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The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 07
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But once—don't let it out, you know—
He squandered all his precious wits
Making a titmouse trap for Fritz—
Right here, and talked and had a smoke;
To me, I'll own, it seemed a joke.
The blessed Sabbath now is here.
The church-bells call both far and near,
The organ sounds so loud to me
I think I'm in the sacristy.
There's not a soul in all the house;
I hear a fly, and then a mouse.
The sunlight now the window reaches
And through the cactus stems it stretches,
Fain o'er the walnut desk to glide,
Some ancient cabinet-maker's pride.
There it beholds with searching looks
Concordances and children's books,
On wafer-box and seal it dances
And lights the inkwell with its glances;
Across the sand it strikes its wedge,
Is cut upon the penknife's edge,
Across the armchair freely roams,
Then to the bookcase with its tomes.
There clad in parchment and in leather
The Suabian Fathers stand together:
Andrea, Bengel, Riegers two,
And Oetinger are well in view.
The sun each golden name reads o'er
And with a kiss he gilds yet more.
As Hiller's "Harp" his fingers touch—
Hark! does it ring? It lacks not much.
With that a spider slim and small
Begins upon my frame to crawl,
And, never asking my goodwill,
Suspends his web from neck to bill.
I don't disturb myself a whit,
Just wait and watch him for a bit.
For him it is a lucky hap
That I'm disposed to take a nap.—
But tell me now if anywhere
An old church cock might better fare.
A twinge of longing now and then
Will vex, no doubt, the happiest men.
In summer I could wish outside
Upon the dove-cote roof to bide,
With just beneath the garden bright
And stretch of greensward too in sight.
Or else again in winter time,
When, as today, the weather's prime:—
Now I've begun, I'll say it out
We've got a sleigh here, staunch and stout,
All colored, yellow, black and green;
Just freshly painted, neat and clean;
And on the dashboard proudly strutting
A strange, new-fangled fowl is sitting:
Now if they'd have me fixed up right—
The whole expense would be but slight—
I'd stand there quite as well as he
And none need feel ashamed of me!
—Fool! I reply, accept your fate,
And be not so immoderate.
Perhaps 'twould suit your high behest
If some one, for a common jest,
Would take you, stove and all, away
And set you up there on the sleigh,
With all the family round you too:
Man, woman, child—the whole blest crew!
Old image, what! so shameless yet,
And prone on gauds your mind to set?
Think on your latter end at last!
Your hundredth year's already past.
* * * * *
THINK OF IT, MY SOUL![30 - Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] (1852)
Somewhere a pine is green,
Just where who knoweth,
And in a garth unseen
A rose-tree bloweth.
These are ordained for thee—
Think, oh soul, fixedly—
Over thy grave to be;
Swift the time floweth.
Two black steeds on the down
Briskly are faring,
Or on their way to town
Canter uncaring.
These may with heavy tread
Slowly convey the dead
E'en ere the shoes be shed
They now are wearing.
* * * * *
ERINNA TO SAPPHO[31 - Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] (1863)
He squandered all his precious wits
Making a titmouse trap for Fritz—
Right here, and talked and had a smoke;
To me, I'll own, it seemed a joke.
The blessed Sabbath now is here.
The church-bells call both far and near,
The organ sounds so loud to me
I think I'm in the sacristy.
There's not a soul in all the house;
I hear a fly, and then a mouse.
The sunlight now the window reaches
And through the cactus stems it stretches,
Fain o'er the walnut desk to glide,
Some ancient cabinet-maker's pride.
There it beholds with searching looks
Concordances and children's books,
On wafer-box and seal it dances
And lights the inkwell with its glances;
Across the sand it strikes its wedge,
Is cut upon the penknife's edge,
Across the armchair freely roams,
Then to the bookcase with its tomes.
There clad in parchment and in leather
The Suabian Fathers stand together:
Andrea, Bengel, Riegers two,
And Oetinger are well in view.
The sun each golden name reads o'er
And with a kiss he gilds yet more.
As Hiller's "Harp" his fingers touch—
Hark! does it ring? It lacks not much.
With that a spider slim and small
Begins upon my frame to crawl,
And, never asking my goodwill,
Suspends his web from neck to bill.
I don't disturb myself a whit,
Just wait and watch him for a bit.
For him it is a lucky hap
That I'm disposed to take a nap.—
But tell me now if anywhere
An old church cock might better fare.
A twinge of longing now and then
Will vex, no doubt, the happiest men.
In summer I could wish outside
Upon the dove-cote roof to bide,
With just beneath the garden bright
And stretch of greensward too in sight.
Or else again in winter time,
When, as today, the weather's prime:—
Now I've begun, I'll say it out
We've got a sleigh here, staunch and stout,
All colored, yellow, black and green;
Just freshly painted, neat and clean;
And on the dashboard proudly strutting
A strange, new-fangled fowl is sitting:
Now if they'd have me fixed up right—
The whole expense would be but slight—
I'd stand there quite as well as he
And none need feel ashamed of me!
—Fool! I reply, accept your fate,
And be not so immoderate.
Perhaps 'twould suit your high behest
If some one, for a common jest,
Would take you, stove and all, away
And set you up there on the sleigh,
With all the family round you too:
Man, woman, child—the whole blest crew!
Old image, what! so shameless yet,
And prone on gauds your mind to set?
Think on your latter end at last!
Your hundredth year's already past.
* * * * *
THINK OF IT, MY SOUL![30 - Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] (1852)
Somewhere a pine is green,
Just where who knoweth,
And in a garth unseen
A rose-tree bloweth.
These are ordained for thee—
Think, oh soul, fixedly—
Over thy grave to be;
Swift the time floweth.
Two black steeds on the down
Briskly are faring,
Or on their way to town
Canter uncaring.
These may with heavy tread
Slowly convey the dead
E'en ere the shoes be shed
They now are wearing.
* * * * *
ERINNA TO SAPPHO[31 - Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] (1863)
