(Art and Poetry [The Germ, No. 3], March 1850)
She sat alway thro' the long daySpinning the weary thread away;And ever said in undertone:'Come, that I be no more alone.'
From early dawn to set of sunWorking, her task was still undone;And the long thread seemed to increaseEven while she spun and did not cease.She heard the gentle turtle-doveTell to its mate a tale of love;She saw the glancing swallows fly,Ever a social company;She knew each bird upon its nestHad cheering songs to bring it rest;None lived alone save only she;--The wheel went round more wearily;She wept and said in undertone:'Come, that I be no more alone.'
Day followed day, and still she sighedFor love, and was not satisfied;Until one night, when the moonlightTurned all the trees to silver white,She heard, what ne'er she heard before,A steady hand undo the door.The nightingale since set of sunHer throbbing music had not done,And she had listened silently;But now the wind had changed, and sheHeard the sweet song no more, but heardBeside her bed a whispered word:'Damsel, rise up; be not afraid;For I am come at last,' it said.
She trembled, tho' the voice was mild;She trembled like a frightened child;--Till she looked up, and then she sawThe unknown speaker without awe.He seemed a fair young man, his eyesBeaming with serious charities;His cheek was white but hardly pale;And a dim glory like a veilHovered about his head, and shoneThro' the whole room till night was gone.
So her fear fled; and then she said,Leaning upon her quiet bed:'Now thou art come, I prithee stay,That I may see thee in the day,And learn to know thy voice, and hearIt evermore calling me near.'
He answered: 'Rise, and follow me.'But she looked upwards wonderingly:'And whither would'st thou go, friend? stayUntil the dawning of the day.'But he said: 'The wind ceaseth, Maid;Of chill nor damp be thou afraid.'
She bound her hair up from the floor,And passed in silence from the door.
So they went forth together, heHelping her forward tenderly.The hedges bowed beneath his hand;Forth from the streams came the dry landAs they passed over; evermoreThe pallid moonbeams shone before;And the wind hushed, and nothing stirred;Not even a solitary bird,Scared by their footsteps, fluttered byWhere aspen-trees stood steadily.
As they went on, at length a soundCame trembling on the air around;The undistinguishable humOf life, voices that go and comeOf busy men, and the child's sweetHigh laugh, and noise of trampling feet.
Then he said: 'Wilt thou go and see?'And she made answer joyfully:'The noise of life, of human life,Of dear communion without strife,Of converse held 'twixt friend and friend;Is it not here our path shall end?'He led her on a little wayUntil they reached a hillock: 'Stay.'
It was a village in a plain.High mountains screened it from the rainAnd stormy wind; and nigh at handA bubbling streamlet flowed, o'er sandPebbly and fine, and sent life upGreen succous stalk and flower-cup.
Gradually, day's harbinger,A chilly wind began to stir.It seemed a gentle powerless breezeThat scarcely rustled thro' the trees;And yet it touched the mountain's headAnd the paths man might never tread.But hearken: in the quiet weatherDo all the streams flow down together?--
No, 'tis a sound more terribleThan tho' a thousand rivers fell.The everlasting ice and snowWere loosened then, but not to flow;--With a loud crash like solid thunderThe avalanche came, burying underThe village; turning life and breathAnd rest and joy and plans to death.
'Oh! let us fly, for pity fly;Let us go hence, friend, thou and I.There must be many regions yetWhere these things make not desolate.'He looked upon her seriously;Then said: 'Arise and follow me.'The path that lay before them wasNigh covered over with long grass;And many slimy things and slowTrailed on between the roots below.The moon looked dimmer than before;And shadowy cloudlets floating o'erIts face sometimes quite hid its light,And filled the skies with deeper night.
At last, as they went on, the noiseWas heard of the sea's mighty voice;And soon the ocean could be seenIn its long restlessness serene.Upon its breast a vessel rodeThat drowsily appeared to nodAs the great billows rose and fell,And swelled to sink, and sank to swell.
Meanwhile the strong wind had come forthFrom the chill regions of the North,The mighty wind invisible.And the low waves began to swell;And the sky darkened overhead;And the moon once looked forth, then fledBehind dark clouds; while here and thereThe lightning shone out in the air;And the approaching thunder rolledWith angry pealings manifold.How many vows were made, and prayersThat in safe times were cold and scarce.Still all availed not; and at lengthThe waves arose in all their strength,And fought against the ship, and filledThe ship. Then were the clouds unsealed,And the rain hurried forth, and beatOn every side and over it.
Some clung together, and some keptA long stern silence, and some wept.Many half-crazed looked on in wonderAs the strong timbers rent asunder;Friends forgot friends, foes fled to foes;--And still the water rose and rose.
'Ah woe is me! Whom I have seenAre now as tho' they had not been.In the earth there is room for birth,And there are graves enough in earth;Why should the cold sea, tempest-torn,Bury those whom it hath not borne?'
He answered not, and they went on.The glory of the heavens was gone;The moon gleamed not nor any star;Cold winds were rustling near and far,And from the trees the dry leaves fellWith a sad sound unspeakable.The air was cold; till from the SouthA gust blew hot, like sudden drouth,Into their faces; and a lightGlowing and red, shone thro' the night.
A mighty city full of flameAnd death and sounds without a name.Amid the black and blinding smoke,The people, as one man, awoke.Oh! happy they who yesterdayOn the long journey went away;Whose pallid lips, smiling and chill,While the flames scorch them smile on still;Who murmur not; who tremble notWhen the bier crackles fiery hot;Who, dying, said in love's increase:'Lord, let thy servant part in peace.'
Those in the town could see and hearA shaded river flowing near;The broad deep bed could hardly holdIts plenteous waters calm and cold.Was flame-wrapped all the city wall,The city gates were flame-wrapped all.
What was man's strength, what puissance then?Women were mighty as strong men.Some knelt in prayer, believing still,Resigned unto a righteous will,Bowing beneath the chastening rod,Lost to the world, but found of God.Some prayed for friend, for child, for wife;Some prayed for faith; some prayed for life;While some, proud even in death, hope gone,Steadfast and still, stood looking on.
'Death—death—oh! let us fly from death;Where'er we go it followeth;All these are dead; and we aloneRemain to weep for what is gone.What is this thing? thus hurriedlyTo pass into eternity;To leave the earth so full of mirth;To lose the profit of our birth;To die and be no more; to cease,Having numbness that is not peace.Let us go hence; and, even if thusDeath everywhere must go with us,Let us not see the change, but seeThose who have been or still shall be.'
He sighed and they went on together;Beneath their feet did the grass wither;Across the heaven high overheadDark misty clouds floated and fled;And in their bosom was the thunder,And angry lightnings flashed out under,Forked and red and menacing;Far off the wind was muttering;It seemed to tell, not understood,Strange secrets to the listening wood.
Upon its wings it bore the scentOf blood of a great armament:Then saw they how on either sideFields were down-trodden far and wide.That morning at the break of dayTwo nations had gone forth to slay.
As a man soweth so he reaps.The field was full of bleeding heaps;Ghastly corpses of men and horsesThat met death at a thousand sources;Cold limbs and putrifying flesh;Long love-locks clotted to a meshThat stifled; stiffened mouths beneathStaring eyes that had looked on death.
But these were dead: these felt no moreThe anguish of the wounds they bore.Behold, they shall not sigh again,Nor justly fear, nor hope in vain.What if none wept above them?—isThe sleeper less at rest for this?Is not the young child's slumber sweetWhen no man watcheth over it?These had deep calm; but all aroundThere was a deadly smothered sound,The choking cry of agonyFrom wounded men who could not die;Who watched the black wing of the ravenRise like a cloud 'twixt them and heaven,And in the distance flying fastBeheld the eagle come at last.
She knelt down in her agony:'O Lord, it is enough,' said she:'My heart's prayer putteth me to shame;Let me return to whence I came.Thou for who love's sake didst reprove,Forgive me for the sake of love.'