184
Translations from Heine.
The Body to the poor Soul said:
Oh, murmur not, be comforted!
We all should quietly endure
The wounds of Fate, which none can cure.
I was the lamp's wick, and to dust
Consume; but thou, the Spirit, must
Be saved with care, and lifted far
To shine in Heaven, a little star
Of purest light. I am but cinder,
Mere matter, rubbish, rotten tinder,
Losing the shape we took at birth,
Mouldering again to earth in earth.
Now, fare thee well, and grieve no more!
Perchance life is not such a bore
In Heaven, as you expect up there.
If you should meet the old Great Bear
(Not Meyer-Bear[1]) i' the starry climes,
Greet him from me a thousand times!
- ↑ Meyerbeer, the great musician. Heine in his later years lost no opportunity for a skit at him. The poet is also alluding to his own "Atta-Troll," whose title-hero is a bear.
printed by ballantyne, hanson and co.
edinburgh and london
