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Friedrich Schiller - The Power Of Song
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The foaming stream from out the rock
       With thunder roar begins to rush,—
The oak falls prostrate at the shock,
       And mountain-wrecks attend the gush.
With rapturous awe, in wonder lost,
       The wanderer hearkens to the sound;
From cliff to cliff he hears it tossed,
       Yet knows not whither it is bound:
`Tis thus that song`s bright waters pour
From sources never known before.

In union with those dreaded ones
       That spin life`s thread all-silently,
Who can resist the singer`s tones?
       Who from his magic set him free?
With wand like that the gods bestow,
       He guides the heaving bosom`s chords,
He steeps it in the realms below,
       He bears it, wondering, heavenward,
And rocks it, `twixt the grave and gay,
On feeling`s scales that trembling sway.

As when before the startled eyes
       Of some glad throng, mysteriously,
With giant-step, in spirit-guise,
       Appears a wondrous deity,
Then bows each greatness of the earth
       Before the stranger heaven-born,
Mute are the thoughtless sounds of mirth,
       While from each face the mask is torn,
And from the truth`s triumphant might
Each work of falsehood takes to flight.

So from each idle burden free,
       When summoned by the voice of song,
Man soars to spirit-dignity,
       Receiving force divinely strong:
Among the gods is now his home,
       Naught earthly ventures to approach—
All other powers must now be dumb,
       No fate can on his realms encroach;
Care`s gloomy wrinkles disappear,
Whilst music`s charms still linger here,

As after long and hopeless yearning,
       And separation`s bitter smart,
A child, with tears repentant burning,
       Clings fondly to his mother`s heart—
So to his youthful happy dwelling,
       To rapture pure and free from stain,
All strange and false conceits expelling,
       Song guides the wanderer back again,
In faithful Nature`s loving arm,
From chilling precepts to grow warm.
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