Friedrich Von Schiller

Four elements, joined in Harmonious strife, Shadow the world forth, And typify life. Into the goblet The lemon’s juice pour; Acid is ever Life’s innermost core. Now, with the sugar’s All-softening juice, The strength

Priam’s castle-walls had sunk, Troy in dust and ashes lay, And each Greek, with triumph drunk, Richly laden with his prey, Sat upon his ship’s high prow, On the Hellespontic strand, Starting on his

I, too, at length discerned great Hercules’ energy mighty, Saw his shade. He himself was not, alas, to be seen. Round him were heard, like the screaming of birds, The screams of tragedians, And,

I. A bridge of pearls its form uprears High o’er a gray and misty sea; E’en in a moment it appears, And rises upwards giddily. Beneath its arch can find a road The loftiest

Oh, nobly shone the fearful cross upon your mail afar, When Rhodes and Acre hailed your might, O lions of the war! When leading many a pilgrim horde, through wastes of Syrian gloom; Or

Laura! a sunrise seems to break Where’er thy happy looks may glow. Joy sheds its roses o’er thy cheek, Thy tears themselves do but bespeak The rapture whence they flow; Blest youth to whom

See how, like lightest waves at play, the airy dancers fleet; And scarcely feels the floor the wings of those harmonious feet. Ob, are they flying shadows from their native forms set free? Or

Majesty of the nature of man! In crowds shall I seek thee? ‘Tis with only a few that thou hast made thine abode. Only a few ever count; the rest are but blanks of

Friend! the Great Ruler, easily content, Needs not the laws it has laborious been The task of small professors to invent; A single wheel impels the whole machine Matter and spirit; yea, that simple

Hear I the creaking gate unclose? The gleaming latch uplifted? No ’twas the wind that, whirring, rose, Amidst the poplars drifted! Adorn thyself, thou green leaf-bowering roof, Destined the bright one’s presence to receive,

To the solemn abyss leads the terrible path, The life and death winding dizzy between; In thy desolate way, grim with menace and wrath, To daunt thee the spectres of giants are seen; That

Whither was it that my spirit wended When from thee my fleeting shadow moved? Is not now each earthly conflict ended? Say, have I not lived, have I not loved? Art thou for the

Now hearken, ye who take delight In boasting of your worth! To many a man, to many a knight, Beloved in peace and brave in fight, The Swabian land gives birth. Of Charles and

And wilt thou, faithless one, then, leave me, With all thy magic phantasy, With all the thoughts that joy or grieve me, Wilt thou with all forever fly? Can naught delay thine onward motion,

Once to the song and chariot-fight, Where all the tribes of Greece unite On Corinth’s isthmus joyously, The god-loved Ibycus drew nigh. On him Apollo had bestowed The gift of song and strains inspired;

Mournful groans, as when a tempest lowers, Echo from the dreary house of woe; Death-notes rise from yonder minster’s towers! Bearing out a youth, they slowly go; Yes! a youth unripe yet for the

A gentle was Fridolin, And he his mistress dear, Savern’s fair Countess, honored in All truth and godly fear. She was so meek, and, ah! so good! Yet each wish of her wayward mood,

Far away, where darkness reigneth, All my dreams of bliss are flown; Yet with love my gaze remaineth Fixed on one fair star alone. But, alas! that star so bright Sheds no lustre save

Name, my Laura, name the whirl-compelling Bodies to unite in one blest whole Name, my Laura, name the wondrous magic By which soul rejoins its kindred soul! See! it teaches yonder roving planets Round

“Take the world!” Zeus exclaimed from his throne in the skies To the children of man “take the world I now give; It shall ever remain as your heirloom and prize, So divide it

Enraged against a quondam friend, To Wisdom once proud Fortune said “I’ll give thee treasures without end, If thou wilt be my friend instead.” “My choicest gifts to him I gave, And ever blest

Honor to woman! To her it is given To garden the earth with the roses of heaven! All blessed, she linketh the loves in their choir In the veil of the graces her beauty

Wilt thou not the lambkins guard? Oh, how soft and meek they look, Feeding on the grassy sward, Sporting round the silvery brook! “Mother, mother, let me go On yon heights to chase the

She comes, she comes the burden of the deeps! Beneath her wails the universal sea! With clanking chains and a new god, she sweeps, And with a thousand thunders, unto thee! The ocean-castles and

Thou hast produced mighty monarchs, of whom thou art not unworthy, For the obedient alone make him who governs them great. But, O Germany, try if thou for thy rulers canst make it Harder

By no kind Augustus reared, To no Medici endeared, German art arose; Fostering glory smiled not on her, Ne’er with kingly smiles to sun her, Did her blooms unclose. No, she went by monarchs

Say, where is now that glorious race, where now are the singers Who, with the accents of life, listening nations enthralled, Sung down from heaven the gods, and sung mankind up to heaven, And

Monument of our own age’s shame, On thy country casting endless blame, Rousseau’s grave, how dear thou art to me Calm repose be to thy ashes blest! In thy life thou vainly sought’st for

Upon his battlements he stood, And downward gazed in joyous mood, On Samos’ Isle, that owned his sway, “All this is subject to my yoke;” To Egypt’s monarch thus he spoke, “That I am

I have a heartfelt aversion for crime, a twofold aversion, Since ’tis the reason why man prates about virtue so much. “What! thou hatest, then, virtue?” I would that by all it were practised,

“Do I believe,” sayest thou, “what the masters of wisdom would teach me, And what their followers’ band boldly and readily swear? Cannot I ever attain to true peace, excepting through knowledge, Or is

Full many a shining wit one sees, With tongue on all things well conversing; The what can charm, the what can please, In every nice detail rehearsing. Their raptures so transport the college, It

Scarce has the fever so chilly of Gallomania departed, When a more burning attack in Grecomania breaks out. Greekism, what did it mean? ‘Twas harmony, reason, and clearness! Patience, good gentlemen, pray, ere ye

Heavy and solemn, A cloudy column, Through the green plain they marching came! Measure less spread, like a table dread, For the wild grim dice of the iron game. The looks are bent on

Play on thy mother’s bosom, babe, for in that holy isle The error cannot find thee yet, the grieving, nor the guile; Held in thy mother’s arms above life’s dark and troubled wave, Thou

What wonder this? we ask the lympid well, O earth! of thee and from thy solemn womb What yieldest thou? is there life in the abyss Doth a new race beneath the lava dwell?

Since thou readest in her what thou thyself hast there written, And, to gladden the eye, placest her wonders in groups; Since o’er her boundless expanses thy cords to extend thou art able, Thou

The foaming stream from out the rock With thunder roar begins to rush, The oak falls prostrate at the shock, And mountain-wrecks attend the gush. With rapturous awe, in wonder lost, The wanderer hearkens

Wouldst thou, my friend, mount up to the highest summit of wisdom, Be not deterred by the fear, prudence thy course may deride That shortsighted one sees but the bank that from thee is

That which Grecian art created, Let the Frank, with joy elated, Bear to Seine’s triumphant strand, And in his museums glorious Show the trophies all-victorious To his wondering fatherland. They to him are silent

The air is perfumed with the morning’s fresh breeze, From the bush peer the sunbeams all purple and bright, While they gleam through the clefts of the dark-waving trees, And the cloud-crested mountains are

Before his lion-court, Impatient for the sport, King Francis sat one day; The peers of his realm sat around, And in balcony high from the ground Sat the ladies in beauteous array. And when

Three errors there are, that forever are found On the lips of the good, on the lips of the best; But empty their meaning and hollow their sound And slight is the comfort they

The tyrant Dionys to seek, Stern Moerus with his poniard crept; The watchful guard upon him swept; The grim king marked his changeless cheek: “What wouldst thou with thy poniard? Speak!” “The city from

Thou hast crossed over torrents, and swung through wide-spreading ocean, Over the chain of the Alps dizzily bore thee the bridge, That thou might’st see me from near, and learn to value my beauty,

Mirth the halls of Troy was filling, Ere its lofty ramparts fell; From the golden lute so thrilling Hymns of joy were heard to swell. From the sad and tearful slaughter All had laid

From earth I seem to wing my flight, And sun myself in Heaven’s pure light, When thy sweet gaze meets mine I dream I quaff ethereal dew, When my own form I mirrored view

The goblet is sparkling with purpled-tinged wine, Bright glistens the eye of each guest, When into the hall comes the Minstrel divine, To the good he now brings what is best; For when from

“I Have sacrificed all,” thou sayest, “that man I might succor; Vain the attempt; my reward was persecution and hate.” Shall I tell thee, my friend, how I to humor him manage? Trust the

Hark! like the sea in wrath the heavens assailing, Or like a brook through rocky basin wailing, Comes from below, in groaning agony, A heavy, vacant torment-breathing sigh! Their faces marks of bitter torture