The Poems of Schiller — First period

THE FUGITIVE

   The air is perfumed with the morning's fresh breeze,     From the bush peer the sunbeams all purple and bright,    While they gleam through the clefts of the dark-waving trees,     And the cloud-crested mountains are golden with light.    With joyful, melodious, ravishing, strain,     The lark, as he wakens, salutes the glad sun,    Who glows in the arms of Aurora again,     And blissfully smiling, his race 'gins to run.         All hail, light of day!         Thy sweet gushing ray    Pours down its soft warmth over pasture and field;         With hues silver-tinged         The meadows are fringed,    And numberless suns in the dewdrop revealed.         Young Nature invades         The whispering shades,      Displaying each ravishing charm;         The soft zephyr blows,         And kisses the rose,      The plain is sweet-scented with balm.    How high from yon city the smoke-clouds ascend!    Their neighing, and snorting, and bellowing blend         The horses and cattle;         The chariot-wheels rattle,    As down to the valley they take their mad way;      And even the forest where life seems to move,      The eagle, and falcon, and hawk soar above,    And flutter their pinions, in heaven's bright ray.         In search of repose         From my heart-rending woes,      Oh, where shall my sad spirit flee?         The earth's smiling face,         With its sweet youthful grace,      A tomb must, alas, be for me!    Arise, then, thou sunlight of morning, and fling     O'er plain and o'er forest thy purple-dyed beams!    Thou twilight of evening, all noiselessly sing     In melody soft to the world as it dreams!    Ah, sunlight of morning, to me thou but flingest     Thy purple-dyed beams o'er the grave of the past!    Ah, twilight of evening, thy strains thou but singest     To one whose deep slumbers forever must last!

TO MINNA

   Do I dream? can I trust to my eye?     My sight sure some vapor must cover?    Or, there, did my Minna pass by —     My Minna — and knew not her lover?    On the arm of the coxcomb she crossed,     Well the fan might its zephyr bestow;    Herself in her vanity lost,     That wanton my Minna? — Ah, no!    In the gifts of my love she was dressed,     My plumes o'er her summer hat quiver;    The ribbons that flaunt in her breast     Might bid her — remember the giver!    And still do they bloom on thy bosom,     The flowerets I gathered for thee!    Still as fresh is the leaf of each blossom,     'Tis the heart that has faded from me!    Go and take, then, the incense they tender;    Go, the one that adored thee forget!    Go, thy charms to the feigner surrender,    In my scorn is my comforter yet!    Go, for thee with what trust and belief    There beat not ignobly a heart    That has strength yet to strive with the grief    To have worshipped the trifler thou art!    Thy beauty thy heart hath betrayed —     Thy beauty — shame, Minna, to thee!    To-morrow its glory will fade,     And its roses all withered will be!    The swallows that swarm in the sun     Will fly when the north winds awaken,    The false ones thine autumn will shun,     For whom thou the true hast forsaken!    'Mid the wrecks of the charms in December,     I see thee alone in decay,    And each spring shall but bid thee remember     How brief for thyself was the May!    Then they who so wantonly flock     To the rapture thy kiss can impart,    Shall scoff at thy winter, and mock     Thy beauty as wrecked as thy heart!    Thy beauty thy heart hath betrayed —     Thy beauty — shame, Minna, to thee    To-morrow its glory will fade —     And its roses all withered will be!    O, what scorn for thy desolate years     Shall I feel! — God forbid it in me!    How bitter will then be the tears     Shed, Minna, O Minna, for thee!

THE FLOWERS

   Ye offspring of the morning sun,     Ye flowers that deck the smiling plain,    Your lives, in joy and bliss begun,     In Nature's love unchanged remain.    With hues of bright and godlike splendor    Sweet Flora graced your forms so tender,     And clothed ye in a garb of light;    Spring's lovely children weep forever,    For living souls she gave ye never,     And ye must dwell in endless night?    The nightingale and lark still sing     In your tranced ears the bliss of love;    The toying sylphs, on airy wing,     Around your fragrant bosoms rove,    Of yore, Dione's daughter 6 twining    In garlands sweet your cup-so shining,     A pillow formed where love might rest!    Spring's gentle children, mourn forever,    The joys of love she gave ye never,     Ne'er let ye know that feeling blest!    But when ye're gathered by my hand,     A token of my love to be,    Now that her mother's harsh command     From Nanny's 7 sight has banished me —    E'en from that passing touch ye borrow    Those heralds mute of pleasing sorrow,     Life, language, hearts and souls divine;    And to your silent leaves 'tis given,    By Him who mightiest is in heaven,     His glorious Godhead to enshrine.

THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE.

A HYMN

   By love are blest the gods on high,    Frail man becomes a deity     When love to him is given;    'Tis love that makes the heavens shine    With hues more radiant, more divine,     And turns dull earth to heaven!    In Pyrrha's rear (so poets sang     In ages past and gone),    The world from rocky fragments sprang —     Mankind from lifeless stone.    Their soul was but a thing of night,     Like stone and rock their heart;    The flaming torch of heaven so bright     Its glow could ne'er impart.    Young loves, all gently hovering round,    Their souls as yet had never bound     In soft and rosy chains;    No feeling muse had sought to raise    Their bosoms with ennobling lays,     Or sweet, harmonious strains.    Around each other lovingly     No garlands then entwined;    The sorrowing springs fled toward the sky,     And left the earth behind.    From out the sea Aurora rose     With none to hail her then;    The sun unhailed, at daylight's close,     In ocean sank again.    In forests wild, man went astray,    Misled by Luna's cloudy ray —     He bore an iron yoke;    He pined not for the stars on high,    With yearning for a deity     No tears in torrents broke. * * * * *    But see! from out the deep-blue ocean    Fair Venus springs with gentle motion    The graceful Naiad's smiling band    Conveys her to the gladdened strand,    A May-like, youthful, magic power    Entwines, like morning's twilight hour,    Around that form of godlike birth,    The charms of air, sea, heaven, and earth.    The day's sweet eye begins to bloom    Across the forest's midnight gloom;     Narcissuses, their balm distilling,     The path her footstep treads are filling.    A song of love, sweet Philomel,     Soon carolled through the grove;    The streamlet, as it murmuring fell,     Discoursed of naught but love,    Pygmalion! Happy one! Behold!    Life's glow pervades thy marble cold!    Oh, LOVE, thou conqueror all-divine,    Embrace each happy child of thine! * * * *    By love are blest the gods on high, —    Frail man becomes a deity     When love to him is given;    'Tis love that makes the heavens shine    With hues more radiant, more divine,     And turns dull earth to heaven! * * * * *    The gods their days forever spend    In banquets bright that have no end,    In one voluptuous morning-dream,    And quaff the nectar's golden stream.    Enthroned in awful majesty    Kronion wields the bolt on high:    In abject fear Olympus rocks    When wrathfully he shakes his locks.    To other gods he leaves his throne,    And fills, disguised as earth's frail son,     The grove with mournful numbers;    The thunders rest beneath his feet,    And lulled by Leda's kisses sweet,     The Giant-Slayer slumbers.    Through the boundless realms of light    Phoebus' golden reins, so bright,    Guide his horses white as snow,    While his darts lay nations low.    But when love and harmony    Fill his breast, how willingly    Ceases Phoebus then to heed    Rattling dart and snow-white steed!    See! Before Kronion's spouse    Every great immortal bows;    Proudly soar the peacock pair    As her chariot throne they bear,    While she decks with crown of might    Her ambrosial tresses bright,    Beauteous princess, ah! with fear     Quakes before thy splendor, love,    Seeking, as he ventures near,     With his power thy breast to move!    Soon from her immortal throne     Heaven's great queen must fain descend,    And in prayer for beauty's zone,     To the heart-enchainer bend! * * * * *    By love are blest the gods on high,    Frail man becomes a deity     When love to him is given;    'Tis love that makes the heavens shine    With hues more radiant, more divine,     And turns dull earth to heaven! * * * * *    'Tis love illumes the realms of night,    For Orcus dark obeys his might,    And bows before his magic spell    All-kindly looks the king of hell    At Ceres' daughter's smile so bright, —    Yes — love illumes the realms of night!    In hell were heard, with heavenly sound,    Holding in chains its warder bound,    Thy lays, O Thracian one!    A gentler doom dread Minos passed,    While down his cheeks the tears coursed fast    And e'en around Megaera's face    The serpents twined in fond embrace,    The lashes' work seemed done.    Driven by Orpheus' lyre away,    The vulture left his giant-prey 8;    With gentler motion rolled along     Dark Lethe and Cocytus' river,    Enraptured Thracian, by thy song, —     And love its burden was forever!    By love are blest the gods on high,    Frail man becomes a deity     When love to him is given;    'Tis love that makes the heavens shine    With hues more radiant, more divine,     And turns dull earth to heaven! * * * * *    Wherever Nature's sway extends,    The fragrant balm of love descends,     His golden pinions quiver;    If 'twere not Venus' eye that gleams    Upon me in the moon's soft beams,     In sunlit hill or river, —    If 'twere not Venus smiles on me    From yonder bright and starry sea,    Not stars, not sun, not moonbeams sweet,    Could make my heart with rapture beat.    'Tis love alone that smilingly    Peers forth from Nature's blissful eye,     As from a mirror ever!    Love bids the silvery streamlet roll     More gently as it sighs along,    And breathes a living, feeling soul     In Philomel's sweet plaintive song;    'Tis love alone that fills the air    With streams from Nature's lute so fair.    Thou wisdom with the glance of fire,    Thou mighty goddess, now retire,     Love's power thou now must feel!    To victor proud, to monarch high,    Thou ne'er hast knelt in slavery, —     To love thou now must kneel!    Who taught thee boldly how to climb    The steep, but starry path sublime,     And reach the seats immortal?    Who rent the mystic veil in twain,    And showed thee the Elysian plain     Beyond death's gloomy portal?    If love had beckoned not from high,    Had we gained immortality?    If love had not inflamed each thought,    Had we the master spirit sought?    'Tis love that guides the soul along    To Nature's Father's heavenly throne    By love are blest the gods on high,    Frail man becomes a deity     When love to him is given;    'Tis love that makes the heavens shine    With hues more radiant, more divine,     And turns dull earth to heaven!

TO A MORALIST

   Are the sports of our youth so displeasing?     Is love but the folly you say?    Benumbed with the winter, and freezing,     You scold at the revels of May.    For you once a nymph had her charms,     And Oh! when the waltz you were wreathing,    All Olympus embraced in your arms —     All its nectar in Julia's breathing.    If Jove at that moment had hurled     The earth in some other rotation,    Along with your Julia whirled,     You had felt not the shock of creation.    Learn this — that philosophy beats     Sure time with the pulse, — quick or slow    As the blood from the heyday retreats, —     But it cannot make gods of us — No!    It is well icy reason should thaw     In the warm blood of mirth now and then,    The gods for themselves have a law     Which they never intended for men.    The spirit is bound by the ties     Of its gaoler, the flesh; — if I can    Not reach as an angel the skies,     Let me feel on the earth as a man!

COUNT EBERHARD, THE GROANER OF WURTEMBERG.

A WAR SONG

   Now hearken, ye who take delight     In boasting of your worth!    To many a man, to many a knight,    Beloved in peace and brave in fight,     The Swabian land gives birth.    Of Charles and Edward, Louis, Guy,     And Frederick, ye may boast;    Charles, Edward, Louis, Frederick, Guy —    None with Sir Eberhard can vie —     Himself a mighty host!    And then young Ulerick, his son,     Ha! how he loved the fray!    Young Ulerick, the Count's bold son,    When once the battle had begun,     No foot's-breadth e'er gave way.    The Reutlingers, with gnashing teeth,     Saw our bright ranks revealed    And, panting for the victor's wreath,    They drew the sword from out the sheath,     And sought the battle-field.    He charged the foe, — but fruitlessly, —     Then, mail-clad, homeward sped;    Stern anger filled his father's eye,    And made the youthful warrior fly,     And tears of anguish shed.    Now, rascals, quake! — This grieved him sore,     And rankled in his brain;    And by his father's beard he swore,    With many a craven townsman's gore     To wash out this foul stain.    Ere long the feud raged fierce and loud, —     Then hastened steed and man    To Doeffingen in thronging crowd,    While joy inspired the youngster proud, —     And soon the strife began.    Our army's signal-word that day     Was the disastrous fight;    It spurred us on like lightning's ray,    And plunged us deep in bloody fray,     And in the spears' black night.    The youthful Count his ponderous mace     With lion's rage swung round;    Destruction stalked before his face,    While groans and howlings filled the place     And hundreds bit the ground.    Woe! Woe! A heavy sabre-stroke     Upon his neck descended;    The sight each warrior's pity woke —    In vain! In vain! No word he spoke —     His course on earth was ended.    Loud wept both friend and foeman then,     Checked was the victor's glow;    The count cheered thus his knights again —    "My son is like all other men, —     March, children, 'gainst the foe!"    With greater fury whizzed each lance,     Revenge inflamed the blood;    O'er corpses moved the fearful dance    The townsmen fled in random chance     O'er mountain, vale, and flood.    Then back to camp, with trumpet's bray,     We hied in joyful haste;    And wife and child, with roundelay,    With clanging cup and waltzes gay,     Our glorious triumph graced.    And our old Count, — what now does he?     His son lies dead before him;    Within his tent all woefully    He sits alone in agony,     And drops one hot tear o'er him.    And so, with true affection warm,     The Count our lord we love;    Himself a mighty hero-swarm —    The thunders rest within his arm —     He shines like star above!    Farewell, then, ye who take delight     In boasting of your worth!    To many a man, to many a knight,    Beloved in peace, and brave in fight,     The Swabian land gives birth!

TO THE SPRING

   Welcome, gentle Stripling,     Nature's darling thou!    With thy basket full of blossoms,     A happy welcome now!    Aha! — and thou returnest,     Heartily we greet thee —    The loving and the fair one,     Merrily we meet thee!    Think'st thou of my maiden     In thy heart of glee?    I love her yet, the maiden —     And the maiden yet loves me!    For the maiden, many a blossom     I begged — and not in vain!    I came again a-begging,     And thou — thou givest again:    Welcome, gentle Stripling,     Nature's darling thou —    With thy basket full of blossoms,     A happy welcome now!

SEMELE:

IN TWO SCENES

Dramatis Personae

JUNO.

SEMELE, Princess of Thebes.

JUPITER.

MERCURY.

SCENE — The Palace of Cadmus at Thebes.

SCENE I

JUNO. (Descending from her chariot, enveloped in a cloud.)    Away, ye peacocks, with my winged car!    Upon Cithaeron's cloud-capped summit wait! [The chariot and cloud vanish.    Hail, hail, thou house of my undying anger!    A fearful hail to thee, thou hostile roof,    Ye hated walls! — This, this, then, is the place    Where Jupiter pollutes his marriage-bed    Even before the face of modest day!    'Tis here, then, that a woman, a frail mortal,    A dust-created being, dares to lure    The mighty Thunderer from out mine arms,    And hold him prisoner against her lips!    Juno! Juno! thought of madness!    Thou all lonely and in sadness,     Standest now on heaven's bright throne!    Though the votive smoke ascendeth,    Though each knee in homage bendeth,     What are they when love has flown?    To humble, alas, each too-haughty emotion    That swelled my proud breast, from the foam of the ocean     Fair Venus arose, to enchant gods and men!    And the Fates my still deeper abasement decreeing,    Her offspring Hermione brought into being,     And the bliss once mine own can ne'er glad me again!    Amongst the gods do I not reign the queen?    Am I not sister of the Thunderer?    Am I not wife of Zeus, the lord of all?    Groans not the mighty axis of the heavens    At my command? Gleams not Olympus' crown    Upon my head? Ha! now I feel myself!    In my immortal veins is Kronos' blood,    Right royally now swells my godlike heart.    Revenge! revenge!    Shall she unpunished ridicule my might?    Unpunished, discord roll amongst the gods,    Inviting Eris to invade the courts,    The joyous courts of heaven? Vain, thoughtless one!    Perish, and learn upon the Stygian stream    The difference 'twixt divine and earthly dust!    The giant-armor, may it weigh thee down —    Thy passion for a god to atoms crush thee!    Armed with revenge, as with a coat of mail,    I have descended from Olympus' heights,    Devising sweet, ensnaring, flattering words;    But in those words, death and destruction lurk.    Hark! 'tis her footstep! she approaches now —    Approaches ruin and a certain death!    Veil thyself, goddess, in a mortal form! [Exit. SEMELE. (Calling behind the scenes.)    The sun is fast declining! Maidens, haste,    Scatter ambrosial fragrance through the hall,    Strew roses and narcissus flowers around,    Forgetting not the gold-embroidered pillow.    He comes not yet — the sun is fast declining — JUNO. (hastily entering in the form of an old woman.)    Praised be the deities, my dearest daughter! SEMELE    Ha! Do I dream? Am I awake? Gods! Beroe! JUNO    Is't possible that Semele can e'er    Forget her nurse? SEMELE 'Tis Beroe! By Zeus!    Oh, let thy daughter clasp thee to her heart!    Thou livest still? What can have brought thee here    From Epidaurus? Tell me all thy tale!    Thou art my mother as of old? JUNO    Thy mother!    Time was thou call'dst me so. SEMELE    Thou art so still,    And wilt remain so, till I drink full deep    Of Lethe's maddening draught. JUNO Soon Beroe    Will drink oblivion from the waves of Lethe;    But Cadmus' daughter ne'er will taste that draught. SEMELE    How, my good nurse? Thy language ne'er was wont    To be mysterious or of hidden meaning;    The spirit of gray hairs 'tis speaks in thee;    Thou sayest I ne'er shall taste of Lethe's draught? JUNO    I said so, yes! But wherefore ridicule    Gray hairs? 'Tis true that they, unlike fair tresses,    Have ne'er been able to ensnare a god! SEMELE    Pardon poor thoughtless me! What cause have I    To ridicule gray hairs? Can I suppose    That mine forever fair will grace my neck?    But what was that I heard thee muttering    Between thy teeth? A god? JUNO Said I a god?    The deities in truth dwell everywhere!    'Tis good for earth's frail children to implore them.    The gods are found where thou art — Semele!    What wouldst thou ask? SEMELE Malicious heart! But say    What brings thee to this spot from Epidaurus?    'Tis not because the gods delight to dwell    near Semele? JUNO By Jupiter, naught else! —    What fire was that which mounted to thy cheeks    When I pronounced the name of Jupiter?    Naught else, my daughter! Fearfully the plague    At Epidaurus rages; every blast    Is deadly poison, every breath destroys;    The son his mother burns, his bride the bridegroom;    The funeral piles rear up their flaming heads,    Converting even midnight to bright day,    While howls of anguish ceaseless rend the air;    Full to overflowing is the cup of woe! —    In anger, Zeus looks down on our poor nation;    In vain the victim's blood is shed, in vain    Before the altar bows the priest his knee;    Deaf is his ear to all our supplications —    Therefore my sorrow-stricken country now    Has sent me here to Cadmus' regal daughter,    In hopes that I may move her to avert    His anger from us — "Beroe, the nurse,    Has influence," thus they said, "with Semele,    And Semele with Zeus" — I know no more,    And understand still less what means the saying,    That Semele such influence has with Zeus. SEMELE. (Eagerly and thoughtlessly.)    The plague shall cease to-morrow! Tell them so    Zeus loves me! Say so! It shall cease to-day! JUNO. (Starting up in astonishment.)    Ha! Is it true what fame with thousand tongues    Has spread abroad from Ida to Mount Haemus?    Zeus loves thee? Zeus salutes thee in the glory    Wherein the denizens of heaven regard him,    When in Saturnia's arms he sinks to rest?    Let, O ye gods, my gray hairs now descend    To Orcus' shades, for I have lived enough!    In godlike splendor Kronos' mighty son    Comes down to her, — to her, who on this breast    Once suckled — yes! to her — SEMELE    Oh, Beroe!    In youthful form he came, in lovelier guise    Than they who from Aurora's lap arise;    Fairer than Hesper, breathing incense dim, —    In floods of ether steeped appeared each limb;    He moved with graceful and majestic motion,    Like silvery billows heaving o'er the ocean,    Or as Hyperion, whose bright shoulders ever    His bow and arrow bear, and clanging quiver;    His robe of light behind him gracefully    Danced in the breeze, his voice breathed melody,    Like crystal streams with silvery murmur falling,    More ravishing than Orpheus' strains enthralling. JUNO    My daughter! Inspiration spurs thee on,    Raising thy heart to flights of Helicon!    If thus in strains of Delphic ecstasy    Ascends the short-lived blissful memory    Of his bright charms, — Oh, how divine must be    His own sweet voice, — his look how heavenly!    But why of that great attribute    Kronion joys in most, be mute, —    The majesty that hurls the thunder,    And tears the fleeting clouds asunder?    Wilt thou say naught of that alone?    Prometheus and Deucalion    May lend the fairest charms of love,    But none can wield the bolt save Jove!    The thunderbolt it is alone    Which he before thy feet laid down    That proves thy right to beauty's crown. SEMELE    What sayest thou? What are thunder-bolts to me? JUNO. (Smiling.)    Ah, Semele! A jest becomes thee well! SEMELE    Deucalion has no offspring so divine    As is my Zeus — of thunder naught I know. JUNO    Mere envy! Fie! SEMELE    No, Beroe! By Zeus! JUNO    Thou swearest? SEMELE By Zeus! by mine own Zeus! JUNO. (Shrieking.)    Thou swearest?    Unhappy one! SEMELE. (In alarm.) What meanest thou, Beroe? JUNO    Repeat the word that dooms thee to become    the wretchedest of all on earth's wide face! —    Alas, lost creature! 'Twas not Zeus! SEMELE    Not Zeus?    Oh, fearful thought! JUNO   A cunning traitor 'twas    From Attica, who 'neath a godlike form,    Robbed thee of honor, shame, and innocence! — [SEMELE sinks to the ground.    Well mayest thou fall! Ne'er mayest thou rise again!    May endless night enshroud thine eyes in darkness,    May endless silence round thine ears encamp!    Remain forever here a lifeless mass!    Oh, infamy! Enough to hurl chaste day    Back into Hecate's gloomy arms once more!    Ye gods! And is it thus that Beroe    Finds Cadmus' daughter, after sixteen years    Of bitter separation! Full of joy    I came from Epidaurus; but with shame    To Epidaurus must retrace my steps. —    Despair I take with me. Alas, my people!    E'en to the second Deluge now the plague    May rage at will, may pile mount Oeta high    With corpses upon corpses, and may turn    All Greece into one mighty charnel-house,    Ere Semele can bend the angry gods.    I, thou, and Greece, and all, have been betrayed! SEMELE. (Trembling as she rises, and extending an arm towards her.)    Oh, Beroe! JUNO   Take courage, my dear heart!    Perchance 'tis Zeus! although it scarce can be!    Perchance 'tis really Zeus! This we must learn!    He must disclose himself to thee, or thou    Must fly his sight forever, and devote    The monster to the death-revenge of Thebes.    Look up, dear daughter — look upon the face    Of thine own Beroe, who looks on thee    With sympathizing eyes — my Semele,    Were it not well to try him? SEMELE    No, by heaven!    I should not find him then — JUNO    What! Wilt thou be    Perchance less wretched, if thou pinest on    In mournful doubt? — and if 'tis really he, — SEMELE. (Hiding her face in Juno's lap.)    Ah! 'tis not he! JUNO    And if he came to thee    Arrayed in all the majesty wherein    Olympus sees him? Semele! What then?    Wouldst thou repent thee then of having tried him? SEMELE. (Springing up.)    Ha! be it so! He must unveil himself! JUNO. (Hastily.)    Thou must not let him sink into thine arms.    Till he unveils himself — so hearken, child,    To what thy faithful nurse now counsels thee, —    To what affection whispers in mine ear,    And will accomplish! — Say! will he soon come? SEMELE    Before Hyperion sinks in Thetis' bed,    He promised to appear. JUNO. (Forgetting herself hastily.) Is't so, indeed?    He promised? Ha! To-day? (Recovering herself.) Let him approach,    And when he would attempt, inflamed with love,    To clasp his arms around thee, then do thou, —    Observe me well, — as if by lightning struck,    Start back in haste. Ha! picture his surprise!    Leave him not long in wonderment, my child;    Continue to repulse him with a look    As cold as ice — more wildly, with more ardor    He'll press thee then — the coyness of the fair    Is but a dam, that for awhile keeps back    The torrent, only to increase the flood    With greater fury. Then begin to weep    'Gainst giants he might stand, — look calmly on    When Typheus, hundred-armed, in fury hurled    Mount Ossa and Olympus 'gainst his throne:    But Zeus is soon subdued by beauty's tears.    Thou smilest? — Be it so! Is, then, the scholar    Wiser, perchance, than she who teaches her? —    Then thou must pray the god one little, little    Most innocent request to grant to thee —    One that may seal his love and godhead too.    He'll swear by Styx. The Styx he must obey!    That oath he dares not break! Then speak these words:    "Thou shalt not touch this body, till thou comest    To Cadmus' daughter clothed in all the might    Wherein thou art embraced by Kronos' daughter!"    Be not thou terrified, my Semele,    If he, in order to escape thy wish,    As bugbears paints the horrors of his presence —    Describes the flames that round about him roar,    The thunder round him rolling when he comes:    These, Semele, are naught but empty fears —    The gods dislike to show to us frail mortals    These the most glorious of their attributes;    Be thou but obstinate in thy request,    And Juno's self will gaze on thee with envy. SEMELE    The frightful ox-eyed one! How often he    Complains, in the blest moments of our love,    Of her tormenting him with her black gall — JUNO. (Aside, furiously, but with embarrassment.)    Ha! creature! Thou shalt die for this contempt! SEMELE    My Beroe! What art thou murmuring there? JUNO. (In confusion.)    Nothing, my Semele! Black gall torments    Me also — Yes! a sharp, reproachful look    With lovers often passes as black gall —    Yet ox-eyes, after all, are not so ugly. SEMELE    Oh, Beroe, for shame! they're quite the worst    That any head can possibly contain!    And then her cheeks of green and yellow hues,    The obvious penalty of poisonous envy —    Zeus oft complains to me that that same shrew    Each night torments him with her nauseous love,    And with her jealous whims, — enough, I'm sure,    Into Ixion's wheel to turn all heaven. JUNO. (Raving up and down in extreme confusion.)    No more of this! SEMELE   What, Beroe! So angry?    Have I said more than what is true? Said more    Than what is wise? JUNO    Thou hast said more, young woman,    Than what is true — said more than what is wise!    Deem thyself truly blest, if thy blue eyes    Smile thee not into Charon's bark too soon!    Saturnia has her altars and her temples,    And wanders amongst mortals — that great goddess    Avenges naught so bitterly as scorn SEMELE    Here let her wander, and give birth to scorn!    What is't to me? — My Jupiter protects    My every hair, — what harm can Juno do?    But now, enough of this, my Beroe!    Zeus must appear to-day in all his glory;    And if Saturnia should on that account    Find out the path to Orcus — JUNO. (Aside.) That same path    Another probably will find before her,    If but Kronion's lightning hits the mark! — (To Semele.)    Yes, Semele, she well may burst with envy    When Cadmus' daughter, in the sight of Greece,    Ascends in triumph to Olympus' heights! — SEMELE. (Smiling gently.)    Thinkest thou they'll hear in Greece of Cadmus' daughter? JUNO From Sidon to Athens the trumpet of fame    Shall ring with no other but Semele's name!    The gods from the heavens shall even descend,    And before thee their knees in deep homage shall bend,    While mortals in silent submission abide    The will of the giant-destroyer's loved bride;    And when distant years shall see    Thy last hour — SEMELE. (Springing up, and falling on her neck.)            Oh, Beroe! JUNO Then a tablet white shall bear       This inscription graven there:       Here is worshipped Semele!       Who on earth so fair as she?       She who from Olympus' throne       Lured the thunder-hurler down!       She who, with her kisses sweet,       Laid him prostrate at her feet!    And when fame on her thousand wings bears it around,    The echo from valley and hill shall resound. SEMELE. (Beside herself.)      Pythia! Apollo! Hear!      When, oh when will he appear? JUNO And on smoking altars they       Rites divine to thee shall pay — SEMELE. (Inspired.)       I will harken to their prayer,       And will drive away their care, —    Quench with my tears the lightning of great Jove,    His breast to pity with entreaty move! JUNO. (Aside.)    Poor thing! that wilt thou ne'er have power to do. (Meditating.)    Ere long will melt.. yet — yet — she called me ugly! —    No pity only when in Tartarus! (To Semele.)    Fly now, my love! Make haste to leave this spot,    That Zeus may not observe thee — Let him wait    Long for thy coming, that he with more fire    May languish for thee — SEMELE    Beroe! The heavens    Have chosen thee their mouthpiece! Happy I!    The gods from Olympus shall even descend,    And before me their knees in deep homage shall bend,    While mortals in silent submission abide —    But hold! — 'tis time for me to haste away! [Exit hurriedly. JUNO. (Looking after her with exultation.)    Weak, proud, and easily-deluded woman!    His tender looks shall be consuming fire —    His kiss, annihilation — his embrace,    A raging tempest to thee! Human frames    Are powerless to endure the dreaded presence    Of him who wields the thunderbolt on high! (With raving ecstasy.)    Ha! when her waxen mortal body melts    Within the arms of him, the fire-distilling,    As melts the fleecy snow before the heat    Of the bright sun — and when the perjured one    In place of his soft tender bride, embraces    A form of terror — with what ecstasy    Shall I gaze downwards from Cithaeron's height,    Exclaiming, so that in his hand the bolt    Shall quake: "For shame, Saturnius! Fie, for shame!    What need is there for thee to clasp so roughly?" [Exit hastily. (A Symphony.)