Poems (Eckley)/Paraphrases on Heine

by Sophia May Eckley

PARAPHRASES ON HEINE.

 

 

IX.

I.

ITH roses and cypress and spangled gold,
Would I could garnish, and loving enfold
This book like an altar of death to enshrine,
As in it I bury these lays of mine.

II.

0! would I could coffin this love, that so!
The flower of rest on its grave might grow,
Where it may blossom for many a one,
Though only for me when this life is done.

III.

Here then are the lyrics, which once so wild,
Like those lava streams which from Etna boiled,
And came rushing forth from my spirit's deep,
As the flashing lightning in its sweep.

IV.

Now silent and even like death they lie,
As coldly they stiffen,—like pale mist fly;
Yet anew might revive the passion of old,
If the spirit of love could again enfold.

V.

For I feel in my heart a presage ring,
That the spirit of love her dew will bring,
And ere long this book shall touch thy hand,
Thou sweetest Love in a distant land.

VI.

Then will be broken the spell of these lays,
While on the pale letters thou shalt gaze,
As they lift an appeal to thy beautiful eyes,
And whisper in sadness with love's own sighs.

——————

XXVI.

I.

DREAMT;—the moon looked sadly down,
 And sadly shone each star,
Methought it bore me to my Love,
 Many hundred miles afar.

II.

Straight it led me to her house,
 I kist the stepping stone,
O'er which her little feet had tripped,
 Her garments' trail oft gone.

III.

The night was long, the night was cold,
 And very cold that stone,
A pale face from the lattice looked,
 Lightened by silvery moon.
Alice.

——————

XLVII.

I.

HOU art like a flower,
 So lovely, pure, and true,
While I gaze, a sadness
 Steals through my heart anew.

II.

O that this hand might lie
 Once only on thy brow,
Praying God to keep thee
 Lovely and pure as now.

XXIII.

I.

WHY are the roses so pale?
 O! tell me my Love, say why,
And why in the fresh green grass
 Do the violets motionless lie?

II.

Why sings in so mournful a strain,
 The lark as she soars from the tree,
And bears on the soft wooing breeze,
 Only a death-scent to me?

III.

Why shines the sun on mine eye,
 So angrily down, and so cold?
And why does the earth look so grey,
 And barren as e'en the death-mould?

IV.

And why am I weary and sad,
 My darling, my darling, O say,
O! tell me, my only beloved one,
 Why hast thou forsaken me, say?

XXXIII.

I.

T morn I'll send thee violets,
 Fresh from the forest bower,
At evening bring thee roses,
 Plucked at the twilight hour.

II.

Know'st thou what the flowers say
 In emblematic light?—
True must thou be to me by day,
 And love me in the night.

——————

LXXXVI.

I.

IGHT falls upon this Pathway strange,
 Tired heart, and weary limbs;
Ah! there flows like silent Blessing,
 Light adown the sweet moon-beams.

II.

Sweetest moon, with thy bright shining,
 Drive away this nightly grey,
For it minds me of my sorrow,
 And the tears I've wept away.

LV.

I.

N my dreams I have wept for thee,
In the grave thou wert lying low;
But on awakening, still the tears
Adown my wet cheeks would flow.

II.

In my dreams I have wept for thee,
I thought thou wert false to me;
But awakening, still was weeping,
Aye, weeping most bitterly.

III.

In my dreams I have wept for thee,
Tho' I dreamed that thou wert true;
Yet awakening, still the tears
Adown my wet cheeks would flow.

XI.

ITH sails of black my ship glides on,
Over the angry sea;
Thou know'st how sorréowful I am,
How sick at heart for thee.

II.

Thy heart is fickle as the wind,
 And flutters here and there;
With sails of black my ship floats on,
 O'er raging seas afar.

——————

LXXXVIII.

I.

EATH is but the chilly night
 Life is but the sultry day,
Darkening even while I sleep,
 Weary, weary with the day.

IL.

O'er my bed a tree arises,
 Where oft sings the nightingale,—
Sings of love, of Love immortal,
 In my dreams I hear her wail.

——————

XXXVI.

I.

ROM out my great sorrow,
 These little lays I bring,
Which soar with ringing plumage,
 And to her heart take wing.

II.

They find their way to my darling,
 And come again to complain,
To mourn, but will not utter,
 What shivers her heart with pain.