Classic Poem

( Written just before his death .)

I.

E RE Charlotte shall these fatal lines unfold,
Her W ERTER lies, insensible and cold;
Lost to the joys that warm'd his heart before,
His eyes shall gaze upon her face no more:
No more his early happiness return;
No more with Love his faithful bosom burn;
No more the rising Sun shall chear his sight,
But Death shall wrap him in eternal night.

Whene'er at eve these aching eyes have clos'd,
When on my couch my weary limbs repos'd:
When Love's keen pangs this anxious heart have tor'n,
How have I dreaded the returning Morn!
How have I pray'd no more the day to see;
How wish'd to rest, from all my mis'ry free,

In that dark house where Sleep and Silence dwell,
And bid once more the giddy world farewell!
How have I sigh'd to breathe my last adieu
To Life, to Love, to Wretchedness, and You!
Yet still returning Morn has seen my woe,
Seen down my cheeks the tears of anguish flow:
Each setting Ev'ning has beheld my grief;
Unceasing still, and still without relief.

Resplendent Moon, fair planet of the Sky!
Thou who so oft hast met my 'raptur'd eye;
Returning from the blissful scenes of Love,
From transports which I never more shall prove;
A moment veil thee in some fleeting cloud;
Return; and see pale W ERTER in his shroud!
Then shine, fair Star, and with thy gentle rays,
O! light some happier Man to happier days.
Thy years unnumber'd shall continue long,
When W ERTER 's eyes are clos'd, and mute his tongue.

A LMIGHTY P OW'R ! to whom with awe I bend,
My Guide, my Guard, my Father and my Friend!
If thy frail Child, by human woes o'ercome,
Dares to anticipate his fated doom:
If, ere thy will is known, he pants to taste
Celestial joys which shall for ever last;
If, with a heart that pants for pure delight,
He dares, unbidden, rush upon thy sight;
And, as he hastes to reach the wish'd-for goal,
He supplicates thy pardon on his Soul:
O! let thy Mercy's ever-chearing ray,
Conduct the erring Spirit on its way!
Forgive the Creature who thy wrath deplores,
Who doubts, who fears, who trembles, who adores.

As thro' the World, a weary waste, I go,
My Soul opprest with labour, pain, and woe.
Ills after ills in sad succession move,
Hopes unfulfill'd, and unrequited Love.
Ambition tempted with her gilded lure,
Then gave the wound no time can ever cure:
Unfit to mingle in the busy train,
Where eager throng the haughty and the vain,
Urg'd by false friends I try'd the dangerous way,
And fell, to Scorn and Infamy a prey.
Yet perish all Ambition could bestow!
From private life far sweeter comforts flow:
Affection fond can heal the keenest smart,
And soothe with gentle balm the wounded heart:
But there my promis'd joys for ever lost,
My fondest hopes, my ardent wishes crost;
Another claims the bliss I die to prove,
And that is now a crime which once was Love.

'Tis done, the World's vain shadows all retire,
And nought remains but Love's unconquer'd fire,
Still, in my bosom, still he holds his reign,
Still my fond Soul's entangled in his chain.
One last adieu! one parting thought I give
To her for whom alone I wish to live.
Will She, when climbing o'er the mountain's brow,
Will She, when gazing on the vale below:
Whene'er the Sun's departing beam displays
The purple lustre of his Ev'ning rays,
Where the high-waving grass shall mark the sod
Which wraps in earth this dull insensate clod:
Will she remember him whose fatal Love
His death alone could expiate or remove?
Will Charlotte then, when W ERTER'S crimes shall cease,
Drop one mild tear, and bid him rest in peace?

II.

Now, Charlotte , now, my hour of peace is come!
Now sounds the midnight bell thy W ERTER 's doom!
Now from my bosom bursts its latest sigh,
And the last tear now trembles in my eye.
Yet whilst faint glowings mark my faded cheek,
And groans the anguish of my Soul bespeak,
Whilst yet unstain'd with blood this hand remains,
And thy lov'd image this tor'n breast retains;
Let me the horrours of my Soul impart
The last sad dictates of a broken heart!

Yes, Charlotte , yes! a wreck on Mis'ry's strand,
This heart yet trembling bends to thy command;
The doubts, the struggles of my Soul are o'er,
And W ERTER sees thy face, and morn, no more.
Silent in dust no more shall W ERTER hear
That voice whose sounds yet vibrate on his ear:
O! voice of Music, warn'd by thee I fly,
From grief, from misery, from Love, to die:
To die! — What means, my friend, that dreary sound?
Conscious of being, now I press the ground,
Expression, thinking, action, all are mine;
Or rather now, lov'd Woman, I am thine.
To-morrow comes, to-morrow's Sun shall glow,
No sigh shall murmur, and no tear shall flow.
My little dream of Life shall then be fled,
And W ERTER number'd with the senseless dead.

For the last time these eyes have seen the light,
I haste to plunge me in eternal night! —
Yet though thus bending with my weight of woes,
This day of being shall not, cannot close.
Trembling and prostrate, at the throne divine,
I go, my Charlotte , to thy Sire and mine:
O! thou my Father, pow'rful as mild,
Stretch forth the arms of Mercy to thy Child:
And though unbidden to thy sight he come,
And rush impetuous to his native home;
Let not the Wand'rer, from thy bosom tor'n,
Be doom'd, an Exile from thy sight, to mourn.

And thou lov'd Woman, best and dearest'friend,
Thou guiltless cause of wretched W ERTER 's end,
Forgive the passion of an ardent Soul,
Which absence, Time, nor Reason can controul.
Low in his native earth in silence laid,
Let W ERTER slumber in the Lime-tree shade:
Or if, by pious hands deny'd to rest
Where peaceful sleep the Manes of the blest,
Let me, my Charlotte , in some spot be laid
Where common foot-steps mark the way-worn glade:
The Priest and Levite o'er thy W ERTER 's head
May then with scorn, or cold indifference, tread:
Whilst, yet untainted by the worldly throng,
Some good Samaritan shall pass along;
And let some sacred drops of pity flow,
For human weakness, and for human woe.

When in that narrow house thy Lover lies,
As through the grass the breeze of Ev'ning sighs;
And willows, bending o'er the well-known flood,
Shall mark the spot where once thy W ERTER stood,
Then shall thy pitying bosom heave a sigh,
The tear shall glisten in thy charming eye,
Nor then shall Albert 's heart one pang deny.

Oh! Albert , husband of that angel Fair,
Make but her ease, her happiness thy care:
For thee, yes, ev'n for thee my pray'rs shall rise:
If pray'rs like mine might hope to reach the Skies.

Charlotte ! when this sad heart shall cease to bleed,
Thy hand shall tremble, and thine eye shall read;
Shall read the scroll which, on the verge of Life,
Whilst yet contending passions hold their strife,
Whilst yet a thousand pangs this bosom feels,
Each pang, each fear, and ev'ry wish reveals.

But why these struggles from a broken heart,
I go, my friend! 'tis fit that I depart;
I go, the joys of other Worlds to prove,
And meet the Mother of the friend I love!
To meet thy Mother — Think not that I rave,
For with quick steps approaching to my grave;
Fond Hope now crush'd, and each tumultuous fear:
I feel my pow'rs, perceptions, grow more clear:
Now my firm nerves untrembling grasp the steel,
Which shall the secrets of the Dead reveal!
From thee it came, and Heav'n directs my hand;
It guides my foot-steps to that dubious land,
Which one dark curtain only drops to hide —
I lift, I pass it, to the other side!
One fleeting moment, and my fate is o'er,
Thy Child, thy Lover shall be seen no more!

O! Charlotte , had the happy lot been mine,
To yield my life, my peace to rescue thine!
To yield for thee my last, my latest breath,
Then with what transport had I met my death!
O! Fate, too blest, to die, and dying prove,
By what we suffer how we know to love!

Let not a Wretch's fate disturb thy rest,
Nor plant a dagger in thy tender breast:
Still, still I trust through ages yet unknown,
To claim thy heart, all spotless as my own.
Then let not Mem'ry mark how W ERTER fell,
Farewell! dear Object of my love, farewell!