again till Christmas Eve. O Charlotte ， today or never ！ On Christmas
Eve you will hold this paper in your hand ； you will tremble ， and moisten
it with your tears. I will—— I must ！ Oh ， how happy I feel to be
determined！"
In the meantime ， Charlotte was in a pitiable state of mind. After
her last conversation with Werther， she found how painful to herself
it would be to decline his visits ， and knew how severely he would suffer
from their separation.
She had ， in conversation with Albert， mentioned casually that Werther
would not return before Christmas Eve ； and soon afterward Albert went
on horseback to see a person in the neighbourhood ， with whom he had
to transact some business which would detain him all night.
Charlotte was sitting alone. None of her family were near ， and she
gave herself up to the reflections that silently took possession of her
mind. She was for ever united to a husband whose love and fidelity she
had proved， to whom she was heartily devoted ， and who seemed to be
a special gift from Heaven to ensure her happiness. On the other hand ，
Werther had become dear to her. There was a cordial unanimity of sentiment
between them from the very first hour of their acquaintance ， and their
long association and repeated interviews had made an indelible impression
upon her heart. She had been accustomed to communicate to him every thought
and feeling which interested her， and his absence threatened to open
a void in her existence which it might be impossible to fill. How heartily
she wished that she might change him into her brother ，—— that she
could induce him to marry one of her own friends， or could reestablish
his intimacy with Albert.
She passed all her intimate friends in review before her mind ， but
found something objectionable in each ， and could decide upon none to
whom she would consent to give him.
Amid all these considerations she felt deeply but indistinctly that
her own real but unexpressed wish was to retain him for herself ， and
her pure and amiable heart felt from this thought a sense of oppression
which seemed to forbid a prospect of happiness. She was wretched： a dark
cloud obscured her mental vision.
It was now half-past six o'clock， and she heard Werther's step on
the stairs. She at once recognised his voice， as he inquired if she were
at home. Her heart beat audibly —— we could almost say for the first
time—— at his arrival. It was too late to deny herself； and， as he
entered ， she exclaimed， with a sort of ill concealed confusion ， "You
have not kept your word ！" "I promised nothing ，" he answered. "But
you should have complied， at least for my sake ，" she continued. " I
implore you ， for both our sakes."
She scarcely knew what she said or did； and sent for some friends，
who ， by their presence， might prevent her being left alone with Werther.
He put down some books he had brought with him， then made inquiries about
some others ， until she began to hope that her friends might arrive shortly，
entertaining at the same time a desire that they might stay away.
At one moment she felt anxious that the servant should remain in the
adjoining room， then she changed her mind. Werther ， meanwhile， walked
impatiently up and down. She went to the piano， and determined not to
retire. She then collected her thoughts ， and sat down quietly at Werther's
side， who had taken his usual place on the sofa.
"Have you brought nothing to read ？" she inquired. He had nothing.
"There in my drawer ，" she continued ， "you will find your own translation
of some of the songs of Ossian. I have not yet read them， as I have still
hoped to hear you recite them ； but， for some time past ， I have not
been able to accomplish such a wish." He smiled ， and went for the manuscript，
which he took with a shudder. He sat down ； and， with eyes full of tears，
he began to read.
"Star of descending night ！ fair is thy light in the west！ thou
liftest thy unshorn head from thy cloud ； thy steps are stately on thy
hill. What dost thou behold in the plain？ The stormy winds are laid.
The murmur of the torrent comes from afar. Roaring waves climb the distant
rock. The flies of evening are on their feeble wings： the hum of their
course is on the field. What dost thou behold ， fair light ？ But thou
dost smile and depart. The waves come with joy around thee： they bathe
thy lovely hair. Farewell ， thou silent beam ！ Let the light of Ossian's
soul arise！
"And it does arise in its strength！ I behold my departed friends.
Their gathering is on Lora， as in the days of other years. Fingal comes
like a watery column of mist！ his heroes are around： and see the bards
of song ， gray-haired Ullin！ stately Ryno ！ Alpin with the tuneful
voice ： the soft complaint of Minona ！ How are ye changed ， my friends，
since the days of Selma's feast ！ when we contended， like gales of spring
as they fly along the hill， and bend by turns the feebly whistling grass.
"Minona came forth in her beauty， with downcast look and tearful
eye. Her hair was flying slowly with the blast that rushed unfrequent
from the hill. The souls of the heroes were sad when she raised the tuneful
voice. Oft had they seen the grave of Salgar， the dark dwelling of white-bosomed
Colma. Colma left alone on the hill with all her voice of song！ Salgar
promised to come！ but the night descended around. Hear the voice of Colma，
when she sat alone on the hill！
"Colma. It is night ： I am alone ， forlorn on the hill of storms.
The wind is heard on the mountain. The torrent is howling down the rock.
No hut receives me from the rain： forlorn on the hill of winds ！
"Rise moon！ from behind thy clouds. Stars of the night ， arise！
Lead me ， some light ， to the place where my love rests from the chase
alone ！ His bow near him unstrung， his dogs panting around him！ But
here I must sit alone by the rock of the mossy stream. The stream and
the wind roar aloud. I hear not the voice of my love！ Why delays my Salgar
； why the chief of the hill his promise？ Here is the rock and here the
tree！ here is the roaring stream ！ Thou didst promise with night to
be here. Ah ！ whither is my Salgar gone？ With thee I would fly from
my father ， with thee from my brother of pride. Our race have long been
foes： we are not foes， O Salgar ！
"Cease a little while ， O wind ！ stream ， be thou silent awhile！
let my voice be heard around！ let my wanderer hear me！ Salgar ！ it
is Colma who calls. Here is the tree and the rock. Salgar ， my love，
I am here ！ Why delayest thou thy coming ？ Lo ！ the calm moon comes
forth. The flood is bright in the vale. The rocks are gray on the steep.
I see him not on the brow. His dogs come not before him with tidings of
his near approach. Here I must sit alone！
"Who lie on the heath beside me ？ Are they my love and my brother？
Speak to me ， O my friends ！ To Colma they give no reply. Speak to me
： I am alone ！ My soul is tormented with fears. Ah， they are dead！
Their swords are red from the fight. O my brother ！ my brother ！ why
hast thou slain my Salgar ！ Why， O Salgar ， hast thou slain my brother！
Dear were ye both to me ！ what shall I say in your praise？ Thou wert
fair on the hill among thousands！ he was terrible in fight ！ Speak to
me！ hear my voice！ hear me， sons of my love！ They are silent！ silent
for ever！ Cold ， cold ， are their breasts of clay！ Oh ， from the
rock on the hill， from the top of the windy steep， speak， ye ghosts
of the dead ！ Speak， I will not be afraid ！ Whither are ye gone to
rest？ In what cave of the hill shall I find the departed ？ No feeble
voice is on the gale： no answer half drowned in the storm！
"I sit in my grief： I wait for morning in my tears ！ Rear the tomb，
ye friends of the dead. Close it not till Colma come. My life flies away
like a dream. Why should I stay behind？ Here shall I rest with my friends，
by the stream of the sounding rock. When night comes on the hill when
the loud winds arise my ghost shall stand in the blast， and mourn the
death of my friends. The hunter shall hear from his booth ； he shall
fear， but love my voice！ For sweet shall my voice be for my friends
： pleasant were her friends to Colma.
"Such was thy song， Minona ， softly blushing daughter of Torman.
Our tears descended for Colma ， and our souls were sad ！ Ullin came
with his harp ； he gave the song of Alpin. The voice of Alpin was pleasant，
the soul of Ryno was a beam of fire ！ But they had rested in the narrow
house ： their voice had ceased in Selma！ Ullin had returned one day
from the chase before the heroes fell. He heard their strife on the hill
： their song was soft， but sad！ They mourned the fall of Morar ， first
of mortal men ！ His soul was like the soul of Fingal ： his sword like
the sword of Oscar. But he fell ， and his father mourned ： his sister's
eyes were full of tears. Minona's eyes were full of tears ， the sister
of car-borne Morar. She retired from the song of Ullin， like the moon
in the west ， when she foresees the shower ， and hides her fair head
in a cloud. I touched the harp with Ullin ： the song of morning rose ！
"Ryno. The wind and the rain are past ， calm is the noon of day.
The clouds are divided in heaven. Over the green hills flies the inconstant
sun. Red through the stony vale comes down the stream of the hill. Sweet
are thy murmurs ， O stream ！ but more sweet is the voice I hear. It
is the voice of Alpin ， the son of song， mourning for the dead！ Bent
is his head of age： red his tearful eye. Alpin ， thou son of song ，
why alone on the silent hill？ why complainest thou ， as a blast in the
wood as a wave on the lonely shore？
"Alpin. My tears， O Ryno ！ are for the dead my voice for those that
have passed away. Tall thou art on the hill ； fair among the sons of
the vale. But thou shalt fall like Morar： the mourner shall sit on thy
tomb. The hills shall know thee no more ： thy bow shall lie in thy hall
unstrung！
"Thou wert swift， O Morar！ as a roe on the desert ： terrible as
a meteor of fire. Thy wrath was as the storm. Thy sword in battle as lightning
in the field. Thy voice was as a stream after rain， like thunder on distant
hills. Many fell by thy arm ： they were consumed in the flames of thy
wrath. But when thou didst return from war， how peaceful was thy brow.
Thy face was like the sun after rain： like the moon in the silence of
night ： calm as the breast of the lake when the loud wind is laid.
"Narrow is thy dwelling now ！ dark the place of thine abode！ With
three steps I compass thy grave ， O thou who wast so great before！ Four
stones， with their heads of moss ， are the only memorial of thee. A
tree with scarce a leaf ， long grass which whistles in the wind， mark
to the hunter's eye the grave of the mighty Morar. Morar！ thou art low
indeed. Thou hast no mother to mourn thee ， no maid with her tears of
love. Dead is she that brought thee forth. Fallen is the daughter of Morglan.
"Who on his staff is this ？ Who is this whose head is white with
age ， whose eyes are red with tears， who quakes at every step ？ It
is thy father ， O Morar！ the father of no son but thee. He heard of
thy fame in war ， he heard of foes dispersed. He heard of Morar's renown，
why did he not hear of his wound？ Weep ， thou father of Morar ！ Weep，
but thy son heareth thee not. Deep is the sleep of the dead ， low their
pillow of dust. No more shall he hear thy voice ， no more awake at thy
call. When shall it be morn in the grave， to bid the slumberer awake ？
Farewell， thou bravest of men！ thou conqueror in the field！ but the
field shall see thee no more， nor the dark wood be lightened with the
splendour of thy steel. Thou has left no son. The song shall preserve
thy name. Future times shall hear of thee they shall hear of the fallen
Morar ！
"The grief of all arose ， but most the bursting sigh of Armin. He
remembers the death of his son， who fell in the days of his youth. Carmor
was near the hero ， the chief of the echoing Galmal. Why burst the sigh
of Armin？ he said. Is there a cause to mourn ？ The song comes with its
music to melt and please the soul. It is like soft mist that， rising
from a lake ， pours on the silent vale ； the green flowers are filled
with dew， but the sun returns in his strength， and the mist is gone.
Why art thou sad， O Armin， chief of sea-surrounded Gorma？
"Sad I am ！ nor small is my cause of woe ！ Carmor ， thou hast lost
no son； thou hast lost no daughter of beauty. Colgar the valiant lives，
and Annira， fairest maid. The boughs of thy house ascend ， O Carmor ！
but Armin is the last of his race. Dark is thy bed， O Daura！ deep thy
sleep in the tomb ！ When shalt thou wake with thy songs？ with all thy
voice of music？
"Arise， winds of autumn， arise： blow along the heath. Streams of
the mountains ， roar ； roar ， tempests in the groves of my oaks！ Walk
through broken clouds ， O moon ！ show thy pale face at intervals； bring
to my mind the night when all my children fell， when Arindal the mighty
fell—— when Daura the lovely failed. Daura， my daughter， thou wert
fair， fair as the moon on Fura ， white as the driven snow ， sweet as
the breathing gale. Arindal ， thy bow was strong ， thy spear was swift
on the field， thy look was like mist on the wave ， thy shield a red
cloud in a storm！ Armar， renowned in war， came and sought Daura's love.
He was not long refused ： fair was the hope of their friends.
"Erath， son of Odgal ， repined： his brother had been slain by Armar.
He came disguised like a son of the sea ： fair was his cliff on the wave，
white his locks of age， calm his serious brow. Fairest of women， he
said， lovely daughter of Armin ！ a rock not distant in the sea bears
a tree on its side； red shines the fruit afar. There Armar waits for
Daura. I come to carry his love ！ she went she called on Armar. Nought
answered， but the son of the rock. Armar ， my love， my love！ why tormentest
thou me with fear ？ Hear ， son of Arnart， hear ！ it is Daura who calleth
thee. Erath ， the traitor， fled laughing to the land. She lifted up
her voice —— she called for her brother and her father. Arindal ！ Armin！
none to relieve you ， Daura.
"Her voice came over the sea. Arindal ， my son ， descended from
the hill， rough in the spoils of the chase. His arrows rattled by his
side； his bow was in his hand， five dark-gray dogs attended his steps.
He saw fierce Erath on the shore； he seized and bound him to an oak.
Thick wind the thongs of the hide around his limbs； he loads the winds
with his groans. Arindal ascends the deep in his boat to bring Daura to
land. Armar came in his wrath ， and let fly the gray-feathered shaft.
It sung ， it sunk in thy heart ， O Arindal， my son ！ for Erath the
traitor thou diest. The oar is stopped at once： he panted on the rock，
and expired. What is thy grief， O Daura， when round thy feet is poured
thy brother's blood. The boat is broken in twain. Armar plunges into the
sea to rescue his Daura ， or die. Sudden a blast from a hill came over
the waves ； he sank， and he rose no more.
"Alone， on the sea-beat rock ， my daughter was heard to complain
； frequent and loud were her cries. What could her father do ？ All night
I stood on the shore： I saw her by the faint beam of the moon. All night
I heard her cries. Loud was the wind； the rain beat hard on the hill.
Before morning appeared ， her voice was weak ； it died away like the
evening breeze among the grass of the rocks. Spent with grief ， she expired，
and left thee ， Armin， alone. Gone is my strength in war， fallen my
pride among women. When the storms aloft arise， when the north lifts
the wave on high， I sit by the sounding shore， and look on the fatal
rock.
"Often by the setting moon I see the ghosts of my children； half
viewless they walk in mournful conference together."
A torrent of tears which streamed from Charlotte's eyes and gave relief
to her bursting heart ， stopped Werther's recitation. He threw down the
book， seized her hand， and wept bitterly. Charlotte leaned upon her
hand， and buried her face in her handkerchief： the agitation of both
was excessive. They felt that their own fate was pictured in the misfortunes
of Ossian's heroes， they felt this together， and their tears redoubled.
Werther supported his forehead on Charlotte's arm ： she trembled ， she
wished to be gone ； but sorrow and sympathy lay like a leaden weight
upon her soul. She recovered herself shortly， and begged Werther ， with
broken sobs ， to leave her ， implored him with the utmost earnestness
to comply with her request. He trembled ； his heart was ready to burst
： then ， taking up the book again ， he recommenced reading ， in a
voice broken by sobs. "Why dost thou waken me ， O spring ？ Thy voice
woos me ， exclaiming ， I refresh thee with heavenly dews； but the time
of my decay is approaching， the storm is nigh that shall whither my leaves.
Tomorrow the traveller shall come ， he shall come， who beheld me in
beauty： his eye shall seek me in the field around， but he shall not
find me."
The whole force of these words fell upon the unfortunate Werther.
Full of despair ， he threw himself at Charlotte's feet ， seized her
hands ， and pressed them to his eyes and to his forehead. An apprehension
of his fatal project now struck her for the first time. Her senses were
bewildered： she held his hands ， pressed them to her bosom； and， leaning
toward him with emotions of the tenderest pity， her warm cheek touched
his. They lost sight of everything. The world disappeared from their eyes.
He clasped her in his arms， strained her to his bosom， and covered her
trembling lips with passionate kisses. "Werther ！" she cried with a faint
voice ， turning herself away ； "Werther ！" and ， with a feeble hand，
she pushed him from her. At length， with the firm voice of virtue， she
exclaimed ， "Werther ！" He resisted not ， but， tearing himself from
her arms， fell on his knees before her. Charlotte rose ， and， with
disordered grief， in mingled tones of love and resentment， she exclaimed，
"It is the last time， Werther！ You shall never see me any more！" Then，
casting one last， tender look upon her unfortunate lover ， she rushed
into the adjoining room ， and locked the door. Werther held out his arms，
but did not dare to detain her. He continued on the ground， with his
head resting on the sofa， for half an hour ， till he heard a noise which
brought him to his senses. The servant entered. He then walked up and
down the room ； and， when he was again left alone ， he went to Charlotte's
door， and， in a low voice ， said ， "Charlotte ， Charlotte！ but one
word more ， one last adieu ！" She returned no answer. He stopped， and
listened and entreated； but all was silent. At length he tore himself
from the place， crying ， "Adieu ， Charlotte， adieu for ever ！"
Werther ran to the gate of the town. The guards ， who knew him ，
let him pass in silence. The night was dark and stormy，—— it rained
and snowed. He reached his own door about eleven. His servant ， although
seeing him enter the house without his hat， did not venture to say anything
； and； as he undressed his master ， he found that his clothes were
wet. His hat was afterward found on the point of a rock overhanging the
valley； and it is inconceivable how he could have climbed to the summit
on such a dark， tempestuous night without losing his life.
He retired to bed ， and slept to a late hour. The next morning his
servant ， upon being called to bring his coffee， found him writing.
He was adding ， to Charlotte ， what we here annex.
"For the last ， last time I open these eyes. Alas！ they will behold
the sun no more. It is covered by a thick ， impenetrable cloud. Yes，
Nature！ put on mourning： your child ， your friend， your lover ， draws
near his end！ This thought ， Charlotte， is without parallel； and yet
it seems like a mysterious dream when I repeat—— this is my last day！
The last！ Charlotte， no word can adequately express this thought. The
last！ To-day I stand erect in all my strength to-morrow， cold and stark，
I shall lie extended upon the ground. To die！ what is death？ We do but
dream in our discourse upon it. I have seen many human beings die ； but，
so straitened is our feeble nature， we have no clear conception of the
beginning or the end of our existence. At this moment I am my own ——
or rather I am thine， thine， my adored！ and the next we are parted ，
severed —— perhaps for ever ！ No ， Charlotte， no ！ How can I， how
can you ， be annihilated ？ We exist. What is annihilation ？ A mere
word， an unmeaning sound that fixes no impression on the mind. Dead，
Charlotte ！ laid in the cold earth ， in the dark and narrow grave ！
I had a friend once who was everything to me in early youth. She died.
I followed her hearse ； I stood by her grave when the coffin was lowered
； and when I heard the creaking of the cords as they were loosened and
drawn up， when the first shovelful of earth was thrown in， and the coffin
returned a hollow sound ， which grew fainter and fainter till all was
completely covered over ， I threw myself on the ground ； my heart was
smitten ， grieved， shattered， rent —— but I neither knew what had
happened， nor what was to happen to me. Death！ the grave！ I understand
not the words.—— Forgive， oh ， forgive me ！ Yesterday—— ah ， that
day should have been the last of my life！ Thou angel ！ for the first
time in my existence， I felt rapture glow within my inmost soul. She
loves ， she loves me ！ Still burns upon my lips the sacred fire they
received from thine. New torrents of delight overwhelm my soul. Forgive
me， oh ， forgive！
"I knew that I was dear to you； I saw it in your first entrancing
look， knew it by the first pressure of your hand ； but when I was absent
from you， when I saw Albert at your side ， my doubts and fears returned.
"Do you remember the flowers you sent me， when ， at that crowded
assembly， you could neither speak nor extend your hand to me ？ Half
the night I was on my knees before those flowers， and I regarded them
as the pledges of your love ； but those impressions grew fainter ， and
were at length effaced.
"Everything passes away ； but a whole eternity could not extinguish
the living flame which was yesterday kindled by your lips ， and which
now burns within me. She loves me ！ These arms have encircled her waist，
these lips have trembled upon hers. She is mine ！ Yes， Charlotte， you
are mine for ever ！
"And what do they mean by saying Albert is your husband ？ He may
be so for this world； and in this world it is a sin to love you， to
wish to tear you from his embrace. Yes， it is a crime； and I suffer
the punishment， but I have enjoyed the full delight of my sin. I have
inhaled a balm that has revived my soul. From this hour you are mine；
yes ， Charlotte， you are mine ！ I go before you. I go to my Father
and to your Father. I will pour out my sorrows before him ， and he will
give me comfort till you arrive. Then will I fly to meet you. I will claim
you ， and remain your eternal embrace， in the presence of the Almighty.
"I do not dream ， I do not rave. Drawing nearer to the grave my perceptions
become clearer. We shall exist； we shall see each other again； we shall
behold your mother； I shall behold her ， and expose to her my inmost
heart. Your mother—— your image ！"
About eleven o'clock Werther asked his servant if Albert had returned.
He answered ， "Yes ；" for he had seen him pass on horseback ： upon
which Werther sent him the following note ， unsealed ：
"Be so good as to lend me your pistols for a journey. Adieu."
Charlotte had slept little during the past night. All her apprehensions
were realised in a way that she could neither foresee nor avoid. Her blood
was boiling in her veins， and a thousand painful sensations rent her
pure heart. Was it the ardour of Werther's passionate embraces that she
felt within her bosom ？ Was it anger at his daring ？ Was it the sad
comparison of her present condition with former days of innocence ， tranquillity，
and self-confidence ？ How could she approach her husband ， and confess
