The Trumpeter of Sakkingen Part 2

Through gaps in the forest I see s.h.i.+ning bright The snow-peaks of Switzerland's Giants, The steep Finsteraarhorn's towering height The Jungfrau dazzling with diamonds; And as to the west I turn my gaze, Blue ridge above ridge is unfolding: And, in the evening's golden haze, I'm the Vosges' great Belchen beholding.

When now to Sakkingen downward I hie, Through the dark green forest is gleaming The silvery lake, like the earth's clear eye, Looking upward, invitingly beaming.

Gneiss rocks high o'er the gra.s.sy sh.o.r.e rise; And placed so as best to show it, Inscribed on a rock this meets mine eyes: "Sakkingen, the town, to her Poet!"

And now, as by Bally's castle I stand, There my Trumpeter also stands blowing, Cast finely in bronze by a master's hand.

That they know us well here all are showing; For, when I was going to pay at the inn, The kind hostess refused quite indignant.

'Tis clear, in the town of St. Fridolin, O'er us a bright star s.h.i.+nes benignant.

The Trumpeter bravely has blown his way Through much that his patience was tasking; And the publisher also his joy doth betray: For the author's likeness he's asking.

Accept then this book, my friends, as before, With kind and growing affection; When the Schwarzwald's Poet shall be no more, Still hold him in fond recollection.

Carlsruhe, _October_, 1876.

THE

TRUMPETER OF SaKKINGEN.

FIRST PART.

HOW YOUNG WERNER RODE INTO THE SCHWARZWALD.

To the Schwarzwald soars my song, up To the Feldberg, where the last small Cl.u.s.ter of its comrade mountains Toward the south are boldly looking, And, all mailed in fir-tree armour, Keep good watch there on the Rhine.

Be thou greeted, peaceful forest!

Be ye greeted, ancient pine-trees, Ye, who oft beneath your shadow Me, the weary one, have sheltered.

Oddly twisted, spread your roots down Deep within the earth's vast bowels, Strength from out those depths imbibing, While to us is closed the entrance.

And you envy not a transient Human being's transient doings.

Only smile;--his feast at Christmas You adorn with your young scions.

In your st.u.r.dy trunks lives also Conscious life-sustaining power.

Resin through your veins is coursing; And your dreamy thoughts are surging Slow and heavy, upward, downward.

Oft I saw the clear and gummy Tears which from your bark were oozing, When a woodman's wanton axe-stroke Rudely felled some loved companion.

Oft I heard your topmost summits Spirit-like together whisper.

Then there breathed throughout my soul a Sweet mysterious solemn dreaming.

Don't find fault then, if my song now Soars within the forest shades.

'Twas in March: still played the Winter Masquerade; the branches, laden With fantastical ice-crystals, To the ground were lowly drooping; Here and there, out of Earth's bosom Tender plants their heads were thrusting-- Wood-anemones and cowslips.

As the patriarch, old Noah, At the time of the great Deluge, Sent the dove to reconnoitre: So with winter's ice sore burdened, With impatience sends the Earth forth These first flowers with a question, Asking, whether the oppressor Has not come to his last gasp yet.

Bl.u.s.tering from the Feldberg's summit Now old Master Storm is rus.h.i.+ng, And rejoices, through the dark dense Forest he again is blowing; Says: "I greet you, ancient comrades; Why I come, you know the reason-- They believe, poor mortal children, When they see me tearing, s.n.a.t.c.hing Roughly some old hat away, I am only there to frighten.

That would be a pretty business, Breaking chimneys, smas.h.i.+ng windows, Scattering through the air some thatchings, Tearing some old woman's clothing Till she signs the cross in praying!

But you fir-trees know me better, Me, the fair Spring's thorough cleaner, Who what's mouldy sweeps afar off-- Who what's rotten blows to pieces-- Who the earth's domain well cleanses, That his radiant Lord and Master Worthily may make his entrance.

And you, n.o.ble forest comrades, Who so oft, with bronze-like foreheads, Bravely have withstood my rudeness, Ye whose trunks I have to thank for Many knocks against my skull-bone, Ye alone shall hear my secret: Soon the Spring himself he cometh, And then, when the buds are bursting, Lark and blackbird sing their carols, And with fervent heat the Spring sun Brightly on your heads is s.h.i.+ning, Then remember me, the Storm-wind, Who to-day, with boisterous fury As his harbinger swept past."

Speaking thus, he shook the tree-tops With great roughness; boughs are snapping, Branches falling, and a thick, fine Rain of pine-leaves crackles downward.

But the fir-trees, quite indignant, Took small notice of this homage.

From their summits rang the answer, Rather scolding, I should call it: "You unmannerly rude fellow!

We will have no business with you, And regret much that the finest Lords have oft the rudest servants.

To the Alps begone directly, There is sport fit for your humour; There stand walls of rock all barren; Entertain yourself with them there."

Now, while thus the storm and fir-trees Held such converse with each other, Could be heard a horse's footfall.

Toiling through the snow-piled wood-path Seeks his way a weary horseman; Gaily flutters in the storm-wind, To and fro, his long gray mantle, His fair curling locks are waving, And, from out the c.o.c.ked-up hat there Boldly nods a heron's feather.

On his lips was just appearing Such a downy beard as ladies Much admire, because it showeth That its bearer is a man, still One whose kisses will not wound them.

But not many pretty lips had Felt the soft touch of this beard yet.

Which, as if for fun and mischief, Snow and ice now decked with crystals.

In his clear blue eyes were glowing Warmth and mildness, earnest meaning, And you could not doubt his fist would Strike a valiant blow, when needed, With the heavy basket-hilted Sword, which, worn suspended by a Black belt from his shoulder, well-nigh Grazed the ground as he was riding.

Wound around his riding-doublet Was a sash, to which was tied the Richly-gilded s.h.i.+ning trumpet, Which he often with his mantle Sheltered from the falling snow-flakes; But, whene'er the wind pierced through it, Bringing forth tones shrill and wailing; Then around his mouth there played a Sweet strange smile of melancholy.

Silent through the forest's thicket On he rode, while often roving Were his glances--as the case is, When a wanderer for the first time Over unknown roads is travelling.

Rough the path--the poor horse often In the snow was nearly sinking, And o'er gnarl'd and tangled branches Of the knotted pine-roots stumbling.

And the rider, in ill-humour, Said: "Sometimes it is quite tedious, Through the world alone to travel.

There are times, 'mid gloomy forests, When one longeth for companions.

Since I bade farewell this morning To the good monks of St. Blasien, Lonely was the road and dreary.

Scattered here and there, a peasant, Through the snow-storm running swiftly, Hardly did my greeting notice.

Then a pair of coal-black ravens, Who with hoa.r.s.e discordant croakings, O'er a dead mole fiercely quarrelled; For the past two hours, however, I not once have had the honour To behold one living being.

And in this lone forest district, Where the lofty snow-clad pine-trees Look as if in shrouds enveloped, I should like to have some comrades.

Were they even rogues or gipsies, Or those two suspicious fellows Who escorted the old knight once Through the forest's gloom and thicket; Then appeared as Death and Devil, Grinning in his face with scorn!

I should rather ride with them now-- Rather fight them, or play lively Dances for them, than so lonely Thus to trot through this dense forest."

All comes to an end, however, Even riding through the forests.

Round the trunks it grew much lighter, Storm and snow-clouds were receding, And the blue sky smiled benignant Through the dense shade of the pine-woods.

Thus the miner, looking upward.

Sees, far at the pit's mouth s.h.i.+ning.

Like a star, the distant daylight, Which he greets with joyful shouting.

Likewise such a cheerful feeling Brightens up our riders face.

So he reached the forest's border, And his eyes, so long restricted By dark woods to narrow prospects, Gladly swept the wide horizon.

O how lovely woods and fields lay!

Green meads in the narrow valley, Straw-thatched huts, low-roofed and mossy.

And the modest village steeple; Deep below, where dusky forests Stretch along unto the lowlands, Like a long bright streak of silver, Takes the Rhine his westward course.

Far off from the island glisten Battlements and lofty houses, And the minster's two tall spires; While beyond, in misty distance s.h.i.+ning, rise up unto Heaven Snowy peaks of giant mountains, Guardians of Helvetia's soil.

As the pallid ardent thinker's Eye doth glow and cheek doth redden, When a thought, new and creative, Through his brain has flashed like lightning, So the golden light of evening Glows upon the Alpine Giants.