The woman led the children still deeper into the forest, where they had never in their lives been before. Then a great fire was again made, and the mother said, "Just sit there, you children, and when you are tired you may sleep a little; we are going into the forest to cut wood, and in the evening, when we are done, we will come and fetch you away." When it was noon, Grethel shared her piece of bread with Haensel, who had scattered his by the way. Then they fell asleep and evening came and went, but no one came to the poor children. They did not awake until it was dark night; but Haensel comforted his little sister and said, "Just wait, Grethel, until the moon rises, and then we shall see the crumbs of bread which I have strewn about. They will show us our way home again." When the moon rose they set out, but they found no crumbs, for the many thousands of birds which fly about in the woods and fields had picked them all up. Haensel said to Grethel, "We shall soon find the way," but they did not find it. They walked the whole night and all the next day too, from morning till evening, but they did not get out of the forest, and were very hungry, for they had nothing to eat but two or three berries which grew on the ground. And as they were so weary that their legs would carry them no longer, they lay down beneath a tree and fell asleep.

It was now three mornings since they had left their father's house. They began to walk again, but they always got so much deeper into the forest that, if help did not come soon, they must die of hunger and weariness. When it was mid-day, they saw a beautiful snow-white bird sitting on a bough, which sang so delightfully that they stood still and listened to it. And when it had finished its song, it spread its wings and flew away before them, and they followed it until they reached a little house, on the roof of which it alighted; and when they came quite up to the little house they saw that it was built of bread and covered with cakes, and that the windows were of clear sugar. "We will set to work on that," said Haensel, "and have a good meal. I will eat a bit of the roof, and thou, Grethel, canst eat some of the window; it will taste sweet." Haensel reached up above, and broke off a little of the roof to try how it tasted, and Grethel leant against the window and nibbled at the panes. Then a soft voice cried from the room—

"Nibble, nibble, gnaw, Who is nibbling at my little house?"

The children answered—

"The wind, the wind, The heaven-born wind,"

and went on eating without disturbing themselves.

Haensel, who thought the roof tasted very nice, tore down a great piece of it, and Grethel pushed out the whole of one round window-pane, sat down, and enjoyed herself with it. Suddenly the door opened, and a very, very old woman, who supported herself on crutches, came creeping out. Haensel and Grethel were so terribly frightened that they let fall what they had in their hands. The old woman, however, nodded her head, and said, "Oh, you dear children, who has brought you here? Do come in, and stay with me. No harm shall happen to you." She took them both by the hand, and led them into her little house. Then good food was set before them, milk and pancakes, with sugar, apples, and nuts. Afterward two pretty little beds were covered with clean white linen, and Haensel and Grethel lay down in them, and thought they were in heaven.

The old woman had only pretended to be so kind; she was in reality a wicked witch, who lay in wait for children, and had only built the little bread house in order to entice them there. When a child fell into her power, she killed it, cooked and ate it, and that was a feast day with her. Witches have red eyes, and cannot see far, but they have a keen scent, like the beasts, and are aware when human beings draw near. When Haensel and Grethel came into her neighborhood, she laughed maliciously, and said mockingly, "I have them; they shall not escape me again!" Early in the morning, before the children were awake, she was already up, and when she saw both of them sleeping and looking so pretty, with their plump red cheeks, she muttered to herself, "That will be a dainty mouthful!" Then she seized Haensel with her shriveled hand, carried him into a little stable, and shut him in with a grated door. He might scream as he liked, that was of no use. Then she went to Grethel, shook her till she awoke, and cried, "Get up, lazy thing, fetch some water, and cook something good for thy brother; he is in the stable outside, and is to be made fat. When he is fat, I will eat him." Grethel began to weep bitterly, but it was all in vain; she was forced to do what the wicked witch ordered her.

And now the best food was cooked for poor Haensel, but Grethel got nothing but crab-shells. Every morning the woman crept to the little stable, and cried, "Haensel, stretch out thy finger that I may feel if thou wilt soon be fat." Haensel, however, stretched out a little bone to her, and the old woman, who had dim eyes, could not see it, and thought it was Haensel's finger, and was astonished that there was no way of fattening him. When four weeks had gone by, and Haensel still continued thin, she was seized with impatience and would not wait any longer. "Hola, Grethel," she cried to the girl, "be active, and bring some water. Let Haensel be fat or lean, tomorrow I will kill him and cook him." Ah, how the poor little sister did lament when she had to fetch the water, and how her tears did flow down over her cheeks! "Dear God, do help us!" she cried. "If the wild beasts in the forest had but devoured us, we should at any rate have died together." "Just keep thy noise to thyself," said the old woman; "all that won't help thee at all."

Early in the morning, Grethel had to go out and hang up the caldron with the water, and light the fire. "We will bake first," said the old woman; "I have already heated the oven, and kneaded the dough." She pushed poor Grethel out to the oven from which flames of fire were already darting. "Creep in," said the witch, "and see if it is properly heated, so that we can shut the bread in." And when once Grethel was inside, she intended to shut the oven and let her bake in it, and then she would eat her, too. But Grethel saw what she had in her mind, and said, "I do not know how I am to do it; how do you get in?" "Silly goose," said the old woman. "The door is big enough; just look, I can get in myself!" and she crept up and thrust her head into the oven. Then Grethel gave her a push that drove her far into it, and shut the iron door, and fastened the bolt. Oh! then she began to howl quite horribly, but Grethel ran away, and the godless witch was miserably burnt to death.

Grethel, however, ran as quick as lightning to Haensel, opened his little stable, and cried, "Haensel, we are saved! The old witch is dead!" Then Haensel sprang out like a bird from its cage when the door is opened for it. How they did rejoice and embrace each other, and dance about and kiss each other! And as they had no longer any need to fear her, they went into the witch's house; and in every corner there stood chests full of pearls and jewels. "These are far better than pebbles!" said Haensel, and thrust into his pockets whatever could be got in; and Grethel said, "I, too, will take something home with me," and filled her pinafore full. "But now we will go away," said Haensel, "that we may get out of the witch's forest."

When they had walked for two hours, they came to a great piece of water. "We cannot get over," said Haensel, "I see no foot-plank, and no bridge." "And no boat crosses either," answered Grethel, "but a white duck is swimming there; if I ask her, she will help us over." Then she cried—

"Little duck, little duck, dost thou see, Haensel and Grethel are waiting for thee? There's never a plank, or bridge in sight, Take us across on thy back so white."

The duck came to them, and Haensel seated himself on its back, and told his sister to sit by him. "No," replied Grethel, "that will be too heavy for the little duck; she shall take us across, one after the other." The good little duck did so, and when they were once safely across and had walked for a short time, the forest seemed to be more and more familiar to them, and at length they saw from afar their father's house. Then they began to run, rushed into the parlor, and threw themselves into their father's arms. The man had not known one happy hour since he had left the children in the forest; the woman, however, was dead. Grethel emptied her pinafore until pearls and precious stones ran about the room, and Haensel threw one handful after another out of his pocket to add to them. Then all anxiety was at an end, and they lived together in perfect happiness. My tale is done. There runs a mouse; whosoever catches it may make himself a big fur cap out of it.

* * * * *



THE FISHERMAN AND HIS WIFE

There was once on a time a Fisherman who lived with his wife in a miserable hovel close by the sea, and every day he went out fishing. And once as he was sitting with his rod, looking at the clear water, his line suddenly went down, far down below, and when he drew it up again he brought out a large Flounder. Then the Flounder said to him, "Hark, you Fisherman, I pray you, let me live; I am no Flounder really, but an enchanted prince. What good will it do you to kill me? I should not be good to eat; put me in the water again, and let me go." "Come," said the Fisherman, "there is no need for so many words about it—a fish that can talk I should certainly let go, anyhow." With that he put him back again into the clear water, and the Flounder went to the bottom, leaving a long streak of blood behind him. Then the Fisherman got up and went home to his wife in the hovel. "Husband," said the woman, "have you caught nothing today?" "No," said the man; "I did catch a Flounder, who said he was an enchanted prince, so I let him go again." "Did you not wish for anything first?" said the woman. "No," said the man; "what should I wish for?" "Ah," said the woman, "it is surely hard to have to live always in this dirty hovel. You might have wished for a small cottage for us. Go back and call him. Tell him we want to have a small cottage; he will certainly give us that." "Ah," said the man, "why should I go there again?" "Why," said the woman, "you did catch him, and you let him go again; he is sure to do it. Go at once." The man still did not quite like to go, but did not like to oppose his wife, either, and so went to the sea. When he got there the sea was all green and yellow, and no longer smooth, as before; so he stood and said—

"Flounder, Flounder, in the sea, Come, I pray thee, here to me; For my wife, good Ilsabil, Wills not as I'd have her will."

Then the Flounder came swimming to him and said, "Well, what does she want, then?" "Ah," said the man, "I did catch you, and my wife says I really ought to have wished for something. She does not like to live in a wretched hovel any longer; she would like to have a cottage." "Go, then," said the Flounder, "she has it already."

When the man went home, his wife was no longer in the hovel, but, instead of it, there stood a small cottage, and she was sitting on a bench before the door. Then she took him by the hand and said to him, "Just come inside, look, now isn't this a great deal better?" So they went in, and there was a small porch, and a pretty little parlor and bedroom and a kitchen and pantry, with the best of furniture, and fitted up with the most beautiful things made of tin and brass, whatsoever was wanted. And behind the cottage there was a small yard, with hens and ducks, and a little garden with flowers and fruit. "Look," said the wife, "is not that nice!" "Yes," said the husband, "and so we must always think it; now we will live quite contented." "We will think about that," said the wife. With that they ate something and went to bed.

Everything went well for a week or a fortnight, and then the woman said, "Hark you, husband, this cottage is far too small for us, and the garden and yard are little; the Flounder might just as well have given us a larger house. I should like to live in a great stone castle; go to the Flounder, and tell him to give us a castle." "Ah, wife," said the man, "the cottage is quite good enough; why should we live in a castle?" "What!" said the woman; "just go there, the Flounder can always do that." "No, wife," said the man, "the Flounder has just given us the cottage; I do not like to go back so soon. It might make him angry." "Go," said the woman, "he can do it quite easily, and will be glad to do it; just you go to him."

The man's heart grew heavy, and he would not go. He said to himself, "It is not right," and yet he went. And when he came to the sea the water was quite purple and dark-blue, and gray and thick, and no longer green and yellow; but it was still quiet. And he stood there and said—

"Flounder, Flounder, in the sea, Come, I pray thee, here to me; For my wife, good Ilsabil, Wills not as I'd have her will."

"Well, what does she want, then?" said the Flounder. "Alas," said the man, half scared, "she wants to live in a great stone castle." "Go to it, then, she is standing before the door," said the Flounder.

Then the man went away, intending to go home, but when he got there, he found a great stone palace, and his wife was just standing on the steps going in, and she took him by the hand and said, "Come in." So he went in with her, and in the castle was a great hall paved with marble, and many servants, who flung wide the doors; and the walls were all bright with beautiful hangings, and in the rooms were chairs and tables of pure gold, and crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and all the rooms and bedrooms had carpets, and food and wine of the very best were standing on all the tables so that they nearly broke down beneath it. Behind the house, too, there was a great courtyard, with stables for horses and cows, and the very best of carriages; there was a magnificent large garden, too, with the most beautiful flowers and fruit-trees, and a park quite half a mile long, in which were stags, deer, and hares, and everything that could be desired. "Come," said the woman, "isn't that beautiful?" "Yes, indeed," said the man; "now let it be; we will live in this beautiful castle and be content." "We will consider about that," said the woman, "and sleep upon it;" thereupon they went to bed.

Next morning the wife awoke first, and it was just daybreak, and from her bed she saw the beautiful country lying before her. Her husband was still stretching himself, so she poked him in the side with her elbow, and said, "Get up, husband, and just peep out of the window. Look you, couldn't we be the King over all that land? Go to the Flounder, we will be the King." "Ah, wife," said the man, "why should we be King? I do not want to be King." "Well," said the wife, "if you won't be King, I will; go to the Flounder, for I will be King." "Oh, wife," said the man, "why do you want to be King? I do not like to say that to him." "Why not?" asked the woman; "go to him this instant; I must be King!" So the man went, and was quite unhappy because his wife wished to be King. "It is not right; it is not right," thought he. He did not wish to go; but yet he went.

And when he came to the sea, it was quite dark-gray, and the water heaved up from below, and smelt putrid. Then he went and stood by it, and said—

"Flounder, Flounder, in the sea, Come, I pray thee, here to me; For my wife, good Ilsabil, Wills not as I'd have her will."

"Well, what does she want, then?" asked the Flounder. "Alas," said the man, "she wants to be King." "Go to her; she is King already."

So the man went, and when he came to the palace, the castle had become much larger, and had a great tower and magnificent ornaments, and the sentinel was standing before the door, and there were numbers of soldiers with kettle-drums and trumpets. And when he went inside the house, everything was of real marble and gold, with velvet covers and great golden tassels. Then the doors of the hall were opened, and there was the court in all its splendor, and his wife was sitting on a high throne of gold and diamonds, with a great crown of gold on her head, and a sceptre of pure gold and jewels in her hand, and on both sides of her stood her maids-in-waiting in a row, each of them always one head shorter than the last.

Then he went and stood before her, and said, "Ah, wife, and now you are King!" "Yes," said the woman, "now I am King." So he stood and looked at her, and when he had looked at her thus for a time he said, "And now that you are King, let all else be; now we will wish for nothing more." "Nay, husband," said the woman, quite anxiously, "I find time pass very heavily; I can bear it no longer; go to the Flounder. I am King, but I must be Emperor, too."

"Alas, wife, why do you wish to be Emperor?" "Husband," said she, "go to the Flounder. I will be Emperor." "Alas, wife," said the man, "he cannot make you Emperor; I may not say that to the fish. There is only one Emperor in the land. An Emperor the Flounder cannot make you! I assure you he cannot."

"What!" said the woman, "I am the King, and you are nothing but my husband; will you go this moment? Go at once! If he can make a king he can make an emperor. I will be Emperor; go instantly." So he was forced to go. As the man went, however, he was troubled in mind, and thought to himself, "It will not end well; it will not end well! Emperor is too shameless! The Flounder will at last be tired out."

With that he reached the sea, and the sea was quite black and thick, and began to boil up from below, so that it threw up bubbles, and such a sharp wind blew over it that it curdled, and the man was afraid. Then he went and stood by it, and said—

"Flounder, Flounder, in the sea, Come, I pray thee, here to me; For my wife, good Ilsabil, Wills not as I'd have her will."

"Well, what does she want, then?" asked the Flounder. "Alas, Flounder," said he, "my wife wants to be Emperor." "Go to her," said the Flounder; "she is Emperor already."

So the man went, and when he got there the whole palace was made of polished marble with alabaster figures and golden ornaments, and soldiers were marching before the door blowing trumpets, and beating cymbals and drums; and in the house, barons, and counts, and dukes were going about as servants. Then they opened the doors to him, which were of pure gold. And when he entered, there sat his wife on a throne, which was made of one piece of gold, and was quite two miles high; and she wore a great golden crown that was three yards high, and set with diamonds and carbuncles, and in one hand she had the sceptre, and in the other the imperial orb; and on both sides of her stood the yeomen of the guard in two rows, each being smaller than the one before him, from the biggest giant, who was two miles high, to the very smallest dwarf, just as big as my little finger. And before it stood a number of princes and dukes.

Then the man went and stood among them, and said, "Wife, are you Emperor now?" "Yes," said she, "now I am Emperor." Then he stood and looked at her well; and when he had looked at her thus for some time, be said, "Ah, wife, be content, now that you are Emperor." "Husband," said she, "why are you standing there? Now, I am Emperor, but I will be Pope too; go to the Flounder."

"Alas, wife," said the man, "what will you not wish for? You cannot be Pope; there is but one in Christendom; he cannot make you Pope." "Husband," said she, "I will be Pope; go immediately, I must be Pope this very day." "No, wife," said the man, "I do not like to say that to him; that would not do; it is too much; the Flounder can't make you Pope." "Husband," said she, "what nonsense! If he can make an emperor he can make a pope. Go to him directly. I am Emperor and you are nothing but my husband; will you go at once?"

Then he was afraid, and went; but he was quite faint, and shivered and shook, and his knees and legs trembled. And a high wind blew over the land, and the clouds flew, and toward evening all grew dark, and the leaves fell from the trees, and the water rose and roared as if it were boiling, and splashed upon the shore; and in the distance he saw ships which were firing guns in their sore need, pitching and tossing on the waves. And yet in the midst of the sky there was still a small bit of blue, though on every side it was as red as in a heavy storm. So, full of despair, he went and stood in much fear and said—

"Flounder, Flounder, in the sea, Come, I pray thee, here to me; For my wife, good Ilsabil, Wills not as I'd have her will."

"Well, what does she want, then?" asked the Flounder. "Alas," said the man, "she wants to be Pope." "Go to her then," said the Flounder; "she is Pope already."

So he went, and when he got there, he saw what seemed to be a large church surrounded by palaces. Inside, however, everything was lighted up with thousands and thousands of candles, and his wife was clad in gold, and she was sitting on a much higher throne, and had three great golden crowns on, and around about her there was much ecclesiastical splendor; and on both sides of her was a row of candles the largest of which was as tall as the very tallest tower, down to the very smallest kitchen candle, and all the emperors and kings were on their knees before her, kissing her shoe. He pushed his way through the crowd. "Wife," said the man, and looked attentively at her, "are you now Pope?" "Yes," said she, "I am Pope." So he stood and looked at her, and it was just as if he was looking at the bright sun. When he had stood looking at her thus for a short time, he said, "Ah, wife, if you are Pope, do let well alone!" But she looked as stiff as a post, and did not move or show any signs of life. Then said he, "Wife, now that you are Pope, be satisfied; you cannot become anything greater now." "I will consider about that," said the woman. Thereupon they both went to bed, but she was not satisfied, and greediness let her have no sleep, for she was continually thinking what there was left for her to be.

The man slept well and soundly, for he had run about a great deal during the day; but the woman could not fall asleep at all, and flung herself from one side to the other the whole night through, thinking always what more was left for her to be, but unable to call to mind anything else. At length the sun began to rise, and when the woman saw the red of dawn, she sat up in bed and looked at it. And when, through the window, she saw the sun thus rising, she said, "Cannot I, too, order the sun and moon to rise?" "Husband," said she, poking him in the ribs with her elbow, "wake up! go to the Flounder, for I wish to be even as God is." The man was still half asleep, but he was so horrified that he fell out of bed. He thought he must have heard amiss, and rubbed his eyes, and said, "Alas, wife, what are you saying?" "Husband," said she, "if I can't order the sun and moon to rise, and have to look on and see the sun and moon rising, I can't bear it. I shall not know what it is to have another happy hour, unless I can make them rise myself."

Then she looked at him so terribly that a shudder ran over him, and said, "Go at once; I wish to be like unto God." "Alas, wife," said the man, falling on his knees before her, "the Flounder cannot do that; he can make an emperor and a pope; I beseech you, go on as you are, and be Pope." Then she fell into a rage, and her hair flew wildly about her head, and she cried, "I will not endure this, I'll not bear it any longer; wilt thou go?" Then he put on his trousers and ran away like a madman. But outside a great storm was raging and blowing so hard that he could scarcely keep his feet; houses and trees toppled over, the mountains trembled, rocks rolled into the sea, the sky was pitch black, and it thundered and lightened, and the sea came in with black waves as high as church-towers and mountains, and all with crests of white foam at the top. Then he cried, but could not hear his own words—

"Flounder, Flounder, in the sea, Come, I pray thee, here to me; For my wife, good Ilsabil, Wills not as I'd have her will"

"Well, what does she want, then?" asked the Flounder. "Alas," said he, "she wants to be like unto God." "Go to her, and you will find her back again in the dirty hovel." And there they are living still at this very time.



ERNST MORITZ ARNDT

* * * * *

SONG OF THE FATHERLAND[9] (1813)

God, who gave iron, purposed ne'er That man should be a slave; Therefore the sabre, sword, and spear In his right hand He gave. Therefore He gave him fiery mood, Fierce speech, and free-born breath, That he might fearlessly the feud Maintain through blood and death.

Therefore will we what God did say, With honest truth, maintain— And ne'er a fellow-creature slay, A tyrant's pay to gain! But he shall perish by stroke of brand Who fighteth for sin and shame, And not inherit the German land With men of the German name.

O Germany! bright Fatherland! O German love so true! Thou sacred land—thou beauteous land— We swear to thee anew! Outlawed, each knave and coward shall The crow and raven feed; But we will to the battle all— Revenge shall be our meed.

Flash forth, flash forth, whatever can, To bright and flaming life! Now, all ye Germans, man for man, Forth to the holy strife! Your hands lift upward to the sky— Your hearts shall upward soar— And man for man let each one cry, Our slavery is o'er!

Let sound, let sound, whatever can Trumpet and fife and drum! This day our sabres, man for man, To stain with blood, we come; With hangman's and with coward's blood, O glorious day of ire That to all Germans soundeth good!— Day of our great desire!

Let wave, let wave, whatever can— Standard and banner wave! Here will we purpose, man for man, To grace a hero's grave. Advance, ye brave ranks, hardily— Your banners wave on high; We'll gain us freedom's victory, Or freedom's death we'll die!



* * * * *

UNION SONG[10] (1814)

This blessed hour we are united, Of German men a mighty choir, And from the lips of each, delighted, Our praying souls to heaven aspire; With high and sacred awe abounding We join in solemn thoughts today, And so our hearts should be resounding In clear harmonic song and play.

To whom shall foremost thanks be given? To God, the great, so long concealed, Who, when the cloud of shame was riven, Himself in flames to us revealed, Who, stubborn foes with lightning felling, Restored to us our strength of yore, Who, on the stars in power dwelling, Reigns ever and forevermore.

Who should our second wish be hearing? The majesty of Fatherland— Destroyed be those who still are sneering! Hail them who with it fall and stand! By virtue winning admiration, Beloved for honesty and might, Long live through centuries our nation As strong in honor and in might!

The third is German manhood's treasure— Ring out it shall, with clearness mete! For Freedom is the German pleasure, And Germans step to Freedom's beat. Be life and death by her inspired— Of German hearts, oh, longing bright! And death for Freedom's sake desired Is German honor and delight.

The fourth—for noble consecration Now lift on high both heart and hand! Old loyalty within our nation And German faith forever stand!— These virtues shall, our weal assuring, Remain our union's shield and stay; Our manly word will be enduring Until the world shall pass away.

Now let the final chord be ringing In jubilee—stand not apart! Let sound our mighty, joyful singing From lip to lip, from heart to heart! The weal from which no devils bar us, The word that doth our league infold— The bliss which tyrants cannot mar us We must believe in, we must hold!



THEODOR KOeRNER

* * * * *

MEN AND KNAVES[11] (1813)

The storm is out; the land is roused; Where is the coward who sits well-housed? Fie, on thee, boy, disguised in curls, Behind the stove, 'mong gluttons and girls! A graceless, worthless wight thou must be; No German maid desires thee, No German song inspires thee, No German Rhine-wine fires thee. Forth in the van, Man by man, Swing the battle-sword who can!

When we stand watching, the livelong night, Through piping storms, till morning light, Thou to thy downy bed canst creep, And there in dreams of rapture sleep.

Chorus.

When, hoarse and shrill, the trumpet's blast, Like the thunder of God, makes our hearts beat fast, Thou in the theatre lov'st to appear, Where trills and quavers tickle the ear.

Chorus.

When the glare of noonday scorches the brain, When our parched lips seek water in vain, Thou canst make the champagne corks fly, At the groaning tables of luxury.

Chorus.

When we, as we rush to the strangling fight, Send home to our true loves a long "Good night," Thou canst hie thee where love is sold, And buy thy pleasure with paltry gold.

Chorus.

When lance and bullet come whistling by, And death in a thousand shapes draws nigh, Thou canst sit at thy cards, and kill King, queen, and knave, with thy spadille.

Chorus.

If on the red field our bell should toll, Then welcome be death to the patriot's soul. Thy pampered flesh shall quake at its doom, And crawl in silk to a hopeless tomb. A pitiful exit thine shall be; No German maid shall weep for thee, No German song shall they sing for thee, No German goblets shall ring for thee. Forth in the van, Man for man, Swing the battle-sword who can!

* * * * *

LUeTZOW'S WILD BAND[12] (1813)

What gleams through the woods in the morning sun? Hear it nearer and nearer draw! It winds in and out in columns dun, And the trumpet-notes on the roused winds run, And they startle the soul with awe. Should you of the comrades black demand— That is Luetzow's wild and untamed band.

What passes swift through the darksome glade, And roves o'er the mountains all? It crouches in nightly ambuscade; The hurrah breaks round the foe dismayed, And the Frankish sergeants fall. Should you of the rangers black demand— That is Luetzow's wild and audacious band.

Where the vineyards flourish, there roars the Rhine; There the tyrant thought him secure; Then by thunder-crash and lightning-shine In the waters plunges the fighting line; Of the hostile bank makes sure. Should you of the swimmers black demand— That is Luetzow's wild and foolhardy band.

There down in the valley what clamorous fight! What clangor of bloody swords! Fierce-hearted horsemen wage the fight, And the spark of freedom's at last alight, Flaming red the heavens towards. Should you of the horsemen black demand— That is Luetzow's wild and intrepid band.

Who with death-rattle there bid the day farewell 'Mid the moans of prostrate foes? Of the hand of death the drawn features tell, Yet the dauntless hearts triumphant swell, For his Fatherland's safe each knows! Should you of the black-clad fallen demand— That is Luetzow's wild and invincible band.

The wild, fierce band and the Teuton band, For all tyrants' blood athirst!— So you who would mourn us, be not unmanned; For the morning dawns, and we freed our land, Though to free it we won death first! Then tell, at your grandsons' rapt demand: That was Luetzow's wild and unconquered band!



* * * * *

PRAYER DURING BATTLE[13](1813)

Father, I call to thee. The roaring artillery's clouds thicken round me, The hiss and the glare of the loud bolts confound me. Ruler of battles, I call on thee O Father, lead thou me!

O Father, lead thou me; To victory, to death, dread Commander, O guide me; The dark valley brightens when thou art beside me; Lord, as thou wilt, so lead thou me. God, I acknowledge thee.

God, I acknowledge thee; When the breeze through the dry leaves of autumn is moaning, When the thunder-storm of battle is groaning, Fount of mercy, in each I acknowledge thee. O Father, bless thou me!

O Father, bless thou me; I trust in thy mercy, whate'er may befall me; 'Tis thy word that hath sent me; that word can recall me. Living or dying, O bless thou me! Father, I honor thee.

Father, I honor thee; Not for earth's hoards or honors we here are contending; All that is holy our swords are defending; Then falling, and conquering, I honor thee. God, I repose in thee.

God, I repose in thee; When the thunders of death my soul are greeting, When the gashed veins bleed, and the life is fleeting, In thee, my God, I repose in thee. Father, I call on thee.



MAXIMILIAN GOTTFRIED VON SCHENKENDORF

* * * * *

THE MOTHER TONGUE[14] (1814)

Mother tongue, oh, tongue most dear, Sweet and gladsome to mine ear! Word that first I heard, endearing Word of love, first timid sound That I stammered—still I'm hearing Thee within my soul profound.

Oh, my heart will ever grieve When my Fatherland I leave, For in foreign tongues repeating Words of strangers, I lose cheer. Oh, they seem not like a greeting, And I'll never hold them dear.

Speech so wonderful to hear— How thou ringest pure and clear! Though thy beauty hath enthralled me, Still I'll deepen my delight, Awed, as if my fathers called me From the grave's eternal night.

Ring on ever, tongue of old, Tongue of lovers, heroes bold! Rise, old song, though lost for ages, From thy secret tomb, and go Live again in sacred pages, Set all hearts once more aglow.

Breath of God is everywhere, Custom sacred here as there. Yet when I give thanks, am praying, A beloved heart would seek, When my highest thoughts I'm saying— Then my mother tongue I speak.



* * * * *

SPRING GREETING TO THE FATHERLAND[15] (1814)

Fatherland, thy pleasures greet me After bondage, war's distress! I must steep my soul completely Here in all thy gorgeousness. Where the oak-trees murmur mildly With their crowns to heaven raised, Mighty streams are roaring wildly— There the German land be praised.

From the Rhinefall, all delighted, I have walked, from Danube's spring; Mildly, in my soul benighted Love-stars rose, illumining; Now I would descend, and brightly Radiate a joyous shine Into Neckar's valleys sprightly, O'er the blue and silver Main.

Onward fly, my message, bringing Freedom's greeting evermore, Far away thou shalt be ringing By my home on Memel's shore. Where the German tongue is spoken, Hearts have fought to make her free— Fought right gladly—there unbroken Stays our sacred Germany.

All with sunlight seems a-blazing, All things seem adorned with green— Pastures where the herds are grazing, Hills where ripening grapes are seen. Such a spring time has not graced thee, Fatherland, for thousand years; Glory of thy fathers faced thee Once in dreams, and now appears.

Once more weapons must be wielded; Go, a spirit-fray begin, Till the latest foe has yielded— He who threatens you within. Passions vile ye should be blighting, Hate, suspicion, envy, greed— Then take, after heavy fighting, German hearts, the rest ye need.

Then shall all men be possessing Honor, humbleness, and might, And thus only can the blessing Sent our monarch shine with right. All the ancient sins must perish— In the God-sent deluge all, And the heritage we cherish To a worthy heir must fall.

God has blessed the grain that's growing And the vineyard's fruit no less; Men with hunter's joy are glowing; In the homes reigns happiness. And our freedom's sure foundation, Pious longing, fills the breast; Love that charms in every nation In our German land is best.

Ye that are in castles dwelling, Or in towns that grace our soil, Farmers that in harvests swelling Reap the fruits of German toil— German brothers dear, united, Mark my words both old and new! That our land may stay unblighted, Keep this concord, and be true!

* * * * *

FREEDOM[16] (1815)

Freedom that I love, Shining in my heart, Come now from above, Angel that thou art.

Wilt thou ne'er appear To the world oppressed? With thy grace and cheer Only stars are blessed?

In the forest gay When the trees are green, 'Neath the blooming spray, Freedom, thou art seen.

Oh, what dear delight! Music fills the air, And thy secret might Thrills us everywhere,

When the rustling boughs Friendly greetings send, When we lovers' vows Looks and kisses spend.

But the heart aspires Upward evermore, And our high desires Ever sky-ward soar.

From his simple kind Comes my rustic child, Shows his heart and mind To the world beguiled;

For him gardens bloom, For him fields have grown, Even in, the gloom Of a world of stone.

Where in that man's breast Glows a God-sent flame Who with loyal zest Loves the ancient name,

Where the men unite Valiantly to face Foes of honor's right— There dwells freedom's race.

Ramparts, brazen doors Still may bar the light, Yet the spirit soars Into regions bright;

For the fathers' grave, For the church to fall, And for dear ones—brave, True at freedom's call—

That indeed is light, Glowing rosy-red; Heroes' cheeks grow bright And more fair when dead.

Down to us, oh, guide Heaven's grace, we pray! In our hearts reside— German hearts—to stay!

Freedom sweet and fair, Trusting, void of fear, German nature e'er Was to thee most clear.



LUDWIG UHLAND

* * * * *

THE CHAPEL[17] (1805)

Yonder chapel, on the mountain, Looks upon a vale of joy; There, below, by moss and fountain, Gaily sings the herdsman's boy.

Hark! Upon the breeze descending, Sound of dirge and funeral bell; And the boy, his song suspending, Listens, gazing from the dell.

Homeward to the grave they're bringing Forms that graced the peaceful vale; Youthful herdsman, gaily singing! Thus they'll chant thy funeral wail.

* * * * *

THE SHEPHERD'S SONG ON THE LORD'S DAY[18] (1805)

The Lord's own day is here! Alone I kneel on this broad plain; A matin bell just sounds; again 'Tis silence, far and near.

Here kneel I on the sod; O deep amazement, strangely felt! As though, unseen, vast numbers knelt And prayed with me to God!

Yon heav'n afar and near— So bright, so glorious seems its cope As though e'en now its gates would ope— The Lord's own day is here!



* * * * *

THE CASTLE BY THE SEA[19] (1805)

Hast thou seen that lordly castle, That castle by the sea? Golden and red above it The clouds float gorgeously.

And fain it would stoop downward To the mirrored lake below; And fain it would soar upward In the evening's crimson glow.

Well have I seen that castle, That castle by the sea, And the moon above it standing, And the mist rise solemnly.

The winds and the waves of ocean— Had they a merry chime? Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers, The harp and the minstrel's rhyme?

The winds and the waves of ocean, They rested quietly; But I heard in the gale a sound of wail, And tears came to mine eye.

And sawest thou on the turrets The king and his royal bride, And the wave of their crimson mantles, And the golden crown of pride?

Led they not forth, in rapture, A beauteous maiden there, Resplendent as the morning sun, Beaming with golden hair!

Well saw I the ancient parents, Without the crown of pride; They were moving slow, in weeds of woe— No maiden was by their side!

* * * * *

SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN BOY[20] (1806)

The mountain shepherd-boy am I; The castles all below me spy. The sun sends me his earliest beam, Leaves me his latest, lingering gleam. I am the boy of the mountain!

The mountain torrent's home is here, Fresh from the rock I drink it clear; As out it leaps with furious force, I stretch my arms and stop its course. I am the boy of the mountain!

I claim the mountain for my own; In vain the winds around me moan; From north to south let tempests brawl— My song shall swell above them all. I am the boy of the mountain!

Thunder and lightning below me lie, Yet here I stand in upper sky; I know them well, and cry, "Harm not My father's lowly, peaceful cot." I am the boy of the mountain!

But when I hear the alarm-bell sound, When watch-fires gleam from the mountains round, Then down I go and march along, And swing my sword, and sing my song. I am the boy of the mountain!



* * * * *

DEPARTURE[21] (1806)

What jingles and carols along the street! Fling open your casements, damsels sweet! The prentice' friends, they are bearing The boy on his far wayfaring.

'Mid fluttering ribbons and tossing caps, Full merry the rabble huzzas and claps; But the boy regards not the token— He walks like one heartbroken.

Full clear clinks the wine-can, full red gleams the wine "Drink deep and drink deeper, dear brother mine!" "Oh, have done with the red wine of parting That burns me within with its smarting!"

And outside from the cottage, last of all, A maiden peeps out and her tear-drops fall, Yet her tear-drops to none she discloses But forget-me-nots and roses.

And outside by the cottage, last of all, The boy glances up at a casement small, And glances down without greeting. 'Neath his hand his heart is beating.

"What, brother! Art lacking a bright nosegay? See yonder—the beckoning, blossomy spray! God save thee, thou prettiest sweeting! Drop down now a nosegay for greeting!"

"Nay, brothers, pass yonder casement by. No prettiest sweeting like her have I. In the sun those blossoms would wither; The wind it would blow them thither."

So farther and farther with shout and song! And the maiden listens and harkens long "Ah, me! he is flown now beyond me— The boy I have loved so fondly!

And here I stay, with my lonely lot, With roses, ah!—and forget-me-not, And he whose heart I'd be sharing— He is gone on his far wayfaring!"

* * * * *

FAREWELL[22] (1807)

Farewell, farewell! From thee Today, love, must I sever. One kiss, one kiss give me, Ere I quit thee forever!

One blossom from yon tree O give to me, I pray! No fruit, no fruit for me! So long I may not stay.



* * * * *

THE HOSTESS' DAUGHTER[23] (1809)

Three students had cross'd o'er the Rhine's dark tide; At the door of a hostel they turned aside.

"Hast thou, Dame hostess, good ale and wine And where is thy daughter, so sweet and fine?"

"My ale and wine are cool and clear; On her death-bed lieth my daughter dear."

And when to the chamber they made their way, In a sable coffin the damsel lay.

The first—the veil from her face he took, And gazed upon her with mournful look:

"Alas! fair maiden—didst thou still live, To thee my love would I henceforth give!"

The second—he lightly replaced the shroud, Then round he turned him, and wept aloud:

"Thou liest, alas I on thy death-bed here; I loved thee fondly for many a year!"

The third—he lifted again the veil, And gently he kissed those lips so pale:

"I love thee now, as I loved of yore, And thus will I love thee forevermore!"

* * * * *

THE GOOD COMRADE[24] (1809)

I had a gallant comrade, No better e'er was tried; The drum beat loud to battle— Beside me, to its rattle, He marched, with equal stride.

A bullet flies toward us us— "Is that for me or thee?" It struck him, passing o'er me; I see his corpse before me As 'twere a part of me!

And still, while I am loading, His outstretched hand I view; "Not now—awhile we sever; But, when we live forever, Be still my comrade true!"

* * * * *

THE WHITE HART[25] (1811)

Three huntsmen forth to the greenwood went; To hunt the white hart was their intent.

They laid them under a green fir-tree, And a singular vision befell those three.

THE FIRST HUNTSMAN

I dreamt I arose and beat on the bush, When forth came rushing the stag—hush, hush!

THE SECOND

As with baying of hound he came rushing along, I fired my gun at his hide—bing, bang!

THE THIRD

And when the stag on the ground I saw, I merrily wound my horn—trara!

Conversing thus did the huntsmen lie, When lo! the white hart came bounding by;

And before the huntsmen had noted him well, He was up and away over mountain and dell!— Hush, hush!—bing, bang!—trara!

* * * * *

THE LOST CHURCH[26] (1812)

When one into the forest goes, A music sweet the spirit blesses; But whence it cometh no one knows, Nor common rumor even guesses. From the lost Church those strains must swell That come on all the winds resounding; The path to it now none can tell, That path with pilgrims once abounding.

As lately, in the forest, where No beaten path could be discover'd, All lost in thought, I wander'd far, Upward to God my spirit hover'd. When all was silent round me there, Then in my ears that music sounded; The higher, purer, rose my prayer, The nearer, fuller, it resounded.

Upon my heart such peace there fell, Those strains with all my thoughts so blended, That how it was I cannot tell That I so high that hour ascended. It seem'd a hundred years and more That I had been thus lost in dreaming, When, all earth's vapors op'ning o'er, A free large place stood, brightly beaming.

The sky it was so blue and bland, The sun it was so full and glowing, As rose a minster vast and grand, The golden light all round it flowing. The clouds on which it rested seem'd To bear it up like wings of fire; Piercing the heavens, so I dream'd, Sublimely rose its lofty spire.

The bell—what music from it roll'd! Shook, as it peal'd, the trembling tower; Rung by no mortal hand, but toll'd By some unseen, unearthly power. The selfsame power from Heaven thrill'd My being to its utmost centre, As, all with fear and gladness fill'd, Beneath the lofty dome I enter.

I stood within the solemn pile— Words cannot tell with what amazement, As saints and martyrs seem'd to smile Down on me from each gorgeous casement. I saw the picture grow alive, And I beheld a world of glory, Where sainted men and women strive And act again their godlike story.

Before the altar knelt I low— Love and devotion only feeling, While Heaven's glory seem'd to glow, Depicted on the lofty ceiling. Yet when again I upward gazed, The mighty dome in twain was shaken, And Heaven's gate wide open blazed, And every veil away was taken.

What majesty I then beheld, My heart with adoration swelling; What music all my senses fill'd, Beyond the organ's power of telling, In words can never be exprest; Yet for that bliss who longs sincerely, O let him to the music list, That in the forest soundeth clearly!

* * * * *

CHARLEMAGNE'S VOYAGE[27] (1812)

With comrades twelve upon the main King Charles set out to sail. The Holy Land he hoped to gain, But drifted in a gale.

Then spake Sir Roland, hero brave: "Well I can fight and shield; Yet neither stormy wind nor wave Will to my weapon yield."

Sir Holger spoke, from Denmark's strand: "The harp I feign would play; But what avails the music bland When tempests roaring sway!"

Sir Oliver was not too glad; Upon his sword he'd stare: "For my own weal 'twere not so bad, I grieve, for good Old Clare."

Said wicked Ganilon with gall (He said it 'neath his breath): "The devil come and take ye all— Were I but spared this death!"

Archbishop Turpin deeply sighed: "The knights of God are we. O come, our Savior, be our guide, And lead us o'er the sea!"

Then spake Sir Richard Fearless stern: "Ye demons there in hell, I served ye many a goodly turn, Now serve ye me as well!"

"My counsel often has been heard," Sir Naimes did remark. "Fresh water, though, and helpful word Are rare upon a bark."

Then spake Sir Riol, old and gray: "An aged knight am I; And they shall lay my corpse away Where it is good and dry."

And then Sir Guy began to sing— He was a courtly knight: "Feign would I have a birdie's wing, And to my love take flight!"

Then Count Garein, the noble, said: "God, danger from us keep! I'd rather drink the wine so red Than water in the deep."

Sir Lambert spake, a sprightly youth: "May God behold our state! I'd rather eat good fish, forsooth, Than be myself a bait."

Then quoth Sir Gottfried: "Be it so, I heed not how I fare; Whatever I must undergo, My brothers all would share."

But at the helm King Charles sat by, And never said a word, And steered the ship with steadfast eye Till no more tempest stirred.

* * * * *

FREE ART[28] (1812)

Thou, whom song was given, sing In the German poets' wood! When all boughs with music ring— Then is life and pleasure good.

Nay, this art doth not belong To a small and haughty band; Scattered are the seeds of song All about the German land.

Music set thy passions free From the heart's confining cage; Let thy love like murmurs be, And like thunder-storm thy rage!

Singest thou not all thy days, Joy of youth should make thee sing. Nightingales pour forth their lays In the blooming months of spring!

Though in books they hold not fast What the hour to thee imparts, Leaves unto the breezes cast, To be seized by youthful hearts!

Fare thou well, thou secret lore: Necromancy, Alchemy! Formulas shall bind no more, And our art is poesy.

Names we deem but empty air; Spirits we revere alone; Though we honor masters rare. Art is free—it is our own!

Not in haunts of marble chill, Temples drear where ancients trod— Nay, in oaks on woody hill, Lives and moves the German God.

* * * * *

TAILLEFER[29] (1812)

Duke William of the Normans spoke unto his servants all: "Who is it sings so sweetly in the court and in the hall? Who sings from early morn till the house is still at night So sweetly that he fills my heart with laughter and delight?"

"'Tis Taillefer," they answered him, "so joyously that sings Within the courtyard, as the wheel above the well he swings, And when the fire upon the hearth he stirs to burn more bright, And when he rises to his toil or lays him down at night."

Then spoke the Duke, "In him I trow I have a faithful knave— This Taillefer that serves me here, so loyal and so brave; He turns the wheel and stirs the fire with willing, sturdy arm, And, best of all, with blithesome song he knows my heart to charm."

Then out spake lusty Taillefer, "Ah, lord, if I were free, Far better would I serve thee then, and gladly sing to thee. How on my stately charger would I serve thee in the field, How sing before thee cheerily, with clang of sword and shield!"

The days went by, and Taillefer rode out as rides a knight Upon a prancing charger borne, a gay and gallant sight; And from the tower looked down on him Duke William's sister fair, And softly murmured, "By my troth, a stately knight goes there!"

When as he rode before the tower, and spied her harkening, Now sang he like a driving storm, now like a breeze of spring; She cried, "To hear that wondrous song is of all joys the best— The very stones they tremble, and the heart within my breast."

And now the Duke has called his men and crossed the salt sea-foam; With gallant knights and vassals bold to England he has come. And as he sprang from out the ship, he slipped upon the strand, And "By this token, thus," he cried, "I seize a subject land!"

And now on Hastings field arrayed, the host for fight prepare; Before the Duke reins up his horse the valiant Taillefer: "If I have sung and blown the fire for many a weary year, And since for other years have borne the knightly shield and spear,

"If I have sung and served thee well, and praises won from thee, First as a lowly knave and then a warrior, bold and free, Today I claim my guerdon just, that all the host may know— To ride the foremost to the field, strike first against the foe!"

So Taillefer rode on before the glittering Norman line Upon his stately steed, and waved a sword of temper fine; Above the embattled plain his song rang all the tumult o'er— Of Roland's knightly deeds he sang and many a hero more.

And as the noble song of old with tempest-might swelled out, The banners waved and knights pressed on with war-cry and with shout; And every heart among the host throbbed prouder still and higher, And still through all sang Taillefer, and blew the battle-fire.

Then forward, lance in rest, against the waiting foe he dashed, And at the shock an English knight from out the saddle crashed; Anon he swung his sword and struck a grim and grisly blow, And on the ground beneath his feet an English knight lay low.

The Norman host his prowess saw, and followed him full fain; With joyful shouts and clang of shields the whole field rang again, And shrill and fast the arrows sped, and swords made merry play— Until at last King Harold fell, his stubborn carles gave way.

The Duke his banner planted high upon the bloody plain, And pitched his tent a conqueror amid the heaps of slain; Then with his captains sat at meat, the wine-cup in his hand, Upon his head the royal crown of all the English land.

"Come hither, valiant Taillefer, and drink a cup with me! Full oft thy song has soothed my grief, made merrier my glee; But all my life I still shall hear the battle-shout that pealed Above the noise of clashing arms today on Hastings field!"

* * * * *

SUABIAN LEGEND[30] (1814)

When Emperor Redbeard with his band Came marching through the Holy Land, He had to lead, the way to seek, His noble force o'er mountains bleak. Of bread there rose a painful need, Though stones were plentiful indeed, And many a German rider fine Forgot the taste of mead and wine. The horses drooped from meagre fare, The rider had to hold his mare. There was a knight from Suabian land Of noble build and mighty hand; His little horse was faint and ill, He dragged it by the bridle still; His steed he never would forsake, Though his own life should be at stake. And so the horseman had to stay Behind the band a little way. Then all at once, right in his course, Pranced fifty Turkish men on horse. And straight a swarm of arrows flew; Their spears as well the riders threw. Our Suabian brave felt no dismay, And calmly marched along his way. His shield was stuck with arrows o'er, He sneered and looked about—no more; Till one, whom all this pastime bored, Above him swung a crooked sword. The German's blood begins to boil, He aims the Turkish steed to foil, And off he knocks with hit so neat The Turkish charger's two fore-feet. And now that he has felled the horse, He grips his sword with double force And swings it on the rider's crown And splits him to the saddle down; He hews the saddle into bits, And e'en the charger's back he splits. See, falling to the right and left, Half of a Turk that has been cleft! The others shudder at the sight And hie away in frantic flight, And each one feels, with gruesome dread, That he is split through trunk and head. A band of Christians, left behind, Came down the road, his work to find; And they admired, one by one, The deed our hero bold had done. From these the Emperor heard it all, And bade his men the Suabian call, Then spake: "Who taught thee, honored knight, With hits like those you dealt, to fight?" Our hero said, without delay "These hits are just the Suabian way. Throughout the realm all men admit, The Suabians always make a hit."

* * * * *

THE BLIND KING[31] (1804, 1814)

Why stands uncovered that northern host High on the seaboard there? Why seeks the old blind king the coast, With his white, wild-fluttering hair? He, leaning on his staff the while, His bitter grief outpours, Till across the bay the rocky isle Sounds from its caverned shores.

"From the dungeon-rock, thou robber, bring My daughter back again! Her gentle voice, her harp's sweet string Soothed an old father's pain. From the dance along the green shore Thou hast borne her o'er the wave; Eternal shame light on thy head; Mine trembles o'er the grave."

Forth from his cavern, at the word, The robber comes, all steeled, Swings in the air his giant sword, And strikes his sounding shield. "A goodly guard attends thee there; Why suffered they the wrong? Is there none will be her champion Of all that mighty throng?"

Yet from that host there comes no sound; They stand unmoved as stone; The blind king seems to gaze around; Am I all, all alone?" "Not all alone!" His youthful son Grasps his right hand so warm— "Grant me to meet this vaunting foe! Heaven's might inspires my arm."

"O son! it is a giant foe; There's none will take thy part; Yet by this hand's warm grasp, I know Thine is a manly heart. Here, take the trusty battle-sword— 'Twas the old minstrel's prize;— If thou art slain, far down the flood Thy poor old father dies!"

And hark! a skiff glides swiftly o'er, With plashing, spooming sound; The king stands listening on the shore; 'Tis silent all around— Till soon across the bay is borne The sound of shield and sword, And battle-cry, and clash, and clang, And crashing blows, are heard.

With trembling joy then cried the king: "Warrior! what mark you? Tell! 'Twas my good sword; I heard it ring; I know its tone right well." "The robber falls; a bloody meed His daring crime hath won; Hail to thee, first of heroes! hail! Thou monarch's worthy son!"

Again 'tis silent all around; Listens the king once more; "I hear across the bay the sound As of a plashing oar." Yes, it is they!—They come!—They come— Thy son, with spear and shield, And thy daughter fair, with golden hair, The sunny-bright Gunild."

"Welcome!" exclaims the blind old man, From the rock high o'er the wave; "Now my old age is blest again; Honored shall be my grave. Thou, son, shalt lay the sword I wore Beside the blind old king. And thou, Gunilda, free once more, My funeral song shalt sing."

* * * * *

THE MINSTREL'S CURSE[32] (1814)

Once in olden times was standing A castle, high and grand, Broad glancing in the sunlight, Far over sea and land. And round were fragrant gardens, A rich and blooming crown; And fountains, playing in them, In rainbow brilliance shone.

There a haughty king was seated, In lands and conquests great; Pale and awful was his countenance, As on his throne he sate; For what he thinks, is terror, And what he looks, is wrath, And what he speaks, is torture, And what he writes, is death. And 'gainst a marble pillar He shiver'd it in twain; And thus his curse he shouted, Till the castle rang again:

"Woe, woe, thou haughty castle, With all thy gorgeous halls! Sweet string or song be sounded No more within thy walls. No, sighs alone, and wailing, And the coward steps of slaves! Already round thy towers The avenging spirit raves!

"Woe, woe, ye fragrant gardens, With all your fair May light! Look on this ghastly countenance, And wither at the sight! Let all your flowers perish! Be all your fountains dry! Henceforth a horrid wilderness, Deserted, wasted, lie!

"Woe, woe, thou wretched murderer, Thou curse of minstrelsy! Thy struggles for a bloody fame, All fruitless shall they be. Thy name shall be forgotten, Lost in eternal death, Dissolving into empty air Like a dying man's last breath!"

The old man's curse is utter'd, And Heaven above hath heard. Those walls have fallen prostrate At the minstrel's mighty word. Of all that vanish'd splendor Stands but one column tall; And that, already shatter'd, Ere another night may fall.

Around, instead of gardens, In a desert heathen land, No tree its shade dispenses, No fountains cool the sand. The king's name, it has vanish'd; His deeds no songs rehearse; Departed and forgotten— This is the minstrel's curse.

* * * * *

THE LUCK OF EDENHALL[33] (1834)

Of Edenhall the youthful lord Bids sound the festal trumpets' call; He rises at the banquet board, And cries, 'mid the drunken revelers all, "Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall!"

The butler hears the words with pain— The house's oldest seneschal— Takes slow from its silken cloth again The drinking glass of crystal tall; They call it the Luck of Edenhall.

Then said the lord, "This glass to praise, Fill with red wine from Portugal!" The graybeard with trembling hand obeys; A purple light shines over all; It beams from the Luck of Edenhall.

Then speaks the lord, and waves it light— "This glass of flashing crystal tall Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite; She wrote in it, 'If this glass doth fall, Farewell then, O Luck of Edenhall!'"

"'Twas right a goblet the fate should be Of the joyous race of Edenhall! We drink deep draughts right willingly; And willingly ring, with merry call, Kling! klang! to the Luck of Edenhall!"

First rings it deep, and full, and mild, Like to the song of a nightingale; Then like the roar of a torrent wild; Then mutters, at last, like the thunder's fall, The glorious Luck of Edenhall.

"For its keeper, takes a race of might The fragile goblet of crystal tall; It has lasted longer than is right; Kling! klang!—with a harder blow than all We'll try the Luck of Edenhall!"

As the goblet, ringing, flies apart, Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall; And through the rift the flames upstart; The guests in dust are scattered all With the breaking Luck of Edenhall!

In storms the foe with fire and sword! He in the night had scaled the wall; Slain by the sword lies the youthful lord, But holds in his hand the crystal tall, The shattered Luck of Edenhall.

On the morrow the butler gropes alone, The graybeard, in the desert hall; He seeks his lord's burnt skeleton; He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall The shards of the Luck of Edenhall.

"The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall aside; Down must the stately columns fall; Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride; In atoms shall fall this earthly hall, One day, like the Luck of Edenhall!"

* * * * *

ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD[34] (1859)

You came, you went, as angels go, A fleeting guest within our land. Whence and where to?—We only know: Forth from God's hand into God's hand.



JOSEPH VON EICHENDORFF

* * * * *

THE BROKEN RING[35] (1810)

Down in yon cool valley I hear a mill-wheel go: Alas! my love has left me, Who once dwelt there below.

A ring of gold she gave me, And vowed she would be true; The vow long since was broken, The gold ring snapped in two.

I would I were a minstrel, To rove the wide world o'er, And sing afar my measures, And rove from door to door;

Or else a soldier, flying Deep into furious fight, By silent camp-fires lying A-field in gloomy night.

Hear I the mill-wheel going: I know not what I will; 'Twere best if I were dying— Then all were calm and still.



* * * * *

MORNING PRAYER[36] (1833)

O silence, wondrous and profound! O'er earth doth solitude still reign; The woods alone incline their heads, As if the Lord walked o'er the plain.

I feel new life within me glow; Where now is my distress and care? Here in the blush of waking morn, I blush at yesterday's despair.

To me, a pilgrim, shall the world, With all its joy and sorrows, be But as a bridge that leads, O Lord, Across the stream of time to Thee.

And should my song woo worldly gifts, The base rewards of vanity— Dash down my lyre! I'll hold my peace Before thee to eternity.



FROM THE LIFE OF A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING (1826)

BY JOSEPH VON EICHENDORFF TRANSLATED BY MRS. A.L.W. WISTER

CHAPTER I

The wheel of my father's mill was once more turning and whirring merrily, the melting snow trickled steadily from the roof, the sparrows chirped and hopped about, as I, taking great delight in the warm sunshine, sat on the door-step and rubbed my eyes to rid them of sleep. Then my father made his appearance; he had been busy in the mill since daybreak, and his nightcap was all awry as he said to me—

You Good-for-nothing! There you sit sunning yourself, and stretching yourself till your bones crack, leaving me to do all the work alone. I can keep you here no longer. Spring is at hand. Off with you into the world and earn your own bread!"

"Well," said I, "all right; if I am a Good-for-nothing, I will go forth into the world and make my fortune." In fact, I was very glad to have my father speak thus, for I myself had been thinking of starting on my travels; the yellow-hammer, which all through the autumn and winter had been chirping sadly at our window, "Farmer, hire me; farmer, hire me," was, now that the lovely spring weather had set in, once more piping cheerily from the old tree, "Farmer, nobody wants your work." So I went into the house and took down from the wall my fiddle, on which I could play quite skilfully; my father gave me a few pieces of money to set me on my way; and I sauntered off along the village street. I was filled with secret joy as I saw all my old acquaintances and comrades right and left going to their work digging and ploughing, just as they had done yesterday and the day before, and so on, whilst I was roaming out into the wide world. I called out "Good-by!" to the poor people on all sides, but no one took much notice of me. A perpetual Sabbath seemed to reign in my soul, and when I got out among the fields I took out my dear fiddle and played and sang, as I walked along the country road—

"The favored ones, the loved of Heaven, God sends to roam the world at will; His wonders to their gaze are given By field and forest, stream and hill.

"The dullards who at home are staying Are not refreshed by morning's ray; They grovel, earth-born calls obeying, And petty cares beset their day.

"The little brooks o'er rocks are springing, The lark's gay carol fills the air; Why should not I with them be singing A joyous anthem free from care?

"I wander on, in God confiding, For all are His, wood, field, and fell; O'er earth and skies He, still presiding, For me will order all things well."

As I was looking around, a fine traveling-carriage drove along very near me; it had probably been just behind me for some time without my perceiving it, so filled with melody had I been, for it was going quite slowly, and two elegant ladies had their heads out of the window, listening. One was especially beautiful, and younger than the other, but both pleased me extremely. When I stopped singing the elder ordered the coachman to stop his horses, and accosted me with great condescension: "Aha, my merry lad, you know how to sing very pretty songs!" I, nothing loath, replied, "Please Your Grace, I know some far prettier." "And where are you going so early in the morning?" she asked. I was ashamed to confess that I did not myself know, and so I said, boldly, "To Vienna." The two ladies then talked together in a strange tongue which I did not understand. The younger shook her head several times, but the other only laughed, and finally called to me, "Jump up behind; we too are going to Vienna." Who more ready than I! I made my best bow, and sprang up behind the carriage, the coachman cracked his whip, and away we bowled along the smooth road so swiftly that the wind whistled in my ears.

Behind me vanished my native village with its gardens and church-tower, before me appeared fresh villages, castles, and mountains, beneath me on either side the meadows in the tender green of spring flew past, and above me countless larks were soaring in the blue air. I was ashamed to shout aloud, but I exulted inwardly, and shuffled about so on the foot-board behind the carriage that I well-nigh lost my fiddle from under my arm. But when the sun rose higher in the sky, while heavy, white, noonday clouds gathered on the horizon, and the air hung sultry and still above the gently-waving grain, I could not but remember my village and my father, and our mill, and how cool and comfortable it was beside the shady mill-pool, and how far, far away from me it all was. And the most curious sensation overcame me; I felt as if I must turn and run back; but I stuck my fiddle between my coat and my vest, settled myself on the foot-board, and went to sleep.

When I opened my eyes again, the carriage was standing beneath tall linden-trees, on the other side of which a broad flight of steps led between columns into a magnificent castle. Through the trees beyond I saw the towers of Vienna. The ladies, it appeared, had left the carriage, and the horses had been unharnessed. I was startled to find myself alone, and I hurried into the castle. As I did so I heard some one at a window above laughing.

An odd time I had in this castle. First, as soon as I found myself in the cool, spacious vestibule, some one tapped me on the shoulder with a stick. I turned quickly about, and there stood a tall gentleman in state apparel, with a broad bandolier of silk and gold crossing his breast from his shoulder to his hip, a staff in his hand, gilded at the top, and an extraordinarily large Roman nose; he strutted up to me, swelling like a ruled-up turkey-cock, and asked me what I wanted there. I was taken entirely aback, and in my confusion was unable to utter a word. Several servants passed, going up and down the staircase; they said nothing, but eyed me superciliously. Then a lady's-maid appeared; she came up to me, declared that I was a charming young fellow, and that her mistress had sent to ask me if I did not want a place as gardener's boy. I put my hand in my pocket—the few coins I had possessed were gone. They must have been jerked out by my shuffling on the foot-board behind the carriage. I had nothing to depend upon save my skill with the fiddle, for which the gentleman with the staff, as he informed me in passing, would not give a farthing. Therefore, in my distress, I said "yes" to the maid, keeping my eyes fixed the while upon the portentous figure pacing the hall to and fro like the pendulum of a clock in a church-tower, appearing from the background with imposing majesty and with unfailing regularity. At last a gardener came, muttering something about boors and vagabonds, and led me off to the garden, preaching me a long sermon on the way about my being diligent and industrious and never loitering about the world any more, and how, if I would give up all my idle and foolish ways, I might come to some good in the end. There was a great deal of exhortation in this strain, very good and useful, but I have since forgotten it nearly all. In fact, I really hardly know how it all came about; I went on saying "yes" to everything, and I felt like a bird with its wings clipped. But, thank God, in the end I was earning my living!

I found life delightful in that garden. I had a hot dinner every day and plenty of it, and more money than I needed for my glass of wine, only, unfortunately, I had quite a deal to do. The pavilions, and arbors, and long green walks delighted me, if I could only have sauntered about and talked pleasantly like the gentlemen and ladies who came there every day. Whenever the gardener was away and I was alone, I took out my short tobacco-pipe, sat down, and thought of all the beautiful, polite things with which I could have entertained that lovely young lady who had brought me to the castle, had I been a cavalier walking beside her. Or on sultry afternoons I lay on my back on the grass, when all was so quiet that you could hear the bees humming, and I gazed up at the clouds sailing away toward my native village, and around me at the waving grass and flowers, and thought of the lovely lady; and it sometimes chanced that I really saw her in the distance walking in the garden, with her guitar or a book, tall and beautiful as an angel, and I was only half conscious whether I were awake or dreaming.

Thus, once as I was passing a summer-house on my way to work, I was singing to myself—

"I gaze around me, going By forest, dale, and lea, O'er heights where streams are flowing, My every thought bestowing, Ah, Lady fair, on thee!"—

when, through the half-opened lattice of the cool, dark summer-house buried amid flowers, I saw the sparkle of a pair of beautiful, youthful eyes. I was so startled that I could not finish my song, but passed on to my work without looking round.

In the evening—it was Saturday, and, in joyous anticipation of the coming Sunday, I was standing, fiddle in hand, at the window of the gardener's house, still thinking of the sparkling eyes—the lady's-maid came tripping through the twilight—"The gracious Lady fair sends you this to drink her health, and a 'Good-Night' besides!" And in a twinkling she put a flask of wine on the window-sill and vanished among the flowers and shrubs like a lizard.

I stood looking at the wonderful flask for a long time, not knowing what to think. And if before I played the fiddle merrily, I now played it ten times more so, and I sang the song of the Lady fair all through, and all the other songs that I knew, until the nightingales wakened outside and the moon and stars lit up the garden. Ah, that was a lovely night!

No cradle-song tells the child's future; a blind hen finds many a grain of wheat; he laughs best who laughs last; the unexpected often happens; man proposes, God disposes: thus did I meditate the next day, sitting in the garden with my pipe, and as I looked down at myself I seemed to myself to be a downright dunce. Contrary to all my habits hitherto, I now rose betimes every day, before the gardener and the other assistants were stirring. It was most beautiful then in the garden. The flowers, the fountains, the rose-bushes, the whole place, glittered in the morning sunshine like pure gold and jewels. And in the avenues of huge beeches it was as quiet, cool, and solemn as a church, only the little birds fluttered around and pecked in the gravel paths. In front of the castle, just under the windows, there was a large bush in full bloom. Thither I used to go in the early morning, and crouch down beneath the branches where I could watch the windows, for I had not the courage to appear in the open. Thence I sometimes saw the Lady fair in a snow-white robe come, still drowsy and warm, to the open window. She would stand there braiding her dark-brown hair, gazing abroad over the garden and shrubbery, or she would tend and water the flowers upon her window-sill, or would rest her guitar upon her white arm and sing out into the clear air so wondrously that to this day my heart faints with sadness when one of her songs recurs to me. And ah, it was all so long ago!

So my life passed for a week and more. But once—she was standing at the window and all was quiet around—a confounded fly flew directly up my nose, and I was seized with an interminable fit of sneezing. She leaned far out of the window and discovered me cowering in the shrubbery. I was overcome with mortification and did not go there again for many a day.

At last I ventured to return to my post, but the window remained closed. I hid in the bushes for four, five, six mornings, but she did not appear. Then I grew tired of my hiding-place and came out boldly, and every morning promenaded bravely beneath all the windows of the castle. But the lovely Lady fair was not to be seen. At a window a little farther on I saw the other lady standing; I had never before seen her so distinctly. She had a fine rosy face, and was plump, and as gorgeously attired as a tulip. I always made her a low bow, and she acknowledged it, and her eyes twinkled very kindly and courteously. Once only, I thought I saw the Lady fair standing behind the curtain at her window, peeping out.

Many days passed and I did not see her, either in the garden or at the window. The gardener scolded me for laziness; I was out of humor, tired of myself and of all about me.

I was lying on the grass one Sunday afternoon, watching the blue wreaths of smoke from my pipe, and fretting because I had not chosen some other trade which would not have bored me so day after day. The other fellows had all gone off to the dance in the neighboring village. Every one was strolling about in Sunday attire, the houses were gay, and there was melody in the very air. But I walked off and sat solitary, like a bittern among the reeds, by a lonely pond in the garden, rocking myself in a little skiff tied there, while the vesper bells sounded faintly from the town and the swans glided to and fro on the placid water. A sadness as of death possessed me.

On a sudden I heard, in the distance, voices talking gaily, and bursts of merry laughter. They sounded nearer and nearer, and red and white kerchiefs and hats and feathers were visible through the shrubbery. A party of gentlemen and ladies were coming from the castle, across the meadow, directly toward me, and my two ladies among them. I stood up and was about to retire, when the elder perceived me. "Aha, you are just what we want!" she called to me, smiling. "Row us across the pond to the other side." The ladies cautiously took their seats in the boat, assisted by the gentlemen, who made quite a parade of their familiarity with the water. When all the ladies were seated, I pushed off from the shore. One of the young gentlemen who stood in the prow began, unperceived, to rock the boat. The ladies looked frightened, and one or two screamed. The Lady fair, who had a lily in her hand, and was sitting well in the centre of the skiff, looked down with a quiet smile into the clear water, touching the surface of the pond now and then with a lily, her image, amid the reflections of the clouds and trees, appearing like an angel soaring gently through the deep blue skies.

As I was gazing at her, the other of my two ladies, the plump, merry one, suddenly took it into her head that I must sing as we glided along. A very elegant young gentleman with an eye-glass, who sat beside her, instantly turned to her, and, as he kissed her hand, said, "Thanks for the poetic idea! A folk-song sung by one of the people in the open air is an Alpine rose, upon the very Alps—the Alpine horns are nothing but herbaria—the soul of the national consciousness." But I said I did not know anything fine enough to sing to such great people. Then the pert lady's-maid, who was beside me with a basket of cups and bottles, and whom I had not perceived before, said, "He knows a very pretty little song about a lady fair." "Yes, yes, sing that one!" the lady exclaimed. I felt hot all over, and the Lady fair lifted her eyes from the water and gave me a look that went to my very soul. So I did not hesitate any longer, but took heart and sang with all my might might—

"I gaze around me, going By forest, dale, and lea, O'er heights where streams are flowing, My every thought bestowing, Ah, Lady fair, on thee!

"And in my garden, finding Bright flowers fresh and rare, While many a wreath I'm binding, Sweet thoughts therein I'm winding Of thee, my Lady fair.

"For me 'twould be too daring To lay them at her feet. They'll soon away be wearing, But love beyond comparing Is thine, my Lady sweet.

"In early morning waking, I toil with ready smile, And though my heart be breaking, I'll sing to hide its aching, And dig my grave the while."

The boat touched the shore, and all the party got out; many of the young gentlemen, as I had perceived, had made game of me in whispers to the ladies while I was singing. The gentleman with the eye-glass took my hand as he left the boat, and said something to me, I do not remember what, and the elder of my two ladies gave me a kindly glance. The Lady fair had never raised her eyes all the time I was singing, and she went away without a word. As for me, before my song was ended the tears stood in my eyes; my heart seemed like to burst with shame and misery. I understood now for the first time how beautiful she was, and how poor and despised and forsaken I, and when they had all disappeared behind the bushes I could contain myself no longer, but threw myself down on the grass and wept bitterly.



CHAPTER II

The highroad was close on one side of the castle garden, and separated from it only by a high wall. A very pretty little toll-house with a red-tiled roof stood near, with a gay little flower-garden inclosed by a picket-fence behind it. A breach in the wall connected this garden with the most secluded and shady part of the castle garden itself. The toll-gate keeper who occupied the cottage died suddenly, and early one morning, when I was still sound asleep, the Secretary from the castle waked me in a great hurry and bade me come immediately to the Bailiff. I dressed myself as quickly as I could and followed the brisk Secretary, who, as we went, plucked a flower here and there and stuck it into his button-hole, made scientific lunges in the air with his cane, and talked steadily to me all the while, although my eyes and ears were so filled with sleep that I could not understand anything he said. When we reached the office, where as yet it was hardly light, the Bailiff, behind a huge inkstand and piles of books and papers, looked at me from out of his huge wig like an owl from out its nest, and began: "What's your name? Where do you come from? Can you read, write, and cipher?" And when I assented, he went on, "Well, her Grace, in consideration of your good manners and extraordinary merit, appoints you to the vacant post of Receiver of Toll." I hurriedly passed in mental review the conduct and manners that had hitherto distinguished me, and was forced to admit that the Bailiff was right. And so, before I knew it, I was Receiver of Toll. I took possession of my dwelling, and was soon comfortably established there. The deceased toll-gate keeper had left behind him for his successor various articles, which I appropriated, among others a magnificent scarlet dressing-gown dotted with yellow, a pair of green slippers, a tasseled nightcap, and several long-stemmed pipes. I had often wished for these things at home, where I used to see our village pastor thus comfortably provided. All day long, therefore—I had nothing else to do—I sat on the bench before my house in dressing-gown and nightcap, smoking the longest pipe from the late toll-gate keeper's collection, and looking at the people walking, driving, and riding on the high-road. I only wished that some of the folks from our village, who had always said that I never would be worth anything, might happen to pass by and see me thus. The dressing-gown became my complexion, and suited me extremely well. So I sat there and pondered many things—the difficulty of all beginnings, the great advantages of an easier mode of existence, for example—and privately resolved to give up travel for the future, save money like other people, and in time do something really great in the world. Meanwhile, with all my resolves, anxieties, and occupations, I in no wise forgot the Lady fair.

I dug up and threw out of my little garden all the potatoes and other vegetables that I found there, and planted it instead with the choicest flowers, which proceeding caused the Porter from the castle with the big Roman nose—who since I had been made Receiver often came to see me, and had become my intimate friend—to eye me askance as a person crazed by sudden good fortune. But that did not deter me. For from my little garden I could often hear feminine voices not far off in the castle garden, and among them I thought I could distinguish the voice of my Lady fair, although, because of the thick shrubbery, I could see nobody. And so every day I plucked a nosegay of my finest flowers, and when it was dark in the evening, I climbed over the wall and laid it upon a marble table in an arbor near by, and every time that I brought a fresh nosegay the old one was gone from the table.

One evening all the castle inmates were away hunting; the sun was just setting, flooding the landscape with flame and color, the Danube wound toward the horizon like a band of gold and fire, and the vine-dressers on all the hills throughout the country were glad and gay. I was sitting with the Porter on the bench before my cottage, enjoying the mild air and the gradual fading to twilight of the brilliant day. Suddenly the horns of the returning hunting-party sounded on the air; the notes were tossed from hill to hill by the echoes. My soul delighted in it all, and I sprang up and exclaimed, in an intoxication of joy, "That is what I ought to follow in life, the huntsman's noble calling!" But the Porter quietly knocked the ashes out of his pipe and said, "You only think so; I've tried it. You hardly earn the shoes you wear out, and you're never without a cough or a cold from perpetually getting your feet wet." I cannot tell how it was, but upon hearing him speak thus, I was seized with such a fit of foolish rage that I fairly trembled. On a sudden the entire fellow, with his bedizened coat, his big feet, his snuff, his big nose, and everything about him, became odious to me. Quite beside myself, I seized him by the breast of his coat and said, "Home with you, Porter, on the instant, or I'll send you there in a way you won't like!" At these words the Porter was more than ever convinced that I was crazy. He gazed at me with evident fear, extricated himself from my grasp, and went without a word, looking reproachfully back at me, and striding toward the castle, where he reported me as stark, staring mad.

But after all I burst into a hearty laugh, glad in fact to be rid of the pompous fellow, for it was just the hour when I was wont to carry my nosegay to the arbor. I clambered over the wall, and was just about to place the flowers on the marble table, when I heard the sound of a horse's hoofs at some distance. There was no time for escape; my Lady fair was riding slowly along the avenue in a green hunting-habit, apparently lost in thought. All that I had read in an old book of my father's about the beautiful Magelona came into my head—how she used to appear among the tall forest-trees, when horns were echoing and evening shadows were flitting through the glades. I could not stir from the spot. She started when she perceived me and paused involuntarily. I was as if intoxicated with intense joy, dread, and the throbbing of my heart, and when I saw that she actually wore at her breast the flowers I had left yesterday, I could no longer keep silent, but said in a rapture, "Fairest Lady fair, accept these flowers too, and all the flowers in my garden, and everything I have! Ah, if I could only brave some danger for you!" At first she had looked at me so gravely, almost angrily, that I shivered, but then she cast down her eyes, and did not lift them while I was speaking. At that moment voices and the tramp of horses were heard in the distance. She snatched the flowers from my hand, and without saying a word, swiftly vanished at the end of the avenue.

After this evening I had neither rest nor peace. I felt continually, as I had always felt when spring was at hand, restless and merry, and as if some great good fortune or something extraordinary were about to befall me. My wretched accounts in especial never would come right, and when the sunshine, playing among the chestnut boughs before my window, cast golden-green gleams upon my figures, illuminating "Bro't over" and "Total," my addition grew sometimes so confused that I actually could not count three. The figure "eight" always looked to me like my stout, tightly-laced lady with the gay head-dress, and the provoking "seven" like a finger-post pointing the wrong way, or a gallows. The "nine" was the queerest, suddenly, before I knew what it was about, standing on its head to look like "six," whilst "two" would turn into a pert interrogation-point, as if to ask me, "What in the world is to become of you, you poor zero? Without the others, the slender 'one' and all the rest, you never can come to anything!"

I had no longer any ease in sitting before my door. I took out a stool to make myself more comfortable, and put my feet upon it; I patched up an old parasol, and held it over me like a Chinese pleasure-dome. But all would not do. As I sat smoking and speculating, my legs seemed to stretch to twice their size from weariness, and my nose lengthened visibly as I looked down at it for hours. And when sometimes, before daybreak, an express drove up, and I went out, half asleep, into the cool air, and a pretty face, but dimly seen in the dawning except for its sparkling eyes, looked out at me from the coach window and kindly bade me good-morning, while from the villages around the cock's clear crow echoed across the fields of gently-waving grain, and an early lark, high in the skies among the flushes of morning, soared here and there, and the Postilion wound his horn and blew, and blew—as the coach drove off, I would stand looking after it, feeling as if I could not but start off with it on the instant into the wide, wide world.