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

Free was my bosom from yearning; yet soon my languishing glances

Turn'd themselves backward in haste, seeking the snow-cover'd hills. Treasures unnumber'd are southwards lying. Yet one to the northwards

Draws me resistlessly back, like the strong magnet in force.

SPACIOUS and fair is the world; yet oh! how I thank the kind heavens

That I a garden possess, small though it be, yet mine own. One which enticeth me homewards; why should a gardener wander?

Honour and pleasure he finds, when to his garden he looks.

AH, my maiden is going! she mounts the vessel! My monarch,

AEolus! potentate dread! keep ev'ry storm far away! "Oh, thou fool!" cried the god:"ne'er fear the blustering tempest;

When Love flutters his wings, then mayst thou dread the soft breeze."

ELEGIES.

PART I.

ROMAN ELEGIES.

[The Roman Elegies were written in the same year as the Venetian Epigrams--viz. 1790.]

SPEAK, ye stones, I entreat! Oh speak, ye palaces lofty!

Utter a word, oh ye streets! Wilt thou not, Genius, awake? All that thy sacred walls, eternal Rome, hold within them

Teemeth with life; but to me, all is still silent and dead. Oh, who will whisper unto me,--when shall I see at the casement

That one beauteous form, which, while it scorcheth, revives? Can I as yet not discern the road, on which I for ever

To her and from her shall go, heeding not time as it flies? Still do I mark the churches, palaces, ruins, and columns,

As a wise traveller should, would he his journey improve. Soon all this will be past; and then will there be but one temple,

Amor's temple alone, where the Initiate may go. Thou art indeed a world, oh Rome; and yet, were Love absent,

Then would the world be no world, then would e'en Rome be no Rome.

Do not repent, mine own love, that thou so soon didst surrender

Trust me, I deem thee not bold! reverence only I feel. Manifold workings the darts of Amor possess; some but scratching,

Yet with insidious effect, poison the bosom for years. Others mightily feather'd, with fresh and newly-born sharpness

Pierce to the innermost bone, kindle the blood into flame. In the heroical times, when loved each god and each goddess,

Longing attended on sight; then with fruition was bless'd. Think'st thou the goddess had long been thinking of love and its pleasures

When she, in Ida's retreats, own'd to Anchises her flame? Had but Luna delayd to kiss the beautiful sleeper,

Oh, by Aurora, ere long, he had in envy been rous'd! Hero Leander espied at the noisy feast, and the lover

Hotly and nimbly, ere long, plunged in the night-cover'd flood. Rhea Silvia, virgin princess, roam'd near the Tiber,

Seeking there water to draw, when by the god she was seiz'd. Thus were the sons of Mars begotten! The twins did a she-wolf

Suckle and nurture,--and Rome call'd herself queen of the world,

ALEXANDER, and Caesar, and Henry, and Fred'rick, the mighty,

On me would gladly bestow half of the glory they earn'd, Could I but grant unto each one night on the couch where I'm lying;

But they, by Orcus's night, sternly, alas! are held down. Therefore rejoice, oh thou living one, blest in thy love-lighted homestead,

Ere the dark Lethe's sad wave wetteth thy fugitive foot.

THESE few leaves, oh ye Graces, a bard presents, in your honour,

On your altar so pure, adding sweet rosebuds as well, And he does it with hope. The artist is glad in his workshop,

When a Pantheon it seems round him for ever to bring. Jupiter knits his godlike brow,--her's, Juno up-lifteth;

Phoebus strides on before, shaking his curly-lock'd head Calmly and drily Minerva looks down, and Hermes the light one,

Turneth his glances aside, roguish and tender at once. But tow'rds Bacchus, the yielding, the dreaming, raiseth Cythere

Looks both longing and sweet, e'en in the marble yet moist. Of his embraces she thinks with delight, and seems to be asking

"Should not our glorious son take up his place by our side?"

AMOR is ever a rogue, and all who believe him are cheated!

To me the hypocrite came: "Trust me, I pray thee, this once. Honest is now my intent,--with grateful thanks I acknowledge

That thou thy life and thy works hast to my worship ordain'd. See, I have follow'd thee thither, to Rome, with kindly intention,

Hoping to give thee mine aid, e'en in the foreigner's land. Every trav'ller complains that the quarters he meets with are wretched

Happily lodged, though, is he, who is by Amor receiv'd. Thou dost observe the ruins of ancient buildings with wonder,

Thoughtfully wandering on, over each time-hallow'd spot. Thou dost honour still more the worthy relics created

By the few artists--whom I loved in their studios to seek. I 'twas fashion'd those forms! thy pardon,--I boast not at present;

Presently thou shalt confess, that what I tell thee is true. Now that thou serv'st me more idly, where are the beauteous figures,

Where are the colours, the light, which thy creations once fill'd? Hast thou a mind again to form? The school of the Grecians

Still remains open, my friend; years have not barr'd up its doors. I, the teacher, am ever young, and love all the youthful,

Love not the subtle and old; Mother, observe what I say! Still was new the Antique, when yonder blest ones were living;

Happily live,--and, in thee, ages long vanish'd will live! Food for song, where hop'st thou to find it? I only can give it,

And a more excellent style, love, and love only can teach." Thus did the Sophist discourse. What mortal, alas! could resist him?

And when a master commands, I have been train'd to obey. Now he deceitfully keeps his word, gives food for my numbers,

But, while he does so, alas! robs me of time, strength, and mind. Looks, and pressure of hands, and words of kindness, and kisses,

Syllables teeming with thought, by a fond pair are exchang'd. Then becomes whispering, talk,--and stamm'ring, a language enchanting;

Free from all prosody's rules, dies such a hymn on the ear. Thee, Aurora, I used to own as the friend of the Muses;

Hath, then, Amor the rogue cheated, Aurora, e'en thee? Thou dost appear to me now as his friend, and again dost awake me

Unto a day of delight, while at his altar I kneel. All her locks I find on my bosom, her head is reposing,

Pressing with softness the arm, which round her neck is entwin'd; Oh! what a joyous awak'ning, ye hours so peaceful, succeeded,

Monument sweet of the bliss which had first rock'd us to sleep In her slumber she moves, and sinks, while her face is averted,

Far on the breadth of the couch, leaving her hand still in mine Heartfelt love unites us for ever, and yearnings unsullied,

And our cravings alone claim for themselves the exchange. One faint touch of the hand, and her eyes so heavenly see I

Once more open. Ah, no! let me still look on that form! Closed still remain! Ye make me confused and drunken, ye rob me

Far too soon of the bliss pure contemplation affords. Mighty, indeed, are these figures! these limbs, how gracefully rounded!

Theseus, could'st thou e'er fly, whilst Ariadne thus slept? Only one single kiss on these lips! Oh, Theseus, now leave us!

Gaze on her eyes! she awakes--Firmly she holds thee embrac'd

PART II.

ALEXIS AND DORA.

[This beautiful poem was first published in Schiller's Horen.]

FARTHER and farther away, alas! at each moment the vessel

Hastens, as onward it glides, cleaving the foam-cover'd flood! Long is the track plough'd up by the keel where dolphins are sporting,

Following fast in its rear, while it seems flying pursuit. All forebodes a prosperous voyage; the sailor with calmness

Leans 'gainst the sail, which alone all that is needed performs. Forward presses the heart of each seamen, like colours and streamers;

Backward one only is seen, mournfully fix'd near the mast, While on the blue tinged mountains, which fast are receding, he gazeth,

And as they sink in the sea, joy from his bosom departs. Vanish'd from thee, too, oh Dora, is now the vessel that robs thee

Of thine Alexis, thy friend,--ah, thy betrothed as well! Thou, too, art after me gazing in vain. Our hearts are still throbbing,

Though, for each other, yet ah! 'gainst one another no more. Oh, thou single moment, wherein I found life! thou outweighest

Every day which had else coldly from memory fled. 'Twas in that moment alone, the last, that upon me descended

Life, such as deities grant, though thou perceived'st it not. Phoebus, in vain with thy rays dost thou clothe the ether in glory:

Thine all-brightening day hateful alone is to me. Into myself I retreat for shelter, and there, in the silence,

Strive to recover the time when she appear'd with each day. Was it possible beauty like this to see, and not feel it?

Work'd not those heavenly charms e'en on a mind dull as thine? Blame not thyself, unhappy one! Oft doth the bard an enigma

Thus propose to the throng, skillfully hidden in words. Each one enjoys the strange commingling of images graceful,

Yet still is wanting the word which will discover the sense. When at length it is found, the heart of each hearer is gladden'd,

And in the poem he sees meaning of twofold delight. Wherefore so late didst thou remove the bandage, oh Amor,

Which thou hadst placed o'er mine eyes,--wherefore remove it so late? Long did the vessel, when laden, lie waiting for favouring breezes,

'Till in kindness the wind blew from the land o'er the sea. Vacant times of youth! and vacant dreams of the future!

Ye all vanish, and nought, saving the moment, remains. Yes! it remains,--my joy still remains! I hold thee; my Dora,

And thine image alone, Dora, by hope is disclos'd. Oft have I seen thee go, with modesty clad, to the temple,

While thy mother so dear solemnly went by thy side. Eager and nimble thou wert, in bearing thy fruit to the market,

Boldly the pail from the well didst thou sustain on thy head. Then was reveal'd thy neck, then seen thy shoulders so beauteous,

Then, before all things, the grace filling thy motions was seen. Oft have I fear'd that the pitcher perchance was in danger of falling,

Yet it ever remain'd firm on the circular cloth. Thus, fair neighbour, yes, thus I oft was wont to observe thee,

As on the stars I might gaze, as I might gaze on the moon, Glad indeed at the sight, yet feeling within my calm bosom

Not the remotest desire ever to call them mine own. Years thus fleeted away! Although our houses were only

Twenty paces apart, yet I thy threshold ne'er cross'd. Now by the fearful flood are we parted! Thou liest to Heaven,

Billow! thy beautiful blue seems to me dark as the night. All were now in movement; a boy to the house of my father

Ran at full speed and exclaim'd: "Hasten thee quick to the strand Hoisted the sail is already, e'en now in the wind it is flutt'ring,

While the anchor they weigh, heaving it up from the sand; Come, Alexis, oh come!"--My worthy stout-hearted father

Press'd, with a blessing, his hand down on my curly-lock'd head, While my mother carefully reach'd me a newly-made bundle,

"Happy mayst thou return!" cried they--" both happy and rich!" Then I sprang away, and under my arm held the bundle,

Running along by the wall. Standing I found thee hard by, At the door of thy garden. Thou smilingly saidst then "Alexis!

Say, are yon boisterous crew going thy comrades to be? Foreign coasts will thou visit, and precious merchandise purchase,

Ornaments meet for the rich