Wandrers Nachtlied II

Wandrers Nachtlied II Wayfarer's Night Song II

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Prose Translationby Hyde Flippo

Über allen Gipfeln Over all the hilltops

Ist Ruh, is calm.

In allen Wipfeln In all the treetops

Spürest du you feel

Kaum einen Hauch; hardly a breath of air.

Die Vögelein schweigen in Walde. The little birds fall silent in the woods.

Warte nur, balde Just wait... soon

Ruhest du auch. you'll also be at rest.

GanymedeHow, in the light of morning,Round me thou glowest,Spring, thou beloved one!With thousand-varying loving blissThe sacred emotionsBorn of thy warmth eternalPress 'gainst my bosom,Thou endlessly fair one!Could I but hold thee clasp'dWithin mine arms!

Ah! upon thy bosomLay I, pining,And then thy flowers, thy grass,Were pressing against my heart.Thou coolest the burningThirst of my bosom,Beauteous morning breeze!The nightingale then calls meSweetly from out of the misty vale.

I come, I come!Whither? Ah, whither?

Up, up, lies my course.While downward the cloudsAre hovering, the cloudsAre bending to meet yearning love.For me,Within thine armsUpwards!Embraced and embracing!Upwards into thy bosom,Oh Father all-loving!

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

It Is GoodIN Paradise while moonbeams play'd,

Jehovah found, in slumber deep,Adam fast sunk; He gently laid

Eve near him,--she, too, fell asleep.There lay they now, on earth's fair shrine,God's two most beauteous thoughts divine.--When this He saw, He cried:--'Tis Good!!!And scarce could move from where He stood.

No wonder, that our joy's completeWhile eye and eye responsive meet,When this blest thought of rapture moves us--That we're with Him who truly loves us,And if He cries:--Good, let it be!'Tis so for both, it seems to me.Thou'rt clasp'd within these arms of mine,Dearest of all God's thoughts divine!


May SongHow fair doth Nature

Appear again!How bright the sunbeams!

How smiles the plain!

The flow'rs are bursting

From ev'ry bough,And thousand voices

Each bush yields now.

And joy and gladness

Fill ev'ry breast!Oh earth!--oh sunlight!

Oh rapture blest!

Oh love! oh loved one!

As golden bright,As clouds of morning

On yonder height!

Thou blessest gladly

The smiling field,--The world in fragrant

Vapour conceal'd.

Oh maiden, maiden,

How love I thee!Thine eye, how gleams it!

How lov'st thou me!

The blithe lark loveth

Sweet song and air,The morning flow'ret

Heav'n's incense fair,

As I now love thee

With fond desire,For thou dost give me

Youth, joy, and fire,

For new-born dances

And minstrelsy.Be ever happy,

As thou lov'st me!


Night SongWHEN on thy pillow lying,

Half listen, I implore,And at my lute's soft sighing,

Sleep on! what wouldst thou more?

For at my lute's soft sighing

The stars their blessings pourOn feelings never-dying;


Those feelings never-dying

My spirit aid to soarFrom earthly conflicts trying;


From earthly conflicts trying

Thou driv'st me to this shore;Through thee I'm thither flying,--


Through thee I'm hither flying,

Thou wilt not list beforeIn slumbers thou art lying:



PrometheusCOVER thy spacious heavens, Zeus,With clouds of mist,And, like the boy who lopsThe thistles' heads,Disport with oaks and mountain-peaks,Yet thou must leaveMy earth still standing;My cottage too, which was not raised by thee;Leave me my hearth,Whose kindly glowBy thee is envied.

I know nought poorerUnder the sun, than ye gods!Ye nourish painfully,With sacrificesAnd votive prayers,Your majesty:Ye would e'en starve,If children and beggarsWere not trusting fools.

While yet a childAnd ignorant of life,I turned my wandering gazeUp tow'rd the sun, as if with himThere were an ear to hear my wailings,A heart, like mine,To feel compassion for distress.

Who help'd meAgainst the Titans' insolence?Who rescued me from certain death,From slavery?Didst thou not do all this thyself,My sacred glowing heart?And glowedst, young and good,Deceived with grateful thanksTo yonder slumbering one?

I honour thee! and why?

Hast thou e'er lighten'd the sorrowsOf the heavy laden?Hast thou e'er dried up the tearsOf the anguish-stricken?Was I not fashion'd to be a manBy omnipotent Time,And by eternal Fate,Masters of me and thee?

Didst thou e'er fancyThat life I should learn to hate,And fly to deserts,Because not allMy blossoming dreams grew ripe?

Here sit I, forming mortalsAfter my image;A race resembling me,To suffer, to weep,To enjoy, to be glad,And thee to scorn,As I!

The Boundaries Of HumanityWHEN the primevalAll-holy FatherSows with a tranquil handFrom clouds, as they roll,Bliss-spreading lightningsOver the earth,Then do I kiss the lastHem of his garment,While by a childlike aweFill'd is my breast.

For with immortalsNe'er may a mortalMeasure himself.If he soar upwardsAnd if he touchWith his forehead the stars,Nowhere will rest thenHis insecure feet,And with him sportTempest and cloud.

Though with firm sinewyLimbs he may standOn the enduringWell-grounded earth,

All he is everAble to do,Is to resembleThe oak or the vine.

Wherein do godsDiffer from mortals?In that the formerSee endless billowsHeaving before them;Us doth the billowLift up and swallow,So that we perish.

Small is the ringEnclosing our life,And whole generationsLink themselves firmlyOn to existence'sChain never-ending.

The Wanderer's Night-SongTHOU who comest from on high,

Who all woes and sorrows stillest,Who, for twofold misery,

Hearts with twofold balsam fillest,Would this constant strife would cease!

What are pain and rapture now?Blissful Peace,

To my bosom hasten thou!


The Wanderer's Storm-SongHe whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,Feels no dread within his heartAt the tempest or the rain.He whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,

Will to the rain-clouds,Will to the hailstorm,Sing in replyAs the lark sings,Oh thou on high!

Him whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,Thou wilt raise above the mud-trackWith thy fiery pinions.He will wander,As, with flowery feet,Over Deucalion's dark flood,Python-slaying, light, glorious,Pythius Apollo.

Him whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,Thou wilt place upon thy fleecy pinionWhen he sleepeth on the rock,--Thou wilt shelter with thy guardian wingIn the forest's midnight hour.

Him whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,Thou wilt wrap up warmlyIn the snow-drift;Tow'rd the warmth approach the Muses,Tow'rd the warmth approach the Graces.

Ye Muses, hover round me!Ye Graces also!That is water, that is earth,And the son of water and of earthOver which I wander,Like the gods.

Ye are pure, like the heart of the water,Ye are pure like the marrow of earth,Hov'ring round me, while I hoverOver water, o'er the earthLike the gods.

Shall he, then, return,The small, the dark, the fiery peasant?Shall he, then, return, waitingOnly thy gifts, oh Father Bromius,And brightly gleaming, warmth-spreading fire?Return with joy?And I, whom ye attended,Ye Muses and ye Graces,Whom all awaits that ye,Ye Muses and ye Graces,Of circling bliss in lifeHave glorified--shall IReturn dejected?

Father Bromius!Thourt the Genius,Genius of ages,Thou'rt what inward glowTo Pindar was,What to the worldPhoebus Apollo.

Woe! Woe Inward warmth,Spirit-warmth,Central-point!Gl ow, and vie withPhoebus Apollo!Coldly soonHis regal lookOver thee will swiftly glide,--

Envy-struckLinger o'er the cedar's strength,Which, to flourish,Waits him not.

Why doth my lay name thee the last?Thee, from whom it began,Thee, in whom it endeth,Thee, from whom it flows,Jupiter Pluvius!Tow'rd thee streams my song.And a Castalian springRuns as a fellow-brook,Runs to the idle ones,Mortal, happy ones,Apart from thee,Who cov'rest me around,Jupiter Pluvius!

Not by the elm-treeHim didst thou visit,With the pair of dovesHeld in his gentle arm,--With the beauteous garland of roses,--Caressing him, so blest in his flowers,Anacreon,Storm-breathing godhead!Not in the poplar grove,Near the Sybaris' strand,Not on the mountain'sSun-illumined browDidst thou seize him,The flower-singing,Honey-breathing,Sweetly nodding

Theocritus.

When the wheels were rattling,Wheel on wheel tow'rd the goal,High aroseThe sound of the lashOf youths with victory glowing,In the dust rolling,As from the mountain fallShowers of stones in the vale--Then thy soul was brightly glowing, Pindar--Glowing? Poor heart!

There, on the hill,--Heavenly might!But enough glowThither to wend,Where is my cot!


Welcome And FarewellQUICK throbb'd my heart: to norse! haste, haste,

And lo! 'twas done with speed of light;The evening soon the world embraced,

And o'er the mountains hung the night.Soon stood, in robe of mist, the oak,

A tow'ring giant in his size,Where darkness through the thicket broke,

And glared with hundred gloomy eyes.

From out a hill of clouds the moon

With mournful gaze began to peer:The winds their soft wings flutter'd soon,

And murmur'd in mine awe-struck ear;The night a thousand monsters made,

Yet fresh and joyous was my mind;What fire within my veins then play'd!

What glow was in my bosom shrin'd!

I saw thee, and with tender pride

Felt thy sweet gaze pour joy on me;While all my heart was at thy side.

And every breath I breath'd for thee.The roseate hues that spring supplies

Were playing round thy features fair,And love for me--ye Deities!

I hoped it, I deserved it ne'er!

But, when the morning sun return'd,

Departure filled with grief my heart:Within thy kiss, what rapture burn'd!

But in thy look, what bitter smart!I went--thy gaze to earth first roved

Thou follow'dst me with tearful eye:And yet, what rapture to be loved!

And, Gods, to love--what ecstasy!


Wandrers Nachtlied II

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