Evening songs
Date: 2026-01-05T00:00:00+00:00

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Evening songs

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Title: Evening songs

Author: Vítězslav Hálek

Translator: Joseph Štýbr

Release date: January 5, 2026 [eBook #77623]

Language: English

Original publication: Boston: The Gorham Press, 1920

Credits: Tim Miller, chenzw and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVENING SONGS ***

EVENING SONGS

BY
VÍTĚZSLAV HÁLEK
From the Czech Original

TRANSLATED BY
DR. JOSEPH ŠTÝBR

BOSTON
RICHARD G. BADGER
THE GORHAM PRESS

Copyright, 1920, by Joseph Štýbr

All Rights Reserved

Made in the United States of America

The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A.

INTRODUCTION

Vítězslav Hálek, whose little volume of verses is herewith presented to the reader in English translation, belonged to the romantic and lyric school of Czech poesy during the second half of the last century. He was born in 1835 and died in 1874. From his first appearance in literature in 1858 he held his nation at attention and enjoyed its admiration and love for twenty years. During that time he produced a line of works touching upon nearly all classes of writing; however, the lyric string of his lyre proved to be the most charming one, and this little volume of Evening Songs proved to be his culminating point. As an expression of fragrant effusions of feeling it always appealed to the tenderness of youthful hearts and was eagerly sought and read, so that the book in the original appeared in many editions.

Should the little volume bring real pleasure to the reader and induce others to open wider the doors to the rich and charming Czech literature for the readers in English, the effort of the translator would be well rewarded.

The Translator.

CONTENTS

| PAGE
As in the sky rises the moon | 53
At prophets cast ye never stones | 71
Blest is the man whom the Lord’s hand | 67
Day and night went each their way, The | 55
Deep silence reigns—it seems to me | 48
Don’t wonder, shouldst Thou chance to hear | 58
From heaven angels come to earth | 72
God summoned me to paradise | 17
God’s world is so far and wide, The | 59
Greatest hero is not he, The | 32
Heavens are replete with stars, The | 33
He’s going far from home | 75
He who can strike the golden strings | 70
Hey, in the rounds what pleasure | 60
Humming of the trees has ceased, The | 13
I am a linden with large crown | 21
I am the knight from the old tale | 12
I bade the trumpets to be blown | 69
I do not know, was it a dream? | 45
I thought to myself, with no love | 50
If all the world lost its delight | 37
If that poor nightingale | 18
In the sky the moon was standing | 74
It happened. My soul minus Thee | 26
It seemed to me—Grief had grown old | 49
Moon sails slowly in the sky, The | 76
Much has been trusted to Thy hands | 68
My God, of all things I aspire | 66
My lips were lockt a long, long time | 64
My pillow was of sorrow made | 62
My sweetheart, come, kneel down with me | 20
My sweetheart, come, sit close to me | 29
My sweetheart, I dreamt Thou hadst died | 39
My sweetheart, look at those two clouds | 77
Night is fair and transparent, The | 43
Now go, my darling children, go | 73
Of my songs I shall build Thy throne | 57
Once as I through the golden stars | 30
Scorching heat of noonday sun, The | 35
Should I tell Thee the secret tale | 19
So many, many things there are | 41
So often it appears to me | 22
Spring came flying from afar, The | 11
Stars upon the heavens there, The | 31
Stars by the hundreds dot the sky | 15
Tell wherein thou hast sinned, my heart | 36
That deep and dark blue heaven’s bowl | 46
That little bird sings all the time | 47
That nightingale has not retired | 24
That young little singer there | 52
There were two thoughts, two thoughts of God | 51
Those stars, those fair wee little stars | 44
Thou art still but a youthful bud | 23
Thou hast laid Thy hand on my head | 56
Thou maiden, charming most of all | 25
Though all the world has gone to sleep | 14
Thy beautiful eye is a lake | 28
’Tis wrong for men to lack in song | 63
Up in the oak tree a dove wailed | 42
Upon the sky the moon and stars | 34
What charm is there in love for us | 16
What matters it what in sweet songs | 38
When God felt His supreme delight | 40
When I gaze at Thee, darling mine | 27
When I shall trust my corpse to earth | 65
Ye all who deem yourselves oppressed | 54
Ye little, ye wee little stars | 61

EVENING SONGS

I

The spring came flying from afar;
With fresh desires all’s teeming;
All things pressed forward to the sun—
So long all had been dreaming!

The finches flew out of their nest
And children from their bowers,
And on the meadows sweetest scents
Breathe countless little flowers.

Young leaves press their way from the twigs
And from birds’ throats their voices,
And in the heart with budding love
The youthful breast rejoices.

II

I am the knight from the old tale
Who proudly to the far world rode
To see the lass who’s like a rose
And to discover her abode.

Who would behold her—said her fame—
Would by a ban at once be struck;
His heart would be rent from his breast,
Or he would change to be a rock.

Thought I to myself, possibly

For clemency there might be room.

I ventured out and for my sin—

Became a bard by rigid doom.

III

The humming of the trees has ceased,
Their leaves breathe calmly, neatly;
The bird is dreaming its fair dream
So quietly, so sweetly.

The heavens’ stars have all come out,
All things rest in calm gladness,
But in the breast the sorrow wakes
And in the heart the sadness.

The fragrant blossom’s pretty cup
Receives dew in its centre—
My God, and I, too, feel that dew
In mine eyes gently enter.

IV

Though all the world has gone to sleep,
The heart wakes in the body,
And God himself knows that the heart
Ne’er sleeps for anybody.

The whole God’s world is silence-bound,
The heart still goes, well rated,
And God himself knows that the heart
Gets never fatigated.

Sleep is the conqueror of thought,
Night is day’s alternation—
But in the breast the heart e’er wakes
And guards its love’s sweet passion.

V

Stars by the hundreds dot the sky
With sister Moon at leisure,
And God and angels view the world
From heaven’s height with pleasure.

A smiling angel’s coming down
To earth as heaven’s vision—
Fair as the fragrant breath of spring,
And love is his sweet mission.

Wherever he just passes by
All’s stricken with sweet passion,
And nightingales and fair white doves
All sing with animation.

And he whom his white wing does touch
Is transformed all over,
And something sweet enters his breast
That human words can’t cover.

VI

What charm is there in love for us,

My God, and why we love it?

The world would all dissolve in it

And lives all in love of it.

The little cloud sails through the sky
As though love’s message drove it;
The little bird that sleeps in twigs
Is dreaming only of it.

And here, too, on the earth the man,
While death his head does covet,
He weeps, rejoices, longs and lives
And dies for the sake of it.

Indeed, the heaven’s angel choir
With their harps’ music prove it—
What would they sing, if not allowed
To play and to sing of it!

VII

God summoned me to Paradise

To get me educated.

“’Tis hard for me to be alone!”

The Lord then Eve created.

He took not one rib from my breast,

My heart in half he parted.

That is why my heart still tends back

From where Thine once had started.

And that is why such strange desires
So oft in my heart gather,
And I feel as though both our hearts
Should grow again together.

And that is why when I’m away
Pain to my heart is creeping,
My foot does of itself turn back,
And I am sad—to weeping.

VIII

If that poor nightingale
Lived always with her mate,
Her love songs would not sound
So sad and desolate.

If that poor heart but would
With Thee wake through the night,
Instead of pain it would
Resound with sweet delight.

IX

Should I tell Thee the secret tale
As nightingale in the oak forest—
Or should I weep in bitter tears
What sways my heart and gives it no rest?

Or, kneeling down, with ardent words
Should I in prayer spell my passion—
Or in a fair and tranquil night
Out of my dream breathe my confession?

Or should the hidden paradise
Sleep in my heart’s depth, never uttered,
Like in a grave, and far from Thee
My love in secret be but muttered?

O angel mine, I do confess
My love for mankind, never dying;
But toward Thee—O, don’t chide me,
That my mind’s weak and undefying!

X

My sweetheart, come, kneel down with me,
Now is the time for us to pray—
The moon has risen o’er the woods,
And my time has just passed away.

But, darling, do not clasp Thy hands;
Embrace me as I Thee with mine—
And thus, instead of clasping hands,
Two hearts will in one prayer join.

Thy lips then press Thou close to mine;
From one mouth let the prayer rise—
Let me the words press on Thy lips,
And Thou send them to Paradise.

Our prayer shall be strong, indeed,
Our offer purest in that case—
For angels, too, when they do pray,
Are praying just in such embrace.

XI

I am a linden with large crown,

In style dressed in the meadow:

Thou beautiful, sweet rose of May,

Come to my cooling shadow.

Here each green leaf does odor breathe
And swarms of bees are humming,
And, nightly, little birds arrive—
Those are my thoughts, home coming.

They fly far-off as children do
From home until they hunger,
But, with Thee seated close to me,
They will depart no longer.

XII

So often it appears to me,
As I embrace and love Thee,
That Thou art for me in the world
And I for the sake of Thee.

’Tis difficult through life to pass
Avoiding all deflection;
But to give others happiness
Is greatest satisfaction.

And if the king enjoys his crown
And God has heaven’s Eden
And birds have forest in the spring,
I do have Thee, my maiden.

XIII

Thou art still but a youthful bud
Just into the world looming,
And yet upon Thy cheek appears
A beautiful rose blooming.

And it is such a dainty rose
And such a fragrant blossom
That soon a fire burns in the soul
And yearning in the bosom.

XIV

That nightingale has not retired
And she’s with song all ringing;
That song of love, so long, my God,
When will she be done singing?

From one twig to another twig,
From upper to the nether—
And I believe that the same plight
In hearts we bear together.

And turning up her serene eye
She looks in each direction—
And I believe that I could guess
What is her eyes’ attraction.

XV

Thou maiden, charming most of all,
O Thou, world’s greatest treasure,
In Thee I found my sweet delight,
Thou art my cherished pleasure.

Thou art as pure as morning drops
That come from heaven’s dewing
And graceful as the turtle dove
When she her song is cooing.

Thou art fair as the lily white
That in sweet odor guises
And noble as the morning star—
The day dawns as she rises.

XVI

It happened. My soul minus Thee
No longer feels itself as whole;
To think myself without Thee once
Would be as to have lost my soul.

Yes, Thou art woven in my soul
Thou art her pride and her delight—
Thou art my solace, my desire,
My happiness—my pain and plight.

From joyless days Thou heaven weav’st
As does the bride her wedding dress;
In me Thou wak’st, in me Thou dream’st;
What I’m, what Thou, is hard to guess.

It matters not what my fate be—

For I know well its weaving hand.

And should Thy hand destruction bring,

On that, too, heaven might depend.

XVII

When I gaze at Thee, darling mine—
Thou art a dove—though sweeter—
Delightful, playful, gentle, tame,
When her mate comes to meet her.

And I can scarcely gaze enough
At Thine eyes and cheeks’ blossom—
Thine eyes are but two dark blue gates
To Thy deep charming bosom.

And I can scarcely gaze enough
At Thy sweet face reflection—
Through it Thy whole heart speaks to me
And soul without deception.

When I gaze at Thee, darling mine—
O manna’s sweet dispenser!—
Are not those the same lips, indeed,
That gave me “yes” for answer?

XVIII

Thy beautiful eye is a lake
In darkness gently waving;
In it the bright lights of the night
And heavens’ blue are laving.

And as pure crystal it is clear,
One sees the bottom in it—
But who attempts to look in deep
Will shortly be drowned in it.

XIX

My sweetheart, come, sit close to me,
Allow me to embrace Thee;
The Lord gave Thee an angel’s soul
From heaven, just to grace Thee.

I feel that I should speak to Thee
And make confessions often,
But my words stay locked in my mouth
And dead as in a coffin.

And often what I’d like to say
Appears unutterable,
For, though the soul is filled with it,
The tongue to speak’s unable.

But as I wind my arm ’round Thee
And my soul in Thine enters,
I feel as though Thou knowest all
What on my tongue then centres.

XX

Once as I through the golden stars
Up heavenward was gazing,
It seemed to me Thou wert a saint
And I an angel blazing.

Then I a harp took to my hand
And songs to Thee I chanted
Until the saints’ songs died away
And all eyes to us slanted.

And God the Father for a while

Himself ceased in creation.

And down His cheek there seemed to roll

A diamond of compassion.

XXI

The stars upon the heavens there
Are worlds of greatest features,
And I would only like to know
What kind they have of creatures.

If some one from that height up there
At us ’way down here gazes,
And if he up there like I here
His voice in love songs raises.

XXII

The greatest hero is not he
For blows with blows who’s paying,
But he who, hundred times betrayed,
Himself knows no betraying.

Who after love can send a curse
He never felt love’s passion,
For love is able to forgive
And knows no condemnation.

Who will not bring a sacrifice
To him no love be proffered;
Bad is the priest who thinks he’s more
Than that what he has offered.

And should e’er love demand of me
My life and share in heaven—
I would go as the lamb for Thee
To whom my love I’ve given.

XXIII

The heavens are replete with stars
As spring time is with daisies;
Thus everything in God’s great world
For love has its own praises.

The violet’s replete with scent
And dew in little blossom,
And that dear nightingale sings love
From overflowing bosom.

The heavens are replete with stars,
With blazing lights all sweeping,
And here on earth the living men
Are singing and are weeping.

XXIV

Upon the sky the moon and stars,
The forest full of voices,
And God spreads only love around
In which the world rejoices.

The murmurs in young foliage
Change to low sweet narration;
The world is gay and jubilant
And melts in osculation.

And yet I know that somewhere grief
Some youthful heart oppresses,
And that a secret bitter tear
Some young pale cheek caresses.

XXV

The scorching heat of noonday sun
Is my love’s blazing passion;
The night—fair shadow of the day—
Thy love’s sweet moderation.

Thou hast set fire within my breast,
Earth’s centre’s heat assuming,
But that fire, unnursed by Thy love,
Will die, itself consuming.

I dreamt of banquets with Thy love
And have but crumbs collected;
What wonder, then, if only grief
Is in my face reflected.

The heart, indeed, can suffer much,
Oppressed by love’s great hunger,
And whether I am day or night
I now can guess no longer.

’Tis written thus. The day and night
Proceed, each other missing—
But as the evening’s dusk arrives,
They meet, each other kissing.

XXVI

Tell wherein thou hast sinned, my heart;

My God, such tribulation!

That what forever should be joined

Must live in separation.

How beautiful the life would be

In love without distressing!

But to forever yearn and live—

Where is therein a blessing?

XXVII

If all the world lost its delight
And had no other pleasure
And love alone was left behind—
The life would have its treasure.

And if all other things were truth
And love but dreams’ delusion—
I would be ready to lie down
And sleep to life’s conclusion.

And if till now I’ve only dreamt—
My dreams had their sweet flavor,
And who sang me my lullabies
I shan’t forget forever.

XXVIII

What matters it what in sweet songs
The nightingale is telling,
Since my own heart has left its place
And now with Thee ’tis dwelling.

And if her call rang e’er so sweet

And into mine ears chanted:

What matters it, since in my heart

And soul now Thou art planted!

And there Thou art, so charmful,
Beyond imagination,
That I’d give the sky’s stars, my soul,
To Thee in admiration.

XXIX

My sweetheart, I dreamt Thou hadst died;
I heard the death-knells pealing,
And there were tears and wails and cries
And signs of saddest feeling.

For the low mound o’er Thy strange bed
They picked a tombstone blindly,
And a verse for Thine epitaph
To write they asked me kindly.

Oh, folks! Oh, folks! yourselves of stones,
My heart take, with grief raving,
And what I have not sung before
Use for the stone’s engraving!

You trusted not in my pure love
And scorned my word and letter—
Now if the stone will speak to you,
You’ll understand it better.

XXX

When God felt His supreme delight,
The human heart He molded
And for eternal memory
His love in it He folded.

And as He gazed upon the heart
With eyes divine, forseeing,
He wept, for He was overjoyed
To see the blissful being.

But as He wept, one of His tears,
Unnoticed, the heart entered,
As dew falls in a flower cup,
And near the bottom centered.

That is why love is a great grief,
But grief so sweet and charming
That pitied must be all the hearts
That have escaped its harming.

That is why love is half of bliss
And half of grief a token,
But if the tear swells to a wave,
Then some heart may be broken.

XXXI

So many, many things there are
To which the keys are lacking;
Deep silence answers all man’s knocks
And foils his undertaking.

Thou human heart! There sorrows howl

As wolves, by hunger driven,

And yet that same heart, oh, my God!

To love alone is given.

’Tis capable of so much love
That man’s wit may be failing,
And he may as the lonely dove
In vain roam, ever wailing.

XXXII

Up in the oak tree a dove wailed—
Below, a brooklet muttered—
Don’t wonder, when I was to speak,
That not a word I uttered.

Can he speak from all his soul’s depth

Who does in strange lands wander?

And man’s too human that he should

At paradise not wonder.

XXXIII

The night is fair and transparent—
One sees the heaven’s sainted;
The song, the odor, and the buzz
Hold the whole heart enchanted.

O pity, Thou art not with me,
To hear with me and wonder
How everything here tells its tale
To the clear heavens yonder.

How the whole world is but one song
The universe pervading,
And that from human hearts but comes
An echo, faint and fading.

XXXIV

Those stars, those fair wee little stars,
The heavens’ blue dome lighting,
They look to me down with sweet eyes,
Me up to them inviting.

Oh no! ye fair wee little stars;
You love that wheel of heaven,
While I prefer to stay down here
Where I find all I’ve craven.

You don’t know, fair wee little stars,
And think not what you’re missing;
We have here heaven on the earth
In sweet, delightful kissing.

XXXV

I do not know, was it a dream?

But in my mind it lingers—

I saw and read the nations’ fates,

Decreed by God’s own fingers.

Thoughts, earnest as was God himself,
Passed through His great head, thronging
And beautiful as nights of spring
For a sweet body longing.

Some thought—great as the universe,
Some—music sounding gently,
Some—future human history,
By human eyes seen faintly.

There, too, I met with my own love
And with Thy heart, ne’er failing,
That love of ours appeared there
As two small bright clouds sailing.

And God, observing our sweet love,
Himself with grace relented,
And throngs of young angels their hymns
Before Him on it chanted.

XXXVI

That deep and dark blue heavens’ bowl—
And stars as golden blossoms;
As man looks at them from the earth,
His heart strange feelings bosoms.

And all the time more and more stars
Appear without a bound there—
And yet not ev’ry little star
Can easily be found there.

But whene’er in two youthful hearts
First breath of love does enter,
A new star is said to appear
In heavens’ dark blue center.

And if in one of the two hearts
Love’s blossoms starts to wither,
Then from the dark blue heavens’ bowl
One golden star drops hither.

XXXVII

That little bird sings all the time
As one song with life ringing;
So wonder not, if one does love,
That he’ll pass life in singing.

And that bird speaks from heart to heart,
And it knows how, directly,
So that man hardly keeps back tears,
If he knows hearts perfectly.

Yes, often it appears to me
That I am as its fellow,
For my songs, too, can move to tears,
So soft they are, and mellow.

XXXVIII

Deep silence reigns—it seems to me
Sleep comes to mine eyes, resting,
As does a bird come to its mate
In their home softly nesting.

The night’s soft bed is ready made—

The heavens, with stars covered.

Maybe that some heart will forget

For what this day it suffered.

Maybe that some heart will forget,
And if it found no treasure,
Maybe it finds it in its dream
And with it finds its pleasure.

XXXIX

It seemed to me—Grief had grown old,
Soon would come its last countin’,
And tears—so many had been shed
That dry must be their fountain.

Then suddenly I thought of Thee,
And soon my whole soul shivered,
And as though I should lose Thee soon
An echo in it quivered.

And mine eyes promptly filled with tears,
My joy to grief is bending,
And I am finding out with pain
That tears shall have no ending.

XL

I thought to myself, with no love

How’d look that world of ours:

It would be as a dreary waste

Without a trace of flowers.

The heart would wander through that waste
And always on grief border,
It would be sad as the world was
Ere God to light gave order.

It would be so sad that on earth
Man would not like the livin’,
And God the Father would not like
To stay as God in heaven.

XLI

There were two thoughts, two thoughts of God,
Two stars beside each other,
And from all of the heavens’ stars
They most loved one another.

Once one of them fell to the earth—
The other pined in sorrow,
And God, touched by her grief and love,
Sent her down on the morrow.

They sought each other many nights
As lonely souls their Eden,
Until one day they chanced to meet
As a young man and maiden.

Their eyes met, and they recognized
Each other, tender-hearted,
And lived together in great bliss
Till one of them departed.

And when she died, she always called
And languished for the other,
Till God summoned the other one,
And they’re again together.

XLII

That young little singer there—

Why did she cease her narration?

Her eyes quickly filled with tears

As though grieved in separation.

Some one may think to himself,

God, how can her young soul darken?

Her face young and beautiful,

And her song so sweet to hearken.

Ah, a beautiful young face
May not do in solace bringing;
And though sweet the song may be—
You don’t always feel like singing.

XLIII

As in the sky rises the moon—
So into hearts love enters;
And secret pain and silent grief
Around it often centers.

And visions man had not thought of
He may see, dimly lighted,
And secret pain and silent grief
May be in song united.

But gales and tempests violent
In many hearts are waking,
And ere in song they utter them—
How many hearts are breaking!

XLIV

Ye all who deem yourselves oppressed,

Come near, come nearer to me:

Lay off your sorrows’ burdens here

And light up your minds gloomy.

I’ve reared here a vast realm of love
Where mate seeks his mate pretty,
And what one harbors in his heart
Resounds in love’s sweet ditty.

No rival here, no hater’s known,
Here speech is love song, wooing;
Here lions turn to calm, meek lambs
And hawks to doves, sweet, cooing.

Here are all ailments’ remedies;
Here hearts are ever youthful;
Here never fades the blooming rose,
And friendship’s ever truthful.

XLV

The day and night went each their way—
The day, as Judas, traitor,
The night, so fair, so beautiful,
That none can ever hate her.

The little stars shine in the sky,
The moon comes with her pallor,
And in the forest chats the dove,
The fair and tender caller.

The heart confesses to the heart
With thoughts in distance sailing,
And longing lips thirst for a kiss,
From burning passion thrilling.

XLVI

Thou hast laid Thy hand on my head,
My temples proud caressing;
Thy lips have whispered their sweet words
In prayer and in blessing.

Thou hast revealed Thy soul to me
In Thy love’s fragrant blossom,
And what I had not dared to dream—
Thou took’st me to Thy bosom.

With blessing Thou hast graced my harp,
My heart and my lips’ diction;
To pious battles Thou hast sent
My songs with benediction.

My forehead is from sadness freed,
Fears are a thing I scoff at,
My soul is filled with dawning light—
And I am love’s great prophet.

XLVII

Of my songs I shall build Thy throne

In style of bards of greatest fame.

Thy sceptre shall be my own heart,

My fame shall be Thy diadem.

Love I shall declare to be law,
I shall sing daily Thine esteem;
In Thy soul I’ll pour love’s delight
And sweetest longing in Thy dream.

I shall bid birds to sing to Thee,
May’s flowers shall fall to Thy feet;
I’ll change to heaven the world and all
And there command the stars to meet.

I’ll make your subjects all men’s hearts,
Revive the Eden with my verse,
Proclaim Thee high queen of it all
Throughout the whole of universe.

XLVIII

Don’t wonder, shouldst Thou chance to hear
Birds sing of Thy love’s wooing;
They called once at my window sill
To see what I was doing.

And they again came and again
And soon taught me to love them,
For I am free just as they are
And am just like one of them.

I sang them many songs of Thee
That in sweet love abounded,
And they soon tuned their throats to them
Till in their songs love sounded.

The other day I called on them
In their woods and nooks shady
And was surprised to find the birds
To sing my songs already.

XLIX

The God’s world is so far and wide
And goodness in small measure;
By thousands one can count the pains
And very little pleasure.

The heart is ready to redeem
With hundred pains one pleasure—
And the same heart, O God, for love
Will suffer past all measure.

L

Hey, in the rounds what pleasure

While one his lass embraces!

Let’s have the charming music—

Come, pale lad, join our races!

Ah, the pale lad’s whole body
As though with cold frost shivered,
And down his pale cheeks quickly
A stream of hot tears quivered.

LI

Ye little, ye wee little birds,
Ye song-dreamers in sleeping;
Does anyone of you there know
That I die here from weeping?

Dear moon, stop moving in the sky
Till I some solace gather;
My love’s fire’s extinct as art thou—
We both fit well together.

The last flame flickers to die out,
All that’s left are words hollow;
Yet I would blow all to new life,
Though nought but grief should follow.

LII

My pillow was of sorrow made

My sleep were tears, free flowing;

Go easy, my heart—not so loud:

Deep penitence I’m showing.

The moon comes by the window in,
Gown’d in her deathly pallor,
And in the heart a song died down
As of a bird, sad caller.

Dear moon, light up the stars on high;
Let dew descend on flowers;
Awake from sleep the nightingale,
But men—let sleep their hours!

You carry off the gorgeous love—
You know the calamity;
I am now but a wretched man—
Ah, pity, pity, pity!

LIII

“’Tis wrong for men to lack in song—”
In judgment God has spoken—
And then He sent a bard to men
And gave him this as token:

“Throughout thy life have thou no rest,
Thy bread with tears be eaten;
Know thou nought but hard suffering,
In all hopes be thou beaten!

“Though thy heart be rent to its blood—
View that blood to them clinging;
Though driven by them through all lands—
Love them—and keep on singing!”

That lot is common to us bards.

Men may have our songs chanted,

But with what had brought on our song—

None cares to get acquainted.

LIV

My lips were lockt a long, long time,
And mute as rocks are lonely,
But suddenly they were unlockt
By Thee with one kiss only.

That kiss fell as in month of May
On parched earth falls a shower;
Now songs began to sprout again
In my soul with fresh power.

LV

When I shall trust my corpse to earth
And my soul to God’s keeping,
I ask to be laid as a bard
Away to my last sleeping.

Into my hand I want the lyre,
On head, leaves from laure’s arbor;
Let my new neighbors know at once
Who comes to their calm harbor.

I always holy held the lyre

And not a mere toy only:

So let it be mine ornament

In night long and place lonely.

Should we feel lonesome in the graves
And, maybe, for home too sick,
Then I shall sing a song for them
And cheer them up with music.

And should in your lives sluggishness

And sleep here overtake you:

I’ll rouse the dead and send them back,

And they shall come and wake you.

LVI

My God, of all things I aspire
I here confess, whole-hearted;
All I pray for is that from song
I never shall be parted.

Shouldst Thou withdraw my gift of song—
I ask to live no longer;
Shouldst Thou for song bid me take bliss—
I still to song cling stronger.

LVII

Blest is the man whom the Lord’s hand
As bard had consecrated;
He has looked into God’s decrees
And has men’s breasts well rated.

He knows what says the world’s great psalm
And what the birds are singing;
He understands the throbbing heart,
In tears, and with joy ringing.

What secret is to other men
Is open to his vision;
He is the leader of God’s race
To its long promised region.

He is the king of kingdoms vast,
The priest of men’s salvation,
And beauties’ treasures lie in him
Beyond all estimation.

LVIII

Much has been trusted to Thy hands;
My heart in them I planted,
And God placed sweet songs in that heart
To have men’s bliss augmented.

A strange plant is the human heart—
Not easily to nourish;
For, it is up to love alone,
If it shall die or flourish.

A strange plant is the human heart—
It needs the climate’s favor
And dew and rain and best of care
To yield fruit of good flavor.

So should my heart from Thy hands sprout
In honor of the nation,
Long ages that are yet to come
Shall sing Thine adoration.

LIX

I bade the trumpets to be blown
For glorious resurrection;
I shall in final judgment sit—
Ye shall hear your fates’ lection.

Ye who have been opposed to love

And have against it spoken:

Ye shall despair for all the time,

And your hearts shall be broken.

But ye who always have kept faith

And treated love with favor:

Ye come and gather on my right

And live in love forever.

To you in heaven special place
And special bliss be given,
For, having loved upon the earth,
You had the taste of heaven.

LX

He who can strike the golden strings
Be highest honors given,
For God has shewn you such great love
That He sent him from heaven.

It’s dreadful when with barren fields
And plague God means to punish,
But greatest scorge visits the race
From whom its songs do vanish.

That nation has not perished yet

To whom its bards are singing:

For all song is of heaven’s birth

And life in death ’tis bringing.

LXI

At prophets cast ye never stones;

They are as birds, shy, clever:

Cast thou a stone at him but once,

And he is gone forever.

God’s fearful wrath the nation seeks
Whose love of bards is shaken,
And greatest wrath befell the race
From whom God songs has taken.

The poet’s heart is pure and chaste,
His faith does never vary;
Therefore, what he sings from his heart
That ye in your hearts carry!

LXII

From heaven angels come to earth—
Dreams with their golden visions,
And each of them brings men in sleep
Delight from happy regions.

Wherever these fair angels stop,
Men learn all they had craven;
For they know and tell them in dreams
Fair tales direct from heaven.

The eyelids suddenly get sealed—

With sweetness of sleep laden:

Thine image stands in front of me—

Good night, good night—my maiden!

LXIII

Now go, my darling children, go—
This is no more your station;
Accept for your quaint journey yet
Your father’s osculation!

May be, somewhere they’ll honor you
And offer you receptions;
But somewhere they may criticise—
Be ready for exceptions!

But let your mind not be disturbed

Nor wrinkles in face driven:

All kinds of men live in the world,

But few to love are given.

LXIV

In the sky the moon was standing;

Dreams to me new songs were lending.

Birds came and told one another

How much we did love each other.

That the fair fresh meadow flowers

Would be wedding gowns of ours.

That green ivy with her story

Would wreathe Thy head with its glory.

Adorned with thousand charms,

That Thou wouldst rest in my arms.

LXV

He’s going far from home,
With sorrow laden;
He turns yet and looks back—
Good-bye, dear maiden!

He turns yet and looks back,
His kerchief waving;
With kerchief he dries yet
Eyes in tears laving.

And now behind him closed
A foreign region
As in the sky the lark
Gets lost to vision.

He’s gone, but he’ll come back
Again, joy-laden—
But ere he will return—
Good-bye, dear maiden!

LXVI
(Posthumous)

The moon sails slowly in the sky
So calmly and so freely;
The nightingale wails in the twigs
So sweetly and so really.

Thy image stands in front of me
So calmly and so freely;
The heart in longing wakes and calls
So sweetly and so really.

A swarm of songs is circling ’round
So calmly and so freely;
And into mine eye steals a tear
So sweetly and so really.

Now gentle sleep knocks at my door
So calmly and so freely—
And I recall Thee to my mind
So sweetly and so really.

LXVII
(Posthumous)

My sweetheart, look at those two clouds
Above that mountain yonder—
The moon sheds her light on their way,
And in close touch they wander.

The maiden choir of quiet stars
Is twinkling to them greeting,
And gentle zephyrs in their breath
Bring odors to them, fleeting.

Lo! from the shrubs the nightingale
Flew up with her narration—
Hark how she sends her song to them
As song’s true incarnation!

My love, look from Thy window there
How those clouds float together—
I asked them to bid Thee “good night,”
Sweet dreams ’round Thee to gather.

Transcriber’s notes

Half-title page on page 9 has been removed in this edition.

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Table of Contents

- EVENING SONGS
- INTRODUCTION
- CONTENTS
- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- VIII
- IX
- X
- XI
- XII
- XIII
- XIV
- XV
- XVI
- XVII
- XVIII
- XIX
- XX
- XXI
- XXII
- XXIII
- XXIV
- XXV
- XXVI
- XXVII
- XXVIII
- XXIX
- XXX
- XXXI
- XXXII
- XXXIII
- XXXIV
- XXXV
- XXXVI
- XXXVII
- XXXVIII
- XXXIX
- XL
- XLI
- XLII
- XLIII
- XLIV
- XLV
- XLVI
- XLVII
- XLVIII
- XLIX
- L
- LI
- LII
- LIII
- LIV
- LV
- LVI
- LVII
- LVIII
- LIX
- LX
- LXI
- LXII
- LXIII
- LXIV
- LXV
- LXVI (Posthumous)
- LXVII (Posthumous)
- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE