The Poems of Goethe, Translated in the Original Metres · Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
1767-9. ----- NOVEMBER SONG.
Gliding peacefully below Oh, the poplars on yon spot! Oh, the beech trees in yon grove! And behind we'll build a cot, Where to taste the joys of love! AH! who'll e'er those days restore, Those bright days of early love Who'll one hour again concede, Of that time so fondly cherish'd! Silently my wounds I feed, And with wailing evermore Sorrow o'er each joy now perish'd. Ah! who'll e'er the days restore Of that time so fondly cherish'd. WHEN the vine again is blowing, Then the wine moves in the cask; When the rose again is glowing, Wherefore should I feel oppress'd? Down my cheeks run tears all-burning, If I do, or leave my task; I but feel a speechless yearning, That pervades my inmost breast. But at length I see the reason, When the question I would ask: 'Twas in such a beauteous season, Doris glowed to make me blest! I THINK of thee, whene'er the sun his beams O'er ocean flings; I think of thee, whene'er the moonlight gleams In silv'ry springs. I see thee, when upon the distant ridge The dust awakes; At midnight's hour, when on the fragile bridge The wanderer quakes. I hear thee, when yon billows rise on high, With murmur deep. To tread the silent grove oft wander I, When all's asleep.
I'm near thee, though thou far away mayst be-- Thou, too, art near! The sun then sets, the stars soon lighten me. Would thou wert here! ALL things give token of thee! As soon as the bright sun is shining, Thou too wilt follow, I trust. When in the garden thou walk'st, Thou then art the rose of all roses, Lily of lilies as well. When thou dost move in the dance, Then each constellation moves also; With thee and round thee they move. Night! oh, what bliss were the night! For then thou o'ershadow'st the lustre, Dazzling and fair, of the moon. Dazzling and beauteous art thou, And flowers, and moon, and the planets Homage pay, Sun, but to thee. Sun! to me also be thou Creator of days bright and glorious; Life and Eternity this! AND have I lost thee evermore? Hast thou, oh fair one, from me flown? Still in mine ear sounds, as of yore, Thine ev'ry word, thine ev'ry tone. As when at morn the wand'rer's eye Attempts to pierce the air in vain, When, hidden in the azure sky, The lark high o'er him chaunts his strain: So do I cast my troubled gaze Through bush, through forest, o'er the lea; Thou art invoked by all my lays; Oh, come then, loved one, back to me!
FLOW on, ye lays so loved, so fair, On to Oblivion's ocean flow! May no rapt boy recall you e'er, No maiden in her beauty's glow! My love alone was then your theme, But now she scorns my passion true. Ye were but written in the stream; As it flows on, then, flow ye too! To break one's word is pleasure-fraught, To do one's duty gives a smart; While man, alas! will promise nought, That is repugnant to his heart. Using some magic strains of yore, Thou lurest him, when scarcely calm, On to sweet folly's fragile bark once more, Renewing, doubling chance of harm. Why seek to hide thyself from me? Fly not my sight--be open then! Known late or early it must be, And here thou hast thy word again. My duty is fulfill'd to-day, No longer will I guard thee from surprise; But, oh, forgive the friend who from thee turns away, And to himself for refuge flies! THE stones in the streamlet I make my bright pillow, And open my arms to the swift-rolling billow, That lovingly hastens to fall on my breast. Then fickleness soon bids it onwards be flowing; A second draws nigh, its caresses bestowing,-- And so by a twofold enjoyment I'm blest. And yet thou art trailing in sorrow and sadness The moments that life, as it flies, gave for gladness, Because by thy love thou'rt remember'd no more! Oh, call back to mind former days and their blisses! The lips of the second will give as sweet kisses As any the lips of the first gave before!
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.