 Hymns to the Night by Novalis. Translated by George MacDonald. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Pete Williams. Hymns to the Night by Novalis. Translated by George MacDonald. 1. Before all the wondrous shows of the widespread space around him, what living, sentient thing loves not the all-joyous light, with its colors, its rays, and undulations its gentle omnipresence in the form of the awakening day. The giant world of the unresting constellations inhales it as the innermost soul of life and floats dancing in its blue flood. The sparkling, ever-tranquil stone, the thoughtful imbibing plant, and the wild, burning, multi-form beast inhales it. But more than all, the lordly stranger with the sense-filled eyes, the swaying walk, and the sweetly closed, melodious lips. Like a king over earthly nature, it rouses every force to countless transformations, binds and unbinds innumerable alliances, hangs its heavenly form around every earthly substance. Its presence alone reveals the marvelous splendor of the kingdoms of the world. Aside I turn to the holy, unspeakable, mysterious night. afar lies the world, sunk in a deep grave, waste and lonely is its place. In the cords of the bosom blows a deep sadness. I am ready to sink away in drops of dew and mingle with the ashes, the distances of memory, the wishes of youth, the dreams of childhood, the brief joys and the hopes of a whole long life arise in grey garments, like an evening vapor after the sunset. In other regions the light has pitched its joyous tents. What if it should never return to its children, who wait for it with the faith of innocence? What springs up all at once so sweetly, boating in my heart and stills the soft air of sadness? Thou also take a pleasure in us, dark night? What holdest thou under thy mantle, that with hidden power affects my soul? Precious balm drips from thy hand out of its bundle of poppies. Thou upliftest the heavy laden wings of the soul, darkly and inexpressibly are we moved, joy startled, I see a grave face that tender and worshipful inclines toward me, and amid manifold and tangled locks, reveals the youthful loveliness of the mother. How poor and childish a thing seems to be now the light, how joyous and welcome the departure of the day, because the night turns away from thee, thy servants, you now strew in the gulfs of space those flashing orbs to proclaim thy omnipotence, thy return in seasons of thy absence. More heavenly than those glittering stars we hold the eternal eyes the night hath opened within us. Farther they see than the palest of those countless hosts, needing no aid from the light they penetrate the depths of a loving soul, that fills a loftier region with its bliss ineffable. Glory to the queen of the world, to the great prophet of the holier worlds, to the guardian of blissful love, she sends thee to me, thou tenderly beloved, the gracious son of the night. Now I am awake, for now am I thine and mine, thou hast made me know the night, made of me a man, consume with spirit fire my body, that I, turned to finer air, may mingle more closely with thee, and then our bridal night endure forever. 2. Must the morning always return? Will the despotism of the earthly never cease? Unholy activity consumes the angel visit of the night. Will the time never come when love's hidden sacrifice shall burn eternally? To the light a season was set, but everlasting and boundless in the dominion of the night, endless in the duration of sleep. Holy sleep, gladden not to seldom in this earthly day labour the devoted servant of the night. Fools alone mistake thee, knowing not of sleep but the shadow which in the twilight of the real night thou pitifully castest over us. They feel thee not in the golden flood of the grapes in the magic oil of the almond tree and the brown juice of the poppy. They know not that it is thou who hauntest the bosom of the tender maiden and makest a heaven of her lap. Never suspect it is thou, opening the doors to heaven, that steppest to meet them out of ancient stories, bearing the key to the dwellings of the blessed, silent messenger of secrets infinite. Three Once when I was shedding bitter tears when dissolved in pain my hope was melting away and I stood alone by the barren mound which in its narrow dark bosom hid the vanished form of my life, lonely as never yet was lonely man, driven by anxiety unspeakable, powerless and no longer anything but a conscious misery. As there I looked about me for help, unable to go on or to turn back, and clung to the fleeting, extinguished life with an endless longing, then out of the blue distances, from the hills of my ancient bliss came a shiver of twilight, and at once snapped the bond of birth, the chains of the light. Away fled the glory of the world and with it my mourning, the sadness flowed together into a new, unfathomable world. Thou night inspiration, heavenly slumber, didst come upon me. The region gently upheaved itself, over it hovered my unbound, new-bound spirit. The mound became a cloud of dust and through the cloud I saw the glorified face of my beloved. In her eyes eternity reposed. I laid hold of her hands and the tears became a sparkling bond that could not be broken. Into the distance swept by like a tempest thousands of years. On her neck I welcomed the new life with ecstatic tears. It was the first, the only dream, and just since then I have held fast an eternal, unchangeable faith in the heaven of the night and its light. The beloved. Four. Now I know when will come the last morning, when the light no more scares away night and love, when sleep shall be without waking and but one continuous dream. I feel in me a celestial exhaustion. Long and weariful was my pilgrimage to the holy grave and crushing was the cross. The crystal wave, which, imperceptible to the ordinary sense, springs in the dark bosom of the mound against whose foot breaks the flood of the world. He who has tasted it, he who has stood on the mountain frontier of the world and looked across into the new land, into the abode of the night. Truly, he turns not again into the tumult of the world, into the land where dwells the light in ceaseless unrest. On those heights he builds for himself tabernacles, tabernacles of peace. There, longs and loves and gazes across until the welcomest of all hours draws him down into the waters of the spring. Float above remains what is earthly and is swept back in storms, but what became holy by the touch of love runs free through hidden ways to the region beyond where, like fragrances, it mingles with love asleep. Still wakest thou cheerful light, that weary man to his labour and into me poorest joyous life, but thou wildest me not away from memory's moss-grown monument. Gladly will I stir busy hands where behold where thou hast need of me. Praise the luster of thy splendour. Pursue unwirried the lovely harmonies of thy skilled handicraft. Gladly contemplate the clever pace of thy mighty, luminous clock. Explore the balance of the forces and the laws of the wondrous play of countless worlds and their seasons. But true to the night remains my secret heart and to creative love her daughter. Canst thou show me a heart eternally true? Has thy sun-friendly eyes that know me? Do thy stars lay hold of my longing hand and return me the tender pressure and the caressing word? Was it thou did adorn them with colours and flickering outline? Or was it she who gave to thy jewels a higher, dearer weight? What delight, what pleasure offers thy life to outweigh the transports of death? Where is not everything that inspires the colour of the night? She sustains thee motherlike and to her thou o'est all thy glory. Thou wouldst vanish into thyself in boundless space, thou wouldst dissolve if she did not hold thee fast, if she swaddled thee not so that thou gruest warm and flaming begot the universe. Truly I was before thou wasst, the mother sent me with my brothers and sisters to inhabit thy world, to hallow it with love that it might be an ever present memorial to plant it with flowers unfading. As yet they have not ripened these thoughts divine as yet is there small trace of our coming revelation. One day thy clock will point to the end of time and then thou shalt be as one of us and shalt full of ardent longing be extinguished and die. I feel in me the close of thy activity, heavenly freedom and blessed return with wild pangs I recognize thy distance from our home, thy resistance against the ancient glorious heaven, thy rage and thy raving are in vain. Unscorchable stands the cross, victory banner of our breed. Over I journey and for each pain a pleasant sting only shall one day remain yet in a few moments then free from my and intoxicated in love's lap lie. Life everlasting lifts wave-like at me, I gaze from its summit down after thee your luster must vanish yawn mound underneath a shadow will bring thee thy cooling wreath. Oh draw at my heart, love, draw till I'm gone that fallen asleep I still may love on. I feel the flow of deaths youth-giving flood to and ether transform my blood. I live all the day-time in faith and in might and in holy fire I die every night. 5 In ancient times over the widespread families of men an iron fate ruled with dumb force. A gloomy oppression swathed their heavy souls, the earth was boundless, the abode of the gods and their home. From eternal life stood its mysterious structure. Beyond the red hills of the morning in the sacred bosom of the sea dwelt the sun, the all-enkindling living light. An aged giant up bore the blissful world, fast beneath mountains lay the firstborn sons of mother earth, helpless in their destroying fury against the new glorious race of gods and their kindred glad-hearted men. The ocean's dark green abyss was the lap of a goddess. In crystal grottoes reveled a luxuriant folk, rivers, trees, flowers, and beasts, had human wits. Sweeter tasted the wine poured out by youth abundance, a god in the grape clusters, a loving motherly goddess up grew in the full golden sheaves, love's sacred inebriation was a sweet worship of the fairest of the god-ladies. Life rustled through the centuries like one springtime, an ever-variagated festival of heaven-children and earth-dwellers. All races childlike adored the ethereal thousandfold flame as the one sublimest thing in the world. There was but one notion, a horrible dream-shape, that fearsome to the merry table strode, a-wrapped the spirit there in wild fright the gods consul knew nor showed to fill the anxious hearts with comfort-light. Mysterious was the monster's pathless road whose rage no prayer nor tribute could requite, to his death who broke the banquet up with fears with anguish, dire pain, and bitter tears. Eternally from all things here departed that sway the earth with pleasure's joyous flow, divided from the loved ones who've departed, tossed by longing in a dull dream to struggle faint and thwarted, seemed all was granted to the dead below. Broke lay the merry wave of human bliss on death's inevitable rocky cliff. With daring spirit and a passion deep did man ameliorate the horrid blight. A gentle youth puts out his torch to sleep, the end just like a harp sigh comes light. Cool shadow floods or melting memory creep, sang the song into its sorry need. Still undeciphered lay the endless night, the solemn symbol of a far-off might. The old world began to decline, the pleasure-garden of the young race withered away. Up into more open, desolate regions forsaking his childhood struggled the growing man. The gods vanished with their retinue. Nature stood alone and lifeless, dry number and rigid measure, bound it with iron chains. Into dust and air the priceless blossoms of life fell away in words obscure. Gone was wonder-working faith and its all-transforming, all-uniting angel-comrade, the imagination. A cold north wind blew unkindly over the rigid plain and the rigid wonderland first froze, then evaporated into ether. The far depths of heaven filled with glowing worlds, into deeper sanctuary, into the more exalted region of feeling the soul of the world retired with all its earthly powers, there to rule until the dawn should break of universal glory. No longer was the light the abode of the gods and the heavenly token of their presence, they drew over themselves the veil of night. The night became the mighty womb of revelations. Into it the gods went back and fell asleep, to go in new and more glorious shapes over the transfigured world. Among the people who too early were become of all the most scornful and insolently estranged from the blessed innocence of youth appeared the new world with a face never seen before in the poverty of a poetic shelter, a son of the first virgin and mother, the eternal fruit of mysterious embrace. The foreboding, rich blossoming wisdom of the east at once recognized the beginning of the new age. A star showed the way to the humble cradle of the king. In the name of the distant future they did him homage with luster and fragrance, the highest wonders of nature. In solitude the heavenly heart unfolded to a flower chalice of almighty love upturned toward the supreme face of the father and resting on the bliss-forboding bosom of the sweetly solemn mother. With deifying fervor the prophetic eye of the blooming child beheld the years to come foresaw, untroubled over the earthly lot of his own days the beloved offspring of his divine stem. Ere long the most childlike souls by true love marvelously possessed, gathered about him like flowers sprang up a strange new life in his presence words inexhaustible and the most joyful tidings fell the sparks of a divine spirit from his friendly lips. From afar shore, born under the clear sky of Hellis came a singer to Palestine and gave up his whole heart to the wonder-child. The youth thou art who ages long last stood upon our graves so deeply lost in thought a sign of comfort in the dusky gloom for high humanity, a joyful start. What dropped us all into abysmal souls us forward with sweet yearning now? In everlasting life death found its goal for thou art death who at last makes us whole. Filled with joy the singer went on to Hindustan, his heart intoxicated with the sweetest love and poured it out in fiery songs under the balmy sky so that a thousand hearts bowed to him and the good news sprang up with a thousand branches. Soon after the singer's departure his precious life was made a sacrifice for the deep fall of man. He died in his youth, torn away from his beloved world, from his weeping mother and his trembling friends. His lovely mouth emptied the dark cup of unspeakable woes in ghastly fear the birth of the new world drew near. Hard he wrestled with the terrors of old death. Heavy lay the weight of the old world upon him, yet once more kindly at his mother. Then came the releasing hand of eternal love, and he fell asleep. Only a few days hung a deep veil over the roaring sea, over the quaking land. Countless tears wept his loved ones. The mystery was unsealed. Heavenly spirits heaved the ancient stone from the gloomy grave. Angels sat by the sleeper delicately shaped from his dreams. Awoken in new godlike glory, he cloned the limits of the newborn world, buried with his own hand the old corpse in the abandoned hollow, and with a hand almighty laid upon it a stone which no power shall ever again upheave. Yet weep thy loved ones tears of joy, tears of feeling and endless thanksgiving over your grave, joyously startled. They see thee rise again, and with thee. Behold thee weep with sweet fervour on the blessed bosom of thy mother, solemnly walking with thy friends, uttering words plucked as from the tree of life. See thee hastened, full of longing, into thy father's arms, bearing with thee youthful humanity and the inexhaustible cup of the golden future. Soon the mother hastened after thee in heavenly triumph, she was the first with thee in the new world. Since then long ages have flowed past, and in ever-increasing splendor have stirred your new creation, and thousands have away from pangs and tortures followed thee, filled with faith and longing and fidelity, walking about with thee and the heavenly virgin in the kingdom of love, serving in the temple of heavenly death, and forever thine. Uplifted is the stone, and all mankind is risen, we all remain alone, and vanished is our prison, all troubles flee away, thy golden bowl before, for earth and life give way at the last and final supper. To the marriage death doth call, the virgins standeth back, the lamps burn lustrous all of oil, there is no lack, if the distance would only fill with the sound of you walking alone, and that the stars would call us all with human tongues and tone. Unto thee, O Mary, the thousand hearts aspire, in this life of shadows the only they desire, in thee they hope for delivery, with visionary expectation, if only thou, O holy being, could clasp them to thy breast. With bitter torment burning, so many who are consumed at last from this world turning, to thee have looked and fled. Helpful thou hast appeared to so many in pain, now to never go out again. At no grave can weep any who love and pray. The gift of love they keep from none can it be taken away to soothe and quiet his longing. Night comes and inspires. Heaven's children round him thronging watch and guard his heart. Have courage, for life is striding to endless life along, stretched by inner fire. Our sense becomes transfigured. One day the stars above shall flow in golden wine. We will enjoy it all, and as stars we will shine. The love is given freely and separation is no more, the whole life heaves and surges, like a sea without a shore. Just one night of bliss, one everlasting poem, and the sun we all share, is the face of God. Six. Longing for Death. Into the bosom of the earth, out of the light's dominion death's pains are but a bursting forth, sign of glad departure. Swift in the narrow little boat, swift to the heavenly shore we float. Blessed be the everlasting night, and blessed the endless slumber. We are heated by the day too bright and withered up with care, we're weary of a life abroad, and we now want our father's home. What in this world should we all love and with faith? That which is old is set aside, and the new may perish also. Alone he stands, and soar down cast, who loves with pious warmth the past. The past where the light of the senses in lofty flames did rise, where the father's face and hand all men did recognize, and with high sense, in simplicity many still fit the original pattern. The past wherein still rich in bloom, man's strain did burgeon glorious, and children for the world to come sought pain and death victorious, and through both life and pleasure spake, yet many a heart for love did break. The past where to the flow of youth God still showed himself, and truly to an early death did commit his sweet life, fear and torture patiently he bore so that he would be loved forevermore. With anxious turning now we see that past in darkness drenched, with this world's water never we shall find our hot thirst quenched to our old home we have to go, that blessed time again to know what yet doth hinder our return to loved ones long reposed. Their grave limits our lives, we are all sad and afraid, we can search for nothing more, the heart is full, the world is void. Infinite and mysterious thrills through us a sweet trembling as if from far there echoed thus a sigh our grief resembling, our loved ones urine as well as we, and sent to us this longing breeze. Down to the sweet bride and away to the beloved Jesus have courage, evening shades grow gray to those who love and grieve. A dream will dash our chains apart, and lay us in the Father's lap. End of Hymns to the Night by Novalis Recording by Pete Williams, Pittsburgh, PA.