Theatrical speaker/Gertrude Von Der Wart

For other versions of this work, see Gertrude Von Der Wart.

gertrude von der wart

Her hands were clasp'd, her dark eyes raised,
The breeze threw back her hair;
Up to the fearful Wheel she gazed;
All that she loved was there!
The night was round her clear and cold,
The holy heaven above,
Its pale stars watching to behold
The might of earthly love.

And bid me not depart, she cried,
My Rudolph; say not so;
This is no time to quit thy side;
Peace—peace—I cannot go.
Hath the world aught for me to fear,
When death is on thy brow?
The world—what means it?—mine is here;
I will not leave thee now!

I have been with thee in thine hour
Of glory and of bliss;
Doubt not its memory's living power,
To strengthen me through this.
And thou, mine honour'd lord and true,
Bear on, bear nobly on;
We have the blessed heaven in view,
Whose rest shall soon be won."

And were not these high words to flow
From woman's breaking heart?
Through all that night of bitterest woe,
She bore her lofty part.
But oh! with such a glazing eye,
With such a curdling cheek,
Love, love, of mortal agony,
Thou only, thon shouldst speak!

The wind rose high, but with it rose
Her voice that he might hear;
Perchance that dark hour brought repose
To happy bosoms here.
While she sat pining with despair,
Beside his tortured form,
And pouring her deep soul in prayer,
Forth on the rushing storm.

She wiped the death-dumps from his brow,
With her pale hands and soft.
Whose touch upon the late chords low,
Had still’d his heart so oft.
She spread her mantle o’er his breast;
She bathed his lips with dew;
And on his cheek such kisses press’d,
As hope and joy ne’er knew.

Oh! lovely are ye, Love and Faith,
Enduring to the last!
he had her meed, one smile in death,
And his worn spirit pass’d.
While even as o’er a martyr’s grave,
She knelt on that sad spot;
And, weeping, bless’d the God who gave
Her strength to forsake it not!