The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 01 · Chapter 76Wanderer
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Yes, 'tis they, their branches rearing, Hoary lindens, strong in age;— There I find them, reappearing, After my long pilgrimage! 'Tis the very spot;—how gladly Yonder hut once more I see, By the billows raging madly, Cast ashore, which sheltered me! My old hosts, I fain would greet them, Helpful they, an honest pair; May I hope today to meet them? Even then they aged were. Worthy folk, in God believing! Shall I knock? or raise my voice? Hail to you if, guest receiving, In good deeds ye still rejoice!
BAUCIS (a very aged woman)
Stranger dear, beware of breaking My dear husband's sweet repose! Strength for brief and feeble waking Lengthened sleep on age bestows.
Mother, say then, do I find thee, To receive my thanks once more, In my youth who didst so kindly, With thy spouse, my life restore? Baucis, to my lips half-dying, Art thou, who refreshment gave? [The husband steps forth.]
Thou Philemon, strength who plying, Snatched my treasure from the wave? By your flames, so promptly kindled, By your bell's clear silver sound— That adventure, horror-mingled, Hath a happy issue found. Forward let me step, and gazing Forth upon the boundless main, Kneel, and thankful prayers upraising, Ease of my full heart the strain!
[He walks forward upon the downs.]
PHILEMON (to BAUCIS)
Haste to spread the table, under The green leafage of our trees. Let him run, struck dumb with wonder, Scarce he'll credit what he sees.
[He follows the wanderer. Standing beside him.]
Where the billows did maltreat you, Wave on wave in fury rolled, There a garden now doth greet you, Fair as Paradise of old. Grown more aged, as when stronger, I could render aid no more; And, as waned my strength, no longer Rolled the sea upon the shore; Prudent lords, bold serfs directing, It with trench and dyke restrained; Ocean's rights no more respecting, Lords they were, where he had reigned. See, green meadows far extending;— Garden, village, woodland, plain. But return we, homeward wending, For the sun begins to wane. In the distance sails are gliding, Nightly they to port repair; Bird-like, in their nests confiding, For a haven waits them there. Far away mine eye discerneth First the blue fringe of the main; Right and left, where'er it turneth, Spreads the thickly-peopled plain.