Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/184

 The bridegroom had a scowling look,
 * The bride was very fair and pale;

Dressed in her bridal robes, she stood
 * With myrtle wreath and long white veil.

Long time our Domherr stood and prayed
 * Her tortured spirit might find rest;

Then laid him down to sleep in peace,
 * With holy feelings in his breast.

At midnight, at the stroke of twelve,
 * He woke up with a sudden fear;

The moonlight flooded all his room,
 * And lo! poor Bertha’s ghost was near.

He felt the blood rush to his heart,
 * While horror numbed his very brain;

He could not move, he scarce could breathe,
 * And so he laid there in his pain.

She stepped from out the portrait’s frame,
 * Her white dress glimmered in the light;

He saw her dark eyes on him rest,
 * And almost fainted at the sight;

She came and stood beside his bed—
 * He felt the coldness of the grave

Waft on him from her garments white,
 * Then shrieked in horror, “Oh, Christ, save!”

And with the name of Christ all fear
 * Was banished from our Domherr’s soul.

All righteous spirits praise the Lord,”
 * He said. “How can I ease thy dole?

Speak now, poor spirit, I entreat,
 * Or sleep in peace within thy grave!

What unforgiven sins are thine,
 * That maketh thee the devil’s slave?”

Alas!” she said, “Oh, kinsman, hear!
 * I of my husband ever said,

God may forgive him, but not I;
 * 'Tis well, indeed, that he is dead.

I cannot enter Heaven’s rest
 * Till I have made my peace on earth.

Now thou wert chosen for this act,
 * From the first hour of thy birth.

My husband, for the ill he wrought,
 * In purgatorial pains must burn—