The Muses’Son
[Goethe quotes the beginning of this song in his Autobiography[36]，as expressing the manner in which his poetical effusions used to pour out from him.]
THROUGH field and wood to stray,
And pipe my tuneful lay,—
’Tis thus my days are pass’d;
And all keep tune with me,
And move in harmony[37]，
And so on,to the last.
To wait I scarce have power
The garden’s earliest flower,
The tree’s first bloom in Spring;
They hail my joyous strain,—
When Winter comes again,
Of that sweet dream I sing.
My song sounds far and near,
O’er ice it echoes clear,
Then Winter blossoms bright;
And when his blossoms fly,
Fresh raptures meet mine eye,
Upon the well-till’d height.
When’neath the linden tree,
Young folks I chance to see,
I set them moving soon;
His nose the dull lad curls,
The formal maiden whirls,
Obedient[38]to my tune.
Wings to the feet ye lend,
O’er hill and vale ye send
The lover far from home;
When shall I,on your breast,.
Ye kindly muses,rest,
And cease at length to roam?
1880.