The Poems of Goethe Part 37

Just the same answer as that I've preferr'd; "Vain 'tis to wait till the dolt grows less silly!

Play then the fool with the fool, w.i.l.l.y-nilly,--

Children of wisdom,--remember the word!"

And on the Indian breeze as it booms, And in the depths of Egyptian tombs,

Only the same holy saying I've heard: "Vain 'tis to wait till the dolt grows less silly!

Play then the fool with the fool, w.i.l.l.y-nilly,--

Children of wisdom,--remember the word!"

1789.*

----- ANOTHER.

Go! obedient to my call,

Turn to profit thy young days,

Wiser make betimes thy breast

In Fate's balance as it sways,

Seldom is the c.o.c.k at rest; Thou must either mount, or fall,

Thou must either rule and win,

Or submissively give in, Triumph, or else yield to clamour: Be the anvil or the hammer.

1789.

----- VANITAS! VANITATUM VANITAS!

MY trust in nothing now is placed,

Hurrah!

So in the world true joy I taste,

Hurrah!

Then he who would be a comrade of mine Must rattle his gla.s.s, and in chorus combine, Over these dregs of wine.

I placed my trust in gold and wealth,

Hurrah!

But then I lost all joy and health,

Lack-a-day!

Both here and there the money roll'd, And when I had it here, behold, From there had fled the gold!

I placed my trust in women next,

Hurrah!

But there in truth was sorely vex'd,

Lack-a-day!

The False another portion sought, The True with tediousness were fraught, The Best could not be bought.

My trust in travels then I placed,

Hurrah!

And left my native land in haste.

Lack-a-day!

But not a single thing seem'd good, The beds were bad, and strange the food, And I not understood.

I placed my trust in rank and fame,

Hurrah!

Another put me straight to shame,

Lack-a-day!

And as I had been prominent, All scowl'd upon me as I went, I found not one content.

I placed my trust in war and fight,

Hurrah!

We gain'd full many a triumph bright,

Hurrah!

Into the foeman's land we cross'd, We put our friends to equal cost, And there a leg I lost.

My trust is placed in nothing now,

Hurrah!

At my command the world must bow,

Hurrah!

And as we've ended feast and strain, The cup we'll to the bottom drain; No dregs must there remain!

1806.

----- FORTUNE OF WAR.

NOUGHT more accursed in war I know

Than getting off scot-free; Inured to danger, on we go

In constant victory; We first unpack, then pack again,

With only this reward, That when we're marching, we complain,

And when in camp, are bor'd.