Lines Written upon the Contemplation of Schiller's Skull (1826)

 

 

Skull upon skull arranged in fit array

In solemn vault of burial I beheld

And thought of bygone years and times turned grey.

 

Near neighbours now, in rows they stand tight-held:

Rough bones that clashed in deadly strife before

Lie crosswise here, their rage to quiet quelled.

 

Unjointed shoulderblades! what once they bore

None now will ask; and limbs once full of grace,

Hands, feet, lie scattered and will move no more.

 

So all in vain you sought this resting-place,

Poor weary ones! they would not let you lie,

Whom daywards from your shadowy grave they chase,

 

And none cares now for husks that have gone dry

Though glorious kernels they did once contain.

Yet here was written what my adept's eye,

 

Though few would guess its sacred sense, read plain:

Amid the rigid throng one shape I saw

Of rare nobility – and at once again

 

In this cold mouldering chamber's narrow maw

I felt refreshed and warmed, alive and free:

What welling life-spring here outleapt death' slaw?

 

O outline traced by God, still clear to see!

O lineaments enchanting to my eyes,

Transporting me to that mysterious sea

 

Whence transformed forms perpetually rise!

Strange vessel, fountainhead of sapience,

How dares my hand to hold you? Precious prize

 

Which from decay I snatch with reverence

And into free air, freely there to muse,

Out into sunlight, piously bear hence.

 

To what more noble end our life we use

Than knowing God-and-Nature, which are one?

Firm matter melts which She as Mind renews,

And She makes firm what fertile Mind has done.

 

 

Translated by David Luke