The Poems of Schiller - Third period Part 4

And to paint his body, place Dyes within his hand; Let him s.h.i.+ne with ruddy grace In the Spirit-land!

THE FEAST OF VICTORY.

Priam's castle-walls had sunk, Troy in dust and ashes lay, And each Greek, with triumph drunk, Richly laden with his prey, Sat upon his s.h.i.+p's high prow, On the h.e.l.lespontic strand, Starting on his journey now, Bound for Greece, his own fair land.

Raise the glad exulting shout!

Toward the land that gave them birth Turn they now the s.h.i.+ps about, As they seek their native earth.

And in rows, all mournfully, Sat the Trojan women there,-- Beat their b.r.e.a.s.t.s in agony, Pallid, with dishevelled hair.

In the feast of joy so glad Mingled they the song of woe, Weeping o'er their fortunes sad, In their country's overthrow.

"Land beloved, oh, fare thee well!

By our foreign masters led, Far from home we're doomed to dwell,-- Ah, how happy are the dead!"

Soon the blood by Calchas spilt On the altar heavenward smokes; Pallas, by whom towns are built And destroyed, the priest invokes; Neptune, too, who all the earth With his billowy girdle laves,-- Zeus, who gives to terror birth, Who the dreaded Aegis waves.

Now the weary fight is done, Ne'er again to be renewed; Time's wide circuit now is run, And the mighty town subdued!

Atreus' son, the army's head, Told the people's numbers o'er, Whom he, as their captain, led To Scamander's vale of yore.

Sorrow's black and heavy clouds Pa.s.sed across the monarch's brow: Of those vast and valiant crowds, Oh, how few were left him now!

Joyful songs let each one raise, Who will see his home again, In whose veins the life-blood plays, For, alas! not all remain!

"All who homeward wend their way, Will not there find peace of mind; On their household altars, they Murder foul perchance may find.

Many fall by false friend's stroke, Who in fight immortal proved:"-- So Ulysses warning spoke, By Athene's spirit moved.

Happy he, whose faithful spouse Guards his home with honor true!

Woman ofttimes breaks her vows, Ever loves she what is new.

And Atrides glories there In the prize he won in fight, And around her body fair Twines his arms with fond delight.

Evil works must punished be.

Vengeance follows after crime, For Kronion's just decree Rules the heavenly courts sublime.

Evil must in evil end; Zeus will on the impious band Woe for broken guest-rights send, Weighing with impartial hand.

"It may well the glad befit,"

Cried Olleus' valiant son, [24]

"To extol the G.o.ds who sit On Olympus' lofty throne!

Fortune all her gifts supplies, Blindly, and no justice knows, For Patroclus buried lies, And Thersites homeward goes!

Since she blindly throws away Each lot in her wheel contained, Let him shout with joy to-day Who the prize of life has gained."

"Ay, the wars the best devour!

Brother, we will think of thee, In the fight a very tower, When we join in revelry!

When the Grecian s.h.i.+ps were fired, By thine arm was safety brought; Yet the man by craft inspired [25]

Won the spoils thy valor sought.

Peace be to thine ashes blest!

Thou wert vanquished not in fight: Anger 'tis destroys the best,-- Ajax fell by Ajax' might!"

Neoptolemus poured then, To his sire renowned [26] the wine-- "'Mongst the lots of earthly men, Mighty father, prize I thine!

Of the goods that life supplies, Greatest far of all is fame; Though to dust the body flies, Yet still lives a n.o.ble name.

Valiant one, thy glory's ray Will immortal be in song; For, though life may pa.s.s away, To all time the dead belong!"

"Since the voice of minstrelsy Speaks not of the vanquished man, I will Hector's witness be,"-- Tydeus' n.o.ble son [27] began: "Fighting bravely in defence Of his household-G.o.ds he fell.

Great the victor's glory thence, He in purpose did excel!

Battling for his altars dear, Sank that rock, no more to rise; E'en the foemen will revere One whose honored name ne'er dies."

Nestor, joyous reveller old, Who three generations saw, Now the leaf-crowned cup of gold Gave to weeping Hecuba.

"Drain the goblet's draught so cool, And forget each painful smart!

Bacchus' gifts are wonderful,-- Balsam for a broken heart.

Drain the goblet's draught so cool, And forget each painful smart!

Bacchus' gifts are wonderful,-- Balsam for a broken heart.

"E'en to Niobe, whom Heaven Loved in wrath to persecute, Respite from her pangs was given, Tasting of the corn's ripe fruit.

Whilst the thirsty lip we lave In the foaming, living spring, Buried deep in Lethe's wave Lies all grief, all sorrowing!

Whilst the thirsty lip we lave In the foaming, living spring, Swallowed up in Lethe's wave Is all grief, all sorrowing!"

And the Prophetess [28] inspired By her G.o.d, upstarted now,-- Toward the smoke of homesteads fired, Looking from the lofty prow.

"Smoke is each thing here below; Every worldly greatness dies, As the vapory columns go,-- None are fixed but Deities!

Cares behind the horseman sit-- Round about the vessel play; Lest the morrow hinder it, Let us, therefore, live to-day."

PUNCH SONG.

(TO BE SUNG IN NORTHERN COUNTRIES.)

On the mountain's breezy summit, Where the southern sunbeams s.h.i.+ne, Aided by their warming vigor, Nature yields the golden wine.

How the wondrous mother formeth, None have ever read aright; Hid forever is her working, And inscrutable her might.

Sparkling as a son of Phoebus, As the fiery source of light, From the vat it bubbling springeth, Purple, and as crystal bright;

And rejoiceth all the senses, And in every sorrowing breast Poureth hope's refres.h.i.+ng balsam, And on life bestows new zest.

But their slanting rays all feebly On our zone the sunbeams shoot; They can only tinge the foliage, But they ripen ne'er the fruit.

Yet the north insists on living, And what lives will merry be; So, although the grape is wanting, We invent wine cleverly.

Pale the drink we now are offering On the household altar here; But what living Nature maketh, Sparkling is and ever clear.

Let us from the br.i.m.m.i.n.g goblet, Drain the troubled flood with mirth; Art is but a gift of heaven, Borrowed from the glow of earth.

Even strength's dominions boundless 'Neath her rule obedient lie; From the old the new she fas.h.i.+ons With creative energy.

She the elements' close union Severs with her sovereign nod; With the flame upon the altar, Emulates the great sun-G.o.d.

For the distant, happy islands Now the vessel sallies forth, And the southern fruits, all-golden, Pours upon the eager north.

As a type, then,--as an image, Be to us this fiery juice, Of the wonders that frail mortals Can with steadfast will produce!