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* * * * * SAFE in this Wartburg tower I stand | |
| Where God hath led me by the hand, | |
| And look down, with a heart at ease, | |
| Over the pleasant neighborhoods, | |
| Over the vast Thuringian Woods, | 5 |
| With flash of river, and gloom of trees, | |
| With castles crowning the dizzy heights, | |
| And farms and pastoral delights, | |
| And the morning pouring everywhere | |
| Its golden glory on the air. | 10 |
| Safe, yes, safe am I here at last, | |
| Safe from the overwhelming blast | |
| Of the mouths of Hell, that followed me fast, | |
| And the howling demons of despair | |
| That hunted me like a beast to his lair. * * * * * | 15 |
| Yesterday in an idle mood, | |
| Hunting with others in the wood, | |
| I did not pass the hours in vain, | |
| For in the very heart of all | |
| The joyous tumult raised around, | 20 |
| Shouting of men, and baying of hound, | |
| And the bugle’s blithe and cheery call, | |
| And echoes answering back again, | |
| From crags of the distant mountain chain, | |
| In the very heart of this I found | 25 |
| A mystery of grief and pain. | |
| It was an image of the power | |
| Of Satan, hunting the world about, | |
| With his nets and traps and well-trained dogs, | |
| His bishops and priests and theologues, | 30 |
| And all the rest of the rabble rout, | |
| Seeking whom he may devour! | |
| Enough have I had of hunting hares, | |
| Enough of these hours of idle mirth, | |
| Enough of nets and traps and gins! | 35 |
| The only hunting of any worth | |
| Is where I can pierce with javelins | |
| The cunning foxes and wolves and bears, | |
| The whole iniquitous troop of beasts, | |
| The Roman Pope and the Roman priests | 40 |
| That sorely infest and afflict the earth! | |
| |
| Ye nuns, ye singing birds of the air! | |
| The fowler hath caught you in his snare, | |
| And keeps you safe in his gilded cage, | |
| Singing the song that never tires, | 45 |
| To lure down others from their nests; | |
| How ye flutter and beat your breasts, | |
| Warm and soft with young desires, | |
| Against the cruel pitiless wires, | |
| Reclaiming your lost heritage! | 50 |
| Behold! a hand unbars the door, | |
| Ye shall be captives held no more. * * * * * | |
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