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1112 A PICTURE-BOOK WITHOUT PICTURES
have his name carved, no rocky wall on whose surface he can get it painted ; so visitors have the turf cut away for that purpose. The naked earth peers through in the form of great letters and names ; these form a network over the whole hill. Here is an immortality, which lasts till the fresh turf grows !
' Up on the hill stood a man, a poet. He emptied the mead horn with the broad silver rim, and murmured a name. He begged the winds not to betray him, but I heard the name. I knew it. A count's coronet sparkles above it, and therefore he did not speak it out. I smiled, for I knew that a poet's crown adorned his own name. The nobility of Eleanora d'Este is attached to the name of Tasso. And I also know where the Rose of Beauty blooms !'
Thus spake the Moon, and a cloud came between us. May no cloud separate the poet from the rose ! |
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Seventh Evening
' Along the margin of the shore stretches a forest of firs and beeches, and fresh and fragrant is this wood ; hundreds of nightingales visit it every spring. Close beside it is the sea, the ever-changing sea, and between the two is placed the broad high road. One carriage after another rolls over it; but I did not follow them, for my eye loves best to rest upon one point. A grave-mound stands there, and the sloe and blackberry grow luxuriantly among the stones. Here is true poetry in nature.
1 And how do you think men appreciate this poetry ? I will tell you what I heard there last evening and during the night.
' First, two rich landed proprietors came driving by. " Those are glorious trees ! - said the first. " Certainly there are ten loads of firewood in each," observed the other: " it will be a hard winter, and last year we got fourteen dollars a load —and they were gone. " The road here is wretched,'' observed another man who drove past. *' That's the fault of those horrible trees," replied his neighbour; " there is no free current of air ; the wind can only come |
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