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THE POEMS OF UHLAND,
TRANSLATED INTO
ENGLISH VERSE,
WITH A SHOUT
IJurjgttaphtyal Jftemoir of flu |3oct,
WILLIAM COLLETT SANDARS.
LONDON :
WILLIAM EIDGWAY, 109, PICCADILLY,
1869.
£653
PREFACE.
In presenting this translation of the poems
of Uhland to the public, a short statement
is necessary of the reasons which have
guided the translator in the selection of the
pieces which have formed the subject of his
labours. The work has been divided into
three divisions : the first of which comprises
translations of those lyric poems which are
best capable of reproduction in a foreign
language; the second consists of a few
pieces selected from the patriotic songs,
epigrams and dramatic works of Uhland ;
while the third part is entirely occupied
with the translations of the Ballads and
Romances, which have principally tended
to endear the poet to his fellow-countrymen,
and to spread his fame in other lands. As
the works of Uhland are pervaded by an
essentially moral and even religious tone,
Ri S>/7£:Q
iv Preface.
it has been found advisable to pass over
very few poems as unsuitable. The second
division is necessarily a curtailed one ; as
patriotic and political poems lose their
interest, when the events which called
them into existence are no longer everyday
topics. The Distiohs and Sonnets have not
been rendered into English, as their force
and beauty suffer greatly in the process of
translation. The longer poem of Fortunatus
and his Sons has not been attempted, as the
translator is anxious not to defer the long-
intended publication of this little work. The
whole has been preceded by a short memoir
of Uhland, which, while not pretending to
be a complete biography of the poet, will, it
is hoped, enable the student to gather an
insight into the political and domestic inci-
dents which influenced his poetry, and at
the same time afford some guidance and
information to the thousands of educated
Englishmen to whom Uhland' s poetry is
Preface. v
unfortunately not so familiar as its merits
deserve. Many of the ballads remain un-
translated, but should this work meet with
encouragement from the public, translations
of other poems and ballads will be added
in a subsequent edition. "While portions of
Uhland's works have already been trans-
lated by able authors, such as Thackeray
and Longfellow, in a manner which pre-
serves the meaning and poetic rhythm of the
original, others have attempted translations,
who possess but a limited knowledge either
of prosody or the German language. The
great object of the translator has been to
render the poems as literally as possible,
and in almost every case the structure
and sense of the original have been closely
adhered to, and in many instances the
English translation has not received that
embellishment at the hands of the translator,
which a slight alteration of the meaning
suggested.
vi Preface.
The year in which each poem was written
by Uhland has been prefixed to the trans-
lation of the same ; so that by reference to
the biographical memoir, the reader may
see at what period of the poet's life and
under what circumstances it was composed.
The translator takes this opportunity of
expressing his sincere thanks to all friends
who so kindly aided his endeavours by the
promise of their patronage and support.
29, Duke Street, St. James's.
March, 1869.
CONTENTS.
Teanslatob's Preface
iii
Biographical Memoir
1
Lybic Poetby
. 27
Patriotic Songs, &c.
. 65
Deamatic Pieces
. 71
Ballads and Romances
. 103
POEMS IN THIS VOLUME AEEANGED IN
CHRONOLOGICAL OEDEE.
1804
1805
The Dying Heroes
The Blind Xing
Ode to Death
The King on the Tower
The Poor Man's Song
The Chapel
Peaceful Days .
A Wonder
The Monk and the Shepherd
Shepherd's Sunday-Song .
Determination .
The Garland
The Shepherd .
The Castle by the Deep
Walter the Faithful .
105
108
27
29
30
32
32
34
35
36
39
103
104
111
113
Vlll
Contents.
1805
The Hostess's Daughter .
127
1806
The Song of the Nuns
The Herd Boy's Song
The Three Sisters
The Black Knight .
36
38
115
119
1807
1808
How the World runs
Forest Song ....
A Happy Death
Peasant's Advice on Marriage
The Prisoner's Song .
An Old Man's Sayings
The Three Songs
Contentment
Sublime Love
By Night ....
Child Roland .
41
42
42
46
49
69
122
43
44
45
146
1809
A Bad Neighbourhood
The Blacksmith
The Shepherd's Winter- Song .
Schildeis ....
The Goldsmith's Daughter
The trusty Comrade
45
46
47
71
124
133
The Knight Paris 139
The Sword 177
1810
The Serenade (Voices of Death) . . 131
1811
The Praise of Spring
50
Ode to Tea
59
The Knight of St. George
134
Roland the Shield-bearer .
152
1812
Huntsman's Song
47
The Vale of Rest
54
The Castellan of Coucy
141
The Sunken Crown .
177
Contents.
IX
1813
The Serenade
79
1814
To a Child
Forwards
The Blind King
The Statue of Bacchus
The Minstrel's Curse
31
65
108
161
163
1815
A Norman Custom
The Mower-Maiden
87
128
1816
On a Starved Poet
Lament .
Vindication
The good old Eight .
52
55
55
66
1817
Prayer of a Wirtemberger
68
1819
To Anonyma
51
1822
The Gossamer
The Churchyard in Spring
44
49
1825
In an Album
70
1829
On a Girl dancing
The Elm-tree of Hirsau
52
178
1834
The Larks .
A Poet's Blessing
May Dew .
The Organ .
The Mavis
The Luck of Eden-hall
The Bridge of Bidassoa
56
57
58
132
133
170
174
1847
The Last Palsgrave .
173
INDEX.
Album, In an
Anonyma, To
Bacchus, The Statue of
Bad Neighbourhood, A
Bidassoa, The Bridge of
Black Knight, The
Blacksmith, The .
Blind King, The .
Bridge, The, of Bidassoa
Castellan, The, of Coucy
Castle, The, by the Deep
Chapel, The .
Child, To a .
Child Roland
Churchyard, The, in Spring
Contentment
Coucy, The Castellan of
Crown, The Sunken
Death, Ode to
Death, A Happy .
Death, Voices of .
Determination
Dying Heroes, The
Eden-hall, The Luck of
Elm-tree, The, of Hirsau
Forest Song .
Forwards
Garland, The
Girl Dancing, On a
Goldsmith's Daughter,
Good Old Eight, The
Gossamer, The
The
Index.
XI
Happy Death, A .
Herd Boy's Song .
Heroes, The Dying
Hirsau, The Elm-tree of
Hostess's Daughter, The
How the World runs .
Huntsman's Song
King, The, on the Tower
King, The Blind .
Knight, The Black
Knight of St. George, The
Knight Paris, The
Lament
Larks, The .
Last Palsgrave, The
Luck, The, of Eden-hall
Mavis, The .
May Dew
Minstrel's Curse, The
Monk, The, and the Shepherd
Mower-Maiden, The
Neighbourhood, A Bad
Night, By .
Norman Custom, A
Nuns, Song of the
Old Man's Sayings, An
Organ, The .
Palsgrave, The Last
Paris, The Knight
Peaceful Days
Peasant's Advice on Marriage
Poet's Blessing, A
Poor Man's Song, The
Praise of Spring, The .
42
38
105
178
127
41
47
29
108
119
134
139
55
56
173
170
133
58
163
35
128
45
45
87
36
69
132
173
139
32
46
57
30
50
xn
Index.
Prayer of a Wirtemberger
Prisoner's Song, The .
Revenge
Eight, The Good Old .
Roland, Child
Roland the Shield-bearer
Sayings, An Old Man's
Schildeis
Serenade, The
Serenade, The (Voice- of Death)
Shepherd, The .
Shepherd's Sunday-Song
Shepherd's Winter-Song
Sisters, The Three
Songs, The Three
Spring, The Praise of
St. George, The Knight of
Starved Poet, On a
Statue, The, of Bacchus
Sublime Love
Sunken Crown, The
Sword, The .
Tea, Ode to .
Three Sisters, The
Three Songs, The
Trusty Comrade, The
Uhland, Memoir of
Vale of Best, The
Vindication .
Voices of Death .
Walter the Faithful
Wirtemberger, Prayer
Wonder, A .
of a
BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR.
Joiiann Ludwig Uhland was bom on the
2Gth of April, 1787, at Tuebingen, a small
university town, situated on the river
Neckar, in the kingdom of Wirtemberg.
The oldest of his ancestors, of whom any
account has come down to us, was Johann
Michael Uhland, who distinguished himself
at the storming of Belgrade in the year
1688, by killing a Turkish Pacha with his
own hand : as a memorial of which exploit,
he assumed, as a device, rather than as a
real coat of arms, the figure of a man hold-
ing a Turkish sabre in one hand, and a
spade in the other. This doughty warrior
was the great-great-grandfather of our poet*
His great-grandfather was invested with the
rights of a citizen of Tuebingen in the year
1720, and in this city he established a house
of business, which bears his name up to the
B
i Biographical Memoir.
present day. The elder of his sons entered
his father's business, but the younger, Lud-
wig Joseph, the grandfather of our poet,
became Professor of History and Theology
at the University of his native town, and the
author of several poems which are still ex-
tant, and died at the advanced age of 81,
when his celebrated grandson was already
16 years old. Among the numerous sons of
Ludwig Joseph Uhland, Johann Friederich,
the father of our poet, occupied the post of
Secretary to the University of Tuebingen,
and married Elizabeth Hofer, whose father
held a similar appointment at that place.
Uhland' s father bore a striking resemblance
to the philosopher Kant, and some traces of
this similarity of feature were observable in
his son Ludwig ; but it is doubtless from
his grandfather, Ludwig Joseph, that our
poet received as an inheritance, the germs
of that poetic talent, which was destined to
render the name of Uhland a household-
spirit in Suabia. Our poet had two brothers,
who both died young, and one sister, Louisa,
who also died before her brother, leaving
only one son, Ludwig Meyer, who is still
Biographical Memoir. 3
alive and greatly resembles his illustrious
uncle.
The birth and parentage of the subject of
this Memoir having been thus briefly de-
scribed, the name, Uhland, will for the
future, inasmuch as no ambiguity is likely
to arise, be applied solely to the poet, whose
life and works form the subject of the
volume.
At an early age Uhland was sent to the
schools of his native town, where his pro-
gress was very satisfactory, and the espe-
cial taste and zeal which he displayed for
Latin verse, doubtless tended greatly to the
culture of a true poetic taste, and to the
development of that easy flow, which
hereafter characterized his poetry. On
one occasion he made 101 hexameters in
one day, it is to be hoped of rather better
quality than some specimens produced in
the Vulgus sets of our public schools, that
is, if any master was unfortunate enough to
be compelled to wade through them.
We have a poem in German composed
in Uhland's twelfth year, but it does not
exhibit any greater talent or skill in versifi-
B 2
4 Biographical Memoir.
cation than we should expect in a sharp and
clever boy of that age ; but two poems
written at the age of fourteen give evidence
of poetic talent, and particularly of that
power of truthfully and vividly describing
nature, which was the distinctive mark of
the mature poet.
Uhland was a boy of a lively and merry
disposition, and possessed, in common with
the majority of German children, a lively
interest in those games in which mimic
manoeuvres and tin soldiers play a prominent
part. He displayed a great natural taste
for drawing, so much so indeed, that in his
boyhood his inclination seemed to waver
between poetry and painting. He possessed
also a decided musical talent, although he
did not play any instrument, but was in the
habit of whistling accompaniments to his
mother when she played the piano.
In the autumn of the year 1802 Uhland
was obliged on matriculation to make choice
of a profession. His natural inclination led
him towards a career which would necessi-
tate philological studies, but this idea was
combatted by his father, who wished him
Biographical Memoir 5
to become a Doctor of Medicine, and to
succeed to the practice of his uncle, who
was a physician of considerable reputation ;
but when Uhland was called upon to decide
definitely between jurisprudence and medi-
cine, he chose the former. It was not,
however, before the year 1805, that Uhland
was obliged to commence in earnest his
studies in jurisprudence, and in the interim
his poetical genius had developed itself
with rapid strides, while many extraneous
causes served to stimulate and at the same
time influence and characterize the thoughts
and opinions of the budding poet.
A decided reaction was at the epoch in
question setting in against a trammeled and
formal subserviency to the style and ideas
of classical authors, and the course of poli-
tical events naturally stirred up in the
German breast all that was inspiriting and
glorious in the bygone ages of the German
nation.
A full stream of this chivalrous and pa-
triotic feeling flowed through the youthful
and poetic Uhland, and some of the finest
of his poems bear the date 1804 or 1805;
6 Biographical Memoir.
and among these several, which already
bear the mark of an advanced skill in ver-
sification, as will be seen by reference to
the dates prefixed to the translations.
Besides the poems which are published in
the usual editions, the student is referred to
" The Life and Poems of Ludwig Uliland"
by Friederich N otter, Stuttgart, 1863, for
the text of several beautiful pieces, which
were written at this time.
During his residence at college, Uliland
did not enter into the frivolities and dissipa-
tions of a student's life, and though willing
enough to enjoy the society of friends of
his own age and standing, his intercourse
with them was even at that time marked by
that reticence and silence in conversation
which distinguished his bearing in society
in his subsequent life. His intimate friends
were, Harprecht, who was killed in the
Eussian Campaign ; Schoder, who was
obliged to leave Wirtemberg for political
causes, and who was drowned in the Baltic ;
Karl Meyer, who was devotedly attached
to him during his whole lifetime ; and last,
but not least, Justin Kernel* : his friend-
Biographical Memoir. 7
ship with whom affords a remarkable
instance of the well-worn aphorism, that
extremes meet; inasmuch as Kerner ex-
hibited in his vivacious and genial eccen-
tricity a marked contrast to the sedate and
placid Uhland. In the weekly meetings of
the society of which these students were
members, the opinions of Uhland were
always listened to with great deference, as
he always clinched the subject under dis-
cussion with precision and succinctness.
Under the nom tie plume of Florens, he
sent at this period several contributions to
a periodical which was produced amongst
the students at Tuebingen ; and the arrival
of Vamhagen at that town brought him into
closer connection with Chamisso and
Fouque, and other poets of the Romantic
School. In the course of the year 1808,
Uhland completed his academical course,
and passed his final examination with great
credit. His compositions during the next
two years are fragmentary in their nature,
owing to the necessity for application to
further study for his Doctor's degree, which
he took in April, 1810.
8 Biographical Memoir.
Shortly after this, Uhlancl carried into
execution a plan which he had long medi-
tated, namely, a journey to Paris. The
principal object of this undertaking was,
that he might acquire a more intimate ac-
quaintance with French Jurisprudence, in-
asmuch as the Code Napoleon seemed
likely enough at that time to become the
law of the land in his native Wirtemberg.
At that time it was necessary to procure
the permission of the King before leaving
the country, and the liability of being re-
called at any moment greatly hampered
our poet, as he felt unwilling to embark in
any studies or undertakings which a peremp-
tory summons from his sovereign might
cause him hastily to abandon. To this
visit to Paris, however, may be attributed
many of the finest of Uhland's poems, as
well as his productions under the head of
Old French Literature. The Cycle of poems
of which Roland is the hero, doubtless
owed its origin to the opportunities which
our poet was offered during his residence
at Paris of free access to the libraries filled
with manuscripts descriptive of the doings
Biographical Memoir. 9
of King Charlemagne and his Paladins.
His stay in Paris occupied a space of ten
months. During his residence in the French
capital Uliland led a very retired life, al-
though he was received at the Austrian
Embassy, and had the advantage of Varn-
hagen's introduction to various friends,
who were at the time staying at Paris.
Chamisso gives the opinion which he had
at that time formed of our poet as follows :
" I have made the personal acquaintance
of Uhland, and read a considerable number
of his poems, amongst other his 4 Shiff-
lein.' I must confess that, after Goethe,
no poet has to such a degree touched me.
There are such things as excellent poems,
which everybody writes and nobody reads ;
and there are again very excellent poems
which nobody writes and everybody reads,
and under this latter head I must class
those of Uhland." By the instrumentality
of Varnhagen, Uhland also became ac-
quainted with Emanuel Becker, with whom
he subsequently contracted an intimate
friendship. The poet and the philologist
pursued their studies together, and were
io Biographical Memoir.
accustomed to pass the evening in Uhland's
room in the fifth storey of the Hotel de
Sicile in the Rue Eichelieu, reading to one
another, and conversing on subjects of mu-
tual interest.
On his return journey to Germany, Uh-
land stayed some time at Strasburg, and
also paid a visit to his friend Kemer at
Wildbad, and concerted plans with him for
the publication of the Poetical Almanack
for 1812, as well as other undertakings, in
which the united talent of the Romantic
School of North and South Germany was
represented. On his return to Tuebingen, he
entered into intimate friendship with Gustav
Schwab ; whose lively character was of great
service in awakening and calling into play
the more volatile traits of our poet's dis-
position.
In December, 1812, in accordance with
the wish of his father, he entered the office
of the Minister of Justice, Von der Luhe,
at Stuttgardt, as an unpaid supernumerary.
His repeated applications to be advanced to
the post of paid secretary met, however,
with no response, and not being particularly
pleased with the duties of his situation,
Biographical Memoir. 1 1
where his enlarged ideas were often opposed
to the red-tapeism of Wirteinberg official
routine, he tendered his resignation in the
summer of 1814, which was accepted with
regret by his chief, who had learnt to ap-
preciate the energy and decision of his
subordinate, however much he may have
disagreed with his views.
Uhland was now regularly enrolled
among the ranks of the advocates at Stutt-
gardt, but he confined his efforts principally
to the defence of criminals and the poor.
About this period many of the poems of
a lighter and more amusing character were
composed at the house of his friend, Albert
Schott, who was the principal member of
the society of the Schattenkraenzchen, so
called, because its sittings were held at an
inn, whose sign was the Shadow.
In the year 1815, the first edition of
Uhland's poems was presented to the public.
By the instrumentality of his friend Von
Wangenheim, Cotta was reluctantly induced
to carry out the publication. The undertak-
ing did not meet with any great success.
The second edition was printed in 1820,
12 Biographical Memoir.
the third in 1826 ; and there is a report
current among booksellers that the larger
portion of the two first editions was even-
tually disposed of to the waste-paper trade ;
but after the year 1831 the sale was a rapid
one; so much so, that up to the present
time upwards of forty editions have ap-
peared. In explanation of this slow but
steady increase of Uhland's popularity may
be adduced the fact, that the period imme-
diately succeeding the violent political com-
motion of the commencement of the century
was not a favourable one for the reception
of the calm and peaceful lyrics of our poet.
But a quieter period followed, when Uh-
land's name became also better known
in the political and literary world. It was
then that the sister-muse of Music lent her
aid to his quill, and the well-known com-
poser, Conradin Kreuzer, did much to render
Uhland celebrated throughout Germany and
the world at large, by setting many of his
songs to music. Having thus offered an ex-
planation, why the popularity of our poet
was not so great at first as it was hereafter
destined to become, we are led by the fact,
Biographical Memoir. 13
that so many of his poems were set to music,
to consider this peculiarity of his poetry.
The cause undoubtedly is, that the natural
and unadorned style of Uhland's composi-
tions will better bear the addition of mu-
sical expression than the more laboured and
ornate productions of Goethe and Schiller;
and the fact, that the ballads and legends
of his country formed the subject of the
greater portion of his poems, tended to
endear his poetry to the hearts of the
people around him ; and it is really after all
the heart of the working classes that must
be reached and touched, in order to render
a poet truly popular to a nation at large.
Soon after the first publication of his
poems, Uhland was called upon to enter
seriously into political life. It would be of
no advantage or interest to wade through
the mass of German politics, which belongs
to the epoch which was inaugurated by the
Congress of Vienna. The feeling against
France had never been a bitter one in Wir-
temberg, owing to its King being a steady
ally of Napoleon, and to the country having
received an augmentation of power and
14 Biographical Memoir.
territory at the hands of the conqueror.
But at the end of the war, when the King-
was obliged to form part of a confederation,
and to rule constitutionally, the voice of
the people made itself heard, and demands
arose for rights and privileges, to which
the people were justly entitled, and which,
indeed, they had already enjoyed in bygone
times. Among the citizens of Stuttgardt,
who thus raised their voice in the cause of
political freedom, Uhland played a promi-
nent part : and at this time were written
many of the patriotic and political pieces,
which have not been reproduced in the trans-
lation, as being of no great interest even to
Germans at the present time and of none
at all to ourselves, and indeed, as a rule,
these poems do not possess in themselves
any great literary merit. But the aspect
of the political horizon was materially
changed by the unexpected death of King
Friederich, in October, 181 G. But the
hopes, which were raised by the accession
of a King, who during his father's life-time
had opposed the policy of that sovereign,
and advocated concessions to the people,
Biographical Memoir. 15
were soon dashed to the ground, and Von
Wangenheim, the Prime Minister of Friede-
rich enjoyed the confidence of the new
King. The demands and outcries of the
agitators increased in violence, and Uh-
land lent his talent and influence to
uphold the sweeping and ever increasing
demands of the popular party, which even
went so far as to advocate the total aboli-
tion of the Upper House. Matters reached
a climax when the deputies rejected the
ultimatum of the King for the establishment
of a new constitution, and the assembly was
dissolved in June, 1817, and an interregnum
without a constitution supervened. The
opposition of Uhland to the Court, and his
discontent with the condition of political
affairs, caused him to lead a somewhat
retired life, and his unyielding firmness in
upholding his principles even led to a tem-
porary estrangement from some of his old
friends. His opposition to the King did not,
however, prevent his composing a very
touching and laudatory poem on the death
of the Queen in 1819; for which act he
received the thanks of his sovereign.
1 6 Biographical Memoir.
On a new Parliament being summoned
to assemble at Ludwigsburg, Uhland was
cliosen by a large majority to represent the
district of Tuebingen. During the sittings
of this assembly the new proposals of the
King were accepted^ and a constitution es-
tablished, which placed Wirteraberg for
many years in an enviable position as
contrasted with the rest of Germany. In
celebration of this event, Uhland's drama,
Duke Ernest of Swabia, was, on October
18th, represented in the theatre at Stutt-
gardt, with a prologue written by the
author for the occasion. This drama had
appeared for the first time on the 7th of
May of the same year, and it and u Ludwig
der Baier " are the only two dramatic
works of Uhland which were completed.
The poetic beauty of these pieces will al-
ways ensure for them admiring readers,
but the want of dramatic talent and the
weakness in the connection of the parts will,
on the other hand ; tend to exclude them
from the stage.
In the year 1820, Uhland married Emily
Vischer, the u Ungenannte" of his poems.
Biographical Memoir. 1 7
Although not blessed with any children by
this union, the married years of Uhland's
life were passed in the enjoyment of un-
broken domestic happiness, and his labours
rendered easy and his trials light by the
companionship of a partner whose cha-
racter, tastes, and mode of thought were
similar to his own. The close attention
which Uhland bestowed on his duties in
the representative assembly may be seen
from the fact, that the wedding had to be
put off on the day appointed for its celebra-
tion, because parliamentary duties detained
the bridegroom at the hour which had been
settled on.
This change in Uhland's domestic affairs
was a very opportune one. His want of
success in his native Wirtemberg, in poli-
tical life, had led him to the fixed idea of
seeking his fortunes elsewhere ; and when
all his efforts to procure a Professorship in
some other German State were unsuccessful,
he was rapidly sinking into a morbid and
despondent frame of mind, from which his
marriage with his talented and sympathetic
wife fortunately rescued him. He went
i 8 Biographical Memoir.
indeed so far as to compare himself to John
the Parricide, the hero of a melancholy
dramatic piece, which he was at this time
sketching. In political matters his efforts
were at this time continuously directed
against any infringement of the constitu-
tion, and in bringing forward measures
which were ultra-liberal in their tendency.
In the year 1827 the wishes of Uhland's
heart were gratified by his being unani-
mously summoned to fill the chair of the
Professorship of German Literature at the
University of his native town of Tuebingen.
The government offered great opposition to
the election of the Senate, and it was only
after the lapse of six months, after repeated
applications from that body, that the go-
vernment finally consented to an appoint-
ment, which seemed to reward the indepen-
dent and contumacious deputy in an un-
merited manner. In consequence, Uhland
moved to Tuebingen in the commencement
of 1830, and began his course of lectures
in May of the same year : and took as his
subjects the Niebelungen Lied, and the
Mythological Sao-as of the North: and
Biographical Memoir. 1 9
succeeded in arousing; the interest and at-
tention of the students who joined his
classes in a wonderful degree.
But the Professor did not long continue
to hold his post. The French Revolution
of 1830, and the Polish Insurrection, had
stirred up a tumult throughout Europe
which was felt in a modified form in the
kingdom of Wirtemberg. Uhland again
took his place in the representative assem-
bly, and in order to be enabled to do so,
was compelled to resign his appointment
at the University. In the political debates
which supervened, the party to which Uh-
land belonged was in a decided minority ;
and in 1839 he retired to Tuebingen, where
he led a very quiet and retired life, till he
was again summoned into the arena of
politics by the political crisis of 1848. The
interim was employed in frequent journeys
to various parts of Germany, and even to
neighbouring countries, in some of which
expeditions he was accompanied by his
wife. Whilst on his travels, he was very
anxious to avoid all notoriety, and was
much annoyed when any public recognition
c2
2 o Biographical Memoir.
of his genius obliged him to appear in the
light of a public character. He was well
pleased, however, by the tribute paid to his
talent, when a girl of North Germany, who
had been deeply touched by his poem, ' The
Starved Poet/ sent him a piece of gold, in
order that he might be able to buy a good
draught of wine. In this well-known poem,
Uhland is said to have intended to repre-
sent the unfortunate Stoll of Vienna, and
of course the composition did not contain
any allusion to himself.
During this period Uhland did not com-
pose many pieces, and he is said to have once
replied to the question which a stranger
asked ; " Why he allowed his Muse to
slumber so long," by the answer; U I don't
let my Muse slumber, it is my Muse which
lets me."
In 1845, Uhland published a collection
of High and Low German Popular Songs,
thus doing for German, what Scott had
done for Scottish minstrelsy.
The disturbances of 1848, as stated above,
put an end to this tranquil existence. At
a popular meeting, held for the purpose of
Biographical Memoir. 1 1
bringing about that chimerical problem,
German Unity, Uhland spoke at great
length, and also with power and per-
spicuity ; and his speech was indeed at-
tended with such success, that at its con-
clusion, the whole assembly, simultaneously
and bare-headed, broke out into Uhland's
well-known song:
" Wcnn heut' ein Gcist herniederstiege."
Uhland was subsequently chosen to pro-
ceed as representative to Frankfort to the
Assembly of seventeen members convened
from all the German States to meet in that
city. Previous to his departure for Frank-
fort, the town and university of Tuebingen
honoured their delegate with a torch-light
procession, an attention which must have
been the more pleasing to Dhland, as afford-
ing a proof, that he enjoyed the confidence
of his fellow-subjects, though that of his
sovereign was withheld from him.
Uhland took but a small part in the dis-
cussion of the constitutional problem, but
spoke at some length in the final debates,
the details of which belong rather to the
22 Biographical Memoir.
sphere of History than to a biographical
Memoir. When the place of assembly of
the delegates was subsequently changed
from Frankfort to Stuttgardt, the life of
Uhland was exposed to some danger on the
forcible expulsion of the members from the
building where they were in the habit of
holding their sittings.
From this period of political excitement,
till his death in 1862, Uhland lived a
retired and uneventful life, in the society of
his friends and books, his opinions and
sentiments greatly toned down and softened
by age, but still opposed to the idea which
in his latter years he had strenuously cora-
batted, and which now seems to be a fait
accompli] viz. Prussian Hegemony.
In attending the funeral of an old ac-
quaintance in 1862, Uhland caught a severe
cold, which stretched him, for the first time
in his life, on a bed of sickness ; and the
disease, by gradually sapping his strength,
brought about bis dissolution on November
13th, 1862, at the age of 75 years. His
funeral was attended by representatives of
various learned bodies from all parts of
Biographical Memoir. 23
Germany, and by thousands of enthusiastic
admirers from among his countrymen and
fellow-students, and it was only the Govern-
ment which failed to pay the last token of
respect to the departed poet.
Such was Ludwig Uhland — a man who,
as has been already remarked by one of his
compatriots, if he is not entitled to be
reckoned amongst poets of the very highest
order, has attained such a fame, that it is
only the greatest of poets who can afford not
to be jealous of him — a man of virtuous
life, deep feeling,noble sentiments, unshaken
veracity, ingenuous modesty,manly courage,
and heartfelt love of his country, and who,
to crown all, was possessed with the gift of
true poetic talent to hand down these noble
qualities of his mind for the good of his
fellow- creatures and the delectation of futiin i
aires.
LYRIC POETRY.
LYRIC POETRY.
ODE TO DEATH.
1805.
When, as evening shades are lulling
Earth to rest, thou stray' st alone,
All the fruit and blossom culling
For thy sickle God hath sown,
Spare then, Death ! the babe which glancing
Upwards from its mother's breast,
By sweet ditties charmed to rest,
Sees the eyes whence love is dancing.
Spare to earth her sons, her treasure,
Through whose veins the life-streams
bound,
So with joyous songs of pleasure,
Shall our lifeless woods resound ;
Quench not, Death ! the sage's learning,
Round whose fuller light of day,
Interwoven, blithe and gay,
Still youth's moon-lit lamp is burning.
28 Lyric Poetry.
But on clouds of silver riding,
When the stars reveal their light,
Come, where by the lone hearth biding,
Weeps the old man night by night ;
Speak loved names to ease th' heart-
smarting,
Bear him to them to the shore,
Where the love-glance never more
Dims beneath the tears of parting.
And the youth, whom Love has given
Yearnings deep, to till his breast,
Who his open arms to Heaven
Stretches, in his wild unrest;
Or with eyes love-ardent roaming
Seeks the far star-blossomed skies —
Clasp him, Death, and kindly wise
Lead him to the purple gloaming :
Where mid bridal song and splendour
Love breathes on him pure and warm,
Greets him with a greeting tender,
Seen in spiritual form ;
A\ here an extasy supernal
Keeps its May-time in his soul,
In a life renewed and whole,
With a melodv eternal.
Lyric Poetry. - ( )
THE KING ON THE TOWER.
1805.
They arc lying- the heights so gray aloft,
The dusky valleys are hushed around,
And slumber is reigning, the breezes waft
To me no complaining sound.
I have eared and striven for every one's sake,
I have drunk with sorrow the sparkling
wine,
The night is here, and the sky is awake,
And there's joy in this soul of mine.
Oh thou golden writing in heaven's space,
Mine eyes seek gladly a sight so dear,
And ye tones of wonder, I scarce can trace,
How ye strike and ye charm my ear.
My hair has grown gray, and my sight is
gone,
My trophies of victory hang in the hall ;
I have rightly spoken and rightly done,
Oh when shall I rest at all ?
Oh heavenly rest ! how yearn I for thee,
Oh royal night ! thou lingerest long,
Ere the fuller light of the stars I see,
And list to a fuller song.
jo Lyric Poetry.
THE POOR MAN'S SONG.
1805.
It is a poor man that I am,
And lonesome is my way ;
Oh ! that once more it might be mine
To feel my spirit gay !
Once in my parents' loved home
A happy child was I,
But bitter anguish is my lot,
Since in the grave they lie.
The rich man's garden see I bloom,
The golden yield I see,
Mine is, alas, a fruitless path
Of care and agony.
Yet join I fain with silent woe
The busy throng of man,
And every one I wish good-day,
With all the warmth I can.
Yet, bounteous God ! Thou leav'st me not
Of every joy bereft,
A comfort sweet for all the world,
That falls from Heaven, is left.
Lyric Poetry. 3 1
In every village of the land
Thy holy fanes appear ;
The organ tone and choral song
Strike thence on every ear.
And sun and moon and stars their light
Still kindly shed on me,
And when the Vesper-bell resounds,
Then talk I, Lord ! with Thee.
Hereafter to Thy halls of bliss
To each a path is given,
Then come I too in wedding garb,
And feast with Thee in Heaven.
TO A CHILD.
1814.
From all that fills my wearied soul with
woe,
To thee, dear child ! for solace will I go,
Refreshing both my heart and sight
With thy angelic light,
With thy sweet innocence and purity,
Which flows unspotted from thy God to
thee.
n Lyric Poetry.
THE CHAPEL.
1805.
There above there stands a chapel,
Looking downwards on the vale ;
And below by spring and meadow,
Sings the shepherd-lad his tale.
From the height the bell is tolling,
And the funeral dirge sounds sad ;
Hushed are now the merry ditties,
And in silence harks the lad.
Upwards they are ever taken,
Who in life made glad the vale ;
Shepherd lad, oh take the warning,
Once for thee shall sound this wail.
PEACEFUL DAYS.
1805.
I love those days, when gently gliding,
The spring-tide grows beneath the gaze,
The sky its azure depths dividing,
Smiles on the earth with genial rays ;
Lyric Poetry. 3$
The ice is gray still in the valley,
But yet the hill-tops catch the sun,
Fair maidens from the cottage sally,
And children's play seems fresh begun.
Then stand I on the hill, discerning
With silent rapture, all below,
My heart is moved by gentle yearning,
Which to a wish shall never blow.
I am a child, and sport enraptured
With those delights which Nature shows,
By Nature's tranquil senses captured
My soul rests rocked in sweet repose.
I love those days, when gently gliding
The sun still lingers on the lea,
And old-men know they're not abiding : —
For then is Nature's jubilee ;
No more she gleams in pride and splendour,
Long is her youthful vigour flown,
In peace she broods o'er memories tender,
And scans the future, the unknown.
The soul but now so proudly soaring,
Stoops to the earth in lowly flight,
Contented, all things else ignoring,
Fond memory is her one delight ;
D
34 Lyric Poetry.
The sense of soft repose is thrilling,
Which to the soul kind Nature gave ;
It seems to me, as were I willing
To lay me in my peaceful grave.
A WONDER.
1805.
A few days past, and she was playing,
A child ! — it seems so long ago !
The flower its leaves is now displaying,
Now shutting, as if loth to blow ;
The cause of this, oh who can tell ?
Or are my senses 'neath a spell ?
Her words, 'tis true, are childlike still,
Her eyes are glancing bright and pure,
But hundred depths with meaning fill,
Which my enchanted gaze allure ;
7 Tis love alone this wonder works,
That love, where many a wonder lurks.
Lyric Poetry. $5
THE MONK AND THE SHEPHERD.
MONK.
Why standest thou in grief apart ?
Oh shepherd, tell to nie,
For I too have a wounded heart,
That draws rne unto thee.
SHEPHEED.
Thou askest that ! oh look around
This valley dear to me,
No flower doth deck my pasture ground,
And faded is each tree.
MONK.
Cease thy lament — what is thy pain?
Naught but a fitful dream ;
The clover soon with flowers again,
The tree with bloom, shall gleam.
The cross I kneel at will be seen
In woodland green and warm,
But it, alas ! doth ne'er grow green,
Bears aye a dying form.
D
36 Lyric Poetry.
SHEPHEKD'S SUNDAY-SONG.
1805.
The Lord's own day is here !
In all the plain I am alone,
Still hear I one sweet church-bell's tone,
Then silence far and near.
I worship on my knee !
Oh awe so sweet ! oh thrill so keen,
As were there many here unseen,
And knelt and prayed with me.
The heaven far away !
It seems so glorious and so clear,
Just, just as would the Lord appear,
On this the Lord's own day !
THE SONG OF THE NUNS.
1806.
Awake ! in melody supernal
Ye pious sisters, raise your notes,
Where heavenwards the cloud-rack
floats,
Lyric Poetry. 3 J
The purest Sun is brightly shining ;
In jubilee our tones combining,
We'll sing of Thee, Thou Love eternal.
Though all our tender blossoms wither,
And earthly passions mar their course,
Thou art a never-ending Source
At which to seek a virgin whiteness ;
A never-dying flame, whose brightness
Our hearts and altars guard together.
Oh heavenly babe, so sweet and tender,
Thou cam'st to earth all smilingly,
Within the Virgin's arms to lie,
From Thy bright eyes to her was given
To drink of glory straight from heaven,
Till round her shone her aureol's splendour.
Thy arms divine with wondrous pity
Thou didst upon the cross expand,
Then shrieks the storm, and groans
the land :
Come forth ! ye dead, your graves forsaking^
Come forth ! ye dead, your fetters breaking,
Christ calls you to the holy city.
38 Lyric Poetry.
Oh Love so deep we know it never !
This earth is but a trance to me,
Where dream I longingly of Thee ;
But there shall come a glorious waking,
When my poor ray its sphere forsaking
Shall shine in the Great Sun for ever.
THE HERD-BOY'S SONG.
1806.
A mountain shepherd-boy am I,
The castles far below I spy ;
The glorious sun I'm first to see,
He lingers longest here with me,
I am the mountain herd-boy.
Here is the cradle of the stream,
I drink it fresh from rocky seam ;
So small at first its boisterous course,
I throw my arms its rush across,
I am the mountain herd-boy.
The mountain is my very own,
Around me here the storm- winds groan ;
And when they howl from south to north,
My song rings louder than their wrath,
I am the mountain herd-boy.
Lyric Poetry. 39
Beneath me gleams the lightning dread,
But here the sky is blue o'erhead ;
I know the thunder well, and cry :
My father's cottage go not nigh ;
I am the mountain herd-boy.
And when the tocsin calls to fight,
And red is many a beacon light,
I leave my mount, and join the throng,
And swing my sword, and sing my song,
I am the mountam-herd boy.
DETERMINATION.
1805.
To these still groves I know she's coming,
To-day to do the deed I'll try,
What ! shall a maiden make me tremble,
Who really would not hurt a fly !
Though everybody greets her gladly,
Yet still I dare not say good-day ;
But from the star, which shines so kindly,
I always turn my face away.
40 Lyric Poetry.
The flowers, which bend their cups towards
her,
The birds, which sing their merry song,
Dare mention love, and talk of wooing ;
Then why should I delay so long ?
I've passed long hours in prayer to heaven,
With bitter tesrs that nightly fell,
But never have I mustered courage,
To say the word : I love thee well.
Beneath yon shady tree I'll lay me,
Where every day she passes by,
And then I'll talk, as were I dreaming,
And say I love her tenderly.
But stop! Good heavens, there she's
coming !
What can I do, she'll see me here,
I'll hide myself behind the bushes,
And stop there — till the coast is clear.
Lyric Poetry. 4 l
HOW THE WORLD RUNS.
1807-
Across the mead at even-tide
My path doth ever lie ;
She to her summer house hath hied,
And peeps as I pass by,
Of fixed appointments have we none ;
'Tis but the way the world doth run.
How first it chanced I cannot guess ;
I kiss her every day,
I ask no leave, she says not, yes,
But still she says not, nay ;
When lip on lip so eager lights,
Why should we pause in our delights ?
The breeze that with the rose-bud sports,
Asks never : Lov'st thou me ?
The rose, which pearly dew-drops courts,
Says never : Give to me !
So I love her, and she loves me,
Yet neither says : I love but thee.
42 Lyric Poetry.
FOREST SONG.
1807.
Gaily I thread the glade alone.
For robbers care I naught,
A loving heart is all I own,
That miscreant never sought.
What creeps, what rustles through the glen ?
A murderer with his knife ?
Forth springs my loved one, yes and then
Kisses away my life.
A HAPPY DEATH.
1807.
Still and dead was I
In rapturous love charms,
And deeply lay I
Buried in her arms,
Awakened was I
By her soft kisses,
And heaven gleamed from
Her eyes' abysses.
Lyric Poetry. 43
CONTENTMENT.
1808.
Down by the lime-tree yonder,
"With love that age grew fonder,
"We sat us, hand in hand ;
The vernal breeze was sleeping,
The sun on high was keeping
Watch o'er the slumbering land.
In silence we were sitting,
Joy through our hearts was flitting,
Our blood seemed scarce to flow ;
For why should we be speaking ?
And what could we be seeking?
We knew all we would know.
Henceforward naught could fail us,
No longings could assail us,
For we had ample store,
From loving eye flashed greeting,
Our lips were fondly meeting,
What could we wish for more ?
44 Lyric Poetry.
SUBLIME LOVE.
II
Ye rest witli rapturous love delighted,
For your life's golden apples fall ;
One glance alone on me hath lighted,
Yet am I richer than ye all.
To fortune am I naught beholden,
But, like a martyr, glance on high,
Above me, in the distance golden,
I caught a glimpse beyond the sky.
THE GOSSAMER.
1822.
As in the fields I stray with Mary,
A gossamer floats daintily,
The slender web of some bright fairy
Forms a sweet link twixt her and me ;
I take it as a kindly token,
A token that love gladly sees ;
Hopes of the hopeful to be broken !
The dewy plaything of the breeze.
Lyric Poetry. 45
BY NIGHT.
1808.
I gaze toward the silent house,
I lean against a tree ;
She's lying there in peaceful rest,
Methinks she dreams of me.
And then I gaze toward the sky,
The clouds are black as night,
But see ! behind the darksome clouds,
There shines the full-moon's light.
A BAD NEIGHBOURHOOD.
1809.
I leave my room but very rarely,
Still my work grows never less ;
And though my books are opened fairly,
Not a page can I progress.
When I work, my next-door neighbour
On his flute begins to play ;
And a girl (far worse than Weber)
Lives exactly o'er the way.
46 Lyric Poetry.
PEASANT'S ADVICE ON MARRIAGE.
1807.
If thou would'st wed, in summer time
In garden woo thy love,
For then the days are long enough,
At night 'tis clear above.
Ere winter time the holy rite
Must duly be fulfilled ;
The season's past to view the moon,
By snows thy love is chilled.
THE BLACKSMITH.
1809.
My true love I hear !
His hammer he's swinging,
'Tis rushing and ringing
Through streets and through alleys,
Like bells through the valleys,
It falls on my ear.
Lyric Poetry. 47
As on him I gaze,
His stithy past flitting,
By black anvil sitting,
With bellows a' roaring,
And red flames a' soaring,
He gleams hi the blaze.
HUNTSMAN'S SONG.
1812.
No better sport on such a day
Than through the woods to wander,
Where sings the thrush and shrieks the jay,
Where stag and roe meander.
Oh, sat my love on bough so green,
And like a mavis singing !
Oh fled she like a roe ! I ween
I'd like a stag be springing.
THE SHEPHERD'S WINTER-SONG.
1809.
Oh Winter, horrid Winter !
The world is very small,
Thou shutt'st us in the valleys,
In narrow bothies all.
48 Lyric Poetry.
And when I pass the cottage,
My true-love's dwelling-place,
Scarce will she from the window
Put out her pretty face :
And if I pluck up courage,
And go into the house,
She sits beside her mother,
As still as any mouse.
Oh Summer, lovely Summer !
The world is very wide,
The more I mount the hill-tops,
It spreads on every side.
And standing on the boulders,
My love, I call to thee,
And no one hears, but echo
Brings back my voice to me.
And when my own I'm clasping,
On mountain-top so free,
We spy o'er all the country,
But no one's by to see.
Lyric Poetry. 49
THE PRISONER'S SONG.
1807.
On Lark ! how thy song
Aye bears me along,
Disdainful the world below scorning: •
In rapt extasy
I carol with thee,
And mount through the clouds to the
Thou utt'rest no sound,
As thou sink'st to the ground,
On the green mead o'ei- which thou hast
risen ;
And no sound at all,
Give I as T fall
To the woes and the rust of my prison.
THE CHURCHYARD IN SPRING.
1822.
Peaceful garden, make thee haste,
Deck thyself with beauteous posies,
Be all signs of earth effaced,
Hide them with a bank of roses.
E
jo Lyric Poetry.
Hide from me the earth so black,
For the very sight wakes sadness,
Lest to earth, alas, there lack
One who makes my joy and gladness.
If the grave requireth me,
Well ! why then I must be taken ;
Still methinks on earth there'd be
Spheres of usefulness forsaken.
THE PRAISE OF SPRING.
1811.
Flowers breathe fragrance, crops are fair,
Larks are warbling, blackbirds sing,
Sun and showers in balmy air,
When I things like these can name,
What is wanting for thy fame ?
When I praise thee, new-born Spring.
Lyric Poetry. 5 1
TO ANONYMA.
1819.
Oh would that on a mountain-height
Alone, with thee I stood,
That thence could range unchecked our
sight
O'er valley and o'er wood ;
Then would I show thee lying there,
The world in vernal pride,
And say, were mine this landscape fair,
We would the world divide.
And couldst thou search with piercing ej T e,
Within my heart of hearts,
Where all the songs cmburied lie,
A bounteous God imparts,
Then thou, methinks, would'st clearly see
How for the right I long ;
E'en when I do not speak of thee,
Thy spirit stirs my song.
52 Lyric Poetry.
ON A GIRL DANCING.
1829.
Ah ! when tliou tripp'st in wavy figure,
Light-poising in th} r youthful vigour,
Spurning the eartli with nimble toe,
Then each one must confess on seeing,
That thou art not an earth-born being,
Thy soul is ether here below.
Alas ! but with the call to sever
From this gay world below for ever,
Say, soul, wilt thou be fit to flee ?
Who knows ? — the butterfly that dances
On every opening flower that glances,
Betoken immortal it v.
ON A STARVED POET.
181-;.
Before thy birth a fate unkind
Had marked thy path with care ;
Thy food, thy storehouse, was thy mind.
For poets live on air.
Lyric Poetry. $t>
The Muse, that o'er thy cradle stood,
Told of thy bitter days ;
Thy mouth was never meant for food,
'Twas only meant for lays.
But all too soon thy mother died,
And when she sank to rest,
To thee, alas, was aid denied,
Staunched was the loving breast.
The treasures of this world below
Are pleasing to the sight,
But for thine eye alone they glow ;
For others the delight.
Transient as spring, thy youth escapes,
The blossom-time for thee,
Another culls thy purple grapes,
Another strips thy tree.
Full many a time a humble draught
Of water has been thine,
AVI i ilst revellers within have laughed ;
Thy songs have spiced their wine.
54 Lyric Poetry.
Thy spirit, struggling to be free,
Was scarce embodied here ;
'Tis granted now above to thee
To taste ambrosia.
Thy corpse is borne— well yes, if worth
The name, the name it owns,
Too light to press the earth, the earth
Best lightly on thy bones.
THE VALE OF REST.
1812.
Oft in twilight's lingering streak,
Banks of golden clouds rise shimmering,
Like an Alpine summit glimmering ;
I, when thus I've seen them,
Think, perchance between them
Lies the vale of rest I seek.
Lyric Poetry. 55
LAMENT.
1816.
To be entombed, while still in life,
Would be a piteous fate ;
But we may meet, in this our strife,
With evils just as great ;
So 'tis, while yet the heart beats high,
And life is in its prime,
Through utter woe and misery,
To age before our time.
VINDICATION.
1816.
We yearn in youthful years,
For many a beauteous form,
With violence and tears
We take the sky by storm ;
Kind Heaven hears our cry
And smiling, answers ; no ;
And waits — till soon pass by
Our yearning and our woe.
r6 Lyric Poetry.
But when the false to endure
The heart no longer can,
But seeks the true, the pure,
To love its fellow-man,
Yet striving as it may,
It cannot reach a goal,
Forgiveness' kindly ray
Should greet that yearning soul.
THE LARKS.
1834.
What a warbling, what a flight !
Thousand welcomes, larks so light
One is scouring o'er the lea,
One is flitting through the tree.
Many a one takes wing on high,
Floating upwards joyously *,
One, more tuneful than the rest,
Flutters here within my breast.
Lyric Poetry. $7
A POETS BLESSING.
1834.
As I walked the meads among,
Listening to the lark's clear song,
I perceived an old man there,
"Working, with his snow-white hair.
Blessings, said I, on this field,
To thy toil a plenteous yield,
Blessings on thy withered hand
Sowing seed upon the land.
Quoth he, as he mournful stood ;
Poets' blessings are not good,
But as Heaven's wrath, a bane,
For they bring me flowers, not grain.
Friend, methinks, my modest lay
Will not make thy field too gay ;
Flowers enough to deck thy sheaves,
Flowers thy little grandson weaves.
58 Lyric Poetry.
MAY DEW.
1834.
On the wood and on the meadow,
With the earliest morning-gray,
Like a spring from Heaven descendeth,
Fresh and cool, the dew of May ;
That, which then each bliss enhances,
Spreads the May-dew far and wide,
Earth gains fragrance, leaves enamel,
And the flowers gleam in their pride.
When the muscle drinks the dew-drop,
Pearl- seeds grow within its shell ;
When the oak-tree sucks the moisture,
Bees make there the honied cell
When the bird, as swift it flieth,
Scarcely wets with dew its bill,
Then it learns the clarion measures,
Which the sleeping woodland fill.
In the calyx of the blue-bell
Laves her face the maiden bright,
As she bathes her golden tresses,
How she gleams with heavenly light ;
Lyric Poetry. 59
E'en the eye, all red with weeping,
From the dew-drop draws relief,
Till, bedewed itself, the day-star,
Beameth kindly on its grief.
Fall on ine too, gentle dew-drop,
Balsam meet for every pain ;
Moisten thou my aching eye-lid,
Steep my heart that thirsts again ;
Give me youth and poet's rapture
Heavenly forms on earth to view,
Give me strength to bear the sun-beam —
Fresh and pearly morning-dew !
ODE TO TEA.
1811.
Let soft and tender be the measures,
As o'er the strings my finger runs ;
I sing the most refined of treasures,
Which Mother Earth showers on her
sons.
60 Lyric Poetry.
In India's land of myth and fable,
Where joyous spring grows never old,
Oh tea ! thyself too thou art able
Myth like, thy hey-day to unfold.
There naught but airy bee dare gather
The honey from thy tender plant,
There wondrous birds of varied feather,
Alone may dare thy fame to chaunt.
When from the world, all rapt in wooing,
Fond lovers to thy shade repair,
Thy waving boughs keep gently strewing
Thy flowers and leaflets on the pair.
Thus in thy native home thou growest,
Where brightest rays unclouded shine ;
And e'en in our far clime thou showest
Thy taste so delicate and line.
For only gentle ladies cover
The tea-leaves with maternal wing,
One sees them o'er the tea-pot hover,
Like nymphs around some sacred spring,
For men can scarce succeed in feeling
o
The depth and fulness all thy own ;
Alas ! thy magic spell concealing
For gentle ladies' lips alone.
Lyric Poetry . 6 1
'Tis true that I myself have never
Felt all the charm that they perceive ;
But what they one and all assever
AVhy I too must, perforce, believe.
But low and modest be my measures,
As o'er the strings my fingers run,
And let the ladies sing those treasures.
Most delicate beneath the sun.
PATRIOTIC SONGS,
EPIGRAMS,
DRAMATIC PIECES.
Patriotic Songs, 65
FORWARDS.
1814.
Forwards ! on and ever on !
Russia cries across the Don,
Forwards !
Prussia hears the word so proud,
Hears with joy and cries it loud,
Forwards !
Up, thou mighty Austria !
Forwards with the others near,
Forwards !
Up, thou ancient Saxon-land !
Ever forwards, hand in hand,
Forwards !
On! Bavarians join the line,
Forward Hessians to the Rhine,
Forwards !
Forwards Holland, Netherlands !
High the sword in your free hands,
Forwards !
God shall speed ye, Canton band,
Fair Lorraine and Burgund-land,
Forwards !
66 Patriotic Soup.
Forwards Spain, on, England, on,
Stivirli your hands to brothers soon,
Forwards !
Forwards on and ever on !
Fair's the wind the harbour's won,
Forwards]
♦"Forwards" is a Marshal's name,
Forwards! warriors to fame,
Forwards !
THE GOOD OLD RIGHT.
isi.i.
Whenevek Wirtembergers drink
The Rhine-wine old and bright,
The first of toasts should always l>r,
Long live the good old Righl !
The Right, which props our prince's house,
On pillars firm and strong;
The Right, winch guards throughout the
land,
The peasant's home from wrong.
* Bluclicr.
Patriotic Songs. Gy
The Right, which gives us stable laws
No prince's will may break,
Which makes our courts of justice free,
Where each his part may take.
The Right, which makes the taxes low,
And knows so well to count,
That, while it watches o'er the chest,
Our burdens cannot mount.
Which guards our holy Church's good,
With all a patron's care,
Which fosters arts and sciences,
And smiles on genius rare.
The Eight, which grants that each may take
His weapons in his hand,
To fight his best, whene'er he please,
For king and fatherland.
The Right, which leaves to each one free
His way through all the earth
To roam, unless he love too well
The country of his birth.
The Right, a lustre to whose fame
Long lapse of years imparts,
Which each one, like his Christian faith,
Loves in his heart of hearts.
f 2
68 Patriotic Songs.
The Eight, which sad and evil times
To deep oblivion gave,
But now springs up with life renewed,
Forth from its living grave.
And e'en when we are dead and gone,
Grant it may ever last,
And shine for child and children's child
This treasure of the past.
And so when Wirtembergers drink
The Ehine-wme old and bright,
The first of toasts shall always be,
Long live the good old Eight !
PRAYER OF A WIRTEMBERGER.
1817.
Oh Thou, who from Thy throne on high,
Guardest the nations here below,
Surely Thou see'st this people's woe,
Our abject, bitter misery.
Our king, Thy servant, cannot hear
His people's voice, who cry in pain,
For had he heard, as he would fain,
Long had we had our rights so dear.
Patriotic Songs. 69
To Thee is open every door,
Thee no partition-wall conceals,
Thy word is loud as thunder-peals,
Speak Thou, whom he and we adore.
AN OLD MAN'S SAYINGS.
1807.
I.
No longer say : good morning, or good
day !
But always say : good evening, or good
night !
For evening is around me, and the night
Is near to me : oh would that it were come.
II.
Come here, my child ! oh thou my sweetest
life!
No, come, my child ! oh thou my sweetest
death !
For all that bitter is, that call I life,
And all that seemeth sweet, that call I death.
jo Patriotic Songs.
IN AN ALBUM.
1825.
Time, swiftly flying, not alone cloth seize
The meadow's blossoms and the forest's
leaves,
The radiant freshness and the power of
youth,
Its direst spoil is in the world of thought.
What once was fair or noble, rich or good,
Worthy of any toil or any pain,
Is now revealed so colourless and pale,
Hollow and void as were we void ourselves.
But still 'tis well with us, whene'er the
spark
Within the ember gleams, and when the
heart
Whilom deceived, unquenched glows fresh
again.
This very glow itself in fact is truth,
The picture higher than the subject's self,
More real the semblance than reality.
Who sees the truth, has really known to live,
For life is like the stage, for here as there,
The curtain drops when the illusion fails.
7*
gnaraatir fines.
SCHILDEIS.
A Fragment.
The Bohemian Forest. In the back-ground
the Castle of Schildeis.
Enter Duke Eginhard, The Duchess, Diet-
wald a Knight, and a Hermit.
HERMIT.
See Castle Schildeis lies below us, there !
All buried in the forest's inmost depths.
DIETWALD {to the Dllke).
That is the castle, which I said would yield
The surest refuge from the fiercest foe.
I could not e'en myself have found it now,
For all the tracks and paths are overgrown.
Since my late lord the Duke has hunted
here,
Full five and twenty years have circled by.
72 Dramatic Pieces.
duke (to the Hermit).
Keceive, my pious brother, for thine escort
thanks :
Eight well thou know'st this wild deserted
land.
{to the Duchess)
And thou, my wife, at last hast overcome
The many hardships of the weary road.
DUCHESS.
This journey pleased me better than the
pomp
And splendour of the fairest palaces,
Of which I ofttimes but unworthy felt ;
For thus I thought to expiate my debt,
That debt for which I cannot feel regret.
DUKE.
See there, a huntsman coming round the
rock !
HERMIT.
Eckart, the aged steward of my lord.
DIETWALD.
How bowed and gray the old man has be-
come !
Enter Eckart.
Dramatic Pieces. J 3
DUKE.
Welcome, my faithful Eckart !
ECKART.
See I right ?
Shall once before I die the joy be mine
My well-beloved lord again to see ?
DUKE.
How canst thou know whom thou hast
never seen ?
ECKART.
And can it be that thou art not my lord,
The young duke Welf ?
DUKE.
Thou speakest of my sire,
Who but three moons ago was taken hence.
ECKART.
Ah me ! the news has never reached us here.
May gracious heaven grant him peaceful
rest.
But he was just the picture of thyself,
When years ago he came here for the chase.
To me it does not seem so long ago ;
74 Dramatic Pieces.
And in the castle everything remains,
Just as my lord and master left it then.
The sand within the hour-glass has not run,
The cross-bow hangs upon the wall un-
strung,
His hunting-cap bears still the sprig of fir,
His falcon in its cage is sitting, stuffed,
The good old song-book he was reading then,
Lies open at the place he ceased to read,
Thou canst continue, where thy father
stopped,
The choicest of the ballads follow now.
HERMIT.
Yes ! this thy castle is a lonesome place,
And in the midnight stillness, through the
halls
The spirits of the dead oft wander here,
They gladly seek again their ancient home,
Where all reminds them of the time they
were.
ECKAKT.
That is, methinks, young Dietwald whom
I see,
Who came here in my master's retinue ;
I mark a change although it be not great.
Dramatic Pieces. 75
DIETWALD.
That I am glad to hear, my good old friend.
duchess (to Eckart).
The weight of many years lies on thy back '?
ECKART.
Three-score.
DIETWALD.
Add thirty to it, come.
HERMIT.
He does not know the year he saw the light,
And so he fixed on sixty as the sum,
And when the year comes round, he ever
thinks,
I reckoned once, no doubt, a year too much ;
And so it haps, the number stays threescore.
ECKART.
And after all, methinks, it's little odds.
HERMIT.
It is no wonder that the time stands still,
And that he thinks, that all is as it was :
For no event occurs to marks the days ;
And since his lord and master hunted here,
He kens but little how the world has jogged.
j 6 Dramatic Pieces,
The dark-green foliage of the forest pine,
The sombre, barren rocks, that know no
spring,
Scarce call to mind the seasons of the year.
ECKART.
Quite true, although I never thought of that.
HERMIT.
My friends, in this our mortal life below,
The time of blooming's short, of withering
long.
The quick and chequered changes of the
year,
Pervade this period of prolonged decay,
And man, who cannot follow, suffers grief.
For when the Autumn strips the field and
grove,
Then e'en the buoyant joy of youth is
chilled,
Tasting old age before old age is due.
And what is worse— when fresh the spring-
tide bursts,
The old man's cheek would seem again to
bloom,
His worn and wearied heart grow young
again.
Dramatic Pieces. 77
Alas ! delusion short
The withered stem can bear a feeble leaf,
But cannot push anew a vigorous bloom.
And so I praise this spot which knows no
change,
Where nothing wakes the pangs of fond
desire.
dietwald (aside to the Duke).
'Tis long since these lone rocks and dark-
green pines
Have heard the Preacher in the Wilderness.
HERMIT.
It seems as were this wild and lonesome
spot
Left far behind by Time as on it speeds.
These vast, still woods, where man is want-
ing still,
The last and noblest of the Creator's
works.
And in the distance rise, immutable,
Gray as of old the everlasting hills,
Where springs no grass, nor herb for use of
man.
The elements are not divided yet,
But craggy masses form a chaos wild,
78 Dramatic Pieces.
Full of deep chasms, whither light ne'er
pierced,
But sulphurous flames from the abysses
flash,
And weird the darksome waters roar below,
And clouds lie brooding* in the black
ravines.
Then feelings new and strange pervade my
soul,
As full myself of energy and life,
I stand amidst these dead and silent heaps :
Then gleams mine eye, mine arm is raised
on high,
My mantle waves, dishevelled floats my
hair :
I cry amid the stillness : " Let there
be,"
'Tis but a feeble creature's powerless voice.
DUKE.
But restless Time will hither push its way :
These stubborn pines must serve for men's
abodes,
These rocks, as holy fanes, shall rise anew.
{Exeunt omnes.)
Dramatic Pieces. 79
THE SERENADE.
1813.
Garden. Moonlight.
David, a young lover. Absalom, and other
servants of David.
DAVID.
How pleasing and how warm the summer
night !
The frogs are croaking and the crickets
chirp,
Now in our turn let music's tones be heard.
ABSALOM.
"We should, methinks, await a darker night
For our transgression against harmony 5
For deeds of villany rejoice in gloom.
DAVID.
Here is no villany, for I would scale
By music's ladder to my lady's heart.
ABSALOM.
Oh do not trust thy ladder all too much !
For every rung will crack and break.
80 Dramatic Pieces.
DAVID.
Be still !
Why grumblest thou for ever, thankless
one,
Whom breadless, pitying, in my hire I took ?
ABSALOM.
I still had bread, and breadless was I first
In thy employ : one cannot live from hire :
Still this mishap is not the worst I bear.
DAVID.
Music was taught thee too, at thy desire,
Moved by thy constant prayer I
ABSALOM.
Ha ! the chord
Thou ne'er hast struck before, thou strikest
now.
Whilom I was a boy, and then there came
Oft wandering harpers to my father's door,
Loved messengers they seemed to me to
be,
Come from a world of utmost harmony,
For which they raised a yearning in my
soul.
And soon I left my parents' hearth behind,
Dramatic Pieces. 81
Wishing to find the land whose praise they'd
sung,
Where music s heavenly language was the
tongue
In which man spake— Alas! I came to
thee,
Antipodes of the melodious zone.
DAVID.
Springs not my race that loves the tuneful
muse
From David, Judah's and the harpers'
king ?
ABSALOM.
From David and from Bathsheba, 'tis true,
Hence still the curse of sinful lust is thine.
DAVID.
To link thee to me I have sought in vain,
When I bestowed the name of Absalom,
And fostered art in thee, as fathers should.
ABSALOM.
I do not know by what infernal spell,
Thou sever'dst me from out the Christian
pale,
G
82 Dramatic Pieces.
And held'st me bound within thy hateful
toils.
DAVID.
The violin I gave thee was in vain,
A costly legacy, well played upon.
ABSALOM.
That is my griefs chief cause— thou hast
unchained
And bound me to this cursed instrument,
Enchanted , monstrous, foe to euphony,
That will not give forth one melodious tone.
My warm entreaties, my most heartfelt
prayers,
Cannot entice a single note from it,
Let me caress it, shake it, beat it, naught
I gain, naught but a surly, peevish screech.
I've heard, that imps of evil oft secured
In sacks exorcised in the stream are cast ;
Banished, forsooth, within this violin,
Are all tormenting imps of discord met,
AVhere now they ever groan and wail and
howl.
Let me engulph them in the ocean's depth,
In fathomless abysses 'midst the fish,
Dramatic Pieces. 83
And should a sound of discord then break
loose,
So rear your crests, ye waves, and swallow
it!
Arise, ye storms, and rend it bit by bit !
Ere it can reach the tortured ear of man.
DAVID.
Cease ! Followers to work ! Come tune at
once.
{They play.)
ABSALOM.
Is there no rescue more ? Is concord dead ?
And are sweet music's angels gone and lost,
Like Lucifer from Heaven fallen ?
DAVID.
Hush !
(Sings to the harp.)
Royal David was let downwards,
Michal, David's faithful wife,
With a rope, from out the window,
Let him down to save his life;
Beauteous maiden ! dearest Michal !
Hear, oh hear this song of mine,
And draw upwards to the window,
Me, the second David, thine.
G 2
84 Dramatic Pieces.
ABSALOM.
Ye priests of Baal, with your screeches wild,
Must I then also as a victim fall ?
Have not rny limbs grown crooked, and my
eyes
Become distorted from the fearful shock
Of this fell discord?
DAVID.
Thou blasphemer base !
Mock'st thou the form and stature of thy
lord?
ABSALOM.
Now know I how it was with Absalom,
When the tree held him prisoner by his hair,
And the three darts of Joab pierced his
heart.
DAVID.
Thankless ! in truth a second Absalom !
ABSALOM.
I cannot take it ill of Absalom,
That he against his father did rebel,
If David's music was akin to thine.
Dramatic Pieces. 85
DAVID.
It was right touching — E'en the stones
would weep.
ABSALOM.
Beware ! the house will fall to pieces soon.
Amphion's heavenly music once induced
The stones to come together to be built,
Whilst ours will loose the very walls and
joints.
DAVID.
What see I white there at the window ?
look!
Those eyes of fire! hush, hush! she's speak-
ing now.
ABSALOM.
Thy lady's cat is mewing her applause,
The lady self will hide her in the roof,
In terror of the spectres of the night.
DAVID.
But one strain more, she will herself appear.
[They ylay again)
ABSALOM.
The moon and stars, which looked with
friendly mien,
#6 Dramatic Pieces.
From heaven downwards, bent on harmony,
Have, as thy lady too, concealed themselves.
~VVe have in truth aroused the wrath of
heaven,
Already doth the distant thunder roll,
The sky discharges lightnings on our heads,
As did king Saul the dagger at thy sire.
DAVID.
Is lightning fond of striking music ? Come !
A horror seizes me. Quick ! let us flee.
ABSALOM.
Much longer had this discord here endured,
Earthquakes, methinks, would then have
taken place,
And earth been shaken to its central depths.
{Thunder — exeunt omnes, prater
Absalom.)
I hear thee, mighty, awful thunder-voice,
I hear thee, heavenly chorus of the clouds,
Begone, thou hateful instrument, I'm free.
(He dashes the violin against the wall.)
Dramatic Pieces. 87
A NORMAN CUSTOM.
1815.
Dedicated to Baron de la Motte FouquL
Scene. — A Fisherman's Hut on an Island off
the Coast of Normandy.
Balder, a Mariner ; Richard, a Fisherman ;
Thorilda.
BALDER.
Here's to thy health, most honoured, wor-
thy host !
I have to thank indeed the raging storm,
Which drave me to the shelter of thy Lay,
For long it is since I have been refreshed,
By such a genial meal at the still hearth.
RICHARD
A better fare is not for fishers' huts ;
If thou art pleased, the greater joy for me.
Especially I prize a guest like thee,
Who cometh from our northern native-land,
From which our fathers once sailed hither-
wards,
Of which so much is ever said and sung
But still I must inform thee, noble sir,
88 Dramatic Pieces.
Who enters here, and be he e'er so poor,
Must give, perforce, his present as a guest.
BALDER.
My ship, which lies at anchor in the bay,
Is fraught with many rare and curious
stores,
Brought hither with me from the Southern
seas,
Gold fruits, sweet wines, and birds of varied
hue,
And armour wrought in stithies of the
north,
Swords double-edged, and harness, helm,
and shield.
RICHARD.
Not such a gift, thou misconceivest me.
We have a custom here in Normandy,
That he who takes a stranger to his hearth,
Demands of him a legend or a song,
Then tells a tale, or sings a song himself.
In my old days, I still hold near and dear
The noble legends and the songs of yore,
And therefore shall not bate of my de-
mand.
Dramatic Pieces. 89
BALDER.
A story oft is sweet as Cyprus wine,
Fragrant as fruit and checkered as the
flower,
And many an ancient song of heroes' deeds,
Resounds as clash of sword or clang of
shield ;
So thus my error was not all too great,
"lis true, I've naught that's glorious to tell,
Still gladly will I honour thy good rite.
Listen to what upon a moonlight night,
A comrade told us on the quarter-deck.
RICHARD.
But one cup more, good guest^ and then
begin !
BALDER.
Full many a year two northern Counts had
sailed,
With pennant joined, o'er all and every sea,
Together had withstood full many a storm,
Full many a bloody fight by sea and shore,
Had many a time in countries south or east,
Together rested on the blooming strand :
90 Dramatic Pieces.
But now they rest at home within their
keeps,
Both deeply sunk in mourning, each alike,
For each but lately had accompanied
Each a true spouse to his ancestral vault.
But still amidst the darksome gloom there
springs
For each a presage sweet of things to come :
One had a joyous and a comely son,
The other had a daughter young and fair.
And so to crown their ancient friendship's tie,
And found a lasting- monument thereto,
They made agreement, that their offspring
dear
Should one day be but one in holy bond.
And then they let two golden rings be
made,
Which, when their youthful fingers were
too small,
They hung with pretty ribands round their
necks.
A sapphire blue, blue as the maiden's eye,
Was rightly set within the young Count's
ring,
And in the other gleamed a rose-red stone,
The colour of the boy's fresh ruddy cheek.
Dramatic Pieces. 9 [
EICHARD.
A rose-red stone set in a golden rim,
Was that the maiden's ring? Heard I
aright ?
BALDER.
Yes, as thou say'st, although this hath no
weight.
The stripling grew already tall and slim,
Trained up from childhood to bold feats of
arms,
Already he bestrode a tall, proud steed.
'Twas not to be his lot to stem the wave,
Like his good father, in adventurous course,
One day he should protect with strong
right hand,
The territories vast, and strongholds high,
United heritage of both lines of Counts.
Meanwhile the youthful warrior's little
bride
Lay in her cradle in her sombre room,
Well tended by her faithful nurses' hands.
In course of time there came a mild spring
day,
And then the servants bore th' impatient
child
o2 Dramatic Pieces.
Down to the sun-warmed breezes of the
shore,
And brought her flowers and muscles for
her play.
The sea, scarce softly moved by gentle
breath,
Eeflected all the beaming sun's clear face,
And cast its trembling shadow on the sward.
Now on the strand there lay a little boat,
And it the women deck with rush and
flower,
And lay therein their winsome little charge,
And rock her up and down upon the shore.
Then laughs the child and laugh the women
too:
But lo ! amidst their gayest merriment,
The cord escapes with which they playful
pull,
And e'en as they perceive it, from the shore
Their arms no longer serve to reach the
bark.
Although the sea seems calni, so waveless
calm,
Yet ever is the boat washed on and on,
And still the child's loud laughter-peals are
heard.
Dramatic Pieces. 93
Despairing, gaze the women on the sight,
Wringing their hands, with shrieks of
wildest fear.
The boy, who even then had made the
beach,
To seek his love, and on his answering steed
Was caracoling on the sea- sward green,
Springs at the outcry on his headlong
course,
And bravely spurs his steed into the sea,
As would he swim to gain the flower-decked
boat.
But scarcely feels the steed the icy flood,
He shakes himself, and turns him stubborn
round,
And hurries back his rider to the beach.
And a fresh breeze upon the open sea
Bears hence the bark from sight.
RICHARD.
Poor child !
May holy angels hover round thy path.
BALDER.
The awful tidings reach the father soon ;
At once he bids all vessels, great and small,
To put to sea, the fleetest bears himself.
94 Dramatic Pieces.
But ocean shows no trace. The evening-
falls,
The winds are shifting and the night-storm
roars :
And after moonlong searching there is
brought
The empty brittle barklet back again,
With faded garlands
RICHARD.
What checks thee in thy story, worthy
guest,
Thou falterest, and breathest hard.
BALDER.
Well, well !
Since that mischance no longer did the boy
Delight to mount his steed as hitherto,
But rather did delight to swim and dive,
And prove his sinews labouring at the oar.
And when he had grown up a stalwart
youth,
He begged his sire for vessels ceaselessly.
No more the land retains a single charm,
No castle maiden doth allure his eye,
He seems betrothed to the dark wild sea,
In which the maiden and the ring had sunk,
Dramatic Pieces. 95
And furnishes his vessel wonclrously,
With purpled pennant and with pictured
gold,
As one who'd fetch his bride athwart the
seas.
RICHARD.
Nearly like thine below there in the bay,
Is 't not, brave mariner ?
BALDER.
Well, as thou will'st.
He in this rich apparelled marriage ship,
Has rocked and reeled in many a fearful
storm,
AVhen, to the thunder-clap and tempest's
roar,
The waves have danced his merry wedding-
dance.
And many a bloody battle hath he fought,
Through which his name is dreaded in the
North.
And he is known there by a wondrous
name,
For when he springs and brandishes his
sword
Upon a boarded ship, then shriek they all ;
g6 Dramatic Pieces.
Destroy us not thou u Bridegroom of the
Sea"
That is my tale.
RICHARD.
lleceive my thanks for it,
It touched my old heart to the very core :
Only, methinks, the end is wanting still.
Who knoweth if the child did really sink ?
Whether a stranger vessel did not pass,
And take on board the foundling on its
course,
Leaving the fragile boat to stem the Avaves?
Perchance upon an island, such as ours,
They set the young and helpless babe
ashore,
And she by pious hands well fostered there,
May now have grown to bloom a maiden
fair.
BALDER.
Thou knowest well to spin a story out,
So, if it please thee, we'll hear thine in
turn.
RICHARD.
In bygone days full many a tale I knew,
Dramatic Pieces. 97
From our old Dukes' and heroes' glorious
times ;
Richard the Fearless above all was sung,
Whose sight by night was as his sight by
day,
Who every night rode through the desert
glade,
And frequent combats waged with spectres
there.
But now my memory has grown weak with
age,
And all things waver in my doubtful mind,
And so this maiden here must take my
place,
Who sits so still and thinking to herself,
And nets so quietly by the lamp-light dim.
For she has learnt right many a pleasing
song,
And trills an air like any nightingale.
Thorilda ! come, thou needst not fear onr
guest.
Sing us the song: "The Maiden and the
Ring,"
Which the old bard hath whilom made for
thee,
A pretty song, I know, thou lik'st to sing.
H
98 Dramatic Pieces.
Thorilda sings.
Hard by the ocean fishing,
There sits a maiden fair,
For many an hour she fisheth,
No fish will take the snare.
A ring is on her finger,
A ruby red as rose.
She ties it to her angle,
And in the sea she throws.
Then from the waves there riseth
A hand, as ivory white,
And on the finger shineth,
The golden ring so bright.
Then from the depths there risetl
A knight, full young and fine,
And in the golden sunlight,
His armour scales do shine.
The maiden saith in terror :
" No, noble knight, no, no !
Give back my ring, I pray thee,
With thee I've naught to do.
Dramatic Pieces. 99
" One doth not fish for fishes
With gold or precious stone,
The ring I'll never give thee,
Thou art for aye my own."
BALDER.
What do I hear? a strange foreboding
song,
What do I see, oh what a heavenly face,
Up-tumed, sweet-blushing, 'midst the
golden curls,
Bringeth in mind my distant childhood's
days.
Ha ! on the right hand gleams the golden
ring,
The rose-red stone — Thou art my long-lost
bride !
'Tis I am called the " Bridegroom of the
Sea,"
Here is the sapphire, blue as thy blue
eye,
Below there lies the marriage-ship in wait.
H 2
ioo Dramatic Pieces,
RICHARD.
Thus have I thought' since long, most
honoured knight,
Yes ! take her then, my dearest foster-child,
Hold her but firmly with thy strong right
arm,
And press a heart right faithful to thy breast.
BALLADS AND ROMANCES.
Ballads and Romances. 103
THE GARLAND.
1805.
In meadow gay a little maid
Went plucking flowerets here and there,
When forth from out the sylvan glade,
There came a lady fair ;
Greeted the child with loving mien,
And twined a garland in her hair,
" It blooms not now, 'twill bloom, I ween,
If thou but wear it there."
And when she grew a maiden coy,
She wandered oft where moonlight beamed,
And wept sweet tears of love and joy ;
With buds the garland gleamed.
And when upon her spouse's breast
She's fondly clasped in twilight hour ;
In clusters by the breeze caressed,
The buds burst forth in flower.
Soon rocking gently in her arms,
A winsome babe the mother bore;
And then the garland showed the charms
Of its rich golden store.
104 Ballads and Romances.
And when her loving lord they bare
To darksome rest the grave beneath,
Then waved in her dishevelled hair
A sere and yellow wreath !
Soon she too lay all pale and cold,
But faithful still the gift she wore ;
The garland, wondrous to be told,
Both fruit and blossom bore.
THE SHEPHERD.
1805.
A blithe and comely shepherd went
Past by the stately castle-gate,
A maiden, from the battlement,
Gazed, till her love grew great.
She called to him so, soft and low :
" Oh would that I could come to thee !
Thy little lambs are white as snow,
The flowers gleam rosily."
Then in reply the stripling said :
u Oh would that thou could'st come to me,
Thy cheeks they are so rosy red,
Thy arms so white to see."
Ballads and Romances. 105
And every morning as he passed,
A prey to mute yet pleasing pain,
lie upwards gazed, until at last
He saw his love again.
And then with cheery voice he cried :
" Be thousand welcomes, princess, thine ;"
With gentle tone the maid replied :
" Thanks to thee, shepherd mine."
The winter passed, the spring-tide came,
The buds displayed their plenteous store,
The shepherd's path was aye the same;
The maid appeared no more.
Aloud with downcast voice he cried :
" Be thousand welcomes, princess, thine;"
A phantom-voice alone replied ;
" Goodbye, oh shepherd mine !"
THE DYING HEROES.
1804.
The Danish swords are driving Sweden's
host
To the wild coast ;
Afar the chariots clash, and weapons gleam,
In the moon's beam :
106 Ballads and Romances.
Upon the corpse-strewn field in death-
throes la j,
The beauteous Sweyn and Ulph, the warrior
gray.
SWEYN.
Ah father ! not for me in pride of youth,
Hath Noma ruth ;
For me a loving mother's hand shall ne'er
Smooth my brown hair ;
My love from lofty tower in vain shall gaze,
Watching for Sweyn, and wondering why
he stays.
ULPH.
'Tis true they'll grieve, in dreams view
gruesome sights
Through the long nights ;
But from their bitter woe one solace take —
Their hearts will break ;
And then with smiles, thy golden-haired,
thy love,
Shall hand the cup at Odin's feasts above.
Ballads and Romances. 107
SWEYN.
Not long had I begun a festal lay,
My harp to play,
To sing of queens' and heroes' deeds of yore,
In love and war ;
But now my harp hangs desolate, and rings
The wild wind soughing through its slum-
bering strings.
ULPH.
Within Valhalla's halls of sparkling light,
The sun streams bright,
The stars revolve beneath them, and below
The storm-winds blow :
There feast our sires, and calmly 'midst
their throng,
Thou canst renew and finish all thy song.
SWEYN.
Ah father ! not for me in pride of youth,
Hath Noma ruth ;
No high and lofty deeds a radiance yield
Upon my shield ;
Twelve judges sit enthroned in splendour
dread,
They will not deem me worthy there to
tread.
io8 Ballads and Romances.
ULPH.
One deed alone weighs many others down,
That will they own,
Such deed as, at one's country's danger-call,
To bravely fall :
See there, the foe is fleeing, and on high
There lies our spangled pathway to the
sky.
THE BLIND KING.
1804 and 1814.
Why are the Northmen standing there,
A gallant warrior band ?
The blind old king, with his silver hair,
What seeks he on the strand ?
In bitter grief he crieth,
And on his staff doth lean,
And the isle afar replieth,
Across the waves between.
" Fell robber, yield from thy dungeon drear
My daughter back to me,
Her songs so sweet and her harp-notes clear,
Made life pass joyously ;
Ballads and Romances. 109
While on the green strand dancing,
My joy hast thou snatched away,
Thy shame for aye enhancing,
For it bows my tresses gray."
Forth from his cleft the robber springs,
So huge and wild to see,
His giant-sword on high he swings,
His clanging shield strikes he :
a Why did thy warders trusty
Unmoved endure the wrong ?
Why do their swords grow rusty
Among the warrior throng ?"
But there is not heard a single sound,
Forth from the ranks steps none,
The blind old monarch turns him around ;
"Am I then all alone ?"
His arm his young son seizeth,
With manly grasp and warm ;
" I'll hie me, an it pleaseth,
To fight with my strong arm."
u Strong as a giant is the foe,
His might can none withstand ;
But thou art man enough to go,
I feel from thy right hand ;
no Ballads and Romances.
Take my old sword, its story
Sang many a scald of yore ;
And should'st thou fall, my glory
Shall set for evermore."
Hark ! as they cleave the breakers, hark
See there the foaming wake !
The blind king lists to the plashing bark,
But never a word he spake ;
But soon is heard the rattle,
When sword meets sword or shield,
And cries of furious battle
A sullen echo yield.
Then cries the king 'twixt joy and fear:
" Come tell me what ye see,
I hear my good sword ringing clear,
As it rang aye with me."
" Our hero comes victorious.
The knave his meed hath won ;
All hail, thou warrior glorious !
Our blind king's stalwart son."
And all again is still around,
The blind old king cries : " Hark !
What is that distant plashing sound '?
Methinks it is the bark."
Ballads and Romances.
" They come across the water •
Thy warrior-son is there,
Gunilda too, thy daughter,
She of the sun-bright hair ! "
" Welcome," the aged monarch cried,
With joy across the wave,
" Mine age will be an age of pride,
My grave an honoured grave,
My sword that clearly ringeth,
Here by my side shall lie :
Gunilda's here, who singeth
My death-hymn when I die."
1 1 1
THE CASTLE BY THE DEEP.
1805.
Say, hast thou seen the Castle,
The Castle by the Deep ?
In gold and rosy shimmer,
The clouds float o'er its keep.
It fain would dip its turrets
In the glassy flood below,
It fain would soar toward heaven,
Through the red even-glow.
112 Ballads and Romances.
Well have I seen that Castle,
The Castle by the Deep,
The moon above was standing
And dank mist o'er its keep.
Did wind and swell of ocean
Resound with joy again ?
Heardest thou from the banquet
The lute and song's gay strain ?
The wind and swell of ocean
Lay still as still could be,
From out the hall a wailing
Struck on me mournfully.
Sawest thou on the ramparts
The monarch and his queen ?
The sweep of crimson mantles,
And bright crowns' golden sheen ?
And was not with them walking
A lovely maiden there,
All radiant as a sunbeam,
With golden-tinted hair ?
Well did I see the parents,
No crown of light they wore,
But darksome weeds of sorrow ;
The maid was there no more !
Ballads and Romances. 1 1 3
WALTER THE FAITHFUL.
1805.
'Twas past Our Lady's shrine one day
That Walter urged his horse ;
He saw a kneeling maiden pray,
With tears of deep remorse :
" Oli Walter ! Walter ! do not go,
Dost thou the voice no longer know
Thou once didst hear so gladly ?"
" Thou maiden false ! whom see I there ?
A maid, who once was mine,
Why hast thou ceased thy silks to wear,
Thy gold and jewels line ?"
a Ah woe is me, my troth I broke,
My paradise I then forsook,
With thee I can regain it."
With tender pity on his horse
The weeping girl he swung,
Around his waist with all her force
With soft white arms she clung :
" Warm beats, my love, this heart of mine,
But still it cannot reach to thine,
Thy sark lies cold between us."
1
114 Ballads and Romances.
They rode to where his castled height
Bose, silent and forlorn,
She loosed his helmet from the knight ;
His beauty all was gone :
" Thy cheeks so pale, thy eyes so dull,
Serve but to make thee beautiful,
To me more dear than ever."
She took his armour from his back,
With crief the knight was moved ;
"What see I here, this raiment black?
. Who died, whom thou hast loved ?"
" When she was lost, these weeds I wore,
Whom I shall find on earth no more,
And shall not meet in heaven."
Then at his feet with piteous cry
And outstretched arms she fell ;
u Have pity, penitent I lie,
Whom thou hast loved so well ;
Raise me again to bliss anew,
And let me on thy breast so true,
From all my woes recover."
" Get up, poor child, from off the ground,
I cannot raise thee, no,
Alas for me! my arms are bound.
Ballads and Romances. 1 1 5
My blood hath ceased to flow,
Be aye like me, with anguish torn—
My love is gone, my love is gone !
And never shall I find it."
THE THREE SISTERS.
180G.
I.
Three sisters from the castle
Looked downwards on the vale.
They saw their father riding,
All clad in coat of mail :
" Welcome, dear father, welcome home !
What hast thou for thy children ?
We're glad that thou hast come."
" My child in yellow raiment,
On thee hath thought thy sire,
Thy heart is set on jewels,
Thou lovest gay attire ;
This chain of gold so rich and red,
From noble knight I seized it,
And gave him death instead."
1 2
1 1 6 Ballads and Romances.
Around her neck the maiden
The chain all eager bound,
Down to the spot she hastened,
And there the corpse she found ;
" Like gallows-thief he's lying here,
And yet his birth was noble !
And oh ! he was so dear ! "
Then in her arms she bore him
Up to the holy fane,
With tender pity laid him
Where all her sires were lain,
She took the chain which decked her breast,
Then drew the ends together,
And sank with him to rest.
ii.
Two sisters from the castle
Looked downwards on the vale,
They saw their father riding,
All clad in coat of mail :
" Welcome, dear father, welcome home !
What hast thou for thy children ?
We're fflad that thou hast come.'
Ballads and Romances. 1 1 7
" My child in sea-green raiment,
On thee hath thought thy sire,
By day and night is hunting
Ever thy sole desire,
The spear here with the golden head,
From huntsman wild I seized it,
And gave him death instead."
Into her hands her father
The huntsman's spear let fall,
Down to the wood she hastened,
Death was her hunting-call ;
There in the hidden shade so deep
Lay by his faithful stag-hound,
Her love in his last sleep.
" He came down to the lime-trees,
I vowed to meet him here :"
Then drave the maiden quickly
In her white breast the spear ;
Peaceful they're sleeping side by side,
The woodbirds singing blithely,
With leaves the lovers hide.
in.
One maiden from the castle
Looked downward on the vale,
n8 Ballads and Romances.
She saw her father riding,
All clad in coat of mail :
" Welcome, dear father, welcome home !
What hast thou for thy daughter '?
I'm glad that thou hast come."
" My child in snow-white raiment,
On thee hath thought thy sire,
More than all golden glitter,
Sweet flowers are thy desire,
This silvery floweret, from its bed
I tore, despite the gardener,
And gave him death instead,"
" What made him so fool-hardy ?
Why didst thou lay him dead ?
He used to tend the flowerets,
But now they'll fade instead."
" The saucy churl too long delayed
To give the flower I wanted,
He said — 'twas for his maid."
Then laid the maid the floweret
Upon her bosom white,
Went slowly to the garden,
Of old her sole delight ;
Ballads and Romances. 1 1 g
A hillock rose beneath her feet,
Hard by the snowy lilies,
And there she took her seat.
" Oh could I like my sisters
Sweet death this instant seek !
No wound comes from a floweret,
It is too soft and weak."
Beneath her gaze the floweret frail
At length began to wither
Then sank the maiden pale.
THE BLACK KNIGHT.
1806.
At Whitsuntide, that feast of pleasure,
When copse and heath display their trea-
sure,
Spake the king : u To me it seems,
From out my halls,
And my old palace walls,
That a plenteous spring-tide streams."
120 Ballads and Romances.
Drums and trumpets rattle loudly,
Crimson standards flutter proudly,
From balcony the king marked well,
When lances meet,
Before his strong son's feet,
All the knights defeated fell.
In the lists, up to the barrier,
Rode at last a sable warrior.
" Sir ! tell your device and name."
" And if I spake,
Ye would tremble and shake,
I'm a Prince of might and fame."
When the note to charge was given,
Sullen lowered the vault of heaven,
And the keep seemed rent in twain,
At the first blow,
Sank the proud stripling low,
Scarcely could he rise again.
Fife and viol bid to dancing,
Torches through the halls arc glancing,
In a ghastly shadow waves,
With courtly mien,
Her daughter from the queen,
First with him to dance he craves :
Ballads and Romances. 1 2 1
Hideous in his harness sable,
Dances, as none else is able,
Twines like ice her limbs around,
From breast and hair,
Fall all the flowerets fair,
Withered, down upon the ground.
Then to the lordly festival
Hurried the knights and ladies all,
'Tween his son and daughter there,
With anxious dread 5
The old king leant his head,
Gazed on them with pensive air.
Pale the children twain are lying,
Spake the guest, the goblet plying ;
u Drink, 'twill heal, this cup of gold : "
The children drank,
With many a grateful thank,
Oh that draught was icy cold !
Haste to seek their sire's embraces
Son and daughter, o'er their faces
Creeps the death-hue lividly,
Their father gray,
Look which way he may,
Sees his cherished children die.
1 2 2 Ballads and Romances.
" Woe is me, my hopes thou takest,
All their youthful day-dreams breakest,
Take me too, my day-spring's dull :"
Spake the weird guest,
From gloomy, hollow breast,
" Roses in the spring I cull."
THE THREE SONGS.
1807.
King Sifrid sat in his stately hall ;
" Ye harpers ! who singeth the best of you
all?"
And a youth strode forth from the courtiers
nigh,
With his harp in his hand and his sword on
his thigh.
" Three songs can I sing, but my first song
I fear me thou hast forgotten long ;
My brother hast thou right foully slain,
And — well— him hast thou foully slain !"
Ballads and Romances. 123
" My second song came first to light
In the dismal hours of a stormy night ;
Thou must battle with me for life and for
death,
And — well — must battle for life and for
death !"
Then down by the table his harp he lay,
And each of them drew his sword straight-
way,
In wildest struggle the bright blades ring,
Till down in his proud halls sinks the king.
" Now sing I my third and my fairest song,
Should I sing it for ever, 'twould not seem
Ion 2; :
King Sin*id lies steeped in his own red
blood,
And — well — lies steeped in his own red
blood!"
124 Ballads and Romances.
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER.
1809.
A goldsmith stood within his store,
Where pearls and jewels shine ;
" Than fairest gem I prize thee more,
My Helena ! my treasure
Art thou, dear daughter mine."
A comely knight came past one day ;
u Well met, my damsel fair.
Well met, good goldsmith, make, I pray,
A wreath of gold and jewels,
"lis for my bride to wear."
The task was o'er, the wreath was made,
Sparkling with radiant light ;
Then Helena herself essayed,
As she sat sad and lonely,
The glittering wreath so bright.
" Thrice happy," cried she, u shall she be,
Who wears a wreath like this,
Oh would the knight but give to me
A coronet of roses,
How great would be my bliss !"
Ballads and Romances. 125
Soon after came the knight that way
And viewed the wreath so fair,
" Now set, good goldsmith, set, I pray,
A costly ring with diamonds,
Tis for my bride to wear."
The task was o'er, the ring was made,
With diamonds rare it gleamed,
Then Helena herself essayed,
As she sat still and lonely,
How well the ring beseemed.
" Thrice happy," cried she, "shall she be
AVho wears a ring like this,
Oh would the knight but give to me
Of his brave locks one ringlet,
How great would be my bliss."
Nor long the comely knight delayed
To view the ring so rare,
" Right well, good goldsmith, hast thou
made
The gifts which. I have ordered,
For my fair bride to wear."
" But maiden, fair, I pray thee place
The wreath upon thy brow,
That I may see how well 'twill grace
126 Ballads and Romances.
The head of my beloved,
For she is fair as thou."
It was the holy day of rest,
And so the winsome maid
Had early donned with eager zest
The dress that most became her,
Ere forth she went and prayed.
Before the knight with shame rose-red,
The blushing maid did stand,
He set the wreath upon her head,
The ring upon her finger,
And then he clasped her hand.
" Dear Helena ! my joy, my pride !
A truce to jest and sport,
Thou art my beautiful, my bride,
For thee the wreath was ordered,
For thee the ring was bought.
u Where gold and pearls and jewels shine,
Were passed thy youthful days,
And this, methinks, should be a sign,
That thou and I in wedlock,
Shall speed in honour's ways."
Ballads and Romances. 127
THE HOSTESS'S DAUGHTER.
1805.
Three students went crossing all over the
Rhine,
And there by my hostess they stopped at
her sign.
" My hostess ! and hast thou good beer and
wine ?
And where is that pretty daughter of thine?"
" My wine, 'tis true, is fresh and clear,
But my daughter lies on her funeral bier."
Then entered the three the room straight-
s'
way,
And there in her coffin black she lay.
The first he lifted the pall on high,
And his glance was sad ; when she met his
eye:
" Oh ! if thou wert here still, thou beautiful
maid,
I'd love thee from henceforth," the first one
said.
128 Ballads and Romances.
The second let down again the pall,
And turning, his tears 'gan fast to fall :
" Alas ! that thou liest on thy funeral bier,
I've loved thee so truly for many a year."
The third in his turn raised again the veil,
And kissed the maid on her mouth so pale :
u I've loved thee ever, I love thee to-day,
I will love thee— till eternity."
THE MOWER-MAIDEN.
1815.
Good day to thee, Mary ! What active and
stirring already !
Thee, truest of maidens, love maketh not
slow nor unsteady ;
Come ! if within three days the whole of
yon meadow thou mowest,
I'll give thee my son, yes I will, though
I'm loth, as thou knowest."
A farmer of many broad acres thus gave her
his greeting,
And Mary, how feels she her loving heart
joyously beating,
Ballads and Romances. 129
A strength, fresh and vigorous, springs up
at the words of her master,
How swings she her scythe, as the green
swaths fall faster and faster !
Soon gloweth the heat of the noon-tide, the
mowers all jaded
Are seeking the spring, and for slumber a
spot that is shaded,
The bees are at work where the sun-rays are
glaring and broiling,
And Mary, she rests not, as were for a
wager her toiling.
Soon sinketh the sun, and the Vesper-
bells sweet on her labours
Are ringing — " Come ! cease, 'tis enough/'
is the cry of her neighbours,
The mowers, the shepherd and flocks quit
the fields at the setting,
But Mary, as were she beginning, her blunt
scythe is whetting.
The dew falls, the moon and the stars all
their splendour are bringing,
The hay smells so fragrant, afar off is
Philomel singing,
K
130 Ballads and Romances.
But Mary goes on with her labour, nor
stops she to listen,
But ever the strokes of her scythe o'er the
dewy mead glisten.
Thus ever she toileth as onwards the slow
hours are rolling,
Fed only by love, and the sweet hopes her
bosom consoling,
Till when for the third time the sun rose
to herald the morrow,
'Tis finished— and Mary stands weeping
with joy not with sorrow.
" Good-day to thee, Mary, already released
from thy burden !
For mown is the meadow : thou meritest
well a rich guerdon,
But as for the marriage — in earnest a jest
thou hast taken ;
So foolish and fond are the hopes which all
love-dreams awaken !"
Such then are the words of the farmer, and
scarce are they spoken,
Ere cold grows her heart and her knees
bend beneath her as broken,
Ballads and Romances. 131
Her head swims, she loses her speech, and
her sight, and her feeling,
And there midst her hay-cocks, poor Mary,
the mower, falls reeling.
She dies not — but years long so dumb and
so death-like she wasteth,
She eats not, but honey, a morsel, is all
that she tasteth,
Oh make a grave ready where flowers
bloom the brightest and freest,
For maiden so true to her love 'tis right
rarely thou seest !
VOICES OF DEATH.
I. THE SERENADE.
1810.
What tones are these so soft and sweet,
Which wake me from my dreams ?
See, mother, see ! what can it be,
That in the twilight gleams ?
k 2
132 Ballads and Romances.
u Hush ! nought I hear ; hush ! nought I
see,
Oh slumber on and rest ;
No more to thee, poor ailing child,
Is serenade addressed."
It is no music of this earth
That fills me with delight,
A choir of angels bids me come,
Oh mother dear ! good night.
II. THE ORGAN.
1834.
Oh play, my aged neighbour, play
Thy organ once again,
Perchance those tones of holy joy
May free my soul from pain.
The maiden asked, the neighbour played,
As played he ne'er before,
So clear, so thrilling, that he felt
The keys he swept, no more.
For they were strange and sacred tones
Which grew beneath his hand,
He paused in awe : the maiden's soul
Had sought a better land.
Ballads and Romances . \y
III. THE MAVIS.
1834.
I do not crave for garden gay,
Would pass my summer here,
Could I but hear the mavis sing,
Amid the brake so clear.
A mavis for the maid is caught,
But in his cage he pines ;
He will not sing, and on his wing
His captive head declines.
But ever still the maiden views
The bird with eager eyes,
Then sings the mavis full and clear,
And as he sings, she dies
THE TRUSTY COMRADE.
1809.
1 had a trusty comrade,
His like I ne'er shall see,
Who, when the drums were beating,
And rushing foes were meeting,
Marched step and step with me.
34 Ballads and Romances,
There came a bullet whistling,
Will it hit me or thee ?
Alas ! he lies a' dying.
And at my feet he's lying,
As were he part of me.
Once more his hand he reaches,
But I have work to do ;
The grasp cannot be given,
But thou shalt rest in heaven :
Good-bye, my comrade true !
THE KNIGHT OF ST. GEORGE.
1811.
Shrilly rings the brazen trumpet,
Loudly sounds the charger's tramp,
Where Fernandez the Castilian,
Valiant warrior, holds his camp :
For the Moorish king, Almanzor,
Comes with all his Paynim might,
Leaves behind him fair Cordova,
Hurries onward to the fight.
All in armour on their horses,
Sit the pride of proud Castile,
Ballads and Romances. T35
Midst them slowly rides Fernandez,
Scanning close each casque of steel.
" Pascal Vivas ! Pascal Vivas !
Of our chivalry the pride.
All my knights are armed and ready,
Thou art wanting by my side ;
Thou at other times so eager,
In the fight the first of all,
Hear'st thou not to-day my summons,
Nor the trumpet's battle-call ?
Least of all, when fierce the battle,
Should' st thou fail our host to-day,
Shall thy wreath of laurels wither ?
Shall thy glory fade away?"
Deep in forest glade sequestered,
Pascal cannot hear the strain ;
There upon a grassy hillock
Towers St. George's sacred fane.
At the gateway stands his charger,
By his spear and coat of mail,
And the knight in prayer is kneeling
At the holy altar-rail ;
Deeply sunk in contemplation,
Hears no din of far-off fight,
Which like distant wind-roar echoes
Dully from the woodland height ;
136 Ballads and Romances.
Does not hear his charger neighing,
Hears no clang his armour makes ;
But his patron is not sleeping,
For St. George, the Faithful, wakes ;
He on airy clouds alighting,
Dons the armour of the knight,
Mounts upon the willing charger,
Hurries downwards to the fight.
See ! like lightning flash he charges,
Heaven-sent hero, o'er the field ;
See ! he grasps Almanzor's standard,
And the Paynim columns yield.
Pascal Vivas' prayers are ended ;
From before the altar-rail,
Strides he from St. George's chapel,
Finds his steed and coat of mail,
Homewards rides in deep reflection,
Wonders as he goes along,
hat the trumpets all salute him,
At the loud triumphal-song:
" Pascal Vivas ! Pascal Vivas !
Of our chivalry the boast,
Welcome, with thy standard, welcome,
Conqueror of the Paynim host !
See how blood-stained are thy weapons,
Crushed and hacked with thrust and
blow.
Ballads and Romances . 137
From a thousand wounds still bleeding,
See thy steed which courts the foe !"
Pascal Vivas, vainly striving,
Fain would check their joyous cry —
Bends his head in lowly reverence,
Points in silence to the sky.
11.
Through the gardens in the twilight,
Countess Julia went her way,
Fatiman, Almanzor's nephew,
Snatched her thence by force away :
Hurried with his precious booty,
Through the forest day and night,
And ten trusty Moorish chieftains
Followed him in armour bright.
On the third day, when the morning
Broke in gladness o'er the wood,
They arrived at the green hillock,
Where St. George's chapel stood.
From the distance glanced the Countess
To the holy pictured stone,
Where, before the sacred portal,
Good St. George in sculpture shone ;
Seen, as when he pierced the dragon
Through the jaws Avith mighty shock,
1 3 8 Ballads and Romances.
Whilst the royal maiden waited,
Bound in terror to the rock.
Weeping and her fair hands wringing,
Cried the Countess at the sight :
" Good St. George, thou holy warrior,
Save me from the dragon's might."
See ! who on his snow-white charger,
Hastens down to help and save,
In the breeze his golden ringlets,
And his crimson mantle wave.
See ! his spear is brandished proudly,
See the robber fight no more,
On the ground he writhes in anguish,
As the dragon did of yore,
And the ten proud Moorish chieftains
Sudden terror doth assail,
Lance and buckler from them throwing,
Fast they flee o'er hill and dale.
On her knees, as were she dazzled,
Sank the Countess Julia low ;
" Good St. George, thou holy warrior,
Thousand thanks I here bestow."
When again she lifts her eyelids,
Lo ! the saint is there no more 5
But that Pascal Vivas saved her,
Vaguely hints that tale of yore.
Ballads and Romances. 139
THE KNIGHT PARIS.
1809.
Paris is a knight most noble,
Every heart his power must feel,
Every lady fair can swear it
At the court of proud Castile.
See what trophies of his conquests,
In his lap kind Fortune flings,
Letters, redolent of kisses,
Heaps of curls and endless rings !
Tokens these of easy triumph,
Lightly prized as lightly gained,
Paris calls them bonds and fetters,
And his happy lot's disdained ;
Mounts his steed, and clad in harness,
Gleams with an heroic zest ;
Turns his back on all the ladies,
To the men he turns his breast.
But no foe accepts his challenge,
Spring is sporting o'er the field,
With his plume the breeze is toying,
Sun-light dances on his shield,
Many hours he thus had ridden,
Till, where breaks the opening glade,
140 Ballads and Romances.
Lo ! a mounted knight is waiting,
Who his lance at rest hath laid ;
Eager Paris joins in combat,
With a fire no lists had seen,
Hurls his rival on the green-sward,
Looks around with victor's mien,
Hurries to the fallen warrior,
Lifts his casque from off his head,
Lo ! a mass of wavy ringlets,
And a lady's face instead !
Paris loosens greaves and corslet,
What a bosom, what a waist !
At his face so pale and lifeless,
What a beauty lies unlaced !
When those cheeks which now are ashy,
Redden with the crimson flood,
When she lifts her eyelids, Paris,
Will it stir thy youthful blood ?
See ! she even now is sighing,
Gently opes her lovely eyes,
She who fell as foe before thee,
As a lady fair shall rise.
There, the shell in pieces lyiug,
Which before had formed a knight,
Here, in Paris' arms, the kernel
From the shell lies brought to light.
Ballads and Romances. \\\
Paris speaks, that knight so noble ;
" Where's my triumph, where' s my fame ?
Shall I ne'er in earnest combat,
Gain midst valiant knights a name?
All I touch is changed directly
Into love or into jest,
Fortune, must I thank or scold thee,
For the luck with which I'm blessed?"
THE CASTELLAN OF COUCY.
1812.
How the Castellan of Coney
Felt his heart-pulse beating high,
When the Lady fair of Fayel
Passed before his wondering eye ;
From the moment when he saw her,
All his songs were in her praise,
That his throbbing heart was captive,
Showed he in a thousand ways.
Yet but little did he profit
From his love or from his song,
And he knew her heart could never
Beat with his in unison.
142 Ballads and Romances.
For although she heard with gladness
Gentle songs at even-tide,
Yet she ever kept so strictly,
By her haughty husband's side :
So the Castellan, despairing,
Donned a coat of burnished steel,
And a cross he stitched upon it :
Hoping thus his heart to heal.
When in many a furious combat
He had played a noble part.
Pierced a shaft through cross and doublet,
Struck him to the very heart ;
Then he cried : " True Squire, I bid thee,
When this heart hath ceased to beat,
Bear it safely o'er the ocean,
Lay it at my Lady's feet."
In God's still and holy acre,
Was the noble body laid ;
For the heart, although so weary,
Yet no resting-place was made,
In a golden urn 'tis lying
All embalmed with skilful art ;
Faithfully on board a vessel
Bears the squire his master's heart.
Storm- winds roar, and wave-crests threaten,
Lightning strikes the mast o'erhead ;
Ballads and Romances. 143
When with fear all hearts are trembling,
There is one that knows no dread :
When again in golden sun -light
Smiling gleam the shores of France,
When with joy all hearts are dancing,
There is one that cannot dance.
Through the forest-glades of Fayel
As in haste the urn was borne,
These arose the cry of huntsmen,
The tantarra of the horn ;
In his heart the shaft unerring,
Through the brake the quarry flies,
Towers aloft, and grandly falling
Where the squire is standing, dies.
See ! there comes the Knight of Fayel,
Who the noble stag hath slain,
Soon the squire is all surrounded,
By the eager hunting-train :
When, the vessel, glittering golden,
Fain would seize the venial band,
Steps the squire so proudly backwards,
And exclaims with outstretched hand :
a In the urn which here I carry,
Is a minstrel-warrior's heart,
'Tis the Castellan of Coucy's ;
Let me then in peace depart ;
144 Ballads and Romances.
AVlien he died, the warrior bade me,
When his heart had ceased to beat,
Bear it safely o'er the ocean,
Lay it at his Lady's feet."
a Well I know the noble Lady,"
Says the knight with covert ire,
And in haste the golden vessel
Snatches from the trembling squire,
Places it beneath his mantle,
Eides away with gloomy mien,
Nursing in his heart within him
Hot revenge and bitter spleen.
When he gams his lordly castle
Bids the cooks with eager care
Dress the venison for his table,
And a savoury heart prepare ;
It, with beauteous flowers, as garnish,
Place the servants on the board,
Enter then the Knight of Fayel
And the Lady with her Lord.
Then he hands his spouse the platter,
Speaks in bitter irony :
" Of the game I kill, my Lady,
Aye the heart belongs to thee."
Scarcely has the Lad}' tasted,
Ere her tears begin to flow :
Ballads and Romances. 1 45
And she weeps such floods of anguish,
As when sun-rays melt the snow.
Then the haughty Knight of Fayel
Cries aloud with mocking sneer :
a Doves' hearts cause, they say, the downfall
Of the melancholy tear,
Much more then, beloved lady !
That which I have given thee,
'Tis the Castellan of Coucy's,
Who of old sang lovingly."
When the Knight these words has spoken,
Cruel words and worse beside,
Rises up the Lady proudly,
Sternly speaks with tones of pride :
" Thou hast wrought a great injustice,
Aye I've walked in honour's way,
But the heart, which now I've tasted,
Leads, perforce, my thoughts astray,
Many things my soul recalleth,
Whilom heard in melody ;
What was far from me when living,
Seemeth near, now I must die.
Yes ! my grave for me is ready,
And this feast hath been my last,
Other food would not become me,
After such a rare repast:
L
146 Ballads and Romances.
May the Judge of all have pity,
When thou standest at His throne" —
Thus the Lady spake — and dying,
Left him with his wrath alone.
CHILD ROLAND.
1808.
Dame Bertha sat in her rocky cave,
Bewailing her desthry,
Child Roland played, where free flowers
wave,
And little wail made he.
" Oh kingly Charles ! dear brother mine !
Alas that from thee I fled,
For love did I pomp and rank resign,
And now is thine anger dread.
Thee, Milon, husband true above,
The flood from me hath reft,
And I, who all did leave for love,
Alas ! by love am left.
Ballads and Ro?nances. 147
Young Roland ! thou my child so dear !
My brave and winsome boy !
Child Roland, come thou quickly here,
Thou art mine only joy.
Child Roland go to the town below,
For meat and drink to pray,
And whoever it be that gives to thee,
4 God bless thee/ must thou say.''
King Charlemagne then in his golden hall
With barons and knights did sup,
And in their midst the servants all
Kept passing the dish and cup :
Whilst flute and harp and festive glee,
Struck joy to the heart of each ;
But the tones of their gladsome revelry
Lone Bertha could not reach.
Without the hall the beggars all
In meat and drink had share,
'Tis better they think, to eat and drink,
Than list to music fair.
The king looked forth the ranks along
That at the threshold lay,
There forced amid the beggar throng
A comely boy his way.
l 2
148 Ballads and Romances.
The garb of the boy was wondrous fair,
In patches of hue fourfold,
But he tarried not midst the beggars there,
But gazed on the hall right bold.
Child Roland proudly made his way,
As were it his own abode,
And a dish from the midst he took straight-
way,
And forth in silence strode.
Then thought the king, what a wondrous
thing,
Must I sit here and see ;
But the courtiers heard not a single word,
And so were as still as he.
But only a little space had passed,
Ere back came Roland bold,
Right up to the king he hied him fast,
And grasped his cup of gold.
" Stay ! stay ! thou saucy rascal there !"
The king at length cried loud :
Child Roland seemed not a whit to care,
But looked at the king full proud.
Ballads and Romances. 149
The king waxed wroth, and black grew his
brow,
But soon needs laugh must he ;
u Thou walk'st in our golden hall, I vow,
As under thy greenwood-tree ;
Thou snatchest a dish of my kindly cheer,
Like apples from a tree,
Thou takest as if from fountain clear,
The red- wine that foams for me."
u The peasant-girl drinks of the fountain
clear,
Eats apples from the tree,
But fish and game is my mother's cheer,
The red- wine's foam drinks she."
u And if thy mother so noble be,
Methinks, from thy boastful strain,
That doubtless a castle fair hath she,
And a stately courtier train.
Say, who may be steward to carve at her
board,
Say, who may bear her cup :"
"My right hand here doth carve at her
board,
My left doth bear her cup."
150 Ballads and Romances.
u And pray who may her warders be ?"
" My blue eyes serve instead :"
" And, prithee, who is her minstrel free ?"
u My mouth so rosy red."
" In livery strange the lady, I ween,
Doth deck her retinue,
Like a rainbow is its glittering sheen,
With colours of every hue."
" Eight boys of the town have I fairly fought
And conquered in combat bold,
And as tribute due this cloth they brought
For my jerkin of hue fourfold."
u Of servants the best, she hath, I ween,
That this world can afford,
She is, perchance, some beggar-queen,
AYho keepeth open board :
So noble a dame should not by rights
Far from our presence be :
So ho ! three ladies, so ho ! three knights,
Go bring her here to me."
Child Eoland bore before them all
The cup to the hall of state ;
Three ladies answer the kingly call,
Three knights upon them wait.
Ballads and Romances. 151
But only a little space had passed,
The king looked all around ;
Back hied the knights and ladies fast,
Dame Bertha they had found.
Then cried the king : " Help Heaven ! stay,
Alas ! what a sight I see !
I have mocked and scoffed in the face of day,
At mine own family.
Oh shameful tale ! that my sister pale,
Gray pilgrim's garb should wear,
Oh infamy great ! in my hall of state,
A beggar's staff should bear."
Then at his feet Dame Bertha fell,
That lady pale and meek ;
But with wrath anew his heart doth swell,
As would he in anger speak.
Dame Bertha in fear her glance withdrew,
Not a word to speak dared she,
Child Boland raised his eyes so blue,
To his uncle fearlessly.
With gentler tone King Charlemagne spake :
u Arise, dear sister mine,
For thy brave boy, Child Boland's sake,
Forgiveness shall be thine."
152 Ballads and Romances.
With joyous mien Dame Bertha stood;
" Dear brother mine," said she,
u Child Roland shall return the good,
Which thou hast done for me :
His arms shall ring, like thine, his king,
In many a battle field,
And pennants fair, that his foes once bare,
Shall glisten round his shield,
He shall grasp his prey from many a king
With doughty warrior-hand,
Till he cause with weal and joy to ring,
His moaning mother land."
ROLAND THE SHIELD-BEARER.
1811.
At holy Aix with many a lord
King Charlemagne sat at table,
And fish and game was on the board,
To thirst was no man able ;
And golden vessels' brilliant sheen,
And jewels purple, red and green,
Within the hall did sparkle.
Ballads and Romances. 153
Then quoth King Charles, that hero brave,
" What serves this empty glitter ?
To win the gem we monarchs crave,
The queen of gems were fitter ;
As shines the sun, this jewel shines,
A giant's shield its rays confines,
Deep hid in Ardennes' forest."
Count Richard, Archbishop Turpin,
Duke Nairn and brave Sir Haimond,
Milon of Anglant, Count Garin,
Leave all to seek the diamond ;
To bring their armour loud they call,
To bring their steeds from out the stall,
To ride to meet the giant !
Then Milon' s son young Eoland spake :
" Oh hear ! my father, hear me !
The giant's jewel bright to take,
I am too young, I fear me,
Yet am I not too feeble now,
To bear thy spear, should'st thou allow,
And thy good shield, dear father !"
The comrades six together then
Straight for Ardennes are starting,
But when they came within the glen,
They there agreed on parting ;
J 54
Ballads and Romances.
Behind his sire rode Roland proud,
His wish the hero had allowed,
To bear his shield and buckler.
By sun-light and by moon-light clear,
Each gallant knight now rambles \
But still no giant would appear,
Amid the crags or brambles :
At length beneath the fourth day's sun,
Duke Milon lay asleep at noon,
In oaken shade reposing.
Young Roland soon espied o'erhead
A glimmering and a lightning,
Each stag and roe, as scared they fled
From thickest covert frightening ;
He saw the rays came from a shield
A giant huge and fierce did wield,
From the hill-top descending.
Then thought Roland within his breast ;
It is an awful shining,
'Twere shame my father dear from rest
To wake, so deep reclining,
Awake ! A wake's his steed so dear,
Awake is sword and shield and spear,
Awake's Roland, the stripling.
Ballads and /Romances. 155
Upon his thigh his father's blade
He bound, full bold and lusty,
His father's lance at rest he laid,
And seized his shield so trusty,
His father's steed he then bestrode,
And gently all at first he rode,
Lest he should wake Sir Milon.
And when he came amidst the crags,
Out spake the giant mocking ;
" How loud this little fellow brags,
Upon his steed a' rocking 5
His sword is twice as long as he,
His lance will throw him on the lea,
His shield it will o'erwhelm him !"
Then cried Roland : " The fight's begun
And thou shalt rue thy banter,
My buckler broad shall shield the son
Of Milon of Anglante ;
A man so weak, a horse so strong,
An arm so short, a sword so long,
Methinks will help each other."
The giant brandished with his mace
Far reaching in the distance,
Wheeling his steed, Eoland gave place,
The blow met no resistance.
156 Ballads and Romances.
Full at the giant sped his lance,
Back from the wonder- shield to glance,
Back to the hand that hurled it.
Young Eoland's sword hung by his side,
In both his hands he took it,
To seize his own the giant tried,
And in its scabbard shook it ;
Roland dealt him a cunning blow
On his left hand, his shield below,
And hand and shield came tumbling
-
His shield was gone, then sank away
His heart within the giant,
And sore he missed the jewel's ray,
Which made him so defiant ;
He hurried quick his shield to seize,
But Roland smote him on the knees,
So that he toppled over.
Young Roland seized his hair and hewed
His head from off his shoulders,
A stream of blood the vale imbued,
That leapt o'er crags and boulders ;
And then the jewel bright he tore
From out the shield the giant bore,
And revelled in its brightness.
Ballads and Romances. 157
A fountain gurgled near the place,
So he concealed his treasure,
And washed from cloak and sword and face
The dust and blood at leisure ;
Then young Roland rode back again,
To where Sir Milon down had lain,
Beneath an oak to slumber.
Him, lying by his father's side,
Doth heavy sleep encumber,
Till rested by the even-tide
Sir Milon sprang from slumber ;
" Awake ! my son Roland, awake !
And sword and lance at once we'll take,
To go and seek the giant."
To search the glade they forwards speed,
No longer there they tarried,
Behind rode Roland on his steed,
And spear and shield he carried.
Full soon they came upon the spot,
Where Roland waged the combat hot,
And left the giant lying.
Scarce could Roland his sight believe,
And rubbed his eyes in wonder,
When he no longer could perceive,
What he had hewn asunder,
158 Ballads and Romances.
Gone were the giant's sword and spear,
No shield or harness far or near !
Only his bloody carcass.
And when the knight the corpse beheld,
He cried full sad and tearful ;
" One sees from the huge trunk that's felled,
The oak itself was fearful,
Here lies the giant, all is lost !
Renown and fame my sleep hath cost,
Which I must rue for ever."
Before the castle stood the king
At Aachen, full of sorrow ;
" No day, alas, my knights doth bring
From morrow unto morrow ;
Upon my royal word, see there !
Sir Haimon on his shield doth bear,
The head of the great giant V
With down-cast mien Sir Haimon rode ;
His spear-point he abases,
The giant's head, his gory load,
Before the king he places ;
I found the head in thicket dense,
And fifty paces full from thence
The giant's corpse lay reeking.
Ballads and Romances. 159
Then brought bold Archbishop Turpin
The giant's glove soon after,
The stiffened hand still lay therein,
He drew it out with laughter ;
u See here, my liege, a relic fine !
A sorry spoil, methinks, is mine,
I found it lying severed."
Then brought Duke Nairn the club renowned,
He seemed about to stifle,
tC See here, what in the wood I found,
The weapon weighs no trifle !
I'm very thirsty, quick ! bring here
A deep draught of Bavarian beer,
Methinks 'twill taste delicious."
Count Richard next on foot was seen,
His steed encumbered leading,
The sword and heavy mail, I ween,
Such lingering footsteps needing ;
" Whoe'er to search the brake's inclined,
Much of the armour still may find,
For me it was too weighty."
Then Count Garin doth next appear
The giant's shield he carried :
u He has the shield, the crown is near,
? Tis not in vain he tarried."
160 Ballads and Romances.
" 'Tis true, my lords, the shield I bring,
No jewel's here to greet the king,
For it was gone already/'
Sir Milon last of all was seen,
The castle path ascending,
He leads his steed with mournful mien,
His head all downward bending ;
Behind his father rides Roland,
And bears his spear in his right hand,
His shield he carries gaily.
And when at length his way he makes
To where the king is sitting •
His sire's device away he takes,
And fixes one more fitting ;
His shield the giant's gem enshrines,
As shines the sun the jewel shines,
All dazzling in its radiance.
And when Sir Milon's trophy gave
A light, which aye grew brighter,
Then cried the king : " Sir Milon brave !
All hail, my heart feels lighter ;
Thou hast the giant huge o'erpowered,
His hand hast hewn, his head hast lowered,
And torn from him the jewel."
,
Ballads and Romances. 161
Sir Milon turned him quickly round,
In great surprise and wonder ;
" Young jackanapes ! where hast thou found
Thy bright and kingly plunder?"
Quoth Eoland : " Be not vexed with me,
But when asleep, I slew for thee,
That horrid giant fellow."
THE STATUE OF BACCHUS.
1814.
Calisthenes, a youth of Athens fair,
Came whilom from a night in revellings
spent,
With faded ivy-wreath in matted hair,
In twilight wildly reeling, to his home :
Himself, as was the twilight, blear and pale,
And as his servant led to light the way
Through the high picture-gallery to his
room,
In view before the torch's fullest glare,
The marbled form of Bacchus godlike stood,
As chiselled by creative master-hand.
M
1 62 Ballads and Romances.
His youthful vigour gleams in full relief ;
From out the glossy locks that court his
back
His fine-arched shoulders in the marble
shine,
And in the shadow of luxuriant grapes,
And garlands of the vine, which deck his
brow,
Appears his fair and blooming countenance.
Then backwards starts Calisthenes, dis-
mayed,
In terror at the vision's radiant gleam ;
It seemed, as though in punishment, his
front
The thyrsus-bearing deity had touched,
As thouo-h the animated mouth had said :
" Why wanderest thou, thou trembling spec-
tre, here,
Thou sense-bereft and vapid shade of doom !
My sacred ivy dost thou violate,
In outrage dost thou call thyself my priest,
Begone ! far, far from hence, I know thee
not.
Creative Nature see in me fulfilled,
Nature, which in the vine-stock's noble
blood,
Ballads and Romances. 1 63
Stands rich and godlike before all revealed.
But if thy reckless worship need a god,
In sunny upland vineyard seek him not,
No ! seek him in the darksome shades be-
low."
So spake the god, the torch's light is
quenched ;
Then slinks the youth, shame-stricken, to
his room,
Takes from his brow the faded ivy- wreath,
And deep within his soul makes holy vows.
THE MINSTREL'S CURSE.
1814.
There stood, in bygone ages, a castle proud
and high,
Seen from the deep blue ocean far-gleam-
ing in the sky,
And all around a garden, sweet-flowering in
the dew
And living water gurgling in sprays of
rainbow-hue.
m 2
164 Ballads and Romances.
There sat a king right haughty, the lord of
hill and dale,
Upon his throne he sat him, so gloomy and
so pale,
For what he thinks is horror, and in his eye
is rage,
And what he speaks is torture, and blood is
on his page.
Two bards of noble bearing came to this
keep one day,
The one had golden ringlets, the other's
hair was gray ;
Whilst, harp in hand, the elder on his good
steed did ride,
His young and lithesome comrade strode
gaily by his side.
The old man spake in warning : " Now
ready with thy lay,
Think on our songs most touching, raise
high thy tones to-day,
Gather thy strength together, strike pain
as well as joy,
It shall be ours to soften that heart of stone,
my boy."
Ballads and Romances. 1 6$
Within the columned palace now the twain
bards are seen,
And on the throne are sitting the monarch
and his queen ;
The king, in splendour awful, as when the
North-lights dance,
The queen, benign and gentle,, as silver full-
moon's glance.
Then with a wondrous measure the old man
swept the strings,
And fuller yet and fuller upon the ear it
rings,
And clear and deep as heaven streamed
forth a voice still higher,
The old man's song in pauses sounds like a
ghostly choir.
Of love, that time of rapture, and of the
joyous spring,
Of freedom and of honour, of truth and
faith they sing,
To stir the mortal bosom they sing of all
that's sweet,
And man's heart to ennoble, their strains in
union meet.
166 Ballads and Romances.
The crowd of courtiers round them forget
their ribaldry,
And the king's scornful warriors to God
bend low the knee ;
The queen with joy and sorrow comming-
ling in her breast,
Throws to the bards beneath her the rose-
bud she caressed.
ft Ye have seduced my people, dare ye en-
tice my spouse ?"
Shrieks the rage-trembling monarch, and
fierce revenge he vows,
He draws his sword which flashing pierces
the stripling's breast :
The life-stream gushes upward, the melody's
at rest.
As if by tempest scattered is all the throng
that's nigh,
In the old arms the stripling breathes forth
his parting sigh •
He folds him in his mantle, he sets him on
his steed,
He binds him on it upright, forth from the
keep to lead.
Ballads and Romances. 167
Before the lofty gateway the old man's foot-
steps rest,
His ancient harp he seizes, of every harp
the best,
He dashes it to pieces against the marble
wall,
His voice resounds prophetic through garden
and through hall :
"Woe to thee, haughty palace! let ne'er
sweet tones again
Reecho round thy columns, nor harp's nor
song's soft strain,
Let there be sighs and groanings and timo-
rous tramp of slaves,
Till the avenging spirit tread on your
mouldering graves.
"Woe to ye, balmy gardens ! smiling in
May's fair light,
Gaze on the youth departed, defaced, be-
reft of sight ;
Be withered then and wasted, let every
spring be dry,
For desolate and blasted from henceforth
ye shall lie.
1 68 Ballads and Romances.
Woe to thee, cursed murderer ! of bard and
song the banc,
For Avreaths of blood-stained glory thy
striving shall be vain,
Thy name shall be forgotten, buried in end-
less gloom,
Void as the last death-rattle, the harbinger
of doom."
The old man finished speaking : and heaven
heard his call,
Prostrate the walls are lying, in ruins is the
hall,
One column marks the vestige of splendour
that is past,
But that, already crumbling, must fall
alone at last.
Around, instead of gardens, a waste and
barren heath,
No tree sheds shade, no fountain gurgles
the sand beneath,
No legend of that monarch sings the heroic
verse ;
1 Uprooted and forgotten' — " That is the
Minstrel's Curse."
Ballads and Romances. i 69
EEVENGB.
1810.
The squire has murdered his master the
knight,
The squire would be gladly a paladin hight,
He murdered him foully in darksome glade,
And deep in the Ehine his body he laid.
His armour bright forthwith donned he,
And sprang on his master's charger free.
And when with a leap the bridge he'd
clear,
The steed refuses and 'gins to rear.
And then, at the touch of the spur of
gold,
The waves of the river them both enfold.
With arm and leg he struggles and strives,
The weight of the trappings costs both their
lives.
170 Ballads and Romances.
THE LUCK OF EDEN-HALL.
1834.
Of Eden-liall the youthful Lord
Bids peal the trump for festival,
Then rises at the banquet-board
Midst drunken groups of guests to call :
a Ho ! bring me the Luck of Eden-hall."
The sewer hears the summons loth,
The oldest vassal of the Hall,
Draws trembling from its silken cloth
The drinking-glass of crystal tall :
They call it the Luck of Eden-hall.
Then cries the Lord : " This glass to praise
Pom* out red wine of Portugal ;"
Trembling the aged hand obeys,
A purple light that plays o'er all
Streams forth from the Luck of Eden-hall.
Then says the Lord and waves it higher,
u . This glass of sparkling crystal tall
A water-sprite once gave my sire,
She wrote therein : * Should this glass fall,
Farewell then, oh Luck of Eden-hall !'
Ballads and Romances, iji
'Twas right a cup should be the fate
Of the joyous race of Eden-hall,
For the draughts we drink are strong and
great,
And at every gladsome festival
We cry : ' Clink with the Luck of Eden-
hall.'
It rings at first, soft, full and deep
Like song of evening nightingale,
Then roars like woodland torrent's leap,
Then rumbles as when storm-bolts fall,
Our glorious Luck of Eden-hall !
A dauntless race as its treasure deems
This brittle glass of crystal tall,
It hath lasted longer than beseems :
Come, come ! with a mightier clink than
all
Will I test the Luck of Eden-hall."
The drinking-glass in twain is reft,
With headlong crash the arches fall,
The red flames dance athwart the cleft,
In dust the guests lie scattered all,
With the breaking Luck of Eden-hall,
1 72 Ballads and Romances.
In storms the foe with fire and sword 7
He in the night had scaled the wall,
The sword lays low the youthful Lord,
His hand still grasps the crystal tall,
The shivered Luck of Eden-hall.
'Tis morn — the aged sewer alone
Wanders in the uprooted hall,
His seeks his Lord's charred skeleton,
His seeks in pillars' grewsome fall
The shards of the Luck of Eden-hall.
M The stone wall," saith he, " yawneth wide,
The lofty column too must fall
But glass is this world's Luck and Pride,
In atoms once our earthly ball
Must fall, like the Luck of Eden-hall."*
* In this well-known Ballad, Uhland has not
strictly confined himself to fact. The Luck of
Eden-hall is still in the possession of Sir George
Musgrave, Bart., of Eden-hall, Cumberland, and
the Translator has been authorized by the owner
himself to state, that the Glass is in a perfect con-
dition, without crack or flaw. The note, which ap-
pears at the foot of the Translation of this poem by
Longfellow, leads the reader to suppose that the
Ballads and Romances. 1 73
THE LAST PALSGRAVE.
1847.
l y Palsgrave Goetz of Tuebingen,
Must sell my keep and town,
With subjects, taxes, field and wood,
For debts sore weigh me down.
Two rights alone I will not sell,
Two rights so old and good,
Within the cloister's tower the one,
The other in the wood.
In cloistered cell I bowed me low,
And stooped to till the ground,
The abbot's care must tend for me
My hawk and eke my hound.
Luck, if not broken to pieces as stated by Uh-
land, is, at any rate, muck disfigured and ckipped.
It is to correct this erroneous notion tkat tke
present note is added, and Longfellow was, in the
summer of 1868, enabled personally to convince
himself of the entirety and freedom from flaw of
this noble relic.
174 Ballads and Romances.
At Schoenbuch, near the cloister's shade,
Through my free chace I'll ride^
If that I keep, I little reck
If I lose all beside.
And if some mom ye monks devout
My horn no longer hear,
Then toll the bell and search for me
By shady fountain clear.
And bury me 'neath spreading oak,
Amid the bird's sweet song,
And say a huntsman's mass for me,
Which does not last too long.
THE BRIDGE OF BIDASSOA.
1834.
On the Bridge of Bidassoa
Stands a saintly pilgrim gray,
Spreads on either hand his blessing,
France and Spain before him lay ;
And the bridge has need of blessing,
Tender comfort from on high ;
AVhere so many from their country
Part, an exile's death to die.
Ballads and Romances. i y$
On the Bridge of Bidassoa
Is a strange and chequered sight,
Where the one but sees a shadow,
Sees the other golden light,
AVhere for one the rose-bud smileth,
Sees the other barren sand,
Yet for each is exile dreary,
Dear to each his fatherland.
Blithely bounds the Bidassoa,
While the sheep-bell tinkles gay,
But amidst the mountains echo
Bine-cracks the live-long day :
And when evening shades are falling,
Seeks a band the foaming flood,
Fugitive, with battered banner,
And their path is marked with blood,
On the Bridge of Bidassoa
Lay their useless rifles down,
Bind their wounds, still freshly bleeding,
Count the friends whom still they own ;
Long the absent comrades tarry,
None they miss the standard seeks ;
Once again the drum is beating,
And an aged warrior speaks.
176 Ballads and Romances.
" Furl your banner, noble comrades,
Once the badge of liberty,
Many times ye thus have wandered,
O'er the frontier-bridge ye see,
Many times hath sought our standard
Freedom's boon in foreign shore,
But unstained by shame it crosseth,
And its star shines as of yore.
Thou, who from our former contests
Bearest many a noble scar,
Thou, to-day, when all are bleeding,
Mina, from our griefs art far ;
All is well, since thou art with us,
Scathless stands the hope of Spain \
Let us hence with happy presage,
We shall once come back again."
From the bridge where he was leaning,
Sore with toil and care oppressed,
Mina rises, views the mountains
Where the sun-god dips his crest,
Lays his hand upon his bosom,
Cannot check the heart-stream's flow :
On the Bridge of Bidassoa,
Bleed the wounds of long ago.
Ballads and Romances. ijy
THE SUNKEN CEOWN.
1812.
Above an humble cottage
Upon the hill cloth stand,
One seeth from the threshold,
Far o'er the smiling land.
There on his bench a peasant
Sits free, as close the days,
And while he whets his sickle,
He sings his Maker's praise.
Beneath, deep in the valley,
A lake spreads, damp and dank,
And in it lieth glittering
A rich crown, where it sank.
Though sapphires and carbuncles
Gleam royally entwined,
Yet there it rests since ages,
And no one seeks to find.
THE SWOKD.
1809.
Down to the stithy went the lord,
Where he had ordered him a sword,
N
178 Ballads and Romances.
In vain his youthful arm essayed
To raise on high the ponderous blade.
The grisly blacksmith stroked his beard ;
" Thine arm's too weak, 'tis as I feared ;
'Tis not too heavy, nor too light,
Ere morning I will make it right."
No ! no ! to-day ; as I'm a knight,
By mine and not thy anvil's might !"
So speaks the youth; with strength en-
dowed,
He waves on high the blade so proud.
THE ELM-TREE OF HIRSAU.
1829.
At Hirsau, midst the ruins,
There waved an elm-tree tall
Its coronal of verdure,
High o'er the convent-wall.
Its roots were deep emburied,
In cloister gray it grew,
And like a roof its arches
Spread in the azure blue.
Ballads and Romances. 1 79
The narrow walls around it
Took air and sun away,
And so the tree strove upwards,
And reached the light of day.
Its climbing course to heaven
The jutting walls viewed loth,
And bent their tops together
To check its daring growth.
When, in the verdant valley,
I went my way alone,
To that up-soaring elm-tree
My thoughts have ever flown.
When, in the mouldering ruins,
I sat me at my ease,
Then have the rustling branches
Played in the murmuring breeze.
I've seen it ofttimes glowing
In the first morning-ray,
I've seen it still in sunlight,
Steeped was the vale in gray.
In Wittenberg's old cloister,
There grew a tree as well,
Stretched giant-boughs to heaven
Forth from its cloistered cell.
180 Ballads and Romances.
Oh beam of Light ! thou piercest
The darkest, deepest night ;
Oh soul below ! thou strivest
Upwards — to air and light.
THE END.
(o
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