Written as a lament for the lovesick hero of Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther, the elegy turns a lonely evening into a quiet ritual of forgiveness. The speaker imagines walking to Werter’s secluded grave as night falls, determined to sing his virtues and sorrows to the dark woods. The mood is hushed and tender, soaked in dew, tears, and the pale light of the moon. Sympathy draws love-lorn maidens to listen in the lime-tree’s shade, and even Charlotte—the woman Werter loved beyond hope—is pictured weeping onto his grave, defying a “churlish priest” to offer her own sacred blessing. The poem insists that such feeling transforms Werter’s suicide from a sin into a frailty washed clean by balmy tears. In the end, his lonely burial spot becomes a shrine, where earth’s moisture and heaven’s incense meet, and where grief itself becomes a kind of redemption.
Elegy to the Memory of Werter — Summary
"With female Fairies will thy tomb be haunted "And worms will not come to thee." SHAKSPERE.
WHEN from Day's closing eye the lucid tears Fall lightly on the bending lily's head; When o'er the blushing sky night's curtains spread, And the tall mountain's summit scarce appears; When languid Evening, sinking to repose, Her filmy mantle o'er the landscape throws; Of THEE I'll sing; and as the mournful song Glides in slow numbers the dark woods among; My wand'ring steps shall seek the lonely shade, Where all thy virtues, all thy griefs are laid!
Yes, hopeless suff'rer, friendless and forlorn, Sweet victim of love's power; the silent tear Shall oft at twilight's close, and glimm'ring morn Gem the pale primrose that adorns thy bier, And as the balmy dew ascends to heaven, Thy crime shall steal away, thy frailty be forgiv'n.
Oft by the moon's wan beam the love-lorn maid, Led by soft SYMPATHY, shall stroll along; Oft shall she listen in the Lime-tree's * shade, Her cold blood freezing at the night-owl's song: Or, when she hears the death-bell's solemn sound, Her light steps echoing o'er the hollow ground; Oft shall the trickling tear adorn her cheek, Thy pow'r, O SENSIBILITY ! in magic charms to speak!
For the poor PILGRIM, doom'd afar to roam From the dear comforts of his native home, A glitt'ring star puts forth a silv'ry ray, Soothes his sad heart, and marks his tedious way; The short-liv'd radiance cheers the gloom of night, And decks Heaven's murky dome with transitory light.
So from the mournful CHARLOTTE's dark-orb'd lids, The sainted tear of pitying VIRTUE flows; And the last boon, the "churlish priest" forbids, On thy lone grave the sacred drop bestows; There shall the sparkling dews of Evening shine, AND HEAVEN'S OWN INCENSE CONSECRATE THE SHRINE.