MIGNON'S SONG 191 In the free air! Where shower and singing-bird Midst the young leaves are heard- MIGNON'S SONG TRANSLATED FROM GOETHE [MIGNON, a young and enthusiastic girl, (the character in one of Goethe's romances, from which Sir Walter Scott's Fenella is partially imitated,) has been stolen away, in early childhood, from Italy. Her vague recollections of that land, and of her early home, with its graceful sculptures and pictured saloons, are perpetually haunting her, and break forth into the following song.] "Kennst du das Land wo die Citronen bluhn ?" KNOW'ST thou the land where bloom the citron bowers, High waves the laurel there, the myrtle flowers, There, there, with thee, Know'st thou the dwelling? There the pillars rise, To say 'Poor child! what thus hath wrought thee woe?' There, there with thee, O my protector! homewards might I flee! Know'st thou the mountain? High its bridge is hung, O'er beetling rocks there foams the torrent spray. With thee, with thee, There lies my path, O father! let us flee! THE CURFEW-SONG OF ENGLAND HARK! from the dim church-tower, Sadly 'twas heard by him who came Sternly and sadly heard, As it quenched the wood-fire's glow, Which had cheered the board with the mirthful word, And the red wine's foaming flow; Until that sullen boding knell, Flung out from every fane, On harp, and lip, and spirit fell, Woe for the pilgrim then In the wild-deer's forest far! No cottage lamp to the haunts of men THE CURFEW-SONG OF ENGLAND 193 And woe for him whose wakeful soul, With lone aspirings filled, Would have lived o'er some immortal scroll, And yet a deeper woe For the watcher by the bed, Where the fondly-loved in pain lay low, For the mother, doomed unseen to keep And to feel its sleeping pulse, and weep, Darkness in chieftain's hall! Darkness in peasant's cot! While Freedom, under that shadowy pall, Oh! the fireside's peace we well may prize! Heap the yule-fagots high Till the red light fills the room! It is Home's own hour when the stormy sky Gather ye round the holy hearth! And by its gladdening blaze, Unto thankful bliss we will change our mirth, N THE CALL TO BATTLE "Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, THE Vesper-bell from church and tower And the household in the hush of eve Were met their porch around. A voice rang through the olive-wood, with a sudden trumpet's power "We rise on all our hills! Come forth! 'tis thy country's gathering-hour. There's a gleam of spears by every stream in each old battle-dell: Come forth, young Juan! Bid thy home a brief and proud farewell!" Then the father gave his son the sword Which a hundred fights had seen "Away! and bear it back, my boy, All that it still hath been!" "Haste, haste! The hunters of the foe are up: and who shall stand The lion-like awakening of the roused indignant land? Our chase shall sound through each defile where swept the clarion's blast, With the flying footsteps of the Moor, in stormy ages past." THE CALL TO BATTLE Then the mother kissed her son, with tears That o'er his dark locks fell: "I bless, I bless thee o'er and o'er, Yet I stay thee not-Farewell! 195 "One moment! but one moment give to parting thought or word! It is no time for woman's tears when manhood's heart is stirred. Bear but the memory of my love about thee in the fight, To breathe upon the avenging sword a spell of keener might." And a maiden's fond adieu was heard, Though deep, yet brief and low: "In the vigil, in the conflict, love! My prayer shall with thee go!" "Come forth! come as the torrent comes when the winter's chain is burst! So rushes on the land's revenge, in night and silence nursed. The night is passed, the silence o'er-on all our hills we rise: We wait thee, youth! sleep, dream no more! the voice of battle cries." There were sad hearts in a darkened home, But the strength of prayer and sacrifice |