Each falls on the breast of the other,
With kisses that well nigh might smother.
They tear themselves
asunder at last,
To her
chamber she hastens quickly,
To reach the queen the page hies him fast,
Midst the swords and the fans
crowded thickly.
The queen spied amain
On his
waistcoat a stain;
For
nought was inscrutable to her,
Like Sheba's queen--Solomon's wooer.
To her chief
attendant she
forthwith cried
"We
lately together contended,
And thou didst
assert, with
obstinate pride,
That the spirit through space never wended,--
That traces alone
By the present were shown,--
That afar
nought was fashion'd--not even
By the stars that illumine you heaven.
"Now see! while a
goblet beside me they drain'd,
They spilt all the drink in the chalice;
And
straightway the boy had his
waistcoat stain'd
At the furthermost end of the palace.--
Let them newly be clad!
And since I am glad
That it served as a proof so decided,
The cost will by me be provided."
1808.
-----
THE WALKING BELL
A CHILD refused to go betimes
To church like other people;
He roam'd
abroad, when rang the chimes
On Sundays from the steeple.
His mother said: "Loud rings the bell,
Its voice ne'er think of scorning;
Unless thou wilt
behave thee well,
'Twill fetch thee without warning."
The child then thought: "High over head
The bell is safe suspended--"
So to the fields he
straightway sped
As if 'twas school-time ended.
The bell now ceas'd as bell to ring,
Roused by the mother's twaddle;
But soon ensued a
dreadful thing!--
The bell begins to waddle.
It waddles fast, though strange it seem;
The child, with trembling wonder,
Runs off, and flies, as in a dream;
The bell would draw him under.
He finds the proper time at last,
And
straightway nimbly rushes
To church, to
chapel, hastening fast
Through pastures, plains, and bushes.
Each Sunday and each feast as well,
His late
disaster heeds he;
The moment that he bears the bell,
No other summons needs he.
1813.
-----
FAITHFUL ECKART,
"OH, would we were further! Oh, would we were home,
The phantoms of night tow'rd us
hastily come,
The band of the Sorceress sisters.
They hitherward speed, and on
finding us here,
They'll drink, though with toil we have fetch'd it, the beer,
And leave us the pitchers all empty."
Thus
speaking, the children with fear take to flight,
When sudden an old man appears in their sight:
"Be quiet, child! children, be quiet!
From
hunting they come, and their
thirst they would still,
So leave them to
swallow as much as they will,
And the Evil Ones then will be gracious."
As said, so 'twas done! and the phantoms draw near,
And shadowlike seem they, and grey they appear,
~Yet blithely they sip and they revel
The beer has all
vanish'd, the pitchers are void;
With cries and with shouts the wild hunters, o'erjoy'd,
Speed
onward o'er vale and o'er mountain.
The children in
terror fly nimbly tow'rd home,
And with them the kind one is careful to come:
"My darlings, oh, be not so mournful!--
"They'll blame us and beat us, until we are dead."--
"No, no! ye will find that all goes well," he said;
"Be silent as mice, then, and listen!
"And he by whose counsels thus
wisely ye're taught,
Is he who with children loves ever to sport.
The
trusty and
faithful old Eckart.
Ye have heard of the wonder for many a day,
But ne'er had a proof of the
marvellous lay,--
Your hands hold a proof most convincing."
They arrive at their home, and their pitchers they place
By the side of their parents, with fear on their face,
Awaiting a
beating and scolding.
But see what they're tasting: the choicest of beer!
Though three times and four times they quaff the good cheer
The pitchers remain still unemptied.
The
marvel it lasts till the dawning of day;
All people who hear of it
doubtless will say:
"What happen'd at length to the pitchers?"
In secret the children they smile, as they wait;
At last, though, they
stammer, and stutter, and prate,
And
straightway the pitchers were empty.
And if, children, with kindness address'd ye may be,
Whether father, or master, or
alderman he,
Obey him, and follow his bidding!
And if 'tis
unpleasant to
bridle the tongue,
Yet talking is bad, silence good for the young--
And then will the beer fill your pitchers!
1813.
-----
THE DANCE OF DEATH.
THE warder looks down at the mid hour of night,
On the tombs that lie scatter'd below:
The moon fills the place with her
silvery light,
And the
churchyard like day seems to glow.
When see! first one grave, then another opes wide,
And women and men stepping forth are descried,
In cerements snow-white and trailing.
In haste for the sport soon their ankles they twitch,
And whirl round in dances so gay;
The young and the old, and the poor, and the rich,
But the cerements stand in their way;
And as
modesty cannot avail them aught here,
They shake themselves all, and the
shrouds soon appear
Scatter'd over the tombs in confusion.
Now waggles the leg, and now wriggles the thigh,
As the troop with strange gestures advance,
And a
rattle and
clatter anon rises high,
As of one
beating time to the dance.
The sight to the warder seems wondrously queer,
When the villainous Tempter speaks thus in his ear:
"Seize one of the
shrouds that lie yonder!"
Quick as thought it was done! and for safety he fled
Behind the church-door with all speed;
The moon still continues her clear light to shed
On the dance that they fearfully lead.
But the dancers at length disappear one by one,
And their
shrouds, ere they
vanish, they carefully don,
And under the turf all is quiet.
But one of them stumbles and shuffles there still,
And gropes at the graves in despair;
Yet 'tis by no comrade he's treated so ill
The
shroud he soon scents in the air.
So he
rattles the door--for the warder 'tis well
That 'tis bless'd, and so able the foe to repel,
All cover'd with crosses in metal.
The
shroud he must have, and no rest will allow,
There remains for
reflection no time;
On the ornaments Gothic the wight seizes now,
And from point on to point hastes to climb.
Alas for the warder! his doom is decreed!
Like a long-legged
spider, with ne'er-changing speed,
Advances the dreaded pursuer.
The warder he quakes, and the warder turns pale,
The
shroud to
restore fain had sought;
When the end,--now can nothing to save him avail,--
In a tooth formed of iron is caught.
With
vanishing lustre the moon's race is run,
When the bell thunders loudly a powerful One,
And the
skeleton fails, crush'd to atoms.
1813.
-----
THE PUPIL IN MAGIC.
I AM now,--what joy to hear it!--
Of the old
magician rid;
And
henceforth shall ev'ry spirit
Do whate'er by me is bid;
I have watch'd with rigour
All he used to do,
And will now with vigour
Work my wonders too.
Wander, wander
Onward lightly,
So that rightly
Flow the torrent,
And with teeming waters yonder
In the bath
discharge its current!
And now come, thou well-worn broom,
And thy
wretched form bestir;
Thou hast ever served as groom,
So
fulfil my pleasure, sir!
On two legs now stand,
With a head on top;
Waterpail in hand,
Haste, and do not stop!
Wander, wander
Onward lightly,
So that rightly
Flow the torrent,
And with teeming waters yonder
In the bath
discharge its current!
See! he's
running to the shore,
And has now attain'd the pool,
And with
lightning speed once more
Comes here, with his
bucket full!
Back he then repairs;
See how swells the tide!
How each pail he bears
Straightway is supplied!
Stop, for, lo!
All the
measure