VII.
But the Poet's mission
Is but prophetic vision;
To him the daring heart is granted—
Not the hand.
He may cease—the death-song has been chanted
For Fatherland!
THE KNIGHT'S PLEDGE
THE tedious night at length hath pass'd;
To horse! to horse! we'll ride as fast
As ever bird did fly.
Ha! but the morning air is chill;
Frau Wirthin, one last goblet fill,
We'll drain it ere we die!
Thou youthful grass, why look'st so green?
Soon dyed in blood of mine I ween,
With damask rose thou'lt vie.
The goblet here! with sword in hand
I pledge thee first, my Fatherland,
Oh! blessed for thee to die!
Again our mailed hands raise the cup:
Freedom, to thee we drink it up.
Low may that coward lie
Who fails to pledge, with heart and hand,
The freedom of our glorious Land—
Her Freedom, ere we die!
Our wives—but, ah! the glass is clear,
The cannon thunders—grasp the spear,
We'll pledge them in a sigh.
Now, on the Foe like thunder crash!
We'll scathe them as a lightning flash,
And conquer, though we die!
OPPORTUNITY. [8]
FROM THE ITALIAN OF MACHIAVELLI.
"Chi sei tu, che non par Donna mortale?"
WHO art thou, glorious Form, flashing by me,
So beautiful, so Godlike—wilt thou fly me?
Why o'er thy face and bosom fall thy tresses streaming?
And why the airy pinions on thy white feet gleaming?
My name is Opportunity. Pause or rest I never:
Mortals rarely know me till I'm gone for ever.
To seize me passing on to few is granted;
Therefore one foot upon a wheel is planted—
Therefore the light wings bound on them, to make me
So quick in flight that none shall overtake me.
Down fall my tresses, face and bosom veiling,
That none may know me 'till to know be unavailing;
Then, mockingly, I fling aside the veil, and please me
With their vain hope, and vainer haste to seize me.
And who is this dark form that follows thee with weeping,
Ever as a shadow on thy bright track keeping?
Her name's Repentance. When I fleet quickly by them,
She stoppeth weeping, vainly weeping nigh them.
But thou, poor mortal, precious moments wasting,
Idly thou dreamest while I'm onwards hasting.
Wilt thou not wake? Alas! weep now, I've passed for ever.
Weep, for Repentance henceforth leaves thee never.