Chapter 8

Now the casting may begin; See the breach indented there: Ere we run the fusion in, Halt--and speed the pious prayer! Pull the bung out-- See around and about What vapor, what vapor--God help us!--has risen?-- Ha! the flame like a torrent leaps forth from its prison! What friend is like the might of fire When man can watch and wield the ire? Whate'er we shape or work, we owe Still to that heaven-descended glow. But dread the heaven-descended glow, When from their chain its wild wings go, When, where it listeth, wide and wild Sweeps free Nature's free-born child. When the frantic one fleets, While no force can withstand, Through the populous streets Whirling ghastly the brand; For the element hates What man's labor creates, And the work of his hand! Impartially out from the cloud, Or the curse or the blessing may fall! Benignantly out from the cloud Come the dews, the revivers of all! Avengingly out from the cloud Come the levin, the bolt, and the ball! Hark--a wail from the steeple!--aloud The bell shrills its voice to the crowd! Look--look--red as blood All on high! It is not the daylight that fills with its flood The sky! What a clamor awaking Roars up through the street, What a hell-vapor breaking. Rolls on through the street, And higher and higher Aloft moves the column of fire! Through the vistas and rows Like a whirlwind it goes, And the air like the stream from the furnace glows. Beams are crackling--posts are shrinking Walls are sinking--windows clinking-- Children crying-- Mothers flying-- And the beast (the black ruin yet smouldering under) Yells the howl of its pain and its ghastly wonder! Hurry and skurry--away--away, The face of the night is as clear as day! As the links in a chain, Again and again Flies the bucket from hand to hand; High in arches up-rushing The engines are gushing, And the flood, as a beast on the prey that it hounds With a roar on the breast of the element bounds. To the grain and the fruits, Through the rafters and beams, Through the barns and garners it crackles and streams! As if they would rend up the earth from its roots, Rush the flames to the sky Giant-high; And at length, Wearied out and despairing, man bows to their strength! With an idle gaze sees their wrath consume, And submits to his doom! Desolate The place, and dread For storms the barren bed. In the blank voids that cheerful casements were, Comes to and fro the melancholy air, And sits despair; And through the ruin, blackening in its shroud Peers, as it flits, the melancholy cloud.

One human glance of grief upon the grave Of all that fortune gave The loiterer takes--then turns him to depart, And grasps the wanderer's staff and mans his heart Whatever else the element bereaves One blessing more than all it reft--it leaves, The faces that he loves!--He counts them o'er, See--not one look is missing from that store!

Now clasped the bell within the clay-- The mould the mingled metals fill-- Oh, may it, sparkling into day, Reward the labor and the skill! Alas! should it fail, For the mould may be frail-- And still with our hope must be mingled the fear-- And, ev'n now, while we speak, the mishap may be near! To the dark womb of sacred earth This labor of our hands is given, As seeds that wait the second birth, And turn to blessings watched by heaven! Ah, seeds, how dearer far than they, We bury in the dismal tomb, Where hope and sorrow bend to pray That suns beyond the realm of day May warm them into bloom!

From the steeple Tolls the bell, Deep and heavy, The death-knell! Guiding with dirge-note--solemn, sad, and slow, To the last home earth's weary wanderers know. It is that worshipped wife-- It is that faithful mother! [46] Whom the dark prince of shadows leads benighted, From that dear arm where oft she hung delighted Far from those blithe companions, born Of her, and blooming in their morn; On whom, when couched her heart above, So often looked the mother-love!

Ah! rent the sweet home's union-band, And never, never more to come-- She dwells within the shadowy land, Who was the mother of that home! How oft they miss that tender guide, The care--the watch--the face--the mother-- And where she sate the babes beside, Sits with unloving looks--another!

While the mass is cooling now, Let the labor yield to leisure, As the bird upon the bough, Loose the travail to the pleasure. When the soft stars awaken, Each task be forsaken! And the vesper-bell lulling the earth into peace, If the master still toil, chimes the workman's release!

Homeward from the tasks of day, Through the greenwood's welcome way Wends the wanderer, blithe and cheerly, To the cottage loved so dearly! And the eye and ear are meeting, Now, the slow sheep homeward bleating-- Now, the wonted shelter near, Lowing the lusty-fronted steer; Creaking now the heavy wain, Reels with the happy harvest grain. While with many-colored leaves, Glitters the garland on the sheaves; For the mower's work is done, And the young folks' dance begun! Desert street, and quiet mart;-- Silence is in the city's heart; And the social taper lighteth; Each dear face that home uniteth; While the gate the town before Heavily swings with sullen roar!

Though darkness is spreading O'er earth--the upright And the honest, undreading, Look safe on the night-- Which the evil man watches in awe, For the eye of the night is the law! Bliss-dowered! O daughter of the skies, Hail, holy order, whose employ Blends like to like in light and joy-- Builder of cities, who of old Called the wild man from waste and wold. And, in his hut thy presence stealing, Roused each familiar household feeling; And, best of all the happy ties, The centre of the social band,-- The instinct of the Fatherland!

United thus--each helping each, Brisk work the countless hands forever; For naught its power to strength can teach, Like emulation and endeavor! Thus linked the master with the man, Each in his rights can each revere, And while they march in freedom's van, Scorn the lewd rout that dogs the rear! To freemen labor is renown! Who works--gives blessings and commands; Kings glory in the orb and crown-- Be ours the glory of our hands.

Long in these walls--long may we greet Your footfalls, peace and concord sweet! Distant the day, oh! distant far, When the rude hordes of trampling war Shall scare the silent vale; And where, Now the sweet heaven, when day doth leave The air, Limns its soft rose-hues on the veil of eve; Shall the fierce war-brand tossing in the gale, From town and hamlet shake the horrent glare!

Now, its destined task fulfilled, Asunder break the prison-mould; Let the goodly bell we build, Eye and heart alike behold. The hammer down heave, Till the cover it cleave:-- For not till we shatter the wall of its cell Can we lift from its darkness and bondage the bell.

To break the mould, the master may, If skilled the hand and ripe the hour; But woe, when on its fiery way The metal seeks itself to pour. Frantic and blind, with thunder-knell, Exploding from its shattered home, And glaring forth, as from a hell, Behold the red destruction come! When rages strength that has no reason, There breaks the mould before the season; When numbers burst what bound before, Woe to the state that thrives no more! Yea, woe, when in the city's heart, The latent spark to flame is blown; And millions from their silence start, To claim, without a guide, their own!

Discordant howls the warning bell, Proclaiming discord wide and far, And, born but things of peace to tell, Becomes the ghastliest voice of war: "Freedom! Equality!"--to blood Rush the roused people at the sound! Through street, hall, palace, roars the flood, And banded murder closes round! The hyena-shapes (that women were!), Jest with the horrors they survey; They hound--they rend--they mangle there-- As panthers with their prey! Naught rests to hollow--burst the ties Of life's sublime and reverent awe; Before the vice the virtue flies, And universal crime is law! Man fears the lion's kingly tread; Man fears the tiger's fangs of terror; And still the dreadliest of the dread, Is man himself in error! No torch, though lit from heaven, illumes The blind!--Why place it in his hand? It lights not him--it but consumes The city and the land!

Rejoice and laud the prospering skies! The kernel bursts its husk--behold From the dull clay the metal rise, Pure-shining, as a star of gold! Neck and lip, but as one beam, It laughs like a sunbeam. And even the scutcheon, clear-graven, shall tell That the art of a master has fashioned the bell!

Come in--come in My merry men--we'll form a ring The new-born labor christening; And "Concord" we will name her!-- To union may her heartfelt call In brother-love attune us all! May she the destined glory win For which the master sought to frame her-- Aloft--(all earth's existence under), In blue-pavillioned heaven afar To dwell--the neighbor of the thunder, The borderer of the star! Be hers above a voice to rise Like those bright hosts in yonder sphere, Who, while they move, their Maker praise, And lead around the wreathed year! To solemn and eternal things We dedicate her lips sublime!-- As hourly, calmly, on she swings Fanned by the fleeting wings of time!-- No pulse--no heart--no feeling hers! She lends the warning voice to fate; And still companions, while she stirs, The changes of the human state! So may she teach us, as her tone But now so mighty, melts away-- That earth no life which earth has known From the last silence can delay!

Slowly now the cords upheave her! From her earth-grave soars the bell; Mid the airs of heaven we leave her! In the music-realm to dwell! Up--upwards yet raise-- She has risen--she sways. Fair bell to our city bode joy and increase, And oh, may thy first sound be hallowed to peace! [47]

THE POWER OF SONG.

The foaming stream from out the rock With thunder roar begins to rush,-- The oak falls prostrate at the shock, And mountain-wrecks attend the gush. With rapturous awe, in wonder lost, The wanderer hearkens to the sound; From cliff to cliff he hears it tossed, Yet knows not whither it is bound: 'Tis thus that song's bright waters pour From sources never known before.

In union with those dreaded ones That spin life's thread all-silently, Who can resist the singer's tones? Who from his magic set him free? With wand like that the gods bestow, He guides the heaving bosom's chords, He steeps it in the realms below, He bears it, wondering, heavenward, And rocks it, 'twixt the grave and gay, On feeling's scales that trembling sway.

As when before the startled eyes Of some glad throng, mysteriously, With giant-step, in spirit-guise, Appears a wondrous deity, Then bows each greatness of the earth Before the stranger heaven-born, Mute are the thoughtless sounds of mirth, While from each face the mask is torn, And from the truth's triumphant might Each work of falsehood takes to flight.

So from each idle burden free, When summoned by the voice of song, Man soars to spirit-dignity, Receiving force divinely strong: Among the gods is now his home, Naught earthly ventures to approach-- All other powers must now be dumb, No fate can on his realms encroach; Care's gloomy wrinkles disappear, Whilst music's charms still linger here,

As after long and hopeless yearning, And separation's bitter smart, A child, with tears repentant burning, Clings fondly to his mother's heart-- So to his youthful happy dwelling, To rapture pure and free from stain, All strange and false conceits expelling, Song guides the wanderer back again, In faithful Nature's loving arm, From chilling precepts to grow warm.

TO PROSELYTIZERS.

"Give me only a fragment of earth beyond the earth's limits,"-- So the godlike man said,--"and I will move it with ease." Only give me permission to leave myself for one moment, And without any delay I will engage to be yours.

HONOR TO WOMAN.

[Literally "Dignity of Women."]

Honor to woman! To her it is given To garden the earth with the roses of heaven! All blessed, she linketh the loves in their choir In the veil of the graces her beauty concealing, She tends on each altar that's hallowed to feeling, And keeps ever-living the fire!

From the bounds of truth careering, Man's strong spirit wildly sweeps, With each hasty impulse veering Down to passion's troubled deeps. And his heart, contented never, Greeds to grapple with the far, Chasing his own dream forever, On through many a distant star! But woman with looks that can charm and enchain, Lureth back at her beck the wild truant again, By the spell of her presence beguiled-- In the home of the mother her modest abode, And modest the manners by Nature bestowed On Nature's most exquisite child!

Bruised and worn, but fiercely breasting, Foe to foe, the angry strife; Man, the wild one, never resting, Roams along the troubled life; What he planneth, still pursuing; Vainly as the Hydra bleeds, Crest the severed crest renewing-- Wish to withered wish succeeds.

But woman at peace with all being, reposes, And seeks from the moment to gather the roses-- Whose sweets to her culture belong. Ah! richer than he, though his soul reigneth o'er The mighty dominion of genius and lore, And the infinite circle of song.

Strong, and proud, and self-depending, Man's cold bosom beats alone; Heart with heart divinely blending, In the love that gods have known, Soul's sweet interchange of feeling, Melting tears--he never knows, Each hard sense the hard one steeling, Arms against a world of foes.

Alive, as the wind-harp, how lightly soever If wooed by the zephyr, to music will quiver, Is woman to hope and to fear; All, tender one! still at the shadow of grieving, How quiver the chords--how thy bosom is heaving-- How trembles thy glance through the tear!

Man's dominion, war and labor; Might to right the statue gave; Laws are in the Scythian's sabre; Where the Mede reigned--see the slave! Peace and meekness grimly routing, Prowls the war-lust, rude and wild; Eris rages, hoarsely shouting, Where the vanished graces smiled.

But woman, the soft one, persuasively prayeth-- Of the life [48] that she charmeth, the sceptre she swayeth; She lulls, as she looks from above, The discord whose bell for its victims is gaping, And blending awhile the forever escaping, Whispers hate to the image of love!

HOPE.

We speak with the lip, and we dream in the soul, Of some better and fairer day; And our days, the meanwhile, to that golden goal Are gliding and sliding away. Now the world becomes old, now again it is young, But "The better" 's forever the word on the tongue.

At the threshold of life hope leads us in-- Hope plays round the mirthful boy; Though the best of its charms may with youth begin, Yet for age it reserves its toy.

THE GERMAN ART.

By no kind Augustus reared, To no Medici endeared, German art arose; Fostering glory smiled not on her, Ne'er with kingly smiles to sun her, Did her blooms unclose.

No,--she went by monarchs slighted Went unhonored, unrequited, From high Frederick's throne; Praise and pride be all the greater, That man's genius did create her, From man's worth alone.

Therefore, all from loftier mountains, Purer wells and richer fountains, Streams our poet-art; So no rule to curb its rushing-- All the fuller flows it gushing From its deep--the heart!

ODYSSEUS.

Seeking to find his home, Odysseus crosses each water; Through Charybdis so dread; ay, and through Scylla's wild yells, Through the alarms of the raging sea, the alarms of the land too,-- E'en to the kingdom of hell leads him his wandering course. And at length, as he sleeps, to Ithaca's coast fate conducts him; There he awakes, and, with grief, knows not his fatherland now.

CARTHAGE.

Oh thou degenerate child of the great and glorious mother, Who with the Romans' strong might couplest the Tyrians' deceit! But those ever governed with vigor the earth they had conquered,-- These instructed the world that they with cunning had won. Say! what renown does history grant thee? Thou, Roman-like, gained'st That with the steel, which with gold, Tyrian-like, then thou didst rule!

THE SOWER.

Sure of the spring that warms them into birth, The golden seeds thou trustest to the earth; And dost thou doubt the eternal spring sublime, For deeds--the seeds which wisdom sows in time.

THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN.

Oh, nobly shone the fearful cross upon your mail afar, When Rhodes and Acre hailed your might, O lions of the war! When leading many a pilgrim horde, through wastes of Syrian gloom; Or standing with the cherub's sword before the holy tomb. Yet on your forms the apron seemed a nobler armor far, When by the sick man's bed ye stood, O lions of the war! When ye, the high-born, bowed your pride to tend the lowly weakness, The duty, though it brought no fame, fulfilled by Christian meekness-- Religion of the cross, thou blend'st, as in a single flower, The twofold branches of the palm--humility and power. [49]

THE MERCHANT.

Where sails the ship?--It leads the Tyrian forth For the rich amber of the liberal north. Be kind, ye seas--winds, lend your gentlest wing, May in each creek sweet wells restoring spring!-- To you, ye gods, belong the merchant!--o'er The waves his sails the wide world's goods explore; And, all the while, wherever waft the gales The wide world's good sails with him as he sails!

GERMAN FAITH. [50]

Once for the sceptre of Germany, fought with Bavarian Louis Frederick, of Hapsburg descent, both being called to the throne. But the envious fortune of war delivered the Austrian Into the hands of the foe, who overcame him in fight. With the throne he purchased his freedom, pledging his honor For the victor to draw 'gainst his own people his sword; But what he vowed when in chains, when free he could not accomplish, So, of his own free accord, put on his fetters again. Deeply moved, his foe embraced him,--and from thenceforward As a friend with a friend, pledged they the cup at the feast; Arm-in-arm, the princes on one couch slumbered together. While a still bloodier hate severed the nations apart. 'Gainst the army of Frederick Louis now went, and behind him Left the foe he had fought, over Bavaria to watch. "Ay, it is true! 'Tis really true! I have it in writing!" Thus did the Pontifex cry, when he first heard of the news.

THE SEXES.

See in the babe two loveliest flowers united--yet in truth, While in the bud they seem the same--the virgin and the youth! But loosened is the gentle bond, no longer side by side-- From holy shame the fiery strength will soon itself divide. Permit the youth to sport, and still the wild desire to chase, For, but when sated, weary strength returns to seek the grace. Yet in the bud, the double flowers the future strife begin, How precious all--yet naught can still the longing heart within. In ripening charms the virgin bloom to woman shape hath grown, But round the ripening charms the pride hath clasped its guardian zone; Shy, as before the hunter's horn the doe all trembling moves, She flies from man as from a foe, and hates before she loves!

From lowering brows this struggling world the fearless youth observes, And hardened for the strife betimes, he strains the willing nerves; Far to the armed throng and to the race prepared to start, Inviting glory calls him forth, and grasps the troubled heart:-- Protect thy work, O Nature now! one from the other flies, Till thou unitest each at last that for the other sighs. There art thou, mighty one! where'er the discord darkest frown, Thou call'st the meek harmonious peace, the god-like soother down. The noisy chase is lulled asleep, day's clamor dies afar, And through the sweet and veiled air in beauty comes the star. Soft-sighing through the crisped reeds, the brooklet glides along, And every wood the nightingale melodious fills with song. O virgin! now what instinct heaves thy bosom with the sigh? O youth! and wherefore steals the tear into thy dreaming eye? Alas! they seek in vain within the charm around bestowed, The tender fruit is ripened now, and bows to earth its load. And restless goes the youth to feed his heart upon its fire, All, where the gentle breath to cool the flame of young desire! And now they meet--the holy love that leads them lights their eyes, And still behind the winged god the winged victory flies. O heavenly love!--'tis thy sweet task the human flowers to bind, For ay apart, and yet by thee forever intertwined!

LOVE AND DESIRE.

Rightly said, Schlosser! Man loves what he has; what he has not, desireth; None but the wealthy minds love; poor minds desire alone.

THE BARDS OF OLDEN TIME.

Say, where is now that glorious race, where now are the singers Who, with the accents of life, listening nations enthralled, Sung down from heaven the gods, and sung mankind up to heaven, And who the spirit bore up high on the pinions of song? Ah! the singers still live; the actions only are wanting, And to awake the glad harp, only a welcoming ear. Happy bards of a happy world! Your life-teeming accents Flew round from mouth unto mouth, gladdening every race. With the devotion with which the gods were received, each one welcomed That which the genius for him, plastic and breathing, then formed. With the glow of the song were inflamed the listener's senses, And with the listener's sense, nourished the singer the glow-- Nourished and cleansed it,--fortunate one! for whom in the voices Of the people still clear echoed the soul of the song, And to whom from without appeared, in life, the great godhead, Whom the bard of these days scarcely can feel in his breast.

JOVE TO HERCULES.

'Twas not my nectar made thy strength divine, But 'twas thy strength which made my nectar thine!

THE ANTIQUES AT PARIS.

That which Grecian art created, Let the Frank, with joy elated, Bear to Seine's triumphant strand, And in his museums glorious Show the trophies all-victorious To his wondering fatherland.

They to him are silent ever, Into life's fresh circle never From their pedestals come down. He alone e'er holds the Muses Through whose breast their power diffuses,-- To the Vandal they're but stone!

THEKLA.

A SPIRIT VOICE.