And take a long unmeasured tone,
To mortal minstrelsy unknown.
It seem'd to those within the wall
A cry prophetic of their fall;
It struck even the besiegers' ear
With something ominous and drear,
An undefined and sudden thrill,
Which makes the heart a moment still,
Then beat with quicker pulse, ashamed
Of that strange sense its silence framed;
Such as a sudden passing-bell
Wakes, though but for a stranger's knell.
Where the bee sucks, there suck I;
In a cowslip's bell I lie,
There I couch when owls do cry;
On the bat's back I do fly
After summer, merrily:
Merrily, merrily shall I live now
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
So hoch war noch kein Sterblicher gestiegen,
Als Kepler stieß und starb in Hungersnoth.
Er wußte nur die Geister zu vergnügen;
Drum liessen ihn die Körper ohne Brot.
Et longum incipiunt incompositumqve tenorem,
Qualis in humana non amat esse lyra.
Obstupuere viri media inter moenia clausi,
Exitiiqve ea vox omnibus omen erat.
Ipsis qvinetiam visa est cingentibus urbem
Lugubre nescio qvid significare mali:
Ut temere adtonitum qvom pectus inhorruit, et qvom
Purpureum subito sangvinis haesit iter:
Momentoqve brevi micat acrius, et pudor intrat
Mira qvod in tacito sensimus ista metu,
Non aliter qvam si tumulo campana repente
Qvamlubet ignoti destinet ossa viri.
Ἴδε μ ̓, ὦ τέκνον, ταῖσι μελίσσαις
τὸν σύνδειπνον, τὸν ἔσω κάλυκος
νυκτὸς ἀμολγῷ κατακοιμηθένθ ̓,
ὡς νυκτερίδος πτέρυγα στομίων
ἄτερ εὐθύνων
βόσκω τὸν ἀκήρατον ὄλβον.
καὶ γὰρ πολλὰς πρόσθε κελεύθους
ἦλθον γλυκερῷ θέρει ἀμφιπολῶν·
νῦν δ ̓ εὐφροσύνας ἱεροὺς καρποὺς
εἶμ ̓ ἀποδρέψων
στεφάνοις ὕπο δενδροκόμοισιν.
Ante alios omnes sapientior ille Keplerus
Vitam traxit inops, interiitqve fame.
Profuit humanis qvod non nisi mentibus, illum
Corpora sunt ideo passa carere cibo.
Tell me, thou Star, whose wings of light
Speed thee in thy fiery flight,
In what cavern of the night
Will thy pinions close now?
Tell me, Moon, thou pale and grey
Pilgrim of heaven's homeless way,
In what depth of night or day
Seekest thou repose now?
Weary Wind, who wanderest
Like the world's rejected guest,
Hast thou still some secret nest
On the tree or billow?
I care not, Fortune, what you me deny :
You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace;
You cannot shut the windows of the sky,
Through which Aurora shews her brightening face;
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace
The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve.
Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace,
And I their toys to the great children leave :
Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.
Flammeos velox agitare cursus,
Ede, qvo noctis tua nunc in antro
Pluma qviescet?
Luna, pallenti veneranda vultu
Devios caeli peragens meatus,
Qva tenebrarum recrearis aut qva
Lucis in aula ?
Vente, terrarum velut exsul
Semper errorem renovans, adhucne
Servat arcanum tibi silva nidum
Nil me solicitat qvid tu, Fortuna, recuses,
Dum mihi Naturae neqveas auferre decorem
Munificae, caeli neqveas obcludere valvas,
Qvas Aurora aperit, roseo spectabilis ore:
Neu possis retinere pedes, qvin vespere lustrem
Saltusqve siluasqve ad vivi fluminis oram.
Si modo dia Salus dignetur robore nervos
Et tenues firmare fibras, sua gaudia nugax
Per me turba colat procerum: mihi Musa supersit
Et Ratio et Virtus: his nil me dotibus orbat.
The Haunch of Venison.
While thus I debated, in reverie centred,
An acquaintance-a friend, as he call'd himself-enter'd; An underbred, fine-spoken fellow was he,
And he smiled as he looked at the venison and me. "What have we got here? Why, this is good eating! Your own, I suppose—or is it in waiting?"
"Why, whose should it be?" cried I, with a flounce; "I get these things often"— but that was a bounce: "Some lords, my acquaintance, that settle the nation, Are pleased to be kind-but I hate ostentation." "If that be the case, then," cried he, very gay, "I'm glad to have taken this house in my way. To-morrow you take a poor dinner with me; No words-I insist on 't-precisely at three:
We'll have Johnson and Burke-all the wits will be
My acquaintance is slight, or I'd ask my Lord Clare.
And, now that I think on't, as I am a sinner,
We wanted this venison to make out a dinner.
What say you-a pasty? it shall and it must,
And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for crust.-
Here, porter, this venison with me to Mile-end ;-
No stirring, I beg, my dear friend, my dear friend!”
Thus snatching his hat, he brush'd off like the wind,
And the porter and eatables follow'd behind.
Du hast des Reichen Gut, des Armen Herz und Harm ;
Den Erben bist du reich, dir selber bist du arm.
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