The Piccolomini

The damsel paces along the shore;
The billows, they tumble with might, with might;
And she flings out her voice to the darksome night;
Her bosom is swelling with sorrow;
The world it is empty, the heart will die,
There's nothing to wish for beneath the sky
Thou Holy One, call thy child away!
I've lived and loved, and that was to-day;
Make ready my grave-clothes to-morrow.[12 - I found it not in my power to translate this song with literal fidelity preserving at the same time the Alcaic movement, and have therefore added the original, with a prose translation. Some of my readers may be more fortunate.THEKLA (spielt and singt)Der Eichwald brauset, die Wolken ziehn,Das Maegdlein wandelt an Ufers Gruen;Es bricht sich die Welle mit Macht, mit Macht,Und sie singt hinaus in die finstre Nacht,Das Auge von Weinen getruebet:Das Herz is gestorben, die Welt ist leer,Und weiter giebt sie dem Wunsche nichts mehr.Du Heilige, rufe dein Kind zurueck,Ich babe genossen das irdische Glueck,Ich babe gelebt and geliebet.LITERAL TRANSLATIONTHEKLA (plays and sings). The oak-forest bellows, the clouds gather, the damsel walks to and fro on the green of the shore; the wave breaks with might, with might, and she sings out into the dark night, her eye discolored with weeping: the heart is dead, the world is empty, and further gives it nothing more to the wish. Thou Holy One, call thy child home. I have enjoyed the happiness of this world, I have lived and have loved.I cannot but add here an imitation of this song, with which my friend, Charles Lamb, has favored me, and which appears to me to have caught the happiest manner of our old ballads: —The clouds are blackening, the storms are threatening, The cavern doth mutter, the greenwood moan!Billows are breaking, the damsel's heart aching, Thus in the dark night she singeth alone, He eye upward roving:The world is empty, the heart is dead surely, In this world plainly all seemeth amiss;To thy heaven, Holy One, take home thy little one.I have partaken of all earth's bliss, Both living and loving.]

SCENE VIII

COUNTESS (returns), THEKLA.

COUNTESS

Fie, lady niece! to throw yourself upon him
Like a poor gift to one who cares not for it,
And so must be flung after him! For you,
Duke Friedland's only child, I should have thought
It had been more beseeming to have shown yourself
More chary of your person.

THEKLA (rising)

And what mean you?

DUCHESS

I mean, niece, that you should not have forgotten
Who you are, and who he is. But perchance
That never once occurred to you.

THEKLA

What then?

COUNTESS

That you're the daughter of the Prince Duke Friedland.

THEKLA

Well, and what farther?

DUCHESS

What? A pretty question!

THEKLA

He was born that which we have but become.
He's of an ancient Lombard family,
Son of a reigning princess.

COUNTESS

Are you dreaming?
Talking in sleep? An excellent jest, forsooth!
We shall no doubt right courteously entreat him
To honor with his hand the richest heiress
In Europe.

THEKLA

That will not be necessary.

COUNTESS

Methinks 'twere well, though, not to run the hazard.

THEHLA

His father loves him; Count Octavio
Will interpose no difficulty —

COUNTESS

His!
His father! His! But yours, niece, what of yours?

THERLA

Why, I begin to think you fear his father,
So anxiously you hide it from the man!
His father, his, I mean.

COUNTESS (looks at her as scrutinizing)

Niece, you are false.

THEBLA

Are you then wounded? O, be friends with me!

COUNTESS

You hold your game for won already. Do not
Triumph too soon!