The Wild Huntsman. THIS is a translation, or rather an imitation, of the Wille Jäger of the German poet Bürger. The tradition upon which it is founded bears, that formerly a Wildgrave, or keeper of a royal forest, named Faulk. enburg, was so much addicted to the pleasures of the chase, and otherwise so extremely profligate and cruel, that he not only followed this unhallowed amusement on the Sabbath, and other days consecrated to religious duty, but accompanied it with the most unheard of oppression upon the poor peasants, who were under his vassalage. When this second Nimrod died, the people adopted a superstition, founded probably on the many various uncouth sounds heard in the depth of a German forest, during the silence of the night. They conceived they still heard the cry of the Wildgrave's hounds; and the well-known cheer of the deceased hunter, the sounds of his horses' feet, and the rustling of the branches before the game, the pack, and the sportsmen, are also distinctly discriminated; but the phantoms are rarely, if ever, visible. Once, as a benighted Chasseur heard this infernal chase pass by him, at the sound of the halloo, with which the Spectre Huntsman cheered his hounds, he could not refrain from crying, "Gluck zu Falkenburgh!" [Good sport to ye, Falkenburgh!] "Dost thou wish me good sport?" answered a hoarse voice; "thou shalt share the game;" and there was thrown at him what seemed to be a huge piece of foul carrion. The daring Chasseur lost two of his best horses soon after, and never perfectly recovered the personal effects of this ghostly greeting. This tale, though told with some variations, is universally believed all over Germany. The French had a similar tradition concerning an aërial hunter, who infested the forest of Fountainbleau. He was sometimes visible; when he appeared as a huntsman, surrounded with dogs, a tall grisly figure. Some account of him may be found in "Sully's Memoirs," who says he was called Le Grand Veneur. At one time he chose to hunt so near the palace, that the attendants, and, if I mistake not, Sully himself, camne out into the court, supposing it was the sound of the king returning from the chase. This phantom is elsewhere called Saint Hubert. The superstition seems to have been very general, as appears from the following fine poetical description of this phantom chase, as it was heard in the wilds of Ross-shire. "Ere since of old, the haughty thanes of Ross,- And hoofs, thick beating on the hollow hill. Albania-reprinted in Scottish Descriptive Puems A posthumous miracle of Father Lesley, a Scottish capuchin, related to his being buried on a hill haunted by these unearthly cries of hounds and huntsmeu. After his sainted relics had been deposited there, the noise was never heard more. The reader will find this, and other miracles, recorded in the life of Father Bonaventura, which is written in the choicest Italian THE WILD HUNTSMAN. THE Wildgrave winds his bugle-born, And thronging serfs their lord pursue. The eager pack, from couples freed, Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake; While answering hound, and horn, and steed, The mountain echoes startling wake. The beams of God's own hallow'd day But still the Wildgrave onward rides; Halloo, halloo! and, hark again! When, spurring from opposing sides, Two Stranger Horsemen join the train. Who was each Stranger, left and right, Well may I guess, but dare not tell; The right-hand steed was silver white, The left, the swarthy hue of hell. The right-hand Horseman, young and fair, His smile was like the morn of May; The left, from eye of tawny glare, Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. He waved his huntsman's cap on high, Cried, "Welcome, welcome, noble lord' What sport can earth, or sea, or sky, To match the princely chase, afford?" 1 Published (1796) with William and Helen, and entitie THE CHACE." All mild, amid the rout profane, "The meanest brute has rights to plead, Which, wrong'd by cruelty, or pride, Draw vengeance on the ruthless head :Be warn'd at length, and turn aside." Still the Fair Horseman anxious pleads; But frantic keeps the forward way. "Holy or not, or right or wrong, Thy altar, and its rites, I spurn; Not sainted martyrs' sacred song, Not God himself, shall make me turn!" He spurs his horse, he winds his horn, "Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!"But off, on whirlwind's pinions borne, The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. And horse and man, and horn and hound, Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around; He listens for his trusty hounds; No distant baying reach'd his ears: His courser, rooted to the ground, The quickening spur unmindful bears. Still dark and darker frown the shades, High o'er the sinner's humbled head At length the solemn silence broke; And, from a cloud of swarthy red, The awful voice of thunder spoke. "Oppressor of creation fair! Apostate Spirits' harden'd tool! Scorner of God! Scourge of the poor! The measure of thy cup is full. "Be chased for over through the wood; For ever roam the affrighted wild; And let thy fate instruct. the proud, God's meanest creature is his child." "The blessings of the evil Genii, which are curses, wers upon him." Eastern Tale. This ballad was written at the request of MR. LEWIS, to be inserted in his "Tales of Wonder." It is the third in a series of four ballads, on the subject of Elementary Small thought had Count Albert on fair Rosalie, Spirits. The story is, however, partly historical; for | Small thought on his faith, or his knighthood, had he, it is recorded, that, during the struggles of the Latin A heathenish damsel his light heart had won, kingdom of Jerusalem, a Knight-Templar, called Saint-The Soldan's fair daughter of Mount Lebanon. Alban, deserted to the Saracens, and defeated the Christians in many combats, till he was finally routed and slain, in a conflict with King Baldwin, under the walls of Jerusalem. BOLD knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear, O see you that castle, so strong and so high? "Now palmer, grey palmer, O tell unto me, "O well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave, For Gilead, and Nablous, and Ramah we have; "O Christian, brave Christian, my love wouldst thou be, And in the dread cavern, deep deep under ground, For the Heathen have lost, and the Christians have Save the flame burning bright on its altar of stone. won." Your castle stands strong, and your hopes soar on The priests they erase it with care and with pain, They made each steel portal to rattle and ring, Full sore rock'd the cavern whene'er he drew nigh, Unmeasured in height, undistinguish'd in form, He clench'd his set teeth, and his gauntleted hand; Short time had Count Albert in horror to stare For down came the Templars, like Cedron in flood, The Saracens, Curdmans, and Ishmaelites yield In his hand a broad falchion blue-glimmer'd through And the eagles were gorged with the infidel dead, smoke, And Mount Lebanon shook as the monarch he spoke: "With this brand shalt thou conquer, thus long, and no more, Till thou bend to the Cross, and the Virgin adore." The cloud-shrouded Arm gives the weapon; and The recreant receives the charm'd gift on his knee: Count Albert has arm'd him the Paynim among, came on, From the day he commanded on Mount Lebanon. From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's wave, With Salem's King Baldwin, against him came on. The war-cymbals clatter'd, the trumpets replied, And horsemen and horses Count Albert o'erthrew, From Bethsaida's fountains to Naphthali's head. The battle is over on Bethsaida's plain.- The Lady was buried in Salem's bless'd bound, Yet many a minstrel, in harping, can tell, This tale is imitated, rather than translated, from a fragment introduced in Goethe's "Claudina von Villa Bella," where it sung by a member of a gang of banditti, to engage the attention of the family, while his companions Against the charm'd blade which Count Albert did break into the castle. It owes any little merit it may possess wield, to my friend MR. LEWIS, to whom it was sent in an er The fence had been vain of the King's Red-cross tremely rude state; and who, after some material improv ments, published it in his " Tales of Wonder." shield; But a Page thrust him forward the monarch before, So fell was the dint, that Count Albert stoop'd low Sore sigh'd the charm'd sword, for its virtue was o'er, |