And with
mightygodlike stroke
Right and duty they inspire,
And evoke,
As they sing, and wake the lyre,
Tendencies of noblest worth,
To each type of strength give birth.
Phantasies of sweetest power
Flower
Round about on ev'ry bough,
Bending now
Like the magic wood of old,
'Neath the fruit that gleams like gold.
What we feel and what we view
In the land of highest bliss,--
This dear soil, a sun like this,--
Lures the best of women too.
And the Muses' breathings blest
Rouse the maiden's gentle breast,
Tune the
throat to minstrelsy,
And with cheeks of
beauteous dye,
Bid it sing a
worthy song,
Sit the sister-band among;
And their strains grow softer still,
As they vie with
earnest will.
One
amongst the band betimes
Goes to wander
By the beeches, 'neath the limes,
Yonder seeking,
finding yonder
That which in the morning-grove
She had lost through roguish Love,
All her breast's first aspirations,
And her heart's calm meditations,
To the shady wood so fair
Gently stealing,
Takes she that which man can ne'er
Duly merit,--each soft feeling,--
Disregards the
noontide ray
And the dew at close of day,?
In the plain her path she loses.
Ne'er
disturb her on her way!
Seek her
silently, ye Muses
Shouts I hear,
wherein the sound
Of the
waterfall is drown'd.
From the grove loud clamours rise,
Strange the
tumult, strange the cries.
See I
rightly? Can it be?
To the very sanctuary,
Lo, an
impious troop in-hies!
O'er the land
Streams the band;
Hot desire,
Drunken-fire
In their gaze
Wildly plays,--
Makes their hair
Bristle there.
And the troop,
With fell swoop,
Women, men,
Coming then,
Ply their blows
And expose,
Void of shame,
All the frame.
Iron shot,
Fierce and hot,
Strike with fear
On the ear;
All they slay
On their way.
O'er the land
Pours the band;
All take flight
At their sight.
Ah, o'er ev'ry plant they rush!
Ah, their cruel footsteps crush
All the flowers that fill their path!
Who will dare to stem their wrath?
Brethren, let us
venture all!
Virtue in your pure cheek glows.
Phoebus will attend our call
When he sees our heavy woes;
And that we may have aright
Weapons suited to the fight,
He the mountain shaketh now--
From its brow
Rattling down
Stone on stone
Through the
thicket spread appear.
Brethren, seize them! Wherefore fear?
Now the
villain crew
assail,
As though with a storm of hail,
And expel the strangers wild
From these regions soft and mild
Where the sun has ever smil'd!
What strange wonder do I see?
Can it be?
All my limbs of power are reft.
And all strength my hand has left.
Can it he?
None are strangers that I see!
And our brethren 'tis who go
On before, the way to show!
Oh, the
recklessimpious ones!
How they, with their jarring tones,
Beat the time, as on they hie!
Quick, my brethren!--let us fly!
To the rash ones, yet a word!
Ay, my voice shall now be heard,
As a peal of
thunder, strong!
Words as poets' arms were made,--
When the god will he obey'd,
Follow fast his darts ere long.
Was it possible that ye
Thus your
godlike dignity
Should forget? The Thyrsus rude
Must a heavy burden feel
To the hand but wont to steal
O'er the lyre in gentle mood.
From the sparkling
waterfalls,
From the brook that purling calls,
Shall Silenus'
loathsome beast
Be allow'd at will to feast?
Aganippe's * wave he sips
With
profane and spreading lips,--
With ungainly feet stamps madly,
Till the waters flow on sadly.
Fain I'd think myself deluded
In the sadd'ning sounds I hear;
From the holy glades secluded
Hateful tones
assail the ear.
Laughter wild (exchange how mournful!)
Takes the place of love's sweet dream;
Women-haters and the scornful
In exulting
chorus scream.
Nightingale and
turtle dove
Fly their nests so warm and chaste,
And, inflamed with sensual love,
Holds the Faun the Nymph embrac'd.
Here a garment's torn away,
Scoffs succeed their sated bliss,
While the god, with angry ray,
Looks upon each
impious kiss.
Vapour, smoke, as from a fire,
And advancing clouds I view;
Chords not only grace the lyre,
For the bow its chords bath too.
Even the adorer's heart
Dreads the wild advancing hand,
For the flames that round them dart
Show the
fierce destroyer's hand.
Oh
neglect not what I say,
For I speak it lovingly!
From our boundaries haste away,
From the god's dread anger fly!
Cleanse once more the holy place,
Turn the
savage train aside!
Earth contains upon its face
Many a spot unsanctified;
Here we only prize the good.
Stars unsullied round us burn.
If ye, in repentant mood,
From your wanderings would return,--
If ye fail to find the bliss
That ye found with us of yore,--
Or when
lawless mirth like this
Gives your hearts delight no more,--
Then return in
pilgrim guise,
Gladly up the mountain go,
While your strains repentant rise,
And our brethren's
advent show.
Let a new-born
wreath entwine
Solemnly your temples round;
Rapture glows in hearts divine
When a long-lost sinner's found.
Swifter e'en than Lathe's flood
Round Death's silent house can play,
Ev'ry error of the good
Will love's chalice wash away.
All will haste your steps to meet,
As ye come in majesty,--
Men your
blessing will entreat;--
Ours ye thus will
doubly be!
1798.
(* Aganippe--A spring in Boeotia, which arose out of Mount
Helicon, and was
sacred to Apollo and the Muses.)
-----
LILY'S MENAGERIE.
[Goethe describes this much-admired Poem, which he wrote in
honour of his love Lily, as being "designed to change his
surrender of her into
despair, by drolly-fretful images."]
THERE'S no menagerie, I vow,
Excels my Lily's at this minute;
She keeps the strangest creatures in it,
And catches them, she knows not how.
Oh, how they hop, and run, and rave,
And their clipp'd pinions wildly wave,--
Poor princes, who must all endure
The pangs of love that
nought can cure.
What is the fairy's name?--Is't Lily?--Ask not me!
Give thanks to Heaven if she's unknown to thee.