The Menagerie

The rejected word 'peace' At the beginning of an outraged era; A church lamp in a grotto And the air of mountain lands An ether we did not want to, Or would not breathe. Again, with a goat-voice, The shaggy reed-pipes sing. While sheep and oxen grazed On fertile pastures, And friendly eagles perched On the shoulders of sleepy crags -- A German reared an eagle, A lion submitted to a Briton, And a Gallic comb appeared From a rooster's crest. But now the savage has captured The sacred mace of Heracles, The black earth has dried up, Ungrateful, as before. I will get the withered wand And draw the fire from it; Let the startled beasts go away With me into the deaf night. The cock, the lion, the dark brown Eagle, the affectionate bear -- We shall build a chamber for war, And warm the wild beasts' hides. But I sing the wine [*] of the times -- The font of Italic speech -- And in a Great-Aryan cradle, Slavonic and Germanic flax! Italy, is it really worth Disturbing the chariots of Rome For the clucking of a domestic bird Flying across your fence? And you, neighbor, don't seek damages; The eagle bristles in anger. What if for your sling A heavy stone is of no use? While the beasts are in the menagerie, We will settle down a while, The Volga stays at high tide, The Rhine's current grows brighte -- The wise man will unwillingly honor A foreigner as a demigod With the revelry of a dance On the shores of great rivers.