Читать книгу The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 06 - Коллектив авторов, Ю. Д. Земенков, Koostaja: Ajakiri New Scientist - Страница 10

  The mother stood at the window;

    Her son lay in bed, alas!

  "Will you not get up, dear William,

    To see the procession pass?"

  "O mother, I am so ailing,

    I neither can hear nor see;

  I think of my poor dead Gretchen,

    And my heart grows faint in me."

  "Get up, we will go to Kevlaar;

    Your book and your rosary take;

  The Mother of God will heal you,

    And cure your heart of its ache."

  The Church's banners are waving,

    They are chanting a hymn divine;

  'Tis at Köln is that procession,

    At Köln upon the Rhine.

  With the throng the mother follows;

    Her son she leads with her; and now

  They both of them sing in the chorus,

    "Ever honored, O Mary, be thou!"

  The Mother of God at Kevlaar

    Is drest in her richest array;

  She has many a cure on hand there,

    Many sick folk come to her today.

  And her, for their votive offerings,

    The suffering sick folk greet

  With limbs that in wax are molded,

    Many waxen hands and feet.

  And whoso a wax hand offers,

    His hand is healed of its sore;

  And whoso a wax foot offers,

    His foot it will pain him no more.

  To Kevlaar went many on crutches

    Who now on the tight-rope bound,

  And many play now on the fiddle

    Had there not one finger sound.

  The mother she took a wax taper,

    And of it a heart she makes

  "Give that to the Mother of Jesus,

    She will cure thee of all thy aches."

  With a sigh her son took the wax heart,

    He went to the shrine with a sigh;

  His words from his heart trickle sadly,

    As trickle the tears from his eye.

  "Thou blest above all that are blest,

    Thou virgin unspotted divine,

  Thou Queen of the Heavens, before thee

    I lay all my anguish and pine.

  "I lived with my mother at Köln,

    At Köln in the town that is there,

  The town that has hundreds many

    Of chapels and churches fair.

  "And Gretchen she lived there near us,

  But now she is dead, well-a-day!

  O Mary! a wax heart I bring thee,

    Heal thou my heart's wound, I pray!

  "Heal thou my heart of its anguish,

    And early and late, I vow,

  With its whole strength to pray and to sing, too,

    'Ever honored, O Mary, be thou!'"

  The suffering son and his mother

    In their little bed-chamber slept;

  Then the Mother of God came softly,

    And close to the sleepers crept.

  She bent down over the sick one,

    And softly her hand did lay

  On his heart, with a smile so tender,

    And presently vanished away.

  The mother sees all in her dreaming,

    And other things too she marked;

  Then up from her slumber she wakened,

    So loudly the town dogs barked.

  There lay her son, to his full length

    Stretched out, and he was dead;

  And the light on his pale cheek flitted

    Of the morning's dawning red.

  She folded her hands together,

    She felt as she knew not how,

  And softly she sang and devoutly,

    "Ever honored, O Mary, be thou!"