IVAN THE CZAR. Gieb diesen Todten mir heraus. Ich muss Ihn wieder haben ! * Trostlose allmacht, Die nicht einmal in Gräber ihren arm Verlängern, eine kleine Ubereilung Mit Menschenleben nicht verbessern kann! SCHILLER. He sat in silence on the ground, He had cast his jewell'd sabre, That many a field had won, To the earth beside his youthful dead, His fair and first-born son. With a robe of ermine for its bed, On the pallid face came down, Low tones at last of wo and fear How then the proud man spoke! The voice that through the combat Had shouted far and high, Came forth in strange, dull, hollow tones, Burden'd with agony. “There is no crimson on thy cheek, And on thy lip no breath, I call thee, and thou dost not speak- And fearful things are whispering That I the deed have done For the honor of thy father's name, "Well might I know death's hue and mien, But on thine aspect, boy! What, till this moment, have I seen, Save pride and tameless joy? Swiftest thou wert to battle, And bravest there of all How could I think a warrior's frame I will not bear that still, cold look- Wake as the storm wakes! I will brook All, save this calm, from thee! Lift brightly up, and proudly, Once more thy kindling eyes! Hath my word lost its power on earth? I say to thee, arise! "Didst thou not know I lov'd thee well? Thou didst not! and art gone In bitterness of soul, to dwell Where man must dwell alone. "Thou wert the first, the first fair child, That in mine arms I press'd; Thou wert the bright one, that hath smil'd Like summer on my breast ; I rear'd thee as an eagle, To the chase thy steps I led, I bore thee on my battle-horse, I look upon thee-dead! "Lay down my warlike banners here, Never again to wave, And bury my red sword and spear, Chiefs in my first-born's grave! |