Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Here you will find the Long Poem The Bride Of Corinth of poet Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The Bride Of Corinth

ONCE a stranger youth to Corinth came,
 Who in Athens lived, but hoped that he
From a certain townsman there might claim,
 As his father's friend, kind courtesy.

 Son and daughter, they
 Had been wont to say
 Should thereafter bride and bridegroom be.

But can he that boon so highly prized,
 Save tis dearly bought, now hope to get?
They are Christians and have been baptized,
 He and all of his are heathens yet.

 For a newborn creed,
 Like some loathsome weed,
 Love and truth to root out oft will threat.

Father, daughter, all had gone to rest,
 And the mother only watches late;
She receives with courtesy the guest,
 And conducts him to the room of state.

 Wine and food are brought,
 Ere by him besought;
 Bidding him good night. she leaves him straight.

But he feels no relish now, in truth,
 For the dainties so profusely spread;
Meat and drink forgets the wearied youth,
 And, still dress'd, he lays him on the bed.

 Scarce are closed his eyes,
 When a form in-hies
 Through the open door with silent tread.

By his glimmering lamp discerns he now
 How, in veil and garment white array'd,
With a black and gold band round her brow,
 Glides into the room a bashful maid.

 But she, at his sight,
 Lifts her hand so white,
 And appears as though full sore afraid.

"Am I," cries she, "such a stranger here,
 That the guest's approach they could not name?
Ah, they keep me in my cloister drear,
 Well nigh feel I vanquish'd by my shame.

 On thy soft couch now
 Slumber calmly thou!
 I'll return as swiftly as I came."

"Stay, thou fairest maiden!" cries the boy,
 Starting from his couch with eager haste:
"Here are Ceres', Bacchus' gifts of joy;
 Amor bringest thou, with beauty grac'd!

 Thou art pale with fear!
 Loved one let us here
 Prove the raptures the Immortals taste."

"Draw not nigh, O Youth! afar remain!
 Rapture now can never smile on me;
For the fatal step, alas! is ta'en,
 Through my mother's sick-bed phantasy.

 Cured, she made this oath:
 'Youth and nature both
 Shall henceforth to Heav'n devoted be.'

"From the house, so silent now, are driven
 All the gods who reign'd supreme of yore;
One Invisible now rules in heaven,
 On the cross a Saviour they adore.

 Victims slay they here,
 Neither lamb nor steer,
But the altars reek with human gore."

And he lists, and ev'ry word he weighs,
 While his eager soul drinks in each sound:
"Can it be that now before my gaze
 Stands my loved one on this silent ground?

 Pledge to me thy troth!
 Through our father's oath:
 With Heav'ns blessing will our love be crown'd."

"Kindly youth, I never can be thine!
 'Tis my sister they intend for thee.
When I in the silent cloister pine,
 Ah, within her arms remember me!

 Thee alone I love,
 While love's pangs I prove;
 Soon the earth will veil my misery."

"No! for by this glowing flame I swear,
 Hymen hath himself propitious shown:
Let us to my fathers house repair,
 And thoult find that joy is not yet flown,

 Sweetest, here then stay,
 And without delay
 Hold we now our wedding feast alone!"

Then exchange they tokens of their truth;
 She gives him a golden chain to wear,
And a silver chalice would the youth
 Give her in return of beauty rare.

 "That is not for me;
 Yet I beg of thee,
One lock only give me of thy hair."

Now the ghostly hour of midnight knell'd,
 And she seem'd right joyous at the sign;
To her pallid lips the cup she held,
 But she drank of nought but blood-red wine.

 For to taste the bread
 There before them spread,
 Nought he spoke could make the maid incline.

To the youth the goblet then she brought,--
 He too quaff'd with eager joy the bowl.
Love to crown the silent feast he sought,
 Ah! full love-sick was the stripling's soul.

 From his prayer she shrinks,
 Till at length he sinks
 On the bed and weeps without control.

And she comes, and lays her near the boy:
 "How I grieve to see thee sorrowing so!
If thou think'st to clasp my form with joy,
 Thou must learn this secret sad to know;

 Yes! the maid, whom thou
 Call'st thy loved one now,
 Is as cold as ice, though white as snow."

Then he clasps her madly in his arm,
 While love's youthful might pervades his frame:
"Thou might'st hope, when with me, to grow warm,
 E'en if from the grave thy spirit came!

 Breath for breath, and kiss!
 Overflow of bliss!
 Dost not thou, like me, feel passion's flame?"

Love still closer rivets now their lips,
 Tears they mingle with their rapture blest,
From his mouth the flame she wildly sips,
 Each is with the other's thought possess'd.