e story that his last words were "more
light" is probably nothing more than a happy invention.

Admirers of the great German see more in him than the author of the
various works which have been all too briefly characterized in the
preceding sketch. His is a case where, in very truth, the whole is
more than the sum of the parts. Goethe is the representative of an
epoch. He stands for certain ideals which are not those of the present
hour, but which it was of inestimable value to the modern man to have
thus nobly worked out and exemplified in practice. Behind and beneath
his writings, informing them and giving them their value for
posterity, is a wonderful personality which it is a delight and an
education to study in the whole process of its evolution. By way of
struggle, pain and error, like his own Faust, he arrived at a view of
life, in which he found inspiration and inner peace. It is outlined in
the verses which he placed before his short poems as a sort of motto:

Wide horizon, eager life,
Busy years of honest strife,
Ever seeking, ever founding,
Never ending, ever rounding,
Guarding tenderly the old,
Taking of the new glad hold,
Pure in purpose, light of heart,
Thus we gain--at least a start.

[Illustration: THE DEATH OF GOETHE Fritz Fleischer]

POEMS

GREETING AND DEPARTURE[4] (1771)

My heart throbbed high: to horse, away then!
Swift as a hero to the fight!
Earth in the arms of evening lay then,
And o'er the mountains hung the night,
Now could I see like some huge giant
The haze-enveloped oak-tree rise,
While from the thicket stared defiant
The darkness with its hundred eyes.

The cloud-throned moon from his dominion
Peered drowsily through veils of mist.
The wind with gently-wafting pinion
Gave forth a rustling strange and whist.
With shapes of fear the night was thronging
But all the more my courage glowed;
My soul flamed up in passionate longing
And hot my heart with rapture flowed.

I saw thee; melting rays of pleasure
Streamed o'er me from thy tender glance,
My heart beat only to thy measure,
I drew my breath as in a trance.
The radiant hue of spring caressing
Lay rosy on thy upturned face,
And love--ye gods, how rich the blessing!
I dared not hope to win such grace.

To part--alas what grief in this is!--
In every look thy heart spoke plain.
What ecstasy was in thy kisses!
What