Kitabı oku: «The Poems of Schiller — First period», sayfa 5

THE FUGITIVE

 
   The air is perfumed with the morning's fresh breeze,
    From the bush peer the sunbeams all purple and bright,
   While they gleam through the clefts of the dark-waving trees,
    And the cloud-crested mountains are golden with light.
 
 
   With joyful, melodious, ravishing, strain,
    The lark, as he wakens, salutes the glad sun,
   Who glows in the arms of Aurora again,
    And blissfully smiling, his race 'gins to run.
 
 
        All hail, light of day!
        Thy sweet gushing ray
   Pours down its soft warmth over pasture and field;
        With hues silver-tinged
        The meadows are fringed,
   And numberless suns in the dewdrop revealed.
 
 
        Young Nature invades
        The whispering shades,
     Displaying each ravishing charm;
        The soft zephyr blows,
        And kisses the rose,
     The plain is sweet-scented with balm.
 
 
   How high from yon city the smoke-clouds ascend!
   Their neighing, and snorting, and bellowing blend
        The horses and cattle;
        The chariot-wheels rattle,
   As down to the valley they take their mad way;
     And even the forest where life seems to move,
     The eagle, and falcon, and hawk soar above,
   And flutter their pinions, in heaven's bright ray.
 
 
        In search of repose
        From my heart-rending woes,
     Oh, where shall my sad spirit flee?
        The earth's smiling face,
        With its sweet youthful grace,
     A tomb must, alas, be for me!
 
 
   Arise, then, thou sunlight of morning, and fling
    O'er plain and o'er forest thy purple-dyed beams!
   Thou twilight of evening, all noiselessly sing
    In melody soft to the world as it dreams!
 
 
   Ah, sunlight of morning, to me thou but flingest
    Thy purple-dyed beams o'er the grave of the past!
   Ah, twilight of evening, thy strains thou but singest
    To one whose deep slumbers forever must last!
 

TO MINNA

 
   Do I dream? can I trust to my eye?
    My sight sure some vapor must cover?
   Or, there, did my Minna pass by —
    My Minna — and knew not her lover?
   On the arm of the coxcomb she crossed,
    Well the fan might its zephyr bestow;
   Herself in her vanity lost,
    That wanton my Minna? — Ah, no!
 
 
   In the gifts of my love she was dressed,
    My plumes o'er her summer hat quiver;
   The ribbons that flaunt in her breast
    Might bid her — remember the giver!
   And still do they bloom on thy bosom,
    The flowerets I gathered for thee!
   Still as fresh is the leaf of each blossom,
    'Tis the heart that has faded from me!
 
 
   Go and take, then, the incense they tender;
   Go, the one that adored thee forget!
   Go, thy charms to the feigner surrender,
   In my scorn is my comforter yet!
   Go, for thee with what trust and belief
   There beat not ignobly a heart
   That has strength yet to strive with the grief
   To have worshipped the trifler thou art!
 
 
   Thy beauty thy heart hath betrayed —
    Thy beauty — shame, Minna, to thee!
   To-morrow its glory will fade,
    And its roses all withered will be!
   The swallows that swarm in the sun
    Will fly when the north winds awaken,
   The false ones thine autumn will shun,
    For whom thou the true hast forsaken!
 
 
   'Mid the wrecks of the charms in December,
    I see thee alone in decay,
   And each spring shall but bid thee remember
    How brief for thyself was the May!
   Then they who so wantonly flock
    To the rapture thy kiss can impart,
   Shall scoff at thy winter, and mock
    Thy beauty as wrecked as thy heart!
 
 
   Thy beauty thy heart hath betrayed —
    Thy beauty — shame, Minna, to thee
   To-morrow its glory will fade —
    And its roses all withered will be!
   O, what scorn for thy desolate years
    Shall I feel! — God forbid it in me!
   How bitter will then be the tears
    Shed, Minna, O Minna, for thee!
 

THE FLOWERS

 
   Ye offspring of the morning sun,
    Ye flowers that deck the smiling plain,
   Your lives, in joy and bliss begun,
    In Nature's love unchanged remain.
   With hues of bright and godlike splendor
   Sweet Flora graced your forms so tender,
    And clothed ye in a garb of light;
   Spring's lovely children weep forever,
   For living souls she gave ye never,
    And ye must dwell in endless night?
 
 
   The nightingale and lark still sing
    In your tranced ears the bliss of love;
   The toying sylphs, on airy wing,
    Around your fragrant bosoms rove,
   Of yore, Dione's daughter ⁶ twining
   In garlands sweet your cup-so shining,
    A pillow formed where love might rest!
   Spring's gentle children, mourn forever,
   The joys of love she gave ye never,
    Ne'er let ye know that feeling blest!
 
 
   But when ye're gathered by my hand,
    A token of my love to be,
   Now that her mother's harsh command
    From Nanny's ⁷ sight has banished me —
   E'en from that passing touch ye borrow
   Those heralds mute of pleasing sorrow,
    Life, language, hearts and souls divine;
   And to your silent leaves 'tis given,
   By Him who mightiest is in heaven,
    His glorious Godhead to enshrine.
 

THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE.
A HYMN

 
   By love are blest the gods on high,
   Frail man becomes a deity
    When love to him is given;
   'Tis love that makes the heavens shine
   With hues more radiant, more divine,
    And turns dull earth to heaven!
 
 
   In Pyrrha's rear (so poets sang
    In ages past and gone),
   The world from rocky fragments sprang —
    Mankind from lifeless stone.
 
 
   Their soul was but a thing of night,
    Like stone and rock their heart;
   The flaming torch of heaven so bright
    Its glow could ne'er impart.
 
 
   Young loves, all gently hovering round,
   Their souls as yet had never bound
    In soft and rosy chains;
   No feeling muse had sought to raise
   Their bosoms with ennobling lays,
    Or sweet, harmonious strains.
 
 
   Around each other lovingly
    No garlands then entwined;
   The sorrowing springs fled toward the sky,
    And left the earth behind.
 
 
   From out the sea Aurora rose
    With none to hail her then;
   The sun unhailed, at daylight's close,
    In ocean sank again.
 
 
   In forests wild, man went astray,
   Misled by Luna's cloudy ray —
    He bore an iron yoke;
   He pined not for the stars on high,
   With yearning for a deity
    No tears in torrents broke.
 

* * * * *

 
   But see! from out the deep-blue ocean
   Fair Venus springs with gentle motion
   The graceful Naiad's smiling band
   Conveys her to the gladdened strand,
 
 
   A May-like, youthful, magic power
   Entwines, like morning's twilight hour,
   Around that form of godlike birth,
   The charms of air, sea, heaven, and earth.
 
 
   The day's sweet eye begins to bloom
   Across the forest's midnight gloom;
    Narcissuses, their balm distilling,
    The path her footstep treads are filling.
 
 
   A song of love, sweet Philomel,
    Soon carolled through the grove;
   The streamlet, as it murmuring fell,
    Discoursed of naught but love,
 
 
   Pygmalion! Happy one! Behold!
   Life's glow pervades thy marble cold!
   Oh, LOVE, thou conqueror all-divine,
   Embrace each happy child of thine!
 

* * * *

 
   By love are blest the gods on high, —
   Frail man becomes a deity
    When love to him is given;
   'Tis love that makes the heavens shine
   With hues more radiant, more divine,
    And turns dull earth to heaven!
 

* * * * *

 
   The gods their days forever spend
   In banquets bright that have no end,
   In one voluptuous morning-dream,
   And quaff the nectar's golden stream.
 
 
   Enthroned in awful majesty
   Kronion wields the bolt on high:
   In abject fear Olympus rocks
   When wrathfully he shakes his locks.
 
 
   To other gods he leaves his throne,
   And fills, disguised as earth's frail son,
    The grove with mournful numbers;
   The thunders rest beneath his feet,
   And lulled by Leda's kisses sweet,
    The Giant-Slayer slumbers.
 
 
   Through the boundless realms of light
   Phoebus' golden reins, so bright,
   Guide his horses white as snow,
   While his darts lay nations low.
   But when love and harmony
   Fill his breast, how willingly
   Ceases Phoebus then to heed
   Rattling dart and snow-white steed!
 
 
   See! Before Kronion's spouse
   Every great immortal bows;
   Proudly soar the peacock pair
   As her chariot throne they bear,
   While she decks with crown of might
   Her ambrosial tresses bright,
 
 
   Beauteous princess, ah! with fear
    Quakes before thy splendor, love,
   Seeking, as he ventures near,
    With his power thy breast to move!
   Soon from her immortal throne
    Heaven's great queen must fain descend,
   And in prayer for beauty's zone,
    To the heart-enchainer bend!
 

* * * * *

 
   By love are blest the gods on high,
   Frail man becomes a deity
    When love to him is given;
   'Tis love that makes the heavens shine
   With hues more radiant, more divine,
    And turns dull earth to heaven!
 

* * * * *

 
   'Tis love illumes the realms of night,
   For Orcus dark obeys his might,
   And bows before his magic spell
   All-kindly looks the king of hell
   At Ceres' daughter's smile so bright, —
   Yes — love illumes the realms of night!
 
 
   In hell were heard, with heavenly sound,
   Holding in chains its warder bound,
   Thy lays, O Thracian one!
   A gentler doom dread Minos passed,
   While down his cheeks the tears coursed fast
   And e'en around Megaera's face
   The serpents twined in fond embrace,
   The lashes' work seemed done.
 
 
   Driven by Orpheus' lyre away,
   The vulture left his giant-prey ⁸;
   With gentler motion rolled along
    Dark Lethe and Cocytus' river,
   Enraptured Thracian, by thy song, —
    And love its burden was forever!
 
 
   By love are blest the gods on high,
   Frail man becomes a deity
    When love to him is given;
   'Tis love that makes the heavens shine
   With hues more radiant, more divine,
    And turns dull earth to heaven!
 

* * * * *

 
   Wherever Nature's sway extends,
   The fragrant balm of love descends,
    His golden pinions quiver;
   If 'twere not Venus' eye that gleams
   Upon me in the moon's soft beams,
    In sunlit hill or river, —
   If 'twere not Venus smiles on me
   From yonder bright and starry sea,
 
 
   Not stars, not sun, not moonbeams sweet,
   Could make my heart with rapture beat.
   'Tis love alone that smilingly
   Peers forth from Nature's blissful eye,
    As from a mirror ever!
 
 
   Love bids the silvery streamlet roll
    More gently as it sighs along,
   And breathes a living, feeling soul
    In Philomel's sweet plaintive song;
   'Tis love alone that fills the air
   With streams from Nature's lute so fair.
 
 
   Thou wisdom with the glance of fire,
   Thou mighty goddess, now retire,
    Love's power thou now must feel!
   To victor proud, to monarch high,
   Thou ne'er hast knelt in slavery, —
    To love thou now must kneel!
 
 
   Who taught thee boldly how to climb
   The steep, but starry path sublime,
    And reach the seats immortal?
   Who rent the mystic veil in twain,
   And showed thee the Elysian plain
    Beyond death's gloomy portal?
   If love had beckoned not from high,
   Had we gained immortality?
   If love had not inflamed each thought,
   Had we the master spirit sought?
   'Tis love that guides the soul along
   To Nature's Father's heavenly throne
 
 
   By love are blest the gods on high,
   Frail man becomes a deity
    When love to him is given;
   'Tis love that makes the heavens shine
   With hues more radiant, more divine,
    And turns dull earth to heaven!