 | Vigil and vision |  |
LISZT.
1. CONCERTO IN E♭.
WHERE art thou, art thou, King of Faërie?These be thy golden woods, where human foot
Befalleth not nor noise of hounds nor bruit
Of bugle echoing from tree to tree;
No mortal thing is there to hear or see;
Only thine ivory horn and Robin's flute,
Mab's silver psaltery and Titania's lute,
Answer my call with elfin minstrelsy.
And lo! what splendours shimmer through the green?
Here be the revels of the fairy queen.
Yonder she fareth on her milkwhite steed
And in her train, with many a pipe and reed,
The elf-rout sweeps the jewelled glades along,
Fluttering the silence with a fairy song.
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2. CONCERTO IN A.
WHERE hast thou hearkened to these strains, my soul?Sure, in some realm beyond the stars it must
Have been, some land where love is free from lust,
Some plane of peace above the topmost pole,
Where, quit of hope and passion, joy and dole,
The unfettered spirit, not yet set to rust
And wither in this raiment of the dust,
Resteth serene upon the Eternal Whole.
There, cradled on the Present's golden shore,
No Past behind it, no To-be before,
From love and memory and doubt and strife
Absolved, it meditates the things that are,
Or e'er it leave its own particular star
And launch anew upon the storms of life.
3. CONSOLATION IN E.
LOVE comes to us at morning,With hands fulfilled of flowers,
Youth's path with sun and showers
He fareth still adorning;
But, when the West gives warning
Of night and Life's sky lowers
Toward the evening hours,
He flees from us with scorning.
Yet in his room he leaveth,
For those who serve him well,
One who more often grieveth
Than joyeth, but whose spell
Salveth Love's loss's shame:
Affection is his name.
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4. LIEBESTRAUM.
MEDREAMT I saw Love like a luteplayerCome carolling to me along the stream.
Bound were his temples with the glad sun's beam
And in his hand he held a dulcimer,
Among whose strings a little wind did stir.
And “Do I wake”, to him I said, “or dream?
“And dost thou live, indeed, or only seem?
“Long have I lacked thee, many a weary year.”
But he, “Away! I come not now for thee.
“What would you rhymesters with my golden boon,
“Who all things twist into an idle tune?
“Forsooth, for those alone my favours be,
“Who in this round do nothing but my will
“And without thought the world's desire fulfil.”
5. GLANES DE WORONINCE, No. 3.
THE wind about the mountain wandered sighing;The autumn day with showers was sad and chill;
No light from heaven there fell on field and rill,
Save some faint gold-streaks on the cloud-line lying,
Where in the Western sky the day was dying:
And in the ways that circled round the hill
I wandered straying at the wild wind's will,
My soul for sadness with its sadness vying.
But, as I came unto the topmost mountain,
Out from the cloudwrack sudden burst the sun
And all the landscape with their flooding fountain
Of rosy gold his rays did overrun;
And a voice whispered me, “A truce to sorrow!
“Belike, the sun shall shine again to-morrow.”
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