Weimar. ON SEEING THE GOETHE-SCHILLER MONUMENT AT WEIMAR. N the Platz before the theatre ΟΝ In the town of Weimar stand Stood, so now the wreath they share. Scarce had shone on him life's prime; On his locks the silver rime. George Browning. THE BURIAL OF SCHILLER. THE solemn, still, and shadowy hour, When Saturday in Sabbath dies, O'er Weimar hangs, with clouds that lower, Lo! from yon mansion lights appear, Pale glimmering through the midnight gloom! A coffined form is on the bier, And thence borne forward to the tomb. That funeral train, how sad they go Now, as the open grave beside Rolls o'er each mourner's burdened breast. For him who slumbers in the shroud, She beams her silvery, soft adieu, For 't is her lover, now no more; "T is done! that mournful, final rite, Beneath the curtain folds of night Earth, earth has closed o'er Schiller's clay! And hark! the heavens in thunder groan; These funeral honors, so sublime, "T is meet his dust at rest be laid ! His spirit, bright with heavenly fire, It is the budding month of May; To dress her deathless poet's tomb. Hannah Flagg Gould. THE BUSTS OF GOETHE AND SCHILLER. THIS is Goethe, with a forehead THIS Like the fabled front of Jove; In its massive lines the tokens More of majesty than love. This is Schiller, in whose features, Of the high heroic bard, Whom the inward world of feeling These are they, sublime and silent, Thoughts whose inspiration, kindling As to-day in sculptured marble In the ancient German city, Dowered with many a deathless name, Where they dwelt and toiled together, Sharing each the other's fame: One till evening's lengthening shadows Gently stilled his faltering lips, But the other's sun at noonday There their names are household treasures, And, hard by, the modest mansion Round the words "Here Schiller dwelt." In the churchyard both are buried, Straight beyond the narrow gate, In the mausoleum sleeping With Duke Charles in sculptured state. For the monarch loved the poets, Called them to him from afar, Wooed them near his court to linger, And the planets sought the star. He, his larger gifts of fortune With their larger fame to blend, Living, counted it an honor That they named him as their friend; Dreading to be all-forgotten, Still their greatness to divide, Dying, prayed to have his poets Buried one on either side. |