Chapter VI: Part II: Tragedy completed in.............. 1831 (4)

Wond'ring at the sounds that greet her ear.

Tones of joy and sadness,

And love's blissful madness,

As of bride and bridegroom they appear,

From the door she will not now remove

'Till she gains full certainty of this;
And with anger hears she vows of love,

Soft caressing words of mutual bliss.

"Hush! the cock's loud strain!

But thoult come again,

When the night returns!"--then kiss on kiss.

Then her wrath the mother cannot hold,

But unfastens straight the lock with ease
"In this house are girls become so bold,

As to seek e'en strangers' lusts to please?"

By her lamp's clear glow

Looks she in,--and oh!

Sight of horror!--'tis her child she sees.

Fain the youth would, in his first alarm,

With the veil that o'er her had been spread,
With the carpet, shield his love from harm;

But she casts them from her, void of dread,

And with spirit's strength,

In its spectre length,

Lifts her figure slowly from the bed.

"Mother! mother!"--Thus her wan lips say:

"May not I one night of rapture share?
From the warm couch am I chased away?

Do I waken only to despair?

It contents not thee

To have driven me

An untimely shroud of death to wear?

"But from out my coffin's prison-bounds

By a wond'rous fate I'm forced to rove,
While the blessings and the chaunting sounds

That your priests delight in, useless prove.

Water, salt, are vain

Fervent youth to chain,

Ah, e'en Earth can never cool down love!

"When that infant vow of love was spoken,

Venus' radiant temple smiled on both.
Mother! thou that promise since hast broken,

Fetter'd by a strange, deceitful oath.

Gods, though, hearken ne'er,

Should a mother swear

To deny her daughter's plighted troth.

From my grave to wander I am forc'd,

Still to seek The Good's long-sever'd link,
Still to love the bridegroom I have lost,

And the life-blood of his heart to drink;

When his race is run,

I must hasten on,

And the young must 'neath my vengeance sink,

"Beauteous youth! no longer mayst thou live;

Here must shrivel up thy form so fair;
Did not I to thee a token give,

Taking in return this lock of hair?

View it to thy sorrow!

Grey thoult be to-morrow,

Only to grow brown again when there.

"Mother, to this final prayer give ear!

Let a funeral pile be straightway dress'd;
Open then my cell so sad and drear,

That the flames may give the lovers rest!

When ascends the fire

From the glowing pyre,

To the gods of old we'll hasten, blest."

1797. ----- THE GOD AND THE BAYADERE.

AN INDIAN LEGEND.

[This very fine Ballad was also first given in the Horen.] (MAHADEVA is one of the numerous names of Seeva, the destroyer,-- the great god of the Brahmins.)

MAHADEVA,* Lord of earth

For the sixth time comes below,

As a man of mortal birth,--

Like him, feeling joy and woe.

Hither loves he to repair,

And his power behind to leave;

If to punish or to spare,

Men as man he'd fain perceive. And when he the town as a trav'ller hath seen, Observing the mighty, regarding the mean, He quits it, to go on his journey, at eve.

He was leaving now the place,

When an outcast met his eyes,--

Fair in form, with painted face,--

Where some straggling dwellings rise.

"Maiden, hail!"--"Thanks! welcome here!

Stay!--I'll join thee in the road.'

"Who art thou?"--"A Bayadere,

And this house is love's abode." The cymbal she hastens to play for the dance, Well skill'd in its mazes the sight to entrance, Then by her with grace is the nosegay bestow'd.

Then she draws him, as in play,

O'er the threshold eagerly:

"Beauteous stranger, light as day

Thou shalt soon this cottage see.

I'll refresh thee, if thou'rt tired,

And will bathe thy weary feet;

Take whate'er by thee's desired,

Toying, rest, or rapture sweet."-- She busily seeks his feign'd suff'rings to ease; Then smiles the Immortal; with pleasure he sees That with kindness a heart so corrupted can beat.

And he makes her act the part

Of a slave; he's straight obey'd.

What at first had been but art,

Soon is nature in the maid.

By degrees the fruit we find,

Where the buds at first obtain;

When obedience fills the mind,

Love will never far remain. But sharper and sharper the maiden to prove, The Discerner of all things below and above, Feigns pleasure, and horror, and maddening pain.

And her painted cheeks he kisses,

And his vows her heart enthrall;

Feeling love's sharp pangs and blisses,

Soon her tears begin to fall.

At his feet she now must sink,

Not with thoughts of lust or gain,--

And her slender members shrink,

And devoid of power remain. And so the bright hours with gladness prepare Their dark, pleasing veil of a texture so fair, And over the couch softly, tranquilly reign.

Late she falls asleep, thus bless'd,--

Early wakes, her slumbers fled,

And she finds the much-loved guest

On her bosom lying dead.

Screaming falls she on him there,

But, alas, too late to save!

And his rigid limbs they bear

Straightway to their fiery grave. Then hears she the priests and the funeral song, Then madly she runs, and she severs the throng: "Why press tow'rd the pile thus? Why scream thus, and rave?"

Then she sinks beside his bier,

And her screams through air resound:

"I must seek my spouse so dear,

E'en if in the grave he's bound.

Shall those limbs of grace divine

Fall to ashes in my sight?

Mine he was! Yes, only mine!

Ah, one single blissful night!" The priests chaunt in chorus: "We bear out the old, When long they've been weary, and late they've grown cold: We bear out the young, too, so thoughtless and light.

"To thy priests' commands give ear!

This one was thy husband ne'er;

Live still as a Bayadere,

And no duty thou need'st share.

To deaths silent realms from life,

None but shades attend man's frame,

With the husband, none but wife,--

That is duty, that is fame. Ye trumpets, your sacred lament haste to raise Oh, welcome, ye gods, the bright lustre of days! Oh, welcome to heaven the youth from the flame!"

Thus increased her torments are

By the cruel, heartless quire;

And with arms outstretching far

Leaps she on the glowing pyre.

But the youth divine outsprings

From the flame with heav'nly grace,

And on high his flight he wings,

While his arms his love embrace. In the sinner repentant the Godhead feels joy; Immortals delight thus their might to employ. Lost children to raise to a heavenly place.

1797. ----- THE PARIAH.

I. THE PARIAH S PRAYER.

DREADED Brama, lord of might!

All proceed from thee alone; Thou art he who judgeth right!

Dost thou none but Brahmins own? Do but Rajahs come from thee?

None but those of high estate?

Didst not thou the ape create, Aye, and even such as we?

We are not of noble kind,

For with woe our lot is rife; And what others deadly find

Is our only source of life. Let this be enough for men,

Let them, if they will, despise us;

But thou, Brama, thou shouldst prize us, All are equal in thy ken.

Now that, Lord, this prayer is said,

As thy child acknowledge me; Or let one be born in-stead,

Who may link me on to thee! Didst not thou a Bayadere

As a goddess heavenward raise?

And we too to swell thy praise, Such a miracle would hear.

1821. ----- II. LEGEND.

[The successful manner in which Goethe employs the simple rhymeless trochaic metre in this and in many other Poems will perhaps be remarked by the reader.]

WATER-FETCHING goes the noble Brahmin's wife, so pure and lovely; He is honour'd, void of blemish. And of justice rigid, stern. Daily from the sacred river Brings she back refreshments precious;-- But where is the pail and pitcher? She of neither stands in need. For with pure heart, hands unsullied, She the water lifts, and rolls it To a wondrous ball of crystal This she bears with gladsome bosom, Modestly, with graceful motion, To her husband in the house.

She to-day at dawn of morning Praying comes to Ganges' waters, Bends her o'er the glassy surface-- Sudden, in the waves reflected, Flying swiftly far above her, From the highest heavens descending, She discerns the beauteous form Of a youth divine, created By the God's primeval wisdom In his own eternal breast.

When she sees him, straightway feels she Wondrous, new, confused sensations In her inmost, deepest being; Fain she'd linger o'er the vision, Then repels it,--it returneth,-- And, perplex'd, she bends her flood-wards With uncertain hands to draw it; But, alas, she draws no more! For the water's sacred billows Seem to fly, to hasten from her; She but sees the fearful chasm Of a whirlpool black disclosed.

Arms drop down, and footsteps stumble, Can this be the pathway homewards? Shall she fly, or shall she tarry? 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 the giant form uprises,-- From the dear lips of his mother, Lips all god-like--changeless--blissful, Sound these words with horror fraught: "Son, oh 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 eye and brow so lovely, Sinking downwards to the bosom Mad and raging lust will stir.

"'Twill return again for ever, Ever rising, ever sinking, Now obscured, 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 proved 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 for ever 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."

1821. ----- III. 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 received 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.

1821. ----- DEATH-LAMENT OF THE NOBLE WIFE OF ASAN AGA.

[From the Morlack.)

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 hastend. 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 headlong, 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, oh 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 fervour 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 implored him: "Send, at least a letter, oh, 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 loved ones' door a short time tarry, That I may give presents to my children."

And before the loved ones' door they tarried, And she presents gave to her poor children, To the boys gave gold-embroider'd 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 for ever, closed 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.

1775.
-----

CANTATAS.

----- May the bard these numbers praise, That are sung his fame to raise. -----

THE Poems composed by Goethe under this title are five in number, of which three are here given. The other two are entirely personal in their allusions, and not of general interest. One of them is a Requiem on the Prince de Ligne, who died in 1814, and whom Goethe calls "the happiest man of the century," and the other was composed in honour of the 70th birthday of his friend Zelter the composer, when Goethe was himself more than 79 (1828). The following sweet aria introduced in the latter is, however, worth giving:--

THE flowers so carefully rear'd,

In a garland for him I oft twin'd: How sweet have they ever appear'd,

When wreath'd for a friend dear and kind. Then incense sweet ascended,

Then new-horn blossoms rose, With gentle zephyrs blended

In tones of soft repose. ----- IDYLL.

A village Chorus is supposed to be assembled, and about to commence its festive procession.

[Written for the birthday of the Duchess Louisa of Weimar.]

CHORUS.

THE festal day hail ye

With garlands of pleasure,

And dances' soft measure, With rapture commingled And sweet choral song.

DAMON.

Oh, how I yearn from out the crowd to flee! What joy a secret glade would give to me! Amid the throng, the turmoil here, Confined the plain, the breezes e'en appear.

CHORUS.

Now order it truly, That ev'ry one duly May roam and may wander, Now here, and now yonder,

The meadows along.

[The Chorus retreats gradually, and the song becomes fainter and fainter, till it dies away in the distance.]

DAMON.

In vain ye call, in vain would lure me on; True my heart speaks,--but with itself alone.

And if I may view

A blessing-fraught land,

The heaven's clear blue,

And the plain's verdant hue,

Alone I'll rejoice,

Undisturbed by man's voice.

And there I'll pay homage

To womanly merit,

Observe it in spirit,

In spirit pay homage;

To echo alone

Shall my secret be known.

CHORUS.

[Faintly mingling with Damon's song in the distance.]

To echo--alone--

Shall my secret--be known.--

MENALCAS.

My friend, why meet I here with thee?

Thou hast'nest not to join the festal throng? No longer stay, but come with me,

And mingle in the dance and song.

DAMON.

Thou'rt welcome, friend! but suffer me to roam

Where these old beeches hide me from man's view: Love seeks in solitude a home,

And homage may retreat there too.

MENALCAS.

Thou seekest here a spurious fame,

And hast a mind to-day to grieve me. Love as thy portion thou mayst claim

But homage thou must share with all, believe me!

When their voices thousands raise, And the dawn of morning praise,

Rapture bringing,

Blithely singing

On before us,
Heart and ear in pleasure vie;

And when thousands join in chorus,

With the feelings brightly glowing,

And the wishes overflowing, Forcibly they'll bear thee high.

[The Chorus gradually approaches, from the distance.]

DAMON.

Distant strains are hither wending,

And I'm gladden'd by the throng; Yes, they're coming,--yes, descending

To the valley from the height,

MENALCAS.

Let us haste, our footsteps blending

With the rhythm of the song! Yes, they come; their course they're bending

Tow'rd the wood's green sward so bright.

CHORUS. [Gradually becoming louder.]

Yes, we hither come, attending

With the harmony of song, As the hours their race are ending

On this day of blest delight.

ALL.

Let none reveal The thoughts we feel, The aims we own! Let joy alone

Disclose the story! She'll prove it right And her delight

Includes the glory, Includes the bliss Of days like this!

1813. ----- RINALDO.*

[This Cantata was written for Prince Frederick of Gotha, and set to music by Winter, the Prince singing the part of Rinaldo.--See the Annalen.]

(* See Tasso's Gerusalemme Liberata, Canto XVI.)

CHORUS.

To the strand! quick, mount the bark!

If no favouring zephyrs blow,

Ply the oar and nimbly row, And with zeal your prowess mark!

O'er the sea we thus career.

RINALDO.

Oh, let me linger one short moment here! 'Tis heaven's decree, I may not hence away. The rugged cliffs, the wood-encircled bay, Hold me a prisoner, and my flight delay.

Ye were so fair, but now that dream is o'er; The charms of earth, the charms of heaven are nought. What keeps me in this spot so terror-fraught?

My only joy is fled for evermore.

Let me taste those days so sweet,

Heav'n-descended, once again! Heart, dear heart! ay, warmly beat!

Spirit true, recall those days

Freeborn breath thy gentle lays

Mingled are with joy and pain.

Round the beds, so richly gleaming,

Rises up a palace fair; All with rosy fragrance teeming,

As in dream thou saw'st it ne'er.

And this spacious garden round,

Far extend the galleries; Roses blossom near the ground,

High in air, too, bloom the trees.

Wat'ry flakes and jets are falling.

Sweet and silv'ry strains arise; While the turtle-dove is calling,

And the nightingale replies.

CHORUS.

Gently come! feel no alarm,

On a noble duty bent; Vanish'd now is ev'ry charm

That by magic power was lent. Friendly words and greetings calm On his wounds will pour soft balm.

Fill his mind with sweet content.

RINALDO.

Hark! the turtle-dove is calling,

And the nightingale replies; Wat'ry flakes and jets are falling,

Mingling with their melodies.

But all of them say:

Her only we mean; But all fly away,

As soon as she's seen,-- The beauteous young maiden,

With graces so rife,

Then lily and rose

In wreaths are entwining;

In dancing combining, Each zephyr that blows

Its brother is greeting,

All flying and meeting, With balsam full laden,

When waken'd to life.

CHORUS.

No! no longer may we wait; Rouse him from his vision straight! Show the adamantine shield!

RINALDO.

Woe! what form is here reveal'd!

CHORUS.

'Twill disclose the cheat to thee.

RINALDO.

Am I doom'd myself to see Thus degraded evermore?

CHORUS.

Courage take, and all is o'er.

RINALDO.

Be it so! I'll take fresh heart, From the spot beloved depart, Leave Armida once again,-- Come then! here no more remain.

CHORUS.

Yes, 'tis well! no more remain.

SEMI-CHORUS.

Away then! let's fly

O'er the zephyr-kiss'd ocean! The soul-lighted eye

Sees armies in motion, See proud banners wave

O'er the dust-sprinkled course.

CHORUS.

From his forefathers brave

Draws the hero new force.

RINALDO.

With sorrow laden,

Within this valley's

All-silent alleys The fairest maiden

Again I see.

Twice can this be? What! shall I hear it, And not have spirit To ease her pains?

CHORUS.

Unworthy chains?

RINALDO.

And now I've see her,

Alas! how changed! With cold demeanour.

And looks estranged, With ghostly tread,-- All hope is fled, Yes, fled for ever. The lightnings quiver, Each palace falls; The godlike halls, Each joyous hour Of spirit-power, With love's sweet day All fade away!

CHORUS.

Yes, fade away!

SEMI-CHORUS.

Already are heard

The prayers of the pious.

Why longer deny us? The favouring zephyr

Forbids all delay.

CHORUS.

Away, then! away!

RINALDO.

With heart sadly stirr'd,

Your command I receive;

Ye force me to leave. Unkind is the zephyr,--

Oh, wherefore not stay?

CHORUS.

Away, then! away!

1811. ----- 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 placed 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 loved 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. Screechowl, 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! Screechowl, 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 golden 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 archfiend roars on high; From the ground Hellish vapours rise around.

CHORUS OF CHRISTIAN WATCHERS.

Terrible enchanted forms, Dragon-women, men-wolf swarms! Wilder yet the sounds are growing! See, the archfiend comes, all-glowing! From the ground Hellish vapours rise around!

CHORUS OF DRUIDS.

As from the smoke is freed the blaze,

So let our faith burn bright! And if they crush our golden ways,

Who e'er can crush Thy light?

1799.
-----

ODES.

-----

THESE are the most singular of all the Poems of Goethe, and to many will appear so wild and fantastic, as to leave anything but a pleasing impression. Those at the beginning, addressed to his friend Behrisch, were written at the age of eighteen, and most of the remainder were composed while he was still quite young. Despite, however, the extravagance of some of them, such as the Winter Journey over the Hartz Mountains, and the Wanderer's Storm-Song, nothing can be finer than the noble one entitled Mahomet's Song, and others, such as the Spirit Song' over the Waters, The God-like, and, above all, the magnificent sketch of Prometheus, which forms part of an unfinished piece bearing the same name, and called by Goethe a 'Dramatic Fragment.'

TO MY FRIEND.

[These three Odes are addressed to a certain Behrisch, who was tutor to Count Lindenau, and of whom Goethe gives an odd account at the end of the Seventh Book of his Autobiography.]

FIRST ODE.

TRANSPLANT the beauteous tree! Gardener, it gives me pain; A happier resting-place Its trunk deserved.

Yet the strength of its nature To Earth's exhausting avarice, To Air's destructive inroads, An antidote opposed.

See how it in springtime Coins its pale green leaves! Their orange-fragrance Poisons each flyblow straight.

The caterpillar's tooth Is blunted by them; With silv'ry hues they gleam In the bright sunshine,

Its twigs the maiden Fain would twine in Her bridal-garland; Youths its fruit are seeking.

See, the autumn cometh! The caterpillar Sighs to the crafty spider,-- Sighs that the tree will not fade.

Hov'ring thither From out her yew-tree dwelling, The gaudy foe advances Against the kindly tree,

And cannot hurt it, But the more artful one Defiles with nauseous venom Its silver leaves;

And sees with triumph How the maiden shudders, The youth, how mourns he, On passing by.

Transplant the beauteous tree! Gardener, it gives me pain; Tree, thank the gardener Who moves thee hence!

1767. ----- SECOND ODE.

THOU go'st! I murmur-- Go! let me murmur. Oh, worthy man, Fly from this land!

Deadly marshes, Steaming mists of October Here interweave their currents, Blending for ever.

Noisome insects Here are engender'd; Fatal darkness Veils their malice.

The fiery-tongued serpent, Hard by the sedgy bank, Stretches his pamper'd body, Caress'd by the sun's bright beams.

Tempt no gentle night-rambles Under the moon's cold twilight! Loathsome toads hold their meetings Yonder at every crossway.

Injuring not, Fear will they cause thee. Oh, worthy man, Fly from this land!

1767. ----- THIRD ODE.

BE void of feeling! A heart that soon is stirr'd, Is a possession sad Upon this changing earth.

Behrisch, let spring's sweet smile Never gladden thy brow! Then winter's gloomy tempests Never will shadow it o'er.

Lean thyself ne'er on a maiden's Sorrow-engendering breast. Ne'er on the arm, Misery-fraught, of a friend.

Already envy From out his rocky ambush Upon thee turns The force of his lynx-like eyes,

Stretches his talons, On thee falls, In thy shoulders Cunningly plants them.

Strong are his skinny arms, As panther-claws; He shaketh thee, And rends thy frame.

Death 'tis to part, 'Tis threefold death To part, not hoping Ever to meet again.

Thou wouldst rejoice to leave This hated land behind, Wert thou not chain'd to me With friendships flowery chains.

Burst them! I'll not repine. No noble friend Would stay his fellow-captive, If means of flight appear.

The remembrance Of his dear friend's freedom Gives him freedom In his dungeon.

Thou go'st,--I'm left. But e'en already The last year's winged spokes Whirl round the smoking axle.

I number the turns Of the thundering wheel; The last one I bless.-- Each bar then is broken, I'm free then as thou!

1767. ----- MAHOMET'S SONG.

[This song was intended to be introduced in a dramatic poem entitled Mahomet, the plan of which was not carried out by Goethe. He mentions that it was to have been sung by Ali towards the end of the piece, in honor of his master, Mahomet, shortly before his death, and when at the height of his glory, of which it is typical.]

SEE the rock-born stream! Like the gleam Of a star so bright Kindly spirits High above the clouds Nourished 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 colour'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 fullness, far behind.

Cedar-houses bears the Atlas On his giant shoulders; flutt'ring In the breeze far, far above him Thousand flags are gaily 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.

1774. ----- 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, Tow'rd 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!

1789.* ----- 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, crowned with roses, With staff twined round with lilies, Roam thro' 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 cherished daughter Granted,--what joy!

Lovingly greet her As a beloved 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!

1781. ----- WINTER JOURNEY OVER THE HARTZ MOUNTAINS.

[The following explanation is necessary, in order to make this ode in any way intelligible. The Poet is supposed to leave his companions, who are proceeding on a hunting expedition in winter, in order himself to pay a visit to a hypochondriacal friend, and also to see the mining in the Hartz mountains. The ode alternately describes, in a very fragmentary and peculiar manner, the naturally happy disposition of the Poet himself and the unhappiness of his friend; it pictures the wildness of the road and the dreariness of the prospect, which is relieved at one spot by the distant sight of a town, a very vague allusion to which is made in the third strophe; it recalls the hunting party on which his companions have gone; and after an address to Love, concludes by a contrast between the unexplored recesses of the highest peak of the Hartz and the metalliferous veins of its smaller brethren.]

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 prescribed His destined 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 engulphs him.

Ah, who'll heal his afflictions, To whom balsam was poison, Who, from love's fullness, Drank in misanthropy only? First despised, 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-enveloped 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 winter-green, 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 colours 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 disclosed, 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.

1777. ----- TO FATHER* KRONOS.

[written in a post-chaise.]

(* In the original, Schwager, which has the twofold meaning of brother-in-law and postilion.)

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.

1774. ----- THE WANDERER'S STORM-SONG.

[Goethe says of this ode, that it is the only one remaining out of several strange hymns and dithyrambs composed by him at a period of great unhappiness, when the love-affair between him and Frederica had been broken off by him. He used to sing them while wandering wildly about the country. This particular one was caused by his being caught in a tremendous storm on one of these occasions. He calls it a half-crazy piece (halkunsinn), and the reader will probably agree with him.]

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 hailstorm, 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, waiting Only thy gifts, oh 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! Thourt the Genius, Genius of ages, Thou'rt what inward glow To Pindar was, What to the world Phoebus Apollo.

Woe! Woe Inward warmth, Spirit-warmth, Central-point! Glow, and vie with Phoebus 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 blest 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!

1771. ----- 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 thoult 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 Sideways from the course he had intended, And he feigns as though he would surrender, While he gently striveth to outwit them,

To his goal, e'en when thus press'd, still faithful. But from out the damp grey distance rising, Softly now the storm proclaims its advent, Presseth down each bird upon the waters, Presseth down the throbbing hearts of mortals. And it cometh. At its stubborn fury, Wisely ev'ry sail the seaman striketh; With the anguish-laden ball are sporting Wind and water.

And on yonder shore are gather'd standing, Friends and lovers, trembling for the bold one: "Why, alas, remain'd he here not with us! Ah, the tempest! Cast away by fortune! Must the good one perish in this fashion? Might not he perchance.... Ye great immortals!"

Yet he, like a man, stands by his rudder; With the bark are sporting wind and water, Wind and water sport not with his bosom: On the fierce deep looks he, as a master,-- In his gods, or shipwreck'd, or safe landed, Trusting ever.

1776. ----- THE EAGLE AND DOVE.

IN search of prey once raised his pinions An eaglet; A huntsman's arrow came, and reft His right wing of all motive power. Headlong he fell into a myrtle grove, For three long days on anguish fed, In torment writhed Throughout three long, three weary nights; And then was cured, Thanks to all-healing Nature's Soft, omnipresent balm. He crept away from out the copse, And stretch'd his wing--alas! Lost is all power of flight-- He scarce can lift himself From off the ground To catch some mean, unworthy prey, And rests, deep-sorrowing, On the low rock beside the stream. Up to the oak he looks, Looks up to heaven, While in his noble eye there gleams a tear. Then, rustling through the myrtle boughs, behold, There comes a wanton pair of doves, Who settle down, and, nodding, strut O'er the gold sands beside the stream, And gradually approach; Their red-tinged eyes, so full of love, Soon see the inward-sorrowing one. The male, inquisitively social, leaps On the next bush, and looks Upon him kindly and complacently. "Thou sorrowest," murmurs he: "Be of good cheer, my friend! All that is needed for calm happiness Hast thou not here? Hast thou not pleasure in the golden bough That shields thee from the day's fierce glow? Canst thou not raise thy breast to catch, On the soft moss beside the brook, The sun's last rays at even? Here thou mayst wander through the flowers' fresh dew, Pluck from the overflow The forest-trees provide, Thy choicest food,--mayst quench Thy light thirst at the silvery spring. Oh friend, true happiness Lies in contentedness, And that contentedness Finds everywhere enough." "Oh, wise one!" said the eagle, while he sank In deep and ever deep'ning thought-- "Oh Wisdom! like a dove thou speakest!"

1774.* ----- PROMETHEUS.

COVER thy spacious heavens, Zeus, With clouds of mist, And, like the boy who lops The thistles' heads, Disport with oaks and mountain-peaks, Yet thou must leave My earth still standing; My cottage too, which was not raised by thee; Leave me my hearth, Whose kindly glow By thee is envied.

I know nought poorer Under the sun, than ye gods! Ye nourish painfully, With sacrifices And votive prayers, Your majesty: Ye would e'en starve, If children and beggars Were not trusting fools.

While yet a child And ignorant of life, I turned my wandering gaze Up tow'rd the sun, as if with him There were an ear to hear my wailings, A heart, like mine, To feel compassion for distress.

Who help'd me Against the Titans' insolence? Who rescued me from certain death, From slavery? Didst thou not do all this thyself, My sacred glowing heart? And glowedst, young and good, Deceived with grateful thanks To yonder slumbering one?

I honour thee! and why? Hast thou e'er lighten'd the sorrows Of the heavy laden? Hast thou e'er dried up the tears Of the anguish-stricken? Was I not fashion'd to be a man By omnipotent Time, And by eternal Fate, Masters of me and thee?

Didst thou e'er fancy That life I should learn to hate, And fly to deserts, Because not all My blossoming dreams grew ripe?

Here sit I, forming mortals After my image; A race resembling me, To suffer, to weep, To enjoy, to be glad, And thee to scorn, As I!

1773. ----- GANYMEDE.

How, in the light of morning, Round me thou glowest, Spring, thou beloved one! With thousand-varying loving bliss The sacred emotions Born of thy warmth eternal Press 'gainst my bosom, Thou endlessly fair one! Could I but hold thee clasp'd Within mine arms!

Ah! upon thy bosom Lay I, pining, And then thy flowers, thy grass, Were pressing against my heart. Thou coolest the burning Thirst of my bosom, Beauteous morning breeze! The nightingale then calls me Sweetly from out of the misty vale. I come, I come! Whither? Ah, whither?

Up, up, lies my course. While downward the clouds Are hovering, the clouds Are bending to meet yearning love. For me, Within thine arms Upwards! Embraced and embracing! Upwards into thy bosom, Oh Father all-loving!

1789.* ----- THE BOUNDARIES OF HUMANITY.

WHEN the primeval All-holy Father Sows with a tranquil hand From clouds, as they roll, Bliss-spreading lightnings Over the earth, Then do I kiss the last Hem of his garment, While by a childlike awe Fiil'd is my breast.

For with immortals Ne'er may a mortal Measure himself. If he soar upwards And if he touch With his forehead the stars, Nowhere will rest then His insecure feet, And with him sport Tempest and cloud.

Though with firm sinewy Limbs he may stand On the enduring Well-grounded earth, All he is ever Able to do, Is to resemble The oak or the vine.

Wherein do gods Differ from mortals? In that the former See endless billows Heaving before them; Us doth the billow Lift up and swallow, So that we perish.

Small is the ring Enclosing our life, And whole generations Link themselves firmly On to existence's Chain never-ending.

1789. * ----- THE GODLIKE.

NOBLE be man, Helpful and good! For that alone Distinguisheth him From all the beings Unto us known.

Hail to the beings, Unknown and glorious, Whom we forebode! From his example Learn we to know them!

For unfeeling Nature is ever: On bad and on good The sun alike shineth; And on the wicked, As on the best, The moon and stars gleam.

Tempest and torrent, Thunder and hail, Roar on their path, Seizing the while, As they haste onward, One after another.

Even so, fortune Gropes 'mid the throng-- Innocent boyhood's Curly head seizing,-- Seizing the hoary Head of the sinner.

After laws mighty, Brazen, eternal, Must all we mortals Finish the circuit Of our existence.

Man, and man only Can do the impossible; He 'tis distinguisheth, Chooseth and judgeth; He to the moment Endurance can lend.

He and he only The good can reward, The bad can he punish, Can heal and can save; All that wanders and strays Can usefully blend. And we pay homage To the immortals As though they were men, And did in the great, What the best, in the small, Does or might do.

Be the man that is noble, Both helpful and good. Unweariedly forming The right and the useful, A type of those beings Our mind hath foreshadow'd!

1782.
-----

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

----- in the wares before you spread, Types of all things may be read. ----- THE GERMAN PARNASSUS.

'NEATH the shadow

Of these bushes, On the meadow

Where the cooling water gushes. Phoebus gave me, when a boy, All life's fullness to enjoy. So, in silence, as the God Bade them with his sov'reign nod, Sacred Muses train'd my days To his praise.-- With the bright and silv'ry flood Of Parnassus stirr'd my blood, And the seal so pure and chaste By them on my lips was placed.

With her modest pinions, see, Philomel encircles me! In these bushes, in yon grove,

Calls she to her sister-throng,

And their heavenly choral song Teaches me to dream of love.

Fullness waxes in my breast Of emotions social, blest; Friendship's nurtured─love awakes,-- And the silence Phoebus breaks Of his mountains, of his vales, Sweetly blow the balmy gales; All for whom he shows affection, Who are worthy his protection, Gladly follow his direction.

This one comes with joyous bearing

And with open, radiant gaze; That a sterner look is wearing, This one, scarcely cured, with daring