The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 01. Коллектив авторов

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        See the rock-born stream!

        Like the gleam

        Of a star so bright!

        Kindly spirits

        High above the clouds

        Nourished him while youthful

        In the copse between the cliffs.

        Young and fresh,

        From the clouds he danceth

        Down upon the marble rocks;

        Then tow'rd heaven

        Leaps exulting.

        Through the mountain-passes

        Chaseth he the color'd pebbles,

        And, advancing like a chief,

        Draws his brother streamlets with him

        In his course.

        In the vale below

        'Neath his footsteps spring the flowers,

        And the meadow

        In his breath finds life.

        Yet no shady vale can stay him,

        Nor can flowers,

        Round his knees all softly twining

        With their loving eyes detain him;

        To the plain his course he taketh,

        Serpent-winding.

        Eager streamlets

        Join his waters. And now moves he

        O'er the plain in silv'ry glory,

        And the plain in him exults,

        And the rivers from the plain,

        And the streamlets from the mountain,

        Shout with joy, exclaiming: "Brother,

        Brother, take thy brethren with thee.

        With thee to thine agèd father,

        To the everlasting ocean,

        Who, with arms outstretching far,

        Waiteth for us;

        Ah, in vain those arms lie open

        To embrace his yearning children;

        For the thirsty sand consumes us

        In the desert waste; the sunbeams

        Drink our life-blood; hills around us

        Into lakes would dam us! Brother,

        Take thy brethren of the plain,

        Take thy brethren of the mountain

        With thee, to thy father's arms!"—

        Let all come, then!—

        And now swells he

        Lordlier still; yea, e'en a people

        Bears his regal flood on high!

        And in triumph onward rolling,

        Names to countries gives he,—cities

        Spring to light beneath his foot.

        Ever, ever, on he rushes,

        Leaves the towers' flame-tipp'd summits,

        Marble palaces, the offspring

        Of his fulness, far behind.

        Cedar-houses bears the Atlas

        On his giant shoulders; flutt'ring

        In the breeze far, far above him

        Thousand flags are gaily floating,

        Bearing witness to his might.

        And so beareth he his brethren,

        All his treasures, all his children,

        Wildly shouting, to the bosom

        Of his long-expectant sire.

        Cover thy spacious heavens, Zeus,

        With clouds of mist,

        And, like the boy who lops

        The thistles' heads,

        Disport with oaks and mountain-peaks;

        Yet thou must leave

        My earth still standing;

        My cottage too, which was not raised by thee,

        Leave me my hearth,

        Whose kindly glow

        By thee is envied.

        I know nought poorer

        Under the sun, than ye gods!

        Ye nourish painfully,

        With sacrifices

        And votive prayers,

        Your majesty;

        Ye would e'en starve,

        If children and beggars

        Were not trusting fools.

        While yet a child,

        And ignorant of life,

        I turned my wandering gaze

        Up tow'rd the sun, as if with him

        There were an ear to hear my wailing,

        A heart, like mine

        To feel compassion for distress.

        Who help'd me

        Against the Titans' insolence?

        Who rescued me from certain death,

        From slavery?

        Didst thou not do all this thyself,

        My sacred glowing heart?

        And glowedst, young and good,

        Deceived with grateful thanks

        To yonder slumbering one?

        I honor thee! and why?

        Hast thou e'er lighten'd the sorrows

        Of the heavy laden?

        Hast thou e'er dried up the tears

        Of the anguish-stricken?

        Was I not fashion'd to be a man

        By omnipotent Time,

        And by eternal Fate,

        Masters of me and thee?

        Didst thou e'er fancy

        That life I should learn to hate,

        And fly to deserts,

        Because not all

        My blossoming dreams grew ripe?

        Here sit I, forming mortals

        After my image;

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