Then, as in years I advanced, I had much to endure from my father, Who, in default of others to blame, would often abuse me, When at the Council's last sitting his anger perchance was excited, And I the penalty paid of the squabbles and strife of his colleagues.
You yourself have oft pitied me; I endured it with patience, Always rememb'ring the much-to-be-honour'd kindness of parents, Whose only thought is to swell for our sakes their goods and possessions, And who deprive themselves of much, to save for their children.
But, alas, not saving alone, for enjoyment hereafter, Constitutes happiness, no, not heaps of gold or of silver, Neither field upon field, however compact the estate be.
For the father grows old, and his son at the same time grows older, Feeling no joy in To-day, and full of care for To-morrow.
Now look down from this height, and see how beauteous before us Lies the fair rich expanse, with vineyard and gardens at bottom;There are the stables and barns, and the rest of the property likewise;There I also descry the back of our house, in the gables Of the roof may be seen the window of my small apartment.
When I remember the time when I used to look out for the moon there Half through the night, or perchance at morning awaited the sunrise, When with but few hours of healthy sleep I was fully contented, Ah, how lonely do all things appear! My chamber, the court, and Garden, the beautiful field which spreads itself over the hillside;All appears but a desert to me: I still am unmarried!"Then his good mother answer'd his speech in a sensible manner "Son, your wish to be able to lead your bride to her chamber, Turning the night to the dearest and happiest half of your lifetime, Making your work by day more truly free and unfetter'd, Cannot be greater than that of your father and mother. We always Urged you,--commanded, I even might say,--to choose some fair maiden.
But I know full well, and my heart has told me already If the right hour arrives not, or if the right maiden appears not Instantly when they are sought for, man's choice is thrown in confusion, And he is driven by fear to seize what is counterfeit only.
If I may tell you, my son, your choice already is taken, For your heart is smitten, and sensitive more than is usual.
Answer me plainly, then, for my spirit already has told me:
She whom now you have chosen is that poor emigrant maiden!""Yes, dear mother, you're right!" the son with vivacity answer'd Yes, it is she! And unless this very day I conduct her Home as my bride, she will go on her way and escape me for ever, In the confusion of war, and in moving backwards and forwards.
Mother, then before my eyes will in vain he unfolded All our rich estate, and each year henceforward be fruitful.
Yes, the familiar house and the garden will be my aversion.
Ah, and the love of my mother no comfort will give to my sorrow, For I feel that by Love each former bond must be loosen'd, When her own bonds she knits; 'tis not the maiden alone who Leaves her father and mother behind, when she follows her husband.
So it is with the youth; no more he knows mother and father.
When he beholds the maiden, the only beloved one, approaching.
Therefore let me go hence, to where desperation may lead me, For my father already has spoken in words of decision, And his house no longer is mine, if he shuts out the maiden Whom alone I would fain take home as my bride from henceforward."Then the excellent sensible mother answer'd with quickness "Men are precisely like rocks when they stand opposed to each other!
Proud and unyielding, the one will never draw near to the other.
Neither will suffer his tongue to utter the first friendly accent.
Therefore I tell you, my son, a hope still exists in my bosom, If she is worthy and good, he will give his consent to your marriage, Poor though she be, and although with disdain he refused you the poor thing.
For in his hot-beaded fashion he utters many expressions Which he never intends; and so will accept the Refused One.
But he requires kind words, and has a right to require them, For your father he is; his anger is all after dinner, When he more eagerly speaks, and questions the reasons of others, Meaning but little thereby; the wine then excites all the vigour Of his impetuous will, and prevents him from giving due weight to Other people's opinions; he hears and he feels his own only.
But when evening arrives, the tone of the many discourses Which his friends and himself hold together, is very much alter'd.
Milder becomes he, as soon as his liquor's effects have passed over And he feels the injustice his eagerness did unto others.
Come, we will venture at once! Success the reward is of boldness, And we have need of the friends who now have assembled around him.--Most of all we shall want the help of our excellent pastor."Thus she eagerly spoke, and leaving the stone that she sat on, Also lifted her son from his seat. He willingly follow'd, And they descended in silence, revolving the weighty proposal.
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