his Faust, the completion of which had long floated before his mind as a duty that he owed to himself and to the world. There was no longer any doubt as to what his great life-work was to be. With admirable energy and with perfect clarity of vision he addressed himself to the gigantic task, the general plan of which and many of the details had been thought out long before. It was finished in the summer of 1831. About sixty years after he had penned the first words of Faust, the disgruntled pessimist at war with life, he took leave of him as a purified soul mounting upward among the saints toward the Ineffable Light, under the mystic guidance of the Eternal-Womanly.
Goethe died March 18, 1832. The story that his last words were "more light" is probably nothing more than a happy invention.
Admirers of the great German see more in him than the author of the various works which have been all too briefly characterized in the preceding sketch. His is a case where, in very truth, the whole is more than the sum of the parts. Goethe is the representative of an epoch. He stands for certain ideals which are not those of the present hour, but which it was of inestimable value to the modern man to have thus nobly worked out and exemplified in practice. Behind and beneath his writings, informing them and giving them their value for posterity, is a wonderful personality which it is a delight and an education to study in the whole process of its evolution. By way of struggle, pain and error, like his own Faust, he arrived at a view of life, in which he found inspiration and inner peace. It is outlined in the verses which he placed before his short poems as a sort of motto:
Wide horizon, eager life,
Busy years of honest strife,
Ever seeking, ever founding,
Never ending, ever rounding,
Guarding tenderly the old,
Taking of the new glad hold,
Pure in purpose, light of heart,
Thus we gain—at least a start.
POEMS
GREETING AND DEPARTURE4 (1771)
My heart throbbed high: to horse, away then!
Swift as a hero to the fight!
Earth in the arms of evening lay then,
And o'er the mountains hung the night,
Now could I see like some huge giant
The haze-enveloped oak-tree rise,
While from the thicket stared defiant
The darkness with its hundred eyes.
The cloud-throned moon from his dominion
Peered drowsily through veils of mist.
The wind with gently-wafting pinion
Gave forth a rustling strange and whist.
With shapes of fear the night was thronging
But all the more my courage glowed;
My soul flamed up in passionate longing
And hot my heart with rapture flowed.
I saw thee; melting rays of pleasure
Streamed o'er me from thy tender glance,
My heart beat only to thy measure,
I drew my breath as in a trance.
The radiant hue of spring caressing
Lay rosy on thy upturned face,
And love—ye gods, how rich the blessing!
I dared not hope to win such grace.
To part—alas what grief in this is!—
In every look thy heart spoke plain.
What ecstasy was in thy kisses!
What changing thrill of joy and pain!
I went. One solace yet to capture,
Thine eyes pursued in sweet distress.
But to be loved, what holy rapture!
To love, ah gods, what happiness!
THE HEATHROSE5 (1771)
Once a boy a Rosebud spied,
Heathrose fair and tender,
All array'd in youthful pride,—
Quickly to the spot he hied,
Ravished by her splendor.
Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red,
Heathrose fair and tender!
Said the boy, "I'll now pick thee
Heathrose fair and tender!"
Rosebud cried "And I'll prick thee,
So thou shalt remember me,
Ne'er will I surrender!"
Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red,
Heathrose fair and tender!
But the wanton plucked the rose,
Heathrose fair and tender;
Thorns the cruel theft oppose,
Brief the struggle and vain the woes,
She must needs surrender.
Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red,
Heathrose fair and tender!
MAHOMET'S SONG6 (1773)
[This song was intended to be introduced in a dramatic poem entitled Mahomet, the plan of which was not carried out by Goethe. He mentions that it was to have been sung by Ali toward the end of the piece, in honor of his master, Mahomet, shortly before his death, and when at the height of his glory, of which it is typical.]
See the rock-born stream!
Like the gleam
Of a star so bright!
Kindly spirits
High above the clouds
Nourished him while youthful
In the copse between the cliffs.
Young and fresh,
From the clouds he danceth
Down upon the marble rocks;
Then tow'rd heaven
Leaps exulting.
Through the mountain-passes
Chaseth he the color'd pebbles,
And, advancing like a chief,
Draws his brother streamlets with him
In his course.
In the vale below
'Neath his footsteps spring the flowers,
And the meadow
In his breath finds life.
Yet no shady vale can stay him,
Nor can flowers,
Round his knees all softly twining
With their loving eyes detain him;
To the plain his course he taketh,
Serpent-winding.
Eager