Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Page 269
And blow through the windows at will.
What’s best to be done in a cold autumn night?
Full many I’ve pass’d in more piteous plight;
The morn ever settles the matter aright.
Then quick, while the moon shines so clear,
To bed on the straw, without fear.
And whilst in a soft pleasing slumber he lay,
A motion he feels ‘neath his bed.
The rat, an he likes it, may rattle away!
Ay, had he but crumbs there outspread!
But lo! there appears a diminutive wight,
A dwarf ’tis, yet graceful, and bearing a light,
With orator-gestures that notice invite,
At the feet of the Count on the floor
Who sleeps not, though weary full sore.
“We’ve long been accustom’d to hold here our feast,
Since thou from thy castle first went;
And as we believ’d thou wert far in the East,
To revel e’en now we were bent.
And if thou’lt allow it, and seek not to chide,
We dwarfs will all banquet with pleasure and pride,
To honor the wealthy, the beautiful bride” —
Says the Count with a smile, half-asleep: —
“Ye’re welcome your quarters to keep!”
Three knights then advance, riding all in a group,
Who under the bed were conceal’d;
And then is a singing and noise-making troop
Of strange little figures reveal’d;
And wagon on wagon with all kinds of things —
The clatter they cause through the ear loudly rings —
The like ne’er was seen save in castles of kings;
At length, in a chariot of gold,
The bride and the guests too, behold!
Then all at full gallop make haste to advance,
Each chooses his place in the hall;
With whirling and waltzing, and light joyous dance,
They begin with their sweethearts the ball.
The fife and the fiddle all merrily sound,
They twine, and they glide, and with nimbleness bound,
They whisper, and chatter, and clatter around;
The Count on the scene casts his eye,
And seems in a fever to lie.
They hustle, and bustle, and rattle away
On table, on bench, and on stool;
Then all who had join’d in the festival gay
With their partners attempt to grow cool.
The hams and the sausages nimbly they bear,
And meat, fish and poultry in plenty are there,
Surrounded with wine of the vintage most rare;
And when they have revell’d full long,
They vanish at last with a song.
* * * * * *
And if we’re to sing all that further occurr’d,
Pray cease ye to bluster and prate;
For what he so gladly in small saw and heard,
He enjoy’d and he practis’d in great.
For trumpets, and singing, and shouts without end
On the bridal-train, chariots and horsemen attend,
They come and appear, and they bow and they bend,
In merry and countless array.
Thus was it, thus is it to-day.
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THE TREASURE-DIGGER.
ALL my weary days I pass’d
Sick at heart and poor in purse.
Poverty’s the greatest curse,
Riches are the highest good!
And to end my woes at last,
Treasure-seeking forth I sped.
“Thou shalt have my soul instead!”
Thus I wrote, and with my blood.
Ring round ring I forthwith drew,
Wondrous flames collected there,
Herbs and bones in order fair,
Till the charm had work’d aright.
Then, to learned precepts true,
Dug to find some treasure old,
In the place my art foretold:
Black and stormy was the night.
Coming o’er the distant plain,
With the glimmer of a star,
Soon I saw a light afar,
As the hour of midnight knell’d.
Preparation was in vain.
Sudden all was lighted up
With the lustre of a cup
That a beauteous boy upheld.
Sweetly seem’d his eyes to laugh
‘Neath his flow’ry chaplet’s load;
With the drink that brightly glow’d,
He the circle enter’d in.
And he kindly bade me quaff;
Then methought: “This child can ne’er,
With his gift so bright and fair,
To the arch-fiend be akin.”
“Pure life’s courage drink!” cried he:
“This advice to prize then learn, —
Never to this place return
Trusting in thy spells absurd;
Dig no longer fruitlessly.
Guests by night, and toil by day!
Weeks laborious, feast-days gay!
Be thy future magic-word!”
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THE RAT-CATCHER.
I AM the bard known far and wide,
The travell’d rat-catcher beside;
A man most needful to this town,
So glorious through its old renown.
However many rats I see,
How many weasels there may be,
I cleanse the place from ev’ry one,
All needs must helter-skelter run.
Sometimes the bard so full of cheer
As a child-catcher will appear,
Who e’en the wildest captive brings,
Whene’er his golden tales he sings.
However proud each boy in heart,
However much the maidens start,
I bid the chords sweet music make,
And all must follow in my wake.
Sometimes the skilful bard ye view
In form of maiden-catcher too;
For he no city enters e’er,
Without effecting wonders there.
However coy may be each maid,
Howe’er the women seem afraid,
Yet all will love-sick be ere long
To sound of magic lute and song.
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THE SPINNER.
AS I calmly sat and span,
Toiling with all zeal,
Lo! a young and handsome man
Pass’d my spinning-wheel.
And he prais’d, — what harm was there? —
Sweet the things he said —
Prais’d my flax-resembling hair,
And the even thread.
He with this was not content,
But must needs do more;
And in twain the thread was rent,
Though ’twas safe before.
And the flax’s stonelike weight
Needed to be told;
But no longer was its state
Valu’d as of old.
When I took it to the weaver,
Something felt I start,
And more quickly, as with fever,
Throbb’d my trembling heart.
Then I bear the thread at length
Through the heat, to bleach;
But, alas, I scarce have strength
To the pool to reach.
What I in my little room
Span so fine and slight, —
As was likely, I presume —
Came at last to light.
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BEFORE A COURT OF JUSTICE.
THE father�
��s name ye ne’er shall be told
Of my darling unborn life;
“Shame, shame,” ye cry, “on the strumpet bold!”
Yet I’m an honest wife.
To whom I’m wedded, ye ne’er shall be told,
Yet he’s both loving and fair;
He wears on his neck a chain of gold,
And a hat of straw doth he wear.
If scorn ’tis vain to seek to repel,
On me let the scorn be thrown.
I know him well, and he knows me well,
And to God, too, all is known.
Sir Parson and Sir Bailiff, again,
I pray you, leave me in peace!
My child it is, my child ‘twill remain,
So let your questionings cease!
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THE PAGE AND THE MILLER’S DAUGHTER.
Page.
WHERE goest thou? Where?
Miller’s daughter so fair!
Thy name, pray?
Miller’s Daughter.
’Tis Lizzy.
Page.
Where goest thou? Where?
With the rake in thy hand?
Miller’s Daughter.
Father’s meadows and land
To visit, I’m busy.
Page.
Dost go there alone?
Miller’s Daughter.
By this rake, sir, ’tis shown
That we’re making the hay;
And the pears ripen fast
In the garden at last,
So I’ll pick them to-day.
Page.
Is’t a silent thicket I yonder view?
Miller’s Daughter.
Oh, yes! there are two;
There’s one on each side.
Page.
I’ll follow thee soon;
When the sun burns at noon,
We’ll go there, ourselves from his rays to hide.
And then in some glade all-verdant and deep —
Miller’s Daughter.
Why, people would say —
Page.
Within mine arms thou gently wilt sleep.
Miller’s Daughter.
Your pardon, I pray!
Whoever is kiss’d by the miller-maid,
Upon the spot must needs be betray’d.
’Twould give me distress
To cover with white
Your pretty dark dress.
Equal with equal! then all is right!
That’s the motto in which I delight.
I am in love with the miller-boy;
He wears nothing that I could destroy.
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THE YOUTH AND THE MILLSTREAM.
Youth.
SAY, sparkling streamlet, whither thou
Art going!
With joyous mien thy waters now
Are flowing.
Why seek the vale so hastily?
Attend for once, and answer me!
Millstream.
Oh, youth, I was a brook indeed;
But lately
My bed they’ve deepen’d, and my speed
Swell’d greatly,
That I may haste to yonder mill,
And so I’m full and never still.
Youth.
The mill thou seekest in a mood
Contented,
And know’st not how my youthful blood
‘S tormented.
But doth the miller’s daughter fair
Gaze often on thee kindly there?
Millstream.
She opes the shutters soon as light
Is gleaming;
And comes to bathe her features bright
And beaming.
So full and snow-white is her breast, —
I feel as hot as steam suppress’d.
Youth.
If she in water can inflame
Such ardor,
Surely, then, flesh and blood to tame
Is harder.
When once is seen her beauteous face,
One ever longs her steps to trace.
Millstream.
Over the wheel I, roaring, bound,
All-proudly,
And ev’ry spoke whirls swiftly round,
And loudly.
Since I have seen the miller’s daughter,
With greater vigor flows the water.
Youth.
Like others, then, can grief, poor brook,
Oppress thee?
“Flow on!” — thus she’ll, with smiling look,
Address thee.
With her sweet loving glance, oh, say,
Can she thy flowing current stay?
Millstream.
’Tis sad, ’tis sad to have to speed
From yonder;
I wind, and slowly through the mead
Would wander;
And if the choice remain’d with me,
Would hasten back there presently.
Youth.
Farewell, thou who with me dost prove
Love’s sadness!
Perchance some day thou’lt breathe of love
And gladness.
Go, tell her straight, and often too,
The boy’s mute hopes and wishes true.
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THE MAID OF THE MILL’S TREACHERY.
WHENCE comes our friend so hastily,
When scarce the Eastern sky is gray?
Hath he just ceas’d, though cold it be,
In yonder holy spot to pray?
The brook appears to hem his path,
Would he barefooted o’er it go?
Why curse his orisons in wrath,
Across those heights beclad with snow?
Alas! his warm bed he hath left,
Where he had look’d for bliss, I ween;
And if his cloak too, had been reft,
How fearful his disgrace had been!
By yonder villain sorely press’d,
His wallet from him has been torn;
Our hapless friend has been undress’d, —
Left well nigh naked as when born.
The reason why he came this road,
Is that he sought a pair of eyes,
Which, at the mill, as brightly glow’d
As those that are in Paradise.
He will not soon again be there;
From out the house he quickly hied,
And when he gain’d the open air,
Thus bitterly and loudly cried: —
“Within her gaze, so dazzling bright,
No word of treachery I could read;
She seem’d to see me with delight,
Yet plann’d e’en then this cruel deed!
Could I, when basking in her smile,
Dream of the treason in her breast?
She bade kind Cupid stay awhile,
And he was there, to make us bless’d.
“To taste of love’s sweet ecstasy
Throughout the night, that endless seem’d,
And for her mother’s help to cry
Only when morning sunlight beam’d!
A dozen of her kith and kin,
A very human flood, in-press’d,
Her cousins came, her aunts peer’d in,
And uncles, brothers, and the rest.
“Then what a tumult, fierce and loud!
Each seem’d a beast of prey to be;
The maiden’s honor all the crowd,
With fearful shout, demand of me.
Why should they, madmen-like, begin
To fall upon a guiltless youth?
For he who such a prize would win,
Far nimbler needs must be, in truth.
“The way to follow up with skill
His freaks, by love betimes is known:
He ne’er will leave, within a mi
ll,
Sweet flowers for sixteen years alone. —
They stole my clothes away, — yes, all!
And tried my cloak besides to steal.
How strange that any house so small
So many rascals could conceal!
“Then I sprang up, and rav’d and swore,
To force a passage through them there.
I saw the treacherous maid once more,
And she was still, alas, so fair!
They all gave way before my wrath,
Wild outcries flew about pell-mell;
At length I manag’d to rush forth,
With voice of thunder, from that hell.
“As maidens of the town we fly,
We’ll shun you maidens of the village!
Leave it to those of quality,
Their humble worshippers to pillage!
Yet if ye are of practis’d skill,
And of all tender ties afraid,
Exchange your lovers, if ye will,
But never let them be betray’d.”
Thus sings he in the winter-night,
While not a blade of grass was green.
I laugh’d to see his piteous plight,
For it was well-deserv’d, I ween.
And may this be the fate of all,
Who treat by day their true loves ill,
And, with foolhardy daring, crawl
By night to Cupid’s treacherous mill!
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THE MAID OF THE MILL’S REPENTANCE.
Youth.
AWAY, thou swarthy witch! Go forth
From out my house, I tell thee!
Or else I needs must, in my wrath,
Expel thee!
What’s this thou singest so falsely, forsooth,
Of love and a maiden’s silent truth?
Who’ll trust to such a story!
Gypsy.
I sing of a maid’s repentant fears,
And long and bitter yearning;
Her levity’s chang’d to truth and tears
All-burning.
She dreads no more the threats of her mother,
She dreads far less the blows of her brother,
Than the dearly-lov’d one’s hatred.
Youth.
Of selfishness sing and treacherous lies,
Of murder and thievish plunder!
Such actions false will cause no surprise,
Or wonder.
When they share their booty, both clothes and purse, —
As bad as you gypsies, and even worse,
Such tales find ready credence.
Gypsy.
“Alas, alas! oh, what have I done?
Can listening aught avail me?
I hear him toward my room hasten on,
To hail me.
My heart beat high, to myself I said:
‘O would that thou hadst never betray’d
That night of love to thy mother!’ “
Youth.
Alas! I foolishly ventur’d there,
For the cheating silence misled me;