The Mountain Castle
There stands on yonder
high mountain
A castle built of yore
Where once lurked horse and horseman
In rear of gate and of door
Now door and gate are in ashes
And all around is so still
And over the fallen ruins
I clamber just as I will
Below once lay a cellar
With costly wines well stored
No more the glad maid with her pitcher
Descends there to draw from the hoard
No longer the goblet she places
Before the guests at the feast
The flask at the meal so hallowed
No longer she fills for the priest
No more for the eager squire
The draught in the passage is poured
No more for the flying present
Receives she the flying reward
For all the roof and the rafters
They all long since have been burned
And stairs and passage and chapel
To rubbish and ruins are turned
Yet when with lute and with flagon
When day was smiling and bright
I've watched my mistress climbing
To gain this perilous height
Then rapture joyous and radiant
The silence so desolate brake
And all, as in days long vanished
Once more to enjoyment awoke
As if for guests of high station
The largest rooms were prepared
As if from those times so precious
A couple thither had fared
As if there stood in his chapel
The priest in his sacred dress
And asked, 'Would ye twain be united?'
And we, with a smile, answered, 'Yes!'
And songs that breathed a deep feeling
That touched the heart's innermost chord
The music-fraught mouth of sweet echo
Instead of the many, outpoured
And when at eve all was hidden
In silence unbroken and deep
The glowing sun then looked upwards
And gazed on the summit so steep
And squire and maiden then glittered
As bright and gay as a lord
She seized the time for her present
And he to give her reward
A castle built of yore
Where once lurked horse and horseman
In rear of gate and of door
Now door and gate are in ashes
And all around is so still
And over the fallen ruins
I clamber just as I will
Below once lay a cellar
With costly wines well stored
No more the glad maid with her pitcher
Descends there to draw from the hoard
No longer the goblet she places
Before the guests at the feast
The flask at the meal so hallowed
No longer she fills for the priest
No more for the eager squire
The draught in the passage is poured
No more for the flying present
Receives she the flying reward
For all the roof and the rafters
They all long since have been burned
And stairs and passage and chapel
To rubbish and ruins are turned
Yet when with lute and with flagon
When day was smiling and bright
I've watched my mistress climbing
To gain this perilous height
Then rapture joyous and radiant
The silence so desolate brake
And all, as in days long vanished
Once more to enjoyment awoke
As if for guests of high station
The largest rooms were prepared
As if from those times so precious
A couple thither had fared
As if there stood in his chapel
The priest in his sacred dress
And asked, 'Would ye twain be united?'
And we, with a smile, answered, 'Yes!'
And songs that breathed a deep feeling
That touched the heart's innermost chord
The music-fraught mouth of sweet echo
Instead of the many, outpoured
And when at eve all was hidden
In silence unbroken and deep
The glowing sun then looked upwards
And gazed on the summit so steep
And squire and maiden then glittered
As bright and gay as a lord
She seized the time for her present
And he to give her reward
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
28 August 1749 - 22 March 1832
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