Henry felt the rapturous presages of the first buoyancy of love. Matilda also willingly suffered herself to be carried away by the flattering waves, and only concealed from him her tender trust, her budding inclination, behind a light flower veil. The old Swaning noticed the growing intimacy between them, and teazed them both about it. Klingsohr had taken a liking to Henry, and was pleased with his tenderness towards his daughter.--The other young men and girls soon noticed it. They brought the sober Matilda forward with the young Thuringian, and did not conceal that they were glad no longer to be obliged to shun Matilda's observation of the secrets of their hearts.
It was late in the evening when the company separated. "The first and only feast of my life," said Henry, when he was alone, and his mother had retired wearied to rest. "Do I not feel as I felt in that dream about the blue flower? What peculiar connexion is there between Matilda and that flower? That face, which bowed towards me from the petals, was Matilda's heavenly countenance, and I also now remember that I saw it in that book. But why did it not there thus move my heart? O! she is the visible spirit of song, the worthy daughter of her father. She will dissolve me into music. She will become my inmost soul, the guardian spirit of my holy fire. What an eternity of faithful love do I feel within me? I was born only to revere her, to serve her forever, to think of and to feel her. Does there not belong a peculiar, undivided existence to her contemplation and worship? Am I the happy one, whose being may be the echo, the mirror of her's? It is not owing to chance that I have seen her at the end of my journey, that a happy feast has encircled the highest moment of my life. It could not have been otherwise; for does not her presence render every thing a feast?"
He stepped to the window. The choir of the stars stood in the dusky sky, and in the east a white glimmer announced the coming day.
Full of rapture, Henry exclaimed, "Ye eternal stars, ye silent wanderers, I call upon you as witnesses of my sacred oath. For Matilda will I live, and eternal constancy shall bind her to my heart. The morning of eternal day is also opening for me. The night is past. I kindle myself to the rising sun, for an inextinguishable offering."
Henry was heated, and only fell asleep late in the morning. The thoughts of his soul flowed together into a wonderful dream. A deep blue stream glimmered from the green plains. A boat was floating upon the smooth surface. Matilda was sitting in it, and steering. She was adorned with garlands, singing a simple song, and looked over to him with sweet sadness. His bosom was oppressed, he knew not why. The sky was clear; the flood quiet. Her heavenly face was reflected in the waves. Suddenly the boat began to whirl. He cried out to her earnestly. She smiled and laid down the helm in the boat which continued its whirling. He was seized with overwhelming fear. He plunged into the stream, but could not move, and was hurried along. She beckoned to him, as if she had something to tell him, and though the boat was fast filling with water, yet she smiled with unspeakable tenderness, and looked down serenely into the abyss. Suddenly it drew her in. A gentle breath of air passed over the stream, which, flowed on as quiet and glittering as ever. His intense anxiety robbed Henry of all consciousness. His heart no longer throbbed. On recovering, his senses, he was on the dry land. He must have floated a long distance. It was a strange country. He knew not what had happened to him. His mind had vanished. Thoughtlessly he plunged deeper and deeper into the country. He was excessively weary. A little spring gushed from the side of a hill, sounding like the music of bells. In his hand he caught a few drops, and with them wetted his parched lips. The terrible occurrence lay behind him like a fearful dream. He walked on farther and farther;--flowers and trees spoke to him.
Now he felt in high spirits and at home. He heard that song again. He ran to the place whence the sounds proceeded. Suddenly some one held him by the clothes. "Dear Henry," cried a well known voice. He looked round, and Matilda clasped him in her arms.
"Why did you run from me, dear heart," cried she panting. "I could scarcely overtake you."
Henry wept. He clasped her to himself, "Where is the stream?" cried he with tears.
"Do you not see its blue waves above us?"
He looked up, and the blue stream was flowing gently over his head.