"The silver moon is slowly, slowly risingThe night is clear and all the clouds are fled,Their midnight prayer the weary monks are chanting;Now I may leave my cold and stony bed."
"The silver moon is slowly, slowly risingThe night is clear and all the clouds are fled,Their midnight prayer the weary monks are chanting;Now I may leave my cold and stony bed."
"The silver moon is slowly, slowly rising
The night is clear and all the clouds are fled,
Their midnight prayer the weary monks are chanting;
Now I may leave my cold and stony bed."
Then the monks chanted in their low, measured tones,
"Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis!Mater Christi, ora, ora!""Cursed be my lot, but useless is repining,Here must I stay till dreary day is gone,Living only in the pale moon's shining;To-night my hated penance though is done.Gaily, gaily, gaily I'll liveThough I be but a spirit of air;Every pleasure the world can giveShall be mine while the moon shines fair.The Devil in Hell has promised meThat if I gain him a soulI shall be forever from that time free,So long as the Rhine shall run to the seaAnd the Maine shall Rhineward roll."
"Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis!Mater Christi, ora, ora!""Cursed be my lot, but useless is repining,Here must I stay till dreary day is gone,Living only in the pale moon's shining;To-night my hated penance though is done.Gaily, gaily, gaily I'll liveThough I be but a spirit of air;Every pleasure the world can giveShall be mine while the moon shines fair.
"Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis!
Mater Christi, ora, ora!"
"Cursed be my lot, but useless is repining,
Here must I stay till dreary day is gone,
Living only in the pale moon's shining;
To-night my hated penance though is done.
Gaily, gaily, gaily I'll live
Though I be but a spirit of air;
Every pleasure the world can give
Shall be mine while the moon shines fair.
The Devil in Hell has promised meThat if I gain him a soulI shall be forever from that time free,So long as the Rhine shall run to the seaAnd the Maine shall Rhineward roll."
The Devil in Hell has promised me
That if I gain him a soul
I shall be forever from that time free,
So long as the Rhine shall run to the sea
And the Maine shall Rhineward roll."
And from the heights above the echo came,—"Roll—roll."
Then running lightly to the wall, which is on the river side, she leaned over and sung in a high, unearthly, wild voice, while her dark hair waved in the night wind,
"Beautiful river rushing on,Touched with light by the silver moon,Grant me now this simple boon.Let thy merry spirits come,And elfin dancers with beating drum,Here with me for the wild night long,To dance and whirl with eldrich songTill the moon shall faint and her light be gone."
"Beautiful river rushing on,Touched with light by the silver moon,Grant me now this simple boon.Let thy merry spirits come,And elfin dancers with beating drum,Here with me for the wild night long,To dance and whirl with eldrich songTill the moon shall faint and her light be gone."
"Beautiful river rushing on,
Touched with light by the silver moon,
Grant me now this simple boon.
Let thy merry spirits come,
And elfin dancers with beating drum,
Here with me for the wild night long,
To dance and whirl with eldrich song
Till the moon shall faint and her light be gone."
Then running merrily to the other side nearer my window, she sung in the same wild key, as she turned her face to the forest,
"Spirits of the black larch-woodCome to-night to dance and sing,Come and all thy flowers bring,Come and gaily join our ring,Come upon thy fleetest wing,Come, oh come, ere the moon be fading."
"Spirits of the black larch-woodCome to-night to dance and sing,Come and all thy flowers bring,Come and gaily join our ring,Come upon thy fleetest wing,Come, oh come, ere the moon be fading."
"Spirits of the black larch-wood
Come to-night to dance and sing,
Come and all thy flowers bring,
Come and gaily join our ring,
Come upon thy fleetest wing,
Come, oh come, ere the moon be fading."
The low chanting of the Monks ceased, and as I opened my window wider I could hear, like the higher notes of an organ, voices rising from the river and mingling in heavenly harmony; I could not at first catch the words, but the sweet, divinely sweet strains came nearer and nearer, and then with the same inexpressible gentleness, softly as if wafted from the angelic chorus came the rich, low notes from the forest, like the humming of bees, the sighing of hemlocks, or that sweet, strange sound we ever hear in the ocean shell. The voices came nearer and I could hear the wild, free words long before the singers were in the court.
"We are coming from the forest,All laden with flowers,With bright, crimson flowersAll sparkling with dew."
"We are coming from the forest,All laden with flowers,With bright, crimson flowersAll sparkling with dew."
"We are coming from the forest,
All laden with flowers,
With bright, crimson flowers
All sparkling with dew."
Then from the river rose the song:
"We come from the waterWith bright, polished pebbles,With white, glittering pebbles,Our love-gift to you."
"We come from the waterWith bright, polished pebbles,With white, glittering pebbles,Our love-gift to you."
"We come from the water
With bright, polished pebbles,
With white, glittering pebbles,
Our love-gift to you."
The singing now was in the very garden, but I could not see the singers, though I knew that they were there, for the strange creature-image whirled about the court, laughing and nodding on every side, while the music grew each moment louder and wilder, when suddenly all was still, and the image pausing in the middle of the court began with many odd gestures this weird song:
"What am I? Who am I? Where did I come from?What, who and where—well, no human knows;Ye though my loved ones know what to answer,My pale face ye follow wherever it goes.My home's in the forest, my home's in the city,Wherever the terror of loneliness lies,And woe be to him who when out in the moonlightCatches the glance of my soul-piercing eyes.By day I am stoneBy night I have breath,And those whom I meet, know the sister of Death."
"What am I? Who am I? Where did I come from?What, who and where—well, no human knows;Ye though my loved ones know what to answer,My pale face ye follow wherever it goes.My home's in the forest, my home's in the city,Wherever the terror of loneliness lies,And woe be to him who when out in the moonlightCatches the glance of my soul-piercing eyes.By day I am stoneBy night I have breath,And those whom I meet, know the sister of Death."
"What am I? Who am I? Where did I come from?
What, who and where—well, no human knows;
Ye though my loved ones know what to answer,
My pale face ye follow wherever it goes.
My home's in the forest, my home's in the city,
Wherever the terror of loneliness lies,
And woe be to him who when out in the moonlight
Catches the glance of my soul-piercing eyes.
By day I am stone
By night I have breath,
And those whom I meet, know the sister of Death."
"Curse you!" I shrieked, leaning from the window, and all was gone; the statue was in its niche again, the Maria Virgo Sancta. I staggered back from the window and was received almost breathless from excitement in the arms of Brother Andreas who entered the room just then.
"My child, you should not sit by an open window; I fear that you have done yourself an injury already." He laid me down on the bed and when I awoke he was gone, and now I am writing off this scrap of a letter for you my dear friend. How I long to see you, and oh, why can I not haveyou here! Would to God that I had not met the woman on the bridge. My friend, my José, I dare not tell you what I fear; those eyes were upon me, those fatal eyes. No, no I will not keep it from you, I will tell you all and leave you the terrible duty of telling Benicia.
My dear boy, I am growing colder each moment; my hand trembles as I write this, my last letter; I pray that I may have strength to finish it. The river was not so long as I expected, and now my poor raft is breaking. Nor would I live, for now I know who has power over me, I know now whose were those drooping eyelids; it is better not to live, for I have not strength to conquer them.
It is autumn, the last leaves are falling, the cold winter is coming, but I shall not be here to dread its cold. My winter is on me now, and may God grant that through it I come tothe eternal spring. All that I want is to see Benicia and you once more, but that cannot be. Now a last, long farewell to Benicia; I can write no more, I am too cold. The raft is broken; the journey was not long.
God bless you, good bye; I am going to lie down now. Give the ruby ring, which I wear, to dear Benicia as a memory of me; and tell Beni—
Here was the ending of the letter in the unfinished name of his loved one.
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