Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/166

140 "Oh when will return an hour like this? I pine in silent sadness; I've thrown away my only true bliss With madness. Alas, poor maid! Oh pity my youth! My brother was then full cruel in truth To treat the loved one so basely!"

The swarthy woman then went inside, To the spring in the courtyard yonder; Her eyes from their stain she purified, And,—wonder! — Her face and eyes were radiant and bright, And the maid of the mill was disclosed to the sight Of the startled and angry stripling.

Thou sweetest, fairest, dearly-loved life! Before thine anger I cower; But blows I dread not, nor sharp-edged knife,— This hour Of sorrow and love to thee I'll sing, And myself before thy feet I'll fling, And either live or die there!

Affection, say, why buried so deep In my heart hast thou lain hidden? By whom hast thou now to awake from thy sleep Been bidden? Ah, love, that thou art immortal I see! Nor knavish cunning nor treachery Can destroy thy life so godlike.