GERMAN POETS.
Reading edition
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BY MRS. E. J. EAMES.
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I.—GOETHE.
Light! more light still! Goethe.
Thou unto whom was given the golden key
To unlock the portals of the human mind, —
Oh! Spirit grand—adventurous—and free —
In that last awful moment didst thou find
“More light” than shone upon thy earthly vision?
Was the Great Idea to thy sense made clear?
The solemn secrets of the veiled Elysian —
Say—were they whispered in thy closing ear?
“Light! more light still!” it was thy last, last prayer!
And oh! how strove thy straining, dying eyes,
To pierce the far, impenetrable skies,
And read the mighty mystery, written there!
Alas! to us, poor dwellers in the clay,
Are given but glimpses of the Land of Day!
II.—SCHILLER.
“Keep true to the dream of thy youth.”
Thy dream of youth! ah, no! it ne’er forsook thee,
The worshiped Ideal of thy boyhood’s time;
Still pure and beautiful as when it took thee
To cross the Holy Land of Truth sublime!
So earnest thy Belief—to later age
The visions of thy childhood stayed to bless thee —
Though sorrow dimmed the lustre of life’s page,
And shadows deepened round—and pain opprest thee —
The Beauty of thy Being still caressed thee.
Still didst thou reverence thine early dream,
And woo fair Nature as thy loveliest bride; —
Still from thy Soul did Faith’s pure radiance stream,
So was the Angel of thy Youth, thy guide,
In snow-white raiment clad, forever at thy side.
III—RICHTER.
My Jean Paul, I shall never forget. Herder.
Never forgotten! still do they enshrine thee
The pride and glory of thy Fatherland:
Before the altar of the true Shekinah,
O priestly poet! it was thine to stand
Clothed in the purity of thy high nature —
And wearing on thy spiritual features
(Illumined with the tenderest charities)
A world of kindness for thy fellow creatures.
Ah, yes! the Universal heart of man
The Holiest of Holies was to thee: —
Thy everlasting covenant and plan
To love and trust—believe: wait patiently!
Never forgotten thou! true Poet of Mankind,
Still in their hearts thy words a general echo find.
IV—KORNER.
“Lord of the Sword and Lyre!”
Oh, Warrior Poet! thou before whose eyes
Rose the enchanted realm of the Ideal —
The star-lit land of Fancy, whose fair skies
Bent in unclouded loveliness around thee —
The angel of the world of visions found thee —
Bore thee from the cold Winter of the Real,
And with unfading wreaths of Poesy crowned thee.
Lord of the Lyre and Sword! O, blest wert thou
To live and die, amid thine early dreams!
Nor bay, nor blossom faded from thy brow —
No star of Promise, shed its dying gleams
Upon thy path—and left thee, thus to bow
A lone survivor! Oh! no lot so blest
As that which calleth early unto rest!