The Poems of Goethe, Translated in the Original Metres · Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
1813. ----- THE PUPIL IN MAGIC.
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'd Floods 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."
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.