The Poems of Schiller - Third period Part 21

O youth! and wherefore steals the tear into thy dreaming eye?

Alas! they seek in vain within the charm around bestowed, The tender fruit is ripened now, and bows to earth its load.

And restless goes the youth to feed his heart upon its fire, All, where the gentle breath to cool the flame of young desire!

And now they meet--the holy love that leads them lights their eyes, And still behind the winged G.o.d the winged victory flies.

O heavenly love!--'tis thy sweet task the human flowers to bind, For ay apart, and yet by thee forever intertwined!

LOVE AND DESIRE.

Rightly said, Schlosser! Man loves what he has; what he has not, desireth; None but the wealthy minds love; poor minds desire alone.

THE BARDS OF OLDEN TIME.

Say, where is now that glorious race, where now are the singers Who, with the accents of life, listening nations enthralled, Sung down from heaven the G.o.ds, and sung mankind up to heaven, And who the spirit bore up high on the pinions of song?

Ah! the singers still live; the actions only are wanting, And to awake the glad harp, only a welcoming ear.

Happy bards of a happy world! Your life-teeming accents Flew round from mouth unto mouth, gladdening every race.

With the devotion with which the G.o.ds were received, each one welcomed That which the genius for him, plastic and breathing, then formed.

With the glow of the song were inflamed the listener's senses, And with the listener's sense, nourished the singer the glow-- Nourished and cleansed it,--fortunate one! for whom in the voices Of the people still clear echoed the soul of the song, And to whom from without appeared, in life, the great G.o.dhead, Whom the bard of these days scarcely can feel in his breast.

JOVE TO HERCULES.

'Twas not my nectar made thy strength divine, But 'twas thy strength which made my nectar thine!

THE ANTIQUES AT PARIS.

That which Grecian art created, Let the Frank, with joy elated, Bear to Seine's triumphant strand, And in his museums glorious Show the trophies all-victorious To his wondering fatherland.

They to him are silent ever, Into life's fresh circle never From their pedestals come down.

He alone e'er holds the Muses Through whose breast their power diffuses,-- To the Vandal they're but stone!

THEKLA.

A SPIRIT VOICE.

Whither was it that my spirit wended When from thee my fleeting shadow moved?

Is not now each earthly conflict ended?

Say,--have I not lived,--have I not loved?

Art thou for the nightingales inquiring Who entranced thee in the early year With their melody so joy-inspiring?

Only whilst they loved they lingered here.

Is the lost one lost to me forever?

Trust me, with him joyfully I stray There, where naught united souls can sever, And where every tear is wiped away.

And thou, too, wilt find us in yon heaven, When thy love with our love can compare; There my father dwells, his sins forgiven,-- Murder foul can never reach him there.

And he feels that him no vision cheated When he gazed upon the stars on high; For as each one metes, to him 'tis meted; Who believes it, hath the Holy nigh.

Faith is kept in those blest regions yonder With the feelings true that ne'er decay.

Venture thou to dream, then, and to wander n.o.blest thoughts oft lie in childlike play.

THE ANTIQUE TO THE NORTHERN WANDERER.

Thou hast crossed over torrents, and swung through wide-spreading ocean,-- Over the chain of the Alps dizzily bore thee the bridge, That thou might'st see me from near, and learn to value my beauty, Which the voice of renown spreads through the wandering world.

And now before me thou standest,--canst touch my altar so holy,-- But art thou nearer to me, or am I nearer to thee?

THE ILIAD.

Tear forever the garland of Homer, and number the fathers Of the immortal work, that through all time will survive!

Yet it has but one mother, and bears that mother's own feature, 'Tis thy features it bears,--Nature,--thy features eterne!

POMPEII AND HERCULANEUM.

What wonder this?--we ask the lympid well, O earth! of thee--and from thy solemn womb What yieldest thou?--is there life in the abyss-- Doth a new race beneath the lava dwell?

Returns the past, awakening from the tomb?

Rome--Greece!--Oh, come!--Behold--behold! for this!

Our living world--the old Pompeii sees; And built anew the town of Dorian Hercules!

House upon house--its silent halls once more Opes the broad portico!--Oh, haste and fill Again those halls with life!--Oh, pour along Through the seven-vista'd theatre the throng!

Where are ye, mimes?--Come forth, the steel prepare For crowned Atrides, or Orestes haunt, Ye choral Furies, with your dismal chant!

The arch of triumph!--whither leads it?--still Behold the forum!--on the curule chair Where the majestic image? Lictors, where Your solemn fasces?--Place upon his throne The Praetor--here the witness lead, and there Bid the accuser stand

--O G.o.d! how lone The clear streets glitter in the quiet day-- The footpath by the doors winding its lifeless way!

The roofs arise in shelter, and around The desolate Atrium--every gentle room Wears still the dear familiar smile of home!

Open the doors--the shops--on dreary night Let l.u.s.ty day laugh down in jocund light!

See the trim benches ranged in order!--See The marble-tesselated floor--and there The very walls are glittering livingly With their clear colors. But the artist, where!

Sure but this instant he hath laid aside Pencil and colors!--Glittering on the eye Swell the rich fruits, and bloom the flowers!--See all Art's gentle wreaths still fresh upon the wall!