Читать книгу The Greatest German Classics (Vol. 1-14) - Various - Страница 460

Call not the spirits who on mischief wait!

Their troop familiar, streaming through the air,

From every quarter threaten man's estate,

And danger in a thousand forms prepare!

They drive impetuous from the frozen north,

With fangs sharp-piercing, and keen arrowy tongues;

From the ungenial east they issue forth,

And prey, with parching breath, upon thy lungs;

If, waft'd on the desert's flaming wing,

They from the south heap fire upon the brain,

Refreshment from the west at first they bring,

Anon to drown thyself and field and plain.

In wait for mischief, they are prompt to hear;

With guileful purpose our behests obey;

Like ministers of grace they oft appear,

And lisp like angels, to betray.

But let us hence! Gray eve doth all things blend,

The air grows chill, the mists descend!

'Tis in the evening first our home we prize—

Why stand you thus, and gaze with wondering eyes?

What in the gloom thus moves you?