CAPUT III.

Summer-night’s dream! All-fantastic, Aimless is my song. Yes, aimless As our love and as our living, As Creator and creation!

His own will alone obeying, Galloping along or flying, Revels in the realms of fable My belovèd Pegasus.

He’s no serviceable, virtuous Carthorse of the citizens, Nor a battle-steed of party, With pathetic neighs and stamping!

Golden-mounted are the hoofs all Of my white and wingèd charger, Cords of pearls the guiding reins are, And at will I let him wander.

Bear me whereso’er thou wouldest! Over steep and merry hill-paths, Where cascades with mournful shrieking Warn ’gainst madness’s abysses!

Bear me on through silent valleys, Where the solemn oaks are standing, While primeval sweet traditions From their knotted roots have birth!

Let me drink there, while I moisten My dim eyes,--ah, now I languish For the sparkling wondrous water That imparts both sight and knowledge!

All my blindness goes! my gaze Pierces to the deepest rock-cleft, To the cave of Atta Troll, And I understand his language!

Strange ’tis how familiar to me This bear-language now appeareth! In my dear home have I never Heard those sounds in earlier days?