The Poems of Goethe, Translated in the Original Metres · Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
1776,* ----- TO THE MOON.
BUSH and vale thou fill'st again With thy misty ray, And my spirit's heavy chain Castest far away. Thou dost o'er my fields extend Thy sweet soothing eye, Watching like a gentle friend, O'er my destiny. Vanish'd days of bliss and woe Haunt 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 be Of that prize so fair! Now, to our deep sorrow, we Can forget it ne'er. Murmur, stream, the vale along, Never cease thy sighs; Murmur, whisper to my song Answering melodies! When thou in the winter's night Overflow'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. 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!
What far travels ye have hasten'd through, Since, within my loved one's arms delaying, I've forgotten you and midnight too! THE only one whom, Lida, thou canst love, Thou claim'st, and rightly claim'st, for only thee; He too is wholly thine; since doomed to rove Far from thee, in life's turmoils nought I see Save a thin veil, through which thy form I view, As though in clouds; with kindly smile and true, It cheers me, like the stars eterne that gleam Across the northern-lights' far-flick'ring beam. I KNOW not, wherefore, dearest love, Thou often art so strange and coy When 'mongst man's busy haunts we move, Thy coldness puts to flight my joy. But soon as night and silence round us reign, I know thee by thy kisses sweet again! MY mistress, where sits she? What is it that charms? The absent she's rocking, Held fast in her arms. In pretty cage prison'd She holds a bird still; Yet lets him fly from her, Whenever he will. He pecks at her finger, And pecks at her lips, And hovers and flutters, And round her he skips. Then hasten thou homeward, In fashion to be; If thou hast the maiden, She also hath thee. HALLO there! A glass! Ha! the draught's truly sweet! If for drink go my shoes, I shall still have my feet. A maiden and wine, With sweet music and song,-- I would they were mine, All life's journey along! If I depart from this sad sphere, And leave a will behind me here, A suit at law will be preferr'd, But as for thanks,--the deuce a word! So ere I die, I squander all, And that a proper will I call.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.