It is well-known that the Greek tragedy had its origin in the chorus; and though in process of time it became independent, still it may be said that poetically, and in spirit, the chorus was the source of its existence, and that without these persevering supporters and witnesses of the incident a totally different order of poetry would have grown out of the drama. The abolition of the chorus, and the debasement of this sensibly powerful organ into the characterless substitute of a confidant, is by no means such an improvement in the tragedy as the French, and their imitators, would have it supposed to be.

The old tragedy, which at first only concerned itself with gods, heroes and kings introduced the chorus as an essential accompaniment. The poets found it in nature, and for that reason employed it. It grew out of the poetical aspect of real life. In the new tragedy it becomes an organ of art, which aids in making the poetry prominent. The modern poet no longer finds the chorus in nature; he must needs create and introduce it poetically; that is, he must resolve on such an adaption of his story as will admit of its retrocession to those primitive times and to that simple form of life.

The chorus thus renders more substantial service to the modern dramatist than to the old poet—and for this reason, that it transforms the commonplace actual world into the old poetical one; that it enables him to dispense with all that is repugnant to poetry, and conducts him back to the most simple, original, and genuine motives of action. The palaces of kings are in these days closed—courts of justice have been transferred from the gates of cities to the interior of buildings; writing has narrowed the province of speech; the people itself—the sensibly living mass—when it does not operate as brute force, has become a part of the civil polity, and thereby an abstract idea in our minds; the deities have returned within the bosoms of mankind. The poet must reopen the palaces—he must place courts of justice beneath the canopy of heaven—restore the gods, reproduce every extreme which the artificial frame of actual life has abolished—throw aside every factitious influence on the mind or condition of man which impedes the manifestation of his inward nature and primitive character, as the statuary rejects modern costume:—and of all external circumstances adopts nothing but what is palpable in the highest of forms—that of humanity.

But precisely as the painter throws around his figures draperies of ample volume, to fill up the space of his picture richly and gracefully, to arrange its several parts in harmonious masses, to give due play to color, which charms and refreshes the eye—and at once to envelop human forms in a spiritual veil, and make them visible—so the tragic poet inlays and entwines his rigidly contracted plot and the strong outlines of his characters with a tissue of lyrical magnificence, in which, as in flowing robes of purple, they move freely and nobly, with a sustained dignity and exalted repose.

In a higher organization, the material, or the elementary, need not be visible; the chemical color vanishes in the finer tints of the imaginative one. The material, however, has its peculiar effect, and may be included in an artistical composition. But it must deserve its place by animation, fulness and harmony, and give value to the ideal forms which it surrounds instead of stifling them by its weight.

In respect of the pictorial art, this is obvious to ordinary apprehension, yet in poetry likewise, and in the tragical kind, which is our immediate subject, the same doctrine holds good. Whatever fascinates the senses alone is mere matter, and the rude element of a work of art:— if it takes the lead it will inevitably destroy the poetical—which lies at the exact medium between the ideal and the sensible. But man is so constituted that he is ever impatient to pass from what is fanciful to what is common; and reflection must, therefore, have its place even in tragedy. But to merit this place it must, by means of delivery, recover what it wants in actual life; for if the two elements of poetry, the ideal and the sensible, do not operate with an inward mutuality, they must at least act as allies—or poetry is out of the question. If the balance be not intrinsically perfect, the equipoise can only be maintained by an agitation of both scales.

This is what the chorus effects in tragedy. It is in itself, not an individual but a general conception; yet it is represented by a palpable body which appeals to the senses with an imposing grandeur. It forsakes the contracted sphere of the incidents to dilate itself over the past and the future, over distant times and nations, and general humanity, to deduce the grand results of life, and pronounce the lessons of wisdom. But all this it does with the full power of fancy—with a bold lyrical freedom which ascends, as with godlike step, to the topmost height of worldly things; and it effects it in conjunction with the whole sensible influence of melody and rhythm, in tones and movements.

The chorus thus exercises a purifying influence on tragic poetry, insomuch as it keeps reflection apart from the incidents, and by this separation arms it with a poetical vigor, as the painter, by means of a rich drapery, changes the ordinary poverty of costume into a charm and ornament.

But as the painter finds himself obliged to strengthen the tone of color of the living subject, in order to counterbalance the material influences—so the lyrical effusions of the chorus impose upon the poet the necessity of a proportionate elevation of his general diction. It is the chorus alone which entitles the poet to employ this fulness of tone, which at once charms the senses, pervades the spirit, and expands the mind. This one giant form on his canvas obliges him to mount all his figures on the cothurnus, and thus impart a tragical grandeur to his picture. If the chorus be taken away, the diction of the tragedy must generally be lowered, or what is now great and majestic will appear forced and overstrained. The old chorus introduced into the French tragedy would present it in all its poverty, and reduce it to nothing; yet, without doubt, the same accompaniment would impart to Shakspeare's tragedy its true significance.

As the chorus gives life to the language—so also it gives repose to the action; but it is that beautiful and lofty repose which is the characteristic of a true work of art. For the mind of the spectator ought to maintain its freedom through the most impassioned scenes; it should not be the mere prey of impressions, but calmly and severely detach itself from the emotions which it suffers. The commonplace objection made to the chorus, that it disturbs the illusion, and blunts the edge of the feelings, is what constitutes its highest recommendation; for it is this blind force of the affections which the true artist deprecates—this illusion is what he disdains to excite. If the strokes which tragedy inflicts on our bosoms followed without respite, the passion would overpower the action. We should mix ourselves with the subject-matter, and no longer stand above it. It is by holding asunder the different parts, and stepping between the passions with its composing views, that the chorus restores to us our freedom, which would else be lost in the tempest. The characters of the drama need this intermission in order to collect themselves; for they are no real beings who obey the impulse of the moment, and merely represent individuals—but ideal persons and representatives of their species, who enunciate the deep things of humanity.

Thus much on my attempt to revive the old chorus on the tragic stage. It is true that choruses are not unknown to modern tragedy; but the chorus of the Greek drama, as I have employed it—the chorus, as a single ideal person, furthering and accompanying the whole plot—if of an entirely distinct character; and when, in discussion on the Greek tragedy, I hear mention made of choruses, I generally suspect the speaker's ignorance of his subject. In my view the chorus has never been reproduced since the decline of the old tragedy.

I have divided it into two parts, and represented it in contest with itself; but this occurs where it acts as a real person, and as an unthinking multitude. As chorus and an ideal person it is always one and entire. I have also several times dispensed with its presence on the stage. For this liberty I have the example of Aeschylus, the creator of tragedy, and Sophocles, the greatest master of his art.

Another license it may be more difficult to excuse. I have blended together the Christian religion and the pagan mythology, and introduced recollections of the Moorish superstition. But the scene of the drama is Messina—where these three religions either exercised a living influence, or appealed to the senses in monumental remains. Besides, I consider it a privilege of poetry to deal with different religions as a collective whole. In which everything that bears an individual character, and expresses a peculiar mode of feeling, has its place. Religion itself, the idea of a Divine Power, lies under the veil of all religions; and it must be permitted to the poet to represent it in the form which appears the most appropriate to his subject.



SCHILLER'S POEMS



CONTENTS:

POEMS OF THE FIRST PERIOD

Hector and Andromache Amalia A Funeral Fantasie Fantasie—To Laura To Laura at the Harpsichord Group from Tartarus Rapture—To Laura To Laura (The Mystery of Reminiscence) Melancholy—To Laura The Infanticide The Greatness of the World Fortune and Wisdom Elegy on the Death of a Young Man The Battle Rousseau Friendship Elysium The Fugitive To Minna The Flowers The Triumph of Love (A Hymn) To a Moralist Count Eberhard, the Groaner of Wurtemburg To the Spring Semele

POEMS OF THE SECOND PERIOD

Hymn to Joy The Invincible Armada The Gods of Greece Resignation The Conflict The Artists The Celebrated Woman Written in a Young Lady's Album

POEMS OF THE THIRD PERIOD

The Meeting The Secret The Assignation Longing Evening (After a Picture) The Pilgrim The Ideals The Youth by the Brook To Emma The Favor of the Moment The Lay of the Mountain The Alpine Hunter Dithyramb The Four Ages of the World The Maiden's Lament To My Friends Punch Song Nadowessian Death Lament The Feast of Victory Punch Song The Complaint of Ceres The Eleusinian Festival The Ring of Polycrates The Cranes of Ibycus (A Ballad) The Playing Infant Hero and Leander (A Ballad) Cassandra The Hostage (A Ballad) Greekism The Diver (A Ballad) The Fight with the Dragon Female Judgment Fridolin; or, the Walk to the Iron Foundry The Genius with the Inverted Torch The Count of Hapsburg (A Ballad) The Forum of Women The Glove (A Tale) The Circle of Nature The Veiled Statue at Sais The Division of the Earth The Fairest Apparition The Ideal and the Actual Life Germany and her Princes Dangerous Consequences The Maiden from Afar The Honorable Parables and Riddles The Virtue of Woman The Walk The Lay of the Bell The Power of Song To Proselytizers Honor to Woman Hope The German Art Odysseus Carthage The Sower The Knights of St. John The Merchant German Faith The Sexes Love and Desire The Bards of Olden Time Jove to Hercules The Antiques of Paris Thekla (A Spirit Voice) The Antique to the Northern Wanderer The Iliad Pompeii and Herculaneum Naenia The Maid of Orleans Archimedes The Dance The Fortune-Favored Bookseller's Announcement Genius Honors The Philosophical Egotist The Best State Constitution The Words of Belief The Words of Error The Power of Woman The Two Paths of Virtue The Proverbs of Confucius Human Knowledge Columbus Light and Warmth Breadth and Depth The Two Guides of Life The Immutable

VOTIVE TABLETS Different Destinies The Animating Principle Two Descriptions of Action Difference of Station Worth and the Worthy The Moral Force Participation To—— The Present Generation To the Muse The Learned Workman The Duty of All A Problem The Peculiar Ideal To Mystics The Key The Observer Wisdom and Prudence The Agreement Political Precept Majestas Populi The Difficult Union To a World-Reformer My Antipathy Astronomical Writings The Best State To Astronomers My Faith Inside and Outside Friend and Foe Light and Color Genius Beauteous Individuality Variety The imitator Geniality The Inquirers Correctness The Three Ages of Nature The Law of Nature Choice Science of Music To the Poet Language The Master The Girdle The Dilettante The Babbler of Art The Philosophies The Favor of the Muses Homer's Head as a Seal

Goodness and Greatness The Impulses Naturalists and Transcendental Philosophers German Genius Theophania

TRIFLES The Epic Hexameter The Distich The Eight-line Stanza The Obelisk The Triumphal Arch The Beautiful Bridge The Gate St. Peter's

The Philosophers The Homerides G. G. The Moral Poet The Danaides The Sublime Subject The Artifice Immortality Jeremiads Shakespeare's Ghost The Rivers Zenith and Nadir Kant and his Commentators The Philosophers The Metaphysician Pegasus in harness Knowledge The Poetry of Life To Goethe The Present Departure from Life Verses written in the Album of a Learned Friend Verses written in the Album of a Friend The Sunday Children The Highest The Puppet-show of Life To Lawgivers False Impulse to Study To the Prince of Weimar The Ideal of Woman (To Amanda) The Fountain of Second Youth William Tell To a Young Friend Devoting Himself to Philosophy Expectation and Fulfilment The Common Fate Human Action Nuptial Ode The Commencement of the New Century Grecian Genius The Father The Connecting Medium The Moment German Comedy Farewell to the Reader

Dedications to Death Preface

SUPPRESSED POEMS

The Journalists and Minos Bacchus in the Pillory Spinosa To the Fates The Parallel Klopstock and Wieland The Muses' Revenge The Hypochondriacal Pluto (A Romance) Book I Book II Book III Reproach. To Laura The Simple Peasant Actaeon Man's Dignity The Messiah Thoughts on the 1st October, 1781 Epitaph Quirl The Plague (A Phantasy) Monument of Moor the Robber The Bad Monarchs The Satyr and My Muse The Peasants The Winter Night The Wirtemberger The Mole Hymn to the Eternal Dialogue Epitaph on a Certain Physiognomist Trust in Immortality Appendix to Poems



POEMS OF SCHILLER.



POEMS OF THE FIRST PERIOD.

HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.

[This and the following poem are, with some alterations, introduced in the Play of "The Robbers."]

ANDROMACHE. Will Hector leave me for the fatal plain, Where, fierce with vengeance for Patroclus slain, Stalks Peleus' ruthless son? Who, when thou glid'st amid the dark abodes, To hurl the spear and to revere the gods, Shall teach thine orphan one?

HECTOR. Woman and wife beloved—cease thy tears; My soul is nerved—the war-clang in my ears! Be mine in life to stand Troy's bulwark!—fighting for our hearths, to go In death, exulting to the streams below, Slain for my fatherland!

ANDROMACHE. No more I hear thy martial footsteps fall— Thine arms shall hang, dull trophies, on the wall— Fallen the stem of Troy! Thou goest where slow Cocytus wanders—where Love sinks in Lethe, and the sunless air Is dark to light and joy!

HECTOR. Longing and thought—yes, all I feel and think May in the silent sloth of Lethe sink, But my love not! Hark, the wild swarm is at the walls!—I hear! Gird on my sword—Beloved one, dry the tear— Lethe for love is not!



AMALIA.

Angel-fair, Walhalla's charms displaying, Fairer than all mortal youths was he; Mild his look, as May-day sunbeams straying Gently o'er the blue and glassy sea.

And his kisses!—what ecstatic feeling! Like two flames that lovingly entwine, Like the harp's soft tones together stealing Into one sweet harmony divine,—

Soul and soul embraced, commingled, blended, Lips and cheeks with trembling passion burned, Heaven and earth, in pristine chaos ended, Round the blissful lovers madly turn'd.

He is gone—and, ah! with bitter anguish Vainly now I breathe my mournful sighs; He is gone—in hopeless grief I languish Earthly joys I ne'er again can prize!



A FUNERAL FANTASIE.

Pale, at its ghastly noon, Pauses above the death-still wood—the moon; The night-sprite, sighing, through the dim air stirs; The clouds descend in rain; Mourning, the wan stars wane, Flickering like dying lamps in sepulchres! Haggard as spectres—vision-like and dumb, Dark with the pomp of death, and moving slow, Towards that sad lair the pale procession come Where the grave closes on the night below.

With dim, deep-sunken eye, Crutched on his staff, who trembles tottering by? As wrung from out the shattered heart, one groan Breaks the deep hush alone! Crushed by the iron fate, he seems to gather All life's last strength to stagger to the bier, And hearken—Do these cold lips murmur "Father?" The sharp rain, drizzling through that place of fear, Pierces the bones gnawed fleshless by despair, And the heart's horror stirs the silver hair.

Fresh bleed the fiery wounds Through all that agonizing heart undone— Still on the voiceless lips "my Father" sounds, And still the childless Father murmurs "Son!" Ice-cold—ice-cold, in that white shroud he lies— Thy sweet and golden dreams all vanished there— The sweet and golden name of "Father" dies Into thy curse,—ice-cold—ice-cold—he lies! Dead, what thy life's delight and Eden were!

Mild, as when, fresh from the arms of Aurora, While the air like Elysium is smiling above, Steeped in rose-breathing odors, the darling of Flora Wantons over the blooms on his winglets of love. So gay, o'er the meads, went his footsteps in bliss, The silver wave mirrored the smile of his face; Delight, like a flame, kindled up at his kiss, And the heart of the maid was the prey of his chase.

Boldly he sprang to the strife of the world, As a deer to the mountain-top carelessly springs; As an eagle whose plumes to the sun are unfurled, Swept his hope round the heaven on its limitless wings. Proud as a war-horse that chafes at the rein, That, kingly, exults in the storm of the brave; That throws to the wind the wild stream of its mane, Strode he forth by the prince and the slave!

Life like a spring day, serene and divine, In the star of the morning went by as a trance; His murmurs he drowned in the gold of the wine, And his sorrows were borne on the wave of the dance.

Worlds lay concealed in the hopes of his youth!— When once he shall ripen to manhood and fame! Fond father exult!—In the germs of his youth What harvests are destined for manhood and fame!

Not to be was that manhood!—The death-bell is knelling, The hinge of the death-vault creaks harsh on the ears— How dismal, O Death, is the place of thy dwelling! Not to be was that manhood!—Flow on, bitter tears! Go, beloved, thy path to the sun, Rise, world upon world, with the perfect to rest; Go—quaff the delight which thy spirit has won, And escape from our grief in the Halls of the Blest.

Again (in that thought what a healing is found!) To meet in the Eden to which thou art fled!— Hark, the coffin sinks down with a dull, sullen sound, And the ropes rattle over the sleep of the dead. And we cling to each other!—O Grave, he is thine! The eye tells the woe that is mute to the ears— And we dare to resent what we grudge to resign, Till the heart's sinful murmur is choked in its tears. Pale at its ghastly noon, Pauses above the death-still wood—the moon! The night-sprite, sighing, through the dim air stirs: The clouds descend in rain; Mourning, the wan stars wane, Flickering like dying lamps in sepulchres. The dull clods swell into the sullen mound; Earth, one look yet upon the prey we gave! The grave locks up the treasure it has found; Higher and higher swells the sullen mound— Never gives back the grave!



FANTASIE—TO LAURA.

Name, my Laura, name the whirl-compelling Bodies to unite in one blest whole— Name, my Laura, name the wondrous magic By which soul rejoins its kindred soul!

See! it teaches yonder roving planets Round the sun to fly in endless race; And as children play around their mother, Checkered circles round the orb to trace.

Every rolling star, by thirst tormented, Drinks with joy its bright and golden rain— Drinks refreshment from its fiery chalice, As the limbs are nourished by the brain.

'Tis through Love that atom pairs with atom, In a harmony eternal, sure; And 'tis Love that links the spheres together— Through her only, systems can endure.

Were she but effaced from Nature's clockwork, Into dust would fly the mighty world; O'er thy systems thou wouldst weep, great Newton, When with giant force to chaos hurled!

Blot the goddess from the spirit order, It would sink in death, and ne'er arise. Were love absent, spring would glad us never; Were love absent, none their God would prize!

What is that, which, when my Laura kisses, Dyes my cheek with flames of purple hue, Bids my bosom bound with swifter motion, Like a fever wild my veins runs through?

Every nerve from out its barriers rises, O'er its banks, the blood begins to flow; Body seeks to join itself to body, Spirits kindle in one blissful glow.

Powerful as in the dead creations That eternal impulses obey, O'er the web Arachne-like of Nature,— Living Nature,—Love exerts her sway.

Laura, see how joyousness embraces E'en the overflow of sorrows wild! How e'en rigid desperation kindles On the loving breast of Hope so mild.

Sisterly and blissful rapture softens Gloomy Melancholy's fearful night, And, deliver'd of its golden children, Lo, the eye pours forth its radiance bright!

Does not awful Sympathy rule over E'en the realms that Evil calls its own? For 'tis Hell our crimes are ever wooing, While they bear a grudge 'gainst Heaven alone!

Shame, Repentance, pair Eumenides-like, Weave round sin their fearful serpent-coils: While around the eagle-wings of Greatness Treach'rous danger winds its dreaded toils.

Ruin oft with Pride is wont to trifle, Envy upon Fortune loves to cling; On her brother, Death, with arms extended, Lust, his sister, oft is wont to spring.

On the wings of Love the future hastens In the arms of ages past to lie; And Saturnus, as he onward speeds him, Long hath sought his bride—Eternity!

Soon Saturnus will his bride discover,— So the mighty oracle hath said; Blazing worlds will turn to marriage torches When Eternity with Time shall wed!

Then a fairer, far more beauteous morning, Laura, on our love shall also shine, Long as their blest bridal-night enduring:— So rejoice thee, Laura—Laura mine!



TO LAURA AT THE HARPSICHORD.

When o'er the chords thy fingers stray, My spirit leaves its mortal clay, A statue there I stand; Thy spell controls e'en life and death, As when the nerves a living breath Receive by Love's command! [1]

More gently zephyr sighs along To listen to thy magic song; The systems formed by heavenly love To sing forever as they move, Pause in their endless-whirling round To catch the rapture-teeming sound; 'Tis for thy strains they worship thee,— Thy look, enchantress, fetters me!

From yonder chords fast-thronging come Soul-breathing notes with rapturous speed, As when from out their heavenly home The new-born seraphim proceed; The strains pour forth their magic might, As glittering suns burst through the night, When, by Creation's storm awoke, From chaos' giant-arm they broke.

Now sweet, as when the silv'ry wave Delights the pebbly beach to lave; And now majestic as the sound Of rolling thunder gathering round; Now pealing more loudly, as when from yon height Descends the mad mountain-stream, foaming and bright; Now in a song of love Dying away, As through the aspen grove Soft zephyrs play: Now heavier and more mournful seems the strain, As when across the desert, death-like plain, Whence whispers dread and yells despairing rise, Cocytus' sluggish, wailing current sighs.

Maiden fair, oh, answer me! Are not spirits leagued with thee? Speak they in the realms of bliss Other language e'er than this?



GROUP FROM TARTARUS.

Hark! like the sea in wrath the heavens assailing, Or like a brook through rocky basin wailing, Comes from below, in groaning agony, A heavy, vacant torment-breathing sigh! Their faces marks of bitter torture wear, While from their lips burst curses of despair; Their eyes are hollow, and full of woe, And their looks with heartfelt anguish Seek Cocytus' stream that runs wailing below, For the bridge o'er its waters they languish.

And they say to each other in accents of fear, "Oh, when will the time of fulfilment appear?" High over them boundless eternity quivers, And the scythe of Saturnus all-ruthlessly, shivers!



RAPTURE—TO LAURA.

From earth I seem to wing my flight, And sun myself in Heaven's pure light, When thy sweet gaze meets mine I dream I quaff ethereal dew, When my own form I mirrored view In those blue eyes divine!

Blest notes from Paradise afar, Or strains from some benignant star Enchant my ravished ear: My Muse feels then the shepherd's hour When silvery tones of magic power Escape those lips so dear!

Young Loves around thee fan their wings— Behind, the maddened fir-tree springs, As when by Orpheus fired: The poles whirl round with swifter motion, When in the dance, like waves o'er Ocean, Thy footsteps float untired!

Thy look, if it but beam with love, Could make the lifeless marble move, And hearts in rocks enshrine: My visions to reality Will turn, if, Laura, in thine eye I read—that thou art mine!



TO LAURA. (THE MYSTERY OF REMINISCENCE.) [2]

Who and what gave to me the wish to woo thee— Still, lip to lip, to cling for aye unto thee? Who made thy glances to my soul the link— Who bade me burn thy very breath to drink— My life in thine to sink? As from the conqueror's unresisted glaive, Flies, without strife subdued, the ready slave— So, when to life's unguarded fort, I see Thy gaze draw near and near triumphantly— Yields not my soul to thee? Why from its lord doth thus my soul depart?— Is it because its native home thou art? Or were they brothers in the days of yore, Twin-bound both souls, and in the link they bore Sigh to be bound once more? Were once our beings blent and intertwining, And therefore still my heart for thine is pining? Knew we the light of some extinguished sun— The joys remote of some bright realm undone, Where once our souls were ONE? Yes, it is so!—And thou wert bound to me In the long-vanish'd Eld eternally! In the dark troubled tablets which enroll The Past—my Muse beheld this blessed scroll— "One with thy love my soul!" Oh yes, I learned in awe, when gazing there, How once one bright inseparate life we were, How once, one glorious essence as a God, Unmeasured space our chainless footsteps trod— All Nature our abode! Round us, in waters of delight, forever Voluptuous flowed the heavenly Nectar river; We were the master of the seal of things, And where the sunshine bathed Truth's mountain-springs Quivered our glancing wings. Weep for the godlike life we lost afar— Weep!—thou and I its scattered fragments are; And still the unconquered yearning we retain— Sigh to restore the rapture and the reign, And grow divine again. And therefore came to me the wish to woo thee— Still, lip to lip, to cling for aye unto thee; This made thy glances to my soul the link— This made me burn thy very breath to drink— My life in thine to sink; And therefore, as before the conqueror's glaive, Flies, without strife subdued, the ready slave, So, when to life's unguarded fort, I see Thy gaze draw near and near triumphantly— Yieldeth my soul to thee! Therefore my soul doth from its lord depart, Because, beloved, its native home thou art; Because the twins recall the links they bore, And soul with soul, in the sweet kiss of yore, Meets and unites once more! Thou, too—Ah, there thy gaze upon me dwells, And thy young blush the tender answer tells; Yes! with the dear relation still we thrill, Both lives—though exiles from the homeward hill— One life—all glowing still!



MELANCHOLY—TO LAURA.

Laura! a sunrise seems to break Where'er thy happy looks may glow. Joy sheds its roses o'er thy cheek, Thy tears themselves do but bespeak The rapture whence they flow; Blest youth to whom those tears are given— The tears that change his earth to heaven; His best reward those melting eyes— For him new suns are in the skies!

Thy soul—a crystal river passing, Silver-clear, and sunbeam-glassing, Mays into bloom sad Autumn by thee; Night and desert, if they spy thee, To gardens laugh—with daylight shine, Lit by those happy smiles of thine! Dark with cloud the future far Goldens itself beneath thy star. Smilest thou to see the harmony Of charm the laws of Nature keep? Alas! to me the harmony Brings only cause to weep!

Holds not Hades its domain Underneath this earth of ours? Under palace, under fame, Underneath the cloud-capped towers? Stately cities soar and spread O'er your mouldering bones, ye dead! From corruption, from decay, Springs yon clove-pink's fragrant bloom; Yon gay waters wind their way From the hollows of a tomb.

From the planets thou mayest know All the change that shifts below, Fled—beneath that zone of rays, Fled to night a thousand Mays; Thrones a thousand—rising—sinking, Earth from thousand slaughters drinking Blood profusely poured as water;— Of the sceptre—of the slaughter— Wouldst thou know what trace remaineth? Seek them where the dark king reigneth!

Scarce thine eye can ope and close Ere life's dying sunset glows; Sinking sudden from its pride Into death—the Lethe tide. Ask'st thou whence thy beauties rise? Boastest thou those radiant eyes?— Or that cheek in roses dyed? All their beauty (thought of sorrow!) From the brittle mould they borrow. Heavy interest in the tomb For the brief loan of the bloom, For the beauty of the day, Death the usurer, thou must pay, In the long to-morrow!

Maiden!—Death's too strong for scorn; In the cheek the fairest, He But the fairest throne doth see Though the roses of the morn Weave the veil by beauty worn— Aye, beneath that broidered curtain, Stands the Archer stern and certain! Maid—thy Visionary hear— Trust the wild one as the sear, When he tells thee that thine eye, While it beckons to the wooer, Only lureth yet more nigh Death, the dark undoer!

Every ray shed from thy beauty Wastes the life-lamp while it beams, And the pulse's playful duty, And the blue veins' merry streams, Sport and run into the pall— Creatures of the Tyrant, all! As the wind the rainbow shatters, Death thy bright smiles rends and scatters, Smile and rainbow leave no traces;— From the spring-time's laughing graces, From all life, as from its germ, Grows the revel of the worm!

Woe, I see the wild wind wreak Its wrath upon thy rosy bloom, Winter plough thy rounded cheek, Cloud and darkness close in gloom; Blackening over, and forever, Youth's serene and silver river! Love alike and beauty o'er, Lovely and beloved no more!

Maiden, an oak that soars on high, And scorns the whirlwind's breath Behold thy Poet's youth defy The blunted dart of Death! His gaze as ardent as the light That shoots athwart the heaven, His soul yet fiercer than the light In the eternal heaven, Of Him, in whom as in an ocean-surge Creation ebbs and flows—and worlds arise and merge! Through Nature steers the poet's thought to find No fear but this—one barrier to the mind?

And dost thou glory so to think? And heaves thy bosom?—Woe! This cup, which lures him to the brink, As if divinity to drink— Has poison in its flow! Wretched, oh, wretched, they who trust To strike the God-spark from the dust! The mightiest tone the music knows, But breaks the harp-string with the sound; And genius, still the more it glows, But wastes the lamp whose life bestows The light it sheds around. Soon from existence dragged away, The watchful jailer grasps his prey: Vowed on the altar of the abused fire, The spirits I raised against myself conspire! Let—yes, I feel it two short springs away Pass on their rapid flight; And life's faint spark shall, fleeting from the clay, Merge in the Fount of Light!

And weep'st thou, Laura?—be thy tears forbid; Would'st thou my lot, life's dreariest years amid, Protract and doom?—No: sinner, dry thy tears: Would'st thou, whose eyes beheld the eagle wing Of my bold youth through air's dominion spring, Mark my sad age (life's tale of glory done)— Crawl on the sod and tremble in the sun? Hear the dull frozen heart condemn the flame That as from heaven to youth's blithe bosom came; And see the blind eyes loathing turn from all The lovely sins age curses to recall? Let me die young!—sweet sinner, dry thy tears! Yes, let the flower be gathered in its bloom! And thou, young genius, with the brows of gloom, Quench thou life's torch, while yet the flame is strong! Even as the curtain falls; while still the scene Most thrills the hearts which have its audience been; As fleet the shadows from the stage—and long When all is o'er, lingers the breathless throng!



THE INFANTICIDE.

Hark where the bells toll, chiming, dull and steady, The clock's slow hand hath reached the appointed time. Well, be it so—prepare, my soul is ready, Companions of the grave—the rest for crime! Now take, O world! my last farewell—receiving My parting kisses—in these tears they dwell! Sweet are thy poisons while we taste believing, Now we are quits—heart-poisoner, fare-thee-well!

Farewell, ye suns that once to joy invited, Changed for the mould beneath the funeral shade; Farewell, farewell, thou rosy time delighted, Luring to soft desire the careless maid, Pale gossamers of gold, farewell, sweet dreaming Fancies—the children that an Eden bore! Blossoms that died while dawn itself was gleaming, Opening in happy sunlight never more.

Swanlike the robe which innocence bestowing, Decked with the virgin favors, rosy fair, In the gay time when many a young rose glowing, Blushed through the loose train of the amber hair. Woe, woe! as white the robe that decks me now— The shroud-like robe hell's destined victim wears; Still shall the fillet bind this burning brow— That sable braid the Doomsman's hand prepares!

Weep ye, who never fell-for whom, unerring, The soul's white lilies keep their virgin hue, Ye who when thoughts so danger-sweet are stirring, Take the stern strength that Nature gives the few! Woe, for too human was this fond heart's feeling— Feeling!—my sin's avenger [3] doomed to be; Woe—for the false man's arm around me stealing, Stole the lulled virtue, charmed to sleep, from me.

Ah, he perhaps shall, round another sighing (Forgot the serpents stinging at my breast), Gayly, when I in the dumb grave am lying, Pour the warm wish or speed the wanton jest, Or play, perchance, with his new maiden's tresses, Answer the kiss her lip enamored brings, When the dread block the head he cradled presses, And high the blood his kiss once fevered springs.

Thee, Francis, Francis [4], league on league, shall follow The death-dirge of the Lucy once so dear; From yonder steeple dismal, dull, and hollow, Shall knell the warning horror on thy ear. On thy fresh leman's lips when love is dawning, And the lisped music glides from that sweet well— Lo, in that breast a red wound shall be yawning, And, in the midst of rapture, warn of hell!

Betrayer, what! thy soul relentless closing To grief—the woman-shame no art can heal— To that small life beneath my heart reposing! Man, man, the wild beast for its young can feel! Proud flew the sails—receding from the land, I watched them waning from the wistful eye, Round the gay maids on Seine's voluptuous strand, Breathes the false incense of his fatal sigh.

And there the babe! there, on the mother's bosom, Lulled in its sweet and golden rest it lay, Fresh in life's morning as a rosy blossom, It smiled, poor harmless one, my tears away. Deathlike yet lovely, every feature speaking In such dear calm and beauty to my sadness, And cradled still the mother's heart, in breaking, The softening love and the despairing madness.

"Woman, where is my father?" freezing through me, Lisped the mute innocence with thunder-sound; "Woman, where is thy husband?"—called unto me, In every look, word, whisper, busying round! Alas, for thee, there is no father's kiss;— He fondleth other children on his knee. How thou wilt curse our momentary bliss, When bastard on thy name shall branded be!

Thy mother—oh, a hell her heart concealeth, Lone-sitting, lone in social nature's all! Thirsting for that glad fount thy love revealeth, While still thy look the glad fount turns to gall. In every infant cry my soul is hearkening, The haunting happiness forever o'er, And all the bitterness of death is darkening The heavenly looks that smiled mine eyes before.

Hell, if my sight those looks a moment misses— Hell, when my sight upon those looks is turned— The avenging furies madden in thy kisses, That slept in his what time my lips they burned. Out from their graves his oaths spoke back in thunder! The perjury stalked like murder in the sun— Forever—God!—sense, reason, soul, sunk under— The deed was done!

Francis, O Francis! league on league shall chase thee The shadows hurrying grimly on thy flight— Still with their icy arms they shall embrace thee, And mutter thunder in thy dream's delight!

Down from the soft stars, in their tranquil glory, Shall look thy dead child with a ghastly stare; That shape shall haunt thee in its cerements gory, And scourge thee back from heaven—its home is there!

Lifeless—how lifeless!—see, oh see, before me It lies cold—stiff—O God!—and with that blood I feel, as swoops the dizzy darkness o'er me Mine own life mingled—ebbing in the flood—

Hark, at the door they knock—more loud within me— More awful still—its sound the dread heart gave! Gladly I welcome the cold arms that win me— Fire, quench thy tortures in the icy grave!

Francis—a God that pardons dwells in heaven— Francis, the sinner—yes—she pardons thee— So let my wrongs unto the earth be given Flame seize the wood!—it burns—it kindles—see! There—there his letters cast—behold are ashes— His vows—the conquering fire consumes them here His kisses—see—see—all are only ashes— All, all—the all that once on earth were dear!

Trust not the roses which your youth enjoyeth, Sisters, to man's faith, changeful as the moon! Beauty to me brought guilt—its bloom destroyeth Lo, in the judgment court I curse the boon Tears in the headsman's gaze—what tears?—'tis spoken! Quick, bind mine eyes—all soon shall be forgot— Doomsman—the lily hast thou never broken? Pale Doomsman—tremble not!



THE GREATNESS OF THE WORLD.

Through the world which the Spirit creative and kind First formed out of chaos, I fly like the wind, Until on the strand Of its billows I land, My anchor cast forth where the breeze blows no more, And Creation's last boundary stands on the shore. I saw infant stars into being arise, For thousands of years to roll on through the skies; I saw them in play Seek their goal far away,— For a moment my fugitive gaze wandered on,— I looked round me, and lo!—all those bright stars had flown!

Madly yearning to reach the dark kingdom of night. I boldly steer on with the speed of the light; All misty and drear The dim heavens appear, While embryo systems and seas at their source Are whirling around the sun-wanderer's course.

When sudden a pilgrim I see drawing near Along the lone path,—"Stay! What seekest thou here?" "My bark, tempest-tossed, I sail toward the land where the breeze blows no more, And Creation's last boundary stands on the shore."

"Stay, thou sailest in vain! 'Tis INFINITY yonder!"— "'Tis INFINITY, too, where thou, pilgrim, wouldst wander! Eagle-thoughts that aspire, Let your proud pinions tire! For 'tis here that sweet phantasy, bold to the last, Her anchor in hopeless dejection must cast!"



FORTUNE AND WISDOM.

Enraged against a quondam friend, To Wisdom once proud Fortune said "I'll give thee treasures without end, If thou wilt be my friend instead."

"My choicest gifts to him I gave, And ever blest him with my smile; And yet he ceases not to crave, And calls me niggard all the while."

"Come, sister, let us friendship vow! So take the money, nothing loth; Why always labor at the plough? Here is enough I'm sure for both!"

Sage wisdom laughed,—the prudent elf!— And wiped her brow, with moisture hot: "There runs thy friend to hang himself,— Be reconciled—I need thee not!"



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG MAN. [5]

Mournful groans, as when a tempest lowers, Echo from the dreary house of woe; Death-notes rise from yonder minster's towers! Bearing out a youth, they slowly go; Yes! a youth—unripe yet for the bier, Gathered in the spring-time of his days, Thrilling yet with pulses strong and clear, With the flame that in his bright eye plays— Yes, a son—the idol of his mother, (Oh, her mournful sigh shows that too well!) Yes! my bosom-friend,—alas my brother!— Up! each man the sad procession swell!

Do ye boast, ye pines, so gray and old, Storms to brave, with thunderbolts to sport? And, ye hills, that ye the heavens uphold? And, ye heavens, that ye the suns support! Boasts the graybeard, who on haughty deeds As on billows, seeks perfection's height? Boasts the hero, whom his prowess leads Up to future glory's temple bright! If the gnawing worms the floweret blast, Who can madly think he'll ne'er decay? Who above, below, can hope to last, If the young man's life thus fleets away?

Joyously his days of youth so glad Danced along, in rosy garb beclad, And the world, the world was then so sweet! And how kindly, how enchantingly Smiled the future,—with what golden eye Did life's paradise his moments greet! While the tear his mother's eye escaped, Under him the realm of shadows gaped And the fates his thread began to sever,— Earth and Heaven then vanished from his sight. From the grave-thought shrank he in affright— Sweet the world is to the dying ever!

Dumb and deaf 'tis in that narrow place, Deep the slumbers of the buried one! Brother! Ah, in ever-slackening race All thy hopes their circuit cease to run! Sunbeams oft thy native hill still lave, But their glow thou never more canst feel; O'er its flowers the zephyr's pinions wave, O'er thine ear its murmur ne'er can steal; Love will never tinge thine eye with gold, Never wilt thou embrace thy blooming bride, Not e'en though our tears in torrents rolled— Death must now thine eye forever hide!

Yet 'tis well!—for precious is the rest, In that narrow house the sleep is calm; There, with rapture sorrow leaves the breast,— Man's afflictions there no longer harm. Slander now may wildly rave o'er thee, And temptation vomit poison fell, O'er the wrangle on the Pharisee, Murderous bigots banish thee to hell! Rogues beneath apostle-masks may leer, And the bastard child of justice play, As it were with dice, with mankind here, And so on, until the judgment day!

O'er thee fortune still may juggle on, For her minions blindly look around,— Man now totter on his staggering throne, And in dreary puddles now be found! Blest art thou, within thy narrow cell! To this stir of tragi-comedy, To these fortune-waves that madly swell, To this vain and childish lottery, To this busy crowd effecting naught, To this rest with labor teeming o'er, Brother!—to this heaven with devils—fraught, Now thine eyes have closed forevermore.

Fare thee well, oh, thou to memory dear, By our blessings lulled to slumbers sweet! Sleep on calmly in thy prison drear,— Sleep on calmly till again we meet! Till the loud Almighty trumpet sounds, Echoing through these corpse-encumbered hills, Till God's storm-wind, bursting through the bounds Placed by death, with life those corpses fills— Till, impregnate with Jehovah's blast, Graves bring forth, and at His menace dread, In the smoke of planets melting fast, Once again the tombs give up their dead!

Not in worlds, as dreamed of by the wise, Not in heavens, as sung in poet's song, Not in e'en the people's paradise— Yet we shall o'ertake thee, and ere long. Is that true which cheered the pilgrim's gloom? Is it true that thoughts can yonder be True, that virtue guides us o'er the tomb? That 'tis more than empty phantasy? All these riddles are to thee unveiled! Truth thy soul ecstatic now drinks up, Truth in radiance thousandfold exhaled From the mighty Father's blissful cup.

Dark and silent bearers draw, then, nigh! To the slayer serve the feast the while! Cease, ye mourners, cease your wailing cry! Dust on dust upon the body pile! Where's the man who God to tempt presumes? Where the eye that through the gulf can see? Holy, holy, holy art thou, God of tombs! We, with awful trembling, worship Thee! Dust may back to native dust be ground, From its crumbling house the spirit fly, And the storm its ashes strew around,— But its love, its love shall never die!



THE BATTLE.

Heavy and solemn, A cloudy column, Through the green plain they marching came! Measure less spread, like a table dread, For the wild grim dice of the iron game. The looks are bent on the shaking ground, And the heart beats loud with a knelling sound; Swift by the breasts that must bear the brunt, Gallops the major along the front— "Halt!" And fettered they stand at the stark command, And the warriors, silent, halt!

Proud in the blush of morning glowing, What on the hill-top shines in flowing, "See you the foeman's banners waving?" "We see the foeman's banners waving!" "God be with ye—children and wife!" Hark to the music—the trump and the fife, How they ring through the ranks which they rouse to the strife! Thrilling they sound with their glorious tone, Thrilling they go through the marrow and bone! Brothers, God grant when this life is o'er, In the life to come that we meet once more!

See the smoke how the lightning is cleaving asunder! Hark the guns, peal on peal, how they boom in their thunder! From host to host, with kindling sound, The shouting signal circles round, Ay, shout it forth to life or death— Freer already breathes the breath! The war is waging, slaughter raging, And heavy through the reeking pall, The iron death-dice fall! Nearer they close—foes upon foes "Ready!"—From square to square it goes, Down on the knee they sank, And fire comes sharp from the foremost rank. Many a man to the earth it sent, Many a gap by the balls is rent— O'er the corpse before springs the hinder man, That the line may not fail to the fearless van, To the right, to the left, and around and around, Death whirls in its dance on the bloody ground. God's sunlight is quenched in the fiery fight, Over the hosts falls a brooding night! Brothers, God grant when this life is o'er In the life to come that we meet once more!

The dead men lie bathed in the weltering blood And the living are blent in the slippery flood, And the feet, as they reeling and sliding go, Stumble still on the corpses that sleep below. "What, Francis!" "Give Charlotte my last farewell." As the dying man murmurs, the thunders swell— "I'll give—Oh God! are their guns so near? Ho! comrades!—yon volley!—look sharp to the rear!— I'll give thy Charlotte thy last farewell, Sleep soft! where death thickest descendeth in rain, The friend thou forsakest thy side shall regain!" Hitherward—thitherward reels the fight, Dark and more darkly day glooms into night— Brothers, God grant when this life is o'er In the life to come that we meet once more!

Hark to the hoofs that galloping go! The adjutant flying,— The horsemen press hard on the panting foe, Their thunder booms in dying— Victory! The terror has seized on the dastards all, And their colors fall! Victory! Closed is the brunt of the glorious fight And the day, like a conqueror, bursts on the night, Trumpet and fife swelling choral along, The triumph already sweeps marching in song. Farewell, fallen brothers, though this life be o'er, There's another, in which we shall meet you once more!



ROUSSEAU.

Monument of our own age's shame, On thy country casting endless blame, Rousseau's grave, how dear thou art to me Calm repose be to thy ashes blest! In thy life thou vainly sought'st for rest, But at length 'twas here obtained by thee!

When will ancient wounds be covered o'er? Wise men died in heathen days of yore; Now 'tis lighter—yet they die again. Socrates was killed by sophists vile, Rousseau meets his death through Christians' wile,— Rousseau—who would fain make Christians men!



FRIENDSHIP.

[From "Letters of Julius to Raphael," an unpublished Novel.]

Friend!—the Great Ruler, easily content, Needs not the laws it has laborious been The task of small professors to invent; A single wheel impels the whole machine Matter and spirit;—yea, that simple law, Pervading nature, which our Newton saw.

This taught the spheres, slaves to one golden rein, Their radiant labyrinths to weave around Creation's mighty hearts: this made the chain, Which into interwoven systems bound All spirits streaming to the spiritual sun As brooks that ever into ocean run!

Did not the same strong mainspring urge and guide Our hearts to meet in love's eternal bond? Linked to thine arm, O Raphael, by thy side Might I aspire to reach to souls beyond Our earth, and bid the bright ambition go To that perfection which the angels know!

Happy, O happy—I have found thee—I Have out of millions found thee, and embraced; Thou, out of millions, mine!—Let earth and sky Return to darkness, and the antique waste— To chaos shocked, let warring atoms be, Still shall each heart unto the other flee!

Do I not find within thy radiant eyes Fairer reflections of all joys most fair? In thee I marvel at myself—the dyes Of lovely earth seem lovelier painted there, And in the bright looks of the friend is given A heavenlier mirror even of the heaven!

Sadness casts off its load, and gayly goes From the intolerant storm to rest awhile, In love's true heart, sure haven of repose; Does not pain's veriest transports learn to smile From that bright eloquence affection gave To friendly looks?—there, finds not pain a grave?

In all creation did I stand alone, Still to the rocks my dreams a soul should find, Mine arms should wreathe themselves around the stone, My griefs should feel a listener in the wind; My joy—its echo in the caves should be! Fool, if ye will—Fool, for sweet sympathy!

We are dead groups of matter when we hate; But when we love we are as gods!—Unto The gentle fetters yearning, through each state And shade of being multiform, and through All countless spirits (save of all the sire)— Moves, breathes, and blends, the one divine desire.

Lo! arm in arm, through every upward grade, From the rude mongrel to the starry Greek, Who the fine link between the mortal made, And heaven's last seraph—everywhere we seek Union and bond—till in one sea sublime Of love be merged all measure and all time!

Friendless ruled God His solitary sky; He felt the want, and therefore souls were made, The blessed mirrors of his bliss!—His eye No equal in His loftiest works surveyed; And from the source whence souls are quickened, He Called His companion forth—ETERNITY!



ELYSIUM.

Past the despairing wail— And the bright banquets of the Elysian vale Melt every care away! Delight, that breathes and moves forever, Glides through sweet fields like some sweet river! Elysian life survey! There, fresh with youth, o'er jocund meads, His merry west-winds blithely leads The ever-blooming May! Through gold-woven dreams goes the dance of the hours, In space without bounds swell the soul and its powers, And truth, with no veil, gives her face to the day. And joy to-day and joy to-morrow, But wafts the airy soul aloft; The very name is lost to sorrow, And pain is rapture tuned more exquisitely soft.

Here the pilgrim reposes the world-weary limb, And forgets in the shadow, cool-breathing and dim, The load he shall bear never more; Here the mower, his sickle at rest, by the streams, Lulled with harp-strings, reviews, in the calm of his dreams, The fields, when the harvest is o'er. Here, he, whose ears drank in the battle roar, Whose banners streamed upon the startled wind A thunder-storm,—before whose thunder tread The mountains trembled,—in soft sleep reclined, By the sweet brook that o'er its pebbly bed In silver plays, and murmurs to the shore, Hears the stern clangor of wild spears no more! Here the true spouse the lost-beloved regains, And on the enamelled couch of summer-plains Mingles sweet kisses with the zephyr's breath. Here, crowned at last, love never knows decay, Living through ages its one bridal day, Safe from the stroke of death!



THE FUGITIVE.

The air is perfumed with the morning's fresh breeze, From the bush peer the sunbeams all purple and bright, While they gleam through the clefts of the dark-waving trees, And the cloud-crested mountains are golden with light.

With joyful, melodious, ravishing, strain, The lark, as he wakens, salutes the glad sun, Who glows in the arms of Aurora again, And blissfully smiling, his race 'gins to run.

All hail, light of day! Thy sweet gushing ray Pours down its soft warmth over pasture and field; With hues silver-tinged The meadows are fringed, And numberless suns in the dewdrop revealed.

Young Nature invades The whispering shades, Displaying each ravishing charm; The soft zephyr blows, And kisses the rose, The plain is sweet-scented with balm.

How high from yon city the smoke-clouds ascend! Their neighing, and snorting, and bellowing blend The horses and cattle; The chariot-wheels rattle, As down to the valley they take their mad way; And even the forest where life seems to move, The eagle, and falcon, and hawk soar above, And flutter their pinions, in heaven's bright ray.

In search of repose From my heart-rending woes, Oh, where shall my sad spirit flee? The earth's smiling face, With its sweet youthful grace, A tomb must, alas, be for me!

Arise, then, thou sunlight of morning, and fling O'er plain and o'er forest thy purple-dyed beams! Thou twilight of evening, all noiselessly sing In melody soft to the world as it dreams!

Ah, sunlight of morning, to me thou but flingest Thy purple-dyed beams o'er the grave of the past! Ah, twilight of evening, thy strains thou but singest To one whose deep slumbers forever must last!



TO MINNA.

Do I dream? can I trust to my eye? My sight sure some vapor must cover? Or, there, did my Minna pass by— My Minna—and knew not her lover? On the arm of the coxcomb she crossed, Well the fan might its zephyr bestow; Herself in her vanity lost, That wanton my Minna?—Ah, no!

In the gifts of my love she was dressed, My plumes o'er her summer hat quiver; The ribbons that flaunt in her breast Might bid her—remember the giver! And still do they bloom on thy bosom, The flowerets I gathered for thee! Still as fresh is the leaf of each blossom, 'Tis the heart that has faded from me!

Go and take, then, the incense they tender; Go, the one that adored thee forget! Go, thy charms to the feigner surrender, In my scorn is my comforter yet! Go, for thee with what trust and belief There beat not ignobly a heart That has strength yet to strive with the grief To have worshipped the trifler thou art!

Thy beauty thy heart hath betrayed— Thy beauty—shame, Minna, to thee! To-morrow its glory will fade, And its roses all withered will be! The swallows that swarm in the sun Will fly when the north winds awaken, The false ones thine autumn will shun, For whom thou the true hast forsaken!

'Mid the wrecks of the charms in December, I see thee alone in decay, And each spring shall but bid thee remember How brief for thyself was the May! Then they who so wantonly flock To the rapture thy kiss can impart, Shall scoff at thy winter, and mock Thy beauty as wrecked as thy heart!

Thy beauty thy heart hath betrayed— Thy beauty—shame, Minna, to thee To-morrow its glory will fade— And its roses all withered will be! O, what scorn for thy desolate years Shall I feel!—God forbid it in me! How bitter will then be the tears Shed, Minna, O Minna, for thee!



THE FLOWERS.

Ye offspring of the morning sun, Ye flowers that deck the smiling plain, Your lives, in joy and bliss begun, In Nature's love unchanged remain. With hues of bright and godlike splendor Sweet Flora graced your forms so tender, And clothed ye in a garb of light; Spring's lovely children weep forever, For living souls she gave ye never, And ye must dwell in endless night?

The nightingale and lark still sing In your tranced ears the bliss of love; The toying sylphs, on airy wing, Around your fragrant bosoms rove, Of yore, Dione's daughter [6] twining In garlands sweet your cup-so shining, A pillow formed where love might rest! Spring's gentle children, mourn forever, The joys of love she gave ye never, Ne'er let ye know that feeling blest!

But when ye're gathered by my hand, A token of my love to be, Now that her mother's harsh command From Nanny's [7] sight has banished me— E'en from that passing touch ye borrow Those heralds mute of pleasing sorrow, Life, language, hearts and souls divine; And to your silent leaves 'tis given, By Him who mightiest is in heaven, His glorious Godhead to enshrine.



THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE.

A HYMN.

By love are blest the gods on high, Frail man becomes a deity When love to him is given; 'Tis love that makes the heavens shine With hues more radiant, more divine, And turns dull earth to heaven!

In Pyrrha's rear (so poets sang In ages past and gone), The world from rocky fragments sprang— Mankind from lifeless stone.

Their soul was but a thing of night, Like stone and rock their heart; The flaming torch of heaven so bright Its glow could ne'er impart.

Young loves, all gently hovering round, Their souls as yet had never bound In soft and rosy chains; No feeling muse had sought to raise Their bosoms with ennobling lays, Or sweet, harmonious strains.

Around each other lovingly No garlands then entwined; The sorrowing springs fled toward the sky, And left the earth behind.

From out the sea Aurora rose With none to hail her then; The sun unhailed, at daylight's close, In ocean sank again.

In forests wild, man went astray, Misled by Luna's cloudy ray— He bore an iron yoke; He pined not for the stars on high, With yearning for a deity No tears in torrents broke.

. . . . .

But see! from out the deep-blue ocean Fair Venus springs with gentle motion The graceful Naiad's smiling band Conveys her to the gladdened strand,

A May-like, youthful, magic power Entwines, like morning's twilight hour, Around that form of godlike birth, The charms of air, sea, heaven, and earth.

The day's sweet eye begins to bloom Across the forest's midnight gloom; Narcissuses, their balm distilling, The path her footstep treads are filling.

A song of love, sweet Philomel, Soon carolled through the grove; The streamlet, as it murmuring fell, Discoursed of naught but love,

Pygmalion! Happy one! Behold! Life's glow pervades thy marble cold! Oh, LOVE, thou conqueror all-divine, Embrace each happy child of thine!

. . . . .

By love are blest the gods on high,— Frail man becomes a deity When love to him is given; 'Tis love that makes the heavens shine With hues more radiant, more divine, And turns dull earth to heaven!

. . . . .

The gods their days forever spend In banquets bright that have no end, In one voluptuous morning-dream, And quaff the nectar's golden stream.

Enthroned in awful majesty Kronion wields the bolt on high: In abject fear Olympus rocks When wrathfully he shakes his locks.

To other gods he leaves his throne, And fills, disguised as earth's frail son, The grove with mournful numbers; The thunders rest beneath his feet, And lulled by Leda's kisses sweet, The Giant-Slayer slumbers.

Through the boundless realms of light Phoebus' golden reins, so bright, Guide his horses white as snow, While his darts lay nations low. But when love and harmony Fill his breast, how willingly Ceases Phoebus then to heed Rattling dart and snow-white steed!

See! Before Kronion's spouse Every great immortal bows; Proudly soar the peacock pair As her chariot throne they bear, While she decks with crown of might Her ambrosial tresses bright,

Beauteous princess, ah! with fear Quakes before thy splendor, love, Seeking, as he ventures near, With his power thy breast to move! Soon from her immortal throne Heaven's great queen must fain descend, And in prayer for beauty's zone, To the heart-enchainer bend!

. . . . .

By love are blest the gods on high, Frail man becomes a deity When love to him is given; 'Tis love that makes the heavens shine With hues more radiant, more divine, And turns dull earth to heaven!

. . . . .

'Tis love illumes the realms of night, For Orcus dark obeys his might, And bows before his magic spell All-kindly looks the king of hell At Ceres' daughter's smile so bright,— Yes—love illumes the realms of night!

In hell were heard, with heavenly sound, Holding in chains its warder bound, Thy lays, O Thracian one! A gentler doom dread Minos passed, While down his cheeks the tears coursed fast And e'en around Megaera's face The serpents twined in fond embrace, The lashes' work seemed done.

Driven by Orpheus' lyre away, The vulture left his giant-prey [8]; With gentler motion rolled along Dark Lethe and Cocytus' river, Enraptured Thracian, by thy song,— And love its burden was forever!

By love are blest the gods on high, Frail man becomes a deity When love to him is given; 'Tis love that makes the heavens shine With hues more radiant, more divine, And turns dull earth to heaven!

. . . . .

Wherever Nature's sway extends, The fragrant balm of love descends, His golden pinions quiver; If 'twere not Venus' eye that gleams Upon me in the moon's soft beams, In sunlit hill or river,— If 'twere not Venus smiles on me From yonder bright and starry sea,

Not stars, not sun, not moonbeams sweet, Could make my heart with rapture beat. 'Tis love alone that smilingly Peers forth from Nature's blissful eye, As from a mirror ever!

Love bids the silvery streamlet roll More gently as it sighs along, And breathes a living, feeling soul In Philomel's sweet plaintive song; 'Tis love alone that fills the air With streams from Nature's lute so fair.

Thou wisdom with the glance of fire, Thou mighty goddess, now retire, Love's power thou now must feel! To victor proud, to monarch high, Thou ne'er hast knelt in slavery,— To love thou now must kneel!

Who taught thee boldly how to climb The steep, but starry path sublime, And reach the seats immortal? Who rent the mystic veil in twain, And showed thee the Elysian plain Beyond death's gloomy portal? If love had beckoned not from high, Had we gained immortality? If love had not inflamed each thought, Had we the master spirit sought? 'Tis love that guides the soul along To Nature's Father's heavenly throne

By love are blest the gods on high, Frail man becomes a deity When love to him is given; 'Tis love that makes the heavens shine With hues more radiant, more divine, And turns dull earth to heaven!



TO A MORALIST.

Are the sports of our youth so displeasing? Is love but the folly you say? Benumbed with the winter, and freezing, You scold at the revels of May.

For you once a nymph had her charms, And Oh! when the waltz you were wreathing, All Olympus embraced in your arms— All its nectar in Julia's breathing.

If Jove at that moment had hurled The earth in some other rotation, Along with your Julia whirled, You had felt not the shock of creation.

Learn this—that philosophy beats Sure time with the pulse,—quick or slow As the blood from the heyday retreats,— But it cannot make gods of us—No!

It is well icy reason should thaw In the warm blood of mirth now and then, The gods for themselves have a law Which they never intended for men.

The spirit is bound by the ties Of its gaoler, the flesh;—if I can Not reach as an angel the skies, Let me feel on the earth as a man!



COUNT EBERHARD, THE GROANER OF WURTEMBERG.

A WAR SONG.

Now hearken, ye who take delight In boasting of your worth! To many a man, to many a knight, Beloved in peace and brave in fight, The Swabian land gives birth.

Of Charles and Edward, Louis, Guy, And Frederick, ye may boast; Charles, Edward, Louis, Frederick, Guy— None with Sir Eberhard can vie— Himself a mighty host!

And then young Ulerick, his son, Ha! how he loved the fray! Young Ulerick, the Count's bold son, When once the battle had begun, No foot's-breadth e'er gave way.

The Reutlingers, with gnashing teeth, Saw our bright ranks revealed And, panting for the victor's wreath, They drew the sword from out the sheath, And sought the battle-field.

He charged the foe,—but fruitlessly,— Then, mail-clad, homeward sped; Stern anger filled his father's eye, And made the youthful warrior fly, And tears of anguish shed.

Now, rascals, quake!—This grieved him sore, And rankled in his brain; And by his father's beard he swore, With many a craven townsman's gore To wash out this foul stain.

Ere long the feud raged fierce and loud,— Then hastened steed and man To Doeffingen in thronging crowd, While joy inspired the youngster proud,— And soon the strife began.

Our army's signal-word that day Was the disastrous fight; It spurred us on like lightning's ray, And plunged us deep in bloody fray, And in the spears' black night.

The youthful Count his ponderous mace With lion's rage swung round; Destruction stalked before his face, While groans and howlings filled the place And hundreds bit the ground.

Woe! Woe! A heavy sabre-stroke Upon his neck descended; The sight each warrior's pity woke— In vain! In vain! No word he spoke— His course on earth was ended.

Loud wept both friend and foeman then, Checked was the victor's glow; The count cheered thus his knights again— "My son is like all other men,— March, children, 'gainst the foe!"

With greater fury whizzed each lance, Revenge inflamed the blood; O'er corpses moved the fearful dance The townsmen fled in random chance O'er mountain, vale, and flood.

Then back to camp, with trumpet's bray, We hied in joyful haste; And wife and child, with roundelay, With clanging cup and waltzes gay, Our glorious triumph graced.

And our old Count,—what now does he? His son lies dead before him; Within his tent all woefully He sits alone in agony, And drops one hot tear o'er him.

And so, with true affection warm, The Count our lord we love; Himself a mighty hero-swarm— The thunders rest within his arm— He shines like star above!

Farewell, then, ye who take delight In boasting of your worth! To many a man, to many a knight, Beloved in peace, and brave in fight, The Swabian land gives birth!



TO THE SPRING.

Welcome, gentle Stripling, Nature's darling thou! With thy basket full of blossoms, A happy welcome now! Aha!—and thou returnest, Heartily we greet thee— The loving and the fair one, Merrily we meet thee! Think'st thou of my maiden In thy heart of glee?

I love her yet, the maiden— And the maiden yet loves me! For the maiden, many a blossom I begged—and not in vain! I came again a-begging, And thou—thou givest again: Welcome, gentle Stripling, Nature's darling thou— With thy basket full of blossoms, A happy welcome now!



SEMELE:

IN TWO SCENES.

Dramatis Personae.

JUNO. SEMELE, Princess of Thebes. JUPITER. MERCURY.

SCENE—The Palace of Cadmus at Thebes.



SCENE I.

JUNO. (Descending from her chariot, enveloped in a cloud.) Away, ye peacocks, with my winged car! Upon Cithaeron's cloud-capped summit wait! [The chariot and cloud vanish. Hail, hail, thou house of my undying anger! A fearful hail to thee, thou hostile roof, Ye hated walls!—This, this, then, is the place Where Jupiter pollutes his marriage-bed Even before the face of modest day! 'Tis here, then, that a woman, a frail mortal, A dust-created being, dares to lure The mighty Thunderer from out mine arms, And hold him prisoner against her lips!

Juno! Juno! thought of madness! Thou all lonely and in sadness, Standest now on heaven's bright throne! Though the votive smoke ascendeth, Though each knee in homage bendeth, What are they when love has flown?

To humble, alas, each too-haughty emotion That swelled my proud breast, from the foam of the ocean Fair Venus arose, to enchant gods and men! And the Fates my still deeper abasement decreeing, Her offspring Hermione brought into being, And the bliss once mine own can ne'er glad me again!

Amongst the gods do I not reign the queen? Am I not sister of the Thunderer? Am I not wife of Zeus, the lord of all? Groans not the mighty axis of the heavens At my command? Gleams not Olympus' crown Upon my head? Ha! now I feel myself! In my immortal veins is Kronos' blood, Right royally now swells my godlike heart. Revenge! revenge! Shall she unpunished ridicule my might? Unpunished, discord roll amongst the gods, Inviting Eris to invade the courts, The joyous courts of heaven? Vain, thoughtless one! Perish, and learn upon the Stygian stream The difference 'twixt divine and earthly dust! The giant-armor, may it weigh thee down— Thy passion for a god to atoms crush thee! Armed with revenge, as with a coat of mail, I have descended from Olympus' heights, Devising sweet, ensnaring, flattering words; But in those words, death and destruction lurk. Hark! 'tis her footstep! she approaches now— Approaches ruin and a certain death! Veil thyself, goddess, in a mortal form! [Exit.

SEMELE. (Calling behind the scenes.) The sun is fast declining! Maidens, haste, Scatter ambrosial fragrance through the hall, Strew roses and narcissus flowers around, Forgetting not the gold-embroidered pillow. He comes not yet—the sun is fast declining—

JUNO. (hastily entering in the form of an old woman.) Praised be the deities, my dearest daughter!

SEMELE. Ha! Do I dream? Am I awake? Gods! Beroe!

JUNO. Is't possible that Semele can e'er Forget her nurse?

SEMELE. 'Tis Beroe! By Zeus! Oh, let thy daughter clasp thee to her heart! Thou livest still? What can have brought thee here From Epidaurus? Tell me all thy tale! Thou art my mother as of old?

JUNO. Thy mother! Time was thou call'dst me so.

SEMELE. Thou art so still, And wilt remain so, till I drink full deep Of Lethe's maddening draught. JUNO. Soon Beroe Will drink oblivion from the waves of Lethe; But Cadmus' daughter ne'er will taste that draught.

SEMELE. How, my good nurse? Thy language ne'er was wont To be mysterious or of hidden meaning; The spirit of gray hairs 'tis speaks in thee; Thou sayest I ne'er shall taste of Lethe's draught?

JUNO. I said so, yes! But wherefore ridicule Gray hairs? 'Tis true that they, unlike fair tresses, Have ne'er been able to ensnare a god!

SEMELE. Pardon poor thoughtless me! What cause have I To ridicule gray hairs? Can I suppose That mine forever fair will grace my neck? But what was that I heard thee muttering Between thy teeth? A god?

JUNO. Said I a god? The deities in truth dwell everywhere! 'Tis good for earth's frail children to implore them. The gods are found where thou art—Semele! What wouldst thou ask?

SEMELE. Malicious heart! But say What brings thee to this spot from Epidaurus? 'Tis not because the gods delight to dwell near Semele?

JUNO. By Jupiter, naught else!— What fire was that which mounted to thy cheeks When I pronounced the name of Jupiter? Naught else, my daughter! Fearfully the plague At Epidaurus rages; every blast Is deadly poison, every breath destroys; The son his mother burns, his bride the bridegroom; The funeral piles rear up their flaming heads, Converting even midnight to bright day, While howls of anguish ceaseless rend the air; Full to overflowing is the cup of woe!— In anger, Zeus looks down on our poor nation; In vain the victim's blood is shed, in vain Before the altar bows the priest his knee; Deaf is his ear to all our supplications— Therefore my sorrow-stricken country now Has sent me here to Cadmus' regal daughter, In hopes that I may move her to avert His anger from us—"Beroe, the nurse, Has influence," thus they said, "with Semele, And Semele with Zeus"—I know no more, And understand still less what means the saying, That Semele such influence has with Zeus.

SEMELE. (Eagerly and thoughtlessly.) The plague shall cease to-morrow! Tell them so Zeus loves me! Say so! It shall cease to-day!

JUNO. (Starting up in astonishment.) Ha! Is it true what fame with thousand tongues Has spread abroad from Ida to Mount Haemus? Zeus loves thee? Zeus salutes thee in the glory Wherein the denizens of heaven regard him, When in Saturnia's arms he sinks to rest? Let, O ye gods, my gray hairs now descend To Orcus' shades, for I have lived enough! In godlike splendor Kronos' mighty son Comes down to her,—to her, who on this breast Once suckled—yes! to her—

SEMELE. Oh, Beroe! In youthful form he came, in lovelier guise Than they who from Aurora's lap arise; Fairer than Hesper, breathing incense dim,— In floods of ether steeped appeared each limb; He moved with graceful and majestic motion, Like silvery billows heaving o'er the ocean, Or as Hyperion, whose bright shoulders ever His bow and arrow bear, and clanging quiver; His robe of light behind him gracefully Danced in the breeze, his voice breathed melody, Like crystal streams with silvery murmur falling, More ravishing than Orpheus' strains enthralling.

JUNO. My daughter! Inspiration spurs thee on, Raising thy heart to flights of Helicon! If thus in strains of Delphic ecstasy Ascends the short-lived blissful memory Of his bright charms,—Oh, how divine must be His own sweet voice,—his look how heavenly! But why of that great attribute Kronion joys in most, be mute,— The majesty that hurls the thunder, And tears the fleeting clouds asunder? Wilt thou say naught of that alone? Prometheus and Deucalion May lend the fairest charms of love, But none can wield the bolt save Jove! The thunderbolt it is alone Which he before thy feet laid down That proves thy right to beauty's crown.

SEMELE. What sayest thou? What are thunder-bolts to me?

JUNO. (Smiling.) Ah, Semele! A jest becomes thee well!

SEMELE. Deucalion has no offspring so divine As is my Zeus—of thunder naught I know.

JUNO. Mere envy! Fie!

SEMELE. No, Beroe! By Zeus!

JUNO. Thou swearest?

SEMELE. By Zeus! by mine own Zeus!

JUNO. (Shrieking.) Thou swearest? Unhappy one!

SEMELE. (In alarm.) What meanest thou, Beroe?

JUNO. Repeat the word that dooms thee to become the wretchedest of all on earth's wide face!— Alas, lost creature! 'Twas not Zeus!

SEMELE. Not Zeus? Oh, fearful thought!

JUNO. A cunning traitor 'twas From Attica, who 'neath a godlike form, Robbed thee of honor, shame, and innocence!— [SEMELE sinks to the ground. Well mayest thou fall! Ne'er mayest thou rise again! May endless night enshroud thine eyes in darkness, May endless silence round thine ears encamp! Remain forever here a lifeless mass! Oh, infamy! Enough to hurl chaste day Back into Hecate's gloomy arms once more! Ye gods! And is it thus that Beroe Finds Cadmus' daughter, after sixteen years Of bitter separation! Full of joy I came from Epidaurus; but with shame To Epidaurus must retrace my steps.— Despair I take with me. Alas, my people! E'en to the second Deluge now the plague May rage at will, may pile mount Oeta high With corpses upon corpses, and may turn All Greece into one mighty charnel-house, Ere Semele can bend the angry gods. I, thou, and Greece, and all, have been betrayed!

SEMELE. (Trembling as she rises, and extending an arm towards her.) Oh, Beroe!

JUNO. Take courage, my dear heart! Perchance 'tis Zeus! although it scarce can be! Perchance 'tis really Zeus! This we must learn! He must disclose himself to thee, or thou Must fly his sight forever, and devote The monster to the death-revenge of Thebes. Look up, dear daughter—look upon the face Of thine own Beroe, who looks on thee With sympathizing eyes—my Semele, Were it not well to try him?

SEMELE. No, by heaven! I should not find him then—

JUNO. What! Wilt thou be Perchance less wretched, if thou pinest on In mournful doubt?—and if 'tis really he,—

SEMELE. (Hiding her face in Juno's lap.) Ah! 'tis not he!

JUNO. And if he came to thee Arrayed in all the majesty wherein Olympus sees him? Semele! What then? Wouldst thou repent thee then of having tried him?

SEMELE. (Springing up.) Ha! be it so! He must unveil himself!

JUNO. (Hastily.) Thou must not let him sink into thine arms. Till he unveils himself—so hearken, child, To what thy faithful nurse now counsels thee,— To what affection whispers in mine ear, And will accomplish!—Say! will he soon come?

SEMELE. Before Hyperion sinks in Thetis' bed, He promised to appear.

JUNO. (Forgetting herself hastily.) Is't so, indeed? He promised? Ha! To-day? (Recovering herself.) Let him approach, And when he would attempt, inflamed with love, To clasp his arms around thee, then do thou,— Observe me well,—as if by lightning struck, Start back in haste. Ha! picture his surprise! Leave him not long in wonderment, my child; Continue to repulse him with a look As cold as ice—more wildly, with more ardor He'll press thee then—the coyness of the fair Is but a dam, that for awhile keeps back The torrent, only to increase the flood With greater fury. Then begin to weep 'Gainst giants he might stand,—look calmly on When Typheus, hundred-armed, in fury hurled Mount Ossa and Olympus 'gainst his throne: But Zeus is soon subdued by beauty's tears. Thou smilest?—Be it so! Is, then, the scholar Wiser, perchance, than she who teaches her?— Then thou must pray the god one little, little Most innocent request to grant to thee— One that may seal his love and godhead too. He'll swear by Styx. The Styx he must obey! That oath he dares not break! Then speak these words: "Thou shalt not touch this body, till thou comest To Cadmus' daughter clothed in all the might Wherein thou art embraced by Kronos' daughter!" Be not thou terrified, my Semele, If he, in order to escape thy wish, As bugbears paints the horrors of his presence— Describes the flames that round about him roar, The thunder round him rolling when he comes: These, Semele, are naught but empty fears— The gods dislike to show to us frail mortals These the most glorious of their attributes; Be thou but obstinate in thy request, And Juno's self will gaze on thee with envy.

SEMELE. The frightful ox-eyed one! How often he Complains, in the blest moments of our love, Of her tormenting him with her black gall—

JUNO. (Aside, furiously, but with embarrassment.) Ha! creature! Thou shalt die for this contempt!

SEMELE. My Beroe! What art thou murmuring there?

JUNO. (In confusion.) Nothing, my Semele! Black gall torments Me also—Yes! a sharp, reproachful look With lovers often passes as black gall— Yet ox-eyes, after all, are not so ugly.

SEMELE. Oh, Beroe, for shame! they're quite the worst That any head can possibly contain! And then her cheeks of green and yellow hues, The obvious penalty of poisonous envy— Zeus oft complains to me that that same shrew Each night torments him with her nauseous love, And with her jealous whims,—enough, I'm sure, Into Ixion's wheel to turn all heaven.

JUNO. (Raving up and down in extreme confusion.) No more of this!

SEMELE. What, Beroe! So angry? Have I said more than what is true? Said more Than what is wise?

JUNO. Thou hast said more, young woman, Than what is true—said more than what is wise! Deem thyself truly blest, if thy blue eyes Smile thee not into Charon's bark too soon! Saturnia has her altars and her temples, And wanders amongst mortals—that great goddess Avenges naught so bitterly as scorn

SEMELE. Here let her wander, and give birth to scorn! What is't to me?—My Jupiter protects My every hair,—what harm can Juno do? But now, enough of this, my Beroe! Zeus must appear to-day in all his glory; And if Saturnia should on that account Find out the path to Orcus—

JUNO. (Aside.) That same path Another probably will find before her, If but Kronion's lightning hits the mark!— (To Semele.) Yes, Semele, she well may burst with envy When Cadmus' daughter, in the sight of Greece, Ascends in triumph to Olympus' heights!—

SEMELE. (Smiling gently.) Thinkest thou they'll hear in Greece of Cadmus' daughter?

JUNO. From Sidon to Athens the trumpet of fame Shall ring with no other but Semele's name! The gods from the heavens shall even descend, And before thee their knees in deep homage shall bend, While mortals in silent submission abide The will of the giant-destroyer's loved bride; And when distant years shall see Thy last hour—

SEMELE. (Springing up, and falling on her neck.) Oh, Beroe!

JUNO. Then a tablet white shall bear This inscription graven there: Here is worshipped Semele! Who on earth so fair as she? She who from Olympus' throne Lured the thunder-hurler down! She who, with her kisses sweet, Laid him prostrate at her feet! And when fame on her thousand wings bears it around, The echo from valley and hill shall resound.

SEMELE. (Beside herself.) Pythia! Apollo! Hear! When, oh when will he appear?

JUNO. And on smoking altars they Rites divine to thee shall pay—

SEMELE. (Inspired.) I will harken to their prayer, And will drive away their care,— Quench with my tears the lightning of great Jove, His breast to pity with entreaty move!

JUNO. (Aside.) Poor thing! that wilt thou ne'er have power to do. (Meditating.) Ere long will melt . . . yet—yet—she called me ugly!— No pity only when in Tartarus! (To Semele.) Fly now, my love! Make haste to leave this spot, That Zeus may not observe thee—Let him wait Long for thy coming, that he with more fire May languish for thee—

SEMELE. Beroe! The heavens Have chosen thee their mouthpiece! Happy I! The gods from Olympus shall even descend, And before me their knees in deep homage shall bend, While mortals in silent submission abide— But hold!—'tis time for me to haste away! [Exit hurriedly.

JUNO. (Looking after her with exultation.) Weak, proud, and easily-deluded woman! His tender looks shall be consuming fire— His kiss, annihilation—his embrace, A raging tempest to thee! Human frames Are powerless to endure the dreaded presence Of him who wields the thunderbolt on high! (With raving ecstasy.) Ha! when her waxen mortal body melts Within the arms of him, the fire-distilling, As melts the fleecy snow before the heat Of the bright sun—and when the perjured one In place of his soft tender bride, embraces A form of terror—with what ecstasy Shall I gaze downwards from Cithaeron's height, Exclaiming, so that in his hand the bolt Shall quake: "For shame, Saturnius! Fie, for shame! What need is there for thee to clasp so roughly?" [Exit hastily. (A, Symphony.)



SCENE II.

The Hall as before.—Sudden brightness. ZEUS in the shape of a youth.—MERCURY in the distance.

ZEUS. Thou son of Maia!

MERCURY. (Kneeling, with his head bowed reverentially.) Zeus!

ZEUS. Up! Hasten! Turn Thy pinions' flight toward far Scamander's bank! A shepherd there is weeping o'er the grave Of his loved shepherdess. No one shall weep When Zeus is loving: Call the dead to life!

MERCURY. (Rising.) Let but thy head a nod almighty give, And in an instant I am there,—am back In the same instant—

ZEUS. Stay! As I o'er Argos Was flying, from my temples curling rose The sacrificial smoke: it gave me joy That thus the people worship me—so fly To Ceres, to my sister,—thus speaks Zeus: "Ten-thousandfold for fifty years to come Let her reward the Argive husbandmen!"—

MERCURY. With trembling haste I execute thy wrath,— With joyous speed thy messages of grace, Father of all! For to the deities 'Tis bliss to make man happy; to destroy him Is anguish to the gods. Thy will be done! Where shall I pour into thine ears their thanks,— Below in dust, or at thy throne on high?

ZEUS. Here at my throne on earth—within the palace, Of Semele! Away! [Exit Mercury. Does she not come, As is her wont, Olympus' mighty king To clasp against her rapture-swelling breast? Why hastens not my Semele to meet me? A vacant, deathlike, fearful silence reigns On every side around the lonely palace, So wont to ring with wild bacchantic shouts— No breath is stirring—on Cithaeron's height Exulting Juno stands. Will Semele Never again make haste to meet her Zeus? (A pause, after which he continues.) Ha! Can yon impious one perchance have dared To set her foot in my love's sanctuary?— Saturnia—Mount Cithaeron—her rejoicings Fearful foreboding!—Semele—yet peace!— Take courage!—I'm thy Zeus! the scattered heavens Shall learn, my Semele, that I'm thy Zeus! Where is the breath of air that dares presume Roughly to blow on her whom Zeus calls His? I scoff at all her malice.—Where art thou, O Semele? I long have pined to rest My world-tormented head upon thy breast,— To lull my wearied senses to repose From the wild storm of earthly joys and woes,— To dream away the emblems of my might, My reins, my tiller, and my chariot bright, And live for naught beyond the joys of love! Oh heavenly inspiration, that can move Even the Gods divine! What is the blood Of mighty Uranus—what all the flood Of nectar and ambrosia—what the throne Of high Olympus—what the power I own, The golden sceptre of the starry skies— What the omnipotence that never dies, What might eternal, immortality— What e'en a god, oh love, if reft of thee? The shepherd who, beside the murmuring brooks, Leans on his true love's breast, nor cares to look After his straying lambs, in that sweet hour Envies me not my thunderbolt of power! She comes—she hastens nigh! Pearl of my works, Woman! the artist who created thee Should be adored. 'Twas I—myself I worship Zeus worships Zeus, for Zeus created thee. Ha! Who will now, in all the being-realm, Condemn me? How unseen, yes, how despised Dwindle away my worlds, my constellations So ray-diffusing, all my dancing systems, What wise men call the music of my spheres!— How dead are all when weighed against a soul! (Semele approaches, without looking up.) My pride! my throne on earth! Oh Semele! (He rushes towards her; she seeks to fly.) Thou flyest?—art mute?—Ha! Semele! thou flyest?

SEMELE. (Repulsing him.) Away!

ZEUS. (After a pause of astonishment.) Is Jupiter asleep? Will Nature Rush to her fall?—Can Semele speak thus? What, not an answer? Eagerly mine arms Toward thee are stretched—my bosom never throbbed Responsive to Agenor's daughter,—never Throbbed against Leda's breast,—my lips ne'er burned For the sweet kiss of prisoned Danae, As now—

SEMELE. Peace, traitor! Peace!

ZEUS. (With displeasure, but tenderly.) My Semele!

SEMELE. Out of my sight!

ZEUS. (Looking at her with majesty.) Know, I am Zeus!

SEMELE. Thou Zeus? Tremble, Salmoneus, for he fearfully Will soon demand again the stolen charms That thou hast robbed him of—thou art not Zeus!

ZEUS. (With dignity.) The mighty universe around me whirls, And calls me so—

SEMELE. Ha! Fearful blasphemy!

ZEUS. (More gently.) How, my divine one? Wherefore such a tone? What reptile dares to steal thine heart from me?

SEMELE. My heart was vowed to him whose ape thou art! Men ofttimes come beneath a godlike form To snare a woman. Hence! thou art not Zeus!

ZEUS. Thou doubtest? What! Can Semele still doubt My godhead?

SEMELE. (Mournfully.) Would that thou wert Zeus! No son Of morrow-nothingness shall touch this mouth; This heart is vowed to Zeus! Would thou wert he!

ZEUS. Thou weepest? Zeus is here,—weeps Semele? (Falling down before her.) Speak! But command! and then shall slavish nature Lie trembling at the feet of Cadmus' daughter! Command! and streams shall instantly make halt— And Helicon, and Caucasus, and Cynthus, And Athos, Mycale, and Rhodope, and Pindus, Shall burst their bonds when I order it so, And kiss the valleys and plains below, And dance in the breeze like flakes of snow. Command! and the winds from the east and the north, And the fierce tornado shall sally forth, While Poseidon's trident their power shall own, When they shake to its base his watery throne; The billows in angry fury shall rise, And every sea-mark and dam despise; The lightning shall gleam through the firmament black While the poles of earth and of heaven shall crack, The ocean the heights of Olympus explore, From thousandfold jaws with wild deafening roar The thunder shall howl, while with mad jubilee The hurricane fierce sings in triumph to thee. Command—

SEMELE, I'm but a woman, a frail woman How can the potter bend before his pot? How can the artist kneel before his statue?

ZEUS. Pygmalion bowed before his masterpiece— And Zeus now worships his own Semele!

SEMELE. (Weeping bitterly.) Arise—arise! Alas for us poor maidens! Zeus has my heart, gods only can I love, The gods deride me, Zeus despises me!

ZEUS. Zeus who is now before thy feet—

SEMELE. Arise! Zeus reigns on high, above the thunderbolts, And, clasped in Juno's arms, a reptile scorns.

ZEUS. (Hastily.) Ha! Semele and Juno!—which the reptile!

SEMELE. How blessed beyond all utterance would be Cadmus' daughter—wert thou Zeus! Alas! Thou art not Zeus!

ZEUS. (Arises.) I am! (He extends his hand, and a rainbow fills the hall; music accompanies its appearance.) Knowest thou me now?

SEMELE. Strong is that mortal's arm whom gods protect,— Saturnius loves thee—none can I e'er love But deities—

ZEUS. What! art thou doubting still Whether my might is lent me by the gods And not god-born? The gods, my Semele, In charity oft lend their strength to man; Ne'er do the deities their terrors lend— Death and destruction is the godhead's seal— Bearer of death to thee were Zeus unveiled! (He extends his hand. Thunder, fire, smoke, and earthquake. Music accompanies the spell here and subsequently.)

SEMELE. Withdraw, withdraw thy hand!—Oh, mercy, mercy, For the poor nation! Yes, thou art the child Of great Saturnius—

ZEUS. Ha! thou thoughtless one! Shall Zeus, to please a woman's stubbornness, Bid planets whirl, and bid the suns stand still? Zeus will do so!—oft has a god's descendant Ripped up the fire-impregnate womb of rocks, And yet his might's confined to Tellus' bounds Zeus only can do this! (He extends his hand—the sun vanishes, and it becomes suddenly night.)

SEMELE. (Falling down before him.) Almighty one! Couldst thou but love! [Day reappears.

ZEUS. Ha! Cadmus' daughter asks Kronion if Kronion e'er can love! One word and he throws off divinity— Is flesh and blood, and dies, and is beloved!

SEMELE. Would Zeus do that? ZEUS. Speak, Semele! What more? Apollo's self confesses that 'tis bliss To be a man 'mongst men—a sign from thee, And I'm a man!

SEMELE. (Falling on his neck.) Oh Jupiter, the Epidaurus women Thy Semele a foolish maiden call, Because, though by the Thunderer beloved, She can obtain naught from him—

ZEUS. (Eagerly.) They shall blush, Those Epidaurus women! Ask!—but ask! And by the dreaded Styx—whose boundless might Binds e'en the gods like slaves—if Zeus deny thee, Then shall the gods, e'en in that self-same moment, Hurl me despairing to annihilation!

SEMELE. (Springing up joyfully.) By this I know that thou'rt my Jupiter! Thou swearest—and the Styx has heard thine oath! Let me embrace thee, then, in the same guise In which—

ZEUS. (Shrieking with alarm.) Unhappy one! Oh stay! oh stay!

SEMELE. Saturnia—

ZEUS. (Attempting to stop her mouth.) Be thou dumb!

SEMELE. Embraces thee.

ZEUS. (Pale, and turning away.) Too late! The sound escaped!—The Styx!—'Tis death Thou, Semele, hast gained!

SEMELE. Ha! Loves Zeus thus?

ZEUS. All heaven I would have given, had I only Loved thee but less! (Gazing at her with cold horror.) Thou'rt lost—

SEMELE. Oh, Jupiter!

ZEUS. (Speaking furiously to himself,) Ah! Now I mark thine exultation, Juno! Accursed jealousy! This rose must die! Too fair—alas! too sweet for Acheron!

SEMELE. Methinks thou'rt niggard of thy majesty!

ZEUS. Accursed be my majesty, that now Has blinded thee! Accursed be my greatness, That must destroy thee! Cursed be I myself For having built my bliss on crumbling dust!

SEMELE. These are but empty terrors, Zeus! In truth I do not dread thy threats! ZEUS. Deluded child! Go! take a last farewell forever more Of all thy friends beloved—naught, naught has power To save thee, Semele! I am thy Zeus! Yet that no more—Go—

SEMELE. Jealous one! the Styx!— Think not that thou'lt be able to escape me. [Exit.

ZEUS. No! Juno shall not triumph.—She shall tremble— Aye, and by virtue of the deadly might That makes the earth and makes the heavens my footstool, Upon the sharpest rock in Thracia's land With adamantine chains I'll bind her fast. But, oh, this oath— [Mercury appears in the distance. What means thy hasty flight?

MERCURY. I bring the fiery, winged, and weeping thanks Of those whom thou hast blessed—

ZEUS. Again destroy them!

MERCURY. (In amazement.) Zeus!

ZEUS. None shall now be blessed! She dies— [The curtain falls.



POEMS OF THE SECOND PERIOD.

HYMN TO JOY.

Joy, thou goddess, fair, immortal, Offspring of Elysium, Mad with rapture, to the portal Of thy holy fame we come! Fashion's laws, indeed, may sever, But thy magic joins again; All mankind are brethren ever 'Neath thy mild and gentle reign.

CHORUS. Welcome, all ye myriad creatures! Brethren, take the kiss of love! Yes, the starry realms above Hide a Father's smiling features!

He, that noble prize possessing— He that boasts a friend that's true, He whom woman's love is blessing, Let him join the chorus too! Aye, and he who but one spirit On this earth can call his own! He who no such bliss can merit, Let him mourn his fate alone!

CHORUS. All who Nature's tribes are swelling Homage pay to sympathy; For she guides us up on high, Where the unknown has his dwelling.

From the breasts of kindly Nature All of joy imbibe the dew; Good and bad alike, each creature Would her roseate path pursue. 'Tis through her the wine-cup maddens, Love and friends to man she gives! Bliss the meanest reptile gladdens,— Near God's throne the cherub lives!

CHORUS. Bow before him, all creation! Mortals, own the God of love! Seek him high the stars above,— Yonder is his habitation!

Joy, in Nature's wide dominion, Mightiest cause of all is found; And 'tis joy that moves the pinion, When the wheel of time goes round; From the bud she lures the flower— Suns from out their orbs of light; Distant spheres obey her power, Far beyond all mortal sight.

CHORUS. As through heaven's expanse so glorious In their orbits suns roll on, Brethren, thus your proud race run, Glad as warriors all-victorious!

Joy from truth's own glass of fire Sweetly on the searcher smiles; Lest on virtue's steeps he tire, Joy the tedious path beguiles. High on faith's bright hill before us, See her banner proudly wave! Joy, too, swells the angels' chorus,— Bursts the bondage of the grave!

CHORUS. Mortals, meekly wait for heaven Suffer on in patient love! In the starry realms above, Bright rewards by God are given.

To the Gods we ne'er can render Praise for every good they grant; Let us, with devotion tender, Minister to grief and want. Quenched be hate and wrath forever, Pardoned be our mortal foe— May our tears upbraid him never, No repentance bring him low!

CHORUS. Sense of wrongs forget to treasure— Brethren, live in perfect love! In the starry realms above, God will mete as we may measure.

Joy within the goblet flushes, For the golden nectar, wine, Every fierce emotion hushes,— Fills the breast with fire divine. Brethren, thus in rapture meeting, Send ye round the brimming cup,— Yonder kindly spirit greeting, While the foam to heaven mounts up!

CHORUS. He whom seraphs worship ever; Whom the stars praise as they roll, Yes to him now drain the bowl Mortal eye can see him never!

Courage, ne'er by sorrow broken! Aid where tears of virtue flow; Faith to keep each promise spoken! Truth alike to friend and foe! 'Neath kings' frowns a manly spirit!— Brethren, noble is the prize— Honor due to every merit! Death to all the brood of lies!

CHORUS. Draw the sacred circle closer! By this bright wine plight your troth To be faithful to your oath! Swear it by the Star-Disposer!

Safety from the tyrant's power! [9] Mercy e'en to traitors base! Hope in death's last solemn hour! Pardon when before His face! Lo, the dead shall rise to heaven! Brethren hail the blest decree; Every sin shall be forgiven, Hell forever cease to be!

CHORUS. When the golden bowl is broken, Gentle sleep within the tomb! Brethren, may a gracious doom By the Judge of man be spoken!



THE INVINCIBLE ARMADA.

She comes, she comes—the burden of the deeps! Beneath her wails the universal sea! With clanking chains and a new god, she sweeps, And with a thousand thunders, unto thee! The ocean-castles and the floating hosts— Ne'er on their like looked the wild water!—Well May man the monster name "Invincible." O'er shuddering waves she gathers to thy coasts! The horror that she spreads can claim Just title to her haughty name. The trembling Neptune quails Under the silent and majestic forms; The doom of worlds in those dark sails;— Near and more near they sweep! and slumber all the storms!

Before thee, the array, Blest island, empress of the sea! The sea-born squadrons threaten thee, And thy great heart, Britannia! Woe to thy people, of their freedom proud— She rests, a thunder heavy in its cloud! Who, to thy hand the orb and sceptre gave, That thou should'st be the sovereign of the nations? To tyrant kings thou wert thyself the slave, Till freedom dug from law its deep foundations; The mighty Chart the citizens made kings, And kings to citizens sublimely bowed! And thou thyself, upon thy realm of water, Hast thou not rendered millions up to slaughter, When thy ships brought upon their sailing wings The sceptre—and the shroud? What should'st thou thank?—Blush, earth, to hear and feel What should'st thou thank?—Thy genius and thy steel! Behold the hidden and the giant fires! Behold thy glory trembling to its fall! Thy coming doom the round earth shall appal, And all the hearts of freemen beat for thee, And all free souls their fate in thine foresee— Theirs is thy glory's fall!