Читать книгу The Greatest German Classics (Vol. 1-14) - Various - Страница 69

I can forgive, though I must needs deplore,

The noble pride which underrates itself;

It robs thee of the happiness of life.

But hast thou, since thy coming here, done naught?

Who hath the monarch's gloomy temper cheered?

Who hath with gentle eloquence annull'd,

From year to year, the usage of our sires,

By which, a victim at Diana's shrine,

Each stranger perish'd, thus from certain death

Sending so oft the rescued captive home?

Hath not Diana, harboring no revenge

For this suspension of her bloody rites,

In richest measure heard thy gentle prayer?

On joyous pinions o'er the advancing host,

Doth not triumphant conquest proudly soar?

And feels not every one a happier lot,

Since Thoas, who so long hath guided us

With wisdom and with valor, sway'd by thee.

The joy of mild benignity approves,

Which leads him to relax the rigid claims

Of mute submission? Call thyself useless! Thou,

When from thy being o'er a thousand hearts,

A healing balsam flows? when to a race,

To whom a god consign'd thee, thou dost prove

A fountain of perpetual happiness,

And from this dire inhospitable coast,

Dost to the stranger grant a safe return?