Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Division of the Earth

The Division of the Earth.

From the German.

Take ye the world—thus, from his height sublime,
Jove spake to men—take it, my boon is free;
'Tis marked your heritage through endless time,
Share it my sons, like brethren, lovingly.

Quick hies the busy race, athirst for gain;
To seek their portions young and old repair:
The tiller took the fields and golden grain;
The huntsman tracked the forest lair;

The merchant garners all his varied store;
The abbot claims the juice of purple hue;
The king has barred the stream and highway o'er,
And cries, "A tenth of all is due."

Ah! last of all—too late—each part assigned,
From some far distant scene the poet came;
No vacant spot his wandering glances find,
No soil but owns a master's name.

"Oh! woe is me! for all thy gifts abound,
And portionless thou leavest thy faithful son!"
Thus while his loud laments to heaven resound,
He fell before the eternal throne.

"If in the land of dreams, and Fancy's reign,
Fondly thou lingerest, then reproach not me;
Where wert thou, Bard, when every share was ta'en?"
"I was," the poet cried, "with thee!

"My ravished eye thy glorious face surveyed,
My rapt ear drank the music of the skies!
Forgive the soul by ecstasy betrayed,
That lost earth's dull realities!"

Then thus the Ruler, from his lofty throne:—
"Content thee, Poet! thou hast failed to share
One portion girdled by the aqueous zone;
Take undivided empire of the Air!"