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I SON of a mystic race, he came | |
| When Europe faltered at one name, | |
| And, to his youthful eyes, the sun | |
| Darkened before Napoleon. | |
| France brought his freedom, but it brought | 5 |
| To Germany the years that wrought | |
| Her shame, her bondage, her despair— | |
| Thus in the quiet Rhineland air | |
| A deep division drew apart | |
| The fighter’s and the poet’s heart. | 10 |
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II The poet heard the linden croon | |
| Tragic old ditties to the moon, | |
| And sang with clear authentic voice | |
| The music of his country’s choice. | |
| He knew the forest of romance, | 15 |
| The haunting wail, the elfin dance, | |
| The wounded heart, the magic lance, | |
| And first on German Islands he | |
| Heard echoes of the Odyssey | |
| Sonorous in the Northern Sea. | 20 |
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III Then, as he dreamed, the loud world’s brood | |
| Cried out, the visionary mood | |
| Broke, and the poet in his fear | |
| Bade poisoned arrows sing and sear. | |
| God touched him. From his couch of pain | 25 |
| He sang, he fought, and in his strain | |
| Thunder of olden battles stirred | |
| By prophets in Judea heard. | |
| God touched him, but his long repose | |
| Is broken still by clamorous foes. | 30 |
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IV Yet battle dies, and song alone | |
| With the Eternal is at one— | |
| Great verse that is the warder of | |
| Justice and wisdom, truth and love, | |
| And of that beauty in all lands, | 35 |
| Not seen of eyes, not made with hands, | |
| Whose harmony can so control | |
| The sanctuary of the soul, | |
| That we must know its prophets still | |
| The child of a diviner will. | 40 |
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