Chapter III

Past me wander beings pallid,
Fill the air with words of anguish:
All our doings are invalid,
Sick and old, we slowly languish.

Have you ne'er the wondrous story
Found in ancient books related,
Of the spring, wherein the hoary
Plunged, then rose rejuvenated?

And this fountain is no fiction,
Within reach of all 'tis flowing;
But you've lost the true direction,
Farther from its traces going.

In the forests' verdant bowers,
Where deep calm the soul entrances,
Where on graceful ferns and flowers
Elves sweep through their nightly dances:

There by stones and moss well hidden,
Rush the waters from the mountain;
From Earth's bosom springs unbidden,
Ever fresh, this magic fountain.

There with peace the soul is ravished;
There the mind regains its powers;
And the wealth of Spring is lavished
O'er old wounds in blossom-showers.

IV.

Wilt thou know the world more clearly,
See then what before thee lies;
How from matter and from forces
The whole fabric doth arise.

Of the fixed forms of creation
Thou the moving cause must see;
In the changes of phenomena
Find what lasts eternally.

In presumptuous opinions
Fresh pure seeds ne'er germinate;
By deep meditation only
Human minds explore, create.