To the fortunes of Friedland firmly bound.
For in him is the soldier's father found.
This we will humbly present, when done,
To Piccolomini-I mean the son-
Who understands these kind of affairs,
And the Friedlander's highest favour shares;
Besides, with the Emperor's self, they say
He holds a capital card to play.

SECOND YAGER.

Well, then, in this, let us all agree,
That the Colonel shall our spokesman be!
ALL (going).

Good! the Colonel shall our spokesman be.

SERGEANT.

Hold, sirs--just toss off a glass with me
To the health of Piccolomini.

SUTLER-WOMAN (brings a flask).
This shall not go to the list of: scores,
I gladly give it-success be yours!

CUIRASSIER.

The soldier shall sway!

BOTH YAGERS.

The peasant shall pay !

DRAGOONS and SHARPSHOOTERS.

The army shall flourishing stand!

TRUMPETER and SERGEANT. "And the Friedlander keep the command!

SECOND CUIRASSIER (sings).
Arouse yé, my comrades, to horse! to horse!
To the field and to freedom we guide !
For there a man feels the pride of his force,
And there is the heart of him tried.

No help to him there by another is shown,
He stands for himself and himself alone.

[The Soldiers from the back ground have come forward during the singing of this verse, and form the chorus.

Chorus.

No help to him there by another is shown,

He stands for himself and himself alone.

DRAGOON.

Now freedom hath fled from the world, we find

But lords and their bondsmen vile:

And nothing holds sway in the breast of mankind
Save falsehood and cowardly guile.

Who looks in death's face with a fearless brow,
The soldier, alone, is the freeman now.

Chorus.

Who looks in death's face with a fearless brow,
The soldier, alone, is the freeman now.

FIRST YAGER.

With the troubles of life he ne'er bothers his pate,
And feels neither fear nor sorrow;

But boldly rides onward to meet with his fate-
He may meet it to-day, or to-morrow!
And, if to-morrow 'twill come, then, I say,
Drain we the cup of life's joy to-day!
Chorus.

And, if to-morrow 'twill come, then, I say,
Drain we the cup of life's joy to-day!

[The glasses are here refilled, and all drink.

SERGEANT.

"Tis from heaven his jovial lot has birth;

Nor needs he to strive or toil.

The peasant may grope in the bowels of earth,
And for treasure may greedily moil:

He digs and he delves through life for the pelf,
And digs till he grubs out à grave for himself.
Chorus.

He digs and he delves through life for the pelf,
And digs till he grubs out a grave for himself.

FIRST YAGER.

The rider and lightning steed-a pair
Of terrible guests, I ween!

From the bridal-hall as the torches glare,
Unbidden they join the scene:

Nor gold, nor wooing, his passion prove;
By storm he carries the prize of love!
Chorus.

Nor gold, nor wooing, his passion prove;
By storm he carries the prize of love!

SECOND CUIRASSIER.

Why mourns the wench with so sorrowful face?
Away, girl, the soldier must go!
No spot on the earth is his resting-place;
And your true love he never can know.
Still onward driven by fate's rude wind,
He nowhere may leave his peace behind.
Chorus.

Still onward driven by fate's rude wind,
He nowhere may leave his peace behind.

FIRST YAGER.

He takes the two next to him by the hand—the others do the same—and form a large semicircle.

Then rouse ye, my comrades-to horse! to horse!
In battle the breast doth swell!

Youth boils-the life cup foams in its force

Up! ere time can the dew dispel!

And deep be the stake, as the prize is high

Who life would win, he must dare to die!

Chorus.

And deep be the stake, as the prize is high-
Who life would win, he must dare to die!

[The Curtain falls before the Chorus has finished.

THE PICCOLOMINI.

PREFACE.

THE two Dramas,-PICCOLOMINI, or the first part of WAL LENSTEIN, and the DEATH of WALLENSTEIN, are introduced in the original manuscript by a Prelude in one Act, entitled WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. This is written in rhyme, and in nine-syllable verse, in the same lilting metre (if that expression may be permitted) with the second Eclogue of Spenser's Shepherd's Calendar.

This prelude possesses a sort of broad humour, and is not deficient in character: but to have translated it. into prose, or into any other metre than that of the original, would have given a false idea both of its style and purport; to have translated it into the same metre would have been incom patible with a faithful adherence to the sense of the German, from the comparative poverty of our language in rhymes; and it would have been unadvisable, from the incongruity of those lax verses with the present taste of the English public. Schiller's intention seems to have been merely to have prepared his reader for the Tragedies by a lively picture of laxity of discipline, and the mutinous dispositions of Wallenstein's soldiery. It is not necessary as a preliminary explanation. For these reasons it has been thought expedient not to translate it.

The admirers of Schiller, who have abstracted their idea of that author from the Robbers, and the Cabal and Love, plays in which the main interest is produced by the excitement of curiosity, and in which the curiosity is excited by terrible and extraordinary incident, will not have perused without some portion of disappointment the Dramas, which it has been my employment to translate. They should, however, reflect that these are Historical Dramas, taken from a popular German History; that we must, therefore, judge of them in some measure with the feelings of Germans; or, by analogy, with the interest excited in us by similar Dramas in our own language. Few, I trust, would be rash or ignorant enough to compare Schiller with Shakspeare; yet, merely as illustration, I would say, that we should proceed

VOL. II.

N

to the perusal of Wallenstein, not from Lear or Othello, but from Richard the Second, or the three parts of Henry the Sixth. We scarcely expect rapidity in an Historical Drama; and many prolix speeches are pardoned from characters, whose names and actions have formed the most amusing tales of our early life. On the other hand, there exist in these plays more individual beauties, more passages whose excellence will bear reflection, than in the former productions of Schiller. The description of the Astrological Tower, and the reflections of the Young Lover, which follow it, form in the original a fine poem; and my translation must have been wretched indeed, if it can have wholly overclouded the beauties of the scene in the first act of the first play, between Questenberg, Max. and Octavio Piccolomini. If we except the scene of the setting sun in the Robbers, I know of no part in Schiller's Plays which equals the first scene of the fifth act of the concluding play*. It would be unbecoming in me to be more diffuse on this subject. A translator stands connected with the original author by a certain law of subordination, which makes it more decorous to point out excellences than defects indeed he is not likely to be a fair judge of either. The pleasure or disgust from his own labour will mingle with the feelings that arise from an afterview of the original. Even in the first perusal of a work in any foreign language which we understand, we are apt to attribute to it more excellence than it really possesses, from our own pleasurable sense of difficulty overcome without effort. Translation of poetry into poetry is difficult, because the translator must give a brilliancy to his language without that warmth of original conception, from which such brilliancy would follow of its own accord. But the translator of a living author is encumbered with additional inconveniences. If he render his original faithfully, as to the sense of each passage, he must, necessarily, destroy a considerable portion of the spirit; if he endeavour to give a work executed according to laws of compensation, he subjects himself to imputations of vanity, or misrepresentation. I have thought it my duty to remain bound by the sense of my original, with as few exceptions as the nature of the languages rendered possible. S. T. C.

In this edition, Scene III. Act V.