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Scarce passed he the archway, the threshold scarce trod, When the winds from the four points of heaven were


They made each steel portal to rattle and ring,
And, borne on the blast, came the dread Fire-King.
Full sore rocked the cavern whene'er he drew nigh,
The fire on the altar blazed bickering and high;
In volcanic explosions the mountains proclaim
The dreadful approach of the Monarch of Flame.

Unmeasured in height, undistinguished in form,
His breath it was lightning, his voice it was storm;
I ween the stout heart of Count Albert was tame,
When he saw in his terrors the Monarch of Flame.

In his hand a broad falchion blue-glimmered through smoke,

And Mount Lebanon shook as the monarch he spoke :With this brand shalt thou conquer, thus long, and no


Till thou bend to the Cross, and the Virgin adore."

The cloud-shrouded arm gives the weapon; and see!
The recreant receives the charmed gift on his knee:
The thunders growl distant, and faint gleam the fires,
As, borne on his whirlwind, the Phantom retires.
Count Albert has armed him the Paynim among.
Though his heart it was false, yet his arm it was strong;
And the Red-cross waxed faint, and the Crescent came on,
From the day he commanded on Mount Lebanon.

From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's wave,

The sands of Samaar drank the blood of the brave;
Till the Knights of the Temple, and Knights of Saint John,
With Salem's King Baldwin, against him came on.

The war-cymbals clattered, the trumpets replied,
The lances were couched, and they closed on each side;
And horsemen and horses Count Albert o'erthrew,
Till he pierced the thick tumult King Baldwin unto.

Against the charmed blade which Count Albert did wield,
The fence had been vain of the King's Red-cross shield;
But a Page thrust him forward the monarch before,
And cleft the proud turban the renegade wore.

So fell was the dint, that Count Albert stooped low
Before the crossed shield, to his steel saddle-bow;
And scarce had he bent to the Red-cross his head,-
"Bonne grace, notre Dame," he unwittingly said.
Sore sighed the charmed sword, for his virtue was o'er;
It sprung from his grasp, and was never seen more;
But true men have said, that the lightning's red wing
Did waft back the brand to the dread Fire-King.

He clenched his set teeth, and his gauntleted hand;
He stretched, with one buffet, that Page on the strand;
As back from the stripling the broken casque rolled,
You might see the blue eyes, and the ringlets of gold.

Short time had Count Albert in horror to stare
On those death-swimming eyeballs, and blood-clotted

For down came the Templars, like Cedron in flood,
And dyed their long lances in Saracen blood.
The Saracens, Curdmans, and Ishmaelites yield
To the scallop, the saltier, and crosleted shield;
And the eagles were gorged with the infidel dead,
From Bethsaida's fountains to Naphtali's head.
The battle is over on Bethsaida's plain.-
Oh, who is yon Paynim lies stretched 'mid the slain?
And who is yon Page lying cold at his knee?—
Oh, who but Count Albert and fair Rosalie.

The Lady was buried in Salem's blessed bound,
The Count he was left to the vulture and hound:
Her soul to high mercy our Lady did bring;
His went on the blast to the dread Fire-King.

Yet many a minstrel, in harping, can tell,
How the Red-cross it conquered, the Crescent it fell;
And lords and gay ladies have sighed, 'mid their glee,
At the tale of Count Albert and fair Rosalie.


THIS tale is imitated, rather than translated, from a fragment introduced in Goethe's " 'Claudina von Villa Bella," where it is sung by a member of a gang of banditti, to engage the attention of the family, while his companions break into the castle. It owes any little merit it may possess to my friend Mr. Lewis, to whom it was sent in an extremely rude state; and who, after some material improvements, published it in his "Tales of Wonder," 1801.

FREDERICK leaves the land of France,
Homewards hastes his steps to measure;
Careless casts the parting glance,

On the scene of former pleasure;
Joying in his prancing steed,

Keen to prove his untried blade,
Hope's gay dreams the soldier lead

Over mountain, moor, and glade.
Helpless, ruined, left forlorn,
Lovely Alice wept alone:

Mourned o'er love's fond contract torn, Hope, and peace, and honour flown. Mark her breast's convulsive throbs!

See, the tear of anguish flows!Mingling soon with bursting sobs,

Loud the laugh of frenzy rose. Wild she cursed and wild she prayed; Seven long days and nights are o'er; Death in pity brought his aid,

As the village bell struck four.

Far from her, and far from France,

Faithless Frederick onward rides, Marking, blithe, the morning's glance Mantling o'er the mountain's sides. Heard ye not the boding sound,

As the tongue of yonder tower, Slowly, to the hills around,

Told the fourth, the fated hour? Starts the steed, and snuffs the air,

Yet no cause of dread appears; Bristles high the rider's hair,

Struck with strange mysterious fears. Desperate, as his terrors rise,

In the steed the spur he hides; From himself in vain he flies; Anxious, restless, on he rides. Seven long days, and seven long nights, Wild he wandered, woe the while! Ceaseless care, and causeless fright,

Urge his footsteps many a mile. Dark the seventh sad night descends;

Rivers swell, and rain-streams pour; While the deafening thunder lends

All the terrors of its roar. Weary, wet, and spent with toil,

Where his head shall Frederick hide? Where, but in yon ruined aisle,

By the lightning's flash descried.

To the portal, dank and low,

Fast his steed the wanderer bound; Down a ruined staircase slow,

Next his darkling way he wound.

Long drear vaults before him lie!

Glimmering lights are seen to glide!"Blessed Mary, hear my cry!

Deign a sinner's steps to guide!"—

Often lost their quivering beam,
Still the lights move slow before,
Till they rest their ghastly gleam

Right against an iron door.
Thundering voices from within,
Mixed with peals of laughter, rose;
As they fell, a solemn strain

Lent its wild and wondrous close!
'Midst the din, he seemed to hear

Voice of friends, by death removed;—
Well he knew that solemn air,

"Twas the lay that Alice loved.-
Hark! for now a solemn knell

FOUR times on the still night broke;
FOUR times, at its deadened swell,
Echoes from the ruins spoke.
As the lengthened clangours die,
Slowly opes the iron door!
Straight a banquet met his eye,

But a funeral's form it wore!
Coffins for the seats extend;

All with black the board was spread,
Girt by parent, brother, friend,

Long since numbered with the dead!
Alice, in her grave-clothes bound,

Ghastly smiling, points a seat;
All arose, with thundering sound;

All the expected stranger greet.
High their meagre arms they wave,

Wild their notes of welcome swell;
"Welcome, traitor, to the grave!
Perjured, bid the light farewell!"



Ir is necessary the reader should be informed, that in the legends of Danish superstition, certain mischievous spirits are supposed to preside over different elements, and to amuse themselves with inflicting calamities on man. One of these is termed the WATER-KING, another the FIRE-KING, and a third the CLOUD-KING. The hero of the present piece is the ERL or OAK-KING, a fiend, who is supposed to dwell in the recesses of the forest, and thence to issue forth upon the benighted traveller to lure him to his destruction.

O! who rides by night through the woodland so wild?
It is the fond Father embracing his Child;
And close the boy nestles within his loved arm,
From the blast of the tempest-to keep himself warm.

"O father! see yonder, see yonder!" he says.


My boy, upon what dost thou fearfully gaze?"


O, 'tis the Erl-King with his staff and his shroud!" "No, my love! it is but a dark wreath of the cloud."

The Phantom speaks.

66 O! wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest child?
By many gay sports shall thy hours be beguiled;
My mother keeps for thee full many a fair toy,
And many a fine flower shall she pluck for my boy."-

"O father! my father! and did you not hear
The Erl-King whisper so close in my ear ?"-
"Be still, my loved darling, my child be at ease!
It was but the wild blast as it howled through the

The Phantom.

"O wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy! My daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy; She shall bear thee so lightly through wet and through


And hug thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my child.”—


O father! my father! and saw you not plain The Erl-King's pale daughter glide past through the

rain ?"

66 O no, my heart's treasure! I knew it full soon, It was the grey willow that danced to the moon.'


The Phantom.

"Come with me, come with me, no longer delay!
Or else, silly child, I will drag thee away."
"O father! O father! now, now, keep your hold!
The Erl-King has seized me-his grasp is so cold.”-

Sore trembled the father; he spurred through the wild,
Clasping close to his bosom his shuddering child.
He reaches his dwelling in doubt and in dread;
But, clasped to his bosom, the infant was dead!

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