The Poems of Schiller — Second period. Friedrich von Schiller. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Friedrich von Schiller
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          Hope in death's last solemn hour!

           Pardon when before His face!

          Lo, the dead shall rise to heaven!

           Brethren hail the blest decree;

          Every sin shall be forgiven,

           Hell forever cease to be!

CHORUS

         When the golden bowl is broken,

          Gentle sleep within the tomb!

          Brethren, may a gracious doom

         By the Judge of man be spoken!

      THE INVINCIBLE ARMADA

         She comes, she comes — the burden of the deeps!

          Beneath her wails the universal sea!

         With clanking chains and a new god, she sweeps,

          And with a thousand thunders, unto thee!

         The ocean-castles and the floating hosts —

          Ne'er on their like looked the wild water! — Well

          May man the monster name "Invincible."

         O'er shuddering waves she gathers to thy coasts!

          The horror that she spreads can claim

          Just title to her haughty name.

         The trembling Neptune quails

          Under the silent and majestic forms;

         The doom of worlds in those dark sails; —

          Near and more near they sweep! and slumber all the storms!

          Before thee, the array,

         Blest island, empress of the sea!

         The sea-born squadrons threaten thee,

          And thy great heart, Britannia!

         Woe to thy people, of their freedom proud —

         She rests, a thunder heavy in its cloud!

         Who, to thy hand the orb and sceptre gave,

          That thou should'st be the sovereign of the nations?

         To tyrant kings thou wert thyself the slave,

          Till freedom dug from law its deep foundations;

         The mighty Chart the citizens made kings,

           And kings to citizens sublimely bowed!

          And thou thyself, upon thy realm of water,

          Hast thou not rendered millions up to slaughter,

         When thy ships brought upon their sailing wings

           The sceptre — and the shroud?

         What should'st thou thank? — Blush, earth, to hear and feel

         What should'st thou thank? — Thy genius and thy steel!

         Behold the hidden and the giant fires!

          Behold thy glory trembling to its fall!

          Thy coming doom the round earth shall appal,

         And all the hearts of freemen beat for thee,

         And all free souls their fate in thine foresee —

          Theirs is thy glory's fall!

         One look below the Almighty gave,

          Where streamed the lion-flags of thy proud foe;

         And near and wider yawned the horrent grave.

          "And who," saith He, "shall lay mine England low —

         The stem that blooms with hero-deeds —

         The rock when man from wrong a refuge needs —

          The stronghold where the tyrant comes in vain?

          Who shall bid England vanish from the main?

         Ne'er be this only Eden freedom knew,

          Man's stout defence from power, to fate consigned."

         God the Almighty blew,

          And the Armada went to every wind!

      THE GODS OF GREECE

          Ye in the age gone by,

         Who ruled the world — a world how lovely then! —

         And guided still the steps of happy men

          In the light leading-strings of careless joy!

         Ah, flourished then your service of delight!

          How different, oh, how different, in the day

         When thy sweet fanes with many a wreath were bright,

          O Venus Amathusia!

         Then, through a veil of dreams

          Woven by song, truth's youthful beauty glowed,

         And life's redundant and rejoicing streams

          Gave to the soulless, soul — where'r they flowed

         Man gifted nature with divinity

          To lift and link her to the breast of love;

         All things betrayed to the initiate eye

          The track of gods above!

         Where lifeless — fixed afar,

          A flaming ball to our dull sense is given,

         Phoebus Apollo, in his golden car,

          In silent glory swept the fields of heaven!

         On yonder hill the Oread was adored,

          In yonder tree the Dryad held her home;

         And from her urn the gentle Naiad poured

          The wavelet's silver foam.

         Yon bay, chaste Daphne wreathed,

          Yon stone was mournful Niobe's mute cell,

         Low through yon sedges pastoral Syrinx breathed,

          And through those groves wailed the sweet Philomel,

         The tears of Ceres swelled in yonder rill —