Emotions and Feelings

Trilogy Of Passion 01 To Werther

ONCE more, then, much-wept shadow, thou dost dare

Boldly to face the day's clear light,
To meet me on fresh blooming meadows fair,


And dost not tremble at my sight.
Those happy times appear return'd once more.


When on one field we quaff'd refreshing dew,
And, when the day's unwelcome toils were o'er,


The farewell sunbeams bless'd our ravish'd view;
Fate bade thee go,--to linger here was mine,--
Going the first, the smaller loss was thine.


The life of man appears a glorious fate:
The day how lovely, and the night how great!
And we 'mid Paradise-like raptures plac'd,
The sun's bright glory scarce have learn'd to taste.


When strange contending feelings dimly cover,
Now us, and now the forms that round us hover;
One's feelings by no other are supplied,
'Tis dark without, if all is bright inside;
An outward brightness veils my sadden'd mood,
When Fortune smiles,--how seldom understood!
Now think we that we know her, and with might
A woman's beauteous form instils delight;
The youth, as glad as in his infancy,
The spring-time treads, as though the spring were he
Ravish'd, amazed, he asks, how this is done?
He looks around, the world appears his own.
With careless speed he wanders on through space,
Nor walls, nor palaces can check his race;
As some gay flight of birds round tree-tops plays,
So 'tis with him who round his mistress strays;
He seeks from AEther, which he'd leave behind him,
The faithful look that fondly serves to bind him.


Yet first too early warn'd, and then too late,
He feels his flight restrain'd, is captur'd straight
To meet again is sweet, to part is sad,
Again to meet again is still more glad,
And years in one short moment are enshrin'd;
But, oh, the harsh farewell is hid behind!


Thou smilest, friend, with fitting thoughts inspired;
By a dread parting was thy fame acquired,
Thy mournful destiny we sorrow'd o'er,
For weal and woe thou left'st us evermore,
And then again the passions' wavering force
Drew us along in labyrinthine course;



And we, consumed by constant misery,
At length must part--and parting is to die!
How moving is it, when the minstrel sings,
To 'scape the death that separation brings!
Oh grant, some god, to one who suffers so,
To tell, half-guilty, his sad tale of woe.

Trilogy Of Passion 01 To Werther

ONCE more, then, much-wept shadow, thou dost dare

Boldly to face the day's clear light,
To meet me on fresh blooming meadows fair,


And dost not tremble at my sight.
Those happy times appear return'd once more.


When on one field we quaff'd refreshing dew,
And, when the day's unwelcome toils were o'er,


The farewell sunbeams bless'd our ravish'd view;
Fate bade thee go,--to linger here was mine,--
Going the first, the smaller loss was thine.


The life of man appears a glorious fate:
The day how lovely, and the night how great!
And we 'mid Paradise-like raptures plac'd,
The sun's bright glory scarce have learn'd to taste.


When strange contending feelings dimly cover,
Now us, and now the forms that round us hover;
One's feelings by no other are supplied,
'Tis dark without, if all is bright inside;
An outward brightness veils my sadden'd mood,
When Fortune smiles,--how seldom understood!
Now think we that we know her, and with might
A woman's beauteous form instils delight;
The youth, as glad as in his infancy,
The spring-time treads, as though the spring were he
Ravish'd, amazed, he asks, how this is done?
He looks around, the world appears his own.
With careless speed he wanders on through space,
Nor walls, nor palaces can check his race;
As some gay flight of birds round tree-tops plays,
So 'tis with him who round his mistress strays;
He seeks from AEther, which he'd leave behind him,
The faithful look that fondly serves to bind him.


Yet first too early warn'd, and then too late,
He feels his flight restrain'd, is captur'd straight
To meet again is sweet, to part is sad,
Again to meet again is still more glad,
And years in one short moment are enshrin'd;
But, oh, the harsh farewell is hid behind!


Thou smilest, friend, with fitting thoughts inspired;
By a dread parting was thy fame acquired,
Thy mournful destiny we sorrow'd o'er,
For weal and woe thou left'st us evermore,
And then again the passions' wavering force
Drew us along in labyrinthine course;



And we, consumed by constant misery,
At length must part--and parting is to die!
How moving is it, when the minstrel sings,
To 'scape the death that separation brings!
Oh grant, some god, to one who suffers so,
To tell, half-guilty, his sad tale of woe.

To The Moon

BUSH and vale thou fill'st again

With thy misty ray,
And my spirit's heavy chain
Castest far away.
Thou dost o'er my fields extend
Thy sweet soothing eye,


Watching like a gentle friend,
O'er my destiny.
Vanish'd days of bliss and woe
Haunt me with their tone,


Joy and grief in turns I know,
As I stray alone.
Stream beloved, flow on! flow on!
Ne'er can I be gay!


Thus have sport and kisses gone,
Truth thus pass'd away.
Once I seem'd the lord to be
Of that prize so fair!


Now, to our deep sorrow, we
Can forget it ne'er.
Murmur, stream, the vale along,
Never cease thy sighs;


Murmur, whisper to my song
Answering melodies!
When thou in the winter's night
Overflow'st in wrath,


Or in spring-time sparklest bright,
As the buds shoot forth.
He who from the world retires,
Void of hate, is blest;



Who a friend's true love inspires,
Leaning on his breast!
That which heedless man ne'er knew,
Or ne'er thought aright,


Roams the bosom's labyrinth through,
Boldly into night.

To The Moon

BUSH and vale thou fill'st again

With thy misty ray,
And my spirit's heavy chain
Castest far away.
Thou dost o'er my fields extend
Thy sweet soothing eye,


Watching like a gentle friend,
O'er my destiny.
Vanish'd days of bliss and woe
Haunt me with their tone,


Joy and grief in turns I know,
As I stray alone.
Stream beloved, flow on! flow on!
Ne'er can I be gay!


Thus have sport and kisses gone,
Truth thus pass'd away.
Once I seem'd the lord to be
Of that prize so fair!


Now, to our deep sorrow, we
Can forget it ne'er.
Murmur, stream, the vale along,
Never cease thy sighs;


Murmur, whisper to my song
Answering melodies!
When thou in the winter's night
Overflow'st in wrath,


Or in spring-time sparklest bright,
As the buds shoot forth.
He who from the world retires,
Void of hate, is blest;



Who a friend's true love inspires,
Leaning on his breast!
That which heedless man ne'er knew,
Or ne'er thought aright,


Roams the bosom's labyrinth through,
Boldly into night.

To The Husbandman

SMOOTHLY and lightly the golden seed by the furrow is cover'd;

Yet will a deeper one, friend, cover thy bones at the last.
Joyously plough'd and sow'd! Here food all living is budding,
E'en from the side of the tomb Hope will not vanish away.

To The Golden Heart That He Wore Around His Neck

OH thou token loved of joys now perish'd

That I still wear from my neck suspended,
Art thou stronger than our spirit-bond so cherish'd?
Or canst thou prolong love's days untimely ended?
Lily, I fly from thee! I still am doom'd to range


Thro' countries strange,


Thro' distant vales and woods, link'd on to thee!
Ah, Lily's heart could surely never fall
So soon away from me!
As when a bird bath broken from his thrall,
And seeks the forest green,


Proof of imprisonment he bears behind him,
A morsel of the thread once used to bind him;
The free-born bird of old no more is seen,
For he another's prey bath been.

To The Chosen One

HAND in hand! and lip to lip!

Oh, be faithful, maiden dear!
Fare thee well! thy lover's ship
Past full many a rock must steers


But should he the haven see,


When the storm has ceased to break,
And be happy, reft of thee,--
May the Gods fierce vengeance take!
Boldly dared is well nigh won!
Half my task is solved aright;


Ev'ry star's to me a sun,


Only cowards deem it night.
Stood I idly by thy side,
Sorrow still would sadden me;


But when seas our paths divide,
Gladly toil I,--toil for thee!
Now the valley I perceive,
Where together we will go,


And the streamlet watch each eve,


Gliding peacefully below
Oh, the poplars on yon spot!
Oh, the beech trees in yon grove!


And behind we'll build a cot,
Where to taste the joys of love!

To Mignon

OVER vale and torrent far
Rolls along the sun's bright car.
Ah! he wakens in his course

Mine, as thy deep-seated smart

In the heart.
Ev'ry morning with new force.
Scarce avails night aught to me;


E'en the visions that I see
Come but in a mournful guise;

And I feel this silent smart
In my heart
With creative pow'r arise.

During many a beauteous year
I have seen ships 'neath me steer,
As they seek the shelt'ring bay;


But, alas, each lasting smart


In my heart
Floats not with the stream away.
I must wear a gala dress,


Long stored up within my press,
For to-day to feasts is given;

None know with what bitter smart
Is my heart
Fearfully and madly riven.

Secretly I weep each tear,
Yet can cheerful e'en appear,
With a face of healthy red;

For if deadly were this silent smart

In my heart,
Ah, I then had long been dead!
THE MOUNTAIN CASTLE.
THERE stands on yonder high mountain
A castle built of yore,


Where once lurked horse and horseman



In rear of gate and of door.
Now door and gate are in ashes,
And all around is so still;


And over the fallen ruins
I clamber just as I will.
Below once lay a cellar,
With costly wines well stor'd;


No more the glad maid with her pitcher
Descends there to draw from the hoard.
No longer the goblet she places
Before the guests at the feast;


The flask at the meal so hallow'd
No longer she fills for the priest.
No more for the eager squire
The draught in the passage is pour'd;


No more for the flying present
Receives she the flying reward.
For all the roof and the rafters,
They all long since have been burn'd,


And stairs and passage and chapel
To rubbish and ruins are turn'd.
Yet when with lute and with flagon,
When day was smiling and bright,


I've watch'd my mistress climbing
To gain this perilous height,
Then rapture joyous and radiant
The silence so desolate brake,


And all, as in days long vanish'd,
Once more to enjoyment awoke;
As if for guests of high station



The largest rooms were prepared;
As if from those times so precious
A couple thither had fared;


As if there stood in his chapel
The priest in his sacred dress,
And ask'd: "Would ye twain be united?"


And we, with a smile, answer'd, "Yes!"
And songs that breath'd a deep feeling,
That touched the heart's innermost chord,


The music-fraught mouth of sweet echo,
Instead of the many, outpour'd.
And when at eve all was hidden
In silence unbroken and deep,


The glowing sun then look'd upwards,
And gazed on the summit so steep.
And squire and maiden then glitter'd
As bright and gay as a lord,


She seized the time for her present,
And he to give her reward.

To Mignon

OVER vale and torrent far
Rolls along the sun's bright car.
Ah! he wakens in his course

Mine, as thy deep-seated smart

In the heart.
Ev'ry morning with new force.
Scarce avails night aught to me;


E'en the visions that I see
Come but in a mournful guise;

And I feel this silent smart
In my heart
With creative pow'r arise.

During many a beauteous year
I have seen ships 'neath me steer,
As they seek the shelt'ring bay;


But, alas, each lasting smart


In my heart
Floats not with the stream away.
I must wear a gala dress,


Long stored up within my press,
For to-day to feasts is given;

None know with what bitter smart
Is my heart
Fearfully and madly riven.

Secretly I weep each tear,
Yet can cheerful e'en appear,
With a face of healthy red;

For if deadly were this silent smart

In my heart,
Ah, I then had long been dead!
THE MOUNTAIN CASTLE.
THERE stands on yonder high mountain
A castle built of yore,


Where once lurked horse and horseman



In rear of gate and of door.
Now door and gate are in ashes,
And all around is so still;


And over the fallen ruins
I clamber just as I will.
Below once lay a cellar,
With costly wines well stor'd;


No more the glad maid with her pitcher
Descends there to draw from the hoard.
No longer the goblet she places
Before the guests at the feast;


The flask at the meal so hallow'd
No longer she fills for the priest.
No more for the eager squire
The draught in the passage is pour'd;


No more for the flying present
Receives she the flying reward.
For all the roof and the rafters,
They all long since have been burn'd,


And stairs and passage and chapel
To rubbish and ruins are turn'd.
Yet when with lute and with flagon,
When day was smiling and bright,


I've watch'd my mistress climbing
To gain this perilous height,
Then rapture joyous and radiant
The silence so desolate brake,


And all, as in days long vanish'd,
Once more to enjoyment awoke;
As if for guests of high station



The largest rooms were prepared;
As if from those times so precious
A couple thither had fared;


As if there stood in his chapel
The priest in his sacred dress,
And ask'd: "Would ye twain be united?"


And we, with a smile, answer'd, "Yes!"
And songs that breath'd a deep feeling,
That touched the heart's innermost chord,


The music-fraught mouth of sweet echo,
Instead of the many, outpour'd.
And when at eve all was hidden
In silence unbroken and deep,


The glowing sun then look'd upwards,
And gazed on the summit so steep.
And squire and maiden then glitter'd
As bright and gay as a lord,


She seized the time for her present,
And he to give her reward.

To Mignon

OVER vale and torrent far
Rolls along the sun's bright car.
Ah! he wakens in his course

Mine, as thy deep-seated smart

In the heart.
Ev'ry morning with new force.
Scarce avails night aught to me;


E'en the visions that I see
Come but in a mournful guise;

And I feel this silent smart
In my heart
With creative pow'r arise.

During many a beauteous year
I have seen ships 'neath me steer,
As they seek the shelt'ring bay;


But, alas, each lasting smart


In my heart
Floats not with the stream away.
I must wear a gala dress,


Long stored up within my press,
For to-day to feasts is given;

None know with what bitter smart
Is my heart
Fearfully and madly riven.

Secretly I weep each tear,
Yet can cheerful e'en appear,
With a face of healthy red;

For if deadly were this silent smart

In my heart,
Ah, I then had long been dead!
THE MOUNTAIN CASTLE.
THERE stands on yonder high mountain
A castle built of yore,


Where once lurked horse and horseman



In rear of gate and of door.
Now door and gate are in ashes,
And all around is so still;


And over the fallen ruins
I clamber just as I will.
Below once lay a cellar,
With costly wines well stor'd;


No more the glad maid with her pitcher
Descends there to draw from the hoard.
No longer the goblet she places
Before the guests at the feast;


The flask at the meal so hallow'd
No longer she fills for the priest.
No more for the eager squire
The draught in the passage is pour'd;


No more for the flying present
Receives she the flying reward.
For all the roof and the rafters,
They all long since have been burn'd,


And stairs and passage and chapel
To rubbish and ruins are turn'd.
Yet when with lute and with flagon,
When day was smiling and bright,


I've watch'd my mistress climbing
To gain this perilous height,
Then rapture joyous and radiant
The silence so desolate brake,


And all, as in days long vanish'd,
Once more to enjoyment awoke;
As if for guests of high station



The largest rooms were prepared;
As if from those times so precious
A couple thither had fared;


As if there stood in his chapel
The priest in his sacred dress,
And ask'd: "Would ye twain be united?"


And we, with a smile, answer'd, "Yes!"
And songs that breath'd a deep feeling,
That touched the heart's innermost chord,


The music-fraught mouth of sweet echo,
Instead of the many, outpour'd.
And when at eve all was hidden
In silence unbroken and deep,


The glowing sun then look'd upwards,
And gazed on the summit so steep.
And squire and maiden then glitter'd
As bright and gay as a lord,


She seized the time for her present,
And he to give her reward.

To My Friend - Ode II

THOU go'st! I murmur--
Go! let me murmur.
Oh, worthy man,
Fly from this land!


Deadly marshes,
Steaming mists of October
Here interweave their currents,
Blending for ever.


Noisome insects
Here are engender'd;
Fatal darkness
Veils their malice.


The fiery-tongued serpent,
Hard by the sedgy bank,
Stretches his pamper'd body,
Caress'd by the sun's bright beams.


Tempt no gentle night-rambles
Under the moon's cold twilight!
Loathsome toads hold their meetings
Yonder at every crossway.


Injuring not,
Fear will they cause thee.
Oh, worthy man,
Fly from this land!

To Lina

SHOULD these songs, love, as they fleet,

Chance again to reach thy hand,
At the piano take thy seat,
Where thy friend was wont to stand!
Sweep with finger bold the string,
Then the book one moment see:


But read not! do nought but sing!
And each page thine own will be!
Ah, what grief the song imparts
With its letters, black on white,


That, when breath'd by thee, our hearts
Now can break and now delight!

To Lina

SHOULD these songs, love, as they fleet,

Chance again to reach thy hand,
At the piano take thy seat,
Where thy friend was wont to stand!
Sweep with finger bold the string,
Then the book one moment see:


But read not! do nought but sing!
And each page thine own will be!
Ah, what grief the song imparts
With its letters, black on white,


That, when breath'd by thee, our hearts
Now can break and now delight!

Three Palinodias - 03 Rain And Rainbow

DURING a heavy storm it chanced
That from his room a cockney glanced
At the fierce tempest as it broke,
While to his neighbour thus he spoke:
"The thunder has our awe inspired,
Our barns by lightning have been fired,--
Our sins to punish, I suppose;
But in return, to soothe our woes,
See how the rain in torrents fell,
Making the harvest promise well!
But it's a rainbow that I spy
Extending o'er the dark-grey sky?
With it I'm sure we may dispense,
The colour'd cheat! The vain pretence!"
Dame Iris straightway thus replied:
"Dost dare my beauty to deride?
In realms of space God station'd me
A type of better worlds to be
To eyes that from life's sorrows rove
In cheerful hope to Heav'n above,
And, through the mists that hover here
God and his precepts blest revere.
Do thou, then, grovel like the swine,
And to the ground thy snout confine,
But suffer the enlighten'd eye
To feast upon my majesty."

To Charlotte

'MIDST the noise of merriment and glee,

'Midst full many a sorrow, many a care,
Charlotte, I remember, we remember thee,
How, at evening's hour so fair,

Thou a kindly hand didst reach us,
When thou, in some happy place
Where more fair is Nature s face,
Many a lightly-hidden trace


Of a spirit loved didst teach us.
Well 'tis that thy worth I rightly knew,--
That I, in the hour when first we met,
While the first impression fill'd me yet,


Call'd thee then a girl both good and true.
Rear'd in silence, calmly, knowing nought,
On the world we suddenly are thrown;


Hundred thousand billows round us sport;


All things charm us--many please alone,
Many grieve us, and as hour on hour is stealing,
To and fro our restless natures sway;


First we feel, and then we find each feeling
By the changeful world-stream borne away.
Well I know, we oft within us find
Many a hope and many a smart.


Charlotte, who can know our mind?


Charlotte, who can know our heart?
Ah! 'twould fain be understood, 'twould fain o'erflow
In some creature's fellow-feelings blest,


And, with trust, in twofold measure know
All the grief and joy in Nature's breast.
Then thine eye is oft around thee cast,
But in vain, for all seems closed for ever.

Thus the fairest part of life is madly pass'd


Free from storm, but resting never:

To thy sorrow thou'rt to-day repell'd
By what yesterday obey'd thee.
Can that world by thee be worthy held

Which so oft betray'd thee?
Which, 'mid all thy pleasures and thy pains,
Lived in selfish, unconcern'd repose?


See, the soul its secret cells regains,


And the heart--makes haste to close.
Thus found I thee, and gladly went to meet thee;
"She's worthy of all love!" I cried,


And pray'd that Heaven with purest bliss might greet thee,
Which in thy friend it richly hath supplied.

To Charlotte

'MIDST the noise of merriment and glee,

'Midst full many a sorrow, many a care,
Charlotte, I remember, we remember thee,
How, at evening's hour so fair,

Thou a kindly hand didst reach us,
When thou, in some happy place
Where more fair is Nature s face,
Many a lightly-hidden trace


Of a spirit loved didst teach us.
Well 'tis that thy worth I rightly knew,--
That I, in the hour when first we met,
While the first impression fill'd me yet,


Call'd thee then a girl both good and true.
Rear'd in silence, calmly, knowing nought,
On the world we suddenly are thrown;


Hundred thousand billows round us sport;


All things charm us--many please alone,
Many grieve us, and as hour on hour is stealing,
To and fro our restless natures sway;


First we feel, and then we find each feeling
By the changeful world-stream borne away.
Well I know, we oft within us find
Many a hope and many a smart.


Charlotte, who can know our mind?


Charlotte, who can know our heart?
Ah! 'twould fain be understood, 'twould fain o'erflow
In some creature's fellow-feelings blest,


And, with trust, in twofold measure know
All the grief and joy in Nature's breast.
Then thine eye is oft around thee cast,
But in vain, for all seems closed for ever.

Thus the fairest part of life is madly pass'd


Free from storm, but resting never:

To thy sorrow thou'rt to-day repell'd
By what yesterday obey'd thee.
Can that world by thee be worthy held

Which so oft betray'd thee?
Which, 'mid all thy pleasures and thy pains,
Lived in selfish, unconcern'd repose?


See, the soul its secret cells regains,


And the heart--makes haste to close.
Thus found I thee, and gladly went to meet thee;
"She's worthy of all love!" I cried,


And pray'd that Heaven with purest bliss might greet thee,
Which in thy friend it richly hath supplied.

To Charlotte

'MIDST the noise of merriment and glee,

'Midst full many a sorrow, many a care,
Charlotte, I remember, we remember thee,
How, at evening's hour so fair,

Thou a kindly hand didst reach us,
When thou, in some happy place
Where more fair is Nature s face,
Many a lightly-hidden trace


Of a spirit loved didst teach us.
Well 'tis that thy worth I rightly knew,--
That I, in the hour when first we met,
While the first impression fill'd me yet,


Call'd thee then a girl both good and true.
Rear'd in silence, calmly, knowing nought,
On the world we suddenly are thrown;


Hundred thousand billows round us sport;


All things charm us--many please alone,
Many grieve us, and as hour on hour is stealing,
To and fro our restless natures sway;


First we feel, and then we find each feeling
By the changeful world-stream borne away.
Well I know, we oft within us find
Many a hope and many a smart.


Charlotte, who can know our mind?


Charlotte, who can know our heart?
Ah! 'twould fain be understood, 'twould fain o'erflow
In some creature's fellow-feelings blest,


And, with trust, in twofold measure know
All the grief and joy in Nature's breast.
Then thine eye is oft around thee cast,
But in vain, for all seems closed for ever.

Thus the fairest part of life is madly pass'd


Free from storm, but resting never:

To thy sorrow thou'rt to-day repell'd
By what yesterday obey'd thee.
Can that world by thee be worthy held

Which so oft betray'd thee?
Which, 'mid all thy pleasures and thy pains,
Lived in selfish, unconcern'd repose?


See, the soul its secret cells regains,


And the heart--makes haste to close.
Thus found I thee, and gladly went to meet thee;
"She's worthy of all love!" I cried,


And pray'd that Heaven with purest bliss might greet thee,
Which in thy friend it richly hath supplied.

Thoughts On Jesus Christ's Decent Into Hell

WHAT wondrous noise is heard around!
Through heaven exulting voices sound,


A mighty army marches on
By thousand millions follow'd, lo,
To yon dark place makes haste to go


God's Son, descending from His throne!
He goes--the tempests round Him break,


As Judge and Hero cometh He;
He goes--the constellations quake,
The sun, the world quake fearfully.


I see Him in His victor-car,
On fiery axles borne afar,


Who on the cross for us expired.
The triumph to yon realms He shows,--
Remote from earth, where star ne'er glows,


The triumph He for us acquired.
He cometh, Hell to extirpate,


Whom He, by dying, wellnigh kill'd;
He shall pronounce her fearful fate
Hark! now the curse is straight fulfill'd.


Hell sees the victor come at last,
She feels that now her reign is past,


She quakes and fears to meet His sight;
She knows His thunders' terrors dread,
In vain she seeks to hide her head,


Attempts to fly, but vain is flight;
Vainly she hastes to 'scape pursuit


And to avoid her Judge's eye;
The Lord's fierce wrath restrains her foot
Like brazen chains,--she cannot fly.


Here lies the Dragon, trampled down,
He lies, and feels God's angry frown,


He feels, and grinneth hideously;
He feels Hell's speechless agonies,
A thousand times he howls and sighs:


"Oh, burning flames! quick, swallow me!"
There lies he in the fiery waves,



By torments rack'd and pangs infernal,
Instant annihilation craves,
And hears, those pangs will be eternal.


Those mighty squadrons, too, are here,
The partners of his cursed career,


Yet far less bad than he were they.
Here lies the countless throng combined,
In black and fearful crowds entwined,


While round him fiery tempests play;
He sees how they the Judge avoid,


He sees the storm upon them feed,
Yet is not at the sight o'erjoy'd,
Because his pangs e'en theirs exceed.


The Son of Man in triumph passes
Down to Hell's wild and black morasses,


And there unfolds His majesty.
Hell cannot bear the bright array,
For, since her first created day.


Darkness alone e'er govern'd she.
She lay remote from ev'ry light


With torments fill'd in Chaos here;
God turn'd for ever from her sight
His radiant features' glory clear.


Within the realms she calls her own,
She sees the splendour of the Son,


His dreaded glories shining forth;
She sees Him clad in rolling thunder,
She sees the rocks all quake with wonder,


When God before her stands in wrath.
She sees He comes her Judge to be,


She feels the awful pangs inside her,
Herself to slay endeavours she,
But e'en this comfort is denied her.


Now looks she back, with pains untold,
Upon those happy times of old,


When those glories gave her joy;
When yet her heart revered the truth,
When her glad soul, in endless youth



And rapture dwelt, without alloy.
She calls to mind with madden'd thought


How over man her wiles prevail'd;
To take revenge on God she sought,
And feels the vengeance it entail'd.


God was made man, and came to earth.
Then Satan cried with fearful mirth:


"E'en He my victim now shall be!"
He sought to slay the Lord Most High,
The world's Creator now must die;


But, Satan, endless woe to thee!
Thou thought'st to overcome Him then,


Rejoicing in His suffering;
But he in triumph comes again
To bind thee: Death! where is thy sting?


Speak, Hell! where is thy victory?
Thy power destroy'd and scatter'd see!


Know'st thou not now the Highest's might?
See, Satan, see thy rule o'erthrown!


By thousand-varying pangs weigh'd down,
Thou dwell'st in dark and endless night.


As though by lightning struck thou liest,
No gleam of rapture far or wide;


In vain! no hope thou there decriest,--
For me alone Messiah died!


A howling rises through the air,
A trembling fills each dark vault there,


When Christ to Hell is seen to come.
She snarls with rage, but needs must cower
Before our mighty hero's power;


He signs--and Hell is straightway dumb.
Before his voice the thunders break,


On high His victor-banner blows;
E'en angels at His fury quake,
When Christ to the dread judgment goes.


Now speaks He, and His voice is thunder,



He speaks, the rocks are rent in sunder,


His breath is like devouring flames.
Thus speaks He: "Tremble, ye accurs'd!
He who from Eden hurl'd you erst,


Your kingdom's overthrow proclaims.
Look up! My children once were ye,


Your arms against Me then ye turn'd,
Ye fell, that ye might sinners be,
Ye've now the wages that ye earn'd.


"My greatest foeman from that day,
Ye led my dearest friends astray,--


As ye had fallen, man must fall.
To kill him evermore ye sought,
'They all shall die the death,' ye thought;


But howl! for Me I won them all.
For them alone did I descend,


For them pray'd, suffer'd, perish'd I.
Ye ne'er shall gain your wicked end;
Who trusts in Me shall never die.


"In endless chains here lie ye now,
Nothing can save you from the slough.


Not boldness, not regret for crime.
Lie, then, and writhe in brimstone fire!
'Twas ye yourselves drew down Mine ire,


Lie and lament throughout all time!
And also ye, whom I selected,


E'en ye forever I disown,
For ye My saving grace rejected
Ye murmur? blame yourselves alone!


"Ye might have lived with Me in bliss,
For I of yore had promis'd this;


Ye sinn'd, and all My precepts slighted
Wrapp'd in the sleep of sin ye dwelt,
Now is My fearful judgment felt,


By a just doom your guilt requited."--
Thus spake He, and a fearful storm


From Him proceeds, the lightnings glow,



The thunders seize each wicked form,
And hurl them in the gulf below.


The God-man closeth Hell's sad doors,
In all His majesty He soars


From those dark regions back to light.
He sitteth at the Father's side;
Oh, friends, what joy doth this betide!


For us, for us He still will fight!
The angels sacred quire around


Rejoice before the mighty Lord,
So that all creatures hear the sound:
"Zebaoth's God be aye ador'd!"

The Wedding Night

WITHIN the chamber, far away

From the glad feast, sits Love in dread
Lest guests disturb, in wanton play,
The silence of the bridal bed.


His torch's pale flame serves to gild


The scene with mystic sacred glow;
The room with incense-clouds is fil'd,
That ye may perfect rapture know.
How beats thy heart, when thou dost hear
The chime that warns thy guests to fly!


How glow'st thou for those lips so dear,


That soon are mute, and nought deny!
With her into the holy place
Thou hast'nest then, to perfect all;


The fire the warder's hands embrace,
Grows, like a night-light, dim and small.
How heaves her bosom, and how burns
Her face at every fervent kiss!


Her coldness now to trembling turns,


Thy daring now a duty is.
Love helps thee to undress her fast,
But thou art twice as fast as he;


And then he shuts both eye at last,
With sly and roguish modesty.

The Yelpers

OUR rides in all directions bend,

For business or for pleasure,
Yet yelpings on our steps attend,
And barkings without measure.


The dog that in our stable dwells,


After our heels is striding,
And all the while his noisy yells
But show that we are riding.

The Wanderer's Storm-Song

He whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,
Feels no dread within his heart
At the tempest or the rain.
He whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,
Will to the rain-clouds,
Will to the hailstorm,
Sing in reply
As the lark sings,
Oh thou on high!


Him whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,
Thou wilt raise above the mud-track
With thy fiery pinions.
He will wander,
As, with flowery feet,
Over Deucalion's dark flood,
Python-slaying, light, glorious,
Pythius Apollo.


Him whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,
Thou wilt place upon thy fleecy pinion
When he sleepeth on the rock,--
Thou wilt shelter with thy guardian wing
In the forest's midnight hour.


Him whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,
Thou wilt wrap up warmly
In the snow-drift;
Tow'rd the warmth approach the Muses,
Tow'rd the warmth approach the Graces.


Ye Muses, hover round me!
Ye Graces also!
That is water, that is earth,
And the son of water and of earth
Over which I wander,
Like the gods.


Ye are pure, like the heart of the water,
Ye are pure like the marrow of earth,
Hov'ring round me, while I hover
Over water, o'er the earth
Like the gods.


Shall he, then, return,
The small, the dark, the fiery peasant?
Shall he, then, return, waiting
Only thy gifts, oh Father Bromius,
And brightly gleaming, warmth-spreading fire?
Return with joy?
And I, whom ye attended,
Ye Muses and ye Graces,



Whom all awaits that ye,
Ye Muses and ye Graces,
Of circling bliss in life
Have glorified--shall I
Return dejected?


Father Bromius!
Thourt the Genius,
Genius of ages,
Thou'rt what inward glow
To Pindar was,
What to the world
Phoebus Apollo.


Woe! Woe Inward warmth,
Spirit-warmth,
Central-point!
Glow, and vie with
Phoebus Apollo!
Coldly soon
His regal look
Over thee will swiftly glide,-


Envy-struck
Linger o'er the cedar's strength,
Which, to flourish,
Waits him not.


Why doth my lay name thee the last?
Thee, from whom it began,
Thee, in whom it endeth,
Thee, from whom it flows,
Jupiter Pluvius!
Tow'rd thee streams my song.
And a Castalian spring
Runs as a fellow-brook,
Runs to the idle ones,
Mortal, happy ones,
Apart from thee,
Who cov'rest me around,
Jupiter Pluvius!


Not by the elm-tree
Him didst thou visit,
With the pair of doves
Held in his gentle arm,--
With the beauteous garland of roses,--
Caressing him, so blest in his flowers,
Anacreon,
Storm-breathing godhead!
Not in the poplar grove,
Near the Sybaris' strand,



Not on the mountain's
Sun-illumined brow
Didst thou seize him,
The flower-singing,
Honey-breathing,
Sweetly nodding
Theocritus.


When the wheels were rattling,
Wheel on wheel tow'rd the goal,
High arose
The sound of the lash
Of youths with victory glowing,
In the dust rolling,
As from the mountain fall
Showers of stones in the vale--
Then thy soul was brightly glowing, Pindar--
Glowing? Poor heart!


There, on the hill,--
Heavenly might!
But enough glow
Thither to wend,
Where is my cot!

The Wanderer's Storm-Song

He whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,
Feels no dread within his heart
At the tempest or the rain.
He whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,
Will to the rain-clouds,
Will to the hailstorm,
Sing in reply
As the lark sings,
Oh thou on high!


Him whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,
Thou wilt raise above the mud-track
With thy fiery pinions.
He will wander,
As, with flowery feet,
Over Deucalion's dark flood,
Python-slaying, light, glorious,
Pythius Apollo.


Him whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,
Thou wilt place upon thy fleecy pinion
When he sleepeth on the rock,--
Thou wilt shelter with thy guardian wing
In the forest's midnight hour.


Him whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,
Thou wilt wrap up warmly
In the snow-drift;
Tow'rd the warmth approach the Muses,
Tow'rd the warmth approach the Graces.


Ye Muses, hover round me!
Ye Graces also!
That is water, that is earth,
And the son of water and of earth
Over which I wander,
Like the gods.


Ye are pure, like the heart of the water,
Ye are pure like the marrow of earth,
Hov'ring round me, while I hover
Over water, o'er the earth
Like the gods.


Shall he, then, return,
The small, the dark, the fiery peasant?
Shall he, then, return, waiting
Only thy gifts, oh Father Bromius,
And brightly gleaming, warmth-spreading fire?
Return with joy?
And I, whom ye attended,
Ye Muses and ye Graces,



Whom all awaits that ye,
Ye Muses and ye Graces,
Of circling bliss in life
Have glorified--shall I
Return dejected?


Father Bromius!
Thourt the Genius,
Genius of ages,
Thou'rt what inward glow
To Pindar was,
What to the world
Phoebus Apollo.


Woe! Woe Inward warmth,
Spirit-warmth,
Central-point!
Glow, and vie with
Phoebus Apollo!
Coldly soon
His regal look
Over thee will swiftly glide,-


Envy-struck
Linger o'er the cedar's strength,
Which, to flourish,
Waits him not.


Why doth my lay name thee the last?
Thee, from whom it began,
Thee, in whom it endeth,
Thee, from whom it flows,
Jupiter Pluvius!
Tow'rd thee streams my song.
And a Castalian spring
Runs as a fellow-brook,
Runs to the idle ones,
Mortal, happy ones,
Apart from thee,
Who cov'rest me around,
Jupiter Pluvius!


Not by the elm-tree
Him didst thou visit,
With the pair of doves
Held in his gentle arm,--
With the beauteous garland of roses,--
Caressing him, so blest in his flowers,
Anacreon,
Storm-breathing godhead!
Not in the poplar grove,
Near the Sybaris' strand,



Not on the mountain's
Sun-illumined brow
Didst thou seize him,
The flower-singing,
Honey-breathing,
Sweetly nodding
Theocritus.


When the wheels were rattling,
Wheel on wheel tow'rd the goal,
High arose
The sound of the lash
Of youths with victory glowing,
In the dust rolling,
As from the mountain fall
Showers of stones in the vale--
Then thy soul was brightly glowing, Pindar--
Glowing? Poor heart!


There, on the hill,--
Heavenly might!
But enough glow
Thither to wend,
Where is my cot!

The Way To Behave

THOUGH tempers are bad and peevish folks swear,
Remember to ruffle thy brows, friend, ne'er;
And let not the fancies of women so fair
E'er serve thy pleasure in life to impair.

The Traveller And The Farm-Maiden

HE.
CANST thou give, oh fair and matchless maiden,
'Neath the shadow of the lindens yonder,--
Where I'd fain one moment cease to wander,--


Food and drink to one so heavy laden?
SHE.
Wouldst thou find refreshment, traveller weary,
Bread, ripe fruit and cream to meet thy wishes,--
None but Nature's plain and homely dishes,--


Near the spring may soothe thy wanderings dreary.
HE.
Dreams of old acquaintance now pass through me,
Ne'er-forgotten queen of hours of blisses.
Likenesses I've often found, but this is


One that quite a marvel seemeth to me!
SHE.
Travellers often wonder beyond measure,
But their wonder soon see cause to smother;
Fair and dark are often like each other,


Both inspire the mind with equal pleasure.
HE.
Not now for the first time I surrender
To this form, in humble adoration;
It was brightest midst the constellation


In the hail adorn'd with festal splendour.
SHE.
Be thou joyful that 'tis in my power
To complete thy strange and merry story!
Silks behind her, full of purple glory,



Floated, when thou saw'st her in that hour.
HE.
No, in truth, thou hast not sung it rightly!
Spirits may have told thee all about it;
Pearls and gems they spoke of, do not doubt it,--


By her gaze eclipsed,--it gleam'd so brightly!
SHE.
This one thing I certainly collected:
That the fair one--(say nought, I entreat thee!)
Fondly hoping once again to meet thee,


Many a castle in the air erected.
HE.
By each wind I ceaselessly was driven,
Seeking gold and honour, too, to capture!
When my wand'rings end, then oh, what rapture,


If to find that form again 'tis given!
SHE.
'Tis the daughter of the race now banish'd
That thou seest, not her likeness only;
Helen and her brother, glad though lonely,


Till this farm of their estate now vanish'd.
HE.
But the owner surely is not wanting
Of these plains, with ev'ry beauty teeming?
Verdant fields, broad meads, and pastures gleaming,


Gushing springs, all heav'nly and enchanting.
SHE.
Thou must hunt the world through, wouldst thou find him!--
We have wealth enough in our possession,



And intend to purchase the succession,
When the good man leaves the world behind him.
HE.
I have learnt the owner's own condition,


And, fair maiden, thou indeed canst buy it;
But the cost is great, I won't deny it,--
Helen is the price,--with thy permission!


SHE.
Did then fate and rank keep us asunder,
And must Love take this road, and no other?
Yonder comes my dear and trusty brother;


What will he say to it all, I wonder?