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TITLE: SUPPRESSED POEMS
AUTHOR: FREDERICH SCHILLER
EBOOK: E02092 (O'Briens Book Cellar)

                           SUPPRESSED POEMS

                         By Frederich Schiller

  CONTENTS:

     The Journalists and Minos
     Bacchus in the Pillory
     Spinosa
     To the Fates
     The Parallel
     Klopstock and Wieland
     The Muses' Revenge
     The Hypochondriacal Pluto (A Romance)
        Book I
        Book II
        Book III
     Reproach. To Laura
     The Simple Peasant
     Actaeon
     Man's Dignity
     The Messiah
     Thoughts on the 1st October, 1781
     Epitaph
     Quirl
     The Plague (A Phantasy)
     Monument of Moor the Robber
     The Bad Monarchs
     The Satyr and My Muse
     The Peasants
     The Winter Night
     The Wirtemberger
     The Mole
     Hymn to the Eternal
     Dialogue
     Epitaph on a Certain Physiognomist
     Trust in Immortality

     THE JOURNALISTS AND MINOS.

     I chanced the other eve,--
         But how I ne'er will tell,--
     The paper to receive.
         That's published down in hell.

     In general one may guess,
         I little care to see
     This free-corps of the press
         Got up so easily;

     But suddenly my eyes
         A side-note chanced to meet,
     And fancy my surprise
         At reading in the sheet:--

     "For twenty weary springs"
         (The post from Erebus,
     Remark me, always brings
         Unpleasant news to us)--

     "Through want of water, we
         Have well-nigh lost our breath;
     In great perplexity
         Hell came and asked for Death;

     "'They can wade through the Styx,
         Catch crabs in Lethe's flood;
     Old Charon's in a fix,
         His boat lies in the mud,

     "'The dead leap over there,
         The young and old as well;
     The boatman gets no fare,
         And loudly curses hell.'

     "King Minos bade his spies
         In all directions go;
     The devils needs must rise,
         And bring him news below.

     "Hurrah!  The secret's told
         They've caught the robber's nest;
     A merry feast let's hold!
         Come, hell, and join the rest!

     "An author's countless band,
         Stalked round Cocytus' brink,
     Each bearing in his hand
         A glass for holding ink.

     "And into casks they drew
         The water, strange to say,
     As boys suck sweet wine through
         An elder-reed in play.

     "Quick! o'er them cast the net,
         Ere they have time to flee!
     Warm welcome ye will get,
         So come to Sans-souci!

     "Smelt by the king ere long,
         He sharpened up his tooth,
     And thus addressed the throng
         (Full angrily, in truth):

     "'The robbers is't we see?
         What trade?  What land, perchance?'--
     'German news-writers we!'--
         Enough to make us dance!

     "'A wish I long have known
         To bid ye stop and dine,
     Ere ye by Death were mown,
         That brother-in-law of mine.

     "'Yet now by Styx I swear,
         Whose flood ye would imbibe,
     That torments and despair
         Shall fill your vermin-tribe!

     "'The pitcher seeks the well,
         Till broken 'tis one day;
     They who for ink would smell,
         The penalty must pay.

     "'So seize them by their thumbs,
         And loosen straight my beast
     E'en now he licks his gums,
         Impatient for the feast.'--

     "How quivered every limb
         Beneath the bull-dog's jaws
     Their honors baited him,
         And he allowed no pause.

     "Convulsively they swear,
         Still writhe the rabble rout,
     Engaged with anxious care
         In pumping Lethe out."

     Ye Christians, good and meek,
         This vision bear in mind;
     If journalists ye seek,
         Attempt their thumbs to find.

     Defects they often hide,
         As folks whose hairs are gone
     We see with wigs supplied
         Probatum!  I have done!

          BACCHUS IN THE PILLORY.

     Twirl him! twirl him! blind and dumb
           Deaf and dumb,
       Twirl the cane so troublesome!
     Sprigs of fashion by the dozen
     Thou dost bring to book, good cousin.
       Cousin, thou art not in clover;
     Many a head that's filled with smoke
     Thou hast twirled and well-nigh broke,
     Many a clever one perplexed,
     Many a stomach sorely vexed,
       Turning it completely over;
     Many a hat put on awry,
     Many a lamb chased cruelly,
     Made streets, houses, edges, trees,
     Dance around us fools with ease.
       Therefore thou are not in clover,
     Therefore thou, like other folk,
     Hast thy head filled full of smoke,
     Therefore thou, too, art perplexed,
     And thy stomach's sorely vexed,
       For 'tis turned completely over;
       Therefore thou art not in clover.

     Twirl him! twirl him! blind and dumb
           Deaf and dumb,
       Twirl the carle so troublesome!
     Seest thou how our tongues and wits
     Thou hast shivered into bits--
       Seest thou this, licentious wight?
     How we're fastened to a string,
     Whirled around in giddy ring,
     Making all like night appear,
     Filling with strange sounds our ear?
       Learn it in the stocks aright!
     When our ears wild noises shook,
     On the sky we cast no look,
     Neither stock nor stone reviewed,
     But were punished as we stood.
       Seest thou now, licentious wight?
     That, to us, yon flaring sun
     Is the Heidelbergers' tun;
     Castles, mountains, trees, and towers,
     Seem like chopin-cups of ours.
       Learn'st thou now, licentious wight?
       Learn it in the stocks aright!

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