Now the casting may begin; See the breach indented there: Ere we run the fusion in, Halt—and speed the pious prayer! Pull the bung out— See around and about What vapor, what vapor—God help us!—has risen?— Ha! the flame like a torrent leaps forth from its prison! What friend is like the might of fire When man can watch and wield the ire? Whate'er we shape or work, we owe Still to that heaven-descended glow. But dread the heaven-descended glow, When from their chain its wild wings go, When, where it listeth, wide and wild Sweeps free Nature's free-born child. When the frantic one fleets, While no force can withstand, Through the populous streets Whirling ghastly the brand; For the element hates What man's labor creates, And the work of his hand! Impartially out from the cloud, Or the curse or the blessing may fall! Benignantly out from the cloud Come the dews, the revivers of all! Avengingly out from the cloud Come the levin, the bolt, and the ball! Hark—a wail from the steeple!—aloud The bell shrills its voice to the crowd! Look—look—red as blood All on high! It is not the daylight that fills with its flood The sky! What a clamor awaking Roars up through the street, What a hell-vapor breaking. Rolls on through the street, And higher and higher Aloft moves the column of fire! Through the vistas and rows Like a whirlwind it goes, And the air like the stream from the furnace glows. Beams are crackling—posts are shrinking Walls are sinking—windows clinking— Children crying— Mothers flying— And the beast (the black ruin yet smouldering under) Yells the howl of its pain and its ghastly wonder! Hurry and skurry—away—away, The face of the night is as clear as day! As the links in a chain, Again and again Flies the bucket from hand to hand; High in arches up-rushing The engines are gushing, And the flood, as a beast on the prey that it hounds With a roar on the breast of the element bounds. To the grain and the fruits, Through the rafters and beams, Through the barns and garners it crackles and streams! As if they would rend up the earth from its roots, Rush the flames to the sky Giant-high; And at length, Wearied out and despairing, man bows to their strength! With an idle gaze sees their wrath consume, And submits to his doom! Desolate The place, and dread For storms the barren bed. In the blank voids that cheerful casements were, Comes to and fro the melancholy air, And sits despair; And through the ruin, blackening in its shroud Peers, as it flits, the melancholy cloud.

One human glance of grief upon the grave Of all that fortune gave The loiterer takes—then turns him to depart, And grasps the wanderer's staff and mans his heart Whatever else the element bereaves One blessing more than all it reft—it leaves, The faces that he loves!—He counts them o'er, See—not one look is missing from that store!

Now clasped the bell within the clay— The mould the mingled metals fill— Oh, may it, sparkling into day, Reward the labor and the skill! Alas! should it fail, For the mould may be frail— And still with our hope must be mingled the fear— And, ev'n now, while we speak, the mishap may be near! To the dark womb of sacred earth This labor of our hands is given, As seeds that wait the second birth, And turn to blessings watched by heaven! Ah, seeds, how dearer far than they, We bury in the dismal tomb, Where. hope and sorrow bend to pray That suns beyond the realm of day May warm them into bloom!

From the steeple Tolls the bell, Deep and heavy, The death-knell! Guiding with dirge-note—solemn, sad, and slow, To the last home earth's weary wanderers know. It is that worshipped wife— It is that faithful mother! [46] Whom the dark prince of shadows leads benighted, From that dear arm where oft she hung delighted Far from those blithe companions, born Of her, and blooming in their morn; On whom, when couched her heart above, So often looked the mother-love!

Ah! rent the sweet home's union-band, And never, never more to come— She dwells within the shadowy land, Who was the mother of that home! How oft they miss that tender guide, The care—the watch—the face—the mother— And where she sate the babes beside, Sits with unloving looks—another!

While the mass is cooling now, Let the labor yield to leisure, As the bird upon the bough, Loose the travail to the pleasure. When the soft stars awaken, Each task be forsaken! And the vesper-bell lulling the earth into peace, If the master still toil, chimes the workman's release!

Homeward from the tasks of day, Through the greenwood's welcome way Wends the wanderer, blithe and cheerly, To the cottage loved so dearly! And the eye and ear are meeting, Now, the slow sheep homeward bleating— Now, the wonted shelter near, Lowing the lusty-fronted steer; Creaking now the heavy wain, Reels with the happy harvest grain. While with many-colored leaves, Glitters the garland on the sheaves; For the mower's work is done, And the young folks' dance begun! Desert street, and quiet mart;— Silence is in the city's heart; And the social taper lighteth; Each dear face that home uniteth; While the gate the town before Heavily swings with sullen roar!

Though darkness is spreading O'er earth—the upright And the honest, undreading, Look safe on the night— Which the evil man watches in awe, For the eye of the night is the law! Bliss-dowered! O daughter of the skies, Hail, holy order, whose employ Blends like to like in light and joy— Builder of cities, who of old Called the wild man from waste and wold. And, in his hut thy presence stealing, Roused each familiar household feeling; And, best of all the happy ties, The centre of the social band,— The instinct of the Fatherland!

United thus—each helping each, Brisk work the countless hands forever; For naught its power to strength can teach, Like emulation and endeavor! Thus linked the master with the man, Each in his rights can each revere, And while they march in freedom's van, Scorn the lewd rout that dogs the rear! To freemen labor is renown! Who works—gives blessings and commands; Kings glory in the orb and crown— Be ours the glory of our hands.

Long in these walls—long may we greet Your footfalls, peace and concord sweet! Distant the day, oh! distant far, When the rude hordes of trampling war Shall scare the silent vale; And where, Now the sweet heaven, when day doth leave The air, Limns its soft rose-hues on the veil of eve; Shall the fierce war-brand tossing in the gale, From town and hamlet shake the horrent glare!

Now, its destined task fulfilled, Asunder break the prison-mould; Let the goodly bell we build, Eye and heart alike behold. The hammer down heave, Till the cover it cleave:— For not till we shatter the wall of its cell Can we lift from its darkness and bondage the bell.

To break the mould, the master may, If skilled the hand and ripe the hour; But woe, when on its fiery way The metal seeks itself to pour. Frantic and blind, with thunder-knell, Exploding from its shattered home, And glaring forth, as from a hell, Behold the red destruction come! When rages strength that has no reason, There breaks the mould before the season; When numbers burst what bound before, Woe to the state that thrives no more! Yea, woe, when in the city's heart, The latent spark to flame is blown; And millions from their silence start, To claim, without a guide, their own!

Discordant howls the warning bell, Proclaiming discord wide and far, And, born but things of peace to tell, Becomes the ghastliest voice of war: "Freedom! Equality!"—to blood Rush the roused people at the sound! Through street, hall, palace, roars the flood, And banded murder closes round! The hyena-shapes (that women were!), Jest with the horrors they survey; They hound—they rend—they mangle there— As panthers with their prey! Naught rests to hollow—burst the ties Of life's sublime and reverent awe; Before the vice the virtue flies, And universal crime is law! Man fears the lion's kingly tread; Man fears the tiger's fangs of terror; And still the dreadliest of the dread, Is man himself in error! No torch, though lit from heaven, illumes The blind!—Why place it in his hand? It lights not him—it but consumes The city and the land!

Rejoice and laud the prospering skies! The kernel bursts its husk—behold From the dull clay the metal rise, Pure-shining, as a star of gold! Neck and lip, but as one beam, It laughs like a sunbeam. And even the scutcheon, clear-graven, shall tell That the art of a master has fashioned the bell!

Come in—come in My merry men—we'll form a ring The new-born labor christening; And "Concord" we will name her!— To union may her heartfelt call In brother-love attune us all! May she the destined glory win For which the master sought to frame her— Aloft—(all earth's existence under), In blue-pavillioned heaven afar To dwell—the neighbor of the thunder, The borderer of the star! Be hers above a voice to rise Like those bright hosts in yonder sphere, Who, while they move, their Maker praise, And lead around the wreathed year! To solemn and eternal things We dedicate her lips sublime!— As hourly, calmly, on she swings Fanned by the fleeting wings of time!— No pulse—no heart—no feeling hers! She lends the warning voice to fate; And still companions, while she stirs, The changes of the human state! So may she teach us, as her tone But now so mighty, melts away— That earth no life which earth has known From the last silence can delay!

Slowly now the cords upheave her! From her earth-grave soars the bell; Mid the airs of heaven we leave her! In the music-realm to dwell! Up—upwards yet raise— She has risen—she sways. Fair bell to our city bode joy and increase, And oh, may thy first sound be hallowed to peace! [47]



THE POWER OF SONG.

The foaming stream from out the rock With thunder roar begins to rush,— The oak falls prostrate at the shock, And mountain-wrecks attend the gush. With rapturous awe, in wonder lost, The wanderer hearkens to the sound; From cliff to cliff he hears it tossed, Yet knows not whither it is bound: 'Tis thus that song's bright waters pour From sources never known before.

In union with those dreaded ones That spin life's thread all-silently, Who can resist the singer's tones? Who from his magic set him free? With wand like that the gods bestow, He guides the heaving bosom's chords, He steeps it in the realms below, He bears it, wondering, heavenward, And rocks it, 'twixt the grave and gay, On feeling's scales that trembling sway.

As when before the startled eyes Of some glad throng, mysteriously, With giant-step, in spirit-guise, Appears a wondrous deity, Then bows each greatness of the earth Before the stranger heaven-born, Mute are the thoughtless sounds of mirth, While from each face the mask is torn, And from the truth's triumphant might Each work of falsehood takes to flight.

So from each idle burden free, When summoned by the voice of song, Man soars to spirit-dignity, Receiving force divinely strong: Among the gods is now his home, Naught earthly ventures to approach— All other powers must now be dumb, No fate can on his realms encroach; Care's gloomy wrinkles disappear, Whilst music's charms still linger here,

As after long and hopeless yearning, And separation's bitter smart, A child, with tears repentant burning, Clings fondly to his mother's heart— So to his youthful happy dwelling, To rapture pure and free from stain, All strange and false conceits expelling, Song guides the wanderer back again, In faithful Nature's loving arm, From chilling precepts to grow warm.



TO PROSELYTIZERS.

"Give me only a fragment of earth beyond the earth's limits,"— So the godlike man said,—"and I will move it with ease." Only give me permission to leave myself for one moment, And without any delay I will engage to be yours.



HONOR TO WOMAN.

[Literally "Dignity of Women."]

Honor to woman! To her it is given To garden the earth with the roses of heaven! All blessed, she linketh the loves in their choir In the veil of the graces her beauty concealing, She tends on each altar that's hallowed to feeling, And keeps ever-living the fire!

From the bounds of truth careering, Man's strong spirit wildly sweeps, With each hasty impulse veering Down to passion's troubled deeps. And his heart, contented never, Greeds to grapple with the far, Chasing his own dream forever, On through many a distant star! But woman with looks that can charm and enchain, Lureth back at her beck the wild truant again, By the spell of her presence beguiled— In the home of the mother her modest abode, And modest the manners by Nature bestowed On Nature's most exquisite child!

Bruised and worn, but fiercely breasting, Foe to foe, the angry strife; Man, the wild one, never resting, Roams along the troubled life; What he planneth, still pursuing; Vainly as the Hydra bleeds, Crest the severed crest renewing— Wish to withered wish succeeds.

But woman at peace with all being, reposes, And seeks from the moment to gather the roses— Whose sweets to her culture belong. Ah! richer than he, though his soul reigneth o'er The mighty dominion of genius and lore, And the infinite circle of song.

Strong, and proud, and self-depending, Man's cold bosom beats alone; Heart with heart divinely blending, In the love that gods have known, Soul's sweet interchange of feeling, Melting tears—he never knows, Each hard sense the hard one steeling, Arms against a world of foes.

Alive, as the wind-harp, how lightly soever If wooed by the zephyr, to music will quiver, Is woman to hope and to fear; All, tender one! still at the shadow of grieving, How quiver the chords—how thy bosom is heaving— How trembles thy glance through the tear!

Man's dominion, war and labor; Might to right the statue gave; Laws are in the Scythian's sabre; Where the Mede reigned—see the slave! Peace and meekness grimly routing, Prowls the war-lust, rude and wild; Eris rages, hoarsely shouting, Where the vanished graces smiled.

But woman, the soft one, persuasively prayeth— Of the life [48] that she charmeth, the sceptre she swayeth; She lulls, as she looks from above, The discord whose bell for its victims is gaping, And blending awhile the forever escaping, Whispers hate to the image of love!



HOPE.

We speak with the lip, and we dream in the soul, Of some better and fairer day; And our days, the meanwhile, to that golden goal Are gliding and sliding away. Now the world becomes old, now again it is young, But "The better" 's forever the word on the tongue.

At the threshold of life hope leads us in— Hope plays round the mirthful boy; Though the best of its charms may with youth begin, Yet for age it reserves its toy.



THE GERMAN ART.

By no kind Augustus reared, To no Medici endeared, German art arose; Fostering glory smiled not on her, Ne'er with kingly smiles to sun her, Did her blooms unclose.

No,—she went by monarchs slighted Went unhonored, unrequited, From high Frederick's throne; Praise and pride be all the greater, That man's genius did create her, From man's worth alone.

Therefore, all from loftier mountains, Purer wells and richer fountains, Streams our poet-art; So no rule to curb its rushing— All the fuller flows it gushing From its deep—the heart!



ODYSSEUS.

Seeking to find his home, Odysseus crosses each water; Through Charybdis so dread; ay, and through Scylla's wild yells, Through the alarms of the raging sea, the alarms of the land too,— E'en to the kingdom of hell leads him his wandering course. And at length, as he sleeps, to Ithaca's coast fate conducts him; There he awakes, and, with grief, knows not his fatherland now.



CARTHAGE.

Oh thou degenerate child of the great and glorious mother, Who with the Romans' strong might couplest the Tyrians' deceit! But those ever governed with vigor the earth they had conquered,— These instructed the world that they with cunning had won. Say! what renown does history grant thee? Thou, Roman-like, gained'st That with the steel, which with gold, Tyrian-like, then thou didst rule!



THE SOWER.

Sure of the spring that warms them into birth, The golden seeds thou trustest to the earth; And dost thou doubt the eternal spring sublime, For deeds—the seeds which wisdom sows in time.



THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN.

Oh, nobly shone the fearful cross upon your mail afar, When Rhodes and Acre hailed your might, O lions of the war! When leading many a pilgrim horde, through wastes of Syrian gloom; Or standing with the cherub's sword before the holy tomb. Yet on your forms the apron seemed a nobler armor far, When by the sick man's bed ye stood, O lions of the war! When ye, the high-born, bowed your pride to tend the lowly weakness, The duty, though it brought no fame, fulfilled by Christian meekness— Religion of the cross, thou blend'st, as in a single flower, The twofold branches of the palm—humility and power. [49]



THE MERCHANT.

Where sails the ship?—It leads the Tyrian forth For the rich amber of the liberal north. Be kind, ye seas—winds, lend your gentlest wing, May in each creek sweet wells restoring spring!— To you, ye gods, belong the merchant!—o'er The waves his sails the wide world's goods explore; And, all the while, wherever waft the gales The wide world's good sails with him as he sails!



GERMAN FAITH. [50]

Once for the sceptre of Germany, fought with Bavarian Louis Frederick, of Hapsburg descent, both being called to the throne. But the envious fortune of war delivered the Austrian Into the hands of the foe, who overcame him in fight. With the throne he purchased his freedom, pledging his honor For the victor to draw 'gainst his own people his sword; But what he vowed when in chains, when free he could not accomplish, So, of his own free accord, put on his fetters again. Deeply moved, his foe embraced him,—and from thenceforward As a friend with a friend, pledged they the cup at the feast; Arm-in-arm, the princes on one couch slumbered together. While a still bloodier hate severed the nations apart. 'Gainst the army of Frederick Louis now went, and behind him Left the foe he had fought, over Bavaria to watch. "Ay, it is true! 'Tis really true! I have it in writing!" Thus did the Pontifex cry, when he first heard of the news.



THE SEXES.

See in the babe two loveliest flowers united—yet in truth, While in the bud they seem the same—the virgin and the youth! But loosened is the gentle bond, no longer side by side— From holy shame the fiery strength will soon itself divide. Permit the youth to sport, and still the wild desire to chase, For, but when sated, weary strength returns to seek the grace. Yet in the bud, the double flowers the future strife begin, How precious all—yet naught can still the longing heart within. In ripening charms the virgin bloom to woman shape hath grown, But round the ripening charms the pride hath clasped its guardian zone; Shy, as before the hunter's horn the doe all trembling moves, She flies from man as from a foe, and hates before she loves!

From lowering brows this struggling world the fearless youth observes, And hardened for the strife betimes, he strains the willing nerves; Far to the armed throng and to the race prepared to start, Inviting glory calls him forth, and grasps the troubled heart:— Protect thy work, O Nature now! one from the other flies, Till thou unitest each at last that for the other sighs. There art thou, mighty one! where'er the discord darkest frown, Thou call'st the meek harmonious peace, the god-like soother down. The noisy chase is lulled asleep, day's clamor dies afar, And through the sweet and veiled air in beauty comes the star. Soft-sighing through the crisped reeds, the brooklet glides along, And every wood the nightingale melodious fills with song. O virgin! now what instinct heaves thy bosom with the sigh? O youth! and wherefore steals the tear into thy dreaming eye? Alas! they seek in vain within the charm around bestowed, The tender fruit is ripened now, and bows to earth its load. And restless goes the youth to feed his heart upon its fire, All, where the gentle breath to cool the flame of young desire! And now they meet—the holy love that leads them lights their eyes, And still behind the winged god the winged victory flies. O heavenly love!—'tis thy sweet task the human flowers to bind, For ay apart, and yet by thee forever intertwined!



LOVE AND DESIRE.

Rightly said, Schlosser! Man loves what he has; what he has not, desireth; None but the wealthy minds love; poor minds desire alone.



THE BARDS OF OLDEN TIME.

Say, where is now that glorious race, where now are the singers Who, with the accents of life, listening nations enthralled, Sung down from heaven the gods, and sung mankind up to heaven, And who the spirit bore up high on the pinions of song? Ah! the singers still live; the actions only are wanting, And to awake the glad harp, only a welcoming ear. Happy bards of a happy world! Your life-teeming accents Flew round from mouth unto mouth, gladdening every race. With the devotion with which the gods were received, each one welcomed That which the genius for him, plastic and breathing, then formed. With the glow of the song were inflamed the listener's senses, And with the listener's sense, nourished the singer the glow— Nourished and cleansed it,—fortunate one! for whom in the voices Of the people still clear echoed the soul of the song, And to whom from without appeared, in life, the great godhead, Whom the bard of these days scarcely can feel in his breast.



JOVE TO HERCULES.

'Twas not my nectar made thy strength divine, But 'twas thy strength which made my nectar thine!



THE ANTIQUES AT PARIS.

That which Grecian art created, Let the Frank, with joy elated, Bear to Seine's triumphant strand, And in his museums glorious Show the trophies all-victorious To his wondering fatherland.

They to him are silent ever, Into life's fresh circle never From their pedestals come down. He alone e'er holds the Muses Through whose breast their power diffuses,— To the Vandal they're but stone!



THEKLA.

A SPIRIT VOICE.

Whither was it that my spirit wended When from thee my fleeting shadow moved? Is not now each earthly conflict ended? Say,—have I not lived,—have I not loved?

Art thou for the nightingales inquiring Who entranced thee in the early year With their melody so joy-inspiring? Only whilst they loved they lingered here.

Is the lost one lost to me forever? Trust me, with him joyfully I stray There, where naught united souls can sever, And where every tear is wiped away.

And thou, too, wilt find us in yon heaven, When thy love with our love can compare; There my father dwells, his sins forgiven,— Murder foul can never reach him there.

And he feels that him no vision cheated When he gazed upon the stars on high; For as each one metes, to him 'tis meted; Who believes it, hath the Holy nigh.

Faith is kept in those blest regions yonder With the feelings true that ne'er decay. Venture thou to dream, then, and to wander Noblest thoughts oft lie in childlike play.



THE ANTIQUE TO THE NORTHERN WANDERER.

Thou hast crossed over torrents, and swung through wide-spreading ocean,— Over the chain of the Alps dizzily bore thee the bridge, That thou might'st see me from near, and learn to value my beauty, Which the voice of renown spreads through the wandering world. And now before me thou standest,—canst touch my altar so holy,— But art thou nearer to me, or am I nearer to thee?



THE ILIAD.

Tear forever the garland of Homer, and number the fathers Of the immortal work, that through all time will survive! Yet it has but one mother, and bears that mother's own feature, 'Tis thy features it bears,—Nature,—thy features eterne!



POMPEII AND HERCULANEUM.

What wonder this?—we ask the lympid well, O earth! of thee—and from thy solemn womb What yieldest thou?—is there life in the abyss— Doth a new race beneath the lava dwell? Returns the past, awakening from the tomb? Rome—Greece!—Oh, come!—Behold—behold! for this! Our living world—the old Pompeii sees; And built anew the town of Dorian Hercules! House upon house—its silent halls once more Opes the broad portico!—Oh, haste and fill Again those halls with life!—Oh, pour along Through the seven-vista'd theatre the throng! Where are ye, mimes?—Come forth, the steel prepare For crowned Atrides, or Orestes haunt, Ye choral Furies, with your dismal chant! The arch of triumph!—whither leads it?—still Behold the forum!—on the curule chair Where the majestic image? Lictors, where Your solemn fasces?—Place upon his throne The Praetor—here the witness lead, and there Bid the accuser stand

—O God! how lone The clear streets glitter in the quiet day— The footpath by the doors winding its lifeless way! The roofs arise in shelter, and around The desolate Atrium—every gentle room Wears still the dear familiar smile of home! Open the doors—the shops—on dreary night Let lusty day laugh down in jocund light!

See the trim benches ranged in order!—See The marble-tesselated floor—and there The very walls are glittering livingly With their clear colors. But the artist, where! Sure but this instant he hath laid aside Pencil and colors!—Glittering on the eye Swell the rich fruits, and bloom the flowers!—See all Art's gentle wreaths still fresh upon the wall! Here the arch Cupid slyly seems to glide By with bloom-laden basket. There the shapes Of genii press with purpling feet the grapes, Here springs the wild Bacchante to the dance, And there she sleeps [while that voluptuous trance Eyes the sly faun with never-sated glance] Now on one knee upon the centaur-steeds Hovering—the Thyrsus plies.—Hurrah!—away she speeds!

Come—come, why loiter ye?—Here, here, how fair The goodly vessels still! Girls, hither turn, Fill from the fountain the Etruscan urn! On the winged sphinxes see the tripod.— Ho! Quick—quick, ye slaves, come—fire!—the hearth prepare! Ha! wilt thou sell?—this coin shall pay thee—this, Fresh from the mint of mighty Titus!—Lo! Here lie the scales, and not a weight we miss So—bring the light! The delicate lamp!—what toil Shaped thy minutest grace!—quick pour the oil! Yonder the fairy chest!—come, maid, behold The bridegroom's gifts—the armlets—they are gold, And paste out-feigning jewels!—lead the bride Into the odorous bath—lo! unguents still— And still the crystal vase the arts for beauty fill!

But where the men of old—perchance a prize More precious yet in yon papyrus lies, And see ev'n still the tokens of their toil— The waxen tablets—the recording style. The earth, with faithful watch, has hoarded all! Still stand the mute penates in the hall; Back to his haunts returns each ancient god. Why absent only from their ancient stand The priests?—waves Hermes his Caducean rod, And the winged victory struggles from the hand. Kindle the flame—behold the altar there! Long hath the god been worshipless—to prayer.



NAENIA.

Even the beauteous must die! This vanquishes men and immortals; But of the Stygian god moves not the bosom of steel. Once and once only could love prevail on the ruler of shadows, And on the threshold, e'en then, sternly his gift he recalled. Venus could never heal the wounds of the beauteous stripling, That the terrible boar made in his delicate skin; Nor could his mother immortal preserve the hero so godlike, When at the west gate of Troy, falling, his fate he fulfilled. But she arose from the ocean with all the daughters of Nereus, And o'er her glorified son raised the loud accents of woe. See! where all the gods and goddesses yonder are weeping, That the beauteous must fade, and that the perfect must die. Even a woe-song to be in the mouth of the loved ones is glorious, For what is vulgar descends mutely to Orcus' dark shades.



THE MAID OF ORLEANS.

Humanity's bright image to impair. Scorn laid thee prostrate in the deepest dust; Wit wages ceaseless war on all that's fair,— In angel and in God it puts no trust; The bosom's treasures it would make its prey,— Besieges fancy,—dims e'en faith's pure ray.

Yet issuing like thyself from humble line, Like thee a gentle shepherdess is she— Sweet poesy affords her rights divine, And to the stars eternal soars with thee. Around thy brow a glory she hath thrown; The heart 'twas formed thee,—ever thou'lt live on!

The world delights whate'er is bright to stain, And in the dust to lay the glorious low; Yet fear not! noble bosoms still remain, That for the lofty, for the radiant glow Let Momus serve to fill the booth with mirth; A nobler mind loves forms of nobler worth.



ARCHIMEDES.

To Archimedes once a scholar came, "Teach me," he said, "the art that won thy fame;— The godlike art which gives such boons to toil, And showers such fruit upon thy native soil;— The godlike art that girt the town when all Rome's vengeance burst in thunder on the wall!" "Thou call'st art godlike—it is so, in truth, And was," replied the master to the youth, "Ere yet its secrets were applied to use— Ere yet it served beleaguered Syracuse:— Ask'st thou from art, but what the art is worth? The fruit?—for fruit go cultivate the earth.— He who the goddess would aspire unto, Must not the goddess as the woman woo!"



THE DANCE.

See how, like lightest waves at play, the airy dancers fleet; And scarcely feels the floor the wings of those harmonious feet. Ob, are they flying shadows from their native forms set free? Or phantoms in the fairy ring that summer moonbeams see? As, by the gentle zephyr blown, some light mist flees in air, As skiffs that skim adown the tide, when silver waves are fair, So sports the docile footstep to the heave of that sweet measure, As music wafts the form aloft at its melodious pleasure, Now breaking through the woven chain of the entangled dance, From where the ranks the thickest press, a bolder pair advance, The path they leave behind them lost—wide open the path beyond, The way unfolds or closes up as by a magic wand. See now, they vanish from the gaze in wild confusion blended; All, in sweet chaos whirled again, that gentle world is ended! No!—disentangled glides the knot, the gay disorder ranges— The only system ruling here, a grace that ever changes. For ay destroyed—for ay renewed, whirls on that fair creation; And yet one peaceful law can still pervade in each mutation. And what can to the reeling maze breathe harmony and vigor, And give an order and repose to every gliding figure? That each a ruler to himself doth but himself obey, Yet through the hurrying course still keeps his own appointed way. What, would'st thou know? It is in truth the mighty power of tune, A power that every step obeys, as tides obey the moon; That threadeth with a golden clue the intricate employment, Curbs bounding strength to tranquil grace, and tames the wild enjoyment. And comes the world's wide harmony in vain upon thine ears? The stream of music borne aloft from yonder choral spheres? And feel'st thou not the measure which eternal Nature keeps? The whirling dance forever held in yonder azure deeps? The suns that wheel in varying maze?—That music thou discernest? No! Thou canst honor that in sport which thou forgettest in earnest. [52]



THE FORTUNE-FAVORED. [53]



Ah! happy he, upon whose birth each god Looks down in love, whose earliest sleep the bright Idalia cradles, whose young lips the rod Of eloquent Hermes kindles—to whose eyes, Scarce wakened yet, Apollo steals in light, While on imperial brows Jove sets the seal of might! Godlike the lot ordained for him to share, He wins the garland ere he runs the race; He learns life's wisdom ere he knows life's care, And, without labor vanquished, smiles the grace. Great is the man, I grant, whose strength of mind, Self-shapes its objects and subdues the fates— Virtue subdues the fates, but cannot blind The fickle happiness, whose smile awaits Those who scarce seek it; nor can courage earn What the grace showers not from her own free urn! From aught unworthy, the determined will Can guard the watchful spirit—there it ends The all that's glorious from the heaven descends; As some sweet mistress loves us, freely still Come the spontaneous gifts of heaven!—Above Favor rules Jove, as it below rules love! The immortals have their bias!—Kindly they See the bright locks of youth enamored play, And where the glad one goes, shed gladness round the way. It is not they who boast the best to see, Whose eyes the holy apparitions bless; The stately light of their divinity Hath oft but shone the brightest on the blind;— And their choice spirit found its calm recess In the pure childhood of a simple mind. Unasked they come delighted to delude The expectation of our baffled pride; No law can call their free steps to our side. Him whom he loves, the sire of men and gods (Selected from the marvelling multitude) Bears on his eagle to his bright abodes; And showers, with partial hand and lavish, down, The minstrel's laurel or the monarch's crown! Before the fortune-favored son of earth, Apollo walks—and, with his jocund mirth, The heart-enthralling smiler of the skies For him gray Neptune smooths the pliant wave— Harmless the waters for the ship that bore The Caesar and his fortunes to the shore! Charmed at his feet the crouching lion lies, To him his back the murmuring dolphin gave; His soul is born a sovereign o'er the strife— The lord of all the beautiful of life; Where'er his presence in its calm has trod, It charms—it sways as solve diviner God. Scorn not the fortune-favored, that to him The light-won victory by the gods is given, Or that, as Paris, from the strife severe, The Venus draws her darling—Whom the heaven So prospers, love so watches, I revere! And not the man upon whose eyes, with dim And baleful night, sits fate. Achaia boasts, No less the glory of the Dorian lord [54] That Vulcan wrought for him the shield and sword— That round the mortal hovered all the hosts Of all Olympus—that his wrath to grace, The best and bravest of the Grecian race Untimely slaughtered, with resentful ghosts Awed the pale people of the Stygian coasts! Scorn not the darlings of the beautiful, If without labor they life's blossoms cull; If, like the stately lilies, they have won A crown for which they neither toiled nor spun;— If without merit, theirs be beauty, still Thy sense, unenvying, with the beauty fill. Alike for thee no merit wins the right, To share, by simply seeing, their delight. Heaven breathes the soul into the minstrel's breast, But with that soul he animates the rest; The god inspires the mortal—but to God, In turn, the mortal lifts thee from the sod. Oh, not in vain to heaven the bard is dear; Holy himself—he hallows those who hear! The busy mart let justice still control, Weighing the guerdon to the toil!—What then? A God alone claims joy—all joy is his, Flushing with unsought light the cheeks of men. [55] Where is no miracle, why there no bliss! Grow, change, and ripen all that mortal be, Shapened from form to form, by toiling time; The blissful and the beautiful are born Full grown, and ripened from eternity— No gradual changes to their glorious prime, No childhood dwarfs them, and no age has worn.— Like heaven's, each earthly Venus on the sight Comes, a dark birth, from out an endless sea; Like the first Pallas, in maturest might, Armed, from the thunderer's—brow, leaps forth each thought of light.



BOOKSELLER'S ANNOUNCEMENT.

Naught is for man so important as rightly to know his own purpose; For but twelve groschen hard cash 'tis to be bought at my shop!



GENIUS.

"Do I believe," sayest thou, "what the masters of wisdom would teach me, And what their followers' band boldly and readily swear? Cannot I ever attain to true peace, excepting through knowledge, Or is the system upheld only by fortune and law? Must I distrust the gently-warning impulse, the precept That thou, Nature, thyself hast in my bosom impressed, Till the schools have affixed to the writ eternal their signet, Till a mere formula's chain binds down the fugitive soul? Answer me, then! for thou hast down into these deeps e'en descended,— Out of the mouldering grave thou didst uninjured return. Is't to thee known what within the tomb of obscure works is hidden, Whether, yon mummies amid, life's consolations can dwell? Must I travel the darksome road? The thought makes me tremble; Yet I will travel that road, if 'tis to truth and to right."

Friend, hast thou heard of the golden age? Full many a story Poets have sung in its praise, simply and touchingly sung— Of the time when the holy still wandered over life's pathways,— When with a maidenly shame every sensation was veiled,— When the mighty law that governs the sun in his orbit, And that, concealed in the bud, teaches the point how to move, When necessity's silent law, the steadfast, the changeless, Stirred up billows more free, e'en in the bosom of man,— When the sense, unerring, and true as the hand of the dial, Pointed only to truth, only to what was eternal?

Then no profane one was seen, then no initiate was met with, And what as living was felt was not then sought 'mongst the dead; Equally clear to every breast was the precept eternal, Equally hidden the source whence it to gladden us sprang; But that happy period has vanished! And self-willed presumption Nature's godlike repose now has forever destroyed. Feelings polluted the voice of the deities echo no longer, In the dishonored breast now is the oracle dumb. Save in the silenter self, the listening soul cannot find it, There does the mystical word watch o'er the meaning divine; There does the searcher conjure it, descending with bosom unsullied; There does the nature long-lost give him back wisdom again. If thou, happy one, never hast lost the angel that guards thee, Forfeited never the kind warnings that instinct holds forth; If in thy modest eye the truth is still purely depicted; If in thine innocent breast clearly still echoes its call; If in thy tranquil mind the struggles of doubt still are silent, If they will surely remain silent forever as now; If by the conflict of feelings a judge will ne'er be required; If in its malice thy heart dims not the reason so clear, Oh, then, go thy way in all thy innocence precious! Knowledge can teach thee in naught; thou canst instruct her in much! Yonder law, that with brazen staff is directing the struggling, Naught is to thee. What thou dost, what thou mayest will is thy law, And to every race a godlike authority issues. What thou with holy hand formest, what thou with holy mouth speakest, Will with omnipotent power impel the wondering senses; Thou but observest not the god ruling within thine own breast, Not the might of the signet that bows all spirits before thee; Simple and silent thou goest through the wide world thou hast won.



HONORS.

[Dignities would be the better title, if the word were not so essentially unpoetical.]

When the column of light on the waters is glassed, As blent in one glow seem the shine and the stream; But wave after wave through the glory has passed, Just catches, and flies as it catches, the beam So honors but mirror on mortals their light; Not the man but the place that he passes is bright.



THE PHILOSOPHICAL EGOTIST.

Hast thou the infant seen that yet, unknowing of the love Which warms and cradles, calmly sleeps the mother's heart above— Wandering from arm to arm, until the call of passion wakes, And glimmering on the conscious eye—the world in glory breaks?

And hast thou seen the mother there her anxious vigil keep? Buying with love that never sleeps the darling's happy sleep? With her own life she fans and feeds that weak life's trembling rays, And with the sweetness of the care, the care itself repays.

And dost thou Nature then blaspheme—that both the child and mother Each unto each unites, the while the one doth need the other?— All self-sufficing wilt thou from that lovely circle stand— That creature still to creature links in faith's familiar band?

Ah! dar'st thou, poor one, from the rest thy lonely self estrange? Eternal power itself is but all powers in interchange!



THE BEST STATE CONSTITUTION.

I can recognize only as such, the one that enables Each to think what is right,—but that he thinks so, cares not.



THE WORDS OF BELIEF.

Three words will I name thee—around and about, From the lip to the lip, full of meaning, they flee; But they had not their birth in the being without, And the heart, not the lip, must their oracle be! And all worth in the man shall forever be o'er When in those three words he believes no more.

Man is made free!—Man by birthright is free, Though the tyrant may deem him but born for his tool. Whatever the shout of the rabble may be— Whatever the ranting misuse of the fool— Still fear not the slave, when he breaks from his chain, For the man made a freeman grows safe in his gain.

And virtue is more than a shade or a sound, And man may her voice, in this being, obey; And though ever he slip on the stony ground, Yet ever again to the godlike way, To the science of good though the wise may be blind, Yet the practice is plain to the childlike mind.

And a God there is!—over space, over time, While the human will rocks, like a reed, to and fro, Lives the will of the holy—a purpose sublime, A thought woven over creation below; Changing and shifting the all we inherit, But changeless through all one immutable spirit

Hold fast the three words of belief—though about From the lip to the lip, full of meaning, they flee; Yet they take not their birth from the being without— But a voice from within must their oracle be; And never all worth in the man can be o'er, Till in those three words he believes no more.



THE WORDS OF ERROR.

Three errors there are, that forever are found On the lips of the good, on the lips of the best; But empty their meaning and hollow their sound— And slight is the comfort they bring to the breast. The fruits of existence escape from the clasp Of the seeker who strives but those shadows to grasp—

So long as man dreams of some age in this life When the right and the good will all evil subdue; For the right and the good lead us ever to strife, And wherever they lead us the fiend will pursue. And (till from the earth borne, and stifled at length) The earth that he touches still gifts him with strength! [56]

So long as man fancies that fortune will live, Like a bride with her lover, united with worth; For her favors, alas! to the mean she will give— And virtue possesses no title to earth! That foreigner wanders to regions afar, Where the lands of her birthright immortally are!

So long as man dreams that, to mortals a gift, The truth in her fulness of splendor will shine; The veil of the goddess no earth-born may lift, And all we can learn is—to guess and divine! Dost thou seek, in a dogma, to prison her form? The spirit flies forth on the wings of the storm!

O, noble soul! fly from delusions like these, More heavenly belief be it thine to adore; Where the ear never hearkens, the eye never sees, Meet the rivers of beauty and truth evermore! Not without thee the streams—there the dull seek them;—No! Look within thee—behold both the fount and the flow!



THE POWER OF WOMAN.

Mighty art thou, because of the peaceful charms of thy presence; That which the silent does not, never the boastful can do. Vigor in man I expect, the law in its honors maintaining, But, through the graces alone, woman e'er rules or should rule. Many, indeed, have ruled through the might of the spirit and action, But then thou noblest of crowns, they were deficient in thee. No real queen exists but the womanly beauty of woman; Where it appears, it must rule; ruling because it appears!



THE TWO PATHS OF VIRTUE.

Two are the pathways by which mankind can to virtue mount upward; If thou should find the one barred, open the other will lie. 'Tis by exertion the happy obtain her, the suffering by patience. Blest is the man whose kind fate guides him along upon both!



THE PROVERBS OF CONFUCIUS.

I.

Threefold is the march of time While the future slow advances, Like a dart the present glances, Silent stands the past sublime.

No impatience e'er can speed him On his course if he delay; No alarm, no doubts impede him If he keep his onward way; No regrets, no magic numbers Wake the tranced one from his slumbers. Wouldst thou wisely and with pleasure, Pass the days of life's short measure, From the slow one counsel take, But a tool of him ne'er make; Ne'er as friend the swift one know, Nor the constant one as foe!

II.

Threefold is the form of space: Length, with ever restless motion, Seeks eternity's wide ocean; Breadth with boundless sway extends; Depth to unknown realms descends.

All as types to thee are given; Thou must onward strive for heaven, Never still or weary be Would'st thou perfect glory see; Far must thy researches go. Wouldst thou learn the world to know; Thou must tempt the dark abyss Wouldst thou prove what Being is.

Naught but firmness gains the prize,— Naught but fulness makes us wise,— Buried deep, truth ever lies!



HUMAN KNOWLEDGE.

Since thou readest in her what thou thyself hast there written, And, to gladden the eye, placest her wonders in groups;— Since o'er her boundless expanses thy cords to extend thou art able, Thou dost think that thy mind wonderful Nature can grasp. Thus the astronomer draws his figures over the heavens, So that he may with more ease traverse the infinite space, Knitting together e'en suns that by Sirius-distance are parted, Making them join in the swan and in the horns of the bull. But because the firmament shows him its glorious surface, Can he the spheres' mystic dance therefore decipher aright?



COLUMBUS.

Steer on, bold sailor—Wit may mock thy soul that sees the land, And hopeless at the helm may droop the weak and weary hand, Yet ever—ever to the West, for there the coast must lie, And dim it dawns, and glimmering dawns before thy reason's eye; Yea, trust the guiding God—and go along the floating grave, Though hid till now—yet now behold the New World o'er the wave! With genius Nature ever stands in solemn union still, And ever what the one foretells the other shall fulfil.



LIGHT AND WARMTH.

In cheerful faith that fears no ill The good man doth the world begin; And dreams that all without shall still Reflect the trusting soul within. Warm with the noble vows of youth, Hallowing his true arm to the truth;

Yet is the littleness of all So soon to sad experience shown, That crowds but teach him to recall And centre thought on self alone; Till love, no more, emotion knows, And the heart freezes to repose.

Alas! though truth may light bestow, Not always warmth the beams impart, Blest he who gains the boon to know, Nor buys the knowledge with the heart. For warmth and light a blessing both to be, Feel as the enthusiast—as the world-wise see.



BREADTH AND DEPTH.

Full many a shining wit one sees, With tongue on all things well conversing; The what can charm, the what can please, In every nice detail rehearsing. Their raptures so transport the college, It seems one honeymoon of knowledge.

Yet out they go in silence where They whilom held their learned prate; Ah! he who would achieve the fair, Or sow the embryo of the great, Must hoard—to wait the ripening hour— In the least point the loftiest power.

With wanton boughs and pranksome hues, Aloft in air aspires the stem; The glittering leaves inhale the dews, But fruits are not concealed in them. From the small kernel's undiscerned repose The oak that lords it o'er the forest grows.



THE TWO GUIDES OF LIFE.

THE SUBLIME AND THE BEAUTIFUL.

Two genii are there, from thy birth through weary life to guide thee; Ah, happy when, united both, they stand to aid beside thee? With gleesome play to cheer the path, the one comes blithe with beauty, And lighter, leaning on her arm, the destiny and duty. With jest and sweet discourse she goes unto the rock sublime, Where halts above the eternal sea [57] the shuddering child of time. The other here, resolved and mute and solemn, claspeth thee, And bears thee in her giant arms across the fearful sea. Never admit the one alone!—Give not the gentle guide Thy honor—nor unto the stern thy happiness confide!



THE IMMUTABLE.

Time flies on restless pinions—constant never. Be constant—and thou chainest time forever.



VOTIVE TABLETS.

That which I learned from the Deity,— that which through lifetime hath helped me, Meekly and gratefully now, here I suspend in his shrine.

DIFFERENT DESTINIES.

Millions busily toil, that the human race may continue; But by only a few is propagated our kind. Thousands of seeds by the autumn are scattered, yet fruit is engendered Only by few, for the most back to the element go. But if one only can blossom, that one is able to scatter Even a bright living world, filled with creations eterne.

THE ANIMATING PRINCIPLE.

Nowhere in the organic or sensitive world ever kindles Novelty, save in the flower, noblest creation of life.

TWO DESCRIPTIONS OF ACTION.

Do what is good, and humanity's godlike plant thou wilt nourish; Plan what is fair, and thou'lt strew seeds of the godlike around.

DIFFERENCE OF STATION.

Even the moral world its nobility boasts—vulgar natures Reckon by that which they do; noble, by that which they are.

WORTH AND THE WORTHY.

If thou anything hast, let me have it,—I'll pay what is proper; If thou anything art, let us our spirits exchange.

THE MORAL FORCE.

If thou feelest not the beautiful, still thou with reason canst will it; And as a spirit canst do, that which as man thou canst not.

PARTICIPATION.

E'en by the hand of the wicked can truth be working with vigor; But the vessel is filled by what is beauteous alone.

TO ——

Tell me all that thou knowest, and I will thankfully hear it! But wouldst thou give me thyself,—let me, my friend, be excused!

TO ——

Wouldst thou teach me the truth? Don't take the trouble! I wish not, Through thee, the thing to observe,—but to see thee through the thing.

TO ——

Thee would I choose as my teacher and friend. Thy living example Teaches me,—thy teaching word wakens my heart unto life.

THE PRESENT GENERATION.

Was it always as now? This race I truly can't fathom. Nothing is young but old age; youth, alas! only is old.

TO THE MUSE.

What I had been without thee, I know not—yet, to my sorrow See I what, without thee, hundreds and thousands now are.

THE LEARNED WORKMAN.

Ne'er does he taste the fruit of the tree that he raised with such trouble; Nothing but taste e'er enjoys that which by learning is reared.

THE DUTY OF ALL.

Ever strive for the whole; and if no whole thou canst make thee, Join, then, thyself to some whole, as a subservient limb!

A PROBLEM.

Let none resemble another; let each resemble the highest! How can that happen? let each be all complete in itself.

THE PECULIAR IDEAL.

What thou thinkest, belongs to all; what thou feelest, is thine only. Wouldst thou make him thine own, feel thou the God whom thou thinkest!

TO MYSTICS.

That is the only true secret, which in the presence of all men Lies, and surrounds thee for ay, but which is witnessed by none.

THE KEY.

Wouldst thou know thyself, observe the actions of others. Wouldst thou other men know, look thou within thine own heart.

THE OBSERVER.

Stern as my conscience, thou seest the points wherein I'm deficient; Therefore I've always loved thee, as my own conscience I've loved.

WISDOM AND PRUDENCE.

Wouldst thou, my friend, mount up to the highest summit of wisdom, Be not deterred by the fear, prudence thy course may deride That shortsighted one sees but the bank that from thee is flying, Not the one which ere long thou wilt attain with bold flight.

THE AGREEMENT.

Both of us seek for truth—in the world without thou dost seek it, I in the bosom within; both of us therefore succeed. If the eye be healthy, it sees from without the Creator; And if the heart, then within doubtless it mirrors the world.

POLITICAL PRECEPT.

All that thou doest is right; but, friend, don't carry this precept On too far,—be content, all that is right to effect. It is enough to true zeal, if what is existing be perfect; False zeal always would find finished perfection at once.

MAJESTAS POPULI.

Majesty of the nature of man! In crowds shall I seek thee? 'Tis with only a few that thou hast made thine abode. Only a few ever count; the rest are but blanks of no value, And the prizes are hid 'neath the vain stir that they make.

THE DIFFICULT UNION.

Why are taste and genius so seldom met with united? Taste of strength is afraid,—genius despises the rein.

TO A WORLD-REFORMER.

"I Have sacrificed all," thou sayest, "that man I might succor; Vain the attempt; my reward was persecution and hate." Shall I tell thee, my friend, how I to humor him manage? Trust the proverb! I ne'er have been deceived by it yet. Thou canst not sufficiently prize humanity's value; Let it be coined in deed as it exists in thy breast. E'en to the man whom thou chancest to meet in life's narrow pathway, If he should ask it of thee, hold forth a succoring hand. But for rain and for dew, for the general welfare of mortals, Leave thou Heaven to care, friend, as before, so e'en now.

MY ANTIPATHY.

I have a heartfelt aversion for crime,—a twofold aversion, Since 'tis the reason why man prates about virtue so much. "What! thou hatest, then, virtue?"—I would that by all it were practised, So that, God willing, no man ever need speak of it more.

ASTRONOMICAL WRITINGS.

Oh, how infinite, how unspeakably great, are the heavens! Yet by frivolity's hand downwards the heavens are pulled!

THE BEST STATE.

"How can I know the best state?" In the way that thou know'st the best woman; Namely, my friend, that the world ever is silent of both.

TO ASTRONOMERS.

Prate not to me so much of suns and of nebulous bodies; Think ye Nature but great, in that she gives thee to count? Though your object may be the sublimest that space holds within it, Yet, my good friends, the sublime dwells not in the regions of space.

MY FAITH.

Which religion do I acknowledge? None that thou namest. "None that I name? And why so?"—Why, for religion's own sake?

INSIDE AND OUTSIDE.

God alone sees the heart and therefore, since he alone sees it, Be it our care that we, too, something that's worthy may see.

FRIEND AND FOE.

Dearly I love a friend; yet a foe I may turn to my profit; Friends show me that which I can; foes teach me that which I should.

LIGHT AND COLOR.

Thou that art ever the same, with the changeless One take up thy dwelling! Color, thou changeable one, kindly descends upon man!

GENIUS.

Understanding, indeed, can repeat what already existed,— That which Nature has built, after her she, too, can build. Over Nature can reason build, but in vacancy only: But thou, genius, alone, nature in nature canst form.

BEAUTEOUS INDIVIDUALITY.

Thou in truth shouldst be one, yet not with the whole shouldst thou be so. 'Tis through the reason thou'rt one,—art so with it through the heart. Voice of the whole is thy reason, but thou thine own heart must be ever; If in thy heart reason dwells evermore, happy art thou.

VARIETY.

Many are good and wise; yet all for one only reckon, For 'tis conception, alas, rules them, and not a fond heart. Sad is the sway of conception,—from thousandfold varying figures, Needy and empty but one it is e'er able to bring. But where creative beauty is ruling, there life and enjoyment Dwell; to the ne'er-changing One, thousands of new forms she gives.

THE IMITATOR.

Good from the good,—to the reason this is not hard of conception; But the genius has power good from the bad to evoke. 'Tis the conceived alone, that thou, imitator, canst practise; Food the conceived never is, save to the mind that conceives.

GENIALITY.

How does the genius make itself known? In the way that in nature Shows the Creator himself,—e'en in the infinite whole. Clear is the ether, and yet of depth that ne'er can be fathomed; Seen by the eye, it remains evermore closed to the sense.

THE INQUIRERS.

Men now seek to explore each thing from within and without too! How canst thou make thy escape, Truth, from their eager pursuit? That they may catch thee, with nets and poles extended they seek thee But with a spirit-like tread, glidest thou out of the throng.

CORRECTNESS.

Free from blemish to be, is the lowest of steps, and highest; Weakness and greatness alone ever arrive at this point.

THE THREE AGES OF NATURE.

Life she received from fable; the schools deprived her of being, Life creative again she has from reason received.

THE LAW OF NATURE.

It has ever been so, my friend, and will ever remain so: Weakness has rules for itself,—vigor is crowned with success.

CHOICE.

If thou canst not give pleasure to all by thy deeds and thy knowledge, Give it then, unto the few; many to please is but vain.

SCIENCE OF MUSIC.

Let the creative art breathe life, and the bard furnish spirit; But the soul is expressed by Polyhymnia alone.

TO THE POET.

Let thy speech be to thee what the body is to the loving; Beings it only can part,—beings it only can join.

LANGUAGE.

Why can the living spirit be never seen by the spirit? Soon as the soul 'gins to speak, then can the soul speak no more!

THE MASTER.

Other masters one always can tell by the words that they utter; That which he wisely omits shows me the master of style.

THE GIRDLE.

Aphrodite preserves her beauty concealed by her girdle; That which lends her her charms is what she covers—her shame.

THE DILETTANTE.

Merely because thou hast made a good verse in a language poetic, One which composes for thee, thou art a poet forsooth!

THE BABBLER OF ART.

Dost thou desire the good in art? Of the good art thou worthy, Which by a ne'er ceasing war 'gainst thee thyself is produced?

THE PHILOSOPHIES.

Which among the philosophies will be enduring? I know not, But that philosophy's self ever may last is my hope.

THE FAVOR OF THE MUSES.

Fame with the vulgar expires; but, Muse immortal, thou bearest Those whom thou lovest, who love thee, into Mnemosyne's arms.

HOMER'S HEAD AS A SEAL.

Trusty old Homer! to thee I confide the secret so tender; For the raptures of love none but the bard should e'er know.

GOODNESS AND GREATNESS.

Only two virtues exist. Oh, would they were ever united! Ever the good with the great, ever the great with the good!

THE IMPULSES.

Fear with his iron staff may urge the slave onward forever; Rapture, do thou lead me on ever in roseate chains!

NATURALISTS AND TRANSCENDENTAL PHILOSOPHERS.

Enmity be between ye! Your union too soon is cemented; Ye will but learn to know truth when ye divide in the search.

GERMAN GENIUS.

Strive, O German, for Roman-like strength and for Grecian-like beauty! Thou art successful in both; ne'er has the Gaul had success.

THEOPHANIA.

When the happy appear, I forget the gods in the heavens; But before me they stand, when I the suffering see.



TRIFLES.

THE EPIC HEXAMETER.

Giddily onward it bears thee with resistless impetuous billows; Naught but the ocean and air seest thou before or behind.

THE DISTICH.

In the hexameter rises the fountain's watery column, In the pentameter sweet falling in melody down.

THE EIGHT-LINE STANZA.

Stanza, by love thou'rt created,—by love, all-tender and yearning; Thrice dost thou bashfully fly; thrice dost with longing return.

THE OBELISK.

On a pedestal lofty the sculptor in triumph has raised me. "Stand thou," spake he,—and I stand proudly and joyfully here.

THE TRIUMPHAL ARCH.

"Fear not," the builder exclaimed, "the rainbow that stands in the heavens; I will extend thee, like it, into infinity far!"

THE BEAUTIFUL BRIDGE.

Under me, over me, hasten the waters, the chariots; my builder Kindly has suffered e'en me, over myself, too, to go!

THE GATE.

Let the gate open stand, to allure the savage to precepts; Let it the citizen lead into free nature with joy.

ST. PETER'S.

If thou seekest to find immensity here, thou'rt mistaken; For my greatness is meant greater to make thee thyself!



THE PHILOSOPHERS.

PUPIL. I am rejoiced, worthy sirs, to find you in pleno assembled; For I have come down below, seeking the one needful thing.

ARISTOTLE. Quick to the point, my good friend! For the Jena Gazette comes to hand here, Even in hell,—so we know all that is passing above.

PUPIL. So much the better! So give me (I will not depart hence without it) Some good principle now,—one that will always avail!

FIRST PHILOSOPHER. Cogito, ergo sum. I have thought, and therefore existence! If the first be but true, then is the second one sure.

PUPIL. As I think, I exist. 'Tis good! But who always is thinking? Oft I've existed e'en when I have been thinking of naught.

SECOND PHILOSOPHER. Since there are things that exist, a thing of all things there must needs be; In the thing of all things dabble we, just as we are.

THIRD PHILOSOPHER. Just the reverse, say I. Besides myself there is nothing; Everything else that there is is but a bubble to me.

FOURTH PHILOSOPHER. Two kinds of things I allow to exist,—the world and the spirit; Naught of others I know; even these signify one.

FIFTH PHILOSOPHER. I know naught of the thing, and know still less of the spirit; Both but appear unto me; yet no appearance they are.

SIXTH PHILOSOPHER. I am I, and settle myself,—and if I then settle Nothing to be, well and good—there's a nonentity formed.

SEVENTH PHILOSOPHER. There is conception at least! A thing conceived there is, therefore; And a conceiver as well,—which, with conception, make three.

PUPIL. All this nonsense, good sirs, won't answer my purpose a tittle: I a real principle need,—one by which something is fixed.

EIGHTH PHILOSOPHER. Nothing is now to be found in the theoretical province; Practical principles hold, such as: thou canst, for thou shouldst.

PUPIL. If I but thought so! When people know no more sensible answer, Into the conscience at once plunge they with desperate haste.

DAVID HUME. Don't converse with those fellows! That Kant has turned them all crazy; Speak to me, for in hell I am the same that I was.

LAW POINT. I have made use of my nose for years together to smell with; Have I a right to my nose that can be legally proved?

PUFFENDORF. Truly a delicate point! Yet the first possession appeareth In thy favor to tell; therefore make use of it still!

SCRUPLE OF CONSCIENCE. Willingly serve I my friends; but, alas, I do it with pleasure; Therefore I often am vexed that no true virtue I have.

DECISION. As there is no other means, thou hadst better begin to despise them; And with aversion, then, do that which thy duty commands.



THE HOMERIDES.

Who is the bard of the Iliad among you? For since he likes puddings, Heyne begs he'll accept these that from Gottingen come. "Give them to me! The kings' quarrel I sang!"— "I, the fight near the vessels!"—"Hand me the puddings! I sang what upon Ida took place!" Gently! Don't tear me to pieces! The puddings will not be sufficient; He by whom they are sent destined them only for one.



G. G.

Each one, when seen by himself, is passably wise and judicious; When they in corpore are, naught but a blockhead is seen.



THE MORAL POET.

Man is in truth a poor creature,—I know it,—and fain would forget it; Therefore (how sorry I am!) came I, alas, unto thee!



THE DANAIDES.

Into the sieve we've been pouring for years,— o'er the stone we've been brooding; But the stone never warms,—nor does the sieve ever fill.



THE SUBLIME SUBJECT.

'Tis thy Muse's delight to sing God's pity to mortals; But, that they pitiful are,—is it a matter for song?



THE ARTIFICE.

Wouldst thou give pleasure at once to the children of earth and the righteous? Draw the image of lust—adding the devil as well!



IMMORTALITY.

Dreadest thou the aspect of death! Thou wishest to live on forever? Live in the whole, and when long thou shalt have gone, 'twill remain!



JEREMIADS.

All, both in prose and in verse, in Germany fast is decaying; Far behind us, alas, lieth the golden age now! For by philosophers spoiled is our language—our logic by poets, And no more common sense governs our passage through life. From the aesthetic, to which she belongs, now virtue is driven, And into politics forced, where she's a troublesome guest. Where are we hastening now? If natural, dull we are voted, And if we put on constraint, then the world calls us absurd. Oh, thou joyous artlessness 'mongst the poor maidens of Leipzig, Witty simplicity come,—come, then, to glad us again! Comedy, oh repeat thy weekly visits so precious, Sigismund, lover so sweet,—Mascarill, valet jocose! Tragedy, full of salt and pungency epigrammatic,— And thou, minuet-step of our old buskin preserved! Philosophic romance, thou mannikin waiting with patience, When, 'gainst the pruner's attack, Nature defendeth herself! Ancient prose, oh return,—so nobly and boldly expressing All that thou thinkest and hast thought,—and what the reader thinks too All, both in prose and in verse, in Germany fast is decaying; Far behind us, alas, lieth the golden age now!



SHAKESPEARE'S GHOST.

A PARODY.

I, too, at length discerned great Hercules' energy mighty,— Saw his shade. He himself was not, alas, to be seen. Round him were heard, like the screaming of birds, the screams of tragedians, And, with the baying of dogs, barked dramaturgists around. There stood the giant in all his terrors; his bow was extended, And the bolt, fixed on the string, steadily aimed at the heart. "What still hardier action, unhappy one, dost thou now venture, Thus to descend to the grave of the departed souls here?"— "'Tis to see Tiresias I come, to ask of the prophet Where I the buskin of old, that now has vanished, may find?" "If they believe not in Nature, nor the old Grecian, but vainly Wilt thou convey up from hence that dramaturgy to them." "Oh, as for Nature, once more to tread our stage she has ventured, Ay, and stark-naked beside, so that each rib we count." "What? Is the buskin of old to be seen in truth on your stage, then, Which even I came to fetch, out of mid-Tartarus' gloom?"— "There is now no more of that tragic bustle, for scarcely Once in a year on the boards moves thy great soul, harness-clad." "Doubtless 'tis well! Philosophy now has refined your sensations, And from the humor so bright fly the affections so black."— "Ay, there is nothing that beats a jest that is stolid and barren, But then e'en sorrow can please, if 'tis sufficiently moist." "But do ye also exhibit the graceful dance of Thalia, Joined to the solemn step with which Melpomene moves?"— "Neither! For naught we love but what is Christian and moral; And what is popular, too, homely, domestic, and plain." "What? Does no Caesar, does no Achilles, appear on your stage now, Not an Andromache e'en, not an Orestes, my friend?" "No! there is naught to be seen there but parsons, and syndics of commerce, Secretaries perchance, ensigns, and majors of horse." "But, my good friend, pray tell me, what can such people e'er meet with That can be truly called great?—what that is great can they do?" "What? Why they form cabals, they lend upon mortgage, they pocket Silver spoons, and fear not e'en in the stocks to be placed." "Whence do ye, then, derive the destiny, great and gigantic, Which raises man up on high, e'en when it grinds him to dust?"— "All mere nonsense! Ourselves, our worthy acquaintances also, And our sorrows and wants, seek we, and find we, too, here." "But all this ye possess at home both apter and better,— Wherefore, then, fly from yourselves, if 'tis yourselves that ye seek?" "Be not offended, great hero, for that is a different question; Ever is destiny blind,—ever is righteous the bard." "Then one meets on your stage your own contemptible nature, While 'tis in vain one seeks there nature enduring and great?" "There the poet is host, and act the fifth is the reckoning; And, when crime becomes sick, virtue sits down to the feast!"



THE RIVERS.

RHINE.

True, as becometh a Switzer, I watch over Germany's borders; But the light-footed Gaul jumps o'er the suffering stream.

RHINE AND MOSELLE.

Many a year have I clasped in my arms the Lorrainian maiden; But our union as yet ne'er has been blest with a son.

DANUBE IN ——

Round me are dwelling the falcon-eyed race, the Phaeacian people; Sunday with them never ends; ceaselessly moves round the spit.

MAIN.

Ay, it is true that my castles are crumbling; yet, to my comfort, Have I for centuries past seen my old race still endure.

SAALE.

Short is my course, during which I salute many princes and nations; Yet the princes are good—ay! and the nations are free.

ILM.

Poor are my banks, it is true; but yet my soft-flowing waters Many immortal lays here, borne by the current along.

PLEISSE.

Flat is my shore and shallow my current; alas, all my writers, Both in prose and in verse, drink far too deep of its stream!

ELBE.

All ye others speak only a jargon; 'mongst Germany's rivers None speak German but me; I but in Misnia alone.

SPREE.

Ramler once gave me language,—my Caesar a subject; and therefore I had my mouth then stuffed full; but I've been silent since that.

WESER.

Nothing, alas, can be said about me; I really can't furnish Matter enough to the Muse e'en for an epigram, small.

MINERAL WATERS AT ——.

Singular country! what excellent taste in its fountains and rivers In its people alone none have I ever yet found!

PEGNTTZ.

I for a long time have been a hypochondriacal subject; I but flow on because it has my habit been long.

THE —— RIVERS.

We would gladly remain in the lands that own—as their masters; Soft their yoke ever is, and all their burdens are light.

SALZACH.

I, to salt the archbishopric, come from Juvavia's mountains; Then to Bavaria turn, where they have great need of salt!

THE ANONYMOUS RIVER.

Lenten food for the pious bishop's table to furnish, By my Creator I'm poured over the famishing land.

LES FLEUVES INDISCRETS.

Pray be silent, ye rivers! One sees ye have no more discretion Than, in a case we could name, Diderot's favorites had.



ZENITH AND NADIR.

Wheresoever thou wanderest in space, thy Zenith and Nadir Unto the heavens knit thee, unto the axis of earth. Howsoever thou attest, let heaven be moved by thy purpose, Let the aim of thy deeds traverse the axis of earth!



KANT AND HIS COMMENTATORS.

See how a single rich man gives a living to numbers of beggars! 'Tis when sovereigns build, carters are kept in employ.



THE PHILOSOPHERS.

The principle by which each thing Toward strength and shape first tended,— The pulley whereon Zeus the ring Of earth, that loosely used to swing, With cautiousness suspended,— he is a clever man, I vow, Who its real name can tell me now, Unless to help him I consent— 'Tis: ten and twelve are different!

Fire burns,—'tis chilly when it snows, Man always is two-footed,— The sun across the heavens goes,— This, he who naught of logic knows Finds to his reason suited. Yet he who metaphysics learns, Knows that naught freezes when it burns— Knows that what's wet is never dry,— And that what's bright attracts the eye.

Old Homer sings his noble lays, The hero goes through dangers; The brave man duty's call obeys, And did so, even in the days When sages yet were strangers— But heart and genius now have taught What Locke and what Descartes never thought; By them immediately is shown That which is possible alone.

In life avails the right of force. The bold the timid worries; Who rules not, is a slave of course, Without design each thing across Earth's stage forever hurries. Yet what would happen if the plan Which guides the world now first began, Within the moral system lies Disclosed with clearness to our eyes.

"When man would seek his destiny, Man's help must then be given; Save for the whole, ne'er labors he,— Of many drops is formed the sea,— By water mills are driven; Therefore the wolf's wild species flies,— Knit are the state's enduring ties." Thus Puffendorf and Feder, each Is, ex cathedra, wont to teach.

Yet, if what such professors say, Each brain to enter durst not, Nature exerts her mother-sway, Provides that ne'er the chain gives way, And that the ripe fruits burst not. Meanwhile, until earth's structure vast Philosophy can bind at last, 'Tis she that bids its pinion move, By means of hunger and of love!



THE METAPHYSICIAN.

"How far beneath me seems the earthly ball! The pigmy race below I scarce can see; How does my art, the noblest art of all, Bear me close up to heaven's bright canopy!" So cries the slater from his tower's high top, And so the little would-be mighty man, Hans Metaphysicus, from out his critic-shop. Explain, thou little would-be mighty man! The tower from which thy looks the world survey, Whereof,—whereon is it erected, pray? How didst thou mount it? Of what use to thee Its naked heights, save o'er the vale to see?



PEGASUS IN HARNESS.

Once to a horse-fair,—it may perhaps have been Where other things are bought and sold,—I mean At the Haymarket,—there the muses' horse A hungry poet brought—to sell, of course.

'The hippogriff neighed shrilly, loudly, And reared upon his hind-legs proudly; In utter wonderment each stood and cried: "The noble regal beast!" But, woe betide! Two hideous wings his slender form deface, The finest team he else would not disgrace. "The breed," said they, "is doubtless rare, But who would travel through the air?" Not one of them would risk his gold. At length a farmer grew more bold: "As for his wings, I of no use should find them, But then how easy 'tis to clip or bind them! The horse for drawing may be useful found,— So, friend, I don't mind giving twenty pound!" The other glad to sell his merchandise, Cried, "Done!"—and Hans rode off upon his prize.

The noble creature was, ere long, put-to, But scarcely felt the unaccustomed load, Than, panting to soar upwards, off he flew, And, filled with honest anger, overthrew The cart where an abyss just met the road. "Ho! ho!" thought Hans: "No cart to this mad beast I'll trust. Experience makes one wise at least. To drive the coach to-morrow now my course is, And he as leader in the team shall go. The lively fellow'll save me full two horses; As years pass on, he'll doubtless tamer grow."

All went on well at first. The nimble steed His partners roused,—like lightning was their speed. What happened next? Toward heaven was turned his eye,— Unused across the solid ground to fly, He quitted soon the safe and beaten course, And true to nature's strong resistless force, Ran over bog and moor, o'er hedge and pasture tilled; An equal madness soon the other horses filled— No reins could hold them in, no help was near, Till,—only picture the poor travellers' fear!— The coach, well shaken, and completely wrecked, Upon a hill's steep top at length was checked.

"If this is always sure to be the case," Hans cried, and cut a very sorry face, "He'll never do to draw a coach or wagon; Let's see if we can't tame the fiery dragon By means of heavy work and little food." And so the plan was tried.—But what ensued? The handsome beast, before three days had passed, Wasted to nothing. "Stay! I see at last!" Cried Hans. "Be quick, you fellows! yoke him now With my most sturdy ox before the plough."

No sooner said than done. In union queer Together yoked were soon winged horse and steer. The griffin pranced with rage, and his remaining might Exerted to resume his old-accustomed flight. 'Twas all in vain—his partner stepped with circumspection, And Phoebus' haughty steed must follow his direction; Until at last, by long resistance spent, When strength his limbs no longer was controlling, The noble creature, with affliction bent, Fell to the ground, and in the dust lay rolling. "Accursed beast!" at length with fury mad Hans shouted, while he soundly plied the lash,— "Even for ploughing, then, thou art too bad!— That fellow was a rogue to sell such trash!"

Ere yet his heavy blows had ceased to fly, A brisk and merry youth by chance came by. A lute was tinkling in his hand, And through his light and flowing hair Was twined with grace a golden band. "Whither, my friend, with that strange pair?" From far he to the peasant cried. "A bird and ox to one rope tied— Was such a team e'er heard of, pray? Thy horse's worth I'd fain essay; Just for one moment lend him me,— Observe, and thou shalt wonders see!"

The hippogriff was loosened from the plough, Upon his back the smiling youth leaped now; No sooner did the creature understand That he was guided by a master-hand, Than 'ginst his bit he champed, and upward soared While lightning from his flaming eyes outpoured. No longer the same being, royally A spirit, ay, a god, ascended he, Spread in a moment to the stormy wind His noble wings, and left the earth behind, And, ere the eye could follow him, Had vanished in the heavens dim.



KNOWLEDGE.

Knowledge to one is a goddess both heavenly and high,—to another Only an excellent cow, yielding the butter he wants.



THE POETRY OF LIFE.

"Who would himself with shadows entertain, Or gild his life with lights that shine in vain, Or nurse false hopes that do but cheat the true?— Though with my dream my heaven should be resigned— Though the free-pinioned soul that once could dwell In the large empire of the possible, This workday life with iron chains may bind, Yet thus the mastery o'er ourselves we find, And solemn duty to our acts decreed, Meets us thus tutored in the hour of need, With a more sober and submissive mind! How front necessity—yet bid thy youth Shun the mild rule of life's calm sovereign, truth."

So speakest thou, friend, how stronger far than I; As from experience—that sure port serene— Thou lookest;—and straight, a coldness wraps the sky, The summer glory withers from the scene, Scared by the solemn spell; behold them fly, The godlike images that seemed so fair! Silent the playful Muse—the rosy hours Halt in their dance; and the May-breathing flowers Fall from the sister-graces' waving hair. Sweet-mouthed Apollo breaks his golden lyre, Hermes, the wand with many a marvel rife;— The veil, rose-woven, by the young desire With dreams, drops from the hueless cheeks of life. The world seems what it is—a grave! and love Casts down the bondage wound his eyes above, And sees!—He sees but images of clay Where he dreamed gods; and sighs—and glides away. The youngness of the beautiful grows old, And on thy lips the bride's sweet kiss seems cold; And in the crowd of joys—upon thy throne Thou sittest in state, and hardenest into stone.



TO GOETHE,

ON HIS PRODUCING VOLTAIRE'S "MAHOMET" ON THE STAGE.

Thou, by whom, freed from rules constrained and wrong, On truth and nature once again we're placed,— Who, in the cradle e'en a hero strong, Stiffest the serpents round our genius laced,— Thou whom the godlike science has so long With her unsullied sacred fillet graced,— Dost thou on ruined altars sacrifice To that false muse whom we no longer prize?

This theatre belongs to native art, No foreign idols worshipped here are seen; A laurel we can show, with joyous heart, That on the German Pindus has grown green The sciences' most holy, hidden part The German genius dares to enter e'en, And, following the Briton and the Greek, A nobler glory now attempts to seek.

For yonder, where slaves kneel, and despots hold The reins,—where spurious greatness lifts its head, Art has no power the noble there to mould, 'Tis by no Louis that its seed is spread; From its own fulness it must needs unfold, By earthly majesty 'tis never fed; 'Tis with truth only it can e'er unite, Its glow free spirits only e'er can light.

'Tis not to bind us in a worn-out chain Thou dost this play of olden time recall,— 'Tis not to seek to lead us back again To days when thoughtless childhood ruled o'er all. It were, in truth, an idle risk and vain Into the moving wheel of time to fall; The winged hours forever bear it on, The new arrives, and, lo! the old has gone.

The narrow theatre is now more wide, Into its space a universe now steals; In pompous words no longer is our pride, Nature we love when she her form reveals; Fashion's false rules no more are deified; And as a man the hero acts and feels. 'Tis passion makes the notes of freedom sound, And 'tis in truth the beautiful is found.

Weak is the frame of Thespis' chariot fair, Resembling much the bark of Acheron, That carries naught but shades and forms of air; And if rude life should venture to press on, The fragile bark its weight no more can bear, For fleeting spirits it can hold alone. Appearance ne'er can reach reality,— If nature be victorious, art must fly.

For on the stage's boarded scaffold here A world ideal opens to our eyes, Nothing is true and genuine save—a tear; Emotion on no dream of sense relies. The real Melpomene is still sincere, Naught as a fable merely she supplies— By truth profound to charm us is her care; The false one, truth pretends, but to ensnare.

Now from the scene, art threatens to retire, Her kingdom wild maintains still phantasy; The stage she like the world would set on fire, The meanest and the noblest mingles she. The Frank alone 'tis art can now inspire, And yet her archetype can his ne'er be; In bounds unchangeable confining her, He holds her fast, and vainly would she stir.

The stage to him is pure and undefiled; Chased from the regions that to her belong Are Nature's tones, so careless and so wild, To him e'en language rises into song; A realm harmonious 'tis, of beauty mild, Where limb unites to limb in order strong. The whole into a solemn temple blends, And 'tis the dance that grace to motion lends.

And yet the Frank must not be made our guide. For in his art no living spirit reigns: The boasting gestures of a spurious pride That mind which only loves the true disdains. To nobler ends alone be it applied, Returning, like some soul's long-vanished manes. To render the oft-sullied stage once more A throne befitting the great muse of yore.



THE PRESENT.

Ring and staff, oh to me on a Rhenish flask ye are welcome! Him a true shepherd I call, who thus gives drink to his sheep. Draught thrice blest! It is by the Muse I have won thee,—the Muse, too, Sends thee,—and even the church places upon thee her seal.



DEPARTURE FROM LIFE.

Two are the roads that before thee lie open from life to conduct thee; To the ideal one leads thee, the other to death. See that while yet thou art free, on the first thou commencest thy journey, Ere by the merciless fates on to the other thou'rt led!



VERSES WRITTEN IN THE FOLIO ALBUM OF A LEARNED FRIEND.

Once wisdom dwelt in tomes of ponderous size, While friendship from a pocketbook would talk; But now that knowledge in small compass lies, And floats in almanacs, as light as cork, Courageous man, thou dost not hesitate To open for thy friends this house so great! Hast thou no fear, I seriously would ask, That thou may'st thus their patience overtask?



VERSES WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF A FRIEND.

(HERR VON MECHELN OF BASLE.)

Nature in charms is exhaustless, in beauty ever reviving; And, like Nature, fair art is inexhaustible too. Hail, thou honored old man! for both in thy heart thou preservest Living sensations, and thus ne'er-ending youth is thy lot!



THE SUNDAY CHILDREN.

Years has the master been laboring, but always without satisfaction; To an ingenious race 'twould be in vision conferred. What they yesterday learned, to-day they fain would be teaching: Small compassion, alas, is by those gentlemen shown!



THE HIGHEST.

Seerest thou the highest, the greatest! In that the plant can instruct thee; What it unwittingly is, be thou of thine own free will!



THE PUPPET-SHOW OF LIFE.

Thou'rt welcome in my box to peep! Life's puppet-show, the world in little, Thou'lt see depicted to a tittle,— But pray at some small distance keep! 'Tis by the torch of love alone, By Cupid's taper, it is shown.

See, not a moment void the stage is! The child in arms at first they bring,— The boy then skips,—the youth now storms and rages,— The man contends, and ventures everything!

Each one attempts success to find, Yet narrow is the race-course ever; The chariot rolls, the axles quiver, The hero presses on, the coward stays behind, The proud man falls with mirth-inspiring fall, The wise man overtakes them all!

Thou see'st fair woman it the barrier stand, With beauteous hands, with smiling eyes, To glad the victor with his prize.



TO LAWGIVERS.

Ever take it for granted, that man collectively wishes That which is right; but take care never to think so of one!



FALSE IMPULSE TO STUDY.

Oh, how many new foes against truth! My very soul bleedeth When I behold the owl-race now bursting forth to the light.



THE HEREDITARY PRINCE OF WEIMAR, ON HIS PROCEEDING TO PARIS.

(SUNG IN A CIRCLE OF FRIENDS.)

With one last bumper let us hail The wanderer beloved, Who takes his leave of this still vale Wherein in youth he roved.

From loving arms, from native home, He tears himself away, To yonder city proud to roam, That makes whole lands its prey.

Dissension flies, all tempests end, And chained is strife abhorred; We in the crater may descend From whence the lava poured.

A gracious fate conduct thee through Life's wild and mazy track! A bosom nature gave thee true,— A bosom true bring back!

Thou'lt visit lands that war's wild train Had crushed with careless heed; Now smiling peace salutes the plain, And strews the golden seed.

The hoary Father Rhine thou'lt greet, Who thy forefather [58] blest Will think of, whilst his waters fleet In ocean's bed to rest.

Do homage to the hero's manes, And offer to the Rhine, The German frontier who maintains, His own-created wine,—

So that thy country's soul thy guide May be, when thou hast crossed On the frail bark to yonder side, Where German faith is lost!



THE IDEAL OF WOMAN.

TO AMANDA.

Woman in everything yields to man; but in that which is highest, Even the manliest man yields to the woman most weak. But that highest,—what is it? The gentle radiance of triumph As in thy brow upon me, beauteous Amanda, it beams. When o'er the bright shining disk the clouds of affliction are fleeting, Fairer the image appears, seen through the vapor of gold. Man may think himself free! thou art so,—for thou never knowest What is the meaning of choice,—know'st not necessity's name. That which thou givest, thou always givest wholly; but one art thou ever, Even thy tenderest sound is thine harmonious self. Youth everlasting dwells here, with fulness that never is exhausted, And with the flower at once pluckest thou the ripe golden fruit.



THE FOUNTAIN OF SECOND YOUTH.

Trust me, 'tis not a mere tale,—the fountain of youth really runneth, Runneth forever. Thou ask'st, where? In the poet's sweet art!



WILLIAM TELL. [59]

When hostile elements with rage resound, And fury blindly fans war's lurid flame,— When in the strife of party quarrel drowned, The voice of justice no regard can claim,— When crime is free, and impious hands are found The sacred to pollute, devoid of shame, And loose the anchor which the state maintains,— No subject there we find for joyous strains.

But when a nation, that its flocks still feeds With calm content, nor other's wealth desires Throws off the cruel yoke 'neath which it bleeds, Yet, e'en in wrath, humanity admires,— And, e'en in triumph, moderation heeds,— That is immortal, and our song requires. To show thee such an image now is mine; Thou knowest it well, for all that's great is thine!



TO A YOUNG FRIEND DEVOTING HIMSELF TO PHILOSOPHY.

Severe the proof the Grecian youth was doomed to undergo, Before he might what lurks beneath the Eleusinia know— Art thou prepared and ripe, the shrine—the inner shrine—to win, Where Pallas guards from vulgar eyes the mystic prize within? Knowest thou what bars thy way? how dear the bargain thou dost make, When but to buy uncertain good, sure good thou dost forsake? Feel'st thou sufficient strength to brave the deadliest human fray, When heart from reason—sense from thought, shall rend themselves away? Sufficient valor, war with doubt, the hydra-shape, to wage; And that worst foe within thyself with manly soul engage? With eyes that keep their heavenly health—the innocence of youth To guard from every falsehood, fair beneath the mask of truth? Fly, if thou canst not trust thy heart to guide thee on the way— Oh, fly the charmed margin ere th' abyss engulf its prey. Round many a step that seeks the light, the shades of midnight close; But in the glimmering twilight, see—how safely childhood goes!



EXPECTATION AND FULFILMENT.

Into life's ocean the youth with a thousand masts daringly launches; Mute, in a boat saved from wreck, enters the gray-beard the port.



THE COMMON FATE.

See how we hate, how we quarrel, how thought and how feeling divide us! But thy locks, friend, like mine, meanwhile are bleachening fast.



HUMAN ACTION.

Where the pathway begins, eternity seems to lie open, Yet at the narrowest point even the wisest man stops.



NUPTIAL ODE. [60]

Fair bride, attended by our blessing, Glad Hymen's flowery path 'gin pressing! We witnessed with enraptured eye The graces of thy soul unfolding, Thy youthful charms their beauty moulding To blossom for love's ecstasy. A happy fate now hovers round thee, And friendship yields without a smart To that sweet god whose might hath bound thee;— He needs must have, he hath thy heart!

To duties dear, to trouble tender, Thy youthful breast must now surrender, Thy garland's summons must obey. Each toying infantine sensation, Each fleeting sport of youth's creation, Forevermore hath passed away; And Hymen's sacred bond now chaineth Where soft and fluttering love was shrined; Yet for a heart, where beauty reigneth, Of flowers alone that bond is twined.

The secret that can keep forever In verdant links, that naught can sever, The bridal garland, wouldst thou find? 'Tis purity the heart pervading, The blossoms of a grace unfading, And yet with modest shame combined, Which, like the sun's reflection glowing, Makes every heart throb blissfully;— 'Tis looks with mildness overflowing, And self-maintaining dignity!



THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE NEW CENTURY.

Where will a place of refuge, noble friend, For peace and freedom ever open lie! The century in tempests had its end, The new one now begins with murder's cry.

Each land-connecting bond is torn away, Each ancient custom hastens to decline; Not e'en the ocean can war's tumult stay. Not e'en the Nile-god, not the hoary Rhine.

Two mighty nations strive, with hostile power, For undivided mastery of the world; And, by them, each land's freedom to devour, The trident brandished is—the lightning hurled.

Each country must to them its gold afford, And, Brennus-like, upon the fatal day, The Frank now throws his heavy iron sword, The even scales of justice to o'erweigh.

His merchant-fleets the Briton greedily Extends, like polyp-limbs, on every side; And the domain of Amphitrite free As if his home it were, would fain bestride.