PROLOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY OF FIESCO,
AS TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER, BY COLONEL D’AGUILAR, AND PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL, DUBLIN, DECEMBER 1832.
Too long apart, a bright but sever’d band,
The mighty minstrels of the Rhine’s fair land
Majestic strains, but not for us, had sung—
Moulding to melody a stranger tongue.
Brave hearts leap’d proudly to their words of power,
As a true sword bounds forth in battle’s hour;
Fair eyes rain’d homage o’er th’ impassion’d lays,
In loving tears, more eloquent than praise;
While we, far distant, knew not, dream’d not aught
Of the high marvels by that magic wrought.
But let the barriers of the sea give way,
When mind sweeps onward with a conqueror’s sway!
And let the Rhine divide high souls no more
From mingling on its old heroic shore,
Which, e’en like ours, brave deeds through many an age
Have made the poet’s own free heritage!
To us, though faintly, may a wandering tone
Of the far minstrelsy at last be known;
Sounds which the thrilling pulse, the burning tear,
Have sprung to greet, must not be strangers here.
And if by one, more used on march and heath
To the shrill bugle than the muse’s breath,
With a warm heart the offering hath been brought,
And in a trusting loyalty of thought,
So let it be received!—a soldier’s hand
Bears to the breast of no ungenerous land
A seed of foreign shores. O’er this fair clime,
Since Tara heard the harp of ancient time,
Hath song held empire; then, if not with fame,
Let the green isle with kindness bless his aim,
The joy, the power, of kindred song to spread,
Where once that harp “the soul of music shed!”