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

thou seekest in a mood Contented, And know'st not how my youthful blood 'S tormented. But doth the miller's daughter fair Gaze often on thee kindly there?

MILLSTREAM.

She opes the shutters soon as light

Is gleaming; And comes to bathe her features bright And beaming. So full and snow-white is her breast,-- I feel as hot as steam suppress'd.

YOUTH.

If she in water can inflame

Such ardour, Surely, then, flesh and blood to tame Is harder. When once is seen her beauteous face, One ever longs her steps to trace.

MILLSTREAM.

Over the wheel I, roaring, bound,

All-proudly, And ev'ry spoke whirls swiftly round, And loudly. Since I have seen the miller's daughter, With greater vigour flows the water.

YOUTH.

Like others, then, can grief, poor brook,

Oppress thee? "Flow on!"--thus she'll, with smiling look, Address thee. With her sweet loving glance, oh say, Can she thy flowing current stay?

MILLSTREAM.

'Tis sad, 'tis sad to have to speed

From yonder; I wind, and slowly through the mead Would wander; And if the choice remain'd with me, Would hasten back there presently.

YOUTH.

Farewell, thou who with me dost prove

Love's sadness! Perchance some day thou'lt breathe of love And gladness. Go, tell her straight, and often too, The boy's mute hopes and wishes true. 1797. -----

THE MAID OF THE MILL'S TREACHERY.

[This Ballad is introduced in the Wanderjahre, in a tale called The Foolish Pilgrim.]

WHENCE comes our friend so hastily,

When scarce the Eastern sky is grey? Hath he just ceased, though cold it be,

In yonder holy spot to pray? The brook appears to hem his path,

Would he barefooted o'er it go? Why curse his orisons in wrath,

Across those heights beclad with snow?

Alas! his warm bed he bath left,

Where he had look'd for bliss, I ween; And if his cloak too, had been reft,

How fearful his disgrace had been! By yonder villain sorely press'd,

His wallet from him has been torn; Our hapless friend has been undress'd,

Left well nigh naked as when born.

The reason why he came this road,

Is that he sought a pair of eyes, Which, at the mill, as brightly glow'd

As those that are in Paradise. He will not soon again be there;

From out the house he quickly hied, And when he gain'd the open air,

Thus bitterly and loudly cried

"Within her gaze, so dazzling bright,

No word of treachery I could read; She seem'd to see me with delight,

Yet plann'd e'en then this cruel deed! Could I, when basking in her smile,

Dream of the treason in her breast? She bade kind Cupid stay awhile,

And he was there, to make us blest.

"To taste of love's sweet ecstasy

Throughout the night, that endless seem'd, And for her mother's help to cry

Only when morning sunlight beam'd! A dozen of her kith and kin,

A very human flood, in-press'd Her cousins came, her aunts peer'd in,

And uncles, brothers, and the rest.

"Then what a tumult, fierce and loud!

Each seem'd a beast of prey to be; The maiden's honour all the crowd,

With fearful shout, demand of me. Why should they, madmen-like, begin

To fall upon a guiltless youth? For he who such a prize would win,

Far nimbler needs must be, in truth.

"The way to follow up with skill

His freaks, by love betimes is known: He ne'er will leave, within a mill,

Sweet flowers for sixteen years alone.-- They stole my clothes away,--yes, all!

And tried my cloak besides to steal. How strange that any house so small

So many rascals could conceal!

"Then I sprang up, and raved, and swore,

To force a passage through them there. I saw the treacherous maid once more,

And she was still, alas, so fair They all gave way before my wrath,

Wild outcries flew about pell-mell; At length I managed to rush forth,

With voice of thunder, from that hell.

"As maidens of the town we fly,

We'll shun you maidens of the village; Leave it to those of quality

Their humble worshippers to pillage. Yet if ye are of practised skill,

And of all tender ties afraid, Exchange your lovers, if ye will,

But never let them be betray'd."

Thus sings he in the winter-night,

While not a blade of grass was green. I laugh'd to see his piteous plight,

For it was well-deserved, I ween. And may this be the fate of all,

Who treat by day their true loves ill, And, with foolhardy daring, crawl

By night to Cupid's treacherous mill!

1798. -----

THE MAID OF THE MILL'S REPENTANCE.

YOUTH.

AWAY, thou swarthy witch! Go forth

From out my house, I tell thee! Or else I needs must, in my wrath,

Expel thee! What's this thou singest so falsely, forsooth, Of love and a maiden's silent truth?

Who'll trust to such a story!

GIPSY.

I sing of a maid's repentant fears,

And long and bitter yearning; Her levity's changed to truth and tears

All-burning. She dreads no more the threats of her mother, She dreads far less the blows of her brother,

Than the dearly loved-one's hatred.

YOUTH.

Of selfishness sing and treacherous lies,

Of murder and thievish plunder! Such actions false will cause no surprise,

Or wonder. When they share their booty, both clothes and purse,-- As bad as you gipsies, and even worse,

Such tales find ready credence.

GIPSY.

"Alas, alas! oh what have I done?

Can listening aught avail me? I hear him toward my room hasten on,

To hail me. My heart beat high, to myself I said: 'O would that thou hadst never betray'd

That night of love to thy mother!'"

YOUTH.

Alas! I foolishly ventured there,

For the cheating silence misled me; Ah, sweetest! let me to thee repair,--

Nor dread me! When suddenly rose a fearful din, Her mad relations came pouring in.

My blood still boils in my body!

GIPSY.

"Oh when will return an hour like this?

I pine in silent sadness; I've thrown away my only true bliss

With madness. Alas, poor maid! O pity my youth! My brother was then full cruel in troth

To treat the loved one so basely!"

THE POET.

The swarthy woman then went inside,

To the spring in the courtyard yonder; Her eyes from their stain she purified,

And,--wonder!-- Her face and eyes were radiant and bright, And the maid of the mill was disclosed to the sight

Of the startled and angry stripling!

THE MAID OF THE MILL.

Thou sweetest, fairest, dearly-loved life!

Before thine anger I cower; But blows I dread not, nor sharp-edged knife,--

This hour Of sorrow and love to thee I'll sing, And myself before thy feet I'll fling,

And either live or die there!

YOUTH.

Affection, say, why buried so deep

In my heart hast thou lain hidden? By whom hast thou now to awake from thy sleep

Been bidden? Ah love, that thou art immortal I see! Nor knavish cunning nor treachery

Can destroy thy life so godlike.

THE MAID OF THE MILL.

If still with as fond and heartfelt love,

As thou once didst swear, I'm cherish'd, Then nought of the rapture we used to prove

Is perish'd. So take the woman so dear to thy breast! In her young and innocent charms be blest,

For all are thine from henceforward!

BOTH.

Now, sun, sink to rest! Now, sun, arise!

Ye stars, be now shining, now darkling! A star of love now gleams in the skies,

All-sparkling! As long as the fountain may spring and run, So long will we two be blended in one,

Upon each other's bosoms!

1797. -----

THE TRAVELLER AND THE FARM~MAIDEN.

HE.

CANST thou give, oh fair and matchless maiden,

'Neath the shadow of the lindens yonder,--

Where I'd fain one moment cease to wander,-- Food and drink to one so heavy laden?

SHE.

Wouldst thou find refreshment, traveller weary,

Bread, ripe fruit and cream to meet thy wishes,--

None but Nature's plain and homely dishes,-- Near the spring may soothe thy wanderings dreary.

HE.

Dreams of old acquaintance now pass through me,

Ne'er-forgotten queen of hours of blisses.

Likenesses I've often found, but this is One that quite a marvel seemeth to me!

SHE.

Travellers often wonder beyond measure,

But their wonder soon see cause to smother;

Fair and dark are often like each other, Both inspire the mind with equal pleasure.

HE.

Not now for the first time I surrender

To this form, in humble adoration;

It was brightest midst the constellation In the hail adorn'd with festal splendour.

SHE.

Be thou joyful that 'tis in my power

To complete thy strange and merry story!

Silks behind her, full of purple glory, Floated, when thou saw'st her in that hour.

HE.

No, in truth, thou hast not sung it rightly!

Spirits may have told thee all about it;

Pearls and gems they spoke of, do not doubt it,-- By her gaze eclipsed,--it gleam'd so brightly!

SHE.

This one thing I certainly collected:

That the fair one--(say nought, I entreat thee!)

Fondly hoping once again to meet thee, Many a castle in the air erected.

HE.

By each wind I ceaselessly was driven,

Seeking gold and honour, too, to capture!

When my wand'rings end, then oh, what rapture, If to find that form again 'tis given!

SHE.

'Tis the daughter of the race now banish'd

That thou seest, not her likeness only;

Helen and her brother, glad though lonely, Till this farm of their estate now vanish'd.

HE.

But the owner surely is not wanting

Of these plains, with ev'ry beauty teeming?

Verdant fields, broad meads, and pastures gleaming, Gushing springs, all heav'nly and enchanting.

SHE.

Thou must hunt the world through, wouldst thou find him!--

We have wealth enough in our possession,

And intend to purchase the succession, When the good man leaves the world behind him.

HE.

I have learnt the owner's own condition,

And, fair maiden, thou indeed canst buy it;

But the cost is great, I won't deny it,-- Helen is the price,--with thy permission!

SHE.

Did then fate and rank keep us asunder,

And must Love take this road, and no other?

Yonder comes my dear and trusty brother; What will he say to it all, I wonder?

1803.* -----

EFFECTS AT A DISTANCE.

THE queen in the lofty hall takes her place,

The tapers around her are flaming; She speaks to the page: "With a nimble pace

Go, fetch me my purse for gaming.

'Tis lying, I'll pledge,

On my table's edge." Each nerve the nimble boy straineth, And the end of the castle soon gaineth.

The fairest of maidens was sipping sherbet

Beside the