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And hoofs, thick beating on the hollow hili.
Sudden the grazing heifer in the vale
Starts at the noise, and both the herdsman's eang This is a translation, or rather an imitation, of the Tingle with inward dread. Aghast, he eyes Wilde Jäger of the German poet Bürger. The tradi
The mountain's height, and all the ridges round,
Yet not one trace of living wight discerns, tion upon which it is founded bears, that formerly a
Nor knows, o'erawed, and trembling as he stands, Wildgrave, or keeper of a royal forest, named Faulk.
To what, or whom, he owes his idle fear, enburg, was so much addicted to the pleasures of the To ghost, to witch, to fairy, or to fiend; chase, and otherwise so extremely profligate and cruel, But wonders, and no end of wondering finds." that he not only followed this unhallowed amusement
Albania-reprinted in Scottish Descriptive Puerns on the Sabbath, and other days consecrated to reli
vp. 167, 168. gious duty, but accompanied it with the most unheard
A posthumous miracle of Father Lesley, a Scottish of oppression upon the poor peasants, who were under capuchin, related to his being buried on a hill haunted his vassalage. When this second Nimrod died, the by these unearthly cries of hounds and huntsmen. people adopted a superstition, founded probably on After his sainted relics had been deposited there, the the many various uncouth sounds heard in the depth noise was never heard more. The reader will find of a German forest, during the silence of the night. this, and other miracles, recorded in the life of Father They conceived they still heard the cry of the Wild- Bonaventura, which is written in the choicest Italian grave'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,
THE WILD HUNTSMAN. and the sportsmen, are also distinctly discriminated ; but the phantoms are rarely, if ever, visible. Once, as
[1796.") a benighted Chasseur heard this infernal chase pass by him, at the sound of the halloo, with which the Spectre The Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn, Huntsman cheered his hounds, he could not refrain To horse, to horse! halloo, halloo ! from crying, “ Gluck zu Falkenburgh!” [Good sport His fiery courser snuffs the morn, to ye, Falkenburgh!] “ Dost thou wish me good And thronging serfs their lord pursue. sport ?” answered a hoarse voice; “ thou shalt share the game;" and there was thrown at him what seemed The eager pack, from couples freed, to be a huge piece of foul carrion. The daring Chas- Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake; seur lost two of his best horses soon after, and never While answering hound, and horn, and steed, perfectly recovered the personal effects of this ghostly The mountain echoes startling wake. greeting. This tale, though told with some variations, is universally believed all over Germany.
The beams of God's own hallow'd day The French had a similar tradition concerning an Had painted yonder spire with gold, aërial hunter, who infested the forest of Fountainbleau. And, calling sinful man to pray, He was sometimes visible; when he appeared as a Loud, long, and deep the bell had tollid: huntsman, surrounded with dogs, a tall grisly figure. Some account of him may be found in “ Sully's Me- But still the Wildgrave onward rides; moirs,” who says he was called Le Grand Veneur. At Halloo, halloo! and, hark again! one time he chose to hunt so near the palace, that the When, spurring from opposing sides, attendants, and, if I mistake not, Sully himself, carne Two Stranger Horsemen join the train. out into the court, supposing it was the sound of the king returning from the chase. This phantom is else- Who was each Stranger, left and right, where called Saint Hubert.
Well may I guess, but dare not tell; The superstition seems to have been very general, The right-hand steed was silver white, as appears from the following fine poetical description The left, the swarthy hue of hell. of this phantom chase, as it was heard in the wilds of Ross-shire.
The right-hand Horseman, young and fair,
His smile was like the morn of May; " Ere since of old, the haughty thanes of Ross,
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 ?"-
I Published (1796) with William and Helen, and entitled Mangled by throttling dogs; the shouts of men,
in a series of four ballads, on the subject of Elementary Small thought had Count Albert on fair Rosalie,
Our laws and our worship on thee shalt thou take;
BOLD knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear,
“ And, next, in the cavern, where burns evermore
O see you that castle, so strong and so high?
“ And, last, thou shalt aid us with counsel and hand,
“ Now palmer, grey palmer, 0 tell unto me, He has thrown by his helmet, and cross-handled sword,
“ O well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave,
And in the dread cavern, deep deep under ground, For Gilead, and Nablous, and Ramah we have; Which fifty steel gates and steel portals surround, And well fare our nobles by Mount Lebanon, He has watch'd until daybreak, but sight saw he none, For the Heathen have lost, and the Christians have Save the flame burning bright on its altar of stone.
Amazed was the Princess, the Soldan amazed, A fair chain of gold ’mid her ringlets there hung; Sore murmur'd the priests as on Albert they gazed; O'er the palmer's grey locks the fair chain has she They search'd all his garments, and, under his weeds, fung:
They found, and took from him, his rosary beads. “ O palmer, grey palmer, this chain be thy fee, For the news thou hast brought from the Holy Again in the cavern, deep deep under ground, Countrie.
He watch'd the lone night, while the winds whistled
round; “ And, palmer, good palmer, by Galilee's wave, Far off was their murmur, it came not more nigh, O saw ye Count Albert, the gentle and brave ? The flame burn’d unmoved, and nought else did he spy. When the Crescent went back, and the Red-cross rush'd on,
Loud murmur'd the priests, and amazed was the King, O saw ye him foremost on Mount Lebanon ?”—
While many dark spells of their witchcraft they sing;
They search'd Albert's body, and, lo! on his breast “ O lady, fair lady, the tree green it grows;
Was the sign of the Cross, by his father impress’d. O lady, fair lady, the stream pure it flows; Your castle stands strong, and your hopes soar on The priests they erase it with care and with pain, high;
And the recreant return'd to the cavern again; But, lady, fair lady, all blossomis to die.
But, as he descended, a whisper there fell:
It was his good angel, who bade him farewell ! “ The green boughs they wither, the thunderbolt falls,
High bristled his hair, his heart flutter'd and beat, It leaves of your castle but levin-scorch'd walls; And he turn’d him five steps, half resolved to retreat; The pure stream runs muddy; the gay hope is gone; But his heart it was harden'd, his purpose was gone, Count Albert is prisoner on Mount Lebanon.” When he thought of the Maiden of fair Lebanon.
O she's ta'en a horse, should be fleet at her speed ;
Scarce pass'd he the archway, the threshold scarce
trode, When the winds from the four points of heaven wers
They made each steel portal to rattle and ring, He clench'd his set teeth, and his gauntleted hand; And, borne on the blast, came the dread Fire-King. He stretch'd, with one buffet, that Page on the strand
As back from the stripling the broken casque rollid, Full sore rock'd the cavern whene'er he drew nigh, You might see the blue eyes, and the ringlets of gold. The fire on the altar blazed bickering and high; In volcanic explosions the mountains proclaim Short time had Count Albert in horror to stare The dreadful approach of the Monarch of Flame. On those death-swimming eyeballs, and blood-clotted
hair; Unmeasured in height, undistinguish’d in form, For down came the Templars, like Cedron in flood, His breath it was lightning, his voice it was storm; And dyed their long lances in Saracen blood. I ween the stout heart of Count Albert was tame, When he saw in his terrors the Monarch of Flame. The Saracens, Curdmans, and Ishmaelites yield
To the scallop, the saltier, and crossleted shield ; In his hand a broad falchion blue-glimmer'd through And the eagles were gorged with the infidel dead, smoke,
From Bethsaida's fountains to Naphthali's head. And Mount Lebanon shook as monarch he spoke: “ With this brand shalt thou conquer, thus long, and The battle is over on Bethsaida's plain.no more,
Oh, who is yon Paynim lies stretch'd 'mid the slain! Till thou bend to the Cross, and the Virgin adore." And who is yon Page lying cold at his knee?
Oh, who but Count Albert and fair Rosalie ! The cloud-shrouded Arm gives the weapon; and
The Lady was buried in Salem's bless'd bound, The recreant receives the charm'd gift on his knee: The Count he was left to the vulture and hound: The thunders growl distant, and faint gleam the fires, Her soul to high mercy Our Lady did bring; As, borne on the whirlwind, the phantom retires. His went on the blast to the dread Fire-King.
Count Albert has arm'd him the Paynim among, Yet many a minstrel, in harping, can tell,
At the tale of Count Albert and fair Rosalie.
From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's wave,
Frederick and Alice.
[1801.] The war-cymbals clatter'd, the trumpets replied, The lances were couch'd, and they closed on each side;
This tale is imitated, rather than translated, from a And horsemen and horses Count Albert o'erthrew, fragment introduced in Goethe's “ Claudina von Villa Till he pierced the thick tumult King Baldwin unto. Bella," where it is 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 exThe fence had been vain of the King's Red-cross tremely rude state; and who, after some material improon shield;
ments, published it in his “ Tales of Wonder.” 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 stoop'd low
FREDERICK leaves the land of France,
Homeward hastes his steps to measure,
On the scene of former pleasure.
Sore sigh'd the charm'd sword, for its virtue was o'er,
Joying in his prancing steed,
Keen to prove his untried blade,
Over mountain, moor, and glade.