Georg Herwegh: “The Stirrup-Cup”

 Ludwig Achim von Arnim/Clemens Brentano:  “The Reaper”

Excerpt, “The Boy’s Magic Horn.”  German Classics:  Masterpieces of German Literature.  The Patrons’ Edition.”  1913. Vol. 5. Translator:   Margarite Münsterberg. Painting “The Reaper” by Walter Crane.

August Graf von Platen-Hallermund: “Would I were free…”

Excerpt, “The German Classics:  Masterpieces of German Literature.  The Patrons’ Edition.”  1913. Vol. 5. Translator:   Percy MacKaye.

Friedrich von Matthisson: “Song”

Friedrich von Matthisson


Friedrich Leopold Graf von Stolberg: “The Mountain Torrent”

Excerpt, “Translations from the German Poets of the 18th and 19th Centuries.”  By Alice Lucas. London:  1876.

Friedrich Leopold Graf zu Stolberg-Stolberg (1750-1819)

Goethe: “The Heathrose”

Excerpt, “The Poems of Goethe.”   Translated in the Original Metres, by Edgar Alfred Bowring, C.B. 1853.

Josef Karl Benedikt von Eichendorff: “The Robber-Brothers”

Wordsworth: “I have learned…”

running horses.

..I have learned to look on Nature . . .

as a presence that disturbs me

with the joy of elevated thoughts;

a sense sublime…


Whose dwelling is the light of Setting Suns,

and the round ocean,

and the living air,

and the blue sky,

and in the mind of Man:


A motion and a spirit that impels

all thinking things,

all objects of all thought,

and rolls through all things.


Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows,

the woods and mountains;

and of all that we behold from this green earth . . .


Well pleased to recognize in nature

and the language of the sense

the anchor of my purest thoughts,

the nurse, the guide,

the guardian of my heart, and soul,

of all my moral being.

. William Wordsworth, 1798

Ernst Schulze: “Schwarze Jäger“

Excerpt, “Poets and Poetry of Germany, Biographical and Critical Notices.” Madame Davesies de Pontes. Vol. II. London: 1858.


The Black Hunters


What is gleaming so gaily on bush and on brae,

What is shining in green-wood so bright,

Who comes forth from the wood in such gallant array,

Who are rushing from mountain and height?

’Tis the Jäger! On, on in a torrent we flow,

And rush to the combat and pounce on the foe

To battle, to vict’ry—to triumph we go!


We come from the Hartz and its forests so old,

Full, they tell us, of glittering store;

But what do we care or for silver or gold?

Give us freedom! We ask for no more!

To others we leave it—more nobly we feel;

We don our bright armour, our cuirass of steel;

For us upon earth the sword only has worth,

And we care for nought save our fatherland’s weal!


To drink and to love and be loved has its charms;

In the shade it is pleasant to dream;

But nobler to rush ’mid the battles alarms,

When the sword and the bayonet gleam.

Love’s torch is not brighter than glory’s proud hue,

And where thousands are sleeping why we may sleep too.

As heroes we’ll fall! ’neath the sword or the ball,

And pour forth our hearts-blood so gallant and true.


Full oft in the darkness, in forest and glen,

Or high on the storm-beaten rock,

We have linger’d to track the fierce wolf to den

Nor dreaded the hurricane’s shock.

And now the bright sunshine is steaming above us;

We go to defend all we love! All who love us!

Be it battle or chase—in the enemy’s face—

To us it is one; for no peril can move us!



Georg Herwegh: “To A Censor”

Adelbert von Chamisso: “CHATEAU BONCOURT”

Robert Browning: “Incident of the French Camp”

Excerpt, “A Metrical History of the Life and Times of Napoleon Bonaparte: A Collection of Poems and Songs. Many from Obscure and Anonymous Sources, Selected and Arranged with Introductory Notes and Connective Narrative.” William J. Hillis. 1896.

Johann Nepomuk Vogl: “The Bells”

Heinrich Heine: “The Lotos and the Water-Lily”

Franz Freiherr von Gaudy: “The Cook’s Elegy”

Excerpt, “The Spirit of German Poetry: A Series of translations from the German Poets, with Critical and Biographical Notices. ”  Translated by Joseph Gostick. London: William Smith, 113 Fleet Street. 1845.




One Sunday only shines for me,

In two long weeks of drudgery,

When will be snapt the iron yoke

In which the toiling cook must sigh ?

And now, when pots are all cleaned out,

And pans and skillets burnished bright,

It rains down like a water-spout,

And not a cab will come in sight!


My new dress should come out to-day—

(And mistress praised the bonnet’s taste)

(One must submit to fashion’s way)

So very slender is the waist !—

So buxomly the sleeves stand out !

(Rose-colour suits me well, they say)

Contented but a leaf to be

But down it pours a water-spout,

And not a cab will come this way !


Is ” Fair-hair ” waiting in the park ?

He asked me for a rendezvous—

Labour bears his burden singing;

” Till nine o’clock,” declared the spark,

” I promise I will Wait for you !”

For such a gold-fish, none can doubt

‘Tis worth one’s while to spread a net;—

But down it pours a water-spout,

And not a cab has come up yet!


I know he ‘s rich, (0 cruel rain !)

That fine cravat ! the watch of gold!—

The eye-glass, with its silver chain—

Let him propose—I ‘ll make him hold!

He’s waiting there without a doubt,

And here am I, kept waiting too !

And still it pours a water-spout,

And not a cab will come in view !


Find his labour’s richest prize.

The king of spades ! I know he ‘s mine !

And I shall be a wealthy dame—

Good heavens ! the clock is striking nine !

And there is mistress calling out!

(She always does—’tis just for spite!)

The rain falls like a water-spout,

And not a cab will come in sight !



Schiller: “The Conflict”

Schiller at the Court of Weimar

Ludwig Uhland: “The German Philological Association”

Wilhelm Müller: “Wandering”

Friedrich Halm: “My Heart…”

.Excerpt, “Translations From The German Poets.” Edward Stanhope Pearson. 1879.


My heart, I fain would ask thee,

What call’st thou love, expound?

“Two souls with one thought between them,

Two hearts with one pulse-bound!”


And say, from whence love cometh:

“She comes, and lo, she’s there!”

And say, how doth love vanish?

“If so, love never were.”


And when is love the purest?

“When she herself excludes!”

And when is love the deepest?

“When silentest she broods!”


And when is love the richest?

“Then when with gifts she’s fraught!”

And say, what is’t love speaketh?

“She loves, but speaketh nought!”