The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker Edited from the original manuscripts and annotated copies together with a prefatory notice and bibliography by Alfred Wallis |
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GENOVEVA. |
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 | The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker |  |
109
GENOVEVA.
Part the First. MORNING.
Now hearken, lords and ladies gay,
And ye shall understand
The wonders of a legend-lay,
From the old German land!
She, of my song, in Eden's bowers,
A sainted lady lies;
And wears a chaplet of the flowers
That grow in Paradise.
And ye shall understand
The wonders of a legend-lay,
From the old German land!
She, of my song, in Eden's bowers,
A sainted lady lies;
And wears a chaplet of the flowers
That grow in Paradise.
Her father gloried in her birth,
That daughter of his fame;
The sweetest sound he knew on earth
Was Genoveva's name.
She dwelt, a fair and holy child,
Beside her mother's knee:
She grew, a maiden meek and mild,
And pure as pure could be.
That daughter of his fame;
The sweetest sound he knew on earth
Was Genoveva's name.
She dwelt, a fair and holy child,
Beside her mother's knee:
She grew, a maiden meek and mild,
And pure as pure could be.
And so it was, that when the maid
Fulfilled her childhood's vow,
Saint Hildorf's lifted hands were laid
Upon no lovelier brow.
And said they, as along the aisle
The lords and ladies poured,
“How will she gladden with her smile
The castle of her lord!”
Fulfilled her childhood's vow,
Saint Hildorf's lifted hands were laid
Upon no lovelier brow.
And said they, as along the aisle
The lords and ladies poured,
“How will she gladden with her smile
The castle of her lord!”
110
Right soon a stately champion came
For that bright damsel's hand;
The sound of County Siegfried's fame
Was sung in many a land.
He came, he knelt, he woo'd, he won,
As warriors win the bride;
Duke Pfalz hath hailed him as his son,
At Genoveva's side.
For that bright damsel's hand;
The sound of County Siegfried's fame
Was sung in many a land.
He came, he knelt, he woo'd, he won,
As warriors win the bride;
Duke Pfalz hath hailed him as his son,
At Genoveva's side.
Then might you hear the matin-bell,
With echoes low and sweet,
Where at Saint Hildorf's sacred cell
The youth and maiden meet.
And hark! they plight the mystic vow,
The troth that time shall try,
When years have worn the beamy brow,
And quenched the laughing eye.
With echoes low and sweet,
Where at Saint Hildorf's sacred cell
The youth and maiden meet.
And hark! they plight the mystic vow,
The troth that time shall try,
When years have worn the beamy brow,
And quenched the laughing eye.
Now turn we to the castle gate,
Wreathed with the peaceful vine,
Where County Siegfried holds his state,
Beside the Rhine! the Rhine!
They bring white blossoms from the bowers,
The rose-leaves hide the ground;
Ah! gentle dame, beneath the flowers
The coiling worm is found!
Wreathed with the peaceful vine,
Where County Siegfried holds his state,
Beside the Rhine! the Rhine!
They bring white blossoms from the bowers,
The rose-leaves hide the ground;
Ah! gentle dame, beneath the flowers
The coiling worm is found!
Yet day by day went bounding on,
Nor would the warrior roam:
The brightness of his lady shone
Throughout Lord Siegfried's home.
She was the garland of his days,
His blessing and his fame:
His happy hearth hath won the praise
Of Genoveva's name.
Nor would the warrior roam:
The brightness of his lady shone
Throughout Lord Siegfried's home.
111
His blessing and his fame:
His happy hearth hath won the praise
Of Genoveva's name.
But hark! that stern and sudden sound,
Along the castle wall:
It shook the echo from the ground,
That startling trumpet-call.
“To arms! To horse! The Moor! The Moor!
His pagan banners fly:
The Spaniard and the Frank implore
Thy German chivalry.”
Along the castle wall:
It shook the echo from the ground,
That startling trumpet-call.
“To arms! To horse! The Moor! The Moor!
His pagan banners fly:
The Spaniard and the Frank implore
Thy German chivalry.”
Then might you see, at break of day,
The stately Siegfried stand:
Harnessed, and in his old array,
His good sword in his hand.
“And fare-thee-well!” the soldier said,
“My lady bright and dear:”
He spake, and bent his haughty head,
To hide a warrior's tear.
The stately Siegfried stand:
Harnessed, and in his old array,
His good sword in his hand.
“And fare-thee-well!” the soldier said,
“My lady bright and dear:”
He spake, and bent his haughty head,
To hide a warrior's tear.
“Farewell! and thou my castellain,
My liege-man true and tried,
Shield, till thy lord shall turn again,
My lady and my bride.
And ye, good Saints, with unseen eyes,
Watch her in solemn care;
An angel well might leave the skies
At Genoveva's prayer.”
My liege-man true and tried,
Shield, till thy lord shall turn again,
My lady and my bride.
And ye, good Saints, with unseen eyes,
Watch her in solemn care;
An angel well might leave the skies
At Genoveva's prayer.”
112
Part the Second. EVENING.
Ah! woe is me! and well-a-day!
What scenes of sorrow rise;
And hark! the music of my lay
Must breathe the breath of sighs.
That guardian—he of trusty fame,
He seeks a deed abhorred;
He woos to sorrow and to shame,
The lady of his lord.
What scenes of sorrow rise;
And hark! the music of my lay
Must breathe the breath of sighs.
That guardian—he of trusty fame,
He seeks a deed abhorred;
He woos to sorrow and to shame,
The lady of his lord.
But she, fair Genoveva, stands,
A pure and peerless bride;
Her angel lifts his sheltering hands,
For ever at her side.
She kneels, she breathes some simple verse,
Taught by her mother's care;
And the good Saints in Heaven rehearse
The gentle lady's prayer.
A pure and peerless bride;
Her angel lifts his sheltering hands,
For ever at her side.
She kneels, she breathes some simple verse,
Taught by her mother's care;
And the good Saints in Heaven rehearse
The gentle lady's prayer.
Yet strife and anguish lasted long.
Till he—that fiendish man,
The anger of his sin was strong,
And thus his fury ran:—
“Bind ye this foul and wanton dame,
False to my master's bed;
Hide in the earth both sin and shame,
Her blood be on her head.”
Till he—that fiendish man,
The anger of his sin was strong,
And thus his fury ran:—
“Bind ye this foul and wanton dame,
False to my master's bed;
Hide in the earth both sin and shame,
Her blood be on her head.”
113
They took the stern command he gave,
Two vassals fierce and rude;
They bare her to a nameless grave,
Far in a distant wood.
There knelt she down and meekly prayed,
In language soft and mild:
“I bear beneath my breast,” she said,
“Your lord, Count Siegfried's child.
Two vassals fierce and rude;
They bare her to a nameless grave,
Far in a distant wood.
There knelt she down and meekly prayed,
In language soft and mild:
“I bear beneath my breast,” she said,
“Your lord, Count Siegfried's child.
“Then let me tarry but awhile,
Far, far, from earthly eye,
That I may see my infant smile,
And lay me down and die.
Nay, spare me, in sweet Mary's name,
Who stood by Jesu's cross;
He from a mother's bosom came,
That He might die for us.”
Far, far, from earthly eye,
That I may see my infant smile,
And lay me down and die.
Nay, spare me, in sweet Mary's name,
Who stood by Jesu's cross;
He from a mother's bosom came,
That He might die for us.”
They melted at the voice they heard,
They left her lonely there!
The holy angels helped her word—
There is such force in prayer.
Then wandered she, where that wild wood
A tangled pathway gave,
Till, lo! in secret solitude,
A deep and mossy cave.
They left her lonely there!
The holy angels helped her word—
There is such force in prayer.
Then wandered she, where that wild wood
A tangled pathway gave,
Till, lo! in secret solitude,
A deep and mossy cave.
A source of quiet waters shone
Along a shadowy glade;
And branches, fair to look upon,
A dreamy shelter gave.
Her eyes are closed, but not to sleep;
She bends, but not to pray;
Thrilled with the throes that mothers weep,
The lonely lady lay.
Along a shadowy glade;
And branches, fair to look upon,
A dreamy shelter gave.
114
She bends, but not to pray;
Thrilled with the throes that mothers weep,
The lonely lady lay.
She sees—what is it nestling near?
A soft, fair form is nigh:
She hears—sweet Lord, what doth she hear?
A low and infant cry.
It is her son! her son! the child,
The first-born of her vow:
See, in his face his father smiled,
He bears Lord Siegfried's brow.
A soft, fair form is nigh:
She hears—sweet Lord, what doth she hear?
A low and infant cry.
It is her son! her son! the child,
The first-born of her vow:
See, in his face his father smiled,
He bears Lord Siegfried's brow.
Good angels! 'twas a sight to see
That cavern dark and wild;
The nameless stream—the silent tree,
The mother and her child.
And hark! he weeps—that voice of tears
Proclaims a child of earth;
O, what shall soothe for holier years
The sorrow of his birth!
That cavern dark and wild;
The nameless stream—the silent tree,
The mother and her child.
And hark! he weeps—that voice of tears
Proclaims a child of earth;
O, what shall soothe for holier years
The sorrow of his birth!
There was no font, no sacred shrine,
No servant of the Lord;
The waters of the mystic sign
A mother's hand hath poured.
She breathed on him a word of woes,
His life in tears begun;
The name a Hebrew mother chose,
Ben-oni—Sorrow's son.
No servant of the Lord;
The waters of the mystic sign
A mother's hand hath poured.
She breathed on him a word of woes,
His life in tears begun;
The name a Hebrew mother chose,
Ben-oni—Sorrow's son.
115
But ah! what miseries betide
A mother and her pains!
Her child must die, for famine dried
The fountain of her veins.
She saw the anguish of his face,
She heard his bitter cry,
And went forth from that woeful place,
She could not see him die.
A mother and her pains!
Her child must die, for famine dried
The fountain of her veins.
She saw the anguish of his face,
She heard his bitter cry,
And went forth from that woeful place,
She could not see him die.
Yet still, again, her feet must turn
Back to that cavern wild:
Yea! even in death, she fain would yearn
Once more upon her child.
What doth she see? A fair young doe
A mother's task hath done,
Bent at his side: her milk must flow
To soothe the lady's son.
Back to that cavern wild:
Yea! even in death, she fain would yearn
Once more upon her child.
What doth she see? A fair young doe
A mother's task hath done,
Bent at his side: her milk must flow
To soothe the lady's son.
She wept—she wept, she could no less,
Tears sweet and grateful ran;
The mute thing of the wilderness
Hath softer heart than man.
She came, that wild deer of the herd,
Moved by some strange control,
There was a mystic touch that stirred
The yearnings of her soul.
Tears sweet and grateful ran;
The mute thing of the wilderness
Hath softer heart than man.
She came, that wild deer of the herd,
Moved by some strange control,
There was a mystic touch that stirred
The yearnings of her soul.
And there they dwelt, the gentle three—
In peace, if not in joy,
Until he stood beside her knee,
A fair and thoughtful boy.
The doe, the lady, and the youth,
Seven long and weary years,
Their calm and patient life; in sooth
It was a sight for tears.
In peace, if not in joy,
Until he stood beside her knee,
A fair and thoughtful boy.
116
Seven long and weary years,
Their calm and patient life; in sooth
It was a sight for tears.
She fed him with the forest fruits
That summer branches gave;
She gathered wild and wholesome roots,
To cheer their wintry cave:
They drank from that fair fountain's bed
Whose faithful waters run
Bright as when first his name they shed,
Ben-oni—Sorrow's son.
That summer branches gave;
She gathered wild and wholesome roots,
To cheer their wintry cave:
They drank from that fair fountain's bed
Whose faithful waters run
Bright as when first his name they shed,
Ben-oni—Sorrow's son.
And she hath framed, with chosen boughs,
A simple cross of wood;
And taught the lad his childhood's vows,
To Jesu, mild and good.
He learned the legend of the Cross,
How Mary's blessèd Son
Came down from heaven to die for us,
And peace and pardon won.
A simple cross of wood;
And taught the lad his childhood's vows,
To Jesu, mild and good.
He learned the legend of the Cross,
How Mary's blessèd Son
Came down from heaven to die for us,
And peace and pardon won.
He heard that shadowy angels roam
Along the woodland dell,
To lead the blessèd to a home
Where saints and martyrs dwell.
So, when the lady wept and prayed,
He soothed her secret sighs:
“Sweet mother, let us die,” he said,
“And rest in Paradise.”
Along the woodland dell,
To lead the blessèd to a home
Where saints and martyrs dwell.
So, when the lady wept and prayed,
He soothed her secret sighs:
“Sweet mother, let us die,” he said,
“And rest in Paradise.”
117
“Alas! my son, my tender son,
What wilt thou do,” she sighed,
“When I thy mother shall be gone?—
Thou hast no friend beside.
There is thy Sire of Heavenly birth,
His love is strong and sure:
But he, thy father of the earth,
He spurns thee from his door.”
What wilt thou do,” she sighed,
“When I thy mother shall be gone?—
Thou hast no friend beside.
There is thy Sire of Heavenly birth,
His love is strong and sure:
But he, thy father of the earth,
He spurns thee from his door.”
“Nay, tell me, mother dear,” he said,
“I pray thee tell to me,
Are they not, all men, gone and dead,
Except thy son and thee?”
“Ah! no, there be, my gentle child,
Whole multitudes afar;
Yet is it happier in this wild,
Than where their dwellings are.
“I pray thee tell to me,
Are they not, all men, gone and dead,
Except thy son and thee?”
“Ah! no, there be, my gentle child,
Whole multitudes afar;
Yet is it happier in this wild,
Than where their dwellings are.
“They cast me out to woe and shame,
Here in this den to hide:
They blighted Genoveva's name,
Lord Siegfried's chosen bride.
But soon the weary will have rest,
I breathe with failing breath;
There is within thy mother's breast,
The bitterness of death.”
Here in this den to hide:
They blighted Genoveva's name,
Lord Siegfried's chosen bride.
But soon the weary will have rest,
I breathe with failing breath;
There is within thy mother's breast,
The bitterness of death.”
“Then, mother kind, in thy dark grave,
Alone, thou shalt not lie:
Before our Cross, here in this grave,
Together let us die.
Yea, let me look on no man's face,
Since such stern hearts there be:
But here, in this our lonely place,
Here will I die with thee.”
Alone, thou shalt not lie:
Before our Cross, here in this grave,
Together let us die.
118
Since such stern hearts there be:
But here, in this our lonely place,
Here will I die with thee.”
“Ah! noble heart! thy words are sooth
I breathe their sound again:
Better to pass away in youth,
Than live with bearded men.”
And thou! the Lady of his birth,
Farewell! a calm farewell!
Thou wert not meant for this vile earth,
But with the saints to dwell.
I breathe their sound again:
Better to pass away in youth,
Than live with bearded men.”
And thou! the Lady of his birth,
Farewell! a calm farewell!
Thou wert not meant for this vile earth,
But with the saints to dwell.
Part the Third. ANOTHER DAY.
Mark ye, how spear and helmet glare,
And red-cross banners shine,
While thrilling trumpets cleave the air
Along the Rhine! the Rhine!
Count Siegfried from the wars is come,
And gathering vassals wait
To welcome the stern warrior home
To his own castle gate.
And red-cross banners shine,
While thrilling trumpets cleave the air
Along the Rhine! the Rhine!
Count Siegfried from the wars is come,
And gathering vassals wait
To welcome the stern warrior home
To his own castle gate.
But where is she, his joy, his pride,
The garland of his fame?
Away! away! her image hide,
He cannot brook her name.
Yet soon the whispered words are breathed,
And faithful lips declare
How a vile serpent's folds were wreathed
Around their lady fair.
The garland of his fame?
Away! away! her image hide,
He cannot brook her name.
119
And faithful lips declare
How a vile serpent's folds were wreathed
Around their lady fair.
They tell his vassal's treacherous crime,
The bow his malice bent,
Till Genoveva, in her prime,
Had perished, innocent.
Alas! what torrent tears must roll
In fierce and angry shower!
O! what shall soothe Count Siegfried's soul
In that o'erwhelming hour?
The bow his malice bent,
Till Genoveva, in her prime,
Had perished, innocent.
Alas! what torrent tears must roll
In fierce and angry shower!
O! what shall soothe Count Siegfried's soul
In that o'erwhelming hour?
He hides him in some vaulted room.
Far from the light of day;
He will not look on beauty's bloom,
Nor hear the minstrel's lay.
They try him with the trumpet sound
On many an echoing morn;
They tempt him forth with hawk and hound,
And breathe the hunter's horn.
Far from the light of day;
He will not look on beauty's bloom,
Nor hear the minstrel's lay.
They try him with the trumpet sound
On many an echoing morn;
They tempt him forth with hawk and hound,
And breathe the hunter's horn.
They loose the gazehound from the chain,
They bring both steed and spear,
Lord Siegfried's hand must rule the rein,
And rouse the ruddy deer.
On! through the wild, the war-horse bounds
Beneath his stately form,
He charges 'mid those rushing hounds
With footsteps like the storm.
They bring both steed and spear,
Lord Siegfried's hand must rule the rein,
And rouse the ruddy deer.
On! through the wild, the war-horse bounds
Beneath his stately form,
He charges 'mid those rushing hounds
With footsteps like the storm.
120
“Down! Donner, down! hold, Hubert, hold!”
What is yon sight of fear?
A strange wild youth, a maiden bold
That guard yon panting deer!”
A fleecy skin was folded round
Her breast, with woman's pride,
And some dead fawn the youth hath found,
He wears its dappled hide.
What is yon sight of fear?
A strange wild youth, a maiden bold
That guard yon panting deer!”
A fleecy skin was folded round
Her breast, with woman's pride,
And some dead fawn the youth hath found,
He wears its dappled hide.
“Who? whence are ye?” the warrior said,
“That haunt this secret cave?
Ha! is it so? and do the dead
Come from their hollow grave?”
“I live, I breathe the breath of life,
No evil have I done;
I am thy true, thy chosen wife,
And this is Siegfried's son!”
“That haunt this secret cave?
Ha! is it so? and do the dead
Come from their hollow grave?”
“I live, I breathe the breath of life,
No evil have I done;
I am thy true, thy chosen wife,
And this is Siegfried's son!”
He stood, as severed souls may stand
At first, when forth they fare,
And shadowy forms—a stranger-band—
Will greet them in the air.
He bounds, he binds her to his heart,
His own, his rescued bride:
No more! O! never more to part,
E'en death shall not divide.
At first, when forth they fare,
And shadowy forms—a stranger-band—
Will greet them in the air.
He bounds, he binds her to his heart,
His own, his rescued bride:
No more! O! never more to part,
E'en death shall not divide.
See now, they move along the wild,
With solemn feet and slow,
The warrior and his graceful child,
The lady and the doe.
They stand before the castle-gate,
Rich with the clustering vine,
Again shall Siegfried hold his state,
Beside the Rhine! the Rhine!
With solemn feet and slow,
The warrior and his graceful child,
The lady and the doe.
121
Rich with the clustering vine,
Again shall Siegfried hold his state,
Beside the Rhine! the Rhine!
They come, they haste from many a land,
For fast the tidings spread,
And there doth Genoveva stand,
Bright as the arisen dead.
Her mother weeps, by God's dear grace,
Glad tears are in her eye;
Duke Pfalz has seen his daughter's face,
And now—now let him die.
For fast the tidings spread,
And there doth Genoveva stand,
Bright as the arisen dead.
Her mother weeps, by God's dear grace,
Glad tears are in her eye;
Duke Pfalz has seen his daughter's face,
And now—now let him die.
Yea, from his calm and distant cell
The sainted Hildorf came,
His spirit bowed beneath the spell
Of Genoveva's name.
He came, he sought that solemn cave,
The lady's patient home,
He measured it with aisle and nave,
He shaped a shadowy dome.
The sainted Hildorf came,
His spirit bowed beneath the spell
Of Genoveva's name.
He came, he sought that solemn cave,
The lady's patient home,
He measured it with aisle and nave,
He shaped a shadowy dome.
He knelt in votive solitude,
He fixed both saint and sign,
And bade them build, in that lone wood,
A fair and stately shrine.
There might you read for many an age,
In the rich window's ray,
Traced, as along some pictured page,
The legend of my lay.
He fixed both saint and sign,
And bade them build, in that lone wood,
A fair and stately shrine.
There might you read for many an age,
In the rich window's ray,
Traced, as along some pictured page,
The legend of my lay.
122
The image of their youth was there,
The bridegroom and the bride;
The porch, where Genoveva fair
Knelt at her Siegfried's side.
There, through the storied glass, the scene
In molten beauty falls,
When she, with mild and matron mien,
Shone in her husband's halls.
The bridegroom and the bride;
The porch, where Genoveva fair
Knelt at her Siegfried's side.
There, through the storied glass, the scene
In molten beauty falls,
When she, with mild and matron mien,
Shone in her husband's halls.
There was the cave, the wood, the stream,
In radiance soft and warm,
And evermore the noon-day beam
Came through some angel's form.
The youth was shown in that wild dress,
His mother's cross he bare;
Saint John in the old wilderness
Was not more strangely fair.
In radiance soft and warm,
And evermore the noon-day beam
Came through some angel's form.
The youth was shown in that wild dress,
His mother's cross he bare;
Saint John in the old wilderness
Was not more strangely fair.
But where they breathe their holiest vows,
And eastern sunbeams fall,
A simple cross, of woodland boughs,
Stands by the chancel wall.
It is the lady's lonely sign,
By mournful fingers made,
That self-same symbol decks the shrine
That soothed the cavern's shade.
And eastern sunbeams fall,
A simple cross, of woodland boughs,
Stands by the chancel wall.
It is the lady's lonely sign,
By mournful fingers made,
That self-same symbol decks the shrine
That soothed the cavern's shade.
Behind yon altar, reared on high,
A lady breathes in stone;
A sculptured deer is crouching nigh,
An infant weeps alone.
A word is there, but not of woe,
One voice, a prayer to claim,
Beneath the lady and the doe
Is Genoveva's name.
A lady breathes in stone;
A sculptured deer is crouching nigh,
An infant weeps alone.
123
One voice, a prayer to claim,
Beneath the lady and the doe
Is Genoveva's name.
Thus lived, thus loved she, and she died,
But old, and full of days;
Ask ye how time and truth have tried
The legend of her praise?
She of my song, in Eden's bowers
A sainted lady lies,
And wears a garland of the flowers
That grow in Paradise.
But old, and full of days;
Ask ye how time and truth have tried
The legend of her praise?
She of my song, in Eden's bowers
A sainted lady lies,
And wears a garland of the flowers
That grow in Paradise.
1842.
| The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker | |