The poems of Heine; Complete. Heinrich Heine
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With impious hand, and fill’d it up.
And down to the dregs he drains it fast,
And with foaming mouth exclaims at last:
“Jehovah, thy power I here defy,
The King of Babylon am I.”
But scarcely had sounded the fearful word,
When the heart of the king with terror was stirr’d.
The yelling laughter is silenced all,
And deathlike silence fills the hall.
And see! And see! On the wall so white
A human hand appears in sight.
And letters of flame on the wall so white
It wrote, and wrote, and vanish’d from sight.
The king the writing with wonderment sees,
As pale as death, and with trembling knees.
The awestruck servants sat around,
And silent sat, and utter’d no sound.
The magicians appear’d, but none ’mongst them all
Could rightly interpret the words on the wall.
But Belshazzar the king the selfsame night
Was slain by his servants—a ghastly sight.
11. THE MINNESINGERS.
In the minstrels’ strife engaging
Pass the Minnesingers by;
Strange the war that they are waging,
Strange the tourney where they vie.
Fancy, that for battle nerves him,
Is the Minnesinger’s steed;
Art as trusty buckler serves him,
And his word’s a sword indeed.
Beauteous dames, with glances pleasant,
From the balcony look down;
But the right one is not present
With the proper laurel crown.
Other combatants, when springing
To the lists, at least are sound;
Minnesingers must be bringing
To the fray a deadly wound.
He from whom the most there draineth
Song’s blood from the inmost breast—
He is victor, and obtaineth
From fair lips the praise most blest,
12. LOOKING FROM THE WINDOW.
Fair Hedwig lay at the window, to see
If pale Henry would chance to detect her;
She said half aloud: “Why goodness me!
The man is as pale as a spectre!”
With yearning pale Henry look’d above
At her window, in hopes to detect her;
Fair Hedwig now felt the torments of love,
And she became pale as a spectre.
Love-sick, now stood fair Hedwig all day
At her window, lest he should reject her;
But soon in pale Henry’s arms she lay
All night, at the time for a spectre.
13. THE WOUNDED KNIGHT.
I know a story of anguish,
A tale of the times of old;
A knight with love doth languish,
His mistress is faithless and cold.
As faithless must he esteem now
Her whom in his heart he adored;
His loving pangs must he deem now
Disgraceful and abhorr’d.
In vain in the lists would he wander,
And challenge to battle each knight;
“Let him who my mistress dares slander
Make ready at once for the fight!”
But all are silent, save only
His grief, that so fiercely doth burn;
His lance he against his own lonely
Accusing bosom must turn.
14. THE SEA-VOYAGE.
I leaning stood against the mast,
And told each wave of ocean;
Farewell, my beauteous fatherland!
My bark, how swift thy motion!
I pass’d my lovely mistress’ house,
The windows gleam’d all over;
But though I gazed and gazed and gazed,
No sign could I discover.
Ye tears, obscure not thus mine eyes
On this too-painful morrow;
My love-sick heart, O do not break
With overweight of sorrow!
15. THE SONG OF REPENTANCE.
Sir Ulrich rides in the forest so green,
The leaves with joy seem laden;
He sees, the trees’ thick branches between,
The form of a beauteous maiden.
The youth then said: “Well know I thee,
So blooming and glowing thy face is;
Alluringly ever encircles it me,
In deserts or crowded places.
“Those lips, by fresh loveliness ever stirr’d,
Appear a pair of roses;
Yet many a hateful bitter word
That roguish mouth discloses.
“A pretty rosebush a mouth like this
Resembles very closely,
Where cunning poisonous serpents hiss
Amid the leaves morosely.
“Within those beauteous cheeks there lies
A sweet and beauteous dimple;
That is the grave where I fell by surprise,
Lured on by a yearning simple.
“There see I the beauteous locks of hair,
That once so lovingly pleased me;
That is the net so wondrous fair
Wherewith the Evil One seized me.
“And that blue eye, that so sweetly fell,
As clear as the ocean even,
It proved to be the portal of hell,
Though I thought it the gateway of heaven.”
In the wood still farther Sir Ulrich doth ride,
The leaves make a rustling dreary,
A second figure afar he spied,
That seem’d so sad and weary.
The youth then said: “O mother dear,
Who lov’dst me to