But the most complete expression of Goethe's attitude, not only in the period of _Werther_ and the first part of _Faust_, but generally, is contained in the _Monologue_, which was probably written not earlier than the spring of 1788:
Spirit sublime! Thou gav'st me, gav'st me all For which I prayed. Not vainly hast thou turn'd To me thy countenance in flaming fire; Thou gav'st me glorious Nature for my realm, And also power to feel her and enjoy; Not merely with a cold and wond'ring glance, Thou didst permit me in her depths profound, As in the bosom of a friend, to gaze; Before me thou dost lead her living tribes, And dost in silent grove, in air and stream, Teach me to know my kindred....
His feeling was not admiration alone, nor reverence alone, but the sympathy of _Childe Harold_:
Are not the mountains, waves, and skies a part Of me and of my soul, as I of them? Is not the love of these deep in my heart With a pure passion? Should I not contemn All objects, if compared with these?
and the very confession of faith of such poetic pantheism is in Faust's words:
Him who dare name, And yet proclaim, Yes, I believe?... The All-embracer, All-sustainer, Doth he not embrace, sustain Thee, me, himself? Lifts not the heaven its dome above? Doth not the firm-set earth beneath us rise? And beaming tenderly with looks of love, Climb not the everlasting stars on high?
The poems which date directly after the Wetzlar period are full of this sympathetic pantheistic love for Nature--_Mahomet's Song_, for example, with its splendid comparison of pioneering genius to a mountain torrent:
Ho! the spring that bursts From the mountain height Joyous and bright, As the gleam of a star.... Down in the vale below Flowers bud beneath his tread ... And woo him with fond eyes. And the streamlets of 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.