The Sorrows of Young Werther | Page 2

the young spring cheers with its bounteous promises my
oftentimes misgiving heart. Every tree, every bush, is full of flowers; and one might wish
himself transformed into a butterfly, to float about in this ocean of perfume, and find his
whole existence in it.
The town itself is disagreeable; but then, all around, you find an inexpressible beauty of
nature. This induced the late Count M to lay out a garden on one of the sloping hills
which here intersect each other with the most charming variety, and form the most lovely
valleys. The garden is simple; and it is easy to perceive, even upon your first entrance,
that the plan was not designed by a scientific gardener, but by a man who wished to give
himself up here to the enjoyment of his own sensitive heart. Many a tear have I already
shed to the memory of its departed master in a summer-house which is now reduced to
ruins, but was his favourite resort, and now is mine. I shall soon be master of the place.
The gardener has become attached to me within the last few days, and he will lose
nothing thereby.
MAY 10.
A wonderful serenity has taken possession of my entire soul, like these sweet mornings
of spring which I enjoy with my whole heart. I am alone, and feel the charm of existence
in this spot, which was created for the bliss of souls like mine. I am so happy, my dear
friend, so absorbed in the exquisite sense of mere tranquil existence, that I neglect my
talents. I should be incapable of drawing a single stroke at the present moment; and yet I
feel that I never was a greater artist than now. When, while the lovely valley teems with
vapour around me, and the meridian sun strikes the upper surface of the impenetrable
foliage of my trees, and but a few stray gleams steal into the inner sanctuary, I throw
myself down among the tall grass by the trickling stream; and, as I lie close to the earth, a
thousand unknown plants are noticed by me: when I hear the buzz of the little world
among the stalks, and grow familiar with the countless indescribable forms of the insects
and flies, then I feel the presence of the Almighty, who formed us in his own image, and
the breath of that universal love which bears and sustains us, as it floats around us in an
eternity of bliss; and then, my friend, when darkness overspreads my eyes, and heaven
and earth seem to dwell in my soul and absorb its power, like the form of a beloved
mistress, then I often think with longing, Oh, would I could describe these conceptions,
could impress upon paper all that is living so full and warm within me, that it might be
the mirror of my soul, as my soul is the mirror of the infinite God! O my friend -- but it is
too much for my strength -- I sink under the weight of the splendour of these visions!

MAY 12.
I know not whether some deceitful spirits haunt this spot, or whether it be the warm,
celestial fancy in my own heart which makes everything around me seem like paradise.
In front of the house is a fountain, -- a fountain to which I am bound by a charm like
Melusina and her sisters. Descending a gentle slope, you come to an arch, where, some
twenty steps lower down, water of the clearest crystal gushes from the marble rock. The
narrow wall which encloses it above, the tall trees which encircle the spot, and the
coolness of the place itself, -- everything imparts a pleasant but sublime impression. Not
a day passes on which I do not spend an hour there. The young maidens come from the
town to fetch water, -- innocent and necessary employment, and formerly the occupation
of the daughters of kings. As I take my rest there, the idea of the old patriarchal life is
awakened around me. I see them, our old ancestors, how they formed their friendships
and contracted alliances at the fountain-side; and I feel how fountains and streams were
guarded by beneficent spirits. He who is a stranger to these sensations has never really
enjoyed cool repose at the side of a fountain after the fatigue of a weary summer day.
MAY 13.
You ask if you shall send me books. My dear friend, I beseech you, for the love of God,
relieve me from such a yoke! I need no more to be guided, agitated, heated. My heart
ferments sufficiently of itself. I want strains to lull me, and I find them to perfection in
my Homer. Often do I strive to allay the