Three Goethe Poems

Excerpts from, “The Wanderer’s Song: Essential Poems” By Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe, Translated by John Kent, Pushkin Press Classics, 2025:

THE TREASURE-SEEKER

Poor in purse and heavy-hearted,

Long the days I once was dragging.

Poverty is ever nagging,

Riches are the highest good!

And, from sorrow to be parted,

Out I went to dig for treasure.

“Thou shalt have my soul at pleasure!”

This I witnessed with my blood.

Circle after circle drafted,

Wondrous flames I caused to flower,

Herbs and bones conferred their power:

And the spell was cast aright.

For the ancient hoard I grafted,

In due fashion excavated

At the place they designated;

Black and stormy was the night.

And I saw a radiation

Like a star in its persistence

Coming from the farthest distance

As the stroke of twelve was made.

Brief the time for preparation:

Of a sudden all was lightened,

From the brimming goblet brightened

Which a handsome youth conveyed.

Gracious eyes were twinkling clearly

‘Neath a crown of blossoms tender;

With the potion’s heavenly splendour

He into the circle came.

And he bade me drink so cheerly,

To this thought I was inclining:

This young man, his fair gift shining,

Comes not in the Devil’s name.

“Valour drink of perfect living!

Grasp then this elucidation,

And with fearful incantation,

Seek no longer such a hoard.

Here no more be vainly striving!

Days of toil, at even, feasting!

Bitter weeks, then joyful resting!

Be thy future magic word.”

THE KING IN THULÉ

A king in Thulé was lying,

Right faithful to the grave,

To whom his sweetheart, dying,

A golden goblet gave.

And naught more precious keeping,

He at each feast would sup;

His eyes grew dim with weeping,

Whene’er he drained the cup.

At death’s call, nowise daunted,

His kingdom’s courts he told,

All to his heir he granted,

All but the goblet’s gold.

His knights he round him gathers;

A-feasting there sat he,

In the high hall of his fathers,

In the castle by the sea.

Then rose the old toper slowly,

Drank down his life’s last glow,

And hurled the goblet holy

Into the flood below.

He saw it plunging, drinking,

Deep sinking in the sea,

His eyes too, they were sinking,

Nor ever drop more drank he.

ST NEPOMUK’S EVE

Carlsbad, 15th May 1820 

Lights are floating on the river,

Children on the bridge are singing,

Church bells, great and small, deliver

For the prayers, the joy, their ringing.