Ludwig Hölty, Gustave Kahn, Thomas Bracken, Mathurin Régnier, Benjamin Disraeli

De Duitse dichter Ludwig Heinrich Christoph Hölty werd geboren op 21 december 1748 in Mariensee bij Hannover. Zie ook mijn blog van 21 december 2008 en ook mijn blog van 21 december 2009.


Die Luft ist blau


Die Luft ist blau,

das Tal ist grün.

Die kleinen Maienglöckchen blühn.

Und Schlüsselblumen drunter,

Der Wiesengrund

ist schon so bunt

Und malt sich täglich bunter.



Die Ersehnte


Brächte dich meinem Arm der nächste Frühling!

Tönten Vögel aus Blüten mir das Brautlied,

Dann, dann hätt’ ich Seliger

Schon auf Erden Wonne des Himmels.


Wonne! sie wird mir Paradiese zaubern!

Wird lustwandeln mit mir in Gärten Gottes,

Wird in meinen Armen gewiegt

Den Frühlingsabend beflügeln.


Komm, dich rufet die Sehnsuchtsträn’ im Auge!

Dich dies wallende Herz voll süßer Ahndung,

Trübe floß’ mein Leben,

O Himmelsbotin, komm, es zu heitern.


Ludwig Hölty (21 december 1748 – 1 september 1776)



De Franse dichter en schrijver Gustave Kahn werd geboren in Metz op 21 december 1859. Zie ook mijn blog van 21 december 2008 en ook mijn blog van 21 december 2009.


The Pilgrim From the East


IT is a pilgrim coming from the East.

There had been to seek a balmy flower

which planted, in the gardens of Engaddi

designed according to the loveliness

Of Abishag and of the robes her dowry,

Solomon, old Magician with smoked hands

by an eternal prayer to beauty sent.


He journeyed with his staff and cockle-shell,

he slept by sounding waters of cool streams

which under rosy laurels on white pebbles

feign arabesques of silver dragon-flies.

Then, since the mosques from janissaries suffered,

who guarded them with scimitar in hand,

he came in melancholy home again.


He reared his staff against the chimney-stone,

the staff of the long journey,

and watched towards him kindle

the gentle eyes he loved.

And then his staff became a scented stem

flowered with the great white lily he had found not.


Good pilgrim home from the East,

here in thy home is happiness,

and not along the roads with ambush deaf,

And the world is a masquerade,

beside the sweet and delicate face

that by thy hearth-stone smiles.



Old Wounds


Why pick at old wounds?

It was so long ago.

All is well finished that causes

Remembrances of spring.


Why dwell on the past?

But your heart betrays

That other old regret

Of fond times with another.



Vertaald door Jethro Bithell



Gustave Kahn (21 december 1859 – 5 september 1936)




De Australische dichter en schrijver Thomas Bracken werd geboren op 21 december 1843 in Clones, County Monaghan, Ierland. Zie ook mijn blog van 21 december 2008 en ook mijn blog van 21 december 2009.


Spirit Of Song 


Where is thy dwelling-place? Echo of sweetness,

Seraph of tenderness, where is thy home?

Angel of happiness, herald of fleetness,

Thou hast the key of the star-blazon’d dome.

Where lays that never end

Up to God’s throne ascend,

And our fond heart-wishes lovingly throng,

Soaring with thee above,

Bearer of truth and love,

Teacher of heaven’s tongue – Spirit of Song!


Euphony, born in the realms of the tearless,

Mingling thy notes with the voices of Earth;

Wanting thee, all would be dreary and cheerless,

Weaver of harmony, giver of mirth.

Comfort of child and sage,

With us in youth and age,

Soothing the weak and inspiring the strong,

Illuming the blackest night,

Making the day more bright,

Oh! thou art dear to us, Spirit of Song!


Oft in the springtime, sweet words of affection

Are whispered by thee in thy tenderest tone,

And in the winter dark clouds of dejection

By thee are dispelled till all sorrow has flown.

Thou’rt with the zephyrs low,

And with the brooklet’s flow,

And with the feathered choir all the year long;

Happy each child of thine,

Blest with thy gifts divine,

Charming our senses, sweet Spirit of Song!



Thomas Bracken (21 december 1843 – 16 februari 1898)

Geelong, Victoria, waar Bracken vanaf zijn 12e woonde




De Franse dichter en satricus Mathurin Régnier werd geboren op 21 december 1573 in Chartres. Zie ook mijn blog van 21 december 2008 en ook mijn blog van 21 december 2009.


Satire III (Fragment)


Sans parler, je t’entends : il faut suivre l’orage ;
Aussi bien on ne peut où choisir avantage ;
Nous vivons à tâtons et, dans ce monde ici,
Souvent avec travail on poursuit du souci ;
Car les dieux courroucés contre la race humaine
Ont mis avec les biens les sueurs et la peine.
Le monde est un berlan où tout est confondu
Tel pense avoir gagné qui souvent a perdu,
Ainsi qu’en une blanque où par hasard on tire,
Et qui voudrait choisir souvent prendrait le pire.
Tout dépend du Destin, qui sans avoir égard
Les faveurs et les biens en ce monde départ.

Mais puisqu’il est ainsi que le sort nous emporte,
Qui voudrait se bander contre une loi si forte ?
Suivons donc sa conduite en cet aveuglement.
Qui pèche avec le ciel pèche honorablement.
Car penser s’affranchir c’est une rêverie ;
La liberté par songe en la terre est chérie :
Rien n’est libre en ce monde et chaque homme dépend,
Comtes, princes, sultans, de quelque autre plus grand.
Tous les hommes vivants sont ici bas esclaves,
Mais, suivant ce qu’ils sont, ils diffèrent d’entraves,
Les uns les portent d’or et les autres de fer ;
Mais n’en déplaise aux vieux, ni leur philosopher,
Ni tant de beaux écrits qu’on lit en leurs écoles,
Pour s’affranchir l’esprit ne sont que des paroles.
Au joug nous sommes nés et n’a jamais été
Homme qu’on ait vu vivre en pleine liberté.


Mathurin Régnier (21 decmber 1573 – 22 oktober 1613)

19e eeuwse gravure



De Britse schrijver en politicus Benjamin Disraeli werd geboren op 21 december 1804 in Londen. Zie ook mijn blog van 21 december 2006. en ook mijn blog van 21 december 2008 en ook mijn blog van 21 december 2009.


Uit: The Rise Of Iskander


„The sun had set behind the mountains, and the rich plain of Athens was suffused with the violet glow of a Grecian eye. A light breeze rose; the olive-groves awoke from their noonday trance, and rustled with returning animation, and the pennons of the Turkish squadron, that lay at anchor in the harbour of Piræus, twinkled in the lively air. From one gate of the city the women came forth in procession to the fountain; from another, a band of sumptuous horsemen sallied out, and threw their wanton javelins in the invigorating sky, as they galloped over the plain. The voice of birds, the buzz of beauteous insects, the breath of fragrant flowers, the quivering note of the nightingale, the pattering call of the grasshopper, and the perfume of the violet, shrinking from the embrace of the twilight breeze, filled the purple air with music and with odour.

A solitary being stood upon the towering crag of the Acropolis, amid the ruins of the Temple of Minerva, and gazed upon the inspiring scene. Around him rose the matchless memorials of antique art; immortal columns whose symmetry baffles modern proportion, serene Caryatides, bearing with greater grace a graceful burthen, carvings of delicate precision, and friezes breathing with heroic life. Apparently the stranger, though habited as a Moslemin, was not insensible to the genius of the locality, nor indeed would his form and countenance have misbecome a contemporary of Pericles and Phidias. In the prime of life and far above the common stature, but with a frame the muscular power of which was even exceeded by its almost ideal symmetry, white forehead, his straight profile, his oval countenance, and his curling lip, exhibited the same visage that had inspired the sculptor of the surrounding demigods.“



Benjamin Disraeli (21 december 1804 – 19 april 1889)

Portret door Henry Weigall Jr.