Here the gods don't appear as in miracles
Or remain unseen during storms:
Now they come together as guests,
A holy number, holy in every way,
And they're present in choruses of song.
And the person they love most,
Their favorite, is also here.
Thus I’ve summoned you to the banquet
Now prepared, and I call you,
The unforgettable one,
To the evening of time, o Youth,
To be the Prince of the Festival.
And our race will not sleep
Until all of you promised, immortal gods
Are here in our house
To speak of your heaven.
Lightly breathing winds
Proclaim your arrival;
Valley mists announce you all,
And the earth as well, still
Resonating from the storm.
Hope colors the cheeks;
Mother and child
Sit before the house door,
Looking upon the peace.
Few seem to die:
A premonition, sent from the golden light,
Holds onto the soul;
A promise retains the eldest.
Continues German text Home All poems
Because the Prince of the Festival is not named, scholars have often debated his identity, with Jesus Christ running favorite, and other contenders being the sun-god Helios (because of the copious light imagery in the poem), and the wine-god Dionysos.
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