Emotions and Feelings

The Garlands

KLOPSTOCK would lead us away from Pindus; no longer for laurel
May we be eager--the homely acorn alone must content us;
Yet he himself his more-than-epic crusade is conducting
High on Golgotha's summit, that foreign gods he may honour!
Yet, on what hill he prefers, let him gather the angels together,
Suffer deserted disciples to weep o'er the grave of the just one:
There where a hero and saint hath died, where a bard breath'd his numbers,
Both for our life and our death an ensample of courage resplendent
And of the loftiest human worth to bequeath,--ev'ry nation
There will joyously kneel in devotion ecstatic, revering
Thorn and laurel garland, and all its charms and its tortures.

The Garlands

KLOPSTOCK would lead us away from Pindus; no longer for laurel
May we be eager--the homely acorn alone must content us;
Yet he himself his more-than-epic crusade is conducting
High on Golgotha's summit, that foreign gods he may honour!
Yet, on what hill he prefers, let him gather the angels together,
Suffer deserted disciples to weep o'er the grave of the just one:
There where a hero and saint hath died, where a bard breath'd his numbers,
Both for our life and our death an ensample of courage resplendent
And of the loftiest human worth to bequeath,--ev'ry nation
There will joyously kneel in devotion ecstatic, revering
Thorn and laurel garland, and all its charms and its tortures.

The Goblet

ONCE I held a well-carved brimming goblet,--
In my two hands tightly clasp'd I held it,
Eagerly the sweet wine sipp'd I from it,
Seeking there to drown all care and sorrow.


Amor enter'd in, and found me sitting,
And he gently smiled in modest fashion,
Smiled as though the foolish one he pitied.


"Friend, I know a far more beauteous vessel,
One wherein to sink thy spirit wholly;
Say, what wilt thou give me, if I grant it,
And with other nectar fill it for thee?"


Oh, how kindly hath he kept his promise!
For to me, who long had yearn'd, he granted
Thee, my Lida, fill'd with soft affection.


When I clasp mine arms around thee fondly,
When I drink in love's long-hoarded balsam
From thy darling lips so true, so faithful,
Fill'd with bliss thus speak I to my spirit
"No! a vessel such as this, save Amor
Never god hath fashion'd or been lord of!
Such a form was ne'er produced by Vulcan
With his cunning, reason-gifted hammers!
On the leaf-crown'd mountains may Lyaeus
Bid his Fauns, the oldest and the wisest,
Pass the choicest clusters through the winepress,
And himself watch o'er the fermentation:
Such a draught no toil can e'er procure him!"

The Goblet

ONCE I held a well-carved brimming goblet,--
In my two hands tightly clasp'd I held it,
Eagerly the sweet wine sipp'd I from it,
Seeking there to drown all care and sorrow.


Amor enter'd in, and found me sitting,
And he gently smiled in modest fashion,
Smiled as though the foolish one he pitied.


"Friend, I know a far more beauteous vessel,
One wherein to sink thy spirit wholly;
Say, what wilt thou give me, if I grant it,
And with other nectar fill it for thee?"


Oh, how kindly hath he kept his promise!
For to me, who long had yearn'd, he granted
Thee, my Lida, fill'd with soft affection.


When I clasp mine arms around thee fondly,
When I drink in love's long-hoarded balsam
From thy darling lips so true, so faithful,
Fill'd with bliss thus speak I to my spirit
"No! a vessel such as this, save Amor
Never god hath fashion'd or been lord of!
Such a form was ne'er produced by Vulcan
With his cunning, reason-gifted hammers!
On the leaf-crown'd mountains may Lyaeus
Bid his Fauns, the oldest and the wisest,
Pass the choicest clusters through the winepress,
And himself watch o'er the fermentation:
Such a draught no toil can e'er procure him!"

The Friendly Meeting

IN spreading mantle to my chin concealed,
I trod the rocky path, so steep and grey,
Then to the wintry plain I bent my way
Uneasily, to flight my bosom steel'd.
But sudden was the newborn day reveal'd:
A maiden came, in heavenly bright array,
Like the fair creatures of the poet's lay
In realms of song. My yearning heart was heal'd.
Yet turn'd I thence, till she had onward pass'd,
While closer still the folds to draw I tried,
As though with heat self-kindled to grow warm;
But follow'd her. She stood. The die was cast!
No more within my mantle could I hide;
I threw it off,--she lay within mine arm.

The Fisherman

THE waters rush'd, the waters rose,

A fisherman sat by,
While on his line in calm repose
He cast his patient eye.


And as he sat, and hearken'd there,


The flood was cleft in twain,
And, lo! a dripping mermaid fair
Sprang from the troubled main.
She sang to him, and spake the while:
"Why lurest thou my brood,


With human wit and human guile


From out their native flood?
Oh, couldst thou know how gladly dart
The fish across the sea,


Thou wouldst descend, e'en as thou art,
And truly happy be!
"Do not the sun and moon with grace
Their forms in ocean lave?


Shines not with twofold charms their face,


When rising from the wave?
The deep, deep heavens, then lure thee not,--
The moist yet radiant blue,--

Not thine own form,--to tempt thy lot
'Midst this eternal dew?"
The waters rush'd, the waters rose,
Wetting his naked feet;


As if his true love's words were those,


His heart with longing beat.
She sang to him, to him spake she,
His doom was fix'd, I ween;


Half drew she him, and half sank he,
And ne'er again was seen.

The Fisherman

THE waters rush'd, the waters rose,

A fisherman sat by,
While on his line in calm repose
He cast his patient eye.


And as he sat, and hearken'd there,


The flood was cleft in twain,
And, lo! a dripping mermaid fair
Sprang from the troubled main.
She sang to him, and spake the while:
"Why lurest thou my brood,


With human wit and human guile


From out their native flood?
Oh, couldst thou know how gladly dart
The fish across the sea,


Thou wouldst descend, e'en as thou art,
And truly happy be!
"Do not the sun and moon with grace
Their forms in ocean lave?


Shines not with twofold charms their face,


When rising from the wave?
The deep, deep heavens, then lure thee not,--
The moist yet radiant blue,--

Not thine own form,--to tempt thy lot
'Midst this eternal dew?"
The waters rush'd, the waters rose,
Wetting his naked feet;


As if his true love's words were those,


His heart with longing beat.
She sang to him, to him spake she,
His doom was fix'd, I ween;


Half drew she him, and half sank he,
And ne'er again was seen.

The Exchange

THE stones in the streamlet I make my bright pillow,
And open my arms to the swift-rolling billow,


That lovingly hastens to fall on my breast.
Then fickleness soon bids it onwards be flowing;
A second draws nigh, its caresses bestowing,--


And so by a twofold enjoyment I'm blest.


And yet thou art trailing in sorrow and sadness
The moments that life, as it flies, gave for gladness,


Because by thy love thou'rt remember'd no more!
Oh, call back to mind former days and their blisses!
The lips of the second will give as sweet kisses


As any the lips of the first gave before!

The Exchange

THE stones in the streamlet I make my bright pillow,
And open my arms to the swift-rolling billow,


That lovingly hastens to fall on my breast.
Then fickleness soon bids it onwards be flowing;
A second draws nigh, its caresses bestowing,--


And so by a twofold enjoyment I'm blest.


And yet thou art trailing in sorrow and sadness
The moments that life, as it flies, gave for gladness,


Because by thy love thou'rt remember'd no more!
Oh, call back to mind former days and their blisses!
The lips of the second will give as sweet kisses


As any the lips of the first gave before!

The Farewell

LET mine eye the farewell say,

That my lips can utter ne'er;
Fain I'd be a man to-day,
Yet 'tis hard, oh, hard to bear!
Mournful in an hour like this
Is love's sweetest pledge, I ween;


Cold upon thy mouth the kiss,
Faint thy fingers' pressure e'en.
Oh what rapture to my heart
Used each stolen kiss to bring!


As the violets joy impart,
Gather'd in the early spring.
Now no garlands I entwine,
Now no roses pluck. for thee,


Though 'tis springtime, Fanny mine,
Dreary autumn 'tis to me!

The Farewell

LET mine eye the farewell say,

That my lips can utter ne'er;
Fain I'd be a man to-day,
Yet 'tis hard, oh, hard to bear!
Mournful in an hour like this
Is love's sweetest pledge, I ween;


Cold upon thy mouth the kiss,
Faint thy fingers' pressure e'en.
Oh what rapture to my heart
Used each stolen kiss to bring!


As the violets joy impart,
Gather'd in the early spring.
Now no garlands I entwine,
Now no roses pluck. for thee,


Though 'tis springtime, Fanny mine,
Dreary autumn 'tis to me!

The Dilettante And The Critic

A BOY a pigeon once possess'd,
In gay and brilliant plumage dress'd;
He loved it well, and in boyish sport
Its food to take from his mouth he taught,
And in his pigeon he took such pride,
That his joy to others he needs must confide.


An aged fox near the place chanc'd to dwell,
Talkative, clever, and learned as well;
The boy his society used to prize,
Hearing with pleasure his wonders and lies.


"My friend the fox my pigeon must see
He ran, and stretch'd 'mongst the bushes lay he
"Look, fox, at my pigeon, my pigeon so fair!
His equal I'm sure thou hast look'd upon ne'er!"


"Let's see!"--The boy gave it.--"'Tis really not bad;
And yet, it is far from complete, I must add.
The feathers, for, instance, how short! 'Tis absurd!"
So he set to work straightway to pluck the poor bird.


The boy screamed.--"Thou must now stronger pinions supply,
Or else 'twill be ugly, unable to fly."--
Soon 'twas stripp'd--oh, the villain!--and torn all to pieces.
The boy was heart-broken,--and so my tale ceases.


He who sees in the boy shadow'd forth his own case,
Should be on his guard 'gainst the fox's whole race.

The Critic

I HAD a fellow as my guest,
Not knowing he was such a pest,
And gave him just my usual fare;
He ate his fill of what was there,


And for desert my best things swallow'd,
Soon as his meal was o'er, what follow'd?
Led by the Deuce, to a neighbour he went,
And talk'd of my food to his heart's content:
"The soup might surely have had more spice,
The meat was ill-brown'd, and the wine wasn't nice."
A thousand curses alight on his head!
'Tis a critic, I vow! Let the dog be struck dead!

The Convivial Book - Can The Koran From Eternity Be?

'Tis worth not a thought!

Can the Koran a creation, then, be?
Of that, I know nought!
Yet that the book of all books it must be,


I believe, as a Mussulman ought.


That from Eternity wine, though, must be,
I ever have thought;
That 'twas ordain'd, ere the Angels, to be,


As a truth may be taught.
Drinkers, however these matters may be,
Gaze on God's face, fearing nought.

The Bridegroom

I SLEPT,--'twas midnight,--in my bosom woke,

As though 'twere day, my love-o'erflowing heart;
To me it seemed like night, when day first broke;
What is't to me, whate'er it may impart?
She was away; the world's unceasing strife
For her alone I suffer'd through the heat


Of sultry day; oh, what refreshing life
At cooling eve!--my guerdon was complete.
The sun now set, and wand'ring hand in hand,
His last and blissful look we greeted then;


While spake our eyes, as they each other scann'd:
"From the far east, let's trust, he'll come again!"
At midnight!--the bright stars, in vision blest,
Guide to the threshold where she slumbers calm:


Oh be it mine, there too at length to rest,--
Yet howsoe'er this prove, life's full of charm!

The Bridegroom

I SLEPT,--'twas midnight,--in my bosom woke,

As though 'twere day, my love-o'erflowing heart;
To me it seemed like night, when day first broke;
What is't to me, whate'er it may impart?
She was away; the world's unceasing strife
For her alone I suffer'd through the heat


Of sultry day; oh, what refreshing life
At cooling eve!--my guerdon was complete.
The sun now set, and wand'ring hand in hand,
His last and blissful look we greeted then;


While spake our eyes, as they each other scann'd:
"From the far east, let's trust, he'll come again!"
At midnight!--the bright stars, in vision blest,
Guide to the threshold where she slumbers calm:


Oh be it mine, there too at length to rest,--
Yet howsoe'er this prove, life's full of charm!

The Chosen Cliff

HERE in silence the lover fondly mused on his loved one;
Gladly he spake to me thus: "Be thou my witness, thou stone!
Yet thou must not be vainglorious, thou hast many companions;
Unto each rock on the plain, where I, the happy one, dwell,
Unto each tree of the wood that I cling to, as onward I ramble,
'Be thou a sign of my bliss!' shout I, and then 'tis ordain'd.
Yet to thee only I lend a voice, as a Muse from the people
Chooseth one for herself, kissing his lips as a friend."

The Bliss Of Sorrow

NEVER dry, never dry,
Tears that eternal love sheddeth!

How dreary, how dead doth the world still appear,
When only half-dried on the eye is the tear!
Never dry, never dry,

Tears that unhappy love sheddeth!

Table Song

O'ER me--how I cannot say,-


Heav'nly rapture's growing.
Will it help to guide my way
To yon stars all-glowing?


Yet that here I'd sooner be,


To assert I'm able,
Where, with wine and harmony,
I may thump the table.
Wonder not, my dearest friends,
What 'tis gives me pleasure;


For of all that earth e'er lends,


'Tis the sweetest treasure.
Therefore solemnly I swear,
With no reservation,


That maliciously I'll ne'er
Leave my present station.
Now that here we're gather'd round,
Chasing cares and slumbers,


Let, methought, the goblet sound


To the bard's glad numbers!
Many a hundred mile away,
Go those we love dearly;


Therefore let us here to-day
Make the glass ring clearly!
Here's His health, through Whom we live!
I that faith inherit.


To our king the next toast give,


Honour is his merit,
'Gainst each in-- and outward foe
He's our rock and tower.


Of his maintenance thinks he though,
More that grows his power.



Next to her good health I drink,


Who has stirr'd my passion;
Of his mistress let each think,
Think in knightly fashion.


If the beauteous maid but see


Whom 'tis I now call so,
Let her smiling nod to me:
"Here's my love's health also!"
To those friends,--the two or three,--
Be our next toast given,


In whose presence revel we,


In the silent even,--
Who the gloomy mist so cold
Scatter gently, lightly;


To those friends, then, new or old,
Let the toast ring brightly.
Broader now the stream rolls on,
With its waves more swelling,


While in higher, nobler tone,


Comrades, we are dwelling,--
We who with collected might,
Bravely cling together,


Both in fortune's sunshine bright,
And in stormy weather.
Just as we are gather'd thus,
Others are collected;


On them, therefore, as on us,


Be Fate's smile directed!
From the springhead to the sea,
Many a mill's revolving,


And the world's prosperity
Is the task I'm solving.

Table Song

O'ER me--how I cannot say,-


Heav'nly rapture's growing.
Will it help to guide my way
To yon stars all-glowing?


Yet that here I'd sooner be,


To assert I'm able,
Where, with wine and harmony,
I may thump the table.
Wonder not, my dearest friends,
What 'tis gives me pleasure;


For of all that earth e'er lends,


'Tis the sweetest treasure.
Therefore solemnly I swear,
With no reservation,


That maliciously I'll ne'er
Leave my present station.
Now that here we're gather'd round,
Chasing cares and slumbers,


Let, methought, the goblet sound


To the bard's glad numbers!
Many a hundred mile away,
Go those we love dearly;


Therefore let us here to-day
Make the glass ring clearly!
Here's His health, through Whom we live!
I that faith inherit.


To our king the next toast give,


Honour is his merit,
'Gainst each in-- and outward foe
He's our rock and tower.


Of his maintenance thinks he though,
More that grows his power.



Next to her good health I drink,


Who has stirr'd my passion;
Of his mistress let each think,
Think in knightly fashion.


If the beauteous maid but see


Whom 'tis I now call so,
Let her smiling nod to me:
"Here's my love's health also!"
To those friends,--the two or three,--
Be our next toast given,


In whose presence revel we,


In the silent even,--
Who the gloomy mist so cold
Scatter gently, lightly;


To those friends, then, new or old,
Let the toast ring brightly.
Broader now the stream rolls on,
With its waves more swelling,


While in higher, nobler tone,


Comrades, we are dwelling,--
We who with collected might,
Bravely cling together,


Both in fortune's sunshine bright,
And in stormy weather.
Just as we are gather'd thus,
Others are collected;


On them, therefore, as on us,


Be Fate's smile directed!
From the springhead to the sea,
Many a mill's revolving,


And the world's prosperity
Is the task I'm solving.

Table Song

O'ER me--how I cannot say,-


Heav'nly rapture's growing.
Will it help to guide my way
To yon stars all-glowing?


Yet that here I'd sooner be,


To assert I'm able,
Where, with wine and harmony,
I may thump the table.
Wonder not, my dearest friends,
What 'tis gives me pleasure;


For of all that earth e'er lends,


'Tis the sweetest treasure.
Therefore solemnly I swear,
With no reservation,


That maliciously I'll ne'er
Leave my present station.
Now that here we're gather'd round,
Chasing cares and slumbers,


Let, methought, the goblet sound


To the bard's glad numbers!
Many a hundred mile away,
Go those we love dearly;


Therefore let us here to-day
Make the glass ring clearly!
Here's His health, through Whom we live!
I that faith inherit.


To our king the next toast give,


Honour is his merit,
'Gainst each in-- and outward foe
He's our rock and tower.


Of his maintenance thinks he though,
More that grows his power.



Next to her good health I drink,


Who has stirr'd my passion;
Of his mistress let each think,
Think in knightly fashion.


If the beauteous maid but see


Whom 'tis I now call so,
Let her smiling nod to me:
"Here's my love's health also!"
To those friends,--the two or three,--
Be our next toast given,


In whose presence revel we,


In the silent even,--
Who the gloomy mist so cold
Scatter gently, lightly;


To those friends, then, new or old,
Let the toast ring brightly.
Broader now the stream rolls on,
With its waves more swelling,


While in higher, nobler tone,


Comrades, we are dwelling,--
We who with collected might,
Bravely cling together,


Both in fortune's sunshine bright,
And in stormy weather.
Just as we are gather'd thus,
Others are collected;


On them, therefore, as on us,


Be Fate's smile directed!
From the springhead to the sea,
Many a mill's revolving,


And the world's prosperity
Is the task I'm solving.

The Beauteous Flower - Son Of The Imprisioned Count

COUNT.
I KNOW a flower of beauty rare,
Ah, how I hold it dear!


To seek it I would fain repair,
Were I not prison'd here.


My sorrow sore oppresses me,
For when I was at liberty,
I had it close beside me.
Though from this castle's walls so steep
I cast mine eyes around,


And gaze oft from the lofty keep,
The flower can not be found.


Whoe'er would bring it to my sight,
Whether a vassal he, or knight,
My dearest friend I'd deem him.
THE ROSE.
I blossom fair,--thy tale of woes
I hear from 'neath thy grate.


Thou doubtless meanest me, the rose.
Poor knight of high estate!


Thou hast in truth a lofty mind;
The queen of flowers is then enshrin'd,
I doubt not, in thy bosom.
COUNT.
Thy red, in dress of green array'd,
As worth all praise I hold;


And so thou'rt treasured by each maid
Like precious stones or gold.


Thy wreath adorns the fairest face
But still thou'rt not the flower whose grace
I honour here in silence.
THE LILY.



The rose is wont with pride to swell,


And ever seeks to rise;
But gentle sweethearts love full well
The lily's charms to prize,


The heart that fills a bosom true,
That is, like me, unsullied too,
My merit values duly.
COUNT.


In truth, I hope myself unstain'd,
And free from grievous crime;
Yet I am here a prisoner chain'd,


And pass in grief my time,
To me thou art an image sure
Of many a maiden, mild and pure,


And yet I know a dearer.
THE PINK.
That must be me, the pink, who scent
The warder's garden here;


Or wherefore is he so intent
My charms with care to rear?


My petals stand in beauteous ring,
Sweet incense all around I fling,
And boast a thousand colours.
COUNT.
The pink in truth we should not slight,
It is the gardener's pride


It now must stand exposed to light,
Now in the shade abide.


Yet what can make the Count's heart glow
Is no mere pomp of outward show;
It is a silent flower.
THE VIOLET.



Here stand I, modestly half hid,


And fain would silence keep;
Yet since to speak I now am bid,
I'll break my silence deep.


If, worthy Knight, I am that flower,
It grieves me that I have not power
To breathe forth all my sweetness.
COUNT.


The violet's charms I prize indeed,
So modest 'tis, and fair,
And smells so sweet; yet more I need


To ease my heavy care.
The truth I'll whisper in thine ear:
Upon these rocky heights so drear,


I cannot find the loved one.
The truest maiden 'neath the sky
Roams near the stream below,


And breathes forth many a gentle sigh,
Till I from hence can go.


And when she plucks a flow'ret blue,
And says "Forget-me-not!"--I, too,
Though far away, can feel it.
Ay, distance only swells love's might,
When fondly love a pair;


Though prison'd in the dungeon's night,
In life I linger there


And when my heart is breaking nigh,
"Forget-me-not!" is all I cry,
And straightway life returneth.

Solitude


OH ye kindly nymphs, who dwell 'mongst the rocks and the thickets,
Grant unto each whatsoe'er he may in silence desire!
Comfort impart to the mourner, and give to the doubter instruction,
And let the lover rejoice, finding the bliss that he craves.
For from the gods ye received what they ever denied unto mortals,
Power to comfort and aid all who in you may confide.

She Cannot End

WHEN unto thee I sent the page all white,
Instead of first thereon inscribing aught,
The space thou doubtless filledst up in sport.
And sent it me, to make my joy grow bright.
As soon as the blue cover met my sight,
As well becomes a woman, quick as thought
I tore it open, leaving hidden nought,
And read the well-known words of pure delight:
MY ONLY BEING! DEAREST HEART! SWEET CHILD!
How kindly thou my yearning then didst still
With gentle words, enthralling me to thee.
In truth methought I read thy whispers mild
Wherewith thou lovingly my soul didst fill,
E'en to myself for aye ennobling me.