The Poems of Schiller — Third period

THE FEAST OF VICTORY

 
   Priam's castle-walls had sunk,
    Troy in dust and ashes lay,
   And each Greek, with triumph drunk,
    Richly laden with his prey,
   Sat upon his ship's high prow,
    On the Hellespontic strand,
   Starting on his journey now,
    Bound for Greece, his own fair land.
   Raise the glad exulting shout!
    Toward the land that gave them birth
   Turn they now the ships about,
    As they seek their native earth.
 
 
   And in rows, all mournfully,
    Sat the Trojan women there, —
   Beat their breasts in agony,
    Pallid, with dishevelled hair.
   In the feast of joy so glad
    Mingled they the song of woe,
   Weeping o'er their fortunes sad,
    In their country's overthrow.
   "Land beloved, oh, fare thee well!
    By our foreign masters led,
   Far from home we're doomed to dwell, —
    Ah, how happy are the dead!"
 
 
   Soon the blood by Calchas spilt
    On the altar heavenward smokes;
   Pallas, by whom towns are built
    And destroyed, the priest invokes;
   Neptune, too, who all the earth
    With his billowy girdle laves, —
   Zeus, who gives to terror birth,
    Who the dreaded Aegis waves.
   Now the weary fight is done,
    Ne'er again to be renewed;
   Time's wide circuit now is run,
    And the mighty town subdued!
 
 
   Atreus' son, the army's head,
    Told the people's numbers o'er,
   Whom he, as their captain, led
    To Scamander's vale of yore.
   Sorrow's black and heavy clouds
    Passed across the monarch's brow:
   Of those vast and valiant crowds,
    Oh, how few were left him now!
   Joyful songs let each one raise,
    Who will see his home again,
   In whose veins the life-blood plays,
    For, alas! not all remain!
 
 
   "All who homeward wend their way,
    Will not there find peace of mind;
   On their household altars, they
    Murder foul perchance may find.
   Many fall by false friend's stroke,
    Who in fight immortal proved: " —
   So Ulysses warning spoke,
    By Athene's spirit moved.
   Happy he, whose faithful spouse
    Guards his home with honor true!
   Woman ofttimes breaks her vows,
    Ever loves she what is new.
 
 
   And Atrides glories there
    In the prize he won in fight,
   And around her body fair
    Twines his arms with fond delight.
   Evil works must punished be.
    Vengeance follows after crime,
   For Kronion's just decree
    Rules the heavenly courts sublime.
   Evil must in evil end;
    Zeus will on the impious band
   Woe for broken guest-rights send,
    Weighing with impartial hand.
 
 
   "It may well the glad befit,"
    Cried Olleus' valiant son, ¹⁰
"To extol the Gods who sit
    On Olympus' lofty throne!
   Fortune all her gifts supplies,
    Blindly, and no justice knows,
   For Patroclus buried lies,
    And Thersites homeward goes!
   Since she blindly throws away
    Each lot in her wheel contained,
   Let him shout with joy to-day
    Who the prize of life has gained."
 
 
   "Ay, the wars the best devour!
    Brother, we will think of thee,
   In the fight a very tower,
    When we join in revelry!
   When the Grecian ships were fired,
    By thine arm was safety brought;
   Yet the man by craft inspired ¹¹
Won the spoils thy valor sought.
   Peace be to thine ashes blest!
    Thou wert vanquished not in fight:
   Anger 'tis destroys the best, —
    Ajax fell by Ajax' might!"
 
 
   Neoptolemus poured then,
    To his sire renowned ¹² the wine —
   "'Mongst the lots of earthly men,
    Mighty father, prize I thine!
   Of the goods that life supplies,
    Greatest far of all is fame;
   Though to dust the body flies,
    Yet still lives a noble name.
   Valiant one, thy glory's ray
    Will immortal be in song;
   For, though life may pass away,
    To all time the dead belong!"
 
 
   "Since the voice of minstrelsy
    Speaks not of the vanquished man,
   I will Hector's witness be," —
    Tydeus' noble son ¹³ began:
   "Fighting bravely in defence
    Of his household-gods he fell.
   Great the victor's glory thence,
    He in purpose did excel!
   Battling for his altars dear,
    Sank that rock, no more to rise;
   E'en the foemen will revere
    One whose honored name ne'er dies."
 
 
   Nestor, joyous reveller old,
    Who three generations saw,
   Now the leaf-crowned cup of gold
    Gave to weeping Hecuba.
   "Drain the goblet's draught so cool,
    And forget each painful smart!
   Bacchus' gifts are wonderful, —
    Balsam for a broken heart.
   Drain the goblet's draught so cool,
    And forget each painful smart!
   Bacchus' gifts are wonderful, —
    Balsam for a broken heart.
 
 
   "E'en to Niobe, whom Heaven
    Loved in wrath to persecute,
   Respite from her pangs was given,
    Tasting of the corn's ripe fruit.
   Whilst the thirsty lip we lave
    In the foaming, living spring,
   Buried deep in Lethe's wave
    Lies all grief, all sorrowing!
   Whilst the thirsty lip we lave
    In the foaming, living spring,
   Swallowed up in Lethe's wave
    Is all grief, all sorrowing!"
 
 
   And the Prophetess ¹⁴ inspired
    By her God, upstarted now, —
   Toward the smoke of homesteads fired,
    Looking from the lofty prow.
   "Smoke is each thing here below;
    Every worldly greatness dies,
   As the vapory columns go, —
    None are fixed but Deities!
   Cares behind the horseman sit —
    Round about the vessel play;
   Lest the morrow hinder it,
    Let us, therefore, live to-day."
 

PUNCH SONG.
(TO BE SUNG IN NORTHERN COUNTRIES.)

 
   On the mountain's breezy summit,
    Where the southern sunbeams shine,
   Aided by their warming vigor,
    Nature yields the golden wine.
 
 
   How the wondrous mother formeth,
    None have ever read aright;
   Hid forever is her working,
    And inscrutable her might.
 
 
   Sparkling as a son of Phoebus,
    As the fiery source of light,
   From the vat it bubbling springeth,
    Purple, and as crystal bright;
 
 
   And rejoiceth all the senses,
    And in every sorrowing breast
   Poureth hope's refreshing balsam,
    And on life bestows new zest.
 
 
   But their slanting rays all feebly
    On our zone the sunbeams shoot;
   They can only tinge the foliage,
    But they ripen ne'er the fruit.
 
 
   Yet the north insists on living,
    And what lives will merry be;
   So, although the grape is wanting,
    We invent wine cleverly.
 
 
   Pale the drink we now are offering
    On the household altar here;
   But what living Nature maketh,
    Sparkling is and ever clear.
 
 
   Let us from the brimming goblet,
    Drain the troubled flood with mirth;
   Art is but a gift of heaven,
    Borrowed from the glow of earth.
 
 
   Even strength's dominions boundless
    'Neath her rule obedient lie;
   From the old the new she fashions
    With creative energy.
 
 
   She the elements' close union
    Severs with her sovereign nod;
   With the flame upon the altar,
    Emulates the great sun-god.
 
 
   For the distant, happy islands
    Now the vessel sallies forth,
   And the southern fruits, all-golden,
    Pours upon the eager north.
 
 
   As a type, then, — as an image,
    Be to us this fiery juice,
   Of the wonders that frail mortals
    Can with steadfast will produce!
 

THE COMPLAINT OF CERES. ¹⁵

 
   Does pleasant spring return once more?
    Does earth her happy youth regain?
   Sweet suns green hills are shining o'er;
    Soft brooklets burst their icy chain:
   Upon the blue translucent river
    Laughs down an all-unclouded day,
   The winged west winds gently quiver,
    The buds are bursting from the spray;
   While birds are blithe on every tree;
    The Oread from the mountain-shore
   Sighs, "Lo! thy flowers come back to thee —
    Thy child, sad mother, comes no more!"
 
 
   Alas! how long an age it seems
    Since all the earth I wandered over,
   And vainly, Titan, tasked thy beams
    The loved — the lost one — to discover!
   Though all may seek — yet none can call
    Her tender presence back to me
   The sun, with eyes detecting all,
    Is blind one vanished form to see.
   Hast thou, O Zeus! hast thou away
    From these sad arms my daughter torn?
   Has Pluto, from the realms of day,
    Enamored — to dark rivers borne?
 
 
   Who to the dismal phantom-strand
    The herald of my grief will venture?
   The boat forever leaves the land,
    But only shadows there may enter. —
   Veiled from each holier eye repose
    The realms where midnight wraps the dead,
   And, while the Stygian river flows,
    No living footstep there may tread!
   A thousand pathways wind the drear
    Descent; — none upward lead to-day; —
   No witness to the mother's ear
    The daughter's sorrows can betray.
 
 
   Mothers of happy human clay
    Can share at least their children's doom;
   And when the loved ones pass away,
    Can track — can join them — in the tomb!
   The race alone of heavenly birth
    Are banished from the darksome portals;
   The Fates have mercy on the earth,
    And death is only kind to mortals! ¹⁶
Oh, plunge me in the night of nights,
    From heaven's ambrosial halls exiled!
   Oh, let the goddess lose the rights
    That shut the mother from the child!
 
 
   Where sits the dark king's joyless bride,
    Where midst the dead her home is made;
   Oh that my noiseless steps might glide,
    Amidst the shades, myself a shade!
   I see her eyes, that search through tears,
    In vain the golden light to greet;
   That yearn for yonder distant spheres,
    That pine the mother's face to meet!
   Till some bright moment shall renew
    The severed hearts' familiar ties;
   And softened pity steal in dew,
    From Pluto's slow-relenting eyes!
 
 
   Ah, vain the wish, the sorrows are!
    Calm in the changeless paths above
   Rolls on the day-god's golden car —
    Fast are the fixed decrees of Jove!
   Far from the ever-gloomy plain,
    He turns his blissful looks away.
   Alas! night never gives again
    What once it seizes as its prey!
   Till over Lethe's sullen swell,
    Aurora's rosy hues shall glow;
   And arching through the midmost hell
    Shine forth the lovely Iris-bow!
 
 
   And is there naught of her; no token —
    No pledge from that beloved hand?
   To tell how love remains unbroken,
    How far soever be the land?
   Has love no link, no lightest thread,
    The mother to the child to bind?
   Between the living and the dead,
    Can hope no holy compact find?
   No! every bond is not yet riven;
    We are not yet divided wholly;
   To us the eternal powers have given
    A symbol language, sweet and holy.
 
 
   When Spring's fair children pass away,
    When, in the north wind's icy air,
   The leaf and flower alike decay,
    And leave the rivelled branches bare,
   Then from Vertumnus' lavish horn
    I take life's seeds to strew below —
   And bid the gold that germs the corn
    An offering to the Styx to go!
   Sad in the earth the seeds I lay —
    Laid at thy heart, my child — to be
   The mournful tokens which convey
    My sorrow and my love to thee!
 
 
   But, when the hours, in measured dance,
    The happy smile of spring restore,
   Rife in the sun-god's golden glance
    The buried dead revive once more!
   The germs that perished to thine eyes,
    Within the cold breast of the earth,
   Spring up to bloom in gentler skies,
    The brighter for the second birth!
   The stem its blossom rears above —
    Its roots in night's dark womb repose —
   The plant but by the equal love
    Of light and darkness fostered — grows!
 
 
   If half with death the germs may sleep,
    Yet half with life they share the beams;
   My heralds from the dreary deep,
    Soft voices from the solemn streams, —
   Like her, so them, awhile entombs,
    Stern Orcus, in his dismal reign,
   Yet spring sends forth their tender blooms
    With such sweet messages again,
   To tell, — how far from light above,
    Where only mournful shadows meet,
   Memory is still alive to love,
    And still the faithful heart can beat!
 
 
   Joy to ye children of the field!
    Whose life each coming year renews,
   To your sweet cups the heaven shall yield
    The purest of its nectar-dews!
   Steeped in the light's resplendent streams,
    The hues that streak the Iris-bow
   Shall trim your blooms as with the beams
    The looks of young Aurora know.
   The budding life of happy spring,
    The yellow autumn's faded leaf,
   Alike to gentle hearts shall bring
    The symbols of my joy and grief.
 

THE ELEUSINIAN FESTIVAL

 
   Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear!
    With it, the Cyane ¹⁷ blue intertwine
   Rapture must render each glance bright and clear,
    For the great queen is approaching her shrine, —
   She who compels lawless passions to cease,
    Who to link man with his fellow has come,
   And into firm habitations of peace
    Changed the rude tents' ever-wandering home.
 
 
   Shyly in the mountain-cleft
    Was the Troglodyte concealed;
   And the roving Nomad left,
    Desert lying, each broad field.
   With the javelin, with the bow,
    Strode the hunter through the land;
   To the hapless stranger woe,
    Billow-cast on that wild strand!
 
 
   When, in her sad wanderings lost,
    Seeking traces of her child,
   Ceres hailed the dreary coast,
    Ah, no verdant plain then smiled!
   That she here with trust may stay,
    None vouchsafes a sheltering roof;
   Not a temple's columns gay
    Give of godlike worship proof.
 
 
   Fruit of no propitious ear
    Bids her to the pure feast fly;
   On the ghastly altars here
    Human bones alone e'er dry.
   Far as she might onward rove,
    Misery found she still in all,
   And within her soul of love,
    Sorrowed she o'er man's deep fall.
 
 
   "Is it thus I find the man
    To whom we our image lend,
   Whose fair limbs of noble span
    Upward towards the heavens ascend?
   Laid we not before his feet
    Earth's unbounded godlike womb?
   Yet upon his kingly seat
    Wanders he without a home?"
 
 
   "Does no god compassion feel?
    Will none of the blissful race,
   With an arm of miracle,
    Raise him from his deep disgrace?
   In the heights where rapture reigns
    Pangs of others ne'er can move;
   Yet man's anguish and man's pains
    My tormented heart must prove."
 
 
   "So that a man a man may be,
    Let him make an endless bond
   With the kind earth trustingly,
    Who is ever good and fond
   To revere the law of time,
    And the moon's melodious song
   Who, with silent step sublime,
    Move their sacred course along."
 
 
   And she softly parts the cloud
    That conceals her from the sight;
   Sudden, in the savage crowd,
    Stands she, as a goddess bright.
   There she finds the concourse rude
    In their glad feast revelling,
   And the chalice filled with blood
    As a sacrifice they bring.
 
 
   But she turns her face away,
    Horror-struck, and speaks the while
   "Bloody tiger-feasts ne'er may
    Of a god the lips defile,
   He needs victims free from stain,
    Fruits matured by autumn's sun;
   With the pure gifts of the plain
    Honored is the Holy One!"
 
 
   And she takes the heavy shaft
    From the hunter's cruel hand;
   With the murderous weapon's haft
    Furrowing the light-strown sand, —
   Takes from out her garland's crown,
    Filled with life, one single grain,
   Sinks it in the furrow down,
    And the germ soon swells amain.
 
 
   And the green stalks gracefully
    Shoot, ere long, the ground above,
   And, as far as eye can see,
    Waves it like a golden grove.
   With her smile the earth she cheers,
    Binds the earliest sheaves so fair,
   As her hearth the landmark rears, —
    And the goddess breathes this prayer:
 
 
   "Father Zeus, who reign'st o'er all
    That in ether's mansions dwell,
   Let a sign from thee now fall
    That thou lov'st this offering well!
   And from the unhappy crowd
    That, as yet, has ne'er known thee,
   Take away the eye's dark cloud,
    Showing them their deity!"
 
 
   Zeus, upon his lofty throne,
    Harkens to his sister's prayer;
   From the blue heights thundering down,
    Hurls his forked lightning there,
   Crackling, it begins to blaze,
    From the altar whirling bounds, —
   And his swift-winged eagle plays
    High above in circling rounds.
 
 
   Soon at the feet of their mistress are kneeling,
    Filled with emotion, the rapturous throng;
   Into humanity's earliest feeling
    Melt their rude spirits, untutored and strong.
   Each bloody weapon behind them they leave,
    Rays on their senses beclouded soon shine,
   And from the mouth of the queen they receive,
    Gladly and meekly, instruction divine.
 
 
   All the deities advance
    Downward from their heavenly seats;
   Themis' self 'tis leads the dance,
    And, with staff of justice, metes
   Unto every one his rights, —
    Landmarks, too, 'tis hers to fix;
   And in witness she invites
    All the hidden powers of Styx.
 
 
   And the forge-god, too, is there,
    The inventive son of Zeus;
   Fashioner of vessels fair
    Skilled in clay and brass's use.
   'Tis from him the art man knows
    Tongs and bellows how to wield;
   'Neath his hammer's heavy blows
    Was the ploughshare first revealed.
 
 
   With projecting, weighty spear,
    Front of all, Minerva stands,
   Lifts her voice so strong and clear,
    And the godlike host commands.
   Steadfast walls 'tis hers to found,
    Shield and screen for every one,
   That the scattered world around
    Bind in loving unison.
 
 
   The immortals' steps she guides
    O'er the trackless plains so vast,
   And where'er her foot abides
    Is the boundary god held fast;
   And her measuring chain is led
    Round the mountain's border green, —
   E'en the raging torrent's bed
    In the holy ring is seen.
 
 
   All the Nymphs and Oreads too
    Who, the mountain pathways o'er,
   Swift-foot Artemis pursue,
    All to swell the concourse, pour,
   Brandishing the hunting-spear, —
    Set to work, — glad shouts uprise, —
   'Neath their axes' blows so clear
    Crashing down the pine-wood flies.
 
 
   E'en the sedge-crowned God ascends
    From his verdant spring to light,
   And his raft's direction bends
    At the goddess' word of might, —
   While the hours, all gently bound,
    Nimbly to their duty fly;
   Rugged trunks are fashioned round
    By her skilled hand gracefully.
 
 
   E'en the sea-god thither fares; —
    Sudden, with his trident's blow,
   He the granite columns tears
    From earth's entrails far below; —
   In his mighty hands, on high,
    Waves he them, like some light ball,
   And with nimble Hermes by,
    Raises up the rampart-wall.
 
 
   But from out the golden strings
    Lures Apollo harmony,
   Measured time's sweet murmurings,
    And the might of melody.
   The Camoenae swell the strain
    With their song of ninefold tone:
   Captive bound in music's chain,
    Softly stone unites to stone.
 
 
   Cybele, with skilful hand,
    Open throws the wide-winged door;
   Locks and bolts by her are planned,
    Sure to last forevermore.
   Soon complete the wondrous halls
    By the gods' own hands are made,
   And the temple's glowing walls
    Stand in festal pomp arrayed.
 
 
   With a crown of myrtle twined,
    Now the goddess queen comes there,
   And she leads the fairest hind
    To the shepherdess most fair.
   Venus, with her beauteous boy,
    That first pair herself attires;
   All the gods bring gifts of joy,
    Blessing their love's sacred fires.
 
 
   Guided by the deities,
    Soon the new-born townsmen pour,
   Ushered in with harmonies,
    Through the friendly open door.
   Holding now the rites divine,
    Ceres at Zeus' altar stands, —
   Blessing those around the shrine,
    Thus she speaks, with folded hands: —
 
 
   "Freedom's love the beast inflames,
    And the god rules free in air,
   While the law of Nature tames
    Each wild lust that lingers there.
   Yet, when thus together thrown,
    Man with man must fain unite;
   And by his own worth alone
    Can he freedom gain, and might."
 
 
   Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear!
    With it, the Cyane blue intertwine!
   Rapture must render each glance bright and clear,
    For the great queen is approaching her shrine, —
   She who our homesteads so blissful has given,
    She who has man to his fellow-man bound:
   Let our glad numbers extol then to heaven,
    Her who the earth's kindly mother is found!