Up rose Lenore as the red
morn wore,
From weary visions starting;
"Art faithless, William,
or, William, art dead?
'Tis long since thy departing."
For he, with Frederick's men
of might,
In fair Prague waged the
uncertain fight;
Nor once had he writ in the
hurry of war.
And sad was the true heart
that sickened afar.
The Empress and the King,
With ceaseless quarrel tired,
At length relaxed the
stubborn hate
Which rivalry inspired:
And the martial throng, with
laugh and song,
Spoke of their homes as they
rode along.
And clank, clank, clank! Came
every rank.
With the trumpet-sound that
rose and sank.
And here and there and
everywhere,
Along the swarming ways,
Went old man and boy, with
the music of joy,
On the gallant bands to gaze;
And the young child shouted
to spy the vaward,
And trembling and blushing
the bride pressed forward:
But ah! For the sweet lips of
Lenore
The kiss and the greeting are
vanished and o'er.
From man to man all wildly
she ran
With a swift and searching eye;
But she felt alone in the
mighty mass,
As it crushed and crowded by:
On hurried the troop,—a
gladsome group,—
And proudly the tall plumes
wave and droop:
She tore her hair and she
turned her round,
And madly she dashed her
against the ground.
Her mother clasped her
tenderly
With soothing words and mild:
"My child, may God look
down on thee,—
God comfort thee, my child."
"Oh! Mother, mother!
Gone is gone!
I reck no more how the world
runs on:
What pity to me does God
impart?
Woe, woe, woe! for my heavy
heart! "
"Help, Heaven, help and
favour her!
Child, utter an Ave Marie!
Wise and great are the doings
of God;
He loves and pities thee."
"Out, mother, out, on
the empty lie!
Doth he heed my despair,—doth
he list to my cry?
What boots it now to hope or
to pray?
The night is come,—there is
no more day."
"Help, Heaven, help! Who
knows the Father
Knows surely that he loves his child:
The bread and the wine from
the hand divine
Shall make thy tempered grief less wild."
"Oh! Mother, dear
mother! The wine and the bread
Will not soften the anguish
that bows down my head;
For bread and for wine it
will yet be as late
That his cold corpse creeps
from the grim grave's gate."
"What if the traitor's
false faith failed,
By sweet temptation tried,—
What if in distant Hungary
He clasp another bride?—
Despise the fickle fool, my
girl,
Who hath ta'en the pebble and
spurned the pearl:
While soul and body shall
hold together
In his perjured heart shall
be stormy weather."
"Oh! Mother, mother!
Gone is gone,
And lost will still be lost!
Death, death is the goal of
my weary soul,
Crushed and broken and crost.
Spark of my life! Down, down
to the tomb:
Die away in the night, die
away in the gloom!
What pity to me does God
impart?
Woe, woe, woe! For my heavy
heart!"
"Help, Heaven, help, and
heed her not,
For her sorrows are strong within;
She knows not the words that
her tongue repeats,—
Oh! Count them not for sin!
Cease, cease, my child, thy
wretchedness,
And think on the promised
happiness;
So shall thy mind's calm
ecstasy
Be a hope and a home and a
bridegroom to thee."
"My mother, what is
happiness?
My mother, what is Hell?
With William is my
happiness,—
Without him is my Hell!
Spark of my life! Down, down
to the tomb:
Die away in the night, die
away in the gloom!
Earth and Heaven, and Heaven
and earth.
Reft of William are nothing
worth."
Thus grief racked and tore
the breast of Lenore,
And was busy at her brain;
Thus rose her cry to the
Power on high,
To question and arraign:
Wringing her hands and
beating her breast,—
Tossing and rocking without
any rest;—
Till from her light veil the
moon shone thro',
And the stars leapt out on
the darkling blue.
But hark to the clatter and
the pat pat patter!
Of a horse's heavy hoof!
How the steel clanks and
rings as the rider springs!
How the echo shouts aloof!
While slightly and lightly
the gentle bell
Tingles and jingles softly
and well;
And low and clear through the
door plank thin
Comes the voice without to
the ear within:
"Holla! holla! Unlock
the gate;
Art waking, my bride, or sleeping?
Is thy heart still free and
still faithful to me?
Art laughing, my bride, or weeping?"
"Oh! Wearily, William,
I've waited for you,—
Woefully watching the long
day thro',—
With a great sorrow sorrowing
For the cruelty of your
tarrying."
"Till the dead midnight
we saddled not,—
I have journeyed far and fast—
And hither I come to carry
thee back
Ere the darkness shall be past."
"Ah! Rest thee within
till the night's more calm;
Smooth shall thy couch be,
and soft, and warm:
Hark to the winds, how they
whistle and rush
Thro' the twisted twine of
the hawthorn-bush."
"Thro' the hawthorn-bush
let whistle and rush,—
Let whistle, child, let whistle!
Mark the flash fierce and
high of my steed's bright eye,
And his proud crest's eager bristle.
Up, up and away! I must not
stay:
Mount swiftly behind me! up,
up and away!
An hundred miles must be
ridden and sped
Ere we may lie down in the
bridal-bed."
"What! Ride an hundred
miles to-night,
By thy mad fancies driven!
Dost hear the bell with its
sullen swell.
As it rumbles out eleven?"
"Look forth! Look forth!
The moon shines bright:
We and the dead gallop fast
thro' the night.
'Tis for a wager I bear thee
away
To the nuptial couch ere
break of day."
"Ah! Where is the
chamber, William dear,
And William, where is the bed?"
"Far, far from here:
still, narrow, and cool;
Plank and bottom and lid."
"Hast room for
me?"—"For me and thee;
Up, up to the saddle right
speedily!
The wedding-guests are
gathered and met,
And the door of the chamber
is open set."
She busked her well, and into
the selle
She sprang with nimble haste,—
And gently smiling, with a
sweet beguiling,
Her white hands clasped his waist:—
And hurry, hurry! Ring, ring,
ring!
To and fro they sway and
swing;
Snorting and snuffing they
skim the ground,
And the sparks spurt up, and
the stones run round.
Here to the right and there
to the left
Flew fields of corn and clover,
And the bridges flashed by to
the dazzled eye,
As rattling they thundered over.
"What ails my love? The
moon shines bright:
Bravely the dead men ride
through the night.
Is my love afraid of the
quiet dead?"
"Ah! No; — let them
sleep in their dusty bed!"
On the breeze cool and soft
what tune floats aloft,
While the crows wheel overhead?—
Ding dong! Ding dong! ’Tis
the sound, ’tis the song,—
"Room, room for the passing dead!"
Slowly the funeral-train drew
near.
Bearing the coffin, bearing
the bier;
And the chime of their chaunt
was hissing and harsh,
Like the note of the
bull-frog within the marsh.
"You bury your corpse at
the dark midnight,
With hymns and bells and wailing;—
But I bring home my youthful
wife
To a bride-feast's rich regaling.
Come, chorister, come with thy
choral throng,
And solemnly sing me a
marriage-song;
Come, friar, come,—let the
blessing be spoken,
That the bride and the
bridegroom's sweet rest be unbroken."
Died the dirge and vanished
the bier:—
Obedient to his call,
Hard hard behind, with a rush
like the wind,
Came the long steps' pattering fall:
And ever further! Ring, ring,
ring!
To and fro they sway and
swing;
Snorting and snuffing they
skim the ground,
And the sparks spurt up, and
the stones run round.
How flew to the right, how
flew to the left,
Trees, mountains in the race!
How to the left, and the
right and the left,
Flew town and market-place!
"What ails my love? The
moon shines bright:
Bravely the dead men ride
thro' the night.
Is my love afraid of the
quiet dead?"
"Ah! Let them alone in
their dusty bed!"
See, see, see! By the
gallows-tree,
As they dance on the wheel's broad hoop,
Up and down, in the gleam of
the moon
Half lost, an airy group:—
"Ho! ho! Mad mob, come
hither amain,
And join in the wake of my
rushing train;—
Come, dance me a dance, ye
dancers thin.
Ere the planks of the
marriage-bed close us in."
And hush, hush, hush! The
dreamy rout
Came close with a ghastly bustle,
Like the whirlwind in the
hazel-bush,
When it makes the dry leaves rustle:
And faster, faster! Ring,
ring, ring!
To and fro they sway and
swing;
Snorting and snuffing they
skim the ground,
And the sparks spurt up, and
the stones run round.
How flew the moon high
overhead,
In the wild race madly driven!
In and out, how the stars
danced about.
And reeled o'er the flashing heaven!
"What ails my love? The
moon shines bright:
Bravely the dead men ride
thro' the night.
Is my love afraid of the
quiet dead?"
"Alas! let them sleep in
their dusty bed."
"Horse, horse! meseems
'tis the cock's shrill note,
And the sand is well-nigh spent;
Horse, horse, away! 'Tis the
break of day,—
'Tis the morning air's sweet scent.
Finished, finished is our
ride:
Room, room for the bridegroom
and the bride!
At last, at last, we have
reached the spot,
For the speed of the dead man
has slackened not!"
And swiftly up to an iron
gate
With reins relaxed they went;
At the rider's touch the
bolts flew back,
And the bars were broken and bent;
The doors were burst with a
deafening knell,
And over the white graves
they dashed pell mell;
The tombs around looked
grassy and grim,
As they glimmered and glanced
in the moonlight dim.
But see! But see! In an
eyelid's beat,
Towhoo! A ghastly wonder!
The horseman's jerkin, piece
by piece,
Dropped off like brittle tinder!
Fleshless and hairless, a
naked skull,
The sight of his weird head
was horrible;
The lifelike mask was there
no more,
And a scythe and a sandglass
the skeleton bore.
Loud snorted the horse as he
plunged and reared,
And the sparks were scattered round:—
What man shall say if he
vanished away,
Or sank in the gaping ground?
Groans from the earth and
shrieks in the air!
Howling and wailing
everywhere!
Half dead, half living, the
soul of Lenore
Fought as it never had fought
before.
The churchyard troop,—a
ghostly group,—
Close round the dying girl;
Out and in they hurry and
spin
Through the dance's weary whirl:
"Patience, patience,
when the heart is breaking;
With thy God there is no
question-making:
Of thy body thou art quit and
free:
Heaven keep thy soul
eternally!"
Translated from the German by
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Lenore_(Rossetti)
