The Poems of Goethe, Translated in the Original Metres · Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
DEDICATION.
A godlike woman hov'ring to and fro. In life I ne'er had seen a form so fair-- She gazed at me, and still she hover'd there. "Dost thou not know me?" were the words she said In tones where love and faith were sweetly bound; "Knowest thou not Her who oftentimes hath shed The purest balsam in each earthly wound? Thou knows't me well; thy panting heart I led To join me in a bond with rapture crown'd. Did I not see thee, when a stripling, yearning To welcome me with tears, heartfelt and burning?" "Yes!" I exclaim'd, whilst, overcome with joy, I sank to earth; "I long have worshipp'd thee; Thou gav'st me rest, when passions rack'd the boy, Pervading ev'ry limb unceasingly; Thy heav'nly pinions thou didst then employ The scorching sunbeams to ward off from me. From thee alone Earth's fairest gifts I gain'd, Through thee alone, true bliss can be obtain'd. "Thy name I know not; yet I hear thee nam'd By many a one who boasts thee as his own; Each eye believes that tow'rd thy form 'tis aim'd, Yet to most eyes thy rays are anguish-sown. Ah! whilst I err'd, full many a friend I claim'd, Now that I know thee, I am left alone; With but myself can I my rapture share, I needs must veil and hide thy radiance fair.
Contracted, and no mist then met mine eye. My glance once more survey'd the smiling land, Unclouded and serene appear'd the sky. Nought but a veil of purest white she held, And round her in a thousand folds it swell'd. "I know thee, and I know thy wav'ring will. I know the good that lives and glows in thee!"-- Thus spake she, and methinks I hear her still-- "The prize long destined, now receive from me; That blest one will be safe from ev'ry ill, Who takes this gift with soul of purity,--" The veil of Minstrelsy from Truth's own hand, Of sunlight and of morn's sweet fragrance plann'd. "And when thou and thy friends at fierce noon-day Are parched with heat, straight cast it in the air! Then Zephyr's cooling breath will round you play, Distilling balm and flowers' sweet incense there; The tones of earthly woe will die away, The grave become a bed of clouds so fair, To sing to rest life's billows will be seen, The day be lovely, and the night serene."-- Come, then, my friends! and whensoe'er ye find Upon your way increase life's heavy load; If by fresh-waken'd blessings flowers are twin'd Around your path, and golden fruits bestow'd, We'll seek the coming day with joyous mind! Thus blest, we'll live, thus wander on our road And when our grandsons sorrow o'er our tomb, Our love, to glad their bosoms, still shall bloom.
SONGS. ----- Late resounds the early strain; Weal and woe in song remain. ----- SOUND, SWEET SONG. SOUND, sweet song, from some far land, Sighing softly close at hand, Now of joy, and now of woe! Stars are wont to glimmer so. Sooner thus will good unfold; Children young and children old Gladly hear thy numbers flow. 1820.* ----- * In the cases in which the date is marked thus (*), it signifies the original date of publication--the year of composition not being known. In other cases, the date given is that of the actual composition. All the poems are arranged in the order of the recognised German editions. ----- TO THE KIND READER. No one talks more than a Poet; Fain he'd have the people know it. Praise or blame he ever loves; None in prose confess an error, Yet we do so, void of terror, In the Muses' silent groves. What I err'd in, what corrected, What I suffer'd, what effected, To this wreath as flow'rs belong; For the aged, and the youthful, And the vicious, and the truthful, All are fair when viewed in song.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.