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

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        Thou who comest from on high,

          Who all woes and sorrows stillest,

        Who, for two-fold misery,

          Hearts with twofold balsam fillest,

        Would this constant strife would cease!

          What avails the joy and pain?

        Blissful Peace,

          To my bosom come again!

        Many a day and night my bark stood ready laden;

        Waiting fav'ring winds, I sat with true friends round me,

        Pledging me to patience and to courage,

        In the haven.

        And they spoke thus with impatience twofold:

        "Gladly pray we for thy rapid passage,

        Gladly for thy happy voyage; fortune

        In the distant world is waiting for thee,

        In our arms thou'lt find thy prize, and love too,

        When returning."

        And when morning came, arose an uproar

        And the sailors' joyous shouts awoke us;

        All was stirring, all was living, moving,

        Bent on sailing with the first kind zephyr.

        And the sails soon in the breeze are swelling,

        And the sun with fiery love invites us;

        Fill'd the sails are, clouds on high are floating,

        On the shore each friend exulting raises

        Songs of hope, in giddy joy expecting

        Joy the voyage through, as on the morn of sailing,

        And the earliest starry nights so radiant.

        But by God-sent changing winds ere long he's driven

        Sideways from the course he had intended,

        And he feigns as though he would surrender,

        While he gently striveth to outwit them,

        To his goal, e'en when thus press'd, still faithful.

        But from out the damp gray distance rising,

        Softly now the storm proclaims its advent,

        Presseth down each bird upon the waters,

        Presseth down the throbbing hearts of mortals.

        And it cometh. At its stubborn fury,

        Wisely ev'ry sail the seaman striketh;

        With the anguish-laden ball are sporting

        Wind and water.

        And on yonder shore are gather'd standing,

        Friends and lovers, trembling for the bold one:

        "Why, alas, remain'd he here not with us!

        Ah, the tempest I Cast away by fortune!

        Must the good one perish in this fashion?

        Might not he perchance * * *. Ye great immortals!"

        Yet he, like a man, stands by his rudder;

        With the bark are sporting wind and water,

        Wind and water sport not with his bosom:

        On the fierce deep looks he, as a master,—

        In his gods, or shipwreck'd, or safe landed,

        Trusting ever.

        Bush and vale thou fill'st again

          With thy misty ray,

        And my spirit's heavy chain

          Casteth far away.

        Thou dost o'er my fields extend

          Thy sweet soothing eye,

        Watching like a gentle friend,

          O'er my destiny.

        Vanish'd days of bliss and woe

          Haunt me with their tone,

        Joy and grief in turns I know,

          As I stray alone.

        Stream beloved, flow on! Flow on!

          Ne'er can I be gay!

        Thus have sport and kisses gone,

          Truth thus pass'd away.

        Once I seem'd the lord to be

          Of that prize so fair!

        Now, to our deep sorrow, we

          Can forget it ne'er.

        Murmur, stream, the vale along,

          Never cease thy sighs;

        Murmur, whisper to my song

          Answering melodies!

        When thou in the winter's night

          Overflow'st in wrath,

        Or in spring-time sparklest bright,

          As the buds shoot forth.

        He who from the world retires,

          Void of hate, is blest;

        Who a friend's true love inspires,

          Leaning on his breast!

        That which heedless man ne'er knew,

          Or ne'er thought aright,

        Roams the bosom's labyrinth through,

          Boldly into night.

        The waters rush'd, the waters rose,

          A fisherman sat by,

        While on his line in calm repose

          He cast his patient eye.

        And as he sat, and hearken'd there,

          The flood was cleft in twain,

        And, lo! a dripping mermaid fair

          Sprang from the troubled main.

        She sang to him, and spake the while

          "Why lurest thou my brood,

        With human wit and human guile

          From out their native flood?

        Oh, couldst thou know how gladly dart

          The fish across the sea,

        Thou wouldst descend, e'en as thou art,

          And truly happy be!

        Do СКАЧАТЬ