Halek's Stories and Evensongs/Evensongs

by Vítězslav Hálek

For other English-language translations of this work, see Evening Songs (Hálek).

For works with similar titles, see Evensongs.

I
I am that knight of fairy-lore
 Who rode so boldly into the world,
To see the maiden whose beauty
 Like a rose on its bush is unfurled.

And they said that who so beheld her
 With an endless curse was opprest,
Either changed to a stony statue
 Or his heart torn out of his breast.

But I thought in my pride and madness
 Some haply escape sometimes,
Forth rode I, and, for my presumption,
 Am changed to a rhymer of rhymes.

II
All on earth is lapped in slumber,
 All save the heart in my breast;
Tell me, Lord of the firmament,
 Why hath that heart no rest.

This world so divine is silent all,
 All save my heart that throbbeth ever,
Tell me, Lord of the firmament,
 Why doth it tire never?

Thought is lulled to rest on the lap of slumber,
 Day and night alternate watch are keeping,
But the heart, true guardian of love eternal,
 Throbs on for ever unsleeping.

III
The brightness of the sun at noon,
 That is my love to thee,
And night, fair shadow of the day,
 Thy silent love for me.

Thou litst in me a fire as hot,
 As burns earth’s central zone,
But now that fire unfed by thee,
 Feeds on itself alone.

I thought with thee on love to feast,
 Now crumbs are all my share,
What wonder if in lonely grief,
 My face is shrunk with care.

But human hearts can suffer much,
 And sickness tames their might,
And I, i’ faith, can scarcely say,
 If mine be day or night.

Thus is it writ. And day and night
 Eternally are fleeting,
And only one brief kiss is theirs,
 In twilight’s hour of meeting.

IV
What boots it that yon nightingale
 So sweetly sings to me, love,
When this estranged heart of mine,
 Dallies alone with thee, love?

Ah! were his song that charms the sense,
 The sweetest e’er created,
What boots it—when my soul with thee,
 And thy sweet soul is sated?

Ah! little mortal man suspects,
 How sweet ’tis thus to adore thee,
I’d drag the stars from heaven to thee,
 And sell my soul, love, for thee.

V
It seemed to me that thou wert dead,
 I heard the death-knell tolling,
And through the air a voice of woe,
 And lamentation rolling.

How strange a couch they strewed thee there,
 A stone the coverlid,
And bade me write a verse thereon
 In memory of thy shade.

Oh! people! people! hearts of stone,
 Here take my heart among you,
Be graven on the funeral slab,
 What yet I have not sung you.

My living love ye trusted not,
 My words were for your jeering,
Now shall the stones cry out on you,
 And win my words a hearing.

VI
When to the earth I yield my dust,
 My soul to God from whom it came,
I pray that I may buried be,
 As best befits a poet’s fame.

Around my brows the laurel wreath,
 And lodge the lyre within my hands,
That my new neighbours well may know,
 Who entereth last their silent lands.

Sacred to me my lyre hath been,
 And not the plaything of an hour,
Then let it rest upon my breast,
 When death’s long shadows lower.

And when it irks us in the grave,
 I’ll wreath a song around their heart,
And sing them songs of such delight,
 The dead to life shall start.

But if ye living idly dream
 Good ne’er achieved, reforms unsped,
I’ll rouse the dead against you, ay!
 I’ll wake the living with the dead!

VII
Ye little birds upon the tree
 Whose very dreams are song,
Which of you thinks of me, your friend,
 Who dies of cruel wrong?

Thou little moon ride high in heaven,
 I hail thee for my brother,
My passion’s beam is chill as thine,
 We suit with one another.

The last faint flickering warmth is quenched,
 And only words remain,
Yet, could I fan them into life,
 I’d live my griefs again.

VIII
Ah! marvel not if thou shouldst hear,
 The birds sing songs of thee, love,
Since once they came at eventide,
 To hear and look on me, love.

And once they came and yet again,
 As to an elder brother,
For I am free as they, and we
 Are kin to one another.

And many a song I sang of thee,
 Songs full of love and passion,
To which those small birds tuned their throat,
 And sang them in their fashion.

So when I visited the copse,
 Where those sweet birds were singing,
I marvelled much to hear the grove,
 With my own love-notes ringing.

IX
Your arm about some supple waist,
 To thread the waltz—what joyous pleasure!
Come, pale-face, join the dance with us,
 I’ll bid them play a measure.

But pale-face shivered e’en as though
 Chill frost was o’er his limbs congealing,
And o’er that pale wan face of his,
 I saw the hot tears stealing.

X
The greatest hero is not he,
 Who being struck returns the blow,
But he is great who, though deceived,
 Will not his faith forgo.

He never knew love’s holiest flame,
 Who dares her sacred shrine defame,
Love learns forgiveness unto men,
 And, cursed, curseth not again.

Who cannot sacrifice himself,
 Shall ne’er to love’s pure empire rise,
And false the priest who loveth self,
 More than the sacrifice.

Ah! sweetheart, taught by thee to love,
 Earth’s joys I’d give e’en heaven above.
Meek as the lamb submissive dies,
 If love demand the sacrifice.

XI
Spring flutters home from far away,
 And Nature’s children, touched with longing,
Woke from their long, long winter’s dream,
 To meet the sun are thronging.

The chaffinch flutters from the nest,
 Fresh children from their cottage sally,
And varied flowerets on the lees,
 Scent all the neighbouring valley.

Bursts forth the leaf upon the bough,
 And from the young bird’s throat are ringing
The first shy notes, and in young hearts
 The germs of love are springing.

XII
I am like the tufted linden
 All in gala dress arrayed,
Thou art the lovely rose of May,
 Come, seat thee in my shade.

Here every leaf is breathing sweetly,
 Here the buzzing swarm resorts,
Hither fly the birds at even,
 And the birds they are my thoughts.

And far away, away they fly,
 As children from their home they flee,
But they will fly away no more,
 When thou seatst thyself by me.

XIII
Full oft I think—so oft as e’er
 I press thy heart to me, love,
That thou for me alone art here
 On earth, and I for thee, love.

’Tis hard to journey in the world,
 And never be benighted,
And the best bliss on earth is this,
 When kindred hearts are plighted.

And hath the king his coronal,
 And God his heaven above,
The little bird his bower of spring,
 Oh! I have thee, my love.

XIV
Come, sweetheart, ’tis the very hour,
 For holiest prayer on bended knee,
The moon is rising o’er the tower.
 Time flies—oh! loved one, come to me.

Nay, do not clasp thy hands, my sweet,
 But clasp me, love, as I clasp thee,
And ’stead of hands—two hearts shall meet,
 In prayer to heaven eternally.

Be lip to lip, love, thine to mine,
 That from one mouth our prayers may rise.
I’ll breath the words, dear, into thine,
 Thy breath shall waft them to the skies.

And thus our mutual prayer shall rise,
 The purest truest sacrifice.
For thus united seraphs raise,
 Eternal prayer, eternal praise.

XV
Fair, passing fair, my Lord, is all,
 In love that’s o’er us beaming,
All lives for love and would dissolve
 In love’s poetic dreaming.

Yon cloudlet hastening o’er the skies,
 Love’s messenger is wending,
The bird that’s dozing on the bough
 Still dreams of love unending.

Man here on earth, till death shall bow
 His head—’tis love supplieth
The theme of all his joys and tears,
 For love he lives and dieth.

Ay! heavenly angels when from harps
 Of gold their songs are springing,
What could they sing of, being forbade
 Love’s music for their singing.

XVI
To Paradise God summoned me,
 There to learn songs of heavenly might,
’Tis ill for man alone to be,
 And God formed Eve for my delight.

No rib he chose from out my side,
 My very heart he did divide,
And therefore doth this heart of mine,
 So fondly nestle, love to thine.

And therefore yearnings passing strange
 Are lodged within this heart so lone,
As tho’ ’twere fain our hearts again,
 Should grow together into one.

And therefore when afar I roam,
 My feet unbidden turn to home,
And ’stead of blood this heart supplies,
 Only the tear drop to my eyes.

XVII
Thine eye is a beautiful lake, lady,
 That glitters all bright in the gloaming.
In it bathes the fond light of the stars of the night.
 Of the stars in the azure sky roaming.

And ’tis clear as the crystal of ice, lady,
 And its depths are transparent as ether.
Youth, gaze not too deep, tho’ the sea seem asleep,
 There are many lie buried beneath her.

XVIII
Come, sweetheart, and sit beside me,
 With my arms let me enshroud thee.
With a spirit as fair as an angel’s
 Out of heaven, hath God endowed thee.

And oft I would make confession,
 And give thee some secret token,
But the words, like a corpse in the grave enclosed,
 Remain by my lips unspoken.

And what I so oft would tell thee,
 Oh! no syllables can spell it,
My spirit is full of it,
 But my lips refuse to tell it.

But when my spirit melts in thine,
 And heart unto heart is pressing,
Oh! then methinks that thou knowest all
 That I would be confessing.

XIX
If all the sweet delights of life
 Should turn to dreary slaving,
And only love were left to cheer,
 Still life were worth the having.

If truth were everything on earth
 And love were only dreaming,
I’d shun this waking life and plunge
 In dreams where love was beaming.

And granted it were all a dream,
 Still ever I’d remember,
That sweet fond dream, that shed a beam,
 O'er waking life’s November.

XX
Dark as is heaven’s blue azure vault
 So golden is the starlight,
Strange fancies fill the heart of him
 Who gazes on that far light,

Of star dust eddying far and far
 Beyond the range of seeing,
Where yet not one small star reveals
 The secret of its being.

Only when in two virgin hearts.
 Love’s earliest breath is breathing,
Yon heaven, ’tis said, another star
 Among her orbs is wreathing.

And if in one of those two hearts
 Untimely fades love’s blossom,
Also a golden star falls prone
 From heaven’s eternal bosom.

XXI
That birdie that sings in the tree
 As himself were the song that he singeth—
Hearts wonder not that he so sings
 Where love’s divine harmony springeth.

Oh! that bird he so sings from the heart
 To the heart of the hearer believe it,
He might force e’en a mortal to weep
 With a heart that’s attuned to receive it.

And methinks that his plaintive refrain
 To my own songs is closely related,
For this the light foam of my lyre
 Is only a dirge iterated.

XXII
What silence reigns around as when
 A dream o’er weary eyes descends,
As when the bird in downy nest
 Her callow offspring tends.

So gently night her pinions fold
 Above the star-bespangled skies,
And haply many a heart shall gain
 What carking day denies.

And haply many a heart shall win
 What envious earth no more may give,
And kindly dreams make real the gleams
 That scarce in memory live.

XXIII
I tried to think how life would be
 Were love from this world banished,
Earth would be but a naked waste
 Whence every flower had vanished.

The heart would wander through the world
 Till canker care decayed it,
And gloomier than this world itself,
 Ere God in light arrayed it.

So gloomy that terrestrial man
 Would loath the earth he cherished,
And God himself would abdicate
 A heaven where love had perished.

XXIV
Fair was the night and transparent,
 You might look into heaven’s portals,
And the scent and the song and the murmur,
 Enchanted the hearts of mortals.

Alas! that thou wert not beside me
 To list, love, beside me staying.
How the oak-leaves whisper together,
 And the wind with the woodbine is playing.

How the universe is but a song
 From the bosom of Nature springing.
And how weak is the echo in human hearts
 Of the star music round us ringing.

XXV
Those stars who scattered through the sky
 With their own beauty strew it.
Look fondly down as they would fain
 Have called me to it.

Ah! no ye little twinkling stars
 Yours be the circling heaven,
Dearer to me this earth-its joys
 And woes—earth’s leaven.

Ye have no notion, loved stars,
 Through your chill ether racing.
How fair a heaven unfold’s o’er earth
 At love’s embracing.

XXVI
I know not whether it were dream or no,
 But still in memory linger night’s creations,
How on the judgment page of God I gazed
 And read the fate of nations,

Thoughts weighty as the mind of God himself
 Above his head a hundredfold were streaming,
And beauteous as a starlit night of spring
 O’er his fair body gleaming.

Many a thought—the germ of a whole world—
 And many like some song of gentlest being,
Many the history of a coming race—
 Still hid from human seeing.

There, too, I found the type of my own passion.
 And thy sweet heart with every charm invested.
There, too, our mutual loves in heaven’s pure ray
 Like two bright cloudlets rested.

And on this love of ours the Lord divine
 Looked kind and fondly from his throne of glory,
And choirs of youthful angels ranged around
 Chanted its simple story.

 

XXVII
All ye who labour sore-opprest,
Come unto me to compass rest.
Here from your loins the burden loose,
And quench the spring of sorrow’s sluice.

Love’s empire I establish here,
Where heart meets heart in friendship dear,
And what so grief the spirit tries
Shall melt in heavenly harmonies.

Here envy shall revenge forgo,
And speech in sweetest song shall flow.
Here, lions modify their throat,
And harpies stock the pigeon-cote.

Here shall be balm for every sore,
Here hearts be young for evermore,
Here shall the rose unwithering bloom,
And harsh unkindness find no room.

XXVIII
Two thoughts in God, as stars were set
 In heaven’s divine communion,
To shine of all the starry choir,
 In fondest union.

Till one of them fell prone from heaven
 And left its mate to languish,
Till God excused her, too, the skies
 Pitying her anguish.

And many a night on earth they yearned—
 Sad earth—for their lost Eden,
Till once again they met as men,
 As youth and maiden.

And looking in each others eyes
 They recognized straightway,
And lived thrice blest till heaven to rest
 Called one away.

Who dying out of earth recalled
 Her love to heaven’s fair shore
And God forbade it not, and now
 The’re stars once more.