The poems of Heine by Heinrich Heine

Author:Heinrich Heine [Heine, Heinrich]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-09-04T22:00:00+00:00

CAPUT XX.

’Twas the sunrise. Golden arrows

Shot against the white mist fiercely,

Which turn’d red, as though sore wounded,

And in light and glory melted.

Finally the victory’s won,

And the day, the triumphator,

Stood, in full and beaming splendour,

On the summit of the mountain.

All the birds in noisy chorus

Twitter’d in their secret nests,

And a smell of herbs arose too,

Like a concert of sweet odours.

At the earliest dawn of morning

To the valley we descended,

And whilst friend Lascaro follow’d

On the traces of the bear,

I the time to kill attempted

With my thoughts, and yet this thinking

Made me at the last quite weary,

And a little mournful even.

Weary, then, and mournful sank I

On the soft moss-bank beside me.

Under yonder mighty ash-tree,

Where the little streamlet flow’d,

Which, with its mysterious plashing

So mysteriously befool’d me,

That all thoughts and power of thinking

From my spirit pass’d away.

And a raging yearning seized me

For a dream, for death, for madness,

For that woman-rider, whom I

In the spirit-march had seen.

O ye lovely nightly faces,

Scared away by beams of morning,

Tell me, whither have ye fleeted?

Tell me, where ye dwell at daytime?

Under olden temples’ ruins,

Far away in the Romagna

(So ’tis said) Diana refuge

Seeks by day from Christ’s dominion.

Only in the midnight darkness

From her hiding place she ventures,

And rejoices in the chase

With her heathenish companions.

And the beauteous fay Abunde

Of the Nazarenes is fearful,

And throughout the day she lingers

Safe within her Avalun.

This fair island lies deep-hidden

Far off, in the silent ocean

Of romance, that none can reach save

On the fabled horse’s pinions.

Never there casts care its anchor,

Never there appears a steamer,

Full of wonder-seeking blockheads,

With tobacco-pipes in mouth.

Never reaches there the languid

Sound of bells, so dull and tedious,—

That incessant bim-bom clatter

Which the fairies so detest.

There, in never-troubled pleasure,

And in youth eternal blooming,

Still resides the joyous lady,

Our blond dame, the fay Abunde.

Laughingly her walks there takes she

Under lofty heliotropes,

With her talking train beside her,

World-departed Paladins.

Well, and thou, Herodias, prythee

Say where art thou? Ah, I know it,

Thou art dead, and liest buried

By the town Jerusalem!

Stiffly sleeps by day thy body,

In its marble coffin prison’d;

Yet the cracking whips and halloing

Waken thee at midnight’s hour,

And the wild array thou followest

With Diana and Abunde,

With thy merry hunting comrades,

Who hold cross and pain detested.

O what sweet society!

Could I hunt with you by night-time

Through the forests! By thy side

Always would I ride, Herodias!

For ’tis thee I love the dearest!

More than yonder Grecian goddess,

More than yonder Northern fairy,

Love I thee, thou Jewess dead!

Yes, I love thee! Well I know it

By the trembling of my spirit;

Love thou me, and be my darling,

Sweet Herodias, beauteous woman.

I’m the very knight thou wantest!

Little truly it concerns me

That thou’rt dead and damn’d already,

For I’m free from prejudices.

My own happiness ’tis only

That concerns me, and at times I

Feel inclined to doubt if truly

To the living I belong!

Take me as thy knight, I pray thee,

As thy Cavalier servente,

And thy mantle will I carry

And e’en all thy whims put up with.

Every night I’ll ride beside thee,

With the army wild careering;

Merrily we’ll talk and laugh then

At my frenzied conversation.

Thus the time I’ll shorten for thee

In the night; but yet by day-time

All our joy will fly, and weeping

On that grave I’ll take my seat.

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