The Earliest English Translations of Bürger's Lenore: a Study in English and German Romanticism/Chapter 8/Leonora by W. R. Spencer

by William Robert Spencer

For other English-language translations of this work, see Lenore (Bürger).

LEONORA

By W. R. Spencer

From visions of disastrous love
Leonora starts at dawn of day;
"How long, my Wilhelm, wilt thou rove?
Does death or falsehood cause thy stay?"
Since he with godlike Frederick's pow'rs
At Prague had foremost dar'd the foe,
No tidings cheer'd her lonely hours,
No rumor told his weal or woe.

Empress, and King, alike fatigued,
Now bade the storm of battle cease;
Their arms relenting friendship leagued,
And heal'd the bleeding world with Peace.
They sing, they shout, their cymbals clang,
Their green wreaths wave, they come, they come;
Each war-worn Hero comes to hang
With trophies his long wept for home.

While from each bastion, tower, and shed,
Their country's general blessing showers;
Love twines for every laurel'd head,
His garland of domestic flowers.
How welcome husbands, sons, return'd!
What tears, what kisses greet the brave!
Alone poor Leonora mourn'd,
Nor tear, nor kiss, nor welcome gave.

From rank to rank, from name to name,
The fond inquirer trembling flew;
But none by person or by fame,
Aught of her gallant Wilhelm knew.
When all the joyous bands were gone,
Aghast she tore her raven hair;
On the cold earth she cast her down,
Convuls'd with frenzy and despair.

In haste th' affrighted mother flew,
And round her clasp'd her aged arms:
"Oh, God! her griefs with mercy view,
Oh, calm her constant heart's alarms!"
"Oh, mother! past is past; 'tis o'er;
Nor joy, nor world, nor hope I see;
Thy God my anguish hears no more,
Alas, alas! Oh, woe is me!"

"Oh, hear, great God! with pity hear!
My child, thy prayer to Heaven address;
God does all well; 'tis ours to bear;
God gives, but God relieves distress."
"All trust in Heaven is weak and frail;
God ill, not well, by me has done;
I pray'd, while prayers could yet avail;
Nor prayers are vain, for Wilhelm's gone."

"Oh, ever in affliction's hour
The Father hears his children's cry;
His blessed sacraments shall pour
True comfort o'er thy misery."
"Oh, mother, pangs like mine that burn,
What sacrament can e'er allay?
What sacrament can bid return
Life's spirit to the mouldering clay?"

"But if, my child, in distant lands,
Unmindful of his plighted vows,
Thy false one courts another's bands,
Fresh kisses, and a newer spouse,
Why let the perjured rover go;
No blessings shall his new love bring,
And when death lays his body low,
Thy wrongs his guilty soul shall sting."

"My pangs no cure nor comfort crave;
Joy, hope, and life, alike I scorn;
My hope is death, my joy the grave,
Curs'd be the day that saw me born!
Sink, sink, detested vital flame,
Sink in the starless night of death:
Not God's, but Wilhelm's darling name
Shall faulter from my parting breath!"

"Judge not, great God! this erring child,
No guilt her bosom dwells within;
Her thoughts are craz'd, her words are wild;
Arm not for her the death of sin!
Oh, child; forget they mortal love,
Think of God's bliss and mercies sweet;
So shall thy soul, in realms above,
A bright eternal Bridegroom meet."

"Oh, mother! what is God's sweet bliss?
Oh, mother, mother! what is hell?
With Wilhelm there is only bliss,
And without Wilhelm only Hell!
O'er this torn heart, o'er these sad eyes,
Let the still grave's long midnight reign;
Unless my love that bliss supplies,
Nor earth, nor heaven can bliss contain."

Thus did the demons of despair
Her wildered sense to madness strain,
Thus did her impious clamours dare
Eternal Wisdom to arraign.
She beat her breast, her hands she wrung,
Till westward sunk the car of light,
And countless stars in air were hung
To gem the matron weeds of night.

Hark! with high tread, the prancings proud,
A war horse shakes the rattling gate:
Clattering his clanking armour loud,
Alights a horseman at the grate:
And, hark! the door bell gently rings,
What sounds are those we faintly hear?
The night breeze in low murmur brings
These words to Leonora's ear.

"Holla, holla! my wife, my love!
Does Leonora watch or sleep?
Still does her heart my vows approve?
Does Leonora smile or weep?"
"Wilhelm, thou! these eyes for thee
Fever'd with tearful vigils burn;
Aye fear, and woe, have dwelt with me,
Oh, why so late thy wish'd return?"

"At dead of night alone we ride,
From Prague's far distant field I come;
'Twas late ere I could 'gin bestride
This coal black barb, to bear me home."
"Oh, rest thee first, my Wilhelm, here!
Bleak roars the blast through vale and grove;
Oh come, thy war-worn limbs to cheer
On the soft couch of joy and love!"

"Let the bleak blast, my child, roar on,
Let it roar on; we dare not stay:
My fierce steed maddens to be gone,
My spurs are set; away, away.
Mount by thy true love's guardian side;
We should ere this full far have sped;
Five hundred destined miles we ride
This night, to reach our nuptial bed."

"Our nuptial bed, this night so dark,
So late, five hundred miles to roam?
Yet sounds the bell, which struck, to mark
That in one hour would midnight come."
"See there, see here, the moon shines clear,
We and the dead ride fast away;
I gage, though long our way, and drear,
We reach our nuptial bed to-day."

"Say where the bed, and bridal hall?
What guests our blissful union greet?"
Low lies the bed, still, cold, and small;
Six dark boards, and one milk white sheet."
"Hast room for me?" "Room, room enow;
Come mount; strange hands our feast prepare;
To grace the solemn rite, e'en now
No common bridesmen wait us there."

Loose was her zone, her breast unveil'd,
All wild her shadowy tresses hung;
O'er fear confiding love prevail'd,
As lightly on the barb she sprung.
Like wind the bounding courser flies,
Earth shakes his thundering hoofs beneath;
Dust, stones, and sparks, in whirlwind rise,
And horse and horseman pant for breath.

How swift, how swift from left and right
The racing fields and hills recede;
Bourns, bridges, rocks, that cross their flight,
In thunders echo to their speed.
"Fear'st thou, my love? the moon shines clear;
Hurrah! how swiftly speed the dead!
The dead does Leonora fear?"
"Ah, no; but talk not of the dead."

What accents slow, of wail and woe,
Have made yon shrieking raven soar?
The death bell beats! the dirge repeats,
"This dust to parent dust restore."
Blackened the night, a funeral train
On a cold bier a coffin brings;
Their slow pace measur'd to a strain
Sad as the saddest nightbird sings.

"This dust to dust restore, what time
The midnight dews o'er graves are shed;
Meanwhile of brides the flower and prime
I carry to our nuptial bed.
Sexton, thy sable minstrels bring!
Come, priest, the eternal bonds to bless!
All in deep groans or spousals sing,
Ere we the genial pillow press."

The bier, the coffin, disappear'd,
The dirge in distant echoes died,
Quick sounds of viewless steps are heard
Hurrying the coal-black barb beside.
Like wind the bounding courser flies,
Earth shakes his thundering hoofs beneath;
Dust, stones, and sparks in whirlwind rise,
And horse and horseman pant for breath.

Mountains and trees, on left and right,
Swam backward from their aching view;
With speed that mock'd the labouring sight
Towns, villages, and castles flew.
"Fear'st thou, my love? the moon shines clear;
Hurrah! how swiftly speed the dead!
The dead does Leonora fear?"
"Oh, leave, oh, leave in peace the dead!"

See, where fresh blood-gouts mat the green,
Yon wheel its reeking points advance;
There, by the moon's wan light half seen,
Grim ghosts of tombless murderers dance.
"Come, spectres of the guilty dead,
With us your goblin morris ply,
Come all in festive dance to tread,
Ere on the bridal couch we lie."

Forward th' obedient phantoms push,
Their trackless footsteps rustle near,
In sounds like autumn winds that rush
Through withering oak or beech-wood sere.
With lightning's force the courier flies,
Earth shakes his thund'ring hoofs beneath,
Dust, stones, and sparks, in whirlwind rise,
And horse and horseman pant for breath.

Swift roll the moonlight scenes away,
Hills chasing hills successive fly;
E'en stars that pave th' eternal way,
Seem shooting to a backward sky.
"Fear'st thou, my love? the moon shines clear;
Hurrah! how swiftly speed the dead!
The dead does Leonora fear?"
"Oh God! oh leave, oh leave the dead!"

"Barb! barb! methinks the cock's shrill horn
Warns that our sand is nearly run:
Barb! barb! I scent the gales of morn,
Haste, that our course be timely done.
Our course is done; our sand is run!
The nuptial bed the bride attends;
This night the dead have swiftly sped;
Here, here, our midnight travel ends!"

Full at a portal's massy grate
The plunging steed impetuous dash'd:
At the dread shock, wall, bars, and gate,
Hurl'd down with headlong ruin crash'd.
Thin, sheeted phantoms gibbering glide
O'er paths, with bones and fresh skulls strewn,
Charnels and tombs on every side
Gleam dimly to the blood red moon.

Lo, while the night's dread glooms increase,
All chang'd the wondrous horseman stood,
His crumbling flesh fell piece by piece,
Like ashes from consuming wood.
Shrunk to a skull his pale head glares,
High ridg'd his eyeless sockets stand,
All bone his length'ning form appears;
A dart gleams deadly from his hand.

The fiend horse snorts; blue fiery flakes
Collected roll his nostrils round;
High rear'd, his bristling mane he shakes,
And sinks beneath the rending ground.
Demons the thundering clouds bestride,
Ghosts yell the yawning tombs beneath;
Leonora's heart, its life-blood dried,
Hangs quiv'ring on the dart of death.

Throng'd in the moon's eclipsing shade,
Of fiends and shapes a spectre crown
Dance featly round th' expiring maid,
And howl this awful lesson loud:
"Learn patience, though thy heart should break,
Nor seek God's mandates to controul!
Now this cold earth thy dust shall take,
And Heav'n relenting take thy soul!"