The Poems of Goethe by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (ebook reader with highlight function txt) 📖

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 treasures the niggard may add, Yet regard for the joyous will ever be had, For gladness lends over 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, An a form, a divine one, to greet us in glides, While we thunder our: ERGO BIBAMUS! 1810. -----

EPIPHANIAS.

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 pay.

The three holy kings have all come here, In number not four, but three they appear; And if a fourth join'd the other three, Increased by one their number would be.

The first am I,--the fair and the white, I ought to be seen when the sun shines bright! But, alas! with all my spices and myrrh, No girl now likes me,--I please not her.

The next am I,--the brown and the long, Known well to women, known well to song. Instead of spices, 'tis gold I bear, And so I'm welcome everywhere.

The last am I,--the black and small, And fain would be right merry withal. I like to eat and to drink full measure, I eat and drink, and give thanks with pleasure.

The three holy kings are friendly and mild, They seek the Mother, and seek the Child; The pious Joseph is sitting by, The ox and the ass on their litter lie.

We're bringing gold, we're bringing myrrh, The women incense always prefer; And if we have wine of a worthy growth, We three to drink like six are not loth.

As here we see fair lads and lasses, But not a sign of oxen or asses, We know that we have gone astray And so go further on our way.

BALLADS.

Poet's art is ever able To endow with truth mere fable.

MIGNON. [This universally known poem is also to be found in Wilhelm Meister.]

KNOW'ST thou the land where the fair citron blows, Where the bright orange midst the foliage glows, Where soft winds greet us from the azure skies, Where silent myrtles, stately laurels rise, Know'st thou it well?

'Tis there, 'tis there, That I with thee, beloved one, would repair.

Know'st thou the house? On columns rests its pile, Its halls are gleaming, and its chambers smile, And marble statues stand and gaze on me: "Poor child! what sorrow hath befallen thee?" Know'st thou it well?

'Tis there, 'tis there, That I with thee, protector, would repair!

Know'st thou the mountain, and its cloudy bridge? The mule can scarcely find the misty ridge; In caverns dwells the dragon's olden brood, The frowning crag obstructs the raging flood. Know'st thou it well?

'Tis there, 'tis there, Our path lies--Father--thither, oh repair! 1795.* -----

THE MINSTREL.

[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 the king, the page out-hied; The boy return'd; the monarch cried:

"Admit the old man yonder!"

"All hail, ye noble lords to-night!

All hail, ye beauteous dames! Star placed by star! What heavenly sight!

Whoe'er can tell their names? Within this glittering hall sublime, Be closed, mine eyes! 'tis not the time

For me to feast my wonder."

The minstrel straightway closed his eyes,

And woke a thrilling tone; The knights look'd on in knightly guise,

Fair looks tow'rd earth were thrown. The monarch, ravish'd by the strain, Bade them bring forth a golden chain,

To be his numbers' guerdon.

"The golden chain give not to me,

But give the chain to those In whose bold face we shiver'd see

The lances of our foes. Or give it to thy chancellor there; With other burdens he may bear

This one more golden burden.

"I sing, like birds of blithesome note,

That in the branches dwell; The song that rises from the throat

Repays the minstrel well. One boon I'd crave, if not too bold-- One bumper in a cup of gold

Be as my guerdon given."

The bowl he raised, the bowl he quaff'd:

"Oh drink, with solace fraught! Oh, house thrice-blest, where such a draught

A trifling gift is thought! When Fortune smiles, remember me, And as I thank you heartily,

As warmly thank ye Heaven!"

1795.* -----

BALLAD

OF THE BANISHED AND RETURNING COUNT.

[Goethe began to write an opera called Lowenstuhl, founded upon the old tradition which forms the subject of this Ballad, but he never carried out his design.]

OH, enter old minstrel, thou time-honour'd one! We children are here in the hall all alone,

The portals we straightway will bar. Our mother is praying, our father is gone

To the forest, on wolves to make war. Oh sing us a ballad, the tale then repeat,

'Till brother and I learn it right; We long have been hoping a minstrel to meet,

For children hear tales with delight.

"At midnight, when darkness its fearful veil weaves, His lofty and stately old castle he leaves,

But first he has buried his wealth. What figure is that in his arms one perceives,

As the Count quits the gateway by stealth? O'er what is his mantle so hastily thrown?

What bears he along in his flight? A daughter it is, and she gently sleeps on"--

The children they hear with delight.

"The morning soon glimmers. the world is so wide, In valleys and forests a home is supplied,

The bard in each village is cheer'd. Thus lives he and wanders, while years onward glide,

And longer still waxes his beard; But the maiden so fair in his arms grows amain,

'Neath her star all-protecting and bright, Secured in the mantle from wind and from rain--"

The children they hear with delight.

"And year upon year with swift footstep now steals, The mantle it fades, many rents it reveals,

The maiden no more it can hold. The father he sees her, what rapture he feels!

His joy cannot now be controll'd. How worthy she seems of the race whence she springs,

How noble and fair to the sight! What wealth to her dearly-loved father she brings!"--

The children they hear with delight.

"Then comes there a princely knight galloping by, She stretches her hand out, as soon as he's nigh,

But alms he refuses to give. He seizes her hand, with a smile in his eye:

'Thou art mine!' he exclaims, 'while I live!' 'When thou know'st,' cries the old man, 'the treasure that's there,

A princess thou'lt make her of right; Betroth'd be she now, on this spot green and fair--'"

The children they hear with delight.

"So she's bless'd by the priest on the hallowed place, And she goes with a smiling but sorrowful face,

From her father she fain would not part. The old man still wanders with ne'er-changing pace,

He covers with joy his sad heart. So I think of my daughter, as years pass away,

And my grandchildren far from my sight; I bless them by night, and I bless them by day"--

The children they hear with delight.

He blesses the children: a knocking they hear, The father it is! They spring forward in fear,

The old man they cannot conceal-- "Thou beggar, wouldst lure, then, my children so dear?

Straight seize him, ye vassals of steel! To the dungeon most deep, with the fool-hardy knave!"

The mother from far hears the fight; She hastens with flatt'ring entreaty to crave--

The children they hear with delight.

The vassals they suffer the Bard to stand there, And mother and children implore him to spare,

The proud prince would stifle his ire, 'Till driven to fury at hearing their prayer,

His smouldering anger takes fire: "Thou pitiful race! Oh, thou beggarly crew!

Eclipsing my star, once so bright! Ye'll bring me destruction, ye sorely shall rue!"

The children they hear with affright.

The old man still stands there with dignified mien, The vassals of steel quake before him, I ween,

The Count's fury increases in power; "My wedded existence a curse long has been,

And these are the fruits from that flower! 'Tis ever denied, and the saying is true,

That to wed with the base-born is right; The beggar has borne me a beggarly crew,--"

The children they hear with affright.

"If the husband, the father, thus treats you with scorn, If the holiest bonds by him rashly are torn,

Then come to your father--to me! The beggar may gladden life's pathway forlorn,

Though aged and weak he may be. This castle is mine! thou hast made it thy prey,

Thy people 'twas put me to flight; The tokens I bear will confirm what I say"--

The children they hear with delight.

"The king who erst govern'd returneth again, And restores to the Faithful the goods that were ta'en,

I'll unseal all my treasures the while; The laws shall be gentle, and peaceful the reign"--

The old man thus cries with a smile-- "Take courage, my son! all hath turned out for good,

And each hath a star that is bright, Those the princess hath borne thee are princely in blood,"--

The children thy hear with delight.

1816. -----

THE VIOLET.

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

"Ah!" thought the violet, "had I been For but the smallest moment e'en

Nature's most beauteous flower, 'Till gather'd by my love, and press'd, When weary, 'gainst her gentle breast, For e'en, for e'en

One quarter of an hour!"

Alas! alas! the maid drew nigh, The violet failed to meet her eye,

She crush'd the violet sweet. It sank and died, yet murmur'd not: "And if I die, oh, happy lot, For her I die,

And at her very feet!"

1775.* -----

THE FAITHLESS BOY.

THERE was a wooer blithe and gay,

A son of France was he,-- Who in his arms for many a day,

As though his bride were she, A poor young maiden had caress'd, And fondly kiss'd, and fondly press'd,

And then at length deserted.

When this was told the nut-brown maid,

Her senses straightway fled; She laugh'd and wept, and vow'd and pray'd,

And presently was dead. The hour her soul its farewell