POEMS
OF
JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE
BOOK IV
Book I | Book II | Book III | Book IV
BOTH.
1 Now, sun, sink to rest! Now, sun, arise!
2 Ye stars, be now shining, now darkling! A star of love now gleams in the skies,
3 All-sparkling! As long as the fountain may spring and run, So long will we two be blended in one,
4 Upon each other's bosoms!
THE TRAVELLER AND THE FARM~MAIDEN.
HE.
6 Canst thou give, oh fair and matchless maiden,
7 'Neath the shadow of the lindens yonder,--
8 Where I'd fain one moment cease to wander,-- Food and drink to one so heavy laden?
SHE.
9 Wouldst thou find refreshment, traveller weary,
10 Bread, ripe fruit and cream to meet thy wishes,--
11 None but Nature's plain and homely dishes,-- Near the spring may soothe thy wanderings dreary.
HE.
12 Dreams of old acquaintance now pass through me,
13 Ne'er-forgotten queen of hours of blisses.
14 Likenesses I've often found, but this is One that quite a marvel seemeth to me!
SHE.
15 Travellers often wonder beyond measure,
16 But their wonder soon see cause to smother;
17 Fair and dark are often like each other, Both inspire the mind with equal pleasure.
HE.
18 Not now for the first time I surrender
19 To this form, in humble adoration;
20 It was brightest midst the constellation In the hail adorn'd with festal splendour.
SHE.
21 Be thou joyful that 'tis in my power
22 To complete thy strange and merry story!
23 Silks behind her, full of purple glory, Floated, when thou saw'st her in that hour.
HE.
24 No, in truth, thou hast not sung it rightly!
25 Spirits may have told thee all about it;
26 Pearls and gems they spoke of, do not doubt it,-- By her gaze eclipsed,--it gleam'd so brightly!
SHE.
27 This one thing I certainly collected:
28 That the fair one--(say nought, I entreat thee!)
29 Fondly hoping once again to meet thee, Many a castle in the air erected.
HE.
30 By each wind I ceaselessly was driven,
31 Seeking gold and honour, too, to capture!
32 When my wand'rings end, then oh, what rapture, If to find that form again 'tis given!
SHE.
33 'Tis the daughter of the race now banish'd
34 That thou seest, not her likeness only;
35 Helen and her brother, glad though lonely, Till this farm of their estate now vanish'd.
HE.
36 But the owner surely is not wanting
37 Of these plains, with ev'ry beauty teeming?
38 Verdant fields, broad meads, and pastures gleaming, Gushing springs, all heav'nly and enchanting.
SHE.
39 Thou must hunt the world through, wouldst thou find him!--
40 We have wealth enough in our possession,
41 And intend to purchase the succession, When the good man leaves the world behind him.
HE.
42 I have learnt the owner's own condition,
43 And, fair maiden, thou indeed canst buy it;
44 But the cost is great, I won't deny it,-- Helen is the price,--with thy permission!
SHE.
45 Did then fate and rank keep us asunder,
46 And must Love take this road, and no other?
47 Yonder comes my dear and trusty brother; What will he say to it all, I wonder?
EFFECTS AT A DISTANCE.
48 THE queen in the lofty hall takes her place,
49 The tapers around her are flaming; She speaks to the page: "With a nimble pace
50 Go, fetch me my purse for gaming.
51 'Tis lying, I'll pledge,
52 On my table's edge." Each nerve the nimble boy straineth, And the end of the castle soon gaineth.
53 The fairest of maidens was sipping sherbet
54 Beside the queen that minute; Near her mouth broke the cup,--and she got so wet!
55 The very devil seem'd in it
56 What fearful distress
57 'Tis spoilt, her gay dress. She hastens, and ev'ry nerve straineth, And the end of the castle soon gaineth.
58 The boy was returning, and quickly came,
59 And met the sorrowing maiden; None knew of the fact,--and yet with Love's flame,
60 Those two had their hearts full laden.
61 And, oh the bliss
62 Of a moment like this! Each falls on the breast of the other, With kisses that well nigh might smother.
63 They tear themselves asunder at last,
64 To her chamber she hastens quickly, To reach the queen the page hies him fast,
65 Midst the swords and the fans crowded thickly.
66 The queen spied amain
67 On his waistcoat a stain; For nought was inscrutable to her, Like Sheba's queen--Solomon's wooer.
68 To her chief attendant she forthwith cried
69 "We lately together contended, And thou didst assert, with obstinate pride,
70 That the spirit through space never wended,--
71 That traces alone
72 By the present were shown,-- That afar nought was fashion'd--not even By the stars that illumine you heaven.
73 "Now see! while a goblet beside me they drain'd,
74 They spilt all the drink in the chalice; And straightway the boy had his waistcoat stain'd
75 At the furthermost end of the palace.--
76 Let them newly be clad!
77 And since I am glad That it served as a proof so decided, The cost will by me be provided."
THE WALKING BELL
78 A CHILD refused to go betimes
79 To church like other people; He roam'd abroad, when rang the chimes
80 On Sundays from the steeple.
81 His mother said: "Loud rings the bell,
82 Its voice ne'er think of scorning; Unless thou wilt behave thee well,
83 'Twill fetch thee without warning."
84 The child then thought: "High over head
85 The bell is safe suspended--" So to the fields he straightway sped
86 As if 'twas school-time ended.
87 The bell now ceas'd as bell to ring,
88 Roused by the mother's twaddle; But soon ensued a dreadful thing!--
89 The bell begins to waddle.
90 It waddles fast, though strange it seem;
91 The child, with trembling wonder, Runs off, and flies, as in a dream;
92 The bell would draw him under.
93 He finds the proper time at last,
94 And straightway nimbly rushes To church, to chapel, hastening fast
95 Through pastures, plains, and bushes.
96 Each Sunday and each feast as well,
97 His late disaster heeds he; The moment that he bears the bell,
98 No other summons needs he.
FAITHFUL ECKART,
99 "Oh, would we were further! Oh, would we were home, The phantoms of night tow'rd us hastily come,
100 The band of the Sorceress sisters. They hitherward speed, and on finding us here, They'll drink, though with toil we have fetch'd it, the beer,
101 And leave us the pitchers all empty."
102 Thus speaking, the children with fear take to flight, When sudden an old man appears in their sight:
103 "Be quiet, child! children, be quiet! From hunting they come, and their thirst they would still, So leave them to swallow as much as they will,
104 And the Evil Ones then will be gracious."
105 As said, so 'twas done! and the phantoms draw near, And shadowlike seem they, and grey they appear,
106 Yet blithely they sip and they revel The beer has all vanish'd, the pitchers are void; With cries and with shouts the wild hunters, o'erjoy'd,
107 Speed onward o'er vale and o'er mountain.
108 The children in terror fly nimbly tow'rd home, And with them the kind one is careful to come:
109 "My darlings, oh, be not so mournful!-- "They'll blame us and beat us, until we are dead."-- "No, no! ye will find that all goes well," he said;
110 "Be silent as mice, then, and listen!
111 "And he by whose counsels thus wisely ye're taught, Is he who with children loves ever to sport.
112 The trusty and faithful old Eckart. Ye have heard of the wonder for many a day, But ne'er had a proof of the marvellous lay,--
113 Your hands hold a proof most convincing."
114 They arrive at their home, and their pitchers they place By the side of their parents, with fear on their face,
115 Awaiting a beating and scolding. But see what they're tasting: the choicest of beer! Though three times and four times they quaff the good cheer
116 The pitchers remain still unemptied.
117 The marvel it lasts till the dawning of day; All people who hear of it doubtless will say:
118 "What happen'd at length to the pitchers?" In secret the children they smile, as they wait; At last, though, they stammer, and stutter, and prate,
119 And straightway the pitchers were empty.
120 And if, children, with kindness address'd ye may be, Whether father, or master, or alderman he,
121 Obey him, and follow his bidding! And if 'tis unpleasant to bridle the tongue, Yet talking is bad, silence good for the young--
122 And then will the beer fill your pitchers!
THE DANCE OF DEATH.
123 The warder looks down at the mid hour of night,
124 On the tombs that lie scatter'd below: The moon fills the place with her silvery light,
125 And the churchyard like day seems to glow. When see! first one grave, then another opes wide, And women and men stepping forth are descried,
126 In cerements snow-white and trailing.
127 In haste for the sport soon their ankles they twitch,
128 And whirl round in dances so gay; The young and the old, and the poor, and the rich,
129 But the cerements stand in their way; And as modesty cannot avail them aught here, They shake themselves all, and the shrouds soon appear
130 Scatter'd over the tombs in confusion.
131 Now waggles the leg, and now wriggles the thigh,
132 As the troop with strange gestures advance, And a rattle and clatter anon rises high,
133 As of one beating time to the dance. The sight to the warder seems wondrously queer, When the villainous Tempter speaks thus in his ear:
134 "Seize one of the shrouds that lie yonder!"
135 Quick as thought it was done! and for safety he fled
136 Behind the church-door with all speed; The moon still continues her clear light to shed
137 On the dance that they fearfully lead. But the dancers at length disappear one by one, And their shrouds, ere they vanish, they carefully don,
138 And under the turf all is quiet.
139 But one of them stumbles and shuffles there still,
140 And gropes at the graves in despair; Yet 'tis by no comrade he's treated so ill
141 The shroud he soon scents in the air. So he rattles the door--for the warder 'tis well That 'tis bless'd, and so able the foe to repel,
142 All cover'd with crosses in metal.
143 The shroud he must have, and no rest will allow,
144 There remains for reflection no time; On the ornaments Gothic the wight seizes now,
145 And from point on to point hastes to climb. Alas for the warder! his doom is decreed! Like a long-legged spider, with ne'er-changing speed,
146 Advances the dreaded pursuer.
147 The warder he quakes, and the warder turns pale,
148 The shroud to restore fain had sought; When the end,--now can nothing to save him avail,--
149 In a tooth formed of iron is caught. With vanishing lustre the moon's race is run, When the bell thunders loudly a powerful One,
150 And the skeleton fails, crush'd to atoms.
THE PUPIL IN MAGIC.
151 I AM now,--what joy to hear it!--
152 Of the old magician rid; And henceforth shall ev'ry spirit
153 Do whate'er by me is bid;
154 I have watch'd with rigour
155 All he used to do,
156 And will now with vigour
157 Work my wonders too.
158 Wander, wander
159 Onward lightly,
160 So that rightly
161 Flow the torrent,
162 And with teeming waters yonder
163 In the bath discharge its current!
164 And now come, thou well-worn broom,
165 And thy wretched form bestir; Thou hast ever served as groom,
166 So fulfil my pleasure, sir!
167 On two legs now stand,
168 With a head on top;
169 Waterpail in hand,
170 Haste, and do not stop!
171 Wander, wander
172 Onward lightly,
173 So that rightly
174 Flow the torrent,
175 And with teeming waters yonder
176 In the bath discharge its current!
177 See! he's running to the shore,
178 And has now attain'd the pool, And with lightning speed once more
179 Comes here, with his bucket full!
180 Back he then repairs;
181 See how swells the tide!
182 How each pail he bears
183 Straightway is supplied!
184 Stop, for, lo!
185 All the measure
186 Of thy treasure
187 Now is right!--
188 Ah, I see it! woe, oh woe!
189 I forget the word of might.
190 Ah, the word whose sound can straight
191 Make him what he was before! Ah, he runs with nimble gait!
192 Would thou wert a broom once more!
193 Streams renew'd for ever
194 Quickly bringeth he;
195 River after river
196 Rusheth on poor me!
197 Now no longer
198 Can I bear him;
199 I will snare him,
200 Knavish sprite!
201 Ah, my terror waxes stronger!
202 What a look! what fearful sight
203 Oh, thou villain child of hell!
204 Shall the house through thee be drown'd Floods I see that wildly swell,
205 O'er the threshold gaining ground.
206 Wilt thou not obey,
207 Oh, thou broom accurs'd?
208 Be thou still I pray,
209 As thou wert at first!
210 Will enough
211 Never please thee?
212 I will seize thee,
213 Hold thee fast,
214 And thy nimble wood so tough,
215 With my sharp axe split at last.
216 See, once more he hastens back!
217 Now, oh Cobold, thou shalt catch it! I will rush upon his track;
218 Crashing on him falls my hatchet.
219 Bravely done, indeed!
220 See, he's cleft in twain!
221 Now from care I'm freed,
222 And can breathe again.
223 Woe, oh woe!
224 Both the parts,
225 Quick as darts,
226 Stand on end,
227 Servants of my dreaded foe!
228 Oh, ye gods protection send!
229 And they run! and wetter still
230 Grow the steps and grows the hail. Lord and master hear me call!
231 Ever seems the flood to fill,
232 Ah, he's coming! see,
233 Great is my dismay!
234 Spirits raised by me
235 Vainly would I lay!
236 "To the side
237 Of the room
238 Hasten, broom,
239 As of old!
240 Spirits I have ne'er untied
241 Save to act as they are told."
THE BRIDE OF CORINTH.
[First published in Schiller's Horen, in connection with a friendly contest in the art of ballad-writing between the two great poets, to which many of their finest works are owing.]
242 Once a stranger youth to Corinth came,
243 Who in Athens lived, but hoped that he From a certain townsman there might claim,
244 As his father's friend, kind courtesy.
245 Son and daughter, they
246 Had been wont to say
247 Should thereafter bride and bridegroom be.
248 But can he that boon so highly prized,
249 Save tis dearly bought, now hope to get? They are Christians and have been baptized,
250 He and all of his are heathens yet.
251 For a newborn creed,
252 Like some loathsome weed,
253 Love and truth to root out oft will threat.
254 Father, daughter, all had gone to rest,
255 And the mother only watches late; She receives with courtesy the guest,
256 And conducts him to the room of state.
257 Wine and food are brought,
258 Ere by him besought;
259 Bidding him good night. she leaves him straight.
260 But he feels no relish now, in truth,
261 For the dainties so profusely spread; Meat and drink forgets the wearied youth,
262 And, still dress'd, he lays him on the bed.
263 Scarce are closed his eyes,
264 When a form in-hies
265 Through the open door with silent tread.
266 By his glimmering lamp discerns he now
267 How, in veil and garment white array'd, With a black and gold band round her brow,
268 Glides into the room a bashful maid.
269 But she, at his sight,
270 Lifts her hand so white,
271 And appears as though full sore afraid.
272 "Am I," cries she, "such a stranger here,
273 That the guest's approach they could not name? Ah, they keep me in my cloister drear,
274 Well nigh feel I vanquish'd by my shame.
275 On thy soft couch now
276 Slumber calmly thou!
277 I'll return as swiftly as I came."
278 "Stay, thou fairest maiden!" cries the boy,
279 Starting from his couch with eager haste: "Here are Ceres', Bacchus' gifts of joy;
280 Amor bringest thou, with beauty grac'd!
281 Thou art pale with fear!
282 Loved one let us here
283 Prove the raptures the Immortals taste."
284 "Draw not nigh, O Youth! afar remain!
285 Rapture now can never smile on me; For the fatal step, alas! is ta'en,
286 Through my mother's sick-bed phantasy.
287 Cured, she made this oath:
288 'Youth and nature both
289 Shall henceforth to Heav'n devoted be.'
290 "From the house, so silent now, are driven
291 All the gods who reign'd supreme of yore; One Invisible now rules in heaven,
292 On the cross a Saviour they adore.
293 Victims slay they here,
294 Neither lamb nor steer, But the altars reek with human gore."
295 And he lists, and ev'ry word he weighs,
296 While his eager soul drinks in each sound: "Can it be that now before my gaze
297 Stands my loved one on this silent ground?
298 Pledge to me thy troth!
299 Through our father's oath:
300 With Heav'ns blessing will our love be crown'd."
301 "Kindly youth, I never can be thine!
302 'Tis my sister they intend for thee. When I in the silent cloister pine,
303 Ah, within her arms remember me!
304 Thee alone I love,
305 While love's pangs I prove;
306 Soon the earth will veil my misery."
307 "No! for by this glowing flame I swear,
308 Hymen hath himself propitious shown: Let us to my fathers house repair,
309 And thoult find that joy is not yet flown,
310 Sweetest, here then stay,
311 And without delay
312 Hold we now our wedding feast alone!"
313 Then exchange they tokens of their truth;
314 She gives him a golden chain to wear, And a silver chalice would the youth
315 Give her in return of beauty rare.
316 "That is not for me;
317 Yet I beg of thee, One lock only give me of thy hair."
318 Now the ghostly hour of midnight knell'd,
319 And she seem'd right joyous at the sign; To her pallid lips the cup she held,
320 But she drank of nought but blood-red wine.
321 For to taste the bread
322 There before them spread,
323 Nought he spoke could make the maid incline.
324 To the youth the goblet then she brought,--
325 He too quaff'd with eager joy the bowl. Love to crown the silent feast he sought,
326 Ah! full love-sick was the stripling's soul.
327 From his prayer she shrinks,
328 Till at length he sinks
329 On the bed and weeps without control.
330 And she comes, and lays her near the boy:
331 "How I grieve to see thee sorrowing so! If thou think'st to clasp my form with joy,
332 Thou must learn this secret sad to know;
333 Yes! the maid, whom thou
334 Call'st thy loved one now,
335 Is as cold as ice, though white as snow."
336 Then he clasps her madly in his arm,
337 While love's youthful might pervades his frame: "Thou might'st hope, when with me, to grow warm,
338 E'en if from the grave thy spirit came!
339 Breath for breath, and kiss!
340 Overflow of bliss!
341 Dost not thou, like me, feel passion's flame?"
342 Love still closer rivets now their lips,
343 Tears they mingle with their rapture blest, From his mouth the flame she wildly sips,
344 Each is with the other's thought possess'd.
345 His hot ardour's flood
346 Warms her chilly blood,
347 But no heart is beating in her breast.
348 In her care to see that nought went wrong,
349 Now the mother happen'd to draw near; At the door long hearkens she, full long,
350 Wond'ring at the sounds that greet her ear.
351 Tones of joy and sadness,
352 And love's blissful madness,
353 As of bride and bridegroom they appear,
354 From the door she will not now remove
355 'Till she gains full certainty of this; And with anger hears she vows of love,
356 Soft caressing words of mutual bliss.
357 "Hush! the cock's loud strain!
358 But thoult come again,
359 When the night returns!"--then kiss on kiss.
360 Then her wrath the mother cannot hold,
361 But unfastens straight the lock with ease "In this house are girls become so bold,
362 As to seek e'en strangers' lusts to please?"
363 By her lamp's clear glow
364 Looks she in,--and oh!
365 Sight of horror!--'tis her child she sees.
366 Fain the youth would, in his first alarm,
367 With the veil that o'er her had been spread, With the carpet, shield his love from harm;
368 But she casts them from her, void of dread,
369 And with spirit's strength,
370 In its spectre length,
371 Lifts her figure slowly from the bed.
372 "Mother! mother!"--Thus her wan lips say:
373 "May not I one night of rapture share? From the warm couch am I chased away?
374 Do I waken only to despair?
375 It contents not thee
376 To have driven me
377 An untimely shroud of death to wear?
378 "But from out my coffin's prison-bounds
379 By a wond'rous fate I'm forced to rove, While the blessings and the chaunting sounds
380 That your priests delight in, useless prove.
381 Water, salt, are vain
382 Fervent youth to chain,
383 Ah, e'en Earth can never cool down love!
384 "When that infant vow of love was spoken,
385 Venus' radiant temple smiled on both. Mother! thou that promise since hast broken,
386 Fetter'd by a strange, deceitful oath.
387 Gods, though, hearken ne'er,
388 Should a mother swear
389 To deny her daughter's plighted troth.
390 From my grave to wander I am forc'd,
391 Still to seek The Good's long-sever'd link, Still to love the bridegroom I have lost,
392 And the life-blood of his heart to drink;
393 When his race is run,
394 I must hasten on,
395 And the young must 'neath my vengeance sink,
396 "Beauteous youth! no longer mayst thou live;
397 Here must shrivel up thy form so fair; Did not I to thee a token give,
398 Taking in return this lock of hair?
399 View it to thy sorrow!
400 Grey thoult be to-morrow,
401 Only to grow brown again when there.
402 "Mother, to this final prayer give ear!
403 Let a funeral pile be straightway dress'd; Open then my cell so sad and drear,
404 That the flames may give the lovers rest!
405 When ascends the fire
406 From the glowing pyre,
407 To the gods of old we'll hasten, blest."
THE GOD AND THE BAYADERE.
AN INDIAN LEGEND.
[This very fine Ballad was also first given in the Horen.] (MAHADEVA is one of the numerous names of Seeva, the destroyer,-- the great god of the Brahmins.)
408 MAHADEVA,* Lord of earth
409 For the sixth time comes below,
410 As a man of mortal birth,--
411 Like him, feeling joy and woe.
412 Hither loves he to repair,
413 And his power behind to leave;
414 If to punish or to spare,
415 Men as man he'd fain perceive. And when he the town as a trav'ller hath seen, Observing the mighty, regarding the mean, He quits it, to go on his journey, at eve.
416 He was leaving now the place,
417 When an outcast met his eyes,--
418 Fair in form, with painted face,--
419 Where some straggling dwellings rise.
420 "Maiden, hail!"--"Thanks! welcome here!
421 Stay!--I'll join thee in the road.'
422 "Who art thou?"--"A Bayadere,
423 And this house is love's abode." The cymbal she hastens to play for the dance, Well skill'd in its mazes the sight to entrance, Then by her with grace is the nosegay bestow'd.
424 Then she draws him, as in play,
425 O'er the threshold eagerly:
426 "Beauteous stranger, light as day
427 Thou shalt soon this cottage see.
428 I'll refresh thee, if thou'rt tired,
429 And will bathe thy weary feet;
430 Take whate'er by thee's desired,
431 Toying, rest, or rapture sweet."-- She busily seeks his feign'd suff'rings to ease; Then smiles the Immortal; with pleasure he sees That with kindness a heart so corrupted can beat.
432 And he makes her act the part
433 Of a slave; he's straight obey'd.
434 What at first had been but art,
435 Soon is nature in the maid.
436 By degrees the fruit we find,
437 Where the buds at first obtain;
438 When obedience fills the mind,
439 Love will never far remain. But sharper and sharper the maiden to prove, The Discerner of all things below and above, Feigns pleasure, and horror, and maddening pain.
440 And her painted cheeks he kisses,
441 And his vows her heart enthrall;
442 Feeling love's sharp pangs and blisses,
443 Soon her tears begin to fall.
444 At his feet she now must sink,
445 Not with thoughts of lust or gain,--
446 And her slender members shrink,
447 And devoid of power remain. And so the bright hours with gladness prepare Their dark, pleasing veil of a texture so fair, And over the couch softly, tranquilly reign.
448 Late she falls asleep, thus bless'd,--
449 Early wakes, her slumbers fled,
450 And she finds the much-loved guest
451 On her bosom lying dead.
452 Screaming falls she on him there,
453 But, alas, too late to save!
454 And his rigid limbs they bear
455 Straightway to their fiery grave. Then hears she the priests and the funeral song, Then madly she runs, and she severs the throng: "Why press tow'rd the pile thus? Why scream thus, and rave?"
456 Then she sinks beside his bier,
457 And her screams through air resound:
458 "I must seek my spouse so dear,
459 E'en if in the grave he's bound.
460 Shall those limbs of grace divine
461 Fall to ashes in my sight?
462 Mine he was! Yes, only mine!
463 Ah, one single blissful night!" The priests chaunt in chorus: "We bear out the old, When long they've been weary, and late they've grown cold: We bear out the young, too, so thoughtless and light.
464 "To thy priests' commands give ear!
465 This one was thy husband ne'er;
466 Live still as a Bayadere,
467 And no duty thou need'st share.
468 To deaths silent realms from life,
469 None but shades attend man's frame,
470 With the husband, none but wife,--
471 That is duty, that is fame. Ye trumpets, your sacred lament haste to raise Oh, welcome, ye gods, the bright lustre of days! Oh, welcome to heaven the youth from the flame!"
472 Thus increased her torments are
473 By the cruel, heartless quire;
474 And with arms outstretching far
475 Leaps she on the glowing pyre.
476 But the youth divine outsprings
477 From the flame with heav'nly grace,
478 And on high his flight he wings,
479 While his arms his love embrace. In the sinner repentant the Godhead feels joy; Immortals delight thus their might to employ. Lost children to raise to a heavenly place.
THE PARIAH.
I. THE PARIAH S PRAYER.
479 Dreaded Brama, lord of might!
480 All proceed from thee alone; Thou art he who judgeth right!
481 Dost thou none but Brahmins own? Do but Rajahs come from thee?
482 None but those of high estate?
483 Didst not thou the ape create, Aye, and even such as we?
484 We are not of noble kind,
485 For with woe our lot is rife; And what others deadly find
486 Is our only source of life. Let this be enough for men,
487 Let them, if they will, despise us;
488 But thou, Brama, thou shouldst prize us, All are equal in thy ken.
489 Now that, Lord, this prayer is said,
490 As thy child acknowledge me; Or let one be born in-stead,
491 Who may link me on to thee! Didst not thou a Bayadere
492 As a goddess heavenward raise?
493 And we too to swell thy praise, Such a miracle would hear.
II. LEGEND.
[The successful manner in which Goethe employs the simple rhymeless trochaic metre in this and in many other Poems will perhaps be remarked by the reader.]
494 Water-fetching goes the noble Brahmin's wife, so pure and lovely; He is honour'd, void of blemish. And of justice rigid, stern. Daily from the sacred river Brings she back refreshments precious;-- But where is the pail and pitcher? She of neither stands in need. For with pure heart, hands unsullied, She the water lifts, and rolls it To a wondrous ball of crystal This she bears with gladsome bosom, Modestly, with graceful motion, To her husband in the house.
495 She to-day at dawn of morning Praying comes to Ganges' waters, Bends her o'er the glassy surface-- Sudden, in the waves reflected, Flying swiftly far above her, From the highest heavens descending, She discerns the beauteous form Of a youth divine, created By the God's primeval wisdom In his own eternal breast.
496 When she sees him, straightway feels she Wondrous, new, confused sensations In her inmost, deepest being; Fain she'd linger o'er the vision, Then repels it,--it returneth,-- And, perplex'd, she bends her flood-wards With uncertain hands to draw it; But, alas, she draws no more! For the water's sacred billows Seem to fly, to hasten from her; She but sees the fearful chasm Of a whirlpool black disclosed.
497 Arms drop down, and footsteps stumble, Can this be the pathway homewards? Shall she fly, or shall she tarry? Can she think, when thought and counsel, When assistance all are lost? So before her spouse appears she-- On her looks he--look is judgment-- Proudly on the sword he seizes, To the hill of death he drags her, Where delinquents' blood pays forfeit. What resistance could she offer? What excuses could she proffer, Guilty, knowing not her guilt?
498 And with bloody sword returns he, Musing, to his silent dwelling, When his son before him stands: "Whose this blood? Oh, father! father!" "The delinquent woman's!"--"Never! For upon the sword it dries not, Like the blood of the delinquent; Fresh it flows, as from the wound. Mother! mother! hither hasten! Unjust never was my father, Tell me what he now hath done."-- "Silence! silence! hers the blood is!" "Whose, my father?"--"Silence! Silence!" "What! oh what! my mother's blood! What her crime? What did she? Answer! Now, the sword! the sword now hold I; Thou thy wife perchance might'st slaughter, But my mother might'st not slay! Through the flames the wife is able Her beloved spouse to follow, And his dear and only mother Through the sword her faithful son." "Stay! oh stay!" exclaim'd the father: "Yet 'tis time, so hasten, hasten! Join the head upon the body, With the sword then touch the figure, And, alive she'll follow thee."
499 Hastening, he, with breathless wonder, Sees the bodies of two women Lying crosswise, and their heads too; Oh, what horror! which to choose! Then his mother's head he seizes,-- Does not kiss it, deadly pale 'tis,-- On the nearest headless body Puts it quickly, and then blesses With the sword the pious work. Then the giant form uprises,-- From the dear lips of his mother, Lips all god-like--changeless--blissful, Sound these words with horror fraught: "Son, oh son! what overhast'ning! Yonder is thy mother's body, Near it lies the impious head Of the woman who hath fallen Victim to the judgment-sword! To her body I am grafted By thy hand for endless ages; Wise in counsel, wild in action, I shall be amongst the gods. E'en the heav'nly boy's own image, Though in eye and brow so lovely, Sinking downwards to the bosom Mad and raging lust will stir.
500 "'Twill return again for ever, Ever rising, ever sinking, Now obscured, and now transfigur'd,-- So great Brama hath ordain'd. He 'twas sent the beauteous pinions, Radiant face and slender members Of the only God-begotten, That I might be proved and tempted; For from high descends temptation, When the gods ordain it so. And so I, the Brahmin woman, With my head in Heaven reclining, Must experience, as a Pariah, The debasing power of earth.
501 Son, I send thee to thy father! Comfort him! Let no sad penance, Weak delay, or thought of merit, Hold thee in the desert fast Wander on through ev'ry nation, Roam abroad throughout all ages, And proclaim to e'en the meanest, That great Brama hears his cry!
502 "None is in his eyes the meanest-- He whose limbs are lame and palsied, He whose soul is wildly riven, Worn with sorrow, hopeless, helpless, Be he Brahmin, be he Pariah, If tow'rd heaven he turns his gaze, Will perceive, will learn to know it: Thousand eyes are glowing yonder, Thousand ears are calmly list'ning, From which nought below is hid.
503 "If I to his throne soar upward, If he sees my fearful figure By his might transform'd to horror, He for ever will lament it,-- May it to your good be found! And I now will kindly warn him, And I now will madly tell him Whatsoe'er my mind conceiveth, What within my bosom heaveth. But my thoughts, my inmost feelings-- Those a secret shall remain."
III. THE PARIAH'S THANKS.
504 Mighty Brama, now I'll bless thee!
505 'Tis from thee that worlds proceed! As my ruler I confess thee,
506 For of all thou takest heed.
507 All thy thousand ears thou keepest
508 Open to each child of earth; We, 'mongst mortals sunk the deepest,
509 Have from thee received new birth.
510 Bear in mind the woman's story,
511 Who, through grief, divine became; Now I'll wait to view His glory,
512 Who omnipotence can claim.
DEATH-LAMENT OF THE NOBLE WIFE OF ASAN AGA.
[From the Morlack.)
513 What is yonder white thing in the forest? Is it snow, or can it swans perchance be? Were it snow, ere this it had been melted, Were it swans, they all away had hastend. Snow, in truth, it is not, swans it is not, 'Tis the shining tents of Asan Aga. He within is lying, sorely wounded; To him come his mother and his sister; Bashfully his wife delays to come there. When the torment of his wounds had lessen'd, To his faithful wife he sent this message: "At my court no longer dare to tarry, At my court, or e'en amongst my people."
514 When the woman heard this cruel message, Mute and full of sorrow stood that true one. At the doors she hears the feet of horses, And bethinks that Asan comes--her husband, To the tower she springs, to leap thence headlong, Her two darling daughters follow sadly, And whilst weeping bitter tears, exclaim they: These are not our father Asan's horses; 'Tis thy brother Pintorowich coming!"
515 So the wife of Asan turns to meet him, Clasps her arms in anguish round her brother: "See thy sister's sad disgrace, oh brother! How I'm banish'd--mother of five children!" Silently her brother from his wallet, Wrapp'd in deep red-silk, and ready written, Draweth forth the letter of divorcement, To return home to her mother's dwelling, Free to be another's wife thenceforward.
516 When the woman saw that mournful letter, Fervently she kiss'd her two sons' foreheads, And her two girls' cheeks with fervour kiss'd she, But she from the suckling in the cradle Could not tear herself, so deep her sorrow! So she's torn thence by her fiery brother, On his nimble steed he lifts her quickly, And so hastens, with the heart-sad woman, Straightway tow'rd his father's lofty dwelling.
517 Short the time was--seven days had pass'd not,-- Yet enough 'twas; many mighty princes Sought the woman in her widow's-mourning. Sought the woman,--as their wife they sought her. And the mightiest was Imoski's Cadi, And the woman weeping begg'd her brother: By thy life, my brother, I entreat thee, Let me not another's wife be ever, Lest my heart be broken at the image Of my poor, my dearly-cherish'd children!"
518 To her prayer her brother would not hearken, Fix'd to wed her to Imoski's Cadi. Yet the good one ceaselessly implored him: "Send, at least a letter, oh, my brother, With this message to Imoski's Cadi: 'The young widow sends thee friendly greeting; Earnestly she prays thee, through this letter, That, when thou com'st hither, with thy Suatians, A long veil thou'lt bring me, 'neath whose shadow I may hide, when near the house of Asan, And not see my dearly cherish'd orphans.'"
519 Scarcely had the Cadi read this letter, Than he gather'd all his Suatians round him, And then tow'rd the bride his course directed, And the veil she ask'd for, took he with him.
520 Happily they reach'd the princess' dwelling, From the dwelling happily they led her. But when they approach'd the house of Asan, Lo! the children saw from high their mother, And they shouted: "To thy halls return thou! Eat thy supper with thy darling children!" Mournfully the wife of Asan heard it, Tow'rd the Suatian prince then turn'd she, saying: "Let, I pray, the Suatians and the horses At the loved ones' door a short time tarry, That I may give presents to my children."
521 And before the loved ones' door they tarried, And she presents gave to her poor children, To the boys gave gold-embroider'd buskins, To the girls gave long and costly dresses, To the suckling, helpless in the cradle, Gave a garment, to be worn hereafter.
522 This aside saw Father Asan Aga,-- Sadly cried he to his darling children: "Hither come, ye dear unhappy infants, For your mother's breast is turn'd to iron, Lock'd for ever, closed to all compassion!"
523 When the wife of Asan heard him speak thus, On the ground, all pale and trembling, fell she, And her spirit fled her sorrowing bosom, When she saw her children flying from her.
524 1775. -----
CANTATAS.
525 ----- May the bard these numbers praise, That are sung his fame to raise. -----
526 THE Poems composed by Goethe under this title are five in number, of which three are here given. The other two are entirely personal in their allusions, and not of general interest. One of them is a Requiem on the Prince de Ligne, who died in 1814, and whom Goethe calls "the happiest man of the century," and the other was composed in honour of the 70th birthday of his friend Zelter the composer, when Goethe was himself more than 79 (1828). The following sweet aria introduced in the latter is, however, worth giving:--
527 THE flowers so carefully rear'd,
528 In a garland for him I oft twin'd: How sweet have they ever appear'd,
529 When wreath'd for a friend dear and kind. Then incense sweet ascended,
530 Then new-horn blossoms rose, With gentle zephyrs blended
531 In tones of soft repose. ----- IDYLL.
532 A village Chorus is supposed to be assembled, and about to commence its festive procession.
[Written for the birthday of the Duchess Louisa of Weimar.]
CHORUS.
533 THE festal day hail ye
534 With garlands of pleasure,
535 And dances' soft measure, With rapture commingled And sweet choral song.
DAMON.
536 Oh, how I yearn from out the crowd to flee! What joy a secret glade would give to me! Amid the throng, the turmoil here, Confined the plain, the breezes e'en appear.
CHORUS.
537 Now order it truly, That ev'ry one duly May roam and may wander, Now here, and now yonder,
538 The meadows along.
[The Chorus retreats gradually, and the song becomes fainter and fainter, till it dies away in the distance.]
DAMON.
539 In vain ye call, in vain would lure me on; True my heart speaks,--but with itself alone.
540 And if I may view
541 A blessing-fraught land,
542 The heaven's clear blue,
543 And the plain's verdant hue,
544 Alone I'll rejoice,
545 Undisturbed by man's voice.
546 And there I'll pay homage
547 To womanly merit,
548 Observe it in spirit,
549 In spirit pay homage;
550 To echo alone
551 Shall my secret be known.
CHORUS.
[Faintly mingling with Damon's song in the distance.]
552 To echo--alone--
553 Shall my secret--be known.--
MENALCAS.
554 My friend, why meet I here with thee?
555 Thou hast'nest not to join the festal throng? No longer stay, but come with me,
556 And mingle in the dance and song.
DAMON.
557 Thou'rt welcome, friend! but suffer me to roam
558 Where these old beeches hide me from man's view: Love seeks in solitude a home,
559 And homage may retreat there too.
MENALCAS.
560 Thou seekest here a spurious fame,
561 And hast a mind to-day to grieve me. Love as thy portion thou mayst claim
562 But homage thou must share with all, believe me!
563 When their voices thousands raise, And the dawn of morning praise,
564 Rapture bringing,
565 Blithely singing
566 On before us, Heart and ear in pleasure vie;
567 And when thousands join in chorus,
568 With the feelings brightly glowing,
569 And the wishes overflowing, Forcibly they'll bear thee high.
[The Chorus gradually approaches, from the distance.]
DAMON.
570 Distant strains are hither wending,
571 And I'm gladden'd by the throng; Yes, they're coming,--yes, descending
572 To the valley from the height,
MENALCAS.
573 Let us haste, our footsteps blending
574 With the rhythm of the song! Yes, they come; their course they're bending
575 Tow'rd the wood's green sward so bright.
CHORUS.
[Gradually becoming louder.]
576 Yes, we hither come, attending
577 With the harmony of song, As the hours their race are ending
578 On this day of blest delight.
ALL.
579 Let none reveal The thoughts we feel, The aims we own! Let joy alone
580 Disclose the story! She'll prove it right And her delight
581 Includes the glory, Includes the bliss Of days like this!
RINALDO.*
(Set to music by Winter, this cantata was written for Prince Frederick who sang the part of Rinaldo)
CHORUS.
582 To the strand! quick, mount the bark!
583 If no favouring zephyrs blow,
584 Ply the oar and nimbly row, And with zeal your prowess mark!
585 O'er the sea we thus career.
RINALDO.
586 Oh, let me linger one short moment here! 'Tis heaven's decree, I may not hence away. The rugged cliffs, the wood-encircled bay, Hold me a prisoner, and my flight delay.
587 Ye were so fair, but now that dream is o'er; The charms of earth, the charms of heaven are nought. What keeps me in this spot so terror-fraught?
588 My only joy is fled for evermore.
589 Let me taste those days so sweet,
590 Heav'n-descended, once again! Heart, dear heart! ay, warmly beat!
591 Spirit true, recall those days
592 Freeborn breath thy gentle lays
593 Mingled are with joy and pain.
594 Round the beds, so richly gleaming,
595 Rises up a palace fair; All with rosy fragrance teeming,
596 As in dream thou saw'st it ne'er.
597 And this spacious garden round,
598 Far extend the galleries; Roses blossom near the ground,
599 High in air, too, bloom the trees.
600 Wat'ry flakes and jets are falling.
601 Sweet and silv'ry strains arise; While the turtle-dove is calling,
602 And the nightingale replies.
CHORUS.
603 Gently come! feel no alarm,
604 On a noble duty bent; Vanish'd now is ev'ry charm
605 That by magic power was lent. Friendly words and greetings calm On his wounds will pour soft balm.
606 Fill his mind with sweet content.
RINALDO.
607 Hark! the turtle-dove is calling,
608 And the nightingale replies; Wat'ry flakes and jets are falling,
609 Mingling with their melodies.
610 But all of them say:
611 Her only we mean; But all fly away,
612 As soon as she's seen,-- The beauteous young maiden,
613 With graces so rife,
614 Then lily and rose
615 In wreaths are entwining;
616 In dancing combining, Each zephyr that blows
617 Its brother is greeting,
618 All flying and meeting, With balsam full laden,
619 When waken'd to life.
CHORUS.
620 No! no longer may we wait; Rouse him from his vision straight! Show the adamantine shield!
RINALDO.
621 Woe! what form is here reveal'd!
CHORUS.
622 'Twill disclose the cheat to thee.
RINALDO.
623 Am I doom'd myself to see Thus degraded evermore?
CHORUS.
624 Courage take, and all is o'er.
RINALDO.
625 Be it so! I'll take fresh heart, From the spot beloved depart, Leave Armida once again,-- Come then! here no more remain.
CHORUS.
626 Yes, 'tis well! no more remain.
SEMI-CHORUS.
627 Away then! let's fly
628 O'er the zephyr-kiss'd ocean! The soul-lighted eye
629 Sees armies in motion, See proud banners wave
630 O'er the dust-sprinkled course.
CHORUS.
631 From his forefathers brave
632 Draws the hero new force.
RINALDO.
633 With sorrow laden,
634 Within this valley's
635 All-silent alleys The fairest maiden
636 Again I see.
637 Twice can this be? What! shall I hear it, And not have spirit To ease her pains?
CHORUS.
638 Unworthy chains?
RINALDO.
639 And now I've see her,
640 Alas! how changed! With cold demeanour.
641 And looks estranged, With ghostly tread,-- All hope is fled, Yes, fled for ever. The lightnings quiver, Each palace falls; The godlike halls, Each joyous hour Of spirit-power, With love's sweet day All fade away!
CHORUS.
642 Yes, fade away!
SEMI-CHORUS.
643 Already are heard
644 The prayers of the pious.
645 Why longer deny us? The favouring zephyr
646 Forbids all delay.
CHORUS.
647 Away, then! away!
RINALDO.
648 With heart sadly stirr'd,
649 Your command I receive;
650 Ye force me to leave. Unkind is the zephyr,--
651 Oh, wherefore not stay?
CHORUS.
652 Away, then! away!
THE FIRST WALPURGIS-NIGHT.
A DRUID.
654 SWEET smiles the May!
655 The forest gay
656 From frost and ice is freed;
657 No snow is found,
658 Glad songs resound
659 Across the verdant mead.
660 Upon the height
661 The snow lies light,
662 Yet thither now we go, There to extol our Father's name,
663 Whom we for ages know. Amid the smoke shall gleam the flame;
664 Thus pure the heart will grow.
THE DRUIDS.
665 Amid the smoke shall gleam the flame; Extol we now our Father's name,
666 Whom we for ages know!
667 Up, up, then, let us go!
ONE OF THE PEOPLE.
668 Would ye, then, so rashly act? Would ye instant death attract? Know ye not the cruel threats
669 Of the victors we obey? Round about are placed their nets
670 In the sinful heathen's way. Ah! upon the lofty wall
671 Wife and children slaughter they; And we all Hasten to a certain fall.
CHORUS OF WOMEN.
672 Ay, upon the camp's high wall
673 All our children loved they slay.
674 Ah, what cruel victors they! And we all Hasten to a certain fall.
A DRUID.
675 Who fears to-day
676 His rites to pay,
677 Deserves his chains to wear.
678 The forest's free!
679 This wood take we,
680 And straight a pile prepare!
681 Yet in the wood
682 To stay 'tis good
683 By day, till all is still, With watchers all around us plac'd
684 Protecting you from ill. With courage fresh, then let us haste
685 Our duties to fulfil.
CHORUS OF WATCHERS.
686 Ye valiant watchers, now divide Your numbers through the forest wide,
687 And see that all is still,
688 While they their rites fulfil.
A WATCHER.
689 Let us in a cunning wise, Yon dull Christian priests surprise With the devil of their talk
690 We'll those very priests confound. Come with prong, and come with fork.
691 Raise a wild and rattling sound Through the livelong night, and prowl
692 All the rocky passes round. Screechowl, owl, Join in chorus with our howl!
CHORUS OF WATCHERS.
693 Come with prong, and come with fork, Like the devil of their talk, And with wildly rattling sound, Prowl the desert rocks around! Screechowl, owl, Join in chorus with our howl!
A DRUID.
694 Thus far 'tis right.
695 That we by night
696 Our Father's praises sing;
697 Yet when 'tis day,
698 To Thee we may
699 A heart unsullied bring.
700 'Tis true that now,
701 And often, Thou
702 Fav'rest the foe in fight. As from the smoke is freed the blaze,
703 So let our faith burn bright! And if they crush our golden ways,
704 Who e'er can crush Thy light?
A CHRISTIAN WATCHER.
705 Comrades, quick! your aid afford! All the brood of hell's abroad; See how their enchanted forms
706 Through and through with flames are glowing! Dragon-women, men-wolf swarms,
707 On in quick succession going! Let us, let us haste to fly!
708 Wilder yet the sounds are growing, And the archfiend roars on high; From the ground Hellish vapours rise around.
CHORUS OF CHRISTIAN WATCHERS.
709 Terrible enchanted forms, Dragon-women, men-wolf swarms! Wilder yet the sounds are growing! See, the archfiend comes, all-glowing! From the ground Hellish vapours rise around!
CHORUS OF DRUIDS.
710 As from the smoke is freed the blaze,
711 So let our faith burn bright! And if they crush our golden ways,
712 Who e'er can crush Thy light?
713 1799. -----
ODES.
714 THESE are the most singular of all the Poems of Goethe, and to many will appear so wild and fantastic, as to leave anything but a pleasing impression. Those at the beginning, addressed to his friend Behrisch, were written at the age of eighteen, and most of the remainder were composed while he was still quite young. Despite, however, the extravagance of some of them, such as the Winter Journey over the Hartz Mountains, and the Wanderer's Storm-Song, nothing can be finer than the noble one entitled Mahomet's Song, and others, such as the Spirit Song' over the Waters, The God-like, and, above all, the magnificent sketch of Prometheus, which forms part of an unfinished piece bearing the same name, and called by Goethe a 'Dramatic Fragment.'
TO MY FRIEND.
[These three Odes are addressed to a certain Behrisch, who was tutor to Count Lindenau, and of whom Goethe gives an odd account at the end of the Seventh Book of his Autobiography.]
FIRST ODE.
715 Transplant the beauteous tree! Gardener, it gives me pain; A happier resting-place Its trunk deserved.
716 Yet the strength of its nature To Earth's exhausting avarice, To Air's destructive inroads, An antidote opposed.
717 See how it in springtime Coins its pale green leaves! Their orange-fragrance Poisons each flyblow straight.
718 The caterpillar's tooth Is blunted by them; With silv'ry hues they gleam In the bright sunshine,
719 Its twigs the maiden Fain would twine in Her bridal-garland; Youths its fruit are seeking.
720 See, the autumn cometh! The caterpillar Sighs to the crafty spider,-- Sighs that the tree will not fade.
721 Hov'ring thither From out her yew-tree dwelling, The gaudy foe advances Against the kindly tree,
722 And cannot hurt it, But the more artful one Defiles with nauseous venom Its silver leaves;
723 And sees with triumph How the maiden shudders, The youth, how mourns he, On passing by.
724 Transplant the beauteous tree! Gardener, it gives me pain; Tree, thank the gardener Who moves thee hence!
SECOND ODE.
725 THOU go'st! I murmur-- Go! let me murmur. Oh, worthy man, Fly from this land!
726 Deadly marshes, Steaming mists of October Here interweave their currents, Blending for ever.
727 Noisome insects Here are engender'd; Fatal darkness Veils their malice.
728 The fiery-tongued serpent, Hard by the sedgy bank, Stretches his pamper'd body, Caress'd by the sun's bright beams.
729 Tempt no gentle night-rambles Under the moon's cold twilight! Loathsome toads hold their meetings Yonder at every crossway.
730 Injuring not, Fear will they cause thee. Oh, worthy man, Fly from this land!
THIRD ODE.
731 BE void of feeling! A heart that soon is stirr'd, Is a possession sad Upon this changing earth.
732 Behrisch, let spring's sweet smile Never gladden thy brow! Then winter's gloomy tempests Never will shadow it o'er.
733 Lean thyself ne'er on a maiden's Sorrow-engendering breast. Ne'er on the arm, Misery-fraught, of a friend.
734 Already envy From out his rocky ambush Upon thee turns The force of his lynx-like eyes,
735 Stretches his talons, On thee falls, In thy shoulders Cunningly plants them.
736 Strong are his skinny arms, As panther-claws; He shaketh thee, And rends thy frame.
737 Death 'tis to part, 'Tis threefold death To part, not hoping Ever to meet again.
738 Thou wouldst rejoice to leave This hated land behind, Wert thou not chain'd to me With friendships flowery chains.
739 Burst them! I'll not repine. No noble friend Would stay his fellow-captive, If means of flight appear.
740 The remembrance Of his dear friend's freedom Gives him freedom In his dungeon.
741 Thou go'st,--I'm left. But e'en already The last year's winged spokes Whirl round the smoking axle.
742 I number the turns Of the thundering wheel; The last one I bless.-- Each bar then is broken, I'm free then as thou!
MAHOMET'S SONG.
[This song was intended to be introduced in a dramatic poem entitled Mahomet, the plan of which was not carried out by Goethe. He mentions that it was to have been sung by Ali towards the end of the piece, in honor of his master, Mahomet, shortly before his death, and when at the height of his glory, of which it is typical.]
743 See the rock-born stream! Like the gleam Of a star so bright Kindly spirits High above the clouds Nourished him while youthful In the copse between the cliffs.
744 Young and fresh. From the clouds he danceth Down upon the marble rocks; Then tow'rd heaven Leaps exulting.
745 Through the mountain-passes Chaseth he the colour'd pebbles, And, advancing like a chief, Tears his brother streamlets with him In his course.
746 In the valley down below 'Neath his footsteps spring the flowers, And the meadow In his breath finds life.
747 Yet no shady vale can stay him, Nor can flowers, Round his knees all-softly twining With their loving eyes detain him; To the plain his course he taketh, Serpent-winding,
748 Social streamlets Join his waters. And now moves he O'er the plain in silv'ry glory, And the plain in him exults, And the rivers from the plain, And the streamlets from the mountain, Shout with joy, exclaiming: "Brother, Brother, take thy brethren with thee, With thee to thine aged father, To the everlasting ocean, Who, with arms outstretching far, Waiteth for us; Ah, in vain those arms lie open To embrace his yearning children; For the thirsty sand consumes us In the desert waste; the sunbeams Drink our life-blood; hills around us Into lakes would dam us! Brother, Take thy brethren of the plain, Take thy brethren of the mountain With thee, to thy father's arms!
749 Let all come, then!-- And now swells he Lordlier still; yea, e'en a people Bears his regal flood on high! And in triumph onward rolling, Names to countries gives he,--cities Spring to light beneath his foot.
750 Ever, ever, on he rushes, Leaves the towers' flame-tipp'd summits, Marble palaces, the offspring Of his fullness, far behind.
751 Cedar-houses bears the Atlas On his giant shoulders; flutt'ring In the breeze far, far above him Thousand flags are gaily floating, Bearing witness to his might.
752 And so beareth he his brethren, All his treasures, all his children, Wildly shouting, to the bosom Of his long-expectant sire.
SPIRIT SONG OVER THE WATERS.
753 The soul of man Resembleth water: From heaven it cometh, To heaven it soareth. And then again To earth descendeth, Changing ever.
754 Down from the lofty Rocky wall Streams the bright flood, Then spreadeth gently In cloudy billows O'er the smooth rock, And welcomed kindly, Veiling, on roams it, Soft murmuring, Tow'rd the abyss.
755 Cliffs projecting Oppose its progress,-- Angrily foams it Down to the bottom, Step by step.
756 Now, in flat channel, Through the meadowland steals it, And in the polish'd lake Each constellation Joyously peepeth.
757 Wind is the loving Wooer of waters; Wind blends together Billows all-foaming.
758 Spirit of man, Thou art like unto water! Fortune of man, Thou art like unto wind!
MY GODDESS.
759 Say, which Immortal Merits the highest reward? With none contend I, But I will give it To the aye-changing, Ever-moving Wondrous daughter of Jove. His best-beloved offspring. Sweet Phantasy.
760 For unto her Hath he granted All the fancies which erst To none allow'd he Saving himself; Now he takes his pleasure In the mad one.
761 She may, crowned with roses, With staff twined round with lilies, Roam thro' flow'ry valleys, Rule the butterfly-people, And soft-nourishing dew With bee-like lips Drink from the blossom:
762 Or else she may With fluttering hair And gloomy looks Sigh in the wind Round rocky cliffs, And thousand-hued. Like morn and even. Ever changing, Like moonbeam's light, To mortals appear.
763 Let us all, then, Adore the Father! The old, the mighty, Who such a beauteous Ne'er-fading spouse Deigns to accord To perishing mortals!
764 To us alone Doth he unite her, With heavenly bonds, While he commands her, in joy and sorrow, As a true spouse Never to fly us.
765 All the remaining Races so poor Of life-teeming earth. In children so rich. Wander and feed In vacant enjoyment, And 'mid the dark sorrows Of evanescent Restricted life,-- Bow'd by the heavy Yoke of Necessity.
766 But unto us he Hath his most versatile, Most cherished daughter Granted,--what joy!
767 Lovingly greet her As a beloved one! Give her the woman's Place in our home!
768 And oh, may the aged Stepmother Wisdom Her gentle spirit Ne'er seek to harm!
769 Yet know I her sister, The older, sedater, Mine own silent friend; Oh, may she never, Till life's lamp is quench'd, Turn away from me,-- That noble inciter, Comforter,--Hope!
SPIRIT SONG OVER THE WATERS.
MY GODDESS.WINTER JOURNEY OVER THE HARTZ MOUNTAINS.
[The following explanation is necessary, in order to make this ode in any way intelligible. The Poet is supposed to leave his companions, who are proceeding on a hunting expedition in winter, in order himself to pay a visit to a hypochondriacal friend, and also to see the mining in the Hartz mountains. The ode alternately describes, in a very fragmentary and peculiar manner, the naturally happy disposition of the Poet himself and the unhappiness of his friend; it pictures the wildness of the road and the dreariness of the prospect, which is relieved at one spot by the distant sight of a town, a very vague allusion to which is made in the third strophe; it recalls the hunting party on which his companions have gone; and after an address to Love, concludes by a contrast between the unexplored recesses of the highest peak of the Hartz and the metalliferous veins of its smaller brethren.]
770 Like the vulture Who on heavy morning clouds With gentle wing reposing Looks for his prey,-- Hover, my song!
771 For a God hath Unto each prescribed His destined path, Which the happy one Runs o'er swiftly To his glad goal: He whose heart cruel Fate hath contracted, Struggles but vainly Against all the barriers The brazen thread raises, But which the harsh shears Must one day sever.
772 Through gloomy thickets Presseth the wild deer on, And with the sparrows Long have the wealthy Settled themselves in the marsh.
773 Easy 'tis following the chariot That by Fortune is driven, Like the baggage that moves Over well-mended highways After the train of a prince.
774 But who stands there apart? In the thicket, lost is his path; Behind him the bushes Are closing together, the grass springs up again, The desert engulphs him.
775 Ah, who'll heal his afflictions, To whom balsam was poison, Who, from love's fullness, Drank in misanthropy only? First despised, and now a despiser, He, in secret, wasteth All that he is worth, In a selfishness vain. If there be, on thy psaltery, Father of Love, but one tone That to his ear may be pleasing, Oh, then, quicken his heart! Clear his cloud-enveloped eyes Over the thousand fountains Close by the thirsty one In the desert.
776 Thou who createst much joy, For each a measure o'erflowing, Bless the sons of the chase When on the track of the prey, With a wild thirsting for blood, Youthful and joyous Avenging late the injustice Which the peasant resisted Vainly for years with his staff.
777 But the lonely one veil Within thy gold clouds! Surround with winter-green, Until the roses bloom again, The humid locks, Oh Love, of thy minstrel!
778 With thy glimmering torch Lightest thou him Through the fords when 'tis night, Over bottomless places On desert-like plains; With the thousand colours of morning Gladd'nest his bosom; With the fierce-biting storm Bearest him proudly on high; Winter torrents rush from the cliffs,-- Blend with his psalms; An altar of grateful delight He finds in the much-dreaded mountain's Snow-begirded summit, Which foreboding nations Crown'd with spirit-dances.
779 Thou stand'st with breast inscrutable, Mysteriously disclosed, High o'er the wondering world, And look'st from clouds Upon its realms and its majesty, Which thou from the veins of thy brethren Near thee dost water.
TO FATHER* KRONOS.
[written in a post-chaise.]
(* In the original, Schwager, which has the twofold meaning of brother-in-law and postilion.)
780 Hasten thee, Kronos! On with clattering trot Downhill goeth thy path; Loathsome dizziness ever, When thou delayest, assails me. Quick, rattle along, Over stock and stone let thy trot Into life straightway lead
781 Now once more Up the toilsome ascent Hasten, panting for breath! Up, then, nor idle be,-- Striving and hoping, up, up!
782 Wide, high, glorious the view Gazing round upon life, While from mount unto mount Hovers the spirit eterne, Life eternal foreboding.
783 Sideways a roof's pleasant shade Attracts thee, And a look that promises coolness On the maidenly threshold. There refresh thee! And, maiden, Give me this foaming draught also, Give me this health-laden look!
784 Down, now! quicker still, down! See where the sun sets Ere he sets, ere old age Seizeth me in the morass, Ere my toothless jaws mumble, And my useless limbs totter; While drunk with his farewell beam Hurl me,--a fiery sea Foaming still in mine eye,-- Hurl me, while dazzled and reeling, Down to the gloomy portal of hell.
785 Blow, then, gossip, thy horn, Speed on with echoing trot, So that Orcus may know we are coming; So that our host may with joy Wait at the door to receive us.
THE WANDERER'S STORM-SONG.
[Goethe says of this ode, that it is the only one remaining out of several strange hymns and dithyrambs composed by him at a period of great unhappiness, when the love-affair between him and Frederica had been broken off by him. He used to sing them while wandering wildly about the country. This particular one was caused by his being caught in a tremendous storm on one of these occasions. He calls it a half-crazy piece (halkunsinn), and the reader will probably agree with him.]
786 He whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius, Feels no dread within his heart At the tempest or the rain. He whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius, Will to the rain-clouds, Will to the hailstorm, Sing in reply As the lark sings, Oh thou on high!
787 Him whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius, Thou wilt raise above the mud-track With thy fiery pinions. He will wander, As, with flowery feet, Over Deucalion's dark flood, Python-slaying, light, glorious, Pythius Apollo.
788 Him whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius, Thou wilt place upon thy fleecy pinion When he sleepeth on the rock,-- Thou wilt shelter with thy guardian wing In the forest's midnight hour.
789 Him whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius, Thou wilt wrap up warmly In the snow-drift; Tow'rd the warmth approach the Muses, Tow'rd the warmth approach the Graces.
790 Ye Muses, hover round me! Ye Graces also! That is water, that is earth, And the son of water and of earth Over which I wander, Like the gods.
791 Ye are pure, like the heart of the water, Ye are pure like the marrow of earth, Hov'ring round me, while I hover Over water, o'er the earth Like the gods.
792 Shall he, then, return, The small, the dark, the fiery peasant? Shall he, then, return, waiting Only thy gifts, oh Father Bromius, And brightly gleaming, warmth-spreading fire? Return with joy? And I, whom ye attended, Ye Muses and ye Graces, Whom all awaits that ye, Ye Muses and ye Graces, Of circling bliss in life Have glorified--shall I Return dejected?
793 Father Bromius! Thourt the Genius, Genius of ages, Thou'rt what inward glow To Pindar was, What to the world Phoebus Apollo.
794 Woe! Woe Inward warmth, Spirit-warmth, Central-point! Glow, and vie with Phoebus Apollo! Coldly soon His regal look Over thee will swiftly glide,--
795 Envy-struck Linger o'er the cedar's strength, Which, to flourish, Waits him not.
796 Why doth my lay name thee the last? Thee, from whom it began, Thee, in whom it endeth, Thee, from whom it flows, Jupiter Pluvius! Tow'rd thee streams my song. And a Castalian spring Runs as a fellow-brook, Runs to the idle ones, Mortal, happy ones, Apart from thee, Who cov'rest me around, Jupiter Pluvius!
797 Not by the elm-tree Him didst thou visit, With the pair of doves Held in his gentle arm,-- With the beauteous garland of roses,-- Caressing him, so blest in his flowers, Anacreon, Storm-breathing godhead! Not in the poplar grove, Near the Sybaris' strand, Not on the mountain's Sun-illumined brow Didst thou seize him, The flower-singing, Honey-breathing, Sweetly nodding Theocritus.
798 When the wheels were rattling, Wheel on wheel tow'rd the goal, High arose The sound of the lash Of youths with victory glowing, In the dust rolling, As from the mountain fall Showers of stones in the vale-- Then thy soul was brightly glowing, Pindar-- Glowing? Poor heart!
799 There, on the hill,-- Heavenly might! But enough glow Thither to wend, Where is my cot!
THE SEA-VOYAGE.
800 Many a day and night my bark stood ready laden; Waiting fav'ring winds, I sat with true friends round me, Pledging me to patience and to courage, In the haven.
801 And they spoke thus with impatience twofold: "Gladly pray we for thy rapid passage, Gladly for thy happy voyage; fortune In the distant world is waiting for thee, In our arms thoult find thy prize, and love too, When returning."
802 And when morning came, arose an uproar, And the sailors' joyous shouts awoke us; All was stirring, all was living, moving, Bent on sailing with the first kind zephyr.
803 And the sails soon in the breeze are swelling, And the sun with fiery love invites us; Fill'd the sails are, clouds on high are floating, On the shore each friend exulting raises Songs of hope, in giddy joy expecting Joy the voyage through, as on the morn of sailing, And the earliest starry nights so radiant.
804 But by God-sent changing winds ere long he's driven Sideways from the course he had intended, And he feigns as though he would surrender, While he gently striveth to outwit them,
805 To his goal, e'en when thus press'd, still faithful. But from out the damp grey distance rising, Softly now the storm proclaims its advent, Presseth down each bird upon the waters, Presseth down the throbbing hearts of mortals. And it cometh. At its stubborn fury, Wisely ev'ry sail the seaman striketh; With the anguish-laden ball are sporting Wind and water.
806 And on yonder shore are gather'd standing, Friends and lovers, trembling for the bold one: "Why, alas, remain'd he here not with us! Ah, the tempest! Cast away by fortune! Must the good one perish in this fashion? Might not he perchance.... Ye great immortals!"
807 Yet he, like a man, stands by his rudder; With the bark are sporting wind and water, Wind and water sport not with his bosom: On the fierce deep looks he, as a master,-- In his gods, or shipwreck'd, or safe landed, Trusting ever.
THE EAGLE AND DOVE.
808 In search of prey once raised his pinions An eaglet; A huntsman's arrow came, and reft His right wing of all motive power. Headlong he fell into a myrtle grove, For three long days on anguish fed, In torment writhed Throughout three long, three weary nights; And then was cured, Thanks to all-healing Nature's Soft, omnipresent balm. He crept away from out the copse, And stretch'd his wing--alas! Lost is all power of flight-- He scarce can lift himself From off the ground To catch some mean, unworthy prey, And rests, deep-sorrowing, On the low rock beside the stream. Up to the oak he looks, Looks up to heaven, While in his noble eye there gleams a tear. Then, rustling through the myrtle boughs, behold, There comes a wanton pair of doves, Who settle down, and, nodding, strut O'er the gold sands beside the stream, And gradually approach; Their red-tinged eyes, so full of love, Soon see the inward-sorrowing one. The male, inquisitively social, leaps On the next bush, and looks Upon him kindly and complacently. "Thou sorrowest," murmurs he: "Be of good cheer, my friend! All that is needed for calm happiness Hast thou not here? Hast thou not pleasure in the golden bough That shields thee from the day's fierce glow? Canst thou not raise thy breast to catch, On the soft moss beside the brook, The sun's last rays at even? Here thou mayst wander through the flowers' fresh dew, Pluck from the overflow The forest-trees provide, Thy choicest food,--mayst quench Thy light thirst at the silvery spring. Oh friend, true happiness Lies in contentedness, And that contentedness Finds everywhere enough." "Oh, wise one!" said the eagle, while he sank In deep and ever deep'ning thought-- "Oh Wisdom! like a dove thou speakest!"
PROMETHEUS.
809 Cover thy spacious heavens, Zeus, With clouds of mist, And, like the boy who lops The thistles' heads, Disport with oaks and mountain-peaks, Yet thou must leave My earth still standing; My cottage too, which was not raised by thee; Leave me my hearth, Whose kindly glow By thee is envied.
810 I know nought poorer Under the sun, than ye gods! Ye nourish painfully, With sacrifices And votive prayers, Your majesty: Ye would e'en starve, If children and beggars Were not trusting fools.
811 While yet a child And ignorant of life, I turned my wandering gaze Up tow'rd the sun, as if with him There were an ear to hear my wailings, A heart, like mine, To feel compassion for distress.
812 Who help'd me Against the Titans' insolence? Who rescued me from certain death, From slavery? Didst thou not do all this thyself, My sacred glowing heart? And glowedst, young and good, Deceived with grateful thanks To yonder slumbering one?
813 I honour thee! and why? Hast thou e'er lighten'd the sorrows Of the heavy laden? Hast thou e'er dried up the tears Of the anguish-stricken? Was I not fashion'd to be a man By omnipotent Time, And by eternal Fate, Masters of me and thee?
814 Didst thou e'er fancy That life I should learn to hate, And fly to deserts, Because not all My blossoming dreams grew ripe?
815 Here sit I, forming mortals After my image; A race resembling me, To suffer, to weep, To enjoy, to be glad, And thee to scorn, As I!
GANYMEDE.
816 How, in the light of morning, Round me thou glowest, Spring, thou beloved one! With thousand-varying loving bliss The sacred emotions Born of thy warmth eternal Press 'gainst my bosom, Thou endlessly fair one! Could I but hold thee clasp'd Within mine arms!
817 Ah! upon thy bosom Lay I, pining, And then thy flowers, thy grass, Were pressing against my heart. Thou coolest the burning Thirst of my bosom, Beauteous morning breeze! The nightingale then calls me Sweetly from out of the misty vale. I come, I come! Whither? Ah, whither?
818 Up, up, lies my course. While downward the clouds Are hovering, the clouds Are bending to meet yearning love. For me, Within thine arms Upwards! Embraced and embracing! Upwards into thy bosom, Oh Father all-loving!
THE BOUNDARIES OF HUMANITY.
819 When the primeval All-holy Father Sows with a tranquil hand From clouds, as they roll, Bliss-spreading lightnings Over the earth, Then do I kiss the last Hem of his garment, While by a childlike awe Fiil'd is my breast.
820 For with immortals Ne'er may a mortal Measure himself. If he soar upwards And if he touch With his forehead the stars, Nowhere will rest then His insecure feet, And with him sport Tempest and cloud.
821 Though with firm sinewy Limbs he may stand On the enduring Well-grounded earth, All he is ever Able to do, Is to resemble The oak or the vine.
822 Wherein do gods Differ from mortals? In that the former See endless billows Heaving before them; Us doth the billow Lift up and swallow, So that we perish.
823 Small is the ring Enclosing our life, And whole generations Link themselves firmly On to existence's Chain never-ending.
THE GODLIKE.
824 Noble be man, Helpful and good! For that alone Distinguisheth him From all the beings Unto us known.
825 Hail to the beings, Unknown and glorious, Whom we forebode! From his example Learn we to know them!
826 For unfeeling Nature is ever: On bad and on good The sun alike shineth; And on the wicked, As on the best, The moon and stars gleam.
827 Tempest and torrent, Thunder and hail, Roar on their path, Seizing the while, As they haste onward, One after another.
828 Even so, fortune Gropes 'mid the throng-- Innocent boyhood's Curly head seizing,-- Seizing the hoary Head of the sinner.
829 After laws mighty, Brazen, eternal, Must all we mortals Finish the circuit Of our existence.
830 Man, and man only Can do the impossible; He 'tis distinguisheth, Chooseth and judgeth; He to the moment Endurance can lend.
831 He and he only The good can reward, The bad can he punish, Can heal and can save; All that wanders and strays Can usefully blend. And we pay homage To the immortals As though they were men, And did in the great, What the best, in the small, Does or might do.
832 Be the man that is noble, Both helpful and good. Unweariedly forming The right and the useful, A type of those beings Our mind hath foreshadow'd!
833 1782. -----
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
834 ----- in the wares before you spread, Types of all things may be read. -----
THE GERMAN PARNASSUS.
835 'Neath the shadow
836 Of these bushes, On the meadow
837 Where the cooling water gushes. Phoebus gave me, when a boy, All life's fullness to enjoy. So, in silence, as the God Bade them with his sov'reign nod, Sacred Muses train'd my days To his praise.-- With the bright and silv'ry flood Of Parnassus stirr'd my blood, And the seal so pure and chaste By them on my lips was placed.
838 With her modest pinions, see, Philomel encircles me! In these bushes, in yon grove,
839 Calls she to her sister-throng,
840 And their heavenly choral song Teaches me to dream of love.
841 Fullness waxes in my breast Of emotions social, blest; Friendship's nurturedÄlove awakes,-- And the silence Phoebus breaks Of his mountains, of his vales, Sweetly blow the balmy gales; All for whom he shows affection, Who are worthy his protection, Gladly follow his direction.
842 This one comes with joyous bearing
843 And with open, radiant gaze; That a sterner look is wearing, This one, scarcely cured, with daring
844 Wakes the strength of former days; For the sweet, destructive flame Pierced his marrow and his frame. That which Amor stole before Phoebus only can restore, Peace, and joy, and harmony, Aspirations pure and free.
845 Brethren, rise ye! Numbers prize ye! Deeds of worth resemble they.
846 Who can better than the bard Guide a friend when gone astray?
847 If his duty he regard, More he'll do, than others may.
848 Yes! afar I hear them sing! Yes! I hear them touch the string, And with mighty godlike stroke
849 Right and duty they inspire, And evoke,
850 As they sing, and wake the lyre, Tendencies of noblest worth, To each type of strength give birth.
851 Phantasies of sweetest power Flower Round about on ev'ry bough, Bending now Like the magic wood of old, 'Neath the fruit that gleams like gold.
852 What we feel and what we view
853 In the land of highest bliss,--
854 This dear soil, a sun like this,-- Lures the best of women too. And the Muses' breathings blest Rouse the maiden's gentle breast, Tune the throat to minstrelsy, And with cheeks of beauteous dye, Bid it sing a worthy song, Sit the sister-band among; And their strains grow softer still, As they vie with earnest will.
855 One amongst the band betimes
856 Goes to wander By the beeches, 'neath the limes,
857 Yonder seeking, finding yonder That which in the morning-grove She had lost through roguish Love, All her breast's first aspirations, And her heart's calm meditations, To the shady wood so fair
858 Gently stealing, Takes she that which man can ne'er
859 Duly merit,--each soft feeling,-- Disregards the noontide ray And the dew at close of day,Ä
860 In the plain her path she loses. Ne'er disturb her on her way!
861 Seek her silently, ye Muses
862 Shouts I hear, wherein the sound Of the waterfall is drown'd. From the grove loud clamours rise, Strange the tumult, strange the cries. See I rightly? Can it be? To the very sanctuary, Lo, an impious troop in-hies!
863 O'er the land Streams the band; Hot desire, Drunken-fire In their gaze Wildly plays,-- Makes their hair Bristle there. And the troop, With fell swoop, Women, men, Coming then, Ply their blows And expose, Void of shame, All the frame. Iron shot, Fierce and hot, Strike with fear On the ear; All they slay On their way. O'er the land Pours the band; All take flight At their sight.
864 Ah, o'er ev'ry plant they rush! Ah, their cruel footsteps crush All the flowers that fill their path! Who will dare to stem their wrath?
865 Brethren, let us venture all!
866 Virtue in your pure cheek glows. Phoebus will attend our call
867 When he sees our heavy woes; And that we may have aright Weapons suited to the fight, He the mountain shaketh now-- From its brow Rattling down Stone on stone Through the thicket spread appear. Brethren, seize them! Wherefore fear? Now the villain crew assail, As though with a storm of hail, And expel the strangers wild From these regions soft and mild Where the sun has ever smil'd!
868 What strange wonder do I see? Can it be? All my limbs of power are reft. And all strength my hand has left. Can it he? None are strangers that I see! And our brethren 'tis who go On before, the way to show! Oh, the reckless impious ones! How they, with their jarring tones, Beat the time, as on they hie! Quick, my brethren!--let us fly!
869 To the rash ones, yet a word! Ay, my voice shall now be heard, As a peal of thunder, strong!
870 Words as poets' arms were made,--
871 When the god will he obey'd, Follow fast his darts ere long.
872 Was it possible that ye Thus your godlike dignity Should forget? The Thyrsus rude
873 Must a heavy burden feel
874 To the hand but wont to steal O'er the lyre in gentle mood. From the sparkling waterfalls, From the brook that purling calls, Shall Silenus' loathsome beast Be allow'd at will to feast? Aganippe's * wave he sips With profane and spreading lips,-- With ungainly feet stamps madly, Till the waters flow on sadly.
875 Fain I'd think myself deluded
876 In the sadd'ning sounds I hear; From the holy glades secluded
877 Hateful tones assail the ear. Laughter wild (exchange how mournful!)
878 Takes the place of love's sweet dream; Women-haters and the scornful
879 In exulting chorus scream. Nightingale and turtle dove
880 Fly their nests so warm and chaste, And, inflamed with sensual love,
881 Holds the Faun the Nymph embrac'd. Here a garment's torn away,
882 Scoffs succeed their sated bliss, While the god, with angry ray,
883 Looks upon each impious kiss.
884 Vapour, smoke, as from a fire,
885 And advancing clouds I view; Chords not only grace the lyre,
886 For the bow its chords bath too. Even the adorer's heart
887 Dreads the wild advancing hand, For the flames that round them dart
888 Show the fierce destroyer's hand.
889 Oh neglect not what I say,
890 For I speak it lovingly! From our boundaries haste away,
891 From the god's dread anger fly! Cleanse once more the holy place,
892 Turn the savage train aside! Earth contains upon its face
893 Many a spot unsanctified; Here we only prize the good.
894 Stars unsullied round us burn.
895 If ye, in repentant mood,
896 From your wanderings would return,-- If ye fail to find the bliss
897 That ye found with us of yore,-- Or when lawless mirth like this
898 Gives your hearts delight no more,-- Then return in pilgrim guise,
899 Gladly up the mountain go, While your strains repentant rise,
900 And our brethren's advent show.
901 Let a new-born wreath entwine
902 Solemnly your temples round; Rapture glows in hearts divine
903 When a long-lost sinner's found. Swifter e'en than Lathe's flood
904 Round Death's silent house can play, Ev'ry error of the good
905 Will love's chalice wash away. All will haste your steps to meet,
906 As ye come in majesty,-- Men your blessing will entreat;--
907 Ours ye thus will doubly be!
908 1798. (* Aganippe--A spring in Boeotia, which arose out of Mount Helicon, and was sacred to Apollo and the Muses.) ----- LILY'S MENAGERIE.
[Goethe describes this much-admired Poem, which he wrote in honour of his love Lily, as being "designed to change his surrender of her into despair, by drolly-fretful images."]
909 THERE'S no menagerie, I vow,
910 Excels my Lily's at this minute;
911 She keeps the strangest creatures in it, And catches them, she knows not how.
912 Oh, how they hop, and run, and rave, And their clipp'd pinions wildly wave,-- Poor princes, who must all endure The pangs of love that nought can cure.
913 What is the fairy's name?--Is't Lily?--Ask not me! Give thanks to Heaven if she's unknown to thee.
914 Oh what a cackling, what a shrieking,
915 When near the door she takes her stand,
916 With her food-basket in her hand! Oh what a croaking, what a squeaking! Alive all the trees and the bushes appear, While to her feet whole troops draw near; The very fish within, the water clear Splash with impatience and their heads protrude; And then she throws around the food With such a look!--the very gods delighting (To say nought of beasts). There begins, then, a biting, A picking, a pecking, a sipping, And each o'er the legs of another is tripping, And pushing, and pressing, and flapping, And chasing, and fuming, and snapping, And all for one small piece of bread, To which, though dry, her fair hands give a taste, As though it in ambrosia had been plac'd.
917 And then her look! the tone
918 With which she calls: Pipi! Pipi! Would draw Jove's eagle from his throne; Yes, Venus' turtle doves, I wean, And the vain peacock e'en, Would come, I swear, Soon as that tone had reach'd them through the air.
919 E'en from a forest dark had she
920 Enticed a bear, unlick'd, ill-bred,
921 And, by her wiles alluring, led To join the gentle company, Until as tame as they was he: (Up to a certain point, be't understood!) How fair, and, ah, how good She seem'd to be! I would have drain'd my blood To water e'en her flow'rets sweet.
922 "Thou sayest: I! Who? How? And where?"-- Well, to be plain, good Sirs--I am the bear;
923 In a net-apron, caught, alas!
924 Chain'd by a silk-thread at her feet.
925 But how this wonder came to pass I'll tell some day, if ye are curious; Just now, my temper's much too furious.
926 Ah, when I'm in the corner plac'd,
927 And hear afar the creatures snapping,
928 And see the flipping and the flapping,
929 I turn around
930 With growling sound,
931 And backward run a step in haste,
932 And look around
933 With growling sound.
934 Then run again a step in haste, And to my former post go round.
935 But suddenly my anger grows, A mighty spirit fills my nose, My inward feelings all revolt. A creature such as thou! a dolt! Pipi, a squirrel able nuts to crack! I bristle up my shaggy back Unused a slave to be. I'm laughed at by each trim and upstart tree To scorn. The bowling-green I fly,
936 With neatly-mown and well-kept grass:
937 The box makes faces as I pass,-- Into the darkest thicket hasten I, Hoping to 'scape from the ring, Over the palings to spring! Vainly I leap and climb;
938 I feel a leaden spell.
939 That pinions me as well, And when I'm fully wearied out in time, I lay me down beside some mock-cascade,
940 And roll myself half dead, and foam, and cry,
941 And, ah! no Oreads hear my sigh, Excepting those of china made!
942 But, ah, with sudden power
943 In all my members blissful feelings reign! 'Tis she who singeth yonder in her bower!
944 I hear that darling, darling voice again. The air is warm, and teems with fragrance clear, Sings she perchance for me alone to hear?
945 I haste, and trample down the shrubs amain; The trees make way, the bushes all retreat, And so--the beast is lying at her feet.
946 She looks at him: "The monster's droll enough!
947 He's, for a bear, too mild,
948 Yet, for a dog, too wild, So shaggy, clumsy, rough!" Upon his back she gently strokes her foot;
949 He thinks himself in Paradise. What feelings through his seven senses shoot!
950 But she looks on with careless eyes. I lick her soles, and kiss her shoes,
951 As gently as a bear well may; Softly I rise, and with a clever ruse
952 Leap on her knee.--On a propitious day She suffers it; my ears then tickles she,
953 And hits me a hard blow in wanton play; I growl with new-born ecstasy; Then speaks she in a sweet vain jest, I wot "Allons lout doux! eh! la menotte! Et faites serviteur Comme un joli seigneur." Thus she proceeds with sport and glee;
954 Hope fills the oft-deluded beast; Yet if one moment he would lazy be,
955 Her fondness all at once hath ceas'd.
956 She doth a flask of balsam-fire possess,
957 Sweeter than honey bees can make,
958 One drop of which she'll on her finger take, When soften'd by his love and faithfulness,
959 Wherewith her monster's raging thirst to slake; Then leaves me to myself, and flies at last, And I, unbound, yet prison'd fast By magic, follow in her train, Seek for her, tremble, fly again. The hapless creature thus tormenteth she,
960 Regardless of his pleasure or his woe; Ha! oft half-open'd does she leave the door for me,
961 And sideways looks to learn if I will fly or no. And I--Oh gods! your hands alone Can end the spell that's o'er me thrown; Free me, and gratitude my heart will fill;
962 And yet from heaven ye send me down no aid--
963 Not quite in vain doth life my limbs pervade: I feel it! Strength is left me still.
TO CHARLOTTE.
964 'MIDST the noise of merriment and glee,
965 'Midst full many a sorrow, many a care, Charlotte, I remember, we remember thee,
966 How, at evening's hour so fair, Thou a kindly hand didst reach us,
967 When thou, in some happy place
968 Where more fair is Nature s face,
969 Many a lightly-hidden trace Of a spirit loved didst teach us.
970 Well 'tis that thy worth I rightly knew,--
971 That I, in the hour when first we met,
972 While the first impression fill'd me yet, Call'd thee then a girl both good and true.
973 Rear'd in silence, calmly, knowing nought,
974 On the world we suddenly are thrown; Hundred thousand billows round us sport;
975 All things charm us--many please alone, Many grieve us, and as hour on hour is stealing,
976 To and fro our restless natures sway; First we feel, and then we find each feeling
977 By the changeful world-stream borne away.
978 Well I know, we oft within us find
979 Many a hope and many a smart. Charlotte, who can know our mind?
980 Charlotte, who can know our heart? Ah! 'twould fain be understood, 'twould fain o'erflow
981 In some creature's fellow-feelings blest, And, with trust, in twofold measure know
982 All the grief and joy in Nature's breast.
983 Then thine eye is oft around thee cast,
984 But in vain, for all seems closed for ever. Thus the fairest part of life is madly pass'd
985 Free from storm, but resting never: To thy sorrow thou'rt to-day repell'd
986 By what yesterday obey'd thee. Can that world by thee be worthy held
987 Which so oft betray'd thee?
988 Which, 'mid all thy pleasures and thy pains,
989 Lived in selfish, unconcern'd repose? See, the soul its secret cells regains,
990 And the heart--makes haste to close. Thus found I thee, and gladly went to meet thee;
991 "She's worthy of all love!" I cried, And pray'd that Heaven with purest bliss might greet thee,
992 Which in thy friend it richly hath supplied.
LOVE'S DISTRESSES.
993 Who will hear me? Whom shall I lament to? Who would pity me that heard my sorrows? Ah, the lip that erst so many raptures Used to taste, and used to give responsive, Now is cloven, and it pains me sorely; And it is not thus severely wounded By my mistress having caught me fiercely, And then gently bitten me, intending To secure her friend more firmly to her: No, my tender lip is crack'd thus, only By the winds, o'er rime and frost proceeding, Pointed, sharp, unloving, having met me. Now the noble grape's bright juice commingled With the bee's sweet juice, upon the fire Of my hearth, shall ease me of my torment. Ah, what use will all this be, if with it Love adds not a drop of his own balsam?
THE MUSAGETES.
994 In the deepest nights of Winter To the Muses kind oft cried I: "Not a ray of morn is gleaming, Not a sign of daylight breaking; Bring, then, at the fitting moment, Bring the lamp's soft glimm'ring lustre, 'Stead of Phoebus and Aurora, To enliven my still labours!" Yet they left me in my slumbers, Dull and unrefreshing, lying, And to each late-waken'd morning Follow'd days devoid of profit.
995 When at length return'd the spring-time, To the nightingales thus spake I: "Darling nightingales, oh, beat ye Early, early at my window,-- Wake me from the heavy slumber That chains down the youth so strongly!" Yet the love-o'erflowing songsters Their sweet melodies protracted Through the night before my window, Kept awake my loving spirit, Rousing new and tender yearnings In my newly-waken'd bosom. And the night thus fleeted o'er me, And Aurora found me sleeping,-- Ay, the sun could scarce arouse me.
996 Now at length is come the Summer, And the early fly so busy Draws me from my pleasing slumbers At the first-born morning-glimmer. Mercilessly then returns she, Though the half-aroused one often Scares her from him with impatience, And she lures her shameless sisters, So that from my weary eyelids Kindly sleep ere long is driven. From my couch then boldly spring I, And I seek the darling Muses, in the beechen-grove I find them, Full of pieasure to receive me; And to the tormenting insects Owe I many a golden hour. Thus be ye, unwelcome beings, Highly valued by the poet, As the flies my numbers tell of.
MORNING LAMENT.
997 Oh thou cruel deadly-lovely maiden, Tell me what great sin have I committed, That thou keep'st me to the rack thus fasten'd, That thou hast thy solemn promise broken?
998 'Twas but yestere'en that thou with fondness Press'd my hand, and these sweet accents murmured: "Yes, I'll come, I'll come when morn approacheth, Come, my friend, full surely to thy chamber."
999 On the latch I left my doors, unfasten'd, Having first with care tried all the hinges, And rejoic'd right well to find they creak'd not.
1000 What a night of expectation pass'd I! For I watch'd, and ev'ry chime I number'd; If perchance I slept a few short moments, Still my heart remain'd awake forever, And awoke me from my gentle slumbers.
1001 Yes, then bless'd I night's o'erhanging darkness, That so calmly cover'd all things round me; I enjoy'd the universal silence, While I listen'd ever in the silence, If perchance the slightest sounds were stirring.
1002 "Had she only thoughts, my thoughts resembling, Had she only feelings, like my feelings, She would not await the dawn of morning. But, ere this, would surely have been with me."
1003 Skipp'd a kitten on the floor above me, Scratch'd a mouse a panel in the corner, Was there in the house the slightest motion, Ever hoped I that I heard thy footstep, Ever thought I that I heard thee coming. And so lay I long, and ever longer, And already was the daylight dawning, And both here and there were signs of movement.
1004 "Is it yon door? Were it my door only!" In my bed I lean'd upon my elbow, Looking tow'rd the door, now half-apparent, If perchance it might not be in motion. Both the wings upon the latch continued, On the quiet hinges calmly hanging.
1005 And the day grew bright and brighter ever; And I heard my neighbour's door unbolted, As he went to earn his daily wages, And ere long I heard the waggons rumbling, And the city gates were also open'd, While the market-place, in ev'ry corner, Teem'd with life and bustle and confusion.
1006 In the house was going now and coming Up and down the stairs, and doors were creaking Backwards now, now forwards,--footsteps clatter'd Yet, as though it were a thing all-living, From my cherish'd hope I could not tear me.
1007 When at length the sun, in hated splendour. Fell upon my walls, upon my windows, Up I sprang, and hasten'd to the garden, There to blend my breath, so hot and yearning, With the cool refreshing morning breezes, And, it might be, even there to meet thee: But I cannot find thee in the arbour, Or the avenue of lofty lindens.
THE VISIT.
1008 Fain had I to-day surprised my mistress, But soon found I that her door was fasten'd. Yet I had the key safe in my pocket, And the darling door I open'd softly! In the parlour found I not the maiden, Found the maiden not within her closet, Then her chamber-door I gently open'd, When I found her wrapp'd in pleasing slumbers, Fully dress'd, and lying on the sofa.
1009 While at work had slumber stolen o'er her; For her knitting and her needle found I Resting in her folded bands so tender; And I placed myself beside her softly, And held counsel, whether I should wake her.
1010 Then I looked upon the beauteous quiet That on her sweet eyelids was reposing On her lips was silent truth depicted, On her cheeks had loveliness its dwelling, And the pureness of a heart unsullied In her bosom evermore was heaving. All her limbs were gracefully reclining, Set at rest by sweet and godlike balsam. Gladly sat I, and the contemplation Held the strong desire I felt to wake her Firmer and firmer down, with mystic fetters.
1011 "Oh, thou love," methought, "I see that slumber, Slumber that betrayeth each false feature, Cannot injure thee, can nought discover That could serve to harm thy friend's soft feelings.
1012 "Now thy beauteous eyes are firmly closed, That, when open, form mine only rapture. And thy sweet lips are devoid of motion, Motionless for speaking or for kissing; Loosen'd are the soft and magic fetters Of thine arms, so wont to twine around me, And the hand, the ravishing companion Of thy sweet caresses, lies unmoving. Were my thoughts of thee but based on error, Were the love I bear thee self-deception, I must now have found it out, since Amor Is, without his bandage, placed beside me."
1013 Long I sat thus, full of heartfelt pleasure At my love, and at her matchless merit; She had so delighted me while slumbering, That I could not venture to awake her.
1014 Then I on the little table near her Softly placed two oranges, two roses; Gently, gently stole I from her chamber. When her eyes the darling one shall open, She will straightway spy these colourd presents, And the friendly gift will view with wonder, For the door will still remain unopen'd.
1015 If perchance I see to-night the angel, How will she rejoice,--reward me doubly For this sacrifice of fond affection!
THE MAGIC NET.
1016 Do I see a contest yonder? See I miracles or pastimes? Beauteous urchins, five in number, 'Gainst five sisters fair contending,-- Measured is the time they're beating-- At a bright enchantress' bidding. Glitt'ring spears by some are wielded, Threads are others nimbly twining,
1017 So that in their snares, the weapons One would think, must needs be captured, Soon, in truth, the spears are prison'd; Yet they, in the gentle war-dance, One by one escape their fetters In the row of loops so tender, That make haste to seize a free one Soon as they release a captive.
1018 So with contests, strivings, triumphs, Flying now, and now returning, Is an artful net soon woven, In its whiteness like the snow-flakes, That, from light amid the darkness, Draw their streaky lines so varied, As e'en colours scarce can draw them.
1019 Who shall now receive that garment Far beyond all others wish'd-for? Whom our much-loved mistress favour As her own acknowledged servant? I am blest by kindly Fortune's Tokens true, in silence pray'd for! And I feel myself held captive, To her service now devoted.
1020 Yet, e'en while I, thus enraptured, Thus adorn'd, am proudly wand'ring, See! yon wantons are entwining, Void of strife, with secret ardour, Other nets, each fine and finer, Threads of twilight interweaving, Moonbeams sweet, night-violets' balsam.
1021 Ere the net is noticed by us, Is a happier one imprison'd, Whom we, one and all, together Greet with envy and with blessings.
THE GOBLET.
1022 Once I held a well-carved brimming goblet,-- In my two hands tightly clasp'd I held it, Eagerly the sweet wine sipp'd I from it, Seeking there to drown all care and sorrow.
1023 Amor enter'd in, and found me sitting, And he gently smiled in modest fashion, Smiled as though the foolish one he pitied.
1024 "Friend, I know a far more beauteous vessel, One wherein to sink thy spirit wholly; Say, what wilt thou give me, if I grant it, And with other nectar fill it for thee?"
1025 Oh, how kindly hath he kept his promise! For to me, who long had yearn'd, he granted Thee, my Lida, fill'd with soft affection.
1026 When I clasp mine arms around thee fondly, When I drink in love's long-hoarded balsam From thy darling lips so true, so faithful, Fill'd with bliss thus speak I to my spirit "No! a vessel such as this, save Amor Never god hath fashion'd or been lord of! Such a form was ne'er produced by Vulcan With his cunning, reason-gifted hammers! On the leaf-crown'd mountains may Lyaeus Bid his Fauns, the oldest and the wisest, Pass the choicest clusters through the winepress, And himself watch o'er the fermentation: Such a draught no toil can e'er procure him!"
TO THE GRASSHOPPER.
AFTER ANACREON.
[The strong resemblance of this fine poem to Cowley's Ode bearing the same name, and beginning "Happy insect! what can be," will be at once seen.]
1027 Happy art thou, darling insect, Who, upon the trees' tall branches, By a modest draught inspired, Singing, like a monarch livest! Thou possessest as thy portion All that on the plains thou seest, All that by the hours is brought thee 'Mongst the husbandmen thou livest, As a friend, uninjured by them, Thou whom mortals love to honour, Herald sweet of sweet Spring's advent! Yes, thou'rt loved by all the Muses,
1028 Phoebus' self, too, needs must love thee; They their silver voices gave thee, Age can never steal upon thee. Wise and gentle friend of poets, Born a creature fleshless, bloodless, Though Earth's daughter, free from suff'ring, To the gods e'en almost equal.
FROM 'THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER.'
[Prefixed to the second edition.]
1028 EV'RY youth for love's sweet portion sighs,
1029 Ev'ry maiden sighs to win man's love; Why, alas! should bitter pain arise
1030 From the noblest passion that we prove?
1031 Thou, kind soul, bewailest, lov'st him well,
1032 From disgrace his memory's saved by thee; Lo, his spirit signs from out its cell:
1033 BE A MAN, NOR SEEK TO FOLLOW ME.
TRILOGY OF PASSION.
I. TO WERTHER.
[This poem, written at the age of seventy-five, was appended to an edition of 'Werther,' published at that time.]
1035 Once more, then, much-wept shadow, thou dost dare
1036 Boldly to face the day's clear light, To meet me on fresh blooming meadows fair,
1037 And dost not tremble at my sight. Those happy times appear return'd once more.
1038 When on one field we quaff'd refreshing dew, And, when the day's unwelcome toils were o'er,
1039 The farewell sunbeams bless'd our ravish'd view; Fate bade thee go,--to linger here was mine,-- Going the first, the smaller loss was thine.
1040 The life of man appears a glorious fate: The day how lovely, and the night how great! And we 'mid Paradise-like raptures plac'd, The sun's bright glory scarce have learn'd to taste.
1041 When strange contending feelings dimly cover, Now us, and now the forms that round us hover; One's feelings by no other are supplied, 'Tis dark without, if all is bright inside; An outward brightness veils my sadden'd mood, When Fortune smiles,--how seldom understood! Now think we that we know her, and with might A woman's beauteous form instils delight; The youth, as glad as in his infancy, The spring-time treads, as though the spring were he Ravish'd, amazed, he asks, how this is done? He looks around, the world appears his own. With careless speed he wanders on through space, Nor walls, nor palaces can check his race; As some gay flight of birds round tree-tops plays, So 'tis with him who round his mistress strays; He seeks from AEther, which he'd leave behind him, The faithful look that fondly serves to bind him.
1042 Yet first too early warn'd, and then too late, He feels his flight restrain'd, is captur'd straight To meet again is sweet, to part is sad, Again to meet again is still more glad, And years in one short moment are enshrin'd; But, oh, the harsh farewell is hid behind!
1043 Thou smilest, friend, with fitting thoughts inspired; By a dread parting was thy fame acquired, Thy mournful destiny we sorrow'd o'er, For weal and woe thou left'st us evermore, And then again the passions' wavering force Drew us along in labyrinthine course; And we, consumed by constant misery, At length must part--and parting is to die! How moving is it, when the minstrel sings, To 'scape the death that separation brings! Oh grant, some god, to one who suffers so, To tell, half-guilty, his sad tale of woe
1044 1824
II. ELEGY.
1045 When man had ceased to utter his lament,
1046 A god then let me tell my tale of sorrow.
1047 WHAT hope of once more meeting is there now In the still-closed blossoms of this day? Both heaven and hell thrown open seest thou; What wav'ring thoughts within the bosom play No longer doubt! Descending from the sky, She lifts thee in her arms to realms on high.
1048 And thus thou into Paradise wert brought,
1049 As worthy of a pure and endless life; Nothing was left, no wish, no hope, no thought,
1050 Here was the boundary of thine inmost strife: And seeing one so fair, so glorified, The fount of yearning tears was straightway dried.
1051 No motion stirr'd the day's revolving wheel,
1052 In their own front the minutes seem'd to go; The evening kiss, a true and binding seal,
1053 Ne'er changing till the morrow's sunlight glow. The hours resembled sisters as they went. Yet each one from another different.
1054 The last hour's kiss, so sadly sweet, effac'd
1055 A beauteous network of entwining love. Now on the threshold pause the feet, now haste.
1056 As though a flaming cherub bade them move; The unwilling eye the dark road wanders o'er, Backward it looks, but closed it sees the door.
1057 And now within itself is closed this breast,
1058 As though it ne'er were open, and as though, Vying with ev'ry star, no moments blest
1059 Had, in its presence, felt a kindling glow; Sadness, reproach, repentance, weight of care, Hang heavy on it in the sultry air.
1060 Is not the world still left? The rocky steeps,
1061 Are they with holy shades no longer crown'd? Grows not the harvest ripe? No longer creeps
1062 The espalier by the stream,--the copse around? Doth not the wondrous arch of heaven still rise, Now rich in shape, now shapeless to the eyes?
1063 As, seraph-like, from out the dark clouds' chorus,
1064 With softness woven, graceful, light, and fair, Resembling Her, in the blue aether o'er us,
1065 A slender figure hovers in the air,-- Thus didst thou see her joyously advance, The fairest of the fairest in the dance.
1066 Yet but a moment dost thou boldly dare
1067 To clasp an airy form instead of hers; Back to thine heart! thou'lt find it better there,
1068 For there in changeful guise her image stirs What erst was one, to many turneth fast, In thousand forms, each dearer than the last.
1069 As at the door, on meeting lingerd she,
1070 And step by step my faithful ardour bless'd, For the last kiss herself entreated me,
1071 And on my lips the last last kiss impress'd,-- Thus clearly traced, the lov'd one's form we view, With flames engraven on a heart so true,--
1072 A heart that, firm as some embattled tower,
1073 Itself for her, her in itself reveres, For her rejoices in its lasting power,
1074 Conscious alone, when she herself appears; Feels itself freer in so sweet a thrall, And only beats to give her thanks in all.
1075 The power of loving, and all yearning sighs
1076 For love responsive were effaced and drown'd; While longing hope for joyous enterprise
1077 Was form'd, and rapid action straightway found; If love can e'er a loving one inspire, Most lovingly it gave me now its fire;
1078 And 'twas through her!--an inward sorrow lay
1078 On soul and body, heavily oppress'd; To mournful phantoms was my sight a prey,
1079 In the drear void of a sad tortured breast; Now on the well-known threshold Hope hath smil'd, Herself appeareth in the sunlight mild.
1080 Unto the peace of God, which, as we read,
1081 Blesseth us more than reason e'er bath done, Love's happy peace would I compare indeed,
1082 When in the presence of the dearest one. There rests the heart, and there that sweetest thought, The thought of being hers, is check'd by nought.
1083 In the pure bosom doth a yearning float,
1084 Unto a holier, purer, unknown Being Its grateful aspiration to devote,
1085 The Ever-Nameless then unriddled seeing; We call it: piety!--such blest delight I feel a share in, when before her sight.
1086 Before her sight, as 'neath the sun's hot ray,
1087 Before her breath, as 'neath the spring's soft wind, In its deep wintry cavern melts away
1088 Self-love, so long in icy chains confin'd; No selfishness and no self-will are nigh, For at her advent they were forced to fly.
1089 It seems as though she said: "As hours pass by
1090 They spread before us life with kindly plan; Small knowledge did the yesterday supply,
1091 To know the morrow is conceal'd from man; And if the thought of evening made me start, The sun at setting gladden'd straight my heart.
1092 "Act, then, as I, and look, with joyous mind,
1093 The moment in the face; nor linger thou! Meet it with speed, so fraught with life, so kind
1094 In action, and in love so radiant now; Let all things be where thou art, childlike ever, Thus thoult be all, thus, thou'lt be vanquish'd never."
1095 Thou speakest well, methought, for as thy guide
1096 The moment's favour did a god assign, And each one feels himself when by thy side,
1097 Fate's fav'rite in a moment so divine; I tremble at thy look that bids me go, Why should I care such wisdom vast to know?
1098 Now am I far! And what would best befit
1099 The present minute? I could scarcely tell; Full many a rich possession offers it,
1100 These but offend, and I would fain repel. Yearnings unquenchable still drive me on, All counsel, save unbounded tears, is gone.
1101 Flow on, flow on in never-ceasing course,
1102 Yet may ye never quench my inward fire! Within my bosom heaves a mighty force,
1103 Where death and life contend in combat dire. Medicines may serve the body's pangs to still; Nought but the spirit fails in strength of will,--
1104 Fails in conception; wherefore fails it so?
1105 A thousand times her image it portrays; Enchanting now, and now compell'd to go,
1106 Now indistinct, now clothed in purest rays! How could the smallest comfort here be flowing? The ebb and flood, the coming and the going!
1107 Leave me here now, my life's companions true!
1108 Leave me alone on rock, in moor and heath; But courage! open lies the world to you,
1109 The glorious heavens above, the earth beneath; Observe, investigate, with searching eyes, And nature will disclose her mysteries.
1110 To me is all, I to myself am lost,
1111 Who the immortals' fav'rite erst was thought; They, tempting, sent Pandoras to my cost,
1112 So rich in wealth, with danger far more fraught; They urged me to those lips, with rapture crown'd, Deserted me, and hurl'd me to the ground.
1113 1823.
III. ATONEMENT.
[Composed, when 74 years old, for a Polish lady, who excelled in playing on the pianoforte.]
1114 Passion brings reason--who can pacify
1115 An anguish'd heart whose loss hath been so great? Where are the hours that fled so swiftly by?
1116 In vain the fairest thou didst gain from fate; Sad is the soul, confused the enterprise;
1117 The glorious world, how on the sense it dies!
1118 In million tones entwined for evermore,
1119 Music with angel-pinions hovers there, To pierce man's being to its inmost core,
1120 Eternal beauty has its fruit to bear; The eye grows moist, in yearnings blest reveres The godlike worth of music as of tears.
1121 And so the lighten'd heart soon learns to see
1122 That it still lives, and beats, and ought to beat, Off'ring itself with joy and willingly,
1123 In grateful payment for a gift so sweet. And then was felt,--oh may it constant prove!-- The twofold bliss of music and of love.
1124 1823. -----
1125 The remembrance of the Good Keep us ever glad in mood.
1126 The remembrance of the Fair Makes a mortal rapture share.
1127 The remembrance of one's Love Blest Is, if it constant prove.
1128 The remembrance of the One Is the greatest joy that's known.
1129 1828. ----- [Written at the age of 77.]
1130 WHEN I was still a youthful wight,
1131 So full of enjoyment and merry, The painters used to assert, in spite,
1132 That my features were small--yes, very; Yet then full many a beauteous child With true affection upon me smil'd.
1133 Now as a greybeard I sit here in state,
1134 By street and by lane held in awe, sirs; And may be seen, like old Frederick the Great,
1135 On pipebowls, on cups, and on saucers. Yet the beauteous maidens, they keep afar; Oh vision of youth! Oh golden star!
FOR EVER.
1136 The happiness that man, whilst prison'd here,
1137 Is wont with heavenly rapture to compare,-- The harmony of Truth, from wavering clear,--
1138 Of Friendship that is free from doubting care,-- The light which in stray thoughts alone can cheer
1139 The wise,--the bard alone in visions fair,-- In my best hours I found in her all this, And made mine own, to mine exceeding bliss.
FROM AN ALBUM OF 1604.
1140 Hope provides wings to thought, and love to hope. Rise up to Cynthia, love, when night is clearest, And say, that as on high her figure changeth, So, upon earth, my joy decays and grows. And whisper in her ear with modest softness, How doubt oft hung its head, and truth oft wept. And oh ye thoughts, distrustfully inclined, If ye are therefore by the loved one chided, Answer: 'tis true ye change, but alter not, As she remains the same, yet changeth ever. Doubt may invade the heart, but poisons not, For love is sweeter, by suspicion flavour'd. If it with anger overcasts the eye, And heaven's bright purity perversely blackens, Then zephyr-sighs straight scare the clouds away, And, changed to tears, dissolve them into rain. Thought, hope, and love remain there as before, Till Cynthia gleams upon me as of old.
LINES ON SEEING SCHILLER'S SKULL.
[This curious imitation of the ternary metre of Dante was written at the age of 77.]
1141 Within a gloomy charnel-house one day
1142 I view'd the countless skulls, so strangely mated, And of old times I thought, that now were grey.
1143 Close pack'd they stand, that once so fiercely hated, And hardy bones, that to the death contended,
1144 Are lying cross'd,--to lie for ever, fated. What held those crooked shoulder-blades suspended?
1145 No one now asks; and limbs with vigour fired, The hand, the foot--their use in life is ended.
1146 Vainly ye sought the tomb for rest when tired; Peace in the grave may not be yours; ye're driven
1147 Back into daylight by a force inspired; But none can love the wither'd husk, though even
1148 A glorious noble kernel it contained. To me, an adept, was the writing given
1149 Which not to all its holy sense explained, When 'mid the crowd, their icy shadows flinging,
1150 I saw a form, that glorious still remained. And even there, where mould and damp were clinging,
1151 Gave me a blest, a rapture-fraught emotion, As though from death a living fount were springing.
1152 What mystic joy I felt! What rapt devotion! That form, how pregnant with a godlike trace!
1153 A look, how did it whirl me tow'rd that ocean Whose rolling billows mightier shapes embrace!
1154 Mysterious vessel! Oracle how dear! Even to grasp thee is my hand too base,
1155 Except to steal thee from thy prison here With pious purpose, and devoutly go
1156 Back to the air, free thoughts, and sunlight clear. What greater gain in life can man e'er know
1157 Than when God-Nature will to him explain How into Spirit steadfastness may flow,
1158 How steadfast, too, the Spirit-Born remain.
ROYAL PRAYER.
1159 Ha, I am the lord of earth! The noble,
1160 Who're in my service, love me. Ha, I am the lord of earth! The noble,
1161 O'er whom my sway extendeth, love I. Oh, grant me, God in Heaven, that I may ne'er
1162 Dispense with loftiness and love!
HUMAN FEELINGS.
1163 Ah, ye gods! ye great immortals In the spacious heavens above us! Would ye on this earth but give us Steadfast minds and dauntless courage We, oh kindly ones, would leave you All your spacious heavens above us!
ON THE DIVAN.
1164 He who knows himself and others
1165 Here will also see, That the East and West, like brothers,
1166 Parted ne'er shall be.
1167 Thoughtfully to float for ever
1168 'Tween two worlds, be man's endeavour! So between the East and West
1169 To revolve, be my behest!
EXPLANATION OF AN ANCIENT WOODCUT, REPRESENTING HANS SACHS' POETICAL MISSION.
[I feel considerable hesitation in venturing to offer this version of a poem which Carlyle describes to be 'a beautiful piece (a very Hans Sacks beatified, both in character and style), which we wish there was any possibility of translating.' The reader will be aware that Hans Sachs was the celebrated Minstrel- Cobbler of Nuremberg, who Wrote 208 plays, 1700 comic tales, and between 4000 and 5000 lyric poems. He flourished throughout almost the whole of the 16th century.]
1170 Early within his workshop here, On Sundays stands our master dear; His dirty apron he puts away, And wears a cleanly doublet to-day; Lets wax'd thread, hammer, and pincers rest, And lays his awl within his chest; The seventh day he takes repose From many pulls and many blows.
1171 Soon as the spring-sun meets his view, Repose begets him labour anew; He feels that he holds within his brain A little world, that broods there amain, And that begins to act and to live, Which he to others would gladly give.
1172 He had a skilful eye and true, And was full kind and loving too. For contemplation, clear and pure,-- For making all his own again, sure; He had a tongue that charm'd when 'twas heard, And graceful and light flow'd ev'ry word; Which made the Muses in him rejoice, The Master-singer of their choice.
1173 And now a maiden enter'd there, With swelling breast, and body fair; With footing firm she took her place, And moved with stately, noble grace; She did not walk in wanton mood, Nor look around with glances lewd.
1174 She held a measure in her hand, Her girdle was a golden band, A wreath of corn was on her head, Her eye the day's bright lustre shed; Her name is honest Industry, Else, Justice, Magnanimity.
1175 She enter'd with a kindly greeting; He felt no wonder at the meeting, For, kind and fair as she might be, He long had known her, fancied he.
1176 "I have selected thee," she said, "From all who earth's wild mazes tread, That thou shouldst have clear-sighted sense, And nought that's wrong shouldst e'er commence. When others run in strange confusion, Thy gaze shall see through each illusion When others dolefully complain, Thy cause with jesting thou shalt gain, Honour and right shalt value duly, In everything act simply, truly,-- Virtue and godliness proclaim, And call all evil by its name, Nought soften down, attempt no quibble, Nought polish up, nought vainly scribble. The world shall stand before thee, then, As seen by Albert Durer's ken, In manliness and changeless life, In inward strength, with firmness rife. Fair Nature's Genius by the hand Shall lead thee on through every land, Teach thee each different life to scan, Show thee the wondrous ways of man, His shifts, confusions, thrustings, and drubbings, Pushings, tearings, pressings, and rubbings; The varying madness of the crew, The anthill's ravings bring to view; But thou shalt see all this express'd, As though 'twere in a magic chest. Write these things down for folks on earth, In hopes they may to wit give birth."-- Then she a window open'd wide, And show'd a motley crowd outside, All kinds of beings 'neath the sky, As in his writings one may spy.
1177 Our master dear was, after this, On Nature thinking, full of bliss, When tow'rd him, from the other side He saw an aged woman glide; The name she bears, Historia, Mythologia, Fabula; With footstep tottering and unstable She dragg'd a large and wooden carved-table, Where, with wide sleeves and human mien, The Lord was catechizing seen; Adam, Eve, Eden, the Serpent's seduction, Gomorrah and Sodom's awful destruction, The twelve illustrious women, too, That mirror of honour brought to view; All kinds of bloodthirstiness, murder, and sin, The twelve wicked tyrants also were in, And all kinds of goodly doctrine and law; Saint Peter with his scourge you saw, With the world's ways dissatisfied, And by our Lord with power supplied. Her train and dress, behind and before, And e'en the seams, were painted o'er With tales of worldly virtue and crime.-- Our master view'd all this for a time; The sight right gladly he survey'd, So useful for him in his trade, Whence he was able to procure Example good and precept sure, Recounting all with truthful care, As though he had been present there. His spirit seem'd from earth to fly, He ne'er had turned away his eye, Did he not just behind him hear A rattle of bells approaching near. And now a fool doth catch his eye, With goat and ape's leap drawing nigh A merry interlude preparing With fooleries and jests unsparing. Behind him, in a line drawn out, He dragg'd all fools, the lean and stout, The great and little, the empty and full, All too witty, and all too dull, A lash he flourish'd overhead, As though a dance of apes he led, Abusing them with bitterness, As though his wrath would ne'er grow less.
1178 While on this sight our master gazed, His head was growing well-nigh crazed: What words for all could he e'er find, Could such a medley be combined? Could he continue with delight For evermore to sing and write? When lo, from out a cloud's dark bed In at the upper window sped The Muse, in all her majesty, As fair as our loved maids we see. With clearness she around him threw Her truth, that ever stronger grew.
1179 "I, to ordain thee come," she spake: "So prosper, and my blessing take! The holy fire that slumb'ring lies Within thee, in bright flames shall rise; Yet that thine ever-restless life May still with kindly strength be rife, I, for thine inward spirit's calm. Have granted nourishment and balm, That rapture may thy soul imbue, Like some fair blossom bathed in dew."-- Behind his house then secretly Outside the doorway pointed she, Where, in a shady garden-nook, A beauteous maid with downcast look Was sitting where a stream was flowing, With elder bushes near it growing, She sat beneath an apple tree, And nought around her seem'd to see. Her lap was full of roses fair, Which in a wreath she twined with care. And, with them, leaves and blossoms blended: For whom was that sweet wreath intended? Thus sat she, modest and retired, Her bosom throbb'd, with hope inspired; Such deep forebodings fill'd her mind, No room for wishing could she find, And with the thoughts that o'er it flew, Perchance a sigh was mingled too.
1180 "But why should sorrow cloud thy brow? That, dearest love, which fills thee now Is fraught with joy and ecstasy. Prepared in one alone for thee, That he within thine eye may find Solace when fortune proves unkind, And be newborn through many a kiss, That he receives with inward bliss; When'er he clasps thee to his breast. May he from all his toils find rest When he in thy dear arms shall sink, May he new life and vigour drink: Fresh joys of youth shalt thou obtain, In merry jest rejoice again. With raillery and roguish spite, Thou now shalt tease him, now delight. Thus Love will nevermore grow old, Thus will the minstrel ne'er be cold!"
1181 While he thus lives, in secret bless'd, Above him in the clouds doth rest An oak-wreath, verdant and sublime, Placed on his brow in after-time; While they are banish'd to the slough, Who their great master disavow.
1182 1776. -----
SONNETS.
1183 ----- Lovingly I'll sing of love; Ever comes she from above. ----- THE FRIENDLY MEETING.
1184 IN spreading mantle to my chin conceald,
1185 I trod the rocky path, so steep and grey,
1186 Then to the wintry plain I bent my way Uneasily, to flight my bosom steel'd.
1187 But sudden was the newborn day reveal'd:
1188 A maiden came, in heavenly bright array,
1189 Like the fair creatures of the poet's lay In realms of song. My yearning heart was heal'd.
1190 Yet turn'd I thence, till she had onward pass'd,
1191 While closer still the folds to draw I tried,
1192 As though with heat self-kindled to grow warm;
1193 But follow'd her. She stood. The die was cast!
1194 No more within my mantle could I hide;
1195 I threw it off,--she lay within mine arm.
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