Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

THIS box, mine own sweet darling, thou wilt find With many a varied sweetmeat’s form supplied; The fruits are they of holy Christmas tide, But baked indeed, for children’s use design’d. I’d fain, in

(* The name of a game, known in English as “Jack’s Alight.”) WE young people in the shade Sat one sultry day; Cupid came, and “Dies the Fox” With us sought to play. Each

[Composed, when 74 years old, for a Polish lady, who excelled in Playing on the pianoforte.] PASSION brings reason who can pacify An anguish’d heart whose loss hath been so great? Where are the

IF Venus in the evening sky Is seen in radiant majesty, If rod-like comets, red as blood, Are ‘mongst the constellations view’d, Out springs the Ignoramus, yelling: “The star’s exactly o’er my dwelling! What

THE warder looks down at the mid hour of night, On the tombs that lie scatter’d below: The moon fills the place with her silvery light, And the churchyard like day seems to glow.

THE waters rush’d, the waters rose, A fisherman sat by, While on his line in calm repose He cast his patient eye. And as he sat, and hearken’d there, The flood was cleft in

MANY a day and night my bark stood ready laden; Waiting fav’ring winds, I sat with true friends round me, Pledging me to patience and to courage, In the haven. And they spoke thus

As a boy, reserved and naughty; As a youth, a coxcomb and haughty; As a man, for action inclined; As a greybeard, fickle in mind. Upon thy grave will people read: This was a

To the great archer not to him To meet whom flies the sun, And who is wont his features dim With clouds to overrun But to the boy be vow’d these rhymes, Who ‘mongst

DAYS full of rapture, Are ye renew’d? Smile in the sunlight Mountain and wood? Streams richer laden Flow through the dale, Are these the meadows? Is this the vale? Coolness cerulean! Heaven and height!

IN the deepest nights of Winter To the Muses kind oft cried I: “Not a ray of morn is gleaming, Not a sign of daylight breaking; Bring, then, at the fitting moment, Bring the

VAINLY wouldst thou, to gain a heart, Heap up a maiden’s lap with gold; The joys of love thou must impart, Wouldst thou e’er see those joys unfold. The voices of the throng gold

IF to her eyes’ bright lustre I were blind, No longer would they serve my life to gild. The will of destiny must be fulfilid, This knowing, I withdrew with sadden’d mind. No further

PAGE. WHERE goest thou? Where? Miller’s daughter so fair! Thy name, pray? MILLER’S DAUGHTER. ‘Tis Lizzy. PAGE. Where goest thou? Where? With the rake in thy hand? MILLER’S DAUGHTER. Father’s meadows and land To

No door has my house, No house has my door; And in and out ever I carry my store. No grate has my kitchen, No kitchen my grate; Yet roasts it and boils it

A PLAN the Muses entertain’d Methodically to impart To Psyche the poetic art; Prosaic-pure her soul remain’d. No wondrous sounds escaped her lyre E’en in the fairest Summer night; But Amor came with glance

FAR explore the mountain hollow, High in air the clouds then follow! To each brook and vale the Muse Thousand times her call renews. Soon as a flow’ret blooms in spring, It wakens many

Do I see a contest yonder? See I miracles or pastimes? Beauteous urchins, five in number, ‘Gainst five sisters fair contending, Measured is the time they’re beating At a bright enchantress’ bidding. Glitt’ring spears

WHEN unto thee I sent the page all white, Instead of first thereon inscribing aught, The space thou doubtless filledst up in sport. And sent it me, to make my joy grow bright. As

FAIN had I to-day surprised my mistress, But soon found I that her door was fasten’d. Yet I had the key safe in my pocket, And the darling door I open’d softly! In the

I ONCE was fond of fools, And bid them come each day; Then each one brought his tools The carpenter to play; The roof to strip first choosing, Another to supply, The wood as

WHEN by the broad stream thou dost dwell, Oft shallow is its sluggish flood; Then, when thy fields thou tendest well, It o’er them spreads its slime and mud. The ships descend ere daylight

I AM now, what joy to hear it! Of the old magician rid; And henceforth shall ev’ry spirit Do whate’er by me is bid; I have watch’d with rigour All he used to do,

[Written on the occasion of Goethe’s starting With his friend Passavant on a Swiss Tour.] I DRINK fresh nourishment, new blood From out this world more free; The Nature is so kind and good

WITHIN a town where parity According to old form we see, That is to say, where Catholic And Protestant no quarrels pick, And where, as in his father’s day, Each worships God in his

Dornburg, 25th August, 1828. WILT thou suddenly enshroud thee, Who this moment wert so nigh? Heavy rising masses cloud thee, Thou art hidden from mine eye. Yet my sadness thou well knowest, Gleaming sweetly

[This song was intended to be introduced in A dramatic poem entitled Mahomet, the plan of which was not carried Out by Goethe. He mentions that it was to have been sung by Ali

[written in a post-chaise.] (* In the original, Schwager, which has the Twofold meaning of brother-in-law and postilion.) HASTEN thee, Kronos! On with clattering trot Downhill goeth thy path; Loathsome dizziness ever, When thou

ONCE two persons uninvited Came to join my dinner table; For the nonce they lived united, Fox and crane yclept in fable. Civil greetings pass’d between us Then I pluck’d some pigeons tender For

THE Epigrams bearing the title of XENIA were written By Goethe and Schiller together, having been first occasioned by Some violent attacks made on them by some insignificant writers. They are extremely numerous, but

HERE in silence the lover fondly mused on his loved one; Gladly he spake to me thus: “Be thou my witness, thou stone! Yet thou must not be vainglorious, thou hast many companions; Unto

Up in th’ mountain I was a-sitting, With the bird there As my guest, Blithely singing, Blithely springing, And building His nest. In the garden I was a-standing, And the bee there Saw as

WHAT pulls at my heart so? What tells me to roam? What drags me and lures me From chamber and home? How round the cliffs gather The clouds high in air! I fain would

I. “Incense is hut a tribute for the gods, To mortals ’tis but poison.” THE smoke that from thine altar blows, Can it the gods offend? For I observe thou hold’st thy nose Pray

THE happiness that man, whilst prison’d here, Is wont with heavenly rapture to compare, The harmony of Truth, from wavering clear, Of Friendship that is free from doubting care, The light which in stray

MANY a guest I’d see to-day, Met to taste my dishes! Food in plenty is prepar’d, Birds, and game, and fishes. Invitations all have had, All proposed attending. Johnny, go and look around! Are

THESE are the most singular of all the Poems Of Goethe, and to many will appear so wild and fantastic, as to Leave anything but a pleasing impression. Those at the beginning, Addressed to

HALF vex’d, half pleased, thy love will feel, Shouldst thou her knot or ribbon steal; To thee they’re much I won’t conceal; Such self-deceit may pardon’d be; A veil, a kerchief, garter, rings, In

[This Cantata was written for Prince Frederick Of Gotha, and set to music by Winter, the Prince singing the part Of Rinaldo. See the Annalen.] (* See Tasso’s Gerusalemme Liberata, Canto XVI.) CHORUS. To

HOPE provides wings to thought, and love to hope. Rise up to Cynthia, love, when night is clearest, And say, that as on high her figure changeth, So, upon earth, my joy decays and

IF to a girl who loves us truly Her mother gives instruction duly In virtue, duty, and what not, And if she hearkens ne’er a jot, But with fresh-strengthen’d longing flies To meet our

THE LADY. IN the small and great world too, What most charms a woman’s heart? It is doubtless what is new, For its blossoms joy impart; Nobler far is what is true, For fresh

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

[This fine poem is introduced in the second Book of Wilhelm Meister.] “WHAT tuneful strains salute mine ear Without the castle walls? Oh, let the song re-echo here, Within our festal halls!” Thus spake

[Written at night on the Kickelhahn, a hill In the forest of Ilmenau, on the walls of a little hermitage where Goethe composed the last act of his Iphigenia.] HUSH’D on the hill Is

SONGS are like painted window-panes! In darkness wrapp’d the church remains, If from the market-place we view it; Thus sees the ignoramus through it. No wonder that he deems it tame, And all his

AFTER ANACREON. [The strong resemblance of this fine poem to Cowley’s Ode bearing the same name, and beginning “Happy insect! What can be,” will be at once seen.] HAPPY art thou, darling insect, Who,

THE stork who worms and frogs devours That in our ponds reside, Why should he dwell on high church-towers, With which he’s not allied? Incessantly he chatters there, And gives our ears no rest;

Lovingly I’ll sing of love; Ever comes she from above. THE FRIENDLY MEETING. IN spreading mantle to my chin conceald, I trod the rocky path, so steep and grey, Then to the wintry plain

OH ye kindly nymphs, who dwell ‘mongst the rocks and the thickets, Grant unto each whatsoe’er he may in silence desire! Comfort impart to the mourner, and give to the doubter instruction, And let

WAKEN not Amor from sleep! The beauteous urchin still slumbers; Go, and complete thou the task, that to the day is assign’d! Thus doth the prudent mother with care turn time to her profit,

[Another of the love-songs addressed to Frederica.] QUICK throbb’d my heart: to norse! haste, haste, And lo! ’twas done with speed of light; The evening soon the world embraced, And o’er the mountains hung

Go! obedient to my call, Turn to profit thy young days, Wiser make betimes thy breast In Fate’s balance as it sways, Seldom is the cock at rest; Thou must either mount, or fall,

I feel no small reluctance in venturing to give to the public a Work of the character of that indicated by the title-page to the Present volume; for, difficult as it must always be

LIGHT and silv’ry cloudlets hover In the air, as yet scarce warm; Mild, with glimmer soft tinged over, Peeps the sun through fragrant balm. Gently rolls and heaves the ocean As its waves the

[To the memory of an excellent and beautiful Girl of 17, belonging to the village of Brienen, who perished on The 13th of January, 1809, whilst giving help on the occasion of The breaking

THE bed of flowers Loosens amain, The beauteous snowdrops Droop o’er the plain. The crocus opens Its glowing bud, Like emeralds others, Others, like blood. With saucy gesture Primroses flare, And roguish violets, Hidden

THE hero’s noble shade stands high On yonder turret grey; And as the ship is sailing by, He speeds it on his way. “See with what strength these sinews thrill’d! This heart, how firm

To the grave one day from a house they bore A maiden; To the window the citizens went to explore; In splendour they lived, and with wealth as of yore Their banquets were laden.

YE black and roguish eyes, If ye command. Each house in ruins lies, No town can stand. And shall my bosom’s chain, This plaster wall, Д To think one moment, deign, Shall ii not

LEOPOLD, DUKE OF BRUNSWICK. [Written on the occasion of the death, by drowning, Of the Prince.] THOU wert forcibly seized by the hoary lord of the river, Holding thee, ever he shares with thee

DELOS’ stately ruler, and Maia’s son, the adroit one, Warmly were striving, for both sought the great prize to obtain. Hermes the lyre demanded, the lyre was claim’d by Apollo, Yet were the hearts

in the wares before you spread, Types of all things may be read. ‘NEATH the shadow Of these bushes, On the meadow Where the cooling water gushes. Phoebus gave me, when a boy, All

“OH, would we were further! Oh, would we were home, The phantoms of night tow’rd us hastily come, The band of the Sorceress sisters. They hitherward speed, and on finding us here, They’ll drink,

OH, unhappy stars! your fate I mourn, Ye by whom the sea-toss’d sailor’s lighted, Who with radiant beams the heav’ns adorn, But by gods and men are unrequited: For ye love not, ne’er have

WHEN the vine again is blowing, Then the wine moves in the cask; When the rose again is glowing, Wherefore should I feel oppress’d? Down my cheeks run tears all-burning, If I do, or

IF men are never their thoughts to employ, Take care to provide them a life full of joy; But if to some profit and use thou wouldst bend them, Take care to shear them,

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

WHAT pleasure to me A bridegroom would be! When married we are, They call us mamma. No need then to sew, To school we ne’er go; Command uncontroll’d, Have maids, whom to scold; Choose

My senses ofttimes are oppress’d, Oft stagnant is my blood; But when by Christel’s sight I’m blest, I feel my strength renew’d. I see her here, I see her there, And really cannot tell

MY trust in nothing now is placed, Hurrah! So in the world true joy I taste, Hurrah! Then he who would be a comrade of mine Must rattle his glass, and in chorus combine,

[I feel considerable hesitation in venturing To offer this version of a poem which Carlyle describes to be ‘a Beautiful piece (a very Hans Sacks beatified, both in character And style), which we wish

A BOY a pigeon once possess’d, In gay and brilliant plumage dress’d; He loved it well, and in boyish sport Its food to take from his mouth he taught, And in his pigeon he

THE soul of man Resembleth water: From heaven it cometh, To heaven it soareth. And then again To earth descendeth, Changing ever. Down from the lofty Rocky wall Streams the bright flood, Then spreadeth

[Goethe says of this ode, that it is the only One remaining out of several strange hymns and dithyrambs composed By him at a period of great unhappiness, when the love-affair between Him and

I FEEL that I’m possess’d of nought, Saving the free unfetterd thought Which from my bosom seeks to flow, And each propitious passing hour That suffers me in all its power A loving fate

THUS to be chain’d for ever, can I bear? A very torment that, in truth, would be. This very day my new resolve shall see. I’ll not go near the lately-worshipp’d Fair. Yet what

THE INDIFFERENT. COME to the dance with me, come with me, fair one! Dances a feast-day like this may well crown. If thou my sweetheart art not, thou canst be so, But if thou

AT first awhile sits he, With calm, unruffled brow; His features then I see, Distorted hideously, An owl’s they might be now. What is it, askest thou? Is’t love, or is’t ennui? ‘Tis both

My maiden she proved false to me; To hate all joys I soon began, Then to a flowing stream I ran, The stream ran past me hastily. There stood I fix’d, in mute despair;

I. A MASTER of a country school Jump’d up one day from off his stool, Inspired with firm resolve to try To gain the best society; So to the nearest baths he walk’d, And

LEAVE we the pedants to quarrel and strive, Rigid and cautious the teachers to be! All of the wisest men e’er seen alive Smile, nod, and join in the chorus with me: “Vain ’tis

[Composed for the merry party already mentioned, On the occasion of the departure for France of the hereditary prince, Who was one of the number, and who is especially alluded to in the 3rd

ONCE I held a well-carved brimming goblet, In my two hands tightly clasp’d I held it, Eagerly the sweet wine sipp’d I from it, Seeking there to drown all care and sorrow. Amor enter’d

[First published in Schiller’s Horen, in connection With a Friendly contest in the art of ballad-writing between the two Great poets, to which many of their finest works are owing.] ONCE a stranger youth

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

WHILE he is mark’d by vision clear Who fathoms Nature’s treasures, The man may follow, void of fear, Who her proportions measures. Though for one mortal, it is true, These trades may both be

How happens it that thou art sad, While happy all appear? Thine eye proclaims too well that thou Hast wept full many a tear. “If I have wept in solitude, None other shares my

[This little song describes the different members Of the party just spoken of.] WHY pacest thou, my neighbour fair, The garden all alone? If house and land thou seek’st to guard, I’d thee as

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

Two words there are, both short, of beauty rare, Whose sounds our lips so often love to frame, But which with clearness never can proclaim The things whose own peculiar stamp they bear. ‘Tis

AN INDIAN LEGEND. [This very fine Ballad was also first given in the Horen.] (MAHADEVA is one of the numerous names of Seeva, the destroyer, The great god of the Brahmins.) MAHADEVA,* Lord of

Artist, fashion! talk not long! Be a breath thine only song! THE DROPS OF NECTAR. WHEN Minerva, to give pleasure To Prometheus, her well-loved one, Brought a brimming bowl of nectar From the glorious

THE snow-flakes fall in showers, The time is absent still, When all Spring’s beauteous flowers, When all Spring’s beauteous flowers Our hearts with joy shall fill. With lustre false and fleeting The sun’s bright

OH prophetic bird so bright, Blossom-songster, cuckoo bight! In the fairest time of year, Dearest bird, oh! deign to hear What a youthful pair would pray, Do thou call, if hope they may: Thy

COULD this early bliss but rest Constant for one single hour! But e’en now the humid West Scatters many a vernal shower. Should the verdure give me joy? ‘Tis to it I owe the

TELL me, eyes, what ’tis ye’re seeking; For ye’re saying something sweet, Fit the ravish’d ear to greet, Eloquently, softly speaking. Yet I see now why ye’re roving; For behind those eyes so bright,

BUSH and vale thou fill’st again With thy misty ray, And my spirit’s heavy chain Castest far away. Thou dost o’er my fields extend Thy sweet soothing eye, Watching like a gentle friend, O’er

IN the drizzling mist, with the snow high-pil’d, In the Winter night, in the forest wild, I heard the wolves with their ravenous howl, I heard the screaming note of the owl: Wille wau

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

I have taken advantage of the publication of a Second Edition Of my translation of the Poems of Goethe (originally published in 1853), to add to the Collection a version of the much admired

MY DEAR LADY GRANVILLE, THE reluctance which must naturally be felt by any one in Venturing to give to the world a book such as the present, where The beauties of the great original

THOU art confused, my beloved, at, seeing the thousandfold Union Shown in this flowery troop, over the garden dispers’d; Any a name dost thou hear assign’d; one after another Falls on thy list’ning ear,

HERE where the roses blossom, where vines round the laurels are Twining, Where the turtle-dove calls, where the blithe cricket is heard, Say, whose grave can this be, with life by all the Immortals

WHO rides there so late through the night dark and drear? The father it is, with his infant so dear; He holdeth the boy tightly clasp’d in his arm, He holdeth him safely, he

OLD age is courteous no one more: For time after time he knocks at the door, But nobody says, “Walk in, sir, pray!” Yet turns he not from the door away, But lifts the

[Goethe relates that a remarkable situation He was in one bright moonlight night led to the composition of this Sweet song, which was “the dearer to him because he could not say Whence it

BETWEEN wheatfield and corn, Between hedgerow and thorn, Between pasture and tree, Where’s my sweetheart Tell it me! Sweetheart caught I Not at home; She’s then, thought I. Gone to roam. Fair and loving

SMOOTHLY and lightly the golden seed by the furrow is cover’d; Yet will a deeper one, friend, cover thy bones at the last. Joyously plough’d and sow’d! Here food all living is budding, E’en

EROS, what mean’st thou by this? In each of thine hands is an Hourglass! What, oh thou frivolous god! twofold thy measure of time? “Slowly run from the one, the hours of lovers when

YESTERDAY brown was still thy head, as the locks Of my loved one, Whose sweet image so dear silently beckons afar. Silver-grey is the early snow to-day on thy summit, Through the tempestuous night

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

[Written and sung in honour of the birthday Of the Pastor Ewald at the time of Goethe’s happy connection with Lily.] IN ev’ry hour of joy That love and wine prolong, The moments we’ll

WEEP, maiden, weep here o’er the tomb of Love; He died of nothing by mere chance was slain. But is he really dead? oh, that I cannot prove: A nothing, a mere chance, oft

AS a butterfly renew’d, When in life I breath’d my last, To the spots my flight I wing, Scenes of heav’nly rapture past, Over meadows, to the spring, Round the hill, and through the

GOD to his untaught children sent Law, order, knowledge, art, from high, And ev’ry heav’nly favour lent, The world’s hard lot to qualify. They knew not how they should behave, For all from Heav’n

THE DOUBTERS. YE love, and sonnets write! Fate’s strange behest! The heart, its hidden meaning to declare, Must seek for rhymes, uniting pair with pair: Learn, children, that the will is weak, at best.

[Addressed, during the Swiss tour already mentioned, To a present Lily had given him, during the time of their happy Connection, which was then about to be terminated for ever.] OH thou token loved

IF thou wouldst live unruffled by care, Let not the past torment thee e’er; As little as possible be thou annoy’d, And let the present be ever enjoy’d; Ne’er let thy breast with hate

IN search of prey once raised his pinions An eaglet; A huntsman’s arrow came, and reft His right wing of all motive power. Headlong he fell into a myrtle grove, For three long days

THE MAIDEN. I’VE seen him before me! What rapture steals o’er me! Oh heavenly sight! He’s coming to meet me; Perplex’d, I retreat me, With shame take to flight. My mind seems to wander!

WEEP ye not, ye children dear, That as yet ye are unborn: For each sorrow and each tear Makes the father’s heart to mourn. Patient be a short time to it, Unproduced, and known

WHY do I o’er my paper once more bend? Ask not too closely, dearest one, I pray For, to speak truth, I’ve nothing now to say; Yet to thy hands at length ’twill come,

[This curious imitation of the ternary metre Of Dante was written at the age of 77.] WITHIN a gloomy charnel-house one day I view’d the countless skulls, so strangely mated, And of old times

I ONCE into a forest far My maiden went to seek, And fell upon her neck, when: “Ah!” She threaten’d, “I will shriek!” Then cried I haughtily: “I’ll crush The man that dares come

UPON the mead a violet stood, Retiring, and of modest mood, In truth, a violet fair. Then came a youthful shepherdess, And roam’d with sprightly joyousness, And blithely woo’d With carols sweet the air

I THINK of thee, whene’er the sun his beams O’er ocean flings; I think of thee, whene’er the moonlight gleams In silv’ry springs. I see thee, when upon the distant ridge The dust awakes;

HE who knows himself and others Here will also see, That the East and West, like brothers, Parted ne’er shall be. Thoughtfully to float for ever ‘Tween two worlds, be man’s endeavour! So between

SHE behind yon mountain lives, Who my love’s sweet guerdon gives. Tell me, mount, how this can be! Very glass thou seem’st to me, And I seem to be close by, For I see

THOUGHTS ON JESUS CHRIST’S DESCENT INTO HELL. [THE remarkable Poem of which this is a literal But faint representation, was written when Goethe was only sixteen Years old. It derives additional interest from the

In these numbers be express’d Meaning deep, ‘neath merry jest. – TO ORIGINALS. A FELLOW says: “I own no school or college; No master lives whom I acknowledge; And pray don’t entertain the thought

SHOULD these songs, love, as they fleet, Chance again to reach thy hand, At the piano take thy seat, Where thy friend was wont to stand! Sweep with finger bold the string, Then the

IN my boyhood’s days so drear I was kept confined; There I sat for many a year, All alone I pined, As within the womb. Yet thou drov’st away my gloom, Golden phantasy! I

HA, I am the lord of earth! The noble, Who’re in my service, love me. Ha, I am the lord of earth! The noble, O’er whom my sway extendeth, love I. Oh, grant me,

THE three holy kings with their star’s bright ray, They eat and they drink, but had rather not pay; They like to eat and drink away, They eat and drink, but had rather not

My neighbour’s curtain, well I see, Is moving to and fin. No doubt she’s list’ning eagerly, If I’m at home or no. And if the jealous grudge I bore And openly confess’d, Is nourish’d