The Poems of Schiller — Third period. Friedrich von Schiller

Seeks the cruel boy to move;

         But, alas! in vain she prays —

          To the string he fits the groove.

         When from out the clefts, behold!

         Steps the Mountain Genius old.

         With his hand the Deity

         Shields the beast that trembling sighs;

         "Must thou, even up to me,

         Death and anguish send?" he cries, —

         Earth has room for all to dwell, —

         "Why pursue my loved gazelle?"

      DITHYRAMB. 9

            Believe me, together

            The bright gods come ever,

              Still as of old;

         Scarce see I Bacchus, the giver of joy,

         Than comes up fair Eros, the laugh-loving boy,

              And Phoebus, the stately, behold!

            They come near and nearer,

             The heavenly ones all —

            The gods with their presence

             Fill earth as their hall!

            Say, how shall I welcome,

            Human and earthborn,

              Sons of the sky?

         Pour out to me — pour the full life that ye live!

         What to ye, O ye gods! can the mortal one give?

            The joys can dwell only

             In Jupiter's palace —

            Brimmed bright with your nectar,

             Oh, reach me the chalice!

            "Hebe, the chalice

            Fill full to the brim!

         Steep his eyes — steep his eyes in the bath of the dew,

         Let him dream, while the Styx is concealed from his view,

            That the life of the gods is for him!"

            It murmurs, it sparkles,

             The fount of delight;

            The bosom grows tranquil —

             The eye becomes bright.

      THE FOUR AGES OF THE WORLD

         The goblet is sparkling with purpled-tinged wine,

          Bright glistens the eye of each guest,

         When into the hall comes the Minstrel divine,

          To the good he now brings what is best;

         For when from Elysium is absent the lyre,

         No joy can the banquet of nectar inspire.

         He is blessed by the gods, with an intellect clear,

          That mirrors the world as it glides;

         He has seen all that ever has taken place here,

          And all that the future still hides.

         He sat in the god's secret councils of old

         And heard the command for each thing to unfold.

         He opens in splendor, with gladness and mirth,

          That life which was hid from our eyes;

         Adorns as a temple the dwelling of earth,

          That the Muse has bestowed as his prize,

         No roof is so humble, no hut is so low,

         But he with divinities bids it o'erflow.

         And as the inventive descendant of Zeus,

          On the unadorned round of the shield,

         With knowledge divine could, reflected, produce

          Earth, sea, and the star's shining field, —

         So he, on the moments, as onward they roll,

         The image can stamp of the infinite whole.

         From the earliest age of the world he has come,

          When nations rejoiced in their prime;

         A wanderer glad, he has still found a home

          With every race through all time.

         Four ages of man in his lifetime have died,

         And the place they once held by the fifth is supplied.

         Saturnus first governed, with fatherly smile,

          Each day then resembled the last;

         Then flourished the shepherds, a race without guile

          Their bliss by no care was o'ercast,

         They loved, — and no other employment they had,

         And earth gave her treasures with willingness glad.

         Then labor came next, and the conflict began

          With monsters and beasts famed in song;

         And heroes upstarted, as rulers of man,

          And the weak sought the aid of the strong.

         And strife o'er the field of Scamander now reigned,

         But beauty the god of the world still remained.

         At length from the conflict bright victory sprang,

          And gentleness blossomed from might;

         In heavenly chorus the Muses then sang,

          And figures divine saw the light; —

         The age that acknowledged sweet phantasy's sway

         Can never return, it has fleeted away.

9

This has been paraphrased by Coleridge.