The Poems of Schiller — Third period. Friedrich von Schiller

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         And she takes the heavy shaft

          From the hunter's cruel hand;

         With the murderous weapon's haft

          Furrowing the light-strown sand, —

         Takes from out her garland's crown,

          Filled with life, one single grain,

         Sinks it in the furrow down,

          And the germ soon swells amain.

         And the green stalks gracefully

          Shoot, ere long, the ground above,

         And, as far as eye can see,

          Waves it like a golden grove.

         With her smile the earth she cheers,

          Binds the earliest sheaves so fair,

         As her hearth the landmark rears, —

          And the goddess breathes this prayer:

         "Father Zeus, who reign'st o'er all

          That in ether's mansions dwell,

         Let a sign from thee now fall

          That thou lov'st this offering well!

         And from the unhappy crowd

          That, as yet, has ne'er known thee,

         Take away the eye's dark cloud,

          Showing them their deity!"

         Zeus, upon his lofty throne,

          Harkens to his sister's prayer;

         From the blue heights thundering down,

          Hurls his forked lightning there,

         Crackling, it begins to blaze,

          From the altar whirling bounds, —

         And his swift-winged eagle plays

          High above in circling rounds.

         Soon at the feet of their mistress are kneeling,

          Filled with emotion, the rapturous throng;

         Into humanity's earliest feeling

          Melt their rude spirits, untutored and strong.

         Each bloody weapon behind them they leave,

          Rays on their senses beclouded soon shine,

         And from the mouth of the queen they receive,

          Gladly and meekly, instruction divine.

         All the deities advance

          Downward from their heavenly seats;

         Themis' self 'tis leads the dance,

          And, with staff of justice, metes

         Unto every one his rights, —

          Landmarks, too, 'tis hers to fix;

         And in witness she invites

          All the hidden powers of Styx.

         And the forge-god, too, is there,

          The inventive son of Zeus;

         Fashioner of vessels fair

          Skilled in clay and brass's use.

         'Tis from him the art man knows

          Tongs and bellows how to wield;

         'Neath his hammer's heavy blows

          Was the ploughshare first revealed.

         With projecting, weighty spear,

          Front of all, Minerva stands,

         Lifts her voice so strong and clear,

          And the godlike host commands.

         Steadfast walls 'tis hers to found,

          Shield and screen for every one,

         That the scattered world around

          Bind in loving unison.

         The immortals' steps she guides

          O'er the trackless plains so vast,

         And where'er her foot abides

          Is the boundary god held fast;

         And her measuring chain is led

          Round the mountain's border green, —

         E'en the raging torrent's bed

          In the holy ring is seen.

         All the Nymphs and Oreads too

          Who, the mountain pathways o'er,

         Swift-foot Artemis pursue,

          All to swell the concourse, pour,

         Brandishing the hunting-spear, —

          Set to work, — glad shouts uprise, —

         'Neath their axes' blows so clear

          Crashing down the pine-wood flies.

         E'en the sedge-crowned God ascends

          From his verdant spring to light,

         And his raft's direction bends

          At the goddess' word of might, —

         While the hours, all gently bound,

          Nimbly to their duty fly;

         Rugged trunks are fashioned round

          By her skilled hand gracefully.

         E'en the sea-god thither fares; —

          Sudden, with his trident's blow,

         He the granite columns tears

          From earth's entrails far below; —

         In his mighty hands, on high,

          Waves he them, like some light ball,

         And with nimble Hermes by,

          Raises up the rampart-wall.