The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume Vii Part 64

"Better lad was never born-- (Sir 'twas G.o.d's own pity!) No one else could blow the horn Half as shrill and pretty.

"So I stop beside the wall Every time I pa.s.s here, And I blow his favorite call To him under gra.s.s here."

Toward the churchyard then he blew One call after other, That they might go ringing through To his sleeping brother.

From the cliff each lively note Echoing resounded, As it were the dead man's throat Answering strains had sounded.

On we went through field and hedge, Loosened bridles jingling; Long that echo from the ledge In my ear kept tingling.

TO THE BELOVED FROM AFAR[19] (1838)

His sweet rose here oversea I must gather sadly; Which, beloved, unto thee I would bring how gladly!

But alas! if o'er the foam I this flower should carry, It would fade ere I could come; Roses may not tarry.

Farther let no mortal fare Who would be a wooer, Than unwithered he may bear Blushing roses to her,

Or than nightingale may fly For her nesting gra.s.ses, Or than with the west wind's sigh Her soft warbling pa.s.ses.

THE THREE GIPSIES[20]

Three gipsy men I saw one day Stretched out on the gra.s.s together, As wearily o'er the sandy way My wagon brushed the heather.

The first of the three was fiddling there In the glow of evening pallid, Playing a wild and pa.s.sionate air, The tune of some gipsy ballad.

From the second's pipe the smoke-wreaths curled, He watched them melt at his leisure.

So full of content, it seemed the world Had naught to add to his pleasure.

And what of the third?--He was fast asleep, His harp to a bough confided; The breezes across the strings did sweep, A dream o'er his heart-strings glided.

The garb of all was worn and frayed, With tatters grotesquely mended; But flouting the world, and undismayed, The three with fate contended.

They showed me how, by three-fold scoff, When cares of life perplex us, To smoke, or sleep, or fiddle them off, And scorn the ills that vex us.

I pa.s.sed them, but my gaze for long Dwelt on the trio surly-- Their dark bronze features sharp and strong, Their loose hair black and curly.

MY HEART[21] (1844)

Sleepless night, the rushing rain, While my heart with ceaseless pain Hears the mournful past subsiding Or the uncertain future striding.

Heart, 'tis fatal thus to harken, Let not fear thy courage darken, Though the past be all regretting And the future helpless fretting.

Onward, let what's mortal die.

Is the storm near, beat thou high.

Who came safe o'er Galilee Makes the voyage now in thee.

EDUARD MoRIKE

AN ERROR CHANCED[22] (1824)

An error chanced in the moonlight garden Of a once inviolate love.

Shuddering I came on an outworn deceit, And with sorrowing look, yet cruel, Bade I the slender Enchanting maiden Leave me and wander far.

Alas! her lofty forehead Was bowed, for she loved me well; Yet did she go in silence Into the dim gray World outside.

Sick since then, Wounded and woeful heart!

Never shall it be whole.

Meseems that, spun of the air, a thread of magic Binds her yet to me, an unrestful bond; It draws, it draws me faint with love toward her.

Might it yet be some day that on my threshold I should find her, as erst, in the morning twilight, Her traveler's bundle beside her, And her eye true-heartedly looking up to me, Saying, "See, I've come back, Back once more from the lonely world!"

A SONG FOR TWO IN THE NIGHT[23] (1825)

_She_. How soft the night wind strokes the meadow gra.s.ses And, breathing music, through the woodland pa.s.ses!

Now that the upstart day is dumb, One hears from the still earth a whispering throng Of forces animate, with murmured song Joining the zephyrs' well-attuned hum.

_He_. I catch the tone from wondrous voices br.i.m.m.i.n.g, Which sensuous on the warm wind drifts to me, While, streaked with misty light uncertainly, The very heavens in the glow are swimming.

_She_. The air like woven fabric seems to wave, Then more transparent and more l.u.s.trous groweth; Meantime a muted melody outgoeth From happy fairies in their purple cave.

To sphere-wrought harmony Sing they, and busily The thread upon their silver spindles floweth.

_He_. Oh lovely night! how effortless and free O'er samite black-though green by day--thou movest!

And to the whirring music that thou lovest Thy foot advances imperceptibly.

Thus hour by hour thy step doth measure-- In tranced self-forgetful pleasure Thou'rt rapt; creation's soul is rapt with thee!

[Ill.u.s.tration: EDUARD MoRIKE WEISS]

EARLY AWAY[24] (1828)

The morning frost shines gray Along the misty field Beneath the pallid way Of early dawn revealed.

Amid the glow one sees The day-star disappear; Yet o'er the western trees The moon is shining clear.

So, too, I send my glance On distant scenes to dwell; I see in torturing trance The night of our farewell.

Blue eyes, a lake of bliss, Swim dark before my sight, Thy breath, I feel, thy kiss; I hear thy whispering light.

My cheek upon thy breast The streaming tears bedew, Till, purple-black, is cast A veil across my view.