Poems and Ballads of Heinrich Heine Part 12

XLIV.

"Dearest friend, what may it profit To repeat the old refrain?

Wilt thou, brooding still above it, Sitting on love's egg remain!

Ah, it needs incessant watching; From the sh.e.l.l the chicks have risen.

Clucking, they reward thy hatching, And this book shall be their prison."

XLV.

Only bear with me in patience, If the notes of former wrongs Many a time distinctly echo In the latest of my songs.

Wait! the slow reverberation Of my grief will soon depart, And a spring of new song blossom In my healed, reviving heart.

XLVI.

'Tis time that, more sober and serious grown, From folly at last I break free.

I, who so long in comedian's gown, Have played in the play with thee.

The scenes gaily painted were bright to behold, And in ultra-romantic tints shone.

My knightly, rich mantle was spangled with gold; n.o.blest feelings were ever mine own.

But now with grave trouble my thoughts are beset, Although from the stage I depart; And my heart is as wretchedly miserable yet, As though I still acted my part.

Ah G.o.d! all unwitting and wholly in jest, What I felt and I suffered I told.

I have fought against Death who abode in my breast Like the dying wrestler of old.

XLVII.

The great king Wiswamitra In dire distress is now.

He seeks with strife and penance To win Waschischta's cow.

Oh, great King Wiswamitra, Oh what an ox art thou!

So much to struggle and suffer, And only for a cow.

XLVIII.

Heart, my heart, oh, be not shaken!

Bravely bear thy fate. Once more Shall the coming Spring restore What the Winter rude hath taken.

How abundant is thy measure!

Still, O world, how fair thou art!

And thou yet may'st love, my heart, Everything that gives thee pleasure.

XLIX.

Thou seemest like a flower, So pure and fair and bright; A melancholy yearning Steals o'er me at thy sight.

I fain would lay in blessing My hands upon thy hair, Imploring G.o.d to keep thee, So bright, and pure, and fair.

L.

Child, I must be very careful, For thy soul would surely perish, If the loved heart in thy bosom Love for me should ever cherish.

But the task proves all too easy, Strange regrets begin to move me.

Meanwhile many a time I whisper: "If I could but make her love me!"

LI.

When on my couch reclining, Buried in pillows and night, There hovers then before me A form of grace and light.

As soon as quiet slumber Has closed my weary eyes, Then softly does the image Within my dream arise.

But with my dream at morning, It never melts away; For in my heart I bear it Through all the livelong day.

LII.

Maiden with the lips of scarlet, Clearest, sweetest eyes that be, O my darling little maiden, Ever do I think of thee!

Dreary is the winter evening: Would that I were in thy home, Sitting by thee, calmly chatting, In the cosy little room.

And upon my lips, my darling, I would press thy small white hand.

I would press and I would moisten With my tears thy small, white hand.

LIII.

Let the snow without be piled, Let the howling storm rage wild, Beating o'er the window-pane,-- I will never more complain, For within my heart bide warm Spring-tide joy and sweetheart's form.

LIV.

Some to Mary bend the knee, Others unto Paul and Peter, I, however, I will worship, Sun of beauty, only thee.

Kiss me, love me, dearest one, Be thou gracious, show me favor, Fairest sun among all maidens, Fairest maiden under the sun.

LV.

Did not my pallid cheek betray My love's unhappy fate?

And wilt thou force my haughty lips To beg and supplicate?