The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 477

Deaf to the joys she gives-- Blind to the pomp of which she is possessed-- Unconscious of the spiritual power that lives Around, and rules her--by our bliss unblessed-- Dull to the art that colors or creates, Like the dead timepiece, G.o.dless nature creeps Her plodding round, and, by the leaden weights, The slavish motion keeps.

To-morrow to receive New life, she digs her proper grave to-day; And icy moons with weary sameness weave From their own light their fulness and decay.

Home to the poet's land the G.o.ds are flown, Light use in them that later world discerns, Which, the diviner leading-strings outgrown, On its own axle turns.

Home! and with them are gone The hues they gazed on and the tones they heard; Life's beauty and life's melody:--alone Broods o'er the desolate void, the lifeless word; Yet rescued from time's deluge, still they throng Unseen the Pindus they were wont to cherish: All, that which gains immortal life in song, To mortal life must peris.h.!.+

RESIGNATION.

Yes! even I was in Arcadia born, And, in mine infant ears, A vow of rapture was by Nature sworn;-- Yes! even I was in Arcadia born, And yet my short spring gave me only--tears!

Once blooms, and only once, life's youthful May; For me its bloom hath gone.

The silent G.o.d--O brethren, weep to-day-- The silent G.o.d hath quenched my torch's ray, And the vain dream hath flown.

Upon thy darksome bridge, Eternity, I stand e'en now, dread thought!

Take, then, these joy-credentials back from me!

Unopened I return them now to thee, Of happiness, alas, know naught!

Before Thy throne my mournful cries I vent, Thou Judge, concealed from view!

To yonder star a joyous saying went With judgment's scales to rule us thou art sent, And call'st thyself Requiter, too!

Here,--say they,--terrors on the bad alight, And joys to greet the virtuous spring.

The bosom's windings thou'lt expose to sight, Riddle of Providence wilt solve aright, And reckon with the suffering!

Here to the exile be a home outspread, Here end the meek man's th.o.r.n.y path of strife!

A G.o.dlike child, whose name was Truth, they said, Known but to few, from whom the many fled, Restrained the ardent bridle of my life.

"It shall be thine another life to live,-- Thy youth to me surrender!

To thee this surety only can I give"-- I took the surety in that life to live; And gave to her each youthful joy so tender.

"Give me the woman precious to thy heart, Give up to me thy Laura!

Beyond the grave will usury pay the smart."-- I wept aloud, and from my bleeding heart With resignation tore her.

"The obligation's drawn upon the dead!"

Thus laughed the world in scorn; "The lying one, in league with despots dread, For truth, a phantom palmed on thee instead, Thou'lt be no more, when once this dream has gone!"

Shamelessly scoffed the mockers' serpent-band "A dream that but prescription can admit Dost dread? Where now thy G.o.d's protecting hand, (The sick world's Saviour with such cunning planned), Borrowed by human need of human wit?"

"What future is't that graves to us reveal?

What the eternity of thy discourse?

Honored because dark veils its form conceal, The giant-shadows of the awe we feel, Viewed in the hollow mirror of remorse!"

"An image false of shapes of living mould, (Time's very mummy, she!) Whom only Hope's sweet balm hath power to hold Within the chambers of the grave so cold,-- Thy fever calls this immortality!"

"For empty hopes,--corruption gives the lie-- Didst thou exchange what thou hadst surely done?

Six thousand years sped death in silence by,-- His corpse from out the grave e'er mounted high, That mention made of the Requiting One?"

I saw time fly to reach thy distant sh.o.r.e, I saw fair Nature lie A shrivelled corpse behind him evermore,-- No dead from out the grave then sought to soar Yet in that Oath divine still trusted I.

My ev'ry joy to thee I've sacrificed, I throw me now before thy judgment-throne; The many's scorn with boldness I've despised,-- Only--thy gifts by me were ever prized,-- I ask my wages now, Requiting One!

"With equal love I love each child of mine!"

A genius hid from sight exclaimed.

"Two flowers," he cried, "ye mortals, mark the sign,-- Two flowers to greet the Searcher wise entwine,-- Hope and Enjoyment they are named."

"Who of these flowers plucks one, let him ne'er yearn To touch the other sister's bloom.

Let him enjoy, who has no faith; eterne As earth, this truth!--Abstain, who faith can learn!

The world's long story is the world's own doom."

"Hope thou hast felt,--thy wages, then, are paid; Thy faith 'twas formed the rapture pledged to thee.

Thou might'st have of the wise inquiry made,-- The minutes thou neglectest, as they fade, Are given back by no eternity!"

THE CONFLICT.

No! I this conflict longer will not wage, The conflict duty claims--the giant task;-- Thy spells, O virtue, never can a.s.suage The heart's wild fire--this offering do not ask

True, I have sworn--a solemn vow have sworn, That I myself will curb the self within; Yet take thy wreath, no more it shall be worn-- Take back thy wreath, and leave me free to sin.

Rent be the contract I with thee once made;-- She loves me, loves me--forfeit be the crown!

Blessed he who, lulled in rapture's dreamy shade, Glides, as I glide, the deep fall gladly down.

She sees the worm that my youth's bloom decays, She sees my spring-time wasted as it flees; And, marvelling at the rigor that gainsays The heart's sweet impulse, my reward decrees.

Distrust this angel purity, fair soul!

It is to guilt thy pity armeth me; Could being lavish its unmeasured whole, It ne'er could give a gift to rival thee!

Thee--the dear guilt I ever seek to shun, O tyranny of fate, O wild desires!

My virtue's only crown can but be won In that last breath--when virtue's self expires!

THE ARTISTS.

How gracefully, O man, with thy palm-bough, Upon the waning century standest thou, In proud and n.o.ble manhood's prime, With unlocked senses, with a spirit freed, Of firmness mild,--though silent, rich in deed, The ripest son of Time, Through meekness great, through precepts strong, Through treasures rich, that time had long Hid in thy bosom, and through reason free,-- Master of Nature, who thy fetters loves, And who thy strength in thousand conflicts proves, And from the desert soared in pride with thee!

Flushed with the glow of victory, Never forget to prize the hand That found the weeping orphan child Deserted on life's barren strand, And left a prey to hazard wild,-- That, ere thy spirit-honor saw the day, Thy youthful heart watched over silently, And from thy tender bosom turned away Each thought that might have stained its purity; That kind one ne'er forget who, as in sport, Thy youth to n.o.ble aspirations trained, And who to thee in easy riddles taught The secret how each virtue might be gained; Who, to receive him back more perfect still, E'en into strangers' arms her favorite gave-- Oh, may'st thou never with degenerate will, Humble thyself to be her abject slave!

In industry, the bee the palm may bear; In skill, the worm a lesson may impart; With spirits blest thy knowledge thou dost share, But thou, O man, alone hast art!

Only through beauty's morning gate Didst thou the land of knowledge find.

To merit a more glorious fate, In graces trains itself the mind.

What thrilled thee through with trembling blessed, When erst the Muses swept the chord, That power created in thy breast, Which to the mighty spirit soared.