and dromedaries wend their way, laden with the treasures of the Orient, and guided by watchful leaders in wide many-colored apparel—­where the Tartar, eager for spoil, houses in hidden rocks, or in half-subterranean, rudely excavated huts; follow me into the fruitful valleys, where the sons of Haighk, like the children of Israel, far from the corruption of cities, still live in primeval simplicity, plough their fields and tend their flocks, and practice hospitality in Biblical pureness; follow me to Ararat, which still bears the diluvian Ark upon his king-like, hoary head—­follow me into the highlands of Armenia!

In Paradise we will be happy, and refresh our eyes with a glance at the fair daughters of the land; and at the grave of Noah we will sit down, the drinking-horn in our hand, a song on our lips, and joyous confidence in our hearts; for the God who once when the whole world deserved hanging favored mankind with a watery grave, and suffered only Noah to live because he cultivated the vine and rejoiced in love and drinking, will also to us, who cherish like desires, be as favorable as to the father of post-diluvian men.

MIRZA-JUSSUF

     See Mirza-Jussuf now,
     How critical a wight ’tis! 
     The day displeases him,
     Because for him too bright ’tis.

     He doesn’t like the rose,—­
     Her thorn a sad affront is;
     And doesn’t like mankind,
     Because its nose in front is.

     On ev’rything he spies
     His bitter bane he passes;
     For naught escapes his eyes,
     Except that he an ass is.

     Thus, evermore at strife
     With Art and Nature too,
     By day and night he wanders
     Through wastes of misty blue,

     Mirza-Schaffy bemocks him
     With sly and roguish eye,
     And makes of all his bitterness
     The sweetest melody.

WISDOM AND KNOWLEDGE

     Friend, wouldst know why as a rule
     Bookish learning marks the fool? 
     ’Tis because, though once befriended,
     Learning’s pact with wisdom’s ended. 
     No philosophy e’er throve
     In a nightcap by the stove. 
     Who the world would understand
     In the world must bear a hand. 
     If you’re not to wisdom wed,
     Like the camel you’re bested,
     Which has treasures rich, to bear
     Through the desert everywhere,
     But the use must ever lack
     Of the goods upon his back.

JOHANN JAKOB BODMER

(1698-1783)

In the beginning of the eighteenth century, the political and intellectual life of Germany showed no signs of its imminent awakening.  French supremacy was undisputed.  French was spoken by polite society, and only the middle and lower classes consented to use their mother tongue.  French literature was alone fashionable, and the few scientific works that appeared were published in Latin.  Life was hard and sordid.  Thought and imagination languished.  Such writings as existed were empty, pompous, and pedantic.  Yet from this dreary waste-land was to spring that rich harvest of literature which, in a brief half-century, made the German nation famous.