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THE GERMAN GELLERT.

they are filled with silly and absurd fables, and contain many impurities. They make no discovery of the just character of the only living and true God, though they contain much concerning religion. As to the history by Herodotus, it contains much that is merely fabulous and untrue; but as far as it records the transactions of his own age, or describes the things within the compass of his own observation, or details matters of fact, of which he was correctly informed, his statements confirm the faithfulness and accuracy of the records contained in the holy and inspired word of the Lord.

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THINK'ST thou to be concealed, thou little stream,
That through the lowly vale dost wend thy way,
Loving beneath the darkest arch to glide

Of woven branches, blent with hillock gray?
The mist doth track thee, and reveal thy course
to the dawn, and a bright line of green
Tinting thy marge, and the white flocks that haste
At summer noon to taste thy crystal sheen,
Make plain thy wanderings to the eye of day-
And then thy smiling answer to the moon,
Whose beams so freely on thy bosom sleep,

Unfold thy secret e'en to night's dull noon;
How could'st thou hope, in such a world as this,
To shroud thy gentle path of beauty and of bliss?

Think'st thou to be concealed, thou little seed,
That in the bosom of the earth art cast,
And there, like cradled infant, sleep'st awhile,
Unmoved by trampling storm, or thunder-blast?
Thou bid'st thy time; for herald spring shall come
And wake thee, all unwilling as thou art,
Unhood thine eyes, unfold thy clasping sheath,
And stir the languid pulses of thy heart;
The living rains shall woo thee, and the dews
· Weep o'er thy bed, and ere thou art aware,

Forth steals the tender leaf, the wiry stem,
The trembling bud, the flower that scents the air,
And soon, to all, thy ripened fruitage tells
The evil or the good that in thy nature dwells.
Think'st thou to be concealed, thou little thought,
That in the curtained chamber of the soul
Dost wrap thyself so close, and dream to do

A secret work? Look to the hues that roll
O'er the changed brow-the moving lip behold,
Linking thee unto speech-the feet that run
Upon thy errands, and the deeds that stamp

Thy lineage plain before the noonday sun;
Look to the pen that writes thy history down
In those tremendous books that ne'er unclose
Until the Day of Doom, and blush to see

How vain thy trust in darkness to repose,

Where all things tend to judgment. So beware,

Oh, erring human heart! what thoughts thou lodgest

ther e.

THE GERMAN GELLERT.

BY REV. E. H. GILLETTE.

275

THE name of Gellert occupies an honorable place among the German poets. His unblemished character and pure life entitle him to our respect as a man, and the originality of his genius gives him a position far above the mediocre and imitative class of authors. His poems are at once pleasing and instructive, often combining the keenest wit and the most playful fancy with the purest strains of morality and of religion. Every page of his writings shows the careful observer, the sound moralist, and the true philosopher.

Christian Fürchtegott Gellert was born in Hainichen, a small city not far from Freyberg, the capital of the Erzgebirge, in Upper Saxony, on the 4th of July, 1715. His father, a most worthy, pure-minded, and pious man was settled in that place as clergyman for more than half a century. His mother was of a kindred spirit to her husband, and they educated a large family of thirteen children to habits of virtue and religion. Several of these became distinguished men, and rose to posts of eminence and honor. In glancing over the names of the family, we seem to have fallen upon a Puritan nomenclature. Live-right, Honor-God, and Christian Fear-God, the name of our poet, the fifth son of the family, remind us of the. genealogies of the days of Cromwell. The children were all educated to habits of useful industry. The necessities of the family required it, and the poet earned, even in his childish years, a considerable suin by the copying or preparation of public documents. At this early age he gave evidence of his peculiar taste and genius. A poem which he presented to his father on the occasion of his birthday betrays the same spirit which, in his after productions, so pleasantly combined a genial humor with the sentiments of piety and virtue. The quaint, old-fashioned parsonage was supported by fifteen pillars, and as this was at that time the exact number of the children living, Gellert ingeniously availed himself of the suggestion which represented these, too, as pillars of the genealogical mansion.

At the age of fourteen, Gellert was sent to the Academy at Meissen, some twenty miles from home, to pursue his studies. Pedantry and a severe discipline enforced upon the young scholar the pursuit of the Greek and Latin languages, to the total neglect of his own native tongue. German literature was as little regarded a3

276

THE GERMAN GELLERT.

the war-songs of the Hurons. In fact it could scarcely be said to have a living existence. The poets of that day were Gunther and Neukirch, names now almost forgotten. They furnished the only accessible model by which Gellert could form his poetic taste. The traces of their baneful rather than improving influence are visible in some even of his later works. Even the study of the ancient classics, to which he afterwards devoted himself, did not altogether purify the taste which they had corrupted.

At the school of Meissen, he formed an acquaintance with Gärtner, and with Rabener, whose satirical genius has immortalized his name.

At the age of nineteen he went with them to the university at Leipsic. His teachers here were Hebenstreit, Clausing, Gottsched, the poet, and the excellent Mosheim, the father of modern pulpit eloquence in Germany. The last became a favorite with Gellert, and contributed in no small degree to excite the enthusiasm and shape the aims of the poet.

After four years at the University, Gellert returned to his father's house. It had been the cherished wish of the parents that their son should become a preacher, and for this he had been educated. He now ventured tremblingly to make his first appearance in the pulpit which his father had so long occupied. All around him, curious to observe and criticise, sat the friends and companions of his childhood. It was a terrible ordeal for a sensitive mind to pass through, and to add to its severity, his father scrupulously insisted that he should take no notes with him into the pulpit. Scarcely were the introductory exercises complete, and Gellert had risen to commence his discourse, when his memory entirely forsook him, and he found himself unable to utter another word. The impression of this first failure upon a mind so sensitive as his own, followed him in every after pulpit effort, and persecuted him with such a sense of his unfitness for the calling, that he determined to relinquish it, as one for which he had no vocation.

It was not long before, on the occasion of a nephew going to the university at Leipsic, he returned to the scene endeared to him by so many pleasant memories. He supported himself by teaching, while his chief pursuit was the readHis friend Ebert asing of the ancient classics. sisted him in the study of the English, and to the reading of French literature he devoted himself as pastime. It was just at this period that there was gathered at Leipsic a circle of young

men,

afterwards of eminence in German literature, with whom Gellert became an intimate associate. Geisecke, Zacharia, Gärtner, Klop. stock, Rabener, Ebert, Elias and Adolph Schlegel, Andrew Cramer, Arnold Schmidt, and others, were numbered among his friends. Among these genial spirits arose a school of critical taste, whose influence upon German literature was of a marked kind, and which numbered among its members some of the most distinguished names among the poets and prose writers of the century.

Gellert's ambition was to fit himself for a position of useful eminence as a teacher, and obtain an appointment that would relieve him from the necessity of private tuition for a livelihood. He made no secret of his aims. With feeble health he prosecuted the object with untiring diligence. He gave prelections on scientific, literary, historical, and rhetorical subjects. His ability, taste, and careful preparation secured approbation and an increasing audience. His leisure hours were devoted to the recreations of friendship.

It was while thus engaged, from 1740 to 1750, that his fables appeared. In a literary aspect the time was dark and unpromising. Their reception, however, was enthusiastic. They became the book of the nation. The genius of Gellert had opened him a way to the hearts and affections of his countrymen of every class. He was not merely admired but loved. Innumerable testimonials of lively gratitude poured in upon him. On one cold winter's day, a peasant came bringing him a huge team load of split firewood, which he dumped before his door, saying, as he did it, "the poor poet who has made us so happy in our own warm room by his fables, may now keep warm in his own."

Gellert published several other works, dramas, tales, separate treatises, academical lectures, &c., which are to be found in the collection of his works. But it was only his "Spiritual Songs" which added any thing to the popular reputation which he had now acquired. These appeared in 1757. They were received, like his fables, with popular enthusiasm. Thousands sung to the praise and honor of God in the songs composed by Gellert. They were adopted largely by the churches throughout the land as their hymns for public worship. Few lyric poets have so well succeeded in expressing the religious feeling of the mass as Gellert. His songs glow with the warmth of an elevated devotion. Some are characterized by a grand and lofty spirit. There are none which do not bear the seal of purity, virtue, religion, and inspiring fervor.

THE GERMAN GELLERT.

It is, however, by his fables that Gellert is best known. They have been translated into several modern languages, and have earned abroad for their author the reputation at once of Poet and Philosopher, Many of them are of such equal merit that it is difficult to say which are to be preferred. We give several taken almost at random from his works. The fable is usually ingenious, and the moral always excellent.

THE LAND OF THE LAME AND STUTTERING.

A land there was of narrow bound,
In time of old, where none was found
Who did not limp whene'er he walked,
Who did not stutter when he talked,
Each imperfection was a grace,
Among that limping, stuttering race

A foreigner whose hmbs were sound,
And speech correct, would be renowned
As their superior, bent to teach
Them wisdom, far above their reach.
Admiring them, they'd learn to talk,
And following him, they'd learn to walk.
He went. Observed by every eye,
A laugh went round as he passed by;
And each one stuttering in his talk,
Cried, "teach the stranger how to walk."
The stranger felt in duty bound
To shift the imputation round.
"Ye limp, not I," he cried; "but see
My walk; unlearn your own from me."
The wonder grew while yet the word
Was on his lips, no sooner heard,
They cried, "No stutterer! What shame!"
Throughout the land they scorn his name.
'Tis custom makes these failings fair,
Which from our youth familiar are.
The wise man has a thankless pain
To show us fools. He strives in vain.
In our esteem, a fool is he,
Simply because more wise than we.

THE SCULPTOR.

In Athens once a sculptor wrought,
Whose soul the meed of merit sought,
Rather than goid. His Mars to view,
Invites a connoisseur whose true
And tasteful genius he could trust,
And asks of him a critique just.

"Tell me," said he, "What judgment you
Form of it. Be a critic true."
His friend replied with honest heart,
"The work betrays too much of art.”
In vain the artist strives to show
The matter otherwise, but no!
His friend on reasoning grounds persists,
Which yet the painter still regists.

Just then a starched and pompous fool, Froud of his judgment, fresh from school, Entered, exclaiming as he glanced, In language glowing and entranced, "Ye gods! lo, what a masterpiece! The foot so pat, the nails so nice!

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With sad complaint and bitter moans
That Zeus delights in human groans,

The traveller fares along.

At every blast that swept the ground,
Or fiercely raved his path around,
He charges Zeus with wrong.

A neighboring forest he descries,
To this with hopeful haste he hies,
For shelter from the storm.
Yet ere he reached the friendly shade,
A robber from the forest glade,

Confronts his shivering form.

To grasp his bow, the robber fajn,
Finds it is slackened by the rain,

And fails him in the strife.
For wind and rain against him fight,
And help to check the arrow's flight,
And save the traveller's life.

"Thou fool!" spake Zeus, "learn now if I Send storms too fiercely from the sky,

Or joy in human pain.

If at your prayer the sun had shone,
Its light had cost thy dying moan,
That's saved thee by the rain."

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In the following fable the atheist's theory of the origin of the universe is finely exposed:

THE FLY AND THE TEMPLE.

Upon a temple splendid, fair,

From which art looked with lasting pride,
Whose beauty wondering eyes declare,
Whose symmetry no failings hide;
Upon this temple simply grand,
And yet adorned with tasteful skill,
Perched on a stone, a fly doth stand,
In mood of gloom, that bodeth ill.

He thinks. In deep and earnest gaze,
His dark eyes send abroad their blaze,
That searches with a flash of light,

The very heart of deepest night.

There stands the fly, while deep thoughts trace Their meaning lines upon his face,

At last exclaims, in tones severe,

"How came this mighty building here?

278

THE GERMAN GELLERT.

Is there some one that reared its frame,
And left no vestige of his name?
Is so, I surely cannot see,

Who this unknown some one can be."
An aged spider listening heard,
And promptly answered in a word,
"Art built this temple. Thy blear eye,
May in it nought of skill descry.
But law and system in each part,
Betray most clear the hand of art."

At this Sir Fly laughed loud in scorn,
"Art? what is't?" said he, "I'll be sworn
None knows. I think and think again,
Yet find my efforts all are vain.
What is it then? How came it here?
'Tis all a fable; that is clear.

I scorn the fiction; but of me,
Learn how this structure came to be.
Once on a time a host of stones
Met here, and like the jointed bones,
Fitted themselves each to the other,
And found each one its destined brother.
From these sprang this huge hollow stone,
Composed of all, all blent in one,
What speculation can refine,
A theory more just than mine?"

Such theory we pardon in a fly;

Brt mighty thinkers live, who yet deny,
Aught other origin of earth but chance,
And accident for Deity advance.
They live at random rather far than own
A God exalted on the eternal throne.

We might forgive these errors of their schools,
Could we as we cannot-admit them fools.

We had marked several other fables for insertion, but limited space forbids further extracts.

It only remains to speak of Gellert as a man, and of the closing years of his life. The failure of his health withered many of his cherished hopes, and in the very prime of manhood made him shrink from accepting the honors which were within his reach and which were freely offered him. All vied in their respect for a poet, whose humanity and virtues they admired, and whose genius they almost adored. He was the friend of all. His pupils revered him as a father, while they loved him as a brother. The king appropriated a yearly sum for his support. The court of Saxony appointed him professor extraordinary of philosophy. Prince Henry sent him as a present the favorite horse which he rode in the battle of Freiberg, with the direction to accept the gift, and use it in riding for his health. Frederick the second invited him to his table, and called him "the most sensible of the German philosophers." All Germany took interest in his welfare. His failing health excited universal anxiety. Many were his pupils, but the youth of the German nation had learned his songs and loved their author. Even Goethe becomes almost enthusiastic when he speaks of his old

teacher. "The respect and love with which Gellert was regarded by all young people, was very remarkable. Soon after my arrival at Leipsic, I called upon him, and was received in the most kindly manner. Of medium size, not slender, but well proportioned, with soft and even mournful eyes, and exceedingly fair forehead, a somewhat Roman nose, a fine mouth, a face pleasantly oval; all composed an exterior that interested and won the beholder. "

The last fifteen years of his life were to Gellart a protracted period of suffering. He was supported through the whole only by a faith purified and strengthened in its own trials. Sometimes he almost yielded to a desponding gloom. His days wore on anxious, heavy, and troubled, while his nights, if not sleepless, were a chain of terrible dreams. But his devotion rose above them all, and drew him nearer to God. To the last he continued his works of love and beneficence. His sleepless nights were often spent in answering letters from persons whom he had never known, asking his advice.

Gellert tried the baths of Carlsbad and Lauchstädt, but found no relief. The most skilful medical aid was vain. When his danger was announced, the report of it spread with almost electric speed through the land. The Prince sent his own physician express from Dresden to attend him. It was all in vain. Four days before he died he took leave of his friends, bestowing upon them his parting blessing. Then rose upon his bed of suffering, bared his gray head, and prayed with such fervor of spirit, such a glow of devotion, with heavenward look so calm and happy, that his friends seemed to be gazing upon a dying apostle. With the 13th of December, 1769, his earthly career closed.

All Germany mourned his departure. The hand of friendship and respect reared a tasteful alabaster monument over his grave, and pilgrims visited it from afar as a holy shrine.

"And humanity shall honor him”—says one who had learned his character and knew his life -"while religion and virtue are prized among men; and that shall be for ever."

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THE EMPRESS OF RUSSIA.

279

THE EMPRESS OF RUSSIA.

In the town of Marienburg lived a Lutheran minister by the name of Skovronski, who was remarkable for his piety, benevolence, and unwearied efforts in doing good. On returning to his humble dwelling one evening, his attention was attracted by the cries of a child. His horse showed an unwillingness to proceed; he dismounted, and at a short distance on the snow he discovered the object of distress. There lay a half-frozen child. Wrapping it in his cloak, he remounted his horse, and in a short time was at the parsonage.

That child was a beautiful little girl, not a year old. It was at once adopted by the pastor, and placed in the care of his faithful servant, an old lady, who had long resided in the family. She was named Catharine, from the circumstance that she was found on St. Catherine's day, the twenty-fifth of November. She was nursed with great care and tenderness, and treated by the family as an only child. Her beauty, docility, and sweet temper attracted the attention of all who saw her. A more lovely little creature could hardly be imagined.

As she grew up, she interested herself in the management of the household affairs, and was always ready to assist as occasion required. The venerable Skovronski was growing old, and, under his excessive labors for the good of his flock, his naturally robust constitution was evidently giving way. This deeply affected Catherine, for she loved the good old man as her best earthly friend. She respected him as a parent; but she could never forget that it was he who saved her life. When he became ill, she would do all for him in her power, and often cheered his lonely hours by singing some beautiful hymns. She would often say, "My dear father, what can I do for you! Can I not render you some assistance! Can I do too much for one who saved my life?"

On the twentieth of August, 1702, Marienberg was taken by the Russians, and many of its inhabitants slain. It was a sad day. Many heartrending scenes were witnessed. Catherine at this time was thirteen years of age, and at the time of the battle was visiting the sister of Skovronski, a few miles distant. She heard the cannon, but did not understand the cause. This part of our story must be described by another. Though a slight thread of fiction may be seen in the description, it will give a life-like air to the facts presented.

A horse suddenly stopped at the door of the

cottage, and a young man hastily dismounted. "The Russians are at Marienberg!" exclaimed he, rushing into the apartment. "I have escaped with difficulty to bring this letter from your brother, (addressing the pastor's sister,) who has given this horse for my use."

"Do tell me what has occurred at Marienberg," said Catherine.

"Why, do you not hear the cannon! General Scheremetief, with the army, is bombarding Marienberg. Oh, it is a cruel sight to behold!" "My father, my benefactor!" cried Catherine, sobbing.

Such was her anxiety to see her best earthly friend, that she immediately started for Marienberg; but on reaching the town she was met by one of the guard, with, "Where are you going?"

'What is that to you !" replied the young girl. "I am in haste, and pray you let me pass."

"You, of course, are not aware, then, that the town is in the hands of the Russians," said the

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'Catherine," she quickly replied; "I am the adopted child of the pastor Skovronski."

"Thou art a Livonian," replied the officer. "Livonia belongs now to our Czar, Peter I. of Russia; you are therefore a prisoner."

"Touch me not," said Catherine, her beautiful dark eyes flashing. "I returned to Marienberg to find my adopted father. Conduct me, then, to him-in his house-in a dungeon-no matter where so that I may find him."

As the officer did not seem disposed to comply with her request, she inquired, "Who is your General !"

"Gen. Scheremetief," was the reply.
"I wish, then, to speak to the General."

In a few moments, as the Cossack officer was inquiring where the General could be found, an old woman, perceiving her, uttered a cry of despair. "Oh, my dear child, you will see your protector no more! He died on the battle-field by a Russian bullet, while in the act of binding up the wounds of a poor soldier. He is dead

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