1.
Of love’s wild glow I dreamt in former days,
Of mignonette, fair locks, and myrtle twining,
Of lips so sweet, with bitter words combining,
Of mournful melodies of mournful lays.
The dreams have long been scatter’d far and banish’d,
My dearest vision fled for evermore,
And, save the burning glow I used to pour
Into my tender numbers, all is vanish’d.
Thou ling’rest still, deserted song! Now go,
And seek that long-lost vision; shouldst thou meet it,
On my behalf in loving fashion greet it,—
An airy breath to that dim shade I blow.
2.
A dream both strange and sad to see
Once startled and delighted me;
The dismal vision haunts me still,
And in my heart doth wildly thrill.
There was a garden wondrous fair,—
I fain would wander gladly there;
The beauteous flowers upon me gazed,
And high I found my rapture raised.
The birds were twittering above
Their joyous melodies of love;
The sun was red with rays of gold,
The flowers all lovely to behold.
Sweet fragrance all the herbs exhale,
And sweetly, softly blows the gale;
And all things glisten, all things smile,
And show their loveliness the while.
Amid that bright and flowery land
A marble fountain was at hand,
And there I saw a maiden fair
Washing a garment white with care.
Her cheeks were sweet, her eyes were mild,
Fair hair’d and saintly look’d the child,
And as I gazed, she seem’d to be
So strange, yet so well known to me.
The beauteous girl, who made all speed,
A song was humming, strange indeed:
“Water, water, quickly run,
“Let the washing soon be done.”
I went and stood then in her way,
And whisper’d gently: “Prythee say,
“Thou maiden sweet and wondrous fair,
“For whom dost thou this dress prepare?”
Then spake she quickly: “Ready be!
“I’m washing thine own shroud for thee!”—
Scarce had her lips these words let fall,
Like foam the vision vanish’d all.
And still entranced, ere long I stood
Within a desert, gloomy wood:
To reach the skies the branches sought;
I stood amazed, and thought and thought.
And hark! what hollow echoing sound
Like axe-strokes fills the air around
Through waste and wood I speed apace,
Until I reach an open place.
In the green plain before me spread
A mighty oak tree rear’d its head;
And lo! the maiden, strange to see,
Was felling with an axe the tree.
With blow on blow a song she sings
Unceasing, as the axe she swings:
“Iron glittering, iron bright,
“Hew the oaken chest aright.”
I went and stood then in her way,
And whisper’d gently: “Prythee say,
“Thou sweet and wondrous maiden mine,
“For whom dost hew the oaken shrine?”
Then spake she quickly: “Time is short,
“To hew thy coffin is my sport!”—
Scarce had her lips these words let fall,
Like foam the vision vanish’d all.
Bleak, dim was all above, beneath,
Around was barren, barren heath:
I felt in strange mysterious mood,
And shuddering inwardly I stood.
And as I roam’d on silently,
A whitish streak soon caught mine eye;
I hasten’d tow’rd it, and when there,
Behold, I found the maiden fair!
On wide heath stood the snowy maid,
Digging the ground with sexton’s spade;
Scarce dared I gaze on her aright,
So fair yet fearful was the sight.
The beauteous girl, who made all speed,
A song was humming, strange indeed:
“Spade, O spade, so sharp and tried,
“Dig a pit both deep and wide.”
I went, and stood then in her way,
And whisper’d gently: “Prythee say,
“Thou maiden sweet and wondrous fair,
“What means the pit that’s lying there?”
Then spake she quickly: “Silent be!
“A cold, cold grave I dig for thee.”
And when the fair maid thus replied,
Its mouth the pit straight opened wide.
And when the pit was full in view,
A chilling shudder pierced me through,
And in the grave so dark and deep
Headlong I fell, and—woke from sleep.
3.
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’d
The words so cold and tauntingly applied.
And bitter tears then suddenly ’gan falling
From her dear eyes, and in a sea of weeping
Wellnigh dissolved her image so enthralling.
O lovely eyes, ye stars of love so kindly,
What though ye, when awake, and e’en when sleeping
Deceived me oft, I trust ye still as blindly!
4.
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 me
Within 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!”
5.
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 honour
I 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 up
Unto 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.
6.
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 white
Graced with a golden halo bright,
But wildly follow’d in their track
A grisly train of goblins black.
They wrestled with the angels white,
And drove away those angels bright,
And then the gloomy squadron too
Melted 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 veil
Rose 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 danced
In 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!”
7.
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 throng
Jackpudding 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 kneel
She 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 fair
They 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 personâ the dark son of night
As 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.
8.
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 each
The 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 broke
A 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 cathedrâ kept 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.
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?