Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR, by HEINRICH HEINE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The mother stood at her lattice
Last Line: "o mary, blest be thou!"
Subject(s): Death; Hearts; Pilgrimages & Pilgrims; Sickness; Tears; Dead, The; Illness


I.

The mother stood at her lattice,
The son lay on his bed;
"Come, gaze at the holy pilgrims,
Wilhelm, arise," she said.

"I am so ill, my mother,
I scarce can see or hear;'
On my dead Margaret musing,
My heart, alas! is drear."

"Arise, we will go to Kevlaar,
The book and rosary take;
The Mother of God will heal thee,
Thy poor heart must not break."

The pilgrims wave church banners,
And chant in a solemn tone;
And so the procession passes
Through the Rhenish town, Cologne.

In the crowd the mother follows—
She leads her son, and he
Joins with her in the chanting,
"Blessed be thou, Marie!"

II.

The Mother of God at Kevlaar
Is dazzlingly arrayed:
To-day she is busy healing
The sick who have sought her aid.

They lay their many offerings
Before her shrine in prayer—
Limbs, feet and hands all modelled
In wax-work clean and fair.

And whoso a wax hand offers
Is cured, if his hand is maimed,
While he who a wax foot bringeth
Is healed, though his foot is lamed.

But the mother took a taper,
And fashioned thereof a heart;
Take that to the Holy Virgin,
And she will ease thy smart."

The son knelt down to the Virgin,
And offered the heart with sighs;
A prayer broke forth from his spirit
And tears broke forth from his eyes:

"O Virgin, Queen of Heaven,
Thou pure and holy maid,
To thee I breathe my sorrows
For thou my woe canst aid.

I dwelt with my tender mother
In the Rhenish town, Cologne,
That many hundred churches
And chapels fair doth own.

And near us dwelt my Margaret,
But dead she lieth now;
A waxen heart I bring thee,
My wounded heart heal thou!

Heal thou my heart that is broken,
And, singing fervently,
I will pray both late and early,
Blessed be thou, Marie!"

III.

The sick son and his mother
Slept in a lowly room,
When lo! the Virgin lightly
Stepped inwards through the gloom.

She bent above the sick man,
And on his heart did lay
Her gentle fingers softly,
And smiled and went away.

The mother saw in a vision
What happened in the dark,
And wakened from her slumber
For the dogs did loudly bark.

Her son lay stretched before her,
And the light of morning red
Fell on his cold, pale features;
The breath of life had fled!

Then her hands the mother folded,
She felt, she scarce knew how;
And she whispered low, devoutly,
"O Mary, blest be thou!"





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