Lyrics When the Moon Is on the Wave - Solefald

When the Moon Is on the Wave

When the moon is on the wave
And the glow-worm in the grass
And the meteor on the grave
And the wisp on the morass
When the falling stars are shooting
And the answer’d owls are hooting
And the silent leaves are still
In the shadow of the hill
Shall my soul be upon thine
With a power and with a sign
Though thy slumber may be deep
Yet thy spirit shall not sleep;
There are shades which will not vanish
There are thoughts thou canst not banish
By a power to thee unknown
Thou canst never be alone;
Thou art wrapt as with a shroud
Thou art gather’d in a cloud;
And for ever shalt thou dwell
In the spirit of this spell
Though thou seest me not pass by
Thou shalt feel me with thine eye
As a thing that, though unseen
Must be near thee, and hath been;
And when in that secret dread
Thou hast turn’d around thy head
Thou shalt marvel I am not
As thy shadow on the spot
And the power which thou dost feel
Shall be what thou dost feel
Shall be what thou must conceal
And a magic voice and verse
Hath baptized thee with a curse;
And a spirit of the air
Hath begirt thee with a snare;
In the wind there is a voice
Shall forbid thee to rejoice;
And to thee shall night deny
All the quiet of her sky;
And the day shall have a sun
Which shall make thee wish it done
From thy false tears I did distil
An essence which hath strength to kill;
From thy own heart I then did wring
The black blood in its blackest spring;
From thy own smile I snatch’d the snake
For there it coil’d as in a brake;
From thy own smile I snatch’d the snake
For there it coil’d as in a brake;
From thy own lip I drew the the charm
Which gave all these their chiefest harm;
In proving every poison known
I found the strongest was thine own
By thy cold breast and serpent smile
By thy unfathom’d gulfs of guile
By that most seeming virtuos eye
By thy shut soul’s hypocrisy;
By the perfection of thine art
Which pass’d for human thine own heart;
By thy delight in others' pain
And by thy brotherhood of cain
I call upon thee!
And compel
Thyself to be thy proper hell!
And on thy head I pour the vial
Which doth devote this trial;
Nor to slumber, nor to die
Shall be in thy destiny;
Though thy death shall still seem near
To thy wish, but as a fear;
Lo!
The spell now works around thee
And the clankless chain hath bound thee;
O’er thy heart and brain together
Hath the word been pass’d — now wither!