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

THE WORDS OF BELIEF (1797)

  Three Words will I name thee—around and about,    From the lip to the lip, full of meaning, they flee;  But they had not their birth in the being without,    And the heart, not the lip, must their oracle be!  And all worth in the man shall for ever be o'er  When in those Three Words he believes no more.  Man is made FREE!—Man, by birthright, is free,    Though the tyrant may deem him but born for his tool.  Whatever the shout of the rabble may be—    Whatever the ranting misuse of the fool—  Still fear not the Slave, when he breaks from his chain,  For the Man made a Freeman grows safe in his gain.  And Virtue is more than a shade or a sound,    And Man may her voice, in this being, obey;  And though ever he slip on the stony ground,    Yet, ever again to the godlike way,  To the science of Good though the Wise may be blind,  Yet the practice is plain to the childlike mind.  And a God there is—over Space, over Time;    While the Human Will rocks, like a reed, to and fro,  Lives the Will of the Holy—A Purpose Sublime,    A Thought woven over creation below;  Changing and shifting the All we inherit,  But changeless through all One Immutable Spirit!  Hold fast the Three Words of Belief—though about    From the lip to the lip, full of meaning, they flee;  Yet they take not their birth from the being without—    But a voice from within must their oracle be;  And never all worth in the Man can be o'er,  Till in those Three Words he believes no more.* * * * *

THE WORDS OF ERROR (1799)

  Three Errors there are, that for ever are found    On the lips of the good, on the lips of the best;  But empty their meaning and hollow their sound—    And slight is the comfort they bring to the breast.  The fruits of existence escape from the clasp  Of the seeker who strives but those shadows to grasp—  So long as Man dreams of some Age in this life    When the Right and the Good will all evil subdue;  For the Right and the Good lead us ever to strife,    And wherever they lead us, the Fiend will pursue.  And (till from the earth borne, and stifled at length)  The earth that he touches still gifts him with strength![10]  So long as Man fancies that Fortune will live,    Like a bride with her lover, united with Worth;  For her favors, alas! to the mean she will give—    And Virtue possesses no title to earth!  That Foreigner wanders to regions afar,  Where the lands of her birthright immortally are!  So long as Man dreams that, to mortals a gift,    The Truth in her fulness of splendor will shine;  The veil of the goddess no earth-born may lift,    And all we can learn is—to guess and divine I  Dost thou seek, in a dogma, to prison her form?  The spirit flies forth on the wings of the storm!  O, Noble Soul! fly from delusions like these,    More heavenly belief be it thine to adore;  Where the Ear never hearkens, the Eye never sees,    Meet the rivers of Beauty and Truth evermore!  Not without thee the streams—there the Dull seek them;—No!  Look within thee—behold both the fount and the flow!* * * * *

THE LAY OF THE BELL[11] (1799)

"Vivos voco—Mortuos plango—Fulgura frango." [12]

I    Fast in its prison-walls of earth,      Awaits the mold of bakèd clay.    Up, comrades, up, and aid the birth—      THE BELL that shall be born today!        Who would honor obtain,        With the sweat and the pain,  The praise that Man gives to the Master must buy!—  But the blessing withal must descend from on high!      And well an earnest word beseems        The work the earnest hand prepares;      Its load more light the labor deems,        When sweet discourse the labor shares.      So let us ponder—nor in vain—        What strength can work when labor wills;      For who would not the fool disdain        Who ne'er designs what he fulfils?      And well it stamps our Human Race,        And hence the gift To UNDERSTAND,      That Man within the heart should trace        Whate'er he fashions with the hand.II      From the fir the faggot take,        Keep it, heap it hard and dry,      That the gathered flame may break        Through the furnace, wroth and high.          When the copper within          Seethes and simmers—the tin  Pour quick, that the fluid that feeds the Bell  May flow in the right course glib and well.      Deep hid within this nether cell,          What force with Fire is molding thus      In yonder airy tower shall dwell,        And witness wide and far of us!      It shall, in later days, unfailing,        Rouse many an ear to rapt emotion;      Its solemn voice with Sorrow wailing,        Or choral chiming to Devotion.      Whatever Fate to Man may bring,        Whatever weal or woe befall,      That metal tongue shall backward ring        The warning moral drawn from all.III      See the silvery bubbles spring!        Good! the mass is melting now!      Let the salts we duly bring        Purge the flood, and speed the flow.          From the dross and the scum,          Pure, the fusion must come;  For perfect and pure we the metal must keep,  That its voice may be perfect, and pure, and deep.        That voice, with merry music rife,          The cherished child shall welcome in,        What time the rosy dreams of life          In the first slumber's arms begin;       As yet in Time's dark womb unwarning,          Repose the days, or foul or fair,       And watchful o'er that golden morning,          The Mother-Love's untiring care!       And swift the years like arrows fly—          No more with girls content to play,  Fast in its prison-walls of earth,    Awaits the mold of bakèd clay.  Up, comrades, up, and aid the birth—    The BELL that shall be born to-day!    Bounds the proud Boy upon his way,      Storms through loud life's tumultuous pleasures,      With pilgrim staff the wide world measures;      And, wearied with the wish to roam,      Again seeks, stranger-like, the Father-Home.      And, lo, as some sweet vision breaks        Out from its native morning skies,      With rosy shame on downcast cheeks,        The Virgin stands before his eyes.      A nameless longing seizes him!        From all his wild companions flown;      Tears, strange till then, his eyes bedim;        He wanders all alone.      Blushing, he glides where'er she move;        Her greeting can transport him;      To every mead to deck his love,        The happy wild flowers court him!      Sweet Hope—and tender Longing—ye        The growth of Life's first Age of Gold,      When the heart, swelling, seems to see        The gates of heaven unfold!  O Love, the beautiful and brief! O prime,  Glory, and verdure, of life's summertime!IV        Browning o'er, the pipes are simmering,        Dip this wand of clay[13] within;        If like glass the wand be glimmering,          Then the casting may begin.            Brisk, brisk now, and see            If the fusion flow free;    If—(happy and welcome indeed were the sign!)    If the hard and the ductile united combine.  For still where the strong is betrothed to the weak,  And the stern in sweet marriage is blent with the meek,    Rings the concord harmonious, both tender and strong:  So be it with thee, if forever united,  The heart to the heart flows in one, love-delighted;    Illusion is brief, but Repentance is long.      Lovely, thither are they bringing,        With her virgin wreath, the Bride!      To the love-feast clearly ringing,        Tolls the church-bell far and wide!      With that sweetest holyday,        Must the May of Life depart;      With the cestus loosed—away        Flies ILLUSION from the heart!          Yet love lingers lonely,            When Passion is mute,          And the blossoms may only            Give way to the fruit.          The Husband must enter            The hostile life;            With struggle and strife,            To plant or to watch,            To snare or to snatch,            To pray and importune,          Must wager and venture            And hunt down his fortune!  Then flows in a current the gear and the gain,  And the garners are filled with the gold of the grain,  Now a yard to the court, now a wing to the centre!    Within sits Another,      The thrifty Housewife;    The mild one, the mother—      Her home is her life.    In its circle she rules,    And the daughters she schools,      And she cautions the boys,    With a bustling command,    And a diligent hand      Employed she employs;        Gives order to store,        And the much makes the more;  Locks the chest and the wardrobe, with lavender smelling,  And the hum of the spindle goes quick through the dwelling,  And she hoards in the presses, well polished and full,  The snow of the linen, the shine of the wool;  Blends the sweet with the good, and from care and endeavor  Rests never!        Blithe the Master (where the while        From his roof he sees them smile)          Eyes the lands, and counts the gain;        There, the beams projecting far,        And the laden store-house are,        And the granaries bowed beneath          The blessèd golden grain;        There, in undulating motion,        Wave the corn-fields like an ocean.        Proud the boast the proud lips breathe:—        "My house is built upon a rock,        And sees unmoved the stormy shock          Of waves that fret below!"        What chain so strong, what girth so great,        To bind the giant form of Fate?—          Swift are the steps of Woe.V        Now the casting may begin;          See the breach indented there:        Ere we run the fusion in,          Halt—and speed the pious prayer!            Pull the bung out—            See around and about  What vapor, what vapor—God help us!—has risen?—  Ha! the flame like a torrent leaps forth from its prison!          What friend is like the might of fire          When man can watch and wield the ire?          Whate'er we shape or work, we owe          Still to that heaven-descended glow.  But dread the heaven-descended glow,  When from their chain its wild wings go,  When, where it listeth, wide and wild  Sweeps the Free Nature's free-born Child!  When the Frantic One fleets,   While no force can withstand,  Through the populous streets   Whirling ghastly the brand;  For the Element hates  What man's labor creates,   And the work of his hand!  Impartially out from the cloud,  Or the curse or the blessing may fall!  Benignantly out from the cloud,   Come the dews, the revivers of all!  Avengingly out from the cloud   Come the levin, the bolt, and the ball!  Hark—a wail from the steeple!—aloud  The bell shrills its voice to the crowd!      Look—look—red as blood         All on high!  It is not the daylight that fills with its flood   The sky!  What a clamor awaking   Roars up through the street!  What a hell-vapor breaking   Rolls on through the street!   And higher and higher   Aloft moves the Column of Fire!   Through the vistas and rows   Like a whirlwind it goes,   And the air like the steam from a furnace glows.  Beams are crackling—posts are shrinking—  Walls are sinking—windows clinking    Children crying—    Mothers flying—  And the beast (the black ruin yet smoldering under)  Yells the howl of its pain and its ghastly wonder!  Hurry and skurry—away—away,  The face of the night is as clear as day!          As the links in a chain,          Again and again        Flies the bucket from hand to hand;          High in arches up-rushing          The engines are gushing,  And the flood, as a beast on the prey that it hounds,  With a roar on the breast of the element bounds.          To the grain and the fruits,          Through the rafters and beams,  Through the barns and the garners it crackles and streams!  As if they would rend up the earth from its roots,          Rush the flames to the sky          Giant-high;  And at length,  Wearied out and despairing, man bows to their strength!  With an idle gaze sees their wrath consume,  And submits to his doom!    Desolate  The place, and dread  For storms the barren bed!  In the blank voids that cheerful casements were,  Comes to and fro the melancholy air,    And sits despair;  And through the ruin, blackening in its shroud,  Peers, as it flits, the melancholy cloud.    One human glance of grief upon the grave    Of all that Fortune gave    The loiterer takes—then turns him to depart,    And grasps the wanderer's staff and mans his heart:    Whatever else the element bereaves    One blessing more than all it reft—it leaves    The face that he loves!—He counts them o'er,    See—not one look is missing from that store!VI    Now clasped the bell within the clay—      The mold the mingled metals fill—    Oh, may it, sparkling into day,    Reward the labor and the skill!      Alas! should it fail,      For the mold may be frail—  And still with our hope must be mingled the fear—  And, ev'n now, while we speak, the mishap may be near!    To the dark womb of sacred earth      This labor of our hands is given,    As seeds that wait the second birth,      And turn to blessings watched by heaven!    Ah seeds, how dearer far than they      We bury in the dismal tomb,    Where Hope and Sorrow bend to pray    That suns beyond the realm of day      May warm them into bloom!            From the steeple              Tolls the bell,            Deep and heavy,              The death-knell,  Guiding with dirge-note—solemn, sad, and slow,  To the last home earth's weary wanderers know.    It is that worshipped wife—    It is that faithful mother![14]  Whom the dark Prince of Shadows leads benighted,  From that dear arm where oft she hung delighted.  Far from those blithe companions, born  Of her, and blooming in their morn;  On whom, when couched her heart above,  So often looked the Mother-Love!    Ah! rent the sweet Home's union-band,      And never, never more to come—    She dwells within the shadowy land,      Who was the Mother of that Home!    How oft they miss that tender guide,      The care—the watch—the face—the MOTHER—  And where she sate the babes beside,    Sits with unloving looks—ANOTHER!VII  While the mass is cooling now,    Let the labor yield to leisure,  As the bird upon the bough,    Loose the travail to the pleasure.      When the soft stars awaken!      Each task be forsaken!  And the vesper-bell, lulling the earth into peace,  If the master still toil, chimes the workman's release!  Homeward from the tasks of day,  Through the greenwood's welcome way  Wends the wanderer, blithe and cheerily,  To the cottage loved so dearly!  And the eye and ear are meeting,  Now, the slow sheep homeward bleating;  Now, the wonted shelter near,  Lowing the lusty-fronted steer  Creaking now the heavy wain,  Reels with the happy harvest grain;  While, with many-colored leaves,  Glitters the garland on the sheaves;  For the mower's work is done,  And the young folks' dance begun!  Desert street, and quiet mart;—  Silence is in the city's heart;  And the social taper lighteth  Each dear face that HOME uniteth;  While the gate the town before  Heavily swings with sullen roar!  Though darkness is spreading  O'er earth—the Upright  And the Honest, undreading,  Look safe on the night  Which the evil man watches in awe,  For the eye of the Night is the Law!  Bliss-dowered! O daughter of the skies,  Hail, holy ORDER, whose employ  Blends like to like in light and joy—  Builder of cities, who of old  Called the wild man from waste and wold,  And, in his but thy presence stealing,  Roused each familiar household feeling,  And, best of all, the happy ties,  The centre of the social band—  The Instinct of the Fatherland!  United thus—each helping each,  Brisk work the countless hands forever;  For naught its power to Strength can teach,  Like Emulation and Endeavor!  Thus linked the master with the man,  Each in his rights can each revere,  And while they march in freedom's van,  Scorn the lewd rout that dogs the rear!  To freemen labor is renown!  Who works—gives blessings and commands;  Kings glory in the orb and crown—  Be ours the glory of our hands,  Long in these walls—long may we greet  Your footfalls, Peace and Concord sweet!  Distant the day, oh! distant far,  When the rude hordes of trampling War  Shall scare the silent vale—  The where  Now the sweet heaven, when day doth leave  The air,  Limns its soft rose-hues on the veil of Eve—  Shall the fierce war-brand, tossing in the gale,  From town and hamlet shake the horrent glare!VIII  Now, its destined task fulfilled,  Asunder break the prison-mold;  Let the goodly Bell we build,      Eye and heart alike behold.        The hammer down heave,        Till the cover it cleave:—  For not till we shatter the wall of its cell  Can we lift from its darkness and bondage the Bell.    To break the mold the master may,      If skilled the hand and ripe the hour;    But woe, when on its fiery way      The metal seeks itself to pour,    Frantic and blind, with thunder-knell,      Exploding from its shattered home,    And glaring forth, as from a hell,      Behold the red Destruction come!    When rages strength that has no reason,    There breaks the mold before the season;    When numbers burst what bound before,    Woe to the State that thrives no more!    Yea, woe, when in the City's heart,      The latent spark to flame is blown,   "Freedom! Equality!"—to blood    And Millions from their silence start,      To claim, without a guide, their own!    Discordant howls the warning Bell,      Proclaiming discord wide and far,    And, born but things of peace to tell,      Becomes the ghastliest voice of war:   "Freedom! Equality!"—to blood      Rush the roused people at the sound!    Through street, hall, palace, roars the flood,      And banded murder closes round!    The hyena-shapes (that women were!)      Jest with the horrors they survey;    They hound—they rend—they mangle there,      As panthers with their prey!    Naught rests to hallow—burst the ties      Of life's sublime and reverent awe;  Before the Vice the Virtue flies,        And Universal Crime is Law!      Man fears the lion's kingly tread;        Man fears the tiger's fangs of terror;      And still, the dreadliest of the dread,        Is Man himself in error!      No torch, though lit from Heaven, illumes        The Blind!—Why place it in his hands?      It lights not him—it but consumes        The City and the Land!IX      Rejoice and laud the prospering skies!        The kernel bursts its husks—behold      From the dull clay the metal rise,        Pure-shining, as a star of gold!          Neck and lip, but as one beam,          It laughs like a sunbeam.  And even the scutcheon, clear-graven, shall tell  That the art of a master has fashioned the Bell!      Come in—come in,      My merry men—we'll form a ring      The new-born labor christening;        And "CONCORD" we will name her!      To union may her heart-felt call        In brother-love attune us all!      May she the destined glory win        For which the master sought to frame her—      Aloft—(all earth's existence under)        In blue-pavilioned heaven afar      To dwell—the Neighbor of the Thunder,        The borderer of the Star!      Be hers above a voice to raise        Like those bright hosts in yonder sphere,      Who, while they move, their Maker praise,        And lead around the wreathèd year!      To solemn and eternal things        We dedicate her lips sublime,      As hourly, calmly, on she swings,        Fanned by the fleeting wings of Time!      No pulse—no heart—no feeling hers!        She lends the warning voice to Fate;      And still companions, while she stirs,        The changes of the Human State!      So may she teach us, as her tone        But now so mighty, melts away—      That earth no life which earth has known      From the last silence can delay!      Slowly now the cords upheave her!        From her earth-grave soars the Bell;      'Mid the airs of Heaven we leave her!        In the Music-Realm to dwell!          Up—upwards—yet raise—          She has risen—she sways.  Fair Bell to our city bode joy and increase,  And oh, may thy first sound be hallowed to—PEACE.[15]* * * * *

THE GERMAN ART (1800)

  By no kind Augustus reared,  To no Medici endeared,    German Art arose;  Fostering glory smil'd not on her,  Ne'er with kingly smiles to sun her,    Did her blooms unclose.  No! She went, by Monarchs slighted  Went unhonored, unrequited,    From high Frederick's throne;  Praise and Pride be all the greater,  That Man's genius did create her,    From Man's worth alone.  Therefore, all from loftier mountains,  Purer wells and richer Fountains,    Streams our Poet-Art;  So no rule to curb its rushing—  All the fuller flows it gushing    From its deep—The Heart!* * * * *

COMMENCEMENT OF THE NEW CENTURY (1801)

  Where can Peace find a refuge? Whither, say,    Can Freedom turn? Lo, friend, before our view  The CENTURY rends itself in storm away,    And, red with slaughter, dawns on earth the New!  The girdle of the lands is loosen'd[16]—hurl'd    To dust the forms old Custom deem'd divine,—  Safe from War's fury not the watery world;—    Safe not the Nile-God nor the antique Rhine.  Two mighty nations make the world their field,    Deeming the world is for their heirloom given—  Against the freedom of all lands they wield    This—Neptune's trident; that—the Thund'rer's levin  Gold to their scales each region must afford;    And, as fierce Brennus in Gaul's early tale,  The Frank casts in the iron of his sword,    To poise the balance, where the right may fail—  Like some huge Polypus, with arms that roam    Outstretch'd for prey—the Briton spreads his reign;  And, as the Ocean were his household home,    Locks up the chambers of the liberal main.  On to the Pole where shines, unseen, the Star,    Onward his restless course unbounded flies;  Tracks every isle and every coast afar,    And undiscover'd leaves but—Paradise!  Alas, in vain on earth's wide chart, I ween,    Thou seek'st that holy realm beneath the sky—  Where Freedom dwells in gardens ever green—    And blooms the Youth of fair Humanity!  O'er shores where sail ne'er rustled to the wind,    O'er the vast universe, may rove thy ken;  But in the universe thou canst not find    A space sufficing for ten happy men!  In the heart's holy stillness only beams    The shrine of refuge from life's stormy throng;  Freedom is only in the land of Dreams;    And only blooms the Beautiful in Song!* * * * *

CASSANDRA (1802)

[There is peace between the Greeks and Trojans—Achilles is to wed Polyxena, Priam's daughter. On entering the Temple, he is shot through his only vulnerable part by Paris.—The time of the following Poem is during the joyous preparations for the marriage.]

  And mirth was in the halls of Troy,    Before her towers and temples fell;  High peal'd the choral hymns of joy,    Melodious to the golden shell.  The weary had reposed from slaughter—    The eye forgot the tear it shed;  This day King Priam's lovely daughter    Shall great Pelides wed!  Adorn'd with laurel boughs, they come,    Crowd after crowd—the way divine,  Where fanes are deck'd—for gods the home—    And to the Thymbrian's[17] solemn shrine.  The wild Bacchantic joy is madd'ning    The thoughtless host, the fearless guest;  And there, the unheeded heart is sadd'ning    One solitary breast!  Unjoyous in the joyful throng,    Alone, and linking life with none,  Apollo's laurel groves among    The still Cassandra wander'd on!  Into the forest's deep recesses    The solemn Prophet-Maiden pass'd,  And, scornful, from her loosen'd tresses,    The sacred fillet cast!  "To all its arms doth Mirth unfold,    And every heart foregoes its cares;  And Hope is busy in the old;    The bridal-robe my sister wears.  But I alone, alone am weeping;    The sweet delusion mocks not me—  Around these walls destruction sweeping    More near and near I see!  "A torch before my vision glows,    But not in Hymen's hand it shines;  A flame that to the welkin goes,    But not from holy offering-shrines;  Glad hands the banquet are preparing,    And near, and near the halls of state  I hear the God that comes unsparing;    I hear the steps of Fate.  "And men my prophet-wail deride!    The solemn sorrow dies in scorn;  And lonely in the waste, I hide    The tortured heart that would forewarn.  Amidst the happy, unregarded,    Mock'd by their fearful joy, I trod;  Oh, dark to me the lot awarded,    Thou evil Pythian god!  "Thine oracle, in vain to be,    Oh, wherefore am I thus consign'd  With eyes that every truth must see,    Lone in the City of the Blind?  Cursed with the anguish of a power    To view the fates I may not thrall,  The hovering tempest still must lower—    The horror must befall!  "Boots it the veil to lift, and give    To sight the frowning fates beneath?  For error is the life we live,    And, oh, our knowledge is but death!  Take back the clear and awful mirror,    Shut from mine eyes the blood-red glare  Thy truth is but a gift of terror    When mortal lips declare.  "My blindness give to me once more[18]—    The gay dim senses that rejoice;  The Past's delighted songs are o'er    For lips that speak a Prophet's voice.  To me the future thou hast granted;    I miss the moment from the chain—  The happy Present-Hour enchanted!    Take back thy gift again!  "Never for me the nuptial wreath    The odor-breathing hair shall twine;  My heavy heart is bow'd beneath    The service of thy dreary shrine.  My youth was but by tears corroded,—    My sole familiar is my pain,  Each coming ill my heart foreboded,    And felt it first—in vain!  "How cheer'ly sports the careless mirth—    The life that loves, around I see;  Fair youth to pleasant thoughts give birth—    The heart is only sad to me.  Not for mine eyes the young spring gloweth,    When earth her happy feast-day keeps;  The charm of life who ever knoweth    That looks into the deeps?  "Wrapt in thy bliss, my sister, thine    The heart's inebriate rapture-springs;—  Longing with bridal arms to twine    The bravest of the Grecian kings.  High swells the joyous bosom, seeming    Too narrow for its world of love,  Nor envies, in its heaven of dreaming,    The heaven of gods above!  "I too might know the soft control    Of one the longing heart could choose,  With look which love illumes with soul—    The look that supplicates and woos.  And sweet with him, where love presiding    Prepares our hearth, to go—but, dim,  A Stygian shadow, nightly gliding,    Stalks between me and him!  "Forth from the grim funereal shore,    The Hell-Queen sends her ghastly bands;  Where'er I turn—behind—before—    Dumb in my path—a Spectre stands!  Wherever gayliest, youth assembles—    I see the shades in horror clad,  Amidst Hell's ghastly People trembles    One soul for ever sad!  "I see the steel of Murder gleam—    I see the Murderer's glowing eyes—  To right—to left, one gory stream—    One circling fate—my flight defies!  I may not turn my gaze—all seeing,    Foreknowing all, I dumbly stand—  To close in blood my ghastly being    In the far strangers' land!"  Hark! while the sad sounds murmur round,    Hark, from the Temple-porch, the cries!—  A wild, confused, tumultuous sound!—    Dead the divine Pelides lies!  Grim Discord rears her snakes devouring—    The last departing god hath gone!  And, womb'd in cloud, the thunder, lowering,    Hangs black on Ilion.* * * * *