A German Legend.
Originally published in The Keepsake for 1828 (Hurst, Chance, and Co.; Nov 1827).
Neckar, night is on thy stream—
Have the stars forgot to gleam?
'Tis the purple month of June;
Where has twilight fled so soon?
Never was a deeper shade
On thy wave by winter laid.
And the breeze that now was clinging
To thy flowers eternal springing;
And the sounds that on it stole,
Lulling all the sense, the soul:
Where are they? Dark, chill, and strong,
Sweeps the sudden gale along.
Neckar, thy pellucid wave
Lov'd these blossom'd banks to lave;
Lingering, like an infant's play,
On its joyous summer way.
Now, that smooth and silver tide
Bursts a torrent wild and wide.
Hark! a fearful melody!
Swells it from the earth or sky?
Like the sounds of troubled sleep,
Joy might at its anguish weep:
Yet, as rolls its wond'rous flow,
Mirth might mingle with the wo.
Now, upon the waters dance
Flashes of the helm and lance;
Now, emerging shapes are seen,
Rob'd in silk, and jewell'd sheen;
Proudly follow'd, on the tide
Walk a chieftain and his bride.
And upon the river's breast
Seems a mighty pile to rest;
Rich with sculptures, old and quaint,
Gilded martyr, marble saint;
While beneath its copings dim,
Sounds of holy chantings swim.
See! a gleam above them plays;
Now it reddens to a blaze!
From the altar where they kneel
Bursts a sudden clash of steel.
Hark! the wild, soul-piercing cry,
Lips can give but once, and die!
All is still'd! In blood and ashes,
Seen across the sinking flashes,
Leaning on his sabre bare,
Stands a figure of despair,
He who fir'd that holy hall:
Now he has his vengeance, all!
What is reeking by his side?
Ashes, that were once a bride.
What is blackening on the floor?
'Tis a brother's bosom gore!
Terrors on his vision rise;
Murderer! thou hast had thy prize!
As decays the final spark,
Forms are flashing through the dark,
Shapes of giant fang and limb.
Down he sinks—and all is dim.
He is gone! That parting ban
Never came from mortal man!
Ever, till the endless night,
Shall the lost one wing his flight;
Forc'd in tenfold pangs to gaze
On the pomp, the blood, the blaze,
At the hour the deed was done,
Neckar, while thy stream shall run!