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by R. Dillon Boylan (Translator), Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe (Author)
How happy I am that I am gone My dear friend, what a thing is the heart of man To leave you, from whom I have been inseparable, whom I love so dearly, and yet to feel happy I know you will forgive me. Have not other attachments been specially appointed by fate to torment a head like mine? Poor Leonora and yet I was not to blame. Was it my fault, that, whilst the peculiar charms of her sister afforded me an agreeable entertainment, a passion for me was engendered in her feeble heart? And yet am I wholly blameless? Did I not encourage her emotions? Did I not feel charmed at those truly genuine expressions of nature, which, though but little mirthful in reality, so often amused us? Did I not - but oh what is man, that he dares so to accuse himself? My dear friend I promise you I will improve; I will no longer, as has ever been my habit, continue to ruminate on every petty vexation which fortune may dispense; I will enjoy the present, and the past shall be for me the past.
