Poems and Ballads of Heinrich Heine E-Book

Heinrich Heine

• Herausgeber: DigiCat
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Heinrich Heine's 'Poems and Ballads' immerses readers in a world of romanticism and political commentary. His lyrical style, full of rich symbolism and vivid imagery, evokes deep emotions and thought-provoking themes. Heine's work often explores themes of love, nature, and the human condition, making it both accessible and profound in its depth. Heine's ability to blend the personal and the political in his poetry sets him apart as a master of his craft, drawing readers into a world that is both familiar and yet strikingly original. Influenced by the Romantic movement, his work reflects the turbulent times in which he lived, providing a valuable perspective on history and society. Through his blend of beauty and truth, Heine's 'Poems and Ballads' is a timeless collection that continues to resonate with readers today.

Leseprobe

Heinrich Heine

Poems and Ballads of Heinrich Heine

 

EAN 8596547324331

DigiCat, 2022 Contact: [email protected]

Table of Contents

SONNETS TO MY MOTHER, B. HEINE, née VON GELDERN.

THE SPHINX.

DONNA CLARA.

DON RAMIRO.

TANNHÄUSER.

A LEGEND.

IN THE UNDERWORLD.

THE VALE OF TEARS.

SOLOMON.

MORPHINE.

SONG.

SONG.

SONG.

HOMEWARD BOUND. 1823-1824.

FREDERIKA VARNHAGEN VON ENSE,

HEINRICH HEINE.

HOMEWARD BOUND.

SONGS TO SERAPHINE.

SONGS TO SERAPHINE.

TO ANGELIQUE.

SPRING FESTIVAL.

CHILDE HAROLD.

THE ASRA.

HELENA.

SONG.

THE NORTH SEA.

1825-26.

FREDERICK MERCKEL,

THE NORTH SEA.

FIRST CYCLUS.

SECOND CYCLUS.

Motto, Xenophon's Anabasis—IV. V.

SONNETS TO MY MOTHER, B. HEINE,née VON GELDERN.

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I.

I have been wont to bear my forehead high—My stubborn temper yields with no good grace.The king himself might look me in the face,And yet I would not downward cast mine eye.But I confess, dear mother, openly,However proud my haughty spirit swell,When I within thy blessed presence dwell,Oft am I smit with shy humility.Is it thy soul, with secret influence,Thy lofty soul piercing all shows of sense,Which soareth, heaven-born, to heaven again?Or springs it from sad memories that tellHow many a time I caused thy dear heart pain,Thy gentle heart, that loveth me so well!

II.

In fond delusion once I left thy side;Unto the wide world's end I fain would fare,To see if I might find Love anywhere,And lovingly embrace Love as a bride.Love sought I in all paths, at every gate;Oft and again outstretching suppliant palms,I begged in vain of Love the slightest alms,But the world laughed and offered me cold hate.Forever I aspired towards Love, foreverTowards Love, and ne'ertheless I found Love never,—And sick at heart, homeward my steps did move.And lo! thou comest forth to welcome me;And that which in thy swimming eyes I see,That is the precious, the long-looked-for Love.

THE SPHINX.

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This is the old enchanted wood,Sweet lime trees scent the wind;The glamor of the moon has castA spell upon my mind.

Onward I walk, and as I walk—Hark to that high, soft strain!That is the nightingale, she sings,Of love and of love's pain.

She sings of love and of love's pain,Of laughter and of tears.So plaintive her carol, so joyous her sobs,I dream of forgotten years.

Onward I walk, and as I walk,There stands before mine eyesA castle proud on an open lawn,Whose gables high uprise.

With casements closed, and everywhereSad silence in court and halls,It seemed as though mute death abodeWithin those barren walls.

Before the doorway crouched a sphinx,Half horror and half grace;With a lion's body, a lion's claws,And a woman's breast and face.

A woman fair! The marble glanceSpake wild desire and guile.The silent lips were proudly curledIn a confident, glad smile.

The nightingale, she sang so sweet,I yielded to her tone.I touched, I kissed the lovely face,And lo, I was undone!

The marble image stirred with life,The stone began to move;She drank my fiery kisses' glowWith panting thirsty love.

She well nigh drank my breath away;And, lustful still for more,Embraced me, and my shrinking fleshWith lion claws she tore.

Oh, rapturous martyrdom! ravishing pain!Oh, infinite anguish and bliss!With her horrible talons she wounded me,While she thrilled my soul with a kiss.

The nightingale sang: "Oh beautiful sphinx.Oh love! what meaneth this?That thou minglest still the pangs of deathWith thy most peculiar bliss?

Thou beautiful Sphinx, oh solve for meThis riddle of joy and tears!I have pondered it over again and again,How many thousand years!"

DONNA CLARA.

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In the evening through her gardenWanders the Alcalde's daughter;Festal sounds of drum and trumpetRing out hither from the castle.

"I am weary of the dances,Honeyed words of adulationFrom the knights who still compare meTo the sun,—with dainty phrases.

"Yes, of all things I am weary,Since I first beheld by moonlight,Him my cavalier, whose zitherNightly draws me to my casement.

"As he stands, so slim and daring,With his flaming eyes that sparkleFrom his nobly-pallid features,Truly he St. George resembles."

Thus went Donna Clara dreaming,On the ground her eyes were fastened,When she raised them, lo! before herStood the handsome, knightly stranger.

Pressing hands and whispering passion,These twain wander in the moonlight.Gently doth the breeze caress them,The enchanted roses greet them.

The enchanted roses greet them,And they glow like love's own heralds;"Tell me, tell me, my belovèd,Wherefore, all at once thou blushest."

"Gnats were stinging me, my darling,And I hate these gnats in summer,E'en as though they were a rabbleOf vile Jews with long, hooked noses."

"Heed not gnats nor Jews, belovèd,"Spake the knight with fond endearments.From the almond-tree dropped downwardMyriad snowy flakes of blossoms.

Myriad snowy flakes of blossomsShed around them fragrant odors."Tell me, tell me, my belovèd,Looks thy heart on me with favor?"

"Yes, I love thee, oh my darling,And I swear it by our Savior,Whom the accursèd Jews did murderLong ago with wicked malice."

"Heed thou neither Jews nor Savior,"Spake the knight with fond endearments;Far-off waved as in a visionGleaming lilies bathed in moonlight.

Gleaming lilies bathed in moonlightSeemed to watch the stars above them."Tell me, tell me, my belovèd,Didst thou not erewhile swear falsely?"

"Naught is false in me, my darling,E'en as in my bosom flowethNot a drop of blood that's Moorish,Neither of foul Jewish current."

"Heed not Moors nor Jews, belovèd,"Spake the knight with fond endearments.Then towards a grove of myrtlesLeads he the Alcalde's daughter.

And with love's slight, subtle meshes,He hath trapped her and entangled;Brief their words, but long their kisses,For their hearts are overflowing.

What a melting bridal carol,Sings the nightingale, the pure one!How the fire-flies in the grassesTrip their sparkling, torch-light dances!

In the grove the silence deepens;Naught is heard save furtive rustlingOf the swaying myrtle branches,And the breathing of the flowers.

But the sound of drum and trumpetBurst forth sudden from the castle.Rudely they awaken Clara,Pillowed on her lover's bosom.

"Hark, they summon me, my darling.But before I go, oh tell me,Tell me what thy precious name is,Which so closely thou hast hidden."

And the knight, with gentle laughter,Kissed the fingers of his donna,Kissed her lips and kissed her forehead,And at last these words he uttered:

"I, Señora, your belovèd,Am the son of the respectedWorthy, erudite Grand Rabbi,Israel of Saragossa!"

DON RAMIRO.

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"Donna Clara! Donna Clara!Hotly-loved through years of passion!Thou hast wrought me mine undoing,And hast wrought it without mercy!

"Donna Clara! Donna Clara!Still the gift of life is pleasant.But beneath the earth 'tis frightful,In the grave so cold and darksome.

"Donna Clara! Laugh, be merry,For to-morrow shall FernandoGreet thee at the nuptial altar.Wilt thou bid me to the wedding?"

"Don Ramiro! Don Ramiro!Very bitter sounds thy language,Bitterer than the stars' decrees are,Which bemock my heart's desire.

"Don Ramiro! Don Ramiro!Cast aside thy gloomy temper.In the world are many maidens,But us twain the Lord hath parted.

"Don Ramiro, thou who bravelyMany and many a man hast conquered,Conquer now thyself,—to-morrowCome and greet me at my wedding."

"Donna Clara! Donna Clara!Yes, I swear it. I am coming.I will dance with thee the measure.Now good-night! I come to-morrow."

"So good-night!" The casement rattled,Sighing neath it, stood Ramiro.Long he stood a stony statue,Then amidst the darkness vanished.

After long and weary struggling,Night must yield unto the daylight.Like a many-colored garden,Lies the city of Toledo.

Palaces and stately fabricsShimmer in the morning sunshine.And the lofty domes of churchesGlitter as with gold incrusted.

Humming like a swarm of insects,Ring the bells their festal carol.With sweet tones the sacred anthemFrom each house of God ascendeth.

But behold, behold! beyond there,Yonder from the market-chapel,With a billowing and a swaying,Streams the motley throng of people.

Gallant knights and noble ladies,In their holiday apparel;While the pealing bells ring clearly,And the deep-voiced organ murmurs.

But a reverential passageIn the people's midst is opened,For the richly-clad young couple,Donna Clara, Don Fernando.

To the bridegroom's palace-threshold,Wind the waving throngs of people;There the wedding feast beginneth,Pompous in the olden fashion.

Knightly games and open table,Interspersed with joyous laughter,Quickly flying, speed the hours,Till the night again hath fallen.

And the wedding-guests assembleFor the dance within the palace,And their many-colored raimentGlitters in the light of tapers.

Seated on a lofty dais,Side by side, are bride and bridegroom,Donna Clara, Don Fernando,—And they murmur sweet love-whispers.

And within the hall wave brightlyAll the gay-decked streams of dancers;And the rolling drums are beaten.Shrill the clamorous trumpet soundeth.

"Wherefore, wherefore, beauteous lady,Are thy lovely glances fastenedYonder in the hall's far corner?"In amazement asked Fernando.

"See'st thou not, oh Don Fernando,Yonder man in sable mantle?"And the knight spake, kindly smiling,"Why, 'tis nothing but a shadow."

But the shadow drew anear them,'Twas a man in sable mantle.Clara knows at once Ramiro,And she greets him, blushing crimson.

And the dance begins already,Gaily whirl around the dancersIn the waltz's reckless circles,Till the firm floor creaks and trembles.

"Yes, with pleasure, Don Ramiro,I will dance with thee the measure;But in such a night-black mantleThou shouldst never have come hither."