Poems and Ballads of Heinrich Heine Part 7

Young women are bleaching linen; They leap in the gra.s.s anear.

The mill-wheel rains showers of diamonds, Its far away buzz I hear.

Above on the gray old tower Stands the sentry house of the town, And a scarlet-coated fellow Goes pacing up and down.

He toys with his s.h.i.+ning musket That gleams in the sunset red, Presenting and shouldering arms now-- I wish he would shoot me dead.

IV.

In tears through the woods I wander.

The thrush is perched on the bough: She springs and sings up yonder-- "Oh, why so sad art thou?"

The swallows, thy sisters, are able My dear, to answer thee.

They built clever nests in the gable, Where sweetheart's windows be.

V.

The night is wet and stormy, And void of stars the sky; 'Neath the rustling trees of the forest I wander silently.

There flickers a lonely candle In the huntsman's lodge to-night.

It shall not tempt me thither; It burns with a sullen light.

There sits the blind old granny, In the leathern arm-chair tall, Like a statue, stiff, uncanny And speaketh not at all.

And to and fro strides, cursing, The ranger's red haired son, With angry, scornful laughter Flings to the wall his gun.

The beautiful spinner weepeth, And moistens with tears her thread.

At her feet her father's pointer, Whimpering, crouches his head.

VI.

When I met by chance in my travels All my sweetheart's family, Papa, mamma, little sister Most cordially greeted me.

About my health they inquired; Nor even did they fail To say I was nowise altered, Only a trifle pale.

I asked after aunts and cousins, And many a dull old bore.

And after the dear little poodle, That barked so softly of yore.

And how was my married sweetheart?

I asked them soon. They smiled, And in friendliest tone made answer She was soon to have a child.

And I lisped congratulations, And begged, when they should see, To give her the kindest greetings, A thousand times for me.

Burst forth the baby-sister, "That dear little dog of mine Went mad when he grew bigger, And we drowned him in the Rhine."

The child resembles my sweetheart, The same old laugh has she; Her eyes are the same ones over, That wrought such grief for me.

VII.

We sat in the fisher's cabin, Looking out upon the sea.

Then came the mists of evening, Ascending silently.

The lights began in the lighthouse One after one to burn, And on the far horizon A s.h.i.+p we could still discern.

We spake of storm and s.h.i.+pwreck, The sailor and how he thrives, And how betwixt heaven and ocean, And joy and sorrow he strives.

We spake of distant countries, South, North, and everywhere, And of the curious people, And curious customs there;

The fragrance and light of the Ganges, That giant-trees embower, Where a beautiful tranquil people Kneel to the lotus flower;

Of the unclean folk in Lapland, Broad-mouthed and flat-headed and small, Who cower upon the hearthstone, Bake fish, and cackle and squall.

The maidens listened gravely, Then never a word was said, The s.h.i.+p we could see no longer; It was far too dark o'erhead.

VIII.

Thou fairest fisher maiden, Row thy boat to the land.

Come here and sit beside me, Whispering, hand in hand.

Lay thy head on my bosom, And have no fear of me; For carelessly thou trustest Daily the savage sea.

My heart is like the ocean, With storm and ebb and flow, And many a pearl lies hidden Within its depths below.

IX.

The moon is up, and brightly Beams o'er the waters vast.

I clasp my darling tightly; Our hearts are beating fast.

In the dear child's bosom, nestling, Alone I lie on the sand.

"Hear'st thou the wild winds rustling?

Why trembles thy foam-white hand?"

"That is no wild wind sighing, That is the mermaid's lay; And they are my sisters crying, Whom the sea swallowed one day."

X.

Up amidst the clouds, the moon, Like a giant orange, beams, O'er the gray sea s.h.i.+ning down, With broad stripes and golden gleams.

And I pace the sh.o.r.e alone, Where the billows white are broken.

Many a tender word I hear, Words within the water spoken.

Ah, the night is far too long, And my heart throbs fast for pleasure.