Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, GERMANY; A WINTER TALE: CAPUT 14, by HEINRICH HEINE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

GERMANY; A WINTER TALE: CAPUT 14, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The wind was humid, and barren the land
Last Line: "o sun, thou accusing fire!"
Subject(s): Courts & Courtiers; Germany; Murder; Singing & Singers; Royal Court Life; Royalty; Kings; Queens; Germans; Songs


THE wind was humid, and barren the land,
The chaise floundered on in the mire,
Yet a singing and ringing were filling my ears:
"O Sun, thou accusing fire!"

The burden is this of the olden song
That my nurse so often was singing --
"O Sun, thou accusing fire!" was then
Like the note of the forest horn ringing.

This song of a murderer tells the tale,
Who lived a life joyous and splendid;
Hung up in the forest at last he was found,
From a grey old willow suspended.

The murderer's sentence of death was nail'd
On the willow's stem, written entire;
The Vehm-gericht's avengers' work 'twas --
O Sun, thou accusing fire!

The Sun was accuser, -- 'twas he who condemn'd
The murderer foul, in his ire.
Ottilia had cried, as she gave up the ghost:
"O Sun, thou accusing fire!"

When the song I recall, the remembrance too
Of my dear old nurse never ceases
I see once more her swarthy face,
With all its wrinkles and creases.

In the district of Munster she was born,
And knew, in all their glory,
Many popular songs and wondrous tales,
And many a wild ghost-story.

How my heart used to beat when the old nurse told how
The king's daughter, in days now olden,
Sat all alone on the desert heath,
While glisten'd her tresses so golden.

Her business was to tend the geese
As a goosegirl, and when at nightfall
She drove the geese home again through the gate,
Her tears would in piteous plight fall.

For nail'd up on high, above the gate,
She saw a horse's head o'er her;
The head it was of the dear old horse
Who to foreign countries bore her.

The king's poor daughter deeply sigh'd:
"O Falada! hangest thou yonder?"
The horse's head from above replied:
"Alas that from home thou did'st wander!"

The king's poor daughter deeply sigh'd:
"O would that my mother knew it!"
The horse's head from above replied:
"Full sorely she would rue it!"

With gasping breath I used to attend
When my nurse, with a voice soft and serious,
Of Barbarossa began to speak,
Our Emperor so mysterious.

She assured me that he was not dead, as to think
By learned men we were bidden,
But with his comrades in arms still lived
In a mountain's recesses safe hidden.

Kyffhauser is the mountain's name,
With a cave in its depths benighted;
By lamps its high and vaulted rooms
In ghostly fashion are lighted.

The first of the halls is a stable vast,
Where in glittering harness the stranger
Who enters may see many thousand steeds,
Each standing at his manger.

They all are saddled, and bridled all,
Yet amongst these thousands of creatures,
No single one neighs, no single one stamps,
Like statues of iron their features.

Upon the straw in the second hall
The soldiers are seen in their places;
Many thousand soldiers, a bearded race,
With warlike and insolent faces.

They all are full arm'd from top to toe,
Yet out of this countless number,
Not one of them moves, not one of them stire,
They all are wrapp'd in slumber.

In the third of the halls in lofty piles
Swords, spears, and axes are lying,
And armour and helmets of silver and steel,
With old-fashion'd fire-arms vying.

The cannons are few, but yet are enough
To build up a trophy olden.
A standard projects from out of the heap,
Its colour is black-red-golden.

In the fourth of the halls the Emperor lives,
For many a century dosing
On a seat made of stone near a table of stone,
His head on his arm reposing.

His beard, which has grown right down to the ground,
Is red as a fiery ocean;
At times his eye to blink may be seen,
And his eyebrows are ever in motion.

But whether he sleeps or whether he thinks
For the present we cannot discover;
Yet when the proper hour has come,
He'll shake himself all over.

His trusty banner he then will seize,
And "To horse! Quick to horse!" shout proudly;
His cavalry straight will awake and spring
From the earth, all rattling loudly.

Each man will forthwith leap on his horse,
Each stamping his hoofs and neighing;
They'll ride abroad in the clattering world,
While their trumpets are merrily playing.

Right well they ride, and right well they fight,
No longer they slumber supinely;
In terrible judgment the Emperor sits,
To punish the murd'rers condignly, --

The murderers foul, who murder'd erst
Her whose beauty such awe did inspire,
The golden hair'd maiden, Germania hight, --
O Sun, thou accusing fire!

Full many who deem'd themselves safely hid,
And sat in their castles cheerful,
Shall then not escape Barbarossa's fierce wrath,
And the cord of vengeance fearful.

My old nurse's tales, how sweetly they ring,
How dear are the thoughts they inspire!
My heart superstitiously shouts with joy:
"O Sun, thou accusing fire!"





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