The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 526

O'er the heights growls the thunder, while quivers the bridge, Yet no fear feels the hunter, though dizzy the ridge; He strides on undaunted, O'er plains icy-bound, Where spring never blossoms, Nor verdure is found; And, a broad sea of mist lying under his feet, Man's dwellings his vision no longer can greet; The world he but views When the clouds broken are-- With its pastures so green, Through the vapor afar.

From William Tell, act iii. scene 1.

WALTER sings.

Bow and arrow bearing, Over hills and streams Moves the hunter daring, Soon as daylight gleams.

As all flying creatures Own the eagle's sway, So the hunter, Nature's Mounts and crags obey.

Over s.p.a.ce he reigneth, And he makes his prize All his bolt attaineth, All that creeps or flies.

From William Tell, act iv. scene 3.

CHORUS OF BROTHERS OF MERCY.

Death comes to man with hasty stride, No respite is to him e'er given; He's stricken down in manhood's pride, E'en in mid race from earth he's driven.

Prepared, or not, to go from here, Before his Judge he must appear!

From Turandot, act ii. scene 4.

RIDDLE.

The tree whereon decay All those from mortals sprung,-- Full old, and yet whose spray Is ever green and young; To catch the light, it rolls Each leaf upon one side; The other, black as coals, The sun has ne'er descried.

It places on new rings As often as it blows; The age, too, of all things To mortal gaze it shows.

Upon its bark so green A name oft meets the eye, Yet 'tis no longer seen, When it grows old and dry.

This tree--what can it mean?

I wait for thy reply. [70]

From Mary Stuart, act iii, scene 1.

SCENE--A Park. MARY advances hastily from behind some trees. HANNAH KENNEDY follows her slowly.

MARY.

Let me my newly-won liberty taste!

Let me rejoice as a child once again!

And, as on pinions, with airy foot hast Over the tapestried green of the plain!

Have I escaped from my prison so drear?

Shall I no more in my sad dungeon pine?

Let me in long and in thirsty draughts here Drink in the breezes, so free, so divine

Thanks, thanks, ye trees, in smiling verdure dressed, In that ye veil my prison-walls from sight!

I'll dream that I am free and blest Why should I waken from a dream so bright?

Do not the s.p.a.cious heavens encompa.s.s me?

Behold! my gaze, unshackled, free, Pierces with joy the trackless realms of light!

There, where the gray-tinged hills of mist project, My kingdom's boundaries begin; Yon clouds, that tow'rd the south their course direct, France's far-distant ocean seek to win.

Swiftly-flying clouds, hardy sailors through air!

Mortal hath roamed with ye, sailed with ye, ne'er!

Greetings of love to my youthful home bear!

I am a prisoner, I am in chains, Ah, not a herald, save ye, now remains, Free through the air hath your path ever been, Ye are not subject to England's proud queen!

Yonder's a fisherman tr.i.m.m.i.n.g his boat.

E'en that frail skiff from all danger might tear me, And to the dwellings of friends it might bear me.

Scarcely his earnings can keep life afloat.

Richly with treasures his lap I'd heap over,-- Oh! what a draught should reward him to-day!

Fortune held fast in his nets he'd discover, If in his bark he would take me away!

Hear'st thou the horn of the hunter resound, Wakening the echo through forest and plain?

Ah, on my spirited courser to bound!

Once more to join in the mirth-stirring train!

Hark! how the dearly-loved tones come again!

Blissful, yet sad, the remembrance they wake; Oft have they fallen with joy on mine ear, When in the highlands the bugle rang clear, Rousing the chase over mountain and brake.

From The Maid of Orleans, Prologue, scene 4.

JOAN OF ARC (soliloquizing).

Farewell, ye mountains, and ye pastures dear, Ye still and happy valleys, fare ye well!

No longer may Joan's footsteps linger here, Joan bids ye now a long, a last farewell!

Ye meadows that I watered, and each bush Set by my hands, ne'er may your verdure fail!

Farewell, ye grots, ye springs that cooling gush Thou echo, blissful voice of this sweet vale, So wont to give me back an answering strain,-- Joan must depart, and ne'er return again!

Ye haunts of all my silent joys of old, I leave ye now behind forevermore!

Disperse, ye lambs, far o'er the trackless wold!

She now hath gone who tended you of yore!

I must away to guard another fold, On yonder field of danger, stained with gore.

Thus am I bidden by a spirit's tone 'Tis no vain earthly longing drives me on.

For He who erst to Moses on the height Of h.o.r.eb, in the fiery bush came down, And bade him stand in haughty Pharaoh's sight, He who made choice of Jesse's pious son, The shepherd, as his champion in the fight,-- He who to shepherds grace hath ever shown, He thus addressed me from this lofty tree: "Go hence! On earth my witness thou shalt be!

"In rugged bra.s.s, then, clothe thy members now, In steel thy gentle bosom must be dressed!

No mortal love thy heart must e'er allow, With earthly pa.s.sion's sinful flame possessed.

Ne'er will the bridal wreath adorn thy brow, No darling infant blossom on thy breast; Yet thou with warlike honors shalt be laden, Raising thee high above each earthly maiden.

"For when the bravest in the fight despair, When France appears to wait her final blow, Then thou my holy oriflamme must bear; And, as the ripened corn the reapers mow, Hew down the conqueror as he triumphs there; His fortune's wheel thou thus wilt overthrow, To France's hero-sons salvation bring, Deliver Rheims once more, and crown thy king!"

The Lord hath promised to send down a sign A helmet he hath sent, it comes from Him,-- His sword endows mine arm with strength divine, I feel the courage of the cherubim; To join the battle-turmoil how I pine!

A raging tempest thrills through every limb; The summons to the field bursts on mine ear, My charger paws the ground, the trump rings clear.

From The Maid of Orleans, act iv. scene 1.