No More Learning

How does the genius make itself known? In the way that in nature
Shows the Creator himself,--e'en in the infinite whole.
Clear is the ether, and yet of depth that ne'er can be fathomed;
Seen by the eye, it remains evermore closed to the sense.


THE INQUIRERS.

Men now seek to explore each thing from within and without too!
How canst thou make thy escape, Truth, from their eager pursuit?
That they may catch thee, with nets and poles extended they seek thee
But with a spirit-like tread, glidest thou out of the throng.


CORRECTNESS.

Free from blemish to be, is the lowest of steps, and highest;
Weakness and greatness alone ever arrive at this point.


THE THREE AGES OF NATURE.

Life she received from fable; the schools deprived her of being,
Life creative again she has from reason received.


THE LAW OF NATURE.

It has ever been so, my friend, and will ever remain so:
Weakness has rules for itself,--vigor is crowned with success.

CHOICE.

If thou canst not give pleasure to all by thy deeds and thy knowledge,
Give it then, unto the few; many to please is but vain.


SCIENCE OF MUSIC.

Let the creative art breathe life, and the bard furnish spirit;
But the soul is expressed by Polyhymnia alone.


TO THE POET.

Let thy speech be to thee what the body is to the loving;
Beings it only can part,--beings it only can join.


LANGUAGE.

Why can the living spirit be never seen by the spirit?
Soon as the soul 'gins to speak, then can the soul speak no more!


THE MASTER.

Other masters one always can tell by the words that they utter;
That which he wisely omits shows me the master of style.


THE GIRDLE.

Aphrodite preserves her beauty concealed by her girdle;
That which lends her her charms is what she covers--her shame.


THE DILETTANTE.

Merely because thou hast made a good verse in a language poetic,
One which composes for thee, thou art a poet forsooth!


THE BABBLER OF ART.

Dost thou desire the good in art? Of the good art thou worthy,
Which by a ne'er ceasing war 'gainst thee thyself is produced?


THE PHILOSOPHIES.

Which among the philosophies will be enduring? I know not,
But that philosophy's self ever may last is my hope.


THE FAVOR OF THE MUSES.

Fame with the vulgar expires; but, Muse immortal, thou bearest
Those whom thou lovest, who love thee, into Mnemosyne's arms.


HOMER'S HEAD AS A SEAL.

Trusty old Homer! to thee I confide the secret so tender;
For the raptures of love none but the bard should e'er know.


GOODNESS AND GREATNESS.

Only two virtues exist. Oh, would they were ever united!
Ever the good with the great, ever the great with the good!


THE IMPULSES.

Fear with his iron staff may urge the slave onward forever;
Rapture, do thou lead me on ever in roseate chains!


NATURALISTS AND TRANSCENDENTAL PHILOSOPHERS.

Enmity be between ye! Your union too soon is cemented;
Ye will but learn to know truth when ye divide in the search.


GERMAN GENIUS.

Strive, O German, for Roman-like strength and for Grecian-like beauty!
Thou art successful in both; ne'er has the Gaul had success.


THEOPHANIA.

When the happy appear, I forget the gods in the heavens;
But before me they stand, when I the suffering see.




TRIFLES.


THE EPIC HEXAMETER.

Giddily onward it bears thee with resistless impetuous billows;
Naught but the ocean and air seest thou before or behind.


THE DISTICH.

In the hexameter rises the fountain's watery column,
In the pentameter sweet falling in melody down.


THE EIGHT-LINE STANZA.

Stanza, by love thou'rt created,--by love, all-tender and yearning;
Thrice dost thou bashfully fly; thrice dost with longing return.


THE OBELISK.

On a pedestal lofty the sculptor in triumph has raised me.
"Stand thou," spake he,--and I stand proudly and joyfully here.


THE TRIUMPHAL ARCH.

"Fear not," the builder exclaimed, "the rainbow that stands in the heavens;
I will extend thee, like it, into infinity far! "


THE BEAUTIFUL BRIDGE.

Under me, over me, hasten the waters, the chariots; my builder
Kindly has suffered e'en me, over myself, too, to go!


THE GATE.

Let the gate open stand, to allure the savage to precepts;
Let it the citizen lead into free nature with joy.


ST. PETER'S.

If thou seekest to find immensity here, thou'rt mistaken;
For my greatness is meant greater to make thee thyself!




THE PHILOSOPHERS.

PUPIL.
I am rejoiced, worthy sirs, to find you in pleno assembled;
For I have come down below, seeking the one needful thing.

ARISTOTLE.
Quick to the point, my good friend! For the Jena Gazette comes
to hand here,
Even in hell,--so we know all that is passing above.

PUPIL.
So much the better! So give me (I will not depart hence without it)
Some good principle now,--one that will always avail!

FIRST PHILOSOPHER.
Cogito, ergo sum. I have thought, and therefore existence!
If the first be but true, then is the second one sure.

PUPIL.
As I think, I exist. 'Tis good! But who always is thinking?
Oft I've existed e'en when I have been thinking of naught.

SECOND PHILOSOPHER.
Since there are things that exist, a thing of all things there must
needs be;
In the thing of all things dabble we, just as we are.

THIRD PHILOSOPHER.
Just the reverse, say I. Besides myself there is nothing;
Everything else that there is is but a bubble to me.

FOURTH PHILOSOPHER.
Two kinds of things I allow to exist,--the world and the spirit;
Naught of others I know; even these signify one.

FIFTH PHILOSOPHER.
I know naught of the thing, and know still less of the spirit;
Both but appear unto me; yet no appearance they are.

SIXTH PHILOSOPHER.
I am I, and settle myself,--and if I then settle
Nothing to be, well and good--there's a nonentity formed.

SEVENTH PHILOSOPHER.
There is conception at least! A thing conceived there is, therefore;
And a conceiver as well,--which, with conception, make three.

PUPIL.
All this nonsense, good sirs, won't answer my purpose a tittle:
I a real principle need,--one by which something is fixed.

EIGHTH PHILOSOPHER.
Nothing is now to be found in the theoretical province;
Practical principles hold, such as: thou canst, for thou shouldst.

PUPIL.
If I but thought so! When people know no more sensible answer,
Into the conscience at once plunge they with desperate haste.

DAVID HUME.
Don't converse with those fellows! That Kant has turned them all crazy;
Speak to me, for in hell I am the same that I was.

LAW POINT.
I have made use of my nose for years together to smell with;
Have I a right to my nose that can be legally proved?

PUFFENDORF.
Truly a delicate point! Yet the first possession appeareth
In thy favor to tell; therefore make use of it still!


SCRUPLE OF CONSCIENCE.
Willingly serve I my friends; but, alas, I do it with pleasure;
Therefore I often am vexed that no true virtue I have.

DECISION.
As there is no other means, thou hadst better begin to despise them;
And with aversion, then, do that which thy duty commands.




THE HOMERIDES.

Who is the bard of the Iliad among you? For since he likes puddings,
Heyne begs he'll accept these that from Gottingen come.
"Give them to me! The kings' quarrel I sang! "--
"I, the fight near the vessels! "--"Hand me the puddings!
I sang what upon Ida took place! "
Gently! Don't tear me to pieces! The puddings will not be sufficient;
He by whom they are sent destined them only for one.




G. G.

Each one, when seen by himself, is passably wise and judicious;
When they in corpore are, naught but a blockhead is seen.




THE MORAL POET.

Man is in truth a poor creature,--I know it,--and fain would forget it;
Therefore (how sorry I am! ) came I, alas, unto thee!




THE DANAIDES.

Into the sieve we've been pouring for years,--
o'er the stone we've been brooding;
But the stone never warms,--nor does the sieve ever fill.




THE SUBLIME SUBJECT.

'Tis thy Muse's delight to sing God's pity to mortals;
But, that they pitiful are,--is it a matter for song?




THE ARTIFICE.

Wouldst thou give pleasure at once to the children of earth and
the righteous?
Draw the image of lust--adding the devil as well!




IMMORTALITY.

Dreadest thou the aspect of death! Thou wishest to live on forever?
Live in the whole, and when long thou shalt have gone, 'twill remain!




JEREMIADS.

All, both in prose and in verse, in Germany fast is decaying;
Far behind us, alas, lieth the golden age now!
For by philosophers spoiled is our language--our logic by poets,
And no more common sense governs our passage through life.
From the aesthetic, to which she belongs, now virtue is driven,
And into politics forced, where she's a troublesome guest.
Where are we hastening now? If natural, dull we are voted,
And if we put on constraint, then the world calls us absurd.
Oh, thou joyous artlessness 'mongst the poor maidens of Leipzig,
Witty simplicity come,--come, then, to glad us again!
Comedy, oh repeat thy weekly visits so precious,
Sigismund, lover so sweet,--Mascarill, valet jocose!
Tragedy, full of salt and pungency epigrammatic,--
And thou, minuet-step of our old buskin preserved!
Philosophic romance, thou mannikin waiting with patience,
When, 'gainst the pruner's attack, Nature defendeth herself!
Ancient prose, oh return,--so nobly and boldly expressing
All that thou thinkest and hast thought,--and what the reader thinks too
All, both in prose and in verse, in Germany fast is decaying;
Far behind us, alas, lieth the golden age now!




SHAKESPEARE'S GHOST.

A PARODY.

I, too, at length discerned great Hercules' energy mighty,--
Saw his shade. He himself was not, alas, to be seen.
Round him were heard, like the screaming of birds,
the screams of tragedians,
And, with the baying of dogs, barked dramaturgists around.
There stood the giant in all his terrors; his bow was extended,
And the bolt, fixed on the string, steadily aimed at the heart.
"What still hardier action, unhappy one, dost thou now venture,
Thus to descend to the grave of the departed souls here? "--
"'Tis to see Tiresias I come, to ask of the prophet
Where I the buskin of old, that now has vanished, may find? "
"If they believe not in Nature, nor the old Grecian, but vainly
Wilt thou convey up from hence that dramaturgy to them. "
"Oh, as for Nature, once more to tread our stage she has ventured,
Ay, and stark-naked beside, so that each rib we count. "
"What? Is the buskin of old to be seen in truth on your stage, then,
Which even I came to fetch, out of mid-Tartarus' gloom? "--
"There is now no more of that tragic bustle, for scarcely
Once in a year on the boards moves thy great soul, harness-clad. "
"Doubtless 'tis well! Philosophy now has refined your sensations,
And from the humor so bright fly the affections so black. "--
"Ay, there is nothing that beats a jest that is stolid and barren,
But then e'en sorrow can please, if 'tis sufficiently moist. "
"But do ye also exhibit the graceful dance of Thalia,
Joined to the solemn step with which Melpomene moves? "--
"Neither! For naught we love but what is Christian and moral;
And what is popular, too, homely, domestic, and plain. "
"What? Does no Caesar, does no Achilles, appear on your stage now,
Not an Andromache e'en, not an Orestes, my friend? "
"No! there is naught to be seen there but parsons,
and syndics of commerce,
Secretaries perchance, ensigns, and majors of horse. "
"But, my good friend, pray tell me, what can such people e'er meet with
That can be truly called great? --what that is great can they do? "
"What? Why they form cabals, they lend upon mortgage, they pocket
Silver spoons, and fear not e'en in the stocks to be placed. "
"Whence do ye, then, derive the destiny, great and gigantic,
Which raises man up on high, e'en when it grinds him to dust? "--
"All mere nonsense! Ourselves, our worthy acquaintances also,
And our sorrows and wants, seek we, and find we, too, here. "
"But all this ye possess at home both apter and better,--
Wherefore, then, fly from yourselves, if 'tis yourselves that ye seek? "
"Be not offended, great hero, for that is a different question;
Ever is destiny blind,--ever is righteous the bard. "
"Then one meets on your stage your own contemptible nature,
While 'tis in vain one seeks there nature enduring and great? "
"There the poet is host, and act the fifth is the reckoning;
And, when crime becomes sick, virtue sits down to the feast! "




THE RIVERS.


RHINE.

True, as becometh a Switzer, I watch over Germany's borders;
But the light-footed Gaul jumps o'er the suffering stream.


RHINE AND MOSELLE.
Many a year have I clasped in my arms the Lorrainian maiden;
But our union as yet ne'er has been blest with a son.


DANUBE IN ----

Round me are dwelling the falcon-eyed race, the Phaeacian people;
Sunday with them never ends; ceaselessly moves round the spit.


MAIN.

Ay, it is true that my castles are crumbling; yet, to my comfort,
Have I for centuries past seen my old race still endure.


SAALE.

Short is my course, during which I salute many princes and nations;
Yet the princes are good--ay! and the nations are free.


ILM.

Poor are my banks, it is true; but yet my soft-flowing waters
Many immortal lays here, borne by the current along.


PLEISSE.

Flat is my shore and shallow my current; alas, all my writers,
Both in prose and in verse, drink far too deep of its stream!


ELBE.

All ye others speak only a jargon; 'mongst Germany's rivers
None speak German but me; I but in Misnia alone.


SPREE.

Ramler once gave me language,--my Caesar a subject; and therefore
I had my mouth then stuffed full; but I've been silent since that.


WESER.

Nothing, alas, can be said about me; I really can't furnish
Matter enough to the Muse e'en for an epigram, small.


MINERAL WATERS AT ----.

Singular country! what excellent taste in its fountains and rivers
In its people alone none have I ever yet found!


PEGNTTZ.

I for a long time have been a hypochondriacal subject;
I but flow on because it has my habit been long.


THE ---- RIVERS.

We would gladly remain in the lands that own--as their masters;
Soft their yoke ever is, and all their burdens are light.


SALZACH.

I, to salt the archbishopric, come from Juvavia's mountains;
Then to Bavaria turn, where they have great need of salt!


THE ANONYMOUS RIVER.

Lenten food for the pious bishop's table to furnish,
By my Creator I'm poured over the famishing land.


LES FLEUVES INDISCRETS.

Pray be silent, ye rivers! One sees ye have no more discretion
Than, in a case we could name, Diderot's favorites had.




ZENITH AND NADIR.

Wheresoever thou wanderest in space, thy Zenith and Nadir
Unto the heavens knit thee, unto the axis of earth.
Howsoever thou attest, let heaven be moved by thy purpose,
Let the aim of thy deeds traverse the axis of earth!




KANT AND HIS COMMENTATORS.

See how a single rich man gives a living to numbers of beggars!
'Tis when sovereigns build, carters are kept in employ.




THE PHILOSOPHERS.

The principle by which each thing
Toward strength and shape first tended,--
The pulley whereon Zeus the ring
Of earth, that loosely used to swing,
With cautiousness suspended,--
he is a clever man, I vow,
Who its real name can tell me now,
Unless to help him I consent--
'Tis: ten and twelve are different!

Fire burns,--'tis chilly when it snows,
Man always is two-footed,--
The sun across the heavens goes,--
This, he who naught of logic knows
Finds to his reason suited.
Yet he who metaphysics learns,
Knows that naught freezes when it burns--
Knows that what's wet is never dry,--
And that what's bright attracts the eye.

Old Homer sings his noble lays,
The hero goes through dangers;
The brave man duty's call obeys,
And did so, even in the days
When sages yet were strangers--
But heart and genius now have taught
What Locke and what Descartes never thought;
By them immediately is shown
That which is possible alone.

In life avails the right of force.
The bold the timid worries;
Who rules not, is a slave of course,
Without design each thing across
Earth's stage forever hurries.
Yet what would happen if the plan
Which guides the world now first began,
Within the moral system lies
Disclosed with clearness to our eyes.

"When man would seek his destiny,
Man's help must then be given;
Save for the whole, ne'er labors he,--
Of many drops is formed the sea,--
By water mills are driven;
Therefore the wolf's wild species flies,--
Knit are the state's enduring ties. "
Thus Puffendorf and Feder, each
Is, ex cathedra, wont to teach.

Yet, if what such professors say,
Each brain to enter durst not,
Nature exerts her mother-sway,
Provides that ne'er the chain gives way,
And that the ripe fruits burst not.
Meanwhile, until earth's structure vast
Philosophy can bind at last,
'Tis she that bids its pinion move,
By means of hunger and of love!




THE METAPHYSICIAN.

"How far beneath me seems the earthly ball!
The pigmy race below I scarce can see;
How does my art, the noblest art of all,
Bear me close up to heaven's bright canopy! "
So cries the slater from his tower's high top,
And so the little would-be mighty man,
Hans Metaphysicus, from out his critic-shop.
Explain, thou little would-be mighty man!
The tower from which thy looks the world survey,
Whereof,--whereon is it erected, pray?
How didst thou mount it? Of what use to thee
Its naked heights, save o'er the vale to see?




PEGASUS IN HARNESS.

Once to a horse-fair,--it may perhaps have been
Where other things are bought and sold,--I mean
At the Haymarket,--there the muses' horse
A hungry poet brought--to sell, of course.

'The hippogriff neighed shrilly, loudly,
And reared upon his hind-legs proudly;
In utter wonderment each stood and cried:
"The noble regal beast! " But, woe betide!
Two hideous wings his slender form deface,
The finest team he else would not disgrace.
"The breed," said they, "is doubtless rare,
But who would travel through the air? "
Not one of them would risk his gold.
At length a farmer grew more bold:
"As for his wings, I of no use should find them,
But then how easy 'tis to clip or bind them!
The horse for drawing may be useful found,--
So, friend, I don't mind giving twenty pound! "
The other glad to sell his merchandise,
Cried, "Done! "--and Hans rode off upon his prize.

The noble creature was, ere long, put-to,
But scarcely felt the unaccustomed load,
Than, panting to soar upwards, off he flew,
And, filled with honest anger, overthrew
The cart where an abyss just met the road.
"Ho! ho! " thought Hans: "No cart to this mad beast
I'll trust. Experience makes one wise at least.
To drive the coach to-morrow now my course is,
And he as leader in the team shall go.
The lively fellow'll save me full two horses;
As years pass on, he'll doubtless tamer grow. "

All went on well at first. The nimble steed
His partners roused,--like lightning was their speed.
What happened next? Toward heaven was turned his eye,--
Unused across the solid ground to fly,
He quitted soon the safe and beaten course,
And true to nature's strong resistless force,
Ran over bog and moor, o'er hedge and pasture tilled;
An equal madness soon the other horses filled--
No reins could hold them in, no help was near,
Till,--only picture the poor travellers' fear! --
The coach, well shaken, and completely wrecked,
Upon a hill's steep top at length was checked.

"If this is always sure to be the case,"
Hans cried, and cut a very sorry face,
"He'll never do to draw a coach or wagon;
Let's see if we can't tame the fiery dragon
By means of heavy work and little food. "
And so the plan was tried. --But what ensued?
The handsome beast, before three days had passed,
Wasted to nothing. "Stay! I see at last! "
Cried Hans. "Be quick, you fellows! yoke him now
With my most sturdy ox before the plough. "

No sooner said than done. In union queer
Together yoked were soon winged horse and steer.
The griffin pranced with rage, and his remaining might
Exerted to resume his old-accustomed flight.
'Twas all in vain--his partner stepped with circumspection,
And Phoebus' haughty steed must follow his direction;
Until at last, by long resistance spent,
When strength his limbs no longer was controlling,
The noble creature, with affliction bent,
Fell to the ground, and in the dust lay rolling.
"Accursed beast! " at length with fury mad
Hans shouted, while he soundly plied the lash,--
"Even for ploughing, then, thou art too bad! --
That fellow was a rogue to sell such trash! "

Ere yet his heavy blows had ceased to fly,
A brisk and merry youth by chance came by.
A lute was tinkling in his hand,
And through his light and flowing hair
Was twined with grace a golden band.
"Whither, my friend, with that strange pair? "
From far he to the peasant cried.
"A bird and ox to one rope tied--
Was such a team e'er heard of, pray?
Thy horse's worth I'd fain essay;
Just for one moment lend him me,--
Observe, and thou shalt wonders see! "

The hippogriff was loosened from the plough,
Upon his back the smiling youth leaped now;
No sooner did the creature understand
That he was guided by a master-hand,
Than 'ginst his bit he champed, and upward soared
While lightning from his flaming eyes outpoured.
No longer the same being, royally
A spirit, ay, a god, ascended he,
Spread in a moment to the stormy wind
His noble wings, and left the earth behind,
And, ere the eye could follow him,
Had vanished in the heavens dim.




KNOWLEDGE.

Knowledge to one is a goddess both heavenly and high,--to another
Only an excellent cow, yielding the butter he wants.




THE POETRY OF LIFE.

"Who would himself with shadows entertain,
Or gild his life with lights that shine in vain,
Or nurse false hopes that do but cheat the true? --
Though with my dream my heaven should be resigned--
Though the free-pinioned soul that once could dwell
In the large empire of the possible,
This workday life with iron chains may bind,
Yet thus the mastery o'er ourselves we find,
And solemn duty to our acts decreed,
Meets us thus tutored in the hour of need,
With a more sober and submissive mind!
How front necessity--yet bid thy youth
Shun the mild rule of life's calm sovereign, truth. "

So speakest thou, friend, how stronger far than I;
As from experience--that sure port serene--
Thou lookest;--and straight, a coldness wraps the sky,
The summer glory withers from the scene,
Scared by the solemn spell; behold them fly,
The godlike images that seemed so fair!
Silent the playful Muse--the rosy hours
Halt in their dance; and the May-breathing flowers
Fall from the sister-graces' waving hair.
Sweet-mouthed Apollo breaks his golden lyre,
Hermes, the wand with many a marvel rife;--
The veil, rose-woven, by the young desire
With dreams, drops from the hueless cheeks of life.
The world seems what it is--a grave! and love
Casts down the bondage wound his eyes above,
And sees! --He sees but images of clay
Where he dreamed gods; and sighs--and glides away.
The youngness of the beautiful grows old,
And on thy lips the bride's sweet kiss seems cold;
And in the crowd of joys--upon thy throne
Thou sittest in state, and hardenest into stone.




TO GOETHE,

ON HIS PRODUCING VOLTAIRE'S "MAHOMET" ON THE STAGE.

Thou, by whom, freed from rules constrained and wrong,
On truth and nature once again we're placed,--
Who, in the cradle e'en a hero strong,
Stiffest the serpents round our genius laced,--
Thou whom the godlike science has so long
With her unsullied sacred fillet graced,--
Dost thou on ruined altars sacrifice
To that false muse whom we no longer prize?

This theatre belongs to native art,
No foreign idols worshipped here are seen;
A laurel we can show, with joyous heart,
That on the German Pindus has grown green
The sciences' most holy, hidden part
The German genius dares to enter e'en,
And, following the Briton and the Greek,
A nobler glory now attempts to seek.

For yonder, where slaves kneel, and despots hold
The reins,--where spurious greatness lifts its head,
Art has no power the noble there to mould,
'Tis by no Louis that its seed is spread;
From its own fulness it must needs unfold,
By earthly majesty 'tis never fed;
'Tis with truth only it can e'er unite,
Its glow free spirits only e'er can light.

'Tis not to bind us in a worn-out chain
Thou dost this play of olden time recall,--
'Tis not to seek to lead us back again
To days when thoughtless childhood ruled o'er all.
It were, in truth, an idle risk and vain
Into the moving wheel of time to fall;
The winged hours forever bear it on,
The new arrives, and, lo! the old has gone.

The narrow theatre is now more wide,
Into its space a universe now steals;
In pompous words no longer is our pride,
Nature we love when she her form reveals;
Fashion's false rules no more are deified;
And as a man the hero acts and feels.
'Tis passion makes the notes of freedom sound,
And 'tis in truth the beautiful is found.

Weak is the frame of Thespis' chariot fair,
Resembling much the bark of Acheron,
That carries naught but shades and forms of air;
And if rude life should venture to press on,
The fragile bark its weight no more can bear,
For fleeting spirits it can hold alone.
Appearance ne'er can reach reality,--
If nature be victorious, art must fly.

For on the stage's boarded scaffold here
A world ideal opens to our eyes,
Nothing is true and genuine save--a tear;
Emotion on no dream of sense relies.
The real Melpomene is still sincere,
Naught as a fable merely she supplies--
By truth profound to charm us is her care;
The false one, truth pretends, but to ensnare.

Now from the scene, art threatens to retire,
Her kingdom wild maintains still phantasy;
The stage she like the world would set on fire,
The meanest and the noblest mingles she.
The Frank alone 'tis art can now inspire,
And yet her archetype can his ne'er be;
In bounds unchangeable confining her,
He holds her fast, and vainly would she stir.

The stage to him is pure and undefiled;
Chased from the regions that to her belong
Are Nature's tones, so careless and so wild,
To him e'en language rises into song;
A realm harmonious 'tis, of beauty mild,
Where limb unites to limb in order strong.
The whole into a solemn temple blends,
And 'tis the dance that grace to motion lends.

And yet the Frank must not be made our guide.
For in his art no living spirit reigns:
The boasting gestures of a spurious pride
That mind which only loves the true disdains.
To nobler ends alone be it applied,
Returning, like some soul's long-vanished manes.
To render the oft-sullied stage once more
A throne befitting the great muse of yore.




THE PRESENT.

Ring and staff, oh to me on a Rhenish flask ye are welcome!
Him a true shepherd I call, who thus gives drink to his sheep.
Draught thrice blest! It is by the Muse I have won thee,--the Muse, too,
Sends thee,--and even the church places upon thee her seal.




DEPARTURE FROM LIFE.

Two are the roads that before thee lie open from life to conduct thee;
To the ideal one leads thee, the other to death.
See that while yet thou art free, on the first thou commencest thy journey,
Ere by the merciless fates on to the other thou'rt led!




VERSES WRITTEN IN THE FOLIO ALBUM OF A LEARNED FRIEND.

Once wisdom dwelt in tomes of ponderous size,
While friendship from a pocketbook would talk;
But now that knowledge in small compass lies,
And floats in almanacs, as light as cork,
Courageous man, thou dost not hesitate
To open for thy friends this house so great!
Hast thou no fear, I seriously would ask,
That thou may'st thus their patience overtask?




VERSES WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF A FRIEND.

(HERR VON MECHELN OF BASLE. )

Nature in charms is exhaustless, in beauty ever reviving;
And, like Nature, fair art is inexhaustible too.
Hail, thou honored old man! for both in thy heart thou preservest
Living sensations, and thus ne'er-ending youth is thy lot!




THE SUNDAY CHILDREN.

Years has the master been laboring, but always without satisfaction;
To an ingenious race 'twould be in vision conferred.
What they yesterday learned, to-day they fain would be teaching:
Small compassion, alas, is by those gentlemen shown!




THE HIGHEST.

Seerest thou the highest, the greatest!
In that the plant can instruct thee;
What it unwittingly is, be thou of thine own free will!




THE PUPPET-SHOW OF LIFE.

Thou'rt welcome in my box to peep!
Life's puppet-show, the world in little,
Thou'lt see depicted to a tittle,--
But pray at some small distance keep!
'Tis by the torch of love alone,
By Cupid's taper, it is shown.

See, not a moment void the stage is!
The child in arms at first they bring,--
The boy then skips,--the youth now storms and rages,--
The man contends, and ventures everything!

Each one attempts success to find,
Yet narrow is the race-course ever;
The chariot rolls, the axles quiver,
The hero presses on, the coward stays behind,
The proud man falls with mirth-inspiring fall,
The wise man overtakes them all!

Thou see'st fair woman it the barrier stand,
With beauteous hands, with smiling eyes,
To glad the victor with his prize.




TO LAWGIVERS.

Ever take it for granted, that man collectively wishes
That which is right; but take care never to think so of one!




FALSE IMPULSE TO STUDY.

Oh, how many new foes against truth! My very soul bleedeth
When I behold the owl-race now bursting forth to the light.




THE HEREDITARY PRINCE OF WEIMAR, ON HIS PROCEEDING TO PARIS.

(SUNG IN A CIRCLE OF FRIENDS. )

With one last bumper let us hail
The wanderer beloved,
Who takes his leave of this still vale
Wherein in youth he roved.

From loving arms, from native home,
He tears himself away,
To yonder city proud to roam,
That makes whole lands its prey.

Dissension flies, all tempests end,
And chained is strife abhorred;
We in the crater may descend
From whence the lava poured.

A gracious fate conduct thee through
Life's wild and mazy track!
A bosom nature gave thee true,--
A bosom true bring back!

Thou'lt visit lands that war's wild train
Had crushed with careless heed;
Now smiling peace salutes the plain,
And strews the golden seed.

The hoary Father Rhine thou'lt greet,
Who thy forefather [58] blest
Will think of, whilst his waters fleet
In ocean's bed to rest.

Do homage to the hero's manes,
And offer to the Rhine,
The German frontier who maintains,
His own-created wine,--

So that thy country's soul thy guide
May be, when thou hast crossed
On the frail bark to yonder side,
Where German faith is lost!




THE IDEAL OF WOMAN.

TO AMANDA.

Woman in everything yields to man; but in that which is highest,
Even the manliest man yields to the woman most weak.
But that highest,--what is it? The gentle radiance of triumph
As in thy brow upon me, beauteous Amanda, it beams.
When o'er the bright shining disk the clouds of affliction are fleeting,
Fairer the image appears, seen through the vapor of gold.
Man may think himself free! thou art so,--for thou never knowest
What is the meaning of choice,--know'st not necessity's name.
That which thou givest, thou always givest wholly; but one art thou ever,
Even thy tenderest sound is thine harmonious self.
Youth everlasting dwells here, with fulness that never is exhausted,
And with the flower at once pluckest thou the ripe golden fruit.




THE FOUNTAIN OF SECOND YOUTH.

Trust me, 'tis not a mere tale,--the fountain of youth really runneth,
Runneth forever. Thou ask'st, where? In the poet's sweet art!




WILLIAM TELL. [59]

When hostile elements with rage resound,
And fury blindly fans war's lurid flame,--
When in the strife of party quarrel drowned,
The voice of justice no regard can claim,--
When crime is free, and impious hands are found
The sacred to pollute, devoid of shame,
And loose the anchor which the state maintains,--
No subject there we find for joyous strains.

But when a nation, that its flocks still feeds
With calm content, nor other's wealth desires
Throws off the cruel yoke 'neath which it bleeds,
Yet, e'en in wrath, humanity admires,--
And, e'en in triumph, moderation heeds,--
That is immortal, and our song requires.
To show thee such an image now is mine;
Thou knowest it well, for all that's great is thine!