The Murdered Lover

Say a mass for my soul's repose, my brother,     Say a mass for my soul's repose, I need it,     Lovingly lived we, the sons of one mother,     Mine was the sin, but I pray you not heed it.     Dark were her eyes as the sloe and they called me,     Called me with voice independent of breath.     God! how my heart beat; her beauty appalled me,     Dazed me, and drew to the sea-brink of death.     Lithe was her form like a willow. She beckoned,     What could I do save to follow and follow,     Nothing of right or result could be reckoned;     Life without her was unworthy and hollow.     Ay, but I wronged thee, my brother, my brother;     Ah, but I loved her, thy beautiful wife.     Shade of our father, and soul of our mother,     Have I not paid for my love with my life?     Dark was the night when, revengeful, I met you,     Deep in the heart of a desolate land.     Warm was the life-blood which angrily wet you     Sharp was the knife that I felt from your hand.     Wept you, oh, wept you, alone by the river,     When my stark carcass you secretly sank.     Ha, now I see that you tremble and shiver;     'T was but my spirit that passed when you shrank!     Weep not, oh, weep not, 't is over, 't is over;     Stir the dark weeds with the turn of the tide;     Go, thou hast sent me forth, ever a rover,     Rest and the sweet realm of heaven denied.     Say a mass for my soul's repose, my brother,     Say a mass for my soul, I need it.     Sin of mine was it, and sin of no other,     Mine was it all, but I pray you not heed it.