TO LAWGIVERS.
Ever take it for granted, that man collectively wishes
That which is right; but take care never to think so of one!
FALSE IMPULSE TO STUDY.
Oh, how many new foes against truth! My very soul bleedeth
When I behold the owl-race now bursting forth to the light.
THE HEREDITARY PRINCE OF WEIMAR, ON HIS PROCEEDING TO PARIS.
(SUNG IN A CIRCLE OF FRIENDS.)
With one last bumper let us hail
The wanderer beloved,
Who takes his leave of this still vale
Wherein in youth he roved.
From loving arms, from native home,
He tears himself away,
To yonder city proud to roam,
That makes whole lands its prey.
Dissension flies, all tempests end,
And chained is strife abhorred;
We in the crater may descend
From whence the lava poured.
A gracious fate conduct thee through
Life's wild and mazy track!
A bosom nature gave thee true,—
A bosom true bring back!
Thou'lt visit lands that war's wild train
Had crushed with careless heed;
Now smiling peace salutes the plain,
And strews the golden seed.
The hoary Father Rhine thou'lt greet,
Who thy forefather [58] blest
Will think of, whilst his waters fleet
In ocean's bed to rest.
Do homage to the hero's manes,
And offer to the Rhine,
The German frontier who maintains,
His own-created wine,—
So that thy country's soul thy guide
May be, when thou hast crossed
On the frail bark to yonder side,
Where German faith is lost!
THE IDEAL OF WOMAN.
TO AMANDA.
Woman in everything yields to man; but in that which is highest,
Even the manliest man yields to the woman most weak.
But that highest,—what is it? The gentle radiance of triumph
As in thy brow upon me, beauteous Amanda, it beams.
When o'er the bright shining disk the clouds of affliction are fleeting,
Fairer the image appears, seen through the vapor of gold.
Man may think himself free! thou art so,—for thou never knowest
What is the meaning of choice,—know'st not necessity's name.
That which thou givest, thou always givest wholly; but one art thou ever,
Even thy tenderest sound is thine harmonious self.
Youth everlasting dwells here, with fulness that never is exhausted,
And with the flower at once pluckest thou the ripe golden fruit.
THE FOUNTAIN OF SECOND YOUTH.
Trust me, 'tis not a mere tale,—the fountain of youth really runneth,
Runneth forever. Thou ask'st, where? In the poet's sweet art!
WILLIAM TELL. [59]
When hostile elements with rage resound,
And fury blindly fans war's lurid flame,—
When in the strife of party quarrel drowned,
The voice of justice no regard can claim,—
When crime is free, and impious hands are found
The sacred to pollute, devoid of shame,
And loose the anchor which the state maintains,—
No subject there we find for joyous strains.
But when a nation, that its flocks still feeds
With calm content, nor other's wealth desires
Throws off the cruel yoke 'neath which it bleeds,
Yet, e'en in wrath, humanity admires,—
And, e'en in triumph, moderation heeds,—
That is immortal, and our song requires.
To show thee such an image now is mine;
Thou knowest it well, for all that's great is thine!
TO A YOUNG FRIEND DEVOTING HIMSELF TO PHILOSOPHY.
Severe the proof the Grecian youth was doomed to undergo,
Before he might what lurks beneath the Eleusinia know—
Art thou prepared and ripe, the shrine—the inner shrine—to win,
Where Pallas guards from vulgar eyes the mystic prize within?
Knowest thou what bars thy way? how dear the bargain thou dost make,
When but to buy uncertain good, sure good thou dost forsake?
Feel'st thou sufficient strength to brave the deadliest human fray,
When heart from reason—sense from thought, shall rend themselves away?
Sufficient valor, war with doubt, the hydra-shape, to wage;
And that worst foe within thyself with manly soul engage?
With eyes that keep their heavenly health—the innocence of youth
To guard from every falsehood, fair beneath the mask of truth?
Fly, if thou canst not trust thy heart to guide thee on the way—
Oh, fly the charmed margin ere th' abyss engulf its prey.
Round many a step that seeks the light, the shades of midnight close;
But in the glimmering twilight, see—how safely childhood goes!
EXPECTATION AND FULFILMENT.
Into life's ocean the youth with a thousand masts daringly launches;
Mute, in a boat saved from wreck, enters the gray-beard the port.
THE COMMON FATE.
See how we hate, how we quarrel, how thought and how feeling divide us!
But thy locks, friend, like mine, meanwhile are bleachening fast.