Classic Poem

St. Silvester's evening hour
Calls the maidens round:
Shoes to throw behind the door,
Delve the snowy ground.
Peep behind the window there,
Burning wax to pour;
And the corn for chanticleer
Reckon three times o'er.
In the water-fountain fling
Solemnly the golden ring,
Earrings, too, of gold;
Kerchief white must cover them
While we 're chanting over them
Magic songs of old.

Feebly through the vapours shine
Moonbeams on the hill;
Silently sat Catherine,
Sorrowful and still.
" Maiden, why so pensive? We
Fain thy voice would hear —
Come and join our revelry!
Take the ring, thou dear!
Sing, " Make haste and melt, and bring,
Goldsmith! Come with golden ring,
Golden wreath for Kate!
Ring to deck her hand of snow,
Wreath to bloom upon her brow
At the altar-gate." "

" I can sing no choral song
While my love 's away,
For my days are sad and long, —
Gloomier every day.
Left alone, — a year is past, —
Not a line to send, —
Oh, my life is but a waste,
Severed from my friend!
Hast thou then forgotten me?
Tell me, wanderer! can it be?
Where 's thy dwelling, where?
See, I pine 'neath secret smart:
Guardian angel! Watch my heart, —
Listen to my prayer! "

Covered with a napkin white,
Stood a table there,
Where a mirror, clear and bright,
Shone amidst the glare.
Vacant seats for two were placed, —
" Look within, O look!
'T is the hour of spirits, — haste!
Read Fate's opening book:
To the mirror turn thy eye,
And the door shall silently
Open, — list, 't is he!
Gently shall thy lover glide,
Seat him by his maiden's side,
And shall sup with thee. "

Cath'rine sat before the glass, —
All alone was she,
Watching all the shades that pass,
Shuddering inwardly.
But the glass is dark and drear,
Still as death the room;
Scarce a fading taper there
Flitted midst the gloom.
Oh, how fear her bosom shook!
Backwards then she dared not look!
Dread had dimmed her sight:
And the dying taper's noise,
And the cricket's chirping voice,
Cried, — " 'Tis middle-night! "

Breathless terror chilled her o'er,
And she shades her brow: —
List! a knock is at the door,
And it opens now:
To the mirror then she turned,
Stupefied with fear;
There two brilliant eyeballs burned,
Ever bent on her.
Horror heaved her breast, when lo!
Gentle accents, sweet and slow,
Glided on her ear:
" All thy wishes are fulfilled, —
All thy spirit's sighs be stilled, —
'T is thy lover, dear! "

Cath'rine looked — her lover's arm
Was around her thrown:
" Maiden! Banish all alarm,
We are ever one!
Come! the priest is waiting now,
Life with life to blend;
Torches in the chapel glow,
Bridal songs ascend. "
Cath'rine smiled, — her lover led, —
O'er the snow-clad court they sped,
And the portals gain;
There a ready sledge they found, —
Two fleet coursers stamp the ground,
Struggling with the rein.

Onwards! Like the wind they go,
When the storm awakes,
Scattering round them clouds of snow,
While the pathway shakes.
All was dark and wild as night,
Terrible and new;
Mist-wreaths dimmed the pale moon's light,
Plains were drenched in dew.
Fear again possessed the maid,
And in gentlest tones she said,
" Speak, my lover true! "
He was silent then, but soon
Turned him to the wintry moon, —
Pale and paler grew.

Through the snow, a mountain's height,
Next the wild steeds passed;
And a church appeared in sight,
Midst a gloomy waste;
Then a whirlwind burst the door —
Men are there who mourn;
Clouds of incense rolling o'er,
Wax and taper burn.
Lo! a black sepulchral shroud —
" Dust to dust! " the priest aloud
Chants, — the horses flew
Tow'rds the door, — her agony
Rose, — he spoke no word, — but he
Pale and paler grew.

Clouds of snow ascend again —
Lo! the coursers fly;
And a raven on the plain
Croaks and passes by;
'T was an awful, ominous sound!
And the moonlight wanes;
Darkness wraps the desert round
O'er the steaming manes.
See! a glimmering light is there,
And upon the heather bare
Stands a humble shed.
Swifter, swifter flew the car,
Whirled the snow around it far,
But no farther sped.

At the door they stopped anon,
There, a moment stood: —
Steeds, sledge, bridegroom, — all are gone:
All is solitude.
Cath'rine on the waste was left,
Midst dense clouds of snow,
Of her lover now bereft,
To commune with woe:
But she hears a footstep now,
Turns, and sees a taper glow,
Crosses her, and stalks
Trembling to the door, and knocks: —
Of itself the door unlocks, —
In the maiden walks.

There, upon a winding-sheet,
Lay a mortal bier;
Christ's bright image at its feet
Shone resplendent there.
Whither, whither art thou come,
Maiden, all unblest?
Thou hast sought a wretched home,
Art a hapless guest!
Cath'rine to the image flies,
Wipes the snow-dust from her eyes,
Bends her down and weeps;
Presses to her breast the cross, —
Thoughts of heaven her soul engross,
And she silence keeps.

All is still! — The storm is hushed,
Faint the tapers beam,
Light across the chamber rushed, —
Momentary gleam: —
All is wrapped in silence deep
As when visions come.
List! what gentle rustlings sweep
Through the hallowed room:
Lo! a dart of silvery white,
Soft and still, with eyes of light,
Tow'rds the mourners springs:
For a moment hovers there,
Then upon her bosom fair
Flaps its beauteous wings.

Silence reigned again. — Can all,
All illusion be?
Lo! the corpse beneath the pall
Shudders fearfully:
Burst the mantling bier of death,
Throws his shroudings by:
On his brow he wore a wreath,
Frozen was his eye:
From his lips a murmur breaks,
With his hand a sign he makes,
Pointing to the maid:
Trembling she, — she dared not move, —
But the bright and silver dove
On her bosom played;

Fanned her with its gentle wing: —
To the dead man's breast
Then she saw her sweet dove spring, —
There it seemed to rest.
Heaved the icy corpse a sigh,
As in dark despair,
Gnashed his teeth in agony,
Turned his eyes on her.
Paler waxed those lips so pale;
And the fixed eye told the tale
That life's film was broke.
Cath'rine! Lift thy drooping head!
All is o'er, — thy lover's dead! —
God! — and she awoke.

Where? — within the selfsame room
Where the mirror stood: —
Morn was chasing twilight's gloom
With its golden flood;
Chanticleer had clapped his wing,
Sung his early song:
All is bright, — the matin rings, —
Oh, thy dream was long!
Long indeed, and dreadful too;
And my spirit long shall rue
The dread prophecy!
Tell me, Future's misty night,
Shall my fate be dark or bright,
Bliss or misery?

Cath'rine in the window sat,
Sorrowful and still:
Tell me, tell me what is that? —
Mist-cloud on the hill?
In the sunbeams shines the snow;
Leaps the frozen dew:
List! I hear the bells below,
And the horses too.
Lo! they come, the sledge is near, —
Now the driver's voice I hear, —
They have passed the grove: —
Fling the gates wide open, fling —
Who 's the guest the coursers bring?
Who? — 'T is thou, my love!

Cath'rine, tell me now! The dream —
Is the dream forgot?
Youths may faithful be who seem
Faithless, — may they not?
When the light of love hath lent
Brightness to his eye;
When his lips are eloquent; —
Timid maid! Reply!
Open now the temple-gate,
Spring on wings of joy elate,
Truth, we honour thee!
Pour the glass, and join the hymn,
Ne'er may days of darkness dim
Youth's fidelity.

Thou dost smile, sweet maid! But deem,
Deem it worth a thought,
For that memorable dream
Stores of wisdom brought.
Thou dost smile again, — but know,
It had lessons holy:
Fame, it told thee, was but — show;
Worldly wisdom — folly.
This my song was meant to say,
Hope and trust should guide our way,
Maid! there 's no mistaking:
This the genuine moral seems,
Miseries are only dreams.
Joy — is the awaking.

O my Cath'rine! never dwell
On that dream of gloom:
Heaven! build up her citadel,
There may grief ne'er come,
Not a cloud her joy o'ershade,
Not a joy decay;
Holy is that gentle maid
As the light of day.
Ne'er be it obscured by woe,
Let her days of comfort flow
Like a forest river!
And let joy, with smiles serene,
Be as it hath ever been,
Her bright guide for ever!