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THE MAGIC NET. - 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 MAGIC NET.

    • DO I see a contest yonder?
    • See I miracles or pastimes?
    • Beauteous urchins, five in number,
    • ’Gainst five sisters fair contending,—
    • Measur’d is the time they’re beating—
    • At a bright enchantress’ bidding.
    • Glitt’ring spears by some are wielded,
    • Threads are others nimbly twining,
    • So that in their snares the weapons
    • One would think must needs be captured.
    • Soon, in truth, the spears are prison’d;
    • Yet they, in the gentle war-dance,
    • One by one escape their fetters
    • In the row of loops so tender
    • That make haste to seize a free one
    • Soon as they release a captive.
    • So with contests, strivings, triumphs,
    • Flying now, and now returning,
    • Is an artful net soon woven,
    • In its whiteness like the snow-flakes
    • That, from light amid the darkness,
    • Draw their streaky lines so varied
    • As e’en colors scarce can draw them.
    • Who shall now receive that garment
    • Far beyond all others wish’d for?
    • Whom our much-lov’d mistress favor
    • As her own acknowledg’d servant?
    • I am bless’d by kindly Fortune’s
    • Tokens true, in silence pray’d for!
    • And I feel myself held captive,
    • To her service now devoted.
    • Yet, e’en while I, thus enraptured,
    • Thus adorn’d, am proudly wand’ring,
    • See! yon wantons are entwining,
    • Void of strife, with secret ardor,
    • Other nets, each fine and finer,
    • Threads of twilight interweaving,
    • Moonbeams sweet, night-violets’ balsam.
    • Ere the net is noticed by us
    • Is a happier one imprison’d,
    • Whom we, one and all, together
    • Greet with envy and with blessings.

The Goblet.

    • EAGERLY a well-carv’d brimming goblet
    • In my two hands tightly clasp’d I lifted;
    • Ardently the sweet wine sipp’d I from it,
    • Seeking there to drown all care and sorrow.
    • Amor enter’d in, and found me sitting,
    • And he gently smiled in modest fashion,
    • Smiled as though the foolish one he pitied.
    • “Friend, I know a far more beauteous vessel,
    • One wherein to sink thy spirit wholly;
    • Say, what wilt thou give me, if I grant it,
    • And with other nectar fill it for thee?”
    • Oh, how kindly hath he kept his promise!
    • For to me, who long had yearn’d, he granted
    • Thee, my Lida, fill’d with soft affection.
    • When I clasp mine arms around thee fondly,
    • When I drink in love’s long-hoarded balsam
    • From thy darling lips so true, so faithful,
    • Fill’d with bliss thus speak I to my spirit:—
    • “No! a vessel such as this, save Amor,
    • Never god hath fashion’d or been lord of!
    • Such a form was ne’er produc’d by Vulcan
    • With his cunning, reason-gifted hammers!
    • On the leaf-crown’d mountains may Lyæus
    • Bid his Fauns, the oldest and the wisest,
    • Pass the choicest clusters through the winepress,
    • And himself watch o’er the fermentation:
    • Such a draught no toil can e’er procure him!”