Читать книгу The Trumpeter of Säkkingen: A Song from the Upper Rhine - Joseph Victor von Scheffel - Страница 9

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The Boezberg for the Rhine I have been leaving,

A home-sick longing stirred my heart within,

Once more that fragrant air I would be breathing

Again would see the town of Fridolin,

As if at my return with joy elated,

She lay there basking in the autumn sun,

Her minster's towers lately renovated,

Reflected in the river, brightly shone;

Far to the North, through bluish vapour breaking,

The Hozzenwald, a stately background making.

From the Gallus-Thurm on the Roman wall erected,

To where the ancient convent buildings lie,

The well-known gable roofs I all detected,

Where often my light skiff had glided by;

And where the shore by gravel banks is bounded,

A sunny garden's blooming face doth smile;

Half hidden by the chestnuts which surround it

Lies cosily the castle's graceful pile.

To it my hat in greeting I am tossing,

As o'er the ancient covered bridge I'm crossing.

Unto the dead my steps at first were tending,

Unto the graveyard where the Rhine flows by,

For many had been called to rest unending,

Who once with me enjoyed this balmy sky.

The old stone wall I neared with deep emotion,

Inscribed with Werner Kirchhof s name and arms,

And of his wife a record of devotion,

Which, though long past, e'en now attracts and charms.

And Heaven's blessing on the pair alighted.

By death the same year they were re-united.

To the market then I turned. "Are ghosts here wandering.

Or is it you yourself who meets mine eyes?"

So said the mayor by the court-house standing,

Who slowly did the stranger recognise....

Long years have passed since friends were often going

To hear my judgments in the dusky court;

But though now many heads gray locks are showing,

Their hearts are fresh, their memory is not short;

And as we never shunned good cheer and drinking,

From foaming bumpers we'll not now be shrinking.

'Tis true the Button landlord has been moving

Out of his cosy tavern on the Square,

But still retains his former skill in brewing,

And in his new inn keeps the same good fare.

And as around the table we sat cheering

Our hearts with kindly memories of old,

From many lips I these glad news was hearing,

Which please the Poet more than heaps of gold:

The Trumpeter, whose story I'd been singing,

To young and old more joy was daily bringing.

As a vignette the weekly paper gracing

He's blowing politics instead of music now;

And even more, somebody has been placing

My hero on the stage--but ask not how.

Could I but see the walls of the new tower,

Which now is rising in the old one's place,

Embellished by an artist of great power--

The figures of my song devised with grace!

Thus might an artist's hand make expiation

For the abuse by stage-representation.

However, let that go, I am not fearing

Whatever purpose thou mayst serve my song;

Now that a new edition is appearing,

I send my greeting home with it along.

On thy fourth tour thou Schwarzwald-child be hieing,

Where truth and goodness dwell, there enter in,

And preach to those who with ennui are sighing,

How innocent amusement they may win.

As often as there comes a new edition,

"Preserve thee, God!" be ever my petition.

Seon in the Aargau, November, 1864.