Читать книгу The Greatest German Classics (Vol. 1-14) - Various - Страница 1294

Trite is the word, yet high and true remains the sense:

That Shame and Beauty ne'er together, hand in hand,

Their onward way pursue, earth's verdant path along.

Deep-rooted in these twain dwelleth an ancient grudge,

So that, where'er they happen on their way to meet,

Upon her hated rival turneth each her back;

Then onward speeds her course with greater vehemence,

Shame filled with sorrow, Beauty insolent of mood,

Till her at length embraces Orcus' hollow night,

Unless old age erewhile her haughtiness hath tamed.

You find I now, ye wantons, from a foreign shore,

With insolence o'erflowing, like the clamorous flight

Of cranes, with shrilly scream that high above our heads,

A long and moving cloud, croaking send down their noise,

Which the lone pilgrim lures wending his silent way,

Aloft to turn his gaze; yet on their course they fare,

He also upon his: so will it be with us.

Who are ye then, that thus around the monarch's house,

With Maenad rage, ye dare like drunken ones to rave?

Who are ye then that ye the house's stewardess

Thus bay, like pack of hounds hoarsely that bay the moon?

Think ye, 'tis hid from me, the race whereof ye are?

Thou youthful, war-begotten, battle-nurtured brood,

Lewd and lascivious thou, seducers and seduced,

Unnerving both, the soldier's and the burgher's strength!

Seeing your throng, to me a locust-swarm ye seem,

Which, settling down, conceals the young green harvest-field.

Wasters of others' toil! ye dainty revellers,

Destroyers in its bloom of all prosperity!

Thou conquer'd merchandise, exchanged and marketed!