Thou who createst much joy,For each a measure o'erflowing,Bless the sons of the chaseWhen on the track of the prey,With a wild thirsting for blood,Youthful and joyousAvenging late the injusticeWhich the peasant resistedVainly for years with his staff.。， Stretches his talons,On thee falls,In thy shouldersCunningly plants them.
。， [Goethe says of this ode, that it is the only one remaining outof several strange hymns and dithyrambs composed by him at aperiod of great unhappiness, when the love-affair between him andFrederica had been broken off by him. He used to sing them whilewandering wildly about the country. This particular one wascaused by his being caught in a tremendous storm on one of theseoccasions. He calls it a half-crazy piece (halkunsinn), and thereader will probably agree with him.]
WHAT is yonder white thing in the forest?Is it snow, or can it swans perchance be?Were it snow, ere this it had been melted,Were it swans, they all away had hastend.Snow, in truth, it is not, swans it is not,'Tis the shining tents of Asan Aga.He within is lying, sorely wounded;To him come his mother and his sister;Bashfully his wife delays to come there.When the torment of his wounds had lessen'd,To his faithful wife he sent this message:"At my court no longer dare to tarry,At my court, or e'en amongst my people."。，
With thy glimmering torchLightest thou himThrough the fords when 'tis night,Over bottomless placesOn desert-like plains;With the thousand colours of morningGladd'nest his bosom;With the fierce-biting stormBearest him proudly on high;Winter torrents rush from the cliffs,--Blend with his psalms;An altar of grateful delightHe finds in the much-dreaded mountain'sSnow-begirded summit,Which foreboding nationsCrown'd with spirit-dances.。， I know nought poorerUnder the sun, than ye gods!Ye nourish painfully,With sacrificesAnd votive prayers,Your majesty:Ye would e'en starve,If children and beggarsWere not trusting fools.