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 Sd&ater, ®:6lantr, 53urger, CRoefte, Bomer, 
 
 etc. etc. 
 
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 EDWAED LUMLEY. 
 
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Digitized bV the Internet Archive 
 in 2013 
 
 http://archive.org/details/germanballadsson01duke 
 

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 yj Zo ti)e 9ieabcr 
 
 In sending forth the following little volume, it may 
 be proper to inform the reader that he is to expect 
 a somewhat miscellaneous collection. It comprises, 
 under the general name of German Ballads and Songs, 
 1st, a series of Translations (most of them newly 
 executed) from Schiller and the other authors whose 
 names appear in the table of contents ; 2d, a num- 
 ber of Original Pieces, founded on German subjects. 
 Among these are one or two (such as "Odin's Sacri- 
 fice") not strictly German, though they are all, it is 
 supposed, sufficiently cognate to justify then* inser- 
 tion in such a volume. A few pieces of a more 
 humorous character than the rest have, for distinc- 
 tion's sake, been thrown together at the end. 
 
Roder 
 
 Schiller 
 K'6rner 
 Fouqut 
 Schiller 
 
 Schmid 
 
 SUBJECT. AUTHOR. 
 
 Little Roland TJhland 
 
 The Diver Schiller 
 
 The Song of the Brave Man . . . Burger 
 Complaint of the Sick Warrior . . Fouque 
 
 Mariam . . . 
 
 The Count of Habsburg . . 
 My Father-land .... 
 On the Death of Wilhelm von 
 
 Fridolin 
 
 The Hero without Fear and without 
 
 Reproach 
 
 The Fight with the Dragon .... Schiller . 
 
 The Minstrel Goethe . 
 
 The Mower's Maiden Uhland . 
 
 Consolation Fouque . 
 
 The Knight of Toggenburg .... Schiller . 
 The Toy of the Giant's Child . . . Chamisso 
 
 The Blind King Uhland . 
 
 The Wild Huntsman Burger . 
 
 A Sigh Fouque . 
 
 The German Rhine Becker . 
 
 The Might of Poesy Schiller . 
 
 The Illustrated Bible Freiligrath 
 
 The Oaks Korner . 
 
 The Emperor Otho the Third' 
 
 ment 
 
 The Ideal Schiller . 
 
 La- 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 7 
 
 12 
 16 
 18 
 24 
 28 
 29 
 30 
 
 38 
 
 45 
 54 
 56 
 59 
 60 
 63 
 65 
 68 
 76 
 77 
 78 
 80 
 83 
 
 84 
 
 87 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 SUBJECT. ACTHOB. PAGE 
 
 The Lyre and the Sword 90 
 
 The Lay of the Horseman .... K'orner .... 93 
 
 Lenore Burger .... 97 
 
 The Mother's Lesson 105 
 
 The Siberian's Death-Song . . . .Schiller . . . .112 
 
 The Minstrel's Curse Uhland . . . .114 
 
 The Emperor Henry the Fourth at ) . a u r ^t, no 
 
 Hammerstein. .' \ A. von Stolterfoth. US 
 
 The Knight of Klettenburg 122 
 
 Two Cradle Songs Fouque .... 125 
 
 Death-Song of the Sea-King Regner ) , r)„ 
 
 Lodbrog } ^-^ 
 
 The Gnipen, or Wood-Spirit 131 
 
 Consolation Fouque . . . .134 
 
 The Hermit and the White Wolf 135 
 
 Odin's Sacrifice 145 
 
 Genoveva 161 
 
 To my Friends Schiller . . . .174 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Prince Eugene 179 
 
 The Enchanted Net 181 
 
 The Well of Wisdom 190 
 
 The Combat of King Tidrich with) ^g^ 
 
 the Dragon / 
 
 Notes to King Tidrich 200 
 
 N.B. — The several Translators are indicated by the initials at the end 
 of each poem ; and where no author's name appears at the top of the 
 pieces, they are, for the most part, original, and by the authors whose 
 initials are appended to them. 
 
'"* / p"^2j^?=^^M'' In her cavern of rock Dame Bertha staved 
 
 And wailed her bitter lot; 
 In open air young Roland played — 
 Small wail made he, I wot. 
 
 .A 
 
GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 " O Charles ! my brother true and great ! 
 
 Why fled I thus from thee? 
 For love I left renown and state ; 
 
 Now frown 'st thou sore on me. 
 
 O Milon ! consort dear and kmd ! 
 
 The flood thy life hath reft ! 
 For love I left all wealth behind — 
 
 Now love too me hath left. 
 
 Come hither, come hither, my little Roland, 
 
 Both love and honour now ; 
 Come hither in haste, my little Roland, 
 
 For solace is none but thou. 
 
 Young Roland, to the city go, 
 
 And beg a morsel of bread ; 
 And he who shall but a crust bestow, 
 
 Crave blessings on his head." 
 
 In his golden hall, high festival 
 
 Kept Charles with his paladins bold ; 
 
 Small rest was then for the serving-men. 
 With platter and dish of gold. 
 
 And loud harps rang, and minstrels sang, 
 
 And every heart waxed gay; 
 But the sound reached not to the dreary spot 
 
 Where lonesome Bertha lay. 
 
 And round about the outer court 
 
 Sat crowds of beggars free, 
 Who held the feasting braver sport 
 
 Than rede and minstrelsy. 
 
LITTLE ROLAND. 
 
 The king he gazed the press along 
 
 Right through an open door ; 
 Where a gallant boy, through the thickest throng, 
 
 Full manfully him bore. 
 
 His garb it was of fourfold hue, 
 
 And wondrous fair to see ; 
 He tarried not by the beggar-crew. 
 
 Straight to the hall gazed he. 
 
 Into the hall walked little Roland, 
 
 As 'twere his own abode ; 
 On a golden dish lie laid his hand. 
 
 And, silent, forth he strode. 
 
 '' What may this mean?" our good king thought; 
 
 " It passes, hy my fay !" 
 But since the deed he questioned not, 
 
 None else said Roland nay. 
 
 There did but pass a little space 
 
 Ere back came Roland bold ; 
 He sped to the king with hasty pace, 
 
 And seized his cup of gold. 
 
 '' Now out and hold, thou urchin bold !" 
 
 Our good king loud did cry. 
 Yovmg Roland still retained his hold, 
 
 And dared him with his eye. 
 
 The king frowned awhile ; but soon must he smile. 
 
 And mirthsome waxed his mood : 
 *' Thou treadest as bold in our hall of gold 
 
 As in thy good greenwood. 
 
GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Thou bearest a dish from a roj'al hoard, 
 
 Like an apple from the tree ; 
 Thou fetchest, as though from the streamlet's flow, 
 
 My wine so red to see." 
 
 " The peasant girl drinks of the running stream, 
 The apple she breaks from the tree ; 
 
 But venison and lamprey my mother beseem, 
 And thy wine so red to see." 
 
 " Now, an thy mother so noble be 
 
 As thou dost boast, fair boy, 
 I ween a gallant train has she, 
 
 And a bower for state and joy. 
 
 And who may be sewer to carve at her board. 
 
 And who may bear her cup ?" 
 " My right hand is sewer to carve at her board. 
 
 My left hand bears her cup.'' 
 
 " And, prithee, who may her warders be V 
 
 '' My little eyen so blue." 
 " And who may be her minstrel free ?" 
 
 " My mouth of the rosy hue." 
 
 " A goodly train hath thy fair ladye ! 
 
 But her livery is strange, I trow ; 
 With colours many and bright to see. 
 
 Like the tints of the watery bow." 
 
 '' In every quarter of the town 
 
 Eight boys this arm o'erthrew, 
 And they brought to me, for liegeman's fee, 
 
 This coat of the fourfold hue." 
 
LITTLE ROLAND. 
 
 " A gallant page hath thy dame, I ween, 
 
 A better there could not be : 
 I trow she is some beggar-queen, 
 
 And open hall keeps she. 
 
 Gramercy, 'twere shame so noble a dame 
 
 Far from our court should be ! 
 So rise, three ladies ! rise, three knights ! 
 
 Lead in the dame to me I" 
 
 Forth from the hall went little Roland, 
 
 And bore the golden prize : 
 At the royal word, three knights from the board 
 
 And three bright ladies rise. 
 
 The king, he tarried a little space, 
 
 Then down the hall gazed he, 
 And he saw return with speedy pace 
 
 His knights and his ladies three. 
 
 He fixed his eye, and aloud 'gan cry, 
 *' Help, heaven, and saints of grace ! 
 
 In my open court have I made a sport 
 Of my own imperial race ? 
 
 Help, heaven ! My sister Bertha, pale, 
 
 In weeds of a pilgrim grey ! 
 Help, heaven ! in this our royal hall, 
 
 In beggar's vile array V 
 
 Dame Bertha at his footstool fell, 
 
 That ladye meek and mild ; 
 Still seemed that feud his breast to swell, 
 
 He stared on her so wild. 
 
GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Dame Eertlia that look could scantly brook, 
 
 No word to speak had she : 
 Young Roland raised his eyes and gazed, 
 
 And hailed his imcle free. 
 
 Then spake the king in gentler tone : 
 
 " Rise up, thou sister mine ! « 
 For this thy dear and gallant son 
 
 Forgiveness shall he thine." 
 
 Dame Bertha rose, o'ercome with joy ; 
 
 " Thanks, brother!" did she say, 
 " And this my good and loyal boy 
 
 Thy kindness shall repay. 
 
 Shall, like his king, uprear his helm 
 
 In many a conquering field ; 
 Shall bear the colours of many a realm 
 
 In pennon and on shield. 
 
 Shall tear from many a royal board 
 The gold, with a conqueror's hand ; 
 
 Shall raise, to power and wealth restored, 
 His drooping motherland !" 
 
 H. T. 
 
SCHILLER. 
 
 ^' Oh, where is the knight or the squire so bold 
 
 To dive 'mid yon billowy din ? 
 I cast down a cup of the purest gold ; 
 
 Lo, how the whiripool hath sucked it in ! 
 I grant the prize of that costly cup 
 To the venturous hand that shall bear it up." 
 
 The monarch he spake as he proudly stood 
 
 On the cliff's o'erhanging steep, 
 And he plunged the cup in Charybdis' flood, 
 
 Into the arms of the endless deep ; 
 " Now, who is so gallant of heart," he cried. 
 As to venture his life in yon raging tide?" 
 
 They listened, that goodly company, 
 And were mute both squire and knight; 
 
 For they silently gaze on the wild, wild sea, 
 
 And they dare not strive with the whirlpool's might. 
 
 And the king, for the third time, loudly spake, 
 
 " Will no man dive for his monarch's sake?" 
 
 But silently still they gaze and stand, 
 
 Till a gentle page, and bold, 
 Stepped lightly forth from the shuddering band, 
 
 And loosed his scarf and his mantle's fold ; 
 While warriors and ladies, around the place. 
 All wondering, look in his fearless face. 
 
 And, lo ! as he stands on the outermost verge, 
 
 He sees, in the dark sea gushing, 
 The struggling waves of the mighty surge. 
 
 From the depths of the muttering whirlpool rushing 
 b2 
 
8 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 And their souiul as the sound of thunder is, 
 
 As they leap in their foam fro'ii tliat black abyss. 
 
 And it hisses and eddies, and seethes and starts, 
 
 As if water and fire were blending, 
 Till the spray-dashing column to heaven iipdarts, 
 
 Wave after wave everlastingly sending, 
 Never exhausted, and never at rest, 
 Like a new sea sprung from the old sea's breast. 
 
 But the terrible storm is at length asleep ! 
 
 Black, amid snow-white spray, 
 A fathomless chasm yawneth deep — 
 
 Such portal dream v/e to hell's dark way! 
 And they see the fierce, wrangling billows now 
 Drawn down to those hungry depths below. 
 
 Then, quick ! ere the tempest again awakes, 
 
 The youth but kneels to pray, 
 And a cry of horror from each lip breaks — 
 
 He is whirled in the whirling stream away ! 
 And the greedy jaws of the fierce white wave 
 Mysteriously shut o'er the swimmer brave. 
 
 All smooth is the surface ; beneath, is heard 
 
 A muttering deep and suppressed; 
 From lip to lip passes the trembling word, 
 
 " God speed thee, young spirit, and dauntless breast!" 
 Then they pause, and they listen right fearfully 
 To the gathering howls of the hollow sea. 
 
 King ! if thou cast in thy crown of gold. 
 
 And say, " He who wins the gem, 
 Kingdom and crown for his own shall hold!" 
 
 Small were my wish for the diadem. 
 
THE DIVER. I 
 
 For liow slioiild a living soul reveal 
 
 What the howling seas in their womb conceal? 
 
 Full man}' a stately ship hath rushed 
 
 Down to yon bubbling wave, 
 And mast and keel, -all shattered and crushed, 
 
 Arose from the depths of the deadly grave. 
 Nearer and nearer that deep sound now 
 Comes, like a tempest at work below ; 
 
 And it hisses and eddies, and seethes and starts, 
 
 As if water and fire were blending, 
 Till the spray-dashing column to heaven updarts, 
 
 Wave after wave everlastingly sending. 
 Whose sound as the sound of thunder is. 
 When they rush with a roar from their black abyss. 
 
 But, see ! what shines through the dark flood there, 
 
 As a swan's soft plumage white? 
 An arm and a glittering neck are bare, 
 
 They busily move v;ith a swimmer's might : 
 It is he ! and, lo, in his left hand, high. 
 He waveth the goblet exultingly ! 
 
 He is breathing deep, he Is breathing long, 
 
 As heaven's glad ray he hails ; 
 While merrily shout the rejoicing throng, 
 
 " He lives, he is here, and the fierce wave quails ! 
 From the depth, where the waters battle and roll, 
 The brave youth has brought back a living soul ! " 
 
 And he comes, while the gay troop cluster rounds 
 
 He bends at his sovereign's feet, 
 And he gives him the cup, kneeling low on the ground ; 
 
 And the king hath beckoned his daughter sweet, 
 
10 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 And she crownetli the beaker with wine's bright spring, 
 While the bohl youth speaks to the wondering king : 
 
 " Long life to our monarch ! and joy to those 
 AVho breathe in the light of the blushing sky ! 
 
 It is fearful there where the dark wave flows, 
 Nor should man tempt the gods on high, 
 
 Nor ever to seek those sights presume 
 
 Which they graciously curtain with night and gloom. 
 
 Down, down I shot like a lightning-flash. 
 
 When, lo ! from the depth of the rocky ground 
 
 Did a thundering torrent to meet me dash. 
 Like a child's frail top I was spun around. 
 
 Powerless and weak ; for how should I fight 
 With the double stream in its raging might? 
 
 Then God, to whom I bitterly cried. 
 
 Displayed, through the driving foamy blast 
 
 In the depth of the sea, a rock's bare side, 
 I grasped the edge — I was safe at last ! 
 
 And there hung the cup on its coral brow, 
 
 Saved from the bottomless depths below ! 
 
 For the purple darkness of the deep 
 
 Lay under my feet like a precipice. 
 And though here the ear must in deafness sleepj 
 
 The eye could look down the sheer abyss. 
 And see how the depths of those waters dark 
 Are alive with the dragon, the snake, and the shark* 
 
 There, there they clustered in grisly swarms, 
 
 Curled up into many a hideous ball ; 
 The sepia stretching its horrible arms, 
 
 And the shapeless hammer, I saw them all ; 
 
THE DIVER. 11 
 
 And the loathsome dog-fish with threatening teeth, 
 Hyasna so fierce of the seas beneatli. 
 
 In horrible consciousness there I stayed, 
 One soul with feeling and thought endued, 
 
 'Mid monsters, afar from all earthly aid. 
 Alone in that ghastly solitude ! 
 
 Far, far from the sound of a human tone. 
 
 In depths which the sea-snake hath called her own. 
 
 And shuddering I thought, * they are creeping more near. 
 They uncoil, and the]^ straighten their hundred joints — 
 
 They will clutch me soon!' — in the frenzy of fear 
 I loosed my hold on those coral points. 
 
 I was seized by the whirling stream once more, 
 
 But it saved ir.e now, for it rose to shore !" 
 
 The monarch he marvelled that tale to hear, 
 
 And he spake — " The cup is thine ; 
 Now win me this ring of jewels clear — 
 
 See how its gleaming diamonds shine ! 
 Go down yet again, and bring word to me. 
 What thou findest in the uttermost depths of the sea!" 
 
 His daughter she listened in grief and shame, 
 
 And with winning tones she spake : 
 " O father, enough of this terrible game ! 
 
 Think what he hath dared — at thy word — for thy sake ! 
 Or if thou yet longest with quenchless desire. 
 Twice shall these knights be shamed by a squire ?" 
 
 Then quickly the monarch grasped the cup. 
 
 And he hinled it down below— 
 " If once again thou canst bear it up, 
 
 The first of my knights I will dub thee novv ; 
 
12 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 And thou slialt achieve as thy hricle this day 
 The maid who for thee doth so sweetly pray!" 
 
 Through his spirit no earthly fire is rushing, 
 
 And fearlessly sparkle his eyes, 
 For he sees how that fair young face is hlushing, 
 
 He sees how it droops as the bright tint dies- 
 Burning so costly a prize to win, 
 For life and for death he plunges in ! 
 
 Again that groaning ? — that low deep sound, 
 
 "Which heralds the thunder-clash ; 
 With loving looks they are gathering round. 
 
 It Cometh, it cometh, the wave's wild crash ! 
 Backwards and forwards it rushes and roars, 
 But, alas ! the youth no wave restores ! 
 
 S. M. 
 
 Sf)p Song of tl)e 5Stabf f^an. 
 
 BURGER,. 
 
 The brave man's praise in song is told 
 
 Like bell or organ's echoing tone ; 
 When bravery is the theme, not gold 
 
 But song rewards — nor song alone : 
 Thank God, who prompts the brave man's deed, 
 And crowns him with his heavenly meed. 
 
 The spring-gale swept the southern sea, 
 
 And moist o'er fair Italia passed : 
 
 As from the wolf the cattle flee, { 
 
 So fled the clouds before the blast ; j 
 
 It pierced the wood, it scoured the field, ' 
 
 And floods long froze before ife yield. j 
 
THE SONG OF THE BRAVE MAN. 13 
 
 On mountain-summits melts the snow, 
 
 And countless cataracts resound ; 
 An ocean whelms the vales below ; 
 
 The gathering stream o'erleaps the mound ; 
 High dash the waves on every side, 
 And fearful icebergs choke the tide. 
 
 On arch and pillar reared, and made 
 
 Of solid stone, above the flood 
 A bridge across the stream was laid, 
 
 And midway rose a small abode ; 
 Here lived a tollman, child, and wife. 
 O tollman, tollman, fly for life ! 
 
 The tempest now more fiercely rang ; 
 
 Near and more near its tumult howled. 
 Upon his roof the tollman sprang, 
 
 And gazed upon it as it scowled : 
 O gracious God, have pity now — 
 Who, who can hear and save but Thou ! 
 
 The icebergs meet, and wildly crash 
 
 From either shore, now here, now there ; 
 
 On every side the waters dash. 
 
 And down both arch and pillar tear. 
 
 The trembling tollman, child, and wife. 
 
 Shrieked louder than the tempest's strife. 
 
 The icebergs thundered, fall on fall. 
 
 In uproar wild along the shore ; 
 They burst the bridge's shattered wall, 
 
 Pillar by pillar down they bore : 
 The havoc onward made its way — 
 '^ Have mercy. Heaven !" they louder pray. 
 
14 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Aloft, upon the farther brink, 
 
 A crowd stands gazing, great and small; 
 They scream and wring their hands, but shrink 
 
 To risk the rescue, one and all. 
 The trembling tollman, child, and wife, 
 Above the tempest shrieked for life. 
 
 When should resound the brave man's fame 
 Louder than bell or organ's tone? 
 
 In noblest song we'll give his name. 
 And place it there, aloft, alone. 
 
 Destruction is within a span ; 
 
 Come to the rescue, thou brave man ! 
 
 A count of noble race and worth 
 
 Up gallops on his courser bold. 
 What in his hand is proffered forth? 
 
 A purse brimful of dazzling gold. 
 Two hundred pieces are his prize 
 Who now to help the wretched flies ! 
 
 Where's the brave man will strive to save? 
 
 Is it the count, my song? — O no ! 
 Although the generous count is brave, 
 
 A braver on this task must go. 
 Come forth, brave man, advance with speed; 
 Impending ruin speaks thy need. 
 
 Higher and higher swells the flood. 
 Louder and louder roars the wind. 
 
 Colder and chiller grows the blood : 
 Oh, where shall we a saviour find? 
 
 Pillar on pillar, arch and wall. 
 
 In quick succession crash and fall. 
 
THE SONG OF THE BRAVE MAN. 15 
 
 Halloo ! halloo ! oh, who will fly ? 
 
 The count the tempting prize uprears. 
 They hear, they shudder, and they sigh ; 
 
 But among thousands none appears : 
 In vain the tollman, child, and wife, 
 Above the tempest shriek for life. 
 
 But, see ! a humble peasant now 
 Starts forth, the noble deed to dare ; 
 
 Noble and lofty is his brow, 
 
 Although his garb is coarse and bare ; 
 
 He heard the boon proclaimed anew, 
 
 And saw how near destruction drew, 
 
 And boldly, in the name of God, 
 
 He leapt into a fishing bark, 
 And o'er the waves triumphant rode 
 
 Through v/hirlpool, storm, and billow dark; 
 But, ah ! the boat is far too small 
 At once to bear and save them all. 
 
 But thrice through gulfs he toiled along 
 That might the stoutest heart appal ; 
 
 And thrice with manly sinews strong 
 Rowed happily to save them all ; 
 
 And scarcely were they safe and well 
 
 When the last tottering ruin fell. 
 
 Who is the brave man ? — who is he ? 
 
 Say on, my song, his name unfold. 
 And did he risk his life to be 
 
 The master of that glittering gold? 
 Had the proud count ne'er shewed the boon, 
 Would he have risked his life as soon ? 
 
16 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 '' Here," cried the count, '' bold-hearted friend, 
 Receive the prize now thine to share, 
 
 And nobly earned !" But list the end. 
 The count a lofty soul might bear. 
 
 But higher feelings swelled the breast 
 
 Of the brave raan, so meanly drest. 
 
 " My life," he said, "shall ne'er be sold 
 For sordid pelf — content, though poor : 
 
 But to the tollman give your gold — 
 His all is lost — his lot is sore." 
 
 Thus firmly spoke he, inly cheered, 
 
 Then turned his back, and disappeared. 
 
 The brave man's praise in song is told 
 Like bell or organ's echoing tone; 
 
 When bravery is the theme, not gold 
 But song rewards — nor song alone: 
 
 Thank God, who prompts the brave man's deed. 
 
 And crowns him with his heavenly meed. 
 
 e^omplaint of t\)t Sicft iSSaavrior. 
 
 1815. 
 FOUQUE. 
 
 On, could I grasp my sabre; 
 
 Oh, could I mount my steed ! 
 I know each reaper's labour 
 
 Is worthy of its meed ; 
 And merriest sound the lute's gay strings 
 When the clashing sword in the chorus rings. 
 
 Ah, bitter pangs are wrenching 
 This feeble breast of mine, 
 
COMPLAINT OF THE SICK WARRIOR. 17 
 
 Marring its joy, and quenching 
 
 The lights that once did shine ; 
 Scarce conscious is my heart, in thought 
 Of the deeds of fame that once it wrought. 
 
 Such is God's will ! Submit thee. 
 
 For true His judgments are ; 
 Be strong in peace, and quit thee 
 
 As once thou didst in war ; 
 Thy heart would bound at the battle-cry, 
 Rushing to meet it exultingly. 
 
 Strike now thy lyre, unyielding, 
 
 And speak a mighty word ! 
 Even thus, a hero, wielding 
 
 His keen-edged spirit-sword. 
 Still in the van may charge and fight 
 Against the foe, and for the right. 
 
 And if this weapon faileth. 
 
 And the charging foe comes near, 
 God's hand, I know, availeth 
 
 This heart to nerve and cheer. 
 Forth from my darkness 1 shall break. 
 And glad, in victory's morn, awake ! 
 
 Through chance and change, calm shining. 
 
 My Saviour is my strength ; 
 Yet if, in death declining, 
 
 This poor heart breaks at length. 
 Ah, German ladies, good and bright. 
 Forget not then your faithful knight J 
 
 To you he gave his sword, his lyre, his fame, 
 Oh, speak ye often of your champion's name ! 
 
 S. M. 
 
'^ i" ^ 'Z 
 
 i^axi&m. 
 
 By Murg's pure tide, in Gernsbacli's groves, 
 Sad Mariam weeps her kinsmen slain ; 
 
 Alone the cedar-shade she roves. 
 The last of all that gallant train. 
 
 This morn their onward course they held, 
 Where in the plain old Strasburg stood, 
 
 And passed each issuing stream that swelled 
 Their native Rhine's expanding flood. 
 
 So gilds their course to-morrow's sun. 
 
 And lights them safe where Neckar flows ; 
 
 Well pleased they rest, the labour done, 
 For which they left their Alpine snows. 
 
MARIAM. 19 
 
 Now Rhine's broad waves in moonlight gleam, 
 
 But pines o'erhang their secret way ; 
 Where, Lichtenthal, thy silvery stream 
 
 Glides under Baden's turrets grey. 
 
 Those turrets grey, that once obeyed 
 
 A lofty prince of Zahring's line, 
 Now robber-chiefs their den have made — 
 
 Its lords in unknown durance pine ; 
 
 And thence perchance the sons of spoil 
 
 That hurry down each moonlit glade, 
 And spread e'en now the treacherous toil 
 
 Beneath the forest's friendly shade. 
 
 Ill fared that night the Svvitzer steel, 
 
 Though strong each arm, though bold each breast ; 
 Stern Glarus' sons the death-pang feel, 
 
 And cleft is Uri's mountain-crest. 
 
 Sad Mariam roams unfriended forth, 
 
 Unmarked she fled that deadly hour, 
 'T\rere better glut their felon wrath 
 
 Than droop thus lone in greenwood bower. 
 
 She roamed the forest deep and still — 
 Each cypress-grove has heard her wail ; 
 
 Dark Eberstein's pine-mantled hill. 
 And glassy Murg's delicious dale. 
 
 Across the dale still wanders she. 
 
 Nor shelter finds, nor sure repose. 
 Lest by cool grot or greenwood-tree 
 
 There lurk unseen her yestern foes. 
 
20 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 At length the gentle stream she spied : 
 Like her, its wave shewed pale and sad, 
 
 Though yet broad Rhine's refulgent tide 
 With day's departing beams was glad. 
 
 Gay shone the bank with flowery sheen ; 
 
 Ne'er mortal couch such hues confessed ; 
 Rich foxglove waved the rocks between, 
 
 And crisped fern the upland dressed. 
 
 On high the aspin's lofty shade 
 
 With youth's false promise glittered still, 
 
 And in the treacherous zephyr played. 
 Till slept the breeze on grove and hill. 
 
 And rested there a pensive dove. 
 
 As though he watched the quivering sprays 
 Can sign of change, and fleeting love. 
 
 In him the spells of memory raise ? 
 
 Now swift he stoops with fearless flight. 
 And gives to Mariam's hand a key ; 
 
 Then guides direct her wondering sight 
 Where opes its stores a magic tree. 
 
 Within what lacked for food and rest 
 The maiden saw with glad surprise ; 
 
 Her thanks to Mary's Son addressed, 
 And gave to sleep her weary eyes. 
 
 Nor sweeter sleeps, by grove or field. 
 The hare begirt with many a flower, 
 
 The fawn by branching fern concealed, 
 Than Mariam in her greenwood bower. 
 
MARIAM. 21 
 
 And oft she laid her peaceful down, 
 
 And peaceful woke at morn to pray ; 
 Calm as still evening's vapoury crown 
 
 Her summer hours flew fast away. 
 
 And still that dove, when suns sink low, 
 
 On softest wing comes floating by ; 
 Then leads where sweetest roses blow, 
 
 And seems to court the maiden's eye. 
 
 Till spoke the maid, in sportive guise, 
 " Thou dove, that glides on gentle wing. 
 
 Come, tell me, why those pensive eyes — 
 That voice that never wakes to sing?" 
 
 " I thank thee, thank thee, gentle maid," 
 
 The wondrous dove in answer spake ; 
 " For nought but virgin-voice could aid, 
 
 And thus my spell-bound silence break. 
 
 And wilt thou do for me a deed?" 
 
 "But name that deed, kind dove," she said. 
 
 " Then through the shades of greenwood speed, 
 Where heaves yon hill its pine-clad head> 
 
 *Tis there, beneath the cypress-shade 
 
 That Eberstein's dark summits own, 
 Her horrid lair has Hexa made, 
 
 And guards her cottage-hearth alone. 
 
 There enter bold, nor pause, nor speak, 
 Nor heed her threat, nor heed her prayer^ 
 
 But swift the inmost dwelling seek ; 
 Nor she to bar thy course will dare. 
 c2 
 
22 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 "Within shall meet thy wondering sight 
 
 Of jewelled rings a regal store; 
 Nor thou regard their glitter bright, 
 
 But view them swift and silent o'er. 
 
 And that which simplest seems, and last, — 
 
 Of virgin gold a modest ring, — 
 That hasty snatch, and hold it fast, 
 
 And back the precious treasure bring." 
 
 She's taken straight her silent way, 
 
 On Murg when morn's first radiance played, 
 
 And reached ere evening's shadows grey, 
 Dark Eberstein, thy cypress- shade. 
 
 Nor paused, save once — her beads to tell; 
 
 Then silent passed the witch's door; 
 Nor heeded threat, nor prayer, nor spell. 
 
 But safely reached that jewelled store. 
 
 And swift and still as men that dream. 
 She cast each glittering gem aside — 
 
 Each gem, whose radiance might beseem 
 On nuptial morn a monarch's bride. 
 
 Yet vain that simple pledge to seek, 
 
 Which thus the dazzling store conceals; — 
 
 What ring is there, with fingers weak. 
 Which Hexa grasps, as forth she steals ? 
 
 The maid that precious pledge hath seen — 
 Hath torn from Hexa's trembling hand ; 
 
 Then frighted fled o'er rock and green. 
 
 Till paused her steps on Murg's pure strand. 
 
 I 
 
MARTAM. 23 
 
 ''' But why delays my tender dove? 
 
 For now 'tis evening's M^onted hour, 
 When aye on gentle wing he'd love 
 
 "With me to sport in greenwood bower." 
 
 Now darker sinks the evening shade, 
 When as an oak's broad trunk was near, 
 
 And 'gainst its rugged back she stayed 
 Her frame, Avith toil o'erwhelmed and fear. 
 
 Why moves that oak in calmest eve — 
 
 Why shake its leafy sprays above ? 
 What meeting boughs the maid receive. 
 
 Close grasped as in the arms of love ? 
 
 That oak, that mid the desert wild 
 
 Hung fairest o'er the glassy tide — 
 That oak is Zahring's princely child ; 
 
 That maid — he clasps her for his bride. 
 
 And forth around his warriors start. 
 Like him, that summer days had stood, 
 
 Enthralled by Hexa's magic art, 
 The leafy giants of the wood. 
 
 Nor his like timid bird again. 
 
 So fleet when dewy evening falls ; 
 But home with all his merry men 
 
 He hies him to his father's halls. 
 
 There's joy to Baden's halls restored; 
 
 And Lichtenthal's glad vale resounds, 
 And hears again its ancient lord 
 
 Chase the dun prey with answering hounds* 
 
24 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 There, too, some mouldering stones revealed, 
 P\ist by yon stream with wild flowers dressed, 
 
 "Where rent was Glarus' warrior-shield, 
 And cleft old Uri's mountain-crest. 
 
 R. I. W. 
 
 STIje Cotmt of |i)abai)uvg. 
 
 SCHILLER. 
 
 At holy Aix, in imperial state, 
 
 In a hall of antique fashion, 
 The Emperor Rudolph's majesty sate 
 
 At the feast of his coronation. 
 The meats were served by the good Rhinegrave ; 
 Bohemia's prince the wine-cup gave ; 
 
 And all the Electors, the Seven, 
 Stood round him, their suit and their service to pay, 
 As the radiant throne of the monarch of day 
 
 Is begirt by the planets of heaven. 
 
 Around, in a gallery high o'er the hall. 
 
 The multitude shouts and rejoices; 
 Loud mingled its tones with the clarion's call 
 
 The joyous acclaim of their voices ; 
 For at length the long murderous struggle was o'er, 
 Foul terror and anarchy triumphed no more, 
 
 Injustice was rampant no longer; 
 Gone by was the iron control of the spear; 
 The meek and the peaceful no more had to fear 
 
 From the turbulent sway of the stronger. 
 
 A beaker of gold raised the monarch in air, 
 As thus was his sentiment given : 
 
THE COUNT OF IIABSBURG. 25 
 
 " The pomp is full gorgeous, the feast is spread fair, 
 
 M}'^ imperial heart to enliven ; 
 Yet miss I the minstrel, whose eloquent lays 
 To rapture divinest my bosom could raise, 
 
 Or soothe me with melody tender ; 
 From my boyhood was minstrelsy aye my delight ; 
 And what I enjoj^ed and applauded as knight, 
 
 I will not as Caesar surrender." 
 
 And, lo ! through the circling array of the peers, 
 
 The long-robed minstrel advancing ! 
 All silvery white, in the fulness of years. 
 
 The locks o'er his shoulders are glancing, 
 " Sweet melody sleeps in the golden strings, 
 Of love's sweet guerdon the minstrel sings — 
 
 Of the highest and best is his story. 
 That the heart can wish or the sense desire : 
 Then say what my Sovereign would please to require 
 
 To grace the high feast of his glory!" 
 
 " I bid not the bard," said the Monarch, and smiled; 
 
 " No human authority thralls him ! 
 A mightier than I rules o'er Poesy's child ; 
 
 His king is the impulse that calls him. 
 As o'er the dark welkin the hurricane sweeps. 
 As Avells the clear fount from its earth-hidden deeps, 
 
 Its source and its nature concealing; 
 So the minstrel's lay from within him springs. 
 Awakening the powers of mysterious things 
 
 That sleep in the chambers of feeling." 
 
 The bard o'er the chords ran his fingers straightway. 
 
 And blithely launched into his story : 
 " To hunt the wild hart o'er the mountains one day 
 
 Forth pricked a bold knight in his glory ; 
 
26 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Him followed his squire with the gear of the chase ; 
 And as through a meadow with stately pace 
 
 His generous destrier bore him, 
 He heard the far sound of a tinkling bell, 
 And was ware of a priest who came fast down the dell, 
 
 With the holy Host before him. 
 
 Down vaulted the Count from his selle to the ground ; 
 
 Bareheaded, he louted full lowly, 
 To reverence with Christian obeisance profound 
 
 The present Redeemer most holy : 
 A brooklet held on through the meadow its course ; 
 It was swoll'n by the storms to a cataract's force, 
 
 And the steps of the traveller impeded ; 
 The priest on the bank laid the wafer aside, 
 His sandals in haste from his feet he untied, 
 
 And into the water proceeded. 
 
 * What mean'st thou, Sir Priest?' the Count, marvelling, said ; 
 
 'And whither so hastily hieing?' 
 ' I speed, good my lord, to a parting soul's aid, 
 
 To say mass by the bed of the dying ; 
 I came to the spot where I weened to have crossed, 
 But the force of the stream down the torrent had tossed 
 
 The bridge I so often have trodden ; 
 So, lest a poor soul should unshriven depart, 
 AVith purpose unbent, of determinate heart, 
 
 I fare through the water unshodden.' 
 
 The count set him straight on his knightly steed, 
 
 To his hand the gay bridle commended. 
 And bade him away to the dying make speed. 
 
 Nor rest till the shrift he has ended. 
 Then, causing his vassal alight from his horse, 
 He mounted, and cheerfully followed the course. 
 
THE COUNT OF HABSBURG. 27 
 
 Nor brook'd the bold priest to be idle ; 
 And the morrow, his eye all with gratitude bright, 
 He brought the good courser again to the knight, 
 
 Full modestly led by the bridle. 
 
 ' Now Heaven it forefend !' said the generous count, 
 
 ' I should ever so impious prove me. 
 That steed in the chase or the foray to mount. 
 
 That bare the great Being above me ! 
 Ne may'st thou retain him for service of thine; 
 He is consecrate now to the office divine ; 
 
 He is granted to Him, the All-seeing, 
 From whom I hold honour and temporal wealth, 
 Whose vassal I am for subsistence and health. 
 
 Soul, body, and breathing, and being!' 
 
 All rapt into joy, the priest knew but to say, 
 
 ' All glory and blessing attend thee ! 
 And He whom thy piety honours this day, 
 
 In honour maintain and defend thee ! 
 A noble gallant art thou, renowned 
 For chivalrous deeds on Helvetian ground. 
 
 The foes of thy fatherland chasing ; 
 Six daughters thou hast, of high beauty and worth ; 
 May each lovely maid bring a crown to thy hearth, 
 
 Thy latest posterity gracing !'" 
 
 In pensive mood sat the Emperor there. 
 
 As he mused on the days long departed, 
 Till at last, as he scanned the old minstrel with care. 
 
 The truth on his memory darted ; 
 That minstrel-priest full soon he knew, 
 And veiled in the folds of the purple from view 
 
28 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 The tears down his cheeks tliat were rolling ; 
 While the multitude gazed on their prince with delight, 
 As they owned in their sovereign the generous knight — 
 
 The deed with high rapture extolling. 
 
 H. T. 
 
 ^B JFatlKrlaub. 
 
 KORNER. 
 
 Where is the minstrel's fatherland ? 
 Where light from a noble spirit flows, 
 Where wreaths are twined for beauty's brows, 
 And where the strong heart proudly glows 
 
 For the right, unblenched, to stand — 
 There ivas my fatherland ! 
 
 What is the minstrel's fatherland? 
 
 Now stoops she beneath foreign yokes, 
 Now die her sons 'neath ruthless strokes. 
 Once she was named the '* land of oaks,'* 
 
 The free land, the German land — 
 Such ivas my fatherland ! 
 
 Why weeps the minstrel's fatherland ? 
 She weeps that, tamed by foreign hordes. 
 Her trembling princes sheathe their swords ; 
 Weeps for wronged faith and broken words, 
 
 And finds, alas! no aiding hand — 
 Thus weeps my fatherland ! 
 
 Whom calls the minstrel's fatherland ? 
 
 With strong despair's deep-thundering cries, 
 She bids her silent gods arise, 
 The champions of her liberties, 
 
DEATH OF WILHELM VON RODER. 29 
 
 Each with his red and rightful hand — 
 Thus speaks my fatherland ! 
 
 What w ills the minstrel's fatherland ? 
 She will crush the foes of liherty, 
 That the bloodhound from her coasts may flee, 
 She will keep her freeborn children free, 
 
 Or bury them, free, beneath the sand— 
 So wills my fatherland ! 
 
 And hopes the minstrel's fatherland? 
 She hopes, for her true causers sake ; 
 Hopes, that her sons at length will wake ; 
 Hopes, that her God her chains will break ; 
 Nor shall that God her prayer withstand. 
 So hopes my fatherland ! 
 
 S. M. 
 
 On t^t 3Seat5 of SEaUfjelm faou UoUx. 
 
 (Major in the Royal Prussian General Staff, slain at Kulm, Aug. SO, 
 1813.) 
 
 FOUQUE. 
 
 Not one, perchance, so blithe as he 
 
 To the rush of battle rode ; 
 Nor one that mused so solemnly 
 
 On life, and death, and God. 
 
 Nor one whose love for child and wife 
 
 And earth was strong as his — 
 And yet so freely gave his life — 
 
 A Christian hero this ! 
 
30 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Therefore tlie front of battle grim, 
 Cleft helm, and shattered crest. 
 
 Were as God's messengers to him. 
 Leading to endless rest. 
 
 Good night, dear friend ! blest citizen 
 Of heaven, thy fittest home. 
 
 Ye who are waking, charge like men ; 
 Your rest shall also come ! 
 
 j^xitiolin. 
 
 SCHILLER. 
 
 A GENTLE youth was Fridolin, 
 
 And, fearing God alway, 
 His lady's grace he sought to win 
 
 By labour night and day. 
 Courteous was she, and kind and good, 
 
 Yet gladly had he striven 
 To please a cold, capricious mood, 
 
 As service due to Heaven. 
 
 From first faint dawn of dewy morn 
 
 Till vesper-hour stole on, 
 He lived but in his toils for her, 
 
 Nor ever deemed them done ; 
 And if his lady bade him rest. 
 
 His eye grew wet the while. 
 For he deemed his fair devoir transgressed, 
 
 When not for her in toil. 
 
 That lady bright his name would raise 
 Above her menials all ; 
 
 S. M. 
 
FRIDOLIN. 31 
 
 From her sweet lips his ceaseless praise 
 
 Did fast and freely fall. 
 She held him as no serf, in sooth — 
 
 A mother's heart she felt ; 
 And on his face of sunny youth 
 
 Her clear eye gladly dwelt. 
 
 Thereat, malignant envy working 
 
 The huntsman's heart within, 
 Where darksome fiends had long been lurking, 
 
 And evil thoughts of sin, 
 He to the count addressed him thus, 
 
 As from the chase they rode 
 (The count a man full credulous. 
 
 And hot and stern of mood) : 
 
 " How is my master free from care !" 
 
 He spake in cunning deep ; 
 " No poisonous doubts from thee can scare 
 
 The golden wings of sleep ! 
 Thy noble wife doth meekly wear 
 
 Her virtue as a veil ; 
 The hand that would to lift it dare. 
 
 In shame must shrink and fail!" 
 
 The count he knit his sable brow, 
 
 "Fellow, what means thy tale? 
 Build on a woman's faith ? I trow 
 
 Not gossamer more frail ! 
 Lightly she yields to flattering word : 
 
 A firmer trust I hold ; 
 To woo the wife of Savern's lord, 
 
 Methinks there's none so bold!" 
 
32 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 " Thou speakest truth !" dark Robert cried : 
 
 " He merits but your scorn : 
 Fool, in his wild and senseless pride, 
 
 And he a vassal born ! 
 Who dares with wanton eye to scan 
 
 His lady, all luishamed " 
 
 " Ha ! speak you of a living man ? " 
 
 The furious count exclaimed. 
 
 " Nay, can the tale my lord surprise, 
 
 Known to his serving-men ? 
 It pleases you to seek disguise — 
 
 I can be silent then! " 
 " Speak, slave ! who dares to love my wife ? 
 
 Speak, or thou diest, I swear!" 
 He shook with rage. " I mean thy page, 
 
 Him of the yellow hair. 
 
 He hath some comeliness of form," 
 
 The crafty knave pursued ; 
 The listening count grew cold and warm, 
 
 It curdled his very blood ! 
 " Is't possible thou didst not see 
 
 How he sees none but her. 
 At table coldly passes thee 
 
 To be her minister ? 
 
 Look on the rhymes he wrote yestreen 
 
 To tell her of his love—" 
 " To tell !" — " Ay, insolent! I ween 
 
 He hoped her heart to move ; 
 The gentle countess kept the tale 
 
 In mercy from thine ear — 
 'Tis pity thou shouldst know it now, 
 
 For what hast thou to fear ?" 
 
 I 
 
FRIDOLIN. 33 
 
 Into the wood in fury rode 
 
 The count, nor paused before 
 He reached his furnace high which glowed 
 
 With piles of the seething ore : 
 With busy hand they fed the brand, 
 
 His slaves in their ceaseless care, 
 The wild sparks flew and the bellows blew, 
 
 As if rocks were molten there. 
 
 The water's might and the fire's strong light 
 
 Were strangely here allied, 
 For the furnace burned, while the millwheel turned 
 
 By the strength of the restless tide ; 
 And night and day they clattered awaj-, 
 
 While the hammers still kept time. 
 Till the iron so cold they shape and mould. 
 
 Like a ball of the soft snow-rime. 
 
 Two slaves he beckons : " Hear my will ! 
 
 The man who shall demand 
 If ye, obedient servants still, 
 
 Have done your lord's command ; 
 Him into yonder furnace cast 
 
 Amid the seething ore, 
 That, crushed to ashes in the blast, 
 
 He cross my path no more !" 
 
 A grim and a fiendlike merriment 
 
 Those savage listeners feel, 
 For their hearts are like the ore they strike, 
 
 Hard as the senseless steel ; 
 The bellows with eager hands they ply 
 
 To kindle the flame's hot breath. 
 And they make them ready mirthfully 
 
 To do the work of death. 
 d2 
 
34 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Then Robert spake witli treacherous art — 
 
 Oh, false of soul was he! 
 " Tarry not, comrade — up, depart! 
 
 Our lord hath need of thee." 
 His hand the count full coldly waves, 
 
 His words forebode not ill, 
 " Hence to the forge, and ask my slaves 
 
 If they have done my will." 
 
 The page made answer duteously. 
 
 And dight him for the way. 
 Yet paused in sudden thought — " Hath she 
 
 No task for me to-day ?" 
 He seeks the countess — " Lady mine, 
 
 I to the forge repair, 
 My love and service aye are thine. 
 
 Hast thou no errand there?" 
 
 To this, in gracious tones and low, 
 
 Savern's sweet dame replies, 
 " Fain would I to the chapel go, 
 
 But sick mine infant lies ; 
 Go thou to mass, dear Fridolin, 
 
 And worship in my place. 
 And, when thou weepest for thy sin, 
 
 For mine seek also grace!" 
 
 Blithe to fulfil her gracious will, 
 
 He hurries forth amain. 
 But scarce the hamlet's further bound 
 
 His rapid steps can gain, 
 When he hears the solemn church-bell ring 
 
 Through the calm air swinging slow, 
 All pardoned sinners summoning 
 
 To the sacred feast to go. 
 
FRIDOLIN, 35 
 
 " Turn not aside from God's dear grace, 
 
 If in thy path 'tis found !" 
 He spoke, and sought the holy place, 
 
 But all was mute around ; 
 'Twas harvest — weary man and beast 
 
 Toil 'neath the burning sky, 
 No acolyte attends the priest, 
 
 No choral band is nigh. 
 
 " No vain delay hath crossed thy way, 
 
 God's service needs thine aid !" 
 So thought the ready page, and now 
 
 The sacristan he played •, 
 In stole and cingulum full fair 
 
 He robed the priest, and went 
 The hallowed vessels to prepare 
 
 For God's pure sacrament. 
 
 As ministrant, when this was done, 
 
 And served in order due. 
 The book he bore the priest before. 
 
 And to the altar drew ; 
 Now right, now left, he lowly knelt, 
 
 Each sign observing well. 
 When the holy name in the Sanctus came, 
 
 Thrice sounded he his bell. 
 
 And when the priest hath bowed to the east. 
 
 To the altar and the rood, 
 Lifting on high for every e)^e 
 
 The great and present God, 
 The tinkling bell of the sacristan 
 
 Announced the awful hour ; 
 At that low peal, all weeping they kneel, 
 
 And worship their Saviour's power. 
 
36 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 With ready will and with rapid skill 
 
 Thiisdidhe play his part, 
 Custom and sign of the mass divine, 
 
 He knew them all by heart: 
 Nor did he deem the service long. 
 
 Nor weary nor cold grew he. 
 Till the priest dismissed the kneeling throng 
 
 With his " Benedicite !" 
 
 All things, I trow, he ranges now 
 
 In order meet and due. 
 The sanctuarie right heedfully 
 
 He cleansed ere he withdrew ; 
 With conscience free, in blameless glee. 
 
 Now speeds he forth to go. 
 Nor by the way forgets to say 
 
 Twelve aves murmured low. 
 
 He sees the spiry smoke-clouds grey, 
 
 And he sees the labourers stand, 
 " Hark, friends!" he cries, " did ye obey 
 
 Your noble lord's command?" 
 AVith a grisly grin they pointed within. 
 
 And each this answer gave : 
 " The deed it is done, and the guerdon won ; 
 
 The count may praise his slave !" 
 
 Bearing that ready answer home, 
 
 In breathless haste he flies, 
 Afar the count beholds him come, 
 
 And scarcely trusts his eyes : 
 " Whence art thou ?" " From the forge !" How wild 
 
 The wondering master stares ! 
 " Upon the way didst thou delay?" 
 
 " Sir, only for my prayers ! 
 
FRIDOLIN. 37 
 
 This morn — forgive the blameless wrong — 
 
 My lady dear I sought, 
 To her my duties still belong — 
 
 Did she command me aught? 
 She bade me to the mass repair ; 
 
 A gladsome heart was mine ; 
 Four times I told my beads in prayer 
 
 For her sweet sake and thine." 
 
 In wild amaze the count must gaze, 
 
 With horror in his eyes -, 
 " What answer gave each faithless slave 
 
 That tends the forge ?" he cries. 
 " To the furnace red, they, pointing, said — 
 
 But doubtful seemed the word — 
 ' The deed it is done, and the guerdon won ; 
 
 And the tale shall please our lord.' " 
 
 The count stood still, an icy chill 
 
 Crept o'er each shaking limb ; 
 " But Robert to the wood I sent — 
 
 Hast thou not met with him ?" 
 " No trace of Robert, sir, I saw 
 
 By wood or field or road ! " 
 *' Now," cried the count in sudden awe, 
 
 "This the hand of God!" 
 
 With gentler mien than his wont had been 
 
 His servant's hand he took. 
 And he led him to his wondering wife 
 
 With a changed and thoughtful look. 
 " This child — oh, take him to your heart! 
 
 No angel purer is ; 
 Though I was led by treacherous art, 
 
 God, and His hosts, are his!" S. M. 
 
©te f^ero ijji'tijout jF^av anti ijjitf)Out l^fproac!). 
 
 CHR. SCHMID/ 
 
 All frowning o'er the valley green, 
 
 Girt by dark clifFand dusky wood, 
 Purpled in evening's light serene, 
 
 An ancient mountain-castle stood. 
 See, how each lofty tower it rears, 
 All hoary with the pomp of years. 
 And clad in stately garments made 
 By the proud oak's ancestral shade. 
 
 In days of yore, there dwelt within 
 A meek and angel-hearted maid, 
 
 Untouched by care, unstained by sin, 
 The gentle lady Adelaide ! 
 
 1 From a little work entitled " Bliithen, dem bliihenden Alter 
 gewidmet." 1836. 
 
THE HERO. 39 
 
 All shadowed by her golden hair, 
 With eyes so clear, so still, so fair, 
 She seemed, in loveliness and love, 
 A herald from the heavens above. 
 
 Yet swiftly past that castle's gate. 
 
 With trembling steps the wanderer hied, 
 
 The land aronnd lay desolate 
 And tenantless on every side. 
 
 By thistles, thorns, and weeds alone 
 
 The earth's forsaken ways were sown ; 
 
 The castle's silent walls, I trow. 
 
 Seemed grieving o'er the waste below. 
 
 For deep within that vale of woes, 
 
 A hideous monster, night and day, 
 With hungry jaws that never close, 
 
 Did fiercely prowl to seek his prey ; 
 Clad was his serpent-form, I ween, 
 In scaly vest of shining green, 
 A thousand teeth — O sight of awe ! — 
 Were weapons in the dragon's jaw. 
 
 And once the sire of that fair dame 
 
 Had spurred his steed, and charged his spear, 
 
 (A warrior he of well-earned fame) 
 To battle with that beast of fear ; 
 
 But spear, nor sword, nor lance avails 
 
 To pierce those adamantine scales ; 
 
 And, by the monster torn and slain, 
 
 He died a gallant death, but vain. 
 
 In grief the sorrowing mother sank. 
 Upon the bed of sickness thrown. 
 
40 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 She neither spake, nor ate, nor drank, 
 
 Nor heard her child's consoling tone ; 
 Beside her couch that maiden hright 
 Kept tearful watch by day and night, 
 Ready her own young life to give, 
 Her drooping mother's to revive. 
 
 With parched lips and piteous look, 
 
 The dying lady faintly cried : 
 *' Oh, bring me water from the brook 
 
 That wells beneath our mountain side !" 
 Silent in fear her damsels stand, 
 No foot is stirred at her command ; 
 For, ah, beside that wave they know 
 Keeps grisly watch their dragon-foe ! 
 
 The maid defied the natural dread, 
 
 Which made her frail limbs shake and quiver ; 
 Praying God's blessing on her head, 
 
 She sought that tiny mountain-river : 
 A thousand steps of deep descent 
 Adown the hill's hard surface went. 
 Winding now right, now left, they led 
 Down to the streamlet's narrow bed. 
 
 The fountain's silver waves spring up 
 
 Above a low rock's hollow rim ; 
 The maiden plunges deep her cup 
 
 Till the clear streams o'erflow its brim. 
 Alas ! within a cavern near 
 His form the beast did slowly rear, 
 And through those dusky shades, the light 
 Of his grim eyes gleamed fiery bright. 
 
THE HERO. 41 
 
 Forth, forth the furious monster leapt — 
 
 She cannot hide, she dares not fly, 
 But still her stedfast faith she kept, 
 
 And, kneeling, raised her prayerful eye ; 
 " O gracious God, have mercy now ! 
 My mother's sorrow pity Thou ! 
 Alas, if I be slain, Thou know'st, 
 Hope for her sinking life is lost!" 
 
 But hark ! a sudden sound awoke 
 
 Afar, like stifled thunder pealing, 
 And, pierced as by a lightning-stroke, 
 
 She saw the mighty dragon reeling : 
 A steed's swift tread that thunder-peal — 
 That flash a lance of gleaming steel. 
 Hurled by a knightly hand, she saw 
 That weapon cleave the dragon's jaw. 
 
 Hah ! how the beast in rage and pain 
 
 Struggles and writhes, with failing strength, 
 
 And, low on that polluted plain. 
 Lies in his sable blood at length ! 
 
 The graceful warrior, tall and slight, 
 
 Adorned with golden armour bright, 
 
 Now, from his courser leaping, paid 
 
 Fair reverence to the wondering maid. 
 
 " God's blessing on thy fearless brand !" 
 
 All trembling thus the damsel spake ; 
 " Lo ! from thy brave and generous hand 
 
 My life in thankfulness I take !" 
 " Nay, thank thy God!" he cried; *'by Him 
 Mine arm hath slain this monster grim ! 
 Thy timid prayer with gracious ear 
 He heard, and winged my conquering spear." 
 
42 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Beneath a pine-tree's ancient shade 
 His faithful steed he fastens now, 
 And to the castle leads the maid 
 
 With tranquil and untroubled brow. 
 That freshening draught the mother takes, 
 Her eye in grateful light awakes, 
 The healing waters pour amain 
 Life, health, and power through every vein. 
 
 " Ah, warrior," thus, in tears, she said, 
 " But for thy stalwart arm of force, 
 
 I, hapless lady, now were dead, 
 
 And this fair child a mangled corse ! 
 
 Oh, teach me, noble knight, the way 
 
 Thy generous valour to repay ! 
 
 Happy were I," she said, and smiled, 
 
 " If thou would'st wed my gentle child." 
 
 But wondrous pale the maiden grew — 
 Her eyes, so bright with hope before, 
 Did sadly gaze through gathering dew 
 Upon a star-gemmed ring she wore. 
 *'To him who gave this ring," she said, 
 Sobbing, " though he were cold and dead, 
 Till in the silent grave I lie. 
 Changeless I keep my constancy." 
 
 " O beauteous maiden, weep no more!" 
 
 At once the warrior gently cried, 
 *' Thine Adelstan shall God restore 
 In health and safety to thy side ! 
 The filial deed thy hand hath done 
 For thee this fitting meed hath won ; 
 This very night thine eyes shall see 
 Him thou hast loved so stedfastly." 
 
THE HERO. 43 
 
 Even while he spake, there rose around 
 The martial trumpet's thrilling strains, 
 
 And the castle-bridge, with clashing sound, 
 Fell sternly in its rattling chains ; 
 
 Sir Adelstan, true knight, hath come 
 
 From Syrian shore to German home. 
 
 Oh, what a meeting-hour was here 
 
 To close such scenes of grief and fear ! 
 
 The knight, whose hand so bold and brave, 
 Rescued that maid, and saved that mother, 
 
 And more — whose noble spirit gave 
 The faithful damsel to another, 
 
 Soon to the spousal altar drew 
 
 Beside that pair so fond and true, 
 
 And then, with buoyant heart and gay. 
 
 Mounted his steed and rode away. 
 
 Glad tidings of the dragon's fall 
 
 From lip to lip did loudly sound, 
 They thank their God, those peasants all, 
 
 For many a circling mile around : 
 With tears of joy on every face 
 The fugitives return apace, 
 Until round that forsaken spot 
 Rises full many a cheerful cot. 
 
 The hero won his well-earned place 
 
 Amid the saints, in death's dread hour ; 
 
 And still the peasant seeks his grace, 
 And, next to God, reveres his power ! 
 
 In many a church his form is seen 
 
 With sword, and shield, and helmet sheen : 
 
 Ye know him by his steed of pride, 
 
 And by the dragon at his side. 
 
44 
 
 GERMAN Ballads, &c. 
 
 But more than all, that spirit high, 
 
 That knight without reproach or fear, 
 Was to the German chivalry 
 
 For ever and for ever dear ; 
 Still was a father wont to say, 
 When in his arms his first-horn lay, 
 " Slight tribute to our hero's fame, 
 Lo, George shall be the infant's name !' 
 
 S. M. 
 
45 
 
 SCHILLER. 
 
 Who comes? — why rushes fast and loud, 
 Through lane and street, the hurtling crowd ? 
 Is Rhodes on fire ? — Hurrah ! — along, 
 Faster and faster, storms the throng ! 
 High towers a shape in knightly garb — 
 Behold the rider and the barb ! 
 Behind is dragged a wondrous load ; 
 Beneath what monster groans the road? 
 The horrid jaws the crocodile. 
 
 The shape the mightier dragon, shews-— 
 From man to monster all the while 
 
 The alternate wonder glancing goes. 
 
 Shout thousands with a single voice, 
 " Behold the dragon, and rejoice ! 
 Safe roves the herd, and safe the swain ! 
 Lo! there the slayer — here the slain! 
 Full many a breast a gallant life 
 Has waged against the ghastly strife, 
 And ne'er returned to mortal sight — 
 Hurrah, then, for the hero-knight!" 
 So to the cloister, where the vowed 
 
 And peerless brethren of St. John 
 In conclave sit — that sea-like crowd, 
 
 Wave upon wave, goes thundering on. 
 
 High o'er the rest the chief is seen ; 
 There wends the knight with modest mien ; 
 Pours through the galleries raised for all, 
 Above that hero-council hall, 
 
 E 
 
46 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 The crowd ; and thus the victor-one : 
 " Prince, the knight's duty I have done; 
 The dragon that devoured the land 
 Lies slain beneath thy servant's hand ! 
 Free o'er the pasture rove the flocks, 
 
 And free the idler's steps may stray ; 
 And freely o'er the lonely rocks 
 
 The holy pilgrim wends his way." 
 
 A lofty look the master gave : 
 " Certes," he said, " thy deed is brave; 
 Dread was the danger, dread the fight — 
 Bold deeds bring fame to vulgar knight ; 
 But say, what sways with holier laws 
 The knight who sees in Christ his cause, 
 And wears the cross?" — Then every cheek 
 Grew pale to hear the master speak ; 
 But nobler was the blush that spread 
 
 His face, the victor's of the day. 
 As, bending lowly, " Prince," he said, 
 
 "His noblest duty — to obey!" 
 
 " And yet that duty, son," replied 
 The chief, " methinks thou hast denied; 
 And dared thy sacred sword to wield 
 For fame in a forbidden field." 
 " Master, thy judgment, howsoe'er 
 It lean, till all is told, forbear : 
 My law in spirit and in will 
 I had no thought but to fulfil ; 
 Not rash, as some, did I depart, 
 
 A Christian's blood in vain to shed; 
 But hoped by skill, and strove by art. 
 
 To make my life avenge the dead. 
 
THE FIGHT WITH THE DRAGON. 47 
 
 Five of our order, in renown 
 The war-gems of our saintly crown, 
 The martyr's glory bought with life ; 
 'Twas then thy law forbade the strife. 
 Yet in my heart there gnawed, like fire, 
 Proud sorrow, fed with strong desire : 
 In the still visions of the night. 
 Panting, I fought the fancied fight ; 
 And when the morrow glimmering came, 
 
 With tales of ravage freshly done. 
 The dream remembered, turned to shame, 
 
 That night should dare what day should shun. 
 
 And thus my fiery musings ran : 
 ' What youth has learned should nerve the man ; 
 How lived the great in days of old. 
 Whose fame to time by bards is told — 
 Who, heathens though they were, became 
 As gods, upborne to heaven by fame ? 
 How proved they best the hero's worth ? 
 They chased the monster from the earth — 
 They sought the lion in his den — 
 
 They pierced the Cretan's deadly maze — 
 Their noble blood gave humble men 
 
 Their happy birthright, — peaceful days. 
 
 What? — sacred but against the horde 
 Of Mahmoud is the Christian's sword? 
 All strife, save one, should he forbear? 
 No! earth itself the Christian's care — 
 From every ill and every harm 
 Man's shield should be the Christian's arm. 
 Yet art o'er strength will oft prevail. 
 And mind must aid where heart may fail!' 
 
48 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Thus musing, oft I roamed alone 
 
 Where wont the hell-born beast to lie ; 
 
 Till sudden light upon me shone, 
 And on my hope broke victory ! 
 
 Tlien, prince, I sought thee with the prayer 
 To breathe once more my native air; 
 The license given — the ocean past — 
 I reached the shores of home at last. 
 Scarce hailed the old beloved land, 
 Than huge, beneath the artist's hand, 
 To every hideous feature true, 
 The dragbn's monster-model grew : 
 The dwarfed, deformed limbs upbore 
 
 The lengthened body's ponderous load ; 
 The scales the impervious surface wore, 
 
 Like links of burnished harness glowed. 
 
 Life-like the huge neck seemed to swell, 
 And widely, as some porch to hell, 
 You might the horrent jaws survey, 
 Griesly, and greeding for their prey ; 
 Grim fangs an added terror gave, 
 Like crags that whiten through a cave ; 
 The ver}'^ tongue a sword in seeming ; 
 The deep-sunk eyes in sparkles gleaming ; 
 Where the vast body ends, succeed 
 
 The serpent-spires around it rolled. 
 Woe, woe to rider ; woe to steed, 
 
 Whom coils as fearful e'er enfold ! 
 
 All to the awful life was done — 
 The very hue, so ghastly, won — 
 The grey, dull tint : — the labour ceased, 
 It stood — half reptile and half beast! 
 
THE FIGHT WITH THE DRAGON. 49 
 
 And now began the mimic chase : 
 Two dogs I sought, of noblest race, 
 Fierce, nimble, fleet, and wont to scorn 
 The wild bull's wrath and levelled horn ; 
 These, docile to my cheering cry, 
 
 I trained to bound, and rend, and spring ; 
 
 Now round the monster-shape to fly. 
 Now to the monster-shape to cling ! 
 
 And where their gripe the best assails. 
 The belly left unsheathed in scales, 
 I taught the dexterous hounds to hang, 
 And find the spot to fix the fang; 
 Whilst I, with lance and mailed garb, 
 Launched on the beast mine Arab barb. 
 From purest race that Arab came. 
 And steeds, like men, are fired by fame. 
 Beneath the spur he chafes to rage : 
 
 Onwards we ride in full career — 
 I seem, in truth, the war to wage — 
 
 The monster reels beneath my spear ! 
 
 Albeit when first the destrier ' eyed 
 The laidly thing, it swerved aside. 
 Snorted and reared ; and even they. 
 The fierce hounds, shrank with startled bay ; 
 I ceased not, till, by custom bold, 
 After three tedious moons Avere told, 
 Both barb and hounds were trained — nay, more. 
 Fierce for the fight — then left the shore ! 
 Three days have fleeted since I pressed 
 (Returned at length) this welcome soil, 
 
 • War-horse. 
 E 2 
 
50 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Nor once would lay my limbs to rest, 
 Till wrought the glorious crowning toil. 
 
 For much it moved my soul to know 
 
 The unslack'ning curse of that grim foe, 
 
 Fresh rent, men's bones lay bleached and bare 
 
 Around the hell- worm's swampy lair ; 
 
 And pity nerved me into steel. 
 
 Advice? — I had a heart to feel, 
 
 And strength to dare ! So, to the deed : 
 
 I called my squires, bestrode my steed, 
 
 And, with my stalwart hounds, and by 
 
 Lone secret paths, we gaily go 
 Unseen — at least by human eye — 
 
 Against a worse than human foe ! 
 
 Thou know'st the sharp rock, steep and hoar? 
 The abyss ? — the chapel glimmering o'er ? 
 Built by the fearless master's hand. 
 The fane looks down on all the land. 
 Humble and mean that house of prayer, 
 Yet God hath shrined a wonder there : 
 Mother and Child, to whom of old 
 The three kings knelt with gifts, behold ! 
 By three times thirty steps the shrine 
 
 The pilgrim gains ; and faint, and dim, 
 And dizzy with the height, divine 
 
 Strength on the sudden springs to him. 
 
 Yawns wide within that holy steep 
 A mighty cavern dark and deep. 
 By blessed sunbeam never lit. 
 Rank fetid swamps engirdle it ; 
 And there by night, and there by day, 
 Ever at watch the fiend-worm lay. 
 
THE FIGHT WITH THE DRAGON. 51 
 
 Holding the hell of its abode 
 
 Fast by the hallowed house of God. 
 
 And when the pilgrim gladly weened 
 
 His feet had found the healing way, 
 Forth from its ambush rushed the fiend, 
 
 And down to darkness dragged the prey. 
 
 With solemn soul that solemn height 
 I olomb, ere yet I sought the fight ; 
 Kneeling before the cross within, 
 My heart, confessing, cleared its sin. 
 Then, as befits the Christian knight, 
 I donned the spotless surplice Avhite, 
 And by the altar grasped the spear : 
 So down I strode with conscience clear. 
 Bade my leal squires afar the deed. 
 
 By death or conquest crowned, await — 
 Leapt lightly on my lithesome steed. 
 
 And gave to God his soldier's fate ! 
 
 Before me wide the marshes lay — 
 Started the hounds with sudden bay — 
 Aghast the swerving charger slanting 
 Snorted, then stood abrupt and panting: 
 For cvu-led there in coiled fold, 
 The unutterable beast behold, 
 Lazily basking in the svm ! 
 Forth sprang the dogs — the fight's begun! 
 But, lo, the hounds in cowering fly 
 
 Before the mighty poison-breath ; 
 A yell, most like the jackal's cry, 
 
 Howled, mingling with that wind of death. 
 
 No halt — I gave one cheering sound. 
 Lustily springs each dauntless hound; 
 
52 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Swift as the dauntless hounds advance, 
 Whiningly skh'rs my stalwart lance — 
 Whirringly skirrs; and from the scale 
 Bounds as a reed aslant the mail. 
 Onward! — hut no! — the craven steed 
 Shrinks from his lord in that dread need ; 
 Smitten and scared before that eye 
 
 Of basilisk horror, and that blast 
 Of death, it only seeks to fly — 
 
 And half the mighty hope is past ! 
 
 A moment, and to earth 1 leapt ; 
 Swift from its sheath the falchion swept ; 
 Swift on the rock-like mail it plied — 
 The rock-like mail the sword defied : 
 The monster lashed its mighty coil — 
 Down hurled — behold me on the soil! 
 Behold the hell-jaws gaping wide — 
 When, lo, they bound — the flesh is found; 
 
 Upon the scaleless parts they spring ; 
 Springs either hound — the flesh is found — 
 
 It roars ; the blood-dogs cleave and cling ! 
 
 No time to foil its fastening foes — 
 Light, as it writhed, I sprang, and rose ; 
 The all-unguarded place explored, 
 Up to the hilt I plunged the sword — 
 Buried one instant in the blood — 
 The next, upsprang the bubbling flood! 
 The next, one vastness spread the plain, 
 Crushed down — the victor with the slain; 
 And all was dark, and on the ground 
 
 My life, suspended, lost the smij 
 Till waking — lo, my squires around — 
 
 And the dead foe ! — my tale is done." 
 
THE FIGHT WITH THE DRAGON. 53 
 
 Then burst, as from a common breast, 
 
 The eager laud so long supprest ; 
 
 A thousand voices, choral blending, 
 
 Up to the vaulted dome ascending ; 
 
 From groined roof and bannered wall, 
 
 Invisible echoes answering all : 
 
 The very brethren, grave and high. 
 
 Forget their state, and join the cry. 
 
 " With laurel-wreaths his brow be crowned, 
 
 Let throng to throng his triumph tell ; 
 Hail him, all Rhodes!" — the master frowned, 
 
 And raised his hand, and silence fell. 
 
 " Well," said that solemn voice, " thy hand 
 
 From the wild beast hath freed the land. 
 
 An idol to the people be ! 
 
 A foe, our order frowns on thee ! 
 
 For in thy heart, superb and vain, 
 
 A hell-worm laidlier than the slain, 
 
 To discord which engenders death. 
 
 Poisons each thought with baleful breath ! 
 
 That hell-worm is the stubborn will. 
 
 Oh, what were man and nations worth, 
 If each his own desire fulfil. 
 
 And law be banished from the earth ? 
 
 Valour the heathen gives to story ; 
 Obedience is the Christian's glory : 
 And on that soil our Saviour-God 
 As the meek low-born mortal trod. 
 We the apostle-knights were sworn 
 To laws thy daring laughs to scorn ; 
 'Not fame, but duti/ to fulfil. 
 Our noblest oflTering — man's wild will. 
 
54 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Vain-glory doth thy soul betray ; 
 
 Begone — thy conquest is thy loss : 
 No breast too haughty to obey 
 
 Is worthy of the Christian's cross!" 
 
 From their cold awe the crowds awaken, 
 As with some storm the halls are shaken ; 
 The noble brethren plead for grace — 
 Mute stands the doomed, with downward face ; 
 And mutely loosened from its band 
 The badge, and kissed the master's hand, 
 And meekly turned him to depart : 
 A moist eye followed, "To my heart 
 Come back, my son!" the master cries. 
 
 " Thy grace a harder fight obtains ; 
 When valour risks the Christian's prize, 
 
 Lo, how humility regains !" 
 
 GOETHE. 
 
 " What strain is that without our walls 
 
 Which from the bridge we hear ? 
 Again, more closely, in our halls 
 Its sounds must glad our ear !" — 
 The monarch spake, a page obeyed ; 
 The page returned ; the monarch said, 
 *' Lead hither yon old minstrel !" 
 
 *' Hail, noble masters — each true knight! 
 
 Hail you too, lovely dames ! 
 Heavens, what a galaxy of light! 
 
 What tongue can tell your names ! 
 
THE MINSTREL. 55 
 
 Such throngs of valour, blent with grace, 
 Dazzle mine eyes — nor time nor place 
 Sufficing for my wonder." 
 
 His face the minstrel stooped to hide, 
 
 And struck his fullest chords ; 
 Their laps the blushing beauties eyed ; 
 Up proudly gazed the lords. 
 
 The monarch, flattered by the strain, 
 Proffered a costly golden chain. 
 As largesse for his harping. 
 
 " The chain of gold befits not me ; 
 
 Some helm 'twill better grace 
 To which, 'mid shouts of victory. 
 The foe their spears abase : 
 
 Or hang it on that brow of care, — 
 Its burden let your chancellor wear 
 Among his other burdens. 
 
 I sing but as the bird which sings 
 
 From yonder leafy bower ; 
 The verse which from the bosom springs 
 Pays its own precious dower. 
 
 Yet, might I urge it, one request — 
 Some wine, your oldest and your best, 
 In that pure, golden goblet." 
 
 They filled the cup ; he quaffed it up, — 
 
 " O draught divinely soothing ! 
 Right well befall the bounteous hall 
 Where gifts like this are nothing ! 
 Remember me when cups flow high ; 
 Thank heaven devoutly then as I 
 Now thank you for this bumper." 
 
UHLAND. 
 
 " Good morrow to thee, Mary ! right early art thou laden ! 
 Love hath not made thee slothful, thou true and stedfast 
 maiden ! 
 
THE MOWERS MAIDEN. 57 
 
 Ay, if in three brief days, methinks, thy task of work be 
 
 done, 
 I shall no longer have the heart to part thee from my son." 
 
 It was a wealthy farmer spake, it was a maiden listened : 
 Oh, how her loving bosom swelled, and how her full eye 
 
 glistened ! 
 New life is in her limbs, her hand outdoes her comrades all, 
 See how she wields the scythe, and see how fast the full 
 
 crops fall ! 
 
 And when the noon grows sultry, and the weary peasants 
 
 wend 
 To sleep in pleasant thickets, and o'er cooling streams to 
 
 bend; 
 Still are the humming-bees at work beneath that burning 
 
 sky, 
 And Mary, diligent as they, works on unceasingly. 
 
 The sun hath sunk, the evening bell gives gentle summons 
 
 home ; 
 "Enough," her neighbours cry, "enough! come, Mary, 
 
 prithee come !" 
 Shepherds, and floclcs, and husbandmen, pass homeward 
 
 through the dew, 
 But Mary only whets her scythe and goes to work anew. 
 
 And now the dews are thickening, the moon and stars are 
 
 bright, 
 Sweet are the new-mown furrows, and sweet the songs of 
 
 night ; 
 But Mary lies not down to rest, and stands not still to 
 
 hear, 
 The rustling of her ceaseless scythe is music to her ear. 
 
58 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Even thus from morn till evening, even thus from eve to 
 morn, 
 
 She toils, by strong love nourished, by happy hope up- 
 borne ; 
 
 Till when the third day's sun arose, the labour was com- 
 plete. 
 
 And there stood Mary weeping, for joy so strange and 
 sweet. 
 
 '' Good morrow to thee, Mary! How now? — the task is 
 
 done ! 
 Lo, for such matchless industry, rich guerdon shall be 
 
 won ; 
 But for the wedding — nay indeed — my words were only 
 
 jest ; 
 How foolish and how credulous we find a lover's breast !" 
 
 He spake and went his way, and there the hapless maid 
 
 stood still. 
 Her weary limbs they shook, they sank, her heart grew 
 
 stiff and chill ; 
 Speech, sense, and feeling, like a cloud, did from her spirit 
 
 pass, 
 And there they found her lying upon the new-mown grass ! 
 
 And thus a dumb and death-like life for years the maiden 
 
 led, 
 A drop of fragrant honey was all her daily bread. 
 Oh, make her grave in pleasant shades, where softest 
 
 flow'retsgrow, 
 For such a loving heart as hers is seldom found below ! 
 
59 
 
 Consolatfon. 
 
 FouauE. 
 
 When through Life's avenue so dark and cold 
 
 Downward, and ever down, the steps are tending, 
 Behold, 
 
 Hope's gentle accents cheer us in descending : 
 " Ah, be not sad! ah, do not weep! 
 Ere thou lay thee down to sleep 
 
 The sleep of death, 
 Thou shalt feel anew Spring's kindly dew 
 And the May-wind's fragrant breath." 
 
 So didst thou speak, dear voice ; so didst thou dream ? 
 
 The brightness of Life's wave hath ebbed away ! 
 A gleam 
 
 Of light shines feebly on my darksome way, 
 But 'tis across the grave so chill ! 
 Cheat me no more — endure I will 
 
 As best I can ; 
 Suffer and fight, and strive with might, 
 Even as becomes a man. 
 
 I am companioned by mine own sweet strain. 
 Like a clear-shining lamp to light my feet ; 
 Again, 
 
 Echoing through German bosoms, strong but sweet. 
 It cheers my spirit's lonely way ; 
 Ah, yes, and I can pray, can pray 
 
 Rejoicingly ! 
 For my misdeeds, if Jesus pleads. 
 Who then condemneth me ? 
 
 S. M. 
 
60 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 ^i)e iStntgtlt of ^oggenburg. 
 
 SCHILLER. 
 
 "A sister's love," said the damsel bright, 
 
 " I yield thee, pure and true; 
 But ask me no tenderer thought. Sir Knight, 
 
 Sith further ye may not woo. 
 
 I would calmly see thee come to me, 
 
 I would calmly see thee part; 
 But thy silent glance's tearful plea. 
 
 It never may reach my heart." 
 
 The knight he listened in speechless grief. 
 
 For word he could not say ; 
 The maiden he prest to his bleeding breast, 
 
 And tore himself away. 
 
 He has called his menee so brave and free 
 
 From sturdy Switzerland ; 
 And they march to the Holy Sepulchre — 
 
 The knight and his red-cross band. 
 
 And many a deed of knightly pi-aise 
 That gallant's arm has wrought ; 
 
 And his plumy crest waved liigh o'er the rest 
 Where foremost the foemen fought. 
 
 And before the Toggenburger's name 
 
 The Paynim learned to quail ; 
 But the conqueror's heart from his grief to part 
 
 No conquest might avail. 
 
THE KNIGHT OF TOGGENBtRG. 61 
 
 A year he bore, but he bears no more ; 
 
 No rest his soul has found : 
 He leaves his host on the Syrian coast, 
 
 To speed to his native ground. 
 
 He sees a bark on Joppa's strand, 
 
 And she stands out for the sea ; 
 And home he hastes to the best-loved land 
 
 Where wons his dear ladye. 
 
 A pilgrim stands at her castle-gate- — 
 
 The warder his rtdte has heard. 
 And to the guest who asks his fat^j 
 
 Returns the thunder- word : 
 
 " She has ta'eii the veil, thy ladye-love* 
 
 She is Heaven's betrothed one now : 
 No longer, I ween, than fair yestreen^ 
 
 She plighted the holy vow." 
 
 The knight lefl the halls of his sir6s for aye ; 
 
 He recked not of knightly deed, 
 Ne of his brand and launcegaye, 
 
 Ne of his faithful steed. 
 
 Down from the Toggenburg he came, 
 
 Unheeded and unknown, 
 And veiled his noble form and name 
 
 In haircloth weed alone. 
 
 He built him a bower by the minster-tower 
 
 Whereas his ladye lay, 
 Where, half amid the lindens hid. 
 
 Looked forth the dark abbaye : 
 
62 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 And there he waited from morning rays 
 
 Till eve fell dusk and chill ; 
 With silent hope in his wistful gaze, 
 
 He sate alone and still. 
 
 He gazed upon the cloister near ; 
 
 His anxious eye would hang 
 On the window of his ladye dear. 
 
 Until the lattice rang ; 
 
 Till there she stood, that ladye bright — 
 
 Till that loved vision smiled, 
 Glancing along the dale in light. 
 
 So calm, so ahgel-mild. 
 
 Then blithe he laid him down to rest, 
 
 And slept the hours away. 
 Rejoicing with contented breast, 
 
 In hope of early day. 
 
 For many a day, for many a year, 
 
 Withouten plaint or pang, 
 Still gazed he on the window dear. 
 
 Until the lattice rang ; 
 
 And there she stood, that ladye bright — 
 
 And that loved vision smiled. 
 Glancing along the dale in light, 
 
 So calm, so angel-mild. 
 
 And there he sate, one morning-tide, 
 
 A corse so pale and chill ; 
 But the stiff cold gaze in its lifeless glaze 
 
 "Was turned to the window still. 
 
 H. T. 
 
63 
 
 Zlit Cog of tlje Giant's €i)tHr. 
 
 CHAMISSO. 
 
 Burg Niedeck is a mountain in Alsace, high and strong, 
 Where once a noble castle stood — the giants held it long ; 
 Its very ruins now are lost, its site is waste and lone, 
 And if ye seek for giants there, they are all dead and gone. 
 
 The giant's daughter once came forth the castle-gate be- 
 fore, 
 
 And played, with all a child's delight, beside her father's 
 door; 
 
 Then sauntering down the precipice^ the girl did gladly go, 
 
 To see, perchance, how matters went in the little world 
 below. 
 
 With few and easy steps she passed the mountain and the 
 
 wood ; 
 At length near Haslach, at the place where mankind 
 
 dwelt, she stood ; 
 And many a town and village fair, and many a field so 
 
 green. 
 Before her wondering eyes appeared, a strange and curious 
 
 scene. 
 
 And as she gazed, in wonder lost, on all the scene around. 
 She saw a peasaht at her feet, a-tilling of the ground ; 
 The little creature crawled about so slowly here and there, 
 Andj lighted by the morning sun, his plough shone bright 
 and fair. 
 
 " Oh, pretty playtliing !" cried the child, " I'll take thee 
 
 home with me;" 
 Then with her infant hands she spread her kerchief on her 
 
 knee^ 
 
 v2 
 
64 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 And cradling horse, and man, and plough, all gentlj' on 
 
 her arm, 
 She bore them home with cautious steps, afraid to do them 
 
 harm ! 
 
 She hastes with joyous steps and quick (we know what 
 
 children are), 
 And spying soon her father out, she shouted from afar : 
 *' O father, dearest father, such a plaything I have found, 
 I never saw so fair a one on our own mountain ground." 
 
 Her father sat at table then, and drank his wine so mild. 
 And smiling witli a parent's smile, he asks the happy 
 
 child, 
 " What struggling creature hast thou brought so carefully 
 
 to me ? 
 Thou leap'st for very joy, my girl ; come, open, let us 
 
 see." 
 
 She opes her kerchief carefully, and gladly you may deem, 
 And shews her eager sire the plough, the peasant, and^his 
 
 team ; 
 And when she'd placed before his sight the new-found 
 
 pretty toy. 
 She clasped her hands, and screamed aloud; and cried for 
 
 very joy. 
 
 But her father looked quite seriously, and shaking slow 
 
 his head, 
 " What hast thou brought me home, my child? — this is 
 
 no toy," he said; 
 " Go, take it quickly back again, and put it down below ; 
 The peasant is no plaything, girl, — how could'st thou 
 
 think him so ? 
 
THE BLIND KING. 65 
 
 So go, without a sigh or sob, and do my will," he said ; 
 " For know, without the peasant, girl, we none of iis had 
 
 bread : 
 'Tis from the peasant's hardy stock the race of giants are ; 
 The peasant is no plaything, child — no — God forbid he 
 
 were !" 
 
 G. F. Richardson. 
 
 a:i)e JSImli i^i'ng. 
 
 The Northmen's troop, in a warrior-gronp, 
 
 They stand by the sea so green — 
 What doth he there, in his silver hair, 
 
 The blind old king, I ween ? 
 He lifteth his voice with a cry of woe, 
 
 As he leans on his oaken wand, 
 And his words o'er the wave in thunder go 
 
 To the echoing isle beyond. 
 
 " Give back my child from thy rocky wild!" 
 
 He cries in grief and rage ; 
 ^' Her harp-notes clear, her voice so dear, 
 
 Were the treasures of mine age ! 
 From the merry dance on the green sea-shore 
 
 Thou hast snatched the maid away ; 
 To thee 'tis shame for evermore, 
 
 And it bows these tresses grey !" 
 
 Forth from his cave came the robber brave, 
 
 Tall, fierce, and wild to see ; 
 He swung o'er his head his Hun-sword red, 
 
 And his clanging shield struck he : 
 
66 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 " Thou hast warders enow, sir king, I trow; 
 
 Why stayed not they my hand ! 
 Was there never a knight for her to fight 
 
 In all thy valorous land?" 
 
 But the Northmen around they uttered no sound, 
 
 Nor forth from the ranks stepped one, 
 Till the sightless king spake sorrowing, 
 
 " Am I then quite alone?" 
 But his youngest son his hand hath clasped 
 
 With a loving clasp and warm, 
 " Oh, suffer me thy knight to be ! 
 
 There is strength in this right arm!" 
 
 " O son ! thy foe hath a giant's might, 
 
 No man resists his brand ; 
 Yet I feel that thou hast manhood now 
 
 By the pressure of thy hand ! 
 Take here mine ancient sword of proof ! 
 
 If evil be thy fate. 
 May the yawning sea soon close on me, 
 
 Aged and desolate !" 
 
 Hark to the plash of the clear sea-spray 
 
 As the light bark scatters it round ! 
 The sightless king stands listening. 
 
 His Northmen breathe no sound ; 
 Till through that plash was heard the clash 
 
 Of steel, from the island's shore. 
 And the cry of foes who in battle close, 
 
 i^nd the sullen echo's roar. 
 
 " Tell, tell to me, what sights ye see," 
 Cried the king in joy and fear ; 
 
THE BLIND KING. 67 
 
 " My sword, I know thine echoing blow, 
 
 Thou strikest so keen and clear !" 
 " We see the robber shrink and fall, 
 
 His meed he hath richly won ; 
 We hail thee, hero ! pride of all, 
 
 Our good king's stalwart son !" 
 
 Again the king stands listening. 
 
 And silence reigns once more — 
 " What sounds are these from the murmuring seas, 
 
 Like the plash of a cleaving oar?" 
 " They come, they come, o'er the parting foam, 
 
 Thy son in his arms of pride. 
 And Gunilda fair in her sunbright hair, 
 
 Thy daughter, at his side !" 
 
 " Welcome!" that blind old man did cry 
 
 From his rock above the wave ; 
 " Now will mine age be an age of joy, 
 
 My grave an honoured grave ! 
 Son ! lay the sword which struck so true 
 
 Beside me where I lie ; 
 Gunilda free, sing thou for me 
 
 The death-hymn's melody!" 
 
 S. M. 
 
t--rJ 
 
 The Rhinegrave winds his horn — "Away! 
 
 To horse! On foot! The chase — hurrah!' 
 Up leaps his steed with eager neigh, 
 
 On comes his train with loud huzza ; 
 The hounds uncoupled rush at speed, 
 Clattering o'er bush, and brake, and mead. 
 
 In Sunday brightness, still and fair, 
 Yon church uplifts her stately tower ; 
 
 The solemn bell that calls to prayer 
 Peals deeply forth the wonted hour, 
 
 While far and lovely, soft and slow. 
 The reverent anthem soundeth low. 
 
 Right o'er the hallowed path they ride. 
 With wild halloo and ringing shout ; 
 
 Behold ! behold ! from either side 
 A single horseman joins the rout ; 
 
THE WILD HUNTSMAN. 69 
 
 A fiery roan the left — the right 
 A graceful steed of silver white. 
 
 Who were those riders ? Well I guess, 
 
 But know not, nor may utter more ; 
 A face of springtide gentleness 
 
 The youthful right-hand horseman wore ; 
 Tawny and fierce, the other's eye 
 Shot lightnings like an angry sky. 
 
 " Right welcome !" cried the hunter-lord, 
 " To the noble chase right welcome be ! 
 
 No sport can earth or heaven afford 
 Of fairer fame or merrier glee." 
 
 He clapped his hands with joyous cry. 
 
 And shook his hunting- cap on high. 
 
 " 111 blends thy horn, so wild and vain " — 
 Thus did the right-hand horseman say — 
 
 " With solemn bell and choral strain ; 
 Return, forbear the chase to-day ! 
 
 Oh, let thy better self persuade ! 
 
 Be not by evil thoughts betrayed!" 
 
 " The chase, my noble lord, the chase !" 
 
 Eager the left-hand horseman cried ; 
 " Let the dull bells ring, and the pale monks sing, 
 
 'Tis to the merry chase we ride ! 
 Of me, come learn thou princely lore, 
 And list yon prater's words no more." 
 
 " Well spoken, rider frank and free ! 
 
 A hero to my taste art thou ; 
 Let him who loves not venerie 
 
 Mutter his prayers and knit his brow ; 
 
70 GERMAN BALLAbS, &Ci 
 
 Out, pious fool ! I hold my way, 
 Let it offend thee as it may." 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! o'er dale and hill, 
 O'er field and plain, away they ride ; 
 
 But, right and left, those horsemen still 
 Keep closely at the haron's side. 
 
 Up leaps from yonder sheltering crag 
 
 A stag often — a milk-white stag. 
 
 Louder the chief his horn doth wind, 
 Faster on foot, on horse, they fly ; 
 
 Lo, one by one, before, behind. 
 The panting vassals sink and die ! 
 
 *' Ay, sink to hell ! A baron's glee 
 
 Must ne'er he marred for such as ye !'' 
 
 Lo, to a field of yellow corn 
 
 The trembling stag for refuge flies ; 
 
 And see, a peasant, poor and worn, 
 Pleads to the earl in piteous guise : 
 
 " Have mercy, noble baron ! Spare 
 
 The hope of want, the fruit of care !" 
 
 Forward the right-hand horseman spurredj 
 Mildly to check and gently warn ; 
 
 Tlie left, with many a scofling word, 
 Urges the deed of ruthless scorn ; 
 
 The baron spurns that gentle pleading. 
 
 And follows where the left is leading. 
 
 " Hence, dog ! " in tones of furious wrath 
 The earl disdains the peasant' s woe ; 
 
 " Hence, or I hew thee from my path ! 
 Hurrah, companions ! forward, ho ! 
 
THE WILD HUNTSMAN. 71 
 
 In token that the truth he hears, 
 Rattle your whips about his ears !" 
 
 'Tis said, 'tis done ! On, on they dash, 
 
 That lowly fence the baron leapt ; 
 Behind, with clanging ho;;n and crash. 
 
 Hound, horse, and man, in fury swept ; 
 Hound, horse, and man, the full ears crushing. 
 Till steamed the field beneath their rushing. 
 
 Scared by that coming storm, the stag 
 
 Flies, breathless, over waving meads, 
 Through field and plain, o'er vale and crag. 
 
 Pursued, but yet unreached, he speeds. 
 And, bootless cunning ! strives to hide 
 'Mid gentle flocks in pastures wide. 
 
 But up and down, through wood and plain, 
 And to and fro, through plain and wood. 
 
 The hurrying hounds upon him gain, 
 Scenting his steps, athirst for blood ; 
 
 Their rage the trembling shepherd sees, 
 
 And sues for pity on his knees. 
 
 " Mercy, oh, mercy ! Not in sport 
 
 Make poor and peaceful flocks your prey ! 
 
 The hapless widow's sole support. 
 
 Ah, pause and think ! Ah, do not slay ! 
 
 Spare to the poor their little all — 
 
 Mercy, oh, mercy ! hear my call !" 
 
 Forward the right-hand horseman spurr'd. 
 In soothing tones to check and warn ; 
 
 The left, with mocking laugh and word, 
 Urges the deed of ruthless scorn ; 
 
72 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 The baron spurns that gentle pleading, 
 And follows where the left is leading. 
 
 " Out of my path, rash cur ! Away ! 
 
 I would that in yon quivering kine 
 My dogs could make thyself their prey, 
 
 And yonder beldame wife of thine : 
 Think ye my heart would then be loath 
 Up to yon heavens to send ye both?" 
 
 " Hurrah, companions! Forward there ! 
 
 Ho, tantara ! hark away !" 
 Then every hound did raging tear 
 
 With cruel teeth the nearest prey ; 
 Beneath the bleeding shepherd's eye 
 His bleeding flock are rent, and die. 
 
 Scarcely, with ever-slackening pace. 
 The stag escapes that murderous crowd 
 
 With blood and foam on flank and face, 
 He seeks a thicket's midnight shroud ; 
 
 Deep in the darkness of the wood 
 
 A hermit's forest-temple stood. 
 
 With crack of whip and clang of horn, 
 With crashing hoofs that shake the air, 
 
 With cries of mirth and shouts of scorn, 
 The wild troop follow even there : 
 
 Lo, from his prayers aroused, they see 
 
 The hermit come, with gentle plea. 
 
 " Cease, nor pollute this sacred shade ! 
 
 Cease, nor profane this hallowed time ! 
 God's creature cries to Him for aid, 
 
 And calls for vengeance on thy crime. 
 
THE WILD HUNTSMAN. 73 
 
 For the last time, be warned ! Forbear, 
 Or dread destruction and despair!" 
 
 Forward the right-hand horseman spm-red, 
 With anxious eyes to check and warn ; 
 
 The left, with many a scoffing word. 
 Urges the deed of ruthless scorn : 
 
 Woe, woe ! he spurns that gentle pleading, 
 
 And follows where the left is leading. 
 
 " Destruction? let it fall !" he cries ; 
 
 " Dreamest thou my heart to overawe ? 
 If yonder cell were heaven or hell, 
 
 To me 'twould matter not a straw : 
 Away, thou fool ! God's wrath or thine 
 Shall never baffle sport of mine. 
 
 My whip I swing, my horn I wind ; 
 
 Hurrah, companions! Forward there !" 
 Ha! — cell before, and train behind, 
 
 At once have melted into air ; 
 And shout, and yell, and hunter's call, 
 Sink into deathlike silence all. 
 
 The trembling baron gazes round ; 
 
 His whij) he swings — no echo wakes ; 
 He shouts, and cannot hear a sound; 
 
 He winds — his horn no answer makes. 
 On either flank his steed he spurs : 
 In vain — it neither starts nor stirs. 
 
 And gradual darkness o'er him now 
 
 Closes, and closes like a grave ; 
 'Tis silence all, save deep and low 
 
 A murmur like a distant wave : 
 
74 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 And^ lo, a tliunder-voice on high 
 Proclaims his sentence terribly. 
 
 " Thou mad blasphemer ! pause, attend : 
 God, man, and beast have felt thy wrongs 
 
 The groans of thine oppressed ascend 
 To Him to whom revenge belongs ; 
 
 Accused, condemned, and sentenced, see 
 
 Grim Vengeance lights her torch for thee. 
 
 Fly, sinner, fly ! and from this hour. 
 Till weary time itself shall close, 
 
 By hell's inexorable power 
 
 Be chased : a warning dread to those 
 
 Who scorn, at Pleasure's sinful word, 
 
 Alike God's creatures and their Lord." 
 
 Lo, swarthy yellow lightning breaks 
 Through the soft shadow of the trees : 
 
 In marrow, bone, and nerve he quakes ; 
 He seems to burn, to thrill, to freeze ; 
 
 Cold Horror frowns before — behind 
 
 Hisses the storm and shrieks the wind. 
 
 Still raved the blast and roared the storm, 
 When from the womb of earth arose 
 
 A sable hand of giant form : 
 
 The fingers open — lo, they close ! 
 
 See, see, his quivering neck they clench ! 
 
 See, see, his head around they wrench ! 
 
 Beneath him yawns a fiery flood, 
 
 Green, blue, and red ; its waves of flame 
 
 Swarming with hell's terrific brood 
 Of shapes too horrible to name. 
 
THE WILD HUNTSMAN. 75 
 
 Lo, in an instant, from the deep, 
 
 At once a thousand hell-hounds leap ! 
 
 Through woods and fields, away, away, 
 
 Howling aloud, the sinner flew ; 
 But through the whole wide world, for aye, 
 
 Those baying dogs of hell pursue : 
 By day in earth's deep caves ; by night 
 High in the air they hold their flight. 
 
 Still backward stares his pallid face. 
 
 While forward speeds each shuddering limb ; 
 
 He sees those monsters of the chase, 
 Athirst for blood, and gaunt and grim, 
 
 The greedy jaws for him that gape. 
 
 And the fiend-huntsman's awful shape. 
 
 This is that chase, which sweeps aloft, 
 And shall till breaks the day of doom. 
 
 Startling the lonely wanderer oft 
 
 When night hath closed and all is gloom ; 
 
 Seen by full many a huntsman pale, 
 
 Whose lips must never breathe the tale. 
 
76 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 FOUaUE. 
 
 A SOFT heart, and a soul of fire, 
 
 Panting to do and dare, 
 Some gentle skill to sweep the lyre — 
 
 These gifts my portion were. 
 
 Paths, dreamed of in youth's happy days, 
 
 Unclosed to manhood's tread ; 
 Well pleased my white-haired parents gaze 
 
 Down on their child's young head ! 
 
 Alas, how soon on Joy's bright morn 
 Grief's midnight closeth grey ! 
 
 The cold wise world hath turned in scorn 
 From my soft heart away. 
 
 The warrior-sword in fragments lies ; 
 
 And, if the lyre I sound. 
 Woe's me ! no loving hearts or eyes 
 
 Kindle or melt around ! 
 
 True, glorious bays afar they twine 
 To crown the minstrel's worth ; 
 
 For one poor wreath I would resign 
 All coronets on earth ! 
 
 The wreath of love — for me it bloomed. 
 
 From me it faded fast. 
 In vain ! My lone heart droops, consumed 
 
 By yearnings for the past. 
 
 S. M. 
 
77 
 
 NICHOLAUS BECKER. 
 
 They never shall subdue it, 
 
 The German Rhine's free stream ! 
 Though, fierce as vultures, to it 
 
 They flock with hungry scream : 
 While yet it calmly weareth 
 
 Its green and tranquil vest ; 
 While yet the wanderer heareth 
 
 One oar upon its breast. 
 
 They never shall o'ercome it, 
 
 Our glorious German Rhine ! 
 While yet our hearts name from it 
 
 The fresh and fiery wine ; 
 While proud its rocks are raising 
 
 Their iron brows of might ; 
 While airy domes are gazing 
 
 Into its mirror bright. 
 
 They never shall subdue it, 
 
 The German RhinCj the free! 
 While youths and maidens woo it, 
 
 Pledge of their vows to be : 
 While yet one fish below it 
 
 Sports gladsomely along ; 
 Or on its shores one poet 
 
 Can breathe a deathless song; 
 
 They never shall subdue it, 
 
 Our German Rhine's free stream ! 
 
 Though, fierce as vultures, to it 
 They flock with hungry scream : 
 g2 
 
78 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 No ! they shall win it never, 
 Our German Rhine's free wave, 
 
 Till it hath closed for ever 
 O'er the last German's grave ! 
 
 S. M. 
 
 2ri)e Mi^t of ^Ofsr. 
 
 SCHILLEH. 
 (Ein Regeustrora aiis Felsenrissen.) 
 
 A TORRENT from the momitain-steeps, 
 
 With conquering strength it thunders down, 
 The tall rock crashes where it leaps, 
 
 And the mighty oaks are overthrown : 
 Thrilling with strange delightful fears. 
 
 The wanderer views its bursting course ; 
 The roaring of the flood he hears. 
 
 But sees not its mysterious source : 
 Thus, from a fount no eye may see. 
 Spring forth the streams of Poesy. 
 
 Bound to that awful Three, whose hands 
 
 The web of life in silence wind. 
 The poet's music who withstands ? 
 
 Who dares the poet's spell unbind ? 
 As God's ambassador he wields 
 
 His staff, and thrilling hearts submit ; 
 He lifts it to heaven's starry fields. 
 
 In death's cold wave he plunges it ; 
 Half-sad, half-sportive, now he sways 
 The scale where tremulous feeling plays. 
 
 t 
 
 I 
 
THE MIGHT OF POESY. 79 
 
 As 'mid the scenes of joy and love, 
 
 With giant-stride and awful eye, 
 Mysteriously, as spirits move, 
 
 Might come the shape of destiny : 
 Earth's greatness would bow down to own 
 
 The stranger from another world ; 
 Hushed then were mirth's unmeaning tone. 
 
 Each useless mask aside were hurled, 
 
 And falsehood's works must shrink and fly 
 From truth's resistless victory. 
 
 So, when the poet's voice awakes, 
 
 Man, spuming every vain control, 
 A holy strength of spirit takes, 
 
 And puts on majesty of soul : 
 One with the lofty gods, from him 
 
 The things of earth must stand apart ; 
 Their power is weak, their light is dim, 
 
 Even circumstance hath lost its art, 
 And while those magic tones delay, 
 Each troublous feeling melts away. 
 
 As, after sorrow deep and vain. 
 
 Estrangement long, and grief apart, 
 While flow repentant tears like rain, 
 
 The child springs to its mother's heart ; 
 Even so, once more, the truant stands 
 
 In the unforgotten vales of youth. 
 The cold, cold laws of distant lands 
 
 Are changed for bliss, and peace, and truth ; 
 On Nature's warm and faithful breast 
 He lies, and nought shall break his rest ! 
 
 S. M. 
 
©tie JHuBttatelr BiiU. 
 
 FREILIGRATH. 
 
 Thou old and timeworm volume, 
 
 Thou friend of childhood's age, 
 How frequently dear hands for me 
 
 Have turned the pictured page ! 
 How oft, his sports forgetting. 
 
 The gazing boy was borne 
 With joyous heart, by thy sweet art. 
 
 To tread the land of morn !* 
 
 • Das Morgenland, " the land of morning." By this beautiful ex- 
 pression the Germans designate the East. 
 
THE ILLUSTRATED BIBLE. 81 
 
 Thou didst fling wide the portals 
 
 Of many a distant zone ; 
 As in a glass I saw them pass, 
 
 Faces and forms unknown ! 
 For a new world I thank thee ! — 
 
 The camel wandering free, 
 The desert calm, and the stately palm, 
 
 And the Bedouin's tent, I see. 
 
 And thou didst bring them near me. 
 
 Hero, and saint, and sage, 
 Whose deeds were told by the seers of old 
 
 On the book of books' dread page : 
 And the fair and bride-like maidens 
 
 Recorded in thy lines — 
 Well could I trace each form of grace 
 
 Amid thy rich designs. 
 
 And I saw the hoary patriarchs 
 
 Of old and simple days. 
 An angel-band, on either hand, 
 
 Kept watch upon their ways ; 
 I saw their meek herds drinking 
 
 By fount or river-shore, 
 When mute I stood, in thoughtful mood, 
 
 Thine open page before. 
 
 Methinks I see thee lying 
 
 Upon thy well-known chair ; 
 Mine eager gaze once more surveys 
 
 The scenes unfolded there ; 
 As, years ago, I saw them 
 
 With wonder and delight. 
 Each form renews its faded hues. 
 
 Fresh, beautiful, and bright. 
 
82 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Again I see them twining 
 
 In ceaseless shapes of change ; 
 Bright and grotesque each arabesque, 
 
 Mazy, and wild, and strange ; 
 Each fair design encircling 
 
 In varied shape and dress, 
 A blossom now, and then a bough, 
 
 But never meaningless. 
 
 As in old times, entreating, 
 
 I seek my mother's knee. 
 That she may teach the name of each, 
 
 And what their meanings be ! 
 I learn, for every picture, 
 
 A text, a verse, a psalm ; 
 AVith tranquil smile, my sire the while 
 
 Watches, well pleased, and calm. 
 
 Ye seem but as a fable, 
 
 O days that are gone by ! 
 That Bible old, with clasps of gold — 
 
 That young believing eye — 
 Those loved and loving parents — 
 
 That childhood blithe and gay — 
 That calm content, so innocent * — 
 
 All, all, are past away ! 
 
 S. M. 
 
83 
 
 KORNER. 
 
 ^Tis evening ; mute are day's discordant sounds ; 
 The sun's last parting rays are streaming red ; 
 How full, how bold the heart within me bounds, 
 As here, beneath your aged arms outspread, 
 Ye old true witnesses of times long fled. 
 In meditative mood I listless lie ! 
 Life's freshest verdure tricks each ancient head, 
 And mighty forms of mighty worlds gone by 
 Stand round us, robed in your magnificent majesty. 
 
 Full many a noble heart hath Time laid low, 
 And early death full oft hath beauty died ; 
 Yet still departing evening's farewell glow 
 Decks your rich leafy crests with wonted pride. 
 Fate from your trunks, innocuous and defied, 
 Retires, and Time, indignant, threats in vain, 
 While from your swinging boughs re-echoing wide 
 Floats to my ear no inarticulate strain, 
 " All that is great must still in death unscathed remain." 
 
 And ye in death have stood ! and fresh and gay 
 Stands each bold form in green attire arrayed ; 
 No pilgrim roves beside the forest-way 
 But he must first repose him in your shade ; 
 And when your leaves beneath stern Autumn fade, 
 A precious, duteous offering still they bring ; 
 A pledge that, yet, unharmed and undecayed, 
 Even from their children's death more flourishing. 
 Your honours shall revive beneath reviving Spring. 
 
84 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Fair portraiture of ancient German faith, 
 As better times beheld it ! Dauntless then, 
 In bold and happy carelessness of death, 
 Built his firm state the frecborn citizen ! 
 But what avails it to lament me, when 
 The common tribulation all deplore ? 
 O Germany, thou goodliest land of men ! 
 Thy fields still blossom, but thy fame is o'er — 
 Thy oaks yet stand, but thou art fallen for evermore ! 
 H. T. 
 
 E\)t ©mprvor ©tljo tljc €\)ixt'i lamrnt. 
 
 EARTH, receive the weary. 
 Whom life can glad no more, 
 
 Whose pilgrim-journey dreary 
 Ends on the far south shore. 
 
 1 tread the brink eternal 
 
 That parts the soul from clay. 
 And twenty seasons vernal 
 Have passed me by for aye. 
 
 Lorn, orphaned, strickenhearted, 
 
 I see my day-dreams all. 
 Even as they rose, departed — 
 
 The reins of empire fall. 
 Some hand less weak and idle, 
 
 From these seven hills of Rome 
 The mighty realm must bridle, 
 
 Even to the North Sea foam. 
 
 Yet shame and sorrow haunt me 
 
 Even on the spirit-coast. 
 And past transgressions daunt me, 
 
 And chase the pallid ghost. 
 
OTHO THE THIRD S LAMENT. 85 
 
 In vain with deprecation 
 
 I stem the malison ; 
 To plead my condemnation 
 
 Crescentius comes, and John. 
 
 Yet no ! my prayers repenting 
 
 Have moved those spirits stern. 
 And to my sire, relenting, 
 
 They grant me to return, 
 For whom so vainly, dearly, 
 
 I asked in boyish years. 
 And o'er whose grave so early 
 
 I've wept a world of tears. 
 
 Lo, round God's throne attending, 
 
 The guardians of Almayne ! 
 Lo, forth my grandsire bending ! 
 
 Hail, too, my sire again ! 
 And while Matilda o'er me 
 
 Extends her gentle hands. 
 In deepest thought, before me, 
 
 Entranced Henry stands. 
 
 Blind Fortune's princely dower, 
 
 How idle shews it now ! 
 What though that toy of power 
 
 Adorned my baby-brow ? 
 How frail the gauds, and brittle, 
 
 Which then so vast I thought ; 
 O world, thou art — how little ! 
 
 O Rome, thou art — as nought!^ 
 
 I *' O Welt, du bist so nichtig ! 
 Du bist so klein, O Rora !" 
 The anticlimax has been removed in the translation. 
 
86 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Rome ! where falls my blossom, 
 Like withered leaf, away, 
 
 Beseems not that thy bosom 
 Should guard the Caesar's clay. 
 
 The hands that could betray me 
 My mouldering bones would raise ; 
 
 So bear me hence, and lay me 
 By mighty Charles at Aix. 
 
 The palms of praise undying 
 Around his banner wait ; 
 
 1 have beheld him lying 
 
 In his imperial state. 
 What could have led me vainly 
 
 His coffin to unclose. 
 And stir the wreath profanely 
 
 That veiled his dread repose? 
 
 O friends ! give o'er your grieving, 
 
 And speak me words of cheer. 
 And, with your good swords cleaving 
 
 A passage for my bier. 
 Let my young grave and nameless, 
 
 Some short-lived roses claim, 
 And gently lay the fameless 
 
 Beside the man of fame. 
 
 H. T. 
 
87 
 
 SCHILLER. 
 
 And wilt thou faithlessly depart, 
 
 With all thy visions bright and high, 
 Thy powers to bless and wound the heart, 
 
 Inexorable, wmU thou fly ? 
 Life's golden spring-time, art thou gone ? 
 
 Oh, linger yet awhile with me ! 
 In vain — thy waves are hurrying on 
 
 Into the everlasting sea ! 
 
 Quenched are those bright, exultant beams, 
 
 Gilding the pathway of the boy ; 
 Outrun are those ideal streams. 
 
 Whence quaffed my heart its giddy joy. 
 That sweet belief is passed away 
 
 In beings that had in dreams their birth ; 
 Those heavenly visions are a prey 
 
 To harsh realities of earth ! 
 
 As once, with hope and passion glowing, 
 
 Pygmalion clasped the soulless stone, 
 Till through its chilly veins was flowing 
 
 A living spirit like his own ; 
 So, Nature's mute and awful form. 
 
 In the loving arms of youth I pressed, 
 Till she began to breathe, to warm, 
 
 To live, upon the Poet's breast. 
 
 Caught by the fire within me burning, 
 
 Earth's voiceless beauty spake and moved. 
 
88 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 My warm embrace to me returning, 
 Breatliing and loving as I loved; 
 
 For me the tree, the rose, were living. 
 The silvery fountain sang apart, 
 
 Even soulless things their echo giving 
 To the music of youth's happy heart 
 
 How soared and strove my spirit then ! 
 
 An universe was prisoned there ! 
 Amid the busy life of men 
 
 I longed to speak, and do, and dare ! 
 Great was the world I saw in dreams. 
 
 While hidden in the germ from view ; 
 How little now that greatness seems ! 
 
 How poor its pleasures, and how few ! 
 
 Life's evil joyously disdaining, 
 
 Happy in dreams, believed for truth. 
 No care as yet his ardour reining, 
 
 How into life sprang forth the youth ! 
 Up, up, to aether's palest star 
 
 The eagle-flight of thought could spring ; 
 Nought was too high, and nought too far, 
 
 To baffle that exhaustless wing. 
 
 How light his rapid coursers bore him ! 
 
 What was, for him, too hard or high ? 
 How danced, with beckoning hands, before him, 
 
 An airy, gladsome company ! 
 Love, with his sweet and sure reward; 
 
 Bliss, with her glittering circlet there ; 
 Fame, with her starry crown and sword ; 
 
 Truth, clad in sunlight, sternly fair ! 
 
THE IDEAL. 89 
 
 But all ! each sweet companion leaves liim 
 
 Ere half the weary way be done ; 
 Their faithless beauty but deceives him, 
 
 And they forsake him, one by one. 
 Light-footed Bliss hath sought the skies, 
 
 Unquenched is Wisdom's burning thirst. 
 And envious clouds of doubt arise 
 
 To sully Truth, so pure at first ! 
 
 I saw Fame's dedicated wreath 
 
 Profaned on an unworthy head ; 
 Ah! far too soon fleets Love's bright noon, 
 
 When once his brief spring-morn hath fled ! 
 More and more lonely, mute, and dark. 
 
 Grows hour by hour the dreary way ; 
 Scarce can faint Hope afford one spark 
 
 To light with wan and glimmering ray. 
 
 Of all those bright and buoyant bands, 
 
 Who, fond and faithful, stays behind? 
 Who, by my side, consoling, stands, 
 
 And even till death is true and kind i 
 Thou, whose light touch of tenderness 
 
 Hath power to heal each inward wound. 
 Who lovest to soothe life's weariness. 
 
 Friendship, thou early sought and found ! 
 
 And thou, meet partner of her merit. 
 
 Like her, the storm appeasing ever. 
 Unwearying Diligence of spirit, 
 
 Slow gaining, but destroying never ; 
 Which brings but grains of sand to rear 
 
 The fabric of eternal ages. 
 
90 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Yet pays, by minute, day, and year, 
 
 The debt inscribed on Time's vast pages ! 
 
 S. M. 
 
 ^\}t %vxt anil t\}t Siuovli. 
 
 SUGGESTED BY TUB TITLE OF KoRNER's MINOR POBMS. 
 
 ■ On, arm thee, yontliful warrior, 
 
 And gird me to thy side ! 
 Come forth to breast, undaunted, 
 
 The battle's crimson tide ; 
 Where the clarion soundeth joyously 
 
 A free and forward blast. 
 And where, 'twixt death and victory, 
 
 Lies all the choice thou hast!" 
 So, with full many a stirring word, 
 Did speak the stern and clashing sword. 
 
 But a lyre hung near that falchion. 
 
 From whose unheeded strings 
 Came a low and plaintive murmm*. 
 
 Like the sound of viewless wings : 
 " Oh, cast thy fearful arms away !" 
 
 Such were the words it spake, 
 "And think en those that watch and pray 
 
 Afar, for thy dear sake ! 
 Ah, bring not thou the voice of tears 
 Into the home of thine early years!" 
 
 Again the sword sang fiercely 
 
 Its strain of martial glee : 
 " Oh, arm thee, youthful warrior, — 
 
 The battle waits for thee ! 
 
THE LYRE AND THE SWORD. 91 
 
 Think on thy hero-sire, who died 
 
 Amid its wildest burst ; 
 Think how his name hath glorified 
 
 The home where thou wert nursed. 
 Do not thy childhood's memories all 
 Tell brightly of his fame and fall?" 
 
 " But ah," the sad lyre whispered, 
 
 " How terrible to die, 
 While youth, and joy, and honour, 
 
 Shine in the cloudless eye ! 
 Think how thy mother wept and kneeled 
 
 That sire's low tomb before ; 
 At length her fount of tears is sealed. 
 
 Oh, open it no more ! 
 Is it thy hand that should unfold 
 The memory of her griefs of old?" 
 
 The sword spake yet more proudly : 
 
 " Which lifts the bitterest cry, 
 The grief for those who perish, 
 
 Or the shame for those who fly ? 
 When thou shalt join the mighty slain. 
 
 When life's brief day is done. 
 Would' st have thy hero-sire disdain 
 
 To own thee for his son ? 
 How should he brook his line's disgrace? 
 How could'st thou look upon his face?" 
 
 Out spake that youthful warrior : 
 
 " Good sword, thou counsellest well ; 
 Come with me to the battle, 
 
 Where my true father fell : 
 
92 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Fair honour is the queen I serve, 
 Bright fame the gem I seek ; 
 
 Nor will I suffer, nor deserve, 
 A blush to stain my cheek ! 
 
 Unshaken let me ever stand, 
 
 Honour at heart, and sword in hand ! 
 
 And thou, fond lyre, remember 
 
 Thou art not wont to weep 
 On those who tamely perish 
 
 In slothfulness and sleep ; 
 Still have thy noblest strains been poured 
 
 Above the true and free ; 
 Still loves the lyre to grace the sword — 
 
 So let it ever be ! 
 The sword to win my victor-wreath, 
 The lyre to solemnise my death !" 
 
 S. M. 
 
93 
 
 ^i)p %M o( n)t ?^ov!8ftttait. 
 
 Arise, my war-steed, valiantly, 
 
 The world lies free before us ; 
 All vainly hostile craft may try 
 
 To cast its meshes o'er iis : 
 Rise up and rear, thou generous horse, 
 
 Yon oak-wreath beckons on ; 
 Spring forth, spring forth, nor stay thy course, 
 
 For the sword-dance is begun ! 
 
 High in the heavens, unconquered now, 
 
 The soul of knighthood goes ; 
 What lies below on earth's dull brow 
 
 He neither heeds nor knows : 
 Care, need, and pain lie far beneath — 
 
 Wife, children, hearth, and board ; 
 Before him, liberty or death, 
 
 And by his side, his sword. 
 
 So shall he join the bridal state, 
 
 His wedding wreath to gain ; 
 But him who lets his ladye wait, 
 
 The knightly band disdain : 
 Bright honour is the bridal guest. 
 
 The bride^ our native soil ; 
 He who hath clasped her to his breast 
 
 Meets death, and with a smile ! 
 
 Oh ! such a slumber hath its charms, 
 Though dark the night may prove ; 
 II 2 
 
94 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Thou sleepest in thy country's arms, 
 Watched truly by her love : 
 
 And when the tender oak-buds break 
 Forth into summer's glee, 
 
 With joyful pride she shall thee wake 
 To a world for ever free ! 
 
 Then smile success, or frown disgrace. 
 
 Our fortune's changeful star, 
 AVe dare look calmly in the face 
 
 The issue of the war. 
 For German liberty we stand ! 
 
 Be it in victory hot. 
 Or in the clasp of death's cold hand, 
 
 We glory in our lot ! 
 
 And should God smile upon the fray — 
 
 Scoffnot! We ne'er can yield, 
 For God's own arm hath been our stay, 
 
 His strength is still our shield : 
 The storm is mustering in its wrath, 
 
 We'll win, my steed, or fall ; 
 Did a thousand devils bar the path. 
 
 Thy way lies through them all ! 
 
 
 S. M. 
 
 
97 
 1 f n V f . 
 
 BURGER. 
 
 From heavy dreams arose Lenore, 
 
 When day was dawning red ; 
 " O Wilhehn ! wilt thou come no more ? 
 
 And art thou false, or dead?" 
 He fought with Frederick's armed powers 
 Beneath fair Prague's beleaguered towers, 
 No tidings of his weal returning 
 To her from whom he parted mourning. 
 
 The king and empress, wearied now 
 
 With strife so long and vain, 
 Rein the proud heart, and smooth the brow, 
 
 And join in peace again ; 
 And either host, with song and lay. 
 And cymbal-clash, and clarion gay. 
 And laurelled brows, and shouts of mirth, 
 Wend joyously to home and hearth. 
 
 And every where, do porch and stair, 
 
 Terrace, and bridge, and street, 
 Groan with a throng of old and young. 
 
 Those merry troops to greet. 
 " Thank God!" fond wives and children cry — 
 " Welcome!" the glad bride whispers, shy. — 
 But kiss and greeting came no more 
 To thee, ah, desolate Lenore ! 
 
 And to and fro, and name by name. 
 
 The train she questions through ; 
 Alas, not one of all who came 
 
 Tidings of Wilhelm knew ! i 
 
 ^ i 
 
98 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Now, when the mighty host had past, 
 Down on the earth herself she cast. 
 And rent, with gestures of despair, 
 The ringlets of her raven hair ! 
 
 Soon ran her mother to her side. 
 With quick and fond embrace ; 
 
 ''What ails my darling child?" she cried; 
 " Now God vouchsafe his grace !" 
 
 " O mother, mother ! Woe is woe ! 
 
 Hence, dreary world, with all thy woe ! 
 
 God hath no help — no pity, fate ; 
 
 Alas for me most desolate !" 
 
 " Help, Lord ! Oh, cast us not away ! 
 
 Whate'er Tliou dost is right! 
 Kneel down, my daughter, kneel and pray, 
 
 And God shall give thee light." 
 " O mother, mother! Idle thought I 
 For me hath God no mercy wrought ! 
 My prayers were all in vain, in vain! 
 What need I now to pray again?'* 
 
 " Help, Lord! Our Father's pitying love 
 
 All those who seek have found : 
 The holy sacrament shall prove 
 Balm to thy burning wound." 
 " O mother, mother ! what I feel 
 No sacrament can soothe or heal : 
 No sacrament restores," she said, 
 " Life to the cold and speechless dead." 
 
 "Yet hear!— if, fiilse to faith and truth, 
 In some far paynim land 
 
LENORE. 
 
 He leaves the lessons of his youth, 
 
 And seeks another's hand, 
 Forget him : little joy, believe, 
 His bootless falsehood shall achieve ; 
 The crime, when soul and body part, 
 Shall lie like lead upon his heart." 
 
 " O mother, death, and death alone 
 
 I covet, most forlorn ! 
 For lost is lost, and gone is gone ; 
 
 Would I had ne'er been born ! 
 Die, die, my light, for ever die ! 
 Quenched, quenched in night and sorrow, lie ! 
 God hath no help, — no pity, fate ; 
 Woe, woe to me, most desolate!" 
 
 " Help, Lord ! Oh, judge her not, nor mark 
 
 Thy poor child's erring ways ! 
 Her words are wild, her soul is dark. 
 
 She knows not what she says. 
 Ah, child, forget thine earthly fate, 
 On God's pure bliss to meditate ; 
 So to thy spirit shall be given 
 A better spouse— a spouse from heaven." 
 
 " O mother, mother, what is bliss? 
 
 O mother, what is hell ? 
 With him, with him is only bliss, 
 
 Without my Wilhelm, hell! 
 Die, die, my light, for ever die ! 
 Quenched, quenched, in night asd sorrow lie ! 
 Severed from him, to this lone heart 
 Nor earth nor heaven can bliss impart." 
 
 99 
 
100 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 In burning brain and bursting vein 
 
 Despair his empire held ; 
 With God's good ■will, her spirit still 
 
 Thus strove, and thus rebelled ; 
 She rent her hair, she beat her breast, 
 Till sank the wear}*^ sun to rest, 
 And the clear arch of purple night 
 Was peopled by the stars of light. 
 
 Hark ! on the pavement, tramp, tramp, tramp, 
 
 A horse's flying feet ; 
 With clash and clang the rider sprang 
 
 Full swiftly from his seat ; 
 And hark ! the door-latch moves aloft, 
 Tinkle, tinkle, slow and soft, 
 Then through the door, distinct and clear, 
 These words salute the maiden's ear: 
 
 '* Hold, my love ! the door undo ! 
 
 Sweet, dost thou wake or sleep ? 
 And art thou false, or art thou true ? 
 
 And dost thou smile or weep?" 
 "Ah, Wilhelm, thou? — so late, mine own! 
 Long have I watched and wept alone ; 
 Oh, much I have endured! — and now. 
 Answer me, love, — whence comest thou?" 
 
 " We only ride by night, my love ; 
 
 From Prague's far land I come. 
 Forth, forth, sweet bride — thou too must ride; 
 
 I come to fetch thee home !" 
 " Ah, Wilhelm, only wait till morn ; 
 The blast wails in the rustling thorn : 
 Come, dearest, come, again to rest 
 Thy head upon this faithful breast." 
 
LENOBE. 101 
 
 " Let it whistle and wail in the withered thorn, 
 
 My child, let it wail and roar; 
 But the steed stamps and springs, and the good spur 
 rings, 
 
 And I must not linger more. 
 Up, gird thyself, and mount behind ! 
 My steed is fleeter than the wind ; 
 A hundred miles to-night we ride 
 To seek our couch, my gentle bride." 
 
 "A hundred miles? so brief the time ! 
 
 And I — But mockest thou? 
 List the dull echo of the chime — ■ 
 
 It struck eleven but now !" 
 " Look up ! the moon shines clear and wide, 
 We and the dead, full fast we ride ! 
 I warrant, fairest, thou and I 
 To-night in bridal-bed shall lie !" 
 
 " But say, where stands thy bridal-hall ? 
 
 Thy couch, how may we gain?" 
 " Far hence — far hence ! calm, cold, and small ! 
 
 Six narrow planks, by twain !" 
 " Is room for me ?" " For thee and me ! 
 Come, mount behind me speedily ! 
 Th^ wedding guests await the bride ; 
 The chamber doors are opened wide." 
 
 She came, she sprang, she sate behind 
 
 Upon the steed in haste ; 
 Her lily hands she softly twined 
 
 Around her lover's waist ; 
 And hurry, hurry, clash, clash, clash ! 
 In clattering gallop forth they dash : 
 
102 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 The horseman stoops, the charger reels, 
 And spurns the sparks with flashing heels. 
 
 Right hand and left, with dazzled eye, 
 
 She sees, in shrinking wonder, 
 The field, the fence, the forest, fly ! 
 
 Hark, how the bridges thunder ! 
 " Fear'st thou, my love? The moon shines bright 
 Hurrah ! the dead ride fast by night ! 
 And fears my love the dead?" "Ah, nay; 
 Yet speak not of the dead, I pray !" 
 
 Why flutter the ravens wild and grim ? 
 
 What means yon murmuring strain ? 
 'Tis the tolling bell, 'tis the funei*al hymn, 
 
 A corpse, and a mourner-train ! 
 On, on they come, so slow, so drear ! 
 They bear a coffin on a bier ; 
 Their note, I ween, was hoarse and harsh, 
 As lizard's croak in lonely marsh. 
 
 " Bury your dead when the midnight's past, 
 
 Sad troop and wailing priest ! 
 I ride with my fair young wife, so fast, 
 
 Come, come to the bridal feast ! 
 Come hither, come hither, thou chorister train, 
 And mutter and mumble a festive strain ; 
 Come, priest, and be thy blessing said 
 Before we seek our bridal bed." 
 
 Ceased voice and bell, as by a spell, 
 
 And vanished bier and corse ; 
 And hurry, hurry, close they fly 
 
 At the heels of the startled horse ; 
 
LENORE. 103 
 
 And ever onward, clash, clash, clash, 
 
 In clattering gallop forth they dash ; 
 
 The rider stoops, the charger reels. 
 
 And spurns the sparks with thundering heels. 
 
 How fast, how fast, fly darting past 
 
 Hill, mountain, tree, and bower ; 
 Right, left, and right, they fly like light, 
 
 Hamlet, and town, and tower ! 
 " Fear'st thou, my love? The moon shines bright ; 
 Hurrah ! the dead ride fast by night. 
 And dost thou dread the silent dead?" 
 " Ah, leave them to their rest, the dead !" 
 
 Look there ! look there ! half seen, half lost, 
 
 In the moonshine dimly glancing. 
 By the gallows-tree an airy host 
 
 Around the wheel are dancing. 
 *' Sa, sa! ye rabble, come, obey; 
 Pursue us on our rapid way : 
 A festive measure ye must tread, 
 Before we mount our bridal bed." 
 
 And hiss, hiss, hiss, all clattering, rush 
 
 That rabble crew behind. 
 As through a withered hazel-bush 
 
 Rattles the hollow wind. 
 And onward, onward, clash, clash, clash, 
 In thundering gallop forth they dash ! 
 The horseman stoops, the charger reels. 
 And spurns the sparks with flashing heels. 
 
 The cold, strange scene, in moonlight sheen, 
 How fled it fast and far ! 
 
104 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 How seemed to fly the heavens on high, 
 
 With planet, cloud, and star ! 
 " Fear'st thou, my love? The moon shines bright 
 Hurrah ! the dead ride fast by night. 
 And dost thou dread the silent dead?" 
 '' Woe's me ! Ah, speak not of the dead !" 
 
 " My steed! I hear the cock-crow warn — 
 
 Soon is the sand outrun ! 
 My steed ! I scent the breath of morn. 
 
 Down, down, my steed ! 'Tis done ! 
 We reach the goal — the race is past' — 
 'Tis found, 'tis found, our home at last. 
 Hurrah ! how swiftly ride the dead ! 
 Hurrah ! we reach our bridal bed." 
 
 Sudden, against a grated door. 
 
 With slackened rein they dart : 
 One little stroke the fastenings broke — 
 
 The bolts are burst apart. 
 AVith clashing sound the doors unclose, 
 And over graves their pathway goes ; 
 While many a tombstone, dim and white. 
 Gleams in the moonshine's ghastly light. 
 
 Ah, see ! ah, see ! the rider's mail — 
 
 Oh, sight of fear and wonder ! — 
 Doth, piece by piece, like tinder frail, 
 
 Drop suddenly asunder. 
 A skull, all eyeless, bare, and dead, 
 A naked skull is now his head ; 
 While in his fleshless fingers lean 
 The hour-glass and the scythe are seen. 
 
THE mother's lesson. 105 
 
 The steed stamps wild, the steed rears high, 
 
 And scatters sparks around ; 
 And, ah, beneath her suddenly 
 
 It sinks in the yawning ground ! 
 High through the air wild howlings go, 
 The vaults give up a voice of woe ; 
 Lenore's weak heart and failing breath 
 Struggle and pant 'twixt life and death. 
 
 Now in the white and cold moonlight, 
 
 In wild and wheeling train, 
 The ghosts begin a fetter-dance, 
 
 And howl a mournful strain : 
 " Forbear, forbear! With God in heaven 
 Contend not, though thy heart be riven ! 
 Thy sinful clay hath ceased to live ; 
 Thine erring soul may God forgive !" 
 
 S. M. 
 
 Sl)e f^otl)fr'js Ifssou. 
 
 All night she wept the hours away, 
 
 With burning cheek and throbbing head, 
 
 Crying, " Alas !" and " Well-a-day !" 
 " Woe is me, for my sons are dead !" 
 
 She could not rest, she could not sleep, 
 She tossed in fever on her bed, 
 
 She could not pray ; she could but weep, 
 " Woe is me, for my sons are dead !" 
 
 And as the weary hours went by, 
 And the chimes they sounded heavily, 
 
106 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 The lonely one did shrink and start 
 From the slow stern tread of misery, 
 Printing its footstep on her heart. 
 
 Sometimes their names did in her brain 
 Sound, and sound, and sound again, 
 
 In a strange and ceaseless round ; 
 As though a whirling wheel Avere there, 
 And every ruthless turn did tear 
 
 A fresh and bleeding wound. 
 
 Sometimes a trivial phrase or glance, 
 With her deep grief at variance, 
 
 Would in her memory rise ; 
 And there it mocked her desolation 
 By meaningless reiteration 
 
 Of peevish fantasies ; 
 Like shape or pattern, deftly wrought, 
 Vexing a sick man's feverish thought. 
 
 But never did she dare to see 
 
 The faces of the newly dead 
 Rise up before her memory, 
 
 By life and love retenanted ; 
 As shrinks the victim from the blade, 
 Her spirit, helpless and afraid, 
 
 Did from that vision shrink : 
 No passing thought her sorrows were, 
 No ancient and familiar care, 
 But the bitterness of vague despair, 
 
 Which is afraid to think. 
 
 And so she wept the hours away, 
 And tossed in fever on her bed ; 
 
THE mother's lessox. 107 
 
 She could not sleep, she could not pray, 
 She could but wring her hands, and say, 
 " Woe is me, for my sons are dead !" 
 
 Soft, and clear, and calm, and slow, 
 Breaks a sound upon her woe,— 
 
 It is the matin-bell ! 
 Dropping, like the gradual rain 
 On some parched and lifeless plain, 
 Sounds which in their fulness are 
 Measured, deep, and regular ; 
 Strangely with her grief it blent, 
 And a stranger softness lent 
 
 To each tear that fell. 
 
 She leaves her couch, she seeks her door: 
 
 And far athwart the filmy night 
 The coming day shines pale and grey. 
 
 Like shadowy moonshine's colder light : 
 The sleeping flowers forget to raise 
 Their downcast heads to greet its gaze ; 
 All voiceless are the woodland trees, 
 Where birds should pour their melodies ; 
 The sheeted dew gleams white and wan, 
 As underneath the stars it shone ; — 
 But still those chiming bells repeat 
 Their matin warning, calm and sweet. 
 
 Slow to the church the mourner hied, 
 Scarce conscious of the well-known way j 
 
 The sacred doors are opened wide, 
 She enters in, and kneels to pray : 
 
 No torches flung their beams aloof 
 
 Upon the tall and arching roof; 
 I 2 
 
108 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 No tapers shed their holier light 
 
 On sculptured shrine and column white ; 
 
 But all along the ancient aisles, 
 
 And by the tombs where slept the dead, - 
 
 O'er carved niche and tracery rich, ■ 
 
 There seemed a solemn twilight shed, 
 Clinging to cross and image pale, 
 E'en like a garment or a veil. 
 
 By that mysterious light she sees 
 
 A multitude upon their knees, — 
 
 Shapes half familiar and half strange, 
 
 Like friends on whom hath passed a change ; 
 
 Antique in garb, they seemed a crowd 
 
 Of worshippers from other lands, 
 And every hidden face was bowed 
 
 Upon the clasped and lifted hands ; 
 And not a sound of psalm or prayer 
 Arose upon the vacant air ; 
 They moved no limb, they spake no word, 
 Save inarticulate murmurs heard. 
 Like leaves that in the wind are stirred, 
 Or like the distant roll of seas, 
 When not a breath awakes the breeze. 
 
 At once their faces all upraise — 
 What sight hath met her startled gaze ? 
 Lo, every face full well she knows ! 
 And some were friends, and some were foes, 
 And some were young, and some were old, 
 And some were kind, and some were cold, 
 And some were fair, and some were brave, — 
 But ALL had long been in the grave ! 
 
THE mother's lesson. 109 
 
 From early childhood's gladsome years, 
 Down to these days of lonely tears, 
 All she had known, and loved, and lost, 
 Were round her in a solemn host. 
 Wearing on every hrow of gloom 
 The paleness of their place — the tomb! 
 Now on her feet the mother stood. 
 With giddy brain and curdling blood ; 
 And yet, in frantic hope she scanned 
 The younger faces of the band, 
 But she sees not there the shining hair, 
 And the cloudless eyes so clear and fair ; 
 Wringing her hands in fresh despair, 
 She cries aloud, " In vain — in vain ! 
 Oh, could I see my sons again!" 
 
 A mighty sound the silence brake : 
 The echoes of the aisles awake ; 
 It was as if the organ spake 
 
 With voice articulate : 
 "Look to the east!" it said, and ceased; 
 And on the vaulted space once more 
 Did silence settle as before. 
 
 Dreary and desolate. 
 
 The mourner tvn*ned — the mourner saw — 
 Oh, sight of wonder and of awe ! 
 There stood a block on the altar-floor, 
 And a fearful wheel by the sacred door, 
 Whereon two hapless ones did lie, 
 Wrestling with Hfe's last agony! 
 Each in prison-garb and guise, 
 
 Each a youth, scarce grown a man : 
 
110 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Horror! — in their filmed eyes, 
 
 In their lips so white and wan, 
 Lo, the lineaments she traces 
 Of her sons' remembered faces, 
 Even as they perchance might grow 
 After years of crime and woe ! 
 
 With staring eyes and clenching hands, 
 Without a cry, or word, or groan, 
 
 Motionless the mother stands. 
 Like a solemn shape of stone, — 
 
 While again the silence breaks, 
 
 And the mighty voice awakes : 
 
 " Murmurer at the will of Heaven ! 
 
 Doubter of the love of God I 
 See the life thou wouldst have given, 
 
 See the path they must have trod ! 
 Now they sleep as infants sleep, 
 
 Taken from the woes to come : 
 Hence, poor wanderer, pray and weep,- 
 
 But thou too shalt find thy home 1" 
 
 Ceased the voice ; and over all 
 
 Did a sudden darkness fall, 
 
 Save for scattered rays that stream 
 
 With a faint and earthly gleam 
 
 From the lamp that mourner bore ; 
 
 While, upon the marble floor. 
 
 Fall, through windows arched and old. 
 
 Showers of silver moonlight cold. 
 
 Patiently she wept awhile, 
 
 Patiently she prayed for grace, 
 
THE MOTHER S LESSON. 
 
 HI 
 
 Till the sweetness of a smile 
 Settled on her placid face ; 
 Kneeling thus, she prayed, she wept, 
 Till it seemed as though she slept, 
 For, by angel-fingers shed, 
 Death's kind balm upon her head 
 Dropped so gently. Tears a few, 
 Of repentance calm and meek, 
 Glistened, as baptismal dew 
 
 Glistens on an infant's cheek, 
 Washing from the heart within 
 Shades of grief and stains of sin ! 
 
 S. M. 
 
' 112 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 [This singular little poem was pronounced bj' Goethe to be one 
 of the best that Schiller ever wrote.] 
 
 He sits upon the matted floor, 
 
 He sitteth there upright, 
 With the same aspect that he wore 
 
 When his eye saw the light. 
 
 But where is now the strong right hand, 
 
 And where the vigorous breath, 
 Which to the spirit of our land 
 
 Blew the pipe's curling wreath ? 
 
 Where is the falcon-glance that knew 
 
 The reindeer's steps to count, 
 O'er the wavy grass, besprent with dew, 
 
 Or by the moss-grown fount ? 
 
 These limbs, that once more lightly ran 
 
 Along the fields of snow 
 Than the stately stag of ten, or than 
 
 The mountain's rapid roe ; 
 
 These arms, that once the bow could twang 
 
 With strong and agile haste, 
 Behold how lifelessly they hang — 
 
 Nerveless, unstrung, unbraced ! 
 
 Joy be to him, for he is now 
 
 Where there are no snow-showers, 
 
 And where the fields for ever glow 
 With self-created flowers ; 
 
THE Siberian's death-song. 113 
 
 Where every grove is full of birds, 
 
 Of fish each placid lake, 
 And the wild deer, in sportive herds, 
 
 Fill every forest-brake. 
 
 He feasteth in the land of Soul ; 
 
 He leaves us here in gloom, 
 His deeds of prowess to extol. 
 
 And his body to entomb. 
 
 Bring ye the last sad offering, 
 
 And lift the funeral song ; 
 All things to bury with him bring 
 
 For which his soul may long. 
 
 Lay his stout axe his head below. 
 
 Well proved in chase and war, 
 And the wild bear's oily haunch, for know 
 
 He journey eth afar. 
 
 And the sharply-pointed dagger too. 
 
 Which from the foe's head ever 
 By three swift strokes, well aimed and true, 
 
 Both skin and scalp could sever. 
 
 And the brightest colours ye must choose. 
 
 And place them in his hand, 
 ■That he may shine with sun-like hues 
 
 In that far spirit-land. 
 
 S. M. 
 
^t)f iWmsttfl's CTursf. 
 
 In days of yore, beside the sea, upon the silver sand. 
 There stood a stately castle, far shining through the land ; 
 Girdled by odorous gardens, within whose flowery bound 
 A thousand twinkling rivulets in rainbow brightness wound. 
 
 There dwelt a king of pride and might — so runs the 
 
 solemn tale — 
 All on his throne he sat alone, so gloomy and so pale ; 
 With thoughts of terror in his heart, and torture in his word, 
 His eye an eye of fury — his pen a bloody sword! 
 
 There came unto this castle a noble minstrel pair, 
 
 One crowned with golden ringlets, and one with hoary hair ; 
 
THE minstrel's CURSE. 115 
 
 The aged minstrel with his harp upon a palfrey rode, 
 And by his side in youth's gay pride his blooming comrade 
 strode. 
 
 The old man spake unto the youth, " My son, this fateful 
 
 hour 
 Pour forth thy richest melodies and strains of deepest 
 
 power ; 
 And summon up thy mastery o'er joy and sorrow's spring. 
 For 'tis our task to touch to-night this stony-hearted 
 
 king!" 
 
 Behold, beneath the pillared dome those simple minstrels 
 stand ; 
 
 There sate the monarch on his throne, his queen at his 
 right hand ; 
 
 He, like the meteor's blood-red glare, in awful majesty — 
 
 She, like the full moon, calm and fair, in summer's tran- 
 quil sky. 
 
 The aged minstrel struck his harp, he struck with wondrous 
 skill. 
 
 And gathering richness as they rise, his notes the wide hall 
 fill, 
 
 Blent with the youth's transparent voice, a stream as crys- 
 tal sheen, 
 
 And, like some solemn spirit-strain, the old man's tones 
 between. 
 
 They sang of spring-time and of love — of happy golden 
 
 days, 
 Of freedom and of dauntlessness, of faith, and prayer, and 
 
 praise ; 
 
116 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 They sang of all sweet impulses, the trembling heart that 
 
 thrill, 
 They sang of all high thoughts that raise and purify the 
 
 will. 
 
 Hushed is the mocking courtier-group that stands around 
 
 the throne. 
 The king's defying warriors, the power of God they own ; 
 The queen, in strange sweet pensiveness, all melting at the 
 
 strain. 
 Plucks from her breast of snow a rose, and drops it to the 
 
 twain. 
 
 " Ye have misled my people, seduce ye now my queen?" 
 
 Thus, quivering with fury, spake that king of wrathful 
 mien ; 
 
 He hurls his flashing sword, it cleaves the youth's un- 
 guarded heart, 
 
 Thence, for a golden stream of song, doth life's red torrent 
 start ! 
 
 The hearers gaze, as though a bolt had fallen before their 
 
 eyes. 
 While on his weeping master's breast, the fair youth sinks 
 
 and dies; 
 The old man wraps him in his robe, and sets him on the 
 
 steed. 
 And binds his drooping form upright, and leaves the place 
 
 with speed. 
 
 Behold, before the lofty gate, that white-haired minstrel 
 
 stands. 
 His harp, of harps the fairest, he grasps with trembling 
 
 hands : 
 
THE minstrel's CURSE. 117 
 
 Against a marble column he hath shatter 'd it in twain, 
 And he cries, while hall and bower ring back his fearful 
 tones again — 
 
 " Woe, woe, ye lofty galleries ! let never music float 
 Along your mournful vacancy with soft and swelling note ! 
 Vocal alone with sigh and groan, and slave's low step of 
 
 dread. 
 Until the God of vengeance your pride in dust shall tread ! 
 
 Woe, woe, ye fragrant gardens, beneath May's sunny 
 glance ! 
 
 Look on these dull and glassy eyes, this ghastly counte- 
 nance ! 
 
 Your pleasant shades shall wither, your fountains shall be 
 dry, 
 
 A bleak and stony wilderness your wide-spread lawns shall 
 lie! 
 
 Woe, woe, thou ruthless murderer ! thou curse of minstrel 
 
 fame ! 
 Vainly thou seek'st a bloody wreath to twine around thy 
 
 name ! 
 That name shall be forgotten in the depths of endless night. 
 And, like a bubble on the air, shall vanish from the sight !" 
 
 The old man lifted up his voice, and Heaven hath heard 
 
 his cry, 
 Those stately halls are desolate, in dust those turrets lie ; 
 One lonely column stands to tell of glories passed away — 
 Even this, already shattered, may fall ere dawn of day. 
 
 Around, for odorous gardens, there's a waste on every 
 
 hand, 
 No tree gives grateful shadows, no fountain breaks the sand ; 
 
118 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Nor can ye find that monarch's name in legend, tale, or 
 
 verse, 
 It hath perished — it is nothing — hehold the Minstrel's 
 
 Curse ! 
 
 S. M. 
 
 ^t)f ©niprror f&.enrj t!)f Jpourti) at fbammrrst? i«. 
 
 ADELHEID VON STOLTERFOTII. 
 
 High in his halls emhattled sits Wolf of Hammerstein, 
 Like eagle in his eyrie at sunlight's dim decline ; 
 Like age- worn lion calmly reposing in his lair, 
 That never to the forest for war again shall fare. 
 
 Erst bore he proud in battle the banner of Almayne, 
 And dared with open ventayle his foes on deathful plain ; 
 True to imperial Henry, from land to land he went, 
 In overthrow and conquest, success and banishment. 
 
 Oft still he shuddering muses on that drear winter day 
 
 When Henry in Canossa well nigh expiring lay ; 
 
 Then straight again bethinks him, with all his youthful 
 
 glow, 
 How they together vanquished, despite each wrathful foe. 
 
 Oft, too, before his spirit a gentle form hath smiled — 
 The Emperor's lofty consort, so faithful, kind, and mild ; 
 From many a bitter sorrow, to her that Henry gave, 
 Long since in blissful quiet she rests in tranquil grave. . 
 
 Still wars the prince, unbroken with age, and fate, and 
 
 foes, 
 While Wolf in castled shelter at length has found repose; 
 
HENRY THE FOURTH AT HAMMERSTEIN. 119 
 
 Blanched are those raven cUisters, and weak that stalwart 
 
 hand, 
 And oft he gazes mournful far over wave and land : 
 
 For, ah ! in vain forth ranges his troubled glance afar : 
 Like him no eagle-stripling sweeps through the storm of 
 
 war; 
 Like him no youthful lion breaks down the foe's array, 
 And to his aged parent brings back a victor's prey. 
 
 Oh, grief to that proud spirit ! of all that goodly line, 
 But two sweet sister roses adorn the lordly Rhine ; 
 And seldom takes he pleasure to view each gentle child, « 
 And both must hear full often the answer fierce and 
 wild: 
 
 " Off, off with stole and wimple ! with staff and wheel 
 
 away ! 
 Dost spin thee brave apparel to grace thy bridal day?" 
 " For thee I spin the mantle, my father true and dear; 
 So long as thou wilt love me, I wish no bridegroom here." 
 
 *' Off, off with loom and shuttle ! dost weave my burial 
 
 pall?" 
 " I weave thee, dearest father, a robe for festal hall : 
 Oh, speak no more of dying ! else must I wail in wo ; 
 An 'tis to heaven's own kingdom, from us thou shalt not 
 
 go." 
 
 " Ay, gladly would I tarry, were each a valiant boy. 
 And press you to my bosom with pride and knightly joy ; 
 But ye are feeble women, constrained in narrow place. 
 And I must perish lonely, the last of all my race." 
 
120 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 He speaks, and from the turret he casts a lowering eye, 
 
 In restless soul bewailing his friendless destiny : 
 
 Soon sinks the night around him, and veils the distant 
 
 shores ; 
 The tempest howls above him — the Rhine beneath him 
 
 roars. 
 
 Hark! at the guarded postern who knocks so loud and 
 
 late? 
 *' The foe, the foe pursues me ! Sir Knight, make ope the 
 
 gate!" 
 Then wide are flung the portals — two pilgrims enter free ; 
 One stays within the threshold — who may the other be? 
 
 He sighs and wails full loudly as down he sinks opprest, 
 That quails each gentle maiden before such gloomy guest; 
 But when, at last, uprising, he rears his hoary head. 
 The aged knight before him bows down in trembling dread. 
 
 " Alas ! my Prince and Master ! what mean these weeds 
 
 of wo ? 
 I see no more the purple adown thy shoulders flow ! 
 I see no golden circlet thy honoured brows adorn ! 
 Hath, then, the foe o'ercome thee, and cast thee forth to 
 
 "Ah, comrade dear and brother! in darkest dungeon- 
 night 
 
 A grisly foe hath bound me, where ne'er shone heaven's 
 light: 
 
 He tore from me the purple — he hurled me from my 
 throne — 
 
 And — would'st thou seek to know him? the robber is— 
 my son!" 
 
HENRY THE FOURTH AT HAMMERSTEIN. 121 
 
 He clasps in speechless anguish his pale and throbbing 
 
 brow, 
 And Wolf arises silent — light breaks upon him now ! 
 He feels himself encircled by each fond daughter's arm, 
 And on his hand full softly there falls a tear-drop warm. 
 
 "Ah, well is thee!" said Henry — his voice more gentle 
 
 grows ; 
 "Thou shalt in parting moments on faithful hearts repose ; 
 No son with wild impatience thy birthright yearns to win, 
 And soon to secret wishes adds haply overt sin. 
 
 But up ! and o'er the country send scouts without delay ! 
 
 Cologne, still loyal, honours the old imperial sway ; 
 
 And to the Rhine I boune me when springs to-morrow's 
 
 sun, 
 And there in one last battle shall all be lost or won !" 
 
 Down on the couch he flings him to long-unwonted rest. 
 And soon hath grateful slumber his weary eyes opprest. 
 With fond " Good night," his daughters Wolf to his bosom 
 
 drew, 
 Then by his sleeping master kept knightly vigil true. 
 
 H. T. 
 
•x A 
 
 Zf)e tinicfyt of IjtUtttniurg. 
 
 Count Ernest of Klettenburg rose at dawn ; 
 It was the holy Sabbath-morn : 
 He saddled and mounted his steed of pride, 
 But not to church would Count Ernest ride. 
 
 His plume streamed fair on the summer air, 
 But he dight him not for the house of prayer ; 
 Less blithe of mien had the warrior been 
 Were he wendins: to missal and mass, I ween. 
 
 To Elric's halls Count Ernest went, 
 For feasting, mu-th, and memment. 
 
THE KNIGHT OF KLETTENBURG. 123 
 
 Where a chain of gold was the knight's award 
 Who tarried the longest by beaker and board. 
 
 Oh, blithely the clarion ringeth afar, 
 
 Summoning knights to the lists of war; 
 
 But blither, Count Ernest, that tourney of thine, 
 
 Where the weapons were cups, and the blood bright wine ! 
 
 The matin-bells were sounding yet 
 When the knights for that gay carousal met; 
 When broadly glittered the noontide sun. 
 They deemed their banquet scarce begun. 
 
 Now softer light the plains receive, 
 Day sinks into the lap of eve, 
 And feverish hearts grow cool and calm, 
 As flowers beneath the falling balm. 
 
 The sweetness of the Sabbath-day 
 Hath soothed full many a tear away. 
 And shed on many a grateful breast 
 Pardon for sin, for anguish rest. 
 
 Little recked he, that godless knight. 
 Of solemn season and holy rite. 
 Or the clearness of eve in the purple sky. 
 Like the light of a calm reproving eye. 
 
 For the wine still foamed, and the cups still passed, 
 
 Though many a brain was dizzying fast ; 
 
 One by one they staggered and sank. 
 
 But all the more blithely Count Ernest drank. 
 
 High flushed his cheek, wild flamed his eye, 
 When he saw the bold carousers lie ; 
 
124 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 They sank and tliey staggered one by one, 
 Till Count Ernest sate by the board alone. 
 
 Up with a shout of triumph he sprang, 
 Till the table shook and the beakers rang; 
 The brimming cups he hath swept aside. 
 And circled his neck with the chain of pride. 
 
 Forth he strode to the castle-gate ; 
 
 Soon on his steed the warrior sate ; 
 
 He galloped through street and he galloped through lane, 
 
 That men might gaze on the hard-won chain. 
 
 But scarce a man met Count Ernest there, 
 
 It was the hour of vesper-prayer; 
 
 The streets they leave, and the church they fill, — 
 
 Count Ernest deemed it a miracle. 
 
 A wrinkled crone, as the knight rode by, 
 Peered from her casement angrily, 
 And pointed on to the church-tower old. 
 Nor seemed to mark the chain of gold. 
 
 " By heaven !" cried the wrathful Count aloud, 
 " I will shew my prize to yon saintly crowd !" 
 So he spurred his steed through the church's door. 
 And the hoofs they clashed on the sacred floor. 
 
 The choristers paused, and the organ ceased ; 
 Forth stepped in wrath the reverend priest; 
 Up started the worshippers, scared and pale ; 
 But the Count rode straight to the altar-rail. 
 
 He urged his steed to the fatal bound — 
 But its shoes fell off on the outraged ground ! 
 
TWO CRADLE SONGS. 125 
 
 He spurred, and he sware a terrible oath — • 
 
 But the pavement yawned, and it swallowed them both ! 
 
 Down, down the steed and his A'ider shot ! — 
 Oh, never the hearts around forgot 
 The greyness of fear on his face which fell. 
 And his last wild cry, as he sank to hell ! 
 
 The pavement closed with a crashing sound ; 
 But the shoes were left on the holy ground ; 
 So they hung them up by the chancel-wall, 
 A warning to Sabbath-breakers all ! 
 
 S. M. 
 
 STUjo ©iratjle Songs. 
 
 FOUQUE, 
 I. 
 
 Hush thee, hush thee, baby dear ; 
 
 Placid slumber's chain hath bound the 
 Lie thou still, no danger fear, 
 
 Thoughts of love are all around thee. 
 Loving parents watch thy slumber, 
 
 Planning for thee future pleasure- 
 Joys and blessings without number : 
 
 Sleep, thou only tiny treasure ! 
 
 Joyful cares our watch beguiling 
 
 As we bend above thee sleeping, 
 Smiling aye when thou art smiling, 
 
 Soothing aye when thou art weeping : 
 Such the lot that parents love ; 
 
 And their fondest hope through life. 
 To lift their children far above 
 
 The sorrows of this world of strife. 
 k2 
 
126 [^GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 But ah, this tender care of ours 
 
 "Will not retain thee aye at home ! 
 Too soon will come those riper hours 
 
 When thou wilt sigh the world to roam. 
 On thy charger thou wilt spring 
 
 Up the Alpine pass of snow, 
 Soaring high on conquest's wing, 
 
 While thy mother weeps below. 
 
 And yet, for that, delay not thou 
 
 To battle with this world of care ; 
 The blessings that surround thee now 
 
 Go forth and with another share. 
 The time may come when thou shalt prov* 
 
 A loving, tender parent too ; 
 And thus, the rosy chain of love 
 
 Blooms ever old, yet ever new. 
 
 II. 
 
 How sighs the gale of morning 
 Full sweetly through the shade ! 
 
 Wild flowers, each bank adorning, 
 Breathe perfume from the glade ! 
 
 How white the vapour hovers 
 O'er Kalmbach's reedy sides. 
 
 Like veil that sylphid lovers 
 Spread o'er their elfin brides ! 
 
 While we above him sing 
 Those sweetly-soothing numbers 
 That brightest visions bring ! 
 
TWO CRADLE SONGS, 127 
 
 Strew o'er him dewy flowers 
 
 Sparkling with morning's beams, 
 That thoughts of fairy bowers 
 
 May mingle in his dreams. 
 
 Dream softly, dear, and sweetly — 
 
 Dream of a happy morrow, 
 That brightly glides, and fleetly, 
 
 Without a cloud of sorrow. 
 
 Joy of my peaceful dwelling, 
 
 My lovely opening blossom, 
 How soft the breath is swelling 
 
 Thy snowy infant bosom ! 
 
 Alas, in times hereafter. 
 
 What sighs will heave that breast ! 
 To groans will turn thy laughter, 
 
 To wakefulness thy rest. 
 
 Then may the Powers above thee 
 
 Thy troubled heart beguile, 
 The Muses deign to love thee. 
 
 The Graces o'er thee smile ! 
 
 For if their bright creations 
 
 Glance sweet before thine eyes, 
 What fair imaginations 
 
 Shall 'mid the gloom arise ! 
 
128- GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 [This ballad is founded on the prose translation of the origi- 
 nal, given in our English version of Mallet's Northern Antiquittes. 
 RegEer Lodbrog was a renorvned Danish sea-king, who lived early 
 in the ninth century. He was taken prisoner by Ella king of 
 Northumberland, and flung into a dungeon, where he was stung to 
 death by serpents. During his last agonies he is said to have reca- 
 pitulated the exploits of his life, and defied his torturer, in the 
 words of the remarkable poem, some idea of which I have endea- 
 voured to convey. Wliether the whole was actually composed by 
 him or not — a point which is contested — it is highly characteristic, 
 and gives a vivid picture of the heroes of the North before the 
 introduction of Christianity.] 
 
 We fought with the sword 
 
 In Gothland so wide, 
 "When my steel did pierce the serpent fierce. 
 
 And won the fair-haired bride ; 
 I thrust him through with my blade so blue, 
 
 He staggered, and he fell : 
 Oh, glorious things the good sword brings 
 
 To him that wields it well ! 
 
 We fouglit with the sword 
 In the straits of Eirar ; 
 Oiu* good blades sang with tlieir joyous clang 
 Against the helms of vrar. 
 
DEATH-SONG OF THE SEA-KING. 129 
 
 Then rushed the blood in a purple flood ; 
 
 And high were the corpses piled, 
 For the golden-footed eagle's food, 
 
 And the ^Yolf of the pathless wild. 
 
 We fought with the sword, 
 
 And with high-lifted spears, 
 When the sea around was one wide wound,' — 
 
 Those were my youthful years ! 
 We sent the men of Helsing then 
 
 To the realms of ruddy morn ; 
 We ravaged their glades, and our haughty blades 
 
 Did laugh their mail to scorn ! 
 
 We fought with the sword 
 
 On the southern coast : 
 On that dread day none fled away 
 
 Of all our slaughtered host ! 
 Rogvaldur died — m}' son, my pride! 
 
 His crest was steeped in blood ; 
 And the vultures grim they wailed for him 
 
 Who w as wont to give them food. 
 
 We fought with the sword 
 
 'Mid the clamour of lances. 
 When our banners bright gave back the light 
 
 From gleaming steel which glances ; 
 Our good ships' grew of a crimson hue. 
 
 As when, at the festal board. 
 By the soft white hands of maiden bands 
 
 The ruddy wine is poured ! 
 
 1 This expression is in the original. 
 
130 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 We fought with the sword, 
 
 Slaymg Harald so bold;' 
 The blushing hue of his proud cheek grew 
 
 In death's grey twilight cold ! 
 Proud was he as a maid might be, 
 
 Smoothfaced, and softly drest ; 
 But the ringlets fair of his flowing hair 
 
 Now line the raven's nest! 
 
 We fought with the sword ! 
 
 But my death-hour draws near : — ' 
 Ah, sons so true, if ye but knew, 
 
 Right soon ye would be here ! 
 My foes should feel your lightning steel — 
 
 Well may my sons be bold ; 
 For the mother I gave had a heart as brave 
 
 As the hearts of the kings of old ! 
 
 W"e fought with the sword ! 
 
 I am called to the sky, 
 But I leave not now on earth below 
 
 A braver king than I ! 
 I shall quaff the bowl in the land of soul, 
 
 I shall feast in the upper skies : 
 Ella, behold how Regner the bold 
 
 Laughs even as he dies ! 
 
 S. M. 
 
 i Harald, king of Norway, surnamed Hurfax, or Fair-locks. 
 This is the same as our English name Fairfax. 
 
a^lje 6rntpen, ov a^ooii«<Spivit. 
 
 A NORWEGIAN LEGEND. 
 
 In the twiliglit morn of the waning year 
 
 Went Swain the woodsman forth ; 
 And his tread you might hear o'er the leaves dry and sere, 
 
 From Drontheim towards the north. 
 
 Lustily sang he, I troAV, and well ; 
 
 Nor of man nor of ghost had he fear : 
 For the monk he may dwell in Drontheim's cell, 
 
 But Swain's is the forest drear. 
 
 And still as he goes the green trees fade — 
 For he hews him their branches all ; 
 
 And a pile he has made, in the forest glade, 
 Of the larch and the pine so tall. 
 
132 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 But the Gnipeii lie marked him as he stood 
 
 Beneath a hraiiching oak ; 
 And the boughs so good of the merry greenwood, 
 
 They trembled as he spoke. 
 
 " Now by our joyous greenwood king, 
 
 Who loves old Norway's pine. 
 The birds they shall sing where green boughs spring. 
 
 For all that axe of thine." 
 
 The Gnipen has donned him a cowl so grey — 
 
 'Twas St. Francis's cowl, I ween ; 
 And he said, " By my fay, the woodsman to-day 
 
 Shall rue for his axe so keen." 
 
 So Swain, he took of his woodsman's food 
 
 At the witching hour of noon, 
 When by him there stood, in the merry greenwood, 
 
 A monk in his sandalled shoon. 
 
 " O tell me, O tell me, thou woodsman bold, 
 
 tell me eftsoon, I pray : 
 
 For since bells have tolled o'er wood and o'er wold 
 When monks arise to pray, 
 
 I have wandered alone in the greenwood bower ; 
 
 So tell me my path through the boughs. 
 That in Drontheim's tower at vesper-horn* 
 
 1 may quit me of my vows." 
 
 " Little reck I of thy monkish vow, 
 
 Of thy cowl, and thy beads so fair ; 
 Though in cloister, I trow, there is feasting enow, 
 
 And the forest is wild and bare. 
 
 Yet an thou hadst toiled one day with me 
 To cleave the gnarled oak. 
 
THE GNIPEN. 133 
 
 Small woe would it be 'neath the greenwood tree 
 To roam since morning broke." 
 
 " Though I bear of St. Francis the rigid yoke, 
 
 Yet no puny arm is mine ; 
 And, woodsman, my stroke might fell the oak, 
 
 As well as stroke of thine." 
 
 Then loud laughed Swain, in scornful cheer : 
 
 " Come rid thee to-day of thy rule. 
 And bid thy arm rear, 'stead of monkish gear, 
 
 The woodsman's hardy tool: 
 
 But fells it yon oak ere close of day, 
 
 Whose branches o'er us tower, 
 May the Gnipen grey bear my soul away 
 
 At the chime of evening hour!" 
 
 He recked not that friar of his smile or his frown, 
 
 And never word he spoke ; 
 But he sat him down in the shadow brown 
 
 Of the lofty gnarled oak. 
 
 Now sank the sun to northern men, 
 
 And sank on Drontheim's tower ; 
 And there wanted then but nine strokes or ten 
 
 To the chime of evening hour. 
 
 Then sprang from the ground that friar, and spake. 
 
 As his axe on high did shine : 
 " For my rule I'll take, and the greenwood's sake. 
 
 This single stroke of mine." 
 
 The oak he has struck it but once and no more, 
 
 But cleft is the gnarled wood ; 
 And it fell with the roar on the rocky shore 
 
 Of the Maelstrom's boiling flood. 
 
134 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 And darker grew that friar grey, 
 
 And tall as Drontheim's tower ; 
 And he vanished away with Swain that day, 
 
 At the chime of evening hour : 
 
 And he set him on high in the forest drear. 
 
 Where the pine's tall branches spring ; 
 That woodsmen may fear the axe to rear 
 
 Near the haunt of the greenwood king. 
 
 And still as the hailstones o'er him patter, 
 
 As the peasant hies him past, 
 He hears the loud clatter, while still his teeth chatter. 
 
 In the biting evening blast. 
 
 R. I. W. 
 
 Consolation. 
 
 FOUQUE. 
 
 If life were fair around thee, 
 
 Fair as thy heart had willed, 
 Without a grief to wound thee. 
 
 Or a bright hope unfulfilled ; 
 Mortal, for death preparing, 
 
 Couldst thou to death submit ? 
 Thou wouldst refuse, despairing, 
 
 A world so dear to quit ! 
 
 But one by one, thou knowest, 
 
 Life's gentle bands are riven ; 
 So, cheered at heart, thou goest 
 
 Through the deep grave to heaven. 
 The chains of fear are broken, 
 
 Hope's star is bright aloft, — 
 Oft has this truth been spoken, 
 
 But never yet too oft! S. M. 
 
®$e Hermit anli tfit SSai^ite SBolt 
 
 Under the shade of the sullen pine, 
 
 Where cliffs o'erhang a rugged shore, 
 A little chapel and a shrine 
 
 Stands, with a cross ahove the door ; 
 And in the shadow of the cross 
 
 Is built a low and rustic cell. 
 With roof of thatch and floor of moss, 
 
 Wherein two holy hermits dwell. 
 
 Darkly frowned the rocks around, 
 And the mighty cliffs by age embrowned ; 
 The tossing sea did chafe and start 
 Like visions in a troubled heart : 
 
136 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 The wide and heavy skies were spread 
 Like a bhick pall above the dead ; 
 And pathless wilds of sombre trees 
 
 Wearied the gazer's straining eye — 
 Even so remorse in terror sees, 
 
 Vague, drear, and dark — Futm-ity ! 
 
 A solemn cliarge those hermits bore, 
 They watched as warders on the shore. 
 For by no earthly race, 'twas said, 
 Those gloomy scenes were tenanted ; 
 And, but for that lone temple there. 
 And those two watchers, strong in prayer, 
 The demon troops of shame and sin 
 Had broken on the lands within, 
 And carried ravage, woe, and wrong, 
 Amid the simple peasant throng. 
 
 A grey-haired warrior was the one, 
 His comrade was his vaHant son ; 
 Each had lived a life of fame, 
 Each had earned a glorious name ; 
 Though the heart of age in scorn 
 
 Coldly turns from earth's bright things. 
 Seldom in youth's cloudless morn 
 
 Spirits fold their weary wings ; 
 Yet Sir Com'ad gazed not now 
 
 Wistfully on life's bright track, 
 For Ills hand was on the plough. 
 
 And not once his heart looked back : 
 Toil and prayer from sun to sun, 
 
 Thus his days were gliding by ; 
 Meanest things a beauty won 
 
 From his soul's strong energy. 
 
THE HERMIT AND THE WHITE WOLF. 137 
 
 And yet a lone and lovely life 
 
 Methinks those watchers must have led, 
 Their hearts unworn by worldly strife, 
 
 By worldly hopes untenanted ; 
 Their only pomp the gorgeous hues 
 
 Wliich sunset flings upon the hills. 
 Their only gems the scattered dews 
 
 Which sparkle from the leaping rills ; 
 Their comrades the ancestral deep, 
 
 The chainless wind, the wild cascade, 
 The eagle, whose embattled keep 
 
 Yon solemn mountain-crest hath made ; 
 And for the petty din and jar 
 Of city-strife and human war, 
 The brawling of the angry stream. 
 
 The roaring of the wrathful sky — 
 Reality to them a dream, 
 
 And dreams their best reality. 
 
 Sir Conrad the hermit went forth at eve, 
 The wood of the stately pine to cleave ; 
 He was ware of a wolf, so white and so grim. 
 It came through the thicket and scowled at him. 
 
 He hurled his axe at the grim wolf's head, 
 Starting and yelling the creature fled ; 
 But it sinks in its blood, and it strives to rise. 
 And it stares on the knight with piteous eyes. 
 
 Then did the heart of Sir Conrad change 
 To a causeless softness, sudden and strange; 
 
138 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Down by the bleeding wolf he knelt, 
 
 And he stflnched its wounds with his woodman's belt. 
 
 The moonshine streamed on its face so white, 
 And its wide eyes gleamed with a human light ; 
 And much was the heart of Sir Conrad moved, 
 As though he had slain a thing beloved. 
 
 He lifted it gently from the earth, 
 And he bore it home to his lowly hearth, 
 And he laid it down on his couch, bestrewn 
 With odorous thyme and with grass new-mown. 
 
 What sound is this, so full of woe, 
 
 Like the sob of a woman, plaintive and Ioav ? 
 
 Sir Conrad turned to the couch, and there 
 
 Lay the form of a maiden, bright and fair. ' 
 
 And through her golden locks, dispread 
 In beauty over that lowly bed. 
 The blood was dropping — a piteous sight — 
 From a wound in the arm so soft and white. 
 
 *' Oh, mercy, mercy, sir knight!" she cried, 
 And her clear blue eyes shone wild and wide, 
 '' I am the child of a wizard of might ; 
 I was gathering herbs for my sire by night. 
 
 I saw thee pass, and I meant not harm, 
 But thine axe hath shattered my tender arm : 
 Oh, slay me not, though life be pain ! 
 Oh, take me back to my home again!" 
 
 Scarce need I say what gentle care 
 The knight bestowed on the damsel fair : 
 
THE HERMIT AND THE WHITE WOLF. 139 
 
 He watched her couch by night and day, 
 
 As a mother watches a babe asleep ; 
 And when eve's melting shadows lay 
 
 In softness over land and deep, 
 Or sparkled wood, and wave, and I^iwn, 
 Clad in the pomp of glittering dawn. 
 The warrior-hermit kneeled to pay 
 Meet service to his God, and pray. 
 Sweetly in that low cot arose 
 
 The voices of the sire and son, 
 Still craving pardon, ere repose. 
 
 For guilt incurred, or good undone ; 
 Or praying, when their toils begin, 
 " Lord, keep us this day without sin !" 
 
 Half in amaze, and half in awe, 
 
 The silent maiden heard and saw ; 
 
 Heard, how — as strains that fall and rise 
 
 In congregated harmonies, 
 
 Still oft return, and ever close 
 
 On the same note whence first they rose; — 
 
 In all their prayers repeated came 
 
 One holy and familiar Name, 
 
 One point, Avhere all must meet and blend, 
 
 Crown, key, and centre, source and end ; 
 
 Saw how, whene'er that Name they ?pake, 
 
 " Forgive us, Lord, for Jesu's sake!" 
 
 The holy light of placid hope 
 
 Came down upon each upturned face, 
 As generous streams, from clouds that ope, 
 
 Fall sweetly on some barren place, 
 Until the deadness and the gloom 
 Break into beauty, song, and bloom. 
 
140 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 'Twere long to tell how change was wrought 
 
 Within her musing spirit there : 
 Meekly the Christian's God she sought; 
 Sweet to the teacher as the taught 
 
 Those holy hours of praise and prayer ! 
 As, rim by rim, and hue by hue, 
 
 The shells of inner ocean grow ; 
 So, deep in Conrad's bosom grew 
 
 A feeling he might scarcely kno'w, 
 Until the Avaves of passion bore 
 Its finished beauty to the shore ; 
 And much he marvelled so to see 
 His own heart's birth of mystery. 
 Enough — they loved! — the narrow cell 
 
 Became a palace, and the waste 
 A paradise, where angels dwell, 
 
 By fear and sorrow undefaced ; 
 Alas that, as in Eden's bowers. 
 The serpent lurked beneath the flowers ! 
 
 'Twas eve — before the shrine, apart. 
 The sire held commune with his heart ; 
 At dawn, upon the maiden's head. 
 Should, by his reverend hands, be shed 
 Those waters by whose living tide 
 The soul is cleansed and sanctified ; 
 Fitly to meet so high a rite. 
 He prayed and fasted through the night. 
 Before the chapel's lowly gate 
 In sweet discourse the lovers sate, 
 Or silence sweeter still, whereby 
 Eye spake, with eloquence, to eye. 
 
THE HERMIT AND THE WHITE WOLF. 141 
 
 The twilight heavens weve spread above, 
 
 One stedfast sheet of pallid blue; 
 And wailing, like forsaken love, 
 
 The wind among the mountains blew ; 
 The waves came heavily and slow. 
 Like measured steps of patient woe ; 
 And on the far horizon's rim 
 The severed clouds lay low and dim. 
 Like crests of phantom-bands afar. 
 Slow rising, and portending war. 
 It was an eve to hold the breath, 
 And muse how life but leads to death ! 
 
 "Oh, come, beloved!" the maiden said; 
 
 " Seek we that blessed spot again. 
 Where by thy ruthless hand I bled. 
 
 And won this rapture by that pain ; 
 Fain would I tread, secure with thee. 
 Haunts of forgotten sorcery!" 
 
 They wandered forth, and, as t}aey went, 
 j The grey clouds slowly towered around, 
 
 I And the wild breeze's low lament 
 
 Was by the w^restling billows drowned; 
 
 *' Nay, fairest, turn !" Sir Conrad said ; 
 
 But Ella tossed her graceful head, 
 
 Like steed that on the blast can hear 
 
 A tone familiar to his ear. 
 
 And strangely did her eye's vague light 
 
 Fall on the spirit of the knight ; 
 
 "Onward!" she cried; and "onward!" btill 
 
 Faint echoes answered from the hill. 
 
 And now, their noiseless footsteps fall 
 Upon the forest's shadowed floor. 
 
GK&MAV ZALI^JlZS. Cxs 
 
 THiere sonbre fir-4recs, Uack and tall. 
 Rustle in winds that aveep the shore; 
 
 And indi that leafy munnur seemed 
 A sotmd of holknr bH^^iter hlenl^ 
 
 And wan, and white, and fitfid sizeamed 
 Hie tinglin g moondiine as they wenl^ 
 
 Where'er die pastil^ hoi^^ wndnoDd 
 
 A ^7 an daik wiA gathering dond! 
 
 « No eaiddy stnnn is rising here r 
 
 Sir Comad cried; ■^ oh, tora thee hack !' 
 
 " Fear'st thoa? — ^fiir me, I know not £ear !' 
 She said, and dioak her tresses hbu^; 
 
 And half in shame, andhalf in lore. 
 
 StiD at her side the knight most more. 
 
 And now fhey readi that well-known ^iaee. 
 
 Andd the diBfered trees a apace 
 
 Where bare ahore their heads are seen 
 
 The wheeiii^ doods diat Tdl the i^ies, 
 
 And die roar of wares is heard between 
 
 The shriekii^ wind's ^palling cries; 
 
 Yet dmn^ die tmnnlt, low and chill. 
 
 That hollow la.^ is ringing stffl ! 
 
 Ah, see! a sodden fladi!— ah, gaze! 
 
 What hideoBS s^ts its ^eam betz^sf 
 
 A dioDsand diapes aroond diem stand. 
 
 Widi mocking Ep and bed^oiing hand ; 
 
 Thej more, tliej cirde, diey adrance. 
 
 Thej weave a wild and ^ectrd dance. 
 
 Glaring anmnd die hapies pair. 
 
 Widi howls that deare die starded air! 
 
 Widi annsoutsfreidied, and £m» npsaiaed. 
 
 The maiden gazed, and, as die gazed. 
 
 I 
 
THE HERMIT AND THE WHITE WOLF. 143 
 
 The mocking smile, the phantom-stare, 
 Were mirrored in her face so fair ; 
 And her wild eyes, so wide, so bright, 
 Grew less than human in their light ! 
 
 From her lover's arm she bm'st — 
 She hath joined the troop accurst ! — 
 Through the rising of the storm 
 
 Her ghastly laughter rings. 
 And she seems a spectre-form, 
 
 And she treads as if on wings. 
 She is here and she is there, 
 Like a bubble on the air, 
 Rising, sinking, seen — but such. 
 That it melts beneath the touch ; 
 So she passes from his hands: 
 
 'Tis a fir-branch in his hold ! 
 Helpless, hopeless, now he stands ; 
 
 And the night grows black and cold ; 
 And the phantom-voices die. 
 
 And the wind sinks down in sleep. 
 And beneath a calmed sky 
 
 He kneels alone to weep ; 
 For the spectre-forms have past 
 With the rushing of the blast ; 
 And the solitude around 
 Hath neither shape nor sound ! 
 
 There, when roseate morning shone, 
 
 Still the hapless warrior knelt. 
 But his face was still and wan. 
 
 And his woes were all unfelt ; 
 Yet his crucifix was prest 
 (Blessed sign !) against his breast. 
 
144 GERMAN BALLADS, &G. 
 
 All, when first he wandered there, 
 Had love left him time for prayer, 
 Fiend and spell had sunken down. 
 Powerless as an infant's frown ! 
 
 Sadly, in that spot of gloom, 
 Reared his sire his lowly tomh, 
 Murmuring, with a heavy heart, 
 "The old remain — the young depart!" 
 As he spake, in mournful trust, 
 "Earth to earth, and dust to dust!" 
 Still at every solemn w'ord 
 Was a distant wailing heard, 
 Like a wolf's low howj of pain. 
 When its little ones are slain. — 
 Oft, on winter's sombre eves. 
 Stealing through the shivering leaves, 
 Rose that sound, still lingering round 
 That lone spot of holy ground ; 
 Where, unhonoured and unknown. 
 
 Calmly slept the hermit-knight, 
 Underneath the cold white stone. 
 
 Graven with these words of might — 
 "Ye who tread the narrow track, 
 Frail, trembling, sinful — look not backT' 
 
 S. M. 
 
145 
 
 ®tJin's Sacri'fiff. 
 
 A TALE OF NORWAY. 
 
 There is silence in the land — 
 
 There is silence on the hills ; 
 Bound as with an icy band, 
 
 Which the deep heart stuns and chills, 
 Are the valleys and the woods, 
 And the mountain solitudes : 
 For its snake-like arms around 
 The black pestilence hath wound ; 
 And within its dire embrace 
 
 Earth and heaven grow sick and reel, 
 Even like one across whose face 
 
 Death's approaching shadows steal. 
 
 Over hill and over plain 
 Doth that deadly monarch reign ; 
 Every green and cool recess 
 Where Earth hides her loveliness ; 
 Every rich and boastful bower 
 Where she lavishes her power ; 
 Every ancient hill whose brow 
 Hath its crown of fadeless snow ; 
 Every forest soft and deep, 
 Where the weary breezes sleep, 
 Own his sway, and all appear 
 Mute with cold expectant fear. 
 Standing still, as if to view 
 What their awful king will do. 
 Even the streams more slowly creep, 
 Not to break Earth's dreamless sleep ; 
 Even the birds the woods among 
 Whisper forth a stifled song ; 
 
146 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 And old Ocean's mighty breast 
 Every murmur liatli supprest ; 
 For he knows the hour to be 
 Of a mightier one than he. 
 
 The scornful cataract alone 
 Sinks not its rejoicing tone ; 
 O'er yon airy cliff it swings 
 With its wild and eager springs, 
 Tossing foam-drops to the sky 
 With a loud exulting cry, 
 Like tlie prodigal, whose soul 
 Drownelh sorrow in the bowl j 
 Why should such a chorus cease, 
 That Death may do his work in peace ? 
 
 But man — weak man! — the tenant pale 
 
 Of a scene po waste and drear, 
 Mute are all ; for even the wail 
 
 Of bitter grief is hushed in fear; 
 Up and down the city-streets. 
 Each man that his neighbour meets 
 Hurries shrinking by the place. 
 Gazing up into his face 
 With a wild and wistful eye, 
 As if he looked to see him die ; 
 And the women patient sit 
 Awaiting death — not dreading it, 
 For each one of them would fain 
 Join some well-beloved again : 
 This comfort have that mournful throng, 
 They are not doomed to tarry long. 
 
 Two short weeks their course have run 
 Since the grisly Plague begun, 
 
odin's sacrifice. 147 
 
 And so well his work is done 
 That living men are not enow 
 Even their dead to bury now ; 
 Yet unslaked is still his thirst, 
 His arm unwearied as at first ; 
 All that work of Death so grim 
 Seems but as a spOrt to him, 
 Still he wears his wrathful frown. 
 Still he strikes his thousands down. 
 
 Not a sound is on the air, 
 
 Save before the temple, where 
 
 Some have gathered them for prayer. 
 
 With white lip and shaking hand 
 
 Round about its walls they stand, 
 
 For the priest is yet Avithin, 
 
 Ere the solemn rites begin 
 
 He is kneeling at the throne 
 
 Of the angry god, alone, 
 
 Seeking if his prayer or spell, 
 
 Muttered hymn or canticle. 
 
 May avail to wring reply 
 
 From that stern Divinity. 
 
 Six long days and nights I ween 
 
 In that temple hath he been, 
 
 Watching with unsleeping eyes 
 
 From meek eve to bright sunrise ; 
 
 From fair dawn till day is spent, 
 
 Till that ruthless god relent ; 
 
 Till by sign or symbol dim 
 
 He reveal his will to him. 
 
 And commit to priestly hands 
 
 The sacrifice his wrath demands, 
 
148 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 So that when the debt is paid 
 May the deadly plague be stayed. 
 
 All the people stand without 
 
 In a wild and ghastly doubt, 
 
 Each one shuddering lest he 
 
 May the newest victim be ; 
 
 Every ear awaiting still 
 
 Till great Odin speak his will. 
 
 Foremost of that pallid band 
 
 Does their sorrowing monarch stand ; 
 
 Many a tear hath dimmed his eye 
 
 That his children round him die ; 
 
 Powerless is his sceptre now, 
 
 And the circlet on his brow, 
 
 And the sword which won that ring 
 
 (Marks of warrior and of king). 
 
 Seem but as in mockery worn 
 
 By some captive crowned in scorn : 
 
 Little will his pomp have won him 
 
 If the plague but breathe upon him ! 
 
 Lo, the gates are moving slow — 
 Lo, the priest is coming now — 
 See how all that awestruck throng, 
 Who have waited for him long, 
 Shrink and cower, as if they fea'r 
 Only a certain doom to hear ! 
 One or two in sudden dread 
 From the place all madly fled, 
 AVhile their wild and hollow shriek 
 Whitened every hearer's cheek, 
 If the cheeks death-pale before, 
 Could put on one whiteness more ; 
 
ODIN S SACRIFICE. 149 
 
 But their king, who sate alone 
 On a grey and mossy stone 
 Nearest to the temple-gate, 
 Shrank not from the word of Fate : 
 See, he lifts his hero-eye, 
 A spirit not afraid to die 
 Speaks through it unquenchably ! 
 Only one of that pale troop 
 Had a soul that could not stoop ; 
 Only one, a heart whose power 
 Was sufficient for that hour ; 
 Hearts are frail when hope is gone — 
 Be we thankful there was one. 
 
 " Speak!" that kingly voice exclaimed — 
 " Speak ! but ere thou speakest, hear ! 
 
 And the vow my soul hath framed 
 I will pour into thine ear. 
 
 Let great Odin say his will, 
 
 I that mandate will fulfil — 
 
 Ay, though he bid me cast in dust 
 
 The sword in which my people trust, 
 
 And from my brow dishonoured tear 
 
 The diadem whose place is there ; 
 
 I will obey him still, and stand 
 
 A crownless king in mine own land, 
 
 And with your homage ye may grace 
 
 Another monarch in my place ; 
 
 If for such sacrifice he deign 
 
 To grant my people health again. 
 
 Speak ! I am purposed to obey — 
 
 Speak ! and I fling my crown away ; 
 
 Only the kinghood of my heart 
 
 Cjin but with my life depart." 
 
150 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Mute his people listened ; each 
 Had a heart too full for speech ; 
 Dark the days when such a word 
 Could be with such silence heard ! 
 Then the solemn priest advanced, 
 Slow his step — his eye entranced; 
 For even yet that lifted eye 
 Held converse with the Deity ; 
 And his words full wildly stream, 
 Void of consciousness they seem 
 As if spoken in a dream : 
 Other power than man's, I trow. 
 Lords it o'er his utterance now. 
 
 THE priest's speech.' 
 
 " Odin hath spoken ! The King of Heaven 
 Answer dark to my prayer hath given ; 
 Odin hath spoken a fearful thing — 
 Hear, O people ! and hear, O king ! 
 While the vow which ye so lately heard 
 Is in the far sky registered. 
 Woe be to him, whose heart afraid 
 Shrinks from the vow his lips have made ! 
 Weary life shall the doomed one lead. 
 And his grasp, when life is fled, 
 Never shall take the bowl of mead 
 From the hand of the mighty dead : 
 An honourless death shall lay him low — 
 Woe! for my lips have said it — woe!" 
 
 The wild priest tossed his arms on high. 
 And his words went echoing through the sky 
 
odin's sacrifice. 151 
 
 Through its wide bhie halls resounding go 
 The doom of shame and the words of woe ; 
 Till the people bowed to the soulless air, 
 And dreamed that Odin was speaking there ! 
 Then ceased the tone of that awful strain, 
 And the wild priest opened his lips again. 
 
 THE priest's speech CONTINUED. 
 
 " Within the temple I watched alone, 
 I knelt before the war-god's throne ; 
 Night and day I fasted there — 
 Night and day 1 spent in prayer ; 
 But still the idol, sternly cold. 
 Looked down upon me as of old ; 
 Not a word and not a sign 
 Gave answer to those prayers of mine ! 
 Till as the sixth and latest night 
 Spread its curtains o'er the light, 
 "While twilight's dusky shadows stole 
 Like whispered spells upon the soul ; 
 I rose and paced the pavement chill, 
 
 Muttering many a rhyme of power. 
 And shuddering, as around me still 
 
 The gloom of that mysterious hour 
 Was closing, and the cell I trod 
 Alone with the giant and speechless god ! 
 
 Was it a cloud from the changing sky 
 That cheated my bewildered eye ? 
 Not a voice nor a breath was heard, 
 But it seemed to me that Odin stirred ! 
 My heart grew cold, for I thought that he 
 Was coming to claim his prey in me ! 
 
152 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Down I kneeled in the night alone, 
 I hid my face on the altar-stone, 
 For I dared not lift mine eyes to look 
 On a sight no mortal gaze might brook; 
 And as I kneeled in the twilight there, 
 Veiling my face in awe-struck prayer, 
 A deep deep voice of no hmnan sound 
 All thundering shook the walls around, 
 And the war-god spake this word of fear : — 
 Give ear, O people ! O king, give ear ! 
 
 THE DECREE OF ODIN. 
 
 I loosened the bonds which bind 
 
 The Pestilence, my slave ; 
 I sent him forth as the wind, 
 And I bade him stand in the midst of the land, 
 x\nd make it one wide grave ! 
 
 Well hath his work been done ', 
 
 But it is doing still ! 
 Scarce is the task begun. 
 And the dead shall sink and the living shrink, 
 Till achieved is Odin's will. 
 
 The monarch must resign 
 
 That which he loveth best, 
 It must bleed before my shrine ! 
 And then will I chain the fierce Plague again, 
 And the vexed land shall have rest." 
 
 The tones of that strange voice have ceased. 
 Mute are the people and the priest ; 
 But a weight of horror lies 
 On their wild and staring eyes. 
 
odin's sacrifice. 153 
 
 Silently they stood and heard ; 
 
 But, as died the last dread word, 
 
 A greyness, like a sudden cloud. 
 
 Fell on some of that pale crowd. 
 
 As if a storm-cloud left its trace 
 
 Upon each uplifted face ; 
 
 Yet the sky is calm and fair, 
 
 Not a passing mist is there ; 
 
 Each one looked in the other's eye 
 
 Askingly and fearfully ; 
 
 Past that moment's shuddering doubt, 
 
 " The plague ! — the hideous plague !" they shout, 
 
 And some take flight, and some stand still, 
 
 But the grasp of death is icy chill ; 
 
 One touch goes freezing to their hearts, 
 
 And hurrying life at once departs ; 
 
 Till the very steps at the temple-door 
 
 Are piled with corpses o'er and o'er ; 
 
 And the monarch veils his face and cries, 
 
 " Great Odin! take thy sacrifice 1" 
 
 There stood a child at the monarch's knee, 
 A fair and bright-haired boy was he ; 
 His young blue eyes had never yet 
 Aught save the glance of kindness met, 
 Nor, save with passing tears, been wet. 
 His heart like an opening rose-bud grew. 
 Nourished with gentle beams and dew ; 
 And his lisping tongue had never known 
 Aught save a blythe and a fearless tone. 
 Wonder and terror he now might feel, 
 But his father's arm was a fence of steel ; 
 He was the child of hope and care, 
 The only one, and the kingdom's heir ; 
 M 2 
 
154 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 And he thought as he stood at his father's knee, 
 " There is none on earth that can injure me." 
 
 But the stern and ruthless priest drew near 
 
 With an eye whose gaze was felt, 
 An eye that never shed a tear, 
 
 And a heart that could not melt : 
 He laid his grasp on the child's soft neck, 
 And the shuddering father dared not check ; 
 He lifted the knife — but the princely child 
 Looked boldly up in his face and smiled ; 
 Each cheek around was pale with woe, 
 
 But the boy's blue eye no fear confessed ; 
 It was his father who let him go, 
 
 So he held it all for a passing jest. 
 
 Whence came that shriek which rings around ? 
 
 A heart is breaking in the sound ; 
 
 'Twas not the child — he smileth still 
 
 Up in the face of the man of ill ; 
 
 'Twas not the father — the hero sits 
 
 With a heart that speaks not, but submits ; 
 
 And all so stern is his changeless brow, 
 
 Ye would not dream he was feeling now : 
 
 Whose is this darting form that flies 
 
 Swift as the wind through wintry skies. 
 
 With floating hair and with flashing eye. 
 
 Whose beauty is lost in agony ? 
 
 Make way, make way, for that form so wild — 
 
 It is the mother of the child ! 
 
 She hath caught the boy to her breast! 
 One instant's short embrace, 
 
odin's sacrifice. 155 
 
 Wildly and closely his form she prest, 
 
 But she dared not see his face ! 
 One look had taken her strength away 
 For the deed she had to do that day ; 
 So she turned away when her clasp had ceased, 
 And thus she spake to the ruthless priest : 
 
 " Man of blood ! thou hast strangely erred, 
 
 If Odin's will aright was heard ; 
 
 He hath demanded the dearest thing 
 
 That dwells in the heart of the grieving king ; 
 
 Away from the innocent babe ! Away ! 
 
 / am the victim thy sword must slay ! 
 
 I am the love of his youth ; — we changed 
 
 Hearts which no coldness hath since estranged ; 
 
 I am the wife of his bosom — see. 
 
 His cheek is losing its glow for me ; 
 
 The brightness fleets from his tearful eye, 
 
 His brow forgetteth its royalty ; 
 
 I am the dearest, for I can chase 
 
 The soul of strength from the hero's face ; 
 
 Look on his cheek so pale and wild ! 
 
 He changed not thus when ye took his child." 
 
 The priest stood still ; there seemed a trace 
 
 Of transient pity on his face — 
 
 With breathless heart, with trembling knees, 
 
 That pause of doubt the mother sees ; 
 
 No monarch, crowned v/ith victor's wreath. 
 
 E'er clung to life as she to death. 
 
 Paler and paler her cheek hath grown, 
 
 As she turned to the king and thus spake on : 
 
156 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 " Dost thou not love me ?" she said, and soft 
 Was her young low voice, and it trembled oft; 
 The light of her eye was troubled, yet 
 'Twas not with a single teardrop wet ; 
 Those waters of the heart's deep well 
 Were frozen in their shivering cell. 
 " Dost thou not love me ? — Forgettest thou 
 When first I gave thee my girlish vow ? 
 Hast thou forgotten the calm bright time 
 
 When our two young hearts were together twining ? 
 Hast thou forgotten love's dewy prime, 
 
 Now when its noon is above thee shining ? 
 Will thy cold eye no change evince ? 
 Have I been faithless to thee since ? 
 Have I not still, as thine own true wife, 
 Smiled on thy manhood's sterner life ? 
 And has not love in our two hearts made 
 A world of youth that can never fade ? 
 Did ever a breath of unkindncss pass 
 
 Over the lake of our love so fair, 
 Which mirrored back like a faithful glass 
 
 The brightness and beauty that round it were ? 
 Oh, by the hours of peace and stillness. 
 
 Which our true wedded faith hath known, 
 Turn not away with such icy chillness ! 
 
 Turn not away — I am still thine own! 
 Or has some spell than thy love proved stronger ? 
 
 Oh, there's no spell that could conquer mine ! 
 Speak to me, speak ! are we one no longer ? 
 
 Dost thou not love me? — Am I not thine?" 
 
 The voice of her passionate pleading died, 
 
 Like a breeze that its sweetness forth hath sighed ; 
 
odin's sacrifice. 157 
 
 But oh, what a storm did that wind's light wing 
 
 Wake in the bosom of the king ! 
 
 Up he sprang, and 'twas fearful to see 
 
 How the hero's soul was mastered there, 
 How his brow grew dark with agony. 
 
 And his lip grew pallid with despair. 
 Low was his voice, and of faltering tone : 
 *' Gudruna ! Gudruna ! come back, mine own ! 
 Touch her not, priest! she is mine — forbear! 
 Take ye the child, but the mother spare !" 
 
 " Heard ye? Oh, heard ye ? " the mother cries, 
 And the quick tears break from her joyful eyes; 
 " My prayer is won, and my truth is proved. 
 Take me — for I am his heart's beloved!" 
 Wildly she spake, and hurried where 
 The priest was lifting his knife in air ! — 
 ******* 
 In her own life-blood she lies, 
 
 She lies at the monarch's feet. 
 And her heart looks up into his eyes 
 
 With a loving gaze, and sweet. 
 In mute despair he stands, 
 He wrings his mailed hands. 
 And he looks from her face to the pitiless sky, 
 And feels that he must see her die ! 
 For death is glazing fast 
 
 Those eyes of tenderest blue^ 
 The words she speaks must be her last, 
 
 Hurried, and faint, and few ; 
 But her ebbing strength she mustereth 
 To wring one moment more from death ; 
 And a faint tinge trembles on her cheeks 
 As thus her dying love she speaks : 
 
158 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 " Weep not for me, O dearest one ! 
 
 Forget not how I fell, 
 Dying, the mother for the son — 
 
 My heart's beloved, farewell ! 
 What bliss was for my spirit kept. 
 To live thus loved, and die thus wept!" 
 
 Her spirit passed with the last soft word, 
 And a voice of weeping around was heard ; 
 The monarch clasped his wondering boy, 
 
 And hid his face in the child's bright hair, 
 For he would not that his people's eye 
 
 Should look on the burst of his despair. 
 
 In the same spot they buried her, 
 
 And the rose's mountain bloom 
 Clustered around, to minister 
 
 Sweetness to her lowly tomb ; 
 And the breeze at morn and eve 
 
 Ever loved to linger there. 
 With its softest notes to grieve 
 
 Over one so pure and fair ; 
 And for many an after-year 
 
 All that sorrowing people came 
 Casting garlands on her bier, 
 
 Doing honour to her name ; 
 For the pestilence had ceased. 
 And grim Odin was appeased. 
 Never did the monarch take 
 
 Other maiden for his bride, 
 Lonely lived he for her sake, 
 
 Lonely, at the last, he died : 
 How should any other be 
 Half so fond and true as she ? 
 
odin's sacrifice. 159 
 
 Oh, the might of the strength that dwells apart 
 
 In the deep, deep cells of a woman's heart ! 
 
 Little we know it, and man may deem 
 
 It is hut the tale of an idle dream ; 
 
 But there are springs which are never dry, 
 
 But flow on in silence, exhaustlessly ; 
 
 And there are chords which if once ye sound them, 
 
 The heart where they dwell will shiver round them ; 
 
 And there are feelings whose lightest breath 
 
 Can madden in life and can nerve for death ! 
 
 Ask ye what was the power that gave 
 To a heart so soft a soul so brave, 
 A spirit so strong to a form so frail. 
 As hers whose deed hath been my tale ? 
 Ask ye ? Oh, tame must ye be, and cold, 
 To whom such secrets need be told! 
 Would ye the source of her strength explore ? 
 She was a mother! — There needs no more. 
 
 S. M. 
 
i^ ^ 
 
 ©cnoi'cim. 
 
161 
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 
 Now hearken, lords and ladies gay, 
 
 And ye shall understand 
 The wonders of a legend-lay 
 
 From the old German land. 
 She, of my song, in Eden's bowers 
 
 A sainted lady lies. 
 And wears a chaplet of the flowers 
 
 That grow in Paradise. 
 
 Her father gloried in her birth, 
 
 That daughter of his fame ; 
 The sweetest sound he knew on earth 
 
 Was Genoveva's name. 
 She dwelt, a fair and holy child, 
 
 Beside her mother's knee ; 
 She grew, a maiden meek and mild, 
 
 And pure as pure could be. 
 
 And so it was, that when the maid 
 
 Fulfilled her childhood's vow, 
 Saint Hildorfs lifted hands were laid 
 
 Upon no lovelier brow. 
 And said they, as along the aisle 
 
 The knights and ladies poured. 
 How will she brighten with her smile 
 
 The castle of her lord ! 
 
 Right soon a stately champion came 
 For that bright damsel's hand, 
 
 The sound of County Siegfried's fame 
 Was sung in many a land. 
 
162 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 He came, he knelt, he wooed, he won, 
 
 As warriors win the bride ; 
 Duke Pfalz hath hailed him as his son, 
 
 At Gcnoveva's side. 
 
 Then might you hear the matin-hell 
 
 With echoes low and sweet, 
 Where, at Saint Hildorfs sacred cell, 
 
 The youth and maiden meet. 
 And, hark, they plight the mystic vow, 
 
 The troth that time shall try. 
 When years have worn the beamy brow, 
 
 And quenched the laughing eye. 
 
 Now turn we to the castle -gate. 
 
 Wreathed with the peaceful vine, 
 Where County Siegfried holds his state, 
 
 Beside the Rhine — the Rhine. 
 They bring white blossoms from the bowers. 
 
 The rose-leaves hide the ground; — 
 Ah, gentle dame, beneath the flowers 
 
 The coiling worm is found! 
 
 Yet day by day went bounding on, 
 
 Nor would the warrior roam ; 
 The brightness of his lady shone 
 
 Throughout Lord Siegfried's home. 
 She was the garland of his days, 
 
 His blessing and his fame ; 
 His happy hearth hath won the praise 
 
 Of Genoveva's name. 
 
 But, hark, that stern and sudden sound 
 
 Along the castle-wall ; 
 It shook the echo from the ground. 
 
 That startling trumpet-call. 
 
GBNOVEVA. 163 
 
 " To arms ! to horse ! — the Moor ! the Moor ! 
 
 His pagan banners fly ; 
 The Spaniard and the Frank implore 
 
 Then might you see at break of day 
 
 The stately Siegfried stand 
 Harnessed, and in his old array, 
 
 His good sword in his hand. 
 " And fare thee well," the soldier said, 
 
 " My lady bright and dear." 
 He spake, and bent his haughty head 
 
 To hide a warrior's tear. 
 
 " Farewell ! — And thou, my Castellain, 
 
 My liegeman true and tried, 
 Shield, till thy lord shall turn again, 
 
 My lady and my bride. — 
 And ye, good Saints, with unseen eyes, 
 
 Watch her in solemn care ; 
 An angel well might leave the skies 
 
 At Genoveva's prayer !" 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 Ah, woe is me, and well-a-day ! 
 
 What scenes of sorrow rise ! 
 And, hark, the music of my lay 
 
 Must breathe the breath of sighs. 
 That guardian — he of trusty fame. 
 
 He seeks a deed abhorred, 
 He woos to sorrow and to shame 
 
 The lady of his lord. 
 
164 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 But she, fair Genoveva, stands 
 
 A pure and peerless bride, 
 Her angel lifts his sheltering hands 
 
 For ever at her side ; — 
 She kneels — she breathes some simple verse, 
 
 Taught by her mother's care ; 
 And the good saints in heaven rehearse 
 
 The gentle lady's prayer. 
 
 Yet strife and anguish lasted long, 
 
 Till he — that fiendish man. 
 The anger of his sin was strong, 
 
 And thus his fury ran : — 
 " Bind ye this foul and wanton dame. 
 
 False to my master's bed, 
 Hide in the earth both sin and shame ; 
 
 Her blood be on her head !" 
 
 They took the stern command he gave. 
 
 Two vassals fierce and rude ; 
 They bare her for a nameless grave, 
 
 Far in a distant wood ; — 
 There knelt she down and meekly prayed. 
 
 In language soft and mild, — 
 " I bear beneath my breast," she said, 
 
 " Your lord. Count Siegfried's child ! 
 
 Then let me tarry but awhile. 
 
 Far, far from earthly eye, 
 That I may see my infant smile, 
 
 And lay me down and die : 
 Nay, spare me, in sweet Mary's name. 
 
 Who stood by Jesu's cross; — 
 He from a mother's bosom came, 
 
 That He might die for us!" 
 
GENOVEVA. 165 
 
 They melted at the voice they heard ; 
 
 They left her lonely there ; 
 The holy angels helped her word, 
 
 There is such force in prayer ! 
 There wandered she, where that wild wood 
 
 A tangled pathway gave, 
 Till, lo, in secret solitude, 
 
 A deep and mossy cave — 
 
 A source of quiet waters shone 
 
 Along a shadowy glade, 
 And branches, fair to look upon, 
 
 A dreamy shelter made 
 
 Her eyes are closed, but not in sleep, — 
 
 She bends, but not to pray, — 
 Thrilled with the woes that mothers weep, 
 
 The lonely lady lay. 
 
 She sees — what is it nestling near? 
 
 A soft fair form is nigh — 
 She hears — sweet Lord, what doth she hear? 
 
 A low and infant cry ! 
 It is her son ! her son ! the child. 
 
 The first-born of her vow ; 
 See, in his face his father smiled, 
 
 He bears Lord Siegfried's brow ! 
 
 Good angels, 'twas a sight to see 
 
 That cavern dark and wild — 
 The nameless stream — the silent tree — 
 
 The mother and her child. 
 And, hark, he weeps ; that voice of tears 
 
 Proclaims a child of earth ; 
 Oh, what shall soothe, for holier years. 
 
 The sorrow of his birth ! 
 
166 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 There was no font, no sacred shrine, 
 
 No servant of the Lord, — 
 The waters of the mystic sign 
 
 A mother's hand hath poured. 
 She breathed on him a word of woes, 
 
 His life in tears begun ; 
 The name a Hebrew mother chose, 
 
 Benoni, sorrow's son. 
 
 But ah, what miseries betide 
 
 A mother and her pains ! 
 Her child must die — for famine dried 
 
 The fountain of her veins. 
 She saw the anguish of his Tface, 
 
 She heard his bitter cry, 
 And went forth from that woeful place,— 
 
 She could not see him die ! 
 
 Yet still, again her feet must turn 
 
 Back to that cavern wild, — 
 Yea, even in death she fain would yearn 
 
 Once more upon her child. 
 What doth she see ? A fair young doe 
 
 A mother's task hath done ; ■ 
 
 Bent at his side, her milk must flow 
 
 To soothe the lady's son. 
 
 She wept — she wept — she could no less- 
 Tears sweet and grateful ran ; 
 
 The mute thing of the wilderness 
 Hath softer heart than man ! 
 
 She came — that wild deer of the herd. 
 Moved by some strange control, 
 
 There was a mystic touch that stirred 
 The yearnings of her soul. 
 
GENOVEVA. 167 
 
 And there they dwelt, the gentle three, 
 
 In peace, if not in joy, 
 Until he stood beside her knee, 
 
 A fair and thoughtful boy. 
 The doe — the lady — and the youth. 
 
 Seven long and weary years ; 
 Their calm and patient life — in sooth 
 
 It was a sight for tears. 
 
 She fed him with the forest-fruits 
 
 That summer-branches gave ; 
 She gathered wild and wholesome roots 
 
 To cheer their vrintry cave : 
 They drank from that fair fountain's bed, 
 
 Whose faithful waters run 
 Bright as when first his name they shed, 
 
 Benoni, sorrow^'s son ! 
 
 And she hath framed, with chosen boughs, 
 
 A simple cross of wood, 
 And taught the lad his childhood's vows 
 
 To Jesu, mild and good : 
 He learnt the legend of the Cross ; 
 
 How Mary's blessed Son 
 Came down from Heaven to die for us, 
 
 And peace and pardon won. 
 
 He heard that shadowy angels roam 
 
 Along the woodland delJ, 
 To lead the blessed to a home 
 
 Where saints and martyrs dwell. 
 So when the lady wept and prayed. 
 
 He soothed her secret sighs : 
 " Sw^eet mother, let us die," he said, 
 
 " And rest in Paradise." 
 
168 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 " Alas, my son, my tender son ! 
 
 What wilt thou do," she sighed, 
 ** When I, thy mother, shall be gone ? 
 
 Thou hast no friend beside ! 
 There is thy Sire by heavenly birth, 
 
 His love is strong and sure ; 
 But he — thy father of the earth — 
 
 He spurns thee from his door!" 
 
 " Nay, tell me, mother dear," he said, 
 
 " I pray thee tell to me, 
 Are they not all men gone and dead, 
 
 Except thy son and thee?" 
 " Ah, no ! there be, my gentle child. 
 
 Whole multitudes afar; 
 Yet it is happier in this wild 
 
 Than where their dwellings are ! 
 
 They cast me out to woe and shame, 
 
 Here in this den to hide; 
 They blighted Genoveva's name, 
 
 Lord Siegfried's chosen bride. 
 But soon the weary will have rest ; 
 
 I breathe with failing breath ; 
 There is within thy mother's breast 
 
 The bitterness of death." 
 
 " Then, mother kind, in thy dark grave 
 
 Alone thou shalt not lie. 
 Before our cross, here in this cave. 
 
 Together let us die. 
 Yea, let me look on no man's face. 
 
 Since such stern hearts there be, 
 But here, in this our lonely place, 
 
 Here will I die with thee." 
 
GENOVEVA. 169 
 
 Ah, noble heart ! thy words are sooth, 
 
 I breathe then* sound again ; 
 Better to pass away in youth. 
 
 Than live with bearded men 
 
 And thou, the lady of his birth, 
 
 Farewell ! a calm farewell, — 
 Thou wert not meant for this vile earth, 
 
 But w^ith the saints to dwell. 
 
 PART THE THIRD. 
 
 Mark ye, how spear and helmet glare, 
 
 And red-cross banners shine,' 
 While thrilling trumpets cleave the air, 
 
 Along the Rhine — the Rhine! 
 Count Siegfried from the wars is come, 
 
 And gathering vassals wait 
 To welcome the stern warrior home 
 
 To his own castle-gate. 
 
 But where is she — his joy, his pride, 
 
 The garland of his fame ? 
 Away ! away ! her image hide, 
 
 He cannot brook her name ! 
 Yet soon the whispered words are breathed, 
 
 And faithful lips declare, 
 How a vile serpent's folds were wreathed 
 
 Around their lady fair. 
 
 They tell his vassal's treacherous crime, 
 
 The bow his malice bent, 
 Till Genoveva, in her prime," 
 
 Had perished innocent. 
 
170 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 Alas, what toiTent-tears must roll, 
 
 In fierce and angry shower ! 
 Oh, what shall soothe Count Siegfried's soul 
 
 In that o'erwhelming hour ! 
 
 He hides him in some vaulted room, 
 
 Far from the light of day, 
 He will not look on beauty's bloom. 
 
 Nor hear the minstrel's lay. 
 They try him with the trumpet-sound 
 
 On many an echoing morn, 
 They tempt him forth with hawk and hound, 
 
 And breathe the hunter's horn. 
 
 They loose the gazehound from the chain, 
 
 They bring both steed and spear; 
 Lord Siegfried's hand must rule the rein, 
 
 And rouse the ruddy deer. 
 On through the wild the war-horse bounds 
 
 Beneath his stately form, 
 He charges 'mid those rushing hounds, 
 
 With footsteps like the storm. 
 
 "Down, Donner, down! hold, Hubert, hold!' 
 
 "What is yon sight of fear? 
 A strange Avild youth — a maiden bold — 
 
 That guard the panting deer ! 
 A fleecy skin was folded round 
 
 Her breast, with woman's pride, 
 And some dead fawn the youth had foimd, — 
 
 He wears its dappled hide. 
 
 *•' Who, whence are ye?" the wanior said, 
 " That haunt this secret cave ? . . . . 
 
 Ha ! is it so ? and do the dead 
 Come from their hollow grave?" 
 
GENOVEVA. 171 
 
 " I live — I breathe the breath of life — 
 
 No evil have I done — 
 I am thy true, thy chosen wife, 
 
 And this is Siegfried's son !" 
 
 He stood, as severed souls may stand, 
 
 At first, when forth they fare. 
 And shadowy forms, a stranger band, 
 
 Will greet them in the air: 
 He bounds — he binds her to his heart, 
 
 His own, his rescued bride ; 
 No more, oh, never more to part. 
 
 Even death shall not divide ! 
 
 See now, they move along the wild 
 
 With solemn feet and slow. 
 The warrior and his graceful child, 
 
 The lady and the doe ! 
 They stand before the castle-gate. 
 
 Rich with the clustering vine ; 
 Again shall Siegfried hold his state. 
 
 Beside the Rhine — the Rhine! 
 
 They come — they haste from many a land. 
 
 For fast the tidings spread. 
 And there doth Genoveva starid. 
 
 Bright as the arisen dead. 
 Her mother weeps — by God's dear grace 
 
 Glad tears are in her eye ; 
 Duke Pfalz hath seen his daughter's face. 
 
 And now — now let him die. 
 
 Yea, from his calm and distant cell 
 
 The sainted Hildorf came. 
 His spirit bowed beneath the spell 
 
 Of Genoveva's name. 
 
172 GERMAN BALLADS, &C. 
 
 He came — lie sought that solemn cave, 
 
 The lady's patient home — 
 He measured it with aisle and nave, 
 
 He shaped a shadowy dome. 
 
 He knelt in votive solitude, 
 
 He fixed both saint and sign, 
 And bade them build in that lone wood 
 
 A fair and stately shrine. 
 There might you read for many an age, 
 
 In the rich window's ray, 
 Traced as along some pictured page, 
 
 The legend of my lay. 
 
 The image of their youth was there, 
 
 The bridegroom and the bride — 
 The porch where Genoveva fair 
 
 Knelt at her Siegfried's side. 
 There, through the storied glass, the scene 
 
 In molten beauty falls. 
 When she with mild and matron-mien 
 
 Shone in her husband's halls. 
 
 There was the cave, the wood, the stream. 
 
 In radiance soft and warm, 
 And evermore the noonday beam 
 
 Came through some angel's form. 
 The youth was shewn in that wild dress, 
 
 His mother's cross he bare ; 
 Saint John in the old wilderness 
 
 Was not more strangely fair. 
 
 But where they breathe their holiest vows. 
 
 And eastern sunbeams fall, 
 A simple cross of woodland boughs 
 
 Stands by the chancel-wall. 
 
GENOVEVA. 173 
 
 It is the lady's lonely sign, 
 
 By mournful fingers made ; 
 The selfsame symbol decks the shrine 
 
 That soothed the cavern's shade. 
 
 Behind yon altar, reared on high, 
 
 A lady breathes in stone, 
 A sculptured deer is couching nigh, 
 
 An infant weeps alone. 
 A word is there — but not of woe — 
 
 One voice, a prayer to claim ; 
 Beneath the lady and the doe 
 
 Is Genoveva's name ! 
 
 Thus lived, thus loved she ; and she died— - 
 
 But old, and full of days. 
 Ask ye how time and truth have tried 
 
 The legend of her praise ? 
 She of my song in Eden's bowers 
 
 A sainted lady lies. 
 And wears a garland of the flowers 
 
 That grow in Paradise. 
 
 R. S. H. 
 
174 
 
 ^0 mv Jpn'fnbs. 
 
 SCHILLER. 
 
 My friends! there liave been fairer days than ours, 
 The past hath gathered more ilkistrious hours ; 
 
 For even if silence dwelt on history's page, 
 The stones which men unbosom from the sod 
 Would borrow tongues to tell how once there trod 
 A race of heroes in a nobler age. 
 
 But 'tis past, 'tis gone ! we cannot win it 
 
 Back from its silent rest ; 
 We — we live ! Ours is each passing minute ! 
 Our portion is the best ! 
 
 My friends ! there yet are fairer climes than ours. 
 Bright lands, with sky all sun, and turf all flowers — 
 
 So doth the tale of many a wanderer say. 
 But if, what Nature to our soil denies, 
 Her sister Art's more bounteous hand supplies. 
 Let us rejoice beneath that tempered ray ! 
 
 If here the laurel scorn to bloom. 
 
 And winter seals the myrtle's doom; 
 
 Yet may we round our temples twine 
 
 The clusters of the hardier vine. 
 
 Earth's greatness holds her court on other shores, 
 Where twice two worlds display their treasure-stores. 
 
 Where father Thames unfolds his waters fair ; 
 There, thousand vessels pass in beauty by. 
 There are all costly sights to tempt the eye, 
 And gold, the god of earth, is mighty there. 
 But never is the sunlight seen 
 
 In tossing waves that foam and break ; 
 Tranquil brooklets, still and sheen, 
 These his chosen mirror make. 
 
TO MY FRIENDS. 
 
 175 
 
 The very beggar at the angel's gate ' 
 Can boast a pomp above our Northern state ; 
 He looks on Rome — eternal, only, Rome! 
 All beauty to his eager gaze is given. 
 Where, like a second heaven within the heaven, 
 St. Peter rears his wide and wondrous dome. 
 
 But Rome in all her majesty 
 
 Is but the grave of days gone by ; 
 
 Tliere's life in the more lowly flowers 
 
 Which crown for us the verdant hours. 
 
 Ay, friends! in other regions may appear 
 A greater life than fills our humble sphere ; 
 
 But there is nothing new beneath the sky ; 
 And, lo, upon the world's successive stage 
 We see the greatness of each passing age 
 Gather itself into our treasury. 
 
 While repetition is our earthly lot, 
 
 Still fancy shines in youth's eternal day; 
 That which in time or place existeth not, 
 That only, time is powerless to decay ! 
 
 S. M. 
 
 1 Porta Angelica, Rome. 
 
Prince Eugene once in Suabia paid visits far and wide, 
 And 'mong the rest to Reutlingen this favour did betide. 
 Now, what a stir the hero made my verses scarce can tell, 
 Or how the honour to express that to the mayor fell, 
 As he a council gathered quick to signify the same. 
 And by some act to shew his sense of Eugene's mighty 
 
 name. 
 Much argued they what best to do, or what was best to say ; 
 Whether with shouts and cheers to hail the hero on his way, 
 With feast and dance to bid him speed, and tell his great 
 
 renown, [crown : 
 
 Or with the victor's golden wreath his honoured brows to 
 
180 PART II. 
 
 Long the debate and eloquent that hatched the bright design, 
 To pledge him in a flowing cup of famed Reutlingen wine. 
 And now unto the prince they brought a bowl with 
 
 quantum siiff. 
 Of this true wine of Reutlingen — right sour and nauseous 
 
 stuff! 
 With heart of grace Prince Eugene quick despatched the 
 
 potion down, 
 Though sorely rued he on such terms to gratify the town. 
 " Ay," thought the cits, to see him so imbibe their griping 
 
 wine, 
 " That beaker had the genuine smack, by such a potent sign ; 
 Haste, bring another, quick as thought, a bowl both large 
 
 and wide. 
 That now the prince our famous wine may quaflf in flowing 
 
 tide ! " 
 Alas, poor prince, how^ ached thy jaws to hear so dire a 
 
 speech ! 
 As if his latest hour were come, he gravely did beseech 
 To taste no more in hall or bower of such a nauseous stufl", 
 Of which I wot he felt right well his skin had quantum suff. 
 With thanks and bows Prince Eugene then addressed the 
 
 mayor's train : 
 "Much rather, honoured councillors, I'd storm Belgrade 
 
 again. 
 Than face another such a draught of sour Reutlingen wine. 
 Take my advice, if stuff'like this you swallow when you dine, 
 Drink it, and welcome, but to ask your luckless guests 
 
 refrain ; 
 For rather, through the smoke and flame, I'd storm Bel- 
 grade again." 
 
181 
 
 Could we only give credit to half we are told, 
 There were sundry strange monsters existing of old ; 
 For, without our disturbing those very large bones — 
 Which have turned (for the rhyme's sake, perhaps) into 
 stones. 
 
 And have chosen to wait a 
 
 Long while hid in strata. 
 While old Time has been dining on empires and thrones — - 
 
 (Old bones and dry bones. 
 
 Leg-bones and thigh-bones, 
 Bones of the vertebrae, bones of the tail. 
 Very like, only more so, the bones of a whale. 
 Bones that were very long, bones that were very short. 
 They have never as yet found a real fossil merry-thought, 
 Perchance because mastodons, burly and big. 
 Considered all funny bones quite infra dig.) 
 Sculls have they found in strange places imbedded. 
 Which at least prove their owners were very long-headed ; 
 And other queer things, — which it's not my intention. 
 Lest I weary your patience, at present to mention. 
 As I think I can prove, without farther apology, 
 What I said to be true sans appeal to geology, 
 That there lived in the good old days gone by 
 Things unknown to our modern philosophy. 
 And a giant was then no more out of the way. 
 Than a dwarf is now in the present day. 
 
 Sir Eppo of Epstein was young, brave, and fair ; 
 Dark were the curls of his clustering hair, 
 Dark the moustache that o'ershadowed his lip, 
 And his glance was as keen as the sword at his hip ; 
 o2 
 
182 PART II. 
 
 Though the enemy's charge was like lightning's fierceshock, 
 His seat was as firm as the wave-beaten rock; 
 And woe to the foeman whom pride or mischance 
 Opposed to the stroke of his conquering lance. 
 He carved at the board, and he danced in the hall, 
 And the ladies admired him — each one and all : 
 In a word, I should say he appears to have been 
 As nice a young " ritter " as ever was seen. 
 
 He could not read nor write. 
 
 He could not spell his name ; 
 
 Towards being a clerk, Sir Eppo his + mark 
 
 Was as near as he ever came. 
 
 He had felt no vexation 
 
 From multiplication ; 
 
 Never puzzled was he 
 
 By the rule of three ; 
 
 The practice he'd had 
 
 Did not drive him mad, 
 
 Because it all lay 
 
 Quite a different way. 
 
 The asses' bridge, that bridge of sighs. 
 
 Had (lucky dog !) ne'er met his eyes. 
 In a very few words, he expressed his intention 
 Once for all to decline every Latin declension, 
 When persuaded to add, by the good Father Herman, 
 That most classical tongue to his own. native German. 
 And no doubt he was right in 
 Point of fact, for a knight in 
 Those days was supposed to like nothing but fighting ; 
 And one who had learned any language that is hard, 
 Would have stood a good chance of being burned for a 
 
 wizard. 
 
THE ENCHANTED NET. 183 
 
 Education, being then never pushed to the verge ye 
 Now see it, was chiefly confined to the clergy. 
 
 'Twas a southerly wind and a cloudy sky, 
 For aught that I know to the contrary ; 
 If it wasn't, it ought to have been proper/y, 
 As it's certain Sir Eppo, his feather-bed scorning, 
 Thought that something proclaimed it a fine hunting 
 morning ; 
 
 So pronouncing his benison 
 
 O'er a cold haunch of venison, 
 He floored the best half, drank a gallon of beer. 
 And set out on the Taunus to chase the wild deer. 
 
 Sir Eppo he rode through the good green wood, 
 And his bolts flew fast and free ; 
 He knocked over a hare, and he passed the lair 
 (The tenant was out) of a grisly bear. 
 He started a wolf, and he got a snap shot 
 At a bounding roe, but he touched it not, 
 Which caused him to mutter a naughty word 
 In German, which luckily nobody heard, 
 For he said it right viciously ; 
 And he struck his steed with his armed heel, 
 As though horse-flesh were but iron or steel, 
 Or any thing else that's unable to feel. 
 
 What is the sound that meets his ear? 
 
 Is it the plaint of some wounded deer? 
 
 Is it the wild-fowl's mournful cry. 
 
 Or the scream of yon eagle soaring high? 
 
 Or is it only the southern breeze 
 
 Waving the boughs of the dark pine-trees? — 
 
 No — Sir Eppo, be sure 'tis not any of these : 
 
184 PART II. 
 
 And hark again ' 
 It comes more plain — 
 'Tis a woman's voice in grief or pain. 
 
 Like an arrow from the string, 
 Like a stone that leaves the sling, 
 Like a railroad-train with a Queen inside, 
 With directors to poke and directors to guide. 
 Like the rush upon deck when a vessel is sinking, 
 Like (I vow I'm hard-up for a simile) winking, 
 Sir Eppo sprang forward, o'er river and bank all. 
 And found — a young lady chained up by the ankle,- 
 Yes, chained up in a cool and business-like way. 
 As if she'd been only the little dog Tray ; 
 While, the more to secure every knight-errant's pity. 
 She was really and truly excessively pretty. 
 
 Here was a terrible state of things ! 
 
 Down from his saddle Sir Eppo springs, 
 
 As lightly as if he were furnished with wings. 
 
 While every plate in his armour rings. 
 
 The words that he uttered were short and few, 
 
 But pretty much to the purpose too, 
 
 As sternly he asked, with lowering brow, 
 
 " Who dared to do it?" and " Where is he now?" 
 
 'Twere long to tell 
 
 Each word that fell 
 From the coral lips of that demoiselle ; 
 However, as far as I'm able to see. 
 The pith of the matter appeared to be. 
 That a horrible giant, twelve feet high. 
 Having gazed on her charms with a covetous eye. 
 Had stormed their castle, murdered Papa, 
 And behaved very rudely to poor dear Mamma, 
 
THE ENCHANTED NET. 185 
 
 Taken french leave with the family plate, 
 And walked off with herself at a terrible rate ; 
 
 Then, by way of conclusion 
 
 To all this confusion. 
 
 Tied her up, like a dog, 
 
 To a nasty great log, 
 To induce her (the bmte) to become Mrs. Gog,- — 
 That 'twas not the least use for Sir Eppo to try 
 To chop off his head, or to poke out his eye, 
 As he'd early in life done a bit of Achilles 
 (Which much better than taking an ^' Old Parr's life- 
 pill" is), 
 Had been dipped in the Styx, or some equally old stream, 
 And might now face unharmed a battalion of Coldstream. 
 
 But she'd thought of a scheme, 
 Which did certainly seem 
 Ver}- likely to pay — no mere vision or dream. 
 It appears that the giant each day took a nap 
 For an hour (the wretch !) with his head in her lap : 
 Oh, she hated it so ! but then what could she do ? — 
 Ilere she paused, and Sir Eppo remarked, "Very true ;" — 
 And that during this time one might pinch him or shake 
 
 him. 
 Or do just what one pleased, but that nothing could wake 
 
 him, 
 While each horse and each man in the emperor's pay 
 Would not be sufficient to move him away. 
 Without magical aid, from the spot where he lay. 
 In an old oak-chest, in an up- stairs room 
 Of poor Papa's castle, was kept an heir -loom, 
 An enchanted net, made of iron links. 
 Which was brought from Palestine, she thinks, 
 
186 PART II. 
 
 By her great Grandpapa, who had been a crusader ; 
 If she had but got that, she was sure it would aid her. 
 
 Sir Eppo, kind man, 
 
 Approves of the plan ; 
 Says he'll do all she wishes as quick as he can ; 
 Begs she won't fret if the time should seem long ; 
 Snatches a kiss, which was " pleasant but wrong;" 
 Mounts, and taking a fence in good fox-hunting style, 
 Sets off for her family seat on the Weil. 
 
 The sun went down, 
 
 The bright stars burned, 
 
 The morning came, 
 
 And the knight returned ; 
 
 The net he spread 
 
 O'er the giant's bed ; 
 While the eglantine, and hare-bell blue. 
 And some nice green moss on the spot he threw ; 
 Lest perchance the monster alarm should take. 
 And not choose to sleep from being too wide awake. 
 
 Hark to that sound ! 
 
 The rocks around 
 Tremble — it shakes the very ground; 
 
 While Irmengard cries, 
 
 As tears stream from her eyes — 
 A lady-like weakness we must not despise — 
 (And here, let me add, I have been much to blame, 
 As I long ago ought to have mentioned her name) — 
 *' Here he comes! now do hide yourself, dear Eppo, pray; 
 For my sake, I entreat you, keep out of his way." 
 
 Scarce had the knight 
 Time to get out of sight 
 
THE ENCHANTED NET. 187 
 
 Among some thick bushes, which covered him quite, 
 Ere the giant appeared — oh, he was such a fright! 
 He was very square built, a good twelve feet in height. 
 And his waistcoat (three yards round the waist) seemed 
 
 too tight ; 
 While to add even yet to all this singularity, 
 He had but one eye, and his whiskers were carroty. 
 
 What an anxious moment ! — will he lie down ? 
 Oh, how their hearts beat! — he seems to frown, — 
 No, 'tis only an impudent fly that's been teasing 
 His sublime proboscis, and set him a sneezing. 
 
 Attish-hu ! attish-hu ! 
 
 You brute, how I wish you 
 Were but as genteel as the Irish lady, 
 
 Dear Mrs. O'Grady, 
 Who, chancing to sneeze in a noble duke's face, 
 Hoped she hadn't been guilty of splashing his Grace. 
 
 Now, look out. Yes, he will! — No, he won't! — by the 
 
 powers ! 
 I thought he was taking alarm at the flowers ; 
 But it luckily seems, his gigantic invention 
 Has at once set them down as a little attention 
 On Irmengard's part, done by way of suggestion 
 That she means to say " yes " when he next pops the 
 
 question. 
 
 There ! he's down ! now he yawns, and in one minute more — 
 
 I thought so, he's safe — he's beginning to snore; 
 
 He is wrapped in that sleep he shall wake from no more. 
 
 From his girdle the knighk took a ponderous key — 
 
 It fits — and once more is fair Irmeno^ard free : 
 
188 PART II. 
 
 From heel to head, and from head to heel, 
 
 They wrap their prey in that net of steel. 
 
 And they weave the edges together with care, 
 
 As you finish a purse for a fancy-fair. 
 
 Till the last knot is tied by the diligent pair. 
 
 At length they have ended their business laborious. 
 
 And Eppo shouts, "Bagged him, by all that is glorious!" 
 
 No billing and cooing, 
 
 You must up and be doing, 
 Depend on't. Sir Knight, this is no time for wooing; 
 You'll discover, unless you progress rather smarter, 
 That catching a giant's like catching a Tartar : 
 He still has some thirty-five minutes to sleep ; 
 Close to this spot hangs a precipice steep. 
 Like Shakespeare's tall cliff which they shew one at Dover; 
 Drag him down to the brink, and then let him roll 
 
 over ; 
 As they scarce make a capital crime of infanticide. 
 There can't be any harm in a little giganticide. 
 
 " Pull him, and haul him! take care of his head! 
 
 Oh, how my arms ache — he's heavy as lead!" 
 
 '' That'll do, love, — I'm sure I can move him alone, 
 
 Though I'm certain his weight is a good forty stone." 
 
 Yo, heave ho ! roll him along, 
 
 (It's exceedingly lucky the net's pretty strong) ; 
 
 Once more — that's it — there, now, I think. 
 
 He's done to a turn, he rests on the brink ; 
 
 At it again, and over he goes 
 
 To furnish a feast for the hooded crows ; 
 
 Each vulture that makes the Taunus his home. 
 
 May dine upon giant for months to come. 
 
THE ENCHANTED NET. 
 
 189 
 
 Lives there a man so thick of head 
 To whom it must in words be said, 
 How Eppo did the lady wed, 
 And built upon the giant's bed 
 A castle, walled and turreted ? 
 We will hope not ; or if there be, 
 Defend us from his company ! 
 
 F. E. S. 
 
VLf)t MtW of agaisDom. 
 
 In Suabia there stood of old a town of honest fame, 
 
 A sparkling fountain in the midst had gained a wondrous 
 
 name ; j 
 
 For in its virtues lay a power to make the foolish wise : 
 The Well of Wisdom it was called, a rare and welcome 
 
 prize ! , 
 
 Free access to that stream was had by all within the j 
 
 town, 
 No matter what their thirst might be, unchecked they 
 
 drank it down : j 
 
 But strangers, ere they dared to taste, must first permission j 
 
 gain i 
 
 Of the mayor and his counsellors, of such an honour 
 
 vain. 
 
THE WELL OF WISDOM. 191 
 
 A horseman once passed through the town, and saw that 
 
 fountain play, 
 And stopped to let his thirsty steed drink of it by the 
 
 way. 
 Meanwhile the rider gazed around on many a structure 
 
 fair. 
 Turret and spire of olden times that pierced the quiet 
 
 air. 
 
 I Such boldness soon attracted round the gaze of passers- 
 I by,- 
 
 I The mayor ran in robes of state, so quick was rumour's 
 
 cry, 
 That man and horse were at the well, the latter drinking 
 
 down 
 The precious gifts of Wisdom's Well, unsanctioned by the 
 
 town. 
 How swelled the mayor's wrath ! how loud his tones, as 
 
 thus he spoke, — 
 " What's this I see? Who's this that hath our civic man- 
 date broke ? 
 What wickedness mine eyes behold ! that wisdom, wasted 
 
 so 
 Upon a brute ; as punishment, from this you shall not go, 
 But stop a prisoner until our council's mind we hear!" 
 The rider stared ; but wiser grown, his steed pricked up 
 
 his ear, 
 And, turning round, he left the town more quickly than 
 
 he came, 
 While watch and ward were gone to guard his exit from 
 
 the same ; 
 Forgetting what the horse had drank, they all had gone 
 
 in state 
 To keep their prisoners secure, by guarding the wrong gate. 
 
192 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Henceforward 'twas a law, declared by solemn wig and 
 
 gown, 
 No rider with a thirsty horse should e'er pass through the 
 
 town ! 
 
193 
 
 2ri)f ©omlbat of Ittng %i\ixit^ iuit^ tl)p 33ragon. 
 
 Hey for the march of intellect, 
 
 The schoolmaster's abroad, 
 And still the cry is raised on high. 
 
 Obey his mighty word ; 
 Where'er we go, both high and low 
 
 Bow down before his nod ; 
 And the sceptre may hide its jewelled pride. 
 
 For our sceptre's the birchen rod. 
 
 And all "enlightened citizens" and "learned brothers" say. 
 
 That the world was never 
 
 One half so clever 
 As it is in the present day. 
 
 Now I deny 
 
 This general cry. 
 And will proceed to tell you why : 
 I've long since come to the conclusion 
 'Tis all a popular delusion. 
 
 Oh, I have seen many a wild-beast show. 
 
 From the day when Messrs. Pidcock and Co. 
 
 Were what vulgar people call all-the-go 
 
 To the time when society mourned for the loss 
 
 (All felt it, but no one like poor Mr. Cross) 
 
 Of " Chuney," who went raving mad, as 'tis said, 
 
 With the pressure and pain 
 
 He felt in his brain 
 From constantly bearing a trunk on his head. 
 
194 TAUT II. 
 
 And I have set eye on 
 
 That magnanimous lion, 
 
 Brave Wallace — oh, fye on 
 
 The hrutes who could hie on 
 
 Fierce bull-dogs to fly on 
 His monarchical mane ! I declare I could cry on 
 The bare thought, as one weeps when one goes to see " Ion. 
 
 Whether of low or of high degree, 
 Despite the " schoolmaster," 
 And " going a-head faster," 
 The arts and the sciences, 
 And all their appliances, 
 
 Never an animal, chained or loose. 
 As yet have I heard 
 Utter one single word. 
 Or so much as attempt to say " Bo !" to a goose. 
 
 But you'll see, if you read the next two or three pages. 
 That in what people now-a-days terai the dark ages. 
 When the world was some thousand years younger or so. 
 Beasts could talk very well ; and it wasn't thought low 
 For a real live monarch his prowess to brag on. 
 And bandy high words with an insolent dragon. 
 
 The good King Tidrich rode from Bern 
 
 (And a funny name had he), 
 His charger was bay, and he took his way 
 
 Under the greenwood tree ; 
 And ever he sang, as he rode along, 
 
KING TIDRICH AND THE DRAGON. 195 
 
 " It's a very fine thing 
 
 To be a crowned king, 
 
 And to feel one's right arm strong." 
 
 King Tidrich was clad in armour of proof 
 
 (Whatever that may be), 
 And his helmet shone with many a stone, 
 
 Inserted cunningly ; 
 While on his shield one might behold 
 A lion trying 
 To set off flying, 
 Emblazoned in burnished gold. 
 
 King Tidrich was counting his money o'er, 
 
 As he rode the greenwood through. 
 When he was aware of a " shocking affair,' 
 
 And a terrible " to-do :" 
 Then loudly he shouted, with pure delight, 
 *' A glorious row, 
 I make mine avow ; 
 I'll on, and view the fight." 
 
 And a fearful sight it was, I ween. 
 
 As ever king did see, 
 For a dragon old, and a lion bold. 
 
 Were striving wrathfully ; 
 But the monarch perceived from the very first - 
 And it made him sad, 
 For " a reason he had" — 
 That the lion would get the worst. 
 p2 
 
196 PART II. 
 
 When the lion saw the royal knight, 
 
 These were the words he said : 
 ** O mighty king, assistance bring. 
 
 Or I am fairly sped; 
 For the battle has been both fierce and long ; 
 Two days and a night 
 Have I urged the fight. 
 But the dragon's so very strong." 
 
 In a kind of low Dutch did the lion speak. 
 
 Nor his stops did he neglect, 
 But e'en in his hurry, for Lindley Murray 
 
 Preserved a marked respect ; 
 And he managed his H's according to rule : 
 Full well I ween 
 Must the beast have been 
 Taught at some famous school. 
 
 Long paused the royal hero then. 
 
 Grave thoughts passed through his brain ; 
 Of his queen thought he, and his fair country 
 
 He never might see again ; 
 He thought of his warriors, that princely band, 
 Of Eckhart true. 
 And Helmschrot too, 
 And Wolfort's red right hand. 
 
 But he thought of the lion he bore on his shield. 
 And he manned his noble breast, — 
 " 'Twixt the lion and me there is sympathy. 
 And a dragon I detest; 
 
KING TIDRICH AND THE DRAGON. 197 
 
 I must not see the lion slain ; 
 
 Both kings are we, 
 
 In our degree, 
 I of the city and he of the plain." 
 
 The first stroke that the monarch made, 
 
 His weapon tasted blood ; 
 From many a scale of the dragon's mail 
 
 Poured forth the crimson flood. 
 But when the hero struck again, 
 The treacherous sword 
 Forsook its lord, 
 And brake in pieces twain. 
 
 The dragon laid him on her back 
 
 With a triumphant air, 
 And flung the horse her jaws across, 
 
 As a greyhound flings a hare. 
 At a fearful pace to her rocky den. 
 To serve as food 
 For her young brood, 
 Away she bore him then. 
 
 They were a charming family, 
 
 Eleven little frights. 
 With deep surprise in their light-green eyes, 
 
 And fearful appetites ; 
 And they wagged their tails with extreme delight, 
 For to dine on king 
 Is a dainty thing 
 When one usually dines on knight. 
 
198 PART II. 
 
 Before them then the steed she threw, 
 
 Saddle, and bridle, and crupper. 
 And bade them crunch its bones for lunch, 
 
 While they saved the king for supper ; 
 Saying she must sleep ere she could sup, 
 For after the fight 
 With the lion and knight. 
 She was thoroughly used up. 
 
 A lucky chance for Tidrich : 
 
 He sought the dark cave over, 
 And soon the king did Adelring, 
 That famous sword, discover : 
 *' And was it here Siegfried died? 
 That champion brave. 
 Was this his grave ?" 
 In grief the monarch cried. 
 
 *' I have ridden with him in princely hosts, 
 
 I have feasted with him in hall ; 
 Sword, you and I will do or die. 
 
 But we'll avenge his fall." 
 
 Against the cavern's rocky side 
 
 The king essayed 
 
 The trusty blade. 
 
 Till the flames gleamed far and wide. 
 
 Up rose a youthful dragon then. 
 
 Right pallid was his hue ; 
 For with fear and ire he viewed the fire 
 
 From out the rock that flew. 
 
KING TIDRICH AND THE DRAGON. 199 
 
 These words he to the kmg did say : 
 
 " If the noise thou dost make 
 
 Should our mother awake, 
 It is thou wilt rue the day." 
 
 " Be silent, thou young viper," 
 'Twas thus the king replied, 
 *' Thy mother slew Siegfried true, 
 
 A hero brave and tried; 
 And vengeance have I vowed to take 
 Upon ye all. 
 Both great and small. 
 For that dear warrior's sake." 
 
 Then he aroused the dragon old, 
 
 Attacked her with his sword. 
 And a fearful fight, with strength and might, 
 
 Fought he, that noble lord. 
 The dragon's fiery breath, I ween. 
 Made his cuirass stout 
 Red hot throughout : 
 Such a sight was never seen. 
 
 Despair lent strength to the monarch then ; 
 
 A mighty stroke he made, 
 Through the dragon's neck, without a check, 
 
 He passed his trenchant blade. 
 At their mother's fall, each little fright 
 Began to yell 
 Like an imp of hell. 
 And nearly stunned the knight. 
 
200 PART II. 
 
 He struck right and left with Adelring, 
 
 That trusty sword and good, 
 And in pieces small he cut each and all 
 
 Of the dragon's hateful brood. 
 King Tidrich thus at honour's call, 
 On German land. 
 With his strong right hand, 
 Avenged Siegfried's fall. 
 
 Now ye whose spirits thrill to hear 
 
 The trumpet-voice of fame. 
 Or love to read of warrior deed. 
 
 Remember Tidrich's name ; 
 
 And mourn that the days of chivalry 
 
 Are past and o'er, 
 
 And live no more, 
 
 Save in their glorious memory. 
 
 F. E. S. 
 
 NOTES TO KING TIDRICH'S FIGHT WITH 
 THE DRAGON* 
 
 " The good Kbig Tidrich rode from Bern." Page 194. 
 
 King Tidrich, Dietrich, or Theoderic, the son of Thietmar, king of 
 Bern, and the fair OdiUa, daughter of Essung Jarl, was, as it were, tlie 
 central hero of the " Book of Heroes," which relates the deeds of the 
 champions who attached themselves to him, and the manner in which 
 they joined his fellowship. 
 
 " Of his queen thought he, and his fair country.'^ Pago 196. 
 
 Tidrich of Bern was also king of Aumlungaland (Italy); he espoused 
 Ilerraud, daughter of King Drusiad, a relation of Attila. 
 
KING TIDRICH AND THE DRAGON. 201 
 
 " Of Eckhart true, 
 And Helmschrot too. 
 And Wolfort's red right ha7id." Page 196. 
 These three champions were among the eleven heroes who accom- 
 panied Tidrich in his expedition to contend against the twelve guar- 
 dians of the Garden of Roses at Worms. 
 
 "And was it here Siegfried died ?" Page 198. 
 Sigurd, or Siegfried, son of Sigmond, king of Netherland, is the 
 chief hero of the Nibelungen Lay. There are various accounts of his 
 death, one of which supposes liim to have been destroyed by a dragon. 
 
 Should any reader wish to learn more of the various personages 
 here mentioned, we refer him to the " Illustrations of Northern Anti- 
 quities, from the earlier Teutonic and Scandinavian Romances," to 
 which we are indebted for our information on the subject. 
 
 PRINTED BY KOBSON, LEVEY, AND FR.VNKLYN, 
 Great New Street, Fetter Lane.