Rampolli Part 9

THE LOST CHURCH THE DREAM

THE LOST CHURCH.

In the far forest, overhead, A bell is often heard obscurely; How long since first, no one can tell-- Nor can report explain it surely: From the lost church, the rumour hath, Out on the winds the ringing goeth; Once full of pilgrims was the path-- Now where to find it, no one knoweth.

Deep in the wood I lately went Where no foot-trodden way is lying; From times corrupt, on evil bent, My heart to G.o.d went out in sighing: There, in the wild wood's deep repose, I heard the ringing somewhat nearer; The higher that my longing rose Its peal grew fuller and came clearer.

My thoughts upon themselves did brood; My sense was with the sound so busy That I have never understood How I did climb that steep so dizzy.

It seemed more than a hundred years Had pa.s.sed me over, dreaming, sighing-- When far above the clouds appears An open s.p.a.ce in sunlight lying.

Dark-blue the heavens above it bowed; The sun was radiant, large, and glowing; And, see, a minister's structure proud Stood in the rich light, golden showing.

The clouds around it, sunny-clear, Seemed bearing it aloft like pinions; Its spire-point seemed to disappear, Slow vanishing in heaven's dominions.

The bell's clear tones, of rapture full, Boomed in the tower and made it quiver; No mortal hand that rope did pull-- A dumb storm made it swing and shiver.

It seemed to heave my throbbing breast, That heavenly storm with torrent blended: With wavering step, yet hopeful quest, Into the church my way I wended.

What met me there as in I trode With syllables cannot be painted; Darksome yet clear, the windows glowed With forms of all the martyrs sainted.

Then saw I, radiantly unfurled, Form swell to life and break its barriers; I looked abroad into a world Of holy women and G.o.d's warriors.

Down at the alter I kneeled soft, With love and prayer my heart allegiant: Upon the ceiling, far aloft, Was painted Heaven's resplendent pageant; But when again I lift mine eyes, Lo, the high vault has flown asunder!

The upward gate wide open lies, And every veil unveils a wonder.

What gloriousness I then beheld With silent worship, speechless wonder; What blessed sounds upon me swelled, Like organs' and like trumpets' thunder-- No human words could ever tell!-- But who for such is sighing sorest, Let him give heed unto the bell That dimly soundeth in the forest.

_THE DREAM_.

In a garden sweet went walking Two lovers hand in hand; Two pallid figures, low talking, They sat in the flowery land.

They kissed on the cheek one another, And they kissed upon the mouth; They held in their arms each the other, And back came their health and youth.

Two little bells rang shrilly-- And the lovely dream was dead!

She lay in the cloister chilly; He afar on his dungeon-bed.

FROM HEINE.

LIEDER, IV.

LYRISCHES INTERMEZZO, x.x.xVIII.

" " XLI.

" " XLV.

" " LXIV.

DIE HEIMKEHR, LX.

" LXII.

DIE NORDSEE, FIRST CYCLE, XII.

LIEDER.

IV.

Thy little hand lay on my bosom, dear: What a knocking in that little chamber!--dost hear?

There dwelleth a carpenter evil, and he Is hard at work on a coffin for me.

He hammers and knocks by night and by day; 'Tis long since he drove all my sleep away: Ah, haste thee, carpenter, busy keep, That I the sooner may go to sleep!

LYRISCHES INTERMEZZO.

x.x.xVIII.

The phantoms of times forgotten Arise from out their grave, And show me how once in thy presence I lived the life it gave.

In the day I wandered dreaming, Through the streets with unsteady foot; The people looked at me in wonder, I was so mournful and mute.

At night, then it was better, For empty was the town; I and my shadow together Walked speechless up and down.

My way, with echoing footstep, Over the bridge I took; The moon broke out of the waters, And gave me a meaning look.

I stopped before thy dwelling, And gazed, and gazed again-- Stood staring up at thy window, My heart was in such pain.

I know that thou from thy window Didst often look downward--and Sawest me, there in the moonlight, A motionless pillar stand.

LYRISCHES INTERMEZZO.

XLI.

I dreamt of the daughter of a king, With white cheeks tear-bewetted; We sat 'neath the lime tree's leavy ring, In love's embraces netted.

"I would not have thy father's throne, His crown or his golden sceptre; I want my lovely princess alone-- From Fate that so long hath kept her."

"That cannot be," she said to me: "I lie in the grave uncheerly; And only at night I come to thee, Because I love thee so dearly."

LYRISCHES INTERMEZZO.

XLV.

In the sunny summer morning Into the garden I come; The flowers are whispering and talking, But for me, I wander dumb.

The flowers are whispering and talking; They pity my look so wan: "Thou must not be cross with our sister, Thou sorrowful, pale-faced man!"

LYRISCHES INTERMEZZO.