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

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 effaced 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 bath 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 nought.

In the pure bosom doth a yearning float,

Unto a holier, purer, unknown Being Its grateful aspiration to devote,

The Ever-Nameless then unriddled seeing; We call it: piety!--such blest 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 forced 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 thoult be all, thus, thou'lt be vanquish'd never."

Thou speakest well, methought, for as thy guide

The moment's favour 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; Nought 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 clothed 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.

1823.

III. ATONEMENT.

[Composed, when 74 years old, for a Polish lady, who excelled in playing on the pianoforte.]

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, confused the enterprise;

The glorious world, how on the sense it dies!

In million tones entwined for evermore,

Music with angel-pinions hovers there, To pierce man's being to its inmost core,

Eternal beauty has its fruit to bear; The eye grows moist, in yearnings blest 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.

1823. -----

THE remembrance of the Good Keep us ever glad in mood.

The remembrance of the Fair Makes a mortal rapture share.

The remembrance of one's Love Blest Is, if it constant prove.

The remembrance of the One Is the greatest joy that's known.

1828. -----

[Written at the age of 77.]

WHEN I was still a youthful wight,

So full of enjoyment and merry, The painters used to assert, in spite,

That my features were small--yes, very; Yet then full many a beauteous child With true affection upon me smil'd.

Now as a greybeard I sit here in state,

By street and by lane held in awe, sirs; And may be seen, like old Frederick the Great,

On pipebowls, on cups, and on saucers. Yet the beauteous maidens, they keep afar; Oh vision of youth! Oh golden star!

1826. -----

FOR EVER.

THE happiness that man, whilst prison'd here,

Is wont with heavenly rapture to compare,-- The harmony of Truth, from wavering clear,--

Of Friendship that is free from doubting care,-- The light which in stray thoughts alone can cheer

The wise,--the bard alone in visions fair,-- In my best hours I found in her all this, And made mine own, to mine exceeding bliss.

1820.* -----

FROM AN ALBUM OF 1604.

HOPE provides wings to thought, and love to hope. Rise up to Cynthia, love, when night is clearest, And say, that as on high her figure changeth, So, upon earth, my joy decays and grows. And whisper in her ear with modest softness, How doubt oft hung its head, and truth oft wept. And oh ye thoughts, distrustfully inclined, If ye are therefore by the loved one chided, Answer: 'tis true ye change, but alter not, As she remains the same, yet changeth ever. Doubt may invade the heart, but poisons not, For love is sweeter, by suspicion flavour'd. If it with anger overcasts the eye, And heaven's bright purity perversely blackens, Then zephyr-sighs straight scare the clouds away, And, changed to tears, dissolve them into rain. Thought, hope, and love remain there as before, Till Cynthia gleams upon me as of old.

1820.* -----

LINES ON SEEING SCHILLER'S SKULL.

[This curious imitation of the ternary metre of Dante was written at the age of 77.]

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 grey.

Close pack'd they stand, that once so fiercely hated, And hardy bones, that to the death contended,

Are lying cross'd,--to lie for ever, fated. What held those crooked shoulder-blades suspended?

No one now asks; and limbs with vigour 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 inspired; 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 blest, 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.

1826. -----

ROYAL PRAYER.

HA, I am the lord of earth! The noble,

Who're in my service, love me. Ha, I am the lord of earth! The noble,

O'er whom my sway extendeth, love I. Oh, grant me, God in Heaven, that I may ne'er

Dispense with loftiness and love!

1815.* -----

HUMAN FEELINGS.

AH, ye gods! ye great immortals In the spacious heavens above us! Would ye on this earth but give us Steadfast minds and dauntless courage We, oh kindly ones, would leave you All your spacious heavens above us!

1815.* -----

ON THE DIVAN.

HE who knows himself and others

Here will also see, That the East and West, like brothers,

Parted ne'er shall be.

Thoughtfully to float for ever

'Tween two worlds, be man's endeavour! So between the East and West

To revolve, be my behest!

1833.* -----

EXPLANATION OF AN ANCIENT WOODCUT, REPRESENTING HANS SACHS' POETICAL MISSION.

[I feel considerable hesitation in venturing to offer this version of a poem which Carlyle describes to be 'a beautiful piece (a very Hans Sacks beatified, both in character and style), which we wish there was any possibility of translating.' The reader will be aware that Hans Sachs was the celebrated Minstrel- Cobbler of Nuremberg, who Wrote 208 plays, 1700 comic tales, and between 4000 and 5000 lyric poems. He flourished throughout almost the whole of the 16th century.]

EARLY within his workshop here, On Sundays stands our master dear;