LYRICAL INTERLUDE. 1822-23. PROLOGUE. |
  There once lived a knight, who was mournful and bent,
His cheeks white as snow were, and hollow;
He totter’d and stagger’d wherever he went,
A vain vision attempting to follow.
He seem’d so clumsy and awkward and gauche,
That the flowers and girls, when they saw him approach,
Their merriment scarcely could swallow.
From his room’s darkest corner he often ne’er stirr’d,
Esteeming the sight of men shocking,
And extended his arms, without speaking a word,
As though some vain phantom were mocking.
But scarce had the hour of midnight drawn near,
When a wonderful singing and noise met his ear,
And he heard at the door a strange knocking.
His mistress then secretly enters the room,
In a dress made of foam of the ocean;
She glows like a rosebud, so sweet is her bloom,
Her jewell’d veil’s ever in motion;
Her golden locks play round her form slim and tall,
Their eyes meet with rapture, and straightway they fall
In each other’s arms with devotion.
In his loving embraces the knight holds her fast,
The dullard with passion is glowing;
He reddens, the dreamer awakens at last,
And bolder and bolder he’s growing.
But she grows more saucy and mocking instead,
And gently and softly she covers his head,
Her white jewell’d veil o’er him throwing.
To a watery palace of crystal bright
The knight on a sudden is taken;
His eyes are dazzled by radiant light,
By his wits he is well-nigh forsaken.
But the nymph holds him closely embraced by her side
The knight is the bridegroom, the nymph is the bride
While her maidens the lute’s notes awaken.
So sweetly they play and so sweetly they sing,
In the dance they are moving so lightly,
That the knight before long finds his senses take wing,
He embraces his sweet one more tightly—
When all of a sudden the lights disappear,
And the knight’s once more sitting in solitude drear
In his poet’s low garret unsightly.
1. ’Twas in the beauteous month of May,
When all the flowers were springing,
That first within my bosom
I heard love’s echo ringing.
’Twas in the beauteous month of May,
When all the birds were singing,
That first I to my sweetheart
My vows of love was bringing.
2. From out of my tears all burning
Many blooming flowerets break,
And all my sighs combining
A chorus of nightingales make.
And if thou dost love me, my darling,
To thee shall the flowerets belong;
Before thy window shall echo
The nightingale’s tuneful song.
3. The rose and the lily, the dove and the sun,
I loved them all dearly once, every one;
I love them no longer, I love now alone
The small one, the neat one, the pure one, mine own.
Yes, she herself, the fount of all love,
Is the rose and the lily, the sun and the dove.
4. When gazing on thy beauteous eyes
All thought of sorrow straightway flies;
But when I kiss thy mouth so sweet,
My cure is perfect and complete.
When leaning on thy darling breast,
I feel with heavenly rapture blest;
But when thou sayest: “I love thee!”
I begin weeping bitterly.
5. Thy face, so lovely and serene,
In vision I have lately seen;
So like an angel’s ’tis, and meek,
Though bitter grief has blanch’d thy cheek.
Thy lips alone, they still are red;
Death soon will kiss them pale and dead;
The heavenly light will soon be o’er
That from thine eyes is wont to pour.
6. O lean thy beauteous cheek on mine,
That our tears together may mingle!
Against my bosom press thou thine,
That their flames may no longer be single
And when with the flame is mingled at last
The stream of our tears all burning,
And mine arm is lovingly round thee cast,—
I’ll die of my love’s sweet yearning.
7. I’ll dip my spirit discreetly
In the cup of the lily down here;
The lily shall sing to me sweetly
A song of my mistress dear.
The song shall tremble and quiver,
Like that delicious kiss,
Of which her mouth was the giver
In a wondrous moment of bliss.
8. The stars in yonder heavens
Immovably have stood
For thousands of years, regarding
Each other in sad loving mood.
They speak a mysterious language
That’s rich and sweet to the ear;
Yet no philologist living
Can make its meaning clear.
But I’ve learnt it, and ne’er will forget it,
Whatever the time and place;
As my grammar I used for the purpose
My own dear mistress’s face.
21. The flutes and fiddles are sounding,
The trumpets ringing clear;
In the wedding dance is bounding
My heart’s own mistress dear.
The shawms and kettle-drums vying
In noisy chorus I hear;
But meanwhile good angels are sighing
And weeping many a tear.
22. Thou scarcely could’st have forgotten it faster,
That I of thine heart so long was the master;
Thine heart so false, so small, and so sweet,
A sweeter and falser I never shall meet.
Thou now hast forgotten the love and disaster
That made my heart throb all the faster;
I know not if love was the greatest, or woe;
That both were great, full well I know.
23. O if the tiny flowers
But knew of my wounded heart,
Their tears, like mine, in showers
Would fall, to cure the smart.
If knew the nightingales only
That I’m so mournful and sad,
They would cheer my misery lonely
With their notes so tuneful and glad.
If the golden stars high o’er us
But knew of my bitter woe,
They would speak words of comfort in chorus,
Descending hither below.
Not one of these can allay it,
One only knows of my smart;
’Tis she, I grieve to say it,
Who thus hath wounded my heart.
24. O why have the roses lost their hue,
Sweet love, O tell me why?
Why mutely thus do the violets blue
In the verdant meadows sigh?
O why doth the lark up high in the air
With a voice so mournful sing?
O why doth each fragrant floweret fair
Exhale like a poisonous thing?
O wherefore looks the sun to-day
On the fields, so full of gloom?
O why doth the earth appear so grey,
And dreary as a tomb?
Why feel I myself so mournful and weak,—
Sweet love, I put it to thee?
My own sweet darling, sweet love, O speak,—
O wherefore leavest thou me?
25. For thine ear many tales they invented,
And loud complaints preferred;
But how my soul was tormented,
Of this they said not a word.
They prated of mischief and evil,
And mournfully shook their head;
They liken’d poor me to the devil,
And thou didst believe what they said.
But, O; the worst and the saddest,
Of this they nothing knew;
The saddest and the maddest
In my heart was hidden from view.
26. The linden blossom’d, the nightingale sung,
The sun was laughing with radiance bright;
Thou kissed’st me then, while thine arm round me clung,
To thy heaving bosom thou pressed’st me tight.
The raven was screeching, the leaves fast fell,
The sun gazed cheerlessly down on the sight;
We coldly said to each other “Farewell!”
Thou politely didst make me a curtsey polite.
27. We have felt for each other emotions soft,
And yet our tempers always were matching,
At “man and wife” we have play’d full oft,
And yet ne’er took to fighting and scratching.
We have shouted together, together been gay,
And tenderly kiss’d and fondled away.
At last we play’d in forest and dell
At hide and seek, like sister and brother.
And managed to hide ourselves so well,
That never since then have we seen each other.
28. I’ve no belief in the heavens
Of which the parsons rave;
In thine eyes believe I only,
In their heavenly light I lave.
I’ve no belief in the Maker
Of whom the parsons rave;
In thine heart believe I only,
No other God will I have.
I’ve no belief in the devil,
In hell or the pains of hell;
In thine eyes believe I only,
And thine evil heart as well.
29. To me thou wert faithful and steady,
And madest for me supplication;
In my troubles and sad tribulation
Thy comfort always was ready.
Food and drink thou gav’st me in payment,
And plenty of money didst lend me,
And also a passport didst send me,
As well as some changes of raiment.
From heat and from coldness unpleasant
May heaven, my dear one, long guard thee,
And may it never reward thee
The kindness shown me at present!
30. The earth had long been avaricious,
But May, when she came, gave with great prodigality,
And all things now smile with rapture delicious,
But I for laughter have no partiality.
The blue bells are ringing, their beauty displaying,
The birds, as in fables, talk sentimentality;
I take no pleasure in all they are saying,
And I am quite wretched in sober reality.
All men I detest, and now cannot meet one,
Not even my friend, with the least cordiality,
And this all because my amiable sweet one
They “madam” entitle, with chilling formality.
31. And when I so long, so long had delay’d,
In foreign lands had in reveries stay’d,
My loved one found it too long to wait,
And sew’d herself a wedding-dress straight,
And then embraced in her arms, willy-nilly,
As bridegroom, the youth in the world the most silly.
My loved one is so beauteous and soft,
Before me still hovers her image oft;
Her rosy cheeks, her violet eyes
That all the year round glow bright as the skies.
That I could fly from such charming attractions
Was the silliest far of my silliest actions.
32. The lovely eyes of violet blue,
The beauteous cheeks of rosy hue,
The hands so like white lilies too,—
All these still sweetly blossom and bloom,
The heart alone is cold as the tomb.
33. The earth is so fair, and the heavens so bright,
The breezes are breathing with soothing might
The blooming fields with flowers are dight,
In the morning dew all radiant with light,
All men are rejoicing that meet my sight—
My bed in the grave I fain would be pressing,
The corpse of my mistress dear caressing.
34. When in the tomb, my mistress fair,
The chilly tomb, thou must hide thee.
I’ll soon descend to rejoin thee there,
And fondly nestle beside thee.
I wildly will press thee, embrace thee, and kiss
My pale, cold, fearful-to-see love!
I’ll tremble, weep, shout with rapturous bliss,
And soon be a corpse like thee, love.
The dead will arise, when midnight is nigh,
And dance in airy troops lightly;
But we in the tomb will quietly lie,
Thine arms embracing me tightly.
The dead will arise, when the loud trump of doom
To bliss or to torment is calling;
But regardless of all, we’ll remain in the tomb,
Still clasp’d in embraces enthralling.
35. A lonely fir tree is standing
On a northern barren height;
It sleeps, and the ice and snow-drift
Cast round it a garment of white.
It dreams of a slender palm-tree,
Which far in the Eastern land
Beside a precipice scorching
In silent sorrow doth stand.
36. Fair, bright, golden constellation,
Seek my love’s far habitation;
Tell her that I still am true,
Sick at heart and palefaced too.
37. (The head speaks.)
Ah, were I but the footstool e’en
On which my loved one’s foot doth rest,
I ne’er to grumble should be seen,
However hard I might be press’d.
(The heart speaks.)
Ah, were I but the cushion soft
Wherein her pins she’s wont to stick,
And ’twere her will to prick me oft,
I should rejoice at every prick.
(The song speaks.)
Ah, were I but the paper dear
Wherewith she’s wont her hair to curl,
I’d gently whisper in her ear
The thoughts that in me live and whirl.
38. Since my darling one has left me,
Power of laughing is bereft me;
Blockheads fain would raise a joke,
But no laughter can provoke.
Since I’ve lost my darling one,
Power of weeping, too, is gone;
Though my heart with sorrow deep
Wellnigh breaks, I cannot weep.
39. My little songs do I utter
From out of my great, great sorrow;
Some tinkling pinions they borrow,
And tow’rd her bosom they flutter.
They found it, and over it hover’d,
But soon return’d they, complaining,
And yet to tell me disdaining
What they in her bosom discover’d.
40. Sweet darling, beloved by me solely,
The thoughts in my memory dwell
That once I possess’d thee wholly,
Thy soul and body as well.
Thy body, so young and tender,
I need, beyond all doubt;
Thy soul to the tomb I’ll surrender,
I’ve plenty of soul without.
I’ll cut my soul in sunder,
And half of it breathe into thee,
And when I embrace thee,—O wonder!—
One soul and body we’ll be.
41. The blockheads, their holidays keeping,
Are walking through forest and plain;
They shout, and like kittens are leaping,
And hail sweet Nature again.
They gaze, with glances that glisten,
On each romantic thing;
With ears like asses they listen
To hear the sparrows sing.
My chamber window to darken,
With black cloth I hang it by day;
To the signal my spirits straight hearken,
Day-visits they hasten to pay.
My olden love also draws nigh me,
From the realms of the dead she appears;
She, weeping, sits gently close by me,
And softens my bosom to tears.
42. Many visions of times long vanish’d
Arise from out of their tomb,
And show me how once in thy presence
I lived in my life’s young bloom.
All day I mournfully totter’d
Through the streets, as though in a dream
The people gazed on me with wonder,
So silent and sad did I seem.
The night-time suited me better,
Deserted the streets were then,
And I and my shadow together
We wandered in silence again.
With footsteps echoing loudly
I wander’d over the bridge;
The moon with solemn look hail’d me
As she burst through the cloudy ridge.
I stood in front of thy dwelling,
And fondly gazed up on high;
I gazed up towards thy window,
My heart breathed many a sigh.
Well know I that thou from the window
Full often hast gazed below,
And in the moonlight hast seen me
Stand fix’d, the image of woe.
43.
70. The numbers old and evil,
The dreams so harrowing,
Let’s bury all together,—
A mighty coffin bring!
I’ll place there much, but say not
What ’tis, till all is done;
The coffin must be larger
Than Heidelberg’s vast tun.
And also bring a death-bier,
Of boards full stout and sound;
They also must be longer
Than Mayence bridge renown’d.
And also bring twelve giants
Whose strength of limb excels
Saint Christopher’s, whose shrine in
Cologne Cathedral dwells.
The coffin they must carry,
And sink beneath the wave;
For such a mighty coffin
Must have a mighty grave.
Why was the coffin, tell me,
So great and hard to move?
I in it placed my sorrows,
And in it placed my love.
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