Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Page 279
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LOVE’S DISTRESSES.
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?
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TO HIS COY ONE.
SEEST thou yon smiling Orange?
Upon the tree still hangs it;
Already March hath vanish’d,
And new-born flow’rs are shooting.
I draw nigh to the tree then,
And there I say: O Orange,
Thou ripe and juicy Orange,
Thou sweet and luscious Orange —
I shake the tree, I shake it —
Oh, fall into my lap!
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PETITION.
OH, thou sweet maiden fair,
Thou with the raven hair,
Why to the window go?
While gazing down below,
Art standing vainly there?
Oh, if thou stood’st for me,
And lett’st the latch but fly,
How happy should I be!
How soon would I leap high!
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THE MUSAGETES.
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 Phœbus and Aurora,
To enliven my still labors!”
Yet they left me in my slumbers,
Dull and unrefreshing, lying,
And to each late-waken’d morning
Follow’d days devoid of profit.
When at length return’d the springtime
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.
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 pleasure 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.
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MORNING LAMENT.
O 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?
’Twas but yestere’en that thou with fondness
Press’d my hand, and these sweet accents murmur’d:
“Yes, I’ll come, I’ll come when morn approacheth,
Come, my friend, full surely to thy chamber.”
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.
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.
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.
“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.”
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.
“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.
And the day grew bright and brighter ever;
And I heard my neighbor’s door unbolted
As he went to earn his daily wages;
And ere long I heard the wagons 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.
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.
When at length the sun, in hated splendor,
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 arbor,
Or the avenue of lofty lindens.
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THE VISIT.
FAIN had I to-day surpris’d 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 parlor 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.
While at work had slumber stolen o’er her;
For her knitting and her needle found I
Resting in her folded hands so tender;
And I placed myself beside her softly,
And held counsel whether I should wake her.
Then I look’d 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.
“O thou love,” methought, “I see that slumber,
Slumber that betrayeth each false feature,
Cannot injure thee, can naught discover
That could serve to harm thy friend’s soft feelings.
“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.”
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.
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 color’d presents,
And the friendly gift will view with wonder,
For the door will still remain unopen’d.
If perchance I see to-night the angel,
How will she rejoice! — reward me doubly
For this sacrifice of fond affection!
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THE MAGIC NET.
DO I see a contest yonder?
See I miracles or pastimes?
Beauteous urchins, five in number,
‘Gainst five sisters fair contending, —
Measur’d is the time they’re beating —
At a bright enchantress’ bidding.
Glitt’ring spears by some are wielded,
Threads are others nimbly twining,
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.
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 colors scarce can draw them.
Who shall now receive that garment
Far beyond all others wish’d for?
Whom our much-lov’d mistress favor
As her own acknowledg’d servant?
I am bless’d by kindly Fortune’s
Tokens true, in silence pray’d for!
And I feel myself held captive,
To her service now devoted.
Yet, e’en while I, thus enraptured,
Thus adorn’d, am proudly wand’ring,
See! yon wantons are entwining,
Void of strife, with secret ardor,
Other nets, each fine and finer,
Threads of twilight interweaving,
Moonbeams sweet, night-violets’ balsam.
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.
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The Goblet.
EAGERLY a well-carv’d brimming goblet
In my two hands tightly clasp’d I lifted;
Ardently the sweet wine sipp’d I from it,
Seeking there to drown all care and sorrow.
Amor enter’d in, and found me sitting,
And he gently smiled in modest fashion,
Smiled as though the foolish one he pitied.
“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?”
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.
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 produc’d by Vulcan
With his cunning, reason-gifted hammers!
On the leaf-crown’d mountains may Lyæus
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!”
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NIGHT THOUGHTS.
O UNHAPPY stars! your fate I mourn;
Ye by whom the sea-toss’d sailor’s lighted,
Who with radiant beams the heavens adorn,
But by gods and men are unrequited:
For ye love not, — ne’er have learn’d to love!
Ceaselessly in endless dance ye move,
In the spacious sky your charms displaying.
What far travels ye have hasten’d through,
Since, within my lov’d one’s arms delaying,
I’ve forgotten you and midnight too!
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TO LIDA.
THE only one whom, Lida, thou canst love,
Thou claim’st, and rightly claim’st, for only thee;
He too is wholly thine; since doom’d to rove
Far from thee, in life’s turmoils naught I see
Save a thin veil, through which thy form I view
As though in clouds; with kindly smile and true
It cheers me, like the stars eterne that gleam
Across the northern lights’ far-flick’ring beam.
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FOREVER.
THE happiness that man, whilst prison’d here,
Is wont with heavenly rapture to compare, —
The harmony of Truth, from wavering clear, —
Of Friendship that is free from doubting care, —
The light which in stray thoughts alone can cheer
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.
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FROM AN ALBUM OF 1604.
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 O ye thoughts, distrustfully inclin’d,
If ye are therefore by the lov’d 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 flavor’d.
If it with anger overcasts the eye,
And heaven’s bright purity perversely blackens,
Then zephyr-sighs straight scare the clouds away,
And chang’d to tears dissolve them into rain.
Thought, hope, and love remain there as before,
Till Cynthia gleams upon me as of old.
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TO THE RISING FULL MOON.
Dornburg, August 25th, 1828.
WILT thou suddenly enshroud thee,
Who this moment wert so nigh?
Heavy rising masses cloud thee,
Thou art hidden from mine eye.
Yet my sadness thou well knowest,
Gleaming sweetly as a star!
That I’m lov’d, ’tis thou that showest,
Though my lov’d one may be far.
Upward mount then! clearer, milder,
Rob’d in splendor far more bright!
Though my heart with grief throbs wilder,
Fraught with rapture is the night!
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BETROTHED.
I SLEPT, — ’twas midnight, — in my bosom woke,
As though ‘twere day, my love-o’erflowing heart;
To me it seem’d like night when day first broke;
What is’t to me, whate’er it may impart?
She was away; the world’s unceasing strife
For her alone I suffer’d through the heat
Of sultry day. Oh, what refreshing life
At cooling eve! — my guerdon was complete.
The sun now set, and wand’ring hand in hand