The Poems of Goethe, Translated in the Original Metres · Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
1784. ----- THE FOOL'S EPILOGUE.
MANY good works I've done and ended, Ye take the praise--I'm not offended; For in the world, I've always thought Each thing its true position hath sought. When praised for foolish deeds am I, I set off laughing heartily; When blamed for doing something good, I take it in an easy mood. If some one stronger gives me hard blows, That it's a jest, I feign to suppose: But if 'tis one that's but my own like, I know the way such folks to strike. When Fortune smiles, I merry grow, And sing in dulci jubilo; When sinks her wheel, and tumbles me o'er, I think 'tis sure to rise once more. In the sunshine of summer I ne'er lament, Because the winter it cannot prevent; And when the white snow-flakes fall around, I don my skates, and am off with a bound. Though I dissemble as I will, The sun for me will ne'er stand still; The old and wonted course is run, Until the whole of life is done; Each day the servant like the lord, In turns comes home, and goes abroad; If proud or humble the line they take, They all must eat, drink, sleep, and wake. So nothing ever vexes me; Act like the fool, and wise ye'll be! 1804. ----- ----- Joy from that in type we borrow, Which in life gives only sorrow. ----- JOY.
A DRAGON-FLY with beauteous wing Is hov'ring o'er a silv'ry spring; I watch its motions with delight,-- Now dark its colours seem, now bright; Chameleon-like appear, now blue, Now red, and now of greenish hue. Would it would come still nearer me, That I its tints might better see It hovers, flutters, resting ne'er! But hush! it settles on the mead. I have it safe now, I declare! And when its form I closely view, 'Tis of a sad and dingy blue-- Such, Joy-Dissector, is thy case indeed A YOUNG fig-tree its form lifts high Within a beauteous garden; And see, a goat is sitting by. As if he were its warden. But oh, Quirites, how one errs! The tree is guarded badly; For round the other side there whirrs And hums a beetle madly. The hero with his well-mail'd coat Nibbles the branches tall so; A mighty longing feels the goat Gently to climb up also. And so, my friends, ere long ye see The tree all leafless standing; It looks a type of misery, Help of the gods demanding. Then listen, ye ingenuous youth, Who hold wise saws respected: From he-goat and from beetles-tooth A tree should be protected!
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