In midnight vision I myself have spied, As for some festival, in ruffles dress’d, In a black gala-coat and silken vest;-- My sweet and trusting love with scorn I eyed; And bow’d low down, and said “Art thou a bride?” “I wish thee joy, dear Madam, I protest!” And yet my lips reluctantly express’d The words so cold and tauntingly applied. And bitter tears then suddenly ’gan falling From her dear eyes, and in a sea of weeping Wellnigh dissolved her image so enthralling. O lovely eyes, ye stars of love so kindly, What though ye, when awake, and e’en when sleeping Deceived me oft, I trust ye still as blindly! 4. In dream I saw a tiny manikin, Who went on stilts, with steps a yard apart; White was his linen, and his dress was smart, But he was coarse and most unclean within. Yes, worthless inwardly, and full of sin; Worthy to seem outside was his great art, Of courage he discoursed, as from his heart, Defiant, stubborn, ’neath a veil but thin. “And know’st thou who he is? Come here and see!” So spake the dream-god, slily showing me Within a mirror’s frame this vision then. The manikin before an altar stood, My love beside him, both said “Yes, they would,” And thousand laughing devils cried “Amen!” 5. Why stirs and chafes my madden’d blood? Why burns my heart in furious mood? My blood fast boils, and foams and fumes, And passion fierce my heart consumes. My mad blood boils in foaming stream, Because I’ve dreamt an evil dream: Night’s gloomy son appear’d one day, And bore me in his arms away. To a bright house soon brought he me, Where sounded harp and revelry, And torches gleam’d and tapers shone-- The hall I entered then alone. I saw a merry wedding feast, The glad guests round the table press’d; And when the bridal pair I spied, O woe! my mistress was the bride. There was my love, and strange to say, A stranger claim’d her hand to-day. Then close behind her chair of honour I silent stood and gazed upon her. The music sounded--still I stood; Their joy but swell’d my mournful mood; The bride she look’d so highly blest, Her hand the while the bridegroom press’d. The bridegroom next fill’d full his cup, And from it drank, then gave it up Unto the bride; she smiled a thank; O woe! my red blood ’twas she drank. The bride a rosy apple took, And gave it him with smiling look; He took his knife, and cut a part; O woe! it was indeed my heart. They lovingly each other eyed, The bridegroom boldly clasp’d the bride, And kissed her on her cheeks so red; O woe! cold death kiss’d me instead. Like lead my tongue within me lay, Vainly I strove one word to say; A noise was heard,--the dance began, The bridal pair were in the van.