No longer the goblet she placesBefore the guests at the feast;The flask at the meal so hallow'dNo longer she fills for the priest.
No more for the eager squireThe draught in the passage is pour'd;No more for the flying presentReceives she the flying reward.
For all the roof and the rafters,They all long since have been burn'd, And stairs and passage and chapelTo rubbish and ruins are turn'd.
Yet when with lute and with flagon,When day was smiling and bright, I've watch'd my mistress climbingTo gain this perilous height,Then rapture joyous and radiantThe silence so desolate brake, And all, as in days long vanish'd,Once more to enjoyment awoke;As if for guests of high stationThe largest rooms were prepared;As if from those times so preciousA couple thither had fared;As if there stood in his chapelThe priest in his sacred dress, And ask'd: "Would ye twain be united?"And we, with a smile, answer'd, "Yes!"
And songs that breath'd a deep feeling,That touched the heart's innermost chord, The music-fraught mouth of sweet echo,Instead of the many, outpour'd.
And when at eve all was hiddenIn silence unbroken and deep, The glowing sun then look'd upwards,And gazed on the summit so steep.
And squire and maiden then glitter'dAs bright and gay as a lord, She seized the time for her present,And he to give her reward.
1803.
THE SPIRIT'S SALUTE.
THE hero's noble shade stands highOn yonder turret grey;And as the ship is sailing by,He speeds it on his way.
"See with what strength these sinews thrill'd!
This heart, how firm and wild!
These bones, what knightly marrow fill'd!
This cup, how bright it smil'd!
"Half of my life I strove and fought,And half I calmly pass'd;And thou, oh ship with beings fraught,Sail safely to the last!"1774.
TO A GOLDEN HEART THAT HE WORE ROUND HIS NECK.
[Addressed, during the Swiss tour already mentioned, to a present Lily had given him, during the time of their happy connection, which was then about to be terminated for ever.]
OH thou token loved of joys now perish'dThat I still wear from my neck suspended, Art thou stronger than our spirit-bond so cherish'd?
Or canst thou prolong love's days untimely ended?
Lily, I fly from thee! I still am doom'd to range Thro' countries strange,Thro' distant vales and woods, link'd on to thee!
Ah, Lily's heart could surely never fallSo soon away from me!
As when a bird bath broken from his thrall,And seeks the forest green, Proof of imprisonment he bears behind him, A morsel of the thread once used to bind him;The free-born bird of old no more is seen,For he another's prey bath been.
1775.
THE BLISS OF SORROW.
NEVER dry, never dry,Tears that eternal love sheddeth!
How dreary, how dead doth the world still appear, When only half-dried on the eye is the tear!
Never dry, never dry,Tears that unhappy love sheddeth!
1789.
THE WANDERER'S NIGHT-SONG.
THOU who comest from on high,Who all woes and sorrows stillest, Who, for twofold misery,Hearts with twofold balsam fillest, Would this constant strife would cease!
What are pain and rapture now?
Blissful Peace,To my bosom hasten thou!
1789.
THE SAME.
[Written at night on the Kickelhahn, a hill in the forest of Ilmenau, on the walls of a little hermitage where Goethe composed the last act of his Iphigenia.]
HUSH'D on the hillIs the breeze;
Scarce by the zephyrThe treesSoftly are press'd;The woodbird's asleep on the bough.
Wait, then, and thouSoon wilt find rest.
1783.
THE HUNTER'S EVEN-SONG.
THE plain with still and wand'ring feet,And gun full-charged, I tread, And hov'ring see thine image sweet,Thine image dear, o'er head.
In gentle silence thou dost fareThrough field and valley dear;But doth my fleeting image ne'erTo thy mind's eye appear?
His image, who, by grief oppress'd,Roams through the world forlorn, And wanders on from east to west,Because from thee he's torn?
When I would think of none but thee,Mine eyes the moon survey;A calm repose then steals o'er me,But how, 'twere hard to say.
1776,
TO THE MOON.
BUSH and vale thou fill'st againWith thy misty ray, And my spirit's heavy chainCastest far away.
Thou dost o'er my fields extendThy sweet soothing eye, Watching like a gentle friend,O'er my destiny.
Vanish'd days of bliss and woeHaunt me with their tone, Joy and grief in turns I know,As I stray alone.
Stream beloved, flow on! flow on!
Ne'er can I be gay!
Thus have sport and kisses gone,Truth thus pass'd away.
Once I seem'd the lord to beOf that prize so fair!
Now, to our deep sorrow, weCan forget it ne'er.
Murmur, stream, the vale along,Never cease thy sighs;Murmur, whisper to my songAnswering melodies!
When thou in the winter's nightOverflow'st in wrath, Or in spring-time sparklest bright,As the buds shoot forth.
He who from the world retires,Void of hate, is blest;Who a friend's true love inspires,Leaning on his breast!
That which heedless man ne'er knew,Or ne'er thought aright, Roams the bosom's labyrinth through,Boldly into night.
1789.
TO LINA.
SHOULD these songs, love, as they fleet,Chance again to reach thy hand, At the piano take thy seat,Where thy friend was wont to stand!
Sweep with finger bold the string,Then the book one moment see:
But read not! do nought but sing!
And each page thine own will be!
Ah, what grief the song impartsWith its letters, black on white, That, when breath'd by thee, our heartsNow can break and now delight!
1800.
EVER AND EVERYWHERE.
FAR explore the mountain hollow, High in air the clouds then follow!
To each brook and vale the MuseThousand times her call renews.
Soon as a flow'ret blooms in spring, It wakens many a strain;And when Time spreads his fleeting wing,The seasons come again.
1820.
PETITION.
OH thou sweet maiden fair, Thou with the raven hair,Why to the window go?
While gazing down below, Art standing vainly there?
Oh, if thou stood'st for me, And lett'st the latch but fly,How happy should I be!
How soon would I leap high!
1789.
TO HIS COY ONE.
SEEST thou yon smiling Orange?
Upon the tree still hangs it;
Already March bath vanish'd, And new-born flow'rs are shooting.
