The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume Vii Part 85

Then up with the sun, and away where it leads, High over the mountains and down through the meads!

The brooks they are singing, the trees hear the call; My heart's like a lark and sings out with them all.

And at night, when I come to a cozy old nest, "Mine host, now a bottle--and make it your best!

And you, merry fiddler, tune up for a song, A song of my sweetheart--I'll help it along!"

If I come to no inn, then my slumber I'll s.n.a.t.c.h 'Neath the kindly blue sky, with the stars to keep watch.

The trees with their rustling will lull me to sleep; Dawn's kisses will wake me, and up I shall leap.

Then ho! for the road, and the life that I love, And G.o.d's pure air to cool your hot brow as you rove.

The heart sings for joy in the sun's merry beams-- All, wherefore so lovely, wide world of my dreams?

AUTUMN DAYS[52] (1845)

Sunny days of the autumn, Days that shall make me whole, When a balm for wounds that were bleeding Drops silently on the soul!

Now seem the hours to be brooding In still, beneficent rest, And with a quieter motion Heaves now the laboring breast.

To rest from the world's endeavor, To build on the soul's deep base-- That is my only craving, In the stillness of love to gaze.

O'er the hills, through the dales I wander, Where the shy sweet streamlets call, Following each clear sunbeam, Whether scorching or kind it fall.

There where the leaves are turning, I harken with reverent ear; All that is growing or dying, Fading or blooming, I hear.

Blissful I learn my lesson-- How through the world's wide sweep Matter and spirit together Their concord eternal keep.

What blows in the rustling forest, Takes life from the sun and rain, Is a symbol of truth immortal To the soul that can read it plain.

Each tiniest plant that blossoms With the perfume of its birth Holds in its cup the secret Of the whole mysterious earth.

It looks down from the cliffs in silence, Speaks in the waves' long swell-- But all its wonderful meaning The poet alone can tell.

[Ill.u.s.tration: LUDWIG RICHTER JOURNEYING]

THE DEATH OF TIBERIUS[53] (1856?)

On Cape Misenum shone a palace fair Among the laurels by the summer sea; Long colonnades, and wondrous artistry, And all that should a gorgeous feast prepare.

Oft saw it scenes of midnight revelry Where moved soft boys, their brows with ivy crowned, And silver-footed damsels, capering round, The thyrsus swung; with merry shouts of glee And rippling laughter, and the lyre's soft tone, It rang till fell the dew, and night was gone.

Tonight, how still! But here and there is traced A lighted window; in the shadowy s.p.a.ce About the doors, slaves throng with awestruck face.

Litters draw nigh, and men spring out in haste; And as each comes, a question runs its round Through all the quivering circle of the spies "What says the leech? How goes it?" Hush--no sound!

The end is near--the fierce old tiger dies!

Up there on purple cushion, in the light Of flickering lamps, pale Caesar waits for morn; His sallow face, by hideous ulcers torn, Looks ghastlier than was e'er its wont tonight; Hollow the eyes; the fire of fell disease And burning fever runs through every limb; None but the aged leech abides with him, And Macro, trusted bearer of the keys.

And now, with stifled cry, by fears oppressed, The sick man feebly throws his coverings off "Let me, O Greek, a cooling potion quaff!

Ice--ice! Vesuvius burns within my breast.

G.o.ds! how it flames! Yet in my anguished brain The torturing thoughts burn fiercer far, and worse ...

A thousand times their tireless strength I curse, Yet cannot find refreshment. 'Tis in vain I cry for Lethe; where the frankincense Sends up its smoke, from all the ancient wars The victims lift their faces, seamed with scars, In grim reproachful gaze to call me hence.

Germanicus--Seja.n.u.s--Drusus rise ...

Who brought you hither? Has the grave no bars?

Ah, 'tis past bearing, how with corpse-cold eyes Ye suck the life-blood from me pitilessly!

I know I slew you--but it had to be.

Was it my fault ye threw the losing dice?

Away! Alas--when ends my misery?"

The grave physician held the cup; he drank Its cooling at a draught, then feebly sank Among the pillows, still with wandering eye About the chamber, from his forehead dank Wiping the dews: "They're gone? No more they try To fright me? Ah, perchance 'twas but the mist ...

Yet often have they come, by night--in what dread guise None knows but I ... Come, sit thee near me ... hist!

And let me tell of dim old memories.

"I too was young once, trusted in my star, Had faith in men; but all the glamour of youth Vanished too soon--and, piercing to the truth, I found some evil each fair show to mar.

No thing I saw so high and free from blame But worms were at its heart; each n.o.ble deed Revealed self-seeking as its primal seed.

Love, honor, virtue--each was but a name!

Naught marked us off, vile creatures of the dust, From ravening brutes, save on the smiling face A honeyed falseness--in the heart so base A craven weakness and a fiercer l.u.s.t.

Where was a friend had not his friend betrayed A brother guiltless of a brother's death, A wife that hid no poisoned sting beneath A fond embrace? Of one clay all were made!

Thus I became as they. Since only fear Could tame that crew, I bade its form draw near.

It was a war I waged; I found a joy Undreamed-of in their death-cries, and in blood Full ankle-deep I waded--victor stood, To find at last that horror too could cloy!

Now, grimly bearing what I may not mend, Remorseless, unconsoled, I wait the end."

His dull voice sank to silence. Moaning low, He met new pains: cold sweat stood on his brow.

In fearsome change his face the watchers saw Grow like some hideous mask; till Macro came Nearer the throne-like couch, and spoke a name "Shall I thy nephew call--Caligula?

Thy sickness waxes--"

Hissed the prince in scorn: "My curse upon thee, viper! What to thee Is Caius? Still I live! And he was born To ape the others--lies, greed, roguery, And aught but manhood. If he had, 'twere vain; No hero now Rome's downfall may restrain.

If G.o.ds there were, upon this ruined soil No G.o.d could bring forth fruit; but that weak lad!

Nay, nay, not him--the spirits stern and sad That dog my steps and mock at all my coil, The Furies of the abyss that drive me mad, Them--them and chaos--leave I of my toil The heritage. For them the sceptre!"

So Up leaped he as he was, dire agony Twisting his features, from the window high Tore back the curtain, cast with frenzied throw The wand of empire far into the night-- Then, senseless, crumbled.

In the court below A soldier stood at guard--a man of might, Fair-haired and long of limb. Straight to his feet It rolled, the rounded ivory, and upsprang From off the polished marble with a clang

That seemed to say 'twas minded him to greet.

He took it up, unknowing what it meant; And soon his thoughts pursued their former bent.

Of far-off, sombre German woods he dreamed; He saw the waving tree-tops of the north, He saw the comrades to their tryst go forth.

Each word true as their own sharp weapons seemed, As much for friendship as for war their worth.

Then thought he of his wife; he saw her sit In all the glory of her golden hair Before their hut, whirling the spindle there Send forth her thoughts across the leagues to flit And reach him here. In that same woodland shrine A merry boy was carving his first spear, His blue eyes flashing boldly in scorn of fear, As though he said--"A sword--the world is mine!"

Then swift he saw another vision come Unbidden, hide the pictures of his home, Press on his soul with irresistible might-- How once, far in the East, he stood to guard The cross where hung a Man with visage marred-- And at His death the sun was plunged in night.

Long since, that day had faded in the West; Yet could he ne'er the Sufferer's look forget-- The deep abyss of infinite sorrow, and yet The fulness of all blessing it expressed.

Now (what could this portend?) to his old home He saw that cross a conquering symbol come; And lo, the a.s.sembled tribes of all his race Innumerable moved, and o'er their host On all their banners, as their proudest boast, The same Man's image, a glory round His face ...

Sudden he started; from the halls above Came harsh, quick shouts--the lord of the world was dead!

Awe struck the soldier stared where dawn hung red, And saw the Future's mighty curtain move.