With care opprest, hied to the hermitage
That, rock-built, overlooks the country round
For many a league, and to the holy man
There dwelling told the dream, and begged
his skill
It to interpret. The deep-thoughted sage
Heard him with wonder, and, as hermits wont,
With prayer beseeched the gracious ear of
Heaven
In their behalf; then, rising from his knee,
Like one with truth inspired, to Albert said:
"This dream relates to death and joys beyond
The darksome grave. Now, son, my counsel
take;
Prepare thee for the worst, if worst that be
Which is high blessedness and joy supreme:
This, to thy wife vouchsafed by her who bore
Heaven's blessed One, is not foretold in
vain."
He heard with sorrow, for he loved her well; Then to his home returned, where, bathed in tears,
How Albert sorrowed: gentle hearts will frame
His wretched state and save the sad recital.
Now, in Cologne, from unremembered time,
It was a custom-and it may be vain,
But so it was-that every matron wore
Her wedding-ring down with her to the grave.
This well the sexton knew-a sordid wretch,
Whose cold and flinty bosom proof to fear,
Insensible to pity and the tears
With which afflicted love bedews the dead,
Knew and resolved to gain. There are who
deem
The dead as worthless, valueless and vile;
But he was one who robbed them in the tomb.
As rung the minster chimes their midnight peal,
Mournful and sweet, the onward march of
Forth from his dwelling near the robber stole, Close-wrapt and cautious, to his helpless prey. He found his gentle spouse, and cheered her Beneath his ample cloak a covered lamp heart He held secure, with fitting implements With other words than those the hermit told. To work his black and traitorous design.
Reached now the portal of the holy place,
Some few weeks passed, when, on his wed- He stood attentive, lest some straggler near
Yearly by Albert kept, a goodly feast—
Whilst in his lordly halls a hundred guests
Assembled sat and quaffed enjoyment's bowl,
The fair Genora sudden drooped and died,
Was mourned and buried, and the city poured
Her thousands to behold the hearse of one
So loved and honored; for her dream had
gained
Attention universal, and her name
Might spy his motion and the watch alarm.
So stands the wolf beside the fleecy fold
To scent if shepherds by their charge abide :
They absent, o'er the pales the monster
springs,
And bears his prize, some hapless lamb, away.
All silent slept the city; not a sound
Broke on his ear, of revelry or grief;
The watch was slumbering, or perchance re-
tired:
Was numbered with the blest. I need not And so, assured of secrecy, he turned
The key, and, entering, left the door unlocked.
Down the long, dark and narrow aisles he | Here stopped the guilty wretch, and straight trod,
Still hung with sables for the honored dead; By pictures rich, from which devoutest saints Frowned sternly on his sacrilege abhorred; By sculptured marbles, from whose lifelike
To gain the object of his black design.
High in the niche he set the blazing lamp,
Threw by his cloak, and from the coffin
plucked
The wreath of roses which her husband fond
Looks more than human seemed to cry, Had placed there in memorial of his love;
Unmoved, unterrified, he passed, and sought
The stairs descending to the vaults beneath,
Within whose darkness drear and desolate
The sad remains of many an age reposed
On massy shelves of cold, damp, dripping
Age, youth and beauty in their coffins lay, Some fresh as yesterday, whilst others, fall'n Beneath Corruption's hand, to sight disclosed Their bare and bleached bones. Rich burghers here
Lay rotting in their pride municipal;
Whilst high above, as though in mockery,
Black tattered banners and escutcheons told
Of doughty chiefs who fought in Palestine-
Their warring 'gainst the Saracen, what time
Enthusiast Peter roused the Christian world
From apathy supine to frantic rage,
And led her myriads to the Asian shore,
Ignobly there to suffer and to die.
Heedless of all, unfearing, undismayed-
For gloomy death is guilt's security—
He onward passed with firm, determined step
To where, within the furthermost recess,
Beneath an empty niche, Genora lay.
Upon an antique tomb, so old, they say,
As is the minster, they had placed the dead:
It was the founder's; and upon the stone
The sculptor's hand had traced this simple line:
"I sleep to be awakened," and no more.
Unscrewed the lid, and from her finger drew
The pledge and promise of unbroken vows—
Unbroke of all save by destroying Death.
And now his hasty hand had wellnigh closed
The rich-wrought chest for ever, when his eye
Caught the bright glitter of a golden chain
That from her pale and lovely neck fell down
Upon her bosom, ending with a cross,
The symbol of her faith; for when she died,
Her weeping husband gave her to the grave
With all her jewels. "Ha!" the robber
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Oh, sight to melt a fiend, and from his heart
Force out compassion, ineffectual here!
All other vices have their estimate
Still measured by repletion, more or less:
Lust palls in his possession; Hatred's foot
Stamps not for ever on her prostrate foe;
And e'en Revenge, red-eyed, malignant, stays
His butchery when Horror cries, "No more !"
But Avarice is like the hungry grave,
Insatiable, remorseless; and the wretch
Who there stands craving is her vilest slave.
What is to him the helplessness of death,
And what to him that coffined angel there?
He sees not, hears not, though the sweetest | Struck his bare brow against a jutting stone,
Hath called the glittering sparkles to the And now, as from a dream, the buried woke, Arose, threw off her grave-clothes, seized the
For here and there about her silky locks Were wreathed pearls shining-yea, the very
That graced her 'spousals when the hoary head
Of age attendant whispered, "Never yet
Have I till now beheld so fair a bride!"
And straightway blessed her-yea, and she
was blessed.
But to our story. In his eager haste
To seize the gold the villain overthrew
The coffin-lid, that on the hollow floor
Sounded like thunder when the angry gods
Take cognizance of sin, and through the
vaults
Beneath and round him echoing long and loud
Wakened the dead (so seeming), and her eye
Fell on the wretch that close beside her stood,
Unconscious of his object and her fate.
That still burnt brightly in the niche above, And left the vault to darkness and to death.
Meanwhile, within his hall her sorrowing lord
Sat waiting for the morrow's rising sun,
To leave Cologne for ever: grief his heart
Had wasted utterly, and on his brow
Stamped the dark image of the fiend Despair;
And whilst his faithful servants mourned
their loss,
And strove in vain to comfort their dear lord,
He, all-absorbed in sorrow, restless rose
And paced the sounding floor; and now he
drew
Toward the lattice, whose sight overlooked
The not far distant pile within whose walls
His life and love in Death's embraces lay.
Lured by the night-for sorrow ever loves
But he, the robber of the grave, writhed, Her shades congenial-he his mansion left,
And reeled, by terror smitten, to the door, And, rushing headlong up the darkened stairs,
And, unattended, wandered on to where
The cemetery of the minster spread
Its full green bosom to the shining moon;
And, entering on its path, he stood beside
A monument on which creative Art
Had placed a lesson for the sons of Grief,
For there, erect, sweet-smiling Virtue stood
And pointed drooping Sorrow to the skies;
Whilst Hope, her fair attending minister,
Beguiled his pains and chid away his fears.
Out bursts afresh the frantic echoing cries,
Quick-uttered and repeated. On he flew,
By anger firm and indignation fired,
Toward the door, whose entrance, wide
Told sight as well as hearing the abuse
Of misplaced confidence and trust betrayed.
Not long Debate asks punishment when Wrong
Is able to redress: so in he ran,
There, as the mourner stood with tearful eye Drew his bright sword and rushed amid the
Fixed on the portal of that holy place,
He saw or thought he saw, for grief is
To strange imaginations, true and false-
A figure like an angel from the door
Step out in the broad moonlight, gaze around
Then rush close past him down the avenue;
All noiselessly her hasty footsteps fell
As snow upon the waters, and as swift
As flashing light she vanished from his view.
Deep-wondering and amazed, a while he stood
To see who next might follow, for he deemed
That form divine had fitting company,
Guardian or guide angelic; but no more
Spirit or angel from the portal came.
Amazed, yet undismayed-for sorrow knows No fear when all she loves is lost-he stood A while deep musing; then toward his home He turned, and slowly left the sacred place; And now, whilst yet afar, his eye descried His late dark mansion lit with many a light, As though for Joy's espousals, and his ear Caught the strange sounds of frantic merri
Wild laughter's gathering voice, and sobs and shrieks,
And sounds of footsteps hurrying to and fro; Doubting which, he stands and questions much
If all be not a dream, until, renewed,
Not he who saw (Ezekiel, prophet holy) in the walls
Of God's own temple black idolatry,
When Israel's elders to the towers obscure
Of Moab burnt their incense, wilder stood
Or suffered more amazement. There, as
round
Her frantic maidens stood or knelt or lay-
For joy wears aspects strange and various—
Sat his own dear Genora, clad as when
She died within his arms, or seemed to die.
Down from his outstretched arms his gleam-
ing sword
Fell to the ground, and, hurrying, staggering
O'ercome by glad astonishment, he sunk,
Full mute and senseless, at the lost one's feet.
Pass we his quick recovery, to tell
Their joyous greeting, like as when above
Death-sundered spirits meet, whilst welcome
fills
The starry courts of heaven. The coming day
Beheld them kneeling at the altar's base, Afresh united; and the mystic gift, Symbolical of life from death, was shown In three fair babes, the roses of her dream. Translation of WILLIAM TAIT.
Counted my moments through the blessed day. And then to this there was a dull, strange ache
And turned and whispered Dora, and she laughed.
Ah! then I saw it all. I've been awake
Ever since then, I warrant you. And now
I only pray for him sometimes, when friends
Tell his base actions toward his hapless wife.
Oh, I am lying: I pray every night!
For ever sleeping in my breast-a numbing WARDEN, KEEP A PLACE FOR ME.
That would not for an instant be forgot.
So, that very feeling
Oh, but I loved him
Became intolerable. And I believed
This false Giuseppe, too, for all the sneers,
The shrugs and glances, of my intimates.
They slandered me and him, yet I believed.
He was a noble, and his love to me
Was a reproach, a shame, yet I believed.
He wearied of me, tried to shake me off,
Grew cold and formal, yet I would not doubt.
Oh, lady, I was true! Nor till I saw
Giuseppe walk through the cathedral door
With Dora, the rich usurer's niece, upon
The very arm to which I clung so oft,
Did I so much as doubt him. Even then-
More is my shame-I made excuses for him: "Just this or that had forced him to the
Perhaps he loved me yet-a little yet.
His fortune or his family had driven
My poor Giuseppe thus against his heart.
The low are sorry judges for the great.
Yes, yes, Giuseppe loved me!" But at last
I did awake. It might have been with less:
There was no need of crushing me, to break
My silly dream up. In the street, it chanced,
Dora and he went by me, and he laughed―
A bold, bad laugh-right in my poor pale face,
INCIDENT OF PRISON LIFE IN THE KINGS COUNTY
ISCHARGED again! Yes, I am free,
But, warden, keep a place for me;
For freedom means that I must go
Out in the wind and rain and snow
To fight with hunger, shame and cold,
A woman gray and worn and old-
To clothe myself in rags again,
And seek some wretched, narrow den;
And after that what must be done?
Steal? Beg? Hard lines for any one.
To work is easier. I would try,
But there's no work for such as I.
A fine thing, truly, to be free!
But, warden, keep a place for me;
For I'll come back. It's seven years
Since first I entered here in tears.
"Drunk and disorderly " I came,
And felt the burden and the shame,
The prison taint, the outlaw's dread
When first behind his hopeless tread
The gates clang to with dreadful sound
And the dark prison walls close round.
But when I went away I said,
"If I can earn my daily bread,
I'll work my fingers off before
I'll wear a convict's dress once more.'
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