Part 19

Art is long, life short, judgment difficult, opportunity transient. To act is easy, to think is hard; to act according to our thought is troublesome. Every beginning is cheerful; the threshold is the place of expectation. The boy stands astonished, his impressions guide him; he learns sportfully, seriousness comes on him by surprise. Imitation is born with us; what should be imitated is not easy to discover. The excellent is rarely found, more rarely valued. The height charms us, the steps to it do not; with the summit in our eye, we love to walk along the plain. It is but a part of art that can be taught; the artist needs it all. Who knows it half, speaks much and is always wrong; who knows it wholly, inclines to act and speaks seldom or late. The former have no secrets and no force; the instruction they can give is like baked bread, savory and satisfying for a single day; but flour cannot be sown, and seed corn ought not to be ground. Words are good, but they are not the best. The best is not to be explained by words. The spirit in which we act is the highest matter. Action can be understood and again represented by the spirit alone. No one knows what he is doing while he acts aright; but of what is wrong we are always conscious. Whoever works with symbols only is a pedant, a hypocrite, or a bungler. There are many such, and they like to be together. Their babbling detains the scholar; their obstinate mediocrity vexes even the best. The instruction which the true artist gives us opens the mind; for where words fail him, deeds speak. The true scholar learns from the known to unfold the unknown, and approaches more and more to being a master.

THE HARPER'S SONGS

From 'Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship'

"What notes are those without the wall, Across the portal sounding? Let's have the music in our hall, Back from its roof rebounding." So spoke the king: the henchman flies; His answer heard, the monarch cries, "Bring in that ancient minstrel."

"Hail, gracious king, each noble knight! Each lovely dame, I greet you! What glittering stars salute my sight! What heart unmoved may meet you! Such lordly pomp is not for me, Far other scenes my eyes must see: Yet deign to list my harping."

The singer turns him to his art, A thrilling strain he raises; Each warrior hears with glowing heart And on his loved one gazes. The king, who liked his playing well, Commands, for such a kindly spell, A golden chain be given him.

"The golden chain give not to me: Thy boldest knight may wear it, Who 'cross the battle's purple sea On lion breast may bear it; Or let it be thy chancellor's prize, Amid his heaps to feast his eyes,-- Its yellow glance will please him.

"I sing but as the linnet sings, That on the green bough dwelleth; A rich reward his music brings, As from his throat it swelleth: Yet might I ask, I'd ask of thine One sparkling draught of purest wine To drink it here before you."

He viewed the wine, he quaffed it up: "O draught of sweetest savor! O happy house, where such a cup Is thought a little favor! If well you fare, remember me, And thank kind Heaven, from envy free, As now for this I thank you."

* * * * *

Who never ate his bread in sorrow, Who never spent the darksome hours Weeping and watching for the morrow,-- He knows ye not, ye gloomy Powers.

To earth, this weary earth, ye bring us, To guilt ye let us heedless go, Then leave repentance fierce to wring us; A moment's guilt, an age of woe!

MIGNON'S SONG

From 'Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship'

Such let me seem, till such I be; Take not my snow-white dress away! Soon from this dusk of earth I flee, Up to the glittering lands of day.

There first a little space I rest, Then wake so glad, to scenes so kind; In earthly robes no longer drest, This band, this girdle left behind.

And those calm shining sons of morn, They ask not who is maid or boy; No robes, no garments there are worn, Our body pure from sin's alloy.

Through little life not much I toiled, Yet anguish long this heart has wrung, Untimely woe my blossoms spoiled: Make me again forever young!

PHILINA'S SONG

From 'Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship'

Sing me not with such emotion How the night so lonesome is; Pretty maids, I've got a notion It is the reverse of this.

For as wife and man are plighted, And the better half the wife, So is night to day united,-- Night's the better half of life.

Can you joy in bustling daytime,-- Day, when none can get his will? It is good for work, for haytime; For much other it is ill.

But when in the nightly glooming, Social lamp on table glows, Face for faces dear illuming, And such jest and joyance goes;

When the fiery pert young fellow, Wont by day to run or ride, Whispering now some tale would tell O,-- All so gentle by your side;

When the nightingale to lovers Lovingly her songlet sings, Which for exiles and sad rovers Like mere woe and wailing rings;

With a heart how lightsome-feeling Do ye count the kindly clock, Which, twelve times deliberate pealing, Tells you none to-night shall knock!

Therefore, on all fit occasions, Mark it, maidens, what I sing: Every day its own vexations, And the night its joys will bring.

PROMETHEUS

Blacken thy heavens, Jove, With thunder-clouds, And exercise thee, like a boy Who thistles crops, With smiting oaks and mountain-tops: Yet must leave me standing My own firm earth; Must leave my cottage, which thou didst not build, And my warm hearth, Whose cheerful glow Thou enviest me.

I know naught more pitiful Under the sun, than you, gods! Ye nourish scantily With altar taxes And with cold lip-service, This your majesty;-- Would perish, were not Children and beggars Credulous fools.

When I was a child, And knew not whence or whither, I would turn my 'wildered eye To the sun, as if up yonder were An ear to hear to my complaining--A heart, like mine, On the oppressed to feel compassion.

Who helped me When I braved the Titans' insolence? Who rescued me from death, From slavery? Hast thou not all thyself accomplished, Holy-glowing heart? And, glowing, young, and good, Most ignorantly thanked The slumberer above there?

I honor thee! For what? Hast thou the miseries lightened Of the down-trodden? Hast thou the tears ever banished From the afflicted? Have I not to manhood been molded By omnipotent Time, And by Fate everlasting, My lords and thine?

Dreamedst thou ever I should grow weary of living, And fly to the desert, Since not all our Pretty dream buds ripen?

Here sit I, fashion men In mine own image,-- A race to be like me, To weep and to suffer, To be happy and enjoy themselves, To be careless of _thee_ too, As I!

Translation of John S. Dwight.

WANDERER'S NIGHT SONGS

Thou that from the heavens art, Every pain and sorrow stillest, And the doubly wretched heart Doubly with refreshment fillest, I am weary with contending! Why this rapture and unrest? Peace descending, Come, ah come into my breast!

O'er all the hill-tops Is quiet now, In all the tree-tops Hearest thou Hardly a breath; The birds are asleep in the trees: Wait; soon like these Thou too shalt rest.

Longfellow's Translation. Reprinted by permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co., publishers, Boston

THE ELFIN-KING

Who rides so late through the midnight blast? 'Tis a father spurs on with his child full fast; He gathers the boy well into his arm, He clasps him close and he keeps him warm.

"My son, why thus to my arm dost cling?"-- "Father, dost thou not see the elfin-king? The elfin-king with his crown and train!"-- "My son, 'tis a streak of the misty rain!"

_"Come hither, thou darling, come, go with me! Fine games I know that I'll play with thee; Flowers many and bright do my kingdoms hold, My mother has many a robe of gold."_

"O father, dear father, and dost thou not hear What the elfin-king whispers so low in mine ear?"-- "Calm, calm thee, my boy, it is only the breeze, As it rustles the withered leaves under the trees."

_"Wilt thou go, bonny boy, wilt thou go with me? My daughters shall wait on thee daintily; My daughters around thee in dance shall sweep, And rock thee and kiss thee and sing thee to sleep."_

"O father, dear father, and dost thou not mark The elf-king's daughters move by in the dark?"-- "I see it, my child; but it is not they, 'Tis the old willow nodding its head so gray."

_"I love thee! thy beauty it charms me so; And I'll take thee by force, if thou wilt not go!"_ "O father, dear father, he's grasping me,-- My heart is as cold as cold can be!"

The father rides swiftly,--with terror he gasps,-- The sobbing child in his arms he clasps; He reaches the castle with spurring and dread; But alack! in his arms the child lay dead!

Translation of Martin and Aytoun.

FROM 'THE WANDERER'S STORM SONG'

Whom thou desertest not, O Genius, Neither blinding rain nor storm Breathes upon his heart a chill. Whom thou desertest not, O Genius, To the lowering clouds, To the beating hail, He will sing cheerly, As the lark there, Thou that soarest.

Whom thou desertest not, O Genius, Him thou'lt lift o'er miry places On thy flaming pinions: He will traverse As on feet of flowers Slime of Deucalion's deluge; Slaying Python, strong, great, Pythius Apollo!

Whom thou desertest not, O Genius, Thou wilt spread thy downy wings beneath him, When he sleeps upon the crags; Thou wilt cover him with guardian pinions In the midnight forest depths.

Whom thou desertest not, O Genius, Thou wilt in whirling snow-storm Warmly wrap him round; To the warmth fly the Muses, To the warmth fly the Graces.

Around me float, ye Muses, And float, ye Graces! This is water, this is earth And the son of water and of earth, Over whom I wander Like the gods.

You are pure like the heart of water, You are pure like the core of earth; You float around me, and I float Over water, over earth, Like the gods.

Translation of Charles Harvey Genung.

THE GODLIKE

Noble be Man, Helpful and good! For that alone Doth distinguish him From all the beings Which we know.

Hail to the Unknown, the Higher Beings Felt within us! His pattern teach us Faith in them!

For unfeeling Is Nature: Still shineth the sun Over good and evil: And to the sinner Smile, as to the best, The moon and the stars.

Wind and waters, Thunder and hailstones, Rustle on their way, Smiting down as They dash along, One for another.

Just so does Fate Grope round in the crowd, Seize now the innocent, Curly-haired boy, Now on the old, bald Crown of the villain.

By great adamantine Laws everlasting, Here we must all our Round of existence Faithfully finish.

There can none but Man Perform the Impossible. He understandeth, Chooseth, and judgeth; He can impart to the Moment duration.

He alone may The Good reward, The Guilty punish, Mend and deliver; All the wayward, anomalous Bind in the Useful.

And the Immortals-- Them we reverence, As if they were men, and Did, on a grand scale, What the best man in little Does, or fain would do.

Let noble Man Be helpful and good! Ever creating The Right and the Useful-- Type of those loftier Beings of whom the heart whispers!

Translation of John S. Dwight.

SOLITUDE

O ye kindly nymphs, who dwell 'mongst the rocks and the thickets, Grant unto each whatsoever he may in silence desire! Comfort impart to the mourner, and give to the doubter instruction, And let the lover rejoice, finding the bliss that he craves. For from the gods ye received what they ever denied unto mortals, Power to comfort and aid all who in you may confide.

Translation of E. A. Bowring.

ERGO BIBAMUS!

For a praiseworthy object we're now gathered here, So, brethren, sing Ergo bibamus! Though talk may be hushed, yet the glasses ring clear: Remember then, Ergo bibamus! In truth 'tis an old, 'tis an excellent word; With its sound so befitting each bosom is stirred, And an echo the festal hall filling is heard, A glorious Ergo bibamus!

I saw mine own love in her beauty so rare, And bethought me of Ergo bibamus; So I gently approached, and she let me stand there, While I helped myself, thinking, Bibamus! And when she's appeared, and will clasp you and kiss, Or when those embraces and kisses ye miss, Take refuge, till found is some worthier bliss, In the comforting Ergo bibamus!

I am called by my fate far away from each friend; Ye loved ones, then, Ergo bibamus! With wallet light-laden from hence I must wend, So double our Ergo bibamus! Whatever to his treasure the niggard may add, Yet regard for the joyous will ever be had, For gladness lends ever its charms to the glad, So, brethren, sing: Ergo bibamus!

And what shall we say of to-day as it flies? I thought but of Ergo bibamus! 'Tis one of those truly that seldom arise, So again and again sing Bibamus! For joy through a wide-open portal it guides, Bright glitter the clouds as the curtain divides, And a form, a divine one, to greet us in glides, While we thunder our Ergo bibamus.

Translation of E. A. Bowring.

ALEXIS AND DORA

Farther and farther away, alas! at each moment the vessel Hastens, as onward it glides, cleaving the foam-covered flood! Long is the track plowed up by the keel where dolphins are sporting, Following fast in its rear, while it seems flying pursuit. All forebodes a prosperous voyage; the sailor with calmness Leans 'gainst the sail, which alone all that is needed performs. Forward presses the heart of each seaman, like colors and streamers; Backward one only is seen, mournfully fixed near the mast, While on the blue-tinged mountains, which fast are receding, he gazeth, And as they sink in the sea, joy from his bosom departs. Vanished from thee, too, O Dora, is now the vessel that robs thee Of thine Alexis, thy friend,--ah, thy betrothed as well! Thou, too, art after me gazing in vain. Our hearts are still throbbing, Though for each other, yet ah! 'gainst one another no more. O thou single moment, wherein I found life! thou outweighest Every day which had else coldly from memory fled. 'Twas in that moment alone, the last, that upon me descended Life such as deities grant, though thou perceivedst it not. Phoebus, in vain with thy rays dost thou clothe the ether in glory: Thine all-brightening day hateful alone is to me. Into myself I retreat for shelter, and there in the silence Strive to recover the time when she appeared with each day. Was it possible beauty like this to see, and not feel it? Worked not those heavenly charms e'en on a mind dull as thine? Blame not thyself, unhappy one! Oft doth the bard an enigma Thus propose to the throng, skillfully hidden in words; Each one enjoys the strange commingling of images graceful, Yet still is wanting the word which will discover the sense. When at length it is found, the heart of each hearer is gladdened, And in the poem he sees meaning of twofold delight. Wherefore so late didst thou remove the bandage, O Amor, Which thou hadst placed o'er mine eyes,--wherefore remove it so late? Long did the vessel, when laden, lie waiting for favoring breezes, Till in kindness the wind blew from the land o'er the sea. Vacant times of youth! and vacant dreams of the future! Ye all vanish, and naught, saving the moment, remains. Yes! it remains,--my joy still remains! I hold thee, my Dora, And thine image alone, Dora, by hope is disclosed. Oft have I seen thee go, with modesty clad, to the temple, While thy mother so dear solemnly went by thy side. Eager and nimble thou wert, in bearing thy fruit to the market, Boldly the pail from the well didst thou sustain on thy head. Then was revealed thy neck, then seen thy shoulders so beauteous, Then, before all things, the grace filling thy motions was seen. Oft have I feared that the pitcher perchance was in danger of falling, Yet it ever remained firm on the circular cloth. Thus, fair neighbor, yes, thus I oft was wont to observe thee, As on the stars I might gaze, as I might gaze on the moon; Glad indeed at the sight, yet feeling within my calm bosom Not the remotest desire ever to call them mine own.