Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/197

Rh Didst not thou a Bayadere As a goddess heavenward raise? And we, too, to swell thy praise, Such a miracle would hear.

goes the noble Brahmin's wife, so pure and lovely; He is honoured, void of blemish, And of justice rigid, stern. Daily from the sacred river Brings she back refreshment precious,— But where is the pail and pitcher? She of neither stands in need. For with pure heart, hands unsullied, She the water lifts, and rolls it To a wondrous ball of crystal; This she bears with gladsome bosom, Modestly, with graceful motion, To her husband in the house. She to-day at dawn of morning Praying comes to Ganges' waters, Bends her o'er the glassy surface— Sudden, in the waves reflected, Flying swiftly far above her, From the highest heavens descending, She discerns the beauteous form Of a youth divine, created By the God's primeval wisdom In his own eternal breast. When she sees him, straightway feels she Wondrous, new, confused sensations