Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton collected and arranged by H. Augusta Dodge |
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FROM THE GERMAN |
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 | Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton |  |
FROM THE GERMAN
I give you the world, cried the King of the Gods
From the heights of Olympus' throne,
To the children of men, bear it hence away,
For the world shall be your own.
I transfer it to you an inheritance,
The deed shall be ever good,
Yet see that ye quarrel not for your shares,
But divide it as brothers should.
From the heights of Olympus' throne,
To the children of men, bear it hence away,
For the world shall be your own.
I transfer it to you an inheritance,
The deed shall be ever good,
Yet see that ye quarrel not for your shares,
But divide it as brothers should.
Whoever had hands hurried breathless then
To grasp the glittering pelf.
They were equally busy, young and old,
Each to enrich himself.
The farmer rushed for the teeming fields
Waving with golden corn;
While the fiery youth blew through the woods
The blast of his bugle horn.
To grasp the glittering pelf.
They were equally busy, young and old,
Each to enrich himself.
The farmer rushed for the teeming fields
Waving with golden corn;
While the fiery youth blew through the woods
The blast of his bugle horn.
86
Huge coffers, heavy with yellow gold—
Jewels and silk and lace
Fluttered before the merchant's eyes
As he started upon the chase.
The abbot was fired with a kindred zeal
To collect the last year's wine,
While the king barricaded bridges and streets
And declared: The tenth part is mine.
Jewels and silk and lace
Fluttered before the merchant's eyes
As he started upon the chase.
The abbot was fired with a kindred zeal
To collect the last year's wine,
While the king barricaded bridges and streets
And declared: The tenth part is mine.
But when the division was quite complete
And filled was each grasping hand,
The poet came with a dust-stained robe
From a far-away unknown land.
But alas! alas! he was just too late,
The inheritance all was gone,
Each waving acre had found a lord—
For the luckless bard, not one.
And filled was each grasping hand,
The poet came with a dust-stained robe
From a far-away unknown land.
But alas! alas! he was just too late,
The inheritance all was gone,
Each waving acre had found a lord—
For the luckless bard, not one.
Ah me! forgotten am I alone,
The son of thy warmest love?
Wailed the ill-starred poet with bitter lament,
As he knelt at the feet of Jove.
Why tarriest thou in the land of dreams?
Spake the God, yet blame not me.
Where went thou when the earth was shared?
I was, said the poet, with thee.
The son of thy warmest love?
Wailed the ill-starred poet with bitter lament,
As he knelt at the feet of Jove.
Why tarriest thou in the land of dreams?
Spake the God, yet blame not me.
Where went thou when the earth was shared?
I was, said the poet, with thee.
87
My eyes were gazing upon thy face
As I knelt in silence here,
And the ravishing notes of immortal song
Melted upon my ear.
Oh! pardon thy child in the throng of the Gods
Forgetting his mortal birth,
If drunk with thy glory he loitered behind
And lost the treasures of earth.
As I knelt in silence here,
And the ravishing notes of immortal song
Melted upon my ear.
Oh! pardon thy child in the throng of the Gods
Forgetting his mortal birth,
If drunk with thy glory he loitered behind
And lost the treasures of earth.
Ah, what shall be done, cried compassionate Jove,
Though I would not say thee nay,
Yet the harvest, the chase, and the market are gone,
The world is given away.
I will grant thee a better than earthly boon,
A dwelling in heaven with me;
Whenever thy footsteps shall hitherward tend
Its portals are open to thee.
Though I would not say thee nay,
Yet the harvest, the chase, and the market are gone,
The world is given away.
I will grant thee a better than earthly boon,
A dwelling in heaven with me;
Whenever thy footsteps shall hitherward tend
Its portals are open to thee.
1853.
| Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton | |