lp but little; and labour, the common doom of man in
the loftiest as well as the lowest walks of life, is requisite to
consummate the triumph.

No man better understood, or more thoroughly acted upon the knowledge of
this analogy, than Goethe. He wrought rigidly by the rule of the artist.
Not one poem, however trifling might be the subject, did he suffer to
escape from his hands, until it had received the final touches, and
undergone the most thorough revision. So far did he carry this
principle, that many of his lesser works seem absolutely mere
transcripts or descriptions of pictures, where the sentiment is rather
inferred than expressed; and in some, for example that which we are
about to quote, he even brings before the reader what may be called the
process of mental painting.

CUPID AS A LANDSCAPE PAINTER

Once I sate upon a mountain,
Gazing on the mist before me;
Like a great grey sheet of canvass,
Shrouding all things in its cover,
Did it float 'twixt earth and heaven.

Then a child appear'd beside me;
Saying, "Friend, it is not seemly,
Thus to gaze in idle wonder,
With that noble breadth before thee.
Hast thou lost thine inspiration?
Hath the spirit of the painter
Died within thee utterly?"

But I turn'd and look'd upon him,
Speaking not, but thinking inly,
"Will he read a lesson now!"

"Folded hands," pursued the infant,
"Never yet have won a triumph.
Look! I'll paint for thee a picture
Such as none have seen before."

And he pointed with his finger,
Which like any rose was ruddy,
And upon the breadth of vapour
With that finger 'gan to draw.

First a glorious sun he painted,
Dazzling when I look'd upon it;
And he made the inner border
Of the clouds around it golden,
With the light rays through the masses
Pouring down in streams of splendour.
Then the tender taper summits
Of the trees, all leaf and glitter,
Started from the sullen void;
And the slopes behind them rising,
Graceful-lined in undulation,
Glided backwards one by one.
Underneath, be sure, was water;
And the stream was drawn so truly
That it seem'd to break and shimmer,
That it seem'd as if cascading
From the lofty rolling wheel.

There were flowers beside the brooklet;
There were colours on the meadow--
Gold and azure, green and purple,