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The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 07
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Rise by legions from the darkness of their prisons low and lone,
And in dim procession march to kiss the Kaaba's Holy Stone.
More and more! the last in order have not passed across the plain,
Ere the first with slackened bridle fast are flying back again.
From Cape Verde's palmy summits, even to Bab-el-Mandeb's sands,
They have sped ere yet my charger, wildly rearing, breaks his bands!
Courage! hold the plunging horses; each man to his charger's head!
Tremble not as timid sheep-flocks tremble at the lion's tread.
Fear not, though yon waving mantles fan you as they hasten on;
Call on Allah! and the pageant, ere you look again, is gone!
Patience! till the morning breezes wave again your turban's plume;
Morning air and rosy dawning are their heralds to the tomb.
Once again to dust shall daylight doom these Wand'rers of the night;
See, it dawns!—A joyous welcome neigh our horses to the light!
* * * * *
HAD I AT MECCA'S GATE BEEN NOURISHED[43 - Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] (1836)
Had I at Mecca's gate been nourished,
Or dwelt on Yemen's glowing sand,
Or from my youth in Sinai flourished,
A sword were now within this hand.
Then would I ride across the mountains
Until to Jethro's land I came,
And rest my flock beside the fountains
Where once the bush broke forth in flame.
And ever with the evening's coolness
My kindred to the tent would throng,
When verses with impassioned fulness
Would stream from me in glowing song.
The treasure of my lips would dower
A mighty tribe, a mighty land,
And as with a magician's power
I'd rule, a monarch, 'mid the sand.
My list'ners are a nomad nation,
To whom the desert's voice is dear;
Who dread the simoon's devastation
And fall before his wrath in fear.
All day they gallop, never idle—
Save by the spring—till set of sun;
They dash with loosely swaying bridle
From Aden unto Lebanon.
At night upon the earth reclining
They watch amid their sleeping herds,
And read the scroll of heaven, shining
With golden-lettered mystic words.
They often hear strange voices mutter
From Sinai's earthquake-shattered, height,
While desert phantoms rise and flutter
In wreaths of smoke before their sight.
See!—through yon fissure deep and dim there
The demon's forehead glows amain,
For as with me so 'tis with him there—
In the skull's cavern seethes the brain.
Oh, land of tents and arrows flying!
Oh, desert people brave and wise!
Thou Arab on thy steed relying,—
A poem in fantastic guise!
Here in the dark I roam so blindly—
How cunning is the North, and cold!
Oh, for the East, the warm and kindly,
To sing and ride, a Bedouin bold!
* * * * *
WILD FLOWERS[44 - Translator: Bayard Taylor. Permission Bernhard Tauchnitz, Leipzig.] (1840)
Alone I strode where the broad Rhine flowed,
The hedge with roses was covered,
And wondrous rare through all the air
The scent of the vineyards hovered.
The cornflowers blue, the poppies too,
Waved in the wheat so proudly!
From a cliff near-by the joyous cry
Of a falcon echoed loudly.
Then I thought ere long of the old love song:
Ah, would that I were a falcon!
With its melody as a falcon free,
And daring, too, as a falcon.
As I sang, thought I: Toward the sun I'll fly,
The very tune shall upbear me
To her window small with a bolt in the wall,
Where I'll beat till she shall hear me.
Where the rose is brave, and curtains wave,
And in dim procession march to kiss the Kaaba's Holy Stone.
More and more! the last in order have not passed across the plain,
Ere the first with slackened bridle fast are flying back again.
From Cape Verde's palmy summits, even to Bab-el-Mandeb's sands,
They have sped ere yet my charger, wildly rearing, breaks his bands!
Courage! hold the plunging horses; each man to his charger's head!
Tremble not as timid sheep-flocks tremble at the lion's tread.
Fear not, though yon waving mantles fan you as they hasten on;
Call on Allah! and the pageant, ere you look again, is gone!
Patience! till the morning breezes wave again your turban's plume;
Morning air and rosy dawning are their heralds to the tomb.
Once again to dust shall daylight doom these Wand'rers of the night;
See, it dawns!—A joyous welcome neigh our horses to the light!
* * * * *
HAD I AT MECCA'S GATE BEEN NOURISHED[43 - Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] (1836)
Had I at Mecca's gate been nourished,
Or dwelt on Yemen's glowing sand,
Or from my youth in Sinai flourished,
A sword were now within this hand.
Then would I ride across the mountains
Until to Jethro's land I came,
And rest my flock beside the fountains
Where once the bush broke forth in flame.
And ever with the evening's coolness
My kindred to the tent would throng,
When verses with impassioned fulness
Would stream from me in glowing song.
The treasure of my lips would dower
A mighty tribe, a mighty land,
And as with a magician's power
I'd rule, a monarch, 'mid the sand.
My list'ners are a nomad nation,
To whom the desert's voice is dear;
Who dread the simoon's devastation
And fall before his wrath in fear.
All day they gallop, never idle—
Save by the spring—till set of sun;
They dash with loosely swaying bridle
From Aden unto Lebanon.
At night upon the earth reclining
They watch amid their sleeping herds,
And read the scroll of heaven, shining
With golden-lettered mystic words.
They often hear strange voices mutter
From Sinai's earthquake-shattered, height,
While desert phantoms rise and flutter
In wreaths of smoke before their sight.
See!—through yon fissure deep and dim there
The demon's forehead glows amain,
For as with me so 'tis with him there—
In the skull's cavern seethes the brain.
Oh, land of tents and arrows flying!
Oh, desert people brave and wise!
Thou Arab on thy steed relying,—
A poem in fantastic guise!
Here in the dark I roam so blindly—
How cunning is the North, and cold!
Oh, for the East, the warm and kindly,
To sing and ride, a Bedouin bold!
* * * * *
WILD FLOWERS[44 - Translator: Bayard Taylor. Permission Bernhard Tauchnitz, Leipzig.] (1840)
Alone I strode where the broad Rhine flowed,
The hedge with roses was covered,
And wondrous rare through all the air
The scent of the vineyards hovered.
The cornflowers blue, the poppies too,
Waved in the wheat so proudly!
From a cliff near-by the joyous cry
Of a falcon echoed loudly.
Then I thought ere long of the old love song:
Ah, would that I were a falcon!
With its melody as a falcon free,
And daring, too, as a falcon.
As I sang, thought I: Toward the sun I'll fly,
The very tune shall upbear me
To her window small with a bolt in the wall,
Where I'll beat till she shall hear me.
Where the rose is brave, and curtains wave,
