Nine times encircling thy neck, loosely around it entwined. [Pg 6452]Other and manifold trinkets I'll buy thee; gold-mounted bracelets, Richly and skillfully wrought, also shall grace thy fair hand. There shall the ruby and emerald vie, the sapphire so lovely Be to the jacinth opposed, seeming its foil; while the gold Holds all the jewels together, in beauteous union commingled. Oh, how the bridegroom exults, when he adorns his betrothed! Pearls if I see, of thee they remind me; each ring that is shown me Brings to my mind thy fair hand's graceful and tapering form. I will barter and buy; the fairest of all shalt thou choose thee; Joyously would I devote all of the cargo to thee. Yet not trinkets and jewels alone is thy loved one procuring; With them he brings thee whate'er gives to a housewife delight: Fine and woolen coverlets, wrought with an edging of purple, Fit for a couch where we both, lovingly, gently may rest; Costly pieces of linen. Thou sittest and sewest, and clothest Me, and thyself, and perchance even a third with it too. Visions of hope, deceive ye my heart! Ye kindly immortals, Soften this fierce-raging flame, wildly pervading my breast! Yet how I long to feel them again, those rapturous torments, When in their stead, Care draws nigh, coldly and fearfully calm. Neither the Furies' torch, nor the hounds of hell with their barking, Awe the delinquent so much, down in the plains of despair, As by the motionless spectre I'm awed, that shows me the fair one Far away: of a truth, open the garden door stands! And another one cometh! For him the fruit, too, is falling, And for him also the fig strengthening honey doth yield! Doth she entice him as well to the arbor? He follows? Oh, make me Blind, ye Immortals! efface visions like this from my mind! Yes, she is but a maiden! And she who to one doth so quickly Yield, to another erelong, doubtless, will turn herself round. Smile not, Zeus, for this once, at an oath so cruelly broken! Thunder more fearfully! Strike!—Stay—thy fierce lightnings withhold! Hurl at me thy quivering bolt! In the darkness of midnight Strike with thy lightning this mast, make it a pitiful wreck! Scatter the planks all around, and give to the boisterous billows All these wares, and let me be to the dolphins a prey!— Now, ye Muses, enough! In vain would ye strive to depicture How, in a love-laden breast, anguish alternates with bliss. Ye cannot heal the wounds, it is true, that love hath inflicted; Yet from you only proceeds, kindly ones, comfort and balm. Translation of E. A. Bowring. [Pg 6453] MAXIMS AND REFLECTIONS From 'Maxims and Reflections of Goethe.' Translation of Bailey Saunders. Copyright 1892, by Macmillan & Co. It is not always needful for truth to take a definite shape: it is enough if it hovers about us like a spirit and produces harmony; if it is wafted through the air like the sound of a bell, grave and kindly.