Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger SCHILLER'S POEMS By Frederich Shiller SUPPRESSED POEMS. CONTENTS: The Journalists and Minos Bacchus in the Pillory Spinosa To the Fates The Parallel Klopstock and Wieland The Muses' Revenge The Hypochondriacal Pluto (A Romance) Book I Book II Book III Reproach. To Laura The Simple Peasant Actaeon Man's Dignity The Messiah Thoughts on the 1st October, 1781 Epitaph Quirl The Plague (A Phantasy) Monument of Moor the Robber The Bad Monarchs The Satyr and My Muse The Peasants The Winter Night The Wirtemberger The Mole Hymn to the Eternal Dialogue Epitaph on a Certain Physiognomist Trust in Immortality THE JOURNALISTS AND MINOS. I chanced the other eve,-- But how I ne'er will tell,-- The paper to receive. That's published down in hell. In general one may guess, I little care to see This free-corps of the press Got up so easily; But suddenly my eyes A side-note chanced to meet, And fancy my surprise At reading in the sheet:-- "For twenty weary springs" (The post from Erebus, Remark me, always brings Unpleasant news to us)-- "Through want of water, we Have well-nigh lost our breath; In great perplexity Hell came and asked for Death; "'They can wade through the Styx, Catch crabs in Lethe's flood; Old Charon's in a fix, His boat lies in the mud, "'The dead leap over there, The young and old as well; The boatman gets no fare, And loudly curses hell.' "King Minos bade his spies In all directions go; The devils needs must rise, And bring him news below. "Hurrah! The secret's told They've caught the robber's nest; A merry feast let's hold! Come, hell, and join the rest! "An author's countless band, Stalked round Cocytus' brink, Each bearing in his hand A glass for holding ink. "And into casks they drew The water, strange to say, As boys suck sweet wine through An elder-reed in play. "Quick! o'er them cast the net, Ere they have time to flee! Warm welcome ye will get, So come to Sans-souci! "Smelt by the king ere long, He sharpened up his tooth, And thus addressed the throng (Full angrily, in truth): "'The robbers is't we see? What trade? What land, perchance?'-- 'German news-writers we!'-- Enough to make us dance! "'A wish I long have known To bid ye stop and dine, Ere ye by Death were mown, That brother-in-law of mine. "'Yet now by Styx I swear, Whose flood ye would imbibe, That torments and despair Shall fill your vermin-tribe!