And when the storm has blown out of your path the poor dust, which to-day lives and breathes, loves and despairs, grant it a place in your memory." Maria shuddered, for deep despair looked forth with a sullen glow from the eyes that met hers.

Seized with an anxious foreboding, she exclaimed: "What are you thinking of, Georg?
for Christ's sake! tell me what is in your mind." "Nothing wrong, Maria, nothing wrong.

We birds now sing differently.
Whoever can saunter, with lukewarm blood and lukewarm pleasures, from one decade to another in peace and honor, is fortunate.

My blood flows in a swifter course, and what my eager soul has once clasped with its polyp arms, it will never release until the death-hour comes.

I am going, never to return; but I shall take you and my love with me to battle, to the grave .-- I go, I go--" "Not so, Georg, you must not part from me thus." Then cry: 'Stay!' Then say: 'I am here and pity you!' But don't expect the miserable wretch, whom you have blinded, to open his eyes, behold and enjoy the beauties of the world.