A HARVEST OF GERMAN VERSE A HARVEST OF GERMAN VERSE SELECTED AND TRANSLATED BY MARGARETE MUNSTERBERG WITH A FOREWORD BY KUNO FRANCKE D. APPLETON AND COMPANY NEW YORK LONDON 1916 COPYBIOHT, 1916, BT D. APPLETON AND COMPANY A number of poems in this book have already appeared in "The German Classics," published by the German Publication Society and are printed here with its permission. Printed in the United States of America TT ES718 TO MY FATHER AND MOTHER f\^^.:: f ( *ior A A. A new anthology of German lyric verse in Eng- lish should be a matter of rejoicing to those who look to literature for revelation of national feel- ing and character. For of all forms of literature., lyric poetry has revealed German national charac- ter most directly and fully. Surely, there have been great manifestations of the German spirit in the epic and the drama. Faithfulness unto death, persistence in love and hatred, unflinching courage, and grim heroism have seldom been brought out in figures as grand and impressive as the colossal figures of the Nibelun- yenlied. And nowhere is there to be found a finer embodiment of German enlightenment than Nathan der Weise, of German earnestness and depth than Wallenstein, of German idealism than Iphigenie, or of the German striving for completeness of per- sonality than Faust. And yet it must be said that neither the German epic nor the German drama, as a whole, have been as truly typical of German character as the bulk of German lyrics has been. The German temper is essentially lyric. To live himself out, to give rein to his feelings, to revel in vague longings for an ideal, in dim divinations [vii] FOREWORD of the infinite, or in the intoxicating raptures of the moment all this is natural to the German. Nothing appeals less to him than the petty formal- ism of correct mediocrity; if he submits to it, he does so only from a sense of duty and in the inter- est of public discipline and public necessity. Noth- ing appeals more to him than the expression of a bold, unrestrained, intense, whole-souled per- sonality. It is easy to see why a people of such a type of mind should have found in lyric poetry the most adequate form of self-expression; why, next to German music, German lyrics should be the rich- est and the finest revelation of the German soul. German literature and art have not infrequently been lacking in plastic power and in sure grasp of form. But the emotional intensity of German lyrics has created a form of its own, more elastic, more varied, of stronger spiritual appeal, of higher imaginative power than is found in the lyrics of most other nations. To afford glimpses of this elu- sive and enchanting world of the inner life, its struggles and its joys, its hope and despair, its triumphs and defeats, and its invincible trust in its own higher mission, is indeed doing a service to the cause of the spirit. KUNO FRANCKE. [viii] CONTENTS BOOK I OLD TIME ANONYMOUS (12th Century) I Am Thine 3 SPERVOGEL (1150) There Is a House in Heaven .... 4 WALTER VON DER VOGELWEIDE (1170) Blessed Be the Hour 5 Longing for Spring ....1.5 The Oracle 6 From "A Dream of Love" .... 7 Under the Linden-tree ..... 7 Give Me Welcome All with Cheer ... 8 VON KURENBERG (1175) The Falcon 11 MARTIN LUTHER (1483) From Heaven High 12 Song of Praise ...... 14 NIKOLAUS DECIUS (1541) Lamb of God 16 ANONYMOUS (16th Century) A Lovely Rose ....... 17 FOLK SONG (16th Century) I Heard a Sickle Rustling . . . .17 POPULAR BALLAD (16th Century) Would I Were a Falcon Wild . . . .18 FOLK SONG (16th Century) Innsbruck, I Must Be Leaving . . . .20 [ix] CONTENTS FOLK SONG (16th Century) As Many as Sand-grains in the Sea . . .21 MARTIN RINCKART (1586) Now Let Us All Thank God . . . .22 PAULUS GERHARDT (1607) To the Face of the Lord Jesus . . . .23 Go Out, My Heart 25 CATHOLIC CHURCH SONG (1638) Harvest Song ....... 28 ANDREAS GRYPHIUS (1616) Sonnet on the Transitoriness of Life . . 30 ANGELUS SILESIUS (1624) Vow 31 JOACHIM NEANDER (1650) Praise the Lord God 34 CHRISTIAN FURCHTEGOTT GELLERT (1715) The Blind and the Lame 36 FRIEDRICH GOTTLOB KLOPSTOCK (1724) The Early Graves 38 MATTHIAS CLAUDIUS (1740) Evening Song ....... 39 FOLK SONG (18th Century) Were I a Little Bird 41 HUMOROUS BALLAD (End of 18th Century) The Tailor in Hell 42 ALSATIAN SOLDIER SONG (1784) The Swiss 45 BOOK II CLASSIC TIME JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE (1749) To the Moon 49 Wanderer's Night Songs I & II . . .50 Dear Children, Soon I'll Come Again! . . 51 [x] CONTENTS PAGE Mignon ........ 51 Song of the Harper ...... 52 The Harper 53 King in Thule 53 Gretchen's Song ...... 54 Gretchen 56 P'ound ........ 57 Wild Rose 58 The Fisher 59 The Alderking 60 The Singer 62 The Wizard's Apprentice . . . . .63 FRIEDRICH VOX SCHILLER (1759) The Song of the Bell 68 BOOK III ROMANTIC TIME ERNST MORITZ ARNDT (1769) Union Song ....... 85 NOVALIS (1772) Ah, When He Is Mine 87 ADALBERT VON CHAMISSO (1781) From "Woman's Love and Life" I . . .89 From "Woman's Love and Life" II . . .90 MAX VON SCHENKENDORF (1783) Freedom ........ 91 LUDWIG UHLAND (1787) The Hostess' Daughter 94 The Good Comrade 95 The Nun 95 The Minstrel's Curse 96 King Charles' Voyage ..... 101 Suabian Legend 103 Free Art 105 [xi] CONTENTS PAGE JOSEPH VON EICHENDORFF (1788) In a Cool Green Valley ..... 107 The Last Greeting 108 On the Death of My Child . . . .109 Longing 109 FRIEDRICH RUCKERT (1789) Ecstasy Ill Chidher Ill WILHELM HEY (1790) Say, How Many Stars Are Glowing . . .114 THEODOR KORNER (1791) Father, I Call Thee! 115 WILHELM MULLER (1794) Vineta 117 AUGUST, GRAF VON PLATEN (1796) Sonnet 119 ANNETTE FREUN VON DROSTE-HULSHOFF (1797) Last Words 120 HEINRICH HOFFMAN VON FALLERSLE- BEN (1798) German Land Above All Others . . . 121 LUISE HENSEL (1798) Prayer 123 HEINRICH HEINE (1799) Thou Seemest Like a Flower .... 124 I Dreamed a Princess Came to Me . . . 124 The Lotos Flower 125 Fir-tree 125 I Bear No Anger 126 The Rock with Runes 126 On Wings of Song 126 The Loreley 127 Two Grenadiers 128 [xH] CONTENTS PAGE WILHELM HAUFF (1802) Morning Glow 131 NIKOLAUS LENAU (1802) Marsh Song 133 The Postillion 133 JOHANN NEPOMUK VOGL (1802) The Recognition 137 EDUARD MORIKE (1804) The Forsaken Maiden 139 ERNST VON FEUCHTERSLEBEN (1806) It Has Been Willed in God's Decree . . 140 BOOK IV MODERN TIME FERDINAND FREILIGRATH (1810) The Duration of Love 143 EMANUEL GEIBEL (1815) Wanderer's Joy ...... 145 Evening ........ 146 THEODOR STORM (1817) The City . . . . . . .147 The Heath 147 In the Wood 148 Elisabeth's Song 149 To a Deceased ....... 150 FRIEDRICH VON BODENSTEDT (1819) The Rose Complained 151 THEODOR FONTANE (1819) Sir Ribbeck of Ribbeck 152 The Bridge by the Tay 153 GOTTFRIED KELLER (1819) Song of the Evening ..... 157 Winter Night 158 Summer Night ....... 158 [xiii] CONTENTS PAGE KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER (1825) But the Sun Is Ever Youthful . . . .160 Do Thou Speak Now 160 Christmas in Ajaccio ..... 161 The Dead Child 162 Schiller's Burial 162 JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL (1826) Old Heidelberg 164 HEINRICH LEUTHOLD (1827) The Forest Lake 165 FERDINAND VON SAAR (1833) Girls Singing 166 WILHELM JENSEN (1837) Letters from the Beloved ..... 167 JOSEPH VICTOR WIDMANN (1842) Prologue to "May-Beetle's Comedy" . . . 168 Song of the Blue Thrush 169 DETLEV VON LILIENCRON (1844) Parting and Return I . . . . .172 Parting and Return II 173 War and Peace 173 BOOK V OUR TIME CARL SPITTELER (1845) The Bell . 179 PRINCE EMIL VON SHONAICH-CAROLATH (1852) Oh, Germany! 180 GUSTAV FALKE (1853) A Day Spent 182 When I Die .182 ISOLDE KURZ (1853) Nekropolis 184 [xiv] CONTENTS PAGE LUDWIG FULDA (1862) In the Express Train 186 ARNO HOLZ (1863) Like One of These Was He . . .188 HUGO TERBERG (1863) On the Death of a Child 190 RICHARD DEHMEL (1863) Voice in Darkness ...... 192 Through the Night 192 From an Oppressed Heart .... 193 Many a Night 193 Wave Dance Song . . . . . .194 The Workman 195 Song for AH 195 RICARDA HUCH (1864) Midnight 197 OTTO JULIUS BIERBAUM (1865) Enough 199 STEFAN GEORGE (1868) The Vigil 200 The Shepherd's Day 202 LULU VON STRAUSS UND TORNEY (18T3) The Seafarer 204 BORRIES FREIHERR VON MUNCHHAUSEN (1874) Ballad of the Wall 209 Mine Own Land 213 Fairy Tale 214 HUGO VON HOFMANNSTHAL (1874) Ballad of the Outer Life 215 RAINER MARIA RILKE (1875) Remembrance ....... 217 People at Night 217 Glimpse of a Childhood 218 Growing Blind 219 [xv] CONTENTS PAGE Moonlight Night 220 The Knight 220 Maiden Melancholy ...... 221 Autumn Day ....... 222 Autumn 222 The Last Supper 2123 From the "Book of the Monk's Life" I . .223 From the "Book of the Monk's Life" II . . 224 HERMANN HESSE (1877) In the Fog 226 Talk in a Gondola 227 ALFRED WALTER VON HEYMEL (1878) Song of an Enamoured Prince .... 229 AGNES MIEGEL (1879) The Fair Agnete 231 H. ZUCKERMANN Austrian Cavalry Song (1914) . . . .233 REINHOLD S. (1903) For Us! (1915) . . . . .234 INDEX OF TITLES 235 INDEX OF AUTHORS . 240 [xvi] BOOK I OLD TIME ANONYMOUS Twelfth century I am thine, thou art mine, And this shall be a sure sign; Locked fast thou art Within my heart, And lost forever is the key ; So thou inside must ever be. SPERVOGEL 1150-1200 There is a house in heaven, they say; You reach it by a golden way. The pillars are of marble white; The noblest jewels gleaming bright The Lord has laid within. No soul may enter there by right That is not free from sin. WALTER VON DER VOGELWEIDE 1170-1228 Blessed Be the Hour Blessed be the hour when first I knew her, Her who with heart and soul did rout me; When all my senses were aroused to woo her, I felt her goodness hover all about me. And now I cannot part from her again, Because her beauty and kindness delight me, And her red, red mouth that laughs so brightly. My heart and mind I have been turning Unto the pure one, the good one, the dear one. Ah, could I but fulfill my yearning: I trust to her mercy that she will hear one. All my joy on earth doth come from her, Because her beauty and kindness delight me, And her red, red mouth that laughs so brightly. Longing for Spring Alas, the winter has hurt us everywhere. The forest and the heath are both so bare, 5 OLD TIME Where many a sweet voice resounded through the air. Ah, if on the street I saw the maidens fair Play ball, the songs of birds would be there. I should like to sleep through winter's delay. Jealous I grow when awake I stay, Because the winter has such a mighty sway. God knows at last he yields unto May, Where the frost lies now, I'll pluck a nosegay. The Oracle Beset with doubts, in agony I sat quite long alone and thought How from her service I might be free, Until a comfort gladness brought. This thing a comfort I can hardly call, "Pis scarce a baby comfort oh, so small ! And if I tell you, you'll be mocking me : Yet without cause no one can happy be. A little stalk has made me glad to-day ; It promised happiness I never knew: I measured with a stalk of straw in play, As I had often seen the children do. Now listen, if her heart my love has heeded : "She loves loves not she loves !" Which way my hands would bend, "She loves me !" always was the end. So I am happy ; only faith is needed ! 6 WALTER VON DER VOGELWEIDE From "A Dream of Love" Look, this is why I feel so gay: I have grown warm with cheer, Clasped by a dream so dear. Alas, I had to wake, for it was day. Hear what she has done unto me: All the summer I must peer Into ladies' eyes to see If I can find my dear: then sorrow's end were near. Maybe she is going to this dance. Ladies, I beg you, be so kind, Push back your hats, if you don't mind ! If I should find her 'neath this wreath by chance! Under tlw Linden-tree Under the linden-tree Upon the heath, There I lay with him. Alas, When you go there, you'll see The flowers beneath Crushed and trodden with the grass. By the forest in the dale, Tandarady ! Sweetly sang the nightingale. I strolled unto the green: My lover true 7 OLD TIME Was waiting there impatiently. Such welcome ne'er was seen Ah, if you knew! My heart still throbs in ecstasy. Kisses ? Thousands more ! he took : Tandarady ! See, how red my lips now look ! How he caressed me there, If anyone Should know : alas, how I should blush ! And all our pastime fair ! Ah, none, none, none Shall know, but he and I hush, hush ! And the birdie on the tree. Tandarady ! May that ever silent be! Give Me Welcome All with Cheer Give me welcome all with cheer ! Harken, what my tidings fair shall be. All that you were wont to hear Is a very trifle: now ask me. But give me my reward! Then, if that be good, I shall tell what you will hear with joyful mood. Take care, and honours fit accord! 8 WALTER VON DER VOGELWEIDE To German ladies I shall say Such happy tidings as will please them well, And bring the world beneath their sway; For no great thanks my tale I'll tell. Ah, what should I ask? They're too great, I find. So I am but modest, pray that they be kind: Gracious welcome be their task. In many countries I have fared, I have seen the best with eager eye. Woe betide me if I dared Force my heart that it should ever try Other lands to love For their foreign ways. Should I lie, what profit were false praise? German manners all above ! From the Elbe to the Rhine, Back unto Hungarian ground, There, I wot, the noblest shine That upon the world are found. If looks and bearings fair My eyes can judge aright, Any woman here surpasses in my sight High-born ladies fine elsewhere ! German men are nobly bred, Angels are the women of the land. He who chides them is misled. 9 OLD TIME Other truth I cannot understand. He who on his way Seeketh virtue, loving chaste, Come into our land, for there is joy to waste. May I live there long, I pray! 10 VON KURENBERG About 1175 The Falcon I raised a noble falcon For more than a year; And when I had tamed him And decked his feathers, tying Them with a golden band, He rose so swiftly, flying Far to another land. Since then I've seen my falcon Gaily soaring; And from his feet were waving Fair silken ribbons, And on his wings each feather Was ruddy gold to see; Ah, God bring those together Who lovers fain would be ! 11 MARTIN LUTHER Born 1483 in Eisleben. Died 1546 in Eisleben From Heaven High From heaven high I come to you, And bring you tidings good and new. So many tidings good I bring, Thereof I want to say and sing: For you to-day is born a child, E'en from a chosen virgin mild, A child so fair and fine a sight, To be your joy and your delight. 'Tis our Lord Christ and He will lead You out of danger, out of need; Your Saviour He Himself will be, From all your sins to make you free. He comes with all the blessings fraught That He from God on high has brought; With us in heaven you shall stay, Now and forever and a day. Now mark the signs : the manger old, The swaddling-clothes so plain ! Behold : 12 MARTIN LUTHER There lies the child in lowly state, Who lights the world and bears its weight. Mark well, my heart, and open, eyes: See what in yonder manger lies ! Whose is this lovely infant here? It is the little Jesus dear. I welcome Thee, my noble guest, Who to the sinner givest rest. Thou earnest here in misery. Oh, let me thank Thee ardently ! Creator, Lord, of all things known, How poor and lowly art thou grown, That Thou on hay and straw must lie, With mules and cattle feeding by ! And should the world still greater be, And gleam with jewels gorgeously, Yet it would be far, far too small To be Thy cradle, Lord, at all. Thy velvet and Thy silk display Is swaddling-clothes and coarsest hay; And there, O King so rich and great, As if in Heaven, Thou dwellst in state. I know right well it pleases Thee To show Thy saving truth to me, 13 OLD TIME How worldly honour, goods and might Are all as nothing in Thy sight. Heart's dearest Jesus, with Thy grace, Make Thee a smooth, white resting-place Which deep within my heart shall be, That I may e'er remember Thee, That I a merry heart may keep, And ever freely sing and leap, Aye, sing a lovely lullaby, With dulcet voice and spirits high. Praise be to God upon His throne, Who gave to us His son, His own. Rejoicing soars the angel throng, And greets the New Year with its song. Song of Praise Be praised, Christ Jesus, fervently, For Thou a man hast deigned to be, Born of a virgin: evermore The angel hosts rejoicing soar. Kyrieleis ! The everlasting Father's Son There in the manger lies the One. Disguised in our poor flesh and blood, There lies the world's eternal Good. Kyrieleis ! 14 MARTIN LUTHER In Mary's lap He can repose Whom the world's sphere cannot enclose; There as a little child is known He who upholds all things alone. Kyrieleis ! See the eternal glory stream And give the world a bright, new gleam. It shines in darkest, deepest night, And makes us children of the light. Kyrieleis ! The Father's Son, of God-like kind, A guest in this poor world we find; He leads us from this vale of woe, As heirs into His realm to go. Kyrieleis ! And poor He came upon this earth, In pity for our lack and dearth, That we in heaven be rich through Him, And like His blessed cherubim. Kyrieleis ! All this He hath done unto us, To show His love so marvellous. So let all Christians happy be, And thank Him in eternity. Kyrieleis ! 15 NIKOLAUS DECIUS Died 1541 Lamb of God, innocent Slaughtered upon the Tree, With patience never spent, Though scorned so cruelly: All sin, Thou, Lord, dost bear, Else we must all despair. Have mercy on us, Jesus! 16 ANONYMOUS Songs of sixteenth century A Lovely Rose Is Sprung A lovely rose is sprung, Out of a tender root, As men of old have sung, From Jesse's stem a shoot. And so a flower bright Has bloomed in coldest winter E'en in the deepest night. The little rose I mean Whereof Isaiah told, Pure Mary, maid serene Brought forth alone behold: Through God's eternal might A little child she bore us E'en in the deepest night. Folk Song I heard a sickle rustling, A-rustling through the grain, I heard a maid lamenting, That she had lost her swain. 17 OLD TIME "Dear, let it rustle, rustle! I heed not, how it goes: For I have won a lover, Where the green clover grows." "And hast thou won a lover, Where thyme and clover grow: Then I stand here so lonely, My heart is sore with woe !" Popular Ballad Would I were a falcon wild, I should spread my wings and soar, Then I should come swooping down By a wealthy burgher's door. In his house there dwells a maid, She is called fair Magdalene, And a fairer damsel brown All my days I have not seen. On a Monday morning early, Monday morning, they relate, Magdalene was seen a-walking Through the city's northern gate. Then the maidens said: "Thy pardon- Magdalene, where wouldst thou go?" "Oh, into my father's garden, Where I went last night, you know." 18 ANONYMOUS And when she to the garden came, And straight into the garden ran, There lay beneath the linden-tree Asleep, a beautiful young man. "Wake up, young man, be stirring, Oh rise, for time is dear, I hear the keys a-rattling, And mother will be here." "Hear'st thou her keys a-rattling, And thy mother must be nigh, Then o'er the heath this minute Oh, come with me, and fly!" And as they wandered o'er the heath, There for these twain was spread, A shady linden-tree beneath, A silken bridal-bed. And three half-hours together, They lay upon the bed. "Turn round, turn round, brown maiden: Give me thy mouth so red !" "Thou say'st so much of turning round, But naught of wedded troth, I fear me I have slept away My faith and honour both." 19 OLD TIME "And fear'st thou, thou hast slept away Thy faith and honour too, I say I'll wed thee yet, my dear, So thou shalt never rue." Who was it sang this little lay, And sang it o'er with cheer? On St. Annenberg in the town, It was the mountaineer. He sang it there right gaily Drank mead and cool red wine, Beside him sat and listened Three dainty damsels fine. Folk Song Innsbruck, I must be leaving, And go my way with grieving In foreign lands, alack ! My joy has all been taken, A stranger and forsaken, I cannot call it back. Great pain my life must darken, And thou alone must hearken To my lamenting, dear. Into thy heart, oh, take me, There warm with kindness make me, When I am far from here. 20 ANONYMOUS Oh, thou most comfort-spending, My love shall be unending, Staunch, true, without a stain. God keep thee with His guiding, Thy virtues be abiding, Until I come again. Folk Song As many as sand-grains in the sea, As many as stars in heaven be, As many as beasts that dwell in fields, As many as pence that money yields, As much as blood in veins will flow, As much as heat in fire will glow, As much as leaves in woods are seen And little blades of grass in green, As many as thorns that prick on hedges, As grains of wheat that harvest pledges, As much as clover in meadows fair, As dust a-flying in the air, As many as fish in streams are found And shells upon the ocean's ground, And drops that in the sea must go, As many as flakes that shine in snow As much, as manifold as life abounds about, abroad, So much, so many times forever we must thank our God. 21 MARTIN RINCKART Born 1586. Died 1649 in Eilenburg. Now let us all thank God with heart and lips and hands, Who doth great things to us and men in all the lands, Who from the mother's womb and tender child- hood days Hath done us too much good, whose kindness ever stays. From His eternal store may God, the while we live, An ever thankful heart and peaceful spirit give, May He forevermore with His great mercy bless And keep us everywhere and save us from distress. Praise, honour, glory be to God the Father, Son And Him who is like both in Heaven the three times One, As He was from the first and as He is to-day, And as He will remain forever and for aye. 22 PAULUS GERHARDT Born 1607 near Wittenberg. Died 1676 in Liibben Oh, wounded head and bleeding, By pain and scorn bowed down ! Oh head, the gibes unheeding, Bound with a thorny crown ! Oh head, once decorated With honours gloriously, Now tortured so and hated, I greet and worship Thee ! The pain Thou hast been winning Should all my burden be: 'Tis all through my own sinning The torture borne by Thee. Look, here I stand before Thee, A sinner in his plight; Forgive me, I implore Thee, Grant me Thy mercy's light. Undaunted I stand by Thee. Lord, my repentance take ! I'll tarry when they try Thee, 23 OLD TIME And when Thy heart must break; When death at last doth hold Thee, And makes Thy face turn white, My loving arms shall fold Thee, Upbear Thee in Thy plight. This is my consolation, And gives me joy fulness: Myself and my salvation I find in Thy distress. Ah, fain I would be leaving My life upon Thy tree. Thou art my life: no grieving, But sweetness that would be ! I thank Thee in my blindness, Oh Jesus, dearest friend, For Thy good-will and kindness, Thy suffering to the end. Oh, let me not forsake Thee, Not Thee, Thou Faithful One, When death shall overtake me, My life in Thine be done. Draw nigh, Thy servant shielding, A comfort in my death, Let me behold Thee, yielding Upon the cross Thy breath: Aye, long I will behold Thee, Faith in my soul shall dwell, 24 PAULUS GERHARDT When to my heart I fold Thee: Who thus may die, dies well. Go Out, My Heart Go out, my heart, and seek delight, In this dear summer time so bright, In God's abundance daily; The beauty of these gardens see, And look, how they for me and thee Have decked themselves so gaily. The trees with spreading leaves are blessed, The earth her dusty rind has dressed In green so young and tender. Narcissus and the tulip fair Are clothed in raiment far more rare Than Solomon in splendour. The larks soar high and higher rise, And from her cave the pigeon flies, Into the forest winging. The most accomplished nightingale Fills mountain, meadow, hill and dale With sweetness of her singing. The hens with all their chickens stride, The stork has built her nest with pride, Her young the swallow's feeding. The nimble hart, the deer so light 25 OLD TIME Rejoice, and, leaping from their height, Into the grass come speeding. Fast grows the wheat, like waving gold, And gives delight to young and old; They praise with glad thanksgiving Him, who through mercy measureless Vouchsafed the soul of man to bless With goods that grace his living. I, too, cannot and will not rest, My senses all awake with zest, The Lord's great goodness knowing; I sing when all sings round about, And praises of the Lord, devout Out of my heart are flowing. Thy splendour here doth shine so bright, And lets us feel so much delight, While on poor earth abiding: What blessings may hereafter be, For those that heaven's glory see, In golden halls residing? Ah, what a lucid light divine In Christ's fair garden then will shine! What music will be ringing, With many thousand Seraphim Of never-weary lips, to Him Their Alleluiahs singing ! 26 PAULUS GERHARDT Would I were there ! Oh, if I stood Before Thy throne Thou highest Good!- My palms most humbly raising! Then, like the angels worshipping, A thousand noble psalms I'd sing, Thy name forever praising. Yet I shall never silent stay, While here upon my earthly way This yoke of flesh I'm bearing. My heart shall sing unceasingly Here and wherever I may be, Thy praises never sparing. Help Thou my spirit, let it grow With blessings that from heaven flow, To bloom for Thine adorning. And may Thy mercy's summer heat Raise fruits of faith, all ripe and sweet, Till eve from early morning. Oh, choose me for Thy Paradise, Let soul and body, till I rise, Still flourish, tiring never. By Thee alone I shall abide, Thine honour serve, and none beside, Both here and there forever. 27 CATHOLIC CHURCH SONG 1638 Harvest Song There is a reaper, Death his name; His might from God the highest came. To-day his knife he'll whet, 'Twill cut far better yet; Soon he will come and mow, And we must bear the woe Beware, fair flower! The flowers fresh and green to-day, To-morrow will be mowed away: Narcissus so white, The meadows' delight, The hyacinthias pale And morning-glories frail. Beware, fair flower! Full many thousand blossoms blithe Must fall beneath his deadly scythe: Roses and lilies pure, Your end is all too sure ! Imperial lilies rare 28 CATHOLIC CHURCH SONG He will not spare. Beware, fair flower ! The bluet wee, of heaven's hue, The tulips white and yellow too, The dainty silver bell, The golden phlox as well All sink upon the earth. Oh, what a sorry dearth ! Beware, fair flower ! Sweet lavender of lovely scent, And rosemary, dear ornament, Sword-lilies proud, unfurled, And basil, quaintly curled, And fragile violet blue, He soon will seize you too ! Beware, fair flower ! Death, I defy thee: hasten near With one great sweep I have no fear! Though hurt, I'll stay undaunted, For I shall be transplanted Into the garden by heaven's gate, The heavenly garden we all await. Rejoice, fair flower! ANDREAS GRYPHIUS Born 1616 in Glogau. Died 1664 in Glogau Sonnet On the Transitoriness of Life You see, where'er you look, but vanity on earth: To-morrow they'll tear down what we have built to-day, And peaceful herds will graze and shepherds' children play On fields where now the lively cities boast their worth. All that is blooming now must lie in sorry dearth; The hearts that beat in pride will turn to ashes grey- No marble and no ore, nay, nothing here can stay. Now happiness may smile before some sorrow's birth. The glory of high deeds must vanish like a dream. Oh, how can man withstand the flow of time's fleet stream ? Yea, what is all that we have deemed so wondrous great, But worthless trifles, only shadows, wind and dust, A flower of the field, that on the road is thrust. And yet eternal things man will not contemplate. 30 ANGELUS SILESIUS (Pseud, for JOHANNES SCHEFFLER) Born 1624 in Breslau. Died 1677 in Breslau Vow I want to love Thee, strength divine, I want to love Thee, holy grace, With works I offer at Thy shrine, With longings time cannot efface. I want to love Thee, fairest light, Till my heart's night. I want to love Thee, love Thee so As I would love my dearest friend; And, basking in Thy beauty's glow, I'll love and praise Thee without end. Oh, lamb of God, my love for Thee As for a bridegroom e'er shall be. Alas, that I so late have known Thy glory's might, to praise with zest, Nor sooner called Thee quite mine own, Thou highest good and safest rest! I do bemoan my sorry state Because I loved so late. 31 OLD TIME Ah, blinded I had gone astray, I could not find Thee in my plight; For I from Thee had turned away, And loved but the created light. But now it is vouchsafed by Thee That I Thyself may see. I thank Thee, oh my sun: my night Is now illumined by Thy ray ; I thank Thee, heavenly delight, That Thou hast made me free and gay. Thou golden mouth, my thanks I give: In health renewed Thou let'st me live. My footsteps, on Thy pathways led, May never stray or turn aside: Upon Thy roads, oh, let me tread, Nor halt, nor stumble be my guide ! Illumine soul and body quite, Thou strong celestial light ! Pour sweetest tears into mine eyes, Chaste ardour give unto my heart ; Oh, teach my soul and make it wise To practise love's most gentle art; And let my spirit, sense and mind E'er be to Thee inclined. ANGELUS SILESIUS To love without reward, renown, E'en when in greatest pain I plod; I want to love Thee, fairest light, Till my heart's night. S3 JOACHIM NEANDER Born 1650 in Bremen. Died 1680 in Bremen Praise the Lord God Praise the Lord God, the great monarch of glory, oh, praise ! This is my will, my dear soul, upon all of my ways. Come all and meet, Wake harp and psalter chords sweet, Jubilant music, oh, raise ! Praise the Lord God, the magnificent ruler and king, Praise Him who leads thee in safety on eagle-like wing Hast thou not felt How through His love thou hast dwelt Gladly with every good thing? Praise the Lord God who has fashioned thee deli- cate, fair, Gave thee thy health and has saved thee from many a snare. In times of need 34 JOACHIM NEANDER Thou wast in God's gracious heed, His wings spread o'er thee with care. Praise the Lord God who has blessed thee with bountiful store, His streams of mercy from heaven unendingly pour. Remember too, What the Almighty can do, Whose love is nigh evermore. Praise the Lord God, all my being, the rest of my days, All that has breath sing with those that go Abra- ham's ways; He is thy light, Soul, oh forget not His might, End with Amen thy loud praise! 35 CHRISTIAN FURCHTEGOTT GELLERT Born 1715 in Hainichen (Saxony). Died 1760 in Leipzig The Blind and the Lame It happens that a man quite blind A lame man on the street doth find. With hope the blind man's heart is gay: There's one to lead him on his way! "I help you?" says the lame. "What talk! Helpless myself, I cannot walk. It seems, your healthy shoulders there With ease a little load could bear. Come, carry me upon your way; Which path to follow, I shall say. Your hardy foot my foot shall be, And with my bright eye you shall see." The lame man with his crutch we find Upon the broad back of the blind. United they can do what one Alone could nevermore have done. What you have not, will be possessed By others not with your gifts blessed. And from such imperfection springs The bond that men together brings. 36 CHRISTIAN FURCHTEGOTT GELLERT Did not my neighbour lack the gift That nature gave me in her thrift, He, thinking of himself alone, A care for me would scarce have known. Vex not the gods with discontent: The gift upon another spent Shall truly be a common good, If we but live in brotherhood. 37 367494 FRIEDRICH GOTTLOB KLOPSTOCK Born 1724 in Quedlinburg. Died 1803 in Ham- burg The Early Graves Be welcome, oh silvery moon, Quiet, beautiful friend of night ! Flee'st thou ? Hasten not, stay, oh spirit-friend ! Lo, now she stays, only clouds wandered away. The waking of May is alone Fairer still than the summer night, When the dew, clear as light, from her tresses drips, When she, ascending the hill, ruddily glows. Ye nobler ones ! Gloomily grows On your tombstones the sober moss ! Happy I was, alas, when I still with you Looked upon roseate dawns, shimmering nights ! MATTHIAS CLAUDIUS Born 1740 in Reinfeld (Holstein). Died 1815 in Hamburg Evening Song The moon is risen, beaming, The golden stars are gleaming So brightly in the skies; The hushed, black woods are dreaming, The mists, like phantoms seeming, From meadows magically rise. How still the world reposes, While twilight round it closes, So peaceful and so fair ! A quiet room for sleeping, Into oblivion steeping The day's distress and sober care. Look at the moon so lonely ! One half is shining only, Yet she is round and bright; Thus oft we laugh unknowing At things that are not showing, That still are hidden from our sight. 39 OLD TIME We, with our proud endeavour, Are poor vain sinners ever, There's little that we know. Frail cobwebs we are spinning, Our goal we are not winning, But straying farther as we go. God, make us see Thy glory, Distrust things transitory, Delight in nothing vain ! Lord, here on earth stand by us, To make us glad and pious, And artless children once again! Grant that, without much grieving, This world we may be leaving In gentle death at last. And then do not forsake us, But into heaven take us, Lord God, oh, hold us fast ! Lie down, my friends, reposing, Your eyes in God's name closing. How cold the night-wind blew ! Oh God, Thine anger keeping, Now grant us peaceful sleeping, And our sick neighbour too. 40 FOLK SONG Eighteenth century Were I a Little Bird Were I a little bird And had two little wings, I'd fly to thee; But I must stay, because That cannot be. Though I be far from thee, In sleep I dwell with thee, Thy voice I hear. But when I wake again, Then all is drear. Each nightly hour my heart With thoughts of thee will start, When I'm alone; For thou hast a thousand times Pledged me thine own. HUMOROUS BALLAD End of eighteenth century The Tailor in Hell A tailor 'gan to wander One Monday morning fair, And then he met the devil, Whose feet and legs were bare: "Hallo, thou tailor-fellow, Come now with me to hell oh, And measure clothes for us to wear, For what you will is well, oh !" The tailor measured, then he took His scissors long and clipped The devils' little tails all off, And to and fro they skipped. "Hallo, thou tailor-fellow, Now hie thee out of hell oh, We do not need this clipping, sir: What you will is not well, oh !" The tailor took his iron out, And tossed it in the fire; The devils' wrinkles then he pressed; 42 HUMOROUS BALLAD Their screams were something dire: "Hallo, thou tailor-fellow, Now get thee out of hell oh, We do not need this pressing, What you will is not well, oh !" "Keep still !" he said, and pierced their heads With a bodkin from his sack. "This way we put the buttons on, For that's our tailor's knack!" "Hallo, thou tailor-fellow, Now hie thee out of hell oh, We do not need this dressing: What you will is not well, oh !" With thimble and with needle then His stitching he began, And closed the devils' nostrils up As tightly as one can. "Hallo, thou tailor-fellow, Now hie thee out of hell oh, We cannot use our noses, Do what we will for smell, oh!" Then he began to cut away It must have made them smart With all his might the tailor ripped The devils' ears apart: "Hallo, thou tailor-fellow, Now march away from hell oh, 43 OLD TIME We else should need a Doctor, If what you will were well oh!" And last of all came Lucifer And cried: "What horror fell! No devil has his little tail; So drive him out of hell: Hallo, thou tailor-fellow, Now hie thee out of hell oh, We need to wear no clothes at all What you will is not well, oh !" And when the tailor's sack was packed, He felt so very well oh ! He hopped and skipped without dismay And had a laughing spell oh ! And hurried out of hell oh! And stayed a tailor-fellow; And the devil will catch no tailor now, Let him steal, as he will it is well, though! 44 ALSATIAN SOLDIER SONG 1784-90 The Swiss In Strassburg in the fort All woe began for me: The Alpine bugle yonder made me sore, I had to swim to my dear country's shore; That should not be. One hour 'twas in the night, They took me in my plight, And led me straightway to the captain's door. Oh God, they fished me in the stream what more? Now all is o'er. To-morrow morn at ten The regiment I'll have to face; They'll lead me there to beg for grace. I'll have my just reward, I know. It must be so. Ye brothers, all ye men, Ye'll never see me here again; The shepherd boy, I say, began it all, 45 OLD TIME And I accuse the Alpine bugle-call Of this my fall. I pray ye, brothers three, Come on and shoot at me; Fear not my tender life to hurt, Shoot on and let the red blood spurt- Come on, I say ! Oh, Lord of heaven, on high ! Take my poor erring soul Unto its heavenly goal; There let it stay forever Forget me never ! BOOK II CLASSIC TIME JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE Born 1749 in Frankfurt. Died 1832 in Weimar To the Moon Bush and vale are filled by thee With a silver haze, And my soul thou hast set free With thy soothing rays. And thy gentle beams descend Kindly where I go, Like the mild eye of a friend On my joy and woe. Echoes of the times gone by Tremble through my heart, 'Twixt delight and grief I ply, Evermore apart. Dearest river, flow, oh flow! Joy cannot abide. Play and kisses vanished so, Faithfulness beside. Once oh, could I but forget! It was mine : the rare ! 49 CLASSIC TIME And it is a torture yet Memories to bear. River, flow the vale along, Without rest or ease, Murmur, whisper to my song Gentle melodies ! Swelling in the winter night With thy roaring flood, Bubbling in the spring's delight Over leaf and bud ! Blessed is he who walks apart, Though no hate he bears, Holds a friend within his heart; And with him he shares All that steals, by men unguessed, Or by men unknown, Through the maze of his own breast In the night alone. Wanderer's Night Songs Thou who from heaven art, All our pain and sorrow stillest, All the souls that doubly smart, Doubly with thy solace fillest, 50 JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE Ah, if all this toil might cease ! Why this heartache, joy and zest? Peace, sweet peace, Come, oh come into my breast! ii Over every crest Is rest, In all the trees The breeze Scarce touches you. Hushed is the wood-bird's song. Wait: before long, You will rest too. Dear Children., Soon I'll Come Again! Dear children, soon I'll come again ! See, winter captures us in vain Here in our rooms mid warmth and glee. We'll sit beside the fire these days, Enjoy ourselves a thousand ways, And love like angels, tenderly. And little garlands let us wind, And little nosegays let us bind, Like little children let us be! Mignon Ah, dost thou know the land where citron grows, In sombre leaves the golden orange glows, 51 CLASSIC TIME A gentle wind blows from the azure sky, Calm myrtle, fragrant laurel bloom on high? Ah, dost thou know it? There, oh there! With thee, my dear one, how I long to fare ! Ah, dost thou know the house? The pillars white Uphold the roof, the halls are glistening bright, And marble statues seem to gaze at me: Thou poorest child, what have they done to thee? Ah, dost thou know it ? There, oh there ! With thee, oh my protector, I would fare ! Ah, dost thou know the mountain's cloudy ways? The mule there seeks a path within the haze. The broods of ancient dragons haunt the caves, The rock breaks down and over it the waves. Ah, dost thou know it? There, oh there! Our way must go, my father, let us fare ! Song of the Harper Who never ate his bread in tears, Who never through the mournful night Sat weeping on his bed with fears He knows not, heavenly powers, your might! You plunge him into life amain, You lead him into sin from dearth, Then leave the poor man to his pain For all sin is revenged on earth. 52 JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE The Harper Ah, he who seeketh solitude Is all too soon alone; Men live and love, but he must brood Upon his pain and moan. Leave agony with me! When I at last shall be Quite lonely grown I shall not be alone. A lover steals upon his way To hark if his love be alone. Thus pain steals o'er me night and day When I am lonely grown; And thus creeps agony. When I at last shall be Within my grave unknown: Then I'll be left alone! The King in Thule There was a king in Thule, Right faithful to his grave, To whom his dying sweetheart A golden goblet gave. Naught else he loved above it, He emptied it every meal; 53 CLASSIC TIME And so he used to love it The tears from his eyes would steal. He felt that he was dying, And gave unto his heir The towns in his kingdom lying But not the goblet rare. He sat at the banquet royal In the old hall solemnly, With all his vassals loyal, In the castle by the sea. There stood the aged monarch And drank life's sunset glow; And cast the sacred goblet Into the flood below. He saw it rushing, drinking, Into the sea it sank. His eyelids old were sinking Ne'er more a drop he drank. GretcTien's Song My peace is gone, My heart's in pain; I'll never, never Find peace again. 54 JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE Where he cannot be Is a grave for me, The world and all Is turned to gall. My poor, poor head Is gone astray, My sense has fled Oh, quite away. My peace is gone, My heart's in pain; I'll never, never Find peace again. Out of the window For him I gaze, I seek him only On all my ways. His noble build, His bearing high, The smile on his lips, The power of his eye ! To hear him talk What magic bliss, To feel his hand, And oh, his kiss ! 55 CLASSIC TIME My peace is gone, My heart's in pain; I'll never, never Find peace again. My bosom longs To hold him fast. If I could clasp him What joy at last! And I should kiss him With my last breath, Till with his kisses I found my death ! Gretchen Incline thou, O mother of sorrow, Thy gracious face upon my need! A sword unsparing Thy heart is tearing. Thou seest how thine own Son must bleed. With eyes imploring, Thy sighs outpouring, Thou prayest for His and thy great need. Who f eeleth How stealeth 56 JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE My pain through every bone? How my poor, poor heart is quaking, How with longing it is aching, Thou canst know alone, alone ! Wherever I am turning, With what a sore, sore burning My bosom ever aches ! When I am left alone now, I weep and weep and moan now, My heart within me breaks. The plants before my window I watered with tears oh, see ! When in the early morning I broke these flowers for thee. Yes, when the sun was shining In at my room to-day, In bed I sat up pining So early, in dismay. Help ! Rescue me from death disgrace ! Incline thou, Oh, mother of sorrow, Upon my need thy gracious face ! Found I wandered lonely Beneath the trees, 57 CLASSIC TIME And sought for nothing, But strolled at ease. There in the shadows A flower grew, Like starlight beaming, Like eyes so blue I sought to break it, But heard it say: "Shall I be broken To fade away?" I aug it out then With roots and all, And bore it home to My garden small. Again it's planted And finds repose; And now as ever It bluoms and grows. Wild Rose Once a lad a rose did spy, On the moorland growing, Young and lovely to the eye; Fast he ran to see it nigh, Ran with pleasure glowing. 58 JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE Red rose, red rose, red rose red, On the moorland growing. Spake the lad: "I'll pick thee now, Rose on moorland growing!" Spake the rose: "I'll prick thee now: Thou wilt think of me, I trow ! Go, wild boy, be going!" But the boy so wild and bad Broke the red rose glowing; Rose in anger pricked the lad, Rose must suffer him, though sad And her fury showing. Red rose, red rose, red rose red, Rose on moorland growing! The Fisher The water roared, the water rose, The fisher on the sand Looked at his angle in repose; Right cool were heart and hand. And as he sits and harks at ease, The waters rise and part: Out of the whirling waves he sees A dewy woman dart. She sang to him, she said to him: "Why lurest thou my brood 59 CLASSIC TIME To death with human ruse and whim And scorching sunbeams rude? Ah, if thou knewest how below The little fishes feel, Thou straight into the deep wouldst go, All weariness to heal. "Does not the sun refresh his face, The moon hers in the sea? Do they not shine with double grace, When breathing billows free? Does not the lucid heavenly deep Entice thee, all this blue? Dost thou not long thy face to steep Into eternal dew?" The water roared, the water rose, His foot was wet and bare; And in his heart a longing grows, As if his love were there. She sang to him and said her say, And then it all was o'er: She pulled half-way, he sank half-way, And he was seen no more. The Alderking Who rides through the night and the storm, so wild ? It is the father who carries his child; He holds the boy secure in his arm, He keeps him warm and safe from harm. 60 JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE "Why, son, art thou hiding thy face in fear?" "Seest thou not, father, the Alderking near? The Alderking with his crown and train?" "My son, it is mist before the rain." "Thou dearest child, oh, come with me ! Such lovely games I'll play with thee. My flowers gay thou shalt behold ; My mother has many a gown of gold." "My father, my father, and canst thou not hear What Alderking whispers into my ear?" "Be calm, be calm, my dearest child ! The wind in the leaves is murmuring wild." "Wilt thou come with me, oh handsome lad? My daughters shall serve thee and make thee glad ; My daughters their nightly dances keep They will rock and dance and sing thee to sleep." "My father, my father, and canst thou not mark Alderking's daughters there in the dark?" "My son, my son, it is clear as day: The ancient willows appear so gray." "I love thee, thy beauty has charmed my eye; If thou art not willing, with force I will try." "My father, my father, now he clutches my arm! The Alderking has done me harm !" 61 CLASSIC TIME The father shudders, his riding is wild, He holds in his arms the moaning child, He barely reaches his own homestead; And in his arms the child was dead. The Singer "Outside the gate what do I hear, What on the bridgehead ringing? Let it resound upon my ear Within the hall this singing!" Thus spake the king, the page ran out, The boy came back, the king did shout: "Let in the aged singer !" "Right noble masters that you are, Fair ladies, I salute you ! Ah, what a heaven ! Star by star ! Who knows the names that suit you? Before this splendour, light sublime, Close, eyes; for this is not the time To gaze in joyous wonder." Full chords he struck, and closed his eyes, His voice in gladness raising; The knights looked up in gallant wise, The ladies down were gazing. The king, delighted with the lay, To honour him for song and play, A golden chain then gave him. 62 J OH ANN WOLFGANG FON GOETHE 11 Oh, give me not the golden chain ! Your knights it fitly graces, For hostile lances split in twain Before their dauntless faces ; Give it your chancellor to wear, Let him with all his burdens bear One more this golden burden. "I sing just as the wild bird sings That in the boughs is living, The song, while from the heart it springs, Its own reward is giving. Yet one request alone be mine: Pray, let me drink your rarest wine From a pure golden goblet." He took the cup, he quaffed it all: "Such wine is sweetest pleasure! Upon your house all blessings fall Where this is deemed small measure ! If you fare well, remember me, And thank your God as heartily As for this wine I thank you." The Wizard's Apprentice Now old wizard has at last Left me here and gone away ! And his spirit-minions fast My commands shall now obey. 63 CLASSIC TIME Master's words I know, All he used to do. By my wit I'll show I can conjure too. Water flow, And profuse, For good use, Bubbling pour, Till the foaming basin grow Richer, fuller evermore. Come, old broom and don your rag ! All my wishes now fulfill: Thou hast long time been a fag; Rise and stir and do my will ! Stand on two legs so ! Head shall grow on top! Get me water, go! Take your pail and hop! Water flow, And profuse, For good use, Bubbling pour, Till the foaming basin grow Richer, fuller evermore. Lo, he runs and now indeed He has reached the river's shore, And returns with lightning speed, Water from his pail to pour. Now he's done it twice: How the basin swells ! 64 JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE Dishes in a trice Look like water-wells! Stay, stand still ! Of thy store I have more Than my fill! Ah, now I begin to know: I forgot the word ! Oh, woe ! Word that makes him be at last What he was inside the room ! Ah, he fills the bucket fast! Wert thou but the old, old broom! More and more he brings, Still new torrents gush! Over me he flings Rivers with their rush. I will bear This no longer: Hold I'm stronger! Treachery ! Now I feel a creeping scare ! Ah, what mien, what looks I see ! Oh, thou vilest child of hell ! Wouldst thou have the whole house drowned ? Mighty streams of water swell, Over every threshold bound. Oh, the broom accursed Will not heed my will ! Stick thou wast at first Once again stand still! 65 CLASSIC TIME Will he never Do what's told him? I will hold him, And endeavour Fast to split the bad old wood With my hatchet sharp and good. There he comes, still burdened so! On thee now I'll cast my weight: Fiend, thou shalt be lying low, On thy wood the axe shall grate! Good! I've done the deed! Lo, he's cut in twain ! I can hope, and freed I can breathe again! Woe ! What plight ! Now each part Up doth start, And upright Stand two servants in my sight ! Help me, oh, some higher might! And they run ! Now more and more Deluge swallows stairs and hall. Endless streams of water pour. Lord and master! Hear me call! There's the master! Pray, Help, sir! I'm appalled! Spirits I have called I can't drive away. "In the room's Corner, brooms ! 66 JO H ANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE There you were. You shall stir Only when I let you loose, Spirits for the master's use!" 67 FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER Born 1759 in Marbach (Wiirttemberg). Died 1805 in Weimar The Song of the Bell Walled in fast within the earth Stands the form burnt out of clay. This must be the bell's great birth ! Fellows, lend a hand to-day. Sweat must trickle now From the burning brow, Till the work its master honour. Blessing comes from Heaven's Donor. While we our serious work are doing, We ought to speak a serious word, More easily our work pursuing, When noble speech the while is heard. Now let us earnestly be spying What our weak powers can create; I scorn the man who is not trying On his own work to meditate. This is the fairest of man's graces : The power to think and understand For in his inmost heart he traces What he has fashioned with his hand. 68 FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER Wood that from the pine-tree came Keep right dry with zealous care, That the deftly governed flame Through the furnace hole may flare. Boiling copper's thick Get the tin now, quick! Let the substance, liquid growing, In a docile way be flowing. What with the help of fire's great power In this deep pit our hands have framed, High on the belfry of the tower In mighty tones shall be proclaimed. In ages far beyond the morrow, A voice for many shall ring out, And it will mourn with those in sorrow And join the choir of the devout. What fate, forever changing, fleeting, To mortals far below may bring, Against the crown of metal beating, As music of the bell will ring. Bubbles leaping, white and spry! Good ! The masses flow at last. Mix them with the alkali, That they be more quickly cast. From all foam quite free Shall the mixture be, From the metal pure before us, Rise a perfect voice sonorous. The bell with festive peal and cheering Greets the beloved tender child, CLASSIC TIME Upon his life's first way appearing, Still in the arms of sleep beguiled. Deep in the womb of time there stay His destinies, both dark and gay. His mother's gentle, loving care Is watching still his morning fair. The years fly swiftly all is play. Away from girls, impatient, tearing, The boy starts wildly forth to roam, He sees the world, and, after faring, Comes back, a stranger, to his home. In beauty and youth's splendour glowing, A vision from some heavenly height, While blushes on her cheeks are growing, He sees the maiden with delight. And now a strange and nameless yearning Has seized upon the young man's heart, From sports and wild companions turning, With tearful eyes he roams apart. And happy at her slightest speaking, Her footsteps blushingly to trace, He wanders over meadows, seeking The fairest flowers his love to grace. Oh, tender longing, sweetest hoping, First love's enchanting, golden days ! The eye can see the heavens oping, A bliss the heart unhindered sways. Would it might bloom eternally The time of young love's ecstasy ! See, how brown the blow-pipes grow ! 70 FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER When this stick has been dipped in, And a glaze begins to show, Then the casting should begin. Now good fellows, quick! Prove the mixture thick! Hard and soft united duly Are a lucky omen truly. For when the stern and mild are pairing, The tender with the strong and daring, The tone must ring out fair and strong. Let him who binds himself forever, To sound his heart and hers endeavour! Passion is short, repentance long. On the young bride's tresses lightly Lies the wreath of blossoms white, When the church bells, ringing brightly, To the festive hour invite. Lovely festival the ending Of alas! life's joyous May, Beautiful illusions rending With the veil and bride's array! Passion will fly! Love must remain; The flower must die, The fruit to attain. The man must go out To stern hostile life, For power and strife, To plant and to toil, To gain and to foil, 71 CLASSIC TIME To wager and dare, His luck to ensnare. And now without end the blessings are streaming, With goodly possessions the storerooms are teem- ing, The rooms are expanding, the house has to grow. And in it there moves The good, modest housewife, The mother of children, Who wise and dear Here rules in her sphere, And teaches the girls And wards off the boys, While work without end Her busy hands tend, Enlarging her share Through order and care, Her sweet-smelling linen-chests filling with treas- ure, By spinning her thread in the speediest measure. Her neatly and smoothly kept closets are full Of linen like snow and the shining fair wool; And still adding glamour and charm to the best, She never can rest. And the father with happy eye From his mansion's high gable is counting Blessings fair that before him lie Pillars and posts as high as the trees, Barns that are bursting with treasures that please, Granges with bounties swelling and bending, 72 FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER Grain-fields waving in billows unending. He boasts with noble pride: Firm as the ground abide My homestead's splendours bright Against misfortune's might! Covenants with powers of fate Will alack ! not always last, And misfortune travels fast. Now the casting can begin, For the dented mould is fair: But before we pour it in, Let us say a pious prayer ! Push the tendon hard! God shall be our guard ! In the bell's ear smoking, glowing, Waves of fiery brown are flowing. Most wholesome is the force of fire, When man can tame and guard its ire, And from this heavenly force man takes Good help for what he moulds and makes. But frightful is this power's abuse When, from its fetters broken loose, Upon its own track wantonly It roams as nature's daughter free. Horror when unbound and growing Fiend that no resistance stays ! Through the peopled city blowing Sweeps along the monster-blaze ! Elements have ever hated What the hand of man created. 73 CLASSIC TIME From the cloud Rain is pouring, Earth restoring. From the cloud, even so, Lightnings glow ! From the tower hear the wail: Tis the gale! Bloody red Are the heavens; Daylight ne'er such brightness shed! Riot leavens All the crowds! Dense smoke-clouds! Fiery pillar, flickering, glowing, Down the street is swiftly going, Like the wind so rapid growing. Hot, as if in furnace baking, Glows the air; the beams are breaking, Windows rattle, posts are falling, Mothers straying, children calling, Beasts are moaning, Crushed, and groaning. All run, save and flee in fright, Bright as daylight is the night, Chains of eager hands are plying, Pails are flying, Arching water-spouts are playing, Flames with hissing fountains spraying; Howling wild the storm is straying, Driving on the flame with roars. 74 FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER Crackling in the dry grain-stores Shoots the flame, through garrets sweeping, Fast along the rafters creeping, And, as if with monstrous blowing It would sweep along in flight The whole earth with all its might, Rises, now gigantic growing, To the sky. Man stands by: Hopeless, awestruck, he is yielding, Sees the heavens their power wielding, His own works to ruin going. Now the homestead Is burnt bare; Savage storms are raging there. Empty window-holes are staring Horror-haunted, And the sailing clouds undaunted Peer inside. Man alack ! Glances back At the grave Of the goods he could not save: Then ventures forth with spirit brave. However sadly he has fared, Though raging fire has so bereft him, The sweetest comfort still is left him: He counts his dear ones: all are spared. Now 'tis resting in the earth, 75 CLASSIC TIME For the form contains its fill. Will there be a happy birth, To repay our care and skill? Is there a mistake? If the form should break? While our hopes are soaring high Woe ! misfortune may be nigh. Unto the sacred earth confiding, We trust to her our hands' own deed, The sower trusts to her his seed, Calm, with a blessed hope abiding That it shall grow as Heaven decreed. Alas, we know that seed far rarer In earth's dark bosom buried lies, And hope that to a lot still fairer Out of the graveyard it will rise. From the church Tolls the bell Grave and heavy Funeral knell. And the toll sonorous is attending One more pilgrim on his last way wending. Woe ! It is the wife beloved. Woe! It is the faithful mother Whom the shadow prince of harm Drew from out her husband's arm, From her tender children's sphere, Whom she bare him, fair and dear, And then watched with mother's zest As they grew upon her breast. 76 FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER Ah ! The home's most tender ties Are unloosed forevermore; In the shadowland she lies Who was mother here before. How they miss her faithful guiding, And the care she used to give ! In the orphaned home presiding, Loveless strangers soon will live. Till the bell shall cooler be, After labour take your ease, And as birds play in the tree, Each shall do what he may please. Youth, at rise of stars, Free from duty's bars, Hears the evening bell, releasing: Master's toil is never ceasing. In the forest wild the wanderer Homeward turns his steps with pleasure To his dear and cheerful cottage. Homeward trudge the sheep-flocks bleating, And the herds Of the sleek and broad-browed cattle With their lowing To accustomed stalls are going. Now with grain Heavy laden, Reels the wagon: And beneath Sheaves, the wreath Fragrant lies; 77 CLASSIC TIME To the dance the flock of reapers Gaily flies. Streets and markets grow more quiet; Round the bright and genial lamplight All the household members gather, And the town-gate closes, creaking. Blackness spreads O'er the earth; But the steady townsman dreads Not the night Rousing wicked men from bed: For the eye of law is ever bright. Sacred order, blessings spreading, Heaven's .daughter, freely treading, Like to like thou bindest lightly, Cities thou hast founded rightly, And the wild man roaming blindly Thou hast called to home-life, kindly. To men's homes thy presence giving, Thou hast taught them gentle living, Woven of all ties the deepest Love for fatherland thou keepest! Busy hands, by thousands stirring, Briskly one another aid, And, while eager work is spurring, All the powers are displayed. Under freedom's wing united, Master and apprentice toil, Each with his own place delighted, Ready any scorn to foil. 78 FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER Work adorns the burgher greatly, Blessing is our labour's prize; Honoured crowns make princes stately, But in work our honour lies. Blessed peace, oh Sweetest concord, Tarry, tarry With your kindness in this town ! May that day be never dawning, When the hordes of war with terror Raid across this quiet valley, When the heavens Which the lovely glow of evening Gently paints, Flash, alas, when towns are burning, Fiery taints ! Break the form now, stand me by, For its purpose is fulfilled; And rejoice, let heart and eye By the well-done task be thrilled. Swing the hammer, whack! Till the cope shall crack ! . For the finished bell shall rise, When the form in pieces lies. In time the master, skilled and knowing, Can break the form most prudently. Woe ! When in fiery torrents flowing, The ore itself seeks liberty! In blindest rage with thundrous roaring, The bursting house it rushes through, 79 CLASSIC TIME As if the jaws of hell were pouring The flames that death and horror spew. Where raw wild forces rage and blight, Men can create no form aright; And no true welfare can there be, When mobs are by themselves set free. Woe, when the tinder-heap is swelling In hearts of cities, in the night, The masses tear their chains, rebelling, And free themselves with fury's might! Then riot, to the bell-ropes clinging, Pulls till the bell begins to howl; Devoted once to peaceful ringing, She gives the sign for outrage foul. Equality and freedom ! screaming, The burgher in once peaceful hands Grasps weapons; streets and halls are teeming, And everywhere swarm ruffian bands. With jest and ribaldry unsparing, The women like hyenas grow, With panther's fangs unbridled tearing The flinching bosom of the foe. There is no sacredness remaining, Unloosed are ties of piety, The bad in goodness' place is reigning, And every vice is swaying free. A lion wakened is ferocious, Destructive is the tiger's bite; But of all horrors most atrocious Is man at his own madness' height. 80 FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER Woe unto those who to the yearning, The ever-blind lend heaven's torch ! It will not beam; to ashes burning, The fields and cities it will scorch. Gladness God has given me ! Now the kernel shells the mould, Rising smoothly, evenly, Shining like a star of gold. Dome and crest both beam, Like the sunlight's gleam, And the blazon's quaint device Shows performance skilled and nice. Come in and see! Now, fellows, let us close the ring, For the bell's high christening: Concordia her name shall be. For concord, deepest brotherhood with all, The loving congregation she shall call. This be the calling of the bell, Wherefore she has been fashioned well ! With earthly life beneath her lying, High she shall swing in heaven's blue dome, A neighbour of the thunder, flying And touching on the starry home, Her voice from heights celestial raising, Like all the stars in heaven's sphere, That live and move, their Maker praising, And leading forth the festive year. Our bell, her metal voice devoting Alone to grave, eternal things, 81 CLASSIC TIME Shall ever feel, while she is floating, The throbbing touch of time's swift wings. The tongue of fate, she shall be ringing: Heartless herself and pitiless, She shall accompany with swinging Life's game of constant changefulness. And as her mighty peal sonorous Within our ears at last shall die, A lesson she will put before us, That all things earthly must go by. Come now, with the ropes' whole might, From her dungeon swing the bell, Till she rise to heaven's height, In the realm of sound to dwell! Pull and lift still more! See her move and soar ! Joy unto this city bringing, Peace shall be her first glad ringing! 82 BOOK III ROMANTIC TIME ERNST MORITZ ARNDT Born 1769 in Riigen. Died I860 in Bonn Union Song This blessed hour we are united, Of German men a mighty choir, And from the lips of each, delighted, Our praying souls to heaven aspire; With high and sacred awe abounding, We join in solemn thoughts to-day, And so our hearts should be resounding In clear harmonic song and play. To whom shall foremost thanks be given? To God, our Lord, so long concealed, Who, when the cloud of shame was riven, Himself in flames to us revealed, Who, stubborn foes with lightning felling, Restored to us our strength of yore, Who, on the stars in power dwelling, Reigns ever and forevermore. What second wish should we be hearing? The majesty of fatherland! Destroyed be those who still are sneering ! Hail them who with it fall and stand ! By virtue winning admiration, 85 ROMANTIC TIME Beloved for honesty and might, Long live through centuries our nation, As strong in honour and in might ! The third is German manhood's treasure- Ring out it shall, with clearness mete ! For Freedom is the German pleasure, And Germans step to Freedom's beat. Be life and death by her inspired Of German hearts, oh, longing bright! And death for Freedom's sake desired Is German honour and delight. The fourth for noble consecration Now lift on high both heart and hand ! Old loyalty within our nation And German faith forever stand! These virtues shall, our weal assuring, Remain our union's shield and stay; Our manly word will be enduring Until the world shall pass away. Now let the final chord be ringing In jubilee stand not apart! Let sound our mighty, joyful singing From lip to lip, from heart to heart! The weal from which no devils bar us, The word that doth our league infold The bliss which tyrants cannot mar us We must believe in, we must hold! 86 NOVALIS (Pseud, for FRIEDRICH VON HARDEN- BERG) Born 1772 in Wiederstedt. Died 1801 in Weissenfels Ah, When He Is Mine Ah, when He is mine, When I hold Him fast, When His loyalty divine Fills my heart unto the last I feel no distress, Only worship, love and happiness. Ah, when He is mine, Gladly I leave all, Rise and wander at His sign, Faithful to my Master's call. Let the others go On the broad and lighted roads they know. Ah, when He is mine, I can sleep in calm, Ever cheering me like wine Is His heart's sweet healing balm, 87 ROMANTIC TIME Holding us in thrall, Gently soothing, penetrating all. Ah, when He is mine, Then the world's mine, too; As a seraph at her shrine Holds the Virgin's veil of blue Blissful, I adore, Earthly things can frighten me no more. Ah, where He is mine, Is my fatherland; Like my share, each gift divine Gently falls into my hand. Friends who went astray Now I find disciples on His way. 88 ADALBERT VON CHAMISSO Born 1781 in Castle Boncourt in Champagne. Died 1803 in Berlin From "Woman's Love and Life" Ah, since I have seen him, I believe I'm blind. Where I glance, forever Him alone I find. Evermore his image In my waking dreams, Through the deepest darkness Bright and joyous gleams. Colourless and dreary All is on my way ! And I feel so weary When my sisters play. I would fain be weeping, In my room confined; Ah, since I have seen him, I believe I'm blind. 89 ROMANTIC TIME ii I cannot grasp or believe it, A dream has bewitched me quite. Why was it that me of all maidens He raised to this happiest height? It seemed as if he had spoken: I am thine eternally It seemed I still must be dreaming! It cannot, cannot be. Oh, let me die thus dreaming, And resting upon his breast, My death in ecstasy drinking, In tears of unending rest! 90 MAX VON SCHENKENDORF Born 1783 in Tilsit. Died 1817 in Koblenz Freedom Freedom that I love, Shining in my heart, Come now from above, Angel that thou art! To the world oppressed Wilt thou ne'er appear? Shall but stars be blessed With thy grace and cheer? In the forest gay When the trees are green, 'Neath the blooming spray, Freedom, thou art seen. Oh, what dear delight! Music fills the air, And thy secret might Thrills us everywhere When the rustling boughs Friendly greetings send, 91 ROMANTIC TIME When we lovers" vows, Looks and kisses spend. But the heart aspires Upward evermore, And our high desires Toward heaven soar. From his simple kind Comes my rustic child, Shows his heart and mind To the world beguiled. For him gardens bloom, For him fields have grown, Even in the gloom Of a world of stone. Where within a breast Glows a God-sent flame Love with loyal zest For the ancient name, Where all men unite Valiantly to face Foes of honour's right There dwells freedom's race. Ramparts, brazen doors Still may bar the light, 92 Yet the spirit soars Into regions bright. For the fathers' grave, For the church to fall And for dear ones brave, True at freedom's call That indeed is light, Glowing rosy-red : Heroes' cheeks grow bright And more fair when dead. Toward us, oh, guide Heaven's grace, we pray; In our hearts reside German hearts to stay! Freedom sweet and fair, Trusting, void of fear, German nature e'er Was to thee most dear. LUDWIG UHLAND Born 1787 in Tubingen. Died 1862 in Tubingen The Hostess' Daughter Three fellows were marching over the Rhine, They stopped where they saw the hostess* sign. "Dear hostess, have you good beer and wine? Where have you your daughter so fair and fine?" "My beer is good, my wine is clear, My daughter is lying upon the bier." Now into the chamber she led the way, There in a black coffin the maiden lay. The first man drew the veil aside, And full of sorrow the maid espied. "Ah, beautiful maiden, if thou couldst live ! To thee alone my love I would give !" The second laid back the veil again, And turned away and wept in pain. "Oh, why must thou lie upon the bier ! Alas, I have loved thee for many a year." 94 LUDWIG UHLAND The third man lifted again the veil, And kissed her upon the lips so pale: "I loved thee always, I love thee to-day, And I will love thee forever and aye." The Good Comrade I had a faithful comrade, None better you could find. The battle drum beat gaily, He marched beside me daily, And never fell behind. A cannon ball came flying Is't for me or is't for thee? It threw him down, and dying Before my feet he's lying, Just like a part of me. His hand he wants to give me, While I must load anew; My hand cannot be given Now fare thou well in heaven, My comrade good and true! The Nun In the quiet convent garden A pallid maiden dreamed. The moon was dim above 95 On drooping lashes gleamed A tear of tender love. He is dead, my faithful lover What blessedness for me ! Now it is right to love: An angel he will be, And angels I may love. She walked with steps unsteady To mother Mary's shrine; The image, wondrous mild, Looked in the pale moonshine Upon the undefiled. She sank down, gazing upward, In heavenly peace reposed, Until her eyelids frail In gentle death were closed; Down fell the long, black veil. The Minstrel's Curse In olden times a castle stood towering high and free: It gleamed far over the country, unto the deep blue sea; The gardens round were fragrant, in glowing bloom arrayed, And glistening like the rainbow, the limpid foun- tains played. 96 LUDWIG UHLAND There sat a mighty monarch with many lands his own, He sat so pale and threatening upon his mighty throne. For what he thinks is terror and what he sees is rage And what he speaks is torture and blood his writ- ten page. There travelled to this castle a noble minstrel pair, The one with locks of gold and the other grey of hair; And with his harp the old man a comely charger rode, While merrily beside him his young companion strode. The old man to the young said: "My son, take ample care ! Our deepest songs remember, and strike thy note most rare. With all thy might put sorrow and joy into thy tone! To-day we both must conquer this monarch's heart of stone." Before the lofty pillars the minstrel pair is seen; Upon the throne are sitting the monarch and his queen. 97 ROMANTIC TIME The king is fiercely splendid, like bloody north- ern light, The queen is mild and lovely, like full moon in the night. The old man touched his harp strings, and won- derful to hear ! Chords fuller, ever fuller, were rising to the ear; Then high the young man's singing most heavenly limpid streamed, The old man's voice sonorous a ghostly chorus seemed. They sing of love and springtime, of golden days to bless, Of freedom, manly honour, of faith and holiness. They sing of all the sweetness that trembles through the breast, They sing of all that's lofty and fills the heart with zest. The courtiers round about them forget to mock and sneer; Stern warriors before heaven all bow their knees in fear. The queen in wistful gladness is overcome and throws Down to the magic minstrels from her own breast a rose. 98 LUDWIG UHLAND "You have beguiled my people, beguile you now my queen?" The king is shouting fiercely, and trembling in his spleen. He throws his sword that flashing has pierced the young man's heart: Thence no more golden ballads, but sprays of lifeblood start. And scattered as by tempest is all the listening swarm. The youth in throes is dying right in his master's arm. He wraps the mantle round him, then upright on his steed Binds fast the youth and with him he leaves the hall in speed. Before the lofty gateway the minstrel old and wise Stands still and there he seizes his harp, of harps the prize. Against a marble pillar this noble harp he flings. He calls ; through halls and gardens his voice un- canny rings: "Woe, castle, no more music shall sweep thy halls along, No harp-strings shall resound there, and no more golden song. 99 ROMANTIC TIME Nay! Only sighs and groaning and sneaking of the slave, Till crushed by spirit of vengeance thou art a mouldy grave. "Woe, fragrant gardens blooming so fair in spring- time's grace ! To you I show this dead boy's white and dis- torted face, That you henceforth shall wither, that every spring be dry, That you all sere and barren in days to come shall lie. "Woe, thou unholy murderer! Thou curse of minstrelsy ! Thy strife for bloodstained glory all times in vain shall be; Thy name shall be forgotten, steeped in eternal night, And, like a dying rattle, in empty air take flight!" Thus cried the ancient minstrel, and heaven heard his call: The pompous halls are ruins, low lies each mighty wall. One lofty pillar only recalls the splendours past; This pillar, cracked already, may fall to-night at last. 100 LUDWIG UHLAN D Where once were scented gardens is now a barren land, No branches shade to scatter, no spring to pierce the sand; No songs, no book of heroes the monarch's name rehearse; Dissolved in night, forgotten! That is the min- strel's curse. King Charles' Voyage With comrades twelve upon the main King Charles set out to sail. The Holy Land he hoped to gain, But drifted in a gale. Then spake Sir Roland, hero brave: "Well, I can fight and shield; Yet neither stormy wind nor wave Will to my weapon yield." Sir Holger spake, from Denmark's strand: "The harp I fain would play; But what avails the music bland When tempests roaring sway !" Sir Oliver was not too glad; Upon his sword he'd stare: "For my own weal 'twere not so bad I grieve for good old Clare." 101 ROMANTIC TIME Said wicked Ganilon with gall (He said it 'neath his breath) : "The devil come and take ye all Were I but spared this death!" Archbishop Turpin deeply sighed: "The knights of God are we. Oh, come our Saviour, be our guide, And lead us o'er the sea!" Then spake Sir Richard Fearless stern: "Ye demons there in hell, I served ye many a goodly turn, Now serve ye me as well!" "My counsel often has been heard," V Sir Naimes did remark. "Fresh water, though, and helpful word Are rare upon a bark." Then, spake Sir Riol, old and gray: "An aged knight am I; / And they shall lay my corpse away Where it is good and dry." And then Sir Guy began to sing He was a courtly knight: "Fain I would have a birdie's wing, And to my love take flight!" 102 LUDWIG UHLAND Then Count Garein, the noble, said: "God, danger from us keep ! I'd rather drink the wine so red Than water in the deep." Sir Lambert spake, a sprightly youth: "May God behold our state ! I'd rather eat good fish, forsooth, Than be myself a bait." Then quoth Sir Gottfried: "Be it so, I heed not how I fare: Whatever I must undergo, My brothers all would share." But at the helm King Charles sat by, And never said a word, And steered the ship with steadfast eye Till no more tempest stirred. Sudbian Legend When Emperor Redbeard with his band Came marching through the Holy Land, He had to lead, the way to seek, His noble force o'er mountains bleak. Of bread there rose a painful need, Though stones were plentiful indeed, And many a German rider fine Forgot the taste of mead and wine. 103 ROMANTIC TIME The horses drooped from meagre fare, The rider had to hold his mare. There was a knight from Suabian land Of noble build and mighty hand; His little horse was faint and ill, He dragged it by the bridle still: His steed he never would forsake, If his own life should be at stake. And so the horseman had to stay Behind his band a little way. Then all at once, right in his course, Pranced fifty Turkish men on horse. And straight a swarm of arrows flew, Their spears as well the riders threw. Our Suabian brave felt no dismay, And calmly marched along his way. His shield was stuck with arrows o'er, He sneered and looked about no more; Till one, whom all this pastime bored, Above him swung a crooked sword. The German's blood begins to boil, He aims the Turkish steed to foil, And off he knocks with hit so neat The Turkish charger's two fore-feet. And now that he has felled the horse, He grips his sword with double force And swings it on the rider's crown And splits him to the saddle down: He hews the saddle into bits, And e'en the charger's back he splits. 104 LUDWIG UHLAND See, falling to the right and left, Half of a Turk that has been cleft! The others shudder at the sight And hie away in frantic flight, And each one feels with gruesome dread That he is split through trunk and head. A band of Christians, left behind, Came down the road, his work to find: And they admired, one by one, The deed our hero bold had done. From these the Emperor heard it all, And bade his men the Suabian call, Then spake: "Who taught thee, honoured knight, With hits like those you dealt, to fight?" Our hero said without delay: "These hits are just the Suabian way: Throughout the realm all men admit, The Suabians always make a hit." Free Art Thou, whom song was given, sing In the German poets' wood ! When all boughs with music ring, Life is sweet and pleasure good. Nay, this art doth not belong To a small and haughty band; Scattered are the seeds of song All about the German land. 105 ROMANTIC TIME Music set thy passions free From the heart's confining cage ! Let thy love like murmurs be And like thunder-storms thy rage! Singest thou not all thy days, Joy of youth should make thee sing. Nightingales pour forth their lays In the blooming months of spring! Though in books they hold not fast What the hour imparts to thee, \f~. Stray leaves to the breezes cast! Youth will seize them gratefully. Fare thou well, thou secret lore: Necromancy, alchemy ! Formulas shall bind no more, And our art is poesy. Names we deem but empty air, Spirits we revere alone; Though we honour masters rare, Art is free it is our own ! Not in haunts of marble chill, Temples drear where ancients trod/- Nay, in oaks on woody hill Lives and moves the German God. 106 JOSEPH FREIHERR VON EICHENDORFF Born 1788 near Ratibor. Died 1857 in Neisse The Broken Ring Down in a cool, green valley A millwheel goes all day, And there my love would dally Now she is gone away. She gave a ring for token And pledged her faith as true: Her faith alas! is broken, The ring has burst in two. I'd be a fiddler strolling, And wander far from home ! My songs forever trolling, From door to door I'd roam. I'd be a rider, flying Into the bloody fight, By quiet campfires lying Upon the field at night. I hear the millwheel going: I know not what I will 107 ROMANTIC TIME I wish I might be dying, Then it would stand quite still. The Last Greeting My way from the woods I was wending: There stood the old house still. My love, as of old, was bending Far over the window-sill. Another man she has taken, I was far in the battle's din. How all has turned out! Ah, forsaken, I wish a new war would begin! Her child at the wayside was playing; Such likeness to her it bore! I kissed its red lips while saying: "God bless thee f orevermore !" But she was frightened; I wandered. She lingered and gazed after me, And shook her fair locks and pondered, And knew not who I might be. The woods were murmuring gladly, I stood by a tree on the height; My hunter's horn I blew sadly: It throbbed as in dreams through the night. 108 JOSEPH FREIHERR VON EICHENDORFF At morn, when the songbirds dally, She wept and her heart was sore. But I was gone far from the valley; And now she will see me no more. On the Death of My Child From far the clocks are ticking, Deep midnight spreads its shade; The lamp is burning dimly Your little bed is made. Only the winds are wandering Around the house and moan, And by the window harking We sit inside, alone. It seems as if you gently Must knock upon the door: You'd lost your way, and weary Had wandered home once more ! How pitiful our folly! We are the ones who roam, Lost in the dreadful darkness You long have found your home. Longing The stars were so golden and glistening; I stood by the window alone, 109 ROMANTIC TIME To songs of the post-horn listening, O'er silent moorland blown. My heart within me was burning. "To travel ah, what delight!" I thought in my secret yearning, In the glorious summer night. Two merry youths were walking By the slope of yonder hill. I heard their singing and talking, When all about was still: Of woodlands murmuring mildly, Eavines from the dizziest height, Of waterfalls that wildly Pour into the forest's night. They sang of marble shining, Of garden walls o'er-grown, Where vines are rampantly twining, Of moon-lit palaces lone, Where maids at the windows are rousing The music from lutes with delight, Where murmuring fountains are drowsing In the glorious summer night. 110 FRIEDRICH RUCKERT Born 1789 in Schweinfurt. Died 1866 near Koburg Ecstasy Oh, thou my soul, oh, thou my heart, Thou my delight, my pain thou art ! Oh, thou my world in which I move, My heaven where I soar above, Oh, thou the tomb to which I gave Forever all my sorrow grave. Thou art my peace, thou art my rest, With thee, thou heaven, I am blessed. Thy love endows me in mine eyes, Thy glance my own life glorifies. Through thee above myself I fly, My guiding spirit, my better I ! Chidher Chidher, the ever youthful, told: I passed a city, bright to see. A man was culling fruits of gold; I asked him how old this town might be. He answered, culling as before: 111 ROMANTIC TIME "This town stood ever in days of yore, And will stand on f orevermore !" Five hundred years from yonder day I passed again the self-same way, And of the town I found no trace. A shepherd blew on a reed instead; His herd was grazing on the place. "How long," I asked, "is the city dead?" He answered, blowing as before: "The new crop grows the old one o'er; This was my pasture evermore !" Five hundred years from yonder day I passed again the self-same way. A sea I found; the tide was full, A sailor emptied nets with cheer; And when he rested from his pull, I asked how long that sea were here. Then laughed he with a hearty roar: "As long as waves have washed this shore They fished here ever in days of yore." Five hundred years from yonder day I passed again the self-same way. I found a forest settlement, And o'er his axe, a tree to fell, I saw a man in labour bent. How old this wood I bade him tell. ' 'Tis everlasting; long before 112 FRIEDRICH RUCKERT I lived; it stood in days of yore," He quoth; "and shall grow evermore." Five hundred years from yonder day I passed again the self-same way. I saw a town; the market-square Was swarming with a noisy throng. "How long," I asked, "has this town been there? Where are wood and sea and shepherd's song?" I heard them cry among the roar: "This town was ever so before, And so will live forevermore." Five hundred years from yonder day I want to pass the self-same way. 113 WILHELM HEY Born 1790 in Leina. Died 1854 in Ichtershausen Say, How Many Stars Are Glowing Say, how many stars arc glowing On the heavens' deep blue dome? Say, how many clouds are going, Over all the world to roam? God our Lord has told their host, That no single one is lost, Though their number be so great. Say, how many gnats are playing, In the summer sunlight's glow? Say, how many fish are straying In the water's limpid flow? God our Lord called them by name, Straightway into life they came; Now they all are glad and gay. Say, how many children hurry, From their little beds to rise, And, untouched by care or worry, Pass the day in merry wise? They all please the Lord above, And He gives them all His love, Knows thee too and holds thee dear. 114 THEODOR KORNER Born 1791 in Dresden. Killed in battle 1813 near Gadebusch (Mecklenburg) Father, I Cdl Thee! Father, I call Thee ! Smoke clouds enwrap me and cannons are crashing, Round me the terrible lightnings are flashing. Guide of all battles, I call Thee ! Father, oh guide me ! Father, oh guide me ! Guide me to victory and to death lead me: Lord, Thy commandments I know and I heed Thee ; Lord, as Thou wiliest, so guide me ! My God, I heed Thee ! My God, I heed Thee ! Once amid murmur of leaves I could hear Thee, Now in the thunder of war I am near Thee. Fountain of mercy, I heed Thee. Father, oh bless me ! Father, oh bless me! Into Thy hand my life I surrender: 115 ROMANTIC TIME Thou hast bestowed it, so take it, Defender ! Living or dying, oh bless me ! Father, I praise Thee! Father, I praise Thee ! Not for the goods of this eartli we are fighting: To guard the holiest, our swords are smiting. Falling in triumph, I praise Thee. My God, I trust Thee ! My God, I trust Thee ! When all the thunders of death are roaring, When from my veins the blood is pouring: My life, God, I trust to Thee! Father, I call Thee! 116 WILHELM MULLER Born 1794 in Dessau. Died 1827 in Dessau Vineta From the deep, deep bottom of the sea Sounds the muffled toll of evening bells, And this far-off ringing wondrously Of the fair, old wonder-city tells. Sunk beneath the flood long, long ago, On the sand the city's ruins stay; Golden gleams from battlements below Brightly mirrored on the water play. And the skipper who in sunset light Once has seen the necromantic glow, To the selfsame place on every night, Though the cliffs are threatening, must row. From the deep, deep bottom of the heart, Toll of muffled bells I seem to hear; Ah, such wondrous tidings they impart Of the love that once was held most dear. Sunk into the depth long, long ago, Of a lovely world the ruins stay 117 ROMANTIC TIME Heavenly golden gleams from far below, In the mirror of my dreams they play. Then into the deep I want to fall, Steep myself in all the magic light, And I seem to hear the angels call From the ancient wonder-city's site. 118 AUGUST GRAF VON PLATEN Born 1796 in Ansbach. Died 1835 in Syracuse m Sonnet Oh, he whose pain means life, whose life means pain May feel again what I have felt before; Who has beheld his bliss above him soar And, when he sought it, fly away again; Who in a labyrinth has tried in vain, When he has lost his way, to find a door, Whom love has singled out for nothing more Than with despondency his soul to bane; Who begs each lightning for a deadly stroke, Each stream to drown the heart that cannot heal From all the cruel stabs by which it broke, Who does begrudge the dead their beds like steel Where they are safe from love's beguiling yoke He knows me quite, and feels what I must feel. 119 ANNETTE FREIIN VON DROSTE- HULSHOFF Born 1797 in Hiilshoff near Miinster. Died 1848 in Meersburg by the Bodensee Last Words When I am gone, brook no complaining, Beloved, shed no tears, I pray! Where I shall dwell, there peace is reigning, There shines an everlasting day. Where earth's great misery is vanished, Your images shall never fade; I'll pray that all your pain be banished, That balm upon your wounds be laid. At night, when heavenly peace is flying Above the world that sorrow mars, Ah, think not of my grave with sighing! For then I greet you from the stars. 120 HEINRICH HOFFMANN VON FALLERS- LEBEN Born 1798 in Fallersleben (Hannover). Died 1874 in Corvey (Westfalen) German Land Above All Others German land, above all others, Dear above all other lands, Like a faithful host of brothers Evermore united stands, And from Maas to farthest Memel As from Etch to Belt expands: German land above all others, Dear above all other lands! German faith and German women, German wine and German song In the world shall keep the beauties That of old to them belong; Still to noble deeds inspiring, They shall always make us strong German faith and German women, German wine and German song! Union, right and freedom ever For the German fatherland! 121 ROMANTIC TIME So with brotherly endeavour Let us strive with heart and hand ! For a bliss that wavers never Union, right and freedom stand In this glory bloom forever, Bloom, my German fatherland! 122 LUISE HENSEL Born 1798 in Linum (Brandenburg). Died 1876 in Paderborn Child's Prayer I am weary, seek repose, Both my little eyes I close. Father, let Thine eyes so bright Watch above my bed all night! If I have done wrong to-day, Then forgive it, Lord, I pray ! For Thy grace and Jesus' blood Make all harm and sorrow good. All my kin, O God, let rest In Thy hand, and keep them blessed. Friends and strangers, big and small, Shall be in Thy keeping all. Send to aching hearts repose, Tearful eyes, I pray Thee, close: And the moon in Heaven keep, Gazing on the world asleep. 123 HEINRICH HEINE Born 1799 in Diisseldorf. Died 1856 in Paris Thou Seemest Like a Flower Thou seemest like a flower, So fair and pure thou art; I look on thee and sadness Comes stealing through my heart. And now I feel like resting My hands upon thy hair, Praying that God may keep thee So lovely, pure and fair. I Dreamed a Princess Came to Me I dreamed a princess came to me With pale and tearful face. We sat beneath the linden tree In lovers' fond embrace. "I do not want thy father's throne, Nor yet his sceptre of gold, His diamond crown I would not own Thee, fairest, I want to hold." 124 HEINRICH HEINE "That may not be," she spake to me, "I lie in my grave below Only at night I come to thee, Because I love thee so." The Lotos Flower The lotos flower trembles In fear of the sunshine bright, And with her head cast downward Waits dreaming for the night. She is waked by the moon, her lover, By moonbeams' light embrace, And she unveils in kindness Her gentle flower face. She blooms and glows and shining All silent looks above: With tears and fragrance she trembles In love and the woe of love. The Fir-tree A fir-tree stands so lonely On barren northern height. Drowsy it grows; the snowdrift Has wrought it a mantle white. It dreams of a distant palm-tree, That in some eastern land 125 ROMANTIC TIME Alone, in silence mourning, On a burning cliff must stand. I Bear No Anger I bear no anger, though my heart must break, Love lost forever ! No, not for thy sake. Resplendent though thou be with diamonds bright, No beam can fall into thy bosom's night. I knew it long. In dreams I Saw thee still, And then I saw thy heart with darkness fill, I saw the serpent gnawing at thy heart, Saw, love, how wretched and forlorn thou art. The Rock with Runes There looms in the sea the rock with runes I sit with my memory roaming. The wind and the seagulls shriek their tunes, The waves are wandering and foaming. I loved ah, many a dearest child, And many a comrade yonder ! Where are they gone? The wind is wild, The waves they foam and wander. On Wings of Song On wings of song ah, lightly, Heart's dearest, I bear thee away: 126 HEINRICH HEINE A nook is beckoning brightly Where Ganges' waters play. A blooming red garden is lying In moonlight calm and clear, The lotos flowers are sighing For thee, their sister dear. The violets banter and slyly They peep at the star-rays pale, The roses are whispering shyly Some fragrant fairy-tale. The gentle gazelles come leaping, And hearken what we say; The sacred river is sweeping And murmuring far away. Beloved, let us be sinking Under the shady palm, The blissful quiet drinking And dreaming dreams of balm. The Lorelei/ I know not what evermore grieves me, What makes me sorrow so: A tale of old times never leaves me, A tale of long ago. 127 ROMANTIC TIME 'Tis cool and the shadows are growing, And calmly flows the Rhine, The peak of the mountain is glowing Where evening sunrays shine. There sits the most beautiful maiden On high, so wondrous fair, With glittering gems she is laden, She combeth her golden hair. Her golden comb doth glisten, She sings a song the while, The tune for all that listen Has power to beguile. The man in the boat is harking, He's seized with wild, wild woe, And never the rock-reefs marking, He gazes on high from below. The waves, I believe, will be flinging The man from his boat to die; And all that from the singing The lay of the Loreley ! Two Grenadiers To France there wandered two grenadiers, In Russia once captives made. To German quarters they came after years, And bowed their heads, dismayed. 128 HEINRICH HEINE And there they were sorrowful tidings told That France was lost and repelled, Destroyed and defeated the army bold And the emperor captive held. The grenadiers wept grievously When told this mournful lore. Then said the one: "Ah, woe is me, How my old wound is sore!" "The song is sung" the other said, "I too would die with thee; But wife and child, if I were dead, Would perish utterly." "For wife and child what do I care! Far better longings I know: As hungry beggars let them fare My emperor, emperor woe! "But grant me, brother, one only prayer: Now when I here shall die, My body take to France and there In French earth let me lie! "My cross of honour with scarlet band Upon my heart be placed; And put my gun into my hand, My sword gird round my waist! 129 ROMANTIC TIME "Then quietly I'll lie and hark, A sentry in my tomb, Till I the horses' prancing mark, And hear the cannon's boom. "Then my emperor rides across my grave, And swords will be clashing hard: And armed I'll rise up from my grave, My emperor to guard !" ISO WILHELM HAUFF Born 1802 in Stuttgart. Died 1827 in Stuttgart Morning Glow Morning glow, morning glow, For my death thou gleamest so; Soon the trumpet will be blowing, Unto death I must be going, I and many comrades too. Ere we've thought, ere we've thought, Joy unto an end is brought. Yesterday on proud steeds flying, Shot to-day, in anguish lying, And to-morrow in the grave. Soon, alas, soon, alas, Strength and beauty have to pass. Though in youthful pride thou glowest, Cheeks so fair and ruddy showest: Ah, the roses all must fade ! To what end, to what end Doth man's joy and cunning tend? Under care and sorrow bending, 131 ROMANTIC TIME He must follow toil unending E'en from morning until night. So be still, so be still ! I will yield to God's own will, Fight with_ spirit when they call me, And if death should soon befall me, Then there dies a rider brave. 132 NIKOLAUS LENAU Like the flight of dreams, so fast Peaceful hamlets vanished ! Girded round by joys of spring Lay a graveyard yonder, Wanderers admonishing There to halt and ponder. Gray against the mountainside, Ancient walls were leaning; Sadly stood the Crucified High, in silent meaning. On my rider's spirits gay Sadness fell, subduing, And he made the horses stay; Spoke, the Cross there viewing: "Horse and wheel must stop right here, Though it may be trying: Yonder is my comrade dear In the cool earth lying. ' 'Twas a fellow good and true Sir, it is a pity ! No one like my comrade blew On the horn a ditty. "Here I always stop and blow Songs dear to the other 135 ROMANTIC TIME Lying in the earth below Greetings from a brother !" To the churchyard songs of cheer He sent gaily swelling; These should reach the brother's ear In his peaceful dwelling. Far the bugle's voice was borne, From the mountains ringing, And the dead postillion's horn Seemed to join the singing. On we rode with slackened rein, Through the landscape bounding; Long the echo's glad refrain In my ears was sounding. 136 JOHANN NEPOMUK VOGL Born 1802 in Vienna. Died 1866 in Vienna The Recognition A wandering youth with a cane in his hand Comes home again from a foreign land. His hair is dusty, his face is brown; Who will know him first in the little town? He enters the town by the ancient gate. At the toll-bar leans a former mate: The publican once was a cherished friend, Gay hours at the tavern they used to spend. But see, his old comrade knows him not: His face is so sunburnt that he is forgot. The youth wanders on with a greeting fleet, And shakes off the dust from his tired feet. From a window his love looks with gentle eyes. "Be welcome, oh, loveliest maiden !" he cries. 137 ROMANTIC TIME See, even the maiden knows him not: His face is so sunburnt that he is forgot. So on he is strolling across the town: A tear gleams bright on his cheek so brown. There totters his mother from the church-door. "God bless you!" he says, and nothing more. But see, his old mother is sobbing with joy: "My son !" And she sinks on the breast of her boy. No matter how sunburnt his face has grown, By a mother's eye he is straightway known. 138 EDUARD MORIKE Born 1804 in Ludwigsburg. Died 1875 in Stuttgart The Forsaken Maiden Early when cocks still crow, Ere the stars retire, I to the stove must go To start the fire. Beautiful gleams the blaze, Sparks gaily glow, And so I gaze and gaze, All lost in woe. Then it comes over me, Thou faithless lad: Last night I dreamed of thee, All dreams I had. Tear upon tear must run Wildly anon: Thus is the day begun Would it were gone ! 139 ERNST FREIHERR VON FEUCHTERS- LEBEN Born 1806 in Vienna. Died 1849 in Vienna It Has Been Willed in God's Decree It has been willed in God's decree: What you have loved most tenderly, You part with, Though there is nothing on the earth That leaves the heart such sorry dearth As parting, aye, parting. A rosebud in a water glass, A lovely gift, you watch alas, Remember: The rose that blooms to-morrow bright, Must wither sadly in the night, Remember, remember! When God has given you a love, You hold her dear, all else above, In keeping: Not many years will then be flown, Before she leaves you all alone, With weeping, with weeping. 140 BOOK IV MODERN TIME FERDINAND FREILIGRATH Born 1810 in Detmold. Died 1876 in Kannstadt The Duration of Love Oh, love as long as you can love, Oh, love as long as love you may ! The hour will come, the hour will come: By graves lamenting you will stay. And ever keep your heart aglow, And let it foster love with care, As long as still another heart Beats with it warmly anywhere. If one unseals his breast to you, Ah, do him all the good you can And all his hours with gladness fill, And grieve him not for one hour's span ! Your tongue ah, hold it well in check ! Is quick to say an evil word. Oh God, it was not meant so ill ! Yet pained he turns away who heard. Oh, love as long as you can love, Oh, love as long as love you may ! 143 MODERN TIME The hour will come, the hour will come: By graves lamenting you will stay. Then you kneel down before the grave, And hide your tearful eyes alas ! They see the loved one now no more In long and dewy graveyard grass, And say: "Look down upon me here Who by your grave am weeping still; Forgive that I have given pain: Oh God, it was not meant so ill!" He sees you not and hears you not, And seeks not your embrace ah, no, The lips that kissed you oft, no more Say: "I forgave you long ago." He did forgive you long ago, And hot fell many a tear as toll For you and for your bitter word But hush ! He's resting at his goal. Oh, love as long as you can love, Oh, love as long as love you may! The hour will come, the hour will come: By graves lamenting you will stay! 144 EMANUEL GEIBEL Born 1815 in Ltibeck. Died 1884 in Liibeck Wanderer's Joy The May-time has come and the trees are budding fair; Then stay, all who want to, at home with toil and care ! As the clouds are wandering along the heavenly dome, So my heart is longing the wide world to roam. Farewell, father, mother, may God you ever bless ! Who knows where, far from here, I'll find happi- ness! There are many roads still, I never have spied, There are many wines, too, I never yet have tried. So up and about in the gay sunlight's glow, Far over the mountains, through valleys to go ! The trees murmur gladly, the springs leap along, My heart's like the lark and it joins in the song. At night, in the village, I stop at a sign: "Sir landlord, sir landlord, a jug of cool wine! 145 MODERN TIME You jolly good fiddler, take your fiddle and play! About my dear sweetheart I'll sing you a lay." And if I find no shelter, I'll lie in the night Beneath the dark blue heavens, while stars are watching bright; The wind in the lindens will lull me into dreams, At dawn I'll be roused by the morning sunbeams. To wander, to wander oh, youth's happy zest, When God's breath is blowing so freely through the breast! Then unto high heaven sings the jubilant heart: Oh, wide world, I greet thee, how beautiful thou art! Evening Now that shadows deepen, Star by star grows bright, What a breath of longing Floods the silent night! Through the sea of visions, Restless for its goal, All my soul is steering Ever toward thy soul. Take my soul, surrendered Quite to thee alone; Ah, thou knowest: never Can I be mine own! 146 THEODOR STORM Born 1817 in Husum. Died 1888 near Husum The City The shore is gray, the sea is gray, And there the city stands ; The mists upon the houses weigh, And through the calm the ocean gray Roars dully on the strands. There are no rustling woods, there fly No singing birds in May; The wild goose with its callous cry Alone on autumn nights soars by; The wind-blown grasses sway. And yet my whole heart clings to thee, Gray city by the sea; And e'er the spell of youth for me Doth smiling rest on thee, on thee Gray city by the sea. The Heath It is so quiet here. There lies The heath in noon's warm sunshine gold. 147 MODERN TIME A gleam of light, all rosy, flies And hovers round the tombstones old. The herbs are blooming; fragrance fair Now fills the bluish summer air. The beetles rush through bush and trees, In little golden coats of mail; And on the heather-bells the bees Alight, on all the branches frail. From out the grass there starts a throng Of larks and fills the air with song. A lonely house, half-crumbled, low: The farmer, in the doorway bent, Stands watching in the sunlight's glow The busy bees in sweet content. And on a stone near by his boy Is carving pipes from reeds with joy. Scarce trembling through the peace of noon, The town-clock strikes from far, it seems. The old man's lids are drooping soon, And of his honey crops he dreams. The sounds that fill our time of stress Have not yet reached this loneliness. In the Wood (From "Immensee"). The wind upon the hillside Is hushed the air is mild. 148 THE ODOR STORM And here the boughs are drooping; Beneath them sits the child. Amid the thyme she's sitting, Within the fragrance rare, While bluish flies are flitting And gleaming through the air. The forest is so silent, So wise and keen her glance; And round her brown hair curling The glowing sunbeams dance. I hear the cuckoo's laughter And through my spirit flies The thought that she has truly The wood-queen's golden eyes. Elisabeth's Song (From "Immensee"} All was for my mother's sake: The other man she made me take ! What it had owned before My heart should know no more, But could not thus forsake. Mother, I'm accusing you: Good to me you did not do; The world would have esteemed 149 MODERN TIME What now a sin is deemed. What shall I do! Now fled is joy and pride, But sorrow must abide. Oh, would this were not so. Could I a-begging go, Over the brown heath wide! To a Deceased But this is more than I can bear, That still the laughing sun is bright, As in the days when you were there, That clocks are striking, unaware, And mark the change of day and night That we, as twilight dims the air, Assemble when the day is done, And that the place where stood your chair Already many others share, And that you seem thus missed by none; When meanwhile, from the gate below, The narrow strips of moonlight spare Into your vault down deeply go, And with a ghostly pallid glow Are stealing o'er your coffin there. 150 FRIEDRICH VON BODENSTEDT Born 1819 in Peine (Hannover). Died 18Q2 in Wiesbaden The Rose Complained (From the "Songs of Mirza Schaffy") The rose complained, her fragrance fled, Ah, far too swiftly it was going The lovely scent that spring was giving. And then to comfort her I said, Her fragrance through my songs was flowing, And there forevermore was living. 151 THEODOR FONTANE Born 1819 in Neuruppin. Died 1898 in Berlin Sir Ribbeck of Ribbeck Sir Ribbeck of Ribbeck in Havelland A pear-tree in his yard did stand; And in the golden autumn-tide, When pears were shining far and wide, Sir Ribbeck, when barely the bells had struck noon, Would stuff both his pockets with pears right soon. If a boy in clogs would come his way, He would call: "My boy, have a pear to-day?" To a girl he'd call: "Little maid over there, Now come here to me, and I'll give you a pear !" And thus he did ever, as years went by, Till Sir Ribbeck of Ribbeck came to die. He felt his end coming; 'twas autumn-tide, And the pears were laughing, far and wide. Then spoke Sir Ribbeck: "And now I must die. Lay a pear in my grave, beside me to lie !" From the double-roofed house, in three days more, Sir Ribbeck to his grave they bore. All the peasants and cotters with solemn face Did sing: "Lord Jesus, in Thy Grace" 152 THEODOR FONTANE And the children moaned with hearts of lead: "Who will give us a pear? Now he is dead." Thus moaned the children that was not good! Not knowing old Ribbeck as they should. Young Ribbeck alas ! is a miser hard ; Over park and pear-tree he keeps stern guard. But the old, who this doubtless could foretell, Distrusting his son he knew right well What he was about when he bade them lay A pear in his grave, on his dying day: Out of his silent haunt in the third year A little pear-tree shoot did soon appear. And many a year now comes and goes, But a pear-tree on the grave there grows, And in the golden autumn-tide The pears are shining far and wide. When a boy o'er the grave-yard wends his way,. The tree whispers: "Boy, have a pear to-ray?" To a girl it says: "Little maid over there, Come here to me and I'll give you a pear!" So there are blessings still from the hand Of Sir Ribbeck of Ribbeck in Havelland. The Bridge by the Tay (When shall me three meet again? MACBETH) "When shall we three meet again?" "The dam of the bridge at seven attain!" 153 MODERN TIME "By the pier in the middle. I'll put out amain The flames." "I too." "I'll come from the north." "And I from the south." "From the sea I'll soar forth." "Ha, that will be a merry-go-round! The bridge must sink into the ground." "And with the train what shall' we do That crosses the bridge at seven?" "That too." "That must go too !" "A bauble, a naught, What the hand of man hath wrought!" The bridgekeeper's house that stands in the north All windows to the south look forth, And the inmates there without peace or rest Are gazing southward with anxious zest. They gaze and wait a light to spy That over the water "I'm coming!" should cry, "I'm coming night and storm are vain I, from Edinburg the train!" And the bridgekeeper says: "I see a gleam On the other shore. That's it, I deem. Now, mother, away with bad dreams, for, see, Our Johnnie is coming! He'll want his tree. And what is left of candles, light As if it were on Christmas night! 154 THEODOR FONTANE Twice we shall have our Christmas cheer In eleven minutes he must be here." It is the train, with the gale it vies And panting by the south tower flies. "There's the bridge still," says Johnnie. "But that's all right: We'll make it surely out of spite ! A solid boiler and double steam Should win in such a fight, 'twould seem! Let it rave and rage and run at its bent We'll put it down: this element! And our bridge is our pride. I must laugh always When I think back of the olden days, And all the trouble and misery That with the old boat used to be. And many cheerful Christmas nights I spent at the ferryman's house the lights From our windows I'd watch and count them o'er, And could not reach the other shore." The bridgekeeper's house that stands in the north All windows to the south look forth, And the inmates there without peace or rest Are gazing southward with anxious zest: More furious grew the wind's Avild games, And now, as if the sky poured flames, Comes shooting down a radiance bright O'er the water below. Then all is night. 155 MODERN TIME "When shall we three meet again?" "At midnight the top of the mountain attain!" "By the alder-stem on the high moorland plain!" "I'll come." "And I too." "And the number I'll tell." "And I the names." "I the torture right well." "Whoo ! "Like splinters the woodwork crashed in two." "A bauble a naught. What the hand of man hath wrought!" 156 GOTTFRIED KELLER Born 1819 near Zurich. Died 1890 in Zurich Song of the Evening You my eyes, my little windows dear, Leave me yet a while your vision clear, Welcome many pictures in with cheer Sometime soon you will be dark and drear! And when once these weary lids shall close, Then the soul shall rest when darkness grows; Groping, off she strips her shoes and goes In her coffin black to find repose. Still she sees two little sparks that gleam: Like two tiny inward stars they beam, Till they fade and vanish like a dream; Blown away by moth-wings' beat they seem. Yet I'm wandering still at eventide, Only fading stars as friends abide. Drink, my eyes, whate'er can be espied Of the glories in this world so wide ! 157 MODERN TIME Winter Night Not a wing was beating in the night, Dazzling white and peaceful lay the snow, Not a cloud hung o'er the starry light, Frozen was the lake all calm below. There a tree was growing from the deep, In the ice its crown was frozen fast; And the mermaid climbed the branches steep, Peering through the greenish ice at last. There I stood upon the glassy sheet Glass that barred me from that depth so dark; Well I could, beneath my very feet, All her white and wondrous beauty mark. At the hard, hard roof, from place to place, Still she gropes, from stifled anguish sore; I shall not forget that dusky face, In my mind it lingers evermore ! Summer Night The grain is waving far around, And like a sea it stretches out; And yet upon the silent ground No horrid sea-brood lies about. But here of wreaths the flowers dream, 158 GOTTFRIED KELLER As they drink in the star-shine blest. Oh, golden sea, thy peaceful beam My longing soul absorbs with zest! There is a custom fair and old In my own home in valleys green: When bright the summer starlight's gold, When through the bushes fireflies sheen Ah, then a whisp'ring, waving gay, Draws near the ripened field by night, And through the golden crops there sway The sickles, gleaming silver-bright. For, flocking to the field in throngs, The young and sturdy lads draw near. The crop they're seeking that belongs To widow or to orphan drear Who kindly help can never know Of father, brother, servant boy. For her the youths her harvest mow; Their work is graced by purest joy. Already all the sheaves are bound And swiftly in a ring they're laid. How blithe the fleeting hours were found: At night-time cool the boys have played ! Now there are songs and revels glad Among the sheaves, till breath of day Each brown and never weary lad To his own labour calls away. 159 KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER Born 1825 in Zurich. Died 1898 near Zurich But the Sun Is Ever Youthful Now the long forgotten valley of my youth I went to seek, And I saw the dale lie barren and the mountains stand out bleak. Oh, my trees and oh, my dreams, and sombre heights with beeches grown ! But the sun is ever youthful and his beauty lasts alone. Yonder where the sedge is growing, where I see the withered pool, In my youth there was the bubbling of a stream alive and cool From the herds, through heaths and pastures there arose a lowing moan. But the sun is ever youthful and his beauty lasts alone. Do Thou Speak Now To thee I wandered daily, dearest wood, In hazy days of youth, now long gone by: 160 KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER I would confide thee so much dreamed-of good, From such true sorrow thou wouldst hear me sigh. And thee again, my sombre haunt, I seek, The murmur of thy treetops' mighty sea Do thou speak now ! For I shall let thee speak ! Joy, pain are dumb. J'll hearken now to thee. Christmas in Ajaccio Oranges all ripe and golden we have seen, and myrtle growing, And the lizard flit along the wall, in sunlight glowing. O'er our heads beside a wilted bush a butterfly was gliding: There is here no border, sharply youth and age dividing. Buds are born before the wind has blown away the leaves that wither, In a sweet entanglement the train of hours flies hither. Tell me what your eyes are dreaming? Of a winter aye, a white one? Dear, 'tis by a spring that you are richer, and a bright one! For you love the ling'ring suns and glowing col- ours strong, unshaded 161 MODERN TIME And for home you're longing, where they long ago have faded? Hark! Through mildest airs of Paradise the Christmas bells are calling! Tell me what your eyes are dreaming? Of the snowflakes falling? The Dead Child The child had of the garden made a friend, Till both in autumn withered to an end. The sun was fled and both had gone to sleep, Enfolded in a cover white and deep. The garden now has wakened to the light, But still the child is slumb'ring in her night. "Where are you?" So 'tis buzzing here and there. For her the garden clamours everywhere. The morning-glory, climbing up with grace, Peeps through the window: "Leave your hiding- place ! Come out, or it will be your own distress ! Come, let me see your fine new summer-dress !" Schiller's Burial Two dim and paltry torches that the raging storm And rain at any moment threaten to put out, 162 KONRAD FERDINAND MEYER A waving pall. A vulgar coffin made of pine With not a wreath, not e'en the poorest, and no train As if a crime were swiftly carried to the grave ! The bearers hastened onward. One unknown alone, Round whom a mantle waved of wide and noble fold, Followed this coffin. 'Twas the Spirit of Mankind. 163 JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL Born 1826 in Karlsruhe. Died 1886 in Karlsruhe Old Heidelberg Old Heidelberg, I love thee, Thou town of honours fine. Ah, there is none above thee, By Neckar or the Rhine. With youth in pleasure glowing, With wisdom blessed and wine! How clear thy stream is flowing Blue eyes like sunlight shine ! And when rough winter leaves thee, And northward turns the spring, A bridal gown it weaves thee Of blossoms shimmering. Thy name is written clearly Upon my heart's own ground, And like a bride's so dearly I love thy name's sweet sound. When cruel thorns shall sting me, And dreary grows the land, I'll spur my horse to bring me Back unto Neckar's strand! 164 HEINRICH LEUTHOLD Born 1827 in Wetzikon (Switzerland). Died 1879 near Zurich The Forest Lake How beautiful thou art, O deep, blue lake! The gentle west wind hesitates to blow, The timid lily only dares to break Thy placid mirror with its flower of snow. And here no anglers rude thy depth desire, No boats upon thy water's peace intrude, And like an anthem sung by nature's choir, The forest murmurs through this solitude. Wild roses strew the incense of the wood And fragrant pines that gird thee, proud and high, As if, like pillars of a church, they stood To bear the dome of blue and cloudless sky. Ah, once I knew a soul, so calm and grave, Locked from the world with seals the seals were seven Like thee, so lucid, deep, without a wave, Created but, like thee, to mirror heaven. 165 FERDINAND VON SAAR Born 1833 in Vienna. Died 1Q06 in Vienna Girls Singing Springtime: in the evening shade I was strolling through the vale All at once before me strayed Gentle sounds across the dale. I drew nearer; all serene Two were sitting hand in hand Maidens as by day are seen Working in the furrowed land. And the faces both were brown From the kissing sunbeams' glow; Underneath each ragged gown Bare a sunburnt foot would show. But they sang, their heads held high, Songs that from their bosoms sprang To the stars that lit the sky, Sang, and knew not how they sang. And they sang the old, old lays All of love, its joy and pain, Heedless, seeking no one's praise, Through the wide and lonely plain. 166 WILHELM JENSEN Born 1837 in Heiligenhafen. Died 1911 in Munich Letters from the Beloved Ah, your too cool letters, dear, Make me think of some cool spring: From the depth, translucent, clear Leaps the water, murmuring. Babbling, bubbling wavelets splash, Dancing downward from the height; Flickerings of light they flash, Making all the pebbles bright. There's a rushing, speeding on, There's a restless tearing past, Pearling bubbles soon are gone, Broken and dissolved too fast. Yet, while waves are tumbling by Under boulders, here and there, Placid pools of water lie, Each within a sombre lair. There arise strange, magic gleams, Green and golden from the deep: In the hidden pools, it seems, Ah some miracle must sleep. 167 JOSEPH VICTOR WIDMANN Born 1842 in Nennowitz. Died 1Q11 in Bern May-Beetle's Comedy (Prologue to the First Act) A night of spring on valley and on height ! The first that follows on chill winter-tide. The mild south wind is roused again to flight, The gentle billows of his breathing glide Into the deeps of earth, so dark as night, And dwell where still and secret beings hide Which yon blue stream of light can never show That from the island of the moon doth flow. The deep is not the realm of death alone. Of life-seeds there a host of millions lies. From grubs, so pale and weak and bloodless grown, Soon legions of them, armed in mail, will rise, Who still in caves, dark chambers of their own, Are dwelling like a shadow- folk. Surmise Of its salvation has begun to grow Upon the restless little world below. Now that the breath of May its greeting brings, Come, let us hark to what they do and say. For resurrections to the beat of wings Each clod of earth a coffin is to-day. 168 JOSEPH VICTOR WIDMANN Now from the earth-born heavenly courage springs ; Within them life's sweet poison works away That with delirious longing makes them pine For worlds far distant from their own confine. Song of the Blue Thrush (From "The Saint and the Beasts") Oh, lovely world, good-bye ! For woe, I must be gone, my heart is ill. But, dearest world, before I go, My life's last thanks, oh, take thou still. It seems, at first I was not there, I was not at the very start. Yet round me waved the light and air, When once a prison broke apart. Oh, light and air, you long stayed true, Until this twilight sank to-day, And you were daily fair and new, And I was young and I was gay. My blood was warm, my blood would boil, My breast would rise in joyful song, And there was joy in busy toil: The longest day was not too long. 169 MODERN TIME I wove a house of many a blade And hung it on the steep cliff-side. One early morn my flight I made Away into the world so wide. Then came the unforgotten day When once, on such a flight in spring, In answer to my fairest lay, I first heard love's sweet echoing. It seemed a game and was an aim And helped our lives at last unfold. And even care that often came Would give us but a stronger hold. Ah, why does all the past seem blest, E'en what in pain I scarce could brook? The serpent crept into our nest! The falcon wild my life-mate took! When I had reared with pain and care My youthful brood, soon came the day When all had left, away to fare And their own courage to essay. And once more lonely was my flight, And many a gloomy night passed by When all my heart would beat in fright, For murder tracked me on the sly. 170 JOSEPH VICTOR WIDMANN That life was easy, who can say? 'Twas after all but full of woe ! Now that I feel it pass away, It showers over me a glow. Oh, mighty world ! I am so small And now must go my heart is ill And now I shall not be at all Oh, lovely world thanks thank you, still- 171 DETLEV VON LILIENCRON Born 1844 in Kiel. Died 1909 in Hamburg Parting and Return All over, over and my eyes Afar are straying in despair. All over but the sea-gull flies, My plaintive escort, through the air. The gull returns: far, far away I leave my fatherland behind; An outcast from my home I stray Where I my grave had hoped to find. When yesterday, in parting pain, Enraged the linden bough I shook, And heard the partridge in the grain, A fever-spell my limbs o'ertook. My ship is pitching, tossed by waves, The mates are singing while they sail. My heart is tossed, it storms and raves, And homeless, I must feel the gale. 172 DETLEV VON LILIENCRON ii 'Mid waves there gleams the pallid strand; Afar through blurring tears is seen The seacoast of my fatherland. Exhausted, by the mast I lean. The lilacs bloom, the swallows stray, The starlings' chatter fills the air, The organ-grinder grinds his lay, The wind's light kiss is on my hair. Before the guardhouse soldiers stand, And arm in arm laugh damsels young, While from the school there pours a band That frolics in my native tongue. My heart cries out in rapture wild, Rejoicing my old home to greet, And all I lived with as a child Like echoes on my way I meet. War and Peace Mid flower beds I chanced to stand, - And gazed upon a gorgeous land That blooming wide before me lay Beneath the harvest sun's hot ray; And in the apple-tree's fair shade 173 MODERN TIME My host and I together stayed And listened to a nightingale, And peace was over hill and dale. There whizzed, the distant rails along, A train that brought a happy throng. What magic ! And besides it bore Of blessed goods a heavy store. But once I saw the iron track Destroyed and torn for miles. Alack And here where flowers now abound Was then a barren, stirred-up ground. A summer morn was glowing bright, Like this one: down from every height, With bag and knapsack all day long, From ambuscades there poured a throng Prepared to storm, a dazzling sea, The army of the enemy. I stood as though of iron cast, Upon my sabre leaning, fast. With lips apart and open-eyed Into the mouth of hell I spied. "Quick fire!" "Stand still!" Now they are there ! High waves the flag through smoky air! And up and down go men in rows, And many sink in deadly throes. Now someone stabs me as I fall, Stabs hard I have no strength at all. Before, beneath me, round about, 174 DETLE7 VON LILIENCRON A frightful struggle, rage and rout. And o'er this tangle wild, in fear I see a shying war horse rear. The hoof I see like lightning whir, The clotted scar from pricking spur, The girth, the spattered mud, the red Of nostrils swelling wide with dread. Between us now with clanging sound The bombshell bursts its iron bound; A dragon rears, the earth is rent Down falls the whole Avide firmament ! They wail and moan, and dust is spread Upon the laurels and the dead. 'Mid flower beds I chanced to stand And gazed upon a gorgeous land That far and wide before me lay Beneath the peace-fan's lulling sway. And in the apple-trees' fair shade My host and I together stayed And hearkened to the nightingale; And roses bloomed on hill and dale. 175 BOOK V OUR TIME CARL SPITTELER Born 1845 in Liestal (Switzerland) Bell, my silver-tongued bell, Oh, thy secret prithee tell: Dwellst where bats and night-owls roam, Lonely in thy mouldered home; Tell me, whence thy solemn ring? And who taught thee, pray, to sing? When in gloomy shaft I lay, Night of hell I saw alway. In this tower high and free Through the whirling winds I see Human sorrow graced by soul. Dost thou wonder why I toll? 179 PRINCE EMIL VON SCHONAICH- CAROLATH Born 1852 in Breslau. Died 1908 Oh Germany! A German town with gables Upon a moonlight night J know not why I always Am touched so by the sight. Into the lamplight yonder A youth is staring long; He's sighing, sobbing, feeling His first and dearest song. There sits a youthful mother And rocks to rest her child; She's praying while she rocks him To sleep with singing mild. On the moonlit gables linger An old man's pensive eyes: He holds in his hands a Bible Where a faded nosegay lies. The twinkling stars are gleaming, There's rustling in the trees; 180 VON SCHONAICH-CAROLATH The houses all seem dreaming In deep and drowsy ease. The fountain is splashing, flowing, As always on Simon Square, The watchman low is blowing Upon the horn his air. Oh Germany! I've had pleasure In many a foreign land But to thee greatest treasure Was given by God's own hand. Thou living, longing foundest Thy dreams in deepest peace. The while thou iron poundest, Thy songs shall never cease. Let no one rob thy worship Thy worship old and true Of women, faith and freedom, And keep it ever new ! Draw from the fount of story Thy piety of yore, And strength to fight with glory To-day and evermore. 181 GUSTAV FALKE Born 1853 in Liibeck. Died 1916 in Hamburg A Day Spent Leaning head on hand, I muse: oh, tell, Day of beauty, have; I used thee well? First upon my wife's dear lips a kiss, Love's salute and early morning bliss. Faithful toil, for daily bread the care, Men's dispute in words that never spare. Then I quaffed my glass with true delight, Warded off a wicked wish with might. From eternal stars with blessed beam Comes to me at last the poet's dream. Leaning head on hand, I muse and tell: Day of beauty, I have used thee well. When I Die Upon my forehead lay your crimson roses In festive garment from you I would go ! 182 GUSTAF FALKE The windows open till the light reposes Upon my bed the starlight's smiling glow. And music ! While your songs are still enthralling, And one by one the parting cup you drink, Then I would have my curtain slowly falling, As summer nights on ripened harvests sink. 183 ISOLDE KURZ Born 1853 in Stuttgart Nekropolis A city is standing in the waves That rose from the deepest lair: There each of the houses the water laves And kisses each marble stair; There palaces stand in their glory's pride And gilded are pillar and wall But over the battlements far and wide Destruction is brooding for all. No sound of wheel or of hoof is known The lion to wake from his dream, But low from the Lido the night-winds moan And wildly the sea-gulls scream. The moon makes silver the silent tide, The gondolas glide their way, And seaweeds on the water ride Like wind-tossed corpses stray. O pearl, thou of all in the deep most fair, Thou beauty out of the sea, Where are thy daughters with golden hair, 184 ISOLDE KURZ Thy sons, oh, where may they be? And where is thy splendour, the gleam of thy gold, That all the earth would dread? The arts that so many a heart would hold? Where is thy realm? With the dead. By night, though, the greatest canal along, Where the flickering night lights play Rise sounds like whispering and amorous song Of shades that deserted stray. Frolicking swarms of masks whirl round Upon the Piazza, near by, And clashing swords on the Riva resound; High masts are darkening the sky. It seems as if from the night and deep Had risen the Venice of old. The waves and the sea wind wake from sleep, Her corpse to rock and to hold. The sea is rising, with passionate arms There by the canal-bed to cling, As if the young spouse with his kisses and charms To her beauty new life should bring. 185 LUDWIG FULDA Born 1862 in Frankfurt a. M. In the Express Train I hasten by a city lightning-fast Here in the rattling train: I see Streets, houses, people shooting past, Wagons, lanterns, signs in flight, Overlapping in my sight; Blotted, dim they seem to me. Here I lived once long ago, Lived for years In youth's impassioned sacred glow, In love and hate, in hopes and fears. Round the corner there To the left, by the square Lives my one-time worshipped fate; Behind the walls there, flitting past, I could almost hold it fast No : too late too late ! The last few houses the empty plain; The long-lost world is fled again, With joys and sorrows great 186 LUDWIG FULDA Of storm-blessed youthful strife. I feel as if this moment I Had like a stranger hurried by My own forgotten life ! 187 ARNO HOLZ Born 1863 in Rastenburg (East Prussia) Like One of These Was He In the woods is a village small Lying in the sunshine's gold; By the hillside house, the last of all, Sits a woman old, so old. She sits and spins no more, Her thread slips to her feet, She thinks of the days of yore And sinks into slumber sweet. Noonday steals with quiet deep O'er the glimmering green, and now Even thrush and cricket sleep And the steer before the plough. All at once they're marching by, Gleaming the woods along Ahead of the soldiers fly Drum-beats and fifes' gay song. And to the song of Bliicher brave, "They're here!" cries the village gay, And all the little maidens wave, 188 ARNO HOLZ And the boys cry out: "Hurray!" God bless the harvest gold, And all the wide world too ! The Emperor's soldiers bold The fields are marching through ! Turning round by the hillside near, Where the last house seems to smile, See, the first in the woods disappear, And the old woman wakes meanwhile. So heavy her heart is growing In deepest revery, Her tears are flowing, flowing: "Like one of these was he !" 189 HUGO TERBERG (Pseud, for HUGO MUNSTERBERG) Born 1863 in Danzig On the Death of a Child Dear child, now you have gone to sleep so gently: You smile in peace. Your little boat sails into port contently; Your day must cease. The happy frolics with your dolls are over, Your merry play; The flowers you loved the daisies, poppies, clover All fade away. There stands your rocking-horse for you to ride it: You ride no more ! No school work ah, you never could abide it ! Makes your heart sore. Your sister in the lonely yard is straying With heavy heart. She waits for you no longer: in her playing You have no part. 190 HUGO TERBERG You lie as if in dreams sweet calm about you: Dream on, dream on ... Grieve not because the children play without you, When you are gone. We cannot long be playing games so gaily, Dear child, I know: Upon the rough wide road of life ah, daily Rude winds must blow. To go through life means fighting hard and griev- ing With wounded breast . . . He who can part as child, his frolics leaving, Is truly blessed. 191 RICHARD DEHMEL Born 1863 in Wendisch Hermsdorf Voice in Darkness There's moaning somewhere in the dark. I want to know what it may be. The wind is angry with the night Yet the wind's moan sounds not so near. The wind will always moan at night. 'Tis in my ear my blood that moans My blood, forsooth. Yet not so strangely moans my blood. My blood is tranquil like the night. I think a heart must moan somewhere. Through the Night But ever you, this sombre you, Through all the night this hollow soaring Of sound and through the wires a roaring; The homeward road my steps pursue. And pace for pace this sombre you, As if from pole to pole 'twere soaring; 192 RICHARD DEHMEL Of thousand words I hear a roaring, And dumb my homeward road pursue. From an Oppressed Heart And still the roses gleam for me, The sombre leaves their tremour keep; Here in the grass I wake from sleep. I long for thee, For now the midnight is so deep. The moon 's behind the garden gate, Her light o'erflows the lake with gloss, And silently the willows wait; On clover moist my limbs I toss. And never was my love so great ! So well I ne'er before had known When I embraced thy shoulder dear, Thine inmost self felt blindly near, Why, when my heart had overflown, Thy moans would rise from inmost fear. Oh now, oh, hadst thou seen this glow The creeping pair of glow-worms' flame ! Ah, nevermore from thee I'll go ! I long for thee. And still the roses gleam for me. Many a Night When the night on fields is sinking, Then my eyes can see more brightly: 193 OUR TIME Now my star begins its blinking, Crickets' whispers grow more sprightly. Every sound becomes more glowing, Things accustomed now seem queerer; Paler too the skies are growing Near the woods, the tree tops clearer. Meditating, never heeding How the myriad lights are showered Out of darkness, on I'm speeding Now I stop all overpowered. Wave Dance Song I tossed a rose into the sea, A blooming fair rose into the green sea. Because the sun shone, sun shone bright, After it leaped the light, With hundred tremulous toes in glee. When the first wave came, Then my rose, my rose began to drown. When the second wave raised it on shoulders tame, The light, the light at her feet sank down. The third snatched it up and then the light, As if in defence, leaped high tremblingly. But a hundred leaping flower petals Were rocking red, red, red round me, And my boat danced about And my shadow like a spright On the foam, and the green sea, the sea 194 RICHARD DEHMEL The Workman We have a bed and we have a child, My wife! And work we've for two all our own to call, And rain and the wind and the sunshine mild. We are lacking now but one thing small To be as free as the birds so wild: Time that's all! When on Sundays through the fields we go, My child, And see how the swallows to and fro Are shooting over the grain-stalks tall, Oh, we lack not clothes, though our share is small, To be as fair as the birds so wild: Time that's all. But time ! We're scenting a tempest wild, We people ! Eternity our own to call That's what we lack, my wife, my child, And all that blooms through us, the small, To make us gay as the birds so wild: Time that's all. Song for All 1914 Hour of steel, thou art a blessing That at last unites us all. 195 OUR TIME Friend and foe, still peace caressing, Trembled in suspicion's thrall. Now comes the fight, The honest fight! Greed with blunted claw has meanly Bartered for its pomp and lust; Now we all are feeling keenly What can save our souls from dust: The hour of need, Of blessed need ! Truth will blaze, through darkness smiting, Over dust and powder's smoke. Not for life we men are fighting Fighting till the fatal stroke: For then comes death, Divinest death ! Led by faith, thy land defending, People, for thy spirit fight, Heroes' blood for honour spending! Sacrifice be our delight Then victory, Hail victory ! 196 RICARDA HUGH Born 1864 in Braunschweig Midnight To this grave of mine Come not in the morning, Come on ways of darkness, Dearest, by the dim moonshine. For when through the skies Bells are tolling midnight, From my earthly prison To the lovely air I rise. In my death-dress white On my grave I linger, Watch the stars and measure Time's majestic tread at night. Come, and have no fear ! Can you still give kisses? I forgot them never While I slept the winters drear. Kiss me hard and long. In the east already 197 OUR TIME Sings the morning sunlight Lack-a-day! its joyful song. You were mine again ! Go and taste life's sweetness! I in deep, deep darkness Sleep once more with pain. 198 OTTO JULIUS BIERBAUM Born 1865 in Griinberg. Died 1910 in Munich Enough A knight rode through the ripened grain, No spurs he had and loose his rein. The horse that feasted on his walk Snatched many a ripe and yellow stalk. The dazzling summer sunlight's beam Upon the black steel cast a gleam, Upon the horseman's armour rough. One word was on his shield: "Enough." His lance stayed crosswise all the way, His iron hand upon it lay. When to a spring his course had led, He took the helmet off his head, He knelt upon the stony sand, Drew water with his iron hand. And then he let the water go, And tenderly he watched its flow: "My heart in fight and fray was hot, And love at all times left me not. Now home I ride with gentle pace, And bring a smile upon my face: Enough." 199 STEFAN GEORGE Born 1868 in Biidesheim The Vigil Within the chapel quivers candlelight. And there the page his vigil keeps alone Before the altar's threshold all the night. "I shall partake when morning dawneth bright Of all that solemn glory yet unknown, "When by one stroke I shall be dubbed a knight. My childhood longing hushed, I shall not swerve From deeds of rigour; with my spurs and might Devoted in the good war I will serve. "For this new honour I must now prepare: The consecration of my sword unstained Before God's altar and the symbol there, The testimony of high worth attained." There his forefather's image gray and old Reposed and slender vaults rose overhead. Trustfully clasped, his hands lay stony cold; Upon his breast there was a banner spread. His eyes are darkened by the helmet's shade. A cherub spreading wide his pinions pale 200 STEFAN GEORGE Holds over him his shield with coat of mail: Upon an azure field the flaming blade. The youth is praying to the Lord above And breaks the narrow bounds of prayer with feeling, His hands devoutly clasped as he is kneeling. Then slowly into thoughts of pious love An earthly image unawares is stealing. She stood among her garden gilly-flowers, She was much less a maiden than a child. Upon her gown were broidered starry showers, 'About her golden hair the sun-flecks smiled. He shudders, and he longs in his dismay To flee the vision that he deems a snare; His hands he buries in his curly hair And makes the sign that lets no evil stay. The blood is rushing hot into his cheek, The candle flames shoot lightnings in his face. But now he sees the Lady Mother meek, Upon her lap the Saviour giving grace. "I will forever in Thine army serve And all my life no other aim will seek, And from Thy high commandment never swerve. Forgive if for the last time I was weak." 201 OUR TIME Out from the snow-white altar's covered chest A swarm of little angels' faces flew, And as the organ's sacred murmur grew, The Valiant's innocence, the Dead's deep rest With tranquil clearness soared the whole house through. The Shepherd's Day The flocks were trudging from their winter haunts. Their youthful shepherd once again went forth Upon the plain illumined by the stream. The gaily wakened fields waved greetings gay And singing lands were hailing him with joy. He smiled unto himself and walked along With wakening heart upon the spring-touched ways. Upon his crook he leaped across the ford, And, as he halted at the other shore, Rejoiced to see the gold that waves had washed From underneath the stones, and fragile shells Of many shapes and tints that promised luck. The bleating of his lambs he heard no more, And wandered to the woods, the cool ravine. There brooks are rushing headlong down the rocks The rocks where mosses drip and naked roots Of sombre beeches darkly intertwine. In silent contemplation of the leaves 202 STEFAN GEORGE He fell asleep, although the sun was high And silver scales were glistening in the stream. He woke and climbing reached the mountain peak To celebrate the passing of the light. With sacred leaves he crowned his head and prayed; And through the mild and gently stirring shadows Of darkening clouds soared forth his hearty lay. 203 LULU VON STRAUSS UND TORNEY Born 1873 in Biickeburg The Seafarer The ship was bursting with a mighty crash: Ablaze were bow and deck and every mast. The old boat pitching rose to port: a splash A surging of gray waves the gale's shrill blast Thundering orders prayers then cry on cry A blow, a headlong fall God stand me by! Down, down. Black night upon all senses fell. Mate, fill my glass! This yarn is long to tell. 'Twas in the deep I saw I saw that sight. They have no day down there, they have no night. The sand is shimmering green. There planks lie scattered, Beside a giant mast in splinters shattered. And up from pallid vines rise bubbles whirling From vines that evermore are swaying, curling, Their long and wary tendril-arms unfurling. And glistening shells among the wreckage lie That snap without a sound when prey floats by, And there are fish with lustre livid pale That beat their tails transparent as a veil. 204 LULU VON STRAUSS UND TORNEY A restless host is wandering on down there, A thousand thousand, an unnumbered band. Their hands are stiff, their eyes unseeing stare; With leaden feet they wade across the sand, Wayfarers lost without a path or way Blue-jackets, grimy fellows, women folding Limp arms round languid infants they are hold- ing Who lived on sunken ships. Forlorn they stray, Their names are lost, they wear strange garbs of yore- All those who went and then returned no more. I saw them all like pallid phantoms pass, As though I watched them through a blurring glass. One beckoned dumbly as he passed me by, And so I followed him, I knew not why. The way was endless and it grew and grew; Our feet were tired and they stumbled too. And him who fell, his helping neighbour raised. A woman slipped and when I helped her, dazed She hung upon my neck, a load of lead. Deep blue abysses gaped. And overhead, Like clouds upon the water gray and pale, The shadows passed of many a giant whale. One man I looked at more than all the rest, His languid head hung limp upon his breast: And then I knew old Peter Jens, the rover, Who once went overboard, at night, by Dover. 05 OUR TIME I gently pulled his ragged shirt to say And then my voice seemed strange and far away "Where are you bound?" He looked with glassy eye. "We're seeking, seeking, seeking!" his reply. "What are you seeking, Jens?" He answered: "Land!" Then all about who with us crept and drifted, Their weary, pale and anguished faces lifted. A wailing trembled all along the sand. Yet all at once my power seemed to gain. I turned about with mighty voice to call Unto this lifeless, ever wandering train: "Now courage! Follow me! God leads us all!" My heart was quickened and it beat again, And ever through the void all pale and still I was drawn onward by an unknown will;- Behind me crept that endless gloomy train. How long a time elapsed, I did not know. At times the darkness fainter seemed to grow The gloom that hung about on every hand And on the hard and livid waves of sand Something arose quite near that seemed like land- Within our grasp ! And then again it faded. The ugly brood that lurks within the deep Pursued us lazily. Then faint and jaded, Lost in the mighty void, we cannot keep Our courage; stifled, all our hopes must cease 206 LULU VON STRAUSS UND TORNEY No morning dawns ! Ah, there is no release ! Wherefore this torment? Faint they reeled and stayed Worn out, beneath the everlasting shade. "Where art Thou, God?" I cried, but no sound made. Now, now : a point ! A sudden glimmer bright ! A crevice burst a flood of light was gleaming, The earth and sky with golden glow were stream- ing! Salvation! Hail! A rushing for the light! I hurled the woman up unto the strand And staggered, with my last force crying: "Land!" Here, mate! My glass is empty. Fill it, lad! What next? Why, nothing. I can tell no more. I only know the night was very bad They found me lying on the Scottish shore. My ship? The wreck? God knows where that had stranded. All those who in the night with me had landed Were dead and cold. They've found a resting- place : A bit of earth, a cross. God give them grace! Sometimes at night when there's a creaking, crash- ing And when the whistling winds the yards are thrashing, 207 OUR TIME Against the hatches angry waves are splashing Then it comes over me: I seem to wander Forever with those thousand others yonder ! Many I've seen for years, but ever more Newcomers join each night a mighty band! Sometimes I find one whom I knew before; He nods and dumbly stretches out his hand. And many a comrade in that silent throng I've borne upon my back or dragged along. I see them, all the sea did ever swallow; The others, too, I see: those yet to follow Many a youth who laughs with us to-day, Upon whose heart no thoughts of dying weigh. And step for step through all the night we go, Deep, deep down there. Jan Witt, ah, well you know, No shaking then can wake me from my dream, E'en should you shout to wake the dead, and scream. But I come back at early dawn of day, When in the east the blackness turns to gray; Then I awake. My head is dull and weighs Like lead. And then I cannot laugh for days. Ho, fellows, why so dumb ? A roundelay ! For what the morrow brings, who cares to-day? Heads high and gay ! Our sailors' custom keep ! We men, when we're at home or when we fare On foreign seas, each day our shroud must wear. And He above He also knows the deep ! 208 BORRIES FREIHERR VON MUNCH- HAUSEN Born 1874 in Hildesheim Ballad of the Wall Monteton, where is thy wall? Chale^on, where is thy sword? Where is thy tower, Tournefort? Noblemen's swords, how their blades were all sharp and good ! Noblemen's swords grew dull in plebeian thick blood. Tournefort's tower is black and burnt inside, From the crest they banished the blazon-flag, its pride. And over the wall of the castle of Monteton "Five le son!" Flutter the bloody fragments of song: "Vive le son des canons!" This side the wall there fights a nobleman, Rash, desperate and always in the van 209 OUR TIME Wherefore? Red grows the earth's green ground hereafter, Bitter, bitter, bitter rings his laughter. That side the wall a filthy ocean raves In greedy and grasping and cowardly waves This side, that side who knew, when the day was spent ? The wall lay low, then rose of herbs a scent; The battlement a sunken tombstone drear; Wailing women, the clouds, on the grass wept tear on tear. Flickering death-lights balconies, towers burn on Cobblestones are the bier of a Monteton. By the curs of the gutter o'ercome and wounded to death, Bitterly, bitterly he laughs with last breath. Monteton, where is thy wall? Chalen9on, where is thy sword? Where is thy tower, Tournefort? Our wall is the judge whom the king doth up- hold, Our sword is the army undaunted and bold, Our tower the church a- steep tower and old! But in Notre Dame on the altar horrid sight! A naked woman performs a shameful rite, 210 BORRIES VON MUNCHHAUSEN A naked harlot bawls and screams and sings, A wild and drunken roar through the cathedral rings. And judges judges, too, are by, As never more vile saw the human eye! A butcher with bloody apron presides And listens to lies with his fat ear besides His helpers: bullies and stable-boys plain, The accuser a thief ha, he can arraign ! And sentence on sentence the scythe whirring saith : To death! To death what is calm and noble still, To death, Cadore, to death d'Anville, To death what better than they must be, To death Clermont and Normandy, To death! Sentence on sentence the scythe whirring saith. Monteton, where is thy wall? The dungeons of the temple are deep, so deep, Deeper the captives' woe till death's last sleep ! Half rotten the basket where rests the Duchess old, As proud on this castaway seat as on throne of pure gold, About her stand marshal with bearing sure, 211 OUR TIME The old names of the court, the Dames d'atour, With delicate bows and smiles free and light. Past the windows above, wheels thunder with might, The pavement rebounds, The singing resounds: "Five le son des canons!" The howling of dogs that have torn their chains madly, The roaring of those who celebrate badly, The scream of the vulgar who long what is noble to blight But down there all is quiet and light. No forehead grows pale, no eyelashes quiver, As their lives they have lived, they meet death with no shiver ! A terrible clock is the prison gate Every half-hour with its grating invidious. Le Coucou, the hangman, long-armed and hid- eous Le Coucou steps out, who does not wait, Who counts not the years of your young life nay, Not even the months till your wedding-day, Comtesse de Neuilly! 212 BORRIES VON MUNCHHAUSEN Before the Duchess low she bends her dainty knee, And with her three or four court ladies go, And with her the cavaliers bow low; With smiling lips she stands, and so: "Votre bras, Monsieur le bourreau !" The way through Paris, the way of blood Red-hot now surges the song's wild flood: "Vive la carmagnole!" But they are not abashed at all, They walk into death without timid delay, They are walking with talk and with laughter gay. What holds them together fast, they know: The wall that into the sky doth grow ! Though the stones be falling the wall upward strives : They smile in their death as they smiled in their lives. Monteton, that is our wall, Chalenon, that is our sword, That is our tower, Tournefort! Mine Own Land There gleams a plough in Thuringian land, Steered by a firm and happy hand, Through mine, oh mine own ground ! And mine is the plough and the horses are mine, 213 OUR TIME And the silvery birch and the coal-black pine, The herd by the forest edge found! Is there in the world a happier lot Than this one that I from my ancestors got? At dawn I ride on my round. The gains of the mart are cast off by my hand: There gleams a plough in Thuringian land, That goes through mine own ground! Fairy Tale Radiant eyes and cheeks glowing bright, In the sofa corners, one left and one right. And tightly clenched each little hand. "So the king's son left the forest-land With the princess, glad his way to wend, And now the story is at an end!" Two mournful sighs. Each mouth small and red Is closed a while in silence dead; Two sentimental voices then: "Again, Papa, please, please, again!" 214 HUGO VON HOFMANNSTHAL Born 1874 in Vienna Ballad of the Outer Life And children with deep eyes grow up and stray All innocent lo, they grow up and die, And every man is bent upon his way. And bitter fruits will sweeten by and by, And, like dead birds, will fall into the night, And then decay as on the ground they lie. The wind blows evermore in wayward flight, And ever many words we say and hear, Feel weariness of limb or young delight. And streets run through the grass, and far and near Are gloomy pools and trees, and torches burn. Some places threaten, some are deathlike, sere . . . Why are these things diverse ah, can we learn? And are there many more than we can say? Why do we tremble, laugh and weep in turn? 215 OUR TIME Of what avail is all, and why this play? For we are men, and lonely evermore, And wandering seek no goal upon the way. What profits all this seeing while we roam? And yet, how much he says who utters "night" ! For from this word deep grief and meaning pour Like heavy honey from the honeycomb. 216 RAINER MARIA RILKE Born 1875 in Prag Remembrance You wait, with memories drifting, For the something that made life blessed, The mighty, the rare, the uplifting, The awaking of stones, the rifting That opened deeps unguessed. The books in your shelves are staring Golden and brown, as you muse On the lands you crossed in your faring, On pictures, on visions unsparing Of women you had to lose. All at once it comes back: now you know! Trembling you rise, all aware Of a year once long ago With its grandeur and fear and prayer. People at Night The nights were not made for crowds, and they sever You from your neighbour, and you shall never 217 OUR TIME Seek him, defiantly, at night. But if you make your dark house light, To look on strangers in your room, You must reflect on whom. False lights that on men's faces play Distort them gruesomely. You look upon a disarray, A world that seems to reel and sway, A waving, glittering sea. On foreheads gleams a yellow shine, Where thoughts are chased away, Their glances flicker mad from wine, And to the words they say Strange heavy gestures make reply That struggle in the buzzing room; And they say always "I" and "I," And mean they know not whom. Glimpse of a Childhood The darkness in the room is pregnant, seeming To fold about the boy who hides himself; And when his mother enters, as if dreaming, A glass is trembling on the quiet shelf. She feels that now her entrance is betrayed, And kisses her small boy: "Oh, you are there!" . . . They glance at the piano where she played 218 RAINER MARIA RILKE On many evenings the beloved air That strangely on the child its magic laid. He sits quite still. With wondering eyes he sees Her hand, weighed down beneath the ring, and slow, As if it walked against a gale through snow, Move on the snow-white keys. Growing Blind She sat, like all the rest of us, at tea. It seemed at first as if she raised her cup Not quite as all the others held theirs up. She smiled: her smile was pitiful to see. And when we rose at last with talk and laughter, And through the many rooms with idle pace, As chance would have it, strolled from place to place Then I saw her. She slowly followed after, Restrained, like one who must be calm and cool Because she soon will sing before a crowd; Upon her happy eyes, without a cloud, The light fell from outside, as on a pool. She followed slowly, hesitating, shy, As if some height or bridge must still be passed, And yet as if, when that was done, at last She would no longer walk her way, but fly. 219 OUR TIME Moonlight Night South German night, spread out beneath the moon, And mild as if all fairy tales were there; The hours fall from the steeple in a swoon, As if into some deep and hidden lair. A murmur and a rustling round the pond, Then silence hangs but empty in the air; And then a violin (God knows from where) Awakes and says quite tranquilly: A blonde The Knight The knight rides forth in blackest mail, The rustling world to meet. Out there he finds all: the day and the dale And the friend and the foe and the castle's pale, And fair May and fair maid and the woods and the grail, And God Himself doth never fail To stand upon the street. But within the knightly armour yonder, Behind that gloomy wringing, Cowers death and has to ponder, ponder : When will the blade come springing Over the iron wall, The stranger, freedom bringing, That from my hiding-place shall call 220 RAINER MARIA RILKE Me forth, where I for many a day Am waiting, crouched and clinging, That I may stretch out, once for all, With play And singing? Maiden Melancholy A young knight comes into my mind, As in some old, old saying. He came. Thus comes the storm to bind You in its mantle, all entwined. He went. Thus you are left behind By church-bell's blessing to yourself confined When you are praying You want to scream into the calm, but find You do but gently weep, your face, inclined, Into your cool scarf laying. A young knight comes into my mind. In arms I see him straying. His smile, it was so mild and kind: Like sheen of ivory enshrined, Or like a homesick longing blind, Like Christmas snow where dark ways wind, Like turquoise stone that sea-pearls bind, Like moonlight kind On some dear volume playing. 221 OUR TIME Autumn Day Lord: it is time. The summer was so grand. Upon sundials now Thy shadow lay, Set free Thy winds and send them o'er the land. Command to ripen those last fruits of Thine; And give them two more southern days of grace To reach their perfect fullness, and then chase The final sweetness into heavy wine. Who now is homeless, ne'er will build a home. Who now is lonely, long alone will stay, Will watch and read and write long letters gray, And in the long lanes to and fro will roam All restless, as the drifting fall-leaves stray. Autumn The leaves are falling, falling as from far, As if far gardens in the skies were dying; They fall, and ever seem to be denying. And in the night the earth, a heavy ball, Into a starless solitude must fall. We all are falling. My own hand no less Than all things else; behold, it is in all. Yet there is One who, utter gentleness, Holds all this falling in His hands to bless. 222 RAINER MARIA RILKE The Last Supper Here they are gathered, wondering and deranged, Round Him, who wisely doth Himself inclose, And who now takes Himself away, estranged, From those who owned Him once, and past them flows. He feels the ancient loneliness to-day That taught Him all His deepest acts of love ; Now in the olive groves He soon will rove, And these who love Him all will flee away. To the last supper table He hath led. As birds are frightened from a garden-bed By shots, so He their hands forth from the bread Doth frighten by His word: to Him they flee; Then flutter round the table in their fright And seek a passage from the hall. But He Is everywhere, like dusk at fall of night. From the "Book of the Monk's Life" I am, Thou Anxious One. Dost Thou not hear My surging senses break 'gainst Thee alone? My feelings all, that snow-white wings have grown, Fly round Thy visage in a sphere. 223 OUR TIME Dost Thou not see my soul now standing near, Clad in a garb of stillness, facing Thee? Doth not my spring-like prayer, as on a tree, Grow ripe beneath Thy glance, that mighty beam? If Thou the Dreamer art, I am Thy dream. But when Thou art awake, I am Thy will, And then I gain a majesty sublime And spread like star-lit heavens, calm and still, Above this odd, fantastic city, Time. ii All those who live and move away From Time, that city of distress, All who their hands on stillness lay, Upon a place where no roads stray, That hardly doth a name possess Thee, blessing high of every day, They name, and write in gentleness: But prayers alone are real naught more; Our hands are sanctified behold ! What they have fashioned doth implore: If one doth mow, or sacred lore Doth paint the very tools adore, In toil a piety unfold. And time in many shapes is told. We hear of time and yet we do 224 RAINER MARIA RILKE The everlasting and the old. We know that God us doth enfold Grand like a beard, a garment, too. We lie within His glory's gold, As veins the hard basalt run through. 225 HERMANN HESSE Born 1877 in Kalw (Wiirttemberg) In the Fog To wander in fog how queer ! Lonely are bush and stone, No tree sees the other near, Each is alone. Once my world was full of friends, When my life still had light; Now that the fog descends, Not one is in sight. Only he is wise who knows The steady gloom to fall That slowly round him grows, Severed from all. To wander in fog how queer ! Solitude is life's own. No man sees the other near, Each is alone. 226 HERMANN HESSE Talk in a Gondola What I dream, you ask? That yesterday We had died, we two. In fair array Clad in white, our hair with flowers wound In our gondola we're seaward bound. Bells from yonder campanile peal, But the water gurgles round the keel, Drowns the distant toll that's gently failing. Onward, onward to the sea we're sailing, Where the ships with masts that tower high, Sombre shadows, rest against the sky, Where on fishing-boats there gleam the moist, Deep-stained red and yellow sails they hoist, Where the roaring mighty waves are swelling, Where the sailors lurid tales are telling. Through a gate of bluest water, deeply Downward now our boat is gliding steeply. In the depths we find a widening range Filled with many trees of coral strange, Where in lustrous shells that hidden gleam Pale gigantic pearls alluring beam. Silvery fishes pass us, glistening, shy, Leaving tinted trails as they flit by, In whose furrows other fish instead Gleam with slender tails of golden red. At the bottom, fathoms deeps, we dream: As if bells were calling, it will seem, Now and then, as if from some far land 227 OUR TIME Winds sang songs we cannot understand, Songs of narrow streets we long ago Left behind, of things we used to know Songs so far, far off about the ways That we trod in long forgotten days. And with wonder we'll remember slowly Now a street, now some cathedral holy, Or the shouting of a gondolier Many names that once we used to hear. Smiling then, as children smile in sleep, We our silent lips still moving keep, And the word will, ere it spoken seems, Fall into oblivion, death in dreams. Over us the mighty vessels float, Sails are bright on many a sombre boat, Snow-white birds in gleaming sunshine fly, Glist'ning nets upon the water lie; Spanning all, with arches high and true Glows the heavens' vault of sunlit blue. 228 ALFRED WALTER VON HEYMEL Born 1878 in Dresden. Died 1914 in the war Song of an Enamoured Prince For a few hours of thy charming discourse I have now ridden seven moons. Timid delay was unknown to my horse, Fear to my servants. Over the dunes, Through the forests and the dark We have struggled painfully. Ere the dawn awoke the lark, We would sing of thee, of thee. Greetings to thee my steeds would neigh; I sang my longing, lovelorn lay. My men would all take up my tune, And so we roused the sunlight soon The sun that followed on our way, To thee, thou sun, my sunshine gay. And I have reached thee now at last: I kiss and kiss thy hand. My heart Is beating lightly and so fast, As if it flew, an aimless dart! To-day I may be thy favoured knight; That gives me joy for all time to come. 229 OUR TIME The horses are ready at fall of night. A passing farewell and so we ride home, For seven moons; and every day My bliss must be more far away. Nay, thou within my heart shalt be, For I am so in love with thee! 230 AGNES MIEGEL Born 1879 in Konigsberg The Fair Agnete When Sir Ulrich's widow in church knelt to pray, From the church yard toward her floated a lay. The organ on high did cease to sound, The priests and the boys all stood spellbound; The congregation hearkened, old man, child and bride To singing like a nightingale's so fair, outside: "Dear mother, in the church where the sexton's bell rings, Dear mother, hark outside how your daughter sings ! For I cannot come to you in the church ah, nay, Before the shrine of Mary I cannot kneel to pray, For I have lost salvation in everlasting time, For I wedded the waterman with all his black, black slime. My children they play in the lake with fishes fleet, They have fins on their hands and fins on their feet, Their little pearly frocks no sunlight ever dries, 231 OUR TIME Not death nor yet a dream can close my children's eyes. Dear mother, oh, I beg of thee, Lovingly, longingly: Wilt thou and all thy servants pray For my green-haired water-sprites alway, Will ye pray to the saints and to our Lady kind, By every church and every cross that on the fields ye find! Dearest mother, I beseech thee so Every seven years I may hither go Unto the good priest tell, The church door he shall open well That I may see the candle-light And see the golden monstrance bright, That my little children may be told How the gleam of the Cup is like sunlight gold !" The organ pealed when the voice sang no more, And then they opened wide the door And while they all inside high mass were keep- ing, A wave all white, so white, outside was leaping. 232 H. ZUCKERMANN Austrian Cavalry Song 1914 There in the meadow-land Two jackdaws cry Is it on Danube's strand I'll have to lie? Or in a Polish grave? Before my soul shall fly, I'll fight a rider brave. There on the field I see Two ravens scurry. Shall I the first one be Whom they must bury? What's that to me ! Many hundred thousands hurry In Austria's cavalry. There in the evening breath Hover two crows: When comes the reaper Death Who mows and mows? We're not afraid! If but our banner blows Over Belgrade ! 233 EEINHOLD S., A SCHOOLBOY Born 1903 For Us! 1915 Far, far in the east is a gaping grave, There they bury thousands of soldiers brave For us ! In the west the humble crosses show Where they lie dumb in many a row For us! Where storms are blowing over the sea, They gave their lives so willingly For us! They gave their blood, their life's desire, They gave it all with sacred fire For us! And we? We can but weep and pray For those who bloody and trodden lay For us ! There is no word, no way to thank All those who suffered, those who sank For us! INDEX OF TITLES PAGE A Day Spent Falke 182 A Lovely Rose Anonymous 17 Ah, When He Is Mine Novalis 87 Alderking, The Goethe 60 As Many as Sand-grains in the Sea . . . . A nonymous 21 Austrian Cavalry Song Zuckermann 233 Autumn Day Rilke 222 Autumn Rilke 222 Ballad of the Wall Milnchhausen 209 Ballad of the Outer Life Hofmannsthal 215 Bell, The Spitteler 179 Blessed Be the Hour Vogelweide 5 Blind and the Lame, The Gellert 36 Bridge by the Tay, The Fontane 152 But the Sun Is Ever Youthful Meyer 160 Chidher Riickert 111 Child's Prayer Hensel 123 City, The Storm 147 Christmas in Ajaccio Meyer 161 Dead Child, The Meyer 162 Dear Children, Soon I'll Come Again Goethe 51 Do Thou Speak Now Meyer 160 Duration of Love, The Freiligrath 143 Early Graves, The Klopstock 38 Ecstasy Riickert 111 Elisabeth's Song Storm 149 Enough Bierbaum 199 Evening Song Claudius 39 Fair Agnete, The Miegel 231 [235] INDEX OF TITLES PAGE Father, I Call Thee! Korner 115 Fisher, The Goethe 59 Fairy Tale Miinchhausen 209 Fir-tree Heine 125 Forest Lake, The Leuthold 165 Forsaken Maiden, The Morike 139 For Us ! Reinhold 234 Found Goethe 57 Free Art Uhland 105 Freedom Schenkendorf 91 From "A Dream of Love" Vogelweide 7 From an Oppressed Heart Dehmel 192 From Heaven High Luther 12 From the "Book of the Monk's Life" I Rilke 223 From the "Book of the Monk's Life" II Rilke 223 From Woman's Love and Life I Chamisso 89 From Woman's Love and Life II Chamisso 90 German Land Above All Others. Von Drostehulshoff 120 Girls Singing Von Soar 166 Give Me Welcome AH with Cheer Vogelweide 8 Glimpse of Childhood Rilke 218 Growing Blind Rilke 219 Go Out, My Heart Gebhardt 23 Good Comrade, The Uhland 94 Gretchen's Song Goethe 54 Gretchen Goethe 56 Harper, The Goethe 52 Harvest Song Catholic Church Song 28 Heath, The Storm 47 Hostess' Daughter, The Uhland 94 I Am Thine Anonymous 3 I Dreamed a Princess Came to Me Heine 124 I Hear a Sickle Rustling Anonymous 17 I Bear No Anger Heine 126 In a Cool Green Valley Eichendorff 107 [236] INDEX OF TITLES In the Express Train Fulda 186 In the Fog Hesse 226 In the Wood Storm 148 Innsbruck, I Must Be Leaving Anonymous 20 It Has Been Willed in God's Decree, Feuchtersleben 140 King Charles' Voyage Uhland 101 King of Thule, The Goethe 53 Knight, The Rilke 220 Lamb of God Decius 16 Last Greeting, The Eichendorff 108 Last Supper, The Rilke 223 Last Words Droste-Hiilshoff 120 Letters From the Beloved Jensen 167 Like One of These Was He Holz 188 Longing Eichendorff 107 Longing for Spring Vogelweide 5 Loreley, The Heine 127 Lotos Flower, The Heine 125 Maiden Melancholy Rilke 217 Many a Night Dehmel 193 Marsh Song Lenau 133 Midnight Huch 197 Mignon Goethe 49 Mine Own Land Munchhausen 209 Minstrel's Curse Uhland 96 Moonlight Night Rilke 220 Morning Glow Hauff 131 Nekropolis Kurz 184 Now Let Us All Thank God Rinckart 22 Nun, The Uhland 95 Oh, Germany ! Shonaich-Carolath 180 Old Heidelberg Scheffel 164 On the Death of a Child Terberg 190 On the Death of My Child Eichendorff 107 [237] INDEX OF TITLES On Wings of Song Heine 126 Parting and Return Liliencron 172 People at Night Rilke 217 Postillion, The Lenau 133 Praise the Lord Neander 34 Prologue to "May Beetle's Comedy" Widmann 168 Recognition, The Vogl 137 Remembrance Rilke 217 Rock with Runes, The Heine 126 Rose Complained, The Bodenstedt 151 Say, How Many Stars are Glowing Hey 114 Schiller's Burial Meyer 162 Sea Farm, The Von Strauss und Torney 204 Shepherd's Day, The George 200 Singer, The Goethe 62 Sir Ribbeck of Ribbeck Fontane 152 Song for All Dehmal 195 Song of the Bell, The Schiller 68 Song of the Blue Thrush Widmann 168 Song of an Enamoured Prince Heymel 229 Song of the Evening Keller 157 Song of the Harper Goethe 52 Song of Praise Luther 14 Sonnet Platen 119 Sonnet on the Transitoriness of Life Gryphius 30 Suabian Legend Uhland 103 Summer Night Keller 158 Swiss, The Alsatian Soldier Song 45 Tailor in Hell, The Humorous Ballad 42 Talk in a Gondola Hesse 226 The Falcon Kiirenberg 1 1 The Oracle Vogelweide 6 There Is a House in Heaven Spervogel 4 Thou Seemest Like a Flower Heine 124 To the Face of the Lord Jesus Gebhardt 23 [238] INDEX OF TITLES PAGE To a Deceased Storm 150 To the Moon Goethe 49 Two Grenadiers Heine 128 Under the Linden-tree Vogelweide 7 Union Song Arndt 85 Vigil, The George 200 Vineta Muller 117 Voice in Darkness Dehmel 192 Vow Silesiu* 31 Wanderer's Night Songs, I and II Goethe 50 Wanderer's Joy Giebel 145 War and Peace Liliencron 173 Wave Dance Song Dehmel 194 Were I a Little Bird Folk Song 41 Wild Rose Goethe 58 Winter Night Keller 158 Wizard's Apprentice Goethe 63 Workman, The Dehmel 195 Would I Were a Falcon Wild Popular Ballad 18 [239] INDEX OF AUTHORS PAGE Arndt, Ernest Moritz 85 Bierbaum, Otto Julius 199 Bodenstedt, Friedrich von 151 Chamisso, Adalbert von 89 Claudius, Matthias 39 Decius, Nikolaus 16 Dehmel, Richard 192-195 Droste-Hiilshoff, Annette von 120 Eichendorff, Joseph von 107-109 Falke, Gustav 182 Fallersleben, Heinrich Hoffmann von 121 Feuchtersleben, Ernst von 140 Fontane, Theodor 152, 153 Freiligrath, Ferdinand 143 Fulda, Ludwig 186 Geibel, Emanuel 145, 146 Gellert, Christian Furchtegott 36 George, Stefan 200-202 Gerhardt, Paulus 23-25 Goethe, Johahn Wolfgang von 49-63 Gryphius 30 Hauff, Wilhelm 131 Heine, Heinrich 124-128 Hensel, Luise 123 Hesse, Hermann 226, 227 Hey, Wilhelm 114 Heymal, Alfred Walter von 229 Hof mannsthal, Hugo von 215 Holz, Arno 188 240 INDEX OF AUTHORS PAGE Huch, Ricarda 197 Jensen, Wilhelm 167 Keller, Gottfried 157, 158 Klopstock, Friedrich Gottlob 38 Kb'rner, Theodor 115 Kiirenberg, von 11 Kurz, Isolde 184 Lenau, Xikolaus 133 Leuthold, Heinrich 165 Liliencron, Detlev von 172, 173 Luther, Martin 12-14 Meyer, Konrad Ferdinand 160-162 Miegel, Agnes 231 Morike, Eduard 139 Miiller, Wilhelm 117 Miinchhausen, Borries, Freiherr von 209-214 Xeander, Joachim 34 Xovalis 87 Platen, August, Graf von 119 Reinhold, S 234 Rilke, Rainer Maria 217-224 Rinckart, Martin 22 Riickert, Friedrich Ill Saar, Ferdinand von 166 Scheffel, Joseph Victor von 164 Schenkendorf. Max von 91 Schiller, Friedrich von 68 Shonaich-Carolath, Prince Emil von 180 Silesius, Angelus 31 Spervogel 4 Spitteler, Carl 179 Storm, Theodor 147-150 Strauss und Torney, Lulu von 204 Terberg, Hugo 190 Uhland, Ludwig 94-105 241 INDEX OF AUTHORS PAGE Vogelwcide, Walter von der 5-8 Vogl, Johann Nepomuk 137 Widmann, Joseph Victor 168, 169 Zuckermann, H 233 (1) 242 University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. r-/ S ANGELES f two A r*w par * 001302333 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Ot .