The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries
Chapter 3 : I dared not hope to win such grace.To part--alas what grief in this is!-- In every look

I dared not hope to win such grace.

To part--alas what grief in this is!-- In every look thy heart spoke plain.

What ecstasy was in thy kisses!

What changing thrill of joy and pain!

I went. One solace yet to capture, Thine eyes pursued in sweet distress.

But to be loved, what holy rapture!

To love, ah G.o.ds, what happiness!

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE HEATHROSE K. Kogler]

THE HEATHROSE[5] (1771)

Once a boy a Rosebud spied, Heathrose fair and tender, All array'd in youthful pride,-- Quickly to the spot he hied, Ravished by her splendor.

Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, Heathrose fair and tender!

Said the boy, "I'll now pick thee Heathrose fair and tender!"

Rosebud cried "And I'll p.r.i.c.k thee, So thou shalt remember me, Ne'er will I surrender!"

Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, Heathrose fair and tender!

But the wanton plucked the rose, Heathrose fair and tender; Thorns the cruel theft oppose, Brief the struggle and vain the woes, She must needs surrender.

Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, Heathrose fair and tender!

MAHOMET'S SONG[6] (1773)

[This song was intended to be introduced in a dramatic poem ent.i.tled _Mahomet_, the plan of which was not carried out by Goethe. He mentions that it was to have been sung by Ali toward the end of the piece, in honor of his master, Mahomet, shortly before his death, and when at the height of his glory, of which it is typical.]

See the rock-born stream!

Like the gleam Of a star so bright!

Kindly spirits High above the clouds Nourished him while youthful In the copse between the cliffs.

Young and fresh, From the clouds he danceth Down upon the marble rocks; Then tow'rd heaven Leaps exulting.

Through the mountain-pa.s.ses Chaseth he the color'd pebbles, And, advancing like a chief, Draws his brother streamlets with him In his course.

In the vale below 'Neath his footsteps spring the flowers, And the meadow In his breath finds life.

Yet no shady vale can stay him, Nor can flowers, Round his knees all softly twining With their loving eyes detain him; To the plain his course he taketh, Serpent-winding.

Eager streamlets Join his waters. And now moves he O'er the plain in silv'ry glory, And the plain in him exults, And the rivers from the plain, And the streamlets from the mountain, Shout with joy, exclaiming: "Brother, Brother, take thy brethren with thee.

With thee to thine aged father, To the everlasting ocean, Who, with arms outstretching far, Waiteth for us; Ah, in vain those arms lie open To embrace his yearning children; For the thirsty sand consumes us In the desert waste; the sunbeams Drink our life-blood; hills around us Into lakes would dam us! Brother, Take thy brethren of the plain, Take thy brethren of the mountain With thee, to thy father's arms!"--

Let all come, then!-- And now swells he Lordlier still; yea, e'en a people Bears his regal flood on high!

And in triumph onward rolling, Names to countries gives he,--cities Spring to light beneath his foot.

Ever, ever, on he rushes, Leaves the towers' flame-tipp'd summits, Marble palaces, the offspring Of his fulness, far behind.

Cedar-houses bears the Atlas On his giant shoulders; flutt'ring In the breeze far, far above him Thousand flags are gaily floating, Bearing witness to his might.

And so beareth he his brethren, All his treasures, all his children, Wildly shouting, to the bosom Of his long-expectant sire.

PROMETHEUS[7] (1774)

Cover thy s.p.a.cious heavens, Zeus, With clouds of mist, And, like the boy who lops The thistles' heads, Disport with oaks and mountain-peaks; Yet thou must leave

My earth still standing; My cottage too, which was not raised by thee, Leave me my hearth, Whose kindly glow By thee is envied.

I know nought poorer Under the sun, than ye G.o.ds!

Ye nourish painfully, With sacrifices And votive prayers, Your majesty; Ye would e'en starve, If children and beggars Were not trusting fools.

While yet a child, And ignorant of life, I turned my wandering gaze Up tow'rd the sun, as if with him There were an ear to hear my wailing, A heart, like mine To feel compa.s.sion for distress.

Who help'd me Against the t.i.tans' insolence?

Who rescued me from certain death, From slavery?

Didst thou not do all this thyself, My sacred glowing heart?

And glowedst, young and good, Deceived with grateful thanks To yonder slumbering one?

I honor thee! and why?

Hast thou e'er lighten'd the sorrows Of the heavy laden?

Hast thou e'er dried up the tears

[Ill.u.s.tration: PROMETHEUS t.i.tian.]

Of the anguish-stricken?

Was I not fas.h.i.+on'd to be a man By omnipotent Time, And by eternal Fate, Masters of me and thee?

Didst thou e'er fancy That life I should learn to hate, And fly to deserts, Because not all My blossoming dreams grew ripe?

Here sit I, forming mortals After my image; A race resembling me, To suffer, to weep, To enjoy, to be glad, And thee to scorn, As I!

THE WANDERER'S NIGHT-SONG[8] (1776)

Thou who comest from on high, Who all woes and sorrows stillest, Who, for two-fold misery, Hearts with twofold balsam fillest, Would this constant strife would cease!

What avails the joy and pain?

Blissful Peace, To my bosom come again!

THE SEA-VOYAGE[9] (1776)

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 with impatience twofold: "Gladly pray we for thy rapid pa.s.sage, Gladly for thy happy voyage; fortune In the distant world is waiting for thee, In our arms thou'lt find thy prize, and love too, When returning."

And when morning came, arose an uproar And the sailors' joyous shouts awoke us; All was stirring, all was living, moving, Bent on sailing with the first kind zephyr.

And the sails soon in the breeze are swelling, And the sun with fiery love invites us; Fill'd the sails are, clouds on high are floating, On the sh.o.r.e each friend exulting raises Songs of hope, in giddy joy expecting Joy the voyage through, as on the morn of sailing, And the earliest starry nights so radiant.

But by G.o.d-sent changing winds ere long he's driven Sideways from the course he had intended, And he feigns as though he would surrender, While he gently striveth to outwit them, To his goal, e'en when thus press'd, still faithful.