The Poems of Schiller - Third period Part 18

Ever the same, for the man in thy faithful hands thou preservest That which the child in its sport, that which the youth lent to thee; At the same breast thou dost suckle the ceaselessly-varying ages; Under the same azure vault, over the same verdant earth, Races, near and remote, in harmony wander together, See, even Homer's own sun looks on us, too, with a smile!

THE LAY OF THE BELL.

"Vivos voco--Mortuos plango--Fulgura frango." [44]

Fast, in its prison-walls of earth, Awaits the mould of baked clay.

Up, comrades, up, and aid the birth The bell that shall be born to-day!

Who would honor obtain, With the sweat and the pain, The praise that man gives to the master must buy.-- But the blessing withal must descend from on high!

And well an earnest word beseems The work the earnest hand prepares; Its load more light the labor deems, When sweet discourse the labor shares.

So let us ponder--nor in vain-- What strength can work when labor wills; For who would not the fool disdain Who ne'er designs what he fulfils?

And well it stamps our human race, And hence the gift to understand, That man within the heart should trace Whate'er he fas.h.i.+ons with the hand.

From the fir the f.a.got take, Keep it, heap it hard and dry, That the gathered flame may break Through the furnace, wroth and high.

When the copper within Seeths and simmers--the tin, Pour quick, that the fluid that feeds the bell May flow in the right course glib and well.

Deep hid within this nether cell, What force with fire is moulding thus, In yonder airy tower shall dwell, And witness wide and far of us!

It shall, in later days, unfailing, Rouse many an ear to rapt emotion; Its solemn voice with sorrow wailing, Or choral chiming to devotion.

Whatever fate to man may bring, Whatever weal or woe befall, That metal tongue shall backward ring, The warning moral drawn from all.

See the silvery bubbles spring!

Good! the ma.s.s is melting now!

Let the salts we duly bring Purge the flood, and speed the flow.

From the dross and the sc.u.m, Pure, the fusion must come; For perfect and pure we the metal must keep, That its voice may be perfect, and pure, and deep.

That voice, with merry music rife, The cherished child shall welcome in; What time the rosy dreams of life, In the first slumber's arms begin.

As yet, in Time's dark womb unwarning, Repose the days, or foul or fair; And watchful o'er that golden morning, The mother-love's untiring care!

And swift the years like arrows fly No more with girls content to play, Bounds the proud boy upon his way, Storms through loud life's tumultuous pleasures, With pilgrim staff the wide world measures; And, wearied with the wish to roam, Again seeks, stranger-like, the father-home.

And, lo, as some sweet vision breaks Out from its native morning skies With rosy shame on downcast cheeks, The virgin stands before his eyes.

A nameless longing seizes him!

From all his wild compa.s.sions flown; Tears, strange till then, his eyes bedim; He wanders all alone.

Blus.h.i.+ng, he glides where'er she move; Her greeting can transport him; To every mead to deck his love, The happy wild flowers court him!

Sweet hope--and tender longing--ye The growth of life's first age of gold; When the heart, swelling, seems to see The gates of heaven unfold!

O love, the beautiful and brief! O prime, Glory, and verdure, of life's summer time!

Browning o'er, the pipes are simmering, Dip this wand of clay [45] within; If like gla.s.s the wand be glimmering, Then the casting may begin.

Brisk, brisk now, and see If the fusion flow free; If--(happy and welcome indeed were the sign!) If the hard and the ductile united combine.

For still where the strong is betrothed to the weak, And the stern in sweet marriage is blent with the meek, Rings the concord harmonious, both tender and strong So be it with thee, if forever united, The heart to the heart flows in one, love-delighted; Illusion is brief, but repentance is long.

Lovely, thither are they bringing.

With the virgin wreath, the bride!

To the love-feast clearly ringing, Tolls the church-bell far and wide!

With that sweetest holiday, Must the May of life depart; With the cestus loosed--away Flies illusion from the heart!

Yet love lingers lonely, When pa.s.sion is mute, And the blossoms may only Give way to the fruit.

The husband must enter The hostile life, With struggle and strife To plant or to watch.

To snare or to s.n.a.t.c.h, To pray and importune, Must wager and venture And hunt down his fortune!

Then flows in a current the gear and the gain, And the garners are filled with the gold of the grain, Now a yard to the court, now a wing to the centre!

Within sits another, The thrifty housewife; The mild one, the mother-- Her home is her life.

In its circle she rules, And the daughters she schools And she cautions the boys, With a bustling command, And a diligent hand Employed she employs; Gives order to store, And the much makes the more; Locks the chest and the wardrobe, with lavender smelling, And the hum of the spindle goes quick through the dwelling; And she h.o.a.rds in the presses, well polished and full, The snow of the linen, the s.h.i.+ne of the wool; Blends the sweet with the good, and from care and endeavor Rests never!

Blithe the master (where the while From his roof he sees them smile) Eyes the lands, and counts the gain; There, the beams projecting far, And the laden storehouse are, And the granaries bowed beneath The blessed golden grain; There, in undulating motion, Wave the cornfields like an ocean.

Proud the boast the proud lips breathe:-- "My house is built upon a rock, And sees unmoved the stormy shock Of waves that fret below!"

What chain so strong, what girth so great, To bind the giant form of fate?-- Swift are the steps of woe.

Now the casting may begin; See the breach indented there: Ere we run the fusion in, Halt--and speed the pious prayer!

Pull the bung out-- See around and about What vapor, what vapor--G.o.d help us!--has risen?-- Ha! the flame like a torrent leaps forth from its prison!

What friend is like the might of fire When man can watch and wield the ire?

Whate'er we shape or work, we owe Still to that heaven-descended glow.

But dread the heaven-descended glow, When from their chain its wild wings go, When, where it listeth, wide and wild Sweeps free Nature's free-born child.

When the frantic one fleets, While no force can withstand, Through the populous streets Whirling ghastly the brand; For the element hates What man's labor creates, And the work of his hand!

Impartially out from the cloud, Or the curse or the blessing may fall!

Benignantly out from the cloud Come the dews, the revivers of all!

Avengingly out from the cloud Come the levin, the bolt, and the ball!

Hark--a wail from the steeple!--aloud The bell shrills its voice to the crowd!

Look--look--red as blood All on high!

It is not the daylight that fills with its flood The sky!

What a clamor awaking Roars up through the street, What a h.e.l.l-vapor breaking.

Rolls on through the street, And higher and higher Aloft moves the column of fire!

Through the vistas and rows Like a whirlwind it goes, And the air like the stream from the furnace glows.

Beams are crackling--posts are shrinking Walls are sinking--windows clinking-- Children crying-- Mothers flying-- And the beast (the black ruin yet smouldering under) Yells the howl of its pain and its ghastly wonder!

Hurry and skurry--away--away, The face of the night is as clear as day!

As the links in a chain, Again and again Flies the bucket from hand to hand; High in arches up-rus.h.i.+ng The engines are gus.h.i.+ng, And the flood, as a beast on the prey that it hounds With a roar on the breast of the element bounds.

To the grain and the fruits, Through the rafters and beams, Through the barns and garners it crackles and streams!

As if they would rend up the earth from its roots, Rush the flames to the sky Giant-high; And at length, Wearied out and despairing, man bows to their strength!

With an idle gaze sees their wrath consume, And submits to his doom!

Desolate The place, and dread For storms the barren bed.

In the blank voids that cheerful cas.e.m.e.nts were, Comes to and fro the melancholy air, And sits despair; And through the ruin, blackening in its shroud Peers, as it flits, the melancholy cloud.

One human glance of grief upon the grave Of all that fortune gave The loiterer takes--then turns him to depart, And grasps the wanderer's staff and mans his heart Whatever else the element bereaves One blessing more than all it reft--it leaves, The faces that he loves!--He counts them o'er, See--not one look is missing from that store!

Now clasped the bell within the clay-- The mould the mingled metals fill-- Oh, may it, sparkling into day, Reward the labor and the skill!

Alas! should it fail, For the mould may be frail-- And still with our hope must be mingled the fear-- And, ev'n now, while we speak, the mishap may be near!

To the dark womb of sacred earth This labor of our hands is given, As seeds that wait the second birth, And turn to blessings watched by heaven!

Ah, seeds, how dearer far than they, We bury in the dismal tomb, Where hope and sorrow bend to pray That suns beyond the realm of day May warm them into bloom!

From the steeple Tolls the bell, Deep and heavy, The death-knell!

Guiding with dirge-note--solemn, sad, and slow, To the last home earth's weary wanderers know.

It is that wors.h.i.+pped wife-- It is that faithful mother! [46]

Whom the dark prince of shadows leads benighted, From that dear arm where oft she hung delighted Far from those blithe companions, born Of her, and blooming in their morn; On whom, when couched her heart above, So often looked the mother-love!

Ah! rent the sweet home's union-band, And never, never more to come-- She dwells within the shadowy land, Who was the mother of that home!

How oft they miss that tender guide, The care--the watch--the face--the mother-- And where she sate the babes beside, Sits with unloving looks--another!

While the ma.s.s is cooling now, Let the labor yield to leisure, As the bird upon the bough, Loose the travail to the pleasure.

When the soft stars awaken, Each task be forsaken!