I Fernab liegt die Welt Mit ihren bunten Geniissen. Muss immer der Morgen wieder kommen? Endet nie deS Irdi- schen Gewalt? Zusam- men floss die Wehmut in eine neue unergriindUche Welt— du Nachtbegeisterung, Schliunmer des Himmels, kamst iiber mich. Die Gegend hob sich sacht empor— iiber der Gegend schwebte mein entbundner, neugebomer Geist.
In ihren Augen ruhte die Ewigkeit— ich fasste ihre Hande, und die Tranen wurden ein funkelndes, unzerreissliches Band. Jahrtausende zogen abwarts in die Feme, wie Ungewitter. An ihrem Halse weint'ich dem neuen Leben entziickende Tranen— das war der erste Traum in dir. Er zog voriiber, aber sein Abglanz blieb, der ewige, unerschiitterliche Glauben an den Nachthimmel und seine Sonne, die Geliebte. IV Nun weiss ich, wenn der letzte Morgen sein wird— wenn das Licht nicht mehr die Nacht und die Liebe scheucht, wenn der Schlummer ewig, und ein unerschopflicher Traum sein wird.
Himmlische Miidigkeit verlasst mich nun nicht wieder. Wessen Mund einmal die kristallene Woge netzte, die, gemeinen Sinnen unsichtbar, quillt in des Hiigels dunkelm Schoos, an dessen Fuss die irdische Flut bricht, wer oben stand auf diesem Grenzgebirge der Welt und hiniibersah in das neue Land, in der Nacht Wohnsitz; wahrlich, der kehrt nicht in das Treiben der Welt 2: Oben baut er sich Hiitten, Hiitten des Frie- dens, sehnt sich und liebt, schaut hiniiber, bis die willkommenste aller Stunden hinunter ihn— in den Brunnen der Quelle zieht.
AUes Irdische schwimmt obenauf und wird von der Hohe hinab- gespiilt, aber was heilig ward durch der Liebe Beriihrung, rinnt aufgelost in verborgnen Gangen auf das jenseitige Gebiet, wo es, wie Wolken, sich mit entschlummerten Lieben mischt. Aber du lockst mich Von der Erinnerung Moosigem Denkmal nicht. Kannst du mir zeigen Ein ewig treues Herz? Hat deine Sonne Freund- liche Augen, Die mich erkennen? Fassen deine Sterne Meine verlangende Hand? Geben mir wieder Den zartlichen Druck? Oder war sie es, Die deinem Schmuck Hohere, liebere Be- deutung gab?
Zu geben Menschlichen Sinn Deinen Schopfungen. Noch reiften sie nicht, Diese gottlichen Gedanken. Noch sind der Spuren Unsrer Gegenwart Wenig. Umsonst ist deine Wut, Dein Toben. Reich an Kleinoden Und herrlichen Wundern. Seit Ewigkeiten Stand ihr geheimnisvoller Ban. Ein alter Riese Trug die sehge Welt. Bald sammelten die kindlichsten Gemiiter, Von allmachtiger Liebe Wundersam ergriffen, j Sich um ihn her. Im Tode ward das ew'ge Leben kund, Du bist der Tod und machst uns erst gesund.
Der Sanger zog Vol! Entsiegelt ward das Geheimnis. Gehoben ist der Stein. Die Menschheit ist erstanden. Wir alle bleiben dein Und fiihlen keine Banden. So manche, die sich gliihend In bittrer Qual verzehrt Und dieser Welt entfliehend Nur dir sich zugekehrt; Die hilfreich uns erschienen In mancher Not und Pein— Wir konimen nun zu ihnen, Um ewig da zu sein. Nun weint an keinem Grabe Fiir Schmerz, wer liebend glaubt. I Der Liebe siisse Habe Wird keinem nicht geraubt. I Wir kommen in dem engen Kahn Geschwind am Him- melsufer an.
Wir miissen nach der Heimat gehn, Um diese heil'ge Zeit zu sehn. Was halt noch unsre Riickkehr auf— Die Liebsten ruhn schon lange. Ihr Grab schliesst unsern Lebenslauf, Nun wird uns weh und bange. Zu suchen haben wir nichts mehr— Das Herz ist satt, die Welt ist leer. Die Lieben sehnen sich wohl auch Und sandten uns der Sehn- sucht Hauch. Though all are faithless growing. Yet will I faithful be. That one on earth is showing His thankfulness to Thee. For me Thou cam'st to suffer For me Thou had'st to smart. And now with joy I offer To Thee my thankful heart.
Forgot and passed Thee by. With naught but love unsparing Thou cam'st for them and me. They let Thee die, uncaring. And thought no more of Thee. Yet true love ever winneth, At last the world will see. When weeping each one cHngeth, A child before Thy knee. When now at last I find Thee, O leave me not alone! But ever closer bind me And let me be Thine ownl My brothers too, beholding, Will soon in Heav'n find rest.
And then Thy love enfolding Will sink upon Thy breast. Wenn alle untreu werden, So bleib ich dir doch treu, Dass Dankbarkeit auf Erden Nicht ausgestorben sei. Oft muss ich bitter weinen, Dass du gestorben bist Und mancher von den Deinen Dich lebenslang vergisst. Von Liebe nur durchdrungen, Hast du so viel getan, Und doch bist du verklungen, Und keiner denkt daran. Ich habe dich empfunden, OI lasse nicht von mir; Lass innig mich verbunden Auf ewig sein mit dir. So heavy grows our cheer.
When all from far o'erpowers Our hearts with ghostly fear. There come wild terrors creeping With stealthy silent tread, And night's dark mantle sweeping O'erweighs the soul with dread. Our pillars strong are shaking. No hold remaineth sure, Our thoughts in whirlpools breaking Obey our will no more. Then madness comes and claims us And none withstands his will, A senses' dullness maims us, The pulse of life stands still.
Who raised the Cross, bestowing A refuge for each heart? Who lives in heaven all-knowing And healeth pain and smart? Go thou where stands that Wonder And to thy heart give ear. His flames shall force asunder And quell thy nightmare fear. An angel bendeth o'er thee And bears thee to the strand. And, filled with joy, before thee Thou seest the Promised Land. Der Wahnsinn naht und locket Unwiderstehlich bin. Der Puis des Lebens stocket, Und stumpf ist jeder Sinn. Wer hat das Kreuz erhoben Zum Schutz f iir jedes Herz? Wer wohnt im Himmel droben Und hilft in Angst und Schmerz?
Ein Engel zieht dich wieder Gerettet auf den Strand, Und schaust vol! Freuden nieder I In das Gelobte Land. When in sad and weary hour Dark despair hath cast its gloom; When overwhelmed by sickness' power Fears our inmost soul consume; When we think of our beloved Bowed with sorrow and with grief; All our heav'ns with clouds are covered Not one hope can bring relief.
God then bendeth to receive us. With his love he draweth near; When we long for life to leave us Then his angel doth appear; Brings the cup of life, restoring Strength and comfort from above; Not in vain our prayers imploring Peaceful rest for those we love. Brentano seems to have inherited the restlessness and effervescence of both the Brentanos and the Laroches.
His interest was probably stimu- lated by Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry. In Brentano married the poetess Sophie M6reau but she died only three years later. His second marriage was unhappy, and he drifted, in the course of time, toward the pious eighteen-year-old Luise Hensel, whom he wooed in vain and who brought him back to the Catholic fold His hterary activities then came to an end, save for recording the visions of the stigmatized nun Anna Katharina Emmerick.
Brentano's claim to immortality rests primarily on his sweetly cadenced lyrics and his tales, such as "The Story of the Just Casper and Fair Annie" , rich in the imaginative charm of folklore. Shall touch no child to grieve it. Simplicity hath sown the seeds, Sadness passed through it with its breath. And longing has achieved it. And is the harvest once cut down, Poverty gleans the stubble, Seeks ears that have been left unseen. Seeks love that for her long went down.
Seeks love with her to rise again. Seeks love that it may love her. And has she, lonely and disdained. Throughout the night with prayer and thanks Rubbed the corn from its casing- She reads, at cockcrow's break of day, Words that hold love, blow grief away. Upon the field cross written: O echo, tell Where Hstenest thou Who understands my lay? O echoing sound, O singst thou her The dreams I Hke the most. The ballads all bring them her Whom I so early losti Deep in my heart The rustling wood Wherein my love doth stray; In sorrows slept The echoing sound.
The tunes have blown away. In woodland am 1 so alone, O dearest, come to me; Though many a song Away has flown. For everything goes by! Yet that I rose again And as her planet e'er must circle round, A spirit, whom she charmed, That goes not byl Yes, everything goes by! Only this wonder-band From out my being's deepest ground To her own spirit spanned, That goes not by! Yes, everything goes byl Yet pledge from gracious hands. Each innocent dear word of hers Follow to other lands And go not by!
Yes, everything goes by! Yet she, who understood The waiting one, with place and hour unfomid. She went not by, she stood, Gives me her hand! Yes, everything goes byl One thing alone is sure, The promise which from out her heart's deep groimd The precious child did send, That doth endure! Denn alles geht vorbeil Doch dass ich auferstand Und wie ein Irrstern ewig sie umrunde, Ein Geist, den sie gebannt, Das hat Bestandl Ja, alles geht vorbei! And the fountains plash and glistenl Music drifts in golden rains; Softly, softly let us listenl Gentle-pleading, mild desire Sweetly tells the heart its plightl Through the darkness, bright as fire, Gleams upon me— music's light.
Golden wehn die Tone nieder, Stille, stille, lass uns lau- schen! Holdes Bitten, mild Verlangen, Wie es siiss zum Herzen spricht! It told a sweeter tale When our two hearts were one. I sing; I cannot weep; I turn my wheel, and there The strand gleams pure and clear While moonbeams vigil keep.
When our two hearts were one. Of joy sang the nightingale; Now all its changeful tale Is but that thou art gone. God yield us joy again! Since thou from me art gone, The ceaseless nightingale sings And restless memories brings Of how two hearts made one. God yield us joy! No sleep Is mine; I spin while here Moonlight streams pure and clear. I sing; I fain would weep. Ich sing' und kann nicht weinen Und spinne so allein [ Den Faden, klar und rein, So lang der Mond wird scheinen.
Da wir zusammen waren, Da sang die Nachtigall, Nun mah- net mich ihr Schall, Dass du von mir gefahren. Gott woUe uns vereinen, [ Hier spinn' ich so allein, Der Mond scheint klar und rein, Ich sing' und mochte weinen! Learn its cadence from the moon. Slow in heaven drifting by. Bees about the honeysuckle, Silver springs upon the gravel Mumble, murmur, whisper, trickle.
World-mystery That gladly welcomes Friendship with me! When the red of the evening has sunken. And no color speaks joyfully now. And the garlands of quiet gleaming sparkles Night binds round her shadowing brow, Wafts holy meaning Of heavenly star To me in the distance. When the tears of the moon softly soothing Release the nights' deep hidden pain, Peace breathes anew. And on little barks golden Sail spirits along on the heavenly main.
Radiant ballad's Resonant flow Undulates upward. All things profound, melancholic appear. Fhts in the darkling Friendliest play. Tranquil hghts sparkling Bright goal display. Kindly and friendly is each bound with other. Trustfully, comforting, offers the hand.
Lights have entwined through the dark nights together, All things forever are inwardly bound. In goldenen Kahnen Schiffen die Geister im himmlischen See. Alles ist freundlich wohlwollend verbunden, Bietet sich tros- tend und traurend die Hand, Sind durch die Nachte die Lichter gewunden, Alles ist ewig im Innem verwandt. Every year thy loving boimty Brings men's hearts and earth good morrow. Every year the flowers thou wakest, Wak'st in me the ancient sorrow. Bom for light alone intended, I a thousand times must perish.
Lacking thee my way has ended. Lost unless thy goodness cherish. When soft sun-filled airs are wafting And earth stirs in warm pulsation, Then stir too those other waters Bound with death and tribulation. And within my heart there shower Bitter founts, beclouded growing; When without the springtime hovers. Comes the fear-flood to fresh flowing. Through poison's earthy layers. As in time they've ever mounted. The deep gorge I have constructed And but feeble 'tis accounted I When the soil to birth is bringing.
When all round the springs are swelling, Hither come the bitter breakers Though no wit, no curse compeUing. For in me there mounts the Deluge Fills my eyes, enraged and ruthless. Evil breeds then come before me, Seem as lambs in motley ghtter. Which I greeted, fruits of sweetness, But which ripened, gall-hke bitter. Lord, bestow on me thy mercy. And my heart-life newly fashion! For of all the earthly springtimes None has ever shown compassion. Master, when they all draw near thee, In their hands the sweet-filled vessels.
Ne'er with bitter gifts down-laden Can my debt to thee be settled. Ah, however deep I burrow. Scoop the waters, tears o'erflovnng, Never can I cleanse the torrent Till pure crystal ground is showingi Ever do the walls assail me. Lies in every layer merging. And my hands with labor bleeding Bum within the bitter surging. Woel the space forever narrows. Waves grow wilder still and rougher. Lord, O Lordl my heart doth fail me— Send thy rainbow with its succor.
Lord, I beg of thee to spare me! Lord, they were telling That a wonderful salvation In thy blood is ever dwelling. Eirnnal nur zum Licht geboren, Aber tausendmal gestorben, Bin ich ohne dich verloren, Ohne dich in mir verdorben. Denn in mir ja steigt die grimme Siindflut, bricht aus meinen Augen.
Herr, erbarme du dich meiner, Dass mein Herz neu bliihend werdel Mein erbarmte sich noch keiner Von den Friihlingen der Erde. Weh, der Raum wird immer enger, Wilder, wiister stets die Wogen; Herr, o Herr, ich treibs nicht langer— Schlage deinen Regenbogenl Herr, ich mahne dich: Herr, ich hort in jungen Tagen, Wunderbare Rettung wohne— Ach! Und so muss ich zu dir schreien, Schreien aus der bittern Tief e, I Konntest du auch nie verzeihen, Dass dein Knecht so kiihnlich riefe. Longs the butterfly for sunlight It must break its woven mansion; So art thou this house destroying That my freedom find expansion.
Such a death I pray thou grant me, Lord! Grant that, senses clear, I give my Soul again within thy keeping! For within thy hands are lying Hearts with humble meekness glowing Like the infant in the cradle Tranquil sleeping, grief unknowing! Full many a man around her To grievous shame she brought; No more could he be rescued Who in her toils was caught. The bishop sent to bid her Before his court appear; Yet must he grant her pardon She was so passing fair. He spoke to her with tremors, "Thou poor young Lore Lay, Who then has thus misled thee To evil sorcery?
My lover hath betrayed me. From me hath turned away, Gone forth on distant journey In foreign land doth stray. Eyes that are wild and timid, The red and white in cheeks. Words sounding quiet and gentle, My magic circle makes. Then let my judgment find me. As Christian let me die; For everything is empty Since he's no longer by.
Thou now shalt be a novice. In black and white a nun; On earth thou shalt prepare thee For when Hfe's days are done! All three the knights go by. And sadly in the middle The lovely Lore Lay. Once more I'd see the castle. Where my dear love did dwell. Once more to look I'm longing Into the deep Rhine flood.
Then will I to the convent And virgin be of God. Precipitous its face, Yet climbed she to the summit And stood at topmost place. Then up above they clambered And rocky summit reached. Then said the maid: Nor could the knights from summit Descend their lives to save, Up there they all must perish.
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With neither priest nor grave. And who has sung this ditty? As were the three my own. All boatmen passing by call out to it and enjoy the many echoes. Wer hat dies Lied gesungen? I Lore Layl Lore Lay! Als waren es meiner drei. He attended the Catholic school at Breslau and the university at Halle, in obtaining a law degree from Heidelberg. After a visit to Paris he lived in Vienna and there qualified for the civil service; he married Luise von Larisch in and occupied responsible offices in Danzig, Konigs- berg, and Berlin Following his retirement he devoted himself exclusively to his literary pursuits.
Heine called Eichendorff "the last knight of Romanticism," and indeed he was the last to sing in misty verse of wonderful melody and magic of the ancient castles of the Danube, of sighing forests and murmuring streams; and his tales, which include the delightful "Memoirs of a Good-for-Nothing" , have the same richness of mood and expression. And now along the vale Wakens the nightingale Till a gray hush again spreads over. O wonder-filled nocturnal song, Far hidden waters whisper long.
Trees shiver as the moonlight gleams— Under the spell you cast My wandering song is lost And like a calling-out of dreams. From earth a dreamlike rustle rises Through all its trees and tantalizes The heart with strangeness half-confessed. Times that are gone, griefs grovra weaker; Faint shiverings are felt and flicker Like summer lightning through the breast.
As though at this selfsame hour Round the ramparts, now half -sunken, The gods made their ancient tour. Here, hid by the myrtle's splendor In the stealthy dwindling light. What jumbled dream words dost thou utter To me, mysterious Night? The stars are all sparkling on me. With ardent and loving gaze. From afar comes elated message As of joy in the coming days. And sinks into sleep once more. But the forest is stirring the treetops, In dream of the precipice grand. For the Lord goes over the sunmiit And blesses the silent land.
Von fern nur schlagen die Glocken 0ber die Walder herein, Ein Reh hebt den Kopf erschrocken Und schlummert gleich wie- der ein. Fine gentlemen and students all, They tread the sunny highway And on their horns they play their call. And face the world with cloudless brow: We play our tune before the door— Which always doubles thirsting— And through the happy portal pour Since our dry throats are biursting. Innkeeper, bring us each a fine Tankard of beer, or glass of wine. Our fluttering capes in rags will fall. Our thin shoes drag on highway.
But on our horns we'll play our call. Our taunting, scornful, wry way: Et habeat bonam pacem Qui sedet post fornacem! Beatus ille homo, Qui sedet in sua domo Et sedet post fornacem Et habet bonam pacem! The summer-wearied earth, her blossoms going, Fills full the grapes with her last fiery glowing. The sun still scatters sparks the while he's sinking. And gives once more to earth his fire for drinking, Till, to bring passion s prey her calm wing under, Star upon star comes night in all her wonder.
Now dream of heaven must. The breeze passed through the com fields. The ears made movements sHght, The forest rustled gently. So star-clear was the night. My soul stretched forth her pinions, And spread them wide to roam, Flew through the silent landscapes As if she flew toward home. And the world breaks forth in singing. Once the magic word is found. They but bring confusion here In the waves' soft undulations. Wishes are like clouds, I find, Ships through silent spaces roving, Who can say in stealthy wind Whether thoughts or dreams are moving?
Now I close my lips and heart. Saving stars from lamentations. Gently still in depths of heart Live the waves' soft undulations. Leise doch im Herzensgrund Bleibt das linde Wel- lenschlagen. Earth sleeps, the boughs half stripped where foliage sprang. Hushed are the songs that late so sweetly rang, And winter covers all with gloomy weather. The wall clock ticks, and still with ruffled feather Sofdy the bird sings which in autumn sang.
You turn, shielded from ice and storm's harangue, A picture book which holds the past together. Often such mildness age would have me learn. One at the window knocks with happy face. Astonished, you step out, nor then return. For the spring comes at last which has no ending. Die Wanduhr pickt, im Zimmer singet leise Waldvoglein noch, so du im Herbst gefangen.
Ein Bilderbuch scheint alles, was vergangen, Du blatterst drin, geschiitzt vor Sturm und Eise. So mild ist oft das Alter mir erschienen: Only the wind is waihng Round about the house While we sit here lonely. It is as if you were softly Going to knock on the door, Tired after straying. And come back once more. Foolish, foolish people I We are the ones who roam Still lost in dread of the darkness— You have long since been home.
Es ist, als miisstest leise Du klopfen an die Tiir, Du hatt'st dich nur verirret, Und kamst nun miid zuriick. Sorrow as thief doth ever In stealth our life draw near. We all are doomed to sever From all that we hold dear. What had the earth of savor. Who would its troubles bear, Who to be bom would favor- Were not Thy house up there! Yet do earthly pictures enter.
Ever parting thee from me. And the soul must gaze with terror As at dark abyss beneath her, I have fear, stem God, of thee. Ah, but break as well my fettersl All humanity to rescue Didst thou go through bitter death. Alle Menschen zu erretten Gingst du ja in bittern Tod. Sings o'er the sea his evening song, God's praise for his safekeeping. Like clouds that pass, year follows year, And leaves me standing lonely here.
The world doth quite forget me; Then didst thou come so wondrously When I beside the rustling tree In deepest thought had sat me. O solace of the world, calm Night! The day has tired me with its light, The ocean wide grows dimmer. Let me but rest from joy and need. Till dawn's eternal morning-red Through the quiet wood doth glimmer. O Trost der Welt, du stille Nacht! The forest is long, thou art alone.
I'll take thee home! With grief my heart is pierced to the core. The hunting horn wanders to and fro. So fair of face, so fair of limb. My castle fine From highest cliflF looks deep in the Rhine. It is so late, it is so cold. No more wilt thou escape this wold. For father and mother are long since dead, Why bloom they with none to see? The fount goes chattering on and on Of the beautiful days of yore; A woman sits there in the deepest sleep, O'er her gown fall her locks of hair. She is holding a lute in her peaceful hand.
As if in her sleep she spake, I seem to have known her in distant land, Quietly pass I nor the slumberer wakel And when it grows dark along the vale She softly strokes the strings, Then all night long a wonderful tone Through the ancient garden rings. My loved one now has vanished From this, her native ground. Her troth to me she plighted, And sealed it with a ring. But when her troth she slighted, My hoop in two did spring. I'd like to ride as minstrel Through the wide world along. From house to house Td wander. And sing my timeful song. I'd like to fly as horseman Right in the bloody fight; Round quiet field fires lay me To rest in dark of night.
Then all at once 'twere still. Hor ich das Miihlrad gehen: Ich weiss nicht, was ich will— Ich mocht am liebsten sterben, I Da wars auf einmal still. He found himself ill-fitted for army life and taking a per- manent leave of absence after studied philosophy and modem languages in Wiirzburg and Erlangen, where he was profoundly influenced by the philosopher Schelling. Conversant with twelve languages, Platen traveled exten- sively and became familiar with many and sundry litera- tures. A poet from his adolescence, he was a perfectionist and, unlike most of the Romantic poets of his day, he de- voted much time to controlling and polishing his materials.
Platen frequently visited Italy and in settled there for life; perhaps his finest poems are the sonnets he devoted to Venice, which, though impeccably classical, contain that romantic beauty-death concept which later inspired Thomas Mann. No doubt Platen's homosexuality and his decision to live solely for art and beauty determined his uprootedness, a negation which was, too, essentially anti- Romantic. He followed in the footsteps of Riickert, who was also a linguist, a translator, and a Franconian Protes- tant, in acclimatizing all kinds of foreign poetical forms: With his "Ghasellen" and "Venetian Sonnets" Platen registered his most memorable triumphs, and in his con- cern with perfection of form he is unquestionably Stefan George's forerunner.
O Spanish monks, for me unbar your doorl Here let me rest and waken to the chime That hurries you to church at praying time. What your house oflFers, that I must assume; Show me a monk's habit and a monk's tomb. Accept me, set me in a little cell. Before me more than half the world once feU. The head that now seeks tonsure and bows down Was diademed with more than one proud crown. The shoulder that a cowl has humbled here Knew ermine and imperial tiring gear. Not dead, but as the dead, I fall and crack Like the old Empire crumbling at my back. Mehr als die Halfte dieser Welt war mein.
Das Haiipt, das nun der Schere sich bequemt, Mit mancher Krone ward's bediademt. Die Schulter, die der Kutte nun sich biickt, Hat kaiserlicher Hermelin geschmiickt. Up and down the river move the shades of warrior Goths unsleeping, Mourning stiU their peerless chieftain, Alaric, with chant and weeping. Here they buried him, yet youthful, far from home in earth to moulder, While his blond locks yet in beauty fell around his sinewy shoulder.
Here along these river banks strong hands in rivalry contending Delved and wrought, the river's coiurse into another channel bending. And I would follow the hero into the depths Did not love hold me. Doch heilig hist du mir, wie der Erde Macht, Die dich hin- wegnahm, kiihner Getodteter!
Suffused with a fairer life? Why did they adore me more Then when I was wilder, prouder, Emptier although more full of words? Warum achtetet ihr mich mehr, Da ich stolzer und wilder, Wortereicher und leerer war? Drunk and drowsy, my soul is filled With all your rapture; for it was only now That I had listened as, with golden Tones, the enchanting youth, the sun-god, On heaven's lyre was playing his evensong; The woods and hills around were resounding all.
But far away, where humble nations Worship him still, he is now residing. The soul, deprived in hfe of her right divine. Can find no rest below in the Orcus' realm; But once I have achieved the sacred Thing that lies close to my heart, the poem. Be welcome then, O world of silence and shadesi Content I shall be even without my lyre Accompanying me; for once I Lived like the gods, and no more is needed. To us, though, is given No rest wherever we go: So would I, too, come home, if I had Harvested riches to vie with sorrow.
You faithful shores, forsaken, that nursed me once. Will you still the sorrows of love, will you promise me. You forests of my youth, if I Come, the peace of the heart once more? At the cool brook where I watched the play of waves. The river where I gazed at the gliding ships, There, soon. And loving embraces, brothers' and sisters' arms, I feel them soon, and you surround me That, as in bonds, my heart be healed. You true, you steadfast onesl But I know, I know. The wound of love, this cannot so quickly heal; This no cradlesong mortals pitying Sing to the comfortless, drives from my breast.
For they, the gods, who lend us the heavenly fire. This holy sorrow also impart to us. So let it be. A son of Earth Am I: Denn sie, die uns das himmlische Feuer leihn, Die Gotter schenken heiliges Leid uns auch, Drum bleibe diss. Ein Sohn der Erde Schein' ich: And do the ships Turn singing toward your shore once more? Do the light, Longed-for breezes breathe upon your quiet waves?
And do the dolphins, lured from the depths, now sun their backs In the new light? For always, In the spring, when the heart revives in the living, when strong young love Awakes in men with memories of a golden age, I come to you and greet you, silent and great Old ManI You, mighty one, still live, still rest in the shadows of Your mountain, as before; with a young man s arms you embrace Your loved land and your daughters, O father of the bestl None of your blossoming islands is yet lost to us.
They all still live, those mothers of heroes, those islands, Blossoming year by year, and when, at times, a fire, A volcanic storm in the night, released from underground. Seized one of your darlings, and, dying, she sank in your arms. You, godlike, could endure, for over your dark depths You know a world of purposes has risen and sunk.
And they, the spirits of the sky, those still forces of the heights. They who, in the fullness of their power, bring Clear day, sweet slumber, and wonders from far away For thinking, feeling men, they, too, your ancient play- mates. Live with you, as before, and often, in darkening evening. When the holy moonlight comes from the mountains of Asia And the stars meet images of themselves in your waves. You shine with celestial splendor, and so, as they move. Your waters change, the music of your brothers breaks In the sky, and their night-song echoes in your loving heart.
Then, when the Sun retiuns, all-clarifying light, When she, the wonder-working child of the east appears. All who hve and love begin their golden dream. Which she, like a poet, spins each magic morning for them. And to you, O grieving god, she sends a gayer magic. And her own friendly light is not so beautiful As the crown, her love gift, which she winds around your loved Gray locks in sign of her remembering, today as in the past.
Does not the air embrace you, and, yes, do not the clouds, Your messengers, move toward you from shaken heights With hghtning, gift of gods? Rushes toward you, exulting, and now the first-born, the old one. He who withheld himself far too long, your majestic Nile, Striding from distant mountains, like a victor With clangor of armor, comes with open, yearning arms. But you seem lonely now; in the silence of the night The rocks can hear your wailing, and often your winged waves, Angered by mortal ways, rise madly to the sky.
For the noble loved ones no longer live with you, They who honored you, who garlanded your shores With fair temples and cities; and always they search and fail, The godly elements, for always, for their glory. They need the hearts of feeling men, as heroes need their crowns.
Tell me, where is Athens? Has your city, dearest To you, the jewel of sacred shores, sunk wholly in ashes Over the luns of the masters, grieving god? Or is there still a sign of her so that the sailor, Perhaps, when he passes by, can call and think of her? Was it not there that the columns rose high and the images Of the gods shone down from the roof of the citadel? Was it not there that the storm-dark voice of the people roared From the Agora, and from the happy city gates The streets ran down to a heaven-gifted harbor? It was there the far- thinking merchant untied his ship.
Has for years been smugly counting his store of weapons and slaves. Mocking the Greek land and its scattered little islands. For they seemed a joke to the lord and virtually a mirage— That sensitive people, armed with the intellect of gods! He speaks a word lightly, and fast as a flaming torrent When it pours its terror down the slopes of exploding Etna, Buries cities and blooming gardens in its purple flood, Until the burning stream is cooled in the sacred sea.
So the King ventures now, burning, destroying cities, And his splendid forces plunge in tumult from Ecbatan. But on the shores of Salamis, O day, on the shores of Salamis, The women of Athens, the virgins, stand waiting for the end. And the mothers stand rocking their saved young sons in their arms. And out of the depths, as they listen, the voice of the sea- god resounds. Prophesying victory, and the gods look down from heaven. Weighing and judging, for there on the quaking shores. Like a slowly moving tempest, there on the foaming waters, The battle has swayed since dawn, and noon is burning already Over the heads of the warriors, unnoticed in their rage.
But now the men of the people, those descendants of he- roes, govern Clearer eyes, they whom the gods love think of their Predestined happiness, the children of Athens do not Restrain their genius now, their death-despising gift. For, like a desert beast, with boihng blood, which once More rises, transformed and equal to a greater force, Startling the himter, now in the middle of disaster, As weapons flash, the weary spirit rises strong Once more, rewound with savage force at the call of the leaders.
And the battle grows more fiery; like pairs of wrestlers Ship seizes ship, the rudder reels in the sea. The decks break under the warriors, and ships and sailors sink. He threatens and pleads and exults and sends fast mes- sengers; But he sends in vain, for none returns to him with hope. Blood-soaked messengers, slain soldiers, shattered ships That avenger, the thundering wave, flings at him number- less Before his throne, where he sits glumly on the quaking shore Watching the flight; then, pulled away by his fleeing troop. He runs, for the god drives him and drives his routed squadron Over the sea, the god who, scorning vain jewelry, Struck, at last, and reached the weakling in imposing armor.
Mingling joyously, the shining band rushes down To the deserted valley, much like an aged mother When, after years have passed, a child thought lost Returns again to her bosom, alive, a grown young man. But her soul is clouded with grief and joy comes too late to her. Wearied by hoping, and she barely understands What her loving son says to her in his gratitude; So seems the earth of their homeland to the returning band. But they ask in vain for their groves, these pious Athenians, And the friendly door no longer welcomes the victor As it once received the wanderer when, joyously.
He returned from the islands, and the sacred citadel Of Mother Athena rose, far-shining, over his yearning head. And soon the husband seeks and finds the place of his own Home under the ruins; his wife weeps, with her arms Around his neck, remembering the loved place where they slept; The children ask where the table is at which they sat In lovely row, watched over by their fathers, the smihng gods of the home.
The people raise tents, old neighbors are reunited now, And near the dwelling place of their reviving hearts They lay out airy houses for themselves on the hills. So they live now, for a while, like their free ancestors. They who knew their strength and believed in the coming day And moved from mountain to mountain like wandering birds, with song, Lords of the awesome forests and far-wandering streams. And again the constant Mother Earth receives her noble Folk, as before, and under sacred, beneficent heaven They softly sleep as the young winds blow around them, Mildly as before, and the sound of iHssus rises Through the plane trees, and, foretelhng new and better Days, inspiring greater deeds, the waves of the sea-god Roar by night from afar, send happy dreams to the loved ones.
And golden flowers bud and bloom again, at last, In the trodden fields; the olive trees are green. Now tended by pious hands; and on the plains of Colonus The Athenian horses graze again, peacefully. Look I The forest serves the creator, and Pentelicus, Like other neighboring mountains, gives him marble and ore; Alive, like himself, and happy and great, his work springs from His hands, and, like the sun, it succeeds for him easily. Fountains rise in the air, and over the hills, in clean And guided courses, a spring leaps into glittering basins; And around them shines, like celebrating heroes At the conmion cup, a row of dwellings; the resplendent Prytaneum rises high; the gymnasiums are open; The temples of the gods ascend, and that of Zeus, A bold and sacred design, climbs through the air toward the gods From its happy grove; and there are many heavenlike halls!
Mother Athena, your glorious hill grew high And prouder out of its sorrow, and it blossomed for many years, And to you, O god of the sea, your loved ones, gathered in joy.
Sandra Ratkovic
Often sang thanks from the headland where the laurel grows. Will my eyes never see them? Ah, on the thousand Paths of the green earth the ardent searcher will never find Your godhke forms, and was it for this I learned your speech. The saga of your past, that my always mourning soul Should rush down blindly to your shades before its time? Where your sacred hill covers its lonely head with clouds, To Parnassus will I go, and when, in the dark of the oaks.
The glimmering spring of Kastalia meets me, wandering, I will pour from a blossom-scented cup, there on the rich. Springing green, water mixed with tears, and with it, all you sleepers, I shall make a death oflFering. There in the quiet valley, near Tempers overhanging rocks, 1 will Hve with you, and there, O glorious names, I will call you at night, and when you storm in anger Because a plow has profaned your graves, I will atone With the voice of the heart and with pious song, O holy shades.
Until my soul is wholly accustomed to Hfe with you. Then will your acolyte ask much of you, O dead. And of you, the living, as well, you high powers of the skyi When you pass by carrying your years over the ruins, You in undeviating course, for often this labyrinth Under the stars dismays me, like chill winds at the bosom.
So that I search for counsel, and no longer do The prophetic groves of Dodona speak comfort to those in need. And dumb is the Delphic god, and lonely and empty lie The paths where once, led lightly by his hopes, A questioner could chmb to the seat of the honest seer. But there is light on high, it speaks to mankind even today, Full of bright meanings, and the voice of the great thun- derer Calls: Do you think of me?
And the sorrowful waves of the sea-god Resound: Do you never think of me as before? For the gods rest happily in feeling hearts, and today, As always, the inspiring powers gladly guide A striving man, and over the hills of the homeland The encompassing atmosphere rests and rules and stays So that a loving people, gathered in its father's arms.
May be humanly happy again and possess a spirit in com- mon. Men are bound to their own tasks Alone, and in the roaring workshop each can hear Only himself. They work hke savages, steadily. With powerful, restless arms, but always and always The labor of the fools is sterile, like the Furies. So it will be until, awakened from anxious dreams, The souls of men arise, youthfully glad, and the blessed Breath of love blows in a newer time, as it often did For the blossoming children of Hellas, and over freer brows The spirit of nature, the far-wandering, shines for us again In silent, hngering divinity from golden clouds.
Ah, do you linger still? And must God-created men Live always, O day, as if they were in the depths of the earth, All lonely there below, while ever-living spring Dawns unsung over the heads of the sleepers? Not any longerl Already I hear, in the distance, A festive choral song on the green hill and its echo in the grove, Where the breasts of the young lift happily and where the souls of the people Quietly join in a freer song for the honor of The god to whom the heights and the valleys are sacred; For where a youthful, growing stream runs gaily on Under the flowers of the land, and where on sunny plains The rich grain and the orchard ripen, there, in festival.
Even the pious wear crowns, and on the hill of the city A heavenly hall of joy, seemingly man-made, shines. For life is now full of godlike sensibility. And everywhere, O Nature, you appear again As perfection to your children, and as from mountain springs Your blessings flow into the waking soul of the people.
Ah, then, O joys of Athens, O great achievements in Sparta, O precious springtime in Greece, when our holy harvest comes, When it ripens, O glorious spirits of all the ancient world, Come back and see that the year's perfection is near! Then our festival will honor you, long-gone days! Conceal the griever From peering day! And crown with eternal leaf, you groves Of laurel, the hill of your dead ones there at Marathon, Where the youths died in victory.
Ah, there on the fields of Chaeronea, Where the last Athenians ran away with their weapons. But you, O immortal sea-god, if the song of the Greeks No longer rises from the waves to please you, as before. Still sound for me often in my soul, that over your waters The fearless, lively spirit, like a swimmer, may move In freshness and strength and understand the speech of the gods.
Change and becoming, and if this destructive, raging time Should seize my head too firmly and the needs and errors Of mortal men should rock my life with blows. Let me remember then the silence of your depths. Bliiht Jonien, ist es die Zeit? Deiner Inseln ist noch, der bliihenden, keine verloren. Alle leben sie noch, die Heroenmiitter, die Inseln, Bliihend von Jahr zu Jahr, und wenn zu Zeiten, vom Abgrund Losgelassen, die Flamme der Nacht, das untre Gewitter, Eine der Holden egriff und die Sterbende dir in den Schoos sank, Gottlicher, du, du dauertest aus, denn iiber den dunkeln Tiefen ist manches schon dir auf und untergegangen.
Auch die Himmhschen, sie, die Krafte der Hohe, die stillen. Wenn die allverklarende dann, die Sonne des Tages, Sie, des Orients Kind, die Wunderthatige, da ist, Dann die Lebenden all' im goldenen Traume beginnen, Den die Dichtende stets des Morgens ihnen bereitet, Dir, dem trauern- den Gott, dir sendet sie froheren Zauber, Und ihr eigen freund- liches Licht ist selber so schon nicht, Denn das Liebeszeichen, der Kranz, den immer, wie vormals Deiner gedenk, doch sie um die graue Loke dir windet. Dann sendest du iiber das Land sie, Dass am heissen Gestad die gewittertrun- kenen Walder Rauschen und woogen mit dir, dass bald, dem wandernden Sohn gleich, Wenn der Vater ihn ruft, mit den tausend Bachen Maander Seinen Irren enteilt und aus der Ebne Kayster Dir entgegenfrohlokt, und der Erstgeborne, der Alte, Der zu lange sich barg, dein majestatischer Nil izt Hochher- schreitend aus fernem Gebirg, wie im Klange der Waffen, Sieg- reich kommt, und die offenen Arme der Sehnende reichet.
Dennoch einsam diinkest du dir; in schweigender Nacht hort Deine Weheklage der Fels, und ofters entflieht dir Ziirnend von SterbHchen weg die gefliigelte Wooge zum Himmel. Sage, wo ist Athen? Stiegen dort die Saulen empor und leuchteten dort nicht Sonst vom Dache der Burg herab die Cot- ter gestalten?. I Rauschte dort die Stimme des volks, die stiirmisch- bewegte, Aus der Agora nicht her, und eilten aus freudigen Pforten Dort die Gassen dir nicht zu geseegnetem Haf en herun- ter?
Leicht aus spricht er das Wort, und schnell, wie der flammende Bergquell, Wenn er furchtbar umher vom gahrenden Atna gegossen, Stadte begrabt in der purpurnen Fluth und bliihende Garten, Bis der brennende Strom im heiligen Meere sich kiihlet, So mit dem Konige nun, versengend, stadteverwiistend, Stiirzt von Ekbatana daher sein prachtig Getiimmel; Wehl und Athene, die herrliche, fallt; wohl schauen und ringen Vom Gebirg, wo das Wild ihr Geschrei hort, fliehende Greise Nach den Wohnungen dort zuriik und den rau- chenden Tempeln; Aber es wekt der Sohne Gebet die heilige Asche I Nun nicht mehr, im Tal ist der Tod, und die Wolke des Brandes Schwindet am Himmel dahin, und weiter im Lande zu emdten, Zieht, vom Frevel erhizt, mit der Beute der Perse voriiber.
Blutige Boten, Erschlagne des Heers, und berstende Schiffe Wirft die Racherin ihm zahllos, die donnemde Wooge, Vor den Thron, wo er sizt am bebenden Ufer, der Arme, Schauend die Flucht, und fort in die fliehende Menge gerissen, Eilt er, ihn treibt der Gott, es treibt sein irrend Geschwader tJber die Fluthen der Gott, der spottend sein eitel Geschmeid ihm Endlich zerschlug und den Schwachen erreicht' in der drohenden Riistung.
Aber liebend zuriik zum einsamharrenden Strome Kommt der Athener Volk und von den Bergen der Heimath Woogen, freu- dig gemischt, die glanzenden Schaaren herunter Ins verlassene Thai, achi gleich der gealterten Mutter, Wenn nach Jahren das Kind, das verlorengeachtete, wieder Lebend ihr an den Busen kehrt, ein erwachsener Jiingling, Aber im Gram ist ihr die Seele gewelkt und die Freude Kommt der hoffnungsmiiden zu spat und miihsam vemimmt sie, Was der liebende Sohn in seinem Danke geredet; So erscheint den Kommenden dort der Boden der Heimath.
Denn es fragen umsonst nach ihren Hainen die Frommen, Und die Sieger empf angt die freundliche Pforte nicht wieder, Wie den Wanderer sonst sie empfieng, wenn er froh von den Inseln Wiederhekrt' und die seelige Burg der Mutter Athene I t ber sehnendem Haupt ihm fernherglanzend heraufgieng.
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Aber wohl sind ihnen bekannt die verodeten Gassen Und die trauemden Garten umher und auf der Agora, Wo des Portikus Saulen gestiirzt imd die gottlichen Bilder Liegen, da reicht, in der Seele bewegt, und der Treue sich freuend, Jezt das liebende Volk zum Bunde die Hande sich wieder. Aber Gezelte bauet das Volk, es schliessen die alten Nachbarn wieder sich an, und nach des Herzens Gewohnheit Ordnen die luftigen Wohnungen sich umher an den Hiigeln. Schon auch sprossen und bliihn die Blumen malig, die goldnen, Auf zertre- tenem Feld, von frommen Handen gewartet, Griinet der Olbaum auf, und auf Kolonos Gefilden Nahren friedlich, wie sonst, die Athenischen Rosse sich wieder.
Siehl und dem Schaf- fenden dient der Wald, ihm reicht mit den andern Bergen nahe zur Hand der Pentele Marmor und Erze; Aber lebend, wie er, und froh und herrlich entquillt es Seinen Handen, und leicht, wie der Sonne, gedeiht das Geschafft ihm.
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Brunnen steigen empor und iiber die Hiigel in reinen Bahnen gelenkt, ereilt der Quell das glanzende Beken; Und umher an ihnen erglanzt, gleich festhchen Helden Am gemeinsamen Kelch, die Reihe der Wohn- ungen, hoch ragt Der Prytanen Gemach, es stehn Gymnasien offen, I Gottertempel entstehn, ein heihgkiihner Gedanke, Steigt, Unsterblichen nah, das Olympion auf in den Ather Aus dem seeligen Hain; noch manche der himmlischen HallenI Mutter Athene, dir auch, dir wuchs dein herrlicher Hiigel Stolzer aus der Trauer empor und bliihte noch lange, Gott der Woogen und dir, und deine Liebhnge sangen Frohversammelt noch oft am Vorgebirge den Dank dir.
O die Kinder des Gliiks, die frommen I wandeln sie fern nun Bei den Vatem daheim, und der Schicksalstage vergessen, Drii- ben am Lethestrom, und bringt kein Sehnen sie wieder? Sieht mein Auge sie nie? Dort im schweigenden Thai, an Tempes hangenden Felsen, Will ich wohnen, mit euch, dort oft, ihr herrlichen Nahmen! Her euch rufen, bei Nacht, und wenn ihr ziirnend escheinet, Weil der Pflug die Graber entweiht, mit der Stimme des Herzens Will ich, mit frommen Gesang, euch siihnen, heilige SchattenI Bis, zu leben mit euch, sich ganz die Seele gewohnet.
Fragen wird der Geweihtere dann euch manches, ihr TodtenI Euch, ihr Le- benden auch, ihr hohen Krafte des Himmelsl Wenn ihr iiber dem Schutt mit euren Jahren vorbeigeht, Ihr in der sicheren BahnI denn oft ergreiffet das Irrsaal Unter den Sternen mir, wie schaurige Liifte, den Busen, Dass ich spahe nach Rath, und lang schon reden sie nimmer Trost den Bediirftigen zu, die prophe- tischen Haine Dodonas, Stumm ist der delphische Gott, und einsam liegen und ode Langst die Pfade, wo einst, von Hoff- nungen leise geleitet, Fragend der Mann zur Stadt des redlichen Sehers herauf stieg.
Denn es ruhn die Himmlischen gem am fiihlenden Herzen, Immer, wie sonst, geleiten sie noch, die begeistemden Krafte, Gerne den strebenden Mann, und iiber den Bergen der Heimath Ruht und waltet und lebt allgegenwartig der Ather, I Dass ein liebendes Volk, in des Vaters Armen gesammelt, Menschlich freudig, wie sonst, und Ein Geist alien gemein sei. Ans eigene Treiben Sind sie ge- schmiedet allein, und sich in der tosenden Werkstatt Horet jeglicher nur und viel arbeiten die Wilden Mit gewaltigem Arm, rastlos, doch immer und immer Unfruchtbar, wie die Furien, bleibt die Miihe der Armen.
Achl und sau- mest du noch? Dann, dann, o ihr Freuden Athens! Hin nach Hellas schaue das Volk, und weinend und dankend Sanftige sich in Erinnerungen der stolze Triimiphtag. Aber bliihet indess, bis unsre Friichte beginnen, Bliiht, ihr Garten Joniens! Aber du, unsterblich, wenn auch der Grie- chengesang schon Dich nicht feiert, wie sonst, aus deinen Woogen, o Meergott! Tone mir in die Seele noch oft, dass iiber den Wassem Furchtlosrege der Geist, dem Schwimmer gleich, in der Starken Frischem Gliike sich iib', und die Gottersprache, das Wechseln Und das Werden versteh', und wenn die reissende Zeit mir Zu gewaltig das Haupt ergreifft und die Noth und das Irrsaal Unter Sterblichen mir mein sterblich Leben erschiittert, Lass der Stille mich dann in deiner Tiefe gedenken.
Cold the Walls stand And wordless, in the wind The weathercocks are rattling. And all around, from sanctum to sanctum. Runs the refreshing, the now-melodious stream, Till the house and its cold blue shadows. And a marveling seized The souls of the smitten and night Was over the eyes of the best. For man can do much; he compels with his art The flood and the rock and the fury of fire; Man is puffed up and heeds not The sword, but many a mighty one Lies there struck down by the gods, and almost Resembles the hunted— which, Urged by sweet youth.
Roams unrestingly over the mountains and feels Its strength in the noonday heat. But when holy Twilight descends with the dancing zephyrs, and. With the cooler ray, the spirit of joy Comes to the soulful earth, then it succumbs. Unaccustomed to beauty, and slimibers in wakeful sleep Before the approach of the stars.
For with many The hght faded out of their eyes at the sight of the friendly, The god-sent gifts from Ionia, From burning Arabia; but never Once did the soul of those sleepers Rejoice at the lovable teaching, the lordly psalms, though a few Watched. And often they journeyed Contented among you, you dwellers in beautiful cities. Sat at the contests, the games where the hero invisibly. Secretly sat as of old with the poets. Watching the wrestlers and smilingly praising, Himself full of praise, the gravely indolent children.
O what a ceaseless loving it was and still is! For we still, though divided, think of each other. Dwellers upon the glorious isthmus. But if you And this must be said , if you ancients Spoke not the Word, whence should it come? So we name you in all your Holy necessity, Naturel from whom, as though stepping Fresh from the bath.
The limbs of the god-bom appear. Yet almost we live like the orphans. All is as it was, perhaps— only that tenderness Comes not again, though young lovers, Wistful of childhood, are strangers no more in the house. Threefold they live like the first Sons of the morning. And faith was not given Vainly into our hearts; Not us, but you also it safeguards, you Children of destiny, truly, and there Where the sanctities are, the arms of the Word Which you left for us fumblers and gropers at your de- parture. There we shall find you, good spirits; and often.
When the holy vapor swirls round us, We marvel and know not how to unriddle it. You spice our breath with your nectar And then we exult or more often we fall Darkly to brooding— for he whom you love overmuch Rnoweth no rest until he be one of you. Therefore, good spirits, encircle me hghtly, Let me remain, for much still remains to be sung.
Thus, too, with all things. Denn manchen erlosch Das Augenlicht schon vor den gottlichgesendeten Gaben, Den freundlichen, die aus lonien uns, Auch aus Arabia kamen, und froh ward Der teuern Lehr und auch der holden Gesange I Die Seele jemer Entschlafenen nie, Doch einige wachten. Und sie wandelten oft Zufrieden unter euch, ihr Biirger schoner Stadte, I Beim Kampfspiel, wo sonst unsichtbar der Heros Ge- heim bei Dichtern sass, die Ringer schaut' und lachelnd Pries, der gepriesene, die miissigernsten Kinder.
Ein unaufhorlich Lie- ben wars und ists. Aber wenn ihr, Und dies ist zu sagen, Ihr Alten all, nicht sagtet, woher Wir nennen dich: Zwar gehn wir fast, wie die Waisen; Wohl ists, wie sonst, nur jene Pf lege nicht wieder; Doch Jiinglinge, der Kindheit gedenk, Im Hause sind auch diese nicht fremde. Sie leben dreifach, eben wie auch Die ersten Sohne des Himmels.
Und nicht umsonst ward uns In die Seele die Treue gegeben. Nicht uns, auch Eures bewahrt sie, [ Und bei den Heiligtiimern, den Waffen des Worts, I Die scheidend ihr den Ungeschickteren uns, Ihr Schicksals- sohne, zuriickgelassen, Ihr guten Geister, da seid ihr auch, Oftmals, wenn einen dann die heilige Wolk umschwebt, Da staunen wir und wissens nioht zu deuten.
Ihr aber wiirzt mit Nektar uns den Othem Und dann frohlocken wir oft oder es bef aUt uns Ein Sinnen, wenn ihr aber einen zu sehr liebt, Er ruht nicht, bis er euer einer geworden. Darum, ihr Giitigenl umgebet mich leicht, Damit ich bleiben moge, denn noch ist manches zu singen, Jetzt aber endiget, selig- weinend, Wie eine Sage der Liebe, Mir der Gesang, und so auch ist er Mir, mit Erroten, Erblassen, Von Anfang her ge- gangen.
Doch Alles geht so. There it is that on feast days go The swarthy women Upon silken ground, At the time of March When night is equal with day. And over slow passes. Heavy with golden dreams, Drift wild airs bringing sleep. But let one hand me, Full of the dark hght. That I might rest; for sweet Sleep would be, under shadows. It is not good Soulless to be, with mortal Thoughts. Yet good Is converse, and to say The heart's meaning, to hear much Of days of love, And events, the doing of deeds. But where are the friends? Bellarmin With the companion?
Many a one Bears shyness, timid to go to the source; The beginning of riches is truly In the sea. They, the seafarers, Like painters, assemble The beautiful of the earth, and do not disdain Winged war, and suffer To live alone, yearlong, under The leafless mast, where the night is not lit up With the glow-lamps of the town's feast days. Nor the playing of strings nor innate dancing. The river goes out. The sea, though, Takes and gives recollection, And love, too, fixes the eyes intently. What endures, however, poets create. Nicht ist es gut Seellos von sterb- lichen Gedanken zu seyn.
Wo aber sind die Freunde? Bellarmin Mit dem Gefahrten? Was bleibet aber, stiften die Dichter. But where danger is, there Arises salvation also. In darkness dwell The eagles, and fearless across the abyss Go the sons of the Alps On hghtly built bridges. Therefore, since all round are upheaped The summits of time. And those that dwell nearest in love Must languish on uttermost mountains, Give us then innocent water, pinions give us, to pass Over with constant minds and again return. So I spoke, when swifter Than I had fancied, and far.
Whither I never had thought to come, A Genius bore me away From my house. In the twilight The shadowy woods darkened as I went And the yearning brooks of my home; No more did I know these lands. Yet soon in fresh radiance. Mysterious In the golden smoke. Swiftly sprung up With the tread of the sun, Asia bloomed out before me. But high in the light Blossoms the silver snow, And, witness to life everlasting. On attainless walls The immemorial ivy grows, and upborne Upon living columns of cedars and laurels Are the solemn, The divinely built palaces.
But about Asia's portals. Running hither and thither In hazardous wastes of sea Ripple shadowless ways enough, Yet the seaman knoweth the isles. Yet bountiful In the needier house Is she nonetheless. And when out of shipwreck or in Lament for his home Or the departed friend. One of the strangers Draws near to her, she hears it with joy, And her children.
The voices of the warm glade And the rock-dwelling breezes And the rocks too, they hear him, and lovingly The echo rings out to the lament of the man. And the watchful man viewed well The face of the god As, at the mystery of the vine. They sat together, at the hour of the banquet, And quietly prescient in his great soul The Lord spake death and the last love; For never enough Had he of words for telling of kindness At that time, and gladdening.
When he saw it, the wrath of the world. For all things are good. Of that There were much to be said. And the friends saw How he gazed forth victorious, The most joyful of all, at the last. Yet they mourned, as now It was grown evening, astounded, For in their souls the men weighed A mighty decision, but they loved Life under the sun, and they would not leave The face of the Lord and their homeland. Inwrought was that As fire in the iron, and at their side Went the shadow of the Beloved. Therefore he sent them The Spirit, and the house trembled. And the storm of God Rolled far-thundering over their fateful heads.
Where brooding Were gathered the heroes of death Now as he, in departure, Once more appeared before them. No good Had it been later, cleaving abruptly And truthless, the work of man, and it was joy From now on To dwell in loving night and maintain Steadfast in simple eyes Abysses of wisdom. And deep On the mountains too Living images flourish. Yet it is dreadful how far and wide God endlessly scatters the living. Dreadful it is to leave The face of dear friends and to wander Far over the mountains alone.
When the Heavenly Spirit, Known before in communion, Was single in meaning; and though it was never foretold them, Yet by their very Hair did it seize them. As, hastening away into the distance, God of a sudden looked back, and conjuring Him to remain, naming the evil, Bounden henceforth as with golden cords. They gave one another their hands. It is the cast of the Sower, as he seizes The wheat with his spade And flings across to the clear grain. Driving it over the threshing floor.
The husks fall at his feet, But in the end cometh the com. And no evil it is if something Is lost and the living sound Fades from our speech, For heavenly labor is like to our own. The Highest would not have AH at one time. So long as the pit bear iron. And Etna ghttering resin, So I have riches To fashion an image and see in the semblance Christ as he had been. But when one spurred himself on, And sadly speaking on the way where I was weaponless.
Overpowered me, so that I marveled and an impostor Would be moulding an image of God- Visible in anger did I once See the sovereigns of heaven. Not that I were To become anything, but to learn. Kindly they are, but most Hateful to them as long as they reign Is falsehood, as there dwells Himianity then no more among men. For they do not reign, rather Fate Reigns more immortally. And when ascends higher The heavenly pageant of triumph. The exulting Son of the Most High, Like to the sun itself, is named by the mighty An emblem, and here is the staff Of song signaling down.
For nothing is common. It wakens the dead Who are not yet caught by the rawness of death. But many shy eyes Wait to behold the Hght. They would not Blossom forth in the sharp radiance. Though the golden bridle guideth their courage. But when, As from swelHng eyebrows Forgetful of the world.
... auf der Bühne
Quietly shining strength falls From the Holy Scriptures, Rejoicing in grace They yield themselves to calm vision. Quiet is his sign In the thimderous sky. And One stands beneath it His life long. For Christ Hves yet. But the heroes, his sons.
All are come and the Holy Scriptures From him, and the deeds of the earth Have illumined the hghtning till now, A contest unwaning. But he is there. For his works Are known to him from everlasting. Too long, too long already Has the glory of the Blessed been viewless. For each of the Blessed demand sacrifice. Yet if one were passed over Ne'er did it bring about good. We have served the earth our mother And of late we have served The light of the sim Unwittingly, but the Father who rules over all Loves best that the constant Letter be fostered, And enduring existence Interpreted well.
With this is accordant The song of my people. Wo aber Gefahr ist, wachst I Das Rettende auch. So sprach ich, da entfiihrte Mich schneller, denn ich vermutet I Und weit, wohin ich nimmer Zu kommen gedacht, ein Genius mich Vom eigenen Haus. Denn alles ist gut. Vieles ware Zu sagen davon.
Und es griinen Tief an den Bergen auch lebendige Bilder. Doch furchtbar ist, wie da und dort Unendlich hin zerstreut das Lebende Gott. Nicht alles will der Hochste zumal. Zwar Eisen traget der Schacht, Und glii- hende Harze der Atna, So hatt ich Reichtum, Ein Bild zu bil- den, und ahnlich Zu schaun, wie er gewesen, den Christ, Wenn aber einer spornte sich selbst, Und traurig redend, un- terweges, da ich wehrlos ware, Mich iiberfiele, dass ich staunt und von dem Gotte Das Bild nachahmen mocht ein Knecht— Im Zome sichtbar sah' ich einmal Des Himmels Herm, nicht, dass ich sein soUt etwas, sondern Zu lernen.
Giitig sind sie, ihr Verhasstestes aber ist, Solange sie herrschen, das Falsche, und es gilt I Dann Menschliches unter Menschen nicht mehr. Denn sie nicht walten, es waltet aber Unsterblicher Schicksal und es wandelt ihr Werk Von selbst und eilend geht es zu Ende. Die Toten wecket Er auf, die noch getangen nicht Vom Rohen sind.
Es warten aber Der scheuen Augen viele Zu schauen das Licht. Still ist sein Zei- chen I Am donnernden Himmel. Und Einer stehet daninter Sein Leben lang. Denn noch lebt Christus. Er ist aber dabei. Denn seine Werke sind Ihm alle bewusst von jeher. Zu lang, zu lang schon ist Die Ehre der Himmlischen unsicht- bar. Dem f olgt deutscher Gesang. Ripened the fruit, in fire cast, baked And tried on the earth, and it is the law That all go back into it, like snakes, Prophetic, dreaming on The hills of the heavens.
And there is so much Like a burden Of logs on the shoulders That has to be borne. Though the roads Are not right. For discrepant, As horses, go the tethered Elements and the immemorial Laws of the earth. And ever A longing strains after the fetterless. But there is so much That has to be borne. And one must be true. Let us look not before, though, Nor after. May we be rocked, rather, as A boat is cradled at sea.
Aber bos sind Die Pfade. Und immer Ins Ungebundene gehet eine Sehnsucht. Vieles aber ist Zu behalten. Und Noth die Treue. Vorwarts aber und riikwarts woUen wir [ Nicht sehn. Uns wiegen lassen, wie Auf schwankem Kahne der See. Voices calmly wending filled And aired is the ancient Bliss-wont hall; fragrant above green carpets floats The happy cloud, stand gleaming wide, Of ripest fruit abundant, and of golden-wreathed bowls.
Well meted out, resplendent rows Uprising here and there aside of the Smoothed ground, the tables. For, coming from afar Hither, at eventide, Loving guests have bid themselves. Dawn fills my eyes. Well-nigh I deem This celebration's prince. Him, to behold That smiles upon a day's great labor: Although you will deny your strangeness And, wearied by your glorious course, Cast down your eyes, forgotten, softly shaded. And will take on a friendly shape, O Widely Known, Yet bends the knees your awe.
Nothing outstrips you; But this I know: Wisdom may show me many a thing, but Where a god enters as well A more luminous day wiU break. Yet not xmheralded he comes: And he whom neither flame nor flood deterred Need not be vainly startled by this stillness, now That neither man nor spirit yields to order. ENG List of language codes. Authorship by Johann Gottfried Kinkel - [ author's text not yet checked against a primary source ]. Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations if applicable: Text added to the website: Gentle Reminder This website began in as a personal project, and I have been working on it full-time without a salary since Our research has never had any government or institutional funding, so if you found the information here useful, please consider making a donation.
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