Poems, supressed poems | Page 7

glory may grow warm,?Night, with black and terror-spreading arm,?Forges monarchs here.
On the death-chest sadly gleams the crown,?With its heavy load of pearls weighed down,?And the sceptre, needed now no more.?In what splendor is the mould arrayed!?Yet but worms are with the body paid,?That--the world watched o'er.
Haughty plants within that humble bed?See how death their pomp decayed and fled
With unblushing ribaldry besets!?They who ruled o'er north and east and west?Suffer now his ev'ry nauseous jest,?And--no sultan threats?
Leap for joy, ye stubborn dumb, to-day,?And your heavy slumber shake away!?From the battle, victory upsprings!?Hearken to the trump's exulting song!?Ye are worshipped by the shouting throng!--?Rouse ye, then, ye kings!
Seven sleepers!--to the clarion hark!?How it rings, and how the fierce dogs bark!?Shouts from out a thousand barrels whizz;?Eager steeds are neighing for the wood,--?Soon the bristly boar rolls in his blood,--?Yours the triumph is!
But what now?--Are even princes dumb??Tow'rd me scornful echoes ninefold come,?Stealing through the vault's terrific gloom--?Sleep assails the page by slow degrees,?And Madonna gives to you the keys?Of--her sleeping-room.
Not an answer--hushed and still is all--?Does the veil, then, e'en on monarchs fall,?Which enshrouds their humble flatt'rers glance??And ye ask for worship in the dust,?Since the blind jade, Fate, a world has thrust?In your purse, perchance?
And ye clatter, giant puppet troops,?Marshalled in your proudly childish groups,?Like the juggler on the opera scene?--?Though the sound may please the vulgar ear,?Yet the skilful, filled with sadness, jeer?Powers so great, but mean.
Let your towering shame be hid from sight?In the garment of a sovereign's right,?From the ambush of the throne outspring!?Tremble, though, before the voice of song?Through the purple, vengeance will, ere long,?Strike down e'en a king!
THE SATYR AND MY MUSE.
An aged satyr sought?Around my Muse to pass,?Attempting to pay court,?And eyed her fondly through his glass.
By Phoebus' golden torch,?By Luna's pallid light,?Around her temple's porch?Crept the unhappy sharp-eared wight;
And warbled many a lay,?Her beauty's praise to sing,?And fiercely scraped away?On his discordant fiddle-string.
With tears, too, swelled his eyes,?As large as nuts, or larger;?He gasped forth heavy sighs,?Like music from Silenus' charger.
The Muse sat still, and played?Within her grotto fair,?And peevishly surveyed?Signor Adonis Goatsfoot there.
"Who ever would kiss thee,?Thou ugly, dirty dunce??Wouldst thou a gallant be,?As Midas was Apollo once?
"Speak out, old horned boor?What charms canst thou display??Thou'rt swarthy as a Moor,?And shaggy as a beast of prey.
"I'm by a bard adored?In far Teutonia's land;?To him, who strikes the chord,?I'm linked in firm and loving band."
She spoke, and straightway fled?The spoiler,--he pursued her,?And, by his passion led,?Soon caught her, shouted, and thus wooed her:
"Thou prudish one, stay, stay!?And hearken unto me!?Thy poet, I dare say,?Repents the pledge he gave thee.
"Behold this pretty thing,--?No merit would I claim,--?Its weight I often fling?On many a clown's back, to his shame.
"His sharpness it increases,?And spices his discourse,?Instilling learned theses,?When mounted on his hobby-horse
"The best of songs are known,?Thanks to this heavy whip?Yet fool's blood 'tis alone?We see beneath its lashes drip.
"This lash, then, shall be his,?If thou'lt give me a smack;?Then thou mayest hasten, miss,?Upon thy German sweetheart's track."
The Muse, with purpose sly,?Ere long agreed to yield--?The satyr said good-by,?And now the lash I wield!
And I won't drop it here,?Believe in what I say!?The kisses of one's dear?One does not lightly throw away.
They kindle raptures sweet,?But fools ne'er know their flame!?The gentle Muse will kneel at honor's feet,?But cudgels those who mar her fame.
THE PEASANTS. [67]
Look outside, good friend, I pray!?Two whole mortal hours?Dogs and I've out here to-day?Waited, by the powers!
Rain comes down as from a spout,?Doomsday-storms rage round about,
Dripping are my hose;?Drenched are coat and mantle too,?Coat and mantle, both just new,?Wretched plight, heaven knows!?Pretty stir's abroad to-day;?Look outside, good friend, I pray!
Ay, the devil! look outside!?Out is blown my lamp,--?Gloom and night the heavens now hide,?Moon and stars decamp.?Stumbling over stock and stone,?Jerkin, coat, I've torn, ochone!
Let me pity beg?Hedges, bushes, all around,?Here a ditch, and there a mound,?Breaking arm and leg.?Gloom and night the heavens now hide?Ay, the devil! look outside!
Ay, the deuce, then look outside!?Listen to my prayer!?Praying, singing, I have tried,?Wouldst thou have me swear??I shall be a steaming mass,?Freeze to rock and stone, alas!?If I don't remove.?All this, love, I owe to thee,?Winter-bumps thou'lt make for me,?Thou confounded love!?Cold and gloom spread far and wide!?Ay, the deuce! then look outside!
Thousand thunders! what's this now?From the window shoots??Oh, thou witch! 'Tis dirt, I vow,?That my head salutes!?Rain, frost, hunger, tempests wild,?Bear I for the devil's child,?Now I'm vexed full sore.?Worse and worse 'tis! I'll begone.?Pray be quick, thou Evil One!?I'll remain no more.?Pretty tumult there's outside!?Fare thee well--I'll homeward stride.
THE WINTER NIGHT.
Farewell! the beauteous sun is sinking fast,
The moon lifts up her head;?Farewell! mute night o'er earth's wide round at last
Her darksome raven-wing has spread.
Across the wintry plain no echoes float,
Save, from the rock's deep womb,?The murmuring streamlet, and the screech-owl's note,
Arising