"Prometheus" is a poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, in which the character of the mythic Prometheus addresses God in misotheist accusation and defiance. The poem was written between 1772 and 1774 and first published in 1789 after an anonymous and unauthorised publication in 1785 by Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi. It is an important work of the Sturm und Drang movement. In early editions of the Collected Works it appeared in Volume II of Goethe's poems in a section of Vermischte Gedichte, shortly following the "Gesang der Geister über den Wassern", and the Harzreise im Winter. It is immediately followed by "Ganymed", and the two poems together should be understood as a pair. Both belong to the period 1770–1775. Prometheus was planned as a drama but not completed, but this poem draws upon it. Prometheus is the creative and rebellious spirit which, rejected by God, angrily defies him and asserts itself; Ganymede is the boyish self which is adored and seduced by God. One is the lone defiant, the other the yielding acolyte. As the humanist poet, Goethe presents both identities as aspects or forms of the human condition. Although the setting is classical, the address to the Biblical God is suggested by the section beginning "Da ich ein Kind war..." : the use of Da is distinctive, and by it Goethe evokes the Lutheran translation of Saint Paul'sFirst Epistle to the Corinthians, : "Da ich ein Kind war, da redete ich wie ein Kind...". Unlike Paul, Goethe's Prometheus grew up to disbelieve in the divine heart moved to pity for the afflicted. The poem was set to music by J. F. Reichardt, Franz Schubert, Hugo Wolf and F.M. Einheit.
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Bedecke deinen Himmel, Zeus, Mit Wolkendunst, Und übe, dem Knaben gleich, Der Disteln köpft, An Eichen dich und Bergeshöhn; Musst mir meine Erde Doch lassen stehn Und meine Hütte, die du nicht gebaut, Und meinen Herd, Um dessen Glut Du mich beneidest. Ich kenne nichts Ärmeres Unter der Sonn' als euch, Götter! Ihr nähret kümmerlich Von Opfersteuern Und Gebetshauch Eure Majestät, Und darbtet, wären Nicht Kinder und Bettler Hoffnungsvolle Toren. Da ich ein Kind war, Nicht wusste, wo aus noch ein, Kehrt' ich mein verirrtes Auge Zur Sonne, als wenn drüber wär' Ein Ohr, zu hören meine Klage, Ein Herz, wie mein's, Sich des Bedrängten zu erbarmen. Wer half mir Wider der Titanen Übermut? Wer rettete vom Tode mich, Von Sklaverei? Hast du nicht alles selbst vollendet, Heilig glühend Herz? Und glühtest jung und gut, Betrogen, Rettungsdank Dem Schlafenden da droben? Ich dich ehren? Wofür? Hast du die Schmerzen gelindert Je des Beladenen? Hast du die Tränen gestillet Je des Geängsteten? Hat nicht mich zum Manne geschmiedet Die allmächtige Zeit Und das ewige Schicksal, Meine Herrn und deine? Wähntest du etwa, Ich sollte das Leben hassen, In Wüsten fliehen, Weil nicht alle Blütenträume reiften? Hier sitz' ich, forme Menschen Nach meinem Bilde, Ein Geschlecht, das mir gleich sei, Zu leiden, zu weinen, Zu genießen und zu freuen sich, Und dein nicht zu achten, Wie ich! Cover thy spacious heavens, Zeus, With clouds of mist, And like the boy who lops The thistles' heads, Disport with oaks and mountain-peaks; Yet thou must leave My earth still standing; My cottage, too, which was not raised by thee; Leave me my hearth, Whose kindly glow By thee is envied. I know nought poorer Under the sun, than ye gods! Ye nourish painfully, With sacrifices And votive prayers, Your majesty; Ye would e'en starve, If children and beggars Were not trusting fools. While yet a child, And ignorant of life, I turned my wandering gaze Up toward the sun, as if with him There were an ear to hear my wailings, A heart, like mine, To feel compassion for distress. Who helped me Against the Titans' insolence? Who rescued me from certain death, From slavery? Didst thou not do all this thyself, My sacred glowing heart? And glowedst, young and good, Deceived with grateful thanks To yonder slumbering one? I honour thee, and why? Hast thou e'er lightened the sorrows Of the heavy laden? Hast thou e'er dried up the tears Of the anguish-stricken? Was I not fashioned to be a man By omnipotent Time, And by eternal Fate, Masters of me and thee? Didst thou e'er fancy That life I should learn to hate, And fly to deserts, Because not all My blossoming dreams grew ripe? Here sit I, forming mortals After my image; A race resembling me, To suffer, to weep, To enjoy, to be glad, And thee to scorn, As I!
