Both parties thus reviled and cursed away, And none who heard could tell the why or whether, Till Balaam's ass at last began to bray And soon outbawled both gods and saints together. With strident-sobbing hee-haw, hee-haw there-- His unremitting discords without number-- That beast so nearly brought me to despair That I cried out--and wakened from my slumber. * * * * * THE JOURNEY TO THE HARZ[49] (1824) BY HEINRICH HEINE TRANSLATED BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND "Nothing is permanent but change, nothing constant but death. Every pulsation of the heart inflicts a wound, and life would be an endless bleeding were it not for Poetry. She secures to us what Nature would deny--a golden age without rust, a spring which never fades, cloudless prosperity and eternal youth."--BÖRNE. Black dress coats and silken stockings, Snowy ruffles frilled with art, Gentle speeches and embraces-- Oh, if they but held a heart! Held a heart within their bosom, Warmed by love which truly glows; Ah! I'm wearied with their chanting Of imagined lovers' woes! I will climb upon the mountains, Where the quiet cabin stands, Where the wind blows freely o'er us, Where the heart at ease expands. I will climb upon the mountains, Where the sombre fir-trees grow; Brooks are rustling, birds are singing, And the wild clouds headlong go. Then farewell, ye polished ladies, Polished men and polished hall! I will climb upon the mountains, Smiling down upon you all.