“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.
9.
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 foot
The 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.
10.
I oft have pale spectres before now
Conjured with magical might;
They refuse to return any more now
To their former dwelling of night.
The word that commands their submission
I 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 linger
In the roseate light of this earth.
I needs must be evermore striving
To reach the flower so fair;
O, what were the use of my living
If 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?
2. SONGS.
1.
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 lie
Dreaming, half asleep; the morrow
Sadly wander I.
2.
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.
3.
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.”