University of Virginia Library

GERMAN SONNETS.

WEIMAR.

Thou little Weimar, in the Saxon land,
All hail! With little Palestine and Greece
Well sistered, thou dost use a wide command,
And pile thy thoughtful trophies, where fair Peace
Her bloodless victories tells. A common place
And common streets I see; but where we stand
The gods once walked; and now an humble race
Lives on the memory of that Titan band.
Such the high function of God's elect men,
To fill time with their presence, and inspire
The many with strong will, and loftier ken,
And elevate our lives with a faith higher
Than our poor selves. O heavenly Father, give
This faith to me! By this the righteous live.

“ONE THING IS NEEDFUL.”

“One thing is needful.” What then?—to believe
A file of dogmas made compact with curses,
And, with soft bill obedient, to receive
Spoon-meat well drugged by sacerdotal nurses?
This priests and most religious kings delight
To preach, who love to count their subject souls
As captains levy soldiers for the fight,
And with the unvalued rabble swell their rolls.
But thou thy portion with the thoughtful few
Deep-searching choose; nor with strange dogmas cram
The unwilling brain, but thine own path pursue
With faithful foot, nor fear, when Doctors damn
Thy freedom. More than creeds, both old and new,
Is this—To God and to thyself be true.

BERLIN.

Statues on statues piled, and in the hand
Of each memorial man a soldier's sword!
Fit emblem of a tame and subject land,
Mustered and marked by a drill-serjeant-lord.
And these long lines of formal streets, that go
In rank and file, by a great captain's skill
Were marched into this cold and stately show,
Where public order palsies private will.
Order is strong; strong law the stars commands,
But birds by wings, and thought by freedom lives;
The crystalled stone compact and four-square stands,
But man by surging self-born impulse strives.
Much have ye done, lords of exact Berlin,
But one thing fails—the soul to your machine!

A HINT TO ENGLAND.

England is free; pray God she still may know
What Freedom means, and nurse the gift divine.
Athens was free, and Rome; but their worst foe
In their own breast they nursed; and now they pine
With the long slavery of two thousand years.
Freedom is godlike; but the gods do bind
Themselves with laws that rule the rolling spheres;
So, Briton, freely bend thy free-born mind
To the strong rule of Right. Wild beasts are free;
Free the wild rack that scours the scowling skies;
Man's higher freedom stands by God's decree,
To sink by folly, or by wisdom rise.
Would'st thou sail smooth, when lawless tempests bray,
Choose Law thy pilot, and thy choice obey.

ORTHODOXY ON THE THRONE.

“The king believes, and all the people must
Believe with him;” —so thought the Stuart, so
That mad Antiochus, who kicked i' the dust
The solemn service, and the sacred show
Of the old Hebrew Temple. Thrice ten years,
To crush free thought, did stolid Austria fight,
And bathed the land in blood, and fire, and tears,
And with harsh gripe choked the fresh-bursting light
In countless souls. Now men are nice and tame,
And blood looks ugly; but who fears to kill
Can starve; and kingcraft, with a pious fame,
Cuts creeds at leisure, and with churchly drill
Trains subject souls. O when will princes know
That men are more than tools, and creeds from God must grow?

THE STATUE OF ALBERT DÜRER AT NÜRNBERG.

Solid and square doth master Albert stand,
An air of hardy well-proved thought he wears,
As one that never flinched; and in his hand
The cunning tools of his high art he bears.
From thy grave face severe instructions come,
The peace that's born of well-fought fights is thine;
Before thy look frivolity is dumb,
And each true workman feels his craft divine.
First-born of Jove, immortal Toil! by thee
This city rose, by thee, so quaintly fair,
It stands, with well-hewn stone in each degree,
Turret, and spire, and carved gable rare.
Toil shaped the worlds; and on Earth's fruitful sod
Man works, a fellow-labourer with God.

THE STATUE OF THE VIRGIN MARY IN THE MARKET PLACE, MUNICH.

The people stream, the cars come rattling by,
The hum of life swells loud; and yet before
This pillared idol these mute worshippers pour
Their prayers in reverent low-hushed piety.
Art thou a Presbyterian strict, thy head
To a clear creed well schooled? beware to damn
Their ignorant worship; to the great I am
Crude notions from man's pious fancy bred
Stint not His liberal grace. A stammering prayer,
Lisped from unlettered lips, will sooner climb
Into God's ear than sounding speech sublime,
Stilted with learning, and with reasons fair
Well-propped. Invoked as Allah, Mary, Jove,
He hears in Heaven, whose one true name is Love.

HIGH MASS IN THE CATHEDRAL OF COLOGNE.

O heavens! so fair a fane, and such a crew
Of swine-faced mummers, fleshy, fat, and red,
Tricked out in antic robes of every hue,
And in a round of graceless movements led,
And this they call the Mass!—Thank Heaven that I
Was born a Protestant, and so released
From spell and charm, and strange soul-slavery
Of book and bell and candle, picture and priest!
O mighty God, how long shall millions breathe,
Age after age, this priest-infected air,
And to the pining centuries bequeathe
The deep heart-plague to which themselves were heir?
Thou knowest. Above all human hopes and fears
He reigns, who moves the churches and the spheres.