Category Archives: Trinius


TRINIUS: “Norfall’s Tower”

Excerpt, “Ballads from the German.” Translator: Henry Inglis. 1864..

flyinglady..

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“Norfall’s Tower”.

Say, whither do thy wandering footsteps bend ?
Were not thy couch and chamber warm, my friend?
The hour of twelve has chimed on Norfall’s tower;
And on the tempest drifts the hurtling shower.

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Say, pilgrim of the night, hast thou no fear ?
The howling Blast and rain-flood dost thou hear ?
Ere morning reddens through the inky night,
Will burst the thunderbolt of Norfall’s might.

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Back, restless spirit, to thy chamber warm !
Know that the Cloud-king rideth on the storm:
He turneth not in mercy on his path,
But yearly reaps the harvest of his wrath.

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Thus it befell: as on an even-tide
He chanced upon the blustering blast to ride
Round Norfall’s Castle in his sternest mood,
A maiden by the lighted casement stood.

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Proud was her presence, and her glance was fire;
Her words were bitter stings of scorn and ire;
While at her feet a youth of high degree
Knelt in a trance of grievous agony.

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“Is there no mercy, maiden, in thy breast ?
Is there no pardon for a sin confessed ?
Doth not all nature worship at thy shrine ?
Beats there the manly heart that is not thine ?

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“I also at thine altar watch and pray;
Thou art my dream by night, my thought by day:
But never yet did dream or thought aspire
To aught of earthly promise or desire.

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“I am the plighted pilgrim, and no more,
Who bows his head to kiss the hallowed floor:
Like him, I kiss the hallowed robe afar,
As if I bent in worship to a star.”

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Haught was the answer of the ruthless fair:
“How, beardless boy, unblushing, dost thou dare
To plead to her whom princes of the land
Have sued in vain with sceptre, heart and hand?

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“Rash boy, forbear !—The heaving of my breath,
My rosy lips, my lily hands, are Death;
The spells of beauty that around me glow
Can ne’er descend on mortal here below.

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“My chosen bridegroom is the stately king
Who rules the gnomes of air and elvish ring ;
And he shall twice obey his bride’s behest,
Or fold her never to his phantom breast.”

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Scarce did the proud boast from the maiden fall,
Old Norfall’s Castle shook from tower to hall;
The Cloud-king with his tempest-train came down,
The thunderbolt his sceptre and his crown.

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“Maid of the matchless form and soul of fire !
‘Tis granted thee, thy swelling heart’s desire;
Heed not for mendicants before thee cast;
I woo thee with the lightning and the blast.

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“Through the far fields of ether wouldst thou roam ?
The king of clouds will lead thee to his home;
And he shall twice obey his bride’s behest,
Or fold her never to his phantom breast.”

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Around the maid his whirlwind arms were cast;
He bore her through the darkness, fierce and fast,
Until the faithful boy’s impassioned prayer
No longer reached her in the upper air.

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Now in the palace of the clouds they rest:
The spirit fondly clasps her to his breast:
“And now, beloved one, ’tis well, I ween,
I show the Empyrean lords their queen.”

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From his wet beard he tore out bristles three;
Three grouts of blood obeyed the gramarye;
Then quick the wizard blood and snaky hair
He scorched and shriveled in the levin’s glare.

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See! Clothed in white, upon a dripping steed,
An airy horseman comes at flying speed;
Behind, and bearing high a pearly shell,
The mother fairy of the mystic spell.

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“Hail! King of Clouds !” up spoke the Water-king,
“A crimson goblet to the feast I bring,
Ta’en from the miller’s dame in her death-dream,
Upon the margin of the flooded stream.”

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The Erl-king came upon his car of fire,
His daughters sate beside their gloomy sire.
Squadrons of elves on cricket steeds drew nigh,
Scourging the lazy nightmare as they fly.

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And then the Erl-king spoke: “O Cloud-king, hail!
A dainty dish I bring to the regale;
The red heart of a scoundrel I slew to-day
As slumbering with his ill-got loot he lay.”

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Hark to the roaring, jarring, hideous scream
Of winged dragons chained in fiery team !
With salamanders at their demon play
Within the yellow zone of flaming spray.

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“Come,” quoth the Fire-king, “see, the feast is drest,
The table spread ! I am the latest guest:
Then quickly to the banquet let us hie;
There will be scanty fare for such as I.”

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Helpless and terror-struck Romhildé stood
Alone amidst the evil spirit-brood ;
“Is it for shapes of death like these I fell?
This masquerade of horrors fresh from hell ?”

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Ay, wring thy hands, lost maiden, wring them sore;
It is the demon’s compact, and no more:
She who in demon’s arms elects to rest,
He feasts upon the life-blood from her breast.”

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“Avaunt, foul spirit! Does thou fling apart
The words of promise that beguiled my heart?
That twice them shouldst obey thy bride’s behest,
Or fold her never to thy phantom breast!”

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“Not so, my love; before the feast grows cold
They shall be thine, so they be quickly told.”
In trembling haste bethought the anguished maid;
In trembling tearful accents thus she said:

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“The faithful boy who loves me, I would see;”
He stood before her in her agony:
Upon his breast she leaned her forehead fair,
Then clasped him to her heart in fond despair.

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“0 noble heart, in love and truth to me !
Now, show me, king, a truer one than he.”
A howl of pain replied,—a dismal scream;
And spells and spectres vanished like a dream.

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The light of morning chased the shadows dun;
Shone o’er the castled keep the glorious sun:
In bonds of lifelong faith supremely blest,
Romhildé and her lover are at rest.

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Still as the waning days of autumn frown,
The Cloud-king with his tempest-train comes down;
But still the morning rays the mists dispel;
For Faith is stronger than the strength of Hell.

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