"Wouldst thou be for ever dull and idle,"
Said the boy, "no wisdom thou'lt attain to;
See, I'll straightway paint for thee a figure,—
How to paint a beauteous figure, show thee."
And he then extended his forefinger—
(Ruddy was it as a youthful rosebud)
Toward the broad and far outstretching carpet,
And began to draw there with his finger.
First on high a radiant sun he painted,
Which upon mine eyes with splendour glistened,
And he made the clouds with golden border.
Through the clouds he let the sunbeams enter;
Painted then the soft and feathery summits
Of the fresh and quickened trees; behind them
One by one with freedom drew the mountains;
Underneath he left no lack of water,
But the river painted so like Nature,
That it seemed to glitter in the sunbeams,
That it seemed against its banks to murmur.
Ah, there blossomed flowers beside the river,
And bright colours gleamed upon the meadow,
Gold, and green, and purple, and enamelled,
All like carbuncles and emeralds seeming;
Bright and clear he added then the heavens,
And the blue-tinged mountains far and farther,
So that I, as though new-born, enraptured
Gazed on now the painter, now the picture.
Then spake he: "Although I have convinced thee
That this art I understand full surely,
Yet the hardest still is left to show thee."
