return with the welcome news, that all is right respecting Dorothea, of which Hermann was sure beforehand, his only fear being lest she might have another lover. Then follows the meeting near the well, described so charmingly by Göthe. Timidly and blushingly the girl thanks him for his and his mother's kindness towards the poor sufferers. They are sitting close to each other, looking down into those bright waters, pure, like the first love dwelling within their own hearts. Und sie sahen gespiegelt ihr Bild in der Schwanken und nickten sich zu und grüss- Lass' mich trinken, sagte darauf der heitere Und sie reicht ihm den Krug. Dann ruh- Before leaving, Hermann informs Dorothea that she is to return to his home, from which the poor girl infers that she is to be engaged as servant in Hermann's parental home, an offer she gladly accepts. In taking leave of her village friends, the marks of attachment and love she receives show, more than anything else, how beloved she was by them. On their way home, Hermann makes her acquainted with the persons she will meet in her new abode, and when she, with the naïveté of a child of nature, asks him about her position towards him, she is told by the latter to follow the inspirations of her own heart. Meanwhile night has set in; and the moon, the silent and eternal witness of love-scenes, has shed its pallid light on everything around; and the steeple and houses of the quiet village destined to be her future home, are discernible in the distance, and when Hermann points out to her the room where he lives, their emotion has reached the climax, and the the pulsations of their hearts are beating in unison. Meanwhile the mother has grown uneasy about the son's not returning home; and in her anxiety, is just reproaching both pastor and apothecary for having left him alone, when the son arrives, accompanied by Dorothea. Now follows a scene in which the naïveté of the village girl is drawn with a skill of which only Göthe was capable; and, when the last scruples of the father have been overcome, the son sees his most ardent wishes fulfilled. Göthe, in a few words, has expressed his object in writing this remarkable poem. I have endeavoured,' he says, 'to separate, in my epic crucible, that which is purely human in the existence of a little German country-place from the dross which envelops it, and to reflect, from a small mirror, the great commotions and changes of the worldly theatre.' (Ich habe das Reinmenschliche der Existenz einer kleinen deutschen Stadt in dem epischen Tiegel von seinen Schlacken abzuscheiden gesucht und zugleich die grossen Bewegungen und Veränderungen des Welttheaters aus einem kleinen Spiegel zurückzuwerfen getrachtet). It is a poem in which the every-day incidents of German domestic life are rendered with matchless vividness and truthfulness, wherein we see reflected the sweetest home-picture,-childhood's innocent pleasures, manhood's exertions, toils, and trials. No painter ever gave a truer description of the domestic hearth, and of those feelings which, hallowed by time, and cemented by mutual affection, cling to us till death. DIE WAHLVERWANDTSCHAFTEN. In this novel, the aesthetic merit of which far surpasses Wilhelm Meister, we see Göthe again forcing the episodes of his own life, not always remarkable for purity, on the attention of his readers. Es enthält keinen Zug, den ich nicht selbst erfahren,' he says himself. The novel describes the struggle between sentiment and duty; but we witness the triumph of the latter. Let us pass over its contents, and regret that Göthe should have bestowed his transcendant mental faculties on the representation of the excrescences of social life. GÖTHE'S LYRICS. These gems, drawn from the most precious mines by Germany's gifted son, and scattered in profusion over the whole land, now form the nation's imperishable legacy, and are the crown of our literature. Heine, in speaking of these lyrics, says: Diese harmonischen Verse umschlingen die Herzen, wie eine zärtliche Geliebte. Das Wort umarmt dich, während der Gedanke dich küsst.' In the following selection, we have given in some cases the English and German versions; and we only regret that the limits of this work render it impossible to give a greater number. THE WANDERER'S NIGHT-SONG.-(WANDERER'S NACHTLIED). Der du von dem Himmel bist, Doppelt mit Erquickung füllest, Ach, ích bin des Treibens müde, Komm, ach komm, in meine Brust! R Child of Heaven, that soothing calm, Findest for him, whose need is sorest. Oh! I am of life a-weary: What availeth its unrest? Come, oh come into my breast. MARTIN. Thou who comest from on high, Another Translation. Who all woes and sorrows stillest, Who, for two-fold misery, Hearts with two-fold balsam fillest. Would this constant strife would cease! Blissful peace, To my bosom hasten thou. BowRING. The very words send peace into the poor sufferer's breast. The shepherd, following his flock, descends into the valley, where she, the beloved of his heart, once dwelt, and the flowers he was wont to offer to her are again blooming in all their vernal beauty; but, alas! she is away, far, far away, perhaps in yonder silent land. Hinaus in das Land und weiter, Vorüber, ihr Schafe, vorüber! What a world of sentiments crowd upon the heart in reading this poem, in which the sufferings of love are expressed so touchingly. SCHÄFERS KLAGELIED. Let us not disturb the sweet peace described here so touchingly. The passage,Strömt von der hohen' to 'Tiefe nieder,' is an unattained masterpiece of descriptive poetry; it seems as if the element itself, in gushing down from its lofty height in gigantic columns, and breaking foamingly on the rocks below into millions of particles of milky spray, were here thundering its applause to him, who described it so forcibly, so truthfully, and exquisitely. How exquisitely is expressed here the sweetest sensation of the human heart, love, called here the crown of life, felicity without rest. THE SWISS ALP. Yesterday thy head was brown, as are the flowing locks of love; In the bright blue sky I watch'd thee, towering, giant-like, above, Now thy summit, white and hoary, glitters all with silver snow, Which the stormy night hath shaken from And I know that youth and age are bound AYTOUN. |