“He was already in his saddle, when he uttered these last words, and stretched out his hand as if in supplication, towards his friend, who turned aside and drew back his arm in token of refusal. ‘What has come into your head?’ he said, smiling reluctantly. ‘Ah, friend Conrad, if I had already said every one has his appointed way, I would cry out to thee turn back, thou volatile heedless one! Youth fades away, the jest becomes hushed, the laugh will one day be found suddenly to fail, because the face has become too stiff, or grins repulsively from withered wrinkles! Woe then to him whose garners are not full, whose chambers are not stored! Ah, there must be something dismal in such a base, impoverished old age, and the proverb is right which says: ‘Those who at morn too merry are, shall reap at night sorrow and care.’ Looking upon thee thus, oh brother of my youth, I may well feel troubled about thee, for who knows in what altered condition I may find thee again.’ “The knight gave the student’s hand a hearty shake and cried: ‘Perhaps thou wilt be transformed when we meet again--wilt be decked out in velvet and satin, and surpass us all!’ He darted off, and in the distance the student heard him sing a song which was then in every mouth, and sounded something like this: ‘No fairer flow’r, I vow, is known Than that bright rose, sweet woman’s lips, With such luxuriance swelling. Close-lock’d at first, this flow’ret keeps, When as an infant bud ’tis shown All bold assaults repelling. But every flow’r is wash’d by May, On rosy lips he plants a kiss, And straight we see them fully blowing. Then rosy lips should find a kiss, And every kiss should in its day Find lips with fondness glowing.’ “A butterfly flew up before the student. ‘Is not the life of most men,’ he said, ‘to be compared to the fluttering of this moth? Light and motley he goes flaunting about, and yet how barren and short are his joys.’ He rolled about his great eyes, but only an empty alternation of light and shade reached these dim mirrors, not the full form, the fine colour. The wood looked on him from its green depths with an irresistible glance. ‘Suppose,’ he said, ‘I leave my patient beast awhile on this grass-plot; it will not run away from me, and I feel the warmest desire to wander there for an hour. How refreshing it must be in the depths of the wood!’