The Poems of Goethe - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (readera ebook reader .txt) 📗

took, The boy was sad, with terror shook,

Then sprang upon his charger.

He drove his spurs into his side,

And scour'd the country round; But wheresoever he might ride,

No rest for him was found. For seven long days and nights he rode, It storm'd, the waters overflow'd,

It bluster'd, lighten'd, thunder'd.

On rode he through the tempest's din,

Till he a building spied; In search of shelter crept he in,

When he his steed had tied. And as he groped his doubtful way, The ground began to rock and sway,--

He fell a hundred fathoms.

When he recover'd from the blow,

He saw three lights pass by; He sought in their pursuit to go,

The lights appear'd to fly. They led his footsteps all astray, Up, down, through many a narrow way

Through ruin'd desert cellars.

When lo! he stood within a hall,

With hollow eyes. and grinning all; They bade him taste the fare.

A hundred guests sat there. He saw his sweetheart 'midst the throng, Wrapp'd up in grave-clothes white and long;

She turn'd, and----*

1774.

(* This ballad is introduced in Act II. of Claudine of Villa Bella, where it is suddenly broken off, as it is here.)

THE ERL-KING.

WHO rides there so late through the night dark and drear? The father it is, with his infant so dear; He holdeth the boy tightly clasp'd in his arm, He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.

"My son, wherefore seek'st thou thy face thus to hide?" "Look, father, the Erl-King is close by our side! Dost see not the Erl-King, with crown and with train?" "My son, 'tis the mist rising over the plain."

"Oh, come, thou dear infant! oh come thou with me! Full many a game I will play there with thee; On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold, My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold."

"My father, my father, and dost thou not hear The words that the Erl-King now breathes in mine ear?" "Be calm, dearest child, 'tis thy fancy deceives; 'Tis the sad wind that sighs through the withering leaves."

"Wilt go, then, dear infant, wilt go with me there? My daughters shall tend thee with sisterly care My daughters by night their glad festival keep, They'll dance thee, and rock thee, and sing thee to sleep."

"My father, my father, and dost thou not see, How the Erl-King his daughters has brought here for me?" "My darling, my darling, I see it aright, 'Tis the aged grey willows deceiving thy sight."

"I love thee, I'm charm'd by thy beauty, dear boy! And if thou'rt unwilling, then force I'll employ." "My father, my father, he seizes me fast, Full sorely the Erl-King has hurt me at last."

The father now gallops, with terror half wild, He grasps in his arms the poor shuddering child; He reaches his courtyard with toil and with dread,-- The child in his arms finds he motionless, dead.

1782.* -----

JOHANNA SEBUS.

[To the memory of an excellent and beautiful girl of 17, belonging to the village of Brienen, who perished on the 13th of January, 1809, whilst giving help on the occasion of the breaking up of the ice on the Rhine, and the bursting of the dam of Cleverham.]

THE DAM BREAKS DOWN, THE ICE-PLAIN GROWLS, THE FLOODS ARISE, THE WATER HOWLS.

"I'll bear thee, mother, across the swell,

'Tis not yet high, I can wade right well."

"Remember us too! in what danger are we!

Thy fellow-lodger, and children three!

The trembling woman!--Thou'rt going away!"

She bears the mother across the spray.

"Quick! haste to the mound, and awhile there wait,

I'll soon return, and all will be straight.

The mound's close by, and safe from the wet;

But take my goat too, my darling pet!"

THE DAM DISSOLVES, THE ICE-PLAIN GROWLS, THE FLOODS DASH ON, THE WATER HOWLS.

She places the mother safe on the shore;

Fair Susan then turns tow'rd the flood once more.

"Oh whither? Oh whither? The breadth fast grows,

Both here and there the water o'erflows.

Wilt venture, thou rash one, the billows to brave?" "THEY SHALL, AND THEY MUST BE PRESERVED FROM THE WAVE!"

THE DAM DISAPPEARS, THE WATER GROWLS, LIKE OCEAN BILLOWS IT HEAVES AND HOWLS.

Fair Susan returns by the way she had tried,

The waves roar around, but she turns not aside;

She reaches the mound, and the neighbour straight,

But for her and the children, alas, too late!

THE DAM DISAPPEAR'D,--LIKE A SEA IT GROWLS, ROUND THE HILLOCK IN CIRCLING EDDIES IT HOWLS.

The foaming abyss gapes wide, and whirls round,

The women and children are borne to the ground;

The horn of the goat by one is seized fast,

But, ah, they all must perish at last!

Fair Susan still stands-there, untouch'd by the wave;

The youngest, the noblest, oh, who now will save?

Fair Susan still stands there, as bright as a star,

But, alas! all hope, all assistance is far.

The foaming waters around her roar,

To save her, no bark pushes off from the shore.

Her gaze once again she lifts up to Heaven,

Then gently away by the flood she is driven.

NO DAM, NO PLAIN! TO MARK THE PLACE SOME STRAGGLING TREES ARE THE ONLY TRACE.

The rushing water the wilderness covers,

Yet Susan's image still o'er it hovers.--

The water sinks, the plains re-appear.

Fair Susan's lamented with many a tear,--

May he who refuses her story to tell,

Be neglected in life and in death as well!

1809. -----

THE FISHERMAN.

THE waters rush'd, the waters rose,

A fisherman sat by, While on his line in calm repose

He cast his patient eye. And as he sat, and hearken'd there,

The flood was cleft in twain, And, lo! a dripping mermaid fair

Sprang from the troubled main.

She sang to him, and spake the while:

"Why lurest thou my brood, With human wit and human guile

From out their native flood? Oh, couldst thou know how gladly dart

The fish across the sea, Thou wouldst descend, e'en as thou art,

And truly happy be!

"Do not the sun and moon with grace

Their forms in ocean lave? Shines not with twofold charms their face,

When rising from the wave? The deep, deep heavens, then lure thee not,--

The moist yet radiant blue,-- Not thine own form,--to tempt thy lot

'Midst this eternal dew?"

The waters rush'd, the waters rose,

Wetting his naked feet; As if his true love's words were those,

His heart with longing beat. She sang to him, to him spake she,

His doom was fix'd, I ween; Half drew she him, and half sank he,

And ne'er again was seen.

1779.* -----

THE KING OF THULE.*

(* This ballad is also introduced in Faust, where it is sung by Margaret.)

IN Thule lived a monarch,

Still faithful to the grave, To whom his dying mistress

A golden goblet gave.

Beyond all price he deem'd it,

He quaff'd it at each feast; And, when he drain'd that goblet,

His tears to flow ne'er ceas'd.

And when he felt death near him,

His cities o'er he told, And to his heir left all things,

But not that cup of gold.

A regal banquet held he

In his ancestral ball, In yonder sea-wash'd castle,

'Mongst his great nobles all.

There stood the aged reveller,

And drank his last life's-glow,-- Then hurl'd the holy goblet

Into the flood below.

He saw it falling, filling,

And sinking 'neath the main, His eyes then closed for ever,

He never drank again.

1774. -----

THE BEAUTEOUS FLOWER.

SONG OF THE IMPRISONED COUNT.

COUNT.

I KNOW a flower of beauty rare,

Ah, how I hold it dear! To seek it I would fain repair,

Were I not prison'd here. My sorrow sore oppresses me, For when I was at liberty,

I had it close beside me.

Though from this castle's walls so steep

I cast mine eyes around, And gaze oft from the lofty keep,

The flower can not be found. Whoe'er would bring it to my sight, Whether a vassal he, or knight,

My dearest friend I'd deem him.

THE ROSE.

I blossom fair,--thy tale of woes

I hear from 'neath thy grate. Thou doubtless meanest me, the rose.

Poor knight of high estate! Thou hast in truth a lofty mind; The queen of flowers is then enshrin'd,

I doubt not, in thy bosom.

COUNT.

Thy red, in dress of green array'd,

As worth all praise I hold; And so thou'rt treasured by each maid

Like precious stones or gold. Thy wreath adorns the fairest face But still thou'rt not the flower whose grace

I honour here in silence.

THE LILY.

The rose is wont with pride to swell,

And ever seeks to rise; But gentle sweethearts love full well

The lily's charms to prize, The heart that fills a bosom true, That is, like me, unsullied too,

My merit values duly.

COUNT.

In truth, I hope myself unstain'd,

And free from grievous crime; Yet I am here a prisoner chain'd,

And pass in grief my time, To me thou art an image sure Of many a maiden, mild and pure,

And yet I know a dearer.

THE PINK.

That must be me, the pink, who scent

The warder's garden here; Or wherefore is he so intent

My charms with care to rear? My petals stand in beauteous ring, Sweet incense all around I fling,

And boast a thousand colours.

COUNT.

The pink in truth we should not slight,

It is the gardener's pride It now must stand exposed to light,

Now in the shade abide. Yet what can make the Count's heart glow Is no mere pomp of outward show;

It is a silent flower.

THE VIOLET.

Here stand I, modestly half hid,

And fain would silence keep; Yet since to speak I now am bid,

I'll break my silence deep. If, worthy Knight, I am that flower, It grieves me that I have not power

To breathe forth all my sweetness.

COUNT.

The violet's charms I prize indeed,

So modest 'tis, and fair, And smells so sweet; yet more I need

To ease my heavy care. The truth I'll whisper in thine ear: Upon these rocky heights so drear,

I cannot find the loved one.

The truest maiden 'neath the sky

Roams near the stream below, And breathes forth many a gentle sigh,

Till I from hence can go. And when she plucks a flow'ret blue, And says "Forget-me-not!"--I, too,

Though far away, can feel it.

Ay, distance only swells love's might,

When fondly love a pair; Though prison'd in the dungeon's night,

In life I linger there And when my heart is breaking nigh, "Forget-me-not!" is all I cry,

And straightway life returneth.

1798. -----

SIR CURT'S WEDDING-JOURNEY.

WITH a bridegroom's joyous bearing,

Mounts Sir Curt his noble beast, To his mistress' home repairing,

There to hold