"A certain evil spirit then Began in secret me to visit. Grievous were our meetings, His smile, and his wonderful glance, His speeches, these so stinging, Cold poison poured into my soul. Providence with slander Inexhaustible he tempted; Of Beauty as a dream he spake And inspiration he despised; Nor love, nor freedom trusted he, On life with scorn he looked-- And nought in all nature To bless he ever wished." And this demon--"the Spirit of Denial, the Spirit of Doubt"--of which he sings afterwards so pathetically tormented him long. He began with "Questionings:"-- "Useless gift, accidental gift, Life, why art thou given me? Or, why by fate mysterious To torture art thou doomed? "Who with hostile power me Out has called from the nought? Who my soul with passion thrilled, Who my spirit with doubt has filled?..." And he continues with "Sleeplessness:"-- "I cannot sleep, I have no light; Darkness 'bout me, and sleep is slow; The beat monotonous alone Near me of the clock is heard Of the Fates the womanish babble, Of sleeping night the trembling, Of life the mice-like running-about,-- Why disturbing me art thou? What art thou, O tedious whisper? The reproaches, or the murmur Of the day by me misspent? What from me wilt thou have? Art thou calling or prophesying? Thee I wish to understand, Thy tongue obscure I study now." 13. And this demon gives him no rest, even long after he had found the answer,--that the meaning of Life is in _Work_. Solve the problem of life? _Live_, and you solve it; and to live means to do. But that work was the solution of the problem of life he indeed discerned but vaguely. It was with him not yet conscious fulfilment. He had not yet formulated to himself the gospel he unconsciously obeyed. Hence the wavering of the "Task:"-- "The longed-for moment here is. Ended is my long-yeared task. Why then sadness strange me troubles secretly? My task done, like needless hireling am I to stand, My wage in hand, to other task a stranger? Or my task regret I, of night companion silent mine, Gold Aurora's friend, the friend of my sacred household gods?" 14. And for the same reason, when he had ceased to be a roamer and at last settled down to quiet home-life, the memory of the days of yore still gives him a pang; and at the sight of the gypsies, whose free and easy life once occupied his thoughts seriously, not only to sing of them, but to live with them, only a plaintive note bursts forth from his soul:-- "Thee I greet, O happy race! I recognize thy blazes, I myself at other times These tents would have followed. "With the early rays to-morrow Shall disappear your freedom's trace, Go you will--but not with you Longer go shall the bard of you.