Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Margarete Münsterberg, ed., trans. A Harvest of German Verse. 1916.

By The Bridge by the Tay

Theodor Fontane (1819–1898)

“WHEN shall we three meet again?”

“The dam of the bridge at seven attain!”

“By the pier in the middle. I’ll put out amain

The flames.”

“I too.”

“I’ll come from the north.”

“And I from the south.”

“From the sea I’ll soar forth.”

“Ha, that will be a merry-go-round!

The bridge must sink into the ground.”

“And with the train what shall we do

That crosses the bridge at seven?”

“That too.”

“That must go too!”

“A bauble, a naught,

What the hand of man hath wrought!”

The bridgekeeper’s house that stands in the north—

All windows to the south look forth,

And the inmates there without peace or rest

Are gazing southward with anxious zest.

They gaze and wait a light to spy

That over the water “I’m coming!” should cry,

“I’m coming—night and storm are vain—

I, from Edinburg the train!”

And the bridgekeeper says: “I see a gleam

On the other shore. That’s it, I deem.

Now, mother, away with bad dreams, for, see,

Our Johnnie is coming!—He’ll want his tree.

And what is left of candles, light

As if it were on Christmas night!

Twice we shall have our Christmas cheer—

In eleven minutes he must be here.”

It is the train, with the gale it vies

And panting by the south tower flies.

“There’s the bridge still,” says Johnnie. “But that’s all right:

We’ll make it surely out of spite!

A solid boiler and double steam

Should win in such a fight, ’twould seem!

Let it rave and rage and run at its bent—

We’ll put it down: this element!

And our bridge is our pride. I must laugh always

When I think back of the olden days,

And all the trouble and misery

That with the old boat used to be.

And many cheerful Christmas nights

I spent at the ferryman’s house—the lights

From our windows I’d watch and count them o’er,

And could not reach the other shore.”

The bridgekeeper’s house that stands in the north—

All windows to the south look forth,

And the inmates there without peace or rest

Are gazing southward with anxious zest:

More furious grew the wind’s wild games,

And now, as if the sky poured flames,

Comes shooting down a radiance bright

O’er the water below.—Then all is night.

“When shall we three meet again?”

“At midnight the top of the mountain attain!”

“By the alder-stem on the high moorland plain!”

“I’ll come.”

“And I too.”

“And the number I’ll tell.”

“And I the names.”

“I the torture right well.”

“Whoo!

“Like splinters the woodwork crashed in two.”

“A bauble—a naught.

What the hand of man hath wrought!”