With love Thou hast protected Each man his whole life through; Though all Thy care rejected, No less would'st Thou be true. Such love as Thine must vanquish The proudest soul at last, 'Twill turn to Thee in anguish And to Thy knees cling fast. Thine influence hath bound me; Oh, if it be Thy will, Be evermore around me, Be present with me still! At length too shall the others Look up and long for rest, And all my loving brothers Shall sink upon Thy breast. TO THE VIRGIN[35] A thousand hands, devoutly tender, Have sought thy beauty to express, But none, oh Mary, none can render, As my soul sees, thy loveliness. I gaze till earth's confusion fadeth Like to a dream, and leaves behind A heaven of sweetness which pervadeth My whole rapt being--heart and mind. FRIEDRICH HÖLDERLIN * * * * * HYPERION'S SONG OF FATE [36] (1799) Ye wander there in the light On flower-soft fields, ye blest immortal Spirits. Radiant godlike zephyrs Touch you as gently As the hand of a master might Touch the awed lute-string. Free of fate as the slumbering Infant, breathe the divine ones. Guarded well In the firm-sheathed bud Blooms eternal Each happy soul; And their rapture-lit eyes Shine with a tranquil Unchanging lustre. But we, 'tis our portion, We never may be at rest. They stumble, they vanish, The suffering mortals, Hurtling from one hard Hour to another, Like waves that are driven From cliff-side to cliff-side, Endlessly down the uncertain abyss. EVENING PHANTASIE[36] (1799) Before his but reposes in restful shade The ploughman; wreaths of smoke from his hearth ascend. And sweet to wand'rers comes the tone of Evening bells from the peaceful village. [Illustration: #FRIEDRICH HÖLDERLIN# E. HADER] The sailor too puts into the haven now, In distant cities cheerily dies away The busy tumult; in the arbor Gleams the festal repast of friendship. But whither I? In labor, for slight reward We mortals live; in alternate rest and toil Contentment dwells; but why then sleeps not Hid in my bosom the thorn unsparing? The ev'ning heaven blooms as with springtime's hue; Uncounted bloom the roses, the golden world Seems wrapt in peace; oh, bear me thither, Purple-wrought clouds! And may for me there Both love and grief dissolve in the joyous light! But see, as if dispelled by the foolish prayer, The wonder fades! 'Tis dark, and lonely Under the heaven I stand as erstwhile. Come then to me, soft Sleep. Overmuch requires The heart; and yet thou too at the last shalt fade, Oh youth, thou restless dream-pursuer! Peaceful and happy shall age then follow. LUDWIG TIECK * * * * * PUSS IN BOOTS (1797) _A fairy-tale for children in three acts, with interludes, a prologue and an epilogue_.