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

I am called by my fate far away from each friend;
Ye loved ones, then: ERGO BIBAMUS!
With wallet light-laden from hence I must wend,
So double our ERGO BIBAMUS!
Whate'er to his treasure the niggard may add,
Yet regard for the joyous will ever be had,
For gladness lends ever its charms to the glad,
So, brethren, sing: ERGO BIBAMUS!

And what shall we say of to-day as it flies?
I thought but of: ERGO BIBAMUS!
'Tis one of those truly that seldom arise,
So again and again sing: BIBAMUS!
For joy through a wide-open portal it guides,
Bright glitter the clouds as the curtain divides,
And a form, a divine one, to greet us in glides,
While we thunder our: ERGO BIBAMUS.

A child refused to go betimes
To church like other people;
He roamed abroad, when rang the chimes
On Sundays from the steeple.

His mother said: "Loud rings the bell,
Its voice ne'er think of scorning;
Unless thou wilt behave thee well,
'Twill fetch thee without warning."

The child then thought: "High over head
The bell is safe suspended—"
So to the fields he straightway sped
As if 'twas school-time ended.

The bell now ceased as bell to ring,
Roused by the mother's twaddle;
But soon ensued a dreadful thing!—
The bell begins to waddle.

It waddles fast, though strange it seem;
The child, with trembling wonder,
Runs off, and flies, as in a dream;
The bell would draw him under.

He finds the proper time at last,
And straightway nimbly rushes
To church, to chapel, hastening fast
Through pastures, plains, and bushes.

Each Sunday and each feast as well,
His late disaster heeds he;
The moment that he hears the bell,
No other summons needs he.

Once through the forest
Alone I went;
To seek for nothing
My thoughts were bent.

I saw i' the shadow
A flower stand there;
As stars it glisten'd,
As eyes 'twas fair.

I sought to pluck it,—
It gently said:
"Shall I be gather'd
Only to fade?"

With all its roots
I dug it with care,
And took it home
To my garden fair.

In silent corner
Soon it was set;
There grows it ever,
There blooms it yet.

Locks of brown, still bind your captive
In the circle of her face!
I, beloved sinuous tresses,
Naught possess that's worth your grace—

But a heart whose love enduring
Swells in youthful fervor yet:
Snow and mists envelop Etna,
Making men the fire forget.

Yonder mountain's pride so stately
Thou dost shame like dawn's red glow;
And its spell once more bids Hatem
Thrill of spring and summer know.

Once more fill the glass, the flagon!
Let me drink to my desire.
If she find a heap of ashes,
Say, "He perished in her fire!"

Can it be, O star transcendent,
That I fold thee to my breast?
Now I know, what depths of anguish
May in parting be expressed.
Yes, 'tis thou, of all my blisses
Lovely, loving partner—thou!
Mindful of my bygone sorrows,
E'en the present awes me now.

When the world in first conception
Lay in God's eternal mind,
In creative power delighting
He the primal hour designed.
When he gave command for being,
Then was heard a mighty sigh
Full of pain, as all creation
Broke into reality.

Up then sprang the light; and darkness
Doubtful stood apart to gaze;
All the elements, dividing
Swiftly, took their several ways.
In confused, disordered dreaming
Strove they all for freedom's range—
Each for self, no fellow-feeling;
Single each, and cold and strange.

Lo, a marvel—God was lonely!
All was still and cold and dumb.
So he framed dawn's rosy blushes
Whence should consolation come—
To refresh the troubled spirit
Harmonies of color sweet:
What had erst been forced asunder
Now at last could love and meet.

Then, ah then, of life unbounded
Sight and feeling passed the gates;
Then, ah then, with eager striving
Kindred atoms sought their mates.
Gently, roughly they may seize them,
So they catch and hold them fast:
"We," they cry, "are now creators—
Allah now may rest at last!"

So with rosy wings of morning
Towards thy lips my being moves;
Sets the starry night a thousand
Glowing seals upon our loves.
We are as we should be—parted
Ne'er on earth in joy or pain;
And no second word creative
E'er can sunder us again!

In His blest name, who was His own creation,
Who from all time makes making His vocation;
The name of Him who makes our faith so bright,
Love, confidence, activity, and might;
In that One's name, who, named though oft He be,
Unknown is ever in Reality:
As far as ear can reach, or eyesight dim,
Thou findest but the known resembling Him;
How high soe'er thy fiery spirit hovers,
Its simile and type it straight discovers;
Onward thou'rt drawn, with feelings light and gay,
Where e'er thou goest, smiling is the way;
No more thou numberest, reckonest no time,
Each step is infinite, each step sublime.
What God would outwardly alone control,
And on His finger whirl the mighty Whole?
He loves the inner world to move, to view
Nature in Him, Himself in Nature, too,
So that what in Him works, and is, and lives,
The measure of His strength, His spirit gives.
Within us all a universe doth dwell;
And hence each people's usage laudable,
That every one the Best that meets his eyes
As God, yea, e'en his God, doth recognize;
To Him both earth and heaven surrenders he,
Fears Him, and loves Him, too, if that may be.

Called to a new employ in boundless space,
The lonely monad quits its 'customed place
And from life's weary round contented flees.
No more of passionate striving, will perverse
And hampering obligations, long a curse:
Free self-abandonment at last gives peace.

Soul of the world, come pierce our being through!
Across the drift of things our way to hew
Is our appointed task, our noblest war.
Good spirits by our destined pathway still
Lead gently on, best masters of our will,
Toward that which made and makes all things that are.
To shape for further ends what now has breath,
Let nothing harden into ice and death,
Works endless living action everywhere.
What has not yet existed strives for birth—
Toward purer suns, more glorious-colored earth:
To rest in idle stillness naught may dare.
All must move onward, help transform the mass,
Assume a form, to yet another pass;
'Tis but in seeming aught is fixed or still.
In all things moves the eternal restless Thought;
For all, when comes the hour, must fall to naught
If to persist in being is its will.