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Late evening, on the first of May—
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The twilit May—the time of love.
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Meltingly called the turtle-dove,
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Where rich and sweet pinewoods lay.
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Whispered of love the mosses frail,
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The flowering tree as sweetly lied,
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The rose's fragrant sigh replied
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To love-songs of the nightingale.
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In shadowy woods the burnished lake
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Darkly complained a secret pain,
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By circling shores embraced again;
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And heaven's clear sun leaned down to take
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A road astray in azure deeps,
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Like burning tears the lover weeps.
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A haze of stars in heaven hovers—
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That church of endless love's communion—
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Each jewel blanches and recovers
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As blanch and burn long-parted lovers
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In the high rapture of reunion.
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How clear, to her full beauty grown,
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How pale, how clear, the moon above,
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Like maiden seeking for her love,
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A rosy halo round her thrown!
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Her mirrored image she espied,
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And of self-love, beholding, died.
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Forth from the farms pale shadows strayed,
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Lengthening longing to their kind,
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Till they embraced, and close entwined,
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Coiled low into the lap of shade,
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Grown all one twilight unity.
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Tree in the shadows writhes to tree.
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In the far mountains' dark confine
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Pine leans to birch and birch to pine.
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Wave baunting wave the streamlets move.
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For love's sake—in the time of love—
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Anguished goes every living thing.
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A fair girl at the rim of land
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Watches the evening's rosy phases;
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Under the oak-tree by the strand
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Far out across the lakes she gazes.
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Blue to her feet it coils and glimmers,
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And green beyond, and greener, sleeps,
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Till in the distances and deeps
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In clear, pale light all melts and shimmers.
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Over the wide and watery plain
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The girl has fixed her weary gaze;
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Over the wide and watery plain
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Only the glint of starlight plays.
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A lovely girl, an angel ravaged,
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A bud that April winds have savaged,
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In her pale cheeks doomed beauty hastens.
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One hour has swallowed up her morrow,
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One hour her promise chills and chastens,
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Marries her May to grief and sorrow.
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Of twenty days the last has died;
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Still dreams the quiet countryside.
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The last light hastens to its close,
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And heaven, like a great, clear rose,
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Over the deep blue mountains flushes.
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“He comes not! Ah, such anguish takes me!
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Another spoiled, and he forsakes me!”
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A heavy sigh her sad voice bushes,
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Her aching heart burns in her breast,
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And with the water's plaint unsleeping
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Mingles the note of bitter weeping.
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Snared in her tears the stars find rest,
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Down her pale cheeks like bright sparks flowing
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Till like quenched stars they burn to shades there,
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On her cold countenance briefly glowing.
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And where they fall, the blossom fades there.
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At the rock's rim she glimmers whitely;
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A silken standard flies her gown,
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In evening zephyrs fluttering lightly.
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Her eyes on distance fix and frown—
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In haste she dries her blinding tears,
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Beneath her shading hand she peers,
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And on the distant shore she fastens,
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Where in the hills the lake creeps hiding;
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Over the waves live sparks go gliding,
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Star after watery starlet bastens.
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Even as snow-white virgin doves
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Against dark wastes of cloud in flight,
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On water-lily flowering white
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On deepest blue—so something moves—
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Where in the hills the lake creeps hiding—
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Over the dark waves nearer gliding,
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Nearer in haste. A moment proves
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Now as the stork's grave flight it looms,
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No dove so flies nor lily blooms,
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But a white sail rocked by hasting breezes.
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A slender oar the blue wave teases,
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With flaming furrows the surface bazing.
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The golden rose of heaven's hold,
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High in the mountain oakwoods blazing,
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Gilds the ripples with rosy gold.
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“Swift litlle boat! Near, nearer bounding!
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'Tis be! 'Tis be! Those plumes bright beaming,
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The hat, the eyes beneath it gleaming—
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His cloak—” The boat in the beach is grounding.
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Over the rocks his light step rings,
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By a known path he climbs and closes.
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The girl's pale face flowers into roses;
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From the tree's shade in wild hope flying
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She runs, high-calling, runs and springs,
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And on the rower's breast she's lying-
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“Alas, my heart!: The moonlight shows
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In its full flood a face she knows.
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Her pounding blood to terror knells her.
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In low grim tone the boatman tells her,
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“Above the night the forests make
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Rises a tower, its image white
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Deep in the lake's heart drowned from sight;
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But deeper, see, at the water's rim,
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From a little window a lantern's gleam;
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This night to vigil Vilem is giving:
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Tomorrow sets him free from living.
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His heavy guilt and yours he carries:
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Deep your seducer's blood has stained him,
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That stroke a parricide arraigned him.
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Still, still revenge the avenger barries!
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A felon's death! Peace to him bring,
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Lord, when that face, the rose outshining,
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In its high place stands withering,
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And in the wheel his limbs are twining!
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So dies the dreaded Forest King!
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Bear for his guilt, and your own shame,
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My bitter curse, and the world's blame!”
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He turns. His voice to silence falls;
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Down he climbs through the rocky walls,
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Outward his boat goes gliding.
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Swift as the stork's flight, beating fast,
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Dwindling, dwindling, a lily at last,
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Over the lake in the mountains hiding.
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Hushed are the waters, dark, forlorn,
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In deep dusk all things crouch to cover.
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A white dress gleams on the waves that mourn
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Over her: “Jarmila!” like a lover,
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And the woods sigh: “Jarmila!” over and over.
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Late evening, on the first of May—
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The twilit May-the time of love.
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To dalliance woos the turtle-dove:
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“Jarmila! Jarmila!! Jarmila!!!”
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Out of heaven a star falls questing,
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Dying through the wastes of space,
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Endlessly it falls unresting
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Through its endless resting-place;
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From the unbounded grave wild crying
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Beats at heaven with bitter breath.
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“Is there then no end of dying?”
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Nowhere—never an end of death.
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Around the white tower breezes shiver,
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Beneath, the whispering wavelets quiver.
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On the blanched walls in silver glance
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The argent moon sheds radiance.
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But deep within the tower is darkness only,
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For the clear moon's pale wealth of light
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Through narrow window into the cell gropes lonely,
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And dims into the assault of night.
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Column by column the sombre vault's recesses
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Melt into darkness. The entering wind sighing
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Circles the cell like murdered felons crying,
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And stirs the prisoner's tresses.
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Beside a table hewn of stone,
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His head upon his hands inclining
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Half-sits, half-kneels this wretched one,
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To deeps of thought his soul resigning.
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As clouds the moon's face veil and cover,
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He draws their web his spirit over;
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Thought into thought flows undesigning.
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“Deep night, now in your veiling hold
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My native village you enfold,
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And friends weep for my end there.
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Weep?—and for me? A dream outworn!
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Long since I have no friend there.
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The first gleam of tommorow's morn
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Over her forest breaking,
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Will send me to my death forlorn,
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And gild, as when her child was born,
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Her merry, mild awaking.”
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Silent he falls; but through the night,
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About the high vault flying,
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Far, far his voice goes sighing,
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Till as with horror frozen in flight
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At the cell's end it chills there,
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And into darkness stills there.
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The silence in the darkness grieving
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Calls back to heart the days departed;
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Again in waking dreams he's living
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The long-lost life of a boy light-hearted.
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Remembrance of green years and kind
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Brings back a young man's dreams to mind;
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The prisoner's eyes with tears are flowing,
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And in his heart a great pain growing—
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A lost world how shall the seeker find?
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Mountain on mountain westward presses
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Beyond the lake high-piled
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And there in the pinewoods' sweet recesses,
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He dreams himself once more a child.
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Early thrust from his father's care,
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Bred up by brigands in strifes and stresses,
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Last to their leader fallen heir,
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Gallant and daring they acclaim him.
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Known to all men, thus all men name him,
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Lord of the Woods, a name of fear.
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Till the love of a broken rose inflames him;
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His hand, to bitter vengeance straying,
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Seeks the seducer, strikes him, claims him,
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His stranger father strangely slaying.
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Wherefore a prisoner he lies,
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Doomed to the wheel's embrace that kills;
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Lord of the Woods, at dawn he dies,
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At the first kindling of the hills.
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Now at a table hewn of stone,
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His head upon his hands reposing,
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Half-sits, half-kneels this wretched one,
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The abyss of thought his soul enclosing:
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As clouds the moon's face veil and cover,
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He draws their web his spirit over,
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Thought evermore new thought disclosing.
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“He, sire and foe!-I, death and seed!
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And he my love's betrayer!
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I knew him not! My fearful deed
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recoiled and slew the slayer.
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Why was I banished from his sight
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The lawless woods to barry?
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Whose crime does the dawn's death requite?
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Whose guilt is this I carry?
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Not mine! ab, surely I was bent
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A mute, unwitting instrument
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God's judgment to deliver.
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Not mine the deed! Why, then, ah, why
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Out to this hideous death go I
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So soon-and, ah, for ever?
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Soon, and for ever! Endless—death—”
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For horror fails the prisoner's breath,
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Echoing from the dungeon wall;
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The voiceless shadow of the night
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In iron grip shuts sound and sight.
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A new dream holds his mind in thrall.
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“Ah, she, my saint, my rose embowered!
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Why lost ere ever she was found?
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Why at my father's hands deflowered?
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Accursed I!—” Deep anguish drowned
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The struggling words. With sudden sound
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Of clamorous chains he springs upright,
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And from the little window strains
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Over the waves his tortured sight.
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Cloud veils the moon, and shadow reigns
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Over the earth, but no shade mars
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The zenith glittering with stars;
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With points of fire the lake they stain,
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That flash and fade in waters hollow.
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Their glimmering flight his fixed eyes follow,
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And all his heart is wrenched with pain.
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“How fair the world! How rich the night!
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Silver and shade agreeing!
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Ah, tomorrow shuts my dying sight
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On all the bliss of seeing!
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And as grey cloud across the skies
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Far, far and wide goes flying,
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So—” Down he sinks, his hungering eyes
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Torn from the scene, his chains' harsh cries
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Soon into silence dying.
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A monstrous bird's extended wing,
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From peak to peak the cloud is driven,
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Under one vast pall gathering
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In blackest marriage earth and heaven.
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Hark! from the high hills lost to sight
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A poignant voice is trilling,
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A forest piper of the night,
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The song of heaven distilling.
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To all things which bave wakeful lain
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It charms down sleep's completeness;
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The prisoner in his mortal pain
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Finds Lethe in its sweetness.
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“How beautiful, dear voice, the song
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On the night's breast you're flinging!
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But one more night-ah, God, not long!-
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And deaf to your enchanted tongue,
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No more I'll hear such singing.”
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Again be sings-the clank of chains
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Rings through the cell, despairing-
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Deep silence. Once again the pains
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Of death his heart are tearing,
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And fading far the voice complains
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An anguish beyond bearing.
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“Time yet to come? Tomorrow's day?
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Still, still some dream will time repay,
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Or sleep too deep for dreaming?
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Perhaps this life which here I live
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Is but a sleep, and dawn will give
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Only another seeming?
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Or that best rose, long longed-for here,
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That fruit the wide earth did not bear,
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Will dawn and death disclose?
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Who knows?—Ah, no one knows!”
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Silence again. The hush of night
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On all the earth is draped there.
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Quenched is the moon's benignant light,
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Quenched are the stars, and all around
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Is purest darkness, black, profound,
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As if the grave's mouth gaped there.
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No winds blow more, nor waves complain,
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Nor even the far, sweet pipe of pain,
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And in the bosom in the cell
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Dead silence, utter darkness dwell.
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“How deep the night-how dark the night!
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On me a darker closes—
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Away, thought!” Panic shuts from sight
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The grave his thought discloses.
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Deep silence. From the streaming wall
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Flows down a small, slow river,
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And echoing drops the silence fret;
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Through the long cell their hollow fall,
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Measuring night's moments of regret,
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Chimes—ceases—chimes and ceases ever,
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Chimes—ceases—chimes and ceases yet.
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“How long the night—how long the night!
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On me a longer closes—
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Away, thought!” Horror shuts from sight
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The grave his thought discloses.
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Deep silence. Once again the chime
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Of slow drops falling metes out time.
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“A darker night! Here in the womb
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Of veriest midnight shines some beam
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Of moon or star—there—hideous gloom,
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There never—never—never a gleam,
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Only the dark for ever.
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All's one there, without part-they send
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no hours, no moments to befriend,
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Night fails not, never dawns the day,
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For there time passes never.
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There never—never—never an end!
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From death that passes not away
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Who shall my soul deliver?
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“There utter emptiness, beneath,
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Around, above, the void of death,
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Quenching all live's endeavour.
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Unending silence—never a sound—
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Unending space, night, time, surround
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The dead mind dreaming on decay—
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Mere nothingness—for ever!
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And I to nothing—but one more day,
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And I to nothing am cast away—”
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He faints, he falls aquiver.
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Lightly the waves at play come springing
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Under the tower, their small spray flying,
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Ever a gentle murmur bringing,
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A cradle-song for captive singing,
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Who in a deep half-death is lying.
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The fearful clash of chains awakes
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The guard, who with his lamp comes hasting;
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So light a step, it scarcely breaks
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The prisoner's trance of dread unresting.
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Pillar to pillar the lantern bright
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Puts forth its little gleaming:
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Still paler, paler grows its light,
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Till fails at last the exhausted spark,
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And absolute and moveless dark
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On all beyond lies dreaming.
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But still the prisoner's eyes, adaze
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As if night shrouded still their gaze,
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Strain forward, nothing seeing,
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Althought the lantern's reddening ray
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Lights his wan face, and drives away
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The timid shadows fleeing.
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Beside the table hewn of stone,
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His head upon his hands inclining,
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Half-sits, half-kneels the wredched one,
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To sick despair his soul resigning;
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And the faint whispering of his breath
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Tells forth tormenting dreams of death.
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“Alas, my soul-Alas, my love-”
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Single and slow the sad words move
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Out of his shut lips sighing.
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Scarcely they reach the straining ear
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When, newly born in pain and fear,
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Already they are dying.
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The gaoler's light before him goes,
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And on the prisoner's face it glows.
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The prisoner's face—ah, dread and pain!—
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His fixed eyes glare in wild distress
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After an end of endlessness,
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Tears, sweat and blood his pallor stain,
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For speech his lips contend in vain.
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The frightened gaoler stoops to snare
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The thread of utterance from the air,
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Lighter than lightest breeze he hears
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The prisoner's tale of blood and tears.
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Lower he leans, and closer yet
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To the wan mouth his ear is set,
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Hard on the labouring lips now leaning,
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Till fainting, fainting, they forget
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Speech, as if sleep came unawares.
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Still stands the guard in dreadful dreaming,
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Like bees in swarm his tears come teeming,
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Sorrow his heart within him sears.
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Long he stands frozen there aghast,
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Till thrusting off his helpless fears,
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Out of the cell he flies in haste.
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Long as he lived, he told no word
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Of what his ears this night had heard:
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Rather his whole life through thereafter
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His pale lips said farewell to laughter.
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The guard is fled, fast-closed the door.
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Deep darkness shrouds the cell once more;
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And through the night once more the chime
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Of slow drops falling metes out time.
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Beside the table hewn of stone
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Half-sits, half-kneels Vilem alone;
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His face a sight for fear and pain,
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With fixed eyes staring in distress
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After an end of endlessness—
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Tears, sweat and blood his pallor stain.
419
Incessantly the watery chime
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Of slow drops falling metes out time,
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And wind and wawes as one complain;
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To Vilem's ear of death they tell.
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He faints beneath the thought appalling.
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Far through the night an owl is calling,
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And louder beats the midnight bell.
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Midnight (a lonely place in the countryside)
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In the wide plains sleeps sound the pale moon's argent light,
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Darkness is on the hills, the lake with stars is bright.
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A hillock by the lake-shore rises,
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A stake thereon, a wheel raised lightly,
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Whereon a bleached skull glistens whitely,
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While ghostly rout a dance devises,
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About the high wheel revelling rightly.
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“Silent the midnight graveyard lies;
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Through the graves the marshlight flies,
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Its dead blue radiance lights the head
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Of the newly-buried dead,
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Who, while his fellows sleep, stands guard,
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Last of the sepulchred, dead today,
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Beside his own cross keeping ward.
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A grey cloud in the zenith stays,
444
No moon beneath it but the ray
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Of the dead man's glassy gaze,
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And through half-open lips beneath
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The glitter of his gnashing teeth.”
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“This is the hour! The place prepare!
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Lord of the Woods, the lord of fear,
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Is one with us at dawn of day.”
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Chorus of Phantoms (lifting down the skull)
453
“From death's dim threshold come away,
454
Inherit life - a voice receive.
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Be one among us, know us well,
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No more be doomed alone to dwell.
457
Another must your place achieve.”
458
The Skull (joining in their dance)
459
“How my limbs long to join again
460
In one whole creature, only one!
461
What is this rout of terror and pain?
462
My newest dream - I still dream on!”
464
“His place of honour ready see!
465
When tomorrow's course is o'er
466
The storm shall bear us here once more.
467
Glorious may his burial be!”
469
“His place of honour ready see!
470
When tomorrow's course is o'er
471
The storm shall bear us here once more.
472
Glorious may his burial be!”
474
Fly, voice, across the fields with power!
475
At midnight is the funeral hour.
476
His votive gift let each make known!
478
“I'll be the coffin to his repose.”
480
“The burial anthem we'll intone.”
482
“The gale funeral music knows.”
483
The Moon in the Zenith
484
“I'll cover him with snow-white pall.”
485
Mist on the Mountains
486
“With veils I'll drape his funeral.”
488
“I'll give black weeds to mourn the dead.”
489
The Hills Standing Round
490
“Give veils and garments to us all.”
492
“And I will give you tears to shed.”
494
“I'll incense with sweet smoke his head.”
496
“With rain will I asperge his bed.”
498
“I will weave garlands for his bier.”
500
“We'll bear them to the coffin lightly.”
502
“Our tiny candles shall burn up brightly.”
503
Thunder out of the Depths
504
“I'll wake the great bell's hollow tone.”
505
The Mole under the Earth
506
“I'll dig his grave, I, lowly here.”
508
“Over his bones a tomb I'll rear.”
509
Flocks of Night-Birds Crossing the Moon
510
“We'll make the funeral feast our own.”
512
“All honour to his grave we pay!
513
The moon pales in the heaven's heart,
514
The gates of morning draw apart—
515
It is day! It is day!”
516
Chorus of Phantoms (as they vanish)
517
“It is day! It is Day!”
519
Over the dark hills rosy day
520
Arises, the May valley wakes;
521
Above the woods, as morning breaks,
522
Like mist lies long the dream of May.
523
Out of the forests bluely lifting
524
Faint vapours climb the rose-flushed sky,
525
And on the lake more bluely drifting
526
In delicate colours melt and die;
527
And on the shore, and in the shadow
528
Of hills and valleys flowering,
529
Shine out white courts through wood and meadow,
530
Waking; till like a mighty king—
531
Colossal as the shade of night
532
Against thwe heaven's rosy light—
533
The highest peak stands towering.
534
But now the sun his first red blessing gives
535
Over the blue, dark hills, and by that token
536
Suddenly all the spell of dreams is broken,
537
And joy possesses everything that lives.
538
Whitely the lake's green glass the flight of birds receives,
539
And fleets of little craft, and small, swift-rowing shallops,
540
Pattern the dim blue waves with glancing, fiery scallops.
541
Murmurous by the shore the pinewoods greet the day,
542
Sweet with the song of birds, the thrush's shower of pearls,
543
And mingling with their psalm the mirth of straying girls,
544
As all that lives draws breath to praise the youthful May.
545
The morning wind, like song, through the green valley blowing,
546
Bears on its incensed breath a sweet white foam of flowers,
547
And wild geese ride its flight above the forest bowers,
548
And to its touch young trees unfold their eager growing.
549
One scene, and only one, the fair young morn defaces,
550
Where to the wide lake's heart a narrow isle goes straying,
551
Bearing the little town, and the white tower, whose shade
552
Deep in the waters green in quiveringly laid.
553
Here wakes a clamorous cry, babel of human baying,
554
As from the gates of the town the hungry man-pack races.
555
From far the people haste, a swift stream rushing by,
556
And ever swells the food, a river strongly rolling,
557
A mighty multitude, its voice to thunder tolling;
558
The unhappy felon comes, led forth at dawn to die.
559
Now from the little town a troop of guards comes swinging,
560
In slow and sombre march the hapless prisoner bringing,
561
Whose old, proud habit soon the eager watchers spy.
562
The clamour stills around—a hush falls on the crowd—
563
Till babel bursts anew, with many a cry and loud:
564
“Tis he! The flowers, the plumes he's wearing,
565
The hat, the eye beneath it glaring—
566
His very cloak—'Tis he,'tis he! The dreaded Forest King!”
567
About him beats the cry, his old name echoing;
568
And louder still it rings, as thundering waters clear,
569
As with a heavy step the criminal draws near.
570
Round him darkens the throng—like heavy clouds in heaven—
571
A sword flames from the dark—as heaven's lightnings flare;
572
Slowly the doomed man goes, his gaze to earth is given.
573
The town bell tolls; the crowd pities and falls to prayer.
574
There stahd a little mound, on the lake-shore leaning lightly,
575
A long stake raised thereon, a wheel above it rearing,
576
A steep hill looms above, twin peaks its summit sharing,
577
And on the higher point a chapel gleaming whitely.
578
In sombre march thereto company is come;
579
Now all men move aside—the felon stands alone.
580
A last time led forth here, still he beholds his own,
581
The dark, deep-breasted hills which were his early home,
582
Where the lost coin was spent, the golden childhood days.
583
Yet once more, only once, in the rosy dawning light,
584
Let forth to the hills, a shade before the chapel white,
585
To the lord of heaven and earth his reverence he pays.
586
And deep compassion folds its hands on every heart.
587
His grief their grief inflames, they suffer his despair,
588
Fixing their eyes through tears on the summit where he stands
589
Adoring the fair earth well-fashioned at God's hands,
590
A murderer praising God in the humbled hush of prayer.
591
The rising sun with ruddy grace
592
Flushes the prisoner's pallid face;
593
His eyes, through mists of weeping,
594
A last love-tryst are keeping.
595
Beneath him deep the lovely vale
596
Dreams in its rugged mountain pale,
597
By forests circled greenly.
598
The lucid lake serenely
599
Nursed in the flowering valley drowses.
600
Blue to the shore it coils and glimmers,
601
And green beyond, and greener, sleeps,
602
Till in the distances and deeps
603
In clear, pale light all melts and shimmers.
604
About the wheel the white farmhouses
605
Dimpling the sunlit lake-shore lie.
606
Across the mirroring waters fast
607
Flocks of white birds and small boats fly,
608
Till bluely hides the lake at last,
609
Far in the hills retreating.
610
And white craft in the scalloped beaches—
611
The tower-the town-the white birds' flight—
612
Hillocks and shadowy mountain reaches—
613
Gaze on that mirror with delight,
614
Their deep-drowned beauty greeting.
615
Rocks are piled heavy on that far shore
616
Where flowering land and lake are meeting,
617
And there an oak-tree old and hoar
618
Roots in the rocks-once, once the dove
619
Called there deliciously to love—
620
Oh, fair lost hour and fleeting!
621
Never again! The mound is nearing,
622
The column an the wheel appearing.
623
Beyond the hill there slips away
624
A young wood, murmuring mournfully;
625
Radiant the sun on vale and lea—
626
The morning dew—the morning May.
627
Beauty once more the felon's eyes receive,
628
Beauty which now for ever he must leave,
629
And passionate regret his heart possesses:
630
Deeply he sighs—tear after tear flows over—
631
One last long look, lingering as looks the lover,
632
Then to the sky his tear-dimmed eyes he raises.
633
In the azure vault of heaven the blanching mists are dancing,
634
In light dissolving zephyrs tattered,
635
And on the far horizon scattered
636
White cloudlets over the placid sky go glancing.
637
The grieving prisoner greets them as they race:
638
“You clouds, who in your wandering course embrace
639
Like secret circling arm the earth her own course keeping,
640
You dissolutions of stars, shades in the blue of heaven,
641
You mourners ever to mutual sorrow given,
642
Who know so well the ways of silent weeping—
643
Bear you my charge, of all things that have birth.
644
Where you pass from me on your long, wide way
645
To the distant shore, there for a moment stay,
646
There, pilgrim clouds, greet reverently the earth.
647
Ah, well-beloved earth, beautiful earth,
648
My cradle and grave, the womb that gave me birth,
649
My sweet, sole land, left to my spirit's keeping,
650
Ah, vast and single of beauty as of worth!-
651
Seek there that rock, and when your swift sails gain it—
652
If you shall see—by the shore—a woman weeping—”
653
There fails his voice, the strangling tears have slain it.
654
Down from the height the guards their prisoner lead
655
By a wide pathway through young pinewoods threading,
656
Down and still down; now on the mound they're treading;
657
And now the multitude is hushed indeed.
658
The executioner with his sword stands ready.
659
Yet one more time the prisoner lifts his eyes,
660
Worships the sweet, encircling world-once sighs-
661
And on the approaching death his soul makes steady.
662
His breast and throat he bares, kneeling to earth he leaves it;
663
Back steps the headsman-an age the frozen mind believes it!—
664
The sword flashes; a rapid forward stride—
665
The sword circles; the bent white neck receives it—
666
The head falls—a tremor—and yet a tremor beside—
667
And falls the body after, one with the grieved earth growing.
668
Into the earth, so beautiful, so beloved.
669
His cradle and grave, the womb that gave him birth,
670
His sweet, sole land, his heritage approved,
671
In the generous earth, the single, holy earth,
672
Into the mother's heart the blood of her son is flowing.
673
The prisoner's shattered shell, limb after long limb broken,
674
Twined in the wheel's embrace is raised, a terrible token,
675
And over the wheel his head, a blind, oblivious thing.
676
So died the lord of the woods, the dreaded Forest King.
677
On the dead countenance the last dream lingers still.
678
Gazing upon his face, mute round the little hill
679
The unquiet multitude awaits the long day's ending,
680
Till the declining sun draws to the west once more,
681
Into the head's blind eyes its gay last laughter sending.
682
Hushed is the broad lake-hushed is the evening shore.
683
Above the far dark hills the last radiance blazed.
684
The pale, dead face of the head is softly silvered o'er,
685
Silvered the silent mound, hushed by the lake-shore,
686
As in the evening hush the moon's fair face is raised.
687
Distant are grown the towns, far as a cloud in air,
688
Beyond to the edge of seeing the dead eyes steadily stare,
689
To the edge of sight, to his youth-Oh, brief, bright childhood day!
690
Time in its headlong flight has carried that Spring away.
691
Far fled is his dream, a shadow no more found,
692
Like visions of white towns, deep in the waters drowned,
693
The last indignant thoughts of the defeated dead,
694
Their unremembered names, the clamour of old fights,
695
The worn-out northern lights, after their gleam is fled,
696
The untuned harp, whose strings distil no more delights,
697
The deeds of time gone by, quenched starlight overhead,
698
Heresy's pilgrimage, the loving, lovely dead,
699
The deep forgotten grave, eternal board and bed;
700
As the smoke of burned-out fires, as the shattered bell's chime,
701
Are the dead years of the dead, their beautiful childhood time!
702
Late eve—the second eve of May—
703
The twilit May—the time of love—
704
Meltingly calls the turtle-dove:
705
Vilem! Vilem! Vilem!!
707
Close the hills lean to each other,
708
Underneath a dark cloud hiding,
709
Like a vaulted ceiling riding
710
Taut from one peak to his brother.
711
Dark this place by evening gloom is,
712
Dark and silent as the tomb is.
713
In the portal deeply-shaded,
714
Where the hills shrink back dividing,
715
Sharp rocks in the opening spaces
716
Steeply rear their frowning faces,
717
Lower, narrower, blackly biding;
718
Underneath the cloud dark-braided
719
Shuts this gate of rocks and boulders.
720
In the valley's heart deep-gladed,
721
Darkly red a camp-fire smoulders,
722
Broken from the west bright-beaming,
723
A long sliver of the sunset;
724
Round its red nocturnal gleaming
725
Circle night-birds, wheeling, plaining,
726
In a red and restless onset,
727
Till the blue of night they borrow.
728
Sinks the fire, still waning-waning,
729
Till the broad and bounteous heaven
730
Melts in nightly dews of sorrow,
731
And the earth to grief is given.
732
Oaks a hundred years a-growing,
733
Darkness within darkness throwing,
734
Hide a company of friends there.
735
Cloaked in white, as in the bright time,
736
Sit the comrades of the night-time.
737
Each before him groundward bends there,
738
Wordless, motionless, his vision,
739
As if terror's chill transition
740
Into stone their flesh had stricken.
741
Through the valley seems to quicken
742
Whispered breath of lamentation
743
Round the moveless men who plain him,
744
Secretly, without cessation:
745
“Lost, our leader!—they have slain him!”
746
And the wind, the smoke-wreaths plying,
747
To the moveless men is crying:
748
“Lost, our leader!-they have slain him!”
749
And the restless leaves aquiver
750
Underneath the cold cliff-faces,
751
Trembling, murmuring, utter ever
752
These insistent, changeless phrases:
753
“Lost, our leader!-they have slain him!”
754
All the forests in their station
755
Sound the great, sad accusation:
756
“They have slain him—slain him!!—slain him—!!!”
758
Beautiful May is passed, withered the bloom of Spring;
759
The summer fire burns high, wanes, and as soon is gone,
760
Autumn, and winter after; another Spring comes on,
761
As time bears off the years on its unresting wing.
762
The seventh year it was, the seventh year's last day;
763
Deep on it lay the night, and with the midnight chime
764
A new year would be born. The cold earth dreaming lay.
765
Lone hoof-beats by the lake troubled the silent time.
766
I was that wayfarer, bound for the town by night,
767
Led by chance to the mound, where, long ago at rest,
768
The dreaded Forest King lingered a quiet guest;
769
There first I saw Vilem- a bare skull glistening white.
770
There in the midnight land, far as the eye's reach ranging,
771
Through valleys, over hills, by forest, lake and meadow,
772
A wide, white pall of snow lay level and unchanging,
773
Over the skull and wheel-all white without a shadow.
774
Deep clouds hemmed in the moon, which seemed to droop and sicken;
775
Sometimes the weird owl cried, ever the sad wind's shaking
776
Plucked at the wheel above, and set the loud bones quaking,
777
So that my horse and I with panic dread were stricken.
778
Forward I spurred in fear, there where the safe town hailed me,
779
And asked what wheel, what bones were these which grimly grew there,
780
The old innkeeper told the story all men knew there-
781
The story I have told-and on that wheel impaled me.
782
Far I went through the world-and the world has enough of pain,
783
Many a storm of heart blew over me and bled me;
784
But still this old, worn woe beckoned me back again,
785
Till in a young Spring season home to the mound it led me.
786
Under the stake I sat, just as the sun descended,
787
Under the wheel which bore the skeleton and skull there,
788
Gazing sad-eyed on Spring, whose cup was fair and full there,
789
Even to the misty rim where earth and heaven blended.
790
Evening once more, the first of May-
791
The twilit May-the time of love.
792
Meltingly called the turtle-dove,
793
Where rich and sweet the pinewoods lay.
794
Whispered of love the mosses frail,
795
The flowering tree as sweetly lied
796
The rose's fragrant sigh replied
797
To love-songs of the nightingale.
798
The lake within the dark woods straying
799
Softly complained a secret pain,
800
By circling shores embraced again
801
As brother sister in their playing.
802
About the head the sunset bright
803
Lay like a wreath of roses growing,
804
Gilding the bony face with light,
805
On fretted skin and white jaw glowing.
806
In the hollow skull the breezes sped
807
As if grim laughter mocked the dead,
808
and lifted lightly here and there
809
What time had left of his long hair;
810
Beneath his brows the dewdrops borrow
811
The sunset light, as if, discerning
812
The evening beauty of May's returning,
813
His dead eyes brim with tears of sorrow.
814
There I sat on, until the young moon's light
815
Blanched both my face and his with rays as pale as bright;
816
Now like a snowy pall its whiteness spreads before him
817
Over the vales and woods to the distant hills that bore him.
818
Sometimes from far away the cuckoo's greeting sounds here,
819
Flung from the flowering vale, sometimes the owl's grave warning;
820
From many a farmyard near the bark of dogs rebounds here;
821
Out of the dust arises a sweet incense of mourning,
822
The little tears of the Virgin upon the hill are flowering,
823
Deep in the heart of the lake a secret light is burning;
824
And the fireflies, shooting stars, about the wheel are showering,
825
Glittering in their play, touching the pale skull brightly,
826
Lighting to launch again, and launch again ac lightly,
827
Like fiery falling tears, all his spent tears embowering.
828
And in my grieving eyes two hot tears rise and break,
829
Glittering down my cheeks as sparks play in the lake;
830
For my young years, mine too, my childhood golden-gay,
831
Time in its headlong flight has seized and borne away.
832
Far is that lost dream now, a shadow no more found,
833
Like visions of white towns, deep in the waters drowned,
834
The last indignant thoughts of the defeated dead,
835
Their unremembered names, the clamour of old fights,
836
The worn-out northern lights after their gleam is fled,
837
The untuned harp, whose strings distil no more delights,
838
The deeds of time gone by, quenched starlight overhead,
839
Heresy's pilgrimage, the loving, lovely dead,
840
The deep, forgotten grave, etrnal board and bed,
841
The smoke of burned-out fires, the scattered bell's chime—
842
Like the song of dead swam, like Eden snatched away,
843
So is my childhood time—
844
But what of following time?
845
My youth, alas, my youth! My season and song are May!
846
An eventide of May on a rocky, desolate shore:
847
Light laughter on the lips, deep grief in the heart's core.
848
See you the pilgrim there, hastening on his quest
849
Through the long, sunset fields, beneath the dimming west?
850
Strain your eyes as you will, the end you cannot see,
851
As over the edge of vision he falters and finds no rest.
852
Never-ah, never! And this is all life offers me!
853
Comfort? Who comforts me? What charm this heart can move?
854
Love is without an end!—And bitter is my love!
855
Late evening, on the first of May—
856
The twilit May-the time of love—
857
Meltingly calls the turtle-dove:
858
“Hynek! Vilem! Ah, Jarmila!!!”
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