The Rose of Newport
Original version (German):
“Die Rose von Newport” by Conrad Ferdinand Meyer
Sprengende Reiter und flatternde Blüthen,
Einer voraus mit gescheitelten Locken –
Ist es der Lenz auf geflügeltem Renner?
Karl ist’s, der Jüngling, der Erbe von England,
Und die sich nähern in goldener Mailuft,
Das sind die Giebel und Thore von Newport,
Drüber das Wappen der Stadt: eine Rose!
Jubelnde Gassen und jubelnde Wimpel
Und ein von treibender Jugend geschwelltes,
Jubelndes Herz in dem Busen des Stuart …
Unter den blühenden Linden des Marktes
Schreitet ein Reigen von blüh’nden Gestalten
Und eine Schönste mit herzlichem Beben
Bietet dem Prinzen die Rose von Newport:
“Seliges Gestern und Morgen und Heute,
Herr, Dir die Rose von Newport bedeute!”
Morgen erzählen die Linden das Märchen
Von der entblätterten Rose von Newport.
Sprengende Reiter und wirbelnde Flocken,
Einer voraus mit verwilderten Haaren –
Ist es der Winter, der finstre Geselle?
Karl ist’s, der Flüchtling, der König von England.
Seit er das Blut seines Volkes vergossen,
Reitet er neben zerschmetterndem Abgrund …
Und die sich nähern in weißem Gestöber,
Das sind die Giebel und Thore von Newport,
Drüber das Wappen der Stadt: eine Rose!
Nirgend ein Jubel und nirgend ein Wimpel,
Polternde Hämmer und kreischende Feilen –
Und ein von eisernen Fäusten gepresstes,
Aechzendes Herz in dem Busen des Stuart …
Unter den frierenden Linden des Marktes
Bettelt ein Kind mit verschatteten Augen,
Bietet dem König ein dorrendes Röschen:
“Seliges Gestern und Morgen und Heute,
Herr, Dir die Rose von Newport bedeute!”
Karl, der die Züge des Kindes betrachtet,
Schmal und gespenstig im Spiegel des Elends
Sieht er das eigene Antlitz und schaudert.
Morgen erzählen die Linden das Märchen
Von dem enthaupteten König in England.
English version:
“The Rose of Newport” translated by Raymond Youngs
Galloping riders and fluttering blossoms
One rides in front with his locks smoothly flowing.
Could it be Spring on the wings of the morning?
No, it is Charles, he's the heir of the nation.
See, what emerges in May's golden sunshine!
These are the gates and the gables of Newport!
And on the gateway, a rose: the town's emblem.
Joyful the streets are and joyful the pennants
And in the foremost of riders is swelling
Joyful the heart in the breast of the Stuart.
Under the lime trees which bloom in the market
Dances a line of attractive young maidens.
One of the fairest advances, and trembling
Offers the rose of the town to the Princeling
“Blessings today, and for ev'ry tomorrow
May this rose give you and keep you from sorrow.”
Soon will the lime trees recount a new story:
From the town's rose its green leaves have now fallen
Galloping riders and fast falling snowflakes
One rides in front with his hair wildly tangled
Could it be Winter, the sombre companion?
No, it is Charles, as a fugitive Monarch.
Since he has squandered the blood of his people,
Now he rides close to a shattering chasm.
See what approaches in blinding white snowdrifts!
These are the gates and the gables of Newport!
Silent the streets and the pennants are nowhere.
Clattering hammers and files that are rasping
Seemingly fists made of iron are crushing
An aching heart in the breast of the Stuart.
Under the lime trees which freeze in the market
One begging child sits with eyes dull and bleary
Offers the Monarch a rose dry and shrivelled.
“Blessings today, and for ev'ry tomorrow
May this rose give you and keep you from sorrow.”
Charles, as he gazes upon the child's features,
Narrow and ghostly, a mirror of mis'ry,
Sees his own face there, and pauses to shudder.
Soon will the lime trees recount a new story
From the land's Monarch his head has now fallen.
Commentary:
Meyer (1825-1898) was a Swiss poet. The first poem I found by him which impressed me was a simple piece of description of nature (Schwarzschattende Kastanie). Then I discovered his ballads: first, Die Füße im Feuer with its dramatic suspense, and then this poem about two visits to the Isle of Wight by Charles II which combines both genres. The difference between the two visits is accentuated by the differing seasons (spring and winter, sunshine and snow, lime trees which bloom and freeze). The pennants are replaced by hammers and files (suggestive of the scaffold) and the donors of the rose are utterly different. But the rhythm, which I have tried to preserve in the translation, is unchanged (suggestive of galloping horses). I am fascinated by the German take on English history, even if it not entirely accurate (Charles left Newport at the beginning of December 1648, but he was not executed until the 30th January 1649; the original German suggests he was executed the day after his second visit). It is interesting that although Meyer shows empathy with the desperate plight of Charles in the second section of the poem, he does not make him a hero: he has “squandered the blood of his people”.