The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 466

Scarce thine eye can ope and close Ere life's dying sunset glows; Sinking sudden from its pride Into death--the Lethe tide.

Ask'st thou whence thy beauties rise?

Boastest thou those radiant eyes?-- Or that cheek in roses dyed?

All their beauty (thought of sorrow!) From the brittle mould they borrow.

Heavy interest in the tomb For the brief loan of the bloom, For the beauty of the day, Death the usurer, thou must pay, In the long to-morrow!

Maiden!--Death's too strong for scorn; In the cheek the fairest, He But the fairest throne doth see Though the roses of the morn Weave the veil by beauty worn-- Aye, beneath that broidered curtain, Stands the Archer stern and certain!

Maid--thy Visionary hear-- Trust the wild one as the sear, When he tells thee that thine eye, While it beckons to the wooer, Only lureth yet more nigh Death, the dark undoer!

Every ray shed from thy beauty Wastes the life-lamp while it beams, And the pulse's playful duty, And the blue veins' merry streams, Sport and run into the pall-- Creatures of the Tyrant, all!

As the wind the rainbow shatters, Death thy bright smiles rends and scatters, Smile and rainbow leave no traces;-- From the spring-time's laughing graces, From all life, as from its germ, Grows the revel of the worm!

Woe, I see the wild wind wreak Its wrath upon thy rosy bloom, Winter plough thy rounded cheek, Cloud and darkness close in gloom; Blackening over, and forever, Youth's serene and silver river!

Love alike and beauty o'er, Lovely and beloved no more!

Maiden, an oak that soars on high, And scorns the whirlwind's breath Behold thy Poet's youth defy The blunted dart of Death!

His gaze as ardent as the light That shoots athwart the heaven, His soul yet fiercer than the light In the eternal heaven, Of Him, in whom as in an ocean-surge Creation ebbs and flows--and worlds arise and merge!

Through Nature steers the poet's thought to find No fear but this--one barrier to the mind?

And dost thou glory so to think?

And heaves thy bosom?--Woe!

This cup, which lures him to the brink, As if divinity to drink-- Has poison in its flow!

Wretched, oh, wretched, they who trust To strike the G.o.d-spark from the dust!

The mightiest tone the music knows, But breaks the harp-string with the sound; And genius, still the more it glows, But wastes the lamp whose life bestows The light it sheds around.

Soon from existence dragged away, The watchful jailer grasps his prey: Vowed on the altar of the abused fire, The spirits I raised against myself conspire!

Let--yes, I feel it two short springs away Pa.s.s on their rapid flight; And life's faint spark shall, fleeting from the clay, Merge in the Fount of Light!

And weep'st thou, Laura?--be thy tears forbid; Would'st thou my lot, life's dreariest years amid, Protract and doom?--No: sinner, dry thy tears: Would'st thou, whose eyes beheld the eagle wing Of my bold youth through air's dominion spring, Mark my sad age (life's tale of glory done)-- Crawl on the sod and tremble in the sun?

Hear the dull frozen heart condemn the flame That as from heaven to youth's blithe bosom came; And see the blind eyes loathing turn from all The lovely sins age curses to recall?

Let me die young!--sweet sinner, dry thy tears!

Yes, let the flower be gathered in its bloom!

And thou, young genius, with the brows of gloom, Quench thou life's torch, while yet the flame is strong!

Even as the curtain falls; while still the scene Most thrills the hearts which have its audience been; As fleet the shadows from the stage--and long When all is o'er, lingers the breathless throng!

THE INFANTICIDE.

Hark where the bells toll, chiming, dull and steady, The clock's slow hand hath reached the appointed time.

Well, be it so--prepare, my soul is ready, Companions of the grave--the rest for crime!

Now take, O world! my last farewell--receiving My parting kisses--in these tears they dwell!

Sweet are thy poisons while we taste believing, Now we are quits--heart-poisoner, fare-thee-well!

Farewell, ye suns that once to joy invited, Changed for the mould beneath the funeral shade; Farewell, farewell, thou rosy time delighted, Luring to soft desire the careless maid, Pale gossamers of gold, farewell, sweet dreaming Fancies--the children that an Eden bore!

Blossoms that died while dawn itself was gleaming, Opening in happy sunlight never more.

Swanlike the robe which innocence bestowing, Decked with the virgin favors, rosy fair, In the gay time when many a young rose glowing, Blushed through the loose train of the amber hair.

Woe, woe! as white the robe that decks me now-- The shroud-like robe h.e.l.l's destined victim wears; Still shall the fillet bind this burning brow-- That sable braid the Doomsman's hand prepares!

Weep ye, who never fell-for whom, unerring, The soul's white lilies keep their virgin hue, Ye who when thoughts so danger-sweet are stirring, Take the stern strength that Nature gives the few!

Woe, for too human was this fond heart's feeling-- Feeling!--my sin's avenger [3] doomed to be; Woe--for the false man's arm around me stealing, Stole the lulled virtue, charmed to sleep, from me.

Ah, he perhaps shall, round another sighing (Forgot the serpents stinging at my breast), Gayly, when I in the dumb grave am lying, Pour the warm wish or speed the wanton jest, Or play, perchance, with his new maiden's tresses, Answer the kiss her lip enamored brings, When the dread block the head he cradled presses, And high the blood his kiss once fevered springs.

Thee, Francis, Francis [4], league on league, shall follow The death-dirge of the Lucy once so dear; From yonder steeple dismal, dull, and hollow, Shall knell the warning horror on thy ear.

On thy fresh leman's lips when love is dawning, And the lisped music glides from that sweet well-- Lo, in that breast a red wound shall be yawning, And, in the midst of rapture, warn of h.e.l.l!

Betrayer, what! thy soul relentless closing To grief--the woman-shame no art can heal-- To that small life beneath my heart reposing!

Man, man, the wild beast for its young can feel!

Proud flew the sails--receding from the land, I watched them waning from the wistful eye, Round the gay maids on Seine's voluptuous strand, Breathes the false incense of his fatal sigh.

And there the babe! there, on the mother's bosom, Lulled in its sweet and golden rest it lay, Fresh in life's morning as a rosy blossom, It smiled, poor harmless one, my tears away.

Deathlike yet lovely, every feature speaking In such dear calm and beauty to my sadness, And cradled still the mother's heart, in breaking, The softening love and the despairing madness.

"Woman, where is my father?" freezing through me, Lisped the mute innocence with thunder-sound; "Woman, where is thy husband?"--called unto me, In every look, word, whisper, busying round!

Alas, for thee, there is no father's kiss;-- He fondleth other children on his knee.

How thou wilt curse our momentary bliss, When b.a.s.t.a.r.d on thy name shall branded be!

Thy mother--oh, a h.e.l.l her heart concealeth, Lone-sitting, lone in social nature's all!

Thirsting for that glad fount thy love revealeth, While still thy look the glad fount turns to gall.

In every infant cry my soul is hearkening, The haunting happiness forever o'er, And all the bitterness of death is darkening The heavenly looks that smiled mine eyes before.

h.e.l.l, if my sight those looks a moment misses-- h.e.l.l, when my sight upon those looks is turned-- The avenging furies madden in thy kisses, That slept in his what time my lips they burned.

Out from their graves his oaths spoke back in thunder!

The perjury stalked like murder in the sun-- Forever--G.o.d!--sense, reason, soul, sunk under-- The deed was done!

Francis, O Francis! league on league shall chase thee The shadows hurrying grimly on thy flight-- Still with their icy arms they shall embrace thee, And mutter thunder in thy dream's delight!

Down from the soft stars, in their tranquil glory, Shall look thy dead child with a ghastly stare; That shape shall haunt thee in its cerements gory, And scourge thee back from heaven--its home is there!

Lifeless--how lifeless!--see, oh see, before me It lies cold--stiff--O G.o.d!--and with that blood I feel, as swoops the dizzy darkness o'er me Mine own life mingled--ebbing in the flood--

Hark, at the door they knock--more loud within me-- More awful still--its sound the dread heart gave!

Gladly I welcome the cold arms that win me-- Fire, quench thy tortures in the icy grave!

Francis--a G.o.d that pardons dwells in heaven-- Francis, the sinner--yes--she pardons thee-- So let my wrongs unto the earth be given Flame seize the wood!--it burns--it kindles--see!

There--there his letters cast--behold are ashes-- His vows--the conquering fire consumes them here His kisses--see--see--all are only ashes-- All, all--the all that once on earth were dear!

Trust not the roses which your youth enjoyeth, Sisters, to man's faith, changeful as the moon!

Beauty to me brought guilt--its bloom destroyeth Lo, in the judgment court I curse the boon Tears in the headsman's gaze--what tears?--'tis spoken!

Quick, bind mine eyes--all soon shall be forgot-- Doomsman--the lily hast thou never broken?

Pale Doomsman--tremble not!

THE GREATNESS OF THE WORLD.