Verses and Translations Part 5

Konigswinter, hateful Konigswinter!

Burying-place of all I loved so well!

Never did the most extensive printer Print a tale so dark as thou could'st tell!

In the sapphire West the eve yet lingered, Bathed in kindly light those hill-tops cold; Fringed each cloud, and, stooping rosy-fingered, Changed Rhine's waters into molten gold; -

While still nearer did his light waves splinter Into silvery shafts the streaming light; And I said I loved thee, Konigswinter, For the glory that was thine that night.

And we gazed, till slowly disappearing, Like a day-dream, pa.s.sed the pageant by, And I saw but those lone hills, uprearing Dull dark shapes against a hueless sky.

Then I turned, and on those bright hopes pondered Whereof yon gay fancies were the type; And my hand mechanically wandered Towards my left-hand pocket for a pipe.

Ah! why starts each eyeball from its socket, As, in Hamlet, start the guilty Queen's?

There, deep-hid in its accustomed pocket, Lay my sole pipe, smashed to smithereens!

On, on the vessel steals; Round go the paddle-wheels, And now the tourist feels As he should; For king-like rolls the Rhine, And the scenery's divine, And the victuals and the wine Rather good.

From every crag we pa.s.s'll Rise up some h.o.a.r old castle; The hanging fir-groves ta.s.sel Every slope; And the vine her lithe arms stretches O'er peasants singing catches - And you'll make no end of sketches, I should hope.

We've a nun here (called Therese), Two couriers out of place, One Yankee, with a face Like a ferret's: And three youths in scarlet caps Drinking chocolate and schnapps - A diet which perhaps Has its merits.

And day again declines: In shadow sleep the vines, And the last ray through the pines Feebly glows, Then sinks behind yon ridge; And the usual evening midge Is settling on the bridge Of my nose.

And keen's the air and cold, And the sheep are in the fold, And Night walks sable-stoled Through the trees; And on the silent river The floating starbeams quiver; - And now, the saints deliver Us from fleas.

Avenues of broad white houses, Basking in the noontide glare; - Streets, which foot of traveller shrinks from, As on hot plates shrinks the bear; -

Elsewhere lawns, and vista'd gardens, Statues white, and cool arcades, Where at eve the German warrior Winks upon the German maids; -

Such is Munich:- broad and stately, Rich of hue, and fair of form; But, towards the end of August, Unequivocally WARM.

There, the long dim galleries threading, May the artist's eye behold, Breathing from the "deathless canva.s.s"

Records of the years of old:

Pallas there, and Jove, and Juno, "Take" once more "their walks abroad,"

Under t.i.tian's fiery woodlands And the saffron skies of Claude:

There the Amazons of Rubens Lift the failing arm to strike, And the pale light falls in ma.s.ses On the hors.e.m.e.n of Vand.y.k.e;

And in Berghem's pools reflected Hang the cattle's graceful shapes, And Murillo's soft boy-faces Laugh amid the Seville grapes;

And all purest, loveliest fancies That in poets' souls may dwell Started into shape and substance At the touch of Raphael. -

Lo! her wan arms folded meekly, And the glory of her hair Falling as a robe around her, Kneels the Magdalene in prayer;

And the white-robed Virgin-mother Smiles, as centuries back she smiled, Half in gladness, half in wonder, On the calm face of her Child:-

And that mighty Judgment-vision Tells how man essayed to climb Up the ladder of the ages, Past the frontier-walls of Time;

Heard the trumpet-echoes rolling Through the phantom-peopled sky, And the still voice bid this mortal Put on immortality.

Thence we turned, what time the blackbird Pipes to vespers from his perch, And from out the clattering city Pa.s.s'd into the silent church;

Marked the shower of sunlight breaking Thro' the crimson panes o'erhead, And on pictured wall and window Read the histories of the dead:

Till the kneelers round us, rising, Cross'd their foreheads and were gone; And o'er aisle and arch and cornice, Layer on layer, the night came on.

CHARADES.

I.

She stood at Greenwich, motionless amid The ever-s.h.i.+fting crowd of pa.s.sengers.

I marked a big tear quivering on the lid Of her deep-l.u.s.trous eye, and knew that hers Were days of bitterness. But, "Oh! what stirs"

I said "such storm within so fair a breast?"

Even as I spoke, two apoplectic curs Came feebly up: with one wild cry she prest Each singly to her heart, and faltered, "Heaven be blest!"

Yet once again I saw her, from the deck Of a black s.h.i.+p that steamed towards Blackwall.

She walked upon MY FIRST. Her stately neck Bent o'er an object shrouded in her shawl: I could not see the tears--the glad tears--fall, Yet knew they fell. And "Ah," I said, "not puppies, Seen unexpectedly, could lift the pall From hearts who KNOW what tasting misery's cup is, As Niobe's, or mine, or Mr. William Guppy's."

Spake John Grogblossom the coachman to Eliza Spinks the cook: "Mrs. Spinks," says he, "I've foundered: 'Liza dear, I'm overtook.

Druv into a corner reglar, puzzled as a babe unborn; Speak the word, my blessed 'Liza; speak, and John the coachman's yourn."

Then Eliza Spinks made answer, blus.h.i.+ng, to the coachman John: "John, I'm born and bred a spinster: I've begun and I'll go on.

Endless cares and endless worrits, well I knows it, has a wife: Cooking for a genteel family, John, it's a goluptious life!

"I gets 20 pounds per annum--tea and things o' course not reckoned, - There's a cat that eats the b.u.t.ter, takes the coals, and breaks MY SECOND: There's soci'ty--James the footman;--(not that I look after him; But he's aff'ble in his manners, with amazing length of limb;) -

"Never durst the missis enter here until I've said 'Come in': If I saw the master peeping, I'd catch up the rolling-pin.

Christmas-boxes, that's a something; perkisites, that's something too; And I think, take all together, John, I won't be on with you."

John the coachman took his hat up, for he thought he'd had enough; Rubbed an elongated forehead with a meditative cuff; Paused before the stable doorway; said, when there, in accents mild, "She's a fine young 'oman, cook is; but that's where it is, she's spiled."

I have read in some not marvellous tale, (Or if I have not, I've dreamed) Of one who filled up the convivial cup Till the company round him seemed

To be vanished and gone, tho' the lamps upon Their face as aforetime gleamed: And his head sunk down, and a Lethe crept O'er his powerful brain, and the young man slept.