And those that dwell nearest in love Must languish on uttermost mountains, Give us then innocent water, pinions give us, to pass Over with constant minds and again return. So I spoke, when swifter Than I had fancied, and far. Whither I never had thought to come, A Genius bore me away From my house. In the twilight The shadowy woods darkened as I went And the yearning brooks of my home; No more did I know these lands. Yet soon in fresh radiance. Mysterious In the golden smoke. Swiftly sprung up With the tread of the sun, Asia bloomed out before me.
But high in the light Blossoms the silver snow, And, witness to life everlasting. On attainless walls The immemorial ivy grows, and upborne Upon living columns of cedars and laurels Are the solemn, The divinely built palaces. But about Asia's portals. Running hither and thither In hazardous wastes of sea Ripple shadowless ways enough, Yet the seaman knoweth the isles. Yet bountiful In the needier house Is she nonetheless. And when out of shipwreck or in Lament for his home Or the departed friend. One of the strangers Draws near to her, she hears it with joy, And her children.
The voices of the warm glade And the rock-dwelling breezes And the rocks too, they hear him, and lovingly The echo rings out to the lament of the man. And the watchful man viewed well The face of the god As, at the mystery of the vine. They sat together, at the hour of the banquet, And quietly prescient in his great soul The Lord spake death and the last love; For never enough Had he of words for telling of kindness At that time, and gladdening. When he saw it, the wrath of the world. For all things are good. Of that There were much to be said. And the friends saw How he gazed forth victorious, The most joyful of all, at the last.
Yet they mourned, as now It was grown evening, astounded, For in their souls the men weighed A mighty decision, but they loved Life under the sun, and they would not leave The face of the Lord and their homeland. Inwrought was that As fire in the iron, and at their side Went the shadow of the Beloved. Therefore he sent them The Spirit, and the house trembled.
And the storm of God Rolled far-thundering over their fateful heads. Where brooding Were gathered the heroes of death Now as he, in departure, Once more appeared before them. No good Had it been later, cleaving abruptly And truthless, the work of man, and it was joy From now on To dwell in loving night and maintain Steadfast in simple eyes Abysses of wisdom. And deep On the mountains too Living images flourish.
Yet it is dreadful how far and wide God endlessly scatters the living. Dreadful it is to leave The face of dear friends and to wander Far over the mountains alone. When the Heavenly Spirit, Known before in communion, Was single in meaning; and though it was never foretold them, Yet by their very Hair did it seize them. As, hastening away into the distance, God of a sudden looked back, and conjuring Him to remain, naming the evil, Bounden henceforth as with golden cords.
They gave one another their hands. It is the cast of the Sower, as he seizes The wheat with his spade And flings across to the clear grain. Driving it over the threshing floor. The husks fall at his feet, But in the end cometh the com. And no evil it is if something Is lost and the living sound Fades from our speech, For heavenly labor is like to our own. The Highest would not have AH at one time. So long as the pit bear iron. And Etna ghttering resin, So I have riches To fashion an image and see in the semblance Christ as he had been.
But when one spurred himself on, And sadly speaking on the way where I was weaponless. Overpowered me, so that I marveled and an impostor Would be moulding an image of God- Visible in anger did I once See the sovereigns of heaven. Not that I were To become anything, but to learn. Kindly they are, but most Hateful to them as long as they reign Is falsehood, as there dwells Himianity then no more among men. For they do not reign, rather Fate Reigns more immortally.
And when ascends higher The heavenly pageant of triumph. The exulting Son of the Most High, Like to the sun itself, is named by the mighty An emblem, and here is the staff Of song signaling down. For nothing is common. It wakens the dead Who are not yet caught by the rawness of death. But many shy eyes Wait to behold the Hght. They would not Blossom forth in the sharp radiance. Though the golden bridle guideth their courage. But when, As from swelHng eyebrows Forgetful of the world. Quietly shining strength falls From the Holy Scriptures, Rejoicing in grace They yield themselves to calm vision.
Quiet is his sign In the thimderous sky. And One stands beneath it His life long. For Christ Hves yet. But the heroes, his sons. All are come and the Holy Scriptures From him, and the deeds of the earth Have illumined the hghtning till now, A contest unwaning. But he is there. For his works Are known to him from everlasting. Too long, too long already Has the glory of the Blessed been viewless. For each of the Blessed demand sacrifice. Yet if one were passed over Ne'er did it bring about good. We have served the earth our mother And of late we have served The light of the sim Unwittingly, but the Father who rules over all Loves best that the constant Letter be fostered, And enduring existence Interpreted well.
With this is accordant The song of my people. Wo aber Gefahr ist, wachst I Das Rettende auch. So sprach ich, da entfiihrte Mich schneller, denn ich vermutet I Und weit, wohin ich nimmer Zu kommen gedacht, ein Genius mich Vom eigenen Haus. Denn alles ist gut. Vieles ware Zu sagen davon. Und es griinen Tief an den Bergen auch lebendige Bilder. Doch furchtbar ist, wie da und dort Unendlich hin zerstreut das Lebende Gott. Nicht alles will der Hochste zumal. Zwar Eisen traget der Schacht, Und glii- hende Harze der Atna, So hatt ich Reichtum, Ein Bild zu bil- den, und ahnlich Zu schaun, wie er gewesen, den Christ, Wenn aber einer spornte sich selbst, Und traurig redend, un- terweges, da ich wehrlos ware, Mich iiberfiele, dass ich staunt und von dem Gotte Das Bild nachahmen mocht ein Knecht— Im Zome sichtbar sah' ich einmal Des Himmels Herm, nicht, dass ich sein soUt etwas, sondern Zu lernen.
Giitig sind sie, ihr Verhasstestes aber ist, Solange sie herrschen, das Falsche, und es gilt I Dann Menschliches unter Menschen nicht mehr. Denn sie nicht walten, es waltet aber Unsterblicher Schicksal und es wandelt ihr Werk Von selbst und eilend geht es zu Ende. Die Toten wecket Er auf, die noch getangen nicht Vom Rohen sind. Es warten aber Der scheuen Augen viele Zu schauen das Licht. Still ist sein Zei- chen I Am donnernden Himmel. Und Einer stehet daninter Sein Leben lang.
Denn noch lebt Christus. Er ist aber dabei. Denn seine Werke sind Ihm alle bewusst von jeher. Zu lang, zu lang schon ist Die Ehre der Himmlischen unsicht- bar. Dem f olgt deutscher Gesang. Ripened the fruit, in fire cast, baked And tried on the earth, and it is the law That all go back into it, like snakes, Prophetic, dreaming on The hills of the heavens.
And there is so much Like a burden Of logs on the shoulders That has to be borne. Though the roads Are not right. For discrepant, As horses, go the tethered Elements and the immemorial Laws of the earth. And ever A longing strains after the fetterless. But there is so much That has to be borne. And one must be true. Let us look not before, though, Nor after. May we be rocked, rather, as A boat is cradled at sea. Aber bos sind Die Pfade.
Und immer Ins Ungebundene gehet eine Sehnsucht. Vieles aber ist Zu behalten. Und Noth die Treue. Vorwarts aber und riikwarts woUen wir [ Nicht sehn. Uns wiegen lassen, wie Auf schwankem Kahne der See. Voices calmly wending filled And aired is the ancient Bliss-wont hall; fragrant above green carpets floats The happy cloud, stand gleaming wide, Of ripest fruit abundant, and of golden-wreathed bowls. Well meted out, resplendent rows Uprising here and there aside of the Smoothed ground, the tables.
For, coming from afar Hither, at eventide, Loving guests have bid themselves. Dawn fills my eyes. Well-nigh I deem This celebration's prince. Him, to behold That smiles upon a day's great labor: Although you will deny your strangeness And, wearied by your glorious course, Cast down your eyes, forgotten, softly shaded. And will take on a friendly shape, O Widely Known, Yet bends the knees your awe.
Nothing outstrips you; But this I know: Wisdom may show me many a thing, but Where a god enters as well A more luminous day wiU break.
Yet not xmheralded he comes: And he whom neither flame nor flood deterred Need not be vainly startled by this stillness, now That neither man nor spirit yields to order. Downstream to sleep, at the sounding of peace. But, days endeared of innocence, you also bring Today, O loved ones, the celebration, and The spirit blossoms in this quiet round; And hasten forth I must, although, O friends, my locks are gray, an eternal youth Preparing the wreaths for the feast.
And many a one I would gladly ask; but you. Concerned, stem but friendly, for mankind, who Far off beneath Syrian palms, Close by that city, would sit by the well: The com fields mstled, quietly the cool Air breathed in the shade of the sacred mountains. So did loving friends shade you, Like faithful clouds tempering Your rays cast toward man. A mortal doom, amidst your words, was to fold A darker shade around you, dreadful fate. So transient Is what Heaven proffers; but not in vain therefore, For but lightly a god will touch, knowing What are our limits, the human abode.
Nor can we reckon the moment. Then, too, Hcense may walk unleashed, Blasphemers shall reach the holy spot From distant parts, exercising their frenzy To strike at a fate; yet gratitude Does not come straight in the wake of divine gifts: It must be won through ordeal. Had not the giver been thrifty always, Surely the sacred treasures of our hearth Would have turned all to destruction.
Even so, much was granted us from above. And the shores, and the floods of the sea. Before your eyes the stars Teach you, who shall never become their equal. Of the eternally living, however. Whence joy flows, and song, One came, a son, valiantly calm. And now we behold him. Knowing his father, now That, to hold his celebration. The high Spirit of the World Has descended toward us. Too great he was to be the lord of ages; Too far his realm to be ever exhausted. Even so, one day a god may choose labor To be like the mortals, sharing their fate. For it is decreed that all shall recognize each other.
And language hold sway once silence has returned. Yet where the Spirit liveth we venture forth. Contending for the best. Thus I judge it best —When the painter has at last achieved his likeness And stepped, masterful, from his workshop, lord of love only— That equity reign All the way from earth to heaven. Man has experienced much since the dawn. Ever since speech began, and mutual notice; But song follows apace. And the vision of time, divinely unfolding.
Sign of the Spirit, lies before us, bonds of aUiance Fastening his might to the powers of nature. Not him alone, but the unborn generations This token proves: Yet as a final token, O holy powers, This very day of celebration testifies For you, a mark of love. You, unforgettable one, at time's decline, Our celebration's youthful prince. No sooner wiU This race lie down imtil You, promised ones, each single one Of you, immortal beings, to pronounce Your heaven's bounties, have arrived In our house.
Fragrant breezes Are your herald. The steaming downs announce you And the ground, still resounding with tempests. Now the cheek is refreshed with hope And in front of the opened bouse The mother sits with her child. Regarding this utter peace. And fewer seem the agonies. A harbinger has caught the soul, A promise sent, of golden light. Keeping the aged from dying. Well wrought from above are The savors of life. For all is pleasing now, But most of all Simphcity: This, nothing else, is the shape of gods.
You grieved, O Mother, like The Honess when. Nature, You lost your children. Too eagerly loving, you suffered their loss. When robbed of them by a foe Whom you almost took for your own son, A satyr mingling with gods. Thus you did much of your building And buried many a thing. For you are hated by those whom You, powerful beyond time. Had drawn forth into hght. Now you know and, knowing, relax: For gladly rests down below. So it may ripen, the anxiously caring world. Denn feme kommend haben Hieher, zur Abendstunde, Sich liebende Gaste beschieden.
Nichts vor dir, [ Nur Fines weiss ich, Sterbliches bist du nicht. Ein Weiser mag mir manches erhellen; wo aber Ein Gott auch noch erscheint, Da ist doch andere Klarheit. Das ist, sie horen das Werk, Langst vorbereitend, von Morgen nach Abend, jetzt erst, Denn un- ermesslich brausst, in der Tief e verhallend, Des Donnerers Echo, das tausendjahrige Wetter, Zu schlaf en, iibertont von Friedens- lauten, hinunter. Und manchen mocht' ich laden, aber o du, Der freundlichemst den Menschen zugethan, Dort unter syrischer Pahne, Wo nahe lag die Stadt, am Brunnen geme war; Das Komf eld rauschte rings, still athmete die Kiihlung Vom Schatten des geweihetenGebirges; I Und die lieben Freunde, das treue Gewolk, Umschatteten dich auch, damit der heiligkiihne Durch Wildniss mild dein Straal zu Menschen kam, o JiinglingI Ach' aber dunkler umschattete, mit- ten im Wort, dich I Furchtbarentscheidend ein todtlich Verhang- nis.
So ist schnell Verganglich alles Himmlische; aber umsonst nicht; Denn schonend riihrt des Maases allzeit kundig Nur einen Augenblick die Wohnimgen der Menschen Ein Gott an, imver- selm, und keiner weiss es, wenn? Auch dart alsdann das Freche driiber gehn Und kommen muss zum heilgen Ort das Wilde Von Enden fern, iibt rauhbetastend den Wahn, Und trif t daran ein Schicksal, aber Dank, Nie folgt der gleich hemach dem gott- gegebenen Geschenke; I Tiefpriif end ist es zu f assen.
Des Gottlichen aber empfiengen wir Doch viel. Und es lehret Gestim dich, das Vor Augen dir ist, doch nimnier kannst du ihm gleichen. Denn langst war der zum Herm der Zeit zu gross Und weit aus reichte sein Feld; wann hats ihn aber erschopfet? Einmal mag aber ein Gott auch Tagewerk erwahlen, Gleich sterblichen und theilen alles Schicksal.
Schicksalgesetz ist diss, dass alle sich erfahren, Dass, wenn die Stille kehrt, auch eine Sprache sei. I Wo aber wirkt der Geist, sind auch wir mit, und streiten, Was wohl das Beste sei. So diinkt mir jezt das Beste, Wenn nun vollendet sein Bild und fertig ist der Meister, Und selbst ver- klart davon aus seiner Werkstatt tritt, Der stille Gott der Zeit und nur der Liebe Gesez Das schonausgleichende gilt von hier an bis zum Himmel. Und das Zeitbild, das der grosse Geist entfaltet, Ein Zeichen liegts vor uns, das zwischen ihm und andem Ein Biindnis zwi- schen ihm und andem Machten ist.
Nicht er allein, die Uner- zeugten, Ew'gen Sind kennbar alle daran, gleichwie auch an den Pflanzen Zulezt ist aber doch, ihr heiligen Machte, fiir euch Das Liebeszeichen, das Zeugnis Dass ihrs noch seiet, der Festtag. So hast du manches gebaut, Und manches begraben, Denn es hasst dich, was Du, vor der Zeit Allkraftige, zum Lichte gezogen. Nun kennest, nun lassest du diss; I Denn gerne fiihllos ruht, Bis dass es reift, furchtsam- geschaftiges drunten.
What here we are, far oflF a god amends With harmonies, everlasting recompense, and peace. For a while, especially during his sojourn in Jena, he was subjected to Schiller's influence. In Leipzig he met Friedrich Schlegel and became deeply attached to him and his new ideas. After his graduation from the Wit- tenberg law school , he moved to Tennstedt, in Thuringia, to train for a pubHc post and met there in the thirteen-year-old Sophie von Kiihn with whom he fell in love.
At her death the poet was imconsolable, and out of his grief sprang his Hymns to the Night in which he expressed a mystical death wish, granted soon there- after: In addition to the Hymns, considered a land- mark in the history of German poetry, Novahs wrote two lyrical novels— The Novices of Sais and Henry of Ofter- dingen, wherein the symboHc 'l lue flower" of the Roman- tics first blossomed— an essay, "Christianity or Europe," in which he glorified the medieval spirit, and finally his Spir- itual SongSy inspired by the rituals and festivals of the church and praising the Virgin Mary as the great symbol of the Infinite.
When numbers, figures, no more hold the key To solve the living creatures' mystery, When those who kiss and sing have knowledge more Than all the deeply learned scholars' store. And when in poesy and faerie Men read the world's eternal story, Then will a secret word obhge to flee All of this mad perversity.
Gifted with feehng, Bestows not his love On the all-joyful light? As life's inmost soul It is breathed By the giant world Of restless stars Who swim in its blue ocean. By the sparkling stone, The peaceful plant. By the creatures' Many-fashioned Ever-moving Hfe. It is breathed by the clouds Many-hued, by the zephyrs. And, above all, By the glorious strangers, With the thoughtful eyes. The swinging gait, And the sounding lips. As a king It summons each power Of terrestrial nature To numberless changes, And alone doth its presence Reveal the full splendor Of earth.
Sunk in deep vault; How dreary, forlorn her abode! Deep melancholy Stirs in the chords of the breast. Far oflF lies the world With its motley of pleasures. Elsewhere doth the Hght Pitch its airy encampment. What if it never returned To its faithful children, To its gardens In its glorious house? Yet what flows so cool. So refreshing, So full of hid tidings To our hearts, And absorbs the soft air Of melancholy? Hast thou too A human heart, O dark Night? What boldest thou Under thy mantle Which steals unseen Upon my soul, Giving it strength?
Thou seemest but fearful- Precious balm Drops from thy hand. From the bundle of poppies. In sweet intoxication Thou unfoldest the soul's heavy wings, And givest us joys Dark, inexpressible. Secret as thou, Joys which are promise of heaven. How joyful and bless'd The departure of day. It is but because Night withdraws those who serve thee That thou sowest In the wide realms of space Shining spheres. To proclaim in the times of thine absence Thine omnipotence, Thy returning again. More heavenly than those flashing stars In those wide spaces, Seem to us the infinite eyes Which the Night In us opens.
Farther see they Than the palest Of that numberless host. They look through the depths Of a love-enfiUed heart Which fills with unspeakable joy A loftier space. Praise to the world's Queen! To the lofty proclaimer Of holy world, To the nurturer Of blissful love. The Night is here- Rapt away is my soul- Finished the earthly way. Once more art thou mine. I gaze into the depths of thy dark eyes. See naught but love and bhssfulness therein; We sink upon Night's altar. Must ever the morning return? Endeth never the thraldom of earth? Unhallowed aflFairs swallow up The heavenly coming of Night?
Will never love's offering bum Eternal and hid? To the light was appointed its time, A time to its watching— But timeless the rule of the Night; Without end the duration of sleep. Holy Sleepl Bless not too seldom Night's consecrated ones— In this earth's daily round. Only the foolish mistake thee And know of no sleep But the shadows, Which thou in compassion Castest upon us In that twilight Of the true Night. They feel thee not In the golden flood of the grape, In the almond tree's Magic oil, In the brown juice of the poppy. They know not It is thou That hoverest over the breast Of the tender maiden, And makest her bosom a heaven— They guess not That out of old histories Thou comest to meet us.
And bearest the key To the dwellings of the bless'd: A silent messenger Of infinite mysteries. Melancholy flowed into a new unfathomable world; thou, O inspiration of night, slumber of heaven, camest o'er me. All that lay round me softly arose, and above it hovered my unbound, newly bom spirit.
As a dust cloud became the mound; through the cloud I beheld the glorified features of the Be- loved. In her eyes rested eternity. I grasped her hands and my tears became a sparkling indestructible cord. Thousands of years drew away down into the distance as a thunder- storm. On her neck I wept enchanted tears for the new life. That was the first dream in thee.
It passed, but its image remained— the eternal, imshakable behef in the heaven of night, and its sim, the Beloved. IV Now know I when the last morning will be— when the Hght will no longer scare away love and the night, when slumber will be eternal and only one inexhaustible dream.
Heavenly weariness deserts me now no more. Long and toilsome was the way to the Holy Sepulchre, and the Cross was heavy. He whose lips have once been moistened by the NOVALIS 61 crystal wave which, unseen by common sight, has its source in the dark womb of the mound at whose foot breaks the earthly tide, he who has stood above upon this boundary of the world, and has looked across into the new land, into the dwelling place of the night— he, of a truth, turns not back to the aflFairs of the world in the land where light holds sway, and eternal unrest makes its home.
Up above he builds himself tabernacles, dwellings of peace, he longs and loves, gazes across, until the most welcome of all hours draws him down into the wells of the foimt. All that is earthly floats on the surface, and is washed down from the heights; but what has become holy through contact of love runs released into hidden ways in yonder realm, where cloudlike it mingles with the slumber-wrapped loved ones.
Still thou awakest The weary to work, O cheerful Light— Thou inspirest me with joyful life. But thou allurest me not From remembering That moss-grown monument. Canst thou show me An ever-true heart? Has thy sun Friendly eyes Which know me? Do thy stars grasp My longing hand And give me in turn A tender pressure? Hast thou bedecked her With color And Hght outhne?
Or was it she Who gave to thine adornment Higher and loveher meaning? What delight And what pleasures Offers thy life Which outweigh The enchantments of death? Doth not all that inspires us Bear the color of night? She beareth thee as a mother. And to her thou dost owe All of thy splendor. Thou wouldst vanish Into thyself, Thou wouldst dissolve Into endless space Did she not hold thee— Not bind thee, So that thou grewest warm. And flaming Begottest the world. Verily I was, ere thou wert. Not yet have they ripened, Those thoughts of the gods. As yet are the traces but few In our age.
One day thy clock will depict The ending of time. When thou wilt become As one of us, And full of longing. Melt away and die. I discern thy removal In wild grief From our home. Thy resistance To the glorious Ancient heaven. In vain is thy fury. Indestructible Stands the Cross, Triumphant banner Of our race.
I wander across And every pain Will turn to a pricking Of joy again. Unending life Comes over me, And I look from above Down below upon thee. Thy brightness fades On that httle hill, A shade is bringing The chaplet cool. Beloved, Of me drink deep. That soon I be wrapped In eternal sleep. I feel death's encroaching. Youth-giving wave, And wait through life's stresses Full stalwart and brave. Over the widespread race Of man There formerly ruled An iron destiny. A dark and heavy band Lay round their Anxious souls. Infinite was the earth, Abode of the gods And their home. Rich in treasures And glorious wonders.
Since eternity Stood her mysterious frame. An ancient giant Supported the blissful world. And the befriended Joyful mankind. The dark blue depths Of the sea Was the womb of a goddess. Heavenly hosts Dwelt in joyful delight In the grottoes of crystal- Trees and brooks, Blossoms and beasts Had human sense; Sweeter tasted the wine. For a god in youthful bloom Gave it to man. The full sheaves Of golden com Were divinely bestowed; The rapturous joys of love A sacred service To heavenly beauty. Thus was life An eternal festival Of gods and men. Only there was one thought Which frightful to the festive tables trod, And in wild panic fear all hearts enveiled.
Here words of counsel even failed each god. Which with sweet comfort could their hearts have filled; Mysterious was this monster's dreadful road, Whose rage no gift, no anxious prayer availed— For it was Death, who this gay banquet scene Broke up in pain and tears and anguish keen. Forever now from all things separated Which here do stir the heart in sweet delight— From loved ones parted, whom, down here, belated.
Vain longings and an endless grief incite— Dull dream the lot to which the dead seemed fated, Unconscious struggling deemed their dreary plight. Broken and shattered was the wave of pleasure Upon the rock of misery without measure. With daring mind, and lofty feeling's zest, Did man embellish that grim mask unkind, A pale wan youth puts out the light to rest, Soft is the end, as harp strings touched by wind, And memory melts in shadow-flood at last: Thus poets eased the need of troubled mind. Yet still unfathomed stayed eternal night. The solemn symbol of a far-off might. To its end inclined The ancient world.
The happy garden Of the youthful race Withered away; Out into freer spaces Strove the full-grown, Unchildhke mankind. Laws arose, And in ideas As in dust and air Fell to pieces The measureless prime Of the thousandfold life. Fled away Were all-powerful faith And fantasy. All-transforming, AU-imiting, Heavenly comrade. Unfriendly blew A cold north wind Over the frozen plains, And the wonderland home Passed away in the ether. The infinite distance Of heaven Was filled with shining worlds. Into a deeper sanctuary. Into the mind's higher realms. Drew the soul of the world With her powers.
There to reign Till the new day Should break. No longer was Hght The abode of the gods. And a heavenly token- Around them they drew The curtain of night. In the midst of mankind. In a folk Despised above all. Too soon grown ripe, And proudly estranged From the blessed innocence Of youth.
Before all others Did the eastern wisdom, Rich flowering, full of foreseeing. Know the approach Of the new age. A star pointed the way To the King's humble cradle. In the name of the far future They paid him homage. With the splendor and perfumes Of the highest wonders of nature.
Unfolded the heavenly heart In sohtude To a glowing bosom of love, Turned toward The Father's lofty countenance, And resting on the holy foreboding breast Of the gracious earnest Mother. With worshiping ardor The prophetic eye Of the blossoming child Looked into future times. Soon the most childhke natures, Wondrously gripped By the almighty love. A strange new life Flowered forth In his presence- Inexhaustible words. Most joyful of tidings.
Fell hke sparks Of divine spirit From his gracious lips. Thou art that youthful form our tombs display Standing above them, deep in contemplation, ConsoHng emblem in our darkest day Of higher manhood's joyful new foundation. What once had sunk us down, to grief a prey. Now draws us thence with longing's sweet elation. In Death was germ of hfe eternal found, Thyself art Death, and first doth make us sound.
So that a thousand hearts Inchned themselves to him. And the glad gospel Upward waxed Branching a thousandfold. But yet short time After the singer passed, The precious life Became a sacrifice For the deep fall of man- Young in years he died, Tom away From the loved world, From the weeping Mother, From his friends. The holy mouth Emptied the dark cup Of untold sorrow.
In dreadful anguish Drew nigh to him the birth hour Of the new world. Hard wrestled he with the horrors Of ancient death. Heavy upon him lay The weight of the old world. Once more he gently looked upon the Mother- Then came the loosening hand Of eternal love— And he fell asleep. Few were the days Hung a deep veil Over the roaring sea, over the dark heaving land. Uncounted tears Wept the beloved ones.
Awaked to new godlike glory He ascended to the heights Of the rejuvenated, new-bom world. And the old world Which with him had died. With his own hand he bm'ied In the forsaken cave. And with almighty strength he laid above The stone which thence no power should ever move. Still weep thy loved ones Tears of joy, Tears of emotion. And unending thanks Before thy grave— And ever still With shock of joy See thee ascend.
Themselves with thee— See thee with ardor sweet Weep on the Mother's bosom And on the friends' true hearts. Hasten, filled with longing, Into the Father s arms, Bringing the young Childlike humanity And the inexhaustible draft Of the golden future. The Mother followed thee soon In heavenly tTiim: She was the first In the new home At thy side. Long ages Have flowed by since then. Thousands from pain and grief Draw nigh to thee Full of faith, longing, And fidehty, And rule with thee And the heavenly Virgin In the kingdom of love.
And serve in the temple Of the heavenly death.
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Uplifted is the stone. Mankind is now arisen, We chng to thee alone, And feel no bond of prison. Death to the marriage calls, The lamps are shining steady. The virgins all are ready, No lack of oil befalls. Far distances are ringing With tidings of thy train! And stars the summons singing With human tongue and strain! To thee, Maria, lifteth Of thousand hearts the plea. Whose hfe in shadow drifteth They long to come to thee. Consumed with bitter pain, This dreary earth-world spuming. Have turned to thee again. Their aid to us was given When pain and want befell.
We join them now in heaven And ever with them dwell. For none with faith who careth On grave need sorely grieve, The treasure that he loveth From him will none bereave. For angels true of heaven His heart in safety keep. His longing grief to leaven Inspireth night his sleep. Our life with courage ending Eternal life draws near, With inner glow expanding Transfigured sense grows clear. The star-world now is flowing As living golden wine, Its joys on us bestowing, Ourselves as stars shall shine.
For love is freely given And partings ne'er may be. The flood of life is driven Like an unbounded sea- Unending night delights us. And all the sim that lights us Is God's own countenance. Within a narrow boat we come And hasten to the heavenly home. All hail, then, to eternal night, All hail, eternal sleeping, Warmed have we been by daily light. Withered by grief's long weeping. Strange lands no longer joys arouse. We want to reach our Father s house. In this world's hfe what shall we do With love and faith devoted? What should we care about the new?
The old is no more noted. Ohl lonely stands he, deeply sore. Whose love reveres the days of yore. The days of yore when, himian sense High flaming, brightly burning. The Father's hand and countenance Mankind was still discerning. Many of higher senses ripe Resembled still their prototype. The days of yore, when ancient stem Bore many youthful flowers. And children craved the heavenly home Beyond life's anguished hours. And e'en when hfe and pleasure spake Love caused full many a heart to break.
The days of yore, when God revealed Himself, young, ardent, glowing; To early death his life he sealed. Deep love and courage showing. Sparing himself no painful smart, He grew still dearer to our heart. We must repair to heavenly place If we would see those sacred days. What then doth hinder our return? The loved ones long have slumbered, Their grave enfolds our life's concern, With anxious grief we're cumbered. We have no more to seek down here. The heart wants naught, the world is bare. Eternal and from hidden spring A sweet shower through us streameth; An echo of our grief did ring From distance far, meseemeth; The loved ones have the same desire.
And with their longing us inspire. O downward then to Bride so sweetl To Jesus, the Beloved! A dream doth break our bonds apart. And sinks us on the Father's heart. Abwarts wend ich mich Zu der heiligen, unaussprechlichen Geheimnis- vollen Nacht— Fernab liegt die Welt, Wie versenkt in eine tiefe Gruft, Wie wiist und einsam ihre Stelle!
Tiefe Wehmut Weht in den Saiten der Bnist. I Fernab liegt die Welt Mit ihren bunten Geniissen. Muss immer der Morgen wieder kommen? Endet nie deS Irdi- schen Gewalt? Zusam- men floss die Wehmut in eine neue unergriindUche Welt— du Nachtbegeisterung, Schliunmer des Himmels, kamst iiber mich. Die Gegend hob sich sacht empor— iiber der Gegend schwebte mein entbundner, neugebomer Geist. In ihren Augen ruhte die Ewigkeit— ich fasste ihre Hande, und die Tranen wurden ein funkelndes, unzerreissliches Band.
Jahrtausende zogen abwarts in die Feme, wie Ungewitter. An ihrem Halse weint'ich dem neuen Leben entziickende Tranen— das war der erste Traum in dir. Er zog voriiber, aber sein Abglanz blieb, der ewige, unerschiitterliche Glauben an den Nachthimmel und seine Sonne, die Geliebte. IV Nun weiss ich, wenn der letzte Morgen sein wird— wenn das Licht nicht mehr die Nacht und die Liebe scheucht, wenn der Schlummer ewig, und ein unerschopflicher Traum sein wird.
Himmlische Miidigkeit verlasst mich nun nicht wieder. Wessen Mund einmal die kristallene Woge netzte, die, gemeinen Sinnen unsichtbar, quillt in des Hiigels dunkelm Schoos, an dessen Fuss die irdische Flut bricht, wer oben stand auf diesem Grenzgebirge der Welt und hiniibersah in das neue Land, in der Nacht Wohnsitz; wahrlich, der kehrt nicht in das Treiben der Welt 2: Oben baut er sich Hiitten, Hiitten des Frie- dens, sehnt sich und liebt, schaut hiniiber, bis die willkommenste aller Stunden hinunter ihn— in den Brunnen der Quelle zieht.
AUes Irdische schwimmt obenauf und wird von der Hohe hinab- gespiilt, aber was heilig ward durch der Liebe Beriihrung, rinnt aufgelost in verborgnen Gangen auf das jenseitige Gebiet, wo es, wie Wolken, sich mit entschlummerten Lieben mischt. Aber du lockst mich Von der Erinnerung Moosigem Denkmal nicht. Kannst du mir zeigen Ein ewig treues Herz? Hat deine Sonne Freund- liche Augen, Die mich erkennen? Fassen deine Sterne Meine verlangende Hand? Geben mir wieder Den zartlichen Druck?
Oder war sie es, Die deinem Schmuck Hohere, liebere Be- deutung gab? Zu geben Menschlichen Sinn Deinen Schopfungen. Noch reiften sie nicht, Diese gottlichen Gedanken. Noch sind der Spuren Unsrer Gegenwart Wenig. Umsonst ist deine Wut, Dein Toben. Reich an Kleinoden Und herrlichen Wundern. Seit Ewigkeiten Stand ihr geheimnisvoller Ban. Ein alter Riese Trug die sehge Welt.
Bald sammelten die kindlichsten Gemiiter, Von allmachtiger Liebe Wundersam ergriffen, j Sich um ihn her. Im Tode ward das ew'ge Leben kund, Du bist der Tod und machst uns erst gesund. Der Sanger zog Vol! Entsiegelt ward das Geheimnis. Gehoben ist der Stein. Die Menschheit ist erstanden. Wir alle bleiben dein Und fiihlen keine Banden.
So manche, die sich gliihend In bittrer Qual verzehrt Und dieser Welt entfliehend Nur dir sich zugekehrt; Die hilfreich uns erschienen In mancher Not und Pein— Wir konimen nun zu ihnen, Um ewig da zu sein. Nun weint an keinem Grabe Fiir Schmerz, wer liebend glaubt. I Der Liebe siisse Habe Wird keinem nicht geraubt.
I Wir kommen in dem engen Kahn Geschwind am Him- melsufer an. Wir miissen nach der Heimat gehn, Um diese heil'ge Zeit zu sehn. Was halt noch unsre Riickkehr auf— Die Liebsten ruhn schon lange. Ihr Grab schliesst unsern Lebenslauf, Nun wird uns weh und bange. Zu suchen haben wir nichts mehr— Das Herz ist satt, die Welt ist leer. Die Lieben sehnen sich wohl auch Und sandten uns der Sehn- sucht Hauch.
Though all are faithless growing. Yet will I faithful be. That one on earth is showing His thankfulness to Thee. For me Thou cam'st to suffer For me Thou had'st to smart. And now with joy I offer To Thee my thankful heart. Forgot and passed Thee by. With naught but love unsparing Thou cam'st for them and me. They let Thee die, uncaring. And thought no more of Thee. Yet true love ever winneth, At last the world will see. When weeping each one cHngeth, A child before Thy knee.
When now at last I find Thee, O leave me not alone! But ever closer bind me And let me be Thine ownl My brothers too, beholding, Will soon in Heav'n find rest. And then Thy love enfolding Will sink upon Thy breast. Wenn alle untreu werden, So bleib ich dir doch treu, Dass Dankbarkeit auf Erden Nicht ausgestorben sei.
Oft muss ich bitter weinen, Dass du gestorben bist Und mancher von den Deinen Dich lebenslang vergisst. Von Liebe nur durchdrungen, Hast du so viel getan, Und doch bist du verklungen, Und keiner denkt daran. Ich habe dich empfunden, OI lasse nicht von mir; Lass innig mich verbunden Auf ewig sein mit dir.
So heavy grows our cheer. When all from far o'erpowers Our hearts with ghostly fear. There come wild terrors creeping With stealthy silent tread, And night's dark mantle sweeping O'erweighs the soul with dread. Our pillars strong are shaking. No hold remaineth sure, Our thoughts in whirlpools breaking Obey our will no more. Then madness comes and claims us And none withstands his will, A senses' dullness maims us, The pulse of life stands still.
Who raised the Cross, bestowing A refuge for each heart? Who lives in heaven all-knowing And healeth pain and smart? Go thou where stands that Wonder And to thy heart give ear. His flames shall force asunder And quell thy nightmare fear. An angel bendeth o'er thee And bears thee to the strand. And, filled with joy, before thee Thou seest the Promised Land. Der Wahnsinn naht und locket Unwiderstehlich bin. Der Puis des Lebens stocket, Und stumpf ist jeder Sinn.
Wer hat das Kreuz erhoben Zum Schutz f iir jedes Herz? Wer wohnt im Himmel droben Und hilft in Angst und Schmerz? Ein Engel zieht dich wieder Gerettet auf den Strand, Und schaust vol! Freuden nieder I In das Gelobte Land. When in sad and weary hour Dark despair hath cast its gloom; When overwhelmed by sickness' power Fears our inmost soul consume; When we think of our beloved Bowed with sorrow and with grief; All our heav'ns with clouds are covered Not one hope can bring relief.
God then bendeth to receive us. With his love he draweth near; When we long for life to leave us Then his angel doth appear; Brings the cup of life, restoring Strength and comfort from above; Not in vain our prayers imploring Peaceful rest for those we love. Brentano seems to have inherited the restlessness and effervescence of both the Brentanos and the Laroches. His interest was probably stimu- lated by Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry. In Brentano married the poetess Sophie M6reau but she died only three years later. His second marriage was unhappy, and he drifted, in the course of time, toward the pious eighteen-year-old Luise Hensel, whom he wooed in vain and who brought him back to the Catholic fold His hterary activities then came to an end, save for recording the visions of the stigmatized nun Anna Katharina Emmerick.
Brentano's claim to immortality rests primarily on his sweetly cadenced lyrics and his tales, such as "The Story of the Just Casper and Fair Annie" , rich in the imaginative charm of folklore. Shall touch no child to grieve it. Simplicity hath sown the seeds, Sadness passed through it with its breath. And longing has achieved it. I was amazed to find what I thought was GGE among the four stories in this pamphlet found in one of the three or four bookshops I found in Greenwich.
All four plots are unlikely. As the introduction points out, they pay tribute to one of the most unusual minds to offer illustrated stories. For sixty-four straight weeks starting in Verbeek produced a story in six panels that continued as the reader followed the panels again in reverse order upside down. The stories are here reproduced for the first time in their original color. The twenty-four page pamphlet includes very helpful instructions on where to go next. I need these instructions at the mid-points and endings of the stories. All the stories feature Lovekins and Muffaroo; one is the other when you turn them upside down.
Actually, not much more than the title and the existence of a golden-egg laying goose relates to the traditional GGE fable. Verbeek cleverly uses the fable, though, in setting up the unlikely plot for this story. The story features a river, a log, a drowning young lady with a large feather in her hat, and a golden-egg-laying goose. Not your standard cast for a story! There is very good fun and bizarre artistry here! Limited edition of signed copies, this copy unsigned. This is a curiously minimalist typescript pamphlet of 40 pages which lists not even an author.
It claims to be one of one hundred signed copies but is not signed. The texts--from one to three per page--are fables, but are decidedly surreal. A television set asks an ear of corn contemptuously what he can do and receives the answer that he is fit only to be eaten 3. On the same page, a poet demanded that a businessman justify himself. One mole tells another that television is an achievement by means of which men in Teheran can see a girl waggle her hips in Boston.
The second asks if the girls in Teheran cannot waggle their hips. Like making tv sets, under a license from Boston 5! A list of kings shows Ambrose the Savage, James the Horrible, and Paul the Ferocious each reigning between sixty-eight and seventy-eight years, while Theodore the Pacific ruled for one year While the rabbit is racing the tortoise, the fox picks up the former in his air claptraption.
The claptraption reaches the winning post just before the tortoise, and in landing both the fox and rabbit break their necks 33! La Fontaine seems to be represented on , and Aesop on This is another simple Turkish paperbound edition, perhaps meant for schools. La Souris des Villes et la Souris des Champs. A charming kids' reader with pleasant illustrations. Alice drives out to Victorine's country place in a mouse car. Victorine gets her tail caught in an elevator in town! This is a page pamphlet containing four fables, each with a simple black-and-white drawing.
FC is on the cover. Les Fables de La Fontaine. Extra copy , which I will keep with the records, while the first copy stays with the books. The first of the illustrations is on the cover. La Fontaine writes seated under a tree, while various animals look on. Of the other four illustrations, I recommend especially FC. The record was produced by La Discotheque de Paris. Czech original of Fables by Mother with Pictures by Father. To my surprise, this book is not a virtual facsimile of the English translation.
See my comments on the English. Mit Original-Lithographien von Kurt Steinel. My first find in Germany on this trip. Of course Herr Hoffmann had said that he had nothing for me; I also found a Desbillon edition. It is strange that so deliberate a book includes no date of publication. The large illustrations--eight on a single page, and five spreading across two--have their own style: Perhaps the strongest include the two-page spreads of the camel and horses, the fox and the tiger, and the apes.
Good and new to me: Are those last two questions in FS directed to the reader? There are thirty-eight of Lessing's fables here, including one set of two "Die Wohltaten" and one of four "Der Rangstreit der Tiere". Jean de la Fontaine: Uitgeversbedrijf het Goede Boek. Large format, pages. I was happy to find a new fable book in my first afternoon in Holland. The cover has "Zestig Fabels," while both dust jacket and title-page use a number in the title. It would be easier to assess what "tweede druk" means if the book would offer a date of publication.
Thai booklet with lion and mouse in cameo on cover picturing witch and shepherdess. All bibliographical data in Thai. Two fables are illustrated with eight pages of simple green monochrome each at the beginning: T of C at the beginning. Illustrated by Heidi Holder. No indication of authorship. Lavish and well done. Worth looking at for any of the nine fables she does. Now see for a reduced-in-page-size paperbound version done by Penguin Puffin.
With Drawings by Fritz Kredel. Simple artwork that can be of value. The book includes several colored pages besides a number of black-and-whites. The tellings of the tales may be most helpful for the clear morals. See the original hardbound versions of The Man and the Lion. Linoleum cuts by Donna Thomas. The Good Book Press. I already have their The Old Man and Death from The present volume came along with The Miser from There are two linoleum cuts within the sixteen pages of the book.
The first is of the man and lion travelling together; the second presents the statue of a man subduing a lion. The story closes in unusually fine fashion here: The colophon page here makes no mention of the Thomases.
This copy is not signed. The colophon page indicates only that this is copy 35 of Pictorially pointed by Walter Crane. Engraved and printed in colours by Edmund Evans. Rhymed version of W. George Routledge and Sons. Printed in Hong Kong. A lively version involving the personalities of the whole mouse family, particularly the hungry young Michael and his wise old grandfather. The illustrations are simple and spirited.
As I fully expected, this paperback book has nothing to do with Aesopic fables. It contains standard Casper cartoon stories. I read the first, "Every Litter Bit Helps. In typical cartoon style, it brings together contemporary concerns like littering; traditional views of fascinating things like witches and ghosts; evil characters and good characters -- Casper and his friend, Wendy, the good little witch; and happy endings.
Keeping it in the collection may help some future researcher to know what kind of book it is. Collected and edited with notes by M. This is a historical anthology of fables in Russian, covering three major periods. Unfortunately, Roman numerals are used to mark both the major sections and the minor sections contained within them. In the first major section, there are especially fables from Aesop, Phaedrus, Babrius, with a scattering of authors represented by a few fables.
The third large segment offers Russian fables. The back of the book contains a brief but dense commentary, a glossary, and a T of C. This is a serious book of texts. One is tempted to designate this lovely work as nonsense poetry, perhaps in the same sense as the work of Edward Lear.
Illustration and verse work together nicely to raise perception and question. They came from the same piece of leather; they went the same ways; they grew old together; they ended up together on a shelf. Still many people remember that that was once a good pair of shoes. Or just a text: It might be that one cannot take too many at one sitting. Gardner's Fables for Our Times. Illustrations by Robert Myers. Here are thirteen original fables ranging from seven to eighteen pages in length. The "Introduction for Adults" on 16 treats fable as "one of the purest forms of allegory" and adds "But the sine qua non of the fable is that its protagonists be animals.
Children in particular can talk about their behavior better in the form of stories. In particular, Gardner likes to use a Mutual Storytelling Technique in which he creates stories modelled after one which a child has already given but showing healthier ways of adapting. His first story 21 shows that a showoff peacock loses out when it comes to forming a family, because the peahens all think that he will be more interested in himself than in their children.
In the second 27 , Roo stays in his mother kangaroo's pouch when his twin Koo starts going out to play with others. Roo is afraid of being hurt. After some struggle, he learns to risk the pain of the outside world for its pleasures. During a robbery, Barky barks, but he has always barked, and no one pays attention. Besides, he is afraid to bite. When Sparky, who has not always been barking, barks, people pay attention; and he bites the thieves. The stories seem to me simple and effective for children. They are followed by a few lessons in each case. A beautifully illustrated large pamphlet matching the English The Golden Axe done at the same time by the same publishers.
See my comments there on the story and the art. How nice to find an old friend in a strange new place in slightly different garb! This edition adds page numbers as paragraph markings before the text of each page. No author or illustrator acknowledged. Pamphlet with top and side edges cut to match the cover illustration. This version centers around a "duendecillo diminuto. I think this booklet may be related to several others I have that are similarly cut, but I cannot put my finger on them.
Traducido por Virginia Barone. Ilustrado por Bob Dole. See my comments on the English version. I feared after bidding on this booklet that I was purchasing something I already had. I was right, but it was in a different language. The Reincarnation Fables of John Gilgun. These nine pieces surprised me. They are a delightful exercise in imaginative empathy. The trick is reincarnation: What the reader finds in each case is not really a simple story, but a variety of genres, including fantasy, prayer, reminiscence, monologue, religious apologia, complaint, and diatribe.
I found myself saying "Wow! That Michael McCurdy illustrates them is not such a surprise to me, since my reaction is much like that to the other work for which I have his illustrations, Aesop's Forest by Robert Coover Perhaps the most fascinating piece of all for me is "Cow," which turns out to be the reminiscences of Thelma R.
Hodge, who lived near Joplin, Missouri. Second place for me goes to "Fox," which is the one-sided conversation of a jaded fox with a newspaper-reporter goose named Greta whom he and his brethren are preparing to devour. Here is the German version of a pop-up book the English version of which I have, published by Brown Watson in As there, the copyright here belongs to Artia from The texts here follow that Brown Watson edition rather than the Octopus edition of The cover here is the same as in the other two versions mentioned, but presents yet a third background color for its FC scene, namely white.
As I mention on the Brown Watson edition, the book is a simple, standard pop-up edition. I wish they also had a pop-up of the cover picture of FC. I had found this edition in inferior condition fourteen years ago. How nice now to find a copy in excellent condition! Illustrated by Nancy King. I do not yet have the book itself. The book presents twelve fables, all with multiple mimeograph master-pages.
Ah, the joy of purple pages! There is plenty of purple seep-through here. There are illustrations on each of the hand-outs to be reproduced. Each fable is presented in dialogue form. As McCann's introduction indicates, the book presents a number of items for each fable: There are voice directions as well as illustrations with each fable. The indications of reading level point out the important vocabulary for that reader. This book takes me back to a time when the teacher who produced the most purple pages was technologically the most advanced.
Les Figures par le Sr. Fessard; Le Texte par le Sr. Limited facsimile edition of , Nr. Published together with an English translation by Sir Edward Marsh. I like this book. Its paintings for kids have an exuberant sometimes even overexuberant quality; they are alive with color and action. Cute mice act out comments, e. Index at the back. Here are fables enjoyed as they should be. A paper done on this book by a student at Georgetown helped me discover many of its charms. There are twenty-four pieces here on pages. There are no illustrations. At the end of the prologue we find a good description of what is coming: I read the first story and found it truly touching.
Two old islanders sit on the porch on Saturday morning and watch the world go by. It turns out that there Jack has had a stroke and cannot speak. Evelina apologizes to him for not enjoying his clowning more. I doubt that a reader will find any fables in the stricter sense in this book. I bought it on eBay with a companion piece, "The Felix: A clever verse preface has the author, sitting at his typewriter, confronted by his nephew asking what he is doing. When he explains, the nephew proceeds to tell the whole neighborhood "Pere Anglade has spent the last three weeks working on composing La Fontaine's fables"!
Wikipedia lists this book -- among his voluminous writings -- as one of his "divertissements. The ass found no way to get ahead. Without vocation, art, title, or status, he had to choose politics. To impress people in a campaign, he wore a lion's skin. When he appeared in his own skin, the populace turned on him, calling him a liar and deceiver.
He answered that they had let themselves be deceived. They should have opened their eyes. The greedy man uses a mirror every evening before which to double his possessions. They are not paper but gold ingots and coins. As he caresses them, he says that he will keep in his chest only what will take care of his modest needs and that the rest he will abandon to the poor.
A last three-line comment notes that this money served well to pay off the humble servants of our governments! There is of course a telling variation on GA The cicada returns after years to plead again but finds only one decrepit ant at home. She declares to the surprised cicada: There are no ants in this damned century.
There are nothing but cicadas! Ediciones Coquito; Iberia S. This book of pages has four parts, clearly marked out in the T of C at the end. It may be in the same series as my Fabulas de Samaniego from Susaeta by way of Suromax. I have long been a fan of Mordillo's illustrations. Again here, the illustrations are lively and witty.
Each page offers one fable, with a multi-colored illustration on the same page. I have tried to make a selection of some of Mordillo's most enjoyable illustrations. The milkmaid carries her jug with her hands, not on her head ; only this fable runs over onto a second page. This is my first book printed in Peru--or having anything to do with Peru. It has a red remainder mark on the bottom edge. Universidad de Buenos Aires. Here is something a bit exotic. I cannot establish the author of the review. The present volume introduces the contemporary reader to Sagui's fables and poetry -- some published here for the first time -- dealing with the law, the courts,and life along the steets and plazas of Buenos Aires in a style reminiscent of Aesop" As the closing T of C indicates, there are some fifty-six fables, besides two in an appendix.
Fables from Samoa in Samoan and English. Collected, arranged, and translated by Richard Moyle. Here are seventeen bilingual tales on facing pages. The stories grow out of a project of careful recording of Samoan stories and songs. In fact, the musical staffs are inserted into the text to show the melodies of the songs in these stories. I have read the first five stories. They are folktales full of local color. Their subject seems often to be match-making. Frequently enough, the stories feature ogres. Usually the Samoan is on the left page and English on the right. There is a helpful and extensive introduction The pictures in this book are blue-colored photographs--e.
Examples are on 59 and Volume 2 of The Bookshelf for Boys and Girls. The University Society, Inc. A small book including great illustrations from throughout history. One Aesopic fable on with an illustration from Charles Folkard. Highlights Hidden Pictures Series. Designed by Tim Gillner. Four of the eighteen pictures are taken from fables: TT has a happy ending, when the tortoise falls into a tree and is removed by a puzzled woodcutter. This French book duplicates Kincaid's Timeless Fables: A Collection of Aesop's Fables published by Brimax in It is unfortunately lacking pages and the stories listed on those pages in the opening T of C.
Perhaps the most curious feature of the transposition from English to French is the inclusion of La Fontaine's name in the sub-title of this edition. Not one fable has changed, but for the French the same fables of Aesop become those of Aesop and La Fontaine. Artima on 61 recognizes the rights of Brimax, but does not mention the title of the work replicated here.
The larger original from which both seem to come is Brimax's Treasury of Fables: A Collection of Aesop's Fables from , twice the size of either of these books. Again, I am struck with the facial expressions Eric Kincaid gives to both fox and stork in their two scenes together Even the contrasting checkered napkins help to set the two scenes against each other. The twenty-six fables here are, I would say, adventures in free and whimsical thinking. Mattress and blanket ended their relationship when someone came between them, and there are "still icy sheets of coldness between them.
I am taken with "The Ghost Who Didn't Believe in Ghosts" 15 , perhaps because this ghost with almost-hair and almost-eyes speaks in almost-sentences. And they are sour! The fox screams at this injustice, and a sweet bunch of grapes falls before him. He goes home, bites his vixen, and never opens another book.
My prize in the whole collection goes to "The Virtuous Piglet" 47 about the piglet who made a virtue of the necessity of eating. This funny fable approaches Thurberesque quality and includes various endings and various moralizations. The initial of this story--a pig with halo forming an "O"--is the illustration for the book's title-page and dust jacket.
Each fable has a simple initial, and there is a FG illustration at the bottom of the T of C. I find the account of Huckaby on the back flyleaf genuinely entertaining. Fables for Middle School Age Russian. Printed in the Soviet Union. Here are of Krylov's fables in a canvas-bound book of pages. Fourteen of Laptyev's illustrations appear here. One can find twenty-four of Laptyev's illustrations in my canvas-bound edition from the "School Library" series published by Children's Literature.
See my comments there. Here there is a T of C at the back. There are no book divisions here among Krylov's fables. Why would someone go to the trouble of publishing of Krylov's fables and leave either five or nine behind, depending on which editors one follows? Einfuhrung und Auswahl Dr. Pfeffel is a fascinating figure. He became blind at an early age.
His study of diplomacy, the career of his father, had been interrupted. He lived in French Alsace but was most at home in German-speaking culture. His brother had become a French diplomat. He was on his way to becoming a German poet. Surprisingly, he founded a military school, especially for Protestants! He experienced the French revolution and apparently lost a great deal in it. Of the book's six literary parts, the fifth and sixth present two dramas and "The Biography of a Pudel" respectively. Each of the four thematic chapters of fables here works chronologically.
The first treats "despotism in either form. To experience in full flight that one is tied to a despot is the hardest slavery. Be sure to thank the Shah of the Franks! A noble wants to seem a friend of the people and claims he would burn his "Adelsbrief. It is still too fresh and green. The latter goes off without measuring and is hailed back. His response is "You do not know the new fashion. The critical principle of pure bootlearning is that you measure up to others; only when a boot fits everyone can it become your boot. The most notable features of this book are its superb binding and the fact that it was printed in Quebec.
There are both an AI and a T of C at the back. Since the arrangement of La Fontaine's original is kept, one can see by a glance at the T of C which fables were chosen. The book is in excellent condition. Libro de Buen Amor II. Fables from a Fourteenth-Century Arabic Manuscript. Its excellent reproductions twenty-four in color of the seventy-eight illustrations of the Bodleian Manuscript Pococke from the year complement well Ramsay Wood's Kalila and Dimna text and are the basis of the illustrations there.
These fables are included: The inside covers misidentify the two jackals after whom the book is named! Bruce Boone and Robert Glueck. Aesop, then la Fontaine, now Bob and Bruce. A comment on the back cover speaks aptly of the "grisly political underside of the Fables. Yasayan Unlu Masallar B This page paperback book is virtually identical with a copy I received as a gift from Greg Schissel five years earlier.
The differences I note are two. There is no pre-title page here with a monkey illustration. And the only date given is , whereas that had a publication date of Let me mention some of my comments from that listing. Forty-seven fables are listed in the T of C at the end of this paperback. The Henri Rousseau-like cover of LM is signed something like "derman. One has a gray background, uneven edges, and indistinct images--like something xeroxed too often. The other is a classic set of line drawings whose provenance I cannot pin down.
The bad news is that the back cover's list of volumes in the series includes as Number 6 Ezop Masallari. Though I have found a number of Turkish fable books since then, I still have not found that one. I will have to go to Turkey to get it! Con ilustraciones de Felipe Ehrenberg. Apparently out of series in a limited edition of The texts seem to be exactly those which Bradbury translated in The Black Sheep and Other Fables ; see my comments there. How nice to find that the one I picked as setting a tone is in fact the first in order here!
The texts seem to have been published first in The special feature of this work is Ehrenberg's strong art. Of the twelve full-page color illustrations, I like best "Chameleon" 30 and "True Frog" The story-opening capitals are very well done. There are also wonderful endpapers of the "Oveja Negra" itself. Gift of the author, Sept. Though I cannot read the Italian, I think I can offer these observations on the work of a master.
Mombello is tracing the trail of Aesopic translations and imitations that led from Julien Macho in to Philippe Desprez in Mombello catalogues translations in his first part and imitations in his second. The work is fundamentally bibliographical, and it seems to have been done with considerable precision. Can one distinguish in this epoch translators from imitators? She also asks if this book would not have been helped by an index, especially because there is such a richness of reference in the work. I am proud to have been given a book by a scholar of Mombelli's quality!
The texts by the first two at the beginning of the book are each literally one paragraph long. Sorlier offers a longer essay on the interaction of the two men Marteau writes the introduction to each of the three sections. Everything in this large-format book is done in black-and-white; even the dust-jacket is done black-and-white on a gray background.
Marteau points out that the agreement between Vollard and Chagall for the fables was for black-and-white etchings. Marteau's view is arresting: Apparently Chagall would keep going over the original etchings to add layer after layer of subtlety. Vollard, through a friend, called Chagall back to Paris in , and Chagall agreed then to do some etchings for "Les Ames Mortes.
That possibility apparently caused an uproar in Paris. Vollard knew what he wanted and had a sense that Chagall could provide it. Chagall did provide a hundred gouaches that Vollard found dazzling. But getting from gouache to copper etching proved difficult. Because of these difficulties, Chagall chose to do black-and-white etchings. Chagall delivered the last of the plates in , but they were not published until Teriade did it in With that, Chagall turned to "La Bible.
Rambunctious Fables of Yucatan. The Hermit Crab Press. These are humorous parodies of ancient lore about gods, statues, and rites. Besides being hallucingenic, the drink is a powerful emetic and purgative. Christian priests today still serve balche at Holy Communion--and services do not last long. The figures remind me of Mayan statues in museums and of Calder's line drawings. I think there is nothing here that has to do with fables. I have a queasy feeling as I read this book. Has political correctness and sensitivity changed so much in twenty years?
This book seems to ridicule Mayan culture in a way we would not allow today. Amid the genial humor, there is also some that is sophomoric. The Mayans' atonal music "was said to have been invented by an ancient Mayan named Arturo Strindberg. Translated by Jeanette Beer. Illustrated by Jason Carter. This copy is otherwise identical with another book in the collection published by Dragon's World. I find these copies inferior in color, printing, and end papers to my Jan. Various artists, including David Frankland for Aesop.
Fables form the backbone of this eclectic reader: This collection seems to be the source, in the case of Aesop and a few others, for Treasury of Literature for Children Exeter, This book is testimony to Aesop's lasting place--and to the deals of go-getter publishers!
Retold by Mary Johnson. Twenty-five fables are told in a lively, colloquial style, with a crossword puzzle facing each fable text. The booklet seems to be meant for helping people to learn English; besides the T of C and the texts with their puzzles, there is only a final page of practice words. BC 5 is unusually specific, and the change is welcome.
The other mice ask the proponent "But are you willing to put the bell on the cat? In almost all other versions, the statement is all too true, since the man is dying right now from the snake's venom! In TH, the hare not only naps but takes a swim The two wives pull out the man's respective black and gray hairs in his sleep 35! The vine speaks with the doe and watches sadly when she is carried away Translated and annotated by Tetcheng Liao.
Here is a paperback version of 98 Buddhist fables. The book is apparently privately published by the translator. I read the first eleven. They seem to me to be closest to the pious anecdotes we read in hagiographical Christian literature like Rodriguez' "The Practice of Perfection and Christian Virtues. Typical failures are to do a little something, to find it good, and then to overdo it.
Alternatively, one fails and then tries to cover the failure and so compounds the problem. The frequent negative conclusion is that one is laughed at, or as one typo has it, "laughted at" 2. There are several such typos on the early pages I read. Let me report on three of these first fables. The first fable features a man who finds a little salt helping the flavor of his food.
He then eats a great deal of salt on an empty stomach. So some monks find a little fasting good and then overdo their fasting. Fable 9 finds a man praising his father for giving up sexual desires completely from his earliest youth; he is laughed at when people ask how he came to be conceived. Fable 11 presents a Brahman who predicts that his son will die in a week. To save his reputation for accurate predictions, he kills his son and people come to respect him as a prophet. The introduction claims that Aesop's fables teach moral principles, while Sakyamuni's fables illustrate a religious precept to reflect the nature of human being.
These latter are thus in this opinion strictly a religious literature. After an epilogue and a list of errata, apparently all the fables are told in Chinese. Fables, Essays, Sonnets, and Humor. This is a posthumous collection of writings from an Australian teacher and writer. The writings have been gathered by his wife Agnes.
They start with a drawing of Millar and a biographical sketch. The biographical sketch has two particularly pertinent comments: The book's first piece is "Extended Family Autobiographical Note. This piece closes with an autobiographical note that is funny and humble xiii. The next piece is just one step beyond fable, I believe: It bristles with funny lines, including this presentation of the young squirrel's discussion with his father: The father's answer includes "You'll right no wrongs if your wrong-righting is wrong.
The Left isn't always right, you know. As for the essays in the book, I like their bearing. They invite to humanity, reconciliation, receptivity, and joy. Do not miss the clever and instructive short story "Love and Brevity" 40 about the marriage of full stop and comma. It is really, I believe, a good short story, in fact about the value of classical literature. Another announced fable is "Pellucid and Asphodel" Again, it is more complex and heavily laden with levels of meaning than I usually find in a fable, but it is a delightful and instructive piece on the importance of doing what you are made to do.
Millar can pun his way delightfully and pointedly through a good piece of literature! I have waited too long a time to catalogue this engaging book! There are, unfortunately, a few typos along the way, like "quetions" on 42, "incicsors" on 50, and "granduer" on An "erratum" slip is inserted at There is an enjoyable ode at the end to those who have read the book, with a smiling drawing of the author on the facing page Originally sold by Waters in Boston.
Illustrated by Steven Guarnaccia. Produced by Steven Heller. A and W Publishers. This is one of those books that I found once ten years ago sitting out in a sidewalk box somewhere at a reduced price. Now I have found it again, reexamined it, and like it much more. The three fables come early in the book: The wit in this book is not bad, though certainly time-bound. It is nice to find an old friend with even more fun than I had remembered.
Various adapters and illustrators. First published in St Michael. Made and printed in Great Britain. William Collins Sons and Co. Strange melange of stories of all sorts and even of art of varying sorts. Four fables show up: The last has an unusual twist: Written and illustrated by Harold Jones. A charming and colorful book, with illustrations done in a childlike manner.
The framing of the illustrations makes for interesting perspectives. The moral to DS is "Those who try to get what they cannot have lose more than they gain. Reprint of the Oxford and London edition of What is to say about a text completely in a language I do not understand? I want to read the preface carefully when I read Kalilah and Dimnah with students this coming semester. I did not realize that the book originally appeared as part of a series of five works offering the same story in five different languages.
Then said the maid: The text-positioning is slightly different in mine, and it is very hard to say whether the woodcuts are identical. One has a gray background, uneven edges, and indistinct images--like something xeroxed too often. Und es griinen Tief an den Bergen auch lebendige Bilder. And out of the depths, as they listen, the voice of the sea- god resounds.
Keith-Falconer did the later Syriac version in that series. This book and the others in the American English Readers series are nicely done. This version of the tale uses nice repetition and would work well orally. The drawings are simple but spirited. The wolf here is smarter than Peter! Retold by John McFarland. Illustrated by James Marshall. Also the first edition of the paperbound. Little, Brown, and Co.
Three paperbound extras, including one worn and one with a tear on A delightful book, chock full of funny illustrations. The tellings are also witty, if they do depart a bit from Aesop. I could go back to this book for many illustrations and several stories. For me this book will be a perennial source of joy. Illustrated by Edward J. Bound in genuine leather. Illustrations separately printed and pasted in with protective sheets. First published in by Hodder and Stoughton. Retold and illustrated by Harry Wingfield. There is a cute astrologer-illustration on The T of C page features this sentence: Adapted by Fang Yuan.
Illustrations by Yang Yongqing. One extra copy from the same source. A beautifully illustrated large pamphlet. This seems to be the familiar Western story with the following changes: You'll be happy all your life. The frontispiece shows the axe in its usual place. There is much that is different in this long account of the race, which is not itself motivated.
The raccoon is the judge. Max's robe ties itself! Max plays tennis and soccer along the way--with himself! The characters resemble Bugs Bunny and Porky Pig. Compare with Words, Riddles, and Games Disney, Illustrated by Arthur Friedman. The two animals live together. The tortoise has great facial expressions. A great deal of time is spent before we ever get to the idea of a race. Perhaps the best illustration is the centerfold of the angry tortoise. I have had this book for twenty-three years, but there was a new addition in this eBay advertisement: The book remains the same, and I will include my earlier remarks on it below.
In addition to the book, I received eight laminated pictures. They include a tortoise, hare, start arrow, finish arrow, sun, tree, bush, and a collection of four smaller animals, the latter presumably as spectators. I will list this item both here as a book and under audio-visual materials. I suppose that these very light pictures might stick to a felt background. Unfortunately, these illustrations are not particularly adapted to this booklet. Aesop keeps provoking new things! As I wrote then, this is a lively book. With illustrations, 33 in colour. This is a substantial resource. Each chapter seems to have a section entitled "Theme.
This segment offers a fine introduction to the published fable tradition. There are surely many more treasures to be found and enjoyed here, but that is a good start! Printed and bound in Colombia, S. I am not sure that this little story is a fable. One honeybee notices and attacks a bear trying to break into the hive. The moving pictures are wonderful! Perhaps the best has the bear trying the scratch the honeybee attacking his nose, as his eyes cross 11!
After the story there are two pages of long explanatory material about bees for the adults who may be reading this book to children. I am surprised that I had not seen this book sometime in the last fifteen years. A simple story emphasizing Marty the Mouse's intelligence. Pages and are out of place. The illustrations are lively.