From heavy dreams, sprung from her bed
Leonore at break of day -
"Oh, Wilhelm! art thou false or dead?
Thou bid'st so long away."
He went with Frederick's battle-might
To Prague, into that dreadful fight;
And news came none how he had fared,
Struck by a soldier's fate, or spared.
The Kaiser's Consort and the King,
With weary battling worn,
To thoughts of rest their hearts did bring, -
Bade times of peace return.
The hosts, with song and joyous hum,
With blare of trump and beat of drum,
Crown with green boughs so gay,
Stream'd to their homes away.
And all abroad, all far and near,
On every road and lane,
Rushed old and young with cries of cheer,
To greet the homeward train.
"Thank God!" - the wives, the children cried;
"Welcome!" - sobb'd many a happy bride;
But ah! for hapless Leonore
No kiss nor bliss was there in store.
Along the marching line she sought
For every name she knew,
Yet none was there who tidings brought
Of all that moving crew.
And when the fruitless task was o'er
In wo her raven hair she tore,
And flung her earthwards there
With gestures of despair.
Then to her ran her mother pale:
"Have mercy, God!" she cried, -
"My darling child, what dost thou ail?"
And strain'd her to her side.
"Oh mother, mother, wo is wo!
The world and all it holds may go!
God has no mercy, none -
All that I prize is gone."
"O help, God! help, nor quit us quite:
Child, straightway say thy prayer;
What God does, that is always right:
O God, in mercy spare!"
"O mother, idly argue ye;
He has not rightly done by me:
What would my prayer avail?
It cures not what I ail."
"O God, my child! He helps his child -
Our Father there in heav'n;
And grief to soothe, however wild,
His sacrament is given."
"Mother, no sacrament can heal
The bitter sorrow that I feel;
No sacrament can gain
The dead to life again."
"But, child, what if thy Wilhelm now
In far off Hungary
Have cast aside his plighted vow
For a new wedding tie?
Then let, child, - let his false heart go;
He never will be happy so:
When soul and body part
He'll rue his perjur'd heart."
"O mother, mother, wo is wo,
And lost is lost for ever!
By d**h comes peace, and only so;
O born I had been never!
Go out, go out, my bootless light!
Die, sink in black and endless night!
God has no mercy, none -
All that I prize is gone."
"O help, God! spare her - judge her not!
Mild on thy daughter look!
She utters wild she knows not what:
Write it not in thy book.
O child, forget thy earthly love,
And think on God and bliss above;
And Heav'n shall crown thy vows
With that celestial spouse."
"O mother, what is bliss above?
O mother, what is hell?
'Tis bliss to be with him I love,
To want him is my hell.
Go out, go out, my bootless light!
Die, sink in black and endless night!
Without him, all below -
And all above - is wo."
So through her brain, through heart and vein,
Despair ran raging high;
She chid and strove with Providence,
And in His face did fly.
She wrung her hands, she beat her breast,
Until the sun was gone to rest,
And all the starry eyes
Lookt from the solemn skies.
And hark without! 'tis trot, trot, trot;
A horse-hoof clatters there,
And rattling off the horseman got
Just at the outer stair.
And hark! and hark! the entrance bell
Rings ting, ting, ting, - she knows it well;
And through the door's thick boards
Come plain and clear the words:
"Holla! holla! my love, undo!
What! are you wake or sleeping?
Do you love me as I love you?
And are you glad or weeping?"
"Ah! Wilhelm, thou! so late at night:
O, I have watcht and wept outright,
Tortured beyond my strength:
Whence comest thou at length?"
"We saddle hard on midnight's sound,
And from Bohemia's plain
I started late, and I am bound
To take thee back again."
"Ah, Wilhelm! first come hither in;
The wind whirrs through the hawthorn keen;
My arms with loving fold
Shall warm thee from the cold."
"Let keen wind through the hawthorn whirr -
Whirr, child! as whirr it may,
My charger paws, and clanks my spur,
And here I may not stay.
Come, busk and bind, and spring behind, -
Here on my steed good room you'll find:
A hundred miles to-night I fly,
To reach the bed where we must lie."
"What, still a hundred miles to run
Before our bed is found?
And hark! the eleven already gone,
I hear the lingering sound."
"Tut! look abroad - the moon shines bright;
We and the dead ride fast by night,
I bet my life our bed is won
Before to-day is past and gone."
"But say, where is thy chamber, say,
And what is the make of thy bed?"
"Small, still, and cool, - far, far away, -
Six boards, and a foot and a head."
"Will it hold me?" "Room, room, thou'lt find.
Come, busk and bind, and spring behind
The guests our coming wait,
And open is the gate."
She has girt her close, and up she hied
Upon that steed behind,
And about her darling trooper's side
Her white arms she did wind:
And away, and away! with tramp and clang,
In a headlong gallop along they sprang;
And horse and rider blew,
And sparks and splinters flew.
To the right and the left, as she might see,
All fast as they could go,
Flew back road-side and hedge and tree,
And each bridge rang hollow below.
"Do you fear, my dear? the moon shines bright:
Hurrah! the dead ride fast by night:
Dost fear the dead? - not thou!"
"No - but name them gently now."
But what is the noise of metal and voice,
And of ravens over head?
'Tis the bell's ding-dong; 'tis the funeral song -
"To the dead we give the dead."
And now the burial train past by,
And bier and coffin they bore on high:
The song was not like men,
But the croakers of the fen.
"Ye can bury your dead with your wonted rite,
When the midnight hour is o'er;
But I bear my young wife home to-night,
Come on to my chamber-door;
Come, Sexton, come; come, Choir, along,
And tune your throats to my bridal song:
Sir Priest, let the blessing be said,
When we lay us down in our bed."
Still'd was the song - the bier was gone,
And round the black train wheels;
And all came hurrying, hurrying on,
Close to the horse's heels:
And away, and away! with tramp and clang,
In headlong gallop they onward sprang;
And horse and rider blew,
And sparks and splinters flew.
On the left and right, to the dazzled sight,
Flew hill and dale and flood, -
Flew right and left, and left and right,
Village and town and wood.
"Dost fear, my dear? the moon shines bright:
Hurrah! the dead ride fast by night:
Dost fear the dead? - not thou!"
"Ah, but name them gently now!"
But see, see there! - 'tis the place of doom,
And round the grisly wheel
A rabble rout in the midnight loom,
And in airy circles reel.
"Thou rabble rout that there I see!
Come, wheel about and follow me:
Dance us a dance at our wedding,
When we come to the time of the bedding."
And whish, whish, whish, - the rabble rout
Come rustling close behind,
As when the dry leaves rustle about,
Whirl'd by the wintry wind.
And away, and away, with the clattering steed,
In headlong gallop along they speed;
And horse and rider blew,
And sparks and splinters flew.
And all that lay in the moonlight blue,
Just seen, was instant far;
And over head fast backward flew
The vault and every star.
"Dost fear, my dear? the moon shines bright:
Hurrah! the dead ride fast by night:
Dost fear the dead? - not thou!"
"O name them gently now!"
"List! list! is that the co*k's crow there?
Our sand is run e'en now:
Uft! uft! I scent the morning air; -
Down from the saddle, thou!
Our race is run, our work is sped,
And here we find our wedding bed:
The dead ride fast by night -
We've reacht the place aright."
Lo! an iron gate! and against its grate
With undrawn rein went they;
He toucht it with his whip, and straight
Both bolts and bars gave way.
With grinding jar it entrance gave,
And the way led on o'er many a grave;
In the moonshine o'er the ground
The grave-stones gleam'd around.
Ho! see him in an instant straight
A horrid sight display, -
His harness moulders plate by plate,
Like tinder-rags, away;
Before, behind, his locks are gone,
His head's a skull of naked bone;
A skeleton in every limb,
He glares with scythe and hourgla** grim.
The steed rear'd high, and snorted out,
And breath'd with flaming breath,
And quick! 'twas vanished into nought,
Its rider's form beneath:
A howling came upon the gale,
And from below a dismal wail;
Leonore, with heart and breath,
Gasp'd between life and d**h.
And now beneath the moon's pale glance,
Careering round and round,
The spectres wove their grisly dance,
And howl'd their dismal sound:
"Learn patience, learn! whate'er betide,
Blame not thy God, nor with Him chide!
Thou art freed from thy body's thrall,
On thy soul may mercy fall!"