FROM "THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER"
[Prefixed to the second edition.]
Every youth for love's sweet portion sighs,
Every maiden sighs to win man's love;
Why, alas! should bitter pain arise
From the noblest passion that we prove?
Thou, kind soul, bewailest, lovest him well,
From disgrace his memory's saved by thee;
Lo, his spirit sighs from out its cell:
Be a man, nor seek to follow me.
Tender thoughts and sweet recollection,
That is life in its greatest perfection.
TRILOGY OF PASSION.
I. TO WERTHER.
[This poem, written at the age of seventy-five, was appended to an edition of "Werther," published at that time.]
Once more, then, much-wept shadow, thou dost dare
Boldly to face the day's clear light,
To meet me on fresh blooming meadows fair,
And dost not tremble at my sight.
Those happy times appear returned once more,
When on one field we quaffed refreshing dew,
And, when the day's unwelcome toil were o'er,
The farewell sunbeams blessed our ravished view;
Fate bade thee go,—to linger here was mine,—
Going the first, the smaller loss was thine.
