Agnes
Autor: Northwind
Agnes
Adam Oehlenschläger
I.
MAID AGNES musing sat alone
Upon the lonely strand;
The breaking waves sighed oft and low
Upon the white sea-sand.
Watching the thin white foam, that broke
Upon the wave, sat she,
When up a beauteous merman rose
From the bottom of the sea.
And he was clad unto the waist
With scales like silver white,
And on his breast the setting sun
Put rose gleams of light.
The merman’s spear a boat-mast was,
With crook of coral brown,
His shield was made of turtle-shell,
Of mussel-shells his crown.
His hair upon his shoulders fell,
Of bright and glittering tang;
And sweeter than the nightingale’s
Sounded the song he sang.
“And tell to me, sweet merman,
Fresh from the deep, deep sea,
When will a tender husband come
To woo and marry me?"
“O hearken, sweetest Agnes,
To the words I say to thee—
All for the sake of my true heart,
Let me thy husband be.
“Far underneath the deep, deep sea,
I reign in palace halls,
And all around, of crystal clear,
Uprise the wondrous walls.
“And seven hundred handmaids wait,
To serve my slightest wish—
Above the waist like milk-white maids,
Below the waist, like fish.
“Like mother-of-pearl the sea-sledge gleams,
Wherein I journey crowned,
Along the sweet green path it goes,
Dragged by the great seal-hound.
“And all along the green, green deeps
Grow flowers wondrous fair;
They drink the wave, and grow as tall
As those that breathe the air.”
Fair Agnes smiled, and stretched her arms,
And leapt into the sea,
And down beneath the tall sea-plants
He led her tenderlie.
II.
Eight happy years fair Agnes dwelt
Under the green-sea wave,
And seven beauteous little ones
She to the merman gave.
She sat beneath the tall sea-plants,
Upon a throne of shells,
And from the far-off land she heard
The sound of sweet kirk bells.
Unto her gentle lord she stept,
And softly took his hand:
“And may I once, and only once,
Go say my prayers on land?”
“Then hearken, sweet wife Agnes,
To the words I say to thee—
Fail not in twenty hours and four
To hasten home to me.”
A thousand times “Good night” she said
Unto her children small,
And ere she went away she stooped,
And softly kissed them all;
And, old and young, the children wept
As Agnes went away,
And loud as any cried the babe
Who in the cradle lay.
Now Agnes sees the sun again,
And steps upon the strand—
She trembles at the light, and hides
Her eyes with her white hand.
Among the folk she used to know,
As they walk to kirk, steps she,
“We know thee not, thou woman wild,
Come from a far countrie.”
The kirk bells chime, and into kirk
And up the aisle she flies;
The images upon the walls
Are turning away their eyes!
The silver chalice to her lips
She lifteth tremblinglie,
For that her lips were all athirst,
Under the deep, deep sea.
She tried to pray, and could not pray,
And still the kirk bells sound;
She spills the cup of holy wine
Upon the cold, cold ground.
When smoke and mist rose from the sea,
And it was dark on land,
She drew her robe about her face,
And stood upon the strand.
Then folded she her thin, thin hands,
The merman’s weary wife:
“Heaven help me in my wickedness,
And take away my life!”
She sank among the meadow grass,
As white and cold as snow;
The roses growing round about
Turned white and cold alsò.
The small birds sang upon the bough,
And their song was sad and deep—
“Now, Agnes, it is gloaming hour,
And thou art going to sleep.”
All in the twilight, when the sun
Sank down behind the main,
Her hands were pressed upon her heart,
And her heart had broke in twain.
The waves creep up across the strand,
Sighing so mournfullie,
And tenderly they wash the corse
To the bottom of the sea.
Three days she stayed beneath the sea,
And then came back again,
And mournfully, so mournfully,
Upon the sand was lain.
And, sweetly decked by tender hands,
She lay a-sleeping there,
And all her form is wreathed with weeds,
And a flower was in her hair.
The little herd-boy drove his geese
Seaward at peep o’ day,
And there, her hands upon her breast,
Sweet Agnes sleeping lay.
He dug a grave behind a stone,
All in the soft sea-sand,
And there the maiden’s bones are dry,
Though the waves creep up the strand.
Each morning and each evening,
The stone is wet above;
The merman hath wept (the town girls say)
Over his lost true-love.