Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ARABIAN BALLAD, by JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ARABIAN BALLAD, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Under the rock -- on the trail
Last Line: They could not rise into the air.
Subject(s): Arabs


Under the rock on the trail
He lies slain
Into whose blood
No dew falls

A great load laid he on me
And died;
God knows, this load
Will I lift.

Heir of my revenge
Is my sister's son,
The warlike,
The irreconcileable.

Mute sweats he poison,
As the otter sweats;
As the snake breathes venom
Against which no enchantment avails

The stern message came to us
Of the heavy woe;
The stoutest had they
Overpowered.

Me had Destiny plundered
Striking down my friend,
Whose dearest friend
Was left unhurt.

Sunshine was he
On the cold day,
And when the dogstar burned
He was shade & coolness.

Dry were his hips
Not slow;
Moist his hand,
Bold & strong.

With firm mind
Followed he his aim
Until he rested,
Then rested also the firm mind.

The rain cloud was he
Imparting gifts;
And, when he attacked,
The terrible lion.

Stately before men,
Black haired, long-robed,
When rushing on the foe
A lean wolf.

Two cups offered he,
Honey and wormwood;
Fare of such kind
Tasted each.

Terrible rode he alone;
No man accompanied him;
Like the sword of Yemen,
With teeth adorned.

At noon we young men set forth
On the war trail
Rode all night
Like sweeping clouds without rest

Every one was a sword
Girt with a sword;
Out of the sheath drawn
A glancing lightning

They sipped the spirit of sleep,
But, when they nodded their heads,
We smote them,
And they were away

Our vengeance was complete.
There escaped of two tribes
Quite little,
The least.

And when the Hudselite
Had broken his lance to kill his man
The man with his lance
Slew the Hudselite.

On a rough resting place
They laid him, --
On a sharp rock, where the very camels
Broke their paws.

When the morning greeted him there,
The murdered, on the grim place,
Was he robbed,
The booty carried away.

But now are murdered by me
The Hudseleites with deep wounds;
Pity makes me not unhappy
Itself is murdered.

The spear's thirst was assuaged
With the first drink;
To it was not denied
Repeated drinks.

Now is wine again permitted
Which first was forbidden:
With much toil
I won this permission.

To sword & spear,
And to horse, gave I
This favor,
Which is now the good of all.

Reach then the bowl,
O Sawab Ben Amre!
Since my body, at the command of my uncle
Is now one great wound.

And the cup of death
Reached we to the Hudseleites
Whose working is wo,
Blindness, & ruin.

Then laughed the hyenas
At the death of the Hudseleites;
And thou sawest the wolves
Whose faces shone.

The noblest vultures flew thither
They stepped from corpse to corpse
And from the richly prepared feast
They could not rise into the air.





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