The Poems of Schiller — Suppressed poems. Friedrich von Schiller

         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!

         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,