THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 A
 
 THE 
 
 SONGS AND BALLADS 
 
 OF 
 
 UHLAND. 
 
 /I 
 
 TKANSLATED FEOM THE GERMAN 
 
 THE REV. W. W. SKEAT. M. A. 
 
 LATE FELLOW OF CHRIST'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 WILLIAMS AND NORGATE, 
 
 14, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON; 
 
 AND 
 
 20, SOUTH FREDERICK STREET, EDINBURGH. 
 
 1864.
 
 LEIPZIG: PEINTED BY B. G. TEUBNER.
 
 er 
 
 THE POET'S PREFACE 
 
 TO THE FIRST EDITION, PUBLISHED IN 1815. 
 
 Songs are Ave , our father seucls us 
 
 Through the world afar to roam ; 
 Where the critic's spleen attends us, 
 
 On the stage he bid us come. 
 Deem us not too overweening, 
 
 Lend us a propitious ear 
 Whilst — your kind indulgence praying 
 We our prologue brief are saying; 
 Once did frogs with croak unmeaning 
 
 On the Grecian stage appear!* 
 
 Some may choose to call us mournful, 
 Weeping, grieving ceaselessly; 
 
 Some — that we of life are scornful, 
 Making; men and mice to die. 
 
 Alluding to the "Frogs" of Aristophanes. 
 
 A» 
 
 9MM70
 
 IV poet's preface. 
 
 Yet should each on youth who ponders, 
 
 Youth, with fullest life that glows. 
 Know — the vine doth weep, tho' teeming;* 
 Yea, the vine whose juice, dark-gleaming, 
 'Mid the gifts that Autumn squanders. 
 Kindling strength und gladness, flows. 
 
 Yet, although to boast were folly, 
 
 Some of us are here to-day 
 Whence hot summer sixns have wholly 
 
 Dried the dew of tears away: 
 As, of yore, the Jester sprightly 
 
 Hand in hand with Death would pace. 
 Some are cheerful, some distressing, 
 Some — 'tis hoped — some wit possessing; 
 Truthful lays may oft run lightly, 
 
 Free from idle sorrow's trace. 
 
 Ballads are we — mere romances. 
 Framed with touches light and few ; 
 
 Every soul that sings or dances. 
 
 Pipes or harps, may run them through. 
 
 Yet the thoughtful man, essaying 
 Gentle hints with care to find , 
 
 * Alluding to a transparent exudation from the 
 branch of the vine.
 
 POET S PREFACE. 
 
 Here and there may soon discover 
 Deeper thoughts veiled lightly over: 
 Every part to him betraying 
 
 One sole source — our Author's mind. 
 
 Should too many seem but trifles, 
 
 Think, they mark this age of strife, 
 "Which — like snow deep -drifted — stifles 
 
 Every sign of struggling life. 
 When we groaned 'neath Thraldom's rigour, 
 
 Song declined beneath its blight; 
 Now that, long extinct in ashes, 
 German Freedom brightly flashes, 
 Soon shall Song win life and vigour. 
 
 Soaring in unclouded light. 
 
 May we then but herald others , 
 
 Other more exalted rimes, 
 Larger- stature d, stronger brothers. 
 
 Rising up in after times. 
 Lest we should but promise vainly, 
 
 This we leave to Heaven above. 
 Ye perchance, more skilled in seeing 
 Future things by those in being, 
 By these opening buds may plainly 
 
 Guess at what the fruit will prove!
 
 PEEFACE. 
 
 Ludwig Uhland was bOru on the 26"^ of 
 April, 1787, at Tübingen, in .Wiirtemburg; 
 and died at Stuttgardt, November tbe 14"', 
 1862, at the advanced age of 75 years, after 
 a long, laborious, and useful life. He him- 
 self alludes to the month of his birth in the 
 fragmentary poem called "Fortunatus", where 
 he says of Fortune, 
 
 "In changeful April has she fixed the morn, 
 In changeful April was her poet born." 
 
 He early applied himself to the study of the 
 law, although — like Metastasio when engaged , 
 in the same pursuit — he felt himself far more 
 easily attracted by the reading and cultivation 
 of poetry. Accordingly we find him saying,
 
 PREFACE. VII 
 
 "When to law I gave my studies, 
 'Gainst the impulse of my heart, 
 And from Poetry's allurements 
 Half had torn myself apart, 
 To the God who wears the fillet 
 
 Oft I gave some idle song, 
 None to thee, blindfold Goddess, 
 Sternly severing Eight from Wrong." 
 He matriculated at the university of his na- 
 tive town in 1805 — took the degree of 
 Doctor of Laws in 1810; and in 1812 began 
 to practise as advocate in the town of Stutt- 
 gardt. 
 
 His life was alternately one of political ex- 
 citement and of retirement and literary em- 
 ployment. He was especially active in the 
 political world at three periods. 
 
 The first of these — to Avhich most of his 
 political poems may be referred — began with 
 the national movement against the French in 
 1813, in which year occurred the memorable 
 battle of Leipsic, to which he so often refers. 
 Two years later, king Frederick ofWiirtemburg 
 proposed to frame a new constitution for that 
 country, and though he died in the ensuing 
 year before any reforms were completed, his 
 successor, William I. (the lately deceased king)
 
 VIII PREFACE. 
 
 persevered in the liberal course wliicli had been 
 thus commenced , and to him the country was 
 ultimately indebted for its present excellent 
 constitution. 
 
 Uhland was at all times among the foremost 
 advocates of freedom and of liberal ideas, and 
 was elected as member of the representative 
 assembly in 1819. His spirited "Patriotic 
 Poems," (among which must be reckoned the 
 last twelve of the "Songs"), commanded in- 
 deed no little influence, and are especially 
 interesting to the historical student, as pre- 
 cisely indicating the national feeling at that 
 time. Three of them were written on the 
 second, third, and fourth anniversaries respect- 
 ively of the last day of the struggle at Leipzig 
 (October 18, 1813). 
 
 It should be added that the constitution 
 which was at first offered by William I. to 
 his subjects in 1817 was condemned as in- 
 adequate to their wants, and further con- 
 cessions were demanded. This supplies the 
 key to "Patriotic Poems," 9 to 12. 
 
 The second of the periods in which the poet 
 appeared as' a politician was in 1838, when 
 he was chosen as a deputy to the Diet; and 
 the third and last period was ten years latei-,
 
 PREFACE. IX 
 
 wlien lie was again elected as a persevering 
 advocate of liberal opinions. 
 
 Many of his poems were written before his 
 entrance upon these stirring scenes. Among 
 his first productions were his contributions to 
 a publication entitled the "Deutscher Dichter- 
 wald" (the German Minstrel-forest) to which 
 he refers in Song 41. 
 
 A visit to Paris in 1810, immediately after 
 taking his degree, gave him a great opportu- 
 nity for making literary researches , of which 
 he availed himself largely. The influence of 
 French and Spanish mediseval literature is 
 clearly traced in the "Poems from the Old 
 French" — in the Ballads of the time of 
 Charlemagne (Ballads 69—71) — in "Tail- 
 lefer" (Ballad No. 72) — and in the imita- 
 tions of the Spanish romanceros in Ballads 
 34_38. Again, the 42 "^^ Ballad introduces 
 us to imitations of the Provencal Minnesaug, 
 whilst Norse literature is represented by "the 
 Dying Heroes," and "the Blind King." At 
 the same time, many of the most spirited of 
 all his poems remind us that he was by no 
 means neglectful of the old Suabian legends, 
 but preferred them indeed to all others , as 
 became so true a patriot; the district called
 
 Suabia being partly included in tlie modern 
 "VViirtemburg. The celebrated Nibelungen Lied 
 was with him an especial favourite, and he 
 often adopts the name of the hero Siegfried 
 or Sifrid. See Sonnet 5 (II). 
 
 His fondness for mediseval literature led to 
 his publication of several works upon that sub- 
 ject, such as ""Walther von der Vogelweide", 
 "On the myth of the Northern legend of Thor", 
 and a very valuable collection of " ancient High 
 and Low German popular songs ;" and his re- 
 putation for philology was so great that in 1830 
 he was appointed professor extraordinary of 
 the German language and literature. 
 
 In his dramatic efforts he was less success- 
 ful. He wrote a drama called "Louis the Ba- 
 varian," and a tragedy entitled "Ernst, duke 
 of Suabia," the prologue to which will be 
 found below. {Pat. Poems. No. 14.) Included 
 in his poems are also four dramatic fragments, 
 one only of which appeared to me of sufficient 
 interest to be here inserted, viz. the one en- 
 titled "A Norman Custom". Of the one called 
 "Schildeis" the best passage is perhaps the 
 following : 
 
 My best beloved ones, the life of man 
 
 Is a short blossom and a long decay.
 
 PREFACE. XI 
 
 And, interwoven witli tins gradual course, 
 The seasons' swift and many-coloured changes 
 Occasion unto man, who witnesseth 
 But cannot follow them, unnumbered woes. 
 When Autumn strips the fields of flowers and 
 
 leaves. 
 The joyous mind of youth grows sad to think 
 That thus he tastes old age before the time. 
 More mournful still — Avhen Spring the earth 
 
 revives , 
 Then 'gins the graybeard's cheek to glow 
 
 afresh , 
 And the o'erwearied heart half hopes for youth. 
 Short-lived deception! for the withered stem 
 Puts forth a Aveakly leaf, but bears no bloom." 
 
 It includes also the following songs : — 
 "Enter two wanderers; the first sings. 
 
 Fir-tree! thy rejoicing spray 
 
 Through all the year is green ; 
 Like thee, my love for many a day 
 
 Hath fresh and hopeful been; 
 Fir-tree! blossoms bright and gay 
 
 On thee are never seen ; 
 Like thee, my love doth wear for aye 
 
 A garb of gloomy green.
 
 XII PREFACE. 
 
 The second sings. 
 
 Birch, that 'mongst the firs around 
 
 The wanderer gleaming sees, 
 That art with leafy verdure crowned 
 
 Before all other trees. 
 My early hopes — my youthful dreams — 
 
 Like thee, Birch, are they? 
 Thy verdure soon and brightly gleams, 
 
 Yet fades and falls away!" 
 
 Another fragment, "the Serenade", contains 
 merely a serio-comic dialogue between a music- 
 master and a refractory pupil. The fourth 
 and last one is entitled "Conradin", and re- 
 fers to the ill-starred expedition to Italy of 
 Conradin, the youthful duke of Suabia, in the 
 autumn of 12G7. The passages in which Italy 
 is contrasted with Germany are too characteris- 
 tic to be passed over. 
 
 "Son of our princes, this Italian land 
 That with false glitter blinds thy dazzled eyes. 
 What is it — but a whited sepulchre? 
 Lay thee among these flowers fair, and straight 
 The viper venomous shall sting thy heel ! 
 Or slumber to the sound of amorous lutes. 
 On some warm night, and from the walls 
 creeps forth
 
 PREFACE. XIII 
 
 The scorpion — the malignant Tarantella! 
 The sun's broad flood of light breeds poisonous 
 
 plagues , 
 And smites the frame with leprosy and sores; 
 The very soil on which thou setst thy foot 
 Is treacherous; beneath it yawns a hell. 
 The crater bursts asunder, spitting flames, 
 Then quakes th' unstable earth, and o'er thy 
 
 head 
 Eends the o'erarching roof, and whelms the 
 
 tower. 
 In every nook assassination lurks: 
 The women's burning eyes consume and waste 
 The pith of heroes; e'en the friendly cup 
 Is poisoned, yea! the Host itself is death!" 
 
 And now look upon this picture; 
 
 "0 think upon that mount, that high and steep 
 Arises, fairer than all Suabian hills, 
 And on its kingly narrow-pointed peak 
 The Hohenstaufen's olden castle bears! 
 Lo! far aroixnd, beneath the sun's soft ray, 
 A green and fertile land, far-winding vales 
 Gleaming with torrents, pastures rich in herds, 
 Woods stocked with game above, and far below 
 The neighbouring chapel's vesper-bell's soft 
 chime !
 
 XIV PREFACE. 
 
 And far and Avide, in every town and fort 
 A race most blest of God, true-hearted men, 
 And women fair, yet modest and reserved, 
 Yea! (as our Walter sang), like very angels!" 
 
 Uhland's poems also contain a fragment cal- 
 led "Fortunatus", a rambling poem in the 
 metre of Tasso. Though I have translated it 
 for my OAvn satisfaction, I think it is so far 
 inferior to his other poems as to possess but 
 little interest, on which account it is omitted. 
 For some of my facts I am indebted to an 
 article on "Uhland" in the English Cyclo- 
 psedia. It contains so very just an estimate 
 of Uhland's poems , and expresses their cha- 
 racter with such accuracy, that I shall best 
 assist the reader by quoting the passage un- 
 altered. 
 
 "His songs, ballads, and romances form 
 the most valuable portion of Uhland's literary 
 works. His songs are distinguished by their 
 spirit and energy, their truth and depth of 
 feeling, their lively and picturesque represen- 
 tations of nature, and their varied subjects; 
 his patriotic songs in particular contain some 
 most heart -stirring appeals to all the better 
 national feelings that were likely to arouse
 
 PREFACE. XV 
 
 his countrymen , and in them is a mixture of 
 earnestness and jocularity, with a fervent love 
 of country, and aspiration after the great and 
 good inspired by the recollections of their an- 
 cestors. His ballads and romances are re- 
 markable for their apparent symplicity, the 
 result of a most carefully exercised art, shewn 
 by the extreme skill and felicity in the choice 
 of words , and the masterly way in which cha- 
 racters are sketched perfectly but briefly." 
 
 A translation of nearly all Uhland's poems 
 by Alexander Piatt Avas published at Leipzig 
 in 1848, but is not very easily accessible in 
 this country. My own translation is an in- 
 dependent one; indeed, I was not able to 
 obtain a copy of the above till my own was 
 already in the press. I have endeavoured to 
 make it especially suitable to the English rea- 
 der, whether acquainted with the original or 
 not; and have also aimed at rendering it as 
 far as possible self-explanatory — to the avoi- 
 dance of many footnotes — and at divesting it 
 as far as is consistent with fidelity to the ori- 
 ginal of that listless formality which trans- 
 lations are but too wont to assume. Thus, 
 Avhilst the metres of the original have been 
 nearly. always adhered to, the rimes are less
 
 XVI PREFACE. 
 
 frequent, and double-rimes in particular have 
 been avoided in many instances ; for it is in 
 general wrong to represent double -rimes in 
 German otherwise than by single-rimes in Eng- 
 lish. On this point see Marsh's Lectures on 
 the English Language, First Series, pp. 536, 
 537. English hexameters are in most cases 
 but poor, or as Tennyson calls them, "bar- 
 barous," but they may serve to translate Ger- 
 man ones , in moderation, and have therefore 
 been employed. Several of the Ballads are 
 in "Asonante" verse, in imitation of the 
 Spanish. Two have been rendered into this 
 verse by way of example. Its peculiarity is 
 that the rime is confined to the vo7vel only; 
 or speaking more correctly, to the votvel-soinid. 
 It requires that the same voAvel-sound shall 
 recur in the last syllable but one of the se- 
 cond, fourth, sixth, &c. lines of a trochaic 
 measure in which each line contains four tro- 
 chees, or else three trochees and a half. See 
 Ballads 34 and 38. In this manner, such words 
 as famous, sailor, neighbour, favour, &c., may be 
 used as assonant; but we should not admit 
 among these such a word as father, (as is 
 often wrongly done) , because in this case the 
 vowel sound is really altogether different.
 
 PREFACE. XVII 
 
 In conclusion, it is fair to suppose that the 
 poet would have -wishecl the attention of the 
 critic to be especially directed to his 39th 
 Ballad. 
 
 Cambridge, 1864.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 The occurrence of a name after any of the following- titles of Songs 
 
 or Ballads indicates that such piece has been also translated 
 
 by the person mentioned. 
 
 Author's Preface Ill 
 
 Preface VI— XVII 
 
 Songs. 
 
 1. The Poet's Evening Walk 1 
 
 2. To Death 2 
 
 3. Harper's Song at a Marriage-feast ... 4 
 
 4. The King on the Watch-tower; (v. Thackeray) 5 
 
 5. A May-dirge 7 
 
 6. A Poor Man's Hymn; (v. C. R. Kennedy) . 9 
 
 7. The Song of Young Men 10 
 
 8. To a Child 12 
 
 y 9. The Chapel; (v. Baskerville) 12 
 
 10. Genial Days 13 
 
 11. In Autumn 15 
 
 12. A Wonder 15 
 
 13. My own Song 16 
 
 14. The Monk and the Shepherd 17 
 
 ^ 15. The Shepherd's Song on the Lords Day . . 18 
 
 16. A Nun's Song 19 
 
 17. The Boy's Mountain-song; (v. Baskerville) . 20
 
 INDEX. XIX 
 
 18. Bridal Song 21 
 
 19. A Resolution 22 
 
 20. The Course of Events 23 
 
 21. A Song of the AVoods ....'.... 24 
 
 22. A happy Death 25 
 
 23. Inconstancy 25 
 
 24. Retirement 26 
 
 25. Contentment 26 
 
 26. Love Sublime 27 
 
 27. Nearness 28 
 
 28. The Evening Before 28 
 
 29. The Gossamer 29 
 
 80. By Night 29 
 
 31. A bad Neighbourhood 30 
 
 32. Precepts for Peasants 30 
 
 33. Hans and Grete 31 
 
 34. The Smith 31 
 
 35. Hunting-song 32 
 
 36. The Shepherd's Winter-song 32 
 
 37. Song of a Prisoner 34 
 
 38. The Churchyard in Spring 34 
 
 39. Songs of Springtime 35 
 
 1. Spring's Approach. — 2. Faith strength- 
 ened by Spring. — 3. Spring-repose. — 4. 
 Spring's Holyday. --5. The Praise of Spring. 
 — 6. Si)ring's Consolation. — 7. A future 
 Spring. — 8. Springtime: By a Critic. 
 
 40. To one I name not 38 
 
 41. Free Art 39 
 
 42. A Request 41 
 
 48. To a Dancer 41 
 
 44. On a Poet, starved to Death 42 
 
 45. The Valley 43 
 
 46. The Vale of Rest 44 
 
 47. Evening Clouds 45 
 
 B*
 
 XX INDEX. 
 
 48. May-Song 45 
 
 49. A Lament 46 
 
 50. A Vindication 46 
 
 51. On a Cheerful Morning 47 
 
 52. The Greeting of Souls 48 
 
 53. TheFerry-Boat (v. Longfellow; Prose Works) 48 
 
 54. The Larks 50 
 
 55. The Poet's Blessing 50 
 
 56. May-dew 51 
 
 57. Wine and bread 52 
 
 58. The Summer Solstice 53 
 
 59. The Poppy 54 
 
 60. The Mallow 55 
 
 61. Travel 56 
 
 62. Songs of the Traveller; (v. Baskerville) . . 57 
 
 1. Farewell. — 2. Parting and Stai'ting. — 
 3. Far away. — 4. Morning-song. — 5. Tra- 
 velling by Night. — 6. Winter- travelling. — 
 7. Going away. — The Inn. — 9. The Journey 
 Home. 
 
 63. Dedication of a House 62 
 
 64. A Tardy Nuptial Lay 63 
 
 65. A Song of Tea 64 
 
 66. A Song of Pork 65 
 
 67. Drinking-Song 67 
 
 68. Drinking-Song 68 
 
 69. Song of a German Poet 71 
 
 70. To a Poet's Daughter 72 
 
 71. Forwards 73 
 
 72. The Tidings of Victory . 74 
 
 73. To my Fatherland 75 
 
 74. The German Philological Association: 1817 76 
 
 75. The Seriousness of the Age 77 
 
 76. The New Fairy-tale . 78 
 
 77. Looking forward 78
 
 INDEX. XXI 
 
 78. To Mothers 79 
 
 79. To Maidens • . . . 79 
 
 80.. The New Muse 80 
 
 Patriotic Poems. 
 
 1. On the 18th October, 1815 82 
 
 2. The Good Old Right 84 
 
 3. Wiirtemburg 86 
 
 4. A Dialogue 88 
 
 5. To the Representatives of the People . . 90 
 
 6. On the 18"» October, 1816 91 
 
 7. Tares among the Wheat 93 
 
 8. Traditional Domestic Customs 94 
 
 9. A Patriotic Heart 95 
 
 10. A New Year's Wish, 1817 96 
 
 11. To the Representatives of the People; on 
 
 the 18"' October, 1817 97 
 
 12. Prayer of a Wiirtemburger 98 
 
 13. The Charter 99 
 
 14. Prologue to the Tragedy of "Ernest" . . 101 
 
 15. Wandering 104 
 
 Epigrams. 
 
 Distiches: To Apollo, the Butterfly. — Achilles (1, 
 2.) — Narcissus and Echo. — The Gods of 
 Antiquity. — TelPs Platte. — The Ruins. — 
 Burial. — Mother and Child. — A Night in 
 March. — May. — Exchange. — Love's Arrow. 
 
 — Interpretation of Dreams. — Roses . , 108 
 
 The Answer 113 
 
 The Slumberer 113 
 
 To Her 114 
 
 Words of an Old Man (1) 114 
 
 Words of an Old Man (2) 115
 
 XXII INDEX. 
 
 On the Death of a Village Priest 115 
 
 Elegiacs 116 
 
 On a Tombstone 117 
 
 In an Album 118 
 
 On William Hauff' s early death 118 
 
 Fate 120 
 
 At Sea ... 120 
 
 Sonnets. 
 
 1. A. Legacy 121 
 
 2. To Petrarch 122 
 
 3. In Varnhagen's Album 123 
 
 4. To Kerner 124 
 
 5. On Karl Gangloff's death; 3 Sonnets . . 125 
 
 6. To the Invisible One 128 
 
 7. Presentiment of Death 129 
 
 8. Extinguished Love 130 
 
 9. Ghostly Life 131 
 
 10. A Desolate Spring 132 
 
 11. The dear Spot .133 
 
 12. The two Maidens 134 
 
 13. The Wood; a dream 135 
 
 14. The Nosegay of Flowers 136 
 
 15. An Apology 137 
 
 16. A Proposal 138 
 
 17. The Critic Converted 139 
 
 18. A Concluding Sonnet 140 
 
 19. To the League-detectors, 1816 141 
 
 Poems in Ottava Kima. 
 
 To K. M 143 
 
 One Evening 144 
 
 Living Backwards 145 
 
 Song and Warfare (1,2) . 146 
 
 Katharina 151
 
 IJIDEX. XXIII 
 
 Bouts Rimes. 
 
 1. The Critic 155 
 
 2. The Troubadour and the Critic .... 157 
 
 3. The Night-wauderers 159 
 
 A Norman Custom; a dramatic Poem. 
 
 Eallads and Bomances. 
 
 1. Renunciation 173 
 
 2. The Nun; (v. translations, &c. by P. Boyd) 175 
 
 3. The Chaplet; (v. Thackeray) 176 
 
 4. The Shepherd 177 
 
 5. The Forefather's Greeting ...... 179 
 
 6. The Dying Heroes l80 
 
 7. The Blind King 182 
 
 8. The Minstrel 185 
 
 9. Gretchen's Joy 186 
 
 10. The Castle by the Sea; (v. Longfellow) . 187 
 
 11. Faithful Walter 189 
 
 12. The Pilgrim 191 
 
 13. Departure . . • 193 
 
 14. The Boy's Death 194 
 
 15. The Dream 196 
 
 16. The Three Damsels 196 
 
 17. The Black Knight; (v. Longfellow) ... 200 
 
 18. The Garden of Roses 203 
 
 19. The Songs of the Past 206 
 
 20. The Three Songs 208 
 
 21. The Prince and the Shepherdess .... 209 
 
 22. The Goldsmith's Daughter 217 
 
 23. The Hostess's Daughter 220 
 
 24. The Mower-girl 222
 
 XXIV INDEX. 
 
 25. Dirges 225 
 
 1. The Serenade; (v. Baskerville). — 2. 
 The Organ. — 3. The Thrush. 
 
 26. The Lode-star 226 
 
 27. The Minstrel's Return 228 
 
 28. The Little Ship 229 
 
 29. The Passing Minstrel 230 
 
 30. A Dream 231 
 
 v/ 31. The Good Comrade 232 
 
 32. The AVreath of Eoses 233 
 
 33. Princess Siegelind 237 
 
 34. The Victor 239 
 
 35. The Cavalier by Night 240 
 
 36. The Knight of Castile 241 
 
 37. St. George's Knight 243 
 
 38. The Legend of "Little Thumbling" ... 248 
 
 39. The Legend of the Critic ...... 249 
 
 40. Paris the Knight 251 
 
 41. The Robber 253 
 
 42. The Loves of the Poets 254 
 
 1. Rudello. — 2. Durand. — 3. The Cas- 
 tellan of Couci. — 4. Don Massias. — 5. 
 Dante. 
 
 43. Love-songs . . . . , 271 
 
 1. The Student. — 2. The Huntsman. 
 
 I, 44. Bertran de Born 276 
 
 45. The Pilgrim 279 
 
 46. The Bridge over the Bidassoa 283 
 
 47. Unstern (Luckless) 285 
 
 48. The Ring 288 
 
 49. The three Castles 290 
 
 50. Count Eberhard's White-thorn-bush ... 293 
 
 51. The Elm-tree at Hirsau 294 
 
 52. A Legend of Strasburg Cathedral .... 296 
 
 53. The Roe 297
 
 INDEX. XXV 
 
 54. The White Hart 299 
 
 55. The Hunt in the New Forest 300 
 
 56. Harold 302 
 
 57. The Elves 305 
 
 58. Merlin the Seer 308 
 
 59. The Statue of Bacchus 313 
 
 60. The Seven Boon-companions 314 
 
 61. The Ghost's Wine-press 318 
 
 62. Young Rechberger 320 
 
 6.3. The Count of Greiers; (v. Bryant) ... 324 
 
 64. Count Eberstein 327 
 
 65. Suabian Intelligence 329 
 
 66. Retribution 331 
 
 67. The Sword 332 
 
 68. Siegfried's Sword 333 
 
 69. Little Roland 335 
 
 v'' 70. Roland the Shield-bearer 341 
 
 ■*/ 71. King Charles's Sea-voyage 350 
 
 72. Taillefer 353 
 
 73. The Tunic of Proof .> . 356 
 
 74. The Luck of Edenhall ; (v. Longfellow) . 359 
 
 75. The Last Palgrave .361 
 
 V' 76. Count Eberhard der Rauschebart .... 363 
 
 1. The Surprise at Wildbad. — 2. The 
 Three Kings of Heimsen. — 3. The Battle at 
 Reutlingen. — 4. The Battle at Doffingen. 
 
 77. The Cupbearer of Limburg ...... 389 
 
 78. The Vale of Song 393 
 
 79. The Battle of the Larks 396 
 
 80. "Ver Sacrum" 399 
 
 . 81. The King's Son 406 
 
 -w 82. The Minstrel's Curse; (v. "Once a Week" 
 
 No. 65; and also Baskerville's translation) 412 
 
 83. The Sunken Crown 418 
 
 84. The Death of Tell 419
 
 XXVI INDEX. 
 
 85. The Bell-cavern = 423 
 
 86. The Lost Church 424 
 
 87. The Sunken Convent 427 
 
 88. A Fairy Tale 428 
 
 Ballads from the Old Frencli. 
 
 1. The King's Daughter . 438 
 
 2. Count Richard the Fearless 439 
 
 3. A Leg-end 446 
 
 4. Roland and Alda 448
 
 CORRECTIONS AND ADDITIONAL 
 NOTES. 
 
 P. 13, line 4 from the bottom; for "gra" read 
 "gray". 
 
 P. 42, stanza 3. More correctly thus: — 
 Thy mother died full early; 
 
 This mournful loss expressed 
 Thou shouldst derive no solace 
 From any earthly breast. 
 
 Note to pp. 103, 151. I have here alluded to Wil- 
 liam I, of Wiirtemburg, as being still alive. His 
 decease took place after these expressions were writ- 
 ten, in June, 1864. 
 
 P. 174, line 6 from the bottom. There should be 
 no inverted commas at the beginning of the line. 
 
 P. 176, line 1. A comma is required at the end 
 of the line. 
 
 P. 199, last stanza. This stanza should have been 
 thus translated : — 
 
 "Why, why was he so daring? 
 
 Him wherefore didst thou slay? 
 His care the flowerets tended 
 
 That now must droo}) for aye!" — 
 "He dared to say, the fairest flower 
 That grew within his garden 
 
 Should be his true love's dower." 
 
 P. 242, stanza HI. The first two lines may be 
 more correctly rendered thus : — 
 
 Ne'er might the champion's death be wrought 
 
 by beauty's tender glance ; 
 Ne'er might his noble breast be pierced 
 by thrust of sword or lance. 
 
 P. 245, line G from the bottom; for "t e" i-ead 
 "the".
 
 XXVIII CORRECTIONS AND ADDITIONAL NOTES. 
 
 P. 259. The ninth stanza of this ballad has been 
 accidentally omitted. After 
 
 Rising from her funeral bier! 
 insert 
 
 From the death -like trance awaking, 
 
 Healthful bloom her cheeks hath dyed; 
 Light her step , as though the cerements 
 Were but robes that clothe a bride. 
 
 Note to p. 318, line 4: 
 Where stands the fort, hight "Woman's Truth;" 
 The story goes that Frederic, duke of Suabia, being 
 besieged in the castle of AVeinsberg by Conrad III, 
 was obliged to surrender at discretion. "The em- 
 peror granted the duke and his chief officers per- 
 mission to retire unmolested; but the duchess, sus- 
 pecting Conrad , begged that she and the other wo- 
 men in the castle might be allowed to come out with 
 as much as each of them could carry, to be con- 
 ducted to a place of safety. The request was granted, 
 and to the surprise of the emperor and his army, the 
 duchess and her fair companions staggered forth each 
 carrying her husband. A.D. 1140." Epitome of Bus- 
 sell's Modern Europe. In allusion to this story, Mr. 
 Piatt translates the first stanza on page 88 thus: 
 
 Are not thy dames a glory — 
 Domestic, kind, and true? 
 
 And Weinsberg's noble story 
 In memory ever new? 
 Whether his version or mine is here more correct, 
 I hardly know. 
 
 Note to p. 331, last line of ballad 65. The Ger- 
 man word Schwabenstreich means either a Suabian 
 Mow or a Suabian trick. The latter phrase was used 
 proverbially as a synonym for a piece of stupidity 
 or clumsiness.
 
 SONGS. 
 
 1. The Poet's Evening Walk. 
 
 When wandering in the evening light — 
 
 (The time when poet's dreams are won) - 
 Oft turn thee to direct thy sight 
 
 Where brightly glows the setting sun. 
 Then high thy ransomed spirit soars, 
 
 Within the Temple peers thy glance; 
 Thy soul all holy things explores, 
 
 And heavenly forms each sense entrance. 
 
 But when, to hide this Holy Place, 
 
 Roll down the sombre clouds of night, 
 Then all is done — thy steps retrace, 
 
 Made joyful by the wondrous sight. 
 In mute emotion homeward fare : 
 
 Within thee dwells a blissful lay; 
 The light that thou beheldest there 
 
 Shines round thee on thy darksome way.
 
 2. To Death. 
 
 Thou, who oft at twilight hours 
 
 Through earth's garden wand'rest free, 
 
 Gathering golden fruits, bright flowers, 
 Planted there by God for thee. 
 
 Spare, Death, the smiling prize, 
 Clinging to the quickening breast, 
 Lulled by soothing songs to rest, 
 
 Gazing at its mother's eyes! 
 
 Spare the earth's strong sons. Oh spare 
 Those in fervid strains who sing 
 
 Till throughout the forests bare 
 Joyously loud echoes ring. 
 
 Spare the sage's fires to slake. 
 Round whose holy sunlike glance 
 Hovering close in steady dance. 
 
 Youthful moons their circuits take.* 
 
 Buoyed on clouds all silver-white 
 
 Seek, when Eve's bright star appears, 
 
 Him who, gray with age, each night 
 Consecrates his hearth with tears. 
 
 * By "moons" the sage's pupils are meant.
 
 Name Ins loved ones gone from hence, 
 Place him in thy garland's rim, 
 Where no parting tears bedim 
 
 Eyes that beam with joys intense. 
 
 Seek the youth whose ardent breast 
 
 Love hath filled with fierce alarms, 
 Who, impelled by wild unrest, 
 
 Stretching out his open arms 
 Tow'rds the flow'r-strewn floor on high 
 
 Bright with stars, looks up love-warm; 
 
 Friendly take him arm in arm, 
 Bear him to yon far blue sky! 
 
 There, 'mid bridal pomp and mirth, 
 (Breathing love), may round him flow 
 
 All that stirred his heart on earth, 
 
 ■ Greeting him with greetings low. 
 
 There his soul her holyday 
 
 Fresh with newer life, may keep, 
 Filled with inspiration deep. 
 
 Filled with songs that last for aye.
 
 3. Harper's Song at a Marriage - feast. 
 
 Sounds of mirtli and festal clang 
 
 Through the lofty halls have sped 
 Till the answering echoes rang 
 
 From the vaults that hold the dead. 
 'Mid the joys to-night hath brought 
 Of your ancestors ye thought, 
 Singing glorious deeds of might 
 Rescued from the past's dim night. 
 
 Oft with scenes of festal cheer 
 
 Hath this ample chamber shone; 
 As the tree, when May draws near, 
 
 Puts its radiant blossoms on. 
 They that here, a joyous crew, 
 True love's ties more closely drew. 
 Now, alas! together prest. 
 In their sleeping-chamber rest. 
 
 Thither man with tempest-speed 
 
 Flies, and leaves life's rapid race; 
 In the hearts of friends, indeed. 
 
 Lingers he a little space. 
 Down the hall, in bronze and stone, 
 Stand long lines of heroes gone, 
 Powerless their eyes to move. 
 Speaking not sweet words of love.
 
 No bright deed, for ever green, 
 
 Keeps thee from the vault's dim night; 
 None the thunder's path hath seen, 
 None the wings of Zephyrs light. 
 How to God you raised your look. 
 How your friend's dear hand you took, 
 How you gave love's kiss of fire, 
 All doth with your life expire. 
 
 Both the child who laughingly 
 
 Nestled 'neath his mother's arm, 
 And the grandsire who with glee 
 
 Clasped his grandson close and warm. 
 And the bride, with love possessed. 
 Hanging on the loved one's breast, 
 All a well-spent life have sealed; 
 Praise to all my song shall yield. 
 
 4. The King on the Watch-tower. 
 
 There slumber they all, those dark gray hills, 
 And the darkling vales sleep gently there; 
 
 Now slumber reigns, and no sadness fills 
 With its wail the ambient air.
 
 'Mid strifes and struggles my realms I won, 
 'Mid cares have I drunk of the sparkling bowl; 
 
 Heav'n gleams with stars and the night's begun : 
 I seek to rejoice my soul. 
 
 O writing of gold in the stars revealed, 
 
 To you I lovingly gaze aloft! 
 Thou wondrous music from man concealed, 
 
 How I list for thy murmurs soft!* 
 
 My hair is hoary and dim my sight. 
 
 In the hall are hung both shield and spear; 
 
 In word and deed have I fostered right, 
 Ah! when shall my rest draw near? 
 
 Ah! how for that blest repose I yearn. 
 
 Ah! beauteous Night, why slacks thy speed? 
 
 Thou Night, when the stars shall yet brighter 
 burn , 
 And their music be heard indeed! 
 
 Alluding to the fabled '-music of the spheres".
 
 5. A May -dirge. 
 
 Flingetli still tlie sun of spring-tide 
 
 Far o'er mead and mere its liglit? 
 Still do verdant bouglis, o'er -arching, 
 
 Form sweet bowers of calm delight? 
 Ah! the maid my heart remembers 
 
 Gives no more her May's bright gleam,* 
 Wanders not through groves full-blossomed. 
 
 Rests not by the bubbling stream. 
 
 Yes! there once were days more happy. 
 
 When, in files with garlands crowned, 
 Through the grove young lads and lasses 
 
 Wandered, as o'er sacred ground; 
 When the maid, her pitcher bearing. 
 
 Oft to fountains cool would rove, 
 Whilst the wanderer, smit with longing. 
 
 Craved at once a draught and love! 
 
 Ah! the din of ruthless tempests 
 Hence that golden spring did tear; 
 
 Castles rose aloft, and turrets — 
 Sadly sat the maiden there, 
 
 * If the poet here compares his loved one to 
 the sun, let it be remembered that "sim" is feminine 
 in German.
 
 Nightly, for a clear voice listened, 
 Saw the battle rage beneath; 
 
 Saw, amidst the press of weapons. 
 How her warrior sank in death. 
 
 Then an age, all sad and gloomy. 
 
 Brooded darkly o'er the earth, 
 Like a dream dissolving wholly 
 
 Youths bright love and buoyant mirth. 
 They who hoped; close yoked for ever, 
 
 Souls to mingle, heart to heart, 
 Now with saddened glances greeting 
 
 Pass with hurried steps, and part. 
 
 Fade, ye trees and lovely blossoms. 
 
 Deepen not true love's sad smart; 
 Wither, wither, springing branches, 
 
 Pine and die, thou swelling heart! 
 Sink, ye youths, in lonely darkness. 
 
 Rest within the silent tomb; 
 Alders in the breezes rustle. 
 
 O'er your graves sweet roses bloom.
 
 6. A Poor Man's Hymn. 
 
 The poorest of the poor am I, 
 
 And lonely linger here ; 
 I Avould my heart might yet once more 
 
 Be filled with joyous cheer. 
 
 Once in my dearest parents' house, 
 
 A happy child, I played 5 
 Sharp poverty's my portion now, 
 
 Since they in graves were laid. 
 
 I see the rich man's garden bloom, 
 
 I see the golden corn ; 
 B\it mine is that unfruitful path 
 
 By care and sorrow worn. 
 
 Yet gladly here, all grief suppressed. 
 
 Amid men's joyous swarm 
 I linger, wishing each "good day" 
 
 With grateful heart and warm. 
 
 Thou hast not wholly , gracious Lord , 
 
 Abandoned me to wo : 
 Sweet comforts for the whole wide world 
 
 From heav'n unceasing flow.
 
 10 
 
 For still Thy holy house is seen 
 
 In every village herej 
 The organ's tone and anthem sweet 
 
 Thrill through the gladdened ear. 
 
 Still shine the sun, the moon, the stars, 
 
 With kindly love on me; 
 And when is tolled the vesper-bell, 
 
 I commune , Lord , with Thee. 
 
 Thou soon shalt ope Thy banquet-room 
 
 For righteous men made fit; 
 In marriage-garb I then may come 
 
 And at Thy table sit. 
 
 7. The Song of Young Men. 
 
 Youth is sacred ! youth-endued , 
 
 Enter we the Temple-halls, 
 Where in dusky solitude, 
 
 Echoing loud, the footstep falls. 
 Noblest resolutions should 
 
 Bright in youthful bosoms burn ; 
 Each in sober thoughtful mood 
 
 All his sacred strength should- learn.
 
 11 
 
 Go we forth o'er fields to roam 
 
 Proudly spread beneatli the skies, 
 Which, in an o'er-arching dome. 
 
 O'er the gifts of spring-time rise. 
 Buds and blossoms soon shall bring 
 
 Fruitage in abundant store; 
 Sacred is the time of spring, 
 
 Youth should con its lessons o'er. 
 
 Seize the cup while Pleasure reigns , 
 
 See how gleams the purple wine, 
 Blood from lavish Nature's veins! 
 
 Drain we then the draught divine ! 
 Let the sacred strength of wine 
 
 With the strength of manhood blend; 
 Sacred is the cheering vine, 
 
 Youthful fancy's genial friend. 
 
 See yon maiden hither come ! 
 
 She in sport unfolds her power; 
 Soft desires within her bloom, 
 
 Sweet and tender feelings flower. 
 She who grows in sunny gleam 
 
 Gives us strength when tempests blow; 
 Sacred should the maiden seem, 
 
 'Tis for her we riper grow.
 
 12 
 
 Enter then youth's fane divine, 
 
 Feed on thoughts of high emprise; 
 Gather strength from spring, from wine, 
 
 Sun yourselves in beauty's eyes. 
 Youth, and Spring, and festive bowls, 
 
 Maiden in her beauty's pride 
 To our earnest, youthful souls 
 
 All alike be sanctified ! 
 
 8. To a Child. 
 
 From out the keen distress that circled me. 
 Have I, sweet child, preserved myself for thee; 
 That I mine eyes and heart may feed and bless 
 
 With thine angelic happiness, 
 "With this sweet innocence, this morning-gleam, 
 This yet untroubled , heav'n-descended stream. 
 
 9. The Chapel. 
 
 There aloft the chapel standeth. 
 Peering down the valley still; 
 
 There beneath, by fount and meadow, 
 Rings the shepherd's carol shrill.
 
 13 
 
 Sadly booms the bell's slow knelling, 
 Solemn sounds tlie last lament; 
 
 Hushed are all the boy's loud carols, 
 Still he stands , with ears attent, * 
 
 There aloft are borne to burial 
 
 They who filled the vale with glee; 
 
 There aloft, youthful shepherd. 
 Men shall chant the dirge for thee ! 
 
 10. Genial Days — Early in Spring and 
 late in Autumn. 
 
 I hold so dear the genial days 
 
 When in the Spring-tide's earliest birth, 
 The sky its blue expanse displays 
 
 And sheds its cheering warmth on earth. 
 The valleys still with ice are gra, 
 
 The hill shines bright beneath the sun. 
 In open air the maidens stray, 
 
 And children's sports are fresh begun. 
 
 * A word occurrinof in 2 Chron. YI. 40.
 
 14 SONGS. 
 
 I stand on yonder mountain's lieiglit 
 
 And gaze around with heartfelt peace ; 
 My breast receives an impulse light 
 
 That doth not to a wish increase. 
 I feel a child, and mark intent 
 
 Boon Nature's pranks, with joy possessed; 
 And by the calm she thus hath sent 
 
 My soul is lulled to tranquil rest. 
 
 Those genial days are likewise sweet, 
 
 When to the soft and sunny plains 
 Old men their sad farewells repeat 
 
 And Nature's Sabbath -season reigns; 
 No more she bud or fruit supplies, 
 
 Each active power awhile expires; 
 In self-collected calm she lies. 
 
 And to her inmost depths retires. 
 
 My soul, late soaring high, returns 
 
 To earth, and ends her daring flight; 
 A resignation sweet she learns, 
 
 Remembrance now contents her quite. 
 A silence deep my soul doth bind 
 
 That Nature o'er me softly throws; 
 I seem descending slow, to find 
 
 The stillness of the grave's repose.
 
 SONGS. IS 
 
 11. In Autumn. 
 
 Hail! as though sweet spring were nigh. 
 Golden sun and azure sky ! 
 Hark! from yonder bowers above 
 Strains I hear of mirth and love. 
 
 Think'st thou, soul, again to hear 
 Spring's sweet carols, soft and clear? 
 Lo ! how sere the forests seem ; 
 Ah! thou didst but fondly dream. 
 
 12. A Wonder. 
 
 A child was she but yesterday, 
 To-day a child no longer — no! 
 
 The bud its flower doth noAv display. 
 
 And now — half closed — scarce seems to blow. 
 
 What means this wonder, who can say? 
 Or am I mocked by outward show? 
 
 Such childish thoughts her words exj)ress, 
 So artless seem her glances bold. 
 
 Yet fuller meanings oft I guess 
 
 And depths without an end behold; 
 
 Such wonders Love's first dawn confess^ 
 For Love hath wonders manifold!
 
 16 
 
 13. My own Song. 
 
 Think ye that joys I never knew, 
 
 That ever thus my lay was sad? 
 Not so — my days once brightly flew, 
 
 With lays of love my life was glad. 
 The presence sweet of her I loved 
 
 Made flow'rs to bloom throughout the year; 
 What morning's dreams had promised, proved 
 
 Eeality when eve drew near. 
 
 To joys of mine might witness bear 
 
 The sky's bright blue, the streamlet's sheen. 
 The grove with sprouting branches fair, 
 
 The garden gay and meadoAV green. 
 For these have oft beheld me glad, 
 
 For these full oft have heard my lays; 
 But ah! they now seem alway sad, 
 
 No charms fair nature now displays. 
 
 But witness thou, my love, mine own. 
 
 That art so far and yet so near. 
 Thou mind'st my childlike happy tone, 
 
 Thou mind'st my looks of blissful cheer. 
 Each knew so well the other's thought. 
 
 Our eyes alone our meaning told; 
 For us life's stream dashed onward, fraught 
 
 With music gushing uncontrolled. 
 
 I
 
 SONGS. 17 
 
 Thou partedst hence, the woiicl to me 
 
 Was void, I shrank within my breast; 
 The soothing plaints of minstrelsy 
 
 Were all my comfort, all my rest. 
 What can I, save in mournful strain 
 
 Recount the past so dear to me, 
 And still expect, with longing pain, 
 
 The golden love -time yet to beV 
 
 14. The Monk and the Shepherd. 
 
 Monk. 
 Why stand'st thou here in silent wo? 
 
 shepherd, tell me true; 
 A wounded heart I too can shew. 
 
 That draws me, friend, to you. 
 
 Shepherd. 
 What need to ask? cast round thine eyes 
 
 On this mine own dear vale; 
 This meadow broad no blade supplies. 
 
 And every tree doth fail. 
 
 Monk. 
 Yet murmur not! How light thy wo! 
 
 'Tis but a vision drear; 
 Soon from the soil new grass shall grow, 
 And buds on trees appear. 
 
 2
 
 18 
 
 This cross tliat oft I kneel before 
 
 Within this orchard fair, 
 Nor blooms, nor buds, but evermore 
 
 A Dying Form doth bear. 
 
 15. The Shepherd's Song on the Lord's Day. 
 
 The Lord's own day is here! 
 Alone I kneel on this broad plain ; 
 A matin -bell just sounds: again 
 
 'Tis silence, far and near. 
 
 Here kneel I on the sod ; 
 deep amazement, strangely felt! 
 As though, unseen, vast numbers knelt 
 
 And prayed with me to God. 
 
 Yon heav'n, afar and near — 
 So bright, so glorious seems its cope 
 As though e'en now its gates would ope — 
 
 The Lord's own day is here! 
 
 I 
 
 I
 
 19 
 
 16. A Nun's Song. 
 
 Lift up your heads to lieav'n above, 
 
 Ye sisters, with devotion meet; 
 
 Let rosy clouds sustain your feet; 
 
 There o'er us gleams the Spotless Sun , 
 
 There, blithe as -when sweet spring's begun, 
 Of Thee Ave sing , Immortal Love ! 
 
 Tho' every tender bloom should wane 
 From earthly love's impassioned force. 
 To Thee, of fadeless youth the source. 
 We turn, who fill'st our souls for aye, 
 Undying Flame! whose steady ray 
 
 Our hearts and altars both retain. 
 
 To earth Thou cam'bt, eternal Light, 
 To lie, a smiling heav'n-born child 
 In Mary's arms, the Virgin mild. 
 On Thy clear eyes she fixed her view, 
 And thence celestial lustre drew 
 
 Till o'er her glowed a "glory'' bright. 
 
 With love divine, past human speech, 
 
 Thou on the cross didst stretch Thine arms. 
 Lo ! earth doth quake , the storm alarms ; 
 Hither from farthest regions wend, 
 Ye dead! the grave's strong jiortals rend! 
 
 With open arms He claspeth each, 
 
 2*
 
 20 SONGS. 
 
 What wondrous love, what joys are mine! 
 This life a sleep to me doth seem, 
 Of Thee, and only Thee, I dream: 
 The hour of waking soon shall be; 
 Oh joy! to be absorbed in Thee, 
 
 A sunbeam of the Sun Divine! 
 
 17. The Boy's Mountain - song. 
 
 The mountain shepherd -boy am I, 
 Yon castles all beneath me lie; 
 Here first the rising sun doth shine. 
 His last departing rays are mine; 
 A mountain - child am I ! 
 
 Here springs the torrent's parent -rill. 
 From this, its source, I drink my fill; 
 It leaps adown its craggy way, 
 My hands receive its dripping spray; 
 A mountain - child am I ! 
 
 This mountain -peak is all mine own, 
 The tempests gather round its cone; 
 From North and South they rave along. 
 Yet o'er them all rings out my song; 
 A mountain - child am I !
 
 21 
 
 Lightning and thnnder 'neath me rave, 
 Around me spreads the blue concave; 
 I know them well, and loudly cry, 
 "My father's hut in peace pass by!" 
 A mountain- child am I! 
 
 And when th' alarum thrills the air, 
 And beacons on the mountains flare, 
 Then down I wend to join th" array. 
 And swing my sword and sing my lay: 
 A mountain - child am I ! 
 
 18. Bridal Song. 
 
 My blessing and praise with the house abide, 
 That hath lately been graced by a beauteous 
 bride. 
 Like a Garden it seems to bloom. 
 
 From the bridal chamber the Sun* doth gleam, 
 Like a Nightingale's voice is the flute's soft 
 
 strain; 
 Each table is bright as a flower-deck'd Plain , 
 
 And the red wine runs in a sparkling Stream. 
 
 I. e. the Bride, "snn" being feminine.
 
 22 SONGS. 
 
 Like Lilies and Eoses the maidens bloom, 
 
 And like Breezes that stray 
 
 Amid Flowerets gay, 
 Caressing and kissing are heard through the 
 
 room. 
 
 19. A Resolution. 
 
 Today she seeks this qinet vale, 
 
 With courage firm Til dare to speak; 
 
 What need before a girl to quail 
 
 Who no one's hurt or harm woixld seek? 
 
 All they that meet her, greet her too; 
 
 I dare not speak, but pass her by; 
 I lift not up my face to view 
 
 The brightest star in all the sky. 
 
 The flowers, that down towards her bow, 
 The song-birds full of lusty cheer. 
 
 All utter many a tender vow. 
 
 What need have I alone to fear? 
 
 To heav'n I oft the live -long night 
 
 Full bitterly my vows repeat; 
 To her I dare not speak outright 
 
 The simple phrase — "I love thee, sweet!'
 
 23 
 
 She past this tree doth daily walk , 
 And 'neath its shade myself I'll lay, 
 
 And feign that in my dreams I talk 
 Of her, my life's most cherished stay. 
 
 Yea! I'll — but ah! what terror! hush! 
 
 I see her come — she'll see me here ; 
 ni slip behind this sheltering bush , 
 
 And thence behold her passing near. 
 
 20. The Course of Events. 
 
 Along the path across the lea 
 
 At eve I often stray, 
 From out her arbour peepeth she — 
 
 It stands beside the way: 
 'Tis not that we appointments make, 
 ' Tis but the course events will take. 
 
 Howe'er it chanced I cannot guess, 
 
 I've learnt to kiss her, long; 
 I ask her not — she saitli not "yes", 
 Yet never saith — "'tis wronar": 
 When lip on lip doth softly rest, 
 We leave them so , we seem so blest !
 
 24 SONGS. 
 
 The Zephyr with the rose doth play, 
 
 Yet asks not — "Think'st me dear?" 
 The bud that loves the dew's cool spray 
 Needs not to say — " Come near." 
 I love her well — so loves she me, 
 Yet neither saith — • "I pine for thee," 
 
 21. A Song of the Woods. 
 
 I seek the woods with courage brave, 
 
 I fear no robber's snares ; 
 A loving heart is all I have. 
 
 For that no robber cares. 
 
 Who breaks, who rustles through the bush, 
 A murderer threatening death? 
 
 My lover forward springs, and — hush! 
 With hugs nigh chokes my breath!
 
 26 
 
 22. A happy Death. 
 
 I perished, slain 
 
 By love's fierce bliss; 
 Buried I lay 
 
 Her arms witliin ; 
 I lived again 
 
 By her SAveet kiss, 
 And in her eyes 
 
 A heaven did win! 
 
 23. Inconstancy. 
 
 Thou long hast held unbounded sway 
 Both o'er my heart and o'er my lay, 
 
 And yet to - night — dream unkind ! 
 Henceforth, my heavy heart, be free! 
 There seated 'neath our trysting-tree 
 
 A stranger's form, close- veiled, I find. 
 
 How strong thine influence o'er me still! 
 I hasten on with anxious thrill; 
 
 The stranger lifts the muffler light, 
 And then — O joy! I recognize 
 Thy deep, thy blue, thy truthful eyes. 
 
 And all the strangeness fades outright.
 
 26 
 
 24. Retirement. 
 
 At length have I my darling gained 
 
 'Mid bustling crowds so lately thrown; 
 Thou in mine arms art closely chained, 
 
 Now art thou mine — yea, mine alone. 
 At this still hour all nature sleeps, 
 
 We wake, but all is hushed beside, 
 As iu the ocean's silent deeps 
 
 The sea -god clasps his goddess -bride. 
 
 The day's loud roar no longer moans. 
 
 That of thy words bereaved mine ear; 
 The murmur of thy tender tones 
 
 Is now the sole sweet sound I hear. 
 The earth close -veiled in darkness lies, 
 
 No light shines out o'er dyke or plain; 
 This lamp alone with light supplies 
 
 The tiny realm where Love doth reign. 
 
 25. Contentment. 
 
 Beneath a linden shady 
 With me my little lady 
 
 Sat resting, hand in hand: 
 No breeze the leaves stirred wildly, 
 The sun shone out so mildly 
 
 Far o'er the peaceful land.
 
 27 
 
 "We sat in silent leisure, 
 "With deep unuttered pleasure 
 
 Our hearts beat soft and low; 
 "VS^hat more could we be saying, 
 What questions more be weighing? 
 
 No more we sought to know. 
 
 No source of rapture failed us. 
 No vain regrets assailed us, 
 
 No transport could we miss; 
 "With glances glances greeting. 
 And lip with lip oft meeting. 
 
 We rendered bliss for bliss. 
 
 26. Love Sublime. 
 
 In loving arms enraptured rest. 
 Ye whom the joys of life enthral ; 
 
 A single glance my lot hath blest, 
 Yet makes me rich beyond you all! 
 
 The joys of earth I hold but light. 
 And, like the martyr, upward gaze; 
 
 For o'er me in the distance bright 
 Its open portals heav'n displays.
 
 28 
 
 27. Nearness. 
 
 I wander through thy garden, 
 Where art thou, dearest, where? 
 
 The butterflies flit lonely 
 Along the gay parterre. 
 
 Yet with what dsedal fulness 
 Thy beds their blossoms shew! 
 
 With what sweet perfumes laden 
 The Zephyrs round me blow! 
 
 I feel thy gladdening presence 
 
 Fill all these solitudes, 
 As o'er all worlds created 
 
 The Great Unseen One broods. 
 
 28. The Evening Before. 
 
 Who past me in the twilight goes? 
 
 Ist not the maid I prize? 
 Doth not the fragrance of the rose 
 
 From out her basket rise?
 
 29 
 
 To-morrow come tlie sports of May, 
 To-morrow's sun how blest! 
 
 For then she'll shine in garments gay, 
 A rosebud on her breast. 
 
 29. The Gossamer. 
 
 As through the fields we walk, a thread 
 
 Of gossamer flits o'er the lea, 
 An airy phantom, fairy -bred, 
 
 And knits a band from thee to me. 
 I take it for a warning sign, 
 
 A sign how love too oft doth fare. 
 hopes in Hope's wide realms that shine, 
 
 From vapour spun, dispersed by air! 
 
 30. By Night. 
 
 To yon still house I raise mine eyes 
 
 Against a tree reclined ; 
 For there in soft repose she lies, 
 
 To sweetest dreams resigned.
 
 30 
 
 And oft to lieav'n I glance from thence, 
 Dark clouds obscure its blue; 
 
 But lo ! tho' seem the clouds so dense, 
 The moonbeam glimmers through. 
 
 31. A bad Neighbourhood. 
 
 I seldom from my chamber stray. 
 Yet work will ne'er proceed; 
 
 Wide open lie my books all day. 
 But never a page I read. 
 
 The flute so well one neighbour plays, 
 
 I pause to hear the air; 
 Then pause again, to slily gaze 
 
 At yonder neighbour fair. 
 
 32. Precepts for Peasants. 
 
 In Summer with thy sweetheart walk 
 Through field and garden oft, 
 
 For then the days are long for talk, 
 The nights are mild and soft.
 
 31 
 
 In Winter let the tender band 
 Be fastened firm and strong, 
 
 Lest 'neath the chilly moon ye stand 
 'Mid frozen snows too long. 
 
 33. Hans and Grete. 
 
 Grele. 
 I find thine eyes oft peeping round 
 
 As though they sought to meet me; 
 Take care! thou scarce wilt keep them sound 
 
 If so o'ertasked to greet me! 
 
 Hans. 
 Unless thou round wert peeping too, 
 
 How couldst thou ascertain it? 
 Thy neck, my love, is fair to view, 
 
 Take heed, then, lest thou strain it! 
 
 34. The Smith. 
 
 'Tis my darling I hear! 
 
 His hammer he's swinging. 
 His strokes are out- ringing, 
 Their music is stealing 
 (Like bells that are pealing) 
 
 Through streets far and near.
 
 32 
 
 la the dark forge at night 
 Oft rests he to ponder; 
 Then past it I wander, 
 The bellows 'gin roaring, 
 The flames begin soaring 
 
 And clothe him with light. 
 
 35. Hunting-song. 
 
 To me no pastime sweeter seems 
 Than through the woods to go, 
 
 Where throstle sings and falcon screams, 
 Where leap the hart and roe. 
 
 O would my love a throstle were 
 
 And sang on yonder spray ; 
 Or, like a roe, came bounding fair — 
 
 I'd hunt her all the day! 
 
 36. The Shepherd's Winter -song. 
 
 O Winter, biting Winter! 
 
 The world is then so small; 
 Thou mak'st us seek the valleys. 
 
 In huts thou shut'st us all.
 
 33 
 
 And when I seek the cottage 
 Where dwells my treasure dear, 
 
 Scarce through the little window 
 Her little head can peer. 
 
 And when with heart love - brimming 
 
 I softly close the latch, 
 She sits 'twixt father and mother, 
 
 And scarce a glimpse I catch. 
 
 O Summer, glorious Summer! 
 
 The world is then so wide. 
 The higher I climb the mountain , 
 
 The broader grows its side. 
 
 If on the heights thou standest, 
 I shout thy name so dear ; 
 
 The echoes roll it onward. 
 
 Yet none, but thou, canst hear. 
 
 If in mine arms I hold thee 
 On the open mountain - plain ; 
 
 We see vast tracts around us. 
 But are not seen asrain!
 
 34 
 
 37. Song of a Prisoner, 
 
 How sweet the refrain, 
 
 Lark, of thy strain, 
 
 How it floats from the height thou hast won! 
 
 1 rejoice, I am free, 
 
 I am singing with thee, 
 We ascend through the clouds to the sun. 
 
 Lark, thou descendest, 
 Thy carol thou endest, 
 
 Thou sink'st to yon meadoAV so fair; 
 Then in silence I'm bound, 
 
 1 descend to the ground. 
 
 And Oh! to what gloom and despair! 
 
 38. The Churcliyard in Spring. 
 
 Silent garden, bloom apace, 
 
 Deck thyself with verdure young: 
 
 Be the red earth's latest trace 
 Hid with roses, thickly sprung. 
 
 Haste to close yon darksome grave, 
 Thus to view it grieves my heart, 
 
 Though, in sooth, it doth not crave 
 Aught "wherein my love hath part.
 
 35 
 
 Stay, this grave myself will share, 
 Now shall earth receive her due; 
 
 Nay, not yet — in upper air 
 Many a task I've yet to do. 
 
 39. Songs of Springtime. 
 
 1. Spring's Approach. 
 
 breeze so soft, so dear! 
 
 Soon, soon thou wilt bring 
 Sweet songs of the spring. 
 
 And the violet -buds will peer. 
 
 2. Faith strengthened by Spring. 
 Awakened are the breezes light. 
 They blow and rustle day and night. 
 
 Fresh life and strength they give; 
 perfume fresh, O voices glad! 
 No more, poor heart, be dull and sad; 
 
 Now all shall change, and live! 
 
 The world grows lovelier day by day, 
 We know not what 'twill next display, 
 
 New buds each hour doth give; 
 Now blooms the gloomiest, deepest dale, 
 Be calm, poor heart, forget thy bale, 
 
 Now all shall change, and live! 
 
 3*
 
 36 
 
 3. Spring -repose. 
 Lay me not in tlie grave's deep gloom, 
 Let not the turf my corse entomb ; 
 For buried soou I hope to lie 
 'Mid waving grasses, close and high. 
 
 'Mid grass and flowers well -pleased I lie 
 And list some flute's low -warbling sigh, 
 And watch above me, changing fast. 
 The radiant clouds of spring fly past. 
 
 4. Spring's Holyday. 
 Genial, golden, vernal day, 
 
 Waking thoughts delicious, 
 If I e'er could weave a lay. 
 
 Sure , to - day's propitious. 
 
 Wherefore, though, when nature's gay. 
 
 Need a task molest me? 
 Spring's a gladsome holyday, 
 
 Let me pray and rest me. 
 
 5. The Praise of Spring. 
 Cornfield's greenness, violet's sweetness, 
 
 Skylark's carol, ousel's lay, 
 Rains in sunshine. Zephyr's fleetness — 
 Whilst of these I gladly sing. 
 Lacks there yet some greater thing 
 
 Thee to praise, thou vernal day?
 
 37 
 
 6. Spring's Consolation. 
 Why fear'st thou, heart, in days so fair, 
 When e'en the briers roses bear? 
 
 7. A future Spring. 
 Serene and gentle bloometh 
 
 The spring-time, year by year; 
 Have faith and wait: there cometh 
 
 A Spring more bright and clear. 
 
 For thee doth God ordain it , 
 
 When life's short journey's done ; 
 
 On earth thou long'st to gain it. 
 In heav'n 'twill be 'begun. 
 
 8. Springtime: By a Critic. 
 'Tis the Spring, there's no denying: 
 
 'Twill be nice — 'tis scarce worth doubting - 
 
 Now at last to venture out in 
 Weather not too keen and trying. 
 
 Storks and swallows fast are coming. 
 None too early, none too early, 
 Bloom, my tree! and be not surly, 
 
 'Tis on my account you're blooming. 
 
 Spring, I hail thee somewhat gladly, 
 Yea! the skylark seems improving, 
 Philomel is almost moving. 
 
 E'en the sun shines none so badly!
 
 38 
 
 May none guess my joy, to mock it, 
 Nor to see me strolling ponder: 
 Forth awhile I'll deign to wander, 
 
 "Thomson's Seasons''* in my pocket. 
 
 40. To one I name not. 
 
 On some tall mountain's summit 
 
 Might I with thee but stand, 
 And o'er ravine and forest 
 
 A prospect wide command. 
 There might I shew around me 
 
 The world, when spring doth shine, 
 I'd say — Were this mine only, 
 
 I'd make it mine and thine! 
 
 Within my soul's recesses 
 
 Oh! would thou couldst but see 
 
 Where all the songs are sleeping 
 That God hath given to me! 
 
 * The original has " Kleist' s Spring". Christian 
 Ewald von Kleist wrote, among other things, a 
 descriptive poem on Spring, which soon became 
 popular, though it was only one of many imitations 
 of Thomson's Seasons. Kleist was born in 1715, 
 died in 1759.
 
 39 
 
 There shouldst thou soou discover 
 
 My heart's sincerest aim; 
 What passion 'tis thou wakest 
 
 That dares not breathe thy name! 
 
 41. Free Art. 
 
 In "The German Minstrel -forest"* 
 Whoso can, should sing his lay; 
 
 Joy and life are shewn whenever 
 Sounds a voice from every spray. 
 
 Minstrel -art is not restricted 
 To a small and glorious band; 
 
 Scattered are its seeds prolific 
 Over all the German land. 
 
 All thy heart's most mighty passions 
 Boldly tell in manly tone! 
 
 Be thy love revealed in whispers, 
 Be thy wrath in thunders shewn! 
 
 * "The Germau Minstrel -forest" (Der Deutsche 
 Dichterwald) is the title of a publication to which 
 Uhland contributed.
 
 40 
 
 Thougli not all thy life thou singest, 
 Sing Avhen youth is fierce and strong; 
 
 Only in the month of blossoms 
 Nightingales outpour their song. 
 
 Canst thou not collect in volumes 
 What the hours, in passing, teach; 
 
 Toss the leaves for winds to scatter, 
 Trust that youth will snatch at each. 
 
 Fare ye well, ye arts mysterious, 
 
 Necromancy, Alchemy; 
 Formal rules are weak to bind us, 
 
 Now our art is Poesy. 
 
 Sacred still we deem the spirits, 
 
 Though their names like vapours flee; 
 
 Worthy still we deem the master. 
 Though the art to all is free. 
 
 Not in chilly marble -statues, 
 
 Not in ruined fanes abides , 
 But in dewy groves , the Spirit 
 
 Who o'er German art presides.
 
 41 
 
 42. A Request. 
 
 Kind singers, Lave compassion! 
 
 Too lofty themes ye sing; 
 Not thus in saintly fashion 
 
 Your dulcet tones should ring. 
 Whoe'er would prove how trixly 
 
 He fights in God's own name, 
 Should stoop to combat duly 
 
 This world of sin and shame. 
 
 43. To a Dancer. 
 
 When thou the sprightly dance dost lead. 
 When on the ground thou scarce dost tread, 
 
 In youthful beauty hovering light; 
 I read in every gazer's feature 
 The thought, thou art no earthly creature, 
 
 But wholly Soul, ethereal quite. 
 
 Yet this I fear: if, hence upborne, 
 Thou wert from earth for ever torn , 
 
 How wouldst thou, Söul, prepared be? — 
 Yet in the dazzling butterfly* 
 O'er blossoms hovering, some could spy 
 
 A type of immortality! 
 
 * The Greeks considered a butterfly an emblem 
 of the soul, and expressed both by the same word, 
 "psyche."
 
 42 
 
 44. On a Poet, starved to death. 
 
 This was thine earthly portion, 
 To live by grief subdued ; 
 
 Thyself hast thou expended 
 As every poet should. 
 
 The Muses, at thy cradle, 
 
 Thy destiny implied. 
 And kept thy mouth devoted 
 
 To songs — and naught beside. 
 
 Thy mother died full early; 
 
 This mournful loss expressed 
 Thou shouldst derive thy vigour 
 
 From no mere mortal breast. 
 
 The world with all the treasures 
 Its wealth could e'er produce. 
 
 Was thine — for thee to gaze on, 
 But kept for others' use. 
 
 The spring thy life might quicken, 
 Its buds thy dream might be; 
 
 Another pressed the vintage , 
 Another stripped the tree.
 
 43 
 
 Thou hast on days unnumbered 
 Upturned thy water -cruse, 
 
 While round the festive table 
 Thy strains would mirth infuse. 
 
 E'en here thou wert in glory, 
 And scarcely more than soul; 
 
 Now liv'st thou 'mongst immortals 
 Where nectar crowns the bowl. 
 
 Be to the churchyard carried 
 What seems thy corse to be; 
 
 Thou'lt press the earth but lightly, 
 May earth lie light on thee! 
 
 45. The Valley. 
 
 How wilt thou open on my gaze, 
 
 Beloved valley? Ah, how strange! 
 Yet, since so oft in childhood's days 
 
 I saw thee, thou hast known no change. 
 The setting sun hath vanished now. 
 
 But brightens still yon torrent's spray; 
 No breezes come to cool my brow. 
 
 Yet through yon wood they softly stray.
 
 44 SONGS. 
 
 Again doth olden love inspire, 
 
 Again old liopes their joys impart, 
 I feel the old poetic fire 
 
 Revive this cold and withered heart. 
 Sweet scenes! I need such hours as this. 
 
 Such soothing, such love -breathing hours, 
 To make this heart regain its bliss 
 
 And strengthen all its drooping powers. 
 
 When next the world shall make me grieve, 
 
 Again I'll seek thee, tranquil vale; 
 Thy minstrel faint with woes receive. 
 
 And soothe, as now, his heavy bale! 
 And if I sink, worn out by pain, 
 
 With fracture light thy soil divide, 
 Receive me, close the cleft again, 
 
 And let fresh grass its traces hide. 
 
 46. The Vale of Rest. 
 
 When, while evening gilds the west, 
 Golden cloud -built hills arise 
 And Alp on Alp appears, 
 I ask myself with tears, 
 Where , amid yon summits , lies 
 My longed for vale of rest?
 
 45 
 
 47. Evening Clouds. 
 
 Clouds I see at evening's hour 
 
 Tinged with sunset's loveliest glow, 
 Clouds as bright as gleaming snow 
 
 That but now were dark and grim; 
 
 Yes! my heart's prophetic power 
 Tells me that — tho' late its light 
 Comes the sunset, rendering bright 
 
 Mists that now my soul bedim. 
 
 48. May - Song. 
 
 Little hath the glorious spring 
 
 Hitherto on me bestowed. 
 All its loveliness can bring 
 
 Naught to ease my spirit's load. 
 How can any heart be gay, 
 
 Torn, like mine, by ceaseless pain? 
 Now I first perceive 'tis May, 
 
 Now these flowers are crushed by rain.
 
 46 
 
 49. A Lament. 
 
 Should one be buried living, 
 
 His lot hath evil proved; 
 Yet fate may bring an evil 
 
 Not far from that removed ; 
 'Tis this — in passion's springtime, 
 
 In youth's most hopeful prime, 
 To be by grief and anguish 
 
 Made old before the time. 
 
 50. A Vindication. 
 
 Full many a splendid vision 
 
 The hopes of youth embrace, 
 With vehemence and weeping 
 
 It storms the starry space. 
 Heav'n hears its supplication, 
 
 In mercy answers , no ! 
 And puts aside the craving 
 
 With all its load of wo. 
 
 1 
 
 i
 
 47 
 
 But when from baseless visions 
 
 The heart, grown wiser, turns 
 And but for truth, for pureness 
 
 For men's affection yearns, 
 And yet with all its striving 
 
 Can never reach the bourn, 
 Then may we freely pardon 
 
 The man, howe'er he mourn. 
 
 51. On a Cheerful Morning. 
 
 Blue sky succeeding days of cloud, 
 How canst thou calm my wailings loud? 
 But he, whose woes are caused by rain. 
 Finds warmth and sunshine heal his pain. 
 
 Blue sky succeeding days of cloud, 
 Thou yet canst calm my wailings loud; 
 This healing hope thou bidst me borrow - 
 Eternal joys shall end my sorrow!
 
 48 
 
 52. The Greeting of Souls. 
 
 She. Are the bonds of earth dissevered, 
 
 Are at length my pinions free? 
 May I , in th' eternal haven , 
 
 Dearest, soon be one with thee? 
 Yea! thy spirit, hovering o'er me. 
 
 Oft to heaven my glances drew; 
 Now in light, in life I find thee. 
 
 Never lost from memory's view. 
 
 He. Say, what hear I? Dost thou draw me 
 
 Downward, or dost upward steer? 
 Smiles again my earthly springtime , 
 
 Or a fairer, blooming here? 
 Yes! in these celestial mansions 
 
 Thee I missed, and only thee; 
 Come! I feel thy presence, waking 
 
 (E'en in heav'n) fresh life in me ! 
 
 53. The Perry -Boat. 
 
 Lo ! the stream that once before 
 I in youth was ferried o'er; 
 Here — the fort in evening's glow, 
 There — the mill-dam roars below.
 
 49 
 
 In this fragile vessel tossed, 
 With me two companions crossed, 
 One a father's aspect had, 
 Young the other, hopeful, glad. 
 
 One liis life in quiet spent , 
 Quietly from hence he went; 
 Whilst in storm and battle - strife 
 Ceased the other's restless life. 
 
 Thus whene'er on bye -gone days. 
 Happier far, I fix my gaze. 
 Oft I miss my comrades dear 
 Torn from me by fate severe. 
 
 Friendship most the man controls 
 When the soul meets kindred souls; 
 Spiritual those hours I found. 
 Hence am I to spirits bound. 
 
 Boatman, come, thy fare receive, 
 Thrice thy fare I gladly give, 
 For, unknown, unseen by thee, 
 Spirits twain have crossed with me.
 
 50 
 
 54. The Larks. 
 
 How ye scurry! how ye veer! 
 Cloud of larks, you're welcome here! 
 This one skims the meadow's rim, 
 Rustles that thro' thickets dim. 
 
 Numbers, soaring tow'rd the skies, 
 Wing their way with piercing cries, 
 One whose joyous song excels. 
 Fluttering, in my bosom dwells! 
 
 55. The Poet's Blessing. 
 
 As I went the fields along, 
 Listening to the skylark's song, 
 Was I of a man aware. 
 Labouring hard, with grizzled hair. 
 
 "Blest — said I — shall be the field 
 Which such faithful toil hath tilled. 
 Blessings on thy withered hand 
 Strewing still with seeds the land." 
 
 Answer made his look severe; 
 "Poet's blessings speed not here; 
 Cruel as the heav'ns in scorn 
 Flowers he gives in lieu of corn."
 
 51 
 
 "Friend! my poor poetic powers 
 Ne'er will plant too many flowers, 
 Scarce enough the corn to trick, 
 Which thy grandson soon may pick." 
 
 56. May -dew. 
 
 On the forest, on the meadow, 
 
 When the morning first is gray, 
 Drips, from Paradise out -welling, 
 
 Soft and cool, the dew of May. 
 All that fills May's sacred temple 
 
 With each fresh and fair delight, 
 Leaf's enamel, blossom's beauty. 
 
 Scent and fragrance prove its might. 
 
 When such dew the oyster drinketh, 
 Soon is formed a pearly drop; 
 
 When in oaken trunks it sinketh. 
 Honey-bees soon swarm atop; 
 
 If the bird, while onward flying, 
 Dip therein his tiny bill. 
 
 Soon he learns the happy carols 
 
 Which through solemn woodlands thrill. 
 
 4 *
 
 52 
 
 With the dew from May -buds shaken 
 
 Oft the damsel wets her face, 
 Oft she bathes her golden ringlets; 
 
 Shines she then with heavenly grace. 
 Many an eye that's red with weeping 
 
 Finds how fresh the dewdrops are ; 
 Soon beholds how friendly shineth, 
 
 Dim with mists, the morning star. 
 
 Pour on ME thy kindly healing, 
 
 Gentle balm for every smart! 
 On mine eyelids softly trickle. 
 
 Give to drink my thirsty heart. 
 Give me youth and love of singing, 
 
 Give me heavenly forms to view; 
 Aid mine eyes to bear the sunlight, 
 
 Soft, refreshful morning -dew! 
 
 57. Wine and Bread. 
 
 Odours such as these revive me. 
 Far dispersing thoughts of pain; 
 
 On the mountain blooms the vineyard, 
 In the vale the golden grain.
 
 53 
 
 Soon the threshing-floors will thunder, 
 Soon the whirring mills will go; 
 
 And when these at last are weary, 
 From the press the wine will flow. 
 
 Hostess good, with topers round thee, 
 Fain would I be briskly sped; 
 
 Come , with wine fill up the beaker — 
 On the table lies the bread. 
 
 58. The Summer Solstice. 
 
 Now the sun at length must finish 
 
 This his longest, grand career. 
 How he lingers ere he turns him 
 
 Tow'rd the sea serene and clear! 
 Nature now with sad forebodings 
 
 Feels her youthful God's decline; 
 Far aroiTnd, the evening landscape 
 
 Seems in mournful calm to pine. 
 
 But the quail, who always early 
 By her chiding wakes the day, 
 
 To the sunbeam faint and fading 
 Sings a final 'larum-lay;
 
 54 
 
 And the skylark soars in singing 
 Far above the misty vale, 
 
 For a moment more to hover 
 In the beam that 'gins to pale. 
 
 59. The Poppy. 
 
 Behold how rocked by Zephyrs 
 
 The poppy's blossom gleams: 
 The flower that best adorneth 
 
 The slumberous Grod of dreams. 
 Here , scarlet like the cloudbanks 
 
 Which sunset renders bright, 
 There, pale and white and ghostly 
 
 As 'neath the moonbeam's light. 
 
 I've heard men say in warning, 
 
 Should one 'mid poppies sleep , 
 His senses soon are buried 
 
 In heavy dreams and deep ; 
 Awaking, he retaineth 
 
 This fancy strange and dim, 
 That all things true or lovely 
 
 But shadows are to him.
 
 55 
 
 lu lifetime's early morning 
 
 I too once rested there, 
 By flow'rets hidden wholly 
 
 In a valley bright and fair. 
 So drowsy seemed their odour 
 
 That, ere I felt aware, 
 My life became a picture, 
 
 Its truths but dreams and air. 
 
 Since then the power hath lasted 
 
 All things as then to view; 
 The world but seems a picture 
 
 And only dreams are true. 
 The shadows round me flitting 
 
 Distinct as stars I trace; 
 O Poppy! flower of poets, 
 
 My head for ever grace. 
 
 60. The Mallow. 
 
 Hast thou come again, pale mallow, 
 
 Hast thou put thy blossoms on? 
 Yea! a mournful sight hath met me, 
 
 All the spring at once is gone. 
 Thou art still the rose of Autumn, 
 
 Born when lower wheels the sun; 
 Thou art staring, thou art scentless, 
 
 And thy blossoms are as none.
 
 56 
 
 I would gladly greet thee, mallow, 
 
 Wert thou not so rosy red, 
 Hadst thou not my loved one's blushes. 
 
 Hers, who blossomed — and is dead. 
 Cease to feign that Spring continues. 
 
 For thou need'st not glow so bright, 
 Thovi canst blend a dusky sadness 
 
 With a radiance soft and white. 
 
 61. Travel. 
 
 Must I, friends, set out on travel, 
 
 Must I breathe a foreign air? 
 Would ye have me wish to wander 
 
 From the tracks of daily care? 
 Yet amid these scenes so homely 
 
 I have deeper learnt to sink, 
 Yea! I feel (by these surrounded) 
 
 Freer, happier, than ye think! 
 
 Ne'er can I exhaust my rambles. 
 
 Ne'er this vale can fathom quite; 
 E'en the old familiar footpaths 
 
 Yield me ever fresh delight. 
 Oft whene'er the thought arises 
 
 That the path is lone and drear, 
 Close beside me, e'en in daylight, 
 
 Flit the forms of comrades dear.
 
 57 
 
 When the sun from hence departeth, 
 
 Still my heart no quiet knoAvs, 
 With him from the mountain - summits 
 
 Tow'rds romantic isles it goes; 
 Then the stars start out above me, 
 
 Challenging my earnest view 
 Till to heights for aye receding 
 
 I a heavenward track pursue. 
 
 Dreams of youth, both new and olden, 
 
 Past and Future equally. 
 Limitless celestial spaces 
 
 All are present here to me. 
 Therefore, friends, far hence I'll travel, 
 
 Mark my road, appoint a goal; 
 In my home's familiar circles 
 
 Roves too much my vagrant soul! 
 
 62. Songs of the Traveller. 
 
 1. Farewell. 
 Farewell, farewell, my dearest love, 
 
 To - day must see us sever ; 
 A kiss, a kiss at parting give, 
 
 I leave thee, love, for ever.
 
 S8 
 
 A blossom, blossom, break for me 
 From the tree i' tlie garden blowing; 
 
 No fruit, no fruit, dear love, for me, 
 I may not wait its growing. 
 
 2. Parting and Starting. 
 
 From thee must I be starting 
 Who mad'st my life so blest! 
 
 Thou kissest me at parting, 
 I press thee to my breast. 
 
 Say, dearest, is it starting 
 While fondly you caress me? 
 
 Say, dearest, is it parting 
 
 While closely thus you press me? 
 
 5. Far away. 
 
 Beneath the trees I'll rest me here, 
 
 And list the songbirds sweet; 
 Why seek ye thus my heart to cheer, 
 HoAV know ye of our love so dear 
 
 In this remote retreat? 
 
 ni rest beside this torrent clear 
 'Mid flow'rets sweet and gay; 
 
 Who, floweret sweet, hath sent thee here, 
 
 Art thou affection's token dear 
 From her that's far away?
 
 59 
 
 4. Morning - song. 
 
 As yet the sun's first rays are pale, 
 The matin -bell down yon dim vale 
 
 Not yet its peal is flinging; 
 How still the spacious woodlands seem! 
 The birds but twitter in a dream, 
 
 As yet no lays are ringing ; 
 Long time I've paced the fields along, 
 And thus betimes have framed the song, 
 
 Which loudly now I'm singing. 
 
 5. Travelimg by Night 
 
 Across a darksome land I ride, 
 
 Both moon and stars their radiance hide. 
 
 The chilly winds are hissing ; 
 I oft have passed the selfsame way 
 When laughed the sunshine's golden ray 
 
 And wanton winds were kissing. 
 
 Across a garden dark I go, 
 
 Through faded trees chill breezes blow, 
 
 Leaves drop from branches dreary ; 
 Here was I wont, when roses bloomed 
 And all things Love's soft looks assumed, 
 
 To wander with my dearie. —
 
 60 SONGS. 
 
 'Tis quenched, 'tis gone, that gladsome sun, 
 The rosebuds withered every one. 
 
 The grave my love is holding; 
 Across a darksome land I ride, 
 'Mid winter's storms, no light to guide. 
 
 My mantle round me folding. 
 
 6. Wmter Travelling. 
 
 So cold the wind is blowing, 
 The roads are void and bare; 
 
 The waters still are standing, 
 I only onward fare. 
 
 The sun shines out but dimly. 
 And soon must pass from sight; 
 
 Love's fires are all extinguished, 
 All joys have vanished quite. 
 
 At last the wood is traversed. 
 
 The thorpe I gladly gain; 
 Here may I warm my fingers, 
 
 Tho' cold my heart remain. 
 
 7. Going Away. 
 
 Thus now at length I leave the place 
 Where late I've dwelt for many a day; 
 
 I quit the streets with sturdy pace , 
 
 With none to cheer my lonesome way.
 
 61 
 
 At parting none my coat have rent, 
 'Twere pity, sure, sucli clotli to tear; 
 
 Nor on my clieek I find the dent 
 
 Of teeth pressed close in strong despair. 
 
 None found last night their slumbers gone 
 That I so soon from hence must go ; 
 
 They all in peace could slumber on, 
 Yet one dear face to lose — is wo! 
 
 8. The Itm. 
 A kind and gentle host was he 
 
 With whom I stayed but now ; 
 His sign a golden apple was 
 
 That dangled from a bough. 
 
 Yea! 'twas a goodly apple-tree 
 With whom I late did rest; 
 
 With pleasant food and juices fresh 
 My parching moiith he blest. 
 
 There entered in his house so green 
 Full many a light -winged guest; 
 
 They gaily frisked and feasted well 
 And blithely sang their best. 
 
 I found a couch for sweet repose 
 Of yielding verdure made ; 
 
 The host himself, he o'er me spread 
 His cool and grateful shade.
 
 62 
 
 Then asked I Avliat I had to pay, 
 Whereat his head he shook; 
 
 blest be he for evermore 
 From root to topmost nook! 
 
 9. The Journey Home. 
 break not , bridge that tremblest so ! 
 fall not, rock that threat'nest wo! 
 Earth, sink not down; thou heav'n, abide 
 Until I reach my loved one's side! 
 
 63. Dedication of a House. 
 
 Right well is the new-built house begun. 
 The roof's not on, nor the walls quite done; 
 Still from above the rain may fall, 
 And the sunlight wander at will o'er all. 
 Then jiray we to the world's great king 
 That He from heaven's high vault will bring 
 His priceless treasures forth, and o'er 
 The open house His blessings pour. 
 And first may He, all -bounteous, deign 
 The barn to fill with ripened grain ; 
 With honest thrift the parlour bless. 
 The kitchen with order and cleanliness; 
 The stalls make healthy for horse and kine, 
 And the cellar stock with generous wine; 
 
 A
 
 SONGS. 63 
 
 The wickets and AvincloAvs consecrate, 
 That evil may ne'er pass in thereat; 
 And grant that from out this new-made door 
 Gay laughing children may often pour. 
 Now, builder, finish the walls and roof, 
 God's blessing hath made it evil -proof. 
 
 64. A Tardy Nuptial Lay. 
 
 The Muse not seldom fails me 
 
 When most her aid I need; 
 She sweeps to worlds far distant 
 
 And will not slack her speed. 
 She, wrapped in trances, dreameth 
 
 Full oft the hours away; 
 Nay more, she e'en neglecteth 
 
 A happy bridal day. 
 
 So now, to greet your bridal. 
 
 She Cometh all too late; 
 She prays you treat her kindly 
 
 Nor count her fault as great; 
 For, trust me, fortune poureth 
 
 On you her brightest ray. 
 If friends both late and early 
 
 May sing your bridal lay.
 
 €4 
 
 65. A Song of Tea. 
 
 With gentle finger toi;ch the string, 
 Awake its murmurs soft and low 
 
 To celebrate the daintiest thing, 
 
 The daintiest that the earth can shew. 
 
 Where reigns eternal spring, Tea! 
 
 O'er India's* far, mysterious clime 
 Dost thou, thyself a mystery. 
 
 Consume thy days of blooming prime. 
 
 Wee lips of bees alone may dare 
 Sip honey from thy calix sweet; 
 
 Bright birds alone of plumage rare 
 Their songs of eulogy repeat. 
 
 When lovers haste to tell their love 
 Beneath thy shade in happy hours, 
 
 Thou gently dost thy branches move 
 
 And o'er them strewest fragrant flowers. 
 
 Thus on thy strange domestic strand 
 Thou growest, fed by sunshine fair; 
 
 Till here, in this far -distant land, 
 We learn at last thy natixre rare. 
 
 * We generally suppose China , not India, to be 
 the home of the tea -plant. Neither does the fourth 
 stanza agree with our usual ideas of the plant's size.
 
 SONGS. 65 
 
 For ladies fair and none beside , 
 
 Like mothers, keep thee safe from ill; 
 
 We watch them o'er the cups preside 
 Like nymphs that guard a sacred rill. 
 
 It scarce can e'er to men pertain 
 To know thy hidden powers aright; 
 
 Soft female lips alone may gain 
 
 Acquaintance with thy magic might. 
 
 Myself, thy poet, call thee rare, 
 
 Yet scarce thy wondrous powers perceive; 
 
 But all that female lips declare 
 With trust devout I aye believe! 
 
 Then gently touched, sounding string. 
 In murmurs whisper, soft and low; 
 
 A woman's voice alone should sing 
 
 The daintiest thing that earth can shew. 
 
 66. A Song of Pork. 
 
 To - day , as oft in former years , 
 
 A porker have we slain. 
 Weak Jews are they and over-nice 
 
 Who meat like this disdain. 
 
 5
 
 66 SONGS. 
 
 Hurrah for swine, both small and great, 
 In tame, or else in savage state, 
 The white ones and the brown! 
 
 Then tarry not, my trusty friends, 
 
 The sausages to eat; 
 And let the flagon fast go round 
 
 To crown the savoury treat. 
 They rime so neatly — Wine and Swine — 
 They fit so closely — Wxirst* and Thirst — 
 
 We needs must drink with Wurst. 
 
 Then there's our noble Sauer -kraut, 
 
 (To pass it by's unmeet). 
 Invented by some German brain 
 
 For German mouths to eat. 
 When meat so soft, so white as this 
 Lies in the Kraut, a picture 'tis 
 
 Of Venus rose -embowered! 
 
 And when by fair white hands therein 
 
 The fair white meat is placed, 
 'Tis this that makes a German's heart 
 
 Of happiness to taste. 
 Young Love draws near and laughs, y-wis. 
 And thinks, whoe'er would snatch a kiss, 
 
 Hath but to wipe his mouth! 
 
 * Wurst means a sausage ; Sauerkraut is a prepar- 
 ation of pickled red cabbage, which occasions the in- 
 troduction of the simile of "Venus among the roses^'.
 
 67 
 
 Let none reproach me now, good friends, 
 
 That I of porkers sing; 
 For oft some mighty thought depends 
 
 On some most trivial thing. 
 Right well that saying old ye know , 
 That here or there, as luck may shew, 
 
 "A pig may find a pearl."* 
 
 67. Drinking Song. 
 
 A year so thirsty ne'er was known. 
 My throat's as parched as any hone, 
 
 My liver dried away ; 
 I seem a fish on driest sand, 
 I seem a tract of sunburnt land; 
 
 A draught of wine, I pray! 
 
 How dry is every passing gale! 
 Nor rain, nor mist, nor dews avail. 
 
 All drinks my anguish mock; 
 Deep draughts I drink, and drink again, 
 Yet down my throat they're poured in vain 
 
 As 'twere a heated rock. 
 
 * A common German proverb. It requires a slight 
 acquaintance with German customs in order to ap- 
 preciate this poem. 
 
 5*
 
 68 
 
 What star now reigns, so hot, so fierce? 
 Its heat doth e'en my marrow pierce 
 
 And pains me to the core. 
 My friends must think I pine with love, 
 And sooth, who gives me drink shall prove 
 
 Beloved for evermore! 
 
 All ye that suffer thus with me, 
 Pray oft that wine may plenteous be, 
 
 All ye whom drinking stays; 
 Saint Urban*, justify our trust. 
 Grant us this year much precious must, 
 
 That we may hymn thy praise! 
 
 68. Drinking - Song. 
 
 One glass — 'tis not the first — we'll drink ; 
 Of this and that we'll freely think. 
 Of grand and stirring scenes. 
 
 We'll think of forests dark and drear 
 
 Where raves the roaring blast. 
 The hunter's ringing horn we hear 
 
 As horse and hound go past. 
 
 ' Urban I. was consecrated Bishop of Rome in m 
 
 D. 223. St. Urban's day is May 25. ■
 
 The stag cloth through the torrent go 
 While floods around him brawl, 
 
 We hear the huntsman^s wild hallo 
 And shots, fast pattering, fall. 
 
 One glass — 'tis not the first — we'll drink ; 
 Of this and that we'll freely think, 
 Of grand and stirring scenes. 
 
 Next think we of the sea's wild dash, 
 
 We hear the boisterous waves; 
 Overhead the rolling thunders crash, 
 
 The whirhvind howls and raves. 
 Mark! how the vessel groans and reels, 
 
 How masts and timbers break! 
 The minute -gun full sadly peals, 
 
 And sailors curse and quake. 
 
 One glass — 'tis not the first — we'll drink; 
 Of this and that we'll freely think. 
 Of grand and stirring scenes. 
 
 Next think we of the battle-field, 
 
 Where Germans join the fray; 
 The broad swords clash, the lances yield, 
 
 The mettled chargers neigh. 
 To roll of drum and trumpet's blare 
 
 The storming hosts rush on. 
 The deafening cannon rends the air. 
 
 And wall and tower are gone!
 
 70 SONGS. 
 
 One glass — 'tis not the first — we'll drink; 
 Of tliis and that we'll freely think, 
 Of grand and stirring scenes. 
 
 Next think we of the Judgment -day, 
 
 We hear the trumpet's call, 
 With thunderous sound the graves obey, 
 
 Stars shoot from heav'n and fall. 
 There roars the pit of hell and night 
 
 With seas of surging fire; 
 And there aloft in golden light 
 
 Is heard the heavenly choir. 
 
 One glass — 'tis not the first — we'll drink; 
 Of this and that we'll freely think, 
 Of grand and stirring scenes. 
 
 And when we've thought of chase and wood, 
 
 Of storms and tossing spray. 
 Of German Avarriors stout and good, 
 
 And of the Judgment -day; 
 Then think we of ourselves awhile 
 
 How boisterously we sing 
 And how we jest, and cheer, and smile. 
 
 And how the glasses ring!
 
 71 
 
 69. Song of a German Poet. 
 
 I sang in days of leisure 
 
 Full many a joyful lay, 
 Of old and liomely sayings, 
 
 Of love and wine and May. 
 Of these my songs are ended — 
 
 Mere toys, at leisure planned - 
 The shield of war is ringing 
 
 We shout for "Fatherland". 
 
 'Tis told us of the Catti: — 
 
 A ring each warrior wore 
 Which, till he slew a foeman, 
 
 As badge of shame he bore.* 
 So must I chain my spirit. 
 
 Fix on my lips a lock 
 Till well I've served my country 
 
 Amid the battle's shock. 
 
 And though I was not nourished 
 
 For lofty hero -hood, 
 And though my song be suited 
 
 To please a thoughtless mood; 
 
 * "Fortissimus quisque ferreum insuper annuhim, 
 ignominiosum id genti, vehit vincuhim gestat, donee 
 se cfede hostis absolvat." Tacitus: De Germania.
 
 72 SONGS. 
 
 Yet in this holy warfare 
 
 My proudest boast would be 
 
 The noble right, to herald 
 My country's Victory! 
 
 70. To a Poet's Daughter. 
 
 Thou'rt welcome, poet's daughter sweet. 
 For thee life's golden portals ope; 
 
 I bring for thee a present meet. 
 Prophetic words and songs of hope. 
 
 In troublous times thou blossomest, 
 In days that stir the anxious soul. 
 
 When, breaking through thy baby -rest, 
 A holy warfare's thunders roll. 
 
 Yet slumber on in guileless ease, 
 
 And dream as poet's daughter should 
 
 Of stars and flowers and budding trees. 
 Of heav'ns bright sheen and waving wood. 
 
 Then as the tempest dies away 
 
 And warfare's pangs and horrors wane, 
 
 Shalt thou thy maiden bloom display 
 And far extend Love's gentle reign.
 
 IS 
 
 The soft desires and dreams of love 
 That fired thy father's minstrelsy 
 
 Shall then descend from realms above 
 To wake to perfect life in thee. 
 
 71. Forwards. 
 
 Forwards! on! whate'er betide; 
 Eiissia shouts the word of pride; 
 
 Forwards ! 
 Prussia hears the word of pride , 
 Hears it gladly, spreads it wide, 
 
 Forwards ! 
 Up, thou mighty Austrian crew, 
 Forwards, do what others do; 
 
 Forwards ! 
 Up, thou ancient Saxon -land, 
 Onward ever, hand in hand; 
 
 Forwards ! 
 Bavarians, Hessians, strike! combine! 
 Suabians, Franks, defend your Rhine; 
 
 Forwards! 
 Forwards, Dutch and Belgian lands. 
 Swing your swords in freemen's hands; 
 
 Forwards !
 
 74 
 
 Swiss, may God your league sustain; 
 Burgundy, Alsace, Lorraine, 
 
 Forwards ! 
 Forwards, Spanish, English lands. 
 Give to brothers helping hands; 
 
 Forwards ! 
 Forwards, ever onward steer, 
 Fair the wind, the port is near; 
 
 Forwards ! 
 "Forwards" is a marshal's name*, 
 ForM'ards, soldiers known to fame, 
 
 Forwards ! 
 
 72. The Tidings of Victory. 
 
 The hours were heavy, dull, and dead, 
 Around us crept a rumour dread 
 That croaked as 'twere an evil bird , 
 Of swarthy hue, at twilight heard. 
 
 The evil rumour swiftly spread, 
 With vile reports of phantoms dread ; 
 It hinted feuds and traitorous deeds 
 And perishing of precious seeds. 
 
 * Marshal Bhxcher was nicknamed Marshal For- 
 wards. 
 
 t
 
 SONGS. 75 
 
 The friends of evil lose their fear, 
 With spite they grin, aloud they sneer; 
 The good stand resolute and dumb. 
 Waiting to learn what end will come. 
 
 Then o'er the Rhine a something flies 
 And breaks the mists that veil the skies; 
 Is 't sunny flight of eagles proud, 
 Or tuneful swans with voices loud? 
 
 From golden clouds this song doth break — 
 "The Lord His own will ne'er forsake; 
 He guards from scorn all righteous powers, 
 God fights for us, the Victory's ours!" 
 
 73. To my Fatherland. 
 
 I fain would consecrate to thee 
 
 These songs, dear German Fatherland; 
 
 For thou, to life restored and free, 
 
 Dost all my hopes and prayers command. 
 
 Yet heroes' blood for thee hath flowed. 
 
 For thee hath died youth's choicest flower; 
 
 When gifts like these have been bestowed, 
 These songs must seem a worthless dower.
 
 76 
 
 74. The Grerman Philological Association. 
 1817. 
 Some learned German men 
 Who the German langnage ken 
 
 Their labours now combine 
 Its powers and use to sound, 
 Its varied rules to bound 
 And fixedly define. 
 
 While these to fix and trace 
 Each word's true form and grace 
 
 Their useful toil pursue, 
 Your silent aid afford. 
 Your active help accord, 
 
 Ye German folk, thereto! 
 
 Yea! give them language chaste. 
 Pure phrases culled with taste 
 
 From purest hearts that flow ; 
 Speak fiery words and free. 
 Let all the nations see 
 
 How German minds can glow ! 
 
 Then from your speech expel 
 All words where lies may dwell, 
 
 Be truth on all conferred; 
 Implant in every youth 
 The love of honest truth 
 
 With every German word.
 
 77 
 
 Let not your words of might 
 In amorous ditties liglit 
 
 Be tamely made to move, 
 But honour's code express, 
 Or maid's pure flame confess, 
 
 Or sing true strains of love. 
 
 Ne'er let them, as at court. 
 Like girls or jugglers sport. 
 
 Nor idly lisp — for shame ; 
 But consecrated be — 
 Unweakened — to the free 
 
 Who speak in Freedom's name. 
 
 When thus your noble speech 
 To greater force shall reach. 
 
 And every grace combine 5 
 Of Germans men will say, 
 That — greet where'er they may - 
 
 There speaks the Voice Divine ! 
 
 75. Seriousness of the Age. 
 
 When first were garlands twined from flowers, 
 Or balls tost up with dexterous aim? 
 
 When first did dancing speed the hours, 
 
 When first was learnt some " forfeit - game ? '
 
 78 SONGS. 
 
 Ah! sure in some forgotten age! 
 
 These times with no such sports are rife, 
 For bitter war the nations wage, 
 
 And traitors brew internal strife. 
 
 76. The New Fairy-tale. 
 
 Fain would I once more inherit 
 
 Thoughts from golden Fairyland, 
 But an all -commanding Spirit, 
 
 Whilst I play, controls my hand; 
 Freedom's now my chosen Fairy, 
 
 Right my knight, my champion good; 
 Up then, knight, be keen and wary. 
 
 Slay the dragon's hateful brood! 
 
 77. Looking forward. 
 
 Must my songs be sving for ever 
 In this high and earnest strain ? 
 
 Must the field of grace and beauty 
 Hence for aye untilled remain?
 
 7& 
 
 When the axe has cleared the forest, 
 When the swamps are drained away, 
 
 Then the eye with tranquil pleasure 
 Views the sun's unclouded ray. 
 
 78. To Mothers. 
 
 Mothers, who fresh vigour win 
 Gazing on each infant face. 
 Who with prescient pleasure trace 
 
 All their future fate therein , 
 
 Once again with earnest love 
 
 Gaze on us, and thence declare, 
 Will the wouiids the fathers bear 
 
 Fruitful to the children prove? 
 
 79. To Maidens. 
 
 Hapless maids, my pitying heart 
 Most for you feels sorrow's smart. 
 Since ye to an age belong 
 Seldom cheered by dance or song.
 
 80 
 
 Beauteous maids in youthful prime 
 Blossom but a little time. 
 Must ye then put forth your bloom 
 Whilst the days are wrapt in gloom? 
 
 Yes! methinks your prime is left 
 Wholly of delights bereft, 
 That your after lives may prove 
 Blest by true devoted love! 
 
 80. The New Muse. 
 
 When to Law I gave my studies 
 
 'Gainst the impulse of my heart, 
 And from Song's delicious music 
 
 Half had torn myself apart. 
 To the God* who wears the fillet 
 
 Oft I gave an idle song, 
 None to thee, O blindfold Goddess f, 
 
 Sternly severing right from wrong. 
 
 * Cupid. 
 
 t Themis, or Justice, also (like Cupid) repres- 
 •ented as being blindfolded.
 
 SONGS. 81 
 
 Times are changed, and changed the Muses; 
 
 Now in this all- earnest age 
 Naught so fiercely stirs my bosom, 
 
 Naught so wakes my minstrel-rage, 
 As when thou with sword and balance. 
 
 Awful Themis, throned in might, 
 Bid'st the nations cry for vengeance. 
 
 Warnest kings to render right. 
 
 I
 
 82 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 
 
 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 
 
 1. On the 18*^ October, 1815. 
 
 To Burgomaster Kliipfel, State Deputy of the town 
 of Stuttgart. 
 
 The fierce momentous fight was o'er,* 
 
 From German soil withdrew the foe; 
 Bnt still the ransomed country bore 
 
 Full many a trace of former wo. 
 And as in cities long o'erthrown 
 
 The forms sublime of Gods are found, 
 So many a right may prove our own. 
 
 Long hid beneath some rubbish -mound. 
 
 'Tis now the time to save, to build, 
 
 Yet progress must imperfect prove. 
 If king and people be not filled 
 
 With concord, mutual trust, and love. 
 To regal power a due respect 
 
 At all times hath the German paid ; 
 Yet loves he still to walk erect 
 
 And free , as by his Maker made. 
 
 * The battle of Leipsic, Oct. 18, 1813.
 
 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 83 
 
 In steadfast league, ye guardians bold 
 
 Of freedom's cause, united be; 
 Ye build upon foundations old 
 
 The welfare of posterity. 
 Unmindful of reward on earth 
 
 Still prove industrious, firm, and true, 
 And to the People's honest worth, 
 
 As to the King's, give reverence due. 
 
 Then while this festal day we keep , 
 
 On which a thousand fires we light, 
 (Which, where from hills they flare not, deep 
 
 In patriot hearts, are glowing bright), 
 What can adorn or grace so well 
 
 The banquet that unites us here, 
 As that man's praises forth to tell 
 
 Who aye has proved a friend sincere; 
 
 Who, in this township born and bred, 
 
 Hath alway sought its truest weal, 
 To whom our hearts by love are led, 
 
 Who guards our rights with watchful zeal;, 
 Who, when terrific clouds did lower. 
 
 Unmoved endured the tempest's strife, 
 And now, collecting all his power. 
 
 To wise reforms devotes his life. 
 
 Ye, Fathers of the people, know. 
 
 No words for warmest thoughts are found; 
 
 6*
 
 84 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 
 
 No language can, ye senate, sliew 
 How closely ye to us are bound. 
 
 When lately in tlie lofty hall 
 
 The people thronged your words to hear, 
 
 The silence that pervaded all 
 
 Spake more than could the loudest cheer. 
 
 Then may such silence please thee well 
 
 When at the feast thou meet'st us all; 
 And if sad musings with thee dwell, 
 
 Think on some future festival: 
 When blessings, from that battle's storm 
 
 Resulting, shall be clearly shewn, 
 And seeds shall take their proper form. 
 
 By you, in this the Seed- Month,* sown. 
 
 2. The Good Old Right. 
 
 Whene'er the man of Wiirtemburg 
 On good old wine doth light. 
 
 The foremost of the toasts he gives 
 Shall be — "The Good Old Right!" 
 
 * October is sometimes called Sämond, Seed-month.
 
 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 85 
 
 The Right , that like a pillar strong 
 
 The prince's house upholds; 
 And safe against intruding steps 
 
 The peasant's cot enfolds. 
 
 The Right, that gives us honest laws, 
 
 That render despots weak; 
 Such laws as love an open court 
 
 And truthful verdicts seek. 
 
 The Right, that moderate taxes asks 
 And keeps accounts with care, 
 
 That on the cash -box watchful sits 
 And poor men's toil doth spare; 
 
 That o'er church property keeps guard, 
 
 A patron just and wise; 
 That science and creative thought 
 
 With aid and fire supplies. 
 
 The Right, that weapons dares to place 
 
 In every freeman's hand, 
 Wherewith he for his king may fight 
 
 And for his native land. 
 
 The Right, that leaves us wholly free 
 
 To other climes to rove ; 
 And binds us to our native soil 
 
 By none but chains of love.
 
 86 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 
 
 The Eight, whose well- deserved fame 
 
 Long centuries approve ; 
 Which all men, like God's Holy Word, 
 
 Kevere at heart and love. 
 
 The Right, to which an evil age 
 
 A living burial gave; 
 Which now with energy renewed 
 
 Hath risen from the grave. 
 
 Yes! may it strong and stronger grow 
 When we are gone from hence. 
 
 And prove to children yet unborn 
 Their welfare's best defence. 
 
 And when the man of Wiirtemburg 
 On good old wine shall light, 
 
 The foremost of the toasts he gives 
 Shall be — "The Good Old Right!" 
 
 3. Würtemburg. 
 
 What is it that thou lackest, 
 Mine own dear Fatherland? 
 
 The rumours of thy riches 
 Are heard on every hand.
 
 PAXKIOTIC POEMS. 87 
 
 They say thou art a gardeu 
 
 Where Eden's wealth is found; 
 
 What hast thou yet to wish for, 
 When all thy praises sound? 
 
 We read, an ancient worthy 
 
 Hath written thus of thee : 
 ■"Though men should seek thy ruiu, 
 
 Thou couldst not nxined be." 
 
 Do not thy fruitful cornfields 
 
 Like some vast sea extend? 
 While from a thousand hill -tops 
 
 Red streams of must descend? 
 
 And swarm not shoals of fishes 
 
 In every dyke and stream? 
 Do not thy forest -copses 
 
 With game exhaustless teem? 
 
 Roams not o'er every mountain 
 
 The shepherd's fleecy care? 
 And hast thou not strong horses 
 
 And heifers everywhere? 
 
 Is not "Black Forest" timber 
 
 In every land extolled? 
 Hast thou not salt and iron, 
 
 And even grains of gold?
 
 88 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 
 
 And are not all thy women 
 Domestic, pure, and true? 
 
 Blooms not in every province 
 A vineyard* always new? 
 
 And are not all thy yeomen 
 Industrious, honest, blunt? 
 
 In arts of peace accomplished. 
 And brave in battle's brunt? 
 
 Thou land of corn and vineyards, 
 Whereon such blessings 'light, 
 
 What lack'st thou? One, yea, all things 
 Whereas now the Good Old Bight? 
 
 4. A Dialogue. 
 
 What? always praise the olden right? 
 
 Still fondly o'er it brood? — - 
 I am antiquity's true knight 
 
 Because His just and good. 
 
 The Better shouldst thou rather praise, 
 And not the Good alone: — 
 
 Of Good I see some certain trace , 
 But of the Better — tiotie. 
 
 * By "vineyard" is meant a family of young 
 children. "Thy wife shall be as the fruitful vine: 
 upon the walls of thy house." Psalm CXXVIII.
 
 ' PATRIOTIC POEMS. 8^ 
 
 But should I point it out indeed, 
 
 Be guided tlien by me : — 
 I })in my faith on no man's creed, 
 
 Mati's rights I claim like thee. 
 
 Think'st thou wise counsel brings no gain? 
 
 Whence kindlest thou thy light? — 
 Thai homely sense I still retain 
 
 Dear to the homely wight. 
 
 Quick zeal and projects vast, I see. 
 Thou canst not comprehend: — 
 
 / rather praise such industry 
 As slowly gains its end. 
 
 True genius dares aloft to soar 
 
 And all men with it raise: — 
 The plant is rotten at the core 
 
 That never hud displays. 
 
 Thou canst not as a whole discern 
 Mankind' s most bitter smart: — 
 
 Thou mean' St it well, hut canst not learn 
 How heats a Patriot's heart.
 
 90 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 
 
 S. To the Representatives of the People. 
 
 With your noble work proceed , 
 Be ye firm , let wisdom lead , 
 Let not praise your thoughts disturb , 
 Let not blame your efforts curb. 
 
 Blame the overwise, (who wind 
 Round their special sun), will find; 
 Closer hold the righteous cause, 
 Keep the time -tried, simple laws. 
 
 Scoffs are from the hard and cold, 
 Those who zeal for folly hold; 
 Let your noble ardour's fire 
 Flame but brighter, clearer, higher. 
 
 Slanders are from those who fear 
 All men's plans are insincere ; 
 Therefore but the clearer prove 
 How ye truth and justice love. 
 
 For the truths by you restored 
 We our grateful thanks accord ; 
 And for what ye hope to do 
 We can wait, with trust in you.
 
 PATEIOTIC POEMS. 91 
 
 6. On the 18*^ of October, 1816. 
 
 (The Third Anniversary of the Battle of Leipsic.) 
 
 Should now some spirit here alight, 
 
 At once a bard and warrior brave, 
 Such as in Freedom's glorious fight 
 
 His life to serve his country gave. 
 He soon to German ears Avould bring 
 
 A stirring, sabre -edged song, 
 Not such as I alas ! shall sing , 
 
 But thunder -loud, divinely strong: — 
 
 "Men speak of triumphs loud and gay. 
 
 Of bonfires bright in years gone by, 
 But who is found to tell to - day 
 
 What such rejoicings signify? 
 'Twould seem that spirits must descend. 
 
 Lured from the dead by holy zeal. 
 To shew you where their wounds extend. 
 
 Wounds that your hands may plainly feel. 
 
 And first, ye dukes and princes, tell 
 
 Have ye forgot that battle - hour 
 When on your knees ye humbly fell 
 
 And magnified a Higher Power? 
 If for your fame the people fought. 
 
 If ye have ever found them true, 
 'Tis yours, to vow no more for naught. 
 
 But what ye praised in them, to do'.
 
 92 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 
 
 Ye people, who have much eudured, 
 
 Have ye that day of toil forgot? 
 That day, that matchless fame procured — 
 
 How comes it that it profits not? 
 The foreign hordes ye taught to flee, 
 
 There shines at home no guiding light; 
 Ye art not free, ye are not free. 
 
 Ye have not aye held fast the right. 
 
 Ye sages, must I hint to you 
 
 In learned works so deeply read , 
 How well th' unlettered simple crew 
 
 In Freedom's cause their life-blood shed? 
 Think ye that in the flames of strife 
 
 The age was, phoenix - like , re-rnade 
 Only to bring the eggs to life 
 
 That ye so busily have laid ? 
 
 Ye councillors and courtiers all, 
 
 With tarnished stars on breasts of stone, 
 Who of the fight by Leipsic's wall 
 
 Till now, perchance, have never known, 
 Know that upon this festal day 
 
 God holds a solemn court on high — 
 But ah! ye hear not what I say, 
 
 Or deem a spirit's voice can lie! 
 
 The lay I yearned to sing is o'er, 
 
 I seek the skies from whence I came;
 
 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 93 
 
 What liere lias come mine eyes before 
 I to the heavenly host proclaim. 
 
 I censure not, nor glorify, 
 
 Small hope on every side is found; 
 
 Yet saw I many a kindling eye 
 
 And many a heart I heard to bound!" 
 
 7. Tares among the Wheat. 
 
 Say, who this year such refuse 
 Amongst the corn hath shed , 
 Rank weeds and wheat that's blighted 
 That stupefies the head, 
 Vile darnel, and that greatest bane, 
 Strong tares that choke the growing grain? 
 
 The shooting -match but lately 
 
 These hurtful weeds betrayed; 
 
 Half blinded seemed the marksmen, 
 
 Not one a "bull's eye" made. 
 
 The new-made beer was most in fault. 
 
 Vile tares were mingled with the malt. 
 
 We needs must bolt and winnow 
 
 What seems so marred by blight, 
 The sieve must cleanse it throughly 
 From chaff and refuse light. 
 Remove at least that greatest bane. 
 The tares that choke the growing grain.
 
 94 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 
 
 So ye, by us appointed 
 
 The seeds of truth to sow, 
 Sift out the trashy refuse 
 
 That wrought such harm and wo : 
 Weeds, darnel, and that greatest bane, 
 The tares that choke the growing grain. 
 
 8. Traditional Domestic Customs. 
 
 Come in across the threshold, 
 Thou'rt freely welcome here; 
 
 Take off thy cloak, and yonder 
 Thy staff beside it rear. 
 
 Sit highest at the table, 
 
 Such place befits the guest; 
 
 Thy day's long journey ended, 
 Refresh thyself and rest. 
 
 If harsh unrighteoiis vengeance 
 Hath driv'n thee from thy home, 
 
 Beneath my roof content thee 
 A welcome friend to come; 
 
 But one thing I beseech thee — 
 Despise not, nor dispraise 
 
 My fathers' simple customs, 
 Our household's ancient ways.
 
 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 95 
 
 9. A Patriotic Heart. 
 
 Upon our fathers' labours 
 
 With reverence to build , 
 To sow the seeds they left us 
 
 Within the fields they tilled, 
 By thoughts of them assisted 
 
 To plan the nation's weal, 
 To glory in our honour 
 
 And shame for wrong to feel, 
 To sink all selfish passions 
 
 In public joy or smart — 
 All this implies most clearly 
 
 A patriotic heart. 
 
 Whate'er our fathers builded. 
 
 Devoid of shame, to waste, 
 To rear our fancy's structures 
 
 On airy nothings based , 
 To blame, devoid of feeling, 
 
 The men ourselves did choose, 
 Because they have not honoured 
 
 Our new -adopted views; 
 When naming names once famous 
 
 To act the scorner's part, 
 All this implies as clearly 
 
 No patriotic heart.
 
 96 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 
 
 Now that bright hope is quickened 
 
 To newer, purer light, 
 And History's Muse — expectant — 
 
 Her pencil grasps to write, 
 O Prince! for whose forefathers 
 
 Zeal set our hearts a -flame, 
 'Neath whose victorious standard 
 
 Our youth have fought for fame, 
 With 7ione to stand between us. 
 
 Thyself behold our smart ; 
 . And shew, above all others, 
 
 A patriotic heart. 
 
 10. A New Year's Wish. 1817. 
 
 Who truly to his country clings 
 
 Should wish it now a fruitful year; 
 From frost, sharp hail, and blighting things 
 
 May all good angels keep us clear; 
 Together with the welcome corn 
 
 And with the wine we need so sore, 
 .Soon may It, from Its plenteous horn, 
 
 Dispense our ancient rights once more ! 
 
 Men's wishes oft are much amiss, 
 
 They wish too much, both bad and good; 
 
 But 7ve wish nothing strange , y - wis , 
 We but desire the things we should ; 
 
 I
 
 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 97 
 
 If man would keep his frame alive, 
 His daily bread he surely needs,- 
 
 And would he wish his mind to thrive, 
 Such growth true freedom only breeds. 
 
 11. To the Representatives of the People. 
 
 On St. Christopher's Day, 1817; the fourth anni- 
 versary of the battle of Leipsic. 
 
 Again stern Fate her balance sways, 
 
 The olden battle lives again; 
 This day began the righteous days 
 
 That sundered first from chaff the grain; 
 Then first at length the false and true 
 
 Men learnt with opened eyes to scan ; 
 The dauntless and the timorous crew, 
 
 Th' imperfect and the perfect man. 
 
 Now men shall him "Illustrious" name, 
 
 Whose mind its light from justice takes ; 
 And him shall men a "Knight" proclaim, 
 
 "Who ne'er his knightly promise breaks; 
 Him men shall deem a true "Divine", 
 
 In whom a godly spirit glows; 
 And he as "Citizen" shall shine, 
 
 Who how to guard his city hnows. 
 
 7
 
 98 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 
 
 Now let your worth, Ye Men, be shewn. 
 
 Still onward with decision move, 
 Lest ye a bnrden to your own, 
 
 A jest to other countries prove. 
 Of schemes ye have a plenteous host, 
 
 Long speeches have been duly heard ; 
 Enough is written and engrossed* — 
 
 Then speak your last decisive word! 
 
 And if, alas! it prospers not. 
 
 Back to the people's ranks return ; 
 Be it your proud, your glorious lot 
 
 No precious rights to lose or spurn. 
 With patience in this hope abide — 
 
 " The dawn hath come of Freedom's day, 
 A God its sun doth wisely guide. 
 
 And naught its onward course can stay!" 
 
 12. Prayer of a Wiirtemburger. 
 
 Thou who from Thine eternal throne 
 
 Dost guard the nations, small and great; 
 Thine eye surveys our little stated 
 
 Thou seest how we, derided, groan. 
 
 * The original has "gesandelt", sanded; sand 
 being used instead of blotting paper in Germany; 
 I have substituted the word "engrossed" as being 
 more easily understood.
 
 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 99 
 
 To our good king Thy servant, Lord! 
 
 The people's voice still fails to reach ; 
 
 Had he but heard our pleading speech, 
 We long had had our rights restored. 
 
 To Thee is every passage clear, 
 No barrier can Thy path control; 
 Thy word is heav'n's loud thunder -roll, 
 
 Speak Thou within our sovereign's ear! 
 
 13. The Charter. 
 
 No prince is so supremely first. 
 
 No king so high a stand can take, 
 That if the land for freedom thirst, 
 
 Unaided he that thirst can slake. 
 He cannot in his single hand 
 
 Of Justice such a store possess, 
 As to distribxate to the land 
 
 Just what shall please him — more or less. 
 
 Though from the throne sweet Mercy flows. 
 
 Yet Justice is a common good. 
 In every son of earth it glows, 
 
 It runs in every vein like blood. 
 And when for freedom heroes strive 
 
 And faithfully join hand in hand, 
 Then justice proves itself alive — 
 
 A Charter makes it surely stand. 
 
 7*
 
 100 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 
 
 A Charter! hence, to bless the land, 
 
 Proceeds the frame of righteous laws, 
 Uniting by its holy band 
 
 The prince's with the people's cause. 
 Though in a palace one be born 
 
 And rest in gilded cradle find, 
 Not unto him is fealty sworn 
 
 Till lies The Charter sealed and signed. 
 
 For this we strove, and still contend, 
 
 Yet is not all as yet attained; 
 The wreath that crowns a prosp'rous end 
 
 Ye have not yet, ye warriors, gained. 
 No! as an ensign, wounded sore. 
 
 His standard keeps 'mid hottest fight, 
 So, worn with toil yet daring more. 
 
 Ye view your well -defended Right. 
 
 No herald will your triumph shew 
 
 With roll of drum and trumpet's blare, 
 Yet will this hope take root and grow 
 
 In German acres everywhere : — 
 ^'That wisdom ne'er shall bury Right, 
 
 Nor wealth set honest claims aside, 
 But every honest Suabian wight 
 
 Shall find his Charter ratified."
 
 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 101 
 
 14. Prologue to the Tragedy of "Ernest, 
 Duke of Suabia". 
 
 To celebrate the new Constitution of Wiirtemburg, on 
 the 18"" October, 1819, the above tragedy was played 
 at the Royal and National Theatre at Stuttgart. 
 The whole play, as well as the prologue, was 
 written by Uhland. 
 
 A tragic sliow will pass before you soon; 
 The curtain rises on a former age 
 That long hath sunk beneath the stream of 
 
 time ; 
 And battles, long decided, "will once more 
 Before your eyes be stormily renewed. 
 
 Two men, both noble, honest, pious, brave, 
 Two friends, still firm and faithful e'en to 
 
 death , 
 Chief names of Germany's heroic times — 
 These will ye soon behold in exile roam. 
 And, desperately fighting, sink in death. 
 
 'Tis aye the curse of that unhappy land 
 In which pure freedom and just laws lie low, 
 That still the noblest and the foremost men 
 Consume themselves in most unfruitful toil: 
 That they whose patriot feelings warmest glow 
 Are branded as betrayers of their land:
 
 102 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 
 
 And they — their country's saviours lately 
 
 called — 
 Must to a foreign hearth for refuge flee. 
 And whilst the best men's strength is brought 
 
 to naught, 
 There flourish — growing by the power of 
 
 hell — 
 Pride, violence, base meanness, coward acts. 
 
 How difi'erent, when from a stormy time 
 Pure laws and order, freedom and just rights 
 Have struggled forth and, firmly fixed, struck 
 root! 
 
 Then they, who grudgingly would stand 
 
 aloof, 
 Now gladly join once more the burgher's 
 
 ranks ^ 
 Then every hand and every spirit works 
 Fore -reaching, active, for the general weal; 
 Then gleams the throne, then thrives the 
 
 town, then teem 
 The fruitful crops, then men look proud and 
 
 free ; 
 The prince's and the people's rights are twined 
 Together, as the vine entwines the elm. 
 And for the sanctuary's secure defence 
 Each gladly ventm-es both his lands and life.
 
 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 103 
 
 Men gladly turn themselves from troublous 
 scenes 
 To revel in the happy realms of art, 
 And for the sicknesses of painful truths 
 Men turn for healing to the poet's dreams. 
 To-day, however, should the stage's shows 
 Wound any, let him think (to comfort him) 
 What feast we celebrate in sober truth!* 
 Then may he know for what true heroes die. 
 
 Still Deities descend to visit earth; 
 Still do those noble thoughts awake to life 
 Which men in every age have loftiest deemed. 
 Yes! in the middle of a 'wildered age 
 Arises, moved spontaneously, a Prince, 
 Who nobly to his people gives his hand 
 In willing pledge of order and just laws.f 
 This have ye seen, ye all can Avitness this; 
 Let history on her tablets grave it deep! 
 Hail to this monarch, to this people hail! 
 
 * Battle of Leipsic, Oct. 18, 1813. 
 
 f Alluding to King William I. of Wiirtemburg', to 
 whom that country is indebted for its excellent con- 
 stitution. He began to reign in 1816, and is still 
 living (1864).
 
 104 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 
 
 15. "Wandering. 
 
 I took my staflf to wander, 
 
 I ranged the German land ; 
 The German mind and manners 
 
 "Were praised on every hand. 
 I went not near the country 
 
 "Where orange-blossoms glow, 
 But fain would that examine 
 
 "Wherein potatoes grow. 
 
 I sought the princes' palace 
 
 Where German art is crowned, 
 Where statues godlike, graceful. 
 
 On every side abound. 
 A tree, that ne'er was nourished 
 
 In German soil, was there; 
 Or rather, one that flourished 
 
 With roots upturned in air!* 
 
 I sought a famous college. 
 Pure light I hoped to gain 
 
 Where from the chair prophetic 
 I heard true freedom's strain ; 
 
 * The meaning is, I suppose, that the poet likens 
 „German art" to a tree growing in a tub, or even 
 upside down. This poem is ironical throughout.
 
 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 10S> 
 
 There daily the professor 
 
 Supplies our mental needs, 
 The while he none so badly 
 
 His earthly body feeds. 
 
 I sought the "minstrel -forest" 
 
 Where freshening breezes play, 
 There sat a worthy poet. 
 
 Who -plucked a laurel -spray; 
 No time had he to ponder 
 
 Upon a nation's smart; 
 He only could consider 
 
 His own poor blighted heart. 
 
 A temple next I entered, 
 
 There heard I Christian words; 
 Within — were all men brothers. 
 
 Without — were slaves and lords; 
 The subject of the sermon 
 
 Was — "Bow thyself, be still!"* 
 As though despotic statutes 
 
 All Holy Writ did fill. 
 
 * 1 cannot find any such text in the Bible; the 
 nearest seems to be — "Take heed, and be quiet." 
 Isaiah VII. 4; where Luther's translation has "Hüte 
 dich, und sei stille".
 
 106 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 
 
 A burgher's house I entered , 
 
 I muse thereon with joy, 
 There bloom content and virtue , 
 
 Nor party -strifes annoy. 
 Live on in homely comfort! 
 
 Ere long we hope to see 
 One house — from Rhitie to Jutland — 
 
 One lodgijig house, may be! 
 
 The hospital I entered, 
 
 There all Avas clean and fair; 
 Good store of groats and cabbage. 
 
 And snowy beds were there; 
 There too deserted children 
 
 A pitying care engage. 
 Who careth for the needy 
 
 Deserted in their age? 
 
 Next in the council - chamber 
 
 I sat, and slept, and thought 
 The hospital still held me 
 
 Which lately I had sought. 
 While one that in a fever, 
 
 An ague -fever, lay. 
 Exclaimed — "Say naught, my brother. 
 
 About that Diet -day!" 
 
 I mingled with the people 
 
 That 'gan the square to throng,
 
 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 107 
 
 Where through the flying dust -clouds 
 
 Lean horses whisked along. 
 There learnt I that the riders 
 
 Hold over-haste in fear, 
 And that the time is shortened 
 
 By sausages and beer. 
 
 (With wings displayed) an Eagle 
 
 Our scutcheon bore of late; 
 I saw him still in being 
 
 At Nürnberg, o'er the gate. 
 *'God grant it" 's now the motto; 
 
 None care on wings to sail; 
 Twin Crabs are the supporters, 
 
 The scutcheon bears a Snail. 
 
 When this I apprehended. 
 
 My staff I homeward bore ; 
 When Freedom comes in earnest, 
 
 I'll wander forth once more. 
 I may not live to see it. 
 
 Yet, guided by the hand 
 Of Zeal, my ghost shall visit 
 
 Mine own free fatherland!
 
 108 EPIGRAMS. 
 
 Distiches. 
 
 To Apollo, the Butterfly. 
 
 God -like child of the Alps! unto these my 
 songs be propitious ! 
 Thou o'er the deep dark cleft flutterest, 
 sporting in light. 
 
 Achilles {1). 
 
 Thou through the turmoil of battle didst pass 
 on , alway in safety , 
 Oft from Scamander's stream didst thou in 
 safety emerge; 
 ' Twas when receiving the hand of thy bride 
 in the temple of Concord 
 Thou, hero divine, felPst by the arrow 
 of death.* 
 
 Achilles [2). 
 
 Far hence reign eth Achilles, a God, i' the 
 land of the Blessed; 
 Waters embrace it, and thou, goddess of 
 waters! a son! f 
 
 * One account says that Achilles loved Polyxena, 
 a daughter of Priam, and going to receive her 
 (without his armour) into the temple of Concord, 
 was there slain by Paris. 
 
 t Thetis, a sea-goddess, mother of Achilles.
 
 EPIGRAMS. 109 
 
 ' Narcissus and Echo. 
 
 Strangely, Love, tliou sportest with men — 
 Narcissus an echo 
 Loveth, the whilst with love pineth an 
 echo for hhn. 
 
 This might comfort her still — the words of 
 her timorous lover 
 Back to re-echo, but he^ changed to a 
 flower, is dumb. 
 
 Mournfully thought Narcissus — "0 were I 
 again but a stripling!" 
 E'en so Echo — "alas! were I a maiden 
 again!" 
 
 This is thy sport, Love! now calling to 
 amorous Echo, 
 Now Narcissus, all gold, twirling in infantine 
 hand ! 
 
 T?ie Gods of Antiquity. 
 
 Perishing Gods of old Greece, flow'rs bloomed 
 wherever ye wandered, 
 Scarcely may ye yotirselves blossom in poesy 
 now!
 
 110 EPIGRAMS. 
 
 Tell's Platte.'^ 
 
 Here is the rock-formed slab, where Tell 
 leapt out from the vessel; 
 Lo ! an eternal sign here of the hero is 
 seen. 
 Not yon chapel I mean, where yearly they 
 sing for him masses, 
 No! 'tis the hero's self. See'st thou how 
 noble he stands! 
 Now with the one firm foot on the soil — 
 thence sacred — he treadeth, 
 Whilst with the other away thrusts he the 
 tottering ship. 
 ' Tis not of stone , this figure — nor brass, 
 nor the labour of craftsmen. 
 Yet to the free man's mind riseth it , vivid 
 and clear. 
 Yea, and the wilder the storm, the louder 
 the roar of the breakers, 
 Then doth the hero's form grander than 
 ever appear. 
 
 * The name given to the slab of rock (on which 
 a diminutive chapel now stands) where Tell leapt 
 ashore in the storm.
 
 EPIGRAMS. Ill 
 
 The Ruins. 
 
 Wanderer! thee it behovetli to sleep in the 
 city of ruins , 
 So may'st thou in thy dreams grandly 
 upbuild it again. 
 
 Btirial. 
 
 Scarce in the churchyard's soil had the just 
 man's coffin been hidden, 
 Ere kind heaven thereon sprinkled its silvery 
 snow. 
 
 Mother and Child. 
 
 ''Look toward heaven, my child! there happily 
 dwell eth thy brother. 
 Ne'er did he vex me, and now angels have 
 borne him away ! " 
 "May no angel approach, nor bear me away 
 from thy bosom , 
 Mother, tell me, I pray — how may I 
 vex thee the most?" 
 
 A Night in March. 
 
 Hear! how roareth the storm and the rain- 
 swoln stream in the darkness ! 
 Feeling both awful and sweet! Beautiful 
 Spring, thou art near!
 
 il2 EPIGKAMS. 
 
 May. 
 
 Blossoms and buds how bright! leaves circle 
 the trees like a "glory"; 
 Heav'n, o'erclouded remain! Earth hath a 
 gleam of her own. 
 
 Exchange. 
 
 Keenly the swift breeze blew, and the flow'rs 
 were scattered in fragments , 
 But on the low-bent stalk rested a butterfly 
 still! 
 
 Love's Arrow. 
 
 Love! thine arrow of might my heart hath 
 mortally stricken; 
 Now in Elysian realms wake I, already in 
 bliss ! 
 
 Interpretation of Dreams. 
 
 Yesterday I in a dream saw her whom I love 
 at the window; 
 What saw I when awake? only the flowers 
 she gave. 
 But in my dreaming to-day, bright flow'rs I 
 saw by the window; 
 Surely to-day will ere long shew me the 
 darling herself!
 
 113 
 
 Roses. 
 
 Oft in the olden days slie gave me sweet- 
 smelling roses; 
 One hath but lately bloomed o'er the 
 beloved one's grave. 
 
 The Answer. 
 
 The rosebud which thou gav'st to me, 
 
 (This morning plucked, dear love, by thee). 
 
 Could scarce survive till eventide, 
 
 But pined for home, and early died; 
 
 And now its spirit hence doth flee 
 
 And wafts this simple lay to thee! 
 
 The Slumberer. 
 
 When downward droops thine eye's soft lid, 
 Thine inner eye, from gazers hid, 
 
 Begins its vivid dreaming; 
 
 Thy glance is inwards beaming!
 
 114 
 
 To Her. 
 
 Thine eyes have not the bkie of heaven^ 
 
 Thy mouth no redness of the rose, 
 
 No lily seems thy breast or arm. 
 
 Ah! what a wondrous spring were here. 
 
 If in the vales and on the heights 
 
 Such lilies and such roses bloomed ! 
 
 And if a heaven surrounded all 
 
 As clear, as blue as are thine eyes! 
 
 "Words of an Old Man. (l). 
 
 Never say more "good morning", or "good 
 
 day", 
 But ever say "good evening" and "good 
 
 night"; 
 For evening now surrounds me, and the 
 
 night 
 Draws on apace — ah! would it now were 
 
 here !
 
 EPIGRAMS. 115 
 
 Words of an Old Man. (2). 
 
 Come here, my child! thou my dear, dear 
 
 life! 
 Nay come, my child, thou my dearer 
 
 death .' 
 For all that's bitter should be called life, 
 But all that's sweet, should bear the name of 
 
 death. 
 
 On the death of a Village Priest. 
 
 If with departed souls the power doth dwell 
 Again to visit scenes once loved so well. 
 Thou wilt not come when moonlight floods 
 
 the skies, 
 When only sadness wakes, and longing sighs. 
 No ! when the summer's morning softly breaks. 
 When the blue sky is free from cloudy flakes. 
 When wave the corn-fields high of golden hue, 
 Enwoven bright with flowerets red and blue. 
 Then through the fields thou'lt wander as 
 
 erewhile 
 Grreeting each reaper with a friendly smile.
 
 116 
 
 Elegiacs. 
 I. 
 
 Thou, mother, saw'st mine eyes' first glance 
 Drink in the light of earthly day ; 
 
 On thine expiring countenance 
 I saw descend a heavenly ray. 
 
 II. 
 
 For thee, O mother dear, a grave is made, 
 
 And in a quiet spot, to thee well-known; 
 Above it broods a home-recalling shade. 
 
 And even flowers are at its threshold strewn. 
 E'en as thou diedst, there thou liest hidden, 
 
 Unchanged, with every trace of joy or 
 smart ; 
 To live again thou art not e'en forbidden — 
 
 For this thy grave is dug within my 
 heart. 
 
 III. 
 
 The tolling of the funeral bell 
 May fade, and sink, and die; 
 
 But, in my breast, a mournful knell 
 Shall ever softly sigh. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thou scarce with earth wast covered, ere 
 A friend with pensive pace
 
 EPIGRAMS. 117 
 
 Drew near, and decked with roses fair 
 
 Thy silent resting-place; 
 Two at thy head that softly glow, 
 
 Two dark ones at thy feet; 
 Two white ones that for aye shall blow 
 
 Above thine heart smell sweet. 
 
 V. 
 
 A leaf is falling at my feet, 
 
 Weary alike of rain and heat; 
 
 Ah ! when this leaf was green and new , 
 
 I still had parents fond and true. 
 
 How soon a leaf doth pass away, 
 The child of spring, the autumn's prey! 
 And yet this leaf that downward dives 
 So miTch that was so dear survives ! 
 
 On a Tombstone. 
 
 Engraven on this burial-stone 
 
 Two hands together clasped you view, 
 A sign of earthly union 
 
 That ended soon, tho' deep and true. 
 They hint to us that parting hour 
 
 When hand clasps hand in bitter pain. 
 How souls are knit with bonds of power, 
 
 And how they greet in heaven again!
 
 118 
 
 In an Album. 
 
 Time, in his ceaseless flight, not only strips 
 The field of flowers, the forest of its leaves, 
 Youth of its brightness and elastic force. 
 But ruthlessly despoils th' ideal world. 
 All that was beauteous, noble, godlike, rich. 
 And worthy every sacrifice and toil, 
 Becomes so colourless, so false and small, 
 So humble that ourselves are humbled too. 
 And well for us if still the embers keep 
 One trembling spark , and if the cheated heart 
 Becomes not all too faint to glow afresh. 
 Eeality is but a quivering spark; 
 Imagination soars beyond the fact. 
 Pretence has more existence than the truth. 
 He who sees truth alone, hath ended life. 
 Life is a play; and when the hollow show 
 Begins at length to fade , the curtain falls. 
 
 On William HauflF's early death. 
 
 To that young life, so fresh, so brightly hued, 
 To that rich spring which autiimn ne'er ensued, 
 To him as funeral offering let vis bring 
 A spray plucked newly off, still blossoming.
 
 EPIGRAMS. 119 
 
 But lately with this springtime's gladsome light 
 Our country gloAved. Upon a rocky height 
 Where stood a ruined fort*, there rose in air 
 A cloud-capt tower, a structure wondrous fair ; 
 Whilst in the cavern where the gnomes of 
 
 earth 
 With silent toil give shapes mysterious birth, 
 By Fancy's flickering flambeau-light betrayed, 
 We saw majestic hero-forms displayed; 
 And every sound in cleft or rift that stirred 
 Became instinct with life, a pregnant word. 
 With painted garlands and with warrior- 
 troops. 
 With shapes of Satyrs and with festive groups 
 The ancients the sarcophagus adorned 
 That hid the burnt remains of him they 
 
 mourned; 
 E'en so hath he for whom our tears are shed 
 With lively images his tomb o'erspread. 
 
 His ashes rest — his soaring spirit flies 
 To life, whose fulness we can scarce surmise. 
 Where even Art its heavenly goal may gain, 
 And mortal types beside th' Immortal wane. 
 
 * Alluding to "Liclitenstein", an historical novel, 
 by Hauff. Lichtenstein is the name of a ruined 
 fortress.
 
 120 EPIGRAMS. 
 
 Pate. 
 
 Yes! Fate, I understand thee now; 
 Not to this world belongs my bliss, 
 But only blooms in poet's dreams. 
 Thou sendest me a many griefs, 
 But send'st with every load — a lay.* 
 
 At Sea. 
 
 At midnight, on the trackless sea's expanse, 
 When all the lights on board have long been 
 
 quenched , 
 When e'en in heav'n above there gleams no 
 
 star , 
 Still glimmers on the deck a little lamp, 
 A wick protected from all gusty winds. 
 That shews the needle to the steerer's gaze, 
 Revealing most unerringly his course. 
 So ■ — would we heed it — burns within our 
 
 breasts 
 A steady light, to guide thro' every gloom. 
 
 * There is here a play upon the words "Leid" and 
 •Lied".
 
 121 
 
 SONNETS, 
 
 I. A Legacy. 
 
 A bard — in days when knights had honour 
 meet — 
 Who fought right nobly in the Holy Land, 
 Pierced through with arrows, stretched upon 
 the sand , 
 His faithful followers 'gan thus intreat: 
 "Enclose my heart, when it hath ceased to 
 beat, 
 Within the urn that from my native strand 
 I brought, (with many a pledge of love's 
 sweet band), 
 And therein bear it to my lady sweet ! " 
 Tims I, beloved, who thy praise have sung, 
 Now bleed to death, far off, thro' love's 
 
 sharp pain; 
 My cheeks are deathly pale thro' fond 
 regret ; 
 And when death's veil is o'er thy minstrel 
 flung. 
 This truest of all hearts receive again, 
 Within this sonnet's golden casket set.
 
 •122 
 
 II. To Petrarch. 
 
 If tliou of Laura hast but irndy sung , 
 
 Her look sublime, her port of heavenly 
 
 grace , 
 Not that I question thou didst truly trace 
 The love for her, thine inmost soul that 
 
 "wrung ; 
 
 Was she indeed a Boiigh, from Eden sprung — 
 
 An Angel, clothed in fleshly garments base — 
 
 A tender Pilgrim o'er this earth's rough face 
 
 Who homeward turned while yet her life was 
 
 young ; 
 I needs must fear that 'mid the twinkling 
 lights 
 Which thou, now glorified, hast reached at 
 
 last. 
 Thou canst not yet thy soul's desii'e receive; 
 For she, meanwhile, hath reached remoter 
 heights , 
 To spheres more holy still her soul hath 
 
 passed. 
 And thou in plaintive strains once more 
 must grieve!
 
 12^ 
 
 III. In Varnhagen's Album. 
 
 When turrets , walls , and bars — by Phoebus' 
 aid — 
 Decked Nisa's kingly town* with strong- 
 array , 
 Upon a coping-stone that near him lay 
 His gold-strung harp, still vibrating, he laid. 
 The battlement was ne'er so far decayed 
 But that the stone, e'en to the latest day, 
 A soft melodious strain would gently play 
 When gliding fingers lightly o'er it strayed. 
 So also on this Album-leaf I place, 
 
 (This leaf thou'lt stir — in turning o'er — 
 
 full oft). 
 Some tones that from my lowly harp have 
 rung; 
 Yet much I doubt if ever thou wilt trace — 
 When coming to this page — a murmur 
 
 soft; 
 I am not Phoebus, nor from Phoebus sprung. 
 
 * Nisa was the old name of Megara. Alcathöus 
 " restored the walls of Megara, in which work he was 
 assisted by Apollo. The stone upon which the God 
 used to place his lyre while he was at work, was 
 believed, even in late times, to give forth a sound, 
 when struck, similar to that of a lyre." 
 
 Smith's Classical Dictionary: Alcathöus.
 
 124 
 
 IV. To Kerner. 
 
 'Twas in the sorrowful November days 
 I wandered to a silent fir-thronged wood ; 
 Against the tallest fir I leaning stood, 
 And in my hand wide open held thy lays.* 
 Absorbed in thought, I conned each pensive 
 phrase ; 
 With awe "St. Alban's stone" my mind 
 
 imbued, 
 Next "Regiswind in rosy light" I viewed. 
 Then "Helicena's Minster" caught my gaze. 
 What pleasing wonders wrought thy soothing 
 strain ! 
 The heights were touched with May's fair 
 golden trail, 
 The voice of spring breathed through the 
 trees o'erhead; 
 But soon the magic spring dissolved again; 
 It might not settle in that dreary vale, 
 But lightly touched earth's highest tops, 
 and fled. 
 
 * Some of Kerner's poems are mentioned in this 
 sonnet. He is not to be confounded with the more 
 celebrated Körner.
 
 125 
 
 V. On Karl Gangloff's death. 
 
 In this sad age wlaen noble deaths abound, 
 When heroes fall while youthful hopes are 
 
 high , 
 'Twas not thy fate on victory's field to 
 die 
 To be by honour's oaken garland crowned. 
 Insidious fever did thy powers confound, 
 And whilst thy parents stood lamenting by. 
 Thou from thy home wast carried forth, to 
 lie 
 Where only flowers, not bloodshed, paint the 
 
 ground. 
 But no ! thou yet wast whelmed 'neath glory's 
 tide; 
 A battle-picture thou wouldst fain pourtray, 
 Memorial of thy country's warriors tried. 
 Thou, dying, seem'dst to hear the battle-cry ; 
 Around thee men, steeds, weapons joined 
 the fray, 
 And thus 'twas thine 'mid battle-scenes to die. 
 
 Author's Note. Karl Gangloff died May 16, 1814, at 
 Merklingen in Wiirtemburg of a nervous disease. This 
 and the two succeeding sonnets refer to the last 
 paintings and sketches of this ingenious young artist.
 
 126 SONNETS. 
 
 Thou wouldst but high and worthy things 
 pourtray, 
 Despising both the trivial and untrue; 
 And thus thy pencil's skill would , fain 
 renew 
 The Nibelungen Lied — that wondrous lay.* 
 Now Hagen's greatness would thy spirit sway, 
 Now fierce Kriemhilde stood before thy view; 
 But most that gentleness thy liking drew 
 Which Sifrid brave and Giselher display. 
 With justice didst thou Giselher bemoan 
 Who fell, in youth's fair prime, in hottest 
 fight; 
 Like his, an early death hath proved thine 
 
 own. 
 Was then thy spirit so completely won 
 
 By that strange lay, where fate's mysterious 
 might 
 Calls each to die, that death thou couldst not 
 shun ? 
 
 * Of the Nibehmgen Lied, a most famous me- 
 dieval poem, the principal characters are those 
 mentioned in this sonnet. For an explanation of it 
 see Chambers's German Literature, p. 19. Sifrid or 
 Siegfried, the dragon -slayer, was Kriemhilde' s first 
 husband, and was slain by Hagen. Giselher was 
 Kriemhilde' s youngest brother.
 
 SONNETS. 127 
 
 How well that solemn, tranquil picture throws 
 
 A meaning o'er thine artist-life's glad end, 
 
 Where Abraham and all that with him wend 
 
 Survey the land which God on them bestows ! 
 
 There o'er their pilgrim -staves they forward 
 
 bend , 
 
 While cliff and wood their figures half 
 
 enclose ; 
 And underneath them, stretched in fair 
 repose. 
 Broad acres, filled with corn and vines, extend. 
 So likewise, departed soul, hast thou 
 This earthly life's rough wilderness passed 
 o'er 
 And reached the happy goal where 
 pilgrims rest : 
 Yea, through the hollow sepulchre's dark 
 door 
 Upon the happy fields thou gazest now. 
 
 The heavenly Promised Land, by saints 
 possessed.
 
 128 
 
 VI. To the Invisible One. 
 
 Thou, whom we seek by many a darksome 
 way, 
 But whom our groping thoughts can never 
 
 feel, 
 Thou once didst leave Thy throne, which 
 clovids conceal. 
 Amidst Thy people visibly to stay. 
 How happy those who could Thy face survey. 
 And hear Thy words, so full of sweet 
 
 appeal ; 
 Who round Thy table sat and shared Thy 
 meal; 
 Most happy he who on Thy bosom lay! 
 We scarce can deem the burning zeal 
 o'erwrought 
 Of countless pilgrims who from home set 
 out. 
 And armies who on coasts far-distant fought 
 That they beside Thy grave but once might 
 pray, 
 And once might kiss with fervour most 
 devout 
 The holy soil o'er which Thy feet did stray.
 
 129 
 
 VII. Presentiment of Death. 
 
 Who knows whence thoughts of death the 
 mind assail? 
 In wondrous wise they've haunted me 
 
 to-night ; 
 My limbs already owned the conqiieror's 
 might , 
 I felt my heart's retarded beatings fail; 
 Unwonted tremors made my spirit quail, 
 
 My spirit which so seldom knows affright; 
 Yet now 'twas quenched, and now restored 
 to light, 
 Like some dim torch that feels a passing 
 gale. 
 Did dreams molest my sleep , with terrors rife ? 
 The skylark sings, the ruddy morning glows, 
 New longings bid me wake to bustling life. 
 Or hath the dread Death-angel near me sped? 
 Yon flowers that freshly bloomed at evening's 
 close 
 Droop from their stem, dry, withered, scentless, 
 dead!
 
 130 
 
 VIII. Extinguished Love. 
 
 We were as if new-born — so brightly-dyed 
 On us the light of love's soft morning 
 
 beamed. 
 How, Laura ! glowed thy lips ! thy features 
 gleamed ! 
 How flashed thine eyes! how swelled thy 
 
 heart's full tide! 
 Me, too, what founts of love revivified ! 
 
 With higher thoughts my restless bosom 
 
 teemed, 
 So that my wonted sleep I needless deemed; 
 A briefer waking dream its place supplied. 
 Yes, love is higher life in common things; 
 Such were the tokens of its living fires 
 Which now I seek, in thee or me, in 
 vain ; 
 Laura! for thee and me my sorrow springs, 
 We both are proofs how faded love expires; 
 The death of loveless life our love hath 
 slain.
 
 131 
 
 IX. Ghostly Life. 
 
 Severed from thee, like one entombed I lie; 
 
 1^0 sounds of vernal winds my senses greet; 
 
 No skylark's song, no balm of odours sweet 
 
 Nor beam of morning sun can life supply. 
 
 When living men in slumbers seem to die, 
 
 When rise the dead from out the tomb's 
 
 retreat , 
 O'er gulfs, o'er heights careers my spirit 
 fleet 
 Which , whilst I wake, approach to thee deny. 
 Then to forbidden Paradise I come , 
 
 Thro' gates I pass whose bars did erst 
 repel, 
 Yea! e'en to beauty's silent sanctuary! 
 Doth ghostly breath affright thee , tender 
 bloom? 
 'Tis love's soft sigh that breathes on thee 
 — farewell ! 
 The cock crows shrill — to seek my 
 grave I fly.
 
 132 
 
 X. A Desolate Spring. 
 
 To youthful dreams my fancy often, veers, 
 Albeit it fails again those joys to bring 
 When, in the first sweet days of genial 
 spring, 
 The teeming buds my bosom freed from fears ; 
 Then fancy bore me hence to distant spheres, 
 As birds essayed their earliest lays to sing; 
 Then Hope would seek the light, forth 
 venturing 
 As from the budding trees fresh green 
 
 appears. 
 But o'er me now, who late such bliss have 
 known , 
 Just severed from the closest bonds of love. 
 Thrust forth from Paradise to wander lone, 
 O'er me what joy can sprouting germs diffuse, 
 Or lonely ousel's lay from yon dead grove, 
 Or violet meek, tho' ne'er so sweet with 
 dews?
 
 SONNETS. 133 
 
 XI. The dear Spot. 
 
 The spot where I, upon my winding way, 
 That maiden met, in beauty's mould 
 
 designed, 
 Who, passing swiftly as the hasty wind, 
 Gave me such bliss as beauteous looks convey ; 
 Gladly to that loved spot I fain would stray, 
 There carve love-emblems on the tree's fair 
 
 rind, 
 With fairest wreathed flowers my temples 
 bind , 
 And in cool shade — to dream — my body 
 
 lay. 
 But so her glances bright confused my mind, 
 So was I blinded by her beauteous face. 
 That long I tottered like a driinken man ; 
 And now, tho' strive my thoughts the 
 best they can, 
 Howe'er across the field my steps I trace, 
 That spot so dear I cannot hope to find!
 
 134 
 
 XII. The two Maidens. 
 
 I saw two maidens on a grassy mound, 
 Both fair alike in face and gentle mien; 
 They sat and gazed upon the evening 
 scene, 
 In sisterlike embrace together wound. 
 The one her right arm raised and moved it 
 round , 
 Pointing to mountain, stream, or pastures 
 
 green ; 
 The other held her left — her eyes to 
 screen — 
 Against the sun, and watched with gaze 
 
 profound. 
 What wonder that the sight sweet yearnings 
 raised , 
 And that the tender thought within me 
 burned, 
 "Oh! that I might but sit in either's 
 place ! '' 
 But when I longer at the darlings gazed, 
 My pitying heart this soft reply returned, 
 "Not so! to part them were a sin most 
 base!"
 
 135 
 
 XIII. The Wood. — A Dream. 
 
 Whate'er of verdure fresh or shade serene 
 With tranquil calm could heart or senses 
 
 slake , 
 Methought encircled me, and seemed to 
 make 
 A still retreat, a pleasant forest-scene. 
 Whate'er of springing buds or blossom's sheen 
 Hath round me glowed — iii dreams, or 
 
 whilst awake — 
 Shaped like a huntress fair, all lightly 
 brake — 
 (Herself the forest-flower) — thro' bushes 
 
 green. 
 
 She fled; I followed fast with many a prayer, 
 
 And now mine arms were almost round her 
 
 thrown , 
 
 When lo ! my morning-dream dissolved in air ! 
 
 fate! thou bringst my every hope to naught! 
 
 Not only hath the lovely vision flown. 
 But e'en the wood wherein she might be 
 sought !
 
 136 
 
 XIV. The Nosegay of Flowers. 
 
 Since flowers —in nosegays — tender meanings 
 veil, 
 Since love is hinted by the bhishing rose, 
 "Forget-me-nots" by name their drift 
 disclose , 
 The laurel fame implies, the cypress bale; 
 Since, whensoe'er all other tokens fail, 
 
 In di£Ferent colours secret thoughts repose ; 
 
 Since yello)v jealous pride and envy shews. 
 
 And in green sprays "hope tells a flattering 
 
 tale" ; 
 So might I — to express devotion true — 
 Cull flowers of every kind and every hue. 
 
 And send to thee the unassorted wreath; 
 For thou my joys, my hopes, my griefs may'st 
 
 claim , 
 My love, my truth, my jealousy, my fame; 
 To thee I dedicate my life and death.
 
 137 
 
 XV. An Apology. 
 
 Whate'er in songs I oftentimes indite 
 Of kisses at endearing eventide, 
 Of love by warm embraces testified, 
 Alas! is all a dream, a poet's flight. 
 And ti07v^ thou questionest my minstrel-right, 
 And sternly wouldst my boastful language 
 
 chide 5 
 "If thus he dare to speak of bliss untried, 
 Let him be silent, feeling real delight!" 
 Belov'd one, moderate thy serious tone. 
 
 Smile at such dreams as poet's fancy sees 
 Of shadowy shapes, and sports he ne'er hath 
 
 known. 
 In shadows cool the minstrel oft doth lie. 
 The whilst his harp hangs 'neath the 
 swaying trees 
 And through the strings the whispering breezes 
 sigh.
 
 138 
 
 XVI. A Proposal. 
 
 Oft as the poet views her portrait blest, 
 The distant fair one's form delights his 
 mind : 
 And though life's tangling cares around him 
 wind, 
 The lov'd one's picture is his bosom's 
 
 guest. 
 Again — his lays, inspired by sweet unrest, 
 The fair one reads, at evening hour reclined, 
 And many a fervid thought so dear doth find 
 That deep it lies engraved within her breast. 
 Thus while her cherished picture soothes his 
 pains, 
 And by his songs her griefs are oft allayed 
 The pain of separcttion still remains! 
 Then deign, Fate, the lot of both to bless; 
 
 Restore the poet to the beauteous maid; 
 Then misrht the miniature the s oners caress !
 
 139 
 
 XVII. The Critic Converted. 
 
 Thou who but lately from thy critic's stool 
 Us luckless sonneteers didst so torment; 
 Thou who with poisonous gall hast so 
 besprent 
 And doomed us to the lowest Stygian pool; 
 Thou cleanly ermine of the olden school, 
 How hast thou soiled thy white integument! 
 For now thyself hast to thy lady sent 
 A creaking sonnet, rough beyond all rule! 
 Thy late fierce scoldings hast thou quite 
 forgot? 
 Forgot what, half in jest and half in 
 passion , 
 The critic Voss enjoined, that veteran 
 elf? 
 Thou'rt like the righteous pedagogue, I wot, 
 Wlio, whilst he chid the lad in wrathful 
 fashion 
 For stealing cherries, munched them up 
 himself!
 
 140 
 
 XVm. A Concluding Sonnet. 
 
 As, when a funeral bell hatli ceased to toll, 
 The sound yet lingers ere it dies away; 
 As he who down a mountain takes his way 
 Too hastily, can scarce his course control; 
 As from apparently extinguished coal 
 An unexpected flame will brightly play; 
 As oft, upon an almost withered spray, 
 Bursts forth a blossom, desolate and sole; 
 Or as the shepherd, thrilled with sweet 
 delight, 
 Pours forth in artless song his fair one's 
 praise 
 "Which thoughtless echoes far and wide 
 extend; 
 So fares it noAv Avith me who sonnets write; 
 Though neither thought nor purpose it 
 bewrays , 
 I write one sonnet more, to make an 
 end.
 
 141 
 
 XEX. To the League - detectors. 
 
 A. D. 1816. 
 
 Ye who witli scent so keen smell out a 
 throng 
 Of secret leagues kept up by dang'rous 
 
 foes, 
 Forgive me if I now one league disclose 
 That hath not vexed you yet with fancied 
 
 wrong. 
 I know what makes you grieve your whole 
 lives long — 
 The plague — the dreadful crime that 
 
 spreads and grows; 
 'Tis this: the fervent wish our country 
 shews 
 To be well-governed, free, united, strong! 
 I know yet more, which if ye bid me tell, 
 A mighty, secret league I gladly shew, 
 That hath been woven close in silent 
 nights ; 
 'Tis the great league of stars innumerable; 
 And — as keen spies have lately made 
 me know — 
 The sunbeams vie not with their myriad 
 lights.
 
 142 
 
 Note to Sonnet XIX. Austria and the leading- 
 powers of Germany were at this time alarmed at 
 the existence of secret associations. To these be- 
 longed most of the professors and students of the 
 universities, who were most strenuous in their efforts 
 to obtain the establishment of constitutional govern- 
 ments, and to defeat despotism. The poet here ex- 
 plains that the men who were said to be "dangerous 
 foes" to government, and to be iinited in a "league" 
 against it, were really those who were freedom's 
 best defenders. By way of illustration, he suggests 
 that the researches of astronomers have shewn that 
 there are many stars far brighter than our sun, and 
 that therefore the whole light of all the stars very 
 far surpasses the solar brightness. In like manner, 
 the combination of many true men, however ap- 
 parently humble each may seem to be, far surpasses 
 in real strength the power of the most despotic 
 ruler.
 
 POEMS IN OTTAVA RIMA. 14S 
 
 POEMS IN OTTAVA KIMA. 
 
 To K. M. 
 
 (Perhaps Karl Mayer, to whom he dedicates hi& 
 ballad of "Merlin". See note to that ballad.) 
 
 When Nature would her various works renew, 
 She loves to travail in some secret lair; 
 
 None but her favour'd votaries may view 
 How her quick hands Spring's ornaments 
 prepare, 
 
 How she in concord sweet and order due, 
 Nurtures in secret haunts her children fair. 
 
 But when she would subvert and Avaste 
 outright , 
 
 In storms and hurricanes she bursts to sight. 
 
 So also Love delights to exercise 
 
 • Throughout the spirit-world his wondrous 
 
 might ; 
 He draws his viewless ring in magic wise 
 
 At golden evening, or in starlit night; 
 And by soft lays and plaintive melodies 
 
 Awakens kindred choirs of spirits bright. 
 He knows how souls in his perennial tie 
 Are knit by glances from the silent eye.
 
 144 POEMS IN OTTAVA RIMÄ. 
 
 If in tlie billows of a boisterous tide 
 
 A youth should fling himself in venturous 
 play, 
 Full soon will he, returning shoreward, ride 
 Upon that wave that swept him fast away. 
 But I — methought a glassy lake I spied. 
 Wherein heav'n's vault, earth's sheen reflected 
 lay. 
 There sank I down, with softest raptures 
 
 drunken , 
 There sank I down, and am for ever sunken.* 
 
 One Evening. 
 
 The tolling ceased, the last hymn died away; 
 
 No sound recalled the loss that wrung my 
 breast. 
 My heart was lighter, 'mid my grief's dismay. 
 
 Since she by pious hands was laid to rest. 
 As if the white shroud in the house yet lay, 
 
 I still was doubtful where to seek her best ;- 
 She seemed with gestures sad, without a home, 
 To hover 'twixt the earth and heaven's high 
 dome. 
 
 * The meaning is that whoever plunges headlong 
 into love, may soon be free from it again; but who- 
 ever sinks into it slowly, will surely sink down 
 wholly and irrecoverably!
 
 POEMS IN OTTAVA RIMA. 145 
 
 The settiug- sun shone bright; I sat in shade, 
 And looked afar, across the meadows green; 
 Methought two children in the distance played 
 In life's full bloom, as we had blooming 
 been. 
 Then sank the sun, gray mists a curtain 
 made, 
 The vision fled, dark shadows veiled the 
 scene. 
 Then — upward gazing — in the Fields on 
 
 high * 
 The sunset's glow and her I loved could spy. 
 
 Living Backwards. 
 
 Beside her grave, fast rooted there, I knelt, 
 My spirit sought the kingdom of the dead; 
 
 My sight reached not to heaven; alas! I felt 
 The thought Ave there should meet, small 
 comfort shed! 
 
 In looking forward, naught but sorrow dwelt, 
 To you, bright dreams of former days, I 
 fled; 
 
 I raised the coffin from the grave's dull night 
 
 And bore her back again to life and light. 
 
 * The Elysian fields or Paradise. 
 
 10
 
 146 POEMS IN OTTAVA RIMA. 
 
 Soon opecl lier eyelids pale — with sight 
 renewed 
 Her eyes toward me shot their kindling 
 glance ; 
 Soon moved her limbs with youthful strength 
 endued; 
 She joined her sisters in the mazy dance. 
 Love's golden hours returned, Avith bliss 
 imbued, 
 Love's first fond kiss, and passion's sweet 
 romance ; 
 Till at the last I lost my life and thine 
 ' Mid childhood's fragrant flowers and noonday 
 shine. 
 
 Song and Warfare, 
 
 Doth yonder Northern storm its lightnings dart 
 To wither e'en the minstrel's garland green? 
 Hath Poetry become a coward's art, 
 
 And only sword and lance fresh honours 
 glean? 
 Must poets, clothed Avith shame, far hence depart 
 While warlike hosts advance their weapons 
 keen? 
 May not the harper, as i' the olden tide, 
 E'en through the hostile camp, full welcome, 
 stride?
 
 POEMS IN OTTAVÄ EIMA, 147 
 
 Must Poetry in wood and cave abide 
 
 Till War disturbs no more tlie nations' rest? 
 
 Till all volcanic fires have waned and died 
 That can be nurtured in the earth's deep 
 breast ? 
 
 If so — no song hath ever yet been tried, 
 Nor e'er can be in future times expressed. 
 
 No! lasting peace, with dews of song endowed, 
 
 Broods o'er long warfare like a golden cloud. 
 
 Each thing of earth its season doth possess ; 
 But song within the heart hath alway power, 
 As lasting in exalted nobleness 
 
 As in deep love and every generous dower. 
 As lasting in its gloom of deep distress 
 
 As in its mirthful sports and joy's bright 
 flower. 
 Though rolls the thunder — tho' the whirl- 
 
 Avinds scream. 
 The sun stands steadfast and the stars yet 
 beam. 
 
 While hosts prepare their murderous trade to 
 
 Fair spring prepares herself for mirth and 
 play; 
 The drums are beat, the startling trumpets 
 
 cry» 
 While winter's storms aside their fury lay. 
 
 10*
 
 148 POEMS IN OTTAVA RIMA. 
 
 Fierce war would seek the eartli with hlood 
 to dye, 
 That decks herself with many a bud and 
 spray. 
 If thus the earthly spring fair buds displays, 
 Let Poetry's fair spring put forth her lays. 
 
 Song and Warfare. No. II. 
 
 Ne'er clothed with shame shall minstrels hence 
 
 depart, 
 Tho' warlike hosts advance their weapons' 
 
 sheen ; 
 Not yet the bard's is deemed a sordid art, 
 He dares by sword and lance fresh honours 
 
 glean. 
 That Northern storm doth awful lightnings 
 
 dart , 
 Yet makes him for the strife more fresh and 
 
 keen. 
 Wouldst thou thro' hostile camps, harper, 
 
 stray , 
 Thou still — with sword in hand — mayst 
 
 force thy way !
 
 POEMS IN OTTAVÄ EIMA. 149 
 
 When "Freedom!" "Fatherland!" around 
 him ring, 
 No sound falls sweeter on the hrave man's 
 ear; 
 Where Freedom's holy flag is fluttering, 
 Fresh life and strength Avithin the minstrel 
 peer. 
 Did ^schylus*, who of Vict'ry loved to sing. 
 
 Or Dante t e'er this glorious hazard fear? 
 Cervantes, of his right hand's use bereft. 
 Could yet indite Don Quixote with his 
 left.§ 
 
 They too our German Poet -fane that throng, 
 
 Have shewn what warlike fire within them 
 
 reigned ; 
 
 Full oft are heard these joyous sons of song, 
 
 And many a one a ruddy wreath hath 
 
 gained ; 
 
 * ^schykis fought at Marathon, Salamis, and 
 Plataea. 
 
 t Dante fought at Campaldino, where he served 
 in the foremost troop of cavalry, and was exposed 
 to imminent danger. — Carxj's Dante. 
 
 § This is a mistake. Cervantes was wounded in 
 the left hand, in the sea-fight ofifLepanto. See Vida 
 de Cervantes; prefixed to Don Quijote, edited by Don 
 Eugenia de Ochoa.
 
 150 POEMS IN OTTAVÄ PaMA. 
 
 Tliou, Wehrman Leo, thou, Black Huntsman 
 
 strong*, 
 Have both a warrior's glorious deatli obtained; 
 And, Fouque, how thy name my heart doth 
 
 thrill! 
 Thou'st dared and fought — yet liv'st and 
 
 singest still! 
 
 As Spring returns, we hear the whirlwinds 
 blow, 
 Earth quakes as marching hosts pursue their 
 way; 
 And, as swoln streams beyond their confines 
 flow, 
 So — far from home — our country's 
 warriors stray. 
 On through terrific scenes the bard doth go, 
 
 And storms and waves alike inspire his lay. 
 Soon Spring shall bloom and Peace bring 
 
 golden days 
 AVitli milder breezes and more tender lays. 
 
 * Meaning, I suppose, Theodor Körner, who be- 
 longed to a cavahy troop called the " Black Hunts- 
 men".
 
 POEMS IN OTTAVA RIMA. 151 
 
 Katharina. 
 
 (I am infoi'med that the Katharina here meant 
 was the first wife of William I of Wlirtemburg, the 
 present king; that she was a Russian princess, much 
 beloved by the people of Wiirtemburg, and lies 
 buried at a Greek Catholic chapel near Stuttgart.) 
 
 The Muse, that aye of Eight and Freedom 
 sings , 
 Remote from palace -halls her way doth 
 steer; 
 When songs are sung and revelry outrings, 
 
 She hath no portion in the courtiers' cheer; 
 
 But when loud sorrow comes on brooding 
 
 wings , 
 
 With other mourning guests she then draws 
 
 near; 
 
 Tho' ne'er she named the living in her lays, 
 
 The dead that hear not may she freely praise. 
 
 With moaning funeral bells the city thrills , 
 
 The passers-by in sable garments go ; 
 No features smile, each eye some teai's 
 distils , 
 All men are rivals in unmeasured wo. 
 For all these signs, the Muse her task fulfils. 
 And separates the truth from falsehood's 
 show.
 
 152 POEMS IN OTTAVA RIMA. 
 
 The bells will toll wliene'er men make them 
 
 swing, 
 And tears will fall from shallow depths that 
 
 spring. 
 
 The coffin rich, by skilful workmen made, 
 Decked with the purple pall a princess 
 wore , 
 Decked with a crown with brilliant gems 
 arrayed , 
 Declares the land is filled with anguish 
 sore. 
 Yet though the pall and crown be thiis 
 displayed, 
 The Muse regards such trifles none the 
 more ; 
 Shall earthly splendour that strong eyesight 
 
 daze 
 That on th' eternal sunlight loves to gaze? 
 
 She looks from earth to heaven , to earth 
 again ; 
 Thro' all historic ages peers her sight. 
 There queens arise to power, ere long to 
 wane; 
 Like faces seen in dreams, some vanish 
 quite.
 
 POEMS IN OTTAVA RIMA. 153 
 
 Their names are heard no more in minstrel's 
 
 strain , 
 Their pomp is lost in Fame's surpassing 
 
 light. 
 Meanwhile in life still fresh, unfading, sure. 
 The names of noble burgher's wives endure. 
 
 The Muse this Aveighty question dares not 
 slight — 
 "Hath this bright golden crown adorned a 
 head 
 ^That wore it worthily, and lent it light? 
 Have this soft mantle's purple folds been 
 spread 
 Above a queenly heart that loved the right? 
 
 A heart with holy aspirations fed, 
 Filled with an active strength, benevolent, 
 Spreading good actions o'er a large extent?" 
 
 Thus asks the Muse, but in her inner mind 
 What answer should be given she fully 
 knows ; 
 
 She utters much that grieves her, yet doth 
 bind, 
 (Pent up within her breast), her deepest woes. 
 
 And more — that she an offering too may find 
 And of this mournful hour a sign propose, 
 
 She thoughtfully — beside the golden crown — 
 
 A fruitful wreath of ears of corn lays down.
 
 154 POEMS IN OTTAVÄ RIMA. 
 
 "Spirit tliat early fled'st, witli this be crowned, 
 Nor gold, nor priceless gem gleams brightly 
 here; 
 No flowers within this coronal are bound. 
 Thy course was done, when days were 
 short and drear;* 
 Such fruits of earth are here entwined and 
 wound 
 As thou distributedst when corn was dear; 
 A wreath like that of Ceres thou didst weave. 
 Mother and Nurse of men, my praise receive ! " 
 
 She speaks and, glancing upward, sees divide 
 The vaulted roof; the clouds asunder flee; 
 Her sight can pierce to heav'n's dominions 
 wide. 
 There meekly Katharina bends the knee; 
 She wears no more the signs of worldly pride, 
 On earth she leaves earth's hollow 'pomp 
 and glee; 
 Yet on her forehead , lo ! a heav'nly beam 
 From Light's most holy Source doth purely 
 gleam. 
 
 * She died Jan. 9, 1819; just three years after 
 her marriage.
 
 BOCTS EIMKS. 155 
 
 BOUTS RIMES. 
 
 The !three poems following are mere specimens 
 of literary skill. A verse of four lines from some 
 well-known author is selected; it is then required 
 to write a poem of four verses, each verse to end 
 with one of the lines aforesaid. These ending lines 
 are italicized, and Avill be found to correspond with 
 the lines of the quatrain. 
 
 I. The Critic. 
 
 "Love in music tbiiiketli best, 
 Tlioughts reside too far away ; 
 Only in a tuneful lay 
 
 Every mood is well expressed." 
 
 Tieck. 
 
 Fair one, tliou liast bidden me 
 On this theme to write a rime; 
 
 But I tell thee candidly 
 
 So to do in Avaste of time ; 
 
 As on coals I seem to be. 
 
 Didst thou not, O loveliest, 
 
 Love at Logic's laws to jest. 
 Soon would I to thee display, 
 'Tis but nonsense thus to say, 
 
 '■^ Love in music ihinkcih best."
 
 156 BOUTS KIMES. 
 
 True! I understand the plot 
 Of this senseless kind of play; 
 
 But a theme so strange, I wot, 
 Such a riddling style of lay 
 
 Seems indeed a Gordian knot. 
 
 Yet I've pleased thee ere to-day 
 
 Often thus, my star-like fay; 
 Void of hope I rub my hands, 
 Still my verse unfinished stands 
 
 "Thoughts reside too far away'." 
 
 Shun, my love, the Spanish style. 
 Shun the foreign triplets all; 
 
 Shun th' Italian stanzas vile. 
 Canzonets and sonnets small; 
 
 Stick to Sapphic odes awhile! 
 
 Fling the modish muse aAvay 
 
 TVooed by courtier -minstrels gay; 
 Lightly let thy verses skip. 
 Only in soft measures trip , 
 
 '■'■Only in a tuneful lay." 
 
 Not in lines of tinkling sound 
 
 Can the bard his thoughts disclose; 
 
 By the ancient metres bound, 
 Better may he odes compose 
 
 Where the spondee's strength is found.
 
 BOUTS EIMES. 157 
 
 German-Grecian metres best 
 Booming, ringing, stand tlie test; 
 Yes! by tliese the quaintest thought, 
 The perversest theme is caught, 
 " Every mood is fvell expressed. " 
 
 TL. The Troubadour and the Critic. 
 
 " Moon - illumined magic - night 
 Such as can the sense ensnare, 
 World of legends strange and rare, 
 
 Eise, in olden splendour dight!" 
 
 Tieck. 
 
 Troubadour. 
 
 Dark's the night — no moon's soft ray — 
 
 Nowhere gleams one starry spark; 
 Yet, impelled by love's fond sway, 
 
 Roam I through th' uncertain dark. 
 With my lute and plaintive lay. 
 When my love from slumbers light 
 Waking, lights her taper bright. 
 
 Then with rapt'rous joy elate. 
 
 Gaze I on a star -ornate 
 '^Moon - illumined 7nagic - 7iight .' "
 
 158 BOUTS RIMES. 
 
 Critic. ■ 
 'Would he'd cease his nightly squall, 
 
 Poetaster Helicanus ! 
 What he sings is stolen all 
 
 From the fam'd Octavianus , 
 Whose deserts are wondrous small. 
 From the Alps to Denmark's air, 
 Learned men can witness bear 
 
 How I've proved his writings written 
 
 By a clique with nonsense smitten, 
 '^ Such as can the sense ensnare." 
 
 Troubadour. 
 How that hoarse, rough voice doth bay! 
 
 Is 't the shepherd -lad Hornvilla? 
 Is 't the butcher's — Clement's — bray? 
 
 From the window of Camilla 
 Croaker, take thyself away! 
 All that critics' pens declare 
 From the Alps to Denmark's air. 
 
 Vent at home , thou void of pity ! 
 
 Let thy dreamings spare the pretty 
 " World of legends rich and rare." 
 
 Critic. 
 Vilely dost thou howl and strum. 
 
 Thou, that cut'st our slumbers short, 
 Call'st thyself the muses' "chum"! 
 
 Next, Avhen Phoebus holds his court, 
 All the chimney-sweeps will come!
 
 BOUTS RIMES. 159 
 
 Age ! wlien every thoughtful Avight 
 Would not — save in Latin — write, 
 Age of powdered prim perukes 
 Crowned with bays by lords and dukes, 
 "Rise, in olden splendour dight!" 
 
 m. The Night -wanderers. 
 
 " One thing is not fit for all; 
 
 What he does, let each take care: 
 Where he stays, let each beware: 
 
 He that stands, expect to fall." 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 The Quarrelsome Man. 
 
 Silent through the street I fare 
 Where resides my fair-haired she; 
 
 Others to this street repair; 
 
 Through the gloom I seem to see 
 
 Some one pause and enter there. 
 
 Doth it straightway stir my gall 
 
 That she others holds in thrall? 
 Be it so! but be it known, 
 Each should love but one alone, 
 
 "One ihifig is not fit for all."
 
 160 BOUTS RIMES. 
 
 The Obliging Man. 
 With her pitchers to the well 
 
 Comes the maid I strive to gain; 
 Whish! with efiforts forcible 
 
 Round the wheel she winds the chain; 
 "Who my bliss — who help — can tell? 
 Yea! I tugged with vigour rare 
 Till the wheel was past repair; 
 
 Though no more it round will run, 
 
 Well have we our labour done: 
 "What he does lei each take care!" 
 
 The Prudent Man. 
 "Twelve o'clock!" the watchmen cry; 
 
 From my mouth the glass I take; 
 Shall I rashly homewards hie 
 
 At the hour when ghosts awake, 
 When patrols each wand'rer spy ? 
 Shall I — for a pastime — bear 
 All the taunts my wife can spare? 
 
 Then the neighbours! tattlers! Nay, 
 
 In the "Eagle" here I'll stay; 
 " Where he stays let each betvare." 
 
 The Reeling Man. 
 Strangest things at times appear: 
 
 Yesterday 'tAA'as summer's heat, 
 Now, what slippery ice is here! 
 
 Lest the pavement prove my seat, 
 Every step I take in fear.
 
 BOUTS RIMES. 161 
 
 See! how reel the houses all, 
 Whensoe'er I touch the wall! 
 
 Care, at times like these, should guide; 
 
 He that walks, should fear to slide, 
 "He thai stands, expect to fall!" 
 
 11
 
 162 A NORMAN CUSTOM. 
 
 A NORMAN CUSTOM; 
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 
 Dedicated to Baron De la Motte Fouque'. 
 
 Fishermen's huts on the Coast of Normandy. 
 Balder, a Sailor. Richard, a Fisherman. Thorilda. 
 
 Balder. 
 This to thy welfare, my much honoured host ! 
 Good faith! I have good cause to bless the 
 
 storm 
 That drove me hither to this island-bay. 
 For such good fare beside a quiet hearth 
 Hath not for many a day my longing fed. 
 
 Richard. 
 
 No better can be found in fisher's hut. 
 
 Hast thou been pleased, much joy and praise 
 
 is mine. 
 Most dear to me is such a noble guest. 
 That comes from the home -country in the 
 
 north 
 From whence our ancestors once hither sailed, 
 Whereof so many things are told and sung. 
 Yet must I now acquaint thee, worthy sir, 
 Whoe'er doth enter here, however poor. 
 Is always asked to oflPer some small gift.
 
 A NORMAN CUSTOM. 163 
 
 Balder. 
 
 My ship that yonder in the haven lies 
 Contains much curious ware of clivers kinds, 
 That from the far Levant I hither brought. 
 Fruits golden-ripe, sweet wines, gay-coloured 
 
 birds 5 
 Good store of weapons too, the northmen's 
 
 work, 
 Two-edgdd swords, rich harness, helms, and 
 
 shields. 
 
 Richard. 
 
 Of such I spake not — thou hast missed my 
 
 drift. 
 It is a custom in our Normandy, 
 Whoe'er hath to his hearth a guest received 
 Expects from him some tale or minstrel -lay, 
 And afterward requites him with the like. 
 E'en in my olden days I still hold dear 
 All worthy legends and time-honoured songs. 
 And therefore would I fain my claim enforce. 
 
 Balder. 
 A legend oft is sweet as Cyprus -wine. 
 Fragrant as choicest fruits, gay as are birds, 
 And many a hero -song of olden time 
 Sounds like the clash of sword and clang of 
 
 shield , 
 And therefore was mine error none so large. 
 
 11*
 
 164 A NORMAN CUSTOM. 
 
 True , that in 'witching tales small skill is 
 
 mine , 
 Yet gladly to the custom I accede. 
 Hear then what lately on a moon -lit night 
 A shipmate told me on the quarter-deck. 
 
 Richard. 
 
 Fill up once more ; thy health , my guest ! 
 Begin. 
 
 Balder. 
 
 Two northern earls for many a rolling year 
 Together had o'ersailed the tossing sea, 
 Together weathered many a fearful storm, 
 Endured hot combats both on sea and shore, 
 And many a time in the far South or East 
 Together rested on the blooming strand. 
 Now in their castles rested they at home. 
 Both deeply sunken in a kindred wo. 
 For each had lately followed to the vault 
 Where slept their ancestors, a wife beloved. 
 Yet unto each — e'en from their gloom of 
 
 grief — 
 A sweet and fondly-cherished hope upspruug. 
 The one beheld a blooming, sprightly son. 
 The other watched with care a daughter dear. 
 And (their long lasting friendship's bond to 
 
 crown 
 And found for it a long memorial)
 
 A NORMAN CUSTOM. 165 
 
 They twain resolved, on some fair day to 
 
 come, 
 These children to unite in holy bands; 
 And therefore bade they make two golden 
 
 rings 
 Which — for they fitted not their fingers 
 
 small — 
 Were hung about their necks with ribands gay. 
 A sapphire, azure as the maiden's eyes, 
 Was bravely mounted in the young earl's ring. 
 The other bore a stone all rosy -red. 
 The colour of the boy's fresh-blooming cheeks. 
 
 Richard. 
 
 A stone all rosy -red in ring of gold 
 Hung from the maiden's neck? Saidst thou 
 not thus? 
 
 Balder. 
 
 ' Twas as thou sayest — but of that no more. 
 Soon tall and slim the rosy yoixugster grew; 
 To manly pastimes was he early trained; 
 Soon managed well a slim and comely steed. 
 He need not ever — like his father — cross 
 The foaming ocean on advent'rous quest. 
 But only well defend with strong right hand 
 The widely spread domain, the castles high. 
 The joint inheritance of both the sires.
 
 166 A NORMAN CUSTOM. 
 
 Meanwhile tlie future earl's young bride yet lay 
 Within the cradle in a darkened room, 
 By trusty waiting -women guarded well. 
 But on a genial day in early spring 
 The all -impatient child they gently bore 
 Down to the sunny, joyous ocean -marge. 
 And brought her playthings — flow'rs and 
 
 glistening shells. 
 The sea, scarce rippled by a gentle air, 
 Mirrored the image of the glorious sun. 
 And cast upon the beach a trembling gleam. 
 A little skiff was fastened to the shore; 
 The women deck it round with reeds and 
 
 flowers , 
 And lay therein their beauteous, smiling 
 
 charge , 
 And push her from the shore, and draw her 
 
 back. 
 The happy child laughs out, the women join; 
 But even as their laughter loudest rang, 
 The cord by which they drew her in their 
 
 play 
 Fell loose; and when they marked it, not an 
 
 arm 
 Could reach the little vessel from the shore. 
 All tranq[uil seemed the sea, all free from 
 
 waves , 
 Yet washed the skiff still farther from the 
 
 shore.
 
 A NORMAN CUSTOM. 167 
 
 Still is the child's shrill laughter faintly heard ; 
 The •women gaze at her in wild despair, 
 Wringing their hands, and shrieking in their 
 
 grief. 
 The boy, who but that moment had arrived, 
 Seeking his love, and o'er the verdant turf 
 That sloped towards the sea his course 
 
 impelled. 
 Hearing the outcry, dashed upon the beach 
 And boldly urged his courser tow'rds the 
 
 waves 
 In hopes to rescue yet the flow'r-decked skiflf. 
 But when the courser felt the chilly flood, 
 He shivered, and in stubborn mood drew back. 
 Bearing his rider to the shore once more. 
 Meanwhile the skiff that bore the hapless 
 
 child 
 Already from the creek had drifted forth, 
 And rising billows on the open main 
 Soon hid it from their sight. 
 
 Bichard. 
 
 Poor child! poor child! 
 All holy angels have thee in their care! 
 
 Balder. 
 
 Soon to the father came the woful tale. 
 
 At once he bade each vessel, small and great. 
 
 Be quickly launched; himself the swiftest bore.
 
 168 A NORMAN CUSTOM. 
 
 All vacant is tlie sea, the evening falls, 
 The breezes veer, the lowering tempest roars. 
 After a whole month's search they find at 
 
 last 
 And homeward bring the empty, shattered 
 
 skiff 
 With withered garlands decked — 
 
 Richard. 
 
 What troiibles thee in speaking, worthy guest? 
 Thou falterest, thou sighest! 
 
 Balder. 
 
 I continue. 
 
 Since that mischance the boy Avould never 
 
 more 
 Delight in horsemanship, as heretofore. 
 But rather loved to learn to swim, to dive. 
 Or hold the rudder with a careful hand. 
 And now, arrived to man's estate, and strong, 
 He from his father craved a fleet of ships. 
 No charm to hold him back the shore had now ; 
 No maid awaits him at the castle's gate; 
 He seems affianced to the boist'rous sea. 
 Wherein the maiden and the ring had sunk. 
 He bade his own swift ship be strangely 
 
 decked 
 With purple sails and figure - head of gold , 
 Like one who o'er the ocean bears his bride.
 
 A NORMAN CUSTOM. 16& 
 
 Richard. 
 
 Decked like thine own below there in the bay, 
 Was't not, my worthy seaman? 
 
 Balder. 
 
 If thou wilt. 
 And in that bridal-ship, thus strangely decked, 
 Oft hath he weathered many a fearful storm. 
 When to the thunder's peal and tempest's 
 
 howl 
 The billoAVS leap, rare bridal -dance is that! 
 Full many a battle hath he fought by sea, 
 And therefore in the north is far renowned. 
 Men gave to him at length a special name; 
 For when, with lifted sword, he sternly leaps 
 Upon a boarded ship, then all exclaim — 
 "Destroy us not, thou Bridegroom of the Sea!" 
 Here ends my tale. 
 
 Richard. 
 
 Receive my heartiest thanks. 
 Most strangely hath it moved mine aged heart. 
 And yet, methinks, it seems to want an end. 
 Who knoweth if the child was really drowned? 
 Perchance some foreign vessel passed hard by 
 And quickly caught on board the luckless 
 
 child , 
 But on the ocean left the leaking skiff?
 
 170 A NORMAN CUSTOM. 
 
 Perchance upon some island — like to ours — 
 Well might the gentle girl be set ashore, 
 By pious hands be carefully reared up, 
 And now have blossomed to a beauteous maid? 
 
 Balder. 
 
 It seems thou knowest well how tales should run; 
 Then let me list to thine, if such thy will. 
 
 Richm^d. 
 
 In days of yore full many a tale I knew 
 Of our old heroes and our former dukes; 
 And specially of Richard, Fearless named, 
 Who saw by night as clearly as by day; 
 Who wont to ride all night thro' lonely woods, 
 And many a combat dire with spectres waged.* 
 But now is my remembrance weak with eld; 
 All things within my mind are dimly blent. 
 And therefore let yon maiden take my place. 
 Who sits so silent and abstracted there. 
 And by the lamp - light dim strong nets 
 
 entwines. 
 She many a moving song hath duly learnt, 
 And hath a voice as sweet as nightingale's. 
 Thorilda! fear not thou the stranger -gixest. 
 Sing us the ballad of the "Maid and Ring", 
 
 * See the legends of Count Richard, near the 
 end of the volume.
 
 A NORMAN CUSTOM. 171 
 
 Which from an ancient bard thou once didst 
 
 learn. 
 A pleasant song — a song I know thou lov'st, 
 
 ThotHlda sings. 
 
 A fair and gentle maiden 
 
 Sat by the tranquil sea; 
 For weary hours she angled , 
 
 No fish enticed would be. 
 
 A Ring upon her finger 
 
 With rosy stone hath she; 
 Upon the hook she bound it, 
 
 And cast it in the sea. 
 
 A hand, from depths undreamt of, 
 
 Rose — fair as ivory; 
 Soon on a shapely finger 
 
 The ring shone radiantly. 
 
 A knight — young, handsome, gallant — 
 
 Then issued from the sea; 
 Rich scales of golden armour, 
 
 That brightly gleamed, had he. 
 
 "Nay, noble knight, have pity" — 
 
 In terror faltered she ; 
 "My golden ring relinquish, 
 
 I angled not for thee ! "
 
 172 A NORMAN CUSTOM. 
 
 "Men angle not for lislies 
 
 With gold or trinketrie; 
 The ring I'll ne'er relinquish, 
 
 Mine own thou hence must be!" 
 
 BaUle7\ 
 
 "What do I hear — a strange entrancing song? 
 What do I see — an angel countenance 
 That, sweetly blushing, peers from golden 
 
 locks, 
 Reminding me of childhood's earliest days? 
 Ha! on her right hand gleams the golden ring, 
 The rosy gem! My long-lost bride art thou! 
 And I the "Bridegroom of the Sea" am 
 
 named. 
 Here is the sapphire, azure as thine eyes. 
 And yonder lies prepared our bridal-ship ! 
 
 Richard. 
 
 So much I long have guessed , my warrior 
 brave ! 
 
 Yea! clasp her close • — my favourite foster- 
 child — 
 
 See how she clingeth to thy stalwart arm! 
 
 Thou claspest to thy breast a faithful heart. 
 
 But mark, how thou art taken in the net 
 
 Which my industrious child for thee entwined!
 
 173 
 
 BALLADS & EOMANCES. 
 
 1. Renunciation. 
 
 Who beneath the pallid starlight 
 
 Through the garden's gloom doth rove? 
 Seemeth he of bliss expectant, 
 
 Will the night propitious prove? 
 'Tis the harper — lo! he resteth 
 
 Close beneath the turret gray; 
 Where the lingering taper shineth, 
 
 Hark! he wakes the tender lay. 
 
 "Lady — from thy turret listen; 
 
 'Tis for thee I weave the rime, 
 Like a gentle dream recalling 
 
 All thy childhood's rosy prime. 
 As the evening bell was tolling 
 
 Came I — ere the dawn I go; 
 Never to mine eyes shall sunlight 
 
 This familiar castle shew. 
 
 Banished from thy banquet -chamber 
 Sparkling with a hundred lights. 
 
 Far I roved, whilst all around thee 
 Joyous thronged the noble knights.
 
 174 BALLADS. 
 
 Tliey, with only joys acquainted, 
 
 Heedless — craved increased delight, 
 
 Hearing not love's sad lamentings, 
 Honouring not nay cliildliood's right. 
 
 Vanish hence — thou dreary darkness! 
 
 Bloom afresh — each gloomy tree; 
 Place me in the magic kingdom 
 
 Enled by childhood's lightsome glee! 
 Let me in the clover tumble, 
 
 Whilst with footfall light as air 
 Near me steals a winsome fairy, 
 
 Strewing o'er me flow'rets fair. 
 
 Yes! tho' childhood's gone for ever, 
 *ft Ne'er shall that remembrance fade; 
 
 'Tis a glad and glorious rainbow 
 'Gainst a sullen sky displayed. 
 Hence my love avoids the sunlight, 
 ^ Lest that sweet remembrance wane. 
 
 "Doth thy heart — dear lady, tell me - 
 »Still thy childhood's love retain?" 
 
 Ceased the song — the bard sat silent 
 
 Close beneath the turret gray; 
 Dropped a ring from out the window; 
 O,^ Gleaming, in the grass it lay.
 
 BALLADS. 175 
 
 "Take tlie ring — tliink oft upon me, 
 Think of all we held so clear; 
 
 Take the ring — a costly jewel 
 
 Gleams there, and a glistening tear!" 
 
 2. The Nun. 
 
 r the silent convent -garden 
 Walked forth a maiden pale; 
 
 Sad, 'neath the moon, she seemed; 
 Each eyelid's trembling veil 
 
 With tears of passion gleamed. 
 
 "They tell me that my true-love 
 Is dead; 'tis well for me. 
 
 Again my love may burn. 
 An angel now is he; 
 
 Nuns may for angels yearn.^' 
 
 With trembling steps she hastened 
 To Mary's sacred shrine; 
 
 In sunshine bright it stood. 
 AVith mother-look benign 
 
 The maiden pure She viewed.
 
 176 BALLADS. 
 
 She, fainting, sank before it 
 ^ Looked up with face composed 
 
 Until her eye -lids pale 
 
 At length in death were closed; 
 Down dropped her streaming veil. 
 
 3. The Chaplet. 
 
 A damsel o'er a meadow fair 
 
 Went plucking flow'rets many- hue d, • 
 When lo! a dame of L^auty rare 
 
 Came tow'rds her from the wood. 
 
 With friendly look the maid she met. 
 
 She twined a chaplet round her hair; 
 '"Twill blossom, though it bloom not yet; 
 wear it alway there!" 
 
 And when the damsel older grew. 
 
 And wandered while the moonlight gleamed 
 And wept sweet tears — love's tender dew — 
 With buds the chaplet teemed. 
 
 And when she clasped her bridegroom round 
 
 With clinging arms in happy hour. 
 Then wondrously each bud was found 
 To yield its fuU-bloAvn flower.
 
 177 
 
 Ero long upon her breast slie nursed 
 
 A lovely babe with rapture mute ; 
 When from the leafy garland burst 
 Eich store of golden fruit. 
 
 But when within the grave's dark night 
 
 Deep -buried lay her husband dear, 
 Around her hair with sorrow white 
 
 Waved yellow leaves and sere. 
 
 Ere long she too lay pale in death, 
 
 But still her head the chaplet wore; 
 When lo! the wondrofis changeful wreath 
 Both fruit and blossom bore! 
 
 4. The Shepherd. 
 
 A youthfid shepherd, passing by, 
 Beneath the kingly castle came; 
 A princess from the turret high 
 
 Looked down, with heart a -flame. 
 
 *'0 might I but come down to thee!" 
 
 ('T was thus she spake in accents low) , 
 "What snow-white lambs I yonder see, 
 How red the flowerets glow!" 
 
 12
 
 178 BALLADS. 
 
 The youth replied in accents low, 
 
 "0 wouldst thou but come down to me! 
 How ruddy seem thy cheeks to glow, 
 What snow-white arms I see!" 
 
 And as with silent mournful love 
 
 Each morn the castle walls he neared, 
 He ever gazed till, far above, 
 
 His beauteous maid appeared. 
 
 Then uttered he a joyful cry — 
 
 "Sweet princess, hail! all bliss be thine I''^ 
 {i Her tuneful voice made sweet reply — 
 p "I thank thee, shepherd mine!" 
 
 The winter passed, the spring appeared, 
 The flowerets brightly bloomed around; 
 Again the youth the castle neared, 
 His love no more he found. 
 
 He called aloud with mournful cry — 
 
 "Sweet princess, hail! all bliss be thine!"' 
 A spirit -voice made sad reply, 
 
 "Adieu, shepherd mine!"
 
 r- 
 
 179 
 
 5. The Forefathers' Greeting. 
 
 Over tlie lieatli a warrior old, 
 
 Well- sheathed in armour good, 
 Drew near to an ancient chapel; 
 
 In the darksome choir he stood. 
 
 The coffins of his fathers brave 
 
 "Were ranged the halls along; 
 Afar was heard, like a voice that calls, 
 
 A strange unearthly song. 
 
 " Ye Hero - spirits ! I well can hear 
 
 The greeting ye send to earth; 
 I come — your ranks shall I soon complete. 
 
 Ye witness my spotless worth!" 
 
 There stood in the shadow deep and cool 
 
 A coffin as yet unfilled; ^ 
 
 This coffin he chose for his couch of rest, 
 For a pillow he took his shield. 
 
 Over his sword he folded close 
 
 His hands, then sank to sleep; 
 The ghostly voices in silence died, 
 
 In silence unbroken, deep. 
 
 12'
 
 180 
 
 6. The Dying Heroes. 
 
 The Danisli swords drive down tlie Swedish 
 host 
 Towards the coast, 
 Far off the war -cars roll, the weapons gleam 
 
 I' the moon's pale beam. 
 There, on the fatal field, ere long to die, 
 Young Sweyn, and Ulf, the grayhaired war- 
 rior, lie. 
 
 Sweyn. 
 
 father — why should Fate decree my doom, 
 
 In youth's full bloom? 
 My mother never more Avith loving care 
 
 Shall deck my hair; 
 From her high tow'r my minstrel-girl in vain 
 Beholds with longing gaze the vacant plain. 
 
 Ulf. 
 
 Though they will grieve , when in wild dreams 
 by night 
 "We mock their sight. 
 Be comforted ; not long the faithful heart 
 
 Endures its smart. 
 Soon will thy smiling girl — with golden 
 
 hair — 
 To thee at Odin's feast the wine -cup bear.
 
 BALLADS. 181 
 
 Srveyn. 
 Once with a festive strain my harp - strings 
 rung; 
 I blithely sung 
 Of kings and heroes passed long since from life, 
 
 Of love and strife. 
 Now silent hangs my harp, and yields no tone 
 Save when the wind draws forth a mournful 
 moan. 
 
 Ulf. 
 Great Odin's hall beneath the sun's bright beams 
 
 High -soaring, gleams; 
 Beneath Him swim the stars, around His throne 
 
 The tempests moan. 
 There with our fathers shall we rest full long, 
 Then lift thy voice, and end thy broken song. 
 
 Stveyn. 
 father, why should Fate decree my doom 
 
 In youth's full bloom? 
 As yet no scutcheon, won in well-fought field 
 
 Adorns my shield. 
 Twelve judges, high-enthroned, their judgments 
 
 deal , 
 No place they grant me at the hero's meal. 
 
 Ulf. 
 *' Cne noble deed may many deeds outweigh," 
 The twelve will say,
 
 182 BALLADS. 
 
 "'Tis when, to aid Ms country's sorest needs, 
 
 A hero bleeds." — 
 Behold where flies the foe! lift up thine eyes, 
 Bright gleams yon heav'n — there, there our 
 pathway lies. 
 
 7. The Blind King. 
 
 Why hasten to the shining sands 
 
 The warriors of the north? 
 Why, with white head uncovered, stands 
 
 The blind old monarch forth? 
 Hark! o'er his staff low -bending, 
 
 Loud shouts the anguished king 
 Till, o'er the straits extending, 
 f— The isle's loud echoes ring. 
 
 "Give, pirate! from thy rock -retreat 
 
 My gentle daughter back! 
 Her sounding harp, her song so sweet 
 
 Were all mine age did lack; 
 Here once she danced in gladness, 
 
 Thou stol'st my child away; 
 My head thou'st bowed with sadness, 
 
 Thyself art shamed for aye ! "
 
 BALLADS. 183 
 
 Then issues from his rocky cave 
 
 The giant fierce and proud ; 
 His giant sword behold him wave, 
 
 His heavy shield clangs loud. 
 "Sure thou hadst guards unnumbered, 
 
 But none would dare to stir; 
 With warriors thou art cumbered, 
 
 Will no one fight for her? 
 
 There steps no champion from the ring, 
 
 But all are mute as stone; 
 Round turns in grief the aged king: 
 
 "Why mourn I here alone?" i^- 
 
 A hand his own is pressing, 
 
 His son claims leave to fight; 5"' 
 
 "0 father, grant thy blessing, 
 
 I feel mine arm hath might." 
 
 "0 son, a giant's strength hath he, 
 
 Before him none may stand; 
 And yet — true courage reigns in thee, 
 
 So firm thou hold'st my hand. 
 Here, take my sword, for slaughter 
 
 Renowned in minstrels' tale, 
 And let this surging water 
 
 Receive me, shouldst thou fail." 
 
 And hark! with keen and rushing prow 
 The skiff skims o'er the deep;
 
 184 BALLADS. 
 
 The blind old king stands listening now, 
 A silence spreads like sleep; 
 
 Soon o'er tlie straits tlie rattle 
 Of sword and shield is sent, 
 
 And mingled cries of battle 
 V" With echoes strangely blent. 
 
 With anxious glee the old man spoke, 
 
 "Oh say, what have ye seen? 
 My sword — I know its griding stroke, 
 
 It sounds so sharp and keen!" 
 The pirate's blood, out -welling. 
 
 Is now his crime's reward. 
 "Hail thou! in strength excelling. 
 
 Brave prince, heroic lord!" 
 
 Once more o'er all doth silence reign, 
 
 The king bends down to hark; 
 "What hear I come across the main, 
 
 A rush of oars — a bark?" 
 "They come to thy caresses — 
 
 Thy son with sword and shield. 
 And, crowned with sunbright tresses, 
 
 Thy dailing child Gunild!" 
 
 Blithe welcome from the cliff on high 
 The blind old monarch gave: 
 
 "Now bliss shall crown me ere I die, 
 And honour deck my grave.
 
 BALLADS. 180 
 
 My sword, renowned for slaughter, 
 
 son, beside me lay; 
 Gunild, my ransomed daughter, 
 
 My dirge shall softly play!" 
 
 8, The Minstrel. 
 
 Oft to the startled echoes 
 
 The beardless minstrel sings ; 
 The fay with listening rapture 
 
 Floats near the trembling strings. 
 His songs his broAVS encircle 
 
 As though a wreath he wove; 
 They go with him like brothers 
 
 Along the leafy grove. 
 
 Then comes he to the banquet, 
 
 He sings in kingly hall; 
 The guests are mute with wonder, 
 
 His songs their hearts enthral. 
 The loveliest ladies crown him 
 
 With flow'rs that brightly blow; 
 Then droop his tear -gemmed eyelids, 
 
 His cheeks with blushes glow
 
 186 
 
 9. Gretchen's Joy. 
 
 ^'What means yon trumpet's joyous blare? 
 •^ What mean yon shouts of glee? 
 
 From out the window let me gaze, 
 S^ I guess what it may be. 
 
 ^Tis he — 'tis he; he home returns, 
 ■^■^ (The festive tourney o'er), 
 
 The king's renowned and gallant son, 
 My love for evermore! 
 
 How rears the horse and curvets high! 
 
 How firm the prince's seat! 
 Oood sooth, by this but few would guess 
 
 He sings so low and sweet! 
 
 How glitters there his helm of gold, 
 The tourney's hard -won prize. 
 
 Ah! 'neath it gleam, more dear than all. 
 His blue, his piercing eyes! 
 
 His breast in rigid brass is bound. 
 His cloak adown him flows ; 
 
 Ah! 'neath them beats a gentle heart 
 That love for love bestows.
 
 187 
 
 His right hand kindly greetings gives, 
 
 His crest he lowly bends; 
 Then stoop to him the noble dames — 
 
 A roar of shouts ascends. 
 
 Why shout ye loud? why stoop ye low? 
 
 He greets but only me. 
 I thank thee, love — I feel so glad — 
 
 Good sooth, I welcome thee! 
 
 Now enters he his father's hall. 
 
 Before him kneels full low ; 
 And there unclasps the golden helm, 
 
 The glittering prize to shew. 
 
 At eve, his loved one's door he seeks 
 With footstep light and free; 
 
 Then 'brings he kisses fresh and fond 
 And ardent love — to me!" 
 
 10. The Castle by the Sea. 
 
 "Hast thou beheld the castle 
 That looms the sea beside? 
 Clouds, fringed with gold and crimson. 
 
 Above it softly glide.
 
 188 BALLADS. 
 
 It seems as stooping downwards 
 The mirrored wave to greet; 
 
 It seems as soaring upwards 
 
 The evening clouds to meet." — 
 
 "I saw the castle clearly, 
 It loomed above the bay; 
 
 The moon stood close above it, 
 Dull clouds far round it lay." — 
 
 "The winds and washing waters — 
 Pealed out their- voices strong? 
 
 And heardst thou from its chambers 
 The tones of mirth and song?" — 
 
 "Alike the winds and waters 
 In tranquil slumber slept; 
 
 I heard within its chambers 
 
 A funeral dirge, and wept." — 
 
 "And couldst thou on the turrets 
 A king and queen behold? 
 
 Saw'st thou their waving mantles, 
 Their crowns of glistening gold? 
 
 And couldst thou not beside them 
 
 Perceive a maiden fair, 
 Kesplendent as the sunlight, 
 
 Beaming with golden hair?" —
 
 189 
 
 "I saw there both the parents 
 Without their crowns of pride; 
 
 They wore black robes of mourning, 
 No maid was by their side." 
 
 11. Faithful Walter. 
 
 On, on towards Our Lady's shrine 
 
 The faithful Walter rode; 
 Before it kneeled a youthful maid , 
 
 Bowed down by sorrow's load. V^ 
 
 "Oh stay, my Walter! Stay, mine own! 
 Know'st thou no more my voice's tone, 
 
 Which once thou heardst so gladly? 
 
 "Whom see I here? the maid untrue 
 
 That once, alas! was mine? 
 Where hast thou left thy silken robes, 
 
 Thy gold, thy jewels fine?" 
 "Alas! that e'er I proved forsworn. 
 From me my Paradise is torn. 
 
 Thou only canst restore it!" 
 
 Then up he took the lovely maid, 
 
 With ruth his heart was wrung; 
 Her clinging arms so lithe and white 
 
 Around his waist she flung.
 
 190 BALLADS. 
 
 "All, Walter true! my throbbing breast 
 Against thy breastplate cold is prest, 
 It beats not on thine own , love ! 
 
 To Walter's castle on they rode, 
 Its courts were still and lone ; 
 
 His helmet from his head she took, 
 His beauty all was gone. 
 
 "Thy cheeks so pale, thy looks distrest 
 
 (0 faithful heart!) beseem thee best. 
 So lovely wert thou never!" 
 
 The contrite maid the armour loosed 
 From him who mourned her pride; 
 
 "What see I here? a garb of black! 
 Who, loved by thee, hath died?" 
 
 "For her I loved I sorrow sore. 
 
 Whom on this earth I nevermore 
 Nor after death recover." 
 
 Then, sinking at his feet, she knelt 
 With arms outstretched in prayer; 
 
 "Lo! here — a sinner vile — I lie, 
 And crave thy pitying care! 
 
 lift me up, my bliss renew, 
 
 Let me upon thy bosom true 
 Be healed of every sorrow! 
 
 "Arise — poor suffering child — arise, 
 I ne'er can thee upraise ;
 
 BALLADS. 191 
 
 Henceforth mine arms to thee are closed , 
 
 My breast no life conveys. 
 Like me — for ever make thy moanj 
 Sweet love has flown, sweet love has flown, 
 
 And back returneth tieverl" 
 
 12. The Pilgrim. 
 
 A pilgrim, urged by impulse strong. 
 To God's Blest City takes his way, 
 
 The city of celestial song 
 
 For which the Spirit bids him pray. \^ 
 
 " Clear stream , within thy mirror bright 
 
 Its gates shall soon reflected lie ; 
 Ye rocky hills sufi'used with light. 
 
 E'en now from far its towers ye spy. 
 
 I hear a sound like distant bells, 
 
 Eve tints the grove Avith crimson light; 
 
 Had I but wings o'er lonely dells 
 
 And mountain -peaks to waft my flight!" 
 
 A lofty joy his thoughts o'erpowers, 
 He feels by welcome toil o'ercome; 
 
 And, sinking down 'mid fragrant flowers ^ 
 Lies musing on his heavenly home.
 
 192 BALLADS. 
 
 *'Too lengthy still the distance seems 
 To satisfy my hope's fierce fires; 
 
 Enfold my spirit, soothing dreams! 
 Shew me the Vale my soul desires!" 
 
 The parted clouds asunder fly, 
 
 His angel bright looks down from thence : 
 "Can I to thee the strength deny, 
 X^ To whom I gave the hope intense? 
 
 Such hopes, such dreams, with promise rife, 
 Are to the fainting soul as dew; 
 
 But nobler is the strenuous strife 
 
 That makes each pleasant dream come true !" 
 
 ■Mid morning's balms he fades again — 
 The pilgrim wakes with strength renewed ; 
 
 O'er hills and clefts he toils amain, 
 Soon at the golden gates he stood. 
 
 And lo! spread out like Mother's arms. 
 The City opes each folding door ; 
 
 Its heavenly music soothes and charms 
 The Son whose toilsome course is o'er.
 
 193 
 
 13. Departure. 
 
 What shoutings and songs are rending the air? 
 Throw open the windows, ye maidens fair! 
 The student is leaving his native town, 
 He and his comrades the street go down. ^ 
 
 The others are waving their caps in air. 
 Ribands and flowers they round them wear; 
 Small joy in the custom the student knows, 
 Silent and pale in the midst he goes. 
 
 The cups are clinking, and gleams the wine. 
 "Drink all, drink once and again, brother 
 
 mine! " 
 "With the parting -cup might the pain but go, 
 That hero within me doth burn and glow!" 
 
 And lo ! from the very last house of all , 
 Looks down from the window a maiden tall ; 
 'Mid roses and wall -flowers round her set 
 She seeketh to hide that her cheeks are wet. 
 
 And when to this house he came at last. 
 Then upAvard his eyes the student cast; 
 Then cast them downward with bitter smart. 
 And layeth his hand on his swelling heart. 
 
 13
 
 194: BALLADS. 
 
 "Still hast thou, brother, no flowerets fair? 
 See those that are winking and Avaving there ! 
 What ho! thou fairest and best of all! 
 Now let from thy windoAv a garland fall!" 
 
 "My brothers, what use were those flowers 
 
 to me? 
 No kind dear sweet -heart have J, as ye! 
 They soon would fade in the sun's hot ray, 
 The Avind would scatter them far away." 
 
 Onward and onward with shout and song! 
 The maiden gazes and listens long. 
 "Alas! I see him from hence depart 
 Whom ever I loved in my secret heart. 
 
 Here stand I, alas! with this love of mine; 
 Gay roses and wall -flowers round me shine, 
 Whilst he to whom I would gladly yield 
 "^ All, all that I have, is far a-field." 
 
 14. The Boy's Death. 
 
 "Oh seek not the forest so dark and wild, 
 'Twill cost thee thy life, thou vent'rous child!" 
 "My light is my heavenly Father good. 
 He leaveth me not in the darksome wood."
 
 BALLADS. 195 
 
 Down, clown lie goeth — the venturous child — 
 Beneath him roareth the torrent wild; 
 Above him the branches are rustling loud, 
 And the sun, nigh setting, is veiled in cloud. 
 
 To the robber's dark hut have his footsteps 
 
 strayed. 
 From the window gazeth a winsome maid, 
 "Poor child, so tender, so young!" she saith, 
 "Why comest thou down to the vale of death?" 
 
 The murderous crew from the door appear. 
 
 The maiden veileth her face for fear; 
 
 They strike him, they wound him, they strip 
 
 him bare, 
 Then wounded and dying they leave him there. 
 
 "How dark! how lonely! no sun, no star! 
 On whom shall I call? Is God so far? 
 Ah heavenly Maid in thy bright array, 
 Receive my soitI in thy hands, I pray!" 
 
 13*
 
 196 
 
 15. The Dream. 
 
 Hand locked iu hand , two lovers 
 Strayed througli a garden fair; 
 
 Two wan and ghostly figures 
 Sat in the gay parterre. 
 
 On the cheeks they kissed each other, 
 
 Their lips met fondly too; 
 They clasped each other closely — 
 
 Robust and young they grew! 
 
 Two bells were tolling clearly — 
 At once the dream was gone! 
 
 She lay in the convent-cloisters, 
 
 He — 'neath the churchyard - stone. 
 
 16. The Three Damsels. 
 
 Three damsels from the castle 
 Gazed down the winding vale; 
 
 Fast rode their father homeward, 
 He wore his coat of mail.
 
 197 
 
 "0 welcome, welcome, father dear! 
 What bring'st thou for thy children. 
 Who all thy hests revere?" 
 
 "My child i' the yellow garment, 
 Of thee I've thought today! 
 
 Thy joy is all in trinkets. 
 
 Thou lov'st to make thee gay. 
 
 Behold this chain of gold so red! 
 From yonder knight I took it, 
 For this I struck him dead." 
 
 Around her neck the damsel 
 
 The necklace quickly bound; 
 Then tow'rds the spot she wandered, 
 
 The corse she soon hath found. 
 "Thou— like a thief — liest murdered here. 
 
 That wast a knight so noble, 
 That wast my lover dear!" 
 
 Then in her arms she bore him 
 To the churchyard's sacred shade; 
 
 Where slept his noble fathers, 
 The corse she gently laid. 
 
 Then tightly round her neck she pressed 
 The chain, now doubly fatal. 
 And sank upon his breast.
 
 198 
 
 Two damsels from tlie castle 
 Gazed down the winding vale; 
 
 Fast rode tlieir father homeward, 
 He wore his coat of mail. 
 
 "0 welcome, welcome, father dear! 
 What bring' st thou for thy children 
 Who all thy hests revere?" 
 
 "My child i' the leaf- green garment. 
 
 Of thee I've thought today; 
 Thy joy is placed in hunting 
 
 By sun's or moonlight's ray. 
 By thong of gold this spear is sped; 
 
 ' Twas borne by yon wild -huntsman , 
 For this I struck him dead." 
 
 She took her father's present, 
 Her hands the spear embrace; 
 
 Then turned she tow'rd the forest. 
 Death called her to the chase! 
 
 There, 'neath the linden's chilly shade, 
 His faithful brach beside him, 
 Her love in sleep was laid. 
 
 "I promised 'neath the linden 
 To meet thee ; I am here ! " 
 
 Then in her breast, despairing, 
 She drove the fatal spear.
 
 BALLADS. 199 
 
 In slumber cool they rested well; 
 Above them sang the ringdoves, 
 Green leaves upon them fell. 
 
 One damsel from the castle 
 
 Gazed down the winding vale; 
 
 Fast homeward rode her father, 
 He wore his coat of mail. 
 
 "0 welcome, welcome', father dear! 
 What bring'st thou for thy darling 
 Who holds thy words in fear?" 
 
 "My child i' the silver garment, 
 
 Of thee I've thought to-day; 
 Thou lovest more bright flowers 
 
 Than gold or rich array. 
 This flower, with silver leaves outspread, 
 
 I took from yon bold gardener. 
 For this I struck him dead!" 
 
 "Why, why was he so daring? 
 
 Him wherefore didst thou slay? 
 His care the flowerets tended 
 
 That now must droop for aye! 
 He promised that the fairest flower 
 
 That grew within his garden 
 
 Should be his true love's dower."
 
 200 BALLADS. 
 
 Upon her gentle bosom 
 
 She laid the blossom white, 
 
 Then wandered to the garden 
 Erewhile her chief delight. 
 
 There rose a hillock, fresh and green; 
 There, by the snowy lilies, 
 She sat with tearful mien. 
 
 "0 could I like my sisters 
 Now cause my life to fail — 
 
 How shall this blossom wound me? 
 'Tis all too weak and frail!" 
 
 She gazed upon it, pale and wan, 
 Until its bloom was withered — 
 Until her life was gone! 
 
 17. The Black Knight. 
 
 'Twas Pentecost, the joyous tide, 
 When leaves the forest -branches hide; 
 
 The aged king thus spake: 
 "So from the ancient walls 
 Within these palace -halls 
 
 A joyous spring shall break."
 
 201 
 
 The drums are beat, the trumpets sound, 
 Red banners gaily flaunt around ; 
 
 The king looked proudly on, 
 As in the tournament 
 Each horseman earthward bent 
 
 Before his stalwart son. 
 
 Towards the combat's lists at last 
 A sable horseman slowly passed — 
 
 "Sir Knight, your crest and name?" 
 "These should I tell, on all 
 A dreadful awe would fall; 
 
 Dominion wide I claim! ' 
 
 As on in swift career he flew, 
 
 The vault of heaven all gloomy grew, 
 
 The castle 'gan to rock; 
 Before his first strong thrust 
 The prince lay prone in dust, 
 
 Scarce rallying from the shock. 
 
 Viol and harp invite the dance , 
 Along the hall bright torches glance, 
 
 A shadow tall glides in; 
 He saitli with courteous air — 
 "May I, king's daughter fair. 
 
 With thee the dance besrin?"
 
 202 BALLADS. 
 
 He danced in sable armour stark, 
 
 The guests with awe his movements mark; 
 
 She shivers with chill dread. 
 Down from her breast and hair 
 To earth the blossoms fair 
 
 Drop faded, scentless, dead. 
 
 When to the sumptuous banquet came 
 Each gallant knight and lovely dame, 
 
 'Twixt son and daughter fair 
 Was placed the aged king; 
 He, inly sorrowing, 
 
 Oft scanned the youthful pair. 
 
 The children's cheeks were pale as death. 
 The guest a goblet hands, and saith, 
 
 "Red wine can bloom restore." 
 The cup the children quaffed, 
 Saying — "so cool a draught 
 
 We never drank before.^' 
 
 The children round their father threw 
 Their clinging arms — the last faint hue 
 
 That dyed their cheeks, had fled. 
 As the poor aged man 
 Each face in turn doth scan , 
 
 He groans to find them dead.
 
 203 
 
 "Alas! my beauteous cliildren twain 
 Hast thou in youth's fair freshness ta'en ; 
 
 Take me, their joyless father." 
 With hollow voice and dead 
 Keplied the phantom dread, 
 
 "In spring I roses gather." 
 
 18. The Garden of Roses. 
 
 Of a beautiful garden of roses 
 
 A lay for your pleasure I weave 5 
 
 There roved fair maids in the morning, 
 There heroes struggled at eve. 
 
 "My lord, he is king of the country, 
 This garden of roses is mine ; 
 
 He hath gotten a crown, all golden, 
 I, a garland of flowerets fine. 
 
 "So listen, ye youthful heroes, 
 Mine excellent watchmen three; 
 
 Here tender young girls may enter, 
 But knights must be bidden to flee :
 
 204 BALLADS. 
 
 For if they should spoil my roses, 
 My heart -were with anguish torn." 
 
 Thus the beautiful queen appointed 
 
 As she went from the garden at morn. 
 
 The watchmen three at the entrance 
 
 March faithfully to and fro ; 
 The roses in silence scatter 
 
 Their perfume, and brightly glow. 
 
 Three tender young girls approach them, 
 With gentle and courteous grace : 
 
 "Ye watchmen, ye three good watchmen, 
 May we thro' the garden pace?'' 
 
 The damsels some roses gathered, 
 Then thus all at once they spake: 
 
 "See, see how my hand is bleeding! 
 Such scratches can roses make?" 
 
 The watchmen three at the entrance 
 
 March faithfully to and fro; 
 The roses in silence scatter 
 
 Their perfume, and brightly blow. 
 
 Three blustering knights, naught fearing, 
 Right up to the entrance ride; 
 
 "Ye watchmen, ye three vile watchmen, 
 Now open the gates full wide!"
 
 BALLADS. 205 
 
 "The gates may remain close -fastened, 
 Our swords can we nimbly use; 
 
 The roses we guard are precious, 
 Each rosebud is worth one bruise." 
 
 Then struggled the knights and watchmen, 
 With the knights did the conquest bide; 
 
 They trampled on all the blossoms, 
 With the roses the watchmen died. 
 
 And when it was now nigh sunset, 
 
 The queen came thither again; 
 "What? see I my roses perished. 
 
 My trusty young watchmen slain? 
 
 Their bodies, o'erstewn with rose-leaves, 
 
 I'll lay in an earthy tomb ; 
 Where once was my sweet rose-garden, 
 
 A garden of lilies shall bloom. 
 
 But whom have I left as watchmen 
 
 To shield it from evil plight? 
 I have none but the sun by day-time. 
 
 The moon and the stars by night."
 
 206 BALLADS. 
 
 19. The Songs of the Past. 
 
 1807. 
 
 In boyhood, oft within the towers 
 
 Of ruined fortresses I stood; 
 Through ancient cities roamed for hours 
 
 And many a vast cathedral viewed. 
 'Twas then the Spirit of the Past 
 
 Before me stood with pleading looks, 
 And early bade my mind hold fast 
 
 What afterwards I found in books : 
 
 That damsels had their dwelling there 
 
 Named "Ballads", far and wide renowned, 
 Who, 'mid the ranks of ladies fair. 
 
 With festival and song were crowned, 
 Til] came a troop in ruthless might 
 
 And gave to flames their fair abode; 
 The Sisters fled, concealed by night. 
 
 Wherever fear a passage shewed. 
 
 Of these, alas! some sadly pine, 
 Imprisoned in a dungeon drear; 
 
 Their gentle voices' accents fine 
 Still fail to reach a pitying ear;
 
 BALLADS. 207 
 
 Alas! for One who, all forlorn, 
 
 Through ways deserted wandered wide; 
 
 She sank, by heavy grief o'erworn. 
 Yet sang once more before she died. 
 
 In a poor maiden's chamber lone 
 
 Another for awhile abides ; 
 She mingles with her friend's sad moan 
 
 What time in heaven fair Dian rides. 
 Oft, taking heart, the Martyrs go 
 
 To mingle in the market's din. 
 And sing sweet tunes to music low, 
 
 In hope the hearts of men to win. 
 
 Take comfort! cast your bonds aside; 
 
 The heralds fly from west to east, 
 Within a town by Neckar's tide 
 
 To bid you to a joyous feast. 
 Ye Glad Ones, join the happy dance, 
 
 Come dressed in garments rosy -bright; 
 Ye Sad Ones, veiled as nuns advance. 
 
 Come decked with lilies fair and white»
 
 208 
 
 20. The Three Songs. 
 
 Entlironed in Lis liall sat Sifrid the king: 
 "Which harper a ballad can blitheliest sing?" 
 And a youth from the crowd drew hastily nigh , 
 His harp in his hand, his sword on his thigh. 
 
 "Three ballads I know, and the foremost song 
 Is one that has 'scaped from thy memory long. 
 My brother thou sletvesl i?i murderous wise: 
 Once more : thou hast skmi him i?i murderous ivise I 
 
 The second is one that I thought of first 
 In a wild dark night, as the tempest burst. 
 With me thou must battle for life and death: 
 Once more: thou must battle for life and death!'" 
 
 The minstrel his harp on the table placed; 
 Then drew they their swords in furious haste ; 
 Long, long they stnxggled in desperate brawl, 
 Till the king lay dead in the lofty hall. 
 
 "Now sing I the third, and the sweetest lay, 
 A song I could sing for a year and a day; 
 Ki7ig Sifrid lies here in his heart's best blood: 
 Once more : here he lies in his heart's best blood! "
 
 209 
 
 21. The Prince and the Shepherdess. 
 
 Fytie the Ft?^st. 
 
 In this delicious springtime , 
 Here , on this verdant plain , 
 
 Here, 'neatli the golden sunlight, 
 Of what shall be my strain? 
 
 SAvift glides the azure streamlet, 
 
 O'erhead the cloudlets sail; 
 And horseman gay are riding 
 
 Along the meadowy vale. 
 
 The bending branches quiver. 
 
 Bright glows the flowerets' sheen ; 
 
 The shepherdesses wander 
 
 In the valley fresh and green. 
 
 Prince Goldmar rode rejoicing 
 
 His gallant train before ; 
 A crimson silken mantle. 
 
 And a golden crown he wore. 
 
 The youthful prince from horseback 
 
 Sprang lightly to the plain; 
 The horse he bound to a linden: 
 
 On rode his gallant train. 
 
 14
 
 210 
 
 Amongst the shady bushes 
 
 A sparkling fountain streamed; 
 
 There sang the songbirds sweetly, 
 There gayest flowerets gleamed. 
 
 Why sang the birds so clearly? 
 
 Why gleamed the flowers like gold? 
 A shepherdess most lovely 
 
 Sat near those waters cold! 
 
 He rustles through the brushwood, 
 He thrusts the branches by; 
 
 To the shepherdess for shelter 
 The startled lambkins fly. 
 
 "0 welcome, welcome, maiden! 
 
 So wondrous fair that art! 
 If I have caused thee terror, 
 
 'Twould grieve me sore at heart." 
 
 "I am not blanched with terror, 
 
 So might I swear to thee; 
 Methought some straying songbird 
 
 Did through the bushes flee!" 
 
 "Wouldst thou revive my spirit 
 From out thy pitcher here, 
 
 As 'twere the greatest kindness 
 I'd hold thy memory dear."
 
 BALLADS. 211 
 
 "Drink freely from the pitcher, 
 
 To all its use is free ; 
 I'd 'grant a draught to any, 
 
 Though he a prince should be ! " 
 
 She stoops to dip the pitcher. 
 
 She bids him drink his fill; 
 He gazes on her fondly, 
 
 She grasps it tightly still. 
 
 He cries, with transport glowing, 
 "Thou seem'st so sweet a child, 
 
 Methinks thou wast created 
 With the other flowerets mild. 
 
 Thou seem'st so pure, so noble. 
 Such grace doth in thee shine; 
 
 Methinks thou art descended 
 From some imperial line!" 
 
 "My father ask — the shepherd — 
 
 If he a king hath been; 
 My mother ask — the shepherdess — 
 
 If e'er she ruled as queen.'' 
 
 He clasps his crimson mantle 
 
 Around her shoulders fair; 
 The golden crown he places 
 
 Above her nut-brown hair. 
 
 14*
 
 212 
 
 The sliepberdess looks proudly 
 
 And gaily 'gins to call; 
 "Ye flowers — ye trees — pay homage, 
 
 Bow down, ye lambkins all!" 
 
 And as with merry laughter 
 
 She lays the finery down, 
 r the limpid fountain's channel 
 
 He casts the golden crown. 
 
 "This crown to thee I render. 
 
 As pledge of fondest love. 
 Till after many an onset 
 
 Once more I hither rove. 
 
 A king fast bound in prison 
 These sixteen years hath lain; 
 
 A band of foes malicious 
 
 Hath been his kingdom's bane. 
 
 His land for him I'll rescue, 
 
 I and my warriors free ; 
 His chains I'll burst asunder, 
 
 Spring's flowers he soon shall see. 
 
 Xow first I haste to battle, 
 
 My days will sultry be; 
 Say, Avilt thou — if I conquer — 
 
 Draw hence a draught for me?''
 
 BALLADS. 213 
 
 "Full draughts I'll draw and hand thee 
 While flow the fountain's streams; 
 
 To thee the crown I'll render 
 As bright as now it gleams." 
 
 The first "fytte" here is ended, 
 
 The next begins its flight; 
 A bird is upward soaring, 
 
 Mark where it next shall 'light ! 
 
 Fyite the second. 
 
 My song must now be telling 
 Of swords' and trumpets' play, 
 
 Tho' I hear the shepherd's ditties, 
 Tho' I hear the skylark's lay. 
 
 My muse raust now be telling 
 Of plains o'erstrewn with dead , 
 
 Tho' I see the forest budding , 
 And blossoms sprouting red. 
 
 To Goldmar turns the legend; 
 
 Perchance ye scarce could tell 
 That he, in love the foremost. 
 
 Was first in strife as well! 
 
 He stormed, he took the fortress, 
 
 His standard o'er it waved ; 
 From death within the dungeon 
 
 The gray -haired king was saved.
 
 214 
 
 "0 sun — distant mountains! 
 
 field, leafy spray! 
 How seem ye all so youthful, 
 And I so old and gray?" 
 
 Soon came the joyous banquet 
 With mirth and festive sheen: 
 
 Who sat not at the table 
 
 Can scarce describe the scene. 
 
 And though I had been seated 
 Amid the guests' long line, 
 
 All things had I forgotten 
 Except the generous wine ! 
 
 The aged King to Goldmar 
 
 Outspake in lordly wise; 
 "I hold a splendid tourney. 
 
 Say, Avhat shall be the prize?" 
 
 "Great king, from kings descended. 
 Be this the meed of might; 
 
 Not spurs nor golden helmet, 
 
 But a crook and a lambkin white!" 
 
 And that — for which the shepherds 
 Oft race in flowery field — 
 
 For that, brave bands of horsemen 
 Fought hard with lance and shield.
 
 BALLADS. 215 
 
 Where'er he rode, prince Goldmar 
 O'erwhelmed each noble knight, 
 
 And took — while rang the trumpets — 
 The crook and lambkin white. 
 
 Once more the king to Goldmar 
 
 Outspake in lordly wise: 
 "Again I hold a toiirney, 
 
 And grant a nobler prize. 
 
 No toy, nor idle trinket 
 
 As worthless price shall stand ; 
 
 My crown shall be the guerdon 
 From the fairest princess' hand." 
 
 How thronged the guests, all eager, 
 When blew the trumpet's call! 
 
 Each warrior strove his utmost. 
 Prince Goldmar foiled them all. 
 
 The king, 'mid lords and ladies, 
 
 Stood in his palace -bower; 
 He bade them call prince Goldmar, 
 
 Of knights the star and flower. 
 
 Then came the tourney's hero 
 With shepherd's crook in hand; 
 
 The lambkin white beside him, 
 Led by a rose -red band.
 
 216 
 
 Outspake the king: "No trinket 
 Shall for thy gixerdon stand; 
 
 For lo! my crown I give thee 
 From the fairest princess' hand." 
 
 He spake, and from her features 
 The flowing veil uptook, 
 
 Prince Goldmar to the maiden 
 Vouchsafed no slightest look. 
 
 "No princess e'er shall win me, 
 No crown with glistening sheen; 
 
 The shepherdess in the valley 
 Remains my bosom's queen. 
 
 I give thee for a keepsake 
 
 This crook and lambkin white, 
 
 Once more I seek the valley, 
 All blessings on thee 'light!" 
 
 Then rang a voice so clearly, 
 To him at once it seemed 
 
 That birds sang near a fountain 
 And golden flowerets gleamed. 
 
 His eyes he quickly lifted, 
 The shepherdess he scanned, 
 
 Adorned Avith costly raiment. 
 With ghttering crown in hand.
 
 217 
 
 "Here in my father's palace 
 I bid tliee — traitor! — hail! 
 
 Say, must thou still be gadding 
 To seek yon grassy vale ? 
 
 Yet first this crown I give thee, 
 Thy pledge of feelings vain ; 
 
 With usury receive it, 
 
 It rules o'er kingdoms twain." 
 
 No longer far asunder 
 
 Those lovers twain could dwell; 
 What next thereafter happened, 
 
 Perchance ye all can tell! 
 
 And would a maiden know it. 
 My task should soon be sped, 
 
 Might I embrace, and kiss her 
 On her lips so rosy -red! 
 
 22. The Goldsmith's Daughter. 
 
 Within his shop a goldsmith stood 
 'Mid pearls and jewels clear: 
 
 "The fairest gem that ere I viewed 
 Art thou, my lovely Helen, 
 Mine only daughter dear!"
 
 218 
 
 In came a kniglit in garments gay: 
 "Good morrow, maiden fair! 
 
 My worthy goldsmith too, good day! 
 Make me a costly circlet 
 To deck my bride's dark hair." 
 
 And when the circlet fair was wrought 
 And gleamed with many a charm , 
 
 Then Helen, lost in mournful thought. 
 Within her lonely chamber 
 ' Gan hang it round her arm. 
 
 "Ah! wondrous glad the bride will be 
 
 That shall this circlet wear! 
 Ah! would the knight but send to me 
 
 A fragrant wreath of roses. 
 My bliss were past compare!" 
 
 Again the knight doth thither wend, 
 
 The circlet fair he eyed; 
 "Make me, I pray, my worthy friend, 
 
 A ring with diamonds studded. 
 To deck my lovely bride." 
 
 And when the ring was richly wrought. 
 Set round with diamonds rare; 
 
 Through it the maid, in mournful thought. 
 Within her lonely chamber 
 Half thrust her finsrer fair.
 
 BALLADS. 219 
 
 "All! wondrous glad the bride will be 
 That soon this ring shall wear ; 
 
 Ah! would the knight but send to ine 
 Of his hair one little ringlet, 
 My joy were past compare!" 
 
 Again the knight doth thither wend , 
 
 The ring he closely eyed; 
 "Right well hast thou, my Avorthy friend, 
 
 Made both these pretty presents 
 To deck my lovely bride. 
 
 But now, their due effect to see, 
 Sweet maiden, grant my prayer! 
 
 Let me, I pray, behold on thee 
 My loved one's bridal presents; 
 Her form, like thine, is fair." 
 
 'Twas early on a Sunday morn — 
 Hence was the beauteous maid 
 
 In garments but on Sunday worn 
 
 When churchward folks are wending, 
 With special care arrayed. 
 
 Before the knight behold her stand 
 
 With modest downcast look; 
 He placed on her the golden band; 
 
 Then , drawing on her finger 
 
 The ring, her hand he took.
 
 220 
 
 "0 Helen sweet, Helen fair, 
 The jest is noAV out -played; 
 
 Thou art the bride of beauty rare, 
 For whom the golden circlet — 
 For whom the ring was made ! 
 
 'Mid pearls, and glittering gems, and gold 
 Thy life did first begin. 
 
 A token may'st thou here behold 
 That thou high rank and honour 
 One day through me shouldst win ! " 
 
 23. The Hostess's Daughter. 
 
 Three students had crossed o'er the Rhine's 
 
 dark tide ; 
 At the door of a hostel they turned aside. 
 
 "Hast thou. Dame hostess, good ale and 
 
 wine? 
 And where is thy daughter so sweet and 
 
 fine?'' 
 
 "My ale and my wine are cool and clear; 
 On her death -bed lieth my daughter dear."
 
 BALLADS. 221 
 
 And when to the chamber they made their 
 
 way, 
 In a sable coffin the damsel lay. 
 
 The first — the veil from her face he took, 
 And gazed upon her with mournful look. 
 
 "Alas! fair maiden — didst thou still live, 
 To thee my love would I henceforth give!" 
 
 The second — he lightly replaced the shroud, 
 Then round he turned him, and wept aloud: — 
 
 "Thou liest alas! on thy death -bed here, 
 I loved thee fondly for many a year!'' 
 
 The third — he lifted again the veil, 
 And gently he kissed those lips so pale ; 
 
 "I love thee 7iow, as I loved of yore, 
 And thus will I love thee for evermore'.''''
 
 222 
 
 24. The Mower -girl. 
 
 "A fair good morning, Mary! What? so soon 
 
 upon the move? 
 Thou art not sunk in sloth, true maid, tho' 
 
 sunk so deep in love. 
 Then if thou canst within three days this 
 
 meadoAV mow for me , 
 No more will I withhold my son, my only 
 
 child, from thee!" 
 
 'Twas thus the wealthy farmer spake, with 
 
 flocks and fields endowed ; 
 How Mary 'neath her bosom feels her heart 
 
 heat fast and loud! 
 Through ev'ry limb she feels a new, a bracing 
 
 influence flow; 
 How strongly now she sways the scythe, and 
 
 lays the swathes full low! 
 
 Now noonday glows, the mowers tired now 
 
 cease their tasks to ply ; 
 They seek the brook to c[uench their thirst, 
 
 cool shade in which to lie ; 
 But still the bees with busy hum flit o'er the 
 
 parching field, 
 And Mary in unresting toil not e'en to them 
 
 will yield.
 
 BALLADS. 223 
 
 The sun sinks down, flie vesper-bell bids 
 
 men to rest and pray; 
 Her neighbours all to Mary call — "Enough 
 
 thou'st done to-day!" 
 The mowers go , the shepherds soon drive 
 
 home the fleecy ewes, 
 But Mary whets her scythe once more, and 
 
 straight her toil renews. 
 
 Soon falls the dew, soon brightly gleam the 
 
 moon and many a star. 
 The swathes smell sweet, the nightingale is 
 
 faintly heard afar ; 
 But Mary hath no wish to rest, or hear the 
 
 plaintive lay, 
 She only cares to swing the scythe with 
 
 measured forceful sway. 
 
 So onward still from eve to morn, from morn 
 
 to evening red. 
 With happy hope alone refreshed, with love's 
 
 sweet fancies fed. 
 When for the third time rose the sun, the 
 
 weary task was o'er, 
 Behold where Mary resting stands, and tears 
 
 of joy doth pour!
 
 224 BALLADS. 
 
 "A fair good morning, Mary! What? Can 
 
 bauds so nimble be? 
 The meadow mown? A rich reward I'll surely 
 
 find for thee ; 
 But as to marriage, girl, thou hast in earnest 
 
 ta'en my jest, 
 For lüvijig hearts are credulous, and foolish 
 
 hearts at best!" 
 
 He spake, he Avent; but motionless behold 
 
 poor Mary stay; 
 She feels her heart grow numb and chill, her 
 
 trembling knees give way; 
 Deprived of speech, her feelings dead, her 
 
 understanding flown, 
 'Twas thus they found the mower -girl, 'mid 
 
 swathes but newly mown. 
 
 So lives she still these many years, in mute 
 
 and listless mood ; 
 A few thick drops of honey sweet are now 
 
 her only food; 
 Oh keep for her a ready grave in yonder 
 
 flowery lea. 
 For never yet poor mower-girl so fondly loved 
 
 as she!
 
 225 
 
 25. Dirges. 
 
 1. The Serenade. 
 
 "What strains are these that break my sleep, 
 That with my dreams are blent? 
 
 O mother, see! what can they be, 
 Now night so far is spent?" 
 
 "I naught can see, I naught can hear, 
 
 Sleep on in slumber mild; 
 For thee is played no serenade, 
 
 My poor, my suffering child." 
 
 "These strains from earth have not their birth,- 
 
 That make my soul so light; 
 The angels come to call me home; 
 
 mother dear! good night!" 
 
 2. The Organ. 
 
 "Once more for me thine organ play. 
 
 My neighbour old and kind; 
 Perchance, while sounds its solemn tone. 
 
 My soul may feel resigned." 
 
 The suff'rer ask'd, the neighbour played, 
 
 So played he ne'er before; 
 So clearly, softly! Nay, his touch 
 
 Is like his own no more. 
 
 15
 
 226 BALLADS. 
 
 It seems a soft and blessed tune 
 
 That 'neatli his hands is sped; 
 He stops in horror — lo ! from earth 
 
 His neighbour's soul hath fled! 
 
 3. The Thrush. 
 
 "I ne'er would seek the garden more, 
 
 But lie here all the day, 
 Might I but hear the joyous thrush 
 
 That yonder trills his lay!" 
 
 So spake the child — the thrush is caught; 
 
 Within a cage it pines; 
 It ne'er will sing, but evermore 
 
 Its drooping head declines. 
 
 Yet once again with anxious eyes 
 
 The child upon it gazed; 
 The thrush sang clear and loud — then death 
 
 Its glistening eye-balls glazed. 
 
 26. The Lode -star. 
 
 He who towards the Orient Land 
 A light ship guided — not his own, 
 
 Now steers towards his native strand 
 A bark gold-laden — his alone.
 
 227 
 
 More oft than any other star 
 
 Love's Planet* he hath fondly eyed, 
 
 That safely guided him from far 
 To where resides his darling bride. 
 
 Yet to the goal he hath not come, 
 
 Though now within the gates he strays; 
 
 How may he find his darling's home 
 Amid the city's wildering maze? 
 
 How may his glance perceive her form? 
 
 Walls everywhere his prospect bound. 
 How, 'mid the market's wordy storm, 
 
 May he detect her voice's sound? 
 
 Behold a hand yon window close. 
 
 Perchance she thence but lately gazed; 
 
 Behold yon veil that downward flows; 
 Conceals it not the face he praised? 
 
 Still wanders he from street to street. 
 
 Where now dim twilight's shadow dwells; 
 
 He wanders on with weary feet, 
 A tireless heart his steps impels. 
 
 * Venus. Lode-star and Lode-stone mean a star 
 (or stone) that leads. This spelling is preferable to 
 the more usual Load-star, Load-stone. 
 
 15*
 
 228 BALLADS. 
 
 What stays liis pace, what happy proof? 
 
 What strains are those, what voice divine ? 
 'Twas not for naught that o'er the roof 
 
 He saw love's trusty Planet shine ! 
 
 27. The Minstrel's Return. 
 
 The minstrel on a bier reclines, 
 His pallid lips no songs outpour; 
 
 Its faded leaves the laurel twines 
 
 Around the brow that thinks no more. 
 
 And there, in scrolls rolled neatly round, 
 Are laid the songs that last he sang; 
 
 His hands still touch — without a sound — 
 The harp that once so blithely rang. 
 
 Tho' sleeping thus his last long sleep , 
 Still sound his songs in every ear, 
 
 And feed men's sorroAv keen and deep 
 For loss of one sublime and dear. 
 
 Now many a month and year have fled , 
 Above him waves the cypress dim; 
 
 And they who mourned the minstrel dead. 
 Themselves have sunk to sleep , like him.
 
 BALLADS. 229 
 
 Yet as tlie spring returns, endued 
 
 With verdure fresh and quickening power : 
 
 So lives, with fame and youth renewed, 
 The minstrel — to this latest hour. 
 
 Unblighted by the grave's cold breath. 
 
 To living men he yet belongs ; 
 The age, that once bemoaned his death, 
 
 Survives but in his deathless songs. 
 
 28. The Little Ship. 
 
 A little vessel smoothly 
 
 Adown the river goes ; 
 The passengers are silent, 
 
 Not one the other knows. 
 
 What draws the brawny huntsman 
 From 'neath his deerskin guise? 
 
 A horn! He blows it clearly. 
 The echoing shore replies. 
 
 Then from his staff of travel 
 A youth unscrews the ends; 
 
 And with the horn's soft pealing 
 A flute's shrill music blends.
 
 230 
 
 A maid, that sat so basliful, 
 She could not speak for fear, 
 
 With horn and flute now mingles 
 Her voice so sweet and clear. 
 
 In measured time the rowers 
 Swing back with steady sway ; 
 
 By melody borne onward, 
 The vessel cleaves her way. 
 
 In diverse paths they wandered , 
 When all had leapt to shore — 
 
 Say, friends, on such a vessel 
 When shall we meet once more? 
 
 29. The Passing Minstrel. 
 
 Upon a flower-clad hillock 
 
 Beside a path, I slept. 
 To golden Fable-region 
 
 A dream my senses swept. 
 
 Awaked — with dazzled eye-sight, 
 As fallen from the sky — 
 
 I mark a minstrel playing, 
 Who passed but lately by.
 
 231 
 
 On through the grove he saunters, 
 
 I hear the music still; 
 Was't this, with dreams so wondrous 
 
 That caused my soul to thrill? 
 
 30. A Dream. 
 
 I lately lay a-dreaming, 
 
 I lay upon a steep ; 
 'Twas near the ocean's strand, 
 I looked across the land, 
 
 And o'er the spacious deep. 
 
 Lo! near the beach beneath me 
 
 A vessel trim and strong; 
 Its pennon gay fleAV o'er it. 
 The skipper stood before it 
 
 As though the time seemed long. 
 
 Then from the distant mountains 
 
 There came a mirthful train ; 
 They came, like angels shining — 
 Bright wreaths their brows entwining 
 And drew towards the main. 
 
 To lead the train, sweet infants 
 In sportive throngs advanced ; 
 Bright cups the rest were swinging. 
 To music's sound and singing 
 
 They deftly swayed and danced.
 
 232 BALLADS. 
 
 Then spake tliey to tlie skipper — 
 
 "Wilt gladly bear us hence? 
 Delights and Joys are we — 
 We seek from earth to flee — 
 Far, far to wander thence!" 
 
 He bade them climb his vessel, 
 That throng of gay Delights! 
 He spake — "Ye Pleasures gay, 
 Do none, yet lingering, stray 
 In vales, or on the heights?" 
 
 "We all are here", they shouted, 
 "Haste! all thy sails employ!" 
 
 Fresh blew the favouring gale, 
 
 Far off beheld I sail 
 
 From earth each Bliss and Joy. 
 
 31. The Good Comrade. 
 
 I had a gallant comrade, 
 No better e'er was tried; 
 
 The drum beat loud to battle — 
 
 Beside me, to its rattle. 
 
 He marched , with equal stride.
 
 233 
 
 A bullet flies towards us, 
 "Is that for me or thee?" 
 
 It struck him, passing o'er me; 
 
 I see his corse before me 
 As 'tAA'ere a part of me ! 
 
 And still, Avhile I am loading. 
 
 His outstretched hand I view ; 
 "Not now — awhile we sever: 
 Biit , when we live for ever, 
 Be still my comrade true!" 
 
 32. The Wreath of Roses. 
 
 In the merry days of Spring-time 
 
 When with flowers the fields are dight, 
 For the rose -wreath — prize of vigour - 
 
 Stalwart youths put forth their might. 
 Naught they care themselves to gather 
 
 Garlands from the lavish land; 
 Nay! they would, as sturdy wrestlers, 
 
 Win them from a maiden's hand. 
 
 'Neath an arbour sits she, silent. 
 She whom all with wonder view, 
 
 She who in the bloom of beauty 
 Shews to-day her loveliest hue.
 
 234 
 
 Sprays of roses nod and waver — 
 Pleasant arbour — o'er her head; 
 
 Eound the queen of May and beauty 
 Vines their curling tendrils spread. 
 
 Lo ! a warrior sheathed in armour 
 
 On a flagging steed draws near; 
 Bows his head as one in slumber, 
 
 Faint with toil, he vails his spear. 
 Gaunt his cheeks, his locks are hoary. 
 
 Oft his hand the rein forsakes ; 
 Lo! he starts, as starts the dreamer 
 
 When from mournful dreams he wakes. 
 
 *'Hail to all that throng this meadow. 
 
 Noble youths and lovely dames; 
 Need is none to fear my presence, 
 
 Fain would I behold your games. 
 Fain would I, in fierce encounter, 
 
 ' Gainst you break a lance or twain ; 
 But mine arms with age are trembling, 
 
 Scarce my knees their load sustain. 
 
 Well I know such knightly pastimes, 
 
 Lance and sword my strength have tried ; 
 
 Still my body Avears the breast-plate. 
 As the dragon wears his hide.
 
 BALLADS. 235 
 
 Strife and wounds by land I've suffered, 
 Storms at sea and billows steep ; 
 
 Calm repose I met with never, 
 Save a year in dungeon deep. 
 
 Wo ! my days and nights are ended , 
 
 Never love my life bath blest; 
 Thee, hand in battles hardened, 
 
 Woman's hand hath never pressed! 
 Never! for from earth's deep valley 
 
 Still yon damsel dwelt afar; 
 Yon May-queen, who now before me 
 
 Rises like a new-found star. 
 
 Wo! could I renew my youth -hood, 
 
 Mine should be the minstrel's art; 
 Songs of love I oft would warble. 
 
 Striving for my fair one's heart. 
 In the merry days of spring-time. 
 
 When with flowers the fields are dight. 
 For the rose -wreath — prize of vigour - 
 
 Gladly would I race and fight. 
 
 Wo! for I was born too early! 
 
 Now the golden age is come; 
 Wrath and envy now have vanished. 
 
 Fadeless spring begins to bloom.
 
 236 
 
 Slie, in yonder rosy arbour, 
 
 Shall — as queen — the kingdom own; 
 I to ditst and night must hasten; 
 
 Falls on me the burial -stone." 
 
 When the knight these words had spoken , 
 
 Close he pressed his pallid lips; 
 See! his eyes in death are failing, 
 
 Lifeless, from the horse he slips. 
 But the noble youths sustain him, 
 
 Lay him on the grassy plain ; 
 Ah! no balsam e'er shall heal him. 
 
 Him no shouts shall rouse again! 
 
 Then the maid, her arbour quitting 
 
 Gay with flowers , steps slowly down , 
 Sadly to the old man stoopeth , 
 
 Lays on him the rosy - crown. 
 "Be thou king of May's rejoicings, 
 
 None like thee his life hath sped ; 
 Though the wreath can little profit 
 
 Twined around a lifeless head."
 
 237 
 
 33. Princess Siegelind. 
 
 Young Siegelind, the princess, 
 Her lords and ladies fine 
 
 Arose at early morning 
 To visit Mary's shrine; 
 
 In gold and silk she goes, 
 
 With flowers and hroidered clothes; 
 
 Hence grief unlooked-for rose. 
 
 Before the church's portal 
 
 Three spreading lindens grow; 
 
 There sat the noble Heime 
 And said in whisper low : 
 
 "Nor gold nor gems I'd wear, 
 
 Had I one floweret fair 
 
 From out thy garland rare!'' 
 
 So spake the youth in whispers 
 
 The playful Zephyr blows , 
 And from the flowery circlet 
 Drops out the fairest rose. 
 Young Heimd stooped in haste 
 To seize the floweret chaste, 
 And soon his breast it graced.
 
 238 
 
 'Mong Siegelind's attendants 
 Is seen a gray -haired knight 
 
 Who, chafing at his boldness, 
 Steps forth in wrath, to fight; 
 
 "I'll teach thee manners, knave! 
 
 From honour's garland brave 
 
 Dar'st thou one leaflet crave?" 
 
 Wo to the garden ever 
 
 That gave those roses life ! 
 
 Weal to the lindens never 
 
 Where raged that dreadful strife! 
 
 How clashed the swords that day. 
 
 Till, in the furious fray, 
 
 Young Heime lifeless lay! 
 
 Fair Siegelind bent o'er him, 
 The fatal rose she hent. 
 
 Within the wreath replaced it 
 And through the portal went. 
 
 In gold and silk she goes. 
 
 With flowers and broidered clothes; 
 
 Who dares her discompose? 
 
 Before Saint Mary's image 
 
 The maid took off her crown; 
 
 "Keceive it. Pure, Benign One, 
 From this no flower fell down.
 
 23& 
 
 The Avorld I here forsake; 
 
 The holy veil I take; 
 
 Young Heime's dirge I wake.'' 
 
 34. The Victor. 
 
 (In Asonante Verse; the accented vowel being an "o". 
 See the preface.) 
 
 Sat a hundred dames above , 
 
 All the tourney's strife beholding; 
 These were only humble leaves 
 
 Gathered round my queen, the rosebud. 
 As the eagle views the sun, 
 
 Gazed I on her features boldly; 
 Burning through my visor's plate 
 
 Seemed mine eyes, with ardour glowing f 
 How my quickly -beating heart 
 
 Well nigh had my breast -plate broken! 
 Looks in her that softly shone 
 
 Seemed with lightning -flames to clothe me ; 
 Tones from her that gently came, 
 
 Turned in me to thunder's rolling! 
 She, a balmy morn in May, 
 
 Seemed, in me, a storm explosive. 
 Forth I burst, by naught restrained, 
 
 Thundering through my conquered foemen I
 
 240 
 
 35. The Cavalier by Night. 
 
 In tlie silent, moonless uiidniglit 
 'Neatli my balcony he stood; 
 
 Singing to his lute so sweetly 
 
 Strains with tend'rest love imbued. 
 
 Then, by jealous rivals challenged, 
 Bravely fought he, fierce and proud; 
 
 Till the sparks flashed swiftly, brightly, 
 Till the Avails re-echoed loud. 
 
 Thus, by turns, both arts he practised 
 Said to win the coyest fair; 
 
 Till my heart with love was glowing 
 For the stranger 'neatli me there. 
 
 Forth I gazed at early morning. 
 Fearful what mine eyes might see ; 
 
 Naught of him my gaze encountered. 
 Save his blood, left there for me.
 
 241 
 
 36. The Knight of Castile. 
 
 "When eclioes sound from distant hills, brave 
 
 knight of fair Castile, 
 I listen for thy battle-cry, but hear the 
 
 thunder's peal. 
 When rosy -bright the hill -tops beam in 
 
 morning's earliest ray, 
 I seek afar thy lance's gleam — but see the 
 
 rising day." 
 
 II. 
 
 "Once pilgrims', minstrels', pages' feet trod 
 
 out a patliAvay wide ; 
 With busy hands a lofty tower was reared 
 
 the path beside ; 
 Maids watched me from its turrets high with 
 
 keen and envious sight, 
 All yearned to see thee pass that way, thou 
 
 bravest, noblest knight! 
 Alas! th' expected hour is past! too long I 
 
 weep and wait; 
 Alas! the eyes will soon grow dim, that 
 
 watched thy lordly gait; 
 16
 
 242 BALLADS. 
 
 The walls will crumble soon, where once thy 
 charger's trampling rang; 
 
 Grass hides the path that echoed once thy 
 footsteps' iron clang." 
 
 III. 
 
 No more in him shall love's soft glance excite 
 
 a sweet unrest , 
 Xor stroke of sword nor thrust of lance shall 
 
 pierce his noble breast; 
 The lightning's flash hath struck him on the 
 
 lonely wooded height : 
 A shaft from heaven alone might slay so fair, 
 
 so brave a knight! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Dark clouds go rolling under, brightly shine 
 
 the sun's warm rays; 
 Low growls the distant thunder, twitt'ring 
 
 birds renew their lays. 
 The drenching showers make trees and flowers 
 
 seem fresher than before, 
 And wand'rers from the sheltering wood may 
 
 venture forth once more; 
 Yet ne'er the forest's loftiest oak again its 
 
 boughs shall spread, 
 And close beside its shattered pride Castile's 
 
 best kniffht lies dead!
 
 BALLADS. 243 
 
 V. 
 
 Fair dames look forth to welcome him, their 
 
 fairest champion, home: 
 Swart Moors grow pale and tremble, lest the 
 
 conquering knight should come; 
 Fair dames! ne'er hope to greet him more! 
 
 swart Moors! what cause for dread? 
 By lightning's stroke, beneath the oak, Castile's 
 
 best knight lies dead. 
 
 37. St. George's Knight. 
 Legend the First. 
 
 Through Gormdz, Saint Stephen's city, 
 Shrilly rings the trumpet's peal; 
 
 There his camp holds brave Fernando, 
 Gallant Count of fair Castile. 
 
 Soon the Moorish king, Almansor, 
 Leading swarthy hosts untold. 
 
 From Cordova's towers advancing 
 Hastes to storm the Christian hold. 
 
 Now full -armed, for battle mounted. 
 Shines Castile's array afar; 
 
 Slowly rides the brave Fernando, 
 Searching through the files of war. 
 
 16*
 
 244 
 
 "Pascal Vivas! Pascal Vivas! 
 
 Pride of Spanish chivalry! 
 All our knights are armed and mounted, 
 
 Still the battle waits for thee. 
 
 Thou, once first to mount thy charger, 
 Once in battle foremost found , 
 
 Hear'st thou not to-day my summons, 
 Xor the trumpet's warlike sound? 
 
 Fallest thou the Christian army 
 Needing now thine utmost aid? 
 
 Shall thy wreath of glory wither? 
 
 Shall thy fame's "bright lustre fade?" 
 
 Pascal Vivas hears no summons : — 
 Through a wood his path he wound 
 
 Tow'rds a smooth and grassy hillock 
 By Saint George's chapel crowned. 
 
 At the portal stands his charger, 
 Spear and steel cuirass lie there, 
 
 Whilst before the holy altar 
 
 Kneels the knight in fervent prayer. 
 
 Whilst he kneels in deep devotion, 
 Vainly warning trumpets blow, 
 
 Like the moans of distant tempest 
 
 Through the woodlands sounding low.
 
 245 
 
 Loudly neighs his steed unheeded, 
 All unheard, his armour rings, 
 
 As Saint George, the Christian bulwark, 
 Prompt to hear his prayer, upsprings." 
 
 He, from clouds of heaven descending, 
 Dons the champion's armour bright, 
 
 Lightly mounts the champion's charger, 
 Flies to join the tide of fight. 
 
 None but he can charge so fiercely, 
 Heav'n- sprung thunderbolt of war! 
 
 See! he grasps Almausor's standard. 
 Scattering routed Moors afar. 
 
 Pascal Vivas now hath ended 
 At the sacred shrine his prayer; 
 
 Issues from Saint George's chapel, 
 Finds his steed and armour there. 
 
 Tow'rds the camp he rideth thoughtful, 
 Wond'ring as he nears the throng 
 
 Why t e trumpets sound to greet him. 
 Mixed with bursts of festal song. 
 
 "Pascal Vivas! Pascal Vivas! 
 
 Pride of Spanish chivalry! 
 Thou hast ta'en Almansor's standard, 
 
 Thine the praise, great victor, be!
 
 246 BALLADS. 
 
 See ! how stained with blood thy weapons, 
 Hacked with fiercest thrusts and blows; 
 
 Wounded is the steed that bore thee 
 Bravely through the thickest foes ! " 
 
 Scarce the knight restrains their triumph, 
 Checks their praise , too freely given ; 
 
 And, his head in meekness bending, 
 Mutely upward points to heaven! 
 
 Legend the Second. 
 
 In the garden's shade, at even, 
 Whilst the Countess Julia strayed, 
 
 Fatiman, Almansor's nephew. 
 
 Seized by stealth the beauteous maid. 
 
 With his charming prize he hastens 
 
 Through the woods by night and day; 
 
 With him ride ten Moorish horsemen, 
 Knights full -armed in rich array. 
 
 When the third chill morn was daAvning, 
 In the woods that space they found 
 
 Where the verdant hillock rises 
 
 By Saint George's chapel crowned. 
 
 E'en from far the Countess fixes 
 On the sculptured stone her gaze, 
 
 Which, above the chapel's portal. 
 Great Saint George's form displays.
 
 BALLADS. 247 
 
 Through the dragon's throat the hero 
 Drives the lance with furious shock, 
 
 While, fast bound, the king's fair daughter 
 Watches from the lonely rock. 
 
 Clasping tight her hands, the Countess 
 Weeping, shrieks in wild affright: 
 
 "Help, Saint George, thou warrior holy. 
 Save me from the dragon's might!'' 
 
 See! who spurs his snow-white charger, 
 Leaves the shrine, in haste to save! 
 
 In the winds his locks are streaming, 
 See his scarlet mantle wave ! 
 
 Sternly is his spear uplifted. 
 
 Struck to earth the robber lies; 
 Like the wounded, writhing dragon, 
 
 Pierced he struggles , writhes , and dies ! 
 
 Whilst the ten false Moorish horsemen 
 
 Raise in fear a piercing wail; 
 Shield and spear in haste abandoned, 
 
 Fast they flee o'er hill and dale. 
 
 On her knees the ransomed Countess 
 Sinks, nor dares her eyes to raise; 
 
 "Great Saint George, thou warrior holy. 
 Thrice renowned — receive my praise."
 
 248 BALLADS. 
 
 When her eyes once more she raises, 
 There the saint no longer stands; 
 
 Hence 'twas said that Pascal Vivas 
 Saved her from the robber's hands.* 
 
 38. The Legend of "Little Thumbling". 
 
 (Alluding to the fairy-tale of ''Tom Thumb", who 
 is here made to have worn the "Seven-leagued 
 Boots'", and is identified with "Jack the Giant- 
 Killer". The poem is in asonante verse, the accented 
 diphthong being "oif" or ^'ou".) 
 
 Little Thumbling! little Tluimbliug! 
 
 Everywhere thy fame resoundeth ; 
 E'en the infant in the cradle 
 
 Listens to thy feats, astounded. 
 Whose the eye that tears withholdeth, 
 
 When through hideous woods thou boundest, 
 Whilst the winds of night are roaring. 
 
 Whilst the hungry wolves are howling? 
 Whose the heart for thee that fears not 
 
 In the giant's house low-crouching. 
 When thou hear'st the ogre near thee, 
 
 Sniffing for thy flesh around him? 
 
 * In the original, Ballads 35, 36, and 37 are all 
 in Asonante Verse.
 
 BALLADS. 249 
 
 For thyself and six young brothers 
 
 Thou from death a refuge foundest, 
 Changing all the crowns and night -caps, 
 
 Slily thus the foe confounding. 
 On the rock where slept the giant, 
 
 Snoring till the hills resounded, 
 Slily from his monstrous feet his 
 
 Seven-leagued boots thou stolest, mouse-like! 
 Courier to a king in trouble, 
 
 Swiftly on thine errands bounding, 
 Costly was the fee thou askedst. 
 
 E'en a princess, richly dowered! 
 Little Thumbliug! little Thumbling, 
 
 Everywhere thy fame resoundeth; 
 With the seven-leagued boots it strideth 
 
 Onward still through years a thousand! 
 
 39. The Legend of the Critic. 
 
 Criticus , the valiant warrior, 
 
 Mounts a -horseback, proud and keen; 
 'Tis no steed of Andalusia, 
 
 'Tis a wooden stool, I ween! 
 
 'Stead of sword, a pen well -sharpened 
 Draws he forth, prepared for fight; 
 
 Spectacles, in place of visor, 
 
 Serve to guard his book-dimmed sight.
 
 250 
 
 Bound that worthy dame — "the Public" 
 Countless perils aye increase; 
 
 Now a dragon, sought by Siegfried,* 
 Fiercely snorting, threats her peace; 
 
 Now some sonneteer besets her. 
 
 Twangs his lute, and sweetly wooes; 
 
 Now a monk with mystic preachings 
 Doth her every sense confuse. 
 
 Criticiis, the valiant warrior, 
 
 Dragons slays with cheerful air; 
 
 Splits the minstrel's lute in splinters, 
 Hurls the monk from pulpit -stair. 
 
 Yet, in sooth, his mind's so modest, 
 He to none his name betrays ; 
 
 Scarce a sign — enigma-shrouded — 
 On his shield the knight displays. 
 
 Criticus! the weak who shieldest. 
 Be thou friendly, be benign; 
 
 So may heav'n's most bounteous blessing 
 Publisher's hard cash — be thine! 
 
 * Siegfried, oue of the heroes of the Nibelungen 
 Lied, distinguished himself (among other things) by 
 slaying a dragon.
 
 251 
 
 40. Paris the Knight. 
 
 Paris is of knights tlie fairest, 
 
 Every heart to him is vowed; 
 Every dame this truth confesses 
 
 'Mid the court's ilhistrious crowd. 
 
 Lo! what boastful proofs of conquest 
 
 Fortune in his bosom flings , 
 Letters breathing balmy kisses, 
 
 Curls unnumbered, costly rings. 
 
 Tokens of too easy conquests, 
 
 Happiness unsought by pride , 
 Bonds and fetters Paris calls you, 
 
 Thrusts such glittering toys aside! 
 
 Sheathed in steel, he leaps on horseback. 
 Glows with lust of glory's bays , 
 
 Turns his back on all the ladies. 
 Face and breast to men displays. 
 
 Nowhere sign of foe appeareth, 
 
 Spring -tide reigns o'er stream and field; 
 Breezes Avith his plume are playing, 
 
 Glancing sunlight gilds his shield. 
 
 Far and long he thus hath ridden — 
 Where begins yon forest drear, 
 
 Lo ! a knight who , high on horseback , 
 Waits him with uplifted spear!
 
 252 
 
 Paris to the conflict ruslies, 
 
 Swift as though to dance he hied; 
 
 Levels with the earth his foeman , 
 Gazes round with conscious pride. 
 
 Down he 'lights to raise the fallen, 
 Loosens quick the helmet's lace; 
 
 Lo! down waver clustering ringlets 
 Round a soft and gentle face! 
 
 Greaves and breast -plate quick he loosens, 
 Ah! how white that bosom bare! 
 
 Stretched before him, all unconscious, 
 Lies a damsel passing fair! 
 
 Should her pale and deathly features 
 Blush with beauty's bloom anew, 
 
 Should she now unclose those eye -lids, 
 "What wouldst thou, young Paris! do? 
 
 Yes! a deep-drawn sigh she heaveth. 
 
 Softly opes her tender eyes; 
 She, who died a savage foeman. 
 
 Friendly, kind, to life doth rise! 
 
 There, in pieces, lies the casing 
 Which but now a warrior seemed; 
 
 Here, in Paris' arms, the kernel 
 From the steely shell redeemed!
 
 25a 
 
 Paris, comely knight, exclaimetli: 
 "Here is conquest!, here is fame! 
 
 Must I ne'er attain a garland, 
 Never win a hero's name? 
 
 Changeth all I fain would grasp at 
 Into shapes of joy and love? 
 
 Fortune kind, my path pursuing, 
 Shall I thank thee — or reprove?" 
 
 41, The Robber. 
 
 May-day dawns — a houseless robber 
 
 Issues from the forest dim; 
 Lo ! along the hollow pathAvay 
 
 Trips a maiden , fair and slim ! 
 
 "Hadst thou, 'stead of sweet May-lilies",. 
 
 Spake the forest's lawless son, 
 "Kingly gems within thy basket. 
 
 Scatheless shouldst thou wander on!" 
 
 Long the lovely wand'rers figure 
 Follows he with wistful eyes. 
 
 Passing o'er the smiling meadows 
 On to Avhere the hamlet lies,
 
 254 BALLADS. 
 
 Till at length the garden-thicket, 
 
 Rich -with bloom, her form conceals; 
 
 Then the robber, slow returning, 
 Backward to the forest steals. 
 
 42. The Loves of the Poets. 
 Introductio?i. 
 Since the very God of Numbers 
 
 Pallid grew with love's unrest, 
 
 Since the laurel round his temples 
 
 Token gives of love unblest,* 
 
 Who can wonder, that but seldom 
 
 Shineth out a star benign 
 O'er the fate of mortal minstrels 
 
 Circled with the wreath divine? 
 
 That their looks are sad and earnest. 
 Mournful oft their music's strain; 
 
 That of bliss they sing but little, 
 Much of grief and longings vain? 
 
 Loves of minstrels, deep and mournful. 
 Sung in long -forgotten day, 
 
 Let me now , in sombre colours , 
 Eev'reutly your woes pourtray. 
 
 AHuding to the fable of Apollo and Daphne.
 
 BALLADS. 265 
 
 J. Rudello. 
 
 'Mid Provence's happy valleys 
 First the "Minnesang" appeared, 
 
 Child of Spring and sweet Aflfection, 
 (Close companions, long endeared). 
 
 Flow'rets' bloom and thrilling voices, 
 
 These its father plainly shew; 
 Warmth of passion, yearnings restless. 
 
 These its mother taught to glow. 
 
 Sweet Provence's happy valleys, 
 
 Aye have ye luxuriant been ; 
 Fairest of thy lovely blossoms 
 
 Glowed the "Love-song's" splendid sheen. 
 
 Where have knights so brave and comely 
 
 Dignified the minstrel -race? 
 Where have dames of rank and beauty 
 
 E'er been praised Avith happier grace? 
 
 Honoured by the race of minstrels. 
 Worthiest seemed Rudello's name; 
 
 When his harp her praises sounded. 
 Blest indeed the honoured dame! 
 
 Yet could none that heard discover 
 Where the nameless maid Avas found. 
 
 Who with more than mortal sweetness 
 Made Eudello's song resound.
 
 256 
 
 Only ill night's silent watches 
 
 Drew she near the minstrel's side, 
 
 Touching ne'er the ground beneath her, 
 Traceless, lithe — as visions glide. 
 
 When his arms he stretched to clasp her, 
 Fled she to the clouds again; 
 
 Then, 'mid tears and soft lamentings, 
 SvVeetly rose his plaintive strain. 
 
 Sailors , pilgrims , bold crusaders , 
 
 All alike the tidings bore, 
 Saying that the crown of beauty 
 
 Tripoli's fair Countess wore. 
 
 When Kudello heard the rumour. 
 Swifter grew his pulse's play; 
 
 Soon towards the strand he hastened 
 Where the ships in order lay. 
 
 Sea! uncertain, tost by tempest, 
 Fathomless and unexpressed! 
 
 O'er thy waste and barren billows 
 Well may wander wild unrest! 
 
 Far from Tripoli storm -driven. 
 Flies the minstrel's vessel fast; 
 
 Storm without, and love within him, 
 Fails Kudello's strength at last.
 
 BALLADS. 257 
 
 »Strengtliless , spent, he lies unmoviug, 
 Eastward still he turns his gaze, 
 
 Till, upon the shore, a palace 
 Rises bright with morning's rays. 
 
 Then to the sad minstrel's longings 
 Smiling heav'n at length is kind; 
 
 Into Tripoli's fail* haven 
 
 Flies the ship with favouring wind. 
 
 Scarce had heard the lovely Countess 
 That a guest so famed had come, 
 
 Who, alone, for her sake only 
 O'er the rolling seas had swum, 
 
 Ere, by all her dames attended. 
 Came she to the level strand. 
 
 As with tott'ring step Eudello 
 Stept upon the steadfast land. 
 
 She her hand extends to greet him; 
 
 Seems the earth to shake and roll; 
 Caught by one Avho stayed his footsteps. 
 
 Breathes he out his wounded soul. 
 
 She her minstrel duly honours, 
 
 Buries him with costly state; 
 Rears a porphyry column o'er him, 
 
 Telling his i;nhappy fate. 
 
 17
 
 258 BALLADS. 
 
 Next she bids his songs be written, 
 Every letter wrought in gold ; 
 
 Costly and embellished covers 
 
 Round the leaves she bids them fold. 
 
 Many an hour she reads the poems , 
 Reads them oft with grief oppressed, 
 
 Till, like his, her soul is smitten 
 With that nameless, wild unrest. 
 
 Parting from the court's gay splendour, 
 Leaving all companions dear, 
 
 Seeks she, in the convent -cloister. 
 Peace • — her wounded soul to cheer. 
 
 2. Durand. 
 
 Harp in hand , to Balbi's fortress 
 Young Durand still upward steers; 
 
 Sweetest songs his breast are filling — 
 Lo ! the happy goal he nears. 
 
 There (he knows) a winsome damsel 
 Waits, in breathless silence bound; 
 
 AVaits with downcast eyes , deep blushing, 
 Listening for his music's sound. 
 
 From the court by lindens shaded 
 Upward now the music streams; 
 
 Clear and full, his voice outpoureth 
 Whatsoe'er he sweetest deems.
 
 BALLADS. 259 
 
 From the window higli above him, 
 Friendly flowers towards him bend; 
 
 Nowhere can his eyes discover 
 Her whom all his lays commend. 
 
 Slowly strides a man to meet him, 
 Sad the tones in Avhich he saith — 
 
 "Vex not thou the silent sleeper, 
 Fair Bianca sleeps in death!" 
 
 Young Durand, the peerless minstrel. 
 
 Word of answer never spake ! 
 Lo! his eyes are dimmed already: 
 
 Grief his heart that instant brake. 
 
 Yonder, in the fortress -chapel, 
 Where unnumbered tapers glare, 
 
 Where the lifeless damsel resteth 
 
 Decked with garlands fresh and fair, 
 
 Falls on all a joyous trembling. 
 
 Falls a strange and wondrous fear; 
 
 Lo ! they see the fair Bianca 
 Rising from her funeral bier! 
 
 Naught she knows what things have happened, 
 Dreamy thoughts still round her cling; 
 
 Softly, longingly she asketh, 
 "Heard I not Durando sing?'' 
 
 17*
 
 •260 
 
 Yes! Durand sang sweetly, clearly, 
 Nevermore lie now sliall sing; 
 
 He to life the dead liatli raised, 
 Him to life shall no one bring! 
 
 In the realms of bliss awaking, 
 Eoams he through its regions fair. 
 
 Anxiously he seeks the lov'd one 
 Whom he deems already there. 
 
 Far before his sight extended, 
 
 Views he the celestial halls ; 
 Through the lonely courts of Eden 
 
 Vainly he "Bianca!'' calls. 
 
 3. The CastclUm of Couci. 
 
 HoAv the Castellan of Couci 
 
 To his side pressed close his hand. 
 
 When the beauteous Dame of Fayel 
 First his wondering glances scanned! 
 
 Ever from that happy instant 
 
 Through his songs there gently thrilled 
 Something of the blissful rapture 
 
 That his heart had wholly filled. 
 
 Ah! his art could little aid him, 
 Vain his songs, his music sweet! 
 
 Never hoped his wildest dreamiugs 
 That his heart on hers shoiüd beat.
 
 BALLADS. 
 
 261 
 
 Even tbongli at times slie listened 
 
 Gladly to a tender song, 
 Close beside lier hanghty husband, 
 
 Silent, stern, sbe moved along. 
 
 Then the Cjistellan, despairing, 
 Clad with coat of steel his breast; 
 
 O'er his heart the Cross displaying. 
 That its beatings soon might rest. 
 
 When in Holy Land the warrior 
 Oft had borne a gallant part. 
 
 Flies a shaft thro' Cross and breast-plate, 
 Piercing through his noble heart. 
 
 "Hear me now, my trusty servant, 
 When this heart no more shall beat. 
 
 Bear it to the Dame of Fayel, 
 Lay it at the lady's feet."_^ 
 
 Buried lay the noble body 
 
 'Neath the chilly, sacred soil; 
 
 Still his heart, his heart so weary, 
 Finds as yet no rest from toil. 
 
 Soon it lies, 'mid fragrant spices. 
 
 Hid within an urn of gold; 
 Soon the servant climbs on shipboard, 
 
 Clasping it with careful hold.
 
 262 BALLADS. 
 
 Tempests bluster, waves encounter, 
 Liglitnings flash, the masts are cleft; 
 
 Anxiously all hearts are beating, 
 All — save one of fear bereft. 
 
 Brightly shines the sun returning. 
 Gleams in sight the Gallic shore ; 
 
 Joyously all hearts are beating, 
 
 All — save one that beats no more. 
 
 See! through Fay el's darksome forest, 
 Uru in hand, the servant hies; 
 
 Hark! a lusty horn is sounded, 
 
 Loud each huntsman's voice replies. 
 
 Darts a stag from out the thicket. 
 Through its heart an arrow flies; 
 
 Bounding up — it falls before him, 
 Stretched before his feet, it dies. 
 
 See! the gloomy knight of Fayel, 
 (His the hand the bow that drew) , 
 
 Hastens up, by huntsmen followed; 
 Closely all the stranger view. 
 
 Coveting the golden vessel, 
 Many hands to seize it fly; 
 
 But the servant, back recoiling, 
 
 Speaks, with hand upraised on high.
 
 263 
 
 "This a minstrel's heart containetli, 
 Famed for many a daring deed ; 
 
 'Tis the Castellan's of Couci, 
 Let this heart in peace proceed; 
 
 Dying, this command he gave me, 
 Wfien this heart hath ceased to beat, 
 
 Bear it to the Dame of Fay el, 
 Lay it at the lady's feet." 
 
 "Well I know that winsome lady". 
 Answer made the huntsman stern. 
 
 Quickly from th' astonished servant 
 Catching up the golden urn. 
 
 Bearing it beneath his mantle, 
 Brooding hate, he rides apart; 
 
 To his own, with vengeance boiling, 
 Clasping close the dead man's heart. 
 
 Through the castle-gateway spurring, 
 Summons he the cooks in haste. 
 
 Saying — "When ye dress the ven'son, 
 Be this heart beside it placed." 
 
 Soon, with garlands gay surrounded, 
 
 Borne upon a dish of gold, 
 At the board where sit together 
 
 Knight and Dame, the heart behold!
 
 264 
 
 Gaily to the fair lie hands it, 
 
 Saying with a smiling air: 
 "Whatsoe'er mine arrow slayeth, 
 
 Thou the heart shalt alway share." 
 
 Scarce the dame the heart had tasted^ 
 
 Ere, beset by sudden fears. 
 Seemed she as from sight dissolving 
 
 Into founts of streaming tears. 
 
 Then the gloomy Knight of Fayel 
 Speaks with laughter wild, unholy; 
 
 "Tis of pigeons' hearts asserted 
 That they make one melancholy!* 
 
 How much more, spouse beloved, 
 This that now to thee belongs! 
 
 'Tis the Castellan's of Couci, 
 
 His — that cooed such tender songs!" 
 
 When the Knight these words hath spoken. 
 
 These and many jests beside, 
 Proudly then the Dame, uprising. 
 
 Slowly, solemnly replied : 
 
 * It may be observed that, in German, to have 
 a pigeon's heart means to be a coward.
 
 BALLADS. 265 
 
 "Gross injustice, Knight, you shew me; 
 
 Thine was I, nor sought to change; 
 Yet, of such a heart partaking, 
 
 Thoughts o'erwhelm me, new and strange; 
 
 Many a thought my soul remembers 
 
 Sung by him in earnest tone; 
 Living, he was aye a stranger, 
 
 Dead, he claims me for his own. 
 
 Yes ! to death am I devoted , 
 
 Never meal henceforth I eat; 
 Since this heart I now have tasted, 
 
 Other food were all unmeet. 
 
 May to thee the Judge Eternal 
 Pardon at the last impart." — 
 
 See ! how much of pain and sorrow 
 Sprung from out a poet's heart! 
 
 4. Do?i Massias. 
 
 Don Massias of Gallicia 
 
 Named "the Passionate" in song. 
 Sat in Arjonilla's fortress. 
 
 Mourning her he loved so long. 
 
 To a Count, renowned and wealthy. 
 Wedded was the beauteous maid; 
 
 Far from her the minstrel languished, 
 Banished , and in prison laid.
 
 266 BALLADS. 
 
 Sadly at the lattice singing, 
 
 Oft he made the wanderer stay; 
 
 Oft from thence fell rustling downward 
 Leaves that bore some tender lay. 
 
 Whether by some wanderer's message 
 Or by winds the tale was borne, 
 
 Well the dame he loved so fondly 
 Knew he never ceased to mourn. 
 
 Jealously her husband watched her, 
 Chafing, to himself he said: 
 
 "Shall a minstrel prove my terror 
 Even Avhen in dungeon laid?" 
 
 Hastily he leapt on horseback, 
 Armed as if for battle-hour; 
 
 Rode to fair Granada's frontier, 
 Rode to Arjonilla's tower. 
 
 Don Massias, passion-stricken. 
 Close behind the lattice stood, 
 
 Sweetly sang his fair one's praises, • 
 Struck the strings in rapt'rous mood. 
 
 In the stirrups rose his foeman. 
 
 Hurled his lance with effort strong; 
 
 Pierced is Don Massias' bosom, 
 Swanlike — he expired in song.
 
 BALLADS. 267 
 
 Then tlie Count, assured of conquest, 
 
 Hastens to Gallicia's shore ; 
 Vain tlie tliouglit — though dead the minstrel. 
 
 Live his ballads more and more! 
 
 Far through every Spanish province 
 
 Fly his tuneful lays of love; 
 Nightingales they seem to others, 
 
 Harpies dire to one they prove. 
 
 Often at the festive banquet 
 Suddenly they wound his ear; 
 
 Often from his midnight slumbers 
 "Wakes he with a start of fear. 
 
 In the street, and in the garden. 
 Plaintive tones are heard around; 
 
 Yea! like wailing ghostly voices, 
 Don Massias' songs resound. 
 
 5. Dante. 
 
 Was it but the gate of Florence, 
 
 Was't the gate of Paradise, 
 "Whence, upon a fair May morning. 
 
 Poured a troop in festal guise? 
 
 Children, fair as troops of angels. 
 Richly dight with garlands gay, 
 
 Hastened tow'rd the vale of roses, 
 There to join in dance and play.
 
 268 
 
 Dante, who nine years had numbered, 
 Stood beneath a laurel's shade; 
 
 Straight his glance discerned an angel 
 In the loveliest youthful maid. 
 
 Rustled not the lavirel's branches 
 
 When the Zephyr caught the grove? 
 
 Trembled not young Dante's spirit. 
 Breathed on by the breath of love? 
 
 Yes! within his heart that instant 
 Forth the fount of music brake ; 
 
 Soon in Canzonets and Sonnets 
 Tenderly his love outspake. 
 
 When once more she met the poet 
 In her prime of maidenhood, 
 
 Like a tree that raineth blossoms, 
 Firm and fair his glory stood. 
 
 See ! from out the gates of Florence 
 Pours once more a num'rous train ; 
 
 Slowly, movirnfully, it issues 
 To a sad and plaintive strain. 
 
 'Neath a pall of sable velvet 
 Which a silver cross doth wear, 
 
 Plucked by Death in bloom of beauty, 
 Beatrice forth they bear.
 
 269 
 
 Dante in liis cliamber rested 
 
 Lonely, still, till sunliglit failed, 
 
 Heard afar the deatli-bell booming; 
 Silently his face he veiled. 
 
 Through the forest's deepest shadow 
 Paced the noble bard alone;* 
 
 Like the death-bell's distant booming, 
 Sounded then his music's tone. 
 
 But within that dreary desert 
 Full to him of grief and fear, 
 
 From the band of souls departed ■ 
 Came a God-sent messenger, 
 
 Who his steps securely guided 
 
 Far through Hell's remotest gloom; 
 
 Where his earthly grief was silenced. 
 Seeing souls fulfil their doom. 
 
 Soon, his gloomy path pursuing, 
 Came he to the blessed light; 
 
 Then, from Heav'n's wide-opened portals 
 Came his love, to greet his sight. 
 
 * 111 tire first Canto of the "Inferno", Dante 
 describes himself as lost in a dreary forest; where, 
 as he wandered about in terror, he was met by 
 Virgil, the "God-sent messenger", who guided him 
 safely through the realms of Hell.
 
 270 
 
 Far through Heav'n's delightful regions 
 Soared on high the favoured ones; 
 
 She, -with eyes intent, unblinded, 
 Gazing on the Sun of Suns; 
 
 He, with eyes aside directed 
 
 Tow'rds his loved one's countenance , 
 Which, all-glorious, like a mirror. 
 
 Shewed him the Eternal's glance.* 
 
 Shrined in an immortal poem 
 Is the splendid vision shewn, 
 
 Written with such fiery traces 
 As the lightning writes on stone. 
 
 Eightly was this poet honoured 
 
 With the title — "the Divine" — 
 
 Dante, who could earthly passion 
 To celestial love refine. 
 
 * "Beatrice tutta nelP eterne rote 
 
 Fissa con gli occhi stava; ed io, in lei 
 
 Le luci fisse" — 
 
 Paradiso. Canto I. 64. 
 
 "Her eyes fast fixed upon th' eternal wheels, 
 
 Beatrice' stood unmoved; and I with ken 
 
 Fixed upon her" — 
 
 Gary's Dante.
 
 BALLADS. 271 
 
 43. Love - songs. 
 
 ]. The Slmleni. 
 
 As I once in Salamanca, 
 
 (Whilst tlie nightingales o'erhead 
 
 Sweetly in the trees were singing), 
 Eagerly in Homer read : 
 
 How, arrayed in rich apparel, 
 
 Helen to the rampart went. 
 Shewing to the Trojan senate 
 
 Grace with bloom so sweetly blent, 
 
 That distinctly this axid that one 
 
 Muttered in his hoary beard: 
 "Sooth, she comes of race immortal, 
 
 Ne'er hath form so fair appeared!" 
 
 As I thus was pond'ring deeply, 
 (How it happened, ne'er I knew). 
 
 Through the leaves was borne a rustling,. 
 Round my searching glance I threw; 
 
 Glancing at a neighbouring terrace, 
 Lo ! what wonder saw I there! 
 
 There, arrayed in rich apparel 
 Stood a girl, as Helen fair!
 
 272 
 
 Close beside her stood a gray-beard, 
 Who her form so fondly scanned 
 
 That "I might be sworn, (I muttered). 
 Thou art of the Trojan band!'' 
 
 I myself was an Achaean, 
 I, who ever since that day 
 
 Troy (my arbour) close besieging, 
 Watchfully before it lay. 
 
 Or, in tropes to speak no longer, 
 Often, all the summer long. 
 
 Thither I at eve resorted — 
 Haunted it Avith lute and song, 
 
 Sang in various strains and fashions 
 All my love's distress and pain , 
 
 Till at length from far above me 
 Rose a plaintive answering strain. 
 
 Thus with answering words and music 
 W^ore away full half a year; 
 
 Even this her spouse had grudged us, 
 Plad not deafness numbed his ear. 
 
 Oft as from his couch he started 
 Sleepless, filled with jealous fears; 
 
 All unheard remained our voices, 
 Like the music of the spheres \
 
 273 
 
 Once, when dark the night and dreary, 
 Starless, gloomy as the grave, 
 
 Answer to my wonted signal 
 Never voice or music gave. 
 
 Only an old toothless maiden 
 Woke I by my ceaseless cry; 
 
 Echo ■ — ancient maiden — • only 
 To my song vouchsafed reply. 
 
 Vanished was my love for ever. 
 Every room seemed empty now; 
 
 Empty the well-ordered garden, 
 
 Waste the vale and mountain-brow. 
 
 What her home, her rank, her station, 
 I, alas! could ne'er discern; 
 
 She by voice and hand protested 
 These I might not hope to learn. 
 
 Then determined I to seek for — 
 Near and far — the fairy elf; 
 
 Homer I no longer needed, 
 Was aiot I Ulysses' self? 
 
 Making then my lute my comrade. 
 Wandered I thro' every street; 
 
 Underneath each latticed windoAv 
 Oft would I the strain repeat; 
 
 18
 
 274 
 
 Sang in town and field the ballad 
 Which in Salamanca's grove 
 
 Every eve, by way of signal, 
 Sang I to my vanished love ; 
 
 But the long-expected answer 
 Evermore is hushed and mute; 
 
 Echo only — ancient maiden — 
 Mocks me with her fond pursuit. 
 
 2, The Huntsman. 
 
 As I once behind an oak-tree 
 In a thick and leafy wood. 
 
 Listening, often forwards leaning. 
 Gun in hand, expectant stood. 
 
 Suddenly the branches rustled. 
 Warning paw my pointer raised; 
 
 Quickly I my rifle pointed, 
 
 Cocked it, and intently gazed; 
 
 Lo! 'twas neither hare nor roebuck, 
 Game of better kind was there; 
 
 Through the bushes tripped a maiden 
 Young and lissom, fresh and fair. 
 
 Such a strange and wondrous impulse 
 Suddenly my fancy swayed 
 
 That well nigh, for very fondness, 
 Fired I at the beauteous maid!
 
 BALLADS. 275 
 
 Evermore this game pursuing, 
 All her steps I track with care ; 
 
 Every eve still finds me standing 
 Watchfully before her lair; 
 
 Or, in tropes to speak no longer, 
 'Neath my loved one's window high 
 
 Every eve still finds me standing. 
 Gazing up with wistful eye. 
 
 Vain is all such mute complaining, 
 Sure, she thinks the time too long; 
 
 Sounds of flute and lute would please her,. 
 Plaintive airs and tuneful song; 
 
 In the art of girl-decoying 
 
 What can huntsman's craft avail? 
 
 Naught can I but mock the cuckoo, 
 Or, at best, the chiding quail! 
 
 18*
 
 276 
 
 44. Bertran de Born. 
 
 (This warrior and minstrel was among the foremost 
 of those who instigated the sons of Henry II (of 
 England) to rebel against their father. The remorseful 
 death of the eldest of these , Henry, is beautifully de- 
 scribed in the sixth stanza. By way of revenge, King 
 Henry besieged and took the castle of Autafort, Ber- 
 tran's stronghold. The following ballad describes the 
 interview between Henry and Bertran after the sur- 
 render of the castle. Compare the ballad entitled 
 "Bernardine du Born", by Mrs. Sigourney.) 
 
 Autafort on yonder summit 
 
 Smokes, a shapeless ruined mound, 
 Whilst before the King's pavilion 
 
 Stands its lord, with fetters bound; 
 "Art thou he, whose sword and ballads 
 
 Tumult raised in all the land. 
 Who the children's minds enkindled 
 
 'Gainst the father's strict command? 
 
 Stands before me he who boasted, 
 
 (Yielding to audacious pride), 
 That by only half his spirit 
 
 All his needs were well supplied? 
 Now the half hath failed to help thee. 
 
 Summon up the jvhole again; 
 Bid it build anew thy castle, 
 
 Bid it break thy bonds in twain!"
 
 277 
 
 "As thou say'st, my lord and master, 
 
 Standeth here Bertran de Born, 
 He who with a song enkindled 
 
 Perigord and Ventadorn! 
 He who to his mighty master 
 
 Ever seemed an irksome thorn; 
 Loving whom, that master's children 
 
 Bore their father's hate and scorn. 
 
 Sat within the hall thy daughter. 
 
 Gaily dight, a prince's bride;* 
 Sent from me, one sang before her, 
 
 Sang a strain I oft had tried; 
 Sang her bard's impassioned ballad 
 
 Loved by her in former years, 
 Till her shining bridal trinkets 
 
 Wholly were bedewed with tears. 
 
 Slumbering 'neath the olive's shadow, 
 
 Lightly woke thy fav'rite son, 
 When with stormy songs of battle, 
 
 Stirring wrath, his ears I won. 
 Soon his horse was girthed and saddled, 
 
 I his standard bore elate, 
 Till he met the fatal arrow 
 
 Smiting him by Montfort's gate. 
 
 * Maud, daughter of Henry 11, married Henry, 
 duke of Saxony.
 
 278 
 
 Bleeding in my arms I held him — 
 
 Not tlie cold and pieixing steel, 
 But to die by thee accursed 
 
 Caused him deathly pangs to feel. 
 He his hand stretched out to clasp thee 
 
 Over valley, sea, and hill; 
 Since thy hand was still so distant, 
 
 Clasped he mine more closely still. 
 
 Then • — like Autafort up yonder — 
 
 All my strength and pride was o'er; 
 Not the whole nor half was left me, 
 
 Song and shaft were mine no more. 
 Easily mine arms were fettered, 
 
 Since my spirit prisoned lies; 
 Only for a song of sorrow 
 
 Gloomy power it still supplies." 
 
 Then the king bows down his forehead, 
 
 "Thou my son hast wiled away; 
 Once my daughter's heart thou charmedst, 
 
 Mine thy words have moved to-day. 
 Take my hand, my son's dear comrade, 
 
 Due to him in sign of grace! 
 Loose his bonds — of thy great spirit 
 
 Even 1 have caught a trace."
 
 279 
 
 45. The Pilgrim. 
 
 On the highest cliff, a chapel 
 
 Crowns Gallicia's rocky shore; 
 There the holy Virgin-motherJ 
 
 Blessings endless keeps in store. 
 Tq the wanderer in the desert 
 
 Gleams a golden lode-star there; 
 To the storm-tost on the ocean 
 
 Opens wide a haven fair. 
 
 When the vesper-bell is pealing, 
 
 Far it sounds the country through; 
 In the towns and in the cloisters 
 
 All the bells are chiming too; 
 Then the ocean-wave is silenced 
 
 That, but now, was heard to roar; 
 At the rudder kneels the seaman, 
 
 Humbly says his "Ave" o'er. 
 
 On the day, by men kept holy. 
 
 When the Virgin rose on high, 
 In the Son She bare beholding 
 
 God's all -glorious majesty; 
 Then within the holy chapel 
 
 Wondrous works are yearly shewn; 
 Where before She seemed an image, 
 
 Makes She then her presence known.
 
 280 
 
 Coloured flags, tlie cross displaying, 
 
 Mark the pilgrims' onward way; 
 Greets the shore with painted streamers 
 
 Every skiff that nears the hay. 
 Pilgrims, clad in festal garments, 
 
 Move the rocky path along; 
 Up the steep — a Jacob's ladder -^ 
 
 Climbs the heav'n-ascending throng. 
 
 After those that triumph, others 
 
 Soiled with dust, bare-footed fare; 
 Shirts of hair are round their bodies, 
 
 Ashes on their heads they bear. 
 These from Christian men's communion. 
 
 For a time are thrust away;* 
 Unto whom 'tis but permitted 
 
 In the porch to kneel and pray. 
 
 Last of all a pilgrim panteth. 
 
 Hopeless seem his wandering eyes ; 
 Long his beard, and foul and tangled, 
 
 Wild his hair that scattered flies. 
 See! a hoop of rusty iron 
 
 Round his body clasped, he wears; 
 Eound his legs and arms are fetters 
 
 Clanking as he onward fares. 
 
 * I. e. excommnnicated. These stanzas are vividly 
 descriptive of a Romish pilgrimage.
 
 BALLADS. 281 
 
 For that he had slain his brother 
 
 In his anger's reckless haste , 
 From the sword he bade them fashion 
 
 Penance-ring to gird his waist; 
 Far from home and hearth and household 
 
 Roams he, ne'er to rest again 
 Till some wonder wrought by heaven 
 
 Break at last his bonds in twain. 
 
 Had his feet, now bare and bleeding. 
 
 Been encased in iron shoon. 
 Long had these been cut to fragments 
 
 Rest is still a hopeless boon. 
 Saint benign he findeth never, 
 
 None will grant him sweet release; 
 Every shrine he suppliant seeketh, 
 
 None vouchsafes him hope of peace. 
 
 E'en as he the rock had mounted , 
 
 Whilst before the porch he bowed. 
 Sweetly pealed the vesper-summons - 
 
 Silent prays the kneeling crowd. 
 Enters not his foot the chapel 
 
 Where the Virgin's form appears. 
 Glowing in the sun's bright glory 
 
 As the sea he slowly nears.
 
 282 
 
 O'er the clouds, tlie sea, the landscape 
 
 Streams a glory richly blent; 
 Stood the golden gates asunder 
 
 As the Virgin upward went? 
 Still upon the rosy cloudlets 
 
 Glows her footsteps' radiant trace ? 
 Casts She through the gleaming azure 
 
 Gentle looks of healing grace? 
 
 All return consoled, rejoicing — 
 
 One alone forbears to rise; 
 Still upon the chapel-threshold 
 
 Pallid, motionless, he lies. 
 Closely round his limbs and body 
 
 Clings unsnapped the fetters' might; 
 Free from bonds his soul ascendeth, 
 
 Floating in the Sea of Light !
 
 BALLADS. 283 
 
 46. The Bridge over the Bidassoa. 
 
 "In 1836, on the 24"» December, died at Nar- 
 bonne, aged 55, general Min a, a distinguished 
 Spanish constitutional commander, who first com- 
 menced his military career in Navarre against the 
 French, in 1810." 
 
 Wade's English History, p. 1014. 
 
 (The Bidassoa, flowing down from the Pyrenees, 
 divides France from Spain.) 
 
 On the bridge of Bidassoa, 
 
 Gray with age, an abbot stands; 
 With his left hand France he blesses, 
 
 With his right the Spanish lands. 
 Great the need that bounteous heaven 
 
 Comfort sweet should here outpour. 
 Where from native soil so many 
 
 Issue, to return no more. 
 
 On the bridge of Bidassoa 
 
 Magic spells delude the sight; 
 Where, to one, dark shadows lower, 
 
 Sees another golden light. 
 Where to one gay roses waver, 
 
 Sees another barren sand; 
 This beholds a land of exile. 
 
 That, his welcome Father-land.
 
 284 
 
 Peaceful flows tlie Bidassoa 
 
 To the sheep-bell's tinkling song; 
 Yonder in the mountains thunder 
 
 Cannon-peals the whole day long,* 
 Till, at evening's fall, descendeth 
 
 Tow'rds the river's bank a band ; 
 Slow their steps, and torn their banner, 
 
 Tracks of blood bedew the sand. 
 
 On the bridge of Bidassoa 
 
 Down awhile their guns they lay. 
 Strive to bind their wounds yet bleeding, 
 
 Count who still survive the day. 
 Long they 'wait each missing comrade, v 
 
 None to swell the ranks appears; 
 Once again the drum is beaten , 
 
 Speaks a warrior, gray with years: 
 
 "Furl again the tattered banner 
 
 That for Freedom ever flew; 
 Once again across the frontier 
 
 Moves our band of warriors true. 
 Once again behold us seeking 
 
 Freedom's glorious rest afar; 
 Here we meet — not poor in honour, 
 
 Not without some favouring star. 
 
 * Battle of the Pyrenees, September, 1813.
 
 285 
 
 Thou who dost of former battles 
 
 Honourable scars retain, 
 Thou, when all to-day are bleeding, 
 
 Mina! dost unscathed remain! 
 Whole and sound is our preserver, 
 
 Still secure the weal of Spain; 
 Glad at heart, we cross the river, 
 
 Homeward we return again!" 
 
 Mina from the stone arises 
 
 Where he sat so spent and still. 
 Slowly tow'rds the sun he turns him 
 
 Sinking now behind the hill. 
 Ah! his hand, his breast compressing. 
 
 Can no more the blood restrain; 
 On the bridge of Bidassoa 
 
 Olden wounds brake out again ! 
 
 47. Unstern. 
 
 (The word "unstern" answers to the English "ill- 
 starred", and means luckless. It is here used as 
 a proper name.) 
 
 Unstern, bold and luckless youngster. 
 
 Often was by fate undone; 
 Many a time he nearly prospered. 
 
 Many a prize he nearly won.
 
 286 
 
 Every star that rules propitious 
 
 Of success a plenteous store 
 Would have brought him, had his mother 
 
 Borne him but an hour before ! 
 
 Fame in war, a hero's glory 
 
 Soon had been his own by right; 
 No one, through the countless army, 
 
 Fought with more courageous might; 
 Only — as to storm a castle 
 
 He his band impetuous led — 
 Comes a herald who, exhausted, 
 
 "Waves a flag of truce o'erhead! 
 
 Fixed was Unstern's day of marriage, 
 
 Fair and lovely glows the bride; 
 Lo! there comes a wealthier suitor, 
 
 Truckling to her parents' pride. 
 Later, she who thus was stolen, 
 
 Widowed, would have eased his pain; 
 Had not he whose death was rumoured 
 
 Suddenly returned again ! 
 
 Unstern would have rolled in riches 
 Gotten in the Newer World, 
 
 Lo! a raging storm his vessel 
 (Now in port) to ruin hurled!
 
 BALLADS. 287 
 
 He himself had 'scaped by s-wimming, 
 Grasping tight a floating plank; 
 
 But ■ — as near the beach he drifted — 
 Slipped the board, and down he sank! 
 
 Soon had he arrived in heaven, 
 
 (Upward to the skies he flew), 
 But, by chance, a blundering demon 
 
 Crossed him on the way thereto. 
 "Surely this — so thought the demon — 
 
 Seems the soul I came to seize;" 
 Unstern by the throat he catches ; 
 
 Like a madman, ofi" he flees. 
 
 Lo! to save him comes an angel. 
 
 From the clouds he flashes down; 
 In the deepest pit infernal 
 
 Swiftly hurls the swarthy clown; 
 Unstern bears he, upward soaring, 
 
 Tow'rds the heights where dwell the blest ; 
 Far o'er good and evil planets 
 
 Finds he now eternal rest.* 
 
 * Although this poem is written in a strain of 
 banter, it has a significant moral, viz. that what is 
 called "ill-luck" is, after all, under the control of 
 Providence, and that none can reasonably complain 
 of "misfortunes" in this life, if they have a hope 
 of eternal rest hereafter.
 
 288 
 
 48. The Ring. 
 
 One morn across tlie meadows 
 A Knight full slowly went; 
 
 On one most dear, most lovely, 
 His anxious thoughts were bent. 
 
 "My golden ring so cherished! 
 
 E'en thou perchance canst tell — 
 Thou pledge which once she gave me 
 
 If still she loves me well?" 
 
 But whilst he closely viewed it, 
 Aside it slipped, and see! 
 
 HoAv fast, how far 'tis rolling 
 Adown the grassy lea! 
 
 With hands outstretched to seize it. 
 To where it stopped he flew; 
 
 But golden flowers confuse him. 
 And grasses bright with dew. 
 
 Hard by was perched a falcon 
 
 That watched with glistening eyes; 
 
 Down swooped he from the tree-top, 
 And seized the golden prize.
 
 BALLADS. 289 
 
 But whilst on lusty pinions 
 
 Aloft he bore his prey, 
 Fast came some brother-falcons 
 
 To snatch the prize away. 
 
 Of all, not one could gain it, 
 For down, fast down it slipped; 
 
 The knight beheld a ripple 
 As in the lake it dipped. 
 
 The nimble fishes darted 
 
 To catch the trinket bright; 
 But still the ring sank downward, 
 
 Far down, till hid from sight. 
 
 "0 Ring! that in the meadow 
 'Mid flowers I vainly sought; 
 
 O King! for which the falcons 
 Aloft so vainly fought; 
 
 Ring! that 'neath the waters 
 
 The fishes failed to gain; 
 My Ring! are these the tokens 
 
 I trust her faith in vain?" 
 
 19
 
 290 
 
 49. The three Castles. 
 
 Three castles in my district rise, 
 Whereon I gaze with loving eyes; 
 And I, th' appointed minstrel good, 
 Who freely range through field and wood, 
 How may I dare their praise to scorn, 
 When all so well the land adorn? 
 
 The First scarce claims a castle's place. 
 Small are the ruined heaps you trace; 
 It lies beneath a wooded steep. 
 Its very name long buried deep ; 
 For since its towers no longer last. 
 The wanderer's cjueries too are past. 
 Yet onward through the thickets pace, 
 Tho' supple twigs should lash your face; 
 There, where the axe's strokes resound, 
 Strange notes of elfin bugles sound; 
 There may'st thou wondrous legends hear 
 From towers that now no more appear. 
 Yes! if (when shines the moon) alone 
 Thou sitst upon some fallen stone, 
 Soon will some wondrous tale, unsought > 
 Before thy silent soul be brought. 
 
 The Second of the Castles Three 
 Is less than what it seems to be; 
 Thou see'st it on the mountain-height 
 Gleam proiadly in the sunshine bright,
 
 BALLADS. 291 
 
 With towers and battlements bedight, 
 
 With fosses deep surrounded quite 5 
 
 Filled everywhere with statues great; 
 
 Two marble lions guard the gate. 
 
 But all within is waste and still, 
 
 Tall grass the lonely court doth fill; 
 
 Ne'er water in the fosses flows; 
 
 Within, nor step nor room it shews; 
 
 Kound it the ivy-branches creep, 
 
 Swift swallows through the windows sweep. 
 
 There once, gold-crowned, enthroned on high, 
 
 Stern rulers sat in days gone by. 
 
 Thence heroes rushed to fight and bleed, 
 
 Whose names in History's page we read. 
 
 The riilers rested in the grave, 
 
 In fight had fall'n the heroes brave, 
 
 The hum of men had died away, 
 
 When flashed from heav'n a fiery ray; 
 
 In flames the treasures met their doom, 
 
 In ruin fell each stair and room. 
 
 Within, the fort is ruined all, 
 
 Without, unscathed is every wall. 
 
 When passed away the owner's state, 
 
 Ere long the house lay desolate; 
 
 But — as old story still records 
 
 The names of knights and mighty lords — 
 
 So still the towers and walls have stood. 
 
 And statues huge of heroes good; 
 
 19 *
 
 292 BALLADS. 
 
 And future ages wonderingly 
 The brave memorials yet shall spy, 
 Arxd mark that fort on yonder height 
 Gleam glorious in the sunshine bright. 
 
 Halfway between this ruined pair 
 
 Is seen the Third, a Castle fair. 
 
 Not proudly perched on mountain-height, 
 
 But on a rising hillock pight. 
 
 Not 'neath a forest's darksome screen, 
 
 But girt with trees of vivid green; 
 
 With scarlet tiles, walls dazzling white, 
 
 And sunlit windows flashing bright. 
 
 Too small 'tis found for History's view, 
 
 For legend or romance too new. 
 
 Yet I, th' appointed minstrel good. 
 
 Who range at will through field and wood , 
 
 Must strive that now no longer should 
 
 This castle still unknown abide. 
 
 At morning and at evening-tide 
 
 I wander round it, singing clear; 
 
 And whensoe'er my Cloelia dear 
 
 To greet me at the window hies, 
 
 A hope doth in my heart arise 
 
 That soon a tale, where history 
 
 With minstrel - verse entwined shall be. 
 
 That such a tale the bliss shall prove 
 
 Of Cloelia's and her minstrel's love!
 
 BALLADS. 293 
 
 50. Count Eberhard's White-thorn-bush. 
 
 "Eberhard V. was created Duke of Würtemburg 
 by the Emperor Maximilian at the diet of Worms^ 
 July the 21*S 1494." 
 
 English Cyclop(edia; Art. Wiiriembtirg. 
 
 Count Eberhard -im -Bart 
 
 From Wiirtemburg's fair land 
 Went on a pious pilgrimage 
 To Palestina's strand. 
 
 As through a leafy wood 
 He took his lonely way; 
 He cut from off a hawthorn - bush 
 A greeai and healthy spray. 
 
 Upon his cap of steel 
 He placed it carefully; 
 He wore it in the battle's brunt, 
 And o'er the flowing sea. 
 
 And when he reached his home, 
 He placed it in the earth; 
 Where soon to many a swelling shoot 
 The genial spring gave birth. 
 
 The Count, good knight and true. 
 As year by year went by, 
 Would mark how strong, how tall it grew 
 With well-contented eye.
 
 294 
 
 The Count was old and weak, 
 The sprig was now a tree ; 
 Beneath its shade he oft would sit 
 And dream deliciously. 
 
 The arching boughs overhead , 
 Low-murmuring, softly bore 
 Sweet memories of the olden time 
 And that far-distant shore. 
 
 51. The Elm -tree at Hirsau. 
 
 (Near Hirsau are the roofless ruins of a convent, 
 
 containing a fine elm -tree. In the eighth stanza 
 
 there is an allusion to Luther, who was for awhile 
 
 a monk at Wittemburg.) 
 
 At Hirsau, 'mid the ruins 
 
 An elm-tree may be seen; 
 High up above the gable 
 
 Peers out its summit green. 
 
 Girt by a cloister's ruins 
 
 It deeply strikes its roots; 
 A roof high-vaulted forming, 
 
 Right up to heaven it shoots. 
 
 i
 
 295 
 
 Because the ruin's closeness 
 
 Denied it air and sun, 
 It mounted high and higher, 
 
 Till light and air it won. 
 
 'Twotild seem the cloister-ruins 
 Were destined there to rise 
 
 To shield the growing elm-tree 
 While climbing tow'rd the skies. 
 
 When down that verdant valley 
 
 I took my lonely way. 
 Oft to that lofty elm-tree 
 
 My changeful thoughts would stray. 
 
 When 'mid the silent ruins 
 
 I sat in listening mood, 
 Above, the rustling breezes 
 
 Its towering branches wooed. 
 
 Full oft I marked it gleaming 
 
 In morning's earliest ray, 
 And still beheld it shining. 
 
 When darkness round it lay. 
 
 In Wittemburg's old cloisters 
 
 A Tree yet fairer grew. 
 That with its giant branches 
 
 The cloister-roof brake through!
 
 296 
 
 ray of light! thou piercest 
 To every cave of night; 
 
 soul of man! thou forcest 
 Thy way to air and light! 
 
 52. A Legend of Strasburg Cathedral. 
 
 (On one of the stones in the tower of Strasburg 
 
 Cathedral may be seen, carved by his own hand, 
 
 the name of Goethe.) 
 
 On Strasburg's Minster-turret 
 The names of great and small 
 
 Are carved; the stone with patience 
 Receives and keeps them all. 
 
 The windy staircase climbing, 
 
 A poet thither came ; 
 Looked round in every corner. 
 
 Then 'gan to carve his name. 
 
 Struck out by those firm touches, 
 Bright sparkles crack and fly, 
 
 The tower appeared to tremble 
 From base to turret high.
 
 BALLADS. 297 
 
 Witliin his grave are stirring 
 Erwin's, the Master's, bones; 
 
 The tracery seems to rustle, 
 The echoing belfry moans. 
 
 A movement stirred the building 
 
 As though itself would fain 
 Produce unhelped the letters 
 
 That yet unhewn remain! 
 
 At length the name was written 
 That then to few was known ; 
 
 There stays it, read by many 
 With reverential tone. 
 
 Who wonders that the turret 
 
 Beneath his fingers thrilled , 
 Whose voice for fifty summers 
 
 The realms of song hath filled? 
 
 53. The Roe. 
 
 A huntsman chased, from break of morn, 
 
 A roe o'er meadows wide. 
 When lo! behind a garden-thorn 
 
 A blushing maid he spied.
 
 298 
 
 What is it cliecks the gallant horse? 
 
 Say, can its foot be sore? 
 What is it stays the huntsman's course, 
 
 That now he shouts no more? 
 
 The timid roe, by noiie pursued, 
 O'er hill and dale doth flee; 
 
 Stay, foolish roe! the huntsman good 
 Hath long forgotten thee! 
 
 A translation of mine of the same poem, in al- 
 literative verse, may be found in the Gentleman's 
 Magazine for June, 1861. It runs as follows: 
 
 A huntsman on horseback 
 
 Full hotly was hasting; 
 O'er field and thro' forest 
 
 He followed a roebuck. 
 When lo! his eyes lighted 
 
 On a lovely young lady. 
 Who gazed from her garden 
 
 With tenderest glances. 
 
 What harm can have happened? 
 
 His horse must be ham -strung! 
 What harm can have happened 
 
 Alas! to the horseman? 
 Why cease on a sudden 
 
 His shouts of excitement?
 
 299 
 
 Fast racetli tlie roebuck 
 
 O'er rock and tlirougli forest : 
 Why flee'st thou so frightened, 
 
 Thou foolish young creature? 
 No longer 'tis likely 
 
 He'll look for thy foot-tracks! 
 
 54. The White Hart. 
 
 Three huntsmen set out with their guns one 
 
 day, 
 The milk-white hart they would hunt and 
 
 slay. 
 
 They laid them to rest 'ueath a fir-tree tall; 
 A wonderful vision had each and all. 
 
 First Huntsman. 
 
 I dreamt, as I beat at the brushwood thick, 
 Out rushed the white hart in hot haste — 
 quick! quick! 
 
 Second Huntsman. 
 
 As off, followed close by the hounds, he 
 
 sprang , 
 I scorched him well on the hide — bang! 
 
 bang!
 
 300 
 
 Third Huntsman. 
 
 And when lie lay on the earth, ha! ha! 
 I lustily blew on the horn, trara! 
 
 While thus they lay and conversed, these 
 
 three, 
 The white hart rustled hard by, scot-free; 
 
 For ere the three hunters had seen him aright, 
 Away was he gone over dale and height! 
 Quick! quick! bang! bang! trara! 
 
 55. The Hunt in the New Forest; or, 
 The Death of William Rufus. 
 
 King Wilham dreamt a hideous dream; 
 
 He left his couch in fear; 
 His knights he bade to the forest's shade 
 
 Eide forth to hunt the deer. 
 
 And when they to the forest came. 
 
 Awhile the king stood still; 
 A cloth-yard shaft to each he gave. 
 
 The goodly deer to kill.
 
 BALLADS. 301 
 
 The king rides past a lofty oak, 
 
 A hart springs full in view; 
 His trusty bow in haste he draws — 
 
 The string is snapped in two! 
 
 Sir Tyrrel* may shoot with better luck: 
 Sir Tyrrel his bow soon bends; 
 
 The shaft the king so lately gave 
 To the giver's heart he sends. 
 
 Sir Tyrrel through the forest flees, 
 
 Flees over sea and shore; 
 Like a startled deer he flees, but finds 
 
 No rest for evermore! 
 
 Prince Henry rides thro' the forest shade. 
 
 Both hind and hare he sees; 
 "The shaft a king hath given should find 
 
 Some nobler game than these!" 
 
 Full soon a train of noble knights 
 
 Ride up in eager haste; 
 Tidings they bring of the murdered king; 
 
 The crown on the prince they placed. 
 
 Called by Uhland "Herr Titan".
 
 302 
 
 "In this sad cliase 'tis thine to gain, 
 Great prince! the choicest prey; 
 
 The Leopard* proud thou hast chased and ta'en; 
 Fair England's thine this day!" 
 
 56. Harold. 
 
 (The following translation I have ventured to make 
 in alliterative verse, in imitation of the old Saxon. 
 This kind of verse is suitable for old legends, and 
 is so thoroughly accordant with the genius of our 
 language , that it seems wonderful it is so completely- 
 neglected.) 
 
 Heading his heroes « 
 
 Hardy king Harold, 
 Marching by moonlight 
 
 Moved through the forest. 
 Banners their hands bare 
 
 Taken in battle; 
 Wildly their war-flags 
 
 Waved in the wind; 
 Wildly their war-songs 
 
 Kang throxagh the woodland. 
 
 * The Lion passant, seen in the arms of England, 
 is sometimes called a Leopard.
 
 303 
 
 What bodeth yon bustle 
 
 That's heard in the brushwood? 
 What swings there, close -swarming, 
 
 And sways in the tree-tops? 
 What drops from the dark cloud, 
 
 And darts from the fountain? 
 What flings to them flowers, 
 
 While fluently singing? 
 What whirls round each warrior, 
 
 And leaps on each war-horse? 
 What clasps them so closely, 
 
 And clings to their armour? 
 Draweth their daggers. 
 
 And drags them from horseback. 
 Conquers their calmness. 
 
 And keeps them unquiet? 
 
 'Tis the army of elfins! 
 
 No aid can avail them; 
 The fairies have found them. 
 
 And force them to Fay-land! 
 
 But hardy king Harold, 
 
 Brave hero , was left there ; 
 From steel-cap to stirrup 
 
 In steel was he cased. 
 Shields sees he and swords, 
 
 Tho' the swordsmen have vanished; 
 Bereft of their riders. 
 
 Steeds rush thro' the forest.
 
 304 
 
 Heavy at heart 
 
 The hardy king Harold 
 Mused as he moved 
 
 Through the forest by moonlight. 
 
 Down from a dark cleft 
 
 A fountain is dashing; 
 Lightly down-leaping 
 
 He loosens his helmet; 
 Lightly down-leaping 
 
 He lappeth the cool wave. 
 He feels that his forces 
 
 Wax faint, as he drinketh; 
 He slumbers and sleeps 
 
 As he sinks on the boulders. 
 He rests on his rock-bed, 
 
 Naught recking, for ages; 
 His head , with its hoar locks , 
 
 Still heaves with his breathing. 
 
 When flameth and tiasheth 
 
 The flare of the lightning; 
 When rustle the rain-drops 
 
 And rolleth the thunder, 
 Lo! Harold the hero 
 
 Still handles his sword-hilt, 
 Seeking to seize it 
 
 Tho' sunk in his slumber.
 
 305 
 
 57. The Elves. 
 The First. 
 
 Hither come! my sister-fairies! 
 
 Lo ! a child of earth is here ! 
 Nimble are such winsome witches — 
 
 Haste! before she disappear. 
 
 All. 
 
 Maiden , join the elfin-dance 
 
 'Neath the stars' and moonlight's glance ! 
 
 The Second. 
 
 'Sooth, thou art a lightsome darling, 
 Scarcely fifty pounds dost weigh; 
 
 Small thy foot, yet deft and nimble, 
 Join us in the dance, we pray! 
 
 The Third. 
 
 -Just while three is being counted. 
 Freely in the air thou'lt leap , 
 
 Stamping in between a little , 
 Just enough the time to keep. 
 
 All. 
 
 Be not angry, darling wight! 
 Dance beneath the moonbeams' light. 
 
 20
 
 306 BALLADS. 
 
 The Fourth. 
 
 Canst thou laugh, beloved darling? 
 
 Weep'st thou 'neath the moon's soft ray? 
 Weep yet more — so shalt thou, melting, 
 
 Soon become a lightsome Fay! 
 
 The Fifth. 
 
 May we, dear, industrious call thee. 
 Art thou of thy labours proud? 
 
 Are thy bridal coverings woven , 
 Spinnest thou as yet thy shroud? 
 
 The Sixth. 
 
 Know'st thou yet the lore important. 
 How with pastry lard to blend? 
 
 How much salt — and how much pepper — 
 Hast thou at thy fingers' end? 
 
 All. 
 
 Darling, be our questions heard; 
 Answer not a single word. 
 
 The Seventh. 
 
 Hast thou not upon thy conscience — 
 Like so many a child beside — 
 
 Thoughts of sweet but stolen kisses, 
 Trespasses thou fain wouldst hide?
 
 307 
 
 The Eighth. 
 
 Is thy faitli already plighted? 
 
 Hast thou, dear, a lover true, 
 One who takes thee out a -walking 
 
 Every day from one till two? 
 
 The Ninth. 
 
 Lies a ring around thy finger, 
 Golden, with a gem bedight? 
 
 Truth it means, and deep devotion, 
 When it clasps the finger right. 
 
 The Tenth. 
 
 Art thou, darling, still so angry. 
 
 Is thy spirit always high? 
 Pray, subdue that hasty temper, 
 
 Ere thou seek the marriage - tie ! 
 
 All. 
 
 Darling, join the elfin -dance 
 
 'Neath the stars' and moonlight's glance. 
 
 20^
 
 308 
 
 58. Merlin the Seer. 
 
 ?^7 
 
 (Dedicated to Karl Mayer, born iu 1786, the year 
 
 before Uhland's own birth. He was a political friend 
 
 of Uhland, and himself the author of some songs, 
 
 which are alluded to in the first stanza below.) 
 
 Sweet songs to me thou sendest 
 
 Of woodland joys that tell, 
 Within my breast exciting 
 
 Poetic fires as well; 
 Of shady slopes thou singest 
 
 Beside a reedy pool; 
 A timid hart thou lurest 
 
 To taste its waters cool. 
 
 O'er some old volume poring 
 
 I while away the hours; 
 Yet fear not, I am seeking 
 
 Therein no withered flowers; 
 Methinks — along its pages 
 
 A pathway green extends 
 Towards the fields, and lastly 
 
 In some lone forest ends. 
 
 Beside the lake sits Merlin 
 
 Upon a mossy stone, 
 And gazes at his image 
 
 In dim reflection shewn.
 
 309 
 
 He marks how toil hath blanched him 
 Amid the world's fierce strife; 
 
 Here, in the lonely forest, 
 
 He gains new strength and life. 
 
 The bright and dewy verdure 
 
 Hath made his sight so keen , 
 His eye can pierce the future. 
 
 And see whate'er hath been; 
 At dead of night, the branches 
 
 Have rustled round his ear, 
 Till nature's deepest meanings 
 
 Around him echo clear. 
 
 A hart that near him lingered — 
 
 (The sage it did not fear) — 
 Dashed off in terror, hearing 
 
 A horn ring loud and clear. 
 Amid the press of huntsmen 
 
 Is Merlin borne away 
 E'en to the king's far castle , 
 
 Who'd sought him many a day. 
 
 "A blessing on the morning 
 That Merlin hither brings. 
 
 The man who, men forsaking, 
 To beasts of wisdom sings.
 
 310 
 
 Full fain are we to challeuge 
 That wondrous learning's aid, 
 
 Which many a year hath taught thee 
 In yonder forest's shade. 
 
 Not of the planet's courses 
 
 Shall be my first request; 
 A lesser proof will serve me 
 
 Thy boasted skill to test. 
 Thou com'st to me thus early 
 
 As though invited here: 
 My brain is sorely puzzled, 
 
 Thou'lt soon make all things clear. 
 
 Beneath yon linden's shadows 
 
 I heard this very night 
 A murmur and a rustling 
 
 Like lovers' whispers light; 
 To catch the tones more clearly. 
 
 My head I downward bowed; 
 But ere I knew the voices, 
 
 A nightingale sang loud. 
 
 And now, sage! I ask thee 
 Who stood beneath the tree? 
 
 All secret things thy spirits 
 Can manifest to thee;
 
 311 
 
 To thee birds' voices sing tliem, 
 Leaves sigh them forth to thee; 
 
 Speak fearlessly! conceal not 
 The truth, whate'er it be." 
 
 Still stood the king, surrounded 
 
 By many a knight and dame ; 
 His rosy -blooming daughter 
 
 To bid good morrow came. 
 Then Merlin who, undaunted, 
 
 Had viewed the circle there, 
 A tender leaf of linden 
 
 Took from the maiden's hair. 
 
 *'This leaflet let me hand thee — 
 
 What saith it, king! to thee? 
 Who fails to read this token. 
 
 Let him but answer me: 
 If e'er in kingly palace 
 
 Leaves raining down he spied? 
 Where linden-leaves are falling, 
 
 The tree not far doth bide! 
 
 How great my secret knowledge 
 Experience hast thou gained. 
 
 And may'st thou deem it worthy 
 The praise it hath obtained.
 
 312 
 
 If thus thy riddle's answer 
 One leaf can soon evolve, 
 
 Think what mysterious secrets 
 
 The thick-leaved wood can solve! 
 
 The king stands awed and silent, 
 
 The princess glows with shame; 
 The aged seer re-seeketh 
 
 The wood from whence he came. 
 A hart that well he knoweth 
 
 Awaits him at the bridge. 
 He mounts, and fast it bears him 
 
 O'er stream and grassy ridge. 
 
 On couch of moss sat Merlin; 
 
 His voice's wondrous song 
 From out the wood's recesses 
 
 Kesounded far and long. 
 There all things now are silent,. 
 
 Yet, friend! I make no doubt 
 That in thy pleasant ballads 
 
 Sage Merlin yet speaks out!
 
 313 
 
 59. The Statue of Bacchus. 
 
 Callisthenes, a wild Athenian youth, 
 After a night in revelry misspent, 
 With faded ivy-garland round his hair, 
 Drew homewards, stumbling in the twilight 
 
 dusk , 
 Himself — as was the twilight — wild and 
 
 pale. 
 And as a servant through the gallery 
 Of statues lighted him towards his chamber, 
 Behold ! before them in the torch-light's glare 
 The marble form of Bacchus, prince divine, 
 Framed by the artist's master -hand, stands 
 
 out. 
 In bloom of youth the stately statue stands; 
 And through his full and downward-streaming 
 
 locks 
 His rounded shoulders gleam, an ivory pair; 
 While 'neath the shade of a luxuriant wreath 
 Of vine-leaves and full purple clusters twined, 
 Peers out his rounded and full-blooming face. 
 Callisthenes in terror backward starts. 
 Seeing the vision's majesty and sheen. 
 It seemed to him as though the god in wrath 
 Had struck his temples with his thyrsus- staff — 
 As though in wrath the living mouth thus 
 
 spake :
 
 314 BALLADS. 
 
 "Why hauntest thou this spot, thou reeling 
 
 ghost , 
 Thou shade of Erebus, distraught in mind? 
 My sacred ivy thou hast dared profane , 
 And impiously dost call thyself my priest! 
 Hence from my sight! I know thee not for 
 
 mine. 
 I am the Fulness of Creative Nature, 
 Who specially make known my godlike power 
 In the luxuriant vine's heart-gladdening juice. 
 If then thy senseless deeds desire a god. 
 Dare not to seek him on the vine -crowned 
 
 slope, 
 But seek him rather in dark Hades' gloom!" 
 Here ceased the god — the torch's light 
 
 expired ; 
 Ashamed the youngster to his chamber slunk, 
 Snatched from his head the withered ivy-wreath, 
 And in the secret chambers of his heart 
 Sware solemnly a wise and sacred vow. 
 
 60. The Seven Boon- Companions. 
 
 Sev'n boon-companions, jovial men, 
 
 (The thirstiest in the land are they), 
 Have sworn an oath, that ne'er again 
 Their lips a certain word should say — 
 In no manner — no ! 
 Not in loud tone , nor low.
 
 BALLADS. 315 
 
 Sure ^'- Water'" is a gentle word, 
 
 Small harm or hurt therein can be; 
 How came it that the topers heard 
 This little word so loathingly? 
 Now list, while I tell 
 How this wonder befell. 
 
 Once some drink-loving stranger-wight 
 
 Assured these thirsty souls 'twas true. 
 That on a neighbouring wooded height 
 An inn was opened, large and new, 
 Where flowed, pure and fine, 
 The most excellent wine. 
 
 Now, though to hear a sermon preached 
 
 Not one would from his place have stirred, 
 Yet, if good liquor might be reached. 
 These brethren started at a word. 
 
 "Let's prove it", my brothers", 
 Said each to the others. 
 
 Away at early dawn they marched, 
 The sun arose with angry frown ; 
 Their tongues grew dry, their lips were parched, 
 Large heat-drops rolled their faces down. 
 How sparkling, how bright 
 Leapt the streams from the height!
 
 316 BALLADS. 
 
 What copious draughts they swilled in haste I 
 
 Yet ere their thirst was wholly drowned, 
 Disgust in every look was traced 
 
 That water there — not wine — was found. 
 "What tap have we here, 
 What detestable cheer!" 
 
 As onward up the height they press, 
 
 The wood receives them on their way; 
 At once they're placed in sad distress. 
 Entangled shrubs their steps delay; 
 Perplexed more and more, 
 They wrangled, they swore. 
 
 Meanwhile behind a gloomy cloud 
 
 The sultry sun his face concealed, 
 Eain through the leaves came pattering loud, 
 The lightning flashed, the thunder pealed; 
 The torrent, increasing, 
 Poured down without ceasing. 
 
 The wood a thousand isles Avas made 
 
 By countless streams that burst to view; 
 Here groans are vain , or shrieks for aid , 
 They cannot choose but flounder through. 
 O baptism meet! 
 O drenching complete !
 
 317 
 
 Full oft of old in founts and streams 
 
 Were converts made the sons of heaven, 
 And such a holy ending seems 
 
 To threaten these poor sinners seven ; 
 All dripping, each seems 
 To be several streams! 
 
 At last to that long forest's verge, 
 
 More swimming than on foot, they come; 
 No inn doth anywhere emerge, 
 
 They see a path that leads them home. 
 Still sparkling and bright 
 Dash the streams from the height! 
 
 They seem a mocking voice to hear, 
 
 "You're welcome, brethren undefiled! 
 Ye stigmatized as evil cheer 
 
 The water that your thirst beguiled; 
 Now, soaked in it Avholly, 
 Remember your folly." 
 
 Hence came it that these worthy men 
 
 Feared water from that very day. 
 And sware an oath that ne'er again 
 Their lips that vilest word should say. 
 No, never, no, no! 
 Not in loud tone or low.
 
 318 
 
 61. The Ghost's "Wine -press. 
 
 At Weinsberg, town well known to fame, 
 That doth from "Wine" derive its name, 
 Where songs are heard of joy and youth, 
 Where stands the fort, hight "Woman's 
 
 Truth" — 
 Where Luther e'en, 'mid women, song, 
 And wine would find the time not long — 
 And might perchance find room to spare 
 For Satan and an ink-horn there; 
 (For there a host of spirits dwell) — 
 Hear what at Weinsberg once befel. 
 
 The watchman, seeing all was right. 
 Commenced his round upon the night 
 Wherein one year exhausted dies. 
 And straight another year doth rise. 
 The clock proclaimed that moment near, 
 The watchman 'gan his throat to clear, 
 When, 'twixt the warning and the stroke, 
 Just as the day and year awoke. 
 He hears a crash that makes him start ; 
 The house before him falls apart; 
 Tlie wall dissolves — within doth seem. 
 Firm fixed on high, a winepress -beam; 
 Around it dance with shouts of glee 
 A mixed and noisy company;
 
 BALLADS. 319 
 
 While from tlie pipes all purple bright 
 Eich must, out-flowing, seeks the light. 
 The songs like mill-wheels' hum resound, 
 Whose paddles streams of wine drive round. 
 The watchman knows not what to do, 
 He turns him round the hills to view; 
 When lo! tho' hid the town in night. 
 The hill-side gleams with noonday light. 
 The golden sun of autumn shines 
 Around the rich luxuriant vines ; 
 Fair troops who cut the vines are seen. 
 Half-hidden by the foliage green. 
 Some through the rows ripe clusters bear 
 In baskets large up-piled in air. 
 He scarce, for foam that spurts o'erhead, 
 Can see the boys the grapes that tread. 
 Blithe songs and jests are echoed back. 
 The lath-swords clash, the pistols crack; 
 Soon fades the setting sun's soft light; 
 Then fiery sheaves burst out to sight. 
 From whence unnumbered sparkles fly. 
 Flung upAvard tow'rd the evening sky. 
 Just then, within the gray church-to Aver 
 The hammer strikes the midnight hour. 
 The songs are hushed, fades every ray, 
 Winepress and vines are whisked away, 
 And from the chamber-Avindow dark 
 Glimmers a lamp's expiring spark.
 
 320 BALLADS. 
 
 As was his wont, in tones full clear, 
 The watchman straight proclaims the year; 
 Though, 'midst his cries, his lips at times 
 Pour forth a store of honeyed rimes. 
 Wherein aloud he gladly tells 
 Of all these strange surprising spells; 
 Tor AA'hen the phantom-winepress hums, 
 A plenteous vintage always comes. 
 
 A hand doth on his shoulders light. 
 It is no spectre's of the night; 
 A boon-companion, void of faith, 
 O'ertakes him, shakes his head, and saith; 
 ^'Your winepress yielded must, I fear, 
 Not of the new — but olden year!" 
 
 62. Young Kecliberger. 
 
 Eechberger was a youngster wild 
 Who travellers of their cash beguiled. 
 Within a church, as best he might, 
 He thought to while away the night. 
 
 At last, when midnight came, he rose; 
 To seize th' expected prize he goes; 
 He knew that ere the break of day 
 A merchant-train would pass that way.
 
 321 
 
 Ere far they rode, he stayed his steed: 
 "My trusty groom, ride back with speed; 
 My riding-glove I quite forgat, 
 'Tis on the bier where late I sat." 
 
 Keturned the groom with pallid cheek; 
 "The de'il may go your glove to seek! 
 A ghost sits on the bier upright. 
 My hair is bristling yet with fright. 
 
 The glove was on his withered hand. 
 With fiery eyes its shape he scanned; 
 He stroked it o'er with rapturous leer, 
 My limbs are quaking yet for fear." 
 
 In haste Rechberger wheeled about, 
 He fought the ghost with courage stout; 
 The ghost perforce he backwards bore, 
 The glove is on his hand once more. 
 
 Then spake the ghost in eager tone: 
 "Tho' naught you grant to be mine own, 
 Yet for a twelvemonth let me wear 
 This nice, this soft, this pliant pair?" 
 
 "I'll lend them for a year to thee, 
 To prove how tnxe the de'il can be; 
 They will not burst, I dare opine, 
 Upon such withered paws as thine." 
 
 21
 
 322 
 
 Thence rode Eechberger, fearing naught; 
 His man and he the forest sought. 
 Far off, the cock is crowing clear; 
 When hark! the tramp of horse they hear. 
 
 The youngster's heart heat fast and strong: 
 Along the road a sable throng 
 Of horsemen masked all slowly ride; 
 Awhile the youngster draws aside. 
 
 The last of all the train doth lead, 
 All riderless, a coal-black steed; 
 Bridle and saddle both he wears, 
 A sable saddle-cloth he bears. 
 
 Then up Eechberger rode, and said: 
 "Say, who commands this cavalcade? 
 Pray tell me, lad, for whom you lead, 
 All riderless, this noble steed?" 
 
 "For one whom men Eechberger call, 
 
 Who serves my master best of all; 
 
 If he within the year be slain, 
 
 This steed shall then his weight sustain." 
 
 The cavalcade had passed away — 
 Eechberger to his groom 'gan say: 
 "Now let me from my horse descend, 
 I fear my life draws near its end.
 
 323 
 
 If, then, my borse will own thy hand, 
 If thou canst vise my shield and brand , 
 Receive them as thy share of gain , 
 Serve God, and quit thy follies vain." 
 
 Rechberger to a convent went: 
 "Abbot, though for a monk ne'er meant, 
 Yet let me as a layman here 
 Serve thee in penitence sincere." 
 
 "To judge thee by thy spurs, I ween. 
 Thou hast a fearless horseman been ; 
 Then be it thine the steeds to mind 
 That rest within our stables find." 
 
 But when a year had run its course. 
 The abbot bought a wild black horse; 
 'Twas given to Rechberger's care. 
 It madly reared, and pawed the air. 
 
 It struck him near the heart amain 
 That down he sank in mortal pain 5 
 Then in the forest-depths it ran. 
 And ne'er again was found by man. 
 
 At midnight, by Rechberger's tomb, 
 Clothed all in black, appeared a groom j 
 A mettled steed he held, a pair 
 Of gloves the saddle-bow doth bear. 
 
 21*
 
 324 
 
 Recliberger from his coffiu breaks , 
 The gauntlets from the saddle takes, 
 And straight into the saddle flies; 
 The grave-stone serves to help him rise. 
 
 This lay should make young men beware 
 That of their gloves they take good care; 
 And that they ne'er should deem it right 
 To prowl about about the roads by night. 
 
 63. The Count of Greiers. 
 
 The youthful Count of Greiers before his 
 
 house doth stand: 
 He views, in morning's glimmer, the distant 
 
 mountain-land. 
 He sees the rocky summits i' the sunlight's 
 
 golden glow , 
 And, dimly stretched between them, the Alpine 
 
 vale below. 
 
 "0 Alps, Alpine valley — ye lure me like 
 
 a spell; 
 How blest the maids, the herdsmen that 'mid 
 
 your pastures dwell! 
 I oft have gazed upon you, and felt nor joy 
 
 nor smart, 
 But now a c[uenchless yearning constrains my 
 
 inmost heart."
 
 BALLADS, 325 
 
 A sound of pipes falls clearer, and clearer on 
 the ear, 
 
 The shepherd -lads and maidens the lonely- 
 castle near; 
 
 Now, on the turf before it, begins the circling 
 dance , 
 
 The white sleeves wave and shimmer, the 
 wreaths and ribands glance. 
 
 The youngest of the maidens, lithe as a branch 
 
 in May, 
 The County's hand she seizes — he too must 
 
 join their play ; 
 Ere long the dance enfolds him in wild and 
 
 whirling glee. 
 And "Ho! young Count of Greiers! our 
 
 prisoner must thou be!" 
 
 Far, far from thence they lead him with dance 
 
 and roundelay. 
 They dance thro' many a village that swells 
 
 the glad array. 
 They dance across the meadows, beyond the 
 
 forest's bounds, 
 Till far up on the mountains the merry shout 
 
 resounds.
 
 326 BALLADS. 
 
 Soon came the second morning, the third is 
 
 rising bright; 
 Where stays the Count of Greiers — say, 
 
 hath he vanished quite? 
 Again at eve descending, the sultry sun hath 
 
 gone — 
 There's thunder on the mountains, a mighty 
 
 storm comes on. 
 
 The cloud hath burst, the streamlet a roaring 
 
 torrent flows , 
 A sudden glare of lightning the darkened 
 
 landscape shews ; 
 Lo ! struggling in the torrent, a man floats 
 
 swiftly past. 
 Till, grasping at a sapling, he wins the bank 
 
 at last. 
 
 ^'Lo! here am I, abruptly from your mountain- 
 hollow torn, 
 
 A storm that burst above us, me hitherward 
 hath borne. 
 
 Ye all in huts and caverns escaped its rushing 
 sway. 
 
 Me only hath the tempest swept forcefully 
 away.
 
 BALLADS. 327 
 
 Farewell, ye Alpiue pastures, ye herdsmen 
 blithe and true, 
 
 Farewell, three days of rapture, when shepherd- 
 life I knew; 
 
 For such a blissfiil Eden I ne'er, alas! was 
 born , 
 
 Whence heav'n, with sword bright-flaming, hath 
 thrust me forth forlorn. 
 
 O Alpine rose so blooming, press never-more 
 
 my hand! 
 Tho' e'en the chilly torrent hath quenched not 
 
 passion's brand; 
 And ye, enchanting dances, ne'er tempt me 
 
 hence again! 
 Receive me home, my castle, where solitude 
 
 doth reign." 
 
 64. Count Eberstein. 
 
 In Spires' wide hall is a tumult gay, 
 
 'Mid torches and tapers they dance and play: 
 
 Count Eberstein 
 
 Is first in the line 
 With the Emperor's daughter so comely and 
 fine.
 
 328 BALLADS. 
 
 As round in tlie dance together they spin, 
 She whispers a warning she cannot keep in: 
 
 "Count Eberstein! 
 
 Some heed should be thine! 
 This night is imperilled thy fortress fine." 
 
 "Many thanks for the Kaiser's care" — thinks 
 
 he — 
 "For this I was asked at the dance to be!'* 
 
 For his charger he hied; 
 
 For no one would bide, 
 But fast to his jeopardized fort did ride. 
 
 To Eberstein's fort the warriors sweep, 
 With ladders and hooks thro' the mist they 
 creep. 
 
 Count Eberstein 
 
 Gives them greeting fine, 
 And tumbles them down in the moat to pine. 
 
 And when on the morrow the Kaiser came. 
 He fully expected the fort to claim; 
 
 But lo! on the wall 
 
 "With noise not small 
 Are dancing the Count and his merry men 
 all.
 
 BALLADS. 329 
 
 "Ha! Sire! when you creep into castles again, 
 Take heed lest you happen to dance in vain ! 
 
 That daughter of thine 
 
 Dances so fine, 
 To her shall be opened this fort of mine!" 
 
 I' the Count's castle-hall is a tumult gay; 
 'Mid torches and tapers they dance and play, 
 
 And Count Eberstein 
 
 Is first in the line 
 With the Emperor's daughter so comely and 
 fine! 
 
 65. Suabian Intelligence. 
 
 As, to redeem the Holy Land, 
 King Barbarossa led his band,* 
 He needs must, with his pious crew, 
 A barren mountain-tract pass through. 
 Among them soon a scarceness spread, 
 There's many a stone, but little bread; 
 And many a cavalier is forced 
 Awhile to be from drink divorced. 
 
 * Frederick I. of Germany (1152—1190) was sur- 
 named Barbarossa or Red-beard, in German Roth- 
 bart. He undertook a Crusade in 1188, to -which 
 this ballad refers.
 
 330 BALLADS. 
 
 Each famished steed so droops and flags, 
 'Twere best the riders bore the nags! 
 A knight was there from Suabia's land, 
 Of giant frame and stalwart hand. 
 Whose horse so lean and weak had grown. 
 He by the bridle dragged him on. 
 He never would have left its side, 
 E'en though to save its life he died. 
 Soon had he dropped some little way 
 Behind the host's compact array. 
 When suddenly appeared in sight 
 Full fifty Turkish horsemen light. 
 At first from far their shafts they sent. 
 And hurled their darts with fell intent. 
 The gallant Suabian would not budge. 
 But onward marched with steady trudge, 
 Caught on his shield the arrowy shower, 
 And scanned them with disdainful lower; 
 Till one, who scorned to fight afar, 
 'Gan raise his crooked scimitar. 
 Then too the Suabian's blood waxed hot. 
 The Pagan's horse he fiercely smote; 
 The swaying sword so fiercely dropped, 
 The two fore-legs in twain were lopped; 
 And as the creature forward fell. 
 Again his sword he swung right well; 
 Full on the head it smote the foe. 
 Cleft downward to the saddle-bow,
 
 331 
 
 The saddle next in twain did hack, 
 And wounded deep the horse's back. 
 His brother Turks saw earthward glide 
 Just half a Turk on either side. 
 Chill terror seized on all the rest, 
 Each fled where'er he deemed it best; 
 Each felt that sword, in shuddering fear, 
 Through head and trunk descending sheer. 
 A Christian troop came next in view. 
 Who by the way had lingered too; 
 They marked the cloven horse and Turk, 
 And marvelled at our hero's work. 
 The news reached Barbarossa's tent, 
 Who for the gallant Suabian sent. 
 And said — "Declare, my trusty knight. 
 Who taught thee such a stroke of might?" 
 At once the hero answered thus : 
 "Such strokes are common, Sire, with us; 
 Where'er the simple Suabian's found. 
 The "Suabian trick" is far renowned." 
 
 66. Retribution. 
 
 The squire his master hath foully slain; 
 The rank of a knight the squire would gain. 
 
 His lord he hath stabbed in the dusky wood; 
 The body he sank in the Ehine's deep flood.
 
 332 BALLADS. 
 
 The armour he donned, so heavy and bright, 
 His master's charger he mounted light. 
 
 As over the bridge he would briskly ride, 
 The charger stopped short, and started aside. 
 
 With the golden spurs its sides he stung; 
 In the stream its rider it madly flung. 
 
 With arm and with foot he struggles amain; 
 The heavy chain-armottr makes all in vain! 
 
 67. The Sword. 
 
 To a smithy there came a youthful knight, 
 For there had he ordered a broadsword bright; 
 But when in his hand the sword he weighed, 
 Too heavy he deemed the sturdy blade. 
 
 Then, stroking his beard, quoth the aged 
 
 wight : 
 "The sword is neither too heavy nor light; 
 Too weak, methinks, is your arm, my son! 
 To-morrow shall all that you wish be done."
 
 BALLADS. 333 
 
 "Not SO, but now, by my word as a kniglit, 
 By mine own strength, not the flame's fierce 
 
 migbt;" 
 So spake tlie stripling — his nerves he strings. 
 And high in the air the sword he flings. 
 
 68. Siegfried's Sword. 
 
 The youthful Siegfried was brave and bold; 
 He hastened away from his father's hold. 
 
 In his father's castle he would not bide, 
 But longed thro' the world to wander wide. 
 
 Often he met with a worthy knight 
 
 With glittering shield and broadsword bright. 
 
 Siegfried only a cudgel bore; 
 
 I trow, as he gazed, his heart grew sore. 
 
 And as through a darksome wood he passed, 
 To a glowing smithy he came at last. 
 
 There saw he of iron and steel good store, 
 And heard the flames of the furnace roar.
 
 334 BALLADS. 
 
 "0 master smith! master dear! 
 Let me awhile be thy comrade here! 
 
 And teach me, I pray thee, with patient care, 
 How I may make me a broadsword fair." 
 
 Siegfried the hammer swnng deftly round 5 
 He hammered the anvil hard into the ground! 
 
 He hammered till loudly the forest rang, 
 And all the iron in pieces sprang. 
 
 And then from the last bar, sound and strong, 
 Made he a broadsword, wide and long. 
 
 "Now have I made me a broadsword bright, 
 Now may I cope with the boldest knight; 
 
 Now may I slay, like a hero brave. 
 Giants and dragons in field and cave!"
 
 335 
 
 69. Little Roland. 
 
 (Roland, the hero of so many romances, and im- 
 mortalized by Ariosto by the name of Orlando, was 
 the son of Milo of Anglant and Bertha, the sister 
 of Charlemagne. In this ballad Milo is supposed by 
 Bertha to have been drowned in crossing a torrent, 
 but it is subsequently discovered that he had escaped 
 death, which accounts for his re -appearance in 
 Ballad 70.) 
 
 Dame Bertha sat in a rock-hewn cave, 
 
 And moiiruecT her hapless fate. 
 Young Roland played in the open air, 
 
 His sorrow was nowise great. 
 
 "Alas! king Charles, my brother dear! 
 
 That ever I fled from thee! 
 For love both honour and state I left, 
 
 Now fierce is thy wrath with me! 
 
 Milo, husband so dearly loved, 
 The torrent hath strangled thee! 
 
 Thy love, for which I forsook my all. 
 Hath now forsaken me ! 
 
 Roland, young and darling child, 
 
 Be thou my honour and love ! 
 My Roland, hitherward haste to me. 
 
 For thou must my comfort prove.
 
 336 BALLADS. 
 
 My Eoland, liie tliee away to the town, 
 
 Ask alms of drink and meat, 
 And whoever shall give thee the smallest gift, 
 
 With blessings and thanks him greet." 
 
 King Charles at his banquet-table sat 
 
 In his golden banquet-hall; 
 With platters and goblets the servants haste 
 
 To deck the festival. 
 
 The music of harp and flute and song 
 
 Each hearer's ear doth bless; 
 But the sound so clear came yet not near 
 
 Dame Bertha's loneliness. 
 
 And round about in the court without 
 
 Had many a beggar his seat. 
 Who was more refreshed by the meat and drink 
 
 Than e'er by the music sweet. 
 
 The king looks through the open door, 
 
 Beholding the beggar-throng; 
 When lo ! thro' the press a beauteous child 
 
 All fearlessly hastes along. 
 
 The child's patched garb is a wondrous sight. 
 
 Four colours together blent; 
 But not with the beggars he deigns to stay, 
 
 To the hall his looks are bent.
 
 BALLADS. 337 
 
 And into the hall young Roland came, 
 As though 'twere his home for aye; 
 
 A platter he takes from the midst of all, 
 Which in silence he bears away. 
 
 ^'What's this I behold?" the monarch thinks, 
 "'Tis a custom strange and new!" 
 
 But since in silence he lets him pass, 
 The others must do so too. 
 
 They had but waited a little while. 
 When Roland returns more bold; 
 
 With hasty step to the king he comes, 
 And seizes his cup of gold. 
 
 *'What ho! there, stop! you saucy imp" — 
 
 Are the words that loudly ring. 
 But Roland clutches the beaker still. 
 
 With eyes fast fixed on the king. 
 
 The king at the first looked fierce and dark. 
 
 But soon perforce he smiled — 
 "Thou comest", he said, "into golden halls 
 
 As though they were woodlands wild. 
 
 A dish thou tak'st from the table royal, 
 
 Like an apple from off a tree! 
 A cup thou tak'st full of good red wine 
 
 As though from a fountain free!" — 
 
 22
 
 338 BALLADS. 
 
 "A peasant girl from a fountain draws, 
 Breaks apples from off the trees; 
 
 But game and fish and the bright red wine — 
 My mother is fed with these!" — 
 
 "If then thy mother's so grand a dame 
 As thou, fair child, wouldst boast; 
 
 She surely must own a castle strong, 
 And of vassals a seemly host? 
 
 Say! who is her steward, her butler sage, 
 And what are their honoured names?" 
 
 "My right hand, sir, is her steward true. 
 My left to be butler claims." — 
 
 "But tell me, who are her watchmen true?" — 
 "My two blue eyes are those." — 
 
 "And tell me, who is her minstrel blithe?" — 
 " My mouth , that's red as the rose." — 
 
 "Thy mother hath vassals stout, I ween; 
 
 But yet is her livery strange; 
 The rainbow's hues methinks it shews, 
 
 Its colours so often change." — 
 
 "Eight boys in each fourth part of the town 
 Have I brought beneath my sway. 
 
 Who have brought for my use four kinds of cloth, 
 To make me a garment gay." —
 
 BALLADS. 339 
 
 "Thy mother is served by one, methinks, 
 
 In all the world most able; 
 She reigns, I should ween, like a beggar-queen, 
 
 And keeps an open table. 
 
 A dame so great from my court and state 
 
 So far should never be ; 
 What ho ! three dames ! what ho ! three knights f 
 
 Go, fetch her in here to me!" 
 
 Young Roland , still with the cup in hand , 
 From the hall doth now retreat; 
 
 Three dames and knights, at the king's command, 
 Close follow his hasty feet. 
 
 The king looked out with an anxious glance 
 When a little while had passed ; 
 
 And soon the dames and the knights he sees 
 Towards him hurrying fast. 
 
 At once he spake with a startled cry: 
 
 "May Heav'n forgive my sin! 
 In the open hall I have passed my jests 
 
 On one who is near of kin! 
 
 Dost thou, Bertha my sister, here 
 
 In a pilgrim's garment stand? 
 So pale and wan, in my hall so rich, 
 
 With beggar's staff in hand?" 
 
 22*
 
 340 BALLADS. 
 
 Dame Bertha fell at the monarch's feet, 
 
 Her frame with terror shook; 
 Above her erect stood the stem old king, 
 
 And grim was his piercing look. 
 
 Dame Bertha fearfully droops her gaze , 
 
 To ntter no word she tries, 
 But loudly Roland his uncle greets 
 
 As he raises his clear blue eyes. 
 
 Then spake the monarch with soothing tone: 
 
 "Arise! dear sister mine; 
 My pardon to thee I freely grant 
 
 For the sake of this son of thine!" 
 
 Dame Bertha rises with joyous heart: 
 "My brother, my thanks to thee; 
 
 My child one day shall well repay 
 The good thou hast done to me! 
 
 In warfare he, like his king, shall be 
 
 A hero of lofty fame; 
 The colours of many a conc[uered land 
 
 On his banner and shield shall flame. 
 
 He'll snatch from the board of many a king 
 Rich trophies with daring hand. 
 
 And honour and weal shall his boldness bring 
 To his mourning maternal-land."
 
 341 
 
 70. Roland the Shield - bearer. 
 
 (Compare preface to Ballad 69.) 
 
 King Charles sat at the festive board 
 
 Amongst his peers at Aix; 
 With fish and flesh 'twas royally stored, 
 
 Sore thirst on no man lay. 
 Large golden cups of brightest sheen, 
 Enriched with jewels red and green, 
 
 Were gleaming down the hall. 
 
 Then spake king Charles, that hero bold: 
 "What means this idle show? 
 
 The brightest jewel earth doth hold 
 Is wanting still, I trow! 
 
 This jewel, bright as noontide's blaze, 
 
 A giant on his shield displays 
 In dark Ardennes' deep wood. 
 
 Archbishop Turpin, Richard keen. 
 Sir Naims, Bavaria's knight. 
 
 Sir Milo, Aymon, Count Guarine, 
 Sprang up to claim the fight. 
 
 In haste they donned their panoply, 
 
 And bade their chargers saddled be, 
 To seek the giant fell.
 
 342 BALLADS. 
 
 Young Eoland, Milo's son, 'gan speak: 
 
 "Dear father, bear my suit; 
 Tho' deeming me too young and weak 
 
 With giants to dispute , 
 Yet grant me forth with thee to fare, 
 For thee thy trusty lance to bear. 
 
 And eke thy glittering shield." 
 
 In baste these six companions good 
 
 'Gan all together start, 
 But when they reached the darksome wood. 
 
 They deemed 'twere best to part. 
 Behind his father Roland rode, 
 Rejoicing in bis glittering load. 
 
 The hero's lance and shield. 
 
 By sunlight and by moonlight pale 
 
 Far rode the warriors keen; 
 Yet ne'er by rock or wooded dale 
 
 The giant's form was seen. 
 At noon, upon the fourth long day, 
 The good Sir Milo sleeping lay 
 
 Beneath an oak's vast shade. 
 
 Y''oung Roland in the distance viewed 
 
 A flashing swift and bright, 
 Whose radiance, piercing through the wood. 
 
 Put hart and hind to flight.
 
 BALLADS. 343 
 
 He marked it gleaming from a shield, 
 The which a giant huge did wield 
 Descending from the hill. 
 
 Young Roland thus 'gan counsel take: 
 
 "What cause have I for fear? 
 What need with startling cry to wake 
 
 From sleep my father dear? 
 Awake, his charger crops the field, 
 Awake are sword and spear and shield, 
 
 Awake young Roland too." 
 
 Sir Milo's keen and trusty brand 
 
 Beside him Roland bound: 
 The lengthy lance he took in hand, 
 
 And seized the target round. 
 Sir Milo's horse he next bestrode. 
 And softly through the wood he rode 
 
 His father not to wake. 
 
 And when he reached the rocky wall. 
 
 The giant laughing spake : 
 "What doth this dwarf, this infant small 
 
 On such a charger make ? 
 His sword's far longer than himself. 
 His spear to earth nigh drags the elf, 
 
 His shield will crush him soon!"
 
 344 BALLADS. 
 
 "Come on, come on!" young Roland cried ^ 
 "Thy jests shall cost thee sore; 
 
 For if my shield be long and wide, 
 'Twill shelter me the more. 
 
 A horse that's big, a man that's small, 
 
 An arm that's short, a sword that's tall 
 Must help each other out." 
 
 His staflf the giant downward brought, 
 
 Its sweep was swift and wide; 
 Young Roland swung, as quick as thought, 
 
 His charger far aside. 
 Against his foe his lance he flung, 
 But from the wondrous shield it sprung 
 
 Again to whence it came! 
 
 In both his hands young Roland grasped 
 
 His sword right speedily; 
 The giant too his sword-hilt clasped, 
 
 But clumsier far Avas he. 
 Young Roland with a flourish deft 
 His left hand 'neath the target cleft — 
 
 Down tumbled hand and shield. 
 
 Then quailed the giant's heart at length, 
 When thus the shield was gone; 
 
 The jeAvel, that had lent him strength. 
 He mourned with bitter moan.
 
 BALLADS. 345 
 
 To seize the target hastened he, 
 Young Roland smote him near the knee, 
 To earth the giant fell. 
 
 Young Roland caught him by the crown, 
 
 And hewed his neck in twain; 
 A gushing stream of blood ran down 
 
 Towards the grassy plain. 
 Then from the dead man's shield in haste 
 The jewel bright he soon displaced, 
 
 Rejoicing in its gleam. 
 
 Then 'neath his cloak the gem he thrust, 
 
 Next to a spring he goes; 
 There washed from stains of blood and dust 
 
 The weapons and his clothes. 
 Then back young Roland rode amain, 
 His father soon he found again 
 
 Still sleeping 'neath the shade. 
 
 He laid him at his father's side. 
 
 And slept beneath the oak. 
 Till in the chilly eventide 
 
 At last Sir Milo woke. 
 "Come, Roland, wake! come wake, my son, 
 Take shield and spear and let's begone 
 
 To seek the giant fell."
 
 346 BALLADS. 
 
 Then up tliey rose in eager haste , 
 
 And wandered far a-field; 
 Behind his father Roland paced, 
 
 Still bearing lance and shield. 
 At last they reached the very spot 
 Where lately raged the contest hot, 
 
 Where slain the giant lay. 
 
 The scene with wonder Roland scanned. 
 
 For nowhere conld be seen 
 The giant's head, nor yet the hand 
 
 That late had severed been ! 
 Nor sword, nor cudgel met their view. 
 Gone was his shield and harness too, 
 
 They found but trunk and limbs ! 
 
 The giant's trunk Sir Milo scanned; 
 
 "How huge a corse we see! 
 This stump may make us understand 
 
 How mighty was the tree ! 
 'Tis he we sought — what more's to say? 
 Success and fame I've slept away. 
 
 For which I aye must mourn." — 
 
 At Aix king Charles stood gazing round, 
 
 Before his castle-gate; 
 "Are all my heroes safe and sound? 
 
 They linger all too late. 
 
 A
 
 BALLADS. 347 
 
 Lo! yonder cloth at last appear 
 Sir Aymon, bearing on his spear 
 The giant's gory head ! " 
 
 Sir Aymon rode with downcast gaze; 
 
 His lance he downward bent, 
 Before his master's feet he lays 
 
 The head with blood besprent: 
 "This head within the wood I found, 
 The giant's trunk lay on the ground 
 
 Some fifty paces off." 
 
 Archbishop Turpin next displayed 
 
 The giant's glove to view; 
 The clumsy hand therein was laid , 
 
 Which ■ — • laughing — forth he drew; 
 "A pretty relic this, I ween! 
 I found it in the forest green 
 
 Already hewn away!" 
 
 Sir Naime of Bavaria then 
 Dragged in the giant's stick : 
 
 "See what I found in yonder glen — 
 A weapon tall and thick. 
 
 Its weight doth make me thirst amain. 
 
 Eight well could I a goblet drain 
 Of sfood Bavarian beer ! "
 
 348 BALLADS. 
 
 On foot Count Ricliarcl came in sight, 
 
 And led his charger on ; 
 It bore the giant's armour bright, 
 
 Both sword and habergeon. 
 "Who cares to search yon lonely wood. 
 More bits may find of armour good; 
 
 I could not bring them all." 
 
 Next in the distance Count Guarine 
 The shield held up to view. 
 
 "Who brings the shield is he, I ween, 
 Who brings the jewel too." — 
 
 "The shield, my worthy sirs, have I; 
 
 And would the gem therein did lie! 
 But, ah! 'tis broken out." 
 
 The brave Sir Milo last of all 
 
 Towards the castle came; 
 His charger's steps but slowly fall. 
 
 He hangs his head for shame. 
 Behind his father Roland rode. 
 Rejoicing in his glistening load. 
 
 The hero's lance and shield. 
 
 As nearer to the gate they paced, 
 And tow'rds the heroes went, 
 
 He from his father's shield displaced 
 The central ornament ;
 
 BALLADS. 349 
 
 Then set the giant's gem thereon; 
 With wondrous light it flashed and shone 
 As brightly as the sun. 
 
 And as this flashing lustre flamed 
 
 From Milo's shield afar, 
 With joyous shout the king exclaimed: 
 
 "Hail, Milo ! famed in war! 
 By thee the dreadful giant bled, 
 'Tis thou hast severed hand and head, 
 
 And rent from him the gem ! " 
 
 Amazed, Sir Milo titrned to see 
 The wondrous gleam intense — 
 
 "What, Roland! say, thou stripling wee! 
 How hast thou that, and whence?" — 
 
 "Dear father, be not wroth, I pray. 
 
 That I the monster dared to slay 
 While thou wast sound asleep!"
 
 350 BALLADS. 
 
 71. King Cliarles's Sea- voyage. 
 
 (This poem relates to Cliarlemagae and the twelve 
 
 peers of France , wlio are all mentioned by name 
 
 in order.) 
 
 King Cliarles witli all his douceperes* 
 
 Across the ocean sailed ; 
 Towards the Holy Land he steers — 
 
 A dreadful storm prevailed. 
 
 Out spake Sir Roland, hero brave: 
 
 "I well can fence and fight; 
 Yet little may such arts avail 
 
 Against the tempest's might." 
 
 Next spake Sir Holgar, Denmark's pride: 
 
 "I've skill Avith harp and song; 
 What 'vails me this, when thus contends 
 
 The blast with billows strong?" 
 
 Sir Oliver felt little cheer; 
 
 He viewed his weapons keen: 
 "It is not for my life I fear, 
 
 But Alta Clara's sheen!" f 
 
 * The twelve peers of France were called some- 
 times "douceperes", from the French les doxize paires. 
 Thus Spencer: — 
 
 "Big-looking like a doughty doucepere." 
 
 Faerie Qiteene. III. 10. 31. 
 •}• Aha Clara, i. e. "tall and bright", was the 
 name of Oliver's battle-sword. Roland's sword was 
 named Durindana, and King Charles's Joyeuse. 
 
 !
 
 BALLADS. 35t 
 
 Next spake the treacli'rous Ganelon — 
 
 In undertone lie spake: — 
 "Were I but far from hence on land, 
 
 The rest the fiend might take!" 
 
 Archbishop Turpin sighed aloud: 
 "God's champions stout are we; 
 
 Come, Saviour dear, from Holy Land, 
 And giiide us o'er the sea." 
 
 Next Richard — Dauntless named — 'gan say : 
 
 "Ye powers and imps of hell; 
 NoAV help me in my need, I pray, 
 
 I oft have served you well." 
 
 Sir Naime next his rede began: — 
 "I've counselled much this year; 
 
 But water sweet and counsel good 
 On shipboard oft are dear." 
 
 Then spake Rioul, a veteran brave: — 
 
 "A warrior old am I, 
 And fain wovild hope my corse at last 
 
 In good dry ground may lie." 
 
 Sir Guy, a young and gallant knight, 
 
 Right gaily 'gan to sing: 
 "I would I were a lightsome bird, 
 
 I'd to my love take wing!"
 
 352 BALLADS. 
 
 Then spake Guariue, tliat noble knight: 
 
 "May God our succour be! 
 I'd rather drink the good red wine 
 
 Than water from the sea." 
 
 Sir Lambert next, brave youngster, cried; 
 
 "God our protection be! 
 I'd rather eat the dainty fish 
 
 Than that the fish ate me!" 
 
 Last spake Sir Godfrey, far renowned: 
 
 "What matters what befal? 
 Whatever fate myself o'ertakes 
 
 Shall whelm my brethren all." 
 
 King Charles beside the rudder sat. 
 No word his lips would vent; 
 
 With sure control the ship he steered 
 Until the storm was spent.
 
 353 
 
 72. TaiUefer. 
 
 "Immediately before the Duke rode Taillefer the 
 minstrel, singing with a loud and clear voice the 
 lay of Charlemagne and Roland, and the emprises 
 of the paladins who had fallen in the dolorous pass 
 of Roncevaux. Taillefer, as his guerdon, had craved 
 permission to strike the first blow, for he was a 
 valiant warrior, emulating the deeds which he sung: 
 his appellation, Tnille-fer, is probably to be con- 
 sidered not as his real name, but as an epithet de- 
 rived from his strength and prowess: and he fully 
 justified his demand, by transfixing the first English- 
 man whom he attacked, and by felling the second 
 to the ground." — Quoted fi'om a description of the 
 battle of Hastings, by Sir F. Palgrave. 
 
 In German Taillefer is a trisyllable, as it it also 
 jn old French, and as it would be even in modern 
 French poetry. I have, however, made it a dis- 
 syllable, as it is thus that most Englishmen, ac- 
 quainted with French, would probably pronounce it. 
 It means, "having an iron frame". Compare the sur- 
 name "Ironside", given to Edmund II. 
 
 Duke William tlie Norman spake out one day: 
 "Who sings in my court and my room alwayV 
 Who sings from the morning till late at night 
 So sweetly, my heart seems to laugh outright?" 
 
 "' Tis Taillefer, my liege, that so sweetly sings, 
 In the court, as the windlass around he swings. 
 In the room, as the fire he fans and rakes, 
 When at eve he lies down, and at morn awakes." 
 
 23
 
 25-4 BALLADS. 
 
 '"Tis well", quoth the duke, "I've a servant 
 
 rare 
 In Taillefer, who serves me with faith and 
 
 care. 
 The Avheel he turns and the fire makes bright, 
 And so clearly he sings that my heart grows 
 
 light." 
 
 Then Taillefer answered — "were I but free^ 
 Far better I'd labour and sing for thee! 
 How well on horseback I'd serve my lord, 
 And sing, as I clashed my shield and sword!" 
 
 Soon Taillefer rode to the battle-field 
 On a war-horse stout, with sword and shield; 
 Duke William's sister, as down she gazed 
 From a turret, the knight's bold bearing praised. 
 
 And when 'neath her turret he rode, he sang; 
 Like a breeze, and next like a storm it rang; 
 She cried — "When he singeth, what joys 
 
 awake! 
 The tower is shaken, my heart doth quake!" 
 
 Duke William sailed with a mighty host 
 O'er the rolling billows to England's coast. 
 He sprang from the ship — on his hands he fell: 
 "Ha! England!" he shouted — "I grasp thee 
 well!"
 
 BALLADS. 355 
 
 As the Norman host to the battle strode, 
 For a boon, to the duke brave Taillefer rode. 
 "j\rany years have I sung, while thy fire I 
 
 made , 
 Many years, while the sword and the lance 
 
 I've swayed. 
 
 If I've served thee and sung to thy heart's 
 
 delight, 
 At first as a servant, and last as a knight, 
 Then grant me this boon — when the morn 
 
 shall shine , 
 Let the first blow struck at the foe be mine!" 
 
 With sword and spear he his horse bestrode, 
 Before the whole army brave Taillefer rode; 
 Over Hastings' field his song rang out. 
 Of Roland he sang, and of heroes stout. 
 
 When the "Roland-song" rose loud as a blast, 
 Many standards waved, many hearts beat fast; 
 Its notes with courage the knights inspire ; 
 For well, as he sang, coxdd he fa/i Iheir fire! * 
 
 Then charging, his first quick thrust he gave, 
 An English knight to the ground he drave; 
 His sword he swung for the first swift blow. 
 An English knight on the ground lay low. 
 
 * Alluding to his former menial occupations. 
 
 23*
 
 556 BALLADS. 
 
 The Normans beheld it, and stayed not long; 
 With yells and smiting of shields they throng; 
 Hark! arrows are whirring, swords clash in 
 
 the fray, 
 Till Harold is slain and his host gives way. 
 
 The Duke on the field his standard spread, 
 His tent he pitched i' the midst o' the dead; 
 A golden beaker his table graced. 
 And the English crown on his head was placed. 
 
 "Come, pledge me, myTaillefer brave, this day! 
 In love and in grief thou hast tuned thy lay, 
 But on Hastings' field thou hast sung me a song 
 Shall ring in my ears for my whole life long." 
 
 73. The Tunic of Proof. 
 
 ^'I must to the field, my daughter dear! 
 An evil fate from the stars I fear; 
 Then make me, girl! with thy tender hand, 
 A tunic that may all blows withstand." 
 
 "How shall a maid's weak hand avail 
 To make thee, my father, a shirt of mail? 
 O'er the stubborn steel have I no power, 
 I spin and weave in the maiden's bower."
 
 BALLADS. 357 
 
 "Yes! daughter — spin in tlie silent night 
 With threads that are steeled by hell's dread 
 
 might , 
 And weave me a tunic, wide and long, 
 To giTard me from harm in the battle's throng." 
 
 I' the sacred night, as the full moon shines, 
 Alone, the maiden the threads entwines 5 
 "In the name of hell" — she mutters low, 
 Swift doth the whirling spindle go. 
 
 From thence to the loom in haste she goes, 
 With trembling hand the shuttle throws; 
 As quickly the rustling work she plied 
 As if spirit-fingers wove beside. 
 
 When the host rode out to the battle-press, 
 The Duke had donned an unwonted dress; 
 A waving tunic, wide and white. 
 With awful figures and emblems dight. 
 
 All shun his arm as they'd shun a sprite; 
 For who so bold as to brave his might, 
 'Gainst whom is shivered the staunchest brand. 
 And the arrow rebounds to the archer's hand? 
 
 Before him standeth a youngster bold : 
 "Thou frayest me not! hold, murderer, hold! 
 Not thee shall the arts of hell bestead. 
 Thy charms are as mist, thy labour dead!"
 
 358 BA.LLADS. 
 
 Stern are the strokes on either side ; 
 The tunic of proof with gore is dyed; 
 They fight till they fall on the crimsoned sand, 
 And either curseth the other's hand. 
 
 The daughter seeketh the field of blood: 
 "Where lieth the duke, that hero good?" 
 She finds the wounded and dying twain. 
 Shrilly she raises a shriek of pain. 
 
 "Is't thou, my daughter, child unblest? 
 How didst thou spin the faithless vest? 
 Didst thou not seek hell's mighty aid? 
 Is not thine hand the hand of a maid?" — 
 
 *'I sought, as thou saidst, hell's mighty aid. 
 But my hand is not the hand of a maid ; 
 Thy slayer is not unknown to me. 
 So wove I — alas! — but a shroud for thee!"
 
 359 
 
 74. The luck of Edenhall. 
 
 (The "Luck of Edenliall" is the name of a goblet 
 in the possession of the Musgrave family, of Eden 
 Hall in Cumberland. There is a tradition that it 
 was the gift of a fairy, and that on its safe pre- 
 servation depended the safety of the lord of Eden- 
 hall. It is still preserved at Eden Hall, and is not 
 so entirely broken as the ballad describes.) 
 
 Of Edenhall tlie youthful lord 
 
 Bade summon the guests by trumpet's call ; 
 
 He rises at the festive board, 
 
 And, 'midst the drunken revellers all, 
 Cries: "Bring me the Luck of Edenhall!" 
 
 The steward sighs at his lord's command ; 
 (The oldest vassal was he of all); 
 
 From its silken case with careful hand 
 He taketh the crystal goblet tall — 
 They call it the "Luck of Edenhall". 
 
 "To honour this glass" — was the next 
 command — 
 "Come fill it Avith wine of Portugal!" 
 
 The old man pours with tembling hand, 
 And purple light streams over all 
 Froiii the sparkling Luck of Edenhall.
 
 360 BALLADS. 
 
 Then speaks tlie lord, and the glass doth wave: 
 "This gleaming goblet of crystal tall 
 
 A water-sprite to my fathers gave, 
 
 And wrote thereon — If Üiis glass should fall, 
 Farewell to the luck of Edenhall. ' 
 
 'Twas fitting a glass o'er the fate should reign 
 Of the mirthful race of Edenhall! 
 
 The full deep draughts we gladly drain. 
 While merrily clink the beakers tall; 
 Come, clink with the Luck of Edenhall!" 
 
 First, full as the song of the nightingale. 
 Its ring on the ear doth clearly fall; 
 
 Then loud as the torrent that sweeps the vale, 
 And last, like the deafening thunder's brawl, 
 The matchless Luck of Edenhall! 
 
 "It taketh a race of mickle might 
 This fragile goblet to hold in thrall; 
 
 It hath lasted longer than seemeth right; 
 Then cling! with the hardest blow of all 
 Will I prove the Luck of Edenhall!" 
 
 As the ringing goblet in pieces flies , 
 Cracked is the roof of the vaulted hall; 
 
 Bright flames of death from the rift arise; 
 Dashed to the earth are the feasters all 
 As breaketh the Luck of Edenhall!
 
 BALLADS. 361 
 
 In storms the foe, with fire and sword, 
 Who in the night had scaled the wall; 
 
 By the sword-stroke dieth the youthful lord, 
 His hand still holding the beaker tall, 
 The shattered Luck of Edenhall. 
 
 Early at morn the butler came, 
 The old man, to the ruined hall; 
 
 Alone he seeketh his lord's burnt frame; 
 And, 'midst the hideous ruin's fall. 
 The shards of the Luck of Edenhall. 
 
 "Stone walls " — saith he — " must in pieces go, 
 The lofty pillar at last must fall; 
 
 Of glass is this world's wealth and show; 
 One day in atoms this earthly ball 
 Must burst, like the Luck of Edenhall!" 
 
 75. The Last Palgrave. 
 
 I, palgrave Götz of Tübingen, 
 Sell fortress, town, and hill. 
 
 With servants, rents, inclosures, woods; 
 Of debts have I my fill.
 
 362 
 
 Two freeholds only sell I not, 
 Two tenures old and good, 
 
 I' tlie cloister one , with steeple fair , 
 One in the leafy wood. 
 
 The cloister we've endowed till poor, 
 There bviilt till plunged in need; 
 
 And therefore I the abbot charge 
 My hound and hawk to feed. 
 
 At Schönbuch, near the cloister-walls, 
 
 A hunting-ground I hold; 
 And , having this , I little care 
 
 Tho' all the rest be sold. 
 
 And Avhen one day your monkish crew 
 
 No more my bugle hear; 
 Then toll the bell, and seek my corse 
 
 Beside the fountain clear. 
 
 Then lay me 'neath the shady oak 
 Which birds frequent with song. 
 
 And o'er me read a hunter's mass 
 That lasteth not too long!
 
 363 
 
 76. Count Eberhard der Rauschebart. 
 
 (Ulrich, Count of Würtemburg, who reigned from 
 1246 — 1265, was the founder of the family now on 
 the throne of Wiirtemburg. From his death, Wiir- 
 temburg was governed by Counts of his family till 
 the latter end of the fifteenth century , when the 
 Emperor Maximilian conferred the title of duke upon 
 Eberhard V. Amongst these counts, one of some 
 distinction was Count Eberhard, surnamed derGreiner 
 (the Growler), and also der Eauschebart (Flowing- 
 beard), who died in 1392, and who, together with 
 his son Ulrich (who died four years earlier), is in- 
 terred in the choir of the collegiate church at Stutt- 
 gart. The four following ballads relate to the ex- 
 ploits of the Eberhard and Ulrich last mentioned.) 
 
 Introduction or Prologue. 
 
 Are then in Suabia's province hushed all 
 
 heroic lays , 
 Where once the harps of knighthood rang out 
 
 the Staufen's praise?* 
 And if they be not silenced, why fail they to 
 
 recite 
 How fought our gallant fathers, how gleamed 
 
 their weapons bright? 
 
 * Some of the old dukes of Suabia belonged to 
 the house of Stauffen, or Hohenstauffen. Suabia 
 partly included Wiirtemburg.
 
 364 BALLADS. 
 
 Men lisp their vapid numbers, teach epigrams 
 
 to scold, 
 But scorn fair woman's beauty, the Light of 
 
 ballads old; 
 Where heroes wait th' enchanter, in dismal 
 
 silence bound , 
 Men o'er the spot trip lightly, and shudder 
 
 at a sound. 
 
 Then break from out thy coffin, rise from the 
 
 dusky choir, 
 (With brave and dauntless Ulrich), thou 
 
 Rauschebart, the sire! 
 Thou foughtest all unconquered, thro' many a 
 
 rolling year; 
 Burst forth and stand before us with clash of 
 
 sword and spear! 
 
 Lege7id I. The Surprise at WiUlbacl. 
 
 (Eberhard, bathing in the natural bath at Wildbad, 
 is surprised by his enemies, the öchlegels and the 
 Wolf of Wunnenstein, but escapes with the assist- 
 ance of a shepherd.) 
 
 I' the beauteous days of summer, when breezes 
 
 warmly blow. 
 When woods are clothed with verdure and 
 
 gardens gaily glow.
 
 BALLADS. 365 
 
 There rode from Stuttgart's portals a kxiiglit 
 
 of stalwart mould, 
 Count Eberhard der Greiner, hight Rauschebart 
 
 the old. 
 
 But scantily attended, on rides the noble 
 
 knight , 
 He wears nor helm nor breastplate, nor seeks 
 
 the stormy fight. 
 Right on he rides to Wildbad, where wells a 
 
 tepid spring, 
 That to the old fresh vigour, to sick men 
 
 health can bring. 
 
 At Hirsau, with the abbot awhile abides the 
 knight , 
 
 And drinks, while peals the organ, the convent- 
 wine so bright; 
 
 Then threads the dark pine-forest, and rides 
 the vale along, 
 
 Where down its rocky channel the Enz rolls 
 fierce and strong. 
 
 At Wildbad, near the market, a lofty house 
 
 is seen, 
 The sign that hangs before it — a lance of 
 
 brightest sheen ;
 
 366 BALLADS. 
 
 There 'lights the Count from horseback, there 
 
 seeks from care to rest; 
 And daily to the fountain repairs the noble 
 
 guest. 
 
 There having doffed his garments, awhile he 
 
 pausing stood ; 
 A prayer to Heav'n he uttered — then plunged 
 
 within the flood : 
 He ever took his station where from their 
 
 craggy spout 
 The fountain's healing waters rushed fullest, 
 
 hottest out. 
 
 A wild boar sorely smitten, that washed his 
 
 wound of blood. 
 First shewed the eager huntsmen where rolled 
 
 the hidden flood; 
 There now the aged hero oft whiles an hour 
 
 away. 
 And bathes the limbs where linger the scars 
 
 of many a fray. 
 
 One day in haste came thither a page, with 
 
 terror pale: 
 *'Sir Count! a troop of horsemen come down 
 
 the upper vale;
 
 liÄLLADS. 367 
 
 They swing right heavy maces — a Wikl 
 
 Boar to the gaze 
 Beneath a Golden Rosebud the leader's shield 
 
 displays." 
 
 "My son — those are the Schlegels, well- 
 known for mighty deeds; 
 
 Give me my tunic, youngster — 'tis Eberstein 
 that leads. 
 
 Full well I ken the Wild-Boar — his foes in 
 wrath he tears , 
 
 Full well I ken the Rosebud — a piercing 
 thorn it bears." 
 
 Just then a watchful shepherd draws near, 
 
 and pants for breath : 
 "Sir Count, a troop of horsemen ride up the 
 
 vale beneath ; 
 Three Axes bears the leader — his armour 
 
 brightly gleams, 
 Till, like the flashing lightning, to daze mine 
 
 eyes it seems." 
 
 "'Tis then the Wunnensteiner, the Gleaming 
 
 Wolf y-hight. 
 Give me my mantle, youngster — I know his 
 
 scutcheon bright;
 
 368 BALLADS. 
 
 But little joy he brings me — the Axes cleave 
 
 amain — 
 Come bind my sword beside me — my blood 
 
 the Wolf would drain. 
 
 A maid surprised in bathing, who cowers in 
 
 quick alarm, 
 Some raillery must suffer, but 'scapeth free 
 
 from harm; 
 But if they thus discover a chief grown old 
 
 in strife, 
 ' Twill cost him much in ransom , if not 
 
 perchance his life." 
 
 Then answer made the shepherd — "Be by 
 
 my counsel swayed, 
 I know a secret footpath, where warrior ne'er 
 
 hath strayed ; 
 No horse could ever follow, there goats alone 
 
 can flee — 
 I'll bring thee hence in safety, if thou but 
 
 follow me!" 
 
 Eight through the tangled brushwood they 
 clamber up the steep; 
 
 The Count with trusty broadsword his onward 
 way must reap;
 
 BALLADS. 369 
 
 He ne'er till then had tasted the bitterness of 
 
 flight — 
 The bath had lent him vigour; he longed to 
 
 turn and fight. 
 
 Tho' noontide's heat glowed fiercely, right up 
 
 the hill they pressed, 
 Upon his broadsword's pommel ere long the 
 
 Count would rest; 
 The shepherd viewed with pity the old and 
 
 valiant lord, 
 And on his back he takes him: — " 'Tis done 
 
 with free accord." 
 
 Then thinks the gray-haired Greiner: "I hold 
 
 it passing good 
 So gently to be carried by one of trusty 
 
 blood; 
 In dangers and distresses the people's faith is 
 
 shewn ; 
 Then let their ancient charters aside be never 
 
 thrown." 
 
 Within his hall at Stuttgart in safety sits the 
 
 knight ; 
 He bade them coin some medals, memorials 
 
 of his flight; 
 
 24
 
 370 BALLADS. 
 
 Of these the trusty shepherd a goodly share 
 
 receives , 
 Whilst others to the Schlegels, in scorn, he 
 
 freely gives. 
 
 He next some sturdy masons to Wildbad sends 
 
 apace , 
 To build protecting ramparts around the open 
 
 space, 
 That each one who in future, age - stricken, 
 
 thither goes. 
 May gain fresh health and vigour, secure from 
 
 fear of foes. 
 
 Legend II. The Three Kings of Heimsen. 
 
 (Three brothers of the Schlegel family, who had at- 
 tempted to surprise Eberhard in the bath, dub them- 
 selves the "Three Kings of Heimsen". They are 
 plotting further designs against Eberhard, when he 
 turns the tables upon them as is here described.) 
 
 Three kings at once in Heimsen! who could 
 
 have thought it true? 
 By mounted knights attended with state and 
 
 honour due! 
 The three, who ruled as captains the Schlegel 
 
 brotherhood, 
 Now claim a kingly title to make their conquests 
 
 good!
 
 BALLADS. 371 
 
 Enthroned they sit together and eagerly take 
 
 rede, 
 Devising and concocting a great and warlike 
 
 deed, 
 How with a gallant army the Greiner to 
 
 surround, 
 And (better than at Wildbad) his every wile 
 
 confound; 
 
 How next they may immure him and break 
 
 his castles small. 
 Until he free the nobles from irksome feudal 
 
 thrall 5 
 Then, Peace! farewell forever; then. Feudal 
 
 rights, good night! 
 Then shall the lawless soldier treat all the 
 
 world with slight! 
 
 At length the night hath fallen, the kings 
 
 have sought repose ; 
 E'en now the cocks were crowing, as morning's 
 
 light arose. 
 When loudly from the turret the sentry's 
 
 warning swells : 
 «'Awake! awake! ye sleepers!" — that sound 
 
 a siege foretells. 
 
 24
 
 372 BALLADS. 
 
 There, 'mid the mists of morning, appears a 
 
 surging- tide 
 That round the little township draws near on 
 
 every side. 
 Hark to the low-voiced mi;rmurs, the tramplings 
 
 and alarms. 
 The sound of hoofs and snortings, and holloAV 
 
 clash of arms ! 
 
 And as the morning lightens, and siiik the 
 
 shades of night, 
 Lo ! morning-stars * and lances shine brighter 
 
 and more bright! 
 The peasants of the province the township 
 
 close enfold, 
 And 'midst them, high on horseback, sits 
 
 Rauschebart the old! 
 
 The Schlegels fain would struggle to guard 
 their fort and town , 
 
 A flight of stones and arrows they hurl 
 unceasing down ; 
 
 * Visitors to the Tower of London may perhaps 
 remember a formidable iron weapon, consisting of a 
 sliort bar, a piece of chain, and a ball full of spikes, 
 which was pleasantly termed by our ancestors a 
 "morning-star".
 
 BALLADS. 373 
 
 "Now softly" — quoth the Greiner — "to 
 
 warm your bath I'll try! 
 It needs must steam and simmer till waters 
 
 every eye!" 
 
 • 
 
 Around the ancient outworks are wood and 
 
 straw up-reared, 
 Brought thither in the darkness, and well with 
 
 tar besmeared. 
 They shoot in burning arrows — how blazed 
 
 the crackling straw! 
 They hurl in flaring torches — what sheets 
 
 of flame they saw ! 
 
 And now from every quarter is fuel swiftly 
 brought , 
 
 Which far and wide the peasants with eager- 
 ness have sought; 
 
 And higher still and higher the flame ascends 
 and turns 
 
 Till now with merry crackle the castle-roof it 
 burns. 
 
 One gate was left unguarded — for so the 
 Count approved — 
 
 Hark! how the bolts behind it are softly, 
 slowly moved!
 
 374 BALLADS. 
 
 Thence burst the Schlegels fiercely , with 
 courage of despair? 
 
 Ah no! they walk demurely, as in a house 
 of prayer. , 
 
 First come the Kings of Heimsen, on foot, in 
 
 humble wise , 
 Their heads — once crowned — uncovered, 
 
 with sad and downcast eyes; 
 Next many lords and servants pace forth by 
 
 twos and threes, 
 That all may well behold them, and number 
 
 them at ease. 
 
 "Now welcome" — quoth the Greiner — "nor 
 
 deem that ye intrude, 
 I've caught you cooped together, much honoured 
 
 brotherhood! 
 Ye sought me once in Wildbad — my visit, 
 
 friends, is this; 
 One only, (and 'tis pity), the Wunnenstein I 
 
 miss. 
 
 A peasant who right nimbly had helped the 
 
 flames to feed, 
 Now leant upon his halberd, of all that passed 
 
 took heed;
 
 BALLADS. 
 
 375 
 
 "Three kings at once" — he mnttered — 
 "'tis plenty, by my fay! 
 
 "Were but a fourth here present, a game at 
 cards we'd play!" 
 
 Lege?id III. The Battle at Reullmgeti. 
 
 (Whilst Ulrich, Eberhard's son, is besieging Reut- 
 lingen, the townsmen by a night-sally burn a hamlet 
 in the Urachthal, and drive off the herds. Ulrich, 
 attempting to intercept them, is surrounded, his band 
 of knights nearly cut to pieces, and himself severely 
 wounded; by which disgrace his father is deeply 
 affected.) 
 
 Upon the crags at Achahn fierce birds of prey 
 
 abide , 
 Der Greiner's son. Count Ulrich, and many 
 
 a knight beside; 
 Eound Reutlingen they hover, and flap their 
 
 wings in scorn ; 
 Soon must the tOAvn surrender, by constant 
 
 toil outworn. 
 
 But suddenly the townsmen have risen up by 
 
 night, 
 Down Urachthal they hasten, a band of mickle 
 
 might 5 
 And soon from mill and homestead shoots iip 
 
 a flame blood-red, 
 The herds away are driven — the herdsmen 
 
 lie for dead.
 
 376 BALLADS. 
 
 Sir Ulricli marked their doings, lie cries in 
 
 lofty scorn: 
 "Witliin your town shall enter no hoof and 
 
 eke no horn ;'' 
 His knights are up and ready, they clothe 
 
 themselves in mail, 
 Bound lightly on their chargers, and ride 
 
 adown the vale. 
 
 Below the town there standeth a church — 
 
 St. Leonard's hight — 
 A grassy plot adjoins it, where knights can 
 
 freely fight; 
 They 'light from off their chargers, they stand 
 
 in stern array, 
 Their threatening lances bristle — who dares 
 
 to pass that way? 
 
 From Urach thai the townsmen at length 'gin 
 
 homeward hie, 
 Far off" are heard their shoutings, mixed with 
 
 the herd's hoarse cry; 
 The host comes slowly onward, equipped with 
 
 warlike gear. 
 How proudly float their pennons, how glimmer 
 
 sword and spear!
 
 BALLADS, 377 
 
 Now close your ranks together , ye brave and 
 
 knightly band, 
 Against so stout an army ye had not thought 
 
 to stand. 
 Their troops in countless numbers roll onward, 
 
 one and all, 
 The knights stand fast in silence, like rock or 
 
 rampart-wall. 
 
 In Reutlingen's old outworks is found an 
 
 ancient door, 
 With boughs of thickest ivy 'tis closely woven 
 
 o'er; 
 The knights had clean forgot it, but now 'tis 
 
 opened wide, 
 And through it groups of townsmen roll like 
 
 a rising tide. 
 
 Upon the knights to rearward they rush in 
 
 furious mood , 
 To-day for once the townsmen shall bathe in 
 
 knightly blood; 
 The tanners tan more soundly than e'er they 
 
 tanned a hide, 
 Nor e'er before the dyers so crimson-red had 
 
 dyed.
 
 378 BALLADS. 
 
 To-day are ta'en no captives, each strikes his 
 
 foeman dead, 
 To-day blood flows in fountains, the grass-plot 
 
 blossoms red. 
 Hemmed round still close and closer, by fierce 
 
 attacks condensed. 
 All round by brothers' corpses the knightly 
 
 band is fenced. 
 
 Their standard droops — 'tis taken — Count 
 
 Ulrich's wounded sore — 
 His few surviving comrades are wearied to 
 
 the core; 
 They seize their horses' bridles, upon their 
 
 backs they leap, 
 They burst through all their foemen , they 
 
 gain their moated keep. 
 
 Once, pierced by an assassin: "Ach Allm — " 
 groaned out a knight; 
 
 He would have said "Allmächt'ger"; the castle 
 hence was bight ; * 
 
 * I. e. the castle of Achalm was so called from 
 a wounded knight's exclamation, when he was en- 
 deavouring to say ''Ach Allmächtiger!" or, "Ah 
 Almighty Lord!"
 
 BALLADS. 379 
 
 There Ulricli from the saddle sinks wounded, 
 
 faint with pain: 
 Were it not named ah-eady, its name it now 
 
 mia'ht g-ain. 
 
 Next morn in slow procession to Reutlingen 
 
 there crossed 
 A sorrowing troop of pages, who sought their 
 
 masters lost. 
 In rows before the Town-Hall are ranged the 
 
 pallid dead, 
 And thither, closely guarded, each trusty page 
 
 is led. 
 
 There slumber more than sixty, so stained with 
 
 gore and pale. 
 To recognize his master each page* at first 
 
 doth fail; 
 At last each trusty servant hath found his 
 
 dear-loved knight. 
 Hath washed the corpse and wound it in 
 
 grave-clothes fair and white. 
 
 In waggons some are carried , on biers are 
 
 others borne, 
 With ivy -leaves encircled, as men the brave 
 
 adorn.
 
 380 
 
 So tow'rcls the olden portal adown the street 
 
 they roll, 
 While slowly from the belfries the funeral 
 
 knell doth toll. 
 
 Götz Weissenheim, the bravest, goes all the 
 
 rest before, 
 'Twas he who in the battle the County's 
 
 standard bore; 
 Not once his hold he quitted, but reared it 
 
 high till slain , 
 In death he still is worthy to head the funeral 
 
 train. 
 
 Three noble Counts next follow, whose fame 
 
 afar had rung. 
 From Tübingen, from Zollern, from Schwartzen- 
 
 burg outsprung; 
 Zollern! round thy temples is twined a 
 
 radiant wreath! 
 Thy house's future glory beheldest thou in 
 
 death? 
 
 From Saxony two heroes, gray sire and son, 
 
 draw nigh , 
 With lilies crowned and poppies, in close 
 
 embrace they lie.
 
 BALLADS. 381 
 
 Eouncl tlieir ancestral castle a spectre stalked 
 
 of old, 
 Who long "witli sad lamentings a coming wo 
 
 foretold. 
 
 A certain Lord of Lustnau, deemed dead, 
 
 awoke to life; 
 By night in funeral garments returned he to 
 
 his wife ; 
 Thenceforth in jest his offspring were as the 
 
 "Dead Men" known, 
 But now, one forth is carried as void of life 
 
 as stone. 
 
 The lay proceeds no farther, no more the 
 
 Muse will mourn ; 
 Wouldst know of all the heroes, who thence 
 
 were sadly home? 
 Go, view the Town-hall windows; in colours 
 
 bright and fair. 
 Each warrior's name and scutcheon is duly 
 
 blazoned there. 
 
 Till from his wounds recovered, awhile Count 
 
 Ulrich stayed; 
 Then rides he straight to Stuttgart, but little 
 
 haste he made ;
 
 382 BALLADS. 
 
 He meets liis aged father at dinner-time 
 
 alone ; 
 A frosty welcome, truly! lie hears no word, 
 
 no tone. 
 
 Just opposite his father sits Ulrich at the 
 
 board, 
 Thereon, abashed, he gazes; with wine and 
 
 fish 'tis stored; 
 A knife the old man seizes, speaks not, but 
 
 sad at heart. 
 He slowly cuts between them the table-cloth 
 
 apart. 
 
 Legend IV. The Battle at Doffingen. 
 
 (The biirgliers of Eeutlingen, Augsburg, and Ulm 
 attack the peasants of the hamlet of Doffingen. 
 Eberhard and Ulrich come to the rescue , and the 
 burghers are defeated. Ulrich is slain in the battle, 
 which is gained partly by the courage of Eberhard, 
 and partly by the opportune arrival of the Wolf of 
 Wunnenstein, who (although Eberhard's old enemy) 
 came on this occasion to assist him. Eberhard is 
 consoled for the loss of his son by the birth of a 
 grandson.) 
 
 "Within the quiet churchyard men wont to 
 
 wander lone. 
 And hear but Paternosters by cross and 
 
 burial-stone;
 
 BALLADS. 383 
 
 At Döffingen 'twas not so ; for all tlie livelong 
 
 day 
 The churchyard rang with warcries , loud raged 
 
 the furious fray. 
 
 The burghers come on foray — the peasants 
 
 there secure 
 Their few poor goods and chattels, and strive 
 
 to make them sure; 
 With pike and hoe and sickle their foes they 
 
 long defy ; 
 Whoe'er to death is wounded may find a 
 
 grave hard by. 
 
 Count Eberhard der Greiner perceived the 
 peasants' need; 
 
 A band of knights he summons and comes 
 with hottest speed; 
 
 Around him soon are gathered the flower of 
 German knights, 
 
 The chieftains whom in friendship the "Löwen- 
 bund"* unites. 
 
 There comes a hasty message from Wolf von 
 
 Wunnenstein, 
 "Erelong to-day my master will join his host 
 
 with thine." 
 
 * Lion-band or Lion-coufederation, the name of 
 a confederation of German chiefs.
 
 384 BALLADS. 
 
 The Count makes answer proudly — " ' Tis 
 not by my request; 
 
 Had he in vain the medal I sent him once 
 in jest?"* 
 
 Count Ulrich sees before him the troops of 
 
 burghers brave, 
 Of Reutlingen, of Augsburg, of Ulm the banners 
 
 wave ; 
 Fierce thoughts of olden rancour awake within 
 
 his breast: 
 "Too well I know, ye proud ones, what so 
 
 exalts your crest!" 
 
 He hastens to his father: — "Old debts 'tis 
 
 time to pay, 
 Please God — I'll here recover my fathers' 
 
 fame to-day: 
 Though with thee at one table I may not dine, 
 
 brave knight If 
 Yet on one field of battle I still may dare to 
 
 fight!" 
 
 They 'light from off their horses, the noble 
 
 Lion-band , 
 They dash upon the foeman, like lions fierce 
 
 they stand; 
 
 * See the first of these ballads, last stanza but one. 
 f See the preceeding ballad, last stanza.
 
 BALLADS. 385 
 
 Ho! how the lion Ulrich so grimly roars and 
 
 slays ; 
 He keeps his word sincerely, his debts in full 
 
 he pays. 
 
 On oaken stump supported, whom bear they 
 
 off perforce? 
 "God pity me, a sinner" — he cries in 
 
 accents hoarse ; 
 Thee hath the lightning shattered, thou proud 
 
 and princely oak? 
 Thee hath the sword, brave Ulrich! hewn 
 
 down with sweeping stroke? 
 
 Then shouts the aged hero, whom naught 
 
 could e'er dismay: 
 "Fear not — he is as others whom fate hath 
 
 slain to-day ; 
 Press on! the foes are flying!" he shouts, 
 
 like thunder's roar; 
 How streams his beard beside him, how deeply 
 
 bites the Boar!* 
 
 These words, in cunning spoken, the wondering 
 
 burghers scare: 
 *'Who flies?" saith one to other — recoiling 
 
 here and there; 
 
 * Alhiding to his surname Rauschebart (flowing 
 beard) and to his cognizance , a Boar. 
 
 25
 
 386 
 
 As though a spell were littered, their hearts 
 
 Avithiu them sank, 
 Amid his knights, the Greiner bursts through 
 
 them, rank on rank. 
 
 What gleams and glitters yonder, and flames 
 
 like lightning's shine? 
 See, 'mid his sturdy horsemen, the Wolf of 
 
 Wunnenstein ! 
 He darts upon the burghers, sweeps out an 
 
 ample bay. 
 The conquest is accomplished, the foes flee 
 
 fast away. 
 
 I' the harvest-month it happened — in sooth,, 
 
 a sultry day ! 
 Full ripe upon the cornfields the sheaves all 
 
 thickly lay; 
 How many a sturdy reaper his wearied arms 
 
 let fall! 
 In blood the knights have holden their 
 
 harvest-festival. 
 
 The. peasant long thereafter that ploughed the 
 
 fertile vale. 
 Oft struck on rusty sword-blades, bent spears, 
 
 or hauberk's mail;
 
 BALLADS. 387 
 
 And as a liollow linden Avas once condemned 
 
 and felled , 
 Behold ! a suit of armour and skeleton it 
 
 held. 
 
 When now the tight was ended 'mid victory's 
 
 noisy shout, 
 To Wvmnenstein, the Greiner his right hand 
 
 reaches out: 
 "I thank thee, valiant hero; now homeward 
 
 ride with me, 
 This desperate battle ended, we'll feast right 
 
 merrily!" 
 
 "Ha!" — spake the Wolf, loud-laughing — 
 
 "dost like these merry pranks? 
 I fought from hate of townsmen , and not to 
 
 get thy thanks ! 
 Good night, and prosperous journey — my 
 
 olden rights shall stand"; 
 He spake, and galloped homeward with all 
 
 his valiant band. 
 
 In Döffingen's small chapel all night the Count 
 
 delays, 
 Beside his Ulrich's body — his only son's — 
 
 he prays; 
 
 25*
 
 ■388 BALLADS. 
 
 Beside the bier he kneeletli, and closely veils 
 
 his face, 
 And if he weeps in silence, his tears may uo 
 
 one trace. 
 
 Count Eberhard next morning soon mounts 
 
 his horse again. 
 And hies him back to Stuttgart with all his 
 
 martial train ; 
 Prom Zuffenhaus a shepherd hath met them 
 
 by the way — 
 *'The man looks sad and drooping, what 
 
 news hath he to say?" — 
 
 *'I bring you evil tidings — among our flocks 
 
 last night 
 The Gleaming Wolf descended, and took what 
 
 pleased his sight!" 
 Then laughs the aged Greiner and shakes his 
 
 beard: "My friends, 
 Poor sheep the wolfling hunteth — that way 
 
 his nature tends ! " 
 
 They ride in order onward , and from the 
 
 valley green 
 See Stuttgart's castle peering, illumed by 
 
 morning's sheen j
 
 BALLADS. 389 
 
 When lo ! a trim retainer comes riding by the 
 
 way — 
 "The lad looks bright and joyous, what news 
 
 hath he to say?" — 
 
 "I bring thee happy tidings; come, wish thy 
 
 grandson joy! 
 To Ulrich fair Antonia hath borne a beauteous 
 
 boy!" 
 Thereat the aged hero his hands on high doth 
 
 raise : 
 "Still hath the Finch* a fledgeling — to God 
 
 be thanks and praise!" 
 
 77. The Cupbearer of Limburg. 
 
 A noble Count, at Limburg, 
 
 Dwelt in the castle fair; 
 But none of all that sought him 
 
 Could ever find him Iherc; 
 For always he delighted 
 
 O'er hill and dale to roam; 
 Nor threatening storm nor tempest 
 
 Could keep him pent at home. 
 
 * This seems to intimate that Ulrich's cognizance 
 was a Finch.
 
 390 
 
 He wore a leathern doublet, 
 
 A liat adorned witli care 
 With many a gallant feather, 
 
 E'en such as hunters wear. 
 A drinking-cup of boxwood 
 
 He carried at his side; 
 He was of lofty stature 
 
 And walked with rapid stride. 
 
 He owned a sturdy courser 
 
 And serving-men to boot. 
 Yet left at home his servants 
 
 And roved abroad on foot. 
 He had but one companion , 
 
 A boar-spear stout and long, 
 Wherewith he lightly bounded 
 
 O'er torrents wide and strong. 
 
 At Castle Hohenstaufen* 
 
 The Kaiser then abode; 
 Who, by gay troops attended, 
 
 One day a-huntiug rode; 
 A nimble hind he followed 
 
 So hotly and so fast, 
 That 'mid the tangled forest 
 
 From sight of all he passed. 
 
 * The Hohenstaufen dynasty of the German em- 
 perors or kaisers sometimes resided at a castle of 
 the same name.
 
 391 
 
 At length he stops exhausted 
 
 Beside a fountain cold ; 
 The spot was painted gaily 
 
 With blossoms manifold. 
 Here purposed he to rest him 
 
 And slumber by the fount; 
 When hark! the brushwood rustles — 
 
 Before him stands the Count. 
 
 At once he 'gan to chide him — 
 
 "Meet I my neighbour here? 
 At home he bides but seldom, 
 
 The court he comes not near. 
 Whoever hopes to catch him 
 
 Must roam o'er dale and hill; 
 And tightly must one hold him , 
 
 Else keeps he never still." 
 
 As sat the Count to rest him 
 
 In unsuspecting mood, 
 And in the tvirf beside him 
 
 Drave deep his boar-spear good. 
 With both his hands the Kaiser 
 
 Caught up the pole with speed : 
 "Thy spear I take as hostage, 
 
 Some pledge I sorely need.
 
 392 BALLADS. 
 
 This spear, which oft I longed for^ 
 
 Is mine at last perforce; 
 For which I here present thee 
 
 With this my swiftest horse; 
 A man like thee should never 
 
 Go walking through the wood, 
 Who, in the chase or warfare, 
 
 Might render service good." 
 
 "My liege, I crave thy pardon. 
 
 Thou mak'st my heart full sore; 
 Leave me my life of freedom, 
 
 My hunting-spear restore. 
 I have — indeed — a palfrey. 
 
 For thine my thanks are told; 
 I mean to mount on horseback 
 
 When once I'm faint and old." 
 
 "I see 'tis vain to parley 
 
 With one so flown with pride; 
 Yet hold! a cup of box-wood 
 
 Thou bearest by thy side; 
 The chase hath made my thirsty: 
 
 Now by thy favour, Count, 
 A draught would much revive me 
 
 From out this sparkling fount."
 
 393 
 
 At once tlie Count arises, 
 
 And rinses out tlie cup, 
 Eight to the brim lie fills it, 
 
 And slowly hands it up. 
 The Kaiser quaffs with relish 
 
 The water cool and fine. 
 And deems the draught as pleasant 
 
 As 'twere the choicest wine. 
 
 Then by the hand, half-smiling. 
 
 The drinker takes the knight — 
 "Well hast thou rinsed the beaker 
 
 And filled it to the height; 
 Sweet was the draught thou gavest, 
 
 Fresh life it lends, I vow; 
 Henceforward to thy Kaiser 
 
 Lord-Cupbearer art thou!" 
 
 78. The Vale of Song. 
 
 The Duke, far in the forest. 
 
 Sat 'neath an oaktree's shade ; 
 Whilst near him, gathering berries, 
 
 A maiden singing strayed. 
 The fresh and fragrant berries 
 
 She to the graybeard bore; 
 Her dulcet tones around him 
 
 Still floated evermore.
 
 394 BALLADS. 
 
 Then spake he — "Gentle maiden, 
 
 At thy sweet voices sound, 
 Of huntsman's toil a-weary, 
 
 My spirit peace hath found. 
 The strawberries thou bringest 
 
 Are fresh and cool, y-wis; 
 But sing again — thou soothest 
 
 My soul with dreams of bliss. 
 
 When 'neath this oaktree's shadow 
 
 My ivory horn is blown, 
 Where'er its sound re-echoes, 
 
 The vale is all mine own. 
 Where'er from yonder birch-tree 
 
 Thy thrilling song shall sound, 
 I give to thee in guerdon 
 
 The land that lies around." 
 
 The gray-beard's horn resounded 
 
 Adown the pleasant vale. 
 In distant rocky gullies 
 
 It pealed like thunder's wail; 
 Then from the birch-crowned hillock 
 
 Was heard the maiden's strain, 
 As though the wings of angels 
 
 SAvept o'er the peaceful plain.
 
 395 
 
 His seal-ring, as an earnest, 
 
 He laid within her hand : — 
 *'My hunting here is ended, 
 
 Thine own is all the land." 
 The maiden bowed to thank him, 
 
 And home, rejoicing, went; 
 Fresh strawberries she carried 
 
 I' the golden circlet pent. 
 
 What time the pealing bugle 
 
 There reigned with sombre might, 
 The wild-boar fled to hide him 
 
 I' the forest's deepest night; 
 Then loudly bayed the beagles. 
 
 The startled hind dashed out. 
 And, as the prey fell bleeding, 
 
 Arose a lusty shout. 
 
 But since the maiden's carol, 
 
 There flourish meadows green , 
 The playful lambs are frisking, 
 
 And cherry-groves are seen ; 
 There dances are enwoven 
 
 In springtide's golden light. 
 And — won by song — the valley 
 
 The "Vale of Song"* is hight. 
 
 In German, Singeiithal.
 
 396 
 
 79. The Battle of the Larks. 
 
 "Larks are we, as free as ether, 
 
 'Neath the sun we blithely fly; 
 Rising from the waving cornfield. 
 
 Soar we through the azure sky." 
 Larks a thousand singing hovered 
 
 O'er the wide and even plain; 
 None that heard their joyous carol 
 
 Pent at home could long remain. 
 
 Wallerstein's proud castle leaving 
 
 Rode the Count, his son beside; 
 Who, before the Kaiser kneeling, 
 
 Soon shall win his spurs of pride. 
 Gladly hears the Count their carol, 
 
 Token of a numerous brood; 
 Whilst with beating heart beside him 
 
 Rides the youth in dauntless mood. 
 
 From the town with time-worn turrets, 
 
 Through the dark defiant gate. 
 As the golden Sunday dawneth. 
 
 Issue young and old elate. 
 Whilst the town-guard's youthful captain 
 
 Tow'rds a garden leads his bride; 
 Bids her list the larks' gay carol, 
 
 Plucks for her the violet's pride.
 
 397 
 
 Soon , alas ! these verual mornings 
 
 Rife with bloom, fly quickly past; 
 E'en the months of summer-gloiy 
 
 Yield to winter suns at last. 
 *' Larks are we, as free as ether. 
 
 Wherefore pine we lingering here? 
 Naught remains for song to utter. 
 
 Wander we o'er land and mere!" 
 
 In the misty autumn evening 
 
 From the gate the burghers steal; 
 Spread the nets in careful silence, 
 
 Listening as they crouching kneel. 
 Hark • — a whirr! the larks are coming — 
 
 Hark — a rush! a louder flight! 
 Tow'rds the nets a troop is riding. 
 
 Loudly clash their weapons bright. 
 
 Shouts the aged Count from horseback: 
 
 "Aid us, Mary, purest Dame! 
 Whilst this saucy rout we punish, 
 
 Seizing thus our lawful game!" 
 Answering shouts the youthful captain: 
 
 "Draw the sword — thrust home or fall; 
 Larks may each at pleasure capture. 
 
 Little birds are free to all!"
 
 398 
 
 As the cold gray morn is dawning, 
 
 On the field a youth lies dead; 
 O'er him, by his sword supported, 
 
 Stoops the Count in silence dread. 
 Yonder — o'er the captain's body 
 
 Sadly bends his lovely bride, 
 Whilst her long dishevelled tresses 
 
 Serve the bleeding corse to hide. 
 
 Once again, before departure. 
 
 Rise a thousand larks on high, 
 Fluttering in the sun of morning, 
 
 Warbling as they blithely fly: 
 "Larks are we, as free as ether. 
 
 Flying far o'er laud and flood ; 
 They that sought to snare and slay us 
 
 Welter in their oozing blood!"
 
 39» 
 
 80. "Ver Sacrum." 
 
 ("Ver Sacrum" means the firstlings of all that grew 
 or was brought forth in the spring, which were 
 sometimes devoted to the gods. In this instance the 
 offering is made to Mars, who requires further that 
 the youths and maidens should be devoted to him 
 also; not that they should be slain, as the people 
 at first supposed, but should emigrate and found a 
 distant colony in his honour.) 
 
 When in Lavinium erst tlie Latin crew 
 
 No more against their foes' fierce shock 
 could stand, 
 
 They to their country's last defence withdrew, 
 The Spear of Mars, uplifting eye and hand. 
 
 Then spake the aged priest the lance who 
 bore : 
 "I tell tyou, prompted by your angered 
 King, 
 A favouring flight of birds* he sends no more, 
 Except to him ye consecrate the Spring!" 
 
 * The words "auspice" and "augury" are both: 
 derived from words relating to the custom of divin- 
 ation by means of birds.
 
 400 BALLADS. 
 
 "To him the Spring be sacred" — cried the 
 crowd , 
 "To him be brought whate'er the Spring shall 
 boast;" 
 A rush of wings was heard; the spear clanged 
 loud , 
 O'erwhelmed Avith panic, fled th' Etruscan 
 host. 
 
 With shouts of victory they homeward went, 
 E'en while they triumphed, grew the land- 
 scape green; 
 With flowers, beneath each hoof, the fields 
 are sprent, 
 Where lances graze the trees, fresh buds 
 are seen. 
 
 Beside the altar, and before the gates. 
 
 To welcome them with song and mirth 
 unchecked , 
 A troop of matrons and fair maidens waits, 
 With flowers, that blossomed but that 
 morning, decked. 
 
 And whilst around the joyous welcome spread, 
 The priest the hill ascended ; in the ground 
 
 The sacred Spear implanted, bowed his head 
 In reverent wise, and spake to all around:
 
 BALLADS. 401 
 
 *'Hail, Mars! who savedst us 'mid death's 
 alarms , 
 
 What we have promised will we freely bring; 
 Across this land I stretch abroad mine arms, 
 
 And consecrate to thee this teeming spring. 
 
 Whate'er yon pasture, rich in herds, doth 
 
 hold — 
 
 The lambs, the kids upon thy hearth shall 
 
 flame; 
 
 The bullock for the plough shall ne'er grow old. 
 
 Nor conquering bit the mettled courser tame. 
 
 Whate'er yon garden yields of ripened fruit, 
 The corn, now waving green on yonder lea, 
 
 No touch of human hand shall e'er pollute. 
 All, all we consecrate, great god, to thee!" 
 
 Still knelt the multitude in silent prayer. 
 Deep silence spread the sacred landscape 
 round; 
 
 None e'er beheld a vernal scene so fair; 
 A strange portentous awe all senses bound. 
 
 Again the priest outspoke — "Yet deem ye not 
 Yourselves from debt released, your vow 
 complete ; 
 Have ye the statutes of old time forgot, 
 Nor on your promise made reflection meet? 
 
 26
 
 402 BALLADS. 
 
 The scent of floAvers — the corn but newly 
 sprung — 
 The pastures that the new-born flocks 
 receive — 
 Do these to spring belong, and not the young, 
 Your sons and maids, who through them 
 dances weave? 
 
 More than the yearling lambs, your guardian 
 loves 
 The maiden sweet, who youth's first garland 
 wears; 
 More than young foals untamed , the God 
 approves 
 The youth, when first his shining blade he 
 bares. 
 
 Oh not for naught , ye sons , 'mid battles tide,. 
 Were ye with energy divine endued; 
 
 And not for naught, ye maids, when home 
 we hied. 
 We found yotir bloom so wondrously renewed T 
 
 A people. Mars! hast thou preserved from 
 shame , 
 From badge of servitude hast kept us free ; 
 All that this year attains its prime thou'lt 
 claim ; 
 Receive it, Mars! we offer it to thee!"
 
 BALLADS. 403 
 
 Again tlie people bowed themselves in prayer, 
 The dedicated ones stood close around; 
 
 Tho' white their lips, they shone with beauty 
 rare , 
 And deep mysterious awe all senses bound. 
 
 Still silent as the grave the people lay, 
 Trembhng before the god to whom they 
 prayed , 
 When lo ! from heav'n there flashed a lustrous 
 ray 
 That struck the spear, and round it flickering- 
 played. 
 
 Thereat the priest looked up with mien 
 inspired, 
 Down waved his shining beard and silver 
 hair; 
 With heavenly light his kindling eyes were 
 fired, 
 And thus their guardian's will he 'gan 
 declare. 
 
 "His sacred spoil the god will ne'er forego; 
 Their death he asks not, but their strength 
 and life; 
 He loves not blossoms that have ceased to 
 blow. 
 But those with sap still green, with vigour rife. 
 
 26*
 
 404 BALLADS. 
 
 A colony must quit old Latium's towers 
 
 To serve in distant lands tLe god of war; 
 
 And from this Spring, so rich in germs and 
 flowers , 
 Rich store of future fruit shall rise afar. 
 
 Let each devoted youth then choose his bride, 
 
 Bright wreaths amid their locks already 
 
 twine ; 
 
 Let each fair maiden, by her loved one's side, 
 
 Depart, where'er your guiding star shall 
 
 shine. 
 
 The corn, which waving green ye yonder 
 view , 
 That take for seed-corn when the land ye 
 share ; 
 And from yon trees, that now their shoots 
 renew. 
 Preserve the kernels and the seeds with care. 
 
 There shall the bullock plough th' unbroken 
 land , 
 The playful lamb o'er new-found pastures 
 stray ; 
 There the young colt shall feel your conquering 
 hand, 
 Ere long to bear you through some desperate 
 fray.
 
 BALLADS. 405 
 
 For frays and future strife your fates portend, 
 
 From these tlie homage claimed by ]\[ars is 
 
 wrung ; 
 
 Himself amongst you shall ere long descend 
 
 From him your future race of kings be 
 
 sprung. * 
 
 "Within your temple shall his spear abide, 
 Which there your captains tremblingly must 
 smite t 
 Whene'er they wander forth o'er land and 
 tide 
 To spread o'er all the world their conqxiering 
 might. 
 
 Ye hear the destiny for you decreed; 
 
 Depart, prepare you for your glorious task ; 
 Ye are a future world's most precious seed; 
 
 Such is the "sacred spring" your god doth 
 ask!" 
 
 * Mars was the reputed father of Romulus; and 
 the Romans were descended from the okl Latins, 
 according to some traditions. 
 
 f Referring to a custom connected with a de- 
 claration of war by the ancient Romans.
 
 406 BALLADS. 
 
 81. The King's Son. 
 
 I. 
 
 The old, graylieaded monarch sits 
 
 On the throne his fathers won; 
 His mantle gleams like the evening's glow, 
 
 His crown as the setting sun. 
 
 "Come hither, my first and my second sons. 
 
 For you shall the kingdom be; 
 My third dear son, my favourite child. 
 
 What pledge shall I leave for thee?" 
 
 "Give me no treasure except thy crown, 
 
 (Tho' rusty and old it be), 
 And three strong vessels, and bid me seek 
 
 A kingdom beyond the sea!" 
 
 II. 
 
 The young prince stood at the vessel's prow, 
 
 And watched it onward fare ; 
 The sun shone bright and the breezes played 
 
 With his radiant golden hair. 
 
 The rudder creaks, the sails swell out. 
 
 Far stream the pennons gay; 
 Around the keel with a low sweet song 
 
 The mermaids flash and play.
 
 BALLADS. 407 
 
 ^'Behold my kingdom", the prince exclaims, 
 '' Far-stretching without a bound, 
 
 That sweeps with its billows fresh and blue 
 The sluggish earth around!" 
 
 But heavy clouds come rolling up, 
 Fierce gales and storms they bring; 
 
 The lightning flashes athwart the gloom, 
 And the masts in pieces spring. 
 
 The mountain-waves 'gainst the vessel's side 
 
 Break with a thunderous roar; 
 Whirled in the depths is the daring prince, 
 
 His dream of empire o'er! 
 
 III. 
 
 Fisher mem. 
 
 "Alas! 'tis sunken, mast and keel. 
 And the seamen's cries are o'er; 
 
 But see ! who hither so stoutly swims 
 As the waves around him roar? 
 
 He smites the flood with a sturdy arm, 
 Right little the waves he fears; 
 
 High lifts he his head with a golden crown. 
 Like a king's his mien appears!"
 
 408 BALLADS. 
 
 Youth. 
 
 "A king's son I — but my cliildhood's home 
 
 Have I lost beyond recall 
 The earthly mother was faint and weak 
 
 That bare me first of all; 
 
 A second mother, the mighty sea, 
 
 Hath borne me now again; 
 With her giant arms she wildly rocked 
 
 My brothers and me amain! 
 
 The others, alas! survived it not; 
 
 But me she hath borne astrand. 
 And chosen for me a kingdom fair, 
 
 This broad and welcome land!" 
 
 IV. 
 
 Fishcnnan. 
 
 "Why watchest thou thus thy fishing lines 
 
 From early morn till night, 
 And yet, with all thy wondrous care, 
 
 Bring'st never a fish to sight?" 
 
 Youth. 
 
 "I angle not for a paltry fish, 
 
 But gaze in the depths below, 
 And see, too deep for the fisher's art, 
 
 Much kingly pomp and show."
 
 409 
 
 V. 
 
 "How like a monarch the lion stalks! 
 
 His mane in the air he shakes; 
 And litters laws with a despot's voice 
 
 Through woods and forest-brakes. 
 
 Yet with my spear in my stalwart hand 
 
 I'll lay him before me dead; 
 And proudly o'er my shoulders broad 
 
 His golden garment spread. 
 
 How like a monarch the eagle soars! 
 
 He rises on joyous wing, 
 As though he would seize the golden sun 
 
 To crown himself a king. 
 
 But far aloft to the distant cloud 
 
 Shall soar my arrow fleet, 
 Shall reach him there and shall pierce him 
 through , 
 
 And lay him beneath my feet." 
 
 VI. 
 
 A wild horse through the forest runs, 
 
 That never hath felt the rein ; 
 Its colour like cream; its hoofs strike fire, 
 
 It tosses its long thick mane.
 
 410 BALLADS. 
 
 The young prince seizes its flowing mane, 
 
 Himself on its back he swings; 
 Its tail it lashes, its chest dilates, 
 
 Lonrl-neighing, it forward springs. 
 
 And all that down in the valley dwell 
 
 In listening wonder throng, 
 And seem to hear, on the hills above, 
 
 Hoarse thunders roll along. 
 
 Then, wrapt about with the lion's hide, 
 Before them the prince doth dash; 
 
 Out streams the mane of the savage steed, 
 And sparks from its foot-tracks flash. 
 
 The people cluster around him soon 
 
 With jubilant shout and song: 
 ■"All hail! 'tis he, 'tis the mighty prince 
 
 We have waited for all too long!" 
 
 VII. 
 
 Behold yon steep and lofty crag, 
 
 Round which the eagle flies! 
 There's none will dare to its peak to climb. 
 
 For there the dragon lies! 
 
 There lies she within the mouldering walls; 
 
 Her crest like gold doth gleam; 
 She rustles along with her scaly skin. 
 
 And her breath, it is flame and steam.
 
 BALLADS. 411 
 
 The youth, unarmed with a SAYOrd or shield, 
 Hath boldly attained the height; 
 
 His arms he around the serpent casts, 
 And grasps her with coi^quering might. 
 
 Then thrice he kisseth her ghastly movith, 
 For thus must he break the spells; 
 
 In his arms he claspeth a lovely maid, 
 The fairest on earth that dwells. 
 
 Now crowned is his young and lovely bride, 
 And close to his heart she lies; 
 
 From the ruins old, self-built, behold 
 A regal castle rise! 
 
 vni. 
 
 The king and queen stand side by side 
 By the throne he hath boldly won; 
 
 The throne shines bright as the morning's 
 glow , 
 Their crowns as the rising sun. 
 
 A knightly band doth around them stand, 
 Their swords in their hands they hold; 
 
 And ne'er can they turn their eyes away 
 From the throne of gleaming gold.
 
 412 BALLADS. 
 
 A blind and aged minstrel leans 
 
 On his harp, as he rests from song; 
 
 He feels that the time at length is come 
 He hath waited for all too long. 
 
 At once by the throne's bright sheen is burst 
 The veil that dimmed his sight; 
 
 Aroiind him he gazes, and ne'er can tire 
 Of the pomp so royally bright. 
 
 He seizes his harp, he smites the strings; 
 
 With clearest tones it rang; 
 And, flushed Avith the light and rapt with joy, 
 
 Like a swan ere it dies he sang. 
 
 82. The Minstrel's Curse. 
 
 There stood in former ages a castle high and 
 
 large , 
 Above the slope it glistened far down to 
 
 ocean's marge ; 
 Around it like a garland bloomed gardens of 
 
 delight , 
 Where sparkled cooling fountains, with sunbow- 
 
 glories dight.
 
 BALLADS. 413 
 
 There sat a haughty monarch, who lands in 
 
 war had won; 
 With aspect pale and gloomy he sat upon 
 
 the throne; 
 His thoughts are fraught with terrors, his 
 
 glance of fury blights; 
 His words are galling scourges, with victims' 
 
 blood he writes. 
 
 Once moved towards this castle a noble 
 
 minstrel-pair, 
 The one with locks all-golden, snow-white the 
 
 other's hair; 
 With harp in hand, the graybeard a stately 
 
 courser rode , 
 In flower of youth, beside him his tall 
 
 companion strode. 
 
 Then spake the gray -haired father — "Be 
 
 well prepared, my son; 
 Think o'er our loftiest ballads, breathe out 
 
 thy fullest tone; 
 Thine utmost skill now summon, joy's zest 
 
 and sorrow's smart, 
 'Twere well to move with music the monarch's 
 
 stony heart."
 
 414 BALLADS. 
 
 Now in the spacious chamber the minstrels 
 
 twain are seen, 
 High on the throne in splendour are seated 
 
 king and queen; 
 The king with terrors gleaming — a ruddy 
 
 Northern Light, 
 The queen all grace and sweetness — a full 
 
 moon soft and bright. 
 
 The gray-beard swept the harp-strings, they 
 sounded wondrous clear; 
 
 The notes with growing fulness thrilled through 
 the listening ear; 
 
 Pure as the tones of angels the young man's 
 accents flow. 
 
 The old man's gently murmur, like spirit- 
 voices low. 
 
 They sing of love and springtime, of happy 
 
 golden days — 
 Of manly worth and freedom, of truth and 
 
 holy ways ; 
 They sing of all things lovely, that human 
 
 hearts delight. 
 They sing of all things lofty, that human 
 
 souls excite.
 
 BALLADS. 415 
 
 The courtier-train around them forget their 
 
 jeerings now, 
 The king's defiant sokliers in adoration 
 
 bow; 
 The queen, to tears now melted, with rapture 
 
 now possessed , 
 Throws down to them in guerdon a rosebud 
 
 from her breast. 
 
 "Have ye misled my people, and now my 
 wife suborn?" 
 
 Shouts out the ruthless monarch, and shakes 
 with wrath and scorn ; 
 
 He whirls his sword , like lightning the young 
 man's breast it smote, 
 
 That, 'stead of golden legends, bright life- 
 blood filled his throat. 
 
 Dispersed, as by a tempest, was all the 
 
 listening swarm; 
 The youth sighs oiit his spirit upon his master's 
 
 arm. 
 Who round him wraps his mantle, and sets 
 
 him on the steed. 
 There tightly binds him upright, and from 
 
 the court doth speed.
 
 416 BALLADS. 
 
 Before the olden gateway — there halts the 
 
 minstrel old, 
 His golden harp he seizes, above all harps 
 
 extolled : 
 Against a marble^ pillar he snaps its tuneful 
 
 strings ; 
 Through castle and through garden his voice 
 
 of menace rings. 
 
 "Wo, wo to thee, proud castle! ne'er let 
 
 sweet tones resound 
 Henceforward through thy chambers, nor 
 
 harp's nor voice's sound ; 
 Let sighs and tramp of captives and groans 
 
 dwell here for aye. 
 Till retribution sink thee in ruin and 
 
 decay. 
 
 Wo, wo to you, fair gardens, in summerhght 
 
 that glow, 
 To you this pallid visage , deformed by death, 
 
 I shew, 
 That every leaf may wither, and every fount 
 
 run dry. 
 That ye in future ages a desert heap may 
 
 lie.
 
 BALLADS. 417 
 
 Wo, WO to thee, curst tyrant! that art the 
 minstrel's bane; 
 
 Be all thy savage strivings for glory's wreath 
 in vain! 
 
 Be soon thy name forgotten, sunk deep in 
 endless night, 
 
 Or, like a last death -murmur, exhaled in va- 
 pour light!" 
 
 The graybeard's curse was uttered; heav'n 
 
 heard his bitter cry ; 
 The walls are strewn in fragments, the halls 
 
 in ruins lie ; 
 Still stands one lofty column to witness olden 
 
 might. 
 E'en this, already shivered, may crumble 
 
 down to-night. 
 
 Where once were pleasant gardens, is now a 
 wasted land; 
 
 No tree there lends its shadow, nor fount be- 
 dews the sand ; 
 
 The monarch's name recordeth no song, nor 
 lofty verse; 
 
 'Tis wholly sunk — forgotten! Such is the Min- 
 strel's Curse! 
 
 27
 
 418 
 
 83. The Sunken Crown. 
 
 High lip on yonder hillock 
 
 A little cottage stands; 
 A pleasant view its threshold 
 
 O'er happy fields commands. 
 There sits a free-born peasant, 
 
 At eve, upon the sod; 
 His ringing scythe he sharpens, 
 
 And praises sings to God. 
 
 Far down within the valley, 
 
 Where darkly yawns the ditch, 
 There lies, sunk deep within it, 
 
 A crown, superb and rich. 
 There carbuncle and sapphire 
 
 In secret twilight gleam; 
 There hath it lain for ages, 
 
 And troubles no man's dream.
 
 BALLADS. 419 
 
 84. The Deatli of TeU. 
 
 "On quitting Altorf, the road crosses the mouth 
 of the vale of Schächen, traversing by a bridge the 
 stream in which, according to tradition, William Tell 
 lost his life (1850) in endeavouring to rescue a child 
 from the water-fall of Biirglen. He plunged in, and 
 neither he nor the child was seen after." 
 
 Murray's Swiss Guide, p. i07. 
 
 According to Uhland, however, the child was saved 
 and Tell's body recovered. 
 
 Green grow the Alpine pastures, 
 
 The avalanches cease; 
 The flocks ascend the mountains, 
 
 As yielding snows decrease.* 
 When, by the South-wind melted, 
 
 The ice in pieces falls, 
 Your struggles fierce for freedom, 
 
 Ye Swiss! the scene recals. 
 
 Down foams the roaring Schächen 
 
 From yonder cloven height, 
 And rocks and pines are shivered 
 
 Before its headlong flight. 
 
 * In Switzerland, in the spring, the cattle are sent 
 up from the vallies to the lower pastures of the Alps, 
 
 27 *
 
 420 
 
 Its stream hath swamped the foot-bridge 
 
 That o'er the torrent hung, 
 And swept away the stripling 
 
 That on the phank had sprung. 
 
 A man was fast approaching 
 
 The foot-bridge, as it gave; 
 The grayhaired wanderer stays not, 
 
 But dives the lad to save, 
 Grips him with eagle-swiftness. 
 
 Seeks out a shallow bay; 
 The boy escapes the billow, 
 
 The man is whirled away! 
 
 But when ashore the body 
 
 Was drifted by the flood, 
 Around it men and women 
 
 In speechless sorrow stood; 
 As though a shock had cloven 
 
 The Rothstock's * rocky bed , 
 One mouth (it seemed) shrieked loudly - 
 
 "Brave Tell — our Tell — is dead!" 
 
 Roved I o'er snows eternal, 
 
 A mountain-shepherd free. 
 Were I a daring sailor 
 
 O'er Uri's** emerald sea; 
 
 * The Uri Rothstock, a mountain 10,376 feet high. 
 ** One of the bays of the lake of Lucerne.
 
 BALLADS. 421 
 
 And saw I Tell's dead body — 
 
 By lieart-felt sorrow wrung, 
 My arms sliould fondly clasp liim, 
 
 My lay should thus be sung : 
 
 "Thou wast the life of all men, 
 
 Now here thou liest dead ; 
 Thy gray hair still is dripping 
 
 Around thy pallid head. 
 A ruddy boy stands near thee 
 
 Recovered from the stream, 
 And round thee, clothed in sunshine, 
 
 The land thou didst redeem. 
 
 The love that late within thee 
 
 For that poor boy did glow, 
 Once woke in thee the impulse 
 
 That laid the tyrant low. 
 Intent to save, thou knew'st not 
 
 Of slumber or dismay. 
 Or Avhen thy locks were auburn, 
 
 Or when thy hair was gray. 
 
 Hadst thou in youth's full vigoin- 
 
 Plunged in this lad to save, 
 And hadst thou 'scaped in safety. 
 
 Not sunk beneath the wave, 
 We might from thence have augured 
 
 Thy future glorious deeds ;
 
 422 
 
 But uow tlie less acliievemeut 
 The greater one succeeds. 
 
 Altliougli a nation's praises 
 
 Conspired thine ears to fill, 
 A faint appeal for succour 
 
 At once could reach them still. 
 That hero's breast is kindled 
 
 With freedom's purest glow, 
 Who, crowned with victory's garland, 
 
 Loves rather use than show. 
 
 In safety thou returnedst 
 
 From that destructive deed, 
 'Twas in a work of mercy 
 
 Thou couldst no longer speed; 
 'Twas not to save a people 
 
 Heav'n asked thy life's dear price, 
 But deemed thee for a stripling 
 
 A fitting sacrifice. 
 
 Where, by thine arrow stricken. 
 
 The ruthless Gessler fell, 
 A house of prayer stands open 
 
 Of God's revenge to tell. 
 But here where thou didst perish 
 
 A stripling's life to save, 
 A simple cross of stonework 
 
 Denotes thy humble grave.
 
 BALLADS, 423 
 
 All lands shall hear the story- 
 How Switzerland was freed, 
 
 And tongues of famous poets 
 Shall celebrate thy deed; 
 
 But shepherds by the Schächen, 
 At purple eventide, 
 
 Shall tell the rocks around them 
 How nobly thou hast died." 
 
 85. The Bell -cavern. 
 
 I know a curious grotto 
 
 With crystals vaulted jound, 
 'Tis by some God invested 
 
 With wondrous powers of sound; 
 Whate'er one sings, whate'er one tells, 
 Re-echoes like a peal of bells. 
 
 Two blest ones there are standing, 
 (Like hopes their spirits move) , 
 
 Their pent desires outpouring, 
 Avowing mutual love; 
 
 MeanAvhile a clear-voiced bell keeps time 
 
 W^ith one of deeper, stronger chime!
 
 424 
 
 There lie some boou-comi3anions 
 
 The stony bench along; 
 Full cups of wine they brandish, 
 
 Sing scraps of drunken song; 
 Ne'er rang the echoes louder, higher 
 Like bells that warn of storm or fire. 
 
 Two men, sedate and earnest, 
 Linked by pure freedom's baud, 
 
 Are anxiously discussing 
 Their German Fatherland; 
 
 Hark! from the farthest nook a bell 
 
 Booms deeply, like a funeral knell. 
 
 86. The Lost Church. 
 
 Oft, yonder forest's depths within, 
 
 Is faintly heard a chiming peal; 
 None know from whence the sounds begin', 
 
 E'en legends scarce the spot reveal. 
 The church hath passed away, but still 
 
 The chimes come softly on the wind ; 
 Once pilgrims would the pathway fill 
 
 Which now none knoweth where to find.
 
 BALLADS. 425 
 
 The forest's depths I lately sought, 
 
 From every track of man retired; 
 To quit the ills this age hath wrought 
 
 Aud yearn for God, my soul aspired. 
 Where silence all around was poured, 
 
 I heard this pleasant chime again; 
 The more my aspirations soared, 
 
 The nearei*, louder seemed the strain. 
 
 My soul was so absorbed in dreams , 
 
 My mind so ravished by the sound, 
 That still a mystery it seems 
 
 How I such heights of fancy found ; 
 Methought a hundred years had lied 
 
 Whilst still I mused in dreamy mood, 
 When in the parting clouds o'erhead 
 
 A sunny opening space I viewed. 
 
 The sky Avas there so deeply blue; 
 
 And, 'neath the cloudless sun's full gleam, 
 A fair cathedral rose to view 
 
 All glorious in the golden beam. 
 Methought light clouds, fringed round with fire, 
 
 Like wings, the stately pile upbore, 
 And lo ! its turret's topmost spire 
 
 To heaven itself appeared to soar. 
 
 The bell's melodious cheerful sound 
 Rang quivering from the lofty tower;
 
 426 BALLADS. 
 
 The rope no human hand drew round, 
 'Twas moved by some mysterious power. 
 
 Methought that impulse strange and strong 
 Seemed too my beating heart to draw; 
 
 The spacious nave I paced along 
 With tottering step and holy awe. 
 
 "What felt I in that blest abode 
 
 Is past the power of words to paint; 
 The windows deeply, purely glowed 
 
 With forms of many a martyred saint. 
 Behold! with wondrous glory bright, 
 
 Each pictured form awoke to life ; 
 I saw where reigned the saints in light , 
 
 Made conquerors in the holy strife. 
 
 O'ercome with holy fear and love, 
 
 I knelt before the altar fair; 
 I glanced upon the roof above, 
 
 Heav'n's glories were depicted there. 
 But when I glanced aloft once more. 
 
 The vaulted roof asunder flew , 
 Wide open stood heav'n's golden door. 
 
 No veil obscured the dazzling view. 
 
 The thousand glorious sights that stirred 
 My soul with silent rapt amaze , 
 
 The sweet melodious sounds I heard. 
 
 More sweet than organ's tones of praise;
 
 427 
 
 All these no words have power to tell — 
 But he that such delights would feel 
 
 Must list to that entrancing bell 
 
 That in yon wood doth faintly peal. 
 
 87. The Sunken Convent. 
 
 A convent lies deep-sunken 
 
 Beneath the tranquil wave; 
 The sisters and the father 
 
 Have found a Avatery grave. 
 A troop of laughing mermaids 
 
 Go swimming round and round, 
 In every corner peering 
 
 For what may there be found. 
 
 Through dormit'ry and chapel 
 
 A splashing rabble steers, 
 The locutorium's prattle 
 
 Again the convent hears. 
 Eight blithely peals the organ, 
 
 Song through the choir resounds, 
 And — when it suits the ringers — 
 
 The bell for vespers sounds.
 
 428 BALLADS. 
 
 The verdant beach invites them, 
 
 When gleams the moon o'erhead, 
 Decked out in sacred garments 
 
 A merry round to tread; 
 Black stoles stream out and flutter, 
 
 White veils, swift whirling, glance; 
 The flaming tapers splutter 
 
 As though they joined the dance. 
 
 In yonder cave, a goblin — 
 
 Behind a stony mound — 
 A father's cowl Avraps round him 
 
 Which on the shore he found; 
 In haste — to scare the dancers — 
 
 He joins the motley rout ; 
 But down into the abbey 
 
 They dive with jeering shout. 
 
 88. A Fairy Tale. 
 
 (The poet here ingeniously applies a well-known 
 tale to describe tlie growth of German ballad poetry; 
 its displacement by poetry of a more artificial kind; 
 and, finally, its revival.)
 
 429 
 
 Thou oft hast heard the story . 
 
 Of her who, hidden deep 
 Within a wood's recesses, 
 
 For ages lay asleep. 
 This wonder's name was never 
 
 Till now, revealed to theej 
 I found it out but lately — 
 
 'Tis — German Minstrelsy! 
 
 At birth — two potent fairies 
 
 Approached this princess fair, 
 Each stood beside her cradle 
 
 And brought her presents rare; 
 The first one quickly muttered — 
 
 "Why smilest, child, at me? 
 From pricking of a spindle 
 
 Thy death thou soon shalt see!" 
 
 Then spake in turn the other, 
 
 "Dost smile, my child, at me? 
 I give thee, dear, my blessing. 
 
 From death that sets thee free; 
 So well shall it protect thee, 
 
 Thou shalt but slumber take; 
 Four hundred years thereafter, 
 
 A prince shall bid thee wake." 
 
 Thereon strict charge was issued 
 Where'er the king bore sway;
 
 430 
 
 In every -street 'twas pviblisliecl, 
 'Twas death to disobey: — 
 
 "That Avhosoe'er had spindles 
 Should yield them up apace, 
 
 To burn them all together 
 I' the open market-place." 
 
 Not in the wonted manner 
 
 They trained this future queen; 
 Ne'er pent her in dull chambers 
 
 Where spinning-wheels are seen; 
 In gardens bright with roses, 
 
 Or 'neath the forest's shade, 
 With laughing, blithe companions 
 
 She freely romped and played. 
 
 And when her years Avere ripened, 
 
 Oh! she was fair to view, 
 With streaming golden tresses 
 
 And eyes of deepest blue! 
 In gait and gesture modest — 
 
 Her tones all hearts would win ; 
 Well skilled in every labour 
 
 Excepting — how to spin. 
 
 Proud knights appeared in numbers 
 The beauty's grace to crave, 
 
 Heinrich of Ofterdingen, 
 And Wolfram, hero brave;
 
 431 
 
 They came in mail and armour, 
 Their hands held harps of gold, 
 
 How fortunate the princess 
 
 By knights like these extolled! 
 
 With sword or lance in tourneys 
 
 They fought right readily, 
 Held women all in honour. 
 
 And sang in rivalry: 
 They sang of God's affection, 
 
 Of men renowned in fight, 
 Of thoughts that lovers cherish," 
 
 And gardens of delight. 
 
 From walls of olden townships 
 
 The echoes rolled along; 
 The burghers and the peasants 
 
 All joined the cheerful song; 
 The herdsman lone hath sung it , 
 
 Above the clouds who dwells, 
 E'en from the mine's recesses 
 
 The chorus faintly swells. 
 
 The stars, one fair May even. 
 Shone out so wondrous bright, 
 
 The princess thought they asked her 
 To seek the turret's height. 
 
 To gain the roof she hastened — 
 A beauty fair and lone —
 
 432 
 
 When from a tuiTet-chamber 
 A lamp's dim lustre shone. 
 
 With hair as white as silver, 
 
 A dame sat there and span 
 Who ne'er had heard that spindles 
 
 Were put beneath a ban; 
 The princess, who had never 
 
 That art beheld till now, 
 Cries, as the room she enters, 
 
 "Thy pardon — who art thou?" 
 
 "They call me, fairest maiden, 
 
 " Domestic Minstrelsy ; " 
 For from my dear-loved chamber 
 
 I never seek to flee. 
 This garment deftly weaving 
 
 I sit, nor care to rove; 
 My blind old cat oft aids me. 
 
 Nor from my lap will move. 
 
 Long, long didactic poems 
 
 I spin with industry; 
 Like flax — heroic ballads 
 
 I weave right rapidly. 
 My cat's deep whine is Tragic, 
 
 My wheel hath Lyric sound; 
 Rare Comedy my spindle 
 
 Plays, as it dances round."
 
 433 
 
 As thus she spake of spindles, 
 
 The princess pallid grew ; 
 In haste to fly she turned her, 
 
 The spindle tow'rds her flew ; 
 Upon the time-worn threshold 
 
 She tripped as she withdrew; 
 Her heel the cruel spindle 
 
 Immediately pierced through. 
 
 Next morning when they found her, 
 
 What cause had they to weep ! 
 In vain they sought to rouse her. 
 
 She slept the magic sleep! 
 Within a lofty chamber 
 
 A couch they straight prepare; 
 With cloth of gold 'twas covered, 
 
 And decked with roses fair. 
 
 So slept she in the chamber, 
 
 A princess royally dight; 
 Ere long on all the others 
 
 A sleep like hers did 'light. 
 The minstrels, e'en in dreaming, 
 
 Still sought the strings to sway, 
 Till through the roomy castle 
 
 The last sound died away. 
 
 The dame within the turret 
 Sits spinning soon and late; 
 
 28
 
 434 BALLADS. 
 
 In every room the spiders 
 
 Are spinning, small and great; 
 
 The shrubs and sprays more closely 
 Twine round the princely tower; 
 
 Gray clouds, together woven. 
 Above it alway lower. 
 •^ -jji ^ 
 
 Four hundred years had ended, 
 
 When lo ! a prince of might 
 By huntsmen keen attended. 
 
 Drew near the Avooded height. 
 "What battlements and turrets, 
 
 Grown gray with age, are these. 
 Of curious mould and structure , 
 
 That peer above the trees?" 
 
 » At once an aged weaver 
 
 Stood in the pathway near — 
 "Illustrious prinee, thy pardon! 
 
 My words of warning hear; 
 Huge cannibals, 'tis rumoured, 
 
 Within yon castle wait, 
 Who oft with knives inhuman 
 
 Dismember small and great." 
 
 But still the prince rode onward, 
 With him three huntsmen stout; 
 
 Soon with their trusty broadswords 
 They hewed a pathway out ;
 
 435 
 
 They found the drawbridge lowered, 
 The gates stood wide apart, 
 
 Whence (as they boldly entered) 
 Ran out a frightened hart; 
 
 For in the castle's precincts 
 
 A forest tall had grown, 
 Where many a bird was singing 
 
 With ever-changing tone; 
 But yet the huntsmen stayed not, 
 
 But daringly pressed on 
 To where, amid the branches, 
 
 A pillared gateway shone. 
 
 Before the gate's tall columns 
 
 Two sleeping giants \a.j; 
 Their halberds, crossed together. 
 
 Appeared to bar the way. 
 But still the sturdy huntsmen 
 
 Pressed forward one and all; 
 With daring steps they entered 
 
 A large and lofty hall. 
 
 All round in deep recesses 
 Were dames in rich array; 
 
 Knights sheathed in mail between them, 
 Who seemed on harps to play. 
 
 Tall silent stalwart figures 
 
 With eyelids closed, they see, 
 
 28*
 
 436 BALLADS. 
 
 Who seem like graven statues 
 Of gray antiqiiity, 
 
 A couch with gold embroidered 
 
 High in the midst is seeu, 
 Where slept in rich apparel 
 
 A maid of loveliest mien; 
 The fair one was surrounded 
 
 With roses fresh and bright; 
 On moiith and cheeks there rested 
 
 A tender rosy light. 
 
 The prince, to learn more surely 
 
 If life had wholly fled, 
 His own warm lips pressed closely 
 
 To hers so rosy red. 
 The truth he soon discovered, 
 
 Her breath was sweet and warm. 
 And even as she slumbered 
 
 She clasped him with her arm. 
 
 Her long and golden tresses 
 
 Aside she gently threw, 
 And oped, in sweet amazement. 
 
 Her eyes so heavenly blue; 
 In all the deep recesses 
 
 Each knight and dame awakes; 
 With olden songs and ballads 
 
 The princely building shakes.
 
 437 
 
 A morning red and golden 
 
 Sweet May to us hatli brouglit; 
 To 'scape the forest's darkness 
 
 The prince and princess sought. 
 Like proud gigantic spirits 
 
 The minstrels stride along, 
 With solemn steps and stately, 
 
 And sing a wondrous song. 
 
 The joyous song a^vakens 
 
 The vallies sunk in sleep; 
 Whoe'er within his bosom 
 
 A spark of youth doth keep, 
 Exclaims with deep emotion — 
 
 "This morn aye praised shall be. 
 To us that now restoreth 
 
 Our German Minstrelsy!" 
 
 Still sits the aged beldame 
 
 Within her chamber small, 
 The roof hath sunk in ruin , 
 
 Therein the rain doth fall. 
 She scarce the thread can handle, 
 
 A stroke hath made her numb; 
 God send her rest — in mercy — 
 
 Till ju.dgment-day shall come !
 
 438 BALLADS FROM THE OLD FKENCH, 
 
 BALLADS FEOM THE OLD FEENCH. 
 
 le Th.e King's Daughter. 
 
 The king of Spain's fair daughter 
 Would some employment know, 
 
 Both how to wash a garment 
 She'd learn, and how to sew. 
 
 But ere the first fine garment 
 Washed wholly white could be, 
 
 The ring from off her finger 
 Hath fallen in the sea! 
 
 The damsel fell a-weeping, 
 
 A tender heart had she; 
 When lo ! a knight rode near her 
 
 Eight worshipful to see. 
 
 "What Avilt thou give me, fair one, 
 If I thy ring restore?" — 
 
 "I scarcely can deny thee 
 One kiss — or even more."
 
 BALLADS FROM THE OLD FRENCH. 439 
 
 The knight soon doffed his armour 
 And phinged beneath the sea; 
 
 But when his dive was ended, 
 "With naught returned he. 
 
 Again he dived — ■ before him 
 
 The ring shone bright and round; 
 
 But when he dived the third time, 
 The luckless knight was drowned ! 
 
 The damsel fell a-weeping, 
 
 A tender heart had she; 
 She trembling sought her father: 
 
 "Henceforth no work for me!" 
 
 2. Count Richard the Fearless. 
 
 Legend I. 
 
 Brave Richard, Count of Xormandy, 
 
 Ne'er frightened in his life was he; 
 
 He roamed abroad by day and night. 
 
 Encountering oft a ghost or sprite; 
 
 But naught could touch his soul with fear, 
 
 By daylight, or at midnight drear; 
 
 And, since by night so oft he rode, 
 
 A common rumour went abroad,
 
 440 BALLADS FROM TUE OLD FRENCH, 
 
 He saw more clearly iu the uiglit 
 
 Thau others could in sunshine bright. 
 
 He wont, whene'er he roved around, 
 
 As often as a church he found, 
 
 (If open) through the porch to stride , 
 
 If shut, at least to pray outside. 
 
 One night he found — it so befell — 
 
 A chapel in a lonely dell. 
 
 Quick from his men he turned aside. 
 
 And, musing, let them onward ride. 
 
 His charger near the porch he bound, 
 
 Within the choir a corpse he found. 
 
 Close by the bier he fearless passed. 
 
 Himself before the altar cast, 
 
 Threw on a bench his gloves with speed, 
 
 And kissed the earth Avith pious heed. 
 
 But scarce had he an "Ave" said, 
 
 Ere (close behind his back) the dead 
 
 'Gan from the trestle to descend. 
 
 The Count looked round, and cried, "My 
 
 friend , 
 Thou may'st mean either good or ill. 
 Turn on thine ear and keep thee still." 
 At last his prayers were ended well, 
 (What time they took I cannot tell), 
 Then as he crossed himself, said he, 
 "Lord, I commend my soiil to Thee!" 
 He seized his sword and rose to go. 
 When lo! the ghost with movement slow
 
 BALLADS FROM THE OLD FRENCH. 441 
 
 Rose up before liim threateningly, 
 And stretched its skinny arms on high 
 As though 'twould keep him prisoner there y 
 Nor let him to his friends repair. 
 Small time for counsel Richard took, 
 The spectre's head in twain he strook ; 
 I know not if it shrieked or no, 
 At least it let Count Richard go. 
 He fovind his charger tethered fast, 
 Already is the churchyard past. 
 When to his thoughts the gloves arise; 
 'TAvere shame to lose them — back he hies y 
 And takes them from the bench — good lackl 
 How few would e'er have ventured back I 
 
 Lege /id II. 
 Within a cell at St. Ouan 
 Whilome there dwelt a sacristan; 
 A pious character he bore. 
 All to his right behaviour swore. 
 But ah! to souls of higher worth 
 Sets Satan strong temptation forth. 
 Once went the monk, of whom I spake, 
 His wonted place in church to take. 
 When lo ! he spied a lovely dame , 
 For whom he straight conceived a flame; 
 'Twill be his death if she demur, 
 He'd gladly risk his soul for her. 
 So much he promised her and prayed.
 
 442 BALLADS FROM THE OLD FRENCH. 
 
 At last his words the dame persuade. 
 She whispers him a time and place, 
 Where he by night may gain her grace. 
 So, when the shades of night fell deep, 
 And all the rest Avere sunk in sleep , 
 Forth on his way the brother fared, 
 For company he little cared. 
 Her house was on a streamlet's bank; 
 He needs must cross a narrow plank; 
 In haste he sought across to go ; 
 (I know not how it happened so — 
 Whether he tripped, or stept aside, 
 Or took in haste too long a stride) , 
 But, toppling headlong in the wave. 
 He sank, beyond man's power to save. 
 His soul at once a demon hent. 
 As newly from the corse it went. 
 And hastened tow'rd the fiery flood — 
 When in the way an angel stood. 
 About the soul a strife began, 
 And thus .the sharp encounter ran : 
 The demon spake — "'Tis ill for thee 
 To snatch at what belongs to me; 
 Thou know'st the soul to me is bound 
 That doing sinful deeds is found. 
 I found the monk to evil prone , 
 As by the path he took is sheAvn; 
 That path his final doom hath sealed , 
 For this, thou know'st, hath God revealed.
 
 BALLADS FEOM THE OLD FEENCH. 443 
 
 E'en as I find thee^ so I Judge.'" — 
 
 But here tlie angel answered — "Fudge! 
 
 A spotless life tlie brother spent 
 
 When in the convent-walls y-pent; 
 
 And scripture makes it understood, 
 
 A sure reward awaits the good. 
 
 For good that he hath done on earth 
 
 Must he receive its tenfold worth. 
 
 The sin was not committed quite , 
 
 For which thou 'dst punish him ovitright. 
 
 He past the convent-gate had gone, 
 
 Thence to the plank he hurried on, 
 
 But had he not mista'en the track, 
 
 "Who knows but he had yet gone back? 
 
 For evil he did ne'er commit 
 
 To punish him is hardly fit; 
 
 And — for a little evil thought ■ — 
 
 It hath not his perdition wrought. 
 
 No longer let us wrangle — no ! 
 
 But rather to Count Richard go ; 
 
 Let him the best solution tell, 
 
 He evermore decideth well." — 
 
 "Content am I" — the fiend replied — ■ 
 
 "Count Richard should our strife decide." 
 
 So to his chamber swift they sped; 
 
 He late had slept, and lay a-bed; 
 
 Of many things he 'gan to take 
 
 Good counsel, as he lay awake. 
 
 They straight related him the whole
 
 444 BALLADS FROM THE OLD FRENCH, 
 
 Of what liad happened to the soul, 
 And prayed him judge betwixt tliera two , 
 To which of them the soul was due. 
 Not long the Count his rede delayed, 
 But briefly thus his answer made. 
 "Unto the corse its soul restore, 
 Then place him on the bridge once more, 
 Just where he late was overthrown, 
 Then both must leave him quite alone. 
 Then, if he hold an onward course, 
 Nor glance behind , nor feel remorse , 
 Then fall he into Satan's toil 
 Without revoke or further coil! 
 But if he homeward turn to flee. 
 He — for his penitence — is free!" 
 They hearken to Count Richard's rede, 
 To try the plan are both agreed. 
 They to the corse its soul restore, 
 And place him whence he fell once more. 
 But when the monk his senses found 
 And on both legs stood safe and sound. 
 He backward drew in greater dread 
 Than one who on a snake doth tread. 
 As soon as they had set him free, 
 To say farewell ne'er waited he, 
 But home at utmost speed he goes , 
 Concealed himself, and wrung his clothes. 
 He thought his death each minute due, 
 If still he lived he scarcely kneAv.
 
 BALLADS FROM THE OLD FEENCH. 445 
 
 But wlien the light of day arose, 
 
 To St. Ouan Count Richard goes, 
 
 Together calls the brotherhood — 
 
 In humid garb a brother stood! 
 
 Count Richard bids him forward pace 
 
 And meet the abbot face to face — 
 
 "Say, brother, what hast thou to rue? 
 
 What evil hast thou sought to do? 
 
 Next time take better heed, my friend, 
 
 How over planks by night you wend ; 
 
 And make to us confession free 
 
 Of all that chanced last night to thee!" 
 
 With shame the monk Avas well nigh dead. 
 
 Above his ears his skin was red 
 
 To think he must his fault unfold; 
 
 Yet all at length he plainly told. 
 
 The Count averred he spake aright, 
 
 So came the simple truth to light; 
 
 And many a year in Normandy 
 
 This taunt was wont in vogue to be — 
 
 "My pious brother, 'ware of speed. 
 
 And how you cross a plank take heed!"
 
 446 BALLADS FROM THE OLD FKENCH. 
 
 3. A Legend. 
 
 There stood a church well known to fame, 
 
 St. Michael of the Mount hy name, 
 
 On Normandy's remotest edge 
 
 Upon a cliff's exalted ledge, 
 
 Surrounded by the surging tide 
 
 Save Avhen, upon the landAvard side, 
 
 (What time the ebbing waves drew back), 
 
 Was opened out a beaten track. 
 
 The tide rolls inward twice a day 
 
 With forcible and rapid sway, 
 
 That all, who at the time of flow 
 
 Would cross, must at their peril go. 
 
 Oft pilgrims to the church repair 
 
 To gain in heaven a surer share. 
 
 Once, on a certain festival, 
 
 On pressed the pious pilgrims all 
 
 To celebrate the holy mass. 
 
 Just as the waters 'gan to pass. 
 
 They fled the narrow path along, 
 
 A hasty and tumultuous throng. 
 
 One woman, soon to prove at length 
 
 A mother, lost her little strength, 
 
 Impeded by the bitter smart 
 
 Than inly dwelt beneath her heart, 
 
 And, in the tumult overthrown, 
 
 Upon the shrinking sand lay prone.
 
 BALLADS FROM THE OLD FRENCH. 447 
 
 To save himself each pilgrim strained, 
 While she, unheeded, there remained. 
 Across the others all had run 
 And now the rocky slope had won. 
 When horror! they the victim view, 
 Round whom the waters closer drew. 
 All other help was now too late , 
 The help of heaven they supplicate; 
 While she, who thought her death was near. 
 Nor saw a human friend appear, 
 To Jesus and the Virgin prayed. 
 And to the angels shrieked for aid. 
 No pilgrian heard her voice's sound, 
 But yet to heaven a way it found. 
 On high , the Virgin-mother sweet 
 Rose quickly from her golden seat. 
 And, all-compassionate, in haste 
 A veil around the woman placed. 
 Who, by its wonder-working might. 
 Was sheltered from the billows' spite! 
 For, 'mid the waves that round her flowed, 
 Was formed for her a dry abode ! 
 The time of ebb was drawing near. 
 The pilgrims on the strand appear; 
 They long had deemed the woman lost, 
 But, as the tide the sand re-crossed. 
 She from amid the waves was seen 
 Emerging safe, with joyous mien, 
 And in her arms' embraces mild
 
 448 BALLADS FROM THE OLD FRENCH. 
 
 She lielcl a lovely ucAV-boru child. 
 Then gladly priest and lay unite 
 To glory in the wondrous sight, 
 Towards her point in glad amaze, 
 And Jesus and the Virgin praise. 
 
 4. Roland and Alda. 
 
 FROM AN OLD ROMANCE. 
 
 This poem, as the title intimates, seems to be very 
 closely copied from some old Norman original. It is 
 written in a kind of "asonante" verse, every line 
 ending with a syllable containing the same vowel 
 sound, until a short line occurs, when the vowel 
 sound is changed. This peculiarity I have endea- 
 voured to preserve. 
 
 Back to the town the Vianese* in haste 
 Withdrew; the gate was barred, the draw- 
 bridge raised. 
 This when king Charles beheld, his blood 
 
 with rage 
 Boiled fiercely, and right wrathfully he spake — 
 "Dash forward to th' assault, ye knightly race! 
 
 * In German, "die Vianer". This I guess to mean 
 the inhabitants of Viana, in Navarre, at no great 
 distance from Roncesvalles.
 
 BALLADS FROM THE OLD FRENCH. 449 
 
 Who fails me now — whatever fief he claims, 
 Holds he in France strong fort or rich estate , 
 Fair castle, borough, tower, or marketplace. 
 All even with the ground shall soon be laid ! " 
 Hearing such words as these, all forward came. 
 Some close beneath the walls pavises* bare, 
 And hammers and steel-headed hatchets SAvayed. 
 Straight to the walls the Vianese repaired, 
 And hurled adown huge beams and stony hail. 
 Till more than sixty of the youthful race 
 Of France's heroes fell, full sorely maimed, 
 "Imperial lord" — Sir Naims-im-Bart then 
 
 spake. 
 If thou by force of arms this town wouldst gain 
 With all its lofty walls and ramparts fair. 
 Its thick and steadfast towers, unworn by age, 
 Which once with savage strength the heathen 
 
 framed , 
 Methinks, 'twill never in thy life be ta'en! 
 Send therefore to the land of France in haste. 
 That carpenters be hitherward conveyed; 
 And Avhen at last these walls shall meet their 
 
 gaze. 
 Then bid them manifold machines prepare 
 That so the walls may fall!" 
 
 * The pavise, pavais, or pavache, was a very large 
 shield, used by besiegers to defend themselves while 
 they attacked a fort. 
 
 29
 
 450 BALLADS FROM THE OLD FKENCH. 
 
 The Emperor hears him, aud with anger fired, 
 "Montjoy! " Avith mighty voice he loudly cries, 
 "What makes you tremble so, my valiant 
 
 knights ? " 
 Hereat begins anew the stormy strife, 
 They heave, they hurl, they sling with fu- 
 rious might. 
 And lo ! amongst them Alda, Venus-like, 
 Comes forward, proudly clad in robes of price, 
 With golden threads right skilfully bedight. 
 Red were her blooming cheeks, and blue her 
 
 eyes. 
 She stepped upon the mighty rampart's height, 
 And when she viewed th' assault, the uproar 
 
 wild , 
 Stooped down aiid seized a stone of wondrous 
 
 size, 
 AVhich on a Gascon's helm she caused to light 
 So sternly, that the crest in twain it rived, 
 And scarcely he retained the breath of life. 
 This deed beheld brave Roland, keen of sight. 
 And thus with mighty voice the hero cries : 
 "By all the Saints I swear, upon this side 
 Will no one ever make the town his prize, 
 For I 'gainst womankind will never fight." 
 Not long delayed he, ere once more he cries: 
 "Who art thou, virgin fair, so Venus-like? 
 Receive my question with a gracious mind, 
 I ask thee but from ignorance, not slight."
 
 BALLADS FROM THE OLD FRENCH. 451 
 
 "My name from tliee I hide not" — she re- 
 plies, 
 "By them that reared me was I Alda hight, 
 Daughter of Rayner, Genoa's prince and pride. 
 Sister of Oliver so keen of sight, 
 And niece of Gerhard, famed for high em- 
 prise. 
 Illustrious is my race, its empire wide. 
 Unwedded to this day have I survived. 
 And, by the saints and angels, so will bide. 
 For he I wed must please duke Gerhard's mind 
 And Oliver's, in whom all valour shines." 
 Then to himself made Roland answer light — 
 "Now by the saints, 'tis pity but thou find 
 Thyself soon nestling in these arms of mine ! 
 For so I purpose, if the combat dire 
 To which Sir Oliver hath me defied 
 Shall leave me conqueror!" 
 
 Then spake again fair Alda, the discreet, 
 "Sir Knight, I nowise have from thee con- 
 cealed 
 The knowledge thou didst pray me to reveal. 
 Then answer me in turn — if so thou please — 
 From whence art thou, and by what parents 
 
 reared? 
 I marvel at thy large well-fastened shield. 
 Thy sword, that by thy side hangs bright 
 and keen, 
 
 9C)*
 
 452 BALLADS FROM THE OLD FRENCH. 
 
 Thy lance, from which a peunon bravely 
 
 streams , 
 And at thy dapple-gray and stately steed, 
 That swiftly as a winged arrow speeds. 
 'Mid those that stem our host thou tak'st the 
 
 lead , 
 Before all others thou a hero seem'st. 
 By all my powers of gviess, I well believe 
 That she thou lovest must be beauty's queen! " 
 Then Roland , laughing loud , made answer 
 
 meet , 
 "Yea, lady, 'tis the truth that thou dost 
 
 speak ! 
 In all wide Christendom she hath no peer. 
 Nor — that I know — elsewhere ! " 
 
 Yet Roland, hearing that she so replied, 
 Would not at once reveal his Avhole design, 
 But answered her in turn, dismissing guile. 
 "Dear lady, let at least this truth suffice, 
 By them that love me am I Roland hight." 
 Fair Alda heard him Avith a joyous mind; 
 "Art thou that Roland who — else rumour 
 
 lies — 
 Wilt meet my brother soon in desperate strife? 
 Thou little knowest all his force and fire. 
 For if thou plighted art 'gainst him to strive, 
 I tell thee of a truth, it stirs mine ire;
 
 BALLADS FROM THE OLD FRENCH. 453 
 
 For men will think thou seek'st me for thy 
 
 bride ; 
 I hear such rumours are already rife. 
 Yea, by thy truth and service as a knight, 
 Had I not yesterday escaped thy gripe. 
 Thou hadst not been so merciful or kind 
 As e'er to set me free in any wise." 
 Roland her words remarked, and thus replied, 
 "I pray thee, of mine honour make not light." 
 The Emperor to the Count of Berri cries, 
 "Sir Lambert! tell me true, dismissing guile, 
 Who is the maid on yonder turret's height 
 Who oft to Roland speaks, and he replies?" 
 "Now by my loyalty," Sir Lambert cries, 
 "'Tis beauteous Alda, she whom all admire, 
 Of valiant Rayner, Genoa's prince, the child. 
 Soon to Ro'in she goes — the Lombard's 
 
 bride." 
 "That will she never," cried the king, and 
 
 smiled , 
 "Roland himself hath set on her his mind; 
 And sooner should a hundred steel-clad knights 
 Be slain , than Alda prove the Lombard's bride." 
 So spake the king; but Roland straight retired 
 From Alda, who remained upon the height. 
 The king beheld him, and with slightest smile 
 Exclaimed — "Dear nephew, what dost thou 
 
 design 
 Towards yon maiden on the turret's height?
 
 454 BALLADS FROM THE OLD FRENCH. 
 
 If tliou, perchance, against her cherish ire, 
 I pray thee now in love, forgive her qi\ite!" 
 Chilcle Eoland heard, with shame his cheeks 
 were fired 
 Beneath his uncle's gaze. 
 
 "Dear nephew mine," quoth Charles, the hero 
 
 brave , 
 "For her dear sake, Avho with thee lately 
 
 spake. 
 Hast thou upon one spot too long delayed. 
 For Oliver meanwhile dashed through the gate, 
 And with him knights a hundred, well arrayed, 
 Who by surprise thy followers have ta'en. 
 In twain have cleft some twenty of their 
 
 pates. 
 And freed the prisoners which we lately made! 
 Of this was beauteous Alda well aware, 
 And did but jest with thee to keep thee safe!" 
 Childe Roland heard him, and for anger 
 
 raved , 
 His countenance was flushed with furious rage. 
 But when the Emperor saw how Koland 
 
 chafed. 
 He sought to turn aside his wrath again. 
 "Dear nephew, be not mad with rage," he 
 
 spake; 
 "For her dear sake who with thee talked of 
 
 late,
 
 BALLADS FKOM THE OLD FRENCH. 455 
 
 We'll turn us homeward to our teuts again; 
 For love of lier we'll bid the siege be raised." 
 Childe Roland answered — "Be it as thou 
 
 say'st." 
 A trumpet blew — the mighty host in haste 
 Drew backward to their tents.
 
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