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f this great feast of music. Not, however, of the spirit Of the melodies they'd heard then, Neither of the deep emotion Which was in their souls awakened, Were they speaking; they disputed Who received the Baron's thanks first At the end of the performance; Whom the Abbot had distinguished Most that evening by his praises; And what finally was served up From the kitchen and the cellar. As the tail of a dead lizard Still, when life has long departed, With spasmodic jerks is writhing: So the memory of great actions Still lives on in daily gossip. But with thoughts above such nonsense Margaretta took an early Solitary walk next morning To the honeysuckle arbour, There to dream of last night's music, Specially of Werner's solo, Which still through her soul was thrilling Like a message of sweet love. But what saw she? In the arbour On the little rustic table She beheld the very trumpet. Like the magic horn of Huon, Wondrous mysteries containing; Dumb, but full of deep expression, Like a star it sparkled there. Margaretta stood confounded At the arbour's shady entrance: "Came he here? And now, where is he? Wherefore has he left his trumpet Here so wholly unprotected? Easily a worm might crawl in, Or a thief might come and steal it. Shall I take it to the castle, Take it in my careful keeping? No, I'll go, do nothing with it, Should indeed have gone before." But she tarried, for her eyes were Held in durance by the trumpet, Like a shad caught by the fish-hook. "Oh, I wonder," she was thinking, "Whether my breath would be able From its depths a tone to waken. Oh I much should like to know this! No one sees what I am doing, All around no living being. Only my old Hiddigeigei Licks the dew from off the box-tree; Only insects in the sand here Follow out their digging instinct, And the caterpillars gently Up and down the arbour crawl." So the maiden shyly entered, Shyly she took up the trumpet, To her rosy lips she pressed it; But with fright she well-nigh trembled At her breath to sound transforming In the trumpet's golden
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