ee to moss. In the second part of the book he
gave an enthusiastic description of the sublime in sky and sea.

His beautiful words on the inspiration of Nature shew his insight
into her relation to the poet soul of the people:

Everything in Nature must be inspired by life, or it does not
move me, I do not feel it. The cooling zephyr and the morning
sunbeam, the wind blowing through the trees, and the fragrant
carpet of flowers, must cool, warm, pervade us--then we feel
Nature. The poet does not say he feels her, unless he feels her
intensely, living, palpitating and pervading him, like the wild
Nature of Ossian, or the soft luxuriant Nature of Theocritus and
the Orientals. In Nature, the more varieties the better; for
instance, in a beautiful country I rustle with the wind and
become alive (and give life--inspire), I inhale fragrance and
exhale it with the flowers; I dissolve in water; I float in the
blue sky; I feel all these feelings.

Herder touched the lyre himself with a skilful hand. Thought
predominated with him, but he could make Nature live in his song.[7]
'I greet thee, thou wing of heaven,' he sang to the lark; and to the
rainbow, 'Beautiful child of the sun, picture and hope over dark
clouds ... hopes are colours, are broken sun-rays and the children of
tears, truth is the sun.'

In _By the Sea at Naples_ he wrote:

A-weary of the summer's fiery brand,
I sat me down beside the cooling sea,
Where the waves heaving, rolled and kissed the strand
Of the grey shore, ...
And over me, high over in the air,
Of the blue skyey vault, rustled the tree ...
Queen of all trees, slender and beautiful,
The pine tree, lifting me to golden dreams.

In _Recollections of Naples_:

Yes! they are gone, those happy, happy hours
Joyous but short, by Posilippo's bay!
Sweet dream of sea and lake, of rock and hill,
Grotto and island, and the mirrored sun
In the blue water--thou hast passed away!

and

When the glow of evening softly fades
From the still sea, and with her gleaming host
The moon ascends the sky.

_Night_ is very poetic:

And comest thou again,
Thou Mother of the stars and heavenly thoughts?
Divine and quiet Mother, comest thou?
The earth awaits thee, from thy chalice cup
But one drop of thy heavenly dew to quaff,
Her flowers bend low their heads;
And with them, satiate with vision, droops
My