Translations. - Lyrisches Intermezzo. Lxiv. (From Heine.)

Night lay upon mine eyelids;      Upon my mouth lay lead;     With rigid brain and bosom,      I lay among the dead.     How long it was I know not      That sleep oblivion gave;     I wakened up, and, listening,      Heard a knocking at my grave.     "Tis time to rise up, Henry!      The eternal day draws on;     The dead are all arisen--      The eternal joy's begun."     "My love, I cannot raise me;      For I have lost my sight;     My eyes with bitter weeping      They are extinguished quite."     "From thy dear eyelids, Henry,      I'll kiss the night away;     Thou shalt behold the angels,      And Heaven's superb display."     "My love, I cannot raise me;      Still bleeds my bosom gored,     Where thou heart-deep didst stab me      With a keen-pointed word."     "Soft I will lay it, Henry,      My hand soft on thy heart;     And that will stop its bleeding      And soothe at once the smart."     "My love, I cannot raise me--      My head is bleeding too;     When thou wast stolen from me      I shot it through and through!"     "I with my tresses, Henry,      Will stop the fountain red;     Press back again the blood-stream,      And heal thy wounded head."     She begged so sweetly, dearly,      I could no more say no;     I tried, I strove to raise me,      And to my darling go.     Then the wounds again burst open;      With torrent force outbrake     From head and breast the blood-stream,      And, lo, I came awake!