"My father, my father, and dost thou not hearThe words that the Erl-King now breathes in mine ear?""Be calm, dearest child, 'tis thy fancy deceives;'Tis the sad wind that sighs through the withering leaves."
Still remains open, my friend; years have not barr'd up its doors.I, the teacher, am ever young, and love all the youthful,
Syllables teeming with thought, by a fond pair are exchang'd.Then becomes whispering, talk,--and stamm'ring, a language enchanting;
"May not I one night of rapture share?From the warm couch am I chased away?
Like it, no sign of life thou giv'st to me;Compared with thee, the stone appears to glow.
But the father sprang up, and said, in words full of anger"Little comfort you give me, in truth! I always have said it,When you took pleasure in horses, and cared for nothing but fieldwork;That which the servants of prosperous people perform as their duty,You yourself do; meanwhile the father his son must dispense with,Who in his honour was wont to court the rest of the townsfolk.Thus with empty hopes your mother early deceived me,When your reading, and writing, and learning at school ne'er succeededLike the rest of the boys, and so you were always the lowest.This all comes from a youth not possessing a due sense of honour,And not having the spirit to try and raise his position.Had my father but cared for me, as I have for you, sir,Sent me to school betimes, and given me proper instructors,I should not merely have been the host of the famed Golden Lion."
He whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,Feels no dread within his heartAt the tempest or the rain.He whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,Will to the rain-clouds,Will to the hailstorm,Sing in replyAs the lark sings,Oh thou on high!
When He spake the sentence:--"Be!"And the All, with mighty throes,
Round the far height.Each cloud becometh clear,While the bright troops appear
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