Schiller

I once again look back to the time

Now so remote, when my beloved

Nation was deep in Strombolian

Eruptions of philosophical ideals.

I was then coming of age as a Man

Of letters and poet laureate.

I aspired, as it were, to emulate

The hegemon of the Romantic period-

Whose range and accomplishments

Made him a demi-god and the Muses’ Chosen.

He was no other than Johann Von Goethe:

My fraternal twin and noble friend indeed.

 

Shakespeare

I lived long ago before Germany

Powerful assertions could rise to the fore.

I was a dramatist, a magus of great renown.

My limpid words shaped the course of England’s

Rise to pre-eminence and my name still resonate

In hearts of millions who extol genius.

My Tragedies reveal depth of spirit.

Not empty epideictic tinsels that pall the minds.

 

Schiller

It was an herculean struggle to mint

My Meisterwerk, and before my spirit’s eye

The Teuton hero rose out of the mists of time.

Wallenstein! Archon of Bohemia!

I laboured hard to cement my legacy-

To become Germany’s leading dramaturge

Was for me the incessant quest to attain

Supreme blessedness of the Holy Spirit.

Many nights, beset by bodily afflictions,

I toiled in my study but not in vain.

Melpomene’s laurel I at last had won.

 

Shakespeare

Two scores and a dozen years the three Norns

Allotted to me I spent in fulfillment

Of my craft. I became World-dramaturge

I am still the world’s most revered dramatist.

Poetaster I certainly wasn’t.

I drank my fill from Aganippe Spring

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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