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THE GERMAN PARNASSUS. - 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 GERMAN PARNASSUS.

    • ’NEATH the shadow
    • Of these bushes,
    • On the meadow
    • Where the cooling water gushes,
    • Phœbus gave me, when a boy,
    • All life’s fulness to enjoy.
    • So, in silence, as the God
    • Bade them with his sov’reign nod,
    • Sacred Muses train’d my days
    • To his praise,—
    • With the bright and silv’ry flood
    • Of Parnassus stirr’d my blood,
    • And the seal so pure and chaste
    • By them on my lips was plac’d.
    • With her modest pinions, see,
    • Philomel encircles me!
    • In these bushes, in yon grove,
    • Calls she to her sister-throng,
    • And their heavenly choral song
    • Teaches me to dream of love.
    • Fulness waxes in my breast
    • Of emotions social, bless’d;
    • Friendship’s nurtur’d,—love awakes,—
    • And the silence Phœbus breaks
    • Of his mountains, of his vales,—
    • Sweetly blow the balmy gales;
    • All for whom he shows affection,
    • Who are worthy his protection,
    • Gladly follow his direction.
    • This one comes with joyous bearing
    • And with open, radiant gaze;
    • That a sterner look is wearing,
    • This one, scarcely cured, with daring
    • Wakes the strength of former days;
    • For the sweet, destructive flame
    • Pierc’d his marrow and his frame.
    • That which Amor stole before
    • Phœbus only can restore,—
    • Peace, and joy, and harmony,
    • Aspirations pure and free.
    • Brethren, rise ye!
    • Numbers prize ye!
    • Deeds of worth resemble they.
    • Who can better than the bard
    • Guide a friend when gone astray?
    • If his duty he regard
    • More he’ll do than others may.
    • Yes! afar I hear them sing!
    • Yes! I hear them touch the string,
    • And with mighty godlike 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 bless’d
    • 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 clamors 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.
    • Phœbus 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 be?
    • None are strangers that I see!
    • And our brethren ’tis who go
    • On before, the way to show!
    • Oh, the reckless impious 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 be 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, inflam’d 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.
    • Vapor, smoke, as from a fire,
    • And advancing clouds I view;
    • Chords not only grace the lyre,
    • For the bow its chords hath too.
    • Even the adorer’s heart
    • Dreads the wild advancing band,
    • 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 Lethe’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!
lf0841-01_figure_073

artist: w friedrich.

THE GERMAN PARNASSUS.