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XXIII. * O good Saint Thomas, hear,” he pray'd, “my patron It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill beSaint art thou,

gan, A traitor robs me of my land even while I pay my And stood before the bolted gate a woe and weary vow!

man; My wife he brings to infamy that was so pure of “ Now help me, every saint in heaven that can comname,

passion take, And I am far in foreign land, and must endure the To gain the entrance of my hall this woful match to shame.”



XXIV. It was the good Saint Thomas, then, who heard his His very knock it sounded sad, his call was sad and pilgrim's prayer,

slow, And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o'erpower'd For heart and head, and voice and hand, were heavy his care;

all with woe;

“ Friend, to thy He waked in fair Bohemian land outstretch'd beside And to the warder thus he spoke; a rill,

Lady say, High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land craves harbonis mill.

for a day.


XXV. The Moringer he started up as one from spell un- “ I've wander'd many a weary step, my strength is bound,

wellnigh done, And dizzy with surprise and joy gazed wildly all And if she turn me from her gate I'll see no morrow's around;

sun; “I know my fathers' ancient towers, the mill, the I pray, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, a pilgrim's bed stream I know,

and dole, Now blessed be my patron Saint who cheerd his And for the sake of Moringer's, her once-loved huspilgrim's woe!

band's soul."


XXVI. He leant upon his pilgrim staft, and to the mill he It was the stalwart warder then he came bis dame drew,

before, So alter'd was his goodly form that none their master “A pilgrim, worn and travel-toil'd, stands at the knew;

castle-door; The Baron to the miller said, “ Good friend, for And prays, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, for harbour charity,

and for dole, Tell a poor palmer in your land what tidings may And for the sake of Moringer, thy noble husband's there be?



XXVII. The miller answered him again, “ He knew of little The Lady's gentle heart was moved, “Do up the news,

gate,” she said, Save that the Lady of the land did a new bridegroom “ And bid the wanderer welcome be to banquet and choose;

to bed; Her husband died in distant land, such is the constant And since he names my husband's name, so that he word,

lists to stay, His death sits heavy on our souls, he was a worthy These towers shall be his harbourage a twelvemontb Lord.

and a day.”


XXVIII. * Of him I held the little mill which wins me living It was the stalwart warder then undid the portal free,

broad, God rest the Baron in his grave, he still was kind to It was the noble Moringer that o'er the threshold

strode; And when Saint Martin's tide comes round, and “ And have thou thanks, kind heaven," he saa, millers take their toll,

“ though from a man of sin, The priest that prays for Moringer shall have both That the true lord stands here once more his castle cope and stole."

gate within."


and wrong,



Now listen, gentles, to my song, it tells you but the Then up the halls paced Moringer, his step was sad sooth, and slow;

'Twas with that very ring of gold he pledged his It sat full heavy on his heart, none seem'd their Lord bridal truth.

to know; He sat him on a lowly bench, oppress'd with woe


Then to the cupbearer he said, “Do me one kindly Short space he sat, but ne'er to him seem'd little deed, space so long

And should my better days return, full rich shall be

thy meed; XXX.

Bear back the golden cup again to yonder bride so Now spent was day, and feasting o'er, and come was gay, evening hour,

And crave her of her courtesy to pledge the palmer The time was nigh when new-made brides retire to grey."

nuptial bower; “Our castle's wont," a brides-man said, “ hath been

XXXVII. both firm and long,

The cupbearer was courtly bred, nor was the boon No guest to harbour in our halls till he shall chant a denied, song."

The golden cup he took again, and bore it to the

bride; XXXI.

“Lady,” he said, “your reverend guest sends this, Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he sat

and bids me pray, by the bride,

That, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the palmer “My merry minstrel folk," quoth he, “lay shalm

and harp aside; Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay, the castle's rule

XXXVIII. to hold,

The ring hath caught the Lady's eye, she views it And well his guerdon will I pay with garment and

close and near, with gold.”—

Then might you hear her shriek aloud, “ The Morin

ger is here ! ” XXXII.

Then might you see her start from seat, while tears “Chill flows the lay of frozen age,” 'twas thus the in torrents fell, pilgrim sung,

But whether 'twas for joy or woe, the ladies best can “Nor golden meed nor garment gay, unlocks his tell.

heavy tongue; Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as rich

XXXIX, as thine,

But loud she utter'd thanks to Heaven, and every And by my side as fair a bride with all her charms

saintly power, was mine.

That had return'd the Moringer before the midnight

hour; XXXIII.

And loud she utter'd vow on vow, that never was “But time traced furrows on my face, and I grew

there bride, silver-hair'd,

That had like her preserved her troth, or been so For locks of brown, and cheeks of youth, she left this sorely tried.

brow and beard; Once rich, but now a palmer poor, I tread life's latest

XL. stage,

“Yes, here I claim the praise,” she said, “to con. And mingle with your bridal mirth the lay of frozen stant matrons due, age.”

Who keep the troth that they have plight, so sted.

fastly and true; XXXIV.

For count the term howe'er you will, so that you It was the noble Lady there this woful lay that hears, count aright, And for the aged pilgrim's grief her eye was dimm’d Seven twelve-months and a day are out when bells with tears;

toll twelve to-night.” She bade her gallant cupbearer a golden beaker take, And bear it to the palmer poor to quaff it for her sake.


It was Marstetten then rose up, his falchion there he XXXV.

drew, It was the noble Moringer that dropp'd amid the wine He kneel'd before the Moringer, and down his wea. A bridal ring of burning gold so costly and so fine:

pon threw;

" My oath and knightly faith are broke,” these were “ O father, see yonder! see yonder !" ne says; the words he said,

“ My boy, upon what doest thou fearfully gaze 1”_ " Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, and take “ 0, 'tis the Erl-King with his crown and his shroud." thy vassal's head.”

“ No, my son, it is but a dark wreath of the cloud."

my heir.


(The Erl-King speaks.) The noble Moringer he smiled, and then aloud did say, “O come and go with me, thou loveliest child; “ He gathers wisdom that hath roam'd seven twelve- By many a gay sport shall thy time be beguiled; months and a day;

My mother keeps for thee full many a fair toy, My daughter now hath fifteen years, fame speaks her And many a fine flower shall she pluck for my boy.”

sweet and fair, I give her for the bride you lose, and name her for “0, father, my father, and did you not hear

The Erl-King whisper so low in my ear ?"-.

“ Be still, my heart's darling-my child, be at ease; XLIII.

It was but the wild blast as it sung thro' the trees." “ The young bridegroom hath youthful bride, the old bridegroom the old,

Erl-King. Whose faith was kept till term and tide so punctually “ O wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy? were told;

My daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy; But blessings on the warder kind that oped my She shall bear thee so lightly thro' wet and thro’ wild, castle gate,

And press thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my child.” For had I come at morrow tide, I came a day too late.”

“O father, my father, and saw you not plain,
The Erl-King's pale daughter glide past thro' the

rain ?”-
“O yes, my loved treasure, I knew it full soon;

It was the grey willow that danced to the moon."
The Erl.King.'


“O come and go with me, no longer delay,
(The Erl-King is a goblin thut haunts the Black Forest Or else, silly child, I will drag thee away.”_

“O father ! O father ! now, now keep your hold, in Thuringia.To be read by a candle particularly long in the snuff:)

The Erl-King has seized me—his grasp is so cold !” 0, who rides by night thro' the woodland so wild ? Sore trembled the father; he spurr'd thro' the wild, It is the fond father embracing his child;

Clasping close to his bosom his shuddering child; And close the boy nestles within his loved arm, He reaches his dwelling in doubt and in dread, To hold himself fast, and to keep himself warm. But, clasp'd to his bosom, the infant was dead!

1 1797

To Miss Christian Rutherford.—I send a goblin tempting a version of that ballad, as it has been translated by story. You see I have not altogether lost the faculty of Lewis.

W.S."-Life, vol. i. p. 378. rhyming. I assure you there is no small impudence in at


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In awful ruins Ætna thunders nigh,
And sends in pitchy whirlwinds to the sky
Black clouds of smoke, which, still as they aspire,
From their dark sides there bursts the glowing fire;
At other times huge balls of fire are tossid,
That lick the stars, and in the smoke are lost :
Sometimes the mount, with vast convulsions torn,
Emits huge rocks, which instantly are borne
With loud explosions to the starry skies,
The stones made liquid as the huge mass flies,
Then back again with greater weight recoils,
While Ætna thundering from the bottom boils.

Those evening clouds, that setting ray,
And beauteous tints, serve to display

Their great Creator's praise ;
Then let the short-lived thing call’d man,
Whose life's comprised within a span,

To him his homage raise.

We often praise the evening clouds,

And tints so gay and bold,
But seldom think upon our God,

Who tingod these clouds with gold !!

on a Thunder Storm.

The Violet.

1783,--Ær. 12.

1797. “ In Scott's Introduction to the Lay, he alludes to an original effusion of these schoolboy days,' prompted by a thunder-storm, which he says It appears from the Life of Scott, vol. i., p. 333, that much approved of, until a malevolent critic sprung up these lines, first published in the English Minstrelsy

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1 " It must, I think, be allowed that these lines, though of Cowley at the same period, show, nevertheless, praiseworthy the clase to which the poet himself modestly ascribes them, dexterity for a boy of twelve."--Life of Scott, vol. i., p. 131. and not to be compared with the efforts of Pope, still less of

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The following fragment of a ballad written at
Bothwell Castle, in the autumn of 1799, was first (2.) The Shepherd's Tale..
printed in the Life of Sir Walter Scott, vol. ii., p. 28.
When fruitful Clydesdales apple-bowers

Are mellowing in the noon,
When sighs round Pembroke's ruin's towers “ ANOTHER imperfect ballad, in which he had meant
The sultry breath of June;

to blend together two legends familiar to every reader I Bir Aylmer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, Edward the tle, the ruins of which attest the magnificence of the inva Fint'ı Governor of Scotland, usually resided at Bothwell Cas- der.-ED.

: Life of Scott, vol. ii., p. 31.

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