Poems (Waldenburg)/After the Masquerade
THE RETURN FROM THE MASQUE BALL.
From a picture—A young girl attired in a masquerade costume is seen prostrate beside the dead body of her mother.
Bright flash the lights in a grand saloon,
Through bannered rooms there falls no shade,
Clear, rippling music all in tune
Lends charms to the masquerade.
Through bannered rooms there falls no shade,
Clear, rippling music all in tune
Lends charms to the masquerade.
Sweeter and wilder flows the strains,
Closer the waltzing figures press,
The blood flows fast in warm young veins,
Bright ringlets cling in soft caress.
Closer the waltzing figures press,
The blood flows fast in warm young veins,
Bright ringlets cling in soft caress.
"To the dance, my darling! why tremblest thou,
Why does thy breath sob thick and fast?
Oh come! While the waltz strain soundeth now
Ere its merry measure's past."
Why does thy breath sob thick and fast?
Oh come! While the waltz strain soundeth now
Ere its merry measure's past."
"Oh no, I cannot, dare not, must not linger!
I must away, my mother calleth me,
Her face so sternly sad, her warning finger
At every step confronting us I see!"
I must away, my mother calleth me,
Her face so sternly sad, her warning finger
At every step confronting us I see!"
"Nay, silly one, thy mother is at rest,
Nor dreams her darling clinging here to me,
With bright head folded to my loving breast,
Ah well for us thy mother may not see.
Nor dreams her darling clinging here to me,
With bright head folded to my loving breast,
Ah well for us thy mother may not see.
"Away, arouse, put off that look of sorrow,
Shut from thy sight this causeless, foolish dream,
On with the dance, too soon will come the morrow,
See how the maskers fly, the lustres stream!"
Shut from thy sight this causeless, foolish dream,
On with the dance, too soon will come the morrow,
See how the maskers fly, the lustres stream!"
"Oh Mother dear, in mercy do not hold
My hand so fast, I come to thee, I come!
Thine eyes seem strange, thy fingers are so cold,
I will obey thee, I am coming home!"
My hand so fast, I come to thee, I come!
Thine eyes seem strange, thy fingers are so cold,
I will obey thee, I am coming home!"
She wresteth from her lover's fond caress,
And flieth home with trembling, hurrying feet;
Trailing the mid-night street her gorgeous dress,
Sad fears within her heart those eyes to meet!
And flieth home with trembling, hurrying feet;
Trailing the mid-night street her gorgeous dress,
Sad fears within her heart those eyes to meet!
Her masker's robes they rustle on the stair,
She dreads to face the presence of her dream;
The bright pearls flash on bosom and on hair,
Her face so wild, seems paler as they gleam.
She dreads to face the presence of her dream;
The bright pearls flash on bosom and on hair,
Her face so wild, seems paler as they gleam.
"Does Mother sleep?" she asks in whisper low,
"She sleeps and rests," the answerer bows her head,
She creepeth near the couch and sees the snow
That droppeth on the faces of the dead.
"She sleeps and rests," the answerer bows her head,
She creepeth near the couch and sees the snow
That droppeth on the faces of the dead.
She falleth down and moaneth in her pain,
"Oh mother dear forgive my sinful flight;
Come back and speak to me but once again,
Lay your forgiveness on my heart this night.
"Oh mother dear forgive my sinful flight;
Come back and speak to me but once again,
Lay your forgiveness on my heart this night.
"Still silent, then I come!" sounds thro' the air;
The watchers starting bend toward the child,
Close clasped her mother's hand, she dieth there,
Her eyes still pleading toward that face so mild!
The watchers starting bend toward the child,
Close clasped her mother's hand, she dieth there,
Her eyes still pleading toward that face so mild!
They count their beads and murmur with great dole,
"Ah much she sinned, and may not enter Heaven,
Hers was the hopeless cry of a lost soul,
Too late the pleading prayer to be forgiven."
"Ah much she sinned, and may not enter Heaven,
Hers was the hopeless cry of a lost soul,
Too late the pleading prayer to be forgiven."
Forgiven! can a mother's heart ere harden
Toward the pleadings of an erring child?
Heaven heard, perchance, the suppliant's prayer for pardon,
And stilled the pulses of a heart too wild.
Toward the pleadings of an erring child?
Heaven heard, perchance, the suppliant's prayer for pardon,
And stilled the pulses of a heart too wild.