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: At the window stood the mother
Last Line: "praise, mary, be to thee!"
Subject(s): Death; Hearts; Pilgrimages & Pilgrims; Sickness; Tears; Dead, The; Illness


I.

At the window stood the mother
In bed the sick son lay;
"Will you not get up, Wilhelm,
To see them pass this way?"

"I am so sick, O mother,
I cannot hear or see;
I think of my own dead Gretchen
And my heart is sad in me."

"Get up, we will to Kevlaar,
Take book and rosary;
The Mother of God will heal thee
Thy heart so sad in thee."

They flutter the holy banners,
They sing the holy song;
'Tis at Koln upon the Rhine-bank
The pilgrims pass along.

The mother follows the people,
She leads him tenderly;
Both of them join in the chorus:
"Praise, Mary, be to thee!"

II.

The Mother of God at Kevlaar
Is drest in her best array;
To-day she has much to be doing,
For the sick folk come to-day.

The sick folk all of them bring her,
As thanksgiving most meet,
Wax limbs cunningly moulded,
Waxen hands and feet.

And he who a wax hand offers,
His hand is healed of its pain;
And he who a wax foot offers
Can walk on his feet again.

To Kevlaar went many on crutches
Who now on the tight-rope bound;
And many now play the bass-viol
Who had not a finger sound.

The mother takes a waxlight
And fashions a heart thereof:
"Take that to God's dear Mother,
And she will heal thy love."

The son took, sighing, the wax heart,
Went sighing to Our Lady so;
The tears from his eyes are flowing,
The words from his heart outflow:

"Thou blessed among women,
Thou Maid of God most high
To thee, O Queen of Heaven,
To thee I make my cry.

"I lived alone with my mother
At Koln in the city afar,
The city where many hundreds
Of chapels and churches are.

"And near to us lived Gretchen,
But she, alas, is dead;
Mary, I bring thee a wax heart,
Heal thou my heart instead!

"Heal thou my heart of its sorrow,
And ever its song shall be,
Early and late unceasing:
'Praise, Mary, be to thee!'"

III.

The sick son and the mother
In the little chamber slept:
The Mother of God came to them
All silently she stept.

She stooped her over the sick one,
And her hand it lightly lay
Upon the troubled heart-beats;
And she smiled and passed away.

The mother sees all in her dreaming,
And more she has seen, I trow;
She waked from out of her slumber,
The dogs were barking so.

There lay outstretched beside her
Her son, and he was dead;
On the pallid cheeks there flickered
The light of the morning-red.

She folded her hands together,
She wist not how it might be;
Devoutly sang she and softly:
"Praise, Mary, be to thee!"





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