The Poems of Schiller - Suppressed poems Part 7

THE WINTER NIGHT.

Farewell! the beauteous sun is sinking fast, The moon lifts up her head; Farewell! mute night o'er earth's wide round at last Her darksome raven-wing has spread.

Across the wintry plain no echoes float, Save, from the rock's deep womb, The murmuring streamlet, and the screech-owl's note, Arising from the forest's gloom.

The fish repose within the watery deeps, The snail draws in his head; The dog beneath the table calmly sleeps, My wife is slumbering in her bed.

A hearty welcome to ye, brethren mine!

Friends of my life's young spring!

Perchance around a flask of Rhenish wine Ye're gathered now, in joyous ring.

The br.i.m.m.i.n.g goblet's bright and purple beams Mirror the world with joy, And pleasure from the golden grape-juice gleams-- Pleasure untainted by alloy.

Concealed behind departed years, your eyes Find roses now alone; And, as the summer tempest quickly flies, Your heavy sorrows, too, are flown.

From childish sports, to e'en the doctor's hood, The book of life ye thumb, And reckon o'er, in light and joyous mood, Your toils in the gymnasium;

Ye count the oaths that Terence--may he ne'er, Though buried, calmly slumber!-- Caused you, despite Minelli's notes, to swear,-- Count your wry faces without number.

How, when the dread examinations came, The boy with terror shook!

How, when the rector had p.r.o.nounced his name, The sweat streamed down upon his book!

All this is now involved in mist forever, The boy is now a man, And Frederick, wiser grown, discloses never What little Fritz once loved to plan.

At length--a doctor one's declared to be,-- A regimental one!

And then,--and not too soon,--discover we That plans soap-bubbles are alone. [68]

Blow on! blow on! and let the bubbles rise, If but this heart remain!

And if a German laurel as the prize Of song, 'tis given me to gain!

THE WIRTEMBERGER.

The name of Wirtemberg they hold To come from Wirth am berg [69], I'm told.

A Wirtemberger who ne'er drinks No Wirtemberger is, methinks!

THE MOLE.

HUSBAND.

The boy's my very image! See!

Even the scars my small-pox left me!

WIFE.

I can believe it easily They once of all my senses reft me.

HYMN TO THE ETERNAL.

'Twixt the heavens and earth, high in the airy ocean, In the tempest's cradle I'm borne with a rocking motion; Clouds are towering, Storms beneath me are lowering, Giddily all the wonders I see, And, O Eternal, I think of Thee!

All Thy terrible pomp, lend to the Finite now, Mighty Nature! Oh, of Infinity, thou Giant daughter!

Mirror G.o.d, as in water!

Tempest, oh, let thine organ-peal G.o.d to the reasoning worm reveal!

Hark! it peals--how the rocks quiver beneath its growls Zeboath's glorious name, wildly the hurricane howls!

Graving the while With the lightning's style "Creatures, do ye acknowledge me?"-- Spare us, Lord! We acknowledge Thee!

DIALOGUE.

A.

Hark, neighbor, for one moment stay!

Herr Doctor Scalpel, so they say, Has got off safe and sound; At Paris I your uncle found Fast to a horse's crupper bound,-- Yet Scalpel made a king his prey.

B.

Oh, dear me, no! A real misnomer!

The fact is, he has his diploma; The other one has not.

A.

Eh? What? Has a diploma?

In Suabia may such things be got?

EPITAPH

ON A CERTAIN PHYSIOGNOMIST.

On every nose he rightly read What intellects were in the head And yet--that he was not the one By whom G.o.d meant it to be done, This on his own he never read.

TRUST IN IMMORTALITY.

The dead has risen here, to live through endless ages; This I with firmness trust and know.

I was first led to guess it by the sages, The knaves convince me that 'tis really so.