Chapter 10 THE SENSITIVENESS AND EXAGGERATION OF THE ELEGIAC IDYLLIC FEELING

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ually produced a state of melancholy hyper-sensitiveness,

had lain so long deprived of its own, gave rise to a tearful pensiveness, which added zest to restitution. I

ovels, which left no room for Nature, and by the poetry of Young and Thomson; on the other, by the pastoral idylls in

ed little eye for romantic scenery. It is full of descriptive painting, but not of a kind that appeals: scene follows scene with considera

h can satisfy all the wants of man. Even those heaps of ice, those frowning rocks in appearance so sterile, contribute largely to the general good, for they supply inexhaustible fountains to fertilize the land. What a magnificent picture does Nature spread before the eye, when the sun, gilding the top of the Alps, scatters the sea of vapours which undulates below! Through the receding vale the the

andscape! Here rises a bare steep mountain laden with the accumulated snow of ages; its icy head rests among the clouds, repelling the genial rays of the moon and the fervid heat of the dog-star: there a chain of cultivated hills spreads before the delighted eye; their green pastures are enlivened by flocks, and their golden corn waves in the wind: yet climates so different as those are only separated by a cool, narrow valley. Behold that foaming torrent rushing from a perpendicular h

he rigour of the seasons and all the injuries of time! 'Tis in dark and marshy recesses, upon the damp grottos, that crystal rocks are formed. Thus splendour is diffuse

ller's poetry is still, even among the mass of Alpine poetry, unsurpassed for intense power

r life among the great sublimities and with simple people. The poem is not romantic but idyll

hts whence constant

copse, lured by

ay spread out

its own siz

hills, through which the

plea

held sway far as th

od, what left

nts upon the ha

's green shade o'

un-ray through

ight upon the

ng hues green nig

s the quiet of

ee is given

lf is for its

ired with the

odness shews i

o, praises country pleasur

ows! freshly d

r praises

ring have dec

quiet, stim

iable t

alled 'anacreontists.' Gleim, for instance, in his Praise of Country Life: 'Thank God

The Cou

ghs his father's fields; every morning the

riedrich v

. here in the peaceful valley shy wisdom sports at ease

find the religious feeling of many hymn write

iful, O God? For whom are the flowers on hill and d

all, hones

Creator, when I consider Thy might and the wisdom of Thy ways

d Haller as much as Hall

thoughtful and interesting.' It is easy to see that his longer poems cost him much labour; they were not the pure songs of feeling that gush out spontaneously like a spring from the rock. But in eloquence and

s failure to adapt himself to military life

ris b

th warm the f

ok the sky ref

agrant flowers

ts high its

es in waves ac

eld embroiders;

rder of each

green night of

a and earth an

for

, my leisure's

ou murmur lu

e thy sliding smo

ers along thy

with care and

l can calm my

es and odorous

arland blue o

e, where, when

sses seem to s

f, on which I

ger bloom thy

hilly nights

howling dust i

wither in the

ears the sand a

ges, and the

e bespread, the f

eeds, and tramp

at the kettles

e which gushi

dams, and fields

ire across the

rn by crackling

cattle fly; th

ashes the ol

fain would l

eacherous, hear

falling over

arms and feet t

ength against s

exhausted str

wed with holy

aven I vowed a

noble tear

ered, and the

one's comrades

e a man, must

r: 'Great is the Lord! the unnumbered heavens are the chamb

ull of love for Nature. It describes a country walk after the muggy air of town, and conveys

ed shades! Ye dwel

full of sleeping

y soul with longin

ye laughi

ses, labyrint

ecstasy with your

the shade, on

indwelli

, with rose an

ome down fro

fter, fields to

e leafy, and s

d round the wood in

er tint, sweet odo

s pipe was heard by

de! Ah, were

hade by yon l

live! O sky! t

ealth, will not thy

lossom wither, st

within narrow limits. Their titles shew the pastoral taste[4]:--Spring, Morning, Shepherd's Morning Song, The Muse with the S

of warm feeling, espec

lossoming

aste the joy

el its impu

y our cares

ous time o

cchus have

O green sh

of spring

from the th

ght me h

fresh bre

m the wo

tly the wes

stling

s the

s green and

ation is more

s the Spring in

his head. Smiling

uct him to his

rs and they bloom; fres

eturns, the west w

, and happy bir

hou hast deckt with

urce of all th

ted up to Thee

s, that Kleist could write to Gleim[5]: 'The odes please me more the more I read them. With a few exceptions, they have only one faul

an Hagedorn, for example; and though the Anacreontic element was strong in him, he overcame it, and aimed at pure lyrical feeling. From his Life, written by a devoted friend,

r, about the Saale vall

rly spring on

k where heart wit

roth

e garden and the ple

oilt? O friend, '

, near plain an

tle hill and i

le of the streamle

rm interest in all that breathed, even a violet, and sough

om his Mor

awakes, how from

soft wavi

ry smiles in th

ling brook and q

s rustle as sh

own breath ath

er so

ere's the v

gayly

eath fair Fl

sweets

vernal sc

olet bloom

hides the b

fragran

et for bea

d dale

d, the sum

apless ro

hen to yo

freely

many a

margin

nd exhaust

ulet glide

o the bow

h roses

rt of yout

ditties

ind with f

urns the ri

bides the v

n cot a

met her i

fresh a

short is be

in her gr

ves the tu

rural pl

iolet, ril

deftest

ft life's v

losed the p

ure ru

sts are twining, and t

rees upon

llness ere the sno

ture, speak

nd reflection o

r of our hopes

of our joys an

lations and

is, Salomon Gessner made a speciality of elegiac pastoral poetry. He was a better landscapist than poet, and his drawings to illustrate his idylls were better than the poems themselves. The forest, for instance, and the felling of the

to the Reader'[8]

s of calm tranquillity and uninterrupted happiness, and the scenes in which the poet delineates the simple beauties of uncorrupted nature are endeared to us by the resemblance we fancy we perceive in them to the most blissful moments that we nave ourselves enjoyed. Often do I fly from the city and seek the deepest solitudes; there,

wn and his fellows into solitude, there to dream himself back to a happier past

nlight began to

but strew a shadow as they pass over the sunny landscape.... Oh, what joy overwhelms my soul! how beautiful, how excellent is all around, what an inexhaustible source of rapture! From the enlivening sun down to the little plant that his mild influence nourishes, all is wonderful! What rapture overpowers me when I stand on the high hill and look down on the wide-spread landscape beneath me, when I lay stretched along the grass and examine the various

w how universally feeling, in the middle of t

t in Solitude (1761), shewed the same point of view among the mystical and pietist clergy; and Spalding's Human

e.... How indifferent, tasteless, and dead is all the fantastic glamour of artificial splendour and luxuriance in comparison with the living radiance of the real beautiful world of Nature, with the joyousness, repose, and admiration I feel before a meadow in blossom, a rustling stream, the pleasant awesomeness of night,

y reached by degrees. What chiefly made Klopstock a literary reformer was the glowing enthusiasm and powerful imagination which compelled the stiff poetic forms, clumsy as they were, to new rhythm and melodious cadence. And although his style degenerated into mannerism in the Messias, for the youthful impetus which had carried his Pegasus over the clouds to the stars could not keep it there without artificia

husiastic about Nature; his correspondence is the best witness t

ad upon its readers; even Friedenkende spent happy hours reading it wi

om Gustchen Stolberg[10] to

, 25 Apr

fted their fragrance to me, and I began thinking very warmly of all whom I dearly, dearly love, and so very soon came to my dear Klopstock, who certainly has no truer

goes out into the fields of blossoms, and his eyes run over with tears. All creation fills him with yearning and delight. He goes from mountain to valley like a man in a dream. When he sees a stream, he follows its course; when a hill, he must climb it; when a river--oh! if only he could rush with it to the sea! A rock--oh! to look down from its crags to the land below! A hawk hovers over him--oh! to have its wings and fly so mu

than a volume of odes; it contains the real f

which is fatal for me, for I run when I walk ... Often he stands still and silent, as if there were knots w

e? Or shall I call thee beautiful Betty of the Sky?" ... He loved country walks; we made for lonely places, dark fearsome thickets, lonely unfrequented paths, scrambled up all the hills, spied out every bit of Nature, came to rest at last under a shady rock ... Klopstock's life is one constant enjoyment. He gives himself up to feeling, and

se skill the

ng now, and

rths let fa

th me to cr

filled with v

winter mor

e lake. Abo

stars, the gl

nd white is

track with new

e metal's

e, for a mo

a long-remembered visit to Count

full of delightful gloom, and a large lake, with a charming little island in the centre, which

es the lines i

pious

of the echo and

simple personal feeling gives way to th

e 'By a sacred tree, on a raised grass plot two hundred paces from the great alley, and from a view over the Frieden

often told me and still tells, with youthful fervour, about those delightful days and this excursion: the b

letters bear out the remark.[14] Yet delight in Nature was always with him: Klopstock's lofty morality pou

majesty of a

earth, O Moth

er the g

d with th

ne banks of the

limbed the smil

the ro

ng's bre

ng with glee of

hee--with glee of

ng Fanny

far alread

t Zurich in

free son

vine-cl

med the top o

t the heart of

er to th

ns spoke

oris sang, the

phne, dear to K

uths sang

were--

n meadow took

rest, which be

thou, Joy;

full tid

y, thyself; we

of humanit

y dear

nied, t

ring breath, O

cradle thee, an

hearts

s of virg

ling conqueror.

ulous, heaves eac

spell-fr

unfalteri

wine, when to

heart-felt plea

'Socra

wy rose

e bosom bliss, a

nkard knows not

ning to

the sag

ills against t

r voice--and

eat tho

airer, more de

rm to know ones

, who love me

ild us huts of

dwell f

edensborg on

Nature tarry,

beauty over

rn this pl

lingered and s

ranquil! From

gently, wooded

s in its

of the summ

ife are closely blend

, O sil

companion o

e pensive, f

and the clou

aking M

summer's ni

locks the de

he ascend

souls a

with sacred m

I, might I

ng night, th

s odes, and parts of the Messias, shew great love for Nature. T

s of light, adore, deeply adore and sunk in ecstasy. Only around the drop on the bucket, only around the earth, wo

when the streams of light rushed, and the seven stars began t

s adown the rock a storm-cloud, and girded Orion, then flowedst thou, drop, out of the hand of

golden, art fluttering beside me, thou li

ar, how with loud waves they stream athwart the for

earth with the gracious rain;

in gentle pleasant murmurs comes Jehova

rlds, he calls the sta

his own nothingness, in presence of th

ts that glitt

me! Trancin

lorious work

Thou in Thy

aze upon thes

elf so little,

st, and the gr

e, such raptu

for Nature to a higher pitch, thereby excelling all his contemporaries. His poetry always t

conventional began to wane, and Nature's own voice was heard again. The songs of Claudius were like a breath of spring.[15

ING

y-star's run

my face,

en dis

n will look dow

our meal over d

d artif

artifice, gives as great a ple

ht is delightful in its naive humour

ttle one. Why

tender and

easily comet

ittle ones is

all, but he ev

ere he sends be

raven, he go

her was young

poems is the exqu

hath rise

he clear

stars all b

and hushed

the field

ists hover

the earth,

and home

twilight dot

some qui

t in still

y the daylig

ey. None of the moonshine poets of h

l it is!

reeze

isp in whisper an

he rivulet runni

le laps the edge of

ws the veil thou we

the hush--a hush

t! she comes, unl

slow sweep of

vives the t

e Village, and Hoelty's mild enthusiasm, touche

ly enthusiasm; all I ask is a hut, a forest, a m

try Life shews that moral

who has the

ling trees, the

ing pebb

nd wisdom'

e on him sings

e rewakes him,

nes the

g through

es Thee in th

ding pomp of

Thy glor

the buddin

gushes in the

ers streams the

he breadt

tle air

thatch, where dov

hop, invites t

den hall

of dow

the plu

and whis

m his q

bs or pea

ter Son

joys ar

s bloom

oys are

e snow-dri

ul eve

now i

plumèd

e woods w

trees are

w-birds t

strive

o cold a

, stil

harms

chilly

ms fierce

dear d

ong, lon

ust and cheerful. He put his strength into his longer poems; the lyrics contai

shine; fair were the forests of white barked birch beyond, and the fir-trees, lovely the village at the foot half hid by the wood. Lovely Luise had welcomed her parents and shewn them a green mound unde

ay, in both the brothers Stolberg. In Christian Stolberg's E

e 'mong the t

celesti

ig-tree, bow

ranting

ine, invitin

nging

al Sp

very prophet of Nature; i

love Nature cann

serve as the mo

re, heave