The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 03 - Коллектив авторов

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the May of Life depart;

            With the cestus loosed—away

              Flies ILLUSION from the heart!

                Yet love lingers lonely,

                  When Passion is mute,

                And the blossoms may only

                  Give way to the fruit.

                The Husband must enter

                  The hostile life;

                  With struggle and strife,

                  To plant or to watch,

                  To snare or to snatch,

                  To pray and importune,

                Must wager and venture

                  And hunt down his fortune!

        Then flows in a current the gear and the gain,

        And the garners are filled with the gold of the grain,

        Now a yard to the court, now a wing to the centre!

          Within sits Another,

            The thrifty Housewife;

          The mild one, the mother—

            Her home is her life.

          In its circle she rules,

          And the daughters she schools,

            And she cautions the boys,

          With a bustling command,

          And a diligent hand

            Employed she employs;

              Gives order to store,

              And the much makes the more;

        Locks the chest and the wardrobe, with lavender smelling,

        And the hum of the spindle goes quick through the dwelling,

        And she hoards in the presses, well polished and full,

        The snow of the linen, the shine of the wool;

        Blends the sweet with the good, and from care and endeavor

        Rests never!

              Blithe the Master (where the while

              From his roof he sees them smile)

                Eyes the lands, and counts the gain;

              There, the beams projecting far,

              And the laden store-house are,

              And the granaries bowed beneath

                The blessèd golden grain;

              There, in undulating motion,

              Wave the corn-fields like an ocean.

              Proud the boast the proud lips breathe:—

              "My house is built upon a rock,

              And sees unmoved the stormy shock

                Of waves that fret below!"

              What chain so strong, what girth so great,

              To bind the giant form of Fate?—

                Swift are the steps of Woe.

V

              Now the casting may begin;

                See the breach indented there:

              Ere we run the fusion in,

                Halt—and speed the pious prayer!

                  Pull the bung out—

                  See around and about

        What vapor, what vapor—God help us!—has risen?—

        Ha! the flame like a torrent leaps forth from its prison!

                What friend is like the might of fire

                When man can watch and wield the ire?

                Whate'er we shape or work, we owe

                Still to that heaven-descended glow.

        But dread the heaven-descended glow,

        When from their chain its wild wings go,

        When, where it listeth, wide and wild

        Sweeps the Free Nature's free-born Child!

        When the Frantic One fleets,

         While no force can withstand,

        Through the populous streets

         Whirling ghastly the brand;

        For the Element hates

        What man's labor creates,

         And the work of his hand!

        Impartially out from the cloud,

        Or the curse or the blessing may fall!

        Benignantly out from the cloud,

         Come the dews, the revivers of all!

        Avengingly out from the cloud

         Come the levin, the bolt, and the ball!

        Hark—a wail from the steeple!—aloud

        The bell shrills its voice to the crowd!

            Look—look—red as blood

               All on high!

        It is not the daylight that fills with its flood

         The sky!

        What a clamor awaking

         Roars up through the street!

        What a hell-vapor breaking

         Rolls on through the street!

         And higher and higher

         Aloft moves the Column of Fire!

         Through the vistas and rows

         Like a whirlwind it goes,

         And the air like the steam from a furnace glows.

        Beams are crackling—posts are shrinking—

        Walls are sinking—windows clinking

          Children crying—

          Mothers flying—

        And the beast (the black ruin yet smoldering under)

        Yells the howl of its pain and its ghastly wonder!

        Hurry and skurry—away—away,

        The face of the night is as clear as day!

                As the links in a chain,

                Again and again

              Flies the bucket from hand to hand;

                High in arches up-rushing

                The

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