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Miscellaneous Poems.

In the wares before you spread,

Types of all things may be read.

THE GERMAN PARNASSUS.

- ’NEATH the shadow
- Of these bushes,
- On the meadow
- Where the cooling water gushes,
- Phœbus gave me, when a boy,
- All life’s fulness to enjoy.
- So, in silence, as the God
- Bade them with his sov’reign nod,
- Sacred Muses train’d my days
- To his praise,—
- With the bright and silv’ry flood
- Of Parnassus stirr’d my blood,
- And the seal so pure and chaste
- By them on my lips was plac’d.
- With her modest pinions, see,
- Philomel encircles me!
- In these bushes, in yon grove,
- Calls she to her sister-throng,
- And their heavenly choral song
- Teaches me to dream of love.
- Fulness waxes in my breast
- Of emotions social, bless’d;
- Friendship’s nurtur’d,—love awakes,—
- And the silence Phœbus breaks
- Of his mountains, of his vales,—
- Sweetly blow the balmy gales;
- All for whom he shows affection,
- Who are worthy his protection,
- Gladly follow his direction.
- This one comes with joyous bearing
- And with open, radiant gaze;
- That a sterner look is wearing,
- This one, scarcely cured, with daring
- Wakes the strength of former days;
- For the sweet, destructive flame
- Pierc’d his marrow and his frame.
- That which Amor stole before
- Phœbus only can restore,—
- Peace, and joy, and harmony,
- Aspirations pure and free.
- Brethren, rise ye!
- Numbers prize ye!
- Deeds of worth resemble they.
- Who can better than the bard
- Guide a friend when gone astray?
- If his duty he regard
- More he’ll do than others may.
- Yes! afar I hear them sing!
- Yes! I hear them touch the string,
- And with mighty godlike stroke
- Right and duty they inspire,
- And evoke,
- As they sing, and wake the lyre,
- Tendencies of noblest worth
- To each type of strength give birth.
- Phantasies of sweetest power
- Flower
- Round about on ev’ry bough,
- Bending now,
- Like the magic wood of old,
- ’Neath the fruit that gleams like gold.
- What we feel and what we view
- In the land of highest bliss,—
- This dear soil, a sun like this,—
- Lures the best of women too.
- And the Muses’ breathings bless’d
- Rouse the maiden’s gentle breast,
- Tune the throat to minstrelsy,
- And with cheeks of beauteous dye,
- Bid it sing a worthy song,
- Sit the sister-band among;
- And their strains grow softer still
- As they vie with earnest will.
- One amongst the band betimes
- Goes to wander
- By the beeches, ’neath the limes,
- Yonder seeking, finding yonder
- That which in the morning-grove
- She had lost through roguish Love,
- All her breast’s first aspirations,
- And her heart’s calm meditations.
- To the shady wood so fair
- Gently stealing,
- Takes she that which man can ne’er
- Duly merit,—each soft feeling,—
- Disregards the noontide ray
- And the dew at close of day,—
- In the plain her path she loses.
- Ne’er disturb her on her way!
- Seek her silently, ye Muses!
- Shouts I hear wherein the sound
- Of the waterfall is drown’d.
- From the grove loud clamors rise;
- Strange the tumult, strange the cries.
- See I rightly? Can it be?
- To the very sanctuary,
- Lo, an impious troop in-hies!
- O’er the land
- Streams the band;
- Hot desire,
- Drunken fire
- In their gaze
- Wildly plays,—
- Makes their hair
- Bristle there.
- And the troop,
- With fell swoop,
- Women, men,
- Coming then,
- Ply their blows
- And expose,
- Void of shame,
- All the frame.
- Iron shot,
- Fierce and hot,
- Strike with fear
- On the ear;
- All they slay
- On their way.
- O’er the land
- Pours the band;
- All take flight
- At their sight.
- Ah, o’er ev’ry plant they rush!
- Ah, their cruel footsteps crush
- All the flowers that fill their path!
- Who will dare to stem their wrath?
- Brethren, let us venture all!
- Virtue in your pure cheek glows.
- Phœbus will attend our call
- When he sees our heavy woes;
- And that we may have aright
- Weapons suited to the fight,
- He the mountain shaketh now—
- From its brow
- Rattling down
- Stone on stone
- Through the thicket spread appear.
- Brethren, seize them! Wherefore fear?
- Now the villain crew assail
- As though with a storm of hail,
- And expel the strangers wild
- From these regions soft and mild
- Where the sun has ever smil’d!
- What strange wonder do I see?
- Can it be?
- All my limbs of power are reft,
- And all strength my hand has left.
- Can it be?
- None are strangers that I see!
- And our brethren ’tis who go
- On before, the way to show!
- Oh, the reckless impious ones!
- How they, with their jarring tones,
- Beat the time as on they hie!
- Quick, my brethren!—let us fly!
- To the rash ones, yet a word!
- Ay, my voice shall now be heard
- As a peal of thunder, strong!
- Words as poets’ arms were made,—
- When the god will be obey’d,
- Follow fast his darts ere long.
- Was it possible that ye
- Thus your godlike dignity
- Should forget? The Thyrsus rude
- Must a heavy burden feel
- To the hand but wont to steal
- O’er the lyre in gentle mood.
- From the sparkling waterfalls,
- From the brook that purling calls,
- Shall Silenus’ loathsome beast
- Be allow’d at will to feast?
- Aganippe’s wave he sips
- With profane and spreading lips,—
- With ungainly feet stamps madly,
- Till the waters flow on sadly.
- Fain I’d think myself deluded
- In the sadd’ning sounds I hear;
- From the holy glades secluded
- Hateful tones assail the ear.
- Laughter wild (exchange how mournful!)
- Takes the place of love’s sweet dream;
- Women-haters and the scornful
- In exulting chorus scream.
- Nightingale and turtle-dove
- Fly their nests so warm and chaste,
- And, inflam’d with sensual love,
- Holds the Faun the Nymph embrac’d.
- Here a garment’s torn away,
- Scoffs succeed their sated bliss,
- While the god, with angry ray,
- Looks upon each impious kiss.
- Vapor, smoke, as from a fire,
- And advancing clouds I view;
- Chords not only grace the lyre,
- For the bow its chords hath too.
- Even the adorer’s heart
- Dreads the wild advancing band,
- For the flames that round them dart
- Show the fierce destroyer’s hand.
- Oh, neglect not what I say,
- For I speak it lovingly!
- From our boundaries haste away,
- From the god’s dread anger fly!
- Cleanse once more the holy place,
- Turn the savage train aside!
- Earth contains upon its face
- Many a spot unsanctified;
- Here we only prize the good.
- Stars unsullied round us burn.
- If ye, in repentant mood,
- From your wanderings would return,—
- If ye fail to find the bliss
- That ye found with us of yore,—
- Or when lawless mirth like this
- Gives your hearts delight no more,—
- Then return in pilgrim guise,
- Gladly up the mountain go,
- While your strains repentant rise,
- And our brethren’s advent show.
- Let a new-born wreath entwine
- Solemnly your temples round;
- Rapture glows in hearts divine
- When a long-lost sinner’s found.
- Swifter e’en than Lethe’s flood
- Round Death’s silent house can play
- Ev’ry error of the good
- Will love’s chalice wash away.
- All will haste your steps to meet
- As ye come in majesty,—
- Men your blessing will entreat;—
- Ours ye thus will doubly be!

artist: w friedrich.

THE GERMAN PARNASSUS.

MAHOMET’S SONG.

- SEE the rock-born stream!
- Like the gleam
- Of a star so bright!
- Kindly spirits
- High above the clouds
- Nourish’d him while youthful
- In the copse between the cliffs.
- Young and fresh,
- From the clouds he danceth
- Down upon the marble rocks;
- Then tow’rd heaven
- Leaps exulting.
- Through the mountain-passes
- Chaseth he the color’d pebbles,
- And, advancing like a chief,
- Tears his brother streamlets with him
- In his course.
- In the valley down below
- ’Neath his footsteps spring the flowers,
- And the meadow
- In his breath finds life.
- Yet no shady vale can stay him
- Nor can flowers,
- Round his knees all-softly twining,
- With their loving eyes detain him;
- To the plain his course he taketh,
- Serpent-winding.
- Social streamlets
- Join his waters. And now moves he
- O’er the plain in silv’ry glory,
- And the plain in him exults,
- And the rivers from the plain,
- And the streamlets from the mountain,
- Shout with joy, exclaiming: “Brother,
- Brother, take thy brethren with thee,
- With thee to thine aged father,
- To the everlasting ocean,
- Who, with arms outstretching far,
- Waiteth for us;
- Ah, in vain those arms lie open
- To embrace his yearning children;
- For the thirsty sand consumes us
- In the desert waste; the sunbeams
- Drink our life-blood; hills around us
- Into lakes would dam us! Brother,
- Take thy brethren of the plain,
- Take thy brethren of the mountain
- With thee, to thy father’s arms!”—
- Let all come, then!—
- And now swells he
- Lordlier still; yea, e’en a people
- Bears his regal flood on high!
- And in triumph onward rolling
- Names to countries gives he,—cities
- Spring to light beneath his foot.
- Ever, ever, on he rushes,
- Leaves the towers’ flame-tipp’d summits,
- Marble palaces, the offspring
- Of his fulness, far behind.
- Cedar-houses bears the Atlas
- On his giant shoulders; flutt’ring
- In the breeze far, far above him
- Thousand flags are gayly floating,
- Bearing witness to his might.
- And so beareth he his brethren
- All his treasures, all his children,
- Wildly shouting, to the bosom
- Of his long-expectant sire.

SPIRIT SONG OVER THE WATERS.

- THE soul of man
- Resembleth water:
- From heaven it cometh,
- To heaven it soareth,
- And then again
- To earth descendeth,
- Changing ever.
- Down from the lofty
- Rocky wall
- Streams the bright flood,
- Then spreadeth gently
- In cloudy billows
- O’er the smooth rock,
- And welcomed kindly,
- Veiling, on roams it,
- Soft murmuring,
- Toward the abyss.
- Cliffs projecting
- Oppose its progress,—
- Angrily foams it
- Down to the bottom,
- Step by step.
- Now, in flat channel,
- Through the meadowland steals it,
- And in the polish’d lake
- Each constellation
- Joyously peepeth.
- Wind is the loving
- Wooer of waters;
- Wind blends together
- Billows all-foaming.
- Spirit of man,
- Thou art like unto water!
- Fortune of man,
- Thou art like unto wind!

MY GODDESS.

- SAY, which Immortal
- Merits the highest reward?
- With none contend I,
- But I will give it
- To the aye-changing,
- Ever-moving
- Wondrous daughter of Jove,
- His best-beloved offspring,
- Sweet Phantasy.
- For unto her
- Hath he granted
- All the fancies which erst
- To none allow’d he
- Saving himself;
- Now he takes his pleasure
- In the mad one.
- She may, crown’d with roses,
- With staff twined round with lilies,
- Roam through flow’ry valleys,
- Rule the butterfly-people,
- And soft-nourishing dew
- With bee-like lips
- Drink from the blossom:
- Or else she may
- With fluttering hair
- And gloomy looks
- Sigh in the wind
- Round rocky cliffs,
- And thousand-hued,
- Like morn and even,
- Ever changing,
- Like moonbeam’s light,
- To mortals appear.
- Let us all, then,
- Adore the Father!
- The old, the mighty,
- Who such a beauteous
- Ne’er-fading spouse
- Deigns to accord
- To perishing mortals!
- To us alone
- Doth he unite her
- With heavenly bonds,
- While he commands her,
- In joy and sorrow,
- As a true spouse
- Never to fly us.
- All the remaining
- Races so poor
- Of life-teeming earth,
- In children so rich,
- Wander and feed
- In vacant enjoyment,
- And ’mid the dark sorrows
- Of evanescent
- Restricted life,—
- Bow’d by the heavy
- Yoke of Necessity.
- But unto us he
- Hath his most versatile,
- Most cherish’d daughter
- Granted,—what joy!
- Lovingly greet her
- As a belov’d one!
- Give her the woman’s
- Place in our home!
- And oh, may the aged
- Stepmother Wisdom
- Her gentle spirit
- Ne’er seek to harm!
- Yet know I her sister,
- The older, sedater,
- Mine own silent friend;
- Oh, may she never,
- Till life’s lamp is quench’d,
- Turn away from me,—
- That noble inciter,
- Comforter,—Hope!

artist: e. unger.

SPIRIT SONG OVER THE WATERS.

WINTER JOURNEY OVER THE HARTZ MOUNTAINS.

- LIKE the vulture
- Who on heavy morning clouds
- With gentle wing reposing
- Looks for his prey,—
- Hover, my song!
- For a God hath
- Unto each prescrib’d
- His destin’d path,
- Which the happy one
- Runs o’er swiftly
- To his glad goal:
- He whose heart cruel
- Fate hath contracted,
- Struggles but vainly
- Against all the barriers
- The brazen thread raises,
- But which the harsh shears
- Must one day sever.
- Through gloomy thickets
- Presseth the wild deer on,
- And with the sparrows
- Long have the wealthy
- Settled themselves in the marsh.
- Easy ’tis following the chariot
- That by Fortune is driven,
- Like the baggage that moves
- Over well-mended highways
- After the train of a prince.
- But who stands there apart?
- In the thicket, lost is his path;
- Behind him the bushes
- Are closing together,
- The grass springs up again,
- The desert engulfs him.
- Ah, who’ll heal his afflictions
- To whom balsam was poison,
- Who, from love’s fulness,
- Drank in misanthropy only?
- First despis’d, and now a despiser,
- He, in secret, wasteth
- All that he is worth
- In a selfishness vain.
- If there be, on thy psaltery,
- Father of Love, but one tone
- That to his ear may be pleasing,
- Oh, then, quicken his heart!
- Clear his cloud-envelop’d eyes
- Over the thousand fountains
- Close by the thirsty one
- In the desert.
- Thou who createst much joy,
- For each a measure o’erflowing,
- Bless the sons of the chase
- When on the track of the prey,
- With a wild thirsting for blood,
- Youthful and joyous,
- Avenging late the injustice
- Which the peasant resisted
- Vainly for years with his staff.
- But the lonely one veil
- Within thy gold clouds!
- Surround with wintergreen
- Until the roses bloom again
- The humid locks,
- Oh, Love, of thy minstrel!
- With thy glimmering torch
- Lightest thou him
- Through the fords when ’tis night,
- Over bottomless places,
- On desert-like plains;
- With the thousand colors of morning
- Gladd’nest his bosom;
- With the fierce-biting storm
- Bearest him proudly on high;
- Winter torrents rush from the cliffs,—
- Blend with his psalms;
- An altar of grateful delight
- He finds in the much-dreaded mountain’s
- Snow-begirded summit,
- Which foreboding nations
- Crown’d with spirit-dances.
- Thou stand’st with breast inscrutable,
- Mysteriously disclos’d,
- High o’er the wondering world,
- And look’st from clouds
- Upon its realms and its majesty,
- Which thou from the veins of thy brethren
- Near thee dost water.

TO FATHER KRONOS.

- HASTEN thee, Kronos!
- On with clattering trot!
- Downhill goeth thy path;
- Loathsome dizziness ever,
- When thou delayest, assails me.
- Quick, rattle along,
- Over stock and stone let thy trot
- Into life straightway lead!
- Now once more
- Up the toilsome ascent
- Hasten, panting for breath!
- Up, then, nor idle be.—
- Striving and hoping, up, up!
- Wide, high, glorious the view
- Gazing round upon life,
- While from mount unto mount
- Hovers the spirit eterne,
- Life eternal foreboding.
- Sideways a roof’s pleasant shade
- Attracts thee,
- And a look that promises coolness
- On the maidenly threshold.
- There refresh thee! And, maiden,
- Give me this foaming draught also,
- Give me this health-laden look!
- Down, now! quicker still, down!
- See where the sun sets!
- Ere he sets, ere old age
- Seizeth me in the morass,
- Ere my toothless jaws mumble,
- And my useless limbs totter;
- While drunk with his farewell beam
- Hurl me,—a fiery sea
- Foaming still in mine eye,—
- Hurl me, while dazzled and reeling,
- Down to the gloomy portal of hell.
- Blow, then, gossip, thy horn!
- Speed on with echoing trot,
- So that Orcus may know we are coming;
- So that our host may with joy
- Wait at the door to receive us.

THE WANDERER’S STORM-SONG.

- HE whom thou ne’er leavest, Genius,
- Feels no dread within his heart
- At the tempest or the rain.
- He whom thou ne’er leavest, Genius,
- Will to the rain-clouds,
- Will to the hail-storm,
- Sing in reply
- As the lark sings,
- Oh, thou on high!
- Him whom thou ne’er leavest, Genius,
- Thou wilt raise above the mud-track
- With thy fiery pinions.
- He will wander
- As, with flowery feet,
- Over Deucalion’s dark flood,
- Python-slaying, light, glorious,
- Pythius Apollo.
- Him whom thou ne’er leavest, Genius,
- Thou wilt place upon thy fleecy pinion
- When he sleepeth on the rock,—
- Thou wilt shelter with thy guardian wing
- In the forest’s midnight hour.
- Him whom thou ne’er leavest, Genius,
- Thou wilt wrap up warmly
- In the snow-drift;
- Tow’rd the warmth approach the Muses,
- Tow’rd the warmth approach the Graces.
- Ye Muses, hover round me!
- Ye Graces also!
- That is water, that is earth,
- And the son of water and of earth
- Over which I wander
- Like the gods.
- Ye are pure, like the heart of the water;
- Ye are pure, like the marrow of earth,
- Hov’ring round me, while I hover
- Over water, o’er the earth
- Like the gods.
- Shall he then return,
- The small, the dark, the fiery peasant?
- Shall he then return, awaiting
- Only thy gifts, O Father Bromius,
- And brightly gleaming, warmth-spreading fire?
- Return with joy?
- And I. whom ye attended,
- Ye Muses and ye Graces,
- Whom all awaits that ye,
- Ye Muses and ye Graces,
- Of circling bliss in life
- Have glorified—shall I
- Return dejected?
- Father Bromius!
- Thou’rt the Genius,
- Genius of ages,
- Thou’rt what inward glow
- To Pindar was,
- What to the world
- Phœbus Apollo.
- Woe! woe! Inward warmth,
- Spirit-warmth,
- Central point!
- Glow, and vie with
- Phœbus Apollo!
- Coldly soon
- His regal look
- Over thee will swiftly glide,—
- Envy-struck
- Linger o’er the cedar’s strength,
- Which to flourish
- Waits him not.
- Why doth my lay name thee the last?
- Thee, from whom it began,
- Thee, in whom it endeth,
- Thee, from whom it flows,
- Jupiter Pluvius!
- Tow’rd thee streams my song,
- And a Castalian spring
- Runs as a fellow-brook,
- Runs to the idle ones,
- Mortal, happy ones,
- Apart from thee,
- Who cov’rest me around,
- Jupiter Pluvius!
- Not by the elm tree
- Him didst thou visit,
- With the pair of doves
- Held in his gentle arm,—
- With the beauteous garland of roses,—
- Caressing him, so bless’d in his flowers,
- Anacreon,
- Storm-breathing godhead!
- Not in the poplar grove
- Near the Sybaris’ strand,
- Not on the mountain’s
- Sun-illumined brow
- Didst thou seize him,
- The flower-singing,
- Honey-breathing,
- Sweetly nodding
- Theocritus.
- When the wheels were rattling,
- Wheel on wheel tow’rd the goal,
- High arose
- The sound of the lash
- Of youths with victory glowing,
- In the dust rolling,
- As from the mountain fall
- Showers of stones in the vale—
- Then thy soul was brightly glowing, Pindar—
- Glowing? Poor heart!
- There, on the hill,—
- Heavenly might!
- But enough glow
- Thither to wend
- Where is my cot!

THE SEA-VOYAGE.

- MANY a day and night my bark stood ready laden;
- Waiting fav’ring winds, I sat with true friends round me
- Pledging me to patience and to courage
- In the haven.
- And they spoke thus with impatience twofold:
- “Gladly pray we for thy rapid passage,
- Gladly for thy happy voyage; fortune
- In the distant world is waiting for thee,
- In our arms thou’lt find thy prize, and love too,
- When returning.”
- And when morning came arose an uproar,
- And the sailors’ joyous shouts awoke us;
- All was stirring, all was living, moving,
- Bent on sailing with the first kind zephyr.
- And the sails soon in the breeze are swelling,
- And the sun with fiery love invites us;
- Fill’d the sails are, clouds on high are floating,
- On the shore each friend exulting raises
- Songs of hope, in giddy joy expecting
- Joy the voyage through as on the morn of sailing
- And the earliest starry nights so radiant.
- But by God-sent changing winds ere long he’s driven
- Sideways from the course he had intended,
- And he feigns as though he would surrender
- While he gently striveth to outwit them.
- To his goal, e’en when thus press’d, still faithful.
- But from out the damp gray distance rising
- Softly now the storm proclaims its advent,
- Presseth down each bird upon the waters,
- Presseth down the throbbing hearts of mortals.
- And it cometh. At its stubborn fury
- Wisely ev’ry sail the seaman striketh;
- With the anguish-laden ball are sporting
- Wind and water.
- And on yonder shore are gather’d, standing,
- Friends and lovers, trembling for the bold one:
- “Why, alas, remain’d he here not with us!
- Ah, the tempest! Cast away by fortune!
- Must the good one perish in this fashion?
- Might not he perchance . . . Ye great immortals!”
- Yet he, like a man, stands by his rudder;
- With the bark are sporting wind and water,
- Wind and water sport not with his bosom:
- On the fierce deep looks he as a master,—
- In his gods, or shipwreck’d or safe landed,
- Trusting ever.

artist: f. c. welsch.

THE WANDERER’S STORM-SONG.

PROMETHEUS.

- COVER thy spacious heavens, Zeus,
- With clouds of mist,
- And, like the boy who lops
- The thistles’ heads,
- Disport with oaks and mountain-peaks;
- Yet thou must leave
- My earth still standing;
- My cottage too, which was not rais’d by thee;
- Leave me my hearth,
- Whose kindly glow
- By thee is envied.
- I know naught poorer
- Under the sun than ye gods!
- Ye nourish painfully,
- With sacrifices
- And votive prayers,
- Your majesty;
- Ye would e’en starve
- If children and beggars
- Were not trusting fools.
- While yet a child
- And ignorant of life
- I turn’d my wandering gaze
- Up tow’rd the sun, as if with him
- There were an ear to hear my wailings,
- A heart like mine
- To feel compassion for distress.
- Who help’d me
- Against the Titans’ insolence?
- Who rescued me from certain death,
- From slavery?
- Didst thou not do all this thyself,
- My sacred glowing heart?
- And glowedst, young and good,
- Deceiv’d with grateful thanks,
- To yonder slumbering one?
- I honor thee! and why?
- Hast thou e’er lighten’d the sorrows
- Of the heavy-laden?
- Hast thou e’er dried up the tears
- Of the anguish-stricken?
- Was I not fashion’d to be a man
- By omnipotent Time
- And by eternal Fate,
- Masters of me and thee?
- Didst thou e’er fancy
- That life I should learn to hate
- And fly to deserts,
- Because not all
- My blossoming dreams grew ripe?
- Here sit I, forming mortals
- After my image;
- A race resembling me,
- To suffer, to weep,
- To enjoy, to be glad,
- And thee to scorn
- As I!

THE EAGLE AND DOVE.

- IN search of prey once rais’d his pinions An eaglet;
- A huntsman’s arrow came and reft
- His right wing of all motive power.
- Headlong he fell into a myrtle grove,
- For three long days on anguish fed,
- In torment writh’d
- Throughout three long, three weary nights;
- And then was cured,
- Thanks to all-healing Nature’s
- Soft, omnipresent balm.
- He crept away from out the copse
- And stretch’d his wing—alas!
- Lost is all power of flight—
- He scarce can lift himself
- From off the ground
- To catch some mean, unworthy prey,
- And rests, deep-sorrowing,
- On the low rock beside the stream.
- Up to the oak he looks,
- Looks up to heaven,
- While in his noble eye there gleams a tear.
- Then, rustling through the myrtle boughs, behold,
- There comes a wanton pair of doves
- Who settle down, and, nodding, strut
- O’er the gold sands beside the stream,
- And gradually approach;
- Their red-tinged eyes so full of love
- Soon see the inward-sorrowing one.
- The male, inquisitively social, leaps
- On the next bush, and looks
- Upon him kindly and complacently.
- “Thou sorrowest,” murmurs he:
- “Be of good cheer, my friend!
- All that is needed for calm happiness
- Hast thou not here?
- Hast thou not pleasure in the golden bough
- That shields thee from the day’s fierce glow?
- Canst thou not raise thy breast to catch
- On the soft moss beside the brook
- The sun’s last rays at even?
- Here thou may’st wander through the flowers’ fresh dew,
- Pluck from the overflow
- The forest-trees provide
- The choicest food,—may’st quench
- Thy light thirst at the silvery spring.
- O friend, true happiness
- Lies in contentedness,
- And that contentedness
- Finds everywhere enough.”
- “O wise one!” said the eagle, while he sank
- In deep and ever-deep’ning thought—
- “O Wisdom! like a dove thou speakest!”

GANYMEDE.

HOW in the light of morning
Round me thou glowest,
Spring, thou beloved one!
With thousand-varying loving bliss
The sacred emotions
Born of thy warmth eternal
Press ’gainst my bosom,
Thou endlessly fair one!
Could I but hold thee clasp’d
Within mine arms!
Ah! upon thy bosom
Lay I pining,
And then thy flowers, thy grass,
Were pressing against my heart.
Thou coolest the burning
Thirst of my bosom,
Beauteous morning breeze!
The nightingale then calls me
Sweetly from out of the misty vale.
I come, I come!
Whither? Ah, whither?
Up, up, lies my course.
While downward the clouds
Are hovering, the clouds
Are bending to meet yearning love.
For me
Within thine arms
Upwards!
Embrac’d and embracing!
Upwards into thy bosom,
O Father all-loving!

THE BOUNDARIES OF HUMANITY.

- WHEN the primeval
- All-holy Father
- Sows with a tranquil hand
- From clouds, as they roll,
- Bliss-spreading lightnings
- Over the earth,
- Then do I kiss the last
- Hem of his garment,
- While by a childlike awe
- Fill’d is my breast.
- For with immortals
- Ne’er may a mortal
- Measure himself.
- If he soar upwards
- And if he touch
- With his forehead the stars,
- Nowhere will rest then
- His insecure feet,
- And with him sport
- Tempest and cloud.
- Though with firm sinewy
- Limbs he may stand
- On the enduring
- Well-grounded earth,
- All he is ever
- Able to do
- Is to resemble
- The oak or the vine.
- Wherein do gods
- Differ from mortals?
- In that the former
- See endless billows
- Heaving before them;
- Us doth the billow
- Lift up and swallow,
- So that we perish.
- Small is the ring
- Enclosing our life,
- And whole generations
- Link themselves firmly
- On to existence’s
- Chain never-ending.

Fr. Pecht del.

published by george barrie

[Editor: illegible word]

THE GODLIKE.

- NOBLE be man,
- Helpful and good!
- For that alone
- Distinguisheth him
- From all the beings
- Unto us known.
- Hail to the beings,
- Unknown and glorious,
- Whom we forebode!
- From his example
- Learn we to know them!
- For unfeeling
- Nature is ever:
- On bad and on good
- The sun alike shineth;
- And on the wicked
- As on the best
- The moon and stars gleam.
- Tempest and torrent,
- Thunder and hail,
- Roar on their path,
- Seizing the while,
- As they haste onward,
- One after another.
- Even so fortune
- Gropes ’mid the throng—
- Innocent boyhood’s
- Curly head seizing.—
- Seizing the hoary
- Head of the sinner.
- After laws mighty,
- Brazen, eternal,
- Must all we mortals
- Finish the circuit
- Of our existence.
- Man and man only
- Can do the impossible;
- He ’tis distinguisheth,
- Chooseth and judgeth;
- He to the moment
- Endurance can lend.
- He and he only
- The good can reward,
- The bad can he punish,
- Can heal and can save;
- All that wanders and strays
- Can usefully blend.
- And we pay homage
- To the immortals
- As though they were men,
- And did in the great,
- What the best, in the small,
- Does or might do.
- Be the man that is noble,
- Both helpful and good,
- Unweariedly forming
- The right and the useful,
- A type of those beings
- Our mind hath foreshadow’d

ROYAL PRAYER.

HA, I am the lord of earth! The noble,
Who ’re in my service, love me.
Ha, I am the lord of earth! The noble,
O’er whom my sway extendeth, love I.
Oh, grant me, God in heaven, that I may ne’er
Dispense with loftiness and love!

HUMAN FEELINGS.

AH, ye gods! ye great immortals
In the spacious heavens above us!
Would ye on this earth but give us
Steadfast minds and dauntless courage
We, O kindly ones, would leave you
All your spacious heavens above us!

LILY’S MENAGERIE.

- THERE’S no menagerie, I vow,
- Excels my Lily’s at this minute;
- She keeps the strangest creatures in it,
- And catches them, she knows not how.
- Oh, how they hop, and run, and rave,
- And their clipp’d pinions wildly wave,—
- Poor princes, who must all endure
- The pangs of love that naught can cure.
- What is the fairy’s name?—Is’t Lily?—Ask not me!
- Give thanks to Heaven if she’s unknown to thee.
- Oh, what a cackling, what a shrieking,
- When near the door she takes her stand
- With her food-basket in her hand!
- Oh, what a croaking, what a squeaking!
- Alive all the trees and the bushes appear,
- While to her feet whole troops draw near;
- The very fish within the water clear
- Splash with impatience and their heads protrude;
- And then she throws around the food
- With such a look!—the very gods delighting
- (To say naught of beasts). There begins then a biting,
- A picking, a pecking, a sipping,
- And each o’er the legs of another is tripping,
- And pushing, and pressing, and flapping,
- And chasing, and fuming, and snapping,
- And all for one small piece of bread,
- To which, though dry, her fair hands give a taste,
- As though it in ambrosia had been plac’d.
- And then her look! the tone
- With which she calls: Pipi! Pipi!
- Would draw Jove’s eagle from his throne;
- Yes, Venus’ turtle-doves, I ween,
- And the vain peacock e’en,
- Would come, I swear,
- Soon as that tone had reach’d them through the air.
- E’en from a forest dark had she
- Entic’d a bear, unlick’d, ill-bred,
- And by her wiles alluring led
- To join the gentle company,
- Until as tame as they was he:
- (Up to a certain point, be’t understood!)
- How fair, and, ah, how good
- She seem’d to be! I would have drain’d my blood
- To water e’en her flow’rets sweet.
- Thou sayest: “I! Who? How? And where?”—
- Well, to be plain, good Sirs—I am the bear;
- In a net-apron caught, alas!
- Chain’d by a silk-thread at her feet.
- But how this wonder came to pass
- I’ll tell some day, if ye are curious;
- Just now, my temper’s much too furious.
- Ah, when I’m in the corner plac’d,
- And hear afar the creatures snapping,
- And see the flipping and the flapping,
- I turn around
- With growling sound,
- And backward run a step in haste,
- And look around
- With growling sound,
- Then run again a step in haste,
- And to my former post go round.
- But suddenly my anger grows,
- A mighty spirit fills my nose,
- My inward feelings all revolt.
- A creature such as thou! a dolt!
- Pipi, a squirrel able nuts to crack!
- I bristle up my shaggy back,
- Unused a slave to be.
- I’m laugh’d at by each trim and upstart tree
- To scorn. The bowling-green I fly,
- With neatly-mown and well-kept grass;
- The box makes faces as I pass,—
- Into the darkest thicket hasten I,
- Hoping to ’scape from the ring,
- Over the palings to spring!
- Vainly I leap and climb;
- I feel a leaden spell
- That pinions me as well;
- And when I’m fully wearied out in time
- I lay me down beside some mock cascade,
- And roll myself half dead, and foam, and cry,
- And, ah! no Oreads hear my sigh
- Excepting those of china made!
- But, ah, with sudden power
- In all my members blissful feelings reign!
- ’Tis she who singeth yonder in her bower!
- I hear that darling, darling voice again.
- The air is warm, and teems with fragrance clear,
- Sings she perchance for me alone to hear?
- I haste, and trample down the shrubs amain;
- The trees make way, the bushes all retreat,
- And so—the beast is lying at her feet.
- She looks at him: “The monster’s droll enough!
- He’s for a bear too mild,
- Yet for a dog too wild,
- So shaggy, clumsy, rough!”
- Upon his back she gently strokes her foot;
- He thinks himself in Paradise.
- What feelings through his seven senses shoot!
- But she looks on with careless eyes.
- I lick her soles, and kiss her shoes,
- As gently as a bear well may;
- Softly I rise, and with a clever ruse
- Leap on her knee.—On a propitious day
- She suffers it; my ears then tickles she,
- And hits me a hard blow in wanton play;
- I growl with new-born ecstasy;
- Then speaks she in a sweet vain jest, I wot:
- “Allons tout doux! eh! la menotte!
- Et faites serviteur
- Comme un joli seigneur.”
- Thus she proceeds with sport and glee;
- Hope fills the oft-deluded beast;
- Yet if one moment he would lazy be
- Her fondness all at once hath ceas’d.
- She doth a flask of balsam-fire possess
- Sweeter than honey-bees can make,
- One drop of which she’ll on her finger take,
- When soften’d by his love and faithfulness,
- Wherewith her monster’s raging thirst to slake;
- Then leaves me to myself, and flies at last,
- And I, unbound, yet prison’d fast
- By magic, follow in her train,
- Seek for her, tremble, fly again.
- The hapless creature thus tormenteth she,
- Regardless of his pleasure or his woe;
- Ha! oft half-open’d does she leave the door for me,
- And sideways looks to learn if I will fly or no.
- And I—O gods! your hands alone
- Can end the spell that’s o’er me thrown;
- Free me, and gratitude my heart will fill;
- And yet from heaven ye send me down no aid—
- Not quite in vain doth life my limbs pervade:
- I feel it! Strength is left me still.

artist: e wagner.

LILI’S MENAGERIE.

LOVE’S DISTRESSES.

WHO will hear me? Whom shall I lament to?
Who would pity me that heard my sorrows?
Ah, the lip that erst so many raptures
Used to taste, and used to give responsive,
Now is cloven, and it pains me sorely;
And it is not thus severely wounded
By my mistress having caught me fiercely,
And then gently bitten me, intending
To secure her friend more firmly to her:
No, my tender lip is crack’d thus only
By the winds, o’er rime and frost proceeding,
Pointed, sharp, unloving, having met me.
Now the noble grape’s bright juice commingled
With the bee’s sweet juice, upon the fire
Of my hearth, shall ease me of my torment.
Ah, what use will all this be if with it
Love adds not a drop of his own balsam?

TO HIS COY ONE.

SEEST thou yon smiling Orange?
Upon the tree still hangs it;
Already March hath vanish’d,
And new-born flow’rs are shooting.
I draw nigh to the tree then,
And there I say: O Orange,
Thou ripe and juicy Orange,
Thou sweet and luscious Orange—
I shake the tree, I shake it—
Oh, fall into my lap!

PETITION.

OH, thou sweet maiden fair,
Thou with the raven hair,
Why to the window go?
While gazing down below,
Art standing vainly there?
Oh, if thou stood’st for me,
And lett’st the latch but fly,
How happy should I be!
How soon would I leap high!

THE MUSAGETES.

- IN the deepest nights of winter
- To the Muses kind oft cried I:
- “Not a ray of morn is gleaming,
- Not a sign of daylight breaking;
- Bring then, at the fitting moment,
- Bring the lamp’s soft glimm’ring lustre
- ’Stead of Phœbus and Aurora,
- To enliven my still labors!”
- Yet they left me in my slumbers,
- Dull and unrefreshing, lying,
- And to each late-waken’d morning
- Follow’d days devoid of profit.
- When at length return’d the springtime
- To the nightingales thus spake I:
- “Darling nightingales, oh, beat ye
- Early, early at my window,—
- Wake me from the heavy slumber
- That chains down the youth so strongly!”
- Yet the love-o’erflowing songsters
- Their sweet melodies protracted
- Through the night before my window,
- Kept awake my loving spirit,
- Rousing new and tender yearnings
- In my newly-waken’d bosom.
- And the night thus fleeted o’er me,
- And Aurora found me sleeping,—
- Ay, the sun could scarce arouse me.
- Now at length is come the summer,
- And the early fly so busy
- Draws me from my pleasing slumbers
- At the first-born morning-glimmer.
- Mercilessly then returns she,
- Though the half-aroused one often
- Scares her from him with impatience,
- And she lures her shameless sisters,
- So that from my weary eyelids
- Kindly sleep ere long is driven.
- From my couch then boldly spring I,
- And I seek the darling Muses,
- In the beechen-grove I find them
- Full of pleasure to receive me;
- And to the tormenting insects
- Owe I many a golden hour.
- Thus be ye, unwelcome beings,
- Highly valued by the poet
- As the flies my numbers tell of.

MORNING LAMENT.

- O THOU cruel deadly-lovely maiden,
- Tell me what great sin have I committed
- That thou keep’st me to the rack thus fasten’d,
- That thou hast thy solemn promise broken?
- ’Twas but yestere’en that thou with fondness
- Press’d my hand, and these sweet accents murmur’d:
- “Yes, I’ll come, I’ll come when morn approacheth,
- Come, my friend, full surely to thy chamber.”
- On the latch I left my doors, unfasten’d,
- Having first with care tried all the hinges,
- And rejoic’d right well to find they creak’d not.
- What a night of expectation pass’d I!
- For I watch’d, and ev’ry chime I number’d;
- If perchance I slept a few short moments
- Still my heart remain’d awake forever,
- And awoke me from my gentle slumbers.
- Yes, then bless’d I night’s o’erhanging darkness
- That so calmly cover’d all things round me;
- I enjoy’d the universal silence,
- While I listen’d ever in the silence
- If perchance the slightest sounds were stirring.
- “Had she only thoughts my thoughts resembling,
- Had she only feelings like my feelings,
- She would not await the dawn of morning,
- But ere this would surely have been with me.”
- Skipp’d a kitten on the floor above me,
- Scratch’d a mouse a panel in the corner,
- Was there in the house the slightest motion,
- Ever hoped I that I heard thy footstep,
- Ever thought I that I heard thee coming.
- And so lay I long, and ever longer,
- And already was the daylight dawning,
- And both here and there were signs of movement.
- “Is it yon door? Were it my door only!”
- In my bed I lean’d upon my elbow,
- Looking tow’rd the door, now half-apparent,
- If perchance it might not be in motion.
- Both the wings upon the latch continued,
- On the quiet hinges calmly hanging.
- And the day grew bright and brighter ever;
- And I heard my neighbor’s door unbolted
- As he went to earn his daily wages;
- And ere long I heard the wagons rumbling,
- And the city gates were also open’d,
- While the market-place in ev’ry corner
- Teem’d with life and bustle and confusion.
- In the house was going now and coming
- Up and down the stairs, and doors were creaking
- Backwards now, now forwards, — footsteps clatter’d;
- Yet, as though it were a thing all-living,
- From my cherish’d hope I could not tear me.
- When at length the sun, in hated splendor,
- Fell upon my walls, upon my windows,
- Up I sprang, and hasten’d to the garden,
- There to blend my breath, so hot and yearning,
- With the cool refreshing morning breezes,
- And, it might be, even there to meet thee:
- But I cannot find thee in the arbor,
- Or the avenue of lofty lindens.

THE VISIT.

- FAIN had I to-day surpris’d my mistress,
- But soon found I that her door was fasten’d.
- Yet I had the key safe in my pocket,
- And the darling door I open’d softly!
- In the parlor found I not the maiden,
- Found the maiden not within her closet,
- Then her chamber-door I gently open’d,
- When I found her wrapp’d in pleasing slumbers,
- Fully dress’d, and lying on the sofa.
- While at work had slumber stolen o’er her;
- For her knitting and her needle found I
- Resting in her folded hands so tender;
- And I placed myself beside her softly,
- And held counsel whether I should wake her.
- Then I look’d upon the beauteous quiet
- That on her sweet eyelids was reposing;
- On her lips was silent truth depicted,
- On her cheeks had loveliness its dwelling,
- And the pureness of a heart unsullied
- In her bosom evermore was heaving.
- All her limbs were gracefully reclining,
- Set at rest by sweet and godlike balsam.
- Gladly sat I, and the contemplation
- Held the strong desire I felt to wake her
- Firmer and firmer down with mystic fetters.
- “O thou love,” methought, “I see that slumber,
- Slumber that betrayeth each false feature,
- Cannot injure thee, can naught discover
- That could serve to harm thy friend’s soft feelings.
- “Now thy beauteous eyes are firmly closed,
- That, when open, form mine only rapture.
- And thy sweet lips are devoid of motion,
- Motionless for speaking or for kissing;
- Loosen’d are the soft and magic fetters
- Of thine arms, so wont to twine around me,
- And the hand, the ravishing companion
- Of thy sweet caresses, lies unmoving.
- “Were my thoughts of thee but based on error,
- Were the love I bear thee self-deception,
- I must now have found it out, since Amor
- Is, without his bandage, placed beside me.”
- Long I sat thus, full of heartfelt pleasure
- At my love, and at her matchless merit;
- She had so delighted me while slumbering
- That I could not venture to awake her.
- Then I on the little table near her
- Softly placed two oranges, two roses;
- Gently, gently stole I from her chamber.
- When her eyes the darling one shall open
- She will straightway spy these color’d presents,
- And the friendly gift will view with wonder,
- For the door will still remain unopen’d.
- If perchance I see to-night the angel,
- How will she rejoice!—reward me doubly
- For this sacrifice of fond affection!

THE MAGIC NET.

- DO I see a contest yonder?
- See I miracles or pastimes?
- Beauteous urchins, five in number,
- ’Gainst five sisters fair contending,—
- Measur’d is the time they’re beating—
- At a bright enchantress’ bidding.
- Glitt’ring spears by some are wielded,
- Threads are others nimbly twining,
- So that in their snares the weapons
- One would think must needs be captured.
- Soon, in truth, the spears are prison’d;
- Yet they, in the gentle war-dance,
- One by one escape their fetters
- In the row of loops so tender
- That make haste to seize a free one
- Soon as they release a captive.
- So with contests, strivings, triumphs,
- Flying now, and now returning,
- Is an artful net soon woven,
- In its whiteness like the snow-flakes
- That, from light amid the darkness,
- Draw their streaky lines so varied
- As e’en colors scarce can draw them.
- Who shall now receive that garment
- Far beyond all others wish’d for?
- Whom our much-lov’d mistress favor
- As her own acknowledg’d servant?
- I am bless’d by kindly Fortune’s
- Tokens true, in silence pray’d for!
- And I feel myself held captive,
- To her service now devoted.
- Yet, e’en while I, thus enraptured,
- Thus adorn’d, am proudly wand’ring,
- See! yon wantons are entwining,
- Void of strife, with secret ardor,
- Other nets, each fine and finer,
- Threads of twilight interweaving,
- Moonbeams sweet, night-violets’ balsam.
- Ere the net is noticed by us
- Is a happier one imprison’d,
- Whom we, one and all, together
- Greet with envy and with blessings.

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Miscellaneous Poems. - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Goethe’s Works, vol. 1 (Poems) [1885]

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Miscellaneous Poems.

THE GERMAN PARNASSUS.

MAHOMET’S SONG.

SPIRIT SONG OVER THE WATERS.

MY GODDESS.

WINTER JOURNEY OVER THE HARTZ MOUNTAINS.

TO FATHER KRONOS.

THE WANDERER’S STORM-SONG.

THE SEA-VOYAGE.

PROMETHEUS.

THE EAGLE AND DOVE.

GANYMEDE.

THE BOUNDARIES OF HUMANITY.

THE GODLIKE.

ROYAL PRAYER.

HUMAN FEELINGS.

LILY’S MENAGERIE.

LOVE’S DISTRESSES.

TO HIS COY ONE.

PETITION.

THE MUSAGETES.

MORNING LAMENT.

THE VISIT.

THE MAGIC NET.