The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 06

HEINRICH HEINE

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DEDICATION[1 - Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William Blackwood & Sons, London.] (1822)

I have had dreams of wild love wildly nursed,
Of myrtles, mignonette, and silken tresses,
Of lips, whose blames belie the kiss that blesses,
Of dirge-like songs to dirge-like airs rehearsed.

My dreams have paled and faded long ago,
Faded the very form they most adored,
Nothing is left me but what once I poured
Into pathetic verse with feverish glow.

Thou, orphaned song, art left. Do thou, too, fade!
Go, seek that visioned form long lost in night,
And say from me—if you upon it light—
With airy breath I greet that airy shade!

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SONGS (1822)

1[2 - Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William Blackwood & Sons, London.]

Oh, fair cradle of my sorrow,
Oh, fair tomb of peace for me,
Oh, fair town, my last good-morrow,
Last farewell I say to thee!

Fare thee well, thou threshold holy,
Where my lady's footsteps stir,
And that spot, still worshipped lowly,
Where mine eyes first looked on her!

Had I but beheld thee never,
Thee, my bosom's beauteous queen,
Wretched now, and wretched ever,
Oh, I should not thus have been!

Touch thy heart?—I would not dare that:
Ne'er did I thy love implore;
Might I only breathe the air that
Thou didst breathe, I asked no more.

Yet I could not brook thy spurning,
Nor thy cruel words of scorn;
Madness in my brain is burning,
And my heart is sick and torn.

So I go, downcast and dreary,
With my pilgrim staff to stray,
Till I lay my head aweary
In some cool grave far away.

2[3 - Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]

Cliff and castle quiver grayly
From the mirror of the Rhine
Where my little boat swims gaily;
Round her prow the ripples shine.

Heart at ease I watch them thronging—
Waves of gold with crisping crest,
Till awakes a half-lulled longing
Cherished deep within my breast.

Temptingly the ripples greet me
Luring toward the gulf beneath,
Yet I know that should they meet me
They would drag me to my death.

Lovely visage, treacherous bosom,
Guile beneath and smile above,
Stream, thy dimpling wavelet's blossom
Laughs as falsely as my love.

3[4 - Translator: T. Brooksbank. Permission William Heinemann, London.]

I despaired at first—believing
I should never bear it. Now
I have borne it—I have borne it.
Only never ask me How.

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A LYRICAL INTERMEZZO (1822-23)

1[5 - Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William Blackwood & Sons, London.]

'Twas in the glorious month of May,
When all the buds were blowing,
I felt—ah me, how sweet it was!—
Love in my heart a-growing.

'Twas in the glorious month of May,
When all the birds were quiring,
In burning words I told her all