No More Learning

After this Mr. Ready-to-halt called for his fellow pilgrims,
and told them saying, I am sent for, and God shall surely visit
So he desired Mr. Valiant to make his will. And
because he had nothing to bequeath to them that should survive
him but his crutches and his good wishes, therefore thus he said,
These crutches I bequeath to my son that shall tread in my
steps, with a hundred warm wishes that he may prove better
than I have done.
Then he thanked Mr. Great-heart for his conduct and kind-
ness, and so addressed himself to his journey. When he came
at the brink of the river he said, Now I shall have no more need
of these crutches, since yonder are chariots and horses for me to
ride on.
The last words he was heard to say were, Welcome, life.
So he went his way.
After this Mr. Feeble-mind had tidings brought him that the
post sounded his horn at his chamber door. Then he came in
and told him, saying, I am come to tell thee that thy Master
has need of thee, and that in very little time thou must behold
his face in brightness. And take this as a token of the truth of
my message, “Those that look out at the windows shall be
darkened. ”


## p. 2764 (#332) ###########################################

2764
JOHN BUNYAN
Then Mr. Feeble-mind called for his friends, and told them
what errand had been brought unto him, and what token he had
received of the truth of the message.
Then he said, Since I
have nothing to bequeath to any, to what purpose should I make
a will ? As for my feeble mind, that I will leave behind me, for
that I have no need of that in the place whither I go. Nor is
it worth bestowing upon the poorest pilgrim; wherefore when I
am gone, I desire that you, Mr. Valiant, would bury it in a
dung-hill. This done, and the day being come in which he was
to depart, he entered the river as the rest. His last words were,
Hold out faith and patience. So he went over to the other side.
When days had many of them passed away, Mr. Despondency
was sent for. For a post was come, and brought this message
to him, Trembling man, these are to summon thee to be ready
with thy King by the next Lord's day, to shout for joy for thy
deliverance from all thy doubtings.
And said the messenger, That my message is true, take this
for a proof; so he gave him «The grasshopper to be a burden
unto him. ” Now Mr. Despondency's daughter, whose name
was Much-afraid, said when she heard what was done, that she
would
go
with her father. Then Mr. Despondency said to his
friends, Myself and my daughter, you know what we have been,
and how troublesomely we have behaved ourselves in every com-
pany. My will and my daughter's is, that our desponds and
slavish fears be by no man ever received from the day of our
departure for ever, for I know that after my death they will
offer themselves to others. For to be plain with you, they are
ghosts, the which we entertained when we first began to be
pilgrims, and could never shake them off after; and they will
walk about and seek entertainment of the pilgrims, but for our
sakes shut ye the doors upon them.
When the time was come for them to depart, they went to
the brink of the river. The last words of Mr. Despondency
were, Farewell, night; welcome, day. His daughter went through
the river singing, but none could understand what she said.
Then it came to pass a while after, that there was a post in
the town that inquired for Mr. Honest.
When the day
that he was to be gone was come, he addressed himself to go
over the river. Now the river at that time overflowed the banks
in some places, but Mr. Honest in his lifetime had spoken to one
Good-conscience to meet him there, the which he also did, and


## p. 2765 (#333) ###########################################

JOHN BUNYAN
2765
lent him his hand, and so helped him over. The last words of
Mr. Honest were, Grace reigns. So he left the world.
After this it was noised abroad that Mr. Valiant-for-truth was
taken with a summons by the same post as the other, and had
this for a token that the summons was true, « That his pitcher
was broken at the fountain. » When he understood it, he called
for his friends, and told them of it. Then said he, I am going
to my fathers, and though with great difficulty I am got hither,
yet now I do not repent me of all the trouble I have been at to
arrive where I am. My sword I give to him that shall succeed
me in my pilgrimage, and my courage and skill to him that can
get it. My marks and scars I carry with me, to be a witness for
me that I have fought his battles who now will be my rewarder.
When the day that he must go hence was come, many accom-
panied him to the river-side, into which as he went he said,
Death, where is thy sting? And as he went down deeper he
said, Grave, where is thy victory? So he passed over, and all
the trumpets sounded for him on the other side.
Then there came forth a summons for Mr. Stand-fast (this Mr.
Stand-fast was he that the rest of the pilgrims found upon his
knees in the enchanted ground), for the post brought it him open
in his hands. The contents whereof were, that he must prepare
for a change of life, for his Master was not willing that he
should be so far from him any longer. At this Mr. Stand-fast
was put into a muse. Nay, said the messenger, you need not
doubt of the truth of my message, for here is token of the
truth thereof, “Thy wheel is broken at the cistern. ” Then he
called to him Mr. Great-heart, who was their guide, and said unto
him, Sir, although it was not my hap to be much in your good
company in the days of my pilgrimage, yet since the time I
knew you, you have been profitable to me. When I came from
home, I left behind me a wife and five small children: let me
entreat you at your return (for I know that you will go and
return to your Master's house, in hopes that you may yet be a
conductor to more of the holy pilgrims) that you send to my
family, and let them be acquainted with all that hath and shall
happen unto me. Tell them moreover of my happy arrival to
this place, and of the present late blessed condition that I am in.
Tell them also of Christian and Christiana his wife, and how she
and her children came after her husband. Tell them also of
what a happy end she made, and whither she is gone. I have


## p. 2766 (#334) ###########################################

2766
JOHN BUNYAN
little or nothing to send to my family, except it be prayers and
tears for them; of which it will suffice if thou acquaint them, if
peradventure they may prevail.
When Mr. Stand-fast had thus set things in order, and the
time being come for him to haste him away, he also went down
to the river. Now there was a great calm at that time in the
river; wherefore Mr. Stand-fast, when he was about half-way in,
he stood awhile, and talked to his companions that had waited
upon him thither. And he said:
This river has been a terror to many; yea, the thoughts of it
also have often frighted me. But now methinks I stand easy;
my foot is fixed upon that upon which the feet of the priests
that bare the ark of the covenant stood, while Israel went over
this Jordan. The waters indeed are to the palate bitter and to
the stomach cold, yet the thought of what I am going to and of
the conduct that waits for me on the other side, doth lie as a
glowing coal at my heart.
I see myself now at the end of my journey; my toilsome days
are ended. I am going now to see that Head that was crowned
with thorns, and that Face that was spit upon for me.
I have formerly lived by hearsay and faith, but now I go
where I shall live by sight, and shall be with him in whose
company I delight myself.
I have loved to hear my Lord spoken of, and wherever I
have seen the print of his shoe in the earth, there I have coveted
to set my foot too.
His name has been to me as a civet-box, yea, sweeter than
all perfumes. His voice to me has been most sweet, and his
countenance I have more desired than they that have most
desired the light of the sun. His Word I did use to gather for
my food, and for antidotes against my faintings. He has held
me, and I have kept me from mine iniquities; yea, my steps
hath he strengthened in his way.
Now while he was thus in discourse, his countenance changed,
his strong man bowed under him, and after he had said, Take
me, for I come unto thee, he ceased to be seen of them.
But glorious it was to see how the open region was filled
with horses and chariots, with trumpeters and pipers, with sing-
ers and players on stringed instruments, to welcome the pilgrims
as they went up, and followed one another in at the beautiful
gate of the city.


## p. 2767 (#335) ###########################################

2767
GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
(1747-1794)
HE ballad of Lenore,' upon which Bürger's fame chiefly rests,
was published in 1773. It constituted one of the articles in
that declaration of independence which the young poets of
the time were formulating, and it was more than a mere coincidence
that in the same year Herder wrote his essay on (Ossian and the
(Songs of Ancient Peoples,' nd Goethe unfurled the banner of a
new time in ‘Götz von Berlichingen. The artificial and sentimental
trivialities of the pigtail age were superseded almost at a stroke, and
the petty formalism under which the lit-
erature of Germany was languishing fell
about the powdered wigs of its professional
representatives. The new impulse came
from England. As in France, Rousseau,
preaching the gospel of a return to nature,
found his texts in English writers, so in
Germany the poets who inaugurated the
classic age derived their chief inspiration
from the wholesome heart of England. It
was Shakespeare that inspired Goethe's
Götz'; Ossian and the old English and
GOTTFRIED A. BÜRGER
Scotch folk-songs were Herder's theme; and
Percy's Reliques stimulated and saved the genius of Bürger. This
was the movement which, for lack of a better term, has been called
the naturalistic. Literature once more took possession of the whole
range of human life and experience, descending from her artificial
throne to live with peasant and people. These ardent innovators
spurned all ancient fules and conventions, and in the first ecstasy of
their new-found freedom and unchastened strength it is no wonder
that they went too far. Goethe and Schiller learned betimes the
salutary lesson of artistic restraint. Bürger never learned it.
Bürger was wholly a child of his time. At the age of twenty-six
he wrote Lenore,' and his genius never again attained that height.
Much may be accomplished in the first outburst of youthful energy:
but without the self-control which experience should teach, and with-
out the moral character which is the condition of great achievement,
genius rots ere it is ripe; and this was the case with Bürger. We
are reminded of Burns. Goethe in his seventy-eighth year said to
Eckermann: “What songs Bürger and Voss have written! Who

(


## p. 2768 (#336) ###########################################

2768
GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
would say that they are less valuable or less redolent of their native
soil than the exquisite songs of Burns ? » Like Burns, Bürger was of
humble origin; like Burns, he gave passion and impulse the reins and
drove to his own destruction; like Burns, he left behind him a body
of truly national and popular poetry which is still alive in the mouths
of the people.
Bürger was born in the last hour of the year 1747 at Molmerswende.
His father was a country clergyman, and he himself was sent to Halle
at the age of seventeen to study theology. His wild life there led
to his removal to Göttingen, where he took up the study of law. He
became a member and afterwards the leader of the famous “Göttinger
Dichterbund,” and was carried away and for a time rescued from
his evil courses by his enthusiasm for Shakespeare and Percy's Rel-
iques. ' He contributed to the newly established Musenalmanach, and
from 1779 until his death in 1794 he was its editor. In 1787 the uni-
versity conferred an honorary degree upon him, and he was soon after-
ward made a professor without salary, lecturing on Kantian philosophy
and asthetics. Three times he was married; his days were full of
financial struggles and self-wrought misery; there is little in his pri-
vate life that is creditable to record: a dissolute youth was followed
by a misguided manhood, and he died in his forty-seventh year.
It fell to the lot of the young Goethe, then an unknown reviewer,
to write for the Frankfurter Gelehrte Anzeigen in November, 1772, a
notice of some of Bürger's early poems. «The Minnelied' of Mr.
Bürger,” he says, “is worthy of a better age; and if he has more
such happy moments, these efforts of his will be among the most
potent influences to render our sentimental poetasters, with their
gold-paper Amors and Graces and their elysium of benevolence and
philanthropy, utterly forgotten. ” With such clear vision could Goethe
see at the age of twenty-three. But he soon saw also the danger
that lay in unbridled freedom. For the best that was in Bürger
Goethe retained his admiration to the last, but before he was thirty
he felt that their ways had parted. Among the Maxims and Reflec-
tions) we find this note: “It is sad to see how an extraordinary
man may struggle with his time, with his circumstances, often even
with himself, and never prosper. Sad example, Bürger! ”
Doubtless German literature owes less to Bürger than English
owes to Burns, but it owes much. Bürger revived the ballad form
in which so much of the finest German poetry has since been cast.
With his lyric gifts and his dramatic power, he infused a life into
these splendid poems that has made them a part of the folk-lore of
his native land. Lenardo und Blandine,' his own favorite, Des
Pfarrers Tochter von Taubenhain' (The Pastor's Daughter of Tau-
benhain), (Das Lied vom braven Mann' (The Song of the Brave


## p. 2769 (#337) ###########################################

GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
2769
Man), Die Weiber von Weinsberg' (The Women of Weinsberg), Der
Kaiser und der Abt' (The Emperor and the Abbot), (Der Wilde
Jäger' (The Wild Huntsman), all belong, like Lenore,' to the lit-
erary inheritance of the German people. Bürger attempted a trans-
lation of the Iliad in iambic blank verse, and a prose translation of
Macbeth. ' To him belongs also the credit of having restored to
German literature the long-disused sonnet. His sonnets are among
the best in the language, and elicited warm praise from Schiller as
« models of their kind. ” Schiller had written a severe criticism of
Bürger's poems, which had inflamed party strife and embittered the
last years of Bürger himself; but even Schiller admits that Bürger
is as much superior to all his rivals as he is inferior to the ideal he
should have striven to attain.
The debt which Bürger owed to English letters was amply repaid.
In Lenore' he showed Percy's Reliques) the compliment of quoting
from the ballad of Sweet William,' which had supplied him with
his theme, the lines:-Is there any room at your head, Willie, or
any room at your feet ? » The first literary work of Walter Scott
was the translation which he made in 1775 of Lenore, under the
title of William and Helen'; this was quickly followed by a trans-
lation of The Wild Huntsman. ' Scott's romantic mind received in
Bürger's ballads and in Goethe's (Götz,' which he translated four
years later, just the nourishment it craved. It is a curious coinci-
dence that another great romantic writer, Alexandre Dumas, should
also have begun his literary career with a translation of Lenore. '
Bürger was not, however, a man of one poem. He filled two goodly
volumes, but the oft-quoted words of his friend Schlegel contain
the essential truth: « Lenore) will always be Bürger's jewel, the
precious ring with which, like the Doge of Venice espousing the sea,
he married himself to the folk-song forever. ”
WILLIAM AND HELEN
WALTER SCOTT'S TRANSLATION OF LENORE)
F
ROM heavy dreams fair Helen rose,
And eyed the dawning red:-
Alas, my love, thou tarriest long!
O art thou false or dead? »
With gallant Frederick's princely power
He sought the bold crusade;
But not a word from Judah's wars
Told Helen how he sped.
V-174


## p. 2770 (#338) ###########################################

2770
GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
With Paynim and with Saracen
At length a truce was made,
And every knight returned to dry
The tears his love had shed.
Our gallant host was homeward bound
With many a song of joy;
Green waved the laurel in each plume,
The badge of victory.
And old and young, and sire and son,
To meet them crowd the way.
With shouts, and mirth, and melody,
The debt of love to pay.
Full many a maid her true-love met,
And sobbed in his embrace,
And fluttering joy in tears and smiles
Arrayed full. many a face.
Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad;
She sought the host in vain;
For none could tell her William's fate,
If faithless or if slain.
The martial band is past and gone;
She rends her raven hair,
And in distraction's bitter mood
She weeps with wild despair.
rise, my child,” her mother said,
"Nor sorrow thus in vain :
A perjured lover's fleeting heart
No tears recall again. ”
«O mother, what is gone, is gone,
What's lost forever lorn;
Death, death alone can comfort me;
( had I ne'er been born!
“O break, my heart, O break at once!
Drink my life-blood, Despair!
No joy remains on earth for me,
For me in heaven no share. »
«O enter not in judgment, Lord! ”
The pious mother prays;


## p. 2771 (#339) ###########################################

GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
2771
Impute not guilt to thy frail child!
She knows not what she says.
“O say thy paternoster, child !
O turn to God and grace!
His will, that turned thy bliss to bale,
Can change thy bale to bliss. ”
«O mother, mother, what is bliss ?
O mother, what is bale ?
My William's love was heaven on earth;
Without it earth is hell.
«Why should I pray to ruthless Heaven,
Since my loved William's slain ?
I only prayed for William's sake,
And all my prayers were vain. ”
“O take the sacrament, my child,
And check these tears that flow;
By resignation's humble prayer,
O hallowed be thy woe! )
“No sacrament can quench this fire,
Or slake this scorching pain ;
No sacrament can bid the dead
Arise and live again.
“O break, my heart, O break at once!
Be thou my god, Despair!
Heaven's heaviest blow has fallen on me,
And vain each fruitless prayer. ”
“O enter not in judgment, Lord,
With thy frail child of clay!
She knows not what her tongue has spoke;
Impute it not, I pray!
«Forbear, my child, this desperate woe,
And turn to God and grace;
Well can devotion's heavenly glow
Convert thy bale to bliss. ”
«O mother, mother, what is bliss ?
() mother, what is bale ?
Without my William what were heaven,
Or with him what were hell ? »


## p. 2772 (#340) ###########################################

2772
GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
Wild she arraigns the eternal doom,
l'pbraids each sacred Power,
Till, spent, she sought her silent room,
All in the lonely tower.
She beat her breast, she wrung her hands
Till sun and day were o'er,
And through the glimmering lattice shone
The twinkling of the star.
Then, crash! the heavy drawbridge fell
That o'er the moat was hung;
And, clatter, clatter, on its boards
The hoof of courser rung.
The clank of echoing steel was heard
As off the rider bounded;
And slowly on the winding stair
A heavy footstep sounded.
And hark! and hark! a knock Tap! tap
A rustling stifled noise;
Door-latch and tinkling staples ring;
At length a whispering voice:
“Awake, awake, arise, my love!
How, Helen, dost thou fare?
Wak'st thou, or sleep'st ? laugh'st thou, or weep'st ?
Hast thought on me, my fair ?
“My love! my love! so late at night!
I waked, I wept for thee.
Much have I borne since dawn of morn;
Where, William, couldst thou be ? »
« We saddle late — from Hungary
I rode since darkness fell;
And to its bourne we both return
Before the matin bell. ”
1
«() rest this night within my arms,
And warm thee in their fold!
Chill howls through hawthorn bush the wind; —
My love is deadly cold. ”
“Let the wind howl through hawthorn bush!
This night we must away;


## p. 2773 (#341) ###########################################

GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
2773
The steed is wight, the spur is bright;
I cannot stay till day.
“Busk, busk, and boune! Thou mount'st behind
Upon my black barb steed:
O'er stock and stile, a hundred mile,
We haste to bridal bed. ”
«To-night — to-night a hundred miles!
O dearest William, stay!
The bell strikes twelve - dark, dismal hour!
O wait, my love, till day! ”
“Look here, look here -- the moon shines clear -
Full fast I ween we ride;
Mount and away! for ere the day
We reach our bridal bed.
« The black barb snorts, the bridle rings,
Haste, busk, and boune, and seat thee!
The feast is made, the chamber spread,
The bridal guests await thee. ”
Strong love prevailed: she busks, she bounes,
She mounts the barb behind,
And round her darling William's waist
Her lily arms she twined.
And, hurry! hurry! off they rode,
And fast as fast might be;
Spurned from the courser's thundering heels
The flashing pebbles flee.
And on the right, and on the left,
Ere they could snatch a view,
Fast, fast each mountain, mead, and plain,
And cot and castle flew.
« Sit fast- dost fear ? — The moon shines clear! -
Fleet goes my barb — keep hold!
Fear'st thou ? ” – “O no! " she faintly said:
“But why so stern and cold ?
«What yonder rings, what yonder sings ?
Why shrieks the owlet gray ? ” –
« 'Tis death-bells' clang, 'tis funeral song,
The body to the clay.


## p. 2774 (#342) ###########################################

2774
GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
“With song and clang, at morrow's dawn,
Ye may inter the dead;
To-night I ride, with my young bride,
To deck our bridal bed.
“Come with thy choir, thou coffined guest,
To swell our nuptial song!
Come, priest, to bless our marriage feast!
Come all, come all along! ”
Ceased clang and song; down sunk the bier;
The shrouded corpse arose :
And hurry! hurry! all the train
The thundering steed pursues.
And forward, forward, on they go;
High snorts the straining steed;
Thick pants the rider's laboring breath
As headlong on they speed.
“O William, why this savage haste ?
And where thy bridal bed ? ”
« 'Tis distant far, - low, damp, and chill,
And narrow,- trustless maid! »
“No room for me? » — "Enough for both;
Speed, speed, my barb, thy course! »
O'er thundering bridge, through boiling surge,
He drove the furious horse.
Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode,
Splash! splash! along the sea;
The scourge is wight, the spur is bright,
The flashing pebbles flee.
Fled past on right and left how fast
Each forest, grove, and bower!
On right and left fled past how fast
Each city, town, and tower!
“Dost fear? dost fear? The moon shines clear,
Dost fear to ride with me?
Hurrah! hurrah! the dead can ride! »
( William, let them be! -
« See there, see there! What yonder swings
And creaks 'mid whistling rain? ”
1


## p. 2775 (#343) ###########################################

GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
2775
«Gibbet and steel, th' accursed wheel,
A murderer in his chain.
« Hollo! thou felon, follow here:
To bridal bed we ride;
And thou shalt prance a fetter dance
Before me and my bride. ”
And hurry! hurry! clash, clash, clash!
The wasted form descends;
And feet as wind through hazel bush
The wild career attends.
Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode,
Splash! splash! along the sea;
The scourge is red, the spur drops blood,
The flashing pebbles flee.
How fled what moonshine faintly showed!
How fled what darkness hid!
How fled the earth beneath their feet,
The heaven above their head!
«Dost fear ? dost fear ? the moon shines clear
And well the dead can ride;
Dost, faithful Helen, fear for them ? ” —
“O leave in peace the dead! )
«Barb! barb! methinks I hear the cock;
The sand will soon be run;
Barb! barb! I smell the morning air;
The race is well-nigh done. ”
Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode,
Splash! splash! along the sea;
The scourge is red, the spur drops blood,
The flashing pebbles flee.
« Hurrah! hurrah! well ride the dead;
The bride, the bride is come;
And soon we reach the bridal bed,
For, Helen, here's my home. ”
Reluctant on its rusty hinge
Revolved an iron door,
And by the pale moon's setting beam
Were seen a church and tower.


## p. 2776 (#344) ###########################################

2776
GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
With many a shriek and cry whiz round
The birds of midnight, scared;
And rustling like autumnal leaves
Unhallowed ghosts were heard.
O'er many a tomb and tombstone pale
He spurred the fiery horse,
Till sudden at an open grave
He checked the wondrous course.
The falling gauntlet quits the rein,
Down drops the casque of steel,
The cuirass leaves his shrinking side,
The spur his gory heel.
The eyes desert the naked skull,
The mold'ring flesh the bone,
Till Helen's lily arms entwine
A ghastly skeleton.
The furious barb snorts fire and foam,
And with a fearful bound,
Dissolves at once in empty air,
And leaves her on the ground.
Half seen by fits, by fits half heard,
Pale spectres flit along,
Wheel round the maid in dismal dance,
And howl the funeral song:-
«E'en when the heart's with anguish cleft,
Revere the doom of heaven.
Her soul is from her body reft;
Her spirit be forgiven! ”
THE WIVES OF WEINSBERG
W""
HICH way to Weinsberg ? neighbor, say!
'Tis sure a famous city:
It must have cradled, in its day,
Full many a maid of noble clay,
And matrons wise and witty;
And if ever marriage should happen to me,
A Weinsberg dame my wife shall be.
King Conrad once, historians say,
Fell out with this good city;


## p. 2777 (#345) ###########################################

GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
2777
So down he came, one luckless day,
Horse, foot, dragoons, - in stern array,-
And cannon, — more's the pity!
Around the walls the artillery roared,
And bursting bombs their fury poured.
But naught the little town could scare;
Then, red with indignation,
He bade the herald straight repair
Up to the gates, and thunder there
The following proclamation :---
“Rascals! when I your town do take,
No living thing shall save its neck! »
Now, when the herald's trumpet sent
These tidings through the city,
To every house a death knell went;
Such murder-cries the hot air rent
Might move the stones to pity.
Then bread grew dear, but good advice
Could not be had for any price.
Then, “Woe is me! ” “O misery! )
What shrieks of lamentation !
And “Kyrie Eleison! ” cried
The pastors, and the flock replied,
“Lord! save us from starvation!
«Oh, woe is me, poor Corydon -
My neck, – my neck! I'm gone, - I'm gone!
Yet oft, when counsel, deed, and prayer
Had all proved unavailing,
When hope hung trembling on a hair,
How oft has woman's wit been there! -
A refuge never failing;
For woman's wit and Papal fraud,
Of olden time, were famed abroad.
A youthful dame, praised be her name! -
Last night had seen her plighted,
Whether in waking hour or dream,
Conceived a rare and novel scheme,
Which all the town delighted;
Which you, if you think otherwise,
Have leave to laugh at and despise.
At midnight hour, when culverin
And gun and bomb were sleeping,


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2778
GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
Before the camp with mournful mien,
The loveliest embassy were seen,
All kneeling low and weeping.
So sweetly, plaintively they prayed,
But no reply save this was made :-
« The women have free leave to go,
Each with her choicest treasure;
But let the knaves their husbands know
That unto them the King will show
The weight of his displeasure. ”
With these sad terms the lovely train
Stole weeping from the camp again.
But when the morning gilt the sky.
What happened? Give attention:
The city gates wide open fly,
And all the wives come trudging by,
Each bearing — need I mention ?
Her own dear husband on her back,
All snugly seated in a sack!
Full many a sprig of court, the joke
Not relishing, protested,
And urged the King; but Conrad spoke:-
"A monarch's word must not be broke!
And here the matter rested.
“Bravo! ” he cried, “Ha, ha! Bravo!
Our lady guessed it would be so. ”
He pardoned all, and gave a ball
That night at royal quarters.
The fiddles squeaked, the trumpets blew,
And up and down the dancers flew,
Court sprigs with city daughters.
The mayor's wife — () rarest sight!
Danced with the shoemaker that night!
Ah, where is Weinsberg, sir, I pray?
'Tis sure a famous city:
It must have cradled in its day
Full many a maid of noble clay,
And matrons wise and witty;
And if ever marriage should happen to me,
A Weinsberg dame my wife shall be.
Translated by C. T. Brooks: Reprinted from (Representative German Poems)
by the courtesy of Mrs. Charles T. Brooks.


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## p. 2778 (#348) ###########################################


EDMUND BURKE,


## p. 2778 (#349) ###########################################

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EDMU URTE.


## p. 2779 (#351) ###########################################

2779
EDMUND BURKE
(1729-1797)
BY E. L. GODKIN
ES
DMUND BURKE, born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1729, was the son
of a successful attorney, who gave him as good an educa-
tion as the times and the country afforded. He went to
school to an excellent Quaker, and graduated at Trinity College in
1748. He appears to have then gone to London in 1750 to keep
terms,” as it was called, at the Middle Temple, with the view of
being admitted to the bar, in obedience to his father's desire and
ambition. But the desultory habit of mind, the preference for lit-
erature and philosophical speculation to connected study, which had
marked his career in college, followed him and prevented any seri-
ous application to the law. His father's patience was after a while
exhausted, and he withdrew Burke's allowance and left him to his
own resources.
This was in 1755, but in 1756 he married, and made his first
appearance in the literary world by the publication of a book.
About these years from 1750 to 1759 little is known. He published
two works, one a treatise on the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime
and Beautiful, and the other a Vindication of Natural Society,' a
satire on Bolingbroke. Stray allusions and anecdotes about other
men in the diaries and correspondence of the time show that he
frequented the literary coffee-houses, and was gradually making an
impression on the authors and wits whom he met there. Besides the
two books we have mentioned, he produced some smaller things,
such as an Essay on the Drama,' and part of an Abridgment of
the History of England. But although these helped to secure him
admission to the literary set, they did not raise him out of the rank
of obscure literary adventurers, who from the Revolution of 1688,
and especially after the union with Scotland, began to swarm to
London from all parts of the three kingdoms. The first recognition
of him as a serious writer was his employment by Dodsley the book-
seller, at a salary of $100 a year, to edit the Annual Register, which
Dodsley founded in 1769. Considered as a biographical episode, this
may fairly be treated as a business man's certificate that Burke was
industrious and accurate. As his income from his father was with-
drawn or reduced in 1755, there remain four years during which his
way of supporting himself is unknown. His published works were


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2780
EDMUND BURKE
reasons.
certainly not “pot-boilers. ” He was probably to some extent de-
pendent on his wife's father, Dr. Nugent, an Irish physician who
when Burke made his acquaintance lived in Bath, but after his
daughter's marriage settled in London, and seems to have frequented
and have been acceptable in the same coffee-houses as Burke, and
for the same
But Burke was not a man to remain long
dependent on any one. These nine years were evidently not spent
fruitlessly. They had made him known and brought him to the
threshold of public life.
In 1759, political discussion as we understand it—that is, those
explorations of the foundations of political society and analyses of
social relations which now form our daily intellectual food — was
hardly known. The interest in religion as the chief human concern
was rapidly declining. The interest in human society as an organism
to be studied, and if need be, taken to pieces and put together again,
was only just beginning. Montesquieu's great work, The Spirit of
the Laws,' which demanded for expediency and convenience in legis-
lation the place which modern Europe had long assigned to authority,
had only appeared in 1748. Swift's satires had made serious breaches
in the wall of convention by which the State, in spite of the convul-
sions of the seventeenth century, was still surrounded. But the
writer whose speculations excited most attention in England was
Bolingbroke. The charm of his style and the variety of his interests
made him the chief intellectual topic of the London world in Burke's
early youth. To write like Bolingbroke was a legitimate ambition for
a young man. It is not surprising that Burke felt it, and that his
earliest political effort was a satire on Boling broke. It attracted the
attention of a politician, Gerard Hamilton, and he quickly picked up
Burke as his secretary, treated him badly, and was abandoned by
him in disgust at the end of six years.