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could comprehend these feelings perfect. ly and sarcastic, but most ingenious and ly, even if he did not make them his ru- able, comparing the great poet to "the ling principles of acting. The transla- oak of a hundred years, which the orthotion is by ). S. Dwight.
dox hated, because it had no niche with
its holy image; and because the naked VANITAS.
Dryads of Paganism were permitted there I've set my heart upon nothing, you see;
to play their witchery: which the liberHurrah !
als hated, because it could not serve as And so the world goes well with me.
the tree of liberty, or at any rate as a Hurrah !
barricade;. but which the many veneratAnd who has a mind to be fellow of mine, ed, for the very reason that it reared it. Why, let him take hold and help me drain self with such independent grandeur, and These mouldy lees of wine.
so graciously filled the world with its I set my heart at first upon wealth;
odor, while its branches, streaming magHurrah !
nificently toward heaven, made it appear And bartered away my peace and health ; as if stars were only the fruit of its wonBut, ah!
drous limbs.” The slippery change went about like air; This criticism of Heine is followed by And when I had clutched me a handful the short and simple, but decided testiAway it went there,
[here, mony of Niebuhr to Goethe's indisputaI set my heart upon woman next;
ble superiority as a poet.
Last of all Hurrah !
comes the enthusiastic panegyric of CarFor her sweet sake was oft perplexed; lyle, whose admiration, or rather reveBut, ah!
rence for a man so opposite to his worThe false one looked for a daintier lot, shiper, in every leading quality in mind The constant one wearied me out and out, and heart, has always seemed to us an
The best was not easily got. inexplicable phenomenon. I set my heart upon travels grand,
Equally ardent, but much more intelli, Hurrah !
gible, is the devotion exhibited in MenAnd spurned our plain old fatherland; zel’s glowing eulogy of Schiller, which But, ah!
ushers in the selections from that poet. Nought seemed to be just the thing it Perhaps no writer ever possessed in a Most comfortless beds and indifferent food, higher degree that high prerogative of My tastes misunderstood.
genius, the power of awakening for him
self in the breasts of men the warmest I set my heart upon sounding fame;
feelings of love and veneration. No Hurrah !
man who knows him, be his habits, And, lo! I'm eclipsed by some upstart's tastes and prejudices what they may, can And, ah !
[name; When in public life I loomed quite high,
help sympathizing with the good people The folks that passed me would look awry;
of Leipzig, as they shouted at the first Their very worst friend was I. representation of his Maid of Orleans,
Es lebe Friederick Schiller.” Though And then I get my heart upon war.
his intellectual powers command our adHurrah ! We gained some battles with eclat.
miration, it is his moral qualities, bis earn. Hurrah !
estness, his purity, his elevation of charWe troubled the foe with sword and acter, that give bim undisputed mastery flame,
over the heart. All that he has written And some of our friends fared quite the bespeak a nature simple and honest, un
I lost a leg for fame. (same. calculating, unselfish, animated by the Now I've set my heart upon nothing, you their sway. His life too is in perfect
noblest impulses, and yielding freely to Hurrah !
(see; And the whole wide world belongs to me.
harmony with his writings. It deserves Hurrah !
to be studied, both as illustrating much The feast begins to run low, no doubt; in his works, that would otherwise be But at the old cask we'll have one good obscure, and also because it possesses bout:
in itself something of a tragic interest. Come, drink the lees all out! Its opening is marked by uncommon dif
ficulties and embarrassments: its proBut if there are many who censure gress exhibits in the most vivid manner Goethe, there are more who defend him. The struggles of a great and earnest spirit Among these we find Heinrich Heine, live- after light and truth: and as we ap
proach the close, his resolute endurance' spirit of serious and tender sadness: not under severe physical suffering, his con- unfrequently he rises to cheerfulness, the scientious determination to spend every chastened joy of a mind accustomed to energy in the service of mankind, his pa- sorrow; seldom, if ever, does he give tient and heroic death, invest him with himself up to mirth and jollity. Yet in the dignity of a martyr.
his very sadness there is sometbing The style of Schiller is like himself, which clevates rather than depresses: it direct, earnest and impassioned. It is is not weak or querulous, neither has it the style of one, who feels that he has a shade of misanthropy : it is rich in nowithin him great thoughts, of vital im- ble thoughts, and full of faith and hope portance to the welfare of society, and consolation. His soul is open 10 thoughts, which must not be trusted to a every impression of nature: he discerns loose and careless statement, but worked the poetical elements which belong to out in their development with the most the commonest situations and incidents of anxious and vigilant fidelity. His com- life. Everything which he contemplates, position presents everywhere an appear becomes invested in his mind with a ance of effort, which at times renders it beautiful halo of feeling and reflection. even heavy. Yet its movement, if some. The following piece, selected almost at what tardy, is stately and majestic. random, will perhaps give a better idea Richter has described it very happily. of its author, than could be conveyed by “ The perfection of pomp-prose we find the most elaborate description. in Schiller: what the utmost splendor of reflection in images, in fullness and anti
THE PASSAGE. thesis can give, he gives. Nay, often he plays on the poetic strings with so rich Many a year is in its grave, and jewel-loaded a hand, ihat the spark. Since I crossed this restless wave; ling mass disturbs, if not the playing, Shines on ruin, rock and river. yet our hearing of it.”
Whatever may be said (and we are far Then in this same boat beside from denying that much may be said with Sat two comrades old and triedtruth) of Goethe's great breadth and va
One with all a father's truth, riety, there can be little doubt, that, least One with all the fire of youth. among American readers, Schiller is now, One on earth in silence wrought, and will long continue to be, the favorite And his grave in silence sought; German poet. It is, perhaps, for this But the younger, brighter forms very reason, that Mr. Longfellow has Passed in battle and in storm. given us so few specimens of his works: and those even not in most instances his So, whene'er I turn my eye best productions. We have indeed the Back upon the days gone by, Song of the Bell,” and the “ Knight Friends that closed their course before me.
Saddening thoughts of friends come o'er me, Toggenburg," but we miss the “Hymn to Joy,” the “ Gods of Greece,” the “ Di. But what binds us, friend to friend, ver,” “ Thekla," and other poems which But that soul with soul can blend ? the admirers of Schiller are accustomed Soul-like were those hours of yore; lo regard as his masterpieces.
Let us walk in soul once more. Goethe and Schiller have departed, and Take, O boatman, thrice thy feeleft behind them no equal. Among the Take, I give it willingly; most distinguished of their successors For, invisible to thee, may be reckoned Tieck, Chamisso, Uh. Spirits twain have crossed with me. land, Schulze, Rückert, Heine, Hoffman, and Frieligrath. Of these, no one, pro Uhland's ballads are among the finest bably, stands higher in the estimation of of his works. Two of these, “ The Luck his countrymen, than the Swabian poet, of Edenhall,” and the “ Black Knight," Ludwig Uhland. His reputation rests are set before us by the editor in his own chiefly on his lyrical writings, which are very skillful and perfect versions. We remarkable for depth of feeling and beau- cannot but hope that he will translate yet ty of poetical expression. He has little more from a poet with whose genius he humor. The perplexities and contrarie. bas much in common, and whom he has ties of life present themselves to him, not shown himself admirably qualified to reunder a ludicrous, but under a melancho- present in our language. We extract ly aspect. Most of his pieces breathe a · The Luck of Edenhall.”
“Of Edenhall the youthful lord
The following humorous production Bids sound the festal trumpet's call; has for its author Hoffmann, of FallersleHe rises at the banquet board,
ben, of whom his admirer, Laube, says: And cries, 'mid the drunken revelers
Yes, it is a German ; and that too a • Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall! Hoffmann von Fallersleben, the tall pro
German from Fallersleben. It is the tall The butler hears the words with pain- fessor-a German poet through and The house's oldest seneschal
through, and over and over.” Takes slow from its silken cloth again The drinking-glass of crystal tall;
GERMAN NATIONAL WEALTH.
Hurra! hurra! hurra! hurra!
What shall we take to our new land ? The graybeard with trembling hand All sorts of things from every hand ! obeys;
Confederation protocols; A purple light shines over all ;
Heaps of tax and budget-rolls; It beams from the Luck of Edenhall,
A whole ship-load of skins, to fill Then speaks the lord, and waves it light: With proclamations just at will. * This glass of flashing crystal tall
Or when we to the New World come, Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite ;
The German will not feel at home.
We're off unto America !
of the joyous race of Edenhall ! All sorts of things from every hand ! We drink deep draughts right willingly; A brave supply of corporals' canes ;
And willingly ring, with merry call, Of livery suits a hundred wains ; Kling! klang! to the Luck of Eden- Cockades, gay caps to fill a house, and hall !
Armorial buttons a hundred thousand.
Or when we to the New World come, First rings it deep, and full, and mild, Like to the song of a nightingale ;
The German will not feel at home.
Hurra! hurra! hurra! hurra!
What shall we take to our new land ?
All sorts of things from every hand ! • For its keeper, takes a race of might Chamberlains' keys; a pile of sacks; The fragile goblet of crystal tall;
Books of full blood-descents in packs; It has lasted longer than is right; Dog.chains and sword-chains by the ton; Kling ! klang ! --with a harder blow of order-ribbons bales twenty.one. than all
Or when to the New World we come, Will I try the Luck of Edenhall ! The German will not feel at home. As the goblet, ringing, flies apart,
Hurra! hurra! hurra! hurra!
We're off unto America !
The guests in dust are scattered all
All sorts of things from every hand !
Crutches, privileges, easy-chairs ; He in the night had scaled the wall;
Councillors' titles, private lists, Slain by the sword lies the youthful lord, Or when to the New World we come,
Nine hundred and ninety thousand chests. But holds in his hand the crystal tall, The German will not feel at home.
The shattered Luck of Edenhall.
The graybeard, in the desert hall; We're off unto America !
He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall All sorts of things from every hand!
and funeral ; • The stone wall,' saith he, doth fall Passports and wander-books, great and aside ;
small; i Down must the stately columns fall; Plenty of rules for censors' inspections, Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride; And just three million police-directions.
In atoms shall fall this earthly ball, Or when to the New World we come, One day, like the Luck of Edenhall!"" The German will not feel at home.
Not a few readers, it is to be feared, as her progress in the arts useful and orna. they turn the leaves of this work, will mental, her spirit of industry and enterscarce forbear a smile when their eye prise, her unconquerable love of freedom. lights upon the heading, “ Dutch Poetry.” We forget that her people, few in numThe literature of Holland, neglected'in bers, unused to war, unsupported by Europe, is wholly undreamed of in Ame- foreign aid, maintained a seventy years' rica. Not only do we know nothing of struggle for their liberties against the the poetry which the Dutch have written, miglitiest empire of the time, that hey but we very generally imagine them to be afterwards contested with England long quite incapable of writing poetry. A husy, and gloriously the supremacy of the bustling, thriving people, engaged from ocean ; that their artists are interior only time immemorial in commerce and the to the great masters of Italy; that their arts, devoted to the pursuits of peace, and scholars have been unsurpassed for genius on this account indisposed to war, we and erudition ; that their writers on interhave been accustomed to look upon them national law are the acknowledged arbi. as eminently a prosaic people. It has ters of Europe. Why should we doubt seemed to us impossible ihat the Muses that a people who, against all disadvanshould abide on their flat and monoto. tages of nature and of fortune, have been nous soil, where the treckschuyts move able to achieve so much for themselves lazily along through the muddy waters and for the world, may possess all the of numberless canals. The unpicturesque elements of poetry? Do we not find landscape, the dense fog, the mingled din among them, in their past and their preof trade and manufactures, have appeared sent, ardor of emotion, energy of will, to us inevitably fatal to the cultivation of loftiness of purpose, an eye to discern taste and sentiment. To these prejudices, the beautiful, a head to understand the which we share with the nations of Eu- true, and a heart to love the good ? Nor rope, we have added others peculiar to do they lack the necessary means of ex. ourselves, founded partly on the charac. pression. Their language, however rude ter of the Dutch population in some dis. and vulgar it may sound, when spoken tricts of our own country, and partly, we by rude and vulgar men, (for such must fear it must be admitted, on the comico- always be the speech of such men, whathistorical romance of our illustrious Ir ever the syllables they use,) is a highly ving. The humorous exaggeration of cultivated idiom, copious and flexible, the his Diedrich Knickerbocker is, indeed, appropriate and serviceable instrument of obvious enough to the dullest compre- the educated mind. A branch of the great hension. Yet so vivid are his represen- Teutonic stock, it stands midway between tations, such an air of reality belongs to the German and the English, and may his most whimsical absurdities, that they safely be pronounced inferior to neitber take fast hold on the imagination and the in the most valuable qualities of a lan. memory ; and while we fully recognize guage. Its excellences have been fully their imaginary nature, produce upon our proved by the numerous and able writers minds a stronger impression than the who have used it. Certainly, if we may truth. Without intending it, nay, almost judge of an author's merits by the affection in spite of ourselves, we form our ideas and enthusiasm which he awakens, we of Dutch habits and Dutch character from must assign a very high rank to the poets his fanciful descriptions. We can bardly of the Netherlands. The Dutch, far from hear or speak or think of a Dutchman undervaluing their poets, because they are without calling up to mental vision a neglected by foreigners, only cling to them short, stumpy, obese personage, with with the greater attachment, as if they heavy face, bullet head, rolling gait, ar wished that the writer who, hy using rayed in vestments ample alike in num- their language, has cut himself off from ber and dimensions, marvelously sparing general and wide-spread fame, should be of words, but prodigal of tobacco-smoke. compensated for the sacrifice he has made Our minds, once preoccupied with this by the admiration and the love of those ludicrous image, become incapable of do. for whose benefit he has made it. ing justice to the countrymen of Eras Among the older poets of Holland the mus and Hemsterhuys, of Rubens and most eminent are: Cats, Hooft, Van Der Van Dyk, of De Ruyter and Van Tromp, Goes, and, above all, Vondel, the Coryof De Witt and Barneveldt and Grotius. phæus of his country's literature, celeWe forget the advanced civilization of brated as a universal genius, who tried Holland, ber education and intelligence, every species of poetry, and excelled in
all. It must be confessed that the frag Up! out! o'er surrow and o'er field ! ments which we have here by no means
The claims of toil some moments yield justify the reputation of their author. For morning's bliss, and time is fieeter They might even lead us, did we not Than thought ;-so out ! 't is dawning know the injustice of judging a great poet
yet; from a few translated specimens, to fall
Why twilight's lovely hour forget? in with those who, in more recent times,
For sweet though be the workman's
sweat, ha ventured to criticise Vondel with
The wanderer's sweat is sweeter. severity, and doubt or deny his preëmi.
Up! to the fields ! through shine and In Holland, as in every other country stour ! of Europe, the eighteenth century was a What hath the dull and drowsy hour barren age for poetry. Its close, how. So blest as this—the glad heart leaping ever, was marked here, as everywhere To hear morn's early songs sublime? else, by the introduction of a new order
See earth rejoicing in its prime! of things. Among those who took an
The summer is the waking time, active part in the revival of Dutch litera
The winter time for sleeping. ture, the most conspicuous undoubtedly was Bilderdijk. Through a long career 0, happy, who the city's noise of authorship he was distinguished for
Can quit for nature's quiet joys, his profound and various learning, for the Quit worldly sin and worldly sorrow; voluminous extent of his productions, for
No more 'midst prison-walls abide, his energetic independence, and for the
But in God's temple vast and wide number and the biiterness of his literary
Pour praises every eventide,
Ask mercies every morrow! quarrels. The warmth of his feelings, and the asperity of his satire, may be
No seraph's flaming sword hath driven well enough illustrated by these few
That man from Eden or from heaven, lines, in which, speaking of the French From earth's sweet smiles and winning
features; language, he says :
For him, by toils and troubles tossed,
By wealth and wearying cares engrossBegone! thou bastard tongue, so base, so
For him a paradise is lost, By human jackals and hyenas spoken;
But not for happy creatures. Formed for a race of infidels, and fit To laugh at truth and scepticize in wit! Come-though a glance it may become, What stammering, snivelling sounds, Enjoy, improve; then hurry home, which scarcely dare
For life's strong urgencies must bind us. Through nasal channels to salute the ear, Yet mourn not; morn shall wake anew, Yet, helped by apes' grimaces and the And we shall wake to bless it too. devil,
Homewards!-the herds that shake the Have ruled the world, and ruled the
dew world fur evil !"
We'll leave in peace behind us. Very different from Bilderdijk is the amiable Tollens, who still lives, at an
With Dutch poetry closes the first of advanced age, enjoying the honors
the two great paris into which this work awarded him by his admiring country: the poetry of the Teutonic langnages; the
may be divided the one, which embraces As a specimen of his style, we quote the following spirited verses :
second part is occnpied with the literature
of Souihern Europe-of France, Italy, SUMMER MORNING'S SONG. Spain and Portugal, countries in which
are spoken languages derived from the Up, sleeper! dreamer! up! for now
There's gold upon the mountain's brow— Latin. There are many things in this There's light on forests, lakes and mea part of the book, especially under Italian dows
poetry, which we should be glad to noThe dew-drops shine on foweret-bells- tice ; but we have already exceeded our The village clock of morning tells. allotied limits, and forbear to trespass Up, men ! out, cattle! for the dells farther at present on the patience of the
And dingles teem with shadows. reader.