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A poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe |
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Alexis and Dora |
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Title: Alexis and Dora Author: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe [More Titles by Goethe] [This beautiful poem was first published in Schiller's Horen.]
Hastens, as onward it glides, cleaving the foam-cover'd flood! Following fast in its rear, while it seems flying pursuit. Leans 'gainst the sail, which alone all that is needed performs. Backward one only is seen, mournfully fix'd near the mast, And as they sink in the sea, joy from his bosom departs. Of thine Alexis, thy friend,--ah, thy betrothed as well! Though, for each other, yet ah! 'gainst one another no more. Every day which had else coldly from memory fled. Life, such as deities grant, though thou perceived'st it not. Thine all-brightening day hateful alone is to me. Strive to recover the time when she appear'd with each day. Work'd not those heavenly charms e'en on a mind dull as thine? Thus propose to the throng, skillfully hidden in words. Yet still is wanting the word which will discover the sense. And in the poem he sees meaning of twofold delight. Which thou hadst placed o'er mine eyes,--wherefore remove it so late? 'Till in kindness the wind blew from the land o'er the sea. Ye all vanish, and nought, saving the moment, remains. And thine image alone, Dora, by hope is disclos'd. While thy mother so dear solemnly went by thy side. Boldly the pail from the well didst thou sustain on thy head. Then, before all things, the grace filling thy motions was seen. Yet it ever remain'd firm on the circular cloth. As on the stars I might gaze, as I might gaze on the moon, Not the remotest desire ever to call them mine own. Twenty paces apart, yet I thy threshold ne'er cross'd. Billow! thy beautiful blue seems to me dark as the night. Ran at full speed and exclaim'd: "Hasten thee quick to the strand While the anchor they weigh, heaving it up from the sand; Press'd, with a blessing, his hand down on my curly-lock'd head, "Happy mayst thou return!" cried they--" both happy and rich!" Running along by the wall. Standing I found thee hard by, Say, are yon boisterous crew going thy comrades to be? Ornaments meet for the rich matrons who dwell in the town. Oft have I wish'd to possess some stich a trinket as that." After the form and the weight which thy commission should have. On thy neck which deserv'd ornaments worn but by queens. "Take, I entreat thee, some fruit out of the garden, my friend Beareth no fruit, and, in truth, 'tis not produced by each land." And the burden of gold was in thine apron upheld. Into the hand as I spake, ever obeying thy touch. Sweet blooming myrtle trees wav'd, as we drew nigh, o'er our heads. First the orange, which lay heavy as though 'twere of gold, And with myrtle the gift soon was both cover'd and grac'd. And my eyesight grew dim, seeming obscured by a film, Round thy beautiful form; thousand times kiss'd I thy neck. Soon rendered perfect the ring knitting the rapturous pair. And, from the firmament clear, thrice did it thunder; then tears And, 'mid our sorrow and bliss, even the world seem'd to die. Bear my weight, and I cried:--"Dora! and art thou not mine?" Seem'd to be wiped from our eyes, as by the breath of a god. Suddenly peep'd through the door. How he the basket snatch'd up! How the vessel I reach'd? Drunken I seem'd, well I know. And as the breeze drove us on, distance the town soon obscur'd. With the thunder of Zeus! while by the thunderer's throne Close by her side! so the bond beareth an impress divine! Onward, thou powerful keel, cleaving the waves as they foam! May in his workshop prepare straightway the heavenly pledge! Nine times encircling thy neck, loosely around it entwin'd Richly and skillfully wrought, also shall grace thy fair hand. Be to the jacinth oppos'd, seeming its foil; while the gold Oh, how the bridegroom exults, when he adorns his betroth'd! Brings to my mind thy fair hand's graceful and tapering form. Joyously would I devote all of the cargo to thee. With them he brings thee whate'er gives to a housewife delight. Fit for a couch where we both, lovingly, gently may rest; Me, and thyself, and, perchance, even a third with it too. Soften this fierce-raging flame, wildly pervading my breast! When, in their stead, care draws nigh, coldly and fearfully calm. Awe the delinquent so much, down in the plains of despair, Far away: of a truth, open the garden-door stands! And for him, also, the fig strengthening honey doth yield! Blind, ye Immortals! efface visions like this from my mind! Yield, to another ere long, doubtless, Will turn herself round. Thunder more fearfully! Strike!--Stay--thy fierce lightnings withhold! Strike with thy lightning this mast, make it a pitiful wreck! All these wares, and let me be to the dolphins a prey How, in a love-laden breast, anguish alternates with bliss. Yet from you only proceeds, kindly ones, comfort and balm. 1796. -THE END- GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |