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eyes the blood-red glare

        Thy truth is but a gift of terror

          When mortal lips declare.

        "My blindness give to me once more[18]—

          The gay dim senses that rejoice;

        The Past's delighted songs are o'er

          For lips that speak a Prophet's voice.

        To me the future thou hast granted;

          I miss the moment from the chain—

        The happy Present-Hour enchanted!

          Take back thy gift again!

        "Never for me the nuptial wreath

          The odor-breathing hair shall twine;

        My heavy heart is bow'd beneath

          The service of thy dreary shrine.

        My youth was but by tears corroded,—

          My sole familiar is my pain,

        Each coming ill my heart foreboded,

          And felt it first—in vain!

        "How cheer'ly sports the careless mirth—

          The life that loves, around I see;

        Fair youth to pleasant thoughts give birth—

          The heart is only sad to me.

        Not for mine eyes the young spring gloweth,

          When earth her happy feast-day keeps;

        The charm of life who ever knoweth

          That looks into the deeps?

        "Wrapt in thy bliss, my sister, thine

          The heart's inebriate rapture-springs;—

        Longing with bridal arms to twine

          The bravest of the Grecian kings.

        High swells the joyous bosom, seeming

          Too narrow for its world of love,

        Nor envies, in its heaven of dreaming,

          The heaven of gods above!

        "I too might know the soft control

          Of one the longing heart could choose,

        With look which love illumes with soul—

          The look that supplicates and woos.

        And sweet with him, where love presiding

          Prepares our hearth, to go—but, dim,

        A Stygian shadow, nightly gliding,

          Stalks between me and him!

        "Forth from the grim funereal shore,

          The Hell-Queen sends her ghastly bands;

        Where'er I turn—behind—before—

          Dumb in my path—a Spectre stands!

        Wherever gayliest, youth assembles—

          I see the shades in horror clad,

        Amidst Hell's ghastly People trembles

          One soul for ever sad!

        "I see the steel of Murder gleam—

          I see the Murderer's glowing eyes—

        To right—to left, one gory stream—

          One circling fate—my flight defies!

        I may not turn my gaze—all seeing,

          Foreknowing all, I dumbly stand—

        To close in blood my ghastly being

          In the far strangers' land!"

        Hark! while the sad sounds murmur round,

          Hark, from the Temple-porch, the cries!—

        A wild, confused, tumultuous sound!—

          Dead the divine Pelides lies!

        Grim Discord rears her snakes devouring—

          The last departing god hath gone!

        And, womb'd in cloud, the thunder, lowering,

          Hangs black on Ilion.

* * * * *

      RUDOLPH OF HAPSBURG (1803)

      A BALLAD

      [Hinrichs properly classes this striking ballad (together with the yet grander one of the "Fight with the Dragon") amongst those designed to depict and exalt the virtue of Humility. The source of the story is in Ægidius Tschudi, a Swiss chronicler; and Schiller appears to have adhered, with much fidelity, to the original narrative.]

        At Aachen, in imperial state,

          In that time-hallow'd hall renown'd,

        At solemn feast King Rudolf sate,

          The day that saw the hero crown'd!

        Bohemia and thy Palgrave, Rhine,

          Give this the feast, and that the wine;[19]

              The Arch Electoral Seven,

        Like choral stars around the sun,

        Gird him whose hand a world has won,

              The anointed choice of Heaven.

        In galleries raised above the pomp,

          Press'd crowd on crowd their panting way,

        And with the joy-resounding tromp,

          Rang out the millions' loud hurra!

        For, closed at last the age of slaughter,

        When human blood was pour'd as water—

              LAW dawns upon the world![20]

        Sharp force no more shall right the wrong,

        And grind the weak to crown the strong—

              War's carnage-flag is furl'd!

        In Rudolf's hand the goblet shines—

          And gaily round the board look'd he;

        "And proud the feast, and bright the wines

          My kingly heart feels glad to me!

        Yet where the Gladness-Bringer—blest

        In the sweet art which moves the breast

              With lyre and verse divine?

        Dear from my youth the craft of song,

        And what as knight I loved so long,

              As Kaiser, still be mine."

        Lo, from the circle bending there,

          With sweeping robe the Bard appears,

        As silver white his gleaming hair,

          Bleach'd by the many winds of years;

        "And music sleeps in golden strings—

        Love's rich reward the minstrel sings,

              Well known to him the ALL

        High thoughts and ardent souls desire!

        What would the Kaiser from the lyre

              Amidst the banquet-hall?"

        The

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