The Poems of Schiller — Third period

   Man of virtue has need; — into life with boldness he plunges,     Entering with fortune more sure into the hazardous strife;    But to woman one virtue suffices; it is ever shining     Lovingly forth to the heart; so let it shine to the eye!

THE WALK

Hail to thee, mountain beloved, with thy glittering purple-dyed summit!   Hail to thee also, fair sun, looking so lovingly on! Thee, too, I hail, thou smiling plain, and ye murmuring lindens,   Ay, and the chorus so glad, cradled on yonder high boughs; Thee, too, peaceably azure, in infinite measure extending   Round the dusky-hued mount, over the forest so green, — Round about me, who now from my chamber's confinement escaping,   And from vain frivolous talk, gladly seek refuge with thee. Through me to quicken me runs the balsamic stream of thy breezes,   While the energetical light freshens the gaze as it thirsts. Bright o'er the blooming meadow the changeable colors are gleaming,   But the strife, full of charms, in its own grace melts away Freely the plain receives me, — with carpet far away reaching,   Over its friendly green wanders the pathway along. Round me is humming the busy bee, and with pinion uncertain   Hovers the butterfly gay over the trefoil's red flower. Fiercely the darts of the sun fall on me, — the zephyr is silent,   Only the song of the lark echoes athwart the clear air. Now from the neighboring copse comes a roar, and the tops of the alders   Bend low down, — in the wind dances the silvery grass; Night ambrosial circles me round; in the coolness so fragrant   Greets me a beauteous roof, formed by the beeches' sweet shade. In the depths of the wood the landscape suddenly leaves me   And a serpentine path guides up my footsteps on high. Only by stealth can the light through the leafy trellis of branches   Sparingly pierce, and the blue smilingly peeps through the boughs, But in a moment the veil is rent, and the opening forest   Suddenly gives back the day's glittering brightness to me! Boundlessly seems the distance before my gaze to be stretching,   And in a purple-tinged hill terminates sweetly the world. Deep at the foot of the mountain, that under me falls away steeply,   Wanders the greenish-hued stream, looking like glass as it flows. Endlessly under me see I the ether, and endlessly o'er   Giddily look I above, shudderingly look I below, But between the infinite height and the infinite hollow   Safely the wanderer moves over a well-guarded path. Smilingly past me are flying the banks all teeming with riches,   And the valley so bright boasts of its industry glad. See how yonder hedgerows that sever the farmer's possessions   Have by Demeter been worked into the tapestried plain! Kindly decree of the law, of the Deity mortal-sustaining,   Since from the brazen world love vanished forever away. But in freer windings the measured pastures are traversed   (Now swallowed up in the wood, now climbing up to the hills) By a glimmering streak, the highway that knits lands together;   Over the smooth-flowing stream, quietly glide on the rafts. Ofttimes resound the bells of the flocks in the fields that seem living,   And the shepherd's lone song wakens the echo again. Joyous villages crown the stream, in the copse others vanish,   While from the back of the mount, others plunge wildly below. Man still lives with the land in neighborly friendship united,   And round his sheltering roof calmly repose still his fields; Trustingly climbs the vine high over the low-reaching window,   While round the cottage the tree circles its far-stretching boughs. Happy race of the plain! Not yet awakened to freedom,   Thou and thy pastures with joy share in the limited law; Bounded thy wishes all are by the harvest's peaceable circuit,   And thy lifetime is spent e'en as the task of the day! But what suddenly hides the beauteous view? A strange spirit   Over the still-stranger plain spreads itself quickly afar — Coyly separates now, what scarce had lovingly mingled,   And 'tis the like that alone joins itself on to the like. Orders I see depicted; the haughty tribes of the poplars   Marshalled in regular pomp, stately and beauteous appear. All gives token of rule and choice, and all has its meaning, —   'Tis this uniform plan points out the Ruler to me. Brightly the glittering domes in far-away distance proclaim him.   Out of the kernel of rocks rises the city's high wall. Into the desert without, the fauns of the forest are driven,   But by devotion is lent life more sublime to the stone. Man is brought into nearer union with man, and around him   Closer, more actively wakes, swifter moves in him the world. See! the emulous forces in fiery conflict are kindled,   Much, they effect when they strive, more they effect when they join. Thousands of hands by one spirit are moved, yet in thousands of bosoms   Beats one heart all alone, by but one feeling inspired — Beats for their native land, and glows for their ancestors' precepts;   Here on the well-beloved spot, rest now time-honored bones. Down from the heavens descends the blessed troop of immortals,   In the bright circle divine making their festal abode; Granting glorious gifts, they appear: and first of all, Ceres   Offers the gift of the plough, Hermes the anchor brings next, Bacchus the grape, and Minerva the verdant olive-tree's branches,   Even his charger of war brings there Poseidon as well. Mother Cybele yokes to the pole of her chariot the lions,   And through the wide-open door comes as a citizen in. Sacred stones! 'Tis from ye that proceed humanity's founders,   Morals and arts ye sent forth, e'en to the ocean's far isles. 'Twas at these friendly gates that the law was spoken by sages;   In their Penates' defence, heroes rushed out to the fray. On the high walls appeared the mothers, embracing their infants,   Looking after the march, till the distance 'twas lost. Then in prayer they threw themselves down at the deities' altars,   Praying for triumph and fame, praying for your safe return. Honor and triumph were yours, but naught returned save your glory,   And by a heart-touching stone, told are your valorous deeds. "Traveller! when thou com'st to Sparta, proclaim to the people   That thou hast seen us lie here, as by the law we were bid." Slumber calmly, ye loved ones! for sprinkled o'er by your life-blood,   Flourish the olive-trees there, joyously sprouts the good seed. In its possessions exulting, industry gladly is kindled.   And from the sedge of the stream smilingly signs the blue god. Crushingly falls the axe on the tree, the Dryad sighs sadly;   Down from the crest of the mount plunges the thundering load. Winged by the lever, the stone from the rocky crevice is loosened;   Into the mountain's abyss boldly the miner descends. Mulciber's anvil resounds with the measured stroke of the hammer;   Under the fist's nervous blow, spurt out the sparks of the steel. Brilliantly twines the golden flax round the swift-whirling spindles,   Through the strings of the yarn whizzes the shuttle away. Far in the roads the pilot calls, and the vessels are waiting,   That to the foreigner's land carry the produce of home; Others gladly approach with the treasures of far-distant regions,   High on the mast's lofty head flutters the garland of mirth. See how yon markets, those centres of life and of gladness, are swarming!   Strange confusion of tongues sounds in the wondering ear. On to the pile the wealth of the earth is heaped by the merchant,   All that the sun's scorching rays bring forth on Africa's soil, All that Arabia prepares, that the uttermost Thule produces,   High with heart-gladdening stores fills Amalthea her horn. Fortune wedded to talent gives birth there to children immortal,   Suckled in liberty's arms, flourish the arts there of joy. With the image of life the eyes by the sculptor are ravished,   And by the chisel inspired, speaks e'en the sensitive stone. Skies artificial repose on slender Ionian columns,   And a Pantheon includes all that Olympus contains. Light as the rainbow's spring through the air, as the dart from                           the bowstring,   Leaps the yoke of the bridge over the boisterous stream. But in his silent chamber the thoughtful sage is projecting   Magical circles, and steals e'en on the spirit that forms, Proves the force of matter, the hatreds and loves of the magnet,   Follows the tune through the air, follows through ether the ray, Seeks the familiar law in chance's miracles dreaded,   Looks for the ne'er-changing pole in the phenomena's flight. Bodies and voices are lent by writing to thought ever silent,   Over the centuries' stream bears it the eloquent page. Then to the wondering gaze dissolves the cloud of the fancy,   And the vain phantoms of night yield to the dawning of day. Man now breaks through his fetters, the happy one! Oh, let him never   Break from the bridle of shame, when from fear's fetters he breaks Freedom! is reason's cry, — ay, freedom! The wild raging passions   Eagerly cast off the bonds Nature divine had imposed. Ah! in the tempest the anchors break loose, that warningly held him   On to the shore, and the stream tears him along in its flood, — Into infinity whirls him, — the coasts soon vanish before him,   High on the mountainous waves rocks all-dismasted the bark; Under the clouds are hid the steadfast stars of the chariot,   Naught now remains, — in the breast even the god goes astray. Truth disappears from language, from life all faith and all honor   Vanish, and even the oath is but a lie on the lips. Into the heart's most trusty bond, and into love's secrets,   Presses the sycophant base, tearing the friend from the friend. Treason on innocence leers, with looks that seek to devour,   And the fell slanderer's tooth kills with its poisonous bite. In the dishonored bosom, thought is now venal, and love, too,   Scatters abroad to the winds, feelings once god-like and free. All thy holy symbols, O truth, deceit has adopted,   And has e'en dared to pollute Nature's own voices so fair, That the craving heart in the tumult of gladness discovers;   True sensations are now mute and can scarcely be heard. Justice boasts at the tribune, and harmony vaunts in the cottage,   While the ghost of the law stands at the throne of the king. Years together, ay, centuries long, may the mummy continue,   And the deception endure, apeing the fulness of life. Until Nature awakes, and with hands all-brazen and heavy   'Gainst the hollow-formed pile time and necessity strikes. Like a tigress, who, bursting the massive grating iron,   Of her Numidian wood suddenly, fearfully thinks, — So with the fury of crime and anguish, humanity rises   Hoping nature, long-lost in the town's ashes, to find. Oh then open, ye walls, and set the captive at freedom   To the long desolate plains let him in safety return! But where am I? The path is now hid, declivities rugged   Bar, with their wide-yawning gulfs, progress before and behind. Now far behind me is left the gardens' and hedges' sure escort,   Every trace of man's hand also remains far behind. Only the matter I see piled up, whence life has its issue,   And the raw mass of basalt waits for a fashioning hand. Down through its channel of rock the torrent roaringly rushes,   Angrily forcing a path under the roots of the trees. All is here wild and fearfully desolate. Naught but the eagle   Hangs in the lone realms of air, knitting the world to the clouds. Not one zephyr on soaring pinion conveys to my hearing   Echoes, however remote, marking man's pleasures and pains. Am I in truth, then, alone? Within thine arms, on thy bosom,   Nature, I lie once again! — Ah, and 'twas only a dream That assailed me with horrors so fearful; with life's dreaded phantom,   And with the down-rushing vale, vanished the gloomy one too. Purer my life I receive again from thine altar unsullied, —   Purer receive the bright glow felt by my youth's hopeful days. Ever the will is changing its aim and its rule, while forever,   In a still varying form, actions revolve round themselves. But in enduring youth, in beauty ever renewing.   Kindly Nature, with grace thou dost revere the old law! Ever the same, for the man in thy faithful hands thou preservest   That which the child in its sport, that which the youth lent to thee; At the same breast thou dost suckle the ceaselessly-varying ages;   Under the same azure vault, over the same verdant earth, Races, near and remote, in harmony wander together,   See, even Homer's own sun looks on us, too, with a smile!

THE LAY OF THE BELL

   "Vivos voco — Mortuos plango — Fulgura frango." 30      Fast, in its prison-walls of earth,       Awaits the mould of baked clay.      Up, comrades, up, and aid the birth       The bell that shall be born to-day!         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.      From the fir the fagot take,       Keep it, heap it hard and dry,      That the gathered flame may break       Through the furnace, wroth and high.         When the copper within         Seeths 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 moulding 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.      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,      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 compassions 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 summer time!      Browning o'er, the pipes are simmering,       Dip this wand of clay 31 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 the virgin wreath, the bride!      To the love-feast clearly ringing,       Tolls the church-bell far and wide!      With that sweetest holiday,       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 storehouse are,      And the granaries bowed beneath       The blessed golden grain;      There, in undulating motion,      Wave the cornfields 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.      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 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 stream from the furnace glows.    Beams are crackling — posts are shrinking    Walls are sinking — windows clinking —         Children crying —         Mothers flying —    And the beast (the black ruin yet smouldering 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 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 faces that he loves! — He counts them o'er,    See — not one look is missing from that store!    Now clasped the bell within the clay —     The mould the mingled metals fill —    Oh, may it, sparkling into day,     Reward the labor and the skill!         Alas! should it fail,         For the mould 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! 32   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!       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 cheerly,     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 hut 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;       And 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!      Now, its destined task fulfilled,       Asunder break the prison-mould;      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 mould, 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 mould 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;     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 hollow — 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 hand?     It lights not him — it but consumes      The city and the land!      Rejoice and laud the prospering skies!       The kernel bursts its husk — 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 heartfelt 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-pavillioned heaven afar    To dwell — the neighbor of the thunder,     The borderer of the star!    Be hers above a voice to rise     Like those bright hosts in yonder sphere,    Who, while they move, their Maker praise,     And lead around the wreathed 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! 33