 | Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell |  |
156
III.
“Kind mother, as thou lovest me, oh, make my bed full soon!
If until now it be not made, I pray thee grant this boon,
For I am sick and very weak, but do not breathe a word
To my own dearest spouse of this, to him I call my lord.
Yet in three days I shall be there, ‘where the weary are at rest.’
And pillow my head amongst the dead, down on the earth's cold breast.
On me a Königinn has cast, I know the truth full well,
A charm that withers up my life, a dark unholy spell.”
And when three days had flown away, the young wife feebly said,
Her snowy hands both pressed against her hot and throbbing head:
If until now it be not made, I pray thee grant this boon,
For I am sick and very weak, but do not breathe a word
To my own dearest spouse of this, to him I call my lord.
Yet in three days I shall be there, ‘where the weary are at rest.’
And pillow my head amongst the dead, down on the earth's cold breast.
On me a Königinn has cast, I know the truth full well,
A charm that withers up my life, a dark unholy spell.”
And when three days had flown away, the young wife feebly said,
Her snowy hands both pressed against her hot and throbbing head:
“Oh, tell me, mother, of my lord! why do the bells all ring,
Why do the priests chant down below, why white-robed do they sing?”
Why do the priests chant down below, why white-robed do they sing?”
“A poor, unhappy man, my love, who lodged with us, has died;”
“Oh, tell me, mother mine, what keeps my husband from my side!”
“He's ridden to the town, my child, and soon thou shalt him see;”
“Dear mother, now I pray thee tell, and truly tell to me,
What robe shall I put on this day, my blue robe or my red,
That I may go into the church and hear the masses said?”
“Oh, tell me, mother mine, what keeps my husband from my side!”
157
“Dear mother, now I pray thee tell, and truly tell to me,
What robe shall I put on this day, my blue robe or my red,
That I may go into the church and hear the masses said?”
“If thou dost want the newest mode, why then I hear them say,
A black robe is the fittest gear for those who go to pray.”
A black robe is the fittest gear for those who go to pray.”
As up the churchyard's sloping path right gently she passed on,
Lo! her poor husband's grave she sees, and at its head a stone;
“Which of our kin has died so late?” in faltering voice she said,
“That all so fresh the earth is turned. Oh, tell me who is dead!”
Lo! her poor husband's grave she sees, and at its head a stone;
“Which of our kin has died so late?” in faltering voice she said,
“That all so fresh the earth is turned. Oh, tell me who is dead!”
“Alas! my darling daughter, 'tis vain to hide it now;
O, woe! it is thy husband, who doth lie the earth below.”
O, woe! it is thy husband, who doth lie the earth below.”
On her two knees the lady sank, she sank to rise no more,
Her spirit passed to that bright land, where her lord had gone before.
Her spirit passed to that bright land, where her lord had gone before.
'Twas strange, I ween, when fell the night upon the day she died,
And down they laid her in the grave, close to her husband's side,
To see two oaks spring from the tomb, which reared their branches high,
All rich in summer foliage green, against the clear blue sky;
And on their boughs two milk-white doves sat fluttering bright and gay,
Which, when the purple morning broke, to heaven did wing their way.
158
To see two oaks spring from the tomb, which reared their branches high,
All rich in summer foliage green, against the clear blue sky;
And on their boughs two milk-white doves sat fluttering bright and gay,
Which, when the purple morning broke, to heaven did wing their way.
| Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell | |