Can you forgive me, that I wear,
Dearest, a curl of sunny hair,
Not yours—yet for the sake of Love,
And tender faith it minds me of?
’Tis in this quaint old signet ring,
A curious, chased, engraven thing
That in some window charm’d my eye
And told of the last century.
Pure gold it was, but dull and blotch’d,
And bright’ning it one day, I touch’d
A spring that oped a little lid;
And there, for generations hid
In its small shrine of pallid gold—
They made such toys in days of old—
A shred of golden hair lay curl’d;
Worth all the gold of all the world,
Perchance, to him who shrin’d it so:
Dearest, a curl of sunny hair,
Not yours—yet for the sake of Love,
And tender faith it minds me of?
’Tis in this quaint old signet ring,
A curious, chased, engraven thing
That in some window charm’d my eye
And told of the last century.
Pure gold it was, but dull and blotch’d,
And bright’ning it one day, I touch’d
A spring that oped a little lid;
And there, for generations hid
In its small shrine of pallid gold—
They made such toys in days of old—
A shred of golden hair lay curl’d;
Worth all the gold of all the world,
Perchance, to him who shrin’d it so:
Ah, ’twas a hundred years ago!
But, dearest, if he loved as I,
He loves unto eternity.
But, dearest, if he loved as I,
He loves unto eternity.
Darker than midnight, to the midnight sky
Rises the valley-ridge with all its pines.
Above that gloom a growing radiance shines,
Where the full moon floats up invisibly.
Now, half-revealed, she lifts her disk on high,
When on it, lo! in black and spectral lines
One blasted tree so wild a form designs,
That fear and wonder hold the watcher’s eye.
Rises the valley-ridge with all its pines.
Above that gloom a growing radiance shines,
Where the full moon floats up invisibly.
Now, half-revealed, she lifts her disk on high,
When on it, lo! in black and spectral lines
One blasted tree so wild a form designs,
That fear and wonder hold the watcher’s eye.
The minutes pass—and nothing looks the same,
But tangled in a web of silver light
Lies the great forest, dreaming and at rest.
Yet deep in memory’s core abides that sight
One moment outlined on the mountain crest—
A Shape that writhed upon a pool of flame.
But tangled in a web of silver light
Lies the great forest, dreaming and at rest.
Yet deep in memory’s core abides that sight
One moment outlined on the mountain crest—
A Shape that writhed upon a pool of flame.
When the time comes for me to die
To-morrow or some other day,
If God should bid me make reply,
’What wilt thou?’ I shall say:
To-morrow or some other day,
If God should bid me make reply,
’What wilt thou?’ I shall say:
O God, Thy world was great and fair,
Yet give me to forget it clean;
Vex me no more with things that were,
And things that might have been.
Yet give me to forget it clean;
Vex me no more with things that were,
And things that might have been.
I loved, I toiled—throve ill and well,
Lived certain years, and murmur’d not.
Now grant me in that land to dwell
Where all things are forgot.
Lived certain years, and murmur’d not.
Now grant me in that land to dwell
Where all things are forgot.
For others, Lord, Thy purging fires,
The loves reknit, the crown, the palm.
For me, the death of all desires
In deep, eternal calm.
The loves reknit, the crown, the palm.
For me, the death of all desires
In deep, eternal calm.
In the heart of a German forest I followed the winding ways
Deep-cushioned with moss, and barr’d with the sunset’s slanting rays,
Deep-cushioned with moss, and barr’d with the sunset’s slanting rays,
When out of the distance dim, where no end to the path was seen,
But the breath of the Springtime clung like a motionless mist of green,
But the breath of the Springtime clung like a motionless mist of green,
I heard a sound of singing, unearthly-sad and clear,
Rise from the forest deeps and float on the evening air.
Rise from the forest deeps and float on the evening air.
And I thought of the spirits told of in dark old forest lore
Who roam the greenwood singing for ever and evermore;
Who roam the greenwood singing for ever and evermore;
And I stopped and wondered and waited, as nearer the music grew,
Louder and still more loud—till at last came into view
Louder and still more loud—till at last came into view
A troop of Saxon maidens, tanned with the rain and sun,
A burden of billeted wood on the shoulders of every one!
A burden of billeted wood on the shoulders of every one!
The strong steps never falter’d, the chanting passed away
In the fragrant depths of the woodland, and died with the dying day.
In the fragrant depths of the woodland, and died with the dying day.
No spirits in truth! yet it seem’d, as awhile in dreams I stood,
That a music more than earthly had passed through the dark’ning wood.
That a music more than earthly had passed through the dark’ning wood.
And it seemed that the Day to the Morrow bequeathed in that solemn strain
The whole world’s hope and labour, its love, and its ancient pain.
The whole world’s hope and labour, its love, and its ancient pain.
In hours of respite from the strife
That kills the careless joy of life,
How often, friend, have you and I
Lived o’er those golden days gone by,
When eager hand and eager eye
Against the humming salt sea-breeze
Drove our light craft through breaking seas;
Or when beneath enchanted woods
We floated, where the shadow broods
On still black waters, and delayed
A little in the chequer’d shade
To watch, far down the shining stream,
The golden summer sunlight gleam
On the green banks of storied Boyne.
Ah, in those happy days how well
Did wood and field and water join
To weave the wild earth’s mighty spell!
Gone, gone! and you are also gone,
On dark tides that you sailed alone;
And scarcely more for you than me
Those days are done! O, morning sea,
Where all the morning in our blood
Sang, as we faced the glittering flood!
O, bays the wild sea-murmur fills,
And hot gorse-perfume from the hills!
O, lonely places, echoing
With sound of waters, wave or stream,
Haunted by timid foot and wing,
I see you now but in a dream—
Old days, old friends, we part, we part;
Yet still your memory in my heart
Lives, till the heart be dust; and then
Beyond this realm of Where and When,
Something of you shall linger yet,
And something in me not forget,
When all the suns of earth have set.
That kills the careless joy of life,
How often, friend, have you and I
Lived o’er those golden days gone by,
When eager hand and eager eye
Against the humming salt sea-breeze
Drove our light craft through breaking seas;
Or when beneath enchanted woods
We floated, where the shadow broods
On still black waters, and delayed
A little in the chequer’d shade
To watch, far down the shining stream,
The golden summer sunlight gleam
On the green banks of storied Boyne.
Ah, in those happy days how well
Did wood and field and water join
To weave the wild earth’s mighty spell!
Gone, gone! and you are also gone,
On dark tides that you sailed alone;
And scarcely more for you than me
Those days are done! O, morning sea,
Where all the morning in our blood
Sang, as we faced the glittering flood!
O, bays the wild sea-murmur fills,
And hot gorse-perfume from the hills!
O, lonely places, echoing
With sound of waters, wave or stream,
Haunted by timid foot and wing,
I see you now but in a dream—
Old days, old friends, we part, we part;
Yet still your memory in my heart
Lives, till the heart be dust; and then
Beyond this realm of Where and When,
Something of you shall linger yet,
And something in me not forget,
When all the suns of earth have set.
From “The Persians” of Aeschylus
[Except for inscriptions, this contemporary narrative of the Battle of Salamis is the earliest piece of written Greek history extant. The splendour and force of the original make it one of the greatest pieces of battle-narrative in the world, and defy adequate rendering. But it is noticeable that not only is the description ablaze with the passion of war, but the plan and tactics of the fight, which was probably even a more decisive event in world-history than that of Marathon, are given with a map-like precision and clearness.
The narrative is placed in the mouth of a messenger sent by Xerxes to his mother, Atossa, to tell her of the catastrophe. I have followed the text of Paley.]
Atossa
And is Athena’s city yet unsacked?
Messenger
Men were her city-wall—unbroken yet.
Atossa
Then tell me of the fight at Salamis.
Who first began the onslaught—was’t the Greeks?
Or made his swollen fleet my son too bold?
Who first began the onslaught—was’t the Greeks?
Or made his swollen fleet my son too bold?
Messenger
Began? Some Power malign began it all!
Some God that hated Persia. First, there came
A Greek deserter from the Athenian host.
“Keep watch,” he said, “for at the dead of night
Our benches shall be manned, our fleet dispersed;
They will escape you in the narrow seas.”
This Xerxes heard, O Queen, and never saw
The Greek man’s guile, nor knew the Gods his foe.
To all the captains of the fleet he sent
This order: “When the sun his fiery beams
Hath hidden from the earth, and night holds all
The empire of the air, then set your ships,
Some ranged in threefold line to guard the friths
And close up all the roaring waterways,
Some to patrol the Isle of Salamis.
And mark ye, should the Greeks escape their doom
By one unguarded outlet, ’tis decreed
Your heads shall fall for it.” So spake the King,
Haughty, infatuate, knowing not the end.
And dutifully they obeyed his word.
Supper was first prepared; each oarsman then
Looked to his tholepin and bound fast the oar.
Then, as the sunlight faded from the earth,
And night came on, the rowers went on board,
And with them every well-trained fighting man;
And soon from squadron unto squadron rolled
Down the vast lines the cheering of the fleet,
As each one rowed to his appointed place.
So all night long the captains made us cruise
Hither and thither, every ship we had;
And now the night was spent, yet never once
The Greeks had tried our watch in secret flight.
But when the white steeds of the God of Day
Mounted the sky, and light possessed the land,
Then from the Greeks a mighty chant was borne,
Triumphant, to our ears, and every cliff
Of sea-girt Salamis pealed back the strain.
And fear possessed us every one, O Queen,
And staggering doubt; for not as if in flight
Rose the great pæan then among the Greeks,
But as when brave men cheer themselves for fight.
Then the heart-kindling trumpet spake, and then
We heard the thunder of a thousand oars
That swung together at the steersman’s cry,
And all at once the sounding furrows smote.
Then soon full clear their charging line we saw,
The right wing leading, and the main array
A little after; and ere long we heard
Such cries as these: “On, children of the Greek!
Now for your fatherland, for freedom now!
For wife and child, and for your fathers’ homes!
Now for the temples of your fathers’ Gods!
To-day we fight for all!” So cried they still,
Nor were we Persians dumb, but sent them back
Shouting for shouting. Little time there was
To range our lines, until the brazen beaks
Crash’d in among us. First, a ship of Greece,
Leading the onset, rent off all the prow
From a Phœnician. Each then sought a foe;
And first we stemm’d the torrent of their charge,
But soon our multitudes in the narrow seas
Were thronged and hampered, nor could any now
Bear help to other—yea, and many a time
Friend hurtled upon friend, or rent away
With shearing prow her whole array of oars.
Meanwhile the Greeks around us fiercely charged
From every side at once; the lighter barques
Were soon o’erset; the very seas were hid,
So strewn with wreck and slaughter; every strand
And jutting rock-ledge was with corpses piled.
We pressed in ruinous disordered flight,
All that was left of Persia’s mighty fleet;
While they, like fishers when the tunnies swarm
Within some narrow inlet, slew amain
With aught that hand could seize—with shivered oars,
Fragments of wreck, they stabb’d, they stunn’d, they clove;
And out beyond the channel shrieks and wails
And panic fear possessed the open sea.
Gods! could I speak, nor cease for ten full days,
I had not told how thick disasters came!
Know this, that never since the world began
Perished in one day such a host of men!
Some God that hated Persia. First, there came
A Greek deserter from the Athenian host.
“Keep watch,” he said, “for at the dead of night
Our benches shall be manned, our fleet dispersed;
They will escape you in the narrow seas.”
This Xerxes heard, O Queen, and never saw
The Greek man’s guile, nor knew the Gods his foe.
To all the captains of the fleet he sent
This order: “When the sun his fiery beams
Hath hidden from the earth, and night holds all
The empire of the air, then set your ships,
Some ranged in threefold line to guard the friths
And close up all the roaring waterways,
Some to patrol the Isle of Salamis.
And mark ye, should the Greeks escape their doom
By one unguarded outlet, ’tis decreed
Your heads shall fall for it.” So spake the King,
Haughty, infatuate, knowing not the end.
And dutifully they obeyed his word.
Supper was first prepared; each oarsman then
Looked to his tholepin and bound fast the oar.
Then, as the sunlight faded from the earth,
And night came on, the rowers went on board,
And with them every well-trained fighting man;
And soon from squadron unto squadron rolled
Down the vast lines the cheering of the fleet,
As each one rowed to his appointed place.
So all night long the captains made us cruise
Hither and thither, every ship we had;
And now the night was spent, yet never once
The Greeks had tried our watch in secret flight.
But when the white steeds of the God of Day
Mounted the sky, and light possessed the land,
Then from the Greeks a mighty chant was borne,
Triumphant, to our ears, and every cliff
Of sea-girt Salamis pealed back the strain.
And fear possessed us every one, O Queen,
And staggering doubt; for not as if in flight
Rose the great pæan then among the Greeks,
But as when brave men cheer themselves for fight.
Then the heart-kindling trumpet spake, and then
We heard the thunder of a thousand oars
That swung together at the steersman’s cry,
And all at once the sounding furrows smote.
Then soon full clear their charging line we saw,
The right wing leading, and the main array
A little after; and ere long we heard
Such cries as these: “On, children of the Greek!
Now for your fatherland, for freedom now!
For wife and child, and for your fathers’ homes!
Now for the temples of your fathers’ Gods!
To-day we fight for all!” So cried they still,
Nor were we Persians dumb, but sent them back
Shouting for shouting. Little time there was
To range our lines, until the brazen beaks
Crash’d in among us. First, a ship of Greece,
Leading the onset, rent off all the prow
From a Phœnician. Each then sought a foe;
And first we stemm’d the torrent of their charge,
But soon our multitudes in the narrow seas
Were thronged and hampered, nor could any now
Bear help to other—yea, and many a time
Friend hurtled upon friend, or rent away
With shearing prow her whole array of oars.
Meanwhile the Greeks around us fiercely charged
From every side at once; the lighter barques
Were soon o’erset; the very seas were hid,
So strewn with wreck and slaughter; every strand
And jutting rock-ledge was with corpses piled.
We pressed in ruinous disordered flight,
All that was left of Persia’s mighty fleet;
While they, like fishers when the tunnies swarm
Within some narrow inlet, slew amain
With aught that hand could seize—with shivered oars,
Fragments of wreck, they stabb’d, they stunn’d, they clove;
And out beyond the channel shrieks and wails
And panic fear possessed the open sea.
Gods! could I speak, nor cease for ten full days,
I had not told how thick disasters came!
Know this, that never since the world began
Perished in one day such a host of men!
From the Irish of Angus O’Gillan
In a quiet-water’d land, a land of roses,
Stands Saint Kieran’s city fair,
And the warriors of Erinn in their famous generations
Slumber there.
Stands Saint Kieran’s city fair,
And the warriors of Erinn in their famous generations
Slumber there.
There beneath the dewy hillside sleep the noblest
Of the Clan of Conn,
Each below his stone: his name in branching Ogham
And the sacred knot thereon.
Of the Clan of Conn,
Each below his stone: his name in branching Ogham
And the sacred knot thereon.
There they laid to rest the Seven Kings of Tara,
There the sons of Cairbrè sleep—
Battle-banners of the Gael, that in Kieran’s plain of crosses
Now their final hosting keep.
There the sons of Cairbrè sleep—
Battle-banners of the Gael, that in Kieran’s plain of crosses
Now their final hosting keep.
And in Clonmacnois they laid the men of Teffia,
And right many a lord of Breagh;
Deep the sod above Clan Creidè and Clan Connall,
Kind in hall and fierce in fray.
And right many a lord of Breagh;
Deep the sod above Clan Creidè and Clan Connall,
Kind in hall and fierce in fray.
Many and many a son of Conn the Hundred-Fighter
In the red earth lies at rest;
Many a blue eye of Clan Colman the turf covers,
Many a swan-white breast.
In the red earth lies at rest;
Many a blue eye of Clan Colman the turf covers,
Many a swan-white breast.
From the Irish.
May Day! delightful day!
Bright colours play the vales along.
Now wakes at morning’s slender ray,
Wild and gay, the blackbird’s song.
Bright colours play the vales along.
Now wakes at morning’s slender ray,
Wild and gay, the blackbird’s song.
Now comes the bird of dusty hue,
The loud cuckoo, the summer-lover;
Branching trees are thick with leaves;
The bitter, evil time is over.
The loud cuckoo, the summer-lover;
Branching trees are thick with leaves;
The bitter, evil time is over.
Swift horses gather nigh
Where half dry the river goes;
Tufted heather crowns the height;
Weak and white the bogdown blows.
Where half dry the river goes;
Tufted heather crowns the height;
Weak and white the bogdown blows.
Corncrake sings from eve till morn,
Deep in corn, a strenuous bard!
Sings the virgin waterfall,
White and tall, her one sweet word.
Deep in corn, a strenuous bard!
Sings the virgin waterfall,
White and tall, her one sweet word.
Loaded bees of little power
Goodly flower-harvest win;
Cattle roam with muddy flanks;
Busy ants go out and in.
Goodly flower-harvest win;
Cattle roam with muddy flanks;
Busy ants go out and in.
Through the wild harp of the wood
Making music roars the gale—
Now it slumbers without motion,
On the ocean sleeps the sail.
Making music roars the gale—
Now it slumbers without motion,
On the ocean sleeps the sail.
Men grow mighty in the May,
Proud and gay the maidens grow;
Fair is every wooded height,
Fair and bright the plain below.
Proud and gay the maidens grow;
Fair is every wooded height,
Fair and bright the plain below.
A bright shaft has smit the streams,
With gold gleams the water-flag;
Leaps the fish, and on the hills
Ardour thrills the flying stag;
With gold gleams the water-flag;
Leaps the fish, and on the hills
Ardour thrills the flying stag;
And you long to reach the courses
Where the slim swift horses race,
And the crowd is ranked applauding
Deep about the meeting-place.
Where the slim swift horses race,
And the crowd is ranked applauding
Deep about the meeting-place.
Carols loud the lark on high,
Small and shy, his tireless lay,
Singing in wildest, merriest mood
Of delicate-hued, delightful May.
Small and shy, his tireless lay,
Singing in wildest, merriest mood
Of delicate-hued, delightful May.
[5] I am much indebted to the beautiful prose translation of this song by Dr. Kuno Meyer which appears in Ériu (the Journal of the School of Irish Learning), vol. i., Part ii. In my free poetic version an attempt has been made to render the rhyming and metrical effect of the original, which is believed to date from about the ninth century.
From the German of Heinrich Heine
I Pass beneath thy dwelling
Each morning, and am fain,
My child, to see thee watching
Still at thy window-pane.
Each morning, and am fain,
My child, to see thee watching
Still at thy window-pane.
With black-brown eyes of wonder
Thou dost my going scan:
“Who art thou, and what ails thee,
Thou sorrowful foreign man?”
Thou dost my going scan:
“Who art thou, and what ails thee,
Thou sorrowful foreign man?”
I am a German poet,
Among the Germans famed—
There, when they count their greatest,
My name is also named.
Among the Germans famed—
There, when they count their greatest,
My name is also named.
And, little one, what ails me
Ails Germans not a few;
Count they the sorest sorrows,
They name my sorrows too.
Ails Germans not a few;
Count they the sorest sorrows,
They name my sorrows too.
From the German of Heinrich Heine
There stands a lonely Pine-tree
On a bare northern height.
’Mid ice and snow he slumbers,
Wrapped in his mantle white.
On a bare northern height.
’Mid ice and snow he slumbers,
Wrapped in his mantle white.
He dreams about a Palm-tree
In far-off Eastern lands,
That droops, alone and silent,
Above her burning sands.
In far-off Eastern lands,
That droops, alone and silent,
Above her burning sands.
From the German of P. Neumann
μάλα γέ τοι τὸ μεγάλας ὑγεΐας
ἀκόρεστον τέρμα, νόσος γὰρ ἀεὶ
γείτων ὁμότοιχος ἐρείδει.
ἀκόρεστον τέρμα, νόσος γὰρ ἀεὶ
γείτων ὁμότοιχος ἐρείδει.
Æsch., Ag.
Two chambers hath the heart:
There dwelling
Live Joy and Pain apart.
There dwelling
Live Joy and Pain apart.
Is Joy in one awake?
Then only
Doth Pain his slumber take.
Then only
Doth Pain his slumber take.
Joy, in thine hour, refrain—
Speak softly,
Lest thou awaken Pain.
Speak softly,
Lest thou awaken Pain.
From the German of Victor Scheffel
O’er the placid lake at even glides our boat, alone and slow,
In the sunset stand empurpled domes of everlasting snow,
From an island in the twilight dimly rise a convent’s walls:
With the chimes the chant of vespers from the grey old minster falls—
Sempiterni Fons amoris, Consolatrix tristium,
Pia Mater Salvatoris, ave Virgo virginum!
Softly rising, falling, mingling, dying, comes the solemn song,
And in dreamy undulations air and lake the tones prolong.
Still the oars, and still the heart in worship, as the sweet bells toll,
And I feel as though God’s angels bore to heaven a blessèd soul.
In the sunset stand empurpled domes of everlasting snow,
From an island in the twilight dimly rise a convent’s walls:
With the chimes the chant of vespers from the grey old minster falls—
Sempiterni Fons amoris, Consolatrix tristium,
Pia Mater Salvatoris, ave Virgo virginum!
Softly rising, falling, mingling, dying, comes the solemn song,
And in dreamy undulations air and lake the tones prolong.
Still the oars, and still the heart in worship, as the sweet bells toll,
And I feel as though God’s angels bore to heaven a blessèd soul.
From Lessing’s “Nathan der Weise”6
[Since Plato, no writer has understood better than Lessing the dramatic conduct of a philosophic dialogue. The following colloquy is a beautiful example of his art and of his thought.
Nathan is a Jew, famed for his wealth and for his wisdom, living in Jerusalem at the time of the Third Crusade. In the following scene he has just been summoned to the presence of the Sultan Saladin. He supposes that a loan of money is the Sultan’s object. Instead of this, he finds that it is his reputed wisdom which has gained him the interview. Nathan is a man who cannot have taken his beliefs in spiritual things without examination; here, then, says Saladin, are three faiths contending for mastery, the Jewish, the Christian, and the Mahommedan. Each claims to be the true and only true religion. The claim cannot be true of more than one of them. Which of them, in his inmost soul, does Nathan hold to be justified? That he may have time to collect his thoughts, Saladin leaves the Jew alone for a while before he answers. Nathan, who does not yet know Saladin, is at first very doubtful of the bona fides of the Musalman prince in making this inquiry of him.]
ACT III, Scene 6
Nathan (alone)
H’m, h’m. A strange request. Where do I stand?
What will the Sultan with me ... what? I come
Prepared for money, and he asks for ... Truth!
And this he needs must have as bare and bright
As if the truth were coin!... Aye, were it coin,
Old, well-worn coin, that men tell out by weight,
Such might I find him! But new-minted coin—
The stamp’s enough: you fling it on the board
And there’s an end—not thus can Truth be told!
Doth he conceive that truth is to be poured
From head to head like gold into a bag?
Who’s here the Jew, I or the Sultan?... Yet
Suppose in very truth he asks for Truth?
How then? And verily it were too little,
Too paltry a suspicion, to believe
He used the truth but as a snare.... Too little!
Ah, what is then too little for the great?
Why should he break into my house? A friend
Would surely knock and listen at the door
Before he entered. I must tread with care.
But how? but how? To play the stolid Jew,
That ne’er will pass ... still less, no Jew at all;
For ’then’ he’ll say, ’why not a Musalman?’
Let me think.... Ha! I have it now. That saves me!
Not children only can one satisfy
With fables.... He is coming. Let him come!
What will the Sultan with me ... what? I come
Prepared for money, and he asks for ... Truth!
And this he needs must have as bare and bright
As if the truth were coin!... Aye, were it coin,
Old, well-worn coin, that men tell out by weight,
Such might I find him! But new-minted coin—
The stamp’s enough: you fling it on the board
And there’s an end—not thus can Truth be told!
Doth he conceive that truth is to be poured
From head to head like gold into a bag?
Who’s here the Jew, I or the Sultan?... Yet
Suppose in very truth he asks for Truth?
How then? And verily it were too little,
Too paltry a suspicion, to believe
He used the truth but as a snare.... Too little!
Ah, what is then too little for the great?
Why should he break into my house? A friend
Would surely knock and listen at the door
Before he entered. I must tread with care.
But how? but how? To play the stolid Jew,
That ne’er will pass ... still less, no Jew at all;
For ’then’ he’ll say, ’why not a Musalman?’
Let me think.... Ha! I have it now. That saves me!
Not children only can one satisfy
With fables.... He is coming. Let him come!
Enter Saladin.
Saladin
I have not come too quickly? Thou hast brought
Thy meditation to an end? Then speak!
None hears but I.
Thy meditation to an end? Then speak!
None hears but I.
Nathan
Nay, all the world may hear
For aught I care!
For aught I care!
Saladin
So clear and confident
Is Nathan in his wisdom? Ha! this I deem
To be a sage indeed! Nothing to hide,
Never to palter—but to stake his life,
His blood, his goods, and all, upon the truth!
Is Nathan in his wisdom? Ha! this I deem
To be a sage indeed! Nothing to hide,
Never to palter—but to stake his life,
His blood, his goods, and all, upon the truth!
Nathan
Yea ... if need were ... and if the truth were served....
Saladin
One of my titles, Betterer of the World
And of the Law, I hope from this day forth
To bear with right.
And of the Law, I hope from this day forth
To bear with right.
Nathan
Truly, a noble title!
Yet, Sultan, ere I trust myself with thee,
Wholly and unreserved, I ask thee first
To hear a fable from me.
Yet, Sultan, ere I trust myself with thee,
Wholly and unreserved, I ask thee first
To hear a fable from me.
Saladin
Wherefore not?
From childhood I have ever loved to hear
Fables, well told.
From childhood I have ever loved to hear
Fables, well told.
Nathan
Saladin
Again
So proudly modest? Well, speak on, speak on!
So proudly modest? Well, speak on, speak on!
Nathan
In the grey morn of Time, there lived i’ the East
A man, who owned a ring of priceless worth,
Gift of a well-loved hand. For stone it bore
An opal, where a hundred lovely tints
Played, and where dwelt the magic power to make
Well-pleasing in the sight of God and man
Whoever wore it in this faith—What wonder
It never left the owner’s hand? what wonder
He made provision to retain it ever
In his own House, an heirloom for all time?
Thus did he order it: He left the Ring
First to his best-belovèd son, ordaining
That he in turn should leave it to the son
He dearliest loved; and so to the dearest ever.
And still the owner of the Ring, apart
From precedence of birth, by that alone
Should bear the sway.... Sultan, you follow me?
A man, who owned a ring of priceless worth,
Gift of a well-loved hand. For stone it bore
An opal, where a hundred lovely tints
Played, and where dwelt the magic power to make
Well-pleasing in the sight of God and man
Whoever wore it in this faith—What wonder
It never left the owner’s hand? what wonder
He made provision to retain it ever
In his own House, an heirloom for all time?
Thus did he order it: He left the Ring
First to his best-belovèd son, ordaining
That he in turn should leave it to the son
He dearliest loved; and so to the dearest ever.
And still the owner of the Ring, apart
From precedence of birth, by that alone
Should bear the sway.... Sultan, you follow me?
Saladin
I follow thee. Proceed!
Nathan
And so the Ring
Descended, till at length it came to one
Who had three sons, all dutiful alike,
Whom therefore he, perforce, must love alike;
Only, from time to time the first would seem
Most worthy of the Ring, and then the next,
And then again the third,—as each he found
Alone with him, the other two not by
To share his overflowing love. To each
His heart’s fond weakness made him pledge the Ring.
Thus all went smoothly ... while it could. But now
His time to die draws near, and, sore perplexed,
The good man rues that two of the three sons
That trusted in his word, must soon be left
Deceived, affronted.... Mark, now, his device!
All secretly he summons to his aid
A cunning craftsman, and commands him fashion
After the pattern of his Ring, two others;
No cost, no labour to be spared, to make them
Like to the first, in every point alike.
And so ’tis done; and when the craftsman brings
The finished work, not even the father’s eye
Can tell his own ring from the copies. Now
Joyfully doth he summon to his side
His three sons, one by one, and, one by one,
Gives each his blessing—and a ring—and dies.
Sultan, thou hearest me?
Descended, till at length it came to one
Who had three sons, all dutiful alike,
Whom therefore he, perforce, must love alike;
Only, from time to time the first would seem
Most worthy of the Ring, and then the next,
And then again the third,—as each he found
Alone with him, the other two not by
To share his overflowing love. To each
His heart’s fond weakness made him pledge the Ring.
Thus all went smoothly ... while it could. But now
His time to die draws near, and, sore perplexed,
The good man rues that two of the three sons
That trusted in his word, must soon be left
Deceived, affronted.... Mark, now, his device!
All secretly he summons to his aid
A cunning craftsman, and commands him fashion
After the pattern of his Ring, two others;
No cost, no labour to be spared, to make them
Like to the first, in every point alike.
And so ’tis done; and when the craftsman brings
The finished work, not even the father’s eye
Can tell his own ring from the copies. Now
Joyfully doth he summon to his side
His three sons, one by one, and, one by one,
Gives each his blessing—and a ring—and dies.
Sultan, thou hearest me?
Saladin
Nathan
’Tis told
Already, for the rest is evident.
Scarce is the father dead when comes each son
Bearing his ring, and claims to be the lord
And ruler of the house! What follows then?
Examinations, quarrellings, complaints—
In vain! Among the rings, the one true Ring
Remains for all eyes indistinguishable.—
Already, for the rest is evident.
Scarce is the father dead when comes each son
Bearing his ring, and claims to be the lord
And ruler of the house! What follows then?
Examinations, quarrellings, complaints—
In vain! Among the rings, the one true Ring
Remains for all eyes indistinguishable.—
[After a pause in which he waits for
the Sultan’s reply.
the Sultan’s reply.
Well-nigh as indistinguishable, Sultan,
As here, for us, to-day, the one true Faith.
As here, for us, to-day, the one true Faith.
Saladin
How? This shall be thine answer to my question?
Nathan
Nay, this shall but excuse me, if I trust not
My judgment to decide among the rings,
Made by the Father to the very intent
That they should never be distinguished.
My judgment to decide among the rings,
Made by the Father to the very intent
That they should never be distinguished.
Saladin
Yea,
The rings!... Thou playest with me! I had deemed
The three religions, whereof question is,
Were easily distinguished, even to points
Of food, and drink, and clothing!
The rings!... Thou playest with me! I had deemed
The three religions, whereof question is,
Were easily distinguished, even to points
Of food, and drink, and clothing!
Nathan
Only not
In this one thing—their proofs. All rest alike
On history, or written or handed down.
And history we take—is it not so?—
On faith and trust alone. Whose faith, whose truth,
Shall we confide in most? Surely in those
Of our own folk, whose blood we are, whose proofs
Of love were given us from our childhood up,
Who ne’er deceived us, saving when, perchance,
’Twere better for our weal. If this be so,
How can I less in my forefathers trust
Than thou in thine? Or take the other side:
Can I demand from thee that thou shouldst charge
Thine ancestors with lying, but for this,
That mine be justified? Again, the Christian
To both of us may plead the like defence.
Art thou not answered?
In this one thing—their proofs. All rest alike
On history, or written or handed down.
And history we take—is it not so?—
On faith and trust alone. Whose faith, whose truth,
Shall we confide in most? Surely in those
Of our own folk, whose blood we are, whose proofs
Of love were given us from our childhood up,
Who ne’er deceived us, saving when, perchance,
’Twere better for our weal. If this be so,
How can I less in my forefathers trust
Than thou in thine? Or take the other side:
Can I demand from thee that thou shouldst charge
Thine ancestors with lying, but for this,
That mine be justified? Again, the Christian
To both of us may plead the like defence.
Art thou not answered?
Saladin (aside)
By the living God
The man is right! I must be dumb.
The man is right! I must be dumb.
Nathan
Now turn we
Back to our rings again.—I said, the sons
Made their complaints: each one before the Judge
Made oath that from his father’s very hand
He had the Ring—and so in truth he had—
After his father’s promise, long before,
That one day he should own the Ring and all
Its rights—and this no less was true. The father,
Each one averr’d, could ne’er have played him false.
Rather than credit this—rather than nurse
Against so loved a father, such a thought,
How fain soever he had been to think
Nothing but good of them, he must believe
His brothers guilty of foul treachery.
But surely one day he would find a way
To unmask the villains—he would be avenged!
Back to our rings again.—I said, the sons
Made their complaints: each one before the Judge
Made oath that from his father’s very hand
He had the Ring—and so in truth he had—
After his father’s promise, long before,
That one day he should own the Ring and all
Its rights—and this no less was true. The father,
Each one averr’d, could ne’er have played him false.
Rather than credit this—rather than nurse
Against so loved a father, such a thought,
How fain soever he had been to think
Nothing but good of them, he must believe
His brothers guilty of foul treachery.
But surely one day he would find a way
To unmask the villains—he would be avenged!
Saladin
And now, the Judge? I am intent to hear
What thou wilt put into his mouth. Speak on!
What thou wilt put into his mouth. Speak on!
Nathan
On this wise spake the Judge: “Either ye bring
Right soon your father here before me, else
I spurn you from my seat. What! think ye I
Am here to answer riddles? Or do ye wait
Until the true Ring find a tongue and speak?
Yet stay! ’Tis said that in the true Ring lives
A magic gift, to make the owner loved—
Well-pleasing before God and man. So good,
This shall decide the cause; for never, surely,
In this the false can emulate the true.
Which of the three of ye is best beloved
By the other twain? Marry, speak out! Ye are dumb!
Mysterious power, that only backward works,
Not outward from within! Lo, each of you
Loves best of all—himself! So are ye all
Deceived, and all deceivers. All your rings
Are manifestly false. Belike the true
Was irrecoverably lost; and so
Your father, to conceal the loss, made three
In place of one.”
Right soon your father here before me, else
I spurn you from my seat. What! think ye I
Am here to answer riddles? Or do ye wait
Until the true Ring find a tongue and speak?
Yet stay! ’Tis said that in the true Ring lives
A magic gift, to make the owner loved—
Well-pleasing before God and man. So good,
This shall decide the cause; for never, surely,
In this the false can emulate the true.
Which of the three of ye is best beloved
By the other twain? Marry, speak out! Ye are dumb!
Mysterious power, that only backward works,
Not outward from within! Lo, each of you
Loves best of all—himself! So are ye all
Deceived, and all deceivers. All your rings
Are manifestly false. Belike the true
Was irrecoverably lost; and so
Your father, to conceal the loss, made three
In place of one.”
Saladin
Excellent, excellent!
Nathan
“And so,” the Judge continued, “if ye now
Are bent on Law, on that alone, and counsel
Such as I can, will none—I bid you hence.
But, if I counselled you, my rede were this:
Take ye the matter simply as it lies.
Each from your father had his ring—let each
Be well persuaded that the ring he holds
Is the true Ring. It may be that your father
Was minded to maintain the tyranny
Of the one Ring no longer. And ’tis certain
He loved you all, and loved you each alike.
Would not have one exalted, one oppressed.
Mark that! and be it yours to emulate
His great impartial love. Strive, each of you,
To show the Ring’s benignant might his own;
Yea, help the mystic power to do its kind,
With gentleness, with loving courtesy,
Beneficence to man, and unto God
The deep devotion of the inmost soul.
And when, full many a generation hence,
Within your children’s children’s children’s hearts
The mystery of the Ring is manifest,
Lo! in a thousand thousand years, again
Before this judgment-seat I summon you,
Where one more wise than I shall sit and speak.
Now go your ways.” So spake the modest Judge.
Are bent on Law, on that alone, and counsel
Such as I can, will none—I bid you hence.
But, if I counselled you, my rede were this:
Take ye the matter simply as it lies.
Each from your father had his ring—let each
Be well persuaded that the ring he holds
Is the true Ring. It may be that your father
Was minded to maintain the tyranny
Of the one Ring no longer. And ’tis certain
He loved you all, and loved you each alike.
Would not have one exalted, one oppressed.
Mark that! and be it yours to emulate
His great impartial love. Strive, each of you,
To show the Ring’s benignant might his own;
Yea, help the mystic power to do its kind,
With gentleness, with loving courtesy,
Beneficence to man, and unto God
The deep devotion of the inmost soul.
And when, full many a generation hence,
Within your children’s children’s children’s hearts
The mystery of the Ring is manifest,
Lo! in a thousand thousand years, again
Before this judgment-seat I summon you,
Where one more wise than I shall sit and speak.
Now go your ways.” So spake the modest Judge.
Saladin
God! God!
Nathan
And now, O Saladin, if thou
Art confident that thou indeed art he,
The wise, the promised Judge....
Art confident that thou indeed art he,
The wise, the promised Judge....
Saladin
I? dust! I? nothing!
O God!
O God!
Nathan
Saladin
Nathan, Nathan,
The thousand thousand years are not yet done!
Not mine that judgment-seat! Enough—farewell!
But henceforth be my friend.
The thousand thousand years are not yet done!
Not mine that judgment-seat! Enough—farewell!
But henceforth be my friend.