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    The Poems of Schiller — First period
    The Poems of Schiller — First period
    The Poems of Schiller — First period
    Ebook106 pages59 minutes

    The Poems of Schiller — First period

    By Friedrich Schiller

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 15, 2013
    The Poems of Schiller — First period
    Author

    Friedrich Schiller

    Johann Christoph Friedrich Schiller, ab 1802 von Schiller (* 10. November 1759 in Marbach am Neckar; † 9. Mai 1805 in Weimar), war ein Arzt, Dichter, Philosoph und Historiker. Er gilt als einer der bedeutendsten deutschen Dramatiker, Lyriker und Essayisten.

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      Book preview

      The Poems of Schiller — First period - Friedrich Schiller

      Project Gutenberg's Poems of The First Period, by Friedrich Schiller

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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.net

      Title: Poems of The First Period

      Author: Friedrich Schiller

      Release Date: October 26, 2006 [EBook #6794]

      Last Updated: November 6, 2012

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF THE FIRST PERIOD ***

      Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger

      SCHILLER'S POEMS

      Poems of the First Period

      By Friedrich Schiller

      POEMS OF THE FIRST PERIOD

         Hector and Andromache

         Amalia

         A Funeral Fantasie

         Fantasie—To Laura

         To Laura at the Harpsichord

         Group from Tartarus

         Rapture—To Laura

         To Laura (The Mystery of Reminiscence)

         Melancholy—To Laura

         The Infanticide

         The Greatness of the World

         Fortune and Wisdom

         Elegy on the Death of a Young Man

         The Battle

         Rousseau

         Friendship

         Elysium

         The Fugitive

         To Minna

         The Flowers

         The Triumph of Love (A Hymn)

         To a Moralist

         Count Eberhard, the Groaner of Wurtemburg

         To the Spring

         Semele

      POEMS OF THE FIRST PERIOD.

              HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.

         [This and the following poem are, with some alterations, introduced

         in the Play of The Robbers.]

         ANDROMACHE.

         Will Hector leave me for the fatal plain,

         Where, fierce with vengeance for Patroclus slain,

                Stalks Peleus' ruthless son?

         Who, when thou glid'st amid the dark abodes,

         To hurl the spear and to revere the gods,

                Shall teach thine orphan one?

         HECTOR.

         Woman and wife beloved—cease thy tears;

         My soul is nerved—the war-clang in my ears!

                Be mine in life to stand

         Troy's bulwark!—fighting for our hearths, to go

         In death, exulting to the streams below,

                Slain for my fatherland!

         ANDROMACHE.

         No more I hear thy martial footsteps fall—

         Thine arms shall hang, dull trophies, on the wall—

                Fallen the stem of Troy!

         Thou goest where slow Cocytus wanders—where

         Love sinks in Lethe, and the sunless air

                Is dark to light and joy!

         HECTOR.

         Longing and thought—yes, all I feel and think

         May in the silent sloth of Lethe sink,

                But my love not!

         Hark, the wild swarm is at the walls!—I hear!

         Gird on my sword—Beloved one, dry the tear—

                Lethe for love is not!

                AMALIA.

         Angel-fair, Walhalla's charms displaying,

          Fairer than all mortal youths was he;

         Mild his look, as May-day sunbeams straying

          Gently o'er the blue and glassy sea.

         And his kisses!—what ecstatic feeling!

         Like two flames that lovingly entwine,

         Like the harp's soft tones together stealing

          Into one sweet harmony divine,—

         Soul and soul embraced, commingled, blended,

          Lips and cheeks with trembling passion burned,

         Heaven and earth, in pristine chaos ended,

          Round the blissful lovers madly turn'd.

         He is gone—and, ah! with bitter anguish

          Vainly now I breathe my mournful sighs;

         He is gone—in hopeless grief I languish

          Earthly joys I ne'er again can prize!

              A FUNERAL FANTASIE.

         Pale, at its ghastly noon,

         Pauses above the death-still wood—the moon;

         The night-sprite, sighing, through the dim air stirs;

          The clouds descend in rain;

          Mourning, the wan stars wane,

         Flickering like dying lamps in sepulchres!

         Haggard as spectres—vision-like and dumb,

          Dark with the pomp of death, and moving slow,

         Towards that sad lair the pale procession come

          Where the grave closes on the night below.

         With dim, deep-sunken eye,

         Crutched on his staff, who trembles tottering by?

         As wrung from out the shattered heart, one groan

         Breaks the deep hush alone!

         Crushed by the iron fate, he seems to gather

          All life's last strength to stagger to the bier,

         And hearken—Do these cold lips murmur Father?

          The sharp rain, drizzling through that place of fear,

         Pierces the bones gnawed fleshless by despair,

         And the heart's horror stirs the silver hair.

         Fresh bleed the fiery wounds

          Through all that agonizing heart undone—

         Still on the voiceless lips my Father sounds,

          And still the childless Father murmurs Son!

         Ice-cold—ice-cold, in that white shroud he lies—

          Thy sweet and golden dreams all vanished there—

         The sweet and golden name of Father dies

         Into thy curse,—ice-cold—ice-cold—he lies!

          Dead, what thy life's delight and Eden were!

         Mild, as when, fresh from the arms of Aurora,

          While the air like Elysium is smiling above,

         Steeped in rose-breathing odors, the darling of Flora

          Wantons over the blooms on his winglets of love.

         So gay, o'er the meads, went his footsteps in bliss,

          The silver wave mirrored the smile of his face;

         Delight, like a flame, kindled up at his kiss,

          And the heart of the maid was the prey of his chase.

         Boldly he sprang to the strife of the world,

          As a deer to the mountain-top carelessly springs;

         As an eagle whose plumes to the sun are unfurled,

          Swept his hope round the heaven on its limitless wings.

         Proud as a war-horse that chafes at the rein,

          That,

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