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, As the tongue of yonder tower, Told the fourth, the fated hour? Starts the steed, and snuffs the air, 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, Dark the seventh sad night descends; 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, Lent its wild and wondrous close! 'Midst the din, he seemed to hear "Twas the lay that Alice loved. Hark! for now a solemn knell FOUR times on the still night broke; As the lengthened clangours die, All with black the board was spread, Long since numbered with the dead! THE ERL-KING. FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. IT 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. 66 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. "O! wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest child? "O father! my father! and did you not hear 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 wild, 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 ?" "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! Sore trembled the father; he spurred through the wild, Miscellaneous. HELLVELLYN. IN the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Hellvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier-bitch, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmorland. I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide; All was still, save, by fits, when the eagle was yelling, And starting around me the echoes replied. On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died. Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain-heather, Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in decay, Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather, Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay. Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended, The much-loved remains of her master defended, And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber? When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start? How many long days and long nights didst thou number, When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded, Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming; In the proudly arched chapel the banners are beaming; But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, When, wildered, he drops from some cliff huge in stature, And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, Thy obsequies sung by the grey plover flying, With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam. THE MAID OF TORO. O, Low Shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, Sorely sighed to the breezes, and wept to the flood. All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle, And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the gale. Life's ebbing tide marked his footsteps so weary, "O, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying! And scarce could she hear them, benumbed with despair: a This and the three following pieces were first published in Haydn's Collection of Scottish Airs, Edinburgh, 1806. |