The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries - LightNovelsOnl.com
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No, this new Burgomaster; I like him not, G.o.d knows; No, he's in office; daily more arrogant he grows; And for the town, what doth he do for it?
Are not things worse from day to day?
To more restraints we must submit; And taxes more than ever pay.
BEGGAR (_sings_)
Kind gentlemen and ladies fair, So rosy-cheek'd and trimly dress'd, Be pleas'd to listen to my prayer; Relieve and pity the distress'd.
Let me not vainly sing my lay!
His heart's most glad whose hand is free.
Now when all men keep holiday, Should be a harvest-day to me.
OTHER BURGHER
On holidays and Sundays naught know I more inviting Than chatting about war and war's alarms, When folk in Turkey, up in arms, Far off, are 'gainst each other fighting.
We at the window stand, our gla.s.ses drain And watch adown the stream the painted vessels gliding; Then joyful we at eve come home again, And peaceful times we bless, peace long-abiding.
THIRD BURGHER
Ay, neighbor! So let matters stand for me!
There they may scatter one another's brains, And wild confusion round them see-- So here at home in quiet all remains!
OLD WOMAN (_to the_ BURGHERS' DAUGHTERS)
Heyday! How smart! The fresh young blood!
Who would not fall in love with you?
Not quite so proud! 'Tis well and good!
And what you wish, that I could help you to.
BURGHER'S DAUGHTER
Come, Agatha! I care not to be seen Walking in public with these witches. True, My future lover, last St. Andrew's E'en, In flesh and blood she brought before my view.
ANOTHER
And mine she show'd me also in the gla.s.s.
A soldier's figure, with companions bold; I look around, I seek him as I pa.s.s-- In vain, his form I nowhere can behold.
SOLDIERS
Fortress with turrets And walls high in air, Damsel disdainful, Haughty and fair-- These be my prey!
Bold is the venture, Costly the pay!
Hark, how the trumpet Thither doth call us Where either pleasure Or death may befall us!
Hail to the tumult!
Life's in the field!
Damsel and fortress To us must yield.
Bold is the venture, Costly the pay!
Gaily the soldier Marches away.
FAUST _and_ WAGNER
FAUST
Loosed from their fetters are streams and rills Through the gracious spring-tide's all-quickening glow; Hope's budding joy in the vale doth blow; Old Winter back to the savage hills Withdraweth his force, decrepid now.
Thence only impotent icy grains Scatters he as he wings his flight, Striping with sleet the verdant plains; But the sun endureth no trace of white; Everywhere growth and movement are rife, All things investing with hues of life Though flowers are lacking, varied of dye, Their colors the motley throng supply.
Turn thee around, and, from this height, Back to the town direct thy sight.
Forth from the hollow, gloomy gate, Stream forth the ma.s.ses, in bright array.
Gladly seek they the sun today;
The Lord's Resurrection they celebrate: For they themselves have risen, with joy, From tenement sordid, from cheerless room, From bonds of toil, from care and annoy, From gable and roof's o'erhanging gloom, From crowded alley and narrow street, And from the churches' awe-breathing night All now have come forth into the light.
Look, only look, on nimble feet, Through garden and field how spread the throng, How o'er the river's ample sheet Many a gay wherry glides along; And see, deep sinking in the tide, Pushes the last boat now away.
E'en from yon far hill's path-worn side, Flash the bright hues of garments gay.
Hark! Sounds of village mirth arise; This is the people's paradise.
Both great and small send up a cheer; Here am I man, I feel it here.
WAGNER
Sir Doctor, in a walk with you There's honor and instruction too; Yet here alone I care not to resort, Because I coa.r.s.eness hate of every sort.
This fiddling, shouting, skittling, I detest; I hate the tumult of the vulgar throng; They roar as by the evil one possess'd, And call it pleasure, call it song.
PEASANTS (_under the linden-tree_)
_Dance and Sing_.
The shepherd for the dance was dress'd, With ribbon, wreath, and colored vest, A gallant show displaying.
And round about the linden-tree,
They footed it right merrily.
Juchhe! Juchhe!
Juchheisa! Heisa! He!
So fiddle-bow was braying.
Our swain amidst the circle press'd, He push'd a maiden trimly dress'd, And jogg'd her with his elbow; The buxom damsel turn'd her head, "Now that's a stupid trick!" she said, Juchhe! Juchhe!
Juchheisa! Heisa! He!
Don't be so rude, good fellow!
Swift in the circle they advanced, They danced to right, to left they danced, And all the skirts were swinging.
And they grew red, and they grew warm, Panting, they rested arm in arm, Juchhe! Juchhe!
Juchheisa! Heisa! He!
To hip their elbow bringing.
Don't make so free! How many a maid Has been betroth'd and then betray'd; And has repented after!
Yet still he flatter'd her aside, And from the linden, far and wide, Juchhe! Juchhe!
Juchheisa! Heisa! He!
Rang fiddle-bow and laughter.
OLD PEASANT
Doctor, 'tis really kind of you, To condescend to come this way, A highly learned man like you, To join our mirthful throng today.
Our fairest cup I offer you, Which we with sparkling drink have crown'd, And pledging you, I pray aloud, That every drop within its round, While it your present thirst allays, May swell the number of your days.
