Thus the troop of nuns sing on,
And a long-dead clerk is playing
On the organ. Hands of spirits
O’er the keys are wildly straying.
PALSGRAVINE JUTTA.
The Palsgravine Jutta, in bark so light,
Is crossing the Rhine in the moonlight bright;
The Countess speaks, while rows the maid:
“Hast thou yon seven corpses survey’d
“That, seeking to find us,
“Are floating behind us?—
“So sadly are floating the corpses!
“Seven knights were they, who their love confess’d,
“And tenderly sank on my heaving breast,
“And swore to be faithful; so, certain to make
“That they their oaths should never break,
“I seized and bound them,
“And straightway drown’d them,—
“So sadly are floating the corpses!”
The Countess laughs, while the maiden rows,
Through the air her laughter scornfully goes;
From the water the corpses rise high as the thigh,
And point with their fingers towards the sky,
In token of swearing,
With glassy eyes staring—
So sadly are floating the corpses!
THE MOORISH KING.
To the Alpuxarres’ exile
Went the youthful Moorish monarch;
Silent and with heart full mournful
Heading the procession rode he.
And behind, on lofty palfreys
Or in golden litters riding,
Sat the women of his household;
Swarthy maids on mules were sitting.
And a hundred trusty followers
Rode on noble Arab horses;
Haughty steeds, and yet the riders
Carelessly bestrode the saddles.
Not a drum and not a cymbal,
Not a single song resounded;
Silver bells upon the mules, though,
Echoed sadly in the silence.