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Trilogy of Passion. - 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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Trilogy of Passion.

TO WERTHER.

    • ONCE more, then, much-wept shadow, thou dost dare
    • Boldly to face the day’s clear light,
    • To meet me on fresh blooming meadows fair,
    • And dost not tremble at my sight.
    • Those happy times appear return’d once more.
    • When on one field we quaff’d refreshing dew,
    • And, when the day’s unwelcome toils were o’er,
    • The farewell sunbeams bless’d our ravish’d view;
    • Fate bade thee go—to linger here was mine—
    • Going the first, the smaller loss was thine.
    • The life of man appears a glorious fate:
    • The day how lovely, and the night how great!
    • And we, ’mid paradise-like raptures plac’d,
    • The sun’s bright glory scarce have learn’d to taste,
    • When strange contending feelings dimly cover,
    • Now us, and now the forms that round us hover;
    • One’s feelings by no other are supplied;
    • ’Tis dark without, if all is bright inside;
    • An outward brightness veils my sadden’d mood,
    • When Fortune smiles,—how seldom understood!
    • Now think we that we know her, and with might
    • A woman’s beauteous form instils delight;
    • The youth, as glad as in his infancy,
    • The spring-time treads, as though the spring were he.
    • Ravish’d, amaz’d, he asks, how this is done?
    • He looks around, the world appears his own.
    • With careless speed he wanders on through space,
    • Nor walls, nor palaces can check his race;
    • As some gay flight of birds round tree-tops plays,
    • So ’tis with him who round his mistress strays;
    • He seeks from Æther, which he’d leave behind him,
    • The faithful look that fondly serves to bind him.
    • Yet first too early warn’d, and then too late,
    • He feels his flight restrain’d, is captur’d straight;
    • To meet again is sweet, to part is sad,
    • Again to meet again is still more glad,
    • And years in one short moment are enshrin’d;
    • But oh, the harsh farewell is hid behind!
    • Thou smilest, friend, with fitting thoughts inspir’d;
    • By a dread parting was thy fame acquir’d;
    • Thy mournful destiny we sorrow’d o’er;
    • For weal and woe thou left’st us evermore;
    • And then again the passions’ wavering force
    • Drew us along in labyrinthine course;
    • And we, consum’d by constant misery,
    • At length must part—and parting is to die!
    • How moving is it, when the minstrel sings,
    • To ’scape the death that separation brings!
    • Oh, grant, some god, to one who suffers so,
    • To tell, half-guilty, his sad tale of woe!

ELEGY.

  • When man had ceased to utter his lament,
  • A god then let me tell my tale of sorrow.
    • WHAT hope of once more meeting is there now
    • In the still-closed blossoms of this day?
    • Both heaven and hell thrown open seest thou;
    • What wav’ring thoughts within the bosom play!—
    • No longer doubt! Descending from the sky,
    • She lifts thee in her arms to realms on high.
    • And thus thou into paradise wert brought,
    • As worthy of a pure and endless life;
    • Nothing was left, no wish, no hope, no thought,
    • Here was the boundary of thine inmost strife:
    • And seeing one so fair, so glorified,
    • The fount of yearning tears was straightway dried.
    • No motion stirr’d the day’s revolving wheel;
    • In their own front the minutes seem’d to go;
    • The evening kiss, a true and binding seal,
    • Ne’er changing till the morrow’s sunlight glow.
    • The hours resembled sisters as they went,
    • Yet each one from another different.
    • The last hour’s kiss, so sadly sweet, effac’d
    • A beauteous network of entwining love.
    • Now on the threshold pause the feet, now haste,
    • As though a flaming cherub bade them move;
    • The unwilling eye the dark road wanders o’er,
    • Backward it looks, but clos’d it sees the door.
    • And now within itself is clos’d this breast,
    • As though it ne’er were open, and as though,
    • Vying with ev’ry star, no moments bless’d
    • Had, in its presence, felt a kindling glow;
    • Sadness, reproach, repentance, weight of care,
    • Hang heavy on it in the sultry air.
    • Is not the world still left? The rocky steeps.
    • Are they with holy shades no longer crown’d?
    • Grows not the harvest ripe? No longer creeps
    • Th’ espalier by the stream,—the copse around?
    • Doth not the wondrous arch of heaven still rise,
    • Now rich in shape, now shapeless to the eyes?
    • As, seraph-like, from out the dark clouds’ chorus,
    • With softness woven, graceful, light and fair,
    • Resembling Her, in the blue ether o’er us,
    • A slender figure hovers in the air,—
    • Thus didst thou see her joyously advance,
    • The fairest of the fairest in the dance.
    • Yet but a moment dost thou boldly dare
    • To clasp an airy form instead of hers;
    • Back to thine heart! thou’lt find it better there,
    • For there in changeful guise her image stirs;
    • What erst was one, to many turneth fast,
    • In thousand forms, each dearer than the last.
    • As at the door on meeting linger’d she,
    • And step by step my faithful ardor bless’d,
    • For the last kiss herself entreated me,
    • And on my lips the last, last kiss impress’d—
    • Thus clearly trac’d, the lov’d one’s form we view,
    • With flames engraven on a heart so true,—
    • A heart that, firm as some embattled tower,
    • Itself for her, her in itself reveres,
    • For her rejoices in its lasting power,
    • Conscious alone, when she herself appears
    • Feels itself freer in so sweet a thrall,
    • And only beats to give her thanks in all.
    • The power of loving, and all yearning sighs
    • For love responsive were effac’d and drown’d;
    • While longing hope for joyous enterprise
    • Was form’d, and rapid action straightway found;
    • If love can e’er a loving one inspire,
    • Most lovingly it gave me now its fire.
    • And ’twas through her!—an inward sorrow lay
    • On soul and body, heavily oppress’d;
    • To mournful phantoms was my sight a prey,
    • In the drear void of a sad tortured breast;
    • Now on the well-known threshold Hope hath smil’d,
    • Herself appeareth in the sunlight mild.
    • Unto the peace of God, which, as we read,
    • Blesseth us more than reason e’er hath done,
    • Love’s happy peace would I compare indeed,
    • When in the presence of the dearest one.
    • There rests the heart, and there that sweetest thought,
    • The thought of being hers, is check’d by naught.
    • In the pure bosom doth a yearning float,
    • Unto a holier, purer, unknown Being
    • Its grateful aspirations to devote,
    • The Ever-Nameless then unriddled seeing;
    • We call it piety!—such bless’d delight
    • I feel a share in when before her sight.
    • Before her sight, as ’neath the sun’s hot ray,
    • Before her breath, as ’neath the Spring’s soft wind,
    • In its deep wintry cavern melts away
    • Self-love, so long in icy chains confin’d;
    • No selfishness and no self-will are nigh,
    • For at her advent they were forc’d to fly.
    • It seems as though she said: “As hours pass by
    • They spread before us life with kindly plan;
    • Small knowledge did the yesterday supply,
    • To know the morrow is conceal’d from man;
    • And if the thought of evening made me start,
    • The sun at setting gladden’d straight my heart.
    • “Act, then, as I, and look, with joyous mind,
    • The moment in the face; nor linger thou!
    • Meet it with speed, so fraught with life, so kind
    • In action, and in love so radiant now;
    • Let all things be where thou art, childlike ever,
    • Thus thou’lt be all, thus thou’lt be vanquish’d never.”
    • Thou speakest well, methought, for as thy guide
    • The moment’s favor did a god assign,
    • And each one feels himself, when by thy side,
    • Fate’s fav’rite in a moment so divine;
    • I tremble at thy look that bids me go;
    • Why should I care such wisdom vast to know?
    • Now am I far! And what would best befit
    • The present minute? I could scarcely tell;
    • Full many a rich possession offers it,
    • These but offend, and I would fain repel.
    • Yearnings unquenchable still drive me on;
    • All counsel, save unbounded tears, is gone.
    • Flow on, flow on in never-ceasing course,
    • Yet may ye never quench my inward fire!
    • Within my bosom heaves a mighty force,
    • Where death and life contend in combat dire.
    • Medicines may serve the body’s pangs to still;
    • Naught but the spirit fails in strength of will,—
    • Fails in conception; wherefore fails it so?
    • A thousand times her image it portrays;
    • Enchanting now, and now compell’d to go,
    • Now indistinct, now cloth’d in purest rays!
    • How could the smallest comfort here be flowing?
    • The ebb and flood, the coming and the going!
    • * * * * *
    • Leave me here now, my life’s companions true!
    • Leave me alone on rock, in moor and heath;
    • But courage! open lies the world to you,
    • The glorious heavens above, the earth beneath;
    • Observe, investigate, with searching eyes,
    • And Nature will disclose her mysteries.
    • To me is all, I to myself am lost,
    • Who the immortals’ fav’rite erst was thought;
    • They, tempting, sent Pandoras to my cost,
    • So rich in wealth, with danger far more fraught;
    • They urged me to those lips, with rapture crown’d,
    • Deserted me, and hurl’d me to the ground.
lf0841-01_figure_083

artist: c. unger.

ELEGY.

ATONEMENT.

    • PASSION brings reason,—who can pacify
    • An anguish’d heart whose loss hath been so great?
    • Where are the hours that fled so swiftly by?
    • In vain the fairest thou didst gain from Fate;
    • Sad is the soul, confus’d the enterprise;
    • The glorious world, how on the sense it dies!
    • In million tones entwin’d for evermore,
    • Music with angel-pinions hovers there,
    • To pierce man’s being to its inmost core,
    • Eternal beauty as its fruit to bear;
    • The eye grows moist, in yearnings bless’d reveres
    • The godlike worth of music as of tears.
    • And so the lighten’d heart soon learns to see
    • That it still lives, and beats, and ought to beat,
    • Off’ring itself with joy and willingly,
    • In grateful payment for a gift so sweet.
    • And then was felt—oh, may it constant prove!—
    • The twofold bliss of music and of love.

APRIL.

    • TELL me, eyes, what ’tis ye’re seeking;
    • For ye’re saying something sweet,
    • Fit the ravish’d ear to greet,
    • Eloquently, softly speaking.
    • Yet I see now why ye’re roving;
    • For behind those eyes so bright,
    • To itself abandon’d quite,
    • Lies a bosom, truthful, loving,—
    • One that it must fill with pleasure
    • ’Mongst so many, dull and blind,
    • One true look at length to find,
    • That its worth can rightly treasure.
    • Whilst I’m lost in studying ever
    • To explain these cyphers duly,—
    • To unravel my looks truly
    • In return be your endeavor!

MAY.

    • LIGHT and silv’ry cloudlets hover
    • In the air, as yet scarce warm;
    • Mild, with glimmer soft tinged over,
    • Peeps the sun through fragrant balm.
    • Gently rolls and heaves the ocean
    • As its waves the bank o’erflow,
    • And with ever-restless motion
    • Moves the verdure to and fro,
    • Mirror’d brightly far below.
    • What is now the foliage moving?
    • Air is still, and hush’d the breeze,
    • Sultriness, this fulness loving,
    • Through the thicket, from the trees.
    • Now the eye at once gleams brightly,
    • See! the infant band with mirth
    • Moves and dances nimbly, lightly,
    • As the morning gave it birth,
    • Flutt’ring two and two o’er earth.
lf0841-01_figure_084

JUNE.

    • SHE behind you mountain lives,
    • Who my love’s sweet guerdon gives.
    • Tell me, mount, how this can be!
    • Very glass thou seem’st to me,
    • And I seem to be close by,
    • For I see her drawing nigh;
    • Now, because I’m absent, sad,
    • Now, because she sees me, glad!
    • Soon between us rise to sight
    • Valleys cool, with bushes light,
    • Streams and meadows; next appear
    • Mills and wheels, the surest token
    • That a level spot is near,
    • Plains far-stretching and unbroken.
    • And so onward, onward roam,
    • To my garden and my home!
    • But how comes it then to pass?
    • All this gives no joy, alas!—
    • I was ravish’d by her sight,
    • By her eyes so fair and bright,
    • By her footstep soft and light.
    • How her peerless charms I prais’d,
    • When from head to foot I gaz’d!
    • I am here, she’s far away,—
    • I am gone with her to stay.
    • If on rugged hills she wander,
    • If she haste the vale along,
    • Pinions seem to flutter yonder,
    • And the air is fill’d with song;
    • With the glow of youth still playing,
    • Joyous vigor in each limb,
    • One in silence is delaying,
    • She alone ’tis blesses him.
    • Love, thou art too fair, I ween!
    • Fairer I have never seen!
    • From the heart full easily
    • Blooming flowers are cull’d by thee.
    • If I think: “Oh, were it so,”
    • Bone and marrow seem to glow!
    • If rewarded by her love,
    • Can I greater rapture prove?
    • And still fairer is the bride,
    • When in me she will confide,
    • When she speaks and lets me know
    • All her tale of joy and woe.
    • All her lifetime’s history
    • Now is fully known to me.
    • Who in child or woman e’er
    • Soul and body found so fair?

EVER AND EVERYWHERE.

    • FAR explore the mountain hollow,
    • High in air the clouds then follow!
    • To each brook and vale the Muse
    • Thousand times her call renews.
    • Soon as a flow’ret blooms in spring,
    • It wakens many a strain;
    • And when Time spreads his fleeting wing
    • The seasons come again.

NEXT YEAR’S SPRING.

    • THE bed of flowers
    • Loosens amain,
    • The beauteous snowdrops
    • Droop o’er the plain;
    • The crocus opens
    • Its glowing bud,
    • Like emeralds others,
    • Others like blood.
    • With saucy gesture
    • Primroses flare,
    • And roguish violets,
    • Hidden with care,
    • And whatsoever
    • There stirs and strives,
    • The Spring’s contented,
    • It works and thrives.
    • ’Mongst all the blossoms
    • That fairest are,
    • My sweetheart’s sweetness
    • Is sweetest far;
    • Upon me ever
    • Her glances light,
    • My song they waken,
    • My words make bright.
    • An ever open
    • And blooming mind,
    • In sport, unsullied,
    • In earnest, kind.
    • Though roses and lilies
    • By Summer are brought,
    • Against my sweetheart
    • Prevails he naught.

SUCH, SUCH IS HE WHO PLEASETH ME.

    • FLY, dearest, fly! He is not nigh!
    • He who found thee one fair morn in spring
    • In the wood where thou thy flight didst wing.
    • Fly, dearest, fly! He is not nigh!
    • Never rests the foot of evil spy.
    • Hark! flutes’ sweet strains and love’s refrains
    • Reach the lov’d one, borne there by the wind,
    • In the soft heart open doors they find.
    • Hark! flutes’ sweet strains and love’s refrains,
    • Hark!—yet blissful love their echo pains.
    • Erect his head, and firm his tread,
    • Raven hair around his smooth brow strays,
    • On his cheeks a spring eternal plays.
    • Erect his head, and firm his tread,
    • And by grace his ev’ry step is led.
    • Happy his breast, with pureness bless’d,
    • And the dark eyes ’neath his eye brows placed,
    • With full many a beauteous line are graced.
    • Happy his breast, with pureness bless’d,
    • Soon as seen, thy love must be confess’d.
    • His mouth is red—its power I dread,
    • On his lips morn’s fragrant incense lies,
    • Round his lips the cooling zephyr sighs.
    • His mouth is red—its power I dread,
    • With one glance from him, all sorrow’s fled.
    • His blood is true, his heart bold too,
    • In his soft arms, strength, protection, dwells,
    • And his face with noble pity swells.
    • His blood is true, his heart bold too,
    • Bless’d the one whom those dear arms may woo!

ST. NEPOMUK’S EVE.

Carlsbad, May 15, 1820.

lf0841-01_figure_085
    • CHILDREN on the bridge are singing,
    • On the river lights are glancing,
    • The cathedral bells are ringing
    • For devotion’s joy entrancing.
    • Lights and stars flash out and vanish:
    • Thus our martyr’s soul unfearing
    • Took its flight. Force could not banish
    • Secrets trusted to his hearing.
    • Glance, ye lights! Sing, youthful chorus!
    • Children, raise your tuneful voices!
    • If ye can, make plain before us
    • How one star the rest rejoices.

THE FREEBOOTER.

    • NO door has my house,
    • No house has my door;
    • And in and out ever
    • I carry my store.
    • No grate has my kitchen,
    • No kitchen my grate;
    • Yet roasts it and boils it
    • Both early and late.
    • My bed has no trestles,
    • My trestles no bed;
    • Yet merrier moments
    • No mortal e’er led.
    • My cellar is lofty,
    • My barn is full deep,
    • From top to the bottom,—
    • There lie I and sleep.
    • And soon as I waken,
    • All moves on its race;
    • My place has no fixture,
    • My fixture no place.

RECIPROCAL.

    • MY mistress, where sits she?
    • What is it that charms?
    • The absent she’s rocking,
    • Held fast in her arms.
    • In pretty cage prison’d
    • She holds a bird still;
    • Yet lets him fly from her,
    • Whenever he will.
    • He pecks at her finger,
    • And pecks at her lips,
    • And hovers and flutters,
    • And round her he skips.
    • Then hasten thou homeward,
    • In fashion to be;
    • If thou hast the maiden,
    • She also hath thee.

SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS.

    • HALTING, hurrying, hurrying, halting.
    • Be henceforth like men of worth:
    • Useful labor is exalting
    • And deserves to rule the earth.
    • Thee to follow is a pleasure;
    • He who heeds thee finds the treasure
    • Of a glorious fatherland!
    • Hail the leader! Hail the band!
    • Thou the strength and burden bearest,
    • Thou art patron of our lives,
    • Honor with the old thou sharest,
    • Givest young men work and wives;
    • Mutual confidence arouses
    • Men to build them cosy houses,
    • Neat with gardens, lawns and woods,
    • Strong in helpful neighborhoods.
    • On the highways wisely planted
    • Men find comfort in new inns,
    • And the immigrant is granted
    • All the land his courage wins.
    • Therefore let us hasten, brothers,
    • Let us settle with the others
    • In the new-found fatherland!
    • Hail, O leader! Hail, O band!
lf0841-01_figure_086

artist: k. kögler.

SONG OF THE EMIGRANT.

EXPLANATION OF AN ANCIENT WOODCUT REPRESENTING HANS SACHS’ POETICAL MISSION.

    • EARLY within his workshop here,
    • On Sundays stands our master dear;
    • His dirty apron he puts away,
    • And a cleanly doublet wears to-day;
    • Lets wax’d thread, hammer and pincers rest,
    • And lays his awl within his chest;
    • The seventh day he takes repose
    • From many pulls and many blows.
    • Soon as the spring sun meets his view
    • Repose begets him labor anew;
    • He feels that he holds within his brain
    • A little world, that broods there amain,
    • And that begins to act and to live,
    • Which he to others would gladly give.
    • He had a skilful eye and true,
    • And was full kind and loving too.
    • For contemplation, clear and pure,—
    • For making all his own again, sure;
    • He had a tongue that charm’d when ’twas heard,
    • And graceful and light flow’d ev’ry word;
    • Which made the Muses in him rejoice,
    • The Master-singer of their choice.
    • And now a maiden enter’d there,
    • With swelling breast, and body fair;
    • With footing firm she took her place,
    • And mov’d with stately, noble grace;
    • She did not walk in wanton mood,
    • Nor look around with glances lewd.
    • She held a measure in her hand,
    • Her girdle was a golden band,
    • A wreath of corn was on her head,
    • Her eye the day’s bright lustre shed;
    • Her name is honest Industry,
    • Else, Justice, Magnanimity.
    • She enter’d with a kindly greeting;
    • He felt no wonder at the meeting,
    • For, kind and fair as she might be,
    • He long had known her, fancied he.
    • “I have selected thee,” she said,
    • “From all who earth’s wild mazes tread,
    • That thou should’st have clear-sighted sense,
    • And naught that’s wrong should’st e’er commence.
    • When others run in strange confusion,
    • Thy gaze shall see through each illusion;
    • When others dolefully complain,
    • Thy cause with jesting thou shalt gain,
    • Honor and right shalt value duly,
    • In everything act simply, truly,—
    • Virtue and godliness proclaim,
    • And call all evil by its name,
    • Naught soften down, attempt no quibble,
    • Naught polish up, naught vainly scribble.
    • The world shall stand before thee, then,
    • As seen by Albert Dürer’s ken,
    • In manliness and changeless life,
    • In inward strength, with firmness rife.
    • Fair Nature’s Genius by the hand
    • Shall lead thee on through every land,
    • Teach thee each different life to scan,
    • Show thee the wondrous ways of man,
    • His shifts, confusions, thrustings and drubbings,
    • Pushings, tearings, pressings and rubbings;
    • The varying madness of the crew,
    • The anthill’s ravings bring to view;
    • But thou shalt see all this express’d
    • As though ’twere in a magic chest.
    • Write these things down for folks on earth,
    • In hopes they may to wit give birth.”—
    • Then she a window open’d wide,
    • And show’d a motley crowd outside,
    • All kinds of beings ’neath the sky,
    • As in his writings one may spy.
    • Our master dear was, after this,
    • On Nature thinking, full of bliss,
    • When tow’rd him, from the other side,
    • He saw an aged woman glide;
    • The name she bears, Historia,
    • Mythologia, Fabula;
    • With footstep tottering and unstable
    • She dragg’d a large and wooden carv’d table,
    • Where, with wide sleeves and human mien,
    • The Lord was catechizing seen;
    • Adam, Eve, Eden, the Serpent’s seduction,
    • Gomorrah and Sodom’s awful destruction,
    • The twelve illustrious women, too,
    • That mirror of honor brought to view;
    • All kinds of bloodthirstiness, murder and sin;
    • The twelve wicked tyrants also were in,
    • And all kinds of goodly doctrine and law;
    • Saint Peter with his scourge you saw,
    • With the world’s ways dissatisfied,
    • And by our Lord with power supplied.
    • Her train and dress, behind and before,
    • And e’en the seams, were painted o’er
    • With tales of worldly virtue and crime.—
    • Our master view’d all this for a time;
    • The sight right gladly he survey’d,
    • So useful for him in his trade,
    • Whence he was able to procure
    • Example good and precept sure,
    • Recounting all with truthful care,
    • As though he had been present there.
    • His spirit seem’d from earth to fly,
    • He ne’er had turn’d away his eye;
    • Did he not just behind him hear
    • A rattle of bells approaching near?
    • And now a fool doth catch his eye,
    • With goat and ape’s leap drawing nigh,
    • A merry interlude preparing
    • With fooleries and jests unsparing.
    • Behind him, in a line drawn out,
    • He dragg’d all fools, the lean and stout,
    • The great and little, the empty and full,
    • All too witty, and all too dull;
    • A lash he flourish’d overhead,
    • As though a dance of apes he led,
    • Abusing them with bitterness,
    • As though his wrath would ne’er grow less.
    • While on this sight our master gaz’d,
    • His head was growing well-nigh craz’d:
    • What words for all could he e’er find,
    • Could such a medley be combin’d?
    • Could he continue with delight
    • For evermore to sing and write?
    • When lo, from out a cloud’s dark bed
    • In at the upper window sped
    • The Muse, in all her majesty,
    • As fair as our lov’d maids we see.
    • With clearness she around him threw
    • Her truth, that ever stronger grew.
    • “I to ordain thee come,” she spake:
    • “So prosper, and my blessing take!
    • The holy fire that slumb’ring lies
    • Within thee, in bright flames shall rise;
    • Yet that thine ever-restless life
    • May still with kindly strength be rife,
    • I, for thine inward spirit’s calm,
    • Have granted nourishment and balm,
    • That rapture may thy soul imbue,
    • Like some fair blossom bath’d in dew.”—
    • Behind his house then secretly
    • Outside the doorway pointed she,
    • Where, in a shady garden-nook,
    • A beauteous maid with downcast look
    • Was sitting where a stream was flowing,
    • With elder bushes near it growing.
    • She sat beneath an apple tree,
    • And naught around her seem’d to see.
    • Her lap was full of roses fair,
    • Which in a wreath she twin’d with care,
    • And, with them, leaves and blossoms blended:
    • For whom was that sweet wreath intended?
    • Thus sat she, modest and retir’d,
    • Her bosom throbb’d, with hope inspir’d;
    • Such deep forebodings fill’d her mind,
    • No room for wishing could she find,
    • And with the thoughts that o’er it flew,
    • Perchance a sigh was mingled too.
    • “But why should sorrow cloud thy brow?
    • That, dearest love, which fills thee now
    • Is fraught with joy and ecstasy,
    • Prepar’d in one alone for thee,
    • That he within thine eye may find
    • Solace when fortune proves unkind,
    • And be newborn through many a kiss,
    • That he receives with inward bliss;
    • Whene’er he clasps thee to his breast
    • May he from all his toils find rest;
    • When he in thy dear arms shall sink
    • May he new life and vigor drink:
    • Fresh joys of youth shalt thou obtain,
    • In merry jest rejoice again.
    • With raillery and roguish spite
    • Thou now shalt tease him, now delight.
    • Thus Love will nevermore grow old,
    • Thus will the minstrel ne’er be cold!”
    • While he thus lives, in secret bless’d,
    • Above him in the clouds doth rest
    • An oak-wreath, verdant and sublime,
    • Placed on his brow in after-time;
    • While they are banish’d to the slough,
    • Who their great master disavow.
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THOUGHTS ON JESUS CHRIST’S DESCENT INTO HELL.

    • WHAT wondrous noise is heard around!
    • Through heaven exulting voices sound,
    • A mighty army marches on.
    • By thousand millions follow’d, lo,
    • To yon dark place makes haste to go
    • God’s Son, descending from His throne!
    • He goes—the tempests round Him break,
    • As Judge and Hero cometh He;
    • He goes—the constellations quake,
    • The sun, the world quake fearfully.
    • I see Him in His victor-car,
    • On fiery axles borne afar,
    • Who on the cross for us expir’d.
    • The triumph to yon realms He shows,—
    • Remote from earth, where star ne’er glows,—
    • The triumph He for us acquir’d.
    • He cometh, Hell to extirpate,
    • Whom He, by dying, well nigh kill’d;
    • He shall pronounce her fearful fate:
    • Hark! now the curse is straight fulfill’d.
    • Hell sees the victor come at last,
    • She feels that now her reign is past,
    • She quakes and fears to meet His sight;
    • She knows His thunders’ terrors dread,
    • In vain she seeks to hide her head,
    • Attempts to fly, but vain is flight;
    • Vainly she hastes to ’scape pursuit
    • And to avoid her Judge’s eye;
    • The Lord’s fierce wrath restrains her foot
    • Like brazen chains,—she cannot fly.
    • Here lies the Dragon, trampled down,
    • He lies, and feels God’s angry frown,
    • He feels, and grinneth hideously;
    • He feels Hell’s speechless agonies;
    • A thousand times he howls and sighs:
    • “O burning flames! quick, swallow me!”
    • There lies he in the fiery waves,
    • By torments rack’d and pangs infernal,
    • Instant annihilation craves,
    • And hears those pangs will be eternal.
    • Those mighty squadrons, too, are here,
    • The partners of his curs’d career,
    • Yet far less bad than he were they.
    • Here lies the countless throng combin’d,
    • In black and fearful crowds entwin’d,
    • While round him fiery tempests play;
    • He sees how they the Judge avoid,
    • He sees the storm upon them feed,
    • Yet is not at the sight o’erjoy’d,
    • Because his pangs e’en theirs exceed.
    • The Son of Man in triumph passes
    • Down to Hell’s wild and black morasses,
    • And there unfolds His majesty.
    • Hell cannot bear the bright array,
    • For, since her first created day,
    • Darkness alone e’er govern’d she.
    • She lay remote from ev’ry light,
    • With torments fill’d in Chaos here;
    • God turn’d forever from her sight
    • His radiant features’ glory clear.
    • Within the realms she calls her own,
    • She sees the splendor of the Son,
    • His dreaded glories shining forth;
    • She sees Him clad in rolling thunder,
    • She sees the rocks all quake with wonder
    • When God before her stands in wrath.
    • She sees He comes her Judge to be,
    • She feels the awful pangs inside her,
    • Herself to slay endeavors she,
    • But e’en this comfort is denied her.
    • Now looks she back, with pains untold,
    • Upon those happy times of old,
    • When all these glories gave her joy;
    • When yet her heart revered the truth,
    • When her glad soul, in endless youth
    • And rapture dwelt, without alloy.
    • She calls to mind with madden’d thought
    • How over man her wiles prevail’d;
    • To take revenge on God she sought,
    • And feels the vengeance it entail’d.
    • God was made man, and came to earth.
    • Then Satan cried with fearful mirth:
    • “E’en He my victim now shall be!”
    • He sought to slay the Lord Most High,
    • The world’s Creator now must die;
    • But, Satan, endless woe to thee!
    • Thou thought’st to overcome Him then,
    • Rejoicing in His suffering;
    • But He in triumph comes again
    • To bind thee: Death! where is thy sting?
    • Speak, Hell! where is thy victory?
    • Thy power destroy’d and scatter’d see!
    • Know’st thou not now the Highest’s might?
    • See, Satan, see thy rule o’erthrown!
    • By thousand-varying pangs weigh’d down,
    • Thou dwell’st in dark and endless night.
    • As though by lightning struck thou liest,
    • No gleam of rapture far or wide;
    • In vain! no hope thou there descriest,—
    • For me alone Messiah died!
    • A howling rises through the air,
    • A trembling fills each dark vault there,
    • When Christ to Hell is seen to come.
    • She snarls with rage, but needs must cower
    • Before our mighty Hero’s power;
    • He signs—and Hell is straightway dumb.
    • Before His voice the thunders break,
    • On high His victor-banner blows;
    • E’en angels at His fury quake,
    • When Christ to the dread judgment goes.
    • Now speaks He, and His voice is thunder,
    • He speaks, the rocks are rent in sunder,
    • His breath is like devouring flames.
    • Thus speaks He: “Tremble, ye accurs’d!
    • He who from Eden hurl’d you erst,
    • Your kingdom’s overthrow proclaims.
    • Look up! My children once were ye,
    • Your arms against Me then ye turn’d,
    • Ye fell, that ye might sinners be,
    • Ye’ve now the wages that ye earn’d.
    • “My greatest foemen from that day,
    • Ye led My dearest friends astray,—
    • As ye had fallen, man must fall.
    • To kill him evermore ye sought,
    • ‘They all shall die the death,’ ye thought;
    • But howl! for Me I’ve won them all.
    • For them alone did I descend,
    • For them pray’d, suffer’d, perish’d I.
    • Ye ne’er shall gain your wicked end;
    • Who trusts in Me shall never die.
    • “In endless chains here lie ye now,
    • Nothing can save you from the slough,
    • Not boldness, not regret for crime.
    • Lie, then, and writhe in brimstone fire!
    • ’Twas ye yourselves drew down Mine ire,
    • Lie and lament throughout all time!
    • And also ye, whom I selected,
    • E’en ye forever I disown,
    • For ye My saving grace rejected;
    • Ye murmur? blame yourselves alone!
    • “Ye might have liv’d with Me in bliss,
    • For I of yore had promis’d this;
    • Ye sinn’d, and all My precepts slighted.
    • Wrapp’d in the sleep of sin ye dwelt,
    • Now is My fearful judgment felt,
    • By a just doom your guilt requited.”
    • Thus spake He, and a fearful storm
    • From Him proceeds, the lightnings glow,
    • The thunders seize each wicked form,
    • And hurl them in the gulf below.
    • The God-man closeth Hell’s sad doors;
    • In all His majesty He soars
    • From those dark regions back to light:
    • He sitteth at the Father’s side.
    • O friends, what joy doth this betide!
    • For us, for us He still will fight!
    • The angels’ sacred choir around
    • Rejoice before the mighty Lord,
    • So that all creatures hear the sound:
    • “Zebaoth’s God be aye ador’d!”
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