An Schwager Kronos
To Coachman Chronos

Goethe

Move yourself, Chronos!
Set a rattling pace;
Itís a downhill run!
Horrid giddiness affects me,
Stopped in my tracks by your caution.
Press on, brook no delay
Though sticks and stones litter your path,
Speed onward into Life.

What, now! - yet again
That breath-sapping drag
Step by step up the hill!
Keep going, then, donít let up,
Strive onward, upward in hope!

High, far and wide, glorious,
On every side the vision of life,
From one range of hills to the next
The spirit eternal is in the air
With promise of eternal life.

Shade from a roadside canopy beckons,
And there is promise of refreshment
In the eyes of the girl at her doorway.
Indulge yourself! And the same for me, Miss,
That sparkling drink,
That hale and hearty look!

Down we go, then. Down. Faster!
See, the sun is sinking!
Before it sets, before, grown old,
I am clutched by the moorland mist,
Toothless jaws chattering,
Bones clattering.

Made drunk by the last rays,
Drag me, a sea of flame
In my streaming eyes,
Dazzled, reeling,
Down into the night-black gates of hell.

Coachman, sound your horn,
Let the harness jangle at the trot
So that Orcus hears us coming,
So heíll be at the door,
Our host, with a warm welcome.