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POEMS OF GOETHE
The fiery-tongued serpent,
Hard by the sedgy bank,
Stretches his pampered body,
Caressed by the sun's bright beams.
Tempt no gentle night-rambles
Under the moon's cold twilight!
Loathsome toads hold their meetings
Yonder at every crossway.
Injuring not,
Fear will they cause thee.
Oh, worthy man,
Fly from this land!
THIRD ODE.
Be void of feeling!
A heart that soon is stirred,
Is a possession sad
Upon this changing earth.
Behrisch, let spring's sweet smile
Never gladden thy brow!
Then winter's gloomy tempests
Never will shadow it o'er.
Lean thyself ne'er on a maiden's
Sorrow-engendering breast.
Ne'er on the arm,
Misery-fraught, of a friend.
Already Envy
From out his rocky ambush
Upon thee turns
The force of his lynx-like eyes,
