In the green plain before me spread A mighty oak tree rear’d its head; And lo! the maiden, strange to see, Was felling with an axe the tree.
With blow on blow a song she sings Unceasing, as the axe she swings: “Iron glittering, iron bright, “Hew the oaken chest aright.”
I went and stood then in her way, And whisper’d gently: “Prythee say, “Thou sweet and wondrous maiden mine, “For whom dost hew the oaken shrine?”
Then spake she quickly: “Time is short, “To hew thy coffin is my sport!”-- Scarce had her lips these words let fall, Like foam the vision vanish’d all.
Bleak, dim was all above, beneath, Around was barren, barren heath: I felt in strange mysterious mood, And shuddering inwardly I stood.
And as I roam’d on silently, A whitish streak soon caught mine eye; I hasten’d tow’rd it, and when there, Behold, I found the maiden fair!
On wide heath stood the snowy maid, Digging the ground with sexton’s spade; Scarce dared I gaze on her aright, So fair yet fearful was the sight.
The beauteous girl, who made all speed, A song was humming, strange indeed: “Spade, O spade, so sharp and tried, “Dig a pit both deep and wide.”
I went, and stood then in her way, And whisper’d gently: “Prythee say, “Thou maiden sweet and wondrous fair, “What means the pit that’s lying there?”
Then spake she quickly: “Silent be! “A cold, cold grave I dig for thee.” And when the fair maid thus replied, Its mouth the pit straight opened wide.
And when the pit was full in view, A chilling shudder pierced me through, And in the grave so dark and deep Headlong I fell, and--woke from sleep.
In midnight vision I myself have spied, As for some festival, in ruffles dress’d, In a black gala-coat and silken vest;-- My sweet and trusting love with scorn I eyed; And bow’d low down, and said “Art thou a bride?” “I wish thee joy, dear Madam, I protest!” And yet my lips reluctantly express’d The words so cold and tauntingly applied. And bitter tears then suddenly ’gan falling From her dear eyes, and in a sea of weeping Wellnigh dissolved her image so enthralling. O lovely eyes, ye stars of love so kindly, What though ye, when awake, and e’en when sleeping Deceived me oft, I trust ye still as blindly!
In dream I saw a tiny manikin, Who went on stilts, with steps a yard apart; White was his linen, and his dress was smart, But he was coarse and most unclean within. Yes, worthless inwardly, and full of sin; Worthy to seem outside was his great art, Of courage he discoursed, as from his heart, Defiant, stubborn, ’neath a veil but thin. “And know’st thou who he is? Come here and see!” So spake the dream-god, slily showing me Within a mirror’s frame this vision then. The manikin before an altar stood, My love beside him, both said “Yes, they would,” And thousand laughing devils cried “Amen!”