Šrift:Väiksem АаSuurem Aa
TO GOETHE,
ON HIS PRODUCING VOLTAIRE'S "MAHOMET" ON THE STAGE
Thou, by whom, freed from rules constrained and wrong,
On truth and nature once again we're placed, —
Who, in the cradle e'en a hero strong,
Stiffest the serpents round our genius laced, —
Thou whom the godlike science has so long
With her unsullied sacred fillet graced, —
Dost thou on ruined altars sacrifice
To that false muse whom we no longer prize?
This theatre belongs to native art,
No foreign idols worshipped here are seen;
A laurel we can show, with joyous heart,
That on the German Pindus has grown green
The sciences' most holy, hidden part
The German genius dares to enter e'en,
And, following the Briton and the Greek,
A nobler glory now attempts to seek.
For yonder, where slaves kneel, and despots hold
The reins, — where spurious greatness lifts its head,
Art has no power the noble there to mould,
'Tis by no Louis that its seed is spread;
From its own fulness it must needs unfold,
By earthly majesty 'tis never fed;
'Tis with truth only it can e'er unite,
Its glow free spirits only e'er can light.
'Tis not to bind us in a worn-out chain
Thou dost this play of olden time recall, —
'Tis not to seek to lead us back again
To days when thoughtless childhood ruled o'er all.
It were, in truth, an idle risk and vain
Into the moving wheel of time to fall;
The winged hours forever bear it on,
The new arrives, and, lo! the old has gone.
The narrow theatre is now more wide,
Into its space a universe now steals;
In pompous words no longer is our pride,
Nature we love when she her form reveals;
Fashion's false rules no more are deified;
And as a man the hero acts and feels.
'Tis passion makes the notes of freedom sound,
And 'tis in truth the beautiful is found.
Weak is the frame of Thespis' chariot fair,
Resembling much the bark of Acheron,
That carries naught but shades and forms of air;
And if rude life should venture to press on,
The fragile bark its weight no more can bear,
For fleeting spirits it can hold alone.
Appearance ne'er can reach reality, —
If nature be victorious, art must fly.
For on the stage's boarded scaffold here
A world ideal opens to our eyes,
Nothing is true and genuine save — a tear;
Emotion on no dream of sense relies.
The real Melpomene is still sincere,
Naught as a fable merely she supplies —
By truth profound to charm us is her care;
The false one, truth pretends, but to ensnare.
Now from the scene, art threatens to retire,
Her kingdom wild maintains still phantasy;
The stage she like the world would set on fire,
The meanest and the noblest mingles she.
The Frank alone 'tis art can now inspire,
And yet her archetype can his ne'er be;
In bounds unchangeable confining her,
He holds her fast, and vainly would she stir.
The stage to him is pure and undefiled;
Chased from the regions that to her belong
Are Nature's tones, so careless and so wild,
To him e'en language rises into song;
A realm harmonious 'tis, of beauty mild,
Where limb unites to limb in order strong.
The whole into a solemn temple blends,
And 'tis the dance that grace to motion lends.
And yet the Frank must not be made our guide.
For in his art no living spirit reigns:
The boasting gestures of a spurious pride
That mind which only loves the true disdains.
To nobler ends alone be it applied,
Returning, like some soul's long-vanished manes.
To render the oft-sullied stage once more
A throne befitting the great muse of yore.
THE PRESENT
Ring and staff, oh to me on a Rhenish flask ye are welcome!
Him a true shepherd I call, who thus gives drink to his sheep.
Draught thrice blest! It is by the Muse I have won thee, — the Muse, too,
Sends thee, — and even the church places upon thee her seal.
DEPARTURE FROM LIFE
Two are the roads that before thee lie open from life to conduct thee;
To the ideal one leads thee, the other to death.
See that while yet thou art free, on the first thou commencest thy journey,
Ere by the merciless fates on to the other thou'rt led!
VERSES WRITTEN IN THE FOLIO ALBUM OF A LEARNED FRIEND
Once wisdom dwelt in tomes of ponderous size,
While friendship from a pocketbook would talk;
But now that knowledge in small compass lies,
And floats in almanacs, as light as cork,
Courageous man, thou dost not hesitate
To open for thy friends this house so great!
Hast thou no fear, I seriously would ask,
That thou may'st thus their patience overtask?
VERSES WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF A FRIEND.
(HERR VON MECHELN OF BASLE.)
Nature in charms is exhaustless, in beauty ever reviving;
And, like Nature, fair art is inexhaustible too.
Hail, thou honored old man! for both in thy heart thou preservest
Living sensations, and thus ne'er-ending youth is thy lot!
THE SUNDAY CHILDREN
Years has the master been laboring, but always without satisfaction;
To an ingenious race 'twould be in vision conferred.
What they yesterday learned, to-day they fain would be teaching:
Small compassion, alas, is by those gentlemen shown!
THE HIGHEST
Seerest thou the highest, the greatest!
In that the plant can instruct thee;
What it unwittingly is, be thou of thine own free will!
THE PUPPET-SHOW OF LIFE
Thou'rt welcome in my box to peep!
Life's puppet-show, the world in little,
Thou'lt see depicted to a tittle, —
But pray at some small distance keep!
'Tis by the torch of love alone,
By Cupid's taper, it is shown.
See, not a moment void the stage is!
The child in arms at first they bring, —
The boy then skips, — the youth now storms and rages, —
The man contends, and ventures everything!
Each one attempts success to find,
Yet narrow is the race-course ever;
The chariot rolls, the axles quiver,
The hero presses on, the coward stays behind,
The proud man falls with mirth-inspiring fall,
The wise man overtakes them all!
Thou see'st fair woman it the barrier stand,
With beauteous hands, with smiling eyes,
To glad the victor with his prize.
TO LAWGIVERS
Ever take it for granted, that man collectively wishes
That which is right; but take care never to think so of one!
FALSE IMPULSE TO STUDY
Oh, how many new foes against truth! My very soul bleedeth
When I behold the owl-race now bursting forth to the light.
THE HEREDITARY PRINCE OF WEIMAR, ON HIS PROCEEDING TO PARIS.
(SUNG IN A CIRCLE OF FRIENDS.)
With one last bumper let us hail
The wanderer beloved,
Who takes his leave of this still vale
Wherein in youth he roved.
From loving arms, from native home,
He tears himself away,
To yonder city proud to roam,
That makes whole lands its prey.
Dissension flies, all tempests end,
And chained is strife abhorred;
We in the crater may descend
From whence the lava poured.
A gracious fate conduct thee through
Life's wild and mazy track!
A bosom nature gave thee true, —
A bosom true bring back!
Thou'lt visit lands that war's wild train
Had crushed with careless heed;
Now smiling peace salutes the plain,
And strews the golden seed.
The hoary Father Rhine thou'lt greet,
Who thy forefather 43 blest
Will think of, whilst his waters fleet
In ocean's bed to rest.
Do homage to the hero's manes,
And offer to the Rhine,
The German frontier who maintains,
His own-created wine, —
So that thy country's soul thy guide
May be, when thou hast crossed
On the frail bark to yonder side,
Where German faith is lost!
THE IDEAL OF WOMAN.
TO AMANDA
Woman in everything yields to man; but in that which is highest,
Even the manliest man yields to the woman most weak.
But that highest, — what is it? The gentle radiance of triumph
As in thy brow upon me, beauteous Amanda, it beams.
When o'er the bright shining disk the clouds of affliction are fleeting,
Fairer the image appears, seen through the vapor of gold.
Man may think himself free! thou art so, — for thou never knowest
What is the meaning of choice, — know'st not necessity's name.
That which thou givest, thou always givest wholly; but one art thou ever,
Even thy tenderest sound is thine harmonious self.
Youth everlasting dwells here, with fulness that never is exhausted,
And with the flower at once pluckest thou the ripe golden fruit.
THE FOUNTAIN OF SECOND YOUTH
Trust me, 'tis not a mere tale, — the fountain of youth really runneth,
Runneth forever. Thou ask'st, where? In the poet's sweet art!
WILLIAM TELL. 44
When hostile elements with rage resound,
And fury blindly fans war's lurid flame, —
When in the strife of party quarrel drowned,
The voice of justice no regard can claim, —
When crime is free, and impious hands are found
The sacred to pollute, devoid of shame,
And loose the anchor which the state maintains, —
No subject there we find for joyous strains.
But when a nation, that its flocks still feeds
With calm content, nor other's wealth desires
Throws off the cruel yoke 'neath which it bleeds,
Yet, e'en in wrath, humanity admires, —
And, e'en in triumph, moderation heeds, —
That is immortal, and our song requires.
To show thee such an image now is mine;
Thou knowest it well, for all that's great is thine!
TO A YOUNG FRIEND DEVOTING HIMSELF TO PHILOSOPHY
Severe the proof the Grecian youth was doomed to undergo,
Before he might what lurks beneath the Eleusinia know —
Art thou prepared and ripe, the shrine — the inner shrine — to win,
Where Pallas guards from vulgar eyes the mystic prize within?
Knowest thou what bars thy way? how dear the bargain thou dost make,
When but to buy uncertain good, sure good thou dost forsake?
Feel'st thou sufficient strength to brave the deadliest human fray,
When heart from reason — sense from thought, shall rend themselves away?
Sufficient valor, war with doubt, the hydra-shape, to wage;
And that worst foe within thyself with manly soul engage?
With eyes that keep their heavenly health — the innocence of youth
To guard from every falsehood, fair beneath the mask of truth?
Fly, if thou canst not trust thy heart to guide thee on the way —
Oh, fly the charmed margin ere th' abyss engulf its prey.
Round many a step that seeks the light, the shades of midnight close;
But in the glimmering twilight, see — how safely childhood goes!
EXPECTATION AND FULFILMENT
Into life's ocean the youth with a thousand masts daringly launches;
Mute, in a boat saved from wreck, enters the gray-beard the port.
THE COMMON FATE
See how we hate, how we quarrel, how thought and how feeling divide us!
But thy locks, friend, like mine, meanwhile are bleachening fast.
HUMAN ACTION
Where the pathway begins, eternity seems to lie open,
Yet at the narrowest point even the wisest man stops.
NUPTIAL ODE. 45
Fair bride, attended by our blessing,
Glad Hymen's flowery path 'gin pressing!
We witnessed with enraptured eye
The graces of thy soul unfolding,
Thy youthful charms their beauty moulding
To blossom for love's ecstasy.
A happy fate now hovers round thee,
And friendship yields without a smart
To that sweet god whose might hath bound thee; —
He needs must have, he hath thy heart!
To duties dear, to trouble tender,
Thy youthful breast must now surrender,
Thy garland's summons must obey.
Each toying infantine sensation,
Each fleeting sport of youth's creation,
Forevermore hath passed away;
And Hymen's sacred bond now chaineth
Where soft and fluttering love was shrined;
Yet for a heart, where beauty reigneth,
Of flowers alone that bond is twined.
The secret that can keep forever
In verdant links, that naught can sever,
The bridal garland, wouldst thou find?
'Tis purity the heart pervading,
The blossoms of a grace unfading,
And yet with modest shame combined,
Which, like the sun's reflection glowing,
Makes every heart throb blissfully; —
'Tis looks with mildness overflowing,
And self-maintaining dignity!
THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE NEW CENTURY
Where will a place of refuge, noble friend,
For peace and freedom ever open lie!
The century in tempests had its end,
The new one now begins with murder's cry.
Each land-connecting bond is torn away,
Each ancient custom hastens to decline;
Not e'en the ocean can war's tumult stay.
Not e'en the Nile-god, not the hoary Rhine.
Two mighty nations strive, with hostile power,
For undivided mastery of the world;
And, by them, each land's freedom to devour,
The trident brandished is — the lightning hurled.
Each country must to them its gold afford,
And, Brennus-like, upon the fatal day,
The Frank now throws his heavy iron sword,
The even scales of justice to o'erweigh.
His merchant-fleets the Briton greedily
Extends, like polyp-limbs, on every side;
And the domain of Amphitrite free
As if his home it were, would fain bestride.
E'en to the south pole's dim, remotest star,
His restless course moves onward, unrestrained;
Each isle he tracks, — each coast, however far,
But paradise alone he ne'er has gained!
Although thine eye may every map explore,
Vainly thou'lt seek to find that blissful place,
Where freedom's garden smiles for evermore,
And where in youth still blooms the human race.
Before thy gaze the world extended lies,
The very shipping it can scarce embrace;
And yet upon her back, of boundless size,
E'en for ten happy men there is not space!
Into thy bosom's holy, silent cells,
Thou needs must fly from life's tumultuous throng!
Freedom but in the realm of vision dwells,
And beauty bears no blossoms but in song.
GRECIAN GENIUS.
TO MEYER IN ITALY
Speechless to thousands of others, who with deaf hearts would consult him,
Talketh the spirit to thee, who art his kinsman and friend.
THE FATHER
Work as much as thou wilt, alone thou'lt be standing forever,
Till by nature thou'rt joined forcibly on to the whole.