"Oh, meeting blest! Oh, meeting blest!
Awaiting which I calmly rest,
And all my longing, all my dreams,
Bury in Lethe's silent stream.
I shall behold thee, dear, once more.
When the waves wash me to the shore,
So farewell, yet not in sorrow,
We shall meet again to-morrow!
"The beginning is my own, the middle from Schiller, and the end from a certain Anonymous, who has written a great deal; but I altered it a little to suit my purpose.
"With torments of longing,
"Thine Own."
"Well!" exclaimed the little Frau Pastorin, when she read this patch work, "This goes beyond everything! Yes, my dear sister, you have brought up a beautiful plant, and it bears fine fruit. But other people must trim and prune it, and I think, as his aunt, I am the nearest to him. And I'll do it!" she cried, in a loud voice, stamping her little foot, "and I should like to see who will hinder me!"
"I for one would not think of it, Frau Pastorin," said Bräsig, who had come up, unperceived, behind the bee-hives.
"Have you been listening, Bräsig?" asked the Frau Pastorin, still in an excited tone.
"Listening?" said Bräsig, "I never listen; I only keep my ears open, and then I hear something, and I keep my eyes open, and see something. For instance, I see now that you are provoked about something."
"It is true; but it is enough to drive an angel wild."
"No, Frau Pastorin, the angels have enough to do with their wings; we need not incommode them about our matters, but if you want to see something wild, I believe the devil has broken loose here in Pumpelhagen."