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A poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe |
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The Mountain Castle |
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Title: The Mountain Castle Author: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe [More Titles by Goethe] THERE stands on yonder high mountain A castle built of yore, In rear of gate and of door. Now door and gate are in ashes, And all around is so still; I clamber just as I will. Below once lay a cellar, With costly wines well stor'd; Descends there to draw from the hoard. No longer the goblet she places Before the guests at the feast; No longer she fills for the priest. No more for the eager squire The draught in the passage is pour'd; Receives she the flying reward. For all the roof and the rafters, They all long since have been burn'd, To rubbish and ruins are turn'd. Yet when with lute and with flagon, When day was smiling and bright, To gain this perilous height, Then rapture joyous and radiant The silence so desolate brake, Once more to enjoyment awoke; As if for guests of high station The largest rooms were prepared; A couple thither had fared; As if there stood in his chapel The priest in his sacred dress, And we, with a smile, answer'd, "Yes!" And songs that breath'd a deep feeling, That touched the heart's innermost chord, Instead of the many, outpour'd. And when at eve all was hidden In silence unbroken and deep, And gazed on the summit so steep. And squire and maiden then glitter'd As bright and gay as a lord, And he to give her reward. 1803. -THE END- GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |