Rampolli - George MacDonald (fiction book recommendations .txt) 📗

at night I come to thee,
Because I love thee so dearly."


LYRISCHES INTERMEZZO.

XLV.

In the sunny summer morning
Into the garden I come; The flowers are whispering and talking,
But for me, I wander dumb.

The flowers are whispering and talking;
They pity my look so wan: "Thou must not be cross with our sister,
Thou sorrowful, pale-faced man!"


LYRISCHES INTERMEZZO.

LXIV.

Night lay upon mine eyelids;
Upon my mouth lay lead; With rigid brain and bosom,
I lay among the dead.

How long it was I know not
That sleep oblivion gave; I wakened up, and, listening,
Heard a knocking at my grave.

"Tis time to rise up, Henry!
The eternal day draws on; The dead are all arisen-
The eternal joy's begun."

"My love, I cannot raise me;
For I have lost my sight; My eyes with bitter weeping
They are extinguished quite."

"From thy dear eyelids, Henry,
I'll kiss the night away; Thou shalt behold the angels,
And Heaven's superb display."

"My love, I cannot raise me;
Still bleeds my bosom gored, Where thou heart-deep didst stab me
With a keen-pointed word."

"Soft I will lay it, Henry,
My hand soft on thy heart; And that will stop its bleeding
And soothe at once the smart."

"My love, I cannot raise me-
My head is bleeding too; When thou wast stolen from me
I shot it through and through!"

"I with my tresses, Henry,
Will stop the fountain red; Press back again the blood-stream,
And heal thy wounded head."

She begged so sweetly, dearly,
I could no more say no; I tried, I strove to raise me,
And to my darling go.

Then the wounds again burst open;
With torrent force outbrake From head and breast the blood-stream,
And, lo, I came awake!


DIE HEIMKEHR .

LX.

They have company this evening,
And the house is full of light; Up there at the shining window
Moves a shadowy form in white.

Thou seest me not-in the darkness
I stand here below, apart; Yet less, ah less thou seest
Into my gloomy heart!

My gloomy heart it loves thee,
Loves thee in every spot: It breaks, it bleeds, it shudders-But
into it thou seest not!


LXII.

Diamonds hast thou, and pearls,
And all by which men lay store; And of eyes thou hast the fairest-
Darling, what wouldst thou more?

Upon thine eyes so lovely
Have I a whole army-corps Of undying songs composed-
Dearest, what wouldst thou more?

And with thine eyes so lovely
Thou hast tortured me very sore, And hast ruined me altogether-
Darling, what wouldst thou more?


DIE NORDSEE

FIRST CYCLE.

XII.

PEACE .

[Footnote: I have here used rimes although the original has none. With notions of translating severer now than when, many years ago, I attempted this poem, I should not now take such a liberty. In a few other points also the translation is not quite close enough to please me; but it must stand.]

High in heaven the sun was glowing, White cloud-waves were round him flowing; The sea was still and grey. Thinking in dreams, by the helm I lay: Half waking, half in slumber, then Saw I Christ, the Saviour of men. In undulating garments white He walked in giant shape and height Over land and sea. High in the heaven up towered his head; His hands in blessing forth he spread Over land and sea. And for a heart, in his breast He bore the sun; there did it rest. The red, flaming heart of the Lord Out its gracious radiance poured, Its fair and love-caressing light With illuminating and warming might Over land and sea.

Sounds of solemn bells that go Through the air to and fro, Drew, like swans in rosy traces, With soft, solemn, stately graces, The gliding ship to the green shore- Peopled, for many a century hoar, By men who dwell at rest in a mighty Far-spreading and high-towered city.

Oh, wonder of peace, how still was the town! The hollow tumult had all gone down Of the babbling and stifling trades; And through each clean and echoing street Walked men and women, and youths and maids, White clothes wearing, Palm branches bearing; And ever and always when two did meet, They gazed with eyes that plain did tell They understood each other well; And trembling, in self-renouncement and love, Each a kiss on the other's forehead laid, And looked up to the Saviour's sunheart above, Which, in joyful atoning, its red blood rayed Down upon all; and the people said, From hearts with threefold gladness blest,
Lauded be Jesus Christ!


FROM VON SALIS-SEEWIS.

THE GRAVE. PSYCHE'S MOURNING.


THE GRAVE.

The grave is deep and soundless,
Its brink is ghastly lone; With veil all dark and boundless
It hides a land unknown.

The nightingale's sweet closes
Down there come not at all; And friendship's withered roses
On the mossy hillock fall.

Their hands young brides forsaken
Wring bleeding there in vain; The cries of orphans waken
No answer to their pain.

Yet nowhere else for mortals
Dwells their implored repose; Through none but those dark portals
Home to his rest man goes.

The poor heart, here for ever
By storm on storm beat sore, Its true peace gaineth never
But where it beats no more.


PSYCHES MOURNING.

Psyche moans, in deep-sunk, darksome prison, For redemption; ah! for light she aches; Fears, hopes, after every noise doth listen- Whether Fate her bars of iron breaks.

Bound are Psyche's pinions-airy, soaring; Yet high-hearted is she, groaning low; Knows that under clouds whence rain is pouring Sprouts the palm that crowns the victor's brow;

Knows among the thorns the rose yet reigneth; Golden flowers spring from the desert grave She her garland through denial gaineth, And her strength is steeled by winds that rave.

'Tis through lack that she her blisses buyeth; Sorrow's dream comes true by longing long; Lest light break the sleep wherein she lieth, Round her tree of life the shadows throng.

Psyche's wail is but a fluted sadness Heard from willows the moon silvereth; Psyche's tears are dews of morning redness, And her sighs the sweet night-violet's breath!

Yews o'ershade the myrtle of her probation; Much she loves for great has been her dole; Love leads through the paths of separation, Leads her to reunion's joyous goal.

She endures; bravely bears every burden, Dumb before the will of Fate bends low; Lies her bliss the patient tranquil word in; Her one cordial, feeling's overflow!

Preconviction-ah! the call, the token, Spreading wings the darksome sky to cleave! 'Tis but boding! 'tis but knowledge broken! Truth's but what she truly doth believe!

Darkness hides the goal of Psyche's mission; For the eyes that tears so often gall Reach not to the summit of completion Where illusion's vaporous veil doth fall!


FROM CLAUDIUS.

THE MOTHER BY THE CRADLE CONTENTMENT


THE MOTHER BY THE CRADLE .

Sleep, baby boy, sleep sweet, secure;
Thy father's very miniature! That art thou, though thy father goes And says that thou hast not his nose.

This very moment here was he,
His face o'er thine did pose And said-Much has he sure of me,
But no, 'tis not my nose.

I think myself, it is too small, But it is his nose after all; For if thy nose his nose be not, Whence came the nose that thou hast got?

Sleep, boy! thy father only chose
To tease me-that's his part! Never you mind about his nose,
But see you have his heart.


CONTENTMENT .

I am content. In triumph's tone
My song, let people know! And many a mighty man, with throne
And sceptre, is not so. And if he is, why then, I cry, The man is just the same as I.

The Mogul's gold, the Sultan's show,
The hero's bliss, who, vext To find no other world below,
Up to the moon looked next- I'd none of them; for things like that Are only fit for laughing at.

My motto is-Content with this.
Gold-rank-I prize not such. That which I have, my measure is;
Wise men desire not much. Men wish and wish, and have their will, And wish again, as hungry still.

And gold or honour, though it rings,
Is but a brittle glass; Experience of changing things
Might teach a very ass! Right often Many turns to None, And honour has but a short run.

To do right, to be good and clear,
Is more than rank and gold; Then art thou always of good cheer,
And blisses hast untold; Then art thou with thyself at one, And hatest no man, fearest none.

I am content. In triumph's tone,
My song, let people know! And many a mighty man, with throne
And sceptre, is not so. And if he is, why then, I cry, The man is just the same as I.


FROM GENESTET.


THREE PAIRS AND ONE.

You have two ears-and but one mouth:
Let this, friend, be a token- Much should be heard, and not so much
Be spoken.

You have two eyes-and but one mouth:
That is an indication- Much must you see, but little serves
Relation.

You have two hands-and but one mouth:
Receive the hint you meet with- For labour two, but only one
To eat with.


FROM THE GERMAN


SONG OF THE LONELY .

Son, first-born, at home abiding!
All without is cold and bare: Hide me from the tempest's chiding
Warm beside the Father's chair.

I am homesick, Lord of splendour!
Twilight fills my soul with fright: Let thy countenance befriend her,
Shining from the halls of light.

I am homesick, loving Father!
Long years hath the pain increased: Soon, oh soon! thy children gather
To the endless marriage-feast.


FROM PETRARCH.


PART I. SONNET LIX.

I am so weary with the burden old Of foregone faults, and power of custom base, That much I fear to perish from the ways, And fall into my enemy's grim fold.