Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/184

The bridegroom had a scowling look,
The bride was very fair and pale;
Dressed in her bridal robes, she stood
With myrtle wreath and long white veil.
Long time our Domherr stood and prayed
Her tortured spirit might find rest;
Then laid him down to sleep in peace,
With holy feelings in his breast.
At midnight, at the stroke of twelve,
He woke up with a sudden fear;
The moonlight flooded all his room,
And lo! poor Bertha’s ghost was near.
He felt the blood rush to his heart,
While horror numbed his very brain;
He could not move, he scarce could breathe,
And so he laid there in his pain.
She stepped from out the portrait’s frame,
Her white dress glimmered in the light;
He saw her dark eyes on him rest,
And almost fainted at the sight;
She came and stood beside his bed—
He felt the coldness of the grave
Waft on him from her garments white,
Then shrieked in horror, “Oh, Christ, save!”
And with the name of Christ all fear
Was banished from our Domherr’s soul.
“All righteous spirits praise the Lord,”
He said. “How can I ease thy dole?
Speak now, poor spirit, I entreat,
Or sleep in peace within thy grave!
What unforgiven sins are thine,
That maketh thee the devil’s slave?”
“Alas!” she said, “Oh, kinsman, hear!
I of my husband ever said,
God may forgive him, but not I;
'Tis well, indeed, that he is dead.
I cannot enter Heaven’s rest
Till I have made my peace on earth.
Now thou wert chosen for this act,
From the first hour of thy birth.
My husband, for the ill he wrought,
In purgatorial pains must burn—