Читать книгу The Greatest German Classics (Vol. 1-14) - Various - Страница 536

A writing, Pedant! dost demand from me?

Man, and man's plighted word, are these unknown to thee?

Is't not enough, that by the word I gave,

My doom for evermore is cast?

Doth not the world in all its currents rave,

And must a promise hold me fast?

Yet fixed is this delusion in our heart;

Who, of his own free will, therefrom would part?

How blest within whose breast truth reigneth pure!

No sacrifice will he repent when made!

A formal deed, with seal and signature,

A spectre this from which all shrink afraid.

The word its life resigneth in the pen,

Leather and wax usurp the mastery then.

Spirits of evil! what dost thou require?

Brass, marble, parchment, paper, dost desire?

Shall I with chisel, pen, or graver write?

Thy choice is free; to me 'tis all the same.