The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 503

The suns that wheel in varying maze?--That music thou discernest?

No! Thou canst honor that in sport which thou forgettest in earnest.

[52]

THE FORTUNE-FAVORED. [53]

Ah! happy he, upon whose birth each G.o.d Looks down in love, whose earliest sleep the bright Idalia cradles, whose young lips the rod Of eloquent Hermes kindles--to whose eyes, Scarce wakened yet, Apollo steals in light, While on imperial brows Jove sets the seal of might!

G.o.dlike the lot ordained for him to share, He wins the garland ere he runs the race; He learns life's wisdom ere he knows life's care, And, without labor vanquished, smiles the grace.

Great is the man, I grant, whose strength of mind, Self-shapes its objects and subdues the fates-- Virtue subdues the fates, but cannot blind The fickle happiness, whose smile awaits Those who scarce seek it; nor can courage earn What the grace showers not from her own free urn!

From aught unworthy, the determined will Can guard the watchful spirit--there it ends The all that's glorious from the heaven descends; As some sweet mistress loves us, freely still Come the spontaneous gifts of heaven!--Above Favor rules Jove, as it below rules love!

The immortals have their bias!--Kindly they See the bright locks of youth enamored play, And where the glad one goes, shed gladness round the way.

It is not they who boast the best to see, Whose eyes the holy apparitions bless; The stately light of their divinity Hath oft but shone the brightest on the blind;-- And their choice spirit found its calm recess In the pure childhood of a simple mind.

Unasked they come delighted to delude The expectation of our baffled pride; No law can call their free steps to our side.

Him whom he loves, the sire of men and G.o.ds (Selected from the marvelling mult.i.tude) Bears on his eagle to his bright abodes; And showers, with partial hand and lavish, down, The minstrel's laurel or the monarch's crown!

Before the fortune-favored son of earth, Apollo walks--and, with his jocund mirth, The heart-enthralling smiler of the skies For him gray Neptune smooths the pliant wave-- Harmless the waters for the s.h.i.+p that bore The Caesar and his fortunes to the sh.o.r.e!

Charmed at his feet the crouching lion lies, To him his back the murmuring dolphin gave; His soul is born a sovereign o'er the strife-- The lord of all the beautiful of life; Where'er his presence in its calm has trod, It charms--it sways as solve diviner G.o.d.

Scorn not the fortune-favored, that to him The light-won victory by the G.o.ds is given, Or that, as Paris, from the strife severe, The Venus draws her darling--Whom the heaven So prospers, love so watches, I revere!

And not the man upon whose eyes, with dim And baleful night, sits fate. Achaia boasts, No less the glory of the Dorian lord [54]

That Vulcan wrought for him the s.h.i.+eld and sword-- That round the mortal hovered all the hosts Of all Olympus--that his wrath to grace, The best and bravest of the Grecian race Untimely slaughtered, with resentful ghosts Awed the pale people of the Stygian coasts!

Scorn not the darlings of the beautiful, If without labor they life's blossoms cull; If, like the stately lilies, they have won A crown for which they neither toiled nor spun;-- If without merit, theirs be beauty, still Thy sense, unenvying, with the beauty fill.

Alike for thee no merit wins the right, To share, by simply seeing, their delight.

Heaven breathes the soul into the minstrel's breast, But with that soul he animates the rest; The G.o.d inspires the mortal--but to G.o.d, In turn, the mortal lifts thee from the sod.

Oh, not in vain to heaven the bard is dear; Holy himself--he hallows those who hear!

The busy mart let justice still control, Weighing the guerdon to the toil!--What then?

A G.o.d alone claims joy--all joy is his, Flus.h.i.+ng with unsought light the cheeks of men.

[55] Where is no miracle, why there no bliss!

Grow, change, and ripen all that mortal be, Shapened from form to form, by toiling time; The blissful and the beautiful are born Full grown, and ripened from eternity-- No gradual changes to their glorious prime, No childhood dwarfs them, and no age has worn.-- Like heaven's, each earthly Venus on the sight Comes, a dark birth, from out an endless sea; Like the first Pallas, in maturest might, Armed, from the thunderer's--brow, leaps forth each thought of light.

BOOKSELLER'S ANNOUNCEMENT.

Naught is for man so important as rightly to know his own purpose; For but twelve groschen hard cash 'tis to be bought at my shop!

GENIUS.

"Do I believe," sayest thou, "what the masters of wisdom would teach me, And what their followers' band boldly and readily swear?

Cannot I ever attain to true peace, excepting through knowledge, Or is the system upheld only by fortune and law?

Must I distrust the gently-warning impulse, the precept That thou, Nature, thyself hast in my bosom impressed, Till the schools have affixed to the writ eternal their signet, Till a mere formula's chain binds down the fugitive soul?

Answer me, then! for thou hast down into these deeps e'en descended,-- Out of the mouldering grave thou didst uninjured return.

Is't to thee known what within the tomb of obscure works is hidden, Whether, yon mummies amid, life's consolations can dwell?

Must I travel the darksome road? The thought makes me tremble; Yet I will travel that road, if 'tis to truth and to right."

Friend, hast thou heard of the golden age? Full many a story Poets have sung in its praise, simply and touchingly sung-- Of the time when the holy still wandered over life's pathways,-- When with a maidenly shame every sensation was veiled,-- When the mighty law that governs the sun in his...o...b..t, And that, concealed in the bud, teaches the point how to move, When necessity's silent law, the steadfast, the changeless, Stirred up billows more free, e'en in the bosom of man,-- When the sense, unerring, and true as the hand of the dial, Pointed only to truth, only to what was eternal?

Then no profane one was seen, then no initiate was met with, And what as living was felt was not then sought 'mongst the dead; Equally clear to every breast was the precept eternal, Equally hidden the source whence it to gladden us sprang; But that happy period has vanished! And self-willed presumption Nature's G.o.dlike repose now has forever destroyed.

Feelings polluted the voice of the deities echo no longer, In the dishonored breast now is the oracle dumb.

Save in the silenter self, the listening soul cannot find it, There does the mystical word watch o'er the meaning divine; There does the searcher conjure it, descending with bosom unsullied; There does the nature long-lost give him back wisdom again.

If thou, happy one, never hast lost the angel that guards thee, Forfeited never the kind warnings that instinct holds forth; If in thy modest eye the truth is still purely depicted; If in thine innocent breast clearly still echoes its call; If in thy tranquil mind the struggles of doubt still are silent, If they will surely remain silent forever as now; If by the conflict of feelings a judge will ne'er be required; If in its malice thy heart dims not the reason so clear, Oh, then, go thy way in all thy innocence precious!

Knowledge can teach thee in naught; thou canst instruct her in much!

Yonder law, that with brazen staff is directing the struggling, Naught is to thee. What thou dost, what thou mayest will is thy law, And to every race a G.o.dlike authority issues.

What thou with holy hand formest, what thou with holy mouth speakest, Will with omnipotent power impel the wondering senses; Thou but observest not the G.o.d ruling within thine own breast, Not the might of the signet that bows all spirits before thee; Simple and silent thou goest through the wide world thou hast won.

HONORS.

[Dignities would be the better t.i.tle, if the word were not so essentially unpoetical.]

When the column of light on the waters is gla.s.sed, As blent in one glow seem the s.h.i.+ne and the stream; But wave after wave through the glory has pa.s.sed, Just catches, and flies as it catches, the beam So honors but mirror on mortals their light; Not the man but the place that he pa.s.ses is bright.

THE PHILOSOPHICAL EGOTIST.

Hast thou the infant seen that yet, unknowing of the love Which warms and cradles, calmly sleeps the mother's heart above-- Wandering from arm to arm, until the call of pa.s.sion wakes, And glimmering on the conscious eye--the world in glory breaks?

And hast thou seen the mother there her anxious vigil keep?

Buying with love that never sleeps the darling's happy sleep?

With her own life she fans and feeds that weak life's trembling rays, And with the sweetness of the care, the care itself repays.

And dost thou Nature then blaspheme--that both the child and mother Each unto each unites, the while the one doth need the other?-- All self-sufficing wilt thou from that lovely circle stand-- That creature still to creature links in faith's familiar band?

Ah! dar'st thou, poor one, from the rest thy lonely self estrange?

Eternal power itself is but all powers in interchange!

THE BEST STATE CONSt.i.tUTION.

I can recognize only as such, the one that enables Each to think what is right,--but that he thinks so, cares not.

THE WORDS OF BELIEF.

Three words will I name thee--around and about, From the lip to the lip, full of meaning, they flee; But they had not their birth in the being without, And the heart, not the lip, must their oracle be!