And with anger hears she vows of love,
Soft caressing words of
mutual bliss.
"Hush! the cock's loud strain!
But thoult come again,
When the night returns!"--then kiss on kiss.
Then her wrath the mother cannot hold,
But unfastens straight the lock with ease
"In this house are girls become so bold,
As to seek e'en strangers' lusts to please?"
By her lamp's clear glow
Looks she in,--and oh!
Sight of
horror!--'tis her child she sees.
Fain the youth would, in his first alarm,
With the veil that o'er her had been spread,
With the
carpet,
shield his love from harm;
But she casts them from her, void of dread,
And with spirit's strength,
In its spectre length,
Lifts her figure slowly from the bed.
"Mother! mother!"--Thus her wan lips say:
"May not I one night of
rapture share?
From the warm couch am I chased away?
Do I waken only to despair?
It
contents not thee
To have
driven me
An
untimelyshroud of death to wear?
"But from out my coffin's prison-bounds
By a wond'rous fate I'm forced to rove,
While the blessings and the chaunting sounds
That your priests delight in,
useless prove.
Water, salt, are vain
Fervent youth to chain,
Ah, e'en Earth can never cool down love!
"When that
infant vow of love was spoken,
Venus'
radianttemple smiled on both.
Mother! thou that promise since hast broken,
Fetter'd by a strange,
deceitful oath.
Gods, though,
hearken ne'er,
Should a mother swear
To deny her daughter's plighted troth.
From my grave to
wander I am forc'd,
Still to seek The Good's long-sever'd link,
Still to love the
bridegroom I have lost,
And the life-blood of his heart to drink;
When his race is run,
I must
hasten on,
And the young must 'neath my
vengeance sink,
"Beauteous youth! no longer mayst thou live;
Here must
shrivel up thy form so fair;
Did not I to thee a token give,
Taking in return this lock of hair?
View it to thy sorrow!
Grey thoult be to-morrow,
Only to grow brown again when there.
"Mother, to this final prayer give ear!
Let a
funeral pile be
straightway dress'd;
Open then my cell so sad and drear,
That the flames may give the lovers rest!
When ascends the fire
From the glowing pyre,
To the gods of old we'll
hasten, blest."
1797.
-----
THE GOD AND THE BAYADERE.
AN INDIAN LEGEND.
[This very fine Ballad was also first given in the Horen.]
(MAHADEVA is one of the numerous names of Seeva, the destroyer,--
the great god of the Brahmins.)
MAHADEVA,* Lord of earth
For the sixth time comes below,
As a man of
mortal birth,--
Like him, feeling joy and woe.
Hither loves he to repair,
And his power behind to leave;
If to
punish or to spare,
Men as man he'd fain perceive.
And when he the town as a trav'ller hath seen,
Observing the
mighty,
regarding the mean,
He quits it, to go on his journey, at eve.
He was leaving now the place,
When an outcast met his eyes,--
Fair in form, with painted face,--
Where some straggling dwellings rise.
"Maiden, hail!"--"Thanks!
welcome here!
Stay!--I'll join thee in the road.'
"Who art thou?"--"A Bayadere,
And this house is love's abode."
The
cymbal she
hastens to play for the dance,
Well skill'd in its mazes the sight to entrance,
Then by her with grace is the nosegay bestow'd.
Then she draws him, as in play,
O'er the
threshold eagerly:
"Beauteous stranger, light as day
Thou shalt soon this
cottage see.
I'll
refresh thee, if thou'rt tired,
And will bathe thy weary feet;
Take whate'er by thee's desired,
Toying, rest, or
rapture sweet."--
She
busily seeks his feign'd suff'rings to ease;
Then smiles the Im
mortal; with pleasure he sees
That with kindness a heart so corrupted can beat.
And he makes her act the part
Of a slave; he's straight obey'd.
What at first had been but art,
Soon is nature in the maid.
By degrees the fruit we find,
Where the buds at first obtain;
When
obedience fills the mind,
Love will never far remain.
But sharper and sharper the
maiden to prove,
The Discerner of all things below and above,
Feigns pleasure, and
horror, and maddening pain.
And her painted cheeks he kisses,
And his vows her heart enthrall;
Feeling love's sharp pangs and blisses,
Soon her tears begin to fall.
At his feet she now must sink,
Not with thoughts of lust or gain,--
And her
slender members shrink,
And
devoid of power remain.
And so the bright hours with
gladness prepare
Their dark,
pleasing veil of a
texture so fair,
And over the couch
softly, tranquilly reign.
Late she falls asleep, thus bless'd,--
Early wakes, her slumbers fled,
And she finds the much-loved guest
On her bosom lying dead.
Screaming falls she on him there,
But, alas, too late to save!
And his rigid limbs they bear
Straightway to their fiery grave.
Then hears she the priests and the
funeral song,
Then madly she runs, and she severs the throng:
"Why press tow'rd the pile thus? Why
scream thus, and rave?"
Then she sinks beside his bier,
And her
screams through air resound:
"I must seek my
spouse so dear,
E'en if in the grave he's bound.
Shall those limbs of grace
divineFall to ashes in my sight?
Mine he was! Yes, only mine!
Ah, one single blissful night!"
The priests chaunt in
chorus: "We bear out the old,
When long they've been weary, and late they've grown cold:
We bear out the young, too, so
thoughtless and light.
"To thy priests' commands give ear!
This one was thy husband ne'er;
Live still as a Bayadere,
And no duty thou need'st share.
To deaths silent realms from life,
None but shades attend man's frame,
With the husband, none but wife,--
That is duty, that is fame.
Ye trumpets, your
sacredlament haste to raise
Oh,
welcome, ye gods, the bright lustre of days!
Oh,
welcome to heaven the youth from the flame!"
Thus increased her torments are
By the cruel, heartless quire;
And with arms outstretching far
Leaps she on the glowing pyre.
But the youth
divine outsprings
From the flame with heav'nly grace,
And on high his
flight he wings,
While his arms his love embrace.
In the
sinner repentant the Godhead feels joy;
Im
mortals delight thus their might to employ.
Lost children to raise to a
heavenly place.
1797.
-----
THE PARIAH.
I. THE PARIAH S PRAYER.
DREADED Brama, lord of might!
All proceed from thee alone;
Thou art he who judgeth right!
Dost thou none but Brahmins own?
Do but Rajahs come from thee?
None but those of high estate?
Didst not thou the ape create,
Aye, and even such as we?
We are not of noble kind,
For with woe our lot is rife;
And what others
deadly find
Is our only source of life.
Let this be enough for men,
Let them, if they will,
despise us;
But thou, Brama, thou shouldst prize us,
All are equal in thy ken.
Now that, Lord, this prayer is said,
As thy child
acknowledge me;
Or let one be born in-stead,
Who may link me on to thee!
Didst not thou a Bayadere
As a
goddess heavenward raise?
And we too to swell thy praise,
Such a
miracle would hear.
1821.
-----
II. LEGEND.
[The successful manner in which Goethe employs the simple
rhymeless trochaic metre in this and in many other Poems will
perhaps be remarked by the reader.]