The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume V Part 29

Upon my heart, and upon my breast, Thou joy of all joys, my sweetest, best!

Bliss, thou art love; O love, thou art bliss-- I've said it, and seal it here with a kiss.

I thought no happiness mine could exceed, But now I am happy, O happy indeed!

She only, who to her bosom hath pressed The babe who drinketh life at her breast; 'Tis only a mother the joys can know Of love, and real happiness here below.

How I pity man, whose bosom reveals No joys like that which a mother feels!

Thou look'st on me, with a smile on thy brow, Thou dear, dear little angel, thou!

Upon my heart, and upon my breast, Thou joy of all joys, my sweetest, best!

7

Ah, thy first wound hast thou inflicted now!

But oh! how deep!

Hard-hearted, cruel man, now sleepest thou Death's long, long sleep.

I gaze upon the void in silent grief, The world is drear; I've lived and loved, but now the verdant leaf Of life is sere.

I will retire within my soul's recess, The veil shall fall; I'll live with thee and my past happiness, O thou, my all!

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Permission Franz Hanfstaengl, New York_ MORITZ VON SCHWIND THE WEDDING JOURNEY]

THE WOMEN OF WEINSBERG[40] (1831)

It was the good King Konrad with all his army lay Before the town of Weinsberg full many a weary day; The Guelph at last was vanquished, but still the town held out; The bold and fearless burghers they fought with courage stout.

But then came hunger, hunger! That was a grievous guest; They went to ask for favor, but anger met their quest.

"Through you the dust hath bitten full many a worthy knight, And if your gates you open, the sword shall you requite!"

Then came the women, praying: "Let be as thou hast said, Yet give us women quarter, for we no blood have shed!"

At sight of these poor wretches the hero's anger failed, And soft compa.s.sion entered and in his heart prevailed.

"The women shall be pardoned, and each with her shall bear As much as she can carry of her most precious ware; The women with their burdens unhindered forth shall go, Such is our royal judgment--we swear it shall be so!"

At early dawn next morning, ere yet the east was bright, The soldiers saw advancing a strange and wondrous sight; The gate swung slowly open, and from the vanquished town Forth swayed a long procession of women weighted down;

For perched upon her shoulders each did her husband bear-- That was the thing most precious of all her household ware.

"We'll stop the treacherous women!" cried all with one intent; The chancellor he shouted: "This was not what we meant!"

But when they told King Konrad, the good King laughed aloud; "If this was not our meaning, they've made it so," he vowed, "A promise is a promise, our loyal word was pledge; It stands, and no Lord Chancellor may quibble or map hedge."

Thus was the royal scutcheon kept free from stain or blot!

The story has descended from days now half forgot; 'Twas eleven hundred and forty this happened, as I've heard, The flower of German princes thought shame to break his word.

THE CRUCIFIX[41] (1830)

In hopeless contemplation of his work The master stood, a frown upon his brow, Where shame and self-contempt appeared to lurk.

With all his art and knowledge he had now Portrayed the suffering Savior's image there-- Yet could the marble not with life endow.

He could not make it live, for all his care-- What is not flesh knows not to suffer pain; Cold stone can none but stone's cold likeness bear.

Beauty and due proportion though it gain, The chisel's marks will never disappear And nature wake, howe'er his prayer may strain:

"Ah, turn not from me, Nature! Thou most dear, I long to raise thee to undreamed of height-- But thou art dumb * * * a sorry bungler's here!"

There entered then a loyal neophyte, Who looked with reverence on the master's art And stood beside him, flushed with new delight.

To the same muse was given his young heart, The selfsame quest of beauty filled his days-- Yet must his soul with endless failure smart.

To him the master: "Scorn is in thy praise!

If so this dull, dead stone thy mind can fill, To death, not life, thou must have turned thy face!"

Then boldly spoke the youth: "Admire I will!

What though thy Christ for death's repose prepare So strangely silent and so strangely still,

Yet at a great thing greatly wrought I stare, And long to match the marvel that I see; I see what is, and thou what should be there."

The master looked upon him silently, His youthful strength, his limbs so straight and fine, And deemed there were no model such as he.

"A prey thou find'st me to despair malign-- How get from lifeless marble life and pain?

Here nature fails, whose secrets else are mine.

To seek a hireling's aid were all in vain; And sought I thine, though partner of my aims, Naught but a cold refusal should I gain."

"Nay," said the youth, "in art's and G.o.d's high names, I would perform unwearied, unafraid, Whate'er of me thy need transcendent claims."

He spoke, and straight his beauty disarrayed, Showing the fair flower of his youthful grace Within the guarded workshop's sacred shade.

Entranced the master gazed, and could not chase A thought that rose unbidden to his mind-- If pain upon that form its lines could trace!

"The help thou off'rest if I am to find, Thee too the cross must raise above the ground * * *"

Willing, the youth his gracious limbs resigned.

With tight cords first his prey the sculptor bound, Then brought the hammer and the piercing nails-- A martyr's death must close the destined round!

The first sharp nail went through, and piteous wails Burst from the youth, but no compa.s.sion woke; An eager eye the look of suffering hails.

With restless haste redoubled, stroke on stroke Achieved the bleeding model that he sought.

Calmly to work he went; no word he spoke.

A hideous joy upon his features wrought-- For nature now each shade of anguished woe Upon the expiring lovely form had taught.

Unceasing worked his hands, above, below; His heart was to all human feeling dead-- But in the marble * * * life began to show!