Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/416

382 And many a soul that with him strove in fight, And his great merit grudged to recognise, Now feels the impress of his wondrous might, And in his magic fetters gladly lies; E'en to the highest hath he winged his flight, In close communion linked with all we prize. Extol him then! What mortals while they live But half receive, posterity shall give.

Thus is he left us who so long ago,— Ten years, alas, already!—turned from earth; We all, to our great joy, his precepts know, Oh, may the world confess their priceless worth! In swelling tide toward every region flow The thoughts that were his own peculiar birth; He gleams like some departing meteor bright, Combining, with his own, eternal light.

 L'ENVOI

Now, gentle reader, is our journey ended. Mute is our minstrel, silent is our song; Sweet the bard's voice whose strains our course attended, Pleasant the paths he guided us along. Now must we part,—oh, word all full of sadness, Changing to pensive retrospect our gladness!

Reader, farewell! we part perchance for ever. Scarce may I hope to meet with thee again; But e'en though fate our fellowship may sever, Reader, will aught to mark that tie remain? Yes! there is left one sad, sweet bond of union,— Sorrow at parting links us in communion. 