The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 07

Holds in its cup the secret
Of the whole mysterious earth.

It looks down from the cliffs in silence,
Speaks in the waves' long swell—
But all its wonderful meaning
The poet alone can tell.

* * * * *

THE DEATH OF TIBERIUS[53 - Translator: A.I. du P. Coleman.] (1856?)

On Cape Misenum shone a palace fair
Among the laurels by the summer sea;
Long colonnades, and wondrous artistry,
And all that should a gorgeous feast prepare.
Oft saw it scenes of midnight revelry
Where moved soft boys, their brows with ivy crowned,
And silver-footed damsels, capering round,
The thyrsus swung; with merry shouts of glee
And rippling laughter, and the lyre's soft tone,
It rang till fell the dew, and night was gone.

Tonight, how still! But here and there is traced
A lighted window; in the shadowy space
About the doors, slaves throng with awestruck face.
Litters draw nigh, and men spring out in haste;
And as each comes, a question runs its round
Through all the quivering circle of the spies
"What says the leech? How goes it?" Hush—no sound!
The end is near—the fierce old tiger dies!
Up there on purple cushion, in the light
Of flickering lamps, pale Cæsar waits for morn;
His sallow face, by hideous ulcers torn,
Looks ghastlier than was e'er its wont tonight;
Hollow the eyes; the fire of fell disease
And burning fever runs through every limb;
None but the aged leech abides with him,
And Macro, trusted bearer of the keys.

And now, with stifled cry, by fears oppressed,
The sick man feebly throws his coverings off
"Let me, O Greek, a cooling potion quaff!
Ice—ice! Vesuvius burns within my breast.
Gods! how it flames! Yet in my anguished brain
The torturing thoughts burn fiercer far, and worse …
A thousand times their tireless strength I curse,
Yet cannot find refreshment. 'Tis in vain
I cry for Lethe; where the frankincense
Sends up its smoke, from all the ancient wars
The victims lift their faces, seamed with scars,
In grim reproachful gaze to call me hence.
Germanicus—Sejanus—Drusus rise …
Who brought you hither? Has the grave no bars?
Ah, 'tis past bearing, how with corpse-cold eyes
Ye suck the life-blood from me pitilessly!
I know I slew you—but it had to be.
Was it my fault ye threw the losing dice?
Away! Alas—when ends my misery?"

The grave physician held the cup; he drank
Its cooling at a draught, then feebly sank
Among the pillows, still with wandering eye
About the chamber, from his forehead dank
Wiping the dews: "They're gone? No more they try
To fright me? Ah, perchance 'twas but the mist …
Yet often have they come, by night—in what dread guise
None knows but I … Come, sit thee near me … hist!
And let me tell of dim old memories.

"I too was young once, trusted in my star,
Had faith in men; but all the glamour of youth
Vanished too soon—and, piercing to the truth,
I found some evil each fair show to mar.
No thing I saw so high and free from blame
But worms were at its heart; each noble deed
Revealed self-seeking as its primal seed.
Love, honor, virtue—each was but a name!
Naught marked us off, vile creatures of the dust,
From ravening brutes, save on the smiling face
A honeyed falseness—in the heart so base
A craven weakness and a fiercer lust.
Where was a friend had not his friend betrayed
A brother guiltless of a brother's death,
A wife that hid no poisoned sting beneath
A fond embrace? Of one clay all were made!
Thus I became as they. Since only fear
Could tame that crew, I bade its form draw near.
It was a war I waged; I found a joy
Undreamed-of in their death-cries, and in blood
Full ankle-deep I waded—victor stood,
To find at last that horror too could cloy!
Now, grimly bearing what I may not mend,
Remorseless, unconsoled, I wait the end."

His dull voice sank to silence. Moaning low,
He met new pains: cold sweat stood on his brow.
In fearsome change his face the watchers saw
Grow like some hideous mask; till Macro came
Nearer the throne-like couch, and spoke a name