The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 494

And himself, on the back of the steed of his squire, Went after the chase to his heart's full desire, While the priest on his journey was speeding And the following morning, with thankful look, To the Count once again his charger he took, Its bridle with modesty leading."

"'G.o.d forbid that in chase or in battle,' then cried The Count with humility lowly, 'The steed I henceforward should dare to bestride That had borne my Creator so holy!

And if, as a guerdon, he may not be thine, He devoted shall be to the service divine, Proclaiming His infinite merit, From whom I each honor and earthly good Have received in fee, and my body and blood, And my breath, and my life, and my spirit.'"

"'Then may G.o.d, the sure rock, whom no time can e'er move, And who lists to the weak's supplication, For the honor thou pay'st Him, permit thee to prove Honor here, and hereafter salvation!

Thou'rt a powerful Count, and thy knightly command Hath blazoned thy fame through the Switzer's broad land; Thou art blest with six daughters admired; May they each in thy house introduce a bright crown, Filling ages unborn with their glorious renown'-- Thus exclaimed he in accents inspired."

And the emperor sat there all-thoughtfully, While the dream of the past stood before him; And when on the minstrel he turned his eye, His words' hidden meaning stole o'er him; For seeing the traits of the priest there revealed, In the folds of his purple-dyed robe he concealed His tears as they swiftly coursed down.

And all on the emperor wonderingly gazed, And the blest dispensations of Providence praised, For the Count and the Caesar were one.

THE FORUM OF WOMAN.

Woman, never judge man by his individual actions; But upon man as a whole, pa.s.s thy decisive decree.

THE GLOVE.

A TALE.

Before his lion-court, Impatient for the sport, King Francis sat one day; The peers of his realm sat around, And in balcony high from the ground Sat the ladies in beauteous array.

And when with his finger he beckoned, The gate opened wide in a second,-- And in, with deliberate tread, Enters a lion dread, And looks around Yet utters no sound; Then long he yawns And shakes his mane, And, stretching each limb, Down lies he again.

Again signs the king,-- The next gate open flies, And, lo! with a wild spring, A tiger out hies.

When the lion he sees, loudly roars he about, And a terrible circle his tail traces out.

Protruding his tongue, past the lion he walks, And, snarling with rage, round him warily stalks: Then, growling anew, On one side lies down too.

Again signs the king,-- And two gates open fly, And, lo! with one spring, Two leopards out hie.

On the tiger they rush, for the fight nothing loth, But he with his paws seizes hold of them both.

And the lion, with roaring, gets up,--then all's still; The fierce beasts stalk around, madly thirsting to kill.

From the balcony raised high above A fair hand lets fall down a glove Into the lists, where 'tis seen The lion and tiger between.

To the knight, Sir Delorges, in tone of jest, Then speaks young Cunigund fair; "Sir Knight, if the love that thou feel'st in thy breast Is as warm as thou'rt wont at each moment to swear, Pick up, I pray thee, the glove that lies there!"

And the knight, in a moment, with dauntless tread, Jumps into the lists, nor seeks to linger, And, from out the midst of those monsters dread, Picks up the glove with a daring finger.

And the knights and ladies of high degree With wonder and horror the action see, While he quietly brings in his hand the glove, The praise of his courage each mouth employs; Meanwhile, with a tender look of love, The promise to him of coming joys, Fair Cunigund welcomes him back to his place.

But he threw the glove point-blank in her face: "Lady, no thanks from thee I'll receive!"

And that selfsame hour he took his leave.

THE CIRCLE OF NATURE.

All, thou gentle one, lies embraced in thy kingdom; the graybeard Back to the days of his youth, childish and child-like, returns.

THE VEILED STATUE AT SAIS.

A youth, impelled by a burning thirst for knowledge To roam to Sais, in fair Egypt's land, The priesthood's secret learning to explore, Had pa.s.sed through many a grade with eager haste, And still was hurrying on with fond impatience.

Scarce could the Hierophant impose a rein Upon his headlong efforts. "What avails A part without the whole?" the youth exclaimed; "Can there be here a lesser or a greater?

The truth thou speak'st of, like mere earthly dross, Is't but a sum that can be held by man In larger or in smaller quant.i.ty?

Surely 'tis changeless, indivisible; Deprive a harmony of but one note, Deprive the rainbow of one single color, And all that will remain is naught, so long As that one color, that one note, is wanting."

While thus they converse held, they chanced to stand Within the precincts of a lonely temple, Where a veiled statue of gigantic size The youth's attention caught. In wonderment He turned him toward his guide, and asked him, saying, "What form is that concealed beneath yon veil?"

"Truth!" was the answer. "What!" the young man cried, "When I am striving after truth alone, Seekest thou to hide that very truth from me?"

"The G.o.dhead's self alone can answer thee,"

Replied the Hierophant. "'Let no rash mortal Disturb this veil,' said he, 'till raised by me; For he who dares with sacrilegious hand To move the sacred mystic covering, He'--said the G.o.dhead--" "Well?"--"'will see the truth.'"

"Strangely oracular, indeed! And thou Hast never ventured, then, to raise the veil?"

"I? Truly not! I never even felt The least desire."--"Is't possible? If I Were severed from the truth by nothing else Than this thin gauze--" "And a divine decree,"

His guide broke in. "Far heavier than thou thinkest Is this thin gauze, my son. Light to thy hand It may be--but most weighty to thy conscience."

The youth now sought his home, absorbed in thought; His burning wish to solve the mystery Banished all sleep; upon his couch he lay, Tossing his feverish limbs. When midnight came, He rose, and toward the temple timidly, Led by a mighty impulse, bent his way.

The walls he scaled, and soon one active spring Landed the daring boy beneath the dome.

Behold him now, in utter solitude, Welcomed by naught save fearful, deathlike silence,-- A silence which the echo of his steps Alone disturbs, as through the vaults he paces.

Piercing an opening in the cupola, The moon cast down her pale and silvery beams, And, awful as a present deity, Glittering amid the darkness of the pile, In its long veil concealed, the statue stands.

With hesitating step, he now draws near-- His impious hand would fain remove the veil-- Sudden a burning chill a.s.sails his bones And then an unseen arm repulses him.

"Unhappy one, what wouldst thou do?" Thus cries A faithful voice within his trembling breast.

"Wouldst thou profanely violate the All-Holy?"

"'Tis true the oracle declared, 'Let none Venture to raise the veil till raised by me.'

But did the oracle itself not add, That he who did so would behold the truth?

Whate'er is hid behind, I'll raise the veil."

And then he shouted: "Yes! I will behold it!"

"Behold it!"

Repeats in mocking tone the distant echo.

He speaks, and, with the word, lifts up the veil.

Would you inquire what form there met his eye?

I know not,--but, when day appeared, the priests Found him extended senseless, pale as death, Before the pedestal of Isis' statue.

What had been seen and heard by him when there He never would disclose, but from that hour His happiness in life had fled forever, And his deep sorrow soon conducted him To an untimely grave. "Woe to that man,"

He warning said to every questioner, "Woe to that man who wins the truth by guilt, For truth so gained will ne'er reward its owner."

THE DIVISION OF THE EARTH.