Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind;
Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm,
Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.
“Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?”– 5
“Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht?
Den Erlenkönig mit Kron’ und Schweif?”–
“Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif.”
“Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir!
“Gar schöne Spiele spiel’ ich mit dir; 10
Manch bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand,
“Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand.”–
“Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht?”–
“Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind; 15
In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind.”–
“Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehn?”
“Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön;
Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn
Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein.”– 20
“Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort
Erlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort?”–
“Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh’ es genau:
Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau.”–
“Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt; 25
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch’ ich Gewalt.”–
“Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an!
Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan!”–
Dem Vater grauset’s, er reitet geschwind,
Er hält in Armen das ächzende Kind, 30
Erreicht den Hof mit Mühe und Not;
In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.
The gloomy tempest, Daphne, has blown o’er,
[52]The thunder’s awful voice is heard no more;
Tremble not then, my girl, the lightning’s blaze
Through the dark cloud, no longer darts its rays.
Let us this arbour leave, the blue sky greet,
For, see, the sheep that sought this safe retreat,
Now from their fleeces shake the drops of rain,
And spread them o’er the bright’ning mead again,
Let us then leave this fav’rite shelt’ring bower,
To taste the beauties of this balmy hour;
To view the sunbeams gild the moisten’d ground,
And throw their rich and radiant glory round.
As from the grotto, hand in hand they past,
The gentle Daphne on her partner cast
Her swimming eyes, pressing his honest hand.
Daphne.
How lovely looks the gay, the smiling land,
She said; while through the scattering cloud appears
The blue sky, dissipating all our fears.
The clouds, as through the air they quickly pass,
Hurry their shadows o’er the glist’ning grass.
See, Damon, now, o’er yonder hill they throw
Their shade o’er herds and cottages, and lo!
They’re flown, and while o’er flowery meads they run,
The hill’s again illumin’d by the sun.
Damon.
The rainbow view, from hill to hill expand,
Its radiant arches o’er the laughing land;
‘Midst the grey cloud, a happy omen shows;
With peace and safety every colour glows:
The quiet valley smiles beneath its beams,
And owns its beauties in her gliding streams.
Daphne with gentle arm embrac’d her swain;
And cried;
Daphne.
See balmy zephyrs breathe again;
More cheerful with the flowers they sport and play,
Dress’d by the drops of rain and light of day.
[53]The butterflies, in richest coats array’d,
And fluttering insects joy to leave the shade,
Their velvet wings in quick vibrations shake,
While on the surface of the neighbouring lake,
Of shrubs and willows, wash’d from every stain,
The trembling branches glitter once again;
Again the peasant in its bosom sees
The heaven’s blue concave and the spreading trees.
Damon.
Daphne, embrace me with thy circling arms,
What sacred joy my swelling bosom warms,
Where’er we turn what glories meet our eyes,
What unexhausted springs of rapture rise.
From the least plant to the bright star of day,
That kindles nature with its quickening ray,
All, all, our admiration ought to raise,
And tune our voices to the notes of praise!
How my heart swells, when from yon mountain’s brow,
I view the spreading country stretch’d below.
Or, when amid the grass, in rural ease,
Laying my limbs beneath the branching trees,
I contemplate the various flowers and plants,
And their minutely fine inhabitants.
Or when amid the solemn hours of night,
I view the stars adorn the heavens with light;
The grateful changes of the seasons trace,
The progress of the vegetable race.
When all these wonders thro’ my senses roll,
They fill with purest awe my swelling soul;
Thoughts urge on thoughts in quick successive birth,
Weeping, I kneel to him who made the earth;
To him, my admiration I confess,
Father of light, of life, of every bliss:
Nought then my soul with equal joy can move,
Save the delight to know my Daphne’s love.
Daphne.
Damon, around me also wonders rise,
[54]And fill my bosom with a sweet surprize.
Oh let us then, lock’d in a soft embrace,
When Morn approaching lifts her ruddy face,
When gentle Eve her milder beauties shows,
Or moonlight through the air its radiance throws,
Thus let our thoughts upon such objects rest,
Whilst to each others beating bosoms prest,
In broken accents we our wonder own,
And turn our minds tow’rds heaven’s eternal throne.
How inexpressible is the delight,
When transports such as these, with tend’rest love unite.
Das Wasser rauscht’, das Wasser schwoll,
Ein Fischer saß daran,
Sah nach dem Angel ruhevoll,
Kühl bis ans Herz hinan.
Und wie er sitzt und wie er lauscht, 5
Teilt sich die Flut empor:
Aus dem bewegten Wasser rauscht
Ein feuchtes Weib hervor.
Sie sang zu ihm, sie sprach zu ihm:
Was lockst du meine Brut 10
Mit Menschenwitz und Menschenlist
Hinaus in Todesglut?
Ach, wüßtest du, wie ‘s Fischlein ist
So wohlig auf dem Grund,
Du stiegst herunter, wie du bist, 15
Und würdest erst gesund.
Labt sich die liebe Sonne nicht,
Der Mond sich nicht im Meer?
Kehrt wellenatmend ihr Gesicht
Nicht doppelt schöner her? 20
Lockt dich der tiefe Himmel nicht,
Das feuchtverklärte Blau?
Lockt dich dein eigen Angesicht
Nicht her in ew’gen Tau?
Das Wasser rauscht’, das Wasser schwoll, 25
Netzt’ ihm den nackten Fuß;
Sein Herz wuchs ihm so sehnsuchtsvoll,
Wie bei der Liebsten Gruß.
Sie sprach zu ihm, sie sang zu ihm;
Da war’s um ihn geschehn: 30
Halb zog sie ihn, halb sank er hin
Und ward nicht mehr gesehn.
“Ah, William! art thou false or dead?”
Cried Leonora from her bed.
“I dreamt thou’dst ne’er return.”
William had fought in Frederick’s host
At Prague—and what his fate—if lost
Or false, she could not learn.
Hungaria’s queen and Prussia’s king,
Wearied, at length with bickering,
Resolv’d to end the strife;
And homewards, then, their separate routs
The armies took, with songs and shouts,
With cymbals, drum and fife.
As deck’d with boughs they march’d along,
From every door, the old and young
Rush’d forth the troops to greet.
“Thank God,” each child and parent cry’d,
And “welcome, welcome,” many a bride,
As friends long parted meet.
They joy’d, poor Leonora griev’d:
No kiss she gave, no kiss receiv’d;
Of William none could tell;
She rung her hands, and tore her hair;
Till left alone in deep despair,
Bereft of sense, she fell.
Swift to her aid her mother came,
“Ah! say,” cried she, “in mercy’s name,
“What means this frantic grief?”
“Mother ’tis past—all hopes are fled,
“God hath no mercy, William’s dead,
“My woe is past relief.”
“Pardon, O pardon, Lord above!
[45]”My child, with pray’rs invoke his love,
“The Almighty never errs?”
“O, mother! mother! idle prate,
“Can he be anxious for my fate,
“Who never heard my prayers?”
“Be patient child, in God believe,
“The good he can, and will relieve,
“To trust his power endeavour.”
“O, mother! mother! all is vain,
“What trust can bring to life again?
“The past, is past for ever.”
“Who knows, but that he yet survives;
“Perchance, far off from hence he lives,
“And thinks no more of you.
“Forget, forget, the faithless youth,
“Away with grief, your sorrow soothe,
“Since William proves untrue.”
“Mother, all hope has fled my mind,
“The past, is past, our God’s unkind;
“Why did he give me breath?
“Oh that this hated loathsome light
“Would fade for ever from my sight,
“Come, death, come, welcome death!”
“Indulgent Father, spare my child,
“Her agony hath made her wild,
“She knows not what she does.
“Daughter, forget thy earthly love,
“Look up to him who reigns above,
“Where joys succeed to woes.”
“Mother what now are joys to me?
“With William, Hell a Heaven could be,
“Without him, Heaven a Hell.
“Fade, fade away, thou hated light,
“Death bear me hence to endless night,
[46]”With love all hope farewell.”
Thus rashly, Leonora strove
To doubt the truth of heavenly love.
She wept, and beat her breast;
She pray’d for death, until the moon
With all the stars with silence shone,
And sooth’d the world to rest.
When, hark! without, what sudden sound!
She hears a trampling o’er the ground,
Some horseman must be near!
He stops, he rings, Hark! as the noise
Dies soft away, a well-known voice
Thus greets her list’ning ear.
“Wake, Leonora;—dost thou sleep,
“Or thoughtless laugh, or constant weep,
“Is William welcome home?”
“Dear William, you!—return’d, and well!
“I’ve wak’d and wept—but why, ah! tell,
“So late—at night you come?”
“At midnight only dare we roam,
“For thee from Prague, though late, I come.”
“For me!—stay here and rest;
“The wild winds whistle o’er the waste,
“Ah, dear William! why such haste?
“First warm thee in my breast.”
“Let the winds whistle o’er the waste,
“My duty bids me be in haste;
“Quick, mount upon my steed:
“Let the winds whistle far and wide,
“Ere morn, two hundred leagues we’ll ride,
“To reach our marriage bed.”
“What, William! for a bridal room,
“Travel to night so far from home?”
“Leonora, ’tis decreed.
“Look round thee, love, the moon shines clear,
“The dead ride swiftly; never fear,
[47]”We’ll reach our marriage bed.”
“Ah, William! whither would’st thou speed,
“What! where! this distant marriage bed?”
“Leonora, no delay.
“‘Tis far from hence; still—cold—and small:
“Six planks, no more, compose it all;
“Our guests await, away!”
She lightly on the courser sprung,
And her white arms round William flung,
Like to a lily wreath.
In swiftest gallop off they go,
The stones and sparks around them throw,
And pant the way for breath.
The objects fly on every side,
The bridges thunder as they ride;
“Art thou my love afraid?
“Death swiftly rides, the moon shines clear,
“The dead doth Leonora fear?”
“Ah, no! why name the dead?”
Hark! as their rapid course they urge,
A passing bell, a solemn dirge;
Hoarse ravens join the strain.
They see a coffin on a bier,
A priest and mourners too appear,
Slow moving o’er the plain.
And sad was heard the funeral lay;
“What the Lord gives, he takes away;
“Life’s but a fleeting shade.
“A tale that’s told,—a flower that falls;
“Death, when the least expected, calls,
“And bears us to his bed.”
“Forbear;”—imperious William cry’d
“I carry home, a beauteous bride,
“Come, to our marriage feast;
“Mourners, away, we want your song;
“And as we swiftly haste along,
[48]”Give us your blessing, priest.
“Sing on, that life is like a shade;
“A tale that’s told, or flowers which fade:
“Such strains will yield delight.
“And, when we to our chamber go,
“Bury your dead, with wail and woe;
“The service suits the night.”
While William speaks, they silent stand,
Then run obedient to command,
But, on with furious bound,
The foaming courser forward flew,
Fire and stones his heels pursue,
Like whirlwinds dash’d around.
On right and left, on left and right,
Trees, hills, and towns flew past their sight,
As on they breathless prest;
“With the bright moon, like death we speed,
“Doth Leonora fear the dead?”
“Ah! leave the dead at rest.”
Behold, where in the moon’s pale beam,
As wheels and gibbets faintly gleam,
Join’d hand in hand, a crowd
Of imps and spectres hover nigh,
Or round a wasted wretch they fly,
When William calls aloud:
“Hither, ye airy rabble, come,
“And follow till I reach my home;
“We want a marriage dance.”
As when the leaves on wither’d trees,
Are rustled by an edying breeze,
The muttering sprites advance.
But, soon with hurried steps, the crew
Rush’d prattling on, for William flew,
Clasp’d by the frighted fair:
Swifter than shafts, or than the wind,
While struck from earth fire flash’d behind,
[49]Like lightnings through the air.
Not only flew the landscape by,
The clouds and stars appear’d to fly.
“Thus over hills and heath
“We ride like death; say, lovely maid,
“By moon-light dost thou fear the dead?”
“Ah! speak no more of death.”
“The cock hath crow’d—Away! away!
“The sand ebbs out: I scent the day.
“On! on! away from here!
“Soon must our destin’d course be run,
“The dead ride swift,—hurrah! ’tis done,
“The marriage bed is near.”
High grated iron doors, in vain
Barr’d their way.—With loosened rein
Whil’st William urg’d the steed,
He struck the bolts;—they open flew,
A churchyard drear appear’d in view;
Their path was o’er the dead.
As now, half veil’d by clouds, the moon
With feebler ray, o’er objects shone,
Where tombstones faint appear,
A grave new dug arrests the pair,
Cry’d William, and embrac’d the fair,
“Our marriage bed is here.”
Scarce had he spoke, when, dire to tell,
His flesh like touchwood from him fell,
His eyes forsook his head.
A skull, and naked bones alone,
Supply the place of William gone,
‘Twas Death that clasp’d the maid.
Wild, snorting fire, the courser rear’d,
As wrapp’d in smoke he disappear’d,
Poor Leonora fell;
The hideous spectres hover round,
Deep groans she hears from under ground,
[50]And fiends ascend from hell.
They dance, and say, in dreadful howl,
“She asks no mercy for her soul;
“Her earthly course is done.
“When mortals, rash and impious! dare
“Contend with God, and court despair,
“We claim them as our own.”
“Yet,” thus was heard, in milder strains,
“Call on the Lord, while life remains,
“Unite your heart to his;
“When man repents and is resign’d,
“God loves to soothe his suff’ring mind,
“And grant him future bliss.”
“We claim as ours, who impious dare
“Contend with God, and court despair;”
Again the spectres cry’d.
“Fate threats in vain, when man’s resign’d,
“God loves to soothe the suff’ring mind,”
The gentler voice reply’d.
Leonora, e’er her sense was gone,
Thus faint exclaim’d,—”thy Will be done,
“Lord, let thy anger cease.”
Soft on the wind was borne the pray’r;
The spectres vanish’d into air,
And all was hush’d in peace.
Now redd’ning tints the skies adorn,
And streaks of gold, proclaim the morn;
The night is chas’d away.
The sun ascends, new warmth he gives,
New hope, new joy; all nature lives,
And hails the glorious day.
No more are dreadful fantoms near;
Love and his smiling train, appear;
They cull each sweetest flow’r,
To scatter o’er the path of youth,
To deck the bridal bed, when Truth
[51]And Beauty own their pow’r.
Ah,—could your pow’r avert the blast
Which threatens Bliss!—could passion last!
Ye dear enchanters tell;
What purer joy could Heaven bestow,
Than when with shar’d affection’s glow
Our panting bosoms swell?
Sweet spirits wave the airy wand,
Two faithful hearts your care demand;
Lo! bounding o’er the plain,
Led by your charm, a youth returns;
With hope, his breast impatient burns;
Hope is not always vain.
“Wake, Leonora!—wake to Love!
For thee, his choicest wreath he wove;”
Death vainly aim’d his Dart.
The Past was all a dream; she woke—
He lives;—’twas William’s self who spoke,
And clasp’d her to his Heart.
Es war ein König in Thule,
Gar treu bis an das Grab,
Dem sterbend seine Buhle
Einen goldnen Becher gab.
Es ging ihm nichts darüber, 5
Er leert’ ihn jeden Schmaus;
Die Augen gingen ihm über,
So oft er trank daraus.
Und als er kam zu sterben,
Zählt’ er seine Städt’ im Reich, 10
Gönnt’ alles seinem Erben,
Den Becher nicht zugleich.
Er saß beim Königsmahle,
Die Ritter um ihn her,
Auf hohem Vätersaale 15
Dort auf dem Schloß am Meer.
Dort stand der alte Zecher,
Trank letzte Lebensglut
Und warf den heil’gen Becher
Hinunter in die Flut. 20
Er sah ihn stürzen, trinken
Und sinken tief ins Meer.
Die Augen täten ihm sinken,
Trank nie einen Tropfen mehr.
My favorite German Poems 