Quick throbb’d my heart:  to norse! haste, haste,

And lo! ’twas done with speed of light;
The evening soon the world embraced,

And o’er the mountains hung the night. 
Soon stood, in robe of mist, the oak,

A tow’ring giant in his size,
Where darkness through the thicket broke,

And glared with hundred gloomy eyes.

From out a hill of clouds the moon

With mournful gaze began to peer: 
The winds their soft wings flutter’d soon,

And murmur’d in mine awe-struck ear;
The night a thousand monsters made,

Yet fresh and joyous was my mind;
What fire within my veins then play’d!

What glow was in my bosom shrin’d!

I saw thee, and with tender pride

Felt thy sweet gaze pour joy on me;
While all my heart was at thy side.

And every breath I breath’d for thee. 
The roseate hues that spring supplies

Were playing round thy features fair,
And love for me—­ye Deities!

I hoped it, I deserved it ne’er!

But, when the morning sun return’d,

Departure filled with grief my heart: 
Within thy kiss, what rapture burn’d!

But in thy look, what bitter smart! 
I went—­thy gaze to earth first roved

Thou follow’dst me with tearful eye: 
And yet, what rapture to be loved!

And, Gods, to love—­what ecstasy!

1771.
-----
New love, new life.

[Written at the time of Goethe’s connection with Lily.]

Heart! my heart! what means this feeling?

What oppresseth thee so sore? 
What strange life is o’er me stealing!

I acknowledge thee no more. 
Fled is all that gave thee gladness,
Fled the cause of all thy sadness,

Fled thy peace, thine industry—­

Ah, why suffer it to be?

Say, do beauty’s graces youthful,

Does this form so fair and bright,
Does this gaze, so kind, so truthful,

Chain thee with unceasing might? 
Would I tear me from her boldly,
Courage take, and fly her coldly,

Back to her.  I’m forthwith led

By the path I seek to tread.

By a thread I ne’er can sever,

For ’tis ’twined with magic skill,
Doth the cruel maid for ever

Hold me fast against my will. 
While those magic chains confine me,
To her will I must resign me.

Ah, the change in truth is great!

Love! kind love! release me straight!

1775.
-----
To Belinda.

[This song was also written for Lily.  Goethe mentions, at the end of his Autobiography, that he overheard her singing it one evening after he had taken his last farewell of her.]

Wherefore drag me to yon glittering eddy,

With resistless might? 
Was I, then, not truly blest already