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leben!" the customary toast-formula, equivalent to, "Here's to Goetz."

Nothing would appease the German notables after Leipsic save a celebration of triumph, with music, song, and solemn show; and the greatest poet must lend to it the éclat of his fame. Nothing else would suit ; the impassible Goethe must emerge from his cloud of chagrin to pipe a ditty of victory and peace. As might have been expected, he did it very badly. No man can contradict his own genius with impunity. "The Awakening of Epimenides," which was performed at Berlin, would not carry off the prize in a contest of average poems. Evidently he was the Epimenides who had been asleep, and so he describes himself. True to nature and art, he finds himself isolated from all the rest; wild alarms of war arise, but the wise gods sleep. Every thing is torn up by the roots; phantoms bear sway, veiled shadows come and go. Epimenides wakes to see that all he most cherished had disappeared; but the old desire of song begins to revive in his bosom, and he confesses,

"My hours of quiet turn to shame :

Your griefs were gains, but not for me,
And you have won the greater fame

Thus coming safe through sorrow's sea."

"Unity" was one of the personages in this allegorical piece. The advice which she gave to the enthusiasts of Berlin betrayed his suspicion that an important ele

ment of a durable nationality was left out of the War of Liberation.

It is true a chorus of Spirits sang with great confidence,

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"Come, and hear the promise spoken,

Rescue from your deepest smart ;
Shafts and columns may be broken,

Not an independent heart;
For it is a constant living,

Is itself the whole of man;
In it wake the joy and striving

Tyrants cannot break nor ban."

And a chorus of Warriors indulged in a platitude which almost defies the art of the translator:

"So burst we through the foreign chain,

And through our low estate;

Now are we Germans once again,

And now again are great.
'Mid people noblest have we stood,

Are still a noble breed,

Of open mind and honest blood,
And righteous in our deed."

A highly satisfactory estimate to every German who never happened to fall in with one of the epigrams of the "Politica," in which Goethe twitted his countrymen with their frivolous debate upon the spelling of the word Deutsch, whether with a D or a T: —

"Accursed folk, scarce art thou free,
Dost break in two on D and T!
Was not your need, your luck enough?
Deutsch, then, or Teutsch, art silly stuff."

The German editors and critics, commenting upon Goethe's attitude toward the War of Liberation, naturally lament it. His defect in political feeling and in desire for popular advantages is conceded to be a limitation. The sagacity which refused to exchange an existing system for a People which did not yet exist does not reconcile Germans to his want of enthusiasm for popular programmes. But they proceed to atone for all this concession by making another: that by reason of his limitation he lived all the deeper and ampler in a career of harmonious and peaceful culture, to the last breath of a life protracted through faithful work, and strictly guided by his instinct of intellectual integrity. If that be So, his deficiency of political ardor was not a limitation, but an organic advantage which claimed protection from his wariness. In the calm review, the Germans ought to be foremost in candor; they hold in trust a life that is illustrious in modern times for its conscientious obedience to providential gifts. Its love of beauty, its divining sense for Nature, its prudence to extract wisdom from every circumstance, and to fund it, simply invested, for the use of men, all this does not affect the mind so strongly as his conscience for his mission; for that gains entrance into our circle of ethical and religious ideas, and, though our career be ever so restricted, it stimulates us to fidelity. Not even the sudden sweetness of his lyrical note, nor the easy, silent, capable flight of every song which thrids superfluous

underbrush like a bird without touching, can so startle us into admiration.

So much to account for Goethe's pursuits during a stormy period, and to Orient ourselves toward the opening tones of the "Divan."

On June 18, 1815, the day of Waterloo, Goethe on a Rhine visit found a copy of Von Hammer-Purgstall's translation of the Persian Hafis: it was not a very good one, but the first of its kind. It was the ambition of a Persian poet to complete a Divan,- that is, odes in sufficient number to make a collection arranged according to their letter-endings. Goethe was greatly impressed by the Divan of Hafis. "I had to protect myself against it by composing; otherwise I should not have. held my ground against the mighty presence. All that I had preserved and cherished, that was similar in sense and substance, came forth, and with all the more vivacity because I felt constrained to escape from the actual world which threatened fresh troubles into an ideal one, to live in which with satisfaction all my will, pleasure, and capacity were pledged. Already somewhat acquainted with Eastern traits, I applied myself to the language, so far as it was indispensable, to breathe its air; I even learned the peculiarities and ornaments of its handwriting. So the material accumulated, and the subject-matter grew richer, till without hazard I could seize the momentary impulse and work in it. Although the scholars could scarce divine, still less com

prehend, what I particularly wanted, yet each one of them contributed something; and I was stimulated to declare myself upon a field on which I was somewhat practised, but had never before seriously surveyed, Everywhere I breathed the fresh air of the East.”

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When some of the poems thus composed were published in the Damenkalendar (Lady's Almanac), people did not know whether they were translations or imitations. Scarcely a dozen lines in Goethe's "Divan are direct translations. Persian poets furnished here and there suggestions of figures and sentiments: as to imitation, the "Divan" simply imports an Eastern tone and color, a mystic and reflective habit, and occasionally a structure of the verse. But its thought is Western, and its topics belong to the modern world. Therefore, as its name indicates, it is "West-Easterly." The German poet struck through Hafis and the rest the Oriental vein which runs so surprisingly in the Teutonic nature: even the pessimism of Schopenhauer is thoroughly Persian, and European shades of pantheism had all been announced in Eastward countries. Striking this vein, Goethe draws from it the coloring for Western moods and circumstances, and thus derives the title of his "Divan."

Writing to Zelter, he says: "This Mohammedan religion, mythology, and manners allow to poetry a scope which suits my years. Unconditional submission to the immutable will of God, cheerful survey of the mobile

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