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object:Friedrich Schiller
subject class:Poetry
Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller (10 November 1759 9 May 1805), usually known as Friedrich Schiller, was a German poet, physician, historian, dramatist, and playwright.

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Friedrich Schiller




QUOTES [5 / 5 - 615 / 615]

KEYS (10k)

   5 Friedrich Schiller


  603 Friedrich Schiller
   2 John le Carr

1:Live with your century; but do not be its creature. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
2:Man only plays when in the full meaning of the word he is a man, and he is only completely a man when he plays. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
3:Rarely do we arrive at the summit of truth without running into extremes; we have frequently to exhaust the part of error, and even of folly, before we work our way up to the noble goal of tranquil wisdom. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
4:Dare to be wise! Energy and spirit is needed to overcome the obstacles which indolence of nature as well as cowardice of heart oppose to our instruction. It is not without significance that the old myth makes the goddess of Wisdom emerge fully armed from the head of Jupiter; for her very first function is warlike. Even in her birth she has to maintain a hard struggle with the senses, which do not want to be dragged from their sweet repose. The greater part of humanity is too much harassed and fatigued by the struggle with want, to rally itself for a new and sterner struggle with error. Content if they themselves escape the hard labor of thought, men gladly resign to others the guardianship of their ideas, and if it happens that higher needs are stirred in them, they embrace with a eager faith the formulas which State and priesthood hold in readiness for such an occasion. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
5:See how, like lightest waves at play, the airy dancers fleet;
   And scarcely feels the floor the wings of those harmonious feet.
   Ob, are they flying shadows from their native forms set free?
   Or phantoms in the fairy ring that summer moonbeams see?
   As, by the gentle zephyr blown, some light mist flees in air,
   As skiffs that skim adown the tide, when silver waves are fair,
   So sports the docile footstep to the heave of that sweet measure,
   As music wafts the form aloft at its melodious pleasure,
   Now breaking through the woven chain of the entangled dance,
   From where the ranks the thickest press, a bolder pair advance,
   The path they leave behind them lost--wide open the path beyond,
   The way unfolds or closes up as by a magic wand.
   See now, they vanish from the gaze in wild confusion blended;
   All, in sweet chaos whirled again, that gentle world is ended!
   No!--disentangled glides the knot, the gay disorder ranges--
   The only system ruling here, a grace that ever changes.
   For ay destroyed--for ay renewed, whirls on that fair creation;
   And yet one peaceful law can still pervade in each mutation.
   And what can to the reeling maze breathe harmony and vigor,
   And give an order and repose to every gliding figure?
   That each a ruler to himself doth but himself obey,
   Yet through the hurrying course still keeps his own appointed way.
   What, would'st thou know? It is in truth the mighty power of tune,
   A power that every step obeys, as tides obey the moon;
   That threadeth with a golden clue the intricate employment,
   Curbs bounding strength to tranquil grace, and tames the wild enjoyment.
   And comes the world's wide harmony in vain upon thine ears?
   The stream of music borne aloft from yonder choral spheres?
   And feel'st thou not the measure which eternal Nature keeps?
   The whirling dance forever held in yonder azure deeps?
   The suns that wheel in varying maze?--That music thou discernest?
   No! Thou canst honor that in sport which thou forgettest in earnest.
   ~ Friedrich Schiller,


1:The adoption of the required attitude of mind towards ideas that seem to emerge "of their own free will" and the abandonment of the critical function that is normally in operation against them seem to be hard of achievement for some people. The "involuntary thoughts" are liable to release a most violent resistance, which seeks to prevent their emergence. If we may trust that great poet and philosopher Friedrich Schiller, however, poetic creation must demand an exactly similar attitude. ~ sigmund-freud, @wisdomtrove

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:God helps the brave ~ Friedrich Schiller,
2:Intellect--brain force. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
3:Virtue is no empty echo. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
4:Far must thy researches go ~ Friedrich Schiller,
5:I feel an army in my fist. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
6:Appearance rules the world. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
7:life is earnest, art is gay ~ Friedrich Schiller,
8:Love is the reward of love. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
9:I am my own heaven and hell! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
10:Life is earnest, art is gay. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
11:Weep, for the light is dead. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
12:Man is an imitative creature. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
13:Stubbornness is not firmness. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
14:To save all we must risk all. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
15:Ah, to that far distant strand ~ Friedrich Schiller,
16:Dare to be wrong and to dream. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
17:Doch zittre vor der langsamen, ~ Friedrich Schiller,
18:Great souls endure in silence. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
19:Great souls suffer in silence. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
20:I am better than my reputation ~ Friedrich Schiller,
21:Misanthropy is a slow suicide. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
22:Art is the daughter of freedom. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
23:Deaf rage that hears no leader. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
24:False fancy brings real misery. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
25:Freedom exists only with power. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
26:The first great law is to obey. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
27:There is no solitude in nature. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
28:We must bear what Heaven sends. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
29:Art is the right hand of Nature. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
30:Gray hairs are death's blossoms. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
31:Like a dart the present glances, ~ Friedrich Schiller,
32:O God, how lovely still is life! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
33:O tender yearning, sweet hoping! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
34:Wage Du zu irren und zu träumen! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
35:I have enjoyed earthly happiness, ~ Friedrich Schiller,
36:Innocence has a friend in heaven. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
37:Love can sun the realms of night. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
38:Stern is the visage of necessity. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
39:The universe is a thought of God. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
40:The will of man is his happiness. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
41:Will it, and set to work briskly. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
42:Fear of death is worse than dying. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
43:His saying was: live and let live. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
44:I feel that I am a man of destiny. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
45:Joy is the mainspring in the whole ~ Friedrich Schiller,
46:Modest humility is beauty's crown. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
47:On the mountains there is freedom! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
48:Pain is short, and joy is eternal. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
49:Sorrow is brief but joy is endless ~ Friedrich Schiller,
50:The empire of Saturnus is gone by; ~ Friedrich Schiller,
51:World history is the world's court ~ Friedrich Schiller,
52:Obedience decks the Christian most. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
53:Obedience is the Christian's crown. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
54:To the fool-king belongs the world. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
55:Satisfy a few to please many is bad. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
56:Speech is always bolder than action. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
57:The dream is short, repentance long. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
58:Votes should be weighed not counted. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
59:Wise to resolve, patient to perform. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
60:Don't let your heart depend on things ~ Friedrich Schiller,
61:Joy, thou spark from Heav'n immortal, ~ Friedrich Schiller,
62:Keep true to the dreams of thy youth. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
63:Song forbids victorious deeds to die. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
64:The lemonade is weak, like your soul. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
65:The mind is the eyesight of the soul. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
66:I follow my heart, for I can trust it. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
67:Keep true to the dreams of your youth. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
68:Man is only fully human when he plays! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
69:O jealousy! thou magnifier of trifles. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
70:Power is the most persuasive rhetoric. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
71:Truth is more than a dream and a song. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
72:Wine invents nothing; it only tattles. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
73:Even weak men when united are powerful. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
74:Every true genius is bound to be naive. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
75:O that it might remain eternally green, ~ Friedrich Schiller,
76:Peace is rarely denied to the peaceful. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
77:The strong man is strongest when alone. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
78:Whatever is not forbidden is permitted. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
79:Wouldst thou wisely, and with pleasure, ~ Friedrich Schiller,
80:Accursed be he who plays with the devil. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
81:A gloomy guest fits not a wedding feast. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
82:An axe at home saves hiring a carpenter. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
83:On dreary night let lusty sunshine fall. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
84:To know thyself--in others self-concern; ~ Friedrich Schiller,
85:Wer tränen ernten will, muss Liebe säen. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
86:A deep meaning often lies in old customs. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
87:Brief is the sorrow — endless is the joy! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
88:Deep meaning lies often in childish play. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
89:Ernst ist das Leben, heiter ist die Kunst ~ Friedrich Schiller,
90:Folly, thou conquerest, and I must yield! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
91:Forgiveness is the divinest of victories. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
92:Freedom can occur only through education. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
93:Toil of science swells the wealth of art. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
94:Truth lives on in the midst of deception. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
95:Who dares nothing, need hope for nothing. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
96:Art is difficult, transient is her reward. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
97:Chains of iron or of silk-both are chains. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
98:Illusion is brief, but repentance is long. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
99:Nothing leads to good that is not natural. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
100:What is life without the radiance of love? ~ Friedrich Schiller,
101:Dem Mimen flicht die Nachwelt keine Kränze. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
102:Fate hath no voice but the heart's impulse. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
103:Full of wisdom are the ordinations of fate. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
104:Have Faith. Where'er thy bark is driven, - ~ Friedrich Schiller,
105:In love, Jealousy is the great exaggerator. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
106:Joy all creatures drink At nature's bosoms. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
107:Never the grave gives back what it has won! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
108:Posterity weaves no garlands for imitators. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
109:We shall be free, just as our fathers were. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
110:A healthy nature needs no God or immortality ~ Friedrich Schiller,
111:Honesty prospers in every condition of life. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
112:Life did not present its sunny side to thee. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
113:Misery travels free through the whole world! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
114:Soon is the struggle past, and to the earth, ~ Friedrich Schiller,
115:The dignity of man into your hands is given; ~ Friedrich Schiller,
116:The May of life blooms once and never again. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
117:The Moor has done his work, the Moor may go. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
118:There is a nobility in the world of manners. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
119:The world's history is the world's judgment. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
120:What shall he fear that does not fear death. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
121:What is the short meaning of the long speech? ~ Friedrich Schiller,
122:Who reflects too much will accomplish little. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
123:Against stupidity, God Himself fights in vain. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
124:Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
125:He who considers too much will perform little. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
126:Sorrows must die with the joys they outnumber. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
127:Strange customs do not thrive in foreign soil. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
128:A noble heart will always capitulate to reason. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
129:Heaven and earth fight in vain against a dunce! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
130:He that is overcautious will accomplish little. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
131:It is through beauty that we arrive at freedom. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
132:The brave person thinks of himself last of all. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
133:When the wine goes in, strange things come out. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
134:All powerful souls have kindred with each other. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
135:For the world is only governed by self-interest. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
136:It is easy to give advice from a port of safety. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
137:Liebe Kennt der allein, der ohne Hoffnung liebt. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
138:Mankind is made great or little by its own will. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
139:The dictates of the heart are the voice of fate. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
140:The voice of the majority is no proof of justice ~ Friedrich Schiller,
141:Time flies on restless pinions - constant never. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
142:Where there is much freedom there is much error. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
143:A brave man hazards life, but not his conscience. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
144:Even the weak become strong when they are united. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
145:It is play and only play that makes man complete. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
146:Mit der Dummheit kämpfen Götter selbst vergebens. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
147:No emperor has the power to dictate to the heart. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
148:One can give advice comfortably from a safe port. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
149:The happy man does not notice the flight of time. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
150:The key to education is the experience of beauty. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
151:The voice of the majority is no proof of justice. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
152:From the moment fear begins I have ceased to fear. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
153:Happy he who learns to bear what he cannot change. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
154:The victor is often vanquished by his own success. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
155:Even in a righteous cause force is a fearful thing. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
156:Live with your century, but do not be its creature. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
157:Live with your century; but do not be its creature. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
158:Think with awe on the slow and quiet power of time. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
159:Youth covets; let not this covetousness seduce you. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
160:Alas! When duty grows thy law, enjoyment fades away. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
161:If you wish to know yourself observe how others act. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
162:Live with your century; but do not be its creature. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
163:The mountain cannot frighten one who was born on it. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
164:You saw his weakness, and he will never forgive you. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
165:All things must; man is the only creature that wills. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
166:Against stupidity the gods themselves contend in vain. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
167:As soon as I have begun to fear I have ceased to fear. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
168:Forgiveness is the finding again of a lost possession. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
169:Man is never so authentically himself as when at play. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
170:That which is so universal as death must be a benefit. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
171:Virtue has her heroes too As well as Fame and Fortune. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
172:Man is made of ordinary things, and habit is his nurse. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
173:The lamp of genius burns quicker than the lamp of life. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
174:The world is ruled only by consideration of advantages. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
175:When the gods were more manlike, Men were more godlike. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
176:Historians are prophets with their face turned backward. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
177:I have enjoyed the happiness of the world; I have loved. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
178:Man is never so authentically himself than when at play. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
179:The joke loses everything when the joker laughs himself. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
180:Truth exists for the wise, beauty for the feeling heart. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
181:He that is over-cautious will accomplish but very little. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
182:hidup yang tak dipertaruhkan, tak akan pernah dimenangkan ~ Friedrich Schiller,
183:O who knows what slumbers in the background of the times? ~ Friedrich Schiller,
184:The history of the world is the world's court of justice. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
185:Wouldst thou know thyself, observe the actions of others. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
186:He who neglects the present moment throws away all he has. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
187:Love is only known by him who hopelessly persists in love. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
188:Our safety is not in blindness, but in facing our dangers. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
189:The iron chain and the silken cord are both equally bonds. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
190:The very plants turn with a joyful transport to the light. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
191:To gain a crown by fighting is great, to reject it divine. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
192:A beautiful soul has no other merit than its own existence. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
193:Against stupidity the very gods themselves contend in vain. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
194:Be true, and thou shalt fetter time with everlasting chain. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
195:Did you think the lion was sleeping because he didn't roar? ~ Friedrich Schiller,
196:Grace is the beauty of form under the influence of freedom. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
197:To live is to dream, and to dream pleasantly is to be wise. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
198:Cling to thy native land, for it is the land of thy fathers? ~ Friedrich Schiller,
199:Death is not too high a price for this—This taste of heaven— ~ Friedrich Schiller,
200:Emulation is a noble and just passion, full of appreciation. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
201:Virtue, though clothed in a beggar's garb, commands respect. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
202:Man is created free, and is free, even though born in chains. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
203:Time consecrates; and what is gray with age becomes religion. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
204:While the gods remained more human, the men were more divine. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
205:Friends show me what I can do, foes teach me what I should do. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
206:Opposition always inflames the enthusiast, never converts him. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
207:There is room in the smallest cottage for a happy loving pair. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
208:What the inner voice says will not disappoint the hoping soul. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
209:Der Mensch braucht wenig, und an Leben reich
Ist die Natur. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
210:lern' erst die Tiefe des Abgrunds kennen, eh du hineinspringst! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
211:Thus Arm in Arm with thee I dare defy my century into the lists. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
212:Dear is my friend--yet from my foe, as from my friend, comes good: ~ Friedrich Schiller,
213:Disappointments are to the soul what a thunderstorm is to the air. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
214:Eternity gives nothing back of what one leaves out of the minutes. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
215:He who has done his best for his own time has lived for all times. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
216:O'er Ocean, with a thousand masts, sails forth the stripling bold- ~ Friedrich Schiller,
217:Seraphs share with thee Knowledge; but Art, O Man, is thine alone! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
218:We, we live! ours are the hours, and the living have their claims. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
219:Dare to err and to dream. Deep meaning often lies in childish play. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
220:It is often wise to reveal that which cannot be concealed for long. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
221:Dare to err and to dream. Deep meaning often lies in childish plays. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
222:Lose not yourself in a far off time, seize the moment that is thine. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
223:The jest loses its point when he who makes it is the first to laugh. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
224:There is more to life than just existing and having a pleasant time. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
225:Why should I deem myself to be a chisel, when I could be the artist? ~ Friedrich Schiller,
226:Cowards have done good and kind actions, but a coward never pardoned. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
227:It is not flesh and blood, but heart which makes us fathers and sons. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
228:Measure not by the scale of perfection the meager product of reality. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
229:So it has reached this pass? Obedience and fear take flight together? ~ Friedrich Schiller,
230:The zeal of friends it is that razes me, And not the hate of enemies. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
231:To rankling poison hast thou turned in me the milk of human kindness. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
232:Only the soldier is a free man, because he can look death in the face. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
233:Foster the beautiful, and every hour thou tallest new flowers to birth. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
234:Honor women! they entwine and weave heavenly roses in our earthly life. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
235:In the ardor of pursuit men soon forget the goal from which they start. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
236:The storm is master. Man, as a ball, is tossed twixt winds and billows. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
237:What's old collapses, times change, And new life blossoms in the ruins. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
238:It does not prove a thing to be right because the majority say it is so. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
239:und setzt ihr nicht das Leben ein, nie wird euch das Leben gewonnen sein ~ Friedrich Schiller,
240:We are too prone to find fault; let us look for some of the perfections. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
241:Worthless is the nation that does not gladly stake its all on its honor. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
242:Arrow-swift the present sweepeth, and motionless forever stands the past. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
243:He who never ventures beyond actuality will never win the prize of truth. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
244:In a narrow circle the mind contracts. Man grows with his expanded needs. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
245:It would be necessary that they should be already sages to love wisdom... ~ Friedrich Schiller,
246:Orang yang tidak berani berbuat apa-apa tidak boleh mengharapkan apa-apa. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
247:He cannot complain of a hard sentence, who is made master of his own fate. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
248:Man, living, feeling man, is the easy sport of the over-mastering present. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
249:No greater grief than to remember days of gladness when sorrow is at hand. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
250:Not he who scorns the Saviour's yoke Should wear his cross upon the heart. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
251:The man who fears nothing is as powerful as he who is feared by everybody. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
252:What do I care for Sweden? I detest her,
Worse than the pit of hell.... ~ Friedrich Schiller,
253:Glory to Women! They weave and entwine heavenly roses into an earthly life. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
254:Our age is enlightened... How is it, then, that we still remain barbarians? ~ Friedrich Schiller,
255:Many a crown shines spotless now that yet was deeply sullied in the winning. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
256:(‘With stupidity, even the gods struggle in vain.’) Friedrich Schiller (1759–1805) ~ William Blum,
257:It is a ring that makes a marriage and it is from rings that chains are made. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
258:The future comes slowly, the present flies and the past stands still forever. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
259:Only through Beauty's morning-gate, dost thou penetrate the land of knowledge. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
260:The game of life looks cheerful when one carries a treasure safe in his heart. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
261:Fate always wins, for our own heart within us Imperiously furthers its designs. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
262:If we do not find anything very pleasant, at least we shall find something new. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
263:No cause has he to say his doom is harsh, who's made the master of his destiny. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
264:The gentlest man cannot live in peace if it does not please his wicked neighbor. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
265:A merely fallen enemy may rise again, but the reconciled one is truly vanquished. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
266:As inclination changes, thus ebbs and flows the unstable tide of public judgment. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
267:Leicht beieinander wohnen die Gedanken, doch hart im Raume stoßen sich die Sachen ~ Friedrich Schiller,
268:Not without a shudder may the human hand reach into the mysterious urn of destiny. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
269:This is the curse of an evil deed, that it incites and must bring forth more evil. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
270:Love guides the stars towards each other, the world plan endures only through love. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
271:Many a smiling face hides a mourning heart; but grief alone teaches us what we are. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
272:Yes great people are always subject to persecution and always getting into straits. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
273:As 'twas in the times of old 'tis now,   The sword is the sceptre, and all must bow. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
274:Every man stamps his value on himself... man is made great or small by his own will. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
275:The average estimate themselves by what they do, the above average by what they are. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
276:The worst of me is known, and I can say that I am better than the reputation I bear. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
277:Uncommon men require no common trust; give him but scope and he will set the bounds. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
278:An honest man you may form of windle-straws, but to make a rogue you must have grist. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
279:Appearance should never attain reality, And if nature conquers, then must art retire. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
280:Der Ring macht Ehen,
und Ringe sind's, die eine Kette machen.
II, 2. (Elisabeth) ~ Friedrich Schiller,
281:Freedom's sweet birthright they receive again,
Under the mystic sway of holy might. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
282:In a narrow circle the mind grows narrow. The more one expands, the larger their aims. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
283:O friends, no more these sounds!
Let us sing more cheerful songs, more full of joy! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
284:One drop of hatred left in the cup of joy turns the most blissful draught into poison. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
285:The man of courage thinks not of himself. Help the oppressed and put thy trust in God. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
286:Be noble minded! Our own heart, and not other men's opinions of us, forms our true honor. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
287:Let no one despair, even though in the darkest night the last star of hope may disappear. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
288:Vast, colossal destiny, which raises man to fame, though it may also grind him to powder! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
289:I know that we often tremble at an empty terror; yet the false fancy brings a real misery. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
290:Oh how can we, scarce mastering our passions, expect that youth should keep itself in check? ~ Friedrich Schiller,
291:When I hate I rob myself of something; but when I love I become richer by the object I love. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
292:To one, science is an exalted goddess; to another it is a cow which provides him with butter. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
293:Time is a blooming field: nature is ever teeming with life: and all is seed, and all is fruit. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
294:Art is the right hand of Nature. The latter has only given us being, the former has made us men. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
295:Glaube mir, man kann das für Stärke des Geistes halten, was doch am Ende Verzweiflung ist [...]. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
296:If you cannot please everyone with your deeds and your art, please a few. To please many is bad. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
297:Il vincolo che fa di noi dei padri e dei figli risiede nel cuore e non nella carne e nel sangue. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
298:A childlike mind in its simplicity practises that science of good to which the wise may be blind. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
299:A pity about the people! they are brave enough comrades, but they have heads like a soapboiler's. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
300:When you are not happy with your life, always think that someone is happy simply because you exist ~ Friedrich Schiller,
301:It is difficult to discriminate the voice of truth from amid the clamor raised by heated partisans. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
302:Spring flies, and with it all the train it leads; and flowers, in fading, leave us but their seeds. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
303:The dignity of mankind is in your hands; protect it!
It sinks with you! With you it will ascend. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
304:Aesthetic matters are fundamental for the harmonious development of both society and the individual. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
305:You have to go the rounds from individual to individual in order to gather the totality of the race. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
306:To be man's tender mate was woman born, and in obeying nature she best serves the purposes of heaven. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
307:Without a home must the soldier go, a changeful wanderer, and can warm himself at no home-lit hearth. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
308:A virtuous name is the precious only good, for which queens and peasants' wives must contest together. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
309:Rigor pushed too far is sure to miss its aim, however good, as the bow snaps that is bent too stiffly. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
310:The rich become richer and the poor become poorer is a cry heard throughout the whole civilized world. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
311:Deeper meaning resides in the fairy tales told me in my childhood than any truth that is taught in life. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
312:It is not the mere station of life that stamps the value on us, but the manner in which we act our part. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
313:The hat is the pride of man; for he who cannot keep his hat on before kings and emperors is no free man. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
314:But how is the artist to protect himself against the corruption of the age which besets him on all sides? ~ Friedrich Schiller,
315:In the society, where people are just parts in a larger machine, individuals are unable to develop fully. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
316:It hinders the creative work of the mind if the intellect examines too closely the ideas as they pour in. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
317:Drum prüfe, wer sich ewig bindet, ob sich das Herz zum Herzen findet! Der Wahn ist kurz, die Reu ist lang. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
318:El artista es hijo de sus tiempos, pero desdichado de él si, a la vez, es su alumno o incluso su favorito. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
319:Es lebt ein Gott zu strafen und zu rächen. ~ There is a God to punish and avenge. ~ Friedrich Schiller, Wilhelm Tell, IV. 3. 37,
320:If thou art something bring thy soul and interchange with mine. - Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
321:Men show no mercy and expect no mercy, when honor calls, or when they fight for their idols or their gods. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
322:On the mountains there is freedom! The world is perfect everywhere, save where man comes with his torment. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
323:Utility is the great idol of the age, to which all powers must do service and all talents swear allegiance. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
324:Wenn ich bei dir bin, zerschmilzt meine Vernunft in einen Blick - in einen Traum von dir, wenn ich weg bin. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
325:The great happiness of life, I find, after all, to consist in the regular discharge of some mechanical duty. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
326:If you would attain to your highest, go look upon a flower;what the flower does willessly, that do willingly. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
327:Secrecy is for the happy,--misery, hopeless misery, needs no veil; under a thousand suns it dares act openly. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
328:Deeper meaning resides in the fairy tales told to me in my childhood than in the truth that is taught by life. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
329:No doubt the artist is the child of his time; but woe to him if he is also its disciple, or even its favorite. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
330:Man only plays when in the full meaning of the word he is a man, and he is only completely a man when he plays. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
331:Gegen die Dummheit kämpfen selbst die Götter vergebens ("Against stupidity the gods themselves contend in vain") ~ Friedrich Schiller,
332:Revenge is barren of itself: it is the dreadful food it feeds on; its delight is murder, and its end is despair. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
333:There is no such thing as chance; and what seem to us merest accident springs from the deepest source of destiny. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
334:Let no one despair,
even though in the darkest night
the last star of hope my disappear.

Friedrich Schiller ~ Rick Yancey,
335:There is no such thing as chance; and what seems to us merest accident springs from the deepest source of destiny. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
336:Whoever fails to turn aside the ills of life by prudent forethought, must submit to fulfill the course of destiny. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
337:What reason, like the careful ant, draws laboriously together, the wind of accident sometimes collects in a moment. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
338:Der Mensch spielt nur, wo er in voller Bedeutung des Wortes Mensch ist, und er ist nur da ganz Mensch, wo er spielt. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
339:Only those who have the patience to do simple things perfectly will acquire the skill to do difficult things easily. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
340:Individual character is in the right that is in strict consistence with itself. Self-contradiction is the only wrong. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
341:Man, one may say, was never in such a completely animal condition; but he has, on the other hand, never escaped from it. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
342:Of all the possessions of this life fame is the noblest; when the body has sunk into the dust the great name still lives. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
343:Man only plays when he is in the fullest sense of the word a human being, and he is only fully a human being when he plays ~ Friedrich Schiller,
344:Anyone taken as an individual is tolerably sensible and reasonable - as a member of a crowd, he at once becomes a blockhead. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
345:Have Love. Not love alone for one, but man as man they brother call; and scatter like the circling sun thy charities on all. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
346:It is well for a man when he has learned to endure what he cannot change, and to give up with dignity what he cannot retain. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
347:Time flies on restless pinionsconstant never.
  Be constantand thou chainest time forever.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Immutable
348:Basely indeed they may behave to us,
But they cannot debase us."

Mary Stuart by Friedrich Schiller
Act 1, Scene 2 ~ Friedrich Schiller,
349:The concrete life of the individual is destroyed in order that the abstract idea of the whole may drag out its sorry existence. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
350:Ever honor the whole; individuals only I honor;
  In individuals I always discover the whole.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Honorable
351:If you want to study yourself, look into the hearts of other people. If you want to study other people, look into your own heart. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
352:Courage, ne'er by sorrow broken! Aid where tears of virtue flow; Faith to keep each promise spoken! Truth alike to friend and foe! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
353:There are occasions when the general belief of the people, even though it be groundless, works its effect as sure as truth itself. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
354:He, that noble prize possessing He that boasts a friend that's true, He whom woman's love is blessing, Let him join the chorus too! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
355:Woman, never judge man by his individual actions;
But upon man as a whole, pass thy decisive decree.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Forum Of Woman
356:Froh, wie seine Sonnen fliegen,
durch des Himmels prächtgen Plan,
Laufet Brüder eure Bahn,
freudig wie ein Held zum siegen. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
357:I speak with the Eternal through the instrument of nature, through the world's history: I read the soul of the artist in his Apollo. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
358:The child of nature, when he breaks loose, becomes a madman; but the art scholar, when he breaks loose, becomes a debased character. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
359:Wenn es immer nach deinem Kopf ginge, du kröchest dein Leben lang im Staub." - "Immer noch besser, als ich kröch um den Thron herum. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
360:Joy, in Nature's wide dominion, Mightiest cause of all is found; And 'tis joy that moves the pinion When the wheel of time goes round. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
361:Das Weib ist nicht schwach. ich will in meinem Beisein nichts von der Schwäche des [weiblichen] Geschlechts hören.
Elisabeth, II, 3 ~ Friedrich Schiller,
362:As freely as the firmament embraces the world, or the sun pours forth impartially his beams, so mercy must encircle both friend and foe. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
363:The greater part of humanity is too much harassed and fatigued by the struggle with want to rally itself for a new and sterner struggle. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
364:'Twas not my nectar made thy strength divine,
  But 'twas thy strength which made my nectar thine!
~ Friedrich Schiller, Jove To Hercules
365:Most gladly would I give the blood-stained laurel for the first violet which March brings us, the fragrant pledge of the new-fledged year. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
366:The great German philosopher Friedrich Schiller was right to claim—as Jane too liked to say—that people are only completely human when they play. ~ Gary Ferguson,
367:Yet have I ever heard it said that spies and tale-bearers have done more mischief in this world than poisoned bowl or the assassin's dagger. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
368:Have Hope. Though clouds environs now, And gladness hides her face in scorn, Put thou the shadow from thy brow, - No night but hath its morn. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
369:Satisfied if they themselves can escape from the hard labour of thought, they willingly abandon to others the guardianship of their thoughts. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
370:The painter is, as to the execution of his work, a mechanic; but as to his conception and spirit and design he is hardly below even the poet. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
371:It is criminal to steal a purse, daring to steal a fortune, a mark of greatness to steal a crown. The blame diminishes as the guilt increases. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
372:...our sex is called timid and weak; believe it no more! We tremble at a spider, but the black monster, corruption, we hug to our arms in sport! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
373:Whatever lives, lives to die in sorrow. We engage our hearts, and grasp after the things of this world, only to undergo the pang of losing them. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
374:Physical beauty is the sign of an interior beauty, a spiritual and moral beauty which is the basis, the principle, and the unity of the beautiful. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
375:We can never replace a friend. When a man is fortunate enough to have several, he finds they are all different. No one has a double in friendship. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
376:Sentimental poetry differs from naive poetry in that it relates the real state at which the latter stops to ideas and applies ideas to that reality. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
377:The greater part of humanity is too much harassed and fatigued by the struggle with want, to rally itself for a new and sterner struggle with error. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
378:Ever strive for the whole; and if no whole thou canst make thee,
Join, then, thyself to some whole, as a subservient limb!
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Duty Of All
379:The world's history is constant, like the laws of nature, and simple, like the souls of men. The same conditions continually produce the same results. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
380:Truth suffers no loss if a vehement youth fails in finding it, in the same way that virtue and religion suffer no detriment if a criminal denies them. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
381:Ever building, building to the clouds, still building higher, and never reflecting that the poor narrow basis cannot sustain the giddy tottering column. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
382:Let none resemble another; let each resemble the highest!
   How can that happen? let each be all complete in itself.
~ Friedrich Schiller, A Problem
383:Man frames his judgment on reason; but woman on love founds her verdict;
If her judgment loves not, woman already has judged.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Female Judgment
384:Nicht an die Güter hänge dein Herz,
Die das Leben vergänglich zieren!
Wer besitzt, der lerne verlieren,
Wer im Glück ist, der lerne den Schmerz! ~ Friedrich Schiller,
385:Why are taste and genius so seldom met with united?
   Taste of strength is afraid,genius despises the rein.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Difficult Union
386:What I had been without thee, I know notyet, to my sorrow
   See I what, without thee, hundreds and thousands now are.
~ Friedrich Schiller, To The Muse
387:Which religion do I acknowledge? None that thou namest.
   "None that I name? And why so?"Why, for religion's own sake?
~ Friedrich Schiller, My Faith
388:Every great mind seeks to labor for eternity. All men are captivated by immediate advantages; great minds alone are excited by the prospect of distant good. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
389:O the eye's light is a noble gift of Heaven! All beings live from light, each fair created thing; the very plants turn with a joyful transport to the light. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
390:Wouldst thou know thyself, observe the actions of others.
   Wouldst thou other men know, look thou within thine own heart.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Key
391:Tell me all that thou knowest, and I will thankfully hear it!
But wouldst thou give me thyself,let me, my friend, be excused!

~ Friedrich Schiller, Untitled 01
392:A noble soul spreads even over a face in which the architectonic beauty is wanting an irresistible grace, and a often even triumphs over the natural disfavor. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
393:E'en by the hand of the wicked can truth be working with vigor;
   But the vessel is filled by what is beauteous alone.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Participation
394:I can recognize only as such, the one that enables
Each to think what is right,but that he thinks so, cares not.

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Best State Constitution
395:What else is chance but the rude stone which receives its life from the sculptor's hand? Providence gives us chance, and man must mould it to his own designs. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
396:Deeper and bolder truths be careful, my friends, of avowing;
  For as soon as ye do all the world on ye will fall.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Dangerous Consequences
397:Nowhere in the organic or sensitive world ever kindles
   Novelty, save in the flower, noblest creation of life.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Animating Principle
398:Thee would I choose as my teacher and friend. Thy living example
   Teaches me,thy teaching word wakens my heart unto life.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Untitled 03
399:Was it always as now? This race I truly can't fathom.
   Nothing is young but old age; youth, alas! only is old.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Present Generation
400:Dearly I love a friend; yet a foe I may turn to my profit;
Friends show me that which I can; foes teach me that which I should.

~ Friedrich Schiller, Friend And Foe
401:If thou anything hast, let me have it,I'll pay what is proper;
   If thou anything art, let us our spirits exchange.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Worth And The Worthy
402:All, thou gentle one, lies embraced in thy kingdom; the graybeard
Back to the days of his youth, childish and child-like, returns.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Circle Of Nature
403:Even the moral world its nobility boastsvulgar natures
   Reckon by that which they do; noble, by that which they are.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Difference Of Station
404:Nothing, it is true, is more common than for both Science and Art to pay homage to the spirit of the age, and for creative taste to accept the law of critical taste. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
405:Oh, how infinite, how unspeakably great, are the heavens!
   Yet by frivolity's hand downwards the heavens are pulled!
~ Friedrich Schiller, Astronomical Writings
406:That is the only true secret, which in the presence of all men
   Lies, and surrounds thee for ay, but which is witnessed by none.
~ Friedrich Schiller, To Mystics
407:Rightly said, Schlosser! Man loves what he has; what he has not, desireth;
None but the wealthy minds love; poor minds desire alone.

~ Friedrich Schiller, Love And Desire
408:If thou feelest not the beautiful, still thou with reason canst will it;
And as a spirit canst do, that which as man thou canst not.

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Moral Force
409:Knowledge, the object of knowledge and the knower are the three factors which motivate action; the senses, the work and the doer comprise the threefold basis of action. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
410:If you have never seen beauty in a moment of suffering, you have never seen beauty at all. If you have never seen joy in a beautiful face, you have never seen joy at all. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
411:It is only through the morning gate of the beautiful that you can penetrate into the realm of knowledge. That which we feel here as beauty we shall one day know as truth. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
412:God alone sees the heart and therefore, since he alone sees it,
   Be it our care that we, too, something that's worthy may see.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Inside And Outside
413:It may here be justly said, that genuine morality is preserved only in the school of adversity, and a state of continuous prosperity may easily prove a quicksand to virtue. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
414:Wouldst thou teach me the truth? Don't take the trouble! I wish not,
Through thee, the thing to observe,but to see thee through the thing.

~ Friedrich Schiller, Untitled 02
415:Bei uns wird nur selten eine Mariage geschlossen, wo nicht wenigstens ein halb Dutzend der Gäste - oder der Aufwärter- das Paradies des Bräutigams geometrisch ermessen kann. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
416:Lovely he looks, 'tis true, with the light of his torch now extinguished;
But remember that death is not aesthetic, my friends!
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Genius With The Inverted Torch
417:Stern as my conscience, thou seest the points wherein I'm deficient;
   Therefore I've always loved thee, as my own conscience I've loved.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Observer
418:Ne'er does he taste the fruit of the tree that he raised with such trouble;
Nothing but taste e'er enjoys that which by learning is reared.

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Learned Workman
419:What thou thinkest, belongs to all; what thou feelest, is thine only.
Wouldst thou make him thine own, feel thou the God whom thou thinkest!

~ Friedrich Schiller, A Peculiar Ideal
420:Let not thy heart cling to the things which for so short a time deck out thy life. Let him who has, learn to lose, and him who is happy, familiarise himself with what may give pain. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
421:Unsere Träume, Unsere Sehnsüchte, und bunten Hoffnungen wollen ernst und wichtig genommen werden.

Wer sie verdrängt, unterdrückt das Beste in sich und wird ein leerer Mensch. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
422:Even now, nature is the only flame, on which the poetic spirit feeds; from it alone it draws all its power, to it alone it speaks even in the artificial, in the man engaged in culture. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
423:Do what is good, and humanity's godlike plant thou wilt nourish;
   Plan what is fair, and thou'lt strew seeds of the godlike around.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Two Descriptions Of Action
424:That which I learned from the Deity,
   that which through lifetime hath helped me,
  Meekly and gratefully now, here I suspend in his shrine.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Votive Tablets
425:Let him that sows the serpent's teeth not hope to reap a joyous harvest. Every crime has, in the moment of its perpetration, its own avenging angel,--dark misgivings at the inmost heart. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
426:"How can I know the best state?"
    In the way that thou know'st the best woman;
   Namely, my friend, that the world ever is silent of both.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Best State
427:No, no! I do nature injustice. She gave us inventive faculty, and set us naked, and helpless on the shore of this great ocean,--the world; swim those who can, the heavy may go to the bottom. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
428:Death is a mighty mediator. There all the flames of rage are extinguished, hatred is appeased, and angelic pity, like a weeping sister, bends with gentle and close embrace over the funeral urn. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
429:In the case of a creative mind, it seems to me, the intellect has withdrawn its watchers from the gates, and the ideas rush in pell-mell and only then does it review and inspect the multitudes. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
430:Hard is this art, its praise is transitory;
For mimes, posterity entwines no garlands.
Therefore they must be greedy of the present
And fill the moment which is theirs, completely . . . ~ Friedrich Schiller,
431:Genuine art . . . does not have as its object a mere transitory game. Its serious purpose is not merely to translate the human being into a momentary dream of freedom, but actually to MAKE him free. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
432:While the womanly god demands our veneration, the godlike woman kindles our love; but while we allow ourselves to melt in the celestial loveliness, the celestial self-sufficiency holds us back in awe. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
433:Mazarin shed tears over this great loss, which Conde, who had no feeling for anything but glory, disregarded. "A single night in Paris," said he, "gives birth to more men than this action has destroyed. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
434:in order to detain the fleeting apparition, he must enchain it in the fetters of rule, dissect its fair proportions into abstract notions, and preserve its living spirit in a fleshless skeleton of words. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
435:Around, around, Companions all, take your ground, And name the bell with joy profound! CONCORDIA is the word we've found Most meet to express the harmonious sound, That calls to those in friendship bound. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
436:Die rohen Kraftbrühen der Natur sind Ihro Gnaden zartem Makronenmagen noch zu hart. - Er muss sie erst in der höllischen Pestilenzküche der Bellatristen künstlich aufkochen lassen. Ins Feuer mit dem Quark. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
437:Rarely do we arrive at the summit of truth without running into extremes; we have frequently to exhaust the part of error, and even of folly, before we work our way up to the noble goal of tranquil wisdom. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
438:When the mechanic has to mend a watch he lets the wheels run out; but the living watchworks of the state have to be repaired while they act, and a wheel has to be exchanged for another during its revolutions. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
439:Sure of the spring that warms them into birth,
The golden seeds thou trustest to the earth;
And dost thou doubt the eternal spring sublime,
For deedsthe seeds which wisdom sows in time.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Sower
440:Die Menschheit hat ihre Würde verloren, aber die Kunst hat sie gerettet und aufbewahrt in bedeutenden Steinen; die Wahrheit lebt in der Täuschung fort, und aus dem Nachbilde wird das Urbild wieder hergestellt werden. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
441:There are evil spirits who suddenly fix their abode in man's unguarded breast, causing us to commit devilish deeds, and then, hurrying back to their native hell, leave behind the stings of remorse in the poisoned bosom. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
442:It is at the approach of extreme danger when a hollow puppet can accomplish nothing, that power falls into the mighty hands of nature, of the spirit giant-born, who listens only to himself, and knows nothing of compacts. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
443:Let them storm on. In fury let them rage!
Firm is this castle, and beneath its ruins
I will be buried ere I yield to them.
—Johanna, answer me! only be mine,
And I will shield thee 'gainst a world in arms. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
444:A sublime soul can rise to all kinds of greatness, but by an effort; it can tear itself from all bondage, to all that limits and constrains it, but only by strength of will. Consequently the sublime soul is only free by broken efforts. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
445:Man is made of the wholly common, and custom is his nurse; woe then to them who lay irreverent hands on his old house-furniture, the dear inheritance from his forefathers: For time consecrates, and what is gray with age becomes religion. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
446:If yon wish to be like the gods on earth, to be free in the realms of the dead, pluck not the fruit from the garden! In appearance it may glisten to the eye; but the perishable pleasure of possession quickly avenges the curse of curiosity. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
447:Futurity is impregnable to mortal ken: no prayer pierces through heaven's adamantine walls. Whether the birds fly right or left, whatever be the aspect of the stars, the book of nature is a maze, dreams are a lie, and every sign a falsehood. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
448:When the measured dance of the hours brings back the happy smile of spring, the buried dead is born again in the life-glance of the sun. The germs which perished to the eye within the cold breast of the earth spring up with joy in the bright realm of day. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
449:Tear forever the garland of Homer, and number the fathers
Of the immortal work, that through all time will survive!
Yet it has but one mother, and bears that mother's own feature,
'Tis thy features it bears,Nature,thy features eterne!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Iliad
450:On August 26 the Assembly responded by conferring French citizenship upon Joseph Priestley, Jeremy Bentham, William Wilberforce, Anacharsis Cloots, Johann Pestalozzi, Thaddeus Kosciusko, Friedrich Schiller, George Washington, Thomas Paine, James Madison, and Alexander Hamilton. ~ Will Durant,
451:Man of virtue has need;-into life with boldness he plunges,
Entering with fortune more sure into the hazardous strife;
But to woman one virtue suffices; it is ever shining
Lovingly forth to the heart; so let it shine to the eye!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Virtue Of Woman
452:Utility is the great idol of the age, to which all powers must do service and all talents swear allegiance. In this great balance of utility, the spiritual service of art has no weight, and, deprived of all encouragement, it vanishes from the noisy Vanity Fair of our time. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
453:All that thou doest is right; but, friend, don't carry this precept
On too far,be content, all that is right to effect.
It is enough to true zeal, if what is existing be perfect;
False zeal always would find finished perfection at once.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Political Precept
454:Todos hemos proyectado alguna vez nuestros problemas hacia el exterior, echando la culpa a otros en vez de aceptar nuestros errores. Pero, como dijo Friedrich Schiller, «Si quieres conocerte, observa la conducta de los demás; si quieres conocer a los demás, mira en tu propio corazón». ~ Anonymous,
455:How does the genius make itself known? In the way that in nature
Shows the Creator himself,e'en in the infinite whole.
Clear is the ether, and yet of depth that ne'er can be fathomed;
Seen by the eye, it remains evermore closed to the sense.

~ Friedrich Schiller, Geniality
456:"Give me only a fragment of earth beyond the earth's limits,"
   So the godlike man said,"and I will move it with ease."
Only give me permission to leave myself for one moment,
   And without any delay I will engage to be yours.
~ Friedrich Schiller, To Proselytizers
457:Good from the good,to the reason this is not hard of conception;
But the genius has power good from the bad to evoke.
'Tis the conceived alone, that thou, imitator, canst practise;
Food the conceived never is, save to the mind that conceives.

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Imitator
458:I have a heartfelt aversion for crime,a twofold aversion,
Since 'tis the reason why man prates about virtue so much.
"What! thou hatest, then, virtue?"I would that by all it were practised,
So that, God willing, no man ever need speak of it more.

~ Friedrich Schiller, My Antipathy
459:Majesty of the nature of man! In crowds shall I seek thee?
   'Tis with only a few that thou hast made thine abode.
Only a few ever count; the rest are but blanks of no value,
   And the prizes are hid 'neath the vain stir that they make.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Majestas Populi
460:Both of us seek for truthin the world without thou dost seek it,
   I in the bosom within; both of us therefore succeed.
If the eye be healthy, it sees from without the Creator;
   And if the heart, then within doubtless it mirrors the world.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Agreement
461:Regarded in isolation, an idea may be quite insignificant, and venturesome in the extreme, but it may acquire importance from an idea which follows it; perhaps, in a certain collocation with other ideas, which may seem equally absurd, it may be capable of furnishing a very serviceable link. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
462:Prate not to me so much of suns and of nebulous bodies;
Think ye Nature but great, in that she gives thee to count?
Though your object may be the sublimest that space holds within it,
Yet, my good friends, the sublime dwells not in the regions of space.

~ Friedrich Schiller, To Astronomers
463:If thou never hast gazed upon beauty in moments of sorrow,
Thou canst with truth never boast that thou true beauty hast seen.
If thou never hast gazed upon gladness in beauteous features,
Thou canst with truth never boast that thou true gladness hast seen.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Fairest Apparition
464:Thou hast produced mighty monarchs, of whom thou art not unworthy,
   For the obedient alone make him who governs them great.
But, O Germany, try if thou for thy rulers canst make it
   Harder as kings to be great,easier, though, to be men!
~ Friedrich Schiller, Germany And Her Princes
465:Culture, far from giving us freedom, only develops, as it advances, new necessities; the fetters of the physical close more tightly around us, so that the fear of loss quenches even the ardent impulse toward improvement, and the maxims of passive obedience are held to be the highest wisdom of life. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
466:Two are the pathways by which mankind can to virtue mount upward;
If thou should find the one barred, open the other will lie.
'Tis by exertion the happy obtain her, the suffering by patience.
Blest is the man whose kind fate guides him along upon both!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Two Paths Of Virtue
467:As noble Art has survived noble nature, so too she marches ahead of it, fashioning and awakening by her inspiration. Before Truth sends her triumphant light into the depths of the heart, imagination catches its rays, and the peaks of humanity will be glowing when humid night still lingers in the valleys. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
468:Wouldst thou, my friend, mount up to the highest summit of wisdom,
   Be not deterred by the fear, prudence thy course may deride
That shortsighted one sees but the bank that from thee is flying,
   Not the one which ere long thou wilt attain with bold flight.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Wisdom And Prudence
469:The present age has witnessed an extraordinary increase of a thinking public, by the facilities afforded to the diffusion of reading; the former happy resignation to ignorance begins to make way for a state of half-enlightenment, and few persons are willing to remain in the condition in which their birth has placed then. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
470:Thou in truth shouldst be one, yet not with the whole shouldst thou be so.
'Tis through the reason thou'rt one,art so with it through the heart.
Voice of the whole is thy reason, but thou thine own heart must be ever;
If in thy heart reason dwells evermore, happy art thou.

~ Friedrich Schiller, Beauteous Individuality
471:¡Quita! Abajo con este débil siglo de castrati que no sirve más que para rumiar las hazañas del pasado y para desollar a los héroes de la Antigüedad con ediciones comentadas y echarlos a perder con tragedias. La fuerza de su simiente se ha secado y ahora hay que ayudar a los hombres a multiplicarse con levadura de cerveza. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
472:We are citizens of an age, as well as of a State; and if it is held to be unseemly, or even inadmissible, for a man to cut himself off from the customs and manners of the circle in which he lives, why should it be less of a duty, in the choice of his activity, to submit his decision to the needs and the taste of his century? ~ Friedrich Schiller,
473:When the column of light on the waters is glassed,
As blent in one glow seem the shine and the stream;
But wave after wave through the glory has passed,
Just catches, and flies as it catches, the beam
So honors but mirror on mortals their light;
Not the man but the place that he passes is bright.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Honors
474:As freely as the firmament embraces the world, so mercy must encircle friend and foe. The sun poursforth impartially his beams through all the regions of infinity; heaven bestows the dew equally on every thirsty plant. Whatever is good and comes from on high is universal and without reserve: but in the heart's recesses darkness dwells. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
475:Su interés en la obra es simplemente moral o simplemente físico, y no es precisamente lo que debe ser: estético. Lectores tales gozan de una poesía sería y patética como de un sermón, y de una poesía humorística e ingenua, como de una bebida embriagadora, y carecen lo bastante de gusto para exigir edificación en una tragedia o epopeya. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
476:The greater part of humanity is too much harassed and fatigued by the struggle with want, to rally itself for a new and sterner struggle with error. Satisfied if they themselves can escape from the hard labour of thought, they willingly abandon to others the guardianship of their thoughts. ~ Friedrich Schiller, The Aesthetic Education of Man, Eighth Letter,
477:You worthy critics, or whatever you may call yourselves, are ashamed or afraid of the momentary and passing madness which is found in all real creators, the longer or shorter duration of which distinguishes the thinking artist from the dreamer. Hence your complaints of unfruitfulness, for you reject too soon and discriminate too severely. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
478:The reason for you complaint lies, it seems to me, in the constraint which your intellect imposes upon your imagination. Here I will make an observation, and illustrate it by an allegory. Apparently, it is not good-and indeed it hinders the creative work of the mind-if the if the intellect examines too closely the ideas pouring in, as it were, at the gates. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
479:And from there, he wandered off into an argument with Friedrich Schiller's grandiose statement that human stupidity was what the gods fought in vain. Not so, in Toby's opinion, and no excuse for anybody, whether god or man. What the gods and all reasonable humans fought in vain wasn't stupidity at all. It was sheer, wanton, bloody indifference to anybody's interests but their own. ~ John le Carr,
480:God helps those who help themselves. ~ Algernon Sidney, Discourse Concerning Government, Chapter II. Ovid—Metamorphoses. X. 586. Pliny the Elder, viewing the Eruption of Vesuvius, Aug., 79. Friedrich Schiller, William Tell, I. 2. Simonides is quoted as author by Claudian. Sophocles, Fragments. Terence, Phormio. I. 4. Vergil, Æneid (29-19 BC), X, 284. Quoted as a proverb by old and modern writers,
481:Scarce has the fever so chilly of Gallomania departed,
When a more burning attack in Grecomania breaks out.
Greekism,what did it mean?'Twas harmony, reason, and clearness!
Patience,good gentlemen, pray, ere ye of Greekism speak!
'Tis for an excellent cause ye are fighting, and all that I ask for
Is that with reason it ne'er may be a laughing-stock made.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Greekism
482:Everlastingly chained to a single little fragment of the Whole, man himself develops into nothing but a fragment; everlastingly in his ear the monotonous sound of the wheel that he turns, he never develops the harmony of his being, and instead of putting the stamp of humanity upon his own nature, he becomes nothing more than the imprint of his occupation or of his specialized knowledge. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
483:Millions busily toil, that the human race may continue;
But by only a few is propagated our kind.
Thousands of seeds by the autumn are scattered, yet fruit is engendered
Only by few, for the most back to the element go.
But if one only can blossom, that one is able to scatter
Even a bright living world, filled with creations eterne.

~ Friedrich Schiller, Different Destinies
484:History, insofar as it accustoms human beings to comprehend the whole of the past and to hasten forward with its conclusions into the far future, conceals the boundaries of birth and death, which enclose the life of the human being so narrowly and oppressively, and with a kind of optical illusion, expands his short existence into endless space, leading the individual imperceptibly over into humanity. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
485:If the art of gardening is at last to turn back from her extravagances and rest with her other sisters, it is, above everything, necessary to have clearly before you what you require . . . It is certainly tasteless and inconsistent to desire to encompass the world with a garden-wall, but very practicable and reasonable to make a garden . . . into a characteristic whole to the eye, heart, and nderstanding alike. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
486:Where sails the ship?It leads the Tyrian forth
For the rich amber of the liberal north.
Be kind, ye seaswinds, lend your gentlest wing,
May in each creek sweet wells restoring spring!
To you, ye gods, belong the merchant!o'er
The waves his sails the wide world's goods explore;
And, all the while, wherever waft the gales
The wide world's good sails with him as he sails!
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Merchant
487:Many are good and wise; yet all for one only reckon,
   For 'tis conception, alas, rules them, and not a fond heart.
Sad is the sway of conception,from thousandfold varying figures,
   Needy and empty but one it is e'er able to bring.
But where creative beauty is ruling, there life and enjoyment
   Dwell; to the ne'er-changing One, thousands of new forms she gives.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Variety
488:Oh thou degenerate child of the great and glorious mother,
Who with the Romans' strong might couplest the Tyrians' deceit!
But those ever governed with vigor the earth they had conquered,
These instructed the world that they with cunning had won.
Say! what renown does history grant thee? Thou, Roman-like, gained'st
That with the steel, which with gold, Tyrian-like, then thou didst rule!

~ Friedrich Schiller, Carthage
489:Seeking to find his home, Odysseus crosses each water;
   Through Charybdis so dread; ay, and through Scylla's wild yells,
Through the alarms of the raging sea, the alarms of the land too,
   E'en to the kingdom of hell leads him his wandering course.
And at length, as he sleeps, to Ithaca's coast fate conducts him;
   There he awakes, and, with grief, knows not his fatherland now.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Odysseus
490:There are three lessons I would write-
Three words, as with a burning pen,
In tracings of eternal light,
Upon the heart of men.

Have hope! though clouds environ round,
And gladness hides her face in scorn,
Put thou the shadow from thy brow,
No night but hath its morn.

Have love! not love alone for one,
But man as man thy brother call,
And scatter like the circling sun,
Thy charities on all. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
491:Thou hast crossed over torrents, and swung through wide-spreading ocean,
Over the chain of the Alps dizzily bore thee the bridge,
That thou might'st see me from near, and learn to value my beauty,
Which the voice of renown spreads through the wandering world.
And now before me thou standest,canst touch my altar so holy,
But art thou nearer to me, or am I nearer to thee?

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Antique To The Northern Wanderer
492:That which Grecian art created,
Let the Frank, with joy elated,
Bear to Seine's triumphant strand,
And in his museums glorious
Show the trophies all-victorious
To his wondering fatherland.

They to him are silent ever,
Into life's fresh circle never
From their pedestals come down.
He alone e'er holds the Muses
Through whose breast their power diffuses,
To the Vandal they're but stone!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Antiques At Paris
493:We speak with the lip, and we dream in the soul,
Of some better and fairer day;
And our days, the meanwhile, to that golden goal
Are gliding and sliding away.
Now the world becomes old, now again it is young,
But "The better" 's forever the word on the tongue.

At the threshold of life hope leads us in
Hope plays round the mirthful boy;
Though the best of its charms may with youth begin,
Yet for age it reserves its toy.

~ Friedrich Schiller, Hope
494:Man ever talks, and Man ever dreams Of better days that are yet to be, After glittering goal, that distant gleams, Running and racing untiringly. The worldly may grow old and young as it will, But the Hope of man is Improvement still. Hope bears him into life in her arms, She flutters around the boy's young bloom, The soul of youth with her magic warms, Nor rests with age in the silent tomb; For ends man his weary course at the grave, There plants he Hope o'er his ashes to wave. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
495:The adoption of the required attitude of mind towards ideas that seem to emerge "of their own free will" and the abandonment of the critical function that is normally in operation against them seem to be hard of achievement for some people. The "involuntary thoughts" are liable to release a most violent resistance, which seeks to prevent their emergence. If we may trust that great poet and philosopher Friedrich Schiller, however, poetic creation must demand an exactly similar attitude. ~ Sigmund Freud,
496:Man is not better treated by nature in his first start than her other works are; so long as he is unable to act for himself as an independent intelligence she acts for him. But the very fact that constitutes him a man is that he does not remain stationary, where nature has placed him, that he can pass with his reason, retracing the steps nature had made him anticipate, that he can convert the work of necessity into one of free solution, and elevate physical necessity into a moral law. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
497:The Greeks put us to shame not only by their simplicity, which is foreign to our age; they are at the same time our rivals, nay, frequently our models, in those very points of superiority from which we seek comfort when regretting the unnatural character of our manners. We see that remarkable people uniting at once fullness of form and fullness of substance, both philosophising and creating, both tender and energetic, uniting a youthful fancy to the virility of reason in a glorious humanity. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
498:The voice of our age seems by no means favorable to art, at all events to that kind of art to which my inquiry is directed. The course of events has given a direction to the genius of the time that threatens to remove it continually further from the ideal of art. For art has to leave reality, it has to raise itself bodily above necessity and neediness; for art is the daughter of freedom, and it requires its prescriptions and rules to be furnished by the necessity of spirits and not by that of matter. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
499:Steer on, bold sailorWit may mock thy soul that sees the land,
And hopeless at the helm may droop the weak and weary hand,
Yet everever to the West, for there the coast must lie,
And dim it dawns, and glimmering dawns before thy reason's eye;
Yea, trust the guiding Godand go along the floating grave,
Though hid till nowyet now behold the New World o'er the wave!
With genius Nature ever stands in solemn union still,
And ever what the one foretells the other shall fulfil.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Columbus
500:Each state of the human mind has some parable in the physical creation by which it is shadowed forth; nor is it only artists and poets, but even the most abstract thinkers that have drawn from this source. Lively activity we name fire; time is a stream that rolls on, sweeping all before it; eternity is a circle; a mystery is hid in midnight gloom, and truth dwells in the sun. Nay, I begin to believe that even the future destiny of the human race is prefigured in the dark oracular utterances of bodily creation. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
501:You could be happy without me - but not become unhappy through me. This I felt alive in me - and thereupon I built my hopes. You could give yourself to another, but none could love you more purely or more completely than I did. To none could your happiness be holier, as it was to me, and always will be. My whole existence, everything that lives within me, everything, my most precious, I devote to you, and if I try to ennoble myself, that is done, in order to become ever worthier of you, to make you ever happier. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
502:Egotism erects its center in itself; love places it out of itself in the axis of the universal whole. Love aims at unity, egotism at solitude. Love is the citizen ruler of a flourishing republic, egotism is a despot in a devastated creation. Egotism sows for gratitude, love for the ungrateful. Love gives, egotism lends; and love does this before the throne of judicial truth, indifferent if for the enjoyment of the following moment, or with the view to a martyr's crown--indifferent whether the reward is in this life or in the next. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
503:In the case of the creative mind, it seems to me, the intellect has withdrawn its watchers from the gates, and the ideas rush in pell-mell, and only then does it review and inspect the multitude. You worthy critics, or whatever you may call yourselves, are ashamed or afraid of the momentary and passing madness which is found in all real creators, the longer or shorter duration of which distinguishes the thinking artist from the dreamer. Hence your complaints of unfruitfulness, for you reject too soon and discriminate too severely. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
504:Mighty art thou, because of the peaceful charms of thy presence;
That which the silent does not, never the boastful can do.
Vigor in man I expect, the law in its honors maintaining,
But, through the graces alone, woman e'er rules or should rule.
Many, indeed, have ruled through the might of the spirit and action,
But then thou noblest of crowns, they were deficient in thee.
No real queen exists but the womanly beauty of woman;
Where it appears, it must rule; ruling because it appears!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Power Of Woman
505:Monument of our own age's shame,
On thy country casting endless blame,
Rousseau's grave, how dear thou art to me
Calm repose be to thy ashes blest!
In thy life thou vainly sought'st for rest,
But at length 'twas here obtained by thee!

When will ancient wounds be covered o'er?
Wise men died in heathen days of yore;
Now 'tis lighteryet they die again.
Socrates was killed by sophists vile,
Rousseau meets his death through Christians' wile,
Rousseauwho would fain make Christians men!

~ Friedrich Schiller, Rousseau
506:By no kind Augustus reared,
To no Medici endeared,
German art arose;
Fostering glory smiled not on her,
Ne'er with kingly smiles to sun her,
Did her blooms unclose.

No,she went by monarchs slighted
Went unhonored, unrequited,
From high Frederick's throne;
Praise and pride be all the greater,
That man's genius did create her,
From man's worth alone.

Therefore, all from loftier mountains,
Purer wells and richer fountains,
Streams our poet-art;
So no rule to curb its rushing
All the fuller flows it gushing
From its deepthe heart!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The German Art
507:Play on thy mother's bosom, babe, for in that holy isle
The error cannot find thee yet, the grieving, nor the guile;
Held in thy mother's arms above life's dark and troubled wave,
Thou lookest with thy fearless smile upon the floating grave.
Play, loveliest innocence!Thee yet Arcadia circles round,
A charmed power for thee has set the lists of fairy ground;
Each gleesome impulse Nature now can sanction and befriend,
Nor to that willing heart as yet the duty and the end.
Play, for the haggard labor soon will come to seize its prey.
Alas! when duty grows thy law, enjoyment fades away!
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Playing Infant
508:Four elements, joined in
Harmonious strife,
Shadow the world forth,
And typify life.

Into the goblet
The lemon's juice pour;
Acid is ever
Life's innermost core.

Now, with the sugar's
All-softening juice,
The strength of the acid
So burning reduce.

The bright sparkling water
Now pour in the bowl;
Water all-gently
Encircles the whole.

Let drops of the spirit
To join them now flow;
Life to the living
Naught else can bestow.

Drain it off quickly
Before it exhales;
Save when 'tis glowing,
The draught naught avails.

~ Friedrich Schiller, Punch Song
509:Enraged against a quondam friend,
To Wisdom once proud Fortune said
"I'll give thee treasures without end,
If thou wilt be my friend instead."

"My choicest gifts to him I gave,
And ever blest him with my smile;
And yet he ceases not to crave,
And calls me ****rd all the while."

"Come, sister, let us friendship vow!
So take the money, nothing loth;
Why always labor at the plough?
Here is enough I'm sure for both!"

Sage wisdom laughed,the prudent elf!
And wiped her brow, with moisture hot:
"There runs thy friend to hang himself,
Be reconciledI need thee not!"

~ Friedrich Schiller, Fortune And Wisdom
510:Oh, nobly shone the fearful cross upon your mail afar,
When Rhodes and Acre hailed your might, O lions of the war!
When leading many a pilgrim horde, through wastes of Syrian gloom;
Or standing with the cherub's sword before the holy tomb.
Yet on your forms the apron seemed a nobler armor far,
When by the sick man's bed ye stood, O lions of the war!
When ye, the high-born, bowed your pride to tend the lowly weakness,
The duty, though it brought no fame, fulfilled by Christian meekness
Religion of the cross, thou blend'st, as in a single flower,
The twofold branches of the palmhumility and power.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Knights Of St. John
511:Far away, where darkness reigneth,
All my dreams of bliss are flown;
Yet with love my gaze remaineth
Fixed on one fair star alone.
But, alas! that star so bright
Sheds no lustre save by night.

If in slumbers ending never,
Gloomy death had sealed thine eyes,
Thou hadst lived in memory ever
Thou hadst lived still in my sighs;
But, alas! in light thou livest
To my love no answer givest!

Can the sweet hopes love once cherished
Emma, can they transient prove?
What has passed away and perished
Emma, say, can that be love?
That bright flame of heavenly birth
Can it die like things of earth?
~ Friedrich Schiller, To Emma
512:To Archimedes once a scholar came,
"Teach me," he said, "the art that won thy fame;
The godlike art which gives such boons to toil,
And showers such fruit upon thy native soil;
The godlike art that girt the town when all
Rome's vengeance burst in thunder on the wall!"
"Thou call'st art godlikeit is so, in truth,
And was," replied the master to the youth,
"Ere yet its secrets were applied to use
Ere yet it served beleaguered Syracuse:
Ask'st thou from art, but what the art is worth?
The fruit?for fruit go cultivate the earth.
He who the goddess would aspire unto,
Must not the goddess as the woman woo!"
~ Friedrich Schiller, Archimedes
513:Welcome, gentle Stripling,
   Nature's darling thou!
With thy basket full of blossoms,
   A happy welcome now!
Aha!and thou returnest,
   Heartily we greet thee
The loving and the fair one,
   Merrily we meet thee!
Think'st thou of my maiden
   In thy heart of glee?

I love her yet, the maiden
   And the maiden yet loves me!
For the maiden, many a blossom
   I beggedand not in vain!
I came again a-begging,
   And thouthou givest again:
Welcome, gentle Stripling,
   Nature's darling thou
With thy basket full of blossoms,
   A happy welcome now!
~ Friedrich Schiller, To The Spring
514:Since thou readest in her what thou thyself hast there written,
And, to gladden the eye, placest her wonders in groups;
Since o'er her boundless expanses thy cords to extend thou art able,
Thou dost think that thy mind wonderful Nature can grasp.
Thus the astronomer draws his figures over the heavens,
So that he may with more ease traverse the infinite space,
Knitting together e'en suns that by Sirius-distance are parted,
Making them join in the swan and in the horns of the bull.
But because the firmament shows him its glorious surface,
Can he the spheres' mystic dance therefore decipher aright?

~ Friedrich Schiller, Human Knowledge
515:Curious,' the Prince continued, after a deep silence, 'is it possible never to have known something, never to have missed it in its absence -- and a few moments later to live in and for that single experience alone? Can a single moment make a man so different from himself? It would be just as impossible for me to return to the joys and wishes of yesterday morning as it would for me to return to the games of childhood, now that I have seen that object, now that her image dwells here -- and I have this living, overpowering feeling within me: from now on you can love nothing other than her, and in this world nothing else will ever have any effect on you. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
516:"I Have sacrificed all," thou sayest, "that man I might succor;
   Vain the attempt; my reward was persecution and hate."
Shall I tell thee, my friend, how I to humor him manage?
   Trust the proverb! I ne'er have been deceived by it yet.
Thou canst not sufficiently prize humanity's value;
   Let it be coined in deed as it exists in thy breast.
E'en to the man whom thou chancest to meet in life's narrow pathway,
   If he should ask it of thee, hold forth a succoring hand.
But for rain and for dew, for the general welfare of mortals,
   Leave thou Heaven to care, friend, as before, so e'en now.
~ Friedrich Schiller, To A World-Reformer
517:Two genii are there, from thy birth through weary life to guide thee;
Ah, happy when, united both, they stand to aid beside thee?
With gleesome play to cheer the path, the one comes blithe with beauty,
And lighter, leaning on her arm, the destiny and duty.
With jest and sweet discourse she goes unto the rock sublime,
Where halts above the eternal sea the shuddering child of time.
The other here, resolved and mute and solemn, claspeth thee,
And bears thee in her giant arms across the fearful sea.
Never admit the one alone!Give not the gentle guide
Thy honornor unto the stern thy happiness confide!
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Two Guides Of Life - The Sublime And The Beautiful
518:Hark! like the sea in wrath the heavens assailing,
Or like a brook through rocky basin wailing,
Comes from below, in groaning agony,
A heavy, vacant torment-breathing sigh!
Their faces marks of bitter torture wear,
While from their lips burst curses of despair;
Their eyes are hollow, and full of woe,
And their looks with heartfelt anguish
Seek Cocytus' stream that runs wailing below,
For the bridge o'er its waters they languish.

And they say to each other in accents of fear,
"Oh, when will the time of fulfilment appear?"
High over them boundless eternity quivers,
And the scythe of Saturnus all-ruthlessly, shivers!
~ Friedrich Schiller, Group From Tartarus
519:Angel-fair, Walhalla's charms displaying,
Fairer than all mortal youths was he;
Mild his look, as May-day sunbeams straying
Gently o'er the blue and glassy sea.

And his kisses!what ecstatic feeling!
Like two flames that lovingly entwine,
Like the harp's soft tones together stealing
Into one sweet harmony divine,

Soul and soul embraced, commingled, blended,
Lips and cheeks with trembling passion burned,
Heaven and earth, in pristine chaos ended,
Round the blissful lovers madly turn'd.

He is goneand, ah! with bitter anguish
Vainly now I breathe my mournful sighs;
He is gonein hopeless grief I languish
Earthly joys I ne'er again can prize!

~ Friedrich Schiller, Amalia
520:Homo proponit et Deus disponit. ~ And governeth alle goode virtues. ~ William Langland, Vision of Piers Ploughman (Ed. 1824), Volume II, p. 427, line 13,984. John Gerson is credited with same. Saying quoted in Chronicles of Battel Abbey (1066 to 1177). Translation by Lower, 1851, p. 27. Homer, Iliad, XVII. 515. Pindar, Olymp, XIII. 149. Demosthenes, De Corona., 209. Plautus, Bacchid. I, 2, 36. Ammianus Marcellinus, Hist, XXV. 3. Francois Fenelon, Sermon on the Epiphany, 1685. Montaigne, Essay, Book II, Chapter XXXVII. Seneca the Younger, Epistles, 107. Cleanthus, Fragment. Cervantes, Don Quixote, I. 22. Dante, Paradise, VIII, line 134. Friedrich Schiller, Wallenstein's Death, I, 7. 32. Ordericus Vitalis, Ecclesiastica Historia, Book III (1075),
521:In cheerful faith that fears no ill
The good man doth the world begin;
And dreams that all without shall still
Reflect the trusting soul within.
Warm with the noble vows of youth,
Hallowing his true arm to the truth;

Yet is the littleness of all
So soon to sad experience shown,
That crowds but teach him to recall
And centre thought on self alone;
Till love, no more, emotion knows,
And the heart freezes to repose.

Alas! though truth may light bestow,
Not always warmth the beams impart,
Blest he who gains the boon to know,
Nor buys the knowledge with the heart.
For warmth and light a blessing both to be,
Feel as the enthusiastas the world-wise see.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Light And Warmth
522:It seems a bad thing and detrimental to the creative work of the mind if Reason makes to close an examination of the ideas as they come pouring in -at the very gateway, as it were. Looked at in isolation, a thought may seem very trivial or very fantastic; but it may be made important by another thought that comes after it, and in conjunction with other thoughts that may seem equally absurd, it may serve to form a most effective link. Reason cannot form any opinion on all this unless it retains the thought long enough to look at it in connection with the others. On the other hand, where there is a creative mind, Reason -so it seems to me- relaxes its watch upon the gates, and the ideas rush in pell-mell, and only then does it look them through and examine them in a mass. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
523:Oh! thou bright-beaming god, the plains are thirsting,
Thirsting for freshening dew, and man is pining;
     Wearily move on thy horses
     Let, then, thy chariot descend!

Seest thou her who, from ocean's crystal billows,
Lovingly nods and smiles?Thy heart must know her!
    Joyously speed on thy horses,
    Tethys, the goddess, 'tis nods!

Swiftly from out his flaming chariot leaping,
Into her arms he springs,the reins takes Cupid,
    Quietly stand the horses,
    Drinking the cooling flood.

Now from the heavens with gentle step descending,
Balmy night appears, by sweet love followed;
    Mortals, rest ye, and love ye,
    Phoebus, the loving one, rests!
~ Friedrich Schiller, Evening
524:Full many a shining wit one sees,
   With tongue on all things well conversing;
The what can charm, the what can please,
   In every nice detail rehearsing.
Their raptures so transport the college,
It seems one honeymoon of knowledge.

Yet out they go in silence where
   They whilom held their learned prate;
Ah! he who would achieve the fair,
   Or sow the embryo of the great,
Must hoardto wait the ripening hour
In the least point the loftiest power.

With wanton boughs and pranksome hues,
   Aloft in air aspires the stem;
The glittering leaves inhale the dews,
   But fruits are not concealed in them.
From the small kernel's undiscerned repose
The oak that lords it o'er the forest grows.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Breadth And Depth
525:Humanity's bright image to impair.
Scorn laid thee prostrate in the deepest dust;
Wit wages ceaseless war on all that's fair,
In angel and in God it puts no trust;
The bosom's treasures it would make its prey,
Besieges fancy,dims e'en faith's pure ray.

Yet issuing like thyself from humble line,
Like thee a gentle shepherdess is she
Sweet poesy affords her rights divine,
And to the stars eternal soars with thee.
Around thy brow a glory she hath thrown;
The heart 'twas formed thee,ever thou'lt live on!

The world delights whate'er is bright to stain,
And in the dust to lay the glorious low;
Yet fear not! noble bosoms still remain,
That for the lofty, for the radiant glow
Let Momus serve to fill the booth with mirth;
A nobler mind loves forms of nobler worth.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Maid Of Orleans
526:Even the beauteous must die! This vanquishes men and immortals;
But of the Stygian god moves not the bosom of steel.
Once and once only could love prevail on the ruler of shadows,
And on the threshold, e'en then, sternly his gift he recalled.
Venus could never heal the wounds of the beauteous stripling,
That the terrible boar made in his delicate skin;
Nor could his mother immortal preserve the hero so godlike,
When at the west gate of Troy, falling, his fate he fulfilled.
But she arose from the ocean with all the daughters of Nereus,
And o'er her glorified son raised the loud accents of woe.
See! where all the gods and goddesses yonder are weeping,
That the beauteous must fade, and that the perfect must die.
Even a woe-song to be in the mouth of the loved ones is glorious,
For what is vulgar descends mutely to Orcus' dark shades.

~ Friedrich Schiller, Naenia
527:From earth I seem to wing my flight,
And sun myself in Heaven's pure light,
When thy sweet gaze meets mine
I dream I quaff ethereal dew,
When my own form I mirrored view
In those blue eyes divine!

Blest notes from Paradise afar,
Or strains from some benignant star
Enchant my ravished ear:
My Muse feels then the shepherd's hour
When silvery tones of magic power
Escape those lips so dear!

Young Loves around thee fan their wings
Behind, the maddened fir-tree springs,
As when by Orpheus fired:
The poles whirl round with swifter motion,
When in the dance, like waves o'er Ocean,
Thy footsteps float untired!

Thy look, if it but beam with love,
Could make the lifeless marble move,
And hearts in rocks enshrine:
My visions to reality
Will turn, if, Laura, in thine eye
I readthat thou art mine!

~ Friedrich Schiller, Rapture -- To Laura
528:Hast thou the infant seen that yet, unknowing of the love
Which warms and cradles, calmly sleeps the mother's heart above
Wandering from arm to arm, until the call of passion wakes,
And glimmering on the conscious eyethe world in glory breaks?

And hast thou seen the mother there her anxious vigil keep?
Buying with love that never sleeps the darling's happy sleep?
With her own life she fans and feeds that weak life's trembling rays,
And with the sweetness of the care, the care itself repays.

And dost thou Nature then blasphemethat both the child and mother
Each unto each unites, the while the one doth need the other?
All self-sufficing wilt thou from that lovely circle stand
That creature still to creature links in faith's familiar band?

Ah! dar'st thou, poor one, from the rest thy lonely self estrange?
Eternal power itself is but all powers in interchange!
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Philosophical Egotist
529: What shall I do lest life in silence pass?
   "And if it do,
  And never prompt the bray of noisy brass,
   What need'st thou rue?
  Remember, aye the ocean-deeps are mute--
   The shallows roar;
  Worth is the ocean--fame is but the bruit
   Along the shore."

  What shall I do to be forever known?
   "Thy duty ever!"
  This did full many who yet slept unknown.
   "O never, never!
  Think'st thou perchance that they remain unknown
   Whom thou know'st not?
  By angel trumps in heaven their praise is blown--
   Divine their lot."

  What shall I do, an heir of endless life?
   "Discharge aright
  The simple dues with which each day is rife,
   Yea, with thy might.
  Ere perfect scheme of action thou devise
   Will life be fled,
  While he who ever acts as conscience cries,
   Shall live, though dead."
~ Friedrich Schiller, Fame And Duty
530:It was civilization itself which inflicted this wound upon modern man. Once the increase of empirical knowledge, and more exact modes of thought, made sharper divisions between the sciences inevitable, and once the increasingly complex machinery of State necessitated a more rigorous separation of ranks and occupations, then the inner unity of human nature was severed too, and a disastrous conflict set its harmonious powers at variance. The intuitive and the speculative understanding now withdrew in hostility to take up positions in their respective fields, whose frontiers they now began to guard with jealous mistrust; and with this confining of our activity to a particular sphere we have given ourselves a master within, who not infrequently ends by suppressing the rest of our potentialities. While in one a riotous imagination ravages the hard-won fruits of the intellect, in another the spirit of abstraction stifles the fire at which the heart should have warmed itself and the imagination been kindled. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
531:Are the sports of our youth so displeasing?
   Is love but the folly you say?
Benumbed with the winter, and freezing,
   You scold at the revels of May.

For you once a nymph had her charms,
   And Oh! when the waltz you were wreathing,
All Olympus embraced in your arms
   All its nectar in Julia's breathing.

If Jove at that moment had hurled
   The earth in some other rotation,
Along with your Julia whirled,
   You had felt not the shock of creation.

Learn thisthat philosophy beats
   Sure time with the pulse,quick or slow
As the blood from the heyday retreats,
   But it cannot make gods of usNo!

It is well icy reason should thaw
   In the warm blood of mirth now and then,
The gods for themselves have a law
   Which they never intended for men.

The spirit is bound by the ties
   Of its gaoler, the flesh;if I can
Not reach as an angel the skies,
   Let me feel on the earth as a man!
~ Friedrich Schiller, To A Moralist
532:Within a vale, each infant year,
   When earliest larks first carol free,
To humble shepherds cloth appear
   A wondrous maiden, fair to see.
Not born within that lowly place
   From whence she wandered, none could tell;
Her parting footsteps left no trace,
   When once the maiden sighed farewell.

And blessed was her presence there
   Each heart, expanding, grew more gay;
Yet something loftier still than fair
   Kept man's familiar looks away.
From fairy gardens, known to none,
   She brought mysterious fruits and flowers
The things of some serener sun
   Some Nature more benign than ours.

With each her gifts the maiden shared
   To some the fruits, the flowers to some;
Alike the young, the aged fared;
   Each bore a blessing back to home.
Though every guest was welcome there,
   Yet some the maiden held more dear,
And culled her rarest sweets whene'er
   She saw two hearts that loved draw near.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Maiden From Afar
533:Once for the sceptre of Germany, fought with Bavarian Louis
   Frederick, of Hapsburg descent, both being called to the throne.
But the envious fortune of war delivered the Austrian
   Into the hands of the foe, who overcame him in fight.
With the throne he purchased his freedom, pledging his honor
   For the victor to draw 'gainst his own people his sword;
But what he vowed when in chains, when free he could not accomplish,
   So, of his own free accord, put on his fetters again.
Deeply moved, his foe embraced him,and from thenceforward
   As a friend with a friend, pledged they the cup at the feast;
Arm-in-arm, the princes on one couch slumbered together.
   While a still bloodier hate severed the nations apart.
'Gainst the army of Frederick Louis now went, and behind him
   Left the foe he had fought, over Bavaria to watch.
"Ay, it is true! 'Tis really true! I have it in writing!"
   Thus did the Pontifex cry, when he first heard of the news.
~ Friedrich Schiller, German Faith
534:When the Creator banished from his sight
Frail man to dark mortality's abode,
And granted him a late return to light,
Only by treading reason's arduous road,—
When each immortal turned his face away,
She, the compassionate, alone
Took up her dwelling in that house of clay,
With the deserted, banished one.
With drooping wing she hovers here
Around her darling, near the senses' land,
And on his prison-walls so drear
Elysium paints with fond deceptive hand.

While soft humanity still lay at rest,
Within her tender arms extended,
No flame was stirred by bigots' murderous zest,
No guiltless blood on high ascended.
The heart that she in gentle fetters binds,
Views duty's slavish escort scornfully;
Her path of light, though fairer far it winds,
Sinks in the sun-track of morality.
Those who in her chaste service still remain,
No grovelling thought can tempt, no fate affright;
The spiritual life, so free from stain,
Freedom's sweet birthright, they receive again,
Under the mystic sway of holy might. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
535:Say, where is now that glorious race, where now are the singers
Who, with the accents of life, listening nations enthralled,
Sung down from heaven the gods, and sung mankind up to heaven,
And who the spirit bore up high on the pinions of song?
Ah! the singers still live; the actions only are wanting,
And to awake the glad harp, only a welcoming ear.
Happy bards of a happy world! Your life-teeming accents
Flew round from mouth unto mouth, gladdening every race.
With the devotion with which the gods were received, each one welcomed
That which the genius for him, plastic and breathing, then formed.
With the glow of the song were inflamed the listener's senses,
And with the listener's sense, nourished the singer the glow
Nourished and cleansed it,fortunate one! for whom in the voices
Of the people still clear echoed the soul of the song,
And to whom from without appeared, in life, the great godhead,
Whom the bard of these days scarcely can feel in his breast.

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Bards Of Olden Time
536:Ach, aus dieses Tales Gründen,
Die der kalte Nebel drückt,
Könnt ich doch den Ausgang finden,
Ach wie fühlt ich mich beglückt!
Dort erblick ich schöne Hügel,
Ewig jung und ewig grün!
Hätt ich Schwingen, hätt ich Flügel,
Nach den Hügeln zög ich hin.

Harmonien hör ich klingen,
Töne süßer Himmelsruh,
Und die leichten Winde bringen
Mir der Düfte Balsam zu,
Goldne Früchte seh ich glühen,
Winkend zwischen dunkelm Laub,
Und die Blumen, die dort blühen,
Werden keines Winters Raub.

Ach wie schön muß sich’s ergehen
Dort im ew’gen Sonnenschein,
Und die Luft auf jenen Höhen,
O wie labend muß sie sein!
Doch mir wehrt des Stromes Toben,
Der ergrimmt dazwischen braust,
Seine Wellen sind gehoben,
Daß die Seele mir ergraust.
Einen Nachen seh ich schwanken,
Aber ach! der Fährmann fehlt.
Frisch hinein und ohne Wanken!
Seine Segel sind beseelt.
Du mußt glauben, du mußt wagen,
Denn die Götter leihn kein Pfand,
Nur ein Wunder kann dich tragen
In das schöne Wunderland. ~ Friedrich Schiller,
537:Whither was it that my spirit wended
When from thee my fleeting shadow moved?
Is not now each earthly conflict ended?
Say,have I not lived,have I not loved?

Art thou for the nightingales inquiring
Who entranced thee in the early year
With their melody so joy-inspiring?
Only whilst they loved they lingered here.

Is the lost one lost to me forever?
Trust me, with him joyfully I stray
There, where naught united souls can sever,
And where every tear is wiped away.

And thou, too, wilt find us in yon heaven,
When thy love with our love can compare;
There my father dwells, his sins forgiven,
Murder foul can never reach him there.

And he feels that him no vision cheated
When he gazed upon the stars on high;
For as each one metes, to him 'tis meted;
Who believes it, hath the Holy nigh.

Faith is kept in those blest regions yonder
With the feelings true that ne'er decay.
Venture thou to dream, then, and to wander
Noblest thoughts oft lie in childlike play.

~ Friedrich Schiller, Thekla - A Spirit Voice
538:Could I from this valley drear,
Where the mist hangs heavily,
Soar to some more blissful sphere,
Ah! how happy should I be!
Distant hills enchant my sight,
Ever young and ever fair;
To those hills I'd take my flight
Had I wings to scale the air.

Harmonies mine ear assail,
Tunes that breathe a heavenly calm;
And the gently-sighing gale
Greets me with its fragrant balm.
Peeping through the shady bowers,
Golden fruits their charms display.
And those sweetly-blooming flowers
Ne'er become cold winter's prey.

In you endless sunshine bright,
Oh! what bliss 'twould be to dwell!
How the breeze on yonder height
Must the heart with rapture swell!
Yet the stream that hems my path
Checks me with its angry frown,
While its waves, in rising wrath,
Weigh my weary spirit down.

Seea bark is drawing near,
But, alas, the pilot fails!
Enter boldlywherefore fear?
Inspiration fills its sails,
Faith and courage make thine own,
Gods ne'er lend a helping-hand;
'Tis by magic power alone
Thou canst reach the magic land!

~ Friedrich Schiller, Longing
539:No! I this conflict longer will not wage,
The conflict duty claimsthe giant task;
Thy spells, O virtue, never can assuage
The heart's wild firethis offering do not ask

True, I have sworna solemn vow have sworn,
That I myself will curb the self within;
Yet take thy wreath, no more it shall be worn
Take back thy wreath, and leave me free to sin.

Rent be the contract I with thee once made;
She loves me, loves meforfeit be the crown!
Blessed he who, lulled in rapture's dreamy shade,
Glides, as I glide, the deep fall gladly down.

She sees the worm that my youth's bloom decays,
She sees my spring-time wasted as it flees;
And, marvelling at the rigor that gainsays
The heart's sweet impulse, my reward decrees.

Distrust this angel purity, fair soul!
It is to guilt thy pity armeth me;
Could being lavish its unmeasured whole,
It ne'er could give a gift to rival thee!

Theethe dear guilt I ever seek to shun,
O tyranny of fate, O wild desires!
My virtue's only crown can but be won
In that last breathwhen virtue's self expires!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Conflict
540:The clouds fast gather,
   The forest-oaks roar
A maiden is sitting
   Beside the green shore,
The billows are breaking with might, with might,
And she sighs aloud in the darkling night,
   Her eyelid heavy with weeping.

"My heart's dead within me,
   The world is a void;
To the wish it gives nothing,
   Each hope is destroyed.
I have tasted the fulness of bliss below
I have lived, I have loved,Thy child, oh take now,
   Thou Holy One, into Thy keeping!"

"In vain is thy sorrow,
   In vain thy tears fall,
For the dead from their slumbers
   They ne'er can recall;
Yet if aught can pour comfort and balm in thy heart,
Now that love its sweet pleasures no more can impart,
   Speak thy wish, and thou granted shalt find it!"

"Though in vain is my sorrow,
   Though in vain my tears fall,
Though the dead from their slumbers
   They ne'er can recall,
Yet no balm is so sweet to the desolate heart,
When love its soft pleasures no more can impart,
   As the torments that love leaves behind it!"
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Maiden's Lament
541:Once more, then, we meet
In the circles of yore;
Let our song be as sweet
In its wreaths as before,
Who claims the first place
In the tribute of song?
The God to whose grace
All our pleasures belong.
Though Ceres may spread
All her gifts on the shrine,
Though the glass may be red
With the blush of the vine,
What bootsif the while
Fall no spark on the hearth;
If the heart do not smile
With the instinct of mirth?
From the clouds, from God's breast
Must our happiness fall,
'Mid the blessed, most blest
Is the moment of all!
Since creation began
All that mortals have wrought,
All that's godlike in man
Comesthe flash of a thought!
For ages the stone
In the quarry may lurk,
An instant alone
Can suffice to the work;
An impulse give birth
To the child of the soul,
A glance stamp the worth
And the fame of the whole.
On the arch that she buildeth
From sunbeams on high,
As Iris just gildeth,
And fleets from the sky,
So shineth, so gloometh
Each gift that is ours;
The lightning illumeth
The darkness devours!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Favor Of The Moment
542:Threefold is the march of time
While the future slow advances,
Like a dart the present glances,
Silent stands the past sublime.

No impatience e'er can speed him
On his course if he delay;
No alarm, no doubts impede him
If he keep his onward way;
No regrets, no magic numbers
Wake the tranced one from his slumbers.
Wouldst thou wisely and with pleasure,
Pass the days of life's short measure,
From the slow one counsel take,
But a tool of him ne'er make;
Ne'er as friend the swift one know,
Nor the constant one as foe!


Threefold is the form of space:
Length, with ever restless motion,
Seeks eternity's wide ocean;
Breadth with boundless sway extends;
Depth to unknown realms descends.

All as types to thee are given;
Thou must onward strive for heaven,
Never still or weary be
Would'st thou perfect glory see;
Far must thy researches go.
Wouldst thou learn the world to know;
Thou must tempt the dark abyss
Wouldst thou prove what Being is.

Naught but firmness gains the prize,
Naught but fulness makes us wise,
Buried deep, truth ever lies!
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Proverbs Of Confucius
543:Believe me, together
     The bright gods come ever,
       Still as of old;
Scarce see I Bacchus, the giver of joy,
Than comes up fair Eros, the laugh-loving boy,
       And Phoebus, the stately, behold!

     They come near and nearer,
      The heavenly ones all
     The gods with their presence
      Fill earth as their hall!

     Say, how shall I welcome,
     Human and earthborn,
       Sons of the sky?
Pour out to mepour the full life that ye live!
What to ye, O ye gods! can the mortal one give?

     The joys can dwell only
      In Jupiter's palace
     Brimmed bright with your nectar,
      Oh, reach me the chalice!

     "Hebe, the chalice
     Fill full to the brim!
Steep his eyessteep his eyes in the bath of the dew,
Let him dream, while the Styx is concealed from his view,
     That the life of the gods is for him!"

     It murmurs, it sparkles,
      The fount of delight;
     The bosom grows tranquil
       The eye becomes bright.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Dithyramb
544:Ye offspring of the morning sun,
Ye flowers that deck the smiling plain,
Your lives, in joy and bliss begun,
In Nature's love unchanged remain.
With hues of bright and godlike splendor
Sweet Flora graced your forms so tender,
And clothed ye in a garb of light;
Spring's lovely children weep forever,
For living souls she gave ye never,
And ye must dwell in endless night?

The nightingale and lark still sing
In your tranced ears the bliss of love;
The toying sylphs, on airy wing,
Around your fragrant bosoms rove,
Of yore, Dione's daughter [6] twining
In garlands sweet your cup-so shining,
A pillow formed where love might rest!
Spring's gentle children, mourn forever,
The joys of love she gave ye never,
Ne'er let ye know that feeling blest!

But when ye're gathered by my hand,
A token of my love to be,
Now that her mother's harsh command
From Nanny's [7] sight has banished me
E'en from that passing touch ye borrow
Those heralds mute of pleasing sorrow,
Life, language, hearts and souls divine;
And to your silent leaves 'tis given,
By Him who mightiest is in heaven,
His glorious Godhead to enshrine.

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Flowers
545:Beside the brook the boy reclined
   And wove his flowery wreath,
And to the waves the wreath consigned
   The waves that danced beneath.
"So fleet mine hours," he sighed, "away
   Like waves that restless flow:
And so my flowers of youth decay
   Like those that float below."

"Ask not why I, alone on earth,
   Am sad in life's young time;
To all the rest are hope and mirth
   When spring renews its prime.
Alas! the music Nature makes,
   In thousand songs of gladness
While charming all around me, wakes
   My heavy heart to sadness."

"Ah! vain to me the joys that break
   From spring, voluptuous are;
For only one 't is mine to seek
   The near, yet ever far!
I stretch my arms, that shadow-shape
   In fond embrace to hold;
Still doth the shade the clasp escape
   The heart is unconsoled!"

"Come forth, fair friend, come forth below,
   And leave thy lofty hall,
The fairest flowers the spring can know
   In thy dear lap shall fall!
Clear glides the brook in silver rolled,
   Sweet carols fill the air;
The meanest hut hath space to hold
   A happy loving pair!"
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Youth By The Brook
546:Sweet friend, the world, like some fair infant blessed,
Radiant with sportive grace, around thee plays;
Yet 'tis not as depicted in thy breast
Not as within thy soul's fair glass, its rays
Are mirrored. The respectful fealty
That my heart's nobleness hath won for thee,
The miracles thou workest everywhere,
The charms thy being to this life first lent,
To it, mere charms to reckon thou'rt content,
To us, they seem humanity so fair.
The witchery sweet of ne'er-polluted youth,
The talisman of innocence and truth
Him I would see, who these to scorn can dare!
Thou revellest joyously in telling o'er
The blooming flowers that round thy path are strown,
The glad, whom thou hast made so evermore,
The souls that thou hast conquered for thine own.
In thy deceit so blissful be thou glad!
Ne'er let a waking disenchantment sad
Hurl thee despairing from thy dream's proud flight!
Like the fair flowerets that thy beds perfume,
Observe them, but ne'er touch them as they bloom,
Plant them, but only for the distant sight.
Created only to enchant the eye,
In faded beauty at thy feet they'll lie,
The nearer thee, the nearer their long night!

~ Friedrich Schiller, Written In A Young Lady's Album
547:Youth's gay springtime scarcely knowing
Went I forth the world to roam
And the dance of youth, the glowing,
Left I in my father's home,
Of my birthright, glad-believing,
Of my world-gear took I none,
Careless as an infant, cleaving
To my pilgrim staff alone.
For I placed my mighty hope in
Dim and holy words of faith,
"Wander forththe way is open,
Ever on the upward path
Till thou gain the golden portal,
Till its gates unclose to thee.
There the earthly and the mortal,
Deathless and divine shall be!"
Night on morning stole, on stealeth,
Never, never stand I still,
And the future yet concealeth,
What I seek, and what I will!
Mount on mount arose before me,
Torrents hemmed me every side,
But I built a bridge that bore me
O'er the roaring tempest-tide.
Towards the east I reached a river,
On its shores I did not rest;
Faith from danger can deliver,
And I trusted to its breast.
Drifted in the whirling motion,
Seas themselves around me roll
Wide and wider spreads the ocean,
Far and farther flies the goal.
While I live is never given
Bridge or wave the goal to near
Earth will never meet the heaven,
Never can the there be here!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Pilgrim
548:She sought to breathe one word, but vainly;
Too many listeners were nigh;
And yet my timid glance read plainly
The language of her speaking eye.
Thy silent glades my footstep presses,
Thou fair and leaf-embosomed grove!
Conceal within thy green recesses
From mortal eye our sacred love!

Afar with strange discordant noises,
The busy day is echoing;
And 'mid the hollow hum of voices,
I hear the heavy hammer ring.
'Tis thus that man, with toil ne'er ending
Extorts from heaven his daily bread;
Yet oft unseen the Gods are sending
The gifts of fortune on his head!

Oh, let mankind discover never
How true love fills with bliss our hearts
They would but crush our joy forever,
For joy to them no glow imparts.
Thou ne'er wilt from the world obtain it
'Tis never captured save as prey;
Thou needs must strain each nerve to gain it,
E'er envy dark asserts her sway.

The hours of night and stillness loving,
It comes upon us silently
Away with hasty footstep moving
Soon as it sees a treacherous eye.
Thou gentle stream, soft circlets weaving,
A watery barrier cast around,
And, with thy waves in anger heaving,
Guard from each foe this holy ground!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Secret
549:Through the world which the Spirit creative and kind
First formed out of chaos, I fly like the wind,
Until on the strand
Of its billows I land,
My anchor cast forth where the breeze blows no more,
And Creation's last boundary stands on the shore.

I saw infant stars into being arise,
For thousands of years to roll on through the skies;
I saw them in play
Seek their goal far away,
For a moment my fugitive gaze wandered on,
I looked round me, and lo!all those bright stars had flown!

Madly yearning to reach the dark kingdom of night.
I boldly steer on with the speed of the light;
All misty and drear
The dim heavens appear,
While embryo systems and seas at their source
Are whirling around the sun-wanderer's course.

When sudden a pilgrim I see drawing near
Along the lone path,"Stay! What seekest thou here?"
"My bark, tempest-tossed,
I sail toward the land where the breeze blows no more,
And Creation's last boundary stands on the shore."

"Stay, thou sailest in vain! 'Tis INFINITY yonder!"
"'Tis INFINITY, too, where thou, pilgrim, wouldst wander!
Eagle-thoughts that aspire,
Let your proud pinions tire!
For 'tis here that sweet phantasy, bold to the last,
Her anchor in hopeless dejection must cast!"
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Greatness Of The World
550:Three words will I name theearound and about,
From the lip to the lip, full of meaning, they flee;
But they had not their birth in the being without,
And the heart, not the lip, must their oracle be!
And all worth in the man shall forever be o'er
When in those three words he believes no more.

Man is made free!Man by birthright is free,
Though the tyrant may deem him but born for his tool.
Whatever the shout of the rabble may be
Whatever the ranting misuse of the fool
Still fear not the slave, when he breaks from his chain,
For the man made a freeman grows safe in his gain.

And virtue is more than a shade or a sound,
And man may her voice, in this being, obey;
And though ever he slip on the stony ground,
Yet ever again to the godlike way,
To the science of good though the wise may be blind,
Yet the practice is plain to the childlike mind.

And a God there is!over space, over time,
While the human will rocks, like a reed, to and fro,
Lives the will of the holya purpose sublime,
A thought woven over creation below;
Changing and shifting the all we inherit,
But changeless through all one immutable spirit

Hold fast the three words of beliefthough about
From the lip to the lip, full of meaning, they flee;
Yet they take not their birth from the being without
But a voice from within must their oracle be;
And never all worth in the man can be o'er,
Till in those three words he believes no more.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Words Of Belief
551:See, he sitteth on his mat
Sitteth there upright,
With the grace with which he sat
While he saw the light.

Where is now the sturdy gripe,
Where the breath sedate,
That so lately whiffed the pipe
Toward the Spirit great?

Where the bright and falcon eye,
That the reindeer's tread
On the waving grass could spy,
Thick with dewdrops spread?

Where the limbs that used to dart
Swifter through the snow
Than the twenty-membered hart,
Than the mountain roe?

Where the arm that sturdily
Bent the deadly bow?
See, its life hath fleeted by,
See, it hangeth low!

Happy he!He now has gone
Where no snow is found:
Where with maize the fields are sown,
Self-sprung from the ground;

Where with birds each bush is filled,
Where with game the wood;
Where the fish, with joy unstilled,
Wanton in the flood.

With the spirits blest he feeds,
Leaves us here in gloom;
We can only praise his deeds,
And his corpse entomb.

Farewell-gifts, then, hither bring,
Sound the death-note sad!
Bury with him everything
That can make him glad!

'Neath his head the hatchet hide
That he boldly swung;
And the bear's fat haunch beside,
For the road is long;

And the knife, well sharpened,
That, with slashes three,
Scalp and skin from foeman's head
Tore off skilfully.

And to paint his body, place
Dyes within his hand;
Let him shine with ruddy grace
In the Spirit-land!

~ Friedrich Schiller, Nadowessian Death-Lament
552:Three errors there are, that forever are found
On the lips of the good, on the lips of the best;
But empty their meaning and hollow their sound
And slight is the comfort they bring to the breast.
The fruits of existence escape from the clasp
Of the seeker who strives but those shadows to grasp

So long as man dreams of some age in this life
When the right and the good will all evil subdue;
For the right and the good lead us ever to strife,
And wherever they lead us the fiend will pursue.
And (till from the earth borne, and stifled at length)
The earth that he touches still gifts him with strength!

So long as man fancies that fortune will live,
Like a bride with her lover, united with worth;
For her favors, alas! to the mean she will give
And virtue possesses no title to earth!
That foreigner wanders to regions afar,
Where the lands of her birthright immortally are!

So long as man dreams that, to mortals a gift,
The truth in her fulness of splendor will shine;
The veil of the goddess no earth-born may lift,
And all we can learn isto guess and divine!
Dost thou seek, in a dogma, to prison her form?
The spirit flies forth on the wings of the storm!

O, noble soul! fly from delusions like these,
More heavenly belief be it thine to adore;
Where the ear never hearkens, the eye never sees,
Meet the rivers of beauty and truth evermore!
Not without thee the streamsthere the dull seek them;No!
Look within theebehold both the fount and the flow!
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Words Of Error
553:When o'er the chords thy fingers stray,
My spirit leaves its mortal clay,
A statue there I stand;
Thy spell controls e'en life and death,
As when the nerves a living breath
Receive by Love's command! [1]

More gently zephyr sighs along
To listen to thy magic song;
The systems formed by heavenly love
To sing forever as they move,
Pause in their endless-whirling round
To catch the rapture-teeming sound;
'Tis for thy strains they worship thee,
Thy look, enchantress, fetters me!

From yonder chords fast-thronging come
Soul-breathing notes with rapturous speed,
As when from out their heavenly home
The new-born seraphim proceed;
The strains pour forth their magic might,
As glittering suns burst through the night,
When, by Creation's storm awoke,
From chaos' giant-arm they broke.

Now sweet, as when the silv'ry wave
Delights the pebbly beach to lave;
And now majestic as the sound
Of rolling thunder gathering round;
Now pealing more loudly, as when from yon height
Descends the mad mountain-stream, foaming and bright;
Now in a song of love
Dying away,
As through the aspen grove
Soft zephyrs play:
Now heavier and more mournful seems the strain,
As when across the desert, death-like plain,
Whence whispers dread and yells despairing rise,
Cocytus' sluggish, wailing current sighs.

Maiden fair, oh, answer me!
Are not spirits leagued with thee?
Speak they in the realms of bliss
Other language e'er than this?

~ Friedrich Schiller, To Laura At The Harpsichord
554:I see her stillby her fair train surrounded,
The fairest of them all, she took her place;
Afar I stood, by her bright charms confounded,
For, oh! they dazzled with their heavenly grace.
With awe my soul was filledwith bliss unbounded,
While gazing on her softly radiant face;
But soon, as if up-borne on wings of fire,
My fingers 'gan to sweep the sounding lyre.

The thoughts that rushed across me in that hour,
The words I sang, I'd fain once more invoke;
Within, I felt a new-awakened power,
That each emotion of my bosom spoke.
My soul, long time enchained in sloth's dull bower,
Through all its fetters now triumphant broke,
And brought to light unknown, harmonious numbers,
Which in its deepest depths, had lived in slumbers.

And when the chords had ceased their gentle sighing,
And when my soul rejoined its mortal frame,
I looked upon her face and saw love vieing,
In every feature, with her maiden shame.
And soon my ravished heart seemed heavenward flying,
When her soft whisper o'er my senses came.
The blissful seraphs' choral strains alone
Can glad mine ear again with that sweet tone,

Of that fond heart, which, pining silently,
Ne'er ventures to express its feelings lowly,
The real and modest worth is known to me
'Gainst cruel fate I'll guard its cause so holy.
Most blest of all, the meek one's lot shall be
Love's flowers by love's own hand are gathered solely
The fairest prize to that fond heart is due,
That feels it, and that beats responsive, too!
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Meeting
555:Past the despairing wail
And the bright banquets of the Elysian vale
Melt every care away!
Delight, that breathes and moves forever,
Glides through sweet fields like some sweet river!
Elysian life survey!
There, fresh with youth, o'er jocund meads,
His merry west-winds blithely leads
The ever-blooming May!
Through gold-woven dreams goes the dance of the hours,
In space without bounds swell the soul and its powers,
And truth, with no veil, gives her face to the day.
And joy to-day and joy to-morrow,
But wafts the airy soul aloft;
The very name is lost to sorrow,
And pain is rapture tuned more exquisitely soft.

Here the pilgrim reposes the world-weary limb,
And forgets in the shadow, cool-breathing and dim,
The load he shall bear never more;
Here the mower, his sickle at rest, by the streams,
Lulled with harp-strings, reviews, in the calm of his dreams,
The fields, when the harvest is o'er.
Here, he, whose ears drank in the battle roar,
Whose banners streamed upon the startled wind
A thunder-storm,before whose thunder tread
The mountains trembled,in soft sleep reclined,
By the sweet brook that o'er its pebbly bed
In silver plays, and murmurs to the shore,
Hears the stern clangor of wild spears no more!
Here the true spouse the lost-beloved regains,
And on the enamelled couch of summer-plains
Mingles sweet kisses with the zephyr's breath.
Here, crowned at last, love never knows decay,
Living through ages its one bridal day,
Safe from the stroke of death!

~ Friedrich Schiller, Elysium
556:O Freunde, nicht diese Tone!
Sondern lasst uns angenehmere anstimmen
Und freudenvollere!      

Freude schoner Gotterfunken,
Tochter aus Elysium,
Wir betreten feuertrunken,    
Himmliche dein Heiligtum!    
Deine Zauber binden wieder,    
Was die Mode Streng geteilt;    
Alle Menschen werden Bruder,  
Wo dein sanfter Flugel weilt  

Wem der gross e Wurf gelungen,
Eines Freundes Freund zu sein,
Wer ein holdes Weib errungen,  
Mische seinen Jubel ein!
Ja, wer auch nur eine Seele    
Sein nennt auf dem Erdenrund!  
Und wer's nie gekonnt, der stehle
Weinend sich aus diesem Bund  

Freude trinken alle Wesen
An den Bursten der Natur;    
Alle Guten, alle Bosen      
Folgen ihrer Rosenspur    
Kusse gab sie uns und Reben,  
Einen Freund, gepruft im Tod;  
Wollust ward dem Wurm gegeben,  
Und der Cherub steht vor Gott!

Froh, wie seine Sonnen fliegen  
Durch des Himmels pracht'gen Plan,
Laufet, Bruder, eure Bahn,
Freudig, wie ein Held zum Siegen  

Seid umschlungen, Millionen  
Diesen Kuss der ganzen Welt!  
Bruder! Uber'm Sternenzelt  
Muss ein lieber Vater wohnen  
Ihr sturzt nieder, Millionen?
Ahnest du den Schopfer, Welt?
Such' ihn uber'm Sternenzelt!
Uber Sternen muss er wohnen
For the original version in both German and English

~ Friedrich Schiller, Ode an die Freude
557:"Who would himself with shadows entertain,
Or gild his life with lights that shine in vain,
Or nurse false hopes that do but cheat the true?
Though with my dream my heaven should be resigned
Though the free-pinioned soul that once could dwell
In the large empire of the possible,
This workday life with iron chains may bind,
Yet thus the mastery o'er ourselves we find,
And solemn duty to our acts decreed,
Meets us thus tutored in the hour of need,
With a more sober and submissive mind!
How front necessityyet bid thy youth
Shun the mild rule of life's calm sovereign, truth."

So speakest thou, friend, how stronger far than I;
As from experiencethat sure port serene
Thou lookest;and straight, a coldness wraps the sky,
The summer glory withers from the scene,
Scared by the solemn spell; behold them fly,
The godlike images that seemed so fair!
Silent the playful Musethe rosy hours
Halt in their dance; and the May-breathing flowers
Fall from the sister-graces' waving hair.
Sweet-mouthed Apollo breaks his golden lyre,
Hermes, the wand with many a marvel rife;
The veil, rose-woven, by the young desire
With dreams, drops from the hueless cheeks of life.
The world seems what it isa grave! and love
Casts down the bondage wound his eyes above,
And sees!He sees but images of clay
Where he dreamed gods; and sighsand glides away.
The youngness of the beautiful grows old,
And on thy lips the bride's sweet kiss seems cold;
And in the crowd of joysupon thy throne
Thou sittest in state, and hardenest into stone.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Poetry Of Life
558:Wilt thou not the lambkins guard?
Oh, how soft and meek they look,
Feeding on the grassy sward,
Sporting round the silvery brook!
"Mother, mother, let me go
On yon heights to chase the roe!"

Wilt thou not the flock compel
With the horn's inspiring notes?
Sweet the echo of yon bell,
As across the wood it floats!
"Mother, mother, let me go
On yon heights to hunt the roe!"

Wilt thou not the flow'rets bind,
Smiling gently in their bed?
For no garden thou wilt find
On yon heights so wild and dread.
"Leave the flow'rets,let them blow!
Mother, mother, let me go!"

And the youth then sought the chase,
Onward pressed with headlong speed
To the mountain's gloomiest place,
Naught his progress could impede;
And before him, like the wind,
Swiftly flies the trembling hind!

Up the naked precipice
Clambers she, with footsteps light,
O'er the chasm's dark abyss
Leaps with spring of daring might;
But behind, unweariedly,
With his death-bow follows he.

Now upon the rugged top
Stands she,on the loftiest height,
Where the cliffs abruptly stop,
And the path is lost to sight.
There she views the steeps below,
Close behind, her mortal foe.

She, with silent, woeful gaze,
Seeks the cruel boy to move;
But, alas! in vain she prays
To the string he fits the groove.
When from out the clefts, behold!
Steps the Mountain Genius old.

With his hand the Deity
Shields the beast that trembling sighs;
"Must thou, even up to me,
Death and anguish send?" he cries,
Earth has room for all to dwell,
"Why pursue my loved gazelle?"
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Alpine Hunter
559:Every religion offers an interpretation of the world, a worldview, a counterpart to the biblical narrative of creation, fall, redemption. Translated into worldview terms, creation refers to a theory of origins: Where did we come from? What is ultimate reality? Fall refers to the problem of evil: What’s wrong with the world, the source of evil and suffering? Redemption asks, How can the problem be fixed? What must I do to become part of the solution? These are the three fundamental questions that every religion, worldview, or philosophy seeks to answer.16 The answers offered by Romanticism were adapted from neo-Platonism.17 In neo-Platonism, the counterpart to creation, or the ultimate source of all things, is a primordial spiritual essence or unity referred to as the One, the Absolute, the Infinite. Even thinking cannot be attributed to the One because thought implies a distinction between subject and object—between the thinker and the object of his thought. In fact, for the Romantics, thinking itself constituted the fall, the cause of all that is wrong with the world. Why? Because it introduced division into the original unity. More precisely, the fault lay in a particular kind of thinking—the Enlightenment reductionism that had produced the upper/lower story dichotomy in the first place. Coleridge wrote that “the rational instinct” posed “the original temptation, through which man fell.” The poet Friedrich Schiller blamed the “all-dividing Intellect” for modern society’s fragmentation, conflict, isolation, and alienation. And what would redeem us from this fall? The creative imagination. Art would restore the spiritual meaning and purpose that Enlightenment science had stripped from the world. ~ Nancy R Pearcey,
560:"Take the world!" Zeus exclaimed from his throne in the skies
To the children of man"take the world I now give;
It shall ever remain as your heirloom and prize,
So divide it as brothers, and happily live."

Then all who had hands sought their share to obtain,
The young and the aged made haste to appear;
The husbandman seized on the fruits of the plain,
The youth through the forest pursued the fleet deer.

The merchant took all that his warehouse could hold,
The abbot selected the last year's best wine,
The king barred the bridges,the highways controlled,
And said, "Now remember, the tithes shall be mine!"

But when the division long-settled had been,
The poet drew nigh from a far distant land;
But alas! not a remnant was now to be seen,
Each thing on the earth owned a master's command.

"Alas! shall then I, of thy sons the most true,
Shall I, 'mongst them all, be forgotten alone?"
Thus loudly he cried in his anguish, and threw
Himself in despair before Jupiter's throne.

"If thou in the region of dreams didst delay,
Complain not of me," the Immortal replied;
"When the world was apportioned, where then wert thou, pray?"
"I was," said the poet, "I wasby thy side!"

"Mine eye was then fixed on thy features so bright,
Mine ear was entranced by thy harmony's power;
Oh, pardon the spirit that, awed by thy light,
All things of the earth could forget in that hour!"

"What to do?" Zeus exclaimed,"for the world has been given;
The harvest, the market, the chase, are not free;
But if thou with me wilt abide in my heaven,
Whenever thou comest, 'twill be open to thee!"
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Division Of The Earth
561:On the mountain's breezy summit,
Where the southern sunbeams shine,
Aided by their warming vigor,
Nature yields the golden wine.

How the wondrous mother formeth,
None have ever read aright;
Hid forever is her working,
And inscrutable her might.

Sparkling as a son of Phoebus,
As the fiery source of light,
From the vat it bubbling springeth,
Purple, and as crystal bright;

And rejoiceth all the senses,
And in every sorrowing breast
Poureth hope's refreshing balsam,
And on life bestows new zest.

But their slanting rays all feebly
On our zone the sunbeams shoot;
They can only tinge the foliage,
But they ripen ne'er the fruit.

Yet the north insists on living,
And what lives will merry be;
So, although the grape is wanting,
We invent wine cleverly.

Pale the drink we now are offering
On the household altar here;
But what living Nature maketh,
Sparkling is and ever clear.

Let us from the brimming goblet,
Drain the troubled flood with mirth;
Art is but a gift of heaven,
Borrowed from the glow of earth.

Even strength's dominions boundless
'Neath her rule obedient lie;
From the old the new she fashions
With creative energy.

She the elements' close union
Severs with her sovereign nod;
With the flame upon the altar,
Emulates the great sun-god.

For the distant, happy islands
Now the vessel sallies forth,
And the southern fruits, all-golden,
Pours upon the eager north.

As a type, then,as an image,
Be to us this fiery juice,
Of the wonders that frail mortals
Can with steadfast will produce!

~ Friedrich Schiller, Punch Song (To be sung in the Northern Countries)
562:The air is perfumed with the morning's fresh breeze,
From the bush peer the sunbeams all purple and bright,
While they gleam through the clefts of the dark-waving trees,
And the cloud-crested mountains are golden with light.

With joyful, melodious, ravishing, strain,
The lark, as he wakens, salutes the glad sun,
Who glows in the arms of Aurora again,
And blissfully smiling, his race 'gins to run.

All hail, light of day!
Thy sweet gushing ray
Pours down its soft warmth over pasture and field;
With hues silver-tinged
The meadows are fringed,
And numberless suns in the dewdrop revealed.

Young Nature invades
The whispering shades,
Displaying each ravishing charm;
The soft zephyr blows,
And kisses the rose,
The plain is sweet-scented with balm.

How high from yon city the smoke-clouds ascend!
Their neighing, and snorting, and bellowing blend
The horses and cattle;
The chariot-wheels rattle,
As down to the valley they take their mad way;
And even the forest where life seems to move,
The eagle, and falcon, and hawk soar above,
And flutter their pinions, in heaven's bright ray.

In search of repose
From my heart-rending woes,
Oh, where shall my sad spirit flee?
The earth's smiling face,
With its sweet youthful grace,
A tomb must, alas, be for me!

Arise, then, thou sunlight of morning, and fling
O'er plain and o'er forest thy purple-dyed beams!
Thou twilight of evening, all noiselessly sing
In melody soft to the world as it dreams!

Ah, sunlight of morning, to me thou but flingest
Thy purple-dyed beams o'er the grave of the past!
Ah, twilight of evening, thy strains thou but singest
To one whose deep slumbers forever must last!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Fugitive
563:Do I dream? can I trust to my eye?
My sight sure some vapor must cover?
Or, there, did my Minna pass by
My Minnaand knew not her lover?
On the arm of the coxcomb she crossed,
Well the fan might its zephyr bestow;
Herself in her vanity lost,
That wanton my Minna?Ah, no!

In the gifts of my love she was dressed,
My plumes o'er her summer hat quiver;
The ribbons that flaunt in her breast
Might bid herremember the giver!
And still do they bloom on thy bosom,
The flowerets I gathered for thee!
Still as fresh is the leaf of each blossom,
'Tis the heart that has faded from me!

Go and take, then, the incense they tender;
Go, the one that adored thee forget!
Go, thy charms to the feigner surrender,
In my scorn is my comforter yet!
Go, for thee with what trust and belief
There beat not ignobly a heart
That has strength yet to strive with the grief
To have worshipped the trifler thou art!

Thy beauty thy heart hath betrayed
Thy beautyshame, Minna, to thee!
To-morrow its glory will fade,
And its roses all withered will be!
The swallows that swarm in the sun
Will fly when the north winds awaken,
The false ones thine autumn will shun,
For whom thou the true hast forsaken!

'Mid the wrecks of the charms in December,
I see thee alone in decay,
And each spring shall but bid thee remember
How brief for thyself was the May!
Then they who so wantonly flock
To the rapture thy kiss can impart,
Shall scoff at thy winter, and mock
Thy beauty as wrecked as thy heart!

Thy beauty thy heart hath betrayed
Thy beautyshame, Minna, to thee
To-morrow its glory will fade
And its roses all withered will be!
O, what scorn for thy desolate years
Shall I feel!God forbid it in me!
How bitter will then be the tears
Shed, Minna, O Minna, for thee!

~ Friedrich Schiller, To Minna
564:To the solemn abyss leads the terrible path,
The life and death winding dizzy between;
In thy desolate way, grim with menace and wrath,
To daunt thee the spectres of giants are seen;
That thou wake not the wild one, all silently tread
Let thy lip breathe no breath in the pathway of dread!

High over the marge of the horrible deep
Hangs and hovers a bridge with its phantom-like span,
Not by man was it built, o'er the vastness to sweep;
Such thought never came to the daring of man!
The stream roars beneathlate and early it raves
But the bridge, which it threatens, is safe from the waves.

Black-yawning a portal, thy soul to affright,
Like the gate to the kingdom, the fiend for the king
Yet beyond it there smiles but a land of delight,
Where the autumn in marriage is met with the spring.
From a lot which the care and the trouble assail,
Could I fly to the bliss of that balm-breathing vale!

Through that field, from a fount ever hidden their birth,
Four rivers in tumult rush roaringly forth;
They fly to the fourfold divisions of earth
The sunrise, the sunset, the south, and the north.
And, true to the mystical mother that bore,
Forth they rush to their goal, and are lost evermore.

High over the races of men in the blue
Of the ether, the mount in twin summits is riven;
There, veiled in the gold-woven webs of the dew,
Moves the dance of the cloudsthe pale daughters of heaven!
There, in solitude, circles their mystical maze,
Where no witness can hearken, no earthborn surveys.

August on a throne which no ages can move,
Sits a queen, in her beauty serene and sublime,
The diadem blazing with diamonds above
The glory of brows, never darkened by time,
His arrows of light on that form shoots the sun
And he gilds them with all, but he warms them with none!
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Lay Of The Mountain
565:See how, like lightest waves at play, the airy dancers fleet;
   And scarcely feels the floor the wings of those harmonious feet.
   Ob, are they flying shadows from their native forms set free?
   Or phantoms in the fairy ring that summer moonbeams see?
   As, by the gentle zephyr blown, some light mist flees in air,
   As skiffs that skim adown the tide, when silver waves are fair,
   So sports the docile footstep to the heave of that sweet measure,
   As music wafts the form aloft at its melodious pleasure,
   Now breaking through the woven chain of the entangled dance,
   From where the ranks the thickest press, a bolder pair advance,
   The path they leave behind them lost--wide open the path beyond,
   The way unfolds or closes up as by a magic wand.
   See now, they vanish from the gaze in wild confusion blended;
   All, in sweet chaos whirled again, that gentle world is ended!
   No!--disentangled glides the knot, the gay disorder ranges--
   The only system ruling here, a grace that ever changes.
   For ay destroyed--for ay renewed, whirls on that fair creation;
   And yet one peaceful law can still pervade in each mutation.
   And what can to the reeling maze breathe harmony and vigor,
   And give an order and repose to every gliding figure?
   That each a ruler to himself doth but himself obey,
   Yet through the hurrying course still keeps his own appointed way.
   What, would'st thou know? It is in truth the mighty power of tune,
   A power that every step obeys, as tides obey the moon;
   That threadeth with a golden clue the intricate employment,
   Curbs bounding strength to tranquil grace, and tames the wild enjoyment.
   And comes the world's wide harmony in vain upon thine ears?
   The stream of music borne aloft from yonder choral spheres?
   And feel'st thou not the measure which eternal Nature keeps?
   The whirling dance forever held in yonder azure deeps?
   The suns that wheel in varying maze?--That music thou discernest?
   No! Thou canst honor that in sport which thou forgettest in earnest.
   ~ Friedrich Schiller,
566:Sie wollen pflanzen für die Ewigkeit,
Und säen Tod? Ein so erzwungnes Werk
Wird seines Schöpfers Geist nicht überdauern.
Dem Undank haben Sie gebaut - umsonst
Den harten Kampf mit der Natur gerungen,
Umsonst ein großes königliches Leben
Zerstörenden Entwürfen hingeopfert.
Der Mensch ist mehr, als Sie von ihm gehalten.
Gehn Sie Europens Königen voran.
Ein Federzug von dieser Hand, und neu
Erschaffen wird die Erde. Geben Sie

Sehen Sie sich um
In seiner herrlichen Natur! Auf Freiheit
Ist sie gegründet - und wie reich ist sie
Durch Freiheit! Er, der große Schöpfer, wirft
In einen Tropfen Thau den Wurm und läßt
Noch in den todten Räumen der Verwesung
Die Willkür sich ergötzen - Ihre Schöpfung,
Wie eng und arm! Das Rauschen eines Blattes
Erschreckt den Herrn der Christenheit - Sie müssen
Vor jeder Tugend zittern. Er - der Freiheit
Entzückende Erscheinung nicht zu stören -
Er läßt des Uebels grauenvolles Heer
In seinem Weltall lieber toben - ihn,
Den Künstler, wird man nicht gewahr, bescheiden
Verhüllt er sich in ewige Gesetze;
Die sieht der Freigeist, doch nicht ihn. Wozu
Ein Gott? sagt er: die Welt ist sich genug.
Und keines Christen Andacht hat ihn mehr,
Als dieses Freigeists Lästerung, gepriesen.
Weihen Sie
Dem Glück der Völker die Regentenkraft,
Die - ach, so lang - des Thrones Größe nur
Gewuchert hatte - stellen Sie der Menschheit
Verlornen Adel wieder her. Der Bürger
Sei wiederum, was er zuvor gewesen,
Der Krone Zweck - ihn binde keine Pflicht,
Als seiner Brüder gleich ehrwürd'ge Rechte.
Wenn nun der Mensch, sich selbst zurückgegeben,
Zu seines Werths Gefühl erwacht - der Freiheit
Erhabne, stolze Tugenden gedeihen -
Dann, Sire, wenn Sie zum glücklichsten der Welt
Ihr eignes Königreich gemacht - dann ist
Es Ihre Pflicht, die Welt zu unterwerfen.

(Marquis von Posa; 3. Akt, 10. Szene) ~ Friedrich Schiller,
567:See how, like lightest waves at play, the airy dancers fleet;
And scarcely feels the floor the wings of those harmonious feet.
Ob, are they flying shadows from their native forms set free?
Or phantoms in the fairy ring that summer moonbeams see?
As, by the gentle zephyr blown, some light mist flees in air,
As skiffs that skim adown the tide, when silver waves are fair,
So sports the docile footstep to the heave of that sweet measure,
As music wafts the form aloft at its melodious pleasure,
Now breaking through the woven chain of the entangled dance,
From where the ranks the thickest press, a bolder pair advance,
The path they leave behind them lostwide open the path beyond,
The way unfolds or closes up as by a magic wand.
See now, they vanish from the gaze in wild confusion blended;
All, in sweet chaos whirled again, that gentle world is ended!
No!disentangled glides the knot, the gay disorder ranges
The only system ruling here, a grace that ever changes.
For ay destroyedfor ay renewed, whirls on that fair creation;
And yet one peaceful law can still pervade in each mutation.
And what can to the reeling maze breathe harmony and vigor,
And give an order and repose to every gliding figure?
That each a ruler to himself doth but himself obey,
Yet through the hurrying course still keeps his own appointed way.
What, would'st thou know? It is in truth the mighty power of tune,
A power that every step obeys, as tides obey the moon;
That threadeth with a golden clue the intricate employment,
Curbs bounding strength to tranquil grace, and tames the wild enjoyment.
And comes the world's wide harmony in vain upon thine ears?
The stream of music borne aloft from yonder choral spheres?
And feel'st thou not the measure which eternal Nature keeps?
The whirling dance forever held in yonder azure deeps?
The suns that wheel in varying maze?That music thou discernest?
No! Thou canst honor that in sport which thou forgettest in earnest.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Dance
568:The foaming stream from out the rock
   With thunder roar begins to rush,
The oak falls prostrate at the shock,
   And mountain-wrecks attend the gush.
With rapturous awe, in wonder lost,
   The wanderer hearkens to the sound;
From cliff to cliff he hears it tossed,
   Yet knows not whither it is bound:
'Tis thus that song's bright waters pour
From sources never known before.

In union with those dreaded ones
   That spin life's thread all-silently,
Who can resist the singer's tones?
   Who from his magic set him free?
With wand like that the gods bestow,
   He guides the heaving bosom's chords,
He steeps it in the realms below,
   He bears it, wondering, heavenward,
And rocks it, 'twixt the grave and gay,
On feeling's scales that trembling sway.

As when before the startled eyes
   Of some glad throng, mysteriously,
With giant-step, in spirit-guise,
   Appears a wondrous deity,
Then bows each greatness of the earth
   Before the stranger heaven-born,
Mute are the thoughtless sounds of mirth,
   While from each face the mask is torn,
And from the truth's triumphant might
Each work of falsehood takes to flight.

So from each idle burden free,
   When summoned by the voice of song,
Man soars to spirit-dignity,
   Receiving force divinely strong:
Among the gods is now his home,
   Naught earthly ventures to approach
All other powers must now be dumb,
   No fate can on his realms encroach;
Care's gloomy wrinkles disappear,
Whilst music's charms still linger here,

As after long and hopeless yearning,
   And separation's bitter smart,
A child, with tears repentant burning,
   Clings fondly to his mother's heart
So to his youthful happy dwelling,
   To rapture pure and free from stain,
All strange and false conceits expelling,
   Song guides the wanderer back again,
In faithful Nature's loving arm,
From chilling precepts to grow warm.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Power Of Song
569:See in the babe two loveliest flowers unitedyet in truth,
While in the bud they seem the samethe virgin and the youth!
But loosened is the gentle bond, no longer side by side
From holy shame the fiery strength will soon itself divide.
Permit the youth to sport, and still the wild desire to chase,
For, but when sated, weary strength returns to seek the grace.
Yet in the bud, the double flowers the future strife begin,
How precious allyet naught can still the longing heart within.
In ripening charms the virgin bloom to woman shape hath grown,
But round the ripening charms the pride hath clasped its guardian zone;
Shy, as before the hunter's horn the doe all trembling moves,
She flies from man as from a foe, and hates before she loves!

From lowering brows this struggling world the fearless youth observes,
And hardened for the strife betimes, he strains the willing nerves;
Far to the armed throng and to the race prepared to start,
Inviting glory calls him forth, and grasps the troubled heart:
Protect thy work, O Nature now! one from the other flies,
Till thou unitest each at last that for the other sighs.
There art thou, mighty one! where'er the discord darkest frown,
Thou call'st the meek harmonious peace, the god-like soother down.
The noisy chase is lulled asleep, day's clamor dies afar,
And through the sweet and veiled air in beauty comes the star.
Soft-sighing through the crisped reeds, the brooklet glides along,
And every wood the nightingale melodious fills with song.
O virgin! now what instinct heaves thy bosom with the sigh?
O youth! and wherefore steals the tear into thy dreaming eye?
Alas! they seek in vain within the charm around bestowed,
The tender fruit is ripened now, and bows to earth its load.
And restless goes the youth to feed his heart upon its fire,
All, where the gentle breath to cool the flame of young desire!
And now they meetthe holy love that leads them lights their eyes,
And still behind the winged god the winged victory flies.
O heavenly love!'tis thy sweet task the human flowers to bind,
For ay apart, and yet by thee forever intertwined!
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Sexes
570:Before his lion-court,
Impatient for the sport,
King Francis sat one day;
The peers of his realm sat around,
And in balcony high from the ground
Sat the ladies in beauteous array.

And when with his finger he beckoned,
The gate opened wide in a second,
And in, with deliberate tread,
Enters a lion dread,
And looks around
Yet utters no sound;
Then long he yawns
And shakes his mane,
And, stretching each limb,
Down lies he again.

Again signs the king,
The next gate open flies,
And, lo! with a wild spring,
A tiger out hies.
When the lion he sees, loudly roars he about,
And a terrible circle his tail traces out.
Protruding his tongue, past the lion he walks,
And, snarling with rage, round him warily stalks:
Then, growling anew,
On one side lies down too.

Again signs the king,
And two gates open fly,
And, lo! with one spring,
Two leopards out hie.
On the tiger they rush, for the fight nothing loth,
But he with his paws seizes hold of them both.
And the lion, with roaring, gets up,then all's still;
The fierce beasts stalk around, madly thirsting to kill.

From the balcony raised high above
A fair hand lets fall down a glove
Into the lists, where 'tis seen
The lion and tiger between.

To the knight, Sir Delorges, in tone of jest,
Then speaks young Cunigund fair;
"Sir Knight, if the love that thou feel'st in thy breast
Is as warm as thou'rt wont at each moment to swear,
Pick up, I pray thee, the glove that lies there!"

And the knight, in a moment, with dauntless tread,
Jumps into the lists, nor seeks to linger,
And, from out the midst of those monsters dread,
Picks up the glove with a daring finger.

And the knights and ladies of high degree
With wonder and horror the action see,
While he quietly brings in his hand the glove,
The praise of his courage each mouth employs;
Meanwhile, with a tender look of love,
The promise to him of coming joys,
Fair Cunigund welcomes him back to his place.
But he threw the glove point-blank in her face:
"Lady, no thanks from thee I'll receive!"
And that selfsame hour he took his leave.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Glove - A Tale
571:She comes, she comesthe burden of the deeps!
Beneath her wails the universal sea!
With clanking chains and a new god, she sweeps,
And with a thousand thunders, unto thee!
The ocean-castles and the floating hosts
Ne'er on their like looked the wild water!Well
May man the monster name "Invincible."
O'er shuddering waves she gathers to thy coasts!
The horror that she spreads can claim
Just title to her haughty name.
The trembling Neptune quails
Under the silent and majestic forms;
The doom of worlds in those dark sails;
Near and more near they sweep! and slumber all the storms!

Before thee, the array,
Blest island, empress of the sea!
The sea-born squadrons threaten thee,
And thy great heart, Britannia!
Woe to thy people, of their freedom proud
She rests, a thunder heavy in its cloud!
Who, to thy hand the orb and sceptre gave,
That thou should'st be the sovereign of the nations?
To tyrant kings thou wert thyself the slave,
Till freedom dug from law its deep foundations;
The mighty Chart the citizens made kings,
And kings to citizens sublimely bowed!
And thou thyself, upon thy realm of water,
Hast thou not rendered millions up to slaughter,
When thy ships brought upon their sailing wings
The sceptreand the shroud?
What should'st thou thank?Blush, earth, to hear and feel
What should'st thou thank?Thy genius and thy steel!
Behold the hidden and the giant fires!
Behold thy glory trembling to its fall!
Thy coming doom the round earth shall appal,
And all the hearts of freemen beat for thee,
And all free souls their fate in thine foresee
Theirs is thy glory's fall!

One look below the Almighty gave,
Where streamed the lion-flags of thy proud foe;
And near and wider yawned the horrent grave.
"And who," saith He, "shall lay mine England low
The stem that blooms with hero-deeds
The rock when man from wrong a refuge needs
The stronghold where the tyrant comes in vain?
Who shall bid England vanish from the main?
Ne'er be this only Eden freedom knew,
Man's stout defence from power, to fate consigned."
God the Almighty blew,
And the Armada went to every wind!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Invincible Armada
572:. Yes, my friends!that happier times have been
  Than the present, none can contravene;
   That a race once lived of nobler worth;
  And if ancient chronicles were dumb,
  Countless stones in witness forth would come
   From the deepest entrails of the earth.
  But this highly-favored race has gone,
   Gone forever to the realms of night.
  We, we live! The moments are our own,
   And the living judge the right.

  Brighter zones, my friends, no doubt excel
  This, the land wherein we're doomed to dwell,
   As the hardy travellers proclaim;
  But if Nature has denied us much,
  Art is yet responsive to our touch,
   And our hearts can kindle at her flame.
  If the laurel will not flourish here
   If the myrtle is cold winter's prey,
  Yet the vine, to crown us, year by year,
   Still puts forth its foliage gay.

  Of a busier life 'tis well to speak,
  Where four worlds their wealth to barter seek,
   On the world's great market, Thames' broad stream;
  Ships in thousands go there and depart
  There are seen the costliest works of art,
   And the earth-god, Mammon, reigns supreme
  But the sun his image only graves
   On the silent streamlet's level plain,
  Not upon the torrent's muddy waves,
   Swollen by the heavy rain.

  Far more blessed than we, in northern states
  Dwells the beggar at the angel-gates,
   For he sees the peerless cityRome!
  Beauty's glorious charms around him lie,
  And, a second heaven, up toward the sky
   Mounts St. Peter's proud and wondrous dome.
  But, with all the charms that splendor grants,
   Rome is but the tomb of ages past;
  Life but smiles upon the blooming plants
   That the seasons round her cast.

  Greater actions elsewhere may be rife
  Than with us, in our contracted life
   But beneath the sun there's naught that's new;
  Yet we see the great of every age
  Pass before us on the world's wide stage
   Thoughtfully and calmly in review
  All. in life repeats itself forever,
   Young for ay is phantasy alone;
  What has happened nowhere,happened never,
   That has never older grown!
~ Friedrich Schiller, To My Friends
573:Honor to woman! To her it is given
To garden the earth with the roses of heaven!
All blessed, she linketh the loves in their choir
In the veil of the graces her beauty concealing,
She tends on each altar that's hallowed to feeling,
And keeps ever-living the fire!

From the bounds of truth careering,
Man's strong spirit wildly sweeps,
With each hasty impulse veering
Down to passion's troubled deeps.
And his heart, contented never,
Greeds to grapple with the far,
Chasing his own dream forever,
On through many a distant star!
But woman with looks that can charm and enchain,
Lureth back at her beck the wild truant again,
By the spell of her presence beguiled
In the home of the mother her modest abode,
And modest the manners by Nature bestowed
On Nature's most exquisite child!

Bruised and worn, but fiercely breasting,
Foe to foe, the angry strife;
Man, the wild one, never resting,
Roams along the troubled life;
What he planneth, still pursuing;
Vainly as the Hydra bleeds,
Crest the severed crest renewing
Wish to withered wish succeeds.

But woman at peace with all being, reposes,
And seeks from the moment to gather the roses
Whose sweets to her culture belong.
Ah! richer than he, though his soul reigneth o'er
The mighty dominion of genius and lore,
And the infinite circle of song.

Strong, and proud, and self-depending,
Man's cold bosom beats alone;
Heart with heart divinely blending,
In the love that gods have known,
Soul's sweet interchange of feeling,
Melting tearshe never knows,
Each hard sense the hard one steeling,
Arms against a world of foes.

Alive, as the wind-harp, how lightly soever
If wooed by the zephyr, to music will quiver,
Is woman to hope and to fear;
All, tender one! still at the shadow of grieving,
How quiver the chordshow thy bosom is heaving
How trembles thy glance through the tear!

Man's dominion, war and labor;
Might to right the statue gave;
Laws are in the Scythian's sabre;
Where the Mede reignedsee the slave!
Peace and meekness grimly routing,
Prowls the war-lust, rude and wild;
Eris rages, hoarsely shouting,
Where the vanished graces smiled.

But woman, the soft one, persuasively prayeth
Of the life that she charmeth, the sceptre she swayeth;
She lulls, as she looks from above,
The discord whose bell for its victims is gaping,
And blending awhile the forever escaping,
Whispers hate to the image of love!

~ Friedrich Schiller, Honor To Woman
574:Who and what gave to me the wish to woo thee
Still, lip to lip, to cling for aye unto thee?
Who made thy glances to my soul the link
Who bade me burn thy very breath to drink
My life in thine to sink?
As from the conqueror's unresisted glaive,
Flies, without strife subdued, the ready slave
So, when to life's unguarded fort, I see
Thy gaze draw near and near triumphantly
Yields not my soul to thee?
Why from its lord doth thus my soul depart?
Is it because its native home thou art?
Or were they brothers in the days of yore,
Twin-bound both souls, and in the link they bore
Sigh to be bound once more?
Were once our beings blent and intertwining,
And therefore still my heart for thine is pining?
Knew we the light of some extinguished sun
The joys remote of some bright realm undone,
Where once our souls were ONE?
Yes, it is so!And thou wert bound to me
In the long-vanish'd Eld eternally!
In the dark troubled tablets which enroll
The Pastmy Muse beheld this blessed scroll
"One with thy love my soul!"
Oh yes, I learned in awe, when gazing there,
How once one bright inseparate life we were,
How once, one glorious essence as a God,
Unmeasured space our chainless footsteps trod
All Nature our abode!
Round us, in waters of delight, forever
Voluptuous flowed the heavenly Nectar river;
We were the master of the seal of things,
And where the sunshine bathed Truth's mountain-springs
Quivered our glancing wings.
Weep for the godlike life we lost afar
Weep!thou and I its scattered fragments are;
And still the unconquered yearning we retain
Sigh to restore the rapture and the reign,
And grow divine again.
And therefore came to me the wish to woo thee
Still, lip to lip, to cling for aye unto thee;
This made thy glances to my soul the link
This made me burn thy very breath to drink
My life in thine to sink;
And therefore, as before the conqueror's glaive,
Flies, without strife subdued, the ready slave,
So, when to life's unguarded fort, I see
Thy gaze draw near and near triumphantly
Yieldeth my soul to thee!
Therefore my soul doth from its lord depart,
Because, beloved, its native home thou art;
Because the twins recall the links they bore,
And soul with soul, in the sweet kiss of yore,
Meets and unites once more!
Thou, tooAh, there thy gaze upon me dwells,
And thy young blush the tender answer tells;
Yes! with the dear relation still we thrill,
Both livesthough exiles from the homeward hill
One lifeall glowing still!
~ Friedrich Schiller, To Laura (Mystery Of Reminiscence)
575:Hear I the creaking gate unclose?
The gleaming latch uplifted?
No'twas the wind that, whirring, rose,
Amidst the poplars drifted!
Adorn thyself, thou green leaf-bowering roof,
Destined the bright one's presence to receive,
For her, a shadowy palace-hall aloof
With holy night, thy boughs familiar weave.
And ye sweet flatteries of the delicate air,
Awake and sport her rosy cheek around,
When their light weight the tender feet shall bear,
When beauty comes to passion's trysting-ground.

Hush! what amidst the copses crept
So swiftly by me now?
No-'twas the startled bird that swept
The light leaves of the bough!
Day, quench thy torch! come, ghostlike, from on high,
With thy loved silence, come, thou haunting Eve,
Broaden below thy web of purple dye,
Which lulled boughs mysterious round us weave.
For love's delight, enduring listeners none,
The froward witness of the light will flee;
Hesper alone, the rosy silent one,
Down-glancing may our sweet familiar be!

What murmur in the distance spoke,
And like a whisper died?
No'twas the swan that gently broke
In rings the silver tide!
Soft to my ear there comes a music-flow;
In gleesome murmur glides the waterfall;
To zephyr's kiss the flowers are bending low;
Through life goes joy, exchanging joy with all.
Tempt to the touch the grapesthe blushing fruit, [15]
Voluptuous swelling from the leaves that bide;
And, drinking fever from my cheek, the mute
Air sleeps all liquid in the odor-tide!

Hark! through the alley hear I now
A footfall? Comes the maiden?
No,'twas the fruit slid from the bough,
With its own richness laden!

Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death,
And pale and paler wane his jocund hues,
The flowers too gentle for his glowing breath,
Ope their frank beauty to the twilight dews.
The bright face of the moon is still and lone,
Melts in vast masses the world silently;
Slides from each charm the slowly-loosening zone;
And round all beauty, veilless, roves the eye.

What yonder seems to glimmer?
Her white robe's glancing hues?
No,'twas the column's shimmer
Athwart the darksome yews!

O, longing heart, no more delight-upbuoyed
Let the sweet airy image thee befool!
The arms that would embrace her clasp the void
This feverish breast no phantom-bliss can cool,
O, waft her here, the true, the living one!
Let but my hand her hand, the tender, feel
The very shadow of her robe alone!
So into life the idle dream shall steal!

As glide from heaven, when least we ween,
The rosy hours of bliss,
All gently came the maid, unseen:
He waked beneath her kiss!
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Assignation
576:Friend!the Great Ruler, easily content,
Needs not the laws it has laborious been
The task of small professors to invent;
A single wheel impels the whole machine
Matter and spirit;yea, that simple law,
Pervading nature, which our Newton saw.

This taught the spheres, slaves to one golden rein,
Their radiant labyrinths to weave around
Creation's mighty hearts: this made the chain,
Which into interwoven systems bound
All spirits streaming to the spiritual sun
As brooks that ever into ocean run!

Did not the same strong mainspring urge and guide
Our hearts to meet in love's eternal bond?
Linked to thine arm, O Raphael, by thy side
Might I aspire to reach to souls beyond
Our earth, and bid the bright ambition go
To that perfection which the angels know!

Happy, O happyI have found theeI
Have out of millions found thee, and embraced;
Thou, out of millions, mine!Let earth and sky
Return to darkness, and the antique waste
To chaos shocked, let warring atoms be,
Still shall each heart unto the other flee!

Do I not find within thy radiant eyes
Fairer reflections of all joys most fair?
In thee I marvel at myselfthe dyes
Of lovely earth seem lovelier painted there,
And in the bright looks of the friend is given
A heavenlier mirror even of the heaven!

Sadness casts off its load, and gayly goes
From the intolerant storm to rest awhile,
In love's true heart, sure haven of repose;
Does not pain's veriest transports learn to smile
From that bright eloquence affection gave
To friendly looks?there, finds not pain a grave?

In all creation did I stand alone,
Still to the rocks my dreams a soul should find,
Mine arms should wreathe themselves around the stone,
My griefs should feel a listener in the wind;
My joyits echo in the caves should be!
Fool, if ye willFool, for sweet sympathy!

We are dead groups of matter when we hate;
But when we love we are as gods!Unto
The gentle fetters yearning, through each state
And shade of being multiform, and through
All countless spirits (save of all the sire)
Moves, breathes, and blends, the one divine desire.

Lo! arm in arm, through every upward grade,
From the rude mongrel to the starry Greek,
Who the fine link between the mortal made,
And heaven's last serapheverywhere we seek
Union and bondtill in one sea sublime
Of love be merged all measure and all time!

Friendless ruled God His solitary sky;
He felt the want, and therefore souls were made,
The blessed mirrors of his bliss!His eye
No equal in His loftiest works surveyed;
And from the source whence souls are quickened, He
Called His companion forthETERNITY!

[From \
~ Friedrich Schiller, Friendship
577:Name, my Laura, name the whirl-compelling
Bodies to unite in one blest whole
Name, my Laura, name the wondrous magic
By which soul rejoins its kindred soul!

See! it teaches yonder roving planets
Round the sun to fly in endless race;
And as children play around their mother,
Checkered circles round the orb to trace.

Every rolling star, by thirst tormented,
Drinks with joy its bright and golden rain
Drinks refreshment from its fiery chalice,
As the limbs are nourished by the brain.

'Tis through Love that atom pairs with atom,
In a harmony eternal, sure;
And 'tis Love that links the spheres together
Through her only, systems can endure.

Were she but effaced from Nature's clockwork,
Into dust would fly the mighty world;
O'er thy systems thou wouldst weep, great Newton,
When with giant force to chaos hurled!

Blot the goddess from the spirit order,
It would sink in death, and ne'er arise.
Were love absent, spring would glad us never;
Were love absent, none their God would prize!

What is that, which, when my Laura kisses,
Dyes my cheek with flames of purple hue,
Bids my bosom bound with swifter motion,
Like a fever wild my veins runs through?

Every nerve from out its barriers rises,
O'er its banks, the blood begins to flow;
Body seeks to join itself to body,
Spirits kindle in one blissful glow.

Powerful as in the dead creations
That eternal impulses obey,
O'er the web Arachne-like of Nature,
Living Nature,Love exerts her sway.

Laura, see how joyousness embraces
E'en the overflow of sorrows wild!
How e'en rigid desperation kindles
On the loving breast of Hope so mild.

Sisterly and blissful rapture softens
Gloomy Melancholy's fearful night,
And, deliver'd of its golden children,
Lo, the eye pours forth its radiance bright!

Does not awful Sympathy rule over
E'en the realms that Evil calls its own?
For 'tis Hell our crimes are ever wooing,
While they bear a grudge 'gainst Heaven alone!

Shame, Repentance, pair Eumenides-like,
Weave round sin their fearful serpent-coils:
While around the eagle-wings of Greatness
Treach'rous danger winds its dreaded toils.

Ruin oft with Pride is wont to trifle,
Envy upon Fortune loves to cling;
On her brother, Death, with arms extended,
Lust, his sister, oft is wont to spring.

On the wings of Love the future hastens
In the arms of ages past to lie;
And Saturnus, as he onward speeds him,
Long hath sought his brideEternity!

Soon Saturnus will his bride discover,
So the mighty oracle hath said;
Blazing worlds will turn to marriage torches
When Eternity with Time shall wed!

Then a fairer, far more beauteous morning,
Laura, on our love shall also shine,
Long as their blest bridal-night enduring:
So rejoice thee, LauraLaura mine!

~ Friedrich Schiller, Fantasie -- To Laura
578:I, too, at length discerned great Hercules' energy mighty,
Saw his shade. He himself was not, alas, to be seen.
Round him were heard, like the screaming of birds,
    the screams of tragedians,
And, with the baying of dogs, barked dramaturgists around.
There stood the giant in all his terrors; his bow was extended,
And the bolt, fixed on the string, steadily aimed at the heart.
"What still hardier action, unhappy one, dost thou now venture,
Thus to descend to the grave of the departed souls here?"
"'Tis to see Tiresias I come, to ask of the prophet
Where I the buskin of old, that now has vanished, may find?"
"If they believe not in Nature, nor the old Grecian, but vainly
Wilt thou convey up from hence that dramaturgy to them."
"Oh, as for Nature, once more to tread our stage she has ventured,
Ay, and stark-naked beside, so that each rib we count."
"What? Is the buskin of old to be seen in truth on your stage, then,
Which even I came to fetch, out of mid-Tartarus' gloom?"
"There is now no more of that tragic bustle, for scarcely
Once in a year on the boards moves thy great soul, harness-clad."
"Doubtless 'tis well! Philosophy now has refined your sensations,
And from the humor so bright fly the affections so black."
"Ay, there is nothing that beats a jest that is stolid and barren,
But then e'en sorrow can please, if 'tis sufficiently moist."
"But do ye also exhibit the graceful dance of Thalia,
Joined to the solemn step with which Melpomene moves?"
"Neither! For naught we love but what is Christian and moral;
And what is popular, too, homely, domestic, and plain."
"What? Does no Caesar, does no Achilles, appear on your stage now,
Not an Andromache e'en, not an Orestes, my friend?"
"No! there is naught to be seen there but parsons,
    and syndics of commerce,
Secretaries perchance, ensigns, and majors of horse."
"But, my good friend, pray tell me, what can such people e'er meet with
That can be truly called great?what that is great can they do?"
"What? Why they form cabals, they lend upon mortgage, they pocket
Silver spoons, and fear not e'en in the stocks to be placed."
"Whence do ye, then, derive the destiny, great and gigantic,
Which raises man up on high, e'en when it grinds him to dust?"
"All mere nonsense! Ourselves, our worthy acquaintances also,
And our sorrows and wants, seek we, and find we, too, here."
"But all this ye possess at home both apter and better,
Wherefore, then, fly from yourselves, if 'tis yourselves that ye seek?"
"Be not offended, great hero, for that is a different question;
Ever is destiny blind,ever is righteous the bard."
"Then one meets on your stage your own contemptible nature,
While 'tis in vain one seeks there nature enduring and great?"
"There the poet is host, and act the fifth is the reckoning;
And, when crime becomes sick, virtue sits down to the feast!"

~ Friedrich Schiller, Shakespeare's Ghost - A Parody
579:. "I Can love thee well, believe me,
    As a sister true;
  Other love, Sir Knight, would grieve me,
    Sore my heart would rue.
  Calmly would I see thee going,
    Calmly, too, appear;
  For those tears in silence flowing
    Find no answer here."

  Thus she speaks,he hears her sadly,
    How his heartstrings bleed!
  In his arms he clasps her madly,
    Then he mounts his steed.
  From the Switzer land collects he
    All his warriors brave;
  Cross on breast, their course directs he
    To the Holy Grave.

  In triumphant march advancing,
    Onward moves the host,
  While their morion plumes are dancing
    Where the foes are most.
  Mortal terror strikes the Paynim
    At the chieftain's name;
  But the knight's sad thoughts enchain him
    Grief consumes his frame.

  Twelve long months, with courage daring,
    Peace he strives to find;
  Then, at last, of rest despairing,
    Leaves the host behind;
  Sees a ship, whose sails are swelling,
    Lie on Joppa's strand;
  Ships him homeward for her dwelling,
    In his own loved land.

  Now behold the pilgrim weary
    At her castle gate!
  But alas! these accents dreary
    Seal his mournful fate:
  "She thou seek'st her troth hath plighted
    To all-gracious heaven;
  To her God she was united
    Yesterday at even!"

  To his father's home forever
    Bids he now adieu;
  Sees no more his arms and beaver,
    Nor his steed so true.
  Then descends he, sadly, slowly,
    None suspect the sight,
  For a garb of penance lowly
    Wears the noble knight.

  Soon he now, the tempest braving,
    Builds an humble shed,
  Where o'er the lime-trees darkly waving,
    Peeps the convent's head.
  From the orb of day's first gleaming,
    Till his race has run,
  Hope in every feature beaming,
    There he sits alone.

  Toward the convent straining ever
    His unwearied eyes,
  From her casement looking never
    Till it open flies,
  Till the loved one, soft advancing,
    Shows her gentle face,
  O'er the vale her sweet eye glancing,
    Full of angel-grace.

  Then he seeks his bed of rushes,
    Stilled all grief and pain,
  Slumbering calm, till morning's blushes
    Waken life again.
  Days and years fleet on, yet never
    Breathes he plaint or sighs,
  On her casement gazing ever
    Till it open flies.

  Till the loved one, soft advancing,
    Shows her gentle face,
  O'er the vale her sweet eyes glancing,
    Full of angel-grace.
  But at length, the morn returning
    Finds him dead and chill;
  Pale and wan, his gaze, with yearning,
    Seeks her casement still.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Knight Of Toggenburg
580:Heavy and solemn,
A cloudy column,
Through the green plain they marching came!
Measure less spread, like a table dread,
For the wild grim dice of the iron game.
The looks are bent on the shaking ground,
And the heart beats loud with a knelling sound;
Swift by the breasts that must bear the brunt,
Gallops the major along the front
And fettered they stand at the stark command,
And the warriors, silent, halt!

Proud in the blush of morning glowing,
What on the hill-top shines in flowing,
"See you the foeman's banners waving?"
"We see the foeman's banners waving!"
"God be with yechildren and wife!"
Hark to the musicthe trump and the fife,
How they ring through the ranks which they rouse to the strife!
Thrilling they sound with their glorious tone,
Thrilling they go through the marrow and bone!
Brothers, God grant when this life is o'er,
In the life to come that we meet once more!

See the smoke how the lightning is cleaving asunder!
Hark the guns, peal on peal, how they boom in their thunder!
From host to host, with kindling sound,
The shouting signal circles round,
Ay, shout it forth to life or death
Freer already breathes the breath!
The war is waging, slaughter raging,
And heavy through the reeking pall,
The iron death-dice fall!
Nearer they closefoes upon foes
"Ready!"From square to square it goes,
Down on the knee they sank,
And fire comes sharp from the foremost rank.
Many a man to the earth it sent,
Many a gap by the balls is rent
O'er the corpse before springs the hinder man,
That the line may not fail to the fearless van,
To the right, to the left, and around and around,
Death whirls in its dance on the bloody ground.
God's sunlight is quenched in the fiery fight,
Over the hosts falls a brooding night!
Brothers, God grant when this life is o'er
In the life to come that we meet once more!

The dead men lie bathed in the weltering blood
And the living are blent in the slippery flood,
And the feet, as they reeling and sliding go,
Stumble still on the corpses that sleep below.
"What, Francis!" "Give Charlotte my last farewell."
As the dying man murmurs, the thunders swell
"I'll giveOh God! are their guns so near?
Ho! comrades!yon volley!look sharp to the rear!
I'll give thy Charlotte thy last farewell,
Sleep soft! where death thickest descendeth in rain,
The friend thou forsakest thy side shall regain!"
Hitherwardthitherward reels the fight,
Dark and more darkly day glooms into night
Brothers, God grant when this life is o'er
In the life to come that we meet once more!

Hark to the hoofs that galloping go!
The adjutant flying,
The horsemen press hard on the panting foe,
Their thunder booms in dying
The terror has seized on the dastards all,
And their colors fall!
Closed is the brunt of the glorious fight
And the day, like a conqueror, bursts on the night,
Trumpet and fife swelling choral along,
The triumph already sweeps marching in song.
Farewell, fallen brothers, though this life be o'er,
There's another, in which we shall meet you once more!
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Battle
581:What wonder this?we ask the lympid well,
O earth! of theeand from thy solemn womb
What yieldest thou?is there life in the abyss
Doth a new race beneath the lava dwell?
Returns the past, awakening from the tomb?
RomeGreece!Oh, come!Beholdbehold! for this!
Our living worldthe old Pompeii sees;
And built anew the town of Dorian Hercules!
House upon houseits silent halls once more
Opes the broad portico!Oh, haste and fill
Again those halls with life!Oh, pour along
Through the seven-vista'd theatre the throng!
Where are ye, mimes?Come forth, the steel prepare
For crowned Atrides, or Orestes haunt,
Ye choral Furies, with your dismal chant!
The arch of triumph!whither leads it?still
Behold the forum!on the curule chair
Where the majestic image? Lictors, where
Your solemn fasces?Place upon his throne
The Praetorhere the witness lead, and there
Bid the accuser stand

O God! how lone
The clear streets glitter in the quiet day
The footpath by the doors winding its lifeless way!
The roofs arise in shelter, and around
The desolate Atriumevery gentle room
Wears still the dear familiar smile of home!
Open the doorsthe shopson dreary night
Let lusty day laugh down in jocund light!

See the trim benches ranged in order!See
The marble-tesselated floorand there
The very walls are glittering livingly
With their clear colors. But the artist, where!
Sure but this instant he hath laid aside
Pencil and colors!Glittering on the eye
Swell the rich fruits, and bloom the flowers!See all
Art's gentle wreaths still fresh upon the wall!
Here the arch Cupid slyly seems to glide
By with bloom-laden basket. There the shapes
Of genii press with purpling feet the grapes,
Here springs the wild Bacchante to the dance,
And there she sleeps [while that voluptuous trance
Eyes the sly faun with never-sated glance]
Now on one knee upon the centaur-steeds
Hoveringthe Thyrsus plies.Hurrah!away she speeds!

Comecome, why loiter ye?Here, here, how fair
The goodly vessels still! Girls, hither turn,
Fill from the fountain the Etruscan urn!
On the winged sphinxes see the tripod. Ho!
Quickquick, ye slaves, comefire!the hearth prepare!
Ha! wilt thou sell?this coin shall pay theethis,
Fresh from the mint of mighty Titus!Lo!
Here lie the scales, and not a weight we miss
Sobring the light! The delicate lamp!what toil
Shaped thy minutest grace!quick pour the oil!
Yonder the fairy chest!come, maid, behold
The bridegroom's giftsthe armletsthey are gold,
And paste out-feigning jewels!lead the bride
Into the odorous bathlo! unguents still
And still the crystal vase the arts for beauty fill!

But where the men of oldperchance a prize
More precious yet in yon papyrus lies,
And see ev'n still the tokens of their toil
The waxen tabletsthe recording style.
The earth, with faithful watch, has hoarded all!
Still stand the mute penates in the hall;
Back to his haunts returns each ancient god.
Why absent only from their ancient stand
The priests?waves Hermes his Caducean rod,
And the winged victory struggles from the hand.
Kindle the flamebehold the altar there!
Long hath the god been worshiplessto prayer.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Pompeii And Herculaneum
582:. Now hearken, ye who take delight
   In boasting of your worth!
  To many a man, to many a knight,
  Beloved in peace and brave in fight,
   The Swabian land gives birth.

  Of Charles and Edward, Louis, Guy,
   And Frederick, ye may boast;
  Charles, Edward, Louis, Frederick, Guy
  None with Sir Eberhard can vie
   Himself a mighty host!

  And then young Ulerick, his son,
   Ha! how he loved the fray!
  Young Ulerick, the Count's bold son,
  When once the battle had begun,
   No foot's-breadth e'er gave way.

  The Reutlingers, with gnashing teeth,
   Saw our bright ranks revealed
  And, panting for the victor's wreath,
  They drew the sword from out the sheath,
   And sought the battle-field.

  He charged the foe,but fruitlessly,
   Then, mail-clad, homeward sped;
  Stern anger filled his father's eye,
  And made the youthful warrior fly,
   And tears of anguish shed.

  Now, rascals, quake!This grieved him sore,
   And rankled in his brain;
  And by his father's beard he swore,
  With many a craven townsman's gore
   To wash out this foul stain.

  Ere long the feud raged fierce and loud,
   Then hastened steed and man
  To Doeffingen in thronging crowd,
  While joy inspired the youngster proud,
   And soon the strife began.

  Our army's signal-word that day
   Was the disastrous fight;
  It spurred us on like lightning's ray,
  And plunged us deep in bloody fray,
   And in the spears' black night.

  The youthful Count his ponderous mace
   With lion's rage swung round;
  Destruction stalked before his face,
  While groans and howlings filled the place
   And hundreds bit the ground.

  Woe! Woe! A heavy sabre-stroke
   Upon his neck descended;
  The sight each warrior's pity woke
  In vain! In vain! No word he spoke
   His course on earth was ended.

  Loud wept both friend and foeman then,
   Checked was the victor's glow;
  The count cheered thus his knights again
  "My son is like all other men,
   March, children, 'gainst the foe!"

  With greater fury whizzed each lance,
   Revenge inflamed the blood;
  O'er corpses moved the fearful dance
  The townsmen fled in random chance
   O'er mountain, vale, and flood.

  Then back to camp, with trumpet's bray,
   We hied in joyful haste;
  And wife and child, with roundelay,
  With clanging cup and waltzes gay,
   Our glorious triumph graced.

  And our old Count,what now does he?
   His son lies dead before him;
  Within his tent all woefully
  He sits alone in agony,
   And drops one hot tear o'er him.

  And so, with true affection warm,
   The Count our lord we love;
  Himself a mighty hero-swarm
  The thunders rest within his arm
   He shines like star above!

  Farewell, then, ye who take delight
   In boasting of your worth!
  To many a man, to many a knight,
  Beloved in peace, and brave in fight,
   The Swabian land gives birth!
~ Friedrich Schiller, Count Eberhard, The Groaner Of Wurtembert. A War Song
583:"Do I believe," sayest thou, "what the masters of wisdom would teach me,
And what their followers' band boldly and readily swear?
Cannot I ever attain to true peace, excepting through knowledge,
Or is the system upheld only by fortune and law?
Must I distrust the gently-warning impulse, the precept
That thou, Nature, thyself hast in my bosom impressed,
Till the schools have affixed to the writ eternal their signet,
Till a mere formula's chain binds down the fugitive soul?
Answer me, then! for thou hast down into these deeps e'en descended,
Out of the mouldering grave thou didst uninjured return.
Is't to thee known what within the tomb of obscure works is hidden,
Whether, yon mummies amid, life's consolations can dwell?
Must I travel the darksome road? The thought makes me tremble;
Yet I will travel that road, if 'tis to truth and to right."

Friend, hast thou heard of the golden age? Full many a story
Poets have sung in its praise, simply and touchingly sung
Of the time when the holy still wandered over life's pathways,
When with a maidenly shame every sensation was veiled,
When the mighty law that governs the sun in his orbit,
And that, concealed in the bud, teaches the point how to move,
When necessity's silent law, the steadfast, the changeless,
Stirred up billows more free, e'en in the bosom of man,
When the sense, unerring, and true as the hand of the dial,
Pointed only to truth, only to what was eternal?

Then no profane one was seen, then no initiate was met with,
And what as living was felt was not then sought 'mongst the dead;
Equally clear to every breast was the precept eternal,
Equally hidden the source whence it to gladden us sprang;
But that happy period has vanished! And self-willed presumption
Nature's godlike repose now has forever destroyed.
Feelings polluted the voice of the deities echo no longer,
In the dishonored breast now is the oracle dumb.
Save in the silenter self, the listening soul cannot find it,
There does the mystical word watch o'er the meaning divine;
There does the searcher conjure it, descending with bosom unsullied;
There does the nature long-lost give him back wisdom again.
If thou, happy one, never hast lost the angel that guards thee,
Forfeited never the kind warnings that instinct holds forth;
If in thy modest eye the truth is still purely depicted;
If in thine innocent breast clearly still echoes its call;
If in thy tranquil mind the struggles of doubt still are silent,
If they will surely remain silent forever as now;
If by the conflict of feelings a judge will ne'er be required;
If in its malice thy heart dims not the reason so clear,
Oh, then, go thy way in all thy innocence precious!
Knowledge can teach thee in naught; thou canst instruct her in much!
Yonder law, that with brazen staff is directing the struggling,
Naught is to thee. What thou dost, what thou mayest will is thy law,
And to every race a godlike authority issues.
What thou with holy hand formest, what thou with holy mouth speakest,
Will with omnipotent power impel the wondering senses;
Thou but observest not the god ruling within thine own breast,
Not the might of the signet that bows all spirits before thee;
Simple and silent thou goest through the wide world thou hast won.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Genius
584:The goblet is sparkling with purpled-tinged wine,
Bright glistens the eye of each guest,
When into the hall comes the Minstrel divine,
To the good he now brings what is best;
For when from Elysium is absent the lyre,
No joy can the banquet of nectar inspire.

He is blessed by the gods, with an intellect clear,
That mirrors the world as it glides;
He has seen all that ever has taken place here,
And all that the future still hides.
He sat in the god's secret councils of old
And heard the command for each thing to unfold.

He opens in splendor, with gladness and mirth,
That life which was hid from our eyes;
Adorns as a temple the dwelling of earth,
That the Muse has bestowed as his prize,
No roof is so humble, no hut is so low,
But he with divinities bids it o'erflow.

And as the inventive descendant of Zeus,
On the unadorned round of the shield,
With knowledge divine could, reflected, produce
Earth, sea, and the star's shining field,
So he, on the moments, as onward they roll,
The image can stamp of the infinite whole.

From the earliest age of the world he has come,
When nations rejoiced in their prime;
A wanderer glad, he has still found a home
With every race through all time.
Four ages of man in his lifetime have died,
And the place they once held by the fifth is supplied.

Saturnus first governed, with fatherly smile,
Each day then resembled the last;
Then flourished the shepherds, a race without guile
Their bliss by no care was o'ercast,
They loved,and no other employment they had,
And earth gave her treasures with willingness glad.

Then labor came next, and the conflict began
With monsters and beasts famed in song;
And heroes upstarted, as rulers of man,
And the weak sought the aid of the strong.
And strife o'er the field of Scamander now reigned,
But beauty the god of the world still remained.

At length from the conflict bright victory sprang,
And gentleness blossomed from might;
In heavenly chorus the Muses then sang,
And figures divine saw the light;
The age that acknowledged sweet phantasy's sway
Can never return, it has fleeted away.

The gods from their seats in the heavens were hurled,
And their pillars of glory o'erthrown;
And the Son of the Virgin appeared in the world
For the sins of mankind to atone.
The fugitive lusts of the sense were suppressed,
And man now first grappled with thought in his breast.

Each vain and voluptuous charm vanished now,
Wherein the young world took delight;
The monk and the nun made of penance a vow,
And the tourney was sought by the knight.
Though the aspect of life was now dreary and wild,
Yet love remained ever both lovely and mild.

An altar of holiness, free from all stain,
The Muses in silence upreared;
And all that was noble and worthy, again
In woman's chaste bosom appeared;
The bright flame of song was soon kindled anew
By the minstrel's soft lays, and his love pure and true.

And so, in a gentle and ne'er-changing band,
Let woman and minstrel unite;
They weave and they fashion, with hand joined to hand,
The girdle of beauty and right.
When love blends with music, in unison sweet,
The lustre of life's youthful days ne'er can fleet.

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Four Ages Of The World
585:And wilt thou, faithless one, then, leave me,
With all thy magic phantasy,
With all the thoughts that joy or grieve me,
Wilt thou with all forever fly?
Can naught delay thine onward motion,
Thou golden time of life's young dream?
In vain! eternity's wide ocean
Ceaselessly drowns thy rolling stream.

The glorious suns my youth enchanting
Have set in never-ending night;
Those blest ideals now are wanting
That swelled my heart with mad delight.
The offspring of my dream hath perished,
My faith in being passed away;
The godlike hopes that once I cherish
Are now reality's sad prey.

As once Pygmalion, fondly yearning,
Embraced the statue formed by him,
Till the cold marble's cheeks were burning,
And life diffused through every limb,
So I, with youthful passion fired,
My longing arms round Nature threw,
Till, clinging to my breast inspired,
She 'gan to breathe, to kindle too.

And all my fiery ardor proving,
Though mute, her tale she soon could tell,
Returned each kiss I gave her loving,
The throbbings of my heart read well.
Then living seemed each tree, each flower,
Then sweetly sang the waterfall,
And e'en the soulless in that hour
Shared in the heavenly bliss of all.

For then a circling world was bursting
My bosom's narrow prison-cell,
To enter into being thirsting,
In deed, word, shape, and sound as well.
This world, how wondrous great I deemed it,
Ere yet its blossoms could unfold!
When open, oh, how little seemed it!
That little, oh, how mean and cold!

How happy, winged by courage daring,
The youth life's mazy path first pressed
No care his manly strength impairing,
And in his dream's sweet vision blest!
The dimmest star in air's dominion
Seemed not too distant for his flight;
His young and ever-eager pinion
Soared far beyond all mortal sight.

Thus joyously toward heaven ascending,
Was aught for his bright hopes too far?
The airy guides his steps attending,
How danced they round life's radiant car!
Soft love was there, her guerdon bearing,
And fortune, with her crown of gold,
And fame, her starry chaplet wearing,
And truth, in majesty untold.

But while the goal was yet before them,
The faithless guides began to stray;
Impatience of their task came o'er them,
Then one by one they dropped away.
Light-footed Fortune first retreating,
Then Wisdom's thirst remained unstilled,
While heavy storms of doubt were beating
Upon the path truth's radiance filled.

I saw Fame's sacred wreath adorning
The brows of an unworthy crew;
And, ah! how soon Love's happy morning,
When spring had vanished, vanished too!
More silent yet, and yet more weary,
Became the desert path I trod;
And even hope a glimmer dreary
Scarce cast upon the gloomy road.

Of all that train, so bright with gladness,
Oh, who is faithful to the end?
Who now will seek to cheer my sadness,
And to the grave my steps attend?
Thou, Friendship, of all guides the fairest,
Who gently healest every wound;
Who all life's heavy burdens sharest,
Thou, whom I early sought and found!

Employment too, thy loving neighbor,
Who quells the bosom's rising storms;
Who ne'er grows weary of her labor,
And ne'er destroys, though slow she forms;
Who, though but grains of sand she places
To swell eternity sublime,
Yet minutes, days, ay! years effaces
From the dread reckoning kept by Time!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Ideals
586:Upon his battlements he stood,
And downward gazed in joyous mood,
On Samos' Isle, that owned his sway,
"All this is subject to my yoke;"
To Egypt's monarch thus he spoke,
"That I am truly blest, then, say!"

"The immortals' favor thou hast known!
Thy sceptre's might has overthrown
All those who once were like to thee.
Yet to avenge them one lives still;
I cannot call thee blest, until
That dreaded foe has ceased to be."

While to these words the king gave vent,
A herald from Miletus sent,
Appeared before the tyrant there:
"Lord, let thy incense rise to-day,
And with the laurel branches gay
Thou well may'st crown thy festive hair!"

"Thy foe has sunk beneath the spear,
I'm sent to bear the glad news here,
By thy true marshal Polydore"
Then from a basin black he takes
The fearful sight their terror wakes
A well-known head, besmeared with gore.

The king with horror stepped aside,
And then with anxious look replied:
"Thy bliss to fortune ne'er commit.
On faithless waves, bethink thee how
Thy fleet with doubtful fate swims now
How soon the storm may scatter it!"

But ere he yet had spoke the word,
A shout of jubilee is heard
Resounding from the distant strand.
With foreign treasures teeming o'er,
The vessels' mast-rich wood once more
Returns home to its native land.

The guest then speaks with startled mind:
"Fortune to-day, in truth, seems kind;
But thou her fickleness shouldst fear:
The Cretan hordes, well skilled, in arms,
Now threaten thee with war's alarms;
E'en now they are approaching here."

And, ere the word has 'scaped his lips,
A stir is seen amongst the ships,
And thousand voices "Victory!" cry:
"We are delivered from our foe,
The storm has laid the Cretan low,
The war is ended, is gone by!"

The shout with horror hears the guest:
"In truth, I must esteem thee blest!
Yet dread I the decrees of heaven.
The envy of the gods I fear;
To taste of unmixed rapture here
Is never to a mortal given."

"With me, too, everything succeeds;
In all my sovereign acts and deeds
The grace of Heaven is ever by;
And yet I had a well-loved heir
I paid my debt to fortune there
God took him henceI saw him die."

"Wouldst thou from sorrow, then, be free.
Pray to each unseen Deity,
For thy well-being, grief to send;
The man on whom the Gods bestow
Their gifts with hands that overflow,
Comes never to a happy end."

"And if the Gods thy prayer resist,
Then to a friend's instruction list,
Invoke thyself adversity;
And what, of all thy treasures bright,
Gives to thy heart the most delight
That take and cast thou in the sea!"

Then speaks the other, moved by fear:
"This ring to me is far most dear
Of all this isle within it knows
I to the furies pledge it now,
If they will happiness allow"
And in the flood the gem he throws.

And with the morrow's earliest light,
Appeared before the monarch's sight
A fisherman, all joyously;
"Lord, I this fish just now have caught,
No net before e'er held the sort;
And as a gift I bring it thee."

The fish was opened by the cook,
Who suddenly, with wondering look,
Runs up, and utters these glad sounds:
"Within the fish's maw, behold,
I've found, great lord, thy ring of gold!
Thy fortune truly knows no bounds!"

The guest with terror turned away:
"I cannot here, then, longer stay,
My friend thou canst no longer be!
The gods have willed that thou shouldst die:
Lest I, too, perish, I must fly"
He spoke,and sailed thence hastily.

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Ring Of Polycrates - A Ballad
587:Joy, thou beauteous godly lightning,
Daughter of Elysium,
Fire drunken we are entring
Heavenly, thy holy home!
Thy enchantments bind together,
What did custom stern divide,
Every man becomes a brother,
Where thy gentle wings abide.

Be embracd, ye millions yonder!
Take this kiss throughout the world!
Brothersoer the stars unfurld
Must reside a loving Father.}

Who the noble prize achieveth,
Good friend of a friend to be;
Who a lovely wife attaineth,
Join us in his jubilee!
Yeshe too who but {one} being
On this earth can call {his} own!
He who neer was able, weeping
Stealeth from this league alone!

He who in the great ring dwelleth,
Homage pays to sympathy!
To the stars above leads she,
Where on high the {Unknown} reigneth.}

Joy is drunk by every being
From kind natures flowing breasts,
Every evil, every good thing
For her rosy footprint quests.
Gave she {us} both {vines} and kisses,
In the face of death a friend,
To the worm were given blisses
And the Cherubs God attend.

Fall before him, all ye millions?
{Knowst} thou the Creator, world?
Seek above the stars unfurld,
Yonder dwells He in the heavens.}

Joy commands the hardy mainspring
Of the universe eterne.
Joy, oh joy the wheel is driving
Which the worlds great clock doth turn.
Flowers from the buds she coaxes,
Suns from out the hyaline,
Spheres she rotates through expanses,
Which the seer cant divine.

As the suns are flying, happy
Through the heavens glorious plane,
Travel, brothers, down your lane,
Joyful as in heros victry.}

From the truths own fiery mirror
On the searcher {doth} she smile.
Up the steep incline of honor
Guideth {she} the suffrers mile.
High upon faiths sunlit mountains
One can see {her} banner flies,
Through the breach of opend coffins
{She} in angels choir doth rise.

Suffer on courageous millions!
Suffer for a better world!
Oer the tent of stars unfurld
God rewards you from the heavens.}

Gods can never be requited,
Beauteous tis, their like to be.
Grief and want shall be reported,
So to cheer with gaiety.
Hate and vengeance be forgotten,
Pardond be our mortal foe,
Not a teardrop shall him dampen,
No repentance bring him low.

Let our book of debts be cancelld!
Reconcile the total world!
Brothersoer the stars unfurld
God doth judge, as we have settld.}

Joy doth bubble from this rummer,
From the golden blood of grape
Cannibals imbibe good temper,
Weak of heart their courage take
Brothers, fly up from thy places,
When the brimming cup doth pass,
Let the foam shoot up in spaces:
To the goodly Soul this glass!

Whom the crown of stars doth honor,
Whom the hymns of Seraphs bless,
{To the goodly Soul this glass}
Oer the tent of stars up yonder!}

Courage firm in grievous trial,
Help, where innocence doth scream,
Oaths which sworn to are eternal,
Truth to friend and foe the same,
Manly pride fore kingly power
Brothers, cost it life and blood,
Honor to whom merits honor,
Ruin to the lying brood!

Closer draw the holy circle,
Swear it by this golden wine,
Faithful to the vow divine,
Swear it by the Judge celestial!}

Rescue from the tyrants fetters,
Mercy to the villain een,
Hope within the dying hours,
Pardon at the guillotine!
Een the dead shall live in heaven!
Brothers, drink and all agree,
Every sin shall be forgiven,
Hell forever cease to be.

A serene departing hour!
Pleasant sleep beneath the pall!
Brothersgentle words for all
Doth the Judge of mortals utter!}
~ Friedrich Schiller, Ode To Joy
588:Joy, thou goddess, fair, immortal,
Offspring of Elysium,
Mad with rapture, to the portal
Of thy holy fame we come!
Fashion's laws, indeed, may sever,
But thy magic joins again;
All mankind are brethren ever
'Neath thy mild and gentle reign.


Welcome, all ye myriad creatures!
Brethren, take the kiss of love!
Yes, the starry realms above
Hide a Father's smiling features!

He, that noble prize possessing
He that boasts a friend that's true,
He whom woman's love is blessing,
Let him join the chorus too!
Aye, and he who but one spirit
On this earth can call his own!
He who no such bliss can merit,
Let him mourn his fate alone!


All who Nature's tribes are swelling
Homage pay to sympathy;
For she guides us up on high,
Where the unknown has his dwelling.

From the breasts of kindly Nature
All of joy imbibe the dew;
Good and bad alike, each creature
Would her roseate path pursue.
'Tis through her the wine-cup maddens,
Love and friends to man she gives!
Bliss the meanest reptile gladdens,
Near God's throne the cherub lives!


Bow before him, all creation!
Mortals, own the God of love!
Seek him high the stars above,
Yonder is his habitation!

Joy, in Nature's wide dominion,
Mightiest cause of all is found;
And 'tis joy that moves the pinion,
When the wheel of time goes round;
From the bud she lures the flower
Suns from out their orbs of light;
Distant spheres obey her power,
Far beyond all mortal sight.


As through heaven's expanse so glorious
In their orbits suns roll on,
Brethren, thus your proud race run,
Glad as warriors all-victorious!

Joy from truth's own glass of fire
Sweetly on the searcher smiles;
Lest on virtue's steeps he tire,
Joy the tedious path beguiles.
High on faith's bright hill before us,
See her banner proudly wave!
Joy, too, swells the angels' chorus,
Bursts the bondage of the grave!


Mortals, meekly wait for heaven
Suffer on in patient love!
In the starry realms above,
Bright rewards by God are given.

To the Gods we ne'er can render
Praise for every good they grant;
Let us, with devotion tender,
Minister to grief and want.
Quenched be hate and wrath forever,
Pardoned be our mortal foe
May our tears upbraid him never,
No repentance bring him low!


Sense of wrongs forget to treasure
Brethren, live in perfect love!
In the starry realms above,
God will mete as we may measure.

Joy within the goblet flushes,
For the golden nectar, wine,
Every fierce emotion hushes,
Fills the breast with fire divine.
Brethren, thus in rapture meeting,
Send ye round the brimming cup,
Yonder kindly spirit greeting,
While the foam to heaven mounts up!


He whom seraphs worship ever;
Whom the stars praise as they roll,
Yes to him now drain the bowl
Mortal eye can see him never!

Courage, ne'er by sorrow broken!
Aid where tears of virtue flow;
Faith to keep each promise spoken!
Truth alike to friend and foe!
'Neath kings' frowns a manly spirit!
Brethren, noble is the prize
Honor due to every merit!
Death to all the brood of lies!


Draw the sacred circle closer!
By this bright wine plight your troth
To be faithful to your oath!
Swear it by the Star-Disposer!

Safety from the tyrant's power!
Mercy e'en to traitors base!
Hope in death's last solemn hour!
Pardon when before His face!
Lo, the dead shall rise to heaven!
Brethren hail the blest decree;
Every sin shall be forgiven,
Hell forever cease to be!


When the golden bowl is broken,
Gentle sleep within the tomb!
Brethren, may a gracious doom
By the Judge of man be spoken!
~ Friedrich Schiller, Hymn To Joy
589:A youth, impelled by a burning thirst for knowledge
To roam to Sais, in fair Egypt's land,
The priesthood's secret learning to explore,
Had passed through many a grade with eager haste,
And still was hurrying on with fond impatience.
Scarce could the Hierophant impose a rein
Upon his headlong efforts. "What avails
A part without the whole?" the youth exclaimed;
"Can there be here a lesser or a greater?
The truth thou speak'st of, like mere earthly dross,
Is't but a sum that can be held by man
In larger or in smaller quantity?
Surely 'tis changeless, indivisible;
Deprive a harmony of but one note,
Deprive the rainbow of one single color,
And all that will remain is naught, so long
As that one color, that one note, is wanting."

While thus they converse held, they chanced to stand
Within the precincts of a lonely temple,
Where a veiled statue of gigantic size
The youth's attention caught. In wonderment
He turned him toward his guide, and asked him, saying,
"What form is that concealed beneath yon veil?"
"Truth!" was the answer. "What!" the young man cried,
"When I am striving after truth alone,
Seekest thou to hide that very truth from me?"

"The Godhead's self alone can answer thee,"
Replied the Hierophant. "'Let no rash mortal
Disturb this veil,' said he, 'till raised by me;
For he who dares with sacrilegious hand
To move the sacred mystic covering,
He'said the Godhead" "Well?""'will see the truth.'"
"Strangely oracular, indeed! And thou
Hast never ventured, then, to raise the veil?"
"I? Truly not! I never even felt
The least desire.""Is't possible? If I
Were severed from the truth by nothing else
Than this thin gauze" "And a divine decree,"
His guide broke in. "Far heavier than thou thinkest
Is this thin gauze, my son. Light to thy hand
It may bebut most weighty to thy conscience."

The youth now sought his home, absorbed in thought;
His burning wish to solve the mystery
Banished all sleep; upon his couch he lay,
Tossing his feverish limbs. When midnight came,
He rose, and toward the temple timidly,
Led by a mighty impulse, bent his way.
The walls he scaled, and soon one active spring
Landed the daring boy beneath the dome.

Behold him now, in utter solitude,
Welcomed by naught save fearful, deathlike silence,
A silence which the echo of his steps
Alone disturbs, as through the vaults he paces.
Piercing an opening in the cupola,
The moon cast down her pale and silvery beams,
And, awful as a present deity,
Glittering amid the darkness of the pile,
In its long veil concealed, the statue stands.

With hesitating step, he now draws near
His impious hand would fain remove the veil
Sudden a burning chill assails his bones
And then an unseen arm repulses him.
"Unhappy one, what wouldst thou do?" Thus cries
A faithful voice within his trembling breast.
"Wouldst thou profanely violate the All-Holy?"
"'Tis true the oracle declared, 'Let none
Venture to raise the veil till raised by me.'
But did the oracle itself not add,
That he who did so would behold the truth?
Whate'er is hid behind, I'll raise the veil."
And then he shouted: "Yes! I will behold it!"
"Behold it!"
Repeats in mocking tone the distant echo.

He speaks, and, with the word, lifts up the veil.
Would you inquire what form there met his eye?
I know not,but, when day appeared, the priests
Found him extended senseless, pale as death,
Before the pedestal of Isis' statue.
What had been seen and heard by him when there
He never would disclose, but from that hour
His happiness in life had fled forever,
And his deep sorrow soon conducted him
To an untimely grave. "Woe to that man,"
He warning said to every questioner,
"Woe to that man who wins the truth by guilt,
For truth so gained will ne'er reward its owner."
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Veiled Statue At Sais
590:Yes! even I was in Arcadia born,
And, in mine infant ears,
A vow of rapture was by Nature sworn;
Yes! even I was in Arcadia born,
And yet my short spring gave me onlytears!

Once blooms, and only once, life's youthful May;
For me its bloom hath gone.
The silent GodO brethren, weep to-day
The silent God hath quenched my torch's ray,
And the vain dream hath flown.

Upon thy darksome bridge, Eternity,
I stand e'en now, dread thought!
Take, then, these joy-credentials back from me!
Unopened I return them now to thee,
Of happiness, alas, know naught!

Before Thy throne my mournful cries I vent,
Thou Judge, concealed from view!
To yonder star a joyous saying went
With judgment's scales to rule us thou art sent,
And call'st thyself Requiter, too!

Here,say they,terrors on the bad alight,
And joys to greet the virtuous spring.
The bosom's windings thou'lt expose to sight,
Riddle of Providence wilt solve aright,
And reckon with the suffering!

Here to the exile be a home outspread,
Here end the meek man's thorny path of strife!
A godlike child, whose name was Truth, they said,
Known but to few, from whom the many fled,
Restrained the ardent bridle of my life.

"It shall be thine another life to live,
Thy youth to me surrender!
To thee this surety only can I give"
I took the surety in that life to live;
And gave to her each youthful joy so tender.

"Give me the woman precious to thy heart,
Give up to me thy Laura!
Beyond the grave will usury pay the smart."
I wept aloud, and from my bleeding heart
With resignation tore her.

"The obligation's drawn upon the dead!"
Thus laughed the world in scorn;
"The lying one, in league with despots dread,
For truth, a phantom palmed on thee instead,
Thou'lt be no more, when once this dream has gone!"

Shamelessly scoffed the mockers' serpent-band
"A dream that but prescription can admit
Dost dread? Where now thy God's protecting hand,
(The sick world's Saviour with such cunning planned),
Borrowed by human need of human wit?"

"What future is't that graves to us reveal?
What the eternity of thy discourse?
Honored because dark veils its form conceal,
The giant-shadows of the awe we feel,
Viewed in the hollow mirror of remorse!"

"An image false of shapes of living mould,
(Time's very mummy, she!)
Whom only Hope's sweet balm hath power to hold
Within the chambers of the grave so cold,
Thy fever calls this immortality!"

"For empty hopes,corruption gives the lie
Didst thou exchange what thou hadst surely done?
Six thousand years sped death in silence by,
His corpse from out the grave e'er mounted high,
That mention made of the Requiting One?"

I saw time fly to reach thy distant shore,
I saw fair Nature lie
A shrivelled corpse behind him evermore,
No dead from out the grave then sought to soar
Yet in that Oath divine still trusted I.

My ev'ry joy to thee I've sacrificed,
I throw me now before thy judgment-throne;
The many's scorn with boldness I've despised,
Onlythy gifts by me were ever prized,
I ask my wages now, Requiting One!

"With equal love I love each child of mine!"
A genius hid from sight exclaimed.
"Two flowers," he cried, "ye mortals, mark the sign,
Two flowers to greet the Searcher wise entwine,
Hope and Enjoyment they are named."

"Who of these flowers plucks one, let him ne'er yearn
To touch the other sister's bloom.
Let him enjoy, who has no faith; eterne
As earth, this truth!Abstain, who faith can learn!
The world's long story is the world's own doom."

"Hope thou hast felt,thy wages, then, are paid;
Thy faith 'twas formed the rapture pledged to thee.
Thou might'st have of the wise inquiry made,
The minutes thou neglectest, as they fade,
Are given back by no eternity!"

~ Friedrich Schiller, Resignation
591:. Pale, at its ghastly noon,
  Pauses above the death-still woodthe moon;
  The night-sprite, sighing, through the dim air stirs;
   The clouds descend in rain;
   Mourning, the wan stars wane,
  Flickering like dying lamps in sepulchres!
  Haggard as spectresvision-like and dumb,
   Dark with the pomp of death, and moving slow,
  Towards that sad lair the pale procession come
   Where the grave closes on the night below.

  With dim, deep-sunken eye,
  Crutched on his staff, who trembles tottering by?
  As wrung from out the shattered heart, one groan
  Breaks the deep hush alone!
  Crushed by the iron fate, he seems to gather
   All life's last strength to stagger to the bier,
  And hearkenDo these cold lips murmur "Father?"
   The sharp rain, drizzling through that place of fear,
  Pierces the bones gnawed fleshless by despair,
  And the heart's horror stirs the silver hair.

  Fresh bleed the fiery wounds
   Through all that agonizing heart undone
  Still on the voiceless lips "my Father" sounds,
   And still the childless Father murmurs "Son!"
  Ice-coldice-cold, in that white shroud he lies
   Thy sweet and golden dreams all vanished there
  The sweet and golden name of "Father" dies
  Into thy curse,ice-coldice-coldhe lies!
   Dead, what thy life's delight and Eden were!

  Mild, as when, fresh from the arms of Aurora,
   While the air like Elysium is smiling above,
  Steeped in rose-breathing odors, the darling of Flora
   Wantons over the blooms on his winglets of love.
  So gay, o'er the meads, went his footsteps in bliss,
   The silver wave mirrored the smile of his face;
  Delight, like a flame, kindled up at his kiss,
   And the heart of the maid was the prey of his chase.

  Boldly he sprang to the strife of the world,
   As a deer to the mountain-top carelessly springs;
  As an eagle whose plumes to the sun are unfurled,
   Swept his hope round the heaven on its limitless wings.
  Proud as a war-horse that chafes at the rein,
   That, kingly, exults in the storm of the brave;
  That throws to the wind the wild stream of its mane,
   Strode he forth by the prince and the slave!

  Life like a spring day, serene and divine,
   In the star of the morning went by as a trance;
  His murmurs he drowned in the gold of the wine,
   And his sorrows were borne on the wave of the dance.

  Worlds lay concealed in the hopes of his youth!
   When once he shall ripen to manhood and fame!
  Fond father exult!In the germs of his youth
   What harvests are destined for manhood and fame!

  Not to be was that manhood!The death-bell is knelling,
   The hinge of the death-vault creaks harsh on the ears
  How dismal, O Death, is the place of thy dwelling!
   Not to be was that manhood!Flow on, bitter tears!
  Go, beloved, thy path to the sun,
   Rise, world upon world, with the perfect to rest;
  Goquaff the delight which thy spirit has won,
   And escape from our grief in the Halls of the Blest.

  Again (in that thought what a healing is found!)
   To meet in the Eden to which thou art fled!
  Hark, the coffin sinks down with a dull, sullen sound,
   And the ropes rattle over the sleep of the dead.
  And we cling to each other!O Grave, he is thine!
   The eye tells the woe that is mute to the ears
  And we dare to resent what we grudge to resign,
   Till the heart's sinful murmur is choked in its tears.
  Pale at its ghastly noon,
  Pauses above the death-still woodthe moon!
  The night-sprite, sighing, through the dim air stirs:
   The clouds descend in rain;
   Mourning, the wan stars wane,
  Flickering like dying lamps in sepulchres.
  The dull clods swell into the sullen mound;
   Earth, one look yet upon the prey we gave!
  The grave locks up the treasure it has found;
  Higher and higher swells the sullen mound
   Never gives back the grave!
~ Friedrich Schiller, A Funeral Fantasie
592:Ah! happy he, upon whose birth each god
Looks down in love, whose earliest sleep the bright
Idalia cradles, whose young lips the rod
Of eloquent Hermes kindlesto whose eyes,
Scarce wakened yet, Apollo steals in light,
While on imperial brows Jove sets the seal of might!
Godlike the lot ordained for him to share,
He wins the garland ere he runs the race;
He learns life's wisdom ere he knows life's care,
And, without labor vanquished, smiles the grace.
Great is the man, I grant, whose strength of mind,
Self-shapes its objects and subdues the fates
Virtue subdues the fates, but cannot blind
The fickle happiness, whose smile awaits
Those who scarce seek it; nor can courage earn
What the grace showers not from her own free urn!
From aught unworthy, the determined will
Can guard the watchful spiritthere it ends
The all that's glorious from the heaven descends;
As some sweet mistress loves us, freely still
Come the spontaneous gifts of heaven!Above
Favor rules Jove, as it below rules love!
The immortals have their bias!Kindly they
See the bright locks of youth enamored play,
And where the glad one goes, shed gladness round the way.
It is not they who boast the best to see,
Whose eyes the holy apparitions bless;
The stately light of their divinity
Hath oft but shone the brightest on the blind;
And their choice spirit found its calm recess
In the pure childhood of a simple mind.
Unasked they come delighted to delude
The expectation of our baffled pride;
No law can call their free steps to our side.
Him whom he loves, the sire of men and gods
(Selected from the marvelling multitude)
Bears on his eagle to his bright abodes;
And showers, with partial hand and lavish, down,
The minstrel's laurel or the monarch's crown!
Before the fortune-favored son of earth,
Apollo walksand, with his jocund mirth,
The heart-enthralling smiler of the skies
For him gray Neptune smooths the pliant wave
Harmless the waters for the ship that bore
The Caesar and his fortunes to the shore!
Charmed at his feet the crouching lion lies,
To him his back the murmuring dolphin gave;
His soul is born a sovereign o'er the strife
The lord of all the beautiful of life;
Where'er his presence in its calm has trod,
It charmsit sways as solve diviner God.
Scorn not the fortune-favored, that to him
The light-won victory by the gods is given,
Or that, as Paris, from the strife severe,
The Venus draws her darlingWhom the heaven
So prospers, love so watches, I revere!
And not the man upon whose eyes, with dim
And baleful night, sits fate. Achaia boasts,
No less the glory of the Dorian lord
That Vulcan wrought for him the shield and sword
That round the mortal hovered all the hosts
Of all Olympusthat his wrath to grace,
The best and bravest of the Grecian race
Untimely slaughtered, with resentful ghosts
Awed the pale people of the Stygian coasts!
Scorn not the darlings of the beautiful,
If without labor they life's blossoms cull;
If, like the stately lilies, they have won
A crown for which they neither toiled nor spun;
If without merit, theirs be beauty, still
Thy sense, unenvying, with the beauty fill.
Alike for thee no merit wins the right,
To share, by simply seeing, their delight.
Heaven breathes the soul into the minstrel's breast,
But with that soul he animates the rest;
The god inspires the mortalbut to God,
In turn, the mortal lifts thee from the sod.
Oh, not in vain to heaven the bard is dear;
Holy himselfhe hallows those who hear!
The busy mart let justice still control,
Weighing the guerdon to the toil!What then?
A God alone claims joyall joy is his,
Flushing with unsought light the cheeks of men.
Where is no miracle, why there no bliss!
Grow, change, and ripen all that mortal be,
Shapened from form to form, by toiling time;
The blissful and the beautiful are born
Full grown, and ripened from eternity
No gradual changes to their glorious prime,
No childhood dwarfs them, and no age has worn.
Like heaven's, each earthly Venus on the sight
Comes, a dark birth, from out an endless sea;
Like the first Pallas, in maturest might,
Armed, from the thunderer'sbrow, leaps forth each thought of light.

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Fortune-Favored
593:Mournful groans, as when a tempest lowers,
Echo from the dreary house of woe;
Death-notes rise from yonder minster's towers!
Bearing out a youth, they slowly go;
Yes! a youthunripe yet for the bier,
Gathered in the spring-time of his days,
Thrilling yet with pulses strong and clear,
With the flame that in his bright eye plays
Yes, a sonthe idol of his mother,
(Oh, her mournful sigh shows that too well!)
Yes! my bosom-friend,alas my brother!
Up! each man the sad procession swell!

Do ye boast, ye pines, so gray and old,
Storms to brave, with thunderbolts to sport?
And, ye hills, that ye the heavens uphold?
And, ye heavens, that ye the suns support!
Boasts the graybeard, who on haughty deeds
As on billows, seeks perfection's height?
Boasts the hero, whom his prowess leads
Up to future glory's temple bright!
If the gnawing worms the floweret blast,
Who can madly think he'll ne'er decay?
Who above, below, can hope to last,
If the young man's life thus fleets away?

Joyously his days of youth so glad
Danced along, in rosy garb beclad,
And the world, the world was then so sweet!
And how kindly, how enchantingly
Smiled the future,with what golden eye
Did life's paradise his moments greet!
While the tear his mother's eye escaped,
Under him the realm of shadows gaped
And the fates his thread began to sever,
Earth and Heaven then vanished from his sight.
From the grave-thought shrank he in affright
Sweet the world is to the dying ever!

Dumb and deaf 'tis in that narrow place,
Deep the slumbers of the buried one!
Brother! Ah, in ever-slackening race
All thy hopes their circuit cease to run!
Sunbeams oft thy native hill still lave,
But their glow thou never more canst feel;
O'er its flowers the zephyr's pinions wave,
O'er thine ear its murmur ne'er can steal;
Love will never tinge thine eye with gold,
Never wilt thou embrace thy blooming bride,
Not e'en though our tears in torrents rolled
Death must now thine eye forever hide!

Yet 'tis well!for precious is the rest,
In that narrow house the sleep is calm;
There, with rapture sorrow leaves the breast,
Man's afflictions there no longer harm.
Slander now may wildly rave o'er thee,
And temptation vomit poison fell,
O'er the wrangle on the Pharisee,
Murderous bigots banish thee to hell!
Rogues beneath apostle-masks may leer,
And the **** child of justice play,
As it were with dice, with mankind here,
And so on, until the judgment day!

O'er thee fortune still may juggle on,
For her minions blindly look around,
Man now totter on his staggering throne,
And in dreary puddles now be found!
Blest art thou, within thy narrow cell!
To this stir of tragi-comedy,
To these fortune-waves that madly swell,
To this vain and childish lottery,
To this busy crowd effecting naught,
To this rest with labor teeming o'er,
Brother!to this heaven with devilsfraught,
Now thine eyes have closed forevermore.

Fare thee well, oh, thou to memory dear,
By our blessings lulled to slumbers sweet!
Sleep on calmly in thy prison drear,
Sleep on calmly till again we meet!
Till the loud Almighty trumpet sounds,
Echoing through these corpse-encumbered hills,
Till God's storm-wind, bursting through the bounds
Placed by death, with life those corpses fills
Till, impregnate with Jehovah's blast,
Graves bring forth, and at His menace dread,
In the smoke of planets melting fast,
Once again the tombs give up their dead!

Not in worlds, as dreamed of by the wise,
Not in heavens, as sung in poet's song,
Not in e'en the people's paradise
Yet we shall o'ertake thee, and ere long.
Is that true which cheered the pilgrim's gloom?
Is it true that thoughts can yonder be
True, that virtue guides us o'er the tomb?
That 'tis more than empty phantasy?
All these riddles are to thee unveiled!
Truth thy soul ecstatic now drinks up,
Truth in radiance thousandfold exhaled
From the mighty Father's blissful cup.

Dark and silent bearers draw, then, nigh!
To the slayer serve the feast the while!
Cease, ye mourners, cease your wailing cry!
Dust on dust upon the body pile!
Where's the man who God to tempt presumes?
Where the eye that through the gulf can see?
Holy, holy, holy art thou, God of tombs!
We, with awful trembling, worship Thee!
Dust may back to native dust be ground,
From its crumbling house the spirit fly,
And the storm its ashes strew around,
But its love, its love shall never die!

~ Friedrich Schiller, Elegy On The Death Of A Young Man
594:Does pleasant spring return once more?
Does earth her happy youth regain?
Sweet suns green hills are shining o'er;
Soft brooklets burst their icy chain:
Upon the blue translucent river
Laughs down an all-unclouded day,
The winged west winds gently quiver,
The buds are bursting from the spray;
While birds are blithe on every tree;
The Oread from the mountain-shore
Sighs, "Lo! thy flowers come back to thee
Thy child, sad mother, comes no more!"

Alas! how long an age it seems
Since all the earth I wandered over,
And vainly, Titan, tasked thy beams
The lovedthe lost oneto discover!
Though all may seekyet none can call
Her tender presence back to me
The sun, with eyes detecting all,
Is blind one vanished form to see.
Hast thou, O Zeus! hast thou away
From these sad arms my daughter torn?
Has Pluto, from the realms of day,
Enamoredto dark rivers borne?

Who to the dismal phantom-strand
The herald of my grief will venture?
The boat forever leaves the land,
But only shadows there may enter.
Veiled from each holier eye repose
The realms where midnight wraps the dead,
And, while the Stygian river flows,
No living footstep there may tread!
A thousand pathways wind the drear
Descent;none upward lead to-day;
No witness to the mother's ear
The daughter's sorrows can betray.

Mothers of happy human clay
Can share at least their children's doom;
And when the loved ones pass away,
Can trackcan join themin the tomb!
The race alone of heavenly birth
Are banished from the darksome portals;
The Fates have mercy on the earth,
And death is only kind to mortals!
Oh, plunge me in the night of nights,
From heaven's ambrosial halls exiled!
Oh, let the goddess lose the rights
That shut the mother from the child!

Where sits the dark king's joyless bride,
Where midst the dead her home is made;
Oh that my noiseless steps might glide,
Amidst the shades, myself a shade!
I see her eyes, that search through tears,
In vain the golden light to greet;
That yearn for yonder distant spheres,
That pine the mother's face to meet!
Till some bright moment shall renew
The severed hearts' familiar ties;
And softened pity steal in dew,
From Pluto's slow-relenting eyes!

Ah, vain the wish, the sorrows are!
Calm in the changeless paths above
Rolls on the day-god's golden car
Fast are the fixed decrees of Jove!
Far from the ever-gloomy plain,
He turns his blissful looks away.
Alas! night never gives again
What once it seizes as its prey!
Till over Lethe's sullen swell,
Aurora's rosy hues shall glow;
And arching through the midmost hell
Shine forth the lovely Iris-bow!

And is there naught of her; no token
No pledge from that beloved hand?
To tell how love remains unbroken,
How far soever be the land?
Has love no link, no lightest thread,
The mother to the child to bind?
Between the living and the dead,
Can hope no holy compact find?
No! every bond is not yet riven;
We are not yet divided wholly;
To us the eternal powers have given
A symbol language, sweet and holy.

When Spring's fair children pass away,
When, in the north wind's icy air,
The leaf and flower alike decay,
And leave the rivelled branches bare,
Then from Vertumnus' lavish horn
I take life's seeds to strew below
And bid the gold that germs the corn
An offering to the Styx to go!
Sad in the earth the seeds I lay
Laid at thy heart, my childto be
The mournful tokens which convey
My sorrow and my love to thee!

But, when the hours, in measured dance,
The happy smile of spring restore,
Rife in the sun-god's golden glance
The buried dead revive once more!
The germs that perished to thine eyes,
Within the cold breast of the earth,
Spring up to bloom in gentler skies,
The brighter for the second birth!
The stem its blossom rears above
Its roots in night's dark womb repose
The plant but by the equal love
Of light and darkness fosteredgrows!

If half with death the germs may sleep,
Yet half with life they share the beams;
My heralds from the dreary deep,
Soft voices from the solemn streams,
Like her, so them, awhile entombs,
Stern Orcus, in his dismal reign,
Yet spring sends forth their tender blooms
With such sweet messages again,
To tell,how far from light above,
Where only mournful shadows meet,
Memory is still alive to love,
And still the faithful heart can beat!

Joy to ye children of the field!
Whose life each coming year renews,
To your sweet cups the heaven shall yield
The purest of its nectar-dews!
Steeped in the light's resplendent streams,
The hues that streak the Iris-bow
Shall trim your blooms as with the beams
The looks of young Aurora know.
The budding life of happy spring,
The yellow autumn's faded leaf,
Alike to gentle hearts shall bring
The symbols of my joy and grief.

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Complaint Of Ceres
595:. Mirth the halls of Troy was filling,
   Ere its lofty ramparts fell;
  From the golden lute so thrilling
   Hymns of joy were heard to swell.
  From the sad and tearful slaughter
   All had laid their arms aside,
  For Pelides Priam's daughter
   Claimed then as his own fair bride.

  Laurel branches with them bearing,
   Troop on troop in bright array
  To the temples were repairing,
   Owning Thymbrius' sovereign sway.
  Through the streets, with frantic measure,
   Danced the bacchanal mad round,
  And, amid the radiant pleasure,
   Only one sad breast was found.

  Joyless in the midst of gladness,
   None to heed her, none to love,
  Roamed Cassandra, plunged in sadness,
   To Apollo's laurel grove.
  To its dark and deep recesses
   Swift the sorrowing priestess hied,
  And from off her flowing tresses
   Tore the sacred band, and cried:

  "All around with joy is beaming,
   Ev'ry heart is happy now,
  And my sire is fondly dreaming,
   Wreathed with flowers my sister's brow
  I alone am doomed to wailing,
   That sweet vision flies from me;
  In my mind, these walls assailing,
   Fierce destruction I can see."

  "Though a torch I see all-glowing,
   Yet 'tis not in Hymen's hand;
  Smoke across the skies is blowing,
   Yet 'tis from no votive brand.
  Yonder see I feasts entrancing,
   But in my prophetic soul,
  Hear I now the God advancing,
   Who will steep in tears the bowl!"

  "And they blame my lamentation,
   And they laugh my grief to scorn;
  To the haunts of desolation
   I must bear my woes forlorn.
  All who happy are, now shun me,
   And my tears with laughter see;
  Heavy lies thy hand upon me,
   Cruel Pythian deity!"

  "Thy divine decrees foretelling,
   Wherefore hast thou thrown me here,
  Where the ever-blind are dwelling,
   With a mind, alas, too clear?
  Wherefore hast thou power thus given,
   What must needs occur to know?
  Wrought must be the will of Heaven
   Onward come the hour of woe!"

  "When impending fate strikes terror,
   Why remove the covering?
  Life we have alone in error,
   Knowledge with it death must bring.
  Take away this prescience tearful,
   Take this sight of woe from me;
  Of thy truths, alas! how fearful
   'Tis the mouthpiece frail to be!"

  "Veil my mind once more in slumbers
   Let me heedlessly rejoice;
  Never have I sung glad numbers
   Since I've been thy chosen voice.
  Knowledge of the future giving,
   Thou hast stolen the present day,
  Stolen the moment's joyous living,
   Take thy false gift, then, away!"

  "Ne'er with bridal train around me,
   Have I wreathed my radiant brow,
  Since to serve thy fane I bound me
   Bound me with a solemn vow.
  Evermore in grief I languish
   All my youth in tears was spent;
  And with thoughts of bitter anguish
   My too-feeling heart is rent."

  "Joyously my friends are playing,
   All around are blest and glad,
  In the paths of pleasure straying,
   My poor heart alone is sad.
  Spring in vain unfolds each treasure,
   Filling all the earth with bliss;
  Who in life can e'er take pleasure,
   When is seen its dark abyss?"

  "With her heart in vision burning,
   Truly blest is Polyxene,
  As a bride to clasp him yearning.
   Him, the noblest, best Hellene!
  And her breast with rapture swelling,
   All its bliss can scarcely know;
  E'en the Gods in heavenly dwelling
   Envying not, when dreaming so."

  "He to whom my heart is plighted
   Stood before my ravished eye,
  And his look, by passion lighted,
   Toward me turned imploringly.
  With the loved one, oh, how gladly
   Homeward would I take my flight
  But a Stygian shadow sadly
   Steps between us every night."

  "Cruel Proserpine is sending
   All her spectres pale to me;
  Ever on my steps attending
   Those dread shadowy forms I see.
  Though I seek, in mirth and laughter
   Refuge from that ghastly train,
  Still I see them hastening after,
   Ne'er shall I know joy again."

  "And I see the death-steel glancing,
   And the eye of murder glare;
  On, with hasty strides advancing,
   Terror haunts me everywhere.
  Vain I seek alleviation;
   Knowing, seeing, suffering all,
  I must wait the consummation,
   In a foreign land must fall."

  While her solemn words are ringing,
   Hark! a dull and wailing tone
  From the temple's gate upspringing,
   Dead lies Thetis' mighty son!
  Eris shakes her snake-locks hated,
   Swiftly flies each deity,
  And o'er Ilion's walls ill-fated
   Thunder-clouds loom heavily!
~ Friedrich Schiller, Cassandra
596:Priam's castle-walls had sunk,
Troy in dust and ashes lay,
And each Greek, with triumph drunk,
Richly laden with his prey,
Sat upon his ship's high prow,
On the Hellespontic strand,
Starting on his journey now,
Bound for Greece, his own fair land.
Raise the glad exulting shout!
Toward the land that gave them birth
Turn they now the ships about,
As they seek their native earth.

And in rows, all mournfully,
Sat the Trojan women there,
Beat their breasts in agony,
Pallid, with dishevelled hair.
In the feast of joy so glad
Mingled they the song of woe,
Weeping o'er their fortunes sad,
In their country's overthrow.
"Land beloved, oh, fare thee well!
By our foreign masters led,
Far from home we're doomed to dwell,
Ah, how happy are the dead!"

Soon the blood by Calchas spilt
On the altar heavenward smokes;
Pallas, by whom towns are built
And destroyed, the priest invokes;
Neptune, too, who all the earth
With his billowy girdle laves,
Zeus, who gives to terror birth,
Who the dreaded Aegis waves.
Now the weary fight is done,
Ne'er again to be renewed;
Time's wide circuit now is run,
And the mighty town subdued!

Atreus' son, the army's head,
Told the people's numbers o'er,
Whom he, as their captain, led
To Scamander's vale of yore.
Sorrow's black and heavy clouds
Passed across the monarch's brow:
Of those vast and valiant crowds,
Oh, how few were left him now!
Joyful songs let each one raise,
Who will see his home again,
In whose veins the life-blood plays,
For, alas! not all remain!

"All who homeward wend their way,
Will not there find peace of mind;
On their household altars, they
Murder foul perchance may find.
Many fall by false friend's stroke,
Who in fight immortal proved:"
So Ulysses warning spoke,
By Athene's spirit moved.
Happy he, whose faithful spouse
Guards his home with honor true!
Woman ofttimes breaks her vows,
Ever loves she what is new.

And Atrides glories there
In the prize he won in fight,
And around her body fair
Twines his arms with fond delight.
Evil works must punished be.
Vengeance follows after crime,
For Kronion's just decree
Rules the heavenly courts sublime.
Evil must in evil end;
Zeus will on the impious band
Woe for broken guest-rights send,
Weighing with impartial hand.

"It may well the glad befit,"
Cried Olleus' valiant son,
"To extol the Gods who sit
On Olympus' lofty throne!
Fortune all her gifts supplies,
Blindly, and no justice knows,
For Patroclus buried lies,
And Thersites homeward goes!
Since she blindly throws away
Each lot in her wheel contained,
Let him shout with joy to-day
Who the prize of life has gained."

"Ay, the wars the best devour!
Brother, we will think of thee,
In the fight a very tower,
When we join in revelry!
When the Grecian ships were fired,
By thine arm was safety brought;
Yet the man by craft inspired
Won the spoils thy valor sought.
Peace be to thine ashes blest!
Thou wert vanquished not in fight:
Anger 'tis destroys the best,
Ajax fell by Ajax' might!"

Neoptolemus poured then,
To his sire renowned the wine
"'Mongst the lots of earthly men,
Mighty father, prize I thine!
Of the goods that life supplies,
Greatest far of all is fame;
Though to dust the body flies,
Yet still lives a noble name.
Valiant one, thy glory's ray
Will immortal be in song;
For, though life may pass away,
To all time the dead belong!"

"Since the voice of minstrelsy
Speaks not of the vanquished man,
I will Hector's witness be,"
Tydeus' noble son began:
"Fighting bravely in defence
Of his household-gods he fell.
Great the victor's glory thence,
He in purpose did excel!
Battling for his altars dear,
Sank that rock, no more to rise;
E'en the foemen will revere
One whose honored name ne'er dies."

Nestor, joyous reveller old,
Who three generations saw,
Now the leaf-crowned cup of gold
Gave to weeping Hecuba.
"Drain the goblet's draught so cool,
And forget each painful smart!
Bacchus' gifts are wonderful,
Balsam for a broken heart.
Drain the goblet's draught so cool,
And forget each painful smart!
Bacchus' gifts are wonderful,
Balsam for a broken heart.

"E'en to Niobe, whom Heaven
Loved in wrath to persecute,
Respite from her pangs was given,
Tasting of the corn's ripe fruit.
Whilst the thirsty lip we lave
In the foaming, living spring,
Buried deep in Lethe's wave
Lies all grief, all sorrowing!
Whilst the thirsty lip we lave
In the foaming, living spring,
Swallowed up in Lethe's wave
Is all grief, all sorrowing!"

And the Prophetess inspired
By her God, upstarted now,
Toward the smoke of homesteads fired,
Looking from the lofty prow.
"Smoke is each thing here below;
Every worldly greatness dies,
As the vapory columns go,
None are fixed but Deities!
Cares behind the horseman sit
Round about the vessel play;
Lest the morrow hinder it,
Let us, therefore, live to-day."

~ Friedrich Schiller, Feast Of Victory
597:Laura! a sunrise seems to break
Where'er thy happy looks may glow.
Joy sheds its roses o'er thy cheek,
Thy tears themselves do but bespeak
The rapture whence they flow;
Blest youth to whom those tears are given
The tears that change his earth to heaven;
His best reward those melting eyes
For him new suns are in the skies!

Thy soula crystal river passing,
Silver-clear, and sunbeam-glassing,
Mays into bloom sad Autumn by thee;
Night and desert, if they spy thee,
To gardens laughwith daylight shine,
Lit by those happy smiles of thine!
Dark with cloud the future far
Goldens itself beneath thy star.
Smilest thou to see the harmony
Of charm the laws of Nature keep?
Alas! to me the harmony
Brings only cause to weep!

Holds not Hades its domain
Underneath this earth of ours?
Under palace, under fame,
Underneath the cloud-capped towers?
Stately cities soar and spread
O'er your mouldering bones, ye dead!
From corruption, from decay,
Springs yon clove-pink's fragrant bloom;
Yon gay waters wind their way
From the hollows of a tomb.

From the planets thou mayest know
All the change that shifts below,
Fledbeneath that zone of rays,
Fled to night a thousand Mays;
Thrones a thousandrisingsinking,
Earth from thousand slaughters drinking
Blood profusely poured as water;
Of the sceptreof the slaughter
Wouldst thou know what trace remaineth?
Seek them where the dark king reigneth!

Scarce thine eye can ope and close
Ere life's dying sunset glows;
Sinking sudden from its pride
Into deaththe Lethe tide.
Ask'st thou whence thy beauties rise?
Boastest thou those radiant eyes?
Or that cheek in roses dyed?
All their beauty (thought of sorrow!)
From the brittle mould they borrow.
Heavy interest in the tomb
For the brief loan of the bloom,
For the beauty of the day,
Death the usurer, thou must pay,
In the long to-morrow!

Maiden!Death's too strong for scorn;
In the cheek the fairest, He
But the fairest throne doth see
Though the roses of the morn
Weave the veil by beauty worn
Aye, beneath that broidered curtain,
Stands the Archer stern and certain!
Maidthy Visionary hear
Trust the wild one as the sear,
When he tells thee that thine eye,
While it beckons to the wooer,
Only lureth yet more nigh
Death, the dark undoer!

Every ray shed from thy beauty
Wastes the life-lamp while it beams,
And the pulse's playful duty,
And the blue veins' merry streams,
Sport and run into the pall
Creatures of the Tyrant, all!
As the wind the rainbow shatters,
Death thy bright smiles rends and scatters,
Smile and rainbow leave no traces;
From the spring-time's laughing graces,
From all life, as from its germ,
Grows the revel of the worm!

Woe, I see the wild wind wreak
Its wrath upon thy rosy bloom,
Winter plough thy rounded cheek,
Cloud and darkness close in gloom;
Blackening over, and forever,
Youth's serene and silver river!
Love alike and beauty o'er,
Lovely and beloved no more!

Maiden, an oak that soars on high,
And scorns the whirlwind's breath
Behold thy Poet's youth defy
The blunted dart of Death!
His gaze as ardent as the light
That shoots athwart the heaven,
His soul yet fiercer than the light
In the eternal heaven,
Of Him, in whom as in an ocean-surge
Creation ebbs and flowsand worlds arise and merge!
Through Nature steers the poet's thought to find
No fear but thisone barrier to the mind?

And dost thou glory so to think?
And heaves thy bosom?Woe!
This cup, which lures him to the brink,
As if divinity to drink
Has poison in its flow!
Wretched, oh, wretched, they who trust
To strike the God-spark from the dust!
The mightiest tone the music knows,
But breaks the harp-string with the sound;
And genius, still the more it glows,
But wastes the lamp whose life bestows
The light it sheds around.
Soon from existence dragged away,
The watchful jailer grasps his prey:
Vowed on the altar of the abused fire,
The spirits I raised against myself conspire!
Letyes, I feel it two short springs away
Pass on their rapid flight;
And life's faint spark shall, fleeting from the clay,
Merge in the Fount of Light!

And weep'st thou, Laura?be thy tears forbid;
Would'st thou my lot, life's dreariest years amid,
Protract and doom?No: sinner, dry thy tears:
Would'st thou, whose eyes beheld the eagle wing
Of my bold youth through air's dominion spring,
Mark my sad age (life's tale of glory done)
Crawl on the sod and tremble in the sun?
Hear the dull frozen heart condemn the flame
That as from heaven to youth's blithe bosom came;
And see the blind eyes loathing turn from all
The lovely sins age curses to recall?
Let me die young!sweet sinner, dry thy tears!
Yes, let the flower be gathered in its bloom!
And thou, young genius, with the brows of gloom,
Quench thou life's torch, while yet the flame is strong!
Even as the curtain falls; while still the scene
Most thrills the hearts which have its audience been;
As fleet the shadows from the stageand long
When all is o'er, lingers the breathless throng!

~ Friedrich Schiller, Melancholy -- To Laura
598:Ye in the age gone by,
Who ruled the worlda world how lovely then!
And guided still the steps of happy men
In the light leading-strings of careless joy!
Ah, flourished then your service of delight!
How different, oh, how different, in the day
When thy sweet fanes with many a wreath were bright,
O Venus Amathusia!

Then, through a veil of dreams
Woven by song, truth's youthful beauty glowed,
And life's redundant and rejoicing streams
Gave to the soulless, soulwhere'r they flowed
Man gifted nature with divinity
To lift and link her to the breast of love;
All things betrayed to the initiate eye
The track of gods above!

Where lifelessfixed afar,
A flaming ball to our dull sense is given,
Phoebus Apollo, in his golden car,
In silent glory swept the fields of heaven!
On yonder hill the Oread was adored,
In yonder tree the Dryad held her home;
And from her urn the gentle Naiad poured
The wavelet's silver foam.

Yon bay, chaste Daphne wreathed,
Yon stone was mournful Niobe's mute cell,
Low through yon sedges pastoral Syrinx breathed,
And through those groves wailed the sweet Philomel,
The tears of Ceres swelled in yonder rill
Tears shed for Proserpine to Hades borne;
And, for her lost Adonis, yonder hill
Heard Cytherea mourn!

Heaven's shapes were charmed unto
The mortal race of old Deucalion;
Pyrrha's fair daughter, humanly to woo,
Came down, in shepherd-guise, Latona's son
Between men, heroes, gods, harmonious then
Love wove sweet links and sympathies divine;
Blest Amathusia, heroes, gods, and men,
Equals before thy shrine!

Not to that culture gay,
Stern self-denial, or sharp penance wan!
Well might each heart be happy in that day
For gods, the happy ones, were kin to man!
The beautiful alone the holy there!
No pleasure shamed the gods of that young race;
So that the chaste Camoenae favoring were,
And the subduing grace!

A palace every shrine;
Your sports heroic;yours the crown
Of contests hallowed to a power divine,
As rushed the chariots thundering to renown.
Fair round the altar where the incense breathed,
Moved your melodious dance inspired; and fair
Above victorious brows, the garland wreathed
Sweet leaves round odorous hair!

The lively Thyrsus-swinger,
And the wild car the exulting panthers bore,
Announced the presence of the rapture-bringer
Bounded the Satyr and blithe Faun before;
And Maenads, as the frenzy stung the soul,
Hymned in their maddening dance, the glorious wine
As ever beckoned to the lusty bowl
The ruddy host divine!

Before the bed of death
No ghastly spectre stoodbut from the porch
Of life, the lipone kiss inhaled the breath,
And the mute graceful genius lowered a torch.
The judgment-balance of the realms below,
A judge, himself of mortal lineage, held;
The very furies at the Thracian's woe,
Were moved and music-spelled.

In the Elysian grove
The shades renewed the pleasures life held dear:
The faithful spouse rejoined remembered love,
And rushed along the meads the charioteer;
There Linus poured the old accustomed strain;
Admetus there Alcestis still could greet; his
Friend there once more Orestes could regain,
His arrowsPhiloctetes!

More glorious than the meeds
That in their strife with labor nerved the brave,
To the great doer of renowned deeds
The Hebe and the heaven the Thunderer gave.
Before the rescued rescuer [10] of the dead,
Bowed down the silent and immortal host;
And the twain stars [11] their guiding lustre shed,
On the bark tempest-tossed!

Art thou, fair world, no more?
Return, thou virgin-bloom on Nature's face;
Ah, only on the minstrel's magic shore,
Can we the footstep of sweet fable trace!
The meadows mourn for the old hallowing life;
Vainly we search the earth of gods bereft;
Where once the warm and living shapes were rife,
Shadows alone are left!

Cold, from the north, has gone
Over the flowers the blast that killed their May;
And, to enrich the worship of the one,
A universe of gods must pass away!
Mourning, I search on yonder starry steeps,
But thee no more, Selene, there I see!
And through the woods I call, and o'er the deeps,
AndEcho answers me!

Deaf to the joys she gives
Blind to the pomp of which she is possessed
Unconscious of the spiritual power that lives
Around, and rules herby our bliss unblessed
Dull to the art that colors or creates,
Like the dead timepiece, godless nature creeps
Her plodding round, and, by the leaden weights,
The slavish motion keeps.

To-morrow to receive
New life, she digs her proper grave to-day;
And icy moons with weary sameness weave
From their own light their fulness and decay.
Home to the poet's land the gods are flown,
Light use in them that later world discerns,
Which, the diviner leading-strings outgrown,
On its own axle turns.

Home! and with them are gone
The hues they gazed on and the tones they heard;
Life's beauty and life's melody:alone
Broods o'er the desolate void, the lifeless word;
Yet rescued from time's deluge, still they throng
Unseen the Pindus they were wont to cherish:
All, that which gains immortal life in song,
To mortal life must perish!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Gods Of Greece
599:The tyrant Dionys to seek,
Stern Moerus with his poniard crept;
The watchful guard upon him swept;
The grim king marked his changeless cheek:
"What wouldst thou with thy poniard? Speak!"
"The city from the tyrant free!"
"The death-cross shall thy guerdon be."

"I am prepared for death, nor pray,"
Replied that haughty man, "I to live;
Enough, if thou one grace wilt give
For three brief suns the death delay
To wed my sisterleagues away;
I boast one friend whose life for mine,
If I should fail the cross, is thine."

The tyrant mused,and smiled,and said
With gloomy craft, "So let it be;
Three days I will vouchsafe to thee.
But markif, when the time be sped,
Thou fail'stthy surety dies instead.
His life shall buy thine own release;
Thy guilt atoned, my wrath shall cease."

He sought his friend"The king's decree
Ordains my life the cross upon
Shall pay the deed I would have done;
Yet grants three days' delay to me,
My sister's marriage-rites to see;
If thou, the hostage, wilt remain
Till Iset freereturn again!"

His friend embracedNo word he said,
But silent to the tyrant strode
The other went upon his road.
Ere the third sun in heaven was red,
The rite was o'er, the sister wed;
And back, with anxious heart unquailing,
He hastes to hold the pledge unfailing.

Down the great rains unending bore,
Down from the hills the torrents rushed,
In one broad stream the brooklets gushed.
The wanderer halts beside the shore,
The bridge was swept the tides before
The shattered arches o'er and under
Went the tumultuous waves in thunder.

Dismayed he takes his idle stand
Dismayed, he strays and shouts around;
His voice awakes no answering sound.
No boat will leave the sheltering strand,
To bear him to the wished-for land;
No boatman will Death's pilot be;
The wild stream gathers to a sea!

Sunk by the banks, awhile he weeps,
Then raised his arms to Jove, and cried,
"Stay thou, oh stay the maddening tide;
Midway behold the swift sun sweeps,
And, ere he sinks adown the deeps,
If I should fail, his beams will see
My friend's last anguishslain for me!"

More fierce it runs, more broad it flows,
And wave on wave succeeds and dies
And hour on hour remorseless flies;
Despair at last to daring grows
Amidst the flood his form he throws;
With vigorous arms the roaring waves
Cleavesand a God that pities, saves.

He wins the bankhe scours the strand,
He thanks the God in breathless prayer;
When from the forest's gloomy lair,
With ragged club in ruthless hand,
And breathing murderrushed the band
That find, in woods, their savage den,
And savage prey in wandering men.

"What," cried he, pale with generous fear;
"What think to gain ye by the strife?
All I bear with me is my life
I take it to the king!"and here
He snatched the club from him most near:
And thrice he smote, and thrice his blows
Dealt deathbefore him fly the foes!

The sun is glowing as a brand;
And faint before the parching heat,
The strength forsakes the feeble feet:
"Thou hast saved me from the robbers' hand,
Through wild floods given the blessed land;
And shall the weak limbs fail me now?
And he!Divine one, nerve me, thou!"
Hark! like some gracious murmur by,
Babbles low music, silver-clear
The wanderer holds his breath to hear;
And from the rock, before his eye,
Laughs forth the spring delightedly;
Now the sweet waves he bends him o'er,
And the sweet waves his strength restore.

Through the green boughs the sun gleams dying,
O'er fields that drink the rosy beam,
The trees' huge shadows giant seem.
Two strangers on the road are hieing;
And as they fleet beside him flying,
These muttered words his ear dismay:
"Nownow the cross has claimed its prey!"

Despair his winged path pursues,
The anxious terrors hound him on
There, reddening in the evening sun,
From far, the domes of Syracuse!
When towards him comes Philostratus
(His leal and trusty herdsman he),
And to the master bends his knee.

"Backthou canst aid thy friend no more,
The ****rd time already flown
His life is forfeitsave thine own!
Hour after hour in hope he bore,
Nor might his soul its faith give o'er;
Nor could the tyrant's scorn deriding,
Steal from that faith one thought confiding!"

"Too late! what horror hast thou spoken!
Vain life, since it cannot requite him!
But death with me can yet unite him;
No boast the tyrant's scorn shall make
How friend to friend can faith forsake.
But from the double death shall know,
That truth and love yet live below!"

The sun sinks downthe gate's in view,
The cross looms dismal on the ground
The eager crowd gape murmuring round.
His friend is bound the cross unto. . . .
Crowdguardsall bursts he breathless through:
"Me! Doomsman, me!" he shouts, "alone!
His life is rescuedlo, mine own!"

Amazement seized the circling ring!
Linked in each other's arms the pair
Weeping for joyyet anguish there!
Moist every eye that gazed;they bring
The wondrous tidings to the king
His breast man's heart at last hath known,
And the friends stand before his throne.

Long silent, he, and wondering long,
Gazed on the pair"In peace depart,
Victors, ye have subdued my heart!
Truth is no dream!its power is strong.
Give grace to him who owns his wrong!
'Tis mine your suppliant now to be,
Ah, let the band of lovebe three!"
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Hostage
600:Hark where the bells toll, chiming, dull and steady,
The clock's slow hand hath reached the appointed time.
Well, be it soprepare, my soul is ready,
Companions of the gravethe rest for crime!
Now take, O world! my last farewellreceiving
My parting kissesin these tears they dwell!
Sweet are thy poisons while we taste believing,
Now we are quitsheart-poisoner, fare-thee-well!

Farewell, ye suns that once to joy invited,
Changed for the mould beneath the funeral shade;
Farewell, farewell, thou rosy time delighted,
Luring to soft desire the careless maid,
Pale gossamers of gold, farewell, sweet dreaming
Fanciesthe children that an Eden bore!
Blossoms that died while dawn itself was gleaming,
Opening in happy sunlight never more.

Swanlike the robe which innocence bestowing,
Decked with the virgin favors, rosy fair,
In the gay time when many a young rose glowing,
Blushed through the loose train of the amber hair.
Woe, woe! as white the robe that decks me now
The shroud-like robe hell's destined victim wears;
Still shall the fillet bind this burning brow
That sable braid the Doomsman's hand prepares!

Weep ye, who never fell-for whom, unerring,
The soul's white lilies keep their virgin hue,
Ye who when thoughts so danger-sweet are stirring,
Take the stern strength that Nature gives the few!
Woe, for too human was this fond heart's feeling
Feeling!my sin's avenger doomed to be;
Woefor the false man's arm around me stealing,
Stole the lulled virtue, charmed to sleep, from me.

Ah, he perhaps shall, round another sighing
(Forgot the serpents stinging at my breast),
Gayly, when I in the dumb grave am lying,
Pour the warm wish or speed the wanton jest,
Or play, perchance, with his new maiden's tresses,
Answer the kiss her lip enamored brings,
When the dread block the head he cradled presses,
And high the blood his kiss once fevered springs.

Thee, Francis, Francis, league on league, shall follow
The death-dirge of the Lucy once so dear;
From yonder steeple dismal, dull, and hollow,
Shall knell the warning horror on thy ear.
On thy fresh leman's lips when love is dawning,
And the lisped music glides from that sweet well
Lo, in that breast a red wound shall be yawning,
And, in the midst of rapture, warn of hell!

Betrayer, what! thy soul relentless closing
To griefthe woman-shame no art can heal
To that small life beneath my heart reposing!
Man, man, the wild beast for its young can feel!
Proud flew the sailsreceding from the land,
I watched them waning from the wistful eye,
Round the gay maids on Seine's voluptuous strand,
Breathes the false incense of his fatal sigh.

And there the babe! there, on the mother's bosom,
Lulled in its sweet and golden rest it lay,
Fresh in life's morning as a rosy blossom,
It smiled, poor harmless one, my tears away.
Deathlike yet lovely, every feature speaking
In such dear calm and beauty to my sadness,
And cradled still the mother's heart, in breaking,
The softening love and the despairing madness.

"Woman, where is my father?" freezing through me,
Lisped the mute innocence with thunder-sound;
"Woman, where is thy husband?"called unto me,
In every look, word, whisper, busying round!
Alas, for thee, there is no father's kiss;
He fondleth other children on his knee.
How thou wilt curse our momentary bliss,
When **** on thy name shall branded be!

Thy motheroh, a hell her heart concealeth,
Lone-sitting, lone in social nature's all!
Thirsting for that glad fount thy love revealeth,
While still thy look the glad fount turns to gall.
In every infant cry my soul is hearkening,
The haunting happiness forever o'er,
And all the bitterness of death is darkening
The heavenly looks that smiled mine eyes before.

Hell, if my sight those looks a moment misses
Hell, when my sight upon those looks is turned
The avenging furies madden in thy kisses,
That slept in his what time my lips they burned.
Out from their graves his oaths spoke back in thunder!
The perjury stalked like murder in the sun
ForeverGod!sense, reason, soul, sunk under
The deed was done!

Francis, O Francis! league on league shall chase thee
The shadows hurrying grimly on thy flight
Still with their icy arms they shall embrace thee,
And mutter thunder in thy dream's delight!

Down from the soft stars, in their tranquil glory,
Shall look thy dead child with a ghastly stare;
That shape shall haunt thee in its cerements gory,
And scourge thee back from heavenits home is there!

Lifelesshow lifeless!see, oh see, before me
It lies coldstiffO God!and with that blood
I feel, as swoops the dizzy darkness o'er me
Mine own life mingledebbing in the flood

Hark, at the door they knockmore loud within me
More awful stillits sound the dread heart gave!
Gladly I welcome the cold arms that win me
Fire, quench thy tortures in the icy grave!

Francisa God that pardons dwells in heaven
Francis, the sinneryesshe pardons thee
So let my wrongs unto the earth be given
Flame seize the wood!it burnsit kindlessee!
Therethere his letters castbehold are ashes
His vowsthe conquering fire consumes them here
His kissesseeseeall are only ashes
All, allthe all that once on earth were dear!

Trust not the roses which your youth enjoyeth,
Sisters, to man's faith, changeful as the moon!
Beauty to me brought guiltits bloom destroyeth
Lo, in the judgment court I curse the boon
Tears in the headsman's gazewhat tears?'tis spoken!
Quick, bind mine eyesall soon shall be forgot
Doomsmanthe lily hast thou never broken?
Pale Doomsmantremble not!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Infanticide
601:. At Aix-la-Chapelle, in imperial array,
   In its halls renowned in old story,
  At the coronation banquet so gay
   King Rudolf was sitting in glory.
  The meats were served up by the Palsgrave of Rhine,
  The Bohemian poured out the bright sparkling wine,
   And all the Electors, the seven,
  Stood waiting around the world-governing one,
  As the chorus of stars encircle the sun,
   That honor might duly be given.

  And the people the lofty balcony round
   In a throng exulting were filling;
  While loudly were blending the trumpets' glad sound,
   The multitude's voices so thrilling;
  For the monarchless period, with horror rife,
  Has ended now, after long baneful strife,
   And the earth had a lord to possess her.
  No longer ruled blindly the iron-bound spear,
  And the weak and the peaceful no longer need fear
   Being crushed by the cruel oppressor.

  And the emperor speaks with a smile in his eye,
   While the golden goblet he seizes:
  "With this banquet in glory none other can vie,
   And my regal heart well it pleases;
  Yet the minstrel, the bringer of joy, is not here,
  Whose melodious strains to my heart are so dear,
   And whose words heavenly wisdom inspire;
  Since the days of my youth it hath been my delight,
  And that which I ever have loved as a knight,
   As a monarch I also require."

  And behold! 'mongst the princes who stand round the throne
   Steps the bard, in his robe long and streaming,
  While, bleached by the years that have over him flown,
   His silver locks brightly are gleaming;
  "Sweet harmony sleeps in the golden strings,
  The minstrel of true love reward ever sings,
   And adores what to virtue has tended
  What the bosom may wish, what the senses hold dear;
  But say, what is worthy the emperor's ear
   At this, of all feasts the most splendid?"

  "No restraint would I place on the minstrel's own choice,"
   Speaks the monarch, a smile on each feature;
  "He obeys the swift hour's imperious voice,
   Of a far greater lord is the creature.
  For, as through the air the storm-wind on-speeds,
  One knows not from whence its wild roaring proceeds
   As the spring from hid sources up-leaping,
  So the lay of the bard from the inner heart breaks
  While the might of sensations unknown it awakes,
   That within us were wondrously sleeping."

  Then the bard swept the cords with a finger of might,
   Evoking their magical sighing:
  "To the chase once rode forth a valorous knight,
   In pursuit of the antelope flying.
  His hunting-spear bearing, there came in his train
  His squire; and when o'er a wide-spreading plain
   On his stately steed he was riding,
  He heard in the distance a bell tinkling clear,
  And a priest, with the Host, he saw soon drawing near,
   While before him the sexton was striding."

  "And low to the earth the Count then inclined,
   Bared his head in humble submission,
  To honor, with trusting and Christian-like mind,
   What had saved the whole world from perdition.
  But a brook o'er the plain was pursuing its course,
  That swelled by the mountain stream's headlong force,
   Barred the wanderer's steps with its current;
  So the priest on one side the blest sacrament put,
  And his sandal with nimbleness drew from his foot,
   That he safely might pass through the torrent."

  "'What wouldst thou?' the Count to him thus began,
   His wondering look toward him turning:
  'My journey is, lord, to a dying man,
   Who for heavenly diet is yearning;
  But when to the bridge o'er the brook I came nigh,
  In the whirl of the stream, as it madly rushed by
   With furious might 'twas uprooted.
  And so, that the sick the salvation may find
  That he pants for, I hasten with resolute mind
   To wade through the waters barefooted.'"

  "Then the Count made him mount on his stately steed,
   And the reins to his hands he confided,
  That he duly might comfort the sick in his need,
   And that each holy rite be provided.
  And himself, on the back of the steed of his squire,
  Went after the chase to his heart's full desire,
   While the priest on his journey was speeding
  And the following morning, with thankful look,
  To the Count once again his charger he took,
   Its bridle with modesty leading."

  "'God forbid that in chase or in battle,' then cried
   The Count with humility lowly,
  'The steed I henceforward should dare to bestride
   That had borne my Creator so holy!
  And if, as a guerdon, he may not be thine,
  He devoted shall be to the service divine,
   Proclaiming His infinite merit,
  From whom I each honor and earthly good
  Have received in fee, and my body and blood,
   And my breath, and my life, and my spirit.'"

  "'Then may God, the sure rock, whom no time can e'er move,
   And who lists to the weak's supplication,
  For the honor thou pay'st Him, permit thee to prove
   Honor here, and hereafter salvation!
  Thou'rt a powerful Count, and thy knightly command
  Hath blazoned thy fame through the Switzer's broad land;
   Thou art blest with six daughters admired;
  May they each in thy house introduce a bright crown,
  Filling ages unborn with their glorious renown'
   Thus exclaimed he in accents inspired."

  And the emperor sat there all-thoughtfully,
   While the dream of the past stood before him;
  And when on the minstrel he turned his eye,
   His words' hidden meaning stole o'er him;
  For seeing the traits of the priest there revealed,
  In the folds of his purple-dyed robe he concealed
   His tears as they swiftly coursed down.
  And all on the emperor wonderingly gazed,
  And the blest dispensations of Providence praised,
   For the Count and the Caesar were one.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Count Of Hapsburg
602:By love are blest the gods on high,
Frail man becomes a deity
When love to him is given;
'Tis love that makes the heavens shine
With hues more radiant, more divine,
And turns dull earth to heaven!

In Pyrrha's rear (so poets sang
In ages past and gone),
The world from rocky fragments sprang
Mankind from lifeless stone.

Their soul was but a thing of night,
Like stone and rock their heart;
The flaming torch of heaven so bright
Its glow could ne'er impart.

Young loves, all gently hovering round,
Their souls as yet had never bound
In soft and rosy chains;
No feeling muse had sought to raise
Their bosoms with ennobling lays,
Or sweet, harmonious strains.

Around each other lovingly
No garlands then entwined;
The sorrowing springs fled toward the sky,
And left the earth behind.

From out the sea Aurora rose
With none to hail her then;
The sun unhailed, at daylight's close,
In ocean sank again.

In forests wild, man went astray,
Misled by Luna's cloudy ray
He bore an iron yoke;
He pined not for the stars on high,
With yearning for a deity
No tears in torrents broke.


But see! from out the deep-blue ocean
Fair Venus springs with gentle motion
The graceful Naiad's smiling band
Conveys her to the gladdened strand,

A May-like, youthful, magic power
Entwines, like morning's twilight hour,
Around that form of godlike birth,
The charms of air, sea, heaven, and earth.

The day's sweet eye begins to bloom
Across the forest's midnight gloom;
Narcissuses, their balm distilling,
The path her footstep treads are filling.

A song of love, sweet Philomel,
Soon carolled through the grove;
The streamlet, as it murmuring fell,
Discoursed of naught but love,

Pygmalion! Happy one! Behold!
Life's glow pervades thy marble cold!
Oh, LOVE, thou conqueror all-divine,
Embrace each happy child of thine!


By love are blest the gods on high,
Frail man becomes a deity
When love to him is given;
'Tis love that makes the heavens shine
With hues more radiant, more divine,
And turns dull earth to heaven!


The gods their days forever spend
In banquets bright that have no end,
In one voluptuous morning-dream,
And quaff the nectar's golden stream.

Enthroned in awful majesty
Kronion wields the bolt on high:
In abject fear Olympus rocks
When wrathfully he shakes his locks.

To other gods he leaves his throne,
And fills, disguised as earth's frail son,
The grove with mournful numbers;
The thunders rest beneath his feet,
And lulled by Leda's kisses sweet,
The Giant-Slayer slumbers.

Through the boundless realms of light
Phoebus' golden reins, so bright,
Guide his horses white as snow,
While his darts lay nations low.
But when love and harmony
Fill his breast, how willingly
Ceases Phoebus then to heed
Rattling dart and snow-white steed!

See! Before Kronion's spouse
Every great immortal bows;
Proudly soar the peacock pair
As her chariot throne they bear,
While she decks with crown of might
Her ambrosial tresses bright,

Beauteous princess, ah! with fear
Quakes before thy splendor, love,
Seeking, as he ventures near,
With his power thy breast to move!
Soon from her immortal throne
Heaven's great queen must fain descend,
And in prayer for beauty's zone,
To the heart-enchainer bend!


By love are blest the gods on high,
Frail man becomes a deity
When love to him is given;
'Tis love that makes the heavens shine
With hues more radiant, more divine,
And turns dull earth to heaven!


'Tis love illumes the realms of night,
For Orcus dark obeys his might,
And bows before his magic spell
All-kindly looks the king of hell
At Ceres' daughter's smile so bright,
Yeslove illumes the realms of night!

In hell were heard, with heavenly sound,
Holding in chains its warder bound,
Thy lays, O Thracian one!
A gentler doom dread Minos passed,
While down his cheeks the tears coursed fast
And e'en around Megaera's face
The serpents twined in fond embrace,
The lashes' work seemed done.

Driven by Orpheus' lyre away,
The vulture left his giant-prey [8];
With gentler motion rolled along
Dark Lethe and Cocytus' river,
Enraptured Thracian, by thy song,
And love its burden was forever!

By love are blest the gods on high,
Frail man becomes a deity
When love to him is given;
'Tis love that makes the heavens shine
With hues more radiant, more divine,
And turns dull earth to heaven!


Wherever Nature's sway extends,
The fragrant balm of love descends,
His golden pinions quiver;
If 'twere not Venus' eye that gleams
Upon me in the moon's soft beams,
In sunlit hill or river,
If 'twere not Venus smiles on me
From yonder bright and starry sea,

Not stars, not sun, not moonbeams sweet,
Could make my heart with rapture beat.
'Tis love alone that smilingly
Peers forth from Nature's blissful eye,
As from a mirror ever!

Love bids the silvery streamlet roll
More gently as it sighs along,
And breathes a living, feeling soul
In Philomel's sweet plaintive song;
'Tis love alone that fills the air
With streams from Nature's lute so fair.

Thou wisdom with the glance of fire,
Thou mighty goddess, now retire,
Love's power thou now must feel!
To victor proud, to monarch high,
Thou ne'er hast knelt in slavery,
To love thou now must kneel!

Who taught thee boldly how to climb
The steep, but starry path sublime,
And reach the seats immortal?
Who rent the mystic veil in twain,
And showed thee the Elysian plain
Beyond death's gloomy portal?
If love had beckoned not from high,
Had we gained immortality?
If love had not inflamed each thought,
Had we the master spirit sought?
'Tis love that guides the soul along
To Nature's Father's heavenly throne

By love are blest the gods on high,
Frail man becomes a deity
When love to him is given;
'Tis love that makes the heavens shine
With hues more radiant, more divine,
And turns dull earth to heaven!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Triumph Of Love
603:Forever fair, forever calm and bright,
Life flies on plumage, zephyr-light,
For those who on the Olympian hill rejoice
Moons wane, and races wither to the tomb,
And 'mid the universal ruin, bloom
The rosy days of GodsWith man, the choice,
Timid and anxious, hesitates between
The sense's pleasure and the soul's content;
While on celestial brows, aloft and sheen,
The beams of both are blent.

Seekest thou on earth the life of gods to share,
Safe in the realm of death?beware
To pluck the fruits that glitter to thine eye;
Content thyself with gazing on their glow
Short are the joys possession can bestow,
And in possession sweet desire will die.
'Twas not the ninefold chain of waves that bound
Thy daughter, Ceres, to the Stygian river
She plucked the fruit of the unholy ground,
And sowas hell's forever!
The weavers of the webthe fatesbut sway
The matter and the things of clay;
Safe from change that time to matter gives,
Nature's blest playmate, free at will to stray
With gods a god, amidst the fields of day,
The form, the archetype [39], serenely lives.
Would'st thou soar heavenward on its joyous wing?
Cast from thee, earth, the bitter and the real,
High from this cramped and dungeon being, spring
Into the realm of the ideal!

Here, bathed, perfection, in thy purest ray,
Free from the clogs and taints of clay,
Hovers divine the archetypal man!
Dim as those phantom ghosts of life that gleam
And wander voiceless by the Stygian stream,
Fair as it stands in fields Elysian,
Ere down to flesh the immortal doth descend:
If doubtful ever in the actual life
Each contesthere a victory crowns the end
Of every nobler strife.

Not from the strife itself to set thee free,
But more to nervedoth victory
Wave her rich garland from the ideal clime.
Whate'er thy wish, the earth has no repose
Life still must drag thee onward as it flows,
Whirling thee down the dancing surge of time.
But when the courage sinks beneath the dull
Sense of its narrow limitson the soul,
Bright from the hill-tops of the beautiful,
Bursts the attained goal!

If worth thy while the glory and the strife
Which fire the lists of actual life
The ardent rush to fortune or to fame,
In the hot field where strength and valor are,
And rolls the whirling thunder of the car,
And the world, breathless, eyes the glorious game
Then dare and strivethe prize can but belong
To him whose valor o'er his tribe prevails;
In life the victory only crowns the strong
He who is feeble fails.

But life, whose source, by crags around it piled,
Chafed while confined, foams fierce and wild,
Glides soft and smooth when once its streams expand,
When its waves, glassing in their silver play,
Aurora blent with Hesper's milder ray,
Gain the still beautifulthat shadow-land!
Here, contest grows but interchange of love,
All curb is but the bondage of the grace;
Gone is each foe,peace folds her wings above
Her native dwelling-place.

When, through dead stone to breathe a soul of light,
With the dull matter to unite
The kindling genius, some great sculptor glows;
Behold him straining, every nerve intent
Behold how, o'er the subject element,
The stately thought its march laborious goes!
For never, save to toil untiring, spoke
The unwilling truth from her mysterious well
The statue only to the chisel's stroke
Wakes from its marble cell.

But onward to the sphere of beautygo
Onward, O child of art! and, lo!
Out of the matter which thy pains control
The statue springs!not as with labor wrung
From the hard block, but as from nothing sprung
Airy and lightthe offspring of the soul!
The pangs, the cares, the weary toils it cost
Leave not a trace when once the work is done
The Artist's human frailty merged and lost
In art's great victory won! [40]

If human sin confronts the rigid law
Of perfect truth and virtue [41], awe
Seizes and saddens thee to see how far
Beyond thy reach, perfection;if we test
By the ideal of the good, the best,
How mean our efforts and our actions are!
This space between the ideal of man's soul
And man's achievement, who hath ever past?
An ocean spreads between us and that goal,
Where anchor ne'er was cast!

But fly the boundary of the senseslive
The ideal life free thought can give;
And, lo, the gulf shall vanish, and the chill
Of the soul's impotent despair be gone!
And with divinity thou sharest the throne,
Let but divinity become thy will!
Scorn not the lawpermit its iron band
The sense (it cannot chain the soul) to thrall.
Let man no more the will of Jove withstand [42],
And Jove the bolt lets fall!

If, in the woes of actual human life
If thou could'st see the serpent strife
Which the Greek art has made divine in stone
Could'st see the writhing limbs, the livid cheek,
Note every pang, and hearken every shriek,
Of some despairing lost Laocoon,
The human nature would thyself subdue
To share the human woe before thine eye
Thy cheek would pale, and all thy soul be true
To man's great sympathy.

But in the ideal realm, aloof and far,
Where the calm art's pure dwellers are,
Lo, the Laocoon writhes, but does not groan.
Here, no sharp grief the high emotion knows
Here, suffering's self is made divine, and shows
The brave resolve of the firm soul alone:
Here, lovely as the rainbow on the dew
Of the spent thunder-cloud, to art is given,
Gleaming through grief's dark veil, the peaceful blue
Of the sweet moral heaven.

So, in the glorious parable, behold
How, bowed to mortal bonds, of old
Life's dreary path divine Alcides trod:
The hydra and the lion were his prey,
And to restore the friend he loved to-day,
He went undaunted to the black-browed god;
And all the torments and the labors sore
Wroth Juno sentthe meek majestic one,
With patient spirit and unquailing, bore,
Until the course was run

Until the god cast down his garb of clay,
And rent in hallowing flame away
The mortal part from the divineto soar
To the empyreal air! Behold him spring
Blithe in the pride of the unwonted wing,
And the dull matter that confined before
Sinks downward, downward, downward as a dream!
Olympian hymns receive the escaping soul,
And smiling Hebe, from the ambrosial stream,
Fills for a god the bowl!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Ideal And The Actual Life
604:Once to the song and chariot-fight,
Where all the tribes of Greece unite
On Corinth's isthmus joyously,
The god-loved Ibycus drew nigh.
On him Apollo had bestowed
The gift of song and strains inspired;
So, with light staff, he took his road
From Rhegium, by the godhead fired.

Acrocorinth, on mountain high,
Now burns upon the wanderer's eye,
And he begins, with pious dread,
Poseidon's grove of firs to tread.
Naught moves around him, save a swarm
Of cranes, who guide him on his way;
Who from far southern regions warm
Have hither come in squadron gray.

"Thou friendly band, all hail to thee!
Who led'st me safely o'er the sea!
I deem thee as a favoring sign,
My destiny resembles thine.
Both come from a far distant coast,
Both pray for some kind sheltering place;
Propitious toward us be the host
Who from the stranger wards disgrace!"

And on he hastes, in joyous wood,
And reaches soon the middle wood
When, on a narrow bridge, by force
Two murderers sudden bar his course.
He must prepare him for the fray,
But soon his wearied hand sinks low;
Inured the gentle lyre to play,
It ne'er has strung the deadly bow.

On gods and men for aid he cries,
No savior to his prayer replies;
However far his voice he sends,
Naught living to his cry attends.
"And must I in a foreign land,
Unwept, deserted, perish here,
Falling beneath a murderous hand,
Where no avenger can appear?"

Deep-wounded, down he sinks at last,
When, lo! the cranes' wings rustle past.
He hears,though he no more can see,
Their voices screaming fearfully.
"By you, ye cranes, that soar on high,
If not another voice is heard,
Be borne to heaven my murder-cry!"
He speaks, and dies, too, with the word.

The naked corpse, ere long, is found,
And, though defaced by many a wound,
His host in Corinth soon could tell
The features that he loved so well.
"And is it thus I find thee now,
Who hoped the pine's victorious crown
To place upon the singer's brow,
Illumined by his bright renown?"

The news is heard with grief by all
Met at Poseidon's festival;
All Greece is conscious of the smart,
He leaves a void in every heart;
And to the Prytanis swift hie
The people, and they urge him on
The dead man's manes to pacify
And with the murderer's blood atone.

But where's the trace that from the throng
The people's streaming crowds among,
Allured there by the sports so bright,
Can bring the villain back to light?
By craven robbers was he slain?
Or by some envious hidden foe?
That Helios only can explain,
Whose rays illume all things below.

Perchance, with shameless step and proud,
He threads e'en now the Grecian crowd
Whilst vengeance follows in pursuit,
Gloats over his transgression's fruit.
The very gods perchance he braves
Upon the threshold of their fane,
Joins boldly in the human waves
That haste yon theatre to gain.

For there the Grecian tribes appear,
Fast pouring in from far and near;
On close-packed benches sit they there,
The stage the weight can scarcely bear.
Like ocean-billows' hollow roar,
The teaming crowds of living man
Toward the cerulean heavens upsoar,
In bow of ever-widening span.

Who knows the nation, who the name,
Of all who there together came?
From Theseus' town, from Aulis' strand
From Phocis, from the Spartan land,
From Asia's distant coast, they wend,
From every island of the sea,
And from the stage they hear ascend
The chorus's dread melody.

Who, sad and solemn, as of old,
With footsteps measured and controlled,
Advancing from the far background,
Circle the theatre's wide round.
Thus, mortal women never move!
No mortal home to them gave birth!
Their giant-bodies tower above,
High o'er the puny sons of earth.

With loins in mantle black concealed,
Within their fleshless bands they wield
The torch, that with a dull red glows,
While in their cheek no life-blood flows;
And where the hair is floating wide
And loving, round a mortal brow,
Here snakes and adders are descried,
Whose bellies swell with poison now.

And, standing in a fearful ring,
The dread and solemn chant they sing,
That through the bosom thrilling goes,
And round the sinner fetters throws.
Sense-robbing, of heart-maddening power,
The furies' strains resound through air
The listener's marrow they devour,
The lyre can yield such numbers ne'er.

"Happy the man who, blemish-free,
Preserves a soul of purity!
Near him we ne'er avenging come,
He freely o'er life's path may roam.
But woe to him who, hid from view,
Hath done the deed of murder base!
Upon his heels we close pursue,
We, who belong to night's dark race!"

"And if he thinks to 'scape by flight,
Winged we appear, our snare of might
Around his flying feet to cast,
So that he needs must fall at last.
Thus we pursue him, tiring ne'er,
Our wrath repentance cannot quell,
On to the shadows, and e'en there
We leave him not in peace to dwell!"

Thus singing, they the dance resume,
And silence, like that of the tomb,
O'er the whole house lies heavily,
As if the deity were nigh.
And staid and solemn, as of old,
Circling the theatre's wide round,
With footsteps measured and controlled,
They vanish in the far background.

Between deceit and truth each breast.
Now doubting hangs, by awe possessed,
And homage pays to that dread might,
That judges what is hid from sight,
That, fathomless, inscrutable,
The gloomy skein of fate entwines,
That reads the bosom's depths full well,
Yet flies away where sunlight shines.

When sudden, from the tier most high,
A voice is heard by all to cry:
"See there, see there, Timotheus!
Behold the cranes of Ibycus!"
The heavens become as black as night,
And o'er the theatre they see,
Far over-head, a dusky flight
Of cranes, approaching hastily.

"Of Ibycus!"That name so blest
With new-born sorrow fills each breast.
As waves on waves in ocean rise,
From mouth to mouth it swiftly flies:
"Of Ibycus, whom we lament?
Who fell beneath the murderer's hand?
What mean those words that from him went?
What means this cranes' advancing band?"

And louder still become the cries,
And soon this thought foreboding flies
Through every heart, with speed of light
"Observe in this the furies' might!
The poets manes are now appeased
The murderer seeks his own arrest!
Let him who spoke the word be seized,
And him to whom it was addressed!"

That word he had no sooner spoke,
Than he its sound would fain invoke;
In vain! his mouth, with terror pale,
Tells of his guilt the fearful tale.
Before the judge they drag them now
The scene becomes the tribunal;
Their crimes the villains both avow,
When neath the vengeance-stroke they fall.

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Cranes Of Ibycus
605:To Joy
Joy, beautiful spark of the gods,
Daughter from Elysium,
We enter, drunk with fire,
Heavenly, your sanctuary.
Your spells bind again
What the fashion sword shared
Beggars become prince brothers
Where your gentle wing rests.
Choir us

Be embraced, millions!
This kiss for the whole world!
Brothers - over the stars
Must a dear father live.
Who succeeded the big hit,
To be a friend's friend
Whoever has won a devoted wife,
Mix in his cheers!
Yes - whoever even has a soul
His names on the earth!
And if you never could, steal
Weeping from this covenant
Choir us

What inhabits the great ring,
Pay homage to sympathy!
She leads to the stars
Where the unknown is enthroned.

All beings drink joy
On the breasts of nature
All good, all bad,
Follow their rose trail.
She gave us kisses and vines
A friend tested in death
Pleasure was given to the worm,
And the cherub stands before God.
Choir us

Are you falling, millions?
Do you suspect the Creator, world?
Find him over the canopy of stars.
He must live above the stars.
The strong pen is called joy
In eternal nature.
Joy, joy, drives the wheels
In the great world clock.
She lures flowers from the bud,
Suns from the firmament,
She rolls spheres in the rooms,
Which the seer pipe does not know.
Choir us

Glad how its suns fly
By heaven's glorious plan
Run, brothers, your path,
Happy as a hero to victory.
From the truth, the mirror of fire
She smiles at the researcher.
To the virtue of a steep hill
Guide the path of the sufferer.
On the mountains of the sun of faith
If you see their flags waving
Through the crack of blasted saerge
You stand in the choir of angels.

Endure courageously, millions!
Tolerate for the better world!
Up above the starry canopy
Will a great god reward.
Gods cannot be repaid
It's nice to be like them.
Sorrow and poverty should report,
Rejoice with the happy.
Resentment and vengeance be forgotten,
Pardon our mortal enemy,
No tear shall press him,
No regrets gnaw him.
Choir us

Our debt register be destroyed!
The whole world is paved!
Brothers, over the stars
Judge God as we judged.
Joy gushes in cups,
In the cluster of golden blood
Drink gentleness cannibals,
Despair heroism
Brothers, fly from your seats
When the full Roman circles
Let the foam rise to the sky:
This glass to the good spirit.
Choir us

Praise the vortex of the stars
Who praises the seraph's hymn,
This glass to the good spirit
Above the starry tent up there!
Strong courage in grave suffering
Help where innocence weeps
Eternal sworn oaths,
Truth against friend and foe,
Male pride in front of royal thrones
Brothers, there is good and blood. -
His crowns to merit,
Downfall of the brood of lies!
Choir us

Closes the sacred circle more closely
Swear by this golden wine:
To be faithful to the vow
Swear it to the judge of the stars!
Rescue from chains of tyrants,
Generosity even to the villain,
Hope in the deathbeds
Mercy on the high court!
Let the dead live too!
Brothers, drink and join in
Let all sinners forgive
And no longer be hell.
Choir us

A cheerful farewell hour!
Sweet sleep in the shroud!
Brothers - a gentle saying
From the mouth of the judge of the dead.

To Joy
Joy, beautiful spark of Gods,
Daughter of Elysium,
We enter, fire-imbibed,
Heavenly, thy sanctuary.
Thy magic powers re-unite
What custom's sword has divided
Beggars become Princes' brothers
Where thy gentle wing abides.

Be embraced, millions!
This kiss to the entire world!
Brothers - above the starry canopy
A loving father must dwell.
Whoever has had the great fortune,
To be a friend's friend,
Whoever has won the love of a devoted wife,
Add his to our jubilation!
Indeed, whoever can call even one soul
His own on this earth!
And whoever was never able to must creep
Tearfully away from this circle.

Those who dwell in the great circle,
Pay homage to sympathy!
It leads to the stars,
Where the Unknown reigns.

Joy all creatures drink
At nature's bosoms;
All, Just and Unjust,
Follow her rose-petalled path.
Kisses she gave us, and Wine,
A friend, proven in death,
Pleasure was given (even) to the worm,
And the Cherub stands before God.

You bow down, millions?
Can you sense the Creator, world?
Seek him above the starry canopy.
Above the stars He must dwell.
Joy is called the strong motivation
In eternal nature.
Joy, joy moves the wheels
In the universal time machine.
Flowers it calls forth from their buds,
Suns from the Firmament,
Spheres it moves far out in Space,
Where our telescopes cannot reach.

Joyful, as His suns are flying,
Across the Firmament's splendid design,
Run, brothers, run your race,
Joyful, as a hero going to conquest.
As truth's fiery reflection
It smiles at the scientist.
To virtue's steep hill
It leads the sufferer on.
Atop faith's lofty summit
One sees its flags in the wind,
Through the cracks of burst-open coffins,
One sees it stand in the angels' chorus.

Endure courageously, millions!
Endure for the better world!
Above the starry canopy
A great God will reward you.
Gods one cannot ever repay,
It is beautiful, though, to be like them.
Sorrow and Poverty, come forth
And rejoice with the joyful ones.
Anger and revenge be forgotten,
Our deadly enemy be forgiven,
Not one tear shall he shed anymore,
No feeling of remorse shall pain him.

The account of our misdeeds be destroyed!
Reconciled the entire world!
Brothers, above the starry canopy
God judges as we judged.
Joy is bubbling in the glasses,
Through the grapes' golden blood
Cannibals drink gentleness,
And despair drinks courage
Brothers, fly from your seats,
When the full rummer is going around,
Let the foam gush up to heaven *:
This glass to the good spirit.

He whom star clusters adore,
He whom the Seraphs' hymn praises,
This glass to him, the good spirit,
Above the starry canopy!
Resolve and courage for great suffering,
Help there, where innocence weeps,
Eternally may last all sworn Oaths,
Truth towards friend and enemy,
Men's pride before Kings' thrones
Brothers, even it if meant our Life and blood,
Give the crowns to those who earn them,
Defeat to the pack of liars!

Close the holy circle tighter,
Swear by this golden wine:
To remain true to the Oath,
Swear it by the Judge above the stars!
Delivery from tyrants' chains,
Generosity also towards the villain,
Hope on the deathbeds,
Mercy from the final judge!
Also the dead shall live!
Brothers, drink and chime in,
All sinners shall be forgiven,
And hell shall be no more.

A serene hour of farewell!
Sweet rest in the shroud!
Brothers a mild sentence
From the mouth of the final judge!

Many thanks to Oldpoetry reader Vladimir for locating the original version.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Ode To Joy - With Translation

  A bridge of pearls its form uprears
   High o'er a gray and misty sea;
  E'en in a moment it appears,
   And rises upwards giddily.

  Beneath its arch can find a road
   The loftiest vessel's mast most high,
  Itself hath never borne a load,
   And seems, when thou draw'st near, to fly.

  It comes first with the stream, and goes
   Soon as the watery flood is dried.
  Where may be found this bridge, disclose,
   And who its beauteous form supplied!


  It bears thee many a mile away,
   And yet its place it changes ne'er;
  It has no pinions to display,
   And yet conducts thee through the air.

  It is the bark of swiftest motion
   That every weary wanderer bore;
  With speed of thought the greatest ocean
   It carries thee in safety o'er;
   One moment wafts thee to the shore.


  Upon a spacious meadow play
   Thousands of sheep, of silvery hue;
  And as we see them move to-day,
   The man most aged saw them too.

  They ne'er grow old, and, from a rill
   That never dries, their life is drawn;
  A shepherd watches o'er them still,
   With curved and beauteous silver horn.

  He drives them out through gates of gold,
   And every night their number counts;
  Yet ne'er has lost, of all his fold,
   One lamb, though oft that path he mounts.

  A hound attends him faithfully,
   A nimble ram precedes the way;
  Canst thou point out that flock to me,
   And who the shepherd, canst thou say?


  There stands a dwelling, vast and tall,
   On unseen columns fair;
  No wanderer treads or leaves its hall,
   And none can linger there.

  Its wondrous structure first was planned
   With art no mortal knows;
  It lights the lamps with its own hand
   'Mongst which it brightly glows.

  It has a roof, as crystal bright,
   Formed of one gem of dazzling light;
  Yet mortal eye has ne'er
   Seen Him who placed it there.


  Within a well two buckets lie,
   One mounts, and one descends;
  When one is full, and rises high,
   The other downward wends.

  They wander ever to and fro
  Now empty are, now overflow.
  If to the mouth thou liftest this,
  That hangs within the dark abyss.
  In the same moment they can ne'er
  Refresh thee with their treasures fair.


  Know'st thou the form on tender ground?
   It gives itself its glow, its light;
  And though each moment changing found.
   Is ever whole and ever bright.
  In narrow compass 'tis confined,
   Within the smallest frame it lies;
  Yet all things great that move thy mind,
   That form alone to thee supplies.

  And canst thou, too, the crystal name?
   No gem can equal it in worth;
  It gleams, yet kindles near to flame,
   It sucks in even all the earth.
  Within its bright and wondrous ring
   Is pictured forth the glow of heaven,
  And yet it mirrors back each thing
   Far fairer than to it 'twas given.


  For ages an edifice here has been found,
   It is not a dwelling, it is not a Pane;
  A horseman for hundreds of days may ride round,
   Yet the end of his journey he ne'er can attain.

  Full many a century o'er it has passed,
   The might of the storm and of time it defies!
  Neath the rainbow of Heaven stands free to the last,
   In the ocean it dips, and soars up to the skies.

  It was not vain glory that bade its erection,
  It serves as a refuge, a shield, a protection;
  Its like on the earth never yet has been known
  And yet by man's hand it is fashioned alone.


  Among all serpents there is one,
   Born of no earthly breed;
  In fury wild it stands alone,
   And in its matchless speed.

  With fearful voice and headlong force
   It rushes on its prey,
  And sweeps the rider and his horse
   In one fell swoop away.

  The highest point it loves to gain;
   And neither bar nor lock
  Its fiery onslaught can restrain;
   And armsinvite its shock.

  It tears in twain like tender grass,
   The strongest forest-trees;
  It grinds to dust the hardened brass,
   Though stout and firm it be.

  And yet this beast, that none can tame,
   Its threat ne'er twice fulfils;
  It dies in its self-kindled flame.
   And dies e'en when it kills.


  We children six our being had
   From a most strange and wondrous pair,
  Our mother ever grave and sad,
   Our father ever free from care.

  Our virtues we from both receive,
   Meekness from her, from him our light;
  And so in endless youth we weave
   Round thee a circling figure bright.

  We ever shun the caverns black,
   And revel in the glowing day;
  'Tis we who light the world's dark track,
   With our life's clear and magic ray.

  Spring's joyful harbingers are we,
   And her inspiring streams we swell;
  And so the house of death we flee,
   For life alone must round us dwell.

  Without us is no perfect bliss,
   When man is glad, we, too, attend,
  And when a monarch worshipped is,
   To him our majesty attend.


  What is the thing esteemed by few?
   The monarch's hand it decks with pride,
  Yet it is made to injure too,
   And to the sword is most allied.

  No blood it sheds, yet many a wound
   Inflicts,gives wealth, yet takes from none;
  Has vanquished e'en the earth's wide round,
   And makes life's current smoothly run.

  The greatest kingdoms it has framed,
   The oldest cities reared from dust,
  Yet war's fierce torch has ne'er inflamed;
   Happy are they who in it trust!


  I live within a dwelling of stone,
   There buried in slumber I dally;
  Yet, armed with a weapon of iron alone,
   The foe to encounter I sally.
  At first I'm invisible, feeble, and mean,
   And o'er me thy breath has dominion;
  I'm easily drowned in a raindrop e'en,
   Yet in victory waxes my pinion.
  When my sister, all-powerful, gives me her hand,
  To the terrible lord of the world I expand.


  Upon a disk my course I trace,
   There restlessly forever flit;
  Small is the circuit I embrace,
   Two hands suffice to cover it.
  Yet ere that field I traverse, I
   Full many a thousand mile must go,
  E'en though with tempest-speed I fly,
   Swifter than arrow from a bow.


  A bird it is, whose rapid motion
   With eagle's flight divides the air;
  A fish it is, and parts the ocean,
   That bore a greater monster ne'er;
  An elephant it is, whose rider
   On his broad back a tower has put:
  'Tis like the reptile base, the spider,
   Whenever it extends its foot;
  And when, with iron tooth projecting,
   It seeks its own life-blood to drain,
  On footing firm, itself erecting,
   It braves the raging hurricane.
~ Friedrich Schiller, Parables And Riddles
607:"What knight or what vassal will be so bold
As to plunge in the gulf below?
See! I hurl in its depths a goblet of gold,
Already the waters over it flow.
The man who can bring back the goblet to me,
May keep it henceforward,his own it shall be."

Thus speaks the king, and he hurls from the height
Of the cliffs that, rugged and steep,
Hang over the boundless sea, with strong might,
The goblet afar, in the bellowing deep.
"And who'll be so daring,I ask it once more,
As to plunge in these billows that wildly roar?"

And the vassals and knights of high degree
Hear his words, but silent remain.
They cast their eyes on the raging sea,
And none will attempt the goblet to gain.
And a third time the question is asked by the king:
"Is there none that will dare in the gulf now to spring?"

Yet all as before in silence stand,
When a page, with a modest pride,
Steps out of the timorous squirely band,
And his girdle and mantle soon throws aside,
And all the knights, and the ladies too,
The noble stripling with wonderment view.

And when he draws nigh to the rocky brow,
And looks in the gulf so black,
The waters that she had swallowed but now,
The howling Charybdis is giving back;
And, with the distant thunder's dull sound.
From her gloomy womb they all-foaming rebound.

And it boils and it roars, and it hisses and seethes,
As when water and fire first blend;
To the sky spurts the foam in steam-laden wreaths,
And wave presses hard upon wave without end.
And the ocean will never exhausted be,
As if striving to bring forth another sea.

But at length the wild tumult seems pacified,
And blackly amid the white swell
A gaping chasm its jaws opens wide,
As if leading down to the depths of hell:
And the howling billows are seen by each eye
Down the whirling funnel all madly to fly.

Then quickly, before the breakers rebound,
The stripling commends him to Heaven,
Anda scream of horror is heard around,
And now by the whirlpool away he is driven,
And secretly over the swimmer brave
Close the jaws, and he vanishes 'neath the dark wave.

O'er the watery gulf dread silence now lies,
But the deep sends up a dull yell,
And from mouth to mouth thus trembling it flies:
"Courageous stripling, oh, fare thee well!"
And duller and duller the howls recommence,
While they pause in anxious and fearful suspense.

"If even thy crown in the gulf thou shouldst fling,
And shouldst say, 'He who brings it to me
Shall wear it henceforward, and be the king,'
Thou couldst tempt me not e'en with that precious foe;
What under the howling deep is concealed
To no happy living soul is revealed!"

Full many a ship, by the whirlpool held fast,
Shoots straightway beneath the mad wave,
And, dashed to pieces, the hull and the mast
Emerge from the all-devouring grave,
And the roaring approaches still nearer and nearer,
Like the howl of the tempest, still clearer and clearer.

And it boils and it roars, and it hisses and seethes,
As when water and fire first blend;
To the sky spurts the foam in steam-laden wreaths,
And wave passes hard upon wave without end.
And, with the distant thunder's dull sound,
From the ocean-womb they all-bellowing bound.

And lo! from the darkly flowing tide
Comes a vision white as a swan,
And an arm and a glistening neck are descried,
With might and with active zeal steering on;
And 'tis he, and behold! his left hand on high
Waves the goblet, while beaming with joy is his eye.

Then breathes he deeply, then breathes he long,
And blesses the light of the day;
While gladly exclaim to each other the throng:
"He lives! he is here! he is not the sea's prey!
From the tomb, from the eddying waters' control,
The brave one has rescued his living soul!"

And he comes, and they joyously round him stand;
At the feet of the monarch he falls,
The goblet he, kneeling, puts in his hand,
And the king to his beauteous daughter calls,
Who fills it with sparkling wine to the brim;
The youth turns to the monarch, and speaks thus to him:

"Long life to the king! Let all those be glad
Who breathe in the light of the sky!
For below all is fearful, of moment sad;
Let not man to tempt the immortals e'er try,
Let him never desire the thing to see
That with terror and night they veil graciously."

"I was torn below with the speed of light,
When out of a cavern of rock
Rushed towards me a spring with furious might;
I was seized by the twofold torrent's wild shock,
And like a top, with a whirl and a bound,
Despite all resistance, was whirled around."

"Then God pointed out,for to Him I cried
In that terrible moment of need,
A craggy reef in the gulf's dark side;
I seized it in haste, and from death was then freed.
And there, on sharp corals, was hanging the cup,
The fathomless pit had else swallowed it up."

"For under me lay it, still mountain-deep,
In a darkness of purple-tinged dye,
And though to the ear all might seem then asleep
With shuddering awe 'twas seen by the eye
How the salamanders' and dragons' dread forms
Filled those terrible jaws of hell with their swarms."

"There crowded, in union fearful and black,
In a horrible mass entwined,
The rock-fish, the ray with the thorny back,
And the hammer-fish's misshapen kind,
And the shark, the hyena dread of the sea,
With his angry teeth, grinned fiercely on me."

"There hung I, by fulness of terror possessed,
Where all human aid was unknown,
Amongst phantoms, the only sensitive breast,
In that fearful solitude all alone,
Where the voice of mankind could not reach to mine ear,
'Mid the monsters foul of that wilderness drear."

"Thus shuddering methoughtwhen a something crawled near,
And a hundred limbs it out-flung,
And at me it snapped;in my mortal fear,
I left hold of the coral to which I had clung;
Then the whirlpool seized on me with maddened roar,
Yet 'twas well, for it brought me to light once more."

The story in wonderment hears the king,
And he says, "The cup is thine own,
And I purpose also to give thee this ring,
Adorned with a costly, a priceless stone,
If thou'lt try once again, and bring word to me
What thou saw'st in the nethermost depths of the sea."

His daughter hears this with emotions soft,
And with flattering accent prays she:
"That fearful sport, father, attempt not too oft!
What none other would dare, he hath ventured for thee;
If thy heart's wild longings thou canst not tame,
Let the knights, if they can, put the squire to shame."

The king then seizes the goblet in haste,
In the gulf he hurls it with might:
"When the goblet once more in my hands thou hast placed,
Thou shalt rank at my court as the noblest knight,
And her as a bride thou shalt clasp e'en to-day,
Who for thee with tender compassion doth pray."

Then a force, as from Heaven, descends on him there,
And lightning gleams in his eye,
And blushes he sees on her features so fair,
And he sees her turn pale, and swooning lie;
Then eager the precious guerdon to win,
For life or for death, lo! he plunges him in!

The breakers they hear, and the breakers return,
Proclaimed by a thundering sound;
They bend o'er the gulf with glances that yearn,
And the waters are pouring in fast around;
Though upwards and downwards they rush and they rave,
The youth is brought back by no kindly wave.
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Driver
608:Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear!
With it, the Cyane blue intertwine
Rapture must render each glance bright and clear,
For the great queen is approaching her shrine,
She who compels lawless passions to cease,
Who to link man with his fellow has come,
And into firm habitations of peace
Changed the rude tents' ever-wandering home.

Shyly in the mountain-cleft
Was the Troglodyte concealed;
And the roving Nomad left,
Desert lying, each broad field.
With the javelin, with the bow,
Strode the hunter through the land;
To the hapless stranger woe,
Billow-cast on that wild strand!

When, in her sad wanderings lost,
Seeking traces of her child,
Ceres hailed the dreary coast,
Ah, no verdant plain then smiled!
That she here with trust may stay,
None vouchsafes a sheltering roof;
Not a temple's columns gay
Give of godlike worship proof.

Fruit of no propitious ear
Bids her to the pure feast fly;
On the ghastly altars here
Human bones alone e'er dry.
Far as she might onward rove,
Misery found she still in all,
And within her soul of love,
Sorrowed she o'er man's deep fall.

"Is it thus I find the man
To whom we our image lend,
Whose fair limbs of noble span
Upward towards the heavens ascend?
Laid we not before his feet
Earth's unbounded godlike womb?
Yet upon his kingly seat
Wanders he without a home?"

"Does no god compassion feel?
Will none of the blissful race,
With an arm of miracle,
Raise him from his deep disgrace?
In the heights where rapture reigns
Pangs of others ne'er can move;
Yet man's anguish and man's pains
My tormented heart must prove."

"So that a man a man may be,
Let him make an endless bond
With the kind earth trustingly,
Who is ever good and fond
To revere the law of time,
And the moon's melodious song
Who, with silent step sublime,
Move their sacred course along."

And she softly parts the cloud
That conceals her from the sight;
Sudden, in the savage crowd,
Stands she, as a goddess bright.
There she finds the concourse rude
In their glad feast revelling,
And the chalice filled with blood
As a sacrifice they bring.

But she turns her face away,
Horror-struck, and speaks the while
"Bloody tiger-feasts ne'er may
Of a god the lips defile,
He needs victims free from stain,
Fruits matured by autumn's sun;
With the pure gifts of the plain
Honored is the Holy One!"

And she takes the heavy shaft
From the hunter's cruel hand;
With the murderous weapon's haft
Furrowing the light-strown sand,
Takes from out her garland's crown,
Filled with life, one single grain,
Sinks it in the furrow down,
And the germ soon swells amain.

And the green stalks gracefully
Shoot, ere long, the ground above,
And, as far as eye can see,
Waves it like a golden grove.
With her smile the earth she cheers,
Binds the earliest sheaves so fair,
As her hearth the landmark rears,
And the goddess breathes this prayer:

"Father Zeus, who reign'st o'er all
That in ether's mansions dwell,
Let a sign from thee now fall
That thou lov'st this offering well!
And from the unhappy crowd
That, as yet, has ne'er known thee,
Take away the eye's dark cloud,
Showing them their deity!"

Zeus, upon his lofty throne,
Harkens to his sister's prayer;
From the blue heights thundering down,
Hurls his forked lightning there,
Crackling, it begins to blaze,
From the altar whirling bounds,
And his swift-winged eagle plays
High above in circling rounds.

Soon at the feet of their mistress are kneeling,
Filled with emotion, the rapturous throng;
Into humanity's earliest feeling
Melt their rude spirits, untutored and strong.
Each bloody weapon behind them they leave,
Rays on their senses beclouded soon shine,
And from the mouth of the queen they receive,
Gladly and meekly, instruction divine.

All the deities advance
Downward from their heavenly seats;
Themis' self 'tis leads the dance,
And, with staff of justice, metes
Unto every one his rights,
Landmarks, too, 'tis hers to fix;
And in witness she invites
All the hidden powers of Styx.

And the forge-god, too, is there,
The inventive son of Zeus;
Fashioner of vessels fair
Skilled in clay and brass's use.
'Tis from him the art man knows
Tongs and bellows how to wield;
'Neath his hammer's heavy blows
Was the ploughshare first revealed.

With projecting, weighty spear,
Front of all, Minerva stands,
Lifts her voice so strong and clear,
And the godlike host commands.
Steadfast walls 'tis hers to found,
Shield and screen for every one,
That the scattered world around
Bind in loving unison.

The immortals' steps she guides
O'er the trackless plains so vast,
And where'er her foot abides
Is the boundary god held fast;
And her measuring chain is led
Round the mountain's border green,
E'en the raging torrent's bed
In the holy ring is seen.

All the Nymphs and Oreads too
Who, the mountain pathways o'er,
Swift-foot Artemis pursue,
All to swell the concourse, pour,
Brandishing the hunting-spear,
Set to work,glad shouts uprise,
'Neath their axes' blows so clear
Crashing down the pine-wood flies.

E'en the sedge-crowned God ascends
From his verdant spring to light,
And his raft's direction bends
At the goddess' word of might,
While the hours, all gently bound,
Nimbly to their duty fly;
Rugged trunks are fashioned round
By her skilled hand gracefully.

E'en the sea-god thither fares;
Sudden, with his trident's blow,
He the granite columns tears
From earth's entrails far below;
In his mighty hands, on high,
Waves he them, like some light ball,
And with nimble Hermes by,
Raises up the rampart-wall.

But from out the golden strings
Lures Apollo harmony,
Measured time's sweet murmurings,
And the might of melody.
The Camoenae swell the strain
With their song of ninefold tone:
Captive bound in music's chain,
Softly stone unites to stone.

Cybele, with skilful hand,
Open throws the wide-winged door;
Locks and bolts by her are planned,
Sure to last forevermore.
Soon complete the wondrous halls
By the gods' own hands are made,
And the temple's glowing walls
Stand in festal pomp arrayed.

With a crown of myrtle twined,
Now the goddess queen comes there,
And she leads the fairest hind
To the shepherdess most fair.
Venus, with her beauteous boy,
That first pair herself attires;
All the gods bring gifts of joy,
Blessing their love's sacred fires.

Guided by the deities,
Soon the new-born townsmen pour,
Ushered in with harmonies,
Through the friendly open door.
Holding now the rites divine,
Ceres at Zeus' altar stands,
Blessing those around the shrine,
Thus she speaks, with folded hands:

"Freedom's love the beast inflames,
And the god rules free in air,
While the law of Nature tames
Each wild lust that lingers there.
Yet, when thus together thrown,
Man with man must fain unite;
And by his own worth alone
Can he freedom gain, and might."

Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear!
With it, the Cyane blue intertwine!
Rapture must render each glance bright and clear,
For the great queen is approaching her shrine,
She who our homesteads so blissful has given,
She who has man to his fellow-man bound:
Let our glad numbers extol then to heaven,
Her who the earth's kindly mother is found!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Eleusinian Festival
609:Can I, my friend, with thee condole?
Can I conceive the woes that try men,
When late repentance racks the soul
Ensnared into the toils of hymen?
Can I take part in such distress?
Poor martyr,most devoutly, "Yes!"
Thou weep'st because thy spouse has flown
To arms preferred before thine own;
A faithless wife,I grant the curse,
And yet, my friend, it might be worse!
Just hear another's tale of sorrow,
And, in comparing, comfort borrow!

What! dost thou think thyself undone,
Because thy rights are shared with one!
O, happy manbe more resigned,
My wife belongs to all mankind!
My wifeshe's found abroadat home;
But cross the Alps and she's at Rome;
Sail to the Balticthere you'll find her;
Lounge on the Boulevardskind and kinder:
In short, you've only just to drop
Where'er they sell the last new tale,
And, bound and lettered in the shop,
You'll find my lady up for sale!

She must her fair proportions render
To all whose praise can glory lend her;
Within the coach, on board the boat,
Let every pedant "take a note;"
Endure, for public approbation,
Each critic's "close investigation,"
And bravenay, court it as a flattery
Each spectacled Philistine's battery.
Just as it suits some scurvy carcase
In which she hails an Aristarchus,
Ready to fly with kindred souls,
O'er blooming flowers or burning coals,
To fame or shame, to shrine or gallows,
Let him but leadsublimely callous!
A Leipsic man(confound the wretch!)
Has made her topographic sketch,
A kind of map, as of a town,
Each point minutely dotted down;
Scarce to myself I dare to hint
What this dd fellow wants to print!
Thy wifehowe'er she slight the vows
Respects, at least, the name of spouse;
But mine to regions far too high
For that terrestrial name is carried;
My wife's "The famous Ninon!"I
"The gentleman that Ninon married!"

It galls you that you scarce are able
To stake a florin at the table
Confront the pit, or join the walk,
But straight all tongues begin to talk!
O that such luck could me befall,
Just to be talked about at all!
Behold me dwindling in my nook,
Edged at her left,and not a look!
A sort of rushlight of a life,
Put out by that great orbmy wife!

Scarce is the morning graybefore
Postman and porter crowd the door;
No premier has so dear a levee
She finds the mail-bag half its trade;
My Godthe parcels are so heavy!
And not a parcel carriage-paid!
But thenthe truth must be confessed
They're all so charmingly addressed:
Whate'er they cost, they well requite her
"To Madame Blank, the famous writer!"
Poor thing, she sleeps so soft! and yet
'Twere worth my life to spare her slumber;
"Madamefrom Jenathe Gazette
The Berlin Journalthe last number!"
Sudden she wakes; those eyes of blue
(Sweet eyes!) fall straighton the Review!
I by her sideall undetected,
While those cursed columns are inspected;
Loud squall the children overhead,
Still she reads on, till all is read:
At last she lays that darling by,
And asks"What makes the baby cry?"

Already now the toilet's care
Claims from her couch the restless fair;
The toilet's care!the glass has won
Just half a glance, and all is done!
A snappishpettish word or so
Warns the poor maid 'tis time to go:
Not at her toilet wait the Graces
Uncombed Erynnys takes their places;
So great a mind expands its scope
Far from the mean details ofsoap!

Now roll the coach-wheels to the muster
Now round my muse her votaries cluster;
Spruce Abbe MillefleursBaron Herman
The English Lord, who don't know German,
But all uncommonly well read
From matchless A to deathless Z!
Sneaks in the corner, shy and small,
A thing which men the husband call!
While every fop with flattery fires her,
Swears with what passion he admires her.
"'Passion!' 'admire!' and still you're dumb?"
Lord bless your soul, the worst's to come:

I'm forced to bow, as I'm a sinner,
And hopethe rogue will stay to dinner!
But oh, at dinner!there's the sting;
I see my cellar on the wing!
You know if Burgundy is dear?
Mine once emerged three times a year;
And now to wash these learned throttles,
In dozens disappear the bottles;
They well must drink who well do eat
(I've sunk a capital on meat).
Her immortality, I fear, a
Death-blow will prove to my Madeira;
It has given, alas! a mortal shock
To that old friendmy Steinberg hock!

If Faust had really any hand
In printing, I can understand
The fate which legends more than hint;
The devil take all hands that print!

And what my thanks for all?a pout
Sour looksdeep sighs; but what about?
About! O, that I well divine
That such a pearl should fall to swine
That such a literary ruby
Should grace the finger of a booby!

Spring comes;behold, sweet mead and lea
Nature's green splendor tapestries o'er;
Fresh blooms the flower, and buds the tree;
Larks singthe woodland wakes once more.
The woodland wakesbut not for her!
From Nature's self the charm has flown;
No more the Spring of earth can stir
The fond remembrance of our own!
The sweetest bird upon the bough
Has not one note of music now;
And, oh! how dull the grove's soft shade,
Where once(as lovers then)we strayed!
The nightingales have got no learning
Dull creatureshow can they inspire her?
The lilies are so undiscerning,
They never say"how they admire her!"

In all this jubilee of being,
Some subject for a point she's seeing
Some epigram(to be impartial,
Well turned)there may be worse in Martial!

But, hark! the goddess stoops to reason:
"The country now is quite in season,
I'll go!""What! to our country seat?"
"No!Travelling will be such a treat;
Pyrmont's extremely full, I hear;
But Carlsbad's quite the rage this year!"
Oh yes, she loves the rural Graces;
Nature is gayin watering-places!
Those pleasant spasour reigning passion
Where learned Dons meet folks of fashion;
Whereeach with each illustrious soul
Familiar as in Charon's boat,
All sorts of fame sit cheek-by-jowl,
Pearls in that stringthe table d'hote!
Where dames whom man has injuredfly,
To heal their wounds or to efface, them;
While others, with the waters, try
A course of flirting,just to brace them!

Well, there (O man, how light thy woes
Compared with minethou need'st must see!)
My wife, undaunted, greatly goes
And leaves the orphans (seven!!!) to me!

O, wherefore art thou flown so soon,
Thou first fair yearLove's honeymoon!
All, dream too exquisite for life!
Home's goddessin the name of wife!
Reared by each graceyet but to be
Man's household Anadyomene!
With mind from which the sunbeams fall,
Rejoice while pervading all;
Frank in the temper pleased to please
Soft in the feeling waked with ease.
So broke, as native of the skies,
The heart-enthraller on my eyes;
So saw I, like a morn of May,
The playmate given to glad my way;
With eyes that more than lips bespoke,
Eyes whencesweet words"I love thee!" broke!
SoAh, what transports then were mine!
I led the bride before the shrine!
And saw the future years revealed,
Glassed on my hopeone blooming field!
More wide, and widening more, were given
The angel-gates disclosing heaven;
Round us the lovely, mirthful troop
Of children cameyet still to me
The loveliestmerriest of the group
The happy mother seemed to be!
Mine, by the bonds that bind us more
Than all the oaths the priest before;
Mine, by the concord of content,
When heart with heart is music-blent;
When, as sweet sounds in unison,
Two lives harmonious melt in one!
Whensudden (O the villain!)came
Upon the scene a mind profound!
A bel esprit, who whispered "Fame,"
And shook my card-house to the ground.

What have I now instead of all
The Eden lost of hearth and hall?
What comforts for the heaven bereft?
What of the younger angel's left?
A sort of intellectual mule,
Man's stubborn mind in woman's shape,
Too hard to love, too frail to rule
A sage engrafted on an ape!
To what she calls the realm of mind,
She leaves that throne, her sex, to crawl,
The cestus and the charm resigned
A public gaping-show to all!
She blots from beauty's golden book
A name 'mid nature's choicest few,
To gain the glory of a nook
In Doctor Dunderhead's Review.

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Celebrated Woman - An Epistle By A Married Man
610:A gentle was Fridolin,
And he his mistress dear,
Savern's fair Countess, honored in
All truth and godly fear.
She was so meek, and, ah! so good!
Yet each wish of her wayward mood,
He would have studied to fulfil,
To please his God, with earnest will.

From the first hour when daylight shone
Till rang the vesper-chime,
He lived but for her will alone,
And deemed e'en that scarce time.
And if she said, "Less anxious be!"
His eye then glistened tearfully.
Thinking that he in duty failed,
And so before no toil he quailed.

And so, before her serving train,
The Countess loved to raise him;
While her fair mouth, in endless strain,
Was ever wont to praise him.
She never held him as her slave,
Her heart a child's rights to him gave;
Her clear eye hung in fond delight
Upon his well-formed features bright.

Soon in the huntsman Robert's breast
Was poisonous anger fired;
His black soul, long by lust possessed,
With malice was inspired;
He sought the Count, whom, quick in deed,
A traitor might with ease mislead,
As once from hunting home they rode,
And in his heart suspicion sowed.

"Happy art thou, great Count, in truth,"
Thus cunningly he spoke;
"For ne'er mistrust's envenomed tooth
Thy golden slumbers broke;
A noble wife thy love rewards,
And modesty her person guards.
The tempter will be able ne'er
Her true fidelity to snare."

A gloomy scowl the Count's eye filled:
"What's this thou say'st to me?
Shall I on woman's virtue build,
Inconstant as the sea?
The flatterer's mouth with ease may lure;
My trust is placed on ground more sure.
No one, methinks, dare ever burn
To tempt the wife of Count Savern."

The other spoke: "Thou sayest it well,
The fool deserves thy scorn
Who ventures on such thoughts to dwell,
A mere retainer born,
Who to the lady he obeys
Fears not his wishes' lust to raise."
"What!" tremblingly the Count began,
"Dost speak, then, of a living man?"

"Is, then, the thing, to all revealed,
Hid from my master's view?
Yet, since with care from thee concealed,
I'd fain conceal it too"
"Speak quickly, villain! speak or die!"
Exclaimed the other fearfully.
"Who dares to look on Cunigond?"
"'Tis the fair page that is so fond."

"He's not ill-shaped in form, I wot,"
He craftily went on;
The Count meanwhile felt cold and hot,
By turns in every bone.
"Is't possible thou seest not, sir,
How he has eyes for none but her?
At table ne'er attends to thee,
But sighs behind her ceaselessly?"

"Behold the rhymes that from him came
His passion to confess"
"Confess!""And for an answering flame,
The impious knave!to press.
My gracious lady, soft and meek,
Through pity, doubtless, feared to speak;
That it has 'scaped me, sore I rue;
What, lord, canst thou to help it do?"

Into the neighboring wood then rode
The Count, inflamed with wrath,
Where, in his iron foundry, glowed
The ore, and bubbled forth.
The workmen here, with busy hand,
The fire both late and early fanned.
The sparks fly out, the bellows ply,
As if the rock to liquefy.

The fire and water's might twofold
Are here united found;
The mill-wheel, by the flood seized hold,
Is whirling round and round;
The works are clattering night and day,
With measured stroke the hammers play,
And, yielding to the mighty blows,
The very iron plastic grows.

Then to two workmen beckons he,
And speaks thus in his ire;
"The first who's hither sent by me
Thus of ye to inquire
'Have ye obeyed my lord's word well?'
Him cast ye into yonder hell,
That into ashes he may fly,
And ne'er again torment mine eye!"

The inhuman pair were overjoyed,
With devilish glee possessed
For as the iron, feeling void,
Their heart was in their breast,
And brisker with the bellows' blast,
The foundry's womb now heat they fast,
And with a murderous mind prepare
To offer up the victim there.

Then Robert to his comrade spake,
With false hypocrisy:
"Up, comrade, up! no tarrying make!
Our lord has need of thee."
The lord to Fridolin then said:
"The pathway toward the foundry tread,
And of the workmen there inquire,
If they have done their lord's desire."

The other answered, "Be it so!"
But o'er him came this thought,
When he was all-prepared to go,
"Will she command me aught?"
So to the Countess straight he went:
"I'm to the iron-foundry sent;
Then say, can I do aught for thee?
For thou 'tis who commandest me."

To this the Lady of Savern
Replied in gentle tone:
"To hear the holy mass I yearn,
For sick now lies my son;
So go, my child, and when thou'rt there,
Utter for me a humble prayer,
And of thy sins think ruefully,
That grace may also fall on me."

And in this welcome duty glad,
He quickly left the place;
But ere the village bounds he had
Attained with rapid pace,
The sound of bells struck on his ear,
From the high belfry ringing clear,
And every sinner, mercy-sent,
Inviting to the sacrament.

"Never from praising God refrain
Where'er by thee He's found!"
He spoke, and stepped into the fane,
But there he heard no sound;
For 'twas the harvest time, and now
Glowed in the fields the reaper's brow;
No choristers were gathered there,
The duties of the mass to share.

The matter paused he not to weigh,
But took the sexton's part;
"That thing," he said, "makes no delay
Which heavenward guides the heart."
Upon the priest, with helping hand,
He placed the stole and sacred band,
The vessels he prepared beside,
That for the mass were sanctified.

And when his duties here were o'er,
Holding the mass-book, he,
Ministering to the priest, before
The altar bowed his knee,
And knelt him left, and knelt him right,
While not a look escaped his sight,
And when the holy Sanctus came,
The bell thrice rang he at the name.

And when the priest, bowed humbly too,
In hand uplifted high,
Facing the altar, showed to view
The present Deity,
The sacristan proclaimed it well,
Sounding the clearly-tinkling bell,
While all knelt down, and beat the breast,
And with a cross the Host confessed.

The rites thus served he, leaving none,
With quick and ready wit;
Each thing that in God's house is done,
He also practised it.
Unweariedly he labored thus,
Till the Vobiscum Dominus,
When toward the people turned the priest,
Blessed them,and so the service ceased.

Then he disposed each thing again,
In fair and due array;
First purified the holy fane,
And then he went his way,
And gladly, with a mind at rest,
On to the iron-foundry pressed,
Saying the while, complete to be,
Twelve paternosters silently.

And when he saw the furnace smoke,
And saw the workmen stand,
"Have ye, ye fellows," thus he spoke,
"Obeyed the Count's command?"
Grinning they ope the orifice,
And point into the fell abyss:
"He's cared forall is at an end!
The Count his servants will commend."

The answer to his lord he brought,
Returning hastily,
Who, when his form his notice caught,
Could scarcely trust his eye:
"Unhappy one! whence comest thou?"
"Back from the foundry""Strange, I vow!
Hast in thy journey, then, delayed?"
"'Twas only, lord, till I had prayed."

"For when I from thy presence went
(Oh pardon me!) to-day,
As duty bid, my steps I bent
To her whom I obey.
She told me, lord, the mass to hear,
I gladly to her wish gave ear,
And told four rosaries at the shrine,
For her salvation and for thine."

In wonder deep the Count now fell,
And, shuddering, thus spake he:
"And, at the foundry, quickly tell,
What answer gave they thee?"
"Obscure the words they answered in,
Showing the furnace with a grin:
'He's cared forall is at an end!
The Count his servants will commend.'"

"And Robert?" interrupted he,
While deadly pale he stood,
"Did he not, then, fall in with thee?
I sent him to the wood."
"Lord, neither in the wood nor field
Was trace of Robert's foot revealed."
"Then," cried the Count, with awe-struck mien,
"Great God in heaven his judge hath been!"

With kindness he before ne'er proved,
He led him by the hand
Up to the Countess,deeply moved,
Who naught could understand.
"This child, let him be dear to thee,
No angel is so pure as he!
Though we may have been counselled ill,
God and His hosts watch o'er him still."
~ Friedrich Schiller, Fridolin (The Walk To The Iron Factory)
611:See you the towers, that, gray and old,
Frown through the sunlight's liquid gold,
Steep sternly fronting steep?
The Hellespont beneath them swells,
And roaring cleaves the Dardanelles,
The rock-gates of the deep!
Hear you the sea, whose stormy wave,
From Asia, Europe clove in thunder?
That sea which rent a world, cannot
Rend love from love asunder!

In Hero's, in Leander's heart,
Thrills the sweet anguish of the dart
Whose feather flies from love.
All Hebe's bloom in Hero's cheek
And his the hunter's steps that seek
Delight, the hills above!
Between their sires the rival feud
Forbids their plighted hearts to meet;
Love's fruits hang over danger's gulf,
By danger made more sweet.

Alone on Sestos' rocky tower,
Where upward sent in stormy shower,
The whirling waters foam,
Alone the maiden sits, and eyes
The cliffs of fair Abydos rise
Afarher lover's home.
Oh, safely thrown from strand to strand,
No bridge can love to love convey;
No boatman shoots from yonder shore,
Yet Love has found the way.

That love, which could the labyrinth pierce
Which nerves the weak, and curbs the fierce,
And wings with wit the dull;
That love which o'er the furrowed land
Bowedtame beneath young Jason's hand
The fiery-snorting bull!
Yes, Styx itself, that ninefold flows,
Has love, the fearless, ventured o'er,
And back to daylight borne the bride,
From Pluto's dreary shore!

What marvel then that wind and wave,
Leander doth but burn to brave,
When love, that goads him, guides!
Still when the day, with fainter glimmer,
Wanes palehe leaps, the daring swimmer,
Amid the darkening tides;
With lusty arms he cleaves the waves,
And strikes for that dear strand afar;
Where high from Hero's lonely tower
Lone streams the beacon-star.

In vain his blood the wave may chill,
These tender arms can warm it still
And, weary if the way,
By many a sweet embrace, above
All earthly boonscan liberal love
The lover's toil repay,
Until Aurora breaks the dream,
And warns the loiterer to depart
Back to the ocean's icy bed,
Scared from that loving heart.

So thirty suns have sped their flight
Still in that theft of sweet delight
Exult the happy pair;
Caress will never pall caress,
And joys that gods might envy, bless
The single bride-night there.
Ah! never he has rapture known,
Who has not, where the waves are driven
Upon the fearful shores of hell,
Plucked fruits that taste of heaven!

Now changing in their season are,
The morning and the Hesper star;
Nor see those happy eyes
The leaves that withering droop and fall,
Nor hear, when, from its northern hall,
The neighboring winter sighs;
Or, if they see, the shortening days
But seem to them to close in kindness;
For longer joys, in lengthening nights,
They thank the heaven in blindness.

It is the time, when night and day,
In equal scales contend for sway
Lone, on her rocky steep,
Lingers the girl with wistful eyes
That watch the sun-steeds down the skies,
Careering towards the deep.
Lulled lay the smooth and silent sea,
A mirror in translucent calm,
The breeze, along that crystal realm,
Unmurmuring, died in balm.

In wanton swarms and blithe array,
The merry dolphins glide and play
Amid the silver waves.
In gray and dusky troops are seen,
The hosts that serve the ocean-queen,
Upborne from coral caves:
Theyonly theyhave witnessed love
To rapture steal its secret way:
And Hecate [36] seals the only lips
That could the tale betray!

She marks in joy the lulled water,
And Sestos, thus thy tender daughter,
Soft-flattering, woos the sea!
"Fair godand canst thou then betray?
No! falsehood dwells with them that say
That falsehood dwells with thee!
Ah! faithless is the race of man,
And harsh a father's heart can prove;
But thee, the gentle and the mild,
The grief of love can move!"

"Within these hated walls of stone,
Should I, repining, mourn alone,
And fade in ceaseless care,
But thou, though o'er thy giant tide,
Nor bridge may span, nor boat may glide,
Dost safe my lover bear.
And darksome is thy solemn deep,
And fearful is thy roaring wave;
But wave and deep are won by love
Thou smilest on the brave!"

"Nor vainly, sovereign of the sea,
Did Eros send his shafts to thee
What time the rain of gold,
Bright Helle, with her brother bore,
How stirred the waves she wandered o'er,
How stirred thy deeps of old!
Swift, by the maiden's charms subdued,
Thou cam'st from out the gloomy waves,
And in thy mighty arms, she sank
Into thy bridal caves."

"A goddess with a god, to keep
In endless youth, beneath the deep,
Her solemn ocean-court!
And still she smooths thine angry tides,
Tames thy wild heart, and favoring guides
The sailor to the port!
Beautiful Helle, bright one, hear
Thy lone adoring suppliant pray!
And guide, O goddessguide my love
Along the wonted way!"

Now twilight dims the waters' flow,
And from the tower, the beacon's glow
Waves flickering o'er the main.
Ah, where athwart the dismal stream,
Shall shine the beacon's faithful beam
The lover's eyes shall strain!
Hark! sounds moan threatening from afar
From heaven the blessed stars are gone
More darkly swells the rising sea
The tempest labors on!

Along the ocean's boundless plains
Lies nightin torrents rush the rains
From the dark-bosomed cloud
Red lightning skirs the panting air,
And, loosed from out their rocky lair,
Sweep all the storms abroad.
Huge wave on huge wave tumbling o'er,
The yawning gulf is rent asunder,
And shows, as through an opening pall,
Grim earththe ocean under!

Poor maiden! bootless wail or vow
"Have mercy, Jovebe gracious, thou!
Dread prayer was mine before!"
What if the gods have heardand he,
Lone victim of the stormy sea,
Now struggles to the shore!
There's not a sea-bird on the wave
Their hurrying wings the shelter seek;
The stoutest ship the storms have proved,
Takes refuge in the creek.

"Ah, still that heart, which oft has braved
The danger where the daring saved,
Love lureth o'er the sea;
For many a vow at parting morn,
That naught but death should bar return,
Breathed those dear lips to me;
And whirled around, the while I weep,
Amid the storm that rides the wave,
The giant gulf is grasping down
The rash one to the grave!

"False Pontus! and the calm I hailed,
The awaiting murder darkly veiled
The lulled pellucid flow,
The smiles in which thou wert arrayed,
Were but the snares that love betrayed
To thy false realm below!
Now in the midway of the main,
Return relentlessly forbidden,
Thou loosenest on the path beyond
The horrors thou hadst hidden."

Loud and more loud the tempest raves
In thunder break the mountain waves,
White-foaming on the rock
No ship that ever swept the deep
Its ribs of gnarled oak could keep
Unshattered by the shock.
Dies in the blast the guiding torch
To light the struggler to the strand;
'Tis death to battle with the wave,
And death no less to land!

On Venus, daughter of the seas,
She calls the tempest to appease
To each wild-shrieking wind
Along the ocean-desert borne,
She vows a steer with golden horn
Vain vowrelentless wind!
On every goddess of the deep,
On all the gods in heaven that be,
She callsto soothe in calm, awhile
The tempest-laden sea!

"Hearken the anguish of my cries!
From thy green halls, arisearise,
Leucothoe the divine!
Who, in the barren main afar,
Oft on the storm-beat mariner
Dost gently-saving shine.
Oh,reach to him thy mystic veil,
To which the drowning clasp may cling,
And safely from that roaring grave,
To shore my lover bring!"

And now the savage winds are hushing.
And o'er the arched horizon, blushing,
Day's chariot gleams on high!
Back to their wonted channels rolled,
In crystal calm the waves behold
One smile on sea and sky!
All softly breaks the rippling tide,
Low-murmuring on the rocky land,
And playful wavelets gently float
A corpse upon the strand!

'Tis he!who even in death would still
Not fail the sweet vow to fulfil;
She looksseesknows him there!
From her pale lips no sorrow speaks,
No tears glide down her hueless cheeks;
Cold-numbed in her despair
She looked along the silent deep,
She looked upon the brightening heaven,
Till to the marble face the soul
Its light sublime had given!

"Ye solemn powers men shrink to name,
Your might is here, your rights ye claim
Yet think not I repine
Soon closed my course; yet I can bless
The life that brought me happiness
The fairest lot was mine!
Living have I thy temple served,
Thy consecrated priestess been
My last glad offering now receive
Venus, thou mightiest queen!"

Flashed the white robe along the air,
And from the tower that beetled there
She sprang into the wave;
Roused from his throne beneath the waste,
Those holy forms the god embraced
A god himself their grave!
Pleased with his prey, he glides along
More blithe the murmured music seems,
A gush from unexhausted urns
His everlasting streams!

~ Friedrich Schiller, Hero And Leander
612:Why run the crowd? What means the throng
That rushes fast the streets along?
Can Rhodes a prey to flames, then, be?
In crowds they gather hastily,
And, on his steed, a noble knight
Amid the rabble, meets my sight;
Behind himprodigy unknown!
A monster fierce they're drawing on;
A dragon stems it by its shape,
With wide and crocodile-like jaw,
And on the knight and dragon gape,
In turns, the people, filled with awe.

And thousand voices shout with glee
"The fiery dragon come and see,
Who hind and flock tore limb from limb!
The hero see, who vanquished him!
Full many a one before him went,
To dare the fearful combat bent,
But none returned home from the fight;
Honor ye, then, the noble knight!"
And toward the convent move they all,
While met in hasty council there
The brave knights of the Hospital,
St. John the Baptist's Order, were.

Up to the noble master sped
The youth, with firm but modest tread;
The people followed with wild shout,
And stood the landing-place about,
While thus outspoke that daring one:
"My knightly duty I have done.
The dragon that laid waste the land
Has fallen beneath my conquering hand.
The way is to the wanderer free,
The shepherd o'er the plains may rove;
Across the mountains joyfully
The pilgrim to the shrine may move."

But sternly looked the prince, and said:
"The hero's part thou well hast played
By courage is the true knight known,
A dauntless spirit thou hast shown.
Yet speak! What duty first should he
Regard, who would Christ's champion be,
Who wears the emblem of the Cross?"
And all turned pale at his discourse.
Yet he replied, with noble grace,
While blushingly he bent him low:
"That he deserves so proud a place
Obedience best of all can show."

"My son," the master answering spoke,
"Thy daring act this duty broke.
The conflict that the law forbade
Thou hast with impious mind essayed."
"Lord, judge when all to thee is known,"
The other spake, in steadfast tone,
"For I the law's commands and will
Purposed with honor to fulfil.
I went not out with heedless thought.
Hoping the monster dread to find;
To conquer in the fight I sought
By cunning, and a prudent mind."

"Five of our noble Order, then
(Our faith could boast no better men),
Had by their daring lost their life,
When thou forbadest us the strife.
And yet my heart I felt a prey
To gloom, and panted for the fray;
Ay, even in the stilly night,
In vision gasped I in the fight;
And when the glimmering morning came,
And of fresh troubles knowledge gave,
A raging grief consumed my frame,
And I resolved the thing to brave."

"And to myself I thus began:
'What is't adorns the youth, the man?
What actions of the heroes bold,
Of whom in ancient song we're told,
Blind heathendom raised up on high
To godlike fame and dignity?
The world, by deeds known far and wide,
From monsters fierce they purified;
The lion in the fight they met,
And wrestled with the minotaur,
Unhappy victims free to set,
And were not sparing of their gore.'"

"'Are none but Saracens to feel
The prowess of the Christian steel?
False idols only shall be brave?
His mission is the world to save;
To free it, by his sturdy arm,
From every hurt, from every harm;
Yet wisdom must his courage bend,
And cunning must with strength contend.'
Thus spake I oft, and went alone
The monster's traces to espy;
When on my mind a bright light shone,
'I have it!' was my joyful cry."

"To thee I went, and thus I spake:
'My homeward journey I would take.'
Thou, lord, didst grant my prayer to me,
Then safely traversed I the sea;
And, when I reached my native strand,
I caused a skilful artist's hand
To make a dragon's image, true
To his that now so well I knew.
On feet of measure short was placed
Its lengthy body's heavy load;
A scaly coat of mail embraced
The back, on which it fiercely showed."

"Its stretching neck appeared to swell,
And, ghastly as a gate of hell,
Its fearful jaws were open wide,
As if to seize the prey it tried;
And in its black mouth, ranged about,
Its teeth in prickly rows stood out;
Its tongue was like a sharp-edged sword,
And lightning from its small eyes poured;
A serpent's tail of many a fold
Ended its body's monstrous span,
And round itself with fierceness rolled,
So as to clasp both steed and man."

"I formed the whole to nature true,
In skin of gray and hideous hue;
Part dragon it appeared, part snake,
Engendered in the poisonous lake.
And, when the figure was complete,
A pair of dogs I chose me, fleet,
Of mighty strength, of nimble pace,
Inured the savage boar to chase;
The dragon, then, I made them bait,
Inflaming them to fury dread,
With their sharp teeth to seize it straight,
And with my voice their motions led."

"And, where the belly's tender skin
Allowed the tooth to enter in,
I taught them how to seize it there,
And, with their fangs, the part to tear.
I mounted, then, my Arab steed,
The offspring of a noble breed;
My hand a dart on high held forth,
And, when I had inflamed his wrath,
I stuck my sharp spurs in his side,
And urged him on as quick as thought,
And hurled my dart in circles wide
As if to pierce the beast I sought."

"And though my steed reared high in pain,
And champed and foamed beneath the rein,
And though the dogs howled fearfully,
Till they were calmed ne'er rested I.
This plan I ceaselessly pursued,
Till thrice the moon had been renewed;
And when they had been duly taught,
In swift ships here I had them brought;
And since my foot these shores has pressed
Flown has three mornings' narrow span;
I scarce allowed my limbs to rest
Ere I the mighty task began."

"For hotly was my bosom stirred
When of the land's fresh grief I heard;
Shepherds of late had been his prey,
When in the marsh they went astray.
I formed my plans then hastily,
My heart was all that counselled me.
My squires instructing to proceed,
I sprang upon my well-trained steed,
And, followed by my noble pair
Of dogs, by secret pathways rode,
Where not an eye could witness bear,
To find the monster's fell abode."

"Thou, lord, must know the chapel well,
Pitched on a rocky pinnacle,
That overlooks the distant isle;
A daring mind 'twas raised the pile.
Though humble, mean, and small it shows
Its walls a miracle enclose,
The Virgin and her infant Son,
Vowed by the three kings of Cologne.
By three times thirty steps is led
The pilgrim to the giddy height;
Yet, when he gains it with bold tread,
He's quickened by his Saviour's sight."

"Deep in the rock to which it clings,
A cavern dark its arms outflings,
Moist with the neighboring moorland's dew,
Where heaven's bright rays can ne'er pierce through.
There dwelt the monster, there he lay,
His spoil awaiting, night and day;
Like the hell-dragon, thus he kept
Watch near the shrine, and never slept;
And if a hapless pilgrim chanced
To enter on that fatal way,
From out his ambush quick advanced
The foe, and seized him as his prey."

"I mounted now the rocky height;
Ere I commenced the fearful fight,
There knelt I to the infant Lord,
And pardon for my sins implored.
Then in the holy fane I placed
My shining armor round my waist,
My right hand grasped my javelin,
The fight then went I to begin;
Instructions gave my squires among,
Commanding them to tarry there;
Then on my steed I nimbly sprung,
And gave my spirit to God's care."

"Soon as I reached the level plain,
My dogs found out the scent amain;
My frightened horse soon reared on high,
His fear I could not pacify,
For, coiled up in a circle, lo!
There lay the fierce and hideous foe,
Sunning himself upon the ground.
Straight at him rushed each nimble hound;
Yet thence they turned, dismayed and fast,
When he his gaping jaws op'd wide,
Vomited forth his poisonous blast,
And like the howling jackal cried."

"But soon their courage I restored;
They seized with rage the foe abhorred,
While I against the beast's loins threw
My spear with sturdy arm and true:
But, powerless as a bulrush frail,
It bounded from his coat of mail;
And ere I could repeat the throw,
My horse reeled wildly to and fro
Before his basilisk-like look,
And at his poison-teeming breath,
Sprang backward, and with terror shook,
While I seemed doomed to certain death."

"Then from my steed I nimbly sprung,
My sharp-edged sword with vigor swung;
Yet all in vain my strokes I plied,
I could not pierce his rock-like hide.
His tail with fury lashing round,
Sudden he bore me to the ground.
His jaws then opening fearfully,
With angry teeth he struck at me;
But now my dogs, with wrath new-born,
Rushed on his belly with fierce bite,
So that, by dreadful anguish torn,
He howling stood before my sight."

"And ere he from their teeth was free,
I raised myself up hastily,
The weak place of the foe explored,
And in his entrails plunged my sword,
Sinking it even to the hilt;
Black gushing forth, his blood was spilt.
Down sank he, burying in his fall
Me with his body's giant ball,
So that my senses quickly fled;
And when I woke with strength renewed,
The dragon in his blood lay dead,
While round me grouped my squires all stood."

The joyous shouts, so long suppressed,
Now burst from every hearer's breast,
Soon as the knight these words had spoken;
And ten times 'gainst the high vault broken,
The sound of mingled voices rang,
Re-echoing back with hollow clang.
The Order's sons demand, in haste,
That with a crown his brow be graced,
And gratefully in triumph now
The mob the youth would bear along
When, lo! the master knit his brow,
And called for silence 'mongst the throng.

And said, "The dragon that this land
Laid waste, thou slew'st with daring hand;
Although the people's idol thou,
The Order's foe I deem thee now.
Thy breast has to a fiend more base
Than e'en this dragon given place.
The serpent that the heart most stings,
And hatred and destruction brings,
That spirit is, which stubborn lies,
And impiously cast off the rein,
Despising order's sacred ties;
'Tis that destroys the world amain."

"The Mameluke makes of courage boast,
Obedience decks the Christian most;
For where our great and blessed Lord
As a mere servant walked abroad,
The fathers, on that holy ground,
This famous Order chose to found,
That arduous duty to fulfil
To overcome one's own self-will!
'Twas idle glory moved thee there:
So take thee hence from out my sight!
For who the Lord's yoke cannot bear,
To wear his cross can have no right."

A furious shout now raise the crowd,
The place is filled with outcries loud;
The brethren all for pardon cry;
The youth in silence droops his eye
Mutely his garment from him throws,
Kisses the master's hand, andgoes.
But he pursues him with his gaze,
Recalls him lovingly, and says:
"Let me embrace thee now, my son!
The harder fight is gained by thee.
Take, then, this crossthe guerdon won
By self-subdued humility."

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Fight With The Dragon
613:Hail to thee, mountain beloved, with thy glittering purple-dyed summit!
Hail to thee also, fair sun, looking so lovingly on!
Thee, too, I hail, thou smiling plain, and ye murmuring lindens,
Ay, and the chorus so glad, cradled on yonder high boughs;
Thee, too, peaceably azure, in infinite measure extending
Round the dusky-hued mount, over the forest so green,
Round about me, who now from my chamber's confinement escaping,
And from vain frivolous talk, gladly seek refuge with thee.
Through me to quicken me runs the balsamic stream of thy breezes,
While the energetical light freshens the gaze as it thirsts.
Bright o'er the blooming meadow the changeable colors are gleaming,
But the strife, full of charms, in its own grace melts away
Freely the plain receives me,with carpet far away reaching,
Over its friendly green wanders the pathway along.
Round me is humming the busy bee, and with pinion uncertain
Hovers the butterfly gay over the trefoil's red flower.
Fiercely the darts of the sun fall on me,the zephyr is silent,
Only the song of the lark echoes athwart the clear air.
Now from the neighboring copse comes a roar, and the tops of the alders
Bend low down,in the wind dances the silvery grass;
Night ambrosial circles me round; in the coolness so fragrant
Greets me a beauteous roof, formed by the beeches' sweet shade.
In the depths of the wood the landscape suddenly leaves me
And a serpentine path guides up my footsteps on high.
Only by stealth can the light through the leafy trellis of branches
Sparingly pierce, and the blue smilingly peeps through the boughs,
But in a moment the veil is rent, and the opening forest
Suddenly gives back the day's glittering brightness to me!
Boundlessly seems the distance before my gaze to be stretching,
And in a purple-tinged hill terminates sweetly the world.

Deep at the foot of the mountain, that under me falls away steeply,
Wanders the greenish-hued stream, looking like glass as it flows.
Endlessly under me see I the ether, and endlessly o'er
Giddily look I above, shudderingly look I below,
But between the infinite height and the infinite hollow
Safely the wanderer moves over a well-guarded path.
Smilingly past me are flying the banks all teeming with riches,
And the valley so bright boasts of its industry glad.
See how yonder hedgerows that sever the farmer's possessions
Have by Demeter been worked into the tapestried plain!
Kindly decree of the law, of the Deity mortal-sustaining,
Since from the brazen world love vanished forever away.
But in freer windings the measured pastures are traversed
(Now swallowed up in the wood, now climbing up to the hills)
By a glimmering streak, the highway that knits lands together;
Over the smooth-flowing stream, quietly glide on the rafts.

Ofttimes resound the bells of the flocks in the fields that seem living,
And the shepherd's lone song wakens the echo again.
Joyous villages crown the stream, in the copse others vanish,
While from the back of the mount, others plunge wildly below.
Man still lives with the land in neighborly friendship united,
And round his sheltering roof calmly repose still his fields;
Trustingly climbs the vine high over the low-reaching window,
While round the cottage the tree circles its far-stretching boughs.
Happy race of the plain! Not yet awakened to freedom,
Thou and thy pastures with joy share in the limited law;
Bounded thy wishes all are by the harvest's peaceable circuit,
And thy lifetime is spent e'en as the task of the day!

But what suddenly hides the beauteous view? A strange spirit
Over the still-stranger plain spreads itself quickly afar
Coyly separates now, what scarce had lovingly mingled,
And 'tis the like that alone joins itself on to the like.
Orders I see depicted; the haughty tribes of the poplars
Marshalled in regular pomp, stately and beauteous appear.
All gives token of rule and choice, and all has its meaning,
'Tis this uniform plan points out the Ruler to me.
Brightly the glittering domes in far-away distance proclaim him.
Out of the kernel of rocks rises the city's high wall.
Into the desert without, the fauns of the forest are driven,
But by devotion is lent life more sublime to the stone.
Man is brought into nearer union with man, and around him
Closer, more actively wakes, swifter moves in him the world.
See! the emulous forces in fiery conflict are kindled,
Much, they effect when they strive, more they effect when they join.
Thousands of hands by one spirit are moved, yet in thousands of bosoms
Beats one heart all alone, by but one feeling inspired
Beats for their native land, and glows for their ancestors' precepts;
Here on the well-beloved spot, rest now time-honored bones.

Down from the heavens descends the blessed troop of immortals,
In the bright circle divine making their festal abode;
Granting glorious gifts, they appear: and first of all, Ceres
Offers the gift of the plough, Hermes the anchor brings next,
Bacchus the grape, and Minerva the verdant olive-tree's branches,
Even his charger of war brings there Poseidon as well.
Mother Cybele yokes to the pole of her chariot the lions,
And through the wide-open door comes as a citizen in.
Sacred stones! 'Tis from ye that proceed humanity's founders,
Morals and arts ye sent forth, e'en to the ocean's far isles.
'Twas at these friendly gates that the law was spoken by sages;
In their Penates' defence, heroes rushed out to the fray.
On the high walls appeared the mothers, embracing their infants,
Looking after the march, till the distance 'twas lost.
Then in prayer they threw themselves down at the deities' altars,
Praying for triumph and fame, praying for your safe return.
Honor and triumph were yours, but naught returned save your glory,
And by a heart-touching stone, told are your valorous deeds.
"Traveller! when thou com'st to Sparta, proclaim to the people
That thou hast seen us lie here, as by the law we were bid."
Slumber calmly, ye loved ones! for sprinkled o'er by your life-blood,
Flourish the olive-trees there, joyously sprouts the good seed.
In its possessions exulting, industry gladly is kindled.
And from the sedge of the stream smilingly signs the blue god.
Crushingly falls the axe on the tree, the Dryad sighs sadly;
Down from the crest of the mount plunges the thundering load.
Winged by the lever, the stone from the rocky crevice is loosened;
Into the mountain's abyss boldly the miner descends.
Mulciber's anvil resounds with the measured stroke of the hammer;
Under the fist's nervous blow, spurt out the sparks of the steel.
Brilliantly twines the golden flax round the swift-whirling spindles,
Through the strings of the yarn whizzes the shuttle away.

Far in the roads the pilot calls, and the vessels are waiting,
That to the foreigner's land carry the produce of home;
Others gladly approach with the treasures of far-distant regions,
High on the mast's lofty head flutters the garland of mirth.
See how yon markets, those centres of life and of gladness, are swarming!
Strange confusion of tongues sounds in the wondering ear.
On to the pile the wealth of the earth is heaped by the merchant,
All that the sun's scorching rays bring forth on Africa's soil,
All that Arabia prepares, that the uttermost Thule produces,
High with heart-gladdening stores fills Amalthea her horn.
Fortune wedded to talent gives birth there to children immortal,
Suckled in liberty's arms, flourish the arts there of joy.
With the image of life the eyes by the sculptor are ravished,
And by the chisel inspired, speaks e'en the sensitive stone.
Skies artificial repose on slender Ionian columns,
And a Pantheon includes all that Olympus contains.
Light as the rainbow's spring through the air, as the dart from the bowstring,
Leaps the yoke of the bridge over the boisterous stream.

But in his silent chamber the thoughtful sage is projecting
Magical circles, and steals e'en on the spirit that forms,
Proves the force of matter, the hatreds and loves of the magnet,
Follows the tune through the air, follows through ether the ray,
Seeks the familiar law in chance's miracles dreaded,
Looks for the ne'er-changing pole in the phenomena's flight.
Bodies and voices are lent by writing to thought ever silent,
Over the centuries' stream bears it the eloquent page.
Then to the wondering gaze dissolves the cloud of the fancy,
And the vain phantoms of night yield to the dawning of day.
Man now breaks through his fetters, the happy one! Oh, let him never
Break from the bridle of shame, when from fear's fetters he breaks
Freedom! is reason's cry,ay, freedom! The wild raging passions
Eagerly cast off the bonds Nature divine had imposed.

Ah! in the tempest the anchors break loose, that warningly held him
On to the shore, and the stream tears him along in its flood,
Into infinity whirls him,the coasts soon vanish before him,
High on the mountainous waves rocks all-dismasted the bark;
Under the clouds are hid the steadfast stars of the chariot,
Naught now remains,in the breast even the god goes astray.
Truth disappears from language, from life all faith and all honor
Vanish, and even the oath is but a lie on the lips.
Into the heart's most trusty bond, and into love's secrets,
Presses the sycophant base, tearing the friend from the friend.
Treason on innocence leers, with looks that seek to devour,
And the fell slanderer's tooth kills with its poisonous bite.
In the dishonored bosom, thought is now venal, and love, too,
Scatters abroad to the winds, feelings once god-like and free.
All thy holy symbols, O truth, deceit has adopted,
And has e'en dared to pollute Nature's own voices so fair,
That the craving heart in the tumult of gladness discovers;
True sensations are now mute and can scarcely be heard.
Justice boasts at the tribune, and harmony vaunts in the cottage,
While the ghost of the law stands at the throne of the king.
Years together, ay, centuries long, may the mummy continue,
And the deception endure, apeing the fulness of life.
Until Nature awakes, and with hands all-brazen and heavy
'Gainst the hollow-formed pile time and necessity strikes.
Like a tigress, who, bursting the massive grating iron,
Of her Numidian wood suddenly, fearfully thinks,
So with the fury of crime and anguish, humanity rises
Hoping nature, long-lost in the town's ashes, to find.
Oh then open, ye walls, and set the captive at freedom
To the long desolate plains let him in safety return!

But where am I? The path is now hid, declivities rugged
Bar, with their wide-yawning gulfs, progress before and behind.
Now far behind me is left the gardens' and hedges' sure escort,
Every trace of man's hand also remains far behind.
Only the matter I see piled up, whence life has its issue,
And the raw mass of basalt waits for a fashioning hand.
Down through its channel of rock the torrent roaringly rushes,
Angrily forcing a path under the roots of the trees.
All is here wild and fearfully desolate. Naught but the eagle
Hangs in the lone realms of air, knitting the world to the clouds.
Not one zephyr on soaring pinion conveys to my hearing
Echoes, however remote, marking man's pleasures and pains.
Am I in truth, then, alone? Within thine arms, on thy bosom,
Nature, I lie once again!Ah, and 'twas only a dream
That assailed me with horrors so fearful; with life's dreaded phantom,
And with the down-rushing vale, vanished the gloomy one too.
Purer my life I receive again from thine altar unsullied,
Purer receive the bright glow felt by my youth's hopeful days.
Ever the will is changing its aim and its rule, while forever,
In a still varying form, actions revolve round themselves.
But in enduring youth, in beauty ever renewing.
Kindly Nature, with grace thou dost revere the old law!
Ever the same, for the man in thy faithful hands thou preservest
That which the child in its sport, that which the youth lent to thee;
At the same breast thou dost suckle the ceaselessly-varying ages;
Under the same azure vault, over the same verdant earth,
Races, near and remote, in harmony wander together,
See, even Homer's own sun looks on us, too, with a smile!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Walk
614:. Fast, in its prison-walls of earth,
Awaits the mould of baked clay.
Up, comrades, up, and aid the birth
The bell that shall be born to-day!
Who would honor obtain,
With the sweat and the pain,
The praise that man gives to the master must buy.
But the blessing withal must descend from on high!

And well an earnest word beseems
The work the earnest hand prepares;
Its load more light the labor deems,
When sweet discourse the labor shares.
So let us pondernor in vain
What strength can work when labor wills;
For who would not the fool disdain
Who ne'er designs what he fulfils?
And well it stamps our human race,
And hence the gift to understand,
That man within the heart should trace
Whate'er he fashions with the hand.

From the fir the fagot take,
Keep it, heap it hard and dry,
That the gathered flame may break
Through the furnace, wroth and high.
When the copper within
Seeths and simmersthe tin,
Pour quick, that the fluid that feeds the bell
May flow in the right course glib and well.

Deep hid within this nether cell,
What force with fire is moulding thus,
In yonder airy tower shall dwell,
And witness wide and far of us!
It shall, in later days, unfailing,
Rouse many an ear to rapt emotion;
Its solemn voice with sorrow wailing,
Or choral chiming to devotion.
Whatever fate to man may bring,
Whatever weal or woe befall,
That metal tongue shall backward ring,
The warning moral drawn from all.

See the silvery bubbles spring!
Good! the mass is melting now!
Let the salts we duly bring
Purge the flood, and speed the flow.
From the dross and the scum,
Pure, the fusion must come;
For perfect and pure we the metal must keep,
That its voice may be perfect, and pure, and deep.

That voice, with merry music rife,
The cherished child shall welcome in;
What time the rosy dreams of life,
In the first slumber's arms begin.
As yet, in Time's dark womb unwarning,
Repose the days, or foul or fair;
And watchful o'er that golden morning,
The mother-love's untiring care!
And swift the years like arrows fly
No more with girls content to play,
Bounds the proud boy upon his way,
Storms through loud life's tumultuous pleasures,
With pilgrim staff the wide world measures;
And, wearied with the wish to roam,
Again seeks, stranger-like, the father-home.
And, lo, as some sweet vision breaks
Out from its native morning skies
With rosy shame on downcast cheeks,
The virgin stands before his eyes.

A nameless longing seizes him!
From all his wild compassions flown;
Tears, strange till then, his eyes bedim;
He wanders all alone.
Blushing, he glides where'er she move;
Her greeting can transport him;
To every mead to deck his love,
The happy wild flowers court him!
Sweet hopeand tender longingye
The growth of life's first age of gold;
When the heart, swelling, seems to see
The gates of heaven unfold!
O love, the beautiful and brief! O prime,
Glory, and verdure, of life's summer time!

Browning o'er, the pipes are simmering,
Dip this wand of clay [45] within;
If like glass the wand be glimmering,
Then the casting may begin.
Brisk, brisk now, and see
If the fusion flow free;
If(happy and welcome indeed were the sign!)
If the hard and the ductile united combine.
For still where the strong is betrothed to the weak,
And the stern in sweet marriage is blent with the meek,
Rings the concord harmonious, both tender and strong
So be it with thee, if forever united,
The heart to the heart flows in one, love-delighted;
Illusion is brief, but repentance is long.

Lovely, thither are they bringing.
With the virgin wreath, the bride!
To the love-feast clearly ringing,
Tolls the church-bell far and wide!
With that sweetest holiday,
Must the May of life depart;
With the cestus loosedaway
Flies illusion from the heart!
Yet love lingers lonely,
When passion is mute,
And the blossoms may only
Give way to the fruit.
The husband must enter
The hostile life,
With struggle and strife
To plant or to watch.
To snare or to snatch,
To pray and importune,
Must wager and venture
And hunt down his fortune!
Then flows in a current the gear and the gain,
And the garners are filled with the gold of the grain,
Now a yard to the court, now a wing to the centre!
Within sits another,
The thrifty housewife;
The mild one, the mother
Her home is her life.
In its circle she rules,
And the daughters she schools
And she cautions the boys,
With a bustling command,
And a diligent hand
Employed she employs;
Gives order to store,
And the much makes the more;
Locks the chest and the wardrobe, with lavender smelling,
And the hum of the spindle goes quick through the dwelling;
And she hoards in the presses, well polished and full,
The snow of the linen, the shine of the wool;
Blends the sweet with the good, and from care and endeavor
Rests never!
Blithe the master (where the while
From his roof he sees them smile)
Eyes the lands, and counts the gain;
There, the beams projecting far,
And the laden storehouse are,
And the granaries bowed beneath
The blessed golden grain;
There, in undulating motion,
Wave the cornfields like an ocean.
Proud the boast the proud lips breathe:
"My house is built upon a rock,
And sees unmoved the stormy shock
Of waves that fret below!"
What chain so strong, what girth so great,
To bind the giant form of fate?
Swift are the steps of woe.

Now the casting may begin;
See the breach indented there:
Ere we run the fusion in,
Haltand speed the pious prayer!
Pull the bung out
See around and about
What vapor, what vaporGod help us!has risen?
Ha! the flame like a torrent leaps forth from its prison!
What friend is like the might of fire
When man can watch and wield the ire?
Whate'er we shape or work, we owe
Still to that heaven-descended glow.
But dread the heaven-descended glow,
When from their chain its wild wings go,
When, where it listeth, wide and wild
Sweeps free Nature's free-born child.
When the frantic one fleets,
While no force can withstand,
Through the populous streets
Whirling ghastly the brand;
For the element hates
What man's labor creates,
And the work of his hand!
Impartially out from the cloud,
Or the curse or the blessing may fall!
Benignantly out from the cloud
Come the dews, the revivers of all!
Avengingly out from the cloud
Come the levin, the bolt, and the ball!
Harka wail from the steeple!aloud
The bell shrills its voice to the crowd!
Looklookred as blood
All on high!
It is not the daylight that fills with its flood
The sky!
What a clamor awaking
Roars up through the street,
What a hell-vapor breaking.
Rolls on through the street,
And higher and higher
Aloft moves the column of fire!
Through the vistas and rows
Like a whirlwind it goes,
And the air like the stream from the furnace glows.
Beams are cracklingposts are shrinking
Walls are sinkingwindows clinking
Children crying
Mothers flying
And the beast (the black ruin yet smouldering under)
Yells the howl of its pain and its ghastly wonder!
Hurry and skurryawayaway,
The face of the night is as clear as day!
As the links in a chain,
Again and again
Flies the bucket from hand to hand;
High in arches up-rushing
The engines are gushing,
And the flood, as a beast on the prey that it hounds
With a roar on the breast of the element bounds.
To the grain and the fruits,
Through the rafters and beams,
Through the barns and garners it crackles and streams!
As if they would rend up the earth from its roots,
Rush the flames to the sky
And at length,
Wearied out and despairing, man bows to their strength!
With an idle gaze sees their wrath consume,
And submits to his doom!
The place, and dread
For storms the barren bed.
In the blank voids that cheerful casements were,
Comes to and fro the melancholy air,
And sits despair;
And through the ruin, blackening in its shroud
Peers, as it flits, the melancholy cloud.

One human glance of grief upon the grave
Of all that fortune gave
The loiterer takesthen turns him to depart,
And grasps the wanderer's staff and mans his heart
Whatever else the element bereaves
One blessing more than all it reftit leaves,
The faces that he loves!He counts them o'er,
Seenot one look is missing from that store!

Now clasped the bell within the clay
The mould the mingled metals fill
Oh, may it, sparkling into day,
Reward the labor and the skill!
Alas! should it fail,
For the mould may be frail
And still with our hope must be mingled the fear
And, ev'n now, while we speak, the mishap may be near!
To the dark womb of sacred earth
This labor of our hands is given,
As seeds that wait the second birth,
And turn to blessings watched by heaven!
Ah, seeds, how dearer far than they,
We bury in the dismal tomb,
Where. hope and sorrow bend to pray
That suns beyond the realm of day
May warm them into bloom!

From the steeple
Tolls the bell,
Deep and heavy,
The death-knell!
Guiding with dirge-notesolemn, sad, and slow,
To the last home earth's weary wanderers know.
It is that worshipped wife
It is that faithful mother!
Whom the dark prince of shadows leads benighted,
From that dear arm where oft she hung delighted
Far from those blithe companions, born
Of her, and blooming in their morn;
On whom, when couched her heart above,
So often looked the mother-love!

Ah! rent the sweet home's union-band,
And never, never more to come
She dwells within the shadowy land,
Who was the mother of that home!
How oft they miss that tender guide,
The carethe watchthe facethe mother
And where she sate the babes beside,
Sits with unloving looksanother!

While the mass is cooling now,
Let the labor yield to leisure,
As the bird upon the bough,
Loose the travail to the pleasure.
When the soft stars awaken,
Each task be forsaken!
And the vesper-bell lulling the earth into peace,
If the master still toil, chimes the workman's release!

Homeward from the tasks of day,
Through the greenwood's welcome way
Wends the wanderer, blithe and cheerly,
To the cottage loved so dearly!
And the eye and ear are meeting,
Now, the slow sheep homeward bleating
Now, the wonted shelter near,
Lowing the lusty-fronted steer;
Creaking now the heavy wain,
Reels with the happy harvest grain.
While with many-colored leaves,
Glitters the garland on the sheaves;
For the mower's work is done,
And the young folks' dance begun!
Desert street, and quiet mart;
Silence is in the city's heart;
And the social taper lighteth;
Each dear face that home uniteth;
While the gate the town before
Heavily swings with sullen roar!

Though darkness is spreading
O'er earththe upright
And the honest, undreading,
Look safe on the night
Which the evil man watches in awe,
For the eye of the night is the law!
Bliss-dowered! O daughter of the skies,
Hail, holy order, whose employ
Blends like to like in light and joy
Builder of cities, who of old
Called the wild man from waste and wold.
And, in his hut thy presence stealing,
Roused each familiar household feeling;
And, best of all the happy ties,
The centre of the social band,
The instinct of the Fatherland!

United thuseach helping each,
Brisk work the countless hands forever;
For naught its power to strength can teach,
Like emulation and endeavor!
Thus linked the master with the man,
Each in his rights can each revere,
And while they march in freedom's van,
Scorn the lewd rout that dogs the rear!
To freemen labor is renown!
Who worksgives blessings and commands;
Kings glory in the orb and crown
Be ours the glory of our hands.

Long in these wallslong may we greet
Your footfalls, peace and concord sweet!
Distant the day, oh! distant far,
When the rude hordes of trampling war
Shall scare the silent vale;
And where,
Now the sweet heaven, when day doth leave
The air,
Limns its soft rose-hues on the veil of eve;
Shall the fierce war-brand tossing in the gale,
From town and hamlet shake the horrent glare!

Now, its destined task fulfilled,
Asunder break the prison-mould;
Let the goodly bell we build,
Eye and heart alike behold.
The hammer down heave,
Till the cover it cleave:
For not till we shatter the wall of its cell
Can we lift from its darkness and bondage the bell.

To break the mould, the master may,
If skilled the hand and ripe the hour;
But woe, when on its fiery way
The metal seeks itself to pour.
Frantic and blind, with thunder-knell,
Exploding from its shattered home,
And glaring forth, as from a hell,
Behold the red destruction come!
When rages strength that has no reason,
There breaks the mould before the season;
When numbers burst what bound before,
Woe to the state that thrives no more!
Yea, woe, when in the city's heart,
The latent spark to flame is blown;
And millions from their silence start,
To claim, without a guide, their own!

Discordant howls the warning bell,
Proclaiming discord wide and far,
And, born but things of peace to tell,
Becomes the ghastliest voice of war:
"Freedom! Equality!"to blood
Rush the roused people at the sound!
Through street, hall, palace, roars the flood,
And banded murder closes round!
The hyena-shapes (that women were!),
Jest with the horrors they survey;
They houndthey rendthey mangle there
As panthers with their prey!
Naught rests to hollowburst the ties
Of life's sublime and reverent awe;
Before the vice the virtue flies,
And universal crime is law!
Man fears the lion's kingly tread;
Man fears the tiger's fangs of terror;
And still the dreadliest of the dread,
Is man himself in error!
No torch, though lit from heaven, illumes
The blind!Why place it in his hand?
It lights not himit but consumes
The city and the land!

Rejoice and laud the prospering skies!
The kernel bursts its huskbehold
From the dull clay the metal rise,
Pure-shining, as a star of gold!
Neck and lip, but as one beam,
It laughs like a sunbeam.
And even the scutcheon, clear-graven, shall tell
That the art of a master has fashioned the bell!

Come income in
My merry menwe'll form a ring
The new-born labor christening;
And "Concord" we will name her!
To union may her heartfelt call
In brother-love attune us all!
May she the destined glory win
For which the master sought to frame her
Aloft(all earth's existence under),
In blue-pavillioned heaven afar
To dwellthe neighbor of the thunder,
The borderer of the star!
Be hers above a voice to rise
Like those bright hosts in yonder sphere,
Who, while they move, their Maker praise,
And lead around the wreathed year!
To solemn and eternal things
We dedicate her lips sublime!
As hourly, calmly, on she swings
Fanned by the fleeting wings of time!
No pulseno heartno feeling hers!
She lends the warning voice to fate;
And still companions, while she stirs,
The changes of the human state!
So may she teach us, as her tone
But now so mighty, melts away
That earth no life which earth has known
From the last silence can delay!

Slowly now the cords upheave her!
From her earth-grave soars the bell;
Mid the airs of heaven we leave her!
In the music-realm to dwell!
Upupwards yet raise
She has risenshe sways.
Fair bell to our city bode joy and increase,
And oh, may thy first sound be hallowed to peace!
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Lay Of The Bell
615:How gracefully, O man, with thy palm-bough,
Upon the waning century standest thou,
In proud and noble manhood's prime,
With unlocked senses, with a spirit freed,
Of firmness mild,though silent, rich in deed,
The ripest son of Time,
Through meekness great, through precepts strong,
Through treasures rich, that time had long
Hid in thy bosom, and through reason free,
Master of Nature, who thy fetters loves,
And who thy strength in thousand conflicts proves,
And from the desert soared in pride with thee!

Flushed with the glow of victory,
Never forget to prize the hand
That found the weeping orphan child
Deserted on life's barren strand,
And left a prey to hazard wild,
That, ere thy spirit-honor saw the day,
Thy youthful heart watched over silently,
And from thy tender bosom turned away
Each thought that might have stained its purity;
That kind one ne'er forget who, as in sport,
Thy youth to noble aspirations trained,
And who to thee in easy riddles taught
The secret how each virtue might be gained;
Who, to receive him back more perfect still,
E'en into strangers' arms her favorite gave
Oh, may'st thou never with degenerate will,
Humble thyself to be her abject slave!
In industry, the bee the palm may bear;
In skill, the worm a lesson may impart;
With spirits blest thy knowledge thou dost share,
But thou, O man, alone hast art!

Only through beauty's morning gate
Didst thou the land of knowledge find.
To merit a more glorious fate,
In graces trains itself the mind.
What thrilled thee through with trembling blessed,
When erst the Muses swept the chord,
That power created in thy breast,
Which to the mighty spirit soared.

When first was seen by doting reason's ken,
When many a thousand years had passed away,
A symbol of the fair and great e'en then,
Before the childlike mind uncovered lay.
Its blessed form bade us honor virtue's cause,
The honest sense 'gainst vice put forth its powers,
Before a Solon had devised the laws
That slowly bring to light their languid flowers.
Before Eternity's vast scheme
Was to the thinker's mind revealed,
Was't not foreshadowed in his dream,
Whose eyes explored yon starry field?

Urania,the majestic dreaded one,
Who wears a glory of Orions twined
Around her brow, and who is seen by none
Save purest spirits, when, in splendor shrined,
She soars above the stars in pride,
Ascending to her sunny throne,
Her fiery chaplet lays aside,
And now, as beauty, stands alone;
While, with the Graces' girdle round her cast,
She seems a child, by children understood;
For we shall recognize as truth at last,
What here as beauty only we have viewed.

When the Creator banished from his sight
Frail man to dark mortality's abode,
And granted him a late return to light,
Only by treading reason's arduous road,
When each immortal turned his face away,
She, the compassionate, alone
Took up her dwelling in that house of clay,
With the deserted, banished one.
With drooping wing she hovers here
Around her darling, near the senses' land,
And on his prison-walls so drear
Elysium paints with fond deceptive hand.

While soft humanity still lay at rest,
Within her tender arms extended,
No flame was stirred by bigots' murderous zest,
No guiltless blood on high ascended.
The heart that she in gentle fetters binds,
Views duty's slavish escort scornfully;
Her path of light, though fairer far it winds,
Sinks in the sun-track of morality.
Those who in her chaste service still remain,
No grovelling thought can tempt, no fate affright;
The spiritual life, so free from stain,
Freedom's sweet birthright, they receive again,
Under the mystic sway of holy might.

The purest among millions, happy they
Whom to her service she has sanctified,
Whose mouths the mighty one's commands convey,
Within whose breasts she deigneth to abide;
Whom she ordained to feed her holy fire
Upon her altar's ever-flaming pyre,
Whose eyes alone her unveiled graces meet,
And whom she gathers round in union sweet
In the much-honored place be glad
Where noble order bade ye climb,
For in the spirit-world sublime,
Man's loftiest rank ye've ever had!

Ere to the world proportion ye revealed,
That every being joyfully obeys,
A boundless structure, in night's veil concealed,
Illumed by naught but faint and languid rays,
A band of phantoms, struggling ceaselessly,
Holding his mind in slavish fetters bound,
Unsociable and rude as be,
Assailing him on every side around,
Thus seemed to man creation in that day!
United to surrounding forms alone
By the blind chains the passions had put on,
Whilst Nature's beauteous spirit fled away
Unfelt, untasted, and unknown.

And, as it hovered o'er with parting ray,
Ye seized the shades so neighborly,
With silent hand, with feeling mind,
And taught how they might be combined
In one firm bond of harmony.
The gaze, light-soaring, felt uplifted then,
When first the cedar's slender trunk it viewed;
And pleasingly the ocean's crystal flood
Reflected back the dancing form again.
Could ye mistake the look, with beauty fraught,
That Nature gave to help ye on your way?
The image floating on the billows taught
The art the fleeting shadow to portray.

From her own being torn apart,
Her phantom, beauteous as a dream,
She plunged into the silvery stream,
Surrendering to her spoiler's art.
Creative power soon in your breast unfolded;
Too noble far, not idly to conceive,
The shadow's form in sand, in clay ye moulded,
And made it in the sketch its being leave.
The longing thirst for action then awoke,
And from your breast the first creation broke.

By contemplation captive made,
Ensnared by your discerning eye,
The friendly phantom's soon betrayed
The talisman that roused your ecstasy.
The laws of wonder-working might,
The stores by beauty brought to light,
Inventive reason in soft union planned
To blend together 'neath your forming hand.
The obelisk, the pyramid ascended,
The Hermes stood, the column sprang on high,
The reed poured forth the woodland melody,
Immortal song on victor's deeds attended.

The fairest flowers that decked the earth,
Into a nosegay, with wise choice combined,
Thus the first art from Nature had its birth;
Into a garland then were nosegays twined,
And from the works that mortal hands had made,
A second, nobler art was now displayed.
The child of beauty, self-sufficient now,
That issued from your hands to perfect day,
Loses the chaplet that adorned its brow,
Soon as reality asserts its sway.
The column, yielding to proportion's chains,
Must with its sisters join in friendly link,
The hero in the hero-band must sink,
The Muses' harp peals forth its tuneful strains.

The wondering savages soon came
To view the new creation's plan
"Behold!"the joyous crowds exclaim,
"Behold, all this is done by man!"
With jocund and more social aim
The minstrel's lyre their awe awoke,
Telling of Titans, and of giant's frays
And lion-slayers, turning, as he spoke,
Even into heroes those who heard his lays.
For the first time the soul feels joy,
By raptures blessed that calmer are,
That only greet it from afar,
That passions wild can ne'er destroy,
And that, when tasted, do not cloy.

And now the spirit, free and fair,
Awoke from out its sensual sleep;
By you unchained, the slave of care
Into the arms of joy could leap.
Each brutish barrier soon was set at naught,
Humanity first graced the cloudless brow,
And the majestic, noble stranger, thought,
From out the wondering brain sprang boldly now.
Man in his glory stood upright,
And showed the stars his kingly face;
His speaking glance the sun's bright light
Blessed in the realms sublime of space.
Upon the cheek now bloomed the smile,
The voice's soulful harmony
Expanded into song the while,
And feeling swam in the moist eye;
And from the mouth, with spirit teeming o'er,
Jest, sweetly linked with grace, began to pour.

Sunk in the instincts of the worm,
By naught but sensual lust possessed,
Ye recognized within his breast
Love-spiritual's noble germ;
And that this germ of love so blest
Escaped the senses' abject load,
To the first pastoral song he owed.
Raised to the dignity of thought,
Passions more calm to flow were taught
From the bard's mouth with melody.
The cheeks with dewy softness burned;
The longing that, though quenched, still yearned,
Proclaimed the spirit-harmony.

The wisest's wisdom, and the strongest's vigor,
The meekest's meekness, and the noblest's grace,
By you were knit together in one figure,
Wreathing a radiant glory round the place.
Man at the Unknown's sight must tremble,
Yet its refulgence needs must love;
That mighty Being to resemble,
Each glorious hero madly strove;
The prototype of beauty's earliest strain
Ye made resound through Nature's wide domain.

The passions' wild and headlong course,
The ever-varying plan of fate,
Duty and instinct's twofold force,
With proving mind and guidance straight
Ye then conducted to their ends.
What Nature, as she moves along,
Far from each other ever rends,
Become upon the stage, in song,
Members of order, firmly bound.
Awed by the Furies' chorus dread,
Murder draws down upon its head
The doom of death from their wild sound.
Long e'er the wise to give a verdict dared,
An Iliad had fate's mysteries declared
To early ages from afar;
While Providence in silence fared
Into the world from Thespis' car.
Yet into that world's current so sublime
Your symmetry was borne before its time,
When the dark hand of destiny
Failed in your sight to part by force.

What it had fashioned 'neath your eye,
In darkness life made haste to die,
Ere it fulfilled its beauteous course.
Then ye with bold and self-sufficient might
Led the arch further through the future's night:
Then, too, ye plunged, without a fear,
Into Avernus' ocean black,
And found the vanished life so dear
Beyond the urn, and brought it back.
A blooming Pollux-form appeared now soon,
On Castor leaning, and enshrined in light
The shadow that is seen upon the moon,
Ere she has filled her silvery circle bright!

Yet higher,higher still above the earth
Inventive genius never ceased to rise:
Creations from creations had their birth,
And harmonies from harmonies.
What here alone enchants the ravished sight,
A nobler beauty yonder must obey;
The graceful charms that in the nymph unite,
In the divine Athene melt away;
The strength with which the wrestler is endowed,
In the god's beauty we no longer find:
The wonder of his timeJove's image proud
In the Olympian temple is enshrined.

The world, transformed by industry's bold hand,
The human heart, by new-born instincts moved,
That have in burning fights been fully proved,
Your circle of creation now expand.
Advancing man bears on his soaring pinions,
In gratitude, art with him in his flight,
And out of Nature's now-enriched dominions
New worlds of beauty issue forth to light.
The barriers upon knowledge are o'erthrown;
The spirit that, with pleasure soon matured,
Has in your easy triumphs been inured
To hasten through an artist-whole of graces,
Nature's more distant columns duly places.
And overtakes her on her pathway lone.
He weighs her now with weights that human are,
Metes her with measures that she lent of old;
While in her beauty's rites more practised far,
She now must let his eye her form behold.
With youthful and self-pleasing bliss,
He lends the spheres his harmony,
And, if he praise earth's edifice,
'Tis for its wondrous symmetry.
In all that now around him breathes,
Proportion sweet is ever rife;
And beauty's golden girdle wreathes
With mildness round his path through life;
Perfection blest, triumphantly,
Before him in your works soars high;
Wherever boisterous rapture swells,
Wherever silent sorrow flees,
Where pensive contemplation dwells,
Where he the tears of anguish sees,
Where thousand terrors on him glare,
Harmonious streams are yet behind
He sees the Graces sporting there,
With feeling silent and refined.
Gentle as beauty's lines together linking,
As the appearances that round him play,
In tender outline in each other sinking,
The soft breath of his life thus fleets away.
His spirit melts in the harmonious sea,
That, rich in rapture, round his senses flows,
And the dissolving thought all silently
To omnipresent Cytherea grows.
Joining in lofty union with the Fates,
On Graces and on Muses calm relying,
With freely-offered bosom he awaits
The shaft that soon against him will be flying
From the soft bow necessity creates.

Favorites beloved of blissful harmony,
Welcome attendants on life's dreary road,
The noblest and the dearest far that she,
Who gave us life, to bless that life bestowed!
That unyoked man his duties bears in mind,
And loves the fetters that his motions bind,
That Chance with brazen sceptre rules him not,
For this eternity is now your lot,
Your heart has won a bright reward for this.
That round the cup where freedom flows,
Merrily sport the gods of bliss,
The beauteous dream its fragrance throws,
For this, receive a loving kiss!

The spirit, glorious and serene,
Who round necessity the graces trains,
Who bids his ether and his starry plains
Upon us wait with pleasing mien,
Who, 'mid his terrors, by his majesty gives joy,
And who is beauteous e'en when seeking to destroy,
Him imitate, the artist good!
As o'er the streamlet's crystal flood
The banks with checkered dances hover,
The flowery mead, the sunset's light,
Thus gleams, life's barren pathway over,
Poesy's shadowy world so bright.
In bridal dress ye led us on
Before the terrible Unknown,
Before the inexorable fate,
As in your urns the bones are laid,
With beauteous magic veil ye shade
The chorus dread that cares create.
Thousands of years I hastened through
The boundless realm of vanished time
How sad it seems when left by you
But where ye linger, how sublime!

She who, with fleeting wing, of yore
From your creating hand arose in might,
Within your arms was found once more,
When, vanquished by Time's silent flight,
Life's blossoms faded from the cheek,
And from the limbs all vigor went,
And mournfully, with footstep weak,
Upon his staff the gray-beard leant.
Then gave ye to the languishing,
Life's waters from a new-born spring;
Twice was the youth of time renewed,
Twice, from the seeds that ye had strewed.

When chased by fierce barbarian hordes away,
The last remaining votive brand ye tore
From Orient's altars, now pollution's prey,
And to these western lands in safety bore.
The fugitive from yonder eastern shore,
The youthful day, the West her dwelling made;
And on Hesperia's plains sprang up once more
Ionia's flowers, in pristine bloom arrayed.
Over the spirit fairer Nature shed,
With soft refulgence, a reflection bright,
And through the graceful soul with stately tread
Advanced the mighty Deity of light.
Millions of chains were burst asunder then,
And to the slave then human laws applied,
And mildly rose the younger race of men,
As brethren, gently wandering side by side,
With noble inward ecstasy,
The bliss imparted ye receive,
And in the veil of modesty,
With silent merit take your leave.
If on the paths of thought, so freely given,
The searcher now with daring fortune stands,
And, by triumphant Paeans onward driven,
Would seize upon the crown with dauntless hands
If he with grovelling hireling's pay
Thinks to dismiss his glorious guide
Or, with the first slave's-place array
Art near the throne his dream supplied
Forgive him!O'er your head to-day
Hovers perfection's crown in pride,
With you the earliest plant Spring had,
Soul-forming Nature first began;
With you, the harvest-chaplet glad,
Perfected Nature ends her plan.

The art creative, that all-modestly arose
From clay and stone, with silent triumph throws
Its arms around the spirit's vast domain.
What in the land of knowledge the discoverer knows,
He knows, discovers, only for your gain
The treasures that the thinker has amassed,
He will enjoy within your arms alone,
Soon as his knowledge, beauty-ripe at last.
To art ennobled shall have grown,
Soon as with you he scales a mountain-height,
And there, illumined by the setting sun,
The smiling valley bursts upon his sight.
The richer ye reward the eager gaze
The higher, fairer orders that the mind
May traverse with its magic rays,
Or compass with enjoyment unconfined
The wider thoughts and feelings open lie
To more luxuriant floods of harmony.
To beauty's richer, more majestic stream,
The fair members of the world's vast scheme,
That, maimed, disgrace on his creation bring,
He sees the lofty forms then perfecting

The fairer riddles come from out the night
The richer is the world his arms enclose,
The broader stream the sea with which he flows
The weaker, too, is destiny's blind might
The nobler instincts does he prove
The smaller he himself, the greater grows his love.
Thus is he led, in still and hidden race,
By poetry, who strews his path with flowers,
Through ever-purer forms, and purer powers,
Through ever higher heights, and fairer grace.
At length, arrived at the ripe goal of time,
Yet one more inspiration all-sublime,
Poetic outburst of man's latest youth,
Andhe will glide into the arms of truth!

Herself, the gentle Cypria,
Illumined by her fiery crown,
Then stands before her full-grown son
Unveiledas great Urania;
The sooner only by him caught,
The fairer he had fled away!
Thus stood, in wonder rapture-fraught,
Ulysses' noble son that day,
When the sage mentor who his youth beguiled;
Herself transfigured as Jove's glorious child!

Man's honor is confided to your hand,
There let it well protected be!
It sinks with you! with you it will expand!
Poesy's sacred sorcery
Obeys a world-plan wise and good;
In silence let it swell the flood
Of mighty-rolling harmony.

By her own time viewed with disdain,
Let solemn truth in song remain,
And let the Muses' band defend her!
In all the fullness of her splendor,
Let her survive in numbers glorious,
More dread, when veiled her charms appear,
And vengeance take, with strains victorious,
On her tormentor's ear!

The freest mother's children free,
With steadfast countenance then rise
To highest beauty's radiancy,
And every other crown despise!
The sisters who escaped you here,
Within your mother's arms ye'll meet;
What noble spirits may revere,
Must be deserving and complete.
High over your own course of time
Exalt yourselves with pinion bold,
And dimly let your glass sublime
The coming century unfold!
On thousand roads advancing fast
Of ever-rich variety,
With fond embraces meet at last
Before the throne of harmony!
As into seven mild rays we view
With softness break the glimmer white,
As rainbow-beams of sevenfold hue
Dissolve again in that soft light,
In clearness thousandfold thus throw
Your magic round the ravished gaze,
Into one stream of light thus flow,
One bond of truth that ne'er decays!

~ Friedrich Schiller, The Artists



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