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The Four Ages Of The World
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
The goblet is sparkling with purpled-tinged wine,
Bright glistens the eye of each guest,
When into the hall comes the Minstrel divine,
To the good he now brings what is best;
For when from Elysium is absent the lyre,
No joy can the banquet of nectar inspire.
The Fight With The Dragon
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
Why run the crowd? What means the throng
That rushes fast the streets along?
Can Rhodes a prey to flames, then, be?
In crowds they gather hastily,
The Eleusinian Festival
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear!
With it, the Cyane [31] blue intertwine
Rapture must render each glance bright and clear,
For the great queen is approaching her shrine,--
The Cranes Of Ibycus
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
Once to the song and chariot-fight,
Where all the tribes of Greece unite
On Corinth's isthmus joyously,
The god-loved Ibycus drew nigh.
The Complaint Of Ceres
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
Does pleasant spring return once more?
Does earth her happy youth regain?
Sweet suns green hills are shining o'er;
Soft brooklets burst their icy chain:
The Celebrated Woman - An Epistle By A Married Man
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
If Faust had really any hand
In printing, I can understand
The fate which legends more than hint;--
The devil take all hands that print!
Shakespeare's Ghost - A Parody
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
I, too, at length discerned great Hercules' energy mighty,--
Saw his shade. He himself was not, alas, to be seen.
Round him were heard, like the screaming of birds,
the screams of tragedians,
Pompeii And Herculaneum
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
What wonder this?--we ask the lympid well,
O earth! of thee--and from thy solemn womb
What yieldest thou?--is there life in the abyss--
Doth a new race beneath the lava dwell?
Odysseus
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
Seeking to find his home, Odysseus crosses each water;
Through Charybdis so dread; ay, and through Scylla's wild yells,
Through the alarms of the raging sea, the alarms of the land too,--
E'en to the kingdom of hell leads him his wandering course.
And at length, as he sleeps, to Ithaca's coast fate conducts him;
There he awakes, and, with grief, knows not his fatherland now.
Honor To Woman
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
Honor to woman! To her it is given
To garden the earth with the roses of heaven!
All blessed, she linketh the loves in their choir
In the veil of the graces her beauty concealing,
She tends on each altar that's hallowed to feeling,
And keeps ever-living the fire!
Hero And Leander
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
See you the towers, that, gray and old,
Frown through the sunlight's liquid gold,
Steep sternly fronting steep?
The Hellespont beneath them swells,
Fridolin (The Walk To The Iron Factory)
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
A gentle was Fridolin,
And he his mistress dear,
Savern's fair Countess, honored in
All truth and godly fear.
Feast Of Victory
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
Priam's castle-walls had sunk,
Troy in dust and ashes lay,
And each Greek, with triumph drunk,
Richly laden with his prey,
Count Eberhard, The Groaner Of Wurtembert. A War Song
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
Now hearken, ye who take delight
In boasting of your worth!
To many a man, to many a knight,
Beloved in peace and brave in fight,
The Swabian land gives birth.
Cassandra
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
Mirth the halls of Troy was filling,
Ere its lofty ramparts fell;
From the golden lute so thrilling
Hymns of joy were heard to swell.
Keen, Fitful Gusts are Whisp'ring Here and There
© John Keats
Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there
Among the bushes half leafless, and dry;
The stars look very cold about the sky,
And I have many miles on foot to fare.
Ode to Fanny
© John Keats
Physician Nature! Let my spirit blood!
O ease my heart of verse and let me rest;
Throw me upon thy Tripod, till the flood
Of stifling numbers ebbs from my full breast.
Fancy
© John Keats
Ever let the Fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home:
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth,
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth;
To One Who Has Been Long In City Pent
© John Keats
To one who has been long in city pent,
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven,--to breathe a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
