« AnteriorContinuar »
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 ! “Blessèd Mary, hear my cry!
Deign a sinner's steps to guide !”
Often lost their quivering beam,
Still the lights move slow before,
Right against an iron door.
Mixed with peals of laughter, rose;
Lent its wild and wondrous close!
Voice of friends, by death removed ;
"Twas the lay that Alice loved.-
Four times on the still night broke;
Echoes from the ruins spoke.
Slowly opes the iron door !
But a funeral's form it wore!
All with black the board was spread,
Long since numbered with the dead!
Ghastly smiling, points a seat;
All the expected stranger greet.
Wild their notes of welcome swell;
Perjured, bid the light farewell !”
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 ence to issue forth upon the benighted traveller to lure him to his destruction.
O! who rides by night through the woodland so wild ?
"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 ? 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 plack for my boy.”
"O father! my father! and did you not hear
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! 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,
HELL VELL Y N. In the spring of 1895, 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 fre. quent 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,
Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay.
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away.
start? How many long days and long nights didst thou number,
Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart? And, O! was it meet, that,
-no requiem read o'er him, No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before him,
Unhonoured the Pilgrim from life should depart? When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded,
* The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall; With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded,
And pages stand mute by the canopied pall:
In the proudly arched chapel the banners are beaming;
Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall.
And draws his last sob by the side of his dam.
In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam.
THE MAID OF TORO.* O, LOW shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro,
And weak were the whispers that waved the dark wood, All as a fair maiden, bewildered in sorrow,
Sorely sighed to the breezes, and wept to the flood.
My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die!”-
With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they fail, Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dread
Slowly approaching a warrior was seen;
Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien.
0, save theé, fair maid, for thy guardian is low! Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry is lying;
And fast through the woodland approaches the soe."Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow,
And scarce could she hear them, benumbed with despair: And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro,
For ever he set to the Brave, and the Fair. a This and the three following pieces were first published in Haydu's Collection of Scottish Airs, Edinburgh, 1806.