[Goethe relates that a remarkable situation he was in one bright moonlight night led to the composition of this sweet song, which was "the dearer to him because he could not say whence it came and whither it would."] AT midnight hour I went, not willingly, A little, little boy, yon churchyard past, To Father Vicar's house; the stars on high On all around their beauteous radiance cast, At midnight hour. And when, in journeying o'er the path of life, My love I follow'd, as she onward moved, With stars and northern lights o'er head in strife, Going and coming, perfect bliss I proved At midnight hour. Until at length the full moon, lustre-fraught, Burst thro' the gloom wherein she was enshrined; And then the willing, active, rapid thought Around the past, as round the future twined, At midnight hour. 1818. ----- TO THE RISING FULL MOON. Dornburg, 25th August, 1828. WILT thou suddenly enshroud thee, Who this moment wert so nigh? Heavy rising masses cloud thee, Thou art hidden from mine eye. Yet my sadness thou well knowest, Gleaming sweetly as a star! That I'm loved, 'tis thou that showest, Though my loved one may be far. Upward mount then! clearer, milder, Robed in splendour far more bright! Though my heart with grief throbs wilder, Fraught with rapture is the night! 1828. ----- THE BRIDEGROOM.* (Not in the English sense of the word, but the German, where it has the meaning of betrothed.) I SLEPT,--'twas midnight,--in my bosom woke, As though 'twere day, my love-o'erflowing heart; To me it seemed like night, when day first broke; What is't to me, whate'er it may impart? She was away; the world's unceasing strife For her alone I suffer'd through the heat Of sultry day; oh, what refreshing life At cooling eve!--my guerdon was complete. The sun now set, and wand'ring hand in hand, His last and blissful look we greeted then; While spake our eyes, as they each other scann'd: "From the far east, let's trust, he'll come again!" At midnight!--the bright stars, in vision blest, Guide to the threshold where she slumbers calm: Oh be it mine, there too at length to rest,-- Yet howsoe'er this prove, life's full of charm! 1828. ----- SUCH, SUCH IS HE WHO PLEASETH ME. FLY, dearest, fly! He is not nigh! He who found thee one fair morn in Spring In the wood where thou thy flight didst wing. Fly, dearest, fly! He is not nigh! Never rests the foot of evil spy. Hark! flutes' sweet strains and love's refrains Reach the loved one, borne there by the wind, In the soft heart open doors they find. Hark! flutes' sweet strains and love's refrains, Hark!--yet blissful love their echo pains. Erect his head, and firm his tread, Raven hair around his smooth brow strays, On his cheeks a Spring eternal plays. Erect his head, and firm his tread, And by grace his ev'ry step is led.