Later in life his anguish is openly expressed in his philosophical letters. “I felt, and I was happy. Raphael has taught me to think, and I am now ready to lament my own creation. You have stolen my faith that gave me peace. You have taught me to despise what I once reverenced. A thousand things were very venerable to me before your sorry wisdom stripped me of them. I saw a multitude of people going to church; I heard their earnest worship as they united in fraternal prayer; I cried aloud, ‘That truth must be divine which the best of men profess, which conquers so triumphantly and consoles so sweetly.’ Your cold reason has quenched my enthusiasm. ‘Believe no one,’ you said, ‘but your reason; there is nothing more holy than truth.’ I listened, and offered up all my opinions. My reason is now become everything to me; it is my only guarantee for divinity, virtue, and immortality. Woe unto me henceforth, if I come in conflict with this sole security!” The following lines are given as a specimen of his verse. They are taken from Carlyle’s translation of the “Song of the Alps:” By the edge of the chasm is a slippery track, The torrent beneath, and the mist hanging o’er thee; The cliffs of the mountains, huge, rugged, and black, Are frowning like giants before thee; And, would’st thou not waken the sleeping Lawine, Walk silent and soft through the deadly ravine. That bridge with its dizzying, perilous span, Aloft o’er the gulf and its flood suspended, Think’st thou it was built by the art of man, By his hand that grim old arch was bended? Far down in the jaws of the gloomy abyss The water is boiling and hissing—forever will hiss. Duty—Fame of. What shall I do to be forever known? Thy duty ever. This did full many who yet slept unknown— Oh! never, never! Thinkest thou, perchance, that they remain unknown Whom _thou_ knowest not? By angel trumps in heaven their praise is blown, Divine their lot. What shall I do to gain eternal life? Discharge aright The simple dues with which each day is rife? Yea, with thy might. Ere perfect scheme of action thou devise, Life will be fled, While he who ever acts as conscience cries Shall live, though dead. The following verse is from the oft-recited “Song of the Bell,” and is exquisite: Ah! seeds how dearer far than they We bury in the dismal tomb, When hope and sorrow bend to pray, That suns beyond the realm of day May warm them into bloom. JOHANN WOLFGANG GOETHE.