A Dramatic Poem.
Dedicated to Baron De la Motte Fouque.
Balder.
This to thy welfare, my much honoured host!
Good faith! I have good cause to bless the storm
That drove me hither to this island-bay.
For such good fare beside a quiet hearth
Hath not for many a day my longing fed.
Richard.
No better can be found in fisher's hut.
Hast thou been pleased, much joy and praise is mine.
Most dear to me is such a noble guest,
That comes from the home-country in the north
From whence our ancestors once hither sailed,
Whereof so many things are told and sung.
Yet must I now acquaint thee, worthy sir,
Whoe'er doth enter here, however poor,
Is always asked to offer some small gift.
Balder.
My ship that yonder in the haven lies
Contains much curious ware of divers kinds,
That from the far Levant I hither brought.
Fruits golden-ripe, sweet wines, gay-coloured birds;
Good store of weapons too, the northmen's work,
Two-edged swords, rich harness, helms, and shields.
Richard.
Of such I spake not — thou hast missed my drift.
It is a custom in our Normandy,
Whoe'er hath to his hearth a guest received
Expects from him some tale or minstrel-lay,
And afterward requites him with the like.
E'en in my olden days I still hold dear
All worthy legends and time-honoured songs,
And therefore would I fain my claim enforce.
Balder.
A legend oft is sweet as Cyprus-wine,
Fragrant as choicest fruits, gay as are birds,
And many a hero-song of olden time
Sounds like the clash of sword and clang of shield,
And therefore was mine error none so large.
True, that in 'witching tales small skill is mine,
Yet gladly to the custom I accede.
Hear then what lately on a moon-lit night
A shipmate told me on the quarter deck.
Richard.
Fill up once more; thy health, my guest! Begin.
Balder.
Two northern earls for many a rolling year
Together had o'ersailed the tossing sea,
Together weathered many a fearful storm,
Endured hot combats both on sea and shore,
And many a time in the far South or East
Together rested on the blooming strand.
Now in their castles rested they at home,
Both deeply sunken in a kindred wo.
For each had lately followed to the vault
Where slept their ancestors, a wife beloved.
Yet unto each — e'en from their gloom of grief —
A sweet and fondly-cherished hope upsprung.
The one beheld a blooming, sprightly son,
The other watched with care a daughter dear.
And (their long lasting friendship's bond to crown
And found for it a long memorial)
They twain resolved, on some fair day to come,
These children to unite in holy bands;
And therefore bade they make two golden rings
Which — for they fitted not their fingers small —
Were hung about their necks with ribands gay.
A sapphire, azure as the maiden's eyes,
Was bravely mounted in the young earl's ring.
The other bore a stone all rosy-red,
The colour of the boy's fresh-blooming cheeks.
Richard.
A stone all rosy-red in ring of gold
Hung from the maiden's neck? Saidst thou not thus?
Balder.
'Twas as thou sayest — but of that no more.
Soon tall and slim the rosy youngster grew;
To manly pastimes was he early trained;
Soon managed well a slim and comely steed.
He need not ever — like his father — cross
The foaming ocean on advent'rous quest,
But only well defend with strong right hand
The widely spread domain, the castles high,
The joint inheritance of both the sires.
Meanwhile the future earl's young bride yet lay
Within the cradle in a darkened room,
By trusty waiting-women guarded well.
But on a genial day in early spring
The all-impatient child they gently bore
Down to the sunny, joyous ocean-marge,
And brought her playthings — flow'rs and glistening shells.
The sea, scarce rippled by a gentle air,
Mirrored the image of the glorious sun,
And cast upon the beach a trembling gleam.
A little skiff was fastened to the shore;
The women deck it round with reeds and flowers,
And lay therein their beauteous, smiling charge,
And push her from the shore, and draw her back.
The happy child laughs out, the women join;
But even as their laughter loudest rang,
The cord by which they drew her in their play
Fell loose; and when they marked it, not an arm
Could reach the little vessel from the shore.
All tranquil seemed the sea, all free from waves,
Yet washed the skiff still farther from the shore.
Still is the child's shrill laughter faintly heard;
The women gaze at her in wild despair,
Wringing their hands, and shrieking in their grief.
The boy, who but that moment had arrived,
Seeking his love, and o'er the verdant turf
That sloped towards the sea his course impelled,
Hearing the outcry, dashed upon the beach
And boldly urged his courser tow'rds the waves
In hopes to rescue yet the flow'r-decked skiff.
But when the courser felt the chilly flood,
He shivered, and in stubborn mood drew back,
Bearing his rider to the shore once more.
Meanwhile the skiff that bore the hapless child
Already from the creek had drifted forth,
And rising billows on the open main
Soon hid it from their sight.
Richard.
Poor child! poor child!
All holy angels have thee in their care!
Balder.
Soon to the father came the woful tale.
At once he bade each vessel, small and great,
Be quickly launched; himself the swiftest bore.
All vacant is the sea, the evening falls,
The breezes veer, the lowering tempest roars.
After a whole month's search they find at last
And homeward bring the empty, shattered skiff
With withered garlands decked —
Richard.
What troubles thee in speaking, worthy guest?
Thou falterest, thou sighest!
Balder.
I continue.
Since that mischance the boy would never more
Delight in horsemanship, as heretofore,
But rather loved to learn to swim, to dive,
Or hold the rudder with a careful hand.
And now, arrived to man's estate, and strong,
He from his father craved a fleet of ships.
No charm to hold him back the shore had now;
No maid awaits him at the castle's gate;
He seems affianced to the boist'rous sea,
Wherein the maiden and the ring had sunk.
He bade his own swift ship be strangely decked
With purple sails and figure-head of gold,
Like one who o'er the ocean bears his bride.
Richard.
Decked like thine own below there in the bay,
Was't not, my worthy seaman?
Balder.
If thou wilt.
And in that bridal-ship, thus strangely decked,
Oft hath he weathered many a fearful storm.
When to the thunder's peal and tempest's howl
The billows leap, rare bridal-dance is that!
Full many a battle hath he fought by sea,
And therefore in the north is far renowned.
Men gave to him at length a special name;
For when, with lifted sword, he sternly leaps
Upon a boarded ship, then all exclaim —
" Destroy us not, thou Bridegroom of the Sea! "
Here ends my tale.
Richard.
Receive my heartiest thanks.
Most strangely hath it moved mine aged heart.
And yet, methinks, it seems to want an end.
Who knoweth if the child was really drowned?
Perchance some foreign vessel passed hard by
And quickly caught on board the luckless child,
But on the ocean left the leaking skiff?
Perchance upon some island — like to ours —
Well might the gentle girl be set ashore,
By pious hands be carefully reared up,
And now have blossomed to a beauteous maid?
Balder.
It seems thou knowest well how tales should run;
Then let me list to thine, if such thy will.
Richard.
In days of yore full many a tale I knew
Of our old heroes and our former dukes;
And specially of Richard, Fearless named,
Who saw by night as clearly as by day;
Who wont to ride all night thro' lonely woods,
And many a combat dire with spectres waged.
But now is my remembrance weak with eld;
All things within my mind are dimly blent.
And therefore let yon maiden take my place,
Who sits so silent and abstracted there,
And by the lamp-light dim strong nets entwines.
She many a moving song hath duly learnt,
And hath a voice as sweet as nightingale's.
Thorilda! fear not thou the stranger-guest.
Sing us the ballad of the " Maid and Ring " ,
Which from an ancient bard thou once didst learn.
A pleasant song — a song I know thou lov'st.
Thorilda sings.
A fair and gentle maiden
Sat by the tranquil sea;
For weary hours she angled,
No fish enticed would be.
A Ring upon her finger
With rosy stone hath she;
Upon the hook she bound it,
And cast it in the sea.
A hand, from depths undreamt of,
Rose — fair as ivory;
Soon on a shapely finger
The ring shone radiantly.
A knight — young, handsome, gallant —
Then issued from the sea;
Rich scales of golden armour,
That brightly gleamed, had he.
" Nay, noble knight, have pity " —
In terror faltered she;
" My golden ring relinquish,
I angled not for thee! "
" Men angle not for fishes
With gold or trinketrie;
The ring I'll ne'er relinquish,
Mine own thou hence must be! "
Balder.
What do I hear — a strange entrancing song?
What do I see — an angel countenance
That, sweetly blushing, peers from golden locks,
Reminding me of childhood's earliest days?
Ha! on her right hand gleams the golden ring,
The rosy gem! My long-lost bride art thou!
And I the " Bridegroom of the Sea " am named.
Here is the sapphire, azure as thine eyes,
And yonder lies prepared our bridal-ship!
Richard.
So much I long have guessed, my warrior brave!
Yea! clasp her close — my favourite foster-child —
See how she clingeth to thy stalwart arm!
Thou claspest to thy breast a faithful heart.
But mark, how thou art taken in the net
Which my industrious child for thee entwined!
Dedicated to Baron De la Motte Fouque.
Balder.
This to thy welfare, my much honoured host!
Good faith! I have good cause to bless the storm
That drove me hither to this island-bay.
For such good fare beside a quiet hearth
Hath not for many a day my longing fed.
Richard.
No better can be found in fisher's hut.
Hast thou been pleased, much joy and praise is mine.
Most dear to me is such a noble guest,
That comes from the home-country in the north
From whence our ancestors once hither sailed,
Whereof so many things are told and sung.
Yet must I now acquaint thee, worthy sir,
Whoe'er doth enter here, however poor,
Is always asked to offer some small gift.
Balder.
My ship that yonder in the haven lies
Contains much curious ware of divers kinds,
That from the far Levant I hither brought.
Fruits golden-ripe, sweet wines, gay-coloured birds;
Good store of weapons too, the northmen's work,
Two-edged swords, rich harness, helms, and shields.
Richard.
Of such I spake not — thou hast missed my drift.
It is a custom in our Normandy,
Whoe'er hath to his hearth a guest received
Expects from him some tale or minstrel-lay,
And afterward requites him with the like.
E'en in my olden days I still hold dear
All worthy legends and time-honoured songs,
And therefore would I fain my claim enforce.
Balder.
A legend oft is sweet as Cyprus-wine,
Fragrant as choicest fruits, gay as are birds,
And many a hero-song of olden time
Sounds like the clash of sword and clang of shield,
And therefore was mine error none so large.
True, that in 'witching tales small skill is mine,
Yet gladly to the custom I accede.
Hear then what lately on a moon-lit night
A shipmate told me on the quarter deck.
Richard.
Fill up once more; thy health, my guest! Begin.
Balder.
Two northern earls for many a rolling year
Together had o'ersailed the tossing sea,
Together weathered many a fearful storm,
Endured hot combats both on sea and shore,
And many a time in the far South or East
Together rested on the blooming strand.
Now in their castles rested they at home,
Both deeply sunken in a kindred wo.
For each had lately followed to the vault
Where slept their ancestors, a wife beloved.
Yet unto each — e'en from their gloom of grief —
A sweet and fondly-cherished hope upsprung.
The one beheld a blooming, sprightly son,
The other watched with care a daughter dear.
And (their long lasting friendship's bond to crown
And found for it a long memorial)
They twain resolved, on some fair day to come,
These children to unite in holy bands;
And therefore bade they make two golden rings
Which — for they fitted not their fingers small —
Were hung about their necks with ribands gay.
A sapphire, azure as the maiden's eyes,
Was bravely mounted in the young earl's ring.
The other bore a stone all rosy-red,
The colour of the boy's fresh-blooming cheeks.
Richard.
A stone all rosy-red in ring of gold
Hung from the maiden's neck? Saidst thou not thus?
Balder.
'Twas as thou sayest — but of that no more.
Soon tall and slim the rosy youngster grew;
To manly pastimes was he early trained;
Soon managed well a slim and comely steed.
He need not ever — like his father — cross
The foaming ocean on advent'rous quest,
But only well defend with strong right hand
The widely spread domain, the castles high,
The joint inheritance of both the sires.
Meanwhile the future earl's young bride yet lay
Within the cradle in a darkened room,
By trusty waiting-women guarded well.
But on a genial day in early spring
The all-impatient child they gently bore
Down to the sunny, joyous ocean-marge,
And brought her playthings — flow'rs and glistening shells.
The sea, scarce rippled by a gentle air,
Mirrored the image of the glorious sun,
And cast upon the beach a trembling gleam.
A little skiff was fastened to the shore;
The women deck it round with reeds and flowers,
And lay therein their beauteous, smiling charge,
And push her from the shore, and draw her back.
The happy child laughs out, the women join;
But even as their laughter loudest rang,
The cord by which they drew her in their play
Fell loose; and when they marked it, not an arm
Could reach the little vessel from the shore.
All tranquil seemed the sea, all free from waves,
Yet washed the skiff still farther from the shore.
Still is the child's shrill laughter faintly heard;
The women gaze at her in wild despair,
Wringing their hands, and shrieking in their grief.
The boy, who but that moment had arrived,
Seeking his love, and o'er the verdant turf
That sloped towards the sea his course impelled,
Hearing the outcry, dashed upon the beach
And boldly urged his courser tow'rds the waves
In hopes to rescue yet the flow'r-decked skiff.
But when the courser felt the chilly flood,
He shivered, and in stubborn mood drew back,
Bearing his rider to the shore once more.
Meanwhile the skiff that bore the hapless child
Already from the creek had drifted forth,
And rising billows on the open main
Soon hid it from their sight.
Richard.
Poor child! poor child!
All holy angels have thee in their care!
Balder.
Soon to the father came the woful tale.
At once he bade each vessel, small and great,
Be quickly launched; himself the swiftest bore.
All vacant is the sea, the evening falls,
The breezes veer, the lowering tempest roars.
After a whole month's search they find at last
And homeward bring the empty, shattered skiff
With withered garlands decked —
Richard.
What troubles thee in speaking, worthy guest?
Thou falterest, thou sighest!
Balder.
I continue.
Since that mischance the boy would never more
Delight in horsemanship, as heretofore,
But rather loved to learn to swim, to dive,
Or hold the rudder with a careful hand.
And now, arrived to man's estate, and strong,
He from his father craved a fleet of ships.
No charm to hold him back the shore had now;
No maid awaits him at the castle's gate;
He seems affianced to the boist'rous sea,
Wherein the maiden and the ring had sunk.
He bade his own swift ship be strangely decked
With purple sails and figure-head of gold,
Like one who o'er the ocean bears his bride.
Richard.
Decked like thine own below there in the bay,
Was't not, my worthy seaman?
Balder.
If thou wilt.
And in that bridal-ship, thus strangely decked,
Oft hath he weathered many a fearful storm.
When to the thunder's peal and tempest's howl
The billows leap, rare bridal-dance is that!
Full many a battle hath he fought by sea,
And therefore in the north is far renowned.
Men gave to him at length a special name;
For when, with lifted sword, he sternly leaps
Upon a boarded ship, then all exclaim —
" Destroy us not, thou Bridegroom of the Sea! "
Here ends my tale.
Richard.
Receive my heartiest thanks.
Most strangely hath it moved mine aged heart.
And yet, methinks, it seems to want an end.
Who knoweth if the child was really drowned?
Perchance some foreign vessel passed hard by
And quickly caught on board the luckless child,
But on the ocean left the leaking skiff?
Perchance upon some island — like to ours —
Well might the gentle girl be set ashore,
By pious hands be carefully reared up,
And now have blossomed to a beauteous maid?
Balder.
It seems thou knowest well how tales should run;
Then let me list to thine, if such thy will.
Richard.
In days of yore full many a tale I knew
Of our old heroes and our former dukes;
And specially of Richard, Fearless named,
Who saw by night as clearly as by day;
Who wont to ride all night thro' lonely woods,
And many a combat dire with spectres waged.
But now is my remembrance weak with eld;
All things within my mind are dimly blent.
And therefore let yon maiden take my place,
Who sits so silent and abstracted there,
And by the lamp-light dim strong nets entwines.
She many a moving song hath duly learnt,
And hath a voice as sweet as nightingale's.
Thorilda! fear not thou the stranger-guest.
Sing us the ballad of the " Maid and Ring " ,
Which from an ancient bard thou once didst learn.
A pleasant song — a song I know thou lov'st.
Thorilda sings.
A fair and gentle maiden
Sat by the tranquil sea;
For weary hours she angled,
No fish enticed would be.
A Ring upon her finger
With rosy stone hath she;
Upon the hook she bound it,
And cast it in the sea.
A hand, from depths undreamt of,
Rose — fair as ivory;
Soon on a shapely finger
The ring shone radiantly.
A knight — young, handsome, gallant —
Then issued from the sea;
Rich scales of golden armour,
That brightly gleamed, had he.
" Nay, noble knight, have pity " —
In terror faltered she;
" My golden ring relinquish,
I angled not for thee! "
" Men angle not for fishes
With gold or trinketrie;
The ring I'll ne'er relinquish,
Mine own thou hence must be! "
Balder.
What do I hear — a strange entrancing song?
What do I see — an angel countenance
That, sweetly blushing, peers from golden locks,
Reminding me of childhood's earliest days?
Ha! on her right hand gleams the golden ring,
The rosy gem! My long-lost bride art thou!
And I the " Bridegroom of the Sea " am named.
Here is the sapphire, azure as thine eyes,
And yonder lies prepared our bridal-ship!
Richard.
So much I long have guessed, my warrior brave!
Yea! clasp her close — my favourite foster-child —
See how she clingeth to thy stalwart arm!
Thou claspest to thy breast a faithful heart.
But mark, how thou art taken in the net
Which my industrious child for thee entwined!
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