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Epigrams - 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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Epigrams

Venice, 1790.

    • I.

    • SARCOPHAGUS and urn erst were with life adorn’d by the heathen:
    • Fauns are dancing around, while with the Bacchanal troop
    • Chequer’d circles they trace; and the goat-footed, puffy-cheek’d player
    • Wildly produceth hoarse tones out of the clamorous horn.
    • Cymbals and drums resound; we see and we hear, too, the marble.
    • Fluttering bird! Oh, how sweet tastes the ripe fruit to thy bill!
    • Noise there is none to disturb thee, still less to scare away Amor,
    • Who, in the midst of the throng, learns to delight in his torch.
    • Thus doth fulness overcome death; and the ashes there cover’d
    • Seem, in that silent domain, still to be gladden’d with life.
    • Thus may the minstrel’s sarcophagus be hereafter surrounded
    • With such a scroll, which himself richly with life has adorn’d.
    • II.

    • CLASP’D in my arms forever eagerly hold I my mistress,
    • Ever my panting heart throbs wildly against her dear breast,
    • And on her knees forever is leaning my head, while I’m gazing
    • Now on her sweet-smiling mouth, now on her bright sparkling eyes.
    • “O thou effeminate!” spake one, “and thus, then, thy days thou art spending?”
    • Ah, they in sorrow are spent. List while I tell thee my tale:
    • Yes! I have left my only joy in life far behind me,
    • Twenty long days hath my car borne me away from her sight.
    • Vetturini defy me, while crafty chamberlains flatter,
    • And the sly Valet de place thinks but of lies and deceit.
    • If I attempt to escape, the Postmaster fastens upon me,
    • Postboys the upper hand get, custom-house duties enrage.
    • “Truly, I can’t understand thee! thou talkest enigmas! thou seemest
    • Wrapp’d in a blissful repose, glad as Rinaldo of yore:”—
    • Ah, I myself understand full well; ’tis my body that travels,
    • And ’tis my spirit that rests still in my mistress’s arms.
    • III.

    • I WOULD liken this gondola unto the soft-rocking cradle,
    • And the chest on its deck seems a vast coffin to be.
    • Yes! ’tween the cradle and coffin, we totter and waver forever
    • On the mighty canal, careless our lifetime is spent.
    • IV.

    • WHY are the people thus busily moving? For food they are seeking,
    • Children they fain would beget, feeding them well as they can.
    • Traveller, mark this well, and when thou art home, do thou likewise!
    • More can no mortal effect, work with what ardor he will.
    • V.

    • I WOULD compare to the land this anvil, its lord to the hammer,
    • And to the people the plate, which in the middle is bent.
    • Sad is the poor tin-plate’s lot, when the blows are but given at random:
    • Ne’er will the kettle be made, while they uncertainly fall.
    • VI.

    • WHAT is the life of a man? Yet thousands are ever accustom’d
    • Freely to talk about man,—what he has done, too, and how.
    • Even less is a poem; yet thousands read and enjoy it,
    • Thousands abuse it.—My friend, live and continue to rhyme!
    • VII.

    • MERRY’S the trade of a poet; but somewhat a dear one, I fear me;
    • For, as my book grows apace, all of my sequins I lose.
    • VIII.

    • IF thou’rt in earnest, no longer delay, but render me happy;
    • Art thou in jest? Ah, sweet love! time for all jesting is past.
    • IX.

    • ART thou, then, vex’d at my silence? What shall I speak of? Thou markest
    • Neither my sorrowful sigh, nor my soft eloquent look.
    • Only one goddess is able the seal of my lips to unloosen,—
    • When by Aurora I’m found, slumbering calm on thy breast.
    • Ah, then my hymn in the ears of the earliest gods shall be chaunted,
    • As the Memnonian form breath’d forth sweet secrets in song.
    • X.

    • IN the twilight of morning to climb to the top of the mountain,—
    • Thee to salute, kindly star, earliest herald of day,—
    • And to await, with impatience, the gaze of the ruler of heaven,—
    • Youthful delight, oh, how oft lurest thou me out in the night!
    • O ye heralds of day, ye heavenly eyes of my mistress,
    • Now ye appear, and the sun evermore riseth too soon.
    • XI.

    • THOU art amaz’d, and dost point to the ocean. It seems to be burning,
    • Flame-crested billows in play dart round our night-moving bark.
    • Me it astonisheth not,—of the ocean was born Aphrodite,—
    • Did not a flame, too, proceed from her for us, in her son?
    • XII.

    • GLEAMING the ocean appear’d, the beauteous billows were smiling,
    • While a fresh, favoring wind, filling the sails, drove us on.
    • Free was my bosom from yearning; yet soon my languishing glances
    • Turn’d themselves backward in haste, seeking the snow-cover’d hills.
    • Treasures unnumber’d are southwards lying. Yet one to the northwards
    • Draws me resistlessly back, like the strong magnet in force.
    • XIII.

    • SPACIOUS and fair is the world; yet oh, how I thank the kind heavens
    • That I a garden possess, small though it be, yet mine own.
    • One which enticeth me homewards; why should a gardener wander?
    • Honor and pleasure he finds when to his garden he looks.
    • XIV.

    • AH, my maiden is going! she mounts the vessel! My monarch,
    • Æolus! potentate dread! keep every storm far away!
    • “O thou fool!” cried the god: “ne’er fear the blustering tempest;
    • When Love flutters his wings, then may’st thou dread the soft breeze.”
    • XV.

    • WILT thou enjoy the pleasures of Love with purest of feelings?
    • Keep conceit from thy heart—banish solemnity!
    • Love is scared by the one, the other hopes vainly to chain him:
    • Ill-affected to both smiles the mischievous god.
lf0841-01_figure_067

artist: th. von eckenbrecher.

FIFTH EPIGRAM.

lf0841-01_figure_065 lf0841-01_figure_066

artist: a schmitz.

EIGHTY-FOURTH EPIGRAM.