Adolf Heyduk

“ And learned that, in their blindness, Christ, your kin
Plot ill against you. Listen to my plea!
I have a wondrous city, dreaming in a grove;
A golden palace; all is open wide
My city and my home of famed kings.
Come to me, Christ! My soul is weak with grief.”
The messengers sped swiftly to Canaan,
But came too late for on a wooden cross,
Christ gave his soul into the hands of God.
Then sadly they returned, with heavy feet,
As men who know that grief shall follow them
Into the home of one whom they hold dear. ”

“ By any mortal man upon this earth . . .
I would create a perfect work of art.
These haughty words, perhaps, are blasphemy?
Perhaps you’ll say to me, “Such perfect work
Can only rise from out the deep unknown
From whence the world bloomed as a lotus bud;
That faultless is alone the work of God
To whom it is a sacred privilege.”
Then why did he inculcate in my soul
This boundless yearning, striving for the heights? ”

“ With what, my mother?”
“With her eyes of teuderest blue—
But a little while it lasteth—
But a day, and then they rue.
“Treacherous is that nymph of forest,
Many youths hath led astray;
Many she has left heart-broken,
Many she has killed away.” ”

“ Yes, every artist suffers martyrdom;
For in the secret recess of his heart
The worm of doubt relentlessly gnaws on:
’Tis only when the slurs of envy born
Spatter with venom the products of his soul,
That the artist stills these gnawing, prying doubts,
To let defiance take their place. ”

“ Now I am thinking only of each winter’s cold I knew
And if the grave you sleep in, is not too small for you.
I am forever thinking if in your verdant, grassy mound,
Your casket of bright metal is o’er weighted with the ground. ”

“ The master comes into the silent room,
Where stream, like gold, the warm rays of the sun
And where the black-birds’ sparkling song is heard
As if to cheer once more, with song and light
The sadly disillusioned, dying heart. ”

“ And I tried to write that my heart wildly quakes
As the meadows stir under the fairies’ dancing feet,
When a southern zephyr through their tresses breaks
And wakes the flowers to love’s rustling beat ”

“ Fill with strange luster. But their shadows still
Fall darkly upon the hearts of those
Who yet must wait for death upon the dreary earth.
You old white house, hid in the garden’s shade,
Tell me if souls of lifeless things are similar
To our souls, that never can be taught
How to forget their sorrows and their ills.
You old white house, hid in the garden’s shade,
Tell me if you are grieved when strangers’ steps
Re-echo through your halls. And ore you waiting
If I will return, like the swallows to their nests,
To dream once more beneath your aged roof
Those wondrous dreams . . . ”

“ My struggling grief, came near and said to me
Softly; “Man, cease your sorrowing lament,
For I will help you.” From his mother’s hand
He took a white cloth and gently buried there
His holy countenance in the soft wool web.
That very moment. Mighty miracle!
His features shone upon the snow-white cloth
As brightly as a star that gleams above. ”

“ Whom men called Holy. Wearily/ at length I came
To far Jerusalem. My mind over filled
With thoughts of this strange man, and I forgot
To seek the sinner of whose varied charms
They spoke throughout that distant, foreign land. ”