find breathed over the "Midsummer-night's Dream," did
Weyse's tones fill Wilhelm; the deep melodies of the organ in the
old cathedral had indeed attracted him to the quiet little town! The
powerful tones of the heart summoned him! Through them even every day
things assumed a coloring, an expression of beauty, such as Byron shows
us in words, Thorwaldsen in the hard stone, Correggio in colors.

We have by Goethe a glorious poem, "Love a Landscape-painter." The poet
sits upon a peak and gazes before him into the mist, which, like canvas
spread upon the easel, conceals all heights and expanses; then comes
the God of Love and teaches him how to paint a picture on the mist. The
little one now sketches with his rosy fingers a picture such as only
Nature and Goethe give us. Were the poet here, we could offer him no
rock on which he might seat himself, but something, through legends and
songs, equally beautiful. He would then sing,--I seated myself upon the
mossy stone above the cairn; the mist resembled outstretched canvas. The
God of Love commenced on this his sketch. High up he painted a glorious
still, whose rays were dazzling! The edges of the clouds he made as of
gold, and let the rays penetrate through them; then painted he the fine
light boughs of fresh, fragrant trees; brought forth one hill after the
other. Behind these, half-concealed, lay a little town, above which rose
a mighty church; two tall towers with high spires rose into the air; and
below the church, far out, where woods formed the horizon, drew he a
bay so naturally! it seemed to play with the sunbeams as if the waves
splashed up against the coast. Now appeared flowers; to the fields and
meadows he gave the coloring of velvet and precious stones; and on the
other side of the bay the dark woods melted away into a bluish mist. "I
can paint!" said the little one; "but the most difficult still remains
to do." And he drew with his delicate finger, just where the rays of the
sun fell most glowingly, a maiden so gentle, so sweet, with dark
blue eyes and cheeks as blooming as the rosy fingers which formed the
picture. And see! a breeze arose; the leaves of the trees quivered;
the expanse of water ruffled itself; the dress of the maiden was
gently stirred; the maiden herself approached: the picture itself was a
reality! And thus did the old royal city present itself before Wilhelm's
eyes, the towers of the cathedral, she tay, the far woods, and--Eva!

The first lov