The Poems of Schiller — Third period. Friedrich von Schiller

The brows of an unworthy crew;

         And, ah! how soon Love's happy morning,

          When spring had vanished, vanished too!

         More silent yet, and yet more weary,

          Became the desert path I trod;

         And even hope a glimmer dreary

          Scarce cast upon the gloomy road.

         Of all that train, so bright with gladness,

          Oh, who is faithful to the end?

         Who now will seek to cheer my sadness,

          And to the grave my steps attend?

         Thou, Friendship, of all guides the fairest,

          Who gently healest every wound;

         Who all life's heavy burdens sharest,

          Thou, whom I early sought and found!

         Employment too, thy loving neighbor,

          Who quells the bosom's rising storms;

         Who ne'er grows weary of her labor,

          And ne'er destroys, though slow she forms;

         Who, though but grains of sand she places

          To swell eternity sublime,

         Yet minutes, days, ay! years effaces

          From the dread reckoning kept by Time!

      THE YOUTH BY THE BROOK. 3

         Beside the brook the boy reclined

          And wove his flowery wreath,

         And to the waves the wreath consigned —

          The waves that danced beneath.

         "So fleet mine hours," he sighed, "away

          Like waves that restless flow:

         And so my flowers of youth decay

          Like those that float below."

         "Ask not why I, alone on earth,

          Am sad in life's young time;

         To all the rest are hope and mirth

          When spring renews its prime.

         Alas! the music Nature makes,

          In thousand songs of gladness —

         While charming all around me, wakes

          My heavy heart to sadness."

         "Ah! vain to me the joys that break

          From spring, voluptuous are;

         For only one 't is mine to seek —

          The near, yet ever far!

         I stretch my arms, that shadow-shape

          In fond embrace to hold;

         Still doth the shade the clasp escape —

          The heart is unconsoled!"

         "Come forth, fair friend, come forth below,

          And leave thy lofty hall,

         The fairest flowers the spring can know

          In thy dear lap shall fall!

         Clear glides the brook in silver rolled,

          Sweet carols fill the air;

         The meanest hut hath space to hold

          A happy loving pair!"

      TO EMMA

         Far away, where darkness reigneth,

          All my dreams of bliss are flown;

         Yet with love my gaze remaineth

          Fixed on one fair star alone.

         But, alas! that star so bright

         Sheds no lustre save by night.

         If in slumbers ending never,

          Gloomy death had sealed thine eyes,

         Thou hadst lived in memory ever —

          Thou hadst lived still in my sighs;

         But, alas! in light thou livest —

         To my love no answer givest!

         Can the sweet hopes love once cherished

          Emma, can they transient prove?

         What has passed away and perished —

          Emma, say, can that be love?

         That bright flame of heavenly birth —

          Can it die like things of earth?

      THE FAVOR OF THE MOMENT

         Once more, then, we meet

          In the circles of yore;

         Let our song be as sweet

          In its wreaths as before,

         Who claims the first place

          In the tribute of song?

         The God to whose grace

          All our pleasures belong.

         Though Ceres may spread

          All her gifts on the shrine,

         Though the glass may be red

          With the blush of the vine,

         What boots — if the while

          Fall no spark on the hearth;

         If the heart do not smile

          With the instinct of mirth? —

         From the clouds, from God's breast

          Must our happiness fall,

         'Mid the blessed, most blest

          Is the moment of all!

         Since creation began

         

3

Sung in "The Parasite," a comedy which Schiller translated from Picard — much the best comedy, by the way, that Picard ever wrote.