THE FISHERMAN AND HIS WIFE
There was once on a time a Fisherman who lived with his wife in a miserable hovel close by the sea, and every day he went out fishing. And once as he was sitting with his rod, looking at the clear water, his line suddenly went down, far down below, and when he drew it up again he brought out a large Flounder. Then the Flounder said to him, "Hark, you Fisherman, I pray you, let me live; I am no Flounder really, but an enchanted prince. What good will it do you to kill me? I should not be good to eat; put me in the water again, and let me go." "Come," said the Fisherman, "there is no need for so many words about it—a fish that can talk I should certainly let go, anyhow." With that he put him back again into the clear water, and the Flounder went to the bottom, leaving a long streak of blood behind him. Then the Fisherman got up and went home to his wife in the hovel. "Husband," said the woman, "have you caught nothing today?" "No," said the man; "I did catch a Flounder, who said he was an enchanted prince, so I let him go again." "Did you not wish for anything first?" said the woman. "No," said the man; "what should I wish for?" "Ah," said the woman, "it is surely hard to have to live always in this dirty hovel. You might have wished for a small cottage for us. Go back and call him. Tell him we want to have a small cottage; he will certainly give us that." "Ah," said the man, "why should I go there again?" "Why," said the woman, "you did catch him, and you let him go again; he is sure to do it. Go at once." The man still did not quite like to go, but did not like to oppose his wife, either, and so went to the sea. When he got there the sea was all green and yellow, and no longer smooth, as before; so he stood and said—
"Flounder, Flounder, in the sea,
Come, I pray thee, here to me;
For my wife, good Ilsabil,
Wills not as I'd have her will."
Then the Flounder came swimming to him and said, "Well, what does she want, then?" "Ah," said the man, "I did catch you, and my wife says I really ought to have wished for something. She does not like to live in a wretched hovel any longer; she would like to have a cottage." "Go, then," said the Flounder, "she has it already."
When the man went home, his wife was no longer in the hovel, but, instead of it, there stood a small cottage, and she was sitting on a bench before the door. Then she took him by the hand and said to him, "Just come inside, look, now isn't this a great deal better?" So they went in, and there was a small porch, and a pretty little parlor and bedroom and a kitchen and pantry, with the best of furniture, and fitted up with the most beautiful things made of tin and brass, whatsoever was wanted. And behind the cottage there was a small yard, with hens and ducks, and a little garden with flowers and fruit. "Look," said the wife, "is not that nice!" "Yes," said the husband, "and so we must always think it; now we will live quite contented." "We will think about that," said the wife. With that they ate something and went to bed.
Everything went well for a week or a fortnight, and then the woman said, "Hark you, husband, this cottage is far too small for us, and the garden and yard are little; the Flounder might just as well have given us a larger house. I should like to live in a great stone castle; go to the Flounder, and tell him to give us a castle." "Ah, wife," said the man, "the cottage is quite good enough; why should we live in a castle?" "What!" said the woman; "just go there, the Flounder can always do that." "No, wife," said the man, "the Flounder has just given us the cottage; I do not like to go back so soon. It might make him angry." "Go," said the woman, "he can do it quite easily, and will be glad to do it; just you go to him."
The man's heart grew heavy, and he would not go. He said to himself, "It is not right," and yet he went. And when he came to the sea the water was quite purple and dark-blue, and gray and thick, and no longer green and yellow; but it was still quiet. And he stood there and said—
"Flounder, Flounder, in the sea,
Come, I pray thee, here to me;
For my wife, good Ilsabil,
Wills not as I'd have her will."
"Well, what does she want, then?" said the Flounder. "Alas," said the man, half scared, "she wants to live in a great stone castle." "Go to it, then, she is standing before the door," said the Flounder.
Then the man went away, intending to go home, but when he got there, he found a great stone palace, and his wife was just standing on the steps going in, and she took him by the hand and said, "Come in." So he went in with her, and in the castle was a great hall paved with marble, and many servants, who flung wide the doors; and the walls were all bright with beautiful hangings, and in the rooms were chairs and tables of pure gold, and crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and all the rooms and bedrooms had carpets, and food and wine of the very best were standing on all the tables so that they nearly broke down beneath it. Behind the house, too, there was a great courtyard, with stables for horses and cows, and the very best of carriages; there was a magnificent large garden, too, with the most beautiful flowers and fruit-trees, and a park quite half a mile long, in which were stags, deer, and hares, and everything that could be desired. "Come," said the woman, "isn't that beautiful?" "Yes, indeed," said the man; "now let it be; we will live in this beautiful castle and be content." "We will consider about that," said the woman, "and sleep upon it;" thereupon they went to bed.
Next morning the wife awoke first, and it was just daybreak, and from her bed she saw the beautiful country lying before her. Her husband was still stretching himself, so she poked him in the side with her elbow, and said, "Get up, husband, and just peep out of the window. Look you, couldn't we be the King over all that land? Go to the Flounder, we will be the King." "Ah, wife," said the man, "why should we be King? I do not want to be King." "Well," said the wife, "if you won't be King, I will; go to the Flounder, for I will be King." "Oh, wife," said the man, "why do you want to be King? I do not like to say that to him." "Why not?" asked the woman; "go to him this instant; I must be King!" So the man went, and was quite unhappy because his wife wished to be King. "It is not right; it is not right," thought he. He did not wish to go; but yet he went.
And when he came to the sea, it was quite dark-gray, and the water heaved up from below, and smelt putrid. Then he went and stood by it, and said—
"Flounder, Flounder, in the sea,
Come, I pray thee, here to me;
For my wife, good Ilsabil,
Wills not as I'd have her will."
"Well, what does she want, then?" asked the Flounder. "Alas," said the man, "she wants to be King." "Go to her; she is King already."
So the man went, and when he came to the palace, the castle had become much larger, and had a great tower and magnificent ornaments, and the sentinel was standing before the door, and there were numbers of soldiers with kettle-drums and trumpets. And when he went inside the house, everything was of real marble and gold, with velvet covers and great golden tassels. Then the doors of the hall were opened, and there was the court in all its splendor, and his wife was sitting on a high throne of gold and diamonds, with a great crown of gold on her head, and a sceptre of pure gold and jewels in her hand, and on both sides of her stood her maids-in-waiting in a row, each of them always one head shorter than the last.
Then he went and stood before her, and said, "Ah, wife, and now you are King!" "Yes," said the woman, "now I am King." So he stood and looked at her, and when he had looked at her thus for a time he said, "And now that you are King, let all else be; now we will wish for nothing more." "Nay, husband," said the woman, quite anxiously, "I find time pass very heavily; I can bear it no longer; go to the Flounder. I am King, but I must be Emperor, too."
"Alas, wife, why do you wish to be Emperor?" "Husband," said she, "go to the Flounder. I will be Emperor." "Alas, wife," said the man, "he cannot make you Emperor; I may not say that to the fish. There is only one Emperor in the land. An Emperor the Flounder cannot make you! I assure you he cannot."
"What!" said the woman, "I am the King, and you are nothing but my husband; will you go this moment? Go at once! If he can make a king he can make an emperor. I will be Emperor; go instantly." So he was forced to go. As the man went, however, he was troubled in mind, and thought to himself, "It will not end well; it will not end well! Emperor is too shameless! The Flounder will at last be tired out."
With that he reached the sea, and the sea was quite black and thick, and began to boil up from below, so that it threw up bubbles, and such a sharp wind blew over it that it curdled, and the man was afraid. Then he went and stood by it, and said—
"Flounder, Flounder, in the sea,
Come, I pray thee, here to me;
For my wife, good Ilsabil,
Wills not as I'd have her will."
"Well, what does she want, then?" asked the Flounder. "Alas, Flounder," said he, "my wife wants to be Emperor." "Go to her," said the Flounder; "she is Emperor already."
So the man went, and when he got there the whole palace was made of polished marble with alabaster figures and golden ornaments, and soldiers were marching before the door blowing trumpets, and beating cymbals and drums; and in the house, barons, and counts, and dukes were going about as servants. Then they opened the doors to him, which were of pure gold. And when he entered, there sat his wife on a throne, which was made of one piece of gold, and was quite two miles high; and she wore a great golden crown that was three yards high, and set with diamonds and carbuncles, and in one hand she had the sceptre, and in the other the imperial orb; and on both sides of her stood the yeomen of the guard in two rows, each being smaller than the one before him, from the biggest giant, who was two miles high, to the very smallest dwarf, just as big as my little finger. And before it stood a number of princes and dukes.
Then the man went and stood among them, and said, "Wife, are you Emperor now?" "Yes," said she, "now I am Emperor." Then he stood and looked at her well; and when he had looked at her thus for some time, be said, "Ah, wife, be content, now that you are Emperor." "Husband," said she, "why are you standing there? Now, I am Emperor, but I will be Pope too; go to the Flounder."
"Alas, wife," said the man, "what will you not wish for? You cannot be Pope; there is but one in Christendom; he cannot make you Pope." "Husband," said she, "I will be Pope; go immediately, I must be Pope this very day." "No, wife," said the man, "I do not like to say that to him; that would not do; it is too much; the Flounder can't make you Pope." "Husband," said she, "what nonsense! If he can make an emperor he can make a pope. Go to him directly. I am Emperor and you are nothing but my husband; will you go at once?"
Then he was afraid, and went; but he was quite faint, and shivered and shook, and his knees and legs trembled. And a high wind blew over the land, and the clouds flew, and toward evening all grew dark, and the leaves fell from the trees, and the water rose and roared as if it were boiling, and splashed upon the shore; and in the distance he saw ships which were firing guns in their sore need, pitching and tossing on the waves. And yet in the midst of the sky there was still a small bit of blue, though on every side it was as red as in a heavy storm. So, full of despair, he went and stood in much fear and said—
"Flounder, Flounder, in the sea,
Come, I pray thee, here to me;
For my wife, good Ilsabil,
Wills not as I'd have her will."
"Well, what does she want, then?" asked the Flounder. "Alas," said the man, "she wants to be Pope." "Go to her then," said the Flounder; "she is Pope already."
So he went, and when he got there, he saw what seemed to be a large church surrounded by palaces. Inside, however, everything was lighted up with thousands and thousands of candles, and his wife was clad in gold, and she was sitting on a much higher throne, and had three great golden crowns on, and around about her there was much ecclesiastical splendor; and on both sides of her was a row of candles the largest of which was as tall as the very tallest tower, down to the very smallest kitchen candle, and all the emperors and kings were on their knees before her, kissing her shoe. He pushed his way through the crowd. "Wife," said the man, and looked attentively at her, "are you now Pope?" "Yes," said she, "I am Pope." So he stood and looked at her, and it was just as if he was looking at the bright sun. When he had stood looking at her thus for a short time, he said, "Ah, wife, if you are Pope, do let well alone!" But she looked as stiff as a post, and did not move or show any signs of life. Then said he, "Wife, now that you are Pope, be satisfied; you cannot become anything greater now." "I will consider about that," said the woman. Thereupon they both went to bed, but she was not satisfied, and greediness let her have no sleep, for she was continually thinking what there was left for her to be.
The man slept well and soundly, for he had run about a great deal during the day; but the woman could not fall asleep at all, and flung herself from one side to the other the whole night through, thinking always what more was left for her to be, but unable to call to mind anything else. At length the sun began to rise, and when the woman saw the red of dawn, she sat up in bed and looked at it. And when, through the window, she saw the sun thus rising, she said, "Cannot I, too, order the sun and moon to rise?" "Husband," said she, poking him in the ribs with her elbow, "wake up! go to the Flounder, for I wish to be even as God is." The man was still half asleep, but he was so horrified that he fell out of bed. He thought he must have heard amiss, and rubbed his eyes, and said, "Alas, wife, what are you saying?" "Husband," said she, "if I can't order the sun and moon to rise, and have to look on and see the sun and moon rising, I can't bear it. I shall not know what it is to have another happy hour, unless I can make them rise myself."
Then she looked at him so terribly that a shudder ran over him, and said, "Go at once; I wish to be like unto God." "Alas, wife," said the man, falling on his knees before her, "the Flounder cannot do that; he can make an emperor and a pope; I beseech you, go on as you are, and be Pope." Then she fell into a rage, and her hair flew wildly about her head, and she cried, "I will not endure this, I'll not bear it any longer; wilt thou go?" Then he put on his trousers and ran away like a madman. But outside a great storm was raging and blowing so hard that he could scarcely keep his feet; houses and trees toppled over, the mountains trembled, rocks rolled into the sea, the sky was pitch black, and it thundered and lightened, and the sea came in with black waves as high as church-towers and mountains, and all with crests of white foam at the top. Then he cried, but could not hear his own words—
"Flounder, Flounder, in the sea,
Come, I pray thee, here to me;
For my wife, good Ilsabil,
Wills not as I'd have her will"
"Well, what does she want, then?" asked the Flounder. "Alas," said he, "she wants to be like unto God." "Go to her, and you will find her back again in the dirty hovel." And there they are living still at this very time.
ERNST MORITZ ARNDT
* * * * *
SONG OF THE FATHERLAND[9] (1813)
God, who gave iron, purposed ne'er
That man should be a slave;
Therefore the sabre, sword, and spear
In his right hand He gave.
Therefore He gave him fiery mood,
Fierce speech, and free-born breath,
That he might fearlessly the feud
Maintain through blood and death.
Therefore will we what God did say,
With honest truth, maintain—
And ne'er a fellow-creature slay,
A tyrant's pay to gain!
But he shall perish by stroke of brand
Who fighteth for sin and shame,
And not inherit the German land
With men of the German name.
O Germany! bright Fatherland!
O German love so true!
Thou sacred land—thou beauteous land—
We swear to thee anew!
Outlawed, each knave and coward shall
The crow and raven feed;
But we will to the battle all—
Revenge shall be our meed.
Flash forth, flash forth, whatever can,
To bright and flaming life!
Now, all ye Germans, man for man,
Forth to the holy strife!
Your hands lift upward to the sky—
Your hearts shall upward soar—
And man for man let each one cry,
Our slavery is o'er!
Let sound, let sound, whatever can
Trumpet and fife and drum!
This day our sabres, man for man,
To stain with blood, we come;
With hangman's and with coward's blood,
O glorious day of ire
That to all Germans soundeth good!—
Day of our great desire!
Let wave, let wave, whatever can—
Standard and banner wave!
Here will we purpose, man for man,
To grace a hero's grave.
Advance, ye brave ranks, hardily—
Your banners wave on high;
We'll gain us freedom's victory,
Or freedom's death we'll die!
[Illustration: ERNST MORITZ ARNDT Julius Röting]
* * * * *
UNION SONG[10] (1814)
This blessed hour we are united,
Of German men a mighty choir,
And from the lips of each, delighted,
Our praying souls to heaven aspire;
With high and sacred awe abounding
We join in solemn thoughts today,
And so our hearts should be resounding
In clear harmonic song and play.
To whom shall foremost thanks be given?
To God, the great, so long concealed,
Who, when the cloud of shame was riven,
Himself in flames to us revealed,
Who, stubborn foes with lightning felling,
Restored to us our strength of yore,
Who, on the stars in power dwelling,
Reigns ever and forevermore.
Who should our second wish be hearing?
The majesty of Fatherland—
Destroyed be those who still are sneering!
Hail them who with it fall and stand!
By virtue winning admiration,
Beloved for honesty and might,
Long live through centuries our nation
As strong in honor and in might!
The third is German manhood's treasure—
Ring out it shall, with clearness mete!
For Freedom is the German pleasure,
And Germans step to Freedom's beat.
Be life and death by her inspirèd—
Of German hearts, oh, longing bright!
And death for Freedom's sake desirèd
Is German honor and delight.
The fourth—for noble consecration
Now lift on high both heart and hand!
Old loyalty within our nation
And German faith forever stand!—
These virtues shall, our weal assuring,
Remain our union's shield and stay;
Our manly word will be enduring
Until the world shall pass away.
Now let the final chord be ringing
In jubilee—stand not apart!
Let sound our mighty, joyful singing
From lip to lip, from heart to heart!
The weal from which no devils bar us,
The word that doth our league infold—
The bliss which tyrants cannot mar us
We must believe in, we must hold!
THEODOR KÖRNER
* * * * *
MEN AND KNAVES[11] (1813)
The storm is out; the land is roused;
Where is the coward who sits well-housed?
Fie, on thee, boy, disguised in curls,
Behind the stove, 'mong gluttons and girls!
A graceless, worthless wight thou must be;
No German maid desires thee,
No German song inspires thee,
No German Rhine-wine fires thee.
Forth in the van,
Man by man,
Swing the battle-sword who can!
When we stand watching, the livelong night,
Through piping storms, till morning light,
Thou to thy downy bed canst creep,
And there in dreams of rapture sleep.
Chorus.
When, hoarse and shrill, the trumpet's blast,
Like the thunder of God, makes our hearts beat fast,
Thou in the theatre lov'st to appear,
Where trills and quavers tickle the ear.
Chorus.
When the glare of noonday scorches the brain,
When our parched lips seek water in vain,
Thou canst make the champagne corks fly,
At the groaning tables of luxury.
Chorus.
When we, as we rush to the strangling fight,
Send home to our true loves a long "Good night,"
Thou canst hie thee where love is sold,
And buy thy pleasure with paltry gold.
Chorus.
When lance and bullet come whistling by,
And death in a thousand shapes draws nigh,
Thou canst sit at thy cards, and kill
King, queen, and knave, with thy spadille.
Chorus.
If on the red field our bell should toll,
Then welcome be death to the patriot's soul.
Thy pampered flesh shall quake at its doom,
And crawl in silk to a hopeless tomb.
A pitiful exit thine shall be;
No German maid shall weep for thee,
No German song shall they sing for thee,
No German goblets shall ring for thee.
Forth in the van,
Man for man,
Swing the battle-sword who can!
* * * * *
LÜTZOW'S WILD BAND[12] (1813)
What gleams through the woods in the morning sun?
Hear it nearer and nearer draw!
It winds in and out in columns dun,
And the trumpet-notes on the roused winds run,
And they startle the soul with awe.
Should you of the comrades black demand—
That is Lützow's wild and untamed band.
What passes swift through the darksome glade,
And roves o'er the mountains all?
It crouches in nightly ambuscade;
The hurrah breaks round the foe dismayed,
And the Frankish sergeants fall.
Should you of the rangers black demand—
That is Lützow's wild and audacious band.
Where the vineyards flourish, there roars the Rhine;
There the tyrant thought him secure;
Then by thunder-crash and lightning-shine
In the waters plunges the fighting line;
Of the hostile bank makes sure.
Should you of the swimmers black demand—
That is Lützow's wild and foolhardy band.
There down in the valley what clamorous fight!
What clangor of bloody swords!
Fierce-hearted horsemen wage the fight,
And the spark of freedom's at last alight,
Flaming red the heavens towards.
Should you of the horsemen black demand—
That is Lützow's wild and intrepid band.
Who with death-rattle there bid the day farewell
'Mid the moans of prostrate foes?
Of the hand of death the drawn features tell,
Yet the dauntless hearts triumphant swell,
For his Fatherland's safe each knows!
Should you of the black-clad fallen demand—
That is Lützow's wild and invincible band.
The wild, fierce band and the Teuton band,
For all tyrants' blood athirst!—
So you who would mourn us, be not unmanned;
For the morning dawns, and we freed our land,
Though to free it we won death first!
Then tell, at your grandsons' rapt demand:
That was Lützow's wild and unconquered band!
[Illustration: THEODOR KÖRNER]
* * * * *
PRAYER DURING BATTLE[13](1813)
Father, I call to thee.
The roaring artillery's clouds thicken round me,
The hiss and the glare of the loud bolts confound me.
Ruler of battles, I call on thee
O Father, lead thou me!
O Father, lead thou me;
To victory, to death, dread Commander, O guide me;
The dark valley brightens when thou art beside me;
Lord, as thou wilt, so lead thou me.
God, I acknowledge thee.
God, I acknowledge thee;
When the breeze through the dry leaves of autumn is moaning,
When the thunder-storm of battle is groaning,
Fount of mercy, in each I acknowledge thee.
O Father, bless thou me!
O Father, bless thou me;
I trust in thy mercy, whate'er may befall me;
'Tis thy word that hath sent me; that word can recall me.
Living or dying, O bless thou me!
Father, I honor thee.
Father, I honor thee;
Not for earth's hoards or honors we here are contending;
All that is holy our swords are defending;
Then falling, and conquering, I honor thee.
God, I repose in thee.
God, I repose in thee;
When the thunders of death my soul are greeting,
When the gashed veins bleed, and the life is fleeting,
In thee, my God, I repose in thee.
Father, I call on thee.
MAXIMILIAN GOTTFRIED VON SCHENKENDORF
* * * * *
THE MOTHER TONGUE[14] (1814)
Mother tongue, oh, tongue most dear,
Sweet and gladsome to mine ear!
Word that first I heard, endearing
Word of love, first timid sound
That I stammered—still I'm hearing
Thee within my soul profound.
Oh, my heart will ever grieve
When my Fatherland I leave,
For in foreign tongues repeating
Words of strangers, I lose cheer.
Oh, they seem not like a greeting,
And I'll never hold them dear.
Speech so wonderful to hear—
How thou ringest pure and clear!
Though thy beauty hath enthralled me,
Still I'll deepen my delight,
Awed, as if my fathers called me
From the grave's eternal night.
Ring on ever, tongue of old,
Tongue of lovers, heroes bold!
Rise, old song, though lost for ages,
From thy secret tomb, and go
Live again in sacred pages,
Set all hearts once more aglow.
Breath of God is everywhere,
Custom sacred here as there.
Yet when I give thanks, am praying,
A beloved heart would seek,
When my highest thoughts I'm saying—
Then my mother tongue I speak.
[Illustration: MAXIMILIAN GOTTFRIED VON SCHENKENDORF]
* * * * *
SPRING GREETING TO THE FATHERLAND[15] (1814)
Fatherland, thy pleasures greet me
After bondage, war's distress!
I must steep my soul completely
Here in all thy gorgeousness.
Where the oak-trees murmur mildly
With their crowns to heaven raised,
Mighty streams are roaring wildly—
There the German land be praised.
From the Rhinefall, all delighted,
I have walked, from Danube's spring;
Mildly, in my soul benighted
Love-stars rose, illumining;
Now I would descend, and brightly
Radiate a joyous shine
Into Neckar's valleys sprightly,
O'er the blue and silver Main.
Onward fly, my message, bringing
Freedom's greeting evermore,
Far away thou shalt be ringing
By my home on Memel's shore.
Where the German tongue is spoken,
Hearts have fought to make her free—
Fought right gladly—there unbroken
Stays our sacred Germany.
All with sunlight seems a-blazing,
All things seem adorned with green—
Pastures where the herds are grazing,
Hills where ripening grapes are seen.
Such a spring time has not graced thee,
Fatherland, for thousand years;
Glory of thy fathers faced thee
Once in dreams, and now appears.
Once more weapons must be wielded;
Go, a spirit-fray begin,
Till the latest foe has yielded—
He who threatens you within.
Passions vile ye should be blighting,
Hate, suspicion, envy, greed—
Then take, after heavy fighting,
German hearts, the rest ye need.
Then shall all men be possessing
Honor, humbleness, and might,
And thus only can the blessing
Sent our monarch shine with right.
All the ancient sins must perish—
In the God-sent deluge all,
And the heritage we cherish
To a worthy heir must fall.
God has blessed the grain that's growing
And the vineyard's fruit no less;
Men with hunter's joy are glowing;
In the homes reigns happiness.
And our freedom's sure foundation,
Pious longing, fills the breast;
Love that charms in every nation
In our German land is best.
Ye that are in castles dwelling,
Or in towns that grace our soil,
Farmers that in harvests swelling
Reap the fruits of German toil—
German brothers dear, united,
Mark my words both old and new!
That our land may stay unblighted,
Keep this concord, and be true!
* * * * *
FREEDOM[16] (1815)
Freedom that I love,
Shining in my heart,
Come now from above,
Angel that thou art.
Wilt thou ne'er appear
To the world oppressed?
With thy grace and cheer
Only stars are blessed?
In the forest gay
When the trees are green,
'Neath the blooming spray,
Freedom, thou art seen.
Oh, what dear delight!
Music fills the air,
And thy secret might
Thrills us everywhere,
When the rustling boughs
Friendly greetings send,
When we lovers' vows
Looks and kisses spend.
But the heart aspires
Upward evermore,
And our high desires
Ever sky-ward soar.
From his simple kind
Comes my rustic child,
Shows his heart and mind
To the world beguiled;
For him gardens bloom,
For him fields have grown,
Even in, the gloom
Of a world of stone.
Where in that man's breast
Glows a God-sent flame
Who with loyal zest
Loves the ancient name,
Where the men unite
Valiantly to face
Foes of honor's right—
There dwells freedom's race.
Ramparts, brazen doors
Still may bar the light,
Yet the spirit soars
Into regions bright;
For the fathers' grave,
For the church to fall,
And for dear ones—brave,
True at freedom's call—
That indeed is light,
Glowing rosy-red;
Heroes' cheeks grow bright
And more fair when dead.
Down to us, oh, guide
Heaven's grace, we pray!
In our hearts reside—
German hearts—to stay!
Freedom sweet and fair,
Trusting, void of fear,
German nature e'er
Was to thee most clear.
LUDWIG UHLAND
* * * * *
THE CHAPEL[17] (1805)
Yonder chapel, on the mountain,
Looks upon a vale of joy;
There, below, by moss and fountain,
Gaily sings the herdsman's boy.
Hark! Upon the breeze descending,
Sound of dirge and funeral bell;
And the boy, his song suspending,
Listens, gazing from the dell.
Homeward to the grave they're bringing
Forms that graced the peaceful vale;
Youthful herdsman, gaily singing!
Thus they'll chant thy funeral wail.
* * * * *
THE SHEPHERD'S SONG ON THE LORD'S DAY[18] (1805)
The Lord's own day is here!
Alone I kneel on this broad plain;
A matin bell just sounds; again
'Tis silence, far and near.
Here kneel I on the sod;
O deep amazement, strangely felt!
As though, unseen, vast numbers knelt
And prayed with me to God!
Yon heav'n afar and near—
So bright, so glorious seems its cope
As though e'en now its gates would ope—
The Lord's own day is here!
[Illustration: LUDWIG UHLAND]
* * * * *
THE CASTLE BY THE SEA[19] (1805)
Hast thou seen that lordly castle,
That castle by the sea?
Golden and red above it
The clouds float gorgeously.
And fain it would stoop downward
To the mirrored lake below;
And fain it would soar upward
In the evening's crimson glow.
Well have I seen that castle,
That castle by the sea,
And the moon above it standing,
And the mist rise solemnly.
The winds and the waves of ocean—
Had they a merry chime?
Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers,
The harp and the minstrel's rhyme?
The winds and the waves of ocean,
They rested quietly;
But I heard in the gale a sound of wail,
And tears came to mine eye.
And sawest thou on the turrets
The king and his royal bride,
And the wave of their crimson mantles,
And the golden crown of pride?
Led they not forth, in rapture,
A beauteous maiden there,
Resplendent as the morning sun,
Beaming with golden hair!
Well saw I the ancient parents,
Without the crown of pride;
They were moving slow, in weeds of woe—
No maiden was by their side!
* * * * *
SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN BOY[20] (1806)
The mountain shepherd-boy am I;
The castles all below me spy.
The sun sends me his earliest beam,
Leaves me his latest, lingering gleam.
I am the boy of the mountain!
The mountain torrent's home is here,
Fresh from the rock I drink it clear;
As out it leaps with furious force,
I stretch my arms and stop its course.
I am the boy of the mountain!
I claim the mountain for my own;
In vain the winds around me moan;
From north to south let tempests brawl—
My song shall swell above them all.
I am the boy of the mountain!
Thunder and lightning below me lie,
Yet here I stand in upper sky;
I know them well, and cry, "Harm not
My father's lowly, peaceful cot."
I am the boy of the mountain!
But when I hear the alarm-bell sound,
When watch-fires gleam from the mountains round,
Then down I go and march along,
And swing my sword, and sing my song.
I am the boy of the mountain!
[Illustration: THE VILLA BY THE SEA From the Painting by Arnold Böcklin]
* * * * *
DEPARTURE[21] (1806)
What jingles and carols along the street!
Fling open your casements, damsels sweet!
The prentice' friends, they are bearing
The boy on his far wayfaring.
'Mid fluttering ribbons and tossing caps,
Full merry the rabble huzzas and claps;
But the boy regards not the token—
He walks like one heartbroken.
Full clear clinks the wine-can, full red gleams the wine
"Drink deep and drink deeper, dear brother mine!"
"Oh, have done with the red wine of parting
That burns me within with its smarting!"
And outside from the cottage, last of all,
A maiden peeps out and her tear-drops fall,
Yet her tear-drops to none she discloses
But forget-me-nots and roses.
And outside by the cottage, last of all,
The boy glances up at a casement small,
And glances down without greeting.
'Neath his hand his heart is beating.
"What, brother! Art lacking a bright nosegay?
See yonder—the beckoning, blossomy spray!
God save thee, thou prettiest sweeting!
Drop down now a nosegay for greeting!"
"Nay, brothers, pass yonder casement by.
No prettiest sweeting like her have I.
In the sun those blossoms would wither;
The wind it would blow them thither."
So farther and farther with shout and song!
And the maiden listens and harkens long
"Ah, me! he is flown now beyond me—
The boy I have loved so fondly!
And here I stay, with my lonely lot,
With roses, ah!—and forget-me-not,
And he whose heart I'd be sharing—
He is gone on his far wayfaring!"
* * * * *
FAREWELL[22] (1807)
Farewell, farewell! From thee
Today, love, must I sever.
One kiss, one kiss give me,
Ere I quit thee forever!
One blossom from yon tree
O give to me, I pray!
No fruit, no fruit for me!
So long I may not stay.
[Illustration: LEAVING AT DAWN]
* * * * *
THE HOSTESS' DAUGHTER[23] (1809)
Three students had cross'd o'er the Rhine's dark tide;
At the door of a hostel they turned aside.
"Hast thou, Dame hostess, good ale and wine
And where is thy daughter, so sweet and fine?"
"My ale and wine are cool and clear;
On her death-bed lieth my daughter dear."
And when to the chamber they made their way,
In a sable coffin the damsel lay.
The first—the veil from her face he took,
And gazed upon her with mournful look:
"Alas! fair maiden—didst thou still live,
To thee my love would I henceforth give!"
The second—he lightly replaced the shroud,
Then round he turned him, and wept aloud:
"Thou liest, alas I on thy death-bed here;
I loved thee fondly for many a year!"
The third—he lifted again the veil,
And gently he kissed those lips so pale:
"I love thee now, as I loved of yore,
And thus will I love thee forevermore!"
* * * * *
THE GOOD COMRADE[24] (1809)
I had a gallant comrade,
No better e'er was tried;
The drum beat loud to battle—
Beside me, to its rattle,
He marched, with equal stride.
A bullet flies toward us us—
"Is that for me or thee?"
It struck him, passing o'er me;
I see his corpse before me
As 'twere a part of me!
And still, while I am loading,
His outstretched hand I view;
"Not now—awhile we sever;
But, when we live forever,
Be still my comrade true!"
* * * * *
THE WHITE HART[25] (1811)
Three huntsmen forth to the greenwood went;
To hunt the white hart was their intent.
They laid them under a green fir-tree,
And a singular vision befell those three.
THE FIRST HUNTSMAN
I dreamt I arose and beat on the bush,
When forth came rushing the stag—hush, hush!
THE SECOND
As with baying of hound he came rushing along,
I fired my gun at his hide—bing, bang!
THE THIRD
And when the stag on the ground I saw,
I merrily wound my horn—trara!
Conversing thus did the huntsmen lie,
When lo! the white hart came bounding by;
And before the huntsmen had noted him well,
He was up and away over mountain and dell!—
Hush, hush!—bing, bang!—trara!
* * * * *
THE LOST CHURCH[26] (1812)
When one into the forest goes,
A music sweet the spirit blesses;
But whence it cometh no one knows,
Nor common rumor even guesses.
From the lost Church those strains must swell
That come on all the winds resounding;
The path to it now none can tell,
That path with pilgrims once abounding.
As lately, in the forest, where
No beaten path could be discover'd,
All lost in thought, I wander'd far,
Upward to God my spirit hover'd.
When all was silent round me there,
Then in my ears that music sounded;
The higher, purer, rose my prayer,
The nearer, fuller, it resounded.
Upon my heart such peace there fell,
Those strains with all my thoughts so blended,
That how it was I cannot tell
That I so high that hour ascended.
It seem'd a hundred years and more
That I had been thus lost in dreaming,
When, all earth's vapors op'ning o'er,
A free large place stood, brightly beaming.
The sky it was so blue and bland,
The sun it was so full and glowing,
As rose a minster vast and grand,
The golden light all round it flowing.
The clouds on which it rested seem'd
To bear it up like wings of fire;
Piercing the heavens, so I dream'd,
Sublimely rose its lofty spire.
The bell—what music from it roll'd!
Shook, as it peal'd, the trembling tower;
Rung by no mortal hand, but toll'd
By some unseen, unearthly power.
The selfsame power from Heaven thrill'd
My being to its utmost centre,
As, all with fear and gladness fill'd,
Beneath the lofty dome I enter.
I stood within the solemn pile—
Words cannot tell with what amazement,
As saints and martyrs seem'd to smile
Down on me from each gorgeous casement.
I saw the picture grow alive,
And I beheld a world of glory,
Where sainted men and women strive
And act again their godlike story.
Before the altar knelt I low—
Love and devotion only feeling,
While Heaven's glory seem'd to glow,
Depicted on the lofty ceiling.
Yet when again I upward gazed,
The mighty dome in twain was shaken,
And Heaven's gate wide open blazed,
And every veil away was taken.
What majesty I then beheld,
My heart with adoration swelling;
What music all my senses fill'd,
Beyond the organ's power of telling,
In words can never be exprest;
Yet for that bliss who longs sincerely,
O let him to the music list,
That in the forest soundeth clearly!
* * * * *
CHARLEMAGNE'S VOYAGE[27] (1812)
With comrades twelve upon the main
King Charles set out to sail.
The Holy Land he hoped to gain,
But drifted in a gale.
Then spake Sir Roland, hero brave:
"Well I can fight and shield;
Yet neither stormy wind nor wave
Will to my weapon yield."
Sir Holger spoke, from Denmark's strand:
"The harp I feign would play;
But what avails the music bland
When tempests roaring sway!"
Sir Oliver was not too glad;
Upon his sword he'd stare:
"For my own weal 'twere not so bad,
I grieve, for good Old Clare."
Said wicked Ganilon with gall
(He said it 'neath his breath):
"The devil come and take ye all—
Were I but spared this death!"
Archbishop Turpin deeply sighed:
"The knights of God are we.
O come, our Savior, be our guide,
And lead us o'er the sea!"
Then spake Sir Richard Fearless stern:
"Ye demons there in hell,
I served ye many a goodly turn,
Now serve ye me as well!"
"My counsel often has been heard,"
Sir Naimes did remark.
"Fresh water, though, and helpful word
Are rare upon a bark."
Then spake Sir Riol, old and gray:
"An aged knight am I;
And they shall lay my corpse away
Where it is good and dry."
And then Sir Guy began to sing—
He was a courtly knight:
"Feign would I have a birdie's wing,
And to my love take flight!"
Then Count Garein, the noble, said:
"God, danger from us keep!
I'd rather drink the wine so red
Than water in the deep."
Sir Lambert spake, a sprightly youth:
"May God behold our state!
I'd rather eat good fish, forsooth,
Than be myself a bait."
Then quoth Sir Gottfried: "Be it so,
I heed not how I fare;
Whatever I must undergo,
My brothers all would share."
But at the helm King Charles sat by,
And never said a word,
And steered the ship with steadfast eye
Till no more tempest stirred.
* * * * *
FREE ART[28] (1812)
Thou, whom song was given, sing
In the German poets' wood!
When all boughs with music ring—
Then is life and pleasure good.
Nay, this art doth not belong
To a small and haughty band;
Scattered are the seeds of song
All about the German land.
Music set thy passions free
From the heart's confining cage;
Let thy love like murmurs be,
And like thunder-storm thy rage!
Singest thou not all thy days,
Joy of youth should make thee sing.
Nightingales pour forth their lays
In the blooming months of spring!
Though in books they hold not fast
What the hour to thee imparts,
Leaves unto the breezes cast,
To be seized by youthful hearts!
Fare thou well, thou secret lore:
Necromancy, Alchemy!
Formulas shall bind no more,
And our art is poesy.
Names we deem but empty air;
Spirits we revere alone;
Though we honor masters rare.
Art is free—it is our own!
Not in haunts of marble chill,
Temples drear where ancients trod—
Nay, in oaks on woody hill,
Lives and moves the German God.
* * * * *
TAILLEFER[29] (1812)
Duke William of the Normans spoke unto his servants all:
"Who is it sings so sweetly in the court and in the hall?
Who sings from early morn till the house is still at night
So sweetly that he fills my heart with laughter and delight?"
"'Tis Taillefer," they answered him, "so joyously that sings
Within the courtyard, as the wheel above the well he swings,
And when the fire upon the hearth he stirs to burn more bright,
And when he rises to his toil or lays him down at night."
Then spoke the Duke, "In him I trow I have a faithful knave—
This Taillefer that serves me here, so loyal and so brave;
He turns the wheel and stirs the fire with willing, sturdy arm,
And, best of all, with blithesome song he knows my heart to charm."
Then out spake lusty Taillefer, "Ah, lord, if I were free,
Far better would I serve thee then, and gladly sing to thee.
How on my stately charger would I serve thee in the field,
How sing before thee cheerily, with clang of sword and shield!"
The days went by, and Taillefer rode out as rides a knight
Upon a prancing charger borne, a gay and gallant sight;
And from the tower looked down on him Duke William's sister fair,
And softly murmured, "By my troth, a stately knight goes there!"
When as he rode before the tower, and spied her harkening,
Now sang he like a driving storm, now like a breeze of spring;
She cried, "To hear that wondrous song is of all joys the best—
The very stones they tremble, and the heart within my breast."
And now the Duke has called his men and crossed the salt sea-foam;
With gallant knights and vassals bold to England he has come.
And as he sprang from out the ship, he slipped upon the strand,
And "By this token, thus," he cried, "I seize a subject land!"
And now on Hastings field arrayed, the host for fight prepare;
Before the Duke reins up his horse the valiant Taillefer:
"If I have sung and blown the fire for many a weary year,
And since for other years have borne the knightly shield and spear,
"If I have sung and served thee well, and praises won from thee,
First as a lowly knave and then a warrior, bold and free,
Today I claim my guerdon just, that all the host may know—
To ride the foremost to the field, strike first against the foe!"
So Taillefer rode on before the glittering Norman line
Upon his stately steed, and waved a sword of temper fine;
Above the embattled plain his song rang all the tumult o'er—
Of Roland's knightly deeds he sang and many a hero more.
And as the noble song of old with tempest-might swelled out,
The banners waved and knights pressed on with war-cry and with shout;
And every heart among the host throbbed prouder still and higher,
And still through all sang Taillefer, and blew the battle-fire.
Then forward, lance in rest, against the waiting foe he dashed,
And at the shock an English knight from out the saddle crashed;
Anon he swung his sword and struck a grim and grisly blow,
And on the ground beneath his feet an English knight lay low.
The Norman host his prowess saw, and followed him full fain;
With joyful shouts and clang of shields the whole field rang again,
And shrill and fast the arrows sped, and swords made merry play—
Until at last King Harold fell, his stubborn carles gave way.
The Duke his banner planted high upon the bloody plain,
And pitched his tent a conqueror amid the heaps of slain;
Then with his captains sat at meat, the wine-cup in his hand,
Upon his head the royal crown of all the English land.
"Come hither, valiant Taillefer, and drink a cup with me!
Full oft thy song has soothed my grief, made merrier my glee;
But all my life I still shall hear the battle-shout that pealed
Above the noise of clashing arms today on Hastings field!"
* * * * *
SUABIAN LEGEND[30] (1814)
When Emperor Redbeard with his band
Came marching through the Holy Land,
He had to lead, the way to seek,
His noble force o'er mountains bleak.
Of bread there rose a painful need,
Though stones were plentiful indeed,
And many a German rider fine
Forgot the taste of mead and wine.
The horses drooped from meagre fare,
The rider had to hold his mare.
There was a knight from Suabian land
Of noble build and mighty hand;
His little horse was faint and ill,
He dragged it by the bridle still;
His steed he never would forsake,
Though his own life should be at stake.
And so the horseman had to stay
Behind the band a little way.
Then all at once, right in his course,
Pranced fifty Turkish men on horse.
And straight a swarm of arrows flew;
Their spears as well the riders threw.
Our Suabian brave felt no dismay,
And calmly marched along his way.
His shield was stuck with arrows o'er,
He sneered and looked about—no more;
Till one, whom all this pastime bored,
Above him swung a crooked sword.
The German's blood begins to boil,
He aims the Turkish steed to foil,
And off he knocks with hit so neat
The Turkish charger's two fore-feet.
And now that he has felled the horse,
He grips his sword with double force
And swings it on the rider's crown
And splits him to the saddle down;
He hews the saddle into bits,
And e'en the charger's back he splits.
See, falling to the right and left,
Half of a Turk that has been cleft!
The others shudder at the sight
And hie away in frantic flight,
And each one feels, with gruesome dread,
That he is split through trunk and head.
A band of Christians, left behind,
Came down the road, his work to find;
And they admired, one by one,
The deed our hero bold had done.
From these the Emperor heard it all,
And bade his men the Suabian call,
Then spake: "Who taught thee, honored knight,
With hits like those you dealt, to fight?"
Our hero said, without delay
"These hits are just the Suabian way.
Throughout the realm all men admit,
The Suabians always make a hit."
* * * * *
THE BLIND KING[31] (1804, 1814)
Why stands uncovered that northern host
High on the seaboard there?
Why seeks the old blind king the coast,
With his white, wild-fluttering hair?
He, leaning on his staff the while,
His bitter grief outpours,
Till across the bay the rocky isle
Sounds from its caverned shores.
"From the dungeon-rock, thou robber, bring
My daughter back again!
Her gentle voice, her harp's sweet string
Soothed an old father's pain.
From the dance along the green shore
Thou hast borne her o'er the wave;
Eternal shame light on thy head;
Mine trembles o'er the grave."
Forth from his cavern, at the word,
The robber comes, all steeled,
Swings in the air his giant sword,
And strikes his sounding shield.
"A goodly guard attends thee there;
Why suffered they the wrong?
Is there none will be her champion
Of all that mighty throng?"
Yet from that host there comes no sound;
They stand unmoved as stone;
The blind king seems to gaze around;
Am I all, all alone?"
"Not all alone!" His youthful son
Grasps his right hand so warm—
"Grant me to meet this vaunting foe!
Heaven's might inspires my arm."
"O son! it is a giant foe;
There's none will take thy part;
Yet by this hand's warm grasp, I know
Thine is a manly heart.
Here, take the trusty battle-sword—
'Twas the old minstrel's prize;—
If thou art slain, far down the flood
Thy poor old father dies!"
And hark! a skiff glides swiftly o'er,
With plashing, spooming sound;
The king stands listening on the shore;
'Tis silent all around—
Till soon across the bay is borne
The sound of shield and sword,
And battle-cry, and clash, and clang,
And crashing blows, are heard.
With trembling joy then cried the king:
"Warrior! what mark you? Tell!
'Twas my good sword; I heard it ring;
I know its tone right well."
"The robber falls; a bloody meed
His daring crime hath won;
Hail to thee, first of heroes! hail!
Thou monarch's worthy son!"
Again 'tis silent all around;
Listens the king once more;
"I hear across the bay the sound
As of a plashing oar."
Yes, it is they!—They come!—They come—
Thy son, with spear and shield,
And thy daughter fair, with golden hair,
The sunny-bright Gunild."
"Welcome!" exclaims the blind old man,
From the rock high o'er the wave;
"Now my old age is blest again;
Honored shall be my grave.
Thou, son, shalt lay the sword I wore
Beside the blind old king.
And thou, Gunilda, free once more,
My funeral song shalt sing."
* * * * *
THE MINSTREL'S CURSE[32] (1814)
Once in olden times was standing
A castle, high and grand,
Broad glancing in the sunlight,
Far over sea and land.
And round were fragrant gardens,
A rich and blooming crown;
And fountains, playing in them,
In rainbow brilliance shone.
There a haughty king was seated,
In lands and conquests great;
Pale and awful was his countenance,
As on his throne he sate;
For what he thinks, is terror,
And what he looks, is wrath,
And what he speaks, is torture,
And what he writes, is death.
And 'gainst a marble pillar
He shiver'd it in twain;
And thus his curse he shouted,
Till the castle rang again:
"Woe, woe, thou haughty castle,
With all thy gorgeous halls!
Sweet string or song be sounded
No more within thy walls.
No, sighs alone, and wailing,
And the coward steps of slaves!
Already round thy towers
The avenging spirit raves!
"Woe, woe, ye fragrant gardens,
With all your fair May light!
Look on this ghastly countenance,
And wither at the sight!
Let all your flowers perish!
Be all your fountains dry!
Henceforth a horrid wilderness,
Deserted, wasted, lie!
"Woe, woe, thou wretched murderer,
Thou curse of minstrelsy!
Thy struggles for a bloody fame,
All fruitless shall they be.
Thy name shall be forgotten,
Lost in eternal death,
Dissolving into empty air
Like a dying man's last breath!"
The old man's curse is utter'd,
And Heaven above hath heard.
Those walls have fallen prostrate
At the minstrel's mighty word.
Of all that vanish'd splendor
Stands but one column tall;
And that, already shatter'd,
Ere another night may fall.
Around, instead of gardens,
In a desert heathen land,
No tree its shade dispenses,
No fountains cool the sand.
The king's name, it has vanish'd;
His deeds no songs rehearse;
Departed and forgotten—
This is the minstrel's curse.
* * * * *
THE LUCK OF EDENHALL[33] (1834)
Of Edenhall the youthful lord
Bids sound the festal trumpets' call;
He rises at the banquet board,
And cries, 'mid the drunken revelers all,
"Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall!"
The butler hears the words with pain—
The house's oldest seneschal—
Takes slow from its silken cloth again
The drinking glass of crystal tall;
They call it the Luck of Edenhall.
Then said the lord, "This glass to praise,
Fill with red wine from Portugal!"
The graybeard with trembling hand obeys;
A purple light shines over all;
It beams from the Luck of Edenhall.
Then speaks the lord, and waves it light—
"This glass of flashing crystal tall
Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite;
She wrote in it, 'If this glass doth fall,
Farewell then, O Luck of Edenhall!'"
"'Twas right a goblet the fate should be
Of the joyous race of Edenhall!
We drink deep draughts right willingly;
And willingly ring, with merry call,
Kling! klang! to the Luck of Edenhall!"
First rings it deep, and full, and mild,
Like to the song of a nightingale;
Then like the roar of a torrent wild;
Then mutters, at last, like the thunder's fall,
The glorious Luck of Edenhall.
"For its keeper, takes a race of might
The fragile goblet of crystal tall;
It has lasted longer than is right;
Kling! klang!—with a harder blow than all
We'll try the Luck of Edenhall!"
As the goblet, ringing, flies apart,
Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall;
And through the rift the flames upstart;
The guests in dust are scattered all
With the breaking Luck of Edenhall!
In storms the foe with fire and sword!
He in the night had scaled the wall;
Slain by the sword lies the youthful lord,
But holds in his hand the crystal tall,
The shattered Luck of Edenhall.
On the morrow the butler gropes alone,
The graybeard, in the desert hall;
He seeks his lord's burnt skeleton;
He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall
The shards of the Luck of Edenhall.
"The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall aside;
Down must the stately columns fall;
Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride;
In atoms shall fall this earthly hall,
One day, like the Luck of Edenhall!"
* * * * *
ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD[34] (1859)
You came, you went, as angels go,
A fleeting guest within our land.
Whence and where to?—We only know:
Forth from God's hand into God's hand.
JOSEPH VON EICHENDORFF
* * * * *
THE BROKEN RING[35] (1810)
Down in yon cool valley
I hear a mill-wheel go:
Alas! my love has left me,
Who once dwelt there below.
A ring of gold she gave me,
And vowed she would be true;
The vow long since was broken,
The gold ring snapped in two.
I would I were a minstrel,
To rove the wide world o'er,
And sing afar my measures,
And rove from door to door;
Or else a soldier, flying
Deep into furious fight,
By silent camp-fires lying
A-field in gloomy night.
Hear I the mill-wheel going:
I know not what I will;
'Twere best if I were dying—
Then all were calm and still.
[Illustration: JOSEPH VON EICHENDORFF]
* * * * *
MORNING PRAYER[36] (1833)
O silence, wondrous and profound!
O'er earth doth solitude still reign;
The woods alone incline their heads,
As if the Lord walked o'er the plain.
I feel new life within me glow;
Where now is my distress and care?
Here in the blush of waking morn,
I blush at yesterday's despair.
To me, a pilgrim, shall the world,
With all its joy and sorrows, be
But as a bridge that leads, O Lord,
Across the stream of time to Thee.
And should my song woo worldly gifts,
The base rewards of vanity—
Dash down my lyre! I'll hold my peace
Before thee to eternity.