The poems of Heine; Complete - Heinrich Heine

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women! German women!

       Flourish on for many a day!

      All our daughters like Louisa,

       All our sons like Frederick be!

       Hear me in the grave, Louisa!

       Ever flourish Germany!

       Table of Contents

      Son of folly, dream thou ever,

       When thy thoughts within thee burn;

       But in life thy visions never

       To reality will turn.

      Once in happier days chance bore me

       To a high mount on the Rhine;

       Smiling lay the land before me,

       Gloriously the sun did shine.

      Far below, the waves were singing

       Wild and magic melodies;

       In my inmost heart were ringing

       Blissful strains in wondrous wise.

      Now, when gazing from that station

       On the land—how sad its doom!

       I but see a pigmy nation

       Crawling on a giant’s tomb.

      So-call’d men wear silken raiment,

       Deem themselves the nation’s flower;

       Honours now are gain’d by payment,

       Rogues possess both wealth and power.

      Of descent they boast, not merit,

       ’Tis their dress that makes them men;

       Old coats now alone the spirit

       Of old times bring back again;

      When respect and virtue holy

       Modestly went hand in hand;

       When the youth with deference lowly

       By the aged took his stand;

      When a hand-shake was more valid

       Than an oath or written sheet;

       When men, iron-clad, forth sallied,

       And a heart inside them beat.

      Our fair garden borders nourish

       Many a thousand flow’rets fair;

       In the fostering soil they flourish,

       While the sun smiles on them there.

      But the flower most fair, most golden,

       In our gardens ne’er is known—

       That one which, in days now olden,

       On each rocky height was grown;

      Which, in cold hill-fortress dwelling,

       Men endued with iron frame

       Deem’d the flower all flowers excelling—

       Hospitality its name.

      Weary wanderer, never clamber

       To the mountain’s fort-crown’d brow;

       ’Stead of warm and friendly chamber,

       Cold, hard walls receive thee now.

      From the watch-tower blow no warders

       Not a drawbridge is let fall;

       For the castle’s lord and warders

       In the cold tomb slumber all.

      In dark coffins, too, are sleeping

       Those dear maids bards sang of old;

       Shrines like these within them keeping

       Greater wealth than pearls and gold.

      Strange soft whispers there are blended

       Like sweet minnesinger’s lays;

       To those dark vaults has descended

       The fair love of olden days.

      True, I also prize our ladies,

       For they blossom like the May;

       And delightful, too, their trade is—

       ’Tis to dance, stitch, paint all day.

      And they sing, in rhymes delicious,

       Of old love and loyalty,

       Feeling all the time suspicious

      In their simple minds, our mothers

       Used to think in days of yore,

       That the gem above all others

       Fair, man in his bosom bore.

      Very different from this is

       What their daughters wisdom call;

       In the present day our misses

       Love the jewels most of all.

      Lies, deceit, and superstition

       Rule—life’s charms are thrown aside,

       Whilst Rome’s sordid base ambition

       Jordan’s pearls has falsified.

      To your dark domain return you,

       Visions of far happier days;

       O’er a time which thus doth spurn you,

       Vain laments no longer raise!

       Table of Contents

      Lonely in the forest chapel,

       At the image of the Virgin,

       Lay a gentle, pallid stripling,

       Bent in humble adoration.

      O Madonna! Let me ever

       On the threshold here be kneeling;

       Thou wilt never drive me from thee,

       To the world so cold and sinful.

      O Madonna! Sunny radiance

       Round thy head’s bright locks is gleaming,

       And a mild sweet smile is playing

       Round thy fair mouth’s holy roses.

      O Madonna! Thine eyes’ lustre

       Lightens me like stars in heaven;

       While life’s bark doth drift at random,

       Stars lead on for ever surely.

      O Madonna! Without wavering

       I have borne thy test of sorrow,

       On kind love relying blindly,

      O Madonna! This day hear me,

       Full of mercy, rich in wonders!

       Grant me then a sign of favour,

       Just one little sign of favour.

      Then presently happen’d a marvellous wonder.

       The forest and chapel were parted insunder;

       The boy understood not the miracle strange,

       For all around him did suddenly change.

      In a brilliant hall there sat the Madonna,

       Her rays were gone, as he gazed upon her;

      

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