The dogs are barking, the servants With glittering torches appear; I climb up the winding staircase, My spurs ring loudly and clear. In her bright-lighted tapestry chamber, So full of magical charms, My own sweet darling awaits me, I hasten into her arms. The wind in the leaves is sighing, The oak thus whispers to me: “What means, thou foolish young horseman, “Thy foolish reverie?” 64. A glittering star is falling From its shining home in the air; The star of love ’tis surely That I see falling there. The blossoms and leaves in plenty From the apple tree fall each day; The merry breezes approach them, And with them merrily play. The swan in the pool is singing, And up and down doth he steer, And, singing gently ever, Dips under the water clear. All now is silent and darksome, The leaves and blossoms decay, The star has crumbled and vanish’d, The song of the swan died away. 65. The Dream-God brought me to a castle vast, Where magic fragrance reign’d and lights were gleaming, And through its mazy-winding chambers pass’d A chequer’d throng, still onward, onward streaming. The pale crowd seek the exit-portal fast, Wringing their hands, and full of terror screaming, And knights and maidens mingle in the throng, And I myself am with them borne along. But suddenly I stand alone, for, lo, The crowd hath vanish’d and from sight departed; I wander on, and through the chambers go, All strangely winding, silent and deserted; My foot is leaden, and I scarcely know How to escape, thus sadden’d and faint-hearted. At length the farthest portal I descry, And seek to pass--great heavens, what meets mine eye! It was my love, who at the door did stand, Grief on her lips, her brow in tribulation. I sought to fly,--she beckon’d with her hand, Whether to warn me, or in indignation; Yet gleam’d her eye like some sweet glowing brand, Setting my heart and brain in conflagration. And as she gazed with looks of passion deep, Blended with sternness, I awoke from sleep. 66. The midnight was cold, in plaintive mood I wander’d mournfully through the wood; I shook the trees from out of their sleep, They shook their heads with pity deep. 67. Beneath the crossway buried, The suicide lies here, Where grows a charming blue flow’ret, The culprit-flower so dear. I stood by the crossway sighing, The night was chilly and drear, While slowly moved in the moonlight The culprit-flower so dear. 68. Wheresoe’er I go, there darkles Round me gloom and utter night, Now that there no longer sparkles On me, love, thine eyes’ sweet light.