Weighing the terror of Death;
Till I bethought me of thee, my Sappho,
And of my comrades all,
And of the muses' lore,
When straightway the tears ran fast.

But there on the table gleamed a beautiful hair-net, thy gift,
Costly handwork of Byssos, spangled with golden bees.
This, when next in the flowery festal season
We shall worship the glorious child of Demeter,
This will I offer to her for thy and my sake,
So may she favor us both (for she much availeth),
That no mourning lock thou untimely sever
From thy beloved head for thy poor Erinna.

* * * * *

MOZART'S JOURNEY FROM VIENNA TO PRAGUE
(about 1850)

A ROMANCE OF HIS PRIVATE LIFE

BY EDUARD MOeRIKE

TRANSLATED BY FLORENCE LEONARD

In the fall of the year 1787 Mozart and his wife undertook a journey to
Prague, where he was to finish and bring out his masterpiece, _Don
Juan_.

Eleven o'clock of the fourteenth of September found them well on their
way and in the best of spirits. They had been traveling two days, and
were about one hundred and twenty miles from Vienna, among the beautiful
Maehrische mountains. The splendid coach, drawn by three post-horses,
belonged to an elderly Frau Volkstett, wife of General Volkstett, who
prided herself on her intimacy with the Mozarts and on the favors she
had shown them. The carriage was painted a bright yellowish-red, the
body adorned with garlands of gay-colored flowers, the wheels finished
with narrow stripes of gold. The high top was fitted with stiff leather
curtains, now drawn back and fastened.

The dress of the travelers was simple, for the new clothes to be worn at
court were carefully packed in the trunk. Mozart wore an embroidered
waistcoat of a somewhat faded blue, his ordinary brown coat--with a row
of large, curiously fashioned gilt buttons--black silk stockings and
small-clothes, and shoes with gilt buckles. As the day grew warm,
unusually warm for September, he had taken off both hat and coat and was
sitting in his shirt-sleeves, bare headed, serenely chatting. His thick
hair, drawn back into a braid, was powdered even more carelessly than
usual.

Frau Mozart's hair, a wealth of light brown curls, never disfigured by
powder, fell, half unfastened, upon her shoulders. She wore a
traveling-suit of striped stuff--light green and white.

They were slowly ascending a gentle slope, where rich fields alternated
with long stretches of woodland