PASSION brings reason--who can pacifyAn anguish'd heart whose loss hath been so great?
Where are the hours that fled so swiftly by?
In vain the fairest thou didst gain from fate;Sad is the soul, confused the enterprise;The glorious world, how on the sense it dies!
In million tones entwined for evermore,Music with angel-pinions hovers there, To pierce man's being to its inmost core,Eternal beauty has its fruit to bear;The eye grows moist, in yearnings blest reveres The godlike worth of music as of tears.
And so the lighten'd heart soon learns to seeThat it still lives, and beats, and ought to beat, Off'ring itself with joy and willingly,In grateful payment for a gift so sweet.
And then was felt,--oh may it constant prove!--The twofold bliss of music and of love.
1823.
THE remembrance of the Good Keep us ever glad in mood.
The remembrance of the Fair Makes a mortal rapture share.
The remembrance of one's Love Blest Is, if it constant prove.
The remembrance of the One Is the greatest joy that's known.
1828.
[Written at the age of 77.]
WHEN I was still a youthful wight,So full of enjoyment and merry, The painters used to assert, in spite,That my features were small--yes, very;Yet then full many a beauteous child With true affection upon me smil'd.
Now as a greybeard I sit here in state,By street and by lane held in awe, sirs;And may be seen, like old Frederick the Great,On pipebowls, on cups, and on saucers.
Yet the beauteous maidens, they keep afar;Oh vision of youth! Oh golden star!
1826.
FOR EVER.
THE happiness that man, whilst prison'd here,Is wont with heavenly rapture to compare,--The harmony of Truth, from wavering clear,--Of Friendship that is free from doubting care,--The light which in stray thoughts alone can cheerThe wise,--the bard alone in visions fair,--In my best hours I found in her all this, And made mine own, to mine exceeding bliss.
1820.
FROM AN ALBUM OF 1604.
HOPE provides wings to thought, and love to hope.
Rise up to Cynthia, love, when night is clearest, And say, that as on high her figure changeth, So, upon earth, my joy decays and grows.
And whisper in her ear with modest softness, How doubt oft hung its head, and truth oft wept.
And oh ye thoughts, distrustfully inclined, If ye are therefore by the loved one chided, Answer: 'tis true ye change, but alter not, As she remains the same, yet changeth ever.
Doubt may invade the heart, but poisons not, For love is sweeter, by suspicion flavour'd.
If it with anger overcasts the eye, And heaven's bright purity perversely blackens, Then zephyr-sighs straight scare the clouds away, And, changed to tears, dissolve them into rain.
Thought, hope, and love remain there as before, Till Cynthia gleams upon me as of old.
1820.
LINES ON SEEING SCHILLER'S SKULL.
[This curious imitation of the ternary metre of Dante was written at the age of 77.]
WITHIN a gloomy charnel-house one dayI view'd the countless skulls, so strangely mated, And of old times I thought, that now were grey.
Close pack'd they stand, that once so fiercely hated, And hardy bones, that to the death contended,Are lying cross'd,--to lie for ever, fated.
What held those crooked shoulder-blades suspended?
No one now asks; and limbs with vigour fired, The hand, the foot--their use in life is ended.
Vainly ye sought the tomb for rest when tired;Peace in the grave may not be yours; ye're drivenBack into daylight by a force inspired;But none can love the wither'd husk, though evenA glorious noble kernel it contained.
To me, an adept, was the writing givenWhich not to all its holy sense explained, When 'mid the crowd, their icy shadows flinging,I saw a form, that glorious still remained.
And even there, where mould and damp were clinging,Gave me a blest, a rapture-fraught emotion, As though from death a living fount were springing.
What mystic joy I felt! What rapt devotion!
That form, how pregnant with a godlike trace!
A look, how did it whirl me tow'rd that ocean Whose rolling billows mightier shapes embrace!
Mysterious vessel! Oracle how dear!
Even to grasp thee is my hand too base,Except to steal thee from thy prison here With pious purpose, and devoutly goBack to the air, free thoughts, and sunlight clear.
What greater gain in life can man e'er knowThan when God-Nature will to him explain How into Spirit steadfastness may flow,How steadfast, too, the Spirit-Born remain.
1826.
ROYAL PRAYER.
HA, I am the lord of earth! The noble,Who're in my service, love me.
Ha, I am the lord of earth! The noble,O'er whom my sway extendeth, love I.
Oh, grant me, God in Heaven, that I may ne'erDispense with loftiness and love!
1815.
HUMAN FEELINGS.
AH, ye gods! ye great immortals In the spacious heavens above us!
Would ye on this earth but give us Steadfast minds and dauntless courage We, oh kindly ones, would leave you All your spacious heavens above us!
1815.
ON THE DIVAN.
HE who knows himself and othersHere will also see, That the East and West, like brothers,Parted ne'er shall be.
Thoughtfully to float for ever'Tween two worlds, be man's endeavour!
So between the East and WestTo revolve, be my behest!
1833.
EXPLANATION OF AN ANCIENT WOODCUT, REPRESENTINGHANS SACHS' POETICAL MISSION.
[I feel considerable hesitation in venturing to offer this version of a poem which Carlyle describes to be 'a beautiful piece (a very Hans Sacks beatified, both in character and style), which we wish there was any possibility of translating.' The reader will be aware that Hans Sachs was the celebrated Minstrel-Cobbler of Nuremberg, who Wrote 208 plays, 1700 comic tales, and between 4000 and 5000 lyric poems.He flourished throughout almost the whole of the 16th century.]
EARLY within his workshop here, On Sundays stands our master dear;His dirty apron he puts away, And wears a cleanly doublet to-day;Lets wax'd thread, hammer, and pincers rest, And lays his awl within his chest;The seventh day he takes repose From many pulls and many blows.
