Читать книгу Poems and Ballads of Heinrich Heine - Heinrich Heine - Страница 9

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This is the old enchanted wood,

Sweet lime trees scent the wind;

The glamor of the moon has cast

A spell upon my mind.

Onward I walk, and as I walk—

Hark to that high, soft strain!

That is the nightingale, she sings,

Of love and of love's pain.

She sings of love and of love's pain,

Of laughter and of tears.

So plaintive her carol, so joyous her sobs,

I dream of forgotten years.

Onward I walk, and as I walk,

There stands before mine eyes

A castle proud on an open lawn,

Whose gables high uprise.

With casements closed, and everywhere

Sad silence in court and halls,

It seemed as though mute death abode

Within those barren walls.

Before the doorway crouched a sphinx,

Half horror and half grace;

With a lion's body, a lion's claws,

And a woman's breast and face.

A woman fair! The marble glance

Spake wild desire and guile.

The silent lips were proudly curled

In a confident, glad smile.

The nightingale, she sang so sweet,

I yielded to her tone.

I touched, I kissed the lovely face,

And lo, I was undone!

The marble image stirred with life,

The stone began to move;

She drank my fiery kisses' glow

With panting thirsty love.

She well nigh drank my breath away;

And, lustful still for more,

Embraced me, and my shrinking flesh

With lion claws she tore.

Oh, rapturous martyrdom! ravishing pain!

Oh, infinite anguish and bliss!

With her horrible talons she wounded me,

While she thrilled my soul with a kiss.

The nightingale sang: "Oh beautiful sphinx.

Oh love! what meaneth this?

That thou minglest still the pangs of death

With thy most peculiar bliss?

Thou beautiful Sphinx, oh solve for me

This riddle of joy and tears!

I have pondered it over again and again,

How many thousand years!"