Chapter VIII: Preface (2)

Contented not with thine own property,
The Rhine’s fair Nibelung-treasure thou didst steal,
The wondrous gifts the Thames’ far banks conceal,--
The Tagus’ flowers were boldly pluck’d by thee,
Thou mad’st the Tiber many a gem reveal,
The Seine paid tribute to thine industry,
Thou pierced’st e’en to Brama’s sanctuary,
Pearls from the Ganges taking in thy zeal.
Thou greedy man, I pray thee be content
With that which seldom unto man is lent;
Instead of adding more, to spend prepare!
And with the treasures which thou with such ease
From North and South accustom’d wert to seize,
Enrich the scholar and the joyful heir.

3. TO COUNCILLOR GEORGE S----, OF GOTTINGEN.

Though the demeanour be imperious, proud,
Yet round the lips may gentleness play still;
Though the eye gleam and every muscle thrill,
Yet may the voice with calmness be endow’d.
Thus art thou in the rostrum, when aloud
Thou speak’st of governments and of the skill
Of cabinets, and of the people’s will,
Of Germany’s long strifes and ends avow’d.
Ne’er be thine image blotted from my mind!
In times of barbarous self-love like these,
How doth an image of such greatness please!
What thou, in fashion fatherly and kind,
Spak’st to my heart, while hours flew swiftly by,
Deep in my heart I still bear faithfully.

4. TO J. B. ROUSSEAU.

Thy friendly greetings open wide my breast,
And the dark chambers of my heart unbar;
Home visions greet me like some radiant star,
And magic pinions fan me into rest.
Once more the Rhine flows by me, on its crest
Of waters mount and castle mirror’d are;
On vine-clad hills gold clusters gleam afar,
Vine-dressers climb, while shoot the flow’rets blest.
Could I but see thee, truest friend of all,
Who still dost link thyself to me, as clings
The ivy green around a crumbling wall!
Could I but be with thee, and to thy song
In silence listen, while the redbreast sings,
And the Rhine’s waters softly flow along!

5.

A torture-chamber was the world to me,
Where I suspended by the feet did hang;
Hot pincers gave my body many a pang,
A vice of iron crush’d me fearfully.
I wildly cried in nameless agony,
From mouth and eyes the blood in torrents sprang,--
A maid passed by, who a gold hammer swang,
And presently the coup-de-grace gave she.
My quivering limbs she scans with eager eye,
My tongue protruding, as death’s hour draws nigh,
From out my bleeding mouth,--a ghastly sight,
My heart’s wild pantings hears she with delight;
My last death-rattle music is the while
To her, who stands with cold and mocking smile.

6. THE NIGHT WATCH ON THE DRACHENFELS. TO FRITZ VON B----.

’Twas midnight as we scaled the mountain height,
The wood pile ’neath the walls the flames devour’d,
And as my joyous comrades round it cower’d,
They sang of Germany’s renown in fight.
Her health we drank from Rhine wine beakers bright,
The castle-spirit on the summit tower’d,
Dark forms of armèd knights around us lower’d,
And women’s misty shapes appear’d in sight.
And from the ruins there arose low moans,
Owls hooted, rattling sounds were heard, and groans;
A furious north wind bluster’d fitfully.
Such was the night, my friend, that I did pass
On the high Drachenfels,--but I, alas,
A wretched cold and cough took home with me!

7. IN FRITZ STEINMANN’S ALBUM.

The bad victorious are, the good lie low;
The myrtles are replaced by poplars dry,
Through which the evening breezes loudly sigh,
Bright flashes take the place of silent glow.--
In vain Parnassus’ heights you’ll plough and sow,
Image on image, flower on flower pile high,
In vain you’ll struggle till you’re like to die,
Unless, _before_ the egg is laid, you know
How to cluck-cluck; and, bulls’ horns putting on,
Learn to write sage critiques, both pro and con,
And your own trumpet blow with decent pride.
Write for the mob, not for posterity,
Let blustering noise your poems’ lever be,--
You’ll then be by the public deified.

8. TO HER.

The flow’rets red and white that I hold here,
Which blossom’d erst from out the heart’s deep wound,
Into a lovely nosegay I have bound,
And offer unto thee, my mistress dear.
By its acceptance be thy bard’s love crown’d!
I cannot from this earth’s scene disappear,
Till I have left a sign of love sincere.
Remember me when I my death have found.
Yet ne’er, O mistress, shalt thou pity me;
My life of grief was enviable e’en,--
For in my heart I bore thee lovingly.
And greater bliss shall soon be mine, when I
Shall, as thy guardian spirit, watch unseen,
Thy heart with peaceful greetings satisfy.

9. GOETHE’S MONUMENT AT FRANKFORT-ON-THE MAIN. 1821.

Good German men, maids, matrons, pray give ear,
Collect subscribers with the utmost speed,
The worthy folk of Frankfort have agreed
To build a monument to Goethe here.
“At fair time” (think they) “this will make it clear
“To foreign traders that we’re of his breed,
“That ’twas our soil that nurtured such fair seed,
“And then in trade they’ll trust us without fear.”
O touch the bard’s bright wreath of laurel never,
And keep your money in your pockets too;
’Tis Goethe’s, his own monument to raise.
He dwelt amongst you in his infant days,
But half a world now severs him from you,
Whom a stream doth from Sachsenhausen[4] sever!

10. DRESDEN POETRY.

At Dresden on the Elbe, that handsome city,
Where straw hats, verses, and cigars are made,
They’ve built (it well may make us feel afraid)
A music-club and music warehouse pretty.
There meet the gentlemen and ladies witty,
Herr Kuhn,[5] Miss Nostitz[5a]--adepts at the trade,--
Spout verses, calling action to their aid.
How grand! Avaunt, ye critics!--more’s the pity!
Next day the paper tells us all the facts,
Bright’s[6] brightness flies, Child’s[6a] childishness is childlike,
The critic’s supplement is mean yet wildlike.
Arnoldi[5b] takes the cash, as salesman acts;
Then Böttiger[5c] appears, with noise infernal--
’Tis a true oracle, that Evening Journal!

11. BREADLESS ART.

How soon my poverty would ended be,
Could I the pencil use, and paint away,
The walls of castles proud and churches gay
Adorning with my pictures merrily!
How soon would wealth replace my penury,
Could I the fiddle, flute, and piano play.
And with such elegance perform each day,
That lords and ladies all applauded me!
But ah! in Mammon’s smiles I ne’er had part,
For I have follow’d thee alone, alas!
Thee, Poetry, most thankless, breadless art!
When others (how I’m blushing, now I’ve said it!)
Drink their champagne from out a brimming glass,
I needs must go without, or drink on credit!

BOOK OF SONGS.

_PREFACE._

This is the olden fairy wood!
The linden blossoms smell sweetly,
The strange mysterious light of the moon
Enchants my senses completely.

I onward went, and as I went,
A voice above me was ringing;--
’Tis surely the nightingale’s notes that I hear
Of love and love’s sorrows she’s singing.

She sings of love and love’s sorrows as well,
She sings of smiling and aching,
She sadly exults, she joyfully sobs,
Forgotten visions awaking.

I onward went, and as I went,
I saw before me lying,
On open ground, a castle vast,
With gables in loftiness vying.

The windows were closed, and all things appear’d
To stillness and sadness converted;
It seem’d as though silent death had his home
Within those walls deserted.

A sphinx was lying before the door,
Part comical, part not human;
Its body and paws a lion’s were,
With the breasts and head of a woman.

A woman fair! her white eyes spoke
Of yearnings wild but tender;
Her lips, all mute, were closely arch’d,
And smiled a silent surrender.

The nightingale so sweetly sang,
I found it in vain to resist it--
I kiss’d the beauteous face, and, ah!
Was ruined as soon as I kissed it.

The marble figure with life was fill’d,
The stone began sighing and groaning;
She drank my kisses’ tremulous glow
With thirsty and eager moaning.

She well nigh drank my breath away,
And then, with sensual ardour,
Embraced me, while her lion’s paws press’d
My body harder and harder.

O blissful torment and rapturous woe!
The pain, like the pleasure, unbounded!
For while the mouth’s kisses filled me with joy,
The paws most fearfully wounded.

The nightingale sang: “O beauteous sphinx!
“O loved one, explain the reason
“Why all thy raptures with pains of death
“Are mingled, in cruel treason?

“O beauteous sphinx! explain to me
“The riddle so full of wonder!
“I over it many a thousand years
“Have never ceased to ponder.”

_YOUTHFUL SORROWS._

1817-21.

I. VISIONS.

1.

Of love’s wild glow I dreamt in former days,
Of mignonette, fair locks, and myrtle twining,
Of lips so sweet, with bitter words combining,
Of mournful melodies of mournful lays.

The dreams have long been scatter’d far and banish’d,
My dearest vision fled for evermore,
And, save the burning glow I used to pour
Into my tender numbers, all is vanish’d.

Thou ling’rest still, deserted song! Now go,
And seek that long-lost vision; shouldst thou meet it,
On my behalf in loving fashion greet it,--
An airy breath to that dim shade I blow.

2.

A dream both strange and sad to see
Once startled and delighted me;
The dismal vision haunts me still,
And in my heart doth wildly thrill.

There was a garden wondrous fair,--
I fain would wander gladly there;
The beauteous flowers upon me gazed,
And high I found my rapture raised.

The birds were twittering above
Their joyous melodies of love;
The sun was red with rays of gold,
The flowers all lovely to behold.

Sweet fragrance all the herbs exhale,
And sweetly, softly blows the gale;
And all things glisten, all things smile,
And show their loveliness the while.

Amid that bright and flowery land
A marble fountain was at hand,
And there I saw a maiden fair
Washing a garment white with care.

Her cheeks were sweet, her eyes were mild,
Fair hair’d and saintly look’d the child,
And as I gazed, she seem’d to be
So strange, yet so well known to me.

The beauteous girl, who made all speed,
A song was humming, strange indeed:
“Water, water, quickly run,
“Let the washing soon be done.”

I went and stood then in her way,
And whisper’d gently: “Prythee say,
“Thou maiden sweet and wondrous fair,
“For whom dost thou this dress prepare?”

Then spake she quickly: “Ready be!
“I’m washing thine own shroud for thee!”--
Scarce had her lips these words let fall,
Like foam the vision vanish’d all.

And still entranced, ere long I stood
Within a desert, gloomy wood:
To reach the skies the branches sought;
I stood amazed, and thought and thought.

And hark! what hollow echoing sound
Like axe-strokes fills the air around
Through waste and wood I speed apace,
Until I reach an open place.

In the green plain before me spread
A mighty oak tree rear’d its head;
And lo! the maiden, strange to see,
Was felling with an axe the tree.

With blow on blow a song she sings
Unceasing, as the axe she swings:
“Iron glittering, iron bright,
“Hew the oaken chest aright.”

I went and stood then in her way,
And whisper’d gently: “Prythee say,
“Thou sweet and wondrous maiden mine,
“For whom dost hew the oaken shrine?”

Then spake she quickly: “Time is short,
“To hew thy coffin is my sport!”--
Scarce had her lips these words let fall,
Like foam the vision vanish’d all.

Bleak, dim was all above, beneath,
Around was barren, barren heath:
I felt in strange mysterious mood,
And shuddering inwardly I stood.

And as I roam’d on silently,
A whitish streak soon caught mine eye;
I hasten’d tow’rd it, and when there,
Behold, I found the maiden fair!

On wide heath stood the snowy maid,
Digging the ground with sexton’s spade;
Scarce dared I gaze on her aright,
So fair yet fearful was the sight.

The beauteous girl, who made all speed,
A song was humming, strange indeed:
“Spade, O spade, so sharp and tried,
“Dig a pit both deep and wide.”

I went, and stood then in her way,
And whisper’d gently: “Prythee say,
“Thou maiden sweet and wondrous fair,
“What means the pit that’s lying there?”

Then spake she quickly: “Silent be!
“A cold, cold grave I dig for thee.”
And when the fair maid thus replied,
Its mouth the pit straight opened wide.

And when the pit was full in view,
A chilling shudder pierced me through,
And in the grave so dark and deep
Headlong I fell, and--woke from sleep.

3.

In midnight vision I myself have spied,
As for some festival, in ruffles dress’d,
In a black gala-coat and silken vest;--
My sweet and trusting love with scorn I eyed;
And bow’d low down, and said “Art thou a bride?”
“I wish thee joy, dear Madam, I protest!”
And yet my lips reluctantly express’d
The words so cold and tauntingly applied.
And bitter tears then suddenly ’gan falling
From her dear eyes, and in a sea of weeping
Wellnigh dissolved her image so enthralling.
O lovely eyes, ye stars of love so kindly,
What though ye, when awake, and e’en when sleeping
Deceived me oft, I trust ye still as blindly!

4.

In dream I saw a tiny manikin,
Who went on stilts, with steps a yard apart;
White was his linen, and his dress was smart,
But he was coarse and most unclean within.
Yes, worthless inwardly, and full of sin;
Worthy to seem outside was his great art,
Of courage he discoursed, as from his heart,
Defiant, stubborn, ’neath a veil but thin.
“And know’st thou who he is? Come here and see!”
So spake the dream-god, slily showing me
Within a mirror’s frame this vision then.
The manikin before an altar stood,
My love beside him, both said “Yes, they would,”
And thousand laughing devils cried “Amen!”

5.

Why stirs and chafes my madden’d blood?
Why burns my heart in furious mood?
My blood fast boils, and foams and fumes,
And passion fierce my heart consumes.

My mad blood boils in foaming stream,
Because I’ve dreamt an evil dream:
Night’s gloomy son appear’d one day,
And bore me in his arms away.

To a bright house soon brought he me,
Where sounded harp and revelry,
And torches gleam’d and tapers shone--
The hall I entered then alone.

I saw a merry wedding feast,
The glad guests round the table press’d;
And when the bridal pair I spied,
O woe! my mistress was the bride.

There was my love, and strange to say,
A stranger claim’d her hand to-day.
Then close behind her chair of honour
I silent stood and gazed upon her.

The music sounded--still I stood;
Their joy but swell’d my mournful mood;
The bride she look’d so highly blest,
Her hand the while the bridegroom press’d.

The bridegroom next fill’d full his cup,
And from it drank, then gave it up
Unto the bride; she smiled a thank;
O woe! my red blood ’twas she drank.

The bride a rosy apple took,
And gave it him with smiling look;
He took his knife, and cut a part;
O woe! it was indeed my heart.

They lovingly each other eyed,
The bridegroom boldly clasp’d the bride,
And kissed her on her cheeks so red;
O woe! cold death kiss’d me instead.

Like lead my tongue within me lay,
Vainly I strove one word to say;
A noise was heard,--the dance began,
The bridal pair were in the van.

Whilst I stood rooted to the ground,
The dancers nimbly whirl’d around;
The bridegroom spoke a whisper’d word,--
She blush’d, well pleased with what she heard.

6.

In blissful dream, in silent night,
There came to me, with magic might,
With magic might, my own sweet love,
Into my little room above.

I gazed upon the darling child,
I gazed, and she all-gently smiled,
And smiled until my heart swell’d high,
When stormlike daring words breath’d I:

“Take, take thou everything that’s mine,
“My All will I to thee resign,
“If I may be thy paramour
“From midnight till the morning hour.”

Then on me gazed the beauteous maid,
With looks that inward strife betray’d,
So sweet, so sad, while thus she said:
“Give me thy hope of heaven instead!”

“My life so sweet, my youthful blood,
“I’ll give with cheerful joyous mood,
“For thee, O maiden angel-fair,--
“But hope of heaven hereafter--ne’er!”

My daring speech flow’d readily,
Yet ever fairer blossom’d she,
And still the beauteous maiden said
“Give me thy hope of heaven instead!”

These words fell on me heavily,
Then rush’d, like some fierce flowing sea,
Down to my spirit’s depth most deep,--
I scarce had power my breath to keep.

There came a band of angels white
Graced with a golden halo bright,
But wildly follow’d in their track
A grisly train of goblins black.

They wrestled with the angels white,
And drove away those angels bright,
And then the gloomy squadron too
Melted like morning mist from view.--

Fain had I died of rapture there,
My arms upheld my maiden fair;
She nestled near me like a roe,
But also wept with bitter woe.

Sweet maiden wept; well knew I why,
Her rosy mouth to peace kiss’d I:
“O still, sweet love, that tearful flood,
“Surrender to my loving mood!

“Surrender to my loving mood!”--
When sudden froze to ice my blood;
The earth beneath me groan’d and sigh’d,
A yawning chasm open’d wide.

And from the chasm’s gloomy veil
Rose the black troop,--sweet love turn’d pale;
My arms were of sweet love bereft,
And I in solitude was left.

The gloomy troop around me danced
In wondrous circle, then advanced,
And seized and bore me to the ground,
While scornful laughter rose around.

And still the circle narrower grew,
And ever humm’d the fearful crew:
“Thy hope of heaven was pledg’d by thee,
“Thou’rt ours for all eternity!”

7.

Thou now hast the money,--why longer delay?
Thou dark scowling fellow, why lingering stay?
I sit in my chamber, and patiently wait,
And midnight is near, but the bride is still late.

From the churchyard the shuddering breezes arise;--
Ye breezes, O say, has my bride met your eyes?
Pale demons come round me, and hard on me press,
Make curtsies with grinning, and nod their “O yes!”

Quick, tell me the message you’re coming about,
Black villain, in liv’ry of fire trick’d out!
My mistress sends word that she soon will be here;
In a car drawn by dragons she’ll shortly appear.

Dear grey little man, say, what would’st thou to-day?
Dead master of mine, what’s thy business, pray?
He gazes upon me with mute mournful mien,
Shakes his head, turns away, and no longer is seen.

His tail wags the shaggy old dog, and he whines;
All brightly the eye of the black tom-cat shines;
The women are howling with long flowing hair,--
Why sings my old nurse my old cradle-song there?

Old nurse stops at home, to her song to attend,
The eiapopeia is long at an end;
To-day I am keeping my gay wedding feast;
Only watch the arrival of each gallant guest!

Only watch them! Good sirs, how polite is your band!
Ye carry your heads, ’stead of hats, in your hand;
With your clattering bones, and like gallows-birds dress’d,
Why arrive here so late, when the wind is at rest?

The old witch on her broomstick comes galloping on:
Ah, bless me, good mother, I’m really thy son.
The mouth in her pale face beginning to twitch,
“For ever, amen,” soon replies the old witch.

Twelve wither’d musicians come creeping along,
The limping blind fiddler is seen in the throng
Jackpudding dress’d out in his motley array,
On the gravedigger’s back is grimacing away.

With dancing twelve nuns from the convent advance,
The leering old procuress leading the dance;
Twelve merry young priests follow close in their train,
And sing their lewd songs in a church-going strain.

Till you’re black in the face, good old clothesman, don’t yell,
Your fur-coat will nothing avail you in hell;
’Tis heated for nought all the year with odd things,--
’Stead of wood, with the bones of dead beggars and kings.

The girls with the flowers seem’d hunchback’d and bent,
Tumbling head over heels in the room as they went;
With your faces like owls, and a grasshopper’s leg,
That rattling of bones discontinue, I beg.

The squadrons of hell all appear in their shrouds,
And bustle and hustle in fast-swelling crowds;
The waltz of damnation resounds in the ear,--
Hush, hush! my sweet love is at length drawing near.

Now, rabble, be quiet, or get you away!
I scarcely can hear e’en one word that I say;
Hark! Is’t not the sound of a chariot at hand?
Quick, open the door! Why thus loitering stand?

Thou art welcome, my darling! how goes it, my sweet?
You’re welcome, good parson! stand up, I entreat!
Good parson, with hoof of a horse and with tail,
I’m your dutiful servant, and wish you all hail!

Dear bride, wherefore stand’st thou so pale and so dumb?
The parson to join us together has come;
Full dear, dear as blood, is the fee I must pay,
And yet to possess thee is merely child’s play.

Kneel down, my sweet bride, by my side prythee kneel
She kneels and she sinks,--O what rapture I feel!--
She sinks on my heart, on my fast-heaving breast;
With shuddering pleasure I hold her close press’d.

Like billows her golden locks circle the pair,
’Gainst my heart beats the heart of the maiden so fair
They beat with a union of sorrow and love,
And soar to the regions of heaven above.

While our hearts are thus floating in rapture’s wide sea,
In God’s holy realms, all untrammell’d and free,
On our heads, as a terrible sign and a brand,
Has hell in derision imposed her grim hand.

_In propriâ personâ_ the dark son of night
As parson bestows the priest’s blessing to-night;
From a bloody book breathes he the formula terse,
Each prayer execration, each blessing a curse.

A crashing and hissing and howling is heard,
Like rolling of thunder, like waves wildly stirr’d;
When sudden a bluish-tinged light brightly flames,
“For ever, amen!” the old mother exclaims.

8.

I came from the house of my mistress dear,
And wander’d, half frenzied, in midnight fear,
And when o’er the churchyard I mournfully trod,
In solemn silence the graves seem’d to nod.

The musician’s old tombstone seem’d nodding to be;
’Tis the flickering light of the moon that I see.
There’s a whisper “Dear brother, I soon shall be here!”
Then a misty pale form from the tomb doth appear.

The musician it was who arose in the gloom,
And perch’d himself high on the top of the tomb;
The chords of his lute he struck with good will,
And sang with a voice right hollow and shrill:

“Ah, know ye still the olden song,
“That thrill’d the breast with passion strong,
“Ye chords so dull and unmoving?
“The angels they call it the joys of heaven,
“The devils they call it hell’s torments even,
“And mortals they call it--loving!”

The last word’s sound had scarcely died,
When all the graves their mouths open’d wide;
Many airy figures step forward, and each
The musician draws near, while in chorus they screech:

“Love, O love, thy wondrous might
“Brought us to this dreary plight,
“Closed our eyes in endless night,--
“To disturb us why delight?”

Thus howl they confusedly, hissing and groaning,
With roaring and sighing and crashing and moaning;
The mad troop the musician surround as before,
And the chords the musician strikes wildly once more

“Bravo! bravo! How absurd!
“Welcome to ye!
“Plainly knew ye
“That I spake the magic word!

“As we pass the livelong year
“Still as mice in prison drear,
“Let’s to-day be full of cheer!
“First, though, please
“See that no one else is here;
“Fools were we as long as living,
“To love’s maddening passion giving
“All our madden’d energies.
“Let, by way of recreation,
“Each one give a true narration
“Of his former history,--
“How devour’d,
“How o’erpower’d
“In love’s frantic chase was he.”

Then as light as the air from the circle there broke
A wizen’d thin being, who hummingly spoke:

“A tailor was I by profession
“With needle and with shears;
“None made a better impression
“With needle and with shears.

“Then came my master’s daughter
“With needle and with shears,
“And pierced my sorrowing bosom
“With needle and with shears.”

In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed;
In solemn silence a second stepp’d aft:

“Great Rinaldo Rinaldini,
“Schinderhanno, Orlandini,
“And Charles Moor especially,
“Were my patterns made by me.

“Like those mighty heroes, I
“Fell in love, I’ll not deny,
“And the fairest woman most
“Haunted me like any ghost.

“Sighing, cooing like a dove,
“I was driven mad with love,
“And my fingers, by ill-luck,
“In my neighbour’s pocket stuck.

“But the constable abused me,
“And most cruelly ill-used me,
“And I sought to hide my grief
“In my neighbour’s handkerchief.

“Then their arms policemen placed
“Quietly around my waist,
“And the bridewell then and there
“Took me ’neath its tender care.

“There, with thoughts of love quite full,
“Long time sat I, spinning wool,
“Till Rinaldo’s ghost one day
“Came and took my soul away.”

In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed;
A third, all-berouged and bedizen’d, stepp’d aft:

“As monarch I ruled on the stage,
“The part of the lover played I,
“Oft bellowed ‘Ye Gods,’ in a rage,
“Breath’d many a heart-rending sigh.

“I play’d Mortimer’s part best, methinks,
“Maria was always so fair;
“But despite the most natural winks,
“She never gave heed to my prayer.

“Once when I, with desperate look,
“‘Maria, thou holy one!’ cried,
“The dagger I hastily took,
“And plunged it too deep in my side.”

In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh’d;
A fourth in a white flowing garment stepp’d aft:

“_Ex cathedrâ_ kept prating the learned professor,
“He prated, and I went to sleep all the while;
“Yet my pleasure had certainly not been the lesser,
“Had I revell’d instead in his daughter’s sweet smile.

“From the window she oft to me tenderly beckon’d,
“That flower of flowers, my life’s only light;
“Yet that flower of flowers was pluck’d in a second
“By a stupid old blockhead, an opulent wight.

“Then cursed I all women and rogues of high station,
“And mingled some poisonous herbs in my wine,
“And held with old Death a jollification,
“While he said: ‘Your good health! from this moment you’re mine!’”

In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh’d;
A fifth, with a rope round his neck, next stepp’d aft:

“There boasted and bragg’d a count, over his wine,
“Of his daughter so fair, and his jewels so fine.
“What care I, Sir Count, for thy jewels so fine?
“Far rather would I that thy daughter were mine!

“’Tis true under bar, lock, and key they both lay,
“And the Count many servants retain’d in his pay
“What cared I for servants, for bar, lock, or key?
“Up the rungs of the ladder I mounted with glee.

“To my mistress’s window I climb’d with good cheer,
“Where curses beneath me saluted my ear.
“‘Stop, stop, my fine fellow! I too must be there,
“I’m likewise in love with the jewels so fair.’

“Thus jested the Count, while he grappled me tight,
“His servants came round me with shouts of delight.
“‘Pooh, nonsense, you rascals! No robber am I,
“I but came for my mistress--’tis really no lie.’

“In vain was my talking, in vain what I said,
“They got ready the rope, threw it over my head,
“And the sun, when he rose, with amazement extreme
“Found me hanging, alas, from the gallows’ high beam!”

“In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh’d;
“A sixth, with his head in his hand, next stepp’d aft;

“Love’s torments made me seek the chace;
“Rifle in hand, I roam’d apace.
“Down from the tree, with hollow scoff,
“The raven cried: ‘head off! head off!’

“O, could I only see a dove,
“I’d take it home for my sweet love!
“Thus thought I, and midst bush and tree
“With sportsman’s eye sought carefully.

“What billing’s that? What gentle cooing?
“It sounds like turtle doves’ soft wooing.
“I stole up slily, cock’d my gun,
“And, lo, my own sweet love was one!

“It was indeed my dove, my bride;
“A stranger clasp’d her waist with pride.
“Old gun, now let thy aim be good!--
“The stranger welter’d in his blood.

“Soon through the wood I had to pass,
“With hangmen by my side, alas!
“Down from the tree, with bitter scoff,
“The raven cried: ‘head-off! head-off!’”

In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed;
At length the musician in person stepp’d aft:

“I’ve sung my own song, friends, demurely,
“That charming song’s at an end;
“When the heart is once broken, why surely
“The song may homeward wend!”

Then began the wild laughter still louder to sound,
And the pale spectral troop in a circle swept round.
From the neighbouring church-tow’r the stroke of “One!” fell,
And the spirits rush’d back to their graves with a yell.

9.

I was asleep, and calmly slept,
All pain and grief allay’d;
A wondrous vision o’er me crept,
There came a lovely maid.

As pale as marble was her face,
And, O, so passing fair!
Her eyes they swam with pearl-like grace,
And strangely waved her hair.

And softly, softly moved her foot
The pale-as-marble maid;
And on my heart herself she put,
The pale-as-marble maid.

How shook and throbb’d, half sad, half blest,
My heart, which hotly burn’d!
But neither shook nor throbb’d her breast,
Which into ice seem’d turn’d.

“It neither shakes nor throbs, my breast,
“And it is icy cold;
“And yet I know love’s yearning blest,
“Love’s mighty pow’r of old.

“No colour’s on my lips and cheek,
“No blood my veins doth swell;
“But start not, thus to hear me speak,
“I love thee, love thee well!”

And wilder still embraced she me,
And I was sore afraid;
Then crow’d the cock,--straight vanish’d she,
The pale-as-marble maid.

10.

I oft have pale spectres before now
Conjured with magical might;
They refuse to return any more now
To their former dwelling of night.

The word that commands their submission
I forgot in my terror and fear;
My own spirits now seek my perdition,
Within their prison-house drear.

Dark demons, approach not a finger!
Away, nor to torment give birth!
Full many a joy still may linger
In the roseate light of this earth.

I needs must be evermore striving
To reach the flower so fair;
O, what were the use of my living
If I may cherish her ne’er?

To my glowing heart fain would I press her,
Would clasp her for once to my breast,
On her lips and her cheeks once caress her,
With sweetest of torments be blest.

If once from her mouth I could hear it,
Could hear one fond whisper bestow’d,
I would follow thee, beckoning Spirit,
Yea, e’en to thy darksome abode.

The spirits have heard, and draw nigh me,
And nod with terrific glee:
Sweet love, with an answer supply me,--
Sweet love, O lovest thou me?

2. SONGS.

1.

Every morning rise I, crying:
Comes my love to-day?
Then sink down at evening, sighing:
She is still away!

Sleepless and oppress’d with sorrow,
All night long I lie
Dreaming, half asleep; the morrow
Sadly wander I.

2.

I’m driven hither and thither along!
But yet a few hours, I shall see her again,
Herself, the most fair of the fair maiden-train;--
True heart, what means thy throbbing so strong?

The hours are only a slothful race!
Lazily they move each day,
And with yawning go their way;--
Hasten on, ye slothful race!

Wild-raging eagerness thrills me indeed;
Never in love have the hours delighted;
So, in a cruel bond strangely united,
Slily deride they the lovers’ wild speed.

3.

By nought but sorrow attended,
I wander’d under the trees;
That olden vision descended,
And stole to my heart by degrees.

Who taught you the word ye are singing,
Ye birds in the branches on high?
O hush! when my heart hears it ringing,
It makes it more mournfully sigh.

“A fair young maiden ’twas taught it,
“Who came here, and sang like a bird;
“And so we birds easily caught it,
“That pretty, golden word.”

No more shall this story deceive me,
Ye birds, so wondrously sly:
Of my sorrow ye fain would bereave me,
On your friendship I cannot rely.

4.

Sweet love, lay thy hand on my heart, and tell
If thou hearest the knocks in that narrow cell?
There dwells there a carpenter, cunning is he,
And slily he’s hewing a coffin for me.

He hammers and knocks by day and by night,
My slumber already has banish’d outright;
Oh, Master Carpenter, prythee make haste,
That I some slumber at length may taste.

5.

Beauteous cradle of my sorrow,
Beauteous grave of all my peace,
Beauteous town, we part to-morrow,
Fare thee well, our ties must cease!

Fare thee well, thou threshold holy,
Where my loved one sets her feet!
Fare thee well, thou spot so holy,
Where we chanced at first to meet!

Would that we had been for ever
Strangers, queen of hearts so fair!
Then it would have happen’d never
That I’m driven to despair.

Ne’er to stir thy bosom thought I,
For thy love I never pray’d;
Silently to live but sought I
Where thy breath its balm convey’d.

Yet thou spurn’st me in my sadness,
Bitter words thy mouth doth speak,
In my senses riots madness,
And my heart is faint and weak

And my limbs, in wanderings dreary,
Sadly drag I, full of gloom,
Till I lay my head all weary
In a chilly distant tomb.

6.

Patience, surly pilot, shortly
To the port I’ll follow you;
From two maidens I’m departing,
From my love and Europe too.

Blood-spring, from mine eyes ’gin running,
Blood-spring, from my body flow,
So that I then, with my hot blood,
May write down my tale of woe.

Ah, my body, wherefore shudder
Thus to-day my blood to see?
Many years before thee standing
Pale, heart-bleeding, saw’st thou me!

Know’st thou still the olden story
Of the snake in Paradise,
Who, a cursed apple giving,
Caused our parents endless sighs?

Apples brought all evils on us,
Death through Eve by apples came;
Flames on Troy were brought by Eris,--
Both thou broughtest, death and flame!

7.

Hill and castle fair are glancing
O’er the clear and glassy Rhine,
And my bark is gaily dancing
In the sunlight all-divine.

On the golden waters, breaking
Sportively, my calm eyes rest;
Gently are the feelings waking
That I nourish’d in my breast.

With a fond and kindly greeting,
Lure me those deep waters bright,
Yet I know their smoothness cheating
Hides beneath it death and night.

Joy above, below destruction,--
Thou’rt my loved one’s image, stream
Blissful is her smile’s seduction,
Kind and gentle can she seem.

8.

First methought in my affliction,
I can never stand the blow.--
Yet I did--strange contradiction!
_How_ I did, ne’er seek to know.

9.

With rose and cypress and tinsel gay,
I fain would adorn in a charming way
This book, as though a coffin it were,
And in it my olden songs inter.

O, could I but bury love also there!
On love’s grave grows rest’s floweret fair;
’Tis there ’tis pluck’d in its sweetest bloom,--
For me ’twill not blossom till in my tomb.

Here now are the songs that formerly rose,
As wild as the lava from Etna that flows,
From out the depths of my feelings true,
And glittering sparks around them threw!

Like corpses now lie they, all silent and dumb,
And cold and pallid as mist they’ve become;
But the olden glow their revival will bring
When the spirit of love waves o’er them its wing.

In my heart a presentiment loudly cries:
The spirit of love will over them rise:
This book will hereafter come to thy hand,
My sweetest love, in a distant land.

Then the spell on my song at an end will be,
The pallid letters will gaze on thee,
Imploringly gaze on thy beauteous eyes,
And whisper with sadness and loving sighs.

3. ROMANCES.

1. THE MOURNFUL ONE.

Every heart with pain is smitten
When they see the stripling pale,
Who upon his face bears written
Grief and sorrow’s mournful tale.

Breezes with compassion lightly
Fan his burning brow the while,
And his bosom many a sprightly
Damsel fair would fain beguile.

From the city’s ceaseless bustle
To the wood for peace he flies.
Merrily the leaves there rustle,
Merrier still the bird’s songs rise.

But the merry song soon ceases,
Sadly rustle leaf and tree,
When he, while his grief increases,
Nears the forest mournfully.

2. THE MOUNTAIN ECHO.

At sad slow pace across the vale
There rode a horseman brave:
“Ah! travel I now to my mistress’s arms,
Or but to the darksome grave?”
The echo answer gave:
“The darksome grave!”

And farther rode the horseman on,
With sighs his thoughts express’d:
“If I thus early must go to my grave,
Yet in the grave is rest.”
The answering voice confess’d:
“The grave is rest!”

Adown the horseman’s furrow’d cheek
A tear fell on his breast:
“If rest I can only find in the grave,
For me the grave is best.”
The hollow voice confess’d:
“The grave is best!”

3. THE TWO BROTHERS.

On the mountain summit darkling
Lies the castle, veil’d in night;
Lights are in the valley sparkling,
Clashing swords are gleaming bright.

Brothers ’tis, who in fierce duel
Fight, with wrath to fury fann’d;
Tell me why these brothers cruel
Strive thus madly, sword in hand?

By the eyes of Countess Laura
Were they thus in strife array’d;
Both with glowing love adore her,--
Her, the noble, beauteous maid.

Unto which now of the brothers
Is her heart the most inclined?
She her secret feelings smothers,--
Out, then, sword, the truth to find!

And they fight with rage despairing,
Blows exchange with savage might;
Take good heed, ye gallants daring,--
Mischief walks abroad by night.

Woe, O woe, ye brothers cruel!
Woe, O woe, thou vale abhorr’d!
Both fall victims in the duel,
Falling on each other’s sword.

Races are to dust converted,
Many centuries have flown,
And the castle, now deserted,
Sadly from the mount looks down.

But at night-time in the valley
Wondrous forms appear again;
At the stroke of twelve, forth sally
To the fight the brothers twain.

4. POOR PETER.

I.

While Hans and Grettel are dancing with glee,
And each of them loudly rejoices,
Poor Peter looks as pale as can be,
And perfectly mute his voice is.

While Hans and Grettel are bridegroom and bride,
And glitter in smart ostentation,
Poor Peter must still in his working dress bide,
And bites his nails with vexation.

Then softly Peter said to himself,
As he gazed on the couple sadly:
“Ah, had I not been such a sensible elf,
It had fared with my life but badly!”

II.

“Within my breast there sits a woe
That seems my breast to sever;
Where’er I stand, where’er I go,
It drives me onward ever.

“It makes me tow’rd my loved one fly,
As if she could restore me;
Yet when I gaze upon her eye,
My sorrows rise before me.

“I clamber up the mountain now,
In lonely sorrow creeping,
And standing silent on its brow,
I cannot cease from weeping.”

III.

Poor Peter slowly totters by,
Pale as a corpse, and stealthily;
The very people in the street
Stand still, when his sad form they meet.

The maidens whisper’d as they pitied:
“The grave he has this moment quitted.”
Ah no, my dear young maidens fair,
He’s just about to lie down there!

As he is of his love bereft,
The grave’s the best place that is left,
Where he his aching heart may lay,
And sleep until the Judgment Day.

5. THE PRISONER’S SONG.

When my grandmother once had bewitch’d a poor girl,
The mob would have burnt her quite readily;
But though fiercely the judge his mustachios might twirl,
She refused to confess her crime steadily.

And when in the caldron they held her fast,
She shouted and yell’d like a craven;
But when the black vapour arose, she at last
Flew up in the air as a raven.

My black and feathery grandmother dear,
O visit me soon in this tower!
Quick, fly through the grating, and come to me here,
And bring me some cakes to devour!

My black and feathery grandmother dear,
O prythee protect me from sorrow!
For my aunt will be picking my eyes out, I fear,
When I merrily soar hence to-morrow.

6. THE GRENADIERS

Two grenadiers travell’d tow’rds France one day,
On leaving their prison in Russia,
And sadly they hung their heads in dismay
When they reach’d the frontiers of Prussia.

For there they first heard the story of woe,
That France had utterly perish’d,
The grand army had met with an overthrow,
They had captured their Emperor cherish’d.

Then both of the grenadiers wept full sore
At hearing the terrible story;
And one of them said: “Alas! once more
My wounds are bleeding and gory.”

The other one said: “The game’s at an end,
With thee I would die right gladly,
But I’ve wife and child, whom at home I should tend,
For without me they’ll fare but badly.

“What matters my child, what matters my wife?
A heavier care has arisen;
Let them beg, if they’re hungry, all their life,--
My Emperor sighs in a prison!

“Dear brother, pray grant me this one last prayer:
If my hours I now must number,
O take my corpse to my country fair,
That there it may peacefully slumber.

“The legion of honour, with ribbon red,
Upon my bosom place thou,
And put in my hand my musket dread,
And my sword around me brace thou.

“And so in my grave will I silently lie,
And watch like a guard o’er the forces,
Until the roaring of cannon hear I,
And the trampling of neighing horses.

“My Emperor then will ride over my grave,
While the swords glitter brightly and rattle;
Then armed to the teeth will I rise from the grave,
For my Emperor hasting to battle!”

7. THE MESSAGE.

Good servant! up, and saddle quick,
And leap upon thy steed,
And to King Duncan’s castle then
Through plain and forest speed.

Into the stable creep, and wait,
’Till by the helper spied;
Then say: “Of Duncan’s daughters, which
Has just become a bride?”

And if he says: “The brown one ’tis,”
The news bring quickly home;
But if he says: “The fair one ’tis,”
More slowly thou mayst come.

Then go to the ropemaker’s shop,
And buy a rope for me;
And riding slowly, bring it here,
And mute and silent be.

8. TAKING THE BRIDE HOME.

I’ll go not alone, my sweetheart dear!
With me thou must go now
To the cheery, old, and cosy room
In the dreary cold abode of gloom,
Where at the door my mother keeps guard,
And for her son’s return looks hard.

“Away from me, thou gloomy man!
Who bid thee come hither?
Thy hand’s like ice, thine eye glows bright,
Thy breath is burning, thy cheek is white;--
But I would rather my time beguile
With smell of roses and sun’s sweet smile.”

The roses may smell, and the sun may shine,
My darling sweetheart!
Throw thy spreading white veil thy figure around,
Make the chords of the echoing lyre resound,
And sing a wedding song to me;
The night-wind pipes the melody.

9. DON RAMIRO.

“Donna Clara! Donna Clara!
Through long years the hotly-loved one
Thou hast will’d now my destruction,
Will’d it, too, without compassion.

“Donna Clara! Donna Clara!
Very sweet the gift of life is!
But beneath us all is fearful,
In the tomb so dark and chilly.

“Donna Clara, joy! to-morrow
Will Fernando at the altar
As his wedded bride salute thee,--
Wilt thou ask me to the wedding?”

“Don Ramiro! Don Ramiro!
Bitterly thy words are sounding,
Bitt’rer than you stars’ decree is,
Scoffing at my heart’s own wishes.

“Don Ramiro! Don Ramiro!
Shake thy gloomy sadness from thee;
On the earth are many maidens,
But by God have we been parted.

“Don Ramiro, who so bravely
Many Moors hast overpower’d,
Overpower now thyself too,--
Come to-morrow to my wedding.”

“Donna Clara! Donna Clara!
Yes, I swear it, yes, I’ll come there!
And the dance will lead off with thee;--
So good night, I’ll come to-morrow.”

“So good night!”--The window rattled;
Sighing stood below Ramiro,
Seeming turn’d to stone long stood he;
Then he vanish’d in the darkness.

Lastly, after lengthen’d conflict,
Night to day in turn surrender’d;
Like a blooming flowery garden
Lies extended fair Toledo.

Palaces and splendid buildings
Glitter in the radiant sunlight,
And the churches’ domes so lofty
Glisten proudly, as though gilded.

Humming like a busy beehive,
Merrily the bells are sounding;
Sweetly rise the solemn psalm-tunes
From the God-devoted churches.

But look yonder! but look yonder!
Where from out the market chapel,
Midst the heaving crowd and uproar,
Streams the throng in chequer’d masses.

Glittering knights and stately ladies
In gay courtly dresses sparkle,
And the clear-toned bells are ringing,
And the organ peals between times.

But with reverence saluted,
In the people’s midst are walking,
Nobly clad, the youthful couple,
Donna Clara, Don Fernando.

To the bridegroom’s palace entrance
Slowly moves the gay procession;
There begin the ceremonies,
Stately, and in olden fashion.

Knightly games and merry feasting
Interchange with loud rejoicing;
Swiftly fly the hours thus gladly
Till the shades of night have fallen.

And the wedding-guests assemble
In the hall, to hold the dances,
And their chequer’d gala dresses
Midst the glittering lights are sparkling.

On a high-exalted dais
Bride and bridegroom are reclining,
Donna Clara, Don Fernando,
Holding loving conversation.

In the hall are gaily moving
All the festal crowd of people,
And the kettle-drums sound loudly,
And the trumpets, too, are crashing.

“Wherefore, O my heart’s fair mistress.
Are thy glances so directed
Tow’rd the hall’s most distant corner?”
Thus the knight exclaim’d with wonder.

“Seest thou not, then, Don Fernando,
Yonder man in dark cloak hidden?”
And the knight with smiling answered:
“Ah, ’tis nothing but a shadow.”

But the shadow soon approach’d them,
And a man was in the mantle,
And Ramiro recognising,
Clara greeted him with blushes.

And the dancing has begun now,
And the dancers whirl round gaily
In the waltz’s giddy mazes,
And the ground beneath them trembles.

“Gladly will I, Don Ramiro,
In the dance become thy partner,
But thou didst not well to come here
In a black and nightlike mantle.”

But with eyes all fix’d and piercing
Looks Ramiro on the fair one;
Clasping her, with gloom thus speaks he:
“At thy bidding have I come here!”

And the pair of dancers vanish
In the dance’s giddy mazes,
And the kettle-drums sound loudly,
And the trumpets, too, are crashing.

“Snow-white are thy cheeks, Ramiro,”
Clara speaks with secret trembling.
“At thy bidding have I come here!”
In a hollow voice replies he.

In the hall the wax-lights glimmer
Through the ebbing, flowing masses,
And the kettle-drums sound loudly,
And the trumpets, too, are crashing.

“Ice-cold are thy hands, Ramiro,”
Clara speaks with shudd’ring terror.
“At thy bidding have I come here!”
And within the whirl they vanish.

“Leave me, leave me, Don Ramiro!
Ah, thy breath is like a corpse’s!”
Once again the dark words speaks he
“At thy bidding have I come here!”

And the very ground seems glowing.
Fiddle, viol sound right merry;
Like a wondrous weft of magic
All within the hall is whirling.

“Leave me, leave me, Don Ramiro!”
Sadly sounds amidst the tumult;
Don Ramiro ever answers:
“At thy bidding have I come here!”

“In the name of God depart, then!”
Clara with a firm voice utters,
And the words she scarce had spoken
When Ramiro vanish’d from her.

Clara, death in every feature,
Chilly, night-surrounded, stood there,
And a swoon her lightsome figure
To its darksome kingdom carries.

But at last her misty slumber
Yields, at last her eyelids open,
But again, with deep amazement,
Would she fain have closed her fair eyes.

For since they began the dancing,
From her seat had she not moved once,
And she still sits by the bridegroom,
And the anxious knight thus asks her

“Say, why are thy cheeks so pallid?
Wherefore is thine eye so darksome?”--
“And Ramiro?”--stammers Clara,
And her tongue is mute with horror.

But with deep and solemn wrinkles
Is the bridegroom’s brow now furrow’d:
“Lady, bloody news why seek’st thou?
This day’s noontide died Ramiro.”

10. BELSHAZZAR.

The midnight hour was coming on,
In deathlike calm lay Babylon.

But in the monarch’s castle high
Held the monarch’s attendants gay revelry.

And in the regal hall upstairs
A regal feast Belshazzar shares.

The servants in glittering circles recline,
And empty the goblets of sparkling wine.

The servants are shouting, the goblets ring,
Delighting the heart of the ruthless king.

The king’s cheeks feel a ruddy glow,
The wine doth swell his ardour so.

And blindly led on by his ardour’s wiles,
The Godhead with blasphemous words he reviles.

And wildly he curses and raves aloud,
Approvingly bellow the serving crowd.

The king commands with a look that burns,
The servant hastens and soon returns.

Many golden vessels he bears on his head,
The spoils of Jehovah’s temple dread.

And the monarch straight seized on a sacred cup
With impious hand, and fill’d it up.

And down to the dregs he drains it fast,
And with foaming mouth exclaims at last:

“Jehovah, thy power I here defy,
The King of Babylon am I.”

But scarcely had sounded the fearful word,
When the heart of the king with terror was stirr’d.

The yelling laughter is silenced all,
And deathlike silence fills the hall.

And see! And see! On the wall so white
A human hand appears in sight.

And letters of flame on the wall so white
It wrote, and wrote, and vanish’d from sight.

The king the writing with wonderment sees,
As pale as death, and with trembling knees.

The awestruck servants sat around,
And silent sat, and utter’d no sound.

The magicians appear’d, but none ’mongst them all
Could rightly interpret the words on the wall.

But Belshazzar the king the selfsame night
Was slain by his servants,--a ghastly sight.

11. THE MINNESINGERS.

In the minstrels’ strife engaging
Pass the Minnesingers by;
Strange the war that they are waging,
Strange the tourney where they vie.

Fancy, that for battle nerves him,
Is the Minnesinger’s steed;
Art as trusty buckler serves him,
And his word’s a sword indeed.

Beauteous dames, with glances pleasant,
From the balcony look down;
But the right one is not present
With the proper laurel crown.

Other combatants, when springing
To the lists, at least are sound;
Minnesingers must be bringing
To the fray a deadly wound.

He from whom the most there draineth
Song’s blood from the inmost breast,--
He is victor, and obtaineth
From fair lips the praise most blest,

12. LOOKING FROM THE WINDOW.

Fair Hedwig lay at the window, to see
If pale Henry would chance to detect her;
She said half aloud: “Why goodness me!
The man is as pale as a spectre!”

With yearning pale Henry look’d above
At her window, in hopes to detect her;
Fair Hedwig now felt the torments of love,
And she became pale as a spectre.

Love-sick, now stood fair Hedwig all day
At her window, lest he should reject her;
But soon in pale Henry’s arms she lay
All night, at the time for a spectre.

13. THE WOUNDED KNIGHT.

I know a story of anguish,
A tale of the times of old;
A knight with love doth languish,
His mistress is faithless and cold.

As faithless must he esteem now
Her whom in his heart he adored;
His loving pangs must he deem now
Disgraceful and abhorr’d.

In vain in the lists would he wander,
And challenge to battle each knight;
“Let him who my mistress dares slander
Make ready at once for the fight!”

But all are silent, save only
His grief, that so fiercely doth burn;
His lance he against his own lonely
Accusing bosom must turn.

14. THE SEA-VOYAGE.

I leaning stood against the mast,
And told each wave of ocean;
Farewell, my beauteous fatherland!
My bark, how swift thy motion!

I pass’d my lovely mistress’ house,
The windows gleam’d all over;
But though I gazed and gazed and gazed,
No sign could I discover.

Ye tears, obscure not thus mine eyes
On this too-painful morrow;
My love-sick heart, O do not break
With overweight of sorrow!

15. THE SONG OF REPENTANCE.

Sir Ulrich rides in the forest so green,
The leaves with joy seem laden;
He sees, the trees’ thick branches between,
The form of a beauteous maiden.

The youth then said: “Well know I thee,
So blooming and glowing thy face is;
Alluringly ever encircles it me,
In deserts or crowded places.

“Those lips, by fresh loveliness ever stirr’d,
Appear a pair of roses;
Yet many a hateful bitter word
That roguish mouth discloses.