A PICTURE POEM FOR THE LITTLE ONES.
By Fedor Flinzer. Freely translated by J.H. Ewing.
I.
Dear children, listen whilst I tell
What to a certain Elf befell,
Who left his house and sallied forth
Adventure seeking, south and north,
And west and east, by path and field,
Resolved to conquer or to yield.
A thimble on his back he carried,
With a rose-twig his foes he parried.
II.
It was a sunny, bright, spring day,
When to the wood he took his way;
He knew that in a certain spot
A Bumble Bee his nest had got.
The Bee was out, the chance was good,
But just when grabbing all he could,
He heard the Bee behind him humming,
And only wished he'd heard him coming!
III.
In terror turned the tiny man,
And now a famous fight began:
The Bee flew round, and buzzed and stung,
The Elf his prickly rose-staff swung.
Now fiercely here, now wildly there,
He hit the Bee or fought the air.
At last one weighty blow descended:
The Bee was dead—the fight was ended.
IV.
Exhausted quite, he took a seat.
The honey tasted doubly sweet!
The thimble-full had been upset,
But still there were a few drops yet.
He licked his lips and blessed himself,
That he was such a lucky Elf,
And now might hope to live in clover;
But, ah! his troubles were not over!
V.
For at that instant, by his side,
A beast of fearful form he spied:
At first he thought it was a bear,
And headlong fell in dire despair.
He lost one slipper in the moss,
And this was not his only loss.
With paws and snout the beast was nimble,
And very soon cleared out the thimble.
VI.
This rifling of his honey-pot
Awoke our Elfin's wrath full hot.
He made a rope of linden bast,
By either end he held it fast,
And creeping up behind the beast,
Intent upon the honey feast,
Before it had the slightest inkling,
The rope was round it in a twinkling.
VII.
The mouse shrieked "Murder!" "Fire!" and "Thieves!"
And struggled through the twigs and leaves.
It pulled the reins with all its might,
Our hero only drew them tight.
Upon the mouse's back he leapt,
And like a man his seat he kept.
His steed was terribly affrighted,
But he himself was much delighted.
VIII.
"Gee up, my little horse!" he cried,
"I mean to have a glorious ride;
So bear me forth with lightning speed,
A Knight resolved on doughty deed.
The wide world we will gallop round,
And clear the hedges at one bound."
The mouse set off, the hero bantered,
And out into the world they cantered.
IX.
At last they rode up to an inn:
"Good Mr. Host, pray who's within?"
"My daughter serves the customers,
Before the fire the Tom-cat purrs."
For further news they did not wait—
The mouse sprang through the garden-gate—
They fled without a look behind them.
The question is—Did Thomas find them?
SONGS FOR MUSIC
SERENADE.
I would not have you wake for me,
Fair lady, though I love you!
And though the night is warm, and all
The stars are out above you;
And though the dew's so light it could
Not hurt your little feet,
And nightingales in yonder wood
Are singing passing sweet.
Yet may my plaintive strain unite
And mingle with your dreaming,
And through the visions of the night
Just interweave my seeming.
Yet no! sleep on with fancy free
In that untroubled breast;
No song of mine, no thought of me,
Deserves to break your rest!
MAIDEN WITH THE GIPSY LOOK.
Maiden with the gipsy look,
Dusky locks and russet hue,
Open wide thy Sybil's book,
Tell my fate and tell it true;
Shall I live? or shall I die?
Timely wed, or single be?
Maiden with the gipsy eye,
Read my riddle unto me!
Maiden with the gipsy face,
If thou canst not tell me all,
Tell me thus much, of thy grace,
Should I climb, or fear to fall?
Should I dare, or dread to dare?
Should I speak, or silent be?
Maiden with the gipsy hair,
Read my riddle unto me!
Maiden with the gipsy hair,
Deep into thy mirror look,
See my love and fortune there,
Clearer than in Sybil's book:
Let me cross thy slender palm,
Let me learn my fate from thee;
Maiden with the gipsy charm,
Read my riddle unto me.
AH! WOULD I COULD FORGET.
The whispering water rocks the reeds,
And, murmuring softly, laps the weeds;
And nurses there the falsest bloom
That ever wrought a lover's doom.
Forget me not! Forget me not!
Ah! would I could forget!
But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
Her image haunts me yet.
We wander'd by the river's brim,
The day grew dusk, the pathway dim;
Her eyes like stars dispell'd the gloom,
Her gleaming fingers pluck'd the bloom.
Forget me not! Forget me not!
Ah! would I could forget!
But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
Her image haunts me yet.
The pale moon lit her paler face,
And coldly watch'd our last embrace,
And chill'd her tresses' sunny hue,
And stole that flower's turquoise blue.
Forget me not! Forget me not!
Ah! would I could forget!
But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
Her image haunts me yet.
The fateful flower droop'd to death,
The fair, false maid forswore her faith;
But I obey a broken vow,
And keep those wither'd blossoms now!
Forget me not! Forget me not!
Ah! would I could forget!
But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
Her image haunts me yet.
Sweet lips that pray'd—"Forget me not!"
Sweet eyes that will not be forgot!
Recall your prayer, forego your power,
Which binds me by the fatal flower.
Forget me not! Forget me not!
Ah! would I could forget!
But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
Her image haunts me yet.
MADRIGAL.
Life is full of trouble,
Love is full of care,
Joy is like a bubble
Shining in the air,
For you cannot
Grasp it anywhere.
Love is not worth getting,
It doth fade so fast.
Life is not worth fretting
Which so soon is past;
And you cannot
Bid them longer last.
Yet for certain fellows
Life seems true and strong;
And with some, they tell us,
Love will linger long;
Thus they cannot
Understand my song.