Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/250

220 To the rash ones, yet a word! Ay, my voice shall now be heard, As a peal of thunder, strong! Words as poets' arms were made,— When the god will be obeyed. Follow fast his darts ere long.

Was it possible that ye Thus your godlike dignity Should forget? The Thyrsus rude Must a heavy burden feel To the hand but wont to steal O'er the lyre in gentle mood. From the sparkling waterfalls, From the brook that purling calls. Shall Silenus' loathsome beast Be allowed at will to feast? Aganippe's wave he sips With profane and spreading lips,— With ungainly feet stamps madly, Till the waters flow on sadly.

Fain I'd think myself deluded In the saddening sounds I hear; From the holy glades secluded Hateful tones assail the ear. Laughter wild (exchange how mournful!) Takes the place of love's sweet dream; Women-haters and the scornful In exulting chorus scream. Nightingale and turtle-dove Fly their nests so warm and chaste, And, inflamed with sensual love. Holds the Faun the Nymph embraced.