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THE MAID OF THE MILL’S REPENTANCE. - 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 REPENTANCE.

    • Youth.
    • AWAY, thou swarthy witch! Go forth
    • From out my house, I tell thee!
    • Or else I needs must, in my wrath,
    • Expel thee!
    • What’s this thou singest so falsely, forsooth,
    • Of love and a maiden’s silent truth?
    • Who’ll trust to such a story!
    • Gypsy.
    • I sing of a maid’s repentant fears,
    • And long and bitter yearning;
    • Her levity’s chang’d to truth and tears
    • All-burning.
    • She dreads no more the threats of her mother,
    • She dreads far less the blows of her brother,
    • Than the dearly-lov’d one’s hatred.
    • Youth.
    • Of selfishness sing and treacherous lies,
    • Of murder and thievish plunder!
    • Such actions false will cause no surprise,
    • Or wonder.
    • When they share their booty, both clothes and purse,—
    • As bad as you gypsies, and even worse,
    • Such tales find ready credence.
    • Gypsy.
    • “Alas, alas! oh, what have I done?
    • Can listening aught avail me?
    • I hear him toward my room hasten on,
    • To hail me.
    • My heart beat high, to myself I said:
    • ‘O would that thou hadst never betray’d
    • That night of love to thy mother!’ ”
    • Youth.
    • Alas! I foolishly ventur’d there,
    • For the cheating silence misled me;
    • Ah, sweetest! let me to thee repair,—
    • Nor dread me!
    • When suddenly rose a fearful din,
    • Her mad relations came pouring in;
    • My blood still boils in my body!
    • Gypsy.
    • “Oh, when will return an hour like this?
    • I pine in silent sadness;
    • I’ve thrown away my only true bliss
    • With madness.
    • Alas, poor maid! O pity my youth!
    • My brother was then full cruel in truth
    • To treat the lov’d one so basely!”
    • The Poet.
    • The swarthy woman then went inside,
    • To the spring in the courtyard yonder;
    • Her eyes from their stain she purified,
    • And,—wonder!—
    • Her face and eyes were radiant and bright,
    • And the maid of the mill was disclos’d to the sight
    • Of the startl’d and angry stripling!
    • The Maid of the Mill.
    • Thou sweetest, fairest, dearly-lov’d life!
    • Before thine anger I cower;
    • But blows I dread not, nor sharp-edg’d knife,—
    • This hour
    • Of sorrow and love to thee I’ll sing,
    • And myself before thy feet I’ll fling,
    • And either live or die there!
    • Youth.
    • Affection, say, why buried so deep
    • In my heart hast thou lain hidden?
    • By whom hast thou now to awake from thy sleep
    • Been bidden?
    • Ah, love, that thou art immortal I see!
    • Nor knavish cunning nor treachery
    • Can destroy thy life so godlike.
    • The Maid of the Mill.
    • If still, with as fond and heartfelt love,
    • As thou once didst swear, I’m cherish’d,
    • Then nought of the rapture we used to prove
    • Is perish’d.
    • So take the woman so dear to thy breast!
    • In her young and innocent charms be bless’d,
    • For all are thine from henceforward!
    • Both.
    • Now, sun, sink to rest! Now, sun, arise!
    • Ye stars, be now shining, now darkling!
    • A star of love now gleams in the skies,
    • All-sparkling!
    • As long as the fountain may spring and run,
    • So long will we two be blended in one,
    • Upon each other’s bosoms!
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