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

undeserved, itself makes proud. The fair maiden Seems to be active and frugal; the world she may claim as her portion. Do you suppose that a woman of such great beauty and manners Can have grown up without exciting love in man's bosom? Do you suppose that her heart until now has to love been fast closed? Do not drive thither in haste, for perchance to our shame and confusion We shall have slowly to turn towards home the heads of our horses. Yes, some youth, I fear me, possesses her heart, and already She has doubtless promised her hand and her solemn troth plighted, And I shall stand all ashamed before her, When making my offer."

Then the pastor proceeded to cheer him with words of good comfort, But his companion broke in, in his usual talkative manner "As things used to be, this embarrassment would not have happened, When each matter was brought to a close in an orthodox fashion. Then for their son themselves the bride the parents selected, And a friend of the house was secretly call'd in the first place. He was then quietly sent as a suitor to visit the parents Of the selected bride; and, dress'd in his gayest apparel, Went after dinner some Sunday to visit the excellent burgher, And began by exchanging polite remarks on all subjects, Cleverly turning and bending the talk in the proper direction. After long beating about the bush, he flatter'd the daughter, And spoke well of the man and the house that gave his commission. Sensible people soon saw his drift, and the sensible envoy Watch'd how the notion was taken, and then could explain himself farther. If they declined the proposal, why then the refusal cost nothing, But if all prosper'd, why then the suitor for ever thereafter Play'd the first fiddle at every family feast and rejoicing. For the married couple remember'd the whole of their lifetime Whose was the skilful hand by which the marriage knot tied was. All this now is chang'd, and with many an excellent custom Has gone quite out of fashion. Each person woos for himself now. Everyone now must bear the weight of a maiden's refusal On his own shoulders, and stand all ashamed before her, if needs be."

"Let that be as it may," then answered the young man who scarcely Heard what was said, and his mind had made up already in silence "I will go myself, and out of the mouth of the maiden Learn my own fate, for towards her I cherish the most trustful feelings That any man ever cherish'd towards any woman whatever. That which she says will be good and sensible,--this I am sure of. If I am never to see her again, I must once more behold her, And the ingenuous gaze of her black eyes must meet for the last time. If to my heart I may clasp her never, her bosom and shoulders I would once more see, which my arm so longs to encircle: Once more the mouth I would see, from which one kiss and a Yes will Make me happy for ever, a No for ever undo me. But now leave me alone! Wait here no longer. Return you Straight to my father and mother, in order to tell them in person That their son was right, and that the maiden is worthy. And so leave me alone! I myself shall return by the footpath Over the hill by the pear-tree and then descend through the vineyard, Which is the shortest way back. Oh may I soon with rejoicing Take the beloved one home! But perchance all alone I must slink back By that path to our house and tread it no more with a light heart." Thus he spoke, and then placed the reins in the hands of the pastor, Who, in a knowing way both the foaming horses restraining, Nimbly mounted the carriage, and took the seat of the driver.

But you still delay'd, good cautious neighbour, and spoke thus Friend, I will gladly entrust to you soul, and spirit, and mind too, But my body and bones are not preserved in the best way When the hand of a parson such worldly matters as reins grasps!"

But you smiled in return, you sensible pastor, replying "Pray jump in, nor fear with both body and spirit to trust me, For this hand to hold the reins has long been accustom'd, And these eyes are train'd to turn the corner with prudence. For we were wont to drive the carriage, when living at Strasburg, At the time when with the young baron I went there, for daily, Driven by me, through the echoing gateway thunder'd the carriage By the dusty roads to distant meadows and lindens, Through the crowds of the people who spend their lifetime in walking."

Partially comforted, then his neighbour mounted the carriage, Sitting like one prepared to make a wise jump, if needs be, And the stallions, eager to reach their stables, coursed homewards, While beneath their powerful hoofs the dust rose in thick clouds. Long there stood the youth, and saw the dust rise before him, Saw the dust disperse; but still he stood there, unthinking.

VII. ERATO.

DOROTHEA.

As the man on a journey, who, just at the moment of sunset, Fixes his gaze once more on the rapidly vanishing planet, Then on the side of the rocks and in the dark thicket still sees he Hov'ring its image; wherever he turns his looks, on in front still Runs it, and glitters and wavers before him in colours all splendid, So before Hermanns eyes did the beautiful form of the maiden Softly move, and appear'd to follow the path through the cornfields.

But he roused himself up from his startling dream, and then slowly Turn'd tow'rd the village his steps, and once more started,--for once more Saw he the noble maiden's stately figure approaching. Fixedly gazed he; it was no phantom in truth; she herself 'twas In her hands by the handle she carried two pitchers,--one larger, One of a smaller size, and nimbly walk'd to the fountain. And he joyfully went to meet her; the sight of her gave him Courage and strength, and so he address'd the surprised one as follows:-- "Do I find you again, brave maiden, engaged in assisting Others so soon, and in giving refreshment to those who may need it? Tell me why you have come all alone to the spring so far distant, Whilst the rest are content with the water that's found in the village? This one, indeed, special virtue possesses, and pleasant to drink is. Is't for the sake of that sick one you come, whom you saved with such courage?"

Then the good maiden the youth in friendly fashion saluted, Saying:--"Already my walk to the fountain is fully rewarded, Since I have found the kind person who gave us so many good presents; For the sight of a giver, like that of a gift, is refreshing. Come and see for yourself the persons who tasted your kindness, And receive the tranquil thanks of all you have aided. But that you may know the reason why I have come here, Water to draw at a spot where the spring is both pure and unceasing, I must inform you that thoughtless men have disturb'd all the water Found in the village, by carelessly letting the horses and oxen Wade about in the spring which give the inhabitants water. In the same manner, with all their washing and cleaning they've dirtied All the troughs of the village, and all the fountains have sullied. For each one of them only thinks how quickly and soon he May supply his own wants, and cares not for those who come after."

Thus she spoke, and soon she arrived at the foot of the broad steps With her companion, and both of them sat themselves down on the low wall Round the spring. She bent herself over, to draw out the water, He the other pitcher took up, and bent himself over, And in the blue of the heavens they saw their figures reflected, Waving, and nodding, and in the mirror their greetings exchanging. "Now let me drink," exclaim'd the youth in accents of gladness. And she gave him the pitcher. They then, like old friends, sat together, Leaning against the vessels, when she address'd him as follows "Say, why find I you here without your carriage and horses, Far from the place where first I saw you. Pray how came you hither?"

Hermann thoughtfully gazed on the ground, but presently lifted Calmly towards her his glances, and gazed on her face in kind fashion, Feeling quite calm and composed. And yet with love to address her Found he quite out of the question; for love from her eyes was not beaming, But an intellect clear, which bade him use sensible language. Soon he collected his thoughts, and quietly said to the maiden:-- "Let me speak, my child, and let me answer your questions. "'Tis for your sake alone I have come,--why seek to conceal it? For I happily live with two affectionate parents, Whom I faithfully help to look after our house and possessions, Being an only son, while numerous are our employments. I look after the field work; the house is carefully managed By my father; my mother the hostelry cheers and enlivens. But you also have doubtless found out how greatly the servants, Sometimes by fraud, and sometimes by levity, worry their mistress, Constantly making her change them, and barter one fault for another. Long has my mother, therefore, been wanting a girl in the household, Who, not only with hand, but also with heart might assist her, In the place of the daughter she lost, alas, prematurely. Now when I saw you to-day near the carriage, so active and sprightly, Saw the strength of your arm and the perfect health of your members, When I heard your sensible words, I was struck with amazement, And I hasten'd back home, deservedly praising the stranger Both to my parents and friends. And now I come to inform you What they desire, as I do. Forgive my stammering language!"

"Do not hesitate," said she, "to tell me the rest of your story I have with gratitude felt that you have not sought to insult me. Speak on boldly, I pray; your words shall never alarm me; You would fain hire me now as maid to your father and mother, To look after the house, which now is in excellent order. And you think that in me you have found a qualified maiden, One that is able to work, and not of a quarrelsome nature. Your proposal was short, and short shall my answer be also Yes! with you I will go, and the voice of my destiny follow. I have fulfill'd my duty, and brought the lying-in woman Back to her friends again, who all rejoice at her rescue. Most of them now are together, the rest will presently join them. All expect that they, in a few short days, will be able Homewards to go; 'tis thus that exiles themselves love to flatter. But I cannot deceive myself with hopes so delusive In these sad days which promise still sadder days in the future For all the bonds of the world are loosen'd, and nought can rejoin them, Save that supreme necessity over our future impending. If in the house of so worthy a man I can earn my own living, Serving under the eye of his excellent wife, I will do so; For a wandering girl bears not the best reputation. Yes! with you I will go, as soon as I've taken the pitcher Back to my friends, and received the blessing of those worthy people. Come! you needs must see them, and from their hands shall receive me."

Joyfully heard