The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 500

TO PROSELYTIZERS.

"Give me only a fragment of earth beyond the earth's limits,"-- So the G.o.dlike 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 pa.s.sion'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 G.o.ds 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-l.u.s.t, rude and wild; Eris rages, hoa.r.s.ely shouting, Where the vanished graces smiled.

But woman, the soft one, persuasively prayeth-- Of the life [48] 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 rus.h.i.+ng-- All the fuller flows it gus.h.i.+ng 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 h.e.l.l 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, n.o.bly 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 ap.r.o.n seemed a n.o.bler 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. [49]

THE MERCHANT.

Where sails the s.h.i.+p?--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 G.o.ds, 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!