. The German classics of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries; masterpieces of German literature. ht. I shall partake, when morning dawneth bright,Of all that solemn glory yet unknown When by one stroke I shall be dubbed a childhood longing hushed, I shall not swerveFrom deeds of rigor, with my spurs and mightDevoted in the good war I will serve. For this new honor I must now prepare:The consecration of my sword unstainedBefore Gods altar and the symbol there,The testimony of high worth attained. There his forefathers image gray and oldReposed and slender vaults rose
. The German classics of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries; masterpieces of German literature. ht. I shall partake, when morning dawneth bright,Of all that solemn glory yet unknown When by one stroke I shall be dubbed a childhood longing hushed, I shall not swerveFrom deeds of rigor, with my spurs and mightDevoted in the good war I will serve. For this new honor I must now prepare:The consecration of my sword unstainedBefore Gods altar and the symbol there,The testimony of high worth attained. There his forefathers image gray and oldReposed and slender vaults rose clasped his hands lay stony cold,Upon his breast there was a banner spread. His eyes are darkened by the helmets cherub spreading wide his pinions paleHolds over him the shield with coat of mail:Upon an azure field the flaming blade. The youth is praying to the Lord above And breaks the narrow bounds of prayer with feeling, His hands devoutly clasped as he is kneeling. Then slowly into thoughts of pious love An earthly image unawares is stealing. Translator: Margarete STEFAX GEORGE STEFAN GEORGE: POEMS 313 ** She stood among her garden gilly-flowers,She was much less a maiden than a her gown were broidered starry showers,About her golden hair the sunlight smiled. He shudders, and he longs in his dismayTo flee the vision that he deems a snare;His hands he buries in his curly hairAnd makes the sign that lets no evil stay. The blood is rushing hot into his cheek,The candle-flames shoot lightnings in his now he sees the Lady Mother meek,Upon her lap the Saviour giving grace. ** I will forever in Thine army serveAnd all my life no other aim will from Thy high commandment never if for the last time I was from the snow-white altars covered chest A swarm of little angels faces poured, And as the organs sacred murmur grew, The Valiants innocence, the Deads deep rest With tranquil clearness through the whole
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Keywords: ., bo, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, booksubjectenglishliterature
