Chapter VIII: Part II: Tragedy completed in.............. 1831 (6)

E'en to myself for aye ennobling me.

1807─8. ----- NEMESIS.

WHEN through the nations stalks contagion wild,

We from them cautiously should steal away.

E'en I have oft with ling'ring and delay Shunn'd many an influence, not to be defil'd.

And e'en though Amor oft my hours beguil'd,

At length with him preferr'd I not to play,

And so, too, with the wretched sons of clay, When four and three-lined verses they compil'd.

But punishment pursues the scoffer straight,

As if by serpent-torch of furies led

From bill to vale, from land to sea to fly.

I hear the genie's laughter at my fate;

Yet do I find all power of thinking fled

In sonnet-rage and love's fierce ecstasy.

1807-8. ----- THE CHRISTMAS-BOX.

THIS box, mine own sweet darling, thou wilt find

With many a varied sweetmeat's form supplied;

The fruits are they of holy Christmas tide, But baked indeed, for children's use design'd.

I'd fain, in speeches sweet with skill combin'd,

Poetic sweetmeats for the feast provide;

But why in such frivolities confide? Perish the thought, with flattery to blind!

One sweet thing there is still, that from within,

Within us speaks,--that may be felt afar;

This may be wafted o'er to thee alone.

If thou a recollection fond canst win,

As if with pleasure gleam'd each well-known star,

The smallest gift thou never wilt disown.

1807. ----- THE WARNING.

WHEN sounds the trumpet at the Judgment Day,

And when forever all things earthly die,

We must a full and true account supply Of ev'ry useless word we dropp'd in play.

But what effect will all the words convey

Wherein with eager zeal and lovingly,

That I might win thy favour, labour'd I, If on thine ear alone they die away?

Therefore, sweet love, thy conscience bear in mind,

Remember well how long thou hast delay'd,

So that the world such sufferings may not know.

If I must reckon, and excuses find

For all things useless I to thee have said,

To a full year the Judgment Day will grow

1807─8. ----- THE EPOCHS.

ON Petrarch's heart, all other days before,

In flaming letters written, was impress d

GOOD FRIDAY. And on mine, be it confess'd, Is this year's ADVENT, as it passeth o'er.

I do not now begin,--I still adore

Her whom I early cherish'd in my breast;,

Then once again with prudence dispossess'd, And to whose heart I'm driven back once more.

The love of Petrarch, that all-glorious love,

Was unrequited, and, alas, full sad;

One long Good Friday 'twas, one heartache drear

But may my mistress' Advent ever prove,

With its palm-jubilee, so sweet and glad,

One endless Mayday, through the livelong year!

1807. ----- THE DOUBTERS AND THE LOVERS.

THE DOUBTERS.

YE love, and sonnets write! Fate's strange behest!

The heart, its hidden meaning to declare,

Must seek for rhymes, uniting pair with pair: Learn, children, that the will is weak, at best.

Scarcely with freedom the o'erflowing breast

As yet can speak, and well may it beware;

Tempestuous passions sweep each chord that's there, Then once more sink to night and gentle rest.

Why vex yourselves and us, the heavy stone

Up the steep path but step by step to roll?

It falls again, and ye ne'er cease to strive.

THE LOVERS.

But we are on the proper road alone!

If gladly is to thaw the frozen soul,

The fire of love must aye be kept alive.

1807─8. ----- CHARADE.

Two words there 'are, both short, of beauty rare,

Whose sounds our lips so often love to frame,

But which with clearness never can proclaim The things whose own peculiar stamp they bear.

'Tis well in days of age and youth so fair,

One on the other boldly to inflame;

And if those words together link'd we name, A blissful rapture we discover there.

But now to give them pleasure do I seek,

And in myself my happiness would find;

I hope in silence, but I hope for this:

Gently, as loved one's names, those words to speak

To see them both within one image shrin'd,

Both in one being to embrace with bliss.

1807.
-----

EPIGRAMS.

----- In these numbers be express'd Meaning deep, 'neath merry jest. -----

TO ORIGINALS.

A FELLOW says: "I own no school or college; No master lives whom I acknowledge; And pray don't entertain the thought That from the dead I e'er learnt aught." This, if I rightly understand, Means: "I'm a blockhead at first hand."

1815. ----- THE SOLDIER'S CONSOLATION.

No! in truth there's here no lack: White the bread, the maidens black! To another town, next night: Black the bread, the maidens white!

1815.* ----- GENIAL IMPULSE.

THUS roll I, never taking ease, My tub, like Saint Diogenes, Now serious am, now seek to please; Now love and hate in turn one sees; The motives now are those, now these; Now nothings, now realities. Thus roll I, never taking ease, My tub, like Saint Diogenes.

1810. ----- NEITHER THIS NOR THAT.

IF thou to be a slave shouldst will, Thou'lt get no pity, but fare ill; And if a master thou wouldst be, The world will view it angrily; And if in statu quo thou stay, That thou art but a fool, they'll say.

1815.* ----- THE WAY TO BEHAVE.

THOUGH tempers are bad and peevish folks swear, Remember to ruffle thy brows, friend, ne'er; And let not the fancies of women so fair E'er serve thy pleasure in life to impair.

1815.* ----- THE BEST.

WHEN head and heart are busy, say,

What better can be found? Who neither loves nor goes astray,

Were better under ground.

1815.* ----- AS BROAD AS IT'S LONG.

MODEST men must needs endure,

And the bold must humbly bow; Thus thy fate's the same, be sure,

Whether bold or modest thou.

1815.* ----- THE RULE OF LIFE.

IF thou wouldst live unruffled by care, Let not the past torment thee e'er; As little as possible be thou annoy'd, And let the present be ever enjoy'd; Ne'er let thy breast with hate be supplied, And to God the future confide.

1815.* ----- THE SAME, EXPANDED.

IF thou wouldst live unruffled by care, Let not the past torment thee e'er; If any loss thou hast to rue, Act as though thou wert born anew; Inquire the meaning of each day, What each day means itself will say; In thine own actions take thy pleasure, What others do, thou'lt duly treasure; Ne'er let thy breast with hate be supplied, And to God the future confide.

-----

IF wealth is gone--then something is gone!

Quick, make up thy mind,

And fresh wealth find. If honour is gone--then much is gone!

Seek glory to find,

And people then will alter their mind. If courage is gone--then all is gone! 'Twere better that thou hadst never been born.

-----

HE who with life makes sport,

Can prosper never; Who rules himself in nought,

Is a slave ever.

MAY each honest effort be

Crown'd with lasting constancy.

-----

EACH road to the proper end Runs straight on, without a bend.

1825. ----- CALM AT SEA.

SILENCE deep rules o'er the waters,

Calmly slumb'ring lies the main, While the sailor views with trouble

Nought but one vast level plain.

Not a zephyr is in motion!

Silence fearful as the grave! In the mighty waste of ocean

Sunk to rest is ev'ry wave.

1795. ----- THE PROSPEROUS VOYAGE.

THE mist is fast clearing. And radiant is heaven, Whilst AEolus loosens Our anguish-fraught bond. The zephyrs are sighing, Alert is the sailor. Quick! nimbly be plying! The billows are riven, The distance approaches; I see land beyond!

1795. ----- COURAGE.

CARELESSLY over the plain away, Where by the boldest man no path Cut before thee thou canst discern, Make for thyself a path!

Silence, loved one, my heart! Cracking, let it not break! Breaking, break not with thee!

1776.* ----- MY ONLY PROPERTY.

I FEEL that I'm possess'd of nought, Saving the free unfetterd thought

Which from my bosom seeks to flow, And each propitious passing hour That suffers me in all its power

A loving fate with truth to know.

1814. ----- ADMONITION.

WHEREFORE ever ramble on?

For the Good is lying near, Fortune learn to seize alone,

For that Fortune's ever here.

1789. ----- OLD AGE.

OLD age is courteous--no one more: For time after time he knocks at the door, But nobody says, "Walk in, sir, pray!" Yet turns he not from the door away, But lifts the latch, and enters with speed. And then they cry "A cool one, indeed!"

1814. ----- EPITAPH.

As a boy, reserved and naughty; As a youth, a coxcomb and haughty; As a man, for action inclined; As a greybeard, fickle in mind.-- Upon thy grave will people read: This was a very man, indeed!

1815.* ----- RULES FOR MONARCHS.

IF men are never their thoughts to employ, Take care to provide them a life full of joy; But if to some profit and use thou wouldst bend them, Take care to shear them, and then defend them.

1815.* ----- PAULO POST FUTURI.

WEEP ye not, ye children dear,

That as yet ye are unborn: For each sorrow and each tear

Makes the father's heart to mourn.

Patient be a short time to it,

Unproduced, and known to none; If your father cannot do it,

By your mother 'twill be done.

1784. ----- THE FOOL'S EPILOGUE.

MANY good works I've done and ended, Ye take the praise--I'm not offended; For in the world, I've always thought Each thing its true position hath sought. When praised for foolish deeds am I, I set off laughing heartily; When blamed for doing something good, I take it in an easy mood. If some one stronger gives me hard blows, That it's a jest, I feign to suppose: But if 'tis one that's but my own like, I know the way such folks to strike. When Fortune smiles, I merry grow, And sing in dulci jubilo; When sinks her wheel, and tumbles me o'er, I think 'tis sure to rise once more.

In the sunshine of summer I ne'er lament, Because the winter it cannot prevent; And when the white snow-flakes fall around, I don my skates, and am off with a bound. Though I dissemble as I will, The sun for me will ne'er stand still; The old and wonted course is run, Until the whole of life is done; Each day the servant like the lord, In turns comes home, and goes abroad; If proud or humble the line they take, They all must eat, drink, sleep, and wake. So nothing ever vexes me; Act like the fool, and wise ye'll be!

1804.
-----

PARABLES.

----- Joy from that in type we borrow, Which in life gives only sorrow. ----- JOY.

A DRAGON-FLY with beauteous wing Is hov'ring o'er a silv'ry spring; I watch its motions with delight,-- Now dark its colours seem, now bright; Chameleon-like appear, now blue, Now red, and now of greenish hue. Would it would come still nearer me, That I its tints might better see

It hovers, flutters, resting ne'er!

But hush! it settles on the mead. I have it safe now, I declare!

And when its form I closely view,

'Tis of a sad and dingy blue--
Such, Joy-Dissector, is thy case indeed

1767-9. ----- EXPLANATION OF AN ANTIQUE GEM,

A YOUNG fig-tree its form lifts high

Within a beauteous garden; And see, a goat is sitting by.

As if he were its warden.

But oh, Quirites, how one errs!

The tree is guarded badly; For round the other side there whirrs

And hums a beetle madly.

The hero with his well-mail'd coat

Nibbles the branches tall so; A mighty longing feels the goat

Gently to climb up also.

And so, my friends, ere long ye see

The tree all leafless standing; It looks a type of misery,

Help of the gods demanding.

Then listen, ye ingenuous youth,

Who hold wise saws respected: From he-goat and from beetles-tooth

A tree should be protected!

1815. ----- CAT-PIE.

WHILE he is mark'd by vision clear

Who fathoms Nature's treasures, The man may follow, void of fear,

Who her proportions measures.

Though for one mortal, it is true,

These trades may both be fitted, Yet, that the things themselves are two

Must always be admitted.

Once on a time there lived a cook

Whose skill was past disputing, Who in his head a fancy took

To try his luck at shooting.

So, gun in hand, he sought a spot

Where stores of game were breeding, And there ere long a cat he shot

That on young birds was feeding.

This cat he fancied was a hare,

Forming a judgment hasty, So served it up for people's fare,

Well-spiced and in a pasty.

Yet many a guest with wrath was fill'd

(All who had noses tender): The cat that's by the sportsman kill'd

No cook a hare can render.

1810. ----- LEGEND.

THERE lived in the desert a holy man

To whom a goat-footed Faun one day Paid a visit, and thus began

To his surprise: "I entreat thee to pray That grace to me and my friends may be given, That we may be able to mount to Heaven, For great is our thirst for heav'nly bliss." The holy man made answer to this: "Much danger is lurking in thy petition, Nor will it be easy to gain admission; Thou dost not come with an angel's salute; For I see thou wearest a cloven foot." The wild man paused, and then answer'd he: "What doth my goat's foot matter to thee? Full many I've known into heaven to pass Straight and with ease, with the head of an ass!"

1815.* ----- AUTHORS.

OVER the meadows, and down the stream,

And through the garden-walks straying, He plucks the flowers that fairest seem;

His throbbing heart brooks no delaying. His maiden then comes--oh, what ecstasy! Thy flowers thou giv'st for one glance of her eye!

The gard'ner next door o'er the hedge sees the youth: "I'm not such a fool as that, in good truth; My pleasure is ever to cherish each flower, And see that no birds my fruit e'er devour. But when 'tis ripe, your money, good neighbour! 'Twas not for nothing I took all this labour!" And such, methinks, are the author-tribe.

The one his pleasures around him strews,

That his friends, the public, may reap, if they choose; The other would fain make them all subscribe,

1776.* ----- THE CRITIC.

I HAD a fellow as my guest, Not knowing he was such a pest, And gave him just my usual fare; He ate his fill of what was there,

And for desert my best things swallow'd, Soon as his meal was o'er, what follow'd? Led by the Deuce, to a neighbour he went, And talk'd of my food to his heart's content: "The soup might surely have had more spice, The meat was ill-brown'd, and the wine wasn't nice." A thousand curses alight on his head! 'Tis a critic, I vow! Let the dog be struck dead!

1776.* ----- THE DILETTANTE AND THE CRITIC.

A BOY a pigeon once possess'd, In gay and brilliant plumage dress'd; He loved it well, and in boyish sport Its food to take from his mouth he taught, And in his pigeon he took such pride, That his joy to others he needs must confide.

An aged fox near the place chanc'd to dwell, Talkative, clever, and learned as well; The boy his society used to prize, Hearing with pleasure his wonders and lies.

"My friend the fox my pigeon must see He ran, and stretch'd 'mongst the bushes lay he "Look, fox, at my pigeon, my pigeon so fair! His equal I'm sure thou hast look'd upon ne'er!"

"Let's see!"--The boy gave it.--"'Tis really not bad; And yet, it is far from complete, I must add. The feathers, for, instance, how short! 'Tis absurd!" So he set to work straightway to pluck the poor bird.

The boy screamed.--"Thou must now stronger pinions supply, Or else 'twill be ugly, unable to fly."-- Soon 'twas stripp'd--oh, the villain!--and torn all to pieces. The boy was heart-broken,--and so my tale ceases.

* * * *

He who sees in the boy shadow'd forth his own case, Should be on his guard 'gainst the fox's whole race.

1776.* ----- THE WRANGLER.

ONE day a shameless and impudent wight Went into a shop full of steel wares bright, Arranged with art upon ev'ry shelf. He fancied they were all meant for himself; And so, while the patient owner stood by, The shining goods needs must handle and try, And valued,--for how should a fool better know?-- The bad things high, and the good ones low, And all with an easy self-satisfied face; Then, having bought nothing, he left the place.

The tradesman now felt sorely vex'd, So when the fellow went there next, A lock of steel made quite red hot. The other cried upon the spot: "Such wares as these, who'd ever buy? the steel is tarnish'd shamefully,"-- Then pull'd it, like a fool about, But soon set up a piteous shout. "Pray what's the matter?" the shopman spoke; The other scream'd: "Faith, a very cool joke!"

1815.* ----- THE YELPERS.

OUR rides in all directions bend,

For business or for pleasure, Yet yelpings on our steps attend,

And barkings without measure. The dog that in our stable dwells,

After our heels is striding, And all the while his noisy yells

But show that we are riding.

1815.* ----- THE STORK'S VOCATION.

THE stork who worms and frogs devours

That in our ponds reside, Why should he dwell on high church-towers,

With which he's not allied?

Incessantly he chatters there,

And gives our ears no rest; But neither old nor young can dare

To drive him from his nest.

I humbly ask it,--how can he

Give of his title proof, Save by his happy tendency

To soil the church's roof? ----- CELEBRITY.

[A satire on his own Sorrows of Werther.]

ON bridges small and bridges great Stands Nepomucks in ev'ry state, Of bronze, wood, painted, or of stone, Some small as dolls, some giants grown; Each passer must worship before Nepomuck, Who to die on a bridge chanced to have the ill luck, When once a man with head and ears A saint in people's eyes appears, Or has been sentenced piteously Beneath the hangman's hand to die, He's as a noted person prized, In portrait is immortalized. Engravings, woodcuts, are supplied, And through the world spread far and wide. Upon them all is seen his name, And ev'ry one admits his claim; Even the image of the Lord Is not with greater zeal ador'd. Strange fancy of the human race! Half sinner frail, half child of grace We see HERR WERTHER of the story In all the pomp of woodcut glory. His worth is first made duly known, By having his sad features shown At ev'ry fair the country round; In ev'ry alehouse too they're found. His stick is pointed by each dunce "The ball would reach his brain at once!" And each says, o'er his beer and bread: "Thank Heav'n that 'tis not we are dead!"

1815.* ----- PLAYING AT PRIESTS.

WITHIN a town where parity According to old form we see,-- That is to say, where Catholic And Protestant no quarrels pick, And where, as in his father's day, Each worships God in his own way, We Luth'ran children used to dwell, By songs and sermons taught as well. The Catholic clingclang in truth Sounded more pleasing to our youth, For all that we encounter'd there, To us seem'd varied, joyous, fair. As children, monkeys, and mankind To ape each other are inclin'd, We soon, the time to while away, A game at priests resolved to play. Their aprons all our sisters lent For copes, which gave us great content; And handkerchiefs, embroider'd o'er, Instead of stoles we also wore; Gold paper, whereon beasts were traced, The bishop's brow as mitre graced.

Through house and garden thus in state We strutted early, strutted late, Repeating with all proper unction, Incessantly each holy function. The best was wanting to the game;

We knew that a sonorous ring

Was here a most important thing; But Fortune to our rescue came, For on the ground a halter lay;

We were delighted, and at once

Made it a bellrope for the nonce, And kept it moving all the day;

In turns each sister and each brother

Acted as sexton to another; All help'd to swell the joyous throng;

The whole proceeded swimmingly,

And since no actual bell had we, We all in chorus sang, Ding dong!

* * * * *

Our guileless child's-sport long was hush'd

In memory's tomb, like some old lay; And yet across my mind it rush'd

With pristine force the other day. The New-Poetic Catholics In ev'ry point its aptness fix!

1815.* ----- SONGS.

SONGS are like painted window-panes! In darkness wrapp'd the church remains, If from the market-place we view it; Thus sees the ignoramus through it. No wonder that he deems it tame,-- And all his life 'twill be the same.

But let us now inside repair, And greet the holy Chapel there! At once the whole seems clear and bright, Each ornament is bathed in light, And fraught with meaning to the sight. God's children! thus your fortune prize, Be edified, and feast your eyes!

1827.* ----- POETRY.

GOD to his untaught children sent

Law, order, knowledge, art, from high, And ev'ry heav'nly favour lent,

The world's hard lot to qualify. They knew not how they should behave,

For all from Heav'n stark-naked came; But Poetry their garments gave,

And then not one had cause for shame.

1816. ----- A PARABLE.

I PICKED a rustic nosegay lately, And bore it homewards, musing greatly; When, heated by my hand, I found The heads all drooping tow'rd the ground. I plac'd them in a well-cool'd glass, And what a wonder came to pass The heads soon raised themselves once more. The stalks were blooming as before, And all were in as good a case As when they left their native place.

* * * *

So felt I, when I wond'ring heard My song to foreign tongues transferr'd.

1828. ----- SHOULD E'ER THE LOVELESS DAY.

SHOULD e'er the loveless day remain Obscured by storms of hail and rain,

Thy charms thou showest never; I tap at window, tap at door: Come, lov'd one, come! appear once more!

Thou art as fair as ever!

1827.* ----- A PLAN THE MUSES ENTERTAINED.

A PLAN the Muses entertain'd

Methodically to impart

To Psyche the poetic art; Prosaic-pure her soul remain'd. No wondrous sounds escaped her lyre

E'en in the fairest Summer night; But Amor came with glance of fire,--

The lesson soon was learn'd aright.

1827.* ----- THE DEATH OF THE FLY.

WITH eagerness he drinks the treach'rous potion,

Nor stops to rest, by the first taste misled; Sweet is the draught, but soon all power of motion

He finds has from his tender members fled; No longer has he strength to plume his wing, No longer strength to raise his head, poor thing! E'en in enjoyment's hour his life he loses, His little foot to bear his weight refuses; So on he sips, and ere his draught is o'er, Death veils his thousand eyes for evermore.

1810. ----- BY THE RIVER.

WHEN by the broad stream thou dost dwell,

Oft shallow is its sluggish flood; Then, when thy fields thou tendest well,

It o'er them spreads its slime and mud.

The ships descend ere daylight wanes,

The prudent fisher upward goes; Round reef and rock ice casts its chains,

And boys at will the pathway close.

To this attend, then, carefully,

And what thou wouldst, that execute! Ne'er linger, ne'er o'erhasty be,

For time moves on with measured foot.

1821.* ----- THE FOX AND CRANE.

ONCE two persons uninvited

Came to join my dinner table; For the nonce they lived united,

Fox and crane yclept in fable.

Civil greetings pass'd between us

Then I pluck'd some pigeons tender For the fox of jackal-genius,

Adding grapes in full-grown splendour.

Long-neck'd flasks I put as dishes

For the crane, without delaying, Fill'd with gold and silver fishes,

In the limpid water playing.

Had ye witness'd Reynard planted

At his flat plate, all demurely, Ye with envy must have granted:

"Ne'er was such a gourmand, surely!"

While the bird with circumspection

On one foot, as usual, cradled, From the flasks his fish-refection

With his bill and long neck ladled.

One the pigeons praised,--the other,

As they went, extoll'd the fishes, Each one scoffing at his brother

For preferring vulgar dishes.

* * *

If thou wouldst preserve thy credit,

When thou askest folks to guzzle At thy hoard, take care to spread it

Suited both for bill and muzzle.

1819. ----- THE FOX AND HUNTSMAN.

HARD 'tis on a fox's traces

To arrive, midst forest-glades; Hopeless utterly the chase is,

If his flight the huntsman aids.

And so 'tis with many a wonder,

(Why A B make Ab in fact,) Over which we gape and blunder,

And our head and brains distract.

1821.* ----- THE FROGS.

A POOL was once congeal'd with frost; The frogs, in its deep waters lost,

No longer dared to croak or spring; But promised, being half asleep, If suffer'd to the air to creep,

As very nightingales to sing.

A thaw dissolved the ice so strong,-- They proudly steer'd themselves along, When landed, squatted on the shore, And croak'd as loudly as before.

1821.* ----- THE WEDDING.

A FEAST was in a village spread,-- It was a wedding-day, they said. The parlour of the inn I found, And saw the couples whirling round, Each lass attended by her lad, And all seem'd loving, blithe, and glad; But on my asking for the bride, A fellow with a stare, replied: "'Tis not the place that point to raise!

We're only dancing in her honour; We now have danced three nights and days,

And not bestowed one thought upon her."

* * * *

Whoe'er in life employs his eyes Such cases oft will recognise.

1821.* ----- BURIAL.

To the grave one day from a house they bore

A maiden; To the window the citizens went to explore; In splendour they lived, and with wealth as of yore

Their banquets were laden. Then thought they: "The maid to the tomb is now borne; We too from our dwellings ere long must be torn, And he that is left our departure to mourn,

To our riches will be the successor,

For some one must be their possessor.

1827.* ----- THREATENING SIGNS.

IF Venus in the evening sky Is seen in radiant majesty, If rod-like comets, red as blood, Are 'mongst the constellations view'd, Out springs the Ignoramus, yelling: "The star's exactly o'er my dwelling! What woeful prospect, ah, for me! Then calls his neighbour mournfully: "Behold that awful sign of evil, Portending woe to me, poor devil! My mother's asthma ne'er will leave her, My child is sick with wind and fever; I dread the illness of my wife, A week has pass'd, devoid of strife,-- And other things have reach'd my ear; The Judgment Day has come, I fear!"

His neighbour answered: "Friend, you're right! Matters look very had to-night. Let's go a street or two, though, hence, And gaze upon the stars from thence."-- No change appears in either case. Let each remain then in his place, And wisely do the best he can, Patient as any other man.

1821.* ----- THE BUYERS.

To an apple-woman's stall

Once some children nimbly ran; Longing much to purchase all, They with joyous haste began Snatching up the piles there raised, While with eager eyes they gazed On the rosy fruit so nice; But when they found out the price, Down they threw the whole they'd got, Just as if they were red hot.

* * * * *

The man who gratis will his goods supply Will never find a lack of folks to buy!

1820. ----- THE MOUNTAIN VILLAGE.

"THE mountain village was destroy'd; But see how soon is fill'd the void! Shingles and boards, as by magic arise, The babe in his cradle and swaddling-clothes lies; How blest to trust to God's protection!"

Behold a wooden new erection, So that, if sparks and wind but choose, God's self at such a game must lose!

1821.* ----- SYMBOLS.

PALM Sunday at the Vatican

They celebrate with palms; With reverence bows each holy man,

And chaunts the ancient psalms. Those very psalms are also sung

With olive boughs in hand, While holly, mountain wilds among,

In place of palms must stand: In fine, one seeks some twig that's green,

And takes a willow rod, So that the pious man may e'en

In small things praise his God.

And if ye have observed it well,

To gain what's fit ye're able, If ye in faith can but excel;

Such are the myths of fable.

1827.* ----- THREE PALINODIAS.

I.

"Incense is hut a tribute for the gods,-- To mortals 'tis but poison."

THE smoke that from thine altar blows,

Can it the gods offend? For I observe thou hold'st thy nose--

Pray what does this portend? Mankind deem incense to excel

Each other earthly thing, So he that cannot bear its smell,

No incense e'er should bring.

With unmoved face by thee at least

To dolls is homage given; If not obstructed by the priest,

The scent mounts up to heaven.

1827.*

II

CONFLICT OF WIT AND BEAUTY.

SIR Wit, who is so much esteem'd,

And who is worthy of all honour, Saw Beauty his superior deem'd

By folks who loved to gaze upon her; At this he was most sorely vex'd.

Then came Sir Breath (long known as fit

To represent the cause of wit),

Beginning, rudely, I admit, To treat the lady with a text. To this she hearken'd not at all, But hasten'd to his principal: "None are so wise, they say, as you,-- Is not the world enough for two?

If you are obstinate, good-bye! If wise, to love me you will try, For be assured the world can ne'er Give birth to a more handsome pair."

1827.*

=====

FAIR daughters were by Beauty rear'd,

Wit had but dull sons for his lot; So for a season it appear'd

Beauty was constant, Wit was not. But Wit's a native of the soil,

So he return'd, work'd, strove amain, And found--sweet guerdon for his toil!--

Beauty to quicken him again.

1827.*

III.

RAIN AND RAINBOW.

DURING a heavy storm it chanced That from his room a cockney glanced At the fierce tempest as it broke, While to his neighbour thus he spoke: "The thunder has our awe inspired, Our barns by lightning have been fired,-- Our sins to punish, I suppose; But in return, to soothe our woes, See how the rain in torrents fell, Making the harvest promise well! But is't a rainbow that I spy Extending o'er the dark-grey sky? With it I'm sure we may dispense, The colour'd cheat! The vain pretence!" Dame Iris straightway thus replied: "Dost dare my beauty to deride? In realms of space God station'd me A type of better worlds to be To eyes that from life's sorrows rove In cheerful hope to Heav'n above, And, through the mists that hover here God and his precepts blest revere. Do thou, then, grovel like the swine, And to the ground thy snout confine, But suffer the enlighten'd eye To feast upon my majesty."

1827.*

VALEDICTION.

I ONCE was fond of fools,

And bid them come each day; Then each one brought his tools

The carpenter to play; The roof to strip first choosing,

Another to supply, The wood as trestles using,

To move it by-and-by, While here and there they ran,

And knock'd against each other; To fret I soon began,

My anger could not smother, So cried, "Get out, ye fools!"

At this they were offended Then each one took his tools,

And so our friendship ended.

Since that, I've wiser been,

And sit beside my door; When one of them is seen,

I cry, "Appear no more!" "Hence, stupid knave!" I bellow:

At this he's angry too: "You impudent old fellow!

And pray, sir, who are you? Along the streets we riot,

And revel at the fair; But yet we're pretty quiet,

And folks revile us ne'er. Don't call us names, then, please!"-- At length I meet with ease,

For now they leave my door-- 'Tis better than before!

1827.* ----- THE COUNTRY SCHOOLMASTER.

I.

A MASTER of a country school Jump'd up one day from off his stool, Inspired with firm resolve to try To gain the best society; So to the nearest baths he walk'd, And into the saloon he stalk'd. He felt quite. startled at the door, Ne'er having seen the like before. To the first stranger made he now A very low and graceful bow, But quite forgot to bear in mind That people also stood behind; His left-hand neighbor's paunch he struck A grievous blow, by great ill luck; Pardon for this he first entreated, And then in haste his bow repeated. His right hand neighbor next he hit, And begg'd him, too, to pardon it; But on his granting his petition, Another was in like condition; These compliments he paid to all, Behind, before, across the hall; At length one who could stand no more, Show'd him impatiently the door.

* * * *

May many, pond'ring on their crimes, A moral draw from this betimes!

II.

As he proceeded on his way He thought, "I was too weak to-day; To bow I'll ne'er again be seen; For goats will swallow what is green." Across the fields he now must speed, Not over stumps and stones, indeed, But over meads and cornfields sweet, Trampling down all with clumsy feet. A farmer met him by-and-by, And didn't ask him: how? or why? But with his fist saluted him.

"I feel new life in every limb!" Our traveller cried in ecstasy. "Who art thou who thus gladden'st me? May Heaven such blessings ever send! Ne'er may I want a jovial friend!"

1808.* ----- THE LEGEND OF THE HORSESHOE.

WHAT time our Lord still walk'd the earth, Unknown, despised, of humble birth, And on Him many a youth attended (His words they seldom comprehended), It ever seem'd to Him most meet To hold His court in open street, As under heaven's broad canopy One speaks with greater liberty. The teachings of His blessed word From out His holy mouth were heard; Each market to a fane turn'd He With parable and simile.

One day, as tow'rd a town He roved, In peace of mind with those He loved, Upon the path a something gleam'd; A broken horseshoe 'twas, it seem'd. So to St. Peter thus He spake: "That piece of iron prythee take!" St. Peter's thoughts had gone astray,-- He had been musing on his way Respecting the world's government, A dream that always gives content, For in the head 'tis check'd by nought; This ever was his dearest thought, For him this prize was far too mean Had it a crown and sceptre been! But, surely, 'twasn't worth the trouble For half a horseshoe to bend double! And so he turn'd away his head, As if he heard not what was said,

The Lord, forbearing tow'rd all men, Himself pick'd up the horseshoe then (He ne'er again like this stoop'd down). And when at length they reach'd the town, Before a smithy He remain'd, And there a penny for 't obtain'd. As they the market-place went by, Some beauteous cherries caught His eye: Accordingly He bought as many As could be purchased for a penny, And then, as oft His wont had been, Placed them within His sleeve unseen.

They went out by another gate, O'er plains and fields proceeding straight, No house or tree was near the spot, The sun was bright, the day was hot; In short, the weather being such, A draught of water was worth much. The Lord walk'd on before them all, And let, unseen, a cherry fall. St. Peter rush'd to seize it hold, As though an apple 'twere of gold; His palate much approv'd the berry; The Lord ere long another cherry Once more let fall upon the plain; St. Peter forthwith stoop'd again. The Lord kept making him thus bend To pick up cherries without end. For a long time the thing went on; The Lord then said, in cheerful tone: "Had'st thou but moved when thou wert bid, Thou of this trouble had'st been rid; The man who small things scorns, will next, By things still smaller be perplex'd."

1797. ----- A SYMBOL.

(This fine poem is given by Goethe amongst a small collection of what he calls Loge (Lodge), meaning thereby Masonic pieces.)

THE mason's trade Observe them well,

Resembles life, And watch them revealing

With all its strife,-- How solemn feeling Is like the stir made And wonderment swell

By man on earth's face. The hearts of the brave.

Though weal and woe The voice of the blest,

The future may hide, And of spirits on high

Unterrified Seems loudly to cry: We onward go "To do what is best,

In ne'er changing race. Unceasing endeavour!

A veil of dread "In silence eterne

Hangs heavier still. Here chaplets are twin'd,

Deep slumbers fill That each noble mind The stars over-head, Its guerdon may earn.--

And the foot-trodden grave. Then hope ye for ever!"

1827.*
-----

ART.

----- Artist, fashion! talk not long! Be a breath thine only song! ----- THE DROPS OF NECTAR.

WHEN Minerva, to give pleasure To Prometheus, her well-loved one, Brought a brimming bowl of nectar From the glorious realms of heaven As a blessing for his creatures, And to pour into their bosoms Impulses for arts ennobling, She with rapid footstep hasten'd, Fearing Jupiter might see her, And the golden goblet trembled, And there fell a few drops from it On the verdant plain beneath her. Then the busy bees flew thither Straightway, eagerly to drink them, And the butterfly came quickly That he, too, might find a drop there; Even the misshapen spider Thither crawl'd and suck'd with vigour.

To a happy end they tasted, They, and other gentle insects! For with mortals now divide they Art─that noblest gift of all.

1789.* ----- THE WANDERER.

[Published in the Gottingen Musen Almanach, having been written "to express his feelings and caprices" after his separation from Frederica.]

WANDERER.

YOUNG woman, may God bless thee, Thee, and the sucking infant Upon thy breast! Let me, 'gainst this rocky wall, Neath the elm-tree's shadow, Lay aside my burden, Near thee take my rest.

WOMAN.

What vocation leads thee, While the day is burning, Up this dusty path? Bring'st thou goods from out the town Round the country? Smil'st thou, stranger, At my question?

WANDERER.

From the town no goods I bring. Cool is now the evening; Show to me the fountain 'Whence thou drinkest, Woman young and kind!

WOMAN.

Up the rocky pathway mount; Go thou first! Across the thicket Leads the pathway tow'rd the cottage That I live in, To the fountain Whence I drink.

WANDERER.

Signs of man's arranging hand See I 'mid the trees! Not by thee these stones were join'd, Nature, who so freely scatterest!

WOMAN.

Up, still up!

WANDERER.

Lo, a mossy architrave is here! I discern thee, fashioning spirit! On the stone thou hast impress'd thy seal.

WOMAN.

Onward, stranger!

WANDERER.

Over an inscription am I treading! 'Tis effaced! Ye are seen no longer, Words so deeply graven, Who your master's true devotion Should have shown to thousand grandsons!

WOMAN.

At these stones, why Start'st thou, stranger? Many stones are lying yonder Round my cottage.

WANDERER.

Yonder?

WOMAN.

Through the thicket, Turning to the left, Here!

WANDERER.

Ye Muses and ye Graces!

WOMAN.

This, then, is my cottage.

WANDERER.

'Tis a ruin'd temple! *

WOMAN.

Just below it, see, Springs the fountain Whence I drink.

WANDERER.

Thou dost hover O'er thy grave, all glowing, Genius! while upon thee Hath thy master-piece Fallen crumbling, Thou Immortal One!

WOMAN.

Stay, a cup I'll fetch thee Whence to drink.

WANDERER.

Ivy circles thy slender Form so graceful and godlike. How ye rise on high From the ruins, Column-pair And thou, their lonely sister yonder,-- How thou, Dusky moss upon thy sacred head,-- Lookest down in mournful majesty On thy brethren's figures Lying scatter'd At thy feet! In the shadow of the bramble Earth and rubbish veil them, Lofty grass is waving o'er them Is it thus thou, Nature, prizest Thy great masterpiece's masterpiece? Carelessly destroyest thou Thine own sanctuary, Sowing thistles there?

WOMAN.

How the infant sleeps! Wilt thou rest thee in the cottage, Stranger? Wouldst thou rather In the open air still linger? Now 'tis cool! take thou the child While I go and draw some water. Sleep on, darling! sleep!

WANDERER.

Sweet is thy repose! How, with heaven-born health imbued, Peacefully he slumbers! Oh thou, born among the ruins Spread by great antiquity, On thee rest her spirit! He whom it encircles Will, in godlike consciousness, Ev'ry day enjoy. Full, of germ, unfold, As the smiling springtime's Fairest charm, Outshining all thy fellows! And when the blossom's husk is faded, May the full fruit shoot forth From out thy breast, And ripen in the sunshine!

WOMAN.

God bless him!--Is he sleeping still? To the fresh draught I nought can add, Saving a crust of bread for thee to eat.

WANDERER.

I thank thee well. How fair the verdure all around! How green!

WOMAN.

My husband soon Will home return From labour. Tarry, tarry, man, And with us eat our evening meal.

WANDERER.

Is't here ye dwell?

WOMAN.

Yonder, within those walls we live. My father 'twas who built the cottage Of tiles and stones from out the ruins. 'Tis here we dwell. He gave me to a husbandman, And in our arms expired.-- Hast thou been sleeping, dearest heart How lively, and how full of play! Sweet rogue!

WANDERER.

Nature, thou ever budding one, Thou formest each for life's enjoyments, And, like a mother, all thy children dear, Blessest with that sweet heritage,--a home The swallow builds the cornice round, Unconscious of the beauties She plasters up. The caterpillar spins around the bough, To make her brood a winter house; And thou dost patch, between antiquity's Most glorious relics, For thy mean use, Oh man, a humble cot,-- Enjoyest e'en mid tombs!-- Farewell, thou happy woman!

WOMAN.

Thou wilt not stay, then?

WANDERER.

May God preserve thee, And bless thy boy!

WOMAN.

A happy journey!

WANDERER.

Whither conducts the path Across yon hill?

WOMAN.

To Cuma.

WANDERER.

How far from hence?

WOMAN.

'Tis full three miles.

WANDERER.

Farewell! Oh Nature, guide me on my way! The wandering stranger guide, Who o'er the tombs Of holy bygone times Is passing, To a kind sheltering place, From North winds safe, And where a poplar grove Shuts out the noontide ray! And when I come Home to my cot At evening, Illumined by the setting sun, Let me embrace a wife like this, Her infant in her arms!

1772. * Compare with the beautiful description contained in the subsequent lines, an account of a ruined temple of Ceres, given by Chamberlayne in his Pharonnida (published in 1659)

".... With mournful majesiy A heap of solitary ruins lie, Half sepulchred in dust, the bankrupt heir To prodigal antiquity...." ----- LOVE AS A LANDSCAPE PAINTER.

ON a rocky peak once sat I early, Gazing on the mist with eyes unmoving; Stretch'd out like a pall of greyish texture, All things round, and all above it cover'd.

Suddenly a boy appear'd beside me, Saying "Friend, what meanest thou by gazing On the vacant pall with such composure? Hast thou lost for evermore all pleasure Both in painting cunningly, and forming?" On the child I gazed, and thought in secret: "Would the boy pretend to be a master?"

"Wouldst thou be for ever dull and idle," Said the boy, "no wisdom thou'lt attain to; See, I'll straightway paint for thee a figure,-- How to paint a beauteous figure, show thee."

And he then extended his fore-finger,-- (Ruddy was it as a youthful rosebud) Tow'rd the broad and far outstretching carpet, And began to draw there with his finger.

First on high a radiant sun he painted, Which upon mine eyes with splendour glisten'd, And he made the clouds with golden border, Through the clouds he let the sunbeams enter; Painted then the soft and feathery summits Of the fresh and quicken'd trees, behind them One by one with freedom drew the mountains; Underneath he left no lack of water, But the river painted so like Nature, That it seem'd to glitter in the sunbeams, That it seem'd against its banks to murmur.

Ah, there blossom'd flowers beside the river, And bright colours gleam'd upon the meadow, Gold, and green, and purple, and enamell'd, All like carbuncles and emeralds seeming!

Bright and clear he added then the heavens, And the blue-tinged mountains far and farther, So that I, as though newborn, enraptured Gazed on, now the painter, now the picture.

Then spake he: "Although I have convinced thee That this art I understand full surely, Yet the hardest still is left to show thee."

Thereupon he traced, with pointed finger, And with anxious care, upon the forest, At the utmost verge, where the strong sunbeams From the shining ground appear'd reflected,

Traced the figure of a lovely maiden, Fair in form, and clad in graceful fashion, Fresh the cheeks beneath her brown locks' ambush, And the cheeks possess'd the selfsame colour As the finger that had served to paint them.

"Oh thou boy!" exclaim'd I then, "what master In his school received thee as his pupil, Teaching thee so truthfully and quickly Wisely to begin, and well to finish?"

Whilst I still was speaking, lo, a zephyr Softly rose, and set the tree-tops moving, Curling all the wavelets on the river, And the perfect maiden's veil, too, fill'd it, And to make my wonderment still greater, Soon the maiden set her foot in motion. On she came, approaching tow'rd the station Where still sat I with my arch instructor.

As now all, yes, all thus moved together,-- Flowers, river, trees, the veil,--all moving,-- And the gentle foot of that most fair one, Can ye think that on my rock I linger'd, Like a rock, as though fast-chain'd and silent?

1788.
-----

GOD, SOUL, AND WORLD.

----- RHYMED DISTICHS.

[The Distichs, of which these are given as a specimen, are about forty in number.]

WHO trusts in God, Fears not His rod. ----- THIS truth may be by all believed: Whom God deceives, is well deceived. ----- HOW? when? and where?--No answer comes from high; Thou wait'st for the Because, and yet thou ask'st not Why? ----- IF the whole is ever to gladden thee, That whole in the smallest thing thou must see. ----- WATER its living strength first shows, When obstacles its course oppose. ----- TRANSPARENT appears the radiant air, Though steel and stone in its breast it may bear; At length they'll meet with fiery power, And metal and stones on the earth will shower. ------ WHATE'ER a living flame may surround, No longer is shapeless, or earthly bound. 'Tis now invisible, flies from earth, And hastens on high to the place of its birth.

1815.* ------ PROCEMION.

IN His blest name, who was His own creation, Who from all time makes making his vocation; The name of Him who makes our faith so bright, Love, confidence, activity, and might; In that One's name, who, named though oft He be, Unknown is ever in Reality: As far as ear can reach, or eyesight dim, Thou findest but the known resembling Him; How high so'er thy fiery spirit hovers, Its simile and type it straight discovers Onward thou'rt drawn, with feelings light and gay, Where'er thou goest, smiling is the way; No more thou numbrest, reckonest no time, Each step is infinite, each step sublime.

1816. ----- WHAT God would outwardly alone control, And on his finger whirl the mighty Whole? He loves the inner world to move, to view Nature in Him, Himself in Nature too, So that what in Him works, and is, and lives, The measure of His strength, His spirit gives.

1816. ----- WITHIN us all a universe doth dwell; And hence each people's usage laudable, That ev'ry one the Best that meets his eyes As God, yea e'en his God, doth recognise; To Him both earth and heaven surrenders he, Fears Him, and loves Him too, if that may be.

1816. ----- THE METAMORPHOSIS OF PLANTS.

THOU art confused, my beloved, at, seeing the thousandfold union

Shown in this flowery troop, over the garden dispers'd; any a name dost thou hear assign'd; one after another

Falls on thy list'ning ear, with a barbarian sound. None resembleth another, yet all their forms have a likeness;

Therefore, a mystical law is by the chorus proclaim'd; Yes, a sacred enigma! Oh, dearest friend, could I only

Happily teach thee the word, which may the mystery solve! Closely observe how the plant, by little and little progressing,

Step by step guided on, changeth to blossom and fruit! First from the seed it unravels itself, as soon as the silent

Fruit-bearing womb of the earth kindly allows Its escape, And to the charms of the light, the holy, the ever-in-motion,

Trusteth the delicate leaves, feebly beginning to shoot. Simply slumber'd the force in the seed; a germ of the future,

Peacefully lock'd in itself, 'neath the integument lay, Leaf and root, and bud, still void of colour, and shapeless;

Thus doth the kernel, while dry, cover that motionless life. Upward then strives it to swell, in gentle moisture confiding,

And, from the night where it dwelt, straightway ascendeth to light. Yet still simple remaineth its figure, when first it appeareth;

And 'tis a token like this, points out the child 'mid the plants. Soon a shoot, succeeding it, riseth on high, and reneweth,

Piling-up node upon node, ever the primitive form; Yet not ever alike: for the following leaf, as thou seest,

Ever produceth itself, fashioned in manifold ways. Longer, more indented, in points and in parts more divided,

Which. all-deform'd until now, slept in the organ below, So at length it attaineth the noble and destined perfection,

Which, in full many a tribe, fills thee with wondering awe. Many ribb'd and tooth'd, on a surface juicy and swelling,

Free and unending the shoot seemeth in fullness to be; Yet here Nature restraineth, with powerful hands, the formation,

And to a perfecter end, guideth with softness its growth, Less abundantly yielding the sap, contracting the vessels,

So that the figure ere long gentler effects doth disclose. Soon and in silence is check'd the growth of the vigorous branches,

And the rib of the stalk fuller becometh in form. Leafless, however, and quick the tenderer stem then up-springeth,

And a miraculous sight doth the observer enchant. Ranged in a circle, in numbers that now are small, and now countless,

Gather the smaller-sized leaves, close by the side of their like. Round the axis compress'd the sheltering calyx unfoldeth,

And, as the perfectest type, brilliant-hued coronals forms. Thus doth Nature bloom, in glory still nobler and fuller,

Showing, in order arranged, member on member uprear'd. Wonderment fresh dost thou feel, as soon as the stem rears the flower

Over the scaffolding frail of the alternating leaves. But this glory is only the new creation's foreteller,

Yes, the leaf with its hues feeleth the hand all divine, And on a sudden contracteth itself; the tenderest figures

Twofold as yet, hasten on, destined to blend into one. Lovingly now the beauteous pairs are standing together,

Gather'd in countless array, there where the altar is raised. Hymen hovereth o'er them, and scents delicious and mighty

Stream forth their fragrance so sweet, all things enliv'ning around. Presently, parcell'd out, unnumber'd germs are seen swelling,

Sweetly conceald in the womb, where is made perfect the fruit. Here doth Nature close the ring of her forces eternal;

Yet doth a new one, at once, cling to the one gone before, So that the chain be prolonged for ever through all generations,

And that the whole may have life, e'en as enjoy'd by each part. Now, my beloved one, turn thy gaze on the many-hued thousands

Which, confusing no more, gladden the mind as they wave. Every plant unto thee proclaimeth the laws everlasting,

Every flowered speaks louder and louder to thee; But if thou here canst decipher the mystic words of the goddess,

Everywhere will they be seen, e'en though the features are changed. Creeping insects may linger, the eager butterfly hasten,--

Plastic and forming, may man change e'en the figure decreed! Oh, then, bethink thee, as well, how out of the germ of acquaintance,

Kindly intercourse sprang, slowly unfolding its leaves; Soon how friendship with might unveil'd itself in our bosoms,

And how Amor, at length, brought forth blossom and fruit Think of the manifold ways wherein Nature hath lent to our feelings,

Silently giving them birth, either the first or the last! Yes, and rejoice in the present day! For love that is holy

Seeketh the noblest of fruits,--that where the thoughts are the same, Where the opinions agree,--that the pair may, in rapt contemplation,

Lovingly blend into one,--find the more excellent world.

1797.
-----

PROVERBS.