It may not seem very filial for the son of a poet thus to blaspheme against poetry, or rather, against rhyme. Well, I can admire rhymed poetry, just as I can admire champagne, though if the wine is really good I think it is a pity to make it mousseux.
H. Heine, who certainly was never at a loss for a rhyme, writes, at the end of one of his maddest poems, “Die Liebe”: “O Phœbus Apollo, if these verses are bad, I know thou wilt forgive me, for thou art an all-knowing god, and knowest quite well why for years I could not trouble myself any longer with measuring and rhyming words!” And he adds: “I might, of course, have said all this very well in good prose.” He ought to know, but there will not be many of his admirers to agree with him.[[2]]
I hardly remember having ever seen my father, and I came to know him chiefly through his poetry. He belonged to the post-Goethe period, though Goethe (died 1832) survived him. He was born in 1794, and died in 1827, and yet in that short time he established a lasting reputation not only as a scholar, but as a most popular poet. His best known poems are the “Griechenlieder,” the Greek songs which he wrote during the Greek war of independence. Alas! in those days battles were won by bravery and the sword, now by discipline and repeating guns. These Greek songs, in which his love of the ancient Greeks is mingled with his admiration for heroes such as Kanaris, Mark Bozzaris, and others who helped to shake off the Turkish yoke, produced a deep impression all over Germany, perhaps because they breathed the spirit of freedom and patriotism, which was then systematically repressed in Germany itself. The Greeks never forgot the services rendered by him in Germany, as by Lord Byron in England, in rousing a feeling of indignation against the Turk, and as the marble for Lord Byron’s monument in London was sent by some Greek admirers of the great poet, the Greek Parliament voted a shipload of Pentelican marble for the national monument erected to my father in Dessau.
My father’s lyrical poems also are well known all over Germany, particularly the cycles of the “Schöne Müllerin” and the “Winterreise,” both so marvellously set to music by Schubert and others. He certainly had caught the true tone of the poetry of the German people, and many of his poems have become national property, being sung by thousands who do not even know whose poems they are singing. As a specimen showing the highest point reached by his poetry, I like to quote his poem on Vineta, the old town overwhelmed by the sea on the Baltic coast. The English translation was made for me by my old, now departed, friend, J. A. Froude:—
| VINETA. | |
|---|---|
| I. | I. |
| Aus des Meeres tiefem, tiefem Grunde | From the sea’s deep hollow faintly pealing, |
| Klingen Abendglocken dumpf und matt, | Far-off evening bells come sad and slow; |
| Uns zu geben wunderbare Kunde | Faintly rise, the wondrous tale revealing |
| Von der schönen alten Wunderstadt. | Of the old enchanted town below. |
| II. | II. |
| In der Fluthen Schoss hinabgesunken | On the bosom of the flood reclining |
| Bleiben unten ihre Trümmer stehn, | Ruined arch and broken spire, |
| Ihre Zinnen lassen goldne Funken | Down beneath the watery mirror shining |
| Wiederscheinend auf dem Spiegel sehn. | Gleam and flash in flakes of golden fire. |
| III. | III. |
| Und der Schiffer, der den Zauberschimmer | And the boatman who at twilight hour |
| Einmal sah im hellen Abendroth, | Once that magic vision shall have seen, |
| Nach derselben Stelle schifft er immer, | Heedless how the crags may round him lour, |
| Ob auch rings umher die Klippe droht. | Evermore will haunt the charmèd scene. |
| IV. | IV. |
| Aus des Herzens tiefem, tiefem Grunde | From the heart’s deep hollow faintly pealing, |
| Klingt es mir, wie Glocken, dumpf und matt: | Far I hear them, bell-notes sad and slow, |
| Ach! sie geben wunderbare Kunde | Ah! a wild and wondrous tale revealing |
| Von der Liebe, die geliebt es hat. | Of the drownèd wreck of love below. |
| V. | V. |
| Eine schöne Welt is da versunken. | There a world in loveliness decaying, |
| Ihre Trümmer bleiben unten stehn, | Lingers yet in beauty ere it die; |
| Lassen sich als goldne Himmelsfunken | Phantom forms across my senses playing, |
| Oft im Spiegel meiner Träume sehn. | Flash like golden fire-flakes from the sky. |
| VI. | VI. |
| Und dann möcht’ ich tauchen in die Tiefen, | Lights are gleaming, fairy bells are ringing, |
| Mich versenken in den Wiederschein, | And I long to plunge and wander free |
| Und mir ist als ob mich Engel riefen | Where I hear those angel-voices singing |
| In die alte Wunderstadt herein. | In those ancient towers below the sea. |
That the poet did not consider rhyme an essential element of poetry, he has shown in some of his assonantic poems, such as:
Alle Winde schlafen
Auf dem Spiegel der Flut;
Kühle Schatten des Abends
Decken die Müden zu.