And whilst they sat themselves down, to take a little repose there, Thus the loving youth spoke, whilst he seized the hand of the maiden "Let your heart give the answer, and always obey what it tells you!"But he ventured to say no more, however propitious Was the moment; he feard that a No would be her sole answer, Ah! and he felt the ring on her finger, that sorrowful token.
So by the side of each other they quietly sat and in silence, But the maiden began to speak, and said, "How delightful Is the light of the moon! The clearness of day it resembles.
Yonder I see in the town the houses and courtyards quite plainly, In the gable a window; methinks all the panes I can reckon.""That which you see," replied the youth, who spoke with an effort, "That is our house down to which I now am about to conduct you, And that window yonder belongs to my room in the attic, Which will probably soon be yours, as we're ****** great changes.
All these fields are ours, and ripe for the harvest to-morrow;Here in the shade we are wont to rest, enjoying our meal-time.
But let us now descend across the vineyard and garden, For observe how the threatening storm is hitherward rolling, Lightening first, and then eclipsing the beautiful full moon."So the pair arose, and wauder'd down by the corn-field,Through the powerful corn, in the nightly clearness rejoicing;And they reach'd the vineyard, and through its dark shadows proceeded.
So he guided her down the numerous tiers of the flat stones Which, in an unhewn state, served as steps to the walk through the foliage.
Slowly she descended, and placed her hands on his shoulders;And, with a quivering light, the moon through the foliage o'erlook'd them, Till by storm-clouds envelop'd, she left the couple in darkness.
Then the strong youth supported the maiden, who on him was leaning;She, however, not knowing the path, or observing the rough steps, Slipp'd as she walk'd, her foot gave way, and she well nigh was falling.
Hastily held out his arm the youth with nimbleness thoughtful, And held up his beloved one; she gently sank on his shoulders, Breast was press'd against breast, and cheek against cheek, and so stood he Fix'd like a marble statue, restrained by a firm resolution;He embraced her no closer, thoughall her weight he supported;So he felt his noble burden, the warmth of her bosom, And her balmy breath, against his warm lips exhaling, Bearing with manly feelings the woman's heroical greatness.
But she conceal'd the pain which she felt, and jestingly spoke thus "It betokens misfortune,--so scrupulous people inform us,--For the foot to give way on entering a house, near the threshold.
I should have wish'd, in truth, for a sign of some happier omen!
Let us tarry a little, for fear your parents should blame you For their limping servant, and you should be thought a bad landlord."
IX.URANIA.
CONCLUSION.
O YE Muses, who gladly favour a love that is heartfelt, Who on his way the excellent youth have hitherto guided, Who have press'd the maid to his bosom before their betrothal, Help still further to perfect the bonds of a couple so loving, Drive away the clouds which over their happiness hover!
But begin by saying what now in the house has been passing.
For the third time the mother impatiently enter'd the chamber Where the men were sitting, which she had anxiously quitted, Speaking of the approaching storm, and the loss of the moon's light, Then of her son's long absence, and all the perils that night brings.
Strongly she censured their friends for having so soon left the youngster, For not even addressing the maiden, or seeking to woo her.
"Make not the worst of the mischief," the father peevishly answer'd;"For you see we are waiting ourselves, expecting the issue."But the neighbour sat still, and calmly address'd them as follows:--"In uneasy moments like these, I always feel grateful To my late father, who when I was young all seeds of impatience In my mind uprooted, and left no fragment remaining, And I learnt how to wait, as well as the best of the wise men.
"Tell us what legerdemain he employ'd," the pastor made answer.
"I will gladly inform you, and each one may gain by the lesson,"Answer'd the neighbour."When I was a boy, I was standing one Sunday In a state of impatience, eagerly waiting the carriage Which was to carry us out to the fountain under the lime-trees;But it came not; I ran like a weasel now hither, now thither, Up and down the stairs, and from the door to the window;Both my hands were prickling, I scratch'd away at the tables, Stamping and trotting about, and scarcely refrain'd I from crying.
All this the calm man composedly saw; but finally when ICarried my folly too far, by the arm he quietly took me, Led me up to the window, and used this significant language 'See you up yonder the joiner's workshop, now closed for the Sunday?
'Twill be re-open'd to-morrow, and plane and saw will be working.
Thus will the busy hours be pass'd from morning till evening.
But remember this: the rimming will soon be arriving, When the master, together with all his men, will be busy In preparing and finishing quickly and deftly your coffin, And they will carefully bring over here that house made of boards, which Will at length receive the patient as well as impatient, And which is destined to carry a roof that's unpleasantly heavy.
All that he mention'd I forthwith saw taking place in my mind's eye, Saw the boards join'd together, and saw the black cover made ready, Patiently then I sat, and meekly awaited the carriage.
And I always think of the coffin whenever I see men Running about in a state of doubtful and wild expectation."Smilingly answered the pastor:--"Death's stirring image is neither Unto the wise a cause of alarm,--or an end to the pious.
Back into life it urges the former, and teaches him action, And, for the weal of the latter, it strengthens his hope in affliction.
Death is a giver of life unto both.Your father did wrongly When to the sensitive boy he pointed out death in its own form.
