“Tis too late.
Know’st thou for what I pray thee? Throw some twig;
No, no, thou hast no flowers. From thy garments
A thread, or from thy tresses cast a lock;
Or throw a pebble from thy prison walls.
To-day I wish—all may not see to-morrow.
I would to-day have some remembrance of thee,
That lay this very morn upon thy breast,
And which a tear shall glow on, lately shed,
For I would lay it on my heart in death,
And bid the gift farewell with my last breath.
I must die shortly, swiftly, suddenly!
Well die together! Dost thou see that shot-hole?
There will I dwell. Each morning for a sign,
I’ll hang a black cloth on the balcony,
And at the grate each evening place a lamp.
There gaze thou steadfast. Throw I down the cloth,
Or if the lamp expires before its time,
Close thou thy window. I maybe return not.
Farewell, beloved!”
He vanished. Still Aldona
Gazed, bending downward from the window grate.
The morn had passed away, the sun had set,
But her white garments, dallying in the wind,
And arms stretched down to earth were long beheld.
“The sun has set at last,” spoke Alf to Halban,
And pointed from his shot-hole to the sun.
Within the turret, from the early morn
He sat, and looked upon Aldona’s window,
“Give me my cloak and sword. Farewell, true friend;
I go unto the tower. Farewell for long,
Maybe for ever!—Listen to me, Halban.
If, when to-morrow day begins to gleam,
I come not back, leave thou this dwelling-place.
I will, I would give something to thy charge.
How lone am I! either in earth or heaven,
To no one, nowhere, have I aught to say
In my death-hour, except to her and thee!
Farewell unto thee, Halban; she will know it.
Throw down the kerchief if to-morrow morn—
But what is that? Dost hear? There comes a knocking.”
“Who goeth there?” three times the sentry cried.
“Woe!” answered many voices wild and strange.
Resistance none the sentry might oppose;
The door could not withstand the heavy shocks.
The invaders passed the lower galleries through,
And mounted up the winding iron stair
That led to Wallenrod’s last dwelling-place.
Alf with the iron bolt secured the door,
His sabre drew, a cup raised from the board,
Drew near the window. “It is done!” he cried.
He filled, and drank. “Old man, ’tis in thy hands.”
Halban grew pale. With motion of his hand
He thought to spill the draught—he stopt in thought.
The sounds aye nearer through the doors were heard,
His hand relaxed. “’Tis they, the foes are come!”
“Old man, thou knowest what this uproar means?
What are thy thoughts? Thou hast the goblet full—
I have drunk my portion. In thy hands, old man.”
Halban gazed on in silence of despair.
“No, no, I will survive even thee, my son!
I would as yet remain to close thine eyes,
And live, so that the glory of thy deed,
I to the world may tell, to ages show.
I’ll traverse Litwa’s castles, hamlets, towns;
And where I pass not, there my song shall fly.
The bard shall sing them unto knights in war,
And women sing them for their babes at home.
Aye! they shall sing them, and in future days
Some venger shall arise from out our bones.”(5)
Alf fell upon the window-sill with tears,
And long, long time upon the tower he gazed,
As though he yet his gaze would satiate
With those dear sights he shortly must forego.
He hung on Halban’s neck; they mixed their sighs,
In that embrace of long and last farewell.
But at the bolts they heard a steely rattle,
And armèd men came in, and called Alf s name.
“Traitor, thy head must fall beneath the sword;
Repent thee of thy sins, prepare for death!
Behold this old man, chaplain of the Order,
Cleanse thou thy soul and make a fitting end!”
Alf stood with drawn sword ready for their coming;
But paler aye he grew, he bowed, and tottered,
Leaned on the sill; casting a haughty glance,
His mantle tore off, flung the Master’s badge
On earth, and trampled scornful under foot.
“Behold the sins committed in my life.
Ready am I to die; what will ye more?
The annals of my ruling will ye hear?
Look on these many thousands hurled to death,
On towns in ruins, and domains in flames.
Hear ye the storm-winds? clouds of snow drive on;
Thither your army’s remnants freeze in ice.
Hear ye? The hungry packs of dogs do howl,
They tear each other for the banquet’s remnant.
“I caused all this, and I am great and proud,
So many hydras’ heads one blow has felled;
As Samson, by once shaking of the column,
To o’er throw the temple, dying in its ruin.”
He spoke, looked on the window, and he fell.
But ere he fell, he cast the lamp to earth.
It three times glimmered with a circling blaze,
That rested latterly on Konrad’s brow;
And in its scattered flow the fire’s rust gleamed,
But ever deeper into darkness sank.
At length, as though it gave the sign of death,
One last great ring of light shot forth its blaze;
And in this blaze were seen the eyes of Alf,
All white in death, and now the light was dark.
And at this moment through the tower walls pierced
A sudden cry,16 strong, lengthened, broken off—
From whose breast came it? Surely ye can guess
But he who heard it readily might tell,
That from the breast whence such a cry escaped,
Now never more should any voice come forth.
For this voice a whole life spoke aloud.
Thus lute strings, shuddering from a heavy stroke,
Vibrate and burst; in their confusèd sounds
They seem to voice the first notes of a song,
But of such song let none expect the end.
Such be my singing of Aldona’s fate.
Let music’s angel sing it through in heaven,
And thou, O tender reader, in thy soul.