The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume Iii Part 10

Where can Peace find a refuge? Whither, say, Can Freedom turn? Lo, friend, before our view The CENTURY rends itself in storm away, And, red with slaughter, dawns on earth the New!

The girdle of the lands is loosen'd[16]--hurl'd To dust the forms old Custom deem'd divine,-- Safe from War's fury not the watery world;-- Safe not the Nile-G.o.d nor the antique Rhine.

Two mighty nations make the world their field, Deeming the world is for their heirloom given-- Against the freedom of all lands they wield This--Neptune's trident; that--the Thund'rer's levin Gold to their scales each region must afford; And, as fierce Brennus in Gaul's early tale, The Frank casts in the iron of his sword, To poise the balance, where the right may fail-- Like some huge Polypus, with arms that roam Outstretch'd for prey--the Briton spreads his reign; And, as the Ocean were his household home, Locks up the chambers of the liberal main.

On to the Pole where s.h.i.+nes, unseen, the Star, Onward his restless course unbounded flies; Tracks every isle and every coast afar, And undiscover'd leaves but--Paradise!

Alas, in vain on earth's wide chart, I ween, Thou seek'st that holy realm beneath the sky-- Where Freedom dwells in gardens ever green-- And blooms the Youth of fair Humanity!

O'er sh.o.r.es where sail ne'er rustled to the wind, O'er the vast universe, may rove thy ken; But in the universe thou canst not find A s.p.a.ce sufficing for ten happy men!

In the heart's holy stillness only beams The shrine of refuge from life's stormy throng; Freedom is only in the land of Dreams; And only blooms the Beautiful in Song!

Ca.s.sANDRA (1802)

[There is peace between the Greeks and Trojans--Achilles is to wed Polyxena, Priam's daughter. On entering the Temple, he is shot through his only vulnerable part by Paris.--The time of the following Poem is during the joyous preparations for the marriage.]

And mirth was in the halls of Troy, Before her towers and temples fell; High peal'd the choral hymns of joy, Melodious to the golden sh.e.l.l.

The weary had reposed from slaughter-- The eye forgot the tear it shed; This day King Priam's lovely daughter Shall great Pelides wed!

Adorn'd with laurel boughs, they come, Crowd after crowd--the way divine, Where fanes are deck'd--for G.o.ds the home-- And to the Thymbrian's[17] solemn shrine.

The wild Bacchantic joy is madd'ning The thoughtless host, the fearless guest; And there, the unheeded heart is sadd'ning _One_ solitary breast!

Unjoyous in the joyful throng, Alone, and linking life with none, Apollo's laurel groves among The still Ca.s.sandra wander'd on!

Into the forest's deep recesses The solemn Prophet-Maiden pa.s.s'd, And, scornful, from her loosen'd tresses, The sacred fillet cast!

"To all its arms doth Mirth unfold, And every heart foregoes its cares; And Hope is busy in the old; The bridal-robe my sister wears.

But I alone, alone am weeping; The sweet delusion mocks not me-- Around these walls destruction sweeping More near and near I see!

"A torch before my vision glows, But not in Hymen's hand it s.h.i.+nes; A flame that to the welkin goes, But not from holy offering-shrines; Glad hands the banquet are preparing, And near, and near the halls of state I hear the G.o.d that comes unsparing; I hear the steps of Fate.

"And men my prophet-wail deride!

The solemn sorrow dies in scorn; And lonely in the waste, I hide The tortured heart that would forewarn.

Amidst the happy, unregarded, Mock'd by their fearful joy, I trod; Oh, dark to me the lot awarded, Thou evil Pythian G.o.d!

"Thine oracle, in vain to be, Oh, wherefore am I thus consign'd With eyes that every truth must see, Lone in the City of the Blind?

Cursed with the anguish of a power To view the fates I may not thrall, The hovering tempest still must lower-- The horror must befall!

"Boots it the veil to lift, and give To sight the frowning fates beneath?

For error is the life we live, And, oh, our knowledge is but death!

Take back the clear and awful mirror, Shut from mine eyes the blood-red glare Thy truth is but a gift of terror When mortal lips declare.

"My blindness give to me once more[18]-- The gay dim senses that rejoice; The Past's delighted songs are o'er For lips that speak a Prophet's voice.

To me _the future_ thou hast granted; I miss _the moment_ from the chain-- The happy Present-Hour enchanted!

Take back thy gift again!

"Never for me the nuptial wreath The odor-breathing hair shall twine; My heavy heart is bow'd beneath The service of thy dreary shrine.

My youth was but by tears corroded,-- My sole familiar is my pain, Each coming ill my heart foreboded, And felt it first--in vain!

"How cheer'ly sports the careless mirth-- The life that loves, around I see; Fair youth to pleasant thoughts give birth-- The heart is only sad to me.

Not for mine eyes the young spring gloweth, When earth her happy feast-day keeps; The charm of life who ever knoweth That looks into the deeps?

"Wrapt in thy bliss, my sister, thine The heart's inebriate rapture-springs;-- Longing with bridal arms to twine The bravest of the Grecian kings.

High swells the joyous bosom, seeming Too narrow for its world of love, Nor envies, in its heaven of dreaming, The heaven of G.o.ds above!

"I too might know the soft control Of one the longing heart could choose, With look which love illumes with soul-- The look that supplicates and woos.

And sweet with him, where love presiding Prepares our hearth, to go--but, dim, A Stygian shadow, nightly gliding, Stalks between me and him!

"Forth from the grim funereal sh.o.r.e, The h.e.l.l-Queen sends her ghastly bands; Where'er I turn--behind--before-- Dumb in my path--a Spectre stands!

Wherever gayliest, youth a.s.sembles-- I see the shades in horror clad, Amidst h.e.l.l's ghastly People trembles One soul for ever sad!

"I see the steel of Murder gleam-- I see the Murderer's glowing eyes-- To right--to left, one gory stream-- One circling fate--my flight defies!

I may not turn my gaze--all seeing, Foreknowing all, I dumbly stand-- To close in blood my ghastly being In the far strangers' land!"

Hark! while the sad sounds murmur round, Hark, from the Temple-porch, the cries!-- A wild, confused, tumultuous sound!-- Dead the divine Pelides lies!

Grim Discord rears her snakes devouring-- The last departing G.o.d hath gone!

And, womb'd in cloud, the thunder, lowering, Hangs black on Ilion.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Ca.s.sANDRA Ferdinand Keller]

RUDOLPH OF HAPSBURG (1803)

A BALLAD

[Hinrichs properly cla.s.ses this striking ballad (together with the yet grander one of the "Fight with the Dragon") amongst those designed to depict and exalt the virtue of Humility. The source of the story is in aegidius Tschudi, a Swiss chronicler; and Schiller appears to have adhered, with much fidelity, to the original narrative.]

At Aachen, in imperial state, In that time-hallow'd hall renown'd, At solemn feast King Rudolf sate, The day that saw the hero crown'd!

Bohemia and thy Palgrave, Rhine, Give this the feast, and that the wine;[19]

The Arch Electoral Seven, Like choral stars around the sun, Gird him whose hand a world has won, The anointed choice of Heaven.

In galleries raised above the pomp, Press'd crowd on crowd their panting way, And with the joy-resounding tromp, Rang out the millions' loud hurra!

For, closed at last the age of slaughter, When human blood was pour'd as water-- LAW dawns upon the world![20]

Sharp force no more shall right the wrong, And grind the weak to crown the strong-- War's carnage-flag is furl'd!

In Rudolf's hand the goblet s.h.i.+nes-- And gaily round the board look'd he; "And proud the feast, and bright the wines My kingly heart feels glad to me!

Yet where the Gladness-Bringer--blest In the sweet art which moves the breast With lyre and verse divine?

Dear from my youth the craft of song, And what as knight I loved so long, As Kaiser, still be mine."

Lo, from the circle bending there, With sweeping robe the Bard appears, As silver white his gleaming hair, Bleach'd by the many winds of years; "And music sleeps in golden strings-- Love's rich reward the minstrel sings, Well known to him the ALL High thoughts and ardent souls desire!

What would the Kaiser from the lyre Amidst the banquet-hall?"

The Great One smiled--"Not mine the sway-- The minstrel owns a loftier power-- A mightier king inspires the lay-- Its hest--THE IMPULSE OF THE HOUR!"

As through wide air the tempests sweep, As gush the springs from mystic deep, Or lone untrodden glen; So from dark hidden fount within Comes SONG, its own wild world to win Amidst the souls of men!