Now that thou wilt a second course begin, I should for thee a better dress prepare, With finer threads the verses' measure spin, Here lengthen out, there shorten with more care, I know it well, right often have I faltered, Some of thy trochees sound a little lame; But the old humour now, alas! is altered, The mood which gave thee birth is not the same. O rosy dreams of youth, when joy abounded, Wherefore so soon by gloomy clouds surrounded! Once more in my dear Schwarzwald I now rest, And near me rush the healing waters out, On high a bird of prey soars o'er his nest, And in the brook are sporting tiny trout. From charcoal kilns the smoke clouds are ascending, With iris-coloured hues the sun embrace, And stately giant pines in rows unending, Like wreaths of evergreens, the mountains grace. A spicy hay-scent rises from the meadow, And honest folk dwell 'neath their thatched roof's shadow. And yet--should I now try new songs to sing, The old accustomed tone I could not find; Too often grief my soul with pangs doth wring, Instead of mirth, scorn filleth now my mind. The world serves idols now, the good ignoring, And truth is silent, beauty hides her face; What is unnatural men are adoring, God is forgotten. Mammon takes his place! The Poet, now, should be a prophet warning, Like those of old, reproving, praying, mourning! 'Tis not _my_ sphere; a mighty stirring song Requires another man, a different art; But though so much prevails that's sad and wrong. One may not quite disdain a merry heart. Go forth, my song, then, as thou didst before, A cheerful memory of life's fresh spring; Cheer up those hearts, which grief made sad and sore, And to friends far and near my greeting bring. Whenever men to nobler aims aspire, Then higher too will ring the poet's lyre. Rippoldsau, September, 1858. PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION. Hiddigeigei, his opinion: "Strange, perverse, are all mankind, Who, when discord holds dominion, In such ditties pleasure find.... Questions which the world are shaking, Now the thinker's mind assail, And no light as yet is breaking, Which solution shall prevail. "Yet our song unto perdition Has not been condemned, I hear-- What a marvel!--an edition For the third time will appear. Which in new dress, not inferior (Of the old nought has been spared), And, with quite unchanged interior, For its third trip is prepared.