Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/329

Rh But Wit's a native of the soil, So he returned, worked, strove amain, And found—sweet guerdon for his toil!— Beauty to quicken him again.

a heavy storm it chanced That from his room a cockney glanced At the fierce tempest as it broke, While to his neighbour thus he spoke: "The thunder has our awe inspired, Our barns by lightning have been fired,— Our sins to punish, I suppose; But, in return, to soothe our woes, See how the rain in torrents fell, Making the harvest promise well! But is't a rainbow that I spy Extending o'er the dark-gray sky? With it I'm sure we may dispense, The coloured cheat! The vain pretence!" Dame Iris straightway thus replied: "Dost dare my beauty to deride? In realms of space God stationed me A type of better worlds to be To eyes that from life's sorrows rove In cheerful hope to Heaven above, And through the mists that hover here God and His precepts blest revere. Do thou, then, grovel like the swine, And to the ground thy snout confine But suffer the enlightened eye To feast upon my majesty."