The poems of Heine; Complete. Heinrich Heine

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СКАЧАТЬ Glorious blossoms fast unfold;

       Foreign blossoms fall, and tender

       Breezes greet us as of old.

      All that’s virtuous is returning,

       All that’s good appears once more

       And the German, fondly yearning,

       Is exulting as of yore.

      Ancient manners, ancient German

       Virtues, and heroic deeds!

       Valiantly each son of Hermann[3] Waves his sword and proudly bleeds.

      Heroes never doves engender,

       Lionlike is Hermann’s race;

       Yet may love’s religion tender

       Well near valour take its place.

      Germans through their sorrows lonely

       Learnt Christ’s gentle word to prize;

       Their land ’genders brethren only,

       And humanity is wise.

      Once again returns the glorious

       Noble love of minstrel’s song,

       Well becoming the victorious

       Breasts of German heroes strong,

      As they to the war are going

       With the Frank to cross the sword,

       To take signal vengeance glowing

       For their perfidy abhorr’d.

      And at home, no labour heeding,

       Woman plies her gentle hand,

       Tends the sacred wounds all bleeding

       In defence of fatherland.

      In her black dress robed, entrancing

       Looks the beauteous German dame,

       Deck’d with flow’rs and jewels glancing,

       Diamond-girded, too, her frame.

      But a nobler, prouder feeling

       Through me at her vision thrills,

       When, beside the sick-bed kneeling,

       Acts of mercy she fulfils.

      Heavenly angels she resembles

       When the last draught she supplies

       To the wounded man, who trembles,

       Smiles his grateful thanks, and dies.

      He to whom to die ’tis given

       On the battle-field, is blest;

       But a foretaste ’tis of heaven,

       Dying on a woman’s breast.

      Poor, poor sons of France! Fate ever

       Unto you unkind has been;

       On the Seine’s banks, beauty never

Save in search of gold is seen.

      German women! German women!

       What a charm the words convey!

       German women! German women!

       Flourish on for many a day!

      All our daughters like Louisa,

       All our sons like Frederick be!

       Hear me in the grave, Louisa!

       Ever flourish Germany!

DREAM. 1816.

       Table of Contents

      Son of folly, dream thou ever,

       When thy thoughts within thee burn;

       But in life thy visions never

       To reality will turn.

      Once in happier days chance bore me

       To a high mount on the Rhine;

       Smiling lay the land before me,

       Gloriously the sun did shine.

      Far below, the waves were singing

       Wild and magic melodies;

       In my inmost heart were ringing

       Blissful strains in wondrous wise.

      Now, when gazing from that station

       On the land—how sad its doom!

       I but see a pigmy nation

       Crawling on a giant’s tomb.

      So-call’d men wear silken raiment,

       Deem themselves the nation’s flower;

       Honours now are gain’d by payment,

       Rogues possess both wealth and power.

      Of descent they boast, not merit,

       ’Tis their dress that makes them men;

       Old coats now alone the spirit

       Of old times bring back again;

      When respect and virtue holy

       Modestly went hand in hand;

       When the youth with deference lowly

       By the aged took his stand;

      When a hand-shake was more valid

       Than an oath or written sheet;

       When men, iron-clad, forth sallied,

       And a heart inside them beat.

      Our fair garden borders nourish

       Many a thousand flow’rets fair;

       In the fostering soil they flourish,

       While the sun smiles on them there.

      But the flower most fair, most golden,

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