The Poems of Goethe by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (10 best novels of all time .TXT) 📕

From a desert, rocky spot; For the fray they couch their lances,

Not delaying, speaking not.

Long the doubtful fight continues,

Victory then for Curt declares; Conqueror, though with wearied sinews,

Forward on his road he fares. When he sees, though strange it may be,

Something 'midst the foliage move; 'Tis a mother, with her baby,

Stealing softly through the grove!

And upon the spot she beckons--

"Wherefore, love, this speed so wild? Of the wealth thy storehouse reckons,

Hast thou nought to give thy child!" Flames of rapture now dart through him,

And he longs for nothing more, While the mother seemeth to him

Lovely as the maid of yore.

But he hears his servants blowing,

And bethinks him of his bride; And ere long, while onward going,

Chances past a fair to ride; In the booths he forthwith buys him

For his mistress many a pledge; But, alas! some Jews surprise him,

And long-standing debts allege.

And the courts of justice duly

Send the knight to prison straight. Oh accursed story, truly!

For a hero, what a fate! Can my patience such things weather?

Great is my perplexity. Women, debts, and foes together,--

Ah, no knight escapes scot free!

WEDDING SONG.

THE tale of the Count our glad song shall record

Who had in this castle his dwelling, Where now ye are feasting the new-married lord,

His grandson of whom we are telling. The Count as Crusader had blazon'd his fame, Through many a triumph exalted his name, And when on his steed to his dwelling he came,

His castle still rear'd its proud head, But servants and wealth had all fled.

'Tis true that thou, Count, hast return'd to thy home,

But matters are faring there ill. The winds through the chambers at liberty roam,

And blow through the windows at will What's best to be done in a cold autumn night? Full many I've pass'd in more piteous plight; The morn ever settles the matter aright.

Then quick, while the moon shines so clear,

To bed on the straw, without fear,

And whilst in a soft pleasing slumber he lay,

A motion he feels 'neath his bed. The rat, an he likes it, may rattle away!

Ay, had he but crumbs there outspread! But lo! there appears a diminutive wight, A dwarf 'tis, yet graceful, and bearing a light, With orator-gestures that notice invite,

At the feet of the Count on the floor

Who sleeps not, though weary full sore.

"We've long been accustom'd to hold here our feast,

Since thou from thy castle first went; And as we believed thou wert far in the East,

To revel e'en now we were bent. And if thou'lt allow it, and seek not to chide, We dwarfs will all banquet with pleasure and pride, To honour the wealthy, the beautiful bride

Says the Count with a smile, half-asleep;--

"Ye're welcome your quarters to keep!"

Three knights then advance, riding all in a group,

Who under the bed were conceal'd; And then is a singing and noise-making troop

Of strange little figures reveal'd; And waggon on waggon with all kinds of things-- The clatter they cause through the ear loudly rings-- The like ne'er was seen save in castles of kings;

At length, in a chariot of gold,

The bride and the guests too, behold!

Then all at full gallop make haste to advance,

Each chooses his place in the hall; With whirling and waltzing, and light joyous dance,

They begin with their sweethearts the ball. The fife and the fiddle all merrily sound, Thy twine, and they glide, and with nimbleness bound, Thy whisper, and chatter, and, chatter around;

The Count on the scene casts his eye,

And seems in a fever to lie.

They hustle, and bustle, and rattle away

On table, on bench, and on stool; Then all who had joined in the festival gay

With their partners attempt to grow cool. The hams and the sausages nimbly they bear, And meat, fish, and poultry in plenty are there, Surrounded with wine of the vintage most rare:

And when they have revell'd full long,

They vanish at last with a song.

And if we're to sing all that further occurr'd,

Pray cease ye to bluster and prate; For what he so gladly in small saw and heard

He enjoy'd and he practis'd in great. For trumpets, and singing, and shouts without end On the bridal-train, chariots and horsemen attend, They come and appear, and they bow and they bend,

In merry and countless array.

Thus was it, thus is it to-day.

THE TREASURE-DIGGER

ALL my weary days I pass'd

Sick at heart and poor in purse.

Poverty's the greatest curse,

Riches are the highest good! And to end my woes at last,

Treasure-seeking forth I sped.

"Thou shalt have my soul instead!"

Thus I wrote, and with my blood.

Ring round ring I forthwith drew,

Wondrous flames collected there,

Herbs and bones in order fair,

Till the charm had work'd aright. Then, to learned precepts true,

Dug to find some treasure old,

In the place my art foretold

Black and stormy was the night.

Coming o'er the distant plain,

With the glimmer of a star,

Soon I saw a light afar,

As the hour of midnight knell'd. Preparation was in vain.

Sudden all was lighted up

With the lustre of a cup

That a beauteous boy upheld.

Sweetly seem'd his eves to laugh

Neath his flow'ry chaplet's load;

With the drink that brightly glow'd,

He the circle enter'd in. And he kindly bade me quaff:

Then methought "This child can ne'er,

With his gift so bright and fair,

To the arch-fiend be akin."

"Pure life's courage drink!" cried he: "This advice to prize then learn,--

Never to this place return

Trusting in thy spells absurd; Dig no longer fruitlessly.

Guests by night, and toil by day!

Weeks laborious, feast-days gay!

Be thy future magic-word!

THE RAT-CATCHER.

I AM the bard known far and wide, The travell'd rat-catcher beside; A man most needful to this town, So glorious through its old renown. However many rats I see, How many weasels there may be, I cleanse the place from ev'ry one, All needs must helter-skelter run.

Sometimes the bard so full of cheer As a child-catcher will appear, Who e'en the wildest captive brings, Whene'er his golden tales he sings. However proud each boy in heart, However much the maidens start, I bid the chords sweet music make, And all must follow in my wake.

Sometimes the skilful bard ye view In the form of maiden-catcher too; For he no city enters e'er, Without effecting wonders there. However coy may be each maid, However the women seem afraid, Yet all will love-sick be ere long To sound of magic lute and song.

THE SPINNER.

As I calmly sat and span,

Toiling with all zeal, Lo! a young and handsome man

Pass'd my spinning-wheel.

And he praised,--what harm was there?--

Sweet the things he said-- Praised my flax-resembling hair,

And the even thread.

He with this was not content,

But must needs do more; And in twain the thread was rent,

Though 'twas safe before.

And the flax's stonelike weight

Needed to be told; But no longer was its state

Valued as of old.

When I took it to the weaver,

Something felt I start, And more quickly, as with fever,

Throbb'd my trembling heart.

Then I bear the thread at length

Through the heat, to bleach; But, alas, I scarce have strength

To the pool to reach.

What I in my little room

Span so fine and slight,-- As was likely. I presume--

Came at last to light.

BEFORE A COURT OF JUSTICE.

THE father's name ye ne'er shall be told

Of my darling unborn life; "Shame, shame," ye cry, "on the strumpet bold!"

Yet I'm an honest wife.

To whom I'm wedded, ye ne'er shall be told,

Yet he's both loving and fair; He wears on his neck a chain of gold,

And a hat of straw doth he wear.

If scorn 'tis vain to seek to repel,

On me let the scorn be thrown. I know him well, and he knows me well,

And to God, too, all is known.

Sir Parson and Sir Bailiff, again,

I pray you, leave me in peace! My child it is, my child 'twill remain,

So let your questionings cease!

THE PAGE AND THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

PAGE.

WHERE goest thou? Where? Miller's daughter so fair!

Thy name, pray?--

MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

PAGE. Where goest thou? Where? With the rake in thy hand?

MILLER'S DAUGHTER. Father's meadows and land

To visit, I'm busy.

PAGE. Dost go there alone?

MILLER'S DAUGHTER. By this rake, sir, 'tis shown

That we're making the hay; And the pears ripen fast In the garden at last,

So I'll pick them to-day.

PAGE. Is't a silent thicket I yonder view?

MILLER'S DAUGHTER. Oh, yes! there are two; There's one on each side.

PAGE. I'll follow thee soon; When the sun burns at noon We'll go there, o'urselves from his rays to hide, And then in some glade all-verdant and deep--

MILLER'S DAUGHTER. Why, people would say--

PAGE. Within mine arms thou gently wilt sleep.

MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

Your pardon, I pray! Whoever is kiss'd by the miller-maid, Upon the spot must needs be betray'd.

'Twould give me distress

To cover with white Your pretty dark dress. Equal with equal! then all is right! That's the motto in which I delight. I am in love with the miller-boy; He wears nothing that I could destroy.

THE YOUTH AND THE MILLSTREAM.

[This sweet Ballad, and the one entitled The Maid of the Mill's Repentance, were written on the occasion of a visit paid by Goethe to Switzerland. The Maid of the Mill's Treachery, to which the latter forms the sequel, was not written till the following year.]

YOUTH.

SAY, sparkling streamlet, whither thou

MILLSTREAM.

Oh youth, I was a brook indeed;

YOUTH.

The mill