Chapter 3

Dumb are the trumpets, cymbals, drums and shawms to-night, The angel shapes engirdled with the sword, About the royal tent keep watch and ward, Six thousand to the left, six thousand to the right.

They guard the king from evil dreams, from death. Behold! a frown across his brow they view. Then all at once, like glimmering flames steel-blue, Twelve thousand brandished swords leap from the sheath.

But back into their scabbards drop the swords Of the angelic host; the midnight pain Hath vanished, the king's brow is smooth again; And hark! the royal sleeper's murmured words:

"O Shulamite, the lord of all these lands am I, This empire is the heritage I bring, For I am Judah's king and Israel's king; But if thou love me not, I languish and I die."

MORPHINE.

Marked is the likeness 'twixt the beautiful And youthful brothers, albeit one appear Far paler than the other, more serene; Yea, I might almost say, far comelier Than his dear brother, who so lovingly Embraced me in his arms. How tender, soft Seemed then his smile, and how divine his glance! No wonder that the wreath of poppy-flowers About his head brought comfort to my brow, And with its mystic fragrance soothed all pain From out my soul. But such delicious balm A little while could last. I can be cured Completely only when that other youth, The grave, pale brother, drops at last his torch. Lo, sleep is good, better is death--in sooth The best of all were never to be born.

SONG.

Oft in galleries of art Thou hast seen a knight perchance, Eager for the wars to start, Well-equipped with shield and lance.

Him the frolic loves have found, Robbed him of his sword and spear, And with chains of flowers have bound Their unwilling chevalier.

Held by such sweet hindrances, Wreathed with bliss and pain, I stay, While my comrades in the press Wage the battle of the day.

SONG.

Night lay upon my eyelids, About my lips earth clave; With stony heart and forehead I lay within my grave.

How long I cannot reckon, I slept in that strait bed; I woke and heard distinctly A knocking overhead.

"Wilt thou not rise, my Henry? The eternal dawn is here; The dead have re-arisen, Immortal bliss is near."

"I cannot rise, my darling, I am blinded to the day. Mine eyes with tears, thou knowest, Have wept themselves away."

"Oh, I will kiss them, Henry, Kiss from thine eyes the night. Thou shalt behold the angels And the celestial light."

"I cannot rise, my darling, My blood is still outpoured Where thou didst wound my heart once With sharp and cruel word."

"I'll lay my hand, dear Henry, Upon thy heart again. Then shall it cease from bleeding. And stilled shall be its pain."

"I cannot rise, my darling, My head is bleeding--see! I shot myself, thou knowest, When thou wast reft from me."

"Oh, with my hair, dear Henry, I'll staunch the cruel wound, And press the blood-stream backward; Thou shalt be whole and sound."

So kind, so sweet she wooed me, I could not say her nay; I tried to rise and follow, And clasp my loving may.

Then all my wounds burst open, From head and breast outbreak The gushing blood in torrents-- And lo, I am awake!

SONG.

Death comes, and now must I make known That which my pride eternally Prayed to withhold; for thee, for thee, My heart has throbbed for thee alone.

The coffin waits! within my grave They drop me soon, where I shall rest. But thou, Marie, shalt beat thy breast, And think of me, and weep and rave.

And thou shalt wring thy hands, my friend. Be comforted! it is our fate, Our human fate, the good and great And fair must have an evil end.

HOMEWARD BOUND.

1823-1824.

TO FREDERIKA VARNHAGEN VON ENSE,

THE SONGS OF HOMEWARD BOUND ARE DEDICATED IN JOYFUL HOMAGE BY THE AUTHOR HEINRICH HEINE.

HOMEWARD BOUND.

I.

In my life, too full of shadows, Beamed a lovely vision bright. Now the lovely vision's vanished, I am girt about by night.

Little children in the darkness Feel uneasy fears erelong, And, to chase away their terrors, They will sing aloud a song.

I, a foolish child, am singing Likewise in the dark apart. If my homely lay lack sweetness, Yet it cheers my anxious heart.

II.

I know not what spell is o'er me, That I am so sad to day; An old myth floats before me-- I cannot chase it away.

The cool air darkens, and listen, How softly flows the Rhine! The mountain peaks still glisten Where the evening sunbeams shine.

The fairest maid sits dreaming In radiant beauty there. Her gold and her jewels are gleaming. She combeth her golden hair.

With a golden comb she is combing; A wondrous song sings she. The music quaint in the gleaming, Hath a powerful melody.

It thrills with a passionate yearning The boatman below in the night. He heeds not the rocky reef's warning, He gazes alone on the height.

I think that the waters swallowed The boat and the boatman anon. And this, with her singing unhallowed, The Lorelei hath done.

III.

My heart, my heart is heavy, Though merrily glows the May. Out on the ancient bastion, Under the lindens, I stay.

Below me the calm blue waters Of the quiet town-moat shine; A boy in his boat rows past me, He whistles and drops his line.

And yonder the cheerful colors, And tiny figures, one sees, Of people, and villas, and gardens, And cattle, and meadows, and trees.

Young women are bleaching linen; They leap in the grass anear. The mill-wheel rains showers of diamonds, Its far away buzz I hear.

Above on the gray old tower Stands the sentry house of the town, And a scarlet-coated fellow Goes pacing up and down.

He toys with his shining musket That gleams in the sunset red, Presenting and shouldering arms now-- I wish he would shoot me dead.

IV.

In tears through the woods I wander. The thrush is perched on the bough: She springs and sings up yonder-- "Oh, why so sad art thou?"

The swallows, thy sisters, are able My dear, to answer thee. They built clever nests in the gable, Where sweetheart's windows be.

V.

The night is wet and stormy, And void of stars the sky; 'Neath the rustling trees of the forest I wander silently.

There flickers a lonely candle In the huntsman's lodge to-night. It shall not tempt me thither; It burns with a sullen light.

There sits the blind old granny, In the leathern arm-chair tall, Like a statue, stiff, uncanny And speaketh not at all.

And to and fro strides, cursing, The ranger's red haired son, With angry, scornful laughter Flings to the wall his gun.

The beautiful spinner weepeth, And moistens with tears her thread. At her feet her father's pointer, Whimpering, crouches his head.

VI.

When I met by chance in my travels All my sweetheart's family, Papa, mamma, little sister Most cordially greeted me.

About my health they inquired; Nor even did they fail To say I was nowise altered, Only a trifle pale.

I asked after aunts and cousins, And many a dull old bore. And after the dear little poodle, That barked so softly of yore.

And how was my married sweetheart? I asked them soon. They smiled, And in friendliest tone made answer She was soon to have a child.

And I lisped congratulations, And begged, when they should see, To give her the kindest greetings, A thousand times for me.

Burst forth the baby-sister, "That dear little dog of mine Went mad when he grew bigger, And we drowned him in the Rhine."

The child resembles my sweetheart, The same old laugh has she; Her eyes are the same ones over, That wrought such grief for me.

VII.

We sat in the fisher's cabin, Looking out upon the sea. Then came the mists of evening, Ascending silently.

The lights began in the lighthouse One after one to burn, And on the far horizon A ship we could still discern.

We spake of storm and shipwreck, The sailor and how he thrives, And how betwixt heaven and ocean, And joy and sorrow he strives.

We spake of distant countries, South, North, and everywhere, And of the curious people, And curious customs there;

The fragrance and light of the Ganges, That giant-trees embower, Where a beautiful tranquil people Kneel to the lotus flower;

Of the unclean folk in Lapland, Broad-mouthed and flat-headed and small, Who cower upon the hearthstone, Bake fish, and cackle and squall.

The maidens listened gravely, Then never a word was said, The ship we could see no longer; It was far too dark o'erhead.

VIII.

Thou fairest fisher maiden, Row thy boat to the land. Come here and sit beside me, Whispering, hand in hand.

Lay thy head on my bosom, And have no fear of me; For carelessly thou trustest Daily the savage sea.

My heart is like the ocean, With storm and ebb and flow, And many a pearl lies hidden Within its depths below.

IX.

The moon is up, and brightly Beams o'er the waters vast. I clasp my darling tightly; Our hearts are beating fast.

In the dear child's bosom, nestling, Alone I lie on the sand. "Hear'st thou the wild winds rustling? Why trembles thy foam-white hand?"

"That is no wild wind sighing, That is the mermaid's lay; And they are my sisters crying, Whom the sea swallowed one day."

X.

Up amidst the clouds, the moon, Like a giant orange, beams, O'er the gray sea shining down, With broad stripes and golden gleams.

And I pace the shore alone, Where the billows white are broken. Many a tender word I hear, Words within the water spoken.

Ah, the night is far too long, And my heart throbs fast for pleasure. Beautiful undines, come forth! Sing and dance your magic measure.

Take my body and my soul: On your lap my head shall rest. Sing to death, caress to death; Kiss the life from out my breast.

XI.

All in gray clouds closely muffled, Now the high gods sleep together, And I listen to their snoring. Here below 'tis stormy weather.

Stormy weather, raging tempest Soon the helpless vessel shatters. Who these furious winds can bridle? Who can curb the lordless waters?

I can ne'er control the tempest, Over deck and masthead sweeping; I will wrap me in my mantle, And will sleep as gods are sleeping.

XII.

The night wind draws his trousers on,-- His foam-white hose once more; He wildly whips the waves anon, They howl, and rage, and roar.

From yon dark height, with frantic might, The rain pours ceaselessly. It seems as if the ancient night Would drown the ancient sea.

Anigh the mast the sea-mew screams, With hoarse shrieks, flying low. Its every cry an omen seems, A prophecy of woe.

XIII.

The storm for a dance is piping, With bellow and roar and hiss. Hurrah! how the ship is tossing, What a merry wild night is this!

A living mountain of water The sea upheaves with might. Here an abyss is yawning; There towers a foaming height.

And sounds of retching and curses Forth from the cabin come; And I, to the mast close clinging, Long to be safe at home.

XIV.

The evening shades are falling, The sea-fog spreads with night. Mysterious waters are calling, There rises something white.

The mermaid comes from the ocean, Beside me sitting down; Her white breast's breathing motion, I see through the gossamer gown.

And she doth clasp and hold me, In passionate, painful way. Too close thou dost enfold me, Thou lovely water fay!

"Within mine arms I hide thee, With all my strength enfold, I warm myself beside thee, The night is far too cold."

Paler the moon is growing Through shadowy vapors gray. Thine eyes with tears are flowing, Thou lovely water fay!

"With tears they are not flowing. As I from waves did rise, Forth from the ocean going, A drop fell in mine eyes."

The sea-mews moan, entreating, What does the mad surf say? Thy heart is wildly beating, Thou lovely water fay.

"My heart is beating sadly And wild as ever it can, Because I love thee madly, Thou lovely son of man."

XV.

When I before thy dwelling, In early morning pace, How gladly in the window I see thy gentle face.

Thy brown-black eyes in pity, Mine own eyes, wistful scan, "Who art thou, and what lack'st thou, Thou strange, unhappy man?"

I am a German poet, Of goodly German fame, When their best names are spoken, Mine own they are sure to name.

And what I lack, sweet maiden, Most Germans lack the same. When men name sharpest sorrows, Mine own they are sure to name.

XVI.

The sea outspreading glorious, In the dying sunbeams shone. We sat by the lonely fisher's house, We sat there mute and alone.

The waters swell, the mists arise, The sea-mew flutters past, And then from out thy loving eyes The tears come flowing fast.

I see them falling on thy hand. Upon my knees I sink, And from the hollow of thy hand The burning tears I drink.

Since then strange flames my flesh devour, My spent soul disappears, The wretched woman in that hour Poisoned me with her tears.

XVII.

Up yonder on the mountain, There stands a castle tall; There dwelt three beauteous maidens, And I was loved by all.

On Saturday Hetty kissed me, And Sunday was Julia's day; On Monday Kunigunda Nigh hugged my breath away.

On Tuesday, in the castle, My maidens gave a ball. The neighboring lords and ladies Came riding one and all.

But I was not invited. Amazed they all appeared; The gossiping aunts and cousins Remarked the fact, and sneered.

XVIII.

Upon the far horizon Like a picture of the mist, Appears the towered city By the twilight shadows kissed.

The moist, soft breezes ripple Our boat's wake gray and dark, With mournful measured cadence The boatman rows my bark.

The sun from clouds outshining, Lights up once more the coast. The very spot it shows me Where she I loved was lost.

XIX.

All hail to thee, thou fairest And most mysterious town! That once inclosed my dearest Within thy gateways brown.

Speak out, ye towers and portals! My sweetheart, where is she? I left her in your keeping; Ye should my warders be.

The towers are not guilty, For rooted fast were they. When sweetheart, with trunks and luggage, So quickly stole away.

The gates gave willing passage, With noiseless bars and locks. A door will always open, When the adorer knocks.

XX.

I tread the dear familiar path, The old road I have taken; I stand before my darling's house, Now empty and forsaken.

Oh far too narrow is the street, The roofs seem tottering downward. The very pavement burns my feet; I hurry faster onward.

XXI.

Here to her vows I listened, I tread the empty halls, And where her tear-drops glistened, The poisoned serpent crawls.

XXII.

The quiet night broods over roof-tree and steeple; Within this house dwelt my treasure rare. 'Tis long since I left the town and its people, But the house stands still on the self-same square.

Here stands, too, a man; toward heaven he gazes, And he wrings his hands with a wild despair. I shudder with awe when his face he raises, For the moonlight shows me mine own self there.

Oh, pale sad creature! my ghost, my double, Why dost thou ape my passion and tears, That haunted me here with such cruel trouble, So many a night in the olden years?

XXIII.

How can'st thou slumber calmly, Whilst I alive remain? My olden wrath returneth, And then I snap my chain.

Know'st thou the ancient ballad Of that dead lover brave, Who rose and dragged his lady At midnight to his grave?

Believe me, I am living; And I am stronger far, Most pure, most radiant maiden, Than all the dead men are.

XXIV.

The maiden sleeps in her chamber, Where the trembling moonbeams glance, Without there singeth and ringeth The melody of a dance.

"I will look just once from the window, To see who breaks my rest." A skeleton fiddles before her, And sings like one possessed.

"To dance with me you promised, And you have broken your vow. To-night is a ball in the churchyard, Come out and dance with me now."

The music bewitches the maiden; Forth from her home doth she go; She follows the bony fiddler, Who sings as he scrapes his bow.

He fiddles, and hops and dances, And rattles his bones as he plays; His skull nods grimly and strangely, In the clear moonlight's rays.

XXV.

I gazed upon her portrait, While dark dreams filled my brain, And those beloved features Began to breathe again.

I saw upon her lips then A wondrous smile arise, And as with tears of pity Glistened once more her eyes.

Adown my cheeks in silence, The tears came flowing free. And oh! I cannot believe it, That thou art lost to me!

XXVI.

I, a most wretched Atlas, the huge world, The whole huge world of sorrow I must carry. Yea, the unbearable must bear, though meanwhile My heart break in my bosom.

Thou haughty heart, thyself hast willed it thus, Thou would'st be happy, infinitely happy, Or infinitely wretched, haughty heart! And lo! now art thou wretched.

XXVII.

The years are coming and going, Whole races are home to their rest; But never ceases the passion That burns within my breast.

Only once more I would see thee, And make thee a low salaam, And with my dying breath, murmur: "I love you still, Madame!"

XXVIII.

I dreamed that the moon looked sadly down, And the stars with a troubled ray; I went to my sweetheart's home--the town Lies many a league away.

My longing led me before her door; I kissed the stone steps brown, That her feet had touched in the days of yore, And the trailing hem of her gown.

The night was long, the night was cold, Ice-cold did the stone steps seem. In the window her own wan face, behold! Illumed by the moon's pale beam.

XXIX.

What means this lonely tear-drop That blurs my troubled sight, From olden times returning Back to mine eyes to-night?

Its many glimmering sisters Are vanished long ago, In the night and the wind they vanished With all my joy and my woe.

And like the mists of evening Did those blue stars depart, That smiled all joys and sorrows Into my trusting heart.

Alas! my love, too, melted Like idle breath one day; Oh lingering, lonely tear-drop, Thou also fade away!

XXX.

The pale half-moon of autumn Through clouds peers doubtfully. Within the lonely churchyard The parsonage I see.

The mother reads in her Bible, The son at the light doth gaze; One drowsy daughter is nodding, While another speaks and says:

"Ah me! how dreary the days are! How dull, and dark, and mean! Only when there's a funeral Is anything to be seen."

The mother looks from her Bible: "Nay, only four in all Have died since thy father was buried Without by the churchyard wall."

Then yawns the eldest daughter, "I will starve no longer here; I will go to the Count to-morrow, He is rich, and he loves me dear."

The son bursts out a-laughing: "At the 'Star' three huntsmen drink deep; They are making gold, and they promise To give me their secret to keep."

Toward his lean face, flings the mother Her Bible, in wrath and grief. "Out! God-forsaken beggar, Thou wilt be a common thief!"

They hear a tap on the window, And behold a beckoning hand. There in his sable vestments They see the dead father stand.

XXXI.

To-night is wretched weather, It snows, and storms, and rains; Out in the pitch-black darkness I gaze through the window-panes.

There flickers a lonely candle, Slow winding down the street; And a beldame, with her lantern, Goes hobbling on in the sleet.

I think 'tis for eggs and butter That she braves this weather wild, To bake a cake for her daughter, Her grown-up ailing child.

Who lies at home in her arm-chair, And sleepily blinks at the light. Over her beautiful forehead Her golden curls wave bright.

XXXII.

They think my heart is breaking, In sorrow's bitter yoke, I too begin to think it, As well as other folk.

Thou large-eyed little darling, Do I not always say I love thee past all telling-- Love gnaws my heart away?

But only in my chamber I dare express my pain; For always in thy presence Quite silent I remain.

For there were evil angels Who sealed my lips so close. And oh! from evil angels Sprang all my wretched woes.

XXXIII.

Ah, those pure white lily fingers, Once again could I but kiss them, Press them close against my heart, Melt away in silent weeping!

Oh, those clearest eyes of violet Hover day and night before me, And I ponder o'er the meaning Of those lovely blue enigmas.

XXXIV.

"Did she ne'er express compassion For thy tender situation? Could'st thou never in her glances Read thy love's reciprocation?

"Could'st thou ne'er surprise the spirit In her bright eyes unawares? Yet thou surely art no donkey, Dearest friend, in these affairs!"

XXXV.

They loved one another, but neither Confessed a word thereof. They met with coldest glances, Though pining away with love.

At last they parted; their spirits Met but in visions rare. They are long since dead and buried, Though scarcely themselves aware.

XXXVI.

And when I lamented my cruel lot, You yawned in my face and you answered not. But now that I set it in daintiest rhyme, You flourish my trumpet all the time.

XXXVII.

I called the devil and he came, His face with wonder I must scan; He is not ugly, he is not lame, He is a delightful, charming man. A man in the prime of life, in fact, Courteous, engaging and full of tact. A diplomat, too, of wide research Who cleverly talks about state and church. A little pale, but that is _en règle_, For now he is studying Sanscrit and Hegel. His favorite poet is still Fouqué; With the brawls of the critics he meddles no more, For all such things he has given o'er, Unto his grandmother Hecaté. He praised my forensic works that he saw, He had dabbled a little himself in law. He said he was proud my acquaintance to make, And should prize my friendship, and bowed as he spake. And asked if we had not met before At the house of the Spanish Ambassador? Then I noted his features line by line, And found him an old acquaintance of mine.

XXXVIII.

Mortal, sneer not at the devil; Life's a short and narrow way, And perdition everlasting Is no error of the day.

Mortal, pay thy debts precisely, Life's a long and weary way; And to-morrow thou must borrow, As thou borrow'dst yesterday.

XXXIX.

Three holy kings from the land of the West Go asking whoso passes, "Where is the road to Bethlehem, Ye gentle lads and lasses?"

But neither young nor old can tell. The kings fare patient onward, They follow a golden star o'erhead, That bright and kind shines downward.

The star stands still o'er Joseph's house, Thither the pilgrims bringing; The oxen low, the Infant cries, The three wise kings are singing.

XL.

My child, we two were children, As lively as ever you saw, We crept into the hencoop, And we hid there beneath the straw.