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Poetical Translation of the Introduction to Goethe's
Once more, O phantoms, ye are hovering near,
Weird visions which my earlier glance revealed. Shall I for once attempt to clasp you here,
Or let my heart to that illusion yield ?
As ye come forth from out the misty field
Ye bring again the forms of other days;
And many lovely shadows softly rise; Like old tradition's nearly dying lays
Come friendships and first love that never dies, Renew the pain of labyrinthine ways,
The wild regret where life's sad error lies, And name the wise, the beautiful, the good, Who people now death's lonely solitude.
Alas! No longer this belated song
Is heard by those for whom at first I strung
The echoes dead of all the lays I sung:
But o'er my soul a spell of pain is flung,
The olden yearning long unfelt I feel,
The longing for the far-off spirit land; Upon the ear the half-formed tones will steal,
As when a harp by idle winds is fanned; I tremble; and the springing tears reveal
The weakness which the heart may not withstand; The things I have are sunk in gloom and night, And vanished forms revive before my sight.
THE BROKEN VASE
Translated from the French of Sully-Prudhomme
A lady's dainty fan hath broken ;
Was unrevealed by any token.
But still the thin and thread like fissure
Preyed on the crystal day by day,
Made round the vase its fatal way.
The falling drops, the fading bloom,
Disclose at last the doom unspoken,
They must not touch the vase is broken.
And thus sometimes the hand we love
May give the heart the slightest blow;
Until the flower of love lies low.
Unnoticed by the world it weeps,
Laments its melancholy lot,
The vase is broken-touch it not!
“KENNST DU DAS BILD AUF ZARTEM
Itself the fountain of its light,
Yet ever perfect, fresh and bright,
Within the smallest frame enclosed;
Without it e'er had been disclosed.
Can’st thou to me the crystal name?
No jewel equals it in worth;
Drinks in the boundless sphere of earth,
Within its magic circle bright;
A Funeral Dirge
BY FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER
With dead and pallid light
Stands the moon above the grove tonight; The sighing spectre of the night creeps through the
Wild mists over,
Lat the firs amb and was and hollow,
W sabie pomp. death 's sad and dark array,
Benesta tine sirunting mist, the coffined clay.
With gloomy and despairing gaze,
Sure reset whom iron fate betrays,
Was Father" sounded from the elammy lips!
Partil shudders answer to that name;
Silver hair is streaming o'er that stricken frame.
Pierced his soul with many & cruel dart; - Pather," from the frozen lips there came,
“Son,” responded still the father's heart; Le-cold ice-cold lieth he within this hearse,
And thy vision, dearer than all price, Sanlit, sweet and golden, turns into a curse,
This thy pleasure and thy Paradise.
Mild as surrounded by breathings of Heaven,
Pure as escaped from Aurora's embrace, Roseste perfumes as rained from the odorous even, Cireled with these sped his life like a summer day's
chase, Through the fresh gardens of flowers where Flora was
pursued in the race. Eager he sprang to the fe manhood was vie: Like a young roe
Heaven he flew through with courage elate and undying,
High as an eagle in loftiest flight.
Seeing the battle advancing with swiftness of wings,
Flew life away as entranced as Hesper's soft glance;
Dashed away pain in the whirl of the dance. Worlds seemed to sleep in his promise of manhood, When the young bud to fullness shall ripen.
Not so, father! Hark! The churchyard door is creaking;
Brazen hinges rattle where the dead abide,
Yet repress not now thy tears' unstaying tide.
Press thou onward where a brighter morning glows, Quench thy noble thirst for pleasure and delight,
O thou pain-delivered, in Valhalla's long repose.
Heavenly thought that tells of other meeting,
Other meeting there by Eden's dawn!
Sighs the quivering cord as upward drawn!
Lips are silent, eye to eye is calling -
Tears are now more warmly falling.