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Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - The Treasure Digger
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ALL my weary days I pass`d

Sick at heart and poor in purse.

Poverty`s the greatest curse,

  Riches are the highest good!
And to end my woes at last,

Treasure-seeking forth I sped.

"Thou shalt have my soul instead!"

  Thus I wrote, and with my blood.

Ring round ring I forthwith drew,

Wondrous flames collected there,

Herbs and bones in order fair,

  Till the charm had work`d aright.
Then, to learned precepts true,

Dug to find some treasure old,

In the place my art foretold

  Black and stormy was the night.

Coming o`er the distant plain,

With the glimmer of a star,

Soon I saw a light afar,

  As the hour of midnight knell`d.
Preparation was in vain.

Sudden all was lighted up

With the lustre of a cup

  That a beauteous boy upheld.

Sweetly seem`d his eves to laugh

Neath his flow`ry chaplet`s load;

With the drink that brightly glow`d,

  He the circle enter`d in.
And he kindly bade me quaff:

Then methought "This child can ne`er,

With his gift so bright and fair,

  To the arch-fiend be akin."

"Pure life`s courage drink!" cried he:
"This advice to prize then learn,—

Never to this place return

  Trusting in thy spells absurd;
Dig no longer fruitlessly.

Guests by night, and toil by day!

Weeks laborious, feast-days gay!

  Be thy future magic-word!
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