All that is needed is done, when I Sakóntala name.
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SOLITUDE.
O ye kindly nymphs, who dwell ‘mongst the rocks and the thickets,
Grant unto each whatsoe’er he may in silence desire!
Comfort impart to the mourner, and give to the doubter instruction,
And let the lover rejoice, finding the bliss that he craves.
For from the gods ye receiv’d what they ever denied unto mortals,
Power to comfort and aid all who in you may confide.
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THE CHOSEN CLIFF.
HERE in silence the lover fondly mus’d on his lov’d one;
Gladly he spake to me thus: “Be thou my witness, thou stone!
Yet thou must not be vainglorious, thou hast many companions;
Unto each rock on the plain, where I, the happy one, dwell,
Unto each tree of the wood that I cling to, as onward I ramble,
‘Be thou a sign of my bliss!’ shout I, and then ’tis ordain’d.
Yet to thee only I lend a voice, as a Muse from the people
Chooseth one for herself, kissing his lips as a friend.”
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THE CONSECRATED SPOT.
WHEN in the dance of the Nymphs, in the moonlight so holy assembl’d,
Mingle the Graces, down from Olympus in secret descending,
Here doth the minstrel hide, and list to their numbers enthralling,
Here doth he watch their silent dances’ mysterious measure.
All that is glorious in heaven, and all that the earth in her beauty
Ever hath brought into life, the dreamer awake sees before him;
All he repeats to the Muses, and lest the gods should be anger’d,
How to tell of secrets discreetly, the Muses instruct him.
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THE INSTRUCTORS.
WHEN Diogenes quietly sunn’d himself in his barrel,
When Calanus with joy leap’d in the flame-breathing grave,
Oh, what noble lessons were those for the rash son of Philip,
Were not the lord of the world e’en for instruction too great!
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THE UNEQUAL MARRIAGE.
EVEN this heavenly pair were unequally match’d when united:
Psyche grew older and wise, Amor remain’d still a child.
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EXCUSE.
THOU dost complain of woman for changing from one to another?
Censure her not: for she seeks one who will constant remain.
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THE MUSE’S MIRROR.
EARLY one day, the Muse, when eagerly bent on adornment,
Follow’d a swift-running streamlet, the quietest nook by it seeking.
Quickly and noisily flowing, the changeful-surface distorted
Ever her moving form; the goddess departed in anger.
Yet the stream call’d mockingly after her, saying: “What, truly!
Wilt thou not view, then, the truth, in my mirror so clearly depicted?”
But she already was far away, on the brink of the ocean,
In her figure rejoicing, and duly arranging her garland.
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PHŒBUS AND HERMES.
DELOS’ stately ruler, and Maïa’s son, the adroit one,
Warmly were striving, for both sought the great prize to obtain.
Hermes the lyre demanded, the lyre was claim’d by Apollo,
Yet were the hearts of the foes fruitlessly nourish’d by hope.
For on a sudden Ares burst in, with fury decisive,
Dashing in twain the gold toy, brandishing wildly his sword.
Hermes, malicious one, laugh’d beyond measure; yet deep-seated sorrow
Seiz’d upon Phœbus’s heart, seiz’d on the heart of each Muse.
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THE NEW AMOR.
AMOR, not the child, the youthful lover of Psyche,
Look’d round Olympus one day, boldly, to triumph inur’d;
There he espied a goddess, the fairest amongst the immortals, —
Venus Urania she, — straight was his passion inflam’d.
Even the holy one powerless prov’d, alas! ‘gainst his wooing, —
Tightly embrac’d in his arm, held her the daring one fast.
Then from their union arose a new, a more beauteous Amor,
Who from his father his wit, grace from his mother derives.
Ever thou’lt find him join’d in the kindly Muses’ communion,
And his charm-laden bolt foundeth the love of the arts.
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THE GARLANDS.
KLOPSTOCK would lead us away from Pindus; no longer for laurel
May we be eager — the homely acorn alone must content us;
Yet he himself his more-than-epic crusade is conducting
High on Golgotha’s summit, that foreign gods he may honor!
Yet, on what hill he prefers, let him gather the angels together,
Suffer deserted disciples to weep o’er the grave of the just one:
There where a hero and saint hath died, where a bard breath’d his numbers,
Both for our life and our death an ensample of courage resplendent
And of the loftiest human worth to bequeath, — ev’ry nation
There will joyously kneel in devotion ecstatic, revering
Thorn and laurel garland, and all its charms and its tortures.
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THE SWISS ALPS.
YESTERDAY brown was still thy head, as the locks of my lov’d one,
Whose sweet image so dear silently beckons afar.
Silver-gray is the early snow to-day on thy summit,
Through the tempestuous night streaming fast over thy brow.
Youth, alas, throughout life as closely to age is united
As, in some changeable dream, yesterday blends with to-day.
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Elegies
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ROMAN ELEGIES.
I.
SPEAK, ye stones, I entreat! Oh, speak, ye palaces lofty!
Utter a word, O ye streets! Wilt thou not, Genius, awake?
All that thy sacred walls, eternal Rome, hold within them
Teemeth with life; but to me, all is still silent and dead.
Oh, who will whisper unto me, — when shall I see at the casement
That one beauteous form, which, while it scorcheth, revives?
Can I as yet not discern the road on which I forever
To her and from her shall go, heeding not time as it flies?
Still do I mark the churches, palaces, ruins and columns,
As a wise traveller should, would he his journey improve.
Soon all this will be past; and then will there be but one temple,
Amor’s temple alone, where the Initiate may go.
Thou art indeed a world, O Rome; and yet, were Love absent,
Then would the world be no world, then would e’en Rome be no Rome.
II.
DO not repent, mine own love, that thou so soon didst surrender!
Manifold workings the darts of Amor possess; some but scratching,
Yet with insidious effect, poison the bosom for years.
Others mightily feather’d, with fresh and newly-born sharpness
Pierce to the innermost bone, kindle the blood into flame.
In the heroical times, when lov’d each god and each goddess,
Longing attended on sight; then with fruition was bless’d.
Think’st thou the goddess had long been thinking of love and its pleasures
When she, in Ida’s retreats, own’d to Anchises her flame?
Had but Luna delay’d to kiss the beautiful sleeper,
Oh, by Aurora, ere long, he had in envy been rous’d!
Hero Leander espied at the noisy feast, and the lover
Hotly and nimbly, ere long, plung’d in the night-cover’d flood.
Rhea Silvia, virgin princess, roam’d near the Tiber,
Seeking there water to draw, when by the god she was seiz’d.
Thus were the sons of Mars begotten! The twins did a she-wolf
Suckle and nurture, — and Rome call’d herself queen of the world.
III.
ALEXANDER, and Cæsar, and Henry, and Frederick, the mighty,
On me would gladly bestow half of the glory they earn’d,
Could I but grant unto each one night on the couch where I’m lying;
But they, by Orcus’s night, sternly, alas! are held down.
Therefore rejoice, O thou living one, bless’d in thy love-lighted homestead,
Ere the dark Lethe’s sad wave wetteth thy fugitive foot.
IV.
THESE few leaves, O ye Graces, a bard presents in your honor,
On your altar so pure, adding sweet rosebuds as well,
And he does it with hope. The artist is glad in his workshop,
When a Pantheon it seems round him forever to bring.
Jupiter knits his godlike brow, — hers, Juno uplifteth;
Phœbus strides on before, shaking his curly-lock’d head;
Calmly and dryly Minerva looks down, and Hermes, the light one,
Turneth his glances aside, roguish and tender at once.
But towards Bacchus, the yielding, the dreaming, raiseth Cythere
Looks both longing and sweet, e’en in the marble yet moist.
Of his embraces she thinks with delight, and seems to be asking:
“Should not our glorious son take up his place by our side?”
V.
AMOR is ever a rogue, and all who believe him are cheated!
To me the hypocrite came: “Trust me, I pray thee, this once.
Honest is now my intent, — with grateful thanks I acknowledge
That thou thy life and thy works hast to my worship ordain’d.
See, I have follow’d thee hither, to Rome, with kindly intention,
Hoping to give thee mine aid, e’en in the foreigner’s land.
Ev’ry trav’ller complains that the quarters he meets with are wretched;
Happily lodg’d, though, is he, who is by Amor receiv’d.
Thou dost observe the ruins of ancient buildings with wonder,
Thoughtfully wandering on, over each time-hallow’d spot.
Thou dost honor still more the worthy relics created
By the few artists whom I lov’d in their studios to seek.
I ’twas fashion’d those forms! thy pardon, — I boast not at present;
Presently thou shalt confess that what I tell thee is true.
Now that thou serv’st me more idly, where are the beauteous figures,
Where are the colors, the light, which thy creations once fill’d?
Hast thou a mind again to form? The school of the Grecians
Still remains open, my friend; years have not barr’d up its doors.
I, the teacher, am ever young, and love all the youthful,
Love not the subtle and old. Mother, observe what I say!
Still was new the Antique, when yonder bless’d ones were living;
Happily live, — and, in thee, ages long vanish’d will live!
Food for song, where hopest thou to find it? I only can give it,
And a more excellent style, love, and love only can teach.”
Thus did the Sophist discourse. What mortal, alas! could resist him?
And when a master commands, I have been train’d to obey.
Now he deceitfully keeps his word, gives food for my numbers,
But, while he does so, alas! robs me of time, strength and mind.
Looks, and pressure of hands, and words of kindness, and kisses,
Syllables teeming with thought, by a fond pair are exchang’d.
Then becomes whispering, talk, — and stammering, a language enchanting;
Free from all prosody’s rules, dies such a hymn on the ear.
Thee, Aurora, I used to own as the friend of the Muses;
Hath, then, Amor the rogue cheated, Aurora, e’en thee?
Thou dost appear to me now as his friend, and again dost awake me
Unto a day of delight, while at his altar I kneel.
All her locks I find on my bosom, her head is reposing,
Pressing with softness the arm, which round her neck is entwin’d;
Oh! what a joyous awak’ning, ye hours so peaceful, succeeded,
Monument sweet of the bliss which had first rock’d us to sleep!
In her slumber she moves, and sinks, while her face is averted,
Far on the breadth of the couch, leaving her hand still in mine.
Heartfelt love unites us forever, and yearnings unsullied,
And our cravings alone claim for themselves the exchange.
One faint touch of the hand, and her eyes so heavenly see I
Once more open. Ah, no! let me still look on that form!
Clos’d still remain! Ye make me confus’d and drunken, ye rob me
Far too soon of the bliss pure contemplation affords.
Mighty, indeed, are these figures! these limbs, how gracefully rounded!
Theseus, could’st thou e’er fly, whilst Ariadne thus slept?
Only one single kiss on these lips! Oh, Theseus, now leave us!
Gaze on her eyes! she awakes! — Firmly she holds thee embrac’d!
VI.
PORTENT of Autumn, the flame in the sociable country-side mansion
Crackles and gleams on the earth. Quickly the brushwood takes fire.
How it delights my soul this evening! for now, ere the fagots
Crumble to glowing coals, fall into ashes gray,
Comes my favorite maiden! Then flame the billets and brushwood,
And the comforting night warms us with festival joy.
When it is early morn the couch of Love she forsaketh,
Wakes from the ashes again agile, passionate flames.
For above all things Amor the power to the flatterer granted
Joy to awake which as yet scarcely to ashes had fallen.
VII.
“WHY, belov’d, didst thou not come to-day to the vineyard?
Alone, as I promis’d, I stood waiting for thee on the hill!”
“Dearest! scarce had I come when by chance I sighted thy uncle,
Watching close to the vines, turning this way and that!
Slyly I hurried away.” “Oh, what an error deceiv’d thee!
Only a scarecrow it was that thou sawest! The form
Skilfully fashion’d we made of reeds and ragged old raiment;
I myself lent a hand: how my work has recoil’d!
Now the old man’s wish is fulfill’d: to-day he has frighted
From his preserves the bird stealing his garden and niece.”
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ALEXIS AND DORA.
FARTHER and farther away, alas! at each moment the vessel
; Hastens, as onward it glides, cleaving the foam-cover’d flood!
Long is the track plough’d up by the keel where dolphins are sporting,
Following fast in its rear, while it seems flying pursuit.
All forebodes a prosperous voyage; the sailor with calmness
Leans ‘gainst the sail, which alone all that is needed performs.
Forward presses the heart of each seaman, like colors and streamers;
Backward one only is seen, mournfully fix’d near the mast,
While on the blue-ting’d mountains, which fast are receding, he gazeth,
And as they sink in the sea, joy from his bosom departs.
Vanish’d from thee, too, O Dora, is now the vessel that robs thee
Of thine Alexis, thy friend, — ah, thy betrothed as well!
Thou, too, art after me gazing in vain. Our hearts are still throbbing,
Though, for each other, yet ah! ‘gainst one another no more.
Oh, thou single moment, wherein I found life! thou outweighest
Every day which had else coldly from memory fled.
’Twas in that moment alone, the last, that upon me descended
Life, such as deities grant, though thou perceivedst it not.
Phœbus, in vain with thy rays dost thou clothe the ether in glory:
Thine all-brightening day hateful alone is to me.
Into myself I retreat for shelter, and there, in the silence,
Strive to recover the time when she appear’d with each day.
Was it possible beauty like this to see, and not feel it?
Work’d not those heavenly charms e’en on a mind dull as thine?
Blame not thyself, unhappy one! Oft doth the bard an enigma
Thus propose to the throng, skilfully hidden in words.
Each one enjoys the strange commingling of images graceful,
Yet still is wanting the word which will discover the sense.
When at length it is found, the heart of each hearer is gladden’d,
And in the poem he sees meaning of twofold delight.
Wherefore so late didst thou remove the bandage, O Amor,
Which thou hadst plac’d o’er mine eyes, — wherefore remove it so late?
Long did the vessel, when laden, lie waiting for favoring breezes,
Till in kindness the wind blew from the land o’er the sea.
Vacant times of youth! and vacant dreams of the future!
Ye all vanish, and nought, saving the moment, remains.
Yes! it remains, — my joy still remains! I hold thee, my Dora,
Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Page 273