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"I never see one of those fellows," says Cousin Frank, "without setting him to the music of that saddest and subtlest of Heine's poems. You know it, Lucy;" and he repeats: "Mein Herz, mein Herz is traurig, Doch lustig leuchtet der Mai; Ich stehe gelehnt an der Linde, Hoch auf der alten Bastei. "Am alten grauen Thurme Ein Schilderhauschen steht; Ein rothgerockter Bursche Dort auf und nieder geht.
If it were of any value in itself, something unconditioned, its end would not be non-existence. This is the dominant note of Goethe's beautiful song: "Hoch auf dem alten Thurme steht Des Helden edler Geist." That man is nothing but a phenomenon, that he is not-the-thing-in-itself I mean that he is not ὄντως ὄν is proved by the fact that death is a necessity.
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