# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/The German Parnassus

THE GERMAN PARNASSUS.
'Neath the shadow Of these bushes On the meadow Where the cooling water gushes, Phœbus gave me, when a boy, All life's fulness to enjoy. So, in silence, as the God Bade them with his sovereign nod, Sacred Muses trained my days To his praise,— With the bright and silvery flood Of Parnassus stirred my blood, ​And the seal so pure and chaste By them on my lips was placed.
With her modest pinions, see, Philomel encircles me! In these bushes, in yon grove, Calls she to her sister-throng, And their heavenly choral song Teaches me to dream of love.
Fulness waxes in my breast Of emotions social, blest; Friendship's nurtured,—love awakes,— And the silence Phœbus breaks Of his mountains, of his vales, Sweetly blow the balmy gales; All for whom he shows affection, Who are worthy his protection. Gladly follow his direction.
This one comes with joyous bearing And with open, radiant gaze; That a sterner look is wearing, This one, scarcely cured, with daring Wakes the strength of former days; For the sweet, destructive flame Pierced his marrow and his frame. That which Amor stole before Phœbus only can restore. Peace, and joy, and harmony. Aspirations pure and free.
Brethren, rise ye! Numbers prize ye! Deeds of worth resemble they. Who can better than the bard ​Guide a friend when gone astray? If his duty he regard, More he'll do, than others may.
Yes! afar I hear them sing! Yes! I hear them touch the string, And with mighty godlike stroke Right and duty they inspire And evoke, As they sing and wake the lyre. Tendencies of noblest worth, To each type of strength give birth.
Phantasies of sweetest power Flower Round about on every bough. Bending now Like the magic wood of old, 'Neath the fruit that gleams like gold.
What we feel and what we view In the land of highest bliss, — This dear soil, a sun like this,— Lures the best of women too. And the Muses' breathings blest Rouse the maiden's gentle breast, Tune the throat to minstrelsy, And with cheeks of beauteous dye, Bid it sing a worthy song. Sit the sister-band among; And their strains grow softer still, As they vie with earnest will.
One amongst the band betimes Goes to wander By the beeches, 'neath the limes. Yonder seeking, finding yonder ​That which in the morning-grove She had lost through roguish Love, All her breast's first aspirations, And her heart's calm meditations. To the shady wood so fair Gently stealing, Takes she that which man can ne'er Duly merit,—each soft feeling,— Disregards the noontide ray And the dew at close of day,— In the plain her path she loses. Ne'er disturb her on her way! Seek her silently, ye Muses!
Shouts I hear, wherein the sound Of the waterfall is drowned. From the grove loud clamours rise, Strange the tumult, strange the cries. See I rightly? Can it be? To the very sanctuary, Lo, an impious troop in-hies!
O'er the land Streams the band; Hot desire, Drunken-fire In their gaze Wildly plays,— Makes the hair Bristle there. And the troop, With fell swoop, Women, men, Coming then, Ply their blows And expose, Void of shame, All the frame. Iron shot. Fierce and hot, Strike with fear On the ear; All they slay On their way, O'er the land Pours the band; All take flight At their sight ​Ah, o'er every plant they rush! Ah, their cruel footsteps crush All the flowers that fill their path! Who will dare to stem their wrath?
Brethren, let us venture all! Virtue in your pure cheek glows. Phœbus will attend our call When he sees our heavy woes; And that we may have aright Weapons suited to the fight, He the mountain shaketh now— From its brow Rattling down Stone on stone Through the thicket spread appear. Brethren, seize them! Wherefore fear? Now the villain crew assail, As though with a storm of hail, And expel the strangers wild From these regions soft and mild Where the sun has ever smiled!
What strange wonder do I see? Can it be? All my limbs of power are reft, And all strength my hand has left. Can it be? None are strangers that I see! And our brethren 'tis who go On before, the way to show! Oh, the reckless, impious ones! How they, with their jarring tones, Beat the time, as on they hie! Quick, my brethren!—let us fly! ​To the rash ones, yet a word! Ay, my voice shall now be heard, As a peal of thunder, strong! Words as poets' arms were made,— When the god will be obeyed. Follow fast his darts ere long.
Was it possible that ye Thus your godlike dignity Should forget? The Thyrsus rude Must a heavy burden feel To the hand but wont to steal O'er the lyre in gentle mood. From the sparkling waterfalls, From the brook that purling calls. Shall Silenus' loathsome beast Be allowed at will to feast? Aganippe's wave he sips With profane and spreading lips,— With ungainly feet stamps madly, Till the waters flow on sadly.
Fain I'd think myself deluded In the saddening sounds I hear; From the holy glades secluded Hateful tones assail the ear. Laughter wild (exchange how mournful!) Takes the place of love's sweet dream; Women-haters and the scornful In exulting chorus scream. Nightingale and turtle-dove Fly their nests so warm and chaste, And, inflamed with sensual love. Holds the Faun the Nymph embraced. ​Here a garment's torn away, Scoffs succeed their sated bliss, While the god, with angry ray, Looks upon each impious kiss.
Vapour, smoke, as from a fire, And advancing clouds I view; Chords not only grace the lyre, For the bow its chords hath, too. Even the adorer's heart Dreads the wild advancing band, For the flames that round them dart Show the fierce destroyer's hand. Oh, neglect not what I say, For I speak it lovingly! From our boundaries haste away, From the god's dread anger fly! Cleanse once more the holy place, Turn the savage train aside! Earth contains upon its face Many a spot unsanctified; Here we only prize the good. Stars unsullied round us burn. If ye, in repentant mood, From your wanderings would return, If ye fail to find the bliss That ye found with us of yore,— Or when lawless mirth like this Gives your hearts delight no more,— Then return in pilgrim guise, Gladly up the mountain go, While your strains repentant rise. And our brethren's advent show.
Let a new-born wreath entwine Solemnly your temples round; ​Rapture glows in hearts divine When a long-lost sinner's found. Swifter e'en the Lethe's flood Round Death's silent house can play, Every error of the good Will love's chahce wash away. All will haste your steps to meet, As ye come in majesty,— Men your blessing will entreat;— Ours ye thus will doubly be!