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human hearts can e’er experience.

      Within thy tender soul thou didst bring forth,

      As spirit heritage, the noble gift

      Of beauty, joined to virtue’s loftiest claim:

      And that which thine eternal Self had formed

      And brought to being through thy birth on earth

      Did reach ripe fruitage when thy years were few.—

      Too soon thou didst not scale steep spirit-heights;

      Nor grew thy yearning for the spirit-land

      Before thou hadst the full enjoyment known

      Of harmless pleasures in the world of sense.

      Anger and love thy soul did learn to know

      When thy thoughts dwelt yet far from spirit-life.

      Nature in all her beauty to enjoy,

      And pluck the fruits of art—these didst thou strive

      To make thy life’s sole content and its wealth.

      Merry thy laughter, as a child can laugh

      Who hath not known as yet life’s shadowed fears.

      And thus thou learn’dst to understand life’s joy,

      And mourn its sadness, each in its own time,

      Before thy dawning conscience grew to seek

      Of sorrow and of happiness the cause.

      A ripened fruit of many lives that soul,

      That enters earth’s domains, and shows such moods.

      Its childlike nature is the blossoming

      And not the ground-root of its character.

      And such a soul alone was I to choose

      As mediator for the God, who sought

      The power to work within our human world.

      And now thou learnest that thy nature must

      Transform itself into its opposite,

      When it flows forth to other human souls.

      The spirit in thee ripens whatsoe’er

      In human nature can attain the realm

      Of vast eternity; and much it slays

      That is but part of transitory realms.

      And yet the sacrifices of such deaths

      Are but the seeds of immortality,

      All that which blossoms forth from death below

      Must grow unto the higher life above.

      Maria:

      E’en so it is with me. Thou giv’st me light:

      But light that doth deprive me of my sight,

      And sunder me from mine own self in twain.

      Then do I seem some spirit’s instrument

      No longer master of myself. No more

      Do I endure that erstwhile form of mine

      Which only is a mask and not the truth.

      Johannes:

      O friend, what ails thee? Vanished is the light

      That filled thine eye: as marble is thy frame.

      I grasp thine hand and find it cold as death.

      Benedictus:

      My son, full many trials have come to thee;

      And now thou stand’st before life’s hardest test.

      Thou seest the carnal covering of thy friend;

      But her true self doth float in spirit-spheres

      Before mine eyes.

      Johannes:

      Before mine eyes. See! Her lips move; she speaks.

      Maria:

      Thou gav’st me clearness; yet this clearness throws

      A veil of darkness round on every side.

      I curse thy clearness; and I curse thee too,

      Who didst make tool of me for weird wild arts

      Whereby thou willedst to deceive mankind.

      No doubt at any moment hitherto

      Had crossed my mind of heights thy spirit reached;

      But now one single moment doth suffice

      To tear all faith in thee from out my heart.

      Those spirit-beings thou art subject to,

      I now must recognize as hellish fiends.

      Others I had to mislead and deceive

      Because at first I was deceived by thee.—

      But I will flee unto dim distances,

      Where not a sound of thee shall reach mine ears;

      Yet near enough that thy soul may be reached

      By bitter curses framed by these my lips.

      For thou didst rob my blood of all its fire,

      That thou mightst sacrifice to thy false god

      That which was rightly mine and mine alone.

      But now this same blood’s fire shall thee consume.

      Thou madest me trust in vain imaginings;

      And that this might be so, thou first didst make

      A pictured falsehood of my very self.

      Often had I to mark how in my soul

      Each deed and thought turned to its opposite;

      So now doth turn what once was love for thee,

      Into the fire of wild and bitter hate.

      Through all worlds will I seek to find that fire

      Which can consume thee. See—I cur—Ah—woe!

      Johannes:

      Who speaketh here? I do not see my friend.

      I hear instead some gruesome being speak.

      Benedictus:

      Thy friend’s soul hovers in the heights above.

      Only her mortal image hath she left

      Here with us: and where’er a human form

      Is found bereft of soul, there is the room

      Sought by the enemy, the foe of good,

      To enter into realms perceptible,

      And find some carnal form through which to speak.

      Just such an adversary spake e’en now,

      Who would destroy the work imposed on me

      For thee, my son, and millions yet unborn.

      Were I to deem these wild anathemas,

      Which our friend’s shell did utter here and now,

      Aught else but some grim tempter’s cunning skill,

      Thou durst not follow more my leadership.

      The enemy of Good stood by my side,

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