838
P72
tC77
1923

ARTES
1837
SCIENTIA
LIBRARY
VERITAS
OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
ZL PLURIBUS UKUM
THEBOR
SI-QUÆRIS-PENINSULAM-AMŒNAM`
CIRCUMSPICE
|-
४३४
P7Z
+277
1923
THE

SONNETS
OF
KARL AUGUST GEORG MAX
GRAF VON
PLATEN-HALLERMÜNDE
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN
BY
REGINALD BANCROFT COOKE
M.A. (California), Ph.D. (Wisconsin)

MARTI
ARTI et VERITATI
BOSTON
RICHARD G. BADGER
1923
....
Made in the United States of America
The Gorham Press, Boston, Mass., U.S.A.
Copyright, 1923, by Reginald Bancroft Cooke
All Rights Reserved
TO F. G. C.
Of the Royal Air Force
To you, in memory of war-time days,
When your New Zealand and my Canada
Fought with our England 'neath a single star
Against one foe, who set the world ablaze-
To you the thoughts this slender book conveys
I beg to offer from this land afar,
Hoping some verses here perchance there are
Which may be not unworthy of your praise.
For these are stolen fruit. I have but lent
The means whereby another might confess
His heart to those whose hours cannot be spent
In foreign vineyards, there the juice to press
From foreign vines. Therefore to what extent
His thoughts are mine 'tis yours, my friend, to
guess.
German
Wahr
3-19-2-4
1003
IT
INTRODUCTION
T is customary to consider August Platen the greatest of
Teutonic sonneteers, or to admit that his elder contemporary,
Rückert, is in this form his only peer. In his Geschichte des
Sonettes in der deutschen Dichtung Welti declares that Platen
brought the German sonnet to such perfection that he has been
the model for all subsequent poets of his country who have
adopted this form.
These translations, a labor of love occupying the leisure hours
of the past eight years and interrupted by over three years active
service abroad, are now put before the reader, not without mis-
givings, by one who believes that contemporary tendencies in
poetry, no less than in the other fine arts, require an antidote.
The wide-spread interest recently manifested in the products of
poetic fancy has led to the production and ready consumption of
much that is strangely incoherent in utterance and lamentably
lacking in artistic form, nor are there wanting theorists who
magnify these vagaries into the semblance of a cult.
Now in contradistinction to these tendencies the poetry of
Platen exemplifies the values of a chaste restraint and classic
symmetry. His own feud with the pseudo-romanticists of his time
is now a matter of literary history, but literature, no less than
history, repeats itself, and the same battles must be continually
fought anew. It is therefore partly by virtue of its antidotal
significance with respect to current practice that one may be per-
mitted to hope that Platen's poetry may arouse some interest and
satisfy some need among our own generation.
For the characteristics of Platen's verse in general are those
usually thought of in association with the latin rather than the
1
[5]
teutonic mind, elegance, precision, and the highest degree of re-
finement both in language and thought. As a master of diction
he has had few equals in any literature, while the objective and
passionless quality of his thought, least noticeable in his sonnets
save in the cycle from Venice, led Goethe to remark that Platen
had but one lack, namely love.
More specifically, Platen's conception of the sonnet stands at
the opposite extreme from that of Milton, who regarded it as a
fluent and more or less continuous whole. No sonneteer has
exceeded, perhaps none equalled, Platen in the formal excellence
of his productions, in a meticulous nicety of workmanship not
wholly wanting in its own peculiar disadvantages.
In these translations the structure of the originals has been
preserved with the utmost fidelity. With but two exceptions the
break at the conclusion of the octave, universal with Platen, has
been retained. The rhyme-schemes are throughout identical,
though it would, of course, have been vain to attempt to reproduce
in our monosyllabic tongue the feminine rhymes which, with such
wonderful effect, Platen employs exclusively. It will be observed
that the sonnets are uniformly constructed upon the Italian model,
and that with only seven exceptions the sestets rhyme ababab.
Although employed by Petrarch and the Italian masters in general
rather less frequently than the scheme abcabc, the alternating
rhyme is probably preferable, as the effect of the rhyming is
apt to be lost by the ear before the first line of the second tercet
in the other scheme is concluded.
The attempt has been to make the translations as literal as
possible, and it is hoped that the secondary endeavor for values
of expression has seldom seriously interfered with faithfulness
to the original. The objectivity and detailed character of Platen's
thought has not rendered the task in this respect an easy one.
The mottoes prefixed to the several cycles are, of course,
Platen's own, though for their distribution to the cycles in ques-
tion (except in the case of the Venetian series) the translator is
[6]
responsible, merely having availed himself of the accident of
their number.
It has been considered wiser to refrain from including a re-
translation of the Sonett nach Camoens, but beyond that there
are omitted only an alternative reading of the first sonnet of the
Venetian series and some lines entitled Sonett, which date from
1811, when Platen was fourteen, and whose trochaic tetrameter
obviously belies their name.
Only six of the sonnets have been previously translated into
English-one of them twice-by five different hands (See
Appendix II).
It had been originally intended to add notes in elucidation of
each of the sonnets, but for those who read German these may be
found in the standard edition of Platen's complete works edited
by Koch and Petzet, which has been used as the basic text for
these translations, and further reference may be made to the
monumental and definitive biography by Rudolph Schlösser, the
second volume of which is furnished with an adequate index.
In his Tagebuch also Platen has left us a record of his friendships
of unusual candor and completeness. Some introductory remarks
on the several cycles, however, may not be out of place.
The eight sonnets which constitute the series To Cardenio were
composed between November, 1822 and May, 1823. Like those
addressed somewhat later to Karl Theodor German, these
sonnets are not perhaps wholly in accord with modern taste; but
it must be remembered that Platen was a thorough classicist,
hardly less in the content and inspiration of his work than in his
craftsmanship; and in view of the voluminous outpourings of
erotic slush which in our day satiate, or rather stimulate, the
prurience of the multitude, it may not be idle to turn again to one
who avowedly sought "to bring back into modern poetry the
accents of a platonic love of man for man." The name Cardenio
is, of course, assumed, a practise which Platen employed also in
the case of others of his "friends."
[7]
Little need be said of the sonnets addressed to, or otherwise
concerned with, various persons of consequence in literature.
Platen was for some time in attendance at Schelling's philosophical
lectures at Erlangen, which left a keen impress on his imaginative
mind. The sonnet to Goethe is perhaps that which has been most
frequently upon the lips of their fellow-countrymen, while that
regarding Hafiz bears witness to Platen's early and continued
interest in Persian poetry. To Shakespeare as a sonneteer it will
be easily understood that Platen felt much drawn; while Jean
Paul, to whom is addressed this sonnet of a pathetic delicacy
worthy of its object, and Rückert were among his intimate
associates. The sonnets to Winckelmann and Sophocles illustrate
their writer's strong attachment to the classical tradition. In
the case of Tieck the reference is to his unfortunate attempt to
stage a translation of Calderon, and does not justify us in
assuming any further hostility than that which Platen felt for
all romanticists. J. J. Wagner is unknown save for this reaction
to an utterance he may have come to regret.
With respect to the identity of the "various friends" addressed
in the sonnets here gathered under that title and to the manner
in which they entered into Platen's life reference must be made
to the works mentioned above. It will be seen from Appendix
II that the third sonnet to Bülow has already been twice trans-
lated into English. It is one of the finest and best known that
Platen has left us, and incidentally it may be noted that the
substitution of an original second line in this translation, which
gives the entire sonnet a uniformity of structure not quite com-
plete in the German, constitutes the greatest liberty which has
anywhere been taken in this book with Platen's actual words.
The date and addressee of the sonnet here and usually called
the third to Schmidtlein are uncertain. Schlösser thinks it
addressed to Liebig in 1822, a supposition, however, apparently
out of keeping with its general tone.
There can be no question that it is upon the marvelous sonnets
[8]
from Venice that Platen's great reputation as a sonneteer must
principally rest. Robertson calls them without qualification "the
finest collection of sonnets in the German tongue." Of these
sonnets the first fourteen (in the order as given here) were
written during a two months stay in Venice in 1824, being com-
pleted in November; and in his Tagebuch for the twenty-seventh
of February of the year following Goethe records: "Venetian
sonnets of Count Platen found praiseworthy." They were first
printed at Erlangen in the latter year. The last three sonnets
were added at a later date. No translation could do justice to
the incomparable verbal virtuosity and flawless beauty of the
originals, but may the reader be in some measure led to a
realization of Platen's own wish, as expressed in sending Goethe
a copy of the poems, "to bring again the picture of that memorable
city before your mind." The reference in the last two of these
sonnets is to a young Venetian nobleman with whom Platen
became acquainted.
The scarcely inferior and scarcely less known series to Karl
Theodor German was written at Erlangen in the early months
of 1826. Platen first saw German, who was a theological student
from the Bavarian Palatinate, in November, 1825, and first spoke
with him at a ball in the following January. We may believe,
as Platen tells us, that the friendship which these sonnets cele-
brate, though of such a short duration and unhappy ending,
surpassed all his earlier attachments in strength and purity of
feeling, but his judgment that the sonnets similarly excel all those
of earlier date may prove to many less acceptable. "These
sonnets, writes Platen in his Tagebuch, "will not perish, and
will transmit to posterity the excess of friendship that I shall
always feel for this man.
""
Our final series contains all the sonnets which may be de-
scribed as miscellaneous. The Aurora, the earliest of his sonnets,
was written when Platen was only sixteen, while with the Epitaph
he finally laid down his pen as soneteer at the age of thirty-three
[9]
six years before his death. Of the four sonnets taken from the
Jugenddramen the first is spoken by Prince Astolf in Der
gläserne Pantoffel, and the other three may be found in Der
Schatz des Rhampsinit.
In conclusion, acknowledgments are due to Professors A. R.
Hohlfeld and F. C. Sharp, of the University of Wisconsin, and to
Professor A. B. Faust, of Cornell University, for kindly encour-
agement during the progress of this work, and to Professor J. F.
L. Raschen, then of Lafayette College, now of the University of
Pittsburg, who first aroused my interest in Germanic literature.
Portland, Maine,
February, 1923.
•
R. B. C.
[10]
CONTENTS
TRANSLATOR'S DEDICATION
INTRODUCTION
TO CARDENIO
TO LITERARY PERSONAGES
TO VARIOUS FRIENDS
SONNETS FROM VENICE .
TO KARL THEODOR GERMAN
MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS
•
APPENDICES:
•
Page
3
5
13
23
37
63
83
109
133
I CHRONOLOGICAL DISTRIBUTION
II PREVIOUS TRANSLATIONS OF CERTAIN OF THE SONNETS
INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
137
TO CARDENIO
MOTTO
What by its own confession
Hath ever youth unfeigned
Is, in restrained expression,
A spirit unrestrained.
(1834)
1
I
HITHER compelled, perplexed at heart lest thee
I should not find, I traced my steps, a prey,
All for my love of thee, to dark dismay,
Lest hope should vanish like a fantasy.
A thousand times estranged, alas! had we
Two parted each upon his lonely way,
And bitter was our last farewell that day,
Nor clasped we hands, as friends do usually.
Where thou wert tarrying how might I know?
What friends meanwhile enjoyed thy company
And fond affections how could I surmise?
And if at last I had not found thee? Oh,
I will forget this futile If, for he
Whom long I sought stands now before mine
eyes.
(1822)
[15]
II
My friend, as yet thou seem'st but young, for Ah!
Little thou know'st what burdens we endure,
Or how, when often we do feel most sure
The goal is nigh, th' event doth sadly mar
Our hopes. Youth follows still its lucky star
Whithersoever fortune may allure;
Old age yet lingers pondering by the shore,
Or treads the bridge to barren lands afar.
Thou art too young as yet to comprehend
How oft in vain the spirit seeks repose,
Turning now north now south in ceaseless quest.
And Oh, I pray that never may'st thou lend
Thy youthful days to succor one who knows
Life's weariness, but not the joys of rest!
(1822)
[16]
III
WHEN first I saw thee, though perchance by pride
A captive held, to me thou seem'dst most fair.
The glasses rang and voices filled the air,
And soon thou wast departed. Far and wide
I meanwhile roamed, yet, not to be denied,
A longing filled my heart, and waxes there
Till, like an avalanche of snow, it dare
To bury us beneath its swelling tide.
And when anew I found thee, more and more
I truly learned to love thee, and again
Parted, again we met. So fortune bore
Us hence and hither in the fated train
Of ever changing hours. Alone I saw
Thy beauty and thy pride unchanged remain.
(1822)
[17]
IV
WELL I recall that bitter winter's night,
More exquisite than any night in spring,
When I, my friend, could watch thee carrying
A torch, so to direct me by its light
Upon our solitary path. How bright
And beautiful the myriad sparks would fling
Abroad their radiant showers, as, in a ring,
Thou whirl'dst the fiery fagots left and right.
The distant orbs were envious to see
Thy torch's beams, yet lovingly the Wain
Seemed with its seven stars to beckon thee.
'Tis in such hours as these our thoughts remain
Too willingly unspoken. Who would be
So bold as to surmise their silent train?
(1823)
[18]
V
SCARCE dare I touch thy locks, and so to me
It seems the haughty cap, so closely drawn
Upon thy curly hair as but to adorn
Thy beauty, ev'n more enviable must be
Than were the gold of true maturity.
I envy, too, this pipe, happily worn
By kisses; yet swift as the smoke is borne
From sight, so fickle is thy constancy.
Forswear, I pray, thy pride; be not so rough
As to begrudge me still the curling rings
Which thou permit'st even to that dead stuff;
And deem me worthy, so the future brings
To me the fortunes of thy pipe. Enough;
I am thy slave wilt thou but grant these things.
(1823)
[19]
VI
ALONE with thee, what utter happiness
Were mine to share thy silent thoughts, which vow
"Twixt us an end to doubt-while gay throngs now
Pass to and fro—and stealthily to press
Thine hand. And then my gaze in rapt duress
Must tarry where a thousand charms endow
Thy features; on thy moving lips, and brow,
And eyes, and all thy youthful comeliness.
I am not borne away at the behest
Of some mean thirst for love. Rather to me
Thy favor grants repose; and for the rest
I am disturbed by no anxiety
Nor fear to lose my well-won prize. Thus blest
Am I by fortune-everlastingly.
(1823)
[20]
VII
I DRANK th' o'erflowing cup of death; yet not
That which the world calls death, for happy they
Already in the coffin laid away
And lowered with ropes to some abysmal spot.
Oh, were I but departed and forgot,
And, shrouded all in white as cold I lay,
Borne forth in ceremonious array,
With friends to dedicate the broken plot!
Alas! I have no confidants, no friends.
I steal in silence past the merry fun
Of revelers, and no one comprehends
My loneliness; yet even now the sun
Too long has warmed me, for my gaze but lends
Strength to my grief until my course be run.
(1823)
[21]
VIII
WHAT dost thou care for all my tears distressed
By day and night outpoured! The blood might start
From out mine eyes, yet wouldst thou ne'er impart
To me thy pity. Had I unsuppressed
Cherished some guilty passion in my breast
Whenever we had chanced to meet or part,
Then it were just that thou shouldst bar thine
heart,
And that thine enmity should be confessed.
But I had sworn to be for ever true,
Until with piercing looks of proud disdain
Thou drov'st me hence. Alas! what shall I do?
Thy bitter hatred renders all in vain;
For always still thy cruel words pursue
My every thought, and drive my mind insane.
(1823)
[22]
TO LITERARY PERSONAGES
MOTTO
Oh that I had but the power
With vigor to route and avert
From every poetical flower
The political bugs and their dirt!
(1821)
+
TO SCHELLING—1
DOTH not he ever king in Truth's domain
Reign too o'er Beauty's realm by kingly right?
Thou dost behold them perfectly unite
And closely fuse in one harmonious strain.
This little present thou wilt not disdain;
These oriental throngs with true delight
Thou wilt survey, so picturesque, so bright,
And grow accustomed to their strange refrain.
On blooms of a far land admittedly
I poise but lightly like the butterfly,
Joying perchance in some mere vanity.
But from the brims of flowers 'neath every sky
Thou dipp'st the wing of the inviolate bee
Into the mysteries of How and Why.
(1821)
[25]
TO SCHELLING-2
WE hung upon thy words with zeal untold,
Each in his seat how eager to detect
Th' amazing flashes of thine intellect,
Piercing like lightning from the clouds unrolled.
Our fragmentary world thou dost behold
Entire, as from some mountain peak erect;
What our impoverished faculties dissect
Opens to thee as flowering plants unfold.
Though fools there be who wrathfully display
Their logical invectives, so to blind
Our senses to the worthless eggs they lay,
Yet shall these censors, thinking fault to find,
Stir not the world of learning, nor shall they
At any time inspire a poet's mind.
(1821)
[26]
TO SCHELLING-3
As full of weariness sank to the grave
A century, and left at our command
Much that was great, thou cam'st, though scarce
o'erspanned
Thy youth, the course of the new age to pave.
Art saw thy coming, grasped the pilgrim's stave,
And roamed at liberty through every land;
Gladly to her the chill North and the bland,
Luxuriant South their golden treasures gave.
The air is filled with yelpings of the crowd,
The stupid and the vile defile her fame,
And owls through each foul breech now screech
aloud;
Yet all serene her diamond flowers flame,
Whose fragrance permeates, like an incense cloud,
The realms which bow to Christ's eternal name.
(1821)
[27]
TO GOETHE
THOU, mighty one, whom I beheld oft blind
To my true nature of a bygone year,
Thee do I number now 'mongst those most dear
To me, to whom my favor is inclined.
To one whom truth imbues all undesigned
The outward form harmonious must appear,
And what to the unskilled may cause but fear
Must nobly manifest the master mind.
For in whose breast plenty and power upspring
To him shall lordship proud o'er words belong,
In toilsome rhymes to soar with nimble wing.
He fashions the swift arrow of his song
Deftly, and whatsoever he may sing
Is wrought entire and knows no binding thong.
(1821)
[28]
HAFIZ
THAT Hafiz is audacious to deny
Were vain; such spirits chafe at leading strings;
For he is like the eagle whose broad wings
Strike the bright stars which circle in the sky.
You may gaze after him, or mount on high,
With him, his cloudless summits, where there
springs
Full many a bloom, and none the censure brings
That all save one he passes heedless by.
Whether you spend your powers for good or ill,
"T is but the form inspires with ecstasy
The former, his own mission to fulfill.
No fool infuses with disharmony,
Nor with his dull stupidity can chill,
The heart which all through life feels itself free.
(1821)
[29]
TO J. J. WAGNER
66
ART is now dead, its message once expressed.”
I see thee, crying this, turn up thy nose,
As were we all stuck in a swamp, nor chose
To sail abroad at Poesie's behest.
Th' Eternal is sold out, so hast thou guessed,
As if we spoke merely of shop-worn hose.
That is the strongest trump thou canst disclose,
Of all thy tricks that is the trickiest.
Never presume, ensnared by whims so vain,
To comprehend the Muse's mysteries;
Scarce shall thy wit this end at all attain.
Ne'er ask of us, whom falsehoods must displease,
Though thee we love, that we without disdain
Should yield ourselves for love to such as these.
(1821)
[30]
TO SHAKESPEARE IN HIS SONNETS
OH who than thou can pierce the heart's depths
deeper?
The best the lottery of life can lend
Is ever thine; and when thy songs ascend
Then are we silent as a speechless weeper.
No idle maiden-dreams disturb a sleeper
Whom we behold so fervently contend
For friendship, saved from intrigues by thy friend,
His beauty both thy glory and the keeper
Of all thy grief. Even the gnawing care,
Even the sorrows which he doth impose-
Thou deemest all divine; and howsoe'er
He pain thee by the heartlessness he shows,
Thou ne'er forsak'st him, seeing with despair
The worm of lust upon the lovely rose.
(1822)
[31]
TO JEAN PAUL
As to thine image oft my thoughts would yield,
Of duty unfulfilled must I repent,
That I have made thee no acknowledgment
Of love and gentleness to me revealed.
Now hath Death frozen with his Gorgon-shield
The gaze once rapturously heavenward bent,
And these my wreaths of friendship must be sent
After thee to an unfamiliar field.
On thy good will my youthful heart depended
For cheer, for heat renewed, the smoldering brand
O'er which as yet but few faint sparks ascended.
And now thy spirit sojourns in command
Of youth and health and joy, whither had tended
Ever its flight, in the rich Wonderland.
(1825)
[32]
TO RÜCKERT
THY book yet scarce a third devoured, where lies
Proof of Hariri's art and proof of thine,
Already what entrancing joys are mine,
As I survey each page with frank surprise.
When genius, begging through the world, relies
On its own wits alone, 't is seen to shine
More genuine, more rare, and more divine
Than ever, though a rogue's blouse its disguise.
But now a friend and I, if so you please
Rather than give two little books away,
Must toss up for thy "Metamorphoses
Of Ebu Seid." Let not my hair grow gray,
Nor part me from his virtuosities;
So send another little copy, prey.
(1826)
[33]
TO TIECK
FOR palates without taste thou hast selected
Fruit from the garden of th' Hesperides.
Thy Calderon is ridiculed by these
Untutored Germans, as might be expected.
The standards of Bad Taste, still undetected
And unrebuked, triumph in every breeze;
Scarce heeds the victor yet thy mockeries,
Merely by words, though harsh, to stand corrected.
Let the barbarians then pipe away,
Hissing our poets, who themselves resign
To popular indifference day by day.
But never let them on the light divine
Of foreign masters hands of violence lay;
And cast no longer pearls before these swine!
(1826)
[34]
TO WINCKELMANN
IF I escaped canting hypocrisy,
For this my gratitude be ever thine;
Thy spirit found what time cannot design,
Yet found it not in books of piety.
For thee in heathen works, which lavishly
Scatter its rays, the heavenly light would shine;
For what is ever perfect is divine,
And Christ himself bade that we perfect be.
Gladly indeed would certain sable frocks
Perplex the spirit, fain to be at ease,
Or number us among the hircine flocks.
Yet cease the heathen to bewail, for these
Who can breathe forth their spirit into blocks
Of marble are above our litanies.
(1826)
[35]
TO SOPHOCLES
GOOD
OOD Sophocles, keen to discriminate
The point where human and divine dispart,
What thou embellishedst with earthly art
Celestial voices would reiterate.
Knowing its surface, thou couldst penetrate
This world's recesses, and th' unspoken smart
And silent longing of the human heart
Mad'st with thy thousand tongues articulate.
Naught hast thou cast in a prosaic mold,
But scatterest with rare munificence
Dense and resplendent sparks of flaming gold.
A holy embassy thou dost dispense,
Deep drinking Poesy's draughts, now to unfold
The sheen of thy consummate excellence.
(1826)
[36]
TO VARIOUS FRIENDS
MOTTO
If you feel quite unprovided,
Having naught to take or lend,
Be the last fragment divided
With your sole-belovéd friend.
(1828)
TO DE AHNA-1
SCARCE found I thee and learned with love to prize
The gentle soul my wayward thoughts profaned,
Ere, by decrees immutably ordained,
Fate blindly drove me forth 'neath foreign skies.
In separation now what anguish lies,
From inward strife composure scarce regained!
Alas! I could not, while I still remained
Beside thee, thy words' value realize.
Oh that there lingered still some shadowy sign
Of former joys! Complaining I would spurn,
Could I but say, with thoughts of thee, 'twas mine.
Thinking thyself misjudged, that I discern
Thy nature now more truly and entwine
Remorse with trust-e'en this thou shalt not learn.
(1817)
[39]
TO DE AHNA-2
THY favor was first shown to me to-day,
And must so fair a day so soon depart?
I saw the dark and gloomy clouds dispart,
Which erstwhile stole thy brows' sweet charms away.
Thy glance, for ever turned from me astray,
To-day seemed almost loath from mine to part;
I sucked the venom out of every dart
Which thy fair eyes discharged at me, their prey.
The first faint ray of hope kindled within
My breast that thou wast well disposed to me,
And our two souls in greetings felt akin.
That pride which girt thy brow-Ah, could it be
Naught but a grudge, since thou and I had been
Acquainted long, ere my heart flew to thee?
(1819)
[40]
TO
SCHMIDTLEIN—1
How swells
OW swells the heart with blest sufficiency,
When looks which, long by nightly glooms o'er-
cast,
Blinking, surveyed us with disdain, at last
Rest on our countenance full tenderly!
Was it but chance, or wilt thou cozen me?
Or deemed me worthy thee perhaps thou hast?
O eyes which smiled and beckoned as I passed,
I yielded me for aye a slave to thee!
Oh grant assurance where but doubt makes bold,
Nor longer let my thoughts uncertain rove,
Since oft through doubt the heart becometh cold!
Disease once known is easy to remove.
A single glance, a greeting will unfold
To us a thousand thousand thoughts of love.
(1819)
[41]
TO SCHMIDTLEIN—2
BELIEVE me, every hour e'en yet I dream
Of those in which I first revealed to thee
The tender secret of thy victory,
Perplexed in speech, yet daring in my theme.
Now thy designs unfathomable seem:
Since they consort not with such modesty,
Thou dost lament our love's degeneracy,
And thy desires too bold and sinful deem.
Mid flowery perfumes Oh here let us lie,
Cheek against cheek, at dusk beneath the trees,
Breast pressing close to breast and thigh to thigh.
Hark how the old elms rustle in the breeze!
Perchance an elfin choir is swarming nigh,
To whisper soft, sweet bridal melodies.
(1819)
[42]
TO SCHMIDTLEIN-3
How gleams the river so fair to behold
Beneath whose foaming waves dread threats lie
pent?
How doth the rose exhale so sweet a scent
Whose leaves already perish in the cold?
How are the clouds of heaven fringed with gold
When every hour a storm is imminent?
Ev'n so doth nature with false blandishment
Her terrors from our vision still withhold.
Someone at last unriddles the soul's spite!
Ah! though I dreamt I drank a pure light thence,
Yet in thy glowing glance but ruin lies.
Now well I know, awakened from delight,
Which all too truly dazzled every sense,
Thou hast a heart as black as thy black eyes!
(1819)
[43]
TO ROTENHAN-I
NOT out of passion and delight, I vow,
Was our love woven, perishing as dew;
'Twas but thy beauty thrilled me yet anew,
And gracious as the angels are wast thou.
Thou drewst me upward to thee. 'Neath thy brow
Flashed a bright radiance, in whose varied hue
The hands of a true poet might imbue
The brush whose service they to God avow.
Now, while afar from thee my days I spend,
Thou seem'st more admirably fair to be
The more thy worth I truly comprehend.
Ever more longingly I think of thee,
And whatsoever snares the world extend,
Never shalt thou see one entangle me.
(1820)
[44]
TO ROTENHAN-2
ATTRACTED as I am so distantly,
Fain would I wander seeking through the land,
See thee again, and again grasp thy hand,
No more to leave one so endeared to me.
Roaming the barren billows of the sea,
And the earth's fields, where ripe the harvests
stand,
The clouds Oh might I question of thee, and
Ask of the arching rainbow after thee:
Whether they hovered over thee afar;
Whether it saw thee cross its threshold. They
Will gladly answer at the lover's bar.
Now I perceive whither the comets stray;
They wander hence and ask of every star:
Where is he? Have you seen him pass this way?
(1820)
[45]
TO ROTENHAN―3
As
S one abandoned on a barren shore,
I look about me, crying in despair:
Where is a glance which can with thine compare,
And where are lips which hold such gifts in store?
And when I hoped or when I knew that more
Than one regarded me with smiles so fair,
Scarce would I upward glance at him, or stare
With eyes which statue-like expression bore.
Though I the goal of earthly life attain
Never again rejoicing thee to view,
And all my love unrecompensed remain,
Fret not thyself lest I may prove untrue;
New charms shall ever lure my love in vain;
Eternal beauty is for ever new.
(1820)
[46]
TO ROTENHAN 4
Is this good luck, that thou by luck wast blessed,
If thou in wretched grief pinest away,
And if a year of hell must now repay
A single hour when Fortune was my guest?
Oh come! of living things the loveliest,
With eyes which gleam with love's resplendent ray,
With lips commanding confidence-I pray
You come!-yet not to heal my aching breast.
Till thou draw'st near to him who doth confess
These thoughts, must he, a prey to longing, drain
The dregs from out life's cup of bitterness.
Oh therefore come! and sing to those who fain
Would love thee only songs which now express
Through the long, anxious nights his spirit's pain.
(1820)
[47]
TO BRUCHMANN
TH' auspicious Fates, to whom is owing praise
For everything in life most excellent,
To our small, modest town, O friend, have bent
Thy steps, whither the traveller seldom strays.
Th' auspicious longing which thy heart betrays
Early to know the noblest truths has sent
Thee hither, seeking that great mind intent
To understand the world in every phase.
Thou scornest all whose prattling lips but cleave
To formulas, in harsh antitheses
Training the mind in all things to unweave
The essence. Yet, thy plentious treasuries
To swell, ere now we part, I pray receive
This treasure of poetic drolleries.
(1821)
[48]
TO BÜLOW-I
WHAT would I more than that our glances met?
What might befall were ardent longings stirred?
If on thine eyes my gaze dwelt undeterred,
I should become ensnared-in what a net!
What would I more than a swift nod e'en yet?
I should be overwhelmed by every word;
Content not pecking round the church, a bird
Soon by the marksman's shafts is sore beset.
Well might the charms thou dost alone possess
Wake in another longing to draw near
To thee, to thee his passion to confess.
I only would, whene'er those charms appear,
In homage bow before thy comeliness,
Nor shall one syllable alarm thine ear.
(1821)
[49]
TO BÜLOW-2
Of those around there is none who heeds,
F
And that I love thee thou hast never guessed;
My whole life hath one purpose unexpressed,
And softly throbs my heart, because it bleeds.
Whether it calmly rests or restless speeds,
Thy sympathy would ne'er be manifest;
And that thy friends my slender worth attest
Oft feeds my pain, yet oft my courage feeds.
Whatsoe❜er, good or ill, befell, 't would seem,
While upward ardently my spirit strove,
As though I were enshrouded in a dream.
And therefore will I cherish this new love
With heartfelt fervency, which I should deem
It far less rash to praise than to reprove.
(1821)
[50]
TO BÜLOW-3
HE to whom pain is life and life is pain,
To whom the world has ever been unkind-
And he whose fortunes vanished in the wind
As soon as he endeavored to attain—
Whoever in some labarynthine lane
Has sought an exit he shall never find-
And he whom love has only sought to bind
So that despair his spirit might enchain-
He who adjures the lightning to destroy him,
And every flowing river to but quell
For ever all the torments which anoy him-
Who envieth the dead their stony shell,
Where love indeed could nevermore decoy him
He feels what I feel and he knows me well.
(1821)
!
[51]
TO LIEBIG-I
IF thou canst overlook and spare dispraise,
Thou art among this world's more fortunate,
An easy struggle in this life thy fate,
And every loss thy courage doth but raise.
If thou hast known how faithlessness betrays,
If those whom thou hast loved returned thee hate,
And yet thy heart remained still temperate,
Then hath thy life abundantly fair days.
If thou canst bear to part with fortitude,
And if thou canst, when scarce one friend is lost,
Embrace another with solicitude,
Then canst thou calmly face the world, and, tossed
Amid the storms of life, merry thy mood,
With gentle breath their raging winds accost.
(1821)
[52]
:
TO LIEBIG-2
AF
FTER long toil brought to a happy close
With trifles sweet to dream the hours away-
O'er every fleeting pleasure to delay,
Whatever worth it may perchance disclose-
Under the linden trees where blooms the rose,
Stretched in the grass where foaming fountains
play,
To sing from noble poets some fair lay,
And pass the days in unconcerned repose—
In May upon the brow green leaves to twine,
To beautify the warm and fragrant nights,
Till day returns, with joys of love and wine-
In this—although the moralizer spites
And would proscribe such pleasures as are mine-
In this alone my temperament delights.
(1822)
[53]
TO LIEBIG-3
OF thy enchantment who is unaware?
Looking on thee who is there hath expressed
Regret? How freely nature doth invest
With scattered charms these cheeks, this lovely hair!
Thou art so young, so tender, and so fair,
With all the favors of good fortune blessed;
Yet he who fears the cunning in thy breast
Of thee by day and night may well beware!
The trees still boast of many a green bough,
The leaves still build many a broad arcade;
Yet 'neath the bark destruction works e'en now.
Shall cold reflection rob me of the shade
Wherein, in sweet repose, I cool my brow?
Ah no! Beauty bids faith be undismayed!
(1822)
[54]
TO LIEBIG—4
How can
can this frigid world participate,
With its vain bustle, in our happiness?
Can it imprison it, can it suppress?
Can it unite us, can it separate?
We see the things about us dissipate,
Things which but held our love in close duress,
Yet true affection never must confess
Nor shall a third our secret penetrate.
They who behold us mid the gay crowd straying
Little suspect what amorous misery
Upon our hearts in secrecy is preying.
I will forget every strange vagary,
When, thy embraces all my grief allaying,
My wayward will submits only to thee.
(1822)
[55]
TO LIEBIG-5
FORTUNE confers her favors but through thee.
Only the rose is fair thou gath'rest, none
Save verse uttered by thee. How dead, how dun
The world! Thou only hast vivacity.
Here in this arbor wov'n so charmingly
The days seem weeks without thee every one.
And this wine, ripened by the burning sun,
Only from thy hand can enliven me.
Parted from thee, no source of joy discerning,
The fairest objects serve but to distract,
The grandest scarce appease mine inward yearning.
Yet close to thy breast drawn, all that I lacked
In life to my breast do I feel returning,
And even the least trifles can attract.
(1822)
[56]
TO LIEBIG-6
WHO feels a growing hunger for fair eyes
And pretty hair, I warn him to refrain,
I, who have learned too well what grief and pain
Are the reward of futile enterprise.
Scarcely escaped whence chasms steeply rise,
Of perils without end what signs remain?
Of years of weeping in mine eyes the stain
And in my breast anxiety and sighs.
Young hearts, shun cliffs precipitous as these!
With treach❜rous flame their border-lillies shine,
For Ah! they lure us into mournful seas.
Only to those is life precious and fine
Who share its merriment, frankly, at ease,
And unto them God calls: The world is thine.
(1822)
[57]
TO LIEBIG—7
LONGING for that true comrade of my need
Who can my thoughts so richly amplify,
Oft have I felt false hopes my heart belie,
And oft deception dealt me wounds that bleed.
Then in thine eyes fair messages I read,
And, that I miss them not, to thee draw nigh;
As though by swift enchantment, thou and I
In one short hour feel ourselves friends indeed.
When scarce this new attraction brings delight,
Parting already dims our happiness,
Decreed for us by fate so sternly testing.
Yet joyfully our spirits may unite
In cordial intimacy none the less,
On golden times to come our vision resting.
(1822)
[58]
TO LIEBIG-8
THAT
HAT oft I see thee Fate will not consent,
And I am quite forbid to come to thee;
That I should seldom meet thee, anxiously
To gaze on thee, is her arbitrament.
To dream of thee, write of thee, and invent
Plans to approach thee, is permitted me;
So long as these avail me, I will be
Ev'n with so little seemingly content.
For Ah! worse evils oft did I sustain
Than these and ever patiently abide
Sweet discontent rather than violent pain.
By others have my wishes been denied.
Thou know'st them not, yet nor has thy disdain,
O thou my well beloved, cast them aside.
(1823)
[59]
TO BRANDENSTEIN-1
No later image dims mine imagery
Of thee. I felt this always, as to-day
Afresh, after long years have passed away,
And I have winnowed the world's treachery.
O days when I still fashioned verse for thee
Which to no reader save me might convey
Delight, ere yet my name became the prey
Of this oft heartless world's so harsh decree.
Ever I little knew my own desire,
Too shy, too earnest, and too taciturn;
For our estrangement mine the blame entire.
When now thy glances I again discern,
Again I feel that impulse to admire;
Yet my fair youth shall nevermore return.
(1824)
[60]
TO BRANDENSTEIN-2
So saw I thee again, whom time had ne'er
Robbed of thy charms in seven years gone by;
And thus when my first love again drew nigh,
I recognized thee by thy golden hair.
What disappointments had I now to bear,
With which no earlier grief of mine could vie,
For as thou quickly passedst, scarce could I
Ev'n of thy god-like profile be aware,
Now must I let thee go upon thy ways,
Enjoying for but one swift second's flight
What I had waited for a thousand days.
No single glance nor spoken words requite
My longing, and unceasingly I raise
My loud laments in this dark hour of night.
(1824)
[61]
SONNETS FROM VENICE
To any German friend whom the stars lure
To this foam-sprinkled City of the Isles
Be this small volume a remembrancer,
When he by the Laguna's banks beguile's
-While he lies dreaming in his gondola-
The happy hours, midst Love's and Beauty's smiles,
And, putting it aside, may softly say
A feeling heart before him open lay.
(1824)
I
AND
now, forsaking the high seas, mine eyes
Turn where Paladio's fanes from out the tide
Stand nobly forth, upon whose steps subside
The waves which bear us with no false disguise.
With thankful hearts we land, and backward flies,
In fancy, the lagoon, and high and wide
The Doges' colonnades, now dignified
By age, lie 'fore us with the Bridge of Sighs.
We see the Lion of Venice, this her pride
In former days, with brazen pinions rise
On his colossal column there astride.
I step ashore, not without dread surmise.
There Saint Mark's Square gleams in the nooning-
tide;
In truth to tread it—were such daring wise?
(1824)
[65]
II
THIS labyrinth of bridges and small streets,
Self-intertwining in a thousand ways!-
How shall I ever thread this tangled maze,
How solve so vast a puzzle? This defeats
The fancy. From the terraced parapets
Of Saint Mark's tower roams the far-seeing gaze,
And from the marvels which the eye surveys
Evolves a clear-set picture. There one greets
The azure sea, and here the Alps, whose walls,
Wide-curved, look down where the lagoona laves
The lowly islands which her charm enthralls.
See! Of a valient race there came the braves
To build them temples and palatial halls
On oaken pillars mid the ocean waves.
(1824)
[66]
III
How pleasant when the fires of day forbear
To look abroad where ship and gondel dance,
When the serene lagoon, in shimmering trance,
Soft laves the shores of Venice! Turning where
Sight feels recalled, to landward, towering there
Palace and church seem to the 'wildered glance
To mount to Heaven, and clamorous cries enhance
The flood of life on the Rialto's stair.
Here each way swarming, whom no cares molest,
Of ever genial drones a happy throng
Heeds not the passer's-by untimely jest;
And when the evening shadows fall along
The Riva and Saint Mark's, then all request
A tale, a chorus, or a twilight song.
(1824)
[67]
IV
No longer now this madness overpowers,
And no more must I wander far and wide.
My soul has won at last a trusted guide,
As not the least of friendship's priceless dowers.
And now to thee, O friend, belong mine hours;
Thou gav'st a goal to hopes unsatisfied,
To which I haste, or whither 't is descried
The joys of meeting may perchance be ours.
Thou beck'st to me from many a hallowed shrine,
Thy gentle soul of truth a worshiper,
Thy spirit one harmonious design.
Oh were it possible year after year
To thee my being wholly to resign,
To live, Bellini, with thine angels there!
(1824)
[68]
V
VENICE still lies in dreamland, casting here
Only the shadows of her olden day;
And the Republic's Lion, to man a prey,
Has left his lonely prison waste and drear.
The brazen steeds of war which tower there
On yonder church, brought through the waves,
ev'n they,
No more the same, alas! must now obey
The reigns of Corsica's great conqueror.
Where tarry now the folk of kingly race,
Who, where these ruins, vanishing, lie prone,
Dared build them many a marble dwelling-place?
The grand ancestral character now, shown
Upon the grandson's brow, we seldom trace,
As hewn upon the Doges' graves-in stone.
(1824)
[69]
VI
O TITIAN, thou man of mastery,
At first I prized thee less than was thy right,
But now behold me tremble 'fore thy might,
Since I surveyed "Th' Assumption" wonderingly.
As hovering clouds round thy saints' feet I see,
So was my cheerless soul shrouded by night;
But now I see thee mount t'wards Heaven's light,
Whither the Virgin strives so ardently.
Almost stands Pordenone by thy side.
Though neither would in life the victory share,
In death to neither is his crown denied.
As friends a friendly hand wouldst thou might
spare
To Giorgone true, thy country's pride,
Or to that Paul to whom few may compare!
(1824)
[70]
VII
It seems as if an ageless lamentation
T
Bode in these breezes, which so lightly blow
Hither from many a stately portico,
Where once, enthroned, reigned mirth and jubilation.
Ev'n Venice fell, this time-defying nation.
Backward the wheel of fortune ne'er may go;
In the lone port few ships pass to and fro,
Or on the lovely Riva keep their station.
Like a proud woman with her finery,
What arrogance, Venice, thou hast displayed,
Just as Paul Veronese has painted thee!
Now on the Giant's Stairway's balustrade
Stands, mazed, a lover of Calliope,
That this vain tribute of his tears be paid!
(1824)
[71]
VIII
O
VENICE, week by week thou dost instill
A larger love, and scarce can I reclaim
My heart from bondage: at the very name
Of Mestre or Fusina strikes a chill
Deep through my breast. Venice, I find thee still
Without a peer, since more and more I came
To know thee. Kindled by the great, aflame
My soul makes might the North Star of my will.
Here what a plenitude of power and grace
Dwells even in the marble, speechless, cold,
Unyielding, and in many a thoughtful face
Portrayed. And yet more firmly thus to hold
Me fettered, mingling with this pictured race,
The fairest blooms of living forms unfold.
(1824)
[72]
IX
HERE as a tulip thrives the art of man,
Sprung with its lustrous hues from out the sea,
Here, like a magic mirage, gloriously
Decking the heaven's many-colored span.
How great art thou, exalted Titian,
How soft Bellini, and what purity
Piombo's. Oh, how earthly sorrows flee
Before Paolo's "Saint Sebastian."
Whatever brush and color have made bold
Here to achieve, the chisel many a fine
And beauteous thought in marble likewise told.
Whoe'er is drawn to San Giuliano's shrine,
"The Sleep of the Redeemer" to behold,
Must love Campagna as a man divine.
(1824)
[73]
X
INTO
TO the realms of life for evermore
You artists lead me. Never can I spare
Thy presence, nor to eternity forswear
The joy of striving t'ward thy higher law.
Art only has the power to poise before
God's very glory, Art alone so dare.
Whose soul does homage to Perfection, ne'er
For him hath Heaven further gifts in store.
Who would not propagate the mysteries
Of Faith undying-Beauty's gospel hymn
Through every land and every diocese-
If Palma's saints with palms accompanied him,
Paolo's Alexander, and, with these,
Titian's Tobias with the seraphim?
(1824)
[74]
XI
FLED to the desert from the human horde,
Here stands the Baptist, that in purer spheres
The lonely mind be purged of earthly fears,
High-souled, great-hearted servant of the Lord.
With arm upraised he seems to point toward
The Son of Mary, and with ardent tears
Th' unchanging glory of his glance appears
The healing balm of pity to afford.
Who is there from this picture can depart
Without the longing of a pious mirth
To worship God enthroned in Titian's heart?
O Golden Age, of long forgotten birth,
When still the teacher of the world was Art,
And only Beauty was adored on Earth!
(1824)
[75]
XII
HERE truly shalt thou see no verdant glades,
Here shalt thou bathe no longer in the rare
Fragrance of roses; yet what thou saw'st there
By flower-girt shores here soon from memory fades.
Now gently, star-lit, fall the dewy shades
Of night, alluring all to Saint Mark's Square,
And there the fairest of Venetia's fair
Sit in long rows 'neath sumptuous arcades.
Toward the Plaza's center every way,
As Canalleto seeks to picture them,
Hastes throng on throng, the music dies away
Softly, and meanwhile on their brazen stem
Flags of three monarchies aloft display
The glory of Venetia's ancient fame.
(1824)
[76]
XIII
SINCE there where Beauty reigns Love too doth
hold
Her empire, let none therefore show surprise,
If this, that all my spirit prostrate lies
Before thy love, should scarce remain untold.
With me this passion never shall grow cold,
For here but narrowly it ramifies;
Always within my breast are surging sighs
For but one spring, which might but half unfold.
Ev'n though thy kindly heart would share with me
Sweet thoughts, how shall a stranger yet requite
The favors of thy hospitality?
Thou hast no power nearer to invite
My love, and on Saint Mark's Square you may see
My lonely steps pass to and fro each night.
(1824)
[77]
XIV
WHENE'ER deep sorrows on my spirit weigh,
I may disport round the Rialto's stalls.
To warrant that no vanity enthrals
The mind, I seek the calm which ends the day.
Then oft I glance at the compact array
Of bridges, at the barren wave which falls
So soft, or where above the crumbling walls
With bending branches clusters the wild bay.
And when I stand on these enmarbles piers
And lose my gaze abroad on the dark sea,
Whose sight henceforth no Doge's heart endears,
From time to time in this mute revery
From far away canals the gondoliers'
Resounding cry scarcely disquiets me.
(1824)
[78]
XV
ON
N its broad back the Canalazzo draws
The gondel with the foreign visitor,
Whom, Pesaro and thou, Grimani, 'fore
Thy palaces, their grace and splendor cause
So great delight. And yet, by rude applause
Unshamed, the earlier masterworks e'en more
Pisani, Vendramini, and Ca'd'Oro—
In grandeur each the reverent spirit awes.
Upward the Gothic arches spring, bestowing
Rich tracery round balconies, and dighted
With fair rosettes on scapes of marble growing.
Oh what abundant harmony is plighted
Where, in this very moment's life o'erflowing,
Sincerity and beauty reign united!
(1824)
[79]
XVI
DEAR
EAR to me thou as one of those forms shown
By Venice in her pictures. How the heart
Is captive to them! And yet we depart,
And straightway every one of them is flown
From memory. Like the well-chiseled stone
Which rises without pedestal thou art,
Which even to Pygmalion might impart
Content, and therefore grant me still thine own.
From earliest youth hath Venice set her seal
On thee; thou tarriest still in Heaven's sight
By all Bellini's angels kept. I feel
-Alas! that I must feel-that all this bright
And glorious world deceives me, as I steal
Away, like phantom visions of the night.
(1824)
[80]
XVII
WHAT at the last is life's true recompense?
What shall abide of all that here enthrals
The fancy? Golden fortune, which befalls
As hoped? Nay, only sorrow hastes not hence.
The last swift hours pass before me. Thence
All vanishes. Yet one last glance recalls
Venetia's sea, Venetia's marble halls,
Before the longing and astounded sense.
As if still dwelling in a steadfast trance,
With keenest aspiration the eyes rove
O'er what no longer shall before them dance.
Then the last duty, dreaded far above
All else, there falls upon that countenance,
For the last time in life, a look of love.
(1824)
[81]
TO KARL THEODOR GERMAN
MOTTO
Know that so long as you let reign
An epidemic of reflection,
In quarantine you must remain
At Poetry's portal for inspection.
(1821)
I
WHEN shall I master this anxiety
Which seizes me when thou, dear friend, art nigh?
I seek thy presence even as a spy,
Hoping yet fearing to discover thee.
How can I fear 'fore one I fain would see
Folded in my embrace? Oh tell me why
So swift my blood is checked, and what can tie
My spirit as with bonds of slavery.
Is it the dread lest thou thine heart shouldst close,
Lest on the crags of thy false pride I steer,
Ever avowed the foremost of love's foes?
Is it the godliness of bonds so dear,
Since love, as before God, for ever shows
Before its object reverence and fear?
(1826)
[85]
II
THOU too deceiv'st me, since where'er I turn
I know that all defraud me and deceive.
Thou fill'st my mouth with rancor, and wouldst
leave
My heart with flames of longing still to burn.
And that which all save enemies would spurn
Must I, a friend's reward, from thee receive;
Yet I the splendor of thy name achieve,
That future ages may thy praises learn.
But howsoever cold thine heart may grow,
Still by my dewy-glistening eyes I swear
Thy love I will not even yet forego.
Spring as her mirror chooses one so fair;
Youth laughs and sparkles on thy brow, as though
The sunshine and th' aurora mingled there.
(1826)
[86]
III
THAT I do have abundant right for scorn
At such dishonorable injuries
I deeply feel, though if my heart should please
To use this right, unwilling am I drawn.
For this I deem the most accursed thorn
Which an unkindly fate has thrust in these
Our love's still all too young amenites,
Dragged to the grave almost so soon as born.
What for the future can I hope from thee
If at the very dawn of our new-found
Affection such a bolt o'erwhelmeth me?
But Ah! My right renounces every ground
For being, since thou art so fair to see,
And lives in truth only on empty sound.
(1826)
[87]
IV
THOUGH in the flesh out steps apart we bend,
Our spirits still in memory entwine;
And when my soul merges itself in thine,
My thoughts, I fancy, must thine ear attend.
Possessed not God Love's wings, how should he lend
Her guidance on a mission so divine?
And if thy soul in dreams he grants to mine,
Of whom save thee could He such visions send?
If thou but lov'st me, gladly will I brook
Thine absence, since of what our souls complain
Well know I, though they be by speech forsook.
And yet while I must still in doubt remain,
And long to interrogate thine every look,
I count our separation naught but pain.
(1826)
[88]
V
THOU
HOU lovest, yet art silent. Oh 't were best
I too unspeaking had indulged mine eyes.
I had not learned how silence mortifies,
If I had ne'er a word to thee addressed.
Yet would I not our love be ne'er confessed,
And woe the day when it grows cold and dies!
For it was sent us from celestial skies,
Where throng in amity the angels blest.
Therefore be this sweet fancy still allowed,
That thou dost love me, lest, all desolate
My soul, my faith must perish unavowed.
Deny me not the day, disdainful Fate,
When to a loyal friend a soul so proud
Though fair should every hidden thought relate.
(1826)
[89]
VI
SEEK'S
EEK'ST thou a friend who should to death be true,
In joy and sorrow ever at thy side,
Make choice of me, for one more qualified
Thou canst not find to pledge himself to you.
Truly he cannot spread, as thou canst do,
The raptures of his beauty far and wide;
But all men hear with unreluctant pride
The charms which his inspired lips bestrew.
I only fear that it may cause thee grief,
If I such lofty praise of self allow,
So to assume a splendor past belief.
For else would I declare that even now
The flickering shadow of a laurel leaf
Falls on this young and still unwrinkled brow.
(18
(1826)
[90]
VII
SWEET Spring, with hastening steps list my
appeal.
This once come earlier than in former days,
A bland physician, when our breast betrays
Uneasiness, gently its wounds to heal.
Might I already mid thy blossoms steal,
When scarce on the horizon yet forth blaze
The fires of day, until their dying rays
Depart, my tears not wishing to conceal!
When bright thy sun flames in the azure skies,
Would I, outstretched, through the tall grasses
peep,
To view my fancied friend with dazzled eyes.
Then o'er my blinking lids should slumbers creep,
Until I saw the glittering stars arise,
And by his image felt refreshed in sleep.
(1826)
[91]
VIII
ALTHOUGH, my grief in silence to allay,
Find some propitious place and hour I will,
Yet yonder hovers thy fair image still,
While nearer objects swiftly fade away.
Good fellowship my wanderings cannot stay,
Yet solitude the sorrowing soul can ill
Endure, and thought no respite brings, until,
Complaining to the winds idly I stray.
If from this anguish thou wouldst wish me freed,
Oh make thy true affection seen and heard,
For 't is of thee alone my heart hath need.
Many the friends I loved false to their word,
Yet may the world in these my pages read
That thee before all others I preferred.
(1826)
[92]
IX
FAIR as the day and lovely as the dawn,
With noble brow and eyes of trustful calm,
Youthful in years and youthful in thy charm,
So found I thee, so were my sorrows born.
Oh were I now safe to thy bosom drawn,
Where I might ease my soul of all alarm!
Oh that I might thine heart of fears disarm
Which bid our tryst await another morn!
Why do you shun me? Do I merit scorn?
Why thus afflict one who hath ever shown
Affection, and why leave me thus forlorn?
Swift as the bias of thy thoughts is known,
With anxious raptures shall my heart be torn,
As when a prince ascends the royal throne.
(1826)
[93]
X
THE world is falser than my words can paint,
And blessed he on whom her glance ne'er fell.
She treasures up our sorrows in a shell,
And gives us drink therefrom when we are faint.
So may the world, mid many a complaint,
From me, her instrument, a song compel,
O'er distant times perchance to cast its spell,
I as a living sacrifice attaint.
You who extol my lot, and have believed
You well might envy me my happy days,
How can you linger so long undeceived?
Had I not tasted in a thousand ways
The poison of the world, I had achieved
No heaven-sent task for you to prize and praise.
(1826)
[94]
XI
THOU hast prepared me hours of grievous dread,
For which, I pray, may Heaven never wreak
Vengeance on thee; else were with tears thy cheek
Bedewed, when from thy lips my name is sped.
Yet until all delusive hopes are fled
Before assurance, though it but bespeak
Frailty, thy vindication will I seek,
Never by chance appearances misled.
No advocate am I, yet rest assured
That my two eyes shall ever intercede
For thee, by craft into thy service lured.
So long as they upon thy beauty feed,
Love, as their food, therefrom must be procured,
While you my sorrows in their glances read.
(1826)
[95]
XII
THE muse of every songster, Admiration,
Bids me extol the things of highest worth.
Artists and scholars, ladies and men of birth
I praise, and so pursue my inclination.
Thou art the soul of every inspiration,
The radiant summit of my course on earth,
The central sun my eulogies engirth,
Charmed by the giddiness of my rotation.
And when with trembling words thy love is told,
Oh then, my friend, dost thou confer on me
More than my art can give a thousandfold.
Yet graciously the world hath dealt with thee,
For fair in death is he in life extolled
By an imperishable melody.
(1826)
[96]
XIII
IFI
F I o'erlook thy coldness without blame,
It is because I silently confess:
Indeed he knows not how the happiness
Of all my days is coupled with his name.
He knows not how my heart is all aflame
With love, what lends to life its sacredness,
Who gladly shares his joy and his distress,
Nor whence the favors I have granted came.
All this thou know'st not; shall I therefore tell?
Ah no! I scarce dare speak before thy face,
Lest I so fortunate a dream dispel.
For howso'er thy beauty and thy grace
Do charm, they may but cast a treacherous spell,
And in thy heart affection have no place.
(1826)
[97]
XIV
1
SCARCE shalt thou need to ask the world excuse
Thy love for me; 't were nothing mean or low;
And they who scorn the favors I bestow
The favor of my friends must likewise lose.
Many the friends whom I could not refuse,
Should I requite the love of all who know
Th' entire passion of my heart, ev'n though
But distantly, as votaries of my muse.
For a warm heart, though one thou dost pursue
With poisoned darts envenomed by thy spite,
Must ever win itself warm friends and true.
But thou who feignst to be so harsh, Oh might
I only die upon thy breast, and you
Close these two eyes thou dost so well delight!
}
(1826)
[98]
XV
CRUELLY thou dost try me. From thy bow
Shaft upon shaft comes speeding at my breast.
Thou hast for me this preference expressed
O'er one whom I a soulless body know.
Yet while thy beauty sets my heart aglow,
I battle with the stormy billows, lest,
Angered and by deception oft distressed,
On thee some bitter name I might bestow.
Ah no, belovéd! let me not complain,
Nor by the dark displeasure of my mind
The object worthiest of my love profane.
If to my friendship thou wast ever blind,
Mine was the fault, for truly it were vain
That hands be joined which know not how to bind.
(1826)
[99]
XVI
THEY call me proud, and yet that I should be
Unpleasing to thee-this doth ne'er annoy;
For thy blond youthfulness disdains, dear boy,
To keep such melancholy company.
I will indulge in jest and drollery,
Rather than seek in tears alone my joy,
And will in prayers to Heaven the hours employ
For the unwonted gift of gaiety.
Truly for much I thank the kindly fate
Whose gifts beyond what I deserve abound,
"Though I have none which might ingratiate.
But who can give me back the cheeks so round
And all the bloom of early youth's estate,
Wherein alone is human beauty found?
(1826)
[100]
XVII
If those who envy us with craft combine,
IF
F
So to embarrass us and to divide,
Still do I count thee not one to whom pride
Forbids a passage twixt thy glance and mine.
Yet all too oft for sight of thee I pine,
And though mine eyes hold sway on every side,
The loveliest form can never be descried,
Never the lovliest features, namely thine.
Only take heart, nor, timorous, let the rein
Of love fall into Envy's hands, who would
So dearly that we severed still remain.
Be but thyself, and soon this period
Of grief shall pass, and soon our dreams attain
Realization. We deserve they should.
(1826)
[101]
XVIII
LIKE the bright stars I would that when I die
Swift and unconsciously I might grow pale,
And might, Like Pindar, e'en as runs the tale,
Succumb when some day Death is passing by.
Ever in life and in my verse must I
To his incomparable greatness fail
To attain, yet might, my friend, should Death
assail,
Resemble him. Now, therefore, hark thou why.
Moved by the singing, he had watched the play,
And in the theater with his cheek upon
His favorite's comely knee weary he lay.
And when the music ended, and anon
He who so gently nursed him would essay
To rouse him, he to the gods had homeward gone.
(1826)
[102]
XIX
Lov
LOVE seems the tenderest impulse, and so must
Even the blind, even the deaf conceive;
Yet I am certain of what few believe,
That tenderer is a friend's unfailing trust.
For love will ever pant with fiery lust,
Itself consuming, itself to inweave;
But nothing can me of my friend bereave,
Till I myself vanish in airy dust.
He shows me only coldness and ill-will,
Mocks me, and long has ceased to understand;
Yet have I never thought to speak him ill.
Ne'er shall he hold and press in his my hand;
But I will praise him yet anew, for still
That which we praise our spirit must command.
(1826)
[103]
XX
O
I
DEATH, so sweet and yet so feared by all,
pay you only homage. Oft have I
Sought after thee, and Oh how ardently
Longed for thy slumber, whence naught shall recall.
You sleepers, covered by an earthen pall,
And hushed by an eternal lullaby,
Have you not drained life's cup right merrily?
To me alone perhaps it tastes like gall.
You too, I fear me, has the world decoyed,
Your worthiest achievements likewise made
Of no account, your dearest hopes destroyed.
Blest therefore all who greet death undismayed,
Their supplications heard, their longings void,
For every heart at last falls 'neath the spade.
(1826)
[104]
XXI
STILL the last dregs are not to be denied,
Drained from the cup of grief thou dost outpour.
Oh were I but again the child of yore,
By flowing tears so quickly mollified!
Since they have thrust me roughly from their side
To whom immeasurable love I bore,
Confidence fades, and bitter chill creeps o'er
My heart, where love and hope no more abide.
Oh fortunate were I to flee afar
To distant regions, on some foreign strand
To breathe 'neath a more favorable star.
But where, the last ties severed, hatred and
Ingratitude sincere love's guerdon are,
How weary am I of my native land!
(1826)
[105]
XXII
How shall I still mankind's good will retrieve,
Since there is no one who can comfort me?
Let me be wholly plunged in misery,
To weep in silence and in silence grieve.
No longer am I worthy of reprieve,
Since I have perished in his memory;
And in these joints which ache so wearily
The seeds of dissolution I perceive.
But O ye Heavenly Powers, to him allow
Entire happiness. Do not deny
Whatever wishes his heart may avow.
Never again my glance shall meet his eye;
The form of one he hates no longer now,
Alas! even in dreams, shall he espy.
(1826)
[106]
XXIII
WHILE here I revel in the open air,
I call to me each almost soulless thing.
You butterflies, you birds upon the wing,
Oh come! Fear naught, but trust my loving care.
That I should strew for thee a treacherous fare,
Believe it not! For I, now squandering
My days afar from men, of whom they bring
A greater fear than thine-I lay no snare.
Oh count me not among that brutal horde,
Me, who ne'er sought another's injury,
Ever the scorn of men my sole reward.
Therefore from all their pathways let us flee.
You they would catch and kill; with one accord
Me they have laden with their misery.
(1826)
[107]
MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS
MOTTO
The world grows more and more profane;
No champions now the Faith sustain.
What wrong hath the Eternal wrought
That we but seldom give Him thought?
AURORA
SHE comes the gray of orient to imbue
With radiant tints; her light seems to appall
The stars; and from the spokes of Charles' Wain
fall
Pearls which dissolve upon Earth's lap in dew.
The darkened skies assume an azure hue;
The birds break the long silence with their call,
Each bough voicing Aurora's praise; and all
The winds their soft and balmy breath renew.
She kisses the tree-tops with rosy light,
And what is left unfinished by the night
She stamps, as now completed, with a seal.
The most abundant blessings still reveal
Her path; and though she vanish soon away
She leaves her brother here to cheer the day.
(1812)
[111]
LOVE'S FAREWELL
THY presence have I lost for evermore,
My gentle love, with all thy merriment,
And all thy charms with silent sorrows blent,
Whom once I chose all other loves before.
I trusted everything her lips then swore
So graciously to me, while Heaven lent
Love's candle-light; yet soon she faithless sent
Me forth deceived, and mocked the love I bore.
Thou dost behold me, my beloved, recline
Before thine altar on this marble stair.
Can naught recall again thy form divine?
Can naught recall thy lineaments so fair,
Which wove perforce a new life about mine,
And now entangle others in their snare?
(1813 or 1814)
[112]
UNCERTAINTY
By swift illusions all too long dismayed,
To inclination yielding thoughtlessly,
Glad when thy friendly glances smiled on me,
Mine sought but thee where throngs their revels
made.
And yet, when now my feelings have been weighed,
I must regard thee in perplexity;
I love, but may I also reverence thee?
Or, 'neath thy guidance, have my footsteps strayed?
How so? Or does thine outward form deceive?
And can the fairest features e'er impart
A beauty which the soul does not achieve?
Grant thy disdain distresses not my heart,
And when in love our spirits interweave,
Thus speak: "Oh come, for thou my chosen art.
(1816)
99
[113]
IV
DENSE foliage already spans the crest
Of verdant palaces, and clear and bright
The waves portray the heavens and the flight
Of birds returning to their summer nest.
The very flowers, rising from the breast
Of earth, where droop the darlings of the night,
Smile on thy birthday, by the radiant light
Allured to brave the breezes of the west.
Sweet perfumes truly but no words dispense
Th' untutored flowers in saluting thee,
And to their sisters wise for these they pray-
Their sisters who, less charming to the sense,
More constant sprout, and so perpetually
To-morrow bloom as they bloomed yesterday.
(1819)
[114]
V
FROM all these chains Oh set thy spirit free,
Which in the past so bravely thou didst bear,
And be thou not in puerile despair
Content with servile mediocrity.
Though malice clench her fists, yet shall there be
Living and breathing hearts which boldly dare
To beat as quick as thine; so let the air
Resound with none but blithesome melody.
Begrudge the paltry critics not their say,
Seeking in turn to praise and to deride,
To inconsistency of soul a prey.
Slowly their brief resentment will subside;
Thou shakest off the coarseness of the day,
Whenever godly rhythms upward guide.
(1820?)
[115]
VI
IMPE
MPERIOUS in his ardor, one who bore
Full willingly Love's bonds has idolized
In sonnet-songs his Laura, dearly prized
Both in her life and after life was o'er.
And of adventurous deeds in goodly store
Sonnets of melting music once devised
A hero, who o'er th' angry waves emprised
A passage, song his only guiding oar.
And as the third a German next appears,
To join the Florentine and Portuguese,
And sings full armed for doughty cavaliers.
These, who have proved their great abilities,
I follow as a reaper one who shears,
For I dare count myself no fourth with these.
(1820)
[116]
THE ROMANTIC DRAMA
SHAKESPEARE, I see thy sprites in many a rôle,
See Puck and Ariel on mischief bent.
A fertile glance into life's depths has lent
To thee, O Calderon, guidance to thy goal.
Thou, Gozzi, ever whimsical and droll,
Hast given us the art of merriment;
And thou, O Tieck, guidest with kind intent
To ever youthful sport the earnest soul.
You never sink to unimpassioned prose.
With endless prodigality you strew
Bright sparks mid which your golden flame still
glows.
A great and holy mission yours; with you
Poesy's intoxicating stream arose;
And now the splendors of success accrue.
(1821)
[117]
MY VOCATION
ON every shore the haughty billows surge,
Which, by a poet's impetuosity
To pour from out my very veins set free,
At first but streams, now to a sea converge.
That so its little song no longer scourge,
Let the swift waves engulf false repartee;
And with a soft, voluptuous melody
Faith's threshold shall the flowery foam submerge.
Do not the waves of ocean, which refresh
The realms of nature, all that lives conceive?
Has not Urania even sprung from them?
Oh might I only likewise pearls enmesh
From depths still inexhaustible, and weave
From them Germania's godly diadem!
(1821)
[118]
FROM THE JUGENDDRAMEN—1
By
the green net these lofty boughs afford
As I, thine image in my heart, have lain
O'erarched, how fair the forest seems again,
How sweet to whisper soft complaints abroad.
Solitude brings to me delights restored
Which I have sought these bygone days in vain.
"T is he who feels not love's tormenting pain
Who lives all heedless mid the human horde.
Weary am I of hastening to and fro,
For truly are such gentle dreams as these
Dearer than traffic with the crowd; but Oh,
Rather than stray with thoughts of thee at ease
In shady groves, might I the fortune know
Here to recline with thee beneath the trees.
(1823)
[119]
FROM THE JUGENDDRAMEN—2
O'ER worldly goods how fretfully we spend
Our days, and yet the truest joys unsought
Befall, even as I, though seeking naught,
Found the fresh beauty youth to thee doth lend.
And now be Fate our love's protecting friend,
Whether she lead thy swift-pursuing thought
In many a wayward-wandering path distraught,
Or with a kindly grace thy steps attend.
For oft it happens that a wish at birth
Will banish even the most anxious care,
And oft that it bestow a moment's worth;
Perchance that we desire to alter ne'er
A word; that of the fairest joys on earth
The fairest portion soon shall be our share.
(1824)
[120]
FROM THE JUGENDDRAMEN-3
AND so farewell, ye gloomy prison walls,
Ye who have been a prince's residence!
No more I pass the irksome hours hence
Reading my Seneca crouched in these stalls.
You were designed only for knaves and thralls,
Birches and stocks their proper recompense.
You saw them here their savage lives dispense,
And echoed back their vulgar gutter-calls.
You are transformed into a paradise
Or blessed isles, since I with master-hand
Have scrawled upon thee. With enraptured eyes
The future world staring at thee shall stand,
For every place my Muse whimpers and sighs
Save only this lies in the sluggard's land.
(1824)
[121]
FROM THE JUGENDDRAMEN-4
FATE
ATE rushes fiercely on me, and appears
To me like a wild boar whetting his fangs;
And every minute passes big with pangs,
Each second pregnant with some outrage nears.
Of thievish trade I have suspicious fears,
And even she I love most dearly hangs
Me in a pillory, where my heart gangs
Round like a mill-wheel undershot by tears.
Yet gladly for her fault I suffer all,
As through no fault of mine I do the task
Set by the lovely Author of the Fall.
She strews me where the alligators bask,
She strikes at me as at a volley-ball,
She mashes me to butter in a cask!
(1824)
[122]
XIII
To gain himself a coronal who should
Bestir himself, when, like a venal jade,
For each flat brow our times zealously brade
A wreath from blooms which have no hardihood.
Who should still emulate the greatest good,
When he who has the emptiest brain is made
Most welcome, who ascend the starry glade
Of heaven, when sparks arise from rotten wood?
Rubbish in rhymes that all may understand
Goes forth in peace for all to eulogize,
And ranks you as if I were not at hand!
Alas! no newspapers memorialize
In bronze; and though proclaimed in every land,
Yet one thing still you lack-praise from the wise.
(1826)
[123]
XIV
I DARED to strike an unaccustomed tone,
Devoting all my heart to magnify
The arts through all my life; and when I die,
So shall I die for beauty's sake alone.
Truly I wish that mankind should enthrone
The Better, but should let me, nurtured nigh
The Highest, learn to seek all that is high,
Yea, that my native land her son disown!
Since to her cause my strength I still devote,
I love her not the less, though satisfied
Of all her children to be most remote.
Though I be long departed, yet abide
My gifts, to swell her treasure and denote
A sure possession of our German pride.
(1826)
[124]
XV
WHATE'ER in me critics may criticize,
The courage of my soul I ne'er shall tame,
For if we shun even a moment's fame,
Who then are we to battle with the skies?
Shall I conceal my true capacities,
And shall I even hesitate to name
My feelings? My own thoughts put me to shame,
Fearing, like swallows, from the earth to rise.
For here 'tis futile to be timorous;
Boldly to speak the truth becometh each
Who soon shall rest in his sarcophagus.
In after times men will my soul beseech
In Paradise, and justify me thus:
In thought so great, how were he mean in speech?
(1826)
[125]
XVI
THIS land of toil I leave without a sigh;
From harsh subjection there is no release
Where man, oppressed by troubles, knows no peace,
Though destined to oblivion by and by.
We have indeed advantages. Here lie
Before us honor, wealth, and the increase
Of knowledge; and we Germans never cease
To wear ourselves out, so, worn out, to die.
And such a man should never know defeat,
But let him thrive where power and luck are wed,
Fawning on each new vogue as seems discreet.
For me, merely a wandering bard, instead
A friend, a bowl of wine, a cool retreat
Suffice, and honor after I am dead.
(1826)
[126]
XVII
W
HOEVER thought life to anticipate
But lost the half of it in dreams, distraught
With pangs of love, in speech with fools, or fraught
With fever, or in some such hapless state?
Yea, even he, calm and deliberate,
Who, born with consciousness of what he ought,
From early youth a single path has sought
Through life, must pale before the blows of fate.
Each hopes Fortune may smile in his behoof,
But to bear fortune when it does arrive
Were of the agency of God a proof.
Nor comes it merely since we wish and strive;
It falls not on the sleeper from the roof,
Nor shall the huntsman run it down alive.
(1826)
[127]
XVIII
AMID these glittering snow-peaks I am fane
In peace to ponder past adversities.
Scarce back to Germany I turn mine eyes,
Yet scarcely forward t'ward th' Italian plain.
Crowns I have dreamed of I pursue in vain,
Which might refresh my burning brow, and sighs,
But seldom stifled, in my breast arise,
As though mere sighs could soothe my spirit's pain!
Where is the heart that sorrows do not rend?
The phantasms of life for ever stole
Upon one, though he fled to the world's end.
One solace yet remains, that with the whole
Of these my burdens I may still contend
Perchance, through strength and dignity of soul.
(1826)
[128]
XIX
FURTHER and ever further yet to toil
T'ward distant lands my spirit still doth yearn;
Though Paradise surround where're I turn,
Ne'er could I long cling to my native soil.
While inner conflicts still her peace embroil,
In this short life my soul has come to learn
How easy 'tis th' ancestral home to spurn,
To find a new-what difficulties foil!
Yet if one loathes whole-hearted what is base,
It will pursue him from his heritage,
If there 'tis honored by the populace.
To flee one's fatherland is far more sage
Than still to bear among a childish race
The yoke of the unthinking rabbel's rage.
(1826)
[129]
XX
WHAT have you by your Rhine and Ister here
That may enthrone you with the ancient Greek?
The newspaper, the journal, the critique,
Ministers of police-tobacco-beer!
You who have never known those sisters dear,
Freedom and Art, who, girdled, there would seek
To place upon their heads crowns which bespeak
Perfection-would you pedants Greeks appear?
Nay, all your efforts are but mockeries,
For Greece knew how to spread th' eternal sheen
Of beauty over everything. What is
The art of which your boasts have ever been?
In a great ocean of absurdities
A few ingenious swimmers may be seen!
(1826)
[130]
XXI
O
YOU whose malice stirs afresh the plaster,
That folly and bad taste may be cemented,
With the canaille's good will alone contented,
Who grow yet bold and bolder fast and faster.
When once these lying spirits bring disaster,
All bounds of moderation circumvented,
Then you will call on me, too late repented,
Then you will nominate me your good master:
"Oh would that all his words might be repeated,
Who strove to us the pathway to betoken
To truth, though now his spirit has retreated.
Ne'er by his steps shall Alpine snows be broken
Again; his work among us is completed!"
Yea, all my vengeance this, that naught be spoken!
(1829)
[131]
EPITAPH
I WAS a poet born but blows to earn
Of the ill times in which my lot was cast;
But drank of fame ere yet my youth was past,
And left my impress on the speech in turn.
Ne'er in the school of art slothful to learn,
It therefore fell to me new paths to blast,
And to pour forth my soul in rhymes, to last
To distant times, if rightly I discern.
I fashioned songs from various themes, as well
As comedies and legends of the brave,
All in a style which no one could excel.
The second prize for odes to me they gave,
Life's hopes and sorrowings my sonnets tell,
And I have sung these verses for my grave.
(1829)
[132]
APPENDICES
I
BUTION
CHRONOLOGICAL DISTRIBUTION OF THE SONNETS
Cardenio
Literary Personages
Various Friends
3 5
6 1
1 4
1 4 4 5 6 1 2
Venice
17
German
23
Miscellaneous
1 1 1 1 2 2 1 3
8 2
Total
1 1 1 1 5 6 13 10 7 22 1
35
1 35 2
[135]
II
PREVIOUS TRANSLATIONS OF CERTAIN OF THE
SONNETS
To Literary Personages: To Schelling-1
By an anonymous writer in Longfellow's Poets and Poetry
of Europe.
To Various Friends: To Bülow-3
By Edward Carpenter in his Anthology of friendship.
By Margaret Münsterberg in German Classics, Volume V.
Sonnets from Venice: V
By Charles T. Brooks in Warner's Library of the World's
Best Literature.
To Karl Theodor German: IX
By an anonymous writer in Longfellow's Poets and Poetry
of Europe.
To Karl Theodor German: XVIII
By Edward Carpenter in his Anthology of Friendship.
Miscellaneous Sonnets: XIX
By Charles H. Genung in Warner's Library of the World's
Best Literature.
[136]
:
..
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
FIRST LINE
AFTER long toil brought to a happy close
Alone with thee what utter happiness
Although, my grief in silence to allay,
Amid these glittering snow-peaks I am fain
And now, forsaking the high seas, mine eyes
And so farewell, ye gloomy prison walls,
"Art is now dead, its message once expressed."
As full of weariness sank to the grave
As one abandoned on a barren shore,
As to thine image oft my thoughts would yield,
Attracted as I am so distantly,
BELIEVE me, every hour e'en yet I dream
By swift illusions all too long dismayed,
By the green net these lofty boughs afford
CRUELLY thou dost try me. From thy bow
DEAR to me thou as one of those forms shown
Dense foliage already spans the crest
Doth not he ever king in Truth's domain
FAIR as the day and lovely as the dawn,
Fate rushes fiercely on me, and appears
Fled to the desert from the human horde,
For palates without taste thou hast selected
Fortune confers her favors but through thee.
From all these chains oh set thy spirit free,
Further and ever further yet to toil
Page
53
20
92
128
65
121
30
27
46
32
45
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GOOD Sophocles, keen to discriminate
HERE as a tulip thrives the art of man,
Here truly shalt thou see no verdant glades,
He to whom pain is life and life is pain
Hither compelled, perplexed at heart lest thee
How can this frigid world participate,
How gleams the river so fair to behold
How pleasant when the fires of day forbear
How shall I still mankind's good will retrieve,
How swells the heart with blest sufficiency
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73
76
51
15
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43
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106
4I
I DARED to strike an unacccustomed tone,
124
I drank th' o'erflowing cup of death; yet not
21
If I escaped canting hypocrisy,
35
If I o'erlook thy coldness without blame,
97
If those who envy us with craft combine,
ΙΟΙ
If thou canst overlook and spare dispraise,
Imperious in his ardor, one who bore
Into the realms of life for evermore
Is this good luck, that thou by luck wast blessed,
It seems as if an ageless lamentation
I was a poet born but blows to earn
LIKE the bright stars I would that when I die
Longing for that true comrade of my need
Love seems the tenderest impulse, and so must
My friend, as yet thou seem'st but young, for Ah!
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No later image dims mine imagery
No longer now this madness overpowers,
Not out of passion and delight, I vow,
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O DEATH, SO sweet and yet so feared by all,
O'er worldly goods how fret fully we spend
Of thy enchantment who is unaware?
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Of those around us there is none who heeds,
Oh who than thou can pierce the heart's depths deeper?
On every shore the haughty billows surge,
On its broad back the canalaggo draws
O Titian, thou man of mastery,
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50
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O Venice, week by week thou dost instill
O you whose malice stirs afresh the plaster,
SCARCE dare I touch thy locks, and so to me
Scarce found I thee and learned with love to prize
Scarce shalt thou need to ask the world excuse
Seek'st thou a friend who should to death be true,
Shakespeare, I see thy sprites in many a rôle,
She comes the gray of orient imbue
Since there where Beauty reigns Love too doth hold
So saw I thee again, whom time had ne'er
Still the last dregs are not to be denied,
Sweet Spring, with hastening steps list my appeal.
THAT Hafiz is audacious to deny
That I do have abundant right for scorn
That oft I see the Fate will not consent,
Th' auspicious Fates, to whom is owing praise
The muse of every songster, Admiration,
The world is falser than my words can paint,
They call me proud, and yet that I should be
This labyrinth of bridges and small streets,
This land of toil I leave without a sigh;
Though in the flesh our steps apart we bend,
Thou hast prepared me hours of grievous dread,
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Thou lovest, yet art silent. Oh 't were best
Thou, mighty one, whom I beheld oft blind
Thou too deceiv'st me, since where'er I turn
Thy book yet scarce a third devoured, where lies
Thy favor was first shown to me today,
Thy presence have I lost for evermore,
To gain himself a coronal who should
VENICE still lies in dreamland, casting here
We hung upon thy words with zeal untold,
Well I recall that bitter winter's night,
What at the last is life's true recompense?
What dost thou care for all my tears distressed
Whate'er in me critics may criticize,
What have you by your Rhine and Ister here
What would I more than that our glances met?
Whene'er deep sorrows on my spirit weigh,
When first I saw thee, though perchance by pride
When shall I master this anxiety
While here I revel in the open air,
Whoever thought life to anticipate
Who feels a growing hunger for
eyes
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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
3 9015 00851 5713
PENDING, Preservation 1988
$