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Rampolli
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His eyes waiting hang,
Waiting, though she would not love him,
For her lattice-clang—
Waiting till the loved should send her
Glance into the vale,
And, unthinking, toward it bend her
Visage, angel-pale.
Then he laid him, sadness scorning,
Comforted to sleep;
Quietly joyous till the morning
Out again should peep.
And so sat he, years a many,
Years without a pang,
Waiting without murmur any
Till her window rang—
For the lovely one to send her
Glance into the vale,
And, unseeing, toward him bend her
Angel visage pale.
And thus sat he, staring wanly,
His last morning there:
Toward her window still the manly
Silent face did stare.
LONGING
Ah, from out this valley hollow,
By cold fogs always oppressed,
Could I but the outpath follow—
Ah, how were my spirit blest!
Hills I see there, glad dominions,
Ever young, and green for aye!
Had I wings, oh, had I pinions,
To the hills were I away!
Harmonies I hear there ringing,
Tones of sweetest heavenly rest;
And the gentle winds are bringing
Balmy odours to my breast!
Golden fruits peep out there, glowing
Through the leaves to Zephyr’s play;
And the flowers that there are blowing
Will become no winter’s prey!
Oh, what happy things are meeting
There, in endless sunshine free!
And the airs on those hills greeting,
How reviving must they be!
But me checks yon raving river
That betwixt doth chafe and roll;
And its dark waves rising ever
Strike a horror to my soul!
See a skiff on wild wave heaving!
But no sailor walks the mole.
Quick into it, firm believing,
For its sails they have a soul!
Thou must trust, nor wait to ponder:
God will give no pledge in hand;
Nought but miracle bears yonder
To the lovely wonderland!
FROM GOETHE
POEMS
LEGEND
THE CASTLE ON THE MOUNTAIN
POEMS
Poems are painted window-panes:
Look from the square into the church—
Gloom and dusk are all your gains!
Sir Philistine is left in the lurch:
Outside he stands—spies nothing or use of it,
And nought is left him save the abuse of it.
But you, I pray you, just step in;
Make in the chapel your obeisance:
All at once ‘tis a radiant pleasaunce:
Device and story flash to presence;
A gracious splendour works to win.
This to God’s children is full measure:
It edifies and gives them pleasure.
LEGEND
AFTER THE MANNER OF HANS SACHS
While yet unknown, and very low,
Our Lord on earth went to and fro;
And some of his scholars his word so good
Very strangely misunderstood—
He much preferred to hold his court
In streets and places of resort,
Because under the heaven’s face
Waiting, though she would not love him,
For her lattice-clang—
Waiting till the loved should send her
Glance into the vale,
And, unthinking, toward it bend her
Visage, angel-pale.
Then he laid him, sadness scorning,
Comforted to sleep;
Quietly joyous till the morning
Out again should peep.
And so sat he, years a many,
Years without a pang,
Waiting without murmur any
Till her window rang—
For the lovely one to send her
Glance into the vale,
And, unseeing, toward him bend her
Angel visage pale.
And thus sat he, staring wanly,
His last morning there:
Toward her window still the manly
Silent face did stare.
LONGING
Ah, from out this valley hollow,
By cold fogs always oppressed,
Could I but the outpath follow—
Ah, how were my spirit blest!
Hills I see there, glad dominions,
Ever young, and green for aye!
Had I wings, oh, had I pinions,
To the hills were I away!
Harmonies I hear there ringing,
Tones of sweetest heavenly rest;
And the gentle winds are bringing
Balmy odours to my breast!
Golden fruits peep out there, glowing
Through the leaves to Zephyr’s play;
And the flowers that there are blowing
Will become no winter’s prey!
Oh, what happy things are meeting
There, in endless sunshine free!
And the airs on those hills greeting,
How reviving must they be!
But me checks yon raving river
That betwixt doth chafe and roll;
And its dark waves rising ever
Strike a horror to my soul!
See a skiff on wild wave heaving!
But no sailor walks the mole.
Quick into it, firm believing,
For its sails they have a soul!
Thou must trust, nor wait to ponder:
God will give no pledge in hand;
Nought but miracle bears yonder
To the lovely wonderland!
FROM GOETHE
POEMS
LEGEND
THE CASTLE ON THE MOUNTAIN
POEMS
Poems are painted window-panes:
Look from the square into the church—
Gloom and dusk are all your gains!
Sir Philistine is left in the lurch:
Outside he stands—spies nothing or use of it,
And nought is left him save the abuse of it.
But you, I pray you, just step in;
Make in the chapel your obeisance:
All at once ‘tis a radiant pleasaunce:
Device and story flash to presence;
A gracious splendour works to win.
This to God’s children is full measure:
It edifies and gives them pleasure.
LEGEND
AFTER THE MANNER OF HANS SACHS
While yet unknown, and very low,
Our Lord on earth went to and fro;
And some of his scholars his word so good
Very strangely misunderstood—
He much preferred to hold his court
In streets and places of resort,
Because under the heaven’s face
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