Читать книгу The Greatest German Classics (Vol. 1-14) - Various - Страница 447

Loosed from their fetters are streams and rills

Through the gracious spring-tide's all-quickening glow;

Hope's budding joy in the vale doth blow;

Old Winter back to the savage hills

Withdraweth his force, decrepid now.

Thence only impotent icy grains

Scatters he as he wings his flight,

Striping with sleet the verdant plains;

But the sun endureth no trace of white;

Everywhere growth and movement are rife,

All things investing with hues of life

Though flowers are lacking, varied of dye,

Their colors the motley throng supply.

Turn thee around, and, from this height,

Back to the town direct thy sight.

Forth from the hollow, gloomy gate,

Stream forth the masses, in bright array.

Gladly seek they the sun today;

The Lord's Resurrection they celebrate:

For they themselves have risen, with joy,

From tenement sordid, from cheerless room,

From bonds of toil, from care and annoy,

From gable and roof's o'erhanging gloom,

From crowded alley and narrow street,

And from the churches' awe-breathing night

All now have come forth into the light.

Look, only look, on nimble feet,

Through garden and field how spread the throng,

How o'er the river's ample sheet

Many a gay wherry glides along;

And see, deep sinking in the tide,

Pushes the last boat now away.

E'en from yon far hill's path-worn side,

Flash the bright hues of garments gay.

Hark! Sounds of village mirth arise;

This is the people's paradise.

Both great and small send up a cheer;

Here am I man, I feel it here.