The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 482

THE YOUTH BY THE BROOK. [16]

Beside the brook the boy reclined And wove his flowery wreath, And to the waves the wreath consigned-- The waves that danced beneath.

"So fleet mine hours," he sighed, "away Like waves that restless flow: And so my flowers of youth decay Like those that float below."

"Ask not why I, alone on earth, Am sad in life's young time; To all the rest are hope and mirth When spring renews its prime.

Alas! the music Nature makes, In thousand songs of gladness-- While charming all around me, wakes My heavy heart to sadness."

"Ah! vain to me the joys that break From spring, voluptuous are; For only one 't is mine to seek-- The near, yet ever far!

I stretch my arms, that shadow-shape In fond embrace to hold; Still doth the shade the clasp escape-- The heart is unconsoled!"

"Come forth, fair friend, come forth below, And leave thy lofty hall, The fairest flowers the spring can know In thy dear lap shall fall!

Clear glides the brook in silver rolled, Sweet carols fill the air; The meanest hut hath s.p.a.ce to hold A happy loving pair!"

TO EMMA.

Far away, where darkness reigneth, All my dreams of bliss are flown; Yet with love my gaze remaineth Fixed on one fair star alone.

But, alas! that star so bright Sheds no l.u.s.tre save by night.

If in slumbers ending never, Gloomy death had sealed thine eyes, Thou hadst lived in memory ever-- Thou hadst lived still in my sighs; But, alas! in light thou livest-- To my love no answer givest!

Can the sweet hopes love once cherished Emma, can they transient prove?

What has pa.s.sed away and perished-- Emma, say, can that be love?

That bright flame of heavenly birth-- Can it die like things of earth?

THE FAVOR OF THE MOMENT.

Once more, then, we meet In the circles of yore; Let our song be as sweet In its wreaths as before, Who claims the first place In the tribute of song?

The G.o.d to whose grace All our pleasures belong.

Though Ceres may spread All her gifts on the shrine, Though the gla.s.s may be red With the blush of the vine, What boots--if the while Fall no spark on the hearth; If the heart do not smile With the instinct of mirth?-- From the clouds, from G.o.d's breast Must our happiness fall, 'Mid the blessed, most blest Is the moment of all!

Since creation began All that mortals have wrought, All that's G.o.dlike in man Comes--the flash of a thought!

For ages the stone In the quarry may lurk, An instant alone Can suffice to the work; An impulse give birth To the child of the soul, A glance stamp the worth And the fame of the whole. [17]

On the arch that she buildeth From sunbeams on high, As Iris just gildeth, And fleets from the sky, So s.h.i.+neth, so gloometh Each gift that is ours; The lightning illumeth-- The darkness devours! [18]

THE LAY OF THE MOUNTAIN.

[The scenery of Gotthardt is here personified.]

To the solemn abyss leads the terrible path, The life and death winding dizzy between; In thy desolate way, grim with menace and wrath, To daunt thee the spectres of giants are seen; That thou wake not the wild one [20], all silently tread-- Let thy lip breathe no breath in the pathway of dread!

High over the marge of the horrible deep Hangs and hovers a bridge with its phantom-like span, [21]

Not by man was it built, o'er the vastness to sweep; Such thought never came to the daring of man!

The stream roars beneath--late and early it raves-- But the bridge, which it threatens, is safe from the waves.

Black-yawning a portal, thy soul to affright, Like the gate to the kingdom, the fiend for the king-- Yet beyond it there smiles but a land of delight, Where the autumn in marriage is met with the spring.

From a lot which the care and the trouble a.s.sail, Could I fly to the bliss of that balm-breathing vale!

Through that field, from a fount ever hidden their birth, Four rivers in tumult rush roaringly forth; They fly to the fourfold divisions of earth-- The sunrise, the sunset, the south, and the north.

And, true to the mystical mother that bore, Forth they rush to their goal, and are lost evermore.

High over the races of men in the blue Of the ether, the mount in twin summits is riven; There, veiled in the gold-woven webs of the dew, Moves the dance of the clouds--the pale daughters of heaven!

There, in solitude, circles their mystical maze, Where no witness can hearken, no earthborn surveys.

August on a throne which no ages can move, Sits a queen, in her beauty serene and sublime, [22]

The diadem blazing with diamonds above The glory of brows, never darkened by time, His arrows of light on that form shoots the sun-- And he gilds them with all, but he warms them with none!

THE ALPINE HUNTER.

Wilt thou not the lambkins guard?

Oh, how soft and meek they look, Feeding on the gra.s.sy sward, Sporting round the silvery brook!

"Mother, mother, let me go On yon heights to chase the roe!"

Wilt thou not the flock compel With the horn's inspiring notes?

Sweet the echo of yon bell, As across the wood it floats!

"Mother, mother, let me go On yon heights to hunt the roe!"

Wilt thou not the flow'rets bind, Smiling gently in their bed?

For no garden thou wilt find On yon heights so wild and dread.

"Leave the flow'rets,--let them blow!

Mother, mother, let me go!"

And the youth then sought the chase, Onward pressed with headlong speed To the mountain's gloomiest place,-- Naught his progress could impede; And before him, like the wind, Swiftly flies the trembling hind!

Up the naked precipice Clambers she, with footsteps light, O'er the chasm's dark abyss Leaps with spring of daring might; But behind, unweariedly, With his death-bow follows he.

Now upon the rugged top Stands she,--on the loftiest height, Where the cliffs abruptly stop, And the path is lost to sight.

There she views the steeps below,-- Close behind, her mortal foe.

She, with silent, woeful gaze, Seeks the cruel boy to move; But, alas! in vain she prays-- To the string he fits the groove.

When from out the clefts, behold!

Steps the Mountain Genius old.

With his hand the Deity s.h.i.+elds the beast that trembling sighs; "Must thou, even up to me, Death and anguish send?" he cries,-- Earth has room for all to dwell,-- "Why pursue my loved gazelle?"

DITHYRAMB. [23]