No More Learning

A sonnet to have made? "
Oh, dear me, no! --upon Miss Io
(Such is the tale I heard from Clio)
The midwife to have played.
The boy, as if stamped out of wax,
Might Zeus as father fairly tax.

He read the letter half asleep,
Then started in dismay:
"The road is long, and hell is deep,
Your rocks I know are rough and steep . . .
Yet like a king he'll pay! "
He dons his cap of mist and furs,
Then through the air the charger spurs.

With locks all frizzled a la mode,
And ruffles smooth and nice,
In gala dress, that brightly glowed
(A gift Aurora had bestowed),
With watch-chains of high price,
With toes turned out, and chapeau bas,
He stood before hell's mighty czar.

BOOK II.

The grumbler, in his usual tone,
Received him with a curse:
"To Pomerania straight begone!
Ugh! how he smells of eau de Cologne!
Why, brimstone isn't worse.
He'd best be off to heaven again,
Or he'll infect hell's wide domain. "

The god of pills, in sore surprise,
A spring then backwards took:
"Is this his highness' usual guise?
'Tis in the brain, I see, that lies
The mischief--what a look!
See how his eyes in frenzy roll!
The case is bad, upon my soul!

"A journey to Elysium
The infectus would dissolve,
Making the saps less tough become,
As through the Capitolium
And stomach they revolve.
Provisionally be it so:
Let's start then--but incognito! "

"Ay, worthy sir, no doubt well meant!
If, in these regions hazy,
As with you folk, so charged with scent,
You dapper ones who heaven frequent,
'Twere proper to be lazy,
If hell a master needed not,
Why, then I'd follow on the spot!

"Ha! if the cat once turned her back,
Pray where would be the mice?
They'd sally forth from every crack,
My very mufti would attack,
Spoil all things in a trice!
Oddsbodikins! 'tis pretty cool!
I'll let him see I'm no such fool!

"A pleasant uproar happened erst,
When they assailed my tower!
No fault of mine 'twas, at the worst,
That from their desks and chains to burst
Philosophers had power.
What, has there e'er escaped a poet?
Help, heaven! what misery to know it!

"When days are long, folks talk more stuff!
Upon your seats, no doubt,
With all your cards and music rough,
And scribblings too, 'tis hard enough
The moments to eke out.
Idleness, like a flea will gnaw
On velvet cushions,--as on straw.

"My brother no attempt omits
To drive away ennui;
His lightning round about him flits,
The target with his storms he hits
(Those howls prove that to me),
Till Rhea's trembling shoulders ache,
And force me e'en for hell to quake.

"Were I grandfather Coelus, though,
You wouldn't soon escape!
Into my belly straight you'd go,
And in your swaddling-clothes cry 'oh! '
And through five windows gape!
First o'er my stream you'd have to come,
And then, perhaps, to Elysium!

"Your steed you mounted, I dare say,
In hopes to catch a goose;
If it is worth the trouble, pray
Tell what you've heard from me to-day,
At shaving time, to Zeus.
Just leave him then to swallow it;
I don't care what he thinks a bit;

"You'd better now go homeward straight!
Your servant! there's the door!
For all your pains--one moment wait!
I'll give you--liberal is the rate--
A piece of ruby-ore.
In heaven such things are rareties;
We use them for base purposes. "

BOOK III.

The god at once, then, said farewell,
At small politeness striving;
When sudden through the crowds of hell
A flying courier rushed pell-mell,
From Tellus' bounds arriving.
"Monarch! a doctor follows me!
Behold this wondrous prodigy! "

"Place for the doctor! " each one said--
He comes with spurs and whip,
To every one he nods his head,
As if he had been born and bred
In Tartarus--the rip!
As jaunty, fearless, full of nous
As Britons in the Lower House.

"Good morrow, worthy sirs! --Ahem!
I'm glad to see that here
(Where all they of Prometheus' stem
Must come, whene'er the Fates condemn)
One meets with such good cheer!
Why for Elysium care a rush?
I'd rather see hell's fountains gush! "

"Stop! stop! his impudence, I vow,
Its due reward shall meet;
By Charles's wain, I swear it now!
He must--no questions I'll allow,--
Prescribe me a receipt.
All hell is mine, I'm Pluto hight!
Make haste to bring your wares to light! "

The doctor, with a knowing look,
The swarthy king surveyed;
He neither felt his pulse, nor took
The usual steps,--(see Galen's book),--
No difference 'twould have made
As piercing as electric fire
He eyed him to his heart's desire.

"Monarch! I'll tell thee in a trice
The thing that's needed here;
Though desperate may seem the advice--
The case itself is very nice--
And children dragons fear.
Devil must devil eat! --no more! --
Either a wife,--or hellebore!

"Whether she scold, or sportive play,
('Tween these, no medium's known),
She'll drive the incubus away
That has assailed thee many a day
Upon thine iron throne.
She'll make the nimble spirits fleet
Up towards the head, down towards the feet. "

Long may the doctor honored be
Who let this saying fall!
He ought to have his effigy
By Phidias sculptured, so that he
May be discerned by all;
A monument forever thriving,
Boerhaave, Hippocrates, surviving!




REPROACH--TO LAURA.

Maiden, stay! --oh, whither wouldst thou go?
Do I still or pride or grandeur show?
Maiden, was it right?
Thou the giant mad'st a dwarf once more,
Scattered'st far the mountains that of yore
Climbed to glory's sunny height.

Thou hast doomed my flowerets to decay,
All the phantoms bright hast blown away,
Whose sweet follies formed the hero's trust;
All my plans that proudly raised their head
Thou dost, with gentle zephyr-tread,
Prostrate, laughing, in the dust.

To the godhead, eagle-like, I flew,--
Smiling, fortune's juggling wheel to view,
Careless wheresoe'er her ball might fly;
Hovering far beyond Cocytus' wave,
Death and life receiving like a slave--
Life and death from out one beaming eye!

Like the victors, who, with thunder-lance,
On the iron plain of glory dance,
Starting from their mistress' breast,--
From Aurora's rosy bed upsprings
God's bright sun, to roam o'er towns of kings,
And to make the young world blest!

Toward the hero doth this heart still strain?
Drink I, eagle, still the fiery rain
Of thine eye, that burneth to destroy?
In the glances that destructive gleam,
Laura's love I see with sweetness beam,--
Weep to see it--like a boy!

My repose, like yonder image bright,
Dancing in the waters--cloudless, light,
Maiden, hath been slain by thee!
On the dizzy height now totter I--
Laura--if from me--my Laura fly!
Oh, the thought to madness hurries me!

Gladly shout the revellers as they quaff,
Raptures in the leaf-crowned goblet laugh,
Jests within the golden wine have birth,
Since the maiden hath enslaved my mind,
I have left each youthful sport behind,
Friendless roam I o'er the earth.

Hear I still bright glory's thunder-tone?
Doth the laurel still allure me on?
Doth thy lyre, Apollo Cynthius?
In my breast no echoes now arise,
Every shamefaced muse in sorrow flies,--
And thou, too, Apollo Cynthius?

Shall I still be, as a woman, tame?
Do my pulses, at my country's name,
Proudly burst their prison-thralls?
Would I boast the eagle's soaring wing?
Do I long with Roman blood to spring,
When my Hermann calls?

Oh, how sweet the eye's wild gaze divine
Sweet to quaff the incense at that shrine!
Prouder, bolder, swells the breast.
That which once set every sense on fire,
That which once could every nerve inspire,
Scarce a half-smile now hath power to wrest!

That Orion might receive my fame,
On the time-flood's heaving waves my name
Rocked in glory in the mighty tide;
So that Kronos' dreaded scythe was shivered,
When against my monument is quivered,
Towering toward the firmament in pride.

Smil'st thou? --No? to me naught's perished now!
Star and laurel I'll to fools allow,
To the dead their marble cell;--
Love hath granted all as my reward,
High o'er man 'twere easy to have soared,
So I love him well!




THE SIMPLE PEASANT. [62]

MATTHEW.
Gossip, you'll like to hear, no doubt!
A learned work has just come out--
Messias is the name 'twill bear;
The man has travelled through the air,
And on the sun-beplastered roads
Has lost shoe-leather by whole loads,--
Has seen the heavens lie open wide,
And hell has traversed with whole hide.
The thought has just occurred to me
That one so skilled as he must be
May tell us how our flax and wheat arise.
What say you? --Shall I try to ascertain?

LUKE.
You fool, to think that any one so wise
About mere flax and corn would rack his brain.




ACTAEON.

Thy wife is destined to deceive thee!
She'll seek another's arms and leave thee,
And horns upon thy head will shortly sprout!
How dreadful that when bathing thou shouldst see me
(No ether-bath can wash the stigma out),
And then, in perfect innocence, shouldst flee me!




MAN'S DIGNITY.

I am a man! --Let every one
Who is a man, too, spring
With joy beneath God's shining sun,
And leap on high, and sing!

To God's own image fair on earth
Its stamp I've power to show;
Down to the front, where heaven has birth
With boldness I dare go.

'Tis well that I both dare and can!
When I a maiden see,
A voice exclaims: thou art a man!
I kiss her tenderly.

And redder then the maiden grows,
Her bodice seems too tight--
That I'm a man the maiden knows,
Her bodice therefore's tight.

Will she, perchance, for pity cry,
If unawares she's caught?
She finds that I'm a man--then, why
By her is pity sought?

I am a man; and if alone
She sees me drawing near,
I make the emperor's daughter run,
Though ragged I appear.

This golden watchword wins the smile
Of many a princess fair;
They call--ye'd best look out the while,
Ye gold-laced fellows there!

That I'm a man is fully shown
Whene'er my lyre I sweep;
It thunders out a glorious tone--
It otherwise would creep.

The spirit that my veins now hold,
My manhood calls its brother!
And both command, like lions bold,
And fondly greet each other.

From out this same creative flood
From which we men have birth,
Both godlike strength and genius bud,
And everything of worth.

My talisman all tyrants hates,
And strikes them to the ground;
Or guides us gladly through life's gates
To where the dead are found.

E'en Pompey, at Pharsalia's fight,
My talisman o'erthrew;
On German sand it hurled with might
Rome's sensual children, too.

Didst see the Roman, proud and stern,
Sitting on Afric's shore?
His eyes like Hecla seem to burn,
And fiery flames outpour.

Then comes a frank and merry knave,
And spreads it through the land:
"Tell them that thou on Carthage's grave
Hast seen great Marius stand! "

Thus speaks the son of Rome with pride,
Still mighty in his fall;
He is a man, and naught beside,--
Before him tremble all.

His grandsons afterwards began
Their portions to o'erthrow,
And thought it well that every man
Should learn with grace to crow.

For shame, for shame,--once more for shame!
The wretched ones? --they've even
Squandered the tokens of their fame,
The choicest gifts of heaven.

God's counterfeit has sinfully
Disgraced his form divine,
And in his vile humanity
Has wallowed like the swine.

The face of earth each vainly treads,
Like gourds, that boys in sport
Have hollowed out to human heads,
With skulls, whose brains are--naught.

Like wine that by a chemist's art
Is through retorts refined,
Their spirits to the deuce depart,
The phlegma's left behind.

From every woman's face they fly,
Its very aspect dread,--
And if they dared--and could not--why,
'Twere better they were dead.

They shun all worthies when they can,
Grief at their joy they prove--
The man who cannot make a man,
A man can never love!

The world I proudly wander o'er,
And plume myself and sing
I am a man! --Whoe'er is more?
Then leap on high, and spring!




THE MESSIAD.

Religion 'twas produced this poem's fire;
Perverted also? --prithee, don't inquire!




THOUGHTS ON THE 1ST OCTOBER, 1781.

What mean the joyous sounds from yonder vine-clad height?
What the exulting Evoe? [63]
Why glows the cheek? Whom is't that I, with pinions light,
Swinging the lofty Thyrsus see?

Is it the genius whom the gladsome throng obeys?
Do I his numerous train descry?
In plenty's teeming horn the gifts of heaven he sways,
And reels from very ecstacy! --

See how the golden grape in glorious beauty shines,
Kissed by the earliest morning-beams!
The shadow of yon bower, how lovingly it signs,
As it with countless blessings teams!

Ha! glad October, thou art welcome unto me! --
October's first-born, welcome thou!
Thanks of a purer kind, than all who worship thee,
More heartfelt thanks I'm bringing now!

For thou to me the one whom I have loved so well,
And love with fondness to the grave,
Who merits in my heart forevermore to dwell,--
The best of friends in Rieger [64] gave.

'Tis true thy breath doth rock the leaves upon the trees,
And sadly make their charms decay;
Gently they fall:--and swift, as morning phantasies
With those who waken, fly away.

'Tis true that on thy track the fleecy spoiler hastes,
Who makes all Nature's chords resound
With discord dull, and turns the plains and groves to wastes,
So that they sadly mourn around.

See how the gloomy forms of years, as on they roll,
Each joyous banquet overthrows,
When, in uplifted hand, from out the foaming bowl,
Joy's noble purple brightly flows!

See how they disappear, when friends sweet converse hold,
And loving wander arm-in-arm;
And, to revenge themselves on winter's north wind cold,
Upon each other's breasts grow warm!

And when spring's children smile upon us once again,
When all the youthful splendor bright,
When each melodious note of each sweet rapturous strain
Awakens with it each delight:

How joyous then the stream that our whole soul pervades!
What life from out our glances pours!
Sweet Philomela's song, resounding through the glades,
Ourselves, our youthful strength restores!

Oh, may this whisper breathe--(let Rieger bear in mind
The storm by which in age we're bent! )--
His guardian angel, when the evening's star so kind
Gleams softly from the firmament!

In silence be he led to yonder thundering height,
And guided be his eye, that he,
In valley and on plain, may see his friends aright.
And that, with growing ecstacy,

On yonder holy spot, when he their number tells,
He may experience friendship's bliss,
Now first unveiled, until with pride his bosom swells,
Conscious that all their love is his.

Then will the distant voice be loudly heard to say:
"And G--, too, is a friend of thine!
When silvery locks no more around his temples play,
G-- still will be a friend of thine! "

"E'en yonder"--and now in his eye the crystal tear
Will gleam--"e'en yonder he will love!
Love thee too, when his heart, in yonder spring-like sphere,
Linked on to thine, can rapture prove! "




EPITAPH.

Here lies a man cut off by fate
Too soon for all good men;
For sextons he died late--too late
For those who wield the pen.




QUIRL.

You tell me that you feel surprise
Because Quirl's paper's grown in size;
And yet they're crying through the street
That there's a rise in bread and meat.




THE PLAGUE.

A PHANTASY.

Plague's contagious murderous breath
God's strong might with terror reveals,
As through the dreary valley of death
With its brotherhood fell it steals!

Fearfully throbs the anguish-struck heart,
Horribly quivers each nerve in the frame;
Frenzy's wild laughs the torment proclaim,
Howling convulsions disclose the fierce smart.

Fierce delirium writhes upon the bed--
Poisonous mists hang o'er the cities dead;
Men all haggard, pale, and wan,
To the shadow-realm press on.
Death lies brooding in the humid air,
Plague, in dark graves, piles up treasures fair,
And its voice exultingly raises.
Funeral silence--churchyard calm,
Rapture change to dread alarm. --
Thus the plague God wildly praises!




MONUMENT OF MOOR THE ROBBER. [65]

'Tis ended!
Welcome! 'tis ended
Oh thou sinner majestic,
All thy terrible part is now played!

Noble abased one!
Thou, of thy race beginner and ender!
Wondrous son of her fearfulest humor,
Mother Nature's blunder sublime!

Through cloud-covered night a radiant gleam!
Hark how behind him the portals are closing!
Night's gloomy jaws veil him darkly in shade!
Nations are trembling,
At his destructive splendor afraid!
Thou art welcome! 'Tis ended!
Oh thou sinner majestic,
All thy terrible part is now played!

Crumble,--decay
In the cradle of wide-open heaven!
Terrible sight to each sinner that breathes,
When the hot thirst for glory
Raises its barriers over against the dread throne!
See! to eternity shame has consigned thee!
To the bright stars of fame
Thou hast clambered aloft, on the shoulders of shame!
Yet time will come when shame will crumble beneath thee,
When admiration at length will be thine!

With moist eye, by thy sepulchre dreaded,
Man has passed onward--
Rejoice in the tears that man sheddeth,
Oh thou soul of the judged!
With moist eye, by the sepulchre dreaded,
Lately a maiden passed onward,
Hearing the fearful announcement
Told of thy deeds by the herald of marble;
And the maiden--rejoice thee! rejoice thee!
Sought not to dry up her tears.
Far away I stood as the pearls were falling,
And I shouted: Amalia!

Oh, ye youths! Oh, ye youths! --
With the dangerous lightning of genius
Learn to play with more caution!
Wildly his bit champs the charger of Phoebus;
Though, 'neath the reins of his master,
More gently he rocks earth and heaven,
Reined by a child's hand, he kindles
Earth and heaven in blazing destruction!
Obstinate Phaeton perished,
Buried beneath the sad wreck.

Child of the heavenly genius!
Glowing bosom all panting for action!
Art thou charmed by the tale of my robber?
Glowing like time was his bosom, and panting for action!
He, like thee, was the child of the heavenly genius.
But thou smilest and goest--
Thy gaze flies through the realms of the world's long story,
Moor, the robber, it finds not there--
Stay, thou youth, and smile not!
Still survive all his sins and his shame--
Robber Moor liveth--in all but name.




THE BAD MONARCHS. [66]

Earthly gods--my lyre shall win your praise,
Though but wont its gentle sounds to raise
When the joyous feast the people throng;
Softly at your pompous-sounding names,
Shyly round your greatness purple flames,
Trembles now my song.

Answer! shall I strike the golden string,
When, borne on by exultation's wing,
O'er the battle-field your chariots trail?
When ye, from the iron grasp set free,
For your mistress' soft arms, joyously
Change your pond'rous mail? --

Shall my daring hymn, ye gods, resound,
While the golden splendor gleams around,
Where, by mystic darkness overcome,
With the thunderbolt your spleen may play,
Or in crime humanity array,
Till--the grave is dumb?

Say! shall peace 'neath crowns be now my theme?
Shall I boast, ye princes, that ye dream? --
While the worm the monarch's heart may tear,
Golden sleep twines round the Moor by stealth,
As he, at the palace, guards the wealth,
Guards--but covets ne'er.

Show how kings and galley-slaves, my Muse,
Lovingly one single pillow use,--
How their lightnings flatter, when surpressed,
When their humors have no power to harm,
When their mimic minotaurs are calm,
And--the lions rest!

Up, thou Hecate! with thy magic seal
Make the barred-up grave its wealth reveal,--
Hark! its doors like thunder open spring;
When death's dismal blast is heard to sigh,
And the hair on end stands fearfully,
Princes' bliss I sing!

Do I hear the strand, the coast, detect
Where your wishes' haughty fleet was wrecked,
Where was stayed your greatness' proud career
That they ne'er with glory may grow warm,
Night, with black and terror-spreading arm,
Forges monarchs here.

On the death-chest sadly gleams the crown,
With its heavy load of pearls weighed down,
And the sceptre, needed now no more.
In what splendor is the mould arrayed!
Yet but worms are with the body paid,
That--the world watched o'er.

Haughty plants within that humble bed
See how death their pomp decayed and fled
With unblushing ribaldry besets!
They who ruled o'er north and east and west
Suffer now his ev'ry nauseous jest,
And--no sultan threats?

Leap for joy, ye stubborn dumb, to-day,
And your heavy slumber shake away!
From the battle, victory upsprings!
Hearken to the trump's exulting song!
Ye are worshipped by the shouting throng! --
Rouse ye, then, ye kings!

Seven sleepers! --to the clarion hark!
How it rings, and how the fierce dogs bark!
Shouts from out a thousand barrels whizz;
Eager steeds are neighing for the wood,--
Soon the bristly boar rolls in his blood,--
Yours the triumph is!

But what now? --Are even princes dumb?
Tow'rd me scornful echoes ninefold come,
Stealing through the vault's terrific gloom--
Sleep assails the page by slow degrees,
And Madonna gives to you the keys
Of--her sleeping-room.

Not an answer--hushed and still is all--
Does the veil, then, e'en on monarchs fall,
Which enshrouds their humble flatt'rers glance?
And ye ask for worship in the dust,
Since the blind jade, Fate, a world has thrust
In your purse, perchance?

And ye clatter, giant puppet troops,
Marshalled in your proudly childish groups,
Like the juggler on the opera scene? --
Though the sound may please the vulgar ear,
Yet the skilful, filled with sadness, jeer
Powers so great, but mean.

Let your towering shame be hid from sight
In the garment of a sovereign's right,
From the ambush of the throne outspring!
Tremble, though, before the voice of song
Through the purple, vengeance will, ere long,
Strike down e'en a king!




THE SATYR AND MY MUSE.

An aged satyr sought
Around my Muse to pass,
Attempting to pay court,
And eyed her fondly through his glass.

By Phoebus' golden torch,
By Luna's pallid light,
Around her temple's porch
Crept the unhappy sharp-eared wight;

And warbled many a lay,
Her beauty's praise to sing,
And fiercely scraped away
On his discordant fiddle-string.

With tears, too, swelled his eyes,
As large as nuts, or larger;
He gasped forth heavy sighs,
Like music from Silenus' charger.

The Muse sat still, and played
Within her grotto fair,
And peevishly surveyed
Signor Adonis Goatsfoot there.

"Who ever would kiss thee,
Thou ugly, dirty dunce?
Wouldst thou a gallant be,
As Midas was Apollo once?

"Speak out, old horned boor
What charms canst thou display?
Thou'rt swarthy as a Moor,
And shaggy as a beast of prey.

"I'm by a bard adored
In far Teutonia's land;
To him, who strikes the chord,
I'm linked in firm and loving band. "

She spoke, and straightway fled
The spoiler,--he pursued her,
And, by his passion led,
Soon caught her, shouted, and thus wooed her:

"Thou prudish one, stay, stay!
And hearken unto me!
Thy poet, I dare say,
Repents the pledge he gave thee.

"Behold this pretty thing,--
No merit would I claim,--
Its weight I often fling
On many a clown's back, to his shame.

"His sharpness it increases,
And spices his discourse,
Instilling learned theses,
When mounted on his hobby-horse

"The best of songs are known,
Thanks to this heavy whip
Yet fool's blood 'tis alone
We see beneath its lashes drip.

"This lash, then, shall be his,
If thou'lt give me a smack;
Then thou mayest hasten, miss,
Upon thy German sweetheart's track. "

The Muse, with purpose sly,
Ere long agreed to yield--
The satyr said good-by,
And now the lash I wield!

And I won't drop it here,
Believe in what I say!
The kisses of one's dear
One does not lightly throw away.

They kindle raptures sweet,
But fools ne'er know their flame!
The gentle Muse will kneel at honor's feet,
But cudgels those who mar her fame.




THE PEASANTS. [67]

Look outside, good friend, I pray!
Two whole mortal hours
Dogs and I've out here to-day
Waited, by the powers!

Rain comes down as from a spout,
Doomsday-storms rage round about,

Dripping are my hose;
Drenched are coat and mantle too,
Coat and mantle, both just new,
Wretched plight, heaven knows!
Pretty stir's abroad to-day;
Look outside, good friend, I pray!

Ay, the devil! look outside!
Out is blown my lamp,--
Gloom and night the heavens now hide,
Moon and stars decamp.
Stumbling over stock and stone,
Jerkin, coat, I've torn, ochone!

Let me pity beg
Hedges, bushes, all around,
Here a ditch, and there a mound,
Breaking arm and leg.
Gloom and night the heavens now hide
Ay, the devil! look outside!

Ay, the deuce, then look outside!
Listen to my prayer!
Praying, singing, I have tried,
Wouldst thou have me swear?
I shall be a steaming mass,
Freeze to rock and stone, alas!
If I don't remove.
All this, love, I owe to thee,
Winter-bumps thou'lt make for me,
Thou confounded love!
Cold and gloom spread far and wide!
Ay, the deuce! then look outside!

Thousand thunders! what's this now
From the window shoots?
Oh, thou witch! 'Tis dirt, I vow,
That my head salutes!
Rain, frost, hunger, tempests wild,
Bear I for the devil's child,
Now I'm vexed full sore.
Worse and worse 'tis! I'll begone.
Pray be quick, thou Evil One!
I'll remain no more.
Pretty tumult there's outside!
Fare thee well--I'll homeward stride.




THE WINTER NIGHT.

Farewell! the beauteous sun is sinking fast,
The moon lifts up her head;
Farewell! mute night o'er earth's wide round at last
Her darksome raven-wing has spread.

Across the wintry plain no echoes float,
Save, from the rock's deep womb,
The murmuring streamlet, and the screech-owl's note,
Arising from the forest's gloom.

The fish repose within the watery deeps,
The snail draws in his head;
The dog beneath the table calmly sleeps,
My wife is slumbering in her bed.

A hearty welcome to ye, brethren mine!
Friends of my life's young spring!
Perchance around a flask of Rhenish wine
Ye're gathered now, in joyous ring.

The brimming goblet's bright and purple beams
Mirror the world with joy,
And pleasure from the golden grape-juice gleams--
Pleasure untainted by alloy.

Concealed behind departed years, your eyes
Find roses now alone;
And, as the summer tempest quickly flies,
Your heavy sorrows, too, are flown.

From childish sports, to e'en the doctor's hood,
The book of life ye thumb,
And reckon o'er, in light and joyous mood,
Your toils in the gymnasium;

Ye count the oaths that Terence--may he ne'er,
Though buried, calmly slumber! --
Caused you, despite Minelli's notes, to swear,--
Count your wry faces without number.

How, when the dread examinations came,
The boy with terror shook!
How, when the rector had pronounced his name,
The sweat streamed down upon his book!

All this is now involved in mist forever,
The boy is now a man,
And Frederick, wiser grown, discloses never
What little Fritz once loved to plan.

At length--a doctor one's declared to be,--
A regimental one!
And then,--and not too soon,--discover we
That plans soap-bubbles are alone. [68]

Blow on! blow on! and let the bubbles rise,
If but this heart remain!
And if a German laurel as the prize
Of song, 'tis given me to gain!




THE WIRTEMBERGER.

The name of Wirtemberg they hold
To come from Wirth am berg [69], I'm told.
A Wirtemberger who ne'er drinks
No Wirtemberger is, methinks!




THE MOLE.

HUSBAND.
The boy's my very image! See!
Even the scars my small-pox left me!

WIFE.
I can believe it easily
They once of all my senses reft me.




HYMN TO THE ETERNAL.

'Twixt the heavens and earth, high in the airy ocean,
In the tempest's cradle I'm borne with a rocking motion;
Clouds are towering,
Storms beneath me are lowering,
Giddily all the wonders I see,
And, O Eternal, I think of Thee!

All Thy terrible pomp, lend to the Finite now,
Mighty Nature! Oh, of Infinity, thou
Giant daughter!
Mirror God, as in water!
Tempest, oh, let thine organ-peal
God to the reasoning worm reveal!

Hark! it peals--how the rocks quiver beneath its growls
Zeboath's glorious name, wildly the hurricane howls!
Graving the while
With the lightning's style
"Creatures, do ye acknowledge me? "--
Spare us, Lord! We acknowledge Thee!




DIALOGUE.

A.
Hark, neighbor, for one moment stay!
Herr Doctor Scalpel, so they say,
Has got off safe and sound;
At Paris I your uncle found
Fast to a horse's crupper bound,--
Yet Scalpel made a king his prey.

B.
Oh, dear me, no! A real misnomer!
The fact is, he has his diploma;
The other one has not.

A.
Eh? What? Has a diploma?
In Suabia may such things be got?




EPITAPH

ON A CERTAIN PHYSIOGNOMIST.

On every nose he rightly read
What intellects were in the head
And yet--that he was not the one
By whom God meant it to be done,
This on his own he never read.




TRUST IN IMMORTALITY.

The dead has risen here, to live through endless ages;
This I with firmness trust and know.
I was first led to guess it by the sages,
The knaves convince me that 'tis really so.






APPENDIX OF POEMS ETC. IN SCHILLER'S DRAMATIC WORKS.


APPENDIX.

The following variations appear in the first two verses of Hector's
Farewell, as given in The Robbers, act ii. scene 2.


ANDROMACHE.
Wilt thou, Hector, leave me? --leave me weeping,
Where Achilles' murderous blade is heaping
Bloody offerings on Patroclus' grave?
Who, alas, will teach thine infant truly
Spears to hurl, the gods to honor duly,
When thou'rt buried 'neath dark Xanthus' wave?