owers on the grave of the
prematurely dead son, flowers which presently, full of joy and hope, I
offer to the bride of the beloved brother; while the high priestess
beckons to me and holds out her hand for a solemn covenant to swear by
the pure eternal fire eternal purity and never-dying enthusiasm. I
hasten away from the altar and the priestess to seize my sword and
plunge with the host of heroes into a battle, which I soon forget,
seeing in the deepest solitude only the sky and myself.

The soul that has such dreams in sleep continues to have them even
when it is awake. It feels itself entwined by the blossoms of love, it
takes care not to destroy the loose wreaths; it gladly gives itself up
a prisoner, consecrates itself to the fantasy, and willingly allows
itself to be ruled by the child, which rewards all maternal cares by
its sweet playfulness.

Then a fresh breath of the bloom of youth and a halo of child-like
ecstasy comes over the whole of life. The man deifies his Beloved, the
mother her child, and all men everlasting humanity.

Now the soul understands the wail of the nightingale and the smile of
the new-born babe; the significance of the flowers and the mysterious
hieroglyphics of the starry sky; the holy import of life as well as
the beautiful language of Nature. All things speak to it, and
everywhere it sees the lovely spirit through the delicate envelope.

On this gaily decorated floor it glides through the light dance of
life, innocent, and concerned only to follow the rhythm of sociability
and friendship, and not to disturb the harmony of love. And during it
all an eternal song, of which it catches now and then a few words
which adumbrate still higher wonders.

Ever more beautifully this magic circle encompasses the charmed soul,
and that which it forms or speaks sounds like a wonderful romance of
childhood's beautiful and mysterious divinities--a romantic tale,
accompanied by the bewitching music of the feelings, and adorned with
the fairest flowers of lovely life.

APHORISMS

By FRIEDRICH SCHLEGEL

From the _Lyceum and the Athenaeum_ (1797-1800)

TRANSLATED BY LOUIS H. GRAY

Perfect understanding of a classic work should never be possible; but
those who are cultivated and who are still striving after further
culture, must always desire to learn more from it.

If an author is to be able to write well upon a theme, he must no
longer feel interest in it; the thought which is to be sob