The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 480

I led the bride before the shrine!

And saw the future years revealed, Gla.s.sed on my hope--one blooming field!

More wide, and widening more, were given The angel-gates disclosing heaven; Round us the lovely, mirthful troop Of children came--yet still to me The loveliest--merriest of the group The happy mother seemed to be!

Mine, by the bonds that bind us more Than all the oaths the priest before; Mine, by the concord of content, When heart with heart is music-blent; When, as sweet sounds in unison, Two lives harmonious melt in one!

When--sudden (O the villain!)--came Upon the scene a mind profound!-- A bel esprit, who whispered "Fame,"

And shook my card-house to the ground.

What have I now instead of all The Eden lost of hearth and hall?

What comforts for the heaven bereft?

What of the younger angel's left?

A sort of intellectual mule, Man's stubborn mind in woman's shape, Too hard to love, too frail to rule-- A sage engrafted on an ape!

To what she calls the realm of mind, She leaves that throne, her s.e.x, to crawl, The cestus and the charm resigned-- A public gaping-show to all!

She blots from beauty's golden book A name 'mid nature's choicest few, To gain the glory of a nook In Doctor Dunderhead's Review.

WRITTEN IN A YOUNG LADY'S ALb.u.m.

Sweet friend, the world, like some fair infant blessed, Radiant with sportive grace, around thee plays; Yet 'tis not as depicted in thy breast-- Not as within thy soul's fair gla.s.s, its rays Are mirrored. The respectful fealty That my heart's n.o.bleness hath won for thee, The miracles thou workest everywhere, The charms thy being to this life first lent,-- To it, mere charms to reckon thou'rt content, To us, they seem humanity so fair.

The witchery sweet of ne'er-polluted youth, The talisman of innocence and truth-- Him I would see, who these to scorn can dare!

Thou revellest joyously in telling o'er The blooming flowers that round thy path are strown,-- The glad, whom thou hast made so evermore,-- The souls that thou hast conquered for thine own.

In thy deceit so blissful be thou glad!

Ne'er let a waking disenchantment sad Hurl thee despairing from thy dream's proud flight!

Like the fair flowerets that thy beds perfume, Observe them, but ne'er touch them as they bloom,-- Plant them, but only for the distant sight.

Created only to enchant the eye, In faded beauty at thy feet they'll lie, The nearer thee, the nearer their long night!

POEMS OF THE THIRD PERIOD.

THE MEETING.

I see her still--by her fair train surrounded, The fairest of them all, she took her place; Afar I stood, by her bright charms confounded, For, oh! they dazzled with their heavenly grace.

With awe my soul was filled--with bliss unbounded, While gazing on her softly radiant face; But soon, as if up-borne on wings of fire, My fingers 'gan to sweep the sounding lyre.

The thoughts that rushed across me in that hour, The words I sang, I'd fain once more invoke; Within, I felt a new-awakened power, That each emotion of my bosom spoke.

My soul, long time enchained in sloth's dull bower, Through all its fetters now triumphant broke, And brought to light unknown, harmonious numbers, Which in its deepest depths, had lived in slumbers.

And when the chords had ceased their gentle sighing, And when my soul rejoined its mortal frame, I looked upon her face and saw love vieing, In every feature, with her maiden shame.

And soon my ravished heart seemed heavenward flying, When her soft whisper o'er my senses came.

The blissful seraphs' choral strains alone Can glad mine ear again with that sweet tone,

Of that fond heart, which, pining silently, Ne'er ventures to express its feelings lowly, The real and modest worth is known to me-- 'Gainst cruel fate I'll guard its cause so holy.

Most blest of all, the meek one's lot shall be-- Love's flowers by love's own hand are gathered solely-- The fairest prize to that fond heart is due, That feels it, and that beats responsive, too!

THE SECRET.

She sought to breathe one word, but vainly; Too many listeners were nigh; And yet my timid glance read plainly The language of her speaking eye.

Thy silent glades my footstep presses, Thou fair and leaf-embosomed grove!

Conceal within thy green recesses From mortal eye our sacred love!

Afar with strange discordant noises, The busy day is echoing; And 'mid the hollow hum of voices, I hear the heavy hammer ring.

'Tis thus that man, with toil ne'er ending Extorts from heaven his daily bread; Yet oft unseen the G.o.ds are sending The gifts of fortune on his head!

Oh, let mankind discover never How true love fills with bliss our hearts They would but crush our joy forever, For joy to them no glow imparts.

Thou ne'er wilt from the world obtain it-- 'Tis never captured save as prey; Thou needs must strain each nerve to gain it, E'er envy dark a.s.serts her sway.

The hours of night and stillness loving, It comes upon us silently-- Away with hasty footstep moving Soon as it sees a treacherous eye.

Thou gentle stream, soft circlets weaving, A watery barrier cast around, And, with thy waves in anger heaving, Guard from each foe this holy ground!

THE a.s.sIGNATION. [14]

Hear I the creaking gate unclose?

The gleaming latch uplifted?

No--'twas the wind that, whirring, rose, Amidst the poplars drifted!

Adorn thyself, thou green leaf-bowering roof, Destined the bright one's presence to receive, For her, a shadowy palace-hall aloof With holy night, thy boughs familiar weave.

And ye sweet flatteries of the delicate air, Awake and sport her rosy cheek around, When their light weight the tender feet shall bear, When beauty comes to pa.s.sion's trysting-ground.

Hus.h.!.+ what amidst the copses crept-- So swiftly by me now?

No-'twas the startled bird that swept The light leaves of the bough!

Day, quench thy torch! come, ghostlike, from on high, With thy loved silence, come, thou haunting Eve, Broaden below thy web of purple dye, Which lulled boughs mysterious round us weave.

For love's delight, enduring listeners none, The froward witness of the light will flee; Hesper alone, the rosy silent one, Down-glancing may our sweet familiar be!

What murmur in the distance spoke, And like a whisper died?

No--'twas the swan that gently broke In rings the silver tide!

Soft to my ear there comes a music-flow; In gleesome murmur glides the waterfall; To zephyr's kiss the flowers are bending low; Through life goes joy, exchanging joy with all.

Tempt to the touch the grapes--the blus.h.i.+ng fruit, [15]

Voluptuous swelling from the leaves that bide; And, drinking fever from my cheek, the mute Air sleeps all liquid in the odor-tide!

Hark! through the alley hear I now A footfall? Comes the maiden?

No,--'twas the fruit slid from the bough, With its own richness laden!

Day's l.u.s.trous eyes grow heavy in sweet death, And pale and paler wane his jocund hues, The flowers too gentle for his glowing breath, Ope their frank beauty to the twilight dews.

The bright face of the moon is still and lone, Melts in vast ma.s.ses the world silently; Slides from each charm the slowly-loosening zone; And round all beauty, veilless, roves the eye.

What yonder seems to glimmer?

Her white robe's glancing hues?

No,--'twas the column's s.h.i.+mmer Athwart the darksome yews!