III.
No star on his breast is beaming,
But the light of his flashing eye
Reveals, in its haughtier gleaming,
The conscious majesty.
For the Poet's crown is the godlike brow—
Away with that golden thing!
Your fealty was never yet due till now—
Kneel to the God-made King!
THE MYSTIC TREE
FROM ÖLENSCHLÄGER.
ITS branches up to Heaven a tree is sending,
Rare to see,
For with flowers, fruit, and seed at once is bending
That mystic tree.
Round the giant stem, all rugged, rude, and mossy,
Roses twine,
And the young flowers veil it with their glossy
Hues divine.
The leaves rustle thickly, many-formed,
So green and bright;
The branches spread out broadly to be warmed
In Heaven's light.
Now curve they down, all drooping, to the meadows
And cool springs;
Now upwards on the blue air fling their shadows
Like seraphs' wings.
Pause ye beneath its golden avalanches—
Well it's worth;
For when the breath of Heaven stirs the branches
The fruit falls to earth.
Mocking apes all day there, in their folly,
Play antic wiles;
All night rest the branches, still and holy
As cathedral aisles.
The nightingale, soft in the moonlight singing,
Stops her grief;
For the magic tones of Oreads seem ringing
From every leaf.
The tree is loved by all, but comprehended
Scarce by one;
Yet each basketh in its glory, many-blended,
As 'neath a sun.
Many pause, the bright fruit harvest reaping,
Of golden gleam;
But he who loveth shadow saith in weeping—
Here let me dream.
Lighter spirits, passing, stop where glisten
Brightest flowers;
While others pause, enchanted, but to listen
The music of its bowers.
And he who nothing loveth goes his way,
Unheeding all;
But they who love the universe will say—
Sing on, JEAN PAUL!
'TIS NOT UPON EARTH
WHY comest thou here, so pale and clear,
Thou lone and shadowy child?
"I come from a clime of eternal sun,
Tho' my mother's home is a dreary one;
But Love hath stolen my heart away,
And to seek it through the world I stray."
Oh, turn thee back to thy native land—
Turn, ere thy heart is blighted;
For, alas! upon this desert strand
True love has never alighted.
"My native land is beyond the skies,
Where the perfumed bowers of Eden rise.
But my mother's home is the spectral tomb;
Yet I'll back and rest in its shadowy gloom,
For the grave is still and Heaven is fair,
And the myrtle of love fadeth never there!"
THE ITINERANT SINGING GIRL
FROM THE DANISH.
FATHERLESS and motherless, no brothers have I,
And all my little sisters in the cold grave lie;
Wasted with hunger I saw them falling dead—
Lonely and bitter are the tears I shed.
Friendless and loverless, I wander to and fro,
Singing while my faint heart is breaking fast with woe,
Smiling in my sorrow, and singing for my bread—
Lonely and bitter are the tears I shed.
Harp clang and merry song by stranger door and board,
None ask wherefore tremble my pale lips at each word;
None care why the colour from my wan cheek has fled—
Lonely and bitter are the tears I shed.
Smiling and singing still, tho' hunger, want, and woe,
Freeze the young life-current in my veins as I go;
Begging for my living, yet wishing I were dead—
Lonely and bitter are the tears I shed.
IGNEZ DE CASTRO
FROM THE PORTUGUESE.
"Longe de caro esposo Ignez formosa."