"It is long since I have read it," said the Hermit; "I do not now remember its contents very distinctly. As far as I recollect, it is a romance, relating the wonderful fortune of a poet's life, wherein the art of poesy is represented and extolled in all its various relations. The conclusion is wanting to the manuscript, which I brought with me from Jerusalem, where I found it left with a friend, and took it, away, as a memorial of him."
They now took leave of each other. Henry was moved to tears; the cave had become so remarkable and the hermit so dear to him.
All embraced the hermit heartily, and he himself seemed to have become attached to them. Henry thought that he noticed his kind and penetrating gaze fixed upon him. His farewell words to him were full of meaning. He seemed to know of his discovery and to have reference to it. He followed them to the entrance of the cave, after having requested them, and particularly the boy, not to tell the farmers concerning him, as it would only expose him to their troublesome acquaintance.
They all promised this. As they separated from him, and commended themselves to his prayers, he said,
"But a short time and we shall see each other again, to smile at the conversation of this day. A heavenly dawn will surround us, and we shall rejoice that we greeted each other kindly in this vale of probation, and were inspired with like sentiments and anticipations. There are angels who guide us here in safety. If your eye is fixed upon Heaven, you will never lose the way to your home."
They separated with a silent feeling of devotion, soon found their timorous companions, and amid general conversation shortly reached the village, where Henry's mother, who had been somewhat anxious about him, received them with a thousand expressions of joy.
CHAPTER VI.
Men, who are born for business, for action, cannot too soon contemplate for themselves and animate all things. They must themselves grapple with and pass through many relations, must harden their whole being against the influence of new situations, and the dissipation which a multitude and variety of objects engenders; and they must accustom themselves, even in the urgency of great occasions to hold fast to the thread of their object. They should not yield to the invitations of inactive contemplation. Their soul must not be gazing at self; it must be ceaselessly directed to outward things, a handmaid to the understanding, active and prompt in discrimination. They are heroes; and events press about them which must be fulfilled, and their problems solved. By their influence all occurrences of chance become history, and their life is an unbroken chain of remarkable and splendid, intricate and singular events.
Far otherwise is it with those quiet, unknown men, whose world is their own mind, whose activity the action of the contemplative intellect, and whose life a gentle development of their inner powers. No desquietude drives them to outward things. A tranquil possession satisfies them; and the immense drama without does not entice them to engage in it themselves; but they regard it as significant and wonderful, a source of contemplation for their leisure moments. Longings for the spirit hold them in the distance; and it is this spirit that destines them to act the mysterious part of the mind in this human world, while others represent the outer limbs and senses, the mind's projected powers. They would be disturbed by great and various events. A simple life is their lot, and they become acquainted with the rich subject-matter and countless phenomena of the world from relations and writings alone. But seldom in the course of their lives does any occurrence draw them along with it in its sudden vortex, in order to acquaint them by a few experiences more accurately with the situation and character of active men. On the contrary, their susceptible minds are already sufficiently busied with near and insignificant phenomena, which represent the great world as it were renewed; and they will advance no step, without making the most surprising discoveries in themselves, concerning the nature and significance of these phenomena. They are poets, those men of rare inspiration, who at times wander through our dwelling-place, and everywhere renew the ancient, venerable, service of humanity, and of its first gods,--the stars, spring, love, happiness, fertility, health, and the joyous heart; they, who are already here in possession of heavenly rest, and, driven about by no foolish desires, breathe only the fragrance of earthly fruits, without devouring them, then to be irrevocably chained to the lower world. They are free guests whose golden feet tread softly, and whose presence involuntarily outspreads its wings around. A poet may be known, like a good king, by cheerful and bright faces, and he alone justly bears the name of sage. If you compare him with heroes, you will find that the songs of the poets frequently awake heroic courage in youthful hearts; but heroic deeds have probably never awakened the spirit of poesy in any mind whatever. Henry was a poet by nature. Many events seemed to conspire to aid his development, and as yet nothing had disturbed the elasticity of his soul. All that he saw and heard seemed only to remove new bars within him, and to open new windows for his spirit. The world, with its great and changing relations, lay before him. But as yet it was silent; and its soul, its language was not yet awakened. Soon did a poet approach, holding a lovely girl by the hand, that by the sound of the mother tongue, and by the movement of a sweet and tender mouth; the soft lips might unlock and the simple harmony unfold in unending melodies.
The journey was now ended. It was towards evening when our travellers, in safety and good spirits, arrived at the far-famed city of Augsburg, and, full of expectation, rode through the high streets to the spacious mansion of the old Swaning.