"But now the dark, gray mist is wholly blown away from the flower-garden of thy little Linda, and all the blossoms of life shine in their pure, high colors before her. After midnight my mother's headache passed almost entirely away, and she was still sleeping so sweetly this morning. O, what were my feelings then! Soon after five o'clock I went down into the garden and shrunk back at the splendor which burned in the dew and between the leaves; the sun was just looking in under the triumphal gates,—all the lakes sparkled in a broad fire,—a gleaming haze floated like a saintly halo around the edge of the earth which the heaven touched,—and a high waving and singing streamed through the splendor of morn.
"And into this unlocked world I had come back restored and so happy. I wanted continually to cry out: 'I have thee again, thou bright sun! and you, ye lovely flowers! and ye proud mountains, ye have not changed! and ye are green again, and, like me, renewed, ye sweet scented trees!' I floated, as if transfigured, in an endless felicity, Elisa, weak, but light and free; I had, so it seemed to me, put off this burdensome clay under the earth and kept only the beating heart, and in my enraptured bosom warm tear-fountains gushed down, as if over flowers, and covered them with brightness.
"'Ah, God!' said I, trembling at the very greatness of my joy, 'was it then a mere sleep, that immovable repose of mother?' and I must needs (smile on!) before I went further, go up to her again. I crept breathless to the bedside, bent listeningly over her, and my good mother opened slowly her still gently dozing eyes, looked upon me languidly but affectionately, and closed them again without stirring, and gave me only her dear hand.
"Now could I right blissfully return to my garden; I bore, however, a morning-greeting to the ever-cheerful Chariton, and told her that I might be found on the broad way to the altar,[87] if I should be wanted for anything. Ah, Elisa, what feelings then were mine! And why had I not thee by the hand, and why could not my distressed Charles see that his sister was so happy? As, after a warm rain, the evening-red and the liquid sunlight run from all the gold-green hills, so stood a quivering splendor over my whole inner being and over my past, and everywhere lay bright tears of joy. A sweet gnawing consumed away my heart as if to death, and all was so near to me and so dear! I could have answered the whispering aspen and thanked the spring-breezes which fanned so coolingly my hot eye! The sun had laid itself with a motherly warmth on my heart, and brooded over us all,—the cold flower, the naked young bird, the stiff butterfly, and every creature. Ah, such should man be too, thought I; and I took the sandy path, and spared the life of the poor little blade of grass and the flower that peeped so lovingly, which truly breathe and wake like us. I drove not away the thirsty white butterflies and pigeons which stood beside each other and bent down from the moist turf to drink. O, I could have stroked the waves ... this creation is truly so precious and from God's hand, and every the smallest-shaped heart has surely its blood and a longing, and into every little eye-point under the leaf the whole sun and a little spring enter and abide!
"I leaned, a little exhausted, under the first triumphal arch, ere I ascended to the altar, and looked out into the glimmering landscape full of villages and orchards and hills; and the glistening dew, and the ringing of the village-bells, and the chime of the herd-bells, and the floating of the birds over all, filled me with peace and light. Yes, in such peace and seclusion and serenity will I spend my fleeting life, thought I: does not the little Sad-cloak persuade me, who, before my eyes, with his wings torn by autumn, nevertheless flutters again around his flowers; and does not the night-butterfly admonish me, who clings, chilled, to the hard statue, and cannot soar to the blossoms of day? Therefore will I never stir from my mother; only let the precious Elisa stay with us as long as her Linda lives, and call her noble friend soon,[88] that I may see and heartily love her!
"I went up the green-shaded mountain, but with pain: joy weakens me so much. Think of me, Elisa: I shall some time die of a great joy or of a great, all too great woe! The spiral path to the altar was painted with the hues of the blossom-dust, and overhead, not colored and stationary, but shifting, burning rainbows quivered through the twigs of the mountain. Why stood I to-day in a splendor such as I never knew before?[89] And when the morning breeze fanned and lifted me, and when I dipped myself deeper into the blue heaven, then said I, 'Now thou art in Elysium.' Then it was to me as if a voice said, 'This is the earthly Elysium, and thou art not yet sanctified for the other.' O, how ardently did I then form the purpose to disentangle myself from so many faults, and especially to renounce that too hasty imagination of offence, which I may indeed conceal from others, but through which I nevertheless injure them. And then I prayed at the altar, and thanked the Eternal Goodness, and wept unconsciously; perhaps too much, but yet without my eyes smarting.
"At last I wrote the poem of thanks which I append to this, and which I will put into verse, if the pious father approves.
"Poem of Thanks.
"'Do I then gaze again with blessed eyes into thy blooming world, thou All-loving One, and weep again, because I am happy? Why did I then fear? When I went under the earth in the darkness like the dead, and caught only a distant sound of the loved ones and of spring above me, why was my feeble heart in fear that there was no more hope for life and light? For thou wast by me in the darkness, and didst lead me up out of the vault into thy spring; and around me stood thy joyous children, and the serene heavens, and all my smiling loved ones! O, I will now hope more steadfastly! Continue thou to break off from the sick plant all rank flowers, that the rest may more fully ripen! Thou dost indeed lead thy human creatures into thy heaven and to thyself over a long mountain; and they go through the storms of life along the mountain, only overshadowed, not smitten, by the clouds, and only our eye grows wet. But when I come to thee, when Death again throws his dark cloud over me, and draws me away from all that I love into the deeper cavern, and thou, All-gracious, settest me free once more, and bearest me into thy spring,—into a still fairer one than this, which is itself so magnificent,—will then my frail heart, near thy judgment-seat, beat as gladly as to-day, and will the mortal bosom dare to breathe in thy ethereal spring? O, make me pure in this earthly one, and let me live here, as if I were already walking in thy heaven!'"