"Ah, no!" cries he, as if in the excess
of rapture, "she is not far from me now; she is near!" Then advances
Serpentina, in the fulness of beauty and grace, from the Temple;
she bears the Golden Pot, from which a bright Lily has sprung. The
nameless rapture of infinite longing glows in her bright eyes; she
looks at Anselmus, and says: "Ah! Dearest, the Lily has sent forth her
bowl; what we longed for is fulfilled; is there a happiness to equal
ours?" Anselmus clasps her with the tenderness of warmest ardor; the
Lily burns in flaming beams over his head. And louder move the trees
and bushes; clearer and gladder play the brooks; the birds, the
shining insects dance in the waves of perfume; a gay, bright rejoicing
tumult, in the air, in the water, in the earth, is holding the
festival of Love! Now rush sparkling streaks, gleaming over all the
bushes; diamonds look from the ground like shining eyes; high gushes
spurt from the wells; strange perfumes are wafted hither on sounding
wings; they are the Spirits of the Elements, who do homage to the
Lily, and proclaim the happiness of Anselmus. Then Anselmus raises his
head, as if encircled with a beamy glory. Is it looks? Is it words?
Is it song? You hear the sound: "Serpentina! Belief in thee, Love of
thee, has unfolded to my soul the inmost spirit of Nature! Thou hast
brought me the Lily, which sprung from Gold, from the primeval Force
of the earth, before Phosphorus had kindled the spark of Thought; this
Lily is Knowledge of the sacred Harmony of all Beings; and in this do
I live in highest blessedness forevermore.
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