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May be humanly happy again and possess a spirit in com- mon. Men are bound to their own tasks Alone, and in the roaring workshop each can hear Only himself. They work hke savages, steadily. With powerful, restless arms, but always and always The labor of the fools is sterile, like the Furies. So it will be until, awakened from anxious dreams, The souls of men arise, youthfully glad, and the blessed Breath of love blows in a newer time, as it often did For the blossoming children of Hellas, and over freer brows The spirit of nature, the far-wandering, shines for us again In silent, hngering divinity from golden clouds.

Ah, do you linger still? And must God-created men Live always, O day, as if they were in the depths of the earth, All lonely there below, while ever-living spring Dawns unsung over the heads of the sleepers? Not any longerl Already I hear, in the distance, A festive choral song on the green hill and its echo in the grove, Where the breasts of the young lift happily and where the souls of the people Quietly join in a freer song for the honor of The god to whom the heights and the valleys are sacred; For where a youthful, growing stream runs gaily on Under the flowers of the land, and where on sunny plains The rich grain and the orchard ripen, there, in festival.

Even the pious wear crowns, and on the hill of the city A heavenly hall of joy, seemingly man-made, shines. For life is now full of godlike sensibility. And everywhere, O Nature, you appear again As perfection to your children, and as from mountain springs Your blessings flow into the waking soul of the people. Ah, then, O joys of Athens, O great achievements in Sparta, O precious springtime in Greece, when our holy harvest comes, When it ripens, O glorious spirits of all the ancient world, Come back and see that the year's perfection is near!

Then our festival will honor you, long-gone days! Conceal the griever From peering day! And crown with eternal leaf, you groves Of laurel, the hill of your dead ones there at Marathon, Where the youths died in victory. Ah, there on the fields of Chaeronea, Where the last Athenians ran away with their weapons. But you, O immortal sea-god, if the song of the Greeks No longer rises from the waves to please you, as before. Still sound for me often in my soul, that over your waters The fearless, lively spirit, like a swimmer, may move In freshness and strength and understand the speech of the gods.

Change and becoming, and if this destructive, raging time Should seize my head too firmly and the needs and errors Of mortal men should rock my life with blows. Let me remember then the silence of your depths. Bliiht Jonien, ist es die Zeit? Deiner Inseln ist noch, der bliihenden, keine verloren. Alle leben sie noch, die Heroenmiitter, die Inseln, Bliihend von Jahr zu Jahr, und wenn zu Zeiten, vom Abgrund Losgelassen, die Flamme der Nacht, das untre Gewitter, Eine der Holden egriff und die Sterbende dir in den Schoos sank, Gottlicher, du, du dauertest aus, denn iiber den dunkeln Tiefen ist manches schon dir auf und untergegangen.

Auch die Himmhschen, sie, die Krafte der Hohe, die stillen. Wenn die allverklarende dann, die Sonne des Tages, Sie, des Orients Kind, die Wunderthatige, da ist, Dann die Lebenden all' im goldenen Traume beginnen, Den die Dichtende stets des Morgens ihnen bereitet, Dir, dem trauern- den Gott, dir sendet sie froheren Zauber, Und ihr eigen freund- liches Licht ist selber so schon nicht, Denn das Liebeszeichen, der Kranz, den immer, wie vormals Deiner gedenk, doch sie um die graue Loke dir windet.

Dann sendest du iiber das Land sie, Dass am heissen Gestad die gewittertrun- kenen Walder Rauschen und woogen mit dir, dass bald, dem wandernden Sohn gleich, Wenn der Vater ihn ruft, mit den tausend Bachen Maander Seinen Irren enteilt und aus der Ebne Kayster Dir entgegenfrohlokt, und der Erstgeborne, der Alte, Der zu lange sich barg, dein majestatischer Nil izt Hochher- schreitend aus fernem Gebirg, wie im Klange der Waffen, Sieg- reich kommt, und die offenen Arme der Sehnende reichet.

Dennoch einsam diinkest du dir; in schweigender Nacht hort Deine Weheklage der Fels, und ofters entflieht dir Ziirnend von SterbHchen weg die gefliigelte Wooge zum Himmel. Sage, wo ist Athen? Stiegen dort die Saulen empor und leuchteten dort nicht Sonst vom Dache der Burg herab die Cot- ter gestalten?. I Rauschte dort die Stimme des volks, die stiirmisch- bewegte, Aus der Agora nicht her, und eilten aus freudigen Pforten Dort die Gassen dir nicht zu geseegnetem Haf en herun- ter?

Leicht aus spricht er das Wort, und schnell, wie der flammende Bergquell, Wenn er furchtbar umher vom gahrenden Atna gegossen, Stadte begrabt in der purpurnen Fluth und bliihende Garten, Bis der brennende Strom im heiligen Meere sich kiihlet, So mit dem Konige nun, versengend, stadteverwiistend, Stiirzt von Ekbatana daher sein prachtig Getiimmel; Wehl und Athene, die herrliche, fallt; wohl schauen und ringen Vom Gebirg, wo das Wild ihr Geschrei hort, fliehende Greise Nach den Wohnungen dort zuriik und den rau- chenden Tempeln; Aber es wekt der Sohne Gebet die heilige Asche I Nun nicht mehr, im Tal ist der Tod, und die Wolke des Brandes Schwindet am Himmel dahin, und weiter im Lande zu emdten, Zieht, vom Frevel erhizt, mit der Beute der Perse voriiber.

Blutige Boten, Erschlagne des Heers, und berstende Schiffe Wirft die Racherin ihm zahllos, die donnemde Wooge, Vor den Thron, wo er sizt am bebenden Ufer, der Arme, Schauend die Flucht, und fort in die fliehende Menge gerissen, Eilt er, ihn treibt der Gott, es treibt sein irrend Geschwader tJber die Fluthen der Gott, der spottend sein eitel Geschmeid ihm Endlich zerschlug und den Schwachen erreicht' in der drohenden Riistung. Aber liebend zuriik zum einsamharrenden Strome Kommt der Athener Volk und von den Bergen der Heimath Woogen, freu- dig gemischt, die glanzenden Schaaren herunter Ins verlassene Thai, achi gleich der gealterten Mutter, Wenn nach Jahren das Kind, das verlorengeachtete, wieder Lebend ihr an den Busen kehrt, ein erwachsener Jiingling, Aber im Gram ist ihr die Seele gewelkt und die Freude Kommt der hoffnungsmiiden zu spat und miihsam vemimmt sie, Was der liebende Sohn in seinem Danke geredet; So erscheint den Kommenden dort der Boden der Heimath.

Denn es fragen umsonst nach ihren Hainen die Frommen, Und die Sieger empf angt die freundliche Pforte nicht wieder, Wie den Wanderer sonst sie empfieng, wenn er froh von den Inseln Wiederhekrt' und die seelige Burg der Mutter Athene I t ber sehnendem Haupt ihm fernherglanzend heraufgieng. Aber wohl sind ihnen bekannt die verodeten Gassen Und die trauemden Garten umher und auf der Agora, Wo des Portikus Saulen gestiirzt imd die gottlichen Bilder Liegen, da reicht, in der Seele bewegt, und der Treue sich freuend, Jezt das liebende Volk zum Bunde die Hande sich wieder.

Aber Gezelte bauet das Volk, es schliessen die alten Nachbarn wieder sich an, und nach des Herzens Gewohnheit Ordnen die luftigen Wohnungen sich umher an den Hiigeln. Schon auch sprossen und bliihn die Blumen malig, die goldnen, Auf zertre- tenem Feld, von frommen Handen gewartet, Griinet der Olbaum auf, und auf Kolonos Gefilden Nahren friedlich, wie sonst, die Athenischen Rosse sich wieder. Siehl und dem Schaf- fenden dient der Wald, ihm reicht mit den andern Bergen nahe zur Hand der Pentele Marmor und Erze; Aber lebend, wie er, und froh und herrlich entquillt es Seinen Handen, und leicht, wie der Sonne, gedeiht das Geschafft ihm.

Brunnen steigen empor und iiber die Hiigel in reinen Bahnen gelenkt, ereilt der Quell das glanzende Beken; Und umher an ihnen erglanzt, gleich festhchen Helden Am gemeinsamen Kelch, die Reihe der Wohn- ungen, hoch ragt Der Prytanen Gemach, es stehn Gymnasien offen, I Gottertempel entstehn, ein heihgkiihner Gedanke, Steigt, Unsterblichen nah, das Olympion auf in den Ather Aus dem seeligen Hain; noch manche der himmlischen HallenI Mutter Athene, dir auch, dir wuchs dein herrlicher Hiigel Stolzer aus der Trauer empor und bliihte noch lange, Gott der Woogen und dir, und deine Liebhnge sangen Frohversammelt noch oft am Vorgebirge den Dank dir.

O die Kinder des Gliiks, die frommen I wandeln sie fern nun Bei den Vatem daheim, und der Schicksalstage vergessen, Drii- ben am Lethestrom, und bringt kein Sehnen sie wieder? Sieht mein Auge sie nie? Dort im schweigenden Thai, an Tempes hangenden Felsen, Will ich wohnen, mit euch, dort oft, ihr herrlichen Nahmen!

Her euch rufen, bei Nacht, und wenn ihr ziirnend escheinet, Weil der Pflug die Graber entweiht, mit der Stimme des Herzens Will ich, mit frommen Gesang, euch siihnen, heilige SchattenI Bis, zu leben mit euch, sich ganz die Seele gewohnet. Fragen wird der Geweihtere dann euch manches, ihr TodtenI Euch, ihr Le- benden auch, ihr hohen Krafte des Himmelsl Wenn ihr iiber dem Schutt mit euren Jahren vorbeigeht, Ihr in der sicheren BahnI denn oft ergreiffet das Irrsaal Unter den Sternen mir, wie schaurige Liifte, den Busen, Dass ich spahe nach Rath, und lang schon reden sie nimmer Trost den Bediirftigen zu, die prophe- tischen Haine Dodonas, Stumm ist der delphische Gott, und einsam liegen und ode Langst die Pfade, wo einst, von Hoff- nungen leise geleitet, Fragend der Mann zur Stadt des redlichen Sehers herauf stieg.

Aber droben das Licht, es spricht noch heute zu Menschen, Schoner Deutungen voll und des grossen Don- nerers Stimme, Ruft es: denket ihr mein? Denn es ruhn die Himmlischen gem am fiihlenden Herzen, Immer, wie sonst, geleiten sie noch, die begeistemden Krafte, Gerne den strebenden Mann, und iiber den Bergen der Heimath Ruht und waltet und lebt allgegenwartig der Ather, I Dass ein liebendes Volk, in des Vaters Armen gesammelt, Menschlich freudig, wie sonst, und Ein Geist alien gemein sei. Ans eigene Treiben Sind sie ge- schmiedet allein, und sich in der tosenden Werkstatt Horet jeglicher nur und viel arbeiten die Wilden Mit gewaltigem Arm, rastlos, doch immer und immer Unfruchtbar, wie die Furien, bleibt die Miihe der Armen.

Achl und sau- mest du noch? Denn vol! Dann, dann, o ihr Freuden Athens! Hin nach Hellas schaue das Volk, und weinend und dankend Sanftige sich in Erinnerungen der stolze Triimiphtag. Aber bliihet indess, bis unsre Friichte beginnen, Bliiht, ihr Garten Joniens! Aber du, unsterblich, wenn auch der Grie- chengesang schon Dich nicht feiert, wie sonst, aus deinen Woogen, o Meergott! Tone mir in die Seele noch oft, dass iiber den Wassem Furchtlosrege der Geist, dem Schwimmer gleich, in der Starken Frischem Gliike sich iib', und die Gottersprache, das Wechseln Und das Werden versteh', und wenn die reissende Zeit mir Zu gewaltig das Haupt ergreifft und die Noth und das Irrsaal Unter Sterblichen mir mein sterblich Leben erschiittert, Lass der Stille mich dann in deiner Tiefe gedenken.

Cold the Walls stand And wordless, in the wind The weathercocks are rattling. And all around, from sanctum to sanctum. Runs the refreshing, the now-melodious stream, Till the house and its cold blue shadows. And a marveling seized The souls of the smitten and night Was over the eyes of the best.

For man can do much; he compels with his art The flood and the rock and the fury of fire; Man is puffed up and heeds not The sword, but many a mighty one Lies there struck down by the gods, and almost Resembles the hunted— which, Urged by sweet youth. Roams unrestingly over the mountains and feels Its strength in the noonday heat.

But when holy Twilight descends with the dancing zephyrs, and. With the cooler ray, the spirit of joy Comes to the soulful earth, then it succumbs. Unaccustomed to beauty, and slimibers in wakeful sleep Before the approach of the stars. So we. For with many The hght faded out of their eyes at the sight of the friendly, The god-sent gifts from Ionia, From burning Arabia; but never Once did the soul of those sleepers Rejoice at the lovable teaching, the lordly psalms, though a few Watched. And often they journeyed Contented among you, you dwellers in beautiful cities.

Sat at the contests, the games where the hero invisibly. Secretly sat as of old with the poets. Watching the wrestlers and smilingly praising, Himself full of praise, the gravely indolent children. O what a ceaseless loving it was and still is! For we still, though divided, think of each other. Dwellers upon the glorious isthmus. But if you And this must be said , if you ancients Spoke not the Word, whence should it come?

So we name you in all your Holy necessity, Naturel from whom, as though stepping Fresh from the bath. The limbs of the god-bom appear. Yet almost we live like the orphans. All is as it was, perhaps— only that tenderness Comes not again, though young lovers, Wistful of childhood, are strangers no more in the house. Threefold they live like the first Sons of the morning.

And faith was not given Vainly into our hearts; Not us, but you also it safeguards, you Children of destiny, truly, and there Where the sanctities are, the arms of the Word Which you left for us fumblers and gropers at your de- parture. There we shall find you, good spirits; and often.

When the holy vapor swirls round us, We marvel and know not how to unriddle it. You spice our breath with your nectar And then we exult or more often we fall Darkly to brooding— for he whom you love overmuch Rnoweth no rest until he be one of you. Therefore, good spirits, encircle me hghtly, Let me remain, for much still remains to be sung. Thus, too, with all things. So auch wir.

Denn manchen erlosch Das Augenlicht schon vor den gottlichgesendeten Gaben, Den freundlichen, die aus lonien uns, Auch aus Arabia kamen, und froh ward Der teuern Lehr und auch der holden Gesange I Die Seele jemer Entschlafenen nie, Doch einige wachten. Und sie wandelten oft Zufrieden unter euch, ihr Biirger schoner Stadte, I Beim Kampfspiel, wo sonst unsichtbar der Heros Ge- heim bei Dichtern sass, die Ringer schaut' und lachelnd Pries, der gepriesene, die miissigernsten Kinder. Ein unaufhorlich Lie- ben wars und ists. Die nihn nun. Aber wenn ihr, Und dies ist zu sagen, Ihr Alten all, nicht sagtet, woher Wir nennen dich: heiliggenotiget, nennen, Naturl dich wir, und neu, wie dem Bad entsteigt Dir alles Gottlichgeborne.

Zwar gehn wir fast, wie die Waisen; Wohl ists, wie sonst, nur jene Pf lege nicht wieder; Doch Jiinglinge, der Kindheit gedenk, Im Hause sind auch diese nicht fremde. Sie leben dreifach, eben wie auch Die ersten Sohne des Himmels. Und nicht umsonst ward uns In die Seele die Treue gegeben. Nicht uns, auch Eures bewahrt sie, [ Und bei den Heiligtiimern, den Waffen des Worts, I Die scheidend ihr den Ungeschickteren uns, Ihr Schicksals- sohne, zuriickgelassen, Ihr guten Geister, da seid ihr auch, Oftmals, wenn einen dann die heilige Wolk umschwebt, Da staunen wir und wissens nioht zu deuten.

Ihr aber wiirzt mit Nektar uns den Othem Und dann frohlocken wir oft oder es bef aUt uns Ein Sinnen, wenn ihr aber einen zu sehr liebt, Er ruht nicht, bis er euer einer geworden. Darum, ihr Giitigenl umgebet mich leicht, Damit ich bleiben moge, denn noch ist manches zu singen, Jetzt aber endiget, selig- weinend, Wie eine Sage der Liebe, Mir der Gesang, und so auch ist er Mir, mit Erroten, Erblassen, Von Anfang her ge- gangen. Doch Alles geht so. There it is that on feast days go The swarthy women Upon silken ground, At the time of March When night is equal with day.

And over slow passes. Heavy with golden dreams, Drift wild airs bringing sleep. But let one hand me, Full of the dark hght. The fragrant cup. That I might rest; for sweet Sleep would be, under shadows. It is not good Soulless to be, with mortal Thoughts. Yet good Is converse, and to say The heart's meaning, to hear much Of days of love, And events, the doing of deeds. But where are the friends? Bellarmin With the companion? Many a one Bears shyness, timid to go to the source; The beginning of riches is truly In the sea. They, the seafarers, Like painters, assemble The beautiful of the earth, and do not disdain Winged war, and suffer To live alone, yearlong, under The leafless mast, where the night is not lit up With the glow-lamps of the town's feast days.

Nor the playing of strings nor innate dancing. The river goes out. The sea, though, Takes and gives recollection, And love, too, fixes the eyes intently. What endures, however, poets create. Nicht ist es gut Seellos von sterb- lichen Gedanken zu seyn. Wo aber sind die Freunde? Bellarmin Mit dem Gefahrten? Was bleibet aber, stiften die Dichter.

But where danger is, there Arises salvation also. In darkness dwell The eagles, and fearless across the abyss Go the sons of the Alps On hghtly built bridges. Therefore, since all round are upheaped The summits of time. And those that dwell nearest in love Must languish on uttermost mountains, Give us then innocent water, pinions give us, to pass Over with constant minds and again return. So I spoke, when swifter Than I had fancied, and far. Whither I never had thought to come, A Genius bore me away From my house. In the twilight The shadowy woods darkened as I went And the yearning brooks of my home; No more did I know these lands.

Yet soon in fresh radiance. Mysterious In the golden smoke. Swiftly sprung up With the tread of the sun, Asia bloomed out before me. But high in the light Blossoms the silver snow, And, witness to life everlasting. On attainless walls The immemorial ivy grows, and upborne Upon living columns of cedars and laurels Are the solemn, The divinely built palaces.

But about Asia's portals. Running hither and thither In hazardous wastes of sea Ripple shadowless ways enough, Yet the seaman knoweth the isles. Yet bountiful In the needier house Is she nonetheless. And when out of shipwreck or in Lament for his home Or the departed friend. One of the strangers Draws near to her, she hears it with joy, And her children. The voices of the warm glade And the rock-dwelling breezes And the rocks too, they hear him, and lovingly The echo rings out to the lament of the man.

And the watchful man viewed well The face of the god As, at the mystery of the vine. They sat together, at the hour of the banquet, And quietly prescient in his great soul The Lord spake death and the last love; For never enough Had he of words for telling of kindness At that time, and gladdening. When he saw it, the wrath of the world. For all things are good. Therefore he died. Of that There were much to be said. And the friends saw How he gazed forth victorious, The most joyful of all, at the last.

Yet they mourned, as now It was grown evening, astounded, For in their souls the men weighed A mighty decision, but they loved Life under the sun, and they would not leave The face of the Lord and their homeland. Inwrought was that As fire in the iron, and at their side Went the shadow of the Beloved. Therefore he sent them The Spirit, and the house trembled. And the storm of God Rolled far-thundering over their fateful heads.

Where brooding Were gathered the heroes of death Now as he, in departure, Once more appeared before them. No good Had it been later, cleaving abruptly And truthless, the work of man, and it was joy From now on To dwell in loving night and maintain Steadfast in simple eyes Abysses of wisdom. And deep On the mountains too Living images flourish. Yet it is dreadful how far and wide God endlessly scatters the living. Dreadful it is to leave The face of dear friends and to wander Far over the mountains alone.

When the Heavenly Spirit, Known before in communion, Was single in meaning; and though it was never foretold them, Yet by their very Hair did it seize them. As, hastening away into the distance, God of a sudden looked back, and conjuring Him to remain, naming the evil, Bounden henceforth as with golden cords. They gave one another their hands. It is the cast of the Sower, as he seizes The wheat with his spade And flings across to the clear grain.

Driving it over the threshing floor. The husks fall at his feet, But in the end cometh the com.

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And no evil it is if something Is lost and the living sound Fades from our speech, For heavenly labor is like to our own. The Highest would not have AH at one time. So long as the pit bear iron. And Etna ghttering resin, So I have riches To fashion an image and see in the semblance Christ as he had been. But when one spurred himself on, And sadly speaking on the way where I was weaponless. Overpowered me, so that I marveled and an impostor Would be moulding an image of God- Visible in anger did I once See the sovereigns of heaven.

Not that I were To become anything, but to learn. Kindly they are, but most Hateful to them as long as they reign Is falsehood, as there dwells Himianity then no more among men. For they do not reign, rather Fate Reigns more immortally. And when ascends higher The heavenly pageant of triumph. The exulting Son of the Most High, Like to the sun itself, is named by the mighty An emblem, and here is the staff Of song signaling down.

For nothing is common. It wakens the dead Who are not yet caught by the rawness of death. But many shy eyes Wait to behold the Hght. They would not Blossom forth in the sharp radiance. Though the golden bridle guideth their courage. But when, As from swelHng eyebrows Forgetful of the world. Quietly shining strength falls From the Holy Scriptures, Rejoicing in grace They yield themselves to calm vision. Quiet is his sign In the thimderous sky. And One stands beneath it His life long.

For Christ Hves yet. But the heroes, his sons. All are come and the Holy Scriptures From him, and the deeds of the earth Have illumined the hghtning till now, A contest unwaning. But he is there. For his works Are known to him from everlasting. Too long, too long already Has the glory of the Blessed been viewless. For each of the Blessed demand sacrifice. Yet if one were passed over Ne'er did it bring about good. We have served the earth our mother And of late we have served The light of the sim Unwittingly, but the Father who rules over all Loves best that the constant Letter be fostered, And enduring existence Interpreted well.

With this is accordant The song of my people. Wo aber Gefahr ist, wachst I Das Rettende auch. So sprach ich, da entfiihrte Mich schneller, denn ich vermutet I Und weit, wohin ich nimmer Zu kommen gedacht, ein Genius mich Vom eigenen Haus. Denn alles ist gut. Drauf starb er. Vieles ware Zu sagen davon. Und es griinen Tief an den Bergen auch lebendige Bilder. Doch furchtbar ist, wie da und dort Unendlich hin zerstreut das Lebende Gott. Nicht alles will der Hochste zumal. Zwar Eisen traget der Schacht, Und glii- hende Harze der Atna, So hatt ich Reichtum, Ein Bild zu bil- den, und ahnlich Zu schaun, wie er gewesen, den Christ, Wenn aber einer spornte sich selbst, Und traurig redend, un- terweges, da ich wehrlos ware, Mich iiberfiele, dass ich staunt und von dem Gotte Das Bild nachahmen mocht ein Knecht— Im Zome sichtbar sah' ich einmal Des Himmels Herm, nicht, dass ich sein soUt etwas, sondern Zu lernen.

Giitig sind sie, ihr Verhasstestes aber ist, Solange sie herrschen, das Falsche, und es gilt I Dann Menschliches unter Menschen nicht mehr. Denn sie nicht walten, es waltet aber Unsterblicher Schicksal und es wandelt ihr Werk Von selbst und eilend geht es zu Ende. Die Toten wecket Er auf, die noch getangen nicht Vom Rohen sind.

Es warten aber Der scheuen Augen viele Zu schauen das Licht. Still ist sein Zei- chen I Am donnernden Himmel. Und Einer stehet daninter Sein Leben lang. Denn noch lebt Christus. Er ist aber dabei. Denn seine Werke sind Ihm alle bewusst von jeher. Zu lang, zu lang schon ist Die Ehre der Himmlischen unsicht- bar. Dem f olgt deutscher Gesang. Ripened the fruit, in fire cast, baked And tried on the earth, and it is the law That all go back into it, like snakes, Prophetic, dreaming on The hills of the heavens. And there is so much Like a burden Of logs on the shoulders That has to be borne.

Though the roads Are not right. For discrepant, As horses, go the tethered Elements and the immemorial Laws of the earth. And ever A longing strains after the fetterless. But there is so much That has to be borne. And one must be true. Let us look not before, though, Nor after.

May we be rocked, rather, as A boat is cradled at sea. Aber bos sind Die Pfade. Und immer Ins Ungebundene gehet eine Sehnsucht. Vieles aber ist Zu behalten. Und Noth die Treue. Vorwarts aber und riikwarts woUen wir [ Nicht sehn. Uns wiegen lassen, wie Auf schwankem Kahne der See. Voices calmly wending filled And aired is the ancient Bliss-wont hall; fragrant above green carpets floats The happy cloud, stand gleaming wide, Of ripest fruit abundant, and of golden-wreathed bowls.

Well meted out, resplendent rows Uprising here and there aside of the Smoothed ground, the tables. For, coming from afar Hither, at eventide, Loving guests have bid themselves. Dawn fills my eyes. Well-nigh I deem This celebration's prince. Him, to behold That smiles upon a day's great labor: Although you will deny your strangeness And, wearied by your glorious course, Cast down your eyes, forgotten, softly shaded. And will take on a friendly shape, O Widely Known, Yet bends the knees your awe. Nothing outstrips you; But this I know: of mortal you came not.

Wisdom may show me many a thing, but Where a god enters as well A more luminous day wiU break. Yet not xmheralded he comes: And he whom neither flame nor flood deterred Need not be vainly startled by this stillness, now That neither man nor spirit yields to order. Downstream to sleep, at the sounding of peace. But, days endeared of innocence, you also bring Today, O loved ones, the celebration, and The spirit blossoms in this quiet round; And hasten forth I must, although, O friends, my locks are gray, an eternal youth Preparing the wreaths for the feast.

And many a one I would gladly ask; but you. Concerned, stem but friendly, for mankind, who Far off beneath Syrian palms, Close by that city, would sit by the well: The com fields mstled, quietly the cool Air breathed in the shade of the sacred mountains. So did loving friends shade you, Like faithful clouds tempering Your rays cast toward man. A mortal doom, amidst your words, was to fold A darker shade around you, dreadful fate. So transient Is what Heaven proffers; but not in vain therefore, For but lightly a god will touch, knowing What are our limits, the human abode.

Nor can we reckon the moment. Then, too, Hcense may walk unleashed, Blasphemers shall reach the holy spot From distant parts, exercising their frenzy To strike at a fate; yet gratitude Does not come straight in the wake of divine gifts: It must be won through ordeal. Had not the giver been thrifty always, Surely the sacred treasures of our hearth Would have turned all to destruction. Even so, much was granted us from above. Fire we received. And the shores, and the floods of the sea. Before your eyes the stars Teach you, who shall never become their equal.

Of the eternally living, however. Whence joy flows, and song, One came, a son, valiantly calm. And now we behold him. Knowing his father, now That, to hold his celebration. The high Spirit of the World Has descended toward us. Too great he was to be the lord of ages; Too far his realm to be ever exhausted. Even so, one day a god may choose labor To be like the mortals, sharing their fate.

For it is decreed that all shall recognize each other. And language hold sway once silence has returned. Yet where the Spirit liveth we venture forth. Contending for the best. Thus I judge it best —When the painter has at last achieved his likeness And stepped, masterful, from his workshop, lord of love only— That equity reign All the way from earth to heaven. Man has experienced much since the dawn. Ever since speech began, and mutual notice; But song follows apace. And the vision of time, divinely unfolding.

Sign of the Spirit, lies before us, bonds of aUiance Fastening his might to the powers of nature. Not him alone, but the unborn generations This token proves: just as in plants Mother Earth, and air, and light will join together. Yet as a final token, O holy powers, This very day of celebration testifies For you, a mark of love. You, unforgettable one, at time's decline, Our celebration's youthful prince. No sooner wiU This race lie down imtil You, promised ones, each single one Of you, immortal beings, to pronounce Your heaven's bounties, have arrived In our house.

Fragrant breezes Are your herald. The steaming downs announce you And the ground, still resounding with tempests. Now the cheek is refreshed with hope And in front of the opened bouse The mother sits with her child. Regarding this utter peace. And fewer seem the agonies. A harbinger has caught the soul, A promise sent, of golden light. Keeping the aged from dying. Well wrought from above are The savors of life. And labors banned. For all is pleasing now, But most of all Simphcity: for the vainly sought.

The golden fruit. You grieved, O Mother, like The Honess when. Nature, You lost your children. Too eagerly loving, you suffered their loss. When robbed of them by a foe Whom you almost took for your own son, A satyr mingling with gods. Thus you did much of your building And buried many a thing. For you are hated by those whom You, powerful beyond time. Had drawn forth into hght. Now you know and, knowing, relax: For gladly rests down below. So it may ripen, the anxiously caring world. Denn feme kommend haben Hieher, zur Abendstunde, Sich liebende Gaste beschieden.

Nichts vor dir, [ Nur Fines weiss ich, Sterbliches bist du nicht. Ein Weiser mag mir manches erhellen; wo aber Ein Gott auch noch erscheint, Da ist doch andere Klarheit. Das ist, sie horen das Werk, Langst vorbereitend, von Morgen nach Abend, jetzt erst, Denn un- ermesslich brausst, in der Tief e verhallend, Des Donnerers Echo, das tausendjahrige Wetter, Zu schlaf en, iibertont von Friedens- lauten, hinunter. Und manchen mocht' ich laden, aber o du, Der freundlichemst den Menschen zugethan, Dort unter syrischer Pahne, Wo nahe lag die Stadt, am Brunnen geme war; Das Komf eld rauschte rings, still athmete die Kiihlung Vom Schatten des geweihetenGebirges; I Und die lieben Freunde, das treue Gewolk, Umschatteten dich auch, damit der heiligkiihne Durch Wildniss mild dein Straal zu Menschen kam, o JiinglingI Ach' aber dunkler umschattete, mit- ten im Wort, dich I Furchtbarentscheidend ein todtlich Verhang- nis.

So ist schnell Verganglich alles Himmlische; aber umsonst nicht; Denn schonend riihrt des Maases allzeit kundig Nur einen Augenblick die Wohnimgen der Menschen Ein Gott an, imver- selm, und keiner weiss es, wenn? Auch dart alsdann das Freche driiber gehn Und kommen muss zum heilgen Ort das Wilde Von Enden fern, iibt rauhbetastend den Wahn, Und trif t daran ein Schicksal, aber Dank, Nie folgt der gleich hemach dem gott- gegebenen Geschenke; I Tiefpriif end ist es zu f assen.

Des Gottlichen aber empfiengen wir Doch viel. Und es lehret Gestim dich, das Vor Augen dir ist, doch nimnier kannst du ihm gleichen. Denn langst war der zum Herm der Zeit zu gross Und weit aus reichte sein Feld; wann hats ihn aber erschopfet? Einmal mag aber ein Gott auch Tagewerk erwahlen, Gleich sterblichen und theilen alles Schicksal. Schicksalgesetz ist diss, dass alle sich erfahren, Dass, wenn die Stille kehrt, auch eine Sprache sei. I Wo aber wirkt der Geist, sind auch wir mit, und streiten, Was wohl das Beste sei. So diinkt mir jezt das Beste, Wenn nun vollendet sein Bild und fertig ist der Meister, Und selbst ver- klart davon aus seiner Werkstatt tritt, Der stille Gott der Zeit und nur der Liebe Gesez Das schonausgleichende gilt von hier an bis zum Himmel.

Und das Zeitbild, das der grosse Geist entfaltet, Ein Zeichen liegts vor uns, das zwischen ihm und andem Ein Biindnis zwi- schen ihm und andem Machten ist. Nicht er allein, die Uner- zeugten, Ew'gen Sind kennbar alle daran, gleichwie auch an den Pflanzen Zulezt ist aber doch, ihr heiligen Machte, fiir euch Das Liebeszeichen, das Zeugnis Dass ihrs noch seiet, der Festtag. So hast du manches gebaut, Und manches begraben, Denn es hasst dich, was Du, vor der Zeit Allkraftige, zum Lichte gezogen.

Nun kennest, nun lassest du diss; I Denn gerne fiihllos ruht, Bis dass es reift, furchtsam- geschaftiges drunten. What here we are, far oflF a god amends With harmonies, everlasting recompense, and peace. For a while, especially during his sojourn in Jena, he was subjected to Schiller's influence. In Leipzig he met Friedrich Schlegel and became deeply attached to him and his new ideas.

After his graduation from the Wit- tenberg law school , he moved to Tennstedt, in Thuringia, to train for a pubHc post and met there in the thirteen-year-old Sophie von Kiihn with whom he fell in love. At her death the poet was imconsolable, and out of his grief sprang his Hymns to the Night in which he expressed a mystical death wish, granted soon there- after: he died of consimiption in , when scarcely twenty-nine.

In addition to the Hymns, considered a land- mark in the history of German poetry, Novahs wrote two lyrical novels— The Novices of Sais and Henry of Ofter- dingen, wherein the symboHc 'l lue flower" of the Roman- tics first blossomed— an essay, "Christianity or Europe," in which he glorified the medieval spirit, and finally his Spir- itual SongSy inspired by the rituals and festivals of the church and praising the Virgin Mary as the great symbol of the Infinite.

When numbers, figures, no more hold the key To solve the living creatures' mystery, When those who kiss and sing have knowledge more Than all the deeply learned scholars' store. And when in poesy and faerie Men read the world's eternal story, Then will a secret word obhge to flee All of this mad perversity. Gifted with feehng, Bestows not his love On the all-joyful light?

As life's inmost soul It is breathed By the giant world Of restless stars Who swim in its blue ocean. By the sparkling stone, The peaceful plant. By the creatures' Many-fashioned Ever-moving Hfe. It is breathed by the clouds Many-hued, by the zephyrs. And, above all, By the glorious strangers, With the thoughtful eyes.

The swinging gait, And the sounding lips. As a king It summons each power Of terrestrial nature To numberless changes, And alone doth its presence Reveal the full splendor Of earth. Sunk in deep vault; How dreary, forlorn her abode! Deep melancholy Stirs in the chords of the breast. Far-off memories. Wishes of youth. Far oflF lies the world With its motley of pleasures.

Elsewhere doth the Hght Pitch its airy encampment. What if it never returned To its faithful children, To its gardens In its glorious house? Yet what flows so cool. So refreshing, So full of hid tidings To our hearts, And absorbs the soft air Of melancholy? Hast thou too A human heart, O dark Night?

What boldest thou Under thy mantle Which steals unseen Upon my soul, Giving it strength? Thou seemest but fearful- Precious balm Drops from thy hand. From the bundle of poppies. In sweet intoxication Thou unfoldest the soul's heavy wings, And givest us joys Dark, inexpressible.

Secret as thou, Joys which are promise of heaven. How joyful and bless'd The departure of day. It is but because Night withdraws those who serve thee That thou sowest In the wide realms of space Shining spheres. To proclaim in the times of thine absence Thine omnipotence, Thy returning again. More heavenly than those flashing stars In those wide spaces, Seem to us the infinite eyes Which the Night In us opens. Farther see they Than the palest Of that numberless host. Unneedful of light. They look through the depths Of a love-enfiUed heart Which fills with unspeakable joy A loftier space.

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Praise to the world's Queen! To the lofty proclaimer Of holy world, To the nurturer Of blissful love. Thou comest. The Night is here- Rapt away is my soul- Finished the earthly way. Once more art thou mine. I gaze into the depths of thy dark eyes. See naught but love and bhssfulness therein; We sink upon Night's altar. Must ever the morning return? Endeth never the thraldom of earth? Unhallowed aflFairs swallow up The heavenly coming of Night? Will never love's offering bum Eternal and hid?

To the light was appointed its time, A time to its watching— But timeless the rule of the Night; Without end the duration of sleep. Holy Sleepl Bless not too seldom Night's consecrated ones— In this earth's daily round. Only the foolish mistake thee And know of no sleep But the shadows, Which thou in compassion Castest upon us In that twilight Of the true Night.

They feel thee not In the golden flood of the grape, In the almond tree's Magic oil, In the brown juice of the poppy. They know not It is thou That hoverest over the breast Of the tender maiden, And makest her bosom a heaven— They guess not That out of old histories Thou comest to meet us. And bearest the key To the dwellings of the bless'd: A silent messenger Of infinite mysteries.

Melancholy flowed into a new unfathomable world; thou, O inspiration of night, slumber of heaven, camest o'er me. All that lay round me softly arose, and above it hovered my unbound, newly bom spirit. As a dust cloud became the mound; through the cloud I beheld the glorified features of the Be- loved. In her eyes rested eternity. I grasped her hands and my tears became a sparkling indestructible cord.

Thousands of years drew away down into the distance as a thunder- storm. On her neck I wept enchanted tears for the new life. That was the first dream in thee. It passed, but its image remained— the eternal, imshakable behef in the heaven of night, and its sim, the Beloved. IV Now know I when the last morning will be— when the Hght will no longer scare away love and the night, when slumber will be eternal and only one inexhaustible dream. Heavenly weariness deserts me now no more. Long and toilsome was the way to the Holy Sepulchre, and the Cross was heavy.

He whose lips have once been moistened by the NOVALIS 61 crystal wave which, unseen by common sight, has its source in the dark womb of the mound at whose foot breaks the earthly tide, he who has stood above upon this boundary of the world, and has looked across into the new land, into the dwelling place of the night— he, of a truth, turns not back to the aflFairs of the world in the land where light holds sway, and eternal unrest makes its home. Up above he builds himself tabernacles, dwellings of peace, he longs and loves, gazes across, until the most welcome of all hours draws him down into the wells of the foimt.

All that is earthly floats on the surface, and is washed down from the heights; but what has become holy through contact of love runs released into hidden ways in yonder realm, where cloudlike it mingles with the slumber-wrapped loved ones. Still thou awakest The weary to work, O cheerful Light— Thou inspirest me with joyful life.

But thou allurest me not From remembering That moss-grown monument. Canst thou show me An ever-true heart? Has thy sun Friendly eyes Which know me? Do thy stars grasp My longing hand And give me in turn A tender pressure? Hast thou bedecked her With color And Hght outhne? Or was it she Who gave to thine adornment Higher and loveher meaning? What delight And what pleasures Offers thy life Which outweigh The enchantments of death?

Doth not all that inspires us Bear the color of night? She beareth thee as a mother. And to her thou dost owe All of thy splendor. Thou wouldst vanish Into thyself, Thou wouldst dissolve Into endless space Did she not hold thee— Not bind thee, So that thou grewest warm. And flaming Begottest the world.

Verily I was, ere thou wert. Not yet have they ripened, Those thoughts of the gods. As yet are the traces but few In our age. One day thy clock will depict The ending of time. When thou wilt become As one of us, And full of longing. Melt away and die. Blessed return. I discern thy removal In wild grief From our home.

Thy resistance To the glorious Ancient heaven. In vain is thy fury. Thy raging. Indestructible Stands the Cross, Triumphant banner Of our race. I wander across And every pain Will turn to a pricking Of joy again. Unending life Comes over me, And I look from above Down below upon thee. Thy brightness fades On that httle hill, A shade is bringing The chaplet cool. Oh, drink.

Beloved, Of me drink deep. That soon I be wrapped In eternal sleep. I feel death's encroaching. Youth-giving wave, And wait through life's stresses Full stalwart and brave. Over the widespread race Of man There formerly ruled An iron destiny. With silent might. A dark and heavy band Lay round their Anxious souls. Infinite was the earth, Abode of the gods And their home. Rich in treasures And glorious wonders. Since eternity Stood her mysterious frame.

An ancient giant Supported the blissful world. And the befriended Joyful mankind. The dark blue depths Of the sea Was the womb of a goddess. Heavenly hosts Dwelt in joyful delight In the grottoes of crystal- Trees and brooks, Blossoms and beasts Had human sense; Sweeter tasted the wine. For a god in youthful bloom Gave it to man.

The full sheaves Of golden com Were divinely bestowed; The rapturous joys of love A sacred service To heavenly beauty. Thus was life An eternal festival Of gods and men. Only there was one thought Which frightful to the festive tables trod, And in wild panic fear all hearts enveiled. Here words of counsel even failed each god. Which with sweet comfort could their hearts have filled; Mysterious was this monster's dreadful road, Whose rage no gift, no anxious prayer availed— For it was Death, who this gay banquet scene Broke up in pain and tears and anguish keen. Forever now from all things separated Which here do stir the heart in sweet delight— From loved ones parted, whom, down here, belated.

Vain longings and an endless grief incite— Dull dream the lot to which the dead seemed fated, Unconscious struggling deemed their dreary plight. Broken and shattered was the wave of pleasure Upon the rock of misery without measure. With daring mind, and lofty feeling's zest, Did man embellish that grim mask unkind, A pale wan youth puts out the light to rest, Soft is the end, as harp strings touched by wind, And memory melts in shadow-flood at last: Thus poets eased the need of troubled mind.

Yet still unfathomed stayed eternal night. The solemn symbol of a far-off might. To its end inclined The ancient world. The happy garden Of the youthful race Withered away; Out into freer spaces Strove the full-grown, Unchildhke mankind. Laws arose, And in ideas As in dust and air Fell to pieces The measureless prime Of the thousandfold life. Fled away Were all-powerful faith And fantasy.

All-transforming, AU-imiting, Heavenly comrade. Unfriendly blew A cold north wind Over the frozen plains, And the wonderland home Passed away in the ether. The infinite distance Of heaven Was filled with shining worlds. Into a deeper sanctuary. Into the mind's higher realms. Drew the soul of the world With her powers. There to reign Till the new day Should break. The loftier world-glory. No longer was Hght The abode of the gods. And a heavenly token- Around them they drew The curtain of night.

In the midst of mankind. In a folk Despised above all. Too soon grown ripe, And proudly estranged From the blessed innocence Of youth. Before all others Did the eastern wisdom, Rich flowering, full of foreseeing. Know the approach Of the new age. A star pointed the way To the King's humble cradle. In the name of the far future They paid him homage. With the splendor and perfumes Of the highest wonders of nature. Unfolded the heavenly heart In sohtude To a glowing bosom of love, Turned toward The Father's lofty countenance, And resting on the holy foreboding breast Of the gracious earnest Mother.

With worshiping ardor The prophetic eye Of the blossoming child Looked into future times. Soon the most childhke natures, Wondrously gripped By the almighty love. Gathered aroimd him. A strange new life Flowered forth In his presence- Inexhaustible words. Most joyful of tidings. Fell hke sparks Of divine spirit From his gracious lips. From far coasts, Bom under serene skies Of Hellas Came a singer To Palestine And surrendered his heart To the miraculous child: Thou art that youthful form our tombs display Standing above them, deep in contemplation, ConsoHng emblem in our darkest day Of higher manhood's joyful new foundation.

What once had sunk us down, to grief a prey. Now draws us thence with longing's sweet elation. In Death was germ of hfe eternal found, Thyself art Death, and first doth make us sound. So that a thousand hearts Inchned themselves to him. And the glad gospel Upward waxed Branching a thousandfold.

But yet short time After the singer passed, The precious life Became a sacrifice For the deep fall of man- Young in years he died, Tom away From the loved world, From the weeping Mother, From his friends. The holy mouth Emptied the dark cup Of untold sorrow. In dreadful anguish Drew nigh to him the birth hour Of the new world. Hard wrestled he with the horrors Of ancient death. Heavy upon him lay The weight of the old world. Once more he gently looked upon the Mother- Then came the loosening hand Of eternal love— And he fell asleep.

Few were the days Hung a deep veil Over the roaring sea, over the dark heaving land. Uncounted tears Wept the beloved ones. Awaked to new godlike glory He ascended to the heights Of the rejuvenated, new-bom world. And the old world Which with him had died. With his own hand he bm'ied In the forsaken cave. And with almighty strength he laid above The stone which thence no power should ever move. Still weep thy loved ones Tears of joy, Tears of emotion. And unending thanks Before thy grave— And ever still With shock of joy See thee ascend. Themselves with thee— See thee with ardor sweet Weep on the Mother's bosom And on the friends' true hearts.

Hasten, filled with longing, Into the Father s arms, Bringing the young Childlike humanity And the inexhaustible draft Of the golden future. The Mother followed thee soon In heavenly tTiim:iph. She was the first In the new home At thy side. Long ages Have flowed by since then. Thousands from pain and grief Draw nigh to thee Full of faith, longing, And fidehty, And rule with thee And the heavenly Virgin In the kingdom of love. And serve in the temple Of the heavenly death. Uplifted is the stone. Mankind is now arisen, We chng to thee alone, And feel no bond of prison.

Death to the marriage calls, The lamps are shining steady. The virgins all are ready, No lack of oil befalls. Far distances are ringing With tidings of thy train! And stars the summons singing With human tongue and strain!

To thee, Maria, lifteth Of thousand hearts the plea. Whose hfe in shadow drifteth They long to come to thee. Consumed with bitter pain, This dreary earth-world spuming. Have turned to thee again. Their aid to us was given When pain and want befell. We join them now in heaven And ever with them dwell.

For none with faith who careth On grave need sorely grieve, The treasure that he loveth From him will none bereave. For angels true of heaven His heart in safety keep. His longing grief to leaven Inspireth night his sleep.

Alix Rickloff

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