In the evening-shaded gardenRambles the Alcalde’s daughter;Kettle-drums and trumpets loudlyEcho from the lofty castle.“Wearisome I find the dances,“And the honied words of flatt’ry,“And the knights, who so gallantly“Tell me I the sun resemble.“Everything is hateful to me“Since I by the beaming moonlight“Saw the Knight whose lute allured me“To the window every evening.“As he stood, so slim, but daring,“And his eyes shot lightning glances“From his pale and noble features,“Truly he Saint George resembled.”In this manner Donna ClaraThought, and on the ground then looked she;When she raised her eyes, the handsomeUnknown Knight was standing by her.Pressing hands with loving whispersWander they beneath the moonlight,And the zephyr gently woos them,Wondrously the roses greet them.Wondrously the roses greet them,Like love’s messengers all glowing.—“But, my loved one, prythee tell me“Why so suddenly thou redden’st?”“’Twas the flies that stung me, dearest,“And the flies are, all the summer,“Quite as much detested by me“As the long-nosed Jewish fellows.”“Never mind the flies and Jews, dear,”Said the Knight, with fond caresses.From the almond-trees are fallingThousand white and fleecy blossoms.Thousand white and fleecy blossomsTheir sweet fragrance shed around them.“But, my loved one, prythee tell me“Is thy heart devoted to me?”“Yes, I truly love thee, dearest,“And I swear it by the Saviour“Whom the God-detested Jews erst“Wickedly and vilely murder’d.”“Never mind the Jews and Saviour,”Said the Knight, with fond caresses.In the distance snow-white liliesDreamily, light-bathed, are bending.Bathed in light the snow-white liliesGaze upon the stars above them:“But, my loved one, prythee tell me“Hast thou not a false oath taken?”“Falsehood is not in me, dearest,“Since within my breast there flows not“E’en one single drop of Moor’s blood,“Or of dirty Jew’s blood either.”“Never mind the Moors and Jews, dear,”Said the Knight, with fond caresses;And he to a myrtle bowerLeads the fair Alcalde’s daughter.With the nets of love so tender,He hath secretly enclosed her!Short their words and long their kisses,And their hearts are overflowing.Like a wedding-song all-meltingSings the nightingale, the dear one;Glowworms on the ground are moving,As if in the torch-dance circling.Silence reigns within the bower,Nought is heard except the stealthyWhispers of the cunning myrtles,And the breathing of the flowerets.But soon kettle-drums and trumpetsEcho from the lofty castle,And, awakening, Clara quicklyFrom the Knight’s arm frees her person.“Hark, they’re calling me, my dearest,Yet before we part, thou need’st mustThy dear name to me discoverWhich thou hast so long concealèd.”And the Knight, with radiant smiling,Kiss’d the fingers of his Donna,Kiss’d her lips and kiss’d her forehead,And at last these words he uttered:“I, Señora, I, your loved one,Am the son of the much honour’dGreat and learned scribe, the RabbiIsrael of Saragossa.”
In the evening-shaded gardenRambles the Alcalde’s daughter;Kettle-drums and trumpets loudlyEcho from the lofty castle.“Wearisome I find the dances,“And the honied words of flatt’ry,“And the knights, who so gallantly“Tell me I the sun resemble.“Everything is hateful to me“Since I by the beaming moonlight“Saw the Knight whose lute allured me“To the window every evening.“As he stood, so slim, but daring,“And his eyes shot lightning glances“From his pale and noble features,“Truly he Saint George resembled.”In this manner Donna ClaraThought, and on the ground then looked she;When she raised her eyes, the handsomeUnknown Knight was standing by her.Pressing hands with loving whispersWander they beneath the moonlight,And the zephyr gently woos them,Wondrously the roses greet them.Wondrously the roses greet them,Like love’s messengers all glowing.—“But, my loved one, prythee tell me“Why so suddenly thou redden’st?”“’Twas the flies that stung me, dearest,“And the flies are, all the summer,“Quite as much detested by me“As the long-nosed Jewish fellows.”“Never mind the flies and Jews, dear,”Said the Knight, with fond caresses.From the almond-trees are fallingThousand white and fleecy blossoms.Thousand white and fleecy blossomsTheir sweet fragrance shed around them.“But, my loved one, prythee tell me“Is thy heart devoted to me?”“Yes, I truly love thee, dearest,“And I swear it by the Saviour“Whom the God-detested Jews erst“Wickedly and vilely murder’d.”“Never mind the Jews and Saviour,”Said the Knight, with fond caresses.In the distance snow-white liliesDreamily, light-bathed, are bending.Bathed in light the snow-white liliesGaze upon the stars above them:“But, my loved one, prythee tell me“Hast thou not a false oath taken?”“Falsehood is not in me, dearest,“Since within my breast there flows not“E’en one single drop of Moor’s blood,“Or of dirty Jew’s blood either.”“Never mind the Moors and Jews, dear,”Said the Knight, with fond caresses;And he to a myrtle bowerLeads the fair Alcalde’s daughter.With the nets of love so tender,He hath secretly enclosed her!Short their words and long their kisses,And their hearts are overflowing.Like a wedding-song all-meltingSings the nightingale, the dear one;Glowworms on the ground are moving,As if in the torch-dance circling.Silence reigns within the bower,Nought is heard except the stealthyWhispers of the cunning myrtles,And the breathing of the flowerets.But soon kettle-drums and trumpetsEcho from the lofty castle,And, awakening, Clara quicklyFrom the Knight’s arm frees her person.“Hark, they’re calling me, my dearest,Yet before we part, thou need’st mustThy dear name to me discoverWhich thou hast so long concealèd.”And the Knight, with radiant smiling,Kiss’d the fingers of his Donna,Kiss’d her lips and kiss’d her forehead,And at last these words he uttered:“I, Señora, I, your loved one,Am the son of the much honour’dGreat and learned scribe, the RabbiIsrael of Saragossa.”
In the evening-shaded gardenRambles the Alcalde’s daughter;Kettle-drums and trumpets loudlyEcho from the lofty castle.
“Wearisome I find the dances,“And the honied words of flatt’ry,“And the knights, who so gallantly“Tell me I the sun resemble.
“Everything is hateful to me“Since I by the beaming moonlight“Saw the Knight whose lute allured me“To the window every evening.
“As he stood, so slim, but daring,“And his eyes shot lightning glances“From his pale and noble features,“Truly he Saint George resembled.”
In this manner Donna ClaraThought, and on the ground then looked she;When she raised her eyes, the handsomeUnknown Knight was standing by her.
Pressing hands with loving whispersWander they beneath the moonlight,And the zephyr gently woos them,Wondrously the roses greet them.
Wondrously the roses greet them,Like love’s messengers all glowing.—“But, my loved one, prythee tell me“Why so suddenly thou redden’st?”
“’Twas the flies that stung me, dearest,“And the flies are, all the summer,“Quite as much detested by me“As the long-nosed Jewish fellows.”
“Never mind the flies and Jews, dear,”Said the Knight, with fond caresses.From the almond-trees are fallingThousand white and fleecy blossoms.
Thousand white and fleecy blossomsTheir sweet fragrance shed around them.“But, my loved one, prythee tell me“Is thy heart devoted to me?”
“Yes, I truly love thee, dearest,“And I swear it by the Saviour“Whom the God-detested Jews erst“Wickedly and vilely murder’d.”
“Never mind the Jews and Saviour,”Said the Knight, with fond caresses.In the distance snow-white liliesDreamily, light-bathed, are bending.
Bathed in light the snow-white liliesGaze upon the stars above them:“But, my loved one, prythee tell me“Hast thou not a false oath taken?”
“Falsehood is not in me, dearest,“Since within my breast there flows not“E’en one single drop of Moor’s blood,“Or of dirty Jew’s blood either.”
“Never mind the Moors and Jews, dear,”Said the Knight, with fond caresses;And he to a myrtle bowerLeads the fair Alcalde’s daughter.
With the nets of love so tender,He hath secretly enclosed her!Short their words and long their kisses,And their hearts are overflowing.
Like a wedding-song all-meltingSings the nightingale, the dear one;Glowworms on the ground are moving,As if in the torch-dance circling.
Silence reigns within the bower,Nought is heard except the stealthyWhispers of the cunning myrtles,And the breathing of the flowerets.
But soon kettle-drums and trumpetsEcho from the lofty castle,And, awakening, Clara quicklyFrom the Knight’s arm frees her person.
“Hark, they’re calling me, my dearest,Yet before we part, thou need’st mustThy dear name to me discoverWhich thou hast so long concealèd.”
And the Knight, with radiant smiling,Kiss’d the fingers of his Donna,Kiss’d her lips and kiss’d her forehead,And at last these words he uttered:
“I, Señora, I, your loved one,Am the son of the much honour’dGreat and learned scribe, the RabbiIsrael of Saragossa.”
In fair Cordova’s cathedral,Stand the columns, thirteen hundred,—Thirteen hundred giant-columnsBear the mighty dome in safety.And on dome and walls and columnsFrom the very top to bottomThe Koran’s Arabian proverbsTwine in wise and flowery fashion.Moorish Kings erected whilomeThis vast house to Allah’s glory,Yet in many parts ’tis alter’dIn the darksome whirl of ages.On the turret where the watchmanSummon’d unto prayer the people,Now the Christian bell is soundingWith its melancholy murmur.On the steps whereon the faithfulUsed to sing the Prophet’s sayings,Now baldpated priests exhibitAll the mass’s trivial wonders.How they twirl before the colour’dPuppets, full of antic capers,Midst the incense smoke and ringing,While the senseless tapers sparkle!In fair Cordova’s cathedralStands Almansor ben Abdullah,Viewing silently the columns,And these words in silence murmuring:“O ye columns, strong, gigantic,“Once adorn’d in Allah’s glory,“Now must ye pay humble homage“To this Christendom detested.“To the times have ye submitted,“And ye bear the burden calmly;“Still more reason for the weaker“To be patient all the sooner.”And Almansor ben AbdullahBent his head with face unruffledO’er the font so decoratedIn fair Cordova’s cathedral.
In fair Cordova’s cathedral,Stand the columns, thirteen hundred,—Thirteen hundred giant-columnsBear the mighty dome in safety.And on dome and walls and columnsFrom the very top to bottomThe Koran’s Arabian proverbsTwine in wise and flowery fashion.Moorish Kings erected whilomeThis vast house to Allah’s glory,Yet in many parts ’tis alter’dIn the darksome whirl of ages.On the turret where the watchmanSummon’d unto prayer the people,Now the Christian bell is soundingWith its melancholy murmur.On the steps whereon the faithfulUsed to sing the Prophet’s sayings,Now baldpated priests exhibitAll the mass’s trivial wonders.How they twirl before the colour’dPuppets, full of antic capers,Midst the incense smoke and ringing,While the senseless tapers sparkle!In fair Cordova’s cathedralStands Almansor ben Abdullah,Viewing silently the columns,And these words in silence murmuring:“O ye columns, strong, gigantic,“Once adorn’d in Allah’s glory,“Now must ye pay humble homage“To this Christendom detested.“To the times have ye submitted,“And ye bear the burden calmly;“Still more reason for the weaker“To be patient all the sooner.”And Almansor ben AbdullahBent his head with face unruffledO’er the font so decoratedIn fair Cordova’s cathedral.
In fair Cordova’s cathedral,Stand the columns, thirteen hundred,—Thirteen hundred giant-columnsBear the mighty dome in safety.
And on dome and walls and columnsFrom the very top to bottomThe Koran’s Arabian proverbsTwine in wise and flowery fashion.
Moorish Kings erected whilomeThis vast house to Allah’s glory,Yet in many parts ’tis alter’dIn the darksome whirl of ages.
On the turret where the watchmanSummon’d unto prayer the people,Now the Christian bell is soundingWith its melancholy murmur.
On the steps whereon the faithfulUsed to sing the Prophet’s sayings,Now baldpated priests exhibitAll the mass’s trivial wonders.
How they twirl before the colour’dPuppets, full of antic capers,Midst the incense smoke and ringing,While the senseless tapers sparkle!
In fair Cordova’s cathedralStands Almansor ben Abdullah,Viewing silently the columns,And these words in silence murmuring:
“O ye columns, strong, gigantic,“Once adorn’d in Allah’s glory,“Now must ye pay humble homage“To this Christendom detested.
“To the times have ye submitted,“And ye bear the burden calmly;“Still more reason for the weaker“To be patient all the sooner.”
And Almansor ben AbdullahBent his head with face unruffledO’er the font so decoratedIn fair Cordova’s cathedral.
The cathedral left he quickly,On his wild steed speeding onward,While his moist locks and the feathersIn his hat the wind is moving.On the road to Alcolea,By the side of Guadalquivir,Where the snowy almond blossoms,And the fragrant golden orange,Thither bastes the merry rider,Piping, singing, laughing gaily,And the birds all swell the chorus,And the torrent’s noisy waters.In the fort at AlcoleaDwelleth Clara de Alvares;In Navarre her sire is fighting,And she revels in her freedom.And afar Almansor hearethSounds of kettle-drums and trumpets,And the castle lights beholds heGlittering through the trees’ dark shadows.In the fort at AlcoleaDance twelve gaily trick’d-out ladiesWith twelve knights attired as gaily,But Almansor’s the best dancer.As if wing’d by merry fancies,Round about the hall he flutters,Knowing how to all the ladiesTo address sweet flattering speeches.Isabella’s lovely hands heKisses quickly, and then leaves her,And before Elvira stands he,Looking in her face so archly.He in turns assures each ladyThat he heartily adores her;“On the true faith of a Christian”Swears he thirty times that evening.
The cathedral left he quickly,On his wild steed speeding onward,While his moist locks and the feathersIn his hat the wind is moving.On the road to Alcolea,By the side of Guadalquivir,Where the snowy almond blossoms,And the fragrant golden orange,Thither bastes the merry rider,Piping, singing, laughing gaily,And the birds all swell the chorus,And the torrent’s noisy waters.In the fort at AlcoleaDwelleth Clara de Alvares;In Navarre her sire is fighting,And she revels in her freedom.And afar Almansor hearethSounds of kettle-drums and trumpets,And the castle lights beholds heGlittering through the trees’ dark shadows.In the fort at AlcoleaDance twelve gaily trick’d-out ladiesWith twelve knights attired as gaily,But Almansor’s the best dancer.As if wing’d by merry fancies,Round about the hall he flutters,Knowing how to all the ladiesTo address sweet flattering speeches.Isabella’s lovely hands heKisses quickly, and then leaves her,And before Elvira stands he,Looking in her face so archly.He in turns assures each ladyThat he heartily adores her;“On the true faith of a Christian”Swears he thirty times that evening.
The cathedral left he quickly,On his wild steed speeding onward,While his moist locks and the feathersIn his hat the wind is moving.
On the road to Alcolea,By the side of Guadalquivir,Where the snowy almond blossoms,And the fragrant golden orange,
Thither bastes the merry rider,Piping, singing, laughing gaily,And the birds all swell the chorus,And the torrent’s noisy waters.
In the fort at AlcoleaDwelleth Clara de Alvares;In Navarre her sire is fighting,And she revels in her freedom.
And afar Almansor hearethSounds of kettle-drums and trumpets,And the castle lights beholds heGlittering through the trees’ dark shadows.
In the fort at AlcoleaDance twelve gaily trick’d-out ladiesWith twelve knights attired as gaily,But Almansor’s the best dancer.
As if wing’d by merry fancies,Round about the hall he flutters,Knowing how to all the ladiesTo address sweet flattering speeches.
Isabella’s lovely hands heKisses quickly, and then leaves her,And before Elvira stands he,Looking in her face so archly.
He in turns assures each ladyThat he heartily adores her;“On the true faith of a Christian”Swears he thirty times that evening.
In the fort at AlcoleaMerriment and noise have ceased nowKnights and ladies all have vanish’d,And the lights are all extinguish’d.Donna Clara and AlmansorIn the hall above still linger,And one single lamp is throwingOn them both its feeble lustre.On the seat the lady’s sitting,And the knight upon the footstool,And his head, by sleep o’erpower’d,On her darling knees is resting.From a golden flask some rose-oilPours the lady, sadly musing,On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,—From his inmost bosom sighs he.With her soft lips then the ladyGives a sweet kiss, sadly musing,On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,—And his brow is clouded over.From her light eyes tears in torrentsWeeps the lady, sadly musing,On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,—And his lips begin to quiver.And he dreams he’s once more standingWith his head bent down and weepingIn fair Cordova’s cathedral,Many gloomy voices hearing.All the lofty giant-columnsHears he murmuring full of anger,—That no longer will they bear it,And they totter and they tremble.And they wildly fall together,Pale turn all the priests and people,Crashing falls the dome upon them,And the Christian gods wail loudly.
In the fort at AlcoleaMerriment and noise have ceased nowKnights and ladies all have vanish’d,And the lights are all extinguish’d.Donna Clara and AlmansorIn the hall above still linger,And one single lamp is throwingOn them both its feeble lustre.On the seat the lady’s sitting,And the knight upon the footstool,And his head, by sleep o’erpower’d,On her darling knees is resting.From a golden flask some rose-oilPours the lady, sadly musing,On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,—From his inmost bosom sighs he.With her soft lips then the ladyGives a sweet kiss, sadly musing,On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,—And his brow is clouded over.From her light eyes tears in torrentsWeeps the lady, sadly musing,On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,—And his lips begin to quiver.And he dreams he’s once more standingWith his head bent down and weepingIn fair Cordova’s cathedral,Many gloomy voices hearing.All the lofty giant-columnsHears he murmuring full of anger,—That no longer will they bear it,And they totter and they tremble.And they wildly fall together,Pale turn all the priests and people,Crashing falls the dome upon them,And the Christian gods wail loudly.
In the fort at AlcoleaMerriment and noise have ceased nowKnights and ladies all have vanish’d,And the lights are all extinguish’d.
Donna Clara and AlmansorIn the hall above still linger,And one single lamp is throwingOn them both its feeble lustre.
On the seat the lady’s sitting,And the knight upon the footstool,And his head, by sleep o’erpower’d,On her darling knees is resting.
From a golden flask some rose-oilPours the lady, sadly musing,On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,—From his inmost bosom sighs he.
With her soft lips then the ladyGives a sweet kiss, sadly musing,On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,—And his brow is clouded over.
From her light eyes tears in torrentsWeeps the lady, sadly musing,On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,—And his lips begin to quiver.
And he dreams he’s once more standingWith his head bent down and weepingIn fair Cordova’s cathedral,Many gloomy voices hearing.
All the lofty giant-columnsHears he murmuring full of anger,—That no longer will they bear it,And they totter and they tremble.
And they wildly fall together,Pale turn all the priests and people,Crashing falls the dome upon them,And the Christian gods wail loudly.
The mother stood by the window,The son in bed lay he.“Wilt thou not rise up, William,“The fair procession to see?”—“I am so ill, my mother,“I neither see nor hear;“I think of my poor dead Gretchen,“My heart is breaking near.”“Arise, let’s go to Kevlaar,“Take book and rosary too;“The mother of God will heal thee,“And cure thy sick heart anew.”In church-like tones they are singing,The banners flutter on high;At Cologne on the Rhine this happens,The proud procession moves by.The crowd the mother follows,Her son she leadeth now,And both of them sing in chorus:“O Mary, blessed be thou!”
The mother stood by the window,The son in bed lay he.“Wilt thou not rise up, William,“The fair procession to see?”—“I am so ill, my mother,“I neither see nor hear;“I think of my poor dead Gretchen,“My heart is breaking near.”“Arise, let’s go to Kevlaar,“Take book and rosary too;“The mother of God will heal thee,“And cure thy sick heart anew.”In church-like tones they are singing,The banners flutter on high;At Cologne on the Rhine this happens,The proud procession moves by.The crowd the mother follows,Her son she leadeth now,And both of them sing in chorus:“O Mary, blessed be thou!”
The mother stood by the window,The son in bed lay he.“Wilt thou not rise up, William,“The fair procession to see?”—
“I am so ill, my mother,“I neither see nor hear;“I think of my poor dead Gretchen,“My heart is breaking near.”
“Arise, let’s go to Kevlaar,“Take book and rosary too;“The mother of God will heal thee,“And cure thy sick heart anew.”
In church-like tones they are singing,The banners flutter on high;At Cologne on the Rhine this happens,The proud procession moves by.
The crowd the mother follows,Her son she leadeth now,And both of them sing in chorus:“O Mary, blessed be thou!”
The mother of God at KevlaarHer best dress wears to-day;Full much hath she to accomplish,So great the sick folks’ array.The sick folk with them are bringing,As offerings fitting and meet,Strange limbs of wax all fashion’d,Yes, waxen hands and feet.And he who a wax hand offers,Finds cured in his hand the wound,And he who a wax foot proffers,Straight finds his foot grow sound.To Kevlaar went many on crutchesWho now on the tight rope skip,And many a palsied fingerO’er the viol doth merrily trip.The mother took a waxlight,And out of it fashion’d a heart:“My son, take that to God’s mother,“And she will cure thy smart.”The son took sighing the wax-heart,Went with sighs to the shrine so blest,The tears burst forth from his eyelids,The words burst forth from his breast:“Thou highly-favour’d blest one!“Thou pure and godlike maid!“Thou mighty queen of heaven,“To thee my woes be display’d!“I with my mother was dwelling“In yonder town of Cologne,“The town that many a hundred“Fair churches and chapels doth own.“And near us there dwelt my Gretchen,“Who, alas! is dead to-day;“O, Mary, I bring thee a wax-heart,“My heart’s wounds cure, I pray.“My sick heart cure, O cure thou,“And early and late my vow“I’ll pay, and sing with devotion:“‘O Mary, blessed be thou!’”
The mother of God at KevlaarHer best dress wears to-day;Full much hath she to accomplish,So great the sick folks’ array.The sick folk with them are bringing,As offerings fitting and meet,Strange limbs of wax all fashion’d,Yes, waxen hands and feet.And he who a wax hand offers,Finds cured in his hand the wound,And he who a wax foot proffers,Straight finds his foot grow sound.To Kevlaar went many on crutchesWho now on the tight rope skip,And many a palsied fingerO’er the viol doth merrily trip.The mother took a waxlight,And out of it fashion’d a heart:“My son, take that to God’s mother,“And she will cure thy smart.”The son took sighing the wax-heart,Went with sighs to the shrine so blest,The tears burst forth from his eyelids,The words burst forth from his breast:“Thou highly-favour’d blest one!“Thou pure and godlike maid!“Thou mighty queen of heaven,“To thee my woes be display’d!“I with my mother was dwelling“In yonder town of Cologne,“The town that many a hundred“Fair churches and chapels doth own.“And near us there dwelt my Gretchen,“Who, alas! is dead to-day;“O, Mary, I bring thee a wax-heart,“My heart’s wounds cure, I pray.“My sick heart cure, O cure thou,“And early and late my vow“I’ll pay, and sing with devotion:“‘O Mary, blessed be thou!’”
The mother of God at KevlaarHer best dress wears to-day;Full much hath she to accomplish,So great the sick folks’ array.
The sick folk with them are bringing,As offerings fitting and meet,Strange limbs of wax all fashion’d,Yes, waxen hands and feet.
And he who a wax hand offers,Finds cured in his hand the wound,And he who a wax foot proffers,Straight finds his foot grow sound.
To Kevlaar went many on crutchesWho now on the tight rope skip,And many a palsied fingerO’er the viol doth merrily trip.
The mother took a waxlight,And out of it fashion’d a heart:“My son, take that to God’s mother,“And she will cure thy smart.”
The son took sighing the wax-heart,Went with sighs to the shrine so blest,The tears burst forth from his eyelids,The words burst forth from his breast:
“Thou highly-favour’d blest one!“Thou pure and godlike maid!“Thou mighty queen of heaven,“To thee my woes be display’d!
“I with my mother was dwelling“In yonder town of Cologne,“The town that many a hundred“Fair churches and chapels doth own.
“And near us there dwelt my Gretchen,“Who, alas! is dead to-day;“O, Mary, I bring thee a wax-heart,“My heart’s wounds cure, I pray.
“My sick heart cure, O cure thou,“And early and late my vow“I’ll pay, and sing with devotion:“‘O Mary, blessed be thou!’”
The poor sick son and his motherIn their little chamber slept,The mother of God to their chamberAll lightly, lightly crept.She bent herself over the sick one,Her hand with action lightUpon his heart placed softly,Smiled sweetly and vanish’d from sight.The mother saw all in her vision,Saw this and saw much more;From out of her slumber woke she,The hounds were baying full sore.Her son was lying before her,And dead her son he lay,While over his pale cheeks gentlyThe light of morning did play.Her hands the mother folded,She felt she knew not how;With meekness sang she and softly:“O Mary, blessed be thou!”
The poor sick son and his motherIn their little chamber slept,The mother of God to their chamberAll lightly, lightly crept.She bent herself over the sick one,Her hand with action lightUpon his heart placed softly,Smiled sweetly and vanish’d from sight.The mother saw all in her vision,Saw this and saw much more;From out of her slumber woke she,The hounds were baying full sore.Her son was lying before her,And dead her son he lay,While over his pale cheeks gentlyThe light of morning did play.Her hands the mother folded,She felt she knew not how;With meekness sang she and softly:“O Mary, blessed be thou!”
The poor sick son and his motherIn their little chamber slept,The mother of God to their chamberAll lightly, lightly crept.
She bent herself over the sick one,Her hand with action lightUpon his heart placed softly,Smiled sweetly and vanish’d from sight.
The mother saw all in her vision,Saw this and saw much more;From out of her slumber woke she,The hounds were baying full sore.
Her son was lying before her,And dead her son he lay,While over his pale cheeks gentlyThe light of morning did play.
Her hands the mother folded,She felt she knew not how;With meekness sang she and softly:“O Mary, blessed be thou!”
A vision I dreamt of a lovely child.She wore her hair in tresses;In the blue nights of summer so calm and mildWe sat in the greenwood’s recesses.In mutual rapture and torture we vied,We loved and exchanged loving kisses;The yellow stars in the heavens all sigh’dAnd seem’d to envy our blisses.I now am awake, and around me gazeIn the darkness, alone and despairing;The stars in the heavens are shedding their raysIn silence and all-uncaring.
A vision I dreamt of a lovely child.She wore her hair in tresses;In the blue nights of summer so calm and mildWe sat in the greenwood’s recesses.In mutual rapture and torture we vied,We loved and exchanged loving kisses;The yellow stars in the heavens all sigh’dAnd seem’d to envy our blisses.I now am awake, and around me gazeIn the darkness, alone and despairing;The stars in the heavens are shedding their raysIn silence and all-uncaring.
A vision I dreamt of a lovely child.She wore her hair in tresses;In the blue nights of summer so calm and mildWe sat in the greenwood’s recesses.
In mutual rapture and torture we vied,We loved and exchanged loving kisses;The yellow stars in the heavens all sigh’dAnd seem’d to envy our blisses.
I now am awake, and around me gazeIn the darkness, alone and despairing;The stars in the heavens are shedding their raysIn silence and all-uncaring.
When at evening in the forest,In the dreamlike wood I rove,Ever doth thy slender figureClose beside me softly move.See I not thy gentle features?Is it not thy veil that stirs?Can it be the moonlight onlyBreaking through the gloomy firs?Can it be mine own tears onlyThat I hear all-lightly flow?Or my loved one, dost thou reallyClose beside me weeping go?
When at evening in the forest,In the dreamlike wood I rove,Ever doth thy slender figureClose beside me softly move.See I not thy gentle features?Is it not thy veil that stirs?Can it be the moonlight onlyBreaking through the gloomy firs?Can it be mine own tears onlyThat I hear all-lightly flow?Or my loved one, dost thou reallyClose beside me weeping go?
When at evening in the forest,In the dreamlike wood I rove,Ever doth thy slender figureClose beside me softly move.
See I not thy gentle features?Is it not thy veil that stirs?Can it be the moonlight onlyBreaking through the gloomy firs?
Can it be mine own tears onlyThat I hear all-lightly flow?Or my loved one, dost thou reallyClose beside me weeping go?
O’er the silent strand of oceanNight appears in gloomy splendourFrom the clouds the moon is breaking,As the waves these whispers send her“Yonder mortal, is he foolish,“Or is he by love tormented,“That he looks so sad, yet joyous,“So distress’d, yet so contented?”But the moon, with smiles replying,Loudly said: “Full well I know it;“He is both in love and foolish,“And moreover is a poet.”
O’er the silent strand of oceanNight appears in gloomy splendourFrom the clouds the moon is breaking,As the waves these whispers send her“Yonder mortal, is he foolish,“Or is he by love tormented,“That he looks so sad, yet joyous,“So distress’d, yet so contented?”But the moon, with smiles replying,Loudly said: “Full well I know it;“He is both in love and foolish,“And moreover is a poet.”
O’er the silent strand of oceanNight appears in gloomy splendourFrom the clouds the moon is breaking,As the waves these whispers send her
“Yonder mortal, is he foolish,“Or is he by love tormented,“That he looks so sad, yet joyous,“So distress’d, yet so contented?”
But the moon, with smiles replying,Loudly said: “Full well I know it;“He is both in love and foolish,“And moreover is a poet.”
’Tis surely a snowwhite seamewThat I see fluttering thereJust over the darksome billows;The moon stands high in the air.The shark and the ray snap fiercelyFrom out of the wave, and stare;The seamew is rising and falling,The moon stands high in the air.O dear and wandering spirit,So sad and full of despair!Too near art thou to the water,The moon stands high in the air.
’Tis surely a snowwhite seamewThat I see fluttering thereJust over the darksome billows;The moon stands high in the air.The shark and the ray snap fiercelyFrom out of the wave, and stare;The seamew is rising and falling,The moon stands high in the air.O dear and wandering spirit,So sad and full of despair!Too near art thou to the water,The moon stands high in the air.
’Tis surely a snowwhite seamewThat I see fluttering thereJust over the darksome billows;The moon stands high in the air.
The shark and the ray snap fiercelyFrom out of the wave, and stare;The seamew is rising and falling,The moon stands high in the air.
O dear and wandering spirit,So sad and full of despair!Too near art thou to the water,The moon stands high in the air.
I knew that thou didst love me,I knew it long, dear maid;Yet when thou didst confess itI felt full sore afraid.I clamber’d up the mountainWith loud exulting song,At sunset rambled weepingThe ocean shore along.The sun my heart resembleth,So flaming to the sight,And in a loving oceanIt setteth, great and bright.
I knew that thou didst love me,I knew it long, dear maid;Yet when thou didst confess itI felt full sore afraid.I clamber’d up the mountainWith loud exulting song,At sunset rambled weepingThe ocean shore along.The sun my heart resembleth,So flaming to the sight,And in a loving oceanIt setteth, great and bright.
I knew that thou didst love me,I knew it long, dear maid;Yet when thou didst confess itI felt full sore afraid.
I clamber’d up the mountainWith loud exulting song,At sunset rambled weepingThe ocean shore along.
The sun my heart resembleth,So flaming to the sight,And in a loving oceanIt setteth, great and bright.
How curiously the seamewLooks over at us, dear,Because against thy lips ISo firmly press my ear!She maybe would discoverWhat from thy mouth did flow,—If words alone or kissesThou in my ear didst throw.O could I but decipherWhat ’tis that fills my mind!The words are with the kissesSo wondrously combined.
How curiously the seamewLooks over at us, dear,Because against thy lips ISo firmly press my ear!She maybe would discoverWhat from thy mouth did flow,—If words alone or kissesThou in my ear didst throw.O could I but decipherWhat ’tis that fills my mind!The words are with the kissesSo wondrously combined.
How curiously the seamewLooks over at us, dear,Because against thy lips ISo firmly press my ear!
She maybe would discoverWhat from thy mouth did flow,—If words alone or kissesThou in my ear didst throw.
O could I but decipherWhat ’tis that fills my mind!The words are with the kissesSo wondrously combined.
As timid as the roe she fled,And with its fleetness vying;She clamber’d on from crag to cragHer hair behind her flying.Where to the sea the cliffs descend,At length I caught the rover;And gently there with gentle wordsHer coy heart soon won over.High as the heavens we sat, both fill’dWith heavenly blest emotion;Beneath us by degrees the sunSank in the dark deep ocean.In the dark sea beneath us farThe beauteous sun sank proudly;The billows with impetuous joyWere meanwhile roaring loudly.Weep not, the sun in yonder wavesHath not for ever perish’d,But lieth hidden in my heart,Where all its glow is cherish’d.
As timid as the roe she fled,And with its fleetness vying;She clamber’d on from crag to cragHer hair behind her flying.Where to the sea the cliffs descend,At length I caught the rover;And gently there with gentle wordsHer coy heart soon won over.High as the heavens we sat, both fill’dWith heavenly blest emotion;Beneath us by degrees the sunSank in the dark deep ocean.In the dark sea beneath us farThe beauteous sun sank proudly;The billows with impetuous joyWere meanwhile roaring loudly.Weep not, the sun in yonder wavesHath not for ever perish’d,But lieth hidden in my heart,Where all its glow is cherish’d.
As timid as the roe she fled,And with its fleetness vying;She clamber’d on from crag to cragHer hair behind her flying.
Where to the sea the cliffs descend,At length I caught the rover;And gently there with gentle wordsHer coy heart soon won over.
High as the heavens we sat, both fill’dWith heavenly blest emotion;Beneath us by degrees the sunSank in the dark deep ocean.
In the dark sea beneath us farThe beauteous sun sank proudly;The billows with impetuous joyWere meanwhile roaring loudly.
Weep not, the sun in yonder wavesHath not for ever perish’d,But lieth hidden in my heart,Where all its glow is cherish’d.
Upon this rock we build the ChurchWhich (type of our to-morrow)Proclaims the third New Testament,And ended is our sorrow.The twofold nature that so longDeceived us, is abolish’d;Our olden fierce corporeal pangsAre now at length demolish’d.Hear’st thou the God in yon dark sea?He speaks with thousand voices;See’st thou how overhead God’s skyWith thousand lights rejoices?Almighty God is in the light,As in the dark abysses,And everything there is, is God,He is in all our kisses.
Upon this rock we build the ChurchWhich (type of our to-morrow)Proclaims the third New Testament,And ended is our sorrow.The twofold nature that so longDeceived us, is abolish’d;Our olden fierce corporeal pangsAre now at length demolish’d.Hear’st thou the God in yon dark sea?He speaks with thousand voices;See’st thou how overhead God’s skyWith thousand lights rejoices?Almighty God is in the light,As in the dark abysses,And everything there is, is God,He is in all our kisses.
Upon this rock we build the ChurchWhich (type of our to-morrow)Proclaims the third New Testament,And ended is our sorrow.
The twofold nature that so longDeceived us, is abolish’d;Our olden fierce corporeal pangsAre now at length demolish’d.
Hear’st thou the God in yon dark sea?He speaks with thousand voices;See’st thou how overhead God’s skyWith thousand lights rejoices?
Almighty God is in the light,As in the dark abysses,And everything there is, is God,He is in all our kisses.
Gray night broodeth o’er the ocean,And the tiny stars are sparkling;Long protracted voices oft-timesSound from out the billows darkling.There the aged north wind sportethWith the glassy waves of ocean,Which like organ pipes are skippingWith a never-ceasing motion.Partly heathenish, partly churchlike,Strangely doth this music move us,As it rises boldly upwards,Gladdening e’en the stars above us.And the stars, still larger growing,With a radiant joy are gleaming,And at length around the heavensRoam, with sunlike lustre beamingTo far-reaching strains of musicThey revolve in madden’d legionsSunny nightingales are circlingIn those fair and blissful regions.With a mighty roar and crashing,Sea and heaven alike are singing,And I feel a giant-raptureWildly through my bosom ringing
Gray night broodeth o’er the ocean,And the tiny stars are sparkling;Long protracted voices oft-timesSound from out the billows darkling.There the aged north wind sportethWith the glassy waves of ocean,Which like organ pipes are skippingWith a never-ceasing motion.Partly heathenish, partly churchlike,Strangely doth this music move us,As it rises boldly upwards,Gladdening e’en the stars above us.And the stars, still larger growing,With a radiant joy are gleaming,And at length around the heavensRoam, with sunlike lustre beamingTo far-reaching strains of musicThey revolve in madden’d legionsSunny nightingales are circlingIn those fair and blissful regions.With a mighty roar and crashing,Sea and heaven alike are singing,And I feel a giant-raptureWildly through my bosom ringing
Gray night broodeth o’er the ocean,And the tiny stars are sparkling;Long protracted voices oft-timesSound from out the billows darkling.
There the aged north wind sportethWith the glassy waves of ocean,Which like organ pipes are skippingWith a never-ceasing motion.
Partly heathenish, partly churchlike,Strangely doth this music move us,As it rises boldly upwards,Gladdening e’en the stars above us.
And the stars, still larger growing,With a radiant joy are gleaming,And at length around the heavensRoam, with sunlike lustre beaming
To far-reaching strains of musicThey revolve in madden’d legionsSunny nightingales are circlingIn those fair and blissful regions.
With a mighty roar and crashing,Sea and heaven alike are singing,And I feel a giant-raptureWildly through my bosom ringing
Shadowy love and shadowy kisses,Shadowy life, how wondrous strange!Fool, dost think, then, that all this isEver true and free from change?Like an empty dream hath vanish’dAll we loved with love so deep;Memory from the heart is banish’d,And the eyes are closed in sleep.
Shadowy love and shadowy kisses,Shadowy life, how wondrous strange!Fool, dost think, then, that all this isEver true and free from change?Like an empty dream hath vanish’dAll we loved with love so deep;Memory from the heart is banish’d,And the eyes are closed in sleep.
Shadowy love and shadowy kisses,Shadowy life, how wondrous strange!Fool, dost think, then, that all this isEver true and free from change?
Like an empty dream hath vanish’dAll we loved with love so deep;Memory from the heart is banish’d,And the eyes are closed in sleep.
The maid stood by the ocean,And long and deep sigh’d sheWith heartfelt sad emotion,The setting sun to see.Sweet maiden, why this fretting?An olden trick is here;Although before us setting,He rises in our rear.
The maid stood by the ocean,And long and deep sigh’d sheWith heartfelt sad emotion,The setting sun to see.Sweet maiden, why this fretting?An olden trick is here;Although before us setting,He rises in our rear.
The maid stood by the ocean,And long and deep sigh’d sheWith heartfelt sad emotion,The setting sun to see.
Sweet maiden, why this fretting?An olden trick is here;Although before us setting,He rises in our rear.
With sails all black my ship sails onFar over the raging sea;Thou know’st full well how sad am I,And yet tormentest me.Thy heart is faithless as the wind,And flutters ceaselessly;With sails all black my ship sails onFar over the raging sea.
With sails all black my ship sails onFar over the raging sea;Thou know’st full well how sad am I,And yet tormentest me.Thy heart is faithless as the wind,And flutters ceaselessly;With sails all black my ship sails onFar over the raging sea.
With sails all black my ship sails onFar over the raging sea;Thou know’st full well how sad am I,And yet tormentest me.
Thy heart is faithless as the wind,And flutters ceaselessly;With sails all black my ship sails onFar over the raging sea.
Though shamefully thou didst entreat me,To no man would I e’er unfold it,But travell’d far over the billows,And unto the fishes I told it.I’ve left thee thy good reputationWith earth and the beings upon her,But every depth of the oceanKnows fully thy tale of dishonour.
Though shamefully thou didst entreat me,To no man would I e’er unfold it,But travell’d far over the billows,And unto the fishes I told it.I’ve left thee thy good reputationWith earth and the beings upon her,But every depth of the oceanKnows fully thy tale of dishonour.
Though shamefully thou didst entreat me,To no man would I e’er unfold it,But travell’d far over the billows,And unto the fishes I told it.
I’ve left thee thy good reputationWith earth and the beings upon her,But every depth of the oceanKnows fully thy tale of dishonour.
The roaring waves are dashingHigh on the strand;They’re swelling and they’re crashingOver the sand.They come in noisy fashionUnceasingly,—At length burst into passion,—But what care we?
The roaring waves are dashingHigh on the strand;They’re swelling and they’re crashingOver the sand.They come in noisy fashionUnceasingly,—At length burst into passion,—But what care we?
The roaring waves are dashingHigh on the strand;They’re swelling and they’re crashingOver the sand.
They come in noisy fashionUnceasingly,—At length burst into passion,—But what care we?
The Runic stone ’mongst the waves stands high,There sit I, with thoughts far roaming;The wind pipes loudly, the seamews cry,The billows are curling and foaming.I’ve loved full many a charming girl,Loved many a comrade proudly—Where are they now? The billows curlAnd foam, and the wind pipes loudly.
The Runic stone ’mongst the waves stands high,There sit I, with thoughts far roaming;The wind pipes loudly, the seamews cry,The billows are curling and foaming.I’ve loved full many a charming girl,Loved many a comrade proudly—Where are they now? The billows curlAnd foam, and the wind pipes loudly.
The Runic stone ’mongst the waves stands high,There sit I, with thoughts far roaming;The wind pipes loudly, the seamews cry,The billows are curling and foaming.
I’ve loved full many a charming girl,Loved many a comrade proudly—Where are they now? The billows curlAnd foam, and the wind pipes loudly.
The sea appears all goldenBeneath the sunlit sky,O let me there be buried,My brethren, when I die.The sea I have always loved so,It oft hath cool’d my breastWith its refreshing billows,Each in the other’s love blest.
The sea appears all goldenBeneath the sunlit sky,O let me there be buried,My brethren, when I die.The sea I have always loved so,It oft hath cool’d my breastWith its refreshing billows,Each in the other’s love blest.
The sea appears all goldenBeneath the sunlit sky,O let me there be buried,My brethren, when I die.
The sea I have always loved so,It oft hath cool’d my breastWith its refreshing billows,Each in the other’s love blest.
Now that heaven my wish hath granted,Why be dumb, like mutes inglorious,—I who, when unhappy, chantedOf my woe with noise uproarious,Till a thousand youths despairingSang like me with voices hollow,And the song I sang uncaringMade still greater mischief follow?O ye nightingale-like chorus,That I bear within my spirit,Let your song of joy rise o’er usMerrily, that all may hear it.
Now that heaven my wish hath granted,Why be dumb, like mutes inglorious,—I who, when unhappy, chantedOf my woe with noise uproarious,Till a thousand youths despairingSang like me with voices hollow,And the song I sang uncaringMade still greater mischief follow?O ye nightingale-like chorus,That I bear within my spirit,Let your song of joy rise o’er usMerrily, that all may hear it.
Now that heaven my wish hath granted,Why be dumb, like mutes inglorious,—I who, when unhappy, chantedOf my woe with noise uproarious,
Till a thousand youths despairingSang like me with voices hollow,And the song I sang uncaringMade still greater mischief follow?
O ye nightingale-like chorus,That I bear within my spirit,Let your song of joy rise o’er usMerrily, that all may hear it.
Once more behind thee thou wert looking,Swiftly as thou didst past me glide,With open mouth, as if inquiring,And in thy look a stormy pride.O that I ne’er had sought to grasp it,That flowing robe of snowy white!The little foot’s enchanting traces,O that they ne’er had met my sight!Thy wildness now indeed hath vanish’d,Like other women tame art thou,And mild, and somewhat over-civil,And, ah, thou even lov’st me now.
Once more behind thee thou wert looking,Swiftly as thou didst past me glide,With open mouth, as if inquiring,And in thy look a stormy pride.O that I ne’er had sought to grasp it,That flowing robe of snowy white!The little foot’s enchanting traces,O that they ne’er had met my sight!Thy wildness now indeed hath vanish’d,Like other women tame art thou,And mild, and somewhat over-civil,And, ah, thou even lov’st me now.
Once more behind thee thou wert looking,Swiftly as thou didst past me glide,With open mouth, as if inquiring,And in thy look a stormy pride.
O that I ne’er had sought to grasp it,That flowing robe of snowy white!The little foot’s enchanting traces,O that they ne’er had met my sight!
Thy wildness now indeed hath vanish’d,Like other women tame art thou,And mild, and somewhat over-civil,And, ah, thou even lov’st me now.
I’ll not credit, youthful beauty,What thy bashful lips may say;Eyes so black and large and rollingAre not much in virtue’s way.Strip away this brown-striped falsehood—Well and truly love I thee;Let thy white heart kiss me, dearest—White heart, understand’st thou me?
I’ll not credit, youthful beauty,What thy bashful lips may say;Eyes so black and large and rollingAre not much in virtue’s way.Strip away this brown-striped falsehood—Well and truly love I thee;Let thy white heart kiss me, dearest—White heart, understand’st thou me?
I’ll not credit, youthful beauty,What thy bashful lips may say;Eyes so black and large and rollingAre not much in virtue’s way.
Strip away this brown-striped falsehood—Well and truly love I thee;Let thy white heart kiss me, dearest—White heart, understand’st thou me?
Upon her mouth I give a kiss,And close her either eye;She gives me now no peace for this,But asks the reason why.From night to morn, because of this,This is her constant cry:“When on my mouth thou giv’st a kiss,“Why close my either eye?”I tell her not the cause of this,Nor know the reason why,Yet on her mouth I give a kiss,And close her either eye.
Upon her mouth I give a kiss,And close her either eye;She gives me now no peace for this,But asks the reason why.From night to morn, because of this,This is her constant cry:“When on my mouth thou giv’st a kiss,“Why close my either eye?”I tell her not the cause of this,Nor know the reason why,Yet on her mouth I give a kiss,And close her either eye.
Upon her mouth I give a kiss,And close her either eye;She gives me now no peace for this,But asks the reason why.
From night to morn, because of this,This is her constant cry:“When on my mouth thou giv’st a kiss,“Why close my either eye?”
I tell her not the cause of this,Nor know the reason why,Yet on her mouth I give a kiss,And close her either eye.
When I am made blest with kisses delicious,And lie in thine arms, O in that happy seasonThou ne’er must discourse of Germany, dearest,—It spoils my digestion,—there’s plenty of reason.With Germany leave me in peace, I implore thee,Thou must not torment me with question on questionOf home and relations and manner of living,—There’s plenty of reason,—it spoils my digestion.The oaks there are green, and blue are the dear eyesOf German women; they sigh as they please onThe blisses of love and of hope and religion,—It spoils my digestion,—there’s plenty of reason.
When I am made blest with kisses delicious,And lie in thine arms, O in that happy seasonThou ne’er must discourse of Germany, dearest,—It spoils my digestion,—there’s plenty of reason.With Germany leave me in peace, I implore thee,Thou must not torment me with question on questionOf home and relations and manner of living,—There’s plenty of reason,—it spoils my digestion.The oaks there are green, and blue are the dear eyesOf German women; they sigh as they please onThe blisses of love and of hope and religion,—It spoils my digestion,—there’s plenty of reason.
When I am made blest with kisses delicious,And lie in thine arms, O in that happy seasonThou ne’er must discourse of Germany, dearest,—It spoils my digestion,—there’s plenty of reason.
With Germany leave me in peace, I implore thee,Thou must not torment me with question on questionOf home and relations and manner of living,—There’s plenty of reason,—it spoils my digestion.
The oaks there are green, and blue are the dear eyesOf German women; they sigh as they please onThe blisses of love and of hope and religion,—It spoils my digestion,—there’s plenty of reason.
Whilst I after other peopleAnd their treasures have been prying,And with ever-restless yearning,At strange doors of love been spying,Probably those other peopleHave been taking their own pleasureSimilarly, and been oglingAt my window my own treasure.This is human! God in heavenIn our every action guard us!God in heaven give us blessings,And with happiness reward us!
Whilst I after other peopleAnd their treasures have been prying,And with ever-restless yearning,At strange doors of love been spying,Probably those other peopleHave been taking their own pleasureSimilarly, and been oglingAt my window my own treasure.This is human! God in heavenIn our every action guard us!God in heaven give us blessings,And with happiness reward us!
Whilst I after other peopleAnd their treasures have been prying,And with ever-restless yearning,At strange doors of love been spying,
Probably those other peopleHave been taking their own pleasureSimilarly, and been oglingAt my window my own treasure.
This is human! God in heavenIn our every action guard us!God in heaven give us blessings,And with happiness reward us!
O yes, thou art my ideal forsooth,I’ve often confirmed it till dizzyWith kisses and oaths unnumber’d in truth;—To-day I however am busy.Return to-morrow between two and three,And then a fresh-kindled passionShall prove my love, and afterwards weWill dine in a friendly fashion.And if I in time the tickets receive,We’ll join in a merry revel,And go to the Opera, where I believeThey’re playing Robert the Devil.A wondrous magic play is here,With devils’ loves and curses;The music is by Meyerbeer;By Scribe the wretched verses.
O yes, thou art my ideal forsooth,I’ve often confirmed it till dizzyWith kisses and oaths unnumber’d in truth;—To-day I however am busy.Return to-morrow between two and three,And then a fresh-kindled passionShall prove my love, and afterwards weWill dine in a friendly fashion.And if I in time the tickets receive,We’ll join in a merry revel,And go to the Opera, where I believeThey’re playing Robert the Devil.A wondrous magic play is here,With devils’ loves and curses;The music is by Meyerbeer;By Scribe the wretched verses.
O yes, thou art my ideal forsooth,I’ve often confirmed it till dizzyWith kisses and oaths unnumber’d in truth;—To-day I however am busy.
Return to-morrow between two and three,And then a fresh-kindled passionShall prove my love, and afterwards weWill dine in a friendly fashion.
And if I in time the tickets receive,We’ll join in a merry revel,And go to the Opera, where I believeThey’re playing Robert the Devil.
A wondrous magic play is here,With devils’ loves and curses;The music is by Meyerbeer;By Scribe the wretched verses.
Dismiss me not, although thy thirstThe pleasant draught has still’d;Some three months longer keep me on,Till I too have been fill’d.If thou my love canst not remain,O be my friend, I pray;For when one has outloved one’s love,Friendship may have its way.
Dismiss me not, although thy thirstThe pleasant draught has still’d;Some three months longer keep me on,Till I too have been fill’d.If thou my love canst not remain,O be my friend, I pray;For when one has outloved one’s love,Friendship may have its way.
Dismiss me not, although thy thirstThe pleasant draught has still’d;Some three months longer keep me on,Till I too have been fill’d.
If thou my love canst not remain,O be my friend, I pray;For when one has outloved one’s love,Friendship may have its way.
This wild carnival of loving,This delirium of our bosomsComes unto an end, and now weSoberly gape on each other!Drain’d the cup is to the bottom,Brimming with intoxication,Foaming, glowing to the margin;Drain’d the cup is to the bottom.And the fiddles too are silent,Which for dancing gave the signal,Signal for the dance of passion;Yes, the fiddles too are silent.And the lamps too are extinguish’d,Which their wild light shed so brightlyOn the masquerade exciting;Yes, the lamps too are extinguish’d.And to-morrow comes Ash-Wednesday,When I’ll sign upon thy foreheadWith the cross of ashes, saying:“Woman, that thou’rt dust, forget not.”
This wild carnival of loving,This delirium of our bosomsComes unto an end, and now weSoberly gape on each other!Drain’d the cup is to the bottom,Brimming with intoxication,Foaming, glowing to the margin;Drain’d the cup is to the bottom.And the fiddles too are silent,Which for dancing gave the signal,Signal for the dance of passion;Yes, the fiddles too are silent.And the lamps too are extinguish’d,Which their wild light shed so brightlyOn the masquerade exciting;Yes, the lamps too are extinguish’d.And to-morrow comes Ash-Wednesday,When I’ll sign upon thy foreheadWith the cross of ashes, saying:“Woman, that thou’rt dust, forget not.”
This wild carnival of loving,This delirium of our bosomsComes unto an end, and now weSoberly gape on each other!
Drain’d the cup is to the bottom,Brimming with intoxication,Foaming, glowing to the margin;Drain’d the cup is to the bottom.
And the fiddles too are silent,Which for dancing gave the signal,Signal for the dance of passion;Yes, the fiddles too are silent.
And the lamps too are extinguish’d,Which their wild light shed so brightlyOn the masquerade exciting;Yes, the lamps too are extinguish’d.
And to-morrow comes Ash-Wednesday,When I’ll sign upon thy foreheadWith the cross of ashes, saying:“Woman, that thou’rt dust, forget not.”
O how rapidly developFrom mere fugitive sensationsPassions that are fierce and boundless,Tenderest associations!Tow’rds this lady grows the biasOf my heart on each occasion,And that I’m enamoured of herHas become my firm persuasion.Beauteous is her spirit. TrulyThus I learn to rise superiorTo the overpowering beautyOf her form and mere exterior.Ah, what hips! and, ah, what forehead!Ah, what nose! Could aught serenerBe than this sweet smile she’s wearing?And how noble her demeanour!
O how rapidly developFrom mere fugitive sensationsPassions that are fierce and boundless,Tenderest associations!Tow’rds this lady grows the biasOf my heart on each occasion,And that I’m enamoured of herHas become my firm persuasion.Beauteous is her spirit. TrulyThus I learn to rise superiorTo the overpowering beautyOf her form and mere exterior.Ah, what hips! and, ah, what forehead!Ah, what nose! Could aught serenerBe than this sweet smile she’s wearing?And how noble her demeanour!
O how rapidly developFrom mere fugitive sensationsPassions that are fierce and boundless,Tenderest associations!
Tow’rds this lady grows the biasOf my heart on each occasion,And that I’m enamoured of herHas become my firm persuasion.
Beauteous is her spirit. TrulyThus I learn to rise superiorTo the overpowering beautyOf her form and mere exterior.
Ah, what hips! and, ah, what forehead!Ah, what nose! Could aught serenerBe than this sweet smile she’s wearing?And how noble her demeanour!
Ah, how fair art thou, wheneverThou thy mind disclosest sweetly,And thy language with the grandestSentiments o’erflows discreetly!When thou tell’st me how thou alwaysWorthily and nobly thoughtest;How unto thy pride of heart thouGreatest sacrifices broughtest!How with countless millions evenMen could woo and win thee never;Sooner than be sold for moneyThou wouldst quit this world for ever.And I stand before thee, listeningTo the end with due emotion;Like an image mute of faith, IFold my hands with meek devotion.
Ah, how fair art thou, wheneverThou thy mind disclosest sweetly,And thy language with the grandestSentiments o’erflows discreetly!When thou tell’st me how thou alwaysWorthily and nobly thoughtest;How unto thy pride of heart thouGreatest sacrifices broughtest!How with countless millions evenMen could woo and win thee never;Sooner than be sold for moneyThou wouldst quit this world for ever.And I stand before thee, listeningTo the end with due emotion;Like an image mute of faith, IFold my hands with meek devotion.
Ah, how fair art thou, wheneverThou thy mind disclosest sweetly,And thy language with the grandestSentiments o’erflows discreetly!
When thou tell’st me how thou alwaysWorthily and nobly thoughtest;How unto thy pride of heart thouGreatest sacrifices broughtest!
How with countless millions evenMen could woo and win thee never;Sooner than be sold for moneyThou wouldst quit this world for ever.
And I stand before thee, listeningTo the end with due emotion;Like an image mute of faith, IFold my hands with meek devotion.
Have no fear, dear soul, I pray thee,Thou art safe here evermore;Fear not lest they’ll take away thee,For I’ll forthwith bar the door.Though the wind may roar around us,It will do no mischief here;That a fire may not confound us,Let us put the light out, dear!Let me in mine arm, dear small one,Thy enchanting neck enfold;In the absence of a shawl, oneGets so very quickly cold.
Have no fear, dear soul, I pray thee,Thou art safe here evermore;Fear not lest they’ll take away thee,For I’ll forthwith bar the door.Though the wind may roar around us,It will do no mischief here;That a fire may not confound us,Let us put the light out, dear!Let me in mine arm, dear small one,Thy enchanting neck enfold;In the absence of a shawl, oneGets so very quickly cold.
Have no fear, dear soul, I pray thee,Thou art safe here evermore;Fear not lest they’ll take away thee,For I’ll forthwith bar the door.
Though the wind may roar around us,It will do no mischief here;That a fire may not confound us,Let us put the light out, dear!
Let me in mine arm, dear small one,Thy enchanting neck enfold;In the absence of a shawl, oneGets so very quickly cold.