  Ah, without stop or stay the ship still momently presses On through the foaming deep, further and further from shore. Far-traced the furrow is cut by the keel, and in it the dolphins Bounding follow as though prey were before them in flight. All betokens a fortunate voyage; light-hearted the shipman Gently handles the sail that takes on it labour for all. Forward as pennon and streamer presses the voyager’s spirit, One alone by the mast stands reverted and sad. Mountains already blue he sees departing, he sees them Sink in the sea, while sinks every joy from his gaze. Also for thee has vanished the ship that bears thy Alexis, Robs thee, O Dora, of friend, robs thee of, ah! the betrothed. Thou, too, gazest in vain after me. Our hearts are still beating For one another, but ah! on one another no more. More than all days erewhile coldly squandered by me. Ah, in that moment alone, the last, arose in my bosom Life unhoped for in thee, come down as a gift from the Gods. Now in vain dost thou with thy light make glorious the Æther, Thy all-illumining day—Phoebus, by me is abhorred. Back on myself I return, and fain would I there in the silence Live o’er again the time when daily to me she appeared. Was it possible beauty to see and never to feel it? Did not the heavenly charm work on thy dullness of soul? Blame not thyself, poor heart, so the poet proposes a riddle, Artfully wrought into words oft to the ear of the crowd, The network of images, lovely and strange, is a joy to the hearer, Yet still there lacketh the word affirming the sense of the whole. Is it at last disclosed, then every spirit is gladdened, Ah, why so late, O love, dost thou unbind from my forehead Wrappings that darkened my eyes—why too late dost unbind? Long time the freighted bark delayed for favouring breezes, Fair at last rose the wind pressing off-shore to the sea. Idle seasons of youth and idle dreams of the future Ye have departed—for me only remaineth the hour; Yes, it remains the gladness remaining for me; Dora, I hold thee. Hope to my gaze presents, Dora, thy image alone. Often on thy way to the temple I saw thee gay-decked and decorous, Stepped the good mother beside, all ceremonious and grave. Quick-footed wert thou and eager, bearing thy fruit to the market, Quitting the well, thy head how daringly balanced the jar; There, lo! thy throat was shown, thy neck more fair than all others, Fairer than others were shown the poise and play of thy limbs. Yet upright ever it stood, there where the kerchief was pleached. Fairest neighbour, yes, my wont it was to behold thee, As we behold the stars, as we contemplate the moon. In them rejoicing, while never once in the tranquil bosom, Even in shadow of thought stirs the desire to possess. Thus did ye pass, my years. But twenty paces asunder Our dwellings, thine and mine, nor once on thy threshold I trod. Now the hideous deep divides us! Ye lie to the heavens, Billows! your lordly blue to me is the colour of night. Already was everything in motion. A boy came running Swift to my father’s house, calling me down to the shore. “The sail is already hoisted; it flaps in the wind,” so spake he. “Weighed with a lusty cheer the anchor parts from the sand. Come, Alexis! O come!” And gravely, in token of blessing, Careful the mother reached me a bundle newly made ready; “Come back happy!” they cried. “Come back happy and rich.” So out of doors, the bundle under my arm, did I fling me, And at the wall below, there by the garden gate, Saw thee stand; thou smiledst upon me and spake’st. “Alexis, Yonder clamouring folk, are these thy comrades aboard? Distant shores thou visitest now and merchandise precious Thou dost deal in, and jewels for the wealthy city dames. Wilt thou not bring me also one little light chain? I would buy it Thankfully. I have wished so oft to adorn me with this.” Holding my own I stood and asked, in the way of a merchant, First of the form, the weight exact, of the order thou gavest. Modest in truth was the price thou assignedst. While gazing upon thee, Neck and shoulders I saw worthy the jewels of our queen. “Some of the garden fruit take thou with thee on thy way. Take the ripest oranges—take white figs. The sea yields Never a fruit at all. Nor doth every country give fruits.” Thereon I stepped within; the fruit thou busily broughtest, There in the gathered robe bearing a burden all gold. Often I pleaded, “see this is enough,” and ever another And fairer fruit down dropped, lightly touched, to thy hand. Then at the last to the bower thou camest. There was a basket, And the myrtle in bloom bent over thee, over me. Skilfully didst thou begin to arrange the fruit and in silence. First the orange, that lies heavy a globe of gold, Then the tenderer fig, which slightest pressure will injure, And with myrtle o’erlaid, fair adorned was the gift. But I lifted it not. I stood, we looked one another Full in the eyes. When straight the sight of my eyes waxed dim. The stately neck, whereon thousandfold kisses I showered. Sank thy head on my shoulder—by tender arms enfolded As with a chain was he the man whom thou hast made blest. The hands of Love I felt, he drew us with might together, And thrice from a cloudless sky it thundere Editor’s Note.—The four Goethe translations with which this volume closes are taken from rough jottings, hardly more than protoplasm. They much need re-handling, which they cannot now receive. Many lines are, as verse, defective for the ear ... yet some contain sufficient beauty, as well as fidelity, in translation to justify, perhaps, their preservation as fragments of unfinished work. This does not apply to the other translations which were left by E. D. in fair MS. as completed. COLSTONS LIMITED, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH |
|
