Heinrich Heine

“ A part in life and its circle fair,
That I belong to death’s kingdom dreary,
Yes, I, a corpse unburied and weary.
How happy was I when erst I saw
The dance of rats at the Opera!
But now I hear the odious scuffling
Of churchyard rats and grave-moles shuffling.
The scent of the flowers recalls again
A perfect ballet, a joyous train
Of recollections perfumed and glowing,
From the hidden depths of the past o’erflowing,
To sound of cornet and castanet,
In spangled dresses (full short, I regret) ,—
Yet all their toying, each laugh, each titter,
Can only render my thoughts more bitter. ”

“ But if thou hast nothing, friend,
Go and hang thyself this minute;
Only they who’ve aught on earth
Have a claim for living in it.
2. RETROSPECT.
I’ve snuff’d at every smell that has birth
In this delightful kitchen of earth;
Each thing that the world contains that’s delicious
Have I enjoy’d like a hero ambitious;
I’ve drunk my coffee, and eaten with zest,
And many a charming doll caress’d,
Worn silken waistcoats and handsome coats,
And had my pockets well lined with notes;
The high horse, like Gellert the poet, I rode,
Had house and castle all à-la-mode. ”

“ In phosphorescent blue vapour all veil’d,
While the billows are joyously whirling.
Not a sail on the slave-ship is fluttering now,
As though without tackle she’s lying;
But lanthorns are glimmering high on the decks
Where the dance with the music is vying.
The cook of the vessel is playing the flute,
The steersman’s playing the fiddle,
The trumpet is blown by the Doctor himself,
And a lad beats the drum in the middle.
A hundred niggers, both women and men,
Are yelling and whirling and leaping,
As though they were mad; and at every spring
Their irons the tune are keeping. ”

“ Dear bride, wherefore stand’st thou so pale and so dumb?
The parson to join us together has come;
Full dear, dear as blood, is the fee I must pay,
And yet to possess thee is merely child’s play.
Kneel down, my sweet bride, by my side prythee kneel
She kneels and she sinks,—O what rapture I feel!—
She sinks on my heart, on my fast-heaving breast;
With shuddering pleasure I hold her close press’d.
Like billows her golden locks circle the pair,
’Gainst my heart beats the heart of the maiden so fair
They beat with a union of sorrow and love,
And soar to the regions of heaven above.{33} ”

“ Upon this earth rave, suffer, shed their blood.
Upon the Rhine’s fair strand, where vine-hills smile,
Once in glad summer days we roam’d the while;
Bright laugh’d the sun, sweet incense in that hour
Stream’d from the beauteous cup of every flower.
The purple pinks and roses breath’d in turn
Red kisses on us, which like fire did burn;
Even the smallest daisy’s faint perfume
Appear’d a life ideal then to bloom.
But thou didst peacefully beside me go,
In a white satin dress, demure and slow,
Like some girl’s portrait limn’d by Netscher’s art,
A little glacier seem’d to be thy heart. ”

“ I’ll tell you all the history
Of the other wonders that came to pass
In that long night of mystery.
The olden hypocritical race,
Thank heaven, is rapidly dying;
To the grave it is sinking, and owes its death
To its ceaseless habit of lying.
Another race is rising up fast,
By rouge and by sin untarnish’d,
Of genial humour and thoughts,—to it
I’ll tell my story unvarnish’d.{378}
The youth which the poet’s goodness and pride
Appreciates, puts forth its blossom,
And warms itself at his radiant soul,
And against his feeling bosom. ”

“ But how it happen’d, I ne’er could discover;
Yet since that beauteous garland they stole,
My spirit has seem’d deprived of its soul.
The ghosts of the world, with looks dimly staring,
Gaze on me, and heaven seems barren and glaring,
A churchyard blue, its deities gone;
I roam in the forest, depress’d and alone.
From the forest have vanish’d the elves with their graces
Horns hear I, and yelping of dogs in their places;
While hid in the thicket, the trembling roe
Is licking her wounds with tearful woe.
And where are the mandrakes? ”

“ The nightingale sings.
I seek for a heart that like my heart is tender,
And like it springs.
The nightingale sings; his sweet song, void of gladness,
Comes home to my breast;
We’re both so oppress’d and heavy with sadness,
So sad and oppress’d.
5.
Sweet May hath come to love us,
Flowers, trees, their blossoms don;
And through the blue heavens above us
The rosy clouds move on.
The nightingales are singing
On leafy perch aloft;
The snowy lambs are springing
In clover green and soft.
I cannot be singing and springing,
Ill in the grass I lie ”

“ German women!
What a charm the words convey!
German women! German women!
Flourish on for many a day!
All our daughters like Louisa,
All our sons like Frederick be!
Hear me in the grave, Louisa!
Ever flourish Germany!
DREAM. 1816.
Son of folly, dream thou ever,
When thy thoughts within thee burn;
But in life thy visions never
To reality will turn.
Once in happier days chance bore me
To a high mount on the Rhine;
Smiling lay the land before me,
Gloriously the sun did shine.
Far below, the waves were singing
Wild and magic melodies ”

“ He makes the mighty Ganges
Down from the heavens descend.
But I, my loved one, am vainly
Tormented and stricken with woe;
From out of thine heavenly eyelids
No drops of pity e’er flow.
2.
Four-and-twenty hours I still must
Wait, to see my bliss complete,
As her sidelong glances tell me,
Glances, O how dazzling sweet!
Language is but inexpressive,
Words are awkward and in vain;
Soon as they are said, the pretty
Butterfly flies off again.
But a look may last for ever,
And with joy may fill thy breast,
Making it like some wide heaven,
Full of starry rapture blest. ”

“ His head reach’d high to the heavens,
His hands he stretch’d out in blessing
Over land and sea;
And as a heart in his bosom
Bore he the sun,
The sun all ruddy and flaming,
And the ruddy and flaming sunny-heart
Shed its beams of mercy
And its beauteous, bliss-giving light,
Lighting and warming
Over land and sea.
Sounds of bells were solemnly drawing
Here and there, like swans were drawing
By rosy bands the gliding ship,
And drew it sportively tow’rd the green shore,
Where men were dwelling, in high and turreted
O’erhanging town.
O blessings of peace! how still the town! ”

“ On his head a chaplet of flowers reposes,
The richest shawls that are made in the East
As carpets serve for the dignified beast.
The happiest life appears to be his,
But no one on earth contented is;
The noble creature,—one cannot tell why,—
Gives way to a deep despondency.
The melancholy monster white
Is wretched, all this profusion despite;
They fain would enliven and cheer him again,
But all their cleverest efforts are vain.
In vain with singing and springing there come
The bayaderes; the kettle drum
And cornet in vain the musicians play,
But nothing can make the elephant gay. ”

“ We follow’d the corpse of this darling of ours,
They buried him under a grave of May flowers,
But the Kitten, the Kitten was saved.
O prudent wert thou, thus early in striving
To ’scape from life’s storms, and in harbour arriving,—
But the Kitten, the Kitten was saved.
Happy thou, that thus early thy danger was over;
Before thou wert ill, thou thy health didst recover,—
But the Kitten, the Kitten was saved. ”

“ Thou’rt my loved one’s image, stream
Blissful is her smile’s seduction,
Kind and gentle can she seem.
8.
First methought in my affliction,
I can never stand the blow.—
Yet I did—strange contradiction!
How I did, ne’er seek to know.
9.
With rose and cypress and tinsel gay,
I fain would adorn in a charming way
This book, as though a coffin it were,
And in it my olden songs inter.
O, could I but bury love also there!
On love’s grave grows rest’s floweret fair;
’Tis there ’tis pluck’d in its sweetest bloom,—
For me ’twill not blossom till in my tomb. ”

“ They ne’er were disfigured by fever’s attack,
They die with a joyous demeanour,
And gladly are welcomed at her sad court
By Proserpine, hell’s Czarina.
O how I envy a fate like theirs!
Seven years I daily languish
For death, as on the ground I writhe
In bitter and speechless anguish.
O God! my agony shorten, that I
May be buried,—my sole ambition.
Thou knowest that I no talent possess
For filling a martyr’s position.
I feel astonished, gracious Lord,
At a course so unconsequential;
Thou madest a joyous poet, without
That joy that is so essential. ”

“ Of luxuriant flowers appears to rush.
Like Odalisques with graceful arms
Stand fanning themselves the slender palms.
The cypresses stand with branches unfurl’d,
As if dreaming of heaven, forgetting the world.
But sudden to strains of the lute ere long
Is heard a gentle mysterious song.
The Shah sprang up, as if sorely perplex’d:
“Who wrote of this song the charming text?”
Ansari, from whom he sought to know it,
Replied: “’Tis the work of Ferdusi the poet.”
“Ferdusi!”—exclaim’d the prince in dismay,—
“Where is he? How fares the poet, O say!” ”

“ A rosy bodice her bosom conceal’d.
She gave me soon a rich golden store,
To a golden cottage the prize I bore;
Strange goings-on in the cottage I found,—
Small elves are dancing in graceful round.
Twelve dancers are dancing, and taking no rest,
And closely their hands together are press’d;
And soon as a dance has come to a close,
Another begins, and each merrily goes.
And the music they dance to thus sounds in my ear:
“The happiest of hours will ne’er reappear,
“The whole of thy life was only a dream,
“And this hour of pleasure a dream within dream.” ”

“ On our much-loved German land.
All our faith and virtue soiling,
All our heavenly yearnings fled,
All we deemed of worth, despoiling,—
Giving sin and pain instead.
German shame to gild refusing,
Dark the German sun soon grew,
And a mournful voice accusing
Pierced the German oak trees through.
Now the sun once more is glancing,
And the oak trees roar with joy;
The avengers are advancing,
Shame and sorrow to destroy.
And deceit’s proud altars hateful
Totter, fall with hideous sound;
Every German heart is grateful,
Free is German holy ground.
See’st the glare yon mount illuming? ”

“ While I lay on hard mattresses, sleepless all night,
In my exile far over the billows!
One sleeps so well, and one dreams so well
In our featherbeds delicious;
The German spirit here feels itself free
From all earth’s fetters pernicious.
It feels itself free, and upward soars
To the highest regions Elysian;
O German Spirit, how proud is the flight
Thou takest in nightly vision!
The gods turn pale, when thou drawest nigh;
When soaring tow’rds heaven’s dominions,
Thou hast snuff’d out the light of many a star,
With the strokes of thine eager pinions. ”

“ Yet man is with vexation
Oft fill’d by truth. If nightingale and rose
The feeling only feign’d, the fabrication
Would still be useful, we may well suppose.
21.
Because I love thee, be not scornful,
If, flying, I avoid thy face;
How ill accords my visage mournful
With thine, so fair and full of grace!
Because I love thee, every feature
Grows pale and thinner day by day;
Thou’lt find me but a hideous creature,—
I’ll shun thee,—be not scornful, pray.
22.
I wander ’mid the flowers,
And blossom with them too;
I wander as in vision,
And at each step totter anew. ”

“ Lute’s soft strains and pigmy music
From the mountain’s clefts would burst,
And a flowering wood shoot from them
As in joyous spring-time erst.
Flowers, all-hardy magic flowers,
Leaves of size so fabulous,
Fragrant, varied, hasty-quiv’ring,
As though passion stirr’d them thus.
Roses, wild as flames all-glowing,
Dart from out the mass like gems;
Lilies, like to crystal arrows,
Upward shoot tow’rd heaven their stems.
And the stars, like suns in greatness
Downward gaze with yearning glow;
In the lily’s giant-calix
They their gushing radiance throw. ”

“ And I’m veil’d in utter night.
When in darkness children wander,
Soon their spirits die away,
And to overcome their terror,
Some loud song straight carol they.
I, a foolish child, am singing
In the darkness spread around;
Though my song may give no pleasure,
Yet mine anguish it hath drown’d.
2.
In vain would I seek to discover
Why sad and mournful am I;
My thoughts without ceasing brood over
A tale of the times gone by.
The air is cool, and it darkleth,
And calmly flows the Rhine ”

“ Thou ne’er must discourse of Germany, dearest,—
It spoils my digestion,—there’s plenty of reason.
With Germany leave me in peace, I implore thee,
Thou must not torment me with question on question
Of home and relations and manner of living,—
There’s plenty of reason,—it spoils my digestion.
The oaks there are green, and blue are the dear eyes
Of German women; they sigh as they please on
The blisses of love and of hope and religion,—
It spoils my digestion,—there’s plenty of reason. ”

“ The angels, all well-drunken and singing;
The glowing sun high up in the heavens
Is nought but the red and drunken nose
Which the World-Spirit sticks out,
And round the World-Spirit’s red nose
Whirleth the whole of the drunken world.
12. EPILOGUE.
As on the plain shoot up the wheatstalks
So do the thoughts in the spirit of man
Grow up and waver;
But the gentle thoughts of the poet
Are as the red and blue-colour’d flowers
Merrily blooming between them.
Red and blue-colour’d flowers! ”

“ From giants’ caverns and nymphs’ embraces,
Follow’d him down to Cimmerian night,
And in tempest and shipwreck,
And with him endured unspeakable torments.
Sighing spake I: “Thou wicked Poseidon,
“Thine anger is fearful;
“I myself am anxious
“As to my own return.”
Scarce breath’d I these words,
When the sea foam’d on high,
And out of the snowy billows arose
The sedge-becrowned head of the seagod,
And scornfully cried he:
“Fear not, little poet! ”

“ In youths and in nymphs and in hecatombs!
But even the Gods can reign not for ever,
The younger press hard on their elders,
As thou didst once on thy grey-headed father{259}
And all thy Titan uncles hard press,
Jupiter Parricida!
Thee, too, I recognise, haughty Here!
Spite of all thy jealous anxiety,
Hath another thy sceptre obtain’d,
And thou art no longer the queen of the heavens,
And fixed is now thy beaming eye,
And powerless lie thy lily-white arms,
And never more thy vengeance can reach
The God-impregnated virgin,
And the wonder-working son of the deity. ”

“ Music, but of harmony
Are apostles true, and sages.{530}
They no instruments use ever,
Each is his own flute and viol;
All their noses trumpets are,
Bellies, drums, and no denial.
They in chorus raise their voices,
In one general intermezzo,
Playing fugues, as if by Bach,
Or by Guido of Arezzo.
Wild the symphonies they’re singing
Like capriccios of Beethoven,
Or of Berlioz, who’s excell’d
By their strains so interwoven.
Wonderful their music’s might is!
Magic notes without an equal!
E’en the heavens they shake, the stars
All turn pallid in the sequel. ”

“ These the poet never made.
18.
Gleams my love in beauty’s splendour,
Like the child of ocean foam;
As his bride my mistress tender
Is a stranger taking home.
Though ’tis treason, don’t abuse it,
Heart, thou much-enduring one!
Bear it, bear it, and excuse it,
What the beauteous fool hath done.
19.
I’ll not be angry, though my heart should break,
Evermore lost one! no complaint I’ll make.
Though thou may’st sparkle ’neath thy diamonds bright,
No ray can pierce thy heart’s unceasing night. ”