Gedichte im 19. Jahrhundert

Indian Names

By Lydia Howard Huntley Sigourney

 

"How can the Red men be forgotten,

while so many of OUT states and territories,

bays, lakes and rivers, are indelibly stamped

by names of their giving?"

 

Ye say they all have passed away,

That noble face and brave,

That their light canoes have vanished

From off the crested wave;

That 'mid the forests where they roamed

There rings no hunter shout,

But their names are on your waters,

Ye may not wash it out.

 

'Tis where Ontario's billow

Like Ocean's surge is curled,

Where strong Niagara's thunders wake

The echo of the world.

Where red Missouri bringeth

Rich tribute from the west, ...

And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps

On green Virginia's breast.

 

Ye say their cone-like cabins,

That clustered o' er the vale,

Have fled away like withered leaves

Before the autumn gale,

But their memory liveth on your bills,

Their baptism on your share,

Your everlasting rivers speak

Their dialect of yore.

 

Old Massachusetts wears it,

Within her lordly crown,

And broad Ohio bears it,

 Amid his young renown;

Connecticut hath wreathed it

Where her quiet foliage waves,

And bold Kentucky breathed it hoarse

Through all her ancient caves.

 

Wachusett hides its lingering voice

Within his rocky heart,

And Allegheny graves its tone

Throughout his lofty chart;

Monadnock on his forehead hoar

Doth seal the sacred trust,

Your mountains build their monument,

Though ye destroy their dust.

1838

 

Anne Bradstreet

ca. 1612 - 1672

 

Anne Bradstreet war eine der ersten weiblichen Poeten, die in englischer Sprache publiziert wurden. Ausserdem war sie der erste wichtige britische Poet beider Geschlechter in der amerikanischen Kolonie.

 

To Her Father with Some Verses       1678(?)

 

Most truly honored, and as truly dear,

If worth in me or ought¬ I do appear,

Who can of right better demand the same

Than may your worthy self from whom it came?

The principal might yield a greater sum,

Yet handled ill, amounts but to this crumb;

My stock’s so small I know not how to pay,

My bond remains in force unto this day;

Yet for part payment take this simple mite­,

Where nothing’s to be had, kings lose their right.

Such is my debt I may not say forgive,

But as I can, I’ll pay it while I live;

Such is my bond, none can discharge but I,

Yet paying is not paid until I die.

 

¬ anything

­ very small sum

 

To My Dear and Loving Husband  (to Simon Bradstreet)

 

If ever two were one, then surely we.

If ever man were lov’d by wife, then thee.

If ever wife was happy in a man,

Compare with me, ye women, if you can.

I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold

Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

My love is such that rivers cannot quench,

Nor ought¬ but love from thee give recompence.

Thy love is such I can no way repay.

The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.

Then while we live, in love let’s so persever

That when we live no more, we may liver ever.

 

¬ anything

 

 

A Letter to Her Husband

 

My head, my heart, mine eyes, my life, nay, more,

My joy, my magazine¬ of earthly store,

If two be one, as surely thou and I,

How stayest thou there, whilst I at Ipswich­ lie?

So many steps, head from the heart to sever,

If but a neck, soon should we be together.

I, like the Earth this season, mourn in black,

My sun is gone so far in’s zodiac,

Whom whilst I’joyed, nor storms, nor frost I felt,

His warmth such frigid colds did cause to melt.

My chilled limbs now numbed lie forlorn;

Return, return, sweet Sol,®from Capricorn;

In this dead time, alas, what can I more

Than view those fruits which through thy heart I bore?

Which sweet contentment yield me for a space,

True living pictures of their father’s face.

O strange effect! now thou art southward gone,

I weary grow the tedious day so long;

But when thou northward to me shalt return,

I wish my Sun may never set, but burn

Within the Cancer¯ of my glowing breast,

The welcome house of him my dearest guest.

Where ever, ever stay, and go not htence,

Till nature’s sad decree shall call thee hence;

Flesh of thy flesh, bone of thy bone,

I here, thou there, yet both but one.

¬ Storehouse

­ Ipswich, Massachusetts, where the Bradstreets lived from 1635-1645

® The sun. Capricorn; the tenth sign of the zodiac, representing winter.

¯ The fourth sign of the zodiac, representing summer.

 

An Epitaph on My Dear and Ever Honored Mother   1650

 

Here lies

A worthy matron of unspotted life,

A loving mother, and obedient wife,

A friendly neighbor, pitiful to poor,

Whom oft she fed, and clothed with her store,

To servants wisely awful, but yet kind,

And as they did, so they reward did find:

A true instructor of her family,

The which she ordered with dexterity,

The public meetings ever did frequent,

And in her closest constant hours she spent;

Riligious in all her words and ways,

Preparing still for death, till end of days:

Of all her children, children lived to see,

Then dying, left a blessed memory

A.B. dedicated this poem to her mother, Mrs. Dorothy Dudley, Who Deceased Dezember 27, 1643 and of Her Age, 61.

 

In Memory of My Dear Grandchild Elizabeth Bradstreet, Who Deceased August 1665, Being a Year and Half Old

 

Farewell dear babe, my heart’s too much content,

Farewell sweet babe, the pleasure of mine eye,

Farewell fair flower that for a space was lent,

Then ta’en away unto eternity.

Blest babe, why should I once bewail thy fate,

Or sigh thy days so soon were terminate,

Sith¬ thou art settled in an everlasting state.

 

By nature trees do rot when they are grown,

And plums and apples thoroughly ripe do fall,

And corn and grass are in their season mown,

And time brings down what is both strong and tall.

but plants new set to be eradicate,

And buds new blown to have so short a date,

Is by His hand alone that guides nature and fate.

 

¬ Forever

 

 

Edward Taylor

ca. 1642 - 1729

 

Edwar Taylor, geboren in Leicestershire-England war fünf Decaden lang Minister in Massachusetts.

 

Bevor maschinell hergestellte Kleidung in der frühen Phase der Industriellen Revolution sich durchsetzte, verbrachten Hausfrauen die meiste Zeit damit, Stoffe für Kleidung und Hausrat zu spinnen und alles was sie für ihre Familie brauchten selbst herzustellen, wahrscheinlich ist diese Arbeit in dem Poem “Huswifery” gemeint.

 

Huswifery

 

Make me, O Lord, Thy spinning wheel¬ complete.

Thy holy word my distaff­ make for me.

Make mine affections Thy swift flyers® neat

And make my soul Thy holy spool¯ to be.

My conversation make to be Thy reel°

And reel the yarn thereon spun on thy wheel.

 

Make me Thy loom± then, knit herein this twine:

and make Thy holy spirit, Lord, wind quills²:

Then weave the web Thyself. The yarn is fine.

Thine Ordinances make my fulling mills³.

Then dye the same in heavenly colors choice,

All pinked´ with varnished flowers of paradise.

 

The clothe therewith mine understanding, will,

Affections, judgment, conscience, memory,

My words, and actions, that their shine may fill

My ways with glory and Thee glorify.

Then mine apparel shall display before ye

That I am clothed in holy robes for glory.

 

¬ The device on which raw wool of flax was streched into yarn or thread.

­ Part that holds the raw wool of flax

® Devices that twist the wool or flax into threads

¯ Cylinder on which the twisted threads are first wound

° Holder of the finished yarn

± Machine for weaving yarn into cloth

² Hollow reeds on which the yarn is wound

³ Mills where cloth is beaten and cleansed with fuller’s earth(or soap)

´ Decorated. Varnished: made to shine

 

 

Vier von Taylor’s Kindern sind in diesem Poem gemeint: Samuel, “a manly flower”(geboren 1675), überlebte die Reife; Elizabeth, “another flower,” 1676 geboren und ein Jahr später verstorben; James, “another manly flower,” überlebte bis zur Reife; Abigail, “another sweet,” 1681 geboren und 1683 verstorben. Taylors fünftes Kind, Bathshuah, wurde 1684 oder 1685 geboren. Dieses Poem veranschaulicht die Akzeptanz des Todes der Puritaner als ein Zeichen von Gottes Wille.

 

Upon Wedlock, and Death of Children  ca. 1683

 

A curious knot God made in paradise,

And drew it out enameled neatly fresh.

It was the true-love knot, more sweet than spice

And set with all flowers of grace’s dress.

Its wedden’s¬ knot, that ne’re can be untied.

No Alexandre’s sword­ can it divide.

 

The slips® here planted, gay and glorious grow:

Unless an hellish breath do singe their plumes.

Here primrose, cowslips, roses, lilies blow

With violets and pinks that void¯ perfumes.

Whose beauteous leaves ore laid with honey dew.

And chanting birds chirp out sweet music true.

 

When in this knot I planted was, my stock°

Soon knotted, and a manly flower out brake.

And after it my branch again did knot,

Brought out another flower its sweet breathed mate.

One knot gave one tother the tothers place.

Whence checkling smiles fought in each others face.

 

But oh! a glorious hand from glory came

Guarded with angels, soon did crop this flower±

Which almost tore the root up of the same

At that unlooked for, dolesome, darksome hour.

In prayer to Christ perfumed it did ascend,

And angels bright did it to heaven tend.

 

But pausing on’t, this sweet perfumed my thought,

Christ would in glory have a flower, choice, prime,

And having choice, chose this my branch forth brought.

Lord take’t. I thank Thee, Thou takst ought² of mine,

It is my pledge in glory, part of me

Is now in it, Lord, glorified with Thee.

 

But praying or my branch, my branch did sprout

And bore another manly flower, and gay

And after that another, sweet, brake out,

The which the former hand soon got away.

But oh! the tortures, vomit, screechings, groans

And six weeks fever would pierce hearts like stones³.

 

Grief o’re doth flow: and nature fault would find

Were not Thy will, my spell charm, joy, and gem:

That as I said, I say, take, Lord, they’re thine.

I piecemeal pass to glory bright in them.

I joy, may I sweet flowers for glory breed,

Whether Thou getst them green, or lets them seed.

 

¬ Wedding’s

­ Alexander the Great cut the Gordian knot, famed as a knot that could not be united, with a stroke of his sword

® Seedlings or, figuratively, children

¯ Breathe, exhale

° Tree graft

± That is, his second child, Elizabeth, who died, aged one year, in 1677

² Aught, or anything whatever

³ Events in the traumatic illness and death of Taylor’s fourth child, Abigail

´

 

 

Willam Cullen Bryant

1794-1878

 

To a Waterfowl   1818

 

Whither¬, midst falling dew,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,

Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue

Thy solitary way?

 

Vainly the fowler’s­ eye

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,

As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,

Thy fugure floats along.

 

Seek’st thou the plashy® brink

Of weedy lake, or marge¯ of river wide,

Or where the rocking billows rise and sink

On the chafed ocean-side?

 

There is a Power whose care

Teaches thy way along that pathless coast -

The desert° and illimitable air-

Lone wandering, but not lost.

 

All day thy wings have fanned,

At that far height, the cold, thin atmoshpere,

Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,

Though the dark night is near.

 

And soon that toil shall end;

Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,

And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend

Soon o’er thy sheltered nest.

 

Thou’rt gone, the abyss of heaven

Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart

Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,

And shall not soon depart.

 

He± who, from zone to zone,

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,

In the long way that I must tread alone,

Will lead my steps aright.

 

¬ Where

­ Hunter of birds

® Marshy, splashing

¯ Margin, edge

° Deserted, empty

± The divine “Power” or Supreme Being

 

 

Jane Johnston Schoolcraft

(Bame-Wa-Wa-Ge-Zhik-A-Quay  /  woman-of-the-stars-rushing-through-the-sky)

1800 - 1841

 

To Sisters on a Walk in the Garden, after a Shower  1826

 

Come, sisters, come! The shower’s past,

The garden walks are drying fast,

the sun’s bright beams are seen again,

An nought within, can now detain.

The rain drops tremble on the leaves,

Or drip expiring, from the eaves:

But soon the cool and blamy airs,

Shall dry the gems that sparkle there,

With whisp’ring breath shall shake ev’ry spray,

And scatter every cloud away.

 

Thus sisters! Shall the breeze of hope,

Through sorrow’s clouds a vista ope¬;

Thus, shall affliction’s surly blast,

By faith’s bright calm be still’d at last;

Thus, pain and care, - the tear and sigh,

Be chased from every dewy eye;

And life’s mix’d scene itself, but cease,

To show us realms of light and peace.

 

 From               The Forsaken Brother, a Chippewa Tale

Joseph Addison

1672-1719

 

Ode

THE spacious firmament on high,

With all the blue ethereal sky,

And spangled heav’ns, a shining frame,

Their great original proclaim:

Th’ unwearied sun, from day to day,

Does his Creator’s power display,

And publishes to every land

The work of an almighty hand.

 

Soon as the evening shades prevail,

The moon takes up the wondrous tale,

And nightly to the list’ning earth

Repeats the story of her birth:

Whilst all the stars that round her burn,

And all the planets in their turn,

Confirm the tidings as they roll,

And spread the truth from pole to pole.

 

What though, in solemn silence, all

Move round the dark terrestrial ball?

What though nor real voice nor sound

Amid their radiant orbs be found?

In reason’s ear they all rejoice,

And utter forth a glorious voice,

For ever singing, as they shine,

‘The hand that made us is divine.’

 

 

Matthew Prior

1664-1721

 

An Ode  1709

 

THE merchant, to secure his treasure,

Conveys it in a borrowed name:

Euphelia serves to grace my measure,

But Cloe is my real flame.

 

My softest verse, my darling lyre,

Upon Euphelia’s toilet lay,

When Cloe noted her desire

That I should sing, that I should play.

 

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise,

But with my numbers mix my sighs:

And whilst I sing Euphelia’s praise,

I fix my soul on Cloe’s eyes.

 

Fair Cloe blushed, Euphelia frowned;

I sung and gazed, I played and trembled;

And Venus to the Loves around

Remarked how ill we all dissembled.

 

 

A Dutch Proverb  1709

 

FIRE, water, woman, are man’s ruin,

Says wise Professor Vander Brüin.

By flames a house I hired was lost

Last year, and I must pay the cost.

This spring the rains o’erflowed my ground,

And my best Flanders mare was drowned.

A slave I am to Clara’s eyes:

The gypsy knows her pow’r, and flies.

Fire, water, woman, are my ruin:

And great thy wisdom, Vander Brüin.

 

The Lady who Offers her Looking-Glass to Venus   1718

 

VENUS, take my votive glass;

Since I am not what I was,

what from this day I shall be,

Venus, let me never see.

 

A Better Answer to Cloe Jealous  1718

 

DEAR Cloe, how blubbered is that pretty face,

Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurled:

Pr’ythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says)

Let us e’en talk a little like folks of this world.

 

How canst thou presume thou hast leave to destroy

The beauties, which Venus but lent to thy keeping?

Those looks were designed to inspire love and joy:

More ord’nary eyes may serve people for weeping.

 

To be vexed at a trifle or two that I writ,

Your judgement at once and my passion you wrong:

You take that for fact, which will scarce be fount wit:

Od’s life! must one swear to the truth of a song?

 

What I speak, my fair Cloe, and what I write, shows

The diff’rence there is betwixt nature and art:

I court others in verse, but I love thee in prose:

And they have my whimsies, but thou hast my heart.

 

The god of us verse-men(you know, child) the sun,

How after his journeys he sets up his rest:

If at morning o’er earth ‘tis his fancy ro run,

At night he reclines on his Thetis’s breast.

 

So when I am wearied with wand’ring all day,

To thee, my delight, in the evening I come:

No matter what beauties I saw in my way;

They were but my visits, but thou art my home.

 

The finish, dear Cloe, this pastoral war;

And let us, like Horace and Lydia, agree:

For thou art a girl as much brighter than her,

As he was a poet sublimer than me.

 

A Ture Maid  1718

 

‘No, no; for my virginity,

When I lose that,’ says Rose, ‘I’ll die’:

‘Behind the elms last night,’ cried Dick,

‘Rose, were you not extremely sick?’

Eine Auswahl von Gedichten aus dem 18. Jahrhundert

www.wiwasteka-allegra.com

     By Jane Johnston Schoolcraft

 

Neesya, neesya, shyegwuh gushuh

Neesya, neesya, shyegwuh gushuh!

Ween ne myeengunish!

Ne myeengunish!

 

(Trans.)

My Brother, My Brother

My Brother, My Brother

I am now turning into a Wolf!

I am turning into a Wolf!

1827