And wherefore weep?
I wept, thou dost remember, when I tore
Myself for ever from thy dear embrace,
And of my free will died from happiness,
That thus I might designs of blood fulfil.
That too long martyrdom at length is crowned.
Now stand I at the summit of desires;
I can revenge me on the enemy.
And thou hast come to tear my victory from me!
Till now, when from the window of thy turret
Thou didst look on me, in the world’s whole circle
Again there seemed no thing to meet my eye,
But the lake only, and the tower and grate.
Around me all with tumult seethes of war.
’Mid trumpet clamour, ’mid the clash of arms,
I seek impatient with a straining ear,
For the angelic sound of thy sweet lips,
And all the day for me is waiting hope.
And when the evening season I have reached,
I wish to lengthen it by memories:
I reckon by its evenings all my life.
Meanwhile the Order murmurs at repose,
Entreat for war, demand their own perdition;
And vengeful Halban will not let me breathe,
But still recalls to me those ancient vows,
The slaughtered hamlets, and the lands destroyed;
Or if I will not listen his reproaches,
He with one sigh, one glance, one beckoning,
Can blow my smouldering vengeance to a flame.
Now seems my destiny to near its end;
Nought the Crusaders can withhold from war.
A messenger from Rome came yesterday.
From the world’s every quarter, clouds unnumbered
A pious zeal hath gathered in the field,
And all call out to me to lead them on
With sword and cross upon the walls of Wilna.
And yet—with shame I must confess—ev’n now,
While destinies of mighty nations pend,
I think of thee, and still invent delays,
That we may pass together one more day.
O youth! how fearful was thy sacrifice!
When young, love, happiness, a very heaven,
I for a nation’s cause could sacrifice
With grief, but courage;—and to-day, grown old,—
To-day despair, my duty, and God’s will
Compel me to the field, and still I dare not
Tear my grey head from these walls’ pedestal,
That I may not forego thy sweet conversing.
He ceased. Groans only issued from the tower.
Long hours flowed by in silence. Now the night
Reddened, and now the water’s stilly face
Blushed with the ray of dawn. Among the leaves
Of sleeping bushes with a rustling murmur
The morning freshness flew. The birds awoke
With their soft notes, then once again they ceased,
And by long-during silence gave to know
They had too early woken. Konrad rose,
Lifted his eyes unto the tower, and looked
With anguish on the grate. The nightingale
Awoke in song, then Konrad looked around.
’Tis morning! and he let his visor down,
And in his cloak’s wide folds concealed his face.
With beckoning of his hand he signs adieu,
And in the bushes how is lost
Ev’n thus,
A spirit infernal from a hermit’s door
Doth vanish at the sound of matin bell.