Uhland

It is the poet Uhlatti), from whose wreathings
Of rarest harmony I here have drawn,
To lower tones and less melodious breathings,
Some simple strains, of youth and passion born.
His is the poetry of sweet expression,
Of clear, unfaltering tune, serene and strong;
Where gentlest thoughts and words, in soft procession,
Move to the even measures of his song.
Delighting ever in his own calm fancies.
He sees much beauty where most men see naught,
Looking at Nature with familiar glances,
And weaving garlands in the groves of thought.
He sings of youth, and hope, and high endeavour,
He sings of love — O crown of poesy! —
Of fate, and sorrow, and the grave, forever
The end of strife, the goal of destiny.
He sings of fatherland, the minstrel's glory,
High theme of memory and hope divine,
Twining its fame with gems of antique story,
In Suabian songs and legends of the Rhine;
In ballads breathing many a dim tradition,
Nourish'd in long belief or minstrel rhymes,
Fruit of the old Romance, whose gentle mission
Pass'd from the earth before our wiser times.
Well do they know his name among the mountains,
And plains, and valleys, of his native land;
Part of their nature are the sparkling fountains
Of his clear, thought, with rainbow fancies spann'd.
His simple lays oft sings the mother cheerful
Beside the cradle in the dim twilight;
His plaintive notes low breathes the maiden tearful
With tender murmurs in the ear of night.
The hillside swain, the reaper in the meadows,
Carol his ditties through the toilsome day;
And the lone hunter in the Alpine shadows
Recalls his ballads by some ruin gray.
O precious gift! O wondrous inspiration!
Of all high deeds, of all harmonious things,
To be the oracle, while a whole nation
Catches the echo from the sounding strings.
Out of the depths of feeling and emotion
Rises the orb of song, serenely bright,
As who beholds, across the tracts of ocean,
The golden sunrise bursting into light.
Wide is its magic world — divided neither
By continent, nor sea, nor narrow zone:
Who would not wish sometimes to travel thither
In fancied fortunes to forget his own?