The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume Vi Part 3

1[22]

I have been wont to bear my head on high, Haughty and stern am I of mood and mien; Yea, though a king should gaze on me, I ween, I should not at his gaze cast down my eye.

But I will speak, dear Mother, candidly: When most puffed up my haughty mood hath been, At thy sweet presence, blissful and serene, I feel the shudder of humility.

Does thy soul all unknown my soul subdue, Thy lofty soul that pierces all things through And speeds on lightning wings to heaven's blue?

Or am I racked by what my memories tell Of frequent deeds which caused thy heart to swell-- That beauteous heart which loved me, ah! too well.

2[23]

With foolish fancy I deserted thee; I fain would search the whole world through to learn If in it I perchance could love discern, That I might love embrace right lovingly.

I sought for love as far as eye could see, My hands extending at each door in turn, Begging them not my prayer for love to spurn-- Cold hate alone they laughing gave to me.

And ever search'd I after love; yes, ever Search'd after love, but love discover'd never, And so I homeward went with troubled thought; But thou wert there to welcome me again, And, ah, what in thy dear eye floated then That was the sweet love I so long had sought.

[Ill.u.s.tration: POOR PETER _From the Painting by P. Grotjohann_]

POOR PETER[24] (1822)

1

Grete and Hans come dancing by, They shout for very glee; Poor Peter stands all silently, And white as chalk is he.

Grete and Hans were wed this morn, And s.h.i.+ne in bright array; But ah, poor Peter stands forlorn, Dressed for a working-day.

He mutters, as with wistful eyes He gazes at them still: "'Twere easy--were I not too wise-- To do myself some ill...."

2

"An aching sorrow fills my breast, My heart is like to break; It leaves me neither peace nor rest, And all for Grete's sake.

"It drives me to her side, as though She still could comfort me; But in her eyes there's something now That makes me turn and flee.

"I climb the highest hilltop where I am at least alone; And standing in the stillness there I weep and make my moan."

3

Poor Peter wanders slowly by; So pale is he, so dull and shy, The very neighbors in the street Turn round to gaze, when him they meet.

The maids speak low: "He looks, I ween, As though the grave his bed had been."

Ah no, good maids, ye should have said "The grave will soon become his bed."

He lost his sweetheart--so, may be, The grave is best for such as he; There he may sleep the years away, And rest until the Judgment-day.

THE TWO GRENADIERS[25] (1822)

To France were traveling two grenadiers, From prison in Russia returning, And when they came to the German frontiers, They hung down their heads in mourning.

There came the heart-breaking news to their ears That France was by fortune forsaken; Scattered and slain were her brave grenadiers, And Napoleon, Napoleon was taken.

Then wept together those two grenadiers O'er their country's departed glory; "Woe's me," cried one, in the midst of his tears, "My old wound--how it burns at the story!"

The other said: "The end has come, What avails any longer living Yet have I a wife and child at home, For an absent father grieving.

"Who cares for wife? Who cares for child?

Dearer thoughts in my bosom awaken; Go beg, wife and child, when with hunger wild, For Napoleon, Napoleon is taken!

"Oh, grant me, brother, my only prayer, When death my eyes is closing: Take me to France, and bury me there; In France be my ashes reposing.

"This cross of the Legion of Honor bright, Let it lie near my heart, upon me; Give me my musket in my hand, And gird my sabre on me.

"So will I lie, and arise no more, My watch like a sentinel keeping, Till I hear the cannon's thundering roar, And the squadrons above me sweeping.

"Then the Emperor comes! and his banners wave, With their eagles o'er him bending, And I will come forth, all in arms, from my grave, Napoleon, Napoleon attending!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE TWO GRENADIERS _From the Painting by P. Grotjohann_]

BELSHAZZAR[26] (1822)

To midnight now the night drew on; In slumber deep lay Babylon.

The King's house only was all aflare, For the King's wild crew were at revel there.

Up there in the King's own banquet hall, Belshazzar held royal festival.

The satraps were marshaled in glittering line And emptied their beakers of sparkling wine.

The beakers they clinked, and the satraps' hurras in the ears of the stiff-necked King rang his praise.

The King's hot cheeks were with revel dyed, The wine made swell his heart with pride.

Blind madness his haughty stomach spurred, And he slandered the G.o.dhead with sinful word,

And strutting in pride he blasphemed, the crowd Of servile courtiers applauding loud.

The King commanded with haughty stare; The slave was gone, and again was there.

Much wealth of gold on his head bare he; 'Twas reft from Jehovah's sanctuary.

And the King took hold of a sacred cup With his impious hand, and they filled it up;

And he drank to the bottom in one deep draught, And loud, the foam on his lips, he laughed: