Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Page 277
And our brethren’s advent show.
Let a new-born wreath entwine
Solemnly your temples round;
Rapture glows in hearts divine
When a long-lost sinner’s found.
Swifter e’en than Lethe’s flood
Round Death’s silent house can play
Ev’ry error of the good
Will love’s chalice wash away.
All will haste your steps to meet
As ye come in majesty, —
Men your blessing will entreat; —
Ours ye thus will doubly be!
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MAHOMET’S SONG.
SEE the rock-born stream!
Like the gleam
Of a star so bright!
Kindly spirits
High above the clouds
Nourish’d him while youthful
In the copse between the cliffs.
Young and fresh,
From the clouds he danceth
Down upon the marble rocks;
Then tow’rd heaven
Leaps exulting.
Through the mountain-passes
Chaseth he the color’d pebbles,
And, advancing like a chief,
Tears his brother streamlets with him
In his course.
In the valley down below
‘Neath his footsteps spring the flowers,
And the meadow
In his breath finds life.
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.
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!” —
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.
Ever, ever, on he rushes,
Leaves the towers’ flame-tipp’d summits,
Marble palaces, the offspring
Of his fulness, far behind.
Cedar-houses bears the Atlas
On his giant shoulders; flutt’ring
In the breeze far, far above him
Thousand flags are gayly floating,
Bearing witness to his might.
And so beareth he his brethren
All his treasures, all his children,
Wildly shouting, to the bosom
Of his long-expectant sire.
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SPIRIT SONG OVER THE WATERS.
THE soul of man
Resembleth water:
From heaven it cometh,
To heaven it soareth,
And then again
To earth descendeth,
Changing ever.
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,
Toward the abyss.
Cliffs projecting
Oppose its progress, —
Angrily foams it
Down to the bottom,
Step by step.
Now, in flat channel,
Through the meadowland steals it,
And in the polish’d lake
Each constellation
Joyously peepeth.
Wind is the loving
Wooer of waters;
Wind blends together
Billows all-foaming.
Spirit of man,
Thou art like unto water!
Fortune of man,
Thou art like unto wind!
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MY GODDESS.
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.
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.
She may, crown’d with roses,
With staff twined round with lilies,
Roam through flow’ry valleys,
Rule the butterfly-people,
And soft-nourishing dew
With bee-like lips
Drink from the blossom:
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.
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!
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.
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.
But unto us he
Hath his most versatile,
Most cherish’d daughter
Granted, — what joy!
Lovingly greet her
As a belov’d one!
Give her the woman’s
Place in our home!
And oh, may the aged
Stepmother Wisdom
Her gentle spirit
Ne’er seek to harm!
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!
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WINTER JOURNEY
OVER THE HARTZ MOUNTAINS.
LIKE the vulture
Who on heavy morning clouds
With gentle wing reposing
Looks for his prey, —
Hover, my song!
For a God hath
Unto each prescrib’d
His destin’d 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.
Through gloomy thickets
Presseth the wild deer on,
And with the sparrows
Long have the wealthy
Settled themselves in the marsh.
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.
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 engulfs him.
Ah, who’ll heal his afflictions
To whom balsam was poison,
Who, from love’s fulness,
Drank in misanthropy only?
First despis’d, 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-envelop’d eyes
Over the thousand fountains
Close by the thirsty one
In the desert.
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.
But the lonely one veil
Within thy gold clouds!
Surround with wintergreen
Until the roses bloom again
The humid locks,
Oh, Love, of thy minstrel!
With thy glimmering torch
Lightest thou him
Through the fords when ’tis night,
Over bottomless places,
On desert-like plains;
With the thousand colors 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.
Thou stand’st with breast inscrutable,
Mysteriously disclos’d,
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.
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TO FATHER KRONOS.
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!
Now once more
Up the toilsome ascent
Hasten, panting for breath!
Up, then, nor idle be. —
Striving and hoping, up, up!
Wide, high, glorious the view
Gazing round upon life,
While from mount unto mount
Hovers the spirit eterne,
Life eternal foreboding.
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!
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.
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.
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THE WANDERER’S STORM-SONG.
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 hail-storm,
Sing in reply
As the lark sings,
Oh, thou on high!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Shall he then return,
The small, the dark, the fiery peasant?
Shall he then return, awaiting
Only thy gifts, O 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?
Father Bromius!
Thou’rt the Genius,
Genius of ages,
Thou’rt what inward glow
To Pindar was,
What to the world
Phœbus Apollo.
Woe! w
oe! Inward warmth,
Spirit-warmth,
Central point!
Glow, and vie with
Phœbus Apollo!
Coldly soon
His regal look
Over thee will swiftly glide, —
Envy-struck
Linger o’er the cedar’s strength,
Which to flourish
Waits him not.
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!
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 bless’d 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.
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!
There, on the hill, —
Heavenly might!
But enough glow
Thither to wend
Where is my cot!
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THE SEA-VOYAGE.
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.
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 thou’lt find thy prize, and love too,
When returning.”
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.
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.
But by God-sent changing winds ere long he’s driven