the mountains
Shout to him, and cry out 'Brother'!
Brother! take thy brothers with thee,
With thee to thine ancient father,
To the eternal Ocean,
Who with outstretch'd arms awaits us....
And so beareth he his brothers
To their primal sire expectant,
All his bosom throbbing, heaving,
With a wild, tumultuous joy.

We see the same pathos--the pathos of Pindar and the Psalms--in the
comparison:

Like water is the soul of man,
From heaven it comes, to heaven it goes,
And back again to earth in ceaseless change.

in the incomparable _Wanderer_, in _Wanderer's Storm Song,_ and,
above all, in _Ganymede_, already given, of which Loeper remarks:

The poem is, as it were, a rendering of that letter (Werther's of
May 10th) in rhythm. The underlying pantheism had already shewn
itself in the _Wanderer's Storm Song_. It was not the delight in
God of a Brockes, not the adoration of a Klopstock, not sesthetic
enjoyment of Nature, not, as in later years, scientific interest;
it was rather a being absorbed in, identified with, Nature, a
sympathy carried so far that the very ego was surrendered to the
elements.

On the Lake of Zurich he wrote, June 15th, 1775:

And here I drink new blood, fresh food,
From world so free, so blest;
How sweet is Nature and how good,
Who holds me to her breast.

and Elmire sings in _Ermin and Elmire_:

From thee, O Nature, with deep breath
I drink in painful pleasure.

One of the gems among his Nature poems is _Autumn Feelings_ (it was
the autumn of his love for Lilli):

Flourish greener as ye clamber,
O ye leaves, to seek my chamber;
Up the trellised vine on high
May ye swell, twin-berries tender,
Juicier far, and with more splendour
Ripen, and more speedily.
O'er ye broods the sun at even,
As he sinks to rest, and heaven
Softly breathes into your ear
All its fertilizing fulness,
While the moon's refreshing coolness,
Magic-laden, hovers near.
And alas! ye're watered ever
By a stream of tears that rill
From mine eyes--tears ceasing never,
Tears of love that nought can still.

The lyrical effect here depends upon the blending of a single
impression of Nature with the passing mood--an occasional poem rare
even for Goethe.

In a letter to Frau von Stein he admitted that he was greatly
influenced by Nature:

I have slept well and am quite awake, only a quiet sadness lies
upo