William Gibson, U. S. N.

Philip St. George Cooke

Radical Freelance, Esq.

William Gibson, USN

Augustus Ely Silliman

Texts by Anonymous

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THE TREASURE SEEKER.  (Goethe)

Poor in purse, in spirit sickly,
Every day a heavy drag is,

Poverty the greatest plague is,

Riches are the greatest good.

And, to end my troubles quickly,

I went forth to dig for treasure:

"Thou shalt have my soul at pleasure!"
And I signed the bond with blood.

Circle around circle drew I,

Lit a wondrous flame that trembled,

Herbs and charnel-bones assembled:

Conjuring thus a spell of might.

As the wizard taught me, knew I

Where to seek the ancient treasure,

Knew the spot by line and measure:
Black and stormy was the night.

And a star-like scintillation

I beheld, with swift persistence

Coming from the farthest distance,

Even as the clock struck twelve.

Vain was magic preparation;

Lo! a beauteous boy, with glowing

Splendour in a cup o'erflowing,

Where I paused in act to delve!

And his eyes my soul delighted,

'Neath a flower-wreath, soft and tender;

With that cup of heavenly splendour

Stepped he in the magic ring.

Sweetly he to drink invited;

And I thought: 'tis not in malice

That his beautiful bright chalice

Doth a child so lovely bring.

"Drink of the pure life undaunted!

Here no more, in thine impatience,

Come with anxious conjurations!
Nothing good this place affords.

Dig no more for treasure vaunted!
Daily labour! evening's leisure!
Hard work! well earned social pleasure!
Be thy future magic words."

From The Poems of Goethe, trans. William Gibson (Boston: Lee & Shepard, 1883; and London: Simpkin Marshall & Co., 1883), pp. 45-47.  Reprinted in the Library of Foreign Poetry (New York:  Henry Holt and Company, 1886).