The Inscrutable

Dread under-life whose dreamsAlong the midnight rush,Poured out like cavern-streamsThat from the darkness gush,A murderous thought has issued forth to floodA maiden’s sleep in blood.

He that hath swum the heavenOf woman’s loving eyes—To him a dream is given,As helplessly he lies,A dream that never nigh his thought had passed,Till in that slumber cast.

He loves her and she loves,But stern her father’s heartThat every passion movesTheir holy hope to thwart.Can they, meek sleepers, on dream-demons callTo burst the iron thrall?

That night in dreams that swayThe soul to shedding blood,One hears his own voice sayIn sleep’s half-weary mood,‘Take down your father’s sword and quickly slideThe blade into his side.

‘Disguise the seeming guilt,And bend his fingers round,And put them on the hilt,And leave him to his wound.’In that strange dream until the break of day,Asleep the lover lay.

He wakes, aghast; he strivesTo get the vision henceThat into morning lives,And fastens on his sense.’Tis but a dream, but should her hand fulfilHis will within her will!

She comes up wild and pale,She wrings her hands in pain,She utters with a wail—‘Who hath my father slain!My anguished heart sobbed all night in its sleep;I felt it sob and weep.

‘I saw you while I slept,And to my dream you spoke;All night your words I kept,I heard them when I woke:“Take down your father’s sword and quickly slideThe blade into his side.”

‘“Disguise the seeming guilt,And bend his fingers round,And put them on the hilt,And leave him to his wound.”O the false voice, that it so true should seemIn that unthought-of dream!

‘I hurried to the bed,I saw that he was slain,I saw the blood was shed,I saw the deep,—deep stain.His sword was in his side,—thrust,—to the hilt,—His fingers took the guilt.’

‘Give me a ring, good jeweller,By no one worn before,And you shall boast you gave it herWho wears it evermore.’

‘Then it shall be a ruby ring,With hoop of richest gold,And it shall be my offeringFor benefits of old.’

‘A ruby ring it must not be,Which is a thing to shine;An iron ring is best for me,No other can be mine.’

‘But surely such a ring ’twere sadTo see a lady wearAmong her guests in jewels clad,And she so young and fair.’

‘An iron ring is all I craveUpon my wedding night,For I must wear it in the grave,Where it is out of sight.’

‘Is it to be a ring to bindYour heart in wedlock’s bond,Or but to link the day behindAnd days that are beyond?’

‘It is to link me to his peaceWho is not far away;And when her lonely term may cease,The bride shall with him stay.’

‘Who is this bridegroom you would wed,And yet for ever mourn,As though you would espouse the dead,Who never can return?’

‘It is the dead I would espouse,With him lie side by side;There is a chamber in his houseHe furnished for his bride.’