by: Friedrich Schiller
- EE, he sitteth on his mat,
- Sitteth there upright
- With the grace with which he sat
- While he saw the light.
- Where is now the sturdy gripe,--
- Where the breath sedate,
- That so lately whiff'd the pipe
- Tow'rd the Spirit Great?
- Where the bright and falcon eye,
- That the reindeer's tread
- On the waving grass could spy,
- Thich with dew-drops spread?
- Where the limbs that used to dart
- Swifter through the snow
- Than the twenty-member'd hart
- Than the mountain roe?
- Where the arm that sturdily
- Bent the deadly bow?
- See, its life hath fleeted by,
- See, it hangeth low!
- Happy he! -- He now has gone
- Where no snow is found:
- Where with maize the fields are sown,
- Self-sprung from the ground;
- Where with birds each bush is fill'd,
- Where with game the wood;
- Where the fish, with joy instill'd,
- Wanton in the flood.
- With the spirits blest he feeds,--
- Leaves us here in gloom;
- We can only praise his deeds,
- And his corpse entomb.
- Farewell-gifts, then, hither bring,
- Sound the death-note sad!
- Bury with him ev'rything
- That can make him glad.
- 'Neath his head the hatchet hide
- That he boldly swung;
- And the bear's fat haunch beside,
- For the road is long;
- And the knife, well sharpened
- That, with slashes three,
- Scalp and skin from foeman's head
- Tore off skilfully.
- And to paint his body, place
- Dyes within his hand;
- Let him shine with ruddy grace
- In the Spirit-Land!
MORE POEMS BY FRIEDRICH SCHILLER
is reprinted from The Poems of Schiller. Trans. Edgar
A. Bowring. New York: Hurst & Company, 1872.