Friedrich Von Schiller

The Philosophical Egotist

Hast thou the infant seen that yet, unknowing of the love Which warms and cradles, calmly sleeps the mother’s heart above Wandering from arm to arm, until the call of passion wakes, And glimmering

Punch Song

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

The Proverbs Of Confucius

Threefold is the march of time While the future slow advances, Like a dart the present glances, Silent stands the past sublime. No impatience e’er can speed him On his course if he delay;

Feast Of Victory

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

The Lay Of The Bell

Fast, in its prison-walls of earth, Awaits the mould of baked clay. Up, comrades, up, and aid the birth The bell that shall be born to-day! Who would honor obtain, With the sweat and

Shakespeare's Ghost – A Parody

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,

Hope

We speak with the lip, and we dream in the soul, Of some better and fairer day; And our days, the meanwhile, to that golden goal Are gliding and sliding away. Now the world

Parables And Riddles

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

The Pilgrim

Youth’s gay springtime scarcely knowing Went I forth the world to roam And the dance of youth, the glowing, Left I in my father’s home, Of my birthright, glad-believing, Of my world-gear took I

The Knights Of St. John

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

Political Precept

All that thou doest is right; but, friend, don’t carry this precept On too far, be content, all that is right to effect. It is enough to true zeal, if what is existing be

Melancholy To Laura

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

The Fortune-Favored

Ah! happy he, upon whose birth each god Looks down in love, whose earliest sleep the bright Idalia cradles, whose young lips the rod Of eloquent Hermes kindles to whose eyes, Scarce wakened yet,

The Dance

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

The Walk

Hail to thee, mountain beloved, with thy glittering purple-dyed summit! Hail to thee also, fair sun, looking so lovingly on! Thee, too, I hail, thou smiling plain, and ye murmuring lindens, Ay, and the
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