On roof, on mount, on market-place now smiles
A glittering welcome to the morning sun,
Whose blood-red beams shed beauty on the earth!
The Bride of Sacrifice makes no lament,
But smiles in silence, - knowing sadly well
That she is slighted, and that he, who could
Call forth her spring, doth not, but rather dwells
In other climes, where lavishly he pours
His fond embracing beams, while she, alas!
In wintry shade and lengthened loneliness
Cold on the solitary couch reclines.-
What countless paths wind down, from divers points,
To yonder city gates!-Oh, wilt not thou,
My star, appear to me on one of them?
Whate'er I said,—thou art my worshiped sun.
Then pardon me;-thou art not cold; oh, no!
Too warm, too glowing warm, art thou for me.
Yet thus it is! Thy being's music has
A thousand chords with thousand varying tones,
Whilst I but one poor sound can offer thee
Of tenderness and truth. At times, indeed,
This too may have its power,- but then it lasts
One and the same forever, sounding still
Unalterably like itself alone;
A wordless prayer to God for what we love,
'Tis more a whisper than a sound, and charms
Like new-mown meadows, when the grass exhales
Sweet fragrance to the foot that tramples it.
Kings, heroes, towering spirits among men,
Rush to their aim on wild and stormy wings,
And far beneath them view the world, whose form
For ever varies on from hour to hour.
What would they ask of love? That, volatile,
In changeful freshness it may charm their ears
With proud, triumphant songs, when high in air
Victorious banners wave; or sweetly lull
To rapturous repose, when round them roars
The awful thunder's everlasting voice!
Mute, mean, and spiritless to them must seem
The maid who is no more than woman. How
Should she o'er-sound the storm their wings have raised
Great Lord! how lonely I become within
These now uncheerful towers! O'er all the earth
No shield have I,-no mutual feeling left!
'Tis true that those around me all are kind,
And well I know they love me,-more, indeed,
Than my poor merits claim. Yet, even though
They raised me to my Asdolf's royal throne,
As being the last of all his line,-ah me!
No solace could it bring;-for then far less
Might I reveal the sorrow of my soul!
A helpless maiden's tears like raindrops fall,
Which in a July night, ere harvest-time,
Bedew the flowers, and, trembling, stand within
Their half-closed eyes unnumbered and unknown.
Yet One there is, who counts the maiden's tears;But when will their sad number be fulfilled?
How calm was I in former days!-I now
Am so no more! My heart beats heavily,
Oppressed within its prison-cave. Ah! fain
Would I that it might burst its bonds, so that
'Twere conscious, Asdolf, I sometimes had seemed
Not all unworthy in thine eyes.
A gentle friend - the Master from Vallandia-
Has taught me how I may converse with thee,
Thou cherished token of my Asdolf's love!
I have been told of far-off lakės, around
Whose shores the cypress and the willow wave,
And make a mournful shade above the stream,
Which, dark, and narrow on the surface, swells
Broad and unfathomably deep below;-
From these dark lakes at certain times, and most
On Sabbath morns and eves of festivals,
Uprising from the depths, is heard a sound
Most strange and wild, as of the tuneful bells
Of churches and of castles long since sunk;
And as the wanderer's steps approach the shore,
He hears more plainly the lamenting tone
Of the dark waters, whilst the surface still
Continues motionless and calm, and seems
To listen with a melancholy joy.
While thus the dim mysterious depths resound;
So let me strive to soften and subdue
My heart's dark swelling with a soothful song.
[She plays and sings.]
The maiden bound her hunting-net
At morning fresh and fair
Ah, no! that lay doth ever make me grieve.
Another, then! that of the hapless flower,
Surprised by frost and snow in early spring.
Hush thee, oh, hush thee,
Slumber from snow and stormy sky,
Lovely and lone one!
Now is the time for thee to die,
When vale and streamlet frozen lie.
Hush thee, oh, hush thee!
Hours hasten onward;
For thee the last will soon be o'er.
Rest thee, oh, rest thee!
Flowers have withered thus before,
And, my poor heart, what wouldst thou more?
Rest thee, oh, rest thee!
Shadows should darkly'
Enveil thy past delights and woes.
Forget, oh, forget them!
'Tis thus that eve its shadows throws;
But now, in noiseless night's repose,
Forget, oh, forget them!
Slumber, oh, slumber!
No friend hast thou like kindly snow;
Sleep is well for thee,
For whom no second spring will blow;
Then why, poor heart, still beating so?
Slumber, oh, slumber!
Hush thee, oh, hush thee!
Resign thy life-breath in a sigh,
Listen no longer,
Life bids farewell to thee,- then die'
Sad one, good night!-in sweet sleep liei
Hush thee, oh, hush thee!
Would now that I might bid adieu to life;
But, ah! no voice to me replies, "Sleep well!"
EAVING the sea, the pale moon lights the strand. Tracing old runes, a youth inscribes the sand. And by the rune-ring waits a woman fair, Down to her feet extends her dripping hair.
Woven of lustrous pearls her robes appear,
Thin as the air and as the water clear.
Lifting her veil with milk-white hand she shows
Eyes in whose deeps a deadly fire glows.
Blue are her eyes: she looks upon him-bound,
As by a spell, he views their gulf profound.
Heaven and death are there: in his desire,
He feels the chill of ice, the heat of fire.
Graciously smiling, now she whispers low:-
"The runes are dark, would you their meaning know
Follow! my dwelling is as dark and deep;
You, you alone, its treasure vast shall keep!"
"Where is your dwelling, charming maid, now say!" "Built on a coral island far away,
Crystalline, golden, floats that castle free,
Meet for a lovely daughter of the sea!"
Still he delays and muses, on the strand;
Now the alluring maiden grasps his hand.
"Ah! Do you tremble, you who were so bold?"
"Yes, for the heaving breakers are so cold!"
"Let not the mounting waves your spirit change!
Take, as a charm, my ring with sea-runes strange.
Here is my crown of water-lilies white,
Here is my harp, with human bones bedight."
"What say my Father and my Mother dear?
What says my God, who bends from heaven to hear > "Father and Mother in the churchyard lie.
As for thy God, he deigns not to reply."
Blithely she dances on the pearl-strewn sand,
Smiting the bone-harp with her graceful hand.
Fair is her bosom, through her thin robe seen,
White as a swan beheld through rushes green.
"Follow me, youth! through ocean deeps we'll rove: There is my castle in its coral grove;
There the red branches purple shadows throw, There the green waves, like grass, sway to and fro.
"I have a thousand sisters; none so fair.
He whom I wed receives my sceptre rare.
Wisdom occult my mother will impart.
Granting his slightest wish, I'll cheer his heart."
"Heaven and earth to win you I abjure!
Child of the ocean, is your promise sure?»
"Heaven and earth abjuring, great's your gain,
Throned with the ancient gods, a king to reign!"
Lo, as she speaks, a thousand starlights gleam,
Lighted for Heaven's Christmas day they seem.
Sighing, he swears the oath,- the die is cast;
Into the mermaid's arms he sinks at last.
High on the shore the rushing waves roll in.
«< Why does the color vary on your skin?
What! From your waist a fish's tail depends!»
"Worn for the dances of my sea-maid friends."
High overhead, the stars, like torches, burn:
"Haste! to my golden castle I return.
Save me, ye runes!"-"Yes, try them now; they fall Pupil of heathen men, my spells prevail!".
Proudly she turns; her sceptre strikes the wave,
Roaring, it parts; the ocean yawns, a grave.
Mermaid and youth go down; the gulf is deep.
Over their heads the surging waters sweep.
Often, on moonlight nights, when bluebells ring,
When for their sports the elves are gathering,
Out of the waves the youth appears, and plays
Tunes that are merry, mournful, like his days.
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