The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 03 - Коллектив авторов 4 стр.

  Forever fair, forever calm and bright,
  Life flies on plumage, zephyr-light,
    For those who on the Olympian hill rejoice
  Moons wane, and races wither to the tomb,
  And 'mid the universal ruin, bloom
    The rosy days of Gods
                       With Man, the choice,
  Timid and anxious, hesitates between
    The sense's pleasure and the soul's content;
  While on celestial brows, aloft and sheen,
    The beams of both are blent.

  Seek'st thou on earth the life of Gods to share,
  Safe in the Realm of Death?beware
    To pluck the fruits that glitter to thine eye;
  Content thyself with gazing on their glow
  Short are the joys Possession can bestow,
    And in Possession sweet Desire will die.
  'Twas not the ninefold chain of waves that bound
    Thy daughter, Ceres, to the Stygian river
  She pluck'd the fruit of the unholy ground,
    And sowas Hell's forever!

  The Weavers of the Webthe Fatesbut sway
  The matter and the things of clay;
    Safe from each change that Time to Matter gives,
  Nature's blest playmate, free at will to stray
    With Gods a god, amidst the fields of Day,
    The FORM, the ARCHETYPE,[4] serenely lives.
  Would'st thou soar heavenward on its joyous wing?
    Cast from thee, Earth, the bitter and the real,
  High from this cramp'd and dungeon being, spring
    Into the Realm of the Ideal!

  Here, bathed, Perfection, in thy purest ray,
  Free from the clogs and taints of clay,
    Hovers divine the Archetypal Man!
  Dim as those phantom ghosts of life that gleam
  And wander voiceless by the Stygian stream,
    Fair as it stands in fields Elysian,
  Ere down to Flesh the Immortal doth descend:
    If doubtful ever in the Actual life
  Each contesthere a victory crowns the end
    Of every nobler strife.

  Not from the strife itself to set thee free,
  But more to nervedoth Victory
    Wave her rich garland from the Ideal clime.
  Whate'er thy wish, the Earth has no repose
  Life still must drag thee onward as it flows,
    Whirling thee down the dancing surge of Time.
  But when the courage sinks beneath the dull
    Sense of its narrow limitson the soul,
  Bright from the hill-tops of the Beautiful,
    Bursts the attainèd goal!

  If worth thy while the glory and the strife
  Which fire the lists of Actual Life
    The ardent rush to fortune or to fame,
  In the hot field where Strength and Valor are,
  And rolls the whirling thunder of the car,
    And the world, breathless, eyes the glorious game
  Then dare and strivethe prize can but belong
    To him whose valor o'er his tribe prevails;
  In life the victory only crowns the strong
    He who is feeble fails.

  But Life, whose source, by crags around it pil'd,
  Chafed while confin'd, foams fierce and wild,
    Glides soft and smooth when once its streams expand,
  When its waves, glassing in their silver play,
  Aurora blent with Hesper's milder ray,
    Gain the Still BEAUTIFULthat Shadow-Land!
  Here, contest grows but interchange of Love;
    All curb is but the bondage of the Grace;
  Gone is each foe,Peace folds her wings above
    Her native dwelling-place.

  When, through dead stone to breathe a soul of light,
  With the dull matter to unite
    The kindling genius, some great sculptor glows;
  Behold him straining every nerve intent
  Behold how, o'er the subject element,
    The stately THOUGHT its march laborious goes!
  For never, save to Toil untiring, spoke
    The unwilling Truth from her mysterious well
  The statue only to the chisel's stroke
    Wakes from its marble cell.

  But onward to the Sphere of Beautygo
  Onward, O Child of Art! and, lo,
    Out of the matter which thy pains control
  The Statue springs!not as with labor wrung
  From the hard block, but as from Nothing sprung
    Airy and lightthe offspring of the soul!
  The pangs, the cares, the weary toils it cost
    Leave not a trace when once the work is done
  The Artist's human frailty merged and lost
    In Art's great victory won!

  If human Sin confronts the rigid law
  Of perfect Truth and Virtue, awe
    Seizes and saddens thee to see how far
  Beyond thy reach, Perfection;if we test
  By the Ideal of the Good, the best,
    How mean our efforts and our actions are!
  This space between the Ideal of man's soul
    And man's achievement, who hath ever past?
  An ocean spreads between us and that goal
    Where anchor ne'er was cast!

  But fly the boundary of the Senseslive
  The Ideal life free Thought can give;
    And, lo, the gulf shall vanish, and the chill
  Of the soul's impotent despair be gone!
  And with divinity thou sharest the throne,
    Let but divinity become thy will!
  Scorn not the Lawpermit its iron band
    The sense (it cannot chain the soul) to thrall.
  Let man no more the will of Jove withstand,
    And Jove the bolt lets fall!

  If, in the woes of Actual Human Life
  If thou could'st see the serpent strife
    Which the Greek Art has made divine in stone
  Could'st see the writhing limbs, the livid cheek,
  Note every pang, and hearken every shriek
    Of some despairing lost Laocoon,
  The human nature would thyself subdue
    To share the human woe before thine eye
  Thy cheek would pale, and all thy soul be true
    To Man's great Sympathy.

  But in the Ideal Realm, aloof and far,
  Where the calm Art's pure dwellers are,
    Lo, the Laocoon writhes, but does not groan.
  Here, no sharp grief the high emotion knows
  Here, suffering's self is made divine, and shows
    The brave resolve of the firm soul alone:
  Here, lovely as the rainbow on the dew
    Of the spent thunder-cloud, to Art is given,
  Gleaming through Grief's dark veil, the peaceful blue
    Of the sweet Moral Heaven.

  So, in the glorious parable, behold
  How, bow'd to mortal bonds, of old
    Life's dreary path divine Alcides trod:
  The hydra and the lion were his prey,
  And to restore the friend he loved today,
    He went undaunted to the black-brow'd God;
  And all the torments and the labors sore
    Wroth Juno sentthe meek majestic One,
  With patient spirit and unquailing, bore,
    Until the course was run

  Until the God cast down his garb of clay,
  And rent in hallowing flame away
    The mortal part from the divineto soar
  To the empyreal air! Behold him spring
  Blithe in the pride of the unwonted wing,
    And the dull matter that confined before
  Sinks downward, downward, downward as a dream!
    Olympian hymns receive the escaping soul,
  And smiling Hebe, from the ambrosial stream,
    Fills for a God the bowl!

  Do I believe, thou ask'st, the Master's word,
  The Schoolman's shibboleth that binds the herd?
  To the soul's haven is there but one chart?
  Its peace a problem to be learned by art?
  On system rest the happy and the good?
  To base the temple must the props be wood?
  Must I distrust the gentle law, imprest,
  To guide and warn, by Nature on the breast,
  Till, squared to rule the instinct of the soul,
  Till the School's signet stamp the eternal scroll,
  Till in one mold some dogma hath confined
  The ebb and flowthe light wavesof the mind?
  Say thou, familiar to these depths of gloom,
  Thou, safe ascended from the dusty tomb,
  Thou, who hast trod these weird Egyptian cells
  Sayif Life's comfort with yon mummies dwells!
  Sayand I gropewith saddened steps indeed
  But on, thro' darkness, if to Truth it lead!
    Nay, Friend, thou know'st the golden timethe age
  Whose legends live in many a poet's page?
  When heavenlier shapes with Man walked side by side,
  And the chaste Feeling was itself a guide;
  Then the great law, alike divine amid
  Suns bright in Heaven, or germs in darkness hid
  That silent law(call'd whether by the name
  Of Nature or Necessity, the same),
  To that deep sea, the heart, its movement gave
  Sway'd the full tide, and freshened the free wave.
  Then sense unerringbecause unreproved
  True as the finger on the dial moved,
  Half-guide, half-playmate, of Earth's age of youth,
  The sportive instinct of Eternal Truth.
  Then, nor Initiate nor Profane were known;
  Where the Heart feltthere Reason found a throne:
  Not from the dust below, but life around
  Warm Genius shaped what quick Emotion found.
  One rule, like light, for every bosom glowed,
  Yet hid from all the fountain whence it flowed.
  But, gone that blessed Age!our wilful pride
  Has lost, with Nature, the old peaceful Guide.
  Feeling, no more to raise us and rejoice,
  Is heard and honored as a Godhead's voice;
  And, disenhallowed in its eldest cell
  The Human Heartlies mute the Oracle,
  Save where the low and mystic whispers thrill
  Some listening spirit more divinely still.
  There, in the chambers of the inmost heart,
  There, must the Sage explore the Magian's art;
  There, seek the long-lost Nature's steps to track,
  Till, found once more, she gives him Wisdom back!
  Hast thou(O Blest, if so, whate'er betide!)
  Still kept the Guardian Angel by thy side?
  Can thy Heart's guileless childhood yet rejoice
  In the sweet instinct with its warning voice?
  Does Truth yet limn upon untroubled eyes,
  Pure and serene, her world of Iris-dies?
  Rings clear the echo which her accent calls
  Back from the breast, on which the music falls?
  In the calm mind is doubt yet hush'dand will
  That doubt tomorrow, as today, be still?
  Will all these fine sensations in their play,
  No censor need to regulate and sway?
  Fear'st thou not in the insidious Heart to find
  The source of Trouble to the limpid mind?
    No!then thine Innocence thy Mentor be!
  Science can teach thee naughtshe learns from thee!
  Each law that lends lame succor to the Weak
  The cripple's crutchthe vigorous need not seek!
  From thine own self thy rule of action draw;
  That which thou dostwhat charms theeis thy Law,
  And founds to every race a code sublime
  What pleases Genius gives a Law to Time!
  The Wordthe Deedall Ages shall command,
  Pure if thy lip and holy if thy hand!
  Thou, thou alone mark'st not within thy heart
  The inspiring God whose Minister thou art,
  Know'st not the magic of the mighty ring
  Which bows the realm of Spirits to their King:
  But meek, nor conscious of diviner birth,
  Glide thy still footsteps thro' the conquered Earth!

  What the God taughtwhat has befriended all
  Life's ways, I place upon the Votive Wall.

  The Good's the Flower to Earth already given
    The Beautiful, on Earth sows flowers from Heaven!

  If thou hast something, bring thy goodsa fair return be thine;
  If thou art something, bring thy soul and interchange with mine.

  To know thyselfin others self discern;
  Wouldst thou know others? Read thyselfand learn!

  Yes, in the moral world, as ours, we see
  Divided gradesa Soul's Nobility;
  By deeds their titles Commoners create
  The loftier order are by birthright great.[5]

  Spreads Life's true mystery round us evermore,
  Seen by no eye, it lies all eyes before.

  Wouldst thou the loftiest height of Wisdom gain?
  On to the rashness, Prudence would disdain;
  The purblind see but the receding shore,
  Not that to which the bold wave wafts thee o'er!

  Truth seek we bothThou, in the life without thee and around;
  I in the Heart withinby both can Truth alike be found;
  The healthy eye can through the world the great Creator track
  The healthy heart is but the glass which gives creation back.

  All that thou dost be rightto that alone confine thy view,
  And halt within the certain rulethe All that's right to do!
  True zeal the what already is would sound and perfect see;
  False zeal would sound and perfect make the something that's to be!