The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Poems of Heine.

These fair limbs, of size so massive,
Of colossal womanhood,
Now are, in a yielding mood,
Under my embraces passive.

Had I, with unbridled passion,
Trusting in my strength drawn near,
I had soon had cause for fear!
She had thrashed me in strange fashion.

How her bosom, neck, throat charm me
(Higher I can scarcely see);
Ere alone I’d with her be,
Pray I that she may not harm me.

’Twas in the Bay of Biscay
That she first saw the light;
Two kittens in the cradle
She squeezed to death outright.

Across the Pyrenees she
With feet uncover’d ran;
Then for her size gigantic
Was shown at Perpignan.

She’s now the grandest dame in
The Faubourg Saint-Denis,
Where unto small Sir William
Some thousand pounds costs she.

Often when I am with thee,
Much-beloved and noble lady,
The remembrance steals o’er me
Of Bologna’s market shady.
There a massive fount doth stand—
’Tis the Giants’ Fountain pretty—
With a Neptune, by the hand
Of Giovanni of that city.

4. HORTENSE.

In all my dreams by daytime,
In all my watchings nightly,
Thy sweet delicious laughter
Rings through my spirit lightly.

Remember’st Montmorency,
Where, on the donkey riding,
Thou fell’st among the thistles,
From off the saddle gliding?

The ass stood still, the thistles
Demurely looking after,—
I never shall forget, love,
Thy sweet delicious laughter.

In the garden fair a tree stands,
And an apple hangeth there,
And around the trunk a serpent
Coils himself, and I can ne’er
From the serpent’s eyes enchanting
Turn away my troubled sight,
And he whispers words alluring,
And enthrals me with delight.

(The other one speaks.)

’Tis the fruit of life thou spyest,—
Its delicious flavour taste,
That thy life until thou diest
May not be for ever waste!
Darling dove, sweet child, no sighing!
Quickly taste, and never fear;
Follow my advice, relying
On thy aunt’s sage counsel, dear.

On my newly-tuned guitar I
Play new tunes that seem much fitter
Old the text is, for the words are
Solomon’s: A woman’s bitter.

To her husband she is faithless,
And she treats her friend with malice;
Wormwood are the last remaining
Drops in love’s once-golden chalice.

Tell me, is the ancient legend
Of the curse of sin no libel?
Did the serpent bring it on thee,
As recorded in the Bible?

Creeping on the earth, the serpent
Lurks in every bush around thee,
Still, as formerly, caresses,
And her hisses still confound thee.

Ah, how cold and dark ’tis growing!
Round the sun the ravens hover
Croakingly, and love and rapture
Now for evermore are over.

The bliss that thou didst falsely pledge
For but a short time cheated;
Thine image, like a vision false,
Soon from my bosom fleeted.

The morning came, the mist soon fled
Before the sun’s rays splendid;
And wellnigh ere it had commenced,
Our passing fondness ended.

5. CLARISSA.

Wheresoever thou mayst wander,
Thou dost every hour behold me,
And I love thee all the fonder,
When thou dost rebuke and scold me.
Charming malice will ensnare me,
While I hate a kindly action;
And the surest way to scare me,
Is to love me to distraction.

May the devil take thy mother
And thy father, for their cruel
Conduct at the play, in hiding
Thee from me, my precious jewel!

There they sat, their spreading dresses
Leaving but few spaces only
Through the which to spy thee sitting
In the box’s rear, all lonely.

There they sat, and saw two lovers
Both destroy’d, with eyes admiring;
And they clapp’d a loud approval
When they saw them both expiring.

Go not through the naughty quarters
Where the pretty eyes are living;
Ah, they fain would spare their lightnings
With a semblance of forgiving.

From the high bow-window looking
In a loving way they greet thee,
Smiling kindly (death and devil!)
Sisterlike their glances meet thee.

But thou’rt on thy way already,
And in vain is all thy striving;
Thou wilt have a very breastful
Of distress, when home arriving.

It comes too late, thy present smiling,
It comes too late, thy present sigh!
The feelings all long since have perish’d
That thou didst spurn so cruelly.

Too late has come thy love responsive,
My heart thou vainly seek’st to stir
With burning looks of love, all falling
Like sunbeams on a sepulchre.
* * *
This would I learn: when life is ended,
O whither doth our spirit go?
Where is the flame when once extinguish’d?
The wind, when it hath ceased to blow?

Wounded, in distress, and sickly,
On a lovely summer’s morrow
Men I fly, and bury quickly
In the wood my bitter sorrow.

As I move, in mute compassion
All the noisy birds are vying;
At my grief in wondrous fashion
Each dark linden-tree is sighing.

In the vale I sadly sit on
Some green bank, sweet balm exhaling:
“Kitten! O my pretty kitten!”
And the hills repeat my wailing.

Kitten! O my pretty kitten!
Why delightest thou to do ill?
Sadly is my poor heart smitten
By thy tiger-talons cruel.

For my heart, grown stern and sadden’d,
Long had been to joy a stranger,
Till by new love I was gladden’d
At thy sight, and fear’d no danger.

Thou in secret seem’dst to mew thus:
“Have no fear of being bitten;
“Prythee trust me when I sue thus,
“I’m a very gentle kitten.”
* * *

Whilst sweet Philomel in airy
Woods at random sings and wildly,
Thou preferrest the canary
Doubtless, as it flutters mildly.

In the cage I see thee feeding
This small bird, so tame and yellow,
And it picks thy fingers, pleading
For some sugar, pretty fellow!

Charming is the scene and moving!
Angels must enjoy the notion!
I myself, with look approving,
Drop a tear of deep emotion.

With Wedding Gifts the Spring Has Arrived,
With music and exultation;
It brings the bridegroom and the bride
Its hearty congratulation.

It brings its violets, rosebuds fair,
And jasmine and herbs sweet-scented,
And for the bride asparagus too,—
The bridegroom’s with salad contented.

God protect thee from o’erheating,
And thy heart from palpitation,
Keep thee from excessive eating,
And excessive perspiration.

As upon thy day of marriage
May thy love be ever blessèd!
Ne’er the bridal yoke disparage!
Be thy frame with health possessèd!

10.

Pretty maid, if so inclined,
Thou mayst now thus think anent me
This man’s conduct is unkind,
For he’s seeking to torment me;—

Me, who never said a word
That could possibly offend him;
Who, when others’ blame I heard,
Did my utmost to befriend him.

Me, who had resolved in fact
By-and-by to love him dearly,
Had he not begun to act
As if he were frantic nearly!

11.

How thou snarlest, laughest, broodest.
How thou in ill humour twistest,
When thou, to all love a stranger,
Yet on jealousy existest!

’Tis not red and fragrant roses
Thou dost smell and love so dearly;
No, amongst the thorns thou sniffest,
Till they scratch thy nose severely.

6. YOLANTE AND MARY.

The bottles are empty, the breakfast was good,
The ladies are gay and impassion’d;
They open their corsets in right merry mood,
Methinks they with point lace are fashion’d.

Their bosoms how fair! Their shoulders how white!
My heart is soon trembling all over;
They presently jump on the bed with delight,
And hide themselves under the cover.

The curtains around them before long they pull,
And snore away, free from intrusion;
I stand in the chamber alone, like a fool,
And stare at the bed in confusion.

Now that I’m fast growing older,
Youth’s by keener fire replaced,
And my arm, becoming bolder,
Circles many a loving waist.

Though at first they were affrighted,
Yet they soon were reconcil’d;
Modest doubts and wrath united
Were o’ercome by flattery mild.

Yet the best of all is wanting
When I taste my victory;
Can it be my youth’s enchanting
Bashful weak stupidity?

This tricolour’d flow’r now worn is
In my breast, to show I’m free,
Proving that my heart freeborn is,
And a foe to slavery.

Sweet Queen Mary, who thy quarters
In my heart hast fix’d, pray list:
Many of earth’s fairest daughters
There have reign’d, then been dismiss’d.

7. EMMA.

Emma, for my satisfaction
Say if I’m distracted driven,
By my love, or is love only
The result of my distraction?

Ah! I’m tortured, charming Emma,
Not alone by my mad loving,
Not alone by loving madness,
But besides by this dilemma.

When I’m with thee, strife and need!
So I on my travels started;
Yet my life, when from thee parted,
Is no life, but death indeed.

Pondering all the livelong night,
I ’twixt death and hell lay choosing—
Ah, methinks this strife confusing
Now has driv’n me mad outright!

Fast is creeping on us dreary
Night with many a ghostly shape,
And our souls are growing weary,
And we at each other gape.

Thou art old and I still older,
And our spring has ceased to bloom;
Thou art cold, and I still colder,
At th’ approach of winter’s gloom.

At the end, how all is sadden’d!
After love’s sweet cares are past,
Cares draw nigh, by love ungladden’d,
After life comes death at last.

8. FREDERICA.

O leave Berlin, with its thick-lying sand,
Weak tea, and men who seem so much to know
That they both God, themselves, and all below
With Hegel’s reason only understand.

O come to India, to the sunny land
Where flowers ambrosial their sweet fragrance throw
Where pilgrim troops on tow’rd the Ganges go
With reverence, in white robes, a festal band.

There, where the palm-trees wave, the billows smile,
And on the sacred bank the lotos-tree
Soars up to Indra’s castle blue,—yes there,

There will I kneel to thee in trusting style,
And press against thy foot, and say to thee:
“Madam, thou art the fairest of the fair!”

The Ganges roars; amid the foliage see
The sharp eyes of the antelope, who springs
Disdainfully along; their colour’d wings
The peacocks as they move, show haughtily.

Deep from the bosom of the sunny lea
Rises a newborn race of flowers, sweet things;
With yearning-madden’d voice Cocila sings—
Yes, thou art fair, no woman’s like to thee!

God Cama [9] lurks in all thy features fair,
He dwells within thy bosom’s tents so white,
And breathes to thee the sweetest songs he knows.

Upon thy lips Vassant [10] has made his lair,
I find within thine eyes new worlds of light,
In my own world no more I find repose.

The Ganges roars; the mighty Ganges swells,
The Himalaya glows in evening’s light,
And from the banyan-forest’s gloomy night
The elephantine herd breaks forth and yells.

O for a type to show how she excels!
A typo of thee, so lovely to the sight,
Thee the incomparable, good and bright,
So that sweet rapture in my bosom dwells.

In vain thou see’st me seek for types, and prate,—
See’st me with feelings struggle, and with rhyme,
And, ah, thou smilest at my pangs of love!

But smile! For when thou smil’st, Gandarvas straight
Seize on the sweet guitar, and all the time
Sing in the golden sunny halls above.

9. CATHERINE.

“Will you not be presented to her?”
The duchess whisper’d once to me.
“On no account! for I to woo her
“Methinks have too much modesty.”

How gracefully she stands before me!
I fancy, when I near her go,
A newborn life is stealing o’er me,
With newborn joy and newborn woe.

I’m from her kept as though by anguish,
While yearning drives me to draw near;
Her eyes, as they so sweetly languish,
The wild stars of my fate appear.

Her brow is clear, yet in the distance
The future lightning gathers there,
The storm which, spite of all resistance,
My spirit’s deepest seat will tear.

Her mouth is lovely, but with terror
I see beneath the roses hiss
The serpents which will prove my error,
With honied scorn and treach’rous kiss.

Impell’d by yearning, still more near I
Draw to the dear but dangerous place;
Her darling voice already hear I—
Bright flames her every sentence grace.

“Sir, what’s the name”—I hear her utter
These words—“Of her whose voice I heard?”
I only answer with a stutter:
“Madam, I did not hear one word!”

Yes, I now, a poor magician,
Like sage Merlin, am held fast
In my magic ring at last,
In disconsolate condition.

At her feet imprison’d sweetly
I am lying all the while,
Gazing on her eyes’ sweet smile,
And the hours are passing fleetly.

Thus, for hours, days, weeks behold me!
Like a vision time has fled,
Scarcely know I what I said,
And I know not what she told me.

Just as if her lips were dearly
Press’d to mine, beyond control
I am stirr’d, till in my soul
I can trace the flames full clearly.

Thou lie’st in my arms so gladly.
So gladly thou lie’st on my heart!
I am thy one sole heaven,
My dearest star thou art.

The foolish race of mortals
Is swarming far below;
They’re shouting and storming and scolding,
(And each one is right, I well know)

Their cap and bells they jingle,
And quarrel without a cause,
And with their heavy club-sticks
They break each other’s jaws.

How happy are we, my darling,
That we so far away are;
Thou hidest in thy heaven
Thy head, my dearest star!

I love such white and snowy members,
The thin veil of a spirit tender,
Wild and large eyes, a brow encompass’d
With flowing locks of swarthy splendour.

Thou art indeed the very person
Whom I in every land have sought for,
While girls like thee a man of honour
Like me have always cared and thought for.

The very man thou stand’st in need of
Is found in me. At first thou’lt pay me
Richly with sentiments and kisses,
And then, as usual, wilt betray me.

The spring’s already at the gate
With looks my care beguiling;
The country round appeareth straight
A flower-garden smiling.

My darling sitteth by my side,
In carriage onward fleeting;
She looks on me with tender pride,
Her heart, I feel it beating.

What warbling, what fragrance the sun’s light awakes!
Like jewels the verdure is gleaming,
His snowy-blossoming head soon shakes
The sapling with joyous seeming.

The flowers peep forth from the earth to see,
With longing in every feature,
The lovely woman won by me,
And me, the happy creature.

O transient bliss! Across the corn
To-morrow will pass the sickle,
The beauteous spring wither, and I all forlorn
Be left by the woman fickle.

Lately dreamt I I was walking
In the happy realms of heaven,
Walking with thee, for without thee,
Heaven itself would be a hell.

There I saw th’ Elect together,
All the righteous and the godly,
Who had for their souls’ salvation
Mortified on earth their bodies.

Fathers of the Church, apostles,
Capuchins and holy hermits,
Strange old fellows, some strange young ones—
’Twas the latter look’d the ugliest!

Very long and saintly faces,
Ample bald pates, also grey beards
(Various Jews were of the number)
Pass’d us, looking stern and solemn.

Not one look upon thee throwing,
Although thou, my pretty darling,
On my arm wert hanging, toying,
Toying, smiling, and coquetting.

One alone upon thee look’d,
And he was the only handsome,
Handsome man of all the number;
And majestic were his features.

Round his lips was human kindness,
In his eyes divine repose,
And he mildly gazed upon thee
As upon the Magdalene.

Ah! I know, he meant it kindly,
None was e’er so pure and noble,
But I, I was notwithstanding
Moved as by an envious feeling;

And, I must confess, I found it
Far from pleasant up in heaven—
May God pardon me! Our Saviour
Jesus Christ I deem’d intrusive.

Each person to this feast enchanting
His mistress takes, and with delight
Roams in the blooming summer night.
I wander alone, for my loved one is wanting.

Like some sick man, I wander all lonely,
And far from the mirth and dancing go,
The music sweet and the lamps’ bright glow
My thoughts are away, and in England only.

I pluck the pinks and I pluck the roses,
Distractedly and full of woe,
And know not on whom the flow’rs to bestow;
My heart soon withers along with the posies.

Long songless and oppress’d with sadness,
I now compose again with yearning!
Like tears that from us burst with madness
My songs are suddenly returning.

Again I chant, with voice melodious,
Of great love and still greater sorrow;
Of hearts which, to each other odious
To-day, when parted break to-morrow.

I ofttimes think I feel the greeting
Of German oak trees waving o’er me,
With whispers of a glad re-meeting—
A dream! they vanish from before me.

I ofttimes think I hear the singing
Of German nightingales once cherish’d;
Sweetly their notes are round me clinging—
A dream! the vision soon has perish’d.

Where are the roses whose delicious
Perfume once bless’d me? Every blossom
Long since has died! With taint pernicious
Their ghostly scent still haunts my bosom.

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