An instrument
Fashioned by art, or but a tool, perhaps?
Fashioned by art, or but a tool, perhaps?
Warner - World's Best Literature - v13 - Her to Hux
One ode seems to
show Herrick as belonging to the circle of wits who met to drink
sack and spiced wine at the Mermaid or the Triple Tun. It is ad-
dressed to Ben Jonson, and begins:-
"Ah, Ben!
Say, how or when
Shall we, thy guests,
Meet at those lyric feasts
Made at the Sun,
The Dog, the Triple Tun?
Where we such clusters had
As made us nobly wild, not mad;
And yet each verse of thine
Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine! »
Herrick wrote most of his verses at Dean Prior, where he lived
as an old bachelor in his rustic vicarage, hung with the honeysuckle
that he loved so well. His companions were Prudence Baldwin, his
housekeeper; Tracy, a pet spaniel; Phil, a tame sparrow; a cat, a pet
lamb, a goose, a few chickens, and a pig, which he taught to delight
in the dregs of his ale jug. He commends Prudence in various
verses for her loyalty, and when she dies, writes this epitaph:-
"In this little urn is laid
Prudence Baldwin (once my maid),
From whose happy spark here let
Spring the purple violet. »
-
## p. 7308 (#102) ###########################################
7308
ROBERT HERRICK
Herrick does not like Devonshire; he laughs at the country folk
in scraps of verse; and once he throws his sermon at his inattentive
hearers, whom he calls-
"A people currish, churlish as the seas,
And rude, almost as rude as savages. "
He constantly sighs for London; he hates Cromwell, and though
valuing his home, he will not subscribe to Puritanism, and is turned
out of Dean Prior by the government. Returning to London in 1648,
he drops his ecclesiastical habit and title and publishes 'Hesperides. '
Perhaps his friends aid him; perhaps he lives in Bohemia, out at
elbows but not unhappy. Whatever his estate, the good-natured
Charles II. restored him in 1660 to Dean Prior, where he died in his
eighty-fourth year, October 15th, 1674.
His portrait shows him in clerical garb with a Roman head, the
profile of the voluptuous Roman emperors, and a broad bull-throat,
which loved to quaff the blushing wine-cup or a tankard of froth-
ing beer. He is at times an amatory poet, and at times a looker-on
at country fairs and merrymakings, enjoying Twelfth Night revels,
Christmas wassailings, Whitsun ales, May games, wakes, and bridals,
morris dancers, mummers, and every manifestation of "nut-brown
mirth. "
The gay old vicar seems never so light of heart as when inditing
his tiny lyrics to those imaginary beauties whom he addresses as
Corinna, Silvia, Anthea, Electra, Diamene, Perilla, and Perinna. Julia
was a real love. Her lips are cherries, her teeth "quarelets of pearl,"
her cheeks roses, her tears "the dew of roses," her voice silver, while
her very shadow "breathes of pomander. " She is his "queen-priest";
when she is ill, the flowers wither in sympathy; and when he dies,
he is sure the "myrrh of her breath" will be sufficient to embalm
him. How splendid is her apparel! her azure petticoat sprinkled with
golden stars, under which her little feet play bo-peep; her jeweled
stomacher; her slashed sleeves; and her lawn neckerchief smelling of
musk and ambergris. How her silks shimmer, clinging to her as she
walks or blowing from her like a flame! How lovely are the "roses
on her bosom," her hair "filled with dew," the golden net that binds
her ringlets, her lacing-strings, her fillet, her ring, her ribbons, and
her bracelet!
Just as Herrick loves the coquetry of dress, he loves the goodies
his Prudence makes him: the custards, mince pies, almond paste,
frumenty, wassail, Twelfth Night cakes, possets of wine. He encour-
ages himself to hospitality:-
*From pomme d'ambre, a mixture of perfumes.
## p. 7309 (#103) ###########################################
ROBERT HERRICK
7309
"Yet can thy humble roof maintain a choir
Of singing Crickets by the fire;
And the brisk Mouse may feast herself with crumbs,
Till that the green-eyed Kitling comes. »
'The Hesperides has been frequently compared to the 'Carmina'
of Catullus; but Gosse in his sympathetic study of Herrick shows him
as more like Martial. He points out also how much Herrick owes to
Ben Jonson's Masques,' a debt which the pupil acknowledges in a-
PRAYER TO BEN JONSON
WHEN I a verse shall make,
Know I have prayed thee
For old religion's sake,
Saint Ben, to aid me.
Make the way smooth to me
When I, thy Herrick,
Honoring thee on my knee,
Offer my lyric!
Candles I'll give to thee,
And a new altar,
And thou, Saint Ben, shalt be
Writ in my Psalter.
With a few exceptions, the Noble Numbers' are written in the
same spirit. "Here," says Gosse, "our pagan priest is seen despoiled
of his vine wreath and his thyrsus, doing penance in a white sheet
and with a candle in his hand. That rubicund visage, with its sly
eye and prodigious jowl, looks ludicrously out of place in the peni-
tential surplice; but he is evidently sincere, though not very deep in
his repentance, and sings hymns of faultless orthodoxy with a loud
and lusty voice to the old pagan airs. " It must be remembered that
Herrick wrote some beautiful 'Epithalamia,' and that with him the
poetic literature of England's fairy lore, so choicely described in
Drayton's 'Nymphidia,' in Browne's 'Pastorals,' and in Ben Jonson's
'Oberon,' died, killed by the chill of Puritanism. In his own day his
verses were greatly admired, and many of them were set to music.
His first published poem was 'Oberon's Feast,' which appeared in a
'Description of the King and Queen of Fairies' (1635). Half forgot-
ten for two generations, Herrick was revived by Nichols in an article
in the Gentleman's Magazine in 1796, by a sketch in Dr. Drake's
'Literary Hours,' and by a few selected poems issued by Dr. Nott in
1810. Many modern editions exist; that of Alfred Pollard, published
in 1891, contains a fine critical preface by Swinburne.
## p. 7310 (#104) ###########################################
ROBERT HERRICK
7310
A THANKSGIVING
ORD, thou hast given me a cell
Wherein to dwell;
A little house, whose humble roof
Is weather-proof;
L
Under the spars of which I lie
Both soft and dry.
Where thou, my chamber for to ward,
Hast set a guard
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Me while I sleep.
Low is my porch, as is my fate,
Both void of state;
And yet the threshold of my door
Is worn by the poor,
Who hither come, and freely get
Good words or meat.
Like as my parlor, so my hall,
And kitchen small;
A little buttery, and therein
A little bin,
Which keeps my little loaf of bread
Unchipt, unflead.
Some brittle sticks of thorn or brier
Make me a fire,
Close by whose living coal I sit,
And glow like it.
Lord, I confess, too, when I dine,
The pulse is thine,
And all those other bits that be
There placed by thee:
The worts, the purslane, and the mess
Of water-cress,
Which of thy kindness thou hast sent;
And my content
Makes those, and my belovèd beet,
To be more sweet.
'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth
With guiltless mirth;
And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink,
Spiced to the brink.
Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand
That sows my land;
## p. 7311 (#105) ###########################################
ROBERT HERRICK
7311
All this, and better, dost thou send
Me for this end:
That I should render for my part
A thankful heart,
Which, fired with incense, I resign
As wholly thine;
But the acceptance - that must be
O Lord, by thee.
TO KEEP A TRUE LENT
I
S THIS a fast-to keep
The larder lean,
And clean
From fat of veals and sheep?
Is it to quit the dish
Of flesh, yet still
To fill
The platter high with fish?
Is it to fast an hour,
Or ragged to go,
Or show
A downcast look and sour?
No! 'Tis a fast to dole
Thy sheaf of wheat,
And meat,
Unto the hungry soul.
It is to fast from strife,
From old debate
And hate;
To circumcise thy life.
To show a heart grief-rent;
To starve thy sin,
Not bin,-
And that's to keep thy Lent.
## p. 7312 (#106) ###########################################
7312
ROBERT HERRICK
TO FIND GOD
WEI
EIGH me the fire: or canst thou find
A way to measure out the wind;
Distinguish all those floods that are
Mixt in the watery theatre;
And taste thou them as saltless there
As in their channel first they were;
Tell me the people that do keep
Within the kingdoms of the deep;
Or fetch me back that cloud again,
Beshivered into seeds of rain;
Tell me the motes, dust, sands, and spears
Of corn, when Summer shakes his ears;
Show me thy world of stars, and whence
They noiseless spill their influence:
This if thou canst: then show me Him
That rides the glorious cherubim.
TO DAFFODILS
AIR Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon:
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attained his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
FA
But to the evensong;
And having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.
We have short time to stay as you;
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay
As you, or anything.
We die,
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the summer's rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.
## p. 7313 (#107) ###########################################
ROBERT HERRICK
7313
TO DAISIES, NOT TO SHUT SO SOON
SHUT
HUT not so soon; the dull-eyed night
Has not as yet begun
To make a seisure on the light,
Or to seal up the sun.
XIII-458
No marigolds yet closed are;
No shadows great appear;
Nor doth the early shepherds'-star
Shine like a spangle here.
Stay ye but till my Julia close
Her life-begetting eye;
And let the whole world then dispose
Itself to live or die.
STAY
TAY while ye will, or go;
And leave no scent behind ye;
Yet trust me, I shall know
The place where I may find ye:
WHY
TO CARNATIONS
TO PRIMROSES FILLED WITH MORNING DEW
Y do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears
Speak grief in you,
Who were but born
Just as the morn
Teemed her refreshing dew?
Alas! ye have not known that shower
That mars a flower;
Nor felt th' unkind
Breath of the blasting wind;
Nor are ye worn with years;
Or warped, as we,
Who think it strange to see
Within my Lucia's cheek
(Whose livery ye wear),
Play ye at hide-and-seek,—
I'm sure to find ye there.
## p. 7314 (#108) ###########################################
ROBERT HERRICK
7314
Such pretty flowers, like unto orphans young,
Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue.
Speak, whimpering younglings, and make known
The reason why
Ye droop and weep.
Is it for want of sleep,
Or childish lullaby?
Or that ye have not seen as yet
The violet?
Or brought a kiss
From that sweetheart to this?
No, no; this sorrow, shown
By your tears shed,
Would have this lecture read:
"That things of greatest, so of meanest worth,
Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth. ”
YⓇ
TO MEADOWS
E HAVE been fresh and green;
Ye have been filled with flowers;
And ye the walks have been
Where maids have spent their hours;
Ye have beheld where they
With wicker arks did come,
To kiss and bear away
The richer cowslips home;
You've heard them sweetly sing,
And seen them in a round;
Each virgin, like the spring.
With honeysuckles crowned.
But now we see none here
Whose silvery feet did tread,
And with disheveled hair
Adorned this smoother mead.
Like unthrifts, having spent
Your stock, and needy grown,
You're left here to lament
Your poor estates alone.
## p. 7315 (#109) ###########################################
ROBERT HERRICK
7315
TO VIOLETS
ELCOME, maids of honor:
You do bring
In the Spring,
WE
And wait upon her.
She has virgins many
Fresh and fair;
Yet you are
More sweet than any.
Y' are the maiden posies,
And so graced
To be placed
Fore damask roses.
Yet though thus respected,
By-and-by
Ye do lie,
Poor girls, neglected.
HⓇ
THE NIGHT PIECE-TO JULIA
ER eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting-stars attend thee;
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
No Will-o-th'-wisp mislight thee,
Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee:
But on thy way
Not making stay,
Since ghost there's none t'affright thee!
Let not the dark thee cumber;
What though the moon does slumber?
The stars of the night
Will lend thee their light,
Like tapers clear, without number.
Then, Julia, let me woo thee
Thus, thus to come unto me;
And when I shall meet
Thy silvery feet,
My soul I'll pour into thee
## p. 7316 (#110) ###########################################
7316
ROBERT HERRICK
MRS. ELIZ. WHEELER
UNDER THE NAME OF THE LOST SHEPHERDESS
MONG the myrtles as I walkt,
Love and my sighs thus intertalkt:
Tell me, said I, in deep distress,
Where I may find my Shepherdess.
Thou fool, said Love, know'st thou not this?
A
In everything that's sweet, she is.
In yond' carnation go and seek
Where thou shalt find her lip and cheek;
In that enameled pansy by,
There thou shalt have her curious eye;
In bloom of peach and rose's bud,
There waves the streamer of her blood.
'Tis true, said I; and thereupon
I went to pluck them one by one,
To make of parts an union;
But on a sudden all were gone.
At which I stopt: said Love, these be
The true resemblances of thee;
For as these flowers, thy joys must die,
And in the turning of an eye;
And all thy hopes of her must wither,
Like those short sweets ere knit together.
DELIGHT IN DISORDER
A
SWEET disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness :
A Lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distractión-
An erring Lace, which here and there
Enthralls the crimson Stomacher-
A Cuffe neglectful, and thereby
Ribbands to flow confusedly.
A winning wave (deserving Note)
In the tempestuous petticoat-
A careless shoestring, in whose tye
I see a wild civility—
Do more bewitch me, than when Art
Is too precise in every part.
## p. 7317 (#111) ###########################################
7317
HENRIK HERTZ
(1798-1870)
HE literary activity of Henrik Hertz falls within the golden
age of Danish literature. The opening years of the nine-
teenth century brought Oehlenschläger's first great poem,
followed by his Poetical Writings' and tragedies. A little later,
Hauch began writing his lyrics and romances in verse; Heiberg was
taking his position as critic and as creator of the Danish vaudeville;
Heiberg's mother, the Baroness Gyllembourg, was writing her popu-
lar novels, shielding her identity by signing them "By the Author of
'An Every-Day Story" (her first successful
novel); and finally, Hans Christian Ander-
sen joined the ranks with his famous 'Fairy
Tales. ' On the threshold of the century
stood Baggesen, who in spite of his sincere
admiration for the rising school of roman-
ticism had remained the representative of
the classic school, and had fought a brave
battle for form, when Oehlenschläger in the
enthusiasm of a wider vision began to neg-
lect it.
Continuing the line of Denmark's liter-
ary men of the first rank came Hertz, whose
career at the outset had-temporarily-a
direct connection with Baggesen. As dis-
tinguished among the greater Danish lyrical poets and the writers of
his own time, he may be called the poet of passion, while Oehlen-
schläger stands as the poet of dignity, and Heiberg as the poet of
form. Born of Jewish parents in Copenhagen, on August 25th, 1798,
the boy was early orphaned, and brought up by a relative, an editor
of a leading newspaper. A literary atmosphere thus became his nat-
ural element early in life; and it is not remarkable that he showed his
preference for authorship and his gifts for it rather than for the bar,
to which he was nevertheless called in 1825. He began his literary
activity with three or four plays, including 'Buchardt and his Fam-
ily' (1827), 'Love and Policy,' and 'Cupid's Strokes of Genius' (1830).
But in the last-mentioned year, when Baggesen had been dead some
four years, Copenhagen was startled by the publication of a satirical
HENRIK HERTZ
## p. 7318 (#112) ###########################################
7318
HENRIK HERTZ
literary criticism, purporting to be the great poet's message and com-
mentary from another world, under the title of Letters of a Ghost. '
It exhibited Baggesen's ironical humor, critical insight, and finish of
style; but all was blended with a wider sympathy and a broader tol-
erance than Baggesen had shown during his later years. The volume
was by Henrik Hertz, who however did not acknowledge the author-
ship till later, though the book met with enormous success and was
the talk of the town for a season. It may be noted in passing that
the Letters' contained a cutting criticism of Hans Christian Ander-
sen's earlier writings, severe enough to cause that sensitive author
many an hour of depression; and that when Andersen met Hertz
some years later in Rome, he had not yet conquered his dread of
the critic. They became excellent friends; and when Andersen found
his true field and held it, with his fairy tales, Hertz became one of
his warmest admirers.
Continuing to devote himself to the stage, Hertz wrote The
Savings Bank,' a comedy which had a great success, and still holds
the stage to-day. In 1838 he advanced into the romantic drama in
verse, Svend Dyring's House. ' The subject of this piece he took
from the old Danish folk-songs, and kept throughout their tone of
simplicity and tenderness. We find in this drama the knightly lover
cutting runes in an apple, that he may by their help win the love of
the gentle Regisse. We have the wicked stepmother who tries to win
the knight for her own unlovable daughter, cruelly neglecting Regisse
and her little sisters. We have the ghost of the dead mother, who
comes at night to give her own little children the motherly care they
so sadly need. Finally, after much sorrow, the lovers are happily
united. All is framed in the most exquisite verse, and presented with
great literary charm and dramatic power. The subject was so essen-
tially Danish, however, that it did not spread Hertz's fame outside of
his own country.
To the foreign world, in fact, Henrik Hertz is principally known
by one work, 'King René's Daughter,' a charming romantic drama,
dated as late as 1845. It was read and acted with immediate and
immense success in Denmark, where it is still in every repertory,
and thence passed into the standard library of the cultivated world.
In 1848 followed the author's tragedy of 'Ninon,' a high proof of his
artistic and dramatic power; but 'Ninon' is not universally known
like its charming predecessor. King René's Daughter,' the scene
of which is laid in Provence, is of most simple texture. It is more
like a pretty folk-tale than a drama, although its half-dozen person-
ages include historical ones, and even its heroine, the gentle Iolanthe,
is an idealized Princess Yolande, daughter of the real King René. It
is full of the charm of innocence, pure love, and chivalric romance,
## p. 7319 (#113) ###########################################
HENRIK HERTZ
7319
and a certain idyllic freshness exhales from every page and situation
of it, like the perfume from the roses in the blind Iolanthe's garden.
Sweet, almost pastoral and yet moving to a romantic climax, it is in
touch with such things as Shakespeare's 'Winter's Tale,' or some of
those Provençal legends that the poets of Southern France have set
in verse. The diction is beautiful, and rarely has so happy a balance
between the play to read and the play to act been maintained. It
has passed into translations everywhere; and, a distinctively Southern
subject treated by a Northern poet, it stands for a kind of graft of
palm on pine.
Hertz's life was his literary work; and the record of that is its
most interesting element to the world. He died in Copenhagen,
February 25th, 1870.
THE BLIND PRINCESS
From King René's Daughter'
[The Princess Iolanthe, a lovely maid, has been brought up in complete
ignorance of the fact that her beautiful eyes have ever lacked the power of
sight, and in entire inability to judge of what the faculty of sight may be to
others. She has never heard of it, and is so free and unconstrained in all her
movements as not to need such a sense for her further happiness. Count Tris-
tan of Vaudemont makes his way to her garden retreat, and falls passionately
in love with her, unaware of her misfortune; and so ensues this dialogue. ]
RISTAN-Pray give me one of yonder blushing roses,
TRE
That rear their petals, fairest 'mongst all flowers,
As though they were the counterfeit of thee!
Iolanthe - A rose?
Tristan
Oh, willingly! [Plucks and gives him a white rose.
Ah, it is white!
-
Give me the red one, that is fair as thou!
Iolanthe - What meanest thou? – a red one?
Tristan [pointing]-
Iolanthe -Take it thyself!
Tristan-
One of these.
No; let me keep the rose
Which thou hast chosen, which thy fair hand has gathered.
And in good sooth, I do applaud thy choice.
For the white rose, within whose calyx sleeps
A faint and trembling ruddiness, betypes
The dream-like beauty of this garden fair.
Give me another rose a white one too;
Then with the twin flowers will I deck my cap,
And wear them as thy colors evermore.
## p. 7320 (#114) ###########################################
HENRIK HERTZ
7320
Iolanthe plucks and gives him a red rose] -
Here is a rose: meanest thou one like this?
Tristan [starts]—I asked thee for a white rose.
Iolanthe
Well, and this?
Tristan - Why this? [Aside. ] What thought comes o'er me?
[Aloud. ] Nay, then, tell me
How many roses have I in my hand?
Iolanthe [stretches out her hand towards them] –
――――
Give me them, then.
Tristan
Iolanthe
Tristan [aside]-
-
Iolanthe
-
[Holds up the two roses, along with another which he
has himself gathered]
How can I so?
Iolanthe
Tristan -
Tristan [confused]--
[Aloud, and with a faltering voice] —
Nay, I am sure you know.
Alas! alas! she's blind!
No; you mistake.
If I would know how anything is shaped,
Or what its number, I must touch it first.
Is not this clear?
Nay, tell me without touching.
Yes, certainly; you're right.
And yet sometimes-
—
Well, well?
sometimes? Speak! speak!
I think there are — that there are certain things
Which we distinguish by their hues alone,
-
As various kinds of flowers, and various stuffs.
Iolanthe - Thou mean'st by this their character, their form-
Is it not so?
Nay, not exactly that.
Tristan -
Iolanthe - Is it so hard, then, to distinguish flowers?
Are not the roses round and soft and fine,
Round to the feeling, as the zephyr's breath,
And soft and glowing as a summer's eve?
Are gilliflowers like roses? No; their scent
Bedizzies, like the wine I gave to thee.
And then a cactus- are its arrowy points
Not stinging, like the wind when frosts are keen?
Tristan [aside]- Amazement!
[Aloud. ]
Have they never told thee, then,
That objects, things, can be distinguished, though
Placed at a distance, with the aid-of-sight?
Iolanthe― At distance? Yes! I by his twittering know
The little bird that sits upon the roof,
And in like fashion, all men by their voice.
-
## p. 7321 (#115) ###########################################
HENRIK HERTZ
7321
The sprightly steed whereon I daily ride,
I know him in the distance by his pace,
And by his neigh. Yet-with the help of sight?
They told me not of that.
An instrument
Fashioned by art, or but a tool, perhaps?
I do not know this sight. Canst teach me, then,
Its use and purpose?
Tristan [aside]-
O Almighty powers!
She does not know or dream that she is blind.
-
Iolanthe [after a pause] —
-
Whence art thou? Thou dost use so many words
I find impossible to understand;
And in thy converse, too, there is so much
For me quite new and strange! Say, is the vale
Which is thy home so very different
From this of ours? Then stay, if stay thou canst,
And teach me all that I am wanting in.
Tristan No, O thou sweet and gracious lady, no!
I cannot teach what thou art wanting in.
Iolanthe - - Didst thou but choose, I do believe thou couldst.
They tell me I am tractable and apt.
Many who erewhile have been here have taught me
Now this, now that, which readily I learned.
Make but the trial! I am very sure
Thou hat'st me not. Thy tones are mild and gentle.
Thou wilt not say me nay, when I entreat.
Oh speak! I'm all attention when thou speakest.
Tristan Alas! attention here will stead thee little.
Yet tell me one thing. Thou hast surely learned
That of thy lovely frame there is no part
Without its purpose, or without its use.
Thy hand and fingers serve to grasp at much;
Thy foot, so tiny as it is, with ease
Transports thee wheresoe'er thy wishes point;
The sound of words, the tone, doth pierce the soul
Through the ear's small and tortuous avenues;
The stream of language gushes from thy lips;
Within thy breast abides the delicate breath,
Which heaves, unclogged with care, and sinks again.
Iolanthe All this I've noted well. Prithee, go on.
Tristan - Then tell me, to what end dost thou suppose
Omnipotence hath gifted thee with eyes?
Of what avail to thee are those twin stars,
That sparkle with such wondrous brilliancy
They scorn to grasp the common light of day?
## p. 7322 (#116) ###########################################
7322
HENRIK HERTZ
Iolanthe [touches her eyes, then muses for a little]-
Tristan-
You ask of what avail ? - how can you ask?
And yet I ne'er have given the matter thought.
My eyes! my eyes! 'Tis easy to perceive.
At eve, when I am weary, slumber first
Droops heavy on my eyes, and thence it spreads
O'er all my body, with no thought of mine,
As feeling vibrates from each finger's tip.
Thus, then, I know my eyes avail me much.
And hast not thou experience had enough,
Wherein thine eyes can minister to thee?
Only the other morn, as I was planting
A little rosebush here, a nimble snake
Leapt out and bit me in the finger; then
With the sharp pain I wept. Another time,
When I had pined for many tedious days,
Because my father was detained from home,
I wept for very gladness when he came!
Through tears I gave my bursting heart relief,
And at mine eyes it found a gushing vent.
Then never ask me unto what avail
Omnipotence hath gifted me with eyes.
Through them when I am weary comes repose,
Through them my sorrow's lightened; and through them
My joy is raised to rapture.
Oh, forgive me!
The question was most foolish; for in thee
Is such an inward radiancy of soul,
Thou hast no need of that which by the light
We through the eye discern. Say, shall I deem
That thou of some unheard-of race art sprung,
Richly endowed with other powers than we?
Thou livest lonely here; this valley, too,
Seems conjured forth by magic 'mongst the hills.
Hast thou come hither from the golden East,
With Peris in thy train? or art thou one
Of Brahma's daughters, and from Ind hast been
Transported hither by a sorcerer ?
O beautiful unknown! if thou be'st sprung
Of mortal men who call the earth their mother,
Be thou to life's so transitory joys
Susceptible as I, and deign to look
With favor on a knight's devoted love!
Hear this his vow: No woman shall efface
## p. 7323 (#117) ###########################################
HENRIK HERTZ
7323
(Stand she in birth and beauty ne'er so high)
The image thou hast stamped upon my soul!
Iolanthe [after a pause-
Thy words are laden with a wondrous power.
Say, from what master didst thou learn the art
To charm by words which yet are mysteries?
Meseemed as though I trod some path alone,
Which I had never trod before; and yet
All seems to me-all, all that thou hast said-
So godlike, so enchanting! Oh speak on-
Yet no,- speak not! rather let me in thought
Linger along the words which thou hast spoken,
That mingled pain and rapture in my soul!
OLANTHE
Iolanthe
Enter Ebn Jahia, the Moorish Physician, leading Iolanthe by the hand.
He beckons to the others to retire
Where art thou leading me?
O God! where am I? Support me-oh, support me!
Ebn Jahia-
Calm thee, my child!
Ebn Jahia-
Translation of Theodore Martin.
THE AWAKENING TO SIGHT
From King René's Daughter'
Iolanthe
Support me. oh, stand still!
I ne'er was here before-what shall I do
Ebn Jahia -
In this strange place? Oh, what is that? Support me!
It comes so close on me it gives me pain.
Iolanthe, calm thee! Look upon the earth!
That still hath been to thee thy truest friend,
And now, too, greets thee with a cordial smile-
This is the garden thou hast ever tended.
Iolanthe -My garden - mine? Alas! I know it not.
The plants are terrible to see - take care!
They're falling on us!
Cease your fears, my child:
These stately trees are the date-palms, whose leaves
And fruit to thee have been long known.
Ah, no!
Indeed, I know them not! [Raises her eyes toward the sky.
This radiance, too,
That everywhere surrounds me-yon great vault,
## p. 7324 (#118) ###########################################
HENRIK HERTZ
7324
Ebn Jahia-
Iolanthe -
That arches there above us-oh, how high! —
What is it? Is it God? Is it his spirit,
Which as you said pervades the universe?
Ebn Jahia-
Yon radiance is the radiance of the light.
God is in it, like as he is in all.
Yon blue profound that fills yon airy vault,
It is the heaven, where, as we do believe,
God hath set up his glorious dwelling-place.
Kneel down, my child! and raise your hands on high,
To heaven's o'er-arching vault, to God—and pray!
Ah, teach me, then, to pray to him as I ought.
No one hath ever told me how I should
Pray to this Deity who rules the world!
Iolanthe [kneels] -
René-
--
Then kneel thee down, my darling child, and say –
"Mysterious Being, who to me hast spoken
When darkness veiled mine eyes, teach me to seek thee
In thy light's beams, that do illume this world;
Still, in the world, teach me to cling to thee! "
Mysterious Being, who to me hast spoken
When darkness veiled mine eyes, teach me to seek thee
In thy light's beams, that do illume this world;
Still, in the world, teach me to cling to thee! —
Yes, he hath heard me. I can feel he hath,
And on me pours the comfort of his peace.
He is the only one that speaks to me,
Invisible and kindly, as before.
Ebn Jahia-
Arise! arise, my child, and look around.
Iolanthe Say, what are these, that bear such noble forms?
Ebn Jahia -
Thou know'st them all.
Iolanthe
René [approaching Iolanthe --
Look on me, Iolanthe
Iolanthe [embracing him-
――
________________
Ah, no; I can know nothing.
me, thy father!
My father! Oh, my God! thou art my father!
I know thee now-thy voice, thy clasping hand.
Stay here! Be my protector, be my guide!
I am so strange here in this world of light.
They've taken all that I possessed away-
All that in old time was thy daughter's joy.
I have culled out a guide for thee, my child.
## p. 7325 (#119) ###########################################
HENRIK HERTZ
7325
René-
Iolanthe Whom mean'st thou?
René pointing to Tristan - See, he stands expecting thee.
Iolanthe -The stranger yonder? Is he one of those
Bright cherubim thou once didst tell me of?
Is he the Angel of the light come down?
Thou knowest him-hast spoken with him.
Iolanthe-With him? with him? [Holds her hands before her eyes.
Think!
Father, I understand.
In yonder glorious form must surely dwell
The voice that late I heard - gentle, yet strong;
The one sole voice that lives in nature's round.
[To Tristan, who advances towards her] —
Oh, but one word of what thou saidst before!
O sweet and gracious lady!
Tristan
Iolanthe
-
René-
List, oh list!
With these dear words the light's benignant rays
Found out a way to me; and these sweet words
With my heart's warmth are intimately blent.
Tristan [embraces her]-
Iolanthe! Dearest!
Blessings on you both
From God, whose wondrous works we all revere !
Translation of Theodore Martin.
## p. 7326 (#120) ###########################################
7326
HESIOD
(NINTH CENTURY B. C. ? )
OR as to Hesiod and Homer, I judge them to have been four
hundred years before me, and not more. It was they who
made a theogony for the Greeks, assigned names to the
gods, distributed their honors and arts, and revealed their forms. The
poets stated to have been before these really lived later than they, in
my judgment. " These words are from the credulous, shrewd, quaint
father of history, Herodotus, and were written between 450 and 400
B. C. The two poets, then, are assigned to the ninth century B. C.
As to the Homeric school, the latest investigations are in agreement
with this early estimate of their age. Hesiod, however, is a younger
member of that school; probably a century later than the chief author
of the Iliad, whom he clearly imitates. Indeed, the use of the Ionic
dialect and epic phrase at all, in an obscure Boeotian village, can
hardly have any other explanation. He is, however, the first of
Greek poets in another sense; for splendid as is the pageant of Tro-
jan myth, the personality of the Homeric singer or singers evades us
completely. The homely unheroic figure of Hesiod, dwelling in his
humble village of Ascra under Helicon, is the earliest of the poets
really visible to us.
Hesiod represents a back current of colonial Asiatic culture, re-
turning to the yet rude undeveloped motherland. His father had
emigrated from Kymè in Asia Minor, a chief centre of Trojan myth
and epic, back to-
"Ascra, in winter vile, most villainous
In summer, and at no time glorious,»
as the ungrateful minstrel describes his birthplace!
Hesiod actually
pastured his sheep on Helicon, and his vision of the Muses has located
them there forever.
The chief creation of Hesiod is called 'Works and Days'; i. e. ,
which to do them. It is
farmers' tasks, and lucky or fit days on
nowise like an almanac in form, however. The poem of a thousand
hexameter verses is dedicated, as it were, to his ungracious brother
Perses. The latter, we hear, had bribed the judges and so secured
the lion's share of the family estate. Again reduced to poverty by
appealed to the poet, who has nothing for
Moreover, Hesiod takes a pessimistic view
sloth and waste, he has
him but caustic advice.
## p. 7327 (#121) ###########################################
HESIOD
7327
of human life. His own iron age is the worst among five successive
periods, and life is hardly endurable. The only break, indeed, in the
gradual decay from the golden through the silvern and brazen ages,
is the interposition-between the latter and the poet's day of iron-
of the nobler heroic age; and the sieges of Thebes and Troy are ex-
pressly mentioned, to point this reminiscence of Homeric song. Zeus
has never forgiven men for Prometheus's theft of fire, and has "hidden
the means of subsistence"; i. e. , has said to man, "In the sweat of
thy brow shalt thou earn thy bread. " The Pandora episode, also, is
brought in to explain the manifold miseries that vex mortal life.
The transitions from one branch of this wide-ranging theme to
another are rather stiff and awkward. Some parts of the poem are
probably lost; and where it becomes, as often, a mere string of max-
ims, the temptation to interpolate similar apophthegms has haunted
the copyists in every age. Altogether, the poem is more interest-
ing piecemeal than as a whole. Still, in the main, it is a genuine
production of a feebly inspired, rather prosy eighth-century rustic
philosopher. In fact, it is our earliest didactic sermon in verse.
The other poem usually assigned to Hesiod- viz. , the 'Theogony'-
is the first connected attempt at tracing the origin of the Greek gods.
It is no description of creation, much less an attempt to solve the
mystery of existence. In the main we have a mere genealogy of the
family sprung from Uranus and Gê (Heaven and Earth), who in turn
are supplied with a sort of ancestry. Herodotus must not mislead us
into thinking these strange figures are the creation of Hesiod, or who-
ever of his school left us the 'Theogony. ' The poet does probably
little more than to record, and in some degree to harmonize, tales
already more or less generally current. Many stories of cannibalism
and outrageous immorality among the gods must have come down
from utterly savage forefathers. These uncanny heirlooms were never
definitely discarded in pagan Greece. Some of the worst accounts of
Divine wickedness were so entangled with beautiful and well-loved
myths that they have been immortalized in the drama, in lyric, in
works of plastic art, and cannot be ignored in any view of Greek
life and thought. Philosophers, and even poets, did indeed make
fearless protest against the ascription of any grievous wickedness to
Deity. Yet it must be confessed that from Homer's song downward,
the gods are altogether inferior in motive and action to the truly
heroic men and women, either of myth and poetry or of historic
record. And this crude and ignoble popular mythology was fixed
and nationalized above all by the Hesiodic Theogony. ' Even so
pure, devout, and original a poet as Eschylus, in the 'Prometheus'
copies Hesiod in many details, though he is probably combating di-
rectly the elder poet's view of Zeus's purpose and character.
-
## p. 7328 (#122) ###########################################
7328
HESIOD
It will be evident, then, that the works of Hesiod are of extreme
interest and value, not chiefly as poetry, but as an early record of
man's gropings about the roots of mystery. The moral philosopher,
the student of mythology, even the historian of agriculture, may find
here more inspiration than the poet.
Symonds (in his 'Greek Poets'), Jebb, and Mahaffy, all have genial
chapters upon Hesiod. We recommend first, however, the literal prose
version in the Bohn library, which is supplied with helpful notes.
The same volume contains metrical versions of both poems by Elton.
In the citations below from the Works and Days,' some attempt is
made to indicate the rhythm and line-for-line arrangement of the
original Greek. The only available edition of Hesiod's poems with
English notes is by F. A. Paley, in the 'Bibliotheca Classica. ' Much
better is the edition including the fragments of lost works, with Latin
notes, by Göttling.
PANDORA
From the Works and Days'
Z
EUS in the wrath of his heart hath hidden the means of subsistence,
Wrathful because he once was deceived by the wily Prometheus.
show Herrick as belonging to the circle of wits who met to drink
sack and spiced wine at the Mermaid or the Triple Tun. It is ad-
dressed to Ben Jonson, and begins:-
"Ah, Ben!
Say, how or when
Shall we, thy guests,
Meet at those lyric feasts
Made at the Sun,
The Dog, the Triple Tun?
Where we such clusters had
As made us nobly wild, not mad;
And yet each verse of thine
Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine! »
Herrick wrote most of his verses at Dean Prior, where he lived
as an old bachelor in his rustic vicarage, hung with the honeysuckle
that he loved so well. His companions were Prudence Baldwin, his
housekeeper; Tracy, a pet spaniel; Phil, a tame sparrow; a cat, a pet
lamb, a goose, a few chickens, and a pig, which he taught to delight
in the dregs of his ale jug. He commends Prudence in various
verses for her loyalty, and when she dies, writes this epitaph:-
"In this little urn is laid
Prudence Baldwin (once my maid),
From whose happy spark here let
Spring the purple violet. »
-
## p. 7308 (#102) ###########################################
7308
ROBERT HERRICK
Herrick does not like Devonshire; he laughs at the country folk
in scraps of verse; and once he throws his sermon at his inattentive
hearers, whom he calls-
"A people currish, churlish as the seas,
And rude, almost as rude as savages. "
He constantly sighs for London; he hates Cromwell, and though
valuing his home, he will not subscribe to Puritanism, and is turned
out of Dean Prior by the government. Returning to London in 1648,
he drops his ecclesiastical habit and title and publishes 'Hesperides. '
Perhaps his friends aid him; perhaps he lives in Bohemia, out at
elbows but not unhappy. Whatever his estate, the good-natured
Charles II. restored him in 1660 to Dean Prior, where he died in his
eighty-fourth year, October 15th, 1674.
His portrait shows him in clerical garb with a Roman head, the
profile of the voluptuous Roman emperors, and a broad bull-throat,
which loved to quaff the blushing wine-cup or a tankard of froth-
ing beer. He is at times an amatory poet, and at times a looker-on
at country fairs and merrymakings, enjoying Twelfth Night revels,
Christmas wassailings, Whitsun ales, May games, wakes, and bridals,
morris dancers, mummers, and every manifestation of "nut-brown
mirth. "
The gay old vicar seems never so light of heart as when inditing
his tiny lyrics to those imaginary beauties whom he addresses as
Corinna, Silvia, Anthea, Electra, Diamene, Perilla, and Perinna. Julia
was a real love. Her lips are cherries, her teeth "quarelets of pearl,"
her cheeks roses, her tears "the dew of roses," her voice silver, while
her very shadow "breathes of pomander. " She is his "queen-priest";
when she is ill, the flowers wither in sympathy; and when he dies,
he is sure the "myrrh of her breath" will be sufficient to embalm
him. How splendid is her apparel! her azure petticoat sprinkled with
golden stars, under which her little feet play bo-peep; her jeweled
stomacher; her slashed sleeves; and her lawn neckerchief smelling of
musk and ambergris. How her silks shimmer, clinging to her as she
walks or blowing from her like a flame! How lovely are the "roses
on her bosom," her hair "filled with dew," the golden net that binds
her ringlets, her lacing-strings, her fillet, her ring, her ribbons, and
her bracelet!
Just as Herrick loves the coquetry of dress, he loves the goodies
his Prudence makes him: the custards, mince pies, almond paste,
frumenty, wassail, Twelfth Night cakes, possets of wine. He encour-
ages himself to hospitality:-
*From pomme d'ambre, a mixture of perfumes.
## p. 7309 (#103) ###########################################
ROBERT HERRICK
7309
"Yet can thy humble roof maintain a choir
Of singing Crickets by the fire;
And the brisk Mouse may feast herself with crumbs,
Till that the green-eyed Kitling comes. »
'The Hesperides has been frequently compared to the 'Carmina'
of Catullus; but Gosse in his sympathetic study of Herrick shows him
as more like Martial. He points out also how much Herrick owes to
Ben Jonson's Masques,' a debt which the pupil acknowledges in a-
PRAYER TO BEN JONSON
WHEN I a verse shall make,
Know I have prayed thee
For old religion's sake,
Saint Ben, to aid me.
Make the way smooth to me
When I, thy Herrick,
Honoring thee on my knee,
Offer my lyric!
Candles I'll give to thee,
And a new altar,
And thou, Saint Ben, shalt be
Writ in my Psalter.
With a few exceptions, the Noble Numbers' are written in the
same spirit. "Here," says Gosse, "our pagan priest is seen despoiled
of his vine wreath and his thyrsus, doing penance in a white sheet
and with a candle in his hand. That rubicund visage, with its sly
eye and prodigious jowl, looks ludicrously out of place in the peni-
tential surplice; but he is evidently sincere, though not very deep in
his repentance, and sings hymns of faultless orthodoxy with a loud
and lusty voice to the old pagan airs. " It must be remembered that
Herrick wrote some beautiful 'Epithalamia,' and that with him the
poetic literature of England's fairy lore, so choicely described in
Drayton's 'Nymphidia,' in Browne's 'Pastorals,' and in Ben Jonson's
'Oberon,' died, killed by the chill of Puritanism. In his own day his
verses were greatly admired, and many of them were set to music.
His first published poem was 'Oberon's Feast,' which appeared in a
'Description of the King and Queen of Fairies' (1635). Half forgot-
ten for two generations, Herrick was revived by Nichols in an article
in the Gentleman's Magazine in 1796, by a sketch in Dr. Drake's
'Literary Hours,' and by a few selected poems issued by Dr. Nott in
1810. Many modern editions exist; that of Alfred Pollard, published
in 1891, contains a fine critical preface by Swinburne.
## p. 7310 (#104) ###########################################
ROBERT HERRICK
7310
A THANKSGIVING
ORD, thou hast given me a cell
Wherein to dwell;
A little house, whose humble roof
Is weather-proof;
L
Under the spars of which I lie
Both soft and dry.
Where thou, my chamber for to ward,
Hast set a guard
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Me while I sleep.
Low is my porch, as is my fate,
Both void of state;
And yet the threshold of my door
Is worn by the poor,
Who hither come, and freely get
Good words or meat.
Like as my parlor, so my hall,
And kitchen small;
A little buttery, and therein
A little bin,
Which keeps my little loaf of bread
Unchipt, unflead.
Some brittle sticks of thorn or brier
Make me a fire,
Close by whose living coal I sit,
And glow like it.
Lord, I confess, too, when I dine,
The pulse is thine,
And all those other bits that be
There placed by thee:
The worts, the purslane, and the mess
Of water-cress,
Which of thy kindness thou hast sent;
And my content
Makes those, and my belovèd beet,
To be more sweet.
'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth
With guiltless mirth;
And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink,
Spiced to the brink.
Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand
That sows my land;
## p. 7311 (#105) ###########################################
ROBERT HERRICK
7311
All this, and better, dost thou send
Me for this end:
That I should render for my part
A thankful heart,
Which, fired with incense, I resign
As wholly thine;
But the acceptance - that must be
O Lord, by thee.
TO KEEP A TRUE LENT
I
S THIS a fast-to keep
The larder lean,
And clean
From fat of veals and sheep?
Is it to quit the dish
Of flesh, yet still
To fill
The platter high with fish?
Is it to fast an hour,
Or ragged to go,
Or show
A downcast look and sour?
No! 'Tis a fast to dole
Thy sheaf of wheat,
And meat,
Unto the hungry soul.
It is to fast from strife,
From old debate
And hate;
To circumcise thy life.
To show a heart grief-rent;
To starve thy sin,
Not bin,-
And that's to keep thy Lent.
## p. 7312 (#106) ###########################################
7312
ROBERT HERRICK
TO FIND GOD
WEI
EIGH me the fire: or canst thou find
A way to measure out the wind;
Distinguish all those floods that are
Mixt in the watery theatre;
And taste thou them as saltless there
As in their channel first they were;
Tell me the people that do keep
Within the kingdoms of the deep;
Or fetch me back that cloud again,
Beshivered into seeds of rain;
Tell me the motes, dust, sands, and spears
Of corn, when Summer shakes his ears;
Show me thy world of stars, and whence
They noiseless spill their influence:
This if thou canst: then show me Him
That rides the glorious cherubim.
TO DAFFODILS
AIR Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon:
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attained his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
FA
But to the evensong;
And having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.
We have short time to stay as you;
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay
As you, or anything.
We die,
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the summer's rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.
## p. 7313 (#107) ###########################################
ROBERT HERRICK
7313
TO DAISIES, NOT TO SHUT SO SOON
SHUT
HUT not so soon; the dull-eyed night
Has not as yet begun
To make a seisure on the light,
Or to seal up the sun.
XIII-458
No marigolds yet closed are;
No shadows great appear;
Nor doth the early shepherds'-star
Shine like a spangle here.
Stay ye but till my Julia close
Her life-begetting eye;
And let the whole world then dispose
Itself to live or die.
STAY
TAY while ye will, or go;
And leave no scent behind ye;
Yet trust me, I shall know
The place where I may find ye:
WHY
TO CARNATIONS
TO PRIMROSES FILLED WITH MORNING DEW
Y do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears
Speak grief in you,
Who were but born
Just as the morn
Teemed her refreshing dew?
Alas! ye have not known that shower
That mars a flower;
Nor felt th' unkind
Breath of the blasting wind;
Nor are ye worn with years;
Or warped, as we,
Who think it strange to see
Within my Lucia's cheek
(Whose livery ye wear),
Play ye at hide-and-seek,—
I'm sure to find ye there.
## p. 7314 (#108) ###########################################
ROBERT HERRICK
7314
Such pretty flowers, like unto orphans young,
Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue.
Speak, whimpering younglings, and make known
The reason why
Ye droop and weep.
Is it for want of sleep,
Or childish lullaby?
Or that ye have not seen as yet
The violet?
Or brought a kiss
From that sweetheart to this?
No, no; this sorrow, shown
By your tears shed,
Would have this lecture read:
"That things of greatest, so of meanest worth,
Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth. ”
YⓇ
TO MEADOWS
E HAVE been fresh and green;
Ye have been filled with flowers;
And ye the walks have been
Where maids have spent their hours;
Ye have beheld where they
With wicker arks did come,
To kiss and bear away
The richer cowslips home;
You've heard them sweetly sing,
And seen them in a round;
Each virgin, like the spring.
With honeysuckles crowned.
But now we see none here
Whose silvery feet did tread,
And with disheveled hair
Adorned this smoother mead.
Like unthrifts, having spent
Your stock, and needy grown,
You're left here to lament
Your poor estates alone.
## p. 7315 (#109) ###########################################
ROBERT HERRICK
7315
TO VIOLETS
ELCOME, maids of honor:
You do bring
In the Spring,
WE
And wait upon her.
She has virgins many
Fresh and fair;
Yet you are
More sweet than any.
Y' are the maiden posies,
And so graced
To be placed
Fore damask roses.
Yet though thus respected,
By-and-by
Ye do lie,
Poor girls, neglected.
HⓇ
THE NIGHT PIECE-TO JULIA
ER eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting-stars attend thee;
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
No Will-o-th'-wisp mislight thee,
Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee:
But on thy way
Not making stay,
Since ghost there's none t'affright thee!
Let not the dark thee cumber;
What though the moon does slumber?
The stars of the night
Will lend thee their light,
Like tapers clear, without number.
Then, Julia, let me woo thee
Thus, thus to come unto me;
And when I shall meet
Thy silvery feet,
My soul I'll pour into thee
## p. 7316 (#110) ###########################################
7316
ROBERT HERRICK
MRS. ELIZ. WHEELER
UNDER THE NAME OF THE LOST SHEPHERDESS
MONG the myrtles as I walkt,
Love and my sighs thus intertalkt:
Tell me, said I, in deep distress,
Where I may find my Shepherdess.
Thou fool, said Love, know'st thou not this?
A
In everything that's sweet, she is.
In yond' carnation go and seek
Where thou shalt find her lip and cheek;
In that enameled pansy by,
There thou shalt have her curious eye;
In bloom of peach and rose's bud,
There waves the streamer of her blood.
'Tis true, said I; and thereupon
I went to pluck them one by one,
To make of parts an union;
But on a sudden all were gone.
At which I stopt: said Love, these be
The true resemblances of thee;
For as these flowers, thy joys must die,
And in the turning of an eye;
And all thy hopes of her must wither,
Like those short sweets ere knit together.
DELIGHT IN DISORDER
A
SWEET disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness :
A Lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distractión-
An erring Lace, which here and there
Enthralls the crimson Stomacher-
A Cuffe neglectful, and thereby
Ribbands to flow confusedly.
A winning wave (deserving Note)
In the tempestuous petticoat-
A careless shoestring, in whose tye
I see a wild civility—
Do more bewitch me, than when Art
Is too precise in every part.
## p. 7317 (#111) ###########################################
7317
HENRIK HERTZ
(1798-1870)
HE literary activity of Henrik Hertz falls within the golden
age of Danish literature. The opening years of the nine-
teenth century brought Oehlenschläger's first great poem,
followed by his Poetical Writings' and tragedies. A little later,
Hauch began writing his lyrics and romances in verse; Heiberg was
taking his position as critic and as creator of the Danish vaudeville;
Heiberg's mother, the Baroness Gyllembourg, was writing her popu-
lar novels, shielding her identity by signing them "By the Author of
'An Every-Day Story" (her first successful
novel); and finally, Hans Christian Ander-
sen joined the ranks with his famous 'Fairy
Tales. ' On the threshold of the century
stood Baggesen, who in spite of his sincere
admiration for the rising school of roman-
ticism had remained the representative of
the classic school, and had fought a brave
battle for form, when Oehlenschläger in the
enthusiasm of a wider vision began to neg-
lect it.
Continuing the line of Denmark's liter-
ary men of the first rank came Hertz, whose
career at the outset had-temporarily-a
direct connection with Baggesen. As dis-
tinguished among the greater Danish lyrical poets and the writers of
his own time, he may be called the poet of passion, while Oehlen-
schläger stands as the poet of dignity, and Heiberg as the poet of
form. Born of Jewish parents in Copenhagen, on August 25th, 1798,
the boy was early orphaned, and brought up by a relative, an editor
of a leading newspaper. A literary atmosphere thus became his nat-
ural element early in life; and it is not remarkable that he showed his
preference for authorship and his gifts for it rather than for the bar,
to which he was nevertheless called in 1825. He began his literary
activity with three or four plays, including 'Buchardt and his Fam-
ily' (1827), 'Love and Policy,' and 'Cupid's Strokes of Genius' (1830).
But in the last-mentioned year, when Baggesen had been dead some
four years, Copenhagen was startled by the publication of a satirical
HENRIK HERTZ
## p. 7318 (#112) ###########################################
7318
HENRIK HERTZ
literary criticism, purporting to be the great poet's message and com-
mentary from another world, under the title of Letters of a Ghost. '
It exhibited Baggesen's ironical humor, critical insight, and finish of
style; but all was blended with a wider sympathy and a broader tol-
erance than Baggesen had shown during his later years. The volume
was by Henrik Hertz, who however did not acknowledge the author-
ship till later, though the book met with enormous success and was
the talk of the town for a season. It may be noted in passing that
the Letters' contained a cutting criticism of Hans Christian Ander-
sen's earlier writings, severe enough to cause that sensitive author
many an hour of depression; and that when Andersen met Hertz
some years later in Rome, he had not yet conquered his dread of
the critic. They became excellent friends; and when Andersen found
his true field and held it, with his fairy tales, Hertz became one of
his warmest admirers.
Continuing to devote himself to the stage, Hertz wrote The
Savings Bank,' a comedy which had a great success, and still holds
the stage to-day. In 1838 he advanced into the romantic drama in
verse, Svend Dyring's House. ' The subject of this piece he took
from the old Danish folk-songs, and kept throughout their tone of
simplicity and tenderness. We find in this drama the knightly lover
cutting runes in an apple, that he may by their help win the love of
the gentle Regisse. We have the wicked stepmother who tries to win
the knight for her own unlovable daughter, cruelly neglecting Regisse
and her little sisters. We have the ghost of the dead mother, who
comes at night to give her own little children the motherly care they
so sadly need. Finally, after much sorrow, the lovers are happily
united. All is framed in the most exquisite verse, and presented with
great literary charm and dramatic power. The subject was so essen-
tially Danish, however, that it did not spread Hertz's fame outside of
his own country.
To the foreign world, in fact, Henrik Hertz is principally known
by one work, 'King René's Daughter,' a charming romantic drama,
dated as late as 1845. It was read and acted with immediate and
immense success in Denmark, where it is still in every repertory,
and thence passed into the standard library of the cultivated world.
In 1848 followed the author's tragedy of 'Ninon,' a high proof of his
artistic and dramatic power; but 'Ninon' is not universally known
like its charming predecessor. King René's Daughter,' the scene
of which is laid in Provence, is of most simple texture. It is more
like a pretty folk-tale than a drama, although its half-dozen person-
ages include historical ones, and even its heroine, the gentle Iolanthe,
is an idealized Princess Yolande, daughter of the real King René. It
is full of the charm of innocence, pure love, and chivalric romance,
## p. 7319 (#113) ###########################################
HENRIK HERTZ
7319
and a certain idyllic freshness exhales from every page and situation
of it, like the perfume from the roses in the blind Iolanthe's garden.
Sweet, almost pastoral and yet moving to a romantic climax, it is in
touch with such things as Shakespeare's 'Winter's Tale,' or some of
those Provençal legends that the poets of Southern France have set
in verse. The diction is beautiful, and rarely has so happy a balance
between the play to read and the play to act been maintained. It
has passed into translations everywhere; and, a distinctively Southern
subject treated by a Northern poet, it stands for a kind of graft of
palm on pine.
Hertz's life was his literary work; and the record of that is its
most interesting element to the world. He died in Copenhagen,
February 25th, 1870.
THE BLIND PRINCESS
From King René's Daughter'
[The Princess Iolanthe, a lovely maid, has been brought up in complete
ignorance of the fact that her beautiful eyes have ever lacked the power of
sight, and in entire inability to judge of what the faculty of sight may be to
others. She has never heard of it, and is so free and unconstrained in all her
movements as not to need such a sense for her further happiness. Count Tris-
tan of Vaudemont makes his way to her garden retreat, and falls passionately
in love with her, unaware of her misfortune; and so ensues this dialogue. ]
RISTAN-Pray give me one of yonder blushing roses,
TRE
That rear their petals, fairest 'mongst all flowers,
As though they were the counterfeit of thee!
Iolanthe - A rose?
Tristan
Oh, willingly! [Plucks and gives him a white rose.
Ah, it is white!
-
Give me the red one, that is fair as thou!
Iolanthe - What meanest thou? – a red one?
Tristan [pointing]-
Iolanthe -Take it thyself!
Tristan-
One of these.
No; let me keep the rose
Which thou hast chosen, which thy fair hand has gathered.
And in good sooth, I do applaud thy choice.
For the white rose, within whose calyx sleeps
A faint and trembling ruddiness, betypes
The dream-like beauty of this garden fair.
Give me another rose a white one too;
Then with the twin flowers will I deck my cap,
And wear them as thy colors evermore.
## p. 7320 (#114) ###########################################
HENRIK HERTZ
7320
Iolanthe plucks and gives him a red rose] -
Here is a rose: meanest thou one like this?
Tristan [starts]—I asked thee for a white rose.
Iolanthe
Well, and this?
Tristan - Why this? [Aside. ] What thought comes o'er me?
[Aloud. ] Nay, then, tell me
How many roses have I in my hand?
Iolanthe [stretches out her hand towards them] –
――――
Give me them, then.
Tristan
Iolanthe
Tristan [aside]-
-
Iolanthe
-
[Holds up the two roses, along with another which he
has himself gathered]
How can I so?
Iolanthe
Tristan -
Tristan [confused]--
[Aloud, and with a faltering voice] —
Nay, I am sure you know.
Alas! alas! she's blind!
No; you mistake.
If I would know how anything is shaped,
Or what its number, I must touch it first.
Is not this clear?
Nay, tell me without touching.
Yes, certainly; you're right.
And yet sometimes-
—
Well, well?
sometimes? Speak! speak!
I think there are — that there are certain things
Which we distinguish by their hues alone,
-
As various kinds of flowers, and various stuffs.
Iolanthe - Thou mean'st by this their character, their form-
Is it not so?
Nay, not exactly that.
Tristan -
Iolanthe - Is it so hard, then, to distinguish flowers?
Are not the roses round and soft and fine,
Round to the feeling, as the zephyr's breath,
And soft and glowing as a summer's eve?
Are gilliflowers like roses? No; their scent
Bedizzies, like the wine I gave to thee.
And then a cactus- are its arrowy points
Not stinging, like the wind when frosts are keen?
Tristan [aside]- Amazement!
[Aloud. ]
Have they never told thee, then,
That objects, things, can be distinguished, though
Placed at a distance, with the aid-of-sight?
Iolanthe― At distance? Yes! I by his twittering know
The little bird that sits upon the roof,
And in like fashion, all men by their voice.
-
## p. 7321 (#115) ###########################################
HENRIK HERTZ
7321
The sprightly steed whereon I daily ride,
I know him in the distance by his pace,
And by his neigh. Yet-with the help of sight?
They told me not of that.
An instrument
Fashioned by art, or but a tool, perhaps?
I do not know this sight. Canst teach me, then,
Its use and purpose?
Tristan [aside]-
O Almighty powers!
She does not know or dream that she is blind.
-
Iolanthe [after a pause] —
-
Whence art thou? Thou dost use so many words
I find impossible to understand;
And in thy converse, too, there is so much
For me quite new and strange! Say, is the vale
Which is thy home so very different
From this of ours? Then stay, if stay thou canst,
And teach me all that I am wanting in.
Tristan No, O thou sweet and gracious lady, no!
I cannot teach what thou art wanting in.
Iolanthe - - Didst thou but choose, I do believe thou couldst.
They tell me I am tractable and apt.
Many who erewhile have been here have taught me
Now this, now that, which readily I learned.
Make but the trial! I am very sure
Thou hat'st me not. Thy tones are mild and gentle.
Thou wilt not say me nay, when I entreat.
Oh speak! I'm all attention when thou speakest.
Tristan Alas! attention here will stead thee little.
Yet tell me one thing. Thou hast surely learned
That of thy lovely frame there is no part
Without its purpose, or without its use.
Thy hand and fingers serve to grasp at much;
Thy foot, so tiny as it is, with ease
Transports thee wheresoe'er thy wishes point;
The sound of words, the tone, doth pierce the soul
Through the ear's small and tortuous avenues;
The stream of language gushes from thy lips;
Within thy breast abides the delicate breath,
Which heaves, unclogged with care, and sinks again.
Iolanthe All this I've noted well. Prithee, go on.
Tristan - Then tell me, to what end dost thou suppose
Omnipotence hath gifted thee with eyes?
Of what avail to thee are those twin stars,
That sparkle with such wondrous brilliancy
They scorn to grasp the common light of day?
## p. 7322 (#116) ###########################################
7322
HENRIK HERTZ
Iolanthe [touches her eyes, then muses for a little]-
Tristan-
You ask of what avail ? - how can you ask?
And yet I ne'er have given the matter thought.
My eyes! my eyes! 'Tis easy to perceive.
At eve, when I am weary, slumber first
Droops heavy on my eyes, and thence it spreads
O'er all my body, with no thought of mine,
As feeling vibrates from each finger's tip.
Thus, then, I know my eyes avail me much.
And hast not thou experience had enough,
Wherein thine eyes can minister to thee?
Only the other morn, as I was planting
A little rosebush here, a nimble snake
Leapt out and bit me in the finger; then
With the sharp pain I wept. Another time,
When I had pined for many tedious days,
Because my father was detained from home,
I wept for very gladness when he came!
Through tears I gave my bursting heart relief,
And at mine eyes it found a gushing vent.
Then never ask me unto what avail
Omnipotence hath gifted me with eyes.
Through them when I am weary comes repose,
Through them my sorrow's lightened; and through them
My joy is raised to rapture.
Oh, forgive me!
The question was most foolish; for in thee
Is such an inward radiancy of soul,
Thou hast no need of that which by the light
We through the eye discern. Say, shall I deem
That thou of some unheard-of race art sprung,
Richly endowed with other powers than we?
Thou livest lonely here; this valley, too,
Seems conjured forth by magic 'mongst the hills.
Hast thou come hither from the golden East,
With Peris in thy train? or art thou one
Of Brahma's daughters, and from Ind hast been
Transported hither by a sorcerer ?
O beautiful unknown! if thou be'st sprung
Of mortal men who call the earth their mother,
Be thou to life's so transitory joys
Susceptible as I, and deign to look
With favor on a knight's devoted love!
Hear this his vow: No woman shall efface
## p. 7323 (#117) ###########################################
HENRIK HERTZ
7323
(Stand she in birth and beauty ne'er so high)
The image thou hast stamped upon my soul!
Iolanthe [after a pause-
Thy words are laden with a wondrous power.
Say, from what master didst thou learn the art
To charm by words which yet are mysteries?
Meseemed as though I trod some path alone,
Which I had never trod before; and yet
All seems to me-all, all that thou hast said-
So godlike, so enchanting! Oh speak on-
Yet no,- speak not! rather let me in thought
Linger along the words which thou hast spoken,
That mingled pain and rapture in my soul!
OLANTHE
Iolanthe
Enter Ebn Jahia, the Moorish Physician, leading Iolanthe by the hand.
He beckons to the others to retire
Where art thou leading me?
O God! where am I? Support me-oh, support me!
Ebn Jahia-
Calm thee, my child!
Ebn Jahia-
Translation of Theodore Martin.
THE AWAKENING TO SIGHT
From King René's Daughter'
Iolanthe
Support me. oh, stand still!
I ne'er was here before-what shall I do
Ebn Jahia -
In this strange place? Oh, what is that? Support me!
It comes so close on me it gives me pain.
Iolanthe, calm thee! Look upon the earth!
That still hath been to thee thy truest friend,
And now, too, greets thee with a cordial smile-
This is the garden thou hast ever tended.
Iolanthe -My garden - mine? Alas! I know it not.
The plants are terrible to see - take care!
They're falling on us!
Cease your fears, my child:
These stately trees are the date-palms, whose leaves
And fruit to thee have been long known.
Ah, no!
Indeed, I know them not! [Raises her eyes toward the sky.
This radiance, too,
That everywhere surrounds me-yon great vault,
## p. 7324 (#118) ###########################################
HENRIK HERTZ
7324
Ebn Jahia-
Iolanthe -
That arches there above us-oh, how high! —
What is it? Is it God? Is it his spirit,
Which as you said pervades the universe?
Ebn Jahia-
Yon radiance is the radiance of the light.
God is in it, like as he is in all.
Yon blue profound that fills yon airy vault,
It is the heaven, where, as we do believe,
God hath set up his glorious dwelling-place.
Kneel down, my child! and raise your hands on high,
To heaven's o'er-arching vault, to God—and pray!
Ah, teach me, then, to pray to him as I ought.
No one hath ever told me how I should
Pray to this Deity who rules the world!
Iolanthe [kneels] -
René-
--
Then kneel thee down, my darling child, and say –
"Mysterious Being, who to me hast spoken
When darkness veiled mine eyes, teach me to seek thee
In thy light's beams, that do illume this world;
Still, in the world, teach me to cling to thee! "
Mysterious Being, who to me hast spoken
When darkness veiled mine eyes, teach me to seek thee
In thy light's beams, that do illume this world;
Still, in the world, teach me to cling to thee! —
Yes, he hath heard me. I can feel he hath,
And on me pours the comfort of his peace.
He is the only one that speaks to me,
Invisible and kindly, as before.
Ebn Jahia-
Arise! arise, my child, and look around.
Iolanthe Say, what are these, that bear such noble forms?
Ebn Jahia -
Thou know'st them all.
Iolanthe
René [approaching Iolanthe --
Look on me, Iolanthe
Iolanthe [embracing him-
――
________________
Ah, no; I can know nothing.
me, thy father!
My father! Oh, my God! thou art my father!
I know thee now-thy voice, thy clasping hand.
Stay here! Be my protector, be my guide!
I am so strange here in this world of light.
They've taken all that I possessed away-
All that in old time was thy daughter's joy.
I have culled out a guide for thee, my child.
## p. 7325 (#119) ###########################################
HENRIK HERTZ
7325
René-
Iolanthe Whom mean'st thou?
René pointing to Tristan - See, he stands expecting thee.
Iolanthe -The stranger yonder? Is he one of those
Bright cherubim thou once didst tell me of?
Is he the Angel of the light come down?
Thou knowest him-hast spoken with him.
Iolanthe-With him? with him? [Holds her hands before her eyes.
Think!
Father, I understand.
In yonder glorious form must surely dwell
The voice that late I heard - gentle, yet strong;
The one sole voice that lives in nature's round.
[To Tristan, who advances towards her] —
Oh, but one word of what thou saidst before!
O sweet and gracious lady!
Tristan
Iolanthe
-
René-
List, oh list!
With these dear words the light's benignant rays
Found out a way to me; and these sweet words
With my heart's warmth are intimately blent.
Tristan [embraces her]-
Iolanthe! Dearest!
Blessings on you both
From God, whose wondrous works we all revere !
Translation of Theodore Martin.
## p. 7326 (#120) ###########################################
7326
HESIOD
(NINTH CENTURY B. C. ? )
OR as to Hesiod and Homer, I judge them to have been four
hundred years before me, and not more. It was they who
made a theogony for the Greeks, assigned names to the
gods, distributed their honors and arts, and revealed their forms. The
poets stated to have been before these really lived later than they, in
my judgment. " These words are from the credulous, shrewd, quaint
father of history, Herodotus, and were written between 450 and 400
B. C. The two poets, then, are assigned to the ninth century B. C.
As to the Homeric school, the latest investigations are in agreement
with this early estimate of their age. Hesiod, however, is a younger
member of that school; probably a century later than the chief author
of the Iliad, whom he clearly imitates. Indeed, the use of the Ionic
dialect and epic phrase at all, in an obscure Boeotian village, can
hardly have any other explanation. He is, however, the first of
Greek poets in another sense; for splendid as is the pageant of Tro-
jan myth, the personality of the Homeric singer or singers evades us
completely. The homely unheroic figure of Hesiod, dwelling in his
humble village of Ascra under Helicon, is the earliest of the poets
really visible to us.
Hesiod represents a back current of colonial Asiatic culture, re-
turning to the yet rude undeveloped motherland. His father had
emigrated from Kymè in Asia Minor, a chief centre of Trojan myth
and epic, back to-
"Ascra, in winter vile, most villainous
In summer, and at no time glorious,»
as the ungrateful minstrel describes his birthplace!
Hesiod actually
pastured his sheep on Helicon, and his vision of the Muses has located
them there forever.
The chief creation of Hesiod is called 'Works and Days'; i. e. ,
which to do them. It is
farmers' tasks, and lucky or fit days on
nowise like an almanac in form, however. The poem of a thousand
hexameter verses is dedicated, as it were, to his ungracious brother
Perses. The latter, we hear, had bribed the judges and so secured
the lion's share of the family estate. Again reduced to poverty by
appealed to the poet, who has nothing for
Moreover, Hesiod takes a pessimistic view
sloth and waste, he has
him but caustic advice.
## p. 7327 (#121) ###########################################
HESIOD
7327
of human life. His own iron age is the worst among five successive
periods, and life is hardly endurable. The only break, indeed, in the
gradual decay from the golden through the silvern and brazen ages,
is the interposition-between the latter and the poet's day of iron-
of the nobler heroic age; and the sieges of Thebes and Troy are ex-
pressly mentioned, to point this reminiscence of Homeric song. Zeus
has never forgiven men for Prometheus's theft of fire, and has "hidden
the means of subsistence"; i. e. , has said to man, "In the sweat of
thy brow shalt thou earn thy bread. " The Pandora episode, also, is
brought in to explain the manifold miseries that vex mortal life.
The transitions from one branch of this wide-ranging theme to
another are rather stiff and awkward. Some parts of the poem are
probably lost; and where it becomes, as often, a mere string of max-
ims, the temptation to interpolate similar apophthegms has haunted
the copyists in every age. Altogether, the poem is more interest-
ing piecemeal than as a whole. Still, in the main, it is a genuine
production of a feebly inspired, rather prosy eighth-century rustic
philosopher. In fact, it is our earliest didactic sermon in verse.
The other poem usually assigned to Hesiod- viz. , the 'Theogony'-
is the first connected attempt at tracing the origin of the Greek gods.
It is no description of creation, much less an attempt to solve the
mystery of existence. In the main we have a mere genealogy of the
family sprung from Uranus and Gê (Heaven and Earth), who in turn
are supplied with a sort of ancestry. Herodotus must not mislead us
into thinking these strange figures are the creation of Hesiod, or who-
ever of his school left us the 'Theogony. ' The poet does probably
little more than to record, and in some degree to harmonize, tales
already more or less generally current. Many stories of cannibalism
and outrageous immorality among the gods must have come down
from utterly savage forefathers. These uncanny heirlooms were never
definitely discarded in pagan Greece. Some of the worst accounts of
Divine wickedness were so entangled with beautiful and well-loved
myths that they have been immortalized in the drama, in lyric, in
works of plastic art, and cannot be ignored in any view of Greek
life and thought. Philosophers, and even poets, did indeed make
fearless protest against the ascription of any grievous wickedness to
Deity. Yet it must be confessed that from Homer's song downward,
the gods are altogether inferior in motive and action to the truly
heroic men and women, either of myth and poetry or of historic
record. And this crude and ignoble popular mythology was fixed
and nationalized above all by the Hesiodic Theogony. ' Even so
pure, devout, and original a poet as Eschylus, in the 'Prometheus'
copies Hesiod in many details, though he is probably combating di-
rectly the elder poet's view of Zeus's purpose and character.
-
## p. 7328 (#122) ###########################################
7328
HESIOD
It will be evident, then, that the works of Hesiod are of extreme
interest and value, not chiefly as poetry, but as an early record of
man's gropings about the roots of mystery. The moral philosopher,
the student of mythology, even the historian of agriculture, may find
here more inspiration than the poet.
Symonds (in his 'Greek Poets'), Jebb, and Mahaffy, all have genial
chapters upon Hesiod. We recommend first, however, the literal prose
version in the Bohn library, which is supplied with helpful notes.
The same volume contains metrical versions of both poems by Elton.
In the citations below from the Works and Days,' some attempt is
made to indicate the rhythm and line-for-line arrangement of the
original Greek. The only available edition of Hesiod's poems with
English notes is by F. A. Paley, in the 'Bibliotheca Classica. ' Much
better is the edition including the fragments of lost works, with Latin
notes, by Göttling.
PANDORA
From the Works and Days'
Z
EUS in the wrath of his heart hath hidden the means of subsistence,
Wrathful because he once was deceived by the wily Prometheus.
