The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 499

It is not the daylight that fills with its flood The sky!

What a clamor awaking Roars up through the street, What a h.e.l.l-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-rus.h.i.+ng The engines are gus.h.i.+ng, 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 cas.e.m.e.nts 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 wors.h.i.+pped 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 ma.s.s 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 l.u.s.ty-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 h.e.l.l, 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-s.h.i.+ning, 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 fas.h.i.+oned 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds 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.