The poems of Heine; Complete. Heinrich Heine

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СКАЧАТЬ Is’t not the sound of a chariot at hand?

       Quick, open the door! Why thus loitering stand?

      Thou art welcome, my darling! how goes it, my sweet?

       You’re welcome, good parson! stand up, I entreat!

       Good parson, with hoof of a horse and with tail,

       I’m your dutiful servant, and wish you all hail!

      Dear bride, wherefore stand’st thou so pale and so dumb?

       The parson to join us together has come;

       Full dear, dear as blood, is the fee I must pay,

       And yet to possess thee is merely child’s play.

      Kneel down, my sweet bride, by my side prythee kneel

       She kneels and she sinks—O what rapture I feel!—

       She sinks on my heart, on my fast-heaving breast;

       With shuddering pleasure I hold her close press’d.

      Like billows her golden locks circle the pair,

       ’Gainst my heart beats the heart of the maiden so fair

       They beat with a union of sorrow and love,

       And soar to the regions of heaven above.

      While our hearts are thus floating in rapture’s wide sea,

       In God’s holy realms, all untrammell’d and free,

       On our heads, as a terrible sign and a brand,

       Has hell in derision imposed her grim hand.

      In propriâ personâ the dark son of night As parson bestows the priest’s blessing to-night; From a bloody book breathes he the formula terse, Each prayer execration, each blessing a curse.

      A crashing and hissing and howling is heard,

       Like rolling of thunder, like waves wildly stirr’d;

       When sudden a bluish-tinged light brightly flames,

       “For ever, amen!” the old mother exclaims.

      8.

      I came from the house of my mistress dear,

       And wander’d, half frenzied, in midnight fear,

       And when o’er the churchyard I mournfully trod,

       In solemn silence the graves seem’d to nod.

      The musician’s old tombstone seem’d nodding to be;

       ’Tis the flickering light of the moon that I see.

       There’s a whisper “Dear brother, I soon shall be here!”

       Then a misty pale form from the tomb doth appear.

      The musician it was who arose in the gloom,

       And perch’d himself high on the top of the tomb;

       The chords of his lute he struck with good will,

       And sang with a voice right hollow and shrill:

      “Ah, know ye still the olden song,

       “That thrill’d the breast with passion strong,

       “Ye chords so dull and unmoving?

       “The angels they call it the joys of heaven,

       “The devils they call it hell’s torments even,

       “And mortals they call it—loving!”

      The last word’s sound had scarcely died,

       When all the graves their mouths open’d wide;

       Many airy figures step forward, and each

       The musician draws near, while in chorus they screech:

      “Love, O love, thy wondrous might

       “Brought us to this dreary plight,

       “Closed our eyes in endless night—

       “To disturb us why delight?”

      Thus howl they confusedly, hissing and groaning,

       With roaring and sighing and crashing and moaning;

       The mad troop the musician surround as before,

       And the chords the musician strikes wildly once more

      “Bravo! bravo! How absurd!

       “Welcome to ye!

       “Plainly knew ye

       “That I spake the magic word!

      “As we pass the livelong year

       “Still as mice in prison drear,

       “Let’s to-day be full of cheer!

       “First, though, please

       “See that no one else is here;

       “Fools were we as long as living,

       “To love’s maddening passion giving

       “All our madden’d energies.

       “Let, by way of recreation,

       “Each one give a true narration

       “Of his former history—

       “How devour’d,

       “How o’erpower’d

       “In love’s frantic chase was he.”

      Then as light as the air from the circle there broke

       A wizen’d thin being, who hummingly spoke:

      “A tailor was I by profession

       “With needle and with shears;

       “None made a better impression

       “With needle and with shears.

      “Then came my master’s daughter

       “With needle and with shears,

       “And pierced my sorrowing bosom

       “With needle and with shears.”

      In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed;

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