Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/228

198 HARTZ MOUNTAINS.

as the hawk, Which, on yon dark morning cloud-pile, With soft spread pinion resting, Looks out for prey, Float my loose song!

Sure a God hath Unto each his path Fore-appointed, Which the fortunate Swift to happiest Goal pursues: But whom misfortune Hath frozen to the heart, He frets him vainly Against the restraint of The wire-woven cord, which Soon shall the bitter scissors Snap once for all.