Reader, and why?--Bethink thee of the sun,
How, when he sets, he waiteth for the morrow,
Proudly once more his giant-race to run,--
Yet, e'en when set, a glow behind him leaving,
Gladdening the spirit, which had else been grieving.
Thus mayst thou feel, for thou to GOETHE only
Baldest farewell, nor camest aught for me.
Twofold my parting, leaving me all lonely,--
I now must part from GOETHE and from thee,
Parting at once from comrade and from leader,--
Farewell, great minstrel! farewell, gentle reader!
Hush'd is the harp, its music sunk in slumbers,
Memory alone can waken now its numbers.
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