Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]

THEKLA'S SONG; OR, THE VOICE OF A

SPIRIT.

FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER.

Tis not merely

The human being's pride that peoples space
With life and mystical predominance;
Since likewise for the stricken heart of love

This visible nature, and this common world, Are all too narrow."--COLERIDGE'S "Wallenstein." [This song is said to have been composed by Schiller in answer to the inquiries of a friend respecting the fate of Thekla, whose beautiful character is withdrawn from the tragedy of Wallenstein's Death, after her resolution to visit the grave of her lover is made known.]

ASK'ST thou my home?-my pathway wouldst thou know,

When from thine eye my floating shadow pass'd? Was not my work fulfill'd and closed below?

Had I not lived and loved? My lot was cast.

[blocks in formation]

And it is not well that woe should breathe

On the bright spring-flowers of the festal wreath!Ye that to thought or to grief belong,

Leave, leave the hall of song!

Ring, joyous chords!- -But who art thou
With the shadowy locks o'er thy pale young brow,
And the world of dreamy gloom that lies
In the misty depths of thy soft dark eyes?
Thou hast loved, fair girl! thou hast loved too well!
Thou art mourning now o'er a broken spell;
Thou hast pour'd thy heart's rich treasures forth,
And art unrepaid for their priceless worth!
Mourn on !-yet come thou not here the while,
It is but a pain to see thee smile!

There is not a tone in our songs for thee-
Home with thy sorrows flee!

Ring, joyous chords !-ring out again !-
But what dost thou with the revel's train?
A silvery voice through the soft air floats,
But thou hast no part in the gladdening notes;
There are bright young faces that pass thee by,
But they fix no glance of thy wandering eye!
Away! there's a void in thy yearning breast,
Thou weary man! wilt thou here find rest!
Away! for thy thoughts from the scene have fled,
And the love of thy spirit is with the dead:
Thou art but more lone midst the sounds of mirth-
Back to thy silent hearth!

Ring, joyous chords!-ring forth again!
A swifter still, and a wilder strain !-
But thou, though a reckless mien be thine,
And thy cup be crown'd with the foaming wine,
By the fitful bursts of thy laughter loud,
By thine eye's quick flash through its troubled cloud,
I know thee! it is but the wakeful fear
Of a haunted bosom that brings thee here!
I know thee !-thou fearest the solemn night,
With her piercing stars and her deep wind's might!
There's a tone in her voice which thou fain wouldst

shun,

For it asks what the secret soul hath done!
And thou-there's a dark weight on thine-away!-
Back to thy home, and pray!

Ring, joyous chords!-ring out again!
A swifter still, and a wilder strain!

And bring fresh wreaths!-we will banish all
Save the free in heart from our festive hall.
On! through the maze of the fleet dance, on!-
But where are the young and the lovely gone?
Where are the brows with the Red Rose crown'd,

[blocks in formation]

1 A beautiful spring in the woods near St Asaph, formerly covered in with a chapel, now in ruins. It was dedicated to the Virgin, and, according to Pennant, much the resort of pilgrims.

[Those who only know the neighbourhood of St Asaphi from travelling along its highways, can be little aware how much delightful scenery is attainable within walks of two or three miles' distance from Mrs Hemans's residence. The placid beauty of the Clwyd, and the wilder graces of the sister stream, the Elwy, particularly in the vicinity of " Our Lady's Well," and the interesting rocks and caves at Cefn,

OUR LADY'S WELL.1

FOUNT of the woods! thou art hid no more
From heaven's clear eye, as in time of yore.
For the roof hath sunk from thy mossy walls,
And the sun's free glance on thy slumber falls;
And the dim tree-shadows across thee pass,
As the boughs are sway'd o'er thy silvery glass;
And the reddening leaves to thy breast are blown,
When the autumn wind hath a stormy tone;
And thy bubbles rise to the flashing rain-
Bright Fount! thou art nature's own again!

Fount of the vale! thou art sought no more
By the pilgrim's foot, as in time of yore,
When he came from afar, his beads to tell,
And to chant his hymn at Our Lady's Well.
There is heard no Ave through thy bowers,
Thou art gleaming lone midst thy water-flowers:
But the herd may drink from thy gushing wave,
And there may the reaper his forehead lave,
And the woodman seeks thee not in vain-
Bright Fount! thou art nature's own again!

Fount of the Virgin's ruin'd shrine !

A voice that speaks of the past is thine!
It mingles the tone of a thoughtful sigh
With the notes that ring through the laughing sky;
Midst the mirthful song of the summer bird,
And the sound of the breeze, it will yet be heard!-
Why is it that thus we may gaze on thee,
To the brilliant sunshine sparkling free?
"Tis that all on earth is of Time's domain—
He hath made thee nature's own again!

Fount of the chapel with ages gray! Thou art springing freshly amidst decay;

are little known to general tourists; though, by the lovers of her poetry, it will be remembered how sweetly she has apostrophised the

"Fount of the chapel with ages gray;"

and how tenderly, amid far different scenes, her thoughts reverted to the

"Cambrian river with slow music gliding,
By pastoral hills, old woods, and ruin'd towers."
-(Sonnet to the River Clwyd.)
-Memoir, p. 92–3.7

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]
« AnteriorContinuar »