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    The Poems of Schiller — Suppressed poems
    The Poems of Schiller — Suppressed poems
    The Poems of Schiller — Suppressed poems
    Ebook95 pages47 minutes

    The Poems of Schiller — Suppressed poems

    By Friedrich Schiller

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    The Poems of Schiller — Suppressed poems
    Author

    Friedrich Schiller

    Johann Christoph Friedrich Schiller, ab 1802 von Schiller (* 10. November 1759 in Marbach am Neckar; † 9. Mai 1805 in Weimar), war ein Arzt, Dichter, Philosoph und Historiker. Er gilt als einer der bedeutendsten deutschen Dramatiker, Lyriker und Essayisten.

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      Book preview

      The Poems of Schiller — Suppressed poems - Friedrich Schiller

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Suppressed Poems, by Friedrich Schiller

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: Suppressed Poems

      Author: Friedrich Schiller

      Release Date: October 26, 2006 [EBook #6797]

      Last Updated: November 6, 2012

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUPPRESSED POEMS ***

      Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger

      SCHILLER'S POEMS

      By Friedrich Shiller

      SUPPRESSED POEMS.

      SUPPRESSED POEMS.

           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

      SUPPRESSED POEMS.

         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.

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