The Poems of Goethe Part 42

'Tis there, 'tis there, Our path lies--Father--thither, oh repair!

1795.*

----- THE MINSTREL.

[This fine poem is introduced in the second book of Wilhelm Meister.]

"WHAT tuneful strains salute mine ear

Without the castle walls?

Oh, let the song re-echo here,

Within our festal halls!"

Thus spake the king, the page out-hied; The boy return'd; the monarch cried:

"Admit the old man yonder!"

"All hail, ye n.o.ble lords to-night!

All hail, ye beauteous dames!

Star placed by star! What heavenly sight!

Whoe'er can tell their names?

Within this glittering hall sublime, Be closed, mine eyes! 'tis not the time

For me to feast my wonder."

The minstrel straightway closed his eyes,

And woke a thrilling tone; The knights look'd on in knightly guise,

Fair looks tow'rd earth were thrown.

The monarch, ravish'd by the strain, Bade them bring forth a golden chain,

To be his numbers' guerdon.

"The golden chain give not to me,

But give the chain to those In whose bold face we shiver'd see

The lances of our foes.

Or give it to thy chancellor there; With other burdens he may bear

This one more golden burden.

"I sing, like birds of blithesome note,

That in the branches dwell; The song that rises from the throat

Repays the minstrel well.

One boon I'd crave, if not too bold-- One b.u.mper in a cup of gold

Be as my guerdon given."

The bowl he raised, the bowl he quaff'd:

"Oh drink, with solace fraught!

Oh, house thrice-blest, where such a draught

A trifling gift is thought!

When Fortune smiles, remember me, And as I thank you heartily,

As warmly thank ye Heaven!"

1795.*

----- BALLAD

OF THE BANISHED AND RETURNING COUNT.

[Goethe began to write an opera called Lowenstuhl, founded upon the old tradition which forms the subject of this Ballad, but he never carried out his design.]

OH, enter old minstrel, thou time-honour'd one!

We children are here in the hall all alone,

The portals we straightway will bar.

Our mother is praying, our father is gone

To the forest, on wolves to make war.

Oh sing us a ballad, the tale then repeat,

'Till brother and I learn it right; We long have been hoping a minstrel to meet,

For children hear tales with delight.

"At midnight, when darkness its fearful veil weaves, His lofty and stately old castle he leaves,

But first he has buried his wealth.

What figure is that in his arms one perceives,

As the Count quits the gateway by stealth?

O'er what is his mantle so hastily thrown?

What bears he along in his flight?

A daughter it is, and she gently sleeps on"--

The children they hear with delight.

"The morning soon glimmers. the world is so wide, In valleys and forests a home is supplied,