'Tis there, 'tis there,Our path lies--Father--thither, oh repair!
To see them both within one image shrin'd,
As warmly thank ye Heaven!"
1781.-----FROM 'THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER.'
But, alas! all hope, all assistance is far.
What oppresseth thee so sore?What strange life is o'er me stealing!
In majesty soaring,O, hark to our cry
Life's plan with deep-felt meaning it design'd,Fruitful alike in counsel and in deed!This have we proved, this tasted, in our need.
Then the excellent sensible mother answer'd with quickness"Men are precisely like rocks when they stand opposed to each other!Proud and unyielding, the one will never draw near to the other.Neither will suffer his tongue to utter the first friendly accent.Therefore I tell you, my son, a hope still exists in my bosom,If she is worthy and good, he will give his consent to your marriage,Poor though she be, and although with disdain he refused you the poor thing.For in his hot-beaded fashion he utters many expressionsWhich he never intends; and so will accept the Refused One.But he requires kind words, and has a right to require them,For your father he is; his anger is all after dinner,When he more eagerly speaks, and questions the reasons of others,Meaning but little thereby; the wine then excites all the vigourOf his impetuous will, and prevents him from giving due weight toOther people's opinions; he hears and he feels his own only.But when evening arrives, the tone of the many discoursesWhich his friends and himself hold together, is very much alter'd.Milder becomes he, as soon as his liquor's effects have passed overAnd he feels the injustice his eagerness did unto others.Come, we will venture at once! Success the reward is of boldness,And we have need of the friends who now have assembled around him.--Most of all we shall want the help of our excellent pastor."Thus she eagerly spoke, and leaving the stone that she sat on,Also lifted her son from his seat. He willingly follow'd,And they descended in silence, revolving the weighty proposal.-----V. POLYHYMNIA.
A MASTER of a country schoolJump'd up one day from off his stool,Inspired with firm resolve to tryTo gain the best society;So to the nearest baths he walk'd,And into the saloon he stalk'd.He felt quite. startled at the door,Ne'er having seen the like before.To the first stranger made he nowA very low and graceful bow,But quite forgot to bear in mindThat people also stood behind;His left-hand neighbor's paunch he struckA grievous blow, by great ill luck;Pardon for this he first entreated,And then in haste his bow repeated.His right hand neighbor next he hit,And begg'd him, too, to pardon it;But on his granting his petition,Another was in like condition;These compliments he paid to all,Behind, before, across the hall;At length one who could stand no more,Show'd him impatiently the door.
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