society itself; and Shakespeare showed no little wisdom and discernment in bringing in a pair of them. Besides, I need them as a couple that may be contrasted with the single, noble, excellent Horatio."

A

THE INDENTURE

From Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship'

RT is long, life short, judgment difficult, opportunity transient. To act is easy, to think is hard; to act according to our thought is troublesome. Every beginning is cheerful; the threshold is the place of expectation. The boy stands astonished, his impressions guide him; he learns sportfully, seriousness comes on him by surprise. Imitation is born with us; what should be imitated is not easy to discover. The excellent is rarely found, more rarely valued. The height charms us, the steps to it do not; with the summit in our eye, we love to walk along the plain. It is but a part of art that can be taught; the artist needs it all. Who knows it half, speaks much and is always wrong; who knows it wholly, inclines to act and speaks seldom or late. The former have no secrets and no force; the instruction they can give is like baked bread, savory and satisfying for a single day; but flour cannot be sown, and seed corn ought not to be ground. Words are good, but they are not the best. The best is not to be explained by words. The spirit in which we act is the highest matter. Action can be understood and again represented by the spirit alone. No one knows what he is doing while he acts aright; but of what is wrong we are always conscious. Whoever works with symbols only is a pedant, a hypocrite, or a bungler. There are many such, and they like to be together. Their babbling detains the scholar; their obstinate mediocrity vexes even the best. The instruction which the true artist gives us opens the mind; for where words fail him, deeds speak. The true scholar learns from the known to unfold the unknown, and approaches more and more to being a master.

THE HARPER'S SONGS

From Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship'

HAT notes are those without the wall,
Across the portal sounding?

"WHAT

Let's have the music in our hall,

Back from its roof rebounding."
So spoke the king: the henchman flies;
His answer heard, the monarch cries,
"Bring in that ancient minstrel."

"Hail, gracious king, each noble knight!
Each lovely dame, I greet you!
What glittering stars salute my sight!

What heart unmoved may meet you!

Such lordly pomp is not for me,
Far other scenes my eyes must see:
Yet deign to list my harping."

The singer turns him to his art,
A thrilling strain he raises;
Each warrior hears with glowing heart
And on his loved one gazes.

The king, who liked his playing well,
Commands, for such a kindly spell,
A golden chain be given him.

"The golden chain give not to me:
Thy boldest knight may wear it,
Who 'cross the battle's purple sea
On lion breast may bear it;
Or let it be thy chancellor's prize,
Amid his heaps to feast his eyes,-
Its yellow glance will please him.

"I sing but as the linnet sings,

That on the green bough dwelleth;

A rich reward his music brings,

As from his throat it swelleth:

Yet might I ask, I'd ask of thine
One sparkling draught of purest wine
To drink it here before you."

He viewed the wine, he quaffed it up:
"O draught of sweetest savor!

O happy house, where such a cup
Is thought a little favor!
If well you fare, remember me,

And thank kind Heaven, from envy free,
As now for this I thank you."

WHO never ate his bread in sorrow,

Who never spent the darksome hours
Weeping and watching for the morrow,—
He knows ye not, ye gloomy Powers.

To earth, this weary earth, ye bring us,
To guilt ye let us heedless go,
Then leave repentance fierce to wring us;
A moment's guilt, an age of woe!

MIGNON'S SONG

From Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship >

UCH let me seem, till such I be;

SUCH

Take not my snow-white dress away! Soon from this dusk of earth I flee,

Up to the glittering lands of day.

There first a little space I rest,

Then wake so glad, to scenes so kind;

In earthly robes no longer drest,

This band, this girdle left behind.

And those calm shining sons of morn,
They ask not who is maid or boy;
No robes, no garments there are worn,
Our body pure from sin's alloy.

Through little life not much I toiled,

Yet anguish long this heart has wrung,

Untimely woe my blossoms spoiled:

Make me again forever young!

But when in the nightly glooming,
Social lamp on table glows,

Face for faces dear illuming,

And such jest and joyance goes;

When the fiery pert young fellow,
Wont by day to run or ride,
Whispering now some tale would tell 0,-
All so gentle by your side;

When the nightingale to lovers
Lovingly her songlet sings,

Which for exiles and sad rovers
Like mere woe and wailing rings;

With a heart how lightsome-feeling
Do ye count the kindly clock,

Which, twelve times deliberate pealing,
Tells you none to-night shall knock!

Therefore, on all fit occasions,

Mark it, maidens, what I sing:

Every day its own vexations,

And the night its joys will bring.

Must leave my cottage, which thou didst not build,
And my warm hearth,
Whose cheerful glow
Thou enviest me.

I know naught more pitiful
Under the sun, than you, gods!
Ye nourish scantily

With altar taxes

And with cold lip-service,

This your majesty ;

Would perish, were not
Children and beggars

Credulous fools.

When I was a child,

And knew not whence or whither,
I would turn my 'wildered eye
To the sun, as if up yonder were
An ear to hear to my complaining —
A heart, like mine,

On the oppressed to feel compassion.

Who helped me

When I braved the Titans' insolence?

Who rescued me from death,

From slavery?

Hast thou not all thyself accomplished,
Holy-glowing heart?

And, glowing, young, and good,
Most ignorantly thanked

The slumberer above there?

I honor thee! For what?

Hast thou the miseries lightened

Of the down-trodden?