Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/291

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
POEMS OF GOETHE
257

Lets waxed thread, hammer, and pincers rest,
And lays his awl within his chest;
The seventh day he takes repose
From many pulls and many blows.


Soon as the spring-sun meets his view,
Repose begets him labour anew;
He feels that he holds within his brain
A little world that broods there amain,
And that begins to act and to live,
Which he unto others would gladly give.

He had a skilful eye and true,
And was full kind and loving, too.
For contemplation, clear and pure,—
For making all his own again, sure;
He had a tongue that charmed when 'twas heard,
And graceful and light flowed every word;
Which made the Muses in him rejoice,
The Master-singer of their choice.


And now a maiden entered there,
With swelling breast, and body fair;
With footing firm she took her place,
And moved with stately, noble grace;


She did not walk in wanton mood,
Nor look around with glances lewd.
She held a measure in her hand,
Her girdle was a golden band,
A wreath of corn was on her head,
Her eye the day's bright lustre shed;
Her name is honest Industry,
Else, Justice, Magnanimity.


She entered with a kindly greeting;
He felt no wonder at the meeting,