The Project Gutenberg Works of Frederich Schiller in English

A bridge of pearls its form uprears

High o'er a gray and misty sea;

E'en in a moment it appears,

And rises upwards giddily.

Beneath its arch can find a road

The loftiest vessel's mast most high,

Itself hath never borne a load,

And seems, when thou draw'st near, to fly.

It comes first with the stream, and goes

Soon as the watery flood is dried.

Where may be found this bridge, disclose,

And who its beauteous form supplied!

It bears thee many a mile away,

And yet its place it changes ne'er;

It has no pinions to display,

And yet conducts thee through the air.

It is the bark of swiftest motion

That every weary wanderer bore;

With speed of thought the greatest ocean

It carries thee in safety o'er;

One moment wafts thee to the shore.

Upon a spacious meadow play

Thousands of sheep, of silvery hue;

And as we see them move to-day,

The man most aged saw them too.

They ne'er grow old, and, from a rill

That never dries, their life is drawn;

A shepherd watches o'er them still,

With curved and beauteous silver horn.

He drives them out through gates of gold,

And every night their number counts;

Yet ne'er has lost, of all his fold,

One lamb, though oft that path he mounts.

A hound attends him faithfully,

A nimble ram precedes the way;

Canst thou point out that flock to me,

And who the shepherd, canst thou say?