, .......... all of this he experienced, happiness, victory, incarceration, and all the partiality of fate, and all the bitterness! Twice he was cast down into the dust, twice he gained the throne! .......... He appeared: two centuries in cruel conflict, seeing him, suddenly made peace, as they would before omnipotent destiny. He commanded them to be silent and sat between them in judgement! .......... He disappeared and in exile saw out his incredible times, the object of a measureless envy, of measureless compassion, the object of frenzied enmity, of blind devotion! .......... Just as over the heads of the drowning, growing into a huge wall of foam, is the wave which at first played with them, and the longed for shore vainly visible to palpitating glances appears from above, .......... so memory above his soul, gathering, lies heavy! How often this soul desired to speak out and, stupefied, onto the sheet already begun, the hand suddenly fell! .......... How often before dayÒs end, a day of joyless torment, lowering his lightning-flashing eyes, folding his arms across his breast, he would stand, letting the past possess him! .......... In his mindÒs eye he saw the campaign tents, the plains of battle, the long glint of infantry ranks, currents of cavalry formations, an iron world breathing by one command alone! .......... Oh, beneath such a burden his heart lost its energy and his spirit sagged ... but a powerful hand came down to him and, merciful, to heaven raised him! 61. FROM PHEDRE (RACINE) We had just left the gates of Trezene. He sat on his chariot, surrounded by his bodyguard, as silent as he. He took the Mycaenas road, absently giving his horses free rein, these lively, fiery horses, so proud in their usual ardour, today heads down, gloomy, quiet, seeming to be in accord with him. Suddenly from the watery depths a cry came, troubling the airÒs silence, and at that moment some fearsome voice from beneath the earth replied with a groan. EveryoneÒs blood froze in their chests and the keen horsesÒ manes stood up. But then, white above the watery plain, a wave rose, like a mountain of snow, growing, getting nearer, smashing into the shore and throwing up a monstrous beast. Its head was armed with horns, its spine covered with yellowish scales. A terrible bull, a frenzied dragon, in innumerable coils it came out. The shore, shaking, groaned from its roaring; the day, indignant, shone on it. The earth shifted. The wave which had tossed it out, as if fear-stricken, lapped back. Everyone hid, seeking salvation in flight. Only Hippolytus, true son of a hero, only Hippolytus, allowing fear no access, stopped the horses, seized his lance and, flinging the steel with his accurate arm, opened a deep gash in the monster. The beast howled, feeling the pain of the spear. Raging, it fell at the horsesÒ feet and, scrabbling at the ground, from its bloody jaws poured stench and flame around them! Fear seized the horses. They sped off, not heeding the voice, not obeying the reins. The charioteer vainly tried to tame them, but off they flew, blood from their mouths staining the bridles. Some god, it is said, with his trident prodded their steaming flanks. They flew across rocks, patches of undergrowth. The axle creaked and broke. The fearless Hippolytus from his smashed, crushed chariot fell to earth, enmeshed in the reins. Forgive my tears! This mournful scene will forever call tears from me! I saw, alas, your son dragged by the horses he had reared, bloodied, crying to them, his shouts scaring them more. They ran, they flew with the ripped driver. Behind them I sprinted with the guards, his fresh blood marking our path, blood on the stones, in the prickly thorns bloody clots of hair hanging. Our maddened cries carried across the land! But finally the crazed steedsÒ ardour calmed down. They stopped near where your forefathers lie at rest in ancient tombs! I ran up, I called. With enormous effort opening his eyes, he gave me his hand: ÓThe might of the heavens kills me off in my prime. Friend, do not abandon my Aricia! When that day comes when my parent, dissipating the gloom of fearsome slander, is finally convinced of his sonÒs innocence, oh, to console a complaining shadow, let him alleviate his prisonerÒs lot! Let him return to her.Ô The hero died at these words, and in my arms which held him there remained a corpse, savagely distorted, a sign of the horrible punishment of the gods, unrecognisable even by a fatherÒs eyes! 62. NIGHT THOUGHTS (GOETHE) I pity you, hapless stars! So beautifully, so brightly do you burn, willingly lighting the marinerÒs way, unrewarded by God or man! You donÒt know love. YouÒve never known it! Unstoppable, the gods of time lead you through the skyÒs limitless night! Oh, what a path you have traversed since the moment when, in my sweetheartÒs arms, I sweetly turned off from midnight and you! 63. FROM A MIDSUMMERÒS NIGHTÒS DREAM (SHAKESPEARE) 1 Lovers, madmen and poets are forged from one and the same imagination! One sees demons which donÒt even exist in Hell (the madman, that is), another is equally insane, the passionate lover, seeing, entranced, HelenÒs beauty in a dark-skinned gypsy. The poetÒs eye, in bright frenzy, turning round upon itself, sparkles and slips from sky to earth, from earth to sky, and, let his imagination but create forms for unknown creatures, then the poetÒs wand transforms them into people and gives aerial shades a place and a name! 2 The hungry lion has begun to roar and the wolf has howled at the moon. Having got through a day of labour, the poor ploughman has fallen asleep. .......... The coals are going out on the fire, the eagle owl has begun to screech and to the invalid on his death-bed has predicted an early shroud. .......... All cemeteries at this time from yawning graves into the moonÒs damp dusk send forth their dead! 64. Just as the ocean curls around earthÒs shores, our earthly lifeÒs embraced by dreams. Night comes and brings the element and night intensifies its roars. .......... Now, thereÒs its voice, persisting, pleading. The magic skiff is straining to be free. Now out it goes, its human cargo leading into the dark, immeasurable sea. .......... HeavenÒs vaultÒs aflame with starry glory. From every side, as long as weÒre afloat, its mystery staring from the deeps, that fiery chasm engulfs our boat. 65. FROM HERNANI (HUGO) Forgive me, great Charles! Great, unforgotten, this voice should not be troubling these walls, disturbing your immortal dust, oh giant, with the buzzing of passions living but a moment! This European world, the creation of your hand, how great it is, this world! What a possession! With two chosen leaders above it and the entire purple-born throng beneath their feet! All other powers, authorities, possessions are legacies and accidents of birth, but God Himself has given the pope and the caesar to the earth and through them, providence makes chance observations of us. Thus it reconciles order and freedom! All of you, in disgrace serving the people, you, electors, you, cardinals, the diet, the synod, youÒre all nothing! The Lord decides, the Lord commands! Let a thought be born among the people, a thought conceived over the ages, first it grows in the shade and rustles in hearts, suddenly it has become flesh, enticing the people! Princes forge a chain for it and stop its mouth, but its day has arrived and boldly, majestically it has stridden into the diet, appeared at the conclave, and with a sceptre in its hands or a mitre on its head, has pressed all crowned heads to the ground. Thus are the pope and caesar all powerful - everything earthly happens only by and through them. Like a living mystery heaven appeared on their earth and the entire world, peoples and monarchs, was given to them as a feast! Their will organises the world and encloses the edifice, creates and destroys. This one decides, the other divides. This one is Justice, the other is Strength - in those two exists their own supreme law and there is no other for them! When both leave the altar, one in purple, the other in the white garb of the tomb, the world, benumbed, sees this pair in the radiance of their magnificence, these two aspects of the divinity! And to be one of them, one! Oh, a disgrace not to be him! And in the breast to feed this urge! Oh, how fortunate, resting in his tomb, was this hero! What a fate God sent him! What a destiny! And what then? This is his tomb, here. So this is where it ends, alas, everything there was of the law-giver, the leader, the governor, the hero, the titan, his head rising above all times, like the one who ruled the whole of Europe, whose title was Caesar, whose name was Charles the Great, the most famous of famous names even today, great, as great as the world, and itÒs all contained in here! Seek out dominions and weigh the handful of dust of him who had everything, his power revered as much as GodÒs. Fill with thunder the whole of earth, build, raise up your columns to the clouds, ever higher, height upon height, although your fame has touched the immortal stars, thatÒs its limit! Oh monarchy, oh power, oh, what are you? All the same, do I too not seek power? A mysterious voice promises me: It is yours. Mine. Oh, if it were but mine! Will the prophecy come to pass, to stand on the height and enclose creation on high - alone - between heaven and earth and see the entire world in echelons below me: first monarchs, then - at various stages - the elders of inherited and masterly households, there are the doges, the dukes, the princes of the church, there the sacred family of knightly ranks, there the clergy, the armies, and there, in the misty distance, at the very bottom, the people, innumerable (INDEC), the seaÒs deep abyss tearing at its shore, the hundred-sounded rumble, cries, lamentations, occasional bitter laughter, mysterious life, immortal movement, wherever you cast your glance across the deeps, theyÒre all in movement, a threatening mirror for the consciences of monarchs, the opening where the throne perishes and the mausoleum floats to the surface! Oh, how many enigmas there are for us in your dark confines! Oh, how many monarchies lie on the bed, like the skeletons of huge vessels constricting the free depths, but you breathed on them and the freight sank to the bottom! And all this world is mine, and I shall fearlessly seize the rod of authority in this world! Who am I? The progeny of dust! 66. THE SEA HORSE Ardent horse, sea-horse, pale-green maned, gentle, loving-tamed, raging, wild-playing, fed by violent storms in GodÒs open plains! He taught and trained you to play, to leap at will. .......... I love you when you bound madly, arrogantly strong, tossing your thick mane, sweating, foaming, dashing fast storms against the shore, gaily neighing, galloping, drumming cliffs with your hooves, white-flecked, flying! 67. THE SINGER (GOETHE) ÓWhat sounds are they in front of my house, what voices before my gates? Let the song ring out before us in our high tower!Ô The king spoke, the page runs, the page returned, the king speaks: ÓQuickly, admit the old man!Ô .......... ÓPraise and honour to you, oh knights, adoration to you, my ladies! How can one count the stars in the sky? Who knows their names? Though my gaze is drawn to this paradise of wonders, look down. Now is not the time To idly entertain my eyes!Ô .......... The grey-haired singer shut his eyes and gaily struck the strings. The eyes of the bold were bolder still, while the ladies bowed bashful heads. The king was captivated by the playing. He sent for a golden chain with which to honour the grey-haired singer! .......... ÓDonÒt give me any golden chain. I am not worthy of such a reward. Give it to your knights, fearless in battle. Give it to your scribes, adding to their other toils this golden burden! .......... I sing at GodÒs will, like a bird in the sky, not seeking recompense for my songs, for the song is reward enough! IÒd ask one boon of you, just one, and thatÒs a golden goblet filled with bright wine!Ô .......... He took the cup and drank it dry and spoke with heat in his heart: ÓLet God bless such a household where this serves only as a meagre gift! Let him send his favours to you and let Him comfort you on this earth just as you have comforted me!Ô 68. Here, the sky stares inert at the gaunt earth. Tired nature, sunk in slumber, lies, fettered, nightmare-girt. .......... Here and there, pallid birches, grey moss, scanty bush, like dreams tormenting us in fever, trouble the deathly, peaceful hush. 69. PEACE The storm has passed. Thunder-smitten, the tall oak is prostrate, smouldering still, boughs trickling blue smoke through the greenery, where, for a while now, louder, fuller, throughout the storm-refreshed copse, bird-song resounds, and a rainbow has settled the end of its arc among the green summits. 70. TO TWO SISTERS I saw you both together and at once saw you in her: that quiet glance, tender voice, that charm of early morning wafting from your head! .......... As if in a magic mirror everything was clearly defined again: the joy, the sadness of past days, your youth, now wasted, my love, now dead! 71. I recall that day. For me, it was the morning of lifeÒs day: silently, she stood before me, her breasts rising like waves, cheeks reddening, like dawn, getting hotter, glowing, burning! Then suddenly, like a young sun, a golden world of love burst from her breast and I saw a new world! 72. CICERO The Roman orator was speaking as citizens started to fight: ÓI rose late, and while I was walking was chased and captured by RomeÒs nightÔ. So be it! But making your farewells, you saw in grandeur and with awe, RomeÒs bloody star go down. .......... Blessed is he who visits this life at its fateful moments of strife: the all-wise sent him an invitation to speak with them at their celebrations. HeÒs the witness of high affairs, knows their councils, sits on them, and a living god while there, has drunk immortality with them. 73. AN AUTUMN EVENING In the brightness of autumn evenings there is a touching, mysterious charm: an ominous glitter, motley trees, a light, languorous rustle of scarlet leaves, a hazy, quiet blueness across the sadly orphaned world and, presaging gathering storms, at times a gusty snap of wind. Loss. Exhaustion. And on it all there is that gentle smile of fading which, in a thinking creature, we should call the divine shame of suffering. 74. LEAVES Let pines and firs jut out all winter, curled up and sleeping through snows and blizzards. Their meagre greens, like a hedgehogÒs spines, might never yellow - theyÒre never fresh. .......... But we, weÒre a light tribe, blossoming, glittering such a short time, guests on our branches. All the fine summer weÒre beautiful people, playing with sunbeams, bathing in dews. .......... The birds have stopped singing, flowers stopped blooming, sunbeams have paled, breezes have dropped. So why hang on? And why go yellow? Surely itÒs better to fly away with them? ......... Faster, wild winds, faster, faster! Snatch us quickly from boring boughs. Tear us, hurl us away. We donÒt want to wait. Fly, come fly and weÒll fly with you! 75. Crossing Livonian fields ... Baltic emptiness, sand and the dull emptiness of this colourless land allowed my soul to yield to contemplation of its former sad plight, a dark and bloody state when its citizens, prostrate, kissed the spurs of invading knights. I stared at a deserted water-course. Along its length were silent spinneys. I thought, ÓYouÒve had quite a journey, you peers of the past, youÒve forced a path into our lives from the shores of another time and place!Ô So many questions! Such frustration! I strive for an answer, I try to tease just one. But nature names no names, smiling in her ambiguous, mysterious way, like an adolescent, by chance peeking in on night games and keeping his secret during the day. 76. Sand gives softly. Hooves sink. We ride. ItÒs late. Light starts to fade. The shadows of the pines along the roadside have merged into a single shade. The woodÒs dark heart grows denser, blacker. ItÒs such a melancholy place! Night scowls, a hundred-eyed wild creature. From every bush it leers and pokes its face! 77. THE WANDERER Zeus is kind to the poor tramp. His patronage enables this exile from the cares of home to sit as a guest at HeavenÒs table! .......... This wonderful creation of their hands, this world so varied in its every feature, unwinds before him as he goes, for him to love, for him to use, to be his teacher. .......... Through hamlets, fields and towns the brightening road extending, he wanders freely the entire earth. He sees it all, to God his praises sending! 78. MADNESS Where the earth is seered, in the skyÒs misty haze disappears, in carefree gaiety lives pitiful insanity. .......... Beneath rays which burn, digging into flaming sands, his glassy gaze is turned to seek things far above the land. .......... Suddenly heÒll leap, wary as a beast, pressing his ear against the parched soil, avidly sure some sound will reward his toil. With mysterious pleasure his features are creased. .......... He thinks he hears currents bubbling their mirth as they course beneath the ground, and he thinks itÒs a cradle-song heÒs found as they noisily burst from the earth. 79. THE ALPS Throughout blue nights glisten mountainsÒ eyes, eyes of death, eyes of fright, by icy horror paralysed. Charmed by some spell till DawnÒs first beams, in hazy menace they dream, like all those ancient kings who fell. .......... But let the East begin to shine and the fatal charms are broken. High up and first in line the eldest brother has awoken. From the head of the next there rolls a stream onto the heads of all the others, till, glistening in crowns of gold, all the familyÒs resurrected with the brothers! 80. INFECTED AIR I love GodÒs wrath, this Evil! Invisible, mysterious, poured through everything: in the flowers, in the glass-clear stream, in the rainbow-rays, in the very sky of Rome. The same high, cloudless sky, your breastÒs same sweet breath, the same warm wind rustling tree-tops, the same scent of roses.... All of this is death! .......... Who knows, perhaps nature has her sounds, aromas, colours, voices presaging our final hour, sweetening our final torment, and as the fates encroach and call earthÒs sons from this life, perhaps their messenger uses them, weaving a veil to hid his face and his fearsome approach! 81. We walk behind our age as Creusa walked behind Aeneas. As we go a little way, we weaken, but if we hurry on, we fall behind. 82. VERNAL WATERS Snow is still white in the fields but spring is in the waterÒs voice. Running, the waters wake the sleepy banks. They run, they glisten, they rejoice. .......... ÓSpring is coming, spring is coming!Ô in every direction they shout. ÓWeÒre the young springÒs runners, with the news she has sent us out!Ô .......... Spring is coming, spring is coming! In a bright, rosy round-dance plays a frolicking, happy bustle of MayÒs warm, quiet days. 83. STAY SILENT! Stay silent, out of sight and hide your feelings and your dreams inside. Within your soulÒs deep centre let them silently rise, let them set like stars in the night. DonÒt be heard. Admire them, DonÒt say a word. .......... How can your heart itself express? Can others understand or guess exactly what life means to you? A thought youÒve spoken is untrue. You only cloud the streams youÒve stirred. Be fed by them. DonÒt say a word. .......... Making living in yourself your goal. There is a world within your soul where mystery-magic thoughts abound. By outer noise they will be drowned. TheyÒll scatter as day is bestirred. Just heed their song. DonÒt say a word! 84. As a piece of paper smoulders, catches, burns on glowing embers, the flames indistinct and hidden at first, licking, eating words and lines, so life is sadly gnawed away, vanishing a little at a time, so am I snuffed out, a fraction every day - intolerable monotony! Oh, my dear Christ, let me once, just once range flame-like at will, not languishing, and not tormented, bursting into brilliance before - just going out! 85. TO.... Lips which greet me with a smile, a young girlÒs rosy complexion, your gaze which is bright and which sparkles.... it all entices me to pleasure. .......... Ah, this gaze in passionÒs fire on gossamer wings sends out desire, and with some magical power locks hearts in its fabulous tower! 86. Just as Agamemnon brought this daughter as an offering to the gods, asking the indignant heavens for the breath of fair winds, so we, over woeful Warsaw, have struck a fateful blow, and at this bloody price weÒll buy RussiaÒs integrity and peace. .......... Away from us, inglorious wreath woven by a servile hand! Not for the koran of autocracy did Russian blood run like a river! No! We were animated in the fight not by any love of carnage, not as trained and bestial janissaries, and not because, as executioners, we must subdue! .......... A different thought, a different belief beat in RussiansÒ hearts: we needed to maintain the integrity of authority by the saving storm of example, to gather under one Russian banner kindred generations of Slavs, to lead them in the campaign of enlightenment, all of one mind, like a host! .......... This higher consciousness led our valiant people. It boldly takes upon itself the vindication of heavenÒs ways. It senses above its head a star in the invisible heights and unswervingly follows the star to its mysterious destination! .......... Pierced by your brotherÒs arrow, fulfilling destinyÒs pronouncement, you fell, single-tribed eagle, onto the purifying fire! Believe the word of the Russian people: your ashes will be preserved by us in sanctity, and our general freedom, like the phoenix, will be reborn in them! 87. ÓThe storm howls more evilly, screaming its spite. Caress me, my lover, cling to me tight.Ô ÓOh darling, I fear the skiesÒ vengeful power. DonÒt talk of forbidden love at this hour.Ô ÓThe song of the storm is so sweet as it gusts and lulls us on our bed of lust.Ô ÓOh, remember the sea and the miserable sailors, gracious lord, shelter all of those wretches.Ô ÓIn the seaÒs broad ravines let the waves roam at will. They wonÒt breach our refuge nor shatter this still.Ô ÓOh darling, donÒt say that, such talk is not right. DonÒt you know who is out on the ocean this night?!Ô Lamenting and trembling, her voice fades away and silent and still in the darkness they lay. The storm went quiet. The tempest cleared. The clock on the wall was all they could hear, and silent and still in the darkness they lay, and over the pair a strange terror played. Fearsome and sudden, thunder crashed round and the building was shaken right down to its founds. The baby screamed out, despairing and wild, and the mother leaped straight to the source of the sound, but the moment she reached the bed of her child she crashed to the ground in a swoon. In the lightning flashes which sundered the gloom, the ghost of her husband was clearly seen where he sat by the cot at the end of the room. 88. PEACE IN SPRINGTIME (UHLAND) Oh, do not bury me in the damp earth. Cover me, hide me in the thick grass! Let breezes breathe and rustle in the grass, let a distant pipe play songs, let bright, quiet clouds sail above me! 89. You were the best leaf on humanityÒs high tree, nourished by its purest sap, grown in the sunÒs purest rays! .......... More harmonious than all you shook with its great soul, prophetically talking with storms, happily playing with breezes! .......... Not a late wind, not late summer rain tore you from your native branch. Fairer than many, outliving so many, you simply fell, like a leaf from a garland. 90. Two demons served him. Two forces merged wondrously within him: in his head, eagles soared, in his breast, serpents writhed, a daring eagle-flight of wide-spanned inspirations; and in the very riot of audacity there was a calculating serpent. But not sanctifying power, a force of which the mind cannot conceive, illuminated his soul nor stepped towards him. He was of earth, not GodÒs flame. He proudly sailed, despised the sea, but on the hidden reef of faith his fragile boat was smashed. 91. A PROBLEM After tumbling down the mountain, a stone lies in a valley. How did it fall away? Right now, no-one knows. Did it tear from the heights on its own? Or was it cast down by the will of another? Aeons have flowed by, yet no-one knows the reason why. 92. A DREAM AT SEA Our boat was being tossed by the storm and the sea. I slept as each wave for its whim toyed with me. Deep within me two immensities met. Helpless, I lay by their playing beset. All around me, like cymbals, the rocks clashed strong, the waves called each other, the winds sang their song. By all this chaos of noise I lay drowned, but my dream was borne over the chaos of sound. Magically silent, painfully bright, it flew lightly above the thundering night. Through the rays of my fever its world could be seen: the ether shone bright. The world became green. There were labyrinth-gardens, pillars and halls, assemblies were massed there, in silence stood all; I thought all were strangers, but many I knew; I saw magic creatures. Mystery-birds flew; The heights of creation, a god, I bestrode. Far beneath me a motionless universe glowed. But I heard from below, like a sorcererÒs wail, the sea-deeps my wanderings stormed and assailed, and into my silence of dreams burst the lash of tempests, of howls, of the seaÒs frightful crash. 93. (BERANGER) IÒm ending of days in a ditch. IÒm weak and old with no strength to go on! ÓHe drinks, canÒt you see?Ô they say about the tramp. Just so long as they donÒt pity me! Some, walking off, shrug their shoulders, some throw the beggar a copper! How a nice journey, friends! Damn you all! I can finish my days without you! ÅÅÅ. IÒve laboured through, IÒve coped with the years, clearly people donÒt die of hunger. Perhaps, I thought, on a bed they will at least let me die, but their hospitals and gaols are all full! You canÒt even force your way in! You were nourished on the open road. Where you lived and grew (INDEC), old man, there you will die. .......... I approached master craftsmen to start with, wanting a trade in order to eat. ÓWeÒve barely work for ourselves! Pick up your bag. Get out and beg.Ô I dragged myself over to you, rich men, gnawing at bones from your table, sharing the scraps with your curs, but I, poor man, wish you no ill. .......... I could have gone stealing, I, a wretched tramp, but shame always fettered my hand. Only now and then on the open road did I pilfer wild fruits from the trees. Because among you I have been a beggar, you made me an orphan for life. More than once I sat in the lock-up, but who sold you the sunlight? ........... What are you and your fame to me, your commerce, your liberties, your victories? You are all wrong in my eyes. The beggar has no native land! Once, the armed intruder came and captured our splendid town, and I, like an idiot cried in vexation, cursing the foe who fed me! .......... Why did you not crush me like some venomous reptile? Or why did you not teach me - - alas! - to be a useful bee? From your embraces, mortal folk, I was excluded from my earliest years. IÒd have blessed you, brethren, I would. Instead, as he dies, the tramp curses you! 94. THE SKALDÒS HARP Skald-harp, long ago your poet-master left you to oblivion in this dusty room, but as soon as the moon, enchanting the gloom, splashes a ray in your corner, then your strings perform a magic tune, like troubled souls in delirious swoon. When it breathes on you, what life swirls in your heart as you recall past days? Memories of nights when voluptuous girls told old stories, sang sweet lays, or when, in these gardens still fair and green, seeking trysts, their light feet tripped unseen? 95. I like the service of the Lutherans. Their worship is severe, simple yet imposing. I understand the lofty lessons in these bare walls, in this empty temple. .......... CanÒt you see? Preparing to leave, faith presents itself to us for the final time: itÒs barely crossed its threshold, yet already its house stands bare and empty. .......... ItÒs barely crossed its threshold, the door not closed behind it, but here its hour has struck. Pray to God. ItÒs the last time you will pray. 96. (HEINE) With which of the two has fate decreed that I should fall in love? Daughter and mother are fair indeed, like each other, each uniquely charming. .......... How her untried, youthful members sweetly agitate my mind! Yet the charm of those brilliant glances is omnipotent over my soul. .......... Flapping my ears in contemplation, I stand just as BuridanÒs friend did, between two hay ricks, staring, wondering which of the two would be the sweeter? 97. From land to land, from town to town like a whirlwind, Fate sweeps people on. It may suit you or it may not, why should it care? - Move on, move on! .......... A well-known sound is blown: the wind sings loveÒs final farewell. So many tears are left behind. Ahead, thereÒs mist. Ahead is the unknown! .......... ÓOh, wait, look back!Ô Where are you running? Why run at all? LoveÒs dropped behind WhatÒs better in the world than that? .......... LoveÒs still falling back, in tears and in despair. Have pity on your pain, your bliss you should spare! .......... Bring to mind the bliss of so many, many days. All thatÒs dear to your soul youÒre abandoning along the way! .......... ItÒs not the time to summon shades: that time is now dead dark. The shadows of departed souls are far more dread, the dearer they were. ......... From land to land, from town to town, a mighty whirlwind sweeping people on. It may suit you or it may not, why should it ask? - Move on, move on! 98. I remember a golden time. I remember a country my heart loved well. Day became dusk. We were together. Below us in shadow the Danube sang. Where, white upon a hill, a ruined castle stared into the distance, you stood, young elfin creature, leaning on the mossy granite. Your young leg touched the age-old keepÒs remains while the sun dallied in its farewells to the castle, the hill and to you. A quiet, passing breeze playing with your dress, and from wild apples, flower after flower strewn lightly around your shoulders... Without a care, you stared into the distance, the skyline dimmed in hazy beams. The day burned out; the song called louder from the river in its darkening banks. In carefree joy you spent the happy day. Sweetly the shade of swiftly-flowing life passed over us and flew away. 99. My soul, youÒre an Elysium of shades, silent shades, beautiful shades which shine and play in this stormy age no role, having no part in joy, in grief, in anything of their design. .......... Elysium of shades, yes, you my soul! Can you and life have my dealings, you, ghosts of all my best, now long-past days, estranged by poles from men who have no feelings? 100. How sweetly sleep lies on the green garden taken by nightÒs blue in blissful swoon, and through the apple-blossom-whitened boughs how sweetly filter rays from the golden moon! As on the first day of creation, with mystery the starry hosts burn in the shoreless sky, and there are heard the shouts of distant music; still louderÒs the voice of the brook nearby. Across earthÒs day thereÒs been unfurled a curtain All movementÒs been exhausted, energyÒs consumed. Above the sleeping town, as if in forest-summits, a wondrous nightly humming is resumed. Where is it from, this noise beyond our comprehension? Has sleep let loose a spirit-world of thoughts, the thoughts of men (we hear them yet see nothing) to crowd with them the chaos night has brought? 101. No, Mother-Earth, my tenderness for you IÒm powerless not to display! I do not thirst for pale delights of fleshless spirits. Your loyal son IÒll stay. Compared to you what are the joys of heaven, or of spring, when love is in full stream, or the blissful world of May in flower, or the golden sun, or the glow of dreams? .......... IÒd rather spend all day in deep inaction, springÒs warm air drinking deep and true. At times, across the distant, pure skies sail cloud-wisps which my eyes would eagerly pursue. IÒd wander aimless, doing nothing, and stumble inadvertently upon a lilacÒs fresh aroma, or on a shining reverie. 102. Silent air enwrapping me, storm-threatening, crickets louder singing, rosesÒ aromas sharper rising .... .......... From behind a white, hazy cloud thunder rattles round the land. Lightning scampers round the sky, sewing for its waist a band. ......... Life-surplus overflowing, nectar pouring through the air, scorching, melting through my veins, burning ... .......... Girl, what things excite the gauze across your breasts, darkening and troubling your eyesÒ moist light? .......... Why do you turn so pale? What chases your maidenly blush? What presses onto your bosom? Why do your lips start to flush? .......... Through silken lashes tears form - are they early raindrops of the coming storm? 103. Willow, why do you lower your head to the river, letting, like hungry mouths, your leaves a-quiver try to catch the fleeing stream? .......... All the longing, all the shuddering of every leaf above the stream! Still the river runs and glistens, basking in the sun and splashing, flowing by and mocking you. 104. Foul night, misty night ... Is that a skylarkÒs voice, is that you, morningÒs lovely guest, at this late, dead hour, pliant, playful, bright with song at this dead, late hour? Like the fearful laughter of the insane, it wrenched my soul. It caused me pain. 105. Into the grave the coffinÒs lowered. All around, the mourners press. They jostle, pushing, breathing heavy. Corruption presses on my breast. The grave is still uncovered. The pastor stands just where the coffin lay. He is dignified and learned. His funeral sermonÒs under way. ManÒs fragility he preaches, the Fall, the blood which Jesus shed. We hear this clever, worthy discourse. In different ways our thoughts are led. .......... Incorruptible, pure, boundless over all the earth - the sky! And birds! Their voices bursting loud, wheeling round the airy world, they scatter, sing and fly! 106. The east whitened. We were scarcely moving. The canvas gaily flapped against the prow. As if the sky had been upturned, the sea beneath us trembled. .......... Dawn reddened and she had started praying. SheÒd worn a veil. She took it from her brow. She breathed a prayer, and when she turned the sky within her eyes exulted. .......... Dawn flamed. Her head was slowly sinking. Her neck gleamed whitely, cowed, and down her youthful cheeks were burned the traces of her fiery tears. 107. Blue-grey mingling. Colour darkening. Silence possesses sound. Life and movement have drowned in the rippling unrealness of dusk, in a distant hum. Unseen in the night, a moth sings. Longing seeks words. Anguish comes. Everything is me. I am everything. .......... Quiet twilight, sleeping twilight, pour into my being. Silent, aromatic languor, take the world, flowing, bring peace, bring still. Oblivion, haze. Sensation, take me, overfill my soul, give me void. In the worldÒs sleep pour me, fold me, let me be destroyed! 108. The kite lifts from the field. It heads towards the sky. Sharper it wheels, higher weaving flight. It strikes the sky-slope, dwindles, leaves my sight. Nature, you give such gifts! Strong wings! They pound with life, with force, unbridled power they lift! While on the dusty earth and in my sweat stand I - Earth-King! This king would leave his earth. This king would like to try! 109. What a wild ravine! A spring runs at me, hurrying down to a house-warming. I stay up here where the pine stands. Now IÒm higher still, sitting, joyful, quiet. Run to your valley. Go on, stream, see what itÒs like among people! 110. The whole world starts as sunlight streams to wake it, like a bird which shakes its feathers. Fine, fine! Beneficial dreams have passed my by while visiting the others. Despite the morning freshness wafting through my tousled hair, I feel a heavy weight upon me: yesterdayÒs dust, yesterdayÒs glare! ItÒs all so piercing and savage and I detest in every way the shouts, the talk, the tumult, all the movement of the youthful, fiery day! Red rays falling seer my eyes. Night, night where are your covers, your dusky silence, dews, your cool moonrise? GenerationsÒ ancient remnants, you who have outlived your age, how valid, yet without foundation, your grievances which fill a lengthy page! How sad to be a dusky shadow whose limbs and bones are tired and frail, to have to meet the sun and movement, behind new tribes to trail. 111. Far into the shining distance, where the fleeing mountains go, famous river, river Danube, eternally your waters flow. .......... There of old, as goes the saying, during clear nights of blue, fairies weaved a round-dance, swaying under waters, on them too. .......... Waves would sing, the moon would listen. High on overhanging hills knightly castles stared down at them, watching them with fear-sweet thrills. .......... With an unterrestrial glimmer, captive, in a prison spurned, winks exchanging with the dancers, lights on ancient towers burned. .......... All the stars would hearken to them, wave of them succeeding wave. Quietly, one to the other words of conversation gave. .......... Fastened in ancestral armour, on the wall the warrior-guard, as if in sleep, in strange enchantment, to the tumult listened hard. .......... Should he almost fall a-slumbering, clearer the din would roll. With a prayer heÒd quick awaken and continue his patrol. .......... Everything has gone. The years have seized it. Danube, fate has not missed you: now your lotÒs to see the steamers chugging up your waters blue. 112. Across vine-covered hillsides go sailing golden clouds. Below, its waters swelling greenly, the river darkens, calling loud. My gaze climbs slowly from the valley and bit by bit the peaks are found. Upon the very summit there is a temple, bright and round. .......... Into that unearthly dwelling mortal foot will never go. There is such light there. Desertedly so pure, air flows to silence sounds which reach the heights. ThereÒs only nature-life up there, and something wafted, lightly festive, thatÒs like a SundayÒs silent air. 113. Why do you howl, night wind? Why do you complain insanely? Your voice is strange. What does it mean? First muffled, pitiful, then loud? My heart understands your tongue, your tale of madness it canÒt, and at times you uproot and plough up frenzied noises in your words! .......... DonÒt sing these songs, these fearsome songs of ancient Chaos, kindred Chaos! How avidly the inner soul of night hears the beloved tale! It wants to burst from the breast, it wants to merge with the boundless. Oh, do not wake the sleeping storms - Chaos writhes beneath them! 114. The stream has frozen and dulled, hiding ben