Econlib

The Library

Other Sites

Front Page arrow Titles (by Subject) arrow THE BRIDE OF CORINTH. - Goethe's Works, vol. 1 (Poems)

Return to Title Page for Goethe’s Works, vol. 1 (Poems)

Search this Title:

Also in the Library:

Subject Area: Literature

THE BRIDE OF CORINTH. - 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.

About Liberty Fund:

Liberty Fund, Inc. is a private, educational foundation established to encourage the study of the ideal of a society of free and responsible individuals.


THE BRIDE OF CORINTH.

    • ONCE a stranger youth to Corinth came,
    • Who in Athens liv’d, but hop’d that he
    • From a certain townsman there might claim,
    • As his father’s friend, kind courtesy.
    • Son and daughter, they
    • Had been wont to say
    • Should thereafter bride and bridegroom be.
    • But can he that boon so highly priz’d,
    • Save ’tis dearly bought, now hope to get?
    • They are Christians and have been baptiz’d,
    • He and all of his are heathens yet.
    • For a newborn creed,
    • Like some loathsome weed,
    • Love and truth to root out oft will threat.
    • Father, daughter, all had gone to rest,
    • And the mother only watches late;
    • She receives with courtesy the guest,
    • And conducts him to the room of state.
    • Wine and food are brought,
    • Ere by him besought;
    • Bidding him good-night, she leaves him straight.
    • But he feels no relish now, in truth,
    • For the dainties so profusely spread;
    • Meat and drink forgets the wearied youth,
    • And, still dress’d, he lays him on the bed.
    • Scarce are clos’d his eyes,
    • When a form in-hies
    • Through the open door with silent tread.
    • By his glimmering lamp discerns he now
    • How, in veil and garment white array’d,
    • With a black and gold band round her brow,
    • Glides into the room a bashful maid.
    • But she, at his sight,
    • Lifts her hand so white,
    • And appears as though full sore afraid.
    • “Am I,” cries she, “such a stranger here,
    • That the guest’s approach they could not name?
    • Ah, they keep me in my cloister drear,
    • Well nigh feel I vanquish’d by my shame.
    • On thy soft couch now
    • Slumber calmly thou!
    • I’ll return as swiftly as I came.”
    • “Stay, thou fairest maiden!” cries the boy,
    • Starting from his couch with eager haste:
    • “Here are Ceres’, Bacchus’ gifts of joy;
    • Amor bringest thou, with beauty grac’d!
    • Thou art pale with fear!
    • Lov’d one, let us here
    • Prove the raptures the Immortals taste.”
    • “Draw not nigh, O youth! afar remain!
    • Rapture now can never smile on me;
    • For the fatal step, alas! is ta’en,
    • Through my mother’s sick-bed phantasy.
    • Cur’d, she made this oath:
    • ‘Youth and nature both
    • Shall henceforth to Heav’n devoted be.’
    • “From the house, so silent now, are driven
    • All the gods who reign’d supreme of yore;
    • One Invisible now rules in heaven,
    • On the cross a Saviour they adore.
    • Victims slay they here,
    • Neither lamb nor steer,
    • But the altars reek with human gore.”
    • And he lists, and ev’ry word he weighs,
    • While his eager soul drinks in each sound:
    • “Can it be that now before my gaze
    • Stands my lov’d one on this silent ground?
    • Pledge to me thy troth!
    • Through our father’s oath,
    • With Heav’n’s blessing will our love be crown’d.”
    • “Kindly youth, I never can be thine!
    • ’Tis my sister they intend for thee.
    • When I in the silent cloister pine,
    • Ah, within her arms remember me!
    • Thee alone I love,
    • While love’s pangs I prove;
    • Soon the earth will veil my misery.”
    • “No! for by this glowing flame I swear,
    • Hymen hath himself propitious shown:
    • Let us to my father’s house repair,
    • And thou’lt find that joy is not yet flown.
    • Sweetest, here then stay,
    • And without delay
    • Hold we now our wedding-feast alone!”
    • Then exchange they tokens of their truth;
    • She gives him a golden chain to wear,
    • And a silver chalice would the youth
    • Give her in return of beauty rare.
    • “That is not for me;
    • Yet I beg of thee,
    • One lock only give me of thy hair.”
    • Now the ghostly hour of midnight knell’d,
    • And she seem’d right joyous at the sign;
    • To her pallid lips the cup she held,
    • But she drank of nought but blood-red wine.
    • For to taste the bread
    • There before them spread,
    • Nought he spoke could make the maid incline.
    • To the youth the goblet then she brought,—
    • He too quaff’d with eager joy the bowl.
    • Love to crown the silent feast he sought,
    • Ah! full love-sick was the stripling’s soul.
    • From his prayer she shrinks,
    • Till at length he sinks
    • On the bed and weeps without control.
    • And she comes, and lays her near the boy:
    • “How I grieve to see thee sorrowing so!
    • If thou think’st to clasp my form with joy,
    • Thou must learn this secret sad to know:
    • Yes! the maid, whom thou
    • Call’st thy lov’d one now,
    • Is as cold as ice, though white as snow.”
    • Then he clasps her madly in his arm,
    • While love’s youthful might pervades his frame:
    • “Thou might’st hope, when with me, to grow warm,
    • E’en if from the grave thy spirit came!
    • Breath for breath, and kiss!
    • Overflow of bliss!
    • Dost not thou, like me, feel passion’s flame?”
    • Love still closer rivets now their lips,
    • Tears they mingle with their rapture blest,
    • From his mouth the flame she wildly sips,
    • Each is with the other’s thought possess’d.
    • His hot ardor’s flood
    • Warms her chilly blood,
    • But no heart is beating in her breast.
    • From the door she will not now remove,
    • ’Till she gains full certainty of this;
    • And with anger hears she vows of love,
    • Soft caressing words of mutual bliss.
    • “Hush! the cock’s loud strain!
    • But thou’lt come again,
    • When the night returns!”—then kiss on kiss.
    • In her care to see that nought went wrong,
    • Now the mother happen’d to draw near;
    • At the door long hearkens she, full long,
    • Wond’ring at the sounds that greet her ear.
    • Tones of joy and sadness,
    • And love’s blissful madness,
    • As of bride and bridegroom they appear.
    • Then her wrath the mother cannot hold,
    • But unfastens straight the lock with ease:—
    • “In this house are girls become so bold,
    • As to seek e’en strangers’ lusts to please?”
    • By her lamp’s clear glow
    • Looks she in,—and oh!
    • Sight of horror!—’tis her child she sees.
    • Fain the youth would, in his first alarm,
    • With the veil that o’er her had been spread,
    • With the carpet, shield his love from harm;
    • But she casts them from her, void of dread,
    • And with spirit’s strength,
    • In its spectre length,
    • Lifts her figure slowly from the bed.
    • “Mother! mother!”—Thus her wan lips say:
    • “May not I one night of rapture share?
    • From the warm couch am I chas’d away?
    • Do I waken only to despair?
    • It contents not thee
    • To have driven me
    • An untimely shroud of death to wear?
    • “But from out my coffin’s prison-bounds
    • By a wondrous fate I’m forc’d to rove,
    • While the blessings and the chaunting sounds
    • That your priests delight in, useless prove.
    • Water, salt, are vain
    • Fervent youth to chain,
    • Ah, e’en Earth can never cool down love!
    • “When that infant vow of love was spoken,
    • Venus’ radiant temple smiled on both.
    • Mother! thou that promise since hast broken,
    • Fetter’d by a strange, deceitful oath.
    • Gods, though, hearken ne’er,
    • Should a mother swear
    • To deny her daughter’s plighted troth.
    • “From my grave to wander I am forc’d,
    • Still to seek The Good’s long-sever’d link,
    • Still to love the bridegroom I have lost,
    • And the life-blood of his heart to drink;
    • When his race is run,
    • I must hasten on,
    • And the young must ’neath my vengeance sink.
    • “Beauteous youth! no longer may’st thou live;
    • Here must shrivel up thy form so fair;
    • Did not I to thee a token give,
    • Taking in return this lock of hair?
    • View it to thy sorrow!
    • Gray thou’lt be to-morrow,
    • Only to grow brown again when there.
    • “Mother, to this final prayer give ear!
    • Let a funeral pile be straightway dress’d;
    • Open then my cell so sad and drear,
    • That the flames may give the lovers rest!
    • When ascends the fire
    • From the glowing pyre,
    • To the gods of old we’ll hasten, bless’d.”
lf0841-01_figure_052