The Alchymist
L'Alchimiste.
Thou dost pretend, O Alchymist, albeit poor and old,
That thou from meaner metals canst bring forth abundant gold;
And doing more for me, o'er whom age hath its sadness flung,
By some mysterious agency that thou canst make me young.
I to thy hidden science, then, my open purse impart;
Thy work is great, and hath a charm for my confiding heart;
But 'tis agreed, that each whate'er he prizeth, shall retain —
Thine all the gold, but give me back my back my joyous prime again!
Come, on this brasier let thy breath be breathed — we will not speak —
Or in thine antiquated book the words thou needest seek:
Pactolus and Juventa here shall see thy sure art sped,
And in this crucible their streams of gold and youth shall wed
Thine eye is fixed upon the fire! of what may be thy dream?
Already do the smiles of Courts upon thee gaily beam?
I, only, to bedeck my brow, would roses put in train —
Thine all the gold, but give me back my joyous prime again!
Drunk thou must be, or mad with hope! what sudden frenzy's this?
I hear thy words, " O Kings! make haste my dusty feet to kiss
Nor Cortez nor Pizarro won such heaps of shining gold,
For others — not themselves — as I shall in my grasp behold. "
Yet but a little while ago, thou didst for alms beseech;
And now already full-blown pride is blustering in thy speech:
Buy sceptres, then, and crowns that men to sell by weight are fain —
Thine all the gold, but give me back my joyous prime again!
Yes, yes, with all their indigence, those gladsome days restore;
Grant to my soul another frame more vigorous, I implore:
Take from my mind, oh take away the sense of all I know,
And let warm blood about my heart more generously flow!
Then from thy marble palace-walls make thy escape awhile,
And in thy pompous car of state, on velvet cushions, smile
To see me sleep beneath a tree reclined, a happy swain —
Thine all the gold, but give me back my joyous prime again!
Yet ne'ertheless, its proper worth I would to wealth assign,
For still I love, and call perchance too young a mistress mine:
A hundred times at least, with her I've had my anxious fears,
Lest on her fingers for us both she'd reckon up our years
It is the sun that would set off her dark complexion well;
It is the summer we must have, our tales of love to tell:
She, upon whom I fondly doat, treats fortune with disdain —
Thine all the gold, but give me back my joyous prime again!
But to thy hand what doth at length the crucible supply?
Nothing! what, nothing? then art thou far poorer — older I!
" No, no, " thou sayest, " a new moon to-morrow shall we see;
Then let us recommence, and gods we shall to-morrow be "
Old man, thou liest! but, alas! of errors that can please
I have such need, that still I heed e'en fables false as these.
Look on my forehead bald; and mark, the wrinkles come amain —
Thine all the gold, but give me back my joyous prime again!
Thou dost pretend, O Alchymist, albeit poor and old,
That thou from meaner metals canst bring forth abundant gold;
And doing more for me, o'er whom age hath its sadness flung,
By some mysterious agency that thou canst make me young.
I to thy hidden science, then, my open purse impart;
Thy work is great, and hath a charm for my confiding heart;
But 'tis agreed, that each whate'er he prizeth, shall retain —
Thine all the gold, but give me back my back my joyous prime again!
Come, on this brasier let thy breath be breathed — we will not speak —
Or in thine antiquated book the words thou needest seek:
Pactolus and Juventa here shall see thy sure art sped,
And in this crucible their streams of gold and youth shall wed
Thine eye is fixed upon the fire! of what may be thy dream?
Already do the smiles of Courts upon thee gaily beam?
I, only, to bedeck my brow, would roses put in train —
Thine all the gold, but give me back my joyous prime again!
Drunk thou must be, or mad with hope! what sudden frenzy's this?
I hear thy words, " O Kings! make haste my dusty feet to kiss
Nor Cortez nor Pizarro won such heaps of shining gold,
For others — not themselves — as I shall in my grasp behold. "
Yet but a little while ago, thou didst for alms beseech;
And now already full-blown pride is blustering in thy speech:
Buy sceptres, then, and crowns that men to sell by weight are fain —
Thine all the gold, but give me back my joyous prime again!
Yes, yes, with all their indigence, those gladsome days restore;
Grant to my soul another frame more vigorous, I implore:
Take from my mind, oh take away the sense of all I know,
And let warm blood about my heart more generously flow!
Then from thy marble palace-walls make thy escape awhile,
And in thy pompous car of state, on velvet cushions, smile
To see me sleep beneath a tree reclined, a happy swain —
Thine all the gold, but give me back my joyous prime again!
Yet ne'ertheless, its proper worth I would to wealth assign,
For still I love, and call perchance too young a mistress mine:
A hundred times at least, with her I've had my anxious fears,
Lest on her fingers for us both she'd reckon up our years
It is the sun that would set off her dark complexion well;
It is the summer we must have, our tales of love to tell:
She, upon whom I fondly doat, treats fortune with disdain —
Thine all the gold, but give me back my joyous prime again!
But to thy hand what doth at length the crucible supply?
Nothing! what, nothing? then art thou far poorer — older I!
" No, no, " thou sayest, " a new moon to-morrow shall we see;
Then let us recommence, and gods we shall to-morrow be "
Old man, thou liest! but, alas! of errors that can please
I have such need, that still I heed e'en fables false as these.
Look on my forehead bald; and mark, the wrinkles come amain —
Thine all the gold, but give me back my joyous prime again!
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