The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 522

Say! shall peace 'neath crowns be now my theme?

Shall I boast, ye princes, that ye dream?-- While the worm the monarch's heart may tear, Golden sleep twines round the Moor by stealth, As he, at the palace, guards the wealth, Guards--but covets ne'er.

Show how kings and galley-slaves, my Muse, Lovingly one single pillow use,-- How their lightnings flatter, when surpressed, When their humors have no power to harm, When their mimic minotaurs are calm, And--the lions rest!

Up, thou Hecate! with thy magic seal Make the barred-up grave its wealth reveal,-- Hark! its doors like thunder open spring; When death's dismal blast is heard to sigh, And the hair on end stands fearfully, Princes' bliss I sing!

Do I hear the strand, the coast, detect Where your wishes' haughty fleet was wrecked, Where was stayed your greatness' proud career That they ne'er with glory may grow warm, Night, with black and terror-spreading arm, Forges monarchs here.

On the death-chest sadly gleams the crown, With its heavy load of pearls weighed down, And the sceptre, needed now no more.

In what splendor is the mould arrayed!

Yet but worms are with the body paid, That--the world watched o'er.

Haughty plants within that humble bed See how death their pomp decayed and fled With unblus.h.i.+ng ribaldry besets!

They who ruled o'er north and east and west Suffer now his ev'ry nauseous jest, And--no sultan threats?

Leap for joy, ye stubborn dumb, to-day, And your heavy slumber shake away!

From the battle, victory upsprings!

Hearken to the trump's exulting song!

Ye are wors.h.i.+pped by the shouting throng!-- Rouse ye, then, ye kings!

Seven sleepers!--to the clarion hark!

How it rings, and how the fierce dogs bark!

Shouts from out a thousand barrels whizz; Eager steeds are neighing for the wood,-- Soon the bristly boar rolls in his blood,-- Yours the triumph is!

But what now?--Are even princes dumb?

Tow'rd me scornful echoes ninefold come, Stealing through the vault's terrific gloom-- Sleep a.s.sails the page by slow degrees, And Madonna gives to you the keys Of--her sleeping-room.

Not an answer--hushed and still is all-- Does the veil, then, e'en on monarchs fall, Which enshrouds their humble flatt'rers glance?

And ye ask for wors.h.i.+p in the dust, Since the blind jade, Fate, a world has thrust In your purse, perchance?

And ye clatter, giant puppet troops, Marshalled in your proudly childish groups, Like the juggler on the opera scene?-- Though the sound may please the vulgar ear, Yet the skilful, filled with sadness, jeer Powers so great, but mean.

Let your towering shame be hid from sight In the garment of a sovereign's right, From the ambush of the throne outspring!

Tremble, though, before the voice of song Through the purple, vengeance will, ere long, Strike down e'en a king!

THE SATYR AND MY MUSE.

An aged satyr sought Around my Muse to pa.s.s, Attempting to pay court, And eyed her fondly through his gla.s.s.

By Phoebus' golden torch, By Luna's pallid light, Around her temple's porch Crept the unhappy sharp-eared wight;

And warbled many a lay, Her beauty's praise to sing, And fiercely sc.r.a.ped away On his discordant fiddle-string.

With tears, too, swelled his eyes, As large as nuts, or larger; He gasped forth heavy sighs, Like music from Silenus' charger.

The Muse sat still, and played Within her grotto fair, And peevishly surveyed Signor Adonis Goatsfoot there.

"Who ever would kiss thee, Thou ugly, dirty dunce?

Wouldst thou a gallant be, As Midas was Apollo once?

"Speak out, old horned boor What charms canst thou display?

Thou'rt swarthy as a Moor, And s.h.a.ggy as a beast of prey.

"I'm by a bard adored In far Teutonia's land; To him, who strikes the chord, I'm linked in firm and loving band."

She spoke, and straightway fled The spoiler,--he pursued her, And, by his pa.s.sion led, Soon caught her, shouted, and thus wooed her:

"Thou prudish one, stay, stay!

And hearken unto me!

Thy poet, I dare say, Repents the pledge he gave thee.

"Behold this pretty thing,-- No merit would I claim,-- Its weight I often fling On many a clown's back, to his shame.

"His sharpness it increases, And spices his discourse, Instilling learned theses, When mounted on his hobby-horse

"The best of songs are known, Thanks to this heavy whip Yet fool's blood 'tis alone We see beneath its lashes drip.

"This lash, then, shall be his, If thou'lt give me a smack; Then thou mayest hasten, miss, Upon thy German sweetheart's track."

The Muse, with purpose sly, Ere long agreed to yield-- The satyr said good-by, And now the lash I wield!

And I won't drop it here, Believe in what I say!

The kisses of one's dear One does not lightly throw away.

They kindle raptures sweet, But fools ne'er know their flame!

The gentle Muse will kneel at honor's feet, But cudgels those who mar her fame.

THE PEASANTS. [67]

Look outside, good friend, I pray!

Two whole mortal hours Dogs and I've out here to-day Waited, by the powers!

Rain comes down as from a spout, Doomsday-storms rage round about,

Dripping are my hose; Drenched are coat and mantle too, Coat and mantle, both just new, Wretched plight, heaven knows!

Pretty stir's abroad to-day; Look outside, good friend, I pray!

Ay, the devil! look outside!

Out is blown my lamp,-- Gloom and night the heavens now hide, Moon and stars decamp.

Stumbling over stock and stone, Jerkin, coat, I've torn, ochone!

Let me pity beg Hedges, bushes, all around, Here a ditch, and there a mound, Breaking arm and leg.

Gloom and night the heavens now hide Ay, the devil! look outside!