 
 Uf'm Buckel en Bundel foil allerhand 
 'S hat geguckt wie 'm Kremer sei 
 
 Kramm artlig fiel. [die lache 
 
 Sei Maul, wie 'n Kersch, un sei Dimple 
 Sei Aage, die blinzle, und wie Rosa sei 
 
 Backe. [Klee, 
 
 Gans rund war sei Mauli un roth wie der 
 Un 's Schnurbiirdli weiss wie woll, oder 
 
 Schnee : [Zeh, 
 
 En schtumpiges Peifli, fescht zwische de 
 Un der schmpok schteigt in Ringlin so 
 
 scho in die Hoh. [bissel 
 
 Sei G'sichtli so breed, un sei Bauchli e' 
 Ueverm Lache hot g'shittelt wie Dschelly 
 
 in der Schiissel. [Elfge, 
 
 So dick un so rund war des luschtige 
 Muss lache, graad aus un kan's gaar net 
 
 helfe [Niicken 
 
 Sei Kopli waar eifrig un schwatzig mit 
 Sei Aage, gaar freundlich mit Blinzele un 
 
 Blicken ; [frolichem Braus, 
 
 Die Schtriimp hot 'r g'fill't, un mit 
 Da schpringt inschtandig, den Schorn- 
 schte hinaus ; [peift en Piftel, 
 Dann fliege sie fort wie Duun fon der 
 
 Dischtel : [hat er g'macht 
 
 Doch eb' er gans fort waar, sei Gruss 
 "En herrliche Chrischdaag ! un zu alle, 
 
 Guut Nacht!" 
 
of 
 
 AiR:"T/ie Old Oaken Bucket." 
 
 How dear to the heart are the meadows 
 
 and uplands, 
 
 When orchards are fragrant and burst- 
 ing with bloom ; 
 When lanes are aflutter with life and 
 
 with beauty, 
 And birds in the tree-tops are singing 
 
 their tune. 
 How fondly we turn to the shade in the 
 
 wildwood, 
 When summer's hot breath with fierce 
 
 heat is aglow, 
 And drink from the spring, that recalls 
 
 our blest childhood 
 The days when our hearts were as 
 pure as the snow. 
 
 Those golden-hued days, how with rap- 
 ture we greet them ! 
 The Junes of pur Youthland, so bright 
 
 and so fair ; 
 Though gone like a dream from some 
 
 Eden of mem'ry, 
 
 We praise them, we bless them, in 
 silence and prayer ! 
 
 Oh ! dear fellow-walkers, though long we 
 
 have loitered 
 
 Among the sweets haunts of our moun- 
 tains and dells, 
 Fond mem'ry brings back its delectable 
 
 treasures, 
 
 Like echoes of songs from some far 
 distant bells. 
 
 They count not, the years that are crowd- 
 ing upon us, 
 So long as our hearts are in touch 
 
 with life's May ; 
 The perfume of flowers, the voice of the 
 
 waters, 
 The glow of the autumn, e'en winter's 
 
 fierce fray, 
 
 But serve to imbue us with magical fresh- 
 ness, 
 With sweet, subtle breath, like the 
 
 odors of Spring ; 
 So here's to the hills, to the streams and 
 
 the valleys 
 
 To one, each and all, our best oft 'rings 
 we bring. 
 
 of tl)e 
 
 Am: "Ben BoltS 
 
 Oh ! don't you remember the days, 
 
 brother John, 
 The days when we tramped o'er the 
 
 hills 
 With footsteps so light, and with faces so 
 
 bright, 
 And with hearts that were pure as the 
 
 rills? 
 And don't you remember the springs, 
 
 brother John, 
 
 In the gloom of the forest's repose ? 
 How 'mid merriest sound the cup went 
 
 around, 
 
 While, like incense, our thanks slowly 
 rose? 
 
 And don't you remember the flow'rs, 
 
 brother John, 
 The flowers that bloomed 'long the 
 
 road 
 The hum of the bees, and the songs in 
 
 the trees, 
 
 And the murmur of brooks as they 
 flowed ? 
 
 Let us, brother John, then, thank God for 
 
 His love, 
 
 For health, and for friends, and for life; 
 For th' birds and the flowers, for the sun, 
 
 and for showers, 
 
 Aye, for home, and for child, and for 
 wife. 
 
 And now that the woodlands are bud- 
 ding again, 
 
 And the robins are singing their lay, 
 And the streams are unbound, with wel- 
 coming sound 
 
 The walkers must wend on their way. 
 In the sweet, balmy air there are thou- 
 sands of notes, 
 And the meadows with rapture are 
 
 thrilled, 
 In mute words telling, how hearts should 
 
 be swelling, 
 As our vision with blossoms is filled. 
 
-41- 
 
 An Address before the Canstatter Verein by Thos. O. Zimmerman. 
 
 The i3oth anniversary of the birthday of the poet Schiller was celebrated on the 
 evening of November nth, 1889, at their hall, Fifth and Franklin streets, Read- 
 ing. A large and deeply interested audience was present. The exercises con- 
 sisted of music and addresses. Following are the remarks made by Thos. C. 
 Zimmerman : 
 
 I certainly feel complimented by being 
 called upon to say anything in this pres- 
 ence. We have met to-night to revive the 
 glories of a name that has become a pre- 
 cious heritage to literature that of 
 Schiller, the genius of poesy, romance and 
 intellectual liberty. One hundred 
 and thirty years look down upon his warb- 
 ling muse and sublime fancy as still de- 
 lighting t humanity. The eye of Des- 
 tiny, which has witnessed the moldering 
 into dust of temples and trophies, and 
 which has seen much of the pomp ot 
 civilization buried; which has seen the 
 crumbling gates of Troy resolve them- 
 selves into dust and every vestige of the 
 ruins of ancient cities wiped from the 
 face of the earth, is resting lovingly to- 
 night on the assured immortality of one 
 who wears a crown brighter than the 
 diadem of the Caesars, and whose glory 
 and fame have become the proud posses- 
 sion of a never-ending posterity. 
 
 The presence here, to-night, of so large 
 an audience to participate in celebrating 
 the natal anniversary of Germany's 
 most illustrious poet, is an evidence 
 not only of the existence of that 
 instinct which ever places the love of 
 Fatherland supreme in the German heart, 
 and whose all-pervading presence domes 
 every German home and every German 
 being like a sky, but it is a living proof of 
 
 an intelligence which seeks to honor the 
 memory of an imperial mind whose regal 
 gifts have enriched the literary treasures 
 of the world. 
 
 We have met here, as hundreds of 
 thousands are now doing all over the 
 world, to pay our tribute of respect to the 
 memory of one who was a very king in 
 the domain of Creative Thought. Cele- 
 brations like these will help to make him 
 more than ever a familiar presence. More 
 and more he is finding his way into hu- 
 man hearts and homes. Under the force- 
 ful influences of his splendid concep- 
 tion, grouped and colored as they are 
 with a masterly hand, humanity will con- 
 tinue to be moved and exalted as under 
 the spell of one divinely gifted. 
 
 In his great article on Dante, Lowell 
 recalls the fact that at the Round Table 
 of King Arthur there was left always one 
 seat empty for him who should accomplish 
 the adventure of the Holy Grail. It was 
 called the perilous seat because of the dan- 
 gers he must encounter who would win it. 
 In the company of the epic poets, he adds, 
 there was a place left for whoever should 
 embody the Christian idea of a triumph- 
 ant life, outwardly all defeat, inwardly 
 victorious, who should make us par- 
 takers of that cup of sorrow in which all 
 are communicants with Christ. He who 
 should do this would indeed achieve the 
 
-42- 
 
 perilous seat, for he must combine poesy 
 with doctrine in such cunning wise that 
 one lose not its beauty nor the other its 
 sovereignty, and Dante has done it. says 
 Lowell exultingly. So with Schiller in 
 the realm of German poesy. In the 
 temple consecrate to genius, it is he who 
 occupies the exalted place. There he 
 sits enthroned like a king. 
 
 The better to form an estimate of 
 Schiller's claims on posterity I mean 
 now among English readers it is neces- 
 sary to remember that he preceded the 
 great poets who have made the Nine- 
 teenth Century an era in British literature 
 inferior only to the Elizabethan. To 
 quote a passage from a critical com- 
 mentary of his works : "The influence 
 of genius circulates insensibly, through a 
 thousand channels impossible to trace ; 
 and, as in Elizabeth's day, the Italian 
 mind colored deeply the very atmos- 
 phere in which Shakespeare breathed in- 
 spiration, so, in the earlier years of the 
 present century, the spirit of Schiller 
 operated almost equally on those versed 
 in, and those ignorant of, the German 
 language. It affected each peculiar 
 mind according to its own peculiar 
 idiosyncrasy was reflective with 
 Coleridge, chivalrous with Scott, ani- 
 mated and passionate with Byron, and 
 transfused its lyric fire into the kindling 
 melodies of Campbell." Schiller him- 
 self has said of the German Muse : 
 
 No Augustan century, 
 No propitious Medici 
 
 Smil'd on German art when young ; 
 Glory nourish'd not her powers, 
 She unfolded not her flowers 
 
 Princes' fav'ring rays among. 
 From the mighty Fred'rick's throne 
 Germany's most glorious son, 
 
 Went she forth, defenceless, spurn'd ; 
 Proudly Germans may repeat, 
 While their hearts more gladly beat 
 
 They themselves their crown have earned. 
 Therefore mounts with nobler pride, 
 Therefore with a fuller tide 
 
 Pours the stream of German bards ; 
 , With his own abundance swells 
 From the inmost bosom wells 
 
 Chains of methods disregards. 
 
 Dear old Germany ! the land of those 
 twin immortals, Schiller and Goethe. 
 We love the tenderness of her song and 
 the witchery of her romance. In imagi- 
 nation we are soothed by the music of 
 her shepherds' horns and lulled into 
 pleasant dreams by the tinkling of the 
 
 bells upon her sheep and kine. It is 
 there where 
 
 Splendor falls on castle walls 
 And snowy summits old in story; 
 
 and where 
 
 The long light shakes across the lakes, 
 And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
 
 Whether charmed with her sweetly- 
 flowing rills or wooed by the wild melody 
 of her mountain torrents ; whether we 
 are stirred by the languid pulses of her 
 summer air, or awed by the black and 
 frowning strength of her mountain crags ; 
 whether imbued with the art which gave 
 to literature the incomparable "Diver," 
 the sublimest ballad in the world ; 
 whether thrilled by the dramatic move- 
 ment of "Wallenstein," or moved hy the 
 fierce energy of "The Robbers, "which has 
 been likened to some ancient rugged pile 
 of a barbarous age, Schiller and the land 
 of his birth will continue to grow more 
 and more resplendent the one with his 
 noble aspirations, overpowering genius 
 and asthetic art saturating with sweet 
 discourse the pages of literature ; the 
 other with its happy homes, its unity of 
 domestic life, its patriotism, its music, 
 its philosophy, its history and its poesy, 
 making glad the hearts of all her chil- 
 dren everywhere, for it is- in Germany, as 
 Schiller himself has pictured it, where 
 
 Man and the soil serene 
 Dwell neighbor like togethei and the still 
 Meadow sleeps peaceful round the rural door. 
 
 In conclusion, let me say that I am glad 
 to see growing evidences all about us of an 
 ever-increasing regard of the American 
 heart for the sturdy honesty and the intel- 
 lectual and artistic wealth of the German 
 people. The close commingling of the 
 different portions of the great Anglo- 
 Saxon family will more closely unite in 
 one common bond the political and social 
 sympathies of our people, and help to a 
 better appreciation of the duties which 
 we owe to each other, to society, and to 
 government. 
 
 Travelers, we are told, are sometimes 
 thrilled in seeing for the first time the in- 
 scription, Hier wohnte Schiller, over the 
 door of a small house on Schiller-strasse, 
 in Weimar. Let us so study the charac- 
 ter, the philosophy and the genius of this 
 great poet, that we may lay our hands 
 upon our hearts, and say : "HiEE wohnte 
 Schiller." 
 
-43- 
 
 Mr. T. O. Zimmerman's Translation of Schiller's Masterpiece Recited by 
 Mayor Kenney before the Harmonie Maennerchor. 
 
 [From the Reading Times, January 24, 1889.] 
 
 The grand musical and literary enter- 
 tainment of the Harmonie-Msennerchor at 
 their hall last evening was the superior, 
 in every respect, of the long list of enter- 
 tainments heretofore given by this society; 
 besides, the rendition of literary and musi- 
 cal productions whose authors are 
 among us and are so well known to every 
 person in the city, added an interest to 
 the entertainment which those of the past 
 have lacked. The hall was filled, every 
 seat on the main floor having been taken, 
 while the east gallery was crowded. The 
 full programme arranged for the evening 
 has been published in the TIMES, having 
 appeared in Monday morning's issue. 
 Harmonie-Msennerchor orchestra was 
 first on the programme, while the second 
 number was by the Maennerchor, the 
 title of the song being "Weib, Wein und 
 Gesang." k> Love's Sorrow," a tenor solo 
 by Mr. Daniel Roland, was greeted with 
 hearty applause, and was followed by 
 another selection by the orchestra. The 
 part of the programme in which the 
 greatest interest centered was then 
 reached the recitation, by Mayor James 
 R. Kenney, of Mr. Thos. C. Zimmerman's 
 translation of the renowned German poet 
 Schiller's masterpiece, "The Song of the 
 Bell " Many of the persons present in 
 order to better catch every word, rose to 
 their feet as Mr. VVm. Rosenthal stepped 
 to the front and said : 
 
 MR. ROSENTHAL' s INTRODUCTOBY RE- 
 MARKS. 
 
 "Please permit me to invite your special 
 kind attention to the recitation, an- 
 nounced in to-night's programme, of a 
 masterpiece of German poetry, Schiller's 
 "Song of the Bell," as translated into 
 English by our gifted townsman, Thomas 
 C. Zimmerman. It has been -my good 
 fortune to receive an advance copy from 
 my esteemed friend, thus enabling me to 
 read carefully and to compare his work 
 with a number of previous translations 
 rendered by celebrated authors. Dr. 
 Furness's translation has been pro- 
 nounced to be the standard work hereto- 
 fore ; Sir Bulwer Lytton painted an ad- 
 mirable poetical picture of the song. 
 Elliot, Baskerville, Earl of Ellsmere, 
 Dwight and Frothingham, and other 
 eminent writers furnished highly credit- 
 able productions, and Edgar Bowring 
 came nearest in my judgment to the ideal 
 representation of the original in the Eng- 
 lish language It has been well said, 
 that an English Schiller himself would 
 not be able to do full justice to the Ger- 
 man original of the Bell in the English 
 language. When I, in the face oif all 
 these celebrated translations, emphati- 
 cally express my own opinion that 
 Thomas C Zimmerman's work is not 
 excelled by any one so far rendered, 
 and is superior in many fine points, 
 I assure you, that it is not personal 
 
-44- 
 
 admiration, but true conviction, that 
 prompts me to proclaim this my 
 judgment from this stand. It is an en- 
 tirely new and original work; it is in its 
 metrical adaptation to the original poem 
 almost perfect ; its poetical form and ex- 
 pression is chaste, true and lofty, and the 
 contemporaneous surroundings of a cen- 
 tury ago, which Schiller's creation neces- 
 sarily would reflect, have diligently been 
 searched and thus enabled the author to 
 present a more faithful adherence to the 
 German original than most of his co- 
 translators have succeeded in doing. 
 This work will be recited by the Hon. 
 James R Kenney." 
 
 MAYOR KENNEY'S APPEARANCE. 
 Mayor Kenney's appearance was 
 greeted with hearty applause, but 
 scarcely had the first words of his pre- 
 liminary remarks been uttered when the 
 audience quieted down and listened to 
 him with the most marked attention. 
 Mr. Kenney's rendition of the translation 
 was well worthy of the compliments it 
 received from those who heard him. 
 Although having less than a week's time 
 to study the poem, he seemed to have 
 thoroughly grasped the picture the 
 , author so beautifully paints in words, 
 and presented it to his hearers in such a 
 way as to also bring to their minds, 
 through Mr. Zimmerman's translation, a 
 more full understanding of what the poet 
 saw before him when he penned the im- 
 mortal lines. 
 
 At the conclusion of the recitation the 
 applause was deafening, and cries of 
 "Zimmerman" came from all parts of the 
 hall, and only ceased when Mr. Zimmer- 
 man stepped to the platform and said : 
 
 MR. ZIMMERMAN'S REMARKS. 
 "I thank you for this mark of apprecia- 
 tion. Expressions like this are a pleasure 
 and a recompen-e a pleasure in that 
 they convey the good wishes of kindly 
 disposed neighbors and friends ; a recom- 
 pense in that they bring to honest en- 
 deavor the coveted "well done! ' It is 
 not my purpose, however, to inflict a 
 speech upon you, as I am not practised 
 in the graces of pub ic utterance, and so, 
 with your permission, I will briefly re- 
 count, although in, perhaps, less inviting 
 form, the exalted virtues of one whose 
 epic and dramatic idealism, impassioned 
 eloquence, and artistic grace and felicity, 
 
 gave to the world of German literature, 
 next to Goethe, the greatest poet Ger- 
 many has produced. I need hardly say 
 that I refer to Friederich von Schiller, 
 the author of ' 'Das Lied von der Glocke, ' ' 
 the finest of his lyrics, which, in common 
 with many others, I have attempted to 
 translate for English readers, and which 
 translation Mayor Kenney has rendered 
 so acceptably this evening. No less an 
 illustrious personage than Bulwer, who 
 himself has made a translation of all the 
 metrical productions of Schiller, character- 
 izes this great German poet as "the rep- 
 resentHtive of the civilization of Northern 
 Manhood and Christian sentiment." "In 
 his poems," says Bulwer, may be seen 
 "a great and forcible intellect uniting 
 with a golden chain the outer world and 
 the inner to the Celestial Throne :" the 
 vocation of whose Muse ' is a Religious 
 Mission, who loses not her spiritual pre- 
 rogative, though shorn of her stately 
 pageantry, and despoiled of her festive 
 robes ; whose power to convert and to 
 enlighten, to purify and to raise, depends 
 not on the splendor of her appearance, 
 but on the truths that she proclaims." 
 
 To thoroughly appreciate a genius like 
 Schiller, with all the subtleties of his ex- 
 pression, the robust character of his 
 verse, its classic rhythm and sublime 
 energy, one should be able to understand 
 the original form into which his work 
 was fashioned. His is not "the lay that 
 lightly floats; " his not the murmuring, 
 dying cadences 
 
 "That fall as soft as suow on the sea, 
 And nielt in the heart as instantly ;" 
 
 but more like 
 
 "The passionate strain that, deeply going, 
 Refines the bosom it trembles through, 
 As the musk-wind, over the water blowing, 
 Ruffles the wave, but sweetens it, too." 
 
 Aye, more. All through his poetical 
 works there is noticeable, on every hand, 
 a rugged loftiness of purpose and a 
 grandeur of diction, suggestive oftimes ot 
 tenderness, as well as majesty, and 
 quickening power ; that deepens the 
 moral convictions of men, and enlarges 
 and intensifies their spiritual conceptions. 
 Much of this necessarily escapes in trans- 
 lation, "even if," as Bulwer expresses it, 
 "an English Schiller were himself to 
 translate." Again I thank you for you 
 patient attention. 
 
-45- 
 
 Oordial Reception of Mr. Zimmerman's Translation of Schiller's Famous 
 Poem. Tributes from all Quarters. 
 
 Following extracts are from some of the 
 many kind letters and notices received 
 by Mr. Thos. C. Zimmerman in reference 
 to his recent translation into English of 
 Schiller's famous "Das Lied von der 
 
 Gloclce." 
 
 Letter From Oswego State Normal School. 
 
 Prof. Otto H. L Schwetzky, instructor 
 in German and Latin in the State Nor- 
 mal School, Oswego, N. Y., wrote as 
 follows : 
 
 "I have just read in Germania a part 
 of your translation of Schiller's Glocke, 
 and am struck with its beauty and faith- 
 fulness I must have the whole of your 
 translation for my German class. * * * 
 Being a German, an enthusiastic reader 
 of Schiller and a teacher of German, I 
 can appreciate your almost marvelous 
 success. The transformation worked by 
 you is such as we are wont to find in 
 fairy tales only, where we accept the 
 wonderful without asking any questions, 
 because every thing seems natural 
 enough, after bewilderment has changed 
 to fascination. 
 
 Your translation proves the maxim, 
 that the simplest solution of a problem is 
 the one nearest the truth. May I venture 
 to guess at the secrets of your workshop ? 
 Did you not set out to translate every 
 word by itself? and when you had them | 
 all, did you not put them together as you 
 would a number of marbles on a plate, 
 just large enough for the marbles to 
 cover its bottom, and then with one 
 
 masterly movement give a shake that 
 made every marble get into line, the 
 whole representing a symmetrical, com- 
 plete picture, which nothing can im- 
 prove ?" 
 
 Letter From Canada. 
 
 A. Purslow, M. A., LL. D., headmaster 
 of Port Hope High School, Ontario, 
 Canada, says: 
 
 "I have checked a few of the crucial 
 verses in your translation of Schiller's 
 'The Song of the Bell,' and would add 
 mine to the many compliments you have 
 already received were I not afraid that 
 they would be as unnoticed as a small 
 boy in a crowd. I consider myself for- 
 tunate in securing a copy of so excellent 
 a translation of my favorite German 
 poem." 
 
 From the Argentine Republic. 
 
 Maj. O. C James, writing from Car- 
 carana, Argentine Republic, S. A., said, 
 among other things: 
 
 "I am not familiar enough with the 
 German to read poetry with any great 
 sense of its beauty, hence The Song of 
 :he Bell' in the original was a sealed 
 book. Your translation, therefore, ap- 
 peals to me with all the force of a first 
 presentation in strong, terse, yet musi- 
 cally-flowing English. I read it with 
 great pleasure, and need not say that you 
 have my hearty congratulations on your 
 great achievement " 
 
.46 
 
 Kind Words From California. 
 
 Nathan Stein, teller in Wells Fargo & 
 Go's. Bank, San Francisco, writes thus: 
 
 "I rejoice to find the honor has fallen 
 on a 'Lebanon county boy' (of which I'm 
 one myself, though born in Dauphin,) of 
 making so fine and approved a transla- 
 tion of so great a German original. It 
 has always appeared to me among the 
 'Pennsylvania Dutch' who have been 
 blessed with opportunities or impelling 
 power to help themselves should be 
 found the ablest interpreters, to English 
 readers, of the treasures of German litera- 
 ture, and in such as Bayard Taylor's and 
 yours I find the record fairly started 
 that will confirm my opinion. You have 
 my hearty good wishes for all future 
 endeavors you may make in that line." 
 
 Letter From Berlin, Germany. 
 
 Theodore Liebermann, of San Fran- 
 cisco, wrote from Berlin, Germany, in 
 these words: 
 
 "The translation of the Glocke which 
 I admired so much in its recitation to 
 the steamship's company on board the 
 steamer Lahn by Capt. Andrews, a 
 fellow-passenger from Toronto Canada, 
 and which I borrowed the next day for 
 careful personal reading, I should like to 
 have. Please send me a copy to Berlin. 
 I wish to offer you my compliments for 
 the rare talent you have shown in the 
 work of translation. ' ' 
 
 The Philadelphia "Demokrafs" High Compliment. 
 
 The Philadelphia Demokrat of the 
 ultimo contains the following very com- 
 plimentary notice : 
 
 "An eminent translator of German clas- 
 sical poems into the English is Mr 
 Thomas C. Zimmerman, editor of the 
 Reading TIMES. A large number of 
 such translations have been already pub- 
 lished. They excel riot only in choice 
 poetical language, but also by a most 
 faithful adherence to the original, and 
 well deserve to be compiled into one 
 general edition. The latest, which Mr. 
 Zini'i erman has furnished, is a transla- 
 tion of Schiller's "Bell." There are al- 
 ready existing a number of excellent 
 translations into the English of the "Bell" 
 from Bulwer's to Rev. Furness's of Phila- 
 delphia, which up to the present time 
 has been judged to be the best, but 
 which, indeed, is excelled by that of Mr. 
 Zimmerman in the accuracy of the ren- 
 dition of the original " 
 
 From the Editor of the New York Times. 
 
 C. R. Miller, editor-in-chief of the 
 New York Times, sent the following: 
 
 "I have lately seen a copy of your 
 translation of Schiller's 'Song of the 
 Bell,' and have been so much struck by 
 its fidelity and excellence that I make 
 bold to ask you where and how I can 
 obtain it." 
 
 "A Triumph of the Translator's Art." 
 
 [From the New York World.] 
 
 Thomas C. Zimmerman, editor of the 
 Reading (Pa.) TIMES, has made a fine 
 translation of Schiller's "S-:ng of the 
 Bell." Mr. Zimmerman's rendering is a 
 triumph of the translator's art, and recalls 
 the work of Bayard Taylor. 
 
 "An Admirable Translation." 
 J. G. Rosengarten, Esq., one of Phila- 
 delphia's leading attorneys, writes as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 "I congratulate you on being a poet who 
 is honored at home ; it is an augury of 
 good things yet to come." 
 
 Prof. F. A. Muhlenberg's Greetings. 
 
 Prof. F. A Muhlenberg, late Professor 
 of Greek in the University of Pennsyl- 
 vania, writes under date of the 26th 
 ultimo : 
 
 "I have read with great interest, and 
 great pleasure, your spirited translation 
 of Schiller's "Song of the Bell." It is a 
 real masterpiece of poetic work, on your 
 part, for the translation, owing to the 
 constantly varying rhythms of the origi- 
 nal presents peculiar difficulties. I have 
 read over your translation several times, 
 with admiration of your success ; and am 
 disposed to say you are competent to 
 grapple with any difficulties in German 
 poetry, after such a specimen. 
 
 I cannot do anything else than praise 
 your industry, and wise economy of time; 
 in laboring, in this delightful department 
 of literature, for your own pleasure and 
 profit, and the benefit of the present and 
 future generations. 
 
 I hope, when you have a sufficiency of 
 your literary labors on hand, you will 
 have them collected in a volume, for our 
 permanent possession." 
 
 N. Y. Herald's High Praise. 
 Mr. Thomas C. Zimmerman, one of the 
 proprietors of the Reading TIMES, has 
 placed his name in the category of famous 
 litterateurs by a very creditable transla- 
 tion of Schiller's "Song of the Bell." 
 
-47- 
 
 What B. P. Shillaber Says. 
 
 B. P. Shillaber. (Mrs. Partington, ) Bos- 
 ton, writes of the translation : 
 
 * * "The sturdiness of the poem at- 
 tests its fidelity, and I think there is a 
 self-evidence of this .in the construction of 
 the versification, and to read it one might 
 be lead to say, with the New Jersey jus- 
 tice, ^hen opposing evidence was called 
 for in a certain case, "You needn't bring 
 it on my mind is made up." I congrat- 
 ulate you on the success you have 
 achieved, and trust that you may be led 
 to gather all you have written and give it 
 to the world in books. * * 
 
 Judge McPherson's Beautiful Tribute. 
 
 Under date of Jan. 29th, Hon. John B. 
 McPherson, additional law judge of the 
 Dauphin-Lebanon judicial district, writes 
 as follows : 
 
 "It is not given to every translator to 
 follow faithfully his original and yet pre- 
 serve its felicities both of thought and 
 expression, and that you have so abun- 
 dantly succeeded in an effort of unusual 
 difficulty is convincing proof that you 
 have had the invaluable aid of that inner, 
 imaginative sympathy without which 
 translation is mechanical work hardly 
 worth doing." 
 
 Congratulations from California. 
 
 Mr. John S. Hittell, historian ot the 
 Golden State, and a gentleman of pro- 
 found scholarly attainments, sends the 
 following : 
 
 1025 HYDE STREET, 
 SAN FRANCISCO, Feb. 2, 1889 
 ME T. C. ZIMMERMAN : 
 
 Dear Sir : Let me congratulate you 
 on the merit of your translation of ">as 
 Lied von der Clocke" by Schiller, pub- 
 lished in the Reading TIMES AND DIS- 
 PATCH of the 24th ult : 
 
 I would like still more to congratulate 
 you on making your journal a steadfast 
 and influential advocate of the study ot 
 high German by the Pennsylvania Ger- 
 mans, who can learn it easily and will 
 not forget it, as they do their French and 
 their Latin. Next to the English, the 
 German language has the richest of all 
 literatures ; and in many branches it is 
 worth more to the scholar than all other 
 foreign tongues, ancient and modern to- 
 gether. 
 
 I am a Pennsylvania German by birth ; 
 I have studied three ancient languages ; 
 I speak four of the tongues of modern 
 Continental Europe ; and therefore I 
 know something of what * write. 
 
 What Geo. G. Barclay Writes. 
 
 Geo. G. Barclay, Esq , for many years 
 a practitioner at the Berks county bar, 
 late of Philadelphia, deceased, wrote thus: 
 
 Deaf Zimmerman: I have just read a 
 pamphlet copy of your translation of 
 Schiller's masterpiece, "The Song of the 
 Bell," and I am delighted with it. It 
 has touched my heart, and affected my 
 head, as a glass of sparkling champagne, 
 such as we used to have in "the olden 
 time," when there was champagne. If 
 you were not of "Old Berks," * * 
 that piece of yours would be applauded 
 to the very echo that doth applaud again 
 
 I have read Bulwer, but his translation 
 has not left upon my mind the impression 
 that I know yours will. I have forgotten 
 his ; I doubt whether I will as soon for- 
 get your fine translation. 
 
 Allow me to say and I don't intend to 
 flatter that I think and know that there 
 is a good deal of poetry in your make 
 which ought to be better appreciated than 
 it is, but but but "a prophet is not 
 without honor save in his own country. 1 ' 
 
 Praise from Robert J. Burdette. 
 
 Under date of the 29th ultimo. Robert 
 J. Burdette, the world-renowned humor- 
 ist, writes from Bryn Mawr, as follows : 
 
 My dear friend Zimmerman : I have 
 just been reading the "Song of the Bell" 
 Schiller interpreted by Zimmerman. 
 Happy the poet who hath an interpreter 
 whose heart throbs in harmony and ca- 
 dence with his own. 
 
 So be the mission of your pen, my 
 friend 
 
 " This henceforth its calling be 
 
 ****** 
 
 * * a voice from heaven, 
 
 I/ike yonder starry hosts, so clear, 
 Who in their course extol their Maker, 
 And onward lead the wreath-crowned year. 
 To earnest things and things eternal, 
 Devoted be its metal tongue." 
 
 Itself hath written its own prophecy ! 
 
 What Pres't White, of Cornell, Says. 
 
 President White, of Cornell University, 
 writes as follows : 
 
 That your work obeys the chief requi- 
 site for a translation of a poem, fidelity 
 to the original metre and rime, is not 
 the least of its merits. And I trust that 
 one influence from its publication will be 
 to attract more readers to become better 
 acquainted with the many noble lyric 
 utterances of Schiller himself." 
 
48 
 
 A Scholarly Review. 
 
 The following ably-written criticism is 
 from the pen of J. B. Ker, who, while a 
 resident of Scotland, once stood for 
 Parliament : 
 
 To Coi.. T. C. ZIMMERMAN Sir: 
 Having read and studied your notable 
 translation of Schiller's "Song of the 
 Bell," I have been forcibly impressed by 
 the music of the language into which you 
 have rendered the poem. This is a merit 
 oi capital importance in the translation of 
 this poem In estimating the value of 
 translations of the great German poems, 
 it is necessary to bear in mind the weight 
 which the literary and critical conscious- 
 ness of Germany attached to the ancient 
 classical canons of poetry. There is no 
 question here as to whether the ancients 
 were right The point for us is that their 
 influence was loyally acknowledged as of 
 high authority during the Augustan age 
 of German literature. Proof of this can 
 be found in Goethe as distinctly as it 
 superabundantly appears in Lessing's 
 famous "Dramatic Notes," where the 
 poetic dicta of Aristotle are treated with 
 profound respect. 
 
 In the study of Aristotle's work on the 
 Poetic, nothing is perhaps more striking 
 than his dictum that poetry is imitation, 
 with the explanation or enlargement so 
 aptly given by Pope in the words : 
 
 'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence, 
 The sound must se man echo to the sense. 
 Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows, 
 And the smooth stream in smoother numbers 
 
 flows : 
 
 But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, 
 The hoarse, rough waves should like the torrent 
 
 roar 
 When Ajax strives some rocks vast weight to 
 
 throw. 
 
 The line, too, labors, and the words move slow, 
 Not so when swift Camilla scours the main, 
 Flies o'er the unbending corn, or skims along 
 
 the plain. 
 
 Now knowing the German recognition 
 of the law and acknowledging its realiza- 
 tion in the works of the leading Teutonic 
 poets, one of the crucial tests of a trans- 
 lation of a great German poem is, Does 
 the language into which the original is 
 rendered form an "echo to the sense?" 
 
 It seems to me that one of the strongest 
 points in your translation of the "Bell" is 
 that the words which you have selected 
 and gathered have sounds, which like the 
 music of a skillful musical composer, 
 convey a signification independently of 
 their literal meaning. Not to protract 
 these remarks unduly, few words could 
 more appropriately refer to the music of 
 strong and distant bells than your render- 
 
 "That from the metal's unmixed founding 
 Clear and full may the bell be sounding." 
 
 Very slight poetic capacity must admit 
 the music of these words as eminently 
 happy in the ' ' Song of the Bell .' ' 
 
 The echo to the sense is also striking 
 in the sound of the word-symbols in 
 many places throughout the rendering 
 where the poet describes the occurrences 
 conceived in connection with the^belFs 
 imagined history. 
 
 Speaking of the visions of love 
 
 "0, that they ivoul be never-ending, 
 These vernal days ivith lovelight blending'" 
 
 the way in which the penult of the word 
 ''ending" conveys the idea of finality, 
 while the affix ot the present participle 
 yet prolongs the word as though loath to 
 let it depart, is a beautiful and enviable 
 realization of the Aristotelian rule, a pro- 
 longation of the words which expresses 
 doubly a prolongation of desire. 
 
 The four lines reading : 
 
 "Blind raging, like the thunder's crashing, 
 
 It bursts its fractured bed of earth, 
 
 As if from put hell's jaws fierce flashing, 
 
 It spewed its flaming ruin forth," 
 
 have a vehement strength and a rough 
 and even a painful and horrid sound 
 which apply with singular propriety to 
 the horrible images by which the poet 
 presents the catastrophe to our quickened 
 apprehensions. 
 The beautiful lines : 
 
 "Joy to me now God hath given," &c. 
 
 in which the bell-founder exults, avoid- 
 ing, as they do, the deeper vowel sounds 
 and preserving as it were a series of high 
 musical notes save where the gift de- 
 scends from Heaven to earth when the 
 vowel sounds fall from high to low, form 
 a delightful resonance of the happy senti- 
 ment they embody. 
 
 The general experience of translations 
 is that they are more prosy than sonorous 
 or musical. Few, however, if any, will 
 deny the melody of your language in 
 many places and its remarkable appro- 
 priateness in others, and those who have 
 worked on similar translations can best 
 iudge how great is the success you have 
 accomplished in this valuable contribu- 
 tion to Angl -Saxon literature. 
 
 "Recalling the Finest Works of Bayard Taylor." 
 
 [From the Philadelphia Times.] 
 
 Thomas C Zimmerman, editor of the 
 Reading TlMES, has made a fine transla- 
 tion of Schiller's "Song of the Bell," 
 which is said to recall some of the finest 
 works of Bnvard Tavlor 
 
-49- 
 
 A Cotemporary's Cordial Greeting. 
 
 To the Reading Evening Telegram, 
 the translator is indebted for the follow- 
 ing graceful compliment : 
 
 ''Editor Zimmerman, ol the TIMES, has 
 had the many complimentary newspaper 
 notices of his translation of Schiller's 
 4 'Song of the Bell," together with the let- 
 ters of congratulation of personal friends 
 and literatteurs printed with his transla- 
 tion in pamphlet fcrm. This book is a 
 treasure house filled with the sweet in- 
 cense of praise, the reward of well-spent 
 time and labor, and shows that the popu- 
 lar appreciation will follow all deserving 
 effort. Editor Zimmerman's literary 
 work, the largest part of which is in the 
 columns of the TIMES, has always borne 
 the impress of a scholarly taste, and 
 some of his best efforts have been his 
 sketches of nature as he saw it in his 
 rambles about the city. That he should 
 have been able to make translations ot 
 the German classical lyrics is not sur- 
 prising, for he possesses the gift of poesy 
 which only needed occasion for its devel- 
 opment It will he far more surprising if 
 he is not accorded the place in the world 
 of letters which he should occupy " 
 
 "Germania's" Criticism of the Translation. 
 
 From a criticism published in Ger- 
 mania, a monthly magazine published in 
 Boston, the following extracts are made : 
 
 Wir haben schon friiher einmal darauf 
 hingewiesen welch' vortreffliches Mittel 
 der aufmerksame Vergleich einer guten 
 Uebersetzung mit dem Originale jedem 
 Studierenden an die Hand giebt, urn in 
 den Geist der Sprache einzudringen. 
 Selten haben wir uns von der Wahrheit 
 dieser Behauptung so Ueberzeugt ge- 
 fuhlt wie beim Lesen der trefflichen Ueber- 
 setzung des Herrn Zimmermann. Herr 
 Zimmermann ist kein Neulingin der Ueb- 
 ersetzungskunst, wie wir horen, hat er 
 schon manches herrliche deutsche Ge- 
 dicht: "Die Lorelei," "Erlkonig," "Em 
 feste Burg ist unser Gott," u. a. ins 
 Englische iibertragen, und 'sich durch 
 seine genaue und dichterische Wieder- 
 gabe des Originals die hochste Anerken- 
 nung erwprben. Wir miissen gestehn 
 dass wir seine Uebersetznng von Schiller's 
 Lied von der Glocke aber doch mit 
 einem gewissen Zweifel in die Hand 
 nahmen. Die Aufgabe, dieses herrliche 
 Gedicht zu iibersetzen, ist eine so un- 
 geheure, die Uebersetzungen der tiichtig- 
 sten Manner standen so tief under dem 
 Original, dass sie uns fast unmoglich 
 vorkam. YVunderbar hat sich Herr 
 
 Zimmermann seiner Aufgabe entledigt. 
 Seine Uebersetzung erreicht das Original 
 nicht, sie kommt demselben aber wohl 
 am niichsten. Einige Stellen sind mit 
 soldier Meisterschaft wiedergegeben, wie 
 es nur ein Genie, ein hochbegabter 
 Dichter vermag. * * * 
 
 'Lust und Liebe sind die Fittiche zu 
 grossen Thaten', das sieht man recht an 
 dem Werke des Herrn Zinmermann. 
 Moge das Lob, welches er sich durch 
 diese Arbeit erworben hat, den Verfasser 
 zu iinlichen Werken anspornen, das ist 
 unser innigster Wunsch. 
 
 [TRANSLATION.] 
 
 Upon a previous occasion we have 
 pointed out the excellent means which 
 are placed in the hands of the student to 
 enter into the spirit of a language by a 
 careful comparison of a creditable trans- 
 lation with the original Seldom have 
 we felt so convinced of the truth of this 
 assertion, as by reading the excellent 
 translation of Mr. Zimmerman. Mr. 
 Zimmerman is no novice in the 
 art of translation, as we are in- 
 formed; he has translated into English 
 many a beautiful German poem such as 
 "The Lorelei," "Erlking," "A Rock- 
 Bound Fortress is our God, "' and others, 
 and by his accurate and poetic rendition 
 of the original earned the highest recog- 
 nition. We must admit that we took in 
 hand his translation of Schiller's "Song 
 of the Bell" with certain misgivings. 
 The task of translating this beautiful 
 poem is so enormous; the translations of 
 the most capable men stood so far beneath 
 the original that it appeared to us a 
 feat, well nigh impossible. 
 
 Wonderfully has Mr Zimmerman ac- 
 quitted himself of his task. His transla- 
 tion does not reach the original; it how- 
 ever, comes nearest to it. Several parts 
 are rendered in such masterly manner, 
 as only a genius, a highly-gifted poet, is 
 enabled to do. 
 
 'Pleasure and love are the wings to 
 great deeds' ; this can be particularly seen 
 in this work of Mr Zimmerman. May 
 the praise, which he has received through 
 this work, inspire the author to similar 
 works, is our most ardent wish. 
 
 What the San Francisco "Call" Says. 
 
 Thomas C. Zimmerman, editor of the 
 Reading TIMES, has made a fine transla- 
 tion of Schiller's "Song of the Bell," 
 which is said to recall some of the finest 
 works of Bayard Taylor. 
 
-50 
 
 "A Remarkable Production." 
 
 John W. Mish, Esq., of Lebanon, in a 
 letter dated the 3cth ultimo, says : 
 
 ' ' Dear Mr. Zimmerman : Your trans- 
 lation of Schiller's "Song of the Bell" is a 
 remarkable production following ex- 
 actly the peculiar metrical construction 
 of the original throughout and yet re- 
 taining the absolute literal expression of 
 the author. 
 
 Evidences of a discernment extraordi- 
 nary, united with poetic genius, from 
 which still higher flights can be antici- 
 pated. 
 
 To the translator I tender my warmest 
 congratulations, and hope soon to wel- 
 come an Epic or an Idyl from the gifted 
 translator." 
 
 'Commands the Attention of All Lovers of Poetry." 
 
 [From the I^aucaster (Pa.) Intelligencer.] 
 
 "The translation commands the atten- 
 tion of all lovers of poetry, and as repro- 
 ducing with accuracy and force the poetic 
 thought of Schiller's masterpiece, it is a 
 notable work. In the minds of a great 
 many, however, the only right of poetry 
 to exist depends upon the melody of the 
 language used, and it has been found 
 almost impossible for even the greatest 
 poets to translate a poem with exact ad- 
 herence to the thought and an equal care 
 for the sound effect. It has been said 
 that Longfellow sacrificed sense to sound, 
 and Zimmerman may be taxed with the 
 smaller fault of reversing the sacrifice 
 and preserving the vigor and beauty of 
 the thought. If the English language 
 cannot accommodate itself to Schiller so 
 much the worse for the language. In 
 many passages, however, words and 
 thoughts are equally pleasing, and we 
 have to thank the talented Pennsylvania 
 editor for an excellent and valuable addi- 
 tion to our translated literature." 
 
 "A Wonderful Success. " 
 [From the Reading Herald.] 
 
 "The translation is a wonderful success 
 in "-etting over." to use the German 
 idiom, into the English language the 
 whole poem without apparently marring 
 a sentiment or jarring out of place the 
 delicate music that Schiller put into it. 
 In doing this he [vlr. Zimmerman] has 
 performed a service for English readers 
 not to be overestimated, and has added 
 much to the fame he has already acquired 
 by his admirable translations of some of 
 the masterpieces of German poetry." 
 
 "Charming and Impressive." 
 
 [From the Philadelphia City Item.] 
 
 " It is worthy of the reputation of Mr. 
 Zimmerman, who possesses the .poetic 
 faculty in an eminent degree,_ and whose 
 facility as a writer is charming and im- 
 pressive." 
 
 A Poetic Tribute. 
 
 Rev. Theodore E Schmauk, associate 
 pastor of Salem's Lutheran church, Leba- 
 non, and a gentleman of high literary 
 culture, writes from '"On Board Train," 
 ''New York State," as follows : 
 
 1 ' My Dear Mr. Zimmerman : Your 
 new translation in my hand has kept my 
 eyes from the snowy scenes, through 
 which I am being whirled, along the 
 shores of Seneca Lake. 
 
 In a pure white flame you have fused 
 over again the great German Glocke, 
 and run its molten metal into the ever 
 changing, mightily-stirring metrical 
 mould of the original, with such success 
 
 That both heart and eye delighted, 
 May behold the perfect form. 
 
 If the German 'Glocke' be 'like a 
 golden star,' and vibrate with golden 
 tones ; surely the English "Bell is like a 
 silvery star, and sings a silvery song." 
 
 "Poetic Genius of a High Order." 
 
 [From the Harrisburg (Pa.) Telegraph.] 
 
 " Schiller's " Song of the Bell" is one 
 of the finest poems in the German or any 
 other language, and Mr Zimmerman has 
 translated it in a manner which preserves 
 the beauty of sentiment and imngery of 
 the original, and gives him fresh claims 
 on the praise of lovers of pure, vigorous 
 English. The Telegraph congratulates 
 Mr Zimmerman on his success as a trans- 
 lator." 
 
 Shows Skill and Taste. 
 
 The Book Buyers' 1 Guide of Balti- 
 more, recently contained the following 
 under its editorial head: "Editor Zim- 
 merman, of the esteemed Reading TIMES, 
 finds time in the intervals of daily work 
 
 ! to woo the muses. He recently pub- 
 lished a metrical translation of Schiller's 
 4 Das Lied von der Glocke. ' It compares 
 favorably with similar efforts by other 
 writers and shows no little skill and liter- 
 ary taste. The Bell Song is one of the 
 most difficult poems to render into Eng- 
 lish to be found among Schiller's writings. 
 It has a great variety of metre and the 
 meaning in the original is in some cases 
 
 j not a little obscure. Mr. Zimmerman 
 
 | has received, as he deserves, the compli- 
 
 ' ments of the craft." 
 
A Clergyman's Congratulations. 
 Rev. S H. Hoover, pastor of St. Peter's 
 M. E. church, this city, concludes a letter 
 to the translator in these words : 
 
 'You have a way of getting at the 
 meaning of the German poets that's 
 really genius. How do you do it ? Tell 
 us your secret. I think even Schiller 
 himself is indebted to you and ought to 
 rise and thank you for making his Bell 
 ring out so grandly its melodious peals 
 to the comfort and delight of the busy 
 peoples of this busy century." 
 
 "Eminently Creditable." 
 
 [From the Scranton Truth,] 
 
 "Eminently creditable to that gentle- 
 man's literary skill." 
 
 Brentano's Publishing House Wants It. 
 
 Brentanos' publishers and booksellers, 
 5 Union Square, New York, write as 
 follows : 
 
 THOS. C. ZIMMERMAN Dear Sir: 
 Where can we obtain "The Song of Bell" 
 by you ? If you can supply it please send 
 one, with bill. 
 
 From the Deputy Sup't of Penna. Schools. 
 The following congratulatory letter is 
 from the Deputy Superintendent of the 
 Common Schools of the State : 
 
 "Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, ) 
 Department of Public Instruction, > 
 HARRISBURG, Feb. 12, 1889. j 
 "Mr. Zimmerman: Your translation 
 
 Revealing "a Mine of Poetic Wealth." 
 Hon Charles B. Forney, a retired iron- 
 master residing at Lebanon, and a writer 
 I of State-wide reputation, sends the fol- 
 j lowing under date of the I2th instant : 
 
 "FRIEND ZIMMERMAN. Dear Sir: 
 j Your translation of Schiller's "Song of 
 I the Bell" is deservedly calling forth the 
 j praise of capable critics. It is a literary 
 I triumph of which you may well feel 
 i proud, ranking as it does your name with 
 those of the most distinguished transla- 
 tors from the German. The mine of 
 poetic wealth you have revealed to us in 
 your translations, is not only invaluable 
 j in itself, but forcibly teaches the same 
 | lesson, that "man lives not by bread 
 | alone." Those who minister to our 
 | higher and better nature are few you 
 are destined to be one of them." 
 
 What the Editor of "American Notes and Queries'' 
 Says. 
 
 Under date of February i2th, instant, 
 W. H. Garrison, one of the editors and 
 publishers of American Notes and Quer- 
 ies, says : 
 
 "My Dear Sir: I spoke yesterday to 
 Mr Levy, a highly intelligent German, 
 editing the Evening Herald of this city, 
 about the translation of "The Song of 
 the Bell." If you will forward him a 
 copy for notice it will be appreciated as 
 greatly as it was by 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 W. H. GARRISON. 
 
 sence. I have read it over and over 
 again, and I am glad to admit that you 
 have accomplished a task which tome 
 seemed impossible. I thought there is 
 no English which could take the place of 
 this beautiful German. 
 
 With your translation before me, I am 
 ready to say it is Schiller's poem in Eng- 
 lish as it is in German. We are proud of 
 the fact that you belong to Lebanon 
 county," 
 
 An "Ideal Interpretation." 
 
 The following note from New York i 
 city explains itself: 
 
 The harmonious blending of words, 
 the true and ideal interpretation of the 
 great German poet's masterwork, is 
 through your masterly translation made 
 truly perfect. The clear and sweet into- \ 
 nations of the "Bell" now have the iden- 1 
 tical metallic ring in both languages ! " 
 Very sincerely yours, 
 
 LOUIS C. WOEHNING. 
 
 P. F. Rothermel, . the well known 
 painter of the "Battle of Gettysburg," 
 writes as follows : 
 
 ' "My Dear Mr. Zimmerman : I read 
 your translation of Schiller's "Song of 
 the Bell;" also your paper containing 
 many expressions of very great value 
 from scholars, whose praise, unreserved 
 and spontaneous as it is, stamps your 
 translation as q work of the greatest 
 merit. 
 
 I wish also heartily to congratulate you 
 upon the manner in which the public has 
 met your work by its pronounced appre- 
 ciation." 
 
 Never Saw a Better Piece of Work. 
 "I find yonr translation very good. I 
 have never seen a better piece of work. 
 The same opinion of its high merit is en- 
 tertained by all to whom I have shown 
 the translation." 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 GEO. HOEHN. 
 
 360 Seventh Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
 
-52- 
 
 -The Finest Translation Yet Made." 
 Under this caption appears the follow- 
 ing editorial from the columns of the 
 Easton (Pa.) Sunday Call: 
 
 The truest translation yet made, not- 
 withstanding so scholarly a gentleman as 
 Dr. Furness and several others equally 
 eminent, had previously translated it. 
 This is but one of the many creditable 
 translations rendered from the German 
 by our gifted editorial brother. : ' 
 
 "As an evidence of the esteem in which 
 the people of Reading hold him, it may 
 be stated that at a musical festival held 
 there, by the most popular society of the 
 city, a part of the program was the reci- 
 tation, by the Mayor of the city, of the 
 English translation alluded to, to a large 
 and intelligent audience cf the elite of 
 Reading." 
 
 "Adding Lustre to the Illustrious Schiller." 
 Dr. S. T. Lineaweaver, of Lebanon, 
 sends the following highly flattering 
 commendation of the translator's work : 
 "You must certainly be divinely-gifted, 
 in a poetical sense, to reproduce in a for- 
 eign language, a poem hitherto deemed 
 tame except in its original language, 
 recognize the difficulty of a poetical 
 translation into hard English, from the 
 German, and was amazed as well as 
 gratified to know that a fellow-townsman 
 of mine could add lustre to the illustrious 
 Schiller. This translation will go down 
 to generations of English-reading people 
 in company with its illustrious author." 
 
 A New York Lady's Congratulations. 
 A daintly-written note, approaching in 
 delicacy of form and feature the attrac- 
 tiveness oi copperplate, reached the 
 translator from New York a few days ago. 
 It is dated as follows : 
 
 1135 Lex. Ave., Cor. 79th .St., ) 
 NEW YORK, Feb. 12, 1889. j 
 " My familiarity with the German lan- 
 guage has enabled me to enjoy the origi- 
 nal works of this poet laureate and you 
 through an admirable translation, per- 
 fectly reflect the beauties of the poem, 
 thereby enabling American ladies to 
 share the enjoyment, and appreciate this 
 favorite poet to a far greater degree than 
 heretofore. ' ' 
 
 Very respectfully, 
 
 FRANCES WOEHNING. 
 
 Achieving Fame. 
 
 [From the Scranton Republican.] 
 
 "Mr. Zimmerman has achieved no lit- 
 tle fame as a translator of poetry from 
 German to English." 
 
 "Americanizing the German Muse." 
 Dr. Frank Cowan, of Greenesburgh, 
 well known in literary and scientific cir- 
 cles as a writer of scholarly ability, sends 
 the following : 
 
 "THOMAS C. ZIMMERMAN, Esq., Read- 
 ing, Pa. My Dear Sir: I congratulate 
 you heartily on the series of brilliant suc- 
 cesses which you have achieved in 
 Americanizing the German Muse. It 
 seems to me to be the capping-sheaf to 
 our general success in naturalizing the 
 Germans, to make our own the highest 
 evolutions of their poetic thought. It is 
 becoming in a man of your name and 
 lineage to engage in this work ; it is 
 within the compass of your well, known 
 powers of appreciation and expression to 
 continue your successes indefinitely, and 
 have no rival save yourself; and it is my 
 earnest prayer that you work away until 
 poetically, at least the terms Pennsyl- 
 vania Dutch and German American be as 
 tautologic as ox-beef, Hebrew-Jew, or 
 the like. With respect to your last suc- 
 cesswell, I thank you a thousand times 
 for combining forever the tones of Schil- 
 ler's Bell and the notes of the wood- 
 thrush and other choristers of Appa- 
 lachia. " 
 
 "Beautiful, Correct, Rhythmic." 
 The Harrisburg Evening Star says : 
 "We have long known Mr. Zimmer- 
 man's love for the Muses, but had no 
 idea that so beautiful, so correct, so 
 rhythmic a rendition of one of the great 
 German's greatest poetic effusions could 
 be produced in English. Mr. Zimmer- 
 man has done so, and the sons and de- 
 scendants of das Vaterland owe him a 
 debt of gratitude. " 
 
 Rev. Dr. Mann's Eloquent Tribute. 
 
 Rev. W J. Mann, D.D., of Philadel- 
 phia, perhaps the foremost German pulpit 
 orator in America, under date of Febru- 
 ary 27th, writes as follows : 
 
 "THOMAS C. ZIMMERMAN, ESQ. Dear 
 Sir: So much has been said in praise of 
 your excellent translation of Schiller's 
 "Glocke" that whatever I might say can- 
 not add one leaf to the wreath of laurels 
 encircling your head. Perhaps it might 
 not be unwelcome to you to hear that one 
 of the greatest in the line of literary criti- 
 cism, Wilhelm von Humbold, once re- 
 marked that Schiller's 'Glocke' was the 
 song which embodied in its sentiments 
 the entire scale of feelings of which the 
 human soul was capable The 'Glocke' 
 has not lost iu this respect by being by 
 you recast in the English mould." 
 
-53- 
 
 High Praise from Rev. W. H. Myers. 
 
 In his "At Leisure" paper contributed 
 to The Lutheran of January 3ist, Rev. W. 
 H. Myers, of this city, pays the following 
 high compliment to the translator ol 
 "The Song of the Bell" and his work : 
 
 When Col. T C. Zimmerman, quite re- 
 cently, published at the request of The 
 Lutheran, his new translation of Luther's 
 Battle-Hymn, a spontaneous literary 
 
 scenes shift in their moods like sunshine 
 playing through rushing clouds. Humor 
 it has none, tor Schiller had none but a 
 mixture of solid repose and a surprised 
 influx of thrilling pathos, chased out 
 again by light-hearted playfulness. It is 
 not art, but genius that can reflect this 
 poem in another tongue 
 
 The opening verses describing the cast- 
 ing of the bell, are full of stately senti- 
 
 ovation overwhelmed him. The secular I ments and philosophic truths capable of 
 and religious press from every side at | much artificial bungling in the transla- 
 once popularized the excellent rendition, [ tion but there is nothing labored in the 
 
 ^,-k,4*.-.4-,^-,,i;^j^i "U A __ i A , , i it . . - 
 
 and intensified the beauty and strength of 
 the original hymn itself one of the rich- 
 est legacies of the Lutheran Church. 
 
 Mr. Zimmerman's genius, as a transla- 
 tor from German into English, is even 
 better demonstrated in his masterly ren- 
 dition of "Schiller's Song of the Bell," 
 just brought to public notice. It was 
 first read_ before a large assemblage in 
 the Reading Academy of Music last week, 
 and was afterwards printed in the Read- 
 ing TIMES, where the German and Eng- 
 lish appear side by side. Those who 
 are interested in the poem would do well 
 to secure it in this shape by sending for 
 copies of the TIMES. 
 
 The great German lyric bard is not so 
 easily approached by the translator 
 His classical metres were not popular in 
 this country until recently. Then, too, 
 he is often mystical, and this, together 
 with the peculiar metre, makes the rendi- 
 tion of his writings into English a diffi- 
 cult task. 
 
 "The Song of the Bell" rides on 
 top crest of Schiller's popularity, 
 varied intonations are as rich as 
 sounding metal of the Bell itself, 
 wonder so many translators have labored 
 over its eccentric lines, oft weird, oft ex- 
 hilaratingfew of the translations can 
 be praised for fidelity to the original. 
 
 I have before me Edgar Alfred Bow- 
 ring's effort Men of greater literary 
 
 knottiest parts. 
 
 The revelry of love and its beautiful 
 attainment the hymeneal altar, as pic- 
 tured by Schiller, has not suffered by the 
 
 the 
 Its 
 the 
 No 
 
 fame have risked their reputation on 
 Schiller's poem but this modest tribute 
 is not eclipsed by any more popularly 
 accepted authority. 
 
 We need not necessarily have the in- 
 stinct of the more astute critic to affirm 
 that the translation of T. C. Zimmerman 
 strikes one as pre-eminently masterly. 
 The faithful art-student of poesy may 
 linger and pick flaws iu detail if he will- 
 there is much in feeling that a thing is 
 right. The deep poetic feeling of the 
 bard appeals more to the heart than to 
 the head of the reader. Our translator 
 has caught the spirit of the varied transi- 1 
 tions of the poem most faithfully the I 
 
 translation. It retains the measured in- 
 tonations of the bell 
 
 See the pipes already ... 
 
 This small bar I dip therein ; 
 If it show a glazed coating, 
 Then the castings may begin. 
 
 Workmen, quickly go, 
 
 Prove the mixture's flow. 
 When soft and brittle fuse together, 
 'Tis a sign propitious ever. 
 
 For when the stern and soft are sharing, 
 And strength with gentleness is pairing, 
 The harmony is sweet and strong. 
 Who, therefore, would be bound forever. 
 Must see that hearts agree together! 
 Illusion's brief, repentance long. 
 Lovely, in the bride's fair tresses, 
 Plays the virgin wreath of green, 
 When the merry church bells, ringing, 
 Summon to the joyous scene. 
 Ah ! life's sweetest festal moments 
 Also end life's sunny May, 
 With the veil, and with the girdle, 
 Fond illusions fade away. 
 For passion will fly, 
 But love be surviving 
 The flower must die, 
 The fruitage be thriving. 
 The man must be out 
 In life's battle fighting, 
 Be struggling and striving, 
 And planting and working, 
 No artifice shirking, 
 Be risking and staking, 
 His fortune o'ertaking. 
 
 Taking all in all, I think the translator 
 has shown himself most . masterly in the 
 thrilling, exciting alarum that he creates 
 in the unhesitating, even strokes of the 
 following lines. The picture is real, and 
 not a single misplacing of word or metre 
 breaks the spell of your excitement 
 
 How friendly is the fire's might, 
 When tamed by being watched aright ; 
 And what man fashions, what creates, 
 From this heaven-born force he takes. 
 But fearful this promethean wonder, 
 When its fetters break asunder, 
 And madly leaps unchecked along! 
 Dame Nature's daughter, free and strong ! 
 Woe, when once 'tis liberated, 
 Spreading free on every hand 
 Through the streets, like fiend unsated, 
 Quickly moves the monstrous brand ! 
 By the elements is hated 
 Work that's done by human hand. 
 
-54- 
 
 From the clouds come 
 
 Richest blessing, 
 
 Rains refreshing ; 
 
 From the clouds, 'mid thunder's crash, 
 
 Lightnings flash. 
 
 Hear'st from yon spire the wild alarm? 
 
 That's the storm! * 
 
 Red as blood 
 
 Are the skies ; 
 
 That is not the daylight's flood. 
 
 What tumults rise 
 
 Along each street ! 
 
 Up, smoke and heat. 
 
 Through the streets, with fury flaring, 
 
 Stalks the fire with fiendish glaring, 
 
 Rushing as if the whirlwind sharing! 
 
 Like the blast from furnace flashing 
 
 Glows the air, and beams are crashing, 
 
 Pillars tumbling, windows creaking, 
 
 Mothers wandering, children shrieking 
 
 Beasts are moaning, 
 
 Running, groaning 
 
 'Neath the ruins ; all are frightened, 
 
 Bright as day the night enlightened. 
 
 Through the chain of hands, extending, 
 Wi' zeal contending, 
 Flies the bucket ; bow-like, soaring, 
 High in air the stream is pouring. 
 Comes the tempest, howling, roaring, 
 Rushing in the path of flame 
 Crackling 'mid the well-dried grain, 
 In the gran'ry chambers tailing, 
 'Long the well-dried rafters bawling ; 
 As if 'twould surely tear, in blowing, 
 The very earth itself and bear 
 It upwards through the lurid air. 
 High as heaven the flames are growing- 
 Giant tall ! 
 Hopeless, all, 
 
 Man submits to might o'erpow'ring ; 
 Idly sees, what first seemed low'ring, 
 His work to sure destruction going. 
 
 All burnt put are 
 Town and village, 
 
 Rugged beds ofthe tempest's pillage. 
 In the hollow gaping windows 
 Gloom is sitting, 
 
 And the clouds, through heaven flitting, 
 Look within. 
 
 One look at last 
 Where the measure 
 Of his treasure 
 
 Buried lies, man turns to cast 
 Then clutches he his staff with pleasure. 
 Whate'er the flames took from his home, 
 One solace ever him consoleth : 
 He counts the heads of those he loveth, 
 And lo ! not one dear head is gone. 
 
 There is much of the rural repose ot 
 "Gray's Elegy" in the following lines- 
 much ofthe English dignity- 
 Filled with grain 
 Reels the wagon, 
 Heavy-laden- 
 Bright with leaves 
 On golden sheaves 
 Garlands glance, 
 And the youngest of the reapers 
 Seek the dance. 
 
 Street and market grow more silent ; 
 Household inmates now are seeking 
 The cheering glow of lighted tapers, 
 And closing town-gates 'gain are creaking. 
 Dark ness spreadeth 
 O'er the landscape ; 
 But the honest burgher dreadeth 
 Not the night, 
 
 Which alarm to evil spreadeth ; 
 For the eye of Law keeps watch aright. 
 
 Shakesperean in its cast are the follow- 
 ing lines. The English has the sturdy 
 strength ofthe warlike passions it depicts: 
 
 "Equal'ty and Freedom! ;) men are shrilling, 
 
 To arms the peaceful burghers fly, 
 
 The streets and halls with crowds are filling, 
 
 And murd'rous bands around there hie. 
 
 Then women, to hyenas turning, 
 
 'Mid horrors mock and jeer and jest, 
 
 And tear, with panther's irenzy burning, 
 
 The heart from every hostile breast. 
 
 There's naught that's sacred more, for breaking 
 
 Are all the bonds of pious fear, 
 
 The bad the good one's place is taking, 
 
 Vice knows no law in its career. 
 
 'Tis dangerous to wake the lion, 
 
 Destructive is the tiger's tooth, 
 
 But far more fierce, and far more fiendish, 
 
 Deluded man bereft of ruth. 
 
 Woe to them who lend the sightless 
 
 The heavenly torch to light the way! 
 
 It guides them not, it can but kindle, 
 
 And towns and lands in ashes lay. 
 
 The reaction of the poem is well ar- 
 rested in the dropping of the curtain upon 
 it all. We are satisfied with the bell, and 
 quite ready at last to consign it to its 
 exalted place 
 
 And now employ the cable's power, 
 Raise the bell from out the ground, 
 That in its roomy, air-built tower, 
 It may reach the realms of sound ! 
 
 Higher, higher raise ! 
 
 Now it moves, it sways ! 
 To this city Joy revealing, 
 Be PEACE the first note of its pealing. 
 
 A San Francisco Lady's Inquiry. 
 The following letter, written in German 
 (herewith translated) is from a lady in 
 San Francisco, from which place it was 
 mailed on the nth instant : 
 
 "MR. THOS C. ZIMMERMAN, Editor oj 
 the Times. HONORED SIR : May I 
 trespass upon your kindness by asking 
 you to please inform me from whom your 
 I translation of Schiller's Glocke (Bell), 
 i commented on in our papers, may be ob- 
 tained ? 
 
 You will not only thankfully oblige me 
 
 by this information, but also aflord sev- 
 
 | eral ladies of my acquaintance the great 
 
 pleasure of enjoying the beauties of this 
 
 wonderful and incomparable poem. 
 
 Hoping you may kindly gratify my 
 wish, I subscribe myself, with the great- 
 est consideration, 
 
 FRANCISCA MANTELL- 
 
 Thomas MacKellar's Compliment. 
 
 Thomas MacKellar, Esq , of the firm of 
 MacKellar, Smiths & Jordan, type-foun- 
 ders, Philadelphia, sends the following 
 under date of yesterday : 
 
 "One who can translate so well will 
 surely distinguish himself by original 
 work. ' ' 
 
-55- 
 
 Rev. Mr. Cleveland's Words of Praise. 
 
 Rev. H. A. Cleveland, DD., of Indian- 
 apolis, Ind., formerly of this city, writes 
 under date of the iSth instant : 
 
 "T. C. ZIMMERMAN. Dear Sir: I 
 was delighted when I saw your 'Song ot 
 the Bell.' Your hand has yet its cunning 
 and knows how to turn the glowing Ger- 
 man of Schiller into glorious English. No 
 one who is not himself a poet could 
 translate as you have translated Your 
 rendering enables English readers to see, 
 as they never before have seen, why it is 
 that Schiller has won and held the hearts 
 of the German people. Thanks for your 
 insight and wonderful interpretation." 
 Long may you live and with your fine 
 frenzy make glad many readers as in the 
 pealing notes of this "Song of the Bell" 
 your "revealing" has done 
 
 Sup't Buehrle's Congratulation. 
 
 R. K. Buehrle, Ph. D., city superinten" 
 dent of the public schools of Lancaster, 
 writes under date of the i8th inst. : 
 
 "Having been an advocate of the study 
 of German in our common schools now 
 for upwards of twenty years, and having 
 taught classes pursuing the study of that 
 language during almost all that time, 
 and have given more than ordinary at- 
 tention to metre and versification, I may 
 perhaps be permitted to say that I know 
 something of the difficulty of preserving 
 the metre of the original in the transla- 
 tion into English of so highly artistic a 
 poem as the "Song of the Bell." Let 
 the "well done" of your old friend, 
 though it come late, not be less grateful 
 to you, but may it rather stir you up to 
 continue in the good work of acquainting 
 the Germanic peoples more thoroughly 
 with each other, by enabling this Eng- 
 lish-speaking nation also to enjoy the 
 beautiful creations of the 'divine art' 
 now laid up in the younger sister lan- 
 guage." 
 
 Franklin B. Gowen's Congratulations, 
 The following letter written on the 22d 
 of February explains itself : 
 
 "My Deaf Sir: I am obliged. by your 
 favor of the i4th instant, enclosing your 
 admirable translation of "Das Lied von 
 der Glocke," which I have read with 
 great pleasure. You are to be congratu- 
 lated upon the excellence of your work, 
 and especially upon having succeeded in 
 rendering a very faithful translation into 
 very spirited English verse. 
 
 FRANKLIN B. GOWEN. 
 
 Prof. J. H. Dubbs's Compliment. 
 Jos. Henry Dubbs, Professor in Frank- 
 lin and Marshall College, Lancaster, 
 writes as follows : 
 
 FRANKLIN AND MARSHALL COLLEGE. ) 
 LANCASTER, Pa., Feb. 25, 1889.} 
 My Dear Mr. Zimmerman : -I have 
 read your poetic versions with the keen- 
 est interest, regarding them as possessed 
 of a very high order of merit. Good 
 metrical translators are more rare than 
 original poets, and their work is deserv- 
 ing of high appreciation. It not only in- 
 volves great labor but demands peculiar 
 talents. Poets, like Coleridge, Long- 
 I fellow and Bayard Taylor have always 
 I regarded their metrical versions as equal 
 ; in rank to their best original work. 
 
 The extraordinary success which has 
 attended your labors induced me to hope 
 that you will continue to cultivate this 
 beautiful field. It is a grand thing to 
 convey the best thoughts of the greatest 
 men from one language to another, and 
 I thus to make them the property of an- 
 other people. May we not hope that 
 i such work will also have a tendency 
 ; to induce the young to honor their Ger- 
 | man ancestry, and to appreciate the 
 precious literary treasures of the father- 
 land ? 
 
 Another Congratulation from the Pacific Coast. 
 
 Mrs. M. P. Biddle, wife of Noble Bid- 
 die, Esq., a prominent attorney-at-law in 
 San Jose, Cal., writes under date of the 
 1 2th thus : 
 
 MR. T. C. ZIMMERMAN. Dear Friend: 
 As the "Song of the Bell" rang out its 
 notes of sadness and of gladness, in the 
 new translation, to me in my home ot 
 the setting sun, I, too, join in the "well- 
 done" and offer my congratulations. 
 
 ietter from the Illinois Staats-Zeitung. 
 
 The following letter from the Illinois 
 Staats-Zeitung, the great German news- 
 paper of the Northwest, tells its own 
 story : 
 
 "We certainly take the greatest inter- 
 est in an American who has so much 
 love for our German poets as to under- 
 take a translation of their works." 
 
 Just as Schiller Wrote It. 
 
 The Wilkesbarre Record of the 
 instant, has the following : 
 
 "Col Zimmerman is to be congratu- 
 lated on the elegant diction ano\ complete- 
 ness of his translation, which gives the 
 English reader Schiller's beautiful poem 
 just as he wrote it." 
 
56- 
 
 Prof. Seidensticker's High Praise. 
 
 Prof Oswald Seidensticker, the emi- 
 nent litterateur, who fills one of the most 
 important chairs in the Faculty of the 
 University of Pennsylvania, writes from 
 Philadelphia under the date of March 4th 
 instant, as follow^ : 
 
 PHILADELPHIA March 4, 1889. 
 
 THOMAS C. ZIMMERMAN, ESQ Dear 
 Mr. Zimmerman: Schiller's Song of 
 the Bell is of all lyrics of our great poet 
 the most unique and precious, and the 
 admiration with which it was hailed 
 nearly a century ago has not abated 
 since. Hence translations into other 
 languages foremost the English, have 
 not been wanting. But so intimately is 
 the spirit of the poem blended with its 
 sonorous language and its versatile 
 rhythm that the recasting into the mould 
 of a foreign tongue has its peculiar diffi- 
 culties. Many able men have undertaken 
 the task and the successive attempts show 
 a remarkable scale of improvement, 
 as everybody must admit who compares 
 the spirited but totally inadequate render- 
 ing of Bulwer with your own translation, 
 which combines exactness, faithful ob- 
 servance of all rhythmical niceties and a 
 fine appreciation of the poet s intention. 
 I hope the skill which you have exhibited 
 as a translator and the general applause 
 with which your efforts have been re- 
 warded, may induce you to offer in Eng- 
 lish garb many more treasures from the 
 inexhaustible mine of German poesie. " 
 
 A Poet's Congratulations. 
 
 H. L. Fisher, Esq., attorney-at-law, 
 York, Pa , and author of several volumes 
 of poems, in the English and Pennsyl- 
 vania-German, contributed the following 
 to the columns of the York Daily ol a 
 recent date : 
 
 "Of the several translations of this 
 acknowlldged masterpiece of one of 
 Germany's many great poets, I have been 
 familiar with but two, Longfellow's and 
 Hempel's. As has been so well said by 
 several of Mr. Zimmerman's critics, the 
 beauty if not the excellence of his English 
 versions, notably of the one more im- 
 mediately under consideration, consists 
 in that which is the highest proof of 
 ;enius a fairly true and faithful expres- 
 
 Or, may I say, it is like rebuilding the 
 belfry while the Song of the Bell goes on, 
 without suffering even a discord from the 
 sound of the (Zimmerman's) hammer 
 This is the work, not of the scholar, 
 merely, but of the artist, the genius 
 
 "To further illustrate my meaning, it is 
 only necessary to bring into contrast the 
 first stanzas of two or three translations 
 mentioned, in juxtaposition with the 
 original : 
 Fest gemauert in der Erden 
 
 Steht die Form, aus Lehm gebranut, 
 Heute muss die Glocke werden ! 
 Frisch, Gesellen, seid zur Hand ! 
 Von der Stirne heiss, 
 Rinnen muss der Schweiss, 
 Soil dass Werk der Meister loben ; 
 Doch der Segeu kommt von oben. 
 
 Schiller. 
 
 Fast in its prison walls of earth, 
 
 Awaits the mould of bak-ed clay. 
 Up, comrades, up, and aid the birth 
 The Bell that shall be born to-day! 
 Who would honor obtain, 
 With the sweat and the pain, 
 The praise that man gives to the master must 
 
 buy ! 
 But the blessings withal must descend from on 
 
 high 
 
 Hempel 
 
 Firmly walled in earth, and steady, 
 
 Stands the mold ot well-burnt clay. 
 Quick, now, workmen, be ye ready! 
 Forth must come the bell to-day ! 
 Hot from forehead's glow 
 Must the sweat-drops flow, 
 Should the master praise be given ; 
 Yet the blessing comes from Heaven. 
 
 Zimmerman. 
 
 What the Wcstliche Post Says. 
 
 A marked copy of the Westliche Post, 
 the great German newspaper of the West, 
 published at St. Louis, was sent to the 
 office of the TIMES. It contained the 
 following paragraph : 
 
 "There are already existing a number 
 of excellent translations into the English 
 of the "Bell," from Bulwer's to Rev. Fur- 
 ness's, of Philadelphia, which, up to the 
 present time, has been judged to be the 
 best, but which, indeed, is excelled by 
 that of Mr. Zimmerman in the accuracy 
 of the rendition of the original." 
 
 High Compliments from Lebanon. 
 
 [From the Lebanon Courier.] 
 
 Mr. Thomas C. Zimmerman, editor of 
 the Reading TIMES, in whom Lebanon, 
 and the Courier office particularly, feel a 
 
 sion of the sense, without, in the least, pride, is now the acknowledged most 
 impairing the sound the music of the successful translator of German poetry 
 original, or, (in my own more homely that has ever essayed that work. With 
 words, it is like transplanting the stalk, i a profound understanding of the German 
 
 the bush o| full-blown roses, in a noon- 
 day summer's sun, while the flowers wilt 
 not nor is aught of their fragrance lost. 
 
 language, and true poetic inspiration, 
 German poetry in no way loses force nor 
 beauty in his translations. 
 
37- 
 
 Foliowing is an extract from a sermon 
 preached in Salem's Lutheran church at 
 Lebanon, by Rev. Theodore E. Schmauk, 
 on Mr. Zimmerman's translation of "Eiri 1 
 feste Burg:" 
 
 A native of Lebanon has been led to 
 link his name with Luther's, and as a con- 
 sequence "no small stir ' has arisen 
 throughout these regions. Our represen- 
 tative townspeople have been moved to 
 express a glowing appreciation of the 
 work of both, and also of that hymn for 
 the ages, which Carlyle compares to "a 
 sound of Alpine avalanches, or the first 
 murmur of earthquakes," whose weighty, 
 though rugged resonance will be pro- 
 longed, and whose faith-inspired and 
 faith-inspiring outbursts will rise to the 
 skies long after "Hold the Fort" with its 
 transient fervor will have passed away 
 with the hosts of ephemeral songs of to- 
 day and been buried in the grave of 
 oblivion. 
 
 Thus one of our prominent citizens 
 writes to the new translator : "The rendi- 
 tion of the soul-stirring hymn of Luther I 
 regard as your crowning effort. It makes 
 my blood tingle when reading it. Oh, 
 that we would realize at every step of our 
 weary pilgrimage, that. ' Ein' feste Burg 
 ist unser Gotf . Who can estimate what 
 the outcome of such a faith would be ? 
 You have done a public service in plac- 
 ing a thorough translation of the grand 
 old lyric in the hands of our people, 
 especially the rising generation God 
 bless you." 
 
 One of our leading ladies of the Pres- 
 byterian church writes : "I thank you 
 for the pleasure the reading of your fine 
 translation of Luther's noble hymn has 
 given me * * - * * That the simple, 
 yet lofty faith and exultation in one 
 'Mighty to Save,' breathed forth in every 
 stanza of the hymn may ever be the ex- 
 pression of your heart as well as your 
 pen, is the best wish I can offer you." 
 
 Another writes : "A work of inspira- 
 
 tion. Great in burning, thrilling, poeti- 
 cal development," 
 
 These words are spray-drops from a 
 wave of enthusiasm that has rolled widely 
 beyond local bounds, reaching even to 
 the sunny slopes of California. Ex-Gov- 
 ernor Hoyt writes to the translator. 
 "There is such a general consensus of 
 opinion from those entitled to speak of 
 your translation of Luther's Battle Hymn 
 of the Reformation,' that I add my 
 congratulations with something of diffi- 
 dence. If Luther's hymn in the original 
 is as good for a 'German' as yours is for 
 an 'American' it is good enough." Prof. 
 Porter of Lafayette College speaks to the 
 public in a translation of his own Dr. 
 Jacobs of the Philadelphia Theological 
 Seminary does the same. An unpublished 
 one of Dr. Seiss, the eloquent Lutheran 
 pulpit orator, is brought to light. Geo. 
 W. Childs publishes a long complimentary 
 article in the Philadelphia Ledger, and 
 takes occasion to write personally several 
 times. A Presbyterian clergyman from 
 Detroit, Michigan, writes: "It is remark- 
 ably well done, preserving the simplicity 
 and majesty while it presents the force and 
 characteristic ruggedness of the famous 
 stirring hymn. Your verse is altogether 
 good, and has the ring of battle through- 
 out. 'A Rock-bound Fortress is our God, ' 
 could not be improved, and see that you 
 put no file upon the last four lines." 
 Similar strains come from a prominent 
 clergyman in Philadelphia, and from many 
 quarters, but perhaps the mo-t surprising 
 tribute to the hymn and its author is the 
 one coming from a Methodfst pulpit. 
 Such a glorious eulogy of Luther, and 
 his faith, and his heart, and his singing, 
 have rarely been heard from even a 
 Lutheran pulpit. He is described as be- 
 longing to every age to every country 
 to every church as the "solar center 
 of undulations which have filled the 
 world with light and glory, and those 
 undulations shall continue so long as the 
 
waves of the ocean shall beat upon the 
 shores of time and even into the great 
 beyond." 
 
 Talk of Putting it in the Hymn-Books. 
 
 The Westliche Post of St. Louis, Mo., 
 the most influential German newspaper 
 in the West, formerly owned by Joseph 
 Pulitzer, of the New York World, and at 
 one time edited by Carl Schurz, says : 
 
 ''In another part of to-day's paper is 
 printed, side by side with the German 
 original text, an English translation of 
 Martin Luther's "JSm' feste Burg ist 
 unser Gott."" The transferring into Eng- 
 lish is the meritorious work of Thos. C. 
 Zimmerman, editor of the Reading TIMES. 
 So beautiful is the translation, that there 
 is already talk of substituting it for the 
 present version in the English Lutheran 
 hymn books. 
 
 Reception of the Song in the Fifth Street M. E. Church. 
 
 Following is from the READING TIMES 
 of February 27, 1888: 
 
 Standing room was held at premium 
 in the Fifth Street M. E. church last 
 evening, aisles, gallery and every availa- 
 ble space about the large auditorium be- 
 ing crowded with an anxious and ex- 
 pectant audience to hear Mrs. James C 
 Brown, assisted by a special choir, under 
 the direction of Mr. T. W. Frescoln. 
 render Mr T. C Zimmerman's transla- 
 tion of Luther's great battle hymn, "Eirf 
 feste Burg." Among the audience 
 were a large number of prominent citi- 
 zens and members of other congrega- 
 tions. That the rendition of the hymn 
 was appreciated by the large congrega- 
 tion is shown in the fact that the choir 
 was requested to repeat the first stanza, 
 and gratefully complied. The soloist, 
 Mrs. Brown, as well as the members of 
 the choir, were complimented on all 
 sides, and certainly deserved it all. The 
 stanzas were sung alternately as solo and 
 chorus, and were rendered with fine 
 effect. 
 
 After a brief introductory service Rev. 
 S. H. Hoover preached on the text, "Em 1 
 feste Burg ist unser Gott.^ Following is 
 the concluding paragraph : 
 
 "I esteem it both a privilege and an 
 honor to introduce to this vast audience 
 and to the singing world of God's wor- 
 shippers what will probably come to be 
 regarded as the best translation of the im- 
 mortal battle-hymn pi the Reformation, 
 though it has been singing in cathedral, 
 trmple, meeting-house, in the cloisters of 
 the saints, for nearly four hundred years. 
 
 I refer to the translation from the pen of 
 our talented fellow-townsman, Mr. 
 Thomas C. Zimmerman, editor of the 
 READING TIMES. He has not only 
 stormed and taken "/?/' feste Burg?' 
 but captured the hearts also of the sweet 
 singers of Israel. How was it done ? 
 Whence his secret ! May it not lie in 
 this, that, discarding all other transla- 
 tions, he drew himself up so close to the 
 original that the heart of the great re- 
 former telephoned across the centuries 
 its own swing of rugged force and de- 
 fiance, so that it is not the editor of the 
 TIMES, but the Reformer himself who 
 sings." 
 
 Dr, Mann's Eloquent Tribute. 
 
 The late Rev. W. J. Mann, D. D., ol 
 Philadelphia, probably the foremost Ger- 
 man Lutheran preacher in this country, 
 wrote as follows : 
 
 "He (Martin Luther) has set aglow 
 the musical genius and the imaginative 
 powers of artists, and now he has by his 
 magic art elicited from you a brilliant 
 spark and poured a flood of light upon 
 that soul-stirring "Eiri* feste Burg." 
 It takes a poet to be moved by a poet. 
 Let me congratulate you on your eminent 
 success in most happily- not translating, 
 but reproducing in the cognate English 
 language that emperor among the royal 
 assembly of ancient German church 
 songs." 
 
 Rev. Dr. Sch mucker's Tribute. 
 
 The late Rev. B. M. Schmucker, D. D., 
 said among other things : 
 
 "Mr. Zimmerman's translation has so 
 many excellencies that it must be placed 
 in the list of those which deserve special 
 attention, and by their merits demand 
 the consideration of those who seek for, 
 and would use the hymn in English. 
 
 * * " W hen I consider the translations 
 of this hymn which so many men and 
 women eminent for their poetic gifts and 
 for their experience as translators have 
 produced. I am the more impressed with 
 the distinction and honor due to Mr. 
 Zimmerman for the very excellent and 
 commendable rendering of it which he has 
 given us." 
 
 What the Phila. Ledger Says. 
 * * Mr. Zimmerman has not only 
 seized the meaning of the author, but he 
 has so put it into an English clothing as 
 to show that the real bone and sinew of 
 the original still live in its new dress. 
 
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