Sorrows of Young Werther

Author: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (Germany)
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-06-01
Features: "Wind, pause for a moment! Rapids, be still for a while! Let my voice reach the peaks and valleys, into the ears of the wanderer! Salga, this is Korma calling! Trees and cliffs are right here! My beloved! My beloved! I am here, why do you delay your arrival? Look, the calm moon has risen, illuminating the rivers in the valley, casting dim light on the rocks on the cliffs, but his figure does not appear on the mountain peak, nor does his hunting dog come first to bring the news of his arrival. I must sit here alone!" Who lies beside me in the wilderness? Is it my beloved or my brother? Oh, my friend, they pay no heed to Korma's inquiries. Tell me: I am alone! My heart is filled with fear. Alas, they are all dead! Their swords are stained with fresh red blood! Oh, my brother, my brother! Why did you kill my Salga? Oh, Salga, why did you kill my brother? You are both my beloved ones. What words can I use to praise you? On the battlefield of the mountain ridges, you were heroes among countless warriors! Answer me, listen to my voice, oh, my two beloved ones! They are silent, forever silent! Cold, their flesh and blood have grown cold! From the cliffs of the mountain ridges, from the peaks battered by the storm, the spirits of the dead speak! I will never harm you! Where have you gone to rest? In which cave among the mountains can I find you? In the wind, I hear not a faint sound, in the rain, not a single echo! "I sit sadly on the mountain ridge, tears flowing until dawn. Oh, friends of the dead, dig the graves for them, but do not seal them before Korma arrives. My life fades like a dream, how can I continue to exist in this world? I wish to rest with my loved ones here, by the mountain stream that tinkles beside the rocks. Whenever night falls on the mountain ridge—when the wind howls in the wilderness—my soul will soar in the wind, mourning the death of my friend. The hunter will hear my lament in the hut, and he will fear and love my voice. My lament for my friend will surely be sweet and moving, for my friends had made Korma so happy!" "This is the song you sing, Minona, the shy daughter of Tholman. We weep for Korma, our hearts filled with sorrow. The Ulvin, holding the lyre, appears, and he will sing of Alpin. Alpin's voice is melodious, and Lino's heart is filled with passion. But they are all asleep in the small room, and no more songs will rise aboveμα. The Ulvin returns from the chase the day before the heroes fell in battle. He heard them fighting on the mountain ridge, their songs tender and sorrowful! They lament the death of Morall, the outstanding hero among the many. His heart was as noble as Fingol's, his sword as sharp as Oscar's, but he fell, his father grieving, his sister's eyes brimming with tears. Minona, the sister of Morall, who rode in battle, her eyes filled with tears. She leaves before Ulvin sings, just as the moon in the west senses the coming storm and hides its beautiful face among the clouds.