University of Virginia Library

It is day;—with hound and horn
They have roused that morrow morn—
Have the milk-white creature found
On that edge of grassy ground—
And with eager steps pursued
Far into the gloomy wood;
Till the hunters, one by one,
By the length of way foredone,
Rein their steeds—but onward still,
Thorough brake and over hill,
Down steep glen, through foaming river,
Doth Count Siegfried follow ever.
Wild and wilder grows the scene,
Seems it step of man hath been
Never in this savage place:
He too now foregoes the chase,
For he sees another sight
Which hath shook him with the might,
Brave albeit, of strange affright.
—‘Who art thou, by none befriended,
Only of that hind attended,
Which has fled with steps so fleet
To the refuge of thy feet—
Housing in the desert's heart,
From all Christian souls apart?
Who art thou? come forth and tell
If a sprite of heaven or hell?’
—‘Shall I in thy sight appear,
Cast me in thy mantle here,
Else I cannot without blame
Stand before thee;’ forth she came
Wrapt in it; there stood also
By her side the fearless doe;
—‘Here of free choice dwell I not,
But have still my God besought
He would guide of his good grace
Human steps to this drear place.
He has heard those prayers of mine,
And has guided even thine.
What of me thou fain wouldst know,
I too willingly will show—
I this wretched and forlorn
Woman, in Brabant was born;
No ignoble stock was mine,
For I came of princely line;
But must find in worst distress
Shelter in this wilderness,
When my husband erringly
Of my truth misdeemed, and me
With my infant would have then
Slain by hands of evil men.’

Then exceeding tremblings came
Over all Count Siegfried's frame.
On her face a fixed regard
Turned he—that was all so marred
He could read no history there—
‘But thy name and his declare:’
—‘If my own self I have not,
As the world has me, forgot,
I am Genoveva hight.’
From his steed he fell outright
On the moment when she came
To the syllabling that name,
Down upon his face he fell,
As by stroke invisible
Earthward smitten—there lay long,
And his sobs were thick and strong,
Choking utterance—till his head
He a little raising, said:
‘Genoveva, can it be
That I now should look on thee.
Thee, my own, my murdered wife,
Genevieve, my love, my life?
Oh how wan! how worn! how weak!
Oh that eye! that sunken cheek!
Oh the utter misery
That my guilt has brought on thee!
Canst thou, Genevieve, forgive?
Wilt thou bid this wretch to live?
Low before thy feet I lie;
Thousand deaths if I should die,
And in each a thousand years,—
Drain my heart's blood out in tears,
All were nothing to my sin—
Then free pardon let me win:
Pardon for his sake I crave,
Who upon his cross forgave.’
—‘O my husband, all is past,
God is good, and He at last
Of his grace has brought this day.
If thou wishest, I will say
That I pardon—rise, oh rise!
With these sobs and agonies
Thou wilt kill my heart outright;
See too who appears in sight—
O my sweet child, come, you may
Fling those herbs and roots away.
Fear not, sweetest, you will find
That the man is good and kind.’
—‘Cause too just he has to fear;
Oh to think ye two were here
All this while, and I so near!
Thou, and he whom I am bold
To a father's heart to fold.’

But enough, what words can tell
Of a joy unspeakable?—
Of the trancëd long embrace,
(In his bosom hid her face,)
With its gush of mingling tears,
Worth a thousand torturing years.

Others have arrived, to share
In the holy gladness there;
Through the forest tidings fly,
And all draw in wonder nigh.
Near her timidly they draw,
And they kiss her feet in awe,
While to them she doth appear
Creature of another sphere.
Faith they scarcely will afford
To the assurance of the lord,
'Tis their mistress lost so long,
Overliving all her wrong.
Now a litter is in haste
Of green branches interlaced,
And on it their lady borne,
By her grief and joy outworn.
Yet or ever from that spot,
From that stern and rugged grot,
Genoveva turned away,
Lowly kneeling will she pay
Thankful vows from grateful heart,
Ere she from that cave depart,
For the mercy and the grace
Which had found her in that place,
Kissed with tears the holy rood,
Where in rocky niche it stood—
—‘Fare thee well!—I leave thee here,
For so many memories dear,
Thou a shield that didst repel
All the fiery darts of hell,
Thou that wast a golden key,
Heaven unlocking unto me.
With these tears once more I say,
Fare thee well—I go away,
But what here has been my gain
May it with me still remain!’

To the castle now doth hie
A rejoicing company,
While from village and from town
Others stream to meet them soon;
As in triumph one doth bear
High in arms the new-found heir;
Round his head the glad birds flit,
Singing on his hand they sit,
Glad farewells they seem to sing,
His new fortunes welcoming.
Nor doth not the fearless doe
In the glad procession go,
Has its own peculiar dower
In the glory of this hour:
Round it shouting children press,
Smooth its sides with fond caress,
Kiss its face, and slender neck
With their flowery garlands deck,
While all praise the gentle hind,
And its ministrations kind.