Part 2

Thus he spoke and listened; for now was heard in the distance Clattering of horses' hoofs drawing near, and the roll of the wagon, Which, with furious haste, came thundering under the gateway.

TERPSICHORE

HERMANN

Now when of comely mien the son came into the chamber, Turned with a searching look the eyes of the preacher upon him, And, with the gaze of the student, who easily fathoms expression, Scrutinized well his face and form and his general bearing. Then with a smile he spoke, and said in words of affection: "Truly a different being thou comest! I never have seen thee Cheerful as now, nor ever beheld I thy glances so beaming. Joyous thou comest, and happy: 'tis plain that among the poor people Thou hast been sharing thy gifts, and receiving their blessings upon thee."

Quietly then, and with serious words, the son made him answer: "If I have acted as ye will commend, I know not; but I followed That which my heart bade me do, as I shall exactly relate you. Thou wert, mother, so long in rummaging 'mong thy old pieces, Picking and choosing, that not until late was thy bundle together; Then too the wine and the beer took care and time in the packing. When I came forth through the gateway at last, and out on the high-road, Backward the crowd of citizens streamed with women and children, Coming to meet me; for far was already the band of the exiles. Quicker I kept on my way, and drove with speed to the village, Where they were meaning to rest, as I heard, and tarry till morning. Thitherward up the new street as I hasted, a stout-timbered wagon, Drawn by two oxen, I saw, of that region the largest and strongest; While, with vigorous steps, a maiden was walking beside them, And, a long staff in her hand, the two powerful creatures was guiding, Urging them now, now holding them back; with skill did she drive them. Soon as the maiden perceived me, she calmly drew near to the horses, And in these words she addressed me: 'Not thus deplorable always Has our condition been, as to-day on this journey thou seest. I am not yet grown used to asking gifts of a stranger, Which he will often unwillingly give, to be rid of the beggar. But necessity drives me to speak; for here, on the straw, lies Newly delivered of child, a rich land-owner's wife, whom I scarcely Have in her pregnancy, safe brought off with the oxen and wagon. Naked, now in her arms the new-born infant is lying, And but little the help our friends will be able to furnish, If in the neighboring village, indeed, where to-day we would rest us, Still we shall find them; though much do I fear they already have passed it. Shouldst thou have linen to spare of any description, provided Thou of this neighborhood art, to the poor in charity give it.'

"Thus she spoke, and the pale-faced mother raised herself feebly Up from the straw, and towards me looked. Then said I in answer: 'Surely unto the good, a spirit from heaven oft speaketh, Making them feel the distress that threatens a suffering brother. For thou must know that my mother, already presaging thy sorrows, Gave me a bundle to use it straightway for the need of the naked,' Then I untied the knots of the string, and the wrapper of father's Unto her gave, and gave her as well the shirts and the linen. And she thanked me with joy, and cried: 'The happy believe not Miracles yet can be wrought: for only in need we acknowledge God's own hand and finger, that leads the good to show goodness, What unto us he has done through thee, may he do to thee also! And I beheld with what pleasure the sick woman handled the linens, But with especial delight the dressing-gown's delicate flannel. 'Let us make haste,' the maid to her said, 'and come to the village, Where our people will halt for the night and already are resting. There these clothes for the children I, one and all, straightway will portion.' Then she saluted again, her thanks most warmly expressing, Started the oxen; the wagon went on; but there I still lingered, Still held the horses in check; for now my heart was divided Whether to drive with speed to the village, and there the provisions Share 'mong the rest of the people, or whether I here to the maiden All should deliver at once, for her discreetly to portion. And in an instant my heart had decided, and quietly driving After the maiden, I soon overtook her, and said to her quickly: 'Hearken, good maiden;--my mother packed up not linen-stuffs only Into the carriage, that I should have clothes to furnish the naked; Wine and beer she added besides, and supply of provisions: Plenty of all these things I have in the box of the carriage. But now I feel myself moved to deliver these offerings also Into thy hand; for so shall I best fulfil my commission. Thou wilt divide them with judgment, while I must by chance be directed.' Thereupon answered the maiden: 'I will with faithfulness portion These thy gifts, that all shall bring comfort to those who are needy.' Thus she spoke, and quickly the box of the carriage I opened, Brought forth thence the substantial hams, and brought out the breadstuffs, Bottles of wine and beer, and one and all gave to the maiden. Willingly would I have given her more, but the carriage was empty. All she packed at the sick woman's feet, and went on her journey. I, with my horses and carriage, drove rapidly back to the city."

Instantly now, when Hermann had ceased, the talkative neighbor Took up the word, and cried: "Oh happy, in days like the present, Days of flight and confusion, who lives by himself in his dwelling, Having no wife nor child to be clinging about him in terror! Happy I feel myself now, and would not for much be called father; Would not have wife and children to-day, for whom to be anxious. Oft have I thought of this flight before; and have packed up together All my best things already, the chains and old pieces of money That were my sainted mother's, of which not one has been sold yet. Much would be left behind, it is true, not easily gotten. Even the roots and the herbs, that were with such industry gathered, I should be sorry to lose, though the worth of the goods is but trifling. If my purveyor remained, I could go from my dwelling contented. When my cash I have brought away safe, and have rescued my person, All is safe: none find it so easy to fly as the single."

"Neighbor," unto his words young Hermann with emphasis answered: "I can in no wise agree with thee here, and censure thy language. Is he indeed a man to be prized, who, in good and in evil, Takes no thought but for self, and gladness and sorrow with others Knows not how to divide, nor feels his heart so impel him? Rather than ever to-day would I make up my mind to be married: Many a worthy maiden is needing a husband's protection, And the man needs an inspiriting wife when ill is impending."

Thereupon smiling the father replied: "Thus love I to hear thee! That is a sensible word such as rarely I've known thee to utter." Straightway, however, the mother broke in with quickness, exclaiming: "Son, to be sure, thou art right! we parents have set the example; Seeing that not in our season of joy did we choose one another; Rather the saddest of hours it was that bound us together. Monday morning--I mind it well; for the day that preceded Came that terrible fire by which our city was ravaged-- Twenty years will have gone. The day was a Sunday as this is; Hot and dry was the season; the water was almost exhausted. All the people were strolling abroad in their holiday dresses, 'Mong the villages partly, and part in the mills and the taverns. And at the end of the city the flames began, and went coursing Quickly along the streets, creating a draught in their passage. Burned were the barns where the copious harvest already was garnered; Burned were the streets as far as the market; the house of my father, Neighbor to this, was destroyed, and this one also fell with it. Little we managed to save. I sat, that sorrowful night through, Outside the town on the common, to guard the beds and the boxes. Sleep overtook me at last, and when I again was awakened, Feeling the chill of the morning that always descends before sunrise, There were the smoke and the glare, and the walls and chimneys in ruins. Then fell a weight on my heart; but more majestic than ever Came up the sun again, inspiring my bosom with courage. Then I rose hastily up, with a yearning the place to revisit Whereon our dwelling had stood, and to see if the hens had been rescued, Which I especially loved, for I still was a child in my feelings. Thus as I over the still-smoking timbers of house and of court-yard Picked my way, and beheld the dwelling so ruined and wasted, Thou camest up to examine the place, from the other direction. Under the ruins thy horse in his stall had been buried; the rubbish Lay on the spot and the glimmering beams; of the horse we saw nothing. Thoughtful and grieving we stood there thus, each facing the other, Now that the wall was fallen that once had divided our court-yards. Thereupon thou by the hand didst take me, and speak to me, saying,-- 'Lisa, how earnest thou hither? Go back! thy soles must be burning; Hot the rubbish is here: it scorches my boots, which are stronger.' And thou didst lift me up, and carry me out through thy court-yard. There was the door of the house left standing yet with its archway, Just as 'tis standing now, the one thing only remaining. Then thou didst set me down and kiss me; to that I objected; But thou didst answer and say with kindly significant language: 'See! my house lies in ruins: remain here and help me rebuild it; So shall my help in return be given to building thy father's.' Yet did I not comprehend thee until thou sentest thy mother Unto my father, and quick were the happy espousals accomplished. E'en to this day I remember with joy those half-consumed timbers, And I can see once more the sun coming up in such splendor; For 'twas the day that gave me my husband; and, ere the first season Passed of that wild desolation, a son to my youth had been given. Therefore I praise thee, Hermann, that thou, with an honest assurance, Shouldst, in these sorrowful days, be thinking thyself of a maiden, And amid ruins and war shouldst thus have the courage to woo her."

Straightway, then, and with warmth, the father replied to her, saying: "Worthy of praise is the feeling, and truthful also the story, Mother, that thou hast related; for so indeed everything happened. Better, however, is better. It is not the business of all men Thus their life and estate to begin from the very foundation: Every one needs not to worry himself as we and the rest did. Oh, how happy is he whose father and mother shall give him, Furnished and ready, a house which he can adorn with his increase. Every beginning is hard; but most the beginning a household. Many are human wants, and every thing daily grows dearer, So that a man must consider the means of increasing his earnings. This I hope therefore of thee, my Hermann, that into our dwelling Thou wilt be bringing ere long a bride who is handsomely dowered; For it is meet that a gallant young man have an opulent maiden. Great is the comfort of home whene'er, with the woman elected, Enter the useful presents, besides, in box and in basket. Not for this many a year in vain has the mother been busy Making her daughter's linens of strong and delicate texture; God-parents have not in vain been giving their vessels of silver, And the father laid by in his desk the rare pieces of money; For there a day will come when she, with her gifts and possessions, Shall that youth rejoice who has chosen her out of all others. Well do I know how good in a house is a woman's position, Who her own furniture round her knows, in kitchen and chamber; Who herself the bed and herself the table has covered. Only a well-dowered bride should I like to receive to my dwelling. She who is poor is sure, in the end, to be scorned by her husband; And will as servant be held, who as servant came in with her bundle. Men will remain unjust when the season of love is gone over. Yes, my Hermann, thy father's old age thou greatly canst gladden, If thou a daughter-in-law will speedily bring to my dwelling, Out of the neighborhood here,--from the house over yonder, the green one. Rich is the man, I can tell thee. His manufactures and traffic Daily are making him richer; for whence draws the merchant not profit? Three daughters only he has, to divide his fortune among them. True that the eldest already is taken; but there is the second Still to be had, as well as the third; and not long so, it may be. I would never have lingered till now, had I been in thy place; But had fetched one of the maidens, as once I bore off thy dear mother." Modestly then did the son to the urgent father answer; "Truly 'twas my wish too, as well as thine own, to have chosen One of our neighbor's daughters, for we had been brought up together; Played, in the early days, about the market-place fountain; And, from the other boys' rudeness, I often have been their defender. That, though, is long since past: the girls, as they grew to be older, Properly stayed in the house, and shunned the more boisterous pastimes. Well brought up are they, surely! I used sometimes to go over, Partly to gratify thee, and because of our former acquaintance: But no pleasure I ever could take in being among them; For I was always obliged to endure their censures upon me. Quite too long was my coat, the cloth too coarse, and the color Quite too common; my hair was not cropped, as it should be, and frizzled. I was resolved, at last, that I, also, would dress myself finely, Just as those office-boys do who always are seen there on Sundays, Wearing in summer their half-silken flaps, that dangled about them; But I discovered, betimes, they made ever a laughing-stock of me. And I was vexed when I saw it,--it wounded my pride; but more deeply Felt I aggrieved that they the good-will should so far misinterpret That in my heart I bore them,--especially Minna the youngest. It was on Easter-day that last I went over to see them; Wearing my best new coat, that is now hanging up in the closet, And having frizzled my hair, like that of the other young fellows. Soon as I entered, they tittered; but that not at me, as I fancied. Minna before the piano was seated; the father was present, Hearing his daughters sing, and full of delight and good-humor. Much I could not understand of all that was said in the singing; But of Pamina I often heard, and oft of Tamino: And I, besides, could not stay there dumb; so, as soon as she ended, Something about the words I asked, and about the two persons. Thereupon all were silent and smiled; but the father made answer: 'Thou knowest no one, my friend, I believe, but Adam and Eve?' No one restrained himself longer, but loud laughed out then the maidens, Loud laughed out the boys, the old man held his sides for his laughing. I, in embarrassment, dropped my hat, and the giggling continued, On and on and on, for all they kept playing and singing. Back to the house here I hurried, o'ercome with shame and vexation, Hung up my coat in the closet, and pulled out the curls with my fingers, Swearing that never again my foot should cross over that threshold. And I was perfectly right; for vain are the maidens, and heartless. E'en to this day, as I hear, I am called by them ever 'Tamino.'"

Thereupon answered the mother, and said: "Thou shouldest not, Hermann, Be so long vexed with the children: indeed, they are all of them children. Minna, believe me, is good, and was always disposed to thee kindly. 'Twas not long since she was asking about thee. Let her be thy chosen!"

Thoughtfully answered the son: "I know not. That mortification Stamped itself in me so deeply, I never could bear to behold her Seated before the piano or listen again to her singing."

Forth broke the father then, and in words of anger made answer: "Little of joy will my life have in thee! I said it would be so When I perceived that thy pleasure was solely in horses and farming: Work which a servant, indeed, performs for an opulent master, That thou doest; the father meanwhile must his son be deprived of, Who should appear as his pride, in the sight of the rest of the townsmen. Early with empty hopes thy mother was wont to deceive me, When in the school thy studies, thy reading and writing, would never As with the others succeed, but thy seat would be always the lowest. That comes about, forsooth, when a youth has no feeling of honor Dwelling within his breast, nor the wish to raise himself higher. Had but my father so cared for me as thou hast been cared for; If he had sent me to school, and provided me thus with instructors, I should be other, I trow, than host of the Golden Lion!"

Then the son rose from his seat and noiselessly moved to the doorway, Slowly, and speaking no word. The father, however; in passion After him called, "Yes, go, thou obstinate fellow! I know thee! Go and look after the business henceforth, that I have not to chide thee; But do thou nowise imagine that ever a peasant-born maiden Thou for a daughter-in-law shalt bring into my dwelling, the hussy! Long have I lived in the world, and know how mankind should be dealt with; Know how to entertain ladies and gentlemen so that contented They shall depart from my house, and strangers agreeably can flatter. Yet I'm resolved that some day I one will have for a daughter, Who shall requite me in kind and sweeten my manifold labors; Who the piano shall play to me, too; so that there shall with pleasure All the handsomest people in town and the finest assemble, As they on Sundays do now in the house of our neighbor." Here Hermann Softly pressed on the latch, and so went out from the chamber.

THALIA

THE CITIZENS

Thus did the modest son slip away from the angry upbraiding; But in the tone he had taken at first, the father continued: "That comes not out of a man which he has not in him; and hardly Shall the joy ever be mine of seeing my dearest wish granted: That my son may not as his father be, but a better. What would become of the house, and what of the city if each one Were not with pleasure and always intent on maintaining, renewing, Yea, and improving, too, as time and the foreigner teach us! Man is not meant, forsooth, to grow from the ground like a mushroom, Quickly to perish away on the spot of ground that begot him, Leaving no trace behind of himself and his animate action! As by the house we straightway can tell the mind of the master, So, when we walk through a city, we judge of the persons who rule it. For where the towers and walls are falling to ruin; where offal Lies in heaps in the gutters, and alleys with offal are littered; Where from its place has started the stone, and no one resets it; Where the timbers are rotting away, and the house is awaiting Vainly its new supports,--that place we may know is ill governed. Since if not from above work order and cleanliness downward, Easily grows the citizen used to untidy postponement; Just as the beggar grows likewise used to his ragged apparel. Therefore I wished that our Hermann might early set out on some travels; That he at least might behold the cities of Strasburg and Frankfort, Friendly Mannheim, too, that is cheerful and evenly builded. He that has once beheld cities so cleanly and large, never after Ceases his own native city, though small it may be, to embellish. Do not the strangers who come here commend the repairs in our gateway, Notice our whitewashed tower, and the church we have newly rebuilded? Are not all praising our pavement? the covered canals full of water, Laid with a wise distribution, which furnish us profit and safety, So that no sooner does fire break out than 'tis promptly arrested? Has not all this come to pass since the time of our great conflagration? Builder I six times was named by the council, and won the approval, Won moreover the heartfelt thanks of all the good burghers, Actively carrying out what I planned, and also fulfilling What had by upright men been designed, and left uncompleted. Finally grew the same zeal in every one of the council; All now labor together, and firmly decided already Stands it to build the new causeway that shall with the highroad connect us. But I am sorely afraid that will not be the way with our children. Some think only of pleasure and perishable apparel; Others will cower at home, and behind the stove will sit brooding. One of this kind, as I fear, we shall find to the last in our Hermann."

Straightway answered and said the good and intelligent mother: "Why wilt thou always, father, be doing our son such injustice? That least of all is the way to bring thy wish to fulfilment. We have no power to fashion our children as suiteth our fancy; As they are given by God, we so must have them and love them; Teach them as best we can, and let each of them follow his nature. One will have talents of one sort, and different talents another. Every one uses his own; in his own individual fashion, Each must be happy and good. I will not have my Hermann found fault with; For he is worthy, I know, of the goods he shall one day inherit; Will be an excellent landlord, a pattern to burghers and builders; Neither in council, as I can foresee, will he be the most backward. But thou keepest shut up in his breast all the poor fellow's spirit, Finding such fault with him daily, and censuring as thou but now hast." And on the instant she quitted the room, and after him hurried, Hoping she somewhere might find him, and might with her words of affection Cheer him again, her excellent son, for well he deserved it.

Thereupon when she was gone, the father thus smiling continued: "What a strange folk, to be sure, are these women; and just like the children; Both of them bent upon living according as suiteth their pleasure, While we others must never do aught but flatter and praise them. Once for all time holds good the ancients' trustworthy proverb: 'Whoever goes not forward comes backward.' So must it be always."

Thereupon answered and said, in a tone of reflection, the doctor: "That, sir neighbor, I willingly grant; for myself I am always Casting about for improvement,--things new, so they be not too costly. But what profits a man, who has not abundance of money, Being thus active and stirring, and bettering inside and outside? Only too much is the citizen cramped: the good, though he know it, Has he no means to acquire because too slender his purse is, While his needs are too great; and thus is he constantly hampered. Many the things I had done; but then the cost of such changes Who does not fear, especially now in this season of danger? Long since my house was smiling upon me in modish apparel! Long since great panes of glass were gleaming in all of the windows! But who can do as the merchant does, who, with his resources, Knows the methods as well by which the best is arrived at? Look at that house over yonder,--the new one; behold with what splendor 'Gainst the background of green stand out the white spirals of stucco! Great are the panes in the windows; and how the glass sparkles and glitters, Casting quite into the shade the rest of the market-place houses! Yet just after the fire were our two houses the finest, This of the Golden Lion, and mine of the sign of the Angel. So was my garden, too, throughout the whole neighborhood famous: Every traveller stopped and gazed through the red palisadoes, Caught by the beggars there carved in stone and the dwarfs of bright colors. Then whosoever had coffee served in the beautiful grotto,-- Standing there now all covered with dust and Partly in ruins,-- Used to be mightily pleased with the glimmering light of the mussels Spread out in beautiful order; and even the eye of the critic Used by the sight of my corals and potter's ore to be dazzled. So in my parlor, too, they would always admire the painting, Where in a garden are gaily dressed ladies and gentlemen walking, And with their taper fingers are plucking and holding the flowers. But who would look at it now! In sooth, so great my vexation Scarcely I venture abroad. All now must be other and tasteful, So they call it; and white are the laths and benches of wood-work; Everything simple and smooth; no carving longer or gilding Can be endured, and the woods from abroad are of all the most costly. Well, I too should be glad could I get for myself something novel; Glad to keep up with the times, and be changing my furniture often; Yet must we all be afraid of touching the veriest trifle. For who among us has means for paying the work-people's wages Lately I had an idea of giving the Archangel Michael, Making the sign of my shop, another fresh coating of gilding, And to the terrible dragon about his feet that is winding; But I e'en let him stay browned as he is: I dreaded the charges."

EUTERPE

MOTHER AND SON

Thus entertaining themselves, the men sat talking. The mother Went meanwhile to look for her son in front of the dwelling, First on the settle of stone, whereon 'twas his wont to be seated. When she perceived him not there, she went farther to look in the stable, If he were caring perhaps for his noble horses, the stallions, Which he as colts had bought, and whose care he intrusted to no one. And by the servant she there was told: He is gone to the garden. Then with a nimble step she traversed the long, double courtyards, Leaving the stables behind, and the well-builded barns, too, behind her; Entered the garden, that far as the walls of the city extended; Walked through its length, rejoiced as she went in every thing growing; Set upright the supports on which were resting the branches Heavily laden with apples, and burdening boughs of the pear-tree. Next some caterpillars removed from a stout, swelling cabbage; For an industrious woman allows no step to be wasted. Thus was she come at last to the end of the far-reaching garden, Where stood the arbor embowered in woodbine; nor there did she find him, More than she had hitherto in all her search through the garden. But the wicket was standing ajar, which out of the arbor, Once by particular favor, had been through the walls of the city Cut by a grandsire of hers, the worshipful burgomaster. So the now dried-up moat she next crossed over with comfort, Where, by the side of the road, direct the well-fenced vineyard, Rose with a steep ascent, its slope exposed to the sunshine. Up this also she went, and with pleasure as she was ascending Marked the wealth of the clusters, that scarce by their leafage were hidden. Shady and covered the way through the lofty middlemost alley, Which upon steps that were made of unhewn blocks you ascended. There were the Muscatel, and there were the Chasselas hanging Side by side, of unusual size and colored with purple, All set out with the purpose of decking the visitor's table; While with single vine-stocks the rest of the hillside was covered, Bearing inferior clusters, from which the delicate wine comes. Thus up the slope she went, enjoying already the vintage, And that festive day on which the whole country, rejoicing, Picks and tramples the grapes, and gathers the must into vessels: Fireworks, when it is evening, from every direction and corner Crackle and blaze, and so the fairest of harvests is honored. But more uneasy she went, her son after twice or thrice calling, And no answer receiving, except from the talkative echo, That with many repeats rang back from the towers of the city.

Strange it was for her to seek him; he never had gone to a distance That he told her not first, to spare his affectionate mother Every anxious thought, and fear that aught ill had befallen. Still did she constantly hope that, if further she went, she should find him; For the two doors of the vineyard, the lower as well as the upper, Both were alike standing open. So now she entered the cornfield, That with its broad expanse the ridge of the hill covered over. Still was the ground that she walked on her own; and the crops she rejoiced in,-- All of them still were hers, and hers was the proud-waving grain, too, Over the whole broad field in golden strength that was stirring. Keeping the ridgeway, the footpath, between the fields she went onward, Having the lofty pear-tree in view, which stood on the summit, And was the boundary-mark of the fields that belonged to her dwelling. Who might have planted it, none could know, but visible was it Far and wide through the country; the fruit of the pear-tree was famous. 'Neath it the reapers were wont to enjoy their meal at the noon-day, And the shepherds were used to tend their flocks in its shadow. Benches of unhewn stones and of turf they found set about it. And she had not been mistaken, for there sat her Hermann, and rested,-- Sat with his head on his hand, and seemed to be viewing the landscape That to the mountains lay: his back was turned to his mother. Towards him softly she crept, and lightly touched on the shoulder; Quick he turned himself round: there were tears in his eyes as he met her.

"Mother, how hast thou surprised me!" he said in confusion; and quickly Wiped the high-spirited youth his tears away. But the mother, "What! do I find thee weeping, my son?" exclaimed in amazement. "Nay, that is not like thyself: I never before have so seen thee! Tell me, what burdens thy heart? what drives thee here, to be sitting Under the pear-tree alone? These tears in thine eyes, what has brought them?"

Then, collecting himself, the excellent youth made her answer: "Truly no heart can that man have in his bosom of iron, Who is insensible now to the needs of this emigrant people; He has no brains in his head, who not for his personal safety, Not for his fatherland's weal, in days like the present is anxious. Deeply my heart had been touched by the sights and sounds of the morning; Then I went forth and beheld the broad and glorious landscape Spreading its fertile slopes in every direction about us, Saw the golden grain inclining itself to the reapers, And the promise of well-filled barns from the plentiful harvest. But, alas, how near is the foe! The Rhine with its waters Guards us, indeed; but, ah, what now are rivers and mountains 'Gainst that terrible people that onward bears like a tempest! For they summon their youths from every quarter together, Call up their old men too, and press with violence forward. Death cannot frighten the crowd: one multitude follows another. And shall a German dare to linger behind in his homestead? Hopes he perhaps to escape the everywhere threatening evil? Nay, dear mother, I tell thee, to-day has made me regretful That I was lately exempt, when out of our townsmen were chosen Those who should serve in the army. An only son I am truly, Also our business is great, and the charge of our household is weighty. Yet were it better, I deem, in the front to offer resistance There on the border, than here to await disaster and bondage. So has my spirit declared, and deep in my innermost bosom Courage and longing have now been aroused to live for my country, Yea, and to die, presenting to others a worthy example. If but the strength of Germany's youth were banded together There on the frontier, resolved that it never would yield to the stranger, Ah, he should not on our glorious soil be setting his foot-steps, Neither consuming before our eyes the fruit of our labor, Ruling our men, and making his prey of our wives and our daughters. Hark to me, mother: for I in the depths of my heart am determined Quickly to do, and at once, what appears to me right and in reason; For he chooses not always the best who longest considers. Hearken, I shall not again return to the house; but directly Go from this spot to the city, and there present to the soldiers This right arm and this heart, to be spent in the fatherland's service. Then let my father say if there be no feeling of honor Dwelling within my breast, nor a wish to raise myself higher." Then with significant words spoke the good and intelligent mother, While from her eyes the quick-starting tears were silently falling: "Son, what change has come o'er thee to-day, and over thy temper, That thou speakest no more, as thou yesterday didst, and hast always, Open and free, to thy mother, and tellest exactly thy wishes? Any one else, had he heard thee thus speak, would in sooth have commended, And this decision of thine would have highly approved as most noble, Being misled by thy tone and by thy significant language. Yet have I nothing but censure to speak; for better I know thee. Thou concealest thy heart, and thy thoughts are not such as thou tellest. Well do I know that it is not the drum, not the trumpet that calls thee: Neither in uniform wouldst thou figure in sight of the maidens; Since, for all thou art honest and brave, it is thy vocation Here in quiet to care for the farm and provide for the household. Tell me honestly, therefore, what goads thee to such a decision?"

Earnestly answered the son: "Nay, thou art mistaken, dear mother: One day is not like another. The youth matures into manhood: Better in stillness oft ripening to deeds than when in the tumult Wildering and wild of existence, that many a youth has corrupted. And, for as still as I am and was always, there yet in my bosom Has such a heart been shaped as abhors all wrong and injustice; And I have learned aright between worldly things to distinguish. Arm and foot, besides, have been mightily strengthened by labor. All this, I feel, is true: I dare with boldness maintain it. Yet dost thou blame me with reason, O mother! for thou hast surprised me Using a language half truthful and half that of dissimulation. For, let me honestly own,--it is not the near danger that calls me Forth from my father's house; nor is it the lofty ambition Helpful to be to my country, and terrible unto the foeman. They were but words that I spoke: they only were meant for concealing Those emotions from thee with which my heart is distracted; And so leave me, O mother! for, since the wishes are fruitless Which in my bosom I cherish, my life must go fruitlessly over. For, as I know, he injures himself who is singly devoted, When for the common cause the whole are not working together."

"Hesitate not," replied thereupon the intelligent mother, "Every thing to relate me, the smallest as well as the greatest. Men will always be hasty, their thoughts to extremes ever running: Easily out of their course the hasty are turned by a hindrance. Whereas a woman is clever in thinking of means, and will venture E'en on a roundabout way, adroitly to compass her object. Let me know every thing, then; say wherefore so greatly excited 'As I ne'er saw thee before, why thy blood is coursing so hotly, Wherefore, against thy will, tears are filling thine eyes to o'erflowing."