The Poems of Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe [e novels for free .txt] 📗

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