Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/221

Rh Stretches his talons, On thee falls, In thy shoulders Cunningly plants them.

Strong are his skinny arms, As panther-claws; He shaketh thee, And rends thy frame.

Death 'tis to part; 'Tis threefold death To part, not hoping Ever to meet again.

Thou wouldst rejoice to leave This hated land behind, Wert thou not chained to me With friendship's flowery chains.

Burst them! I'll not repine. No noble friend Would stay his fellow captive If means of flight appear.

The remembrance Of his dear friend's freedom Gives him freedom In his dungeon.

Thou goest,—I'm left. But e'en already The last year's winged spokes Whirl round the smoken axle.