Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Page 272
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?
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.”
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 a giant form uprises. —
From the dear lips of his mother,
Lips all godlike — changeless — blissful,
Sound these words with horror fraught:
“Son, O 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 brow and eye so lovely,
Sinking downwards to the bosom
Mad and raging lust will stir.
“ ‘Twill return again forever,
Ever rising, ever sinking,
Now obscur’d, 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 prov’d 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.
“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!
“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.
“If I to his throne soar upward,
If he sees my fearful figure
By his might transform’d to horror,
He forever 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.”
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THE PARIAH’S THANKS.
MIGHTY Brama, now I’ll bless thee!
’Tis from thee that worlds proceed!
As my ruler I confess thee,
For of all thou takest heed.
All thy thousand ears thou keepest
Open to each child of earth;
We, ‘mongst mortals sunk the deepest,
Have from thee receiv’d new birth.
Bear in mind the woman’s story,
Who, through grief, divine became;
Now I’ll wait to view His glory,
Who omnipotence can claim.
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THE FIRST WALPURGIS-NIGHT.
A Druid.
SWEET smiles the May!
The forest gay
From frost and ice is freed;
No snow is found,
Glad songs resound
Across the verdant mead.
Upon the height
The snow lies light,
Yet thither now we go,
There to extol our Father’s name,
Whom we for ages know.
Amid the smoke shall gleam the flame;
Thus pure the heart will grow.
The Druids.
Amid the smoke shall gleam the flame;
Extol we now our Father’s name,
Whom we for ages know!
Up, up, then, let us go!
One of the People.
Would ye, then, so rashly act?
Would ye instant death attract?
Know ye not the cruel threats
Of the victors we obey?
Round about are plac’d their nets
In the sinful heathen’s way.
Ah! upon the lofty wall
Wife and children slaughter they;
And we all
Hasten to a certain fall.
Chorus of Women.
Ay, upon the camp’s high wall
All our children lov’d they slay.
Ah, what cruel victors they!
And we all
Hasten to a certain fall.
A Druid.
Who fears to-day
His rites to pay,
Deserves his chains to wear.
The forest’s free!
This wood take we,
And straight a pile prepare!
Yet in the wood
To stay ’tis good
By day, till all is still,
With watchers all around us plac’d,
Protecting you from ill.
With courage fresh, then, let us haste
Our duties to fulfil.
Chorus of Watchers.
Ye valiant watchers, now divide
Your numbers through the forest wide,
And see that all is still,
While they their rites fulfil.
A Watcher.
Let us, in a cunning wise,
Yon dull Christian priests surprise!
With the devil of their talk
We’ll those very priests confound.
Come with prong, and come with fork,
Raise a wild and rattling sound
Through the livelong night, and prowl
All the rocky passes round.
Screech-owl, owl,
Join in chorus with our howl!
Chorus of Watchers.
Come with prong, and come with fork
Like the devil of their talk,
And with wildly rattling sound,
Prowl the desert rocks around!
Screech-owl, owl,
Join in chorus with our howl!
A Druid.
Thus far ’tis right,
That we by night
Our Father’s praises sing;
Yet when ’tis day,
To Thee we may
A heart unsullied bring.
’Tis true that now,
And often, Thou
Fav’rest the foe in fight.
As from the smoke is freed the blaze,
So let our faith burn bright!
And if they crush our olden ways,
Who e’er can crush Thy light?
A Christian Watcher.
Comrades, quick! your aid afford!
All the brood of hell’s abroad:
See how their enchanted forms
Through and through with flames are glowing!
Dragon-women, men-wolf swarms,
On in quick succession going!
Let us, let us haste to fly!
Wilder yet the sounds are growing,
And the arch-fiend roars on high;
From the ground
Hellish vapors rise around.
Chorus of Christian Watchers.
Terrible enchanted forms,
Dragon-women, men-wolf swarms!
Wilder yet the sounds are growing!
See, the arch-fiend comes, all-glowing!
From the ground
Hellish vapors rise around.
Chorus of Druids.
As from the smoke is freed the blaze,
So let our faith burn bright!
And if they crush our olden ways,
Who e’er can crush Thy light?
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DEATH-LAMENT OF THE NOBLE WIFE OF ASAN AGA.
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 hasten’d.
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.”
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 head-long.
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!”
So the wife of Asan turns to meet him,
Clasps her arms in anguish round her brother:
“See thy sister’s sad disgrace, O 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.
When the woman saw that mournful letter,
Fervently she kiss’d her two sons’ foreheads,
And her two girls’ cheeks with fervor 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.
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!”
To her prayer her brother would not hearken,
Fix’d to wed her to Imoski’s Cadi.
Yet the good one ceaselessly implor’d him:
“Send, at least a letter, O 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.’ “
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.
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 lov’d ones’ door a short time tarry,
That I may give presents to my children.”
And before the lov’d ones’ door they tarried,
And she presents gave to her poor children,
To the boys gave gold-embroider’s buskins,
To the girls gave long and costly dresses,
To the suckling, helpless in the cradle,
Gave a garment, to be worn hereafter.
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 forever, clos’d to all compassion!”
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.
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Antiques
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LEOPOLD, DUKE OF BRUNSWICK.
1785.
THOU wert forcibly seiz’d by the hoary lord of the river, —
Holding thee, ever he shares with thee his streaming domain.
Calmly sleepest thou near his urn as it silently trickles,
Till thou to action art rous’d, wak’d by the swift-rolling flood.
Kindly be to the people, as when thou still wert a mortal,
Perfecting that as a god, which thou didst fail in, as man.
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TO THE HUSBANDMAN.
SMOOTHLY and lightly the golden seed by the furrow is cover’d;
Yet will a deeper one, friend, cover thy bones at the last.
Joyously plough’d and sow’d! Here food all living is budding,
E’en from the side of the tomb Hope will not vanish away.
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ANACREON’S GRAVE.
HERE where the roses blossom, where vines round the laurels are twining,
Where the turtle-dove calls, where the blithe cricket is heard,
Say, whose grave can this be, with life by all the Immortals
Beauteously planted and deck’d? — Here doth Anacreon sleep!
Spring and summer and autumn rejoic’d the thrice-happy minstrel,
And from the winter this mound kindly hath screen’d him at last.
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THE BRETHREN.
SLUMBER and Sleep, two brethren ordain’d by the gods to their service,
Were by Prometheus implor’d, comfort to give to his race;
But though so light to the gods, too heavy for man was their burden,
We in their slumber find sleep, we in their sleep meet with death.
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MEASURE OF TIME.
EROS, what mean’st thou by this? In each of thine hands is an hourglass!
What, O thou frivolous god! twofold thy measure of time?
Slowly run from [Editor: illegible word] the hours of lovers when parted;
While through the other they rush swiftly, as soon as they meet.”
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WARNING.
WAKEN not Amor from sleep! The beauteous urchin still slumbers;
Go, and complete thou the task, that to the day is assign’d!
Thus doth the prudent mother with care turn time to her profit,
While her babe is asleep, for ‘twill awake but too soon.
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SAKÓNTALA.
WOULD’ST thou the blossoms of spring, as well as the fruits of the autumn,
Would’st thou what charms and delights, would’st thou what plenteously feeds,
Would’st thou include both heaven and earth in one designation,