Hölderlin, Shelley, and Romanticism: Texts

From: Friedrich Hölderlin [1770-1843]/Eduard Möricke, Selected Poems, trans. and introd. Christopher Middleton, U. of Chicago Press, 1972.

Hyperion’s Song of Fate

You walk up there in the light
   On floors like velvet, blissful spirits.
      Shining winds divine
         Touch you lightly
            As a harper touches holy
               Strings with her fingers.

Fateless as babies asleep
   They breathe, the celestials.
      Chastely kept
         In a simple bud,
            For them the spirit
               Flowers eternal,
                  And in bliss their eyes
                     Gaze in eternal
                        Calm clarity.

But to us it is given
   To find no resting place,
      We faint, we fall,
         Suffering, human,
            Blindly from one
               To the next moment
                  Like water flung
                  From rock to rock down
                        Long years into uncertainty.

(End of 1797?)

 

On a Pale Yellow Leaf

On a pale yellow leaf the grape
Cluster reposes
hope or wine
   thus on the cheek
The shadow of the gold
pendant hung
   from a girl’s ear.
And I must never marry,
But the little calf is
Easily caught
In the chain it has broken...

(1804-6)

 

In Socrates’ Time

Time was when God judged.
                              Kings.
                  Sages.
                     but who judges now?

Does the united
      People judge? The holy fellowship?
      No! O no! but who judges now?
            a generation of vipers! Gutless and false
               the noble word no more
         Passing the lips
O in the name
                     I call
      You, demon of old, down

Or send
   a hero

Or
      wisdom.

(Ca. 1804-6)

 

My Possession

The autumn day rests in its fullness now
   Grapes gleam pure and the orchard is red
      With fruit, though to the earth a few
         Fair blossoms fell as a thanksgiving.

And out in the country, where I walk a peaceful
   Path, crops are ripe to the satisfaction
      Of men who won them; blithe toil,
         Plenteous too, this wealth is bringing.

From heaven the light looks mildly down and through
   Their trees upon the busy people, sharing
      Their joy, for the fruits ripened
         Not by handiwork of people only.

And do you shine also for me, O golden light?
   Breeze, do you blow my way again, blessing
      As once you did, a joy of mine,
         And flutter my heart as for the fortunate?

Fortune was mine once, yet that gentle life
   Was fleeting like the rose, ah! And the sweet
      Blossoming stars that remain to me
         Tell me of this, and all too often.

Fortune is his who, loving his gentle wife,
   Lives in his home at peace and in an honored land;
      That much the lovelier, for his safe being
         On sure terrain, his heaven shines.

For, like a plant, if it has sunk no root
   In ground of its own, the mortal soul must wither,
      Man being poor and daylight all
         That moves with him on the holy earth.

Too potent, ah! You haul me, heavenly altitudes,
   Upward, battering gales on a calm day—
      And I feel you chop and change, consuming
         Me in my depths, you powers divine!

But let me walk today the quiet familiar path
   To the orchard where leaves that are dying crown
      Every tree with gold; sweet memories,
         Weave for my brow a garland also.

And that, like others, I too may find a place
   To abide and save my mortal heart in, lest
      My soul, unhoused, clean gone
         Above what’s living, pine away,

Be you, O song, my welcoming refuge, bringer
   Of my felicity, the garden kept
      With careful love, where underneath
         Ageless blossoms I shall walk,

Living in sure simplicity, and hear the surge
   Of potent changeful time that roars far off
      With all its waves, and the calmer sun
         Helps everything I do to prosper.

O heavenly powers who bless, benign, above
   All mortal things, each mortal’s own possession,
      Bless also mine, and let not fate
         Bring too soon to the dream an ending.

(Autumn 1799)

 

The Half of Life

With yellow pears the country,
Brimming with wild roses,
Hangs into the lake,
You gracious swans,
And drunk with kisses
Your heads you dip
Into the holy lucid water.

Where, ah where shall I find,
When winter comes, the flowers,
And where the sunshine
And shadows of the earth?
Walls stand
Speechless and cold, in the wind
The weathervanes chatter.

(1802-3)

 

Hälfte des Lebens

Mit gelben Birnen hänget
Und voll mit wilden Rosen
Das Land in den See,
Ihr holden Schwäne,
Und trunken von Küssen
Tunkt ihr das Haupt
Ins heilignüchterne Wasser.

Weh mir, wo nehm ich, wenn
Es Winter ist, die Blumen, und wo
Den Sonnenschein,
Und Schatten der Erde?
Die Mauern stehn
Sprachlos und kalt, im Winde
Klirren die Fahnen.