Raymond And Ida

Raymond.     Dearest, that sit'st in dreams,      Through the window look, this way.     How changed and desolate seems      The world, Ida, to-day!     Heavy and low the sky is glooming:      Winter is coming!     Ida.     My dreaming heart is stirr'd:      Sadly the winter comes!     The wind is loud: how weird,      Heard in these darken'd rooms!     Speak to me, Raymond; ease this dread:      I am afraid, afraid.     Raymond.     Love, what is this? Like snow      Thy cheeks feel, snow they wear.     What ails my darling so?      What is it thou dost hear?     Close, close, thy soft arms cling to mine:      Tears on thy lashes shine.     Ida.     Hark! love, the wind wails by      The wet October trees,     Swaying them mournfully:      The wet leaves shower and cease.     And hark! how blows the weary rain,      Against the shaken pane.     Raymond.     Ah, yes, the world is drear      Outside; there is no rest.     But what can Ida fear,      Shelter'd upon my breast?     Heed not the storm-blast, beating wild,      I love thee, love thee, child.     Ida.     Thy breath is in my hair,      Thy kisses on my cheek;     Yet I scarce feel them there:      Faintly I hear thee speak.     My heart is dreaming far away,      In some sad, future day.     Raymond.     The future? In the mist      Of years what dost thou see?     O let that dark land rest:      Come back, come back to me!     Look up! How fix'd and vacant seem      Thine eyes; so deep they dream.     Ida.     To leave the blessed light:      Cold in the grave to lie!     No voice, no human sight:      Darkness and apathy!     To die! 'tis hard, ere youth is o'er;      But ah, to love no more!     Raymond.     What dream is this, alas!      O, if but for my sake,     Wake, darling; let this pass:      Ida, dear Ida, wake!     I cannot bear to see those tears:      Thy sad tones hurt my ears.     Ida.     Will he forget me, then,      When I am gone away?     'Twere best: to give him pain,      Let not my memory stay.     But O, even there, in Hades dim,      I would remember him.     Raymond.     Thou griev'st thyself in vain:      Sweet love, be comforted.     Come, leave this world of rain;      To the bright hearth turn thy head.     We have our fireside still, the same:      How cheerful is the flame!     Though darkness round us press;      Though wild, without, it blows;     Here sit thee, while thy face      In the happy firelight glows:     Clasp'd in my arms, lie tranquil here;      And listen, Ida dear.     As, from that outlook chill,      The glad hearth meets our sight,     A charm for every ill      We bear, a charm of might.     Ah, 'gainst its power not death shall stay!      Know'st thou it, darling, say?     Thou smilest! Joy, I see,      Dawns in thine eyes again:     Those cheeks of ivory      Their own sweet bloom regain.     Thou know'st that heavenly charm; how well,      Thy happy kisses tell!