The Poems of Schiller — Suppressed poems

THE SATYR AND MY MUSE

 
   An aged satyr sought
    Around my Muse to pass,
   Attempting to pay court,
    And eyed her fondly through his glass.
 
 
   By Phoebus' golden torch,
    By Luna's pallid light,
   Around her temple's porch
    Crept the unhappy sharp-eared wight;
 
 
   And warbled many a lay,
    Her beauty's praise to sing,
   And fiercely scraped away
    On his discordant fiddle-string.
 
 
   With tears, too, swelled his eyes,
    As large as nuts, or larger;
   He gasped forth heavy sighs,
    Like music from Silenus' charger.
 
 
   The Muse sat still, and played
    Within her grotto fair,
   And peevishly surveyed
    Signor Adonis Goatsfoot there.
 
 
   "Who ever would kiss thee,
    Thou ugly, dirty dunce?
   Wouldst thou a gallant be,
    As Midas was Apollo once?
 
 
   "Speak out, old horned boor
    What charms canst thou display?
   Thou'rt swarthy as a Moor,
    And shaggy as a beast of prey.
 
 
   "I'm by a bard adored
    In far Teutonia's land;
   To him, who strikes the chord,
    I'm linked in firm and loving band."
 
 
   She spoke, and straightway fled
    The spoiler, — he pursued her,
   And, by his passion led,
    Soon caught her, shouted, and thus wooed her:
 
 
   "Thou prudish one, stay, stay!
    And hearken unto me!
   Thy poet, I dare say,
    Repents the pledge he gave thee.
 
 
   "Behold this pretty thing, —
    No merit would I claim, —
   Its weight I often fling
    On many a clown's back, to his shame.
 
 
   "His sharpness it increases,
    And spices his discourse,
   Instilling learned theses,
    When mounted on his hobby-horse
 
 
   "The best of songs are known,
    Thanks to this heavy whip
   Yet fool's blood 'tis alone
    We see beneath its lashes drip.
 
 
   "This lash, then, shall be his,
    If thou'lt give me a smack;
   Then thou mayest hasten, miss,
    Upon thy German sweetheart's track."
 
 
   The Muse, with purpose sly,
    Ere long agreed to yield —
   The satyr said good-by,
    And now the lash I wield!
 
 
   And I won't drop it here,
    Believe in what I say!
   The kisses of one's dear
    One does not lightly throw away.
 
 
   They kindle raptures sweet,
    But fools ne'er know their flame!
   The gentle Muse will kneel at honor's feet,
    But cudgels those who mar her fame.
 

THE PEASANTS.⁶

 
   Look outside, good friend, I pray!
    Two whole mortal hours
   Dogs and I've out here to-day
    Waited, by the powers!
 
 
   Rain comes down as from a spout,
   Doomsday-storms rage round about,
 
 
    Dripping are my hose;
   Drenched are coat and mantle too,
   Coat and mantle, both just new,
    Wretched plight, heaven knows!
   Pretty stir's abroad to-day;
   Look outside, good friend, I pray!
 
 
   Ay, the devil! look outside!
    Out is blown my lamp, —
   Gloom and night the heavens now hide,
    Moon and stars decamp.
   Stumbling over stock and stone,
   Jerkin, coat, I've torn, ochone!
 
 
    Let me pity beg
   Hedges, bushes, all around,
   Here a ditch, and there a mound,
    Breaking arm and leg.
   Gloom and night the heavens now hide
   Ay, the devil! look outside!
 
 
   Ay, the deuce, then look outside!
    Listen to my prayer!
   Praying, singing, I have tried,
    Wouldst thou have me swear?
   I shall be a steaming mass,
   Freeze to rock and stone, alas!
    If I don't remove.
   All this, love, I owe to thee,
    Winter-bumps thou'lt make for me,
    Thou confounded love!
   Cold and gloom spread far and wide!
   Ay, the deuce! then look outside!
 
 
   Thousand thunders! what's this now
    From the window shoots?
   Oh, thou witch! 'Tis dirt, I vow,
    That my head salutes!
   Rain, frost, hunger, tempests wild,
   Bear I for the devil's child,
    Now I'm vexed full sore.
   Worse and worse 'tis! I'll begone.
   Pray be quick, thou Evil One!
    I'll remain no more.
   Pretty tumult there's outside!
   Fare thee well — I'll homeward stride.
 

THE WINTER NIGHT

 
   Farewell! the beauteous sun is sinking fast,
     The moon lifts up her head;
   Farewell! mute night o'er earth's wide round at last
     Her darksome raven-wing has spread.
 
 
   Across the wintry plain no echoes float,
     Save, from the rock's deep womb,
   The murmuring streamlet, and the screech-owl's note,
     Arising from the forest's gloom.
 
 
   The fish repose within the watery deeps,
     The snail draws in his head;
   The dog beneath the table calmly sleeps,
     My wife is slumbering in her bed.
 
 
   A hearty welcome to ye, brethren mine!
     Friends of my life's young spring!
   Perchance around a flask of Rhenish wine
     Ye're gathered now, in joyous ring.
 
 
   The brimming goblet's bright and purple beams
     Mirror the world with joy,
   And pleasure from the golden grape-juice gleams —
     Pleasure untainted by alloy.
 
 
   Concealed behind departed years, your eyes
     Find roses now alone;
   And, as the summer tempest quickly flies,
     Your heavy sorrows, too, are flown.
 
 
   From childish sports, to e'en the doctor's hood,
     The book of life ye thumb,
   And reckon o'er, in light and joyous mood,
     Your toils in the gymnasium;
 
 
   Ye count the oaths that Terence — may he ne'er,
     Though buried, calmly slumber! —
   Caused you, despite Minelli's notes, to swear, —
     Count your wry faces without number.
 
 
   How, when the dread examinations came,
     The boy with terror shook!
   How, when the rector had pronounced his name,
     The sweat streamed down upon his book!
 
 
   All this is now involved in mist forever,
     The boy is now a man,
   And Frederick, wiser grown, discloses never
     What little Fritz once loved to plan.
 
 
   At length — a doctor one's declared to be, —
     A regimental one!
   And then, — and not too soon, — discover we
     That plans soap-bubbles are alone.⁷
   Blow on! blow on! and let the bubbles rise,
     If but this heart remain!
   And if a German laurel as the prize
     Of song, 'tis given me to gain!