My Muse IV. 1

In the days of my youth she was fond of me,And the seven-stemmed flute she handed me.To me with smile she listened; and already gentlyAlong the openings echoing of the woodsWas playing I with fingers tender:Both hymns solemn, god-inspiredAnd peaceful song of Phrygian shepherd.From morn till night in oak's dumb shadowTo the strange maid's teaching intent I listened;And with sparing reward me gladdeningTossing back her curls from her forehead dear,From my hands the flute herself she took.Now filled the wood was with breath divineAnd the heart with holy enchantment filled.

In those days when new to me wereOf existence all impressions:--The maiden's glances, the forests' whisper,The song of nightingale at night;When the sentiments elevatedOf Freedom, glory and of love,And of art the inspirationStirred deeply so my blood:--My hopeful hours and joyfulWith melancholy sudden dark'ningA certain evil spirit thenBegan in secret me to visit.Grievous were our meetings,His smile, and his wonderful glance,His speeches, these so stingingCold poison poured into my soul.Providence with slanderInexhaustible he tempted;Of Beauty as a dream he spakeAnd inspiration he despised;Nor love, nor freedom trusted he,On life with scorn he looked--And nought in all natureTo bless he ever wished.

Not ye regret I, of spring my years,In dreams gone by of hopeless love;Not ye regret I, O mysteries of nights.By songstress passionate celebrated;

Not ye, regret I, O my faithless friendsNor crowns of feasts, nor cups of circle,Nor ye regret I, O traitresses young--To pleasures melancholy stranger am I.

But where are ye, O moments tenderOf young my hopes, of heartfelt peace?The former heat and grace of inspiration?Come again, O ye, of spring my years!

When noisy day to mortals quiet grows,And upon the city's silent wallsNight's shadow half-transparent lies,And Sleep, of daily toils reward,--Then for me are dragging in the silenceOf wearying wakefulness the hours.In the sloth of night more scorching burnMy heart's serpents' gnawing fangs;Boil my thoughts; my soul with grief oppressedFull of reveries sad is thronged.Before me memory in silenceIts lengthy roll unfolds.And with disgust my life I readingTremble I and curse it.Bitterly I moan, and bitterly my tears I shed,But wash away the lines of grief I cannot.

In laziness, in senseless feastsIn the craziness of ruinous license,In thraldom, poverty, and homeless desertsMy wasted years there I behold.Of friends again I hear the treacherous greetingGames amid of love and wine.To the heart again insults bringsIrrepressible the cold world.No joy for me,--and calmly before meOf visions young two now rise:Two tender shades, two angels meGiven by fate in the days of yore.But both have wings and flaming swords,And they watch--... and both are vengeant,And both to me speak with death tongueOf Eternity's mysteries, and of the grave.

My wishes I have survived,My ambition I have outgrown!Left only is my smart,The fruit of emptiness of heart.

Under the storm of cruel FateFaded has my blooming crown!Sad I live and lonely,And wait: Is nigh my end?

Thus touched by the belated frost,When storm's wintry whistle is heard,On the branch bare and loneTrembles the belated leaf.

With sleepy brush the barbarian artistThe master's painting blackens;And thoughtlessly his wicked drawingOver it he is daubing.

But in years the foreign colorsPeal off, an aged layer:The work of genius is 'gain before us,With former beauty out it comes.

Thus my failings vanish tooFrom my wearied soul,And again within it visions rise,Of my early purer days.

Tormented by the thirst for the spiritI was dragging myself in a sombre desert,And a six-winged seraph appearedUnto me on the parting of the roads.With fingers as light as a dreamMine eyes he touched:And mine eyes opened wiseLike the eyes of a frightened eagle;He touched mine ears,And they filled with din and ringing.And I heard the trembling of the heavensAnd the flight of the angel's wings,And the creeping of the polyps in the sea,And the growth of the vine in the valley.And he took hold of my lips,And out he tore my sinful tongueWith its empty and false speech.And the fang of the wise serpentBetween my terrified lips he placedWith bloody hand.And ope he cut with sword my breast,And out he took my trembling heart,And a coal with flaming blazeInto the opened breast he shoved.Like a corpse I lay in the desert.And the voice of God unto me called:Arise, O prophet, and listen, and guide.Be thou filled with my will,And going over land and seaFire with the word the hearts of men!