Читать книгу Continental Monthly, Vol. III, No IV, April 1863 - Various - Страница 2

Bohemian Proverb.

And now I'll wrap my blanket o'er me,

And on the tavern floor I'll lie;

A double spirit-flask before me,

And watch the pipe clouds melting die.

They melt and die – but ever darken,

As night comes on and hides the day;

Till all is black; – then, brothers, hearken!

And if ye can, write down my lay!

In yon black loaf my knife is gleaming,

Like one long sail above the boat; —

– As once at Pesth I saw it beaming,

Half through a curst Croatian throat.

Now faster, faster whirls the ceiling,

And wilder, wilder turns my brain;

And still I'll drink – till, past all feeling,

The soul leaps forth to light again.

Whence come these white girls wreathing round me?

Baruska! – long I thought thee dead!

Kacenka! – when these arms last bound thee,

Thou laidst by Rajhrad cold as lead!

Now faster, faster whirls the ceiling,

And wilder, wilder turns my brain;

And from afar a star comes stealing,

Straight at me o'er the death-black plain.

Alas! – I sink – my spirits miss me,

I swim, I shoot from sky to shore!

Klarà! thou golden sister – kiss me!

I rise – I'm safe – I'm strong once more.

And faster, faster whirls the ceiling,

And wilder, wilder turns my brain;

The star! – it strikes my soul, revealing

All life and light to me again.

Against the waves fresh waves are dashing,

Above the breeze fresh breezes blow;

Through seas of light new light is flashing,

And with them all I float and flow.

But round me rings of fire are gleaming:

Pale rings of fire – wild eyes of death!

Why haunt me thus awake or dreaming?

Methought I left ye with my breath.

Aye glare and stare with life increasing,

And leech-like eyebrows arching in;

Be, if ye must, my fate unceasing,

But never hope a fear to win.

He who knows all may haunt the haunting,

He who fears nought hath conquered fate;

Who bears in silence quells the daunting,

And sees his spoiler desolate.

Oh wondrous eyes of star-like lustre,

How ye have changed to guardian love!

Alas! – where stars in myriads cluster

Ye vanish in the heaven above.

I hear two bells so softly singing:

How sweet their silver voices roll!

The one on yonder hill is ringing,

The other peals within my soul.

I hear two maidens gently talking,

Bohemian maidens fair to see;

The one on yonder hill is walking,

The other maiden – where is she?

Where is she? – when the moonlight glistens

O'er silent lake or murm'ring stream,

I hear her call my soul which listens:

'Oh! wake no more – come, love, and dream!'

She came to earth-earth's loveliest creature;

She died – and then was born once more;

Changed was her race, and changed each feature,

But oh! I loved her as before.

We live – but still, when night has bound us

In golden dreams too sweet to last,

A wondrous light-blue world around us,

She comes, the loved one of the Past.

I know not which I love the dearest,

For both my loves are still the same;

The living to my heart is nearest,

The dead love feeds the living flame.

And when the moon, its rose-wine quaffing

Which flows across the Eastern deep,

Awakes us, Klarà chides me laughing,

And says, 'We love too well in sleep!'

And though no more a Vojvod's daughter,

As when she lived on Earth before,

The love is still the same which sought her,

And she is true – what would you more?

Bright moonbeams on the sea are playing,

And starlight shines o'er vale and hill;

I should be gone – yet still delaying,

By thy loved side I linger still!

My gold is gone – my hopes have perished,

And nought remains save love for thee!

E'en that must fade, though once so cherished:

Farewell! – and think no more of me!

'Though gold be gone and hope departed,

And nought remain save love for me,

Thou ne'er shalt leave me broken-hearted,

For I will share my life with thee!

'Thou deem'st me but a wanton maiden,

The plaything of thy idle hours;

But laughing streams with gold are laden,

And sweets are hidden 'neath the flowers.

'E'en outcasts may have heart and feeling,

E'en such as I be fond and true;

And love, like light, in dungeons stealing,

Though bars be there, will still burst through.'