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ELEGY. - 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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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.