Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/291

Rh Lets waxed thread, hammer, and pincers rest, And lays his awl within his chest; The seventh day he takes repose From many pulls and many blows.

Soon as the spring-sun meets his view, Repose begets him labour anew; He feels that he holds within his brain A little world that broods there amain, And that begins to act and to live, Which he unto others would gladly give.

He had a skilful eye and true, And was full kind and loving, too. For contemplation, clear and pure,— For making all his own again, sure; He had a tongue that charmed when 'twas heard, And graceful and light flowed every word; Which made the Muses in him rejoice, The Master-singer of their choice.

And now a maiden entered there, With swelling breast, and body fair; With footing firm she took her place, And moved with stately, noble grace;

She did not walk in wanton mood, Nor look around with glances lewd. She held a measure in her hand, Her girdle was a golden band, A wreath of corn was on her head, Her eye the day's bright lustre shed; Her name is honest Industry, Else, Justice, Magnanimity.

She entered with a kindly greeting; He felt no wonder at the meeting,