Home

Liberty Fund, Inc. is a private, educational foundation established to encourage the study of the ideal of a society of free and responsible individuals.

Copyright information:

The text is in the public domain.

Fair use statement:

This material is put online to further the educational goals of Liberty Fund, Inc. Unless otherwise stated in the Copyright Information section above, this material may be used freely for educational and academic purposes. It may not be used in any way for profit.

Art

Artist, fashion! talk not long!

Be a breath thine only song!

THE DROPS OF NECTAR.

- WHEN Minerva, to give pleasure
- To Prometheus, her well-lov’d one,
- Brought a brimming bowl of nectar
- From the glorious realms of heaven
- As a blessing for his creatures,
- And to pour into their bosoms
- Impulses for arts ennobling,
- She with rapid footstep hasten’d,
- Fearing Jupiter might see her,
- And the golden goblet trembled,
- And there fell a few drops from it
- On the verdant plain beneath her.
- Then the busy bees flew thither
- Straightway, eagerly to drink them,
- And the butterfly came quickly
- That he, too, might find a drop there;
- Even the misshapen spider
- Thither crawl’d and suck’d with vigor.
- To a happy end they tasted,
- They, and other gentle insects!
- For with mortals now divide they
- Art—that noblest gift of all.

THE WANDERER.

- Wanderer.
- YOUNG woman, may God bless thee,
- Thee and the sucking infant
- Upon thy breast!
- Let me, ’gainst this rocky wall,
- ’Neath the elm tree’s shadow,
- Lay aside my burden,
- Near thee take my rest.
- Woman.
- What vocation leads thee,
- While the day is burning,
- Up this dusty path?
- Bring’st thou goods from out the town
- Round the country?
- Smil’st thou, stranger,
- At my question?
- Wanderer.
- From the town no goods I bring.
- Cool is now the evening;
- Show to me the fountain
- Whence thou drinkest,
- Woman young and kind!
- Woman.
- Up the rocky pathway mount;
- Go thou first! Across the thicket
- Leads the pathway tow’rd the cottage
- That I live in,
- To the fountain
- Whence I drink.
- Wanderer.
- Signs of man’s arranging hand
- See I ’mid the trees!
- Not by thee these stones were join’d,
- Nature, who so freely scatterest!
- Woman.
- Up, still up!
- Wanderer.
- Lo, a mossy architrave is here!
- I discern thee, fashioning spirit!
- On the stone thou hast impress’d thy seal.
- Woman.
- Onward, stranger!
- Wanderer.
- Over an inscription am I treading!
- ’Tis effaced!
- Ye are seen no longer,
- Words so deeply graven,
- Who your master’s true devotion
- Should have shown to thousand grandsons!
- Woman.
- At these stones, why
- Start’st thou, stranger?
- Many stones are lying yonder
- Round my cottage.
- Wanderer.
- Yonder?
- Woman.
- Through the thicket,
- Turning to the left,
- Here!
- Wanderer.
- Ye Muses and ye Graces!
- Woman.
- This, then, is my cottage.
- Wanderer.
- ’Tis a ruin’d temple!
- Woman.
- Just below it, see,
- Springs the fountain
- Whence I drink.
- Wanderer.
- Thou dost hover
- O’er thy grave, all glowing,
- Genius! while upon thee
- Hath thy masterpiece
- Fallen crumbling,
- Thou Immortal One!
- Woman.
- Stay, a cup I’ll fetch thee
- Whence to drink.
- Wanderer.
- Ivy circles thy slender
- Form so graceful and godlike.
- How ye rise on high
- From the ruins,
- Column-pair!
- And thou, their lonely sister yonder,—
- How thou,
- Dusky moss upon thy sacred head,—
- Lookest down in mournful majesty
- On thy brethren’s figures
- Lying scatter’d
- At thy feet!
- In the shadow of the bramble
- Earth and rubbish veil them,
- Lofty grass is waving o’er them!
- Is it thus thou, Nature, prizest
- Thy great masterpiece’s masterpiece?
- Carelessly destroyest thou
- Thine own sanctuary,
- Sowing thistles there?
- Woman.
- How the infant sleeps!
- Wilt thou rest thee in the cottage,
- Stranger? Would’st thou rather
- In the open air still linger?
- Now ’tis cool! take thou the child
- While I go and draw some water.
- Sleep on, darling! sleep!
- Wanderer.
- Sweet is thy repose!
- How, with heaven-born health imbued,
- Peacefully he slumbers!
- O thou, born among the ruins
- Spread by great antiquity,
- On thee rest her spirit!
- He whom it encircles
- Will, in godlike consciousness,
- Ev’ry day enjoy.
- Full of germ, unfold,
- As the smiling springtime’s
- Fairest charm,
- Outshining all thy fellows!
- And when the blossom’s husk is faded,
- May the full fruit shoot forth
- From out thy breast,
- And ripen in the sunshine!
- Woman.
- God bless him!—Is he sleeping still?
- To the fresh draught I naught can add,
- Saving a crust of bread for thee to eat.
- Wanderer.
- I thank thee well.
- How fair the verdure all around!
- How green!
- Woman.
- My husband soon
- Will home return
- From labor. Tarry, tarry, man,
- And with us eat our evening meal.
- Wanderer.
- Is’t here ye dwell?
- Woman.
- Yonder, within those walls we live.
- My father ’twas who built the cottage
- Of tiles and stones from out the ruins.
- ’Tis here we dwell.
- He gave me to a husbandman,
- And in our arms expir’d.—
- Hast thou been sleeping, dearest heart?
- How lively, and how full of play!
- Sweet rogue!
- Wanderer.
- Nature, thou ever budding one,
- Thou formest each for life’s enjoyments,
- And, like a mother, all thy children dear,
- Blessest with that sweet heritage,—a home!
- The swallow builds the cornice round,
- Unconscious of the beauties
- She plasters up.
- The caterpillar spins around the bough,
- To make her brood a winter house;
- And thou dost patch, between antiquity’s
- Most glorious relics,
- For thy mean use,
- O man, an humble cot,—
- Enjoyest e’en ’mid tombs!—
- Farewell, thou happy woman!
- Woman.
- Thou wilt not stay, then?
- Wanderer.
- May God preserve thee,
- And bless thy boy!
- Woman.
- A happy journey!
- Wanderer.
- Whither conducts the path
- Across yon hill?
- Woman.
- To Cuma.
- Wanderer.
- How far from hence?
- Woman.
- ’Tis full three miles.
- Wanderer.
- Farewell!
- O Nature, guide me on my way!
- The wandering stranger guide,
- Who o’er the tombs
- Of holy bygone times
- Is passing,
- To a kind sheltering place,
- From North winds safe,
- And where a poplar grove
- Shuts out the noontide ray!
- And when I come
- Home to my cot
- At evening,
- Illumin’d by the setting sun,
- Let me embrace a wife like this,
- Her infant in her arms!

LOVE AS A LANDSCAPE-PAINTER.

- ON a rocky peak once sat I early,
- Gazing on the mist with eyes unmoving;
- Stretch’d out like a pall of grayish texture,
- All things round, and all above it cover’d.
- Suddenly a boy appear’d beside me,
- Saying, “Friend, what meanest thou by gazing
- On the vacant pall with such composure?
- Hast thou lost for evermore all pleasure
- Both in painting cunningly, and forming?”
- On the child I gaz’d, and thought in secret:
- “Would the boy pretend to be a master?”
- “Would’st thou be forever dull and idle,”
- Said the boy, “no wisdom thou’lt attain to;
- See, I’ll straightway paint for thee a figure,—
- How to paint a beauteous figure, show thee.”
- And he then extended his fore-finger,—
- (Ruddy was it as a youthful rosebud)
- Tow’rd the broad and far outstretching carpet,
- And began to draw there with his finger.
- First on high a radiant sun he painted,
- Which upon mine eyes with splendor glisten’d,
- And he made the clouds with golden border,
- Through the clouds he let the sunbeams enter;
- Painted then the soft and feathery summits
- Of the fresh and quicken’d trees, behind them
- One by one with freedom drew the mountains;
- Underneath he left no lack of water,
- But the river painted so like Nature,
- That it seem’d to glitter in the sunbeams,
- That it seem’d against its banks to murmur.
- Ah, there blossom’d flowers beside the river.
- And bright colors gleam’d upon the meadow.
- Gold, and green, and purple, and enamell’d,
- All like carbuncles and emeralds seeming!
- Bright and clear he added then the heavens,
- And the blue-tinged mountains far and farther,
- So that I, as though newborn, enraptur’d
- Gaz’d on, now the painter, now the picture.
- Then spake he: “Although I have convinc’d thee
- That this art I understand full surely,
- Yet the hardest still is left to show thee.”
- Thereupon he trac’d, with pointed finger,
- And with anxious care, upon the forest,
- At the utmost verge, where the strong sunbeams
- From the shining ground appear’d reflected,
- Trac’d the figure of a lovely maiden,
- Fair in form, and clad in graceful fashion,
- Fresh the cheeks beneath her brown locks’ ambush,
- And the cheeks possess’d the selfsame color
- As the finger that had serv’d to paint them.
- “O thou boy!” exclaim’d I then, “what master
- In his school receiv’d thee as his pupil,
- Teaching thee so truthfully and quickly
- Wisely to begin, and well to finish?”
- Whilst I still was speaking, lo, a zephyr
- Softly rose, and set the tree-tops moving,
- Curling all the wavelets on the river,
- And the perfect maiden’s veil, too, fill’d it,
- And to make my wonderment still greater,
- Soon the maiden set her foot in motion.
- On she came, approaching tow’rd the station
- Where still sat I with my arch instructor.
- As now all, yes, all thus mov’d together,—
- Flowers, rivers, trees, the veil,—all moving,—
- And the gentle foot of that most fair one,
- Can ye think that on my rock I linger’d,
- Like a rock, as though fast-chain’d and silent?

Fr. Pecht del.

published by george barrie

A. Schultheiss sculp.

Frederika

ARTIST’S EVENING SONG.

- UH, would that some celestial flower
- Might fill the world with rapture!
- That inspiration’s blissful power
- My inmost soul might capture!
- The feeling takes me in control,
- My weakness makes me stumble;
- Ah, Nature, recognize my soul,
- Thy worshipper though humble!
- How many a long and weary year
- My heart has vainly waited,
- As on a meadow wan and sere,
- For fountains uncreated!
- Ah, Nature, how I yearn for thee,
- Thy love and faith consoling!
- A wondrous river full and free
- Through paradises rolling.
- And all my song and all my strength
- Thou turnest to endeavor,
- Until my narrow path at length
- Shall widen out forever.

Home

The Forum

Econlib

The Library

Other Sites

The Library

Return to Title Page for Goethe’s Works, vol. 1 (Poems)

The Online Library of Liberty

A project of Liberty Fund, Inc.

Search this Title:

Also in the Library:

Art - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Goethe’s Works, vol. 1 (Poems) [1885]

Edition used:

Part of: Goethe’s Works, 5 vols.

About Liberty Fund: