DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.1442#0059
td everything
èd it, seemed
t height, saw
et fire to the
:onverted the
on his return
y subsistence,
)receded it.
rror. Neither
l an avenging
however, at
came near it.
itensils, with
, on which a
, like sweetly
ted the timid
;, his friends
ivhich he fre-
e the ruinous
ce#» — Then
rough bushes,
n, where the
)on a wall ol
L were dressed
a no more.
45
There Ferrand used to sit whole days, nights, months, sending into the valley below strains as penetrating and
melancholy, as the plaints of the solitary nightingale. In vain did his disconsolate parents go to him, and try to persuade
him to return with them to their cottage. He looked kindly at them, stroking his white bird, pressing his cold brow
between his wings, and singing;
„Thou art mine, Till death cuts asunder
I am thine; The strings of my heart/'
We never shall part,
On such occasions, big drops were seen trickling from his eyes, and slowly running over the dark carpet of ivy.
His mother, hearing her son's lamentations vibrate in the air at a short distance from her cottage, and yet being
doomed to give him up for irretrievably lost, soon died of a broken heart; and the grave mercifully saved her from the
distress of hearing his piercing lamentations. To old Hinrichs, however, when stretched on his death-bed, the mellow
notes of his unfortunate son's flute were more tremendous than the rolling of thunder; and, despairing, he cried: «Be
silent, mountain-spirit, who furiously breathest vengeance into my son's innocent flute! I know thee, know how thou
hast ruined me. — But, no, punish me now" — he added, after some reflexion, for having refused to believe, that
there can be a heaven on earth!»
When he was in his last agony, he raised himself once more, and, lifting up his hands, groaned: «Oh, Welleda! —
Since thou didst die a christian — I shall meet thee in a better world !!) and expired.
Long after his death, the slowly dying lamentations of his unhappy son's flute continued being heard by the cot-
tagers, and when they at last were silent at once, his disconsolate kindred and friends searched in vain after his corpse,
till, at last, some young women, taking a walk to the rock-well, there found the hillock raised higher than it used to
he, covered with periwinkle, blending the sky-blue of its blossoms with those of the purple lilies. A pious shepherd,
having found the remains of the hapless youth, had buried him by the side of his mistress, and planted a young lime-
tree by the side of his grave, which soon extended its blooming branches over the flowery tomb, and in progress of
time grew a rare tree, affording a cooling shade to many a tender and unfortunate young couple.
Ever since.that period, that quiet retreat has been resorted to by loving swains and maids; and witnessed the poets
inspiration. When, in the cooling breeze of evening, soft sighs are vibrating in the leafy darkness of the rustling branches
of the lime-tree, distant voices of spirits seem to answer to the raptures of the unhappy, that repose in its shade, and to
console the mourner with these words: «Be patient; all will soon be as quiet around thee, as it is on this spot, where
Ferrand and Welleda are sleeping.
èd it, seemed
t height, saw
et fire to the
:onverted the
on his return
y subsistence,
)receded it.
rror. Neither
l an avenging
however, at
came near it.
itensils, with
, on which a
, like sweetly
ted the timid
;, his friends
ivhich he fre-
e the ruinous
ce#» — Then
rough bushes,
n, where the
)on a wall ol
L were dressed
a no more.
45
There Ferrand used to sit whole days, nights, months, sending into the valley below strains as penetrating and
melancholy, as the plaints of the solitary nightingale. In vain did his disconsolate parents go to him, and try to persuade
him to return with them to their cottage. He looked kindly at them, stroking his white bird, pressing his cold brow
between his wings, and singing;
„Thou art mine, Till death cuts asunder
I am thine; The strings of my heart/'
We never shall part,
On such occasions, big drops were seen trickling from his eyes, and slowly running over the dark carpet of ivy.
His mother, hearing her son's lamentations vibrate in the air at a short distance from her cottage, and yet being
doomed to give him up for irretrievably lost, soon died of a broken heart; and the grave mercifully saved her from the
distress of hearing his piercing lamentations. To old Hinrichs, however, when stretched on his death-bed, the mellow
notes of his unfortunate son's flute were more tremendous than the rolling of thunder; and, despairing, he cried: «Be
silent, mountain-spirit, who furiously breathest vengeance into my son's innocent flute! I know thee, know how thou
hast ruined me. — But, no, punish me now" — he added, after some reflexion, for having refused to believe, that
there can be a heaven on earth!»
When he was in his last agony, he raised himself once more, and, lifting up his hands, groaned: «Oh, Welleda! —
Since thou didst die a christian — I shall meet thee in a better world !!) and expired.
Long after his death, the slowly dying lamentations of his unhappy son's flute continued being heard by the cot-
tagers, and when they at last were silent at once, his disconsolate kindred and friends searched in vain after his corpse,
till, at last, some young women, taking a walk to the rock-well, there found the hillock raised higher than it used to
he, covered with periwinkle, blending the sky-blue of its blossoms with those of the purple lilies. A pious shepherd,
having found the remains of the hapless youth, had buried him by the side of his mistress, and planted a young lime-
tree by the side of his grave, which soon extended its blooming branches over the flowery tomb, and in progress of
time grew a rare tree, affording a cooling shade to many a tender and unfortunate young couple.
Ever since.that period, that quiet retreat has been resorted to by loving swains and maids; and witnessed the poets
inspiration. When, in the cooling breeze of evening, soft sighs are vibrating in the leafy darkness of the rustling branches
of the lime-tree, distant voices of spirits seem to answer to the raptures of the unhappy, that repose in its shade, and to
console the mourner with these words: «Be patient; all will soon be as quiet around thee, as it is on this spot, where
Ferrand and Welleda are sleeping.