The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 519

"You'd better now go homeward straight!

Your servant! there's the door!

For all your pains--one moment wait!

I'll give you--liberal is the rate-- A piece of ruby-ore.

In heaven such things are rareties; We use them for base purposes."

BOOK III.

The G.o.d at once, then, said farewell, At small politeness striving; When sudden through the crowds of h.e.l.l A flying courier rushed pell-mell, From Tellus' bounds arriving.

"Monarch! a doctor follows me!

Behold this wondrous prodigy!"

"Place for the doctor!" each one said-- He comes with spurs and whip, To every one he nods his head, As if he had been born and bred In Tartarus--the rip!

As jaunty, fearless, full of nous As Britons in the Lower House.

"Good morrow, worthy sirs!--Ahem!

I'm glad to see that here (Where all they of Prometheus' stem Must come, whene'er the Fates condemn) One meets with such good cheer!

Why for Elysium care a rush?

I'd rather see h.e.l.l's fountains gus.h.!.+"

"Stop! stop! his impudence, I vow, Its due reward shall meet; By Charles's wain, I swear it now!

He must--no questions I'll allow,-- Prescribe me a receipt.

All h.e.l.l is mine, I'm Pluto hight!

Make haste to bring your wares to light!"

The doctor, with a knowing look, The swarthy king surveyed; He neither felt his pulse, nor took The usual steps,--(see Galen's book),-- No difference 'twould have made As piercing as electric fire He eyed him to his heart's desire.

"Monarch! I'll tell thee in a trice The thing that's needed here; Though desperate may seem the advice-- The case itself is very nice-- And children dragons fear.

Devil must devil eat!--no more!-- Either a wife,--or h.e.l.lebore!

"Whether she scold, or sportive play, ('Tween these, no medium's known), She'll drive the incubus away That has a.s.sailed thee many a day Upon thine iron throne.

She'll make the nimble spirits fleet Up towards the head, down towards the feet."

Long may the doctor honored be Who let this saying fall!

He ought to have his effigy By Phidias sculptured, so that he May be discerned by all; A monument forever thriving, Boerhaave, Hippocrates, surviving!

REPROACH--TO LAURA.

Maiden, stay!--oh, whither wouldst thou go?

Do I still or pride or grandeur show?

Maiden, was it right?

Thou the giant mad'st a dwarf once more, Scattered'st far the mountains that of yore Climbed to glory's sunny height.

Thou hast doomed my flowerets to decay, All the phantoms bright hast blown away, Whose sweet follies formed the hero's trust; All my plans that proudly raised their head Thou dost, with gentle zephyr-tread, Prostrate, laughing, in the dust.

To the G.o.dhead, eagle-like, I flew,-- Smiling, fortune's juggling wheel to view, Careless wheresoe'er her ball might fly; Hovering far beyond Cocytus' wave, Death and life receiving like a slave-- Life and death from out one beaming eye!

Like the victors, who, with thunder-lance, On the iron plain of glory dance, Starting from their mistress' breast,-- From Aurora's rosy bed upsprings G.o.d's bright sun, to roam o'er towns of kings, And to make the young world blest!

Toward the hero doth this heart still strain?

Drink I, eagle, still the fiery rain Of thine eye, that burneth to destroy?

In the glances that destructive gleam, Laura's love I see with sweetness beam,-- Weep to see it--like a boy!

My repose, like yonder image bright, Dancing in the waters--cloudless, light, Maiden, hath been slain by thee!

On the dizzy height now totter I-- Laura--if from me--my Laura fly!

Oh, the thought to madness hurries me!

Gladly shout the revellers as they quaff, Raptures in the leaf-crowned goblet laugh, Jests within the golden wine have birth, Since the maiden hath enslaved my mind, I have left each youthful sport behind, Friendless roam I o'er the earth.

Hear I still bright glory's thunder-tone?

Doth the laurel still allure me on?

Doth thy lyre, Apollo Cynthius?

In my breast no echoes now arise, Every shamefaced muse in sorrow flies,-- And thou, too, Apollo Cynthius?

Shall I still be, as a woman, tame?

Do my pulses, at my country's name, Proudly burst their prison-thralls?

Would I boast the eagle's soaring wing?

Do I long with Roman blood to spring, When my Hermann calls?

Oh, how sweet the eye's wild gaze divine Sweet to quaff the incense at that shrine!

Prouder, bolder, swells the breast.

That which once set every sense on fire, That which once could every nerve inspire, Scarce a half-smile now hath power to wrest!

That Orion might receive my fame, On the time-flood's heaving waves my name Rocked in glory in the mighty tide; So that Kronos' dreaded scythe was s.h.i.+vered, When against my monument is quivered, Towering toward the firmament in pride.

Smil'st thou?--No? to me naught's perished now!

Star and laurel I'll to fools allow, To the dead their marble cell;-- Love hath granted all as my reward, High o'er man 'twere easy to have soared, So I love him well!

THE SIMPLE PEASANT. [62]

MATTHEW.

Gossip, you'll like to hear, no doubt!

A learned work has just come out-- Messias is the name 'twill bear; The man has travelled through the air, And on the sun-beplastered roads Has lost shoe-leather by whole loads,-- Has seen the heavens lie open wide, And h.e.l.l has traversed with whole hide.

The thought has just occurred to me That one so skilled as he must be May tell us how our flax and wheat arise.

What say you?--Shall I try to ascertain?

LUKE.

You fool, to think that any one so wise About mere flax and corn would rack his brain.

ACTAEON.