Majestas Populi
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
The Gods Of Greece
Ye in the age gone by, Who ruled the world a world how lovely then! And guided still the steps of happy men In the light leading-strings of careless joy! Ah, flourished then your
Friendship
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
Archimedes
To Archimedes once a scholar came, “Teach me,” he said, “the art that won thy fame; The godlike art which gives such boons to toil, And showers such fruit upon thy native soil; The
The Assignation
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,
The Complaint Of Ceres
Does pleasant spring return once more? Does earth her happy youth regain? Sweet suns green hills are shining o’er; Soft brooklets burst their icy chain: Upon the blue translucent river Laughs down an all-unclouded
The Lay Of The Mountain
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
To Proselytizers
“Give me only a fragment of earth beyond the earth’s limits,” So the godlike man said, “and I will move it with ease.” Only give me permission to leave myself for one moment, And
Thekla – A Spirit Voice
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
Beauteous Individuality
Thou in truth shouldst be one, yet not with the whole shouldst thou be so. ‘Tis through the reason thou’rt one, art so with it through the heart. Voice of the whole is thy
Count Eberhard, The Groaner Of Wurtembert. A War Song
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
The Veiled Statue At Sais
A youth, impelled by a burning thirst for knowledge To roam to Sais, in fair Egypt’s land, The priesthood’s secret learning to explore, Had passed through many a grade with eager haste, And still
The Ideals
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,
The Driver
“What knight or what vassal will be so bold As to plunge in the gulf below? See! I hurl in its depths a goblet of gold, Already the waters over it flow. The man
The Cranes Of Ibycus
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;