Фридрих Шиллер
The Poems of Schiller – Second period

   The banks with checkered dances hover,
    The flowery mead, the sunset's light, —
   Thus gleams, life's barren pathway over,
    Poesy's shadowy world so bright.
   In bridal dress ye led us on
   Before the terrible Unknown,
   Before the inexorable fate,
    As in your urns the bones are laid,
    With beauteous magic veil ye shade
   The chorus dread that cares create.
   Thousands of years I hastened through
    The boundless realm of vanished time
   How sad it seems when left by you —
    But where ye linger, how sublime!

   She who, with fleeting wing, of yore
    From your creating hand arose in might,
   Within your arms was found once more,
    When, vanquished by Time's silent flight,
   Life's blossoms faded from the cheek,
    And from the limbs all vigor went,
   And mournfully, with footstep weak,
    Upon his staff the gray-beard leant.
   Then gave ye to the languishing,
   Life's waters from a new-born spring;
   Twice was the youth of time renewed,
   Twice, from the seeds that ye had strewed.

   When chased by fierce barbarian hordes away,
    The last remaining votive brand ye tore
   From Orient's altars, now pollution's prey,
    And to these western lands in safety bore.
   The fugitive from yonder eastern shore,
    The youthful day, the West her dwelling made;
   And on Hesperia's plains sprang up once more
    Ionia's flowers, in pristine bloom arrayed.
   Over the spirit fairer Nature shed,
    With soft refulgence, a reflection bright,
   And through the graceful soul with stately tread
    Advanced the mighty Deity of light.
   Millions of chains were burst asunder then,
    And to the slave then human laws applied,
   And mildly rose the younger race of men,
    As brethren, gently wandering side by side,
   With noble inward ecstasy,
    The bliss imparted ye receive,
   And in the veil of modesty,
    With silent merit take your leave.
   If on the paths of thought, so freely given,
    The searcher now with daring fortune stands,
   And, by triumphant Paeans onward driven,
    Would seize upon the crown with dauntless hands —
   If he with grovelling hireling's pay
    Thinks to dismiss his glorious guide —
   Or, with the first slave's-place array
    Art near the throne his dream supplied —
   Forgive him! — O'er your head to-day
    Hovers perfection's crown in pride,
   With you the earliest plant Spring had,
    Soul-forming Nature first began;
   With you, the harvest-chaplet glad,
    Perfected Nature ends her plan.

   The art creative, that all-modestly arose
   From clay and stone, with silent triumph throws
    Its arms around the spirit's vast domain.
   What in the land of knowledge the discoverer knows,
    He knows, discovers, only for your gain
   The treasures that the thinker has amassed,
    He will enjoy within your arms alone,
   Soon as his knowledge, beauty-ripe at last.
    To art ennobled shall have grown, —
   Soon as with you he scales a mountain-height,
    And there, illumined by the setting sun,
   The smiling valley bursts upon his sight.
   The richer ye reward the eager gaze
    The higher, fairer orders that the mind
   May traverse with its magic rays,
    Or compass with enjoyment unconfined —
   The wider thoughts and feelings open lie
   To more luxuriant floods of harmony.
   To beauty's richer, more majestic stream, —
   The fair members of the world's vast scheme,
   That, maimed, disgrace on his creation bring,
   He sees the lofty forms then perfecting —

   The fairer riddles come from out the night —
    The richer is the world his arms enclose,
    The broader stream the sea with which he flows —
   The weaker, too, is destiny's blind might —
   The nobler instincts does he prove —
   The smaller he himself, the greater grows his love.
   Thus is he led, in still and hidden race,
    By poetry, who strews his path with flowers,
    Through ever-purer forms, and purer powers,
   Through ever higher heights, and fairer grace.
   At length, arrived at the ripe goal of time, —
   Yet one more inspiration all-sublime,
   Poetic outburst of man's latest youth,
   And — he will glide into the arms of truth!

   Herself, the gentle Cypria,
    Illumined by her fiery crown,
    Then stands before her full-grown son
   Unveiled — as great Urania;
   The sooner only by him caught,
    The fairer he had fled away!
   Thus stood, in wonder rapture-fraught,
    Ulysses' noble son that day,
   When the sage mentor who his youth beguiled;
   Herself transfigured as Jove's glorious child!

   Man's honor is confided to your hand, —
    There let it well protected be!
   It sinks with you! with you it will expand!
    Poesy's sacred sorcery
   Obeys a world-plan wise and good;
   In silence let it swell the flood
    Of mighty-rolling harmony.

   By her own time viewed with disdain,
   Let solemn truth in song remain,
   And let the Muses' band defend her!
   In all the fullness of her splendor,
   Let her survive in numbers glorious,
    More dread, when veiled her charms appear,
   And vengeance take, with strains victorious,
    On her tormentor's ear!

   The freest mother's children free,
    With steadfast countenance then rise
   To highest beauty's radiancy,
    And every other crown despise!
   The sisters who escaped you here,
    Within your mother's arms ye'll meet;
   What noble spirits may revere,
    Must be deserving and complete.
   High over your own course of time
    Exalt yourselves with pinion bold,
   And dimly let your glass sublime
    The coming century unfold!
   On thousand roads advancing fast
    Of ever-rich variety,
   With fond embraces meet at last
    Before the throne of harmony!
   As into seven mild rays we view
    With softness break the glimmer white,
   As rainbow-beams of sevenfold hue
    Dissolve again in that soft light,
   In clearness thousandfold thus throw
    Your magic round the ravished gaze, —
   Into one stream of light thus flow, —
    One bond of truth that ne'er decays!