The poems of Heine; Complete / Translated into the original metres; with a sketch of his life

On the mountain stands the cottage
Of the aged mountaineer;
There the dark-green fir is rustling,
And the golden moon shines clear.

In the cottage stands an arm-chair,
Richly carved and wondrously;
He that on it sits is happy,
And the happy one am I!

On the footstool sits the maiden,
On my knee her arms repose;
Eyes are like two stars all azure,
Mouth is like the purple rose.

And the stars so sweet and azure,
Large as heaven, she on me throws,
And she puts her lily-finger
Mocking on the purple rose.

No, we’re seen not by the mother,
For with industry she spins;
The guitar the father playing,
Some old melody begins.

And the maiden whispers softly,
Softly, in a tone suppress’d;
Many a most important secret
She to me hath soon confess’d:

“Since the death of aunt, however,
“We can’t go to see the sight
“Of the shooting-match at Goslar,
“Which was such a great delight.

“Whereas here ’tis very lonely
“On the mountain-top, you know;
“All the winter we’re entirely
“As though buried in the snow.

“And I am a timid maiden,
“And as fearful as a child
“Of the wicked mountain spirits,
“Who at night roam fierce and wild”—

Sudden is the sweet one silent,
Terrified by what she said,
And her little eyes she covers
With her little hands in dread.

Louder roars outside the fir-tree,
And the spinning-wheel loud hums;
Meanwhile the guitar is tinkling,
And the olden tune it strums:

“Fear thee not, my little darling,
“At the wicked spirits’ might;
“Angels keep, my little darling,
“Safe watch o’er thee, day and night.”

2.

Fir-tree with green finger’s knocking
At the window small and low,
And the moon, the yellow list’ner,
Through it her sweet light doth throw.

Father, mother, gently snoring,
In the neighbouring chamber sleep,
Yet we two are gaily talking,
So that wide awake we keep.

“That thou’rt wont to pray too often,
“Is a thing I’ll credit ne’er,
“For thy lips’ convulsive quiv’ring
“Ill accords with thoughts of prayer.

“Ay, that quiv’ring, cold and evil,
“Every time affrights me sore,
“Yet thine eyes’ mild lustre husheth
“Thy sad anguish evermore.

“I, too, doubt if thou believest
“All that is the Christian’s boast;
“Dost believe in God the Father,
“In the Son and Holy Ghost?”—

Ah, my child! when yet an infant
Sitting on my mother’s knee,
I believed in God the Father,
Ruling all things wondrously;

Who the beauteous earth created,
And the men that on it move;
Who to suns, moons, stars predestined
All their tracks wherein to rove.

When, my child, I grew still bigger
Many more things I conceived,
And my reason wax’d yet stronger,
And I in the Son believed.

In the Son beloved, who, loving,
Open’d to us love’s door wide,
And who in reward, as usual,
By the mob was crucified.

Now that I am grown, have read much,
Wander’d over many a coast,
Doth my heart swell, and in earnest
I believe the Holy Ghost.

He hath done the greatest marvels,
And still greater doeth he;
He hath burst the tyrants’ strongholds,
Servants from their yoke set free.

Olden deadly wounds he healeth,
And renews the olden law:
All men equal are, and noble
From the earliest breath they draw.

Every evil cloud he chaseth,
Drives the brain’s dark weft away,
That corrupteth love and pleasure,
Grinning at us night and day.

Thousand knights well arm’d for battle
Hath the Holy Ghost ordain’d,
All his pleasure to accomplish,
All by mighty zeal sustain’d.

See, their trusty swords are gleaming!
See, their noble banners wave!
Ah, my child! hast thou seen ever
Knights like this, so proud and brave?

Now, my child, look on me boldly,
Kiss me, look upon me nigh!
Such a daring knight, my fair one,
Of the Holy Ghost am I!

3.

Silently the moon is hiding
In the dark green fir-tree’s rear,
And our lamp within the chamber
Flickers faint, with glimmer drear.

But my azure eyes are beaming
With a light that brighter plays,
And the purple rose is glowing,
And the darling maiden says:

“Little elves and little people
“Pilfer all our bread and bacon;
“In the drawer at night they’re lying,
“But by morning all is taken.

“Next our cream the little people
“From the milk are wont to sup,
“Leaving, too, the bowl uncover’d,
“And the cat the rest drinks up.

“And the cat a witch indeed is,
“For she crawls, while night-storms lower,
“Up the spirit-mountain yonder
“To the ancient ruin’d tower.

“There a castle erst was standing,
“Full of joy and glittering arms;
“Knights and squires, in merry torch-dance,
“Mingled with the ladies’ charms.

“Then a wicked old enchantress
“Men and castle too bewitch’d;
“Nought remaineth but the ruins,
“Where the owls their nest have pitch’d.

“Yet my late aunt used to tell us:
“If the proper word is said
“At the proper hour at nighttime
“At the proper place o’erhead,

“Then the ruins will be changèd
“To a castle fair once more,
“Knights and squires and ladies gaily
“Will be dancing as of yore.

“Him by whom that word is spoken
“Men and castle will obey;
“Drums and trumpets will proclaim him,
“Heralding his sov’reign sway.”

Thus the charming legends issue
From the mouth so like a rose,
While an azure starry radiance
From her sweet eyes overflows.

Round my hand the little maiden
Twines her golden hair with glee,
Calls by pretty names my fingers,
Kisses, laughs, then mute is she.

All within that silent chamber
On me looks with trusting eye;
Table, cupboard,—I could fancy
I had seen them formerly.

Like a friend the house-clock prattles,
The guitar scarce audibly
Of itself begins to tinkle,
And as in a dream sit I.

Now’s the proper place discover’d,
Now the proper hour hath sounded;
If the proper word I utter’d,
Maiden, thou wouldst be astounded.

If that word I straightway utter’d,
Midnight would grow dim and quake,
Fir and streamlet roar more loudly,
And the aged mountain wake.

Lute’s soft strains and pigmy music
From the mountain’s clefts would burst,
And a flowering wood shoot from them
As in joyous spring-time erst.

Flowers, all-hardy magic flowers,
Leaves of size so fabulous,
Fragrant, varied, hasty-quiv’ring,
As though passion stirr’d them thus.

Roses, wild as flames all-glowing,
Dart from out the mass like gems;
Lilies, like to crystal arrows,
Upward shoot tow’rd heaven their stems.

And the stars, like suns in greatness
Downward gaze with yearning glow;
In the lily’s giant-calix
They their gushing radiance throw.

Yet ourselves, my darling maiden,
Alter’d more than all we seem;
Gold and silk and torches’ lustre
Joyously around us gleam.

Thou, yea thou, becom’st a princess,
To a castle turns this cot;
Knights and squires and ladies gaily
Dance with rapture, tiring not.

Thee and all, both men and castle,
I, yea I, have gain’d to-day;
Drums and trumpets loud proclaim me,
Heralding my sov’reign sway!

4.

Shepherd boy’s a king,—on green hills
As a throne he sitteth down
O’er his head the sun all-radiant
Is his ever golden crown.

At his feet the sheep are lying,
Gentle fawners, streak’d with red;
Calves as cavaliers attend him,
Proudly o’er the pastures spread.

Kids are all his court-performers,
With the birds and cows as well,
And he has his chamber-music
To the sound of flute and bell.

And it sounds and sings so sweetly,
And the time so sweetly keep
Waterfall and nodding fir-trees,
And the king then goes to sleep.

In the meantime acts as ruler
His prime minister, the hound,
While his loud and surly barking
Echoes all the country round.

Sleepily the young king murmurs:
“’Tis a heavy task to reign;
“Ah! right gladly would I find me
“With my queen at home again!

“In my queen’s arms soft and tender
“Calmly rests my kingly head,
“And my vast and boundless kingdom
“In her dear eyes lies outspread.”

5.

Brighter in the East ’tis growing
Through the sun’s soft glimm’ring motion;
Far and wide the mountain-summits
Float within the misty ocean.

With the speed of wind I’d hasten,
If I seven-league boots had only,
Over yonder mountain-summits
To my darling’s dwelling lonely.

Gently would I draw the curtain
From the bed wherein she’s lying,
Gently would I kiss her forehead,
And her mouth, with rubies vying,

Still more gently would I whisper
In her lily-ear so tender:
“Think in dreams, we love each other,
“And our love will ne’er surrender.”

6.

I Am the princess Ilse,
And dwell in Ilsenstein;
Come with me to my castle,
And there ’midst pleasures be mine.

Thy head I’ll softly moisten
With my pellucid wave;
Thou shalt forget thine anguish,
Poor sorrow-stricken knave!

Within my arms so snowy,
Upon my snowy breast,
Shalt thou repose, and dream there
Of olden legends blest.

I’ll kiss thee and embrace thee,
As I embraced and kiss’d
The darling Kaiser Henry,
Who doth no longer exist.

None live except the living,
The dead are dead and gone;
And I am fair and blooming,
My laughing heart beats on.

And as my heart is beating,
My crystal castle doth ring;
The knights and maidens are dancing,
The squires all-joyfully spring.

The silken trains are rustling,
The spurs of iron are worn,
The dwarfs beat drum and trumpet,
And fiddle and play the horn.

But thee shall my arm hold warmly
As Kaiser Henry it held;
I held him fast imprison’d,
When loudly the trumpet’s note swell’d.

THE BALTIC.

PART I. 1825.

1. EVENING TWILIGHT.

By ocean’s pallid strand
Sat I, tormented in spirit and lonely.
The sun sank lower and lower, and threw
Red glowing streaks upon the water,
And the snowy, spreading billows,
By the flood hard-press’d,
Foam’d and roar’d still nearer and nearer—
A wonderful sound, a whisp’ring and piping,
A laughing and murmuring, sighing and rushing,
Between times a lullaby-home-sounding singing,—
Methinks I hear some olden tradition,
Primeval, favourite legend,
Which I erst as a stripling
Learnt from the neighbours’ children,
When we, on the summer evenings,
On the house-door’s steps all cower’d
Cosily for quiet talking,
With our little hearts all attentive,
And our eyes all wisely curious;—
Whilst the bigger maidens,
Close by their fragrant flowerpots
Sat at the opposite window
Rosy their faces,
Smiling, illumed by the moon.

2. SUNSET.

The glowing ruddy sun descends
Down to the far up-shuddering
Silvery-grey world-ocean;
Airy images, rosily breath’d upon,
After him roll, and over against him,
Out of the’ autumnal glimmering veil of clouds,
With face all mournful and pale as death,
Bursteth forth the moon,
And behind her, like sparks of light,
Misty-broad, glimmer the stars.

Once in the heavens there glitter’d,
Join’d in fond union,
Luna the goddess and Sol the god,
And around them the stars all cluster’d,
Their little, innocent children.

But evil tongues then whisper’d disunion,
And they parted in anger,
That glorious, radiant pair.

Now, in the daytime, in splendour all lonely,
Wanders the Sun-god in realms on high,—
On account of his majesty
Greatly sung-to and worshipp’d
By haughty, bliss-harden’d mortals.
But in the night-time,
In heaven wanders Luna,
Unhappy mother,
With all her orphan’d starry children,
And she gleams in silent sorrow,
And loving maidens and gentle poets
Devote to her tears and songs.

The gentle Luna! womanly minded,
Still doth she love her beautiful spouse.
Towards the evening, trembling and pale,
Peeps she forth from the light clouds around,
And looks at the parting one mournfully,
And fain would cry in her anguish: “Come!
Come! the children all long for thee—”
But the disdainful Sun-god,
At the sight of his spouse, ’gins glowing
With still deeper purple,
In anger and grief,
And inflexibly hastens he
Down to his flood-chilly widow’d bed.
* * *
Evil and backbiting tongues
Thus brought grief and destruction
E’en ’mongst the godheads immortal.
And the poor godheads, yonder in heaven,
Wander in misery,
Comfortless over their endless tracks,
And death cannot reach them,
And with them they trail
Their bright desolation.

But I, the mere man,
The lowly-planted, the blest-with-death one,
I sorrow no longer.

3. THE NIGHT ON THE STRAND.

Starless and cold is the night,
The ocean boils;
And over the sea, flat on its belly,
Lies the misshapen Northwind;
With groaning and stifled mysterious voice,
A sullen grumbler, good-humour’d for once,
Prates he away to the waves,
Telling many a wild tradition,
Giant-legends, murderous-humorous,
Primeval Sagas from Norway,
And the while, far echoing, laughs he and howls he
Exorcists’ songs of the Edda,
Grey old Runic proverbs,
So darkly-daring, and magic-forcible,
That the white sons of Ocean
Spring up on high, all exulting,
In madden’d excitement.

Meanwhile, along the flat shore,
Over the flood-moisten’d sand,
Paces a stranger, whose heart within him
Is wilder far than wind and waters;
There where he walks
Sparks fly out, and shells are crackling,
And he veils himself in his dark-grey mantle,
And quickly moves on through the blustering night;—
Guided in safety by yon little light,
That sweetly, invitingly glimmers,
From the lone fisherman’s cottage.

Father and brother are out on the sea,
And all all alone is staying
Within the hut the fisherman’s daughter,
The wondrously lovely fisherman’s daughter.
By the hearth she’s sitting,
And lists to the water-kettle’s
Homely, sweet foreboding humming,
And shakes in the fire the crackling brushwood
And on it blows,
So that the lights, all ruddy and flickering,
Magic-sweetly are reflected
On her fair blooming features,
On her tender, snowy shoulder,
Which, moving gently, peeps
From out her coarse grey smock,
And on her little, anxious hand,
Which fastens firmer her under-garment,
Over her graceful hip.

But sudden, the door bursts open,
The nightly stranger entereth in;
Love-secure, his eye reposes
On the snowy, slender maiden,
Who, trembling, near him stands,
Like to a startled lily;
And he throws his mantle to earth,
And laughs and speaks:

“See now, my child, I’ve kept my word,
“And I come, and with me hath come
“The olden time, when the gods from the heavens
“Came down to earth, to the daughters of mortals,
“And the daughters of mortals embraced they,
“And from them there issued
“Sceptre-bearing races of monarchs,
“And heroes, wonders of earth.

“But start not, my child, any longer
“Because of my godhead,
“And I pray thee give me some tea mix’d with rum
“For ’tis cold out of doors,
“And amid such night breezes
“Freeze even we, we godheads immortal,
“And easily catch the divinest of colds,
“And a cough that proves quite eternal.”

4. POSEIDON.

The sun’s bright rays were playing
Over the wide-rolling breadth of the sea;
Far in the roadstead glitter’d the ship
Destined to home to convey me.
But a propitious wind was yet wanting,
And I sat on the white downs all calmly
Hard by the lonely strand,
And I read the song of Odysseus,
The olden, ever-youthful song,
From out whose sea-beflutter’d leaves
Joyfully rose to meet me
The breath of the deities,
And the shining spring-time of mortals,
And the blooming heaven of Hellas.

My generous heart accompanied truly
The son of Laërtes in wanderings and troubles,
Placed itself with him, spirit-tormented,
At guestly hearths,
Where beauteous queens were spinning their purple,
And help’d him to lie, and succeed in escaping
From giants’ caverns and nymphs’ embraces,
Follow’d him down to Cimmerian night,
And in tempest and shipwreck,
And with him endured unspeakable torments.

Sighing spake I: “Thou wicked Poseidon,
“Thine anger is fearful;
“I myself am anxious
“As to my own return.”

Scarce breath’d I these words,
When the sea foam’d on high,
And out of the snowy billows arose
The sedge-becrowned head of the seagod,
And scornfully cried he:

“Fear not, little poet!
“I’ll not for one moment endanger
“Thy poor little vessel,
“And thy dear life shall not be tormented
“By any critical tossing.
“For thou, little poet, hast never annoy’d me,
“No single turret was injured by thee
“In Priam’s sacred fortress,
“No single hair didst thou e’er singe
“In the eye of my son Polyphemus,
“And thou hast ne’er been advised or protected
“By the goddess of wisdom, Pallas Athene!”

Thus cried Poseidon,
And sank ’neath the ocean again;
And at the vulgar seaman’s wit
Laugh’d under the water
Amphitrite, the clumsy fishwoman,
And the silly daughters of Nereus.

5. HOMAGE.

Ye songs! O my trusty numbers!
Up, up! and on with your arms
Bid the trumpet to blow,
And raise high on my shield
The youthful maiden,
Who’s now to rule my heart,
My undivided heart, as queen.

Hail to thee, youthful queen!

From the sun on high
Tear I his sparkling ruddy gold,
And of it weave a diadem
For thine anointed head.
From the fluttering blue-silken heaven’s veil,
Wherein night’s diamonds are gleaming,
Cut I a costly piece,
And hang, as coronation mantle,
Upon thy regal shoulders.
I give to thee, as courtiers,
Some well-bedizen’d sonnets,
Haughty terzinas and courtly stanzas;
My wit shall serve thee as footman,
And as court-fool my phantasy,
As herald, the laughing tears on my scutcheon,
My humour shall serve thee.
But I, O my queen,
Before thee kneel down,
In homage, on red velvet cushion,
And to thee hand over
The small bit of reason,
Which, out of compassion, was left me
By her who last govern’d thy kingdom.

6. DECLARATION.

Onward glimmering came the evening,
Wilder tossèd the flood,
And I sat on the strand, regarding
The snowy dance of the billows,
And soon my bosom swell’d like the sea;
A deep home-sickness yearningly seized me
For thee, thou darling form,
Who everywhere surround’st me,
And everywhere call’st me,
Everywhere, everywhere,
In the moan of the wind, in the roar of the ocean,
In the sigh within my own breast.

With brittle reed I wrote on the sand:
“Agnes, I love thee!”
But wicked billows soon pour’d themselves
Over the blissful confession,
Effacing it all.

Ah too fragile reed, all fast-scatter’d sand,
Ah fugitive billows, I’ll trust you no more!
The heavens grow darker, my heart grows wilder
And with vigorous hand from the forests of Norway
Tear I the highest fir-tree,
And plunge it deep
In Etna’s glowing abyss, and thereafter
With fire-imbued giant-pen
I write on the dark veil of heaven:
“Agnes, I love thee!”
Every night gleams thenceforward
On high that eternal fiery writing,
And all generations of farthest descendants
Read gladly the heavenly sentence:
“Agnes, I love thee!”

7. IN THE CABIN AT NIGHT.

The sea its pearls possesseth,
And heaven its stars containeth,
But, O my heart, my heart,
My heart its love hath also.

Vast is the sea and the heavens,
Yet vaster is my heart,
And fairer than pearls or the stars
Glitt’reth and beameth my love.

Thou little youthful maiden,
Come to my heart so vast;
My heart and the sea and the heavens
For very love are dying.
* * *
’Gainst the azure veil of heaven,
Where the beauteous stars are twinkling,
Fain I’d press my lips with ardour,
Press them wildly, madly weeping.

Yonder stars the very eyes are
Of my loved one, thousand-changing
Glimmer they and greet me kindly
From the azure veil of heaven.

Tow’rd the azure veil of heaven,
Tow’rd the eyes of my beloved one,
Lift I up my arms in worship,
And I pray, and thus beseech them:

Beauteous eyes, ye lights of mercy,
O make happy my poor spirit,
Let me die, and as my guerdon,
Win both you and all your heaven!
* * *
From those heavenly eyes above me
Light and trembling sparks are falling
Through the night, and then my spirit
Loving-wide and wider stretcheth.

O ye heavenly eyes above me!
Weep yourselves into my spirit,
That my spirit may run over
With those tears so sweet and starry!
* * *
Cradled by the ocean billows,
And by thoughts that seem like visions,
Silent lie I in the cabin,
In the dark bed in the corner.

Through the open hatchway see I
There on high the stars all-radiant,
Those sweet eyes so dearly cherish’d
Of my sweet and dearly loved one.

Those sweet eyes so dearly cherish’d
Far above my head are watching,
And they tinkle and they beckon
From the azure veil of heaven.

Tow’rd the azure veil of heaven
Gaze I many an hour with rapture,
Till a white and misty curtain
From me hides those eyes so cherish’d.

’Gainst the boarded side of the ship,
Where my dreaming head is lying,
Rave the billows, the furious billows.
They roar and they murmur
Thus soft in my ear:

“O foolish young fellow!
“Thine arm is short, and the heavens are wide,
“And yonder stars are firmly nailed there;
“In vain is thy yearning, in vain is thy sighing,
“The best thou can’st do is to sleep!”
* * *
I dreamt, and dreaming saw a spacious heath,
Far overspread with white, with whitest snow,
And ’neath that white snow buried I was lying,
And slept the lonesome, chilly sleep of death.

Yet from on high, from out the darkling heavens,
Look’d down upon my grave those eyes all-starry,
Those eyes so sweet! In triumph they were gleaming
In calm and radiant but excessive love.

8. STORM.

The tempest is raging,
It floggeth the billows,
And the billows, fierce-foaming and rearing,
Rise up on high, and with life are all heaving
The snowy watery mountains,
And the small bark climbs o’er them,
Labouring hastily,
And suddenly plungeth it down
In the black, wide-gaping abyss of the flood.—

O sea!
Mother of beauty, the foam-arisen one!
Grandmother of love! O spare me!
Already flutters, corpse-scenting,
The snowy, spirit-like sea-mew,
And wetteth his beak ’gainst the mast,
And longs,—eager to taste,—for the heart
Which proclaimeth the fame of thy daughter,
And which thy grandson, the little rogue,
Chose for his plaything.

In vain my entreaties and prayers!
My cry dies away in the blustering storm,
In the wind’s battle-shout;
It roars and pipes and crackles and howls,
Like a madhouse of noises!
And, between times, I audibly hear
Harp-strains alluring,
Songs all wild and yearning,
Spirit-melting and spirit-rending,
And the voice I remember!

Far away, on the rock-coast of Scotland,
Where the old grey castle projecteth
Over the wild raging sea,
There at the lofty and archèd window,
Standeth a woman, beauteous but ill,
Softly-transparent and marble-pale,
And she’s playing her harp and she’s singing,
And the wind through her long locks forceth its way
And beareth her gloomy song
Over the wide and tempest-toss’d sea.

9. CALM AT SEA.

Calm at sea! His beams all radiant
Throws the sun across the water,
And amid the heaving jewels,
Furrows green the ship is tracing.

Near the steersman lies the boatswain
On his stomach, snoring gently;
Near the mast, the sails repairing,
Squats the cabin-boy, all-tarry.

But behind his cheeks so dirty
Red blood springs, a mournful quiv’ring
Round his wide mouth plays, and sadly
Stare his eyes, so large and handsome.

For the captain stands before him,
Raving, cursing, “thief” exclaiming:
“Thief! a herring you have stolen
“From the barrel, O you rascal!”

Calm at sea! From out the waters
Lifts himself a clever fishkin;
In the sun his head he warmeth,
Splashing with his tail so gaily.

But the sea-mew, soaring over,
Shooteth down upon the fishkin,
And his sudden prize fast holding
In his bill, again mounts upward.

10. THE OCEAN SPECTRE.

But I upon the ship’s edge was lying,
And gazed with my eyes all dreamy
Down on the glassy pellucid water,
And gazed yet deeper and deeper—
Till, deep in the ocean’s abysses,
At first like a glimmering mist,
Then, bit by bit, with hues more decided,
Domes of churches and towers appeared,
And at last, clear as sunlight, a city,
Antiquarian Netherlandish,
And swarming with life.
Reverent men, in garments of black,
With snowy frills and chains of honour,
And lengthy swords and lengthy faces,
Over the crowded market are pacing
Tow’rd the high-stair’d council-chamber,
Where Emperors’ stony images
Keep guard with sceptre and sword:—
Hard by, in front of the long row of houses,
With mirror-like glistening windows,
Stand the lindens all trimm’d into pyramids,
And silken rustling maidens are wandering,
A golden band round their slender bodies,
Their blooming faces neatly surrounded
By head-dresses velvet and black,
From whence their abundant locks are escaping.
Gay young fellows, in Spanish costume,
Proudly are passing and nodding.
Aged women,
In garments all brown and strange-looking,
Psalm-book and rosary in hand,
Hasten with tripping step
Tow’rd the cathedral church,
Impell’d by the sound of the bells,
And the rushing notes of the organ.

Mysterious awe seizeth me too,
Caused by the distant sound;
A ne’er-ending yearning and sadness deep
Steal o’er my heart,
My scarcely-heal’d heart;
It seems as though its bitter wounds
By dear lips were kiss’d open,
And once again were bleeding
With drops hot and ruddy,
Which long and slowly downward fall
Upon an ancient house below
In yon deep-ocean city,
Upon an ancient and high-gabled house,
Where sits in lonely melancholy
A maiden at the window,
Her head on her arm reclined,
Like to some poor, forgotten child,
And I know thee, thou poor, forgotten child.

Thus deep, thus deep, then
Thou hidd’st thyself from me
In some childish conceit,
And couldst not reascend,
And sattest strange, among strange people,
Five hundred years,
And I meanwhile, with soul full of grief,
Sought thee over all the earth,
And ever sought thee,
Thou ever-beloved one,
Thou long-time-lost one,
Thou finally-found one,—
I’ve found thee at last, and again behold
Thy countenance sweet,
Thine eyes so prudent and faithful,
Thy smile so dear—
And never again will I leave thee,
And downward hasten I to thee,
And with wide-spreading arms
Throw myself down on thy heart.

But just in time
I was seized by the foot by the Captain,
And torn from the side of the ship,
While he cried, laughing bitterly:
“Why, Doctor, are you mad?”

The poems of Heine; Complete / Translated into the original metres; with a sketch of his life

About This Book

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

THE BALTIC.

PART I. 1825.

1. EVENING TWILIGHT.

2. SUNSET.

3. THE NIGHT ON THE STRAND.

4. POSEIDON.

5. HOMAGE.

6. DECLARATION.

7. IN THE CABIN AT NIGHT.

8. STORM.

9. CALM AT SEA.

10. THE OCEAN SPECTRE.

11. PURIFICATION.

The poems of Heine; Complete / Translated into the original metres; with a sketch of his life

About This Book

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

THE BALTIC. PART I. 1825.

1. EVENING TWILIGHT.

2. SUNSET.

3. THE NIGHT ON THE STRAND.

4. POSEIDON.

5. HOMAGE.

6. DECLARATION.

7. IN THE CABIN AT NIGHT.

8. STORM.

9. CALM AT SEA.

10. THE OCEAN SPECTRE.

11. PURIFICATION.

THE BALTIC.

PART I. 1825.