Lazarus.
In my brain there’s a waving, flaming flood1
Of forests, plains, mountains, and skies,2
And a picture with outlines clearly defined,3
From out the wild chaos doth rise.4
The hamlet that sweeps my fancy’s eye,5
Is Godesberg. Once more,6
I seem ’neath the linden’s perfumed shade7
To rest by the tavern-door.8
My throat is parched as though I had quaffed9
Yon sun, that’s sinking to rest ;10
“ Bring hither a flask of wine, sir host,11
And let it be of your best.”12
Down flows the juice divine, and floods13
The soul with deep desires,14
And with the flood, the thirst that burned15
And parched my throat expires.16
“ Another flask, sir host, I drank17
The first in a reverie,18
I paid no homage, oh ! noble wine19
A pardon I crave of thee.”20
I gazed above at the Drachenfels21
That mirrored in Rhine below,22
With its legend-haunted castles rose23
In the golden evening’s glow.24
I heard from afar the vintage song,25
And the linnet’s insolent note—26
So I drank—with never a thought for the wine27
That moistened, unheeded, my throat.28
But now the glass to my nose I bring,29
And earnestly gaze in the beaker30
Of wine that I gulp ; aye, and many a time31
Without gazing I gulp down the liquor.32
Yet strange, as I gulp the generous wine,33
It seems as though I were doubled ;34
As though another poor wight with myself35
In union fraternal were coupled.36
He looks such a pitiful, ailing elf,37
So wan and so haggard his air,38
Half in scorn, half in pain he meets my gaze—39
’Tis strangely provoking, I swear.40
The fellow affirms that ’tis I myself,41
That we two are nought but one entity,42
That we two are but one poor unfortunate wretch,43
Fever-tossed—and claims the identity.44
Not in thy tavern at Godesberg,45
But in Paris, leagues away,46
I lie stretched in the sick man’s chamber of gloom—47
“ Ah, pale face, thou liest, I say.48
“ Thou liest ! I am as ruddy and sound49
As any fresh blooming rose ;50
Strong too am I, so Friend, have a care,51
Lest my anger should turn to blows.”52
He shrugs his shoulders and sighs “ Oh, fool !”53
This unbridled my wrath at last ;54
And down on this damnable second self55
I showered the blows thick and fast.56
Yet, strange, for every buffet that I57
On the fellow in fury deal,58
Seems to visit my own particular ribs,59
For each thump, too, there rises a weal.60
And all through this rascally buffeting,61
My throat is reparched by the drouth,62
And when I would call the host for wine,63
The words, they stick fast in my mouth.64
My senses swim ; there’s a whispering65
Of poultices, as I awaken ;—66
A dessert-spoonful of the mixture, too,67
Twelve drops every hour to be taken.68