Kitobni o'qish: «The Poems of Schiller — Third period», sahifa 11

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 ³⁴ 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. ³⁵
 

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. ³⁶

 
   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!