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This is the horn, the hound, and horse,
That oft the 'lated peasant hears;
Appalled, he signs the frequent cross,
When the wild din invades his ears.


The wakeful priest oft drops a tear

For human pride, for human woe,
When, at his midnight mass, he hears
The infernal cry of, " Holla, ho!"


IN the preface to the edition published anonymously in 1796, Sir Walter Scott says:- "The first two lines of the fortyseventh stanza, descriptive of the speed of the lovers, may perhaps bring to the recollection of many a passage extremely similar, in a translation of "Leonora," which first appeared in the "Monthly Magazine." In justice to himself, the translator thinks it his duty to acknowledge that his curiosity was first attracted to this truly romantic story, by a gentleman, who, having heard "Leonora " once read in manuscript, could only recollect the general outlines, and part of a couplet which, from the singularity of its structure and frequent recurrence, had remained impressed upon his memory. If, from despair of rendering the passage so happily, the property of another has been invaded, the translator makes the only atonement now in his power, by restoring it thus publicly to the rightful owner. For the information of those to whom such obsolete expressions may be less familiar, it may be noticed that the word serf, means a vassal; and that to busk and boune, is to dress and prepare one's self for a journey.


FROM heavy dreams fair Helen rose
And eyed the dawning red:

"Alas, my love, thou tarriest long!
O art thou false or dead ?"


With gallant Frederick's princely power
He sought the bold Crusade;
But not a word from Judah's wars
Told Helen how he sped.


With Paynim and with Saracen
At length a truce was made,

2 This was done by Mr. William Taylor, of Norwich.

And every knight returned to dry
The tears his love had shed.


Our gallant host was homeward bound
With many a song of joy;
Green waved the laurel in each plume,
The badge of victory.


And old and young, and sire and son, To meet them crowd the way, With shouts, and mirth, and melody, The debt of love to pay.


Full many a maid her true love met,
And sobbed in his embrace,
And fluttering joy in tears and smiles
Arrayed full many a face.


Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad;
She sought the host in vain;
For none could tell her William's fate,
If faithless, or if slain.


The martial band is passed and gone;
She rends her raven hair,
And in distraction's bitter mood
She weeps with wild despair.


"O, rise, my child," her mother said,
Nor sorrow thus in vain;
A perjured lover's fleeting heart
No tears recall again."


"O mother, what is gone, is gone,
What's lost, for ever lorn:
Death, death alone can comfort me;
O had I ne'er been born!


"O break, my heart, O break at once!
Drink my life-blood, Despair!
No joy remains on earth for me,
For me in heaven no share."


"O enter not in judgment, Lord!" The pious mother prays;

'Impute not guilt to thy frail child! She knows not what she says,



'O say thy Pater Noster, child! O turn to God and grace!

His will, that turned thy bliss to bale,
Can change thy bale to bliss."


"O mother, mother! What is bliss?
O mother, what is bale?

My William's love was heaven on earth,
Without it earth is hell.


"Why should I pray to ruthless Heaven,
Since my loved William 's slain ?
I only prayed for William's sake,
And all my prayers were vain."


"O take the sacrament, my child,
And check these tears that flow;
By resignation's humble prayer,
O hallowed be thy woe!"


"No sacrament can quench this fire,
Or slake this scorching pain:
No sacrament can bid the dead
Arise and live again.


"O break, my heart, O break at once! Be thou my god, Despair!

Heaven's heaviest blow has fallen on me, And vain each fruitless prayer."


"O enter not in judgment, Lord, With thy frail child of clay!

She knows not what her tongue has spoke; Impute it not, I pray!


"Forbear, my child, this desperate woe,
And turn to God and grace;
Well can devotion's heavenly glow
Convert thy bale to bliss."


"O mother, mother, what is bliss ? O mother, what is bale?

Without my William what were heaven, Or with him what were hell ?"


Wild she arraigns the eternal doom,
Upbraids each sacred power,
Till, spent, she sought her silent room
All in the lonely tower.


She beat her breast, she wrung her hands,
Till sun and day were o'er,

And through the glimmering lattice shone
The twinkling of the star.


Then, crash! the heavy drawbridge fell,
That o'er the moat was hung;
And, clatter! clatter! on its boards
The hoof of courser rung.


The clank of echoing steel was heard
As off the rider bounded;

And slowly on the winding stair
A heavy footstep sounded.


And hark! and hark! a knock-Tap! tap!
A rustling stifled noise ;-


Door-latch and tinkling staples ring;-
At length a whispering voice.


"Awake, awake, arise my love! How, Helen, dost thou fare?

Wakest thou, or sleep'st? laugh'st thou, or weep'st? Hast thought on me, my fair?"



My love! my love!-so late by night !—
I waked, I wept for thee:-

Much have I borne since dawn of morn;
Where, William, couldst thou be ?"


"We saddle late-from Hungary
I rode since darkness fell;
And to its bourne we both return
Before the matin-bell."


"O rest this night within my arms, And warm thee in their fold!

Chill howls through hawthorn-bush the wind:My love is deadly cold."


"Let the wind howl through hawthorn-bush! This night we must away;

The steed is wight, the spur is bright;


I cannot stay till day.


'Busk, busk, and boune! Thou mount'st behind Upon my black Barb steed :

O'er stock and stile, a hundred miles,

We haste to bridal bed."


"To-night-to-night a hundred miles !—
O dearest William, stay!

The bell strikes twelve-dark, dismal hour!
O wait, my love, till day!""


"Look here, look here-the moon shines clearFull fast I ween we ride;

Mount and away! for ere the day

We reach our bridal bed.


"The black Barb snorts, the bridle rings;
Haste, busk, and boune, and seat thee!
The feast is made, the chamber spread,
The bridal guests await thee."


Strong love prevailed: She busks, she bounes,
She mounts the Barb behind,

And round her darling William's waist
Her lily arms she twined.


And, hurry! hurry! off they rode,

As fast as fast might be ;

Spurned from the courser's thundering heels

The flashing pebbles flee.


And on the right, and on the left,
Ere they could snatch a view,

Fast, fast each mountain, mead, and plain,
And cot, and castle flew.


"Sit fast-dost fear ?-The moon shines clear

Fleet rides my Barb-keep hold!

Fear'st thou ?"" O no!" she faintly said;


"But why so stern and cold?

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