A merry golden day was that,
To more than one at Rudolstadt.
Graceful dame and courtly knight
Wandered through those valleys bright,
While Emiline and Marie led,
Over hill and over mead,
The happy Ulric. Who so blest?
Wherefore sighed his heaving breast?
Why did he pause and answer not,
But listen, lost in silent thought?
Till his companions sportive came
Te cheer his gloom—his hand to claim,
Rousing him from his reverie deep,
To cross the bridge, to mount the steep.
What secret cares his mind enthrall?
What shadows o'er his forehead fall?
What voices faint and fainter call?
So sweetly far, so softly clear,
They scarcely reach his doubtful car,
In half aerial tones that seem
Part of a forgotten dream.
"Listen! Listen!" now the strain
Clearly floats and floats again,
Now with the clouds it seems to sail,
Now dies upon the passing gale.
"When the days of thy life
Have a joy so complete,
Contentment so perfect,
And rapture so sweet.
Then tremble, O mortal!
For oft they are given
By the Dark One of Earth
But to lure thee from heav'n.
In the world of pure spirits
Awaits thee such bliss,
But the rash hand may perish
That grasps it in this.
Oh listen! oh listen!
Thy mettlesome steed
Neighs high in the stall.
He will bear thee with speed.
Back! back! for a danger
Thy foot-path hangs o'er.
Fly! fly! or we leave thee,
And warn thee no more.
Oh listen! oh listen!"—
"Ye voices, away!
Nor darken my bright path
With shadows to-day.
I will taste thee, oh happiness!
Come what, come may."
"Oh, listen!—oh, list—"
But no longer they call;
Gone—lost—in the dash
Of the far waterfall;
In the play of the wind
The sweet branches among,
In the hum of the bee,
And the nightingale's song.
'Twere hard to paint the beauteous way
That traced their steps that happy day.
Through earth's divinest scenes it lay.
Now graceful, in the bending boat,
Along the river's breast they float.
Then winding, mount the broken height,
Where bursts upon their dazzled sight
The azure landscape, steeped in light.
And then, with glowing cheek, they trod
O'er many a meadow, bright and broad,
By gloomy gorge and dell,
Where wondrous forms of nature rise,
To touch the soul and charm the eyes,
With breathless awe and sweet surprise,
Too fair for tongue to tell.
And ever, with her guileless art,
Led Emiline the two apart;
And thus alone
Together thrown,
Long careless hours they rove,
And now explore
The wave-worn shore,
And now the sombre grove.
Sometimes they tread
The mossy bed
Of the deep and solemn wood,
Through hushed glades, where
They scarcely dare
Disturb the solitude.
And then, where rolled
The torrent cold,
With furious flashing flow,
And leaped in light,
From its dripping height,
To its rocky bed below,
Still joyous on they go,
The loneliest, loveliest footpaths through.
And oh! such hours of sweetness flew,
O'er earthly wanderer never
A bliss too deep—unknown before.
Content were Ulric, o'er and o'er,
That day, to live for ever.
Was on him cast what secret spell,
To light his eye—his breast to swell!
Each fleeting hour with joy to wing,
To steep in bliss each common thing?
A new enchantment filled the wood,
Inspired each tender solitude;
A heavenly air of softness threw
O'er each bright lawn and gleaming view,
Gave each sweet vale a grace so rare,
Made each rich hill so wondrous fair,
And floated in the very air!