The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 03

GENIUS (1795)

  Do I believe, thou ask'st, the Master's word,  The Schoolman's shibboleth that binds the herd?  To the soul's haven is there but one chart?  Its peace a problem to be learned by art?  On system rest the happy and the good?  To base the temple must the props be wood?  Must I distrust the gentle law, imprest,  To guide and warn, by Nature on the breast,  Till, squared to rule the instinct of the soul,—  Till the School's signet stamp the eternal scroll,  Till in one mold some dogma hath confined  The ebb and flow—the light waves—of the mind?  Say thou, familiar to these depths of gloom,  Thou, safe ascended from the dusty tomb,  Thou, who hast trod these weird Egyptian cells—  Say—if Life's comfort with yon mummies dwells!—  Say—and I grope—with saddened steps indeed—  But on, thro' darkness, if to Truth it lead!    Nay, Friend, thou know'st the golden time—the age  Whose legends live in many a poet's page?  When heavenlier shapes with Man walked side by side,  And the chaste Feeling was itself a guide;  Then the great law, alike divine amid  Suns bright in Heaven, or germs in darkness hid—  That silent law—(call'd whether by the name  Of Nature or Necessity, the same),  To that deep sea, the heart, its movement gave—  Sway'd the full tide, and freshened the free wave.  Then sense unerring—because unreproved—  True as the finger on the dial moved,  Half-guide, half-playmate, of Earth's age of youth,  The sportive instinct of Eternal Truth.  Then, nor Initiate nor Profane were known;  Where the Heart felt—there Reason found a throne:  Not from the dust below, but life around  Warm Genius shaped what quick Emotion found.  One rule, like light, for every bosom glowed,  Yet hid from all the fountain whence it flowed.  But, gone that blessed Age!—our wilful pride  Has lost, with Nature, the old peaceful Guide.  Feeling, no more to raise us and rejoice,  Is heard and honored as a Godhead's voice;  And, disenhallowed in its eldest cell  The Human Heart—lies mute the Oracle,  Save where the low and mystic whispers thrill  Some listening spirit more divinely still.  There, in the chambers of the inmost heart,  There, must the Sage explore the Magian's art;  There, seek the long-lost Nature's steps to track,  Till, found once more, she gives him Wisdom back!  Hast thou—(O Blest, if so, whate'er betide!)—  Still kept the Guardian Angel by thy side?  Can thy Heart's guileless childhood yet rejoice  In the sweet instinct with its warning voice?  Does Truth yet limn upon untroubled eyes,  Pure and serene, her world of Iris-dies?  Rings clear the echo which her accent calls  Back from the breast, on which the music falls?  In the calm mind is doubt yet hush'd—and will  That doubt tomorrow, as today, be still?  Will all these fine sensations in their play,  No censor need to regulate and sway?  Fear'st thou not in the insidious Heart to find  The source of Trouble to the limpid mind?    No!—then thine Innocence thy Mentor be!  Science can teach thee naught—she learns from thee!  Each law that lends lame succor to the Weak—  The cripple's crutch—the vigorous need not seek!  From thine own self thy rule of action draw;  That which thou dost—what charms thee—is thy Law,  And founds to every race a code sublime—  What pleases Genius gives a Law to Time!  The Word—the Deed—all Ages shall command,  Pure if thy lip and holy if thy hand!  Thou, thou alone mark'st not within thy heart  The inspiring God whose Minister thou art,  Know'st not the magic of the mighty ring  Which bows the realm of Spirits to their King:  But meek, nor conscious of diviner birth,  Glide thy still footsteps thro' the conquered Earth!* * * * *

VOTIVE TABLETS

[Under this title Schiller arranged that more dignified and philosophical portion of the small Poems published as Epigrams in the Musen Almanach; which rather sought to point a general thought, than a personal satire.—Many of these, however, are either wholly without interest for the English reader, or express in almost untranslatable laconism what, in far more poetical shapes, Schiller has elsewhere repeated and developed. We, therefore, content ourselves with such a selection as appears to us best suited to convey a fair notion of the object and spirit of the class.—Translator]

* * * * *

MOTTO TO THE VOTIVE TABLETS

  What the God taught—what has befriended all  Life's ways, I place upon the Votive Wall.* * * * *

THE GOOD AND THE BEAUTIFUL

(ZWEIERLEI WIRKUNGSARTEN)

  The Good's the Flower to Earth already given—    The Beautiful, on Earth sows flowers from Heaven!* * * * *

VALUE AND WORTH

  If thou hast something, bring thy goods—a fair return be thine;  If thou art something, bring thy soul and interchange with mine.* * * * *

THE KEY

  To know thyself—in others self discern;  Wouldst thou know others? Read thyself—and learn!* * * * *

THE DIVISION OF RANKS

  Yes, in the moral world, as ours, we see  Divided grades—a Soul's Nobility;  By deeds their titles Commoners create—  The loftier order are by birthright great.[5]* * * * *

TO THE MYSTIC

  Spreads Life's true mystery round us evermore,  Seen by no eye, it lies all eyes before.* * * * *

WISDOM AND PRUDENCE

  Wouldst thou the loftiest height of Wisdom gain?  On to the rashness, Prudence would disdain;  The purblind see but the receding shore,  Not that to which the bold wave wafts thee o'er!* * * * *

THE UNANIMITY

  Truth seek we both—Thou, in the life without thee and around;  I in the Heart within—by both can Truth alike be found;  The healthy eye can through the world the great Creator track—  The healthy heart is but the glass which gives creation back.* * * * *

THE SCIENCE OF POLITICS

  All that thou dost be right—to that alone confine thy view,  And halt within the certain rule—the All that's right to do!  True zeal the what already is would sound and perfect see;  False zeal would sound and perfect make the something that's to be!* * * * *

TO ASTRONOMERS

  Of the Nebulæ and planets do not babble so to me;  What! is Nature only mighty inasmuch as you can see?  Inasmuch as you can measure her immeasurable ways,  As she renders world on world, sun and system to your gaze?  Though through space your object be the Sublimest to embrace,  Never the Sublime abideth—where you vainly search—in space!* * * * *

THE BEST GOVERNED STATE

  How the best state to know?—It is found out,  Like the best women—that least talked about.* * * * *

MY BELIEF

  What thy religion? Those thou namest—none!  None! Why?—Because I have religion!* * * * *

FRIEND AND FOE

  Dear is my friend—yet from my foe, as from my friend, comes good;  My friend shows what I can do, and my foe shows what I should.* * * * *

LIGHT AND COLOR

  Dwell, Light, beside the changeless God—God spoke and Light began;  Come, thou, the ever-changing one—come, Color, down to Man!* * * * *

FORUM OF WOMEN

  Woman—to judge man rightly—do not scan  Each separate act;—pass judgment on the Man!* * * * *

GENIUS

  Intellect can repeat what's been fulfill'd,  And, aping Nature, as she buildeth—build;  O'er Nature's base can haughty Reason dare  To pile its lofty castle—in the air.  But only thine, O Genius, is the charge,  In Nature's kingdom Nature to enlarge!* * * * *

THE IMITATOR

  Good out of good—that art is known to all—  But Genius from the bad the good can call;  Then, Mimic, not from leading-strings escaped,  Work'st but the matter that's already shaped  The already-shaped a nobler hand awaits—  All matter asks a Spirit that creates!* * * * *

CORRECTNESS

(FREE TRANSLATION)

  The calm correctness, where no fault we see,  Attests Art's loftiest or its least degree;  Alike the smoothness of the surface shows  The Pool's dull stagner—the great Sea's repose.* * * * *

THE MASTER

  The herd of scribes, by what they tell us,  Show all in which their wits excel us;  But the True Master we behold,  In what his art leaves—just untold.* * * * *

EXPECTATION AND FULFILLMENT

  O'er Ocean, with a thousand masts, sails forth the stripling bold—  One boat, hard rescued from the deep, draws into port the old!* * * * *

THE PROSELYTE MAKER

  "A little earth from out the Earth-and I  The Earth will move:" so spake the Sage divine.  Out of myself one little moment—try  Myself to take:—succeed, and I am thine!* * * * *

THE CONNECTING MEDIUM

  What to cement the lofty and the mean  Does Nature?—What?—Place vanity between?* * * * *

THE MORAL POET

[This is an Epigram on Lavater's work, called "Pontius Pilatus, oder der

Mensch in Allen Gestalten," etc.—TRANSLATOR.]

  "How poor a thing is man!" Alas, 'tis true  I'd half forgot it—when I chanced on you!* * * * *

THE SUBLIME THEME

[Also on Lavater, and alluding to the "Jesus Messias, oder die Evangelien und Apostelgeschichte in Gesängen."—TRANSLATOR.]

  How God compassionates Mankind, thy muse, my friend, rehearses—  Compassion for the sins of Man!—What comfort for thy verses!* * * * *

SCIENCE

  To some she is the Goddess great, to some the milch-cow of the field;  Their care is but to calculate—what butter she will yield.* * * * *

KANT AND HIS COMMENTATORS

  How many starvelings one rich man can nourish!  When monarchs build, the rubbish-carriers flourish.* * * * *

THE MAIDEN FROM AFAR (1796)

  Within a vale, each infant year,    When earliest larks first carol free,  To humble shepherds doth appear    A wondrous maiden, fair to see.  Not born within that lowly place—    From whence she wander'd, none could tell;  Her parting footsteps left no trace,    When once the maiden bade farewell.  And blessèd was her presence there—    Each heart, expanding, grew more gay;  Yet something loftier still than fair    Kept man's familiar looks away.  From fairy gardens, known to none,    She brought mysterious fruits and flowers—  The things of some serener sun—    Some Nature more benign than ours.  With each, her gifts the maiden shared—    To some the fruits, the flowers to some;  Alike the young, the aged fared;    Each bore a blessing back to home.  Though every guest was welcome there,    Yet some the maiden held more dear,  And cull'd her rarest sweets whene'er    She saw two hearts that loved draw near.* * * * *

THE GLOVE (1797)

A TALE

  Before his lion-court,  To see the gruesome sport,    Sate the king;  Beside him group'd his princely peers;  And dames aloft, in circling tiers,    Wreath'd round their blooming ring.    King Francis, where he sate,    Raised a finger—yawn'd the gate,    And, slow from his repose,    A LION goes!    Dumbly he gazed around    The foe-encircled ground;    And, with a lazy gape,    He stretch'd his lordly shape,    And shook his careless mane,    And—laid him down again!      A finger raised the king—    And nimbly have the guard    A second gate unbarr'd;      Forth, with a rushing spring,          A TIGER sprung!    Wildly the wild one yell'd    When the lion he beheld;    And, bristling at the look,    With his tail his sides he strook,          And roll'd his rabid tongue;  In many a wary ring  He swept round the forest king,    With a fell and rattling sound;—    And laid him on the ground,        Grommelling!  The king raised his finger; then  Leap'd two LEOPARDS from the den    With a bound;  And boldly bounded they  Where the crouching tiger lay    Terrible!  And he gripped the beasts in his deadly hold;  In the grim embrace they grappled and roll'd;    Rose the lion with a roar!    And stood the strife before;    And the wild-cats on the spot,    From the blood-thirst, wroth and hot,      Halted still!  Now from the balcony above,  A snowy hand let fall a glove:—  Midway between the beasts of prey,  Lion and tiger; there it lay,    The winsome lady's glove!

Fair Cunigonde said, with a lip of scorn,

To the knight DELORGES—"If the love you have sworn

Were as gallant and leal as you boast it to be,

I might ask you to bring back that glove to me!"

The knight left the place where the lady sate;

The knight he has pass'd thro' the fearful gate;

The lion and tiger he stoop'd above,

And his fingers have closed on the lady's glove!

All shuddering and stunn'd, they beheld him there—

The noble knights and the ladies fair;

But loud was the joy and the praise, the while

He bore back the glove with his tranquil smile!

With a tender look in her softening eyes,

That promised reward to his warmest sighs,

Fair Cunigonde rose her knight to grace;

He toss'd the glove in the lady's face!

"Nay, spare me the guerdon, at least," quoth he;

And he left forever that fair ladye!

* * * * *

THE DIVER (1797)

A BALLAD

[The original of the story on which Schiller has founded this ballad, matchless perhaps for the power and grandeur of its descriptions, is to be found in Kircher. According to the true principles of imitative art, Schiller has preserved all that is striking in the legend, and ennobled all that is common-place. The name of the Diver was Nicholas, surnamed the Fish. The King appears, according to Hoffmeister's probable conjectures, to have been either Frederic I. or Frederic II., of Sicily. Date from 1295 to 1377.]

   "Oh, where is the knight or the squire so bold,    As to dive to the howling charybdis below?—  I cast in the whirlpool a goblet of gold,    And o'er it already the dark waters flow;  Whoever to me may the goblet bring,  Shall have for his guerdon that gift of his king."  He spoke, and the cup from the terrible steep,    That, rugged and hoary, hung over the verge  Of the endless and measureless world of the deep,    Swirl'd into the maëlstrom that madden'd the surge.   "And where is the diver so stout to go—  I ask ye again—to the deep below?"  And the knights and the squires that gather'd around,    Stood silent—and fix'd on the ocean their eyes;  They look'd on the dismal and savage Profound,    And the peril chill'd back every thought of the prize.  And thrice spoke the monarch—"The cup to win,  Is there never a wight who will venture in?"  And all as before heard in silence the king—    Till a youth with an aspect unfearing but gentle,  'Mid the tremulous squires—stept out from the ring,    Unbuckling his girdle, and doffing his mantle;  And the murmuring crowd as they parted asunder,  On the stately boy cast their looks of wonder.  As he strode to the marge of the summit, and gave    One glance on the gulf of that merciless main;  Lo! the wave that forever devours the wave    Casts roaringly up the charybdis again;  And, as with the swell of the far thunder-boom,  Rushes foamingly forth from the heart of the gloom.  And it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars,[6]    As when fire is with water commix'd and contending,  And the spray of its wrath to the welkin up-soars,    And flood upon flood hurries on, never-ending.  And it never will rest, nor from travail be free,  Like a sea that is laboring the birth of a sea.  Yet, at length, comes a lull O'er the mighty commotion,  As the whirlpool sucks into black smoothness the swell  Of the white-foaming breakers—and cleaves thro' the ocean  A path that seems winding in darkness to hell.  Round and round whirl'd the waves-deeper and deeper  still driven,  Like a gorge thro' the mountainous main thunder-riven!  The youth gave his trust to his Maker! Before    That path through the riven abyss closed again—  Hark! a shriek from the crowd rang aloft from the shore,    And, behold! he is whirl'd in the grasp of the main!  And o'er him the breakers mysteriously roll'd,  And the giant-mouth closed on the swimmer so bold.  O'er the surface grim silence lay dark; but the crowd    Heard the wail from the deep murmur hollow and fell;  They hearken and shudder, lamenting aloud—    "Gallant youth-noble heart-fare-thee-well, fare-thee-well!"  More hollow and more wails the deep on the ear—  More dread and more dread grows suspense in its fear.  If thou should'st in those waters thy diadem fling,    And cry, "Who may find it shall win it and wear;"  God wot, though the prize were the crown of a king—    A crown at such hazard were valued too dear.  For never shall lips of the living reveal  What the deeps that howl yonder in terror conceal.  Oh, many a bark, to that breast grappled fast,    Has gone down to the fearful and fathomless grave;  Again, crash'd together the keel and the mast,    To be seen, toss'd aloft in the glee of the wave.  Like the growth of a storm, ever louder and clearer,  Grows the roar of the gulf rising nearer and nearer.  And it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars,    As when fire is with water commix'd and contending;  And the spray of its wrath to the welkin up-soars,    And flood upon flood hurries on, never ending;  And as with the swell of the far thunder-boom  Rushes roaringly forth from the heart of the gloom.  And, lo! from the heart of that far-floating gloom,[7]    What gleams on the darkness so swanlike and white?  Lo! an arm and a neck, glancing up from the tomb!—    They battle—the Man's with the Element's might.  It is he—it is he! In his left hand, behold!  As a sign!—as a joy!—shines the goblet of gold!  And he breathed deep, and he breathed long,    And he greeted the heavenly delight of the day.  They gaze on each other—they shout, as they throng—    "He lives—lo the ocean has render'd its prey!  And safe from the whirlpool and free from the grave,  Comes back to the daylight the soul of the brave!"  And he comes, with the crowd in their clamor and glee,    And the goblet his daring has won from the water,  He lifts to the king as he sinks on his knee;—    And the king from her maidens has beckon'd his daughter—  She pours to the boy the bright wine which they bring,  And thus spake the Diver—"Long life to the king!  "Happy they whom the rose-hues of daylight rejoice,    The air and the sky that to mortals are given!  May the horror below never more find a voice—    Nor Man stretch too far the wide mercy of Heaven!  Never more—never more may he lift from the sight  The veil which is woven with Terror and Night!  "Quick-brightening like lightning—it tore me along,    Down, down, till the gush of a torrent, at play  In the rocks of its wilderness, caught me—and strong    As the wings of an eagle, it whirl'd me away.  Vain, vain was my struggle—the circle had won me,  Round and round in its dance, the wild element spun me.  "And I call'd on my God, and my God heard my prayer    In the strength of my need, in the gasp of my breath—  And show'd me a crag that rose up from the lair,    And I clung to it, nimbly—and baffled the death!  And, safe in the perils around me, behold  On the spikes of the coral the goblet of gold!  "Below, at the foot of the precipice drear,    Spread the gloomy, and purple, and pathless Obscure!  A silence of Horror that slept on the ear,    That the eye more appall'd might the Horror endure!  Salamander—snake—dragon—vast reptiles that dwell  In the deep-coil'd about the grim jaws of their hell.  "Dark-crawl'd—glided dark the unspeakable swarms,    Clump'd together in masses, misshapen and vast—  Here clung and here bristled the fashionless forms—    Here the dark-moving bulk of the Hammer-fish pass'd—  And with teeth grinning white, and a menacing motion,  Went the terrible Shark—the Hyena of Ocean.  "There I hung, and the awe gather'd icily o'er me,    So far from the earth, where man's help there was none!  The One Human Thing, with the Goblins before me—    Alone—in a loneness so ghastly—ALONE!  Fathom-deep from man's eye in the speechless profound,  With the death of the Main and the Monsters around.  "Methought, as I gazed through the darkness, that now    IT[8] saw—the dread hundred-limbed creature-its prey!  And darted—O God! from the far flaming-bough    Of the coral, I swept on the horrible way;  And it seized me, the wave with its wrath and its roar,  It seized me to save—King, the danger is o'er!"  On the youth gazed the monarch, and marvel'd; quoth he,    "Bold Diver, the goblet I promised is thine,  And this ring will I give, a fresh guerdon to thee,    Never jewels more precious shone up from the mine,  If thou'lt bring me fresh tidings, and venture again  To tell what lies hid in the innermost main?"  Then outspake the daughter in tender emotion    "Ah! father, my father, what more can there rest?  Enough of this sport with the pitiless ocean—    He has served thee as none would, thyself has confest.  If nothing can slake thy wild thirst of desire,  Let thy knights put to shame the exploit of the squire!"  The king seized the goblet—he swung it on high,    And whirling, it fell in the roar of the tide:  "But bring back that goblet again to my eye,    And I'll hold thee the dearest that rides by my side;  And thine arms shall embrace, as thy bride, I decree,  The maiden whose pity now pleadeth for thee."  In his heart, as he listen'd, there leapt the wild joy—    And the hope and the love through his eyes spoke in fire,  On that bloom, on that blush, gazed delighted the boy;    The maiden-she faints at the feet of her sire!  Here the guerdon divine, there the danger beneath;  He resolves! To the strife with the life and the death!  They hear the loud surges sweep back in their swell,    Their coming the thunder-sound heralds along!  Fond eyes yet are tracking the spot where he fell:    They come, the wild waters, in tumult and throng,  Roaring up to the cliff—roaring back, as before,  But no wave ever brings the lost youth to the shore.* * * *

THE CRANES OF IBYCUS (1797)

  From Rhegium to the Isthmus, long  Hallow'd to steeds and glorious song,  Where, link'd awhile in holy peace,  Meet all the sons of martial Greece—  Wends Ibycus-whose lips the sweet    And ever-young Apollo fires;  The staff supports the wanderer's feet—  The God the Poet's soul inspires!  Soon from the mountain-ridges high,  The tower-crown'd Corinth greets his eye;  In Neptune's groves of darksome pine,  He treads with shuddering awe divine;  Nought lives around him, save a swarm    Of CRANES, that still pursued his way.  Lured by the South, they wheel and form  In ominous groups their wild array.  And "Hail! beloved Birds!" he cried;  "My comrades on the ocean tide,  Sure signs of good ye bode to me;  Our lots alike would seem to be;  From far, together borne, we greet    A shelter now from toil and danger;  And may the friendly hearts we meet  Preserve from every ill—the Stranger!"  His step more light, his heart more gay,  Along the mid-wood winds his way,  When, where the path the thickets close,  Burst sudden forth two ruffian foes;  Now strife to strife, and foot to foot!    Ah! weary sinks the gentle hand;  The gentle hand that wakes the lute    Has learn'd no lore that guides the brand.  He calls on men and Gods—in vain!  His cries no blest deliverer gain;  Feebler and fainter grows the sound,  And still the deaf life slumbers round—  "In the far land I fall forsaken,    Unwept and unregarded, here;  By death from caitiff hands o'ertaken,    Nor ev'n one late avenger near!"  Down to the earth the death-stroke bore him—  Hark, where the Cranes wheel dismal o'er him!  He hears, as darkness veils his eyes,  Near, in hoarse croak, their dirge-like cries.  "Ye whose wild wings above me hover,    (Since never voice, save yours alone,  The deed can tell)—the hand discover—    Avenge!"—He spoke, and life was gone.  Naked and maim'd the corpse was found—  And, still through many a mangling wound,  The sad Corinthian Host could trace  The loved—too well-remember'd face.  "And must I meet thee thus once more?    Who hoped with wreaths of holy pine,  Bright with new fame—the victory o'er—    The Singer's temples to entwine!"  And loud lamented every guest  Who held the Sea-God's solemn feast—  As in a single heart prevailing,  Throughout all Hellas went the wailing.  Wild to the Council Hall they ran—    In thunder rush'd the threat'ning Flood—  "Revenge shall right the murder'd man,    The last atonement-blood for blood!"  Yet 'mid the throng the Isthmus claims,  Lured by the Sea-God's glorious games—  The mighty many-nation'd throng—  How track the hand that wrought the wrong?—  How guess if that dread deed were done,    By ruffian hands, or secret foes?  He who sees all on earth—the SUN—    Alone the gloomy secret knows.  Perchance he treads in careless peace,  Amidst your Sons, assembled Greece;  Hears with a smile revenge decreed;  Gloats with fell joy upon the deed.  His steps the avenging gods may mock    Within the very Temple's wall,  Or mingle with the crowds that flock    To yonder solemn scenic[9] hall.  Wedg'd close, and serried, swarms the crowd—  Beneath the weight the walls are bow'd—  Thitherwards streaming far, and wide,  Broad Hellas flows in mingled tide tide—  A tide like that which heaves the deep    When hollow-sounding, shoreward driven;  On, wave on wave, the thousands sweep    Till arching, row on row, to heaven!  The tribes, the nations, who shall name,  That guest-like, there assembled came?  From Theseus' town, from Aulis' strand—  From Phocis, from the Spartans' land—  From Asia's wave-divided clime,    The Isles that gem the Ægean Sea,  To hearken on that Stage Sublime,    The Dark Choir's mournful melody!  True to the awful rites of old,  In long and measured strides, behold  The Chorus from the hinder ground,  Pace the vast circle's solemn round.  So this World's women never strode—    Their race from Mortals ne'er began;  Gigantic, from their grim abode,    They tower above the Sons of Man!  Across their loins the dark robe clinging,  In fleshless hands the torches swinging,  Now to and fro, with dark red glow—  No blood that lives the dead cheeks know!  Where flow the locks that woo to love    On human temples—ghastly dwell  The serpents, coil'd the brow above,    And the green asps with poison swell.  Thus circling, horrible, within  That space—doth their dark hymn begin,  And round the sinner as they go,  Cleave to the heart their words of woe.  Dismally wails, the senses chilling,    The hymn—the FURIES' solemn song;  And froze the very marrow thrilling    As roll'd the gloomy sounds along.  And weal to him—from crime secure—  Who keeps his soul as childhood's pure;  Life's path he roves, a wanderer free—  We near him not-THE AVENGERS, WE,  But woe to him for whom we weave    The doom for deeds that shun the light:  Fast to the murderer's feet we cleave,    The fearful Daughters of the Night.  "And deems he flight from us can hide him?  Still on dark wings We sail beside him!  The murderer's feet the snare enthralls—  Or soon or late, to earth he falls!  Untiring, hounding on, we go;    For blood can no remorse atone I  On, ever—to the Shades below,    And there—we grasp him, still our own!"  So singing, their slow dance they wreathe,  And stillness, like a silent death,  Heavily there lay cold and drear,  As if the Godhead's self were near.  Then, true to those strange rites of old,    Pacing the circle's solemn round,  In long and measured strides—behold,    They vanish in the hinder ground!  Confused and doubtful—half between  The solemn truth and phantom scene,  The crowd revere the Power, presiding  O'er secret deeps, to justice guiding—  The Unfathom'd and Inscrutable    By whom the web of doom is spun,  Whose shadows in the deep heart dwell,    Whose form is seen not in the sun!  Just then, amidst the highest tier,   Breaks forth a voice that starts the ear;  "See there—see there, Timotheus,   Behold the Cranes of Ibycus!"   A sudden darkness wraps the sky;     Above the roofless building hover   Dusk, swarming wings; and heavily     Sweep the slow Cranes, hoarse-murmuring, over!  "Of Ibycus?"—that name so dear   Thrills through the hearts of those who hear!   Like wave on wave in eager seas,   From mouth to mouth the murmur flees—  "Of Ibycus, whom we bewail!     The murder'd one! What mean those words?   Who is the man—knows he the tale?     Why link that name with those wild birds?"   Questions on questions louder press—   Like lightning flies the inspiring guess—   Leaps every heart—"The truth we seize;   Your might is here, EUMENIDES!   The murderer yields himself confest—     Vengeance is near—that voice the token—   Ho!-him who yonder spoke, arrest!     And him to whom the words were spoken!"   Scarce had the wretch the words let fall,   Than fain their sense he would recall   In vain; those whitening lips—behold!   The secret have already told.   Into their Judgment Court sublime     The Scene is changed;—their doom is seal'd!   Behold the dark unwitness'd Crime,     Struck by the lightning that reveal'd!* * * * *