Since that hour, my body hath fast decay’d, My soul is dying with yearning; I was poison’d, alas! by the hapless maid With her falling tears so burning.
Up high on yonder mountain Stands a stately castle alone, Where dwell three beauteous maidens, Whose love in turns I have known.
On Saturday Harriet kiss’d me, While Sunday was Julia’s right; On Monday Cunigund follow’d, Who well nigh stifled me quite.
To hold a fête in the castle On Tuesday my maidens agreed; The neighbouring lords and ladies All came with carriage or steed.
But I was never invited, To your great wonder, no doubt; The whispering aunts and cousins Observ’d it, and laugh’d right out.
On the dim and far horizon Appeareth, misty and pale, The city, with all its towers, In evening twilight’s veil.
A humid gust is ruffling The path o’er the waters dark; With mournful measure, the sailor Is rowing my tiny bark.
The sun once more ariseth, And over the earth gleams he, And shows me the spot out yonder Where my loved one was lost to me.
All hail to thee, thou stately Mysterious town, all hail, Who erst within thy bosom My loved one’s form didst veil!
O say, ye towers and gateways, O where can my loved one be? To your keeping of yore was she trusted, And ye must her bail be to me.
The towers, in truth, are guiltless, From their places they could not come down, When she, with her trunks and boxes, So hastily went from the town.
The gates, however, they suffer’d My darling to slip through them straight; A gate is ever found willing To let a fool “gang her ain gait.”[23]
Once more my steps through the olden path And the well-known streets are taken, Until I come to my loved one’s house, So empty now and forsaken.
How narrow and close the streets appear! How nauseous the smell of the plaster! The houses seem tumbling down on my head, So I haste away, fearing disaster.
Once more through the halls I pass’d Where her troth to me was plighted; On the spot where her tears fell fast A serpent’s brood had alighted.
The night is still, and the streets are deserted, In this house my love had her dwelling of yore; ’Tis long since she from the city departed, Yet her house still stands on the spot as before.
There stands, too, a man, who stares up at her casement, And wrings his hands with the weight of his woes; I look on his face with shudd’ring amazement,-- The moon doth the form of myself disclose.