Madison Cawein - Der Freischutz lyrics

Es gibt im Menschenleben Augenblicke, Wo er dem Weltgeist naeher ist als sonst. - SCHILLER He? why, a tall Franconian strong and young, Brown as a walnut the first frost hath hulled; A soul of full endeavor powerful Bound in lithe limbs, knit into grace and strength Of bronze-like muscles elegant, that poised A head like Hope's; and then the manly lines Of face developed by action and mobile To each suggestive impulse of the mind, Of smiles of buoyancy or scowls of gloom.-- And what deep eyes were his!--Aye; I can see Their wild and restless disks of luminous night Instinct with haughtiness that sneered at Fate, Glared cold conclusion to all circumstance, As with loud law, to his advantage swift: With scorn derisive that shot out a barb, Stabbed Superstition to its dagger hilt; That smiled a thrust-like smile which curled the lip, A vicious heresy with incredible lore, When God's or holy Mary's name came forth Exclaimed in reverence or astonishment; And then would say, "What is this God you mouth, Employ whose name to sanctify and damn?-- A benedictive curse?--'T hath past my sk** Of grave interpretation. And your faith-- Distinguishment unseen, design unlawed. For earth, air, fire or water or keen cold, Hints no existence of such, worships not, Such as men's minds profess. Rather, meseems, Throned have they one such as their hopes have wrought In hope there may prove such an one in d**h For Paradise or punishment. I hold He juster were and would be kinglier kind In sovereign mercy and a prodigal-- Not to few favored heads who, crowned with state, Rule sceptered Infamies--of indulgence free To all that burn luxuriant incense on Shrines while they prayer him love's obedience. Are all not children of the same weak mold? Clay of His Adam-modeled clay made quick? Endowed with the like hopes, loves, fears and hates, Our mother's weaknesses? And these, forsooth, These little crowns that lord it o'er His world, Tricked up with imitative majesty, God-countenanced arrogances, throned may still Cry, 'crawl and worship, for we are as gods Through God! great gods incarnate of his kind!' --Omnipotent Wrong-representatives! With might that blasts the world with wars and wrings Groans from pale Nations with hell's tyranny. So to my mind real monarch only he-- Your Satan cramped in Hell!--aye, by the fiend! To pygmy Earth's frail tinsel majesties, That ape a God in a sonorous Heaven. Grant me the Devil in all mercy then, For I will none of such! a fiend for friend While Earth is of the earth; and afterward-- Nay! ransack not To-morrow till To-day, If all that's joy engulf you when it is." And laughed an oily laugh of easy jest To bow out God and hand the Devil in.-- I met him here at Ammendorf one Spring, Toward the close of April when the Harz, Veined to their ruin-crested summits, pulsed A fluid life of green and budded gold Beneath pure breathing skies of boundless blue: Where low-yoked oxen, yellow to the knees, Along the fluted meadow, freshly ploughed, Plodded and snuffed the fragrance of the soil, The free bird sang exultant in the sun. Triumphant Spring with hinted hopes of May And jaunty June, her mouth a puckered rose. Here at this very hostelery o' The Owl; Mine host there sleek served cannikins of wine Beneath that elm now touseled by that shrew, Lean Winter. Well!--a lordly vintage that! With tang of fires which had s**ed out their soul From feverish sun-vats, cooled it from the moon's; From wine-skin bellies of the bursting grape Trodden, in darkness of old cellars aged Even to the tingling smack of olden earth. Rich! I remember!--wine that spurred the blood-- Thou hast none such, I swear, nor wilt again!-- That brought the heart loud to the generous mouth, And made the eyes unlatticed casements whence The good man's soul laughed interested out. Stoups of rare royal Rhenish, such they say As Necromance hides guarded in vast casks Of antique make far in the Kyffhaeuser, The Cellar of the Knights near Sittendorf. So, mellowed by that wine to friendship frank, He spake me his intent in coming here; But not one word of what his parentage; But this his name was, Rudolf, and his home, Franconia; but nor why he left nor when: His mind to live a forester and be Enfellowed in the Duke of Brunswick's train Of buff and green; and so to his estate Even now was bound, a youth of twenty-three. And when he ceased the fire in his eyes Worked restless as a troubled animal's, Which hate-enraged can burn a steady flame, Brute merciless. And thus I mused with me, When he had ceased to fulminate at state, "Another Count von Hackelnburg the fiend Hath tricked unto the chase!--for hounds from Hell?" But answered nothing, save light words of cheer As best become fleet friends warm wine doth make. Then as it chanced, old Kurt had come that morn With some six of his jerkined foresters From the Thuringian forest; damp with dew; Red-cheeked as morn with early travel; bound For Brunswick, Dummburg and the Hakel pa**ed. Chief huntsman he then to the goodly Duke, And father of the sunniest maiden here In Ammendorf, the blameless Ilsabe; Who, motherless, the white-haired father prized A j**el priceless. As huge barons' ghosts Guard big, accumulated hoards of wealth, Fast-sealed in caverned cellars, robber wells, Beneath the dungeoned Dummburg, so he watched Her, all his world in her who was his wealth. A second Lora of Thuringia she. Faultless for love, instilled all souls with love, Who, in the favor of her maiden smile, Felt friendship grow up like a golden thought; A life of love from words; and light that fell And wrought calm influence from her pure blue eyes. Hair sedate and austerely dressed o'er brows White as a Harz dove's wing; hair with the hue Of twilight mists the sun hath soaked with gold. A Tyrolean melody that brought Dim dreams of Alpine heights, of shepherds brown, Goat-skinned, with healthy cheeks and wrinkled lips That fill wild oaten pipes on wand'ring ways, Embowered deep, with mountain melodies,-- Simple with love and plaintive even to tears,-- Her presence, her sweet presence like a song. And when she left, it was as when one hath Beheld a moonlit Undine, ere the mind Adjusts one thought, cleave thro' the gla**y Rhine A glittering beauty wet, and gone again A flash--the soul drifts wondering on in dreams. Some thirty years agone is that; and I, Commissioner of the Duke--no sinecure I can a**ure you--had scarce reached the age Of thirty (then some three years of that House). Thro' me the bold Franconian, whom at first, By bitter principles and scorn of state-- Developed into argument thro' wine-- The foresthood like was to be denied, Was then enfellowed. "Yes," I said, "he's young; True, rashly young! yet, see: a wiry frame, A chamois' footing, and a face for right; An eye which likes me not, but quick with pride, And aimed at thought, a bu*t it may not miss: A soul with virgin virtues which crude flesh Makes seem but vices, these but God may see-- Develop these. But, if there's aught of worth, Body or mind, in him, Kurt, thou wilt know, And to the surface wear, as divers win From hideous ooze and life rich j**els lost Of polished pureness, worthless left to night, Thou or thy daughter, and inspire for good." A year thereafter was it that I heard Of Rudolf's pa**ion for Kurt's Ilsabe, Then their betrothal. And it was from this,-- For, ah, that Ilsabe! that Ilsabe!-- Good Mary Mother! how she haunts me yet! She, that true touchstone which philosophers feign Contacts and golds all base; a woman who Could touch all evil into good in man.-- Surmised I of the excellency which Refinement of her gentle company, Warm presence of chaste beauty, had resolved His fiery nature to, conditioning slave. And so I came from Brunswick--as you know-- Is custom of the Duke or, by his seal Commissioned proxy, his commissioner,-- To test the marksmanship of Rudolf who Succeeded Kurt with marriage of his child, An heir of Kuno.--He?--Great grandfather Of Kurt, and one this forestkeepership Was first possesor of; established thus-- Or such the tale they told me 'round the hearths. Kuno, once in the Knight of Wippach's train, Rode on a grand hunt with the Duke, who came With vast magnificence of knights and hounds, And satin-tuniced nobles curled and plumed To hunt Thuringian deer. Then Morn too slow On her blithe feet was; quick with laughing eyes To morrow mortal eyes and lazy limbs; Rather on tip-toed hills recumbent yawned, Aroused an hour too soon; ashamed, disrobed, Rubbed the stiff sleep from eyes that still would close, While brayed the hollow horns and bayed lean hounds, And cheered gallants until the dingles dinned, Where searched the climbing mists or, compact light, Fled breathless white, clung scared a moted gray, Low unsunned cloudlands of the castled hills. And then near mid-noon from a swarthy brake The ban-dogs roused a red gigantic stag, Lashed to whose back with grinding knotted cords, Borne with whom like a nightmare's incubus, A man shrieked; burry-bearded and his hair Kinked with dry, tangled burrs, and he himself Emaciated and half naked. From The wear of wildest pa**age thro' the wild, Rent red by briars, torn and bruised by rocks. --For, such the law then, when the peasant chased Or slew the dun deer of his tyrant lords, As punishment the torturing withes and spine Of some big stag, a gift of game and wild Enough till d**h--d**h in the antlered herd Or crawling famine in bleak, haggard haunts. Then was the dark Duke glad, and forthwith cried To all his dewy train a rich reward For him who slew the stag and saved the man, But d**h to him who slew the man and stag, The careless error of a loose attempt. So crashed the hunt along wild, glimmering ways Thro' creepers and vast brush beneath gnarled trees, Up a scorched torrent's bed. Yet still refused Each that sure shot; the risk too desperate The poor life and the golden gift beside. So this young Kuno with two eyes wherein Hunt with excitement kindled reckless fire Clamored, "And are ye cowards?--Good your grace, You shall not chafe!--The fiend direct my ball!" And fired into a covert deeply packed, An intertangled wall of matted night, Wherein the eye might vainly strive and strive To pierce one foot or earn one point beyond. But, ha! the huge stag staggered from the brake Heart-hit and perished. That wan wretch unhurt Soon bondless lay condoled. But the great Duke, Charmed with the eagle shot, admired the youth, There to him and his heirs forever gave The forest keepership. But envious tongues Were soon at wag; and whispered went the tale Of how the shot was free, and that the balls Used by young Kuno were free bullets, which Molded were cast in influence of the fiend By magic and directed by the fiend. Of some effect these tales were and some force Had with the Duke, who lent an ear so far As to ordain Kuno's descendants all To proof of sk** ere their succession to The father's office. Kurt himself hath shot The silver ring from out the popinjay's beak-- A good shot he, you see, who would succeed. The Devil guards his mysteries close as God. For who can say what elementaries Demoniac lurk in desolate dells and woods Shadowy? malicious va**als of that power Who signs himself, thro' these, a slave to those, Those mortals who act open with his Hell, Those only who seek secretly and woo. Of these free, fatal bullets let me speak: There may be such; our Earth hath things as strange; Then only in coarse fancies may exist; For fancy is among our peasantry A limber juggler with the weird and dark; For Superstition hides not her grim face, A skeleton grin on leprous ghastliness, From Ignorance's mossy thatches low. A cross-way, as I heard, among gaunt hills, A solitude convulsed of rocks and trees Blasted; and on the stony cross-road drawn A bloody circle with a bloody sword; Herein rude characters; a skull and thighs Fantastic fixed before a fitful fire Of spiteful coals. Eleven of the clock Cast, the first bullet leaves the mold,--the lead Mixed with three bullets that have hit their mark, Burnt blood,--the wounded Sacramental Host, Unswallowed and unhallowed, oozed when shot Fixed to a riven pine.--Ere twelve o'clock, When dwindling specters in their rotting shrouds Quit musty tombs to mumble hollow woes In Midnight's horrored ear, with never a cry, Word or weak whisper, till that hour sound, Must the free balls be cast; and these shall be In number three and sixty; three of which Semial--he the Devil's minister-- Claims for his master and stamps as his own To hit awry their mark, askew for harm. _Those other sixty shall not miss their mark._ No cry, no word, no whisper, tho' there gibe Most monstrous shapes that flicker in thick mist Lewd human countenances or leer out Swoln animal faces with fair forms of men, While wide-winged owls fan the drear, dying coals, That lick thin, slender tongues of purple fire From viperous red, and croaks the night-hawk near. No cry, no word, no whisper should there come Weeping a wandering form with weary, white And pleading countenance of her you love, Faded with tears of waiting; beckoning With gray, large arms or censuring; her shame In dull and desolate eyes; who, if you speak Or stagger from that circle--hideous change!-- Shrinks, faced a hag of million wrinkles, which Ridge scaly sharpness of protruding bones, To rip you limb from limb with taloned claws. Nor be deceived if some far midnight bell Boom that anticipated hour, nor leave By one short inch the bloody orbit, for The minion varlets of Hell's majesty Expectant cirque its dim circumference. But when the hour of midnight smites, be sure You have your bullets, neither more nor less; For, if thro' fear one more or less you have, Your soul is forfeit to those agencies, Right rathe who are to rend it from the flesh. And while that hour of midnight sounds a din Of hurrying hoofs and shouting outriders-- Six snorting steeds postilioned roll a stage Black and with groaning wheels of spinning fire, "Room there!--ho! ho!--who bars the mountain-way! On over him!"--but fear not nor fare forth,-- 'Tis but the last trick of your bounden slave: And ere the red moon strives from dingy clouds And dives again, high the huge leaders leap Iron fore-hoofs flashing and big eyes like gledes, And, spun a spiral spark into the night, Whistling the phantom flies and fades away. Some say there comes no stage, but Hackelnburg, Wild Huntsman of the Harz, rides hoarse in storm, Dashing the dead leaves with dark dogs of hell Direful thro' whirling thickets, and his horn Croaks doleful as an owl's hoot while he hurls Straight 'neath rain-streaming skies of echoes, sheer Plunging the magic circle horse and hounds. And then will come, plutonian clad and slim, Upon a stallion vast intensely black, Semial, Satan's lurid minister, To hail you and inform you and a**ure.-- Enough! these wives-tales heard to what I've seen; To Ammendorf I came; and Rudolf there With Kurt and all his picturesque foresters Met me. And then the rounding year was ripe; Throbbing the red heart of full Autumn: When Each morning gleams crisp frost on shriveled fields; Each noon sits veiled in mysteries of mist; Each night unrolls a miracle woof of stars, Where moon--bare-bosomed goddess of the hunt-- Wades calm, crushed clouds or treads the vaster blue. Then I proposed the season's hunt; till eve The test of Rudolf's sk** postponed, with which Annoyed he seemed. And so it was I heard How he an execrable marksman was, And whispered tales of near, incredible shots That wryed their mark, while in his flint-lock's pan Flashed often harmless powder, while wild game Stared fearless on him and indulgent stood, An open bu*t to such wide marksmanship. Howbeit, he that day acquitted him Of these maligners' cavils; in the hunt Missing no shot however rash he made Or distant thro' thick intercepting trees; And the piled, curious game brought down of all Good marksmen of that train had not sufficed, Doubled, nay, trebled, to have matched his heap. And wonderstruck the _jaegers_ saw, nor knew How to excuse them. My indulgence giv'n, Still swore that only yesterday old Kurt Had touched his daughter's tears and Rudolf's wrath By vowing end to their betrothed love, Unless that love developed better aim Against the morrow's test; his ancestor's High fame should not be damaged. So he stormed, But bowed his gray head and wept silently; Then looking up forgave when big he saw Tears in his daughter's eyes and Rudolf gone Forth in the night that wailed with coming storm. Before this inn, The Owl, a**embled came The nice-primped villagers to view the trial: Fair _fraeuleins_ and blonde, comely, healthy _fraus_; Stout burgers. And among them I did mark Kurt and his daughter. He, a florid face Of pride and joy for Rudolf's strange success; She, radiant and flounced in flowing garb Of bridal white deep-draped and crowned with flowers; For Kurt insisted this their marriage eve Should Rudolf come successful from the chase. So pleased was I with what I'd seen him do, The test of sk** superfluous seemed and so Was on the bare brink of announcement, when, Out of the evening heaven's hardening red, Like a white warning loosed for augury, A word of God some fallen angel prized As his last all of heaven, penitent, Hell-freed, sent minister to save a soul, A wild dove clove the luminous winds and there, A wafted waif, pruned settled on a bough: Then I, "Thy weapon, Rudolph, pierce its head!" Cried pointing, "And chief-forester art thou!" Pale as a mist and wavering he turned; "I had a dream--" then faltered as he aimed, "A woman's whim!" But starting from the press Screamed Ilsabe, "My dove!" to plead its life Came--cracked the rifle and untouched the dove Rose beating lustrous wings, but Ilsabe-- "God's wrath! the sight!"--fell smitten, and the blood Sprang red from shattered brow and silent hair-- That bullet strangely thro' her brow and brain.... And what of Rudolf? ah! of him you ask? That proud Franconian who would scoff at Fate And scorn all state; who cried black Satan friend Sooner than our white Christ;--why, he went mad O' the moment, and into the haunted Harz Fled, an unholy thing, and perished there The prey of demons of the Dummburg. But I one of few less superstitious who Say, as the finale of a madman's deed, He in the Bode, from that ragged rock, The Devil's Dancing Place, did leap and die.