Child of the Unborn!
joy! for thou
Shinest
in every heavenly flame,
Breathest in all the
winds that blow,
While self-conviction
speaks thy name:
Oh, let one glance of
thine illume
The longing soul that
bids thee come,
And make
me feel of heaven, like thee!
Shake from thy torch
one blazing drop,
And to my soul all heaven
shall ope,
And I—dissolve
in melody!
Translated in Westminster Review.
FROM THE ‘ODE TO NAPOLEON’
Poesy, nay! Too
long art silent!
Seize now the lute!
Why dost thou tarry?
Let sword the Universe
inherit,
Noblest as prize of
war be glory.
Let thousand mouths
sing hero-actions:
E’en so, the glory
is not uttered.
Earth-gods—an
endless life, ambrosial,
Find they alone in song
enchanting.
Watch thou with care
thy heedless fingers
Striking upon the lyre
so godlike;
Hold thou in check thy
lightning-flashes,
That where they chance
to fall are blighting.
He who on eagle’s
wing soars skyward
Must at the sun’s
bright barrier tremble.
Frederic, though great
in royal throning,
Well may amaze the earth,
and heaven,
When clothed by thunder
and the levin
Swerves he before the
hero’s fanfare.
* * * * *
Pause then, Imagination!
Portals
Hiding the Future, ope
your doorways!
Earth, the blood-drenched,
yields palms and olives.
Sword that hath cleft
on bone and muscle,
Spear that hath drunk
the hero’s lifeblood,
Furrow the soil, as
spade and ploughshare.
Blasts that alarm from
blaring trumpets
Laws of fair Peace anon
shall herald:
Heaven’s shame,
at last, its end attaining.
Earth, see, O see your
sceptres bowing.
Gone is the eagle once
majestic;
On us a cycle new is
dawning;
Look, from the skies
it hath descended.
O potent princes, ye
the throne-born!
See what Almighty will
hath destined.
Quit ye your seats,
in low adoring,
Set all the earth, with
you, a-kneeling;
Or—as the
free-born men should perish—
Sink in grave with crown
and kingdom.
Glorious in lucent rays,
already
Brighter than gold a
sceptre shineth;
No warring realm shall
dim its lustre,
No earth-storm veil
its blaze to dimness.
Can it be true that,
centuries ended,
God’s endless
realm, the Hebrew, quickens
Lifting its horns—though
not for always?
Shines in the East the
sun, like noonday?
Shall Hagar’s
wandering sons be heartened
After the Moslem’s
haughty baiting?