The poems of Heine; Complete. Heinrich Heine

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       “The stranger welter’d in his blood.

      “Soon through the wood I had to pass,

       “With hangmen by my side, alas!

       “Down from the tree, with bitter scoff,

       “The raven cried: ‘head-off! head-off!’”

      In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed;

       At length the musician in person stepp’d aft:

      “I’ve sung my own song, friends, demurely,

       “That charming song’s at an end;

       “When the heart is once broken, why surely

       “The song may homeward wend!”

      Then began the wild laughter still louder to sound,

       And the pale spectral troop in a circle swept round.

       From the neighbouring church-tow’r the stroke of “One!” fell,

       And the spirits rush’d back to their graves with a yell.

      9.

      I was asleep, and calmly slept,

       All pain and grief allay’d;

       A wondrous vision o’er me crept,

       There came a lovely maid.

      As pale as marble was her face,

       And, O, so passing fair!

       Her eyes they swam with pearl-like grace,

       And strangely waved her hair.

      And softly, softly moved her foot

       The pale-as-marble maid;

       And on my heart herself she put,

       The pale-as-marble maid.

      How shook and throbb’d, half sad, half blest,

       My heart, which hotly burn’d!

       But neither shook nor throbb’d her breast,

       Which into ice seem’d turn’d.

      “It neither shakes nor throbs, my breast,

       “And it is icy cold;

       “And yet I know love’s yearning blest,

       “Love’s mighty pow’r of old.

      “No colour’s on my lips and cheek,

       “No blood my veins doth swell;

       “But start not, thus to hear me speak,

       “I love thee, love thee well!”

      And wilder still embraced she me,

       And I was sore afraid;

       Then crow’d the cock—straight vanish’d she,

       The pale-as-marble maid.

      10.

      I oft have pale spectres before now

       Conjured with magical might;

       They refuse to return any more now

       To their former dwelling of night.

      The word that commands their submission

       I forgot in my terror and fear;

       My own spirits now seek my perdition,

       Within their prison-house drear.

      Dark demons, approach not a finger!

       Away, nor to torment give birth!

       Full many a joy still may linger

       In the roseate light of this earth.

      I needs must be evermore striving

       To reach the flower so fair;

       O, what were the use of my living

       If I may cherish her ne’er?

      To my glowing heart fain would I press her,

       Would clasp her for once to my breast,

       On her lips and her cheeks once caress her,

With sweetest of torments be blest.

      If once from her mouth I could hear it,

       Could hear one fond whisper bestow’d,

       I would follow thee, beckoning Spirit,

       Yea, e’en to thy darksome abode.

      The spirits have heard, and draw nigh me,

       And nod with terrific glee:

       Sweet love, with an answer supply me—

       Sweet love, O lovest thou me?

2. SONGS.

       Table of Contents

      1.

      Every morning rise I, crying:

       Comes my love to-day?

       Then sink down at evening, sighing:

       She is still away!

      Sleepless and oppress’d with sorrow,

       All night long I lie

       Dreaming, half asleep; the morrow

       Sadly wander I.

      2.

      I’m driven hither and thither along!

       But yet a few hours, I shall see her again,

       Herself, the most fair of the fair maiden-train;—

       True heart, what means thy throbbing so strong?

      The hours are only a slothful race!

       Lazily they move each day,

       And with yawning go their way;—

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