If the holiest bonds by him rashly are torn,
Then come to your father — to me!
The beggar may gladden life’s pathway forlorn,
Though aged and weak he may be.
This castle is mine! thou hast made it thy prey,
Thy people ’twas put me to flight;
The tokens I bear will confirm what I say” —
The children they hear with delight.
“The king who erst govern’d returneth again,
And restores to the Faithful the goods that were ta’en,
I’ll unseal all my treasures the while;
The laws shall be gentle, and peaceful thereign.”
The old man thus cries with a smile —
“Take courage, my son! all hath turn’d out for good,
And each hath a star that is bright,
Those the princess hath borne thee are princely in blood,” —
The children they hear with delight.
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THE VIOLET.
EXHALING sweet a violet stood,
Retiring, and of modest mood,
In truth, a violet fair.
Then came a youthful shepherdess,
And roam’d with sprightly joyousness,
And blithely woo’d
With carols sweet the air.
“Ah!” thought the violet, “had I been
For but the smallest moment e’en
Nature’s most beauteous flower,
‘Till gather’d by my love, and press’d,
When weary, ‘gainst her gentle breast,
For e’en, for e’en
One quarter of an hour!”
Alas! alas! the maid drew nigh,
The violet fail’d to meet her eye,
She crush’d the violet sweet.
It sank and died, yet murmur’d not:
“And if I die, oh, happy lot,
For her I die,
And at her very feet!”
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THE FAITHLESS BOY.
THERE was a wooer blithe and gay, —
A son of France was he, —
Who in his arms for many a day,
As though his bride were she,
A poor young maiden had caress’d,
And fondly kiss’d, and fondly press’d,
And then at length deserted.
When this was told the nut-brown maid,
Her senses straightway fled;
She laugh’d and wept, and vow’d and pray’d,
And presently was dead.
The hour her soul its farewell took,
The boy was sad, with terror shook,
Then sprang upon his charger.
He drove his spurs into his side,
And scour’d the country round;
But wheresoever he might ride,
No rest for him was found.
For seven long days and nights he rode,
It storm’d, the waters overflow’d,
It bluster’d, lighten’d, thunder’d.
On rode he through the tempest’s din,
Till he a building spied;
In search of shelter crept he in,
When he his steed had tied.
And as he grop’d his doubtful way,
The ground began to rock and sway, —
He fell a hundred fathoms.
When he recover’d from the blow,
He saw three lights pass by;
He sought in their pursuit to go,
The lights appear’d to fly.
They led his footsteps all astray,
Up, down, through many a narrow way
Through ruin’d desert cellars.
When lo! he stood within a hall,
A hundred guests sat there,
With hollow eyes, and grinning all;
They bade him taste the fare.
He saw his sweetheart ‘midst the throng,
Wrapp’d up in grave-clothes white and long;
She turn’d, and —
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THE ERL-KING.
WHO rides there so late through the night dark and drear?
The father it is, with his infant so dear;
He holdeth the boy tightly clasp’d in his arm,
He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.
“My son, wherefore seek’st thou thy face thus to hide?”
“Look, father, the Erl-King is close by our side!
Dost see not the Erl-King, with crown and with train?”
“My son, ’tis the mist rising over the plain.”
“Oh, come, thou dear infant! oh, come thou with me!
Full many a game I will play there with thee;
On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold,
My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold.”
“My father, my father, and dost thou not hear
The words that the Erl-King now breathes in mine ear?”
“Be calm, dearest child, ’tis thy fancy deceives;
’Tis the sad wind that sighs through the withering leaves.”
“Wilt go, then, dear infant, wilt go with me there?
My daughters shall tend thee with sisterly care;
My daughters by night their glad festival keep,
They’ll dance thee, and rock thee, and sing thee to sleep.”
“My father, my father, and dost thou not see,
How the Erl-King his daughters has brought here for me?”
“My darling, my darling, I see it aright,
’Tis the aged gray willows deceiving thy sight.”
“I love thee, I’m charm’d by thy beauty, dear boy!
And if thou’rt unwilling, then force I’ll employ.”
“My father, my father, he seizes me fast,
Full sorely the Erl-King has hurt me at last.”
The father now gallops, with terror half wild,
He grasps in his arms the poor shuddering child;
He reaches his courtyard with toil and with dread, —
The child in his arms finds he motionless, dead.
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JOHANNA SEBUS
THE dam breaks down, the ice-plain growls,
The floods arise, the water howls.
“I’ll bear thee, mother, across the swell,
’Tis not yet high, I can wade right well.”
“Remember us too! in what danger are we!
Thy fellow-lodger, and children three!
The trembling woman! — Thou’rt going away!”
She bears the mother across the spray.
“Quick! haste to the mound, and a while there wait,
I’ll soon return, and all will be straight.
The mound’s close by, and safe from the wet;
But take my goat too, my darling pet!”
The dam dissolves, the ice-plain growls,
The floods dash on, the water howls.
She places the mother safe on the shore;
Fair Susan then turns tow’rd the flood once more.
“Oh, whither? Oh, whither? The breadth fast grows,
Both here and there the water o’erflows.
Wilt venture, thou rash one, the billows to brave?”
“They shall, and they must be preserved from the wave!”
The dam disappears, the water growls,
Like ocean billows it heaves and howls.
Fair Susan returns by the way she had tried,
The waves roar around, but she turns not aside;
She reaches the mound, and the neighbor straight,
But for her and the children, alas, too late!
The dam disappear’d, like a sea it growls,
Round the hillock in circling eddies
it howls.
The foaming abyss gapes wide, and whirls round,
The women and children are borne to the ground;
The horn of the goat by one is seiz’d fast,
But, ah, they all must perish at last!
Fair Susan still stands there, untouch’d by the wave;
The youngest, the noblest, oh, who now will save?
Fair Susan still stands there, as bright as a star,
But, alas! all hope, all assistance is far.
The foaming waters around her roar,
To save her, no bark pushes off from the shore.
Her gaze once again she lifts up to Heaven,
Then gently away by the flood she is driven.
No dam, no plain! to mark the place
Some straggling trees are the only trace.
The rushing water the wilderness covers,
Yet Susan’s image still o’er it hovers. —
The water sinks, the plains reappear.
Fair Susan’s lamented with many a tear, —
May he who refuses her story to tell,
Be neglected in life and in death as well!
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THE FISHERMAN.
THE waters rush’d, the waters rose,
A fisherman sat by,
While on his line in calm repose
He cast his patient eye.
And as he sat, and hearken’d there,
The flood was cleft in twain,
And, lo! a dripping mermaid fair
Sprang from the troubled main.
She sang to him, and spake the while:
“Why lurest thou my brood,
With human wit and human guile
From out their native flood?
Oh, could’st thou know how gladly dart
The fish across the sea,
Thou would’st descend, e’en as thou art,
And truly happy be!
“Do not the sun and moon with grace
Their forms in ocean lave?
Shines not with twofold charms their face,
When rising from the wave?
The deep, deep heavens, then lure thee not, —
The moist yet radiant blue, —
Not thine own form, — to tempt thy lot
‘Midst this eternal dew?”
The waters rush’d, the waters rose,
Wetting his naked feet;
As if his true love’s words were those,
His heart with longing beat.
She sang to him, to him spake she,
His doom was fix’d, I ween;
Half drew she him, and half sank he,
And ne’er again was seen.
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THE KING OF THULE.
IN Thule liv’d a monarch,
Still faithful to the grave,
To whom his dying mistress
A golden goblet gave.
Beyond all price he deem’d it,
He quaff’d it at each feast;
And, when he drain’d that goblet,
His tears to flow ne’er ceas’d.
And when he felt death near him,
His cities o’er he told,
And to his heir left all things,
But not that cup of gold.
A regal banquet held he
In his ancestral hall,
In yonder sea-wash’d castle,
‘Mongst his great nobles all.
There stood the aged reveller,
And drank his last life’s-glow,
Then hurl’d the holy goblet
Into the flood below.
He saw it falling, filling,
And sinking ‘neath the main,
His eyes then clos’d forever,
He never drank again.
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THE BEAUTEOUS FLOWER.
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Song of the Imprisoned Count.
Count.
I KNOW a flower of beauty rare,
Ah, how I hold it dear!
To seek it I would fain repair,
Were I not prison’d here.
My sorrow sore oppresses me,
For when I was at liberty,
I had it close beside me.
Though from this castle’s walls so steep
I cast mine eyes around,
And gaze oft from the lofty keep,
The flower cannot be found.
Whoe’er would bring it to my sight,
Whether a vassal he, or knight,
My dearest friend I’d deem him.
The Rose.
I blossom fair, — thy tale of woes
I hear from ‘neath thy grate.
Thou doubtless meanest me, the rose,
Poor knight of high estate!
Thou hast in truth a lofty mind;
The queen of flowers is then enshrin’d,
I doubt not, in thy bosom.
Count.
Thy red, in dress of green array’d,
As worth all praise I hold;
And so thou’rt treasur’d by each maid,
Like precious stones or gold.
Thy wreath adorns the fairest face,
But still thou’rt not the flower whose grace
I honor here in silence.
The Lily.
The rose is wont with pride to swell,
And ever seeks to rise;
But gentle sweethearts love full well
The lily’s charms to prize.
The heart that fills a bosom true,
That is, like me, unsullied too,
My merit values duly.
Count.
In truth, I hope myself unstain’d,
And free from grievous crime;
Yet I am here a prisoner chain’d,
And pass in grief my time.
To me thou art an image sure
Of many a maiden, mild and pure,
And yet I know a dearer.
The Pink.
That must be me, the pink, who scent
The warder’s garden here;
Or wherefore is he so intent
My charms with care to rear?
My petals stand in beauteous ring,
Sweet incense all around I fling,
And boast a thousand colors.
Count.
The pink in truth we should not slight,
It is the gardener’s pride;
It now must stand expos’d to light,
Now in the shade abide.
Yet what can make the Count’s heart glow
Is no mere pomp of outward show;
It is a silent flower.
The Violet.
Here stand I, modestly half hid,
And fain would silence keep;
Yet since to speak I now am bid,
I’ll break my silence deep.
If, worthy Knight, I am that flower,
It grieves me that I have not power
To breathe forth all my sweetness.
Count.
The violet’s charms I prize indeed,
So modest ’tis, and fair,
And smells so sweet; yet more I need
To ease my heavy care.
The truth I’ll whisper in thine ear:
Upon these rocky heights so drear,
I cannot find the lov’d one.
The truest maiden ‘neath the sky
Roams near the stream below,
And breathes forth many a gentle sigh,
Till I from hence can go.
And when she plucks a flow’ret blue,
And says “Forget-me-not!” — I, too,
Though far away, can feel it.
Ay, distance only swells love’s might,
When fondly love a pair;
Though prison’d in the dungeon’s night,
In life I linger there;
And when my heart is breaking nigh,
“Forget-me-not!” is all I cry,
And straightway life returneth.
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SIR CURT’S WEDDING-JOURNEY.
WITH a bridegroom’s joyous bearing,
Mounts Sir Curt his noble beast,
To his mistress’ home repairing,
There to hold his wedding-feast;
When a threatening foe advances
From a desert, rocky spot;
For the fray they couch their lances,
Not delaying, speaking not.
Long the doubtful fight continues,
Victory then for Curt declares;
Conqueror, though with wearied sinews,
Forward on his road he fares.
When he sees, though strange it may be,
Something ‘midst the foliage move;
’Tis a mother, with her baby,
Stealing softly through the grove!
And upon the spot she beckons —
“Wherefore, love, this speed so wild?
Of the wealth thy storehouse reckons,
Hast thou nought to give thy child!”
Flames of rapture now dart through him,
And he longs for nothing more,
While the mother seemeth to him
Lovely as the maid of yore.
But he hears his servants blowing,
And bethinks him of his bride;
And ere long, while onward going,
Chances past a fair to ride;
In the booths he forthwith buys him
For his mistress many a pledge;
But, alas! some Jews surprise him,
And long-standing debts allege.
And the courts of justice duly
Send the knight to prison straight.
Oh, accursed story, truly!
For a hero, what a fate!
Can my patience such things weather?
Great is my perplexity.
Women, debts and foes together, —
Ah, no knight escapes scot free!
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WEDDING SONG.
THE tale of the Count our glad song shall record
Who had in this castle his dwelling,
Where now ye are feasting the new-married lord,
His grandson of whom we are telling.
The Count as Crusader had blazon’d his fame,
Through many a triumph exalted his name,
And when on his steed to his dwelling he came,
His castle still rear’d its proud head,
But servants and wealth had all fled.
’Tis true that thou, Count, hast return’d to thy home,
But matters are faring there ill.
The winds through the chambers at liberty roam,
Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Page 268