Part 2 — THE BRIDE OF BROEK-IN-WATERLAND.
Reading edition
A DUTCH ROMANCE.
———
BY CHARLES P. SHIRAS.
———
One night, when skies were bright and calm,
I left my home in Amsterdam;
I cast my schuyt from moorings loose
And steered across to Wilhelm Sluis:
Upon the North Canal I sailed;
The wind was fair and never failed.
Quoth I: “My prow shall kiss no sand
Till I reach Broek-in-Waterland.”
Before an hour I saw the town,
And soon the tapering mast was down;
But ere I left my graceful schuyt
I heard the music of a flute;
And songs of love and shouts of joy
Upon the wind came floating by.
Quoth I: “They seem a happy band
That dwell in Broek-in-Waterland.”
I walked upon a winding street
That seemed too clean for mortal feet,
Ere long a stranger met my gaze—
What joy!—one loved in boyish days!
Quoth he: “We revel here to-night,
That all may share in my delight,
For soon I’ll claim the fairest hand
In happy Broek-in-Waterland.”
As thus he spoke, we walked along,
And soon were mingled in the throng;
He vowed, in all a lover’s pride,
That I should see his chosen bride,
And soon he cried: “Behold her now,
Yon maiden of the peerless brow.
The richest, claims the fairest hand
In happy Broek-in-Waterland!”
I looked, and swift as lightning dart
A hopeless anguish seized my heart!
It once had been my lot to save
A maiden from the Zuyder’s wave;
I bore her to her friends on shore,
And never thought to see her more;
Nor did I, till I saw her stand
Betrothed in Broek-in-Waterland!
But why such grief? for what to me
This maiden saved from Zuyder Zee?
She knew me not before that day,
Scarce saw me ere I turned away.
I heard her voice, I saw her face,
Yet asked nor name nor dwelling place.
Then why this grief to see her stand
Betrothed in Broek-in-Waterland?
Love’s deeds are wild—his power divine!
The maiden’s eye had glanced to mine!
I heard her speak of thanks to me,
My heart was moved and yet was free;
But parting told, and told too late,
That love had mingled with my fate;
And now another claimed her hand
And heart, in Broek-in-Waterland!
Grown sick at heart, I turned to go,
Lest men might see and mock my wo;
But one cried out: “Oh stir not forth,
A storm has risen in the north!”
I looked, the sky, of late so blue,
Was hung in clouds of darkest hue;
An ocean-storm had reached our strand,
And burst on Broek-in-Waterland!
I turned, and heard the maidens shout:
“What reck we for the storm without,
For joy is mistress here within—
Again! again! the dance begin!”
The waltzers float around the floor—
But stay! what means that dreadful roar,
Those shouts of grief or stern command,
In peaceful Broek-in-Waterland?
Alas! the troth too soon was known,
The northern dykes were overthrown;
And far and wide the vengeful waves
Their victims swept to markless graves!
How changed this scene of wild delight!
Some shrieking fled, some swooned in fright;
The bravest hearts were now unmanned
In hapless Broek-in-Waterland!
The bride, who had betrayed no joy,
Yet seemed in truth more sad than coy,
Looked quickly round, with dauntless brow,
And cried: “Come death or freedom now!”
Strange words were these! but marked by none,
For even the lover now had flown,
And I, alone, for her had planned
Escape from Broek-in-Waterland.
Thus far, it seemed she knew me not;
I turned to draw her from the spot;
But long before I reached her side,
She saw—she knew me! and she cried:
“The guardian of my life restored!
My own, though seeming lost! adored!
With thee I dare all storms withstand,
Come! fly from Broek-in-Waterland!”
Around my neck her arms were prest,
She laid her cheek upon my breast,
Then, yielding, swooned, as if no harm
Could pass the shelter of my arm!
An age of thought swept through my brain,
And joy that rose to fearful pain:
“All mad!” I shrieked, “some demon’s wand
Is held o’er Broek-in-Waterland!”
’Twas but a moment! then I knew
A chance with every moment flew;
For as I bear her through the street
The waves come dashing round my feet.
My schuyt floats on the deepening tide;
By struggling long I reach her side.
With oar and sail at my command,
We’re saved from Broek-in-Waterland!
An hour has past—in Wester Dock
The maid recovers from the shock;
But, danger past, deep blushes rise,
Hot tears of shame start from her eyes;
She feels that fear hath made her bold,
That all her secret love is told
For one who, calmly, saw her stand
Betrothed in Broek-in-Waterland!
But love hath power, and bears the will
To clear all doubts with matchless skill!
Before the weeping maid I kneel,
My own long cherished love reveal;
Believing all, she checks her sighs,
And, smiling, gently lifts her eyes,
To tell me why I saw her stand
Betrothed in Broek-in-Waterland.
“With strangers I have dwelt,” she said,
“For I’m a lonely orphan maid.
They loved me not, and would have sold
My hand to one who offered gold.
I scorned him, for I knew his soul
Was lost to virtue’s safe control.
He was a stranger—born in Gand—
No son of Broek-in-Waterland!”
“Yet hold! he was my friend,” said I;
“I loved him well in days gone by.”
She answered: “But your friend in youth,
In manhood left the paths of truth.
For wealth, how steeped his soul in sin!
How basely sought my hand to win!
And vainly hoped to see me stand
His bride in Broek-in-Waterland!”
“Why vainly hoped?” I quickly cried.
“I scorned their power,” the maid replied—
“I loved”—she paused—I knew the rest,
And clasped her closely to my breast.
I felt that she was truly mine,
By honor’s law, by law divine,
That none with shame our flight could brand,
From hapless Broek-in-Waterland.
We never thought of storm or calm,
But held our course to Rotterdam.
The gale had fallen to a breeze,
And sails were spread to greet the seas.
We bade our native land adieu,
And o’er the waste of waters flew;
And soon we touched a foreign strand
Far, far from Broek-in-Waterland!
And there, in lawful marriage rite,
We claimed the triumph of our flight;
But many a year had passed before
We touched again our native shore.
No traces of the storm were seen,
The meadows waved in brightest green!
We wept with joy once more to stand
In happy Broek-in-Waterland!