"Shed
On spirits that had long been dead,
Spirits dried up and closely furled,
The freshness of the early world."
Painting by A. C. Michael.
"Know'st thou the house, its roof on columns white? ....
O there, O there, might I with thee, Beloved, go!"
Beethoven testified that, when composing, he always had a vision of natural beauty before his eyes, and that it enabled him to work. He had never been out of his native land: the lovely Austrian villages which he frequented, Hetzendorf, Dobling, or Heiligenstadt, sufficed him for beauty and for healthiness. But now and then, he allowed, he had a momentary longing for other scenes: the ice-blue mysteries of the Alps, or the warm and fragrant air of Italy. And he quoted—singing in a harsh, crude voice—those words of Goethe's which he had linked with such enchanting music,—the words of Mignon, yearning towards the homeland of her heart.
"Know'st thou the land, where sweet the citron blows,
Where deep in shade the golden orange glows?
A tender breeze from bluest heav'n doth stray
O'er myrtle bough and lofty laurel spray.
Know'st thou it well? that land dost know?
O there, O there, might I with thee, Beloved, go!
Know'st thou the house, its roof on columns white?
Fair gleams the hall, the hearth is glimmering bright;
And marble statues ask, with glances mild,
'What have they done to thee? O say, poor child!'
Know'st thou it well? that house dost know?
O there, O there, might I with thee, Beloved, go!