The night is still, and the streets are deserted, In this house my love had her dwelling of yore; ’Tis long since she from the city departed, Yet her house still stands on the spot as before. There stands, too, a man, who stares up at her casement, And wrings his hands with the weight of his woes; I look on his face with shudd’ring amazement,-- The moon doth the form of myself disclose. Thou pallid fellow, thou worthless double! Why dare to mimic my love’s hard lot, Which many a night gave me grief and trouble In former days, on this very spot? 23. How canst thou sleep in quiet, And know that I’m still alive? I burst the yoke that’s upon me, When my olden wrath doth revive. Dost know the ancient ballad: How of yore a dead stripling brave At midnight came to his loved one, And carried her down to his grave. Believe me, thou wondrous beauty, Thou wondrously lovely maid, I’m alive still, and feel far stronger Than the whole of the dead’s brigade! 24. “The maiden’s asleep in her chamber, “In peeps the quivering moon; “Outside is a singing and jingling, “As though to a waltz’s tune. “I needs must look through my window, “To see who’s disturbing my rest; “There stands a skeleton ghastly “Who’s fiddling and singing his best: “Thy hand for the dance thou didst pledge me, “And then thy promise didst break; “To-night there’s a ball in the churchyard, “Come with me, the dance to partake. “He forcibly seizes the maiden, “And lures her from out her abode; “She follows the skeleton wildly, “Who fiddles and sings on the road. “He hops and he skips and he fiddles, “His bones they rattle away; “With his skull he keeps nidding and nodding, “By the moonlight’s glimmering ray.” 25. I stood, while sadly mused I, And her likeness closely did scan, And her belovèd features To glow with life began. Around her lips there gather’d A sweet and wondrous smile, And as through tears of sorrow Her clear eyes shone the while. And then my tears responsive Adown my cheeks did pour-- And ah! I scarce can believe it, That I’ve lost thee evermore. 26. Unhappy Atlas that I am! I’m doom’d To bear a world, a very world of sorrows; Unbearable’s the load I bear, and e’en The heart within me’s breaking. O thou proud heart! thy doing ’twas indeed, Thou wouldst be happy, utterly be happy, Or utterly be wretched, O proud heart, And now in truth thou’rt wretched! 27. The years are coming and going, To the grave whole races descend, And yet the love in my bosom Shall never wax fainter or end. O could I but once more behold thee, Before thee sink down on my knee, And die, as these words I utter: Dear Madam, I love but thee!