Friedrich Schlegel: “In The Forest”

Excerpt. “The Poetry of Germany, Consisting from Upwards of Seventy of the Most Celebrated Poets.”  Translated into English Verse by Alfred Baskerville.  1853.




Wings of God, ye rustling breezes,

Deep in the cool forest’s night,

Like the hero on his charger,

Springeth thought’s unbounded might.

Like the pine, rocked by the wind,

Roar the surges of the mind.


Lovely is the flame enkindled

By the crimson morning’s breath,

Or that which the earth bedeweth,

Lightning, pregnant oft with death:

Flashing, darting through the sky,

Unto God it seems to fly.


Fountains raise, with magic murmurs,

Flowers on the bed of pain,

Yet do sorrow’s gentle billows,

Temptingly the heart enchain;

Downwards deep the mind is gone,

Through the tempting billows drawn.


Hope, who sleekest life immortal,

Thou, wild struggle with desires,

Teemest with life’s fairest fulness,

When the breath of mind inspires.

We creative breezes feel,

As they o’er the senses steal.


Wings of God, ye rustling breezes,

Deep in the dark forest’s night,

When the reins are freely slackened,

Boundless thoughts resistless might.

Fearlessly amid the wind

Hear the voices of the mind.