"Dost know the land where citrons, lemons, grow, Gold oranges 'neath dusky foliage glow, From azure sky are blowing breezes soft, The myrtles still, the laurel stands aloft? 'Tis there! 'tis there! I would with thee, O my beloved one, go!
Dost know the house, its roofs do columns bear, The hall with splendor bright, the chambers glare? Therein stand marble forms, and look at me: What is't, poor child, that they have done to thee? Dost know that house? 'Tis there! 'tis there! I would with thee, O my protector, go!
Dost know the mount, whose path with clouds is fraught, Where by the mule through mist the way is sought, Where dwell in caves the dragon's ancient brood, Where falls the rock, and over it the flood,— Dost know that mount? 'Tis there! 'tis there! Does lead our road: O father, let us go!" —Editor's Version.
Next morning, on looking for Mignon about the house, Wilhelm did not find her, but was informed that she had gone out early with Melina, who had risen betimes to receive the wardrobe and other apparatus of his theatre.
After the space of some hours, Wilhelm heard the sound of music before his door. At first he thought it was the harper come again to visit him; but he soon distinguished the tones of a cithern, and the voice which began to sing was Mignon's. Wilhelm opened the door: the child came in, and sang him the song we have just given above.
The music and general expression of it pleased our friend extremely, though he could not understand all the words. He made her once more repeat the stanzas, and explain them: he wrote them down, and translated them into his native language. But the originality of its turns he could imitate only from afar: its childlike innocence of expression vanished from it in the process of reducing its broken phraseology to uniformity, and combining its disjointed parts. The charm of the tune, moreover, was entirely incomparable.
She began every verse in a stately and solemn manner, as if she wished to draw attention towards something wonderful, as if she had something weighty to communicate. In the third line, her tones became deeper and gloomier; the words, "Dost know?" were uttered with a show of mystery and eager circumspectness; in "'Tis there! 'tis there!" lay an irresistible longing; and her "Let us go!" she modified at each repetition, so that now it appeared to entreat and implore, now to impel and persuade.
On finishing her song for the second time, she stood silent for a moment, looked keenly at Wilhelm, and asked him, "Know'st thou the land?"—"It must mean Italy," said Wilhelm: "where didst thou get the little song?"—"Italy!" said Mignon, with an earnest air. "If thou go to Italy, take me along with thee; for I am too cold here."—"Hast thou been there already, little dear?" said Wilhelm. But the child was silent, and nothing more could be got out of her.
Melina entered now: he looked at the cithern,—was glad that she had rigged it up again so prettily. The instrument had been among Melina's stage-gear: Mignon had begged it of him in the morning, and then gone to the old harper. On this occasion she had shown a talent she was not before suspected of possessing.
Melina had already got possession of his wardrobe, with all that pertained to it: some members of the town magistracy had promised him permission to act, for a time, in the place. He was now returning with a merry heart and a cheerful look. His nature seemed altogether changed: he was soft, courteous to every one,—nay, fond of obliging, and almost attractive. He was happy, he said, at now being able to afford employment to his friends, who had hitherto lain idle and embarrassed; sorry, however, that at first he could not have it in his power to remunerate the excellent actors whom fortune had offered him, in a style corresponding to their talents and capacities; being under the necessity, before all other things, of discharging his debt to so generous a friend as Wilhelm had proved himself to be.