No, in truth, thou hast not sung it rightly!
Spirits may have told thee all about it;
Pearls and gems they spoke of, do not doubt it,—By her gaze eclipsed,—it gleam'd so brightly!
This one thing I certainly collected:
That the fair one—(say nought, I entreat thee!)
Fondly hoping once again to meet thee,Many a castle in the air erected.
By each wind I ceaselessly was driven,
Seeking gold and honour, too, to capture!
When my wand'rings end, then oh, what rapture,If to find that form again 'tis given!
'Tis the daughter of the race now banish'd
That thou seest, not her likeness only;
Helen and her brother, glad though lonely,Till this farm of their estate now vanish'd.
But the owner surely is not wanting
Of these plains, with ev'ry beauty teeming?
Verdant fields, broad meads, and pastures gleaming,Gushing springs, all heav'nly and enchanting.
Thou must hunt the world through, wouldst thou find him!—
We have wealth enough in our possession,
And intend to purchase the succession,When the good man leaves the world behind him.
I have learnt the owner's own condition,
And, fair maiden, thou indeed canst buy it;
But the cost is great, I won't deny it,—Helen is the price,—with thy permission!
Did then fate and rank keep us asunder,
And must Love take this road, and no other?
Yonder comes my dear and trusty brother;What will he say to it all, I wonder?
1803.* ——- EFFECTS AT A DISTANCE.
THE queen in the lofty hall takes her place,
The tapers around her are flaming;She speaks to the page: "With a nimble pace
Go, fetch me my purse for gaming.
'Tis lying, I'll pledge,
On my table's edge."Each nerve the nimble boy straineth,And the end of the castle soon gaineth.
The fairest of maidens was sipping sherbet
Beside the queen that minute;Near her mouth broke the cup,—and she got so wet!
The very devil seem'd in it
What fearful distress
'Tis spoilt, her gay dress.She hastens, and ev'ry nerve straineth,And the end of the castle soon gaineth.
The boy was returning, and quickly came,
And met the sorrowing maiden;None knew of the fact,—and yet with Love's flame,
Those two had their hearts full laden.
And, oh the bliss
Of a moment like this!Each falls on the breast of the other,With kisses that well nigh might smother.
They tear themselves asunder at last,
To her chamber she hastens quickly,To reach the queen the page hies him fast,
Midst the swords and the fans crowded thickly.
The queen spied amain
On his waistcoat a stain;For nought was inscrutable to her,Like Sheba's queen—Solomon's wooer.
To her chief attendant she forthwith cried
"We lately together contended,And thou didst assert, with obstinate pride,
That the spirit through space never wended,—
That traces alone
By the present were shown,—That afar nought was fashion'd—not evenBy the stars that illumine you heaven.
"Now see! while a goblet beside me they drain'd,
They spilt all the drink in the chalice;And straightway the boy had his waistcoat stain'd
At the furthermost end of the palace.—
Let them newly be clad!
And since I am gladThat it served as a proof so decided,The cost will by me be provided."
1808. ——- THE WALKING BELL
A CHILD refused to go betimes
To church like other people;He roam'd abroad, when rang the chimes
On Sundays from the steeple.
His mother said: "Loud rings the bell,
Its voice ne'er think of scorning;Unless thou wilt behave thee well,
'Twill fetch thee without warning."
The child then thought: "High over head
The bell is safe suspended—"So to the fields he straightway sped
As if 'twas school-time ended.
The bell now ceas'd as bell to ring,
Roused by the mother's twaddle;But soon ensued a dreadful thing!—
The bell begins to waddle.
It waddles fast, though strange it seem;
The child, with trembling wonder,Runs off, and flies, as in a dream;
The bell would draw him under.
He finds the proper time at last,
And straightway nimbly rushesTo church, to chapel, hastening fast
Through pastures, plains, and bushes.
Each Sunday and each feast as well,
His late disaster heeds he;The moment that he bears the bell,
No other summons needs he.
1813. ——- FAITHFUL ECKART,
"OH, would we were further! Oh, would we were home,The phantoms of night tow'rd us hastily come,
The band of the Sorceress sisters.They hitherward speed, and on finding us here,They'll drink, though with toil we have fetch'd it, the beer,
And leave us the pitchers all empty."
Thus speaking, the children with fear take to flight,When sudden an old man appears in their sight:
"Be quiet, child! children, be quiet!From hunting they come, and their thirst they would still,So leave them to swallow as much as they will,
And the Evil Ones then will be gracious."
As said, so 'twas done! and the phantoms draw near,And shadowlike seem they, and grey they appear,
~Yet blithely they sip and they revelThe beer has all vanish'd, the pitchers are void;With cries and with shouts the wild hunters, o'erjoy'd,
Speed onward o'er vale and o'er mountain.
The children in terror fly nimbly tow'rd home,And with them the kind one is careful to come:
"My darlings, oh, be not so mournful!—"They'll blame us and beat us, until we are dead."—"No, no! ye will find that all goes well," he said;
"Be silent as mice, then, and listen!
"And he by whose counsels thus wisely ye're taught,Is he who with children loves ever to sport.
The trusty and faithful old Eckart.Ye have heard of the wonder for many a day,But ne'er had a proof of the marvellous lay,—
Your hands hold a proof most convincing."
They arrive at their home, and their pitchers they placeBy the side of their parents, with fear on their face,
Awaiting a beating and scolding.But see what they're tasting: the choicest of beer!Though three times and four times they quaff the good cheer
The pitchers remain still unemptied.
The marvel it lasts till the dawning of day;All people who hear of it doubtless will say:
"What happen'd at length to the pitchers?"In secret the children they smile, as they wait;At last, though, they stammer, and stutter, and prate,
And straightway the pitchers were empty.
And if, children, with kindness address'd ye may be,Whether father, or master, or alderman he,
Obey him, and follow his bidding!And if 'tis unpleasant to bridle the tongue,Yet talking is bad, silence good for the young—
And then will the beer fill your pitchers!
1813. ——- THE DANCE OF DEATH.
THE warder looks down at the mid hour of night,
On the tombs that lie scatter'd below:The moon fills the place with her silvery light,
And the churchyard like day seems to glow.When see! first one grave, then another opes wide,And women and men stepping forth are descried,
In cerements snow-white and trailing.
In haste for the sport soon their ankles they twitch,
And whirl round in dances so gay;The young and the old, and the poor, and the rich,
But the cerements stand in their way;And as modesty cannot avail them aught here,They shake themselves all, and the shrouds soon appear
Scatter'd over the tombs in confusion.
Now waggles the leg, and now wriggles the thigh,
As the troop with strange gestures advance,And a rattle and clatter anon rises high,
As of one beating time to the dance.The sight to the warder seems wondrously queer,When the villainous Tempter speaks thus in his ear:
"Seize one of the shrouds that lie yonder!"
Quick as thought it was done! and for safety he fled
Behind the church-door with all speed;The moon still continues her clear light to shed
On the dance that they fearfully lead.But the dancers at length disappear one by one,And their shrouds, ere they vanish, they carefully don,
And under the turf all is quiet.
But one of them stumbles and shuffles there still,
And gropes at the graves in despair;Yet 'tis by no comrade he's treated so ill
The shroud he soon scents in the air.So he rattles the door—for the warder 'tis wellThat 'tis bless'd, and so able the foe to repel,
All cover'd with crosses in metal.
The shroud he must have, and no rest will allow,
There remains for reflection no time;On the ornaments Gothic the wight seizes now,
And from point on to point hastes to climb.Alas for the warder! his doom is decreed!Like a long-legged spider, with ne'er-changing speed,
Advances the dreaded pursuer.
The warder he quakes, and the warder turns pale,
The shroud to restore fain had sought;When the end,—now can nothing to save him avail,—
In a tooth formed of iron is caught.With vanishing lustre the moon's race is run,When the bell thunders loudly a powerful One,
And the skeleton fails, crush'd to atoms.
1813. ——- THE PUPIL IN MAGIC.
I AM now,—what joy to hear it!—
Of the old magician rid;And henceforth shall ev'ry spirit
Do whate'er by me is bid;
I have watch'd with rigour
All he used to do,
And will now with vigour
Work my wonders too.
Wander, wander
Onward lightly,
So that rightly
Flow the torrent,
And with teeming waters yonder
In the bath discharge its current!
And now come, thou well-worn broom,
And thy wretched form bestir;Thou hast ever served as groom,
So fulfil my pleasure, sir!
On two legs now stand,
With a head on top;
Waterpail in hand,
Haste, and do not stop!
Wander, wander
Onward lightly,
So that rightly
Flow the torrent,
And with teeming waters yonder
In the bath discharge its current!
See! he's running to the shore,
And has now attain'd the pool,And with lightning speed once more
Comes here, with his bucket full!
Back he then repairs;
See how swells the tide!
How each pail he bears
Straightway is supplied!
Stop, for, lo!
All the measure
Of thy treasure
Now is right!—
Ah, I see it! woe, oh woe!
I forget the word of might.
Ah, the word whose sound can straight
Make him what he was before!Ah, he runs with nimble gait!
Would thou wert a broom once more!
Streams renew'd for ever
Quickly bringeth he;
River after river
Rusheth on poor me!
Now no longer
Can I bear him;
I will snare him,
Knavish sprite!
Ah, my terror waxes stronger!
What a look! what fearful sight
Oh, thou villain child of hell!
Shall the house through thee be drown'dFloods I see that wildly swell,
O'er the threshold gaining ground.
Wilt thou not obey,
Oh, thou broom accurs'd?
Be thou still I pray,
As thou wert at first!
Will enough
Never please thee?
I will seize thee,
Hold thee fast,
And thy nimble wood so tough,
With my sharp axe split at last.
See, once more he hastens back!
Now, oh Cobold, thou shalt catch it!I will rush upon his track;
Crashing on him falls my hatchet.
Bravely done, indeed!
See, he's cleft in twain!
Now from care I'm freed,
And can breathe again.
Woe, oh woe!
Both the parts,
Quick as darts,
Stand on end,
Servants of my dreaded foe!
Oh, ye gods protection send!
And they run! and wetter still
Grow the steps and grows the hail.Lord and master hear me call!
Ever seems the flood to fill,
Ah, he's coming! see,
Great is my dismay!
Spirits raised by me
Vainly would I lay!
"To the side
Of the room
Hasten, broom,
As of old!
Spirits I have ne'er untied
Save to act as they are told."
1797. ——- THE BRIDE OF CORINTH.
[First published in Schiller's Horen, in connection with a friendly contest in the art of ballad-writing between the two great poets, to which many of their finest works are owing.]
ONCE a stranger youth to Corinth came,
Who in Athens lived, but hoped that heFrom a certain townsman there might claim,
As his father's friend, kind courtesy.
Son and daughter, they
Had been wont to say
Should thereafter bride and bridegroom be.
But can he that boon so highly prized,
Save tis dearly bought, now hope to get?They are Christians and have been baptized,
He and all of his are heathens yet.
For a newborn creed,
Like some loathsome weed,
Love and truth to root out oft will threat.
Father, daughter, all had gone to rest,
And the mother only watches late;She receives with courtesy the guest,
And conducts him to the room of state.
Wine and food are brought,
Ere by him besought;
Bidding him good night. she leaves him straight.
But he feels no relish now, in truth,
For the dainties so profusely spread;Meat and drink forgets the wearied youth,
And, still dress'd, he lays him on the bed.
Scarce are closed his eyes,
When a form in-hies
Through the open door with silent tread.
By his glimmering lamp discerns he now
How, in veil and garment white array'd,With a black and gold band round her brow,
Glides into the room a bashful maid.
But she, at his sight,
Lifts her hand so white,
And appears as though full sore afraid.
"Am I," cries she, "such a stranger here,
That the guest's approach they could not name?Ah, they keep me in my cloister drear,
Well nigh feel I vanquish'd by my shame.
On thy soft couch now
Slumber calmly thou!
I'll return as swiftly as I came."
"Stay, thou fairest maiden!" cries the boy,
Starting from his couch with eager haste:"Here are Ceres', Bacchus' gifts of joy;
Amor bringest thou, with beauty grac'd!
Thou art pale with fear!
Loved one let us here
Prove the raptures the Immortals taste."
"Draw not nigh, O Youth! afar remain!
Rapture now can never smile on me;For the fatal step, alas! is ta'en,
Through my mother's sick-bed phantasy.
Cured, she made this oath:
'Youth and nature both
Shall henceforth to Heav'n devoted be.'
"From the house, so silent now, are driven
All the gods who reign'd supreme of yore;One Invisible now rules in heaven,
On the cross a Saviour they adore.
Victims slay they here,
Neither lamb nor steer,But the altars reek with human gore."
And he lists, and ev'ry word he weighs,
While his eager soul drinks in each sound:"Can it be that now before my gaze
Stands my loved one on this silent ground?
Pledge to me thy troth!
Through our father's oath:
With Heav'ns blessing will our love be crown'd."
"Kindly youth, I never can be thine!
'Tis my sister they intend for thee.When I in the silent cloister pine,
Ah, within her arms remember me!
Thee alone I love,
While love's pangs I prove;
Soon the earth will veil my misery."
"No! for by this glowing flame I swear,
Hymen hath himself propitious shown:Let us to my fathers house repair,
And thoult find that joy is not yet flown,
Sweetest, here then stay,
And without delay
Hold we now our wedding feast alone!"
Then exchange they tokens of their truth;
She gives him a golden chain to wear,And a silver chalice would the youth
Give her in return of beauty rare.
"That is not for me;
Yet I beg of thee,One lock only give me of thy hair."
Now the ghostly hour of midnight knell'd,
And she seem'd right joyous at the sign;To her pallid lips the cup she held,
But she drank of nought but blood-red wine.
For to taste the bread
There before them spread,
Nought he spoke could make the maid incline.
To the youth the goblet then she brought,—
He too quaff'd with eager joy the bowl.Love to crown the silent feast he sought,
Ah! full love-sick was the stripling's soul.
From his prayer she shrinks,
Till at length he sinks
On the bed and weeps without control.
And she comes, and lays her near the boy:
"How I grieve to see thee sorrowing so!If thou think'st to clasp my form with joy,
Thou must learn this secret sad to know;
Yes! the maid, whom thou
Call'st thy loved one now,
Is as cold as ice, though white as snow."
Then he clasps her madly in his arm,
While love's youthful might pervades his frame:"Thou might'st hope, when with me, to grow warm,
E'en if from the grave thy spirit came!
Breath for breath, and kiss!
Overflow of bliss!
Dost not thou, like me, feel passion's flame?"
Love still closer rivets now their lips,
Tears they mingle with their rapture blest,From his mouth the flame she wildly sips,
Each is with the other's thought possess'd.
His hot ardour's flood
Warms her chilly blood,
But no heart is beating in her breast.
In her care to see that nought went wrong,
Now the mother happen'd to draw near;At the door long hearkens she, full long,
Wond'ring at the sounds that greet her ear.
Tones of joy and sadness,
And love's blissful madness,
As of bride and bridegroom they appear,
From the door she will not now remove
'Till she gains full certainty of this;And with anger hears she vows of love,
Soft caressing words of mutual bliss.
"Hush! the cock's loud strain!
But thoult come again,
When the night returns!"—then kiss on kiss.
Then her wrath the mother cannot hold,
But unfastens straight the lock with ease"In this house are girls become so bold,
As to seek e'en strangers' lusts to please?"
By her lamp's clear glow
Looks she in,—and oh!
Sight of horror!—'tis her child she sees.
Fain the youth would, in his first alarm,
With the veil that o'er her had been spread,With the carpet, shield his love from harm;
But she casts them from her, void of dread,
And with spirit's strength,
In its spectre length,
Lifts her figure slowly from the bed.
"Mother! mother!"—Thus her wan lips say:
"May not I one night of rapture share?From the warm couch am I chased away?
Do I waken only to despair?
It contents not thee
To have driven me
An untimely shroud of death to wear?
"But from out my coffin's prison-bounds
By a wond'rous fate I'm forced to rove,While the blessings and the chaunting sounds
That your priests delight in, useless prove.
Water, salt, are vain
Fervent youth to chain,
Ah, e'en Earth can never cool down love!
"When that infant vow of love was spoken,
Venus' radiant temple smiled on both.Mother! thou that promise since hast broken,
Fetter'd by a strange, deceitful oath.
Gods, though, hearken ne'er,
Should a mother swear
To deny her daughter's plighted troth.
From my grave to wander I am forc'd,
Still to seek The Good's long-sever'd link,Still to love the bridegroom I have lost,
And the life-blood of his heart to drink;
When his race is run,
I must hasten on,
And the young must 'neath my vengeance sink,
"Beauteous youth! no longer mayst thou live;
Here must shrivel up thy form so fair;Did not I to thee a token give,
Taking in return this lock of hair?
View it to thy sorrow!
Grey thoult be to-morrow,
Only to grow brown again when there.
"Mother, to this final prayer give ear!
Let a funeral pile be straightway dress'd;Open then my cell so sad and drear,
That the flames may give the lovers rest!
When ascends the fire
From the glowing pyre,
To the gods of old we'll hasten, blest."
1797. ——- THE GOD AND THE BAYADERE.
[This very fine Ballad was also first given in the Horen.] (MAHADEVA is one of the numerous names of Seeva, the destroyer,— the great god of the Brahmins.)
MAHADEVA,* Lord of earth
For the sixth time comes below,
As a man of mortal birth,—
Like him, feeling joy and woe.
Hither loves he to repair,
And his power behind to leave;
If to punish or to spare,
Men as man he'd fain perceive.And when he the town as a trav'ller hath seen,Observing the mighty, regarding the mean,He quits it, to go on his journey, at eve.
He was leaving now the place,
When an outcast met his eyes,—
Fair in form, with painted face,—
Where some straggling dwellings rise.
"Maiden, hail!"—"Thanks! welcome here!
Stay!—I'll join thee in the road.'
"Who art thou?"—"A Bayadere,
And this house is love's abode."The cymbal she hastens to play for the dance,Well skill'd in its mazes the sight to entrance,Then by her with grace is the nosegay bestow'd.
Then she draws him, as in play,
O'er the threshold eagerly:
"Beauteous stranger, light as day
Thou shalt soon this cottage see.
I'll refresh thee, if thou'rt tired,
And will bathe thy weary feet;
Take whate'er by thee's desired,
Toying, rest, or rapture sweet."—She busily seeks his feign'd suff'rings to ease;Then smiles the Immortal; with pleasure he seesThat with kindness a heart so corrupted can beat.
And he makes her act the part
Of a slave; he's straight obey'd.
What at first had been but art,
Soon is nature in the maid.
By degrees the fruit we find,
Where the buds at first obtain;
When obedience fills the mind,
Love will never far remain.But sharper and sharper the maiden to prove,The Discerner of all things below and above,Feigns pleasure, and horror, and maddening pain.
And her painted cheeks he kisses,
And his vows her heart enthrall;
Feeling love's sharp pangs and blisses,
Soon her tears begin to fall.
At his feet she now must sink,
Not with thoughts of lust or gain,—
And her slender members shrink,
And devoid of power remain.And so the bright hours with gladness prepareTheir dark, pleasing veil of a texture so fair,And over the couch softly, tranquilly reign.
Late she falls asleep, thus bless'd,—
Early wakes, her slumbers fled,
And she finds the much-loved guest
On her bosom lying dead.
Screaming falls she on him there,
But, alas, too late to save!
And his rigid limbs they bear
Straightway to their fiery grave.Then hears she the priests and the funeral song,Then madly she runs, and she severs the throng:"Why press tow'rd the pile thus? Why scream thus, and rave?"
Then she sinks beside his bier,
And her screams through air resound:
"I must seek my spouse so dear,
E'en if in the grave he's bound.
Shall those limbs of grace divine
Fall to ashes in my sight?
Mine he was! Yes, only mine!
Ah, one single blissful night!"The priests chaunt in chorus: "We bear out the old,When long they've been weary, and late they've grown cold:We bear out the young, too, so thoughtless and light.
"To thy priests' commands give ear!
This one was thy husband ne'er;
Live still as a Bayadere,
And no duty thou need'st share.
To deaths silent realms from life,
None but shades attend man's frame,
With the husband, none but wife,—
That is duty, that is fame.Ye trumpets, your sacred lament haste to raiseOh, welcome, ye gods, the bright lustre of days!Oh, welcome to heaven the youth from the flame!"
Thus increased her torments are
By the cruel, heartless quire;
And with arms outstretching far
Leaps she on the glowing pyre.
But the youth divine outsprings
From the flame with heav'nly grace,
And on high his flight he wings,
While his arms his love embrace.In the sinner repentant the Godhead feels joy;Immortals delight thus their might to employ.Lost children to raise to a heavenly place.
1797. ——- THE PARIAH.
DREADED Brama, lord of might!
All proceed from thee alone;Thou art he who judgeth right!
Dost thou none but Brahmins own?Do but Rajahs come from thee?
None but those of high estate?
Didst not thou the ape create,Aye, and even such as we?
We are not of noble kind,
For with woe our lot is rife;And what others deadly find
Is our only source of life.Let this be enough for men,
Let them, if they will, despise us;
But thou, Brama, thou shouldst prize us,All are equal in thy ken.
Now that, Lord, this prayer is said,
As thy child acknowledge me;Or let one be born in-stead,
Who may link me on to thee!Didst not thou a Bayadere
As a goddess heavenward raise?
And we too to swell thy praise,Such a miracle would hear.
1821. ——- II. LEGEND.
[The successful manner in which Goethe employs the simple rhymeless trochaic metre in this and in many other Poems will perhaps be remarked by the reader.]
WATER-FETCHING goes the nobleBrahmin's wife, so pure and lovely;He is honour'd, void of blemish.And of justice rigid, stern.Daily from the sacred riverBrings she back refreshments precious;—But where is the pail and pitcher?She of neither stands in need.For with pure heart, hands unsullied,She the water lifts, and rolls itTo a wondrous ball of crystalThis she bears with gladsome bosom,Modestly, with graceful motion,To her husband in the house.
She to-day at dawn of morningPraying comes to Ganges' waters,Bends her o'er the glassy surface—Sudden, in the waves reflected,Flying swiftly far above her,From the highest heavens descending,She discerns the beauteous formOf a youth divine, createdBy the God's primeval wisdomIn his own eternal breast.
When she sees him, straightway feels sheWondrous, new, confused sensationsIn her inmost, deepest being;Fain she'd linger o'er the vision,Then repels it,—it returneth,—And, perplex'd, she bends her flood-wardsWith uncertain hands to draw it;But, alas, she draws no more!For the water's sacred billowsSeem to fly, to hasten from her;She but sees the fearful chasmOf a whirlpool black disclosed.
Arms drop down, and footsteps stumble,Can this be the pathway homewards?Shall she fly, or shall she tarry?Can she think, when thought and counsel,When assistance all are lost?So before her spouse appears she—On her looks he—look is judgment—Proudly on the sword he seizes,To the hill of death he drags her,Where delinquents' blood pays forfeit.What resistance could she offer?What excuses could she proffer,Guilty, knowing not her guilt?
And with bloody sword returns he,Musing, to his silent dwelling,When his son before him stands:"Whose this blood? Oh, father! father!""The delinquent woman's!"—"Never!For upon the sword it dries not,Like the blood of the delinquent;Fresh it flows, as from the wound.Mother! mother! hither hasten!Unjust never was my father,Tell me what he now hath done."—"Silence! silence! hers the blood is!""Whose, my father?"—"Silence! Silence!""What! oh what! my mother's blood!What her crime? What did she? Answer!Now, the sword! the sword now hold I;Thou thy wife perchance might'st slaughter,But my mother might'st not slay!Through the flames the wife is ableHer beloved spouse to follow,And his dear and only motherThrough the sword her faithful son.""Stay! oh stay!" exclaim'd the father:"Yet 'tis time, so hasten, hasten!Join the head upon the body,With the sword then touch the figure,And, alive she'll follow thee."
Hastening, he, with breathless wonder,Sees the bodies of two womenLying crosswise, and their heads too;Oh, what horror! which to choose!Then his mother's head he seizes,—Does not kiss it, deadly pale 'tis,—On the nearest headless bodyPuts it quickly, and then blessesWith the sword the pious work.Then the giant form uprises,—From the dear lips of his mother,Lips all god-like—changeless—blissful,Sound these words with horror fraught:"Son, oh son! what overhast'ning!Yonder is thy mother's body,Near it lies the impious headOf the woman who hath fallenVictim to the judgment-sword!To her body I am graftedBy thy hand for endless ages;Wise in counsel, wild in action,I shall be amongst the gods.E'en the heav'nly boy's own image,Though in eye and brow so lovely,Sinking downwards to the bosomMad and raging lust will stir.
"'Twill return again for ever,Ever rising, ever sinking,Now obscured, and now transfigur'd,—So great Brama hath ordain'd.He 'twas sent the beauteous pinions,Radiant face and slender membersOf the only God-begotten,That I might be proved and tempted;For from high descends temptation,When the gods ordain it so.And so I, the Brahmin woman,With my head in Heaven reclining,Must experience, as a Pariah,The debasing power of earth.
Son, I send thee to thy father!Comfort him! Let no sad penance,Weak delay, or thought of merit,Hold thee in the desert fastWander on through ev'ry nation,Roam abroad throughout all ages,And proclaim to e'en the meanest,That great Brama hears his cry!
"None is in his eyes the meanest—He whose limbs are lame and palsied,He whose soul is wildly riven,Worn with sorrow, hopeless, helpless,Be he Brahmin, be he Pariah,If tow'rd heaven he turns his gaze,Will perceive, will learn to know it:Thousand eyes are glowing yonder,Thousand ears are calmly list'ning,From which nought below is hid.
"If I to his throne soar upward,If he sees my fearful figureBy his might transform'd to horror,He for ever will lament it,—May it to your good be found!And I now will kindly warn him,And I now will madly tell himWhatsoe'er my mind conceiveth,What within my bosom heaveth.But my thoughts, my inmost feelings—Those a secret shall remain."
1821. ——- III. THE PARIAH'S THANKS.
MIGHTY Brama, now I'll bless thee!
'Tis from thee that worlds proceed!As my ruler I confess thee,
For of all thou takest heed.
All thy thousand ears thou keepest
Open to each child of earth;We, 'mongst mortals sunk the deepest,
Have from thee received new birth.
Bear in mind the woman's story,
Who, through grief, divine became;Now I'll wait to view His glory,
Who omnipotence can claim.
1821. ——- DEATH-LAMENT OF THE NOBLE WIFE OF ASAN AGA.
[From the Morlack.)
WHAT is yonder white thing in the forest?Is it snow, or can it swans perchance be?Were it snow, ere this it had been melted,Were it swans, they all away had hastend.Snow, in truth, it is not, swans it is not,'Tis the shining tents of Asan Aga.He within is lying, sorely wounded;To him come his mother and his sister;Bashfully his wife delays to come there.When the torment of his wounds had lessen'd,To his faithful wife he sent this message:"At my court no longer dare to tarry,At my court, or e'en amongst my people."
When the woman heard this cruel message,Mute and full of sorrow stood that true one.At the doors she hears the feet of horses,And bethinks that Asan comes—her husband,To the tower she springs, to leap thence headlong,Her two darling daughters follow sadly,And whilst weeping bitter tears, exclaim they:These are not our father Asan's horses;'Tis thy brother Pintorowich coming!"
So the wife of Asan turns to meet him,Clasps her arms in anguish round her brother:"See thy sister's sad disgrace, oh brother!How I'm banish'd—mother of five children!"Silently her brother from his wallet,Wrapp'd in deep red-silk, and ready written,Draweth forth the letter of divorcement,To return home to her mother's dwelling,Free to be another's wife thenceforward.
When the woman saw that mournful letter,Fervently she kiss'd her two sons' foreheads,And her two girls' cheeks with fervour kiss'd she,But she from the suckling in the cradleCould not tear herself, so deep her sorrow!So she's torn thence by her fiery brother,On his nimble steed he lifts her quickly,And so hastens, with the heart-sad woman,Straightway tow'rd his father's lofty dwelling.
Short the time was—seven days had pass'd not,—Yet enough 'twas; many mighty princesSought the woman in her widow's-mourning.Sought the woman,—as their wife they sought her.And the mightiest was Imoski's Cadi,And the woman weeping begg'd her brother:By thy life, my brother, I entreat thee,Let me not another's wife be ever,Lest my heart be broken at the imageOf my poor, my dearly-cherish'd children!"
To her prayer her brother would not hearken,Fix'd to wed her to Imoski's Cadi.Yet the good one ceaselessly implored him:"Send, at least a letter, oh, my brother,With this message to Imoski's Cadi:'The young widow sends thee friendly greeting;Earnestly she prays thee, through this letter,That, when thou com'st hither, with thy Suatians,A long veil thou'lt bring me, 'neath whose shadowI may hide, when near the house of Asan,And not see my dearly cherish'd orphans.'"
Scarcely had the Cadi read this letter,Than he gather'd all his Suatians round him,And then tow'rd the bride his course directed,And the veil she ask'd for, took he with him.
Happily they reach'd the princess' dwelling,From the dwelling happily they led her.But when they approach'd the house of Asan,Lo! the children saw from high their mother,And they shouted: "To thy halls return thou!Eat thy supper with thy darling children!"Mournfully the wife of Asan heard it,Tow'rd the Suatian prince then turn'd she, saying:"Let, I pray, the Suatians and the horsesAt the loved ones' door a short time tarry,That I may give presents to my children."
And before the loved ones' door they tarried,And she presents gave to her poor children,To the boys gave gold-embroider'd buskins,To the girls gave long and costly dresses,To the suckling, helpless in the cradle,Gave a garment, to be worn hereafter.
This aside saw Father Asan Aga,—Sadly cried he to his darling children:"Hither come, ye dear unhappy infants,For your mother's breast is turn'd to iron,Lock'd for ever, closed to all compassion!"
When the wife of Asan heard him speak thus,On the ground, all pale and trembling, fell she,And her spirit fled her sorrowing bosom,When she saw her children flying from her.
1775. ——-
——-May the bard these numbers praise,That are sung his fame to raise.——-
THE Poems composed by Goethe under this title are five in number, of which three are here given. The other two are entirely personal in their allusions, and not of general interest. One of them is a Requiem on the Prince de Ligne, who died 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.]
THE festal day hail ye
With garlands of pleasure,
And dances' soft measure,With rapture commingledAnd sweet choral song.
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.
Now order it truly,That ev'ry one dulyMay 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.]
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.
[Faintly mingling with Damon's song in the distance.]
To echo—alone—
Shall my secret—be known.—
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.
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.
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.]
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,
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.
Let none revealThe thoughts we feel,The aims we own!Let joy alone
Disclose the story!She'll prove it rightAnd her delight
Includes the glory,Includes the blissOf 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.)
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.
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.
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 calmOn his wounds will pour soft balm.
Fill his mind with sweet content.
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.
No! no longer may we wait;Rouse him from his vision straight!Show the adamantine shield!
Woe! what form is here reveal'd!
'Twill disclose the cheat to thee.
Am I doom'd myself to seeThus degraded evermore?
Courage take, and all is o'er.
Be it so! I'll take fresh heart,From the spot beloved depart,Leave Armida once again,—Come then! here no more remain.