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