Since I have been in Frankfort, an event has occurred, which shows very distinctly the principles at work in Germany, and gives us some foreboding of the future. Ferdinand Freiligrath, the first living poet with the exception of Uhland, has within a few weeks published a volume of poems entitled, "My Confession of Faith, or Poems for the Times." It contains some thrilling appeals to the free spirit of the German people, setting forth the injustice under which they labor, in simple but powerful language, and with the most forcible illustrations, adapted to the comprehension of everyone. Viewed as a work of genius alone, it is strikingly powerful and original: but when we consider the effect it is producing among the people—the strength it will add to the rising tide of opposition to every form of tyranny, it has a still higher interest. Freiligrath had three or four years before, received a pension of three hundred thalers from the King of Prussia, soon after his accession to the throne: he ceased to draw this about a year ago, stating in the preface to his volume that it was accepted in the belief the King would adhere to his promise of giving the people a new constitution, but that now since free spirit which characterises these men, who come from among the people, shows plainly the tendency of the times; and it is only the great strength with which tyranny here has environed himself, and the almost lethargic slowness of the Germans, which has prevented a change ere this.
In this volume of Freiligrath's, among other things, is a translation of Bryant's magnificent poem "The Winds," and Burns's "A man's a man for a' that;" and I have translated one of his, as a specimen of the spirit in which they are written:
FREEDOM AND RIGHT.
Oh! think not she rests in the grave's chilly slumber
Nor sheds o'er the present her glorious light,
Since Tyranny's shackles the free soul incumber
And traitors accusing, deny to us Right!
No: whether to exile the sworn ones are wending,
Or weary of power that crushed them unending,
In dungeons have perished, their veins madly rending,[*]
Yet Freedom still liveth, and with her, the Right!
Freedom and Right!
A single defeat can confuse us no longer:
It adds to the combat's last gathering might,
It bids us but doubly to struggle, and stronger
To raise up our battle-cry—"Freedom and Right!"
For the Twain know a union forever abiding,
Together in Truth and in majesty striding;
Where Right is, already the free are residing
And ever, where dwell the free, governeth Right!
Freedom and Right!
And this is a trust: never made, us at present,
The glad pair from battle to battle their flight;
Never breathed through the soul of the down-trodden peasant,
Their spirit so deeply its promptings of light!
They sweep o'er the earth with a tempest-like token;
From strand unto strand words of thunder are spoken:
Already the serf finds his manacles broken,
And those of the negro are falling from sight
Freedom and Right!
Yes, every where wide is their war-banner waving.
On the armies of Wrong their revenge to requite;
The strength of Oppression they boldly are braving
And at last they will conquer, resistless in might!
Oh, God! what a glorious wreath then appearing
Will blend every leaf in the banner they're bearing—The
olive of Greece and the shamrock of Erin,
And the oak-bough of Germany, greenest in light!
Freedom and Right!
And many who suffered, are now calmly sleeping,
The slumber of freemen, borne down by the fight;
While the Twain o'er their graves still a bright watch are keeping,
Whom we bless for their memories—Freedom and Right!
Meanwhile lift your glasses! to those who have striven!
And striving with bold hearts, to misery were driven!
Who fought for the Right and but Wrong then were given!
To Right, the immortal—to Freedom through Right!
Freedom through Right!
* [ This allusion is to Weidig, who, imprisoned for years at Darmstadt on account of his political principles, finally committed suicide by cutting his throat with the glass of his prison-window.]
CHAPTER XII. — A WEEK AMONG THE STUDENTS.
Receiving a letter from my cousin one bright December morning, the idea of visiting him struck me, and so, within an hour, B—— and I were on our way to Heidelberg. It was delightful weather; the air was mild as the early days of spring, the pine forests around wore a softer green, and though the sun was but a hand's breadth high, even at noon, it was quite warm on the open road. We stopped for the night at Bensheim; the next morning was as dark as a cloudy day in the north can be, wearing a heavy gloom I never saw elsewhere. The wind blew the snow down from the summits upon us, but being warm from walking, we did not heed it. The mountains looked higher than in summer, and the old castles more grim and frowning. From the hard roads and freezing wind, my feet became very sore, and after limping along in excruciating pain for a league or two, I filled my boots with brandy, which deadened the wounds so much, that I was enabled to go on in a kind of trot, which I kept up, only stopping ten minutes to dinner, till we reached Heidelberg.
The same evening there was to be a general commers, or meeting of the societies among the students, and I determined not to omit witnessing one of the most interesting and characteristic features of student-life. So borrowing a cap and coat, I looked the student well enough to pass for one of them, though the former article was somewhat of the Philister form. Baader, a young poet of some note, and president of the "Palatia" Society, having promised to take us there, we met at eight o'clock at an inn frequented by the students, and went to the rendezvous, near the Markt Platz.