"The goodliest land on all this earth, It is the Saxon land! There have I as many maidens As fingers on this hand!" "Hold your tongues! both Swabian and Saxon!" A bold Bohemian cries; "If there's a heaven upon this earth, In Bohemia it lies. "There the tailor blows the flute, And the cobbler blows the horn, And the miner blows the bugle, Over mountain gorge and bourn." And then the landlord's daughter Up to heaven raised her hand, There lies the happiest land!" THE WAVE FROM THE GERMAN OF TIEDGE "W 7HITHER, thou turbid wave? Whither, with so much haste, As if a thief wert thou?" 66 I am the Wave of Life, To wash from me the slime Of the muddy banks of Time." THE DEAD FROM THE GERMAN OF STOCKMANN H OW they so softly rest, All they the holy ones, Unto whose dwelling-place All in their silent graves, Slowly down-sinking! And they no longer weep, Here, where all gladness flies! And, by the cypresses Softly o'ershadowed, Until the Angel Calls them, they slumber! THE BIRD AND THE SHIP FROM THE GERMAN OF MÜLLER HE rivers rush into the sea, "THE By castle and town they go; The winds behind them merrily "The clouds are passing far and high, Goes with us, and far away. "I greet thee, bonny boat! Whither, or whence, With thy fluttering golden band?' "I greet thee, little bird! To the wide sea I haste from the narrow land. "Full and swollen is every I see no longer a hill, sail; I have trusted all to the sounding gale, 'And wilt thou, little bird, go with us? Thou mayest stand on the mainmast tall, For full to sinking is my house With merry companions all."- "I need not and seek not company, "High over the sails, high over the mast, Who shall gainsay these joys? When thy merry companions are still, at last, Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice. "Who neither may rest, nor listen may, I dart away, in the bright blue day, "Thus do I sing my weary song, And this same song, my whole life long, I WHITHER? FROM THE GERMAN OF MÜLLER HEARD a brooklet gushing From its rocky fountain near, I know not what came o'er me, Downward, and ever farther, And ever the brook beside; And ever fresher murmured, And ever clearer, the tide. Is this the way I was going? What do I say of a murmur? That can no murmur be; 'Tis the water-nymphs, that are singing Their roundelays under me. |