DIE HEIMKEHR.
LX.
They have company this evening,
And the house is full of light;
Up there at the shining window
Moves a shadowy form in white.
Thou seest me not—in the darkness
I stand here below, apart;
Yet less, ah less thou seest
Into my gloomy heart!
My gloomy heart it loves thee,
Loves thee in every spot:
It breaks, it bleeds, it shudders—But
into it thou seest not!
LXII.
Diamonds hast thou, and pearls,
And all by which men lay store;
And of eyes thou hast the fairest—
Darling, what wouldst thou more?
Upon thine eyes so lovely
Have I a whole army-corps
Of undying songs composed—
Dearest, what wouldst thou more?
And with thine eyes so lovely
Thou hast tortured me very sore,
And hast ruined me altogether—
Darling, what wouldst thou more?
DIE NORDSEE
FIRST CYCLE.
XII.
PEACE.
[Footnote: I have here used rimes although the original has none. With
notions of translating severer now than when, many years ago, I attempted
this poem, I should not now take such a liberty. In a few other points
also the translation is not quite close enough to please me; but it must
stand.]
High in heaven the sun was glowing,
White cloud-waves were round him flowing;
The sea was still and grey.
Thinking in dreams, by the helm I lay:
Half waking, half in slumber, then
Saw I Christ, the Saviour of men.
In undulating garments white
He walked in giant shape and height
Over land and sea.
High in the heaven up towered his head;
His hands in blessing forth he spread
Over land and sea.
And for a heart, in his breast
He bore the sun; there did it rest.
The red, flaming heart of the Lord
Out its gracious radiance poured,
Its fair and love-caressing light
With illuminating and warming might
Over land and sea.
Sounds of solemn bells that go
Through the air to and fro,
Drew, like swans in rosy traces,
With soft, solemn, stately graces,
The gliding ship to the green shore—
Peopled, for many a century hoar,
By men who dwell at rest in a mighty
Far-spreading and high-towered city.
Oh, wonder of peace, how still was the town!
The hollow tumult had all gone down
Of the babbling and stifling trades;
And through each clean and echoing street
Walked men and women, and youths and maids,
White clothes wearing,
Palm branches bearing;
And ever and always when two did meet,
They gazed with eyes that plain did tell
They understood each other well;
And trembling, in self-renouncement and love,
Each a kiss on the other’s forehead laid,
And looked up to the Saviour’s sunheart above,
Which, in joyful atoning, its red blood rayed
Down upon all; and the people said,
From hearts with threefold gladness blest,
Lauded be Jesus Christ!
FROM VON SALIS-SEEWIS.
THE GRAVE.
PSYCHE’S MOURNING.
THE GRAVE.
The grave is deep and soundless,
Its brink is ghastly lone;
With veil all dark and boundless
It hides a land unknown.
The nightingale’s sweet closes
Down there come not at all;
And friendship’s withered roses
On the mossy hillock fall.
Their hands young brides forsaken
Wring bleeding there in vain;
The cries of orphans waken
No answer to their pain.
Yet nowhere else for mortals
Dwells their implored repose;
Through none but those dark portals
Home to his rest man goes.
The poor heart, here for ever
By storm on storm beat sore,
Its true peace gaineth never
But where it beats no more.
PSYCHES MOURNING.
Psyche moans, in deep-sunk, darksome prison,
For redemption; ah! for light she aches;
Fears, hopes, after every noise doth listen—
Whether Fate her bars of iron breaks.
Bound are Psyche’s pinions—airy, soaring;
Yet high-hearted is she, groaning low;
Knows that under clouds whence rain is pouring
Sprouts the palm that crowns the victor’s brow;
Knows among the thorns the rose yet reigneth;
Golden flowers spring from the desert grave
She her garland through denial gaineth,
And her strength is steeled by winds that rave.
‘Tis through lack that she her blisses buyeth;
Sorrow’s dream comes true by longing long;
Lest light break the sleep wherein she lieth,
Round her tree of life the shadows throng.
Psyche’s wail is but a fluted sadness
Heard from willows the moon silvereth;
Psyche’s tears are dews of morning redness,
And her sighs the sweet night-violet’s breath!
Yews o’ershade the myrtle of her probation;
Much she loves for great has been her dole;
Love leads through the paths of separation,
Leads her to reunion’s joyous goal.
She endures; bravely bears every burden,
Dumb before the will of Fate bends low;
Lies her bliss the patient tranquil word in;
Her one cordial, feeling’s overflow!
Preconviction—ah! the call, the token,
Spreading wings the darksome sky to cleave!
‘Tis but boding! ‘tis but knowledge broken!
Truth’s but what she truly doth believe!
Darkness hides the goal of Psyche’s mission;
For the eyes that tears so often gall
Reach not to the summit of completion
Where illusion’s vaporous veil doth fall!