"'T was right a goblet the Fate should be Of the joyous race of Edenhall!
Deep draughts drink we right willingly:
And willingly ring, with merry call, Kling! klang! to the Luck of Edenhall!"First rings it deep, and full, and mild, Like to the song of a nightingale Then like the roar of a torrent wild;Then mutters at last like the thunder's fall, The glorious Luck of Edenhall.
"For its keeper takes a race of might, The fragile goblet of crystal tall;It has lasted longer than is right;
King! klang!--with a harder blow than all Will I try the Luck of Edenhall!"As the goblet ringing flies apart, Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall;And through the rift, the wild flames start;The guests in dust are scattered all, With the breaking Luck of Edenhall!
In storms the foe, with fire and sword;
He in the night had scaled the wall, Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord, But holds in his hand the crystal tall, The shattered Luck of Edenhall.
On the morrow the butler gropes alone, The graybeard in the desert hall, He seeks his Lord's burnt skeleton, He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall The shards of the Luck of Edenhall.
"The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall aside, Down must the stately columns fall;Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride;
In atoms shall fall this earthly ball One day like the Luck of Edenhall!"THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR
BY GUSTAV PFIZER
A youth, light-hearted and content, I wander through the world Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent And straight again is furled.
Yet oft I dream, that once a wife Close in my heart was locked, And in the sweet repose of life A blessed child I rocked.
I wake! Away that dream,--away!
Too long did it remain!
So long, that both by night and day It ever comes again.
The end lies ever in my thought;
To a grave so cold and deep The mother beautiful was brought;Then dropt the child asleep.
But now the dream is wholly o'er, I bathe mine eyes and see;And wander through the world once more, A youth so light and free.
Two locks--and they are wondrous fair--
Left me that vision mild;
The brown is from the mother's hair, The blond is from the child.
And when I see that lock of gold, Pale grows the evening-red;And when the dark lock I behold, I wish that I were dead.
THE HEMLOCK TREE.
O hemlock tree! O hemlock tree! how faithful are thy branches!
Green not alone in summer time, But in the winter's frost and rime!
O hemlock tree! O hemlock tree! how faithful are thy branches!
O maiden fair! O maiden fair! how faithless is thy bosom!
To love me in prosperity, And leave me in adversity!
O maiden fair! O maiden fair! how faithless is thy bosom!
The nightingale, the nightingale, thou tak'st for thine example!
So long as summer laughs she sings, But in the autumn spreads her wings.
The nightingale, the nightingale, thou tak'st for thine example!
The meadow brook, the meadow brook, is mirror of thy falsehood!
It flows so long as falls the rain, In drought its springs soon dry again.
The meadow brook, the meadow brook, is mirror of thy falsehood!
ANNIE OF THARAW
BY SIMON DACH
Annie of Tharaw, my true love of old, She is my life, and my goods, and my gold.
Annie of Tharaw, her heart once again To me has surrendered in joy and in pain.
Annie of Tharaw, my riches, my good, Thou, O my soul, my flesh, and my blood!
Then come the wild weather, come sleet or come snow, We will stand by each other, however it blow.
Oppression, and sickness, and sorrow, and pain Shall be to our true love as links to the chain.
As the palm-tree standeth so straight and so tall, The more the hail beats, and the more the rains fall,--So love in our hearts shall grow mighty and strong, Through crosses, through sorrows, through manifold wrong.
Shouldst thou be torn from me to wander alone In a desolate land where the sun is scarce known,--Through forests I'll follow, and where the sea flows, Through ice, and through iron, through armies of foes,Annie of Tharaw, my light and my sun, The threads of our two lives are woven in one.
Whate'er I have bidden thee thou hast obeyed, Whatever forbidden thou hast not gainsaid.
How in the turmoil of life can love stand, Where there is not one heart, and one mouth, and one hand?
Some seek for dissension, and trouble, and strife;Like a dog and a cat live such man and wife.
Annie of Tharaw, such is not our love;
Thou art my lambkin, my chick, and my dove.
Whate'er my desire is, in thine may be seen;I am king of the household, and thou art its queen.
It is this, O my Annie, my heart's sweetest rest, That makes of us twain but one soul in one breast.
This turns to a heaven the hut where we dwell;While wrangling soon changes a home to a hell.
THE STATUE OVER THE CATHEDRAL DOOR
BY JULIUS MOSEN
Forms of saints and kings are standing The cathedral door above;Yet I saw but one among them Who hath soothed my soul with love.
In his mantle,--wound about him, As their robes the sowers wind,--Bore he swallows and their fledglings, Flowers and weeds of every kind.
And so stands he calm and childlike, High in wind and tempest wild;O, were I like him exalted, I would be like him, a child!
And my songs,--green leaves and blossoms,--To the doors of heaven would hear, Calling even in storm and tempest, Round me still these birds of air.
THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSBILL
BY JULIUS MOSEN
On the cross the dying Saviour Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm, Feels, but scarcely feels, a trembling In his pierced and bleeding palm.
And by all the world forsaken, Sees he how with zealous care At the ruthless nail of iron A little bird is striving there.
Stained with blood and never tiring, With its beak it doth not cease, From the cross 't would free the Saviour, Its Creator's Son release.
And the Saviour speaks in mildness:
"Blest be thou of all the good!
Bear, as token of this moment, Marks of blood and holy rood!"And that bird is called the crossbill;
Covered all with blood so clear, In the groves of pine it singeth Songs, like legends, strange to hear.
THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS
BY HEINRICH HEINE
The sea hath its pearls, The heaven hath its stars;But my heart, my heart, My heart hath its love.
Great are the sea and the heaven;
