Raymond.
Dearest, that sit'st in dreams,
Through the window look, this way.
How changed and desolate seems
The world, Ida, to-day!
Heavy and low the sky is glooming:
Winter is coming!
Ida.
My dreaming heart is stirr'd:
Sadly the winter comes!
The wind is loud: how weird,
Heard in these darken'd rooms!
Speak to me, Raymond; ease this dread:
I am afraid, afraid.
Raymond.
Love, what is this? Like snow
Thy cheeks feel, snow they wear.
What ails my darling so?
What is it thou dost hear?
Close, close, thy soft arms cling to mine:
Tears on thy lashes shine.
Ida.
Hark! love, the wind wails by
The wet October trees,
Swaying them mournfully:
The wet leaves shower and cease.
And hark! how blows the weary rain,
Against the shaken pane.
Raymond.
Ah, yes, the world is drear
Outside; there is no rest.
But what can Ida fear,
Shelter'd upon my breast?
Heed not the storm-blast, beating wild,
I love thee, love thee, child.
Ida.
Thy breath is in my hair,
Thy kisses on my cheek;
Yet I scarce feel them there:
Faintly I hear thee speak.
My heart is dreaming far away,
In some sad, future day.
Raymond.
The future? In the mist
Of years what dost thou see?
O let that dark land rest:
Come back, come back to me!
Look up! How fix'd and vacant seem
Thine eyes; so deep they dream.
Ida.
To leave the blessed light:
Cold in the grave to lie!
No voice, no human sight:
Darkness and apathy!
To die! 'tis hard, ere youth is o'er;
But ah, to love no more!
Raymond.
What dream is this, alas!
O, if but for my sake,
Wake, darling; let this pass:
Ida, dear Ida, wake!
I cannot bear to see those tears:
Thy sad tones hurt my ears.
Ida.
Will he forget me, then,
When I am gone away?
'Twere best: to give him pain,
Let not my memory stay.
But O, even there, in Hades dim,
I would remember him.
Raymond.
Thou griev'st thyself in vain:
Sweet love, be comforted.
Come, leave this world of rain;
To the bright hearth turn thy head.
We have our fireside still, the same:
How cheerful is the flame!
Though darkness round us press;
Though wild, without, it blows;
Here sit thee, while thy face
In the happy firelight glows:
Clasp'd in my arms, lie tranquil here;
And listen, Ida dear.
As, from that outlook chill,
The glad hearth meets our sight,
A charm for every ill
We bear, a charm of might.
Ah, 'gainst its power not death shall stay!
Know'st thou it, darling, say?
Thou smilest! Joy, I see,
Dawns in thine eyes again:
Those cheeks of ivory
Their own sweet bloom regain.
Thou know'st that heavenly charm; how well,
Thy happy kisses tell!