The poems of Heine; Complete. Heinrich Heine

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СКАЧАТЬ depth most deep—

       I scarce had power my breath to keep.

      There came a band of angels white

       Graced with a golden halo bright,

       But wildly follow’d in their track

       A grisly train of goblins black.

      They wrestled with the angels white,

       And drove away those angels bright,

       And then the gloomy squadron too

       Melted like morning mist from view.—

      Fain had I died of rapture there,

       My arms upheld my maiden fair;

       She nestled near me like a roe,

       But also wept with bitter woe.

      Sweet maiden wept; well knew I why,

       Her rosy mouth to peace kiss’d I:

       “O still, sweet love, that tearful flood,

       “Surrender to my loving mood!

      “Surrender to my loving mood!”—

       When sudden froze to ice my blood;

       The earth beneath me groan’d and sigh’d,

       A yawning chasm open’d wide.

      And from the chasm’s gloomy veil

       Rose the black troop—sweet love turn’d pale;

       My arms were of sweet love bereft,

       And I in solitude was left.

      The gloomy troop around me danced

       In wondrous circle, then advanced,

       And seized and bore me to the ground,

       While scornful laughter rose around.

      And still the circle narrower grew,

       And ever humm’d the fearful crew:

       “Thy hope of heaven was pledg’d by thee,

       “Thou’rt ours for all eternity!”

      7.

      Thou now hast the money—why longer delay?

       Thou dark scowling fellow, why lingering stay?

       I sit in my chamber, and patiently wait,

       And midnight is near, but the bride is still late.

      From the churchyard the shuddering breezes arise;—

       Ye breezes, O say, has my bride met your eyes?

       Pale demons come round me, and hard on me press,

       Make curtsies with grinning, and nod their “O yes!”

      Quick, tell me the message you’re coming about,

       Black villain, in liv’ry of fire trick’d out!

       My mistress sends word that she soon will be here;

       In a car drawn by dragons she’ll shortly appear.

      Dear grey little man, say, what would’st thou to-day?

       Dead master of mine, what’s thy business, pray?

       He gazes upon me with mute mournful mien,

       Shakes his head, turns away, and no longer is seen.

      His tail wags the shaggy old dog, and he whines;

       All brightly the eye of the black tom-cat shines;

       The women are howling with long flowing hair—

       Why sings my old nurse my old cradle-song there?

      Old nurse stops at home, to her song to attend,

       The eiapopeia is long at an end;

       To-day I am keeping my gay wedding feast;

       Only watch the arrival of each gallant guest!

      Only watch them! Good sirs, how polite is your band!

       Ye carry your heads, ’stead of hats, in your hand;

       With your clattering bones, and like gallows-birds dress’d,

       Why arrive here so late, when the wind is at rest?

      The old witch on her broomstick comes galloping on:

       Ah, bless me, good mother, I’m really thy son.

       The mouth in her pale face beginning to twitch,

       “For ever, amen,” soon replies the old witch.

      Twelve wither’d musicians come creeping along,

       The limping blind fiddler is seen in the throng

       Jackpudding dress’d out in his motley array,

       On the gravedigger’s back is grimacing away.

      With dancing twelve nuns from the convent advance,

       The leering old procuress leading the dance;

       Twelve merry young priests follow close in their train,

       And sing their lewd songs in a church-going strain.

      Till you’re black in the face, good old clothesman, don’t yell,

       Your fur-coat will nothing avail you in hell;

       ’Tis heated for nought all the year with odd things—

       ’Stead of wood, with the bones of dead beggars and kings.

      The girls with the flowers seem’d hunchback’d and bent,

       Tumbling head over heels in the room as they went;

       With your faces like owls, and a grasshopper’s leg,

       That rattling of bones discontinue, I beg.

      The squadrons of hell all appear in their shrouds,

       And bustle and hustle in fast-swelling crowds;

       The waltz of damnation resounds in the ear—

       Hush, hush! my sweet love is at length drawing near.

      Now, rabble, be quiet, or get you away!

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