3. TO COUNCILLOR GEORGE S----, OF GOTTINGEN.
Though the demeanour be imperious, proud, Yet round the lips may gentleness play still; Though the eye gleam and every muscle thrill, Yet may the voice with calmness be endow’d. Thus art thou in the rostrum, when aloud Thou speak’st of governments and of the skill Of cabinets, and of the people’s will, Of Germany’s long strifes and ends avow’d. Ne’er be thine image blotted from my mind! In times of barbarous self-love like these, How doth an image of such greatness please! What thou, in fashion fatherly and kind, Spak’st to my heart, while hours flew swiftly by, Deep in my heart I still bear faithfully.
Thy friendly greetings open wide my breast, And the dark chambers of my heart unbar; Home visions greet me like some radiant star, And magic pinions fan me into rest. Once more the Rhine flows by me, on its crest Of waters mount and castle mirror’d are; On vine-clad hills gold clusters gleam afar, Vine-dressers climb, while shoot the flow’rets blest. Could I but see thee, truest friend of all, Who still dost link thyself to me, as clings The ivy green around a crumbling wall! Could I but be with thee, and to thy song In silence listen, while the redbreast sings, And the Rhine’s waters softly flow along!
A torture-chamber was the world to me, Where I suspended by the feet did hang; Hot pincers gave my body many a pang, A vice of iron crush’d me fearfully. I wildly cried in nameless agony, From mouth and eyes the blood in torrents sprang,-- A maid passed by, who a gold hammer swang, And presently the coup-de-grace gave she. My quivering limbs she scans with eager eye, My tongue protruding, as death’s hour draws nigh, From out my bleeding mouth,--a ghastly sight, My heart’s wild pantings hears she with delight; My last death-rattle music is the while To her, who stands with cold and mocking smile.
6. THE NIGHT WATCH ON THE DRACHENFELS. TO FRITZ VON B----.
’Twas midnight as we scaled the mountain height, The wood pile ’neath the walls the flames devour’d, And as my joyous comrades round it cower’d, They sang of Germany’s renown in fight. Her health we drank from Rhine wine beakers bright, The castle-spirit on the summit tower’d, Dark forms of armèd knights around us lower’d, And women’s misty shapes appear’d in sight. And from the ruins there arose low moans, Owls hooted, rattling sounds were heard, and groans; A furious north wind bluster’d fitfully. Such was the night, my friend, that I did pass On the high Drachenfels,--but I, alas, A wretched cold and cough took home with me!