Whence come these white girls wreathing round me? Baruska!--long I thought thee dead! Kacenka!--when these arms last bound thee, Thou laidst by Rajhrad cold as lead! Now faster, faster whirls the ceiling, And wilder, wilder turns my brain; And from afar a star comes stealing, Straight at me o'er the death-black plain. Alas!--I sink--my spirits miss me, I swim, I shoot from sky to shore! Klara! thou golden sister--kiss me! I rise--I'm safe--I'm strong once more. And faster, faster whirls the ceiling, And wilder, wilder turns my brain; The star!--it strikes my soul, revealing All life and light to me again. * * * * * Against the waves fresh waves are dashing, Above the breeze fresh breezes blow; Through seas of light new light is flashing, And with them all I float and flow. But round me rings of fire are gleaming: Pale rings of fire--wild eyes of death! Why haunt me thus awake or dreaming? Methought I left ye with my breath. Aye glare and stare with life increasing, And leech-like eyebrows arching in; Be, if ye must, my fate unceasing, But never hope a fear to win. He who knows all may haunt the haunting, He who fears nought hath conquered fate; Who bears in silence quells the daunting, And sees his spoiler desolate. Oh wondrous eyes of star-like lustre, How ye have changed to guardian love! Alas!--where stars in myriads cluster Ye vanish in the heaven above. * * * * * I hear two bells so softly singing: How sweet their silver voices roll! The one on yonder hill is ringing, The other peals within my soul. I hear two maidens gently talking, Bohemian maidens fair to see; The one on yonder hill is walking, The other maiden--where is she? Where is she?--when the moonlight glistens O'er silent lake or murm'ring stream, I hear her call my soul which listens: 'Oh! wake no more--come, love, and dream!' She came to earth-earth's loveliest creature; She died--and then was born once more; Changed was her race, and changed each feature, But oh! I loved her as before. We live--but still, when night has bound us In golden dreams too sweet to last, A wondrous light-blue world around us, She comes, the loved one of the Past. I know not which I love the dearest, For both my loves are still the same; The living to my heart is nearest, The dead love feeds the living flame. And when the moon, its rose-wine quaffing Which flows across the Eastern deep, Awakes us, Klara chides me laughing, And says, 'We love too well in sleep!' And though no more a Vojvod's daughter, As when she lived on Earth before, The love is still the same which sought her, And she is true--what would you more? * * * * *