"Have no fear, I know what love is.

I myself feel something tightening Round my heart, when I the Schwarzwald's Mountains greet, and jump rejoicing O'er Schaffhausen's precipices, Force my way with courage, rushing Through the straits of Laufenburg.

For I know that soon my lovely Schwarzwald child, the youthful Wiese, Comes to meet me, bashful, timid; And she prattles, in the rough speech Of the Almains, of the Feldberg, Of the ghosts beheld at midnight, Of sweet mountain flowers, and huge Caps and thirsty throats at Schopfheim.

Yes, I love her, I have never Gazed enough at her blue eyes yet.

Yes, I love her, I have never Kissed enough her rosy cheeks yet.

Oft I rush, like thee, a dreamer, Wildly past old sober Basel, Get quite tired of the tedious Old town-councillors, and ruin Now and then a wall in pa.s.sing.

And they think, it was in anger, What was only done in frolic.

Yes, I love her. Many other Charming women much pursue me; None, however,--e'en the stately, Richly vine-clad, blue-eyed Mosel-- Ever from my heart can banish Thee, the Feldberg's lovely daughter.

When I through the sands of Holland Weary drag my sluggish waters, And I hear the wind-mills clapper, Tender longings oft steal o'er me For my early lovely sweetheart.

Then with deep dull sound my waves roll Onward through the tedious meadows, Roll out far into the North Sea, But not one there understands me.

"Have no fear; I know what love is.

Ye I know, ye German dreamers Who on my fair sh.o.r.es are dwelling.

I, indeed, am your true likeness, Am the history of your nation; Storm and pa.s.sion, bitter ending, All are pictured in my course.

Most romantic is my birthplace, And weird Alpine spirits watched well By my glittering icy cradle, And conducted me to daylight.

Strong and wild was I in childhood; Never can the rocks be counted, Which I roaring dashed to pieces, And hurled up like b.a.l.l.s at tennis.

Fresh and gay I then float onward, Through the Swabian sea, and carry, Unimpaired, my youthful powers Farther to the German country.

And once more come up before me All the fragrant recollections Of romance; my youthful dreaming Sweetly then returns transfigured: Foam and surging, strong-walled cities, Rocks and castles, quiet cloisters, Smiling vineyards on the hillside; From the tower calls the watchman, And the pennon gaily flutters, And from yonder cliff is ringing Wondrously the Lurley's song.

But, alas! the good time pa.s.ses; Nought but grief is then my portion; I devote myself to drinking, Pray at Coln in the Cathedral, And become a beast of burden.

Shabby tradesmen must I serve then, On my ill-used back must carry All the Dutchman's clumsy tow-boats.

In the sand, to me so hateful, Wearily my way I drag on, And I've long been dead already, Ere my grave, the sea, receives me.

So beware of such stagnation!

"Yes, I can much more relate thee; I to-day am in good humour, And I love all jovial fellows, Who like thee and like myself face, Gaily with light hearts, the Future.

But I'll end this long discourse now, And will give thee my best counsel.

I know well that thou art love-struck, Know, thou lovest Margaretta, The old Baron's lovely daughter, Whose old castle standing yonder Is in my green waves reflected.

Oft I see with joy the maiden Standing there upon the terrace, And I'll gladly take thee near her.

There's the boat and there's the rudder; All the rest may well be trusted To thy own instinctive wisdom."

Saying this, he shook his locks, and Dived beneath the water's surface; And the foaming surging waves then Closed the whirlpool where he vanished.

And afar rang out his laughter, For, the battle of the crab had Ended now, one lay there bleeding, Of the tail bereft the other.

Werner did as he was counselled.

An old tower was there standing By the sh.o.r.e, half in the river; And where through a secret wicket To the strand came down the fisher, Was a quiet hidden inlet, Where lay boat and rudder ready.

As the boatman kept the feast-day, So without permission Werner Took possession of the boat there.

In the meantime evening crept on: Here and there rang from the mountains Clear and sharp, a shouting from some Tipsy peasant going homeward.

O'er those distant pine-tree forests Streamed the moonlight through the valley; Bashfully some stars already From the clear blue sky were peeping.

From the sh.o.r.e shoved off young Werner.

As a horse, when in his stable Long imprisoned, gaily prances, Neighs with joy, when he can carry Through the fields again his master: So shot boldly swiftly downward, On the water gaily bounding, The light boat, and speeding onward Pa.s.sed the walls of the old city.

Soon it gained the ancient Rhine bridge, Which with timber-covered arches Boldly spans from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e.

And courageously young Werner Steered right through below the third pier, Laughing, when, as if to vex him, Three times up and three times downward Danced his boat, seized by the whirlpool Soon he now beheld the castle With its gable-roofs and turrets, Shining through the lofty chestnuts, All illumined by the moonlight.

Yonder rose up from the river By the sh.o.r.e a bank of gravel, Bare and barren; it was often Flooded over by the river.

Out of fun the country people Called it field of Fridolinus.

Thither now the frail boat drifted; There it halted on the shelving Pebbly ground. Out jumped young Werner, And he looked with eager glances Whether he could not descry her.

He could only see a distant Twinkling light up in the turret; But this wholly satisfied him.

Often doth a distant vision More delight bestow upon us Than the fulness of possession; Hence our Song dwells on his pleasure, As he stands there on the sand-bank At that light in rapture gazing.

Spread before his dreamy eyes lay Rosy visions of the future; Neither sun nor stars shone in them, Nothing but that light's faint glimmer.

From the turret, where it flickered, Love flew forth, on rapid pinions, Noiselessly to him descended, And unseen stood there beside him On the field of Fridolinus; And he handed him the trumpet Which from Werner's neck was hanging, Saying: Blow your trumpet, blow it!

And he blew until his blowing Filled with melody the night air.

In the depths the Rhine was listening, Salmon, trout, and pike were listening, Water-nymphs were listening also, And the wind the ringing tones bore To the castle tenderly.

FIFTH PART.

THE BARON AND HIS DAUGHTER.

Now, my Muse, thy powers summon!

For thy path leads to the Baron And the lovely Margaretta.

Now be circ.u.mspect and courteous; For, an aged trooper-colonel Might with thee and others like thee Not be very ceremonious; But might throw thee down the staircase, Which is steep and very slippery, And might prove injurious to thee.

Now, my Muse, mount upward to the Castle gate, behold there sculptured The three b.a.l.l.s upon the scutcheon.

As in the armorial bearings Of the Medici in Florence-- Signs of ancient, n.o.ble lineage; Now ascend the steps of sandstone, Loudly knock at the great hall door, Then step in and give report of What thou there hast slyly noticed.

In the s.p.a.cious, lofty knights' hall, With its walls of panelled oak-wood.

And with rows of old ancestral Dusty portraits decorated, There the Baron took his comfort, Seated in his easy arm-chair By the cheerful blazing fire.

His mustache was gray already; On his forehead, which a Swedish Troopers sword had deeply scarred once, Many wrinkles had been furrowed Also by the hand of Time.

And a most unpleasant guest had Taken quarters uninvited In the left foot of the Baron.

Gout 'tis called in vulgar parlance, But if any learned person Rather podagra should call it, I shall offer no objection; Not the less will be its torments.

Just this day the pangs were milder, Only now and then increasing, When the Baron, smiling, spoke thus:

"Zounds! 'tis evident that in the Long and dreadful Thirty Years' war.

E'en this plaguy gout adopted Something of the art of tactics.

The attack begins in order; First the skirmishers go forward, Then the flying columns follow.

Oh, I wish the devil had them, This whole reconnoitring party!

But not even this sufficeth.

Just as if I had a fortress In my heart--like guns 'tis roaring.

Then it throbs like storming parties, Piif! paif! I capitulate."

But just then there was a truce held.

So the Baron took his comfort As he filled out of the stone jug His large goblet br.i.m.m.i.n.g over.

Up by Hallau where the last spurs Of the Hohe-Randen's ridges To the Rhine are sloping downward, Where the vintner, while at labour, Hears the ceaseless mighty roaring Of the Rhine-fall by Schaffhausen: Had the sun with fervent glowing Ripened well the spicy red wine Which the Baron had selected As his usual evening beverage.

And, to heighten his enjoyment, He puffed out clouds of tobacco.

In his red and simple clay-pipe Burned the weed from foreign countries, Which he smoked through a long pipe-stem Made of fragrant cherry-wood.

At the Baron's feet was lying Gracefully the worthy tom-cat, Hiddigeigei, with the coal-black Velvet fur and mighty tail.

'Twas an heirloom from his long-lost, Much-beloved, and stately consort, Leonore Monfort du Plessys.

Hiddigeigei's native country Was Hungaria, and his mother, Who was of the race Angora, Bore him to a Puszta tom-cat.

In his early youth to Paris He was sent as a fond token Of the love of an Hungarian, Who, though far in Debreczin, still With due reverence had remembered The blue eyes of Leonora, And the rats in her old palace.

With the stately Leonora To the Rhine came Hiddigeigei.

A true house-pet, somewhat lonesome Did he while away his life there; For, he hated to consort with Any of the German cat-tribe.