Wanderer
YOUNG woman, may God bless thee,
Thee, and the sucking infant
Upon thy breast!
Let me, ’gainst this rocky wall,
Neath the elm-tree’s shadow,
Lay aside my burden,
Near thee take my rest.
Woman
What vocation leads thee,
While the day is burning,
Up this dusty path?
Bring’st thou goods from out the town
Round the country?
Smil’st thou, stranger,
At my question?
Wanderer
From the town no goods I bring.
Cool is now the evening;
Show to me the fountain
‘Whence thou drinkest,
Woman young and kind!
Woman
Up the rocky pathway mount;
Go thou first! Across the thicket
Leads the pathway tow’rd the cottage
That I live in,
To the fountain
Whence I drink.
Wanderer
Signs of man’s arranging hand
See I ’mid the trees!
Not by thee these stones were join’d,
Nature, who so freely scatterest!
Woman
Up, still up!
Wanderer
Lo, a mossy architrave is here!
I discern thee, fashioning spirit!
On the stone thou hast impress’d thy seal.
Woman
Onward, stranger!
Wanderer
Over an inscription am I treading!
’Tis effaced!
Ye are seen no longer,
Words so deeply graven,
Who your master’s true devotion
Should have shown to thousand grandsons!
Woman
At these stones, why
Start’st thou, stranger?
Many stones are lying yonder
Round my cottage.
Wanderer
Yonder?
Woman
Through the thicket,
Turning to the left,
Here!
Wanderer
Ye Muses and ye Graces!
Woman
This, then, is my cottage.
Wanderer
’Tis a ruin’d temple! *
Woman
Just below it, see,
Springs the fountain
Whence I drink.
Wanderer
Thou dost hover
O’er thy grave, all glowing,
Genius! while upon thee
Hath thy master-piece
Fallen crumbling,
Thou Immortal One!
Woman
Stay, a cup I’ll fetch thee
Whence to drink.
Wanderer
Ivy circles thy slender
Form so graceful and godlike.
How ye rise on high
From the ruins,
Column-pair
And thou, their lonely sister yonder,—
How thou,
Dusky moss upon thy sacred head,—
Lookest down in mournful majesty
On thy brethren’s figures
Lying scatter’d
At thy feet!
In the shadow of the bramble
Earth and rubbish veil them,
Lofty grass is waving o’er them
Is it thus thou, Nature, prizest
Thy great masterpiece’s masterpiece?
Carelessly destroyest thou
Thine own sanctuary,
Sowing thistles there?