A great black bird like to a great black cloud

Hovers forever o’er my spirit bowed.

He is my guardian angel, but alack!

Darker than night he is—than hell more black.

A fearful-looking bird, with wings wide spread,

Ill-omened as the Devil, and as dread;

He hovers round my wasted body, till

I wonder if I yet have life or will.

Upon his wings no spot of white appears,

His plumage black sheds horror down, and fears.

Black are his talons—sharp, like daggers fell;

And like a hound I hear him howl and yell.

His wide-spread pinions hide the light from me;

Heaven dark, and earth a dungeon black I see.

All is in shadow—air and earth and skies—

He even hides the lightning from my eyes.

I cannot see the paleness of my face,

I cannot see the maiden’s smiling grace;

Black is the lake, the stars and lilies dark;

What was that cry? The bird’s dread calling!—Hark!

I seem to totter on the brink of hell

And think the evil fowl my corpse can smell.

I seem to hear the goblins fight with him—

Away with thee!—ours is this booty grim!”

But he is cruel, strong, and merciless—

This great black bird;—he heeds not my distress.

Ten years I’ve lived beneath his deadly wings—

Ten years unceasingly my death-bell rings.

Ten years ago one night it came to pass

On Moda’s rock I sat and dreamed; alas,

My foe came to me—Carnal was his name:

He shouted, “Vain are Life and Love and Fame!”

Youthful I was, and armed with Love and Hope

I struggled. “Oh, my soul, arise and cope

With this thy foe, and vanquish him,” I cried.

But ’twas in vain, as I full soon espied.

My sun and joy since then are on the wane.

My foe cries out, “I, only I, shall reign!

O’er all the universe none rules but me!”—

Then rose a Siren’s voice alluringly....

Nirvana and the flesh held me that hour:

God was asleep—my soul was in their power.

Then on the moon I saw a spot appear;—

It grew, and grew ... my heart turned sick with fear.

I was as dead. The carrion-eating bird

Had left that heavenly corpse—the moon—allured

To earth by me. It sought my bosom where

The image of Christ crucified lay bare.

Beneath those evil wings I hopelessly

Roam over the earth;—my guardian angel he;

No more the cross I wear, nor in my breast

Dwells holy faith; ’tis death: death without rest.

Like to the moon, whether I wax or wane

Still am I lifeless, cursed with this bane.

I give the vulture of my flesh to tear,

And shiver when the name of “love” I hear.

While yet I live he is devouring me:

I cannot bear this pain—Oh, set me free!

I am not dead—Love still dwells with me here.

I am alive—and some call me the “Ner.”1

Ah, gruesome bird, art thou not yet content

These ten long years my body to have rent?

Ah, vulture black—black earth and ebon sky,

’Tis time that I should lay me down and die.