The Project Gutenberg eBook of Evening songs This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: Evening songs Author: Vítězslav Hálek Translator: Joseph Štýbr Release date: January 5, 2026 [eBook #77623] Language: English Original publication: Boston: The Gorham Press, 1920 Credits: Tim Miller, chenzw and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVENING SONGS *** EVENING SONGS BY VÍTĚZSLAV HÁLEK _From the Czech Original_ TRANSLATED BY DR. JOSEPH ŠTÝBR [Illustration] BOSTON RICHARD G. BADGER THE GORHAM PRESS COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY JOSEPH ŠTÝBR All Rights Reserved Made in the United States of America The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. INTRODUCTION Vítězslav Hálek, whose little volume of verses is herewith presented to the reader in English translation, belonged to the romantic and lyric school of Czech poesy during the second half of the last century. He was born in 1835 and died in 1874. From his first appearance in literature in 1858 he held his nation at attention and enjoyed its admiration and love for twenty years. During that time he produced a line of works touching upon nearly all classes of writing; however, the lyric string of his lyre proved to be the most charming one, and this little volume of Evening Songs proved to be his culminating point. As an expression of fragrant effusions of feeling it always appealed to the tenderness of youthful hearts and was eagerly sought and read, so that the book in the original appeared in many editions. Should the little volume bring real pleasure to the reader and induce others to open wider the doors to the rich and charming Czech literature for the readers in English, the effort of the translator would be well rewarded. THE TRANSLATOR. CONTENTS PAGE AS IN THE SKY RISES THE MOON 53 AT PROPHETS CAST YE NEVER STONES 71 BLEST IS THE MAN WHOM THE LORD’S HAND 67 DAY AND NIGHT WENT EACH THEIR WAY, THE 55 DEEP SILENCE REIGNS--IT SEEMS TO ME 48 DON’T WONDER, SHOULDST THOU CHANCE TO HEAR 58 FROM HEAVEN ANGELS COME TO EARTH 72 GOD SUMMONED ME TO PARADISE 17 GOD’S WORLD IS SO FAR AND WIDE, THE 59 GREATEST HERO IS NOT HE, THE 32 HEAVENS ARE REPLETE WITH STARS, THE 33 HE’S GOING FAR FROM HOME 75 HE WHO CAN STRIKE THE GOLDEN STRINGS 70 HEY, IN THE ROUNDS WHAT PLEASURE 60 HUMMING OF THE TREES HAS CEASED, THE 13 I AM A LINDEN WITH LARGE CROWN 21 I AM THE KNIGHT FROM THE OLD TALE 12 I BADE THE TRUMPETS TO BE BLOWN 69 I DO NOT KNOW, WAS IT A DREAM? 45 I THOUGHT TO MYSELF, WITH NO LOVE 50 IF ALL THE WORLD LOST ITS DELIGHT 37 IF THAT POOR NIGHTINGALE 18 IN THE SKY THE MOON WAS STANDING 74 IT HAPPENED. MY SOUL MINUS THEE 26 IT SEEMED TO ME--GRIEF HAD GROWN OLD 49 MOON SAILS SLOWLY IN THE SKY, THE 76 MUCH HAS BEEN TRUSTED TO THY HANDS 68 MY GOD, OF ALL THINGS I ASPIRE 66 MY LIPS WERE LOCKT A LONG, LONG TIME 64 MY PILLOW WAS OF SORROW MADE 62 MY SWEETHEART, COME, KNEEL DOWN WITH ME 20 MY SWEETHEART, COME, SIT CLOSE TO ME 29 MY SWEETHEART, I DREAMT THOU HADST DIED 39 MY SWEETHEART, LOOK AT THOSE TWO CLOUDS 77 NIGHT IS FAIR AND TRANSPARENT, THE 43 NOW GO, MY DARLING CHILDREN, GO 73 OF MY SONGS I SHALL BUILD THY THRONE 57 ONCE AS I THROUGH THE GOLDEN STARS 30 SCORCHING HEAT OF NOONDAY SUN, THE 35 SHOULD I TELL THEE THE SECRET TALE 19 SO MANY, MANY THINGS THERE ARE 41 SO OFTEN IT APPEARS TO ME 22 SPRING CAME FLYING FROM AFAR, THE 11 STARS UPON THE HEAVENS THERE, THE 31 STARS BY THE HUNDREDS DOT THE SKY 15 TELL WHEREIN THOU HAST SINNED, MY HEART 36 THAT DEEP AND DARK BLUE HEAVEN’S BOWL 46 THAT LITTLE BIRD SINGS ALL THE TIME 47 THAT NIGHTINGALE HAS NOT RETIRED 24 THAT YOUNG LITTLE SINGER THERE 52 THERE WERE TWO THOUGHTS, TWO THOUGHTS OF GOD 51 THOSE STARS, THOSE FAIR WEE LITTLE STARS 44 THOU ART STILL BUT A YOUTHFUL BUD 23 THOU HAST LAID THY HAND ON MY HEAD 56 THOU MAIDEN, CHARMING MOST OF ALL 25 THOUGH ALL THE WORLD HAS GONE TO SLEEP 14 THY BEAUTIFUL EYE IS A LAKE 28 ’TIS WRONG FOR MEN TO LACK IN SONG 63 UP IN THE OAK TREE A DOVE WAILED 42 UPON THE SKY THE MOON AND STARS 34 WHAT CHARM IS THERE IN LOVE FOR US 16 WHAT MATTERS IT WHAT IN SWEET SONGS 38 WHEN GOD FELT HIS SUPREME DELIGHT 40 WHEN I GAZE AT THEE, DARLING MINE 27 WHEN I SHALL TRUST MY CORPSE TO EARTH 65 YE ALL WHO DEEM YOURSELVES OPPRESSED 54 YE LITTLE, YE WEE LITTLE STARS 61 EVENING SONGS EVENING SONGS I The spring came flying from afar; With fresh desires all’s teeming; All things pressed forward to the sun-- So long all had been dreaming! The finches flew out of their nest And children from their bowers, And on the meadows sweetest scents Breathe countless little flowers. Young leaves press their way from the twigs And from birds’ throats their voices, And in the heart with budding love The youthful breast rejoices. II I am the knight from the old tale Who proudly to the far world rode To see the lass who’s like a rose And to discover her abode. Who would behold her--said her fame-- Would by a ban at once be struck; His heart would be rent from his breast, Or he would change to be a rock. Thought I to myself, possibly For clemency there might be room. I ventured out and for my sin-- Became a bard by rigid doom. III The humming of the trees has ceased, Their leaves breathe calmly, neatly; The bird is dreaming its fair dream So quietly, so sweetly. The heavens’ stars have all come out, All things rest in calm gladness, But in the breast the sorrow wakes And in the heart the sadness. The fragrant blossom’s pretty cup Receives dew in its centre-- My God, and I, too, feel that dew In mine eyes gently enter. IV Though all the world has gone to sleep, The heart wakes in the body, And God himself knows that the heart Ne’er sleeps for anybody. The whole God’s world is silence-bound, The heart still goes, well rated, And God himself knows that the heart Gets never fatigated. Sleep is the conqueror of thought, Night is day’s alternation-- But in the breast the heart e’er wakes And guards its love’s sweet passion. V Stars by the hundreds dot the sky With sister Moon at leisure, And God and angels view the world From heaven’s height with pleasure. A smiling angel’s coming down To earth as heaven’s vision-- Fair as the fragrant breath of spring, And love is his sweet mission. Wherever he just passes by All’s stricken with sweet passion, And nightingales and fair white doves All sing with animation. And he whom his white wing does touch Is transformed all over, And something sweet enters his breast That human words can’t cover. VI What charm is there in love for us, My God, and why we love it? The world would all dissolve in it And lives all in love of it. The little cloud sails through the sky As though love’s message drove it; The little bird that sleeps in twigs Is dreaming only of it. And here, too, on the earth the man, While death his head does covet, He weeps, rejoices, longs and lives And dies for the sake of it. Indeed, the heaven’s angel choir With their harps’ music prove it-- What would they sing, if not allowed To play and to sing of it! VII God summoned me to Paradise To get me educated. “’Tis hard for me to be alone!” The Lord then Eve created. He took not one rib from my breast, My heart in half he parted. That is why my heart still tends back From where Thine once had started. And that is why such strange desires So oft in my heart gather, And I feel as though both our hearts Should grow again together. And that is why when I’m away Pain to my heart is creeping, My foot does of itself turn back, And I am sad--to weeping. VIII If that poor nightingale Lived always with her mate, Her love songs would not sound So sad and desolate. If that poor heart but would With Thee wake through the night, Instead of pain it would Resound with sweet delight. IX Should I tell Thee the secret tale As nightingale in the oak forest-- Or should I weep in bitter tears What sways my heart and gives it no rest? Or, kneeling down, with ardent words Should I in prayer spell my passion-- Or in a fair and tranquil night Out of my dream breathe my confession? Or should the hidden paradise Sleep in my heart’s depth, never uttered, Like in a grave, and far from Thee My love in secret be but muttered? O angel mine, I do confess My love for mankind, never dying; But toward Thee--O, don’t chide me, That my mind’s weak and undefying! X My sweetheart, come, kneel down with me, Now is the time for us to pray-- The moon has risen o’er the woods, And my time has just passed away. But, darling, do not clasp Thy hands; Embrace me as I Thee with mine-- And thus, instead of clasping hands, Two hearts will in one prayer join. Thy lips then press Thou close to mine; From one mouth let the prayer rise-- Let me the words press on Thy lips, And Thou send them to Paradise. Our prayer shall be strong, indeed, Our offer purest in that case-- For angels, too, when they do pray, Are praying just in such embrace. XI I am a linden with large crown, In style dressed in the meadow: Thou beautiful, sweet rose of May, Come to my cooling shadow. Here each green leaf does odor breathe And swarms of bees are humming, And, nightly, little birds arrive-- Those are my thoughts, home coming. They fly far-off as children do From home until they hunger, But, with Thee seated close to me, They will depart no longer. XII So often it appears to me, As I embrace and love Thee, That Thou art for me in the world And I for the sake of Thee. ’Tis difficult through life to pass Avoiding all deflection; But to give others happiness Is greatest satisfaction. And if the king enjoys his crown And God has heaven’s Eden And birds have forest in the spring, I do have Thee, my maiden. XIII Thou art still but a youthful bud Just into the world looming, And yet upon Thy cheek appears A beautiful rose blooming. And it is such a dainty rose And such a fragrant blossom That soon a fire burns in the soul And yearning in the bosom. XIV That nightingale has not retired And she’s with song all ringing; That song of love, so long, my God, When will she be done singing? From one twig to another twig, From upper to the nether-- And I believe that the same plight In hearts we bear together. And turning up her serene eye She looks in each direction-- And I believe that I could guess What is her eyes’ attraction. XV Thou maiden, charming most of all, O Thou, world’s greatest treasure, In Thee I found my sweet delight, Thou art my cherished pleasure. Thou art as pure as morning drops That come from heaven’s dewing And graceful as the turtle dove When she her song is cooing. Thou art fair as the lily white That in sweet odor guises And noble as the morning star-- The day dawns as she rises. XVI It happened. My soul minus Thee No longer feels itself as whole; To think myself without Thee once Would be as to have lost my soul. Yes, Thou art woven in my soul Thou art her pride and her delight-- Thou art my solace, my desire, My happiness--my pain and plight. From joyless days Thou heaven weav’st As does the bride her wedding dress; In me Thou wak’st, in me Thou dream’st; What I’m, what Thou, is hard to guess. It matters not what my fate be-- For I know well its weaving hand. And should Thy hand destruction bring, On that, too, heaven might depend. XVII When I gaze at Thee, darling mine-- Thou art a dove--though sweeter-- Delightful, playful, gentle, tame, When her mate comes to meet her. And I can scarcely gaze enough At Thine eyes and cheeks’ blossom-- Thine eyes are but two dark blue gates To Thy deep charming bosom. And I can scarcely gaze enough At Thy sweet face reflection-- Through it Thy whole heart speaks to me And soul without deception. When I gaze at Thee, darling mine-- O manna’s sweet dispenser!-- Are not those the same lips, indeed, That gave me “yes” for answer? XVIII Thy beautiful eye is a lake In darkness gently waving; In it the bright lights of the night And heavens’ blue are laving. And as pure crystal it is clear, One sees the bottom in it-- But who attempts to look in deep Will shortly be drowned in it. XIX My sweetheart, come, sit close to me, Allow me to embrace Thee; The Lord gave Thee an angel’s soul From heaven, just to grace Thee. I feel that I should speak to Thee And make confessions often, But my words stay locked in my mouth And dead as in a coffin. And often what I’d like to say Appears unutterable, For, though the soul is filled with it, The tongue to speak’s unable. But as I wind my arm ’round Thee And my soul in Thine enters, I feel as though Thou knowest all What on my tongue then centres. XX Once as I through the golden stars Up heavenward was gazing, It seemed to me Thou wert a saint And I an angel blazing. Then I a harp took to my hand And songs to Thee I chanted Until the saints’ songs died away And all eyes to us slanted. And God the Father for a while Himself ceased in creation. And down His cheek there seemed to roll A diamond of compassion. XXI The stars upon the heavens there Are worlds of greatest features, And I would only like to know What kind they have of creatures. If some one from that height up there At us ’way down here gazes, And if he up there like I here His voice in love songs raises. XXII The greatest hero is not he For blows with blows who’s paying, But he who, hundred times betrayed, Himself knows no betraying. Who after love can send a curse He never felt love’s passion, For love is able to forgive And knows no condemnation. Who will not bring a sacrifice To him no love be proffered; Bad is the priest who thinks he’s more Than that what he has offered. And should e’er love demand of me My life and share in heaven-- I would go as the lamb for Thee To whom my love I’ve given. XXIII The heavens are replete with stars As spring time is with daisies; Thus everything in God’s great world For love has its own praises. The violet’s replete with scent And dew in little blossom, And that dear nightingale sings love From overflowing bosom. The heavens are replete with stars, With blazing lights all sweeping, And here on earth the living men Are singing and are weeping. XXIV Upon the sky the moon and stars, The forest full of voices, And God spreads only love around In which the world rejoices. The murmurs in young foliage Change to low sweet narration; The world is gay and jubilant And melts in osculation. And yet I know that somewhere grief Some youthful heart oppresses, And that a secret bitter tear Some young pale cheek caresses. XXV The scorching heat of noonday sun Is my love’s blazing passion; The night--fair shadow of the day-- Thy love’s sweet moderation. Thou hast set fire within my breast, Earth’s centre’s heat assuming, But that fire, unnursed by Thy love, Will die, itself consuming. I dreamt of banquets with Thy love And have but crumbs collected; What wonder, then, if only grief Is in my face reflected. The heart, indeed, can suffer much, Oppressed by love’s great hunger, And whether I am day or night I now can guess no longer. ’Tis written thus. The day and night Proceed, each other missing-- But as the evening’s dusk arrives, They meet, each other kissing. XXVI Tell wherein thou hast sinned, my heart; My God, such tribulation! That what forever should be joined Must live in separation. How beautiful the life would be In love without distressing! But to forever yearn and live-- Where is therein a blessing? XXVII If all the world lost its delight And had no other pleasure And love alone was left behind-- The life would have its treasure. And if all other things were truth And love but dreams’ delusion-- I would be ready to lie down And sleep to life’s conclusion. And if till now I’ve only dreamt-- My dreams had their sweet flavor, And who sang me my lullabies I shan’t forget forever. XXVIII What matters it what in sweet songs The nightingale is telling, Since my own heart has left its place And now with Thee ’tis dwelling. And if her call rang e’er so sweet And into mine ears chanted: What matters it, since in my heart And soul now Thou art planted! And there Thou art, so charmful, Beyond imagination, That I’d give the sky’s stars, my soul, To Thee in admiration. XXIX My sweetheart, I dreamt Thou hadst died; I heard the death-knells pealing, And there were tears and wails and cries And signs of saddest feeling. For the low mound o’er Thy strange bed They picked a tombstone blindly, And a verse for Thine epitaph To write they asked me kindly. Oh, folks! Oh, folks! yourselves of stones, My heart take, with grief raving, And what I have not sung before Use for the stone’s engraving! You trusted not in my pure love And scorned my word and letter-- Now if the stone will speak to you, You’ll understand it better. XXX When God felt His supreme delight, The human heart He molded And for eternal memory His love in it He folded. And as He gazed upon the heart With eyes divine, forseeing, He wept, for He was overjoyed To see the blissful being. But as He wept, one of His tears, Unnoticed, the heart entered, As dew falls in a flower cup, And near the bottom centered. That is why love is a great grief, But grief so sweet and charming That pitied must be all the hearts That have escaped its harming. That is why love is half of bliss And half of grief a token, But if the tear swells to a wave, Then some heart may be broken. XXXI So many, many things there are To which the keys are lacking; Deep silence answers all man’s knocks And foils his undertaking. Thou human heart! There sorrows howl As wolves, by hunger driven, And yet that same heart, oh, my God! To love alone is given. ’Tis capable of so much love That man’s wit may be failing, And he may as the lonely dove In vain roam, ever wailing. XXXII Up in the oak tree a dove wailed-- Below, a brooklet muttered-- Don’t wonder, when I was to speak, That not a word I uttered. Can he speak from all his soul’s depth Who does in strange lands wander? And man’s too human that he should At paradise not wonder. XXXIII The night is fair and transparent-- One sees the heaven’s sainted; The song, the odor, and the buzz Hold the whole heart enchanted. O pity, Thou art not with me, To hear with me and wonder How everything here tells its tale To the clear heavens yonder. How the whole world is but one song The universe pervading, And that from human hearts but comes An echo, faint and fading. XXXIV Those stars, those fair wee little stars, The heavens’ blue dome lighting, They look to me down with sweet eyes, Me up to them inviting. Oh no! ye fair wee little stars; You love that wheel of heaven, While I prefer to stay down here Where I find all I’ve craven. You don’t know, fair wee little stars, And think not what you’re missing; We have here heaven on the earth In sweet, delightful kissing. XXXV I do not know, was it a dream? But in my mind it lingers-- I saw and read the nations’ fates, Decreed by God’s own fingers. Thoughts, earnest as was God himself, Passed through His great head, thronging And beautiful as nights of spring For a sweet body longing. Some thought--great as the universe, Some--music sounding gently, Some--future human history, By human eyes seen faintly. There, too, I met with my own love And with Thy heart, ne’er failing, That love of ours appeared there As two small bright clouds sailing. And God, observing our sweet love, Himself with grace relented, And throngs of young angels their hymns Before Him on it chanted. XXXVI That deep and dark blue heavens’ bowl-- And stars as golden blossoms; As man looks at them from the earth, His heart strange feelings bosoms. And all the time more and more stars Appear without a bound there-- And yet not ev’ry little star Can easily be found there. But whene’er in two youthful hearts First breath of love does enter, A new star is said to appear In heavens’ dark blue center. And if in one of the two hearts Love’s blossoms starts to wither, Then from the dark blue heavens’ bowl One golden star drops hither. XXXVII That little bird sings all the time As one song with life ringing; So wonder not, if one does love, That he’ll pass life in singing. And that bird speaks from heart to heart, And it knows how, directly, So that man hardly keeps back tears, If he knows hearts perfectly. Yes, often it appears to me That I am as its fellow, For my songs, too, can move to tears, So soft they are, and mellow. XXXVIII Deep silence reigns--it seems to me Sleep comes to mine eyes, resting, As does a bird come to its mate In their home softly nesting. The night’s soft bed is ready made-- The heavens, with stars covered. Maybe that some heart will forget For what this day it suffered. Maybe that some heart will forget, And if it found no treasure, Maybe it finds it in its dream And with it finds its pleasure. XXXIX It seemed to me--Grief had grown old, Soon would come its last countin’, And tears--so many had been shed That dry must be their fountain. Then suddenly I thought of Thee, And soon my whole soul shivered, And as though I should lose Thee soon An echo in it quivered. And mine eyes promptly filled with tears, My joy to grief is bending, And I am finding out with pain That tears shall have no ending. XL I thought to myself, with no love How’d look that world of ours: It would be as a dreary waste Without a trace of flowers. The heart would wander through that waste And always on grief border, It would be sad as the world was Ere God to light gave order. It would be so sad that on earth Man would not like the livin’, And God the Father would not like To stay as God in heaven. XLI There were two thoughts, two thoughts of God, Two stars beside each other, And from all of the heavens’ stars They most loved one another. Once one of them fell to the earth-- The other pined in sorrow, And God, touched by her grief and love, Sent her down on the morrow. They sought each other many nights As lonely souls their Eden, Until one day they chanced to meet As a young man and maiden. Their eyes met, and they recognized Each other, tender-hearted, And lived together in great bliss Till one of them departed. And when she died, she always called And languished for the other, Till God summoned the other one, And they’re again together. XLII That young little singer there-- Why did she cease her narration? Her eyes quickly filled with tears As though grieved in separation. Some one may think to himself, God, how can her young soul darken? Her face young and beautiful, And her song so sweet to hearken. Ah, a beautiful young face May not do in solace bringing; And though sweet the song may be-- You don’t always feel like singing. XLIII As in the sky rises the moon-- So into hearts love enters; And secret pain and silent grief Around it often centers. And visions man had not thought of He may see, dimly lighted, And secret pain and silent grief May be in song united. But gales and tempests violent In many hearts are waking, And ere in song they utter them-- How many hearts are breaking! XLIV Ye all who deem yourselves oppressed, Come near, come nearer to me: Lay off your sorrows’ burdens here And light up your minds gloomy. I’ve reared here a vast realm of love Where mate seeks his mate pretty, And what one harbors in his heart Resounds in love’s sweet ditty. No rival here, no hater’s known, Here speech is love song, wooing; Here lions turn to calm, meek lambs And hawks to doves, sweet, cooing. Here are all ailments’ remedies; Here hearts are ever youthful; Here never fades the blooming rose, And friendship’s ever truthful. XLV The day and night went each their way-- The day, as Judas, traitor, The night, so fair, so beautiful, That none can ever hate her. The little stars shine in the sky, The moon comes with her pallor, And in the forest chats the dove, The fair and tender caller. The heart confesses to the heart With thoughts in distance sailing, And longing lips thirst for a kiss, From burning passion thrilling. XLVI Thou hast laid Thy hand on my head, My temples proud caressing; Thy lips have whispered their sweet words In prayer and in blessing. Thou hast revealed Thy soul to me In Thy love’s fragrant blossom, And what I had not dared to dream-- Thou took’st me to Thy bosom. With blessing Thou hast graced my harp, My heart and my lips’ diction; To pious battles Thou hast sent My songs with benediction. My forehead is from sadness freed, Fears are a thing I scoff at, My soul is filled with dawning light-- And I am love’s great prophet. XLVII Of my songs I shall build Thy throne In style of bards of greatest fame. Thy sceptre shall be my own heart, My fame shall be Thy diadem. Love I shall declare to be law, I shall sing daily Thine esteem; In Thy soul I’ll pour love’s delight And sweetest longing in Thy dream. I shall bid birds to sing to Thee, May’s flowers shall fall to Thy feet; I’ll change to heaven the world and all And there command the stars to meet. I’ll make your subjects all men’s hearts, Revive the Eden with my verse, Proclaim Thee high queen of it all Throughout the whole of universe. XLVIII Don’t wonder, shouldst Thou chance to hear Birds sing of Thy love’s wooing; They called once at my window sill To see what I was doing. And they again came and again And soon taught me to love them, For I am free just as they are And am just like one of them. I sang them many songs of Thee That in sweet love abounded, And they soon tuned their throats to them Till in their songs love sounded. The other day I called on them In their woods and nooks shady And was surprised to find the birds To sing my songs already. XLIX The God’s world is so far and wide And goodness in small measure; By thousands one can count the pains And very little pleasure. The heart is ready to redeem With hundred pains one pleasure-- And the same heart, O God, for love Will suffer past all measure. L Hey, in the rounds what pleasure While one his lass embraces! Let’s have the charming music-- Come, pale lad, join our races! Ah, the pale lad’s whole body As though with cold frost shivered, And down his pale cheeks quickly A stream of hot tears quivered. LI Ye little, ye wee little birds, Ye song-dreamers in sleeping; Does anyone of you there know That I die here from weeping? Dear moon, stop moving in the sky Till I some solace gather; My love’s fire’s extinct as art thou-- We both fit well together. The last flame flickers to die out, All that’s left are words hollow; Yet I would blow all to new life, Though nought but grief should follow. LII My pillow was of sorrow made My sleep were tears, free flowing; Go easy, my heart--not so loud: Deep penitence I’m showing. The moon comes by the window in, Gown’d in her deathly pallor, And in the heart a song died down As of a bird, sad caller. Dear moon, light up the stars on high; Let dew descend on flowers; Awake from sleep the nightingale, But men--let sleep their hours! You carry off the gorgeous love-- You know the calamity; I am now but a wretched man-- Ah, pity, pity, pity! LIII “’Tis wrong for men to lack in song--” In judgment God has spoken-- And then He sent a bard to men And gave him this as token: “Throughout thy life have thou no rest, Thy bread with tears be eaten; Know thou nought but hard suffering, In all hopes be thou beaten! “Though thy heart be rent to its blood-- View that blood to them clinging; Though driven by them through all lands-- Love them--and keep on singing!” That lot is common to us bards. Men may have our songs chanted, But with what had brought on our song-- None cares to get acquainted. LIV My lips were lockt a long, long time, And mute as rocks are lonely, But suddenly they were unlockt By Thee with one kiss only. That kiss fell as in month of May On parched earth falls a shower; Now songs began to sprout again In my soul with fresh power. LV When I shall trust my corpse to earth And my soul to God’s keeping, I ask to be laid as a bard Away to my last sleeping. Into my hand I want the lyre, On head, leaves from laure’s arbor; Let my new neighbors know at once Who comes to their calm harbor. I always holy held the lyre And not a mere toy only: So let it be mine ornament In night long and place lonely. Should we feel lonesome in the graves And, maybe, for home too sick, Then I shall sing a song for them And cheer them up with music. And should in your lives sluggishness And sleep here overtake you: I’ll rouse the dead and send them back, And they shall come and wake you. LVI My God, of all things I aspire I here confess, whole-hearted; All I pray for is that from song I never shall be parted. Shouldst Thou withdraw my gift of song-- I ask to live no longer; Shouldst Thou for song bid me take bliss-- I still to song cling stronger. LVII Blest is the man whom the Lord’s hand As bard had consecrated; He has looked into God’s decrees And has men’s breasts well rated. He knows what says the world’s great psalm And what the birds are singing; He understands the throbbing heart, In tears, and with joy ringing. What secret is to other men Is open to his vision; He is the leader of God’s race To its long promised region. He is the king of kingdoms vast, The priest of men’s salvation, And beauties’ treasures lie in him Beyond all estimation. LVIII Much has been trusted to Thy hands; My heart in them I planted, And God placed sweet songs in that heart To have men’s bliss augmented. A strange plant is the human heart-- Not easily to nourish; For, it is up to love alone, If it shall die or flourish. A strange plant is the human heart-- It needs the climate’s favor And dew and rain and best of care To yield fruit of good flavor. So should my heart from Thy hands sprout In honor of the nation, Long ages that are yet to come Shall sing Thine adoration. LIX I bade the trumpets to be blown For glorious resurrection; I shall in final judgment sit-- Ye shall hear your fates’ lection. Ye who have been opposed to love And have against it spoken: Ye shall despair for all the time, And your hearts shall be broken. But ye who always have kept faith And treated love with favor: Ye come and gather on my right And live in love forever. To you in heaven special place And special bliss be given, For, having loved upon the earth, You had the taste of heaven. LX He who can strike the golden strings Be highest honors given, For God has shewn you such great love That He sent him from heaven. It’s dreadful when with barren fields And plague God means to punish, But greatest scorge visits the race From whom its songs do vanish. That nation has not perished yet To whom its bards are singing: For all song is of heaven’s birth And life in death ’tis bringing. LXI At prophets cast ye never stones; They are as birds, shy, clever: Cast thou a stone at him but once, And he is gone forever. God’s fearful wrath the nation seeks Whose love of bards is shaken, And greatest wrath befell the race From whom God songs has taken. The poet’s heart is pure and chaste, His faith does never vary; Therefore, what he sings from his heart That ye in your hearts carry! LXII From heaven angels come to earth-- Dreams with their golden visions, And each of them brings men in sleep Delight from happy regions. Wherever these fair angels stop, Men learn all they had craven; For they know and tell them in dreams Fair tales direct from heaven. The eyelids suddenly get sealed-- With sweetness of sleep laden: Thine image stands in front of me-- Good night, good night--my maiden! LXIII Now go, my darling children, go-- This is no more your station; Accept for your quaint journey yet Your father’s osculation! May be, somewhere they’ll honor you And offer you receptions; But somewhere they may criticise-- Be ready for exceptions! But let your mind not be disturbed Nor wrinkles in face driven: All kinds of men live in the world, But few to love are given. LXIV In the sky the moon was standing; Dreams to me new songs were lending. Birds came and told one another How much we did love each other. That the fair fresh meadow flowers Would be wedding gowns of ours. That green ivy with her story Would wreathe Thy head with its glory. Adorned with thousand charms, That Thou wouldst rest in my arms. LXV He’s going far from home, With sorrow laden; He turns yet and looks back-- Good-bye, dear maiden! He turns yet and looks back, His kerchief waving; With kerchief he dries yet Eyes in tears laving. And now behind him closed A foreign region As in the sky the lark Gets lost to vision. He’s gone, but he’ll come back Again, joy-laden-- But ere he will return-- Good-bye, dear maiden! LXVI (Posthumous) The moon sails slowly in the sky So calmly and so freely; The nightingale wails in the twigs So sweetly and so really. Thy image stands in front of me So calmly and so freely; The heart in longing wakes and calls So sweetly and so really. A swarm of songs is circling ’round So calmly and so freely; And into mine eye steals a tear So sweetly and so really. Now gentle sleep knocks at my door So calmly and so freely-- And I recall Thee to my mind So sweetly and so really. LXVII (Posthumous) My sweetheart, look at those two clouds Above that mountain yonder-- The moon sheds her light on their way, And in close touch they wander. The maiden choir of quiet stars Is twinkling to them greeting, And gentle zephyrs in their breath Bring odors to them, fleeting. Lo! from the shrubs the nightingale Flew up with her narration-- Hark how she sends her song to them As song’s true incarnation! 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