English

2.

" Under the willow tree
All that can die of me
Perishing lies;
There, in green water-brakes
Royally — water-snakes
Feast on my eyes.
Then, if thou lov'st him, too;
If I to him am true,
Laid with the dead;
If — as the true should be —
Telma is lov'd by thee,
In her cold bed;
If all our acts are seeds —
If good and evil deeds
Never can die;
If what thou oft' hast told
Me of the prophets old,

1.

Lone darkness lit her lamps on high,
Star waking star o'er all the sky;
And Mercy from his throne divine
Watch'd over sleeping Etheline.
She slept, and with her slept
The baby on her breast.
Sleeping, she wept
In dreams, for Adwick — and his woes;
(Oh, if she lov'd another,
So sister loveth brother!)
And not from bless'd repose,
But sorrowful unrest,
She wak'd, to hear, around her ringing,
Sounds, sweet as of an angel singing,

19.

Then, weeping, started he,
And spake aloud to vacancy:
" Here again, thou King of Pain?
Me, thy God, dost thou defy?
Mocking still, thou strong in ill,
Sneerest thou, Mine Enemy?
Nought art thou, if not my slave.
Yet thou biggen'st, like the grave
To the sentenc'd felon's fears,
When the ghastly yerge he nears!

17.

" If I bid blind darkness sing
Hymns of brightness;
If I wield the thunder's wing,
Plum'd with brightness;
Shall my mercy fail to smite
Evil will?
Shall my justice fail to kill
Evil might? "

18.

Mad, yet conscious of his madness,
Long he paus'd — then spoke in sadness:
" Ere the eyes of midnight beam'd;
Ere red morning's banner stream'd;
Ere the sun began his race;
Silence, and the grave of death,

14.

He said, and vanish'd — not unheard,
As near huge Adwick's cave he pass'd,
And took his homeward way;
How like the climber of the blast,
The noiseless-wing'd, night-haunting bird,
That, hunger-stung, and balk'd of prey,
Flaps, in vext flight, the forest grey!

15.

" That was not the rous'd bear's tread, "
Frenzied Adwick, listening, said;
" Nor the pack'd wolf's crowding rush;

But ere he thence departed,
She rais'd her head, and started
His stricken form to see,
Stiff in its agony.
How like a pallid monument,
The work of skill omnipotent,
With cheeks of rock, and tresses rent,
And forest-brows, o'er paleness bent,
He stood, in silence pale!
Or redden'd, like the crimson glow
Of stormy morn o'er Stumperlow;
Or Kinder, when, far seen, he stands,
With lightnings flashing from his hands,
Unheard, through rain and hail!

Passion! thou to thyself art true,
And well dost all thou hast to do.
Adwick beheld the sweet surprise
With which she gaz'd on Konig's eyes,
In that poor infant's face.
He did not fail to trace
His rival's image there!
With fiery scowl
He stamp'd it on his soul.
With sullen stare,
He saw her kiss the foundling fair;
And in the blood of deathless pain,
Painted that picture on his brain.

She knew not what a change had come
O'er Adwick's mind and heart;
A cloud of grief and ire,

7.

Then, Adwick told, in mournful tone,
(While on her lap he laid
The rescu'd infant, still afraid,)
How, crossing o'er the lake,
He sav'd from death the little one;
" And well, " said he, " I knew,
If aught on earth were true,
That thou would'st love it — for my sake. "

8.

" A pretty tale, no doubt, I hear;
But why, " she said, with look austere,
" Must I my rival's bantling rear? "

9.

" Nay, " he replied, " no rival fear;

" What! come at last? " she said, and laugh'd,
Each word a seeming-spiteful shaft;
" Be seated, for I ne'er again
Expected here my truant swain. "

In haste, she strew'd her cottage floor
With rushes, to the open door;
Arrang'd the hearth, rous'd up the fire;
Swept both her stools, and dress'd them both
In covers of outlandish cloth,
The work of mind-rais'd men and times;
Brought by her grandsire's father's sire,
(A merchant, known in many climes,)
From Greece, his mother's grave.
And that lone maid remember'd well
Traditions (which she lov'd to tell,)
Of old Judea's sacred sod,
The altar of the living God;
Of lands where written speech was known;