In midnight vision I myself have spied,As for some festival, in ruffles dress’d,In a black gala-coat and silken vest;—My sweet and trusting love with scorn I eyed;And bow’d low down, and said “Art thou a bride?”“I wish thee joy, dear Madam, I protest!”And yet my lips reluctantly express’dThe words so cold and tauntingly applied.And bitter tears then suddenly ’gan fallingFrom her dear eyes, and in a sea of weepingWellnigh dissolved her image so enthralling.O lovely eyes, ye stars of love so kindly,What though ye, when awake, and e’en when sleepingDeceived me oft, I trust ye still as blindly!
In midnight vision I myself have spied,As for some festival, in ruffles dress’d,In a black gala-coat and silken vest;—My sweet and trusting love with scorn I eyed;And bow’d low down, and said “Art thou a bride?”“I wish thee joy, dear Madam, I protest!”And yet my lips reluctantly express’dThe words so cold and tauntingly applied.And bitter tears then suddenly ’gan fallingFrom her dear eyes, and in a sea of weepingWellnigh dissolved her image so enthralling.O lovely eyes, ye stars of love so kindly,What though ye, when awake, and e’en when sleepingDeceived me oft, I trust ye still as blindly!
In midnight vision I myself have spied,As for some festival, in ruffles dress’d,In a black gala-coat and silken vest;—My sweet and trusting love with scorn I eyed;And bow’d low down, and said “Art thou a bride?”“I wish thee joy, dear Madam, I protest!”And yet my lips reluctantly express’dThe words so cold and tauntingly applied.And bitter tears then suddenly ’gan fallingFrom her dear eyes, and in a sea of weepingWellnigh dissolved her image so enthralling.O lovely eyes, ye stars of love so kindly,What though ye, when awake, and e’en when sleepingDeceived me oft, I trust ye still as blindly!
In dream I saw a tiny manikin,Who went on stilts, with steps a yard apart;White was his linen, and his dress was smart,But he was coarse and most unclean within.Yes, worthless inwardly, and full of sin;Worthy to seem outside was his great art,Of courage he discoursed, as from his heart,Defiant, stubborn, ’neath a veil but thin.“And know’st thou who he is? Come here and see!”So spake the dream-god, slily showing meWithin a mirror’s frame this vision then.The manikin before an altar stood,My love beside him, both said “Yes, they would,”And thousand laughing devils cried “Amen!”
In dream I saw a tiny manikin,Who went on stilts, with steps a yard apart;White was his linen, and his dress was smart,But he was coarse and most unclean within.Yes, worthless inwardly, and full of sin;Worthy to seem outside was his great art,Of courage he discoursed, as from his heart,Defiant, stubborn, ’neath a veil but thin.“And know’st thou who he is? Come here and see!”So spake the dream-god, slily showing meWithin a mirror’s frame this vision then.The manikin before an altar stood,My love beside him, both said “Yes, they would,”And thousand laughing devils cried “Amen!”
In dream I saw a tiny manikin,Who went on stilts, with steps a yard apart;White was his linen, and his dress was smart,But he was coarse and most unclean within.Yes, worthless inwardly, and full of sin;Worthy to seem outside was his great art,Of courage he discoursed, as from his heart,Defiant, stubborn, ’neath a veil but thin.“And know’st thou who he is? Come here and see!”So spake the dream-god, slily showing meWithin a mirror’s frame this vision then.The manikin before an altar stood,My love beside him, both said “Yes, they would,”And thousand laughing devils cried “Amen!”
Why stirs and chafes my madden’d blood?Why burns my heart in furious mood?My blood fast boils, and foams and fumes,And passion fierce my heart consumes.My mad blood boils in foaming stream,Because I’ve dreamt an evil dream:Night’s gloomy son appear’d one day,And bore me in his arms away.To a bright house soon brought he me,Where sounded harp and revelry,And torches gleam’d and tapers shone—The hall I entered then alone.I saw a merry wedding feast,The glad guests round the table press’d;And when the bridal pair I spied,O woe! my mistress was the bride.There was my love, and strange to say,A stranger claim’d her hand to-day.Then close behind her chair of honourI silent stood and gazed upon her.The music sounded—still I stood;Their joy but swell’d my mournful mood;The bride she look’d so highly blest,Her hand the while the bridegroom press’d.The bridegroom next fill’d full his cup,And from it drank, then gave it upUnto the bride; she smiled a thank;O woe! my red blood ’twas she drank.The bride a rosy apple took,And gave it him with smiling look;He took his knife, and cut a part;O woe! it was indeed my heart.They lovingly each other eyed,The bridegroom boldly clasp’d the bride,And kissed her on her cheeks so red;O woe! cold death kiss’d me instead.Like lead my tongue within me lay,Vainly I strove one word to say;A noise was heard,—the dance began,The bridal pair were in the van.Whilst I stood rooted to the ground,The dancers nimbly whirl’d around;The bridegroom spoke a whisper’d word,—She blush’d, well pleased with what she heard.
Why stirs and chafes my madden’d blood?Why burns my heart in furious mood?My blood fast boils, and foams and fumes,And passion fierce my heart consumes.My mad blood boils in foaming stream,Because I’ve dreamt an evil dream:Night’s gloomy son appear’d one day,And bore me in his arms away.To a bright house soon brought he me,Where sounded harp and revelry,And torches gleam’d and tapers shone—The hall I entered then alone.I saw a merry wedding feast,The glad guests round the table press’d;And when the bridal pair I spied,O woe! my mistress was the bride.There was my love, and strange to say,A stranger claim’d her hand to-day.Then close behind her chair of honourI silent stood and gazed upon her.The music sounded—still I stood;Their joy but swell’d my mournful mood;The bride she look’d so highly blest,Her hand the while the bridegroom press’d.The bridegroom next fill’d full his cup,And from it drank, then gave it upUnto the bride; she smiled a thank;O woe! my red blood ’twas she drank.The bride a rosy apple took,And gave it him with smiling look;He took his knife, and cut a part;O woe! it was indeed my heart.They lovingly each other eyed,The bridegroom boldly clasp’d the bride,And kissed her on her cheeks so red;O woe! cold death kiss’d me instead.Like lead my tongue within me lay,Vainly I strove one word to say;A noise was heard,—the dance began,The bridal pair were in the van.Whilst I stood rooted to the ground,The dancers nimbly whirl’d around;The bridegroom spoke a whisper’d word,—She blush’d, well pleased with what she heard.
Why stirs and chafes my madden’d blood?Why burns my heart in furious mood?My blood fast boils, and foams and fumes,And passion fierce my heart consumes.
My mad blood boils in foaming stream,Because I’ve dreamt an evil dream:Night’s gloomy son appear’d one day,And bore me in his arms away.
To a bright house soon brought he me,Where sounded harp and revelry,And torches gleam’d and tapers shone—The hall I entered then alone.
I saw a merry wedding feast,The glad guests round the table press’d;And when the bridal pair I spied,O woe! my mistress was the bride.
There was my love, and strange to say,A stranger claim’d her hand to-day.Then close behind her chair of honourI silent stood and gazed upon her.
The music sounded—still I stood;Their joy but swell’d my mournful mood;The bride she look’d so highly blest,Her hand the while the bridegroom press’d.
The bridegroom next fill’d full his cup,And from it drank, then gave it upUnto the bride; she smiled a thank;O woe! my red blood ’twas she drank.
The bride a rosy apple took,And gave it him with smiling look;He took his knife, and cut a part;O woe! it was indeed my heart.
They lovingly each other eyed,The bridegroom boldly clasp’d the bride,And kissed her on her cheeks so red;O woe! cold death kiss’d me instead.
Like lead my tongue within me lay,Vainly I strove one word to say;A noise was heard,—the dance began,The bridal pair were in the van.
Whilst I stood rooted to the ground,The dancers nimbly whirl’d around;The bridegroom spoke a whisper’d word,—She blush’d, well pleased with what she heard.
In blissful dream, in silent night,There came to me, with magic might,With magic might, my own sweet love,Into my little room above.I gazed upon the darling child,I gazed, and she all-gently smiled,And smiled until my heart swell’d high,When stormlike daring words breath’d I:“Take, take thou everything that’s mine,“My All will I to thee resign,“If I may be thy paramour“From midnight till the morning hour.”Then on me gazed the beauteous maid,With looks that inward strife betray’d,So sweet, so sad, while thus she said:“Give me thy hope of heaven instead!”“My life so sweet, my youthful blood,“I’ll give with cheerful joyous mood,“For thee, O maiden angel-fair,—“But hope of heaven hereafter—ne’er!”My daring speech flow’d readily,Yet ever fairer blossom’d she,And still the beauteous maiden said“Give me thy hope of heaven instead!”These words fell on me heavily,Then rush’d, like some fierce flowing sea,Down to my spirit’s depth most deep,—I scarce had power my breath to keep.There came a band of angels whiteGraced with a golden halo bright,But wildly follow’d in their trackA grisly train of goblins black.They wrestled with the angels white,And drove away those angels bright,And then the gloomy squadron tooMelted like morning mist from view.—Fain had I died of rapture there,My arms upheld my maiden fair;She nestled near me like a roe,But also wept with bitter woe.Sweet maiden wept; well knew I why,Her rosy mouth to peace kiss’d I:“O still, sweet love, that tearful flood,“Surrender to my loving mood!“Surrender to my loving mood!”—When sudden froze to ice my blood;The earth beneath me groan’d and sigh’d,A yawning chasm open’d wide.And from the chasm’s gloomy veilRose the black troop,—sweet love turn’d pale;My arms were of sweet love bereft,And I in solitude was left.The gloomy troop around me dancedIn wondrous circle, then advanced,And seized and bore me to the ground,While scornful laughter rose around.And still the circle narrower grew,And ever humm’d the fearful crew:“Thy hope of heaven was pledg’d by thee,“Thou’rt ours for all eternity!”
In blissful dream, in silent night,There came to me, with magic might,With magic might, my own sweet love,Into my little room above.I gazed upon the darling child,I gazed, and she all-gently smiled,And smiled until my heart swell’d high,When stormlike daring words breath’d I:“Take, take thou everything that’s mine,“My All will I to thee resign,“If I may be thy paramour“From midnight till the morning hour.”Then on me gazed the beauteous maid,With looks that inward strife betray’d,So sweet, so sad, while thus she said:“Give me thy hope of heaven instead!”“My life so sweet, my youthful blood,“I’ll give with cheerful joyous mood,“For thee, O maiden angel-fair,—“But hope of heaven hereafter—ne’er!”My daring speech flow’d readily,Yet ever fairer blossom’d she,And still the beauteous maiden said“Give me thy hope of heaven instead!”These words fell on me heavily,Then rush’d, like some fierce flowing sea,Down to my spirit’s depth most deep,—I scarce had power my breath to keep.There came a band of angels whiteGraced with a golden halo bright,But wildly follow’d in their trackA grisly train of goblins black.They wrestled with the angels white,And drove away those angels bright,And then the gloomy squadron tooMelted like morning mist from view.—Fain had I died of rapture there,My arms upheld my maiden fair;She nestled near me like a roe,But also wept with bitter woe.Sweet maiden wept; well knew I why,Her rosy mouth to peace kiss’d I:“O still, sweet love, that tearful flood,“Surrender to my loving mood!“Surrender to my loving mood!”—When sudden froze to ice my blood;The earth beneath me groan’d and sigh’d,A yawning chasm open’d wide.And from the chasm’s gloomy veilRose the black troop,—sweet love turn’d pale;My arms were of sweet love bereft,And I in solitude was left.The gloomy troop around me dancedIn wondrous circle, then advanced,And seized and bore me to the ground,While scornful laughter rose around.And still the circle narrower grew,And ever humm’d the fearful crew:“Thy hope of heaven was pledg’d by thee,“Thou’rt ours for all eternity!”
In blissful dream, in silent night,There came to me, with magic might,With magic might, my own sweet love,Into my little room above.
I gazed upon the darling child,I gazed, and she all-gently smiled,And smiled until my heart swell’d high,When stormlike daring words breath’d I:
“Take, take thou everything that’s mine,“My All will I to thee resign,“If I may be thy paramour“From midnight till the morning hour.”
Then on me gazed the beauteous maid,With looks that inward strife betray’d,So sweet, so sad, while thus she said:“Give me thy hope of heaven instead!”
“My life so sweet, my youthful blood,“I’ll give with cheerful joyous mood,“For thee, O maiden angel-fair,—“But hope of heaven hereafter—ne’er!”
My daring speech flow’d readily,Yet ever fairer blossom’d she,And still the beauteous maiden said“Give me thy hope of heaven instead!”
These words fell on me heavily,Then rush’d, like some fierce flowing sea,Down to my spirit’s depth most deep,—I scarce had power my breath to keep.
There came a band of angels whiteGraced with a golden halo bright,But wildly follow’d in their trackA grisly train of goblins black.
They wrestled with the angels white,And drove away those angels bright,And then the gloomy squadron tooMelted like morning mist from view.—
Fain had I died of rapture there,My arms upheld my maiden fair;She nestled near me like a roe,But also wept with bitter woe.
Sweet maiden wept; well knew I why,Her rosy mouth to peace kiss’d I:“O still, sweet love, that tearful flood,“Surrender to my loving mood!
“Surrender to my loving mood!”—When sudden froze to ice my blood;The earth beneath me groan’d and sigh’d,A yawning chasm open’d wide.
And from the chasm’s gloomy veilRose the black troop,—sweet love turn’d pale;My arms were of sweet love bereft,And I in solitude was left.
The gloomy troop around me dancedIn wondrous circle, then advanced,And seized and bore me to the ground,While scornful laughter rose around.
And still the circle narrower grew,And ever humm’d the fearful crew:“Thy hope of heaven was pledg’d by thee,“Thou’rt ours for all eternity!”
Thou now hast the money,—why longer delay?Thou dark scowling fellow, why lingering stay?I sit in my chamber, and patiently wait,And midnight is near, but the bride is still late.From the churchyard the shuddering breezes arise;—Ye breezes, O say, has my bride met your eyes?Pale demons come round me, and hard on me press,Make curtsies with grinning, and nod their “O yes!”Quick, tell me the message you’re coming about,Black villain, in liv’ry of fire trick’d out!My mistress sends word that she soon will be here;In a car drawn by dragons she’ll shortly appear.Dear grey little man, say, what would’st thou to-day?Dead master of mine, what’s thy business, pray?He gazes upon me with mute mournful mien,Shakes his head, turns away, and no longer is seen.His tail wags the shaggy old dog, and he whines;All brightly the eye of the black tom-cat shines;The women are howling with long flowing hair,—Why sings my old nurse my old cradle-song there?Old nurse stops at home, to her song to attend,The eiapopeia is long at an end;To-day I am keeping my gay wedding feast;Only watch the arrival of each gallant guest!Only watch them! Good sirs, how polite is your band!Ye carry your heads, ’stead of hats, in your hand;With your clattering bones, and like gallows-birds dress’d,Why arrive here so late, when the wind is at rest?The old witch on her broomstick comes galloping on:Ah, bless me, good mother, I’m really thy son.The mouth in her pale face beginning to twitch,“For ever, amen,” soon replies the old witch.Twelve wither’d musicians come creeping along,The limping blind fiddler is seen in the throngJackpudding dress’d out in his motley array,On the gravedigger’s back is grimacing away.With dancing twelve nuns from the convent advance,The leering old procuress leading the dance;Twelve merry young priests follow close in their train,And sing their lewd songs in a church-going strain.Till you’re black in the face, good old clothesman, don’t yell,Your fur-coat will nothing avail you in hell;’Tis heated for nought all the year with odd things,—’Stead of wood, with the bones of dead beggars and kings.The girls with the flowers seem’d hunchback’d and bent,Tumbling head over heels in the room as they went;With your faces like owls, and a grasshopper’s leg,That rattling of bones discontinue, I beg.The squadrons of hell all appear in their shrouds,And bustle and hustle in fast-swelling crowds;The waltz of damnation resounds in the ear,—Hush, hush! my sweet love is at length drawing near.Now, rabble, be quiet, or get you away!I scarcely can hear e’en one word that I say;Hark! Is’t not the sound of a chariot at hand?Quick, open the door! Why thus loitering stand?Thou art welcome, my darling! how goes it, my sweet?You’re welcome, good parson! stand up, I entreat!Good parson, with hoof of a horse and with tail,I’m your dutiful servant, and wish you all hail!Dear bride, wherefore stand’st thou so pale and so dumb?The parson to join us together has come;Full dear, dear as blood, is the fee I must pay,And yet to possess thee is merely child’s play.Kneel down, my sweet bride, by my side prythee kneelShe kneels and she sinks,—O what rapture I feel!—She sinks on my heart, on my fast-heaving breast;With shuddering pleasure I hold her close press’d.Like billows her golden locks circle the pair,’Gainst my heart beats the heart of the maiden so fairThey beat with a union of sorrow and love,And soar to the regions of heaven above.While our hearts are thus floating in rapture’s wide sea,In God’s holy realms, all untrammell’d and free,On our heads, as a terrible sign and a brand,Has hell in derision imposed her grim hand.In propriâ personâthe dark son of nightAs parson bestows the priest’s blessing to-night;From a bloody book breathes he the formula terse,Each prayer execration, each blessing a curse.A crashing and hissing and howling is heard,Like rolling of thunder, like waves wildly stirr’d;When sudden a bluish-tinged light brightly flames,“For ever, amen!” the old mother exclaims.
Thou now hast the money,—why longer delay?Thou dark scowling fellow, why lingering stay?I sit in my chamber, and patiently wait,And midnight is near, but the bride is still late.From the churchyard the shuddering breezes arise;—Ye breezes, O say, has my bride met your eyes?Pale demons come round me, and hard on me press,Make curtsies with grinning, and nod their “O yes!”Quick, tell me the message you’re coming about,Black villain, in liv’ry of fire trick’d out!My mistress sends word that she soon will be here;In a car drawn by dragons she’ll shortly appear.Dear grey little man, say, what would’st thou to-day?Dead master of mine, what’s thy business, pray?He gazes upon me with mute mournful mien,Shakes his head, turns away, and no longer is seen.His tail wags the shaggy old dog, and he whines;All brightly the eye of the black tom-cat shines;The women are howling with long flowing hair,—Why sings my old nurse my old cradle-song there?Old nurse stops at home, to her song to attend,The eiapopeia is long at an end;To-day I am keeping my gay wedding feast;Only watch the arrival of each gallant guest!Only watch them! Good sirs, how polite is your band!Ye carry your heads, ’stead of hats, in your hand;With your clattering bones, and like gallows-birds dress’d,Why arrive here so late, when the wind is at rest?The old witch on her broomstick comes galloping on:Ah, bless me, good mother, I’m really thy son.The mouth in her pale face beginning to twitch,“For ever, amen,” soon replies the old witch.Twelve wither’d musicians come creeping along,The limping blind fiddler is seen in the throngJackpudding dress’d out in his motley array,On the gravedigger’s back is grimacing away.With dancing twelve nuns from the convent advance,The leering old procuress leading the dance;Twelve merry young priests follow close in their train,And sing their lewd songs in a church-going strain.Till you’re black in the face, good old clothesman, don’t yell,Your fur-coat will nothing avail you in hell;’Tis heated for nought all the year with odd things,—’Stead of wood, with the bones of dead beggars and kings.The girls with the flowers seem’d hunchback’d and bent,Tumbling head over heels in the room as they went;With your faces like owls, and a grasshopper’s leg,That rattling of bones discontinue, I beg.The squadrons of hell all appear in their shrouds,And bustle and hustle in fast-swelling crowds;The waltz of damnation resounds in the ear,—Hush, hush! my sweet love is at length drawing near.Now, rabble, be quiet, or get you away!I scarcely can hear e’en one word that I say;Hark! Is’t not the sound of a chariot at hand?Quick, open the door! Why thus loitering stand?Thou art welcome, my darling! how goes it, my sweet?You’re welcome, good parson! stand up, I entreat!Good parson, with hoof of a horse and with tail,I’m your dutiful servant, and wish you all hail!Dear bride, wherefore stand’st thou so pale and so dumb?The parson to join us together has come;Full dear, dear as blood, is the fee I must pay,And yet to possess thee is merely child’s play.Kneel down, my sweet bride, by my side prythee kneelShe kneels and she sinks,—O what rapture I feel!—She sinks on my heart, on my fast-heaving breast;With shuddering pleasure I hold her close press’d.Like billows her golden locks circle the pair,’Gainst my heart beats the heart of the maiden so fairThey beat with a union of sorrow and love,And soar to the regions of heaven above.While our hearts are thus floating in rapture’s wide sea,In God’s holy realms, all untrammell’d and free,On our heads, as a terrible sign and a brand,Has hell in derision imposed her grim hand.In propriâ personâthe dark son of nightAs parson bestows the priest’s blessing to-night;From a bloody book breathes he the formula terse,Each prayer execration, each blessing a curse.A crashing and hissing and howling is heard,Like rolling of thunder, like waves wildly stirr’d;When sudden a bluish-tinged light brightly flames,“For ever, amen!” the old mother exclaims.
Thou now hast the money,—why longer delay?Thou dark scowling fellow, why lingering stay?I sit in my chamber, and patiently wait,And midnight is near, but the bride is still late.
From the churchyard the shuddering breezes arise;—Ye breezes, O say, has my bride met your eyes?Pale demons come round me, and hard on me press,Make curtsies with grinning, and nod their “O yes!”
Quick, tell me the message you’re coming about,Black villain, in liv’ry of fire trick’d out!My mistress sends word that she soon will be here;In a car drawn by dragons she’ll shortly appear.
Dear grey little man, say, what would’st thou to-day?Dead master of mine, what’s thy business, pray?He gazes upon me with mute mournful mien,Shakes his head, turns away, and no longer is seen.
His tail wags the shaggy old dog, and he whines;All brightly the eye of the black tom-cat shines;The women are howling with long flowing hair,—Why sings my old nurse my old cradle-song there?
Old nurse stops at home, to her song to attend,The eiapopeia is long at an end;To-day I am keeping my gay wedding feast;Only watch the arrival of each gallant guest!
Only watch them! Good sirs, how polite is your band!Ye carry your heads, ’stead of hats, in your hand;With your clattering bones, and like gallows-birds dress’d,Why arrive here so late, when the wind is at rest?
The old witch on her broomstick comes galloping on:Ah, bless me, good mother, I’m really thy son.The mouth in her pale face beginning to twitch,“For ever, amen,” soon replies the old witch.
Twelve wither’d musicians come creeping along,The limping blind fiddler is seen in the throngJackpudding dress’d out in his motley array,On the gravedigger’s back is grimacing away.
With dancing twelve nuns from the convent advance,The leering old procuress leading the dance;Twelve merry young priests follow close in their train,And sing their lewd songs in a church-going strain.
Till you’re black in the face, good old clothesman, don’t yell,Your fur-coat will nothing avail you in hell;’Tis heated for nought all the year with odd things,—’Stead of wood, with the bones of dead beggars and kings.
The girls with the flowers seem’d hunchback’d and bent,Tumbling head over heels in the room as they went;With your faces like owls, and a grasshopper’s leg,That rattling of bones discontinue, I beg.
The squadrons of hell all appear in their shrouds,And bustle and hustle in fast-swelling crowds;The waltz of damnation resounds in the ear,—Hush, hush! my sweet love is at length drawing near.
Now, rabble, be quiet, or get you away!I scarcely can hear e’en one word that I say;Hark! Is’t not the sound of a chariot at hand?Quick, open the door! Why thus loitering stand?
Thou art welcome, my darling! how goes it, my sweet?You’re welcome, good parson! stand up, I entreat!Good parson, with hoof of a horse and with tail,I’m your dutiful servant, and wish you all hail!
Dear bride, wherefore stand’st thou so pale and so dumb?The parson to join us together has come;Full dear, dear as blood, is the fee I must pay,And yet to possess thee is merely child’s play.
Kneel down, my sweet bride, by my side prythee kneelShe kneels and she sinks,—O what rapture I feel!—She sinks on my heart, on my fast-heaving breast;With shuddering pleasure I hold her close press’d.
Like billows her golden locks circle the pair,’Gainst my heart beats the heart of the maiden so fairThey beat with a union of sorrow and love,And soar to the regions of heaven above.
While our hearts are thus floating in rapture’s wide sea,In God’s holy realms, all untrammell’d and free,On our heads, as a terrible sign and a brand,Has hell in derision imposed her grim hand.
In propriâ personâthe dark son of nightAs parson bestows the priest’s blessing to-night;From a bloody book breathes he the formula terse,Each prayer execration, each blessing a curse.
A crashing and hissing and howling is heard,Like rolling of thunder, like waves wildly stirr’d;When sudden a bluish-tinged light brightly flames,“For ever, amen!” the old mother exclaims.
I came from the house of my mistress dear,And wander’d, half frenzied, in midnight fear,And when o’er the churchyard I mournfully trod,In solemn silence the graves seem’d to nod.The musician’s old tombstone seem’d nodding to be;’Tis the flickering light of the moon that I see.There’s a whisper “Dear brother, I soon shall be here!”Then a misty pale form from the tomb doth appear.The musician it was who arose in the gloom,And perch’d himself high on the top of the tomb;The chords of his lute he struck with good will,And sang with a voice right hollow and shrill:“Ah, know ye still the olden song,“That thrill’d the breast with passion strong,“Ye chords so dull and unmoving?“The angels they call it the joys of heaven,“The devils they call it hell’s torments even,“And mortals they call it—loving!”The last word’s sound had scarcely died,When all the graves their mouths open’d wide;Many airy figures step forward, and eachThe musician draws near, while in chorus they screech:“Love, O love, thy wondrous might“Brought us to this dreary plight,“Closed our eyes in endless night,—“To disturb us why delight?”Thus howl they confusedly, hissing and groaning,With roaring and sighing and crashing and moaning;The mad troop the musician surround as before,And the chords the musician strikes wildly once more“Bravo! bravo! How absurd!“Welcome to ye!“Plainly knew ye“That I spake the magic word!“As we pass the livelong year“Still as mice in prison drear,“Let’s to-day be full of cheer!“First, though, please“See that no one else is here;“Fools were we as long as living,“To love’s maddening passion giving“All our madden’d energies.“Let, by way of recreation,“Each one give a true narration“Of his former history,—“How devour’d,“How o’erpower’d“In love’s frantic chase was he.”Then as light as the air from the circle there brokeA wizen’d thin being, who hummingly spoke:“A tailor was I by profession“With needle and with shears;“None made a better impression“With needle and with shears.“Then came my master’s daughter“With needle and with shears,“And pierced my sorrowing bosom“With needle and with shears.”In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed;In solemn silence a second stepp’d aft:“Great Rinaldo Rinaldini,“Schinderhanno, Orlandini,“And Charles Moor especially,“Were my patterns made by me.“Like those mighty heroes, I“Fell in love, I’ll not deny,“And the fairest woman most“Haunted me like any ghost.“Sighing, cooing like a dove,“I was driven mad with love,“And my fingers, by ill-luck,“In my neighbour’s pocket stuck.“But the constable abused me,“And most cruelly ill-used me,“And I sought to hide my grief“In my neighbour’s handkerchief.“Then their arms policemen placed“Quietly around my waist,“And the bridewell then and there“Took me ’neath its tender care.“There, with thoughts of love quite full,“Long time sat I, spinning wool,“Till Rinaldo’s ghost one day“Came and took my soul away.”In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed;A third, all-berouged and bedizen’d, stepp’d aft:“As monarch I ruled on the stage,“The part of the lover played I,“Oft bellowed ‘Ye Gods,’ in a rage,“Breath’d many a heart-rending sigh.“I play’d Mortimer’s part best, methinks,“Maria was always so fair;“But despite the most natural winks,“She never gave heed to my prayer.“Once when I, with desperate look,“‘Maria, thou holy one!’ cried,“The dagger I hastily took,“And plunged it too deep in my side.”In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh’d;A fourth in a white flowing garment stepp’d aft:“Ex cathedrâkept prating the learned professor,“He prated, and I went to sleep all the while;“Yet my pleasure had certainly not been the lesser,“Had I revell’d instead in his daughter’s sweet smile.“From the window she oft to me tenderly beckon’d,“That flower of flowers, my life’s only light;“Yet that flower of flowers was pluck’d in a second“By a stupid old blockhead, an opulent wight.“Then cursed I all women and rogues of high station,“And mingled some poisonous herbs in my wine,“And held with old Death a jollification,“While he said: ‘Your good health! from this moment you’re mine!’”In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh’d;A fifth, with a rope round his neck, next stepp’d aft:“There boasted and bragg’d a count, over his wine,“Of his daughter so fair, and his jewels so fine.“What care I, Sir Count, for thy jewels so fine?“Far rather would I that thy daughter were mine!“’Tis true under bar, lock, and key they both lay,“And the Count many servants retain’d in his pay“What cared I for servants, for bar, lock, or key?“Up the rungs of the ladder I mounted with glee.“To my mistress’s window I climb’d with good cheer,“Where curses beneath me saluted my ear.“‘Stop, stop, my fine fellow! I too must be there,“I’m likewise in love with the jewels so fair.’“Thus jested the Count, while he grappled me tight,“His servants came round me with shouts of delight.“‘Pooh, nonsense, you rascals! No robber am I,“I but came for my mistress—’tis really no lie.’“In vain was my talking, in vain what I said,“They got ready the rope, threw it over my head,“And the sun, when he rose, with amazement extreme“Found me hanging, alas, from the gallows’ high beam!”“In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh’d;“A sixth, with his head in his hand, next stepp’d aft;“Love’s torments made me seek the chace;“Rifle in hand, I roam’d apace.“Down from the tree, with hollow scoff,“The raven cried: ‘head off! head off!’“O, could I only see a dove,“I’d take it home for my sweet love!“Thus thought I, and midst bush and tree“With sportsman’s eye sought carefully.“What billing’s that? What gentle cooing?“It sounds like turtle doves’ soft wooing.“I stole up slily, cock’d my gun,“And, lo, my own sweet love was one!“It was indeed my dove, my bride;“A stranger clasp’d her waist with pride.“Old gun, now let thy aim be good!—“The stranger welter’d in his blood.“Soon through the wood I had to pass,“With hangmen by my side, alas!“Down from the tree, with bitter scoff,“The raven cried: ‘head-off! head-off!’”In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed;At length the musician in person stepp’d aft:“I’ve sung my own song, friends, demurely,“That charming song’s at an end;“When the heart is once broken, why surely“The song may homeward wend!”Then began the wild laughter still louder to sound,And the pale spectral troop in a circle swept round.From the neighbouring church-tow’r the stroke of “One!” fell,And the spirits rush’d back to their graves with a yell.
I came from the house of my mistress dear,And wander’d, half frenzied, in midnight fear,And when o’er the churchyard I mournfully trod,In solemn silence the graves seem’d to nod.The musician’s old tombstone seem’d nodding to be;’Tis the flickering light of the moon that I see.There’s a whisper “Dear brother, I soon shall be here!”Then a misty pale form from the tomb doth appear.The musician it was who arose in the gloom,And perch’d himself high on the top of the tomb;The chords of his lute he struck with good will,And sang with a voice right hollow and shrill:“Ah, know ye still the olden song,“That thrill’d the breast with passion strong,“Ye chords so dull and unmoving?“The angels they call it the joys of heaven,“The devils they call it hell’s torments even,“And mortals they call it—loving!”The last word’s sound had scarcely died,When all the graves their mouths open’d wide;Many airy figures step forward, and eachThe musician draws near, while in chorus they screech:“Love, O love, thy wondrous might“Brought us to this dreary plight,“Closed our eyes in endless night,—“To disturb us why delight?”Thus howl they confusedly, hissing and groaning,With roaring and sighing and crashing and moaning;The mad troop the musician surround as before,And the chords the musician strikes wildly once more“Bravo! bravo! How absurd!“Welcome to ye!“Plainly knew ye“That I spake the magic word!“As we pass the livelong year“Still as mice in prison drear,“Let’s to-day be full of cheer!“First, though, please“See that no one else is here;“Fools were we as long as living,“To love’s maddening passion giving“All our madden’d energies.“Let, by way of recreation,“Each one give a true narration“Of his former history,—“How devour’d,“How o’erpower’d“In love’s frantic chase was he.”Then as light as the air from the circle there brokeA wizen’d thin being, who hummingly spoke:“A tailor was I by profession“With needle and with shears;“None made a better impression“With needle and with shears.“Then came my master’s daughter“With needle and with shears,“And pierced my sorrowing bosom“With needle and with shears.”In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed;In solemn silence a second stepp’d aft:“Great Rinaldo Rinaldini,“Schinderhanno, Orlandini,“And Charles Moor especially,“Were my patterns made by me.“Like those mighty heroes, I“Fell in love, I’ll not deny,“And the fairest woman most“Haunted me like any ghost.“Sighing, cooing like a dove,“I was driven mad with love,“And my fingers, by ill-luck,“In my neighbour’s pocket stuck.“But the constable abused me,“And most cruelly ill-used me,“And I sought to hide my grief“In my neighbour’s handkerchief.“Then their arms policemen placed“Quietly around my waist,“And the bridewell then and there“Took me ’neath its tender care.“There, with thoughts of love quite full,“Long time sat I, spinning wool,“Till Rinaldo’s ghost one day“Came and took my soul away.”In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed;A third, all-berouged and bedizen’d, stepp’d aft:“As monarch I ruled on the stage,“The part of the lover played I,“Oft bellowed ‘Ye Gods,’ in a rage,“Breath’d many a heart-rending sigh.“I play’d Mortimer’s part best, methinks,“Maria was always so fair;“But despite the most natural winks,“She never gave heed to my prayer.“Once when I, with desperate look,“‘Maria, thou holy one!’ cried,“The dagger I hastily took,“And plunged it too deep in my side.”In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh’d;A fourth in a white flowing garment stepp’d aft:“Ex cathedrâkept prating the learned professor,“He prated, and I went to sleep all the while;“Yet my pleasure had certainly not been the lesser,“Had I revell’d instead in his daughter’s sweet smile.“From the window she oft to me tenderly beckon’d,“That flower of flowers, my life’s only light;“Yet that flower of flowers was pluck’d in a second“By a stupid old blockhead, an opulent wight.“Then cursed I all women and rogues of high station,“And mingled some poisonous herbs in my wine,“And held with old Death a jollification,“While he said: ‘Your good health! from this moment you’re mine!’”In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh’d;A fifth, with a rope round his neck, next stepp’d aft:“There boasted and bragg’d a count, over his wine,“Of his daughter so fair, and his jewels so fine.“What care I, Sir Count, for thy jewels so fine?“Far rather would I that thy daughter were mine!“’Tis true under bar, lock, and key they both lay,“And the Count many servants retain’d in his pay“What cared I for servants, for bar, lock, or key?“Up the rungs of the ladder I mounted with glee.“To my mistress’s window I climb’d with good cheer,“Where curses beneath me saluted my ear.“‘Stop, stop, my fine fellow! I too must be there,“I’m likewise in love with the jewels so fair.’“Thus jested the Count, while he grappled me tight,“His servants came round me with shouts of delight.“‘Pooh, nonsense, you rascals! No robber am I,“I but came for my mistress—’tis really no lie.’“In vain was my talking, in vain what I said,“They got ready the rope, threw it over my head,“And the sun, when he rose, with amazement extreme“Found me hanging, alas, from the gallows’ high beam!”“In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh’d;“A sixth, with his head in his hand, next stepp’d aft;“Love’s torments made me seek the chace;“Rifle in hand, I roam’d apace.“Down from the tree, with hollow scoff,“The raven cried: ‘head off! head off!’“O, could I only see a dove,“I’d take it home for my sweet love!“Thus thought I, and midst bush and tree“With sportsman’s eye sought carefully.“What billing’s that? What gentle cooing?“It sounds like turtle doves’ soft wooing.“I stole up slily, cock’d my gun,“And, lo, my own sweet love was one!“It was indeed my dove, my bride;“A stranger clasp’d her waist with pride.“Old gun, now let thy aim be good!—“The stranger welter’d in his blood.“Soon through the wood I had to pass,“With hangmen by my side, alas!“Down from the tree, with bitter scoff,“The raven cried: ‘head-off! head-off!’”In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed;At length the musician in person stepp’d aft:“I’ve sung my own song, friends, demurely,“That charming song’s at an end;“When the heart is once broken, why surely“The song may homeward wend!”Then began the wild laughter still louder to sound,And the pale spectral troop in a circle swept round.From the neighbouring church-tow’r the stroke of “One!” fell,And the spirits rush’d back to their graves with a yell.
I came from the house of my mistress dear,And wander’d, half frenzied, in midnight fear,And when o’er the churchyard I mournfully trod,In solemn silence the graves seem’d to nod.
The musician’s old tombstone seem’d nodding to be;’Tis the flickering light of the moon that I see.There’s a whisper “Dear brother, I soon shall be here!”Then a misty pale form from the tomb doth appear.
The musician it was who arose in the gloom,And perch’d himself high on the top of the tomb;The chords of his lute he struck with good will,And sang with a voice right hollow and shrill:
“Ah, know ye still the olden song,“That thrill’d the breast with passion strong,“Ye chords so dull and unmoving?“The angels they call it the joys of heaven,“The devils they call it hell’s torments even,“And mortals they call it—loving!”
The last word’s sound had scarcely died,When all the graves their mouths open’d wide;Many airy figures step forward, and eachThe musician draws near, while in chorus they screech:
“Love, O love, thy wondrous might“Brought us to this dreary plight,“Closed our eyes in endless night,—“To disturb us why delight?”
Thus howl they confusedly, hissing and groaning,With roaring and sighing and crashing and moaning;The mad troop the musician surround as before,And the chords the musician strikes wildly once more
“Bravo! bravo! How absurd!“Welcome to ye!“Plainly knew ye“That I spake the magic word!
“As we pass the livelong year“Still as mice in prison drear,“Let’s to-day be full of cheer!“First, though, please“See that no one else is here;“Fools were we as long as living,“To love’s maddening passion giving“All our madden’d energies.“Let, by way of recreation,“Each one give a true narration“Of his former history,—“How devour’d,“How o’erpower’d“In love’s frantic chase was he.”
Then as light as the air from the circle there brokeA wizen’d thin being, who hummingly spoke:
“A tailor was I by profession“With needle and with shears;“None made a better impression“With needle and with shears.
“Then came my master’s daughter“With needle and with shears,“And pierced my sorrowing bosom“With needle and with shears.”
In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed;In solemn silence a second stepp’d aft:
“Great Rinaldo Rinaldini,“Schinderhanno, Orlandini,“And Charles Moor especially,“Were my patterns made by me.
“Like those mighty heroes, I“Fell in love, I’ll not deny,“And the fairest woman most“Haunted me like any ghost.
“Sighing, cooing like a dove,“I was driven mad with love,“And my fingers, by ill-luck,“In my neighbour’s pocket stuck.
“But the constable abused me,“And most cruelly ill-used me,“And I sought to hide my grief“In my neighbour’s handkerchief.
“Then their arms policemen placed“Quietly around my waist,“And the bridewell then and there“Took me ’neath its tender care.
“There, with thoughts of love quite full,“Long time sat I, spinning wool,“Till Rinaldo’s ghost one day“Came and took my soul away.”
In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed;A third, all-berouged and bedizen’d, stepp’d aft:
“As monarch I ruled on the stage,“The part of the lover played I,“Oft bellowed ‘Ye Gods,’ in a rage,“Breath’d many a heart-rending sigh.
“I play’d Mortimer’s part best, methinks,“Maria was always so fair;“But despite the most natural winks,“She never gave heed to my prayer.
“Once when I, with desperate look,“‘Maria, thou holy one!’ cried,“The dagger I hastily took,“And plunged it too deep in my side.”
In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh’d;A fourth in a white flowing garment stepp’d aft:
“Ex cathedrâkept prating the learned professor,“He prated, and I went to sleep all the while;“Yet my pleasure had certainly not been the lesser,“Had I revell’d instead in his daughter’s sweet smile.
“From the window she oft to me tenderly beckon’d,“That flower of flowers, my life’s only light;“Yet that flower of flowers was pluck’d in a second“By a stupid old blockhead, an opulent wight.
“Then cursed I all women and rogues of high station,“And mingled some poisonous herbs in my wine,“And held with old Death a jollification,“While he said: ‘Your good health! from this moment you’re mine!’”
In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh’d;A fifth, with a rope round his neck, next stepp’d aft:
“There boasted and bragg’d a count, over his wine,“Of his daughter so fair, and his jewels so fine.“What care I, Sir Count, for thy jewels so fine?“Far rather would I that thy daughter were mine!
“’Tis true under bar, lock, and key they both lay,“And the Count many servants retain’d in his pay“What cared I for servants, for bar, lock, or key?“Up the rungs of the ladder I mounted with glee.
“To my mistress’s window I climb’d with good cheer,“Where curses beneath me saluted my ear.“‘Stop, stop, my fine fellow! I too must be there,“I’m likewise in love with the jewels so fair.’
“Thus jested the Count, while he grappled me tight,“His servants came round me with shouts of delight.“‘Pooh, nonsense, you rascals! No robber am I,“I but came for my mistress—’tis really no lie.’
“In vain was my talking, in vain what I said,“They got ready the rope, threw it over my head,“And the sun, when he rose, with amazement extreme“Found me hanging, alas, from the gallows’ high beam!”
“In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh’d;“A sixth, with his head in his hand, next stepp’d aft;
“Love’s torments made me seek the chace;“Rifle in hand, I roam’d apace.“Down from the tree, with hollow scoff,“The raven cried: ‘head off! head off!’
“O, could I only see a dove,“I’d take it home for my sweet love!“Thus thought I, and midst bush and tree“With sportsman’s eye sought carefully.
“What billing’s that? What gentle cooing?“It sounds like turtle doves’ soft wooing.“I stole up slily, cock’d my gun,“And, lo, my own sweet love was one!
“It was indeed my dove, my bride;“A stranger clasp’d her waist with pride.“Old gun, now let thy aim be good!—“The stranger welter’d in his blood.
“Soon through the wood I had to pass,“With hangmen by my side, alas!“Down from the tree, with bitter scoff,“The raven cried: ‘head-off! head-off!’”
In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed;At length the musician in person stepp’d aft:
“I’ve sung my own song, friends, demurely,“That charming song’s at an end;“When the heart is once broken, why surely“The song may homeward wend!”
Then began the wild laughter still louder to sound,And the pale spectral troop in a circle swept round.From the neighbouring church-tow’r the stroke of “One!” fell,And the spirits rush’d back to their graves with a yell.
I was asleep, and calmly slept,All pain and grief allay’d;A wondrous vision o’er me crept,There came a lovely maid.As pale as marble was her face,And, O, so passing fair!Her eyes they swam with pearl-like grace,And strangely waved her hair.And softly, softly moved her footThe pale-as-marble maid;And on my heart herself she put,The pale-as-marble maid.How shook and throbb’d, half sad, half blest,My heart, which hotly burn’d!But neither shook nor throbb’d her breast,Which into ice seem’d turn’d.“It neither shakes nor throbs, my breast,“And it is icy cold;“And yet I know love’s yearning blest,“Love’s mighty pow’r of old.“No colour’s on my lips and cheek,“No blood my veins doth swell;“But start not, thus to hear me speak,“I love thee, love thee well!”And wilder still embraced she me,And I was sore afraid;Then crow’d the cock,—straight vanish’d she,The pale-as-marble maid.
I was asleep, and calmly slept,All pain and grief allay’d;A wondrous vision o’er me crept,There came a lovely maid.As pale as marble was her face,And, O, so passing fair!Her eyes they swam with pearl-like grace,And strangely waved her hair.And softly, softly moved her footThe pale-as-marble maid;And on my heart herself she put,The pale-as-marble maid.How shook and throbb’d, half sad, half blest,My heart, which hotly burn’d!But neither shook nor throbb’d her breast,Which into ice seem’d turn’d.“It neither shakes nor throbs, my breast,“And it is icy cold;“And yet I know love’s yearning blest,“Love’s mighty pow’r of old.“No colour’s on my lips and cheek,“No blood my veins doth swell;“But start not, thus to hear me speak,“I love thee, love thee well!”And wilder still embraced she me,And I was sore afraid;Then crow’d the cock,—straight vanish’d she,The pale-as-marble maid.
I was asleep, and calmly slept,All pain and grief allay’d;A wondrous vision o’er me crept,There came a lovely maid.
As pale as marble was her face,And, O, so passing fair!Her eyes they swam with pearl-like grace,And strangely waved her hair.
And softly, softly moved her footThe pale-as-marble maid;And on my heart herself she put,The pale-as-marble maid.
How shook and throbb’d, half sad, half blest,My heart, which hotly burn’d!But neither shook nor throbb’d her breast,Which into ice seem’d turn’d.
“It neither shakes nor throbs, my breast,“And it is icy cold;“And yet I know love’s yearning blest,“Love’s mighty pow’r of old.
“No colour’s on my lips and cheek,“No blood my veins doth swell;“But start not, thus to hear me speak,“I love thee, love thee well!”
And wilder still embraced she me,And I was sore afraid;Then crow’d the cock,—straight vanish’d she,The pale-as-marble maid.
I oft have pale spectres before nowConjured with magical might;They refuse to return any more nowTo their former dwelling of night.The word that commands their submissionI forgot in my terror and fear;My own spirits now seek my perdition,Within their prison-house drear.Dark demons, approach not a finger!Away, nor to torment give birth!Full many a joy still may lingerIn the roseate light of this earth.I needs must be evermore strivingTo reach the flower so fair;O, what were the use of my livingIf I may cherish her ne’er?To my glowing heart fain would I press her,Would clasp her for once to my breast,On her lips and her cheeks once caress her,With sweetest of torments be blest.If once from her mouth I could hear it,Could hear one fond whisper bestow’d,I would follow thee, beckoning Spirit,Yea, e’en to thy darksome abode.The spirits have heard, and draw nigh me,And nod with terrific glee:Sweet love, with an answer supply me,—Sweet love, O lovest thou me?
I oft have pale spectres before nowConjured with magical might;They refuse to return any more nowTo their former dwelling of night.The word that commands their submissionI forgot in my terror and fear;My own spirits now seek my perdition,Within their prison-house drear.Dark demons, approach not a finger!Away, nor to torment give birth!Full many a joy still may lingerIn the roseate light of this earth.I needs must be evermore strivingTo reach the flower so fair;O, what were the use of my livingIf I may cherish her ne’er?To my glowing heart fain would I press her,Would clasp her for once to my breast,On her lips and her cheeks once caress her,With sweetest of torments be blest.If once from her mouth I could hear it,Could hear one fond whisper bestow’d,I would follow thee, beckoning Spirit,Yea, e’en to thy darksome abode.The spirits have heard, and draw nigh me,And nod with terrific glee:Sweet love, with an answer supply me,—Sweet love, O lovest thou me?
I oft have pale spectres before nowConjured with magical might;They refuse to return any more nowTo their former dwelling of night.
The word that commands their submissionI forgot in my terror and fear;My own spirits now seek my perdition,Within their prison-house drear.
Dark demons, approach not a finger!Away, nor to torment give birth!Full many a joy still may lingerIn the roseate light of this earth.
I needs must be evermore strivingTo reach the flower so fair;O, what were the use of my livingIf I may cherish her ne’er?
To my glowing heart fain would I press her,Would clasp her for once to my breast,On her lips and her cheeks once caress her,With sweetest of torments be blest.
If once from her mouth I could hear it,Could hear one fond whisper bestow’d,I would follow thee, beckoning Spirit,Yea, e’en to thy darksome abode.
The spirits have heard, and draw nigh me,And nod with terrific glee:Sweet love, with an answer supply me,—Sweet love, O lovest thou me?
Every morning rise I, crying:Comes my love to-day?Then sink down at evening, sighing:She is still away!Sleepless and oppress’d with sorrow,All night long I lieDreaming, half asleep; the morrowSadly wander I.
Every morning rise I, crying:Comes my love to-day?Then sink down at evening, sighing:She is still away!Sleepless and oppress’d with sorrow,All night long I lieDreaming, half asleep; the morrowSadly wander I.
Every morning rise I, crying:Comes my love to-day?Then sink down at evening, sighing:She is still away!
Sleepless and oppress’d with sorrow,All night long I lieDreaming, half asleep; the morrowSadly wander I.
I’m driven hither and thither along!But yet a few hours, I shall see her again,Herself, the most fair of the fair maiden-train;—True heart, what means thy throbbing so strong?The hours are only a slothful race!Lazily they move each day,And with yawning go their way;—Hasten on, ye slothful race!Wild-raging eagerness thrills me indeed;Never in love have the hours delighted;So, in a cruel bond strangely united,Slily deride they the lovers’ wild speed.
I’m driven hither and thither along!But yet a few hours, I shall see her again,Herself, the most fair of the fair maiden-train;—True heart, what means thy throbbing so strong?The hours are only a slothful race!Lazily they move each day,And with yawning go their way;—Hasten on, ye slothful race!Wild-raging eagerness thrills me indeed;Never in love have the hours delighted;So, in a cruel bond strangely united,Slily deride they the lovers’ wild speed.
I’m driven hither and thither along!But yet a few hours, I shall see her again,Herself, the most fair of the fair maiden-train;—True heart, what means thy throbbing so strong?
The hours are only a slothful race!Lazily they move each day,And with yawning go their way;—Hasten on, ye slothful race!
Wild-raging eagerness thrills me indeed;Never in love have the hours delighted;So, in a cruel bond strangely united,Slily deride they the lovers’ wild speed.
By nought but sorrow attended,I wander’d under the trees;That olden vision descended,And stole to my heart by degrees.Who taught you the word ye are singing,Ye birds in the branches on high?O hush! when my heart hears it ringing,It makes it more mournfully sigh.“A fair young maiden ’twas taught it,“Who came here, and sang like a bird;“And so we birds easily caught it,“That pretty, golden word.”No more shall this story deceive me,Ye birds, so wondrously sly:Of my sorrow ye fain would bereave me,On your friendship I cannot rely.
By nought but sorrow attended,I wander’d under the trees;That olden vision descended,And stole to my heart by degrees.Who taught you the word ye are singing,Ye birds in the branches on high?O hush! when my heart hears it ringing,It makes it more mournfully sigh.“A fair young maiden ’twas taught it,“Who came here, and sang like a bird;“And so we birds easily caught it,“That pretty, golden word.”No more shall this story deceive me,Ye birds, so wondrously sly:Of my sorrow ye fain would bereave me,On your friendship I cannot rely.
By nought but sorrow attended,I wander’d under the trees;That olden vision descended,And stole to my heart by degrees.
Who taught you the word ye are singing,Ye birds in the branches on high?O hush! when my heart hears it ringing,It makes it more mournfully sigh.
“A fair young maiden ’twas taught it,“Who came here, and sang like a bird;“And so we birds easily caught it,“That pretty, golden word.”
No more shall this story deceive me,Ye birds, so wondrously sly:Of my sorrow ye fain would bereave me,On your friendship I cannot rely.
Sweet love, lay thy hand on my heart, and tellIf thou hearest the knocks in that narrow cell?There dwells there a carpenter, cunning is he,And slily he’s hewing a coffin for me.He hammers and knocks by day and by night,My slumber already has banish’d outright;Oh, Master Carpenter, prythee make haste,That I some slumber at length may taste.
Sweet love, lay thy hand on my heart, and tellIf thou hearest the knocks in that narrow cell?There dwells there a carpenter, cunning is he,And slily he’s hewing a coffin for me.He hammers and knocks by day and by night,My slumber already has banish’d outright;Oh, Master Carpenter, prythee make haste,That I some slumber at length may taste.
Sweet love, lay thy hand on my heart, and tellIf thou hearest the knocks in that narrow cell?There dwells there a carpenter, cunning is he,And slily he’s hewing a coffin for me.
He hammers and knocks by day and by night,My slumber already has banish’d outright;Oh, Master Carpenter, prythee make haste,That I some slumber at length may taste.
Beauteous cradle of my sorrow,Beauteous grave of all my peace,Beauteous town, we part to-morrow,Fare thee well, our ties must cease!Fare thee well, thou threshold holy,Where my loved one sets her feet!Fare thee well, thou spot so holy,Where we chanced at first to meet!Would that we had been for everStrangers, queen of hearts so fair!Then it would have happen’d neverThat I’m driven to despair.Ne’er to stir thy bosom thought I,For thy love I never pray’d;Silently to live but sought IWhere thy breath its balm convey’d.Yet thou spurn’st me in my sadness,Bitter words thy mouth doth speak,In my senses riots madness,And my heart is faint and weakAnd my limbs, in wanderings dreary,Sadly drag I, full of gloom,Till I lay my head all wearyIn a chilly distant tomb.
Beauteous cradle of my sorrow,Beauteous grave of all my peace,Beauteous town, we part to-morrow,Fare thee well, our ties must cease!Fare thee well, thou threshold holy,Where my loved one sets her feet!Fare thee well, thou spot so holy,Where we chanced at first to meet!Would that we had been for everStrangers, queen of hearts so fair!Then it would have happen’d neverThat I’m driven to despair.Ne’er to stir thy bosom thought I,For thy love I never pray’d;Silently to live but sought IWhere thy breath its balm convey’d.Yet thou spurn’st me in my sadness,Bitter words thy mouth doth speak,In my senses riots madness,And my heart is faint and weakAnd my limbs, in wanderings dreary,Sadly drag I, full of gloom,Till I lay my head all wearyIn a chilly distant tomb.
Beauteous cradle of my sorrow,Beauteous grave of all my peace,Beauteous town, we part to-morrow,Fare thee well, our ties must cease!
Fare thee well, thou threshold holy,Where my loved one sets her feet!Fare thee well, thou spot so holy,Where we chanced at first to meet!
Would that we had been for everStrangers, queen of hearts so fair!Then it would have happen’d neverThat I’m driven to despair.
Ne’er to stir thy bosom thought I,For thy love I never pray’d;Silently to live but sought IWhere thy breath its balm convey’d.
Yet thou spurn’st me in my sadness,Bitter words thy mouth doth speak,In my senses riots madness,And my heart is faint and weak
And my limbs, in wanderings dreary,Sadly drag I, full of gloom,Till I lay my head all wearyIn a chilly distant tomb.
Patience, surly pilot, shortlyTo the port I’ll follow you;From two maidens I’m departing,From my love and Europe too.Blood-spring, from mine eyes ’gin running,Blood-spring, from my body flow,So that I then, with my hot blood,May write down my tale of woe.Ah, my body, wherefore shudderThus to-day my blood to see?Many years before thee standingPale, heart-bleeding, saw’st thou me!Know’st thou still the olden storyOf the snake in Paradise,Who, a cursed apple giving,Caused our parents endless sighs?Apples brought all evils on us,Death through Eve by apples came;Flames on Troy were brought by Eris,—Both thou broughtest, death and flame!
Patience, surly pilot, shortlyTo the port I’ll follow you;From two maidens I’m departing,From my love and Europe too.Blood-spring, from mine eyes ’gin running,Blood-spring, from my body flow,So that I then, with my hot blood,May write down my tale of woe.Ah, my body, wherefore shudderThus to-day my blood to see?Many years before thee standingPale, heart-bleeding, saw’st thou me!Know’st thou still the olden storyOf the snake in Paradise,Who, a cursed apple giving,Caused our parents endless sighs?Apples brought all evils on us,Death through Eve by apples came;Flames on Troy were brought by Eris,—Both thou broughtest, death and flame!
Patience, surly pilot, shortlyTo the port I’ll follow you;From two maidens I’m departing,From my love and Europe too.
Blood-spring, from mine eyes ’gin running,Blood-spring, from my body flow,So that I then, with my hot blood,May write down my tale of woe.
Ah, my body, wherefore shudderThus to-day my blood to see?Many years before thee standingPale, heart-bleeding, saw’st thou me!
Know’st thou still the olden storyOf the snake in Paradise,Who, a cursed apple giving,Caused our parents endless sighs?
Apples brought all evils on us,Death through Eve by apples came;Flames on Troy were brought by Eris,—Both thou broughtest, death and flame!
Hill and castle fair are glancingO’er the clear and glassy Rhine,And my bark is gaily dancingIn the sunlight all-divine.On the golden waters, breakingSportively, my calm eyes rest;Gently are the feelings wakingThat I nourish’d in my breast.With a fond and kindly greeting,Lure me those deep waters bright,Yet I know their smoothness cheatingHides beneath it death and night.Joy above, below destruction,—Thou’rt my loved one’s image, streamBlissful is her smile’s seduction,Kind and gentle can she seem.
Hill and castle fair are glancingO’er the clear and glassy Rhine,And my bark is gaily dancingIn the sunlight all-divine.On the golden waters, breakingSportively, my calm eyes rest;Gently are the feelings wakingThat I nourish’d in my breast.With a fond and kindly greeting,Lure me those deep waters bright,Yet I know their smoothness cheatingHides beneath it death and night.Joy above, below destruction,—Thou’rt my loved one’s image, streamBlissful is her smile’s seduction,Kind and gentle can she seem.
Hill and castle fair are glancingO’er the clear and glassy Rhine,And my bark is gaily dancingIn the sunlight all-divine.
On the golden waters, breakingSportively, my calm eyes rest;Gently are the feelings wakingThat I nourish’d in my breast.
With a fond and kindly greeting,Lure me those deep waters bright,Yet I know their smoothness cheatingHides beneath it death and night.
Joy above, below destruction,—Thou’rt my loved one’s image, streamBlissful is her smile’s seduction,Kind and gentle can she seem.
First methought in my affliction,I can never stand the blow.—Yet I did—strange contradiction!HowI did, ne’er seek to know.
First methought in my affliction,I can never stand the blow.—Yet I did—strange contradiction!HowI did, ne’er seek to know.
First methought in my affliction,I can never stand the blow.—Yet I did—strange contradiction!HowI did, ne’er seek to know.
With rose and cypress and tinsel gay,I fain would adorn in a charming wayThis book, as though a coffin it were,And in it my olden songs inter.O, could I but bury love also there!On love’s grave grows rest’s floweret fair;’Tis there ’tis pluck’d in its sweetest bloom,—For me ’twill not blossom till in my tomb.Here now are the songs that formerly rose,As wild as the lava from Etna that flows,From out the depths of my feelings true,And glittering sparks around them threw!Like corpses now lie they, all silent and dumb,And cold and pallid as mist they’ve become;But the olden glow their revival will bringWhen the spirit of love waves o’er them its wing.In my heart a presentiment loudly cries:The spirit of love will over them rise:This book will hereafter come to thy hand,My sweetest love, in a distant land.Then the spell on my song at an end will be,The pallid letters will gaze on thee,Imploringly gaze on thy beauteous eyes,And whisper with sadness and loving sighs.
With rose and cypress and tinsel gay,I fain would adorn in a charming wayThis book, as though a coffin it were,And in it my olden songs inter.O, could I but bury love also there!On love’s grave grows rest’s floweret fair;’Tis there ’tis pluck’d in its sweetest bloom,—For me ’twill not blossom till in my tomb.Here now are the songs that formerly rose,As wild as the lava from Etna that flows,From out the depths of my feelings true,And glittering sparks around them threw!Like corpses now lie they, all silent and dumb,And cold and pallid as mist they’ve become;But the olden glow their revival will bringWhen the spirit of love waves o’er them its wing.In my heart a presentiment loudly cries:The spirit of love will over them rise:This book will hereafter come to thy hand,My sweetest love, in a distant land.Then the spell on my song at an end will be,The pallid letters will gaze on thee,Imploringly gaze on thy beauteous eyes,And whisper with sadness and loving sighs.
With rose and cypress and tinsel gay,I fain would adorn in a charming wayThis book, as though a coffin it were,And in it my olden songs inter.
O, could I but bury love also there!On love’s grave grows rest’s floweret fair;’Tis there ’tis pluck’d in its sweetest bloom,—For me ’twill not blossom till in my tomb.
Here now are the songs that formerly rose,As wild as the lava from Etna that flows,From out the depths of my feelings true,And glittering sparks around them threw!
Like corpses now lie they, all silent and dumb,And cold and pallid as mist they’ve become;But the olden glow their revival will bringWhen the spirit of love waves o’er them its wing.
In my heart a presentiment loudly cries:The spirit of love will over them rise:This book will hereafter come to thy hand,My sweetest love, in a distant land.
Then the spell on my song at an end will be,The pallid letters will gaze on thee,Imploringly gaze on thy beauteous eyes,And whisper with sadness and loving sighs.
Every heart with pain is smittenWhen they see the stripling pale,Who upon his face bears writtenGrief and sorrow’s mournful tale.Breezes with compassion lightlyFan his burning brow the while,And his bosom many a sprightlyDamsel fair would fain beguile.From the city’s ceaseless bustleTo the wood for peace he flies.Merrily the leaves there rustle,Merrier still the bird’s songs rise.But the merry song soon ceases,Sadly rustle leaf and tree,When he, while his grief increases,Nears the forest mournfully.
Every heart with pain is smittenWhen they see the stripling pale,Who upon his face bears writtenGrief and sorrow’s mournful tale.Breezes with compassion lightlyFan his burning brow the while,And his bosom many a sprightlyDamsel fair would fain beguile.From the city’s ceaseless bustleTo the wood for peace he flies.Merrily the leaves there rustle,Merrier still the bird’s songs rise.But the merry song soon ceases,Sadly rustle leaf and tree,When he, while his grief increases,Nears the forest mournfully.
Every heart with pain is smittenWhen they see the stripling pale,Who upon his face bears writtenGrief and sorrow’s mournful tale.
Breezes with compassion lightlyFan his burning brow the while,And his bosom many a sprightlyDamsel fair would fain beguile.
From the city’s ceaseless bustleTo the wood for peace he flies.Merrily the leaves there rustle,Merrier still the bird’s songs rise.
But the merry song soon ceases,Sadly rustle leaf and tree,When he, while his grief increases,Nears the forest mournfully.
At sad slow pace across the valeThere rode a horseman brave:“Ah! travel I now to my mistress’s arms,Or but to the darksome grave?”The echo answer gave:“The darksome grave!”And farther rode the horseman on,With sighs his thoughts express’d:“If I thus early must go to my grave,Yet in the grave is rest.”The answering voice confess’d:“The grave is rest!”Adown the horseman’s furrow’d cheekA tear fell on his breast:“If rest I can only find in the grave,For me the grave is best.”The hollow voice confess’d:“The grave is best!”
At sad slow pace across the valeThere rode a horseman brave:“Ah! travel I now to my mistress’s arms,Or but to the darksome grave?”The echo answer gave:“The darksome grave!”And farther rode the horseman on,With sighs his thoughts express’d:“If I thus early must go to my grave,Yet in the grave is rest.”The answering voice confess’d:“The grave is rest!”Adown the horseman’s furrow’d cheekA tear fell on his breast:“If rest I can only find in the grave,For me the grave is best.”The hollow voice confess’d:“The grave is best!”
At sad slow pace across the valeThere rode a horseman brave:“Ah! travel I now to my mistress’s arms,Or but to the darksome grave?”The echo answer gave:“The darksome grave!”
And farther rode the horseman on,With sighs his thoughts express’d:“If I thus early must go to my grave,Yet in the grave is rest.”The answering voice confess’d:“The grave is rest!”
Adown the horseman’s furrow’d cheekA tear fell on his breast:“If rest I can only find in the grave,For me the grave is best.”The hollow voice confess’d:“The grave is best!”