PROXIMITY OF THE BELOVED ONE¹⁶ (1795)

 
  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;
  At midnight's hour, when on the fragile bridge
      The wanderer quakes.
 
 
  I hear thee, when yon billows rise on high,
      With murmur deep.
  To tread the silent grove oft wander I,
      When all's asleep.
 
 
  I'm near thee, though thou far away mayst be—
      Thou, too, art near!
  The sun then sets, the stars soon lighten me,
      Would thou wert here!
 

THE SHEPHERD'S LAMENT¹⁷ (1802)

 
  Up yonder on the mountain,
    I dwelt for days together;
  Looked down into the valley,
    This pleasant summer weather.
 
 
  My sheep go feeding onward,
    My dog sits watching by;
  I've wandered to the valley,
    And yet I know not why.
 
 
  The meadow, it is pretty,
    With flowers so fair to see;
  I gather them, but no one
    Will take the flowers from me.
 
 
  The good tree gives me shadow,
    And shelter from the rain;
  But yonder door is silent,
    It will not ope again!
 
 
  I see the rainbow bending,
    Above her old abode,
  But she is there no longer;
    They've taken my love abroad.
 
 
  They took her o'er the mountains,
    They took her o'er the sea;
  Move on, move on, my bonny sheep,
    There is no rest for me!
 

NATURE AND ART¹⁸ (1802)

 
  Nature and art asunder seem to fly,
    Yet sooner than we think find common ground;
    In place of strife, harmonious songs resound,
  And both, at one, to my abode draw nigh.
  In sooth but one endeavor I descry:
    Then only, when in ordered moments' round
    Wisdom and toil our lives to Art have bound,
  Dare we rejoice in Nature's liberty.
  Thus is achievement fashioned everywhere:
    Not by ungovernable, hasty zeal
      Shalt thou the height of perfect form attain.
  Husband thy strength, if great emprize thou dare;
    In self-restraint thy masterhood reveal,
      And under law thy perfect freedom gain.
 

COMFORT IN TEARS¹⁹ (1803)

 
  How is it that thou art so sad
    When others are so gay?
  Thou hast been weeping—nay, thou hast!
    Thine eyes the truth betray.
 
 
  "And if I may not choose but weep
    Is not my grief mine own?
  No heart was heavier yet for tears—
    O leave me, friend, alone!"
 
 
  Come join this once the merry band,
    They call aloud for thee,
  And mourn no more for what is lost,
    But let the past go free.
 
 
  "O, little know ye in your mirth,
    What wrings my heart so deep!
  I have not lost the idol yet,
    For which I sigh and weep."
 
 
  Then rouse thee and take heart! thy blood
    Is young and full of fire;
  Youth should have hope and might to win,
    And wear its best desire.
 
 
  "O, never may I hope to gain
    What dwells from me so far;
  It stands as high, it looks as bright,
    As yonder burning star."
 
 
  Why, who would seek to woo the stars
    Down from their glorious sphere?
  Enough it is to worship them,
    When nights are calm and clear.
 
 
  "Oh, I look up and worship too—
    My star it shines by day—
  Then let me weep the livelong night
    The while it is away."
 

EPILOGUE TO SCHILLER'S "SONG OF THE BELL"²⁰

[This fine piece, written originally in 1805, on Schiller's death, was altered and recast by Goethe in 1815, on the occasion of the performance on the stage of the Song of the Bell. Hence the allusion in the last verse.]

 
  To this city joy reveal it!
  Peace as its first signal peal it!
 

(Song of the Bell—concluding lines).

 
  And so it proved! The nation felt, ere long,
  That peaceful signal, and, with blessings fraught,
  A new-born joy appeared; in gladsome song
  To hail the youthful princely pair we sought;
  While in the living, ever-swelling throng
  Mingled the crowds from every region brought,
  And on the stage, in festal pomp arrayed,
  The HOMAGE OF THE ARTS²¹ we saw displayed.
 
 
  When, lo! a fearful midnight sound I hear,
  That with a dull and mournful echo rings.
  And can it be that of our friend so dear
  It tells, to whom each wish so fondly clings?
  Shall death o'ercome a life that all revere?
  How such a loss to all confusion brings!
  How such a parting we must ever rue!
  The world is weeping—shall not we weep, too?
 
 
  He was our own! How social, yet how great
  Seemed in the light of day his noble mind!
  How was his nature, pleasing yet sedate,
  Now for glad converse joyously inclined,
  Then swiftly changing, spirit-fraught elate,
  Life's plan with deep-felt meaning it designed,
  Fruitful alike in counsel and in deed!
  This have we proved, this tested, in our need.
 
 
  He was our own! O may that thought so blest
  O'ercome the voice of wailing and of woe!
  He might have sought the Lasting, safe at rest
  In harbor, when the tempest ceased to blow.
  Meanwhile his mighty spirit onward pressed
  Where goodness, beauty, truth, forever grow;
  And in his rear, in shadowy outline, lay
  The vulgar, which we all, alas, obey!
 
 
  Now doth he deck the garden-turret fair
  Where the stars' language first illumed his soul,
  As secretly yet clearly through the air
  On the eterne, the living sense it stole;
  And to his own, and our great profit, there
  Exchangeth to the seasons as they roll;
  Thus nobly doth he vanquish, with renown,
  The twilight and the night that weigh us down.
 
 
  Brighter now glowed his cheek, and still more bright,
  With that unchanging, ever-youthful glow,—
  That courage which o'ercomes, in hard-fought fight,
  Sooner or later, every earthly foe,—
  That faith which, soaring to the realms of light,
  Now boldly presseth on, now bendeth low,
  So that the good may work, wax, thrive amain,
  So that the day the noble may attain.
 
 
  Yet, though so skilled, of such transcendent worth,
  This boarded scaffold doth he not despise;
  The fate that on its axis turns the earth
  From day to night, here shows he to our eyes,
  Raising, through many a work of glorious birth,
  Art and the artist's fame up toward the skies.
  He fills with blossoms of the noblest strife,
  With life itself, this effigy of life.
 
 
  His giant-step, as ye full surely know,
  Measured the circle of the will and deed,
  Each country's changing thoughts and morals, too,
  The darksome book with clearness could he read;
  Yet how he, breathless 'midst his friends so true,
  Despaired in sorrow, scarce from pain was freed,—
  All this have we, in sadly happy years,
  For he was ours, bewailed with feeling tears.
 
 
  When from the agonizing weight of grief
  He raised his eyes upon the world again,
  We showed him how his thoughts might find relief
  From the uncertain present's heavy chain,
  Gave his fresh-kindled mind a respite brief,
  With kindly skill beguiling every pain,
  And e'en at eve when setting was his sun,
  From his wan cheeks a gentle smile we won.
 
 
  Full early had he read the stern decree,
  Sorrow and death to him, alas, were known;
  Ofttimes recovering, now departed he,—
  Dread tidings, that our hearts had feared to own!
  Yet his transfigured being now can see
  Itself, e'en here on earth, transfigured grown.
  What his own age reproved, and deemed a crime,
  Hath been ennobled now by death and time.
 
 
  And many a soul that with him strove in fight,
  And his great merit grudged to recognize,
  Now feels the impress of his wondrous might,
  And in his magic fetters gladly lies;
  E'en to the highest hath he winged his flight,
  In close communion linked with all we prize.
  Extol him then! What mortals while they live
  But half receive, posterity shall give.
 
 
  Thus is he left us, who so long ago,—
  Ten years, alas, already!—turned from earth;
  We all, to our great joy, his precepts know,
  Oh, may the world confess their priceless worth!
  In swelling tide toward every region flow
  The thoughts that were his own peculiar birth;
  He gleams like some departing meteor bright,
  Combining, with his own, eternal light.
 

ERGO BIBAMUS!²² (1810)

 
  For a praiseworthy object we're now gathered here,
  So, brethren, sing: ERGO BIBAMUS!
  Tho' talk may be hushed, yet the glasses ring clear,
  Remember then, ERGO BIBAMUS!
  In truth 'tis an old, 'tis an excellent word,
  With its sound befitting each bosom is stirred,
  And an echo the festal hall filling is heard,
  A glorious ERGO BIBAMUS!
 
 
  I saw mine own love in her beauty so rare,
  And bethought me of: ERGO BIBAMUS;
  So I gently approached, and she let me stand there,
  While I helped myself, thinking: BIBAMUS!
  And when she's appeared, and will clasp you and kiss,
  Or when those embraces and kisses ye miss,
  Take refuge, till found is some worthier bliss,
  In the comforting ERGO BIBAMUS!
 
 
  I am called by my fate far away from each friend;
  Ye loved ones, then: ERGO BIBAMUS!
  With wallet light-laden from hence I must wend,
  So double our ERGO BIBAMUS!
  Whate'er to his treasure the niggard may add,
  Yet regard for the joyous will ever be had,
  For gladness lends ever its charms to the glad,
  So, brethren, sing: ERGO BIBAMUS!
 
 
  And what shall we say of to-day as it flies?
  I thought but of: ERGO BIBAMUS!
  'Tis one of those truly that seldom arise,
  So again and again sing: BIBAMUS!
  For joy through a wide-open portal it guides,
  Bright glitter the clouds as the curtain divides,
  And a form, a divine one, to greet us in glides,
  While we thunder our: ERGO BIBAMUS.
 

THE WALKING BELL²³ (1813)

 
  A child refused to go betimes
  To church like other people;
  He roamed abroad, when rang the chimes
  On Sundays from the steeple.
 
 
  His mother said: "Loud rings the bell,
  Its voice ne'er think of scorning;
  Unless thou wilt behave thee well,
  'Twill fetch thee without warning."
 
 
  The child then thought: "High over head
  The bell is safe suspended—"
  So to the fields he straightway sped
  As if 'twas school-time ended.
 
 
  The bell now ceased as bell to ring,
  Roused by the mother's twaddle;
  But soon ensued a dreadful thing!—
  The bell begins to waddle.
 
 
  It waddles fast, though strange it seem;
  The child, with trembling wonder,
  Runs off, and flies, as in a dream;
  The bell would draw him under.
 
 
  He finds the proper time at last,
  And straightway nimbly rushes
  To church, to chapel, hastening fast
  Through pastures, plains, and bushes.
 
 
  Each Sunday and each feast as well,
  His late disaster heeds he;
  The moment that he hears the bell,
  No other summons needs he.
 

FOUND²⁴ (1813)

 
  Once through the forest
  Alone I went;
  To seek for nothing
  My thoughts were bent.
 
 
  I saw i' the shadow
  A flower stand there;
  As stars it glisten'd,
  As eyes 'twas fair.
 
 
  I sought to pluck it,—
  It gently said:
  "Shall I be gather'd
  Only to fade?"
 
 
  With all its roots
  I dug it with care,
  And took it home
  To my garden fair.
 
 
  In silent corner
  Soon it was set;
  There grows it ever,
  There blooms it yet.
 

HATEM²⁵ (1815)

 
  Locks of brown, still bind your captive
  In the circle of her face!
  I, beloved sinuous tresses,
  Naught possess that's worth your grace—
 
 
  But a heart whose love enduring
  Swells in youthful fervor yet:
  Snow and mists envelop Etna,
  Making men the fire forget.
 
 
  Yonder mountain's pride so stately
  Thou dost shame like dawn's red glow;
  And its spell once more bids Hatem
  Thrill of spring and summer know.
 
 
  Once more fill the glass, the flagon!
  Let me drink to my desire.
  If she find a heap of ashes,
  Say, "He perished in her fire!"
 

REUNION²⁶ (1815)

 
  Can it be, O star transcendent,
  That I fold thee to my breast?
  Now I know, what depths of anguish
  May in parting be expressed.
  Yes, 'tis thou, of all my blisses
  Lovely, loving partner—thou!
  Mindful of my bygone sorrows,
  E'en the present awes me now.
 
 
  When the world in first conception
  Lay in God's eternal mind,
  In creative power delighting
  He the primal hour designed.
  When he gave command for being,
  Then was heard a mighty sigh
  Full of pain, as all creation
  Broke into reality.
 
 
  Up then sprang the light; and darkness
  Doubtful stood apart to gaze;
  All the elements, dividing
  Swiftly, took their several ways.
  In confused, disordered dreaming
  Strove they all for freedom's range—
  Each for self, no fellow-feeling;
  Single each, and cold and strange.
 
 
  Lo, a marvel—God was lonely!
  All was still and cold and dumb.
  So he framed dawn's rosy blushes
  Whence should consolation come—
  To refresh the troubled spirit
  Harmonies of color sweet:
  What had erst been forced asunder
  Now at last could love and meet.
 
 
  Then, ah then, of life unbounded
  Sight and feeling passed the gates;
  Then, ah then, with eager striving
  Kindred atoms sought their mates.
  Gently, roughly they may seize them,
  So they catch and hold them fast:
  "We," they cry, "are now creators—
  Allah now may rest at last!"
 
 
  So with rosy wings of morning
  Towards thy lips my being moves;
  Sets the starry night a thousand
  Glowing seals upon our loves.
  We are as we should be—parted
  Ne'er on earth in joy or pain;
  And no second word creative
  E'er can sunder us again!
 

PROOEMION²⁷ (1816)

 
  In His blest name, who was His own creation,
Who from all time makes making His vocation;
  The name of Him who makes our faith so bright,
  Love, confidence, activity, and might;
  In that One's name, who, named though oft He be,
  Unknown is ever in Reality:
  As far as ear can reach, or eyesight dim,
  Thou findest but the known resembling Him;
  How high soe'er thy fiery spirit hovers,
  Its simile and type it straight discovers;
  Onward thou'rt drawn, with feelings light and gay,
  Where e'er thou goest, smiling is the way;
  No more thou numberest, reckonest no time,
  Each step is infinite, each step sublime.
What God would outwardly alone control,
  And on His finger whirl the mighty Whole?
He loves the inner world to move, to view
  Nature in Him, Himself in Nature, too,
  So that what in Him works, and is, and lives,
  The measure of His strength, His spirit gives.
  Within us all a universe doth dwell;
  And hence each people's usage laudable,
  That every one the Best that meets his eyes
As God, yea, e'en his God, doth recognize;
  To Him both earth and heaven surrenders he,
  Fears Him, and loves Him, too, if that may be.
 

THE ONE AND THE ALL²⁸ (1821)

 
  Called to a new employ in boundless space,
  The lonely monad quits its 'customed place
  And from life's weary round contented flees.
  No more of passionate striving, will perverse
  And hampering obligations, long a curse:
  Free self-abandonment at last gives peace.
 
 
  Soul of the world, come pierce our being through!
  Across the drift of things our way to hew
  Is our appointed task, our noblest war.
  Good spirits by our destined pathway still
  Lead gently on, best masters of our will,
  Toward that which made and makes all things that are.
  To shape for further ends what now has breath,
  Let nothing harden into ice and death,
  Works endless living action everywhere.
  What has not yet existed strives for birth—
  Toward purer suns, more glorious-colored earth:
  To rest in idle stillness naught may dare.
  All must move onward, help transform the mass,
  Assume a form, to yet another pass;
  'Tis but in seeming aught is fixed or still.
  In all things moves the eternal restless Thought;
  For all, when comes the hour, must fall to naught
  If to persist in being is its will.