Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Page 280
His last and blissful look we greeted then;
While spake our eyes, as they each other scann’d:
“From the far east, let’s trust, he’ll come again!”
At midnight! — the bright stars in vision bless’d
Guide to the threshold where she slumbers calm:
Oh, be it mine, there too at length to rest, —
Yet howsoe’er this prove, life’s full of charm!
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AT MIDNIGHT HOUR.
AT midnight hour I went, not willingly,
A little, little boy, yon churchyard past,
To Father Vicar’s house; the stars on high
On all around their beauteous radiance cast,
At midnight hour.
And when, in journeying o’er the path of life,
My love I follow’d, as she onward mov’d,
With stars and northern lights o’er head in strife,
Going and coming, perfect bliss I prov’d
At midnight hour.
Until at length the full moon, lustre-fraught,
Burst through the gloom wherein she was enshrin’d;
And then the willing, active, rapid thought
Around the past, as round the future twin’d,
At midnight hour.
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LINES ON SEEING SCHILLER’S SKULL.
WITHIN a gloomy charnel-house one day
I view’d the countless skulls, so strangely mated,
And of old times I thought, that now were gray.
Close pack’d they stand that once so fiercely hated,
And hardy bones that to the death contended
Are lying cross’d, — to lie forever, fated.
What held those crooked shoulder-blades suspended?
No one now asks; and limbs with vigor fired,
The hand, the foot — their use in life is ended.
Vainly ye sought the tomb for rest when tired;
Peace in the grave may not be yours; ye’re driven
Back into daylight by a force inspir’d;
But none can love the wither’d husk, though even
A glorious noble kernel it contained.
To me, an adept, was the writing given
Which not to all its holy sense explained,
When ‘mid the crowd, their icy shadows flinging,
I saw a form, that glorious still remained,
And even there, where mould and damp were clinging,
Gave me a bless’d, a rapture-fraught emotion,
As though from death a living fount were springing.
What mystic joy I felt! What rapt devotion!
That form, how pregnant with a godlike trace!
A look, how did it whirl me tow’rd that ocean
Whose rolling billows mightier shapes embrace!
Mysterious vessel! Oracle how dear!
Even to grasp thee is my hand too base,
Except to steal thee from thy prison here
With pious purpose, and devoutly go
Back to the air, free thoughts, and sunlight clear.
What greater gain in life can man e’er know
Than when God-Nature will to him explain
How into Spirit steadfastness may flow,
How steadfast, too, the Spirit-Born remain.
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Trilogy of Passion.
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TO WERTHER.
ONCE more, then, much-wept shadow, thou dost dare
Boldly to face the day’s clear light,
To meet me on fresh blooming meadows fair,
And dost not tremble at my sight.
Those happy times appear return’d once more.
When on one field we quaff’d refreshing dew,
And, when the day’s unwelcome toils were o’er,
The farewell sunbeams bless’d our ravish’d view;
Fate bade thee go — to linger here was mine —
Going the first, the smaller loss was thine.
The life of man appears a glorious fate:
The day how lovely, and the night how great!
And we, ‘mid paradise-like raptures plac’d,
The sun’s bright glory scarce have learn’d to taste,
When strange contending feelings dimly cover,
Now us, and now the forms that round us hover;
One’s feelings by no other are supplied;
’Tis dark without, if all is bright inside;
An outward brightness veils my sadden’d mood,
When Fortune smiles, — how seldom understood!
Now think we that we know her, and with might
A woman’s beauteous form instils delight;
The youth, as glad as in his infancy,
The spring-time treads, as though the spring were he.
Ravish’d, amaz’d, he asks, how this is done?
He looks around, the world appears his own.
With careless speed he wanders on through space,
Nor walls, nor palaces can check his race;
As some gay flight of birds round tree-tops plays,
So ’tis with him who round his mistress strays;
He seeks from Æther, which he’d leave behind him,
The faithful look that fondly serves to bind him.
Yet first too early warn’d, and then too late,
He feels his flight restrain’d, is captur’d straight;
To meet again is sweet, to part is sad,
Again to meet again is still more glad,
And years in one short moment are enshrin’d;
But oh, the harsh farewell is hid behind!
Thou smilest, friend, with fitting thoughts inspir’d;
By a dread parting was thy fame acquir’d;
Thy mournful destiny we sorrow’d o’er;
For weal and woe thou left’st us evermore;
And then again the passions’ wavering force
Drew us along in labyrinthine course;
And we, consum’d by constant misery,
At length must part — and parting is to die!
How moving is it, when the minstrel sings,
To ‘scape the death that separation brings!
Oh, grant, some god, to one who suffers so,
To tell, half-guilty, his sad tale of woe!
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ELEGY.
When man had ceased to utter his lament,
A god then let me tell my tale of sorrow.
WHAT hope of once more meeting is there now
In the still-closed blossoms of this day?
Both heaven and hell thrown open seest thou;
What wav’ring thoughts within the bosom play! —
No longer doubt! Descending from the sky,
She lifts thee in her arms to realms on high.
And thus thou into paradise wert brought,
As worthy of a pure and endless life;
Nothing was left, no wish, no hope, no thought,
Here was the boundary of thine inmost strife:
And seeing one so fair, so glorified,
The fount of yearning tears was straightway dried.
No motion stirr’d the day’s revolving wheel;
In their own front the minutes seem’d to go;
The evening kiss, a true and binding seal,
Ne’er changing till the morrow’s sunlight glow.
The hours resembled sisters as they went,
Yet each one from another different.
The last hour’s kiss, so sadly sweet, effac’d
A beauteous network of entwining love.
Now on the threshold pause the feet, now haste,
As though a flaming cherub bade them move;
The unwilling eye the dark road wanders o’er,
Backward it looks, but clos’d it sees the door.
And now within itself is clos’d this breast,
As though it ne’er were open, and as though,
Vying with ev’ry star, no moments bless’d
Had, in its presence, felt a kindling glow;
Sadness, reproach, repentance, weight of care,
Hang heavy on it in the sultry air.
Is not the world still left? The rocky steeps.
Are they with holy shades no longer crown’d?
Grows not the harvest ripe? No longer creeps
Th’ espalier by the stream, — the copse around?
Doth not the wondrous arch of heaven still rise,
Now rich in shape, now shapeless to the eyes?
As, seraph-like, from out the dark clouds’ chorus,
With softness woven, graceful, light and fair,
Resembling Her, in the blue ether o’er us,
A slender figure hovers in the air, —
Thus didst thou see her joyously advance,
The fairest of the fairest in the dance.
Yet but a moment dost thou boldly dare
To clasp an airy form instead of hers;
Back to thine heart! thou’lt find it better there,
For there in changeful guise her image stirs;
What erst was one, to many turneth fast,
In thousand forms, each dearer than the last.
As at the door on meeting linger’d she,
And step by step my faithful ardor bless’d,
For the last kiss herself entreated me,
And on my lips the last, last kiss impress’d —
Thus clearly trac’d, the lov’d one’s form we view,
With flames engraven on a heart so true, —
A heart that, firm as some embattled tower,
Itself for her, her in itself reveres,
For her rejoices in its lasting power,
Conscious alone, when she herself appears
Feels itself freer in so sweet a thrall,
And only beats to give her thanks in all.
The power of loving, and all yearning sighs
For love responsive were effac’d and drown’d;
While longing hope for joyous enterprise
Was form’d, and rapid action straightway found;
If love can e’er a loving one inspire,
Most lovingly it gave me now its fire.
And ’twas through her! — an inward sorrow lay
On soul and body, heavily oppress’d;
To mournful phantoms was my sight a prey,
In the drear void of a sad tortured breast;
Now on the well-known threshold Hope hath smil’d,
Herself appeareth in the sunlight mild.
Unto the peace of God, which, as we read,
Blesseth us more than reason e’er hath done,
Love’s happy peace would I compare indeed,
When in the presence of the dearest one.
There rests the heart, and there that sweetest thought,
The thought of being hers, is check’d by naught.
In the pure bosom doth a yearning float,
Unto a holier, purer, unknown Being
Its grateful aspirations to devote,
The Ever-Nameless then unriddled seeing;
We call it piety! — such bless’d delight
I feel a share in when before her sight.
Before her sight, as ‘neath the sun’s hot ray,
Before her breath, as ‘neath the Spring’s soft wind,
In its deep wintry cavern melts away
Self-love, so long in icy chains confin’d;
No selfishness and no self-will are nigh,
For at her advent they were forc’d to fly.
It seems as though she said: “As hours pass by
They spread before us life with kindly plan;
Small knowledge did the yesterday supply,
To know the morrow is conceal’d from man;
And if the thought of evening made me start,
The sun at setting gladden’d straight my heart.
“Act, then, as I, and look, with joyous mind,
The moment in the face; nor linger thou!
Meet it with speed, so fraught with life, so kind
In action, and in love so radiant now;
Let all things be where thou art, childlike ever,
Thus thou’lt be all, thus thou’lt be vanquish’d never.”
Thou speakest well, methought, for as thy guide
The moment’s favor did a god assign,
And each one feels himself, when by thy side,
Fate’s fav’rite in a moment so divine;
I tremble at thy look that bids me go;
Why should I care such wisdom vast to know?
Now am I far! And what would best befit
The present minute? I could scarcely tell;
Full many a rich possession offers it,
These but offend, and I would fain repel.
Yearnings unquenchable still drive me on;
All counsel, save unbounded tears, is gone.
Flow on, flow on in never-ceasing course,
Yet may ye never quench my inward fire!
Within my bosom heaves a mighty force,
Where death and life contend in combat dire.
Medicines may serve the body’s pangs to still;
Naught but the spirit fails in strength of will, —
Fails in conception; wherefore fails it so?
A thousand times her image it portrays;
Enchanting now, and now compell’d to go,
Now indistinct, now cloth’d in purest rays!
How could the smallest comfort here be flowing?
The ebb and flood, the coming and the going!
* * * * *
Leave me here now, my life’s companions true!
Leave me alone on rock, in moor and heath;
But courage! open lies the world to you,
The glorious heavens above, the earth beneath;
Observe, investigate, with searching eyes,
And Nature will disclose her mysteries.
To me is all, I to myself am lost,
Who the immortals’ fav’rite erst was thought;
They, tempting, sent Pandoras to my cost,
So rich in wealth, with danger far more fraught;
They urged me to those lips, with rapture crown’d,
Deserted me, and hurl’d me to the ground.
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ATONEMENT.
PASSION brings reason, — who can pacify
An anguish’d heart whose loss hath been so great?
Where are the hours that fled so swiftly by?
In vain the fairest thou didst gain from Fate;
Sad is the soul, confus’d the enterprise;
The glorious world, how on the sense it dies!
In million tones entwin’d for evermore,
Music with angel-pinions hovers there,
To pierce man’s being to its inmost core,
Eternal beauty as its fruit to bear;
The eye grows moist, in yearnings bless’d reveres
The godlike worth of music as of tears.
And so the lighten’d heart soon learns to see
That it still lives, and beats, and ought to beat,
Off’ring itself with joy and willingly,
In grateful payment for a gift so sweet.
And then was felt — oh, may it constant prove! —
The twofold bliss of music and of love.
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APRIL.
TELL me, eyes, what ’tis ye’re seeking;
For ye’re saying something s
weet,
Fit the ravish’d ear to greet,
Eloquently, softly speaking.
Yet I see now why ye’re roving;
For behind those eyes so bright,
To itself abandon’d quite,
Lies a bosom, truthful, loving, —
One that it must fill with pleasure
‘Mongst so many, dull and blind,
One true look at length to find,
That its worth can rightly treasure.
Whilst I’m lost in studying ever
To explain these cyphers duly, —
To unravel my looks truly
In return be your endeavor!
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MAY.
LIGHT and silv’ry cloudlets hover
In the air, as yet scarce warm;
Mild, with glimmer soft tinged over,
Peeps the sun through fragrant balm.
Gently rolls and heaves the ocean
As its waves the bank o’erflow,
And with ever-restless motion
Moves the verdure to and fro,
Mirror’d brightly far below.
What is now the foliage moving?
Air is still, and hush’d the breeze,
Sultriness, this fulness loving,
Through the thicket, from the trees.
Now the eye at once gleams brightly,
See! the infant band with mirth
Moves and dances nimbly, lightly,
As the morning gave it birth,
Flutt’ring two and two o’er earth.
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JUNE.
SHE behind you mountain lives,
Who my love’s sweet guerdon gives.
Tell me, mount, how this can be!
Very glass thou seem’st to me,
And I seem to be close by,
For I see her drawing nigh;
Now, because I’m absent, sad,
Now, because she sees me, glad!
Soon between us rise to sight
Valleys cool, with bushes light,
Streams and meadows; next appear
Mills and wheels, the surest token
That a level spot is near,
Plains far-stretching and unbroken.
And so onward, onward roam,
To my garden and my home!
But how comes it then to pass?
All this gives no joy, alas! —
I was ravish’d by her sight,
By her eyes so fair and bright,
By her footstep soft and light.
How her peerless charms I prais’d,
When from head to foot I gaz’d!
I am here, she’s far away, —
I am gone with her to stay.