1917 GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER. GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER, a famous German lyric poet, son of a Lutheran clergyman, was born at Wolmerswende, Jan. 1, 1748; died at Göttingen, June 8, 1794. He was educated at Aschersleben and at Halle, and was twice married. He studied theology at Halle, and law at Göttingen, but neglected both for poetry. Through the influence of his friend, Boje, who was one of the members of a famous literary association to which Bürger had been admitted, he obtained a collectorship at Altengleichen. It was here that he wrote his celebrated ballad of "Lenore," which was inspired by hearing a peasant girl singing some snatches of a ghost-story song by moonlight. This ballad immediately established his reputation as a poet. Bürger essayed the dramatic style which Goethe created. He reveled in mystery and gloom, and it was his delight to conjure up ghosts and depict the terror their appearance caused. Two editions of his works were published before his death (1778-1779), a third was brought out (1796). LENORE LENORE starts at daybreak's shine He'd gone with Frederic's host to wield If he were safe and well. The monarch and the empress, tired Of bickering brawl and feud, To bend their stubborn wills conspired, Each host with song and shouting rang, Each homeward wends his way. And everywhere, aye, everywhere, In road and lane and street, Went forth the old, the young, the fair, The shouting host to meet. "Thank Heaven!" child and mother cried, "O welcome!" many a promised bride. Alas! kiss and salute Were for Lenore mute. To glean intelligence she sought, Of all she asked the name, But there was none could tell her aught, When all were passed, in dark despair, In rage and grief profound, She sank upon the ground. Her mother hastened to her side, "God, banish these alarms! What is the matter, child?" she cried, Unhappy me, O woe!" "Have mercy, God! in thee we trust. God us with care will foster.". "O mother, this illusion flee! "Help, God! who knows the Father knows He hears his children's prayer; The sacrament will soothe thy woes, And soften thy despair." "O mother, mother, naught will tame, No sacrament will quench this flame, When death our flesh assails." "My child, what if the faithless youth, In Hungary's far plains, Have cast aside his faith and truth Look on his heart, my child, as dead, Flames will consume his heart." "O mother, mother, all is o'er! Death, death is all that I implore, O would I'd ne'er been born! Go out, go out, thou life, thou spark! Die 'midst these horrors drear and dark! No mercy God doth know. Unhappy me, O woe!" "Help, God, do not thy vengeance wreak Here on thy sickly child! She knows not what her tongue doth speak; O be thy judgment mild! All earthly cares, my child, forswear, For God and thy salvation care! Then for thy soul's avail A bridegroom will not fail." "What is salvation, mother? say! Without him is but hell. Go out, go out, thou light, thou spark! Hath bliss without him worth." Thus raged with dread omnipotence Continued to complain; She wrung her hands, she beat her breast, Until the sun sank down to rest, Till o'er the vaulted sphere The golden stars appear. Hark! tramp, tramp, tramp, without is heard A charger in full speed! And at the gate a rider, spurred, Dismounts his reeking steed. |