The Poems of Goethe - BestLightNovel.com
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Just the same answer as that I've preferr'd; "Vain 'tis to wait till the dolt grows less silly!
Play then the fool with the fool, w.i.l.l.y-nilly,--
Children of wisdom,--remember the word!"
And on the Indian breeze as it booms, And in the depths of Egyptian tombs,
Only the same holy saying I've heard: "Vain 'tis to wait till the dolt grows less silly!
Play then the fool with the fool, w.i.l.l.y-nilly,--
Children of wisdom,--remember the word!"
1789.*
----- ANOTHER.
Go! obedient to my call,
Turn to profit thy young days,
Wiser make betimes thy breast
In Fate's balance as it sways,
Seldom is the c.o.c.k at rest; Thou must either mount, or fall,
Thou must either rule and win,
Or submissively give in, Triumph, or else yield to clamour: Be the anvil or the hammer.
1789.
----- VANITAS! VANITATUM VANITAS!
MY trust in nothing now is placed,
Hurrah!
So in the world true joy I taste,
Hurrah!
Then he who would be a comrade of mine Must rattle his gla.s.s, and in chorus combine, Over these dregs of wine.
I placed my trust in gold and wealth,
Hurrah!
But then I lost all joy and health,
Lack-a-day!
Both here and there the money roll'd, And when I had it here, behold, From there had fled the gold!
I placed my trust in women next,
Hurrah!
But there in truth was sorely vex'd,
Lack-a-day!
The False another portion sought, The True with tediousness were fraught, The Best could not be bought.
My trust in travels then I placed,
Hurrah!
And left my native land in haste.
Lack-a-day!
But not a single thing seem'd good, The beds were bad, and strange the food, And I not understood.
I placed my trust in rank and fame,
Hurrah!
Another put me straight to shame,
Lack-a-day!
And as I had been prominent, All scowl'd upon me as I went, I found not one content.
I placed my trust in war and fight,
Hurrah!
We gain'd full many a triumph bright,
Hurrah!
Into the foeman's land we cross'd, We put our friends to equal cost, And there a leg I lost.
My trust is placed in nothing now,
Hurrah!
At my command the world must bow,
Hurrah!
And as we've ended feast and strain, The cup we'll to the bottom drain; No dregs must there remain!
1806.
----- FORTUNE OF WAR.
NOUGHT more accursed in war I know
Than getting off scot-free; Inured to danger, on we go
In constant victory; We first unpack, then pack again,
With only this reward, That when we're marching, we complain,
And when in camp, are bor'd.
