The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 502

Thou hast crossed over torrents, and swung through wide-spreading ocean,-- Over the chain of the Alps dizzily bore thee the bridge, That thou might'st see me from near, and learn to value my beauty, Which the voice of renown spreads through the wandering world.

And now before me thou standest,--canst touch my altar so holy,-- But art thou nearer to me, or am I nearer to thee?

THE ILIAD.

Tear forever the garland of Homer, and number the fathers Of the immortal work, that through all time will survive!

Yet it has but one mother, and bears that mother's own feature, 'Tis thy features it bears,--Nature,--thy features eterne!

POMPEII AND HERCULANEUM.

What wonder this?--we ask the lympid well, O earth! of thee--and from thy solemn womb What yieldest thou?--is there life in the abyss-- Doth a new race beneath the lava dwell?

Returns the past, awakening from the tomb?

Rome--Greece!--Oh, come!--Behold--behold! for this!

Our living world--the old Pompeii sees; And built anew the town of Dorian Hercules!

House upon house--its silent halls once more Opes the broad portico!--Oh, haste and fill Again those halls with life!--Oh, pour along Through the seven-vista'd theatre the throng!

Where are ye, mimes?--Come forth, the steel prepare For crowned Atrides, or Orestes haunt, Ye choral Furies, with your dismal chant!

The arch of triumph!--whither leads it?--still Behold the forum!--on the curule chair Where the majestic image? Lictors, where Your solemn fasces?--Place upon his throne The Praetor--here the witness lead, and there Bid the accuser stand

--O G.o.d! how lone The clear streets glitter in the quiet day-- The footpath by the doors winding its lifeless way!

The roofs arise in shelter, and around The desolate Atrium--every gentle room Wears still the dear familiar smile of home!

Open the doors--the shops--on dreary night Let l.u.s.ty day laugh down in jocund light!

See the trim benches ranged in order!--See The marble-tesselated floor--and there The very walls are glittering livingly With their clear colors. But the artist, where!

Sure but this instant he hath laid aside Pencil and colors!--Glittering on the eye Swell the rich fruits, and bloom the flowers!--See all Art's gentle wreaths still fresh upon the wall!

Here the arch Cupid slyly seems to glide By with bloom-laden basket. There the shapes Of genii press with purpling feet the grapes, Here springs the wild Bacchante to the dance, And there she sleeps [while that voluptuous trance Eyes the sly faun with never-sated glance]

Now on one knee upon the centaur-steeds Hovering--the Thyrsus plies.--Hurrah!--away she speeds!

Come--come, why loiter ye?--Here, here, how fair The goodly vessels still! Girls, hither turn, Fill from the fountain the Etruscan urn!

On the winged sphinxes see the tripod.-- Ho!

Quick--quick, ye slaves, come--fire!--the hearth prepare!

Ha! wilt thou sell?--this coin shall pay thee--this, Fresh from the mint of mighty t.i.tus!--Lo!

Here lie the scales, and not a weight we miss So--bring the light! The delicate lamp!--what toil Shaped thy minutest grace!--quick pour the oil!

Yonder the fairy chest!--come, maid, behold The bridegroom's gifts--the armlets--they are gold, And paste out-feigning jewels!--lead the bride Into the odorous bath--lo! unguents still-- And still the crystal vase the arts for beauty fill!

But where the men of old--perchance a prize More precious yet in yon papyrus lies, And see ev'n still the tokens of their toil-- The waxen tablets--the recording style.

The earth, with faithful watch, has h.o.a.rded all!

Still stand the mute penates in the hall; Back to his haunts returns each ancient G.o.d.

Why absent only from their ancient stand The priests?--waves Hermes his Caducean rod, And the winged victory struggles from the hand.

Kindle the flame--behold the altar there!

Long hath the G.o.d been worshipless--to prayer.

NAENIA.

Even the beauteous must die! This vanquishes men and immortals; But of the Stygian G.o.d moves not the bosom of steel.

Once and once only could love prevail on the ruler of shadows, And on the threshold, e'en then, sternly his gift he recalled.

Venus could never heal the wounds of the beauteous stripling, That the terrible boar made in his delicate skin; Nor could his mother immortal preserve the hero so G.o.dlike, When at the west gate of Troy, falling, his fate he fulfilled.

But she arose from the ocean with all the daughters of Nereus, And o'er her glorified son raised the loud accents of woe.

See! where all the G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses yonder are weeping, That the beauteous must fade, and that the perfect must die.

Even a woe-song to be in the mouth of the loved ones is glorious, For what is vulgar descends mutely to Orcus' dark shades.

THE MAID OF ORLEANS.

Humanity's bright image to impair.

Scorn laid thee prostrate in the deepest dust; Wit wages ceaseless war on all that's fair,-- In angel and in G.o.d it puts no trust; The bosom's treasures it would make its prey,-- Besieges fancy,--dims e'en faith's pure ray.

Yet issuing like thyself from humble line, Like thee a gentle shepherdess is she-- Sweet poesy affords her rights divine, And to the stars eternal soars with thee.

Around thy brow a glory she hath thrown; The heart 'twas formed thee,--ever thou'lt live on!

The world delights whate'er is bright to stain, And in the dust to lay the glorious low; Yet fear not! n.o.ble bosoms still remain, That for the lofty, for the radiant glow Let Momus serve to fill the booth with mirth; A n.o.bler mind loves forms of n.o.bler worth.

ARCHIMEDES.

To Archimedes once a scholar came, "Teach me," he said, "the art that won thy fame;-- The G.o.dlike art which gives such boons to toil, And showers such fruit upon thy native soil;-- The G.o.dlike art that girt the town when all Rome's vengeance burst in thunder on the wall!"

"Thou call'st art G.o.dlike--it is so, in truth, And was," replied the master to the youth, "Ere yet its secrets were applied to use-- Ere yet it served beleaguered Syracuse:-- Ask'st thou from art, but what the art is worth?

The fruit?--for fruit go cultivate the earth.-- He who the G.o.ddess would aspire unto, Must not the G.o.ddess as the woman woo!"

THE DANCE.

See how, like lightest waves at play, the airy dancers fleet; And scarcely feels the floor the wings of those harmonious feet.

Ob, are they flying shadows from their native forms set free?

Or phantoms in the fairy ring that summer moonbeams see?

As, by the gentle zephyr blown, some light mist flees in air, As skiffs that skim adown the tide, when silver waves are fair, So sports the docile footstep to the heave of that sweet measure, As music wafts the form aloft at its melodious pleasure, Now breaking through the woven chain of the entangled dance, From where the ranks the thickest press, a bolder pair advance, The path they leave behind them lost--wide open the path beyond, The way unfolds or closes up as by a magic wand.

See now, they vanish from the gaze in wild confusion blended; All, in sweet chaos whirled again, that gentle world is ended!

No!--disentangled glides the knot, the gay disorder ranges-- The only system ruling here, a grace that ever changes.

For ay destroyed--for ay renewed, whirls on that fair creation; And yet one peaceful law can still pervade in each mutation.

And what can to the reeling maze breathe harmony and vigor, And give an order and repose to every gliding figure?

That each a ruler to himself doth but himself obey, Yet through the hurrying course still keeps his own appointed way.

What, would'st thou know? It is in truth the mighty power of tune, A power that every step obeys, as tides obey the moon; That threadeth with a golden clue the intricate employment, Curbs bounding strength to tranquil grace, and tames the wild enjoyment.

And comes the world's wide harmony in vain upon thine ears?

The stream of music borne aloft from yonder choral spheres?

And feel'st thou not the measure which eternal Nature keeps?

The whirling dance forever held in yonder azure deeps?