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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

UHLAND by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER

First Line: IT IS THE POET UHLAND, FROM WHOSE WREATHINGS
Last Line: IN FANCIED FORTUNES TO FORGET HIS OWN!
Subject(s): UHLAND, LUDWIG (1787-1862);
IT is the poet Uhland, from whose wreathings
Of rarest harmony I here repeat,
In lower tones and less melodious breathings,
Some simple strains where truth and passion meet.

His is the poetry of sweet expression,
Of clear, unfaltering tune, serene and strong;
Where gentlest thoughts and words, in soft procession,
Move to the even measures of his song.

Delighting ever in his own calm fancies,
He sees much beauty where most men see naught,
Looking at Nature with familiar glances,
And weaving garlands in the groves of Thought.

He sings of Youth, and Hope, and high Endeavor,
He sings of Love—the crown of Poesy!—
Of Fate, and Sorrow, and the Grave, forever
The end of strife, the goal of Destiny.

He sings of Fatherland, the minstrel's glory,
High theme of memory and hope divine,
Twining its fame with gems of antique story,
In Suabian songs and legends of the Rhine;

In ballads breathing many a dim tradition,
Nourished in long belief, or minstrel rhymes,
Fruit of the old Romance, whose gentle mission
Passed from the earth before our wiser times.

Well do they know his name among the mountains,
And plains, and valleys of his native land;
Part of their nature are the sparkling fountains
Of his clear thought, with rainbow fancies spanned.

His simple lays oft sings the mother cheerful,
Beside the cradle, in the dim twilight;
His plaintive notes low breathes the maiden tearful
With tender murmurs in the ear of Night.

The hillside swain, the reaper in the meadows,
Carol his ditties through the toilsome day;
And the lone hunter in the Alpine shadows
Recalls his ballads by some ruin gray.

O precious gift! O wondrous inspiration!
Of all high deeds, of all harmonious things,
To be the oracle, while a whole nation
Catches the echo from the sounding strings.

Out of the depths of feeling and emotion
Rises the orb of song, serenely bright,
As who beholds, across the tracts of ocean,
The golden sunrise bursting into light.

Wide is its magic world—divided neither
By continent, nor sea, nor narrow zone;
Who would not wish sometimes to travel thither,
In fancied fortunes to forget his own!



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