To the Flowers of Heidelberg (English version of "A las flores de Heidelberg")
Go to my native land, go, foreign flowers, Sown by the traveler on his way, And there, beneath its azure
sky, Where all my afflictions lie: There from the weary pilgrim say What faith is his in that land of ours!
Go there and tell how when the dawn, Her early light diffusing, Your petals first flung open wide; His
steps beside chill Neckar drawn, You see him silent by your side
Upon its Spring perennial musing, Say how when morning's light, All your fragrance stealing, Whispers to
you as in mirth, Playful songs of Love's delight, He, too, murmurs his love's feeling In the tongue he
learned at birth.
That when the sun of Koenigsthul's height Pours out its golden flood, And with its slowly warming light
Gives life to vale and grove and wood, He greets that sun, here only Upraising, Which in his native land is
at its zenith blazing.
And tell there of that day he stood, Near to a ruin'd castle gray, By Neckar's banks, or shady wood, And
pluck'd you beside the way
Tell, too, the tale to you addressed, And how with tender care, Your bending leaves he press'd Twist
pages of some volume rare.
Bear then, O flowers, love's message bear, My love to all the love'd one's there, Peace to my country
faithful land-Faith whereon its sons may stand, And virtue for its daughters's care; All those beloved
creatures greet, That still around home's altar meet.
And when you come home unto its shore, This kiss I now on you bestow, Fling where the winged
breezes blow; That borne on them it may hover o'er All that I love, esteem, and adore.
But though, O flowers, you come unto that land, And still perchance your colors hold; So far from this
heroic strand, Whose soil frist bade your life unfold Still here your fragrance will expand; Your soul that
never quits the earth Whose light smiled on you at your birth.
To My Muse (A mi Musa)
Invoked no longer is the Muse, The lyre is out of date: The poets it no longer use, And youth its
inspiration now imbues With other form and state.
If today our fancies aught Of verse would still require, Helicon's hill remains unsought; And without heed
we but inquire, Why the coffee is not brought.
In the place of thought sincere That our hearts may feel, We must seize a pen of steel, And with verse
and line severe Fling abroad a jest and jeer.
Muse, that in the past inspired me, And with songs of love hast fired me; Go thou now to dull repose,
For today in sordid prose I must earn the gold that hired me.
Now must I ponder deep. Meditate, and struggle on: E'en sometimes I must weep; For he who love
would keep Great pain has undergone.
Fled are the days of ease, The days of Love's delight; When flowers still would please And give to
suffering souls surcease From pain and sorrow's blight.
One by one they have passed on, All I loved and moved among: Dead or married-from me gone, For all I
place my heart upon By fate adverse are stung.
Go thou, too, O Muse, depart, Other regions fairer find; For my land but offers art For the laurel, chains
that bind, For a temple, prisons blind.
But before thou leavest me, speak: Tell me with thy voice sublime, Thou couldst ever from me seek A
song of sorrow for the weak, Defiance to the tyrant's crime.
