Until the time of his death, for he died overwhelm'd by affliction
At the distress of his town, and the danger his goods were exposed to.

Also with mute resignation she bore the grievous affliction
Of her betroth'd's sad death, a noble young man who, incited

By the first fire of noble thoughts to struggle for freedom,
Went himself to Paris, and soon found a terrible death there.

For, as at home, so there, he fought 'gainst intrigue and oppression."
Thus the magistrate spoke. The others departed and thanked him,

And the pastor produced a gold piece (the silver his purse held
He some hours before had with genuine kindness expended

When he saw the fugitives passing in sorrowful masses).
And to the magistrate handed it, saying:--" Divide it, I pray you,

'Mongst those who need it the most. May God give it prosperous increase."
But the man refused to accept it, and said:--"I assure you,

Many a dollar we've saved, and plenty of clothing and such things,
And I trust we may reach our homes before they are finish'd."

Then continued the pastor, the gold in his hand once more placing
"None should delay to give in days like the present, and no one

Ought to refuse to receive what is offer'd with liberal kindness.
No one can tell how long he will keep what in peace he possesses,

No one, how long he is doom'd in foreign countries to wander,
While he's deprived of the field and the garden by which he is nurtured."

"Bravo!" added in turn the druggist, with eagerness speaking
"Had I but money to spare in my pocket, you surely should have it,

Silver and gold alike; for your followers certainly need it.
Yet I'll not leave you without a present, if only to show you

My good will, and I hope you will take the will for the action."
Thus he spoke, and pull'd out by the strings the leather embroider'd

Pouch, in which he was wont his stock of tobacco to carry,
Daintily open'd and shared its contents--some two or three pipes' full.

"Small in truth is the gift," he added. The magistrate answered:
"Good tobacco is always a welcome present to trav'llers."

Then the druggist began his canister to praise very highly.
But the pastor drew him away, and the magistrate left them.

"Come, let us hasten!" exclaimed the sensible man, "for our young friend
Anxiously waits; without further delay let him hear the good tidings."

So they hasten'd and came, and found that the youngster was leaning
'Gainst his carriage under the lime-trees. The horses were pawing

Wildly the turf; he held them in check and stood there all pensive,
Silently gazing in front, and saw not his friends coming near him,

Till, as they came, they called him and gave him signals of triumph.
Some way off the druggist already began to address him,

But they approach'd the youth still nearer, and then the good pastor
Seized his hand and spoke and took the word from his comrade

"Friend, I wish you joy! Your eye so true and your true heart
Rightly have chosen! May you and the wife of your young days be happy!

She is full worthy of you; so come and turn around the carriage,
That we may reach without delay the end of the village,

So as to woo her, and shortlyescort the dear creature home with us."
But the youth stood still, and without any token of pleasure

Heard the words of the envoy, though sounding consoling and heav'nly,
Deeply sigh'd and said:--"We came full speed in the carriage

And shall probably go back home ashamed and but slowly;
For, since I have been waiting care has fallen upon me,

Doubt and suspicion and all that a heart full of love is exposed to.
Do you suppose we have only to come, for the maiden to follow,

Just because we are rich, and she poor and wandering in exile?
Poverty, when undeserved, itself makes proud. The fair maiden

Seems to be active and frugal; the world she may claim as her portion.
Do you suppose that a woman of such great beauty and manners

Can have grown up without exciting love in man's bosom?
Do you suppose that her heart until now has to love been fast closed?

Do not drive thither in haste, for perchance to our shame and confusion
We shall have slowly to turn towards home the heads of our horses.

Yes, some youth, I fear me, possesses her heart, and already
She has doubtless promised her hand and her solemn troth plighted,

And I shall stand all ashamed before her, When making my offer."
Then the pastor proceeded to cheer him with words of good comfort,

But his companion broke in, in his usual talkative manner
"As things used to be, this embarrassment would not have happened,

When each matter was brought to a close in an orthodox fashion.
Then for their son themselves the bride the parents selected,

And a friend of the house was secretly call'd in the first place.
He was then quietly sent as a suitor to visit the parents

Of the selected bride; and, dress'd in his gayest apparel,
Went after dinner some Sunday to visit the excellent burgher,

And began by exchanging polite remarks on all subjects,
Cleverly turning and bending the talk in the proper direction.

After long beating about the bush, he flatter'd the daughter,
And spoke well of the man and the house that gave his commission.

Sensible people soon saw his drift, and the sensible envoy
Watch'd how the notion was taken, and then could explain himself farther.

If they declined the proposal, why then the refusal cost nothing,
But if all prosper'd, why then the suitor for ever thereafter

Play'd the first fiddle at every family feast and rejoicing.
For the married couple remember'd the whole of their lifetime

Whose was the skilful hand by which the marriage knot tied was.
All this now is chang'd, and with many an excellent custom

Has gone quite out of fashion. Each person woos for himself now.
Everyone now must bear the weight of a maiden's refusal

On his own shoulders, and stand all ashamed before her, if needs be."
"Let that be as it may," then answered the young man who scarcely

Heard what was said, and his mind had made up already in silence
"I will go myself, and out of the mouth of the maiden

Learn my own fate, for towards her I cherish the most trustful feelings
That any man ever cherish'd towards any woman whatever.

That which she says will be good and sensible,--this I am sure of.
If I am never to see her again, I must once more behold her,

And the ingenuous gaze of her black eyes must meet for the last time.
If to my heart I may clasp her never, her bosom and shoulders

I would once more see, which my arm so longs to encircle:
Once more the mouth I would see, from which one kiss and a Yes will

Make me happy for ever, a No for ever undo me.
But now leave me alone! Wait here no longer. Return you

Straight to my father and mother, in order to tell them in person
That their son was right, and that the maiden is worthy.

And so leave me alone! I myself shall return by the footpath
Over the hill by the pear-tree and then descend through the vineyard,

Which is the shortest way back. Oh may I soon with rejoicing
Take the beloved one home! But perchance all alone I must slink back

By that path to our house and tread it no more with a light heart."
Thus he spoke, and then placed the reins in the hands of the pastor,

Who, in a knowing way both the foaming horses restraining,
Nimbly mounted the carriage, and took the seat of the driver.

But you still delay'd, good cautious neighbour, and spoke thus
Friend, I will gladlyentrust to you soul, and spirit, and mind too,

But my body and bones are not preserved in the best way
When the hand of a parson such worldly matters as reins grasps!"

But you smiled in return, you sensiblepastor, replying
"Pray jump in, nor fear with both body and spirit to trust me,

For this hand to hold the reins has long been accustom'd,
And these eyes are train'd to turn the corner with prudence.

For we were wont to drive the carriage, when living at Strasburg,
At the time when with the young baron I went there, for daily,

Driven by me, through the echoing gateway thunder'd the carriage
By the dusty roads to distant meadows and lindens,