On a snowy palfrey sat she,
Whose gold bridle by two negroes
Was conducted, who on foot
By the princess’ side were walking.
And in truth she was a princess,
Was the queen of far Judæa,
Was the lovely wife of Herod,
Who the Baptist’s head demanded.
For this deed of blood she also
Was accurs’d, and as a spectre
With the wild hunt must keep riding,
Even to the day of judgment.
In her hands she evermore
Bears the charger with the Baptist’s
Head upon it, which she kisses,—
Yes, the head she kisses wildly.
For she once loved John the Baptist;
In the Bible ’tis not written,
Yet in popular tradition
Lives Herodias’ bloody love.
Otherwise there’s no explaining
That strange fancy of the lady,—
Would a woman ever ask for
That man’s head for whom she cared not?
She was somewhat angry, may be,
With him,—had him, too, beheaded;
But when she upon the charger
Saw the much-loved head lie lifeless,
Sore she wept, and lost her senses,
And she died of love’s delirium.
(Love’s delirium! Pleonasm!
Love must always be delirium!)
Every night arising, bears she
As I’ve said, the bloody head
In her hand as she goes hunting,
Yet with foolish woman’s fancy
She at times the head hurls from her
Through the air, with childish laughter,
And then catches it again
Very nimbly, like a plaything.