The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume V Part 46

He dropped his eyes toward the pool, And saw within the shadows dim A dragon's jaws agape for him-- A still more fierce and dangerous foe If he should slip and fall below.

So, hanging midway of the two, He spied a cause of terror new: Where to the rock's deep crevice clung The slender root on which he swung, A little pair of mice he spied, A black and white one side by side-- First one and then the other saw The slender stem alternate gnaw.

They gnawed and bit with ceaseless toil, And from the roots they tossed the soil.

As down it ran in trickling stream, The dragon's eyes shot forth a gleam Of hungry expectation, gazed Where o'er him still the man was raised, To see how soon the bush would fall, The burden that it bore, and all.

That man in utmost fear and dread Surrounded, threatened, hard bested, In such a state of dire suspense Looked vainly round for some defense.

And as he cast his bloodshot eye First here, then there, saw hanging nigh A branch with berries ripe and red; Then longing mastered all his dread; No more the camel's rage he saw, Nor yet the lurking dragon's maw, Nor malice of the gnawing mice, When once the berries caught his eyes.

The furious beast might rage above, The dragon watch his every move, The mice gnaw on--naught heeded he, But seized the berries greedily-- In pleasing of his appet.i.te The furious beast forgotten quite.

You ask, "What man could ever yet, So foolish, all his fears forget?"

Then know, my friend, that man are you-- And see the meaning plain to view.

The dragon in the pool beneath Sets forth the yawning jaws of death; The beast from which you helpless flee Is life and all its misery.

There you must hang 'twixt life and death While in this world you draw your breath.

The mice, whose pitiless gnawing teeth Will let you to the pool beneath Fall down, a hopeless castaway, Are but the change of night and day.

The black one gnaws concealed from sight Till comes again the morning light; From dawn until the eve is gray, Ceaseless the white one gnaws away.

And, 'midst this dreadful choice of ills, Pleasure of sense your spirit fills Till you forget the terrors grim That wait to tear you limb from limb, The gnawing mice of day and night, And pay no heed to aught in sight Except to fill your mouth with fruit That in the grave-clefts has its root.

EVENING SONG[56] (1823)

I stood on the mountain summit, At the hour when the sun did set; I mark'd how it hung o'er the woodland The evening's golden net.

And, with the dew descending, A peace on the earth there fell-- And nature lay hushed in quiet, At the voice of the evening bell.

I said, "O heart, consider What silence all things keep, And with each child of the meadow Prepare thyself to sleep!

"For every flower is closing In silence its little eye; And every wave in the brooklet More softly murmureth by.

"The weary caterpillar Hath nestled beneath the weeds; All wet with dew now slumbers The dragon-fly in the reeds.

"The golden beetle hath laid him In a rose-leaf cradle to rock; Now went to their nightly shelter The shepherd and his flock.

"The lark from on high is seeking In the moistened gra.s.s her nest; The hart and the hind have laid them In their woodland haunt to rest.

"And whoso owneth a cottage To slumber hath laid him down; And he that roams among strangers In dreams shall behold his own."

And now doth a yearning seize me, At this hour of peace and love, That I cannot reach the dwelling, The home that is mine, above.

CHIDHER[57] (1824)

Chidher, the ever youthful, told: I pa.s.sed a city, bright to see; A man was culling fruits of gold, I asked him how old this town might be.

He answered, culling as before "This town stood ever in days of yore, And will stand on forevermore!"

Five hundred years from yonder day I pa.s.sed again the selfsame way,

And of the town I found no trace; A shepherd blew on a reed instead; His herd was grazing on the place.

"How long," I asked, "is the city dead?"

He answered, blowing as before "The new crop grows the old one o'er, This was my pasture evermore!"

Five hundred years from yonder day I pa.s.sed again the selfsame way.

A sea I found, the tide was full, A sailor emptied nets with cheer; And when he rested from his pull, I asked how long that sea was here.

Then laughed he with a hearty roar "As long as waves have washed this sh.o.r.e They fished here ever in days of yore."

Five hundred years from yonder day I pa.s.sed again the selfsame way.

I found a forest settlement, And o'er his axe, a tree to fell, I saw a man in labor bent.

How old this wood I bade him tell.

"'Tis everlasting, long before I lived it stood in days of yore,"

He quoth; "and shall grow evermore."

Five hundred years from yonder day I pa.s.sed again the selfsame way.

I saw a town; the market-square Was swarming with a noisy throng.

"How long," I asked, "has this town been there?

Where are wood and sea and shepherd's song?"

They cried, nor heard among the roar "This town was ever so before, And so will live forevermore!"

"Five hundred years from yonder day I want to pa.s.s the selfsame way."

AT FORTY YEARS[58] (1832)

When for forty years we've climbed the rugged mountain, We stop and backward gaze; Yonder still we see our childhood's peaceful fountain, And youth exulting strays.

One more glance behind, and then, new strength acquiring, Staff grasped, no longer stay; See, a further slope, a long one, still aspiring Ere downward turns the way!

Take a brave long breath and toward the summit hie thee-- The goal shall draw thee on; When thou think'st it least, the destined end is nigh thee-- Sudden, the journey's done!

BEFORE THE DOORS[59]

I went to knock at Riches' door; They threw me a farthing the threshold o'er.

To the door of Love did I then repair-- But fifteen others already were there.

To Honor's castle I took my flight-- They opened to none but to belted knight.

The house of Labor I sought to win-- But I heard a wailing sound within.

To the house of Content I sought the way-- But none could tell me where it lay.

One quiet house I yet could name, Where last of all, I'll admittance claim;

Many the guests that have knocked before, But still--in the grave--there's room for more.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AUGUST GRAF VON PLATEN-HALLERMUND]