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THE MAID OF THE MILL’S TREACHERY. - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Goethe’s Works, vol. 1 (Poems) [1885]

Edition used:

Goethe’s Works, illustrated by the best German artists, 5 vols. (Philadelphia: G. Barrie, 1885). Vol. 1.

Part of: Goethe’s Works, 5 vols.

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THE MAID OF THE MILL’S TREACHERY.

    • WHENCE comes our friend so hastily,
    • When scarce the Eastern sky is gray?
    • Hath he just ceas’d, though cold it be,
    • In yonder holy spot to pray?
    • The brook appears to hem his path,
    • Would he barefooted o’er it go?
    • Why curse his orisons in wrath,
    • Across those heights beclad with snow?
    • Alas! his warm bed he hath left,
    • Where he had look’d for bliss, I ween;
    • And if his cloak too, had been reft,
    • How fearful his disgrace had been!
    • By yonder villain sorely press’d,
    • His wallet from him has been torn;
    • Our hapless friend has been undress’d,—
    • Left well nigh naked as when born.
    • The reason why he came this road,
    • Is that he sought a pair of eyes,
    • Which, at the mill, as brightly glow’d
    • As those that are in Paradise.
    • He will not soon again be there;
    • From out the house he quickly hied,
    • And when he gain’d the open air,
    • Thus bitterly and loudly cried:—
    • “Within her gaze, so dazzling bright,
    • No word of treachery I could read;
    • She seem’d to see me with delight,
    • Yet plann’d e’en then this cruel deed!
    • Could I, when basking in her smile,
    • Dream of the treason in her breast?
    • She bade kind Cupid stay awhile,
    • And he was there, to make us bless’d.
    • “To taste of love’s sweet ecstasy
    • Throughout the night, that endless seem’d,
    • And for her mother’s help to cry
    • Only when morning sunlight beam’d!
    • A dozen of her kith and kin,
    • A very human flood, in-press’d,
    • Her cousins came, her aunts peer’d in,
    • And uncles, brothers, and the rest.
    • “Then what a tumult, fierce and loud!
    • Each seem’d a beast of prey to be;
    • The maiden’s honor all the crowd,
    • With fearful shout, demand of me.
    • Why should they, madmen-like, begin
    • To fall upon a guiltless youth?
    • For he who such a prize would win,
    • Far nimbler needs must be, in truth.
    • “The way to follow up with skill
    • His freaks, by love betimes is known:
    • He ne’er will leave, within a mill,
    • Sweet flowers for sixteen years alone.—
    • They stole my clothes away,—yes, all!
    • And tried my cloak besides to steal.
    • How strange that any house so small
    • So many rascals could conceal!
    • “Then I sprang up, and rav’d and swore,
    • To force a passage through them there.
    • I saw the treacherous maid once more,
    • And she was still, alas, so fair!
    • They all gave way before my wrath,
    • Wild outcries flew about pell-mell;
    • At length I manag’d to rush forth,
    • With voice of thunder, from that hell.
    • “As maidens of the town we fly,
    • We’ll shun you maidens of the village!
    • Leave it to those of quality,
    • Their humble worshippers to pillage!
    • Yet if ye are of practis’d skill,
    • And of all tender ties afraid,
    • Exchange your lovers, if ye will,
    • But never let them be betray’d.”
    • Thus sings he in the winter-night,
    • While not a blade of grass was green.
    • I laugh’d to see his piteous plight,
    • For it was well-deserv’d, I ween.
    • And may this be the fate of all,
    • Who treat by day their true loves ill,
    • And, with foolhardy daring, crawl
    • By night to Cupid’s treacherous mill!