To me the hypocrite came: "Trust me, I pray thee, this once.
Honest is now my intent,--with grateful thanks I acknowledgeThat thou thy life and thy works hast to my worship ordain'd.
See, I have follow'd thee thither, to Rome, with kindly intention,Hoping to give thee mine aid, e'en in the foreigner's land.
Every trav'ller complains that the quarters he meets with are wretchedHappily lodged, though, is he, who is by Amor receiv'd.
Thou dost observe the ruins of ancient buildings with wonder,Thoughtfully wandering on, over each time-hallow'd spot.
Thou dost honour still more the worthy relics createdBy the few artists--whom I loved in their studios to seek.
I 'twas fashion'd those forms! thy pardon,--I boast not at present;Presently thou shalt confess, that what I tell thee is true.
Now that thou serv'st me more idly, where are the beauteous figures,Where are the colours, the light, which thy creations once fill'd?
Hast thou a mind again to form? The school of the GreciansStill remains open, my friend; years have not barr'd up its doors.
I, the teacher, am ever young, and love all the youthful,Love not the subtle and old; Mother, observe what I say!
Still was new the Antique, when yonder blest ones were living;Happily live,--and, in thee, ages long vanish'd will live!
Food for song, where hop'st thou to find it? I only can give it,And a more excellent style, love, and love only can teach."Thus did the Sophist discourse. What mortal, alas! could resist him?
And when a master commands, I have been train'd to obey.
Now he deceitfully keeps his word, gives food for my numbers,But, while he does so, alas! robs me of time, strength, and mind.
Looks, and pressure of hands, and words of kindness, and kisses,Syllables teeming with thought, by a fond pair are exchang'd.
Then becomes whispering, talk,--and stamm'ring, a language enchanting;Free from all prosody's rules, dies such a hymn on the ear.
Thee, Aurora, I used to own as the friend of the Muses;Hath, then, Amor the rogue cheated, Aurora, e'en thee?
Thou dost appear to me now as his friend, and again dost awake meUnto a day of delight, while at his altar I kneel.
All her locks I find on my bosom, her head is reposing,Pressing with softness the arm, which round her neck is entwin'd;Oh! what a joyous awak'ning, ye hours so peaceful, succeeded,Monument sweet of the bliss which had first rock'd us to sleep In her slumber she moves, and sinks, while her face is averted,Far on the breadth of the couch, leaving her hand still in mine Heartfelt love unites us for ever, and yearnings unsullied,And our cravings alone claim for themselves the exchange.
One faint touch of the hand, and her eyes so heavenly see IOnce more open. Ah, no! let me still look on that form!
Closed still remain! Ye make me confused and drunken, ye rob meFar too soon of the bliss pure contemplation affords.
Mighty, indeed, are these figures! these limbs, how gracefully rounded!
Theseus, could'st thou e'er fly, whilst Ariadne thus slept?
Only one single kiss on these lips! Oh, Theseus, now leave us!
Gaze on her eyes! she awakes--Firmly she holds thee embrac'd -----PART II.
ALEXIS AND DORA.
[This beautiful poem was first published in Schiller's Horen.]
FARTHER and farther away, alas! at each moment the vesselHastens, as onward it glides, cleaving the foam-cover'd flood!
Long is the track plough'd up by the keel where dolphins are sporting,Following fast in its rear, while it seems flying pursuit.
All forebodes a prosperous voyage; the sailor with calmnessLeans 'gainst the sail, which alone all that is needed performs.
Forward presses the heart of each seamen, like colours and streamers;Backward one only is seen, mournfully fix'd near the mast, While on the blue tinged mountains, which fast are receding, he gazeth,And as they sink in the sea, joy from his bosom departs.
Vanish'd from thee, too, oh Dora, is now the vessel that robs theeOf thine Alexis, thy friend,--ah, thy betrothed as well!
Thou, too, art after me gazing in vain. Our hearts are still throbbing,Though, for each other, yet ah! 'gainst one another no more.
Oh, thou single moment, wherein I found life! thou outweighestEvery day which had else coldly from memory fled.
'Twas in that moment alone, the last, that upon me descendedLife, such as deities grant, though thou perceived'st it not.
Phoebus, in vain with thy rays dost thou clothe the ether in glory:
Thine all-brightening day hateful alone is to me.
Into myself I retreat for shelter, and there, in the silence,Strive to recover the time when she appear'd with each day.
Was it possible beauty like this to see, and not feel it?
Work'd not those heavenly charms e'en on a mind dull as thine?
Blame not thyself, unhappy one! Oft doth the bard an enigmaThus propose to the throng, skillfully hidden in words.
Each one enjoys the strange commingling of images graceful,Yet still is wanting the word which will discover the sense.
When at length it is found, the heart of each hearer is gladden'd,And in the poem he sees meaning of twofold delight.
Wherefore so late didst thou remove the bandage, oh Amor,Which thou hadst placed o'er mine eyes,--wherefore remove it so late?
Long did the vessel, when laden, lie waiting for favouring breezes,'Till in kindness the wind blew from the land o'er the sea.
Vacant times of youth! and vacant dreams of the future!
Ye all vanish, and nought, saving the moment, remains.
Yes! it remains,--my joy still remains! I hold thee; my Dora,And thine image alone, Dora, by hope is disclos'd.
Oft have I seen thee go, with modesty clad, to the temple,While thy mother so dear solemnly went by thy side.
Eager and nimble thou wert, in bearing thy fruit to the market,Boldly the pail from the well didst thou sustain on thy head.
Then was reveal'd thy neck, then seen thy shoulders so beauteous,Then, before all things, the grace filling thy motions was seen.
Oft have I fear'd that the pitcher perchance was in danger of falling,Yet it ever remain'd firm on the circular cloth.
