Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/233

Rh Father Bromius! Thou art the Genius, Genius of ages, Thou'rt what inward glow To Pindar was, What to the world Phoebus Apollo.

Woe! Woe! Inward warmth, Spirit-warmth, Central-point! Glow, and vie with Phœbus Apollo: Coldly soon His regal look Over thee will swiftly glide,— Envy-struck Linger o'er the cedar's strength, Which, to flourish, Waits him not.

Why doth my lay name thee the last? Thee, from whom it began, Thee, in whom it endeth, Thee, from whom it flows, Jupiter Pluvius! Toward thee streams my song, And a Castalian spring Runs as a fellow brook, Runs to the idle ones, Mortal, happy ones, Apart from thee, Who coverest me around, Jupiter Pluvius!

Not by the elm-tree Him didst thou visit,