And e'en though Amor oft my hours beguil'd,
How grave thou loookest, loved one! wherefore so?
Of murder and thievish plunder!Such actions false will cause no surprise,
"I have selected thee," she said,"From all who earth's wild mazes tread,That thou shouldst have clear-sighted sense,And nought that's wrong shouldst e'er commence.When others run in strange confusion,Thy gaze shall see through each illusionWhen others dolefully complain,Thy cause with jesting thou shalt gain,Honour and right shalt value duly,In everything act simply, truly,--Virtue and godliness proclaim,And call all evil by its name,Nought soften down, attempt no quibble,Nought polish up, nought vainly scribble.The world shall stand before thee, then,As seen by Albert Durer's ken,In manliness and changeless life,In inward strength, with firmness rife.Fair Nature's Genius by the handShall lead thee on through every land,Teach thee each different life to scan,Show thee the wondrous ways of man,His shifts, confusions, thrustings, and drubbings,Pushings, tearings, pressings, and rubbings;The varying madness of the crew,The anthill's ravings bring to view;But thou shalt see all this express'd,As though 'twere in a magic chest.Write these things down for folks on earth,In hopes they may to wit give birth."--Then she a window open'd wide,And show'd a motley crowd outside,All kinds of beings 'neath the sky,As in his writings one may spy.
What deep gulf, what bitter smart!Yes, 'tis thou, indeed, at last,
Poor knight of high estate!Thou hast in truth a lofty mind;The queen of flowers is then enshrin'd,
The hero with his well-mail'd coat
In fond and silent hours of bliss,Words from her mouth are all I seek,
Remember well how long thou hast delay'd,
And sit beside my door;When one of them is seen,
Thy father, dead lies he,The trembling townsmen flee,Adown the street the blood runs free;Oh, whither shall we flee?
And these are the fruits from that flower!'Tis ever denied, and the saying is true,