"Yes, dear mother, you're right!" the son with vivacity answer'dYes, it is she! And unless this very day I conduct herHome as my bride, she will go on her way and escape me for ever,In the confusion of war, and in moving backwards and forwards.Mother, then before my eyes will in vain he unfoldedAll our rich estate, and each year henceforward be fruitful.Yes, the familiar house and the garden will be my aversion.Ah, and the love of my mother no comfort will give to my sorrow,For I feel that by Love each former bond must be loosen'd,When her own bonds she knits; 'tis not the maiden alone whoLeaves her father and mother behind, when she follows her husband.So it is with the youth; no more he knows mother and father.When he beholds the maiden, the only beloved one, approaching.Therefore let me go hence, to where desperation may lead me,For my father already has spoken in words of decision,And his house no longer is mine, if he shuts out the maidenWhom alone I would fain take home as my bride from henceforward."。， She feels the awful pangs inside her,Herself to slay endeavours she,
THUS the men discoursed together; and meanwhile the motherWent in search of her son,--at first in front of the dwellingOn the bench of stone, for he was accustom'd to sit there.When she found him not there, she went to look in the stable,Thinking perchance he was feeding his splendid horses, the stallionsWhich he had bought when foals, and which he entrusted to no one.But the servant inform'd her that he had gone to the garden.Then she nimbly strode across the long double courtyard,Left the stables behind, and the barns all made of good timber,Enter'd the garden which stretch'd far away to the walls of the borough,Walk'd across it, rejoicing to see how all things were growing,Carefully straighten'd the props, on which the apple-tree's branches,Heavily loaded, reposed, and the weighty boughs of the pear-tree,Took a few caterpillars from off the strong-sprouting cabbage;For a bustling woman is never idle one moment.In this manner she came to the end of the long-reaching garden,Where was the arbour all cover'd with woodbine: she found not her son there,Nor was he to be seen in any part of the garden.But she found on the latch the door which out of the arbourThrough the wall of the town had been made by special permissionDuring their ancestor's time, the worthy old burgomaster.So she easily stepp'd across the dry ditch at the spot whereOn the highway abutted their well-inclosed excellent vineyard.Rising steeply upwards, its face tow'rd the sun turn'd directly.Up the hill she proceeded, rejoicing, as farther she mounted,At the size of the grapes, which scarcely were hid by the foliage.Shady and well-cover'd in, the middle walk at the top was,Which was ascended by steps of rough flat pieces constructed.And within it were hanging fine chasselas and muscatels also,And a reddish-blue grape, of quite an exceptional bigness,All with carefulness planted, to give to their guests after dinner.But with separate stems the rest of the vineyard was planted,Smaller grapes producing, from which the finest wine made is.So she constantly mounted, enjoying in prospect the autumn.And the festal day, when the neighbourhood met with rejoicing,Picking and treading the grapes, and putting the must in the wine-vats,Every corner and nook resounding at night with the fireworks,Blazing and cracking away, due honour to pay to the harvest.But she uneasy became, when she in vain had been callingTwice and three times her son, and when the sole answer that reach'd herCame from the garrulous echo which out of the town towers issued.Strange it appear'd to have to seek him; he never went far off,(As he before had told her) in order to ward off all sorrowFrom his dear mother, and her forebodings of coming disaster.But she still was expecting upon the highway to find him,For the doors at the bottom, like those at the top, of the vineyardStood wide open; and so at length she enter'd the broad fieldWhich, with its spreading expanse, o'er the whole of the hill's back extended.On their own property still she proceeded, greatly rejoicingAt their own crops, and at the corn which nodded so bravely,Over the whole field in golden majesty waving.Then on the border between the fields she follow'd the footpath,Keeping her eye on the pear-tree fix'd, the big one, which standingPerch'd by itself on the top of the hill, their property bounded.Who had planted it, no one knew; throughout the whole countryFar and wide was it visible; noted also its fruit was.Under its shadow the reaper ate his dinner at noonday,And the herdsman was wont to lie, when tending his cattle.Benches made of rough stones and of turf were placed all about it.And she was not mistaken; there sat her Hermann and restedOn his arm he was leaning, and seem'd to be looking cross countryTow'rds the mountains beyond; his back was turn'd to his mother.Softly creeping up, she lightly tapp'd on his shoulder;And he hastily turn'd; she saw that his eyes full of tears were.。， So tow'rd the sun, now fast sinking to rest, the two walk'd together,Whilst he veil'd himself deep in clouds which thunder portended.Out-of his veil now here, now there, with fiery glancesBeaming over the plain with rays foreboding and lurid."May this threatening weather," said Hermann, "not bring to us shortlyHail and violent rain, for well does the harvest now promise."And they both rejoiced in the corn so lofty and waving,Well nigh reaching the heads of the two tall figures that walk'd there.Then the maiden spoke to her friendly leader as follows"Generous youth, to whom I shall owe a kind destiny shortly,Shelter and home, when so many poor exiles must weather the tempest,In the first place tell me all about your good parents,Whom I intend to serve with all my soul from hence-forward;Knowing one's master, 'tis easier far to give satisfaction,By rememb'ring the things which he deems of the highest importance,And on which he has set his heart with the greatest decision.Tell me, then, how best I can win your father and mother."
Joyfully heard the youth the willing maiden's decision,Doubting whether he now had not better tell her the whole truth;But it appear'd to him best to let her remain in her error,First to take her home, and then for her love to entreat her.Ah! but now he espied a golden ring on her finger,And so let her speak, while he attentively listen'd:--。，
。， Then with a serious look continued the maiden, and spoke thusFriends, to your mouths for the last time in truth I have lifted the pitcher,And for the last time, alas, have moisten'd your lips with pure water.But whenever in scorching heat your drink may refresh you,And in the shade you enjoy repose and a fountain unsullied,Then remember me, and all my friendly assistance,Which I from love, and not from relationship merely have render'd.All your kindness to me, as long as life lasts, I'll remember,I unwillingly leave you; but each one is now to each otherRather a burden than comfort. We all must shortly be scatter'dOver a foreign land, unless to return we are able.See, here stands the youth to whom for those gifts we're indebted,All those clothes for the child, and all those acceptable viands.Well, he has come, and is anxious that I to his house should go with him,There as a servant to act to his rich and excellent parents,And I have not refused him, for serving appears my vocation,And to be served by others at home would seem like a burden.So I'll go willingly with him; the youth appears to be prudent,Thus will his parents be properly cared for, as rich people should be.Therefore, now, farewell, my much-loved friend, and be joyfulIn your living infant, who looks so healthily at you.When you press him against your bosom, wrapp'd up in those colourdSwaddling-clothes, then remember the youth who so kindly bestow'd them,And who in future will feed and clothe me also, your loved friend.You too, excellent man," to the magistrate turning, she added"Warmly I thank for so often acting the part of a father."
Speaking with much circumspection, the druggist made answer as follows"What you say, good neighbour, is certainly true, and my plan isAlways to think of improvement, provided tho' new, 'tis not costly.But what avails it in truth, unless one has plenty of money,Active and fussy to he, improving both inside and outside?Sadly confined are the means of a burgher; e'en when he knows it,Little that's good he is able to do, his purse is too narrow,And the sum wanted too great; and so he is always prevented.I have had plenty of schemes! but then I was terribly frighten'dAt the expense, especially during a time of such danger.Long had my house smiled upon me, decked out in modish exterior,Long had my windows with large panes of glass resplendently glitterd.Who can compete with a merchant, however, who, rolling in riches,Also knows the manner in which what is best can be purchased?Only look at the house up yonder, the new one: how handsomeLooks the stucco of those white scrolls on the green-colour'd panels!Large are the plates of the windows--how shining and brilliant the panes are,Quite eclipsing the rest of the houses that stand in the market!Yet at the time of the fire, our two were by far the most handsome,Mine at the sign of the Angel, and yours at the old Golden Lion.Then my garden was famous throughout the whole country, and strangersUsed to stop as they pass'd and peep through my red-colourd palingsAt my beggars of stone, and at my dwarfs, which were painted,He to whom I gave coffee inside my beautiful grotto,Which, alas! is now cover'd with dust and tumbling to pieces,Used to rejoice in the colour'd glimmering light of the mussels,Ranged in natural order around it, and connoisseurs evenUsed with dazzled eyes to gaze at the spars and the coral.Then, in the drawing-room, people look'd with delight on the painting,Where the prim ladies and gentlemen walked in the garden demurely,And with pointed fingers presented the flowers, and held them.Ah, if only such things were now to be seen! Little care INow to go out; for everything needs to be alter'd and tasteful,As it is call'd; and white are the benches of wood and the palings;All things are simple and plain; and neither carving not gildingNow are employ'd, and foreign timber is now all the fashion.I should be only too pleased to possess some novelty also,So as to march with the times, and my household furniture alter.But we all are afraid to make the least alteration,For who is able to pay the present charges of workmen?Lately a fancy possess'd me, the angel Michael, whose figureHangs up over my shop, to treat to a new coat of gilding,And the terrible Dragon, who round his feet is entwining;But I have left him all brown; as he is; for the cost quite alarm'd me."-----IV. EUTERPE.。， Then with a smile replied the worthy old magistrate, saying"Your reminder is wise, like that which they give to the suff'rerWho has had his dwelling burnt down, that under the ruins,Gold and silver are lying, though melted and cover'd with ashes.Little, indeed, it may be, and yet that little is precious,And the poor man digs it up, and rejoices at finding the treasure.Gladly, therefore, I turn my thoughts to those few worthy actionsWhich my memory still is able to dwell on with pleasure.Yes, I will not deny it, I saw late foemen unitingSo as to save the town from harm; I saw with devotionParents, children and friends impossible actions attempting,Saw how the youth of a sudden became a man, how the greybeardOnce more was young, how the child as a stripling appear'd in a moment.Aye, and the weaker sex, as people commonly call it,Show'd itself brave and daring, with presence of mind all-unwonted.Let me now, in the first place, describe a deed of rare meritBy a high-spirited girl accomplish'd, an excellent maiden,Who in the great farmhouse remain'd behind with the servants,When the whole of the men had departed, to fight with the strangers.Well, there fell on the court a troop of vagabond scoundrels,Plund'ring and forcing their way inside the rooms of the women.Soon they cast their eyes on the forms of the grown-up fair maidenAnd of the other dear girls, in age little more than mere children.Hurried away by raging desire, unfeelingly rush'd theyOn the trembling band, and on the high-spirited maiden.But she instantly seized the sword from the side of a ruffian,Hew'd him down to the ground; at her feet straight fell he, all bleeding,Then with doughty strokes the maidens she bravely deliver'd.Wounded four more of the robbers; with life, however, escaped they.Then she lock'd up the court, and, arm'd still, waited for succour.