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Translated by F. Townsend
THESE ancient hills I see once more, | |
| And that old grove of beech-trees green, | |
| And, falling o’er yon rocky slope, | |
| That dear old fountain’s sparkling sheen. | |
| The ancient grove, the ancient heath, | 5 |
| Their gentle murmurs still repeat, | |
| And those old friends, by rill and mead, | |
| The blooming flowers my footsteps greet. | |
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| So bloomed they, when forth into life | |
| I wandered from these hills away; | 10 |
| So lifted they their little heads, | |
| And softly whispered to me, “Stay!” | |
| But from the cliff and through the copse | |
| I clambered down the mountain-side, | |
| Where Ems and Lippe to the sea | 15 |
| My way through Senne’s plains did guide. | |
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| So went I forth!—To think that since | |
| That day near fifty years have flown! | |
| ’T was here!—I look in wonder round; | |
| At home, yet stranger here, unknown! | 20 |
| I went, a brown and ruddy boy; | |
| With locks of iron gray, I come, | |
| And laden with sad years, to rest | |
| A moment in the woods of home! | |
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| As poor old Rip van Winkle once, | 25 |
| That forest-roving, careless wight, | |
| Up in the mountains’ wild ravine, | |
| With ghosts a frolic had one night,— | |
| A night that lasted twenty years,— | |
| His way then to the village took, | 30 |
| A bearded dreamer, dazed with grief, | |
| In ragged dress, with vacant look; | |
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| Who, still a young man, when he went, | |
| An old and feeble man was found; | |
| Unknown, and strange, and almost shunned, | 35 |
| With timid glance be looked around, | |
| To see names, faces, ways all new, | |
| And (thought too strong for that weak mind) | |
| Where he a monarchy had left, | |
| A young republic there to find!— | 40 |
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| So I return, oppressed with care;— | |
| Who knows, alas, this stranger here?— | |
| Hark, hark! A welcome hundred-fold, | |
| From rock and hill and vale, I hear! | |
| The kindly flowers nod their heads, | 45 |
| The gracious trees their branches shake, | |
| And O, the best, the best of all, | |
| The friends that press, my hand to take! | |
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| Thanks, thanks, ye dear and good and true, | |
| Who ne’er could falter or deceive! | 50 |
| Thanks to the old friends and the new! | |
| A grateful heart’s best thanks receive! | |
| And ye, who peep like roses forth, | |
| Among these bearded men, and tall, | |
| Westphalia’s maidens, and her wives,— | 55 |
| My hearty thanks once more to all! | |
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| No, not like that old dreamer, I | |
| Return from exile long and sad; | |
| I were not worthy of such love, | |
| If I that thought in earnest had! | 60 |
| Besides, what he, returning, found | |
| (Which helped, no doubt, his heart to cheer), | |
| A stanch republic, for your pains, | |
| You have not yet established here! | |
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| And now I rest, with tranquil soul, | 65 |
| Upon a rock, in this old wood, | |
| And dream, and think, since forth I went, | |
| How much hath fortune sent of good! | |
| The sum I reckon of my life, | |
| Of all my efforts, my success, | 70 |
| And say, “I have not lived in vain, | |
| And thankfully my fate I bless!” | |
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| By his own people to be loved, | |
| O dearest aim of poet’s heart!” | |
| A wreath, that lights upon my brow, | 75 |
| As angry thunder-clouds now part! | |
| Have I deserved it? Dare I say? | |
| Your love would fain these garlands weave! | |
| In my right hand I proudly hold | |
| What I with grateful heart receive! | 80 |
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| And now my goblet joyously, | |
| Filled to the very brim, I clasp, | |
| E’en as my heart with love is filled, | |
| And hold it high, with fervent grasp, | |
| And cry to all the regions round, | 85 |
| The provinces on every hand, | |
| Loud cry, from this old mountain’s brow, | |
| “I thank thee, thank thee, Fatherland!” | |
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