Now he had returned to his seat and was counting the money. "Seventeen gold-pieces and thirty dollars. I thank you, my friends! You have saved a human life; you have redeemed a soul from purgatory! To-morrow night I will take this love-offering to the poor youth; the blessing of a good man will then rest on your closed eyelids, and you will be rewarded with sweet dreams and a happy awakening. Now, my dear friends, you shall receive from the poet's lips the thanks that are glowing in my heart. Now, you shall hear the exulting song to joy which Körner supposed the Muses were whispering in my ear. Raise your glasses and listen; when I incline my head repeat the words last spoken." Schiller arose, drew a small, folded sheet of paper from his pocket, opened it, glanced over it hastily, and then let it fall on the table. He did not require it; his song resounded in his mind and brain; it was written on the tablets of his heart, and his lips now uttered it exultantly: "Joy, thou brightest heaven-lit spark, Daughter from the Elysian choir, On thy holy ground we walk, Reeling with ecstatic fire!" His eyes shone with enthusiasm, his cheeks glowed, and a heavenly smile illumined his whole countenance, while reciting his song "To Joy." His friends caught the inspiration of his poem, arose with one accord from their seats, clasped hands and gazed into each other's eyes--into the eyes that shone lustrously, although they were filled with tears. Now, at the culminating point of his rapture, Schiller's countenance suddenly quivered with pain as he recited a second verse of his song: "Yea--who calls _one_ soul his own, _One_ on all earth's ample round:-- Who cannot, may steal alone, Weeping from our holy ground." "Who cannot, may steal alone, weeping from our holy ground," repeated his friends. The tears gushed from their eyes; they clasped hands more firmly, and listened breathlessly to the words of the poet, whose voice now rose again to the high tones of enthusiasm. It was almost like an adoration of joy, friendship, and love. Their hearts beat higher, mightier and mightier the waves of rapture surged in their kindred souls. "Myriads join the fond embrace! 'Tis the world's inspiring kiss. Friends, yon dome of starry bliss Is a loving father's place." They embraced each other; they wept, but with rapture, with enthusiasm. The kiss that passed from mouth to mouth was given to the whole world; for all that the world could offer of love, of friendship, and of happiness, the friends found combined at the happy festival to which Schiller had dedicated his song "To Joy." CHAPTER VII. TOGETHER ONCE MORE.